#and now its half a year until i can see them again and act like an actual person

[liquidstar]

being a re:zero fan means trying as hard as you can to not think about how kenichi and naoko are doing. like i really hope that someway somehow when the story ends, or at some point during it, they at least get somekind of closure. like it makes me so so so sad they love subaru so much they literally love their boy SO much please let them see their boy

[pinks-wizards]

One day I'll share with the class

i need everyone that has a wizard101 oc to tell me about them in the notes. like now. im so infatuated give me every thought

[minhmynchi]

wingfrin bc i was thinking about the silly ☺️

feat. some twohats writing in the read more bc i would love to draw this but don't know how to compose it so i wrote it instead (edit: it's now on ao3 if reading on tumblr doesn't suit ur fancy)

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

You keep your wings hidden all the time, now. They were adequately sized, enough to glide short distances like the Housemaiden, but that's no longer the case. As you push past what you unfortunately recognize as your thousandth loop, you are painfully aware of how your wings pull and tear at your cloak every loop, ripping it only to become fixed when you loop back after dying to the King or otherwise. Every loop, your wings grow the smallest bit bigger, and you can't help but tear a feather off each time, using the pain to ground you better than the quick, useless reset your dagger was.

Wrap your wings around yourself, pull a piece off, mutter something thrice or more, let it fall unceremoniously to the dark, cold floor of the House, unbeknownst to your friends who question you all the time but you shove it off because it's not like they can care anyways. They show as much, and you don't want to worry them, but one loop you seemed to have dropped a lot more feathers than necessary. You chalk it up to the half bottle of wine you had picked up and drank. You shivered, your hand reaching around your body once more, but the Kid pushes into you, pressing against your body in what you presume is an awkward no-arms hug, and you startle so bad that they flinch back and they look distraught for a moment before frowning pensively at you and crossing their arms. Saying that you looked bad, and pushing a hard candy into you until you let your arm show itself from its clothed cage, hand shakily taking the proffered treat. Your feathers ruffled, and a few fell to the ground, and the others stared at it, their own wings spreading in alarm as they stared at you with questions in their eyes. You quickly shove the candy into your mouth, relishing the new taste. Realizing the taste was not the only thing that was new.

You want to cry, but you march on into your designated failure. Down the familiar hallways of despair, even if your friends were acting weird.

A lot of things happened then. You had a talk, your hands were held, your face was cupped. You were given snacks, and told to say something, anything. Hands held once again in a sweaty grip, and you laugh for the first time in what felt like months. Years.

You do your best not to cry, because you can't have hope. Something new doesn't mean anything good. It can't.

You don't feel that great, but you think that this loop is a little more manageable until you get to the end.

And what an end it is.

You give up, but your friends don't. You remember their names, you see them for the first time, you really, truly see them.

You stand up. You hold your hand in a Scissors sign, channeling Craft through it, and your burning wings spread beneath your cloak, and it doesn't tear. No feathers fall.

But the King does.

And you won.

Right?

You won!

You want to collapse out of relief as your friends cheer and scream, and you feel the tears you held in for years suddenly start to overflow, and then you feel it.

The familiar tug on your stomach.

No, no, no--

Before you know it, you were dragged all the way back to Dormont, and Mirabelle is leaning over you with a blissful smile on her face.

You can't breathe, and your wings burn against your back, against your cloak, against the grass.

You smile at Mirabelle and she leaves.

You sit up, and make your way to the Favor Tree one last time.

You haven't been here in years.

Your wings, originally small and graceful, are now as big as your torso and feathers glide past your waist, hugging against you under your cloak.

You chase away Isabeau, your memory somehow not failing you (you try not to laugh as he leaves).

And you climb.

You climb, climb, climb up the Favor Tree, flapping your useless wings to help with balance. You toss down your hat in the process so you could see better, and you make it to the top.

You see that accursed House in the distance. The King's Craft, keeping it shrouded in night forever.

The King, who you killed, and should have stayed dead.

Why did you loop back?

Why?

Why?

You tear at a feather, and then another, and another as you whisper into each one, voice choked and hurried.

You know why.

You wanted to stay with your friends, and so you do! But you can't escape!

You want to stay with them, but not like this!

Night falls around you as you continue plucking your feathers, because you don't want to fly anymore. Whispering into the dark, light appears from somewhere you can't identify in your haze. Your wings hurt, your head hurts, everything hurts and burns and tears at your soul as you feel frustration and rage build up within you.

You can't take it anymore, as you hold up your last feather, covered in a dark, unidentifiable liquid. You wish, you wish, you wish one last time to be helped.

Someone, anyone...

Pain blooms through your entire body as the Universe listens, sending down a star into your outstretched hands and taking the feather with it.

Finally...

You rid yourself of your feathers, of your wings, of your friends, of yourself.

Dropping off of the canopy of leaves from the shock of the pain, unlike what you've inflicted upon yourself, unlike any you've experienced. You felt like you were being torn apart and rearranged, and you couldn't help but let out a scream as you fell, fell, fell.

And you wake up.

At the Favor Tree in Dormont.

You shove your face into your hands and scream so loud, you send a few birds flying, and you realize.

Your wings have returned, but they are no longer soft. Something much more sinister had happened, and you opened your eyes. Gazing into your lightless, starry hands.

And you laugh, shrill and manic.

Is this a joke?

Giant, inhuman wings to accompany your sudden inhuman body? Is this the Universe's idea of an escape? Of help?

There are no feathers to pluck. No pain to instill upon yourself any longer.

Right?

You attempt to check, but you hear a loud guffaw that tugs at your chest, and you peek around the tree and see yourself talking to Isabeau.

And that same self, that same mirror image walks up to the Favor Tree, and makes a wish. Their wings are free and fluttering, happy to be there.

You want to tear their feathers apart. Rip their wings from their back. Cause unimaginable pain to him, because what the stars is this?

Are you even Siffrin anymore, if this pitiful, laughable shadow is starting again for you?

The Universe pokes at your head, and you have to school your expression into something level.

You're here now. There's no doubt about that. Siffrin asked for help, and Siffrin will get it.

Blindingly ironic that it's not you that will get help.

Why give you wings if you could never fly free, if you'll be stuck for eternity again?

What else is there to gain when you have been given everything to lose?

[ganondoodle]

actively fighting a full blown panic attack born out of sadness and anger after having to drive by yet another victim on the side of the road

it makes me livid how accepted it is to just let cats suffer and die disgustingly horrid deaths and live awful short lives just so what, for what?? so you dont have to play with them for an hour a day??? when i was little it was just kinda normal that they disappeared at some point, i didnt understand what it actually meant until our outdoor cat i loved dearly was found in the bushes near our house in a condition so horrible my dad has never told me and i have never dared to ask, she only made it to 6 and had horrible scars and infections before that i allowed my family to convince me to let my first own cat outside, we only had her for a year, she died at only 2 years old, i am still suffering from the guilt, it has never let me go, she went missing for a week and i walked the entire vilage up and down every day, yelling her name, wandering into the forest alone, talking to every stranger i met until one morning my mom told me that our neighbour who works for the city asked if we had a white cat with a very specific collar she had- he found her on a busy road crossing in the next bigger city, i never even got to bury her, its haunting me, the thought of her wandering lost and scared in the city for a week until meeting an awful end gives me headaches, the fact that i was the last one to see her alive, that i put her outside bc we were late for school and had to leave quickly, that she had come home with oil in her fur from crawling through maschines and cars before, that i was worried but still didnt act, that it is my fault, any time i am up to late its coming back, it will never let me go, if i had stood my ground and not allow her outside unless on a leash or similar shed still be alive today, any time i read a description at our local shelter it comes back, they still advocate for outside cats, all of them, even if they have only been an indoor one before, its madness my older sister had a cat, i dont even know how old he got but it wasnt long either, he got hit by a car in front of their house, she has two now again and the only reason she hasnt let them outside is because they havent shown much interest in it, i tried to warn her before and she didnt listen and shes still resistent, even after losing one too

i have seen so many on the side of the road, anywhere i drive i see them, i cannot forget a single one, we are surrounded by farm land and all its giant maschinery, its still common to poison rodents, why do people value them so little, you wouldnt let your dog just live outside in the woods and streets for half the day or more, you wouldnt just throw your guniea pigs on the road and tell them have fun, you wouldnt just let your bird roam outside, there probably assholes that do that too but you cannot tell me its as common as outside cats

i dont understand it, i dont, i wont, i never will, i will never forgive myself this poor little animal that was my responsibility having to pay the price of my ignorance, or my own weakness letting my family convince me despite the awful way we lost one before, it makes me want to explode it hurts my brain in grief and anger i can barely contain

cats deserve to live a safe and long life, i get only having them inside may feel like you are locking them up, but do you think that not doing so is worth having them die a painful death? being poisonend? on purpose even by disgusting people that hate them? abused and chased by other animals and dogs? hurt and lost? cutting their lifespan in half? if they even make it that far? the amount of wildlife that they kill unnecessarily so when all of that is already in a steep decline everywhere? and if they eat what they hunt get infected with diseases or again, poison? die somewhere in agony? if cared for they dont care about going outside, plenty can be leash trained or given a secure way to roam like those cat proof aviary like things, if you dont want to put effort into caring for a cat DONT GET ONE, ALL pets require adequate care, and if you think cats are the easiest bc you only have to feed them every now and then IF they come home? you suck, you are an asshole, i hate you and you do not care about them, if you just want to occasionalyl feed and pet an animal go to the petting zoo

(this is about pet cats of people who can absolutely afford to keep them healthily inside, i know feral cats and those in poor neighbourhoods are a thing, even if not here where i live, and thats a whole other but still similar problem and not the point of this post)

[scottingmysummers]

KNUCKLEHEAD

-a Stan Pines angst one shot-

words- 1378

(A/N: very rusty on my fic writing so take it as u will 😁 also leave me and my obsessive use of metaphors alone)

‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋

Stan hadn’t smoked in years. When he first arrived in the sleepy little pacific northwest town, after the incident, he gave it up to keep the appearance of his brother. Cold turkey was tough, or maybe it was just the stress, but either way he was sick as a dog for weeks until the withdrawal had its fill of wracking his body. But now he sat on the back porch of the shack, a cheap and aged cigarette between his fingers. He was surprised he could even find the pack- he had tucked it behind a loose baseboard in his office and even covered it with his rug for good measure.

The worn couch hugged his hips, the fabric rough underneath him. He had spent many nights out here, listening to the birds, mind replaying the last time he saw Ford. The way his six fingered hand reached desperately for him, the way he screamed out his name, the echo of the book hitting concrete. He memorized every part of the scene- the calluses on Ford’s palm, the way his beard was disheveled, the broken test dummy in the corner. The deafening silence that followed was the worst; He heard it in his sleep. The crackling of the broken portal, his heart pounding against his chest. Burnt flesh and fear, the weight of his actions settling on him like a bloody crown of thorns.

He blew out smoke. His eyes followed as the cool night air wafted it up into the stars. For a moment, he was ten years old again. The sand of the New Jersey beach was cold, and Ford was explaining how matter is not created nor destroyed. Everything is made up of atoms that have been around for millions of years. When you think something is gone, it’s essence lingers always, never truly leaving. That simple memory stuck in his mind. He would still give anything to sit on the beach again, his only care in the world was what he and Ford would have for dinner and what they would do tomorrow. Together.

Even with Ford’s return, everything was..different. Stan didn’t know what he expected, but this? Ford was the same loser he grew up with, but he was worn. Serious. Whatever he went through in that portal messed him up, and part of Stan ached that he didn’t get the portal finished sooner. Maybe he could’ve saved his twin from his fate.

“Stanley?”

Stan coughed out smoke, holding the cigarette to his side and squinting to see who was standing in the dark doorway. He half expected Soos or Mabel, tensing once he saw Ford. Stan leaned into the couch, lounging and acting like it didn’t matter at all that Ford was there. They had fought every single night about something- about Dad’s funeral, about the shack, about the kids. Their relationship was a frayed cord, ready to snap at any moment, and Stan’s hands tore from trying to keep the ends together.

Stanley gave a grunt, taking another drag of his cigarette. “That’s the same brand Mom smoked,” Ford mused, standing still in the doorway. Stanley lifted his fingers to look at the cigarette. He hadn’t even realized. “Huh. Guess it is.”

“…May I sit?”

“Knock yourself out.” Stan shrugged, scooting across the couch. His chest was tight underneath his worn muscles, but he blamed it on the nicotine.

Awkward, tense silence filled the air between them, The wall was thick- another reminder that the twin they both once loved was lost to time and circumstance. “Can we talk?” Ford broke the silence. Stan gave a nod, keeping his eyes trained on blades of burnt grass by the edge of the splintered porch.

Ford took a deep breath, tapping his fingers on his leg. His posture was perfect, his back stiff and upright. It pissed Stan off; It was just another way Ford was better than him. “…How did you put together the portal like that?..”

Stanley was caught off guard by the softness in his brother’s tone. He hadn’t heard that since the day before he was kicked out, all those years ago. The catalyst to his wasted life. His jaw tensed and he brought the cigarette back to his lips, speaking through smoke. “What, didn’t think I could do it?” he huffed back, not even looking at Ford.

Ford’s silence was all he needed to know. Of course Ford didn’t think Stan could do it. He was the dumb sibling. He was a con man and a mistake, the bottom of the barrel scum while Ford was the genius. The air of superiority that floated around his twin put a sour taste in Stan’s mouth. Stan put the cigarette out on the bottom of his heel, just like their mom used to do. He was a Mama’s boy always, even when he was literally dead to her.

“Shit, It wasn’t hard to do. You aren’t as groundbreaking as you think, Poindexter,” Stanley lied with an eye roll. Teaching himself advanced physics and high level science was the hardest thing he had ever done. He had to actually apply himself for the first time in his life, and it was all for Ford. Everything he did was for Ford.

He felt Ford tense beside him. Was it annoyance? Frustration? Disappointment? Stan could no longer read the shell of his brother. “That's..incredibly impressive, Stanley.” Ford murmured, picking at the skin of his fingernails. A nervous habit, though his stoic face betrayed it.

“Yeah, whatever. You gonna thank me now?” Stanley leaned his head back against the couch, arms extended over the back. He couldn't help the bubble of rage that filled his chest at Ford’s inability to answer. So simple, two words to justify the three decades Stan relentlessly spent cooped up in that basement.

Stan scoffed, pushing himself up from the couch. His joints ached, his age only helping fuel his rage. “Of course not. Stanford Pines doesn’t thank anybody.” He hissed. Ford’s expression darkened, sitting up a little from the couch. “That’s enough, Stanley.” He warned, “I told you how dangerous it was bringing me back.”

“I saved you from whatever hell you were in! And you can’t even pretend to be grateful?!” Stan’s voice raised, and he was sure the twins could hear the argument. In this light, Ford looked just like their dad. In a blink, Filbrick Pines was glaring at him through his bushy grey eyebrows.

Stanley blinked rapidly, dispelling the thought. He clenched his jaw. “I’ll show you dangerous!!” Stan roared, pulling up his sleeves. Ford stood up in response, a vein in his neck bulging. “Stanley, you knucklehead, you’re going to wake up the kids!!” The word was like a trigger. Knucklehead, knucklehead, knucklehead. His dad’s favorite word to describe him. It filled his bones with a heat he hadn’t felt for 30 years. He gave his life to Ford, and this was how he repaid him?? With snide remarks and side eyes??

Stan’s hands gripped his brothers shoulder before he could think- he was never good at doing that. His fist collided with the nose identical to his. The punch was filled with years of rage and emotion. Ford stumbled back, hand over his face and blood dripping through his fingers.

You could cut the intensity with a knife. Stan stood, panting, hands clenched. Ford deathly silent. Moments passed like that, wondering how their relationship ever became like this. How did the two boys repairing a pirate ship turn into two men glaring at each other in the darkness.

“Goodnight, Stanley.” Ford huffed out, holding his bloody nose. He shoved him with his shoulder as he walked past, disappearing into the shack that used to be his own. “Pfft. Yeah. Run away like you always do, Stanford! That’s always worked out for you!” Stan yelled back. He sat back down on the couch, huffing and rubbing his bruised knuckles. The birds continued their chirping, and the sounds of the forest resided around him. He put his head in his hands, unable to stop the hot tears of frustration. Ford wasn’t the same- hell, neither was he- but was he really that bad?

Maybe he’d be the same fuck up knucklehead forever.

[aingeal98]

I don't think Damian was insecure because Cassandra was a closer part of the family than he was, especially considering that at that point in time he was wasn't fully invested in being a part of the family as he is now (also lets be real, its not like Cass is the center of the family or anything.)

I think it was more of case of him putting her on a pedestal based on what he heard about her, since her reputation probably made her seem like the ideal version of himself that he was told to aspire to all his life, so he was probably hoping that she was similar to him in some way as a form of self-validation, but when he did meet her it probably made him feel very conflicted since she didn't live up to his exceptions.

So in his mind it probably started out like "I'm supposed to be perfect and Cassandra Cain is already perfect, so she's probably very similar to me and I need to aspire to be more like her, which would be easy since we're already very similar to each other" then when he did meet her it went on to become" "Wait that's Cassandra Cain? But she's nothing like me?! Does that mean I'm not perfect after all and everything I'm doing is wrong? No.....its her who is doing everything wrong" so him butting-heads with her was him grasping at straws since putting her down would be easier than for him to accept that what he was aspiring to become all this time was the wrong image and he didn't want to start from scratch by believing in a new version of the ideal him (which thankfully he did end up doing at the end, he just was unsure if it was really what he wanted for himself at that point.)

Either ways its crazy that this plot-line didn't have any follow ups and no writers tried to have interact with each other again in almost 15 years.

I half agree with this, because I do think that Damian would have put Cass on a pedestal before meeting her. And I feel like part of him would have felt betrayed when they did meet and instead of being someone he could relate to, she was chatting with Dick and Tim and connecting over their shared history. The framing in those panels from Gates of Gotham where the trio are strategising and Damian is sitting away from them watching feels very deliberate. But I do think insecurity plays a role in that. You came to a new country all alone to meet your father but now he's dead and you're stuck with a bunch of older people meant to be your siblings and here comes one who was trained from birth to fight as a league funded project and yet... She clicks with your other siblings more than you? I think it would for sure make Damian feel more insecure even if he wasn't fully invested in becoming a part of the family, and he'd almost feel irrationally betrayed by Cass for not living up to the version he had in his head that was meant to ease said insecurity over this new "family" of his instead of making it worse and making him feel even more alone.

I can definitely see that thought process you describe in his head though. He's a genius technically but he is only ten and if something is wrong then either he's the problem or Cass is the problem, no room yet for emotional complexity. And he refuses to be wrong (similar to a certain sister of his who refuses to lose shhh who said that) so he's just going to have to butt heads with Cass until everyone including her understands that he's right and she's wrong, simple!

We deserved so much more of them working together. Gates of Gotham was a great start and I love that it's forever canon that their first act of sibling bonding was blowing up the batboat together. But we deserved so much more.

[thelordofgifs]

For the prompt thing, number 24 on the Silmarils list; choked with weeds and slime? IDK seems like a line you could do something interesting with.

Another one I’m answering a year late, but have some War of Wrath-era Elros and Elrond growing slowly apart! Thank you for the prompt 💕

“Just a little further,” Elrond says confidently, raising his torch. It does very little to illuminate the dank forest path ahead of them, but he does not seem deterred. “We’ll know it when we feel it.”

“Elrond,” Elros says quietly, trailing after him. He is not used to this position – not used to being the one to doubt. For so much of their lives it has been the other way around, has Elrond followed Elros charging head-first into wherever his will led them.

“You remember,” Elrond insists. “Naneth told us that the air inside Melian’s Girdle was cleaner and purer than any she had ever breathed since.”

Elros inhales, takes in the stench of rot and decay that clogs the forest, and thinks with longing of the clean salt air of the Sea. “The Girdle was fallen almost before Naneth was born,” he says. “It is not here, Elrond.”

“The forest will remember it, even so,” Elrond says. “Doriath was once the most blessed realm in Beleriand – and we its last heirs! It will remember us.”

Too often these days, in Elros’ view, does Elrond’s talk turn towards the power of memory. It makes him uneasy: he does not like to feel the edges of a rift between them, to understand so little the drift of his brother’s thought. Perhaps it is the knowledge of burned Sirion, and all that was lost with it, that haunts Elrond now – or perhaps the long shadow of Amon Ereb, that mausoleum in which they came of age, where the sons of Fëanor mourned the lost days of their glory, and Maglor’s every lullaby was half a dirge.

Beleriand was splendid once, it is true – but the land is breaking now, and the interminable war drawing into its final act, and Elros is more concerned with building something from the ashes than weeping for what was burned. But he does not know how to say this to Elrond, who is still leading him towards the forest’s heart, where Menegroth once flourished.

“Do you even know how to enter the city?” he asks instead. The path, choked with weeds and slime, clings unpleasantly to his feet and makes a squelching sound with every step. “The hidden entrance may now be lost.”

“Not lost,” Elrond murmurs, his voice losing a little of its bravado. “Perhaps it has forgotten itself – but we can call it back.”

“And how long will that take?” Elros argues. “Elrond, my men are waiting for me. I have not the time for a fool’s errand.”

Elrond turns back to look at him for the first time. For a moment Elros is oddly glad of that, that he might still capture his brother’s attention with a sharp word: but the thought is almost immediately followed by a hot flash of shame, for hurt flickers briefly in Elrond’s eyes. It is the sort of thing Maedhros used to do, in his worst moods – goad and goad until at last Maglor gave him some reaction, often too imperceptible for the twins to see. Elros does not want to be like Maedhros. Does not want to think of Maedhros, wants to shake off all the clinging ghosts of his childhood and look now to the world ahead.

But: “It ought not take long,” is all Elrond says, mildly.

They walk in silence, Elros breathing through his nose. He thinks again of the Edain under his command, whom he left waiting at their new outpost a little south of the forest. It has been long enough since he and Elrond last went away on an adventure of their own, for Gil-galad cannot often spare his brother from his duties, and Elros too is a commander in his own right. Besides, he did not think his men would understand their object: most of them have grandparents too young to remember Doriath before its fall. Still he does not like to abandon them, does not want them to think him just another elvish princeling, a stranger to mortal troubles and mortal woes.

But nor could he have let Elrond set out on this quest alone.

In the silence Elrond begins to sing a canto of the Lay of Leithian, of Lúthien dancing in the forest glades to Daeron’s music. Elros joins him, for their voices yet ring stronger together than apart – but he can put little conviction behind the song. The forest that his foremother loved is dead now, and so is she – they cannot resurrect her with their poems and their songs, necromancy dressed up as memorials, she is fled where they cannot reach her. Elros wonders if she was glad to do it.

Elrond’s eyes keep flitting between the dark, foreboding tree-trunks, as though he cannot quite understand why they do not become green and fair again under the influence of his song. At last he stops singing, a little frustrated now. “I cannot find a way,” he says, “it is all dark and rotten.”

“Well, there have been all manner of foul creatures crawling through these forests since Doriath fell,” Elros says sensibly. “I would be surprised were it not polluted.” 

“Why will it not cleanse itself?” Elrond says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why will it not remember how it used to be?”

Every two years or so Elrond will come to Elros with a plan to reach out to Maglor and his brother, and bring them before Gil-galad to face justice and redemption. Each time Elros tries to make him understand how impossible the idea is – and it works, for a year or two. 

He is not accustomed to thinking of his brother as childish – not accustomed to feeling so very old as he does right now, seeing the stunned bewildered hurt on Elrond’s face.

“It is tired, Elrond,” he says. “Let it sleep.”

For a moment Elrond’s face crumples, and Elros thinks he must weep; then he says, quite calmly and cheerfully, “Well then, we had best be getting you back to your men,” and sets his course for the forest’s southern border.

The victory feels hollow, to Elros: but then, they all do. 

[the-modern-typewriter]

The Art of Turning 30

“So, am I allowed to talk?” Annabelle gave an awkward little laugh, that she immediately wanted to stuff back into her mouth. “I’ve never done this before!”

“You can talk.” Julian flashed her a quick, reassuring smile. “At least until I tell you not to.”

They both laughed, then. Julian’s laugh was not awkward.

It was six months until her thirtieth birthday.

She had met him at her girlfriend Camille’s twenty-ninth birthday party, a few weeks ago, only to be surprised that they’d somehow never crossed paths before. London was big, but it wasn’t that big surely, and Julian was an artist.

Annabelle felt like she spent half her free time at artsy bohemian parties and amateur gallery openings, though maybe that was why. He wasn’t an amateur, was he?

She’d looked him up online after and seen several shining reviews of his first exhibition, and a rosy buzz of anticipation at what he’d do next.

She remembered that buzz. People used to get that buzz when they talked about her. Apparently, his work was ‘visceral’ and ‘felt startlingly alive’.

It seemed impossible that he wanted to paint her, of all people.

Annabelle shifted on the stool, glancing around Julian’s studio space as he finished setting up his easel and paints. Oils. He’d said he was using oils. That mattered in painting, didn’t it?

The studio was everything she’d always imagined a professional artist’s studio to be. It was quite large, with clean wooden floors and white walls crowded with stacks of sheet-covered canvases in progress.

There was only one that was ready and visible; a painting of a beautiful blond man, probably nearing thirty too, lounging on the same stool that Annabelle was perched upon. He gazed out at the viewer with a hungry sort of hope. Like they were the best thing he had ever seen.

The studio smelled like drying paint and the sandalwood diffuser wafting its calming scent from the window sill. Sunlight coated the room like honey, or gold.

“You’re not going to make me look ugly, are you?” she asked.

He smiled again, meeting her eyes. “I couldn’t possibly.”

He probably flirted with all of his models, but she still felt a blush of heat rise to her face.

He looked like he could be in a painting, or one of those classical sculptures still concerned with archetypal ideals of beauty. Of course, she was with Camille, so nothing would happen…but still. The attention made her heart pound. Camille was usually too tired from work to flirt with her anymore.

Annabelle wasn’t sure how good she’d be at seeing a painting of herself that she hated, and not letting it show on her face. She’d probably tear up. It would be embarrassing for both of them. She shifted on the stool once more, and tugged at the hem of her summer dress.

“This is for your next exhibition?”

“I think I’m going to call it ‘The Art of Turning 30’.”

“Explains why I’m your muse instead of some gorgeous twenty two year old ingenue.” She laughed again. He did not. She continued, even as she willed herself to stop babbling, because he wasn’t looking at her with the expectation that she do anything. He plucked up a pencil, beginning his work. “It’s like, when you’re a woman, after you turn thirty your life is over, right? It’s like with my acting. And then by the time you’re forty all of a sudden all you can possibly be is, like, a mother or a witch. Or, you know, the dead wife. It’s all downhill.”

“You wouldn’t want to be a witch?” He raised a brow. “They always seemed pretty powerful to me. I could see you as a witch.”

“But do you know what I mean?”

“Can you turn your head a little the left, please?”

“What? Oh. Yes.”

She turned her head to the side, towards the window, and hoped the sunshine made her seem younger rather than highlighting every growing crag and wrinkle.

She could only watch him out of her periphery vision now; a wistful muse, seemingly unaware that she was being observed. She tried to look deep and mysterious.

“Perfect,” he said. “Thanks. You’re just perfect.”

The canvas of the blond man fell to the floor with a soft thump.

Annabelle jumped.

“Sorry.” Julian shook his head, another easy laugh on his breath. “The landlord never lets me put proper hangings on the wall here. Says it wrecks them. I guess so long as they don’t do that at the exhibition?”

“I don’t know, you could probably play it off as a stunt…lean into the photorealism.”

“Now, there’s an idea. Genius.” 

She probably didn’t look deep and mysterious. She probably just looked smitten.

***

She sat for Julian three times a week for the next several months.

It became a pocket of peace in her life, the hours when it was okay to finally stop and be for a while, because everything else seemed to be hurtling through her fingers faster than she could clutch hold of it.

She’d always imagined that she would be a successful, or at least up-and-coming, actress and screenwriter by the time she turned thirty.

Sure, women only made up around 30% of the directors or writers behind the camera, but back in school everyone always said that maybe she’d be the one to change that. She wasn’t entirely sure when they stopped saying it, but they had.

It was three months until her thirtieth birthday.

“Here.” Julian caught hold of her chin, featherlight, angling her back towards the sun. The days were getting shorter. Time was running out for them both. “You were like this.”

She had got in the habit of always sitting a little wrong, because he’d always adjust her, oh so careful and attentive, like she was his masterpiece.

She would have probably preferred to be her own masterpiece, but being his seemed like the second best option. She could practically feel the ghosts of forgotten, underappreciated female muses-past screaming at her that no, it was always better to be somebody than someone’s, but frankly she wasn’t sure she could be picky.

She’d been getting less and less call backs, and was starting to feel more like she was a part-time waitress dabbling at film than a part-time actress-filmmaker working hours in hospitality to make ends meet.

It was like a window was closing. Her window. That morning she’d found an honest to the devil grey hair on her head!

Camille told her that she was being ridiculous – that she’d become increasingly vain since Julian started painting her.

Annabelle had snapped back that vanity wasn’t vanity for an actress. Her looks were her currency.

It hadn’t always been so hard, had it?

All in all, it didn’t seem like a sin to let him touch her. It was nice to be touched. There was nothing untoward in that.

She peeked up at Julian, standing over her, his star ever on the rise. Their stares met again. He smiled that quick, reassuring smile of his.

“You look tired,” he said softly.

“Sorry.”

“No, no.” He widened his eyes. “I didn’t mean—” he huffed gently, and let go of her. “I haven’t got to your mouth yet. If you want to talk about it.”

Annabelle grinned back before she could stop herself.

It had become a standing joke. She sometimes felt she spent their whole time together talking about herself, but he always said it was interesting and made the hours fly. He was a very good listener.

More privately, she sometimes suspected that he was leaving her mouth for last just so they could continue chatting, but she wasn’t allowed to see the painting to check. The thought was thrilling though.

 “It’s nothing,” she said, even if she already knew she’d probably tell him everything on her mind. “I don’t know.”

What would she do when the painting was done? She’d see him at his exhibition opening, probably, but there would hardly be a reason for them spend time together like they did when she was sitting for her portrait.

Maybe it was silly to consider him one of her friends. She’d miss it, though. She’d miss him.

Maybe he’d want to do another one of her, but who was she kidding? Maybe in ten years, when he did a gimmicky but charming follow up. The Art of Turning 40: Where Are They Now?

What did he know about turning thirty anyway? He couldn’t be more than twenty-five. He had loads of time.

“There’s an intimacy,” he murmured, “to painting someone. Especially like this, in the old fashioned way. A lot of people use photographs and quick studies because they’re more convenient and you don’t have to catch the right light, you know? But I love it.” The air filled with their breathing, and the soothing dab of his paint brushes on his palette, mixing up the colours of her. “You really get to know people this way. It adds soul to the work. It’s magic.”

She felt, more than saw, his gaze cut over her again.  Her blood was electric beneath his scrutiny.

He continued, softly.

“I knew from the moment we met that I wanted you to be my centrepiece for this one.”

“Flatterer.”

“It’s true!” He laughed. “You have this great energy. I knew you were going to be interesting, and I was right. And you know how to model well. Because you’re an actress, right? You’re used to people looking at you.”

An actress, no ‘wannabe’ or ‘aspiring’ or ‘failed’ tacked on front. She couldn’t help but sneak a glance at him as best she could without turning her head.

“My boss always says I should have more energy, then I’d wait tables faster.”

“What does Camille say?”

“Camille—” Annabelle blinked in surprise, then swallowed. Her hands curled in her lap. She resisted the urge to sigh.

“Uh-oh.”

“No, no,” she said. “It’s fine. I just – she thinks if I’m not happy I should do something about it. She’s always telling me about other things I’d be really good at that have better pay, or more sociable hours.”

“So, give up on your dreams already.”

“Yeah.”

Annabelle deflated. She knew that Camille didn’t mean anything bad by it, but that was what it implied, right? She was never going to be a famous and successful actress or screenwriter, so she should settle for something manageable.

“Well, she’s not a creative, like us,” Julian said. “She doesn’t get it.”

Like us. Annabelle was a horrible girlfriend for feeling a swell of pleasure at that. It was true, though. Still.

“We’ve been together for a really long time, and she’s been really supportive. I think she’s just finding the whole ‘me turning thirty’ thing annoying. Mainly because I won’t shut up about it. Which I’m sure you sympathise with!”

Camille said that anyone who claimed life stopped at thirty was an idiot. There was no limit for potential, no one age where everyone had to have their life together and perfect by.

She was probably right, but Annabelle could still feel the panic of it clawing at her the closer her birthday got. Even if she was successful after thirty, she wouldn’t be one of those young geniuses that everyone had expected her to be. She wouldn’t be exceptional.

She would just be Annabelle. It didn’t feel like enough. Maybe if she could see herself like Julian apparently saw her, it would be better.

“Chin up,” Julian said.

Annabelle cleared her throat again. “Right, yeah.”

“No, I mean.” His voice was deadpan. “Your head. You’ve moved. Drooped.”

She shot him a look over her shoulder. The melancholy shoved itself down again in the pit of her stomach.

He tossed her a wink from behind the easel, to indicate he was joking. Only trying to cheer her up and lighten the mood.

“So, I still don’t get to see what else you’re working on, huh?” she asked.

“I’d have to kill you.” He switched to another, smaller brush in her periphery vision.

She snorted.

“It would be very inconvenient all around,” he said. “Rigor mortis sets in fast. I’d never get the painting done in time.”

“Well we can’t have that. After you’re finished with me then, I suppose.”

“Our art is a part of us, Annabelle.” He shot her another glance in turn, brush poised above his image of her, considering. “So how, then, could I ever truly be finished with you?”

Her breath hitched in her throat. She debated possible responses to that, and how he could have meant it. Her body felt warm and flushed.

He gestured that she angle her head left once more, not looking away for a second himself.

Annabelle turned.

The summer waned outside the window, but in the painting she would still be in her sundress, legs tanned and toes painted sky blue.

Thank god he kept his studio warm. The minutes ticked by, the air between them settling tranquil once more.

“Sometimes,” she said, softly, “I wish we could stay like this forever. Freeze the moment. Is that stupid?” It felt a confessional thing to say. Bold.

“No.” She could hear the equally soft smile in his voice. “It’s not stupid. Isn’t that how I got you to agree to do me this favour?”

She remembered the party; an adult version of what they all used to do, even if it still felt like they were all pretending to be grown-ups. Or at least, Annabelle felt like she was pretending. She didn’t feel twenty-nine.

She’d clutched her glass of wine and hovered near a somewhat strained conversation about mortgages and the state of the housing market, and how none of them were going to be on the property ladder before they were fifty, before she caught sight of Julian coming in. 

She echoed his words, and didn’t have to fake her wistfulness that time.

“To be remembered in art is the closest any humans’ get to immortality.”

He echoed the next line back at her. “Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

And she’d said yes.

***

“I’ve got a date for the exhibition,” Julian said, from behind his easel. “A few weeks after your birthday. Short notice, I know. Soz.”

“Ugh, don’t mention the B word. But that’s exciting! Can I come?”

“Of course you can come,” he said. “It’s why I’m telling you. This wouldn’t be possible without you.”

“I mean, while sitting here is terribly difficult,” she said, “I do feel like you should get some of the credit. Just some.”

She heard him laugh.

She’d grown to love Julian’s laugh; he was so ready to do it, at least in their sessions.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard Camille laugh at something she said. Then again, she wasn’t sure the last time she and Camille had spent all that much time together.

By the time Camille got back from a day of teaching, Annabelle was usually already out for the night shift at the pub she waited in. Yet another thing in her life that wasn’t working like it was supposed to!

Camille said that could be worked on if, hey, Annabelle was willing to actually prioritise their relationship.

It had been one of their worst arguments to date.

“There’ll be thirty paintings in total, I think,” he mused, more talkative than normal. “Yours being the main one, like I said.”

“I’m sure you will perfectly capture the raw turmoil of turning thirty.”

He laughed again. It had been one of the most notable reviews of his first exhibition – except the exact wording had been that his work perfectly captured ‘the raw turmoil of adolescence, as an emotional and nostalgic period of change and growth’.

He’d finally caved and showed her some of his previous pieces, other than the ones she’d managed to find online, as a compromise of his refusal to show her how his painting of her was coming along.

Most of the individual pieces from his first exhibit had been sold off, but he’d kept the main one.

His main piece – Girl On Swing – got the most praise, so it had apparently been a bit of a scandal that he hadn’t sold it. He’d had offers.

It was a triptych (Julian’s word) of a girl, unsurprisingly, on a swing.

In the first of three paintings she was a child, carefree and giggling. In the second, a young teenager, her face a storm of emotion. In the final one, she was a young adult, caught mid-leap flying off the swing she’d been sitting on for seemingly eighteen years. Her arms were painted halfway to transitioning to a bird’s wings. She was no longer looking back at the viewer but forward, to all that life had to offer.

Annabelle wondered what people would say about Julian’s version of her.

People liked to fantasise about how amazing being a teenager was when they were an adult, but she hadn’t met anyone who fantasied about turning thirty. It wasn’t nearly as glamorous.

She hoped he made her glamorous.

“Of course,” he was continuing, “with the date so near, we might need a few more sessions to get finished on time.”

She looked over at him again, then, even if she wasn’t supposed to be moving.

The golden light danced across his handsome features, and caught the edges of the canvases behind him. There were twenty nine of them waiting.

“I make a pretty good lasagne,” he said, biting his lip. “If I say so myself. Compensation. If you don’t mind finishing late. There’s also a nice wine I got for Christmas that I really couldn’t drink alone.”

“I don’t mind,” she heard herself saying, before she’d even thought about it. “I don’t mind at all.”

“It’s a good venue,” he said. “A really good venue. Everyone’s going to love you.”

With him, maybe, the window wouldn’t close.

***

“I’m done, except for the varnish.”

The words sent a bolt through her, stirring away the sleepy content that came with posing for an extended period of time. She felt seen. Now, though, she wanted to see. Finally.

It was the day before her thirtieth birthday, and Camille had a massive surprise party planned, that Annabelle was both pretending that she didn’t know about, and dreading like a punch to the gut.

It was sweet that Camille was doing it. But also, maybe, if she didn’t celebrate the date she could still, somehow, be in her twenties for another year. That was how it worked, right?

“You are?” She leapt off the stool, and felt her joints click. “Can I see? I feel like I should have a right to see before everyone else. I won’t tell anyone.”

“It is top secret.” He pretended to consider.

She took the opportunity to relish actually looking at him for once; there was a kiss of red on the cuff of his painting shirt that hadn’t yet dried. It was the exact colour of her lipstick. She smiled.

He really had left her mouth for last.

“Fine,” he said, and gestured her over, eyes bright with amusement. “But only because I know you won’t tell.”

In the short space of walking over, Annabelle had time to feel her stomach clench. Her old fears boiled nauseously to the surface.

What if it was awful?

What if it wasn’t what she wanted, as if that had ever been the point?

What if her immortality looked like the part-time waitress she didn’t want to be?

She would have to keep a straight face, and not hurt his feelings. He’d been working on it for so long. It would ruin everything if he knew she hated it. It would no doubt be technically very skilled. She should have researched painting techniques she could comment on.

She rounded the easel, a little dizzy.

His hand fell on the small of her back, thumb tracing the curve of her hip, idly almost.  

She stared.

Her painted self was lovely. So alive, as if thirty couldn’t possibly contain her.

It was not as realistic as ‘Girl On Swing’ though.

She was caught in the motion of talking, hands gesturing animatedly in the air despite her best efforts of posing, and though her face was turned towards the light of the window it was as clear as confession that her eyes were always turning towards him, trying to steal a glimpse.

She looked at him, at the viewer, like he was the best thing she had ever seen.

Camille would see the painting too.

She had already said that she had to come to the opening, especially ‘after all the time her girlfriend had spent with this Julian fellow instead of her.’

Annabelle swallowed.

The perfect bubble burst.

She released a shaky breath, abruptly more aware of his hand through the thin material of her dress.

They hadn’t done anything.

Even the night when she ended up staying over at his, after lasagne and wine, they hadn’t done anything.

The painting made it look like they had, though. She wasn’t even sure she could accuse Julian of exactly making it up, either.

He had painted the truth. Raw. Even when it would have been politer to hide it.

“Oh,” she said. “Wow. Um. Julian—”

“Happy Birthday,” he murmured. “For tomorrow.”

His hand moved up to the back of her neck and all of the colours of the painting swirled and rushed forward to meet her.

“Oh, and Annabelle?” His voice sounded very far away. “This is the bit where you stop talking.”

***

Annabelle had been thirty for nearly a month. Well, not exactly.

They all said that she looked amazing. So realistic.

She couldn’t move. She couldn’t feel her body. But, she could watch, from her frame.

She’d watched as Julian approached her with a paintbrush dipped in varnish – to seal the work – and she’d watched with her world turned sideways as they carried her canvas from the studio to the gallery.

She’d watched as they hung her up on the wall and made comments about her like she wasn’t there at all.

She’d screamed, too, or tried to. They hadn’t been able to hear her.

Julian had approached her again when they were alone, hands in his pockets, perfectly relaxed and pleased with himself.

“It’s a good trick, isn’t it? I’ve always had the knack of turning people into portraits.” He’d flashed her the same quick, reassuring smile he always did as he peered up at her. “As I said, it’s all about getting to know the person. Getting them to pour their soul out to you.”

He’d laughed, like he so often did, only this time it was at his own joke instead of hers. Or maybe she had always been the joke. 

“I did worry for a moment that I wouldn’t be finished in time. But, don’t worry. We made it. You’re twenty-nine forever! Just like you wanted. Just like I promised. I’m not that cruel.”

She’d wanted to tell him that this was not what she’d wanted. She wanted to ask a million questions. She wanted to punch him.

Instead, Annabelle watched as Camille stepped into the exhibition room, on opening night.

She watched Camille scan the crowd, feverishly, expecting her to be there.

She watched as Camille’s attention snagged on the vast painting of her across the room.

God, Camille.

Her girlfriend made a beeline over. It had been an age since Annabelle had last looked at her, properly looked at her, hadn’t it?

Camille’s face crumpled a little as she studied the portrait; a myriad of regret and fear and confusion. Hurt. Her eyes were red and swollen like she’d been crying. She raised one hand towards Annabelle’s life-sized face, as if to touch, but didn’t. Her fists curled at her sides instead.

Guilt twisted in Annabelle’s gut. Camille looked exactly like how one might when learning that their girlfriend had cheated on them.

She felt an absurd surge of hope, despite everything, that Camille might see her where no one other than Julian had. The portrait, for all of its intimacies, suggested a grand love affair. People didn’t vanish fairly from grand love affairs, they just didn’t! It was suspicious, right? He was the last person to see her. The proof was in the painting!

Camille stared at her for a moment longer, her jaw set with grim determination. Then she scrubbed a hand over her face. Her shoulders hunched against some unbearable, undefinable weight. Her dark hair was greasy with worry.

“I’ll find you,” Camille still whispered. “I swear, I’ll find you.”

Annabelle’s stomach sank.

“No, Camille—” Of course, the words didn't come out. Nothing did.

She’d had been such an idiot, hadn’t she?

She felt a fresh stab of longing for that surprise birthday party.

How long had they waited for her to arrive? Waited for her.

Had Camille reported her missing? There would be no body to find, no evidence. The painting, the wanting limited eyes she looked out of, felt like a mockery.

Maybe the life she had with Camille hadn’t been perfect, not by a long shot, but at least they’d been alive. At least they’d been real.

Camille began to turn away.

“Please.” Annabelle’s voice broke. “I’m so sorry. I’m here, please. Don’t leave me! Camille!”

More attendees bustled to claim prime spot in front of the painting, murmuring about how talented Julian was, speculating on if Annabelle was his lover. Camille flinched.

“It makes me feel,” one of gallery attendees said, “like I’m interrupting them in a private moment, you know? Of course, it’s so Julian that she’s not actually a nude—”

She couldn’t see Camille anymore.

She was never going to see Camille again, was she?

CAMILLE. CAMILLE. CAMILLE.

Annabelle screamed it with everything she had, every atom of her, with the absolute certainty that if her girlfriend walked out the gallery door that Annabelle would never escape the painting.

She would never get to say sorry, or kiss Camille, or tell her properly that nothing had happened or would ever have happened, despite what she may have let her foolish heart feel.

She’d just liked the way he looked at her.

She didn’t want to stop the clock.

She wanted her life back, to live.

The painting hit the floor of the exhibition with an almighty crash.

Everyone scattered back. Red wine spilled like a crime scene against the polished floor.

Camille whirled back around too, alone a few metres away, her eyes wide and startled.

Julian appeared, clutching a glass of champagne in one hand.

“Goddamn these hooks. Who set this up? It’s a hazard. Everyone alright?” He looked around at his adoring fans, and summoned up a rueful smile. “I should have just got eyes to follow you all around the room instead, huh?” He looked down at her, where she stared up, in the same narrow periphery vision he’d painted her with. “Really leaned into the photorealism.”

Past him, past his taunts, Camille looked between the two of them. Uncertain misery flashed across her features once more. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, before closing it.

Annabelle willed her painted self to move again too, to speak, to do anything. She willed Camille to question, to press, to not give up on them and on her. Not now.

“Camille!” Julian had caught sight of her too, and straightened. He gestured for one of the gallery employees to get Annabelle back into position. “I’m so glad you could make it! Is Annabelle not with you? She was so excited for the exhibition…”

“You haven’t seen her?” Camille’s voice broke. “I – I thought she’d be here, at least. With you.”

“With me?” Julian spoke mildly. Innocently. “No, no. I haven’t seen her. I thought she was with you. Is something wrong?” His tone gentled, as he walked towards Camille. “She mentioned you’d been having some problems…”

“No – it wasn’t like that – Camille—”

Crowds swarmed Annabelle’s painted self once more. She was lifted back on the wall, as if nothing had happened.

"Let me get you a drink," Julian said. "You can tell me everything."

She caught a glimpse of Julian's arm wrapped around Camille's waist. The way she leaned into him, looked up at him. His lips by her ear.

"Camille—"

By the time the room cleared, they were already gone.

[icarusredwings]

I have problems incorporating Ellie because the comics/movie timeline does not link up, and I've had a hell of a time fixing the Xmen movie/Logan Timeline (because it has to make sense in my story damn it) I'd have to retcon wade banging Carmelita Camacho when he was broken up with Vanessa, and how do you do that tastefully?

So what is your opinion on how to do this?

Does it work in cannon?

Thoughts in general?

Okay so- Canonly to the movieverse, It's said that Ellie (Eleanor camacho) will not be in this universe, this is probably because Ryan doesn't like the idea of dipping on his daughter seeing in many comic universes, while he does take in Ellie he quickly realizes how crap of a parent he is, always on the run, always in danger, and he dosn't want her in danger (most times) so he leaves her with an adoptive family. He visits often, gives her a phone and tells her to call him any day or night for anything at all and he'll awnser, he plays with her often but has to leave half way through almost every time, her adoptive parents sometimes dislike Wade (for obvious reasons) but they let him come with them trick or treating and to her birthday party.

In the comics Ellie also is a big fan of Spiderman and peter meets Ellie a few times, saying he wasnt aware Wade even had kids, in which he responds that he wasnt either until a couple years ago. This is said as a joke since Ellie is only about 6 when this is said, but its true, Ellie was already born by the time he knew anything about her existence.

He even told her mother that she couldn't possibly be his because she's too beautiful. All in all, you can see him struggling so hard to balance his mental health, his work, his daughter, and just trying to live enough FOR her. She becomes his anchor, but really... really.. struggles to meet the standard of a "good father." To us, we can see how hard he's trying, but Ellie, her father, lies, doesn't come when he says he will, and all an all? Gave her away. It's a gorgeous story, really, depending on which one you read. Older Ellie eventually takes on the legacy of Deadpool in one universe and tells people loud and proud that she's Ellie Wilson and that she IS deadpool (similar to how Laura IS Wolverine).

Alright. Canon done and done.

Now. As the Board of Headcanons thoughts and opinions.

Yes- Ellie would be conceived during the time Vanessa and him are broken up, so somewhere between movie 2 and 3. I *Think* that it's implied that Wade went back to make Vanessa alive again, shooting himself in wolverine orgins, trying to kill baby hitler but failing, etc and then its implied (I think) that Cable goes back home after that seeing as in the 3rd movie the TVA says that he abused his powers with it and Wade mentions that he dosn't have it anymore. That he "smashed it" or something but Wade is a known liar. He probably returned it to Cable (or idk maybe he really did wreck it. Dropped it off the freeway or something- but then they probably could just fix it again idk) so he could go home to his daughter.

Im not entirely sure on the deadpool movieverse timeline, but I wanna say it's a good 6 years in between movies / how long he's been broken up with Vanessa? So yes, they totally could have had Ellie in the plot since Carmelita was a hookup. One that kind of was a bit Eeehhh if you ask me anyway since she only does it because she thinks she's about to die and wants to have sex again before that. He takes off his mask, and she runs off, probably leaving Wade feeling way worse then before hand.

Now I haven't read this specific comic, but she claims that she couldn't find deadpool for the entire pregnancy (accurate) and wanted to give Ellie up for adoption or she wanted child support (?) So Wade took her instead.

You could very easily label her as a sympathy/ rebound hook up from Vanessa but again, movie would be more complicated if he came back to vanessa with a whole kid so thats why they decided to keep her out (and child acting laws/pay probably)

There would infact have to be a whole argument of "Wade where the fuck did you get a kid!?" "Uhhhh shes mine" "no take her back where you found her thats someones daughter you nutcase!" "No no- I mean... shes literally mine.."

Which would do well inna fic where Vanessa and Wade stay broken up, because If my ex boyfriend had a whole kid with someone else I doubt it would be easy to get back together- but if you want it to where Vanessa is still together-ish with Wade then you will have to do something where Vanessa becomes kind of like a step mom.

With how young Ellie is- you could probably write it to where she fully believes V is her mom in the first place. The timeline makes sense that way, I think. You would just have to work out the whole "My boyfriend is having a massive mental identity crisis and is extremely depressed to the point he's neglecting his daughter"

And THAT would be the issue. Does Wade neglect Ellie sometimes? Yes. Is it for her own good? Yes. Would he EVER do anything to personally hurt Ellie? You're out of your god damn mind if you think yes. He does not want to be like his father so he would never hit her. Shout at her? Sure. Regret it? Instantly.

I also can't see Vanessa leaving Wade in such a dark place with Ellie and Al either. She definitely wouldn't leave a child in a home where she wouldn't he cared for- So you would have to have V take Ellie which would lead to Wade being MORE depressed, and maybe thats why he's trying to get his life together so badly? To get his daughter back?

Because normal dads have normal jobs right? Hence the car salesman gig. Maybe hes saving up to move to somewhere so Els and him can have a cleaner, safer, bigger apartment because Obviously sharing a bed with Al makes Vanessa look at him with somewhat suprise and pity. V would want him to get a place where Els can sleep safely and have her own space. Even if its their own apartment and wade gives Els the room and he sleeps on the couch, as long as shes his priority.

V taking Ellie from him would be a major eye opener for him to get his shit together.

(He also would probably call her all the time to talk to ellie and demand that Ellie dosn't meet Vs boyfriends or hook ups because HE'S her dad, not them, he'd kill a bitch if Ellie called them dad)

After the movie, when Logan and Laura are there, Wade can look at her and ask if he can have Ellie back now, and she tells him "Lets start with weekends." Because she can tell just how much he's actually gotten it together but hes not quite ready to have her full time again.

As time goes on with Logan, They would eventually have to move but yes, in about 6 months time he would get Ellie back and have his little family that consistents of a mommy, 2 daddys, a dog, 3 daughters, and a grandma.

[11queensupreme11]

Here comes another platonic AU I was interested in Percy's future children and how they would deal with the bi-racial culture that combining Percy's marriage with any yandere would bring upon the children

Percy is loved for being herself and that means she can indulge in her human culture without any problems because the gods find her values ​​and beliefs adorable but any children she has will not have that same privilege

Any child independent of his father will be raised as a God and if he is expected to behave like a worthy God, it would be totally confusing for the child to see people loving his mother for her humanity only to criticize and punish that child whenever he shows any hint of resemblance to his own mother

I definitely see Percy teaching and reproducing little traditions and values ​​that she herself learned from her mother to her children, the yanderes would let this continue because seeing Percy acting so happy and excited warms their hearts

It would be so difficult for the children because literally all the gods around him would be criticizing humanity and its customs while at the same time idolizing their mother who is the definition of humanity, the children would be criticized for having 25% human blood ( which is ironic because Percy is 50% human and NOBODY cares about that), the gods make children feel inadequate because they have human traits (maybe they don't even realize they do it, maybe they treat it as something more fragile and dumb, like they accidentally underestimate and infantilize children) while also adoring their mother for the same reason

An example: no one cares that Percy is a disaster at mathematics, this has become another of her charms but that would be the opposite with her children, it would be shameful if any of them were incapable of performing basic operations (Beelzebub is a scientist so I imagine he would be livid if his own son couldn't calculate a mathematical operation) definitely human traits would take the blame, everyone would talk about how human blood made them inferior to the other gods and again no one will blame Percy, everyone they blamed poor Sally

Imagine that for years this feeling of shame, comparison, insufficiency and anger builds up inside the boys until one day all these feelings explode while Percy was just trying to recreate a human tradition that she did with her mother (baking blue cookies) until that Makarios and Kyrr just explode saying that they don't care about her stupid human traditions and that they don't care about her inferior human mother and that they disown her as a grandmother and that she is ashamed of having human blood and that they hate her for being half -human, Thalassus and Luke even try to calm the situation but in the end they admit that they also hate her human side (they don't really hate her, they just said it in the heat of the moment)

Maybe in the heat of their anger, Thalassus and Luke even ask if they are really bastards, if it's true that the nobleman from Atlântica really isn't their father (a bit like that scene in House of the Dragons where the eldest sons Rhaenyra asks if the rumors are true and she just remains silent without being able to answer), the younger brothers are horrified (they have always heard that only dishonored women and prostitutes have children outside of marriage, and that a woman's greatest sin is cheat on your husband) then they scream and insult her   Percy would first be shocked and then she would be deeply hurt, it would be an underlying pain worse than any injury she had ever received on any mission (and she would know a lot about painful injuries), she loves her mother very much and always misses her but like her now she's probably dead, the only way to revive those good ones would be to pass those beloved traditions on to her own children (since all the other gods despise anything remotely human), to know that the only beings she can share her own culture with in truth, despising everything she loves would be extremely painful, and I won't even describe the pain of a mother when she hears her child scream that he hates her

And she was also insulted for something that wasn't even in her control, she never chose to sleep with the yanderes, she was simply forced (eventually she came to love the yanderes and their children but that doesn't erase the abuse she suffered), Hearing her beloved children saying they feel ashamed and disgusted with her for something she didn't even have the power to change (she didn't choose to marry the nobleman in the same way she didn't choose to get pregnant by yanderes) simply DESTROYED her heart

I just remembered that there is a syndrome called "Broken Heart Syndrome" it is extremely rare, going through extremely stressful situations such as the loss of a loved one or hearing great negative news makes the heart beat so hard and so quickly it causes symptoms of a heart attack and sometimes can even be fatal, after hearing everything he heard, Percy's heart LITERALLY breaks (let's imagine that Percy inherited this genetic syndrome from one of Sally's ancestors), she spits blood from her mouth (just like in wmmap, I like to be dramatic) and just falls to the ground like a merionet that has had its strings cut

The children despair and scream for help, the yanderes arrive desperately in the kitchen trying to understand what happened, Percy is cured by the joint efforts of Beelzebub and Apollo, he is placed on absolute rest, the children go to her room to apologize Percy, like a good mother, accepts the apology but when the children look into her eyes they notice that her eyes are dull and have lost that happy glow, after that many things change

Percy is depressed, she has stopped all human traditions, she has lost her appetite and not even blue food attracts her, she just lies in bed staring silently at the ceiling, Poseidon is so desperate that he offers her fatty food but she doesn't show it interest, he tried to take her to New York but even that didn't cheer her up, the romantic yanderes are desperately trying to cheer her up and her children are feeling very guilty and ashamed

Now more than ever Percy feels suffocated in his supposed home so she asks to stay at Uncle Adamas' house for a while, Poseidon doesn't like the idea but considering it's the first time she's spoken in days he lets her, since Percy left In the Palace the atmosphere is tense, the children, feeling guilty, go to land to get some human gift for their mother in an attempt to improve her mood and it is while they are on the nearby beach that they see something shocking: The nobleman from Atlântica lovingly kissing a pregnant woman

(I'm going to stop here because this post was very long but I'm going to write part 2, I had sent you a post almost similar to this one by mistake, that post was the draft of this one and I ended up sending it by mistake because I got confused with Google translate 🤣🤣🤣)

WAIT I NEED CLARIFICATION BEFORE I GO ON SO QUICK QUESTION:

since you stated here that percy is still 50% human and her kids are all 25%, does this mean percy is still a demigod in this AU? like, she hasn't ascended so she's still aging, can die later, etc? or is she already dead and a spirit in valhalla? OR is it that she gave birth to the kids first, and THEN ascended??? ORRRRR is it just that she's still a demigod, but they found a way to make her immortal without turning her into a god?

OKAY NOW MOVING ON

when the kids are still young, the yanderes wouldn't be that harsh cuz... you know, they're kids (except for poseidon, he's gonna always be hard on them smh). but it's when they grow up is the problem.

anubis and apollo would be mostly okay (sorta) with their kids having some human-like traits, mostly because it reminds them of percy and it's further proof of their love for their kid to have some of percy's beliefs.

but it really depends on the yandere and the human trait. baking, cooking, and eating would be okay for pretty much everyone but poseidon, but on things like academics, most of them would be pretty.... speciest? idk if that's the right word for this, but yeah 💀 OR just being physically weak or getting tired, yeah most would look down on them for things like that 💀💀

but percy's heartbreaking from her kids.... omg. honestly, beelzebub and loki would go ballistic on their kids if they found out they were the cause of this, ESPECIALLY beelie who has no issue hurting his kid if need be 💀

ALSO WHAT THE FUCK????????? NOBLEMAN ARE YOU SUICIDAL WHAT ARE YOU DOING

that man fucking lost his mind LMAOOOOO

DID HE FORGET WHO HE'S GONNA PISS OFF IF HE GETS CAUGHT? 😭😭😭😭

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I NEED A PART TWO 😭😭😭😭

[insidemyrottenbrain]

First dinner with Henry after a long long time

Finding out why he has been searching for you all these years

And what he wants now

Years later - 2

Henry Marchbanks Winter x GN!Reader

Continuation at the request of my dearest anonymous

Out of guilt and dread you end up leaving Vermont and building a new life. Just as you thought you escaped your past, you once again find yourself in its grasp.

Henry ended up inviting me to dinner, insisting that he had a nice place in the middle of London. It was strange not only because of the rapidness with which he managed to obtain such a place but also because it was deeply uncharacteristic of him to own one in the city’s storm eye. Contradicting my rational thoughts not to go, I accepted the invitation to a promising home-cooked meal.

That is why I now stand at the candle-lit dinner table in his scarcely furnished flat, idly sipping from one of the two glasses filled with the white wine I had brought and had been saving for a special occasion. I watch Henry move around the kitchen as if he hasn’t aged a single day, with the same self-awareness of an old ballerina. Being alone with my thoughts more often than not brings certain things to light. My attention is now enraptured by the reality that I am fighting a losing battle with my yearning for He who never once ceased to infect my mind and torture my soul. 

Henry’s lips gently tug at me by rolling my name off his tongue and he pulls me back to reality by setting two dishes on the table. ‘You seem to be devoured by your thoughts, cupitus.’

‘I didn’t know you cooked.’ I remark as he finds his place on the chair opposite to mine.

‘It is a fairly new development.’ Henry nods. ‘Please, tell me how you find it.’

I pick up what looks like a succulent bite along with some garnish, and eat it. The flavours bless my taste buds.

‘You once again meet my great expectations, Henry. Is there anything in which you don’t excel?’ I half-smirk at him out of habit. I should have expected him to be good even at mundane things such as cooking.

There is a silence. I can feel the atmosphere in the room change into something thicker, more suffocating. Henry seems to be weighing down his words, utterly torn between them. He takes a deep breath as if to steady himself and levels his cold gaze with mine. ‘In existing without you.’ He finally slices through the dense silence. ‘I spiraled into utter madness when you left Vermont. Nothing made sense. I failed to realize how much you influenced my life until your departure.’ He is vigilantly tightening the rosary around my neck.

‘You must understand why I left.’ I say instead of acting on my consuming impulses that beg me to soothe his beating heart.

‘I do.’ Henry nods solemnly. ‘However, knowing the reason for your absence does not bring normality back to me.’

‘Normality is not eternal.’ I say without thinking.

‘It is not.’ He agrees. ‘Regardless, you must be my eternity.’ 

The sentence is so obnoxiously irrational that it has managed to break my whole being, including my equanimity, leaving behind raw emotions on my face. This did not escape Henry’s eyes.

‘I am aware of my thinking’s quixotic nature, yet I fear you must take it as it is.’ He pauses to light up a cigarette. ‘Will you come back to Vermont with me?’

‘No, I-’

‘Then I shall stay here with you.’ He interrupts not wanting to deal with anything that might be in antithesis to his wishes. Once he sees I remained quiet he takes a drag from his cigarette and speaks again. ‘The matter of location is settled then.’

‘I suppose so.’ There is no point in disagreeing with him. I pick up my fork, remembering the food in front of me. We eat in silence, while he finishes his cigarette and lights a second.

‘Let us move on to the matter of our relationship.’ Henry gets up and slowly moves towards the balcony, an unspoken order for me to follow. My feet move on their own accord and I end up by his side.

The city is breathing. It incorporates everyone, blurring mismatched stories and human lives together into one single homogenous mix of souls, yet somehow omitting us. We stand above it, two mortals playing Gods, overlooking a sea of indistinguishable humanity while we ourselves are an obscure pair of animae, strangled and twisted around each other far above recognition. I now understand that he is here because of my holy chains spiraled around him, constantly tugging and demanding his devotion, forbidding him from developing any organized thought or rational emotion. We endlessly torment each other with separation until our transit existences are nothing but purgatory.

I take the cigarette from his lips and bring it to mine, then let its remains fall below. I allow the warm smoke to escape my lungs and brush against his face. Henry desperately inhales it like oxygen.

‘I missed you.’ He whispers, vulnerability clear in his eyes.

I smile at the sight of which I never even dreamed and once again, after countless years, lock my breath and limbs with Henry’s.

[oversizedcat538]

Gojo Satoru x Reader

TLDR: You agreed to be Gojo's fake girlfriend and now you have to attend dinner with his parents.

Gojo and (Y/N) have been close friends since their freshman year in high school. They used to go on all kinds of adventures, stirring up mischief wherever they went. However, since they started college together, things have been relatively calm. 

That is, until a month ago. Gojo began having trouble with a new girl in his class. He was trying to be nice to her, but it quickly turned into a headache as she wouldn't leave him alone. (Y/N) could see the stress on his face every time his phone rang. So, when he asked her to pretend to be his girlfriend, she agreed without hesitation. The plan worked perfectly! The girl began to back off and leave him alone, making him feel more relieved than ever.

Even though (Y/N) wanted to end it, Gojo insisted they keep up the act to satisfy his parents' curiosity about a possible daughter-in-law. She reluctantly agreed, wanting to be a good friend. Until now. Gojo stood in front of her, with a smirk on his face. "My parents are asking about you again," he said, "Do you think you can attend a dinner with us tonight?"

"I absolutely can't," she exclaimed as the absurd suggestion of meeting his parents left her breathless. "This is getting ridiculous. We need to just call it quits and come clean." 

Gojo's tone was half-joking and half-serious as he replied, "I can't just call it quits, babe. My dad is already pressuring me about us being in love and getting married. If he finds out it was just a cover-up, he would lose his mind. You have to do it... It's the only way we can keep this charade up a lil' longer." She crossed her arms, mirroring his stance. "Why exactly do we have to keep this going? Didn't that girl leave you alone already?"

"She did, but now the drama has moved to my parents," he rolled his eyes. "They were already suspicious it was all fake, to begin with. Now, they're calling me every day and asking about wedding plans and kids. You think I haven't tried to stop their insanity? Of course, I have, but it's not working. I need you to come tonight."

A brief silence fell over them as they exchanged looks. Feeling a bit uneasy, she looked elsewhere, not wanting to look at him anymore. She could feel his eyes burning into the side of her face. After a moment, she glanced back and groaned in defeat, throwing up her hands. "Ugh. Fine! You get one night!" His whole face lit up into the most wide-mouth smile. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I knew I could count on you. I'll pick you up at 7:30! No later!" Gojo was practically bouncing with excitement, which was a little off-putting. "Oh! And... wear something nice." She rolled her eyes and watched as he bounced away in a hurry. 

~Time Skip to 7:30~

 She looked at herself in the mirror, making sure she was dressed appropriately. It was skin-melting hot outside, so she chose to wear a casual black summer dress. She heard a car honking outside just as she sprayed some perfume on herself. She felt nervous about leaving the house but decided to swallow her pride and go. She was a damn good friend after all.

Gojo's white BMW was idling in the driveway, its bright lights beaming from the dark driveway towards the front door. She could almost hear him humming a tune from within, waiting anxiously for her to get into the car. The windows were slightly rolled down, his elbow sticking out the window as he waved at her to come. As she got closer, her anxiety increased. What if Gojo's parents didn't like her? What if they thought she wasn't good enough for him? Even though they weren't dating, these thoughts made her anxious.

She opened the car door and swiftly got in, closing it behind her. The tension was thick as she buckled up her seatbelt. Before Gojo could even put the car in gear, he looked at her with a mischievous grin. "You look great! My parents are gonna love you." He glanced at her, making sure the compliments were working before turning his attention to the windshield as he began to pull out of the driveway. She began to dread the rest of the night, sighing in response. She turned her attention to him, putting on a small smile. "Thanks.." She paused, unsure of how to continue. "So..is there anything I should know before we get there?"

Gojo glanced over, shooting her a playful grin. "Not much... Just that they're a little intense. Especially my dad... He'll probably give you the whole rundown of our family's history and expect you to know all about it. If you just pretend to be interested, it will hopefully go over smoother." He glanced again with a reassuring smile on his face, "That's pretty much it. Not too complicated." She just smiled and nodded, glancing out the window "Right.." 

The rest of the car ride was nothing but awkward and anxious silence, with the soft sounds of the wind and the radio. Before she knew it, they were pulling into a driveway. Suddenly, she began to feel like she might be sick from the sheer terror that lingered inside her chest. "We're here..." Gojo said, bringing the vehicle to a stop and turning off the engine. She could feel her stomach turn into knots at the mere thought of meeting his parents. He turned towards her with a grin and gave her shoulder a playful bump, "Don't worry. I'll be right next to you the whole time. If they start getting too intense, I'll step in." She nodded, taking a deep breath and opening the car door. Gojo joined her side and grabbed her hand with a grin. "Hey..let's head in, yeah?"

 They approached the house, a modern two-story home with a mix of traditional Japanese architecture. It was quite nice, her eyes observing the detail. Gojo's grip on her hand only tightened as he noticed her growing anxiousness, hoping that it would reassure her. She looked at him, a smile instantly lighting up her face. (Y/N) squeezed his hand back in response, feeling a bit flustered at the fact she was actually holding his hand, something she had never done in the past 5 years of their friendship. Before either of them could speak up, the front door opened. There stood an older couple in sleek casual clothing, his mom had long, straight white hair and his father had shorter wavy white hair. Both had stern looks on their faces as they observed the pair. "Ah, so this is her..." His mom said as they approached, "You've finally brought her home, son."

(Y/N) instinctively bowed at them, wanting to remain respectful. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Gojo." The pair looked at her for a moment, his dad sizing her up carefully as his mom nodded. "We've heard great things. Come in, come in. We would love to get to know you a bit better." His mom gestured the pair forward as she and his father began walking back into the home, his dad glancing back with a serious look on his face. His mother led them into the kitchen, which looked like something out of a cooking show. Gojo gently squeezed her hand, hoping to distract her from the intense stares of his parents. Taking a deep breath, she entered the dining room where Gojo courteously pulled out her chair and pushed it back in after she sat down. She acknowledged his gesture with a grateful nod and a smile. Gojo gave her a reassuring nod as his parents took their seats across from them, with his mother stealing another glance at her before starting to speak. "We are very pleased to finally meet you. Gojo speaks about you so often, and getting to see you in person brings us much joy."

~A lil time skip~

After dinner, there was a lot of chatter at the table. The small talk at first was a bit awkward, but Gojo's parents did what every other parent does when their child invites a love interest over; they shared embarrassing stories from his childhood. It all made sense now why Gojo was the way he was, as his adventures and mischievous behavior as a child had contributed to his personality. As they all laughed, her eyes met Gojo's, and she felt an unfamiliar feeling in her stomach. She noticed his eye contact lingered on her a few seconds longer than it should, and there was almost a faint blush on his cheeks. She couldn't take her eyes off him, noticing little things about his body movements and mannerisms that just felt slightly different from their usual ones around each other. Throughout the rest of their time at the table, she could feel Gojo's eyes on her, as if he wasn't even listening to the current conversation. Eventually, Gojo's parents and (Y/N) stood from the table, catching him off guard. (Y/N) looked at him confused and motioned her head to the door with a small smile. "Hey, it's getting late."

As they walk out the door together, (Y/N) turns and waves, yelling her goodbyes from the driveway, feeling more comfortable now with their presence. She smiles big as she gets into the car, closing the door. Gojo cranks the car and seems to be a bit off. "What's wrong?" she quietly says, glancing over at him with a worried look, "You were a bit quiet after dinner." He looks over at her and smiles, trying to hide what he is feeling. He can tell she's picking up on his emotions, and that worries him a bit. He pulls out of the driveway, driving for a few seconds before speaking up, "Nah, nothing. Just a lot on my mind. My parents were just getting on my nerves a bit is all." 

They share a pause of silence before (Y/N) speaks up, sounding very apologetic. "Oh, I'm sorry Satoru. I didn't mean to upset you by laughing. I was just trying to make conversation with your parents."

 "That's not what I mean..." He paused for a moment, thinking of how best to explain his thoughts. "I liked seeing you laugh. It was nice." He paused for a few seconds as he looked at her from his peripheral vision, trying to gauge her response before looking at the road again. She smiled even though she was a bit confused, feeling at ease knowing he wasn't upset with her, "You make me laugh all the time, though?"

He chuckled at her response, glancing at her again as he thought about what to say. Just do it. It's what you've wanted all night. Why back out now? Just say it. "You make me happy...is what I mean" 

 There it was. That feeling again. Feeling a bit surprised by his seemingly cryptic response, she looks at him, wanting to read into his words correctly. If he meant what she thought he meant, she wanted to come clean too. "You make me happy too, Gojo." He smiles brightly, taking a deep breath with a look of relief on his face. He can't stop himself from taking her hand and lacing his fingers through hers. He looks over and gives her that playful, devilish grin of his. "Well, well, well. Look at you, all confident." She playfully nudges him hard, feeling a bit flustered as he seemingly puts the attention on her, "Oh, shut up. You're the one who said it first." He laughs at the sudden jab on his abdomen and looks over, amused at her playful anger. "Yeah.. So? You were obviously flirting with me the whole night, too, so don't go trying to deny it all of a sudden." He looks back straight ahead, making his eyes wide with a grin spreading across his face. She gasps at the false accusation he threw at her, looking at him sternly. "Oh, says the man who was eye fucking me at the table!" He bursts into laughter as he can't contain the noise any longer. His fingers squeeze hers tightly as he looks her over with that look in his eyes. "Heh heh.. guilty. I might've been." She groans and rolls her eyes, holding a smile back as she turns towards the window.

As they drove, he chuckled and continued to gaze at her with a slight grin on his face. The air was filled with a comfortable silence. After a few moments, he broke the silence with a question. "Are we even pretending anymore?" She thought for a moment as they stopped at a red light, then looked back at him. "I...don't know, are we?" They remained silent for a few seconds before he replied with one word. "No." He followed her lead and turned to face her. 

They shared a lingering look before Gojo leaned over and connected their lips in a soft kiss, catching her off guard. She eased into the kiss, closing her eyes and moving slightly closer to him to tighten their locked lips. They embraced each other tightly as they kissed (one of his hands still on the wheel ofc), with each moment making their hearts beat faster and faster. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, which made her want him even more. There was a lingering sense of ecstasy and pure bliss that filled her mind as they continued to hold the kiss, neither one wanting to pull away just yet. 

Then, a sudden and loud car horn startled them both, causing them to jump back into their original positions. The car behind them continued to honk as the green light illuminated their flustered and embarrassed faces. Despite the awkward situation, (Y/N) couldn't help but start giggling, Gojo joining in as he began to drive. His hand rested on her thigh during the remainder of the drive as they snickered and joked about the events that had just unfolded. 

The chatter between the two eventually subsided as they pulled into (Y/N)'s driveway. The pair exited the car and walked up to the porch. (Y/N) nudged Gojo and said, "I had a great time tonight. Thank you for inviting me to your parents' dinner. They were both lovely."

 "I'm happy my parents approve," he said with a serious expression, stepping back after giving her a quick kiss on the top of her head. "It was my pleasure having you around. You were an absolute delight." He winked at her and chuckled. "Otherwise, that dinner would've been a lot more awkward if they didn't." 

(Y/N) took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. "Mannn, that would have sucked," she laughed, and Gojo joined in. "For sure. We can't have you becoming the target of their lectures too, now can we?" He smiled and playfully poked her on the shoulder. "Anyways, it's quite late, and I should get going, so you can get some rest. Unless you want me to stay the night and protect you from those evil cursed spirits? I could always cuddle and give you forehead kisses." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. She giggled at his "smooth talk" and sarcastically said, "Say, how'd you know I have a cursed spirit problem?" 

She turned to the door and unlocked it, heading inside and leaving the door wide open for him. 

*Hi, thank you for reading if you've read this far! I haven't written fan fiction since like middle school, so if the writing or story seems jank, then I apologize. Requests are open if you feel like submitting something! Again, thank you!!!!* EDIT: Hi, again! Soo for some weird reason, a few paragraphs like..duplicated over top of each other? I'm low-key embarrassed, but it should be fixed now!!

[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

Holiday Gift To A Good Friend

@ryuryuryuyurboat

Hey Yukari, think fast chucklenuts!

NOW THEN!!!

I WISH YOU HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!! AND A WONDERFUL NEW YEAR!!!

Kaeya has complicated feelings about christmas…

He used to celebrate every year with Diluc and da- Mr. Rangdividr.

But now… well…

You can imagine how someone like Kaeya spends his time on the holiday’s when no one else is around.

For all of his pomp, all of his slutitude, Kaeya had very few people he could spend Christmas with.

Jean would be forced off of duty to spend time with her sister and her family, Amber would wrangle Eula, Lisa would join in, the rank and file would be having a party on christmas eve in the mess hall which had been lovingly decorated by everyone, including Klee.

And all of them made him feel like he was out of place, made him feel alone.

Maybe that’s why he was always so down during the month preceding it?

Don’t get it wrong, Kaeya loved christmas, so many happy people, so much joy, so much cheer!

It was impossible for him not to smile!

Nonetheless, he didn’t want to be alone for christmas.

It had been his wish every year since leaving Dawn Winery all those years ago.

And every year, through some miracle, it had been a wish granted.

And it was always the same person who granted that wish of his.

You.

From the first time the two of you met in the roaring snow to this year as the two of you sat cosied up next to the fire, warm cups of your beverages of choice in hand.

And Kaeya, for all his pomp, all his slutitude, could never figure out what to say.

At least until now.

“Hey.” Kaeya called.

“Yeah?” you responded.

Kaeya placed his head on your shoulder before saying.

“I love you.”

Silence pierced the room and Kaeya briefly wondered if he had just ruined it all, wouldn’t be the first time after all.

Then, you placed your head on Kaeya’s and said,

“I love you Kaeya, even if your brain is a handful of ice cubes.”

“Heh, I’ll take it.”

“Oooh! Oooh! Big Bro! Look! There! That one!” Teucer happily shouted from atop Childe’s shoulders, pointing at the store decorated with lights and with quite a few toy’s in its window.

“Ha! Ha! You got it Teucer!” Childe exclaimed in response.

Childe loved this time he got to spend with his little brother, no matter how rare it was for him to find any.

Though he does have to admit, he’s tempted to buy a few of these toys for himself.

So many interesting models, so many strange new things like a paddle with a string that connects it and a ball.

What could it be used for?

What is its name?

What genius made it?

“Hello there! How can I help you?” a voice asked.

Childe was brought out of his reverie and looked up from the strange object in his hand.

In an instant, he felt a tiny shift in himself.

It was something strange.

He wasn’t fighting so why was his heart picking up?

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Childe walked out of the shop, Teucer on his shoulders with a new plush and the strange toy known as a “Paddle Ball” in his hand.

“Big bro, why were you so weird around that nice toy person?” Teucer asked, curious at how strange his elder sibling was acting.

“I… I am not sure Teucer…” Childe answered half heartedly, mind still on that person.

Why couldn’t Childe keep his mind off of them?

“Hmmm… this warrants further study.” Childe thought to himself darkly as he began to sing along happily to the songs around himself with Teucer.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It was a good day at the shop for you.

You sold quite a few toy’s and made a lot of children happy.

Including that strange man…

Ajax was his name if memory serves.

To see a grown man’s eyes light up at even the most simplistic of toys and trinkets…

What type of life did this man lead?

Still, you doubted you would ever get an answer to that question…

Either way, it was time to lock up now!

Then another wonderful day of selling toys!

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Childe hit the ball with the paddle as he sat on the bench in the park.

That was the easy part for him.

Hitting it again however, not so much.

This is illustrated by the red rubber ball completely missing the paddle and whacking him straight in the face.

“Ow…” Childe muttered as he rubbed his nose.

Why was this thing so hard to use?

It was not anything special, there wasn’t any trick to it.

Childe just needed practice, that's all.

The orange haired man let out a sigh.

Why was that toy shop owner still on his mind?

Something about you had just… ensnared him.

Had completely captured his attention.

Even now, he still felt the warmth of your hand when you handed him the toy he held now.

Why in the world was this happening?

And why-

“Oh! Hi mister Ajax!” A voice told Childe, shocking the man somewhat.

It was you.

Oh no… it was you!

He was starting to feel strange again…

His face felt warmer, his heart was beginning to race, he began to notice the smallest things in the world around him!

What were you doing to him?

And why… Why did he want to kiss you?

In his time under the protection of the Crux fleet, Kazuha had noticed many things about his Captain.

She was always aware of everything on her ship.

She always knew what everyone on her ship felt like.

She had a strange talent for drinking anyone under the table without getting drunk herself.

She always, without fail, kept to a strangely exact schedule concerning where the ship went.

She had a small, tattered, picture that would always make her smile when she looked at it no matter what.

She always had the ship make port at Liyue Harbor at least two times every year.

She always spent those times in Liyue with someone he had never met.

Kazuha had a few hunches on who that person was to his Captain. All of them made him quite happy for his Captain.

Though he did have to wonder, what did his Captain get that person for their birthday and the holidays?

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Beidou held a small black box in her hand as she exited the jeweler.

She then immediately turned into one of Liyue’s few empty alley’s.

The Pirate Queen had never been this terrified in her life.

It’s strange.

She had faced down all kinds of things that could’ve killed her a thousand times over by now.

But this thing in her hands?

It scared her a thousand times more than all of those put together.

Why?

She was deeply in love with you, the fact that she was going to ask you to marry her tonight of all nights should be proof of that.

Yet, she was still scared…

Beidou knew what she was scared of, but didn’t dare voice it in her thoughts.

She couldn’t.

If she did… she might not go through with this.

And she had to go through with this.

She wanted to spend the rest of her life with you after all.

And Beidou always got what she desired.

It was in her job description as a pirate.

So she was going to do this.

She was going to do this.

She was going to do this!

SHE WAS GOING TO DO THIS!!!

“I. WILL. DO. THIS.” Beidou exclaimed loudly to herself, hyping herself up for what she was about to do.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

That night, the crew of the Crux was given a very special surprise when their captain returned for the holiday party.

Their captain, a ring on her finger and holding her spouse close.

That night, a great many members of the crew lost a great amount of Mora.

Mora, which all ended up in Kazuha’s hands.

The woman in blue rushed around like the entire world was burning down around her.

This would not be a… overly dramatic statement of Furina’s current predicament.

Furina had tried to cook you something special for the holidays.

It, unsurprisingly, did not go well.

The drapes were charred and soaked, several dozen plates were smashed on the floor, the food she had tried to create seemed to have gained sentience and was now eating the pot it was born in.

In summary, Furina failed miserably at everything she had tried to do in cooking you some food outside of Macaroni And Cheese.

She wished she could say she was surprised at this.

She wasn’t though.

Oh by Celestia how was she going to fix this by the time you got back?

“Unless…” your all too loveable scamp of a wife muttered.

A devious plan hatched in Furina’s mind.

“Heh, heh, heh, I think it is time to show you off!” your wife said with a sinister chuckle.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You were definitely not expecting this to be how everyone found out who your wife was.

Yes, your wife just so happened to be Furina.

It's nothing worth all the uproar being caused by everyone you know.

She was just like everyone else.

Well, not really.

She is hopeless as a cook unless it has to do with Macaroni And Cheese.

You got the feeling that this sudden desire to show you off on the holidays had something to do with that.

Still, you weren’t going to waste any time you could spend with Furina.

Not to mention, you had a gift to give her.

And now that she was showing you off?

It was the perfect time to give her something more permanent than the two strange rings of Macaroni And Cheese she initially proposed to you with in the heat of the moment while making said dish.

Still, the true rings would be put on display.

These were just to ensure that nothing broke those precious things.

You don’t think Furina would be able to forgive herself if hers broke.

She was like that with you.

And you loved her for it.

Also, why did Furina smell like burned food?

The pit in your stomach continued to grow.

You got the feeling she had ulterior motives for having you out like this.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

[noacfapologyst]

birthday surprise — matty healy

(the birthday party: day two)

summary: even surrounded by people he loves and people he doesn't know at his birthday party, matty feels alone. by chance or by consequence, he finds a piece of his past that it stirs absolutely everything in the depths of his soul.

warnings: mention of alcohol, approach to loneliness, flashbacks of the past. cry on your birthday (guilty). open ending (maybe?)

wordcounter: 4,8k

Birthdays are one of the things Matty has enjoyed most since he was a kid. It's not just the fact of seeing all the people he wants in one place or the gifts he receives, although obviously that's also a plus for the basis, but the most important reason boils down to another: Matty has learned to celebrate being alive, to have a day, or a year more to live.

Maybe for the same reason, one of the environments Matty is best known for could be at parties. He always gathers endless crowds inside the walls of his house, always ends up being crazy between the amount of mess he has to clean up afterwards and the mess he has to take care of while they dance drunk on the tables and sing without being able to stop.

He has never considered himself a person of few friends, but he doesn't think he has a huge amount either because he's had to leave a lot of people behind. He has the necessary ones to be good with himself and with them, his presence does not suffocate them and they know how to understand him even when he cannot control himself and impulsivity controls him. But he's calm, he always is.

Of course, he now finds himself in a situation where many people entering his house are unknown to him because they are companions of his friends, or acquaintances of them. And God, Charli gathered a crowd in here. He recognizes them because he believes he went to high school with one or two, the few years he attended before deciding to miss an exam to go to a music festival.

Entities mix because he fails to recognize among low-profile, famous or just known people who have found out. In a way, it feels a bit like a party I'd throw if I was 18 and walked out of a Santbury's with several bottles in my hand and on my head. But it is not, because he is 35 and is in the middle of going through his thirties crisis.

Although now he deduces that none of it matters to him. He's much better than fine. He has gone from having the weight of a feather to getting stronger and seeing its fruits after many months without stopping at the gym. It has healed in all senses: broken heart, mental frailty, bad habits and addictions. Or at least in most of them, because he still smokes and still drinks alcohol, but at least now he equates it with something else and knows he can control it better. It's not entirely perfect, it could never be because that's metaphorically what the human being represents: a canvas that looks beautiful, beautiful and honest until you see the poorly made brushstrokes, over and over again until a result bulges.

"Hey, come to the kitchen." George awakens him from his thought with a touch. Matty leaves the beer can half-open on a shelf in the living hallway.

Then they arrive in the kitchen amidst a tumult of people that opens up in their path. The open backyard door is a plus because it's a good place to get some cold air and realize that he's lost a lot of stability and composure after several beers and a few more shots.

Ross is leaning on the recently acquired white marble countertop, as he opens a bottle of Don Perignon and the foam splashes over the top of the bottle. With quick movements, he pulls seven glasses from the shelf, and fills them to distribute later.

"Let's toast in honor of Matty, because it's his birthday and we love him. And we are incredibly proud of him." Ross cheers, while everyone raises their glasses. Charli applauds with the palms of his hands, and everyone knows that he has lost his mind. Matty smiles as much for that last act as for what his friend has just said, it's really an honest smile and full of feeling though he may not be able to prove it now.

Everyone toast, and then Carly pulls out of her purse a digital camera to capture the moment in eternity. They take a selfie together: George, Matty, Ross, Adam, Carly, Charli, and Chloe. Then there are some spontaneous ones between the four guys, the girls and one of each of them with Matty.

"Oh, my boys. I love all of you so much. You are the best on my life, really." It's finally Matty drinking the champagne out of his glass. Feel the golden bubbling liquid falling down your throat. "Thanks for everything you've done for me throught this years, forever."

When the conversation becomes that emotional tone that always happens on birthdays, it is also the moment when the bubble of intimacy breaks and everyone leaves that state.

"Hey I'm sorry, but there's not more ice." A woman's voice sounds from the frame of the kitchen, but Matty can't recognize her even when he looks at her with a frown.

"Oh! Now I'll bring more, thank you darling." Matty answers almost automatically as if he had given up control of his head. Actually the words are leaking out of her mouth but it's nothing too worrying yet, and she hopes it stays that way. "Some of you know who is?" He receives negative responses after the restlessness and sighs sillylyly laughing. "Thanks for all, friends."

A song by the Backstreets Boys begins to ring through the speaker in the living room and resonates between all the divisions of the house. Taking advantage of the commotion and celebration about it all he leaves the kitchen and disperses. Matty searches for a bag of ice from the fridge, breaks the wrapper with scissors and takes it to the main table where he places it in the fountain designed to keep the cold.

When he crosses the center of the dance floor, many people greet him and flatter him, giving him little shouts of love or complete sobriety, and more than one even asks him to dance for a few moments.

For a moment he manages to put away the idea of how he is the only one in his group of friends who has no one, which becomes more raw when he sees too many couples kissing on his couch, also generates a bit of disgust but he doesn't want to feel like a snob. He did the same thing and doesn't know when he stopped doing it but he understands the adrenaline generated by kissing someone when you're drunk and hot in public spaces, even if it's a pretty adolescebte attitude.

He takes his beer from where he left off and goes on. They have all built long-lasting relationships or are in the process, which makes sense for the age that passes.

He's okay with that, too. Yeah, logically, he´d like to have someone to dance together right now and then sneak out to enjoy a moment alone. Intertwining his hands with someone and having someone fixed to wake up with every morning while the smell of coffee runs through the room. He wants it the same way people who don't have it do, but he thinks he needs a break now.

Her last love attempts have gone overboard, and further down. They have simply come out disastrously and reject the idea that he wants to have for love: it all ends in silly discussions about mundane and monotonous everyday things that make up a ball that explodes, then everything weakens and the routine too tiresome. He wanted to live in the madness with which he used to live love in his 20s, where there was no fear of the future and only the expectation of living in the present.

Remember that frenzy of love when he was a teenager, when it is the purest love you contemplate inside you, when the barrier of who is going to judge you and the responsibilities are inhibited and you just go drunk with love walking down the streets arriving at the door with different flowers every day. He wants to love and get it right this time, obviously, but he doesn't want the person he leaves his legacy with abruptly taking away the magic of love Matty once had.

By the same token, he takes care of letting it flow. He's not waiting for anyone and he's hoping that things will just get better. She doesn't know if her future is to love someone and make it work, but she doesn't give up hope.

"I'm going to smoke, just in case." He says, when he sees Carly near him. He knows she's the one he can trust most because she's the most sober and the least alcoholic.

"Stay safe, Matty. Hope I won't have to look for you." She approaches him and kisses him on the cheek in an act of love, something like a motherly love. Even though she's only a little older than him, since she's with Adam she considers Matty to be completely special to her, and she loves him as much as she literally loves her children.

He says goodbye to her and walks to find the back door sneaking around. He looks the place and he see that there are really not so many people huddled together in the same place as they are scattered. The courtyard is huge, after the cement floor the grass extends along perhaps half a kilometer, where in the middle there is a swimming pool, and in the width there are some palm trees that accompany it. In the background there is a gate that leads to a construction connected to the house, but for which Matty is not responsible.

He looks for a place under the palm tree, the breeze that the leaves cause as they move embraces him at dawn. It's funny to him, he sneaks away just like he did all his life at these kinds of events, punctually on his birthday. He loves people and loves being with them, but at some point he needs to isolate himself from that same environment and have air to himself.

He fiddles with the lighter between his fingers passing it from hand to hand until he decides to pull a mentholed cigarette out of the pocket of his black leather bomber.

"Matty?" A whisper of the wind reaches his ears, although he does not know where it comes from, he acknowledges that there are not so many people who call themselves that.

He hears footsteps on freshly cut grass and hears crackling under his shoes. The only light out there comes from a curtain of lights hooked to the grill, so it's pretty dark.

But then a female presence appears in front of him. He really does nothing but admire her and for once his eyes run out of the cylinder he is about to light.

The two look into each other's eyes, Matty feels his whole life is passing before his eyes and is afraid he's having a concussion, or he's having a stroke. It doesn't make sense for her to be here in front of him after all these years.

"y/n?" He dares to ask. He doesn't have anyone around to confirm his presence there so he hopes he's not too drunk to hallucinate and hopes he's really on the physical plane. "I'm sorry, it's just…wow." Her tongue catches the words as her head runs a thousand miles after seeing her nod to get out of her trance.

"Isn't it?" With every word the past moves down the earth for both him and her. Too many, too many layers of memories that were left behind many years ago now threaten to float as if they could seep through the holes in the green ground.

There is a prolonged silence for a few seconds. Actually, nobody knows what to say because everything seems like a fantasy about to be pricked with a pin and nobody wants to go beyond that.

Matty's looking at her. She has always had that carefree but wrinkled profile and he recognizes her under the black dress sleeveless dress glued to her body and the hair cut on her shoulder, with the last minute scissors marks and something uneven. She complements it with high-cane boots, something like the ones she defined as her favorites too long ago. She still has that sparkle she had when she was a teenager, she's still incredibly beautiful without asking. He looks at her surprised that she's here, grateful to see her once more. He can't stop thinking about it, but she's really radiant.

She looks at him. He has changed a lot from the superficial, his hair is now almost shaved, only with hints of hair growing on his entrances. She doen't need to inquire to know that his fitness owes it to the gym, even under his jacket she can see how well marked are his muscles compared to the little skinny teenager she met a long time ago. The expression on his face did not change, if he looks into his eyes he still finds the frightened child because he does not know if things will turn out well, but also the child waiting for his mother after school to give her a hug. She has a white T-shirt that's stuck to her body and her tattoos are transparent. She looks at him impressed.

"Hey." He breaks the silence by speaking softly but with total softness. She smiles at him without showing her teeth and Matty feels something rising up her body. "What are you doing here?"

He is lying against a palm tree, she is standing nearby but neither wants to move into the position of the other, there is some barrier that prevents it and possibly it is discomfort.

"I'm the babysitter of my sister and her friends, they are your brother's friends." She anwers by returning the tone of calm. "In fact, I found out today."

"Wait, really?" He answers, and for a moment the atmosphere seems to disappear only because he is seeing everything through it. "But Louis is not there." He shrubs his shoulders.

"Yes, I noticed that. I guess he told the others in some nonsense conversation." She analyzes how he hasn't lit a cigarette since he arrived. "Are you going to turn it on or?"

Matty feels like a fool. "Do you continue smoking?" Ask without a second thought. He just wants to know what's in her life now. "Sorry, what about my maners, do you want one?

"No, but I'll share one just for the old times." She smiles at him again, and he mentally keeps the memory of how the burgundy color highlights the cheekbones of the white skin of the woman in front of him.

"Do you want to sit?"

"I'm alloweed to?" Matty is restless under such a formal tone and considers that the passage of the years now takes its points.

"Of course." Now he's the one smiling at her. "Are you still in the same job?

She laughs slowly, refuses with her head a bit apart. "God, no. I work in a notary's office now, but I'm more comfortable." She answers, he opens his lips in surprise, a whistle escapes from her lips. "May I suggest why are you here and not inside dancing with the others?" She asks with some shyness as she approaches to sit down, without doing so facing or beside him, as at an angle of seventy-five.

"Maybe you know the answer. It hasn't changed." He answerd and when he feels that he is drowning in too much of the past, he lights the cigarette. He pauses and takes a drag.

"You still get loneliness sometimes." She reasons, he nods with a look of pity and gave her the cigarette. "I really didntt know this was your house."

"It's quite different from the old porch, it doesn't have a loft with a balcony or red tiles either, but i like it." He sighs embracing the melancholy that escapes from his bone structure. "How did you get here?

"My friend was dizzy from so many people and then I lost her because of a child." She laughs wryly. "I started walking and then I reached the palm tree, and maybe I understood the host of the party."

"¿Yes?"

"How many people do you know whose birthday is April 8th, Matty?" She stares at him with direct intent. He flies in the nebula. She remembers her birthday.

"You still remember it." He has a smile that runs through his face from end to end, he feels satisfied with the interaction, whatever it takes. She leaves the cigar in her hand and the touch makes him shake.

Matty's head is about to fall apart. He himself sees how his vision becomes twofold, one leaving him in reality under the palm tree, and the other teleporting him 22 years ago to a rather similar place.

It's autumn, the leaves of the trees turn yellow and fall to the ground. There's a breeze but it's not cool or threatening, it's friendly. Matty's eighteen now, he's of age.

On the other side of the race to see who gets to the pile of leaves first, there's her. She's dressed as simple as if she'd just gotten up, the blue skinny jeans and a black shirt with a print of some band scratched by the number of times she's washed. They're both older, but running down the alleys of New Castle looks like they're 12 still.

The muddy shoes, their coats that shelter them both, her bracelet tied to his hand, the kiss on the cheek when greeting each other, the butterflies every time they look at each other. The celebration of walking, the adrenaline of winning the race to the leaves and rolling in them.

Matty abandons everything else, leaving behind the nightmares, his parents' parties and sleepless nights when he has her. He's happy with her, he feels protected and nothing can hurt him. He loves her, with all his heart. He's eighteen, newly grown, wears glasses that slip on the tip of his nose but make him look smart. It has some protruding pimples between the cheek and forehead, but in sunlight it still looks like a baby's skin, fragile to the touch.

He doesn't know when he fell so in love with her, he doesn't know when he found the connection and when it began to appear in his innermost dreams. He couldn't stop thinking about her and all her dreams, the dress she wore on her birthday, the hug after the holidays. Every touch gives Matty years to live, and although he's been a sad kid for most of his life, he'll always be grateful that she changed that.

"You are eighteen, you can run fast." She says in a competitive tone, without slowing down.

"I will win, idiot." He's self-proclaimed.

"And if you do, what will you get? A painful coronation as king of the leaves." She jokes and throws herself headfirst on the leaves of the ground. "I told you."

But Matty was willing to win.

"I already decided my prize." Vitorea approaching the leaves, diving into them.

"You didn't wi-"

Matty doesn't think about what's going on, he just lets the impulse take him further and control him. It may be his only chance, and it may ruin it, but he have to try before he let any more time pass.

She is in shock on the leaves when she feels the lips of Matty on top of hers. She doesn't understand what's happening, or if it's really happening. The only thing she remembers afterwards is feeling Matty's hand squeezing her cheek with soft caresses. He kisses as much as he can, and after a while she gets used to the movement.

They go on like this, without saying a word for many minutes. Their sequence and their need is to kiss until the lack of breath wakes them up, smile with their noses stuck and merge again. Maty tastes like mint and chocolate, so it's the flavor she'll love the most for the next two years. Teenagers at the height of their purest love.

"Didn't I tell you? I would win." Matty comments when both feel they have shared too much saliva, but he does not take his hand off her cheek.

The wind is blowing in both heads. They have never known love this way, and they will remember it so well for the years that this love lasts, and for a few more.

Actually, and though Matty doesn't know it yet, she, sitting in Matty's house, is thinking about the same fall of memories. She feels like she's about to die and the best years and moments of her life go by, they've always had that facility of telepathic connection without having to try. Also because, for a long time, it was the memory they most enjoyed in years.

Matty then sees, in his memories, everything he's longed for for so many years. Midnight getaways, intense kissing at nightclubs, family meals, she dressed in him on Sundays, family trips, snow wars with her kisses sunk in the snow. He sees fireworks now that he remembers her, how he was first in everything for her and how she has marked him even more than he can say.

After that comes the band, and even before and after the previous names. But he focuses on when the band is already confirmed as Drive Like i Do and then like 1975, he sees her sitting at the table listening to them rehearsing, he sees heer at the clubs drinking beer and screaming crazy when he comes out in his most misaligned ensemble.

Matty may never have said it like that, but the girl he fell in love with is part of the band just like them. Almost the entire first album has its muse, in each of the stanzas and in each of the notes of the compass. She has followed him for all these years, it has been his greatest point of inspiration and of genuine and re-created love. She has given him the best years when he was twenty, he has written the songs he enjoys most thanks to her.

But equally, to say that he hasn't forgotten her or that he's remembered her like that for fifteen years without seeing her since she left in her twenties, would be lying. He remembered her for years, but then he was no longer present in her mind.

She can't judge him. Maybe she waited longer, but she had to move on anyway.

But it's okay, they existed at the time they had what. They learned enough from each other to remember each other fondly.

"You think about that autumn too, didn't? "During all this trance, the connection has become stronger. The discomfort is ignored, and she ends up sitting next to him.

"You are inside my mind, literally." He laughs with his eyes full of glass. He just had a recession that knocked him down. "Yes, I thought about it."

"That autumn was the best of my life. The fucking golden time." She confesses, with the moon now fully reflecting her. He looks at her with a longing smile, he also misses feeling so complete. "I have loved you for so many years and I think I could do it for more."

She complains hugging herself. Matty leaves the previous state and now the alcohol seems to have lost its effect. He extends his hand to put it behind the brunette girl's back and draw her in. The woman's head rests on his chest.

"I have loved you too, you know? The first album is about you." He kisses her hair, but she can't help but cry. They are breaking up with each other next to them and that's why they prefer not to be seen. It's too strong for both. "I'm sorry."

"What do you mean?" She looks up. The brown eyes meet the eyes of the british man.

"I-I screwed up that June afternoon, and I carried the blame for many years. I've never really been able to apologize, and I know the last thing you got from me was a horrible argument. I'm sorry, it won't fix something so many years later, but it's sincere." He manages to loosen a gear that has been weighing on him for a long time. He finds serenity in the brightness of the moon, and though he knows he can't go back in time, when she intertwines his hands he thinks he hasn't gone too far.

"Thank you for that. I know it's your party, but you don't have to cry to the end." She kisses his cheek and wipes his tears with her fingernails painted dark red, then returns to his neck. She repents and prefers to sit in front of him. "But it was true, wasn't it? Did you fuck everybody in this town?" She asks, without any resentment or sense of judgment.

"You compromised me, honey." He nods nervously accompanied by a laugh. In fact, he's still crying, but he's feeling much better. More airy, more connected and more peaceful. "I missed the car and the argument."

The two laugh at each other, it's an atmosphere that has now become more comfortable than ever. She has got her makeup destroyed by tears and he is s getting water marks through the seams of his shirt.

"The end of that hallway was fateful." She ironizes it with a recharged energy that dances inside. It feels as if she is now the final part of a song that breaks the melody and raises the instruments to a higher level to close it in the greatest ecstasy. "Even so, maybe you were right a few years ago. You needed more than me." She points to itself and then points to the atmosphere.

"Sorry, I don't get it." He feels bewitched by her words, but is so deep inside that he can't even think about what she's saying.

He just knows she comes, again. He sees her crawling and crawling up to his lap. He's afraid that this will still be a bad trick in his head and that tomorrow she'll never have been here. She'll be in another country, with someone else, and without him. His heart pumps like it has seldom done.

He knows they're soul mates, or he used to know, and now he's reconfirming it. Now there's only one thing that separates them and one thing that could bring them together.

"You needed a cigarette, alcohol and a sad conversation." She finally answers, as she settles down to her mercy on his lap. Matty feels like he has a fever when he feels the back of her palm on his face. It's been floating for over 15 minutes. "As i do."

After this, it just happens.

After 15 years, they're kissing in Matty's backyard. The two cry in between, because they haven't recovered from the emotional delirium they just had, but the fireworks they once had at eighteen come back the second their lips touch.

He hasn't changed, Matty still smells like chocolate and mint. She neither, she tastes the same as always does, she still tastes well enough to satiate Matty. They remain exactly the same for each other and what they still need.

The kiss does not have a taste to be described by or a unique feeling. It is the taste of remembrance and reunion, of melancholy, of adolescence, it is pure nostalgia in its splendor. It tastes like sadness, the tears of the last time they argued, and in turn it tastes as the ice cream they ate holding hands in the park, the chocolate they always gave each other as a gift. It tastes as Christmas food and the summer breeze. It's all together in one, and that's why they don't bother to feel sorry for how the waterfalls in the eyes accumulate coming down later.

A kiss, that's all. Matty doesn't want to think, but he inevitably does and finds only two options.

Tomorrow you will both remember this and you will both retire by lowering your guard and remember it as a secret. There is no one around to prove the presence and existence of the woman he has there, no one has seen her and the easiest excuse is to say that he simply confused everything with someone else because of the amount of beer. Or they could tempt fate and stay there, they could heal the wound and they could try again to have the best they ever had.

But now, does it matter?

"Hey." She puts pressure on his hair. He opens his eyes feeling fuller and more human than ever. "Happy birthday, Matty. The birthday boy always needs a gift."

let me know what you think about it. my taglist is always open. 🤍

[leclerced]

Its half past 4 am and i need to go to bed too but I’ll squeeze out a final brainrot for us to sleep to

A driver on the way to winning wdc, a ROOKIE no less and after actually winning you get absolutely HATE fucked by max. Thats all i really want in life. Imagine the sexual tension all throughout the season mixed with immense hatred and hes just kidnapping you back to the hotel and letting out all the anger and frustration towards you that build up over the year until you’re completely fucked out and unable to walk for the week. Im talking CRYING from overstimulation here.

That championship may not be his but that pussy sure is now.

🫀

oh my goood. i want her to he a redbull driver bc imagine the drama of them getting a fourth driver’s title in a row like seb did but it’s a rookie instead of max?? the drama. sorry i rambled for like an hr. oopsies i meant to be quick.

can so imagine she’s not expecting to win any races on her debut season but wins on debut and everyone is shocked when she overtakes max and the team allows it, knows they’ll still get the one two finish plus they’ll get the amazing publicity of another first time redbull driver winning on debut, making history as the first female driver winning on debut.

max is furious about it. they're not given team orders which makes it so much worse, she genuinely overtakes him and they warned him she'd be making a move on him but he didn't expect her to successfully pass him or to maintain the lead and fend him off for the rest of the race. he’s not a baby who would demand team orders in his favor, especially when he knows they wouldn’t listen because they want her to win. he’s angry they want her to win. he’s angry he wants her to win and make history like he did. he hates that he was so enthusiastic about having a rookie as a teammate, thinking he’d get to show someone the ropes and all that. but she’s beating him on debut?

it gets better with the next race because he wins and she comes in third, and he feels like everything is falling into place again. until the next race when she gets pole and wins from it, leading every lap with him stuck in third behind charles, a switch-up on the previous weeks podium lineup. it continues like that with them nearly taking each other out a few times fighting for the lead, but somehow they don’t crash out throughout the season.

i can so see them taunting each other behind closed doors, where media won't catch it. also them getting drunk and flirty and pretending it didn't happen the next day. and i can see her being happy no matter what because she's doing so well on her debut season but max is only happy and nice when he wins a race and is leading the championship, so on the nights he wins, they somehow end up together in the back of the vip area of some club, both internally debating if fucking your teammates a good idea.

she wins by a handful of points, only three, and when she’s on the first place podium she shoves that number in his face as she sprays her champagne down on him. he wants to bend her over the podium and make her swallow down his cock instead of the champagne she gulps down. he pushes the thought from his mind when she’s wiping it from her jaw as it drips down her neck and soaks her suit more than charles’s spray already had.

he doesn’t even plan on acting on his pent up fantasies until he bumps into her and charles on his way out and she has the audacity to congratulate him on second in the championship, as if he wasn’t less than half a second away from behind first. as if she wasn’t first. he’s grabbing her wrist and pulling her away from charles, ignoring her questions of where they’re going. she only asks twice before she falls into step next to him, her footsteps faster than his to keep up with his longer stride. she’s got her trophy, the first place race trophy in her hands and he wants to smash it thinking about how he’s going to have to give her his driver’s championship trophy. how they’re going to engrave her name and break the streak of max verstappen signatures crawling up the trophy.

she realizes what’s happening when they get in the car and he puts his hand on her knee once they’re driving then asks if it’s okay and she’s like, “are you asking if it’s okay to touch me or to kidnap me?” and he insists he’s not kidnapping her and she recounts how he grabbed her, led her to his car, opened the passenger door and pushed her inside. he blushes and apologizes, his hand still on her knee and she tells him it’s okay. they get to the hotel and she follows him to his room and neither of them speak until they’re inside and he’d tell her to say red if he needs to stop, and she asks why he would need to stop and he’s like, “well i don’t plan on stopping until you tell me to. so say red when you need me to stop.”

once she agrees he’s kissing her like she’s never been kissed and pushing her against the wall, his hand squeezing her throat and his knee pushing between her thighs. he holds her there until she’s turning away from the kiss for air, and then he steps back and tells her to strip and get on the bed. she’d stare at him for a moment and he grabs her and pushes her towards the bed and snaps at her to get on it. she strips to her underwear and starts getting on the bed and he’d tell her he didn’t say to leave them on and she turns back to him, fully dressed, and tells him to undress too. he tells her he doesn’t need to yet, and she doesn’t get why until she’s almost screaming from her third orgasm back to back. two from his fingers and one from his mouth, and he's still going. hands curled around her thighs to hold her in place.

she's crying and begging him to fuck her, and he's moaning into her pussy that she tastes so good he doesn't want to stop tasting her yet. she loses count on how many orgasm she's had before he's done eating her out, she can't tap out before they've even fucked, but she's so sensitive his tongue lapping on her clit hurts.

when he finally gives in and lines up with her entrance the stretch of his cock in her sensitive cunt nearly makes her black out. he barely lets her adjust before he's fucking her like he won tonight, telling her she looks so pretty when she cries and how good she feels around him. asking her who's making her feel this good and stopping until she begs him to keep going and answers his question. he'd tease her between kisses and hickeys he leaves on her now that she's too fucked out to object, hopes they won't be able to find makeup good enough to cover the bruises he leaves on her throat.

he keeps pulling back from kisses and spitting on his dick fucking in and out of her, saying things she can't understand in dutch, or maybe it's english and she's too fucked out to make sense of his rambling. he'd grasp her jaw when she opens it in a loud moan and hold it open before spitting in it. he'd taunt her with all the passive aggressive remarks she made during the season and when she just moans in response he’d make fun of her for being too fucked out to respond.

and then they don’t see each other over break except for work stuff and nothing happens, she gets her trophy and the exchange goes normally. and then she wins the first race of the season and she gets a repeat of the last race of the last season. after that no matter who finishes the end up in bed together, if she wins he’s angry and takes his frustration out on her, but if he wins they just go at it like rabbits and right for dominance, he’s more playful and less commanding. he’d let her suck his cock for an hour while he tells her how good she’s making him feel, telling her that this is what he deserves; a race win and a cock drunk whore on her knees choking on his cock.

[whisker-biscuit]

Sonic Big Bang 2024

Close Encounters of the Grim Kind: Chapter 5

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

Tails liked to believe he had a good head on his shoulders when it came to dealing with surprises. It was practically a requirement for working side-by-side with a hero who could move faster than sound. After years of fighting and reacting on the fly to the most unusual of scenarios, he’d thought he was prepared to face just about anything without flinching.

Life certainly liked to prove his strongest hypotheses wrong at every turn.

The hologram of his doppelganger stood on his desk, about a foot and a half tall. The purple sheen and occasional static of feed did little to combat the uncanny effect of what was basically himself from a different existence. Same fur color, same head and body shape, same two tails twitching anxiously. Aside from the outfit he was wearing and the metal appendages limp on the ground around his tails, every physical trait was identical to Tails’ own.

Emotionally, however, was an entirely different story. Nine’s expression was flat and as unreadable as some of Shadow’s best. His hands were clasped behind his back in a stiff posture that gave off the impression of indifference, and he gave the slightest tilt of his head when his eyes locked with Tails.

“This isn’t a recording, by the way,” he continued when silence drifted between them for a solid several seconds. “I am broadcasting to you in real time. We can have a conversation this way without any delay.”

“That’s…good to know,” Tails said.

He glanced to his left, where he saw that Shadow had backed away from the desk and was now watching from a corner of the room. The hedgehog gave him a dangerous look that said in no uncertain terms was he to reveal his presence.

“Uh, can you see me right now?” He asked, turning back to the hologram.

“Yes,” Nine confirmed. “Just the top half of your body, however. My visual range is limited with what little Prism energy I had on hand to make this work.”

“You have Prism energy?”

The other fox hesitated. “Yes. I’ve been…siphoning it from the device we use to communicate.”

Tails saw Shadow’s quills rise from the other end of the room. Amazingly, thankfully, he didn’t act out on whatever emotion had just been triggered from that revelation.

“It wasn’t for any nefarious purpose, I promise. I wanted to ensure our communication was possible both ways. I didn’t want to have to rely solely on someone I didn’t know or trust to get the answers I needed.”

“The answers…about the Shatterverse?”

“Yes. That, and to check up on Sonic.”

Tails blinked, surprised. Shadow was still glowering. “Check on Sonic? But – but you never asked me about him until I brought him up first. You even made it clear that you didn’t want to talk about anything unrelated to our research.”

Nine sighed, and his multiple tails sagged against the floor of wherever he was broadcasting from. It was the first shift in his rigid demeanor since he’d started speaking.

“I think I need to start at the beginning before this gets too convoluted to easily explain. When you sent that first probe out, it eventually found its way to my dimension. My dimension is what I call “The Grim” which is on the very edge of the Shatterverse – or at least the edge of what I knew in the limited time it was possible to traverse the dimensions with my own technology. I thought it belonged to the Chaos Council at first and immediately contained it.”

“Those two weeks of radio silence,” Tails murmured, more to himself than his counterpart. “I saw from its travel logs that it had been halted to a standstill for most of that time. That was all your doing?”

“Of course. I couldn’t risk a potential threat to me or any other dimension to roam free.” Nine paused again, and a sheepish look crossed his face for a very brief moment. “Actually, I ended up taking it apart just to be sure it wasn’t. It was so similar to how I build my own inventions that it wasn’t hard to put it back together when I decided it was benign.”

Tails shrugged, unbothered by the admission. He would have done the same; he had done the same with countless Eggman devices. There was no space for him to judge.

“That was actually the reason I realized it wasn’t from the Chaos Council, but more than likely one of my own counterparts. And considering what was powering the probe and how the Paradox Prism originated from Green Hill, I was pretty sure it was you on the other end.”

“Huh. You know, this entire time I’ve been trying to figure out whether you were an Eggman counterpart. You could have told me right off the bat to save me a lot of headaches.”

“I didn’t want you to know who I was.”

“Why not?”

Another pause. Uncertainty in his expression this time. “I…wasn’t sure how much Sonic told you about me. I didn’t want you to cut off communication before I could finish this project if you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Why do you think I’d…” He glanced at Shadow, who was watching the conversation with rapt attention and not a single blink. The cryptic message Nine had sent right before this flashed across his thoughts. “This is related to what happened to Sonic, isn’t it? You said that it’s your fault he nearly died. He hasn’t told me what happened because he seems to think I’ll feel guilty about it.”

“Of course, he’d think of it that way.” Nine’s voice was equal parts exasperation and shame. He seemed to take a moment to brace himself for whatever he was about to say next. The hologram briefly flickered as if in tune to his emotional state. “I’ll stay true to my word and tell you everything, but I’d like to make one request first.”

“What is it?”

“That if you decide to cut off connection with me afterwards…please let Sonic know that I’m doing okay. The dimensions are all still stable and he doesn’t have to worry about it.”

Tails gave a firm nod. “I will.”

“Good. Thanks. Well, it started shortly after we stole the Prism Shard from the Chaos Council…”

In the end, Nine shared everything. Every gap that Sonic had intentionally or even unintentionally left in his story was filled by the other fox’s recounting. Tails absorbed it all as quietly and respectfully as he could, no matter how much his mind reeled with everything he was learning.

Sonic accidentally placing Nine as a stand-in for Tails while Green Hill was a shadow of itself. The miscommunication that led to a betrayal. Stealing the Paradox Prism for selfish intentions instead of using it to fix the interdimensional deterioration the Chaos Council had caused. Nine’s realization that he was still missing everything he needed to complete the Prism, and where that energy was. The attempts made on Sonic’s friends’ lives just to force him to surrender and give up his life. The hours-long battle within the Grim while space-time was literally collapsing around them all.

Sonic and Nine finally reconciling, and Sonic’s decision to sacrifice himself to save them all. The last thing Nine seeing of his first friend was him being carried off towards Green Hill, fading further and further from existence with every second.

“It was my fault that Sonic nearly died,” Nine said at the end of it all. “If I hadn’t been so stubborn, I could have spent all that time finding a safe way to extract the Prism energy from him to fix the Shatterverse. Instead, I wasted it all and nearly doomed him – nearly doomed everyone. And I was so unsure whether he’d even survived, whether he’d gotten back to Green Hill at all, that when I realized who you probably were I just – I couldn’t help myself. I needed to make sure he was okay.”

“…But you couldn’t ask outright, either, because you were afraid to lose that connection to him again.”

Tails wasn’t quite sure how he found the words to speak amidst all his other thoughts and emotions. He had curled up in his chair with his tails around his body quite some time back, and was now rhythmically stroking them just to keep his brain grounded. Shadow had been quiet this entire time, too – he hadn’t dared look back at him one Nine began his tale, and he didn’t know what he was thinking.

“That’s correct. I was so relieved when you first brought up Sonic in relation to our research and talked about him in the present tense. I knew that if you were who I thought you were, then he had to be alright. That was about when I started working on this,” he gestured down at his holographic form, “just in case you realized who I was and cut me off. Thank you for giving me a chance to explain.”

The young scientist finally stopped petting his namesakes, thinking carefully about how to respond. A large part of him was horrified about what his counterpart had done, but another part was equally understanding about how a mindset like that had come to be. He still remembered the ache of having no one in his life before Sonic. Just the idea of going back to that time was nearly unbearable to think about, much less live through for as long as Nine had.

People could do some truly terrible things when they thought they had nothing left to lose. He’d known that as a hero for years, and now he knew that even he had the capacity for it. It was something he was going to lose a lot of sleep over for a while.

But that could be set aside for later, when he was alone. Right now, there was still someone waiting for his judgement, and he wasn’t about to keep him waiting any longer.

Tails took a deep breath and met Nine’s cautious gaze. “I’m not going to lie; learning that Sonic almost died and I never would have known about it has definitely shaken me up. But…I know you didn’t do what you did to be malicious, either. You just wanted someone to understand, and you didn’t want to get hurt anymore.”

His counterpart nodded, looking both relieved and nervous over Tails’ assessment.

“I’ve had a lot of fun working with you these last few weeks,” he continued, touching his hand to the device that had started it all, “and I don’t want that to stop prematurely just because I’m upset. It’d be nice to have someone to talk to who doesn’t need an explanation for every mathematical term I use. I don’t really have a lot of options in Green Hill besides a certain mad scientist.”

 “Well, neither do I out here in the Grim.”

“Research partners?” He offered, holding his hand out to the hologram.

The ends of Nine’s mouth curled upward in the beginnings of a smile. He reached his own smaller hand out until it phased through Tails’ fingers. “Research partners.”

“Cool.” Tails returned the tentative smile with a much bigger and brighter one. It faded as he felt a familiar intense gaze pressing into the back of his head. “Um, I think it’s my turn to come clean. I haven’t exactly…been alone for this conversation.”

Nine’s expression shuttered into shock and then panic. “Sonic’s here?”

“No! No, he’s not here. He doesn’t know about this yet, although I’d really like to – um, sorry. No, Shadow is here with me. He said he wanted to make sure you had good intentions.”

The other fox tensed up all over again, looking like he wanted to be hurt by Tails’ omission of information but also seeming to understand the reasoning behind it. In the end, he accepted the state of things with a quiet sigh and closed eyes.

“Well…I appreciate the honesty. And I understand why he doesn’t trust me. I doubt he ever will after what I did to Sonic.”

“You presume a lot for someone who claims to be a genius.”

Shadow’s voice startled both of them, as did his sudden presence at Tails’ side. He stared down the hologram with unblinking eyes and crossed arms, who seemed to be visibly struggling not to fidget under its weight. Tails knew that urge all too well.

“Shadow.”

“Nine.” The hedgehog glanced at Tails. “I’d like a few moments with him alone, Tails. If you don’t mind.”

“Oh, uh…” He looked at his counterpart, who gave a small nod with a grim set to his mouth. “O-Okay, but I’ll be right outside, so…let me know if you need me to come back at any time, okay?”

He wasn’t sure whether he was telling that to Nine or Shadow, but they both acknowledged it before turning to focus only on each other. The fox trudged outside and sat down against the side of the building. He couldn’t hear anything when he pressed his ear against the garage door, so he leaned back to study the clouds and soak in the sun in an attempt to relax as he began processing everything he’d learned.

Two days in a row with two different revelations big enough to send his head spinning. It had to be a new record at this rate. He sincerely hoped it wouldn’t be topped anytime soon.

It was almost an hour before Shadow emerged from his workshop, carrying the Paradox Prism with him. Tails jumped to his feet but the hedgehog put a hand up before he could say anything.

“The two of us have come to an understanding. As long as he never betrays me or Sonic again – or you, for that matter – then our relationship will remain cordial if we ever interact in the future. And…” Shadow hesitated, then shook his head and placed his hand on Tails’ shoulder. “If you decide to let Sonic meet with him again, I won’t stop it. I trust you with this.”

The fox nearly staggered under the shock of that confession. “You – wow, I – thank you, Shadow. Thank you for everything.”

“Hm. Don’t get used to it, Fox.” Despite the words and tone, there was a smirk on his face. “If you ever pull a stunt like that without telling me again, you’re going to regret it.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, Shadow pulled out his chaos emerald and, with one final “Chaos Control!” yelled to the sky, disappeared with the Prism in tow.

Tails waited until the hedgehog’s afterimage was no longer burned into his eyes, then pulled out his Miles Electric as he re-entered his workshop. The hologram of Nine was still there, looking contemplative.

“Hey,” Tails said, holding up his device for his counterpart to see. “Mind if I set up a reunion?”

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

“Tails, buddy, you know how much I hate surprises.”

The fox rolled his eyes as he carried Sonic onto the top of a loop-de-loop overlooking Green Hill. From here they could see just about everything from the ocean to their scattered homes to the distant mountain where the Shatterverse adventure had all began.

“And you know I’m not going to spoil the surprise just cause you’re impatient.”

“Not even if I ask really, really nicely?”

“Not even for that.”

He set his brother down on a blanket he had already put down, right next to a small picnic basket that sat unopened. Sonic tilted his head curiously at it.

“Uh, Tails, are you sure that thing had enough space to hold food for both of us?”

He grinned, unable to contain his excitement as he grabbed it and opened it. “Don’t worry, Sonic. I packed exactly what we needed.”

Tails pulled out his spherical probe and the little square drive, setting them atop the basket and watching the hedgehog as he turned it on.

“Alright, pal, but if you weren’t hungry then you could’ve let me kn –”

Sonic’s words ground to a halt as a small, purple hologram of a very familiar face appeared in front of him. His mouth fell open, his body went still, and he looked almost as though he was about to cry when Nine lifted a hesitant hand to give an even more hesitant wave.

“Hi, Sonic,” the other fox said. “It’s, um, been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Nine!” He cried, lunging forward until his face was an inch from the hologram. “Oh, Nine, it’s so good to see you! I’m so glad you’re okay! I was so worried about you guys cause I didn’t know if the dimensions all stayed after I left, and I didn’t think there was a way to find out but of course I should’ve known you two would’ve figured it out! You’re so smart, Nine, oh man, I can’t believe this is really real!”

As Sonic continued to speak, so excited he barely stopped for breath, Nine’s eyes wandered briefly towards Tails, who smiled as wide as could be.

After a moment, Nine smiled back.

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

END

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

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