#and i'd better not see one after this ask!

[soundwavefucker69]

I don't share this often, but I am a trans man named Minty.

awhile after I got my legal name change, I asked my mom what she would have named me if I was a boy. she said Sebastian, and I groaned and complained that I should have asked before I got the name change, because I really DID like Sebastian now that it was occurring to me as a possible name and had ALWAYS liked Sebastian, even before my MCU days as a teenager. I had even considered it as an option but worried I'd end up looking like a weird fandom kid that had never let go of the MCU. if I had known that was the name my mother had picked for me, I would have had justification to choose it.

she asked me why I picked Minty then. i kinda paused in surprise because I thought it was obvious. and I was like. well. I wanted a name i felt like I could associate with childhood me.

after the first house we lived in was foreclosed on by the bank, we had to rent while my parents fixed their credit and swore never to get a fixer upper again. so we picked a nice house in our small town with only two real neighbors of note: an old lady, whose kids had forgotten about her, that lived way down the alley, around the point it turned from paved to dirt, the only house down there, who had a pomegranate tree in her ill-tended front yard, and a nice old lady next door that for some inexplicable reason had a miniature horse and a beautifully tended flower garden she had foolishly once planted mint in. she also had a very, very old fashioned rotary telephone. I mean the kind hardwired into the wall, of metal, with a speaker with a smooth wooden handle that sat neatly on top. not one of the plastic ones. the ones you see in old movies.

we loved these old ladies very much. the pomegranate lady was too old to keep up on her yard, so my brother and I would go with our dad to help weed whack and scrape up the dead leaves. we didn't offer too much, she was a proud sort, and couldn't pay us, but just enough to help out a little. and the mint in her flower garden lady loved it when we came by to say hi to her horse whose name I forget and loved to teach us how to garden.

she would send us home with mint. obviously. because when you have a mint infestation, well. it's pointless, but you gotta try anyway. and my mom would take that mint and make sun tea, just on the edge of not sweet enough, bc she was a bit of a crunchy mom, but not enough to reprimand me for sneaking a bit of sugar into my cup after to mix it up. (the sugar never dissolved right, especially after it was chilled, and i would always make a racket trying to get it to do so)

I told her I picked Minty because it ties me to my childhood. I didn't want to just cast it away. I wasn't Minty yet, but I also wouldn't be Minty without those days.

mom hasn't fully come around to me being trans. but she was quiet for a long, long time before she kind of whispered. I think I like Minty better than Sebastian. you should keep it.

my mom has always beat herself up over our childhood. she lacked a lot of stability in her upbringing and thought church was the way to go with my brother and I. unfortunately, she picked the wrong church. it was intensely traumatizing for us. we've had a lot of tough conversations about it. but I was able to tell her that day, you know Mom, I know you think you didn't do enough, but just know I'm not trans because you put me in a place where womanhood was miserable and I'm running from it. I don't remember much of the church, even though it consumed my life. what I do remember is my mother, the woman I may have complicated feelings towards, but have always admired and was always my standard for womanhood, being criticized by the other women for allowing me to read this book or that book and not bending or breaking under their rebukes for twenty years. I remember finding out as a twenty year old that I was the only "girl" in church that got the HPV vaccine, because you wanted to protect me, and not rely on chastity alone, like some sort of egotistical maniac who believed I'd always be your daughter, not a living breathing person that would make choices you didn't approve of as an adult, that shouldn't have to suffer for no reason from those choices. I remember you reading to my brother and I well into our teen years, using your acting talents that didn't blossom into the career you wanted to bring the characters in Peter and the Starcatchers to life. I remember listening to Lord of the Rings on cassette tape in the mini van, even though they said it was demonic when they found out. I remember the mom that let me be a tomboy. I remember the mom that would put on the Wind and the Willows on cassette from the library on rainy summer days and we'd listen to it and eat meatballs and spaghetti in the kitchen.

I told her, you're not a failure as a mother, and I didn't hate womanhood because of your example. it just didn't fit me. you made mistakes because you're human. I never thought of you as less than because you're a woman, and I didn't want to escape the cage you're thinking i wanted to escape.

my mom cried. I think that was the first time i made her cry and didn't feel bad about it.

anyways. not a soft memory, but it feels soft to me.

Tell me a soft memory

[writetheidea]

Too Much to Be Enough - part 2

Hi, I wrote the second part of this fanfiction while juggling my thesis, so I apologize if there are any mistakes. Please feel free to point them out in my DMs or asks—I'd really appreciate it. I couldn't bring myself to just write pure fluff without adding a bit of angst. As I mentioned in the story, rebuilding trust isn't a straightforward process. I hope you enjoy it!

Part 1

Pairing: Franco Colapinto x female character

Plot: after deeply hurting his girlfriend, Franco learns how hard it is to rebuild their relationship, learning that trust, once broken, is a delicate and painstaking process to restore.

Tag: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff.

Word count: 3178

Disclaimers: english is not my first language - I feel like you could tell from my writing style - so I apologize if some of the sentences structures are off, or if I use outdated or inappropriate-for-the-context words, I used a synonym dictionary to try and stop myself from repeating the same words, I still did do that though.

Franco had always been a man of control. On the racetrack, precision wasn’t just a skill; it was survival. Every turn, every decision, required complete mastery over chaos. Off the track, he wasn’t much different, carrying that same calculated demeanor into his personal life. The way he managed his career, his relationships, even the smallest aspects of his daily routine, all reflected his need to remain unshakable. Control was his armor, his identity. But this—watching the woman he loved drift further away because of his carelessness—was a storm he couldn’t navigate.

He had made a mistake. A single moment of thoughtlessness, a few careless words, the laughter that followed, had been enough to tear open the foundation of trust they had spent years building. The memory replayed endlessly in his mind, gnawing at him like a relentless tide. He could see it all too clearly: the way her face fell, how her voice quivered when she confronted him. She hadn’t screamed or shouted; she hadn’t even cried at first. She had just gone quiet, her silence heavier than any words could have been. It spoke of wounds too deep for words, a disappointment that no apology could touch.

At first, he had thought the tension might dissipate after a day or two. He had underestimated the depth of the wound he had inflicted. What followed was a purgatory of silence. She didn’t leave outright, but her presence was a ghost of what it had been. She avoided his touch, his gaze, even his attempts at conversation. The vibrant, warm woman he loved so fiercely had become a shadow, navigating their shared spaces like a stranger. Franco’s every attempt to bridge the gap between them fell flat—flowers went untouched, her favorite pastries remained uneaten, and the small notes he left for her disappeared without acknowledgment. It was as though she was erasing him piece by piece, and he could do nothing to stop it.

The silence was unbearable. He missed her laughter, the way she would light up when she spoke about her favorite books or dreams for the future. He missed the way she would reach for him instinctively, as though he was her safe harbor. Now, he felt like a trespasser in his own life, each moment with her a painful reminder of what he had broken. 

On the third night after the fight, Franco found himself sitting on their couch, his hands clasped tightly together. The room felt impossibly large, every corner of it carrying memories of better times. He could picture her curled up on the other side of the couch, her laughter filling the space as she recounted some silly anecdote or read him a passage from one of her favorite books. Now, the silence was deafening. He had spent hours going over what he might say to her, how he might begin to repair what he had broken, but words failed him.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. “Please,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “I can’t stand this. Tell me what to do—tell me how to make this right.”

She didn’t even look at him, her gaze fixed somewhere distant. “What’s the point?” she said quietly. “You’ve already shown me what you think of me. You agreed with them, Franco. You laughed at me like I was a joke.”

Her voice broke on the last word, and Franco felt the full weight of her hurt settle over him. “That’s not true,” he said desperately. “I wasn’t thinking—”

“No,” she interrupted, finally turning to face him, her eyes flashing with rare anger. “You weren’t thinking. But that doesn’t change what you said. Or what you did.” Her voice cracked, and for the first time, Franco could see just how deeply he had hurt her. “Do you even understand how small that made me feel? Like I was some kind of joke? Like I’ll never be enough for you?” 

She paused, her face now showing the pain she had been harboring beneath the surface “What else do you want me to say, Franco? That I’m hurt? That I feel like I’ll never be enough for you now? You already know that”

Her words cut deeper than any insult, the quiet resignation in her voice tearing him apart. “You are enough,” he said fervently, reaching for her hand. “You’ve always been enough. I was stupid, careless—I didn’t mean what I said.”

“But you did,” she replied, pulling her hand away. “Maybe you didn’t mean for me to hear it, but you meant it. And I can’t unhear it, Franco. I can’t forget the way you agreed with them, the way you laughed about me like I was some… inconvenience.”

Her voice broke on the last word, and Franco felt his chest tighten, guilt clawing at him like a relentless tide. “I love you,” he said desperately. “I love everything about you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I can’t lose you.”

She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face as if trying to find some trace of the man she had once trusted so completely. “Love isn’t supposed to hurt like this,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “And right now, being with you… it hurts.”

His throat tightened as he searched for words, but there was nothing he could say that would undo the damage. “You are everything to me,” he said finally, his voice raw. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it if I have to.”

-----

But words weren’t enough, and he knew it. That night, she moved to the guest room, leaving their bed and a gaping void in his heart. He lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling and replaying every moment he had failed her, every time he had taken her love for granted. He thought of her kindness, her patience, the way she had always believed in him, even when he doubted himself. And now, when she needed him most, he had failed to be the man she deserved.

The next morning, he woke to find her gone. A note on the counter said she was staying with a friend for a few days. He stared at the words until they blurred, his chest aching with the realization that she needed space from him—that being near him caused her pain. He couldn’t blame her for that, but it didn’t make it any easier to bear.

He threw himself into trying to make amends, even if she wasn’t there to see it. He cleaned the apartment from top to bottom, cooked her favorite meals, and set the table with candles and fresh flowers every day, hoping it might offer a small measure of comfort when she returned. The evening when she finally walked through the door, she paused, her eyes scanning the room before landing on him.

“What’s all this?” she asked, her voice wary.

“I thought we could have dinner together,” he said, his voice hesitant. “I know it doesn’t fix anything, but I thought… I just wanted to do something for you.”

She hesitated for a moment before sitting down at the table. They ate in near silence, the tension between them almost unbearable. He tried to ask about her day, her friend, anything to fill the void, but her answers were curt, her gaze fixed on her plate. By the time they finished, Franco felt more defeated than ever.

As she stood to leave, he reached for her hand, his grip gentle but firm. “Please. I’ll do whatever it takes,” he said. “Just tell me how to make this better.”

She looked down at him, her eyes filled with exhaustion. “I don’t know if you can,” she said softly. “But if you want to try, then stop looking for shortcuts. This isn’t about flowers or dinners. It’s about showing me that I matter to you—not just when it’s easy, but when it’s hard. It’s about showing me—every day—that you love me for who I am, not despite it.”

-----

From that moment on, Franco dedicated himself to proving his love, not through grand gestures but in the quiet, unremarkable moments of daily life. He began paying attention to the things she cared about—remembering the books she mentioned wanting to read, making sure her favorite tea was always stocked in the pantry, and taking over chores she usually handled so she wouldn’t have to. He didn’t push her to talk or try to force her forgiveness; instead, he gave her the space she needed, even when it hurt to keep his distance.

The process was slow and often discouraging. There were days when she barely acknowledged his efforts, her walls still firmly in place. But there were also small victories—like the time she laughed, a soft, unguarded sound that felt like sunlight breaking through the clouds. Or the day she found a note he had left in her book that simply said, “I see you. And I love you.” She didn’t say anything about it, but later that evening, she made them tea and sat beside him on the couch, the silence between them no longer quite so heavy.

-----

Franco thought he was making progress. Slowly but surely, she was beginning to let him in again. The walls she’d built around herself were still there, but they had started to crack. She smiled a little more often, lingered at the dinner table to talk about her day, and once, when they were watching an old movie on the couch, she leaned into him without pulling away. Each small step felt monumental, and Franco held onto the hope that one day, she might fully trust him again.

But trust, he learned, was fragile.

It happened at a party—a glamorous event hosted by one of Franco’s sponsors. He had been reluctant to go, worried about the strain it might put on their delicate truce, but she had insisted. “You shouldn’t have to give up your life because of me,” she said. He had taken her words as a sign that things were improving between them, a sign that she was ready to be part of his world again.

The evening started well enough. She looked stunning in a sleek, dark dress, her hair framing her face. Franco couldn’t take his eyes off her, and for a moment, he felt like the luckiest man in the room. They mingled with the crowd, exchanging polite pleasantries with sponsors and fellow racers. She held her own beautifully, her sharp wit and quiet confidence earning smiles and laughter from everyone she spoke to.

Then came the moment that undid everything.

Franco had stepped away to get them drinks, and when he returned, he overheard a group of men making crude jokes about her. The words were vile—reducing her to nothing more than a pretty accessory, a trophy to be paraded around. Franco’s blood boiled, but instead of stepping in to defend her, he froze. He laughed awkwardly, muttered something dismissive, and walked away.

What he didn’t realize was that she had overheard, her expression a mask of disbelief and hurt as she stood just out of view.

Later that night, as they drove home, the tension in the car was suffocating. She stared out the window, silent, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. Franco tried to fill the void with small talk, but each word felt hollow.

Finally, she turned to him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, though he already knew.

“I heard them, Franco. I heard what they said about me. And I heard you laugh. Again.”

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “It wasn’t like that,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean what? To defend me? To show them that I’m more than the joke they made me out to be?” Her voice cracked, and she turned away, shaking her head. “I thought you were different. I thought you respected me.”

“I do respect you,” he said, his voice rising. “I didn’t know what to say—I panicked.”

“Panicked?” she repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief. “I was standing there, Franco. Listening to them degrade me, waiting for you to have my back. And you panicked?”

The argument spilled into their apartment, growing louder and more painful with each passing moment. By the time it was over, she was packing a bag, tears streaming down her face as she threw clothes into a suitcase.

“Please don’t do this,” Franco said, his voice raw. “Don’t leave. We can fix this.”

She stopped, her hands trembling as she gripped the edge of the suitcase. “You don’t get it, do you?” she said, her voice shaking. “This isn’t just about tonight. It’s about every time you’ve made me feel small, every time you’ve chosen your pride or your reputation over me. I can’t do this anymore.”

And with that, she was gone.

-----

The months that followed were the darkest of Franco’s life. She didn’t answer his calls or texts, and when he went to her friend’s house to see her, he was turned away at the door. For the first time, he had to confront the possibility that he might have lost her for good.

Franco threw himself into therapy, desperate to understand why he kept sabotaging the one thing that mattered most to him. His sessions were grueling, forcing him to confront parts of himself he had long ignored—the insecurities he buried beneath his arrogance, the fear of vulnerability that drove him to push people away.

He also began writing her letters, pouring his heart onto the page in a way he had never been able to do in person. He didn’t know if she would ever read them, but it was the only way he could process his feelings.

Months passed. Slowly, Franco began to change—not for her, but for himself. He realized that he couldn’t ask her to come back if he wasn’t willing to become the man she deserved.

Then, one day, he received an unexpected text.

“Meet me at the park tomorrow at 2.”

His heart leapt, but he forced himself to temper his expectations. When he arrived, she was sitting on a bench, her posture stiff, her expression guarded.

“I got your letters,” she said, her voice quiet.

“And?” he asked, his heart pounding.

“They were… honest,” she admitted. “But honesty doesn’t erase what happened.”

“I know,” he said. “I don’t expect you to forgive me—not yet, maybe not ever. But I want you to know that I’m trying. I’m working on myself, and not just because I want you back. I need to be better, for me. For whoever I become, with or without you.”

She studied him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face. “I don’t know if I can trust you again,” she said finally. “But I’m willing to try. Slowly. On my terms.”

“I’ll wait as long as it takes,” he said, his voice steady. “I’m not going anywhere.”

-----

True to her word, she made Franco work for her trust. There were no shortcuts, no grand declarations that could fix what was broken. If he wanted to be in her life again, he had to earn his place every single day.

Their relationship became a fragile thread, held together by small, cautious interactions. They started meeting once a week for coffee, their conversations polite but distant. She kept him at arm’s length, her walls firmly in place. Franco didn’t push; he simply showed up, week after week, ready to prove himself.

One day, as they walked through the park after coffee, she turned to him abruptly. “Why didn’t you stand up for me?” she asked, her voice trembling.

The question caught him off guard, but he didn’t shy away from it. “Because I was afraid,” he admitted. “Afraid of looking weak, afraid of being judged. But mostly… afraid that if I stood up for you and got it wrong, you’d see me as a failure.”

Her eyes softened, but her expression remained guarded. “And now?”

“Now I realize that failing you is worse than failing in front of anyone else,” he said. “If I ever get the chance again, I promise you, I won’t let you down.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze distant. “We’ll see.”

The weeks turned into months, and their connection began to deepen again. She started sharing more of herself, though cautiously, and Franco matched her vulnerability with his own. He told her about the therapy sessions, about the childhood insecurities that had shaped his need for control and approval. It was a side of him she had never seen before, and while it didn’t erase the past, it gave her hope that he was truly changing.

-----

It wasn’t a single moment that brought them back together, but a series of small ones—acts of kindness, vulnerability, and unwavering support. Franco became a man she could rely on, not just in words but in actions. He stood up for her, prioritized her needs, and made her feel seen and valued in every aspect of their lives.

There were moments when he doubted himself, wondering if he was fighting a losing battle. And there were nights when he lay awake, haunted by the memory of her tears, the sound of her voice breaking as she told him how much he had hurt her. Through it all, he held onto the hope that one day, she would see how much he loved her—that she would believe it, not because he said it, but because he showed it in every action, every choice he made.

One rainy afternoon, he decided to try something different. He pulled out a cookbook she had always loved but rarely used and flipped to a page with a recipe for her favorite cake. He was hopeless in the kitchen, but he wanted to try—to show her that he was willing to make an effort, no matter how small. When she came home and found him fumbling with ingredients, the sight stopped her in her tracks.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice tinged with incredulity.

“Trying to make your cake,” he said, holding up a whisk like it was a weapon. “It’s probably going to be terrible, but I thought—”

She interrupted him with a soft laugh. “You’re going to burn the kitchen down.”

“Maybe,” he said, grinning sheepishly. “But I figured it was worth the risk.”

She stepped toward him, closing the distance that had felt insurmountable for so long. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, but her tone was warm, her eyes soft as she reached for the whisk. “Let me help you.”

As they cooked together, bumping elbows and laughing at his mistakes, Franco felt something shift. It wasn’t complete trust—not yet—but it was a beginning. And as he watched her smile, he realized that this was what love was: not grand gestures or perfect moments, but showing up, every day, and choosing each other even when it was hard.

[sweetmodel]

Hey, if you're seeing this, I most likely died. I've been battling a really really intense illness for a few years now. I don't want to got in too much detail about It but it worsened these last months and I've basically been spending my final weeks living in my hospital room.

Many people have asked me what I think happens after we die since, you know, we can shift realities and all that... I was kind of afraid of answering and hesitated because I didn't want to influence anyone to do anything stupid and reckless. But now, talking about it makes me feel better, so I guess if you're more suggestible stop reading now... Or keep going. But I warned you.

Honestly, I stuck around in this reality just to find out. I know it sounds really morbid but I'm curious to know how dying is going to feel like. I'm not scared or anything because I've shifted many times and honestly I think dead is just the end of the body, not of the consciousness. I don't think consciousness can ever truly die, at least the way they define death. I think death, just like anything in this reality, is a creation of consciousness/awareness, and when we die we go to... Where we most likely think we end up to.

I always thought heavily religious people are now in their own heaven/hell, and for us shifters, since we know we can go wherever we want, then the choice is actually ours. I know by the time I die I'm going to end up in one of my many realities.

I guess I'm just rambling but... I'm happy I created this blog and helped people. I remember when I first found out about shifting many years ago, it feels like centuries passed! I never could have imagined I would end up doing things like magic, being famous, a pop star, an actor, a fairy, seeing the universe, and so on... I wish I could have said more honestly but it has been really hard making posts.

My last advice for all of you is to never stop dreaming, because the things you want are already yours. You don't know about shifting because that's what you're supposed to do, you know about shifting because that's the bridge for the things you already have. You were powerful enough to manifest in your reality the key to be limitless. Or, I'd rather say, you REMEMBERED your true nature. Break free from limits, because ultimetely you created those too.

So I guess... Bye, unless I end up interacting with any of you somewhere else ;).

[heroes-in-the-dark]

Hi!!!! It's me again with a new fan art, one of several sketches I have pending haha!

In episode 119.5 when toga mentions that Tokoyami gives him his blood, I couldn't help but remember the scene where Ochako tells him that he would give her his blood, in episode 19 of season 7

That children's scene is very symbolic, and I decided to do the version that no one asked me for, but our little fandom needed

Your work has been too special for me, my heart received it with affection and it has a great place in my mind every day, at least I dedicate 6 hours of thought to it a day HAHA! It sounds crazy but it's my Roman empire, and my life changed for the better since I've been following this fanfic

So I basically say this to say, THANK YOU.

And I was wondering for a while , would you give me your permission to make content, like videos about this fanfic? Clearly all the credits of creation would be yours, I only enjoy creating things that I like, that's why I ask permission. Why I respect your rights as an author 🕴️💖

Anyway, I love you, I hope you like my fan art, many more will come jsjsjs😊

I ABSOLUTELY ADORE THIS ONE!!!! 💕😭💕

Your art is so good, and this scene is actually SO important because we're not quite there yet, but I'm really anticipating when Tokoyami and Toga see each other next! Their little faces are so precious I just wanna cherish them both 🥺

Art of these two is so rare outside of this little corner I've written, but this actually means so so much. It's just so perfect, for reasons I can't yet fully explain, and I'm absolutely giddy that you drew this 🥰 so thank you!!!

And you're so sweet! 💕 Honestly, it's been the support and continued enthusiasm from my readers that gave me the motivation to make it this far, so I really couldn't have done it without you! I love how much I was able to explore throughout the story, while giving attention to characters who didn't get nearly enough in canon. And I'm so happy that I can share these thoughts and ideas with others! Especially with how long it's been going on for, this hasn't exactly been a short journey, and you and quite a few others have been keeping up with it year after year. And that's amazing! Thank you so much for being a fan of my work!!!

You can absolutely make fan content! I trust you to credit me and all that, so go right on ahead. And by all means, feel free to share! I'd love to see anything you end up making 😊

[imagine-you]

I Will Avenge My Ghost [Bucky Barnes/Reader] (2/?)

Summary: Your sacrifice on Vormir was meant to be your end. You did it for love. You did it for family. And you had no regrets in your decision to be the one to jump instead of Steve. But you never expected to wake up in Wakanda and you certainly never thought that you would still lose Steve and your sister in the years since your death. While you can't get Steve back, you're determined to figure out what happened to your sister and you end up dragging Bucky along for the ride. Your questions lead you to Westview, a sleepy little town harboring a dark past, and a witch named Agatha Harkness. Will you find what you truly seek down, down, down the Witches' Road or will Death finally come to claim you?

Word Count: 3.8k

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who responded to the last chapter and showed this fic some love. Y'all kept me going. 💖

Chapter One //

Read on AO3

"She's dead," Stephen choked out once you loosened your grip enough to allow him to speak. 

"Bullshit," you snapped, watching the way the darkness around him swirled, attempting to curl around your magic.  

"Your sister was not the same person you remember,” he tried to claim, as if that would make any of it better for you. 

“Then tell me,” you snarled, keeping him pinned to the wall with your magic. “Tell me what kind of person she was.” 

Stephen seemed like he was hesitant to answer, but when you tightened your hold on him, he finally spoke. “She was consumed by her grief and she did terrible things because of it. She enslaved a town with her mind and created a whole reality for herself where she got to have a family with Vision and her children at the expense of innocent civilians. She let the Darkhold corrupt her, because she was looking for the children she created across the multiverse, and she nearly killed a girl just to steal her power. She was responsible for the deaths of countless others all while she was blinded by what the Darkhold had done to her. I tried to tell her that the children, well they never truly existed, but--" Stephen's words cut off with a croak when you lashed out again with your magic, preventing him from continuing.  

"Children? Wanda had children? She had a family? With Vis?"  

"They weren't real," Stephen gasped, his hands attempting to push away your magic and give himself enough space to protect himself, but you realized with a thrill that you were stronger. "She created them with her magic." 

"That's what every mother does," you muttered, not sure where the words had come from, but knowing that it was true. It had been a whisper at the back of your mind. A forgotten memory rushing up to greet you.  

Stephen looked haunted for a moment, his skin paling at the words. "What did you say?" 

"It doesn't matter how she made them, because they're real. She made them real," you refuted with a quick shake of your head, ignoring Stephen's question. "My sister deserved a family. She didn't deserve whatever happened to her. And I refuse to believe she's really gone." She couldn't be. Not after the second chance you had been given.  

"Wanda died at Wundagore when she destroyed all copies of the Darkhold," Stephen continued, watching you warily as you got closer to him.  

You were listening to Stephen, but keeping your focus on the darkness around him. It was still trying to twine itself to your magic and you likened it to a pest that would never go away unless you did something about it.  

"It was her penance for what she did while under its influence," Stephen managed to get out before you tightened your hold on him again, cutting off his words.  

"Should we be stopping her? I feel like we should do something," Sam whispered to the others.  

"Not yet," Shuri responded. "I'd like to see where this is going." 

"And what of your penance, Stephen?" You wondered, tilting your head to the side as you considered him.  

"What?" He asked, gasping in a deep breath when you finally let him go.  

You had seen enough and heard enough from Strange to know what you had to do.  

"You used the Darkhold, didn't you?" You accused, watching him for his reaction.  

His eyes widened just the slightest, finally showing just the briefest glimpse of true uneasiness. "How did you know that?" 

"Because it corrupted you," you hissed at him, leaning forward again and caging him in by placing a hand on either side of his head. You swept your arms down, letting them slide along his sides, feeling the way the darkness inside him tried to latch on to you. "It stained your soul," you realized, knowing that the auras you were seeing around the others was a glimmer of their souls. You wondered if it was a side effect of sacrificing yourself for the soul stone. 

The darkness was unnatural and didn't belong attached to Stephen. You were suddenly sure that it would be so easy to burn it out of him and what better way to show your good will than helping the man who had let your sister fall apart from grief?  

You offered Stephen a smirk, letting your magic flare up in your hands. You knew, somehow, that your plan would work. You were changed, reborn, and stronger for it.  

"Well, you're in luck, Stephen, because I've decided that I'm going to help you. Brace yourself, though, this is gonna hurt like a bitch." 

Stephen barely had a moment to react before you were letting your magic cover him. You let it seep into his skin, curling around the darkness inside him and burning it away. Stephen was screaming and Bucky was calling your name and Shuri was yelling something to Sam but all you could do was smile at Stephen and wonder if he felt even a fraction of the pain your sister must have experienced.  

The power of your magic felt intoxicating. You had never been so completely embraced by it and you didn’t know what to do with the feeling. It was still incredibly impulsive and hard to control, but you knew that with time, you would adapt to it. You would control it more than it controlled you.  

You let your magic sweep all the darkness inside Stephen away. You felt it trying to retreat, curl itself up and hide itself away, but you wouldn't let it. You burned the corruption of the Darkhold right out of Stephen and when you were done, he collapsed, no longer held up by your magic.  

You suddenly felt arms around you and before you could lash out, you felt a brief sting at the side of your neck. You caught sight of Shuri's apologetic expression as she injected you with something. An icy chill crept through your veins and your vision blurred. The person holding you tightened their grip around you before lifting you up.  

"Sorry about this, doll," Bucky muttered before you felt unconsciousness claim you.  

The next thing you were aware of was someone's hand in yours and the sound of someone's soft breaths filling up the silence. You forced yourself to open your eyes, the dragging pull of sleep still clawing at you, but you were stubborn enough to fight it off. You managed to glance down to see that it was Bucky holding onto your hand. His head was tipped back and eyes closed as he slept sprawled out in an armchair that had been pulled up to your bedside. 

You were in a room you didn't recognize and lying on a bed that definitely wasn't yours. The room was plain, bare, all except for the necessary furniture. You didn't know whether to panic about being in a strange place or be grateful that Bucky hadn't abandoned you for acting like a vengeful psycho with Stephen.  

"It's mine," Bucky told you, startling you enough that you tightened your grip on his hand. "This is my room while I'm here in Wakanda." 

You nodded your head, trying to think of something to say. You felt like Bucky had just witnessed you at your worst and you only hoped there was nowhere else to go but up from here.  

"It's nice?" You tried, a smile tugging at your lips at the sound of Bucky's amused laughter.  

"Yeah, well, haven't had time to hire the interior decorator yet," he joked before glancing down and realizing he was still holding onto your hand. He untangled his fingers from yours, the barest hint of a blush staining his cheeks. "How are you feeling?" 

"You mean after I decided to burn the Darkhold's corruption out of Stephen and then got knocked out for my troubles?"  

Bucky winced, but nodded his head.  

You shrugged your shoulders, feeling your lips pull down into a frown. "Not much I can feel after everything I've lost," you mused, fighting the urge to reach out and grab Bucky's hand again. You were on your way to accepting Steve's loss, because he had never really felt like yours at all. You had fallen for him hard and fast while helping him fight Tony Stark and the government all for the sake of Steve's best friend and your feelings had only intensified while you were on the run with him. You knew that Steve had loved you, but you always got the feeling there was something missing with every kiss he gave you. His 'I love you's were meant for someone else, you supposed, and you were only lucky they had graced your ears at all.  

But Wanda? That was a loss you would not accept. She wasn't dead. You wouldn't allow it. Which meant that you would have to find a way to uncover the full story of her demise and find a way to fix it.  

"I'm sorry," Bucky interrupted your thoughts, a remorseful look on his face.  

"For helping Shuri knock me out? It was the smart thing to do," you assured him, knowing that your magic was no longer fully under your control. You were still learning the way it burned, bright and potent, and entirely too destructive. You knew that if left unchecked, you could do an incredible amount of damage, and you would have to find a way to tame the wild impulse of it before it did something you truly didn't want. "I'm not saying I would have killed Stephen, but he's definitely on my shit list." 

"I'm not sorry about that," Bucky told you with a shake of his head. "I'm sorry because I know what it's like to wake up and find out that everything has changed. I know what it's like to feel like you're not really in control." 

"Yeah," you sighed, reaching out and placing your hand over his wrist. "I'm sorry you had to experience that at all. It's a shitty, terrifying feeling." 

Bucky snorted, gifting you with another smile. "You're telling me." 

You had always liked Bucky. You hadn't spent a lot of time around him, but you could see why Steve was willing to risk everything to save him. He had a sneaky brand of sarcasm that never failed to make you smile and he had always been there to watch your back when you needed him. He was kind, if self-deprecating, and carried a weight on his shoulders that life and tragedy had unfairly heaped on him. Despite the guilt he carried, he still found the time to comfort you when you needed someone most. You supposed maybe that was part of his guilt, but he had no blame to feel for what happened with Steve or Wanda. You were grateful for his presence, though, and you knew you weren’t done clinging to him like a lifeline.  

You really didn't want him leaving you too.  

"Let's get out of here," you suggested.  

Bucky quirked an eyebrow at you. "And go where?" 

"I don't care," you told him, already moving to get out of the bed. "Just out of the building, out of Wakanda. Somewhere where I don't feel like I'm constantly being watched." 

Bucky studied you for a moment before he narrowed his eyes in thought. "I think I have just the place in mind," he told you before he stood up. "Just let me tell Sam we're heading out." 

Three minutes later, you were waiting for Bucky while he had a tense conversation with Sam just down the hall. There was a lot of disappointed sighs on Sam's part and a lot of eye-rolling from Bucky, but it wasn't until Sam's voice rose that you caught any of their argument.  

"Are you sure you want to go with her? She seems a bit unstable," Sam pointed out, gesturing towards you.  

"I heard that," you called, shooting Sam an unimpressed look.  

He arched a brow at you, challenging and somehow accusatory. "I hope you did. I said it loud enough so you would." 

Bucky groaned, before reaching out to sling an arm around Sam's shoulders and began to tow him in your direction. "Look," Bucky started, lowering his voice, but you could still hear him despite the effort. "She just woke up after being dead for years and she's found out that her whole world is gone. And maybe she's not exactly the same person she was before she fell. If there's anyone who might be able to help get her through this...," he trailed off, letting Sam fill in the rest for himself.  

Sam froze in his tracks and turned to look at Bucky. "Ah, hell, Bucky," he breathed before his shoulders slumped in defeat. "You're sure about this?" 

"Yeah," Bucky answered, letting his gaze settle on you. "I'm sure." 

Shuri got you a flight out of Wakanda. You didn't see Stephen on your way out, but you didn't care all that much to see him again. You still didn't forgive him for his part in Wanda's suffering and while there would be hell to pay, you had other answers you needed to seek first.  

By the time the jet was landing somewhere in America, you were starting to feel exhausted. Bucky took care of finding a rental car and instructed you to get some rest once you were settled in the passenger seat. You didn't think you'd be able to sleep, but the second you let your head fall back against the headrest, your eyes closed and you drifted off.  

You woke to Bucky's hand on your shoulder. "We're here," he told you, keeping his tone gentle in an effort not to startle you.  

You opened your eyes to the sight of a graveyard.  

You felt yourself tense at the vision of the cemetery gates guarding the rows of graves beyond it. You were suddenly sure that Bucky had taken you to Steve's grave in an attempt to get you to make your peace with his death, but Bucky kept his grip firm on your shoulder and seemed to realize that you were beginning to freak out.  

"Just trust me, alright?"  

You glanced over at Bucky and met his eyes. You knew Bucky wasn't cruel, so your first assumption that you were here to pay your respects to Steve was way off. You nodded your eyes and got out of the car once Bucky did.  

Bucky led you past one row of graves and another, seeking a specific one. He seemed to know exactly where he was going and you began to suspect it was a grave he visited often. He finally stopped in front of a headstone, standing just at the foot of the grave before shooting you an expectant look.  

You offered him a nervous one in return before finally reading the name on the tombstone.  

You couldn't stop the surprised laugh that escaped you once you realized whose grave you were visiting.  

"It's mine," you marveled, moving forward to brush your hand over the headstone. There were fresh flowers left all around it, ringing it like a boundary of protection. There was a wreath displayed beside the headstone that looked like it had been left recently enough that it hadn't been destroyed by the elements just yet. The sash across the wreath proclaimed ‘gone but not forgotten,’ and once you read the words you had to look away, choked up at the sentiment. Your gaze fell on the stuffed animals resting against the base of the tombstone, lined up like they were keeping vigil over your grave. 

"I thought you might find it funny," Bucky offered with a helpless shrug of his shoulders. "I've got one too. An empty grave," he clarified, shifting on his feet when you glanced at him over your shoulder. "But no one ever leaves me teddy bears," he added with an amused grin.  

"Who left them?" You couldn't help but wonder, reaching out to pick up the teddy bear that Bucky had mentioned. It was blue and had white button eyes with a red heart stitched onto the stomach.  

"People who are thankful," Bucky answered, his voice growing solemn. "People who know you saved them. Their loved ones. The world." 

"Huh," you breathed, placing the teddy bear back down before thinking better of it and grabbing it again. "How often do people leave stuff?" 

"Daily," Bucky responded, clearing his throat when he started to say something else. "I, uh, I try to maintain it. Me and Nat and even Sam. Sometimes Clint, but he's been trying to spend as much time as he can with his family and doesn't come out this way that often. But it's mostly me. We'll throw out the flowers once they've wilted or donate the stuffed animals. Sometimes, they even leave balloons and cards," he said, studying you as you brushed your fingers gently over the roses left in one of the vases.  

You had been right all along. Bucky had easily navigated the way to your grave because he visited it often enough to have memorized where to go. The thought set off a funny little flip in your stomach and you decided to change the subject before you could embarrass yourself.  

You stared down at your own grave for a few moments before finally speaking.  

"What was the funeral like?" 

"Weird," Bucky huffed, sounding oddly relieved at the change in subject. You glanced at him, noticing he was blushing yet again. You never thought the Winter Soldier would be so easily flustered, but here you were with the evidence staring you in the face. "Silent," he added after another thoughtful moment. "No one really wanted to believe you were gone. Steve gave a beautiful eulogy and your sister didn't really say much of anything. We never saw her again after that. I think she had just lost too much to want to stick around." 

"Strange mentioned that Wanda took over a whole town," you started, finally turning to give Bucky your full attention. “Which town?” 

"Westview," Bucky supplied with a grimace. “It’s in Jersey.” 

"What happened?" You couldn't help but wonder. "What happened in Westview?" 

"I don't know much more about it than Strange did," Bucky confessed, offering you an apologetic wince. "The people who live there didn't seem like they really wanted to talk about it all that much. Like they just wanted to move on. Far as I can tell, though, what you heard was correct. Wanda took over a town and kind of used the people who lived there as her puppets. She created the life she was never actually going to get with Vision." 

"And she had kids," you mused, feeling your heart ache for your sister. Growing up, Wanda had only ever wanted a family and a life free of war. Losing your parents at such a young age and then being used as Hydra's lab rats had only made Wanda crave the kind of life she witnessed in the sitcoms she adored as a kid. The kind of life where nothing bad ever happened and the most harrowing choice the characters had to make was what to have for dinner. She wanted the white picket fence and dreamed of having a loving relationship with a partner who loved her unconditionally and kids of her own to mother. The fact that she had been so stricken with grief that she had been forced to create all of that with her magic left you feeling guilty.  

Maybe if you had been there for her, you could have helped her channel her grief in a healthier way. Instead, Wanda had to gain it all just to lose it all again.  

"Stephen talked about my sister like she was some sort of delusional villain," you finally continued, breaking free of your thoughts. "Wanda's not a bad person, Bucky. Just, sometimes, loss can make us do funny things."  

You thought of Steve using the time stone to get his own version of the white picket fence life with Peggy. Steve had broken the rules to find his own happiness. What happened to the timeline he disrupted? Maybe you would never know, but if everyone was okay with Steve breaking one of the cardinal rules of time travel, then why couldn't they understand that Wanda had only been chasing her own dream?  

She wasn’t a villain. She was just in pain.  

You were biased, sure, but you couldn't stomach the idea of people turning your sister into someone to be hated. Someone to be feared.  

You knew you would have to learn more about the deaths she caused, but you weren’t ready to unfold that part of Wanda’s story yet. The Darkhold had twisted your sister and you knew, deep down, even if you were loathe to admit it, that Stephen had likely been right. The Wanda that let herself fall to the temptation of the Darkhold wasn’t the same sister you had sacrificed yourself for, but you sure as hell weren’t going to stop until you found her again.  

"When she realized what she was doing to the town, she did release them," Bucky assured you, swaying forward like he wanted to reach out and console you. "I heard there was another witch there stirring up trouble and the only way to save everyone was for Wanda to destroy the illusion. I don't know what happened after that or to that other witch, but your sister went off the grid for a while. And then, well, maybe it's best we not get into that part of the story now. You've been through a lot lately." 

You wanted to argue, but you had a feeling that Bucky's next part of the story entailed whatever had happened to Wanda to make Stephen believe she was dead. You wanted more answers and you had a feeling that you were going to have to follow in your sister's footsteps to get them. You refused to accept that you had lost her like you lost Steve, which meant that you needed to try to get a feel for what happened to her.  

Maybe you needed to start at the place where it all began.  

"Do you know the way to Westview?" You asked Bucky, noticing the way his eyes widened just the slightest at your words. "I could try to go there by myself, but it's not like I've got my phone or a car, since I just recently stopped being dead." 

"I don't know if that's the best idea," Bucky started, his tone careful and unsure.  

"Buck," you started, finally crossing the distance between you. "I have to know. Please," you practically begged, suddenly sure that you couldn't do it without him.  

Bucky considered you for a moment before he heaved a defeated sigh. "Yeah, alright," he conceded, stepping to the side and gesturing for you to lead the way. “Let’s go to Westview.” He didn’t sound thrilled at the idea, but you knew he also didn’t want to let you wander off by yourself.  

"Great," you told him, pushing the teddy bear into his chest as you passed him. "There's more where that came from," you promised before you took off towards the cemetery gates, delighting in Bucky's pleased laugh. 

Author's Note: If you would like to be tagged in this series or be added to my all Bucky taglist, just let me know!

Taglist: @sunshinepeachx @bethexo07 @kisnini @greatmistakes @jvanilly

@circe143

[alex-thegiraffeboyy]

Chapter 6: Serendipidy

Bewitched Masterlist

Summary: They meet after 7 years. But they swear that everything is Serendipidy

Words: 2.1k

Warning: Constantly changes of POV's

N/A: I'm trying to find ways to get through the end of Arcane. Expect continuous updates.💕

Serendipidy: the faculty or phenomenon of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for.

Since Violet left Stillwater there has been a strange feeling in her chest. A feeling she can't put a name to.

She walks beside the enforcer, Caitlyn, for a while before she starts running and jumping across the rooftops of the place where she grew up. It's at that moment that she feels that tug in her chest again, and that's when it hits her. She's excited, but at the same time she feels terribly desolate and anxious. She feels sad and melancholy.

She passes by streets she used to frequent and realizes how much things have changed. Stalls that used to be there in her childhood are now closed or new stores take their place. She feels like she doesn't recognize anything even though she knows where she is.

She feels like a stranger in her own home.

🦋

The day Vi returned to the Lanes you can sense that something is going on. But you don't know what.

It's like a tingling in the back of your neck, a dull sound throbbing in your ears. But you don't think much of it, you have better things to worry about than this.

So you keep busy, as usual. You stop by the kitchen as you do every morning to help make breakfast for everyone, you stand there for a while and chat with people as they arrive, and when you see Ekko arrive with Scar you join them to sit down for breakfast at one of the tables while they coordinate for the day's activities.

"I'm going to make rounds today to oversee how everything is going after the raid on the ship last week" Ekko commented as he ate, looking at the two of you one at a time. He paused for a moment at you, noticing that you seemed distracted, you hadn't touched your food much, that tingle still nagging at the back of your neck, making your stomach churn "You come with me?"

You shake your head sideways, not turning to look at him, you didn't dare "Nope, I have things to check and reorganize in the warehouse. My next monitoring season out of the tree is coming up, so I have to know how much I have to earn and bring when I get back" you decide to take a bite of your food after a moment, you're not very hungry, but you won't waste that food "Besides, I promised Elma I'd help her with the new portraits on the mural".

After a while the three of you say goodbye and part ways, each going to their respective places.

But as you make your way to the mural you realize something. You almost didn't see it, almost stepped on it, in fact. But that tingle made you look at just the right moment. A four-leaf clover.

You stared at it for a few seconds, remembering when you used to look for them with Powder, a healthy competition between sisters. You almost always found them, but you always gave them to Powder "So Mylo can't tell you that you're unlucky" you used to tell her. That's why Vi sometimes teased you by call you that you were her good luck charm. But you didn't get too carried away with that memory, so you shook your head and kept walking.

🦋

After a few laps around undercity and stopping to eat and get information at Jericho's she headed with the grumpy enforcer to the brothel. There Babette filled her in on the current situation on the Lanes and offered her information on where she could find Sevika.

Vi thanked and hesitated for a moment, wrung her hands against each other nervously. She didn't need to ask, Babette was going to tell her anyway.

"She's fine," Babette tells her in a soft tone, fearing that if she spoke too loudly it might make Vi snap.

"What?" Babette responded with your name softly, watching as the girl in front of her took a shaky breath before daring to ask more. "Do you know anything about her, do you know where I can find her?" The woman could only shake her head.

"She stops here from time to time to drop off some things for me to defend the girls and the business. She told me she's coming next week. I don't know where she lives, but I know you're not going to find her on the streets of Zaun" And though Babette was tempted to tell her that there were a few years you worked for her, she knew that was not for her to tell her. That was your decision.

Violet, now more hopeful than before, thanks Babette and gets up from the couch to walk to the person who will lead her to the person who should provide her with the information she needs.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees some lucky dimes. And only then she decide to believe that it will bring her luck. Because remember that for you this kind of thing has always been important.

Maybe it will help her get to you.

🦋

That tingling keeps going throughout the morning and early afternoon. You scratch a couple of times and start to think you might get sick.

You hope you're wrong.

Although you have to admit that painting helps. It makes your head go quiet for a while. It also helps with that incessant tingling and anxious feeling.

Ekko stops by to say goodbye before leaving the lair. You wish him luck and give him a hug, and before he can take two steps towards the exit you stop him, remembering the clover you saw that morning. You run over to the spot and grab it from the floor before returning to your brother, tucking it into his jacket pocket.

"I know you don't need it, but it never hurts" Ekko shakes his head, a smile on his lips as he says goodbye to you again, this time for real.

Something tells you it's going to be an interesting afternoon.

🦋

At that moment, as she bleeds out, Violet sees you again in her hallucinations. She sees you playing with her sister and wandering around what was once her home.

She still remembers the time she brought you here. She remembers telling you about what her life was like then as she held your hand tightly, keeping from crying and how you held her and hugged her when she eventually broke down. She remembers your warmth and the gentleness and softness with which you held her.

God, she wishes you were there to hold her hand at that moment. She misses you so much

🦋

Ekko expected almost anything after spending 7 years on this.

Nothing could have prepared him for meeting a friend he thought was dead. The same one who found herself with an executioner and Jinx.

Nothing good could be happening, but he decided to give her a chance. He owed it to her and to himself.

But most of all to his sister.

So he puts bags over Vi and the enforcer's heads and leads them to the firelights' lair. He is grateful that you are not in sight, imagine you're still checking things out in the hold.

His companions take them to a secluded room while he takes a moment to breathe. He wants to tell you so badly... But he doesn't want to get your hopes up if Vi has decided on a different side. So he keeps silent. Soon one of his companions lets him know that they've both woken up, so he gives the go-ahead. He takes a big breath of air and lets it out slowly, just as you have taught him since he was a child. He puts his mask back on as he hears footsteps approaching.

On your side things weren't much better. Since a few minutes ago that tingling had become more intense, it had been there for so long that it was almost starting to overstimulate you.

You tried to breathe as you normally did, but nothing seemed to want to calm that sensation. Something was happening, or so your body wanted you to believe. You hate anxiety with all your heart.

So you resort to what has served you best all these years. Busyness. You go through and count supply by supply, item by item and put them on lists. You give instructions and ask question after question. You rearrange and rearrange, you do everything you can so that eventually your anxiety will subside and leave you alone. But your frustration only gets bigger and bigger when you realize it's still there, haunting you.

Meanwhile Ekko was talking to Vi, who after having ironed out the kinks and doled out some affection had worked up enough courage to ask about you.

"I knew you'd ask that" he replies looking at her with a smirk. So he opens the door and waits for her to adjust to the light. He tells her a bit about how you both found this place. Though of course he leaves out a few things (only because he knows it's up to you whether you want her to know or not). He shows her a few things as they walk, keeping up a light conversation as they go along.

And Violet can't pretend she's not anxious. Her hands clasp against each other every so often. Her smile trembles a little and her eyes move to everything and nothing. A warm feeling stirring in her chest.

And the butterflies. The ones she thought were already dead because they hadn't fluttered for so long, start fluttering all over her system, making her feel like she's 15 again. Reminding her of all the times she went looking for you at Benzo's to confess how she's loved you from the start, only to take a step back. Every time.

But not this time.

Finally Ekko stops in front of a thick metal door. He lets out a sigh before looking at it. "It may be a bit difficult. I ask you to be patient."

Vi nods slowly, feeling even more nervous. Ekko reaches into his pocket and pulls out the clover you gave him that morning, handing it to Vi. "A little luck never hurts, don't you think?"

Vi doesn't need to ask. She knows you found it, you've always had a knack for that. Then, slowly but surely, Ekko opens the metal door, lets the girl in, then goes in himself and closes it.

He greets a couple of people and gestures for them to come out. Violet's eyes move from side to side, looking for you.

You, on the other hand, don't hear the door open, too busy organizing. You move from side to side, unable to stand still. What you do feel is that the tingling suddenly runs through your whole body before it stops. You crouch for a moment between the boxes, feeling relief for the first time that day.

Ekko pulls out a last couple of people while Vi stands paralyzed, only one person is left at the end of the room, among some boxes and stacked objects. She almost doesn't notice you there, crouching down, massaging your neck. She only catches a glimpse of your hair, as messy as she remembers it. But maybe a little longer.

"Everything okay over there Sunny?" Vi can feel the air attacking in her throat as she hears the sound of your tired laughter.

"Kinda tired, but I'm better" you reply in a tired voice as you stand up and stretch your body. Vi can feel her heart racing as her eyes begin to sting.

A sob threatens to come from her throat, but Violet forces herself to keep her mouth shut. Her hands clench into fists as she watches you turn toward them.

"Remember that discomfort I told you I had in the morning? A while ago it stopped and-" you quickly shut your mouth when you see a pink-haired girl crying in front of you. Your heart races as you see the strong resemblance, but you don't allow yourself to hope. "Ekko... What's-?"

Vi makes a crooked smile "Hey Sunshine" she manages to whisper with a broken voice.

Your eyes start to sting. No one here calls you like that. Everyone knows you by your first name or as Sunny (this last one is only with Ekko and some friends). You never let anyone else call you Sunshine. You couldn't stand it. So when you heard it...

"Violet?"

Your suspicions come true.

Vi lets out a small laugh combined with a sob, nodding as she walks towards you.

You bring your hands to your mouth as a loud sob escapes your lips, shaking your head. "No... You're not... You can't..."

Vi quickly finishes reaching up to you and holds you against her. A firm but delicate grip. You too wrap your arms around her clinging to her jacket. The crying from both of you getting louder.

"I missed you so much" Vi manages to utter between sobs. You, on the other hand, feel unable to speak, so you just nod into the hollow of her neck.

Time seems to stand still when you both finally hold each other in your arms.

Four-leaf clovers, lucky dimes and cosmic coincidences.

But they swear it's a coincidence.

The best coincidence of their lives. Finding each other again.

[crabbunch]

HAPPY BIRTHDAYY!!!!! clethubs goofing around !

yayyy thank you ^D^ have some clethubs trying to set up etho's gmail account

"Okay," Etho says, squinting down at his shitty old laptop. "I opened the browser, I think, so-"

"Is that Opera?" Cleo demands. "Why are you using Opera? You barely even know what Internet Explorer is!"

"I don't know! I haven't opened this thing in years!" Etho whines.

"Well, click off- this wasn't even on your taskbar! How did you get here?" Cleo demands. "Click the little circle there. It'll be easier to set this up in Google, anyways."

"He could use Firefox, you know," Bdubs says, leaning into Etho's side. "There's better email providers than Google- you never know what data Google is stealing."

"Shut up, Bdubs, Etho doesn't have to worry about that. He's boring," Cleo says, and then pauses. "Well, at least, he won't be using his gmail to say anything worth spying on. Honestly, I have my doubts that his account will ever see the light of day again after this."

"Cleo! You guys!" Etho wails. "I'm right here! And I'm- I'm a changed man! I'm learning all sorts of things about the internet! I'm definitely going to be checking my online mail all the time, so we should really get the best one!"

Cleo and Bdubs exchange a glance.

"I'm right here!" Etho insists again.

"Okay, Etho, let's just start out with something super easy and type something into the search bar," Cleo says,

Etho stares down at the keyboard. "...anything specific?"

"Duckduckgo has a email provider, but considering the lack of transparency they've shown in the past, I'm not sure I'd trust them," Bdubs says sagely. "Proton's pretty good, and anything Swedish is-"

"Bdubs, he doesn't know what that means," Cleo interrupts, and then pauses. "I don't know what that means. Type 'gmail.com' into the search bar, okay, Etho?"

"Okay," Etho says, and then slowly starts pecking out each letter, pausing to find each key.

"This is terrible," Bdubs whispers to Cleo in what he probably thinks is a discreet and private manner.

"I know, but we can't leave now. We've got to face this like men," Cleo says in a normal voice.

"I'm right here you guys!" Etho whines. "And I'm not that bad."

"You really are, dear. Hit enter now, it'll take you to the place where you can set up your gmail account," Cleo instructs him.

"Enter? Got it," Etho says confidently, and presses the enter key. The laptop's screen lags, caught between the search page and the gmail launcher, before suddenly loading a porn site.

A notification pops up in the bottom right corner- virus detected.

"Is that good?" Etho asks. The poor laptop, not designed for such strenuous activity and already years beyond its life expectancy, promptly catches fire.

[supercorps-imaginesetc]

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal Playlist

Here's a bit from a playlist I made for Agatha x Rio (There's a lot of angsty songs) - Admin Cam

Playlist Link

-

"Shake the Frost" by Tyler Childers

So if it'd make you stay I wouldn't act so angry all the time I wouldn't keep it all inside And I'd let you know how much I loved you every day So, darlin', will you stay right here and shake this frost off of my bones?

Post-Nicholas, Agatha is angry at Rio for taking Nicholas but also struggles with the fact that Rio is the one she loves. It's Angst City, essentially.

This could also be a pre-Nicky moment with Agatha learning how to open up and accept love after being burned so much by people before.

"The Prophecy" by Taylor Swift

Please, I've been on my knees Change the prophecy Don't want money Just someone who wants my company Let it once be me Who do I have to speak to About if they can redo the prophecy?

Ever since watching the show, when I hear this song, it just makes me think of Agatha begging Rio for more time with Nicky. But there's only so much Rio can do. Rio can't change the prophecy for even her love.

Makes me want to sob thinking about it to this song tbh

"Waiting Room" by Phoebe Bridgers

I wanna be the power ballad that lifts you up and holds you down I wanna be the broken love song that feeds your misery And I can wish all that I want, but it won't bring us together Plus, I know whatever happens to me, I know it's for the better And when broken bodies are washed ashore Who am I to ask for more, more, more? But you're breathing in my open mouth You're the gun in my lips that will blow my brains out

This gives me angsty Rio thinking about her and Agatha vibes. I can't explain it, but it just does.

"We're In Love" by boygenius

You could absolutely break my heart That's how I know that we're in love I don't need the symbol of a scar So, put down the knife We're not swapping blood ... If you rewrite your life, may I still play a part? In the next one, will you find me?

NO MATTER WHAT AGATHA AND RIO WILL FIND EACH OTHER.

Even after the heartbreak of losing Nicky, they will always find each other. Their lives are intertwined. Along with this, Rio and Nicky are literally the only people that could break Agatha's heart. They're the only ones that have ever and could ever have that power over her.

"In the Woods Somewhere" by Hozier

I clutched my life And wished it kept My dearest love, I'm not done yet How many years I know I'll bear I found something in the woods somewhere

Agatha finds her love, Lady Death, in the woods. This one also has the vibes of their relationship that I can't quite explain.

"The Ballad of Lucy Gray Baird" by Rachel Zegler

It's sooner than later that I'm six feet under It's sooner than later that you'll be alone So, who will you turn to tomorrow, I wonder? For when the bell rings, lover, you're on your own I am the one who you let see you weeping I know the soul that you struggled to save Too bad I'm the bet that you lost in the reaping Now, what will you do when I go to my grave?

Agatha will eventually die. There will be a time when Rio won't have Agatha, and that is heartbreaking for our star-crossed lovers.

"Where do we go now?" by Gracie Abrams

I know I changed overnight So I can't blame you for fightin' And I'd be losin' my mind If you lived in your writin' 'Cause now I'm half of myself here without you You're the best in my life and I lost you And we had no control when it fell through It was one-sided, hate how I hurt you If I could, I'd have changed every feelin'

Agatha regrets pushing Rio away after she takes Nicky away. Deep down, she knows Rio has to do it, but it kills her. In the end, Rio is the only other person who understands her pain and that she has ever loved besides their son.

"Chinese Satellite" by Phoebe Bridgers

Took a tour to see the stars But they weren't out tonight So, I wished hard on a Chinese satellite I want to believe Instead, I look at the sky, and I feel nothing You know I hate to be alone I want to be wrong

Post-Nicholas, Agatha is dealing with the loss of her two loves. She's trying to believe that Nicholas isn't disappointed in who she has become, and that's hard for her to do.

"cowboy like me" by Taylor Swift

You're a bandit like me Eyes full of stars Hustling for the good life Never thought I'd meet you here It could be love We could be the way forward And I know I'll pay for it

Imagine Agatha and Rio were both bandits and cons together. Like happy Agatha and Rio pleeeaasssee

"Like Real People Do" by Hozier

I knew that look, dear Eyes always seeking Was there in someone That dug long ago So, I will not ask you Why you were creeping In some sad way, I already know

This song gives major Agatha falling in love with The Green Witch. Especially an Agatha that is pre-finding-the-darkhold

"Please Stay" by Lucy Dacus

You tell me you love me, like it'll be the last time Like you're playing out, the end of a storyline I say I love you too, because it's true What else am I supposed to do? Maybe bar the door when you move to leave

This song is in fact, the song I cry to

Tell me this song doesn't give Agatha dealing with the loss of her and Rio's son (or dealing with the inevitability of losing them).

After she loses Nicky and Rio is gone, Agatha has to sing the song that she made with Nicky every day, and it reminds her of him and Rio. Every time she sings it and sees things that remind her of the two, it just twists the knife more in the wound of her being alone. After having everything she could have wanted, she's alone, being reminded every single day of what she lost.

[ohcorny]

How did you first initially get into the professional graphic novel scene? Was it difficult getting ppl to take a chance on your writing/stories and could you talk about it a bit?

wibbles my hand? i probably had it easier than most people. first of all i'd been doing a fairly popular webcomic for like. six-seven years when an agent cold-called me to offer representation, and asked if i had any graphic novel ideas. hunger's bite was but a tiny twinkle in my eye so i started developing it.

(and then covid happened and i got a storyboard job and also eventually fired that agent but still kept developing hunger's bite)

shortly after firing that agent, and after trying to query traditionally with no real luck (though i think i only queried 3-4), there was an event on twitter called #DVPit which was basically: you'd post the elevator pitch of your story + some art, and agents would look in the tag and like anything they were interested in representing. so once the event was over you'd reach out to them with the full pitch and meet to talk about it and if the vibe was right, you'd sign on with them. i think i had 5 agents show interest, and i contacted 3 who felt like they could be a good fit, and then signed with the one i liked best. (i do not think #DVPit exists anymore for obvious reasons)

after that it was her job to send the pitch out to editors, and i think it was maybe in the second or third wave of submissions (ie, a few months) where i had 2 editors who were interested. they made their offers, i went with the one that had a bit more money (and apparently got a Really good deal) and that was that

like Looking Back, i think i had it easier than people who struggle for years to get noticed. it didn't feel that way at the time, waiting months for rejections, but now that i'm through it, it's less daunting. the main issue i would run into was finding someone who understood the vision and didn't want to change it. there was a lot of 'this would probably be better as a middle grade!' but i didn't want to take the teeth out of it.

iunno! overall i think art and comics is one of those spaces where it's like. you know at a glance if you're interested in it, or if the artist is competent. i've done slush pile with comics, it's very 'you know it when you see it'. i imagine it's the same with acquiring editors.

i fortunately have a style with broad appeal :y so it might just be easier for me on that merit

[fanaticsnail]

Be careful with commission work it’s a quick way to ruin fandom spaces and make money off of ip that isn’t yours

Maybe write something you can sell legally and ethically like a novel that’s built on your own ideas and not a fan work or at least hide it better like 50 shades and After

Hi Anon! Thank you for your concern.

Regarding my commissions - they were and are specifically for that person only, and they are closed currently. I write original character content for pirates and monsters in a land of fantasy - delivered specifically for that person in their own spaces - not for the public.

Here on Tumblr and AO3, I write fics, mini fics, drabbles, and headcanons for free and on my own time. I love doing it, and the love I feel for the fandom is tangible and thick.

The only reason I opened my coms to begin with is I had a personal expense I couldn't have met with my current non-existent income. My prescription lenses broke, and we're irreplaceable and unrepairable according to the optometrist. I didn't want to be like "Hey, so, this happened and I'm struggling". I'd prefer to earn it instead of asking for funds and aid from the community here. I don't like feeling helpless, and this was a way I felt I could earn my new glasses.

Truth be told, I prefer trades. I love my OC and her ships, and I love seeing interpretations of her on others' dashes. Makes me all happy seeing Tobiuo interact with other people. And honestly: I just love writing. Creating specifically curated content for people with their OCs interacting makes me feel all gushy and happy - especially for an exclusive way to interact with their OCs and their Canon ships.

I've also found in this experience alone, there are so much more hate for fandom creators in their writing than artists with their pieces. I'm not giving you hate in any way, anon. I absolutely feel for your concern. My experience with content creators with OCs and shipping, or 'paid work' has been exclusively negative. Aside from those wanting to compensate me for the time I spend with their original characters and their Canon ships: my asks, DMS, and comments have all pointed me in one direction: "How dare you try to make money off fics. Your words are for you and us here, fuck you." "Your words ain't worth shit." and "You're a horrible person. Kill yourself." (The amount of death threats has been mad lately, and it's been hard to deal with).

This is the quickest way of destroying an author creating for free. All I wanted to do was write some pieces for people exclusively, and it's been a complete contrast as to how it goes for artists drawing your original characters. Could you imagine if this kind of attention was given to those completing digital art as opposed to writing? Gosh. The fandom would suffer in one way or another.

Honestly, anon. I'm having a hard time these days. All I want is to write and build off the world I love so much for something I do in my own time. It's been a hard, learning journey. Truthfully, I don't think I'll be opening my comms again. I have not enjoyed this experience, and it's making my love for the fandom slowly dwindle to a halt.

Again, thank you for your ask. I enjoy the time and concern you've spent with me here. It's made me take a time out and think about what I want to do in terms of writing, and it's been a big learning experience for me.

Also: If I was to write a novel, it would likely be something in a land of monsters - likely my original character and her culture interacting with humans and cross-cultural relationships. That would be fun to explore one day. For now, I'm just a snail trying my best to navigate parenthood and experiencing an outlet for the love I have for One Piece.

Love you, and I hope you're having a beautiful day 🖤🐌

[daddywright]

Hey there Jazz. I'm such a big fan. Pressure verse remains one of my fave fics ever. I've always been curious about how you portray and see Phoenix. Is it something unique on Pressure verse that Phoenix lies so bad that anyone close to him can read him easily? Versus Canon that many people either have him that he's just good at hiding his thoughts because the game just expresses to players his thoughts? Or he is still the same emotional man but is so awkward and his acting in theater makes him good at pretending? Because he's so evasive about anything himself. Pssst. Any also any hint of next update? Hehehe.

Hi hi!

Wow, so I had to take a second to think about this question. In its DNA, Pressureverse is a 'In Want of a Nail' story - the joke of 'what if Phoenix got therapy post-Dahlia' explored with narrative consequences. As a result, the Phoenix that takes shape over the course of the adjusted plot is one that-- while certainly not smoothed of character flaw or mentally prime lol-- has learned that even if he doesn't believe that his troubles or concerns should be shared (for arrogant or trauma-related reasons), he has learned that he likes and needs the support he receives from other people who take notice. In a way, the joke about his being a bad liar is evidence to progress in his relationships that diverges meaningfully from canon. He's a character that's not capable or willing to ask for help in many ways, but in Pressureverse, at least, he's begun to "telegraph" through chosen lies when he has needs. It's a changed indicator of his mental health, but it's a character flaw I gave him intentionally, because to make Phoenix a "bad liar" was an indirect way of writing the other characters-- particularly female characters-- as BETTER listeners. A lot of characters in Ace Attorney often share one major trait, and that's perception/emotional sensitivity, but only when narratively convenient for a video game sometimes. But in writing, or in Pressure at least, the key relationship is Phoenix and Maya's. Phoenix is a frequent liar who IS capable of lying well, but to people who know him, even when he's not half-assing it, they would learn to pick up on it. Why wouldn't Maya be sensitive over time to who he is, and when he's struggling?

Basically, Phoenix being a "bad liar" is a trait that is altogether a bit, intentional character development/canon divergence, and biased based on the POV character of the chapter. (Ex. Characters like Edgeworth and Klavier wouldn't describe him as a bad liar, but a lot of the other more sensitive characters in his life would!)

Sorry for how lengthy this was! As for an update, I'd cross my fingers for after the holidays... right now, I'm working on a Metal Gear Solid fic ;)

[emotionlcss]

❝ okay, before you get too in your head about it, i have never used it on you ever. in fact there is only one person in this entire town that i have used it on, and it's the guy that supplies me with the blood bags at the hospital. it's nothing bad or crazy either, he just knows that the same time every single month he meets me at the backdoor and hands them over. there's no other story to it, and if he sees me in town, he has no idea who i am. ❞ that still could've sounded harsh, though alaric was hoping that she wouldn't care too much since it wasn't hurting anyone. ❝ yeah, i'm not answering that. ❞ he laughed as she began to stand up, and he was quick to follow. ❝ i told you that you can ask me anything you want, i don't mind. it's not too much for me, and it doesn't bother me to talk about. i trust you, and i want to answer any questions that you might have for me. ❞ he spoke as he sat down on the couch, opening his arms for her once more incase she had wanted to sit on his lap. ❝ for the record, you can ride me without being the backpack anytime you want too. ❞ the male winked, before starting once more. ❝ yes, born in 1788, and i was turned in 1816 - i'm sure you're going to ask how it happened, and i don't mind telling that story either. we didn't have the same as you do now, obviously and couldn't treat sickness and diseases as well. it was the first outbreak of cholera, contaminated water and food, we drank and ate what we could get. i was sick, very sick actually, my sister and i - our mother had taken us to be seen but it was awful.. ❞ he trailed of, from there telling her about the sick bays at their hospitals back then and how everyone would just be in the same room. ❝ my sister had eventually passed while we were in the hospital, and while i had started to get better, they allowed me back home with my parents. everything should have been fine, but one night not too long after i was attacked by who i now know would be the guy that turned me. i've never met him, i'm not sure he's still around, and i don't know if i'd want to know. i just remember the searing pain from the bite, and a strangers voice telling me that he would 'help me get better' 'cure my disease'. ❞ 

She nodded throughout his story, explaining about the mind control. "But you won't do that to me, right? Did you ever do it to me?" Ruby asked. "We could've been making out many more times before without me even knowing that.' She narrowed her eyes when she thought about it. "I don't like that, the thought of that." Ruby admitted. It might be the least favorite part of the entire vampire reveal so far. To think he would be able to control her like that, it sent shivers down her spine. "It's insane." She added mumbling. When he joked to her like that she just rolled her eyes and chuckled along. "Can I ride you without being the backpack, anytime I want, too? And also do you prefer me to call you Daddy or Granny during sexy time? I mean - you're old, so.." Ruby teased after a few chuckles, then just nuzzled her face back into his neck. Her hand lifted to cover his lips. "Don't even answer." - Ruby said with a smile. "Yeah, I wouldn't know what it's like but all sounds very complicated to me." She admitted. "You mentioned being born in 1788, and you were turned when you were 28 - so you've been a vampire for 1760 years? That's bizarre." Ruby looked up at him again. "Do you want to join me on the couch? I really would love to know about your life before all of this, and how-" She was getting off him by now. "Maybe it's too much, am I too forward? We could also just watch a movie." As long as he was comfortable. "I'm sorry, I don't want to pressure you into saying all this stuff."

[blacktabbygames]

Are you aware that Hero is a very beloved voice in the fandom?

i'm just glad i've never seen a single hero//narrator post

[the-eclectic-wonderer]

Dorothy being assaulted at 17 and then trapped in a marriage for the next 38 years really makes the queer subtext heartbreaking rather than funny. It also adds a whole lot to how barbed she gets when they discuss her sex life and how vanilla it is or how little sex she had, no wonder it would be a sore subject (and no wonder its consistent that she had very little sex with Stan in her marriage and said she didn't enjoy it when they did).

Yep, that's part of the reason why I think that queer subtext is so insightful!

A queer reading of Dorothy is not necessary to understand the gravity of what happened to her, to be fair. Stan is very clearly depicted as a bad lover in general and an especially inattentive lover to her -- take eg what she says of him in S1E22 Job Hunting:

"It took three seconds. I wasn't sure that we had done anything, actually… until nine months later, when the baby came. Then I figured out that we had."

Which... doesn't seem like a great experience. Add onto it the fact that a) this is a recollection of her first time, b) she was coerced into performing the act either via emotional manipulation or alcohol/substances (as well detailed in this post by @eeblouissant), and c) her situation didn't improve at all during her marriage; if anything it got worse, since Stan was always out cheating on her -- no wonder she has a bad relationship with sex! Actually, I've said before that I think she has a remarkably open and healthy attitude towards sex, all things considered.

Thinking of Dorothy as queer (especially as a repressed lesbian) makes it all even more tragic, though. I think it's very likely, considering that she's a Catholic of Italian origin, that she hadn't even realized she liked women by the time she got involved with Stan -- I myself reached that conclusion in my early 20s! However, by that time Dorothy was already married and a mother; can you imagine how painful the mere idea would have been, for her? Of course she'd never even consider it while still married to Stan, and she'd have a hard time coming to terms with it after her divorce. It adds a thick layer of suppression and self-sacrifice to her whole story that I think is very thematically appropriate for her character (and that personally destroys me lmao. I cannot think about it for too long or I'll cry my heart out).

I think her whole experience with Stan also justifies her enthusiasm for some of her lovers in the show, even in a queer reading. I mean -- after all that, her standards must be on the floor! The bar is so low, she's dancing the lambada with the devil! Even a modicum of attention to her needs would blow her mind, I think -- even if it didn't come from her preferred gender, and especially if she wasn't ready to confront the truth about her sexuality yet. A lifetime of suppression isn't easy to get over -- she'd probably blame her bad experience with sex during her marriage on Stan alone (instead of considering that maybe she'd rather not be with a man at all).

Sorry, anon -- you probably weren't expecting a ramble in response, haha! But yeah, you make a great point; reading Dorothy as queer adds even more depth to her character and greatly enhances the tragedy of her story.

(Just for the record -- I've never thought the queer reading of Dorothy was funny! Maybe I'm reading this wrong, I just wanted to clarify.)

[chaisarinawat]

Chai went utterly still as he confessed that he was happy to be with P'Dan, in work settings and non-work settings, hoping that he wasn't overstepping his boundaries. When he saw the small smile appear on Dan's face though, he relaxed considerably - as long as P'Dan wasn't mad at him or disgusted with him or trying to push him away again, he'd be fine. And seeing his boss smile at him had the young assistant's heart beating even faster, because Dan was so handsome when he smiled. It was such a rare sight to see too, since his boss usually wore a stern or nondescript expression.

Dan reached out to brush Chai's cheek with his hand, after Chai had indicated he was comfortable with P'Dan touching him. Then, Dan's hand slowly fell to where Chai was resting his own, touching each one of his fingers.

"Is this okay?"

Chai nodded, feeling warm all over. Dan asking him, making sure - it was so considerate. Something Chai didn't have in his past relationship. P'Korn just did what he wanted, whenever he wanted, leaving Chai with a sense of dread whenever the man tried to reach for him. But Dan asking permission was just another reminder at how different his boss was to the other kinds of men that attempted to touch Chai, filling him with nothing but respect towards the man.

He allowed Dan to explore his hand, touching the palm and the veins and his fingers, before his boss spoke again.

"Thank you, for giving me a chance to prove myself. I - wanted you to know I care about you and although you said you do have feelings for me, too, I'd - I'd like to give you time. To think about things. To make sure how you feel. I'm not going to rush you and I want you to take your time. Until you're ready to give me your answer. Whatever it maybe in the end. I'd be very happy to stay friends. I hope you'll let me help you once in a while and if you need advice or anything at all, just know you can talk to me."

Chai stared up at Dan in wonder, his eyes wide and shining with hope as a small smile stretched across his face. Everything that Dan was saying was warming Chai's heart. Giving him time to let him think, not rushing him, reminding him that he cared - even saying he'd be happy if they remained friends. He was approaching Chai like a proper Phi, another person who Chai felt like he could trust and rely on, allowing him the space and time to think about what he wanted without having a fear of Dan being angry or mad at him.

"I'd like that Phi," Chai said, squeezing Dan's hands. "I like that a lot. I want to try that with you." The younger assistant glanced down at their connected hands, noticing how Dan's grip was firm enough so that they wouldn't be released, but not rough or forceful, his actions matching his words well. "I hope you know you can talk to me too, about anything Phi."

As Chai finished his sentence, he felt his throat tighten and soon a light yawn escaped him. His eyes squeezed shut for a moment, and when he opened them again they were a little droopy. He had slept for a few hours, but it hadn't been enough and he was still tired.

"Are you sleepy? You should probably go back to sleep. I - should probably move back to my bed, huh?"

Chai nodded at Dan's question. "Yeah, Phi. We should sleep. You sound a lot better but you're still recovering, and rest will be good for you. Stay here, in my bed. I'll move over to yours. Or..." Chai grew quiet, gazing down again at how Dan's hands were clasping his. They had been sleeping on the same bed before, and it had been fine. Chai slept in the same bed as his friend P'War, and it was fine. Neither of them really had to move.

"Let's just both sleep here?" Chai suggested shyly. He truly meant 'sleep', and figured that with how considerate Dan was being the other would understand that it wasn't some kind of code for anything else. Chai already felt comfortable with P'Dan after their conversation, and he knew that Dan wouldn't do anything that would go back on his word. "Lie down Phi. I'll sleep next to you."

Chai lowered himself from his seated position into one where he was lying down, careful not to do anything to separate his hand from Dan's. The mattress was soft and the blanket he slipped into was still warm, making it the perfect condition for him to sleep. His droopy eyes slipped close as he huddled next to Dan, glad to have a body beside him - he had gotten used to it since War moved in, and he found it much easier to sleep when he wasn't alone. "Goodnight Phi." Chai whispered to the other in the darkness, drifting off into dreamland with a smile on his face and with P'Dan's hand holding onto his.

END

Chai's nervousness was growing, becoming apparent with every passing second after his confession to Dan. He was waiting for the other to shut him down, or re-establish their boundaries as boss and assistant, or even tell him they needed to suppress their feelings for one another because it was an inappropriate situation. Chai didn't know what he was scared of more - putting his heart on the line again, or being outright rejected.

Or maybe, he was scared of something else. Chai's second job was nothing like what he did for Dan - but he needed to be there, otherwise khun Debt Collector... he'd just keep adding more to the money Chai owed. Chai had promised to work for the man until his debt was cleared, and his job involved being touched and enjoyed by men - if Dan found out... Chai was sure he'd feel disgusted with him. And so Chai was hesitating, wanting this development with Dan to happen, but finding himself held back for a multitude of reasons. His past abuse with P'Korn, his current boss-assistant relationship with the man he liked, and his predicament of being employed at The Playroom.

"Nong. Can - I touch you?"

Dan's hand reached out, pausing mid-air before making contact with Chai's skin. The young assistant nodded his consent, no longer afraid of Dan's touch, having become familiar with the feeling of closeness with him these past couple of days.

"Look at me…"

Chai's eyes drifted up to Dan's, the younger man still tentative as to the status of their relationship at the moment as he waited for his boss to continue talking.

"Please, don't say things just because… Just because you feel you have to. I - told you I like you because I want to be honest with you. I'm not expecting you to reciprocate… I want you to be true to what you feel… I want you to be genuine… I want you to be happy… And not worried. Or scared. I - never want you to be scared of me ever again…"

Chai felt his heart soften at those words. They were so tender, and genuine, and kind - words that Chai hadn't heard from anyone he was interested in. His friends of course were amazing - P'Rachi and P'War and P'Aisoon, they all showed their love and support for Chai in various ways, and he adored and loved each and every one of them in return - but romantically, it was a different story. P'Korn hadn't even told Chai such things - about wanting him to be happy, about wanting him not to worry, or be scared. Hearing Dan say specifically that he didn't want Chai to ever be scared of him again was how the younger man knew the other wasn't trying to play with him like P'Korn had. Dan was... he was nothing like Chai's ex. He was the total opposite.

"I want to be honest too P'Dan," Chai said. "That's why I told you everything, about how I'm feeling. And I'm not scared of you anymore. I was happy to work with you these past few days - b-but I'm also really happy to just be with you, Phi. And not just for work." Chai told him, leaning closer. "You wanted to touch me, Phi?" He asked softly. "You can. You can touch me."

[the-white-soul]

*Flowey's face softens, then hardens. What is this? Every word coming out of their mouth is revolting. Both of their parents... And no one would be their friend in the past or now- heck- even Kara doesn’t trust them. They must be so lonely. Everyone has to be so awful to Chara, and it pisses him off. They don't deserve it. He stares right through Chara with an intense aura. He sounds like he's trying to be calm, but has trouble hiding the hostility in his voice and the thorns growing on his stem.*

That's alright, Chara. You don't have to worry about seeing him again. Just stay right here, and I'll come back to tell you when would be the best time to join. *He smiles briefly.* And I'd like it if you call me Azzy, don't worry.

*With that, Flowey burrows away. He doesn't go back to the court room, but by the beach. There's not many people here since it’s colder weather today, which is perfect. There's only a few people scattered about the whole area, and Flowey makes sure to find someone too busy relaxing and reading a book by the waves to notice him steal their phone.*

*He moves to a more isolated area where no one would hear the call and dials 911 on the emergency phone. He adjusts his voice to sound like that of a terrified woman's*

Goodness- STAY BACK! I-I'm sorry. Not you on the phone. There's a monster here on the beach! It's invaded and it's going to hurt someone! I need the chief here now! It's only one monster thankfully do just him will be fine, but please, someone! I need- *Flowey stops talking abruptly and drops the phone to make it sounds like something happened. He needs to make this sound as urgent as possible. Because it is. He smiles, proud of his acting as he hangs up. That should send Jack running.*

*He begins to build a small raft. Now all he has to do is wait.*

(Chara) "You have a backup plan to get him away, huh? You truly are a special kind of Flowey. I've been to some universes and seen something, unlike Flowey or Azzy. You remind me more of a Ralsei I used to know. They were nice and supportive like you and could get mad as well. Although maybe I'm just stretching the truth. You are Azzy and I'm a kid. My original Azzy was a big crybaby. I loved it though. I can always hear him calling to me but that's probably just me being insane. 'Chara I'm here and I'll always be here.' That was something he told me a lot. Maybe in a way, we all impact each other's lives in a way and therefore we're always near. People treated me like shit but in a way that makes the ones who treat me nice seem all the better. No one has besides Toriel and Asgore and even they have their own problems. Asgore was a coward. In one of my resets, I asked him why I was trying to be good and why not just do what Azzy did and explained how. When he said no I figured out he was never going to use the souls himself. He was going to give it to someone else because he didn't want the power. Toriel is an interesting gal. She is someone who always thinks she's right even when she's obviously wrong and will get super mad at anyone for disobeying her. No wonder she turned into a teacher. No one was a good person and liked me after seeing what I'd done. Besides from you. Azzy, don't ever let anyone tell you you're a bad monster. Especially me. *Gives Flowey a little hug and then he continues building his raft.*"