#how are you gonna write Mei so well and then she’s just gonna never been seen again

[elizabethzoopzoop986]

I miss Mei so much you don’t understand :( bring her back AidaIro. Also Yako and Hakubo

I hate how the school mysteries (other than Hanako, Mitsuba and Akane) get there one arc where you really get to know them and care about them and then they just go away forever. GIVE THEM BACK PLS AIDAIRO LET THEM OUT OF THE CLOSET THEYVE DONE NOTHING WRONG

[lotusarchon]

disco sings our tune (mk x reader)

content warnings: male reader, second pov (you/your), fluff drabble with some angst sprinkled, s5 spoilers (for anyone who still somehow hasn't seen it)

author's notes: okay this one was really sweet when i started writing it ☹️ i love mk dawg he's so aaaah

You're MK’s perfect match.

No, it wasn't because you liked Monkey King (he's such a big meanie to you), and it wasn't because you liked Pigsy's noodles (too spicy) and it wasn't because you were friends with Mei (you were but she always bullied you for trying to be MK's new bff ☹️), and it also wasn't because you pissed of Red Son by simply existing.

Nah, you were his match because you always matched his wild energy. Opposites usually attracted each other, but it seemed like similarities also drew each other in as well. And MK would have to be an ass like Macaque if he ever said he didn't enjoy your company.

And he appreciated you, he truly did. 

Even at his lowest point, even after everything he's done, your very presence filled him with joy.

“MK?” You gently pinched his cheek, bringing him back to reality. There you were, sitting next to him on the roof of Pigsy's noodles. You were smiling at him, your thumb rubbing the spot you had pinched with the sweet smile that you always wore.

MK stared at you, and felt tears threatening to spill, even when he'd cried enough in Monkey King's arms. 

If he had actually allowed the cycle to end, would you have been reborn? Would he have ever seen you again? If Xiangliu had never awakened him early, would he have ever met you?

His heart squeezed at the thought. The mere idea that somewhere out there, there was a universe where he would've never existed. That he'd never have met you….

“Don't cry. You're so sweet, MK. Have I ever told you how much I loved you?” One after the other the words tumbled from your lips, and your arms wrapped around him, hugging him close. Your presence, so warm and comforting, reminding him of what he could've lost…. “I love you. I love you to the moon and back! Don't cry, you're way too cool to cry!”

And so sweet..

He couldn't help but laugh, returning your embrace with his own.

“I know,” he said, allowing you to thread your hands through his hair, scattering sweet kisses across his face. “I know, and I love you too, (Name).”

“You better.” You gave him another kiss. From below, Tang was gagging at the sight, but you stuck your tongue out at him. “From now on, just trust me, alright? We're boyfriends! And I need you!! I mean, who else is gonna help me piss off Red Son?”

“There's Mei―”

“She hacked his socials and posted FNAF fanfiction.”

“Oh. Then yeah you do need me.”

“Exactly!”

@lotusarchon , 21.09.2024, all rights reserved. do not copy, repost or translate my works without permission. comments, reblogs and likes are appreciated!

[ddejavvu]

hiiii mei, how are you?

can I request a little something for aaron, where he's with reader who is a very short spitfire and always ready to fight, and one day she's like protecting him from someone (im imagining Derek or rossi) and so she go before him, but she's so short that all of aaron's face isn't covered, and so him and whoever she's protecting him from just share a look like "is she serious" before aaron calms her down

sorry baby i didn't do derek or rossi it's that asshole local officer from like the 7th season or whatever </33

--

Local officers are typically not fond of the BAU. Your presence is suggestive of their skill levels, and they tend to take personal offence to your help. This one especially, who mumbles under his breath, 'A bunch of pencil pushers and accountants.. How are they gonna help?'

His Chief glares, "Rizzo," but it's not enough for you.

"Pencil pushers and accountants," You scoff, turning to the offending officer, "How fucking dare you? You know, you've got some nerve talking to my boss like that while there's a serial killer on the loose. Have you found him? Huh?"

The man's face reddens and tightens, jaw locked stiff as he stares at the floor instead of your face.

"Have you?"

"No," He spits when prodded, and the police chief looks torn between who to reprimand. He'd never reprimand you, of course, you're not under his jurisdiction, but it seems like he might want to, if only for your callous teasing.

"Well then, it looks like you're in desperate need of our help. Careful, officer, when you insult someone because you're afraid you're below them, it only drags you down further."

The officer's head jolts up, not to meet your gaze, but Hotch's. He looks entirely indignant, eyes flaring with anger like he's asking Aaron to put his guard dog on a leash. And that isn't why Hotch gives in, but he calls it quits when it looks like steam is about to come out of the man's ears.

"That's enough," Hotch finally chimes in from behind you, wrapping one of his large hands around your forearm to hold you in place. "I'm sorry this conversation went the way it did. But we don't have time for territory disputes, we need to catch this man. We'll set up and report back to you with any leads we find."

He pulls you backwards out of the Chief's office, and like the aforementioned guard dog you'd been acting, you walk while maintaining eye contact with the haughty officer. Then the door shuts in your face, and your attention is back on Hotch.

"Y/L/N," He keeps his voice a notch higher than he normally does, far from his typical murmur, but it's robotic, scripted: "You had no right to personally insult an officer."

Then, in almost a whisper, with much more feeling than previously shown, "Thank you."

Louder again, for Detective Rizzo and the Chief to hear: "We were invited here, and the last thing we want is a reputation for poor sportsmanship."

"I appreciate you standing up for me," In a murmur so soft you almost have to lean in to hear it.

"This will be your first and final warning," He recites, still holding your arm, "Play nice."

"Write up a report on detective Rizzo."

[ayanominitrash]

🌹You, me, prom? JJK x Reader🌹

All I ever wanted was to go to prom!

Jjk characters asking you to be their prom date in case you've never been to one:

°���°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

₊˚ ♡

Gojo - dramatic

💙 would bother everyone in his friend group for ideas or for their help orstracizing this event

💙 he'd probs gather a band and do something as cliche as a sing and dance in your school hallway

💙 he'd stayed up all night making the banner of 'will you marry me' full of rose petals stuck at the edge of the paper

💙 marriage? Like I said, dramatic.

💙 or would probably prank you, sending one of your close friends to tell you that he was badly injured cus he got jumped, only for him to pull out a single rose from his back pocket in the middle of your sobbing session when you were yelling for someone to call 911

💙 you almost said no cus of that prank

₊˚ ♡

Geto - in private, more intimate

🖤 he'd ask you at some type of usual hangout, he'd want you to be comfortable

🖤 like in the library, sliding a sticky paper to you with his elegant writing. It'd be in the middle of your quiet study session. You read: 'pretty girl, be my prom date?'

🖤 or maybe at the cafe you two would frequent, the question scribbled in the barista's scrawny penmanship all the while misspelling your name 💀

🖤 easy yes for you, the two of you would continue whatever you're doing after that, settling in a comfortable silence while holding hands

₊˚ ♡

Sukuna - blunt, casual

❤️ 'so, we on together for prom, right'? 💀

❤️ 'I'll pick you up by 6pm.'

❤️ honestly, you weren't sure if he was going to ask you at all so you were already thinking of a way to ask him first

❤️ 'are you asking me to prom? You know what? Fuck it, yeah.'

❤️ he'd probably drag you away from the venue to leave prom early and do something more to his liking, 'This shit's too cheesy.'

₊˚ ♡

Shoko - low key sweet, comedic

🤎 will probably give some type of pastries or chocolate with a short handwritten letter about all of her admiration for you and asking you to be her prom date. She'd read this letter out loud for you and kiss your cheek if you say yes.

🤎 if she was feelin' a little goofy, she'd probs ask you the question and have the words 'yes' and 'no' written in two separate cigarette sticks. She'd tell you to light the one that says your answer 💀

🤎 'Since you lit this one, you owe me a cigarette :))'

₊˚ ♡

Naoya - almost formal, a bit of an ass

🧡 prolly ask while eating dinner at his family home, just the two of you, your hand in his. "I'd like to be your date for prom."

🧡 Will immediately sigh in relief and let go of your hand as soon as you said yes. "Good. As you should. You're going to have to dress well if you're going to be seen out with me. You have the budget for a dress or…?"

🧡 he's spewing all this while you can see his hands trembling, trying to cover this nervous tick as he moves his utensils. He ain't slick. He's secretly as excited as you are.

🧡'we're going to match our outfits, of course.'

₊˚ ♡ - - - -

Bonus:

Mei Mei:

💜 I'll be your prom date - name your price.

💜 (I was gonna insert a joke bout u know what but it's best to stop myself here).

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

(❀❛ ֊ ❛„)♡ reblogs and comments are appreciated//do not repost my work anywhere

//

These are probs cliche's from the movies, sorry. The school I was going to during my Junior year didn't do proms :(( Which one from here is ur fave? Or how were you asked if you went to prom? Help me cope lol.

I'm thinking of opening asks, is that even a good idea cus I get frequent writing blocks,

[quitealotofsodapop]

Ok, but you can bet when the Noodle Gang hears MK shouting about Wukong having a family and all the monkeys rushing off to somewhere on the island, they're gonna follow. They're gonna find the petrified monkey of Wukong's own father. They're gonna discover the egg with Wukong and all the murals and writings Yē Lín had left for his cub, both the one he had incubated and the one he hadn't known about until after his death. They're gonna see Wukogn get overwhelmed and faint, leaving MK to explain that part of the intricate and never mentioned abilities of the Gold Vision is it let down him see the spirits of those who have passed and not yet entered Diyu due to unfinished business, that during the party he'd run into the spirit of two Stone Monkey and subsequent discovery that one of them still had an egg intubating somewhere and that when he went to warn Wukong of it, he had the realization that Wukong had been the other egg they had mentioned, the one who had successfully hatched!

Everyone's reactions were mixed, Pigsy was suspicious and kinda creeped out. Mei thought it was cool. Sandy and Macaque was more worried about Wukong than anything. But Tang? When presented with the idea that the Monkey King's very own parents were standing here in this cave with them and the petrified monkey was Wukong's dad!?!? Well... kid in a candy shop is putting it lightly

referencing.

MK likely has let it slip before that Gold Vision can let see ghosts - something which Mr Tang is super interested in. But Pigsy reminds him that it might be considered a little odd to act on in public - one too many angry glares at he Gao Village cemetery.

Mei thinks its another super-cool superpower her bestie has, and asks if he can see any ghosts around her family's manor. MK ca't really see anyone, but does meet a cool old dragon spirit thats wreathed in flames (apparently Mei's maternal grandfather, something he has to ask delicately about to Mrs Ao-Long).

Macaque can't see ghosts/spirits like Wukong and MK can, but he can Hear them. He thought he was going nuts the first time a ghost asked him for a favor. He has to act like the translator between the living and the dead when they collide. So when he hears MK shout about Wukong having more family? He comes running and realises that he hears the voices of two people that only Wukong and MK can see/interact with. He then gets super nervous cus technically he's just meeting Wukong's parents for the first time. Shihua tells him htat she likes his plays.

And ofc when Wukong faints, the whole squad are rushing forward to make sure he and the super-new baby are ok. Tang is rambling aloud and trying to channel his Golden Cicada powers to talk to Wukong's parents, and Pigsy is trying his best to keep the baby stone monkey calm while Macaque and Sandy tend to Wukong + any cubs present.

You can imagine that the monkey demon subjects present are as equally shocked at the Noodle Shop gang. Their prince (MK is a little embarassed by the title) just shouted that their King has a previosuly unknown father and brother, and when they follow him to a recently-opened fissure in the mountain; they see the unmistakable form of a petrified Stone Monkey/Shi Baomu sitting within. And then a little stone egg pops out like how a certain King was born...

The Stalwarts just start howling with laughter.

[k-martins]

May i rant?

The way Gege implies that Naoya and Mei were pedos and then never properly addresses it is really disappointing. Why bring up a horrific issue like that? It serves no purpose. He already made Naoya a total dick with a murderous streak and Mei a greedy bitch without regard for people. They were already obviously terrible people without the additional child predator label.

Like if he’s gonna write characters that way then have them face consequences or if he wants them to get away with it at least write more about the victims so the audience can see how tragic their situations are

Better yet he shouldn’t write that at all and just focus on more character development for the main cast

Ah, little anon, I understand that feeling. Mei Mei and Naoya are two annoying little shits and the way Gege wrote them creates this feeling of "these horrible people are always getting away with it, when will justice be served?". It's frustrating, disgusting and unnecessary. After all, as you said, they've already been presented as nasty people, so why add the list of sins to "child predator"?

Actually, this is a very serious question and I'm just a profile that talks nonsense about ITFS.

But I'll do my best to explain my point of view and why I think Gege is doing an interesting job with his manga.

Well, I'm going to talk about Mei Mei because her situation is much more complicated.

She is a jujutsu sorceress who only cares about her own personal gain, not caring much about the situation if it is sending money into her pocket. So far, we have the character established and, although it is a somewhat altruistic attitude, it is not all bad. She's still there doing her job, still exorcising curses, still giving Yuji a choice between facing a high-grade curse or the humans transfigured by Mahito. Mei Mei is a greedy bitch, but a greedy bitch who does her job at the end of the day (which is expected). Until this moment, we can only consider her an eccentric character.

The issue becomes complicated when we observe her relationship with her younger brother, Ui Ui, a 12-year-old child who is subjected to her sister's technique which consists of suicide, from what I understand. It's a strange relationship, uncomfortable to watch and irritating (Yuji's face is the reaction of all of us seeing it). There IS something strange about these two.

Then we have the Malaysian scene.

I have my own opinions about this scene, but let's move on to what most people think happened. Mei Mei is naked next to her brother suggesting they sleep together. If incest doesn't shock, pedophilia does. And it makes it even worse because this scene takes place after Nanamin says how he would like to go to Malaysia and then he dies. It is at this moment that her question comes:

"Why bring up a horrible issue like this?"

Yes, why Sensei Akutami?

Why put in this horrible scene while we're still dealing with Nanami's death?

Why give Mei Mei, the greedy bitch, Nanami's dream and dirty it with this horrible, heavy-handed insinuation?

Why do I have to watch someone horrible live while a good person dies? … Oh.

Well, this is the point.

In JJK, the world is unequal. Megumi said that herself.

Good people like Nanami, Nobara and Yuji are killed and destroyed while horrible people like Mei Mei, Naoya and Sukuna get what they want. Therefore, their depravities have no consequences. That's why Mei Mei went to Malaysia, that's why Naoya didn't take any more damage, that's why Sukuna beat Satoru.

Gege is laying his cards on the table and saying "Good can lose and evil can win. Nanami's die while Mei Mei's enjoy peace."

This is one of the reasons I believe that even though JJK is a shonen, there is a possibility for Sukuna and Kenjaku to prevail. There's this not-so-small chance that we'll see our good guys blowing up while the bad guys rest in a hotel in Malaysia.

Who knows.

Gege Akutami is unpredictable and there are more names to cross out in his Death Note.

So, to recap, Gege is purposely making bad people with terrible morals "win" to show how unequal and unfair this world is. Good doesn't always win.

It is revolting? For sure.

Would you like justice to prevail? Obvious.

Think this could happen? Perhaps. I dream of this moment.

Well, I hope I made my point clear.

I'm not good at writing analysis or playing characters. But that's more or less how I see Gege's script choices.

Sorry if I didn't talk much about Naoya. I don't remember much about his character other than that he was a misogynistic piece of shit and wanted to kill Megs. I need to reread the manga.

Thanks for the question, little Anon! I had fun writing it! :D

[kayssweetdreams]

Prim and Proper Problems Ch 23

Later on in the day, after most of the excitement of catching the various guards and teachers still attempting to flee, and the various news stations reported on the "Brainwashing Boarding School", Many officers began to call the parents of the girls that were sent to the school for many years. The many busses that had brought the girls TO the school, were now driving the girls back to their homes FROM the school.

Dolly, Delila and Delancy were now saying their goodbyes "Don't worry! We'll keep in touch!" Dolly said as she held up her Phone with their numbers in it. "See you around Dolly!" They said as the bus drove off away from the school. Dolly smiled before she looked down "You OK Dolly? You can always come with us in Timeville! There's always room at Timeville Public." Mei said.

The girl shook her head "Nah. That's alright. Besides...I have to make up time some lost time with-" She was cut off by a very large and colorful camper pulling up to the school "Where's my Flower Dolly?" A chill male voice said. Dolly's eyes lit up "DAD!!" She cheered as she ran up to the camper. A man with a half opened shirt and the scent of flowers appeared from the camper.

Dolly embraced the man "I missed you so much!! You have NO idea what has been going on." She said. "I've been writing to you every day. But I was kinda weirded out when you never replied back to my letters. But what's important is that we're together now." He said. Dolly's eyes went hard "Yes...I think I know the reason why." She said in a deadpan voice. The man was confused to her sudden change in tone...until a familiar yelling made them all flinch.

"DOLLY DON'T YOU DARE GET IN THERE WITH HIM!!" Madame Prim screeched. While the teachers and guards were only put into the back of police cars, Madame Prim was put into a straight jacket, and was in the process of being hauled into a padded bus. "Hello to you too Primrose." He said, rolling his eyes "DON'T TALK TO ME ROLAND!!" She screamed. Dolly harshly glared at her "Mom is the SOLE reason that I wasn't able to respond." She spat.

"I can see that...and for the record, my name is Moonglow. And my sweet Dolly is my little Moonbeam." He said. "NO IT'S NOT YOU TREEHUGGING HIPPIE!! DOLLY YOU GET AWAY FROM HIM!!" Madame Prim screamed, just as she was slammed into the back of the padded bus. "THIS ISN'T OVER!!! YOU HAVEN'T HEARD THE LAST OF ME!! I WILL MAKE THIS ROTTEN GENERATION PERFECT!!" She shrieked as she was bussed over to the Timeville Asylum.

The group watched as the bus got farther and farther away until it was out of sight. "Good Riddance." Leo spat. "Well...I guess now that Madame Prim is gone and you're her only kid...I guess this means that you inherent the building." Aria pointed out. Dolly shook her head "After being stuck in there for who knows how long. I REFUSE to take the building." She said "Well...what exactly is gonna happen to it?" Emma asked.

Roland looked at the building with curious eyes "Hmm...I always have wanted to open my very on Bed and Breakfast...And the school is big enough..." He said. "How about you transfer the school to me?" Roland suggested. Dolly shrugged her shoulders "Sure. It's all yours. I want NOTHING to do with it." She said. The older man gave a smile. "Groovy...But before I open it...how about a month long zen-cation?" He asked. Dolly's smiled and gave a happy nod as she and her dad boarded the camper "We'll see you all soon!" She yelled from the window "Hasta La Vista Brahs!!" Roland said from the drivers seat.

The group waved before turning to Misère "What are you going to do now that Madame Prim is gone?" Trisha Jane asked "Well...I haven't thought about that much." The old woman admitted "Well the way I see it...I think a nice vacation is in order." Thea Bruno's voice said. Misère smiled when she saw her "It's good to see you again." She said as the two of them embraced. "You really do need a break after everything that happened to you " She said as she pulled out what looked to be tickets

"What are these?" Misère asked "Two private plane tickets to Bali. My performance days may be over, but I still have connections all over the world. Just give them the tickets and say: Thea Bruno gave them to me" She instructed. "But there's two of them...who'd go with me?" Misère question. "Well...we do have a lot to catch up on." Thea said. Misère smiled as she and Thea began to walk off to make their travel plans

The kids watched the two of them walk off before they spotted Yuri and Kaylo, who were currently busy embracing their families again. The two of them saw them and immediately ran to them. "You're back!!" Mei yelled happily as Yuri and Kaylo hugged her "Yes! Thank GOODNESS! I never want what happened to us to happen ever again..." Yuri said as Wormsworth gave Yuri another hug "Yes...Well, Thank goodness Madame Prim is locked away and the school is out of service." Mei said, looking back at the ruined school.

"Although...there is one question that I have...who was the one that made Madame Prim's brainwashing machines? She couldn't have built them herself..." Rebecca said. "That IS a good question...and one that I hope we don't find out for a while..." Trisha Jane said as she looked at the remains of what once was the Perfection Purifier. The kids shivered at the very prospect that they were IN that thing...and it almost happened to them. If Yuri and Kaylo Didn't arrive with their kid révolution...both them, the inhabitants and Negabosses would ALL be stuck in that brainwashed state...

Shaking out the Grim thoughts from their heads, they turned back to each other "So...Celebratory victory party at my place?" Kaylo asked. The kids smiled, they knew that she and her family loved ANY excuse for a party. "Of course. Let's get out of here." Emma said as they all boarded back their own bus that held the inhabitants, the Negabosses, and had the maestros driving away from what once was Prim. Proper. Perfection...

Mei belongs to @sundove88

Rebecca belongs to @thehypercutstudios/@thehyperrequiem

Trisha Jane belongs to @lovelyteng

Aria belongs to @shadowqueen402

[trenchcoatsbi]

yoo could i ask for a playlist for a tallulah qsmp fictive mayhaps? she has an insatiable hunger for music it's frightening (/silly) ,, she likes soundtracks (child of light is her current fav), stuff like the oh hellos/cavetown/bears in trees, and generally cozy sorta feeling songs, plus anything lullaby-ey if that makes sense :] hope u guys are well! sorry this is a tad long or vague hhaha -–🔉🌠

hello! Admittedly I rushed this a bit I’m not as sure about these as I was about 🌾🪶 Phil’s but I took a swing we’ll see if I missed later I guess. I tried to include as many artists as possible so you have plenty of people to look through since you said she was a bit insatiable when it came to music! I did phone in the last few songs like the lullaby-eque ones. yeah again this was a bit of a mess on my end. Though I have been writing down songs for this for a while I didn't have an easy time narrowing down things as to what I wanted to include so at this point I've just thrown my hands in the air and declared it done now. Sorry if the playlist is messy or unsatisfactory.

Art used is by @/sallomezz on tumblr and can be found here!

Hope you find something to enjoy on the playlist or in my bonus ramblings below! -phil

okay so I kinda cheated my self imposed rule of one song per artist but in my defense I couldn’t choose between Moonlight and Paperwork… They’re my two favorite Fish in a Birdcage songs and I thought both were kinda fitting so oh well both of them are there.

Anywho I could go on and on and on about how I was this close to fighting myself to the death (<- hyperbolic) over this. Let's just get to other recommendations I didn't put on for one reason or another.

Starting with musicians I put on there but didn't include a song from for whatever reason:

Myxrite! My personal favorite song Now and Again doesn't look like its on Spotify at all so uh yeah I'm linking it here because I like it a lot.

Bug Hunter is on there too but he's currently in the top ten of my favorite musicians so yeah here's more suggestions! Go With The Flow and Listen to Your Mom pretty high up there in terms of my favorite songs. Making Up Words is one of my favorites lyrically (though I must say that Disco in the Panic Room is up there too), and of course I have to mention Try My Best and Slow Burn because I keep using lyrics from them to inspire drawings (that I'll never post anywhere online). Okay fuck I need to move on before I link literally every single one of his songs lol

Same as Bug Hunter, The Narcissist Cookbook is up there in terms of my favorite musician + he put the MOTH album (one of his old ones that wasn't on on youtube yet) on youtube recently so he's been in my head a lot. Ghost Stories and UNWELCOME GUESTS (warning: unwelcome guests starts with a phone ringing noise idk my friends always get surprised by it so I'm just gonna mention it in case) are rahgjagh they are so good they exist in my head rent free

Madilyn Mei has been on loop in my head cause a friend of mine. Anyway Six Legs (tippy tappy toes) and Sleeping in the Kitchen. just live in my brain now because of them lol

The actual recommendations that aren't just more songs from folk on the playlist already:

I Fight Dragons! I fucking love them! Their music tends to have techy/8-bit noises and they're a bit more on the rock side of things but their stuff is really good! Good Morning Sunlight and Oh The Places You'll Go... They are the most <3 to me forever... Sunny Afternoon too... God I love IFD I need to make my friends listen to them with me more

If you like IFD you may also like Jonathan Coulton or the portal song guy as my friends know him lol. Nobody Loves You Like Me or Now I Am an Arsonist or really anything from the Artificial Heart Album is always my go to for showing people besides the songs from Portal (Still Alive and Want You Gone) that my friends know.

Similar to IFD, a lot of Going Spaceward's songs have techy noise in the like proper releases, but his youtube has a lot of acoustic versions of his songs that don't have those. His covers are good but really most of his music is just funky. Uh since I will absolutely not narrow this down in any timely fashion I'm just going to link the entire Can You Hear It Album and uh Count Past 23.

Joseph Dubay is a musician I only got into like a few months ago but I really like his stuff, kinda similar vibes to what i was going for with this playlist but a lot of his songs just didnt fit the vibe so I didn't feel like adding them. That being said I am obliged to tell absolutely everyone I talk about music with to listen to Pastel Goth and 4evr so yeah.

Completely different vibe but San Fermin may be of interest to y'all! Astronaut and The Woods are the ones I listen to most from them but everything about their music just scratches the brain itch for me. Their stuff is indie rock which is kinda in the genres of the bands you mentioned!

A bit of a different suggestion but since you mentioned her liking soundtracks AZALI might be a cool youtube channel to check out! They make short songs in FL Studio and idk I'll be honest I don't listen to soundtracks or things like you mentioned in that part of your ask but I do listen to every upload AZALI makes and I think they're all pretty neat. The songs are all like a minute or two long but I like to just put them on loop when I'm writing. Truth, Violence, Warmth is my go to for writing for this specific project, but Mechanical God was how I found their channel and I'm just fond of City of Shattered Glass so there those three are my suggestions.

[dimpledpran]

8 Shows to Get to Know Me

I was tagged by the lovely @talays-portkey and @i-got-the-feels​ !

1. Ghost Whisperer (2005-2010) I think this was the first show that i actually tried to watch as it was airing. I still remember waiting for 10pm every Friday, whether everyone else was awake or not. I think I watched all the way from Season 1-4, until it stopped airing on our local channel. 

2. Glee (2009-2015)  Honestly this was my introduction to the English music scene. I did not grow up listening to English songs, so my initial playlist was basically Disney Channel artists and Glee covers. As a music lover, I just enjoyed listening to their takes of the songs. I think I stopped watching somewhere during Season 3, and only did the Cory tribute episode after that.

3. Teen Wolf (2011-2017)  This was the first show that I started reading fanfics for. Well I started reading before I watched it, but Sterek stole my heart. I was very into the series, to the point that I watched Season 3B in one night because I had to find out what happened. Dumb me thought it was a good idea to start a new season at 8pm at night. I stayed up through the night, and texted my friend at 6am to yell about the whole thing. And they replied that it is too early to be awake to scream about it. “What do you mean wake up and watch it. I haven’t slept yet” So yeah. Stiles is my baby, and I will protect him with my life.

4. The Untamed (2019)  My friend recommended this to a few of us during covid lockdown, and I am very glad she did. It really opened me up to a whole new world. This show had such a grip on me. To the point that I started a new side blog for it, and learnt how to make edits for it. I got to know so many incredible people through the network cos of this show. It was such a brilliant show! The plot is so intricate! It has angst and heartache and amazing costumes and stunning sets and a cast who honestly killed it. Definitely a show that I would recommend to everyone. 

5. Bad Buddy (2021-2022)  Obviously I can’t go without talking about BB here. Have you seen my blog URL? Till BB, I never watched a show as it was airing. I usually wait for it to end and then binge, or start watching it just in time for the finale. But I kept seeing gifs on tumblr and it made me want to check it out. And boy am I glad I did it. It was such a fun experience to watch it live and scream on a weekly basis. For some reason the hold that this show has on me seems to be lifelong? I have no complaints though. I am still enjoying all the BB brainrot. Pran is my baby. I have never related to a character as much as I relate to him. He is so precious to me. And this show just blends angst with humour and a touch of reality so well. I am making it my personal mission to read through every Patpran fic on AO3. This show made me want to try writing. I cannot explain how much this show means to me. A definite must-watch as well!

6. Arivaan (2019-2020)  So my sister told me that this is my kind of show and made me watch it. I started it while she was halfway through, and finished it way before her. It was right up my alley. The whole premise is about trying to identify a serial killer who has been murdering women, and leaves an origami paper crane behind. There is a police officer who manages to find these clues and tries to identify him, but the killer disappears and due to personal issues he end up leaving the force. Years later the killer is back and he somehow gets roped into it again, but his partner is now leading the case, and is finding out things that he doesn’t really want to. And I really enjoyed the way it was taken, and the I am really hoping that there will be a Season 2 for this. 

7. Paava Kadhaigal (2020)  Honestly no show has made me as mad as this has, and that is totally the point. (Although I am totally gonna be ignoring the second episode. That does not exist to me) It is an anthrological series, with 4 3 episodes touching on different hard topics/issues prevalent in society. The way it was taken , the music, THE CAST, EVERYTHING WAS BRILLIANT!! I had to pause it and just scream on twitter to release all the frustration that this brought up. Which means it really did its job well. I have not watched this series  since the first time, but trust me when I say I remember every detail because it has such a lasting impact. Especially the first and the last. I was bawling.  NOTE: This can be very highly triggering, so please do check out the synopsis before you watch it. Or feel free to hit me up with any questions, or just scream about it if you do check it out. 

8. 3 Will Be Free (2019)  Insane plot with amazing characters with so much depth. Loved that each character was so complex. There is no character that is purely good or bad, like it was so real, and you feel for them all equally. This really set a standard that no other show has reached so far. I need another series like this. And of course anyone who put Tay Tawan in funky suits gets a plus from me. Also more female characters need to have guns!!

Honorary Mentions: Mindhunter: This would have been number 8, if it wasnt cancelled!! The casting directors for this deserve all the bonuses for how creepily identical the actors look to the actual serial killers! It was so interesting to try and get into the head of the serial killers and understand why they did what they did. LOVED IT!!! Until We Meet Again: This used to be my favourite BL series until Bad Buddy took over. I loved Fluke’s effortless acting. He is brilliant. And I love the whole concept of reincarnation and finding you soulmate. And this did it so well with the angst and touch of humour and romance. And of course TeamWin stole my heart. 

Theory Of Love: Honestly, wasn’t that much of a fan the first time I watched it. But the redemption arc is so goood, that I felt so much for Khai the second time I watched it. That train station scene just lives in my head. So for rewatch factor, this deserves a honorary mention.

The Good Place, Word Of Honor, We Best Love, Stranger Things, RE:Mind

Tagging: @highwarlockkareena , @eohachu , @markpakin , @fangrui , @fuujiikaze , @gege @seawherethesunsets @gaiamochi (no pressure)

[marsmulti]

Ships;

Going over the common ships for my muses and how I feel about them personally. Note: things can typically change with an individual portrayal, but these are my impressions from canon and how they relate to my portrayal. They are in random order...

Zuko

Zutara: I hate it. Sure, Zuko is easy and will be with just about anyone who likes him, but I just find this ship grosses me out in a way I can't articulate well. It feels disrespectful to Katara's feelings for Aang and I really like them.

Zuko/Mei: it was stupid when it happened and I'm glad they broke up.

Zuko/Jet: OTP

Zuko/Sokka: maybe maybe maybe

Zutoph: she seems young compared to him? Regardless of actual age, I don't really see it.

My fav ship for Zuko is a random crossover ship I write with my wife and it's with Elsa from "Frozen."

Sessomaru

S*ssr*n: big no.

S*ssinu: wtf no. Block me.

Sesskik: fucking no. Block me. Sesskag is the same level of ick.

Sesskagu: viable, but Kagura deserves better.

Sessomaru/Naraku: maybe maybe maybe.

My favorite ship for Sessomaru is no ship. Maybe a queer platonic partnership with SOMEBODY. A crossover or OC could work, but please keep in mind he is not interested in sex.

Anakin

Anidala: his queen, his BAE. OTP, even if they're so toxic I don't care I love them.

Obikin: get the fuck out. NOTP. Let them be complicated and platonic. I HC they are ridiculously intimate, but with zero sex or sexual energy. They shower together in a single stall and shave each other, but they don't see each other sexually and I will not write anything simple with them I refuse.

Anisoka: NO.

Vader/Sidious: now if you want a fucked up master apprentice ship, this is the one. Maximum bad vibes.

Anakin could have any kind of random romance with most people, so I won't list them all out individually. But Aayla comes to mind as someone he could have been close to and possibly had an experimental phase with. /Shrug.

Inuyasha

Inukag: I have mixed feelings about what we see in canon, but overall, I like them. Idk if I would wanna write this ship or not, it greatly depends on the Kagome.

Inukik: basically the same feeling as Inukag.

Inuyasha/Koga: top tier possibilities.

Inumir: maybe maybe maybe.

Inuyasha is also someone who could end up with just about anyone. I personally hate the whole soulmates crap, as it ends up feeling cheap and lazy and lacking in autonomy.

Link

Zelink: OTP

Link/Ganon: it could work in the right circumstances.

Link/Zelda/Ganon: OT3

Link/Mipha: sorry but no... They have no chemistry and Mipha has no character... I'll still give it a maybe though because individual portrayals may change my mind.

Link/Sidon: It just doesn't feel fair to Sidon. Link will break his heart.

It's very difficult to ship with Link. He hardly ever lets people in. You need to build up so much trust and communication with him and build up to it for maybe years or through different lifetimes idk. He also isn't interested in sex, so there is no seducing him. You have to win his heart.

Vash

Vashwood: OTP OTP!!!

Vashmeryl: GTFO. platonic love only. I viscerally hate this ship and no amount of canon divergence is gonna change how I feel.

Plantcest: NO GTFO. I don't have an issue with Knives taking advantage of Vash, but that's what it is. Vash could NEVER IN A MILLION YEARS be happy, comfortable, or satisfied with this and I hate to see abuse played as romance. Abuse as abuse, I have no issues with.

Vash/Frank Marlo: tbh that one episode in the 98 Trigun awakened this ship and I really like it a lot.

Vash is not easy to actually get close to, even though he is horny all the time and wants to have relationships more than anything, his fear keeps him away. He will come onto anyone relentlessly and then back out at the last minute.

Livio

Livio is aroace and only into platonic vibes.

Wolfwood is his best friend. He loves him.

Vash is someone he cares about, but can't really hang around easily.

[hobbit-in-kuroshitsuji]

Kuroshitcember 2022 Prompt Nr. 24 -Christmas Special 2/3

prompt: Sebastian (and, more optionally, the servants) prepares the manor for the young master for Christmas Day.

You can find all prompts here!

All of these will be uploaded/archived to this blog's Ao3 eventually

📌Because I ended up not being able to participate in quite a lot of prompts lately, I decided to put together a 3 part little story for 23rd, 24th, and 25th of December, each chapter inspired by that day's prompt. I tried incorporating as many characters as I could <3 I hope you enjoy!! I hope I can keep up writing after Christmas though <3 these prompts have been amazing, and it's been so much fun participating <3

Summary: On Christmas Day, Ciel Phantomhive and Sebastian go to a workhouse to distribute toys and presents to the children. Meanwhile, the reapers realise that the children meant to die are being saved by a demon, and they don't quite know how to handle it, a little bit like how the Phantomhive servants have no idea how to handle preparing Christmas Dinner..... Chaos ensues. CW: kuroshitsuji spoilers (if you don't know about o!ciel and r!ciel, do not read this 3 parter!!), mentions death, suicide, anatomy study, workhouses - please be careful if you are easily triggered by real events that happened in the past. oh, if you don't ship Vincent/Undertaker, please don't send hate <3 it's just a fleeting mention, but still <3

“But sir, I don’t think you should leave it up to us-“

A gloved hand moved up into the air. It was a simple gesture, but one that stopped all of them from talking. Sebastian basked in the silence for a moment. Downstairs, the servants had all gone into a frenzy the second Sebastian admitted that most of the last minute Christmas preparations were going to have to be done by them.

“The young master and I have important business to attend to the entire afternoon. What little decoration are left to prepare in the dining hall has to be done by you all. Mey-Rin, set the tables for all 6 guests. Finnian, prepare three guest rooms, we have a few guests staying the night. Baldroy, please ensure the Christmas turkey is… not burned.”

‘Yes, sir’s had been said with little confidence at each order. Sebastian had a feeling that the second he and his master came back home, he would have to use his inhuman speed to fix everything…

With a sigh, Sebastian bid his farewell to the servants, leaving them in silence. Confused, they looked at each other. Christmas was a big deal in most estates in England now, and Sebastian had just… left the last preparations to them?

He never trusted them that much…

Something was up.

“Well then, we better get a move on,” Bard said finally, clasping his hands together. “Or else Sebastian’s gonna be in a mood when we get back.”

“Aye, we don’t want that, no thank you,” Mey-Rin was quick to agree, lifting her skirts slightly as she began to run off.

She didn’t get very far though, as the back door leading out to the gardens opened. Everyone instantly went on high alert. Instead of lifting her skirts, Mey-Rin pulled out two guns. Finnian grabbed whatever was nearest and prepared to throw it at the intruders (which so happened to be a barrel filled with flour), and Bard was quick to take cover –

But there had been no need for high alert. Instead of enemies, Agni and Soma arrived.

“The front door was locked!! So rude,” Soma complained as he burst inside. “Cieeeel!”

“Master Ciel is out with Sebastian, sir. And… you really shouldn’t be down here, it’s not proper, it isn’t,” replied Finnian as he gently put the barrel back down.

“So sorry, my friends,” Agni interrupted, spreading gentle smiles to each servant he saw. “My master wanted to surprise Ciel with an early arrival for Christmas. We’re all very excited for Christmas, you see. It’s one of the holidays we enjoy here in England.”

Mey-Rin put her guns away again, brushing down her dress and clearing her throat to return to her maid act once more. “We’ve been tasked to finish the last preparations whilst the master is out… and…” She glanced back at her friends, who nodded their heads in agreement to the question she’d asked with just a glance. “I was wondering if you could help us, Agni?”

The man lit up, earning a smile from Soma. “I would love to!”

…

“Although it was very last minute, the company has divided the breached warehouse’s toys to be sent out to plenty of workhouses in London. Money has been sent to the Foundation of Timmy. When we arrive, toys should be standing ready to be distributed by yours truly.”

Ciel listened, but didn’t show he was. His eye was glued to what he was seeing flashing by the coach, which he tried his best not to show any joy about – it was for children, after all. Out there, snow was falling in thick waves. In this weather, it wasn’t safe travelling in a coach all the way to the outskirts of London, but Ciel knew he would be safe.

He had Sebastian with him, after all.

…

Smiles, laughter, applauses, and oh so much merriment was all Ciel Phantomhive and Sebastian Michaelis experienced from the children at the workhouse. It brought back memories from the few times Timothy had ordered Sebastian to go visit with him, and for Ciel, it reminded him of the good deeds he could do despite being in a contract made by a devil. Revenge might be what Ciel wanted, but moments like these… when a child’s dream had come true, Ciel felt pleased he could offer that dream to other children.

He wondered if somewhere far away, his brother was watching over him, hating how Ciel had left him after all, yet also perhaps pleased that despite the grief, Ciel could now follow his dream and build an empire not based in his family’s wealth.

Well… technically his demon had helped quite a bit there but – Ciel chose to ignore that part on Christmas Eve.

Whilst Ciel occupied himself with handing out toys and shaking hands with kids grateful for what he was giving them, Sebastian snuck away from time to time to deal with… securing the perimeter. He knew that once he and his master left the premises, those child snatchers would return again and the workhouse would be, once more, an unsafe place. But at least this way, the children could have one Christmas Eve, and hopefully one Christmas Morning, where they were safe and happy… like all children ought to be during the holidays.

Such sappy feelings was not what the demon had in mind though. For him, it was all about vengeance for what they had once done to his former master.

Both demon and master came away from the workhouse pleased for different reasons – one for offering the gift of charity and happiness, and the other for being given the gift of bloody revenge.

“How old were they?” Ciel asked as the coach began to move once more. He waved at the kids until they disappeared from view, smile on his lips gone the second they couldn’t see him anymore.

“Some were your age, some were younger,” Sebastian replied simply, sitting with his back straighter than usual, feeling over the moon after some delicious violence.

“My age? But they were all…” Ciel turned his back on the workhouse as he straightened up in his seat. “They were all so small.”

“Improper nutrition and poor working conditions will stunt the growth of humans.”

“But I… I was always the small one.” Ciel put on an angry scowl, trying to keep his emotions away from his voice. The empathy and sadness he felt… it outweighed the good he had felt just minutes ago. “We should have given them food.”

“Do not worry, my lord. Someone else is handling that for us,” Sebastian said confidently, offering no more explanation upon Ciel’s confused looks.

…

“DON’T YOU DARE INTERFERE, RONALD!!” Grelle pulled Ronald away from the ledge by his collar, causing an un-dignifying sound to leave Ron’s lips. Hand over his sore throat, Ronald glared at his reaper friend. “He looks oh so magnificent fighting like that! Oooo!! The crimson colours splashed against the backdrop of white, innocence – YES, Sebas-chan, keep at it! ⭐.”

“Miss Sutcliff… We can’t just leave the demon to kill them. We’re here for the children’s’ souls, not theirs.”

“We can do whatever we like,” Grelle snapped. “Just look at him, Ronald. He’s so magnificent! Ooo what a Christmas gift! I will cherish this memory for many lonesome nights to come-“

“Oh too much… information.” Ronald stepped aside and away from Grelle a bit, leaning against his scythe. William was going to be beyond furious about this… And what could Ronald even say was the reason they didn’t do their job?

Grelle was too into that awful demon?

Well… that could work, actually.

Wiping away some drops of melted snow from his spectacles, Ronald turned away from the grizzly murdering of kidnappers, and walked to the other ledge. There, from the rooftop of a church, Ronald could see clearly as the children from the workhouse rushed outside to greet Ciel Phantomhive. They earned a gift each, and then whatever was spare was offered as toys to share. The gratitude and smiles of the kids was enough to bring warmth to the cold, undead heart of Ronald.

Yeah… maybe it wasn’t so bad that the demon was interfering with their jobs. They had souls to reap, at least, it was just not the right ones. Ronald would rather deal with paperwork than with the memories of these childrens’ short lives fresh in his mind. He saw plenty of gore and suffering… maybe, one Christmas Eve, it could be nice to have a break from it.

…

Agni had stopped three fires that afternoon, prevented Finnian from tumbling down the stairs twice as he carried far too many sheets in his immensely strong arms, and had caught Mey-Rin an uncountable amount of times whilst she tried hanging up decorations in the dining room from a tall, unsteady ladder.

Eventually, the food had been saved and guest rooms had been properly prepared, but the decorations were a bust.

This was not Mey-Rin’s fault though. Sebastian had stashed the Christmas decorations in a place no one knew where. It meant that what little had been present for Mey-Rin to use hadn’t been… entirely enough.

In other words, it was just one garland hanging around the top of the walls, and one sad ornament hanging from the chandelier.

“Oh dear…” Soma said as the five of them stood racking their brains to come up with a solution. As if on point, one of the napkins Mey-Rin had folded into a triangle stood atop the guest’s plates collapsed with a sad little ‘poof’.

“This is horrible!! We can’t serve the guests here! The Phantomhive Christmas Dinners are events no one can compete with!!” Mey-Rin burst out, pulling at her hair.

“Calm yourself, my dear miss,” Agni spoke. “We will figure this out.”

“Unless you know how to pull Christmas decorations out of your ass, I don’t see how,” Bard commented with a huff. “Let’s face it, the food’s gonna be the only good thing about this event.”

“No,” Soma said determinedly. “I will not see my dear bestest friend have a bad event whilst I am here to save the day. We make them!”

“Arts and craft!” Finnian exclaimed happily. “I love arts and craft.”

“That’s a beautiful idea,” Agni praised.

Bard wasn’t very convinced though… This was going to go very badly, he was sure of it.

__

taglist: @eemoo1o-animoo

[crypticjackal13]

Heyy I’m not sure if you’ll have time but could you do Mk, Mei and Red Son (maybe others idm) comforting the female reader while she’s on her period? Sorry it might sound weird but Im on my period and I would like to see what others would do to help! So stuff like food or hot water bottles for the cramps. This is my first time doing a request so um trying to be “creative” And now ofc don’t worry if you don’t wanna do it. But I LOVE your content. Never stop!

No worries, anon, I don’t mind at all! And thank you that’s really sweet :D Also I wasn’t quite sure if you wanted a drabble or headcanons, so I did kind of scenarios! Hope you’re feeling okay, take care of yourself!

Traffic Light Trio x fem!reader on her period scenarios!

REDSON has seen every level of hell with her mother over the years. They’re gonna treat you like a the QUEEN YOU ARE(/pos). They check up on you as often as he can, respecting if you want space of course. He heats up her hands enough that when you have cramps it’s like a heating pad. Doesn’t care how “gross” you think you are, they hype you up and try their best to make you feel good about yourself. Will also try to write down the type of supplies you prefer so she can get them when you need them. Tones down her yelling, much more loose and focused less on machines or anything so that she can focus on you and your needs. ”don’t worry, beloved, this will pass! Stay strong, like I know you are, alright?!”

MK is about as sweet as it gets. He’s been friends with Mei since forever, and he has a loose understanding of what goes on and how painful it is. They try to be at your every beck and call, and if he can’t be with you when you’re super in pain, they make up for it with whatever food or drink you want. Has a pretty nice heated blanket that he folds up into a heating pad for you. KING of cuddles—they will let you pick the position you want him in so you’re at the UTMOST comfort. Compliments you a lot! His little heart breaks whenever you’re feeling down, so please expect them to try just about anything to get you to smile again! ”it’s okay if you feel like crud, babe! I’m here for you no matter what!”

MEI knows exactly how you feel. So, when there’s a Disturbance(tm) she shows up with movies, blankets, snacks, face masks, and supplies. Memorizes what size of supply you wear so you don’t get stuck with something uncomfy. If she has intense control over her fire, she will warm up her hands similar to how Redson would. Otherwise she’ll find you the best heating pad that she can. Lets you pick the food, obviously, but makes her own recommendations as well in case you’re interested. She doesn’t force you to do anything crazy on a day when you’re feeling super uncomfortable, but on days when things are manageable, she encourages you to get some fresh air with her. Offers up lots of affection, but backs off if you really need the space. “Here, I brought you some chocolate! It’s sweet, like you.”

[real-sun-wukong-fan01]

Ok I’m so sorry for constantly making asks cry 😭 but how would make group (+ dbk and pif) react to WuKong WITHOUT his glamour or how he looked in jttw????

AAAHH!! IT'S FINE!!

I love answering questions, especially when it's about my little meow meows.

Butttt but but but but!

That is a good question.

in the LMK universe, we have to accept the fact that thing have changed, and that things didn't happened.

So their reaction may vary, because while i would say that pif already knows about it because she is present in jttw and she is one of wukong enemies, in LMK it might not be true. But let's go with that.

Now I'm not sure if wukong does wear glamours, he likely does, even though I do headcanon him that he used to look like a literal demon during jttw and then took his sweet time those 500+ in flower fruit mountain to clean himself and finally look like what he is in the show, but if he did wore glamour or he would look like how he used to, then reactions would again be different for everyone.

I don't recall DBK ever getting mentioned or being in the journey against sun wukong, (it's probably not true, with how long the book is he could have taken a whole chapter with him) but i do think that in LMK he wouldn't even recognize wukong if he looked like he was in the book.

Now it's up to everyone rappresentation on what wukong used to look like in jttw, but i do imagine him having a somewhat orange/brown shade fur, with red eyes and probably scars and blood stains from the demons he killed. His voice would also be similar to Beetlejuice one because of him screaming in the furnace and the melting copper he had.

But still, he's a bit unrecognizable, y'know? So most characters won't recognize he is sun wukong.

PIF would also be someone who would absolutely not recognize wukong and just deny that, that is not him because there's no way dude.

MK would be confused at first, taken back when he realizes that the burned monkey is sun wukong, his teacher,and then starts asking questions.

Such as "are you okay?" "Why is your fur like that???" "Is that your blood stains?", Y'know getting worried for his teacher, he would never actually be scared of sun wukong.

Mei would be kind of not taking sun wukong look seriously, she would think it's a cosplay or that he is pulling off those silly shapeshifting abilities, but feeling uneasy a bit because his looks are still consider scary. Even though wukong was more feared because of his temper rather than looks.

Pigsy dad instinct would kick in once again and would try to keep MK back simply because wukong dosen't look trustworthy, but pigsy won't even recognize wukong, so that's also a why he just jumped to conclusions that the "burned monkey demon" might be bad.

He still thinks of wukong as bad, or well not bad but he's surely not the best guy in the world, but damn dude who hurt you

Tang? Tang woud need a moment both to process the fact that he has been writing and drawing the story of the monkey king wrong, because his looks are different than he thought, and that the almighty and untouchable sun wukong has so many scars from battle, and then he would ask questions. a lot of questions and some might do wukong uncomfortable.

Such as how he became like this, of people do that or if people do this because of his looks, ect.

Sandy? Sandy once again the only one with sympathy.

Sandy is a character who understand people, who knows when they need a break and went through a similar time to wukong,

Both had anger issues and both hurt because of their temper, so he understands wukong on that part, and he can probably also understand how does it feels to be described as scary because of how you look, his first appearance at first did look like he was gonna be a scary dude but he wasn't because of how he acted. (Because he offered tea.)

And honestly wukong might not even look scary, just abused.

He got abused, in countless fights, starved, kept awake for nights over night, again the only thing that makes him scary is his incredible strength and temper.

so sandy is gonna be the only one to ask if the monkey king is okay physically, ask for assistance anything like that. His cats would be happy to help Wukong with therapy 💪

If we could do other characters who are technically now part of the gang such as macaque (not so much), the hostess and red son,

The reaction would also vary.

Considering that macaque in the book literally impersonates sun wukong, and in LMK they were friends and they fought, i don't doubt he wouldn't know about it. He would just take his sweet time to look at wukong without having to fight.

The hostess would probably be taken back and be a little scared, she's a child. Especially when this is the dude who almost killed her. But i do think she doesn't have Ill thoughts towards wukong, they might be on good terms and she might even recognize that he's just misunderstood.

Red son? he would take an entire day to realize that sun wukong, his uncle, is that small man with blood stains and red eyes.

just like the parents, he wouldn't recognize the guy and even be in in denial with "you're lying you're just putting up your stupid tricks", wukong is a trickster god, he would do something like this.

He would still respect the fact that wukong looks like this and would try his best to accept it. (not like he can't, it's just weird since he knew another version since he was born)

sun wukong is getting accepted by most people and he needs a minute to understand that they are actual friends, not like Tripitaka or bajie.

[luveline]

I knew what was gonna happen because I had the privilege to see inside your head and I was still blown away.

hands down my favourite fanfic I've ever read. Theres so much love and this story is one that's so unique like, you are so impressive! Between this and the upcoming hangman one it's just amazing how many ideas you have and how well done they end up being. The bit where she was writing on his back I didn't even know what to do with myself cos I was just thinking... this is genuinely the best fic I've ever been able to read. I like top gun but i LOVE Bradley as you've written him or rather you make me love Bradley. I'm such a fan of you, and I'm zooming off to read the last part. I also loved how expansive this was, I love the detail, I loved seeing Bradley's POV and your inclusion of the other characters made the story feel so full (as well as your lovely descriptions and your dialogue) this was genuinely the most fun I've had reading a fic in years, I'm gagged by it!!

Nick grins, holding out a hand, “You and me, honey, we’re easy love.” (WE'RE EASY LOVE??????????? what a gorgeous line)

“I hope she never stops,” Bradley croaks, throat raw from sobs, “I hope she lies to me forever.” (this was so evocative and visceral truly excellent exemplary storytelling and I'm not kidding, this is what it's about!)

Doing it now, by choice, makes you feel like you’re taking a step forward. It’s like you’re actually cracking down on the promise you’d made to yourself days ago, that you’d stop running just to self-destruct. You’re not facing your dad in the seat but it feels like you’re facing off with some sort of formless, panic-driven entity that encapsulates him, and slowly you’re chipping away at it. (This! Felt like her final turning point, reader had an amazing character arc fighting through fear to finally choose him no matter what, you're amazing)

He groans, “Next time, just let me die.” (sorry Carole I laughed)

“Hey,” Bradley murmurs, mustache tickling your palm as he lays a kiss to the heel of your hand, “It’s alright. You’re spiraling, babe. I’m okay.” You like that about him, the way he kisses you anywhere. It doesn’t seem to matter if he catches your lips, your hand, your elbow; it’s all there for him to love on. (Hoh. So romantic 😭 perfect balance of angst and romance and drama. Best fic ever.)

Thank you for writing this mei I know you didn't do it for me but you could lit feel the love and time poured into this one, and while it's incredibly entertaining and heart hurting and pretty, it's also an example of your skills and how impressive you are! You're my fave writer and I'm so happy to be in this life and on this website at the same time as you to get to see it and indulge in such a fun/whumpy story 😁♥♥♥♥♥

Love to Lie - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader (Part 3) / Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 4 (Final Part)

Summary: Your worst fear is recognized when Bradley’s jet goes down with him in it. You’re not sure why you’re still his emergency contact, you’d broken up two weeks ago, but when you rush into the hospital room, you discover that you have a chance to fix the mistake you’d been cursing yourself for. The only problem is, you have to lie to Bradley, and you discover that you love doing it if it means you get to be with him again.

Contents/Warnings: fem!reader, Mitchell!reader, angst, angst with a fluffy/happy ending, amnesia trope, hospitals and their subsequent medical details, memory loss, goose and carole are still alive because i say so

WC: 16.1K (again...? somehow?) / navigation / inbox

A/N: ...surpriiiise! this is not the end 😭 i'm sorry to deviate from my original plan, but life got in the way a lot, so now there will be four parts to this series, this is the second-to-last. I'm sorry to keep you waiting, it just didn't work out the way I wanted it to. The real final part to this series will be posted one week from today. I hope you all understand, and I hope you enjoy this part and all of the drama that comes with it!

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Your eyes blink open far too early. It’s due to your side, there’s a draft that’s worked its way over your skin and raised tiny goosebumps over your thigh. You’ve woken up differently than how you’d fallen asleep ,and you suspect that you’d wormed your way into Bradley’s chest again in your slumber. You can’t blame yourself, it’s a comfortable place to be.

You push against his abdomen to wriggle your way out of his embrace and reclaim the blanket that’s fallen, but his hands tug you closer in an instant. Too fast, you decide, as you peer through the darkness of your bedroom, eyes adjusting groggily to the light.

“Brad?” You whisper, “Are you awake?”

He takes a moment to answer, and you think he might be pretending to be asleep. But eventually you feel him nod against his pillow, “Yeah.”

“Oh, honey,” You strain to reach the bedside lamp from your spot in his grip, especially considering any distance you create between the two of you, he closes. Once you finally click the light on you see his bloodshot eyes, red and rosy from their lack of sleep.

“What’s the matter?” You croon, your voice still thick with sleep as you cup his cheek in your palm, “Why are you awake, did you have a nightmare?”

“No,” He rasps, something desperately sad in his voice, “I never slept.”

“What-” You whirl your glance around to the bedside clock that reads 2:30, “Brad, you’ve been awake the whole time?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” He defends, his fingers curling around your waist, “I- I don’t know how anymore.”

“Baby,” You feel a thick wave of nausea rising in your belly at his state of distress, feeling nothing but anguish for the broken boy; your broken boy, “It’s okay. You’re okay, you’re safe now, you’re home. You don’t- uh, do you remember anything new?”

“No,” He shakes his head, eyes downcast as he swallows tightly in his throat, “No, but my brain is coming up with a thousand different ways it could have gone, and I can’t stop.”

You hope his brain hasn’t conjured the correct possibility. That he’d gone down truly alone.

“Poor baby,” You whimper, somehow more choked up than he is, “Come here.”

As he settles in your embrace, his head against your chest now, you reconsider: maybe you were made for holding him, and he was made to be held by you. Or maybe your roles are the same, each made to hold and be held by each other. Whatever the universe designed for you, it’s working, as his face presses into your collarbones like a puzzle piece snapping into place. He fits perfectly, and you feel the prickle of his mustache as he sniffles, once.

“You’re okay,” You hum, hoping that the vibrations of your voice through your throat sing him to sleep. Your nails scrape through his hair, long-since dried from his shower, though still smelling strongly of shampoo. You can feel him breathing, shakily so, against your skin, and the breeze fans through the neckline of your top, warm and soft in its rhythm. 

In, out. He’s alive. In, out. He’s here. In, out. He loves you. In, out. He wants you to stay.

In, out. He doesn’t know. In, out. He could remember at any second. In, out. He could hate you.

In, out. He won’t hate you. In, out. He’ll want to work things out. In, out. He’ll want you to stay. In, out. He loves you.

“Baby,” You croak, your throat thick with tears that are part anxiety, and part anguish for your poor boy, “I love you.” 

His hands tighten around your waist after a split second of silence, then he murmurs against your collarbone, “I love you, too.”

“Sleep,” You insist, resuming your soft strokes through his hair, “Sleep, Brad. You’re safe, you’re home.”

“You’re home, too.” He adds, and you realize it’s an affirmation on its own. That you're together; that he didn't die alone in a cockpit.

You nod, swallowing a sob, “Yeah, baby, I’m home too. And I’m not leaving, I’m gonna park my ass right here until you get eight hours of sleep, at least. Got it?”

He laughs weakly into your skin, “Got it, babe.”

“Good,” You whisper, keeping up a steady rhythm through his hair, “Good, honey, now sleep.”

You can’t seem to close your eyes until Bradley closes his own. You feel the flutter of his lashes against your skin, Then they cease their motions and the upper strands settle over the lower ones, brushing your chest in tandem. The longer you go without feeling them twitch, the better, and you don’t stop combing through his hair until his breathing has been soft and even for ten minutes minimum. Then exhaustion creeps back over you, and the knowledge that Bradley’s finally sleeping eases you into another few hours of your own slumber.

What wakes you up for the second time isn’t the series of knocks on the front door, but, yet again, a phone call. It's seemingly a pattern of late. This time your phone rings in the kitchen though, where you’d left it last night while eating. You’re surprised it hasn’t died, but you hear the ringing fade out while you lay in Bradley’s embrace. Your brain struggles to process the past 48 hours, but you know enough about the situation to know that it’s probably Carole knocking at the door, as well as calling you when you don’t answer.

Bradley’s still sleeping, thank god, serene when his eyes aren’t open to showcase the deep anxiety they hold. You can’t imagine how he feels, clueless and terrified, like a little kid. You’re glad he’s getting at least a few restful hours, even if you’re sure his dad and yours’ voices will boom far too loud through the house the second they step through the door.

Rushing to answer the door is hard to do silently, but when your face pops into the window panes set in the wood, you hold a finger over your lips.

Shush, you warn, then with a jerk of your thumb backwards towards the bedroom, he’s sleeping.

Carole, the one who needs your warning the least, nods jovially, a pretty smile already set on her face for the day. She’s a ray of sunshine, and you’re lucky to have her at this moment especially. Nick and your dad salute you, and you’ve never let out a more exasperated sigh than the one you greet them with.

“Mornin’, Sleeping Beauty,” Nick grins, barging in like he owns the place (which he did, for a while), “Brad still conked out?”

“Yeah,” You nod, opening the door wider to let everyone through. Carole’s carrying an insulated bag, your dad has a few totes of groceries, and Nick's got a heavy cooler strapped over his shoulder like a purse.

“My god,” You marvel, “Did you raid a Trader Joe’s?”

“You said there was nothin’ in the fridge,” Carole grins, “We brought stuff for breakfast, and whatever else you need, we can run out for later.”

“Thanks,” You gush, taking the bag from her despite her protests, “Is there milk in here?”

“And eggs,” Your dad nods, holding up his own bags, “And bread, and fruit, and-”

“And I wanna put this thing down,” Nick groans, heading for the kitchen with the cooler, “You talk too much, Mav.”

“Me- I talk too much?” His voice raises a hair as he heads for the kitchen in tow, and you and Carole shoot him the necessary disapproving looks, “This, from the guy who missed his flight to Hawaii because he was too busy telling the gate attendant that his son won student of the week in preschool.”

The two conveniently bicker, leaving you and Carole alone in the entryway. She sends you a questioning glance, no words needed.

“Not yet,” You mutter, and her eyes dim in disappointment, “I just- I wanted one night. One night to pretend like nothing happened at all, but I promised him we’d do it today. I told him,” You sigh shakily, pinching at the bridge of your nose, “I told him I wasn’t trying to hide from him, or anything like that, but- but that I just wanted a normal night. He said it was fine, he agreed. I wouldn’t have just gone to sleep if he pushed.”

“Honey!” She scolds, like there’s not a thought in your head, “Since when has he ever pushed you? Of course he said it was fine, you asked him for it! He'd let you run him over with a train if you asked to. You have got to stop this,” She narrows her eyes at you, the expression accompanied by various only-slightly-muffled banging sounds from the kitchen “I know it’s scary. I know it could go a lotta different ways. But you owe this to him now. Now that he knows, now that he’s askin’ questions, you’ve gotta answer ‘em. You’re the only one that can, you’re the only one that knows!”

Neither of you have noticed your dad standing in the kitchen doorway. But he’s not stealthy, and his broad frame catches your eye. You turn, panicked, but his face reads confusion.

“You’re the only one that knows what?” He queries, one thick brow raised. Carole waits for you to answer, and you build the courage in your chest.

“Nothing, dad. I’ll- I’ll talk to you about it later. In private.”

He remains concerned, his light eyes darkened in worry, but he trusts you, and Carole doesn’t fight back against your solution. He nods once, then clears his throat, “Nick can’t figure out how to work your stove. He wants to make pancakes.”

“Ooh, that man,” Carole huffs, more exasperated than upset, as she storms into the kitchen, “Honey, it’s the dial in the back!”

Technically, you’re in private now. Your dad seems to realize the same, shifting towards you, but before he can ask, there’s a thud from the bedroom.

Fear stabs your heart like a sword, blade sharp and venomous as you imagine an injured Bradley unable to get himself off of the floor. But you aren’t able to take two steps towards the bedroom before Bradley comes stumbling down the hall, nearly tripping over the too-long pajama pants you’re still matching in.

When he sees you and your dad, he freezes for a moment, posture tight. You hope he’s not embarrassed to be caught in his holiday pajamas, but you’re more concerned about why he was sprinting in the first place.

“Baby,” You call worriedly, making your way over to him across the carpet of the hallway, “Baby, what’s wrong? DId you fall? I heard a thud.”

“No, I-” He shakes his head, blinking hard for a moment, “I heard someone in the house. I don’t- I thought someone had broken in. Sweetheart, I- I didn't even realize you weren't in bed," He chuckles sheepishly, "I thought I was protecting you.”

You squeeze his arm with a fond smile, though you're still worried about him, adoration swelling in your chest alongside concern, "Poor baby."

“Sorry, Brad,” Your dad laughs softly, heading back towards the doorway to rejoin the others once he realizes you won’t be sharing just yet,  “Your dad can’t find his way around a kitchen.”

“Should have known,” Bradley huffs, curling an arm around your waist, “If my mom ever left him he’d never eat again.”

You welcome the privacy that this gives you and Bradley, and your hands find the broad expanse of his chest as you stare worriedly up at him.

“Brad,” You hum, lifting one of your hands as his settle on your waist. You lay it over his cheek and he leans into the contact like a touch-starved puppy, “Are you sure you’re okay? You seemed really freaked out. And- and your ribs are still broken, don’t they hurt? I think you should get back in bed. We can-”

“Hey,” Bradley murmurs, mustache tickling your palm as he lays a kiss to the heel of your hand, “It’s alright. You’re spiraling, babe. I’m okay.”

You like that about him, the way he kisses you anywhere. It doesn’t seem to matter if he catches your lips, your hand, your elbow; it’s all there for him to love on.

“I am not spiraling,” You defend weakly, “I just want to make sure you’re alright. Did you hurt yourself?”

“No,” He shakes his head, and when you move to pull your hand away from his face, one of his own flies to catch it. His hand fits just as well against the back of yours as it does the front, and you let him cradle your palm to his cheek.

“I’m okay,” He repeats, a promise that reassures the deep ache of worry in your chest, “Thanks for helping me sleep last night, honey. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You swallow the weight of his words, feeling them settle like boulders in your stomach. They’ve tangled strings around your heart, tugging and yanking at the organ until it sinks low in your body. Today’s the last day you can pretend you’d never walked away.

“You’ll have me forever,” You hum, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips that you hope distracts from the tears in your eyes. You sigh shakily against his mouth, relishing the feeling of his lips against your own. It’s comforting, and he keeps it chaste but meaningful, humming sweetly into you. When you break away only your lips part, foreheads and noses still flush like snapped-in puzzle pieces.

There’s some inexplicable force sticking you together, blood magnetized to each other’s from how long your hearts have beat as one. You let your eyes slip shut in his hold, hoping with everything in you that today isn’t the last time you’ll get to hold him like this. There’s a countdown ticking away in your brain, one that makes your blood run cold and your stomach churn, but the smell of pancake batter tears you away from watching the numbers run out.

“Pancakes,” You whisper softly against his lips, “You wanna eat?”

“Yeah,” He nods, but he makes no move towards the kitchen. He’s standing still, like you’re a cat that’s decided to snooze on his lap and he’s afraid of spooking you. His hands are still holding your waist, dragging you into him and supporting your weight against his own. It’s comfortable there, serene as you breathe in tandem, drinking each other in after a rough night. You’re glad Bradley’s gotten even a little bit of sleep, and with a nap later, you’re sure he’ll be well-rested enough to talk, even though you wish you didn’t have to. This is a fantasy you want to get lost in, one that you wish wasn’t starting to crack and splinter under his discerning gaze. It’s endearing that he knows you well enough to know that you’re lying to him, but not now that you want them to be the truth.

“You still haven’t remembered anything?” You ask, grateful to be cupping his cheek where his hand holds your own.

“Nope,” He shakes his head as much as he can with it pressed to your own, kissing at your top lip. It doesn’t require reciprocation, it’s barely-there and fleeting, “Doctor said it could be weeks.”

“He also said it could be minutes,” You mumble, voice hazy with worry, “Let’s go eat, Brad. Our parents brought along a buffet.”

It’s only now that either of you finally move, hands sliding across each others’ skin to join together. You walk as your fingers intertwine, and he holds back to let you step into the kitchen first.

“There he is!” Nick cheers at his son’s dramatic entrance, “Hey, Brad, watch this!”

He yanks the pan off of the stove, standing with his shoulders squared and his knees bent, like he’s preparing to bat at a softball. He jerks the pan up and out, dislodging the pancake from its resting place and sending it into the air when he pulls the pan back down again. It flips gracefully, but Nick catches it less so, half of the gooey side of the pancake landing on the rim of the pan and splattering onto his hand.

“Shit,” He hisses, and Carole buries her face in her hands with a sigh, “Mav, get me a paper towel.”

“Nice one, dad,” Bradley drawls, letting you stifle your laugh into his shoulder, “You could go pro with that.”

“If you make fun of me I’ll spit in the batter,” Nick grumbles as your dad swipes away the batter dripping inches away from his watch, “Thanks, Mav.”

The paper towel and pancake mishap are forgotten as you chat in the kitchen, standing around like a proper family. You’ve always been one, and you hope you always will be. You find an easy home tucked into Bradley’s side, feeling his thumb stroke at your waist and his lips press to your hair every few minutes. The pancakes go surprisingly fast, and Carole refuses to let anyone help her slice fruit, which is probably a good idea, at least for your dad, who’s fond of showing off knife tricks he hasn’t yet mastered.

Bradley’s perfectly capable of dressing his own pancakes up, but you feel the need to. Maybe it’s girlfriend duty, maybe it’s the fact that his ribs are still achy, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re trying to overcompensate, but whatever it is has your hand delving into the bowl of freshly washed blueberries, grabbing a handful and sprinkling them over Bradley’s buttered stack of pancakes. Then you take a banana, leaving Carole three more to slice up into the salad.

You slice the fruit towards your thumb, the blade pressing gently to your skin as it cuts through the banana. It doesn’t hurt, but Bradley reaches for your hands, pulling the knife away and holding the affected thumb.

“Don’t do it like that,” He explains, raising your thumb to his lips. He kisses it once, his lips pressing to the smooth pad of your finger, mustache tickling your skin, “I don’t want you to cut yourself.”

“I was careful,” You insist, but the last thing you want to do is pull away from Bradley, so you let him curl his fingers around your own, interlocking them as he holds your hand.

“I’ll cut it,” He squeezes your hand, leaning in to peck softly at your lips, “You’ve done a ton for me these past few days, babe. I can cut my own banana.”

You worry you’re coming off as smothering, that you’ve suffocated him with care. But the thought of never being able to do it again, and being deprived of the option to for weeks, has made you more of a helicopter girlfriend than anything. 

You let him cut his own banana, just in case he’s feeling resentment towards you for being so overbearing. But you don’t think he’s angry, not as he slices the banana down onto the cutting board and takes it between his thumb and forefinger. He holds it out for you, right up to your lips like you shouldn’t even be asked the effort of leaning forwards to eat it. You take it carefully from his hand, and you lament the fact that you’ll get banana mush on his thumb if you try kissing it. 

The fruit is flavorful on your tongue, but it’s a small slice, and you finish it quickly. You let the aftertaste linger in your mouth as you head for Bradley at the counter, pushing your face into his back and slinging your arms around his waist. You’re careful to keep pressure off of his aching ribs, and he leans into your touch instead of flinching away.

You settle your cheek against the soft fabric of his shirt, head turned so that you’re facing your houseguests. They’re all smiling at you, Carole most of all, and you offer them a sleepy one back.

“So, Brad,” Nick muses, plating the final pancake with a flourish that, thankfully, doesn’t send the stack toppling to the ground, “What are you gonna do today?”

“Nap,” Bradley blurts, and he uses the time that your family chuckles in unison to slip you another banana slice. It’s an awkward angle that his arm has to achieve, but you take it from him happily, jaw working to munch on the fruit while you nestle against his back once more.

“I dunno,” He hums, nearly through chopping the banana, “Maybe a movie or something. Hey, we could finish season 5 of The Office.”

“Mm,” You nod with a mouthful of banana against his back, “Yeah.”

You’ve been watching the series together, having finished Friends already. It’s a good show to watch before bed, because it gives you something to snuggle up together and giggle at. You’ve only got a few episodes left in the season, so you should be able to finish it in no time with Bradley’s extensive bedrest.

“Alright, my loves,” Carole croons, dropping the last two pieces of watermelon she’d been cutting into the bowl, “That’s the fruit! Are we ready to eat?”

A round of excitement circles the kitchen, and you cling to Bradley for as long as you can. He lets you, doesn’t try to shake you off as he drizzles syrup over his pancakes.

“You wanna split ‘em?” He offers, and you nod. He can’t see you, but he feels the movement against his back, and even if he wasn’t able to, he knows you well enough to know you’ll want bites of the food. You reluctantly let go of his waist when he picks the plate up, and you trail behind him to the dining room. He’s finally able to see the decorations you’d hung, and he stops to admire them in the doorway.

“Welcome home,” You coo, leaning your head on his shoulder. 

Carole stands proud beneath the banner, “Do you like it, baby?”

“Guys-,” Bradley chuckles sheepishly, setting the pancakes down at his place just beside yours, “I love it. Thank you, even though I was only gone for two days.”

“It was the longest two days of my life,” You gripe, but you suppose your days have been unpleasantly long for weeks now, “That’s what I was referring to, by the way, when I said your mom was scarily agile. I came out from the bedroom to find her standing on both the couch and the table.”

“Jesus,” Bradley huffs, bewildered. Nick looks a little concerned, Carole bashful, and your dad impressed. 

Eating around the table together reminds you of when you were younger, dinners and breakfasts and lunches alike being shared around the table. It didn’t matter who’s, you could turn a Denny’s booth into your home with a few plates of food and the laughter that’s never in short supply within your family.

Bradley cuts his pancakes himself, probably happy to have something to do with his hands. He’s eager to return the favor of feeding you, grabbing chunks of pancake on the end of his fork and guiding them into your mouth. You’re reminded of a picture you’d passed up in the photo album yesterday, of Bradley spoon-feeding you as a baby. His utensil-airplane impression was probably scarily accurate thanks to his dad; you wish you could remember it. Maybe, if you don't break up tonight, you'll see him feed your own kid that way.

You’re happy to sit and be fed, even letting him wipe syrup off of your chin like you’d done for him. You’re sure the only reason he doesn’t kiss it off of you is because your dad is there, and his, too. They have a tendency to make fun of you, even if it’s all good-natured.

“D’you need more groceries, baby?” Carole points her fork in your direction, pointedly swallowing her mouthful of watermelon before speaking.

Her husband doesn’t offer you the same courtesy, speaking through a messy mouthful of eggs, “Pro’lly not. We damn near bought out the store.”

Before Carole can reprimand him for his less-than-perfect etiquette, you nod, “We need produce. We might be okay on fruit if there’s any of this left,” You gesture to the bowl of fruit salad, “But we need vegetables. And eggs, we probably used them all. I’ll make a list later, once I clean up.”

“Once we clean up,” Bradley corrects you, “I’ve been in bed for two days straight, I need to do something.”

“You’re gonna need to be in bed for a lot longer than two days,” You narrow your eyes at him, “You need rest, baby,”

“I’m rested! And I’m gonna rest later when we watch our show,” He pleads, “Just let me help?”

“Why doesn’t he help me with the dishes?” Your dad intervenes, scraping his last bite of pancake through a sticky puddle of syrup on his plate. It’s boysenberry, and a drop nearly falls to your tablecloth as he brings it to his mouth.

“You wash, I’ll dry and put away. That way you can keep your arms down. Deal?”

“Fine by me,” Bradley nods, and you shoot your dad a thankful glance. 

“I’ll sort through the fridge then,” You decide, “Nick, Carole, you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”

“We’re gonna keep bummin’ ‘round here ‘til you stop feeding us,” Nick decides, “Whaddya say honey, ‘think we can move into the guest room?”

“Oh I’m sure they’d love that,” Carole plays along, a wry drawl in her voice, “They’d have to hear your snoring all night.”

“He snores, too,” You jerk an accusatory thumb at Bradley who doesn’t even try to deny the allegation, “Like father, like son. It must come with the mustache.”

“Speaking of my mustache,” Bradley’s hand flies to his lip, feeling cautiously at the patch of hair atop it, “Did they- shave part of my mustache?”

A guilty look is shared around the table. You speak up in a meek voice, “Yeah, baby. To get the breathing tube in there.”

He groans, “Next time, just let me die.”

“Don’t say that,” You hiss, stomping on his foot beneath the table. The yelp that he lets out is almost comical, but Carole’s face is still scrunched in a disapproving frown at her son.

“I’m sorry!” Bradley cries, “I’m sorry, jesus, are you wearing steel-toed boots under there?”

“No, but if you keep making jokes like that, I’ll put some on and kick you in the balls.” You threaten, and Bradley thinks it might be a promise.

“It’s not funny,” Carole insists, voice weaker than yours, “Brad, you- you almost did die.”

“Mom-” He sighs weakly, posture deflating, “I’m sorry. Really, it was a bad joke. I won’t do it again. Are you okay?”

She takes a minute to think, blinking at her plate instead of meeting anyone’s eyes. Then she stands, nodding hastily, “I’m alright. I just need a minute.”

Bradley tries to follow after her but Nick stands at the same moment, waving him back down into his seat.

“She’s okay,” He promises, smiling sadly at his son, “But she really was scared. I’ll handle it, you finish eating.”

Bradley slumps back into his seat, the sinking feeling in his gut at making his mom cry probably similar to the one in yours from lying to him. You’ve become scarily fond of this temporary life of yours, where you’re still dating Bradley, and you’ve got a family again. Lying comes easy now, and if you don’t think about it, you’ll forget you’re even doing it. You’re the actor most dedicated to their craft, believing even your own performance because it means you get Bradley back. 

Lying is much easier when you love doing it.

You hear a rogue sniffle from Carole down the hall, and you clatter your fork against your plate to cover it up. It probably doesn’t work, as Bradley stares forlornly at his own almost-empty plate, and you don’t think he has the appetite to finish it.

“Are you done?” You nudge his knee, and he glances up dazedly at you.

“Yeah,” His throat is dry and his voice is weary, “You want the rest?”

“I’m okay,” You shake your head, turning to your dad, “Dad? You all finished?”

“Yeah,” He smiles weakly, trying to break the awkward silence, “Ready to clean up the kitchen, Brad?”

“Alright,” He hums, standing from his chair. His movements are slow and sluggish, and you don’t think he’ll be at his best until his mom comes out with dry cheeks and a smile. In the meantime, you dig in the cupboards for a tupperware to put the fruit salad in.

Cleaning is tense, even if you and your dad try acting like nothing is wrong. Bradley’s not talkative anymore, and you resort to going about your business silently, packing the fridge with what little leftovers there are and making sure Bradley isn’t straining himself at the sink.

When Nick and Carole emerge from the bathroom, peering tentatively into the kitchen, Bradley nearly drops the last plate he’s washing into the sink. He hastily dries his hands, moving in for a hug from his mother while she smiles sheepishly at him.

“I’m sorry,” He repeats, and Nick smiles on. You try not to stare, not to ruin their moment, but you can’t help it; you and your dad share a happy grin.

“I know, baby,” She promises, combing a hand through the back of his hair, “I know, I just- I just get worried about you, s’all. ‘Specially when you land yourself in the hospital.”

“No more jokes,” Bradley promises, and she gratefully parrots him, adding 'and no more crashes,'.

“Alright,” You hum, when it’s appropriate to speak, “I’m gonna run to the store. Brad, you should get back in bed, but- uh, again, you’re all welcome to stay for longer, if you’d like.”

“I’ll go with you,” Your dad steps in, almost too close to be casual. You realize why, and that sinking feeling you’d been trying to ignore the entire morning comes back; He wants to know your secret.

“Okay,” You nod, trying to keep your composure even if your hands suddenly feel sweaty, “We won’t be gone long. Babe, get some rest, I mean it.”

You narrow your eyes at Bradley, then turn to Nick and Carole, “If you stick around, will you be on babysitting duty? Don’t let him wander around too much.”

“Will do,” Nick nods once, firmly, “Come on, Lieutenant, you heard your orders.”

“Alright, alright,” He gripes, rolling his eyes exasperatedly as Nick pats his back. He moves towards you, stepping across the kitchen tile to kiss you goodbye.

“Get me some cheetos,” He pleads, face only inches away from your own. He leans in and his mouth moves against yours as he speaks, “The jalapeno ones?”

“Okay,” You giggle, dragging out the last syllable. You use his lips to chase away your nerves, letting his sweet touch drown out the thoughts in your head. You kiss him briefly once, then twice, and send him off to bed with a quick nudge of your nose against his own.

“Bye,” Your dad flashes one hand in a quick wave as you call, ‘Be back soon!’.”

He doesn’t make his move the second the door shuts, he waits until you get going down the road in Bradley’s Bronco before opening his mouth.

“So,” He tries coming off as casual but you wouldn’t buy it in a million years, “What was Carole talking about earlier?”

“I didn’t want to tell you,” You confess, suddenly very invested in checking your blind spot even though it’s clear, “I wanted to keep it private. I didn’t even want her to know.”

“Well, she knows everything,” Your dad shrugs, discerning eyes glancing at your own guarded ones through the mirror, “And I’m usually out of the loop. Can we change that just this once?”

“Dad-” You scoff at his persistence, running a hand over your face and slapping it back onto the wheel, “Something happened between Bradley and I before the crash.”

“Something happened,” Your dad muses, brain trekking heartbreakingly positive routes, “You… paid off the cars? You bought a pet? You- oh god, don’t tell me you’re pregnant.”

“No!” You gush, but it’s not for a lack of sex, merely your use of contraceptives, “I- um, he asked me to marry him.”

You feel cruel when you see his face light up. It’s like the inflation of a balloon, features rising in joy until his eyes shine like the sun, “Oh, honey, that’s amazing. Congratulations! Have you set a date, or- or a venue, or-”

“I said no.”

The balloon deflates slightly. A tiny puff of air escapes it, like you’ve released your fingers around its spout for only a second. His eyes dull slightly, and his smile is cautiously still stretching his cheeks.

“What?”

“I said no, dad.” You repeat, voice aching in your throat, “I said no, and I left him.”

“You left him?” Your dad’s voice mirrors your own, bordering on shaky as his brain reprograms its image of you two, “You- you said no and you left him?”

“Yeah,” You whimper, the word coming out far weaker than you wish it did. Your mouth turns down so that you can bite the inside of your bottom lip, desperately withholding a sob.

“Why?”

That’s the million dollar question. The one you know the answer to, but don’t want to admit to anyone. You left because you were scared of getting hurt, and now you’re lying to everyone because you’re scared they’ll see you as a coward. You’re scared they’ll think you’re scared.

You’re scared they’ll know you’re scared.

You want to tell your dad that you don’t know. You want to tell him that it had been a fit of insanity, that you’d been cured with a walk around the block and that you’d kissed and made up just that night. But you swallow your nerves, squaring your shoulders as you make a right turn, “I was scared.”

You’d admitted it to Carole in the hospital, but she’d seen right through you, she’d forced your confession. Doing it now, by choice, makes you feel like you’re taking a step forward. It’s like you’re actually cracking down on the promise you’d made to yourself days ago, that you’d stop running just to self-destruct. You’re not facing your dad in the seat but it feels like you’re facing off with some sort of formless, panic-driven entity that encapsulates him, and slowly you’re chipping away at it.

“I was scared because marriage seems so much more than dating does. We’ve been dating- forever. The only thing marriage would have changed was that we’d have a paper telling us we loved each other. I mean,” You laugh, but the sound is reminiscent of a sob, “-we always joked about being too lazy to get married. That we didn’t do it for 20 years because we already practically were, and we didn’t wanna waste gas money for some preacher to tell us we were. But- but anyways, after Javy’s crash, I was remembering Nick’s, and I started worrying about Bradley. I was sad and scared for Nick and Javy, I couldn’t imagine being in that situation with Bradley. So when he asked me to marry him, it felt like if I said yes I’d be signing onto that. I- I know that’s dumb, and that’s not what saying yes meant. But I had this awful panic running through my head; that he could crash at any point in time, and if I didn’t get out soon, I’d be heartbroken and terrified like everyone else was, and I didn’t wanna go through that again. So I- I said no, and I told him I couldn’t love him anymore, and I left, because I thought that I’d be okay if I just didn’t marry him. Like I could have- moved on in the two days I wasn’t living with him, or something. Like if I just wasn’t formally dating him, or married to him, I wouldn’t be hurt if he was.”

“And-” You break away, voice trembling and nose running, “It didn’t even work. I walked out, and he still crashed, and I still got hurt. I didn’t solve anything, I- I made it worse. I made it so much worse, dad.”

You’ve turned into the grocery store parking lot, and a terrible, stiff, heavy silence hangs over the car while you park it. You wait until you shut it off, engine puttering out and body no longer humming, to look at him.

He’s staring at his lap, crystal-clear tears sliding down his cheeks. He isn’t looking at you, but you’re sure he knows you’re looking at him, and it turns your stomach in a nauseous whirl.

You stare for five seconds before he speaks. Five agonizing, soul-crushing, terrifying seconds where you think you might be on the verge of being disowned.

“I was never good at commitment,” His small voice breaks the silence, and the breath that he drags in to push the words out is shaky, “And- neither was your mom. Obviously. So I shouldn’t be surprised that it runs in the family. But- but Y/N, you left? You have been in love with Bradley since before you could say the word, I mean he- he was the only one that could get you to stop crying before your naps as a kid! You wouldn’t sleep unless he was in the room, I’m surprised Nick and Carole didn’t move him in with us.”

“I know,” You croak, but he’s not finished.

“I- I understand your thought process.” He assures you, “It’s flawed, but I understand how your brain conjured it up. You were trying to save yourself, and I understand that instinct. I just can’t believe it happened between you two. I mean, you were fated, I thought you two would set the world record for longest relationship. You were gonna go gray together, you were gonna have a thousand kids, and-”

“Dad!’ You cry, a sob shaking your chest, “I know. I get it. You’re making this worse.”

“How could I possibly make this worse?” He laughs incredulously, but there’s not a shred of humor in his voice, “Y/N, I-” He lowers his voice, cutting some of the exasperation out of his tone, “I don’t even understand, why is he- oh.. my god.”

“He doesn’t know,” Your dad concludes, head knocked back against the headrest, “He doesn’t know you left him because he has amnesia.”

“Yeah,” You confirm, voice meek and shameful, “I- I was gonna leave after I knew he was okay. But then- then Carole figured us out, and she said it would be better if I pretended for now, because he was probably scared and he needed my comfort in the moment. She said to just let him remember on his own time and then address it, to- to not overwhelm him with a plane crash and a breakup.”

“But I- I thought he’d have his memory back by now,” You sniffle, wiping your nose with your hand, caring little about the mess, “The doctor said minutes, I didn’t think it’d go on for days. And now I’m starting to get worried, will- will he ever remember? Am I supposed to lie to him for the rest of my life? Or am I supposed to leave again, to confess and break his heart a second time? I don’t know what to do, dad!” You feel like a little girl, sobbing in her father’s lap, “Please, I- I don’t know what to do.”

You’re immensely relieved when he reaches over to take your hand. You’ve spent the last two weeks disgusted with yourself, and for your dad to react the way he did, you were afraid he felt the same. But he squeezes your hand tight, and you’d complain about how it squished your fingers together if it were any other situation.

“Honey,” His voice trembles, and you recall the only times you’ve ever seen him cry. After Goose’s accident, of course, when you’d broken your arm at the park when you were twelve, when the dog he’d gotten for you as a birthday present passed on. He’s a man of very little tears, so seeing them now moves you.

“I love you,” He promises, and you’re glad that hasn’t changed, “And I’m always going to, even if you do the wrong thing. And this was wrong, that- that was the wrong thing. But I think you can make it right again, and if you need my help doing that, it’s yours.”

“Thanks, dad,” You gush through a faceful of tears, a wet mess sliding down your chin and soaking through the neckline of your shirt, “I- I want to make it right. Carole thinks he’ll take me back if I apologize. And I want to, I want to apologize.”

“Yeah,” Your dad’s brows raise and he sniffles, wiping a tear from his face, “Yeah, that’s a good start. I think he’d forgive you for just about anything, I- I don’t know that you could ever drive him away.”

“That’s what Carole said," You recall, and you feel guilty for the hope it gives you.

“But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt him.” Your dad reminds you, and you nod.

“I’m gonna grovel.” You decide, “Like, hardcore, begging on my knees, ‘I’ll-do-anything-for-you-to-forgive-me’ groveling.”

“I think that’s your best bet,” Your dad lets out a huff of laughter, smearing away another tear, “I think you can do it. But I can’t promise it’ll be easy.”

“I know,” You lament, “But- but I don’t care. I’ll do it even if it's hard. He’s worth fighting for.”

“That’s my girl,” Your dad grins, squeezing your hand. It feels like you’re back on the peewee soccer field at age four after scoring a goal. You squeeze back, and have a sudden hankering for orange slices.

“Okay, let’s stop fucking crying,” He breathes, wiping at his eyes overzealously and sniffling hard. You should have known he’d pump up the dramatics, even in serious situations.

“Alright,” You laugh wetly, the sound infused with hope you wouldn’t feel if it weren’t for your dad, “Do you think they’ll be able to tell we were crying?”

You share a quick once-over with your dad, clocking his red eyes, puffy towards the bottom, and equally rosy nose. You’re sure your face is just as swollen, and he cracks a grin.

“Nah,” He shakes his head, “Definitely not.”

The next thing you share is a laugh, cranking the car’s AC on high so that your tears dry up quicker. Maybe they’ll even freeze right on your cheeks, so that you can save them and defrost the memory later to feel your dad’s love again.

--

“You heard the lady,” Nick calls to Bradley when he reaches for the dish he’d abandoned in the sink, “Head to bed, Brad. I’ll finish the dishes.”

“It’s one plate!” Bradley gripes, but Carole’s dangerous glances towards him works just as effectively as it had when he was younger, and he grumbles, “Fine.”

“Sweet dreams,” Nick jeers after him as he shuffles back to your shared bedroom, but Carole nudges him towards the sink with a scoff.

“Stop teasin’ him, and get to work, busboy. I expect the counters wiped, too!”

“Call me goddamn Cinderella,” Goose grumbles, but he’d wipe down the floor before every step she took if she asked him to. He gets to work with no protest.

Carole treads carefully down the hallway, hoping her son is dressed sufficiently for her presence in the room. She finds him swapping out his pillow for yours, and she lingers in the doorway with a careful smile.

“Hey, babycakes. Gonna nap?”

“Maybe,” Bradley nods, hair already mussed from the pillow, “Thanks for staying, mom.”

“Of course, baby,” Her heart aches for her son, being on the brink of death and not even remembering it. Being so close to losing his life and not knowing how it felt. Just knowing that it happened; knowing that it didn’t happen.

“You told me when you were twelve that you were too old for me to tuck you in,” She pushes off of where she’s leaning against the doorway, coming around the bed to Bradley’s side to fuss with the blankets, “But you’re probably still weak from the crash, and you couldn’t push me away if you tried.”

He lets out a laugh, one that’s rife with exhaustion but genuine all the same, as she digs her hands beneath his sides, tucking the comforter beneath him. She braces her hands on the mattress to lean down and kiss his forehead, and when she does, the tips of her fingers are pricked by the sharp corner of something she can’t see under the pillow beside him.

“Ouch! What-” She hisses, nearly face-planting over Bradley’s shoulder as she lifts the pillow. She stiffens when she realizes it’s a picture of you, framed in black wood and probably missing from his nightstand.

“I- I’m sorry.” She mumbles as he lays frozen and awkward in place, “I didn’t mean to pry. It just- it was sharp, and I was confused. If I'd known-”

“It’s alright, mom.” Bradley promises weakly, clearly embarrassed by her discovery, “Don’t worry about it.”

Carole is worried. She moves in again for the forehead kiss, letting it linger against Bradley’s forehead for a second longer than she needs to. She fights back tears when she pulls away, barely able to muster a smile.

“She’s just goin’ to the store,” She teases sweetly, “She’s not shippin’ off to war. That’s your job.”

“Yeah,” He laughs weakly, “I know. I just miss her.”

She agrees as she combs through his caramel-colored hair with one hand, “Yeah? Tell me about it, baby. What’s going on?”

She wants to hear it from him. She wants to know exactly what he’s thought of your careful deception, and see if she can offer him even miniscule relief towards your possibly suspicious behavior. It’s hard playing a double agent, but she loves you both too much to pick a side.

“Mom,” He takes a long pause before speaking, gnawing on the inside of his cheek like it’s gristle he’s working through, “I lied.”

She racks her brain, were the pancakes not good? Did he not want her to tuck him in? Does he wish they’d gone home so that he could have a moment of silence?

“Oh, yeah? About what, baby?”

“I…” Bradley starts, looking like the words are making him nauseous, rolling his stomach as they crawl out of his mouth, “I remember everything.”

Carole’s the one that’s going to be sick. Her stomach has only dropped so fast twice in her life, receiving the news of both of her boys’ crashes. It’s the hardest thing in the world to keep a straight face, but she allows it to drop slightly so that it looks like she’s just shocked by the news.

“What?" Perhaps her voice is louder than it should be, but she can't control it, "Your memories are back?’

“Yeah. I- I remember it all. And Mom-”

“Brad,” Nick calls from down the hallway, barreling into the room in his typical dramatic , “You- she said your memories are back?”

They freeze like he’s torn an irreparable hole in the delicate conversation. He’s always had a habit of bringing life into a room, but the subject matter had been killing them both, and his energy is the opposite of what they both need to finish it.

“Yeah, dad.” Bradley breathes, a sheen of uncontrollable tears glazing over his eyes that he prays no one sees, “I remember everything.”

“That’s great!” Nick cheers, giddy demeanor slowly dying as no one else smiles, “...Isn’t it? What’s- why are you crying, Brad?”

Carole turns to see for herself, and swallows a sob as she reaches over to wipe the single tear away that had managed to escape down his left cheek. At her touch his face crumples, and what must be a million more tears flood his face.

“Woah, hey,” Nick sits at the end of the bed, face finally drained of all happiness, “What’s the matter, Brad?”

“S’okay baby,” Carole promises, her own voice shaky, “You’re okay, Bradley. You can talk to us, you can tell us anything. What’s the trouble?”

“She left.” Bradley whimpers, overhead light illuminating every single crystalline tear that rushes in a waterfall down his face. He gasps for breath, choking on a cry when he tries to speak over it, “She- she left me!”

“Bradley,” Carole rushes to soothe him, smoothing her hands over his cheeks and slipping one behind his neck, “Sit up baby. Come here, sit up, talk to us.”

He lets Nick help her tug him off of the mattress, and he slumps forward into Carole’s embrace when she pulls him into a hug. He doesn’t even turn his head to bury his face into her shoulder, he just cries against her, limp like a ragdoll.

She presses rapidfire kisses to his temple, tears flowing down her own cheeks. She heard your side of the story first, she knows you had your reasons and your fears and your regrets, but watching Bradley fall apart is planting an ugly seed of anger towards you within her chest. She hates it because she loves you, but she wants her son to be okay again.

“Brad-man,” Nick splutters warily, “Y/N? Bud, she just went to the store. She’ll be back in, like, an hour, tops. No need for tears, son.”

“Nick,” Carole hisses, wishing she wasn’t so angry with him for not knowing the truth. She shouldn’t either, so she pets Bradley’s hair down to distract herself from giving anything away, “Baby, what do you mean?”

“She left,” Bradley repeats, crying defeatedly, his posture slumped and his tears thick and plentiful, “I asked her to- to marry me, and she left.”

Nick is finally silent. His spine stiffens, and Carole guesses a shiver ran up it. He looks at her bewilderedly, bordering on horrified, and she stares back, wishing for the third time in her life that she could turn back time.

“Brad,” Nick starts carefully, voice weak, “Do you- do you think you might be misremembering things, bud? I trust you, and- and obviously this means a lot to you. But that- maybe your concussion’s messin’ with your head. Are you sure that happened?”

“I’m sure, dad.” Bradley had the option to respond with a lot more malice than he chooses to, the words coming out miserable instead, “She left me, and now she’s pretending she never did, because she thinks I don’t remember.”

“She left you,” NIck repeats, still skeptical, “And she’s- she’s lying? Why would she-”

“I hope she never stops,” Bradley croaks, throat raw from sobs, “I hope she lies to me forever.”

Carole’s breath is knocked out of her chest. She manages a soft, teary, ‘What?’, and Bradley straightens up from where he’d been lying in her embrace.

“She left two weeks ago,” Bradley recalls, a stray sob bouncin his chest, “And- and it was hell. I lived in hell for two weeks. I thought she’d stay with Phoenix or something, but I- I checked, and her location was always some cheap motel. At first I thought- well, I was worried she was seeing someone else, or something. Y’know, motels have,” He sniffles, “-bad reputations. So I didn’t go see her. I thought she was over me or something. But she’s- that’s not her. That’s not my girl. So I was going to show up on Friday, give her until the end of the week to cool off, and bring her flowers. Chocolates, ice cream, movies-” He rambles, “Whatever. I wanted to make her fall in love with me again. But- I mean, that didn’t fucking work, did it?”

Carole’s too distraught to scold him for his language. He deserves it, he deserves to climb onto the roof and shout ‘fuck!’ as loud as he wants. The situation is truly fucked, there’s no other word for it.

Her chest ripples with a sob, and Nick’s hand comes to rub her back. Up and down, in soft, soothing motions that remind her why she fell for him. 

“And- and then I woke up in the hospital, and my head was fuzzy, and my memories were gone. And the doctor told me I had amnesia, and she- she freaked. She ran off, she made that shitty bathroom excuse. I thought she was just going to cry, and- and didn’t want anyone seeing her. But everything came back to me while you two were outside,” Bradley glances guiltily at Carole, “-and- and I was gonna beg her to stay when she came back. But then- she asked to kiss me,” He whimpers, face held tight in a twisted grimace as he tries not to sob again, “-and I had a choice. I realized she was pretending, that- that it never happened. And I could choose to confess to remembering the truth, and lose her all over again, or-” Bradley shuts his eyes, squeezing a tear out of the left one, “Or pretend I didn’t know. And I wanted her- I needed her, so I pretended. I let her kiss me, and I let her-” He sniffles hard, “I let her hold my hand, and I let her feed me, and I let her lie to me. I loved it,” He cries, shoulders shaking with sobs, “I loved it when she lied to me. And I don’t want her to stop. At- at first, I thought she’d confess. That she’d tell me so that we could forgive and forget, or- or at least move forward. Because I want to, I want to forgive her, I already have, but she just won’t tell me anything happened. She was so-” He considers, voice heavy with despair, “So sweet in the hospital. It felt like nothing had happened at all, and I thought we could go back to that. We got so damn close,” He recalls, “We were- we were in the hospital room, alone, and she was just starting to tell me, and a fucking nurse walked in. We were this close!” Bradley sobs, fingers held a few tantalizing centimeters apart, “But now- now she keeps dodging the questions, and I started realizing that she-” He sniffles roughly, “-she might not want me back. She might leave if she knows I know. She’s doing it out of pity,” He chokes on his words, “So now I can’t tell her. Now I have to lie unless I want to lose her.”

Nick looks sick to his stomach, and Carole feels the same. They’re sharing horrified glances, but neither wants to berate him for lying to them. Nick reaches out to hold Bradley’s hand, and he squeezes it reassuringly.

“I get it, Brad. I do. I- if you don’t mind me asking, why did she leave? I thought-” He trails off, picking back up with even less confidence, “I thought you were soulmates, or something.”

“Yeah.” Bradley breathes, nodding, “I did, too. But she- she told me she couldn’t love me anymore. And I didn’t want to make her.”

“She told you she couldn’t love you anymore?” Nick rears back to stare questioningly at Carole, “What does that mean?”

“She’d been weird lately,” Bradley admits, “Sort of withdrawn. She wasn’t as enthusiastic in the mornings, when I’d go to work. But she always seemed fine when I came back- great, even. And I just figured she wasn’t sleeping right. But- but since Coyote crashed, I've been... scared. I had this sort of epiphany, that I could die any day and she’d be left all alone. I could die before we got married, I could die before we had kids, I could die before I got to grow old with her. I mean, I knew it was a risk,” He reasons, “But that was real. I watched that happen, and I watched his girlfriend sob in the waiting room, and I realized that could be Y/N. And I didn’t want my girlfriend terrified outside my hospital room, I wanted to say goodbye to my wife. So I thought-” He wipes a tear from his cheek, rough enough to leave it stained red, “I thought if I married her, things would be better. More secure. And she’d know that even if I died, I’d love her forever. Because that’s what marriage is, that’s- that’s what we were.”

“So I ignored the way she was acting,” Bradley laments, “I- I pushed it aside as sleep deprivation, and I pulled out a ring, and I asked her if she’d marry me. And she- she just flipped. Her eyes got all wide, and I kept waiting for her to say ‘yes’, but- but she stood up instead, and she said no. She said she wasn’t ready, that- that she couldn’t do this. That she couldn’t marry me, that she couldn’t love me anymore. And I was-” He breaks into a sob, “I was so confused. I was so hurt, because- because what? What- where did that come from? I thought she loved me,” He cries, “I thought she’d love me forever. And all of a sudden, she just can’t anymore? What happened, did- did she not want to be with me forever? Was twenty years not enough? To convince her that I was enough? I was so terrified, and I had this disgusting, sinking feeling as she was rambling about it, and she headed for the door, and I- I panicked.”

Bradley pants between sentences, breathing heavy and labored as tears spill down his cheeks. “I followed her, and I caught her by the door, and I- I begged her not to go, I told her that we could work it out, that we didn’t have to get married, that I’d make everything okay again. But she still left,” Bradley cries, “She still left me, and she didn’t come back.”

“Bradley,” Nick breathes, a hand on his knee, “Shit, Brad. I’m sorry.”

“Baby,” Carole croons, leaning in to brace her forehead against his temple, “Baby, I’m so sorry. She’s- I wish she hadn’t done that.”

“Me too,” Bradley laughs, a humorless huff after he’s gotten enough control of himself to where he doesn’t sob, “But- but she’s pretending now. And if I confess to remembering, she’ll stop. And she’ll leave. She’s- she’s doing it out of pity,” Bradley drearily repeats, “Because she doesn’t want to drop a bomb on me after I fell out of the sky. And I know it’s not right to take advantage of it, to- to lie, but if it’s what I have to do to keep her with me-”

“No,” Nick shakes his head, “Brad, you can’t lie forever.”

“I can,” Bradley insists, “Dad, I have to.”

“You can’t,” Nick urges, “Brad, think about it. You really think she’d be kissin’ you if she didn’t love you? You think she’d have slept in here with you last night if she didn’t want to? You listen to me, boy. I don’t know why she left. I don’t know why she ‘couldn’t’ love you all of a sudden. But I know it’s bullshit, ‘cause she does. Something happened, and you need to talk about it with her. But spending your entire life living a lie isn’t right. That ain’t fair, to you or her. Tell her, Brad. Tell her you know.”

“I can’t! Not yet. I’ll- I’ll make her fall in love with me again. I know I can do it, I know I can convince her I’m worth it. That she can keep loving me. I’m not going to hold her captive, I just- I just want enough time to make her fall for me again, and then she won’t be lying about the love, then it’ll be real love, and that’s what I want. I can’t tell her yet, not until she really loves me again.”

“You have to tell her now, baby,” Carole concludes softly, gentle with her son’s broken heart and panicked brain, “Wouldn’t it be better if she knew? Then you could talk, and- and kiss and make up, that sort of thing. This is- a lie, Bradley, even if it's only temporary in your mind. You’re both lying to each other, and that’s not love."

“It’s all I’ve got,” Bradley breathes, tilting his tear-stained, blotchy face towards the light overhead. His eyes are shut, delicately so, and his lashes are clumped with tears. He sniffles, nose scrunching, and takes a deep breath before looking back at his parents.

“I know she said she can’t love me anymore, whatever that means. But like I said, I’m gonna win her over again, mom. I need her to love me, and if my options are letting her lie to me, or losing her, then I’m gonna let her lie to me until she doesn’t have to anymore. Until it’s real.”

Carole wants to scream at her son. She wants to sit you down beside him and scream something along the lines of ‘Would you confess already? Tell each other the truth, and get married!’. But she chooses a gentler approach, leaning in to wipe away what she hopes is the last of Bradley’s tears.

“I don’t think you should avoid it, baby,” She hums, keeping her voice soft and sweet so that Bradley takes it as friendly advice, and not a mother’s nagging, “I think you should tell her that you remember it all, and ask her what went wrong. Ask her why she felt like she couldn’t love you anymore, figure out what the problem was. Because if you know what the problem was, you can fix it.”

“But what if I can't-?” Bradley hums, and Carole snaps.

“Oh, of course you can fix it.” A residual dry sob splits her thought in half, “You two could fix world hunger if you did it together. Your dad’s right. She still loves you, even if she thinks she can’t. You might have to help her see that she still can, Brad. That she still does.”

“But I could lose her.” Bradley concludes glumly, “And I can’t lose her. So I can’t tell her the truth. I- I thought I lost her today." His shoulders tighten as he remembers, "I was trying to stay awake the whole night, just in case she tried slipping out before morning. But she caught me, and she-” He lets out a sob that hurts his throat, “She held me, and she lulled me to sleep, and I’ve never felt safer. But then I woke up, and she was gone, and the bed was empty, and- and I ran out to see if I could find her, and she was just in the hall. Talking to Mav. But I thought-” He can’t finish his sentence, shaking his head instead and starting over, “I can’t tell her the truth yet. I’ll lose her.”

They’re all running in circles, and it’s making Carole insane. She bites her lip to stop from confessing, then rises to her feet, Nick following after her.

“Sleep on it,” She suggests, smoothing out the bedsheets where she’d sat,  “And she’ll be back by the time you wake up. I think you should tell her,” She repeats, “She loves you, Brad. Goodnight.”

Nick takes his leave as well, nodding at his wife’s words. Bradley slumps back against his- your pillow, one hand already snaking beneath the opposite one to retrieve your picture.

Nick barely waits until Carole’s shut the door behind her before turning on her, “What the fuck?”

“Move,” She urges in a hissing whisper. She grabs his bicep, dragging him away from the door. She doesn’t feel safe talking anywhere in the house, paranoid that Bradley could hear, but she pushes NIck down into a seat at the table, and huddles close to him to murmur, “I knew.”

“You- you what?” Nick’s voice goes up in volume, and Carole is sure she spits a little bit when she shushes him.

“I knew,” She repeats, “I knew she left him. She told me at the hospital.”

“Why am I never in the loop?” NIck groans, looking thoroughly confused, “Wait, so you knew the entire time? Like, from day 1?”

“Day one of the hospital,” She nods, “She didn’t tell me when it happened, she waited until I asked where her ring was after his crash. I knew he was gonna ask her, but he told me to keep it a secret ‘cause he wanted to do a big reveal. But I noticed she didn’t have it on in the hospital, and I asked, and she burst into tears. Started ramblin’ about how she was freaked out, and how she fled, and wasn’t ever brave enough to come back.”

“Why,” Nick presses, “Why was she freaking out? What’s the ‘can’t love you anymore’ bullshit?”

“She got scared after Javy went down,” Carole recalls, “She said it took her back to your crash, and she realized all of a sudden that it could happen to Brad, too. And she didn’t wanna do that again, 'didn’t wanna sit in a hospital chair and wait to see if someone she loved had stopped breathing. So she’d been freakin’ out since Javy crashed, then all of a sudden Bradley proposes, and- bam,” She sighs, “Everything fell apart. I mean it was a recipe for disaster, the crash made her pull away, and it made him want to be closer than ever, and they never addressed it, so when they clashed, it just-” She rubs her temples, staring up at Nick through her lashes, “Unraveled. But this is good. This is- this is really good, Nick. He wants her back, he wants another shot. And so does she. We’ve been talkin’, and she wishes she’d never left in the first place. I told her she should confess later tonight, now- that was before I knew he already knows, of course. But- but they’ll talk tonight, and she’ll tell him what happened, and she’ll ask to fix things, and he’ll want that, too. It’s gonna be okay, Nick, they’re gonna be okay. They’ll be fine by the end of the night, I guarantee it.”

“My head is spinning,” Nick scoffs, dragging a hand down his mustache and tugging lightly on the ends, “So- so they both know, they just don’t know they know, but we know that they know, and we know that they don’t know they know, and-” He gives up, “I don’t know.”

“That’s about right,” Carole nods, eyes bugging for a moment before she heaves another sigh, “I think she’s tellin’ Mav about it now. He overheard us talking about a secret, that secret. So when he volunteered to go shopping with her I figured he was gonna ask. And I don’t think she’d lie to him, I don’t think she could if she tried.”

“This is all so goddamn complicated,” Nick laments, clearing a crumb off of the table, but ultimately just flicking it onto the floor, “We were easy, babe. I mean, we locked eyes and I was having visions of you in a white dress.”

“Stop,” Carole gushes, but a smile is growing on her face, “Love is complicated sometimes! Doesn’t mean it’s bad.”

“I’m just glad none of this shit happens to us,” Nick grins, holding out a hand, “You and me, honey, we’re easy love.”

“Don’t say it like that!” Carole gushes, though she gives him her hand willingly, “What are we, hippies?”

“I said easy, not free,” Nick laughs, “Nothin’ about our wedding was free, baby.”

“But you’d pay it all again, for me, wouldn’t you?” She narrows her eyes unamused at him, and he squeezes her hand.

“Honey, I’d spend every cent to my name just to be able to marry you over again.” Nick swears, and it’s the truth, they both know it. Carole gives him one of her sweet smiles, the one he’d fallen in love with, and each has renewed hope for you and Bradley. You’re in love just the same as them, and if they’ve got it worked out, so will you.

--

Grocery shopping with your dad is harder than you’d remembered, because now you’re the adult paying with your own money, and he’s the child throwing cookies and chips galore into the cart. You’re surprised you have any money left when you exit the supermarket, but you’re sure to pack 3 bags of Bradley’s cheetos into your stash. You wonder how he’s doing; if he’s asleep, if he’s fighting his parents to stay upright while they try to get him to rest, if he’s suddenly remembered everything he’d forgotten and now they’re helping him pack his things.

The thought of him leaving you makes your stomach burn white hot with fear, and you consider speeding home. But the load of groceries you’d gotten might have depleted any money you’d be able to pay the fine with, and you’re not keen on going to prison. So you and your dad drive home within the speed limit, and he helps you carry the bulging bags inside.

You’re simultaneously desperate to see Bradley, and hoping that you don’t when you walk in. On one hand, you hope he’s resting, napping in your bed like you’d asked him to. But on the other, if you don’t see him when you walk in, that means he might not even be in the house, and maybe you were right to catastrophize, maybe he’s gone, maybe he’s left you and asked his parents to drive him to the airport, and maybe he’s blocked you and told his teammates how awful you are, and-

And his parents are sitting on the couch. They turn back to smile at you when you come in, and both stand to help you with your bags. Your dad insists that he can manage all five that he’d lifted out of the car, but you’re eager to let Nick steal two of yours, and Carole takes the last one even though you tell her you can manage.

You busy yourself with putting the groceries away, and your dad busies himself with raiding the bags for the snacks he’d picked out. You’re sure he’ll slip a $20 into your purse later, he’s never let you pay for him, but he loves teasing you like he’ll dine and dash.

“Alright,” He announces, with hands full of junk food, “I’m outta here. I’m gonna head back home, I need to stock my pantry, then make dinner.”

“And that dinner wouldn’t be mint chip oreos, would it?” Carole raises an unimpressed brow at him and his junk food stash, and he rolls his eyes fondly at the woman.

“No. Penny has requested a very complicated pasta dish for tonight that I need at least three hours to make in case I mess up the first batch and need to restock ingredients to try it again. I think she’s testing me.”

“Good luck, buddy.” Nick claps your dad on the back, “Hope you pass.”

“Yeah,” Your dad’s eyes go wide, a sigh escaping him, “Me too. Y/N, uh-”

“Tell him.” Carole cuts in, eyes as intense as you’ve ever seen them despite the smile on her face. You know she means business, and you don’t blame her.

Nick doesn't look confused by her cryptic, vague statement, and you assume she’s filled him in. You suppose it’s only fair, because your dad knows now, too, but you hadn’t planned on making it a public affair. Nick doesn’t seem to despise you, though, in fact he sends you a reassuring smile as he herds Carole to the door.

“We’re going, too. He’s asleep,” He nods toward your bedroom, “Tell him, honey.”

Your suspicions are confirmed; he knows. You nod hesitantly, watching them pile into the entryway and take their empty grocery bags with them. All except for your dad, of course, who packs his snacks into one. You’re hit with an overwhelming sense of being blessed, not necessarily with divine miracles, but with people who just might be them. They’ve come, they’ve given you food, love, and encouragement, and they’re leaving so that you can have a chance at fixing up the best part of your life. 

If they notice your teary eyes when you wave goodbye, they don’t mention it.

The groceries are put away, and you have no desire to take down the decorations. Not when you’re aching with fatigue, not when your emotions have gotten the best of you for two weeks. You don’t have much energy for anything anymore, and you haven’t since you’d left Bradley. You wonder, if the worst happens, and he doesn’t forgive you, will you ever stop being tired? Is it Bradley that energizes you, is it the love that he’s so ready and willing to give you that keeps you going? 

You’d like to think you’d be able to pick yourself back up, dust yourself off, and move on with your life, but after twenty years of loving Bradley and being loved back by him, you know this is the only life worth living.

You drag your exhausted limbs down the hallway, cracking open the door to find that Nick was telling the truth - he’s fast asleep.

He’s on his stomach, his cheek squished sideways against the pillow. He’s snoring lightly, a sound that you should despise, but that prompts a grin over your face. You feel nothing but soft, sweet love for him in this moment, your snoozy boy.

You’re more than happy to crawl in beside him, barely remembering to take your shoes off before getting beneath the sheets. It’s warm beneath the blanket, the safe kind of warmth that draws you in with the promise of drowsy cuddles and whispered proclamations of love. You do just that as you snuggle up to Bradley’s side, adoring the way that he moves in his sleep to curl around you even if he doesn’t know you’re there.

“I love you, Brad,” You whisper against his temple, kissing his hairline and the prickly whisps that sit at its border. He’s roused from his sleep from how close you’d spoken to his ear, and it looks physically painful for him to open his eyes. He does, though, lifting his face so that his chin perches on your chest. He blinks blearily at you, once, twice, probably drowsy out of his mind. 

“Hm?”

His voice is groggy, thick with sleep. It’s the most endearing sound you’ve ever heard, and you crane your neck forwards to bump your nose into his as you repeat it: “I love you, Brad.”

His typical puppyish aura becomes more cat-like as he smushes his face into your own, nose smearing against your skin and forehead bumping into yours. He hums deep in his throat, happy to have you beside him as his hands wind tightly around your waist.

“Love you too, babe.” He rasps, “Gonna sleep w’me?”

“Yeah,” You whisper, smoothing his hair out of his face, “Lay down, baby, I’ll rub your back.”

His only reply is plopping his face back down into your chest, cheek chubbed up where it rests on your shirt. He’s out like a light almost as soon as you start raking your fingers up and down his back, ghosting them over his skin like you’re trying to do it without him knowing.

You know he’s sleeping by now, you know he doesn’t need you to keep doing it, but the fact that you get to feels like a gift, and you occupy yourself with the task of scrawling random designs over his back for a few minutes longer. Swirls and waves turn into a curve down his spine, and then you connect it with an identical one over his other side; a heart. One heart becomes two, then three, and all of a sudden he’s covered in them. You’re carving paths into his skin, digging heart-shaped trenches down his back like you’re walking the same path in a dirt road every single day. You wonder if he’d look good with them tattooed, an expansive mural of your love on his back for only you to see.

All of a sudden hearts aren’t enough.

I

LOVE

YOU

You trace letters into his back, your nail scraping slightly on every curve of your finger. He shivers slightly at the bottom half of the ‘y’, and you bite back a giggle as he nestles further into you.

You don’t stop there. 

YOU

ARE

CUTE

It seems only appropriate with the way he’s snuggled up to you like a sleepy puppy, desperate to press every inch of his body against your own. 

I

LOVE

YOU

Again, then- your breath catches in your throat as you remember.

I’M

SORRY

Tears prick at your eyes when his arms tighten infinitesimally around your waist, a sleepy hum oozing from his throat like sweet honey, slow and sugary. You’re worried he’s awake, that he’s caught onto what you’re doing, and wants to talk. You know you have to tell him, you just don’t want to.

But he settles without so much as the blink of an eye, and you wait only a quick second to start using his back as your diary once more.

I’M

SORRY

I 

WISH

I’D

STAYED

I

LOVE

YOU

You feel absolutely pathetic. Tears have leaked down your face, sideways into the bases of your ears, creating an uncomfortable wet sensation that you’d rather there not be. You’re trying to hold in a sob so that you don’t wake him, but it hurts. Your throat aches from holding in your anguish, and your chest aches with the knowledge that everything you’ve done with Bradley over the past few days could be your last time doing it with him. This morning could have been your last morning with him, this nap could be your last nap with him, the kiss you strain to press to his forehead could be the last kiss you ever give him. It’s all too much, and your finger tapers off in its pursuit of tracing your love letters onto his back.

You wrap your arms around him instead, a difficult position to maintain while simultaneously trying to sleep, but all you want is to drift off in his embrace, just in case this is the last time you’ll ever do it.

Between your exhaustion and your despair, the former wins out. You finally drift off into a dreamless sleep, burdened by the ever-present threat of this being the last day you can pretend like this. You’re talking tonight, whether you like it or not, and the thought plagues what could have been a very relaxing, rejuvenating nap with your lover.

Instead you wake up possibly less refreshed than before, bleary eyes blinking despite a pounding headache behind your eyes. The sun has shifted over the blankets you’re under, and Bradley isn’t on top of you anymore, he’s by your side. You’ve swapped positions, and you don’t know how he’d managed to maneuver you onto his chest without waking you, but he’s always exceptionally careful with you, so you’re sure you’d slept like a baby the entire time.

He’s still in his fuzzy pajamas, and you wish you were, too. He’s holding his phone above your head, presumably scrolling through social media, or news headlines he’s forgotten about since his accident, and his eyes are fixed on the phone screen. You have a quick second to admire him before he realizes you’re up, and your eyes rove over his features. His lips are quirked up delicately in the corners, his mustache dipping down ever-so-slightly over his bottom lip. His eyes hold a fond look that reminds you of honey, paired excellently with his caramel-colored bedhead.

His color has returned completely; if you didn’t get the call that he’d been an inch from death, you wouldn’t know now. But you know his injuries are more internal, and you’re worried about how he’s laid you over his chest. 

You’re in no rush to let him know you’re awake, so you ogle him some more. He swipes left a few times at the screen, and you think he might be looking between pictures. Of what, you’re not sure, maybe a tiktok slideshow of cute cats or of Hangman’s nieces at the playground. You’ve never met them, but the amount of pictures he sends of them makes it feel like you yourself gave birth to them.

He gets a notification and glances at it, but when his eyes drop back to the subject on the screen, they go lower than he’d intended, and he sees your open eyes blinking owlishly at him. In a second he’s forgotten about his phone, but he keeps it in his hand to avoid dropping it on your head.

His face doesn’t light up, it blooms. There’s no jarring explosion of happiness, no sudden firework show of joy, but his grin widens smooth and steady, like a vine crawling a garden wall. His eyes ooze with adoration, and you’d kiss them if that wouldn’t hurt him. His free hand tightens where it had been thrown around your waist, and he looks residually sleepy as he smiles down at you. He must not have woken very long ago.

“Hi, angel,” He hums, and you feel his slightly raspy voice vibrate through his chest. He leans forward to nudge his nose against yours, and you reciprocate like a cat in need of affection. You wriggle up by his side, peering at his screen while simultaneously nestling yourself against him. 

It’s a picture of the two of you together.

You’re at the zoo, and there’s a giraffe behind you, eager to see if Bradley’s phone contained any lettuce. It didn’t, but after the animal had tested its theory Bradley’s right speaker wouldn’t work until he got it replaced. It was a very pricey snack. He gives you a moment to admire it, then swipes to the right, back to one of the pictures he’d been looking at before. It’s you pressed up against the glass at the penguin exhibit, one of the little birds curiously following your finger against the glass. He swipes rapidly now, all through photos of you, most containing him as well.

You realize he’s looking only at pictures of you, and your heart just about stops in your chest. It doesn’t know whether to swell with love for the boy, or shrivel at the knowledge that he might delete them when he knows the truth. 

“Oh, Brad,” You breathe, “You’re looking at pictures of us?”

“Mostly us. A lot of just you, though,” He admits, “I’m trying to jog my memory.”

Oh.

“Oh.” You nod, “Is it-” You break off with a yawn, “Is it working?”

“No,” His smile dims, “Uh, not really. I don’t know. It’s like- I want them back, so this chunk of my life isn’t just missing. But I almost died- and,” He stops, eyes no longer focused on the screen, merely staring through it, “I don’t think I want to remember that.”

“I’m sorry, Brad.’ You tell hum, because you are. You’re sorry he can’t remember anything, you’re sorry he will remember everything, and you’re sorry you remember everything. “I’d swap with you in a second,” You promise, but it means more than you let on. You yearn for amnesia, you wish you didn’t have to remember making the stupidest mistake of your life and losing your love. You’d fall out of the sky if it meant you could forget what you’d done to him that night.

“I wouldn’t want you to,” He smiles sadly at you, kissing the crown of your head. “I’ll get through it. Whatever happens, s’long as I’ve got you.”

You hope he doesn't hear your voice tremble when you reply, “Yeah. You've got me.”

Bradley resumes scrolling through pictures, and his lips quirk up more at each image he sees.

“Remember this?” He angles the phone further towards you, “When Mav almost fell off of that fishing boat, and my dad almost fell in trying to stop him?”

“And your mom almost fell in laughing,” You grin, tucking the expression into his neck, “We should go fishing again, sometime.”

Hope blooms in his chest at your suggestion. He’s being extra endearing today, intent on reminding you just how much you used to love him. He wants to make himself worth it for you, he wants you to want to love him again, and the fact that you’ve suggested a future outing gives him hope that you might share that future together.

“We should,” He agrees, swiping to see a photo of you in his baseball cap, holding up a fish you’d caught with a giddy grin.

“Good catch,” He praises you, rubbing his arm up and down your side, “He looks surprised.”

“I would be too, if I ate a worm and it dragged me to some giants in a boat,” You shrug, “Plus, I let him go after. He was fine.”

“You’re a very ethical fisherman,” Bradley muses, “My dad only let his go because it flopped out of his hand.”

“He’s accidentally ethical,” You giggle, “The tail almost slapped him in the face.”

“I would have paid a fortune to see that,” Bradley gushes, his fingers digging ticklishly into your side, “Let’s hope he fishes up an old boot or something this time.”

“Like in a cartoon?” You rear back to laugh incredulously at Bradley, “I don’t think people really fish up boots, Brad.”

“I’ll chuck a boot in the lake just to see his face,” Bradley promises, and the giggles you two share harmonize the twang of your heartstrings.

The next photo Bradley swipes to is a New Year’s Eve one, your traditional pose with a much more confident kiss, this time around. It’s from this past year, and you marvel at how much you’ve both grown since the awkward teens you’d seen earlier.

“Oh, that reminds me,” You gush, almost kneeing him in the already-cracked ribs as you scramble for the photo album on the bookshelf, “Let’s look at these, Brad, they’re so cute.”

He almost points out the failure in your logic, even if he does want to see the pictures. He nearly asks you why you’d look at incredibly old pictures to jog recent memories, but then all of a sudden he’s hit with the thought that those might help his case, and he shuts up. He wants you to remember how much you used to love him, or, if you still do, how it was once worth it for you to do so. How once upon a time, you could love him, and maybe if you see enough baby pictures of the two of you together, loving each other since you’d opened your eyes for the first time, that maybe you’d decide you could love him again.

You rush back to the bed with the cover already cracked, though you show it off with a gooey grin, “You were enamored with me from the moment you saw me, Brad.”

“Of course I was,” He laughs, ringing his arm around your neck to hug you tight to his side while you flip to the first page. He peers at your scrunched-up baby face, vague memories of kissing your nose flashing through his mind from when you were younger, and it was the only thing that could get you to stop crying.

“You’ve always been the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” He swipes a finger over a photo of you together, stroking it along your cheek where he was feeding you mushed-up green beans. “See? I was so entranced I didn’t even notice you were about to kick me.”

He points to your tiny foot, clothed in a onesie with dogs on it, and poised ready to fire. You’d bet money that right after the photo had been taken, you had launched your foot into his knee, and you hope little Bradley wasn’t brought to tears over it. 

“Sorry, baby,” You hum, voice just as sticky-sweet as your kiss is against his cheek. He leans into it, but you’re not expecting it, so you smear a bit more spit over his face than you’d intended to. However, when you laugh incredulously and try to wipe it off, he wriggles away from your shirtsleeve, insisting on keeping the mark.

“No! I fell out of the sky three days ago,” Bradley gripes, head held high, “I get to keep all of the gross kisses you give me.”

“I’d launch a gross kiss attack if I wasn’t worried about hurting your ribs,” You lament, settling back into his side, “Oh, Brad, look at this one!”

It was your first Halloween together. Bradley’s sporting a yellow hat in the picture, with bear ears on top, and a red shirt over his chubby baby belly. His pants are the same shade as his hat, and you’re the Piglet to his Winnie the Pooh as you sit in a pink onesie and matching ear-hat in his little lap.

You tug the photo out of its sleeve, reading Carole’s neat inscription on the back: Bradley cried just a few minutes after we took this, because we looked away for a second and when we turned back he was feeding Y/N a snickers bar. We didn’t mean to yell, but we freaked out and spooked him, and he wouldn’t stop crying unless we told him he could finish the rest of the bar. Winnie the Pooh does NOT like raised voices.

“Crybaby,” You tease, and Bradley groans.

“I was a kid! They yelled at me! Of course I cried!”

“Poor baby, you just wanted to feed me chocolate,” You croon, turning sympathetic at the sight of his exasperated brown eyes, “You’ve always been good to me, Brad.”

“Always,” He promises, squeezing you tighter, then pointing at the next page over, “Aw, look at this one. They dressed you up as the turkey for thanksgiving.”

“We fell asleep in front of the fire,” You recall, not from memory but from the stories you’ve been told, and the pictures you’d seen, “We were both milk drunk and stuffed from dinner.”

“Still nappin’ together all these years later,” Bradley grins, leaning in to brush his nose against yours.

“Let’s nap together forever,” You sigh as you nestle your cheek back against his arm. His confidence builds the more you suggest a future together, and he thinks that what his dad had been telling him might have been right; maybe you do still love him, maybe it’s not a lie. Maybe you do just need a little convincing, and he’s happy to show you how great he can be for you.

“Here’s my first snowman,” Bradley hums, pointing to a picture that’s exactly as it was described. You’re on vacation together and he’s the snowman, bundled in a thousand layers of winter gear and still shivering from the cold as Nick piles snow around him in three tiers. You're sitting off to his left, eating a chunk out of his icy side.

“Your little nose is so red!” You croon, nearly melting in fondness for baby Bradley, “He was so mean!”

“I’m surprised I didn’t get frostbite. I bet my mom gave him the lecture of a lifetime for that one.” Bradley snickers, “Mav probably had to take us both into the other room so she could swear.”

“She swore at me the other day,” You recall, and Bradley’s eyes nearly bug out of his head.

“What? Why?”

You realize too late that you can’t really tell him the reason, but you shake your head dismissively, “It was when we were at the hospital. She was just stressed, ‘s all.”

Bradley’s half worried about his mom, and half worried about you. He’s concerned that his accident had stressed her out enough to swear, something she never did, but he’s concerned that it had been at the wrong time for you, that she’d only made your secret situation worse by snapping at you for something unrelated. 

You just hope he never finds out that she’d known from the start.

“Look,” You prompt, “There’s another picture of us napping in here, right-” You flip through a substantial amount of pages, “Here.” 

Your finger lands on a photo of you and Bradley at fifteen, harboring crushes on each other almost too big to hide. It seems like everyone but yourselves had known you were going to get together, and you flash your dad’s inscription on the back at him with an exasperated smile.

Next time, I’m making them leave the door open when they study.

You’re definitely not doing anything scandalous, but years in the navy had taught your father to be hypervigilant around men. He’d rather you be with Bradley than absolutely anyone else in the world, of course, he knew the boy was kind-hearted, but he was still a boy, and it was difficult for him to be one-hundred percent on board with the situation while you were still teenagers.

You’re slumped against each other on the bed, being held up only by the other’s opposite weight. You’re balanced precariously, and if either of you had shifted slightly, you’d both have toppled. But it seems you’d dozed off while reading a Physics textbook, and you don’t blame yourself at all. 

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt the phrase ‘walking down memory lane’ to be more accurate. Each turn of the page, each rectangular piece of photo paper tucked beneath its cellophane sleeve really does transport you back in time, and you feel like you’re holding Bradley’s hand while strolling through your memories. You want to steer clear of the dark, gaping hole on his own lane, and to do so, you flip to his twenty-first birthday photo.

It’s not one that your parents had taken; they don’t know it exists. Bradley’s crouched beneath you as you spit a shot into his mouth, probably spilling some onto the gray fabric of his t-shirt. You had still technically been twenty at the time, and you’d had his birthday party at your mutual friends’ apartment, with much less strict of a bouncer than the one at the bar. You’d both gotten hammered that night, and he doesn’t remember much, but Bradley can confidently say no one else got their shots by drinking them out of your mouth.

“That was hot,” Bradley informs you, “We should do that again soon.”

“Yeah, I don’t think concussions and alcohol mix,” You scoff, knocking your head against his own, “Ease up on the booze, Brad.”

“Oh, you’re such a worrier,” He teases, knowing full well you’re correct, “Look, there’s graduation.”

The college photo of you two is printed smaller here, and if you were an artist, you could draw it from memory. Every detail, the sprig of grass stuck to Bradley’s left sleeve, the slight squint to your eyes from the sun, everything is memorable because you’ve stared at it so many times. 

“This is the one I keep under your pillow when you’re deployed,” You admit in a soft murmur, “It’s my favorite.”

Bradley means to respond to that, he really does. But there’s nothing he can think of saying that would be sufficient, nothing that could possibly convey the love and adoration he feels for you. Nothing that could tell you how lucky he is to love you, and to have been loved by you for all these years. And how terrified he is to lose you. The word deployment strikes a sour chord in his chest, and all of a sudden he’s wondering how he ever left you in the first place. Being at home while you were at the grocery store sent him into a spiral, he doesn’t know how he ever made it months without seeing you, hearing you, holding you.

“You gave up the Naval Academy for me,” You recall when he doesn’t respond, your voice quivering like a thin rope stretched tight, “I told you I was scared to go by myself, that I'd miss you, and you withheld your application from the academy. For me. Brad, you gave up your dream for me.”

It doesn’t take him any time at all to respond this time around, because the answer is easy and honest: “That’s not true. You were my dream, angel. You still are.”

“Brad,” Your face crumples, and you have to bury your face in his shoulder to withhold a sob. You clutch at the fabric of his shirt sleeve, heaving a heavy sigh once you’ve collected yourself, “I love you, Bradley. I- I want to fill out the rest of this book with you,” You reach for the pages, sticking your thumb into the spot between them where the album goes thin. You flip to the empty pages, “I want to sit in a home with you and stuff this book full with pictures of us all old and gray.” You sniffle, “I want to be with you forever, I- I want our grandchildren- no, our great-grandchildren to take the last pictures in this book,” You blubber, “I- I just love you so much.”

I love you.

I want to fill out the rest of this book with you.

I want to be with you forever.

I love you so much.

He hadn’t planned on rushing it. He wanted to draw it out, spend the next few days, weeks even, showing you how loved you are, and hoping you crawl out of your shell again, reciprocate the way you used to. But he can’t wait anymore, not now that you’ve told him you’re in this for life.

“Sweetheart,” Bradley gropes for the first drawer of his dresser with a blind, frantic hand. He locates the ring in no time flat, his other arm nearly crushing you into his side as he yanks the jewelry free of the sock it had been hidden under. He shoves it towards you, unceremonious, rushed, and messy, but with all the tender sweetness in his heart:  “Y/N- Marry me?”

just a reminder in case you didn't read my author's note: life got in the way and I wasn't able to include their big talk in this part, but i've just extended it to a fourth part that will be posted next week! i'm sorry to keep you waiting longer, some very heavy stuff has gone on in my life lately and it was very hard to work on this. i hope you enjoyed, and i hope you understand! i'm sorry again for not finishing it when i said i would </3 buttt did you see the plot twist coming? i'm eager to hear what you think >:))))

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[cryptic-underground]

Small Sitcom au thing

Tw/cw contains: school trauma, abuse and insulting

"This is so hard- how did you learn this when you were in school dad?" MK asked, having crumpled up a piece of loose leaf the boy hand been writing on.

Sun Wukong froze. Breath hitching in his throat.

"Wukong! Focus!" A book being slammed against his head. He winced as tears formed in his eyes as he attempted to fix his eyes on the math equation in front of him.

"Sun Wukong, you're once again being disruptive. In front of the board, now." He flinched as he nervously walked to the front of the class. Wukong gulped, feeling eyes watch him from behind his back. "You will stand here until end of class and I expect to see after school again today" he nodded as he faced the rest of his classmates in shame.

"Sun Wukong."

"Yes sir?" He replied, reluctantly making eye contact with his teacher.

"Do you know the answer to this question boy?" The man pointed towards the math equation on the board.

"No sir," "then I shouldn't be hearing your voice" he lowered his head as he sank further into his seat. Face burning a deep red. A few classmates snickering.

A hand was placed on his shoulder and he freezed, "met me after class" was all the person said as their hand left his stiff shoulder.

"if you're going to talk, then you might as well be answering what I just asked the class."

"What did you ask again? I didn't fully hear you sir.." Wukong asked meekly, flinching when his teacher had scoffed. "Are you deaf or just stupid?" He pursed his lips together, looking down at the ink smudged on his hands.

"I don't know sir..."

The teacher groaned, "stupid." Once the question was repeated, and he had answered(though it was wrong), Wukong stayed quiet for the rest of the day.

"You're going to practice these until you get them right!"

His wrist ached from already having written countless things previously, stifling back tears. "Can I please rest sir? My wrist hurts and I'm having trouble focusing" Wukong whispered, ears nearly ringing from all the berating the other had been doing.

"Maybe if you actually tried you wouldn't be here now needing a break" their voice was filled with venom as they spoke. He hung his head as his hands shook, "but I am trying sir, I'm doing my best..."

"Then your best isn't good enough."

The woman stared angrily at him, causing him to shrink where he stood. "Show me your hands" she demanded, Wukong hesitantly displayed them to her. She picked up a ruler from her desk and hit hard against the boy's palms, he whimpered quietly but she didn't seem to care. She hit him until his hands stung painfully, then sent him out of the room.

"Think about this when you go to interrupt my teaching again."

Wukong shook his head to rid himself of those memories, forcing a nervous smile. "Y'know lots of practice and doing it over and over again, the usual!" He felt his throat beginning to close up.

His son gazed down at the textbook work he had been slowly chipping away at. Pouting sadly.

MK groaned loudly which slightly startled the ginger. "I'm never gonna get this!" The boy let his head rest against the table as he gripped some of his hair in frustration. Wukong could hear soft sniffles coming from the teen and he felt his heart shatter completely.

"I'm not smart like Mei or Red, and practicing constantly doesn't seem to work for me like it does for you!" His son sobbed, "everything's about this is confusing to me! I don't get it!"

He sighed, sitting the mug he had been intending to use to make coffee in. That could wait a bit.

Wukong walked over slowly, sitting down next to MK and pulling him so the boy's head rested on his shoulder. Wrapping an arm around the kid's frame to keep him close.

"If that way doesn't work for you then let's find a method that does, okay?" He said gently, "we'll figure this out bud."

The kid swiped away a few stray tears and smiled up weakly to him, "okay."

'I won't have you have the same struggle as me..'

[ms-starflower]

Young Survivors — Maribat

It’s almost four am here, I just finished writing this and am just tired enough to actually go through and post it. And this title is the only thing my tired brain could come up with. Anyway. I haven't posted something I wrote in years, but all the Maribat I’ve read recently made me want to write something for it.

I don’t know if I’m ever going to write a 2 part, but if I do it’s definitely going to be Timari and contain a couple of typical Maribat tropes. And a pinch of salt.

Also, disclaimer: I haven't watched Miraculous in years and most of my DC knowlege come from fanfic or tumblr so... sorry not sorry.

Now with a part 2!

Next >

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mei Leyton’s oldest memories were of her mother, dolled up in pretty dresses and elegant makeup. In her daughter‘s eyes, Margaret Leyton was the most beautiful woman on earth.

For as long as she could remember, Mei would sit on the bed and watch as her mom would get ready to head to work. She had always loved those moments with her mom.

(How do I look, my little flower,” she said, twirling around Mei with a grin, making her laugh. It was Margaret’s favorite dress, a vintage halter blue dress with white accents and a white bow around the waist.

“Like a princess, mommy! The prettiest princess ever!”

“Oh no, no no no. You are the prettiest princess ever, my little flower.”)

She was four when her mother let her help for the first time, letting her pass along brushes and products. It’s then that she understood what were the purple marks on her mother that she covered with her makeup.

(“Life is not fair to us, my little flower,” she had said when Mei asked about it for the first time. “Being an orphan and pretty little girl in Gotham isn’t safe, and it doesn’t give much choice when it comes to survival.”

Mei didn’t understand then, but it didn’t matter anyway, life would make her understand soon enough.)

When Mei was seven, the GCPD found her mother’s body.

When she didn’t see her that morning, Mei hadn’t been worried; it wasn’t the first time. Mom would be home by noon, she always was. Until that day.

(The investigation wouldn’t get very far, it was just another prostitute of Camellia street, nobody cared about them. They were just there until they weren’t anymore.

Another girl would take her place in a couple of days. It was how those kinds of things worked in Gotham.)

That day was kind of blurry in her memory. She remembers being pulled out of class in the morning, and that the cop that told her about her mother’s death was very rude.

(“Your mom is dead, kid. A lad found her body in a dumpster this morning,” the guy had said as soon as she had sat down in the headmistress’ office. “Do you know who she worked for? Or on what side of the Camellia she stayed?” He had asked, halfheartedly.

Mei had shaken her head, even though she did; you don’t talk to cops in Gotham, mom always says said that it was the easiest way to get yourself killed, for people like them.

“Alright,” he had said, not surprised. “A social worker is going to pick you up in a bit to take you to your new home, kid.”

With that he had walked out of the office, not looking back. As if where she would end up was going to be home.)

She remembers that the social worker from CPS was a brunette with tan skin, and looked really overworked, but had a kind smile.

By the end of the day, she was taken to Elliot's Hall for Children, an overcrowded, understaffed orphanage with more kids than they could realistically care for.

(They don’t care for the children, they just put them there for a while and act as they do. Most children leave after a couple of days, and if they don’t, they get taken anyway.

Some come back with a police escort, some manage to survive in the streets, and nobody talks about the ones that are never seen again.

You don’t work there because you love children, and if you do, you don’t last for very long.)

Mei wasn’t stupid, her mother told her stories about those kinds of places. She came from those kinds of places, and Mei saw how the man in charge here had looked at her when the social worker dropped her off.

She wasn’t going to just stand here and wait for him to sell her back in Camellia street. Or worse, to the Candy Dealers.

Taking with her what she absolutely couldn’t leave behind, Mei made a choice her mother hadn’t been able to and took her chance with the streets.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mei was a Camellia kid and, as such, took to the streets easier than most newcomers. She had picked up a few tricks from her aunties and her mom, and it helped her to survive out here.

The only (glaring) differences were the absence of her mother, the lack of a permanent roof above her head, and the fact that she had to provide food and money herself now.

(One of her favorite places to pick up wallets was Gotham Academy, where Gotham’s rich send their children. The kids always had money on them, and it’s not like they would miss it.

Though she couldn’t go too many times in a row, not without risking being spotted and remembered.)

She had been on the streets for two months when she met Jason Todd; the boy who would become her family.

She heard him before she saw him, to be honest. It was an awful crashing noise coming from around the corner, and it made her look.

He was running like the devil was after him, and judging by how the cops running behind him were clutching their batons, she wasn’t that far from the truth.

The noises were because of a couple of trash cans the boy had spilled in their way to slow them down.

And he was coming her way.

Against her better judgment, she grabbed his arm when he passed in front of her, and pulled him behind her into her hideout. Quickly getting the plank of wood back in place, she put her hand on his mouth before he could say anything. With the dumpster in the alley, the entry was almost invisible from outside.

They stayed there as they heard the men pass in front of their hiding place, listening as they argued about where the boy could have disappeared before their voices faded completely.

They waited another couple of minutes before he removed the hand she still had on his mouth and crawled out of there.

“Thanks,” he muttered with a scowl. “I woulda’ve been just fine without help but… yeah, anyway.” Then he had started to walk in the direction he came from.

“Hey! Wait!” She said before she could think about it. “Are ya just gonna, like, go? Just like that?”

“Huh, yeah? What do ya want me to do?” He asked, looking back at her from above his shoulder without stopping his walk. “Stay to drink a cup of tea and talk about the weather?”

“Well.. no. But I just… I just wanna talk a bit, ya know?” She couldn’t really explain why she didn’t want him to leave yet, it’s not like he was the first street kid she had helped out. He just felt different, and somehow she knew he could become important to her.

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed before turning his head back to look forward. “The streets are not some daycare for princesses who want to make friends, kid.”

“Kid— hey, dumbass, you’re, like, ten years old! You’re a kid too! And I’m not a princess, I can survive alone just fine!” Before she knew it, she was walking behind him, the weird feeling forgotten for the offence his comment created. He looked back at her with a frown, before choosing to ignore her. Not letting that deter her, she rambled at him about all the ways why she wasn’t a kid any more than him.

“I thought you could survive alone?” He said, talking over her, when he realized that she wasn’t going to let him be.

“I can.”

“So why are ya following me? Tryin’ to drive me crazy?”

“Well, no. It’s just... that I can do it doesn't mean I want to.”

“Look, kid,” he said, ignoring her protest and talking over her, again. “You should just go back to whatever orphanage you came from, there is probably some nice little family who's gonna pick you up. Then you could make all the friends you want.”

“Like people actually adopt kids in this city. This is Gotham, you dummy, not ‘Annie’. Some rich white guy isn’t going to come and pick up children from the streets to make them live the Grand life.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever,” he growled out without pausing in his steps. “Still, you’re pretty enough, I’m sure some nice people would adopt you in a second if you let them.”

“Yeah, sure. Mom thought the same when she was a kid, and guess what? She started working on Camellia street when she was fourteen, but nobody asked her if she wanted to. Because she was pretty enough,” the little seven years old spat with venom, her eyes narrowed. The boy stopped walking, turning toward her with eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights. “Her best friend wasn’t, but mom said that she had the prettiest green eyes ever. When they found her body, she didn’t have eyes anymore, because some rich person paid to have pretty green eyes.”

“I— I didn’t—” he stuttered, eyes wide. With his scowl gone he looked so much younger, and Mei’s anger subdued. He wasn’t that much older than her, just a couple of years, maybe three or four, after all.

��It’s… okay, I guess. It’s Gotham. I just thought we both would have more chances to survive if we helped each other out. And, ya know, the company wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled, but when they resumed walking he slowed down enough to let her walk beside him without almost-running.

“Great! So, Annie, where are we going now?” She said with a beaming smile, bursting into laughter at his indignation and protest against the nickname.

(“Can’t you stop calling me Annie already?! I told you my name’s Jason!”

“Nope, Annie.”

“Well, then, that makes you Sandy, doesn't it? Ya do follow me around like a stray puppy.”

“I’m not a dog— wait, hold on a minute! I knew you saw the movie! You liar!”)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was ten when her life was put upside down once again, in the worst of ways.

It took practically no time before Jason “Annie” Todd became her brother in all but blood, it took longer for Jason to admit it, and they spend almost three years surviving together, barring the occasional trip back to the Children's Houses.

Though, they always found each other a couple of days after they escaped from those places.

Sometimes, Jason would plan something that he needed to do alone. Because of course, he did.

(“It’s the best job, my plan is perfect. Don’t worry, it’s gonna be great Sandy!”

“Yeah, and why can’t I come?”

“It’s too dangerous! Plus, you need to stay here and keep our things safe!”

“Yeah, if you say so, Annie.”)

That day was one of those days.

He was gone for less than an hour when they found her.

The Candy Dealers.

Mei paled when she saw them, wearing their nice suits and overly sweet smile. They told her they were social workers, specializing in homeless children, and offered her a lollipop. Social workers in Gotham don’t give candy to the kids, even the nice ones, and she knew from her time in Camellia street that the lollipop was drugged.

(“Never, ever, take candy from a Candy Dealer, Mei. Do you understand me? Never,” her mother told her gravely. “They put bad stuff in them, and if you put it in your mouth, they will take you away from me. I couldn’t live without you in my life, my little flower.”)

She tried to run, even before the first one got his hand totally outstretched toward her. But her panic made her stumble, and she was no match for them.

She tried to kick, and scream, and bite, but soon she felt a pinch in her neck, and everything was black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next period of her life was one she tried very hard to forget. For months she was moved, her and dozens of other people, from containers to containers, warehouse to warehouse. Twice they were put in a boat, the containers staying closed for so long, the next time she saw the moonlight, it burned her eyes.

She quickly learned that it was pointless to try to escape (and that Jason wouldn’t come and save her).

Then, one night, the place they were at was illuminated with blue and red lights and the police sirens were so loud, they drowned everything else.

She didn’t let herself hope, though. (She did, she hoped so hard her chest hurt.)

They (probably) weren’t in Gotham anymore, but her childhood didn’t instill her much trust in the police.

They did get them out. And she learned that they were in Paris now. In France. (That was a long way from Gotham.)

There were twenty-seven other people with her in the container. Four of which were kids, and only one other was also an orphan. They weren’t placed together, though. Because the kid had family back where he came from. Unlike her. (She had Jason. He was her family, but they didn’t listen.)

The French social workers took a while to know what to do with her exactly, but they didn’t want to send her back to Gotham (why not? She wanted to go back and find Jason!). So, in the meantime, they placed her in a foster family—one without any other kid, as per her therapist's advice. (The therapist didn’t know anything. She said Gotham wasn’t good for her, but Jason was in Gotham.)

Funnily enough, it ended up being a more permanent solution than previously considered, because the foster parents, Tom and Sabine, quickly fell in love with the little girl.

Not before long, Mei Leyton became Marinette Dupain-Cheng. (They changed her name to give her a ‘new beginning’ because her therapist thought it would be good for her. She didn’t want to have a ‘new beginning', she wanted to go back, to find Jason, to be the Sandy to his Annie. She was Mei, the Camellia’s kid, Sandy, the street’s kid and it was enough for her. She didn’t want to be Marinette, the bakers’ kid.)

So, when Mei was first put into the care of the Dupain-Cheng household, she regularly tried to run away. It was unsurprisingly harder than in Gotham, though. Tom and Sabine were way more attentive than Elliot Hall’s staff ever was, and more than a third of her tentatives were folded even before she was past the front door.

It took her three months (and forty-three unsuccessful tentatives) before she finally accepted that there would be no way for her to go back to Gotham. (Not that she had known how she would manage to do that before, her plan never got that far.) It took another six months before Tom and Sabine trusted her enough to let her wander the neighborhood alone.

The first thing she did the day her ‘new parents’ let her go to the library alone was to get to a public computer, and look Jason up. She didn’t really think she would find anything when she typed Jason Todd and Gotham in Google that day (maybe an obituary). She definitely didn't think she would find her best friend (brother) on the covers of so many tabloids declaring that he was Bruce Wayne’s ward.

She didn’t know how she should feel about the fact that he proved her wrong and became some real-life Annie. She wanted to feel angry, or hurt. Even more so when she realised that Wayne adopted him not even a full week after her (kidnapping) departure from Gotham, but…

But seeing Jason in the pictures… He looked so angry. Angrier than she ever saw him. And hurt. There was hurt hidden in his expression. It was well hidden but she could see it. (She did that, she was the one that hurted him. He probably thought she left him. That she wasn’t any better than his deadbeat of a father and abandoned him. What if he hates her now, because she was gone for so long?)

She needed to go back to Gotham, find him, and explain everything. She needed to tell him she didn’t want to leave him behind, that he was her family, and that it would never change. But Tom and Sabine didn’t want to take her back there, not before she was older, because she wasn’t ready yet, they said.

She didn’t care, though. No matter how long it would take her, she was going to go back. So, she slowly started to act like the perfect little girl. She didn’t really change, she just stopped bringing up Gotham so much, started to help more often in the house and at the bakery, and started to call Tom and Sabine Papa and Maman. (It wasn’t real, at first. But then, they just crawled into her heart against her will and became family. They didn’t replace her Mom or Jason, though. Nobody ever will.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

She started to heal. Slowly, without even realising. She opened up to a couple of children at her school, made friends with Nino, and sort of Frenemies (more enemy than friend, though) with Chloé Bourgeois. She picked up hobbies like sewing and designing, baking with Tom, or learning various martial arts with Sabine.

But she didn’t forget, going back to Gotham was still her ultimate goal. Until the news reached her, when she was twelve.

Jason Todd was dead.

Her best friend, her brother in everything but blood, her Annie. Dead. Jason was dead.

She felt like a part of her died with him, reading the words but not really processing. She let herself drown in her grief, closing up to everyone around her. Surprisingly, Chloé was the one that made her react. Literally slapping her to make her come back from the dead. (Not entirely, though. Mei, the Gothamite part of her, stayed dead with Jason. Only Marinette, the nice little parisian, came back.)

“I don’t really know what’s up with you, Dupain-Cheng,” she had said while Marinette cradled her sore cheek, her faux-contempt badly hiding her worry. “But you need to put yourself together. Tormenting you is no fun if you don’t react to it, and people are too worried for you to be afraid of me. Don’t make me call daddy on you.”

“I…” She had started, only to stop herself. She had looked back at Nino and Kim, both of whom were looking at her with poorly concealed worry. “Yeah, sorry Chloé.”

She pulled herself out of the worst of it after that, at the obvious relief of the people around her. None of which even knew why she was in this state. She still cried herself to sleep most nights, and sometimes felt like someone gouged out her heart with their bare hands, but she also started to let herself think of the good times. Started to let herself feel the good things happening around her, in the present.

Then, she saved the life of an old man, found magic earrings and a bug-mouse-kwami in her room that told her that she needed to become a hero and save Paris.

She thought of her big brother, of how he would always protect her when someone tried to rob them. Hide her, before even thinking of himself, when the cops would chase them down, trying to bring them back to Elliot's Hall. Give her all the food when they couldn’t get enough for the both of them. How he was a hero. Her Hero. And, really, there was only one thing she could say to that.

“Tikki, spots on!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

So. That's it. That was fun. I'm going to sleep now, goodnight.

Btw, Jason's super plan that day was totaly to steal the Batmobile's tires.