#like sorry i’m not up to your standards

[cosmicalily]

"never just coffee" a felix oneshot by @cosmicalily

“if i didn't love you, it would be fine, cause If we do coffee, it's never just coffee” - 'coffee' by chappell roan

author's note: based on this request by an anon! hope you love it and i hope this lives up to everyone's angsty standards! (also felix i'm sorry i'd never leave you i promise i could fix this i could fix us)

warnings: angst (breakups)

You shouldn’t have come back.

“Thanks for breakfast,” you murmured, setting your knife and fork down on your plate and looking down. You counted the tiny crumbs that freckled your plate. 

One.

Two.

Three.

Felix swallowed his mouthful, slightly louder than what you thought was necessary. Or maybe it was just quiet. “That’s okay. They’re still your favourite, right?”

Blueberry pancakes, especially Lee Felix’s, were most definitely your favourite. Soft, fluffy and sweet, but not tooth-achingly. Light, but they filled the stomach in a way that was comforting and warming. The blueberries he used were always fresh from the local farmer’s market; slightly sour and bursting with flavour.

But as you sat on the sofa beside him, your legs on top of his, they twisted your stomach into knots, and you pulled your fingers from Felix’s clasp to rest on your belly.

“Are you okay?” Felix asked, eyes concerned. He shifted the plate from your lap and stacked it on top of his, looking at you intently. His beautiful face searched yours for some kind of response, some kind of emotion.

“Is any of this okay?” you snapped, pulling your legs away from him. 

His eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“You fucking know what I mean, Felix. The fact that we broke up two whole months ago and I’m still at yours more nights than not every week. The fact that I come over, you make me coffee, and suddenly, oh crap! We’re fucking again and then, in the morning, you’re up in the kitchen making me breakfast.”

“I didn’t . . . I didn’t know it made you uncomfortable.”

“It doesn’t make me uncomfortable. It hurts.”

You sat in silence for a moment, breathing heavily. He reached for your hand, and after a moment of indignance, you let him take it. He didn’t interlock his fingers with yours, but his skin was warm, his rings cold.

“And you broke up with me,” you whispered, tears threatening to spill over your cheeks.

Felix’s heart ached. “Because of the contract, you know that. It wasn’t ever to hurt you-”

“Oh, like a breakup with the boy you’ve loved since you were teenagers isn’t supposed to fucking hurt me?” you snatched your hand away, suddenly furious again. “If you thought that what you did somehow didn’t affect me at all, you’re even dumber of a blonde than I thought you were. And it’s not even natural, you fucking fake bitch.”

A tear rolled down his cheek, and you resisted the urge to reach out and wipe it. You couldn’t, because then his hands would be on your waist, yours on his face, and suddenly, you’d be making out, mumbling apologies and promises that in no way, no universe the two of you coexisted in, could be kept.

Not under these circumstances.

“You told me that you were okay with it. Okay with having to lie and pretend and keep all of this a secret from my company,” Felix mumbled, his voice breaking. “And you promised that you would stand by me no matter what, because you loved me.”

“And I do love you, Felix. That’s the problem. I can’t, not if I’m having to sneak in and out of the dorms, not if I can’t be your girlfriend, not even in secret.”

“But you are. You’re the love of my life.”

“You can’t even fucking say it out loud now,” you sighed, covering your face with your hands.

He grabbed your wrists gently, moving them from your face, wiping your tears with his fingers. And it was useless, because when your heart decided to kill you even further, prompting you to pull him in and letting him settle your hips on his, your tears fell in unison.

Salt-flavoured kisses.

They were always fucking salt-flavoured kisses.

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff @starsinagreenskyxx @ashtxrie @pigeonseatmayo - comment, dm or send an ask to be added

[beartitled]

Found your art through the STP Reddit and now I have a new TSPUD artist to enjoy!!! Your style is gorgeous :)

Reddit 🤨❔

I don’t have reddit

*sounds of paws tapping on the keyboard*

Aha repost with no permission I see? 🔍🐻‍❄️👓

This ask actually send me on a mini research lmao

I didn’t expect to see like 4 posts on Reddit with ppl posting my comics/sending a screenshot from ?Pinterest? and asking who the author is

That made me chuckle :'D

To be clear, I don’t really mind reposts if a person credits me

Always appreciate ppl askin permission 👍

For the reference: Reblog - a button that looks like this 🔄, shares a post on your page while showing the original author; Repost - when you screenshot/save someone’s art and post it on your page (ideally with credit, but if you’re a meanie you will just post images with no word about og author); Credit - a reference to the author «this art was made by [@author] on [this social media]». Sometimes see ppl mixing up terms 🫡

(Most of the time creators dislike reposts, bc it often leads to art theft)

Since we’re on the topic, specifically what I do have a problem with:

- Don’t use my art for AI training or for NFTs

- Don’t profit off my art (no merch is allowed without my approval, if you want to use my art for commercial purposes, this must be discussed with me in advance)

- Don't pass off my work as your own (here does reposting my art without credit, creating blogs/accounts impersonating me and so on)

- Don’t use my personal projects (this applies to my ocs, any original IPs/content I create: picture books, comics, artbooks, megadrawings etc. At some point in the future I may register a legal copyright for them btw.)

I’m more flexible and forgiving with fandom art, but still would appreciate ppl communicating with me. Fandom comic dubs - are welcomed, just be sure to credit me (tag me and share the final dub too man, I’m always interested). Fandom comic translations - ask permission first please.

This list is a pretty standard for any artist really, if you’re doubting something - feel free to ask 👍

If you see somebody breaking those/potentially breaking those - feel free to notify me 👍

I considered creating “blog rules” or “list of boundaries”, but I’m not sure if it’ll work on my blog 🤔 My header is pretty oversaturated as it is - portfolio, tags, navigation and so on; if I add rules to the pile, something tells me ppl won’t even look at it 💥 + I didn’t have specific issues with anyone yet (as far as I’m aware), I might create a list if something happens, but stayin hopeful for now

There’s certain things that do make me very uncomfortable/are triggering to me. But again didn’t have any specific issues where it was a huge problem + those stuff are highly personal to me to just put publicly. For now, I prefer to resolve issues personally, there wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle at this point 🫡 Mayhaps in the future it may change, we’ll see

Also some might have noticed that I don’t use any watermarks/signatures on my art, again considered that, but never ended up implementing that 🐻‍❄️ Some part of me just likes lookin at pictures in full HD quality with no watermark 😭 (I have an art signature, but I mostly use it in my mega drawings or if someone specifically asked for a commission lmao)

Sorry for a wall of text on such a sweet ask 💥 Just saw an opportunity to talk and took it lmao

Thank you, I really appreciate your words ❤️💕

Made a doödle of the narrator bois for the old time sake :D

Surprisingly there is a bunch of reposts of my art, with is a bit wild to me (you guys actually like my comics? 🤨 what? 🤨)

Especially never imagined my voices x princesses would get so popular 💥

Oh I see you went under read-more

Come closer

Closer

Just a smol step more

I forgot to draw Smitten’s brows in this specific frame

Now you will never unsee it 😈😈😈

*tiny mischievous bear giggling*

[usafphantom2]

#TomcatTail

#TomcatTuesday

That Time at Top Gun I Got Jumped by an F-5

Disclaimer: This #TomcatTail occurred almost 30 years ago and while I’ve got the lion’s share of the details correct, there may be a few errors but not in anything substantive to the story. Sorry, I’m old.

Getting selected to attend Top Gun in March of 1995 was pretty cool. Back in those days, TG was still at NAS Miramar so a good bit of training occurred in the Top Gun hangar and out over the water off San Diego. Other elements of training involved training ranges near El Centro/Yuma, Fallon, Nevada and China Lake, CA (emitter hop). All in all it was a great experience but it did have a couple “others”.

First, both the selected pilot and RIO are supposed to be cruise qualified, having done a deployment as they would likely become Pilot and RIO training officers after they graduated. Unfortunately, the luck of the draw had it that a non-cruise-experienced RIO got the nod to attend with me which made it just a bit more challenging. No dig on my RIO, it’s a really hard thing for anyone to do, but it made for some extra work on me in a learning environment.

The second “other” – and I know you aviators out there will be shaking your head in recognition – was that when I went through there was a HUGE budget problem in the flying hour program: not enough money for gas (when is there, right??). My CO’s solution was to only partially fill all the jets for each flight (internal fuel only) and NOT fill the drop tanks. Your normal fuel load of 20,000 pounds was reduced to 16,000 pounds (yes, 20% reduction). Not my favorite CO, BTW. I asked “can I at least take the drop tanks off so I don’t have the drag penalty?”, his answer was, in a word, “no.” D*ck. Any other classmates have this problem? Nope. Double D*ck.

That was my challenge all the way through Top Gun; an inexperienced RIO (still love him like a brother) and a 20% fuel penalty for every flight. My RIO got better pretty quickly and generally rose to the occasion, and for my part (having always been a Friend of Maintenance or FOM) I managed to often times sweet talk the Sailors fueling the jet to “accidentally” fill up the drops. I always had a great relationship with Sailors (my Dad was Enlisted before he became a Naval Aviator), so it wasn’t that hard to get ‘em to help me out on occasion.

It was a pretty lengthy syllabus (I counted 28 hops in my logbook just now) with your standard “small to big” training focus. 1v1s, 2v2s, 4v4s, the infamous “Flanker Hop” against high alt/high speed Vipers, threat emitters at China Lake, and Strike missions around Fallon, Nevada. The instructors were absolutely top notch and literally everything you did (from brief, to flight, to fight, to debrief) was critiqued. It’s like applying Blue Angel precision to the fighter environment.

With that, we come to the story of getting jumped by an F-5. As I recall, the hop was a four plane Self Escort Strike (Fighter/Bomber configuration) at the training range around Fallon, Nevada carrying two each inert Mk 82s (cement 500lb bombs). We’d fight our way in from the east on the north side of the range, hang a left at the right time to attack the Bravo 19 target complex to the south, and egress/hook out to the west after that (picture counter-clockwise flow). We were in a four plane and the section of F-14Bs were in the lead, and I was Dash-2 in the section of F-14As.

Side note – one crew per squadron was selected per class so they generally ran 2 sections of Tomcats and two sections of Hornets (maybe a few more). At the time, I was in VF-24 in the F-14A so I got crewed up with another Pilot/RIO [admission – for the LIFE of me I can’t remember their squadron……VF-213?.....31?... ...dunno….it was 1995 and they were flying A’s out of Miramar] and we’d swap leads every other mission/syllabus hop. Today “Stinky” was in the lead (not his real callsign).

We started the run from the east headed west along the northern boundary of the working area. We were one mile combat spread (each jet 1 mile apart) in a line abreast and I was on the far right (northernmost fighter); lead fighter in the B was on the far left and Stinky was 1 mile to my left. Break those hands out again if it helps. Looks about like this:

◄ - Dash 4 (me)

◄ - Dash 3 (Stinky)

◄ - Dash 2 (F-14B)

◄ - Dash 1 (Lead F-14B)

The expectation is that we’d see some long-range contacts (we did) and fire some BVR weapons (we did) and then make our way to the target area and get jumped either in the middle during our turn south (we did) or immediately off the target after we released (we did).

So we’re “haulin’ the chili” as we used to say, ingressing at 480kts and nearing the swing south. Parenthetically, we liked to travel at speeds in multiples of 60 because that made the time/distance calculation easier…..480kts = 8 miles a minute means 16 miles away = 2 minutes. We hit the turn point and start this sweeping gentle “wheel” to the left and steady up on a southerly heading as I get back in position having been on the outside of the turn. Right when we settle back in and we’re all 1-mile line abreast, my RIO shouts out on the tactical frequency “BOGEY RIGHT THREE O’CLOCK ONE MILE!!!” I look over and sure enough there’s an F-5 at one mile away on my altitude pointing right at me. Dang it.

Here’s where it gets funny. Stinky calls out on the radio “We’re clear!”, meaning he thinks we don’t need to engage and can blow through. Well yes, Stinky, YOU are clear because the F-5 is TWO miles from YOU and has no chance of catching YOU, but I’VE got him in my knickers and I HAVE to honor his presence and engage. So I do.

INTERMISSION – I will say that Stinky was a resoundingly gifted Tomcat pilot and was as good at ACM as anyone, but this was NOT the first time he’d left me to engage as he blew through. It happened on a previous 2 plane ingress; I got jumped and he kept going. Not the coolest move, naturally, and the Instructors were savage in their critique but honestly I didn’t have to worry about it after Top Gun because he wasn’t in my squadron. We now return you to your previously schedule dogfight.

So bam, max performance turn to the right to take the F-5 down my right side close aboard to try and neutralize the threat and then figure out what’s next. I figure that if I want to have a snowballs chance in hell to get back to my division, I had to steer the fight properly. So he goes down my right side and I take the fight two circle (continue the right turn, but mostly in the vertical), come out of blower to get the speed down and turn rate to increase quickly and pull hard to get nose on. It works pretty well because the F-5 turns about like a Phantom (meaning: it doesn’t). I get the nose to rate around quickly and pull down to get nose on the F-5 and call a quick “Fox 2” on him. Fortunately for me, we’re kind of pointing the way we were going originally, so it’s blowers to Zone 5 and try and find our buddies. Honestly, I think that was a gift from the Instructor to configure it so I’d bag him and be able to continue. They were always good like that.

My RIO finds them on the pulse scope pretty quickly; they’re a number of miles ahead but we’re heading down hill toward them in full grunt, haulin’ and extra helping of chili. I get a visual and aim for the Dash-4 position to the right of Stinky where I was previously. By this time we’re getting close to the roll in point on the Bravo 19 target. The plan is to do a “John Wayne Left”, where – just like in the movies – we all roll in on the target leftward, one after another. We’ll likely even mentally make that noise from those movies…..”Brrrrr…..Brrrrrr…..Brrrrrr”. The timing works out absolutely perfectly (rather be lucky than good). I’m sliding up into position when Dash 1 rolls left….Dash 2 goes……my RIO gets Air-to-Ground read into the system, good symbology…..Stinky goes….then I go.

Master Arm on, roll left, pull nose to the target, 45° dive set, symbology tracking (a vertical line through the target with a que marker marching down to a release marker), que marker hits release marker, press the bomb button (“pickle”), thump-thump, and we’re off target. I pull out hard, roll wings left to look back briefly at the target (a hit, or at least close enough) and find and join on Stinky in spread again.

The B guys get jumped from the north now and me and Stinky have a couple bogies on our nose to the west. We’ve split into roughly separate sections so now it’s time to fight our way out. Fortunately for us, the bogies are right on our nose, so discretion being the better part of valor we blow through as we accelerate through the number at about 5,000 feet off the deck. Not a good idea to hang out over simulated bad guy country after you just bombed the shit out of ‘em. “Evaluate the bug” says Stinky…..”good bug” says the Instructor. Success.

We come back for the debrief and it goes fairly well. For those that haven’t been through, “fairly well” means you get talked to about each and every point of the flight for about 3 hours. Stinky got savaged for not honoring the threat to his wingman but again, no big deal to me. And then we go to the tapes to evaluate our strike run. It comes to my turn and we roll tape. The vertical line (Bomb Fall Line, I think) tracks over the target, que hits, bombs come off, and the instructor hits pause.

“So how fast were you going at release?” Uh oh. I had no idea. So you know, there are actually limits to how fast you can drop ordnance based on how much testing had been done on the airframe. At that point the Tomcat wasn’t cleared for supersonic release. Conjecture was that depending on speed and airflow that a released bomb may get “stuck” in the air around the jet and clatter around in the tunnel between the engines. On the “good/bad scale”, that’s clearly on “bad.”

“I’m not sure, Sir. I was trying to get into position on time to roll in with the division and I didn’t check.”

“Well, based on what we could see on radar, you joined your division nearly supersonic, right around 600 knots. Then you rolled in, so I figure you may have dropped past the number. Congratulations, you’re a test pilot.”

Oops. “Uhhh…..thank you Sir.” What a time to be alive!

@RSE_vb via X

[cjsmalley]

Party, Wedding, and Time:

It was an ambush.

Marinette was walking home alone. Still flushed and happy from Adrien properly asking her to the upcoming impromptu dance that night, when someone strong grabbed her from behind and another put a large bag over her.

She fought back like a feral raccoon, not even thinking about transforming.

“Quit fighting, DC!” Chloe’s voice rang out sharply, commandingly, “This’s for your own good!”

Marinette went limp; she was hefted across a pair of shoulders and moved into a vehicle, which started at Chloe’s command.

The bag was pulled off her, it was a laundry bag from Chloe’s hotel, to find at least half the class looking at her. All the girls, Marc and Kim.

“What’s going on?” Marinette demanded, none of them looked to be akumas so why had they kidnapped her?

“We’re getting you ready for the dance,” Ayla said, eye twitching as she continued, “Chloe’s in charge.”

Chloe was busy texting someone but she looked up, “Sabrina and the boys are on Adrien; Adrien knows how to dress himself. You, on the other hand, have to be taught certain standards now that you’re dating Adrien. Don’t worry, do as I say and we’ll all get through this with our dignity intact.”

“Guys, it’s just—”

“Your first official dance with Adrien,” Ayla reminded her, beaming at her blush and shy nod, “we’re gonna make sure you look so beautiful he can’t even think!”

“Why is Kim here if the boys are—”

“Someone had to grab you, duh.”

Chloe left unsaid that taking Ladybug by surprise should not have been possible and that they were all lucky that Marinette hadn’t transformed, “By the way, I’m signing you up for self-defense lessons, DC. And paying for it. You’re dating a former model, and he still has fans. Fans that get crazy.”

Chloe so wanted to tell Marinette that she knew the Secret but kept mum about it. She did not want to make herself a bigger target, thank you very much. But she could make sure Ladybug could at least fight half-way decently while a civilian.

“I don’t—Chloe, you can’t—”

“Oh, I can, I will, I already have. Six months, weekly appointments, one-on-one with a handpicked instructor. At the Hotel. And I will have a car pick you up for them.” Chloe threatened, nicely.

“She’s right, girl,” Ayla admitted, “you remember that crazy stalker Lila? If Adrien’s new dad hadn’t put his foot down who knows what she could have pulled. And Lila was only verbal threats, right?”

Everyone was looking at her expectantly so Marinette slumped, “I’ll ask my parents—”

“Already did,” Chloe flipped her hair, “Daddy talked to them. They were happy to agree, especially after the trouble with the crazy bitch.”

“Language!”

“Sorry, not sorry, Anciel. Grow up.”

The limousine finally pulled up to the Hotel and Marinette was escorted to a dressing room where a professional hairdresser and a professional makeup artist were waiting. She was marched into the chair while Ayla and Chloe left; they returned, a half hour later, with the dress Marinette had been working on in her spare time for formal events. And the fabrics needed for it.

Then Marinette saw Chloe slip a cookie into Marinette’s purse and gaped, eyes wide in fear.

Chloe caught her eye and nodded, making the motions to zip her lips and throw away the key.

Still Marinette mentally fretted even as she forced herself to relax; Chloe knew the Secret, her most precious Secret. Did she know Adrien’s? Did anyone else know?

“Relax, DC,” Chloe said, picking up the purse, “I’ve got it handled. I’ll keep your purse safe tonight."

And all Marinette could do was trust her.

A seamstress came in, was given Marinette’s notes on the dress, and set to work finishing it as Marinette herself was prepared.

“Adrien’s suit—” Marinette began, for she had made Adrien a suit that tastefully matched her dress.

“Already delivered, DC,” Chloe was perched somewhere behind her, also getting ready. The entire class was, “Got Daddy’s best tailor on him doing final fittings. Everyone else has last year’s clothes to wear. Except me. I was smart, ordered a dress for just such an event.”

“Chloe had her people pick up our clothes as soon as we heard,” Ayla added, “relax, girl. Everything’s covered.”

“The school—as class president, I—”

“Professional party planners,” Chloe sighed at her, “don’t be so ridiculous, DC. When I say don’t worry, I mean it.”

And so Marinette shut her mouth and let the stylists get on with their work.

Unbeknownst to her, Adrien was in another dressing room in the hotel, also being prepped under the watchful eye of Sabrina and the boys of the class.

With Marinette the girls were in overdrive, treating the entire event like…well, a wedding or something equally serious.

“Something old!” Chloe ordered and one of the girls, Alix, hung a pocket watch from Marinette’s neck.

“I’m not marrying Adrien tonight!” Marinette protested. She was ignored.

“Something new!” was the next call.

Ayla scurrying up, holding a lace veil that accentuated the dress.

“Guys!” Marinette sputtered as the veil was put on her, “We’re only sixteen!”

“Isn’t red the traditional Chinese wedding dress color?” someone asked, and Marinette couldn’t see who through the veil.

Marinette’s dress was a deep red, Ladybug red, “Yes but—!”

Kagami stepped up without prompting, sliding a dagger into Marinette’s sleeve, “My favorite dagger.”

“When did you get here, Kagami?” Marinette asked, confused.

“Chloe called me. She said you are having a practice wedding, an engagement ceremony—”

“GIRLS!”

“And something blue,” Chloe stepped up and tucked something into Marinette’s bra, “for Adrien, you two are ridiculous but he’ll need it. Seeing you. Trust us, Marinette.”

Marinette quieted and thought things over before saying, “This is all just…practice?”

“Yeah, Daddy wouldn’t give special permission without your parents’ permission,” it sounded like Chloe was pouting and Marinette gave a sigh of relief before giggling, “Okay.”

Her classmates cheered and hurried to dress themselves; then they formed a wall around her to stop any peeking should they see Adrien, and escorted her out to the limousine.

The school gym had been done up based on one of Marinette’s daydreams scribbled into a sketchbook; how Chloe had gotten her hands on that specific sketchbook…Ayla had some explaining to do.

 Still, seeing her possible wedding a reality, even if it was just “practice”…

Ayla took her duty as “Maid of Honor” seriously as she, in lieu of Marinette’s father or mother, escorted her to Adrien.

Adrien, whose jaw had dropped at the sight of his “bride”.

There was a table behind him, holding an array of finger foods and drinks, and he leaned on it heavily the closer Marinette came.

Nino, the “Best Man”, snickered, “If you’re reacting like this now, imagine your actual wedding!”

Chloe, unseen, took up a position behind the table as the couple reunited and cleared her throat.

Everyone jumped and she smirked, “Daddy did give me the speech a priest would say—Who’re you?"

Everyone was suddenly on guard as an unknown adult entered the gym; he had white hair and was thin though muscular. He was dressed in a pinstriped three-piece suit.

The man smiled warmly, “I am Adrien’s new grandfather, please call me Adam; I came in to visit my grandson when I heard there was a wedding rehearsal occurring—Adrien, your father did tell me to give you this as proof.”

He held up an envelope. Nino grabbed it for Adrien who opened it and quickly read the missive, his eyes widening before he smoothly said, “My apologies, Grandfather—”

Adam chuckled, “Do not worry, grandson. So, what is going on here?”

“Just a pretend wedding,” Ayla spoke up, already filming, “Adrien and Marinette can’t legally get married for another two years but we all know they will. So we decided to throw a pretend wedding.”

“I see,” Adam spoke, nodding gravely, before looking to Chloe, “If I may, Miss? I am ordained and can officiate.”

“Grandfather…”

“All is well, Adrien. Your marriage to Miss Dupain-Cheng has been foreseen…by the family.”

“Grandfather,” Adrien walked up, guiding Marinette with him, “may we speak in private?”

“Of course.”

Adrien led the trio to the nearby boys’ restroom and locked the door behind them as they entered.

“What’re you playing at, Grandfather?” Adrien hissed.

Clockwork rumbled a laugh, “You should be happier, this is your first wedding day, Adrien.”

“Grandfather.”

“If you “pretend” to marry Miss Dupain-Cheng today,” Clockwork explained, “it will be registered as real in the Realms, because you are equals and opposites and Destined.”

“Adrien, who is he?” Marinette lifted her veil.

“One of Papa and Mama’s most trusted advisors, if not their most trusted period,” Adrien introduced, “He…oversees Time. You could call him the God of Time for the Realms…We call him Grandfather out of respect.”

She nodded in understanding, “And you, Monsieur, are saying if we play pretend today it will be real in Adrien’s fa—Papa’s Realms?”

“Yes, Miss Dupain-Cheng,” Clockwork bowed slightly, “but you must also know that by marrying Adrien, whenever and wherever you so choose even if not now, you shall become an unofficial princess of the Realms. As befitting His Highness’ status as unofficially a prince.”

Again she nodded, thinking before asking with a sharp blush, “Will we have to ah….consummate the marriage?”

Adrien blushed as well as Clockwork answered, “While that may be required of Mortal Marriages, Ghost Marriages do not require it so much. It is preferable, yes, but not required.”

“So we could get married tonight, by the Realms’ reckoning, but put off consummation until we want,” Marinette nodded yet again, feeling a bit like a bobblehead, as she thought some more, “Our parents…”

“Adrien’s parents are already aware and are watching through a special portal,” Clockwork explained patiently, “they are not…happy, they wished Adrien could remain a teenager where he could, for marriage in the Realms does emancipate one from one’s guardians, but they respect any decision made. Their only request is that you do not consummate the marriage until you are older and considered adults under French law.”

Adrien gave a sigh of relief before asking, seriously, “But, Marinette’s parents?”

“You will tell them that as Ladybug and Chat Noir you had to undergo a ritual. One of the side-effects of this ritual is what can be called a “Soul Marriage”. That your souls are bonded and many magical beings will recognize you as married, in mundane terms…It is a version of the truth they can palate.”

Adrien looked to Marinette, “I’m in. I’d marry you for real, legally, here, in this bathroom.”

Marinette beamed, “Oh, Adrien. I’m game.”

Clockwork coughed and revealed a set of rings, “From their Majesties, with compliments.”

The bands were plan silver, though Marinette’s had a large ruby embedded in it, not unlike her promise ring. Not so large that it couldn’t be hidden beneath her super suit, however.

Someone knocked on the door, Chloe’s voice ringing out, “Hello?”

Bride and groom, for there was no pretending anymore, exited the bathroom and took up their places.

Kitty Section had somehow arrived while they were talking with Clockwork and, led by a smiling Luka, played the traditional wedding march perfectly as Marinette was once again led to Adrien.

Adrien who was beaming and weeping tears of joy and love at the sight of his Lady walking so confidently towards him.

Adam took his position behind the snack table turned podium and led everyone through the ceremony with a practiced air.

There classmates and guests gasped at the sight of the rings and everyone suddenly knew that this pretend wedding was somehow very real even if it wasn’t legal…yet.

Chloe quickly bullied Nino out of his position of Best Man, replacing him.

Once the vows were said, improvised yet heartfelt, and the rings were exchanged, Adam announced the Fenton-Chengs as Adrien and Marinette walked down the makeshift aisle as Kitty Section played.

Nobody who had ever wielded a Miraculous dared mention the ribbons of magic now binding the two together; they were only briefly visible, after all, could have been a trick of the light. Nothing to speak about.

Nobody also mentioned that Adrien’s grandfather disappeared as soon as the dance turned reception was in full swing.

It was Paris; he probably had a plane to catch. He was American after all.

Chloe had shanghaied her father’s baking team to create cupcakes based on a fantasy wedding cake from Marinette’s sketchbook and Adrien’s preferences.

Nino took up his post as DJ and curated a playlist of both modern and classic songs, including the First Dance song he himself picked out for his friends.

And the party went on.

The next day at school Alya nearly screamed in joy when she noticed Marinette and Adrien both wearing their wedding rings on chains around their necks.

The two considered themselves married.

And that was that; at least until summer when they had a Realms’ Wedding fit for a prince and his princess.

And when they turned eighteen, finally, and were wed legally under French Law.

Back in his Lair, Clockwork would smile at each wedding; time was going as well as possible for that universe.

Wished Away 9

Tylers meet Phantoms:

“Christ, Mum,” Rose said as she took in how Jackie, Pete, and Tony were dressed, “we’re just meetin’—”

“Royalty!” Jackie squeaked. They were all done up like they were meeting the Queen at Buckingham Palace itself!

“Honestly, Mum, they don’t care,” Rose rolled her eyes, grabbing her mother’s wrist and tugging her through the console room and to the wardrobe room, “I told ya ta dress casually. Let’s just hope the Ol’ Girl has clothes fer ya.”

It took about an hour to get everyone redressed, in things much more casual but still nice, before Rose led them back to the console room.

Jackie was clearly anxious, “Are ya—”

“’m sure, Mum. Danny an’ Sam don’t do formal unless they have ta. Unless you’re an annoying subject or someone threatenin’ war, ya don’t even have ta call ‘em by their titles. They’re just Danny an’ Sam ta family.”

“Lookie what I found,” Jenny bounded from the innards of the TARDIS, holding a tiny bike helmet.

She went to her toddler uncle and put it on him, making sure it fit right, “Landings in the Realms are worse than normal ones. The TARDIS does Her best but the Realms give her…nausea? A headache? She just doesn’t do good.”

“Oh, goody,” Jackie said lowly, hugging a strut for dear life already.

“Let me protect Anthony,” Bad Wolf came out, holding out her arms; without hesitation, Pete handed his son over.

Bad Wolf settled Tony in her arms, against her chest and shoulder, and then spread her feet and crouched slightly, clearly bracing for impact; she stayed steady even as the TARDIS began Her flight.

Everyone else was thrown about the console room, the Doctor and Jenny barely holding on to work the console, but Bad Wolf and Tony did not move an inch.

The landing was rough, just as Jenny said it would be, throwing even the Time Lords to the grated floor before the TARDIS stopped quaking.

Jenny recovered first and stood up, rubbing her shoulder, to peek out the doors, “We’re in the Palace. Uncle Danny and Aunt Sam are waiting…”

Slowly, everyone picked themselves up and Rose reemerged, straightening with some popping from her knees.

Jenny led the procession out, racing to hug a man and a woman, “Uncle Danny, Aunt Sam! How’re you?”

Danny and Sam chuckled and hugged her as one, “Good, doing good. You?”

“Perfect!”

She let go of them to drag Jackie, who was hesitant, forward, “This’s my Gran, Jackie. Mum’s side, duh. Completely human. He’s my step-granddad, Pete, and Mum’s holding my uncle, Tony.”

“Yer Majesties,” Jackie tried to curtsy even though she was in trousers, “an honor ta—”

“Oh, enough,” Sam chuckled, “didn’t they tell you? We don’t do formalities with family.”

“Family?” Jackie’s eyes were wide, “I know Rose said—but—”

“We count Clockwork as family,” Danny explained, “and he’s claimed the Doctor as family. The Doctor and Jenny. Rose’s basically married in by this point. Common-law, you understand. That makes her family our family. Welcome to the Palace, your home in the Infinite Realms.”

“My god,” Pete muttered, somewhat disbelieving.

“Not a god, not yet anyways,” Danny winked.

“Where’s Dani?” Jenny burst out, “Is she still in school?”

Sam grinned, “With Anakin, in the nursery. We let her stay home today.”

“Oh, Gran! Can I introduce Tony to Anakin? Please!” Jenny nearly begged.

“Anakin’s our youngest,” Danny explained kindly, “around Tony’s age, actually. We also have a nanny looking after them, Nanny Clara. He’d be perfectly safe.”

“Well…” Jackie looked to her husband, who nodded, “if you’re sure.”

Jenny cheered and took Tony from Rose, dashing off with him deeper into the Palace.

“Jenny knows the Palace as well as anyone,” Sam assured, “and if she gets lost, she can flag down a servant for help. She’s heading directly for the nursery. It’s the most defensible part of the Palace.

Danny stood up, helping Sam, “C’mon, we can talk over food; stay close, Tylers. Doctor?”

“Rose and I can bring up the rear,” the Doctor agreed, taking Rose’s hand as they began walking.

The Palace was a gothic masterpiece, in a very literal sense, though even Sam had wearied of all the gloom and had sought artists and artwork to fill the halls, soft, plush carpets and tapestries to keep the warmth, glassworks to fill the once barred windows. Statues and busts dotted the hallways, some classical, some avant garde

Masters had given their masterpieces, their magnum opuses; they were paid handsomely of course, in either coin or material.

Oils, watercolors, acrylics, textiles, glass, all created for Her Majesty the Ghost Queen. For His Majesty the Ghost King.

It wasn’t yet a riot of color, nor would it ever be, but it was more alive.

Jackie gasped and the group stopped, turning as one to see what had captured her attention.

“When they said the family was huge…”

Ah, it was the most recent family portrait; all the children were gathered around Danny and Sam, all in formal wear.

“We…sometimes people sell the souls of children to me,” Danny started, causing her and Pete to whip around to him in horror, “I know, it’s horrible, isn’t it? But anyways, we adopt the kids. Only Dani—Danielle—isn’t adopted.”

He pointed out each child and gave their backstory.

“Good Lord, you were young!” Pete said at Damian’s story.

“Old enough to be king,” Danny shrugged helplessly, “it…it wasn’t easy, we had help, so much help, and we made mistakes…”

“All parents do,” Jackie told him softly.

“So we’ve been told,” Sam smiled just as softly, “and we’ve learned and made new ones with each kid.”

Danny coughed and continued to point out kids and tell stories, until all had been covered and then they moved on.

As they neared the dining room, Danielle and Jenny joined them with each holding a toddler.

“Oh my,” Jackie said, taking in the Anakin Skywalker; she knew who he grew up to be, or would have if he had not been adopted.

“We’re hungry, Dad,” Danielle said.

Danny waved them into the dining room where the smaller table was already set for a meal; there were two chairs with booster seats and Jenny and Danielle put Tony and Anakin in them before sitting beside them and helping them get food.

The group chatted over the meal, Jackie and Pete slowly relaxing at how easy going the Royals were, and generally had good cheer.

After the meal was done, Jenny asked, “Do we put their photo up on the family wall now? I know you’ve got me, Dad, and Mum…”

Danny chuckled, “We can, if they’re okay with it.”

“Family wall?” Pete questioned.

“We keep walls of pictures of the extended family,” Sam explained easily, “you know, like Rose, the Doctor, and Jenny. Harry’s and Neville’s parents. Damian’s paternal birth-family. The Royal Portrait is just the immediate royal family. The walls are for everyone and everything else.”

Danny and Sam led the group out of the dining room and down another hallway; the walls were plastered with photographs. Some were professional, most were candid and amateur.

A common camera sat on a small round table; a high-end camera but nothing too expensive or professional.

Danny picked it up, saying, “If Jackie, Pete, and Tony don’t mind—”

Jackie decided it would be a family photograph and dragged the Doctor in; Rose and Jenny came without complaint.

Danny took a set of pictures.

After that was done, it was decided it was time for the Tylers to leave, taking pity on the still disgruntled TARDIS.

They were, however, invited to the next family gathering.

[gregmarriage]

my dad always conveniently forgetting i’m gay snd saying that i can’t be because ‘i haven’t been with anyone yet’. it makes me laugh so hard at how much he doesn’t know imaoooo

[polyamorouspunk]

Telepathically shotgunning you a dab hit

PLEASE FUCKING PLEASE

[chialattea]

people will be so understanding of mental illnesses/ ND until they spend more time with a person who can’t get rid of the symptoms and suddenly it’s all “I think you could fix it if you just put some alarms” “have you tried doing a todo list” “have you tried simply not thinking those intrusive thoughts” gee thanks man you know who else finds living with this shit annoying? ME.

[goldensunset]

gonna write an autobiography called ‘i’m not a vegetarian i just think you’re a bad cook’

[seilon]

god I wish I could rip Instagram apart with my teeth I hate it I hate it I hate it

[someonesrealityshifting]

Small thing that breaks my heart:

When I was in third grade, I told this boy that it would be my birthday in four days, and he said, “okay, then I’ll buy you flowers.” Four days later he comes up to me and says, “my mom wouldn’t let me get flowers but I found you this violet in the grass.” That in and of itself was iconic and so so sweet, but it gets better.

A month later, I had to move, and because it was third grade, the teacher made everyone write me letters to say goodbye. His said, “I hope you have so much fun in your new house that you forget about me. I hope that you’re always happy and you never miss us. I’m sorry I never gave you flowers, but I can give you some now.” And he fucking. Drew me flowers.

No, Joey, I never forgot you. You are the reason I have standards in this life, and I’m so grateful to have known you. I hope you’re happy, wherever you are, and I hope that the rest of your days are filled with as much joy as you gave to me. I spilled water on the card about five years ago, and half of it is a a jumbled mess now, but I still have it. It’s the only card I still have.

The funny thing is this dude and I hardly ever interacted. I knew he played football because he was on the town’s kids’ team and my brother was on the middle school team, and I knew he was one of, like, three Joeys in our year. I had a crush on him but obviously never communicated that because it was fucking third grade, but somehow those three interactions imprinted on who I am as a person. I am forever changed by Joey from third grade.

[ozzyfromthecafeteria]

late sunday night. you know what that means!

[eddieydewr]

Hi! This may be a bit of a rant but there is something I really wanna share with someone so I hope you don't mind.

I have a friend who I knew 'cause we were in the same club at uni. He's very eloquent and smart, so I really respect him (but mostly from afar 'cause I was shy lol). And then I saw him post about ST season 4, and about Will in particular so I mustered up my courage and messaged him "hey have u seen the parallels between Will and Vecna?". And we started talking about other ST-related stuff. We even ranted a lot about vol 2 after watching that lol. We also talked about books and TV shows and overall, I was glad ST helped me make more friends.

When the free Palestine movement became popular last year, I was not surprised when I saw him post about Gaza or Rafah 'cause well... he's just like a typical queer, chronically online, twitter user lol (both complimentary and derogatory, sometimes I find his humor funny, sometimes I just wanna roll my eyes). We have never talked about this topic and honestly I really don't feel like. I just simply carry on sharing posts and stories about discrimination against Jewish and Israeli people and anti-Hamas stuff.

And then recently I saw him posting overtly anti-Israel things, like "u think this is hot now, wait til you go to hell for supporting Israel". Not gonna lie, I chuckled when I saw that 'cause first of all, I am an atheist so whatever man I don't believe in hell anyway. Second, I don't know what other non-Jewish people who support Israel (as in 'its existence is legitimate and the people there deserve peace', not the government itself) may feel about hell, but as far as I'm concerned, Jewish people don't seem to put that much weight on the concept of hell and heaven, right?. So like "bro you should have choose something else more menacing than that lol"

Now I can scroll through that post but what irks me the most is what he chose to share today.

https://x.com/redstreamnet/status/1841561550378651724

I find it so freaking ironic how after everything that has happened in Iran recently (and how many Iranians have spoken out against the Islamic republic), this is the first Iran-related thing he posted about. Like I'm so close to just forward to him a video of Iranians celebrating the death of Nasrallah or comments/posts of Iranians thanking Israel for it, or overall just people between these two countries wishing each other peace and freedom. I'm not sure if I can call what I'm feeling "anger" 'cause it's not exactly strong as when I see people deny October 7. But there is surely a sense of resignation.

I don't see those pro-pal people as bad or evil. I actually believe that most of them have good intentions, but to me, they are too caught up in their self-righteousness and black-and-white views to acknowledge the grey area of this whole mess.

I saw you own up to your own hypocrisy a few days ago and ngl I admire you for that lol. I only think of humans as "paradoxical by nature" so a person saying conflicting stuff is normal to me. But it's annoying as hell when someone doesn't think they are capable of hypocrisy or double standards.

Anyways, have a great day. Thank you for reading all this. Sorry it's kinda long. Being concise is not my strong suit lol.

hey anon, let’s hug. if you want?

i rly don’t have much to offer bc my brain is currently mush, you probably just wanted to vent and that’s ok. i just didn’t want to leave you on read. 💚

look, i’m using jquinn even though he annoys me atm but i just couldn’t resist, lmao. like yeah, #me.

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

Damn, my history of taste in irl men is questionable at best, but at least the girls seem pretty normal???

[foldingfittedsheets]

Since everyone seems to love my sex shop stories, here’s another one.

Phone calls were literally a game for us. Not all phone calls, but there was a specific brand of call where guys would creep on us. 90% of the workforce at the sex shops was women. So we’d get dudes calling jacking off or trying to get their jollies from us.

The game: make them hang up. We could have hung up. On a few occasions I did, but for the most part we made a sport out of getting creeps to go flaccid. It really depended on a caller.

You couldn’t just go in for belittling them straight off- some guys wanted that. You had to tailor your strategy to the perv. Overall it was pretty fun and it turned an aspect of the job that could’ve become a major bummer into a fun sport. We’d get excited when the phones rang.

So one day the phone rings. I pick up and it was very clearly a young teen who was putting on a deep voice. I was utterly delighted, I’d never had a crank call before. He said, “I have a dildo emergency! Can you deliver 5 boxes of dildos to my home?!”

It took everything in me not to crack in that moment. It was so funny. It was like three kids had walked through the door in a trench coat and the phrase “dildo emergency” was one of the funniest things I’d ever heard.

But I kept it together. In smooth customer service tones I replied, “Oh, I’m sorry to hear you’re having an emergency, but due to the nature of our product we do require people to come pick it up themselves.”

The caller audibly deflated. Some of the deep voice he was putting on bled away when he said plaintively, “But it’s an emergency…”

“I’m sorry, sir, rules are rules.”

He hung up. I burst out laughing and told my coworker what had happened. She said, “I will buy you lunch if you call back and pretend you can deliver something.”

This sounded like an all around win for me, and the kid hadn’t used anything to block his number. So I called back.

“Hello!” This was before caller ID was common for home phones and so he picked up in his totally normal voice, several octaves higher than before.

“Hello, I’m calling regarding your dildo emergency?”

“Oh! Hem hem,” he coughed, getting his voice back into character for me. “Yes! The emergency!”

“Well I’ve spoken to my manager and it’s your lucky day. We’ll be able to make a delivery after all. Five boxes you said? We can swing it by later, we’ll just need your name, address, and credit card number.”

He was thrown by needing to provide info and was silent for a moment then said, “Well how much is it for five boxes?”

“About five hundred dollars, sir.”

He slipped out of his character voice to exclaim, “Five hundred dollars?! What kind of dildos are they?!”

“Just standard six inches with balls, sir.”

This was his breaking point. He started wheezing with laughter trying to repeat the phrase “six inches with balls” incoherently.

“So your address and card info?”

He hung up and I broke down laughing too. We both got a kick out of it, and I won the game twice in one day.

[astralazuli]

So I just learned from a UQuiz that apparently not everyone sees the world through a transparent sheet of technicoloured sand.

& that it’s like. A whole ass diagnosable rare condition if you do.

& that said condition also causes a lot of other symptoms that I had assumed were normal at the degree I experience them?

Like the bright skittering lights on bright light surfaces or the sky aren’t supposed to be beyond counting?

& not being able to see properly in the dark because everything is bright coloured splotches everywhere…

Also I’m inferring from what I’m reading that it… isn’t supposed to be hard to tell if you have a migraine aura or not???

‘Cause most people don’t just have flashy bright colours everywhere all the time.

Like it’s not a progressive thing & I’ve had it all my life, so it’s probs not a big deal or anything.

& I’m gonna tell my neurologist at my next appointment.

But I am seriously reeling from the fact that this is actually not the common experience.

[oceantornadoo]

when you first start talking to simon riley, you want to check yourself into an insane asylum.

you like to think you’re cool, you’re chill, you’re nonchalant. but he takes eight hours to text back, sending you a “come over.” text at 7pm like he hadn’t just ignored you the whole day. you complain to your friends, of course, which is a terrible move when they tell you to drop him and if he wanted to, he would! and you think he does (want to), he’s just so insanely nonchalant about it. so the next time he comes over, chinese takeout in hand after not texting you back since 8am, you go a little crazy…

you open the door for him, stepping back awkwardly when he tried to peck your forehead. he practically shrugs it off, toeing off his boots before setting the food down on your table. “got tha’ dish ya like.” you nod, forgetting his back is to you. simon unpacks the boxes with precision from the bag, not stopping until it’s all laid out on the table. you’ve been quiet for a while, unusual since you’re the talker of the bunch, and that creeping feeling that’s been sliding up his skin finally sets its hooks in him. he turns around curiously, brows furrowing at the sight of you still standing by the door, biting your lip with a timid look and wet eyes. “love?”

you shake your head with a watery smile. “can we talk?” simon follows you as you walk to your couch, feeling like he’s been dropped into an op with no details. he doesn’t know what’s wrong, just that you’re hurting and he seems to be the cause of it. “i just…don’t get it. how you’re acting so normal.” you’re twisting your hands together. “somethin’ happen, love? got me confused.” you give him that small, weak smile again and it’s like you’ve stabbed him in the heart. “you- you barely talk to me all day and then you just come over here like it’s nothing. it’s just so hot and cold and i’m wrecking myself over it when it’s so clear you don’t care. i’m just so confused, si.”

simon runs through his memories. he texted you good morning, you texted it back, then he went about his duties for the day until he was finally free to ask about dinner. hadn’t even picked up his phone in the meantime, security risks or just plain busyness being the cause. “‘ve been busy, sweetheart. ‘s why i asked t’ come over when i was done.” you shake your head, biting your lip. “it’s the modern day, simon. everyone’s on their phones. i don’t think you’re as into this as me, and that’s fine, but i just want to know!”

now simon’s the one shaking his head, pulling out his phone. he might not be tech savvy but he does know this move from johnny, the fucker constantly complaining about his screen time. he pulls up the screen time tracker and turns it to you. “not everyone.” you’re a bit shocked to be honest. his screen time is ten minutes for the entire day. a few in the morning when he texted you and nothing until nighttime, when he texted you again. you’ve never seen anything like it.

“‘m not a big texter an’ we don’t use personal phones for work, so it’s jus’ a brick i leave at home or lug around. ‘s nothin’ on you. been thinkin’ about you all day, to be honest.” your mouth is open, honestly. any other man would have never shown you their minute-by-minute screen time, would have begged off the “busy” excuse while having been on social media for four hours. simon, by all standards, is genuinely different.

“so, you do like me?” he nodded stiffly, gloved hands reaching for you. you slid into his lap easily, tucking your face into his neck to hide your heated cheeks. you’d even shed a few tears over this, how embarrassing. “‘course i like you, sweetheart. an’ im sorry if it didn’t feel like it. let’s have it out, yeah?” you nod into his skin and he takes a deep breath, pulling you closer to his heart.

from that day on, you compromise with phone calls. when he’s got a few minutes and you’ve hit a lull at work, he’ll call you. it’s better than any text in the world - hearing his gruff voice asking questions about your messy coworkers or dinner plans. not so nonchalant as you thought.

-

i wish this was from personal experience but unfortunately for me, it’s closer to the men not responding for days but having a screen time of six hours.