#I swear to god that I need a fanart with them in the other’s clothes

[isabel47]

This is indeed a Final Fantasy Bootleg. (I don’t want to say that, but it’s just that everyone says that)

Sorry for disappearing suddenly.. have some crumbs

I went to go see Inside Out 2 today and Lance Slashblade looked a little too similar to.. someone

[lowkeyrobin]

MCYT with an S/O who fosters kittens? :D

OH MY LORD YESYESYESHDNSKDNDN I had sm inspo w this bc I have 5 cats (cats are one of my favorite things ever I swear) and yeah dkkdkd THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST

MCYT ; you foster kittens

includes ; tommyinnit, ranboo, badlinu, nihachu, quackity, foolish gamers, & slimecicle

warnings ; language, talk of harm towards animals

masterlist

TOMMYINNIT

genuinely feels so bad when you have to let the cats go

like he tears up nearly every fucking time

he watches some of these poor cats go from aggressive and distant, barely able to eat because they don't trust you yet, to warm, loving and cuddly little creatures

he literally watches them grow and he gets so emotional cause like why can't you keep all of them???

he'll be off to the side when you're handing them away to a new home wiping his tears

he's more emotional about it than you

he gifts you like new cat food bowls and cat towers and stuff once they get all beaten to a pulp

if you're fostering more than like three at a time, he'll have a gang of them on his lap while he's editing, recording, or lounging around

his hands are always covered in scratches and scars because he'll fuck around and find out even after you warn him about them being feisty at first

"this one got ran over by a car and he's blind now"

"can we keep him?? :("

RANBOO

like tubbo, it warms his heart to see you care so much about the poor babies that just need a little help readjusting and understanding that not all people are bad/you're there to help them

absolutely loves when you bring back like little feisty babies that barely know how to walk but know how to hiss

they can't help but laugh like "awe oh my god, this is so sad but it's so cute"

when I tell you all those cats are so spoiled by them

it's sweet though, he really cares about all the cats you take in too, you honestly foster them together at this point

you guys end up keeping this tuxedo cat with one eye and name it Jellyfish (as per chats vote)

the amount of fanart of you two with jellyfish 💔💔💔 so cute

jellyfish becomes the mom of all the new fosters and looks over them and shit, that way they ease into the new environment a little better

buys all the fosters outfits. there's a barbie sized closet for all the clothes

FREDDIE BADLINU

it's like there's a new cat every week considering he brings back street cats as well LMAO

these mf cats are SO SPOILED but they deserve it

he gets so attached to the disabled ones because he loves having to help them out

he loves teaching them how to eat from his hands too

it's so funny, like they'll nick his fingers and he'll be like "fuck, that tickles, Mr. Peanut!"

gets so emotional when you have to give them to better homes

like hugs and kisses them goodbye 4 times

he genuinely thinks your magic, watches those cats go from shy and trying to stay away from you to like being attached to you by the hip and all wagging their tails

he's constantly running around the house playing with them too

he loves seeing them pop up on 2 legs like meerkats when he's serving them wet food or treats LMAO

NIKI NIHACHU

she couldn't care less that the house is loaded with cat stuff and a whole room is filled with cat towers, shelves and toys for them

loves making new little puzzles/mazes for the cats with the shelves, making a little competition to see who can get to the top fastest

she names the cats because she's gonna get attached either way, but after a while they become more and more silly

like they go from Sebastian and Pixel to Tater Tot and Simon From Alvin And The Chipmunks so quickly

she learns how to make homemade cat treats as well

she also, like ranboo, gets a little barbie closet and fills it with cat outfits

some cats like the outfits and others don't, but the ones who do, good god it's like britney manson on the runway

absolute ws in that house, photoshoots for days

QUACKITY

"AH WHAT THE FUCK? Y/n! come get Jessie and Walter, they've invaded my stream!"

he genuinely names most the foster cats characters from meme shows/movies/memes in general

actually named one Badass Grandmas Meme ; also named another Hurricane Tortilla after that one vine

always taking .5s of the cats once they've accepted that he exists as well

sometimes they hop on his desk and join the stream

"Oh, look! it's Goldfish, she's the newest foster that y/n took in"

constantly taking pictures of you and the fosters throughout the stages of rehabilitation

from hissing and scratching to cuddling on the couch and lazy naps

no cat leaves without a little pair of sunglasses

he's genuinely inspired to make quackity cat merch because most of the fosters you take in LOVE clothes LMAO

FOOLISH GAMERS

literally treats these mfs as babies

you'll walk in and see him holding one of the elderly cats you're rehabiliting from a bad home whom just got rescued and he's holding this poor girl like a literal infant

she loves it though, most the cats do

the fosters love playing with his hair too, and he plays into it, always bends down to their level and wobbles his hair around for them to smack around and try to chew on

he has such a soft spot for them

if you're having one of those rare moments where you might give up on a cat, he's right there to try and help you

flea baths on kittens are always done by him, he feels so bad for each of them, meanwhile you're on cat-drying duty and giving them a lil medication to kill any remaining fleas

he's 50/50 on names at first but gives up with trying to not name them bc he gets attached anyways

"Oh, lookit! this is Evergreen, she's been chilling with us for like, 3 months I think"

he loves when they interrupt his streams bc they're so cute and explorative and curious LMAO

CHARLIE SLIMECICLE

he's the most supportive of you fostering cats like ever

loves fucking around with them and sliding them around on the floor, if there's any long hair cats, he loops very loose bows and clips around their fur and shit

cradles them like babies to sleep

and then slips them into the cat tower or on the couch/bed etc

even covers them with a little blanket

"Oh shit, they've invaded, they're raiding! the axe weilding brothers are here!"

gives them the most dumbass names like Microwave Popcorn and Toaster Strudle

he frames pictures of every cat in the hallway once they leave

[last-herondale]

You Are Enough Pt. 4

Astarion x Fem!Tav

Mentions of virginity

Warnings: none?

AN: I thought about the Halsin scene and I had to throw in a virginity twist.

Ps: If anyone was to make fanart of this— I’d love you forever.

Pt 1. Pt 2. Pt 3.

Enjoy 🤘🏼

You hurried into the tent, your face still burning at full capacity as you plopped down on the bedroll and covered your face. You muttered into your hands, grumbling incoherent words as Astarion strolled in with a book in hand.

“I swear if that wizard touches my editions again—oh, darling,” he said noticing you, “I thought you’d be dining with the others. Is everything alright?”

His voice tinged with alarm as he knelt before you, gently touching your elbow to rouse you from your state. You picked your head up, your eyes wider than you meant to have them.

“I just ate,” you choked out.

Astarion looked absolutely bewildered by your expression. His hand traced the outline of your cheeks with wonder.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so—flustered. I’m quite jealous of that actually,,” his eyes narrowed in playful amusement, “what happened?”

You thought back to the conversation you just had and you could immediately feel more blood rush to your cheeks.

“N-nothing.”

Astarion made a choked sound, almost a mixture of laughter and a purr.

“Come now my sweet, my darling pet,” he murmured, trying to entice the truth from you by leaning in closer, “You’ll tell me won’t you?”

His fingers grazed your knees, tracing higher to the inner part of your thigh. A shiver went down your spine and you stood up suddenly, nearly tripping over him. He steadied you with a chuckle, but his eyes seemed to lose a bit of their playfulness.

“What’s bothering you my sweet?” He asked softly.

The concern in his voice was enough to melt your heart out of its panicked state. You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose as you prepared to confess.

“I just had a very… forward conversation with Halsin after dinner.”

Astarion’s brow arched, but he waited for you to continue.

“He said some flattering things, some lovely things really— and I of course told him about us— about how I feel for you, but he said— gods he even suggested you join in at some point!”

Realization hit Astarion like an owlbear and he began cackling. “HAH! I was wondering when this was going to happen!”

Your face flushed red again and you lightly shoved Astarion. “You knew??”

“In a manner of speaking,” Astarion sniggered, “The man hardly stops talking about “sharing in nature’s gifts!’ I’m surprised he still wears clothes around camp to be honest.”

Astarion put his hands on your shoulders, his smile playfully wicked as he pulled you in closer. “Far be it from me to keep you from your hungers my dear. If you want to romp around in the grass with the Druid, be my guest.”

His expression softened as his hand caressed your neck. “I know we haven’t— and that you’ve been willing to be patient with me and this new level of intimacy… but I will not hold you back from your needs. I want you to be happy.”

“Astarion,” you groaned, your chest beating anxiously. Gods why was this topic so awkward to talk about? “I don’t want to sleep with Halsin, I mean— of course he’s beautiful, if not a bit intimidating… but I… I can’t sleep with him.”

Astarion looked a little relieved, but his brows were still furrowed. “Why not? I promise I won’t be too jealous, even if he is the one that touches you before me—“

“Gods— Astarion I’m a virgin!” You hissed.

Astarion’s eyes widened and he shut his mouth. A small grin teased at his mouth but he was trying to keep it at bay.

“Oh…”

You rolled your eyes and moved away from him to sit on the bedroll again. You put your head in your hands and shook your head.

“I—you never said…” Astarion said gently, sitting beside you.

“I never had a reason to bring it up until now. I didn’t want to—scare you away,” you muttered in your hands.

Astarion laughed softly. “That is the least scary thing about you dear. Though I am surprised. Someone as beautiful and wonderful as you… how could anyone resist?”

You sighed again, lifting your head up slightly. He was being nicer about this than you expected. It did feel like a weight lifted from your shoulders, to finally have everything out in the open with him.

“It was always me— there were others… those that tried to earn my affections, but— I just never felt like it was right with them. I didn’t trust them.”

Astarion held an even gaze. “Do you not trust Halsin?”

“I trust Halsin with my life,” you said immediately, “and under different circumstances, if he’d asked me— I would probably say yes. But I can’t.”

You looked at Astarion, slipping your hand in his and squeezing gently. “I want it to be you. Whenever, if ever you’re ready for that step, I want to take it with you.”

Astarion’s face softened, a sweet smile forming on his lips. He sucked in a shaky breath, “I would be honored to, my sweet.” His voice choked up a bit as he spoke.

“For centuries I’ve been used and wanted for all the wrong reasons. And now, here you are wanting me for something so…pure.” He cupped your face, pulling you closer to him.

“You chose me. Out of everyone in this world, you want me.”

You rested your forehead against his, smiling softly as you closed your eyes. “Only you.”

“Hmm,” he murmured, inhaling the scent of you, “You will have me,” he said, pulling away only slightly so he could look into your eyes. “I’ve wanted you for so long— in all of the ways a man could want a woman… so we will have each other. I promise.”

“But not here,” he said gently, running his thumb along your neck, “Not in these cursed shadowlands. I want to see you as you deserve to be seen— bathed in beautiful sunlight.”

You laughed gently, and nodded. “I think I can wait a little bit longer, though you certainly make it difficult.”

He flashed a wicked grin as he pulled you in for a kiss. “I never said the wait would be easy,” he murmured against your lips.

“Good,” you said, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. Once you broke apart, you smiled against his neck, “I don’t want easy.”

Pt 5

[teeto-peteto]

“Allow characters to have more than one emotion?” Oh no, Riot can’t do that, otherwise players will complain about why the characters talk so much.” (All of this is sarcasm, in case it wasn’t clear.) I swear, sometimes it feels like people want voice lines to go back to minute long carousel rides.

…Anyway. Vent over.

vent is not over

This is a perfect statement. Unless you're talking about Mordekaiser.

Anyone remembers when Project: Mordekaiser dropped and everyone started loosing their shit and claimed THIS was the best legendary skin in the game? How easy everyone threw down the river Dark Cosmic Jhin.

But they give a GIRL champion ONE more range of emotion and they fucking loose their shit. Male champions get full armored rad skins and everyone claps and make fan edits with the quotes and female champions get their splashart upside down and a reddit post saying 'Ok guys do you think they made her boobs bigger or nah?'.

Literally Ashe gets pushed away for speaking and in the meantime Viego is literally speaking his whole life and everyone goes like 'Wow... this slaps for an instagram reel with his quotes and stolen fanart'.

Riot does not want to put effort. Even now they are cutting down minutes of legendary and definitive skins voice lines to 8 minutes cause well they want the money money but they dont want to pay pay actors.

Riot constantly gives the 'thicc tiddy' skins to female champions. If they do to male champions, its because in their canon model they are shirtless/wearing revealing clothes etc (for example, Rakan or Sylas). Coven constantly gives this skins to female champions and then give a cool monster/spirit to male champions. Yes, covens are always composed of women, as star guardians are based on the magical girl trope and we still have Ezreal and Ekko there. Do we actually NEED to be 'historically correct' about coven?! Motherfuckers put girls in ridiculous clothing to call them witchy and then try to be historically correct. And they give the guys the cool skins. For what?! Cant we have an Old god Bel'Veth? Cant we have any female champion actually turn into monstruous eldritch horror? If they want to be so calculative and respectful to 'feminist part of history' then do this?

3. The community sucks and its mostly formed by dick-in-hand men. They see titty on a girl they go ooga booga. If the champion speaks and doesnt say anything cool rad about darkness and killing and slavering people then they loose interest and cry. 'Shut up woman i dont care'. In the end we will turn back to the 1 minute carousel lines cause nobody gives a flying fuck about what characters say. The amount of videos/shorts/reels i have seen recently about champion quotes theres not even ONE said by a woman champion. They always quote something corny about Sett being strong whatever. They always quote Viego in a romantic way, as if provoking mass genocide with the excuse of 'love' wasnt a red flag enough. They quote Mordekaiser (literally a torturer and an slaver, yeah...). But hey, i guess they are easy to harvest so Riot will keep producing for them.

ranted more than i expected but well :^)

small note: i do not care about anyones favourite character. You like Mordekaiser? Awesome. You like Viego? Go my dear, you can fix him i believe in you. You like Ashe? Thats so cool. I do not shame anyone's character/fictional other/kin at all. Everything i say just applies to heteronormative male that presents a huge percentage of lol players and active twitter users that bombards Riot.

[sweettodo]

LMFAO- can u headcannon the aot warriors + y/n in a zoom meeting. and y’know y/n a little baddie and wears a revealing outfit 😩😏

i just saw this tiktok of some fanart of them in a zoom meet and it was the cutest thing EVERRRR.

EREN-

• doesn’t even bother to get out of bed, he just rolls over, picks his laptop from the floor and joins the zoom only to fall back asleep.

• levi constantly attempts to get his attention, and eren doesn’t even budge.

• seldom awake, but when he IS, he will usually interrupt to ask a stupid question: ‘hange where did you get that cool plant?’ or ‘jean i smell you through the zoom call, did you shower today?’

• enjoys changing his background to an odd photo of jean or one of his friends.

• hange will be the first to kick eren out of the zoom, and it’s not like mr. jaeger cares or anything.

• not to mention, he leaves his camera on too. so everyone sees shirtless eren passed out under the blankets with not a regard in the world.

• eats while on the call.

• one day, ( he still thanks god he was awake to see this ) you were working out in the morning before realizing you were already 10 minutes late to your meeting.

• jumping on to the meeting, sweaty, in a revealing sports bra and shorts, you’re apologizing profusely to levi and hange for being late.

• ‘lookin’ good y/n’ eren cackles, but what you or your friends realizing was that eren was now breathless, trying not to stare at you with every bit of will-power he could muster up.

• ‘seems that eren’s pretty awake now, heh’ jean taunts, eren quickly turns off his camera, so he could enjoy looking at you, who decided to wear... that

JEAN-

~ also likes to change his background, plays on his xbox with or without connie, headphones on his head and screaming while levi is muting jean to proceed talking.

~ jean has the pc set up and everything with the two monitors and the colorful custom pc.

~ eren makes fun of him because he uses a microphone. like the ones that have the stand and everything.

~ his room is never fully lit. he used leds, ( blue or green tbh ) shades are always closed.

~ ‘jean, turn off the game. now’ hange swears she tells him everyday.

~ ‘hey jean, didn’t you wear that sweatshirt last time? do you have any other clothes?’ eren ridicules, of course interrupting levi, who’s talking.

~ ‘i see the crumbs on your bed, jaeger!’

~ jean finds himself staring at you once you joined the call, wearing a... revealing... tank top with a very generous bra. his mouth growing increasingly dry.

~ he assumes that no one seems to notice, but when his friends see that he’s quite literally frozen in place, mouth slightly open as he’s looking at your chest.

~ ‘jean’

~ no answer.

~ ‘jean!’

~ ‘hu- yeah, yes?’

~ ‘is your internet having issues? you’re frozen’

MIKASA-

: sits at her desk, she has a picture collage of her, eren and armin on her wall.

: pristine white walls, very clean.

: always needs to call eren to wake him up before the meeting so he doesn’t miss it.

: if she forgets to call eren to wake him up, he blames her for missing the meeting.

: mikasa and armin are always firsts to the meeting.

: she always speaks, and fully participates.

: levi and hange usually are apt to call on her first for her opinions.

: she never turns her camera off, she’s wearing a comfortable but appropriate outfit, jeans and a blouse or shorts and a t shirt.

: sends group emails, for literally whatever reason.

: compliments others backgrounds ( their rooms ).

: reminds eren that his room is a pigsty and he needs to get out of bed, ‘eren, it’s 11:30am, get up.’

: ‘jean, you need to make your bed once and awhile’

: she always compliments what you’re wearing too, ‘i love that top y/n, where’d you get it?’

: and will have absolutely no problem with putting the boys in their place when she catches them gawking at you.

: ‘you guys are like dogs’

: she tells levi to kick them from the meet if they keep staring at you.

ARMIN-

∘ always early.

∘ room is neat, warm looking and he sits on the edge of his bed with his laptop in his lap.

∘ most talkative one here besides levi and hange.

∘ also calls eren every morning to ensure he’s awake.

∘ armin has a notebook and pencil next to him, constantly writing down notes.

∘ always has a presentation ready, a powerpoint or a document to show everyone.

∘ usually sticks to casual, t shirt and jeans.

∘ room is well lit, camera and mic are always on.

∘ also reminds the others to pay attention and be quiet, pleading with them, ‘guys, captain levi is trying to talk.’ also always lectures eren to get out of bed once and awhile.

∘ he doesn’t really pay much attention to what the others are wearing, but he can’t help but glance a few times at your outfit for the day.

∘ it makes his heart pound of his chest when you move to stretch or prop for hand under your chin to listen, your chest on display, arms squeezing them together only a little. he was in awe, swallowing hard and trying not to blush.

∘ avoiding you at all costs.

∘ armin won’t admit it, but he’s a hypocrite, so he’s gonna lecture the boys not to objectify you and tells you that he’s sorry for their immaturity.

∘ but yet here he is.

LEVI-

» cup of tea ready.

» sits at his dining room table.

» dreads having to do the zoom meet, so he’s pretty short tempered the whole time.

» wearing a button up per usual.

» well lit, has a plant in the corner of the room, most likely a cat in the windowsill.

» very english teacher-esque.

» swears the whole time at eren.

» kicks eren and jean out almost every zoom meeting.

» relies on armin for detailed information and analysis’

» needed to ask hange in secret how to present his screen, pin / mute people because he was pretty inept at computers for the most part.

» doesn’t use the mouse pad on his laptop, he connects a mouse because he despises that stupid mouse pad.

» the second he sees what you’re wearing, he shakes his head, ‘tch, i can hear these hounds now’

» yells at the boys to stop being perverts.

CONNIE-

‣  similar to jean, he also used led’s most of the time.

‣  has posters on his walls of music artists, shows, games and people

‣  he sits at his desk, which is cluttered, occasionally plays video games ( not as much as jean )

‣  zones out, looking at something random and blocks out a lot of what hange and levi says.

‣  yawns like 80 times in the span of an hour.

‣  drinks soda, or surfs the web.

‣  his bed is made, and he wears sweatshirts and sweats because like eren, he just got out of bed too.

‣  though connies bed is made, he still has clothes littered here and there, has a rack of shoes in the corner of his room ( he’s a sneaker head )

‣  most likely to not turn his camera on because he leaves the room to do god knows what.

‣  plays imessage games during the call.

‣  teases eren constantly.

‣  he won’t be AS dog-ish when he sees what you’re wearing, but he will say to himself, ‘she has some pretty nice tits’ and will probably text jean saying exactly that. but then he just moved on with his day.

‣  presents memes before the meeting to try and get levi to laugh. it doesn’t work.

HANGE-

≈ shes on her couch.

≈ wears casual outfits.

≈ ushers the boys to participate.

≈ very upbeat and happy.

≈ first person to make an interactive slideshow to get everyone to participate.

≈ shes into sending levi cat memes.

≈ has a cup of coffee next to her, plants and pictures of plants on her wall.

≈ likes to unmute people purposely if their mic is muted.

≈ emails back and fourth with armin and levi for plans for the upcoming meetings.

≈ she will not tolerate anyone disrespecting one another. kicking the boys out to stop them from harassing you about what you’re wearing.

HISORIA-

‹ her room is like a oasis, pastel walls, the vines on her walls and everything.

‹ diffuser in the background and incense.

‹ shes drinking coffee, always dressed, makeup on ( if she chooses to wear it ) and she attends these meetings on her laptop, sitting in front of her vanity.

‹ wears pretty blouses, or a summery dress, hair always fixed to perfection.

‹ sometimes her mom comes in, with cut up fruit and ice water, giving it to her and then leaving.

‹ she has framed pictures of her and everyone on her wall.

‹ also has honor roll certificates on her wall.

‹ she makes sure her vanity light is on so she has good lighting.

‹ also takes notes- color coordinating notes.

‹ she does participate, she laughs at the boys when they act up.

‹ also compliments everyone.

‹ when she catches the boys looking at you, she tells levi to make them knock it off, and then shakes her head in disappointment, ‘you all are so weird, leave y/n alone, you’re making her uncomfortable’

YMIR-

≍ shes usually propped up on her side, laying on her bed or the couch.

≍ she doesn’t participate unless she’s chosen to.

≍ keeps quiet, pays good attention.

≍ she sticks to wearing a sweatshirt and shorts or just a t shirt and leggings.

≍ clean room, warm blue sheets and gray walls.

≍ she gets furious when jean and eren go at it.

≍ shes gonna defend you against the boys pertaining to what you’re wearing, saying, ‘take your dirty eyes off of her’

≍ she doesn’t mind what you’re wearing, she thinks you look really good, but you wouldn’t catch her dead making a comment on your body.

≍ won’t admit it but it makes her flustered seeing how your body looks.

SASHA-

⇝ sits at her kitchen table.

⇝ eating full meals while the meeting takes place.

⇝ doesn’t hesitate to talk when her mouth is full so levi keeps her muted.

⇝ house is very home-y, warm and decorated well, her kitchen is seen in the background with her mom or dad occasionally walking past.

⇝ sometimes asking her mom to make her another sandwich, ( after her third one ).

⇝ always laughing with connie and jean.

⇝ sticks to casual outfits, sweatshirt and leggings, hair always up.

⇝ no filter, so if she catches eren or jean looking at you, she’s gonna jump into action.

⇝ ‘i know you’re not looking at her like that!’

⇝ ‘you better stop looking at her before i go over there!’

⇝ ‘captain if you don’t kick these fools out right now i’ll go over there and kick their asses instead!’

[im-a-lil-simp]

i saw your requests were open and i rlly like your writing! can i request a fluffy Technoblade x male reader? if you can add specifics can you also make the reader short and a twitch streamer? and Techno being very protective of him? if you dont mind that is

Technoblade with a Short Male S/o

Okay I got really scared you found who I was. Cause I am also male and I am extremely short (under 5 foot), so this goes out to my short kings, I love all of you. This was very close to my heart :)

I hope it was alright that I made it headcannons, but I tried to make it at least longer than normal headcannons that I would write. I almost had it done but half of it decided to delete itself so it took longer.

So, he's like a god compared to you.

In more ways than one.

Techno was least a foot taller than you, or at least around that that range.

He thinks that your height is very cute, like, extremely cute.

The way you have to look up at him in order to see his face makes him melt inside.

He loves how powerful he feels next to you, but he also feels as if he'll break you with the slightest touch or squeeze.

When he kisses you, he has to bend down a lot.

When he does that, he might pepper you face with kisses and make it seem as if he's losing his balance and can't find your lips.

Sometimes you get fed up with it and pull on his hoodie so that he gives you an actual kiss.

He'll usually laugh and cover the sides of your face with both of his hands.

And oh my god his hands.

Now, I'm not pulling a lunch club situation here, I'm just talking about how big they are in comparison to yours.

He isn't usually the one for pda, but occasionally in public or if you guys are at home, he'll hold your hand because he knows that his will just engulf yours.

You also steal his clothes.

A lot.

Especially his hoodies, they're always big on you and they always smell like him.

When you walk around the house in nothing but his clothes, he swears that you're the most attractive man on the planet.

He'll walk up behind you and wrap his arms all the way around your waist and put his chin on the top of your head.

On another note,

You guys have a pretty quiet relationship, generally keeping it to yourselves and your families.

Other creators knew about your relationship, but that was about it.

The only problem was, you were one of those creators.

You generally played more games than just minecraft, but like Quackity, you stilled played a lot of minecraft.

You started making more minecraft content after you got into the smp.

Doing bits with the others, you settled in nicely.

And the both of you were pretty comfortable in your relationship, so you had a lot of romantic bits on the server.

Hell, you were even canonically married to Sam.

This was all fine and dandy, until a few toxic stans started to get mean about.

They started calling you the 'smp slut'.

It flowed well and you didn't really care for a while.

But as more people adopted the name, it started to get under your skin and bother you more and more.

Once it started to bother you, Techno immediately noticed.

It took him weeks of prying before you finally caved and told him what was up.

It was then that he started to become protective.

He took you in his arms as you vented to him, rubbing your back slowly.

He wanted to continue to keep your relationship private, but this ground his gears too much.

The next time you went to stream, all went as normal, until about halfway through your stream.

You heard a knock on your door and you tried to ignore it, if you responded, your viewers would know someone else was in your house and question you on it.

When you didn't answer, Techno opened the door and strolled in.

You tried mouthing to him that you were streaming, but your chat definitely knew that someone was there because your facecam had been on.

He came into the view of the camera before you could stop him.

He didn't really show his face, save for a couple of times on his channel.

Most of your chat didn't recognize him immediately, as not everyone had seen that many of his videos.

"Hi chat"

Chat then blew up and you could not believe what was happening.

Why was he here?

Then he started to, calmly, go off, telling them to stop calling you those names because they're all just jokes.

And then he pulled out a specific sentence you did not expect.

"Plus, he's mine."

You were on stream or you would have kissed him right there.

But he did it for you, kissing you on your cheek before getting up and walking out of the room.

You wanted to melt.

From that point on, he wanted you to wear one of his hoodies every stream.

If you forgot or didn't want to, he wasn't mad, but that didn't usually happen in the first place. You loved his clothes.

It just made him feel better.

That way he knew there was always a piece of him with you.

Sometimes chat would notice how big it was on you and connect the dots.

Not everyone liked the thought of both of you together, but most people did.

The ship fanart was off the charts.

You still didn't show your relationship much, but people knew that Techno would step in for you if need be.

[sewingbear]

The first stitches 

I’m about to go on a rant about dai and this piece. It’s long as heck so it’s going under a read more. Long story short I bought dragon age inquisition, love it, and here’s my character card. I’ll probably make two more cards.

Hi hello howdy, I am 6 years late but here I am. My girlfriend streamed DAI during a group discord hang out and I was like “This game looks fun 👀”. Then I bought it at 1am highly questioning my late night purchase. I’m gonna be honestly my other friend in the chat was making it sound like a really bad game, so I was going in with the lowest expectations I could possible have. I was thinking I was gonna hate the game and regret spending money on it but h o l y f u c k i n g s h i t!!! I LOVE THIS GAME. I probably should have played the other two games before but it’s fine. 

Anyways it’s been like 2 months now and I’ve played the game all the way through and I’m already on my second play though. I’m almost done with the second play though and I’m already thinking about what I wanna do for my third play though. I am hyper fixating on this game soo fucking much. Of course I’m gonna draw stuff for it. I already drew my first dwarf character (Well a concept) and made a dai theme card for some other ocs i have. I’ve been wanting to make my own card for my character for a while now but I just could not for the life of me figure out out I wanted it. I honestly wanted my character to be holding halla fawn in her arms but I just couldn’t draw it to save the life of me. I also wanted halla running in it and it took me forever to get a good placement. 

I’ll probably get around to drawing fanart but I’m gonna put that on the back burner for the moment. 

So, I put a heck ton of symbols on this and I know most people aren’t gonna notice them so I’m just gonna state what they are here. 

-The sewing project my character has in her hands is suppose mean the start of the inquisition. The thread turning green is the anchor. The needle is also being held in the left hand which you know has the anchor in it. Also I just like sewing. It’s one of my main hobbies. If I was an npc I feel like it would be one of the factoids you’d learn about me. 

-The tree on the right is supposed represent the chantry. A dying order in need of change. The leaves on the ground represent those who die in the conclave and the single leaf is those who remain. The tree can change and adapt (like in autumn) or die due to the sudden temperature change (The mage rebellion/the over all change in politics)

-The shadow of tree is suppose to represent how the chantry looms over the main character. How they’re gonna drop a bunch of responsible on you for being the herald. It also just looked cool af so I did it.

-The background has a lot going on and it’s on purpose I swear. I really like the halla’s design and I enjoyed the golden halla’s fetch quest so I thought I’d make a nod to it. 

-I felt like I didn’t really draw my character super dwarf-ish or at least you can’t tell since they’re not next to someone. So I was thinking the top part of the background are suppose to be the surface and the middle/dark area is the stone/under ground. I try to put some straight line dwarf like motif in there to be like roots. Always there, never fully gone, even on the surface. 

Not a symbol but thought I mention it but like I’m not a big fan of the dwarf smuggler backstory but I understand it because it’s probably the best way be at the conclave. Anyways I picture my character living a more simple life and is just really good at archer. I want my character to look cute and god damn it I’m gonna make her look cute. Unlike the game giving me such uncute clothes options. I will also have long hair just try and fucking stop me >:/

I’m gonna make two more cards. I wanna make one that’s like my champion card and the other is a romance card. I like to think this is the card I get at the start like the other party members get. 

Anyways thanks for reading this if you did akjhawrjhkfadjkhqas 

[fandomtrxsh19]

So, when I read ACOSF, I made kind of play by play notes as a listened to it( I read the audiobook) so.........here’s the chaos

HEAVY SPOILERS FOR ACOSF!!

CASSIAN SAID FUCK

WHOA there’s a LOT of swearing in this

“It’s SEVEN in the morning gods damn it” -nesta archeron

OVERSIZED SHIRTS FOR THE WIN

Feyre and Rhys have 5 houses? Not surprised...

full, inviting breasts......BIG BOOBS OMG CASSIAN YOU HORNY SON OF A BITCH

7 siphons to keep his magic under control? Dayum

So, she rode this unnamed male like a fucking roller coaster?

Depression sex? Depression sex

“Her father was ashes in the wind” DAMN THATS EDGY

“A moment of release among the darkness inside her” NESTA BBY THIS ISNT HEATHY

“She avoided both of them” not surprised

OOOOH RHYS HATES HER TEA IS BEING SPILT

So, depression sex and depression alcohol? Yup

*checks chapter count* 80 CHAPTERS??!?! Oh shit this is gonna be a triiiip

OOOOOOOOO RHYS AND NESTA BEEF

Feyre trying to apologize to nesta........she’s trying

“You’re done, Nesta” The fuuuuuck.....

So, nesta’s moving and training with cassian...........Feyre, this isn’t a good idea omg

Feyre holy shit what the fuck are you doing, you TOTAL HELICOPTER SISTER?

“I never want to speak to you again!” damn

ELAIN TRAUMA!!! Yay???

MOR FOCUSED CHAPTER!!!?

she has brown eyes? Ok

FUCK SHES WEARING A BLUE DRESS FUCK

nesta knows about mor NESTA KNOWS ABOUT MOR!!!

“I am worthless and I am nothing. I hate what I am.” DAYUM I’ve been in that exact mindset numerous times. I can relate, Nesta

Briallen? Who the fuck is that?

Scars being trapped in magic? Good fuck that’s dark

“Ooh a dark skin character? Lit

OH SHIT SHE CANT FLY HER WINGS ARE CLIPPED

Is her name Emery?

“I am the monster your fear” BBY OMG GET THERAPY

Gwyn? Seems a bit aloof

“Two gentle conversations” GOOD JOB

Fairy lights omg lol

Nesta reading smutty books.....I’m imagining this omg

THE HOUSE IS ALIVE? Sweet

OMG ELAIN SHIT!!!! BBY

“All she wanted to do was touch him” OOOOOHHHHH NESSIAN

“All I need is a hot meal and a good book.” Mood

Nesta’s worried about Mor??? REEEEEEE

“Nesta needed Feyre more than she realized.“ OOOOOOO

OOOOOOOOO FAE BARGANS

They’re bound by magic on the body?? Ooh

IT’S TRAINING TIME BITCHES

“I don’t hate you too,Cassian” OMGGGGGG REEEEE

Nesta SMILED

THEY MENTIONED VALKYRIES!!!!!

“You might be my only friend.” HMMMMMMM

*hears how cassian was born * OMG HOLY SHIT CASSIAN

*hears cassians backstory* DAMN THESE CHARACTERS NEED THERAPY

OOP SLIGHT DEPRESSION SEX

OOP CLOTHING REMOVAL

“I’ve loved you since the first moment I held you in my arms.” HMMMMMMMM

I’m loving this Nessian sparring training.

ELAIN! SHES IN THE STORY KIND OF

Elain has small boobs........same

“I thought I would drop by to see how you were doing.” AWWWWWWWWW

Yayy.....awkward sister talks........

“She was the monster.” Nesta.............I can relate.

Nesta’s angry at Elain.............

Elain’s trying to reach out and Nesta’s denying it.

MY HEART

AGAIN...THE👏RA👏PY👏

“No more seeing her sisters without her permisson.” That’s smart.

Soooooooooo......Rhys is now a German Shepard.........?

OMG CASSIAN KILLED EVERYONE THAT HELPED KILL HIS MOM........good for him

“Use that training and make me.” OOOOOOOMGGGGGG

Rhys is overprotective of Feyre and shields her......daaaaaaaaaaaaamn

“What exactly happened in the cauldron?” FEYRE BAD IDEA BAD IDEA BAD IDEA

Again, Nesta, ✨THERAPY✨

Put a stop to what, D-does the IC know of the ✨depression smut?✨

“There was touching, but with her permission” WE 👏STAN 👏A KING👏

THAT ASKS👏FOR👏CON👏SENT👏

“Who do you think I am?” “A drunk fool who’s wasting my time?” OOOOOOOHHHHH SHOOTS FIRED!!!

Emery and Nesta to Emery’s cousin: GO HOME YOUR DRUNK ASSHOLE

*hears Nesta’s grand✨mama✨* me: grandmama, it’s me....ANASTASIA

Bruh...NESTA BIT CASS’S EAR

ugh the tool

“Baby making” hehe lol

“Nesta like gwyn”...............could she also be biiiiiiiii??????????!!!!!! YAY FIRST FRIEND IM PROUD OF YOUUUUU

NESTA SMILES AGAIN YAY!!

Alright, Meryl is BITCH

GWYN’S A QUARTER NYMPH?? Cool

“She’s failed everything.” BBY

HER POWERS? HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT SILVER FLAMES

ICY FIRE??? FUUUUUUUUUCK

Nesta must’ve been petrified being surrounded by fire

It’s a dream? THE FUCK

WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT SHE WAS DREAMING????

Cassian saw HER TRAUMA?????? FUUUUUUCK

HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HER POWER IS DEAAAAATHH FUUUUUUCK

THE BABY HAS WIIIIINGS!!!!!!

Why is Rhys angry about the wing thing?

Ohhhhhhhhhh shiiiiiiiiiit the tool

*hearing the possibilities of half Illyrian baby* OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHH FUUUUUCK OMG

“I loved it when you fucked my mouth cassian?” GAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH NEEESTAAAAA THIS ISNT HEALTHY

“What could go wrong?” DONT JINX IT

fairy monsters? OHOHOHOOOO

NONONONOOOOOO NOT AN ASH ARROW

BLACK EYES???? Fuck fuck are they in the cauldron?

OMG THE KELPIE IS DOING SHIT TO NESTA!!! Are they on the cauldron?

the MAAAAAAASK

ohOOOOOOOMGOMGOMGOMG SHE SUMMONED THE FUCKING DEAD REEEEEEEEEEE

Omg NESTAS POWERS ARE SO FUCKING COOL

She LITERALLY HAS AN UNDEAD ARMYYYYY

death HERself........badass

“Because you and cassian has been giving each other sultry looks all morning” SHE KNOWS

“For the first time in her life, she finally felt good in her own skin.” GROWTH

Omg Nesta created a swooooord!!!!! Cool

ITS INFUSED WITH MAGIC??? HELL YEAH

“I can’t lie to her!” SIIIIIIIMP

“I’d be careful when fucking her.” Oh amren

FUUUUUUCK FUCK BOOOOOOOOO TAMLIN

“You will not touch us.” YES TELL HIM

“I can’t believe Feyre ever loved tamlin.” ME TOO

“Elain saw everything Nesta did.” Daaaaaaaaamn

OOOOOOOO NESTAS PIIIIIIIISSED

OOOOOOOOOOO SECRETS FEYRE’S PIIIIIIISED

Nesta messed up and I think she realizes that

Rhys is pissed now and wants to kill Nesta....SHIIIIIIIT

Nesta: heads for a tavern me: NONONONONO GODS DAMN IT YOU’VE COME SO FAR

“I will fight for him. For us. Until I can’t anymore.” FEYRE IS GONNA BE A GREAT MOM

“Wishing to disappear into nothing.” I’ve been there.

“Cassian knew Nesta hated herself, but didn’t know how sometimes she wanted to unexist.” I RELATE TO THAT SHIT

“She had been born wrong.” AWWWWW BBY SHIIIIIT

“Was she worth being counted?” I CAN RELATE

*hearing Nesta blaming herself for her fathers death and for the horrible things she’s done, saying she can’t fix it* SHIT IM CRYING (I’m not joking)

“ I deserve nothing.” I CAN RELATE BITCH IM ACTUALLY CRYING

*hears Cassian calmly reassuring and comforting her* AWWWWW I NEED THIS QUOTE

CASSIAN CARES SO MUCH FOR HER I LOVE THIS

(I really needed that cassian talk. I literally wrote most of the quote down just in case. Thank you SJM)

EMERY CAN SENSE THE SEX HOLY SHIT

“After he’d fucked her with her fingers...” O NONONONOOO

*skips to chapter 52*

Lanthis??? Who the fuck is that?

“Gwyn and Emery are my friends” SHES GROWN SO MUCH!!!

26 dimensions? OH THIS IS SOME DOCTOR STRANGE SHIT

IT CANT BE KILLED

cassian and Nesta really went *yeet* .......... I’m sorry

THE SWORDS NAME IS ADORAXIA!!!!!!!!!!!sounds like a dnd character IDEAS

OHOHOHOOOOO BLACK THRONE AND A CROWN DEATH QUEEN NESTA WITH HER HAIR DOOOOOOWN

Rhys vs Cassian standoff *western duel music starts*

NESTA APOLOGIZED FOR EARLIER IM SO PROUD

Did Elain have a vision? DID SHE???

“I want you to seduce him.” NESTA THE HIDDEN BARD ROLL FOR PERSUASION

Mor teaching Nesta the waltz? NESTA AND MOR CAN NOT HATE EACH OTHER

Are they back at their childhood home? Because oooooooooooof ✨ childhood trauma✨

MOR AND NESTA HAVING A CONVERSATION YAY!!!!! (This’ll make rping them so maybe easier)

“We’re in a book!” Holy shit they know. HIDE THE FANFICTION

The relationship between Nesta, Emery, and Gwyn is so wholesome

“Oh FUCK you” .... NESTA

“I was just checking on dessert” MOOD

MOR AND NESTA ARE HAVING A FRIENDLY CONVERSATION

I sense tension between amren and Nesta

ERIS WANTS NESTA????

“I’m not with you.” Lier

A SNOWBALL FIGHT WITH THE BATBOIS??? Holy shit they do have one(1) brain cell

A sleepover with Emery, Nesta, and Gwyn? SIGN ME UP

“Do it for the miniature Pegasus!” INSIDE JOKES

OOOOHHH i see the gwynriel ship

Wait....HER POWERS MADE THE HOUSE BE ALIVE??? Sweet

Alright 2 months til FEYSAND baby

The mating bond between cassian and Nesta?????.............

“Say it, SAY IT” GODS DAMN IT NESTA SAY THE FUCKING THING

So, Nesta’s afraid she’s gonna loose her humanity?

EMERIE NESTA AND GWYN ARE IN THE BLOODRITE? Fuuuuuuuuuck

OH NO EMERIE!!!!!!

“High Fae bitch” PUT THAT ON A SHIRT

OMG OMG OMG HELL YES VALKRIES

oh Cassian you restless bastard you

*hears Emerie’s backstory and their heart to heart* AWWWWWW I LOVE THEM

“The morrigan.” The fuck Eris?

“She’d hit the archway of stone” OOOOOOOOOOF

“For being my friends when I didn’t deserve it.” AWWWWWWWWWW

What about Feyre’s pregnancy???? Hewwo?

“Lord of bastards” heh true that’s cassian alright

Wait, OTHER set of wings

CASSIAN!!!!!!!!!!

“Now, I’m going to slit your little throat.” FUUUUUUUUCK NONONONOOOOO THIS ISNT CASS FUUUUCK

What’s the trove?

NONONONONOOOO WHYD HE GET STABBED SHIT HE GOT STABBED

Nesta’s pissed.....MAGIC TIME

wait wait wait wait wait HES NOT STABBED HELL YEAH!!!!

“You are my mate, Cassian.” ITS ABOUT FUCKING TIME

Nessian: kissing when the world is in ruin

“She started bleeding hours ago. “ BABY TIME???

*hears the blood and feyre’s appearance*!FUUUUUUUUUCK

So, no C section? OOOOOOH SHIT THEYRE DOING IT

IM SCARED IM SCARED IM SCARED

“Silent babe?” Shiiiiiiiiiiiiit

Nesta Nesta Nesta What the fuck are you doing???????? FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK

SHE HAS ALL 3! ONONONOOOOOFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK

OHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOOSHE PLUCKED IT FUCK

SHE STOPPED TIME?????????

WHOS the female voice?

“ I love you, Feyre” SHE DID IT IM SO PROUD!!!!!

What is she doing what is she doing what is she doiiiiingggg?

GIVE WHAT BACK?????

WHAAAAAT? A BARGAIN WITH THE FUCKING CAULDRON???

feyres alive? FEYRE’S ALIVE!!!!!!!

NESTA THE MVP!!!!

*the sister hug* AWWWWWWWWWWW

AWWWWWW I LOVE THE NAME NYX!!!!

How much did the Cauldron take from Nesta, tho?

FEYSAND IS BEST PARENTS

Alright, I want to see LOADS OF WHOLESOME FANFICS AND FANART ABOUT DOMESTIC IC AND ELAIN AND NESTA GOT IT?

[gryfon-spanish-werewolf]

About the frozen fandom ask :

🎨, ✍️, and 👗

P.s remember to get enough sleep~

@like-redhead-probably I got enough sleep I swear ;-; actually I overslept TBH

🎨- Favorite fanart(s)/ artist(s)?

I’m gonna limit my answers to those who are currently active in the fandom otherwise we will be here all day xD. Anyone who has seen my tags knows this  to be true. My favorite fan artists are:

@giuliaciulia89 - because asdfghjklssh have you SEEN her line art?? And her expressions?? And how she does shading and color (with markers!! Traditional Art YO!!) literally is just... takes my breath away. Her recent Hogwarts Elsanna commission was absolutely delightful, but I am always delighted to see her original content as well such as her 101 Dalmatians au and her All For One And All For Love Three Musketeers au. It has so many mysteries, I’m very intrigued. Watching her process is very relaxing as well, like *sketch, sketch, sketch* and suddenly WHOA, there’s like, a whole concept outlines in no time at all. Incredible

@zero-kiba - because while much more active on Deviantart, I am ALWAYS extremely gay for Copper! That’s been going on 5 WHOLE YEARS Y’ALL! I stayed up until the sun started creeping through my windows catching up on every single page that I’d missed out after about 2017 when I started working full time. Zero-kiba’s work is BOMBASTICALLY expressive and really hits that mark between UTTERLY badass and heart-meltingly soft. Also do yourselves a favor and read their other works too! Tip of the Iceberg is Copper characters in a comedy setting, The Realm is 65 pounds of concentrated whoop-ass, and The Whole Shebang?? Gay has hell. Really gay. I cannot stress that enough (also it’s a little self plug - I help make that one alongside Zero-Kiba, daughterofhel and giuliaciulia89)

@ice-bjorn - because like.... do I even need to....expand?? Y’all have seen my tags. Ice-bjorn’s got the kind of content that just pulls you up short. Doing something? Concentrating? Not anymore you’re not! Ice-bjorn posted new art and you’re gonna FEEL ABOUT IT for the current conceivable future! Unbelievably emotive, you can see all the hard work that goes into each piece (including writing!!). I’ve gone OFF in my tags so many times about their stuff and I aLWAYS anticipate doing it again XD I can’t possibly pick a favorite piece, but this one gives me the warm fuzzies (Edit: although I did link another further down)

@jabs-wocks - because they constantly surprise me. One day ADORABLE! Next day ANGSTY. Next time? New style?? New type of coloring?? Always has a great sense of humor and unique ideas. Also, such an enabler xD Always makes me want to make something in turn <3 Like, remember when I went OFF with that angsty piece of Anna drowning after the dam collapses? Or when I nearly ditched my (already very long) project to idea bomb on about their Skadi!Elsa piece? Yeah, I love their work very much

 @gracepago0314 - because I’m a long time fan from when they had a different username! Great style, strong short comics, and WOW have they come a long way! They already had such a strong aesthetic, but seeing their work at the top of 2020 was such a treat because it was SUCH a change! I loved seeing what I recognized about their unique style and getting to see all the ways they’ve improved and expanded! Also that reincarnation au goes straight for the heart ;-;

✍️- Favorite fanfic(s)/ author(s)?

Limiting my answer to the same for the same reasons. Many of my favorite authors are no longer active, but my heart is very big, and I am always making room for new stories and writers to love!

@fruipit - because every time I get an email from ao3 that they’ve updated I go ballistic. Every story I have ever read (or reread... many times) by them is just SO INCREDIBLE. Their writing makes me make bad decisions: like fighting sleep to make it through one last chapter xD Their work makes me ask questions, their stories flows like a needle and thread, their diction makes me believe. I have nothing but the highest praise for Fruipit’s work, they’ve been writing for years and continue to pick at that gentle thing called wonder. Choosing a favorite work of theirs is GENUINELY DIFFICULT, but I love Risky Business, Koselig, and When Spring Comes very much. Tiny Hearts is a riot tho xD Oh wait and Who Dares Wins! .....Look just... go read Fruipit, you won’t regret it xD

@arendellesfirstwinter - because after years and years they just bang out one badass story after another. Their most recent (and with the dawn, what comes then?) has reduced me to tears twice. No. Three times, I reread a chapter. Their writing is exceptionally raw and pointed, but they are never angsty for angst sake. Their prose has the kind of weight one gets from having a huge amount of intent and care for what they create, and the characters they foster along the way <3

@daughterofhel - because I enjoy the simple pleasures of comedy. Literally just makes me laugh. Her dialogue SLAPS. Her world building is effortless (well, it’s not, she works very hard but it FEELS effortless, which is quite the trick xD). Her stories just WORK, her scenes are so alive and colorful and I adore how she makes characters interact even under the most RIDICULOUS prompts xD Exceptionally creative and silly, I guarantee she will surprise you for the better

@themountainsays - because every story idea is completely fascinating. Even if it’s not like, written yet? Just idea bombing or musing? Totally cool, I love reading them because you can feel the excitement behind them. Or the spite xD. Ara’s writing is also almost lyrical, it’s lovely to read, and honestly? Read out loud too! I’m a huge fan of spoken poetry/spoken stories and Ara’s always gives me that vibe. I’m behind (orz) on Creatures of the Arctic, but it’s SO FUN, I’m always keen on updates :D

@theseerasures - because I adore their frohana stuff. So freaking much. Kristanna + Icebros with so much tenderness that I just stare at my screen and go “holy hell someone MADE that.” Reading their work is like... being given a soft blanket to wrap yourself in, receiving a mug of hot chocolate, and then being told “Okay, now here’s a story that’s going to make you feel feelings really hard,” and you kind of nod back like, “Okay, seems fair.” Idk man they just get me real good, every time. For years.

👗- Favorite outfit? One you’d like to see?

Picking a favorite is hard! But please for the love of god: bring Anna’s military-esque jacket/dress to the silver screen. Holy hell. I’m such a sucker for how absolutely DASHING Elsa and Anna look in masculine/military dress. @giuliaciulia89 and @ice-bjorn both here and here get me xD But I also love their highly feminine outfits? Anna’s coronation dress in F1 is a fav and of course Elsa’s ice-dress is iconic, but my absolute favorites? I don’t know, they’re all so beautiful...

Oh! You know what else I’d want? Casual wear. They’re always dressed up for adventure! Or a fancy party! Let the crew relax more! More day-to-day, more cozy pjs! Kristoff in a big oversized shirt, Elsa in Fifth-Spirit inspired sleepwear, Anna in clothes made by their new Northudran family - complete with little hexagons but like, lined with soft reindeer fur <3. I’d love to see them when the world isn’t falling down around their ears, for more than 5 minutes, please ;-;

Thanks again for asking!! I know this is a few days late but I hope my jabbering made up for it ^_^

[luckyjadeofliyue]

Liyue Lantern Festival - Childe x OC.

Short Story. I got really inspired after finishing the fanart I made lol.

AGAIN, I AM NOT A WRITER. I MIGHT HAVE SOME GRAMMAR AND SENTENCE MISTAKES SO YEAH. YOU WERE WARNED :p

A cool breeze is always welcomed during this hot summer nights. Liyue has always been a busy city, but today is extra special. All-day long everyone has been preparing for the annual Summer Lantern Festival. Once a year, people around Liyue gather and celebrate this auspicious event with friends and family.

Liyue streets are filled with people; everyone excited and having fun. You can see some people dancing, laughing, singing, shopping and having the time of their lives. Children are running around with their lanterns on hand, screaming excitedly about having their wishes come true.

Jadiz only experienced joining this festival once in her life despite living in Liyue since birth. And it was only inside the Yu Clan Compound grounds as she was not allowed to leave the safety of their Clan's residence.

Jadiz walked towards the nearest stall selling lanterns, she looked around and saw a medium-sized white lantern with the lotus print in front of it. She had to tippy-toe to get it, gently taking it into her hand. She stared at the red lotus flower in front of it.

Lotus Flower, it's her and her late mother's favourite flower.

"Is it true that if I wished on a lantern today, it would come true?!", a younger 6 years old Jadiz asked the beautiful woman in front of her.

"Yes little lotus flower, as long as you believe it, then it will come true", her mother kneeled in front of her brushing away a stray curly hair in front of Jadiz's face.

A huge smile grew on Jadiz's face. "YAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!", she screamed, jumping up and down in a place like a bunny. "Can I write my wish on the lantern now? Please, PLEASE!!!!", tugging on her mother's sleeve.

Her mother chuckled at her enthusiastic reactions. She handed over a small white lantern with the Lotus Flower print in front of it to the little Jadiz. "Here you go, my dear."

Jadiz took the small lantern, struggled a bit to balance herself. The small lantern looked bigger than it is on her tiny little arms. She struggled to walk towards the table and took a brush dipped in red ink and started writing on the lantern.

"Be careful with your spelling my love; you don't want the gods to get confused and not grant your wish", her mother jokingly said.

"I will!", little Jadiz replied, not even looking at her mother. She stopped writing to check her work; she rubbed her nose with the hand she used to write, smudging a bit of red paint on her nose. Her calligraphy work is more than impressive for 6 years old. "DONE!", she jumped up and excitedly.

"And what does our Lucky Jade wishing for?", a manly voice asked.

Little Jadiz looked up and saw her father walking towards her and her mother. She placed her lantern down and ran towards her father. Her father opened his arms to hug the Little Jadiz and carried her in his arms.

"Hello my love", her mother gave his father a small peck on the cheeks making her father put an arm around her waist and giving both of them a hug.

Little Jadiz' eyes glowed with joy and happiness. Even at her young age, she always wanted the kind of love her mother and father has for each other.

"So, what did our Lucky Jade asked for?", her father asked once again out of curiosity.

Little Jadiz gave her father a wide and bright smile. "I….."

"Would you like to get that lantern young lady?"

Jadiz came back to her senses and saw the shop keeper smiling at her. The old man was standing behind the stall and holding his hands together in front of him.

"Oh…uhhm", Jadiz started to pat her pockets trying to see if she has mora left. She dug deep and found nothing. She sighed sadly, "I-…"

"Here you go, keep the change", someone said beside her.

She looked up and saw a tall red head man with a mask on the side of his hair. The young man smiling giddily at her, looking smug and proud of himself from buying her the lantern.

She raised an eyebrow at him, not sure what to feel or say. Part of her wants to say thank you and be grateful, but the other part wants to walk away or punch that smug look out of his face.

"Thank you, Childe, you are so generous! You didn't have to!", Childe said sarcastically.

"I-will-punch-you in the face..", Jadiz glared at Childe still holding the lantern. She started to walk away from him. "I swear…One time…I'm gonna freeze his sorry butt in the spot..", she mumbled.

Childe couldn't help but chuckle at Jadiz's reaction. He loves teasing her so much because she might be a cryo user, but her temper is hotter than any pyro user he has ever fought. He started running to catch up with her.

"Jade wait up!", he laughingly said. He caught up with her, now walking side-by-side. "You know, you are so cute when you are mad".

"Well, watch me get freaking adorable", Jadiz glared at Childe walking faster, still holding the lantern.

Childe laughed out loud and matched Jadiz' phase; he didn't have to. She is so short that his regular walking speed is her faster-walking speed. "Come on, don't be too mad now, I might fall for you if you become adorable", he teasingly says.

She stopped all of a sudden that he almost collided with her. She turned around, eyes blazing, cold air starting to form around them.

"Uhhh….now now…", he nervously said. "You know I was just joking", he laughed nervously putting both his hands up in the air as a sign of surrender. Man, she is something else he thought to himself in a good way he silently added, trying to hold back a smile.

Jadiz stared at Childe, intending to freeze his ass after the last statement. 'Fall for her?' He really needs to stop teasing her like this. It's hard enough as it is to resist his charming ways; not to mention, he was just flirting with the female store keep at the fabric and clothing store a few minutes ago whic for some reason annoyed the living wits out of her. "Hmph", she turned around so fast that her hair hit his chest and the lower part of his face.

She heard him chuckle again. ‘I still don't get why he enjoys making me mad so much’, she thought to herself as she walked fast trying to get away from Childe. She stopped suddenly to avoid colliding with the little girl that tripped in front of her.

The little girl laying flat on the ground started to sob. She kneeled, placing her lantern on her side to help the little girl to stand up. "Hey there, you're okay", she gently said, trying to comfort the little girl. She then saw a scape on the little girl's knees. "Does it hurt?", she asked worriedly.

The little girl nodded while sobbing, trying not to burst into tears. Jadiz lifted her right hand, cold air formed around them, a lotus flower made from ice started to form on her hand. She put the ice lotus flower into the child's scraped knee and almost instantly the wound disappeared. "Better?", she smiled sweetly.

The little girl's face lit up and smiled. "Thank you, big sister!", the child said, giving Jade a small hug and then running away to her friends.

Childe was trying to catch up to Jadiz and saw the little girl tripped. He stopped on his tracks and watched Jadiz turn from a mad dragoness to a sweet, endearing lady. He couldn't help but smile, she looks so beautiful when she whether she is angry or not; but even more when she is handling kids. She has a gentle touch to her that kids seem to love (he does too).

He started walking towards her after the little kid run away to her friends. He held his hand trying to offer her some help standing up. He saw her looked up at him with those gorgeous jade coloured eyes. She hesitated for a second but ended up taking his hand. He pulled her up gently, but she lost her balance and had to use his chest to stop herself from falling.

Warm. Sweet. Lavender. He thought to himself as he accidentally had a whiff of her scent. He had to calm himself down as he stopped the urge to pull her closer to him. He didn't want to let her go but she already pulled away turning her back on him.

He cleared his throat and picked up the lantern on the ground.

Jadiz had to look away, she can feel her face getting flustered, it was hard not too... She had a whiff of his scent. He smelled like Morning Dew, Ocean and Rain.

‘Calm down, calm down, calm down’, she thought to herself as she tries her hardest not to blush. She knows if he saw her blushing, she will not hear the end of it.

"I know the perfect spot to light this lantern", she heard Childe say.

She took a deep breath and turned around to face him," Really?"

"Yeah, follow me!", she felt Childe take her hand and started running towards the Harbor. She couldn't help but look at this man who is basically dragging her.

After a few minutes of running, they reached the Harbor. They passed by groups of people trying to send their lanterns out as well. Childe finally stopped in front of a very tall crane.

She looked at the crane, looked at Childe, looked at the top of the crane and back at Childe. "Up…there?...", she asked while pointing weakly at the top of the crane.

"Yep", Childe grinned.

"I…You know I'm scared of climbing heights!"

Childe chuckled, he turned around and crouched, "Hop on", gesturing for Jadiz to hop on his back.

"I…can't we just do it here", she started walking towards Childe really slowly.

"Hurry up, or I'll climb without you."

"F-Fine…", she reluctantly agreed. She placed her arms around his shoulder and clump her legs around his waist. She felt his right hand, making sure she is secured on his back. Handing her the lantern so he can use his other hand to climb the crane

"Alright! Let's go!", he excitedly said starting to climb the tall crane.

Jadiz closed her eyes holding on to Childe tighter.

"Not too tight now, I have to breath", Childe chuckled once again as he started to climb up.

After a few minutes, they reached the top. He crouched again to let her down.

"T-thank you..", she shyly said. She never had any trouble thanking anyone, so it has been a mystery to her why she is having difficulty saying those 2 words to him.

Childe chuckled and sat down. She sat down beside him, she took her pen out from her leather satchel. Jadiz then started writing her wish. She felt Childe leaning over to read what she was writing. She glared at him and turned her back away from him.

"Hey! No fair! I wanna know your wish!", Childe protested still trying to read what she is wishing.

She ignored his protest and continued to hide what she is writing. When she finished, she took a match from her satchel and lit the small candle inside of the lantern. She stood up, closed her eyes, both hands on the lantern, making sure to hide her wish from Childe. She felt Childe stood up beside her as well.

Childe can't help but look at Jadiz. Her face illuminated by the light of the lit lantern. Her black curly hair partly on the way. A part of him wants to brush it away, but he resisted. She is such a mystery to him. One moment she is gentle, the next she is a fighter. She is a huge contradiction, an enigma. Probably why he is so interested in her, he could easily finish this mission, but he is enjoying her company. He wants to unlock all her layers, so far it has been such a challenge. Never before has any woman resisted his charm this long. Never before has any woman captivated his interest this long.

He saw her gently kiss the lantern before letting it fly into the sky. A part of him wondered how her lips would feel on his. Her lips were plumped, it looked so soft. He wanted to taste them, maybe nibble on them until she moans from pleasure. He caught himself imagining that scenario and had to stop himself before he starts getting flustered. He looked back at at Jadiz who kept her eyes on the lantern until it's no longer visible.

He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure, "So…what did you wished for?"

Without looking, she answered, "Something I used to see every day but have lost..I wish that for myself someday...", her voice trailing to almost a whisper.

Childe can sense the loneliness in her voice even though she tried to hide it. Something inside him grew, it's something that he only felt for his siblings which confused him even more… It was the urge to make her genuinely happy… It seemed so strange. All he wanted to do before was to fight, to kill, to get stronger; then this girl came along and something inside him changed... It also doesn't change the fact that he knows he won't be able to do it…she is…after all…his mission...

[tiny-anxious-mess]

Dress to Impress

Summary: It’s date night for Logan and Roman. Logan searches for something to wear and instead finds a dress, some self-doubt, and a whole lot of love. (Human AU) 

Pairings: Logan/Roman, Logince 

Warnings: A few swears, kissing (though its nothing heated or anything), and some self-doubt and insecurity from Logan 

Notes: second story!! thank you for all of the lovely comments on my first story, every single one makes my day! this fic was inspired by all the lovely fanart ive seen of all the different sides in dresses and i felt like writing something romantic so who better to pair logan with than the prince himself? haha hope yall enjoy this! 

***

It wasn’t that Logan was nervous, he was just... hesitant.

It was date night and a date might entail looking good. Roman would say that Logan always looked good, but you couldn’t fault Logan for putting in an effort.

But tonight was different. 

There was a meteor shower tonight and Logan wasn’t about to miss a second of it. Roman had tried to surprise him by scheduling their monthly date night on that night, but Logan was already one step ahead. He had a picnic basket and everything.

The night wasn’t the problem; he wasn’t hesitating because of the night or the date or the anything.

It was internal. He knew that; he had enough self-awareness for that, no matter his struggle with other such emotions.

He wanted to be comfortable for the night. They would be there long and it was supposed to be a warm night. And so he looked through his wardrobe and looked and looked and looked and—

Here was his problem.

Right in front of his was a dress.

It didn’t come as a surprise to him to find it; he had bought it himself ages ago, though he never had the right chance to wear it. But tonight presented to perfect opportunity to wear it.

And therein lied the catch.

It wasn’t that he was insecure or that he didn’t have the confidence to wear the dress out, it was just that... well, he had never worn something like it out with Roman.

Playing around with his clothing was nothing new—college had been an exciting time to mess around with it all. But as he grew a few years older, it was something that fell to the side. He dressed practically and appropriately depending on the situation. He rarely, for lack of a better term, dressed up just because he wanted to.

But now there was the dress and the date and Logan didn’t know what to do.

It’d be easy just to slip it on and go out. It was nothing fancy, just a short-sleeved sundress. It was practical, he told himself as he picked it up. It’s going to be warm out and this is nice and light and—it’s practical.

He didn’t understand why he was so hesitant. He wasn’t afraid of what other people said, he wasn’t afraid of himself. He just...

Roman had never seen him in a dress.

Hell, Roman had never seen him in anything other than pants and a shirt, what he normally wore. He had never seen the photos of Logan and Virgil, an old college friend, in drag for that one night after finals. He had never seen the makeup Logan kept in a bag in his bottom desk drawer. He had never seen Logan as anything other than Logan.

Not that he wouldn’t be Logan in the dress; of course he’d still be Logan. He’d just be Logan in a dress and that... that made him hesitate.

He won’t hate you for this, Logan reminded himself. There’s no reason to think that he would so don’t think about it. He loves you now and so he’ll love you tonight, dress or not. It’s illogical to think of the negative outcomes. You can’t predict the future; or at least, none of his past behavior is relevant; he’s given no indicators that he might react negatively to you in a dress.

Logan sighed heavily, squeezing the dress in his hands. He placed it down and reached for his phone, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

He pulled up Virgil’s contact.

Me: Virgil, sorry if I am interrupting something, but once you get the chance, remind what is the breathing technique you use to calm yourself down. I am... in need of some assistance.

Virgil: Nah you’re not interrupting anything b. I use the 4-7-8 breathing thing but it could be different for you. nothing is exactly guaranteed to work for any single person

Me: Thank you.

Virgil: Is everything alright? you’re usually the one helping me with breathing

Me: I am fine, just... I’m second-guessing myself and it is unnecessary. I simply need to ground myself for a moment.

Virgil: what are you nervous about?

Me: I’m not nervous, just hesitant.

Virgil: sure Jan, talk to me

Me: Mm. I just. Roman and I are going to the open field down the street for the meteor shower. I was looking for what to wear, seeing as it's supposed to be warm tonight, and came across a dress I bought a few months ago. I think it’s practically that I wear it but I. I’m being ridiculous and am second-guessing myself.

Virgil: Oh okay well relax roman is gonna drop dead when he sees you in the dress, its the blue one yeah?

Me: Yes. And I am perfectly relaxed. I am cool. I am chilled.

Virgil: why must you torture me this way?

Me: I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.

Virgil: how the hell can you sound smug through text?? anyway roman will adore the dress and you and if he doesn't, ill fight him

Me: Violence is not necessary but the intent behind the action is much appreciated, Virgil. Thank you.

Virgil: no problem man, text me if you need anything or a hitman!!

Me: You’ve been hanging out with Remus, haven’t you?

Virgil: only when I'm willing to risk my sanity!!!!!!

Logan sighed again, putting down his phone. It was pointless to torture himself any further.

He stood up, grabbing the dress once again and moving towards the bathroom. 

Time to get dressed.

***

Logan and Roman arrived separately. Roman had to drive home from work and then to the field. Logan was already there, ten minutes early, with the picnic basket, blanket, telescope, books, and journal for the night.

He sat on the blanket, tugging on the hem of the dress. It would be fine, he told himself. He had nothing to worry about other than getting mauled by a bear.

He rolled his eyes at himself. God, now I sound like Virgil.

He shook his head, forcing himself to shake off his doubts. It would be fine, it was just him and Roman and the stars. He didn’t need to think about anything else.

And yet when he saw Roman’s car pull up next to his a few yards away, his heartbeat quickened.

Logan breathed in—one, two, three, four—held it—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven—and then out—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

He stood, smoothing down his dress, and began towards Roman.

The man in question got out of his car, a bouquet of flowers in hand. Logan was able to identify roses, primroses, and red camellias. It was a rather beautiful arrangement; Logan could tell Roman had done it himself. He always insisted on carrying out his romantic gestures on his own.

Roman beamed when he saw Logan but it wasn’t until he used the flashlight on his phone that he reacted.

He paused then fully stopped. His mouth gaped, lips apart in an “o” formation. The flowers previously held closer up to his chest fell with his hand, now held loosely by his side.

Logan bit the inside of his cheek and reached up to readjust his glasses. He cleared his throat, saying, “Hi.”

God, “Hi”? Really, that’s all I can think of?

“H-Hi,” Roman stuttered. Even in the darkness, Logan could see the color in his cheeks, at the bridge of his nose.

“Ready?” Logan asked, wishing to fill the silence. 

Roman blinked multiple times, eyes flickering over Logan before he swallowed and nodded. “I-I, um, yeah--yes! Yes, I’m ready!” he exclaimed, cheeks flushing fully this time. Then he paused and thrusted out the flowers. “Here! They’re for you! Of course, they’re for you; I didn’t exactly plan on doing anything else tonight and even if I was, I certainly wouldn’t be getting them flowers. Unless it was someone like my mom or mama, or--” 

Logan walked forward, took the flowers, and kissed him. 

Roman followed with no hesitation. He reached up to cup Logan’s face, lips quirking up ever so slightly when Logan turned his face into Roman’s palm. 

They parted, lingering. “You look amazing,” Roman murmured against Logan’s lips. “Completely left me speechless.” 

Logan snorted, smiling. “You had plenty of words, they were just jumbled,” he said quietly. 

“That’s what you do to me,” Roman said. “Leave me all scrambled. It’s rude to deprive a poet of his words.” 

“I never deprived you of anything.” They had begun to sway back and forth, rocking in each other's arms, still just barely parted. 

“Oh please,” Roman scoffed, lips quirking again. He pulled back just enough to meet Logan’s eyes, gaze hooded and warm. “I could have a whole soliloquy written and memorized, and suddenly I see you and my thoughts fall to the side, my mouth goes dry, and all I can see is you. You, only you; you standing, sitting, humming, speaking, studying, laughing, smiling. You, just you; it’s enough to make me speechless. Enough to make me stop and stare. You’ve bewitched me and yet you are the cure.” 

Logan was no good with emotions, even less so with translating them well into the words. Roman made it seem so easy. But Logan didn’t need to match Roman’s talent beat for beat. 

Logan pressed a quick peck to Roman’s lips before resting his forehead against Roman’s. “I love you,” he whispered because he didn’t say those words a lot--perhaps not often enough--but he meant them every time he said it. 

“I love you too.” The words sounded sweet from Roman, ringing orange and pink like a sunset in Logan’s mind. 

Logan’s hand met and grasped Roman’s. “Shall we?” he asked, leaning back towards the field. 

Roman smiled--and he says I make him speechless, Logan thought--and squeezed his hand, bringing it up to his lips, sealing the night with one final kiss. 

“Let’s.” 

[maxdark158]

PART TWO OF BEING INSPIRED AND WRITING ANYWAY

PLEASE check out the amazing @ozmav my friend!! AMAZING!!

Characters are probably OOC because MLB is a kids show and you guys liked stressed and cursing Damian so I kept that going even though it’s probably OOC

Angel in Gotham: Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Ao3

Demon in Gotham: Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Ao3

Fanart for AiG: Riddler ~ Joker thank you @thegreysman

Please tag me in any fanart you draw for this guys ^^

oooOOOooo

Damian tried to ignore his phone after checking it for the thirteenth time. But who was counting?

He was, actually. Because it seems the stupid worry feeling will never fucking go away! It took root, and it’s only growing. Damian wondered if drinking weedkiller works on emotions. The bitches.

He wasn’t even that worried initially! Sure, he wanted his An- Marinette to text him when she got to the hotel, but that was just… a friend thing. It’s what friends ask! And they were friends.

Damian wasn’t worried on the car ride to the manor, he had only checked his phone once then. When his father questioned him about The Riddler incident, he was thoroughly distracted and didn’t check at all. After he left the room he checked twice in one minute just to make sure he didn’t miss anything in the first check.

He checked sparsely while training briefly, adding up to eight… okay, maybe not so sparsely. But at this point the awful god damn plant had grown a mouth and it was gnawing on his sanity, bugging him every moment of peace he had.

Damian was getting really fucking sick of this whole worry business. It was awful! Why did Grayson partake in it for so many years? Why did anyone?

He was beginning to understand his classmates’ sense of humor now. But “I want to ka-shoot myself,” was not as funny as they thought it was.

Damian was so busy thinking about worrying and getting more worried – the fucking circle of life – that when he checked his phone for the fourteenth time, he realized he missed a message from Marinette.

Angel: I’m at the hotel now.

Thank fuck. Damian banished all the worry from his mind – leave, motherfucker – and typed out a response.

Damian: That’s good

Damian: Did you get in trouble?

Wait fuck the worry wasn’t gone. He wanted to smack the phone against his head. Or break his thumbs for typing that without his permission.

Angel: Professor Mendeleiev must’ve been tired or something.

Angel: She didn’t leacture

Damian bit his lip. Marinette needed to work on her English.

Angel: Lecture?

Damian: *lecture

Angel: Quiet, English is hard

He could fucking understand that! It may have been long ago but Damian had to learn once too, ya know.

Damian: Understandable.

Damian: In my original question I meant any of your classmates btw

Holy fucking shit his thumbs would be cut off by sunlight he swears to all the justice league members-

Angel: btw?

Angel: Oh by the way

Damian: yeah

Angel: I’m good at text slang in French, okay

Damian: I don’t doubt you

He really didn’t. Marinette seemed intelligent if The Riddler incident had anything to say about it.

Angel: Anyway Alya tried to bother me but I’m good now

He frowned. Alya? She hadn't told him about her.

Angel: Professor Mendeleiev told her off for bothering me after my ‘traumatic’ encounter with a Gotham villain

Damian: Speaking of, are you SURE you’re alright Angel

Damian sighed, letting his head drop. Okay, fucking fine he was still fucking worried and he hated it. His thumbs weren’t to blame, his fucking emotions were.

He pulled up Google to look up liquid weedkiller when his Ang- Marinette texted back.

Angel: I’m fine

Angel: I’ve survived akuma for three years, I’m not about to let some riddle fanatic with terrible clothing choices ruin my day

Damian: His clothes are that bad?

Good, subject change. Maybe he can stop fucking worrying.

Angel: Too much green, for one

Angel: Green shouldn’t be used in large portions when it’s that bright of a shade

Angel: Also the cloth itself was cheap, but the kind of cheap meant to look expensive if you don’t know cloth good

Damian frowned. That was so fucking obvious. Surely she didn’t actually make that mistake…

Damian: *well

Angel: Whatever

Angel: Also his hat didn’t match the type of suit he was wearing

Angel: If he wants to go old fashioned he should at least match the time period

Angel: Longer coat, more layers

Angel: He is an atrocity

Her comments were appreciable though. He could see where she came from.

Damian: he is

Angel: If I had time to cry then my tears would had been blood

Damian: *have

Damian grinned. If Marinette didn’t want her fucking grammar fixed she should learn how to spell in English.

A different motherfucking bitch of an emotion appeared at that thought. He didn’t like that one either. It made him feel bad for being mean.

Angel: istg

Damian: It appears you’re learning

Angel: Yepp

Damian: Also the Gotham news posted an article online about you

Might as well bite the bullet, right?

Damian: “Unnamed Teenager From France Holds off The Riddler Until Batman Arrives!”

Angel: Wait what?

Angel: But we both held him off?

Damian: I was kind of useless, you did most of the work

God damn it! Damian thought he told that emotion to get the fuck out! He was fucking Robin he isn’t useless, he just happened to not be needed at that exact moment.

Damian: I left shortly after you solved his riddle because the Robins had arrived

He grumbled to himself. He hated emotions. It wasn’t like he hadn’t ever felt them before, but they were easier to ignore. This girl made them hard to ignore, and Damian wasn’t sure why.

He did know that he fucking hated it.

After a moment, he realized h- Marinette hadn’t replied for a few minutes.

Damian: You there?

Angel: Yeah. I was just reading the article

Good. He didn’t want anything to happen- motherfucking dammit.

Angel: The Riddler was bad at hand to hand combat. It was easy to take him down with the practice I have from Paris

Damian: I bet.

He saw the time on his phone. Marinette had more field trip stuff tomorrow morning, right? Shouldn’t she get to bed?

Damian: It’s getting late, Angel. We should go to bed.

Damian: Goodnight

Angel: Goodnight

Angel: Also I’ll find a chat name for you soon, promise

Damian’s smile felt weird on his face but unlike the god damn worry and fucking other emotions, he didn’t hate the feeling of it.

After replying, he prepared to get dressed for his patrol as Robin.

oooOOOooo

“Sooo, Robin,” Drake dropped down next to him. “Want to share why you were at that ice cream parlor with that pigtailed French girl?”

“Fuck off,” is Damian’s extremely eloquent response. He can say it in many different languages.

“Wait, Demon Spawn has a girlfriend?” fucking Todd over the fucking comms in his fucking awful Red Hood suit. At least his current helmet didn’t have the fucking lips.

“No, I don’t-“

“I’m trying to figure that out, Red Hood, so would you kindly butt out of the conversation.”

“Of course Red Robin, good luck getting anything out of him though.”

“I don’t have a fucking girlfriend you numbskulls,” Damian hissed through the comms.

“Wait what’s this about a girlfriend, Robin?” Grayson’s overexcited cheerleader voice screamed. Damian wanted to rip out his eardrums.

“Red Robin, I thought I instructed you to leave him alone about this,” finally, his father, for once being a fucking voice of reason, speaks on the comms.

“Bruce you said I should wait until he admits to having a girlfriend,” Drake sounded too smug, Damian wanted to cut it off his masked face. “We know that isn’t going to happen.”

“I hate this fucking family,” Damian hissed.

oooOOOooo

Marinette hadn’t missed her field trip this time. Or had she? Maybe she slept in really fucking late. Damian didn’t know. He didn’t know what her sleeping schedule was like.

She could have also been captured or killed. Those were not fun thoughts. The fucking worry was back, like a virus. Damian anxiously awaited his weedkiller.

She likely wasn’t kidnapped or dead. His father would have known by now and would have told him. He hopes. If his father didn’t tell him he’s a fucking asshole.

“Master Damian.”

“Yes?” he turned around to face Alfred, grateful to be away from the god damn brain-eating plant in his head.

“I simply wanted to prevent you from walking into that wall,” Alfred gestured behind Damian.

He glanced and – yep. Fucking hell. He almost walked into a wall because of the god damn weed of an emotion forcibly taking his mind hostage.

He was having a grand ol’ time.

“Perhaps you would like to go for a drive?” Alfred asked, a single brow raised.

Damian hesitated. “Alright. Where do you want to go?”

“We can figure it out in the car, Master Damian.” Alfred went to grab the keys and his shoes. Damian checked on when his weedkiller would arrive.

A week.

Fucking fuck fuck.

He should have paid for one-hour shipping.

“Are you ready to go, Master Damian?”

“Yes.”

Alfred didn’t try to talk to him during the drive, for which Damian was grateful though. He hated this emotion thing, and people forcing him to talk made it so much worse.

His phone buzzed. Damian pulled it out and checked it.

Angel: Kill me now

His eyes widened. What happened? Is she okay? Did someone- god fucking motherfucking dammit bitch.

Damian: What’s wrong?

Stupid god damn worry.

Angel: We have to all get lunch as a class before I’m free

Angel: I’m in the group with Liar Rossi

Damian raised a brow. Marinette hadn’t told him much about this girl in her class, but he knew she lied and nobody but Marinette knew she lied.

He didn’t like her.

Angel: Death would be sweatier

Damian: *sweeter

Angel: Rude

Damian: Anyway

Damian: You can’t die yet

Damian: We still technically didn’t get ice cream

Absolutely wonderful excuse you fucking asswhipe. Damian should be a politician with that reasoning.

He looked around, recognizing the streets. They were a bit weird from the actual street instead of the rooftops, but-

Damian: Also you’re at the Gotham City Heroes and Villains Museum right?

Angel: Yes I am

Damian fought to keep the smi- self-satisfied smirk off his face. Bingo.

Damian: I’m nearby

Damian: I can pick you up for lunch

Angel: OMG really? Please do I’d really really like that

Damian: omw

“Alfred,” Damian leaned up toward the front seat. “Head to the Gotham City Heroes and Villains Museum? I’d like to pick someone up.”

“Of course Master Damian,” Alfred’s tone didn’t betray anything about his thoughts, but for some reason that was calming to him.

The car drive to the museum was fairly short, if Damian was honest. They were only a few minutes away to begin with anyway.

When they arrived, Damian saw a redhaired girl with glasses yelling at his An- Marinette. At Marinette. He couldn’t hear what Marinette had said, but it must have been good. The red-haired girl’s jaw fucking dropped. The people behind her looked fucking dead.

Priceless.

Marinette saw him and he waved. Alfred unlocked the door, and Marinette got in. She didn’t look back at her classmates' faces as Alfred drove away.

Shit. Something must have happened. He wasn’t good with emotions though, after all he ordered weedkiller to see if he could get rid of fucking worry.

So, Damian Wayne did what any Wayne would do when faced with emotions.

Ignore them.

“Where would you like to eat, Angel?” Damian asked.

Shit, fuck, too insensitive.

Marinette shrugged. “I’m not sure, I don’t know what’s here.”

She sounded so goddamn miserable-

Damian frowned. “Angel, you okay?”

Fucking shit, stupid mouth. Learn the fucking rules. He should be banned from fucking talking.

“I’m okay,” she mumbled. “I’ve got a lot on my mind right now.”

Damian wanted to press the issue but decided against it. If he was happy when Alfred didn’t make him talk feelings, maybe Marinette would be too.

He was a friend first – wait first before what, exactly?

“Alfred, can you take us to the nearest,” he glanced at Marinette. “four-star restaurant?”

“As you wish Master Damian.”

He hoped Marinette didn’t feel out of place, but he wanted to lift her spirits. She deserved to smile – that was a weird fucking sentence what the fuck?

Damian is pretty sure he’s losing his marbles.

“I know,” Marinette suddenly blurted out. “I know you’re Damian Wayne.”

Fucking fuck fuck.

Shit. She’s probably pissed he didn’t tell her-

“I just want you to know that doesn’t change anything. You’re still my friend, and I don’t care who your dad is and who you are.”

Damian gaped at her for a moment before shaking his head. He should have fucking told her, he’s an ass. “I’m sorry you had to find out on your own. I should have told you-”

Marinette interrupted, “you didn’t have to. You don’t owe me that.”

He was confused. What?

She didn’t want to know who he was right off the bat? She was okay with that secret?

“As a stranger or even a friend, you don’t owe me any details about who you are. Ever,” Marinette told him. “You’re allowed to keep secrets and not tell me things you aren’t comfortable sharing. It isn’t fair of me to demand you tell me everything.”

Holy fucking shit.

This… this woman…

“Thank you,” he said earnestly. “I… nobody’s ever said secrets are okay…”

Marinette shrugged. “I can’t help if I feel left out, but forcing you to tell me everything isn’t how friendship is supposed to work. If you don’t want to tell me, it’s okay.”

Damian’s smile was small, and it felt a bit out of place on his face. He couldn’t find it within himself to care.

“Perhaps instead of a restaurant, I can take you both to the mansion for your lunch?” Alfred, the god damn traitor, suggested.

He wanted to say ‘have you lost your god damn marbles, Alfred?’ but he didn’t.

Instead, he said, “You sure Alfred?” like a fucking loser.

Marinette glanced at him. “You don’t have to if you aren’t comforta-”

“No, it’s not that,” he assured. Why would she think he was uncomfortable? His brothers were menaces, but he was used to them! Marinette, however... “My brothers can be… rambunctious.”

Drake and Todd were going to have a fucking field day, especially after what they pulled last night over the comms. He was lucky Grayson was working today. But those two motherfuckers…

Marinette smiled. “I can handle them if that’s the only reason you’re nervous.”

Damian thought for a moment.

Fucking fuck fuck.

He hoped she could. Because if they caused her any unnecessary harm or discomfort he would murder their asses.

With pleasure too.

But one look told Damian that he wouldn’t need to. This girl was going to be the death of him. He hoped the weedkiller was miraculously early.

He sighed. “Alfred, please talk us to the mansion.”

“My pleasure, Master Damian.”

Fucking fuck fuck.

[nikxation]

This Is the End of Us I Swear

Summary: It’s been a month since the science fair accident, and for both Stan and Ford, moving on has proved harder than either of them would have thought. Decisions are made, words are said, and in the end, both of them just do what they think will make everything right again.

Based on Glendale by Clans and this art  by @julientel.

Tags: 10k, Canon Compliant, Hurt No Comfort, Based on a song, based on fanart, Pre-college, post-science fair, Stangst, might write a second fix-it chapter one day, seriously this is just pain, (more warnings listed in notes before fic on AO3)

Link to AO3

~ ~ ~

The sun is just setting behind the horizon, the sky’s final rays of colored light fading into the black. Small pinpricks of light peak between the clouds, the last of the neon lights on the boardwalk finally flickering out. The streetlights themselves are only a few minutes from waking up and chasing the growing darkness back into the alleyways. The occasional car chugs down the street, the asphalt crunching under its tires. It’s quiet, even in the Pines residence where Ford, having spent the majority of his day packing, just barely manages to shove his favorite advanced calculus book into the last moving box and tape it shut.

Ten boxes are all he was allowed. Sure, he did the math, and he knew they could fit fifteen in the car if they were very careful about how everything was stacked and how full the boxes themselves were. Eighteen if Ma just stayed home instead of insisting on coming to see him off to his new home for, God forbid, the next four years. Eighteen boxes would be plenty space to fit everything he would need plus maybe some non-essentials like changes of clothing. Hell, he could fit a significant number of textbooks in fifteen boxes if he was very careful about maximizing every micrometer of space.

Pa limited him to ten, no arguments. Ma insisted on packing six of them herself, leaving him with only four boxes for his essentials.

A tragedy, to be sure.

The entire day was spent weighing the pros and cons of each combination of textbooks until he reached what he knew was the best option given his limiting circumstance.

It’s still heartbreaking looking at all the texts still lining his shelves and knowing they probably won’t last for long in Pa’s house, probably to be sold or trashed within the week.

He hoists the last box up, grunting at the weight because of course textbooks are heavy, but he never really considers how much fifty pounds is until he’s staggering across the room awkwardly with it in his arms. Fifty pounds isn’t a lot, is it? It always seemed effortless when Stan would bench twice that—

The box thwumps on the carpeted floor at the bedroom door, stacked with the other nine, all ready to be packed into the car come tomorrow morning.

It was strange how vacant the room had felt after the first box had been packed. Not so long ago, every square inch was covered with knick-knacks and pictures and life. But the more he took and packed, the more barren it felt. With every random item he uncovered from days long gone by, the more it felt like setting aside some small part of him to either be forgotten again or left behind. A subtle nostalgia, a longing tinged with an inseparable bitterness he only wishes he could forget or move past.

And now that the packing is finally done… Well…

There’s something to be said for a half empty room.

Well, half of a half, if the empty bottom bunk is anything to go by.

A three-quarters empty room, so to speak.

He stares at the bare mattress on the bottom bunk for a moment, stains and tears on full display since its sheets were ripped away and stored in some remote closet of the house just under a month ago. It’s almost as jarring as the empty room, has been since the day Ma came in empty-handed and left with a bundle of cloth and a wobble to her voice. He usually tries to avoid looking at it for long. It makes something uncomfortable twist in his gut, something that he tells himself is betrayal because he’s afraid if he thinks about it for too long, he’ll realize it’s something else, something he doesn’t think he can handle.

He gives the box of textbooks a soft kick to line it up with the others before turning back and climbing up onto his bunk.

He really ought to stop thinking about the room as only half his.

There are a few graphs and diagrams pinned up on the wall next to his bunk that he thinks he could fit inside his bookbag to take along with him, so he starts the methodical task of unpinning it all. The wall is thoroughly covered in layers, some pins holding up multiple pages, some tables hiding in the back that he’d forgotten about. It’s a stroll through memory lane in the same way that the rest of this day has been.

He pulls out a pin holding up a resistor band diagram, but something behind it slips out behind the bedrail and slides straight to the floor. He huffs, considering leaving it but then immediately deciding that’s a bad idea, since he’s not entirely sure what it is and it might be something important. So he clambers back down from his bunk, fully prepared the shimmy himself under the bed to find whatever it is that fell.

It didn’t go straight to the floor like he thought it did. Instead, it landed on Sta—the bottom bunk. Facedown, probably the size of a four-by-six photograph, a bit worn around the corners.

It’s probably not as important as he initially thought.

The moment he flips the paper is a rude awakening, digging up deeply entrenched memories of hot days on the beach and splinter-covered hands and sun-burnt shoulders and tales of treasure and adventure. It’s a small spark of warmth in his chest, a sun beating down an a pair of boys climbing around the shambles of an old boat, the hot sand between their toes, the reflection of the sun off the crashing waves blinding them, the raucous screams of the seagulls drowned out by their laughter.

He forgot he still had this picture.

It’s strange, the exact memories it brings back. Like him bartering with an old sailor for a rusty anchor while Stan snuck around and grabbed a throw ring. Or Stan crawling inside the hollow boat and coming out with at least three different kinds of bugs caught in his hair. Or Ma finding out about their newest project and insisting on taking a picture of them with it. Stan taking his hand and hoisting him up onto the deck before clambering up to the highest point on the boat and posing like it’s where he belonged. A breeze grabbing the makeshift sail not even seconds after the picture was taken, shaking the boat enough for Stan to lose his balance and fall back into the sand, sputtering with laughter while a worried Ford hopped off the boat and helped him back up.

He smiles at the softness of it all, at the comfort and freedom of happier times. Simpler times. Times before colleges and science fair projects and grandiose expectations and disappointments. Back when their biggest concerns were having enough sunscreen and being home in time for dinner. Before it all fell apart.

He glances from the dilapidated boat in the picture out to the rebuilt one just barely visible in the darkness outside the window, docked down at the pier. It’s only a day’s worth of work away from being ready to sail. Just need to seal off a few small leaks in the hull and patch the tear in the sail. Leaps and bounds further along than the remains of the boat in the picture. A decade of afterschool work culminating in an empty, almost-finished boat bobbing on the waves.

He hasn’t set foot on the pier since the incident.

It’s all so different now.

He hates that he almost misses him.

He tells himself it’s just the adjustment period. Eighteen years of falling asleep to someone else’s snoring only to be replaced with sudden, deafening silence. Eighteen years of four people sitting at the dinner table now becoming three, the other side of the table empty and left unset. Eighteen years of someone at your side leaving a gaping hole in their place when they’re gone.

It has to be an adjustment period.

Because how could he miss the person that betrayed him?

That stabbed him in the back and ruined his future, all in the name of treasure-hunting?

He couldn’t.

He can’t.

Pa keeps telling him that he’s going places, that he’s got a bright future ahead of him, that his brother was just dragging him down. He tells him that he wishes he’d kicked him out sooner, then all of this would have been avoided.

Couldn’t just screw up his own life. Had to go and screw up yours too.

Pa tells him to forget and move on. To go back to his room and keep studying.

And he tries. He really does, because that has to be the right thing to do. That has to be the best way forward.

He should hate him.

And part of him does.

Part of him recoils at the mention of his name, some seed of anger burning red-hot when the fond memories give way to thoughts of broken science fairs projects and shattered trust. It coils and churns in his stomach, fueled by the acceptance letter to Backupsmore and his father’s disappointed scowl when that’s the only acceptance letter that arrives and the random items still hiding around the room that don’t belong to him and the name mix-up at graduation and the folder of maps and guides still on the bookshelf of that damn boat…

Part of him is angry. Rightfully so.

And yet…

The photo creases slightly in his hand.

His insides burn, and he tells himself it’s anger because the other thing, the thing that he pretends doesn’t exist, remembers how desperate and alone Stan looked that night out on the sidewalk with a bag on his shoulder and his hand raised up towards the window. It remembers and it remembers and it remembers. And it burns.

It has to be anger, because at least that makes sense, and at least that doesn’t keep him up at night staring at the ceiling and hating how quiet the room is.

It’s what he tells himself.

But even then, he still hates that hot coal of resentment in his chest, a heavy weight still dragging him further and further down. He hates feeling this way. He hates how, no matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to forget and move on. Hates it with every fiber of his being.

It’s in the past so why won’t it just stay there?

The pier lights finally kick on, bathing the dock and the Stan O War in flickering fluorescent white. It’s a shadow looming on the waves, still docked peacefully as if nothing ever happened, as if the whole world wasn’t just flipped on its axis. As if everything was still alright.

Simpler times.

Distantly, he wonders if that boat was ever really his dream, or if he was just happy to be living it with Stan. He knows there was one point when he did want it, can remember it the same way he remembers the sand between his fingers and the taste of the sea air. But then they told him he was smart and that he had a future and that he could go to college and that he could change the world.

Somewhere along the line, his priorities changed. And Stan refused to see it, to accept it.

It’s been almost a month, and that boat is still just sitting there, a reminder of everything that went wrong, of how empty everything suddenly feels, of the remnants of a future left for him, and he hates it, hates Stan. He has to, right?

He has to.

The weight sinks lower in his chest and burns and burns and burns.

He’s angry. He has to be.

And it’s Stan’s fault.

Him and that stupid b—

Something… clicks in his head. Like a moment of clarity, suddenly telling him exactly what he needs to do, that it’ll make everything better. Make everything even.

He doesn’t think about it too hard.

He just shoves the picture in his pocket and leaves the room, making a quick stop by the kitchen on his way out the front door.

~ ~ ~

The treasure-hunting business has been… lackluster, to say the least. Apparently, gold is some kind of “rare metal”, which really throws a wrench into his whole get-rich-quick scheme.

Stan’s been driving since sunset, the window rolled down so he can taste that familiar salty ocean breeze as he makes his way down the coast, the wind pulling at his hair and roaring in his ear as he sails down the highway. The north end of the state had been a complete bust. With the help of his totally-legally-acquired, not-at-all-stolen metal detector, he’d only managed to scrounge up a couple dollars’ worth of coins, a few cheap wedding rings that he pawned, and a surprising number of fake teeth. All in all, he barely had enough money to feed himself and keep gas in the Stanleymobile, and even that was pushing it at times. So now he’s heading south to try out the bottom half of the state.

Not that he’s hesitant to leave New Jersey altogether or anything.

As if staying in the state will make his circumstances seem a little less real, a little less permanent.

The sign welcoming him to Glass Shard Beach whizzes by, momentarily caught in his headlights before disappearing into the encroaching darkness behind him.

It’s been a month, and he still has a hard time believing everything that happened actually… happened. There’s this part of it that still feels unreal, like it happened years ago or just to someone else altogether. It feels like he’s driving home instead of through what used to be his home. Like he should be pulling up to the pawn shop and heading upstairs, giving the cat a pet while Ma shoots him a devilish smirk as she works the person on the phoneline, Pa silently reading the newspaper in his chair, the floorboards creaking in a familiar pattern as he heads up to their bedroom, Ford reading some textbook on his bunk, laughing at whatever ridiculous story Stan has to share from boxing practice before they head down to the beach to work away the last of the sunlight fixing up the Stan O War.

When he finds himself on an all-too-familiar road by the boardwalk, it’s almost second nature to slow down as the Pines Pawn sign rolls into view. He knows he should just drive past without a second glance, because screw them all. But at the same time, he’s almost… curious? And maybe that home-sick part of him is saying just one peek wouldn’t hurt anything, and then he’d be on his way again, off to make his fortune, make them rue the day or whatever.

He ignores the hunger pains in his gut as he slows the car to a crawl on his way past, peering out the passenger window cautiously, ready to nail the gas and book it out of there if he’s spotted.

Ma is sitting in the upstairs window like always, phone up to her ear while she twirls the cord and the sucker on the other end of the line around her little finger. Pa is downstairs cashing out the pawn shop, counting down the money in the drawer for probably the third time of the night. Everything looks… normal. Peaceful. Not a thing out of place or out of the ordinary.

His chest aches when he realizes almost nothing seems to have changed since he left.

He isn’t entirely sure he expected anything different, but seeing it in-person still hurts more than it has any right to.

Their His The bedroom light is on, but the room is empty. From this angle he can barely make out the mostly bare walls and bunks, leaving him wondering if Ford already left for college.

Or wherever he ends up going, since Stan really screwed that one up for him, didn’t he?

There’s a chance he’s still in town.

His stomach churns at the thought of seeing his twin again. As hurt as he is by everything, as much as the memory of Ford closing those curtains stings, he still misses him. He misses that feeling of always having someone at his side, through thick and thin. He misses feeling wanted.

Though, if Pa’s words are anything to go by, then maybe he was wrong about that feeling from the start.

He takes it all in for one last second, telling himself that this is it, he’s not coming back, this is the last time. He keeps telling himself that for another second. And then another. And another.

It’s not until Pa pauses from counting the money that he finally startles back into gear and pulls off before the old man looks out the window, barreling down the street way over the speed limit because, suddenly, it’s the very last place he wants to be.

How bad would it look if Pa saw him sitting out here?

He’d look stupid. He’d look like even more of a failure, as if he was too scared to leave, as if he just came crawling back like a dog with its tail between its legs in defeat. He’d be admitting they’re right about him. He’d be giving up.

Would they even let him come back?

He shakes the thought off.

It’s been a month, and he’s not done yet. He’s on his way to success yet, he can feel it. Pretty soon, he’ll be rolling in all the cash Pa could ever hope for, and then he can rub it in their faces, make them regret ever kicking him out and abandoning him.

He’ll show them.

His stomach growls again, dragging him back to reality for the moment. He only has a dollar and some spare change in his wallet, which won’t buy him very much food-wise. And the owners of the local convenience store have known him for as long as he can remember and know to watch out for his “tendencies”.

He’s going to need supplies.

It’s almost completely dark now, the moon barely a sliver in the sky, the saltwater spray from the ocean coming off the boardwalk as he coasts alongside it. Out on the water, a barge stands barely lit, far out on the waves, a pinprick of light on an otherwise dark and desolate sea.

It gives him an idea.

~ ~ ~

Ford still remembers the day they first pulled the Stan O War out of that cave, the memory a spotlight in the fog of distant and long-forgotten days.

They’d spent a good hour trying to scrounge up enough rope to haul it out, one of them always stationed right outside the cave to make sure no one went in and claimed their find. And when they finally got the rope, it took them another hour to figure out the best way to tie it up and pull, breaking off a few more chunks of the decrepit boat than either of them would care to admit. But once they got it moving, it was, well, smooth sailing from there. There was a bucket of paint, he doesn’t remember where they got it, but he remembers the debate they had before finally settling on the name and painting it on the side. He remembers the terrible sun burns they both had that night, and how Ma had to cover them in almost half a bottle of aloe. It didn’t even come close to stopping them from going out again the next night. And the night after that.

The first year or so, it had been their own personal playground. They’d play pirates or adventurers, taking turns coming up with monsters to fight or treasures to find (or, in Stan’s case, hot mermaids to win over). The little half-boat had been their home away from home, a safe haven for them and only them.

Then they actually started rebuilding it.

Suddenly, what had been a call to adventure was now becoming a reality. The dream to go out and explore the unexplored and find the unfindable was finally looking like it was coming true. All with his twin at his side.

Building that boat gave him some of his favorite memories.

And then things changed.

Dreams changed.

And now he’s sitting on the deck alone, the soft splashing of waves and the gentle knocking of the hull against the dock the only sounds outside his own thoughts swirling in his head.

He was resolute when he first left the house, sure of what he had to do. But the walk here gave the doubt time to settle in, made the weight in his pocket seem impossibly heavier.

It doesn’t make any sense.

It should be easy, but…

He remembers when they sanded the deck, how they had to choose between the electric sander or the water-proofing epoxy because Stan’s part-time job at the gym couldn’t cover both. The subsequent weeks were spent sanding the entire boat by hand with the little hand radio buzzing in the background. He gently runs his hand across the glossy wood, remembering the splinters and cuts they both got every day. They’d always been so sure it would be worth it.

Was it?

Ford had considered building something to make the process easier, their own homemade electric sanders. But Stan had talked him out of it. Said it would come out so much nicer if they did it themselves, that it can’t take that much longer to do it by hand, right?

Stan always liked doing things the hard way.

Well, that’s not true. He found shortcuts wherever he could, cut every corner possible to get to where he needed to go. That’s why he always managed to almost make it through school with straight Cs.

But things that he cared about, things that meant something to him, he always took his time on, took the extra minute to be careful with.

Too bad he didn’t care too much about your future, then.

His nails scrape against the deck, his shoulders drawing together around him.

He still can’t for the life of him figure out why Stan did it, what drove him to sabotage his entire future. It couldn’t have been an accident. Stan would have warned him. He would have come clean before the science fair. It had to be on purpose.

Right?

It had to be on purpose.

Because Stan has to care about his treasure-hunting and his own dreams more than he cares about his brother’s.

Because if he’s wrong, then…

Then Stan…

That stone in his chest sinks a little deeper, burns a little hotter.

He shoves himself to his feet, steadying himself against the railing as the boat sways slightly underfoot.

He has to be right.

Because he’s not sure if he can live with being wrong.

And no matter how much his chest hurts, he guesses the result was the same no matter if he meant it or not. Because either way, he’s going to some worthless school where he’s going to have to work ten times harder just to get anywhere in the world.

And Stan…

Stan was going to leave home anyways. Stan had no plans on staying anywhere near Glass Shard Beach and is probably already hundreds of miles away doing absolutely fine. This was just a hiccup for him. Ruining Ford’s life was nothing more than a speedbump. He got kicked out, but he was probably a month away from leaving anyways.

Ford had his dream stolen from him.

And Stan—

Carefully, he climbs up onto the railing of the boat and steps back onto the dock, digging his hand down into his pocket.

This boat is Stan’s dream. Not his.

He pulls out the matchbook he grabbed from the kitchen, fingers fumbling at he pulls out a single match.

An eye for an eye, right?

He strikes it, the matchstick catching with a hot spark. The single flame is warm in his fingers, dancing side to side in the light ocean breeze, the cheap wood already burning down, blackening and curling in on itself in the heat.

He ruined you.

He deserves this.

Before he can second-guess himself again, he tosses the match onto the deck.

~ ~ ~

Stan’s thinking about those food rations they stored in the hull of the boat, trying to map out how many days he can make them last if he’s careful.

He smells the smoke moments before he pulls into the parking lot at the top of the boardwalk.

Barely gets the car turned off before he sees the flames and starts running.

The boat is already halfway gone, the fire spreading across the entire deck and making its way up the mast, panic settling into his bones as he books it towards the pier.

There’s a shadow of a person standing in front of it, and all he can manage is to scream something, he can’t even remember what, and the person startles and then runs. By the time Stan makes it down to the pier, the person is already halfway down the beach, and there’s no chance at catching them, so he turns his attention to the boat.

I can save it.

I can fix this.

There are sirens in the distance. He can barely hear them over the crackle and roar of the flames. There’s a bucket on the deck of the only other boat docked, so he grabs it. Gets to work.

There’s so much of that span of time that’s a blur, a sequence of repeated motions all a backdrop to his frantic thoughts.

Lay on the dock to reach the water.

I can do this. I can do this.

Scoop as much as you can into the bucket.

How could this happen? Did that person standing here have anything to do with it?

Stand up.

What if I can’t save it?

Pour it on the flames.

He’ll never forgive me.

Repeat.

Never.

Everything’s a rush. The fire spreads across the entire deck, no matter his efforts. No matter how much water he heaves onto it, it just keeps growing, spreading, the smoke burning his lungs the way cigarettes never could, stinging his eyes, heat radiating through the air around him.

He keeps working.

I have to save it.

I need to save it.

If I save it, maybe he’ll forgive me.

The wood creaks and snaps over the sound of the flames, charred and crumbling. But he keeps working.

If I can’t, he’ll never forgive me.

Useless. Worthless. Mistake.

It’ll be the end of us.

Bucketful after bucketful, flames creeping to the top of the mast, the sails turning to ash, everything crumbling and burning right before his eyes and there’s nothing he can do to stop it but keep working.

He’s getting another scoop of water, and the bucket slips from his fingers, getting pulled down beneath the surface faster than he can react. It disappears into the black waters, pulling a curse from him.

I can still do this.

He’ll start scooping with his hands, if that’s what it takes.

But then someone grabs him, and it’s the first time he realizes how close the sirens are. They pull him away from the flames. Instinct kicks in. He’s kicking and screaming to let him go, he needs to do this, he can’t let it burn down, he can’t let it disappear, it’s all he has left, let him go—

A group of people run by in the flickering darkness as the other person keeps dragging him back, and something in his brain finally connects the sirens to the people around him, some of the panic settling into relief when he sees the long water hose the ones running down the pier are carrying.

Because there’s this inkling of hope that it’s not all lost. That it’ll be salvageable.

And then they’re blasting water at it, and his blood runs cold.

It’s almost an instant reaction, the twist in his gut at the sound of cracking wood as the mast bends to the side under the force of the water, then snaps completely and splashes into the waves.

And then he’s screaming at them, begging them to stop because can’t they see they’re making it worse? They’re destroying it. They need to stop. He needs to make them stop.

He’s flailing against the arms holding him back, throwing blind punches even though nothing’s connecting, and his insides feel more and more hollow the more steam they fill the air with and the more the boat creaks and groans.

Something finally connects, and the arms let him go, and then he’s running again, every pound of his feet on the dock lost in the hiss of the water battling the flames, battering the boat.

He hasn’t made it far when a resounding crack splinters through the air, freezing his feet in place.

Through the swirling mist, he sees the entire boat list forward, quickly taking on water. His feet are rooted in place as, within a span of seconds, the entire front half of the boat is submerged. And the back snaps in half. Falls into the waves behind it.

He doesn’t feel his knees hit the wood dock.

What’s left of the Stan O War sinks beneath the waves, a few broken boards the only things marring the surface of the otherwise now undisturbed sea.

And just like that, it’s gone.

It’s just… it’s just gone.

And he doesn’t even have the barest hope that there’s any way to bring it back.

Hands grab him again and pull him back up, but it’s all numb, the voices around him hollow and muffled, a million miles gone. He can’t look away, gaze locked on splintered wood and ash, eyes burning from the smoke and the saltwater that might be seawater, might not.

It doesn’t feel real.

It can’t be real.

Because if it is…

His throat catches, seawater rolling off his cheeks in rivulets, leaving trails in the ash and soot covering his face.

Because if it is, then I really did ruin his life, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it.

Something inside him breaks at that, crumbles, the hands on his shoulders finally turning him away from the wreckage.

His insides collapse into themselves, and it’s all he can do to stop the rest of himself from following suit, to keep himself walking away from the very last semblance of hope he had to fix everything.

This is the end of us.

~ ~ ~

Ford’s running as fast as he can, his lungs heaving with every step, sand and glass shards kicking out behind him, the roar of the flames dying out the further and further he gets. It isn’t until they fade into the sounds of the waves lapping against the shore that his legs finally give out and send him to his hands and knees under the weight of what he just did.

He’d stood there watching as the fire caught, watching as the epoxy coat on the deck bubbled and charred until the wood underneath finally started to burn. He watched, waiting for that feeling of relief as the fire spread, the air getting warmer and warmer, the smoke slowly getting thicker and thicker. He thought he’d feel better about it, thought it’d cut the final string tying him and his brother together and finally let him be free of him. But instead, the fire inside him just fizzled out as the flames crept higher and higher. And he kept waiting and waiting, hoping for something new and better and good to take its place inside him, to feel the vindication he’d sorely been hoping for when he finally tossed the match on-board.

Nothing came.

There was only a distant voice, yelling at him to put the goddamn fire out what are you doing? And that had sent him running, because common sense reminded him that arson is a crime, and something about the voice clawed at his insides so deeply that he was afraid to realize why. So, he ran. And he ran and ran and ran, hoping in vain that at some point the weight pushing him further and further into the ground would lift, would let him breathe. That maybe some of the fire would come back, or something, anything but this emptiness, this detachment.

The first law of thermodynamics states that energy is neither created nor destroyed, only transferred.

He wonders if that’s why that fire inside him died the higher the flames got on the boat, leaving nothing but ashes behind. Or, he wonders, if this is one thing that science can’t solve.

He doesn’t have an answer for any of it.

He’s on his hands and knees, the fire flickering in the distance, all his anger spent and gone and leaving him numb and cold and feeling something heavier than gravity pulling him towards the center of the earth.

His arms tremble under it, tears stinging his eyes.

How did Stan do it?

There are sirens in the distance, his chest shuddering with every breath of briny air.

He wants to feel satisfied with what he did, but instead it just feels like he scraped out his insides, tearing himself to ribbons and swearing he was doing it to someone else, like he’s ripping open the same poorly healed scars over and over again, hoping he’ll finally heal whole for once. Telling himself that it didn’t matter that it was also years of his own life spent working on that boat, that it still meant something to him. What mattered was that it meant something to Stan. He shouldn’t feel a damn thing.

But Stan’s not here to feel anything; it’s just him.

Just him.

Alone.

How was Stan able to do it so easily?

Every moment, the guilt tears at him more and more, and he swears it can’t get any worse, it just can’t. But then he remembers exactly why he lit that match, and it makes something vile turn over in his stomach because how could he do that to his own brother? How could he ever do that to someone he’s supposed to care about? And then every moment feels like a new low, some fundamental boundary shredded by a blinding moment of anger. An utter betrayal that cuts him to the core when he realizes its consequence, some combination of shame and remorse gripping his throat and squeezing when he remembers how he wanted Stan to feel.

The light behind him dies off, the last flames flickering in the distance, dancing off the glass shards scattered in the sand around him before disappearing into the darkness.

How was Stan able to completely ruin him and not feel a damn thing?

None of it makes sense. A voice that sounds eerily like Pa tells him it’s because Stan is useless, a con, some punk that only cares about himself and doesn’t give a shit about any of them. But that doesn’t settle right in him, doesn’t feel like the boy that yelled at the bullies that threw rocks at them and blew off a date to drive him to a science convention out of town and came into their room after an argument with their Pa with a swollen eye and pretended it was nothing. It doesn’t sound right, but neither does that same person ruining his one chance at a future and then playing it off as no big deal.

It doesn’t make sense.

It doesn’t make sense that Stan would do this to him. It doesn’t make sense that burning the boat down hurts so badly. That he suddenly feels more alone than he ever has, crouched on that beach and surrounded by a black sea and an empty boardwalk and knowing that has nothing to do with the hollow feeling inside his chest, aching like it’s lost some vital piece of itself.

It doesn’t feel fair.

This was supposed to help.

Instead, all he’s left with are tarnished memories and an amalgamation of confusing emotions that all just boils down to pain, pure and simple.

He shouldn’t have done it.

Hell, he regrets coming out here at all.

It feels like hours before the wailing sirens finally go quiet, and he shakily pushes himself to his feet, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand as he begins the long walk home, the pack of matches left behind lying in the sand.

~ ~ ~

There are little things that Stan never really thought to miss after he left. Little, every-day moments that aren’t necessarily significant, but still fall somewhere in the realm of normalcy and routine and fill some little gap in his life. Gaps that are small enough to not notice once they’re empty.

The flipping of book pages late at night. The small bit of light filtering in the window from the streetlights outside. The way the boxing mat moves and yields underfoot. The shift of his gloves when he throws a punch because they’ve always been slightly too big. The feel of sanded wood dust between his fingers. Hauling the toolbox out to the Stan O War every day to work. The smell of the shop the day after Pa gets the floors waxed. The tinkle of the bell on the door when someone walks in.

That last one ushers in the thought of the rest.

Hearing that bell when he cautiously walks into the pawn shop the next morning, it makes him wonder about all the other little things he’s forgotten to remember, forgotten to miss.

“What part of ‘you’re not welcome here’ did you not understand?”

Or just simply forgotten on purpose.

“Nice to see you too, Pops,” he says, aimlessly glancing around the shop, feigning interest in the various wares (most of which were here when he got kicked out left). Mostly, it’s just an attempt to avoid looking at the man standing behind the counter.

“If you think you can just come crawling back here after—”

“I’m not,” Stan says, his voice hard. “Just had to come and make sure Ford’s okay before I head back out of town.”

“Course he’s okay,” Filbrick says. Stan can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief that Ford wasn’t somehow tangled up in the fire. That he’s alright. That he maybe doesn’t know about it yet. “No thanks to you.” Stan bristles.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

Do they know he was there? Do they know he couldn’t stop it?

“It means he barely managed to get a scholarship to some run-down nothing school thanks to what you—"

“I’m not talking about the science fair! I’m talking about—”

The backdoor of the shop, the one that leads up to the apartment, opens. The tell-tale creak rings another bell in the back of his head, some other forgotten detail of his life that he’s not entirely sure what to do with. He turns at the sound and immediately locks eyes with a distorted reflection of himself.

“What do you want?” Ford’s knuckles white where they grip a backpack slung over his shoulder, but he seems almost confused, his brow ever so slightly furrowed. The door clicks closed behind him, seeming impossibly loud in the now-silent room.

“Hey, um.” The look throws him off, considering he was expecting hate or anger or even an immediate dismissal. Then again, maybe confusion makes sense too. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Why wouldn’t I be okay now that you’re gone?

He doesn’t think that’s what he meant, but it doesn’t make the comment sting any less.

“There was a fire,” he says slowly, “down at the pier.”

It’s almost imperceptible, the way Ford’s eyes widen ever so slightly at that. Stan knows he’s the only one that would ever notice it, even if it’s not entirely the response he would expect.

He’s not sure what he would expect at this point.

“Pa, there are still a few boxes upstairs,” Ford says, watching Stan for another second before turning to the man still behind the counter. “They’re a bit too heavy for me. Would you mind bringing them down? I’ll watch the shop.”

Pa doesn’t have to have his glasses off for Stan to know the exact looks he’s giving them: a judgmental squint, probably aimed more at him than Ford, a quite calculation running through his head before he grunts out that he’ll be back in five minutes. He gives Ford a semi-awkward pat on the shoulder before heading upstairs, the door clicking shut behind him.

Ford faces back towards him the moment the door closes, his arms crossed in front of his chest, hands tucked in his elbows. His eyes are glancing around, refusing to meet his own.

“You, uh, going somewhere?” Stan asks, not entirely sure how to break the silence that settled back over them.

“Why are you here, Stan?” Ford’s still not looking at him, his voice tighter than it was just a minute ago, yet somehow impossibly exhausted, detached.

“I just… I was driving through and happened to go by the pier last night. The Stan O War was on fire.” He watches for a reaction, waiting to see if Ford knew, if he cared. But there’s nothing. No waver in his expression, not even some acknowledgement of what he said. Just his eyes still looking anywhere else in the room. “Just wanted to see if you were nearby, make sure you weren’t hurt or—”

“I’m fine.”

“Do you know what hap—”

“No.”

“And you weren’t anywhere near—”

“I’m fine.”

The silence settles again, the air tense and uncomfortable between them. There’s an enormous elephant in the room. More like a couple, if he’s being completely honest. Neither of them seem willing to address them. It only makes the atmosphere seem that much heavier.

“It’s been a while, huh?” Stan says, not able to stand the quiet any longer. “Over a month by now, right?”

“Twenty-seven days.” He states it plainly, like one of those facts from a textbook. Cold and detached and simple.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. That sounds about right.”

Ford’s eyes seem to have settled, his gaze locked on something behind him, just to the side of his head. Enough to see him without having to look at him.

He won’t even look—

“Basically an eternity for us, huh?” Stan says, an awkward laugh forcing its way out. “Don’t think we ever went more than an hour without seeing each other before and now—”

“Was there something else you wanted to say to me, or was that it?”

“I…” It takes him aback, the iciness in Ford’s tone, the way his arms pull closer to his chest just the slightest bit. “What?”

“You came here to check on me?” Ford asks, his voice so flat it barely registers as a question. “That’s it?”

“I mean, yeah I guess?” Ford’s still not looking at him, and it just sinks something deep into his chest, leaving him floundering to say the right thing. “I was worried, you know?” It doesn’t feel like enough. Must hate me for not saving it. “But I tried to save the boat and everything. By the time I got there, there wasn’t much I could do.” He sees it, Ford’s arms tensing as he clenches his fists, his teeth grinding down. He’s saying the wrong things and he knows it, so he switches gears. “Look, I mean, I get if you’re mad at me for not stopping it. But the hull still seemed partly intact. I can, like, stay in town a while and help you fix her if you want. Not that you probably don’t hate me now, but I’ll stay out of your way and—"

“Get out.”

That ache in his chest drops like a weight, and suddenly he’s drowning.

“W-what?”

“I have nothing left to say to you, Stanley.” His fists fall to his sides, shoulders squaring back, his eyes still locked behind him. “So get out, and don’t make me say it again.”

It’s a slap in the face, one that stings all the way down to his core. He knows this is going badly. Doesn’t take a genius to see that.

Isn’t this what you expected when you walked in that door?

But he can’t let it end. Not like this. Shouldn’t it matter that it was an accident and he did everything he could? Shouldn’t it matter that he didn’t mean to hurt him?

“I came here to try to fix things,” Stan says, but Ford just blinks at the wall behind him, swallows.

“I don’t want you to.”

There are a million questions buzzing through his head, “when”s and “why”s and “how”s colliding and fracturing all while he sinks further and further down. He tries to grip back onto that anger from the first night, the night they threw him out onto the concrete with next to nothing and he swore the world would never see him coming. He tries to grab onto that righteous fury again, but it just slips through his fingers, lost in the backache from sleeping in his car and the suffocating silence and the stomach pains from so many days with barely enough money for food. Instead he just finds himself longing for everything that was, for the smell of Ma’s cooking and Pa’s annoyed grunts when they came in late at night and the jingle of the pawn shop bell and most of all—

“Please Ford,” Stan says. “I miss us. I can’t let everything get thrown away just over some stupid mistake! Just let me try to fix this.”

“A ‘stupid mistake’?” Ford scoffs, lowering his head with a shake. “Your ‘stupid mistake’ ruined everything. You ruined my life, Stan. There’s nothing left to fix.”

“But it was all an accident!” he says. “I didn’t mean to bump the table, and the boat was on fire when I got there. And I know, I know there’s nothing I can do about your college, so at least let me try to fix the Stan O War for you, and then maybe—”

“Would you shut up about the stupid boat already!” It’s practically a shout, the first time he’s raised his voice like that at him, his fists visibly shaking and his eyes locked on his shoes. Stan takes a small step back.

“W-what did I do wrong?”

“What did you do wr— are you kidding me?” And for the first time, Ford meets his eyes. Stan expects to see seething anger there, bubbling fury that shakes his entire frame as it threatens to boil over. He expects flames. But instead, he’s met with a detached coldness, solid ice that pierces down to the bone. “All you ever cared about was that stupid boat and your stupid treasure hunting! Did you ever stop to think about what I wanted? No, you didn’t.”

“I thought we wanted the same thi—”

“I let you drag me into your dumb, idiotic dreams that are never going anywhere. But not anymore. I’m done, Stan. I’m not letting you—you— hang on my coattails anymore. I’ve got a future ahead of me and I’m through with letting you keep me from it. There’s nothing left to fix because there is no more ‘us’. Get it? So just leave already.”

Every word stings, cutting deeper and deeper until Ford finally seems to take a breath, and Stan’s left feeling like the entire weight of the ocean is crushing into his chest.

Is that really how he felt?

He thought the boat, all of it, was their dream. He thought it was the future they both wanted the moment it was possible. That’s what Ford had said up until the science fair. Was he wrong? Did he really make Ford this miserable? Did he really hate him from the beginning? Were they really—

“I didn’t—”

“And you know what?” Ford says, voice shaking, bordering on hysterical. “I’m glad you couldn’t put out the fire, because I was the one who started it in the first place!” Stan swears he feels his heart stop in his chest, something in the back of his throat seizing. “So at least this once you didn’t screw up something for me.”

“Y-you burned—?”

“And it was the best decision I ever made,” he says. “Dumb adventures, treasure hunting, that boat, you. I’ve moved on. It’s all behind me now. I have a future ahead of me. So just leave me alone and, for once in your goddamn life, get out of my way.”

It’s all your fault. All your fault.

He’ll never forgive you.

Never.

This is the end—

“Stanford, I’m sor—”

“Get out.”

“Sixer please—”

“I said get out!”

The shout dies as fast as it escapes Ford’s lips, but it leaves Stan’s ears ringing. He’s stuck in place, the world revolving around him and Ford glaring holes through his skull and everything feeling all too real and not quite real enough as that ache in his chest claws at his insides, tears him apart.

It’s too quiet.

It’s too quiet, but his head is buzzing, and there’s no way this is real, but it is. It’s more real than the day he got kicked out.

It’s too quiet, and his insides are screaming that this is wrong, this is his nightmares come to life, that it can’t of all fallen apart that easily, that it can’t be over, that this can’t be the end.

But it is.

And it hits him with a sudden, startling clarity.

All the derision and hate from his father, he never saw it in Ford. But maybe it’s always been there, and he was just fooling himself by thinking otherwise. Telling himself that if no one else wants him, then his twin, the brother he’s quite literally spent his entire life with, would have to care about him. That he must be willing to go to the ends of the Earth at his side, together against the world, forever and ever.

He never realized “forever” only lasted until the end of high school. That maybe he was more alone than he ever thought.

The shock subsides, but it leaves something bitter in the back of his throat, the rock lodged in his chest twisting like a knife, the very last shred of hope he had of fixing things between them withering and dying.

He takes a step back and grits his teeth through it.

Because none of this changes the fact that he’s still going to make his millions. That he’s still going to rub it in their faces. That he’s going to make them regret ever kicking him out and doubting him and thinking he’s nothing but a waste of space, a walking mistake.

He tells himself for the hundredth time that he doesn’t need them.

That he’ll be fine on his own.

Because if that’s how he really feels, then—

“Fine,” Stan says, straightening his back and swallowing down the pain scraping its way up his throat. “If that’s what you want, fine. I’ll never bother you again.” And he turns on his heel, the bell jiggling as he yanks the door open, sunlight and ocean air barreling in. “Have a nice life, Stanford.”

And he walks.

~ ~ ~

Stan’s not sure how he made it to the car, let alone how he already made it this far down the highway. It’s all a blur, thoughts and memories lost to the tears already streaming down his face. He wipes at them with his arm, but more and more come to replace them, dripping down his cheeks, his chin, onto his shirt. He feels hollow, like someone scooped out his guts and left him to rot, but the tears just keep coming and coming, the knot in his throat slowly getting tighter and tighter.

All it takes is a sign whizzing by outside.

Leaving Glass Shard Beach.

Thanks for visiting!

It’s like a dam breaking, the agony and the hurt and the betrayal and the anger all coming up in a rush that he tries so hard to choke back down, to bury like he’s always done, like he was always taught to do. But it’s like holding back a hurricane inside his chest, and there’s nothing he can do to stop the sobs that force their way through and catch in his throat, tears falling heavier than raindrops and threatening to drown him.

It’s really over.

It’s really the end.

He bites down on his lip to try to keep it in, but more just keeps bubbling up.

He knows he shouldn’t be crying like this. Not here, not now. Hell, not ever. He’s the strong one.

One of what?

It’s not supposed to hurt this much, to feel like such an utter rejection, to be impossibly worse than the first time a month twenty-seven days so long ago. He’s supposed to be tougher than this. He’s supposed to take any punch, any pain the world throws at him, and grin back with bloody teeth and not a care in the world. This shouldn’t—

And then he’s angry, angry that Ford would do this to him, would treat him like garbage after everything they’ve gone through. He’s angry that his brother tossed him to the side the moment he got a better offer. He’s angry that one mistake cost him everything he ever knew, and Ford just closed the damn curtains. He’s angry that Ford decided to burn down the boat, their his dream, everything inside of it that he could have used or sold to keep himself alive. He’s so angry at Ford, at his dad, at that dumb school, at all of it.

Somehow, he’s the angriest at himself for going back and hoping things would be different.

He’s angry that he was dumb enough to think he still had a brother.

“Stupid,” he says between strangled sobs, his throat constricting around the word.

He’s angry that he’s still crying over something he can’t change.

He’s angry that, even after everything that happened, he still feels guilty for hitting that table.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Every word is punctuated with his hand smacking the steering wheel, each one harder than the last. As if it’ll get the anger out. As if it’ll make him feel more in-control again. As if it will make it all hurt just a little less if his hand stings a little more.

“Stupid Ford.” Smack. “With his stupid school.” Smack. “And his stupid project.”

His palm is tingling.

It’s nothing in comparison.

Did he ever care about any of it in the first place?

Was all of it a lie?

That angers boils, a tight pressure behind his ribcage that still feels suspiciously like devastation, like heartbreak, but he tells himself its anger because then at least hitting something should make it go away.

So he wails on the steering wheel, cursing every god under the sun and everything and everyone that ever wronged him. And it feels good at first, giving the hurt somewhere else to go for the time being. Venting the frustration and the pain and the wrongness of it all. So he curses and he screams and he punches that damn steering wheel until his hands feel raw, and he’s yelling at Ford for starting that damn fire and Ford for hating him all this time and Ford for pretending he wanted a brother and himself for believing it and himself for wanting it and himself for hoping and dreaming and thinking he was finally going to get to be happy when of course that’s horse-shit because why would anything ever turn out alright for him and Ford for still getting everything he ever wanted and himself for still feeling proud at that and Ford for thriving while he’s barely surviving and— and—

He’s better off without you.

His throat hurts, and he’s still choking back sobs through it all, tears soaking his cheeks. His hand connects with the steering wheel one more time, but it’s almost hesitant, tired. He can feel himself crumpling inwards, everything caving in, as if now that everything he ever had is gone, there’s nothing left holding the last pieces of him together, the last bit of anger draining out and leaving him nothing in its wake.

He’d be better off if you—

A car horn wails, but he knows it wasn’t him, and he blinks up through blurry eyes to see another car heading right towards him.

It must be some kind of instinct that has him yanking the wheel to the side. The car jerking back across the median. Off the side of the road. Everything jolting as he slams the brake on the shoulder. The tires squealing before everything finally stops.

There’s a long moment, as the blare of the other car’s horn fades into the distance, tears still streaming freely, when all he can do is sit there. He doesn’t know how his brain can simultaneously feel like it’s full of cotton and full of bees, his heart slamming in his chest.

His hands are trembling as he fumbles the car into park.

And then the moment breaks like shattered glass.

“Shit,” he breathes, his voice wobbling, still wet with the tears dropping from his chin. His hands find the steering wheel, squeezing the fake leather until his knuckles turn white so that they’ll just stop shaking. “Shit, shit, shit.”

He tells himself he’s angry. He tells himself, because the other thing is more than he can handle right now. More than he think he’ll ever be able to handle.

Should have just driven by when you had the chance.

Maybe he’d hoped he could fix things. Maybe he’d hoped Ford would forgive him. Maybe he figured there was no way he could make things worse anyways.

Maybe maybe maybe maybe maybe

Maybe he was wrong.

And just maybe when he’d thought he couldn’t get any lower than rock-bottom, he’d gone and dug himself a deeper hole.

He supposes that’s what he gets for hoping.

It wasn’t supposed to go this way.

But it did. And it went to hell, just like everything else you touch.

He knows he’s a screw-up in every meaning of the word, but he never thought he’d manage to mess up the one thing in this world that actually mattered.

He never thought he’d lose—

He can’t even finish the thought, because that makes it true, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle that, either.

Shouldn’t have gone back.

Shouldn’t have gone back.

Shouldn’t have—

He rests his forehead on the steering wheel and just tries to breathe, one stuttering breath after another.

He tells himself the water still spilling down his cheeks is rain or ocean brine or something other than what it is.

He tells himself it’s just anger.

He tells himself he doesn’t need any of them.

He tells himself things will be better one day.

He tells himself a lot of things.

But just below the surface, he’s well aware that every single one of them is a lie.

So he just sits there on the side of the road, alone, and… tries to breathe.

He just tries to breathe.

~ ~ ~

He’s already turned around long before the bell on top of the pawn shop door rings to announce Stan’s exit, has already slammed the door to the apartment behind him. He takes the stairs two at a time, and he faintly swears there’s something wrong with his legs, some slight wobble, something wrong with more than that.

He doesn’t think about it too hard.

When he comes into the living room, Ma is sitting on her window perch, watching him, and he tries not to register the hurt in her creased brow, the slight tug downwards in her lips. Pa is in his armchair, face hidden behind the newspaper. He doesn’t even look up when Ford comes in.

He makes a beeline to their the his bedroom, his eyes following the familiar treaded path in the carpet to the stairs. That way he can’t see Ma’s disappointment, Pa’s—

“Son,” Pa says, voice gruff. The word is a command, one that stops Ford in his tracks with his foot on the first worn stair, his spine going rigid. He hears Pa flip the page of his newspaper, the beat of silence stretching for far too long before— “I’m impressed. Glad you finally got up the nerve to kick that no good, low life—"

He doesn’t remember the rest, only the sound of the bedroom door clicking closed behind him as he breathes out a long, low sigh. The wood door is hard against his back as leans his whole weight into it, his mind buzzing numbly, the thoughts in his own head still blissfully absent, hopefully left behind in the pawn shop until they dissipate and stay forgotten.

He has too much to do now. Too much to worry about.

He can’t afford to think about certain things too hard.

His chest feels tight, so he takes a deep breath in, closing his eyes to feel the air filling his lungs. He never changed out of his clothes from last night, the smoke still embedded in the fabric of his shirt. He can still taste it in the back of his throat, bitter and raw.

He pushes himself off the door, aiming towards the center of the room, determined to do one last check to make sure he got everything of value. But something catches his attention when he moves, giving him pause. There’s something in his front pocket, bending and slightly pressing into his leg. Confused, he reaches in, fingers gripping and pulling out the piece of paper, smooth to the touch and thick enough that it—

…

Something twists harshly in his gut, something that registers as guilt.

He tells himself not to think about it too hard, but the thoughts still drift up from the shop below like smoke. Every word, every glare, every bit of cruelty replaying and overlapping and reverberating in his head like some discordant canon. The utterly destroyed look on Stan’s face seared into his memory. The taste of acid on his tongue as the words trapped inside his head finally spilled out.

He only ever cared about the boat. Not about you.

Not about you.

Only his treasure-hunting.

You were just convenient.

He tells himself not to think about it. To move on.

If that’s what you want, fine. I’ll never bother you—

He stuffs the picture back in his pocket, trying to forget the pair of twins smiling up at him, standing proudly on the remains of an old boat, carefree and naïve.

There’s just too much to do, too much to worry about right now.

He tells himself it’s all for the best anyways.

He swallows past the lump in his throat and moves to pick up the last packed box, purposely turning away from the empty bunk bed as he heads out of the room.

For the best.

The door closes behind him with a soft click.

He doesn’t look back.

[celestia-le]

Because it´s a secret // Miraculous Ladybug drabble

INSPIRED ON @zyullaart FANART!!!!! please see its beautiful artworks!!

Read at AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19426969 

It has been a long week for Marinette. Since she doesn't know how to handle her time, doing the shirts and costumes for Kitty Section, getting to design more clothes since Gabriel Agreste was doing a contest, being Ladybug and her school life was eating her alive. She wasn't really used to be so busy, her face didn't help her either, if Alya weren't waking her up the whole class she surely would have been asleep the whole day. Was it going to be like this when she got to be a real designer? This isn't healthy.

And then, Madamme Bustier started to talk about a proyect. Yeah!! That's what she needed!! Of course!! Why not, let's give Marinette more things to worry about. What she wasn't aware, was doing the proyect with... Adrien.

Adrien, the love of her life, would do the proyect with her, half asleep, that day.

"Disaster!!" was Marinette in her mind, she looked like she was about to fall on the floor, too much things.

Alya was half smiling at her side, she was about to choke laughing at her luck. Marinette sweared to god, she's supposed to be good luck! Please leave the bad luck to Chat, just for today. Since they had a free hour next, they would do the proyect on that hour, there was no way Marinette could escape some time to sleep. What's next? That day was going to rain while she didn't have an umbrella with her? And then she would be sick at home while that day Lila, Chloé or maybe Kagami got to school to make Adrien fall in love with them and then not having their happy three kids?

Stop.

She was going way too ahead, that's why Marinette was going to fall asleep. First the proyect.

"Hey, Marinette, are you alright?*

The blonde with emerald eyes was moving his hand in front of her, class ended and everyone leaved while she was spacing out.

Oh. My. God. Since when was Adrien there?! If it wasn't for her tired body, she maybe would jump and get nervous in 0.0001 seconds, but instead she just blinked.

"Ah! Sorry! I was spacing out a little..." she said while getting her stuff. "Let's go, I have to deliever kitty section shirts later"

She started to walk to the library while Adrien followed her, the blonde was kinda confused since she didn't actually answer his question, was she alright? He wanted to tell her about doing later the proyect so she could rest a little, but he couldn't since his schedule was kinda tight to make a place to do the proyect later, he was already used to things like that, and didn't want to make Marinette do the whole proyect. As soon as they got to the mentioned place they started to do their work, divided the parts and sometimes asking about the text being confusing.

Adrien glanced at the girl really often, and then noticed how she stopped writing and started to randomly draw, she wasn't there anymore.

"Marinette."

She didn't answer.

"¿Marinette?"

She suddenly jumped on her own place, returning to earth, her eyes looking confused and then worried when noticed her drabbles.

"I'm sorry, Adrien! What were you saying?"

He softly smiled at her, she sure was pushing too much herself before everyone, just showing up more how wonderful and awesome she is.

"Wanna take a break? I will continue a little more, you should rest a little, it's not a really difficult proyect anyway."

"But..."

"Don't worry! I can really handle it by myself, after all I..-"

He hesitated, being about to say something too Chat Noir alike, decided to change his words.

"Study a lot, yes."

Confused by his short pause, but really grateful and guilty, Marinette smirked.

"I'm sorry Adrien... and thank you. It will be just some minutes, I promise."

She leaned on the table, trying to get a little comfy, it was kinda embarassing but she really needed that sleep.

Everything went perfect.

But then Marinette started to mumble at her dreams. Adrien considered waking her up, thinking it was a nightmare, but her words immediately stopped him at his place.

"Watch out... Chat, you can't be caught by the akumatized again..."

He froze up: was she dreaming about being Ladybug?

"No... we can't say to each other our identities..."

That wasn't a dream, he actually remembered those exact words in his head, it was too much coincidence for her to say the same as Ladybug.

"Why? because it's a secret..."

Tikki was freaking out, she wanted to yell at Marinette so she would wake up, but it was impossible without Adrien to see her.

"No one can know who we really are... Not even us."

With Adrien paralyzed and Plagg was bursting in laugh at his pencil case.

"Keep calling her 'just a friend' now."

Getting to reality again, the blonde tilted his head at the bluenette, moving slighty her hair just to be sure.

There were earrings.

Since they didn't have Ladybug powers them were black, just as his ring is gray.

The emerald eyes boy started to think, and everything became so much clear.

Ladybug IS Marinette.

But wait.

He started to blush up, just as the heroine's colors.

Did he...

Kiss Marinette twice???

But as his thoughts became clear, they became blur.

Ladybug told him there was a boy, and Marinette said she loved him. (Which implies him rejecting her) What kind of sense was that? He didn't truly understand.

But what he knew, is that bluenette has been protecting BOTH of his indentities the whole time. As a partner of Chat Noir, and she even was about to give her miraculous just to save his (fake) civilian form. His mind was about to overload of information and things who didn't kinda click, but he heard a ring from Marinette's phone, and his body became immovable. The girl with blue eyes got up really fast and looked at her phone and then Adrien, her face didn't look like it was good news.

"OMGOMG I'M SORRY ADRIEN I GOT A- I MEAN I'M LATE, I MEAN A LATE KITTY- I GOT A-"

She shut herself.

"I gotta go."

He somehow nodded at her as she leaved.

Plagg got out of his pencil, he really was enjoying the situation.

"Whoa kid, you sure are lucky that baker girl is the 'love of your life', don't you?"

Adrien wasn't even looking at him, he was at a post-shock.

"Kid?!"

////////////////

and it ends here!! I did it as a drabble but if you like it I think I could continue! Please leave your feedback!

[satire-please]

Play is the Work of the Childhood

Summary: I once saw a fanart of Hua Cheng snuggling a kid Xie Lian. Therefore this fic was spawn.

Perhaps Xie Lian should have seen this coming.

After all, in his 800-year experience, what goes around, comes around. What misfortune you see and witness will eventually happen to you.

Life enjoys being fair in that aspect.

Still, he didn't expect to be in this position as a wave of green smoke bellows from the mouth of the monster he and Hua Cheng just fought, just slain, it rushing at him and encasing him in a smoggy fist.

For the vile creature's last attack, it shakes Xie Lian like a child throwing a tantrum before throwing him across the cave.

He smacks into the stone wall, the pain makes him gasp...and the smoke rushes into his mouth.

It burns.

His lungs, his head, his bones twisting, his skin shrinking.

"Dianxia!" Xie Lian hurts, his brain rattling in his skull but he can still hear the desperate panic in Hua Cheng's voice, the ring of steel clashing in the background. "Are you alright? Answer me!"

Xie Lian coughs a few times. His ears ringing, he collapses down the rock face disoriented and forces his eyes to open. Hua Cheng's form is blurry but he can tell the man is sprinting towards him. "I'm fine–"

"Your voice! What's happened to you?" What was wrong with his voice? Well, it does sound different. The tone is off. Higher, younger.

Oh no.

It couldn't be.

Xie Lian puts a hand to his throat and rubs it. He tries to prioritize. "It was just the monster's deathblow, a curse I think–"

Hua Cheng swears loudly.

"–But I'll recover, will you destroy the body? Its remains could still harm any that come across it. It would be unfortunate if the villagers still had trouble after they worked so hard to get us for help."

"Yes. It won't ever bother them or Dianxia ever again," Hua Cheng declares vindictively. "Where are you? I can't see you, the smoke refuses to clear."

"Here. Over here." Xie Lian calls. He tries to get up, but his legs catch in sometimes, he looks down to see what's the matter and finds entire lower body trapped in his robes. They tangle over his limbs oversized...why are they so big?

He knows why. Yet please allow him to deny it a little longer. The clues of his voice, his clothes and the small hand he brings to his face are obvious and sooner or later he must accept reality.

He's been changed.

The curse turned him younger...much, much younger.

"There you are! Let me take a look at you, we'll figure out the contents of the curse and break it to–" A red tunic fills the corner his vision and Xie turns toward it.

But his friend, no his companion, freezes in place.

The man is not even breathing. True neither of them need to breathe but Hua Cheng has always been very courteous to do so in the past, so it’s alarming for Xie Lian to see him stop. The demon king is a statue harder than any stone.

“San Lang?” Xie Lian attempts to free an arm from his tangled nest of fabric, but the large sleeve flops over his wrist. Hua Cheng is so tall. Then again everything is so much bigger from this point of view. “What's wrong? Did the creature hurt you too?”

Hua Cheng moves fast.

One moment he’s a few feet away, the next he’s crouched in front of Xie Lian, hands cupping his cheeks to verify that this image is no illusion. Xie Lian notes the coolness of that skin and how those fingers reach the back of his skull easily.

He blushes and glances to the side. Hua Cheng’s hands are one of his favorite things about his man.

“I am blessed.” Is the first thing the demon king says in a minute. His one eye drinking in every change to Xie Lian’s form, his head cocked to the side. “Huh. I never knew I wanted this.”

“Wanted what?” Xie tilts his face or tries to. In Hua Cheng’s tender hold the action has him leaning into his palm.

Hua Cheng makes a trapped sound at the back of his throat. "You're so little."

Xie Lian should take offense, but honestly, he is...little. He had always been a terribly small child once upon a time, or he supposes in the current present. He attempts to calculate his age based on appearances. He'd barely come up to Hua Cheng's hip, his arms are chubby, oh dear, he must be around five or six and his–

"Your hair is so short. Is this how you felt when I was transformed against my will?" Hua Cheng muses, fingers twisting in the dark locks that fall right below his chin. "I have every inclination to lock you up and do all that I must to protect you. You're beyond precious."

“Ah. Now I understand why you were so embarrassed. This is humiliating." Xie Lian murmurs in reply. Xie Lian view’s blocked by a curtain of black hair and there’s a cold press of lips on his forehead. “San Lang!”

“Sorry.” But then he feels the same sensation on his temple. “Excuse me.”

Xie Lian’s cheeks are not left alone. A pepper of kisses rain down on his nose and his eyelids and Xie Lian is going to die if his face gets any redder.

“S-Stop!”

“Must I? Very well.” Hua Cheng finally leans back on his heels, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. However, he keeps Xie Lian trapped in his embrace, especially as he stands up. Xie Lian’s tiny hands scramble for broad shoulders as he’s basically manipulated to sit on one arm, the other moving around his back protectively. “I apologize, I truly can't help myself, Gege. You are honestly the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”

"You were just as cute. No, cuter!" Xie Lian pouts.

"I doubt it."

"You were!" He insists. Xie Lian watches Hua Cheng reach into his red coat for the dice. He tosses them up absentmindedly before the portal opens to the Paradise Manor.

“Nonsense, most considered me to be a vile and ugly child. They called me a feral cat.”

“I didn’t’!”

Hua Cheng smiled. “This is true. Only you.” And he kisses Xie Lian on the cheek again to end the argument.

The hallways echo with the sound of Hua Cheng's heavy boots before they enter the bedchambers, the closet.

It's larger than four Puji Shrines put together and a whimper leaves Xie Lian before he can stop it.

“Now let’s see what we can do about your clothes.” Good cheer has never been so menacing.

During the length of an incense stick or two Xie Lian is tortured with good taste. The large robes replaced with a barrage of outfits Hua Cheng fishes out of the abyss of the wardrobe.

It takes a while before Hua Cheng plants the new child in front of a mirror to work on the final details. The demon king is pleased to find that even a scowl on the younger face is adorable

“Is this really necessary?”

“Now, Dianxia it’s only fair and just. I recall when I was forced into child form, I couldn’t leave your arms for at least a day. You kept carrying me around and playing with my hair.”

It was soft. Who could blame the martial god?

"You were a treasure,” Xie Lian mutters.

“Yes, and now you’re mine. So enough objections and stay still enough to let me put this on.”

Well, Xie Lian can’t stop Hua Cheng from doing anything, not really, therefore he sighs and keeps his arms up as Hua Cheng fixes his sleeves. “I meant the clothes. This is a lot of work for a temporary situation. Where did you even get these?"

"Secret."

Xie Lian wrinkles his nose. The reflection shows the spitting image of his five-year-old self. In fact, he believes these are the exact same hair ornaments his own mother placed into his hair so long ago. A bright golden dragon with ruby eyes, glaring at all, perches on his head to keep his hair half up and out of his face.

All so Hua Cheng can cup, squeeze and poke his cheeks better.

Which he demonstrates.

Quite often.

It’s as if there’s a time limit to how long those fingers can stay away. Thirty seconds or less.

The mirror reveals a victim draped in layers of the finest silk, pictures of flowers and fighting scenes race across the fabric in dark heavy thread. His feet have matching slippers with twinkling small bells to give away his location immediately. He hates them. He shifts minutely and they ring. They sing. It’s been a long time since he’s been decked in such ridiculous finery.

Hua Cheng loves it.

“So this is how you were as a child.” Hua Cheng coos. Dressing him has taken over an hour, yet much to Xie Lian’s dismay instead of complaining, he seemed to relish picking out every single detail from what sash goes best, the golden one of course, to the bracelets and rings that cover Xie Lian’s fingers. He hums happily, “How did they ever let you out of the palace?”

“They didn’t.” Xie Lian was only allowed to start making public appearances at thirteen. And then only by his father’s side or securely placed in his mother’s lap. Just like how he's in Hua Cheng's now with a tug on the back of his robe so he falls right perfectly into the bowl those crossed legs make.

“I’ve been incredibly fortunate to see so many sides of you.” Xie Lian closes his eyes, Hua Cheng reflection is beaming. It’s unbearable. “My luck just keeps getting better and better if I get a chance to see you like this too.”

“San Lang, please! Do you ever tire of making me look like a tomato?” Honestly. Consider Xie Lian’s poor blood vessels.

“No.” Hua Cheng snuggles up to him, smugly rubbing his face into his soft fluffy hair. “Never. Tell me how you were like as a child?”

Xie Lian’s brows knit together in thought and then he answers honestly, “I was a brat.”

Helpless chuckles are muffled into his hair. “Oh really?” Xie Lian picks at the leather boots under him in retaliation, yet the arms around him just tighten.

“I was! I had rooms of toys–”

“And of swords?”

“Yes, and of swords too, they were separate chambers. I made castles out of gold leaf cards and demanded to continue sleeping with my mother far after it was considered appropriate.”

“Now that's a request I would never reject.”

Xie Lian smacks Hua Cheng’s arm with his tiny palm. It just makes the chest behind him shake more with glee.

“What else did you like to do?” Hua Cheng nuzzles the tiny god, the hair jewelry poking dangerously but he doesn't care. He adores how Xie Lian fits completely in his arms with this new size.

It's a good size. He loves this size.

Xie Lian chews on his lip. It was a long time ago. That part of his life barely a blur, a wisp of light if he concentrates too hard it'll flicker away. “I remember I used to like playing on the...swings.”

Hua Cheng’s whole posture straightens. “I need to find a swing set immediately.”

“That’s not important.”

“I assure you it’s suddenly very important. To me. I need to push you on the swings.” To Xie Lian's absolute dismay, the man gets up and his own feet dangle as Hua Cheng settles him over his shoulders. Like a father with a child. The dice reappear and rattle as they land in Hua Cheng's palm.

"Shouldn't we care about finding out how to break the curse first? That should be our first priority!" He's careful to rest his hands on the crown of Hua Cheng's head, making sure not to jostle the eyepatch.

"Later."

Xie Lian sighs and plops his chin on top of his hands exasperated. The moment Hua Cheng has left the Manor when they hit the street, the eyes of every nearby ghost bulge and pop.  

No one can resist not saying anything.

"MY LORD WHEN DID YOU GET A CHILD?" The phrase has more heads whipping in their direction.

Over at a vendor, a ghoul squints and then screams, "WAIT, IS THAT GRAND UNCLE?"

Xie Lian doesn’t have any time to swear. Not when a twitter of painted ladies screech and bombard the pair, "LET US TOUCH HIM. HE'S SO PRETTY. HOW DID HE GET SO SMALL?"

"A curse," Hua Cheng says. "And no. You do not get to touch him."

Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly more merge with their group, it becoming in a strange parade as the curious trail behind them. There are hunched goblins with moldy green skin that run a few paces before giggling at the sight. Ghost flames that hover playfully darting here and there. From the willow female sirens to the largest ogre they fall in line with brightest horrible grins. A few offer Xie Lian odd sweets made from rather questionable ingredients.

"TRY THIS LITTLE GRAND UNCLE, MY SUGAR SPIDER WEBS ARE THE BEST!"

"NO HE'S TOO SCRAWNY, HE NEEDS MORE MEAT ON THOSE BONES. HERE. HAVE MY ARM! I DIPPED IT IN CARMEL FOR YOU."

Others wave an assortment of meat buns as close as they dare since no one has forgotten that one time in the gambler's den.

“COME ON, EAT SOMETHING PLEASE! OH, YOUR FACE IS SO CUTE. LOOK UP FOR US SOME MORE." Xie Lian firmly buries his face into Hua Cheng's hair and shakes it back and forth.

"Make them stop." He begs. “Please.”

Hua Cheng hums. "Now, now don’t ruin their fun Gege. We've become a proper Ghost Parade by now. Why I don't think I could stop them even if I tried. You know how they get when you 'visit,’ you're just that popular."

Xie Lian groans.

"WHERE ARE WE GOING, MY LORD?"

Hua Cheng's eye twinkles. "Your dear Grand Uncle has told me he used to like playing on the swings, so we are on a quest to find them. Any idea where we may find some nearby?"

The colorful crowd goes wild. "SWINGS? DOES ANYBODY KNOW ABOUT SWINGS?”

“NAH!”

“NO.”

“I’VE GOT AN IDEA. WE CAN MAKE SOME. RIGHT NOW. DON'T MOVE."

In seconds what used to be a simple plaza becomes the weirdest playground Xie Lian has ever seen. The 'swings' are made from chains the large monster butchers carry around and they connect to three or four large thighbones tied together with pretty silk ribbons.

Xie Lian hopes those bones are not human.

Let him hope.

Hopes are dashed when they tell him they were very enthusiastically donated.

Hua Cheng slowly settles him on swings and makes sure his fingers are wrapped around the chains securely. He fusses before pulling the swing back with a few steps. The crowd cheers.

Xie Lian wants to die.

He feels another kiss to his temple and huffs with a twist to his lips. He guesses he should let Hua Cheng have his own fun and amusement at his expense. He did when the demon was a child. And perhaps he shouldn’t ruin the entertainment the ghost inhabitants somehow crave. As lame as it is. Who wants to watch a child being pushed to extreme heights on a gory swingset?

But he did...really like the swings.

“Are you ready to fly, Little Prince?”

"Are you going to let me touch the ground anytime soon?"

"Nope."

And Xie Lian should have seen that coming too. Oh well. They’ll find the cure to this aliment...eventually.

“Then let’s see how high you can make me go. Can you make me ascend a fourth time, San Lang?” He dares.

Hua Cheng’s fingers tighten on the chains above his, a wicked smile in voice. “There’s only one way to find out, Dianxia.”

Only the ghost city witnesses the figure in white and silk fly so high but their master never lets the small boy fall.

Not once.

Not ever.

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh S3 Ep 2: The VR Zone Has a Hell Ton of Trees

Alright guys I am regretting the hell out of this teriyaki ramen bowl I just ate, so it’s a better time than ever to go back into this VR arc. Now that the Big 5 have made their speech, all of them quite fat and one with a cane although he doesn’t even have a body anymore, they are ready to send everyone down a series of...plot-shaped holes.

Like they were JUST in some sort of tropic zone, to go back to here and then go somewhere else and so like--this is still VR I think? Like I’m assuming they went VR the moment they entered this room but it is quite vague at what point they were officially in VR. Was it when their vision went fwisssh and everyone split into RGB layers or was it that they got knocked out with gas quite a long time ago and were just unaware that it happened? Probably a bunch of these things.

With this announcement we find out that everyone--and I mean everyone--has to play cards now, although I’m pretty sure half of them have duel disks and the other’s are like...not equipped? I mean it’s VR, so hypothetically no one at all needs a duel disk anymore but you gotta sell toys, so no matter what, Yugi’s going to be lugging this heavy sharp thing on his wrist, even when he knows he will soon be shot down a wacky hole.

The title of last episode, ps was “VR Nightmare,” but like, it’s actually fairly pleasant, compared to the blimp hell we were dealing with just a few episodes back. I mean I guess people are actively trying to kill us here but when are they not?

The audacity of this show. Every state in the US has huge ass fake castles in it leftover from the Rockefeller era. Where else are our Moms supposed to drag us on Day Trips so we can get our history credit for Girl Scouts?

Americans are hella good at creating fake historical sites--all you need is a 50+ year old house and some turret work possibly made by a reasonably well known architect and it’s like “yeah that’s a good enough castle for me! Can we say it’s haunted, too? It’s hella haunted! Come to my castle B+B!”

(read more under the cut)

Tea landed in some concept art that kind of looks like the underside of a mushroom. I dunno how I’d classify this rock structure.

And then Kaiba landed in his worst nightmare which was being in a normal park with one single straight road but somehow still completely lost. At least Mokuba managed to fall into the same hole as his brother to ensure that Seto wouldn't be lost for like the rest of this arc. Which was actually kind of an unintentionally hilarious animation.

*rare shot of the Kaibas actually taking a break*

Man, this is the closest they’ve gotten to a real hug in kind of a while. Like when was the last time these bros hugged? Pegasus’ castle?

Meanwhile, Noah is admiring his work from this throne room and it would be a whole lot more intimidating if he wasn’t in calf-high black socks.

His outfit is like a white school uniform so what gives with the black socks? Like of all the things to complain about on Yugioh (especially since I see Yugi’s hair looking right at me in the next cap) those socks though. Those are pretty inappropriate with this outfit, Noah. Especially matched with this God Throne you’ve got going on. Did not see socks like that matched with a chair like this.

Meanwhile Yugi is all by himself but that doesn’t matter at all because he is 2 (3) people. This strategy to isolate everyone only really worked on Serenity and Joey, TBH, since Tea is also accompanied by slightlylessevil!Marik (who hasn’t really said anything since the VR started).

I knew Bakura would be out for a while, but I didn’t realize it meant everyone else wasn’t even going to once acknowledge it, it is baffling. I mean I get they’re super distracted right now but your friend is DEAD.

Honestly I would not mind if the big 5 succeeded and we had to see some old men try and work with Yugi’s hair and alt rock clothing, deal with Pharaoh sassing them from a brain labyrinth, go to Yugi’s school where people get savagely beat up like every other day, deal with Bakura and Marik trying to body snatch and other magic assholery during class breaks, and through all that watching the Big 5 attempt to take over the world with their megacorp that no longer sells guns but actually sells like...children’s entertainment supplies which include the dueling roombas from S1. How on Earth do they actually think that getting a body would help them at this point? They would be Yugi Muto and that is the last face anyone would ever take seriously.

Pharaoh pops up and is like “I guess we’re doing this right now? Really wish we weren’t doing this right now.”

Anyway, because they don’t physically exist in this digital world, neither do God Cards, or any other card in their deck. So, now they have to make new decks out of a pool. Very convenient for the writing team, bad news for Kaiba’s intense and vaguely romantic relationship with his Blue Eyes. Really glad we spent a full season talking about how much these cards meant to all these people, from the magicians, to Joey’s Red Eyes, and then that one card that was Mako Tsunami’s Dad or something--really glad we learned all of that to just completely erase it this arc.

I sounded sarcastic just now, I actually wasn’t for once, I am so glad to just purge my mind of all those card memories for a little while. Just allow myself to forget. Ah. My mind is already so much clearer. It feels so good. I am very much ok with this soft reset, I kinda needed it.

Since Yugi is supposed to choose a Deck Master from his set of cards for this particular type of duel monsters duel, he goes right for the dark magician--since that’s his MO, but for some reason Kuriboh chose himself? Like this greasy thing just hopped out of the card and played himself.

Anyway Kuriboh is now their new Pikachu and well...this show has done worse cute-character-that-does-literally-nothing-else type things to me, speaking of, lets see what Serenity is up to.

This is a digital hellscape, Serenity.

Serenity, you are going to die here.

Serenity.

So because I just realized just now in Season 3 that Duke’s necklace is a hot, over designed disaster (much like Duke himself) I figured I should like...see what this necklace is supposed to look like. So I typed into Google “duke devlin necklace” and guys, turns out there is a LOT of Yugioh jewelry--and I don’t mean like fanart (which there is also a lot), I mean like officially, a lot of people in this show wear a lot of jewelry and so it was sort of hard to find a good pic of a Duke Devlin specific necklace--especially since it feels like most people just go for the dice earring because that’s way easier.

But what’s interesting about the Duke Devlin necklace, at least from my quick search, is that when we bring it to the real world, it gets a little lost, like a game of telephone.

Cuz I assumed that was a clown on his necklace--and there’s quite a few clown necklaces, but I’m also seeing skulls, I’m seeing gothic crosses, I’m seeing spikes and knives instead of crosses. Bro thought it was a flower for some reason--I kinda blew his mind just now when I pointed out it was a clown. Some people think it’s made of silver, other people think it’s sort of painted? (I assumed the cross was entirely blinged out with rhinestones--my honest assumption) No one can actually agree. Especially since Duke apparently changed his necklace for the movie. I know that because it looks a lot like the Legend of Zelda emblem, and some people had the actual Legend of Zelda emblem mis-tagged as Duke Devlin. Which sucks a whole lot for their SEO, and sucked a whole lot for me in my search to find a real actual Duke Devlin necklace.

Like, feel free to attach a link to a reply -- is there an official physical Duke Devlin necklace that Yugioh inc sells? Like I just want to know--officially--what the hell I’m looking at.

Anyway, back to the show, much like everyone else, these two are hopelessly lost.

Kaiba seems to keep forgetting that his Dad is clearly behind all this and would obviously have his old tech but like...Kaiba forgets so much I can forgive him this.

So, faced with roads that lead no where, Tristan decides to do his tried and true method of solving all of his problems.

And at the other end of the VR zone Tea is getting kidnapped after...being kidnapped by Noah while she was already kidnapped by Marik. This is three levels of kidnap, yes?

OH SHOOT IS THAT A ONCE DOOR. DID SOMEONE DO WHAT I HOPE THEY DID? OH SHOOT.

I will read their fanfiction start to end I swear to you I will do it if it exists and I will report back to you who dates Captain Hook and who is related to Henry Mills.

OMG It didn’t exist.

You have got to be kidding me.

I am beside myself, this is the only property known to man that has not been turned into a OUAT fanfiction.

Incredible.

That or I’m just really bad at searching for fanfics since I haven’t actually read any since my LiveJournal days. Like, when you’re basically immune to shipping, as I am, you just really lose the desire to read about 90% of fanfiction.

Anyway, the closest we have to a OUAT Yugioh fanfiction, to my knowledge, is that cap I made just now right there. Your welcome, Once community.

This is absolutely made of load-bearing drywall. Why do none of the sets of windows line up with each other and how many stories is this? Like 2.5? And you can stand on the roof I guess because it has handrails? It’s super weird.

Anyway, I just made a OUAT joke and maybe it’s because I knew shortly after we were gonna get--that’s right--an orphanage flashback. OUAT was basically 6 seasons of effed up orphan flashbacks so I feel pretty well prepared. Like bro was worried how I’d handle this filler but y’all, I watched the Lily arc in OUAT. I can do anything.

*slaps hands together*

Totes ready for these boys to have been given up for adoption via a magical tree and a memory curse, only to find out their real parents are 3 years younger than them because of a time loop. Make it weird, Yugioh!

Anyway, as always, if you want a link to read these from the beginning in Chrono order and without any comments and all that jazz here’s a link