#you ever realize how awkward it is to be a god and watch your creations do This like pls-- in front of my salad?

[aria0fgold]

Please, for the love of god, whAT IS HAPPENIN WITH MY SIMS????? I was just trying to repair Alec and Ray's relationship while also fulfilling as much of his aspirations, which led to flirting, getting flirted with, a date??? But while on that date Alec's bladder was decreasing so I was like: Okay,, quick go to the toilet, the closest one was the toilet near the hot tub, Ray got in the hot tub, I told Alec to join him, Why is the butler in the room while Alec and Ray is massaging each other, WHY IS MARCIE IS IN THE ROOM WHILE A WOOHOO IS HAPPENING--

[themissinghand]

Genshin Impact: The Overworked God [1]

Part 2

Summary: In which one of the lore writers who help write the world of Genshin Impact was suddenly thrusted in the very world they created. He doesn't know how this happened and the way home seemed like a pipe dream.

Well, testing characters is one thing, but playing God?

Oh boy.

Note: SAGAU if you squint but not really. Mainly fluff and healing mainly between a tired worker and the oldest Archon.

Male OC!

Warning: Genshin themes with mentions of war, and death. And OC needs some rest.

"Good morning, your Grace." 

"5 more minutes..?" 

"You are the Creator."

It took approximately one hard pinch to the elbow and 55 seconds later that Kai decided (albeit begrudgingly) that this was his reality.

Always negotiate the terms and pay for any job.

Payment is obviously going back home, but also monetary compensation, enough to retire early as a billionaire. And maybe a nice villa. Or bed.

Until Kai goes home, he might as well get an easier life here.

Which clearly did not go as intended.

"I will not be the babysitter for any Archon." Kai already has countries to run, royal families to manage, and human relationships are ever so complicated. He doesn't have the time nor desire to babysit gods for goodness sake.

And besides, the 7 Archons comes so much later in time! 

He's a game writer, not a politician or babysitter! It's only because he played kingdom simulation games before and read too many fictional works that he could figure things out. 

Celestia is supposed to be his assistant since he's the Creator, but isn't he working too hard!? At this point, he's gonna retire early! 

"But your Grace, you cannot manage the world yourself. Archons can help manage them for you!" 

Yes, Celestia gave up in speaking in elegant and ambiguous ways after their first negotiation session. 

Kai thought about it for a bit before agreeing, anything that spelled less work for him, he'll take it! 

"But, I'm not going to be a babysitter!" 

Archon war? 

Stop making me do more work! 

What happened? It was peaceful for such a long time! 

Was it because there were too many gods or powerful creatures? Damn Celestia, you're supposed to keep it under control! 

Kai has a migraine everyday, so this wasn't surprising, but did the gods have to fight each other, just so only 7 left?! 

Celestia!

"It must be done your Grace! Isn't this what you and your team wrote?" 

"Well I changed my mind." 

"Your Grace! If you go out there now, they will use you and your powers!" 

"But I can't watch people die just because some stupid god or creature that wants power!"

Celestia remained silent at his outburst. 

"Tempus. It's too late, it had already begun." 

"Celestia!"

"Everything is your will after all. You wrote the story, didn't you?" 

It was then did Kai realize that Celestia didn't follow him, but rather the words and designs set by his team in the real world. 

Celestia is like an AI robot, one that only acts in accordance to the wishes of it's Creator. 

But isn't he the Creator right now?! Does this mean he needs more power to be recognized, or overthrow the set system? 

Kai stomped out in fury and for the first time, not as Kai, but the God of Time and Creation. 

Tempus.

Tempus never thought he would play God, but here he is, relying on his godly powers to save what's left of his creation. 

"Tempus." 

Kai sent his final message to his country's royal family before turning to greet the rude guest.

"Morax." One of the 7 victors of war, a newly appointed Archon, entered without announcing anything beforehand and immediately strides towards Kai. 

When Morax stops in front of him, there's an awkward silence between them, and Kai knows this man is waiting for something.

"No." But Kai declines. He's got why too much things to deal with and he's not going to do something he's done too many times. 

"Guizhong is dead." Kai frowns, ah, of course. 

"Please." Morax pleads, and Kai is put at odds when seeing the Lord of Geo so weak, so desperate.

"Morax. You know I cannot."

"Kai." He almost hisses, and Kai could care less.

"I'll do anything to bring everyone back."

"They will die no matter what."

Because I wrote it.

"Shut up!" Kai does not flinch when the God of Contracts claws at him. He simply stares into those golden eyes of fury and desperation.

"Turn back time! Do it!" The entire world quakes at his call, and Tempus is stuck. 

Stuck between pity and reality.

"If I do, what will you do? What can you do?" Tempus responds, tired of this entire show. He groans when he felt strong claws around his neck.

"I'll save Guizhong! I'll stop the Archon war!"

"You'll only suffer and regret." Like him.

"I will not." The resolve in his voice is undeniable. 

"If only you had been there with me then Guizhong-"

"Will die. If not by the war, then by her people."

"What?" Morax freezes, and Kai could hear the bitter realization hit him. 

"If not by her people, then by fate. If not by fate, then by Celestia, by YOU! You of all people know even Gods die, Morax. It's a war." Kai is sick of it. 

Tempus tried everything, but he is a powerless, useless god against his own pen in his home world. 

Morax inhales, then exhales.

"Do it. Turn back time."

Tempus sighs, a distant memory of a determined, hard-working, and adorable adepti resurfaced in his mind. 

He remembers laughing and writing Zhongli's character-

"One chance." Then the Lord of Geo lets go and bows.

"Thank you." Tempus puts a hand on Morax's bloodied shoulder and closes his eyes. 

This conversation turns into one of the past.

The Archon war occurs, and Tempus watches Morax fail.

If he prevents one red flag, another arises.

Everything repeats, like a never-ending cycle of torture.

"Morax." 

"Tempus." The God of Time stops behind his sitting figure in front of Guizhong and many of his colleagues' graves.

Tempus puts a glazed lily on each of the graves and offers his own condolences.

"Morax. It's over now. Return."

"And where would I return?" Tempus holds out his hand. 

"Then, come with me." 

Morax accepted and followed. 

For some reason, Morax holds onto his hand like his lifeline, and Tempus allows him.

Just like that, the two Gods made their way to Temporium, a land where time moves differently than in the rest of the world. 

Temporium is a wonderful nation.

Old as time, this country is the first nation Tempus raised from the ground. It is also the country that he chose to call "home". 

The royal family is the one that manages the country and Tempus is merely a guide and protector, helping them navigate the dangers of the past and the future.

His protective shield around this land slows down or speeds up time within the shield, creating a safe haven that is immune to any outside influences. 

Kai wants to make this country similar to his real home. 

Before he was thrown into this madness. 

Tempus leads Morax into a transparent dome known as a green house and stops. 

"Morax. Time is limited. So cherish it."

Surrounded by flowers and greenery, there stood a woman with a gentle smile.

"Morax?" 

Tempus watches them reunite and thinks that losing sleep is worth it. 

Looking up into the skies, Tempus thinks that since he was able to change fate, just slightly, it means Tempus is stronger, but not enough. 

Celestia is wavering. 

But he's too late.

Too many died, and too many suffered due to his hand. He can't just turn back time, for he will also revert to the past "him".

Nevertheless, Tempus swore to change the plot, and maybe, just maybe, end this never-ending madness. 

Seeing as to how Morax and Guizhong are fine, Tempus disappears and reappears under a cherry blossom tree.

There was another person he saved, a sister and leader to many. There, two sisters cried in each other’s arms like no tomorrow.

Tempus watches solemnly, and repeats the same disappearing and reappearing, many times.

Tempus shouldn't be at this tea party. 

"Morax. Let's rebuild Liyue."

"Guizhong. They betrayed you." Morax clearly looks like he was withholding his rage. 

"I know." Guizhong acknowledges, but isn't afraid. 

"But even so, I understand their reasons. To protect their land from an unwanted war."

Her kindness knows no bounds. Truly, no one deserves her. 

"Thus Morax, this time, we will rebuild Liyue with the adepti, and we will stand together. As always."

"Guizhong. I...cannot afford to lose you again." She smiles wistfully, and then looks at Tempus. 

"I too am afraid of disappearing, and without Tempus, perhaps I would have perished. It was he who saved me and led me to his realm to heal. For that, thank you." 

Morax too bows in gratitude.

"I apologize that I cannot save everyone." 

"That would be too much to ask from you, Tempus. For you are not an omnipotent, omniscient or omnipresent God." 

For the first time, Tempus feels slightly relieved at someone's words. 

"I'm sure you did your best and already changed so many people’s lives."

Huh. A soft smile blooms on his face and the two seemed surprised. 

Truly, no one deserves her.  

Eventually they leave, and Tempus, sends them off peacefully, wishing them the best.

Then, Liyue is built once again.

This time, they build the foundation and protect the city together.

But again, even the gods cannot go against time.

When Guizhong dies, she dies as she scatters her wisdom all over Liyue, to her people, to her country and to her loved ones.

This time, she dies without regrets.

This time, she dies because Celestia told her it was time.

There was no forewarning, but it looked like she knew. 

She spent the last of her time with Morax and Tempus before she fades and flutters away like dust.

Again, Morax receives a stone dumbbell, challenging him to unlock.

But this time, there was one thing that changed.

"Morax, I hope you can befriend Tempus. He's the oldest of all gods, the one who has drifted the longest among all. Yet, he is perhaps the one that is the loneliest and wisest, or perhaps that is why he acts the way he acts." She says after she gives him her dumbbell.

"If I have one regret, it would be that I have never gained his trust."

"Guizhong, that's impossible-"

"Morax, he has never shown us more than courtesy and kindness. Maybe I am greedy, but I want to become a friend to all." She smiles.

"That is why, I hope you can be his friend in place of I."

"Of course. By your gift, I pledge to fulfill your will." Morax holds her hand as she disintegrates.

"Thank you Morax. I hope only happiness and prosperity follow you."

Like dust, they slip through his fingers and disappear.

Like all of his comrades, friends, and loved ones.

And Tempus could only watch from the distance like a powerless God he is. 

"The loneliest and wisest huh..." 

He could only laugh bitterly.

"Tempus."

"Morax." The god replies with a low hum, "What brings you here?"

"I want to give you my gratitude."

"No need." Tempus does not turn to greet him, but simply continues to write. Morax watches him write with a mysterious utensil, a pen.

Tempus truly is worthy of being called a genius amongst geniuses.

A god who built a country, and protected his realm despite the Archon War, and survived. No wonder he is heavily respected and worshiped by his people.

"Teach me."

The god stops.

"What are you talking about?"

"Teach me how to build Liyue."

"It's already built."

"How to govern as a God." Without Guizhong and his friends, Morax is incapable of running a country. His hands were made to fight and seal monsters, not to care for people. 

"You do not need to govern a country. Barbatos-"

"He's a fool." Morax heard a muffled laugh.

"But his country is still functioning quite well isn't it?" Tempus turns around, his azure eyes meets his golden ones.

"Tempus."

"What will I get in return? God of Contracts?" Tempus smiles before he stands.

"What do you need?"

"Trade." Morax blinks.

"Free trade amongst civilians. No taxes or barriers." Morax doesn't quite understand his terms, but he's willing to learn.

"I accept."

"You don't even know what I said didn't you?" Tempus crosses his arms and shook his head.

"I believe you are a fair person and one who will teach me what I need to know.”

“Just like old times isn’t it?”

This was Morax's first contract, and certainly won't be the last. 

Time passes quickly, and soon, Morax and Barbatos become the two of the original seven left. 

Despite this, Tempus does his job as both a Creator and babysitter job well. 

He ensures Gods fulfill their duty and if they need help, they can seek him out. If Tempus ever saw something worth his time (which is like...every time), he too would interfere, gaining the Archons' favour. 

He realized the power of the butterfly effect. From saving Gods such as Guizhong and Makoto, even with what little power he had during the Archon War to extend their life, it played an immense part in changing the Archons themselves.

Again, too much work, and too little time. 

Even if he slows down time, he could never get enough sleep. 

It's also blatantly obviously the Archons are treating him too well, but he originally thought it made sense with all the effort he put in to change the plot. 

But their affectionate gestures increased after they found of he was the Creator.

Tempus really shouldn't have told Morax this a while back and allowed him to tell the other Archons. Luckily, he prevented them from telling anyone else under the pretense that it was his order. 

Even so, Kai finally feels a little more at ease. He could finally get some sleep. 

Could he really complain about the children (Archons) when they gave him the most premium material to sleep on? 

Or hear a private concert from a certain bard?

Or try out the best food in the jungles?

Or let him sleep under the giant cherry blossoms whenever he wants?

Or take him out to a hot springs in Liyue?

"Kai. How are you feeling?" Zhongli asks from behind him, who is washing his long, long hair. 

"Good...Thanks...Zhongli."

Kai can finally relax a bit and it’s well deserved. Taking care of kids is hard. Much less 7 at once.

At least they’re paying him back with interest.

Zhongli couldn't help but smile proudly when the sleepless God fell asleep in his domain.

He'd be sure to brag about this at their next Archon meeting. 

Not knowing it would be their last.

[luvvsoft]

pairing: poseidon x god reader

contains: fluff to angst, one-sided pining, rejection, implied poseidon x amphitrite

word count: 1150

"Cursed are those who feel oceans but can express just a drop."

the night sky was always a place you could look up to for comfort. it held the constellations and scattered stars that were a sight to behold. as the god of stars, you felt a much stronger pull toward them. you could always look up from mount olympus and expect to see the creations you so loved.

maybe it was the combination of the stars and oceans that led you to form a bond with the highly feared poseidon. you'd take vast amounts of time to go to the oceans and linger, as if waiting for someone. maybe that's what others would think if they saw you, though you knew better.

you met poseidon while stargazing. he'd come out of his domain for once and didn't bother to acknowledge you, as if you were a mere mortal who didn't deserve his attention.

"..."

it was an awkward situation, one where he just stood and paid you no mind.

"you know, you can have a seat and watch the stars alongside me," you said.

"hm.." was all you heard before there was some shuffling near you and he sat, still equipped with his trident.

"i find that there's a beauty in the stars: the way they can form just about anything and shine so brightly despite everything."

poseidon sat there and let you ramble, even when you swore you were bothering him. he didn't stop you or give you one of his pointed glares to shut you up.

he soon found out you were in fact not a mortal, but instead a god-- a minor god at that. he stopped wondering why he never saw you when he learned of how barely anyone remembered you.

you'd both come to form a friendship, if you could even call it that. it mostly consisted of you talking, while he listened and only said something when necessary. you enjoyed having someone to talk to, even if it was only in the night with only the stars as your witnesses.

poseidon treated you like no other; he'd been willing to abandon his duties if you asked, slay another if you so pleased, anything. it didn't take much for the both of you to become close, bonded like swans.

"hey, don't you ever get tired of just staring at the stars with me?" you asked.

"only a fool would get tired of you," he quickly replied.

you don't know what it was about that sentence that lit a fire in you, but it was burning as bright as the flames created by hephaestus himself. maybe it was how he indirectly admitted to not tiring of you, or maybe it was how he said only a fool would do the former. it didn't matter to you; it was just a moment of realization, realization that you fancied him and only wished for the feelings to be returned.

your meetings had a slight shift that only you felt. you looked forward to seeing him every night even more. there was a feeling bubbling up inside you that always wanted to burst and confess, but you held out. though you were aware of the way you felt for poseidon, you knew you couldn't act on it unless you were sure he felt the same way. you couldn't risk ruining what the both of you had, no matter what your heart told you.

you sought out aphrodite one night, who only served to convince you that the god you yearned for wanted you in the same manner you did him. with the newfound confidence, you got ready to meet with poseidon, who you were determined to make yours.

unbeknownst to you, poseidon did not feel the way you did. he would be lying if he said he didn't find comfort in your friendship, but that was all he thought of it as: a friendship. he thought of himself as too highly for you, too heavenly. he'd never be able to feel the way you did for him, for he'd already found someone to pour his love into.

when you met up for the night, he could instantly tell you were glowing, like one of the various stars you'd pointed out and told him about. you were also more dressed up than usual, as if this was a special occasion.

"hi, i've been waiting for you," you said, feeling like a shy schoolgirl who couldn't ask out their crush. perhaps that's what you were at the moment: nothing more than a person yearning for their loved one to love them back. you hadn't felt like a mortal in so long, it almost felt foreign.

"i see you clearly have somewhere to be," poseidon muttered.

though it was barely audible, you still caught onto it, clinging onto any words he uttered to you.

"no no, i have nowhere to be but by you tonight," you responded, albeit a little too defensively for your liking.

you both then sat and just admired the stars, with the occasional talk coming from you. tonight, you were paying more attention to poseidon: the way he talked and stared, the way his lips occasionally twitched.

"what would you do if you found out you have feelings for someone dear to you?" you randomly asked.

"where's this coming from?" poseidon asked back.

"i find myself in a situation like that and hope for your input," you said.

"in that case, i'd act on them," poseidon replied.

"then, i'd like to act on them. i need something more than friendship between us. i need to be able to comb through your golden locks when night falls, to hold you tightly and not dream of letting go, even when atlas gives out. even when those who reside in tartarus find a way to break free. my heart is written in the stars, searching for yours in a cluster of lonely stars. i'd orbit the sun, the planets, the galaxy to find your love, if you'd give me the privilege of doing so." you intensely said, not caring if it was overwhelming to you. you needed to get your feelings out before you regretted them. though if you knew the truth, you'd come to regret meeting poseidon altogether.

"i do not feel the same way," poseidon calmly said before standing up and leaving. leaving you alone with your heart that was slowly shattering. leaving you with the stars whom you once sought comfort from. leaving you with nothing but the tears slowly forming in your eyes. leaving you with nothing but the stars who cradled your form, as if they could soften the hurt.

Cursed were you who fell hard but wasn't caught.

[tsuki-sennin]

Votre toast, je peux vous le rendre, Senor, senors car avec les soldats Oui, les Toreros, peuvent s'entendre; Pour plaisirs, pour plaisirs, Ils ont les combats! Le cirque est plein, c'est jour de fete! Le cirque est plein du haut en bas; Les spectateurs, perdant la tete, Les spectateurs s'interpellent a grand fracas! Apostrophes, cris et tapage Pousses jusques a la fureur! Car c'est la fete du courage! C'est la fete des gens de co Allons! en garde! Allons! Allons! ah!

Today, a bull rages through the China shop that is our collective hearts and minds. Kamen Rider Buffa stands alone against the wicked witch Beroba. Two cows enter, one cow leaves. Best moooooooove it to your seats if you wanna catch the action this week. Haha~! Ohhhhhh, I'm sorry.

Spoilers, I guess...

-Geats is bleached like he's the Man of the Beginning. Throw him in the wash with a red sock and he'll turn pink!

-Good morning, Tsumuri-neechan!

-The God of Creation.

-Chained to the game, like his mother before him.

-Yeah you're gettin' it now, Keiwa.

-The squad're all posing together <3333

-Well! We did it!

-...huh, the Gang Riders were still a thing? I think I legitimately forgot about them being in last episode.

-"BOOOOOOOOOOO! THIS GAME SUCKS!"

-Did Jitto just call them "vips"?

-"Whatever, I've got a better idea."

-This must be our Azu for the season.

-Kuromuri, I'll call her for now.

-Or as the transliteration may call her, "Kromer".

-Goddess of Destruction.

-"This will be the greatest fucking moment of reality TV of all time. The Desire Grand Prix's Bad End Game!"

-"Rise, my son. We must battle."

-Oh hey there, Daichi.

-Yeah, you did that.

-"Man Daichi-kun, this was peak character writing right here~! I really liked how you made Keiwa-kun shit himself in anger by saying her memories amounted to nothing, that was sick."

-"Get lost! This is my tree!"

-Y'know I just realized that the people who watch the DGP don't really want anything substantial out of it. Niram-P wanted to make cool superhero stories out of real people, Archimedel wanted to make his children grow up big and strong, Daichi wanted to use, even the DGP executives have actual goals in mind (those obviously being profit and subjugation).

-Beroba, Kekera, everybody who ever sunk all their free time into this farce, they're all just doing it because they're bored. Is the future really that sad and miserable that banging hot alien chicks and curbing robot uprisings doesn't excite these yuppies?

-OH

-Daichi's dead!

-Oh, never mind.

-Thanks?

-Ohhhh!

-That's our Buffa! Keeping up despite the vast power difference.

-Awkward silence.

-Berdly's got nothin' for you, Michinaga.

-"A world-ending tree. Like Exdeath, or the Saigyou Ayakashi!"

-"Get the tree back, and I'll save her."

-They bought the Battle Pass.

-"Tycoon's my problem. Right now, this guy's yours."

-All that weight must be crashing down upon our boy Michinaga.

-"Tycoon, my son. Please, help shoulder that burden."

-Whose faith in man endures despite their sins...

-"Hey, at least we're actually doing shit, y'know?"

-"Hi, Micchi~! My oshi~! Guess who's gonna write fanfics about you getting your organs surgically removed while you're still conscious~?

-"Laser Raise Riser~!"

-Ohhhhhh! There she is. Breaking Mammoth Rosé.

-...God, I can only imagine what sort of horrifying scenarios Beroba'd inflict on a Buffa figure.

-Berobaba.

-Oh, the gun scales with Beroba. That's something I haven't noticed before. Though uh, I guess I couldn't have, but-

-Let's goooooo! Fuck 'em up, Michinaga!

-Zombie Strike!

-OH

-OKAY

-Buffa's Jyamashin powers just kicked in.

-I'm afraid you've lost, Beroba-san.

-Beroba, one of what seems to be endless sadists who indulged the DGP for so long, lies dying on the ground.

-Ayaka-san, you are a fantastic actress.

-Kazuto-san too, this scene is legitimately fantastic considering it came just after an angry construction worker just went Super Saiyan against a giant pink robot.

-Deleted Beroba.

-"For now on, Buffa's a Rider of Hope."

-"Oh, an old fossil?"

-Kekera Set!

-Keiwa with the save!

-"My ribs are poking into my kidneys and I think my arm is completely shattered. I'm sorry, Tycoon..."

-"Keiwaaaaa... that's not what I told you to be, Tycoon!"

-PLEB

-"Alright, stop yelling. Here's the serum."

-Sara-neesan is alive!

-"Keiwa, my spleen. I still need that..."

-Godhood is a curse, it seems.

-Ohhhhhh, that's a Game Master form.

-That's no doubt Jitto's. I wonder what kinda name he's saddled with?

-Alright, tune in next time~!

[nerdasaurus1200]

I just finished the latest WandaVison episode and hooo boy, do I have thoughts

FIRST OF ALL, why the hell did Agatha betray her coven? Gimme the deets on that

I assume that brooch Agatha’s mom was wearing gives the wearer ultimate power of the magic in the coven as well as immortality

I frigging love how Agatha actually takes a shot at Wanda switching back and forth between different accents. If that’s not a fourth wall break I dunno what is

Okay...necromancy spell....so does that mean X Men Quicksilver was already dead?

AGATHA YOU STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM BILLY AND TOMMY

Wanda and Pietro’s parents look so much like them; and lil Wanda and Pietro look so adorable

HOLY FRICK, WANDA USED TO WATCH SITCOMS AS A KID AND THAT’S HOW SHE AND HER FAMILY LEARNED ENGLISH THAT EXPLAINS SO MUCH

THE! FRIGGING! BOMB! I KNEW IT! I KNEW THEY WERE GONNA SHOW THE BOMB “At the end of the episode, it turns out to all be a bad dream” rip my damn heart out, why don’t you?

So the bomb didn’t go off...because of Wanda?

IT’S HER IT’S HER IT’S HER SHE SAW THE OG SCARLET WITCH WHEN SHE TOUCHED THE MIND STONE!!! DID THANOS KNOW ABOUT THIS? DID LOKI KNOW? HAS A PREVIOUS SCARLET WITCH USED THE MIND STONE BEFORE AND THAT’S WHY WANDA’S CONNECTED TO IT?

How did the mind stone cut out the cameras?

How does Agatha know what an infinity stone is??? Did she research this?

I’m sorry, the Mind Stone amplified what was already there???

Awww, awkward Vision being awkward and adorable and crushing on Wanda

"What is grief, if not love persevering?" again, who said you could rip my heart out?

Serious props to the script writers of this show, the dialogue is so well written, it shines so well in this episode. And props to Elizabeth Olsen’s acting, she’s able to convey so much just from her expressions alone and it makes Wanda feel so much more real.

I wonder if for a split second Wanda thought about using her powers to threaten the guy and that’s why she looked at her hands and smirked

Holy smokes, the look Wanda gives the security camera when she’s at the front desk

Wanda you poor baby you didn’t even get to bury him

“I’m his next of kin” Oh frick she’s right that didn’t even occur to me

Okay, I know Vision is a robot and not actually human but that scene where they’re working on him is still VERY disturbing and creepy. I really felt Wanda’s pain

Also the fact that she didn’t even recognize his body at first

“He’s not yours” FUCK YOU HAYWARD YES HE IS

“I can’t feel you”.......remembers “I just feel you” in Infinity War, the second to last thing he ever said to her

Oh my god....I....they were gonna settle down and move to Westview....

SHE DID THE GODDAMN DROP TO HER KNEES THING LIKE SHE DID WHEN SHE REALIZED PIETRO WAS DEAD

So her grief over losing the life she never got to have with Vision and desire to live that out literally created the whole show....my God, how powerful IS she?

Wait wait wait wait wait hold the fothermucking phone....did she make an illusion of Vision? Did she manage to ressurect him? Whatever she did, she clearly sure as hell didn’t steal his body which either means someone else did and Wanda’s the suspect or (more likely) Hayward’s got beef with Wanda and is lying to take her out...

AGATHA I TOLD YOU TO STAY AWAY FROM THE KIDS

The way Wanda tries to reassure her sons it’s gonna be okay...she’s such a good mom

“You have no idea how dangerous you are.” Huh? “You’re supposed to be a myth, a being capable of spontaneous creation” Say what now?

“This is Chaos Magic, Wanda. And that makes you...the Scarlet Witch” HOOOOOOOOLLLLYYYYYYY SHIIIIIIIIIT

[midnightstar-90]

Live Laugh Love ~ Pilot

Masterlist | Taglist | Request

Georgie Cooper x Reader

Summary: 9-year-old Sheldon Cooper learns that having a brilliant mind doesn't always help growing up in Texas.

Warning: None

A/N: I wrote 2,587 words! I loved being able to bring my creations to life. I hope to do more in the future.

Y/N and Georgie are in Georgie's room when Mary calls the two teens down for dinner. They head down the stairs and into the kitchen. As they sit down in their chairs, right next to each other, they hear Mary yells towards the garage, "Shelly, dinner's ready!" Mary starts serving the table as we wait for Sheldon. George yells out to Sheldon after a couple of minutes, "Sheldon! Don't make me come in there!" Y/N and Georgie sit there engaging in a hushed conversation about the movie they watched together earlier that week. Missy soon gets tired of waiting for Sheldon, and yells to Sheldon, "Sheldon, if you don't get in here, I'm gonna lick your toothbrush while you're sleeping!" Sheldon quickly responds with, "Coming" before rushing into the house to eat.

Sheldon enters the house, and he quickly sits down with the rest of his family, who are all sitting around the table. George waits for the boy to sit down before saying, "What the hell were you doing in there?" Mary calls George's name with a calm yet angry voice. George notices and responds with, "What?" Mary gets onto George for his language. "What language?" George asks Mary before turning to Sheldon, "So?" "I was having fun with dimensional kinematics", Sheldon says responding to his father. Hearing this, Y/N and Georgie look at each other and roll their eyes.

"Just at admit it, he's adopted," Georgie says to his parents after turning his attention away from his food. Sheldon turns to Georgie and says, "How could I be adopted when I have a twin sister? Think monkey, Think." Y/N chuckles at Sheldon's insult towards Georgie. Georgie gives Y/N a glare. Mary breaks the fight between the boys by telling them that no one was adopted, but Y/N. Mary realizes what she says and sadly looks at Y/N. Y/N just shrugs and goes back to listening to the people she called family. Y/N was sad about the reminder of the situation that occurred when 11 years ago but didn't let the comment affect her.

"I wish I was.", Missy comments under her breath. "That can still be arranged.", Mary tells Missy before telling the family that it is time to pray. George expresses his irritation with a groan, causing Mary to give George a very stern look. Right before the family starts to pray, Sheldon puts on a pair of mittens. George groans again which makes Y/N chuckle. "Leave him be," Mary says defending her youngest son. George argues, "He can hold hands with his family, it won't kill him."  "We don't know that." Sheldon says before looking at Georgie and asks, "Did you wash your hands before dinner?" "Shut up," says Georgie defensively. Y/N finally speaks up, "Hey, I have to hold his hand to pray every night, whether his hands are washed or not." Georgie glares at Y/N again, and Y/N and Missy laugh and high-five each other under the table. "I hold his hand Y/N, hence the mittens." Y/N playfully rolls her eyes at the comment. The family holds their hands together and prays.

After prayer, Sheldon takes off his mittens and starts eating with the family. Mary asked everyone at the table if they were excited to start school on Monday. Sheldon is the first to respond with an "I am". Missy then responds to Mary's question with an "I guess so". Y/N is third to respond with, "I guess. The only thing I like is hanging out with Georgie and the fact that I am in Art this year". Ever since Y/N moved into Cooper's household, Mary noticed that the one thing Y/N loved more than hanging out with Georgie was how creative she was. At church, Y/N would sing like angel. When Y/N thought Mary wasn't looking she would dance her heart out. Y/N also had a sketchbook full of really cool art and a notebook full of wonderful poems and stories. Mary knew Y/N was gonna have a successful life, and she hoped and prayed that Georgie wouldn't mess it up for her.

Georgie was not happy about starting school. "How can I be excited when he's gonna be there?!" Georgie complains. Sheldon boasts, "Don't worry, I won't be in the ninth grade for very long". George tries to help Georgie by saying, "Never mind him, you and Y/N just focus on your practice". Georgie is on the football team and Y/N is on the cheer squad. "How am I supposed to do that when he's in the same grade as me?" "Just ignore him. At least you'll have me there, except for 5th period. I have art" Y/N reassures her best friend.

"All I know is he's not in the same grade as me anymore, and I am thrilled," Missy says before getting a kick in the leg and glare from Y/N. Sheldon sarcastically says, "Good luck with your finger painting."Missy responds with, "You're gonna get your ass kicked in high school". Mary yells at Missy about her language. Sheldon says, "I'm not going to be assaulted- high school is a haven for higher learning". Y/N and George both respond with a quiet, "oh, dear God".

"Speaking of God, who's going to church with me tomorrow?" Mary asked. George says he can't make it because he has to meet with the other coaches. Mary asks if they could meet after church which George responds with a, "no, we can not meet after church". There is an awkward pause before Mary asks Georgie. Georgie tells his mother, "I have to study my playbook." before looking to his father for approval. George nods at his son, while Y/N looks down at her food with a sad expression, wishing that Georgie would have gone with them. "I have to practice my cheer performance, but I can do that after church. It would be nice to go back," Y/N tells her godmother, which puts a big smile on Mary's face and a frown on Georgie's. Sheldon also decides to go with Mary. Y/N's face grew a wide smile hearing that Sheldon was going. "Oh! Cheer practice can wait! Sheldon at church will be more fun than any cheer performance! I can just see it now. Sheldon and science versus Pastor Jeff and God." Y/N jokingly says while laughing. Missy brings the conversation back to Sheldon by asking why he's going to church when he doesn't even like church. "No, but I believe in mom," Sheldon said putting a big smile on Mary's face.

When Mary asked Missy if she was going, Missy tried to get out of it, but as I said she tried. "Son of a bitch.", Missy says under her breath. Mary flicks Missy's head and Georgie laughs. George smacks Georgie's head and Y/N laughs.

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

Y/N's Pov

Mary, Sheldon, Missy, and I were all in our church clothing, sitting in a pew. The church was full. Everyone except for Sheldon sang Onward Christian Soldiers. Sheldon whispers something to Mary, that I couldn't hear.

Pastor Jeff starts the sermon and Sheldon is still asking Mary questions. "Do you have evil thoughts?" Sheldon whispers to his mother. Mary shh's him but he still keeps going, "I just don't think this part applies to me". "That's fine, be quiet and listen," Sheldon says something else about puberty, causing an older woman to turn towards the boy and his mother. When the woman turns back toward the Pastor, Sheldon asked Missy and me if we had evil thoughts. I respond with a "Not really" but Missy said the opposite, " I'm having one right now". When Sheldon asks what it was, Missy said that she was going to kick him where the sun doesn't shine when we got home. Sheldon tells missy that his balls haven't dropped yet and then asked his mom when his balls would drop. The older lady turns back towards the family and Mary threatens the woman.

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

We get back from church and Sheldon instantly goes for the student handbook. I pass Mary and Sheldon to go change. I go into Georgie's room after I change. Georgie is in his normal wear, a t-shirt, and jeans, reading his 'Sports Illustrated' magazine. "You know you have no chance with any of those girls in that magazine, right", I say leaning against Georgie's door frame. Georgie instantly looks up at me and says, "You look good. Maybe more than those girls in my magazine." I'm wearing a black jean skirt, with a nirvana shirt tucked in and a black and white striped long sleeve shirt under it.

Georgie and I laugh at his comment and walk over to his bed. "So, how was church?" Georgie asked while going back to reading his magazine. "It was ok. Your mom almost beat up an old lady for calling Sheldon weird, after he talked about his balls dropping. Other than that, it was like any regular church day." I tell Georgie. "So!", Getting Georgie's attention, "How was your playbook?" I ask Georgie knowing he was lying. Georgie looks at me then back at his magazine. "You know that was not the main reason I didn't go to church. I'm not as invested in church as much as you are, so don't give me that look." Georgie says knowing I was going to get onto him for lying to his mother. I dropped that conversation, and we went downstairs to watch tv and talk.

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

When I get downstairs, I see George and Georgie talking, so I walk over to them. On my way there, Mary stops me and asked me if I've to saw Sheldon's bowtie. I shake my head no and continue walking. When I get to the table where the boys are talking, they are talking about football. Mary comes up and asks if the boys have seen Sheldon's bowtie. George tells Mary, "Leave it alone Mary, he doesn't need a damn bowtie." Mary argues back, "It's his first day of school, let him wear what he wants." Sheldon yells down the stairs that he still can't find his bowtie. "Oh dear lord, why's he gotta wear a bowtie?" Mary says walking away.

"Can Y/N and I ride in with you", Georgie asked his father. I sit there eating my breakfast quietly, before looking up when hearing my name. George contemplates the situation, then says "sure". "Everybody's gonna know he's your brother. You can't hide. It's gonna be awful for you." I didn't even know Missy was at the table before she said something. "Tell her to shut up." Georgie defensively tells his father. Georgie tells his son, "She's not wrong" earning a light slap on the arm from me. George mumbles sorry and goes back to his coffee.

We're all eating when Mary storms into the kitchen. "George Junior, give me back that bowtie right now!" She yells. "I didn't take it!" "Don't you lie to me!" "I'm not lying!" "We'll see about that!" The pair go back and forth. When Mary walks back upstairs, he yells for his mother to stay out of his room. Missy smiles and says, "She's gonna find your dirty magazines." "Shut up." "You are not having a good day." I shake my head at Georgie, agreeing with Missy.

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

Georgie and I are sitting in homeroom when we see Sheldon walk in. Sheldon calls out, "My father's a football coach, my adoptive sister's a cheerleader, and my brother's a football player!" When Sheldon sees us he yells out, "Oh, 2/3 of them are over there! Hi, Y/N! Hi, Georgie!" Georgie and I put our heads down in embarrassment.

Ms. Macelroy introduces herself and the class. She makes a joke about having some of our family members in her class, which causes a few students to chuckle. She introduces Sheldon and Sheldon raises his hand. When the teacher calls on Sheldon, we hear Sheldon tell Ms. Macelroy who is breaking the dress code. Georgie and I sink in our chair lower and lower as Sheldon keeps talking. She dismisses Sheldon, but he puts his hand up again. Sheldon tells his teacher that she is also breaking the dress code because she has a mustache. Georgie and I sink as low as we can in our chair while the rest of the class laughs.

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

Georgie and I are on the football field but on opposite sides. I am with the cheerleaders practicing my moves, and Georgie is with the football players practicing blocking drills. I knew Georgie was having a hard time with starting school with his younger brother, so I kept my eye on him. When I see the fight between him and Albert Stinson, I excuse myself from my squad and follow Georgie to the boy's locker room.

I walk in to see Georgie angrily tearing off his equipment. When he accidentally throws something at me, I quickly dodge it. "You know, if you threw like that on the football field this year, we would win playoffs for sure," I say jokingly getting Georgies attention. "What are you doing here? This is the boy's locker room." "I don't care if the whole team was in here naked, I would do anything to help my best friend when he is down." Georgie sits down next to me. George is watching the whole thing play out. "Do you remember when I was 5, and I missed my parents so much that I had that tantrum?" Georgie nods his head. "You were there for me when I needed you, now it's my time. I've seen how upset Sheldon going to school with us has made you. You have held in your emotions for too long. I know you get jealous when Sheldon gets special treatment. I want you to know that you are not the only one. Missy and I feel that way sometimes, but I have you. I don't need anyone to but you to make me feel special. I guess what I am saying is..." Georgie looks up at me, and I take Georgie into a side hug, "When you feel emotional don't take it out on your team. You have me. Talk to me. We are always together and I don't want to see you tear your life apart over something stupid like going to school with Sheldon."

George comes from behind the locker and tells me to go back to practice. I let go of Georgie and give him a sad look before doing as George instructed.

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

We get home, and George stops me at the door. "Thanks. You stopped your practice to help out Georgie. I appreciate that.", George tells Y/N sincerely. "Georgie is my best friend. Now, if he managed to hit me, that conversation would have gone a whole other direction." I say jokingly. George chuckles and lets me go.

I go up to Georgie's room. Georgie looked like he was in a better mood. I went in and talked with Georgie until time for dinner.

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

Narrator's Pov

The whole family gathers around the table to eat, but first, pray. When it's time to pray Sheldon surprisingly doesn't wear one of his gloves. No surprise when it wasn't the hand Georgie held.

Later that night everyone was sleeping peacefully, except for Y/N who would find laying right next to Georgie, like they have been for the past 11 years when someone was upset.

[bigballofstress]

Pickpocket Part 2(Avengers x Child!Reader)

Description: After Clint takes you back to Avengers tower, the rest of the Avengers realize who you are, and most of them are not very happy with you.  It’s certainly an interesting conversation when you wake up, but slowly, they start to warm up to you.

Tell me if you want a third part, guys!  Part one here

To @prepareforsomestrangethings @captainam-erika-trash @bxtchboy69​ @creation-magician​ @viarogers​ @queenshadow142003​ @witchxaf I know I’ve said this already, but seriously, I can’t thank you guys enough for everything.  I love you all!

The living room went completely silent at the arrival of the two master assassins, everyone staring at the little bundle in their resident archer’s arms.

“Lady Natasha, Brother Clint, you have returned!” Thor, who had just returned to Earth from Asgard, shouted gleefully as he walked towards them, completely oblivious to the awkward atmosphere that had appeared in the room and asking the question that was on everybody’s minds but which they weren’t quite sure how to go about asking.  “Who is the young maiden in your arms?”

“She tried to rob Clint and then fainted, so we brought her back here,” Natasha stated bluntly.  Clint glared at her in frustration before turning back to the others, who were already on guard.

“The kid was starving,” he attempted to explain.  “I think she passed out from hunger.”  The others in the room glanced at the bundle of coats, still obviously wary, and Clint rolled his eyes.  “For God’s sake, the poor thing weighs next to nothing, and she’s freezing to the touch.  I’m pretty sure the coat is heavier than she is.”

“Lay her down on the coach.  I’ll grab some blankets,” Steve finally piped up.  Clint sighed in relief and brought her over to the very long couch where he gently set her down, resting her head on one of the throw pillows.  He brushed a few strands of hair out of her face, frowning when she still felt colder than a block of ice.

“Let me take a look at her,” Bruce offered.  Clint nodded in thanks and stepped back.  Bruce paused, his eyes wide.

“What’s wrong?” Clint asked, his stomach turning in worry.  Was he too late?  Was she already gone?

“That’s the girl from the library.”  Everyone froze at the words that fell out of Bruce’s mouth.

“No frickin’ way, let me see,” Tony rushed forward, peering over the back of the couch.  “Oh my god, she’s the kid who took my watch!  It really was the same girl!”

“And the one who stole my money,” Steve added, setting the pile of blankets down next to her before moving to start a fire in the nearby fireplace.

“Well, I guess that solves that mystery,” Tony crossed his arms.  “She couldn’t have been actually starving.  There’s no way that watch sells for anything under 2,000.  She lied to you so you wouldn’t turn her in.”

Clint shook his head.  “No, that doesn’t make any sense.  She’d already gotten away when she fainted.”

Tony rolled his eyes.  “Alright, so then she stashed it to sell later so she wouldn’t be caught.”

“If you had a 2,000 dollar watch lying around, why would you ever wear a ratty old coat that obviously doesn’t even keep the cold out?”  Natasha commented thoughtfully, gesturing at the flimsy piece of clothing.

That seemed to knock Bruce from his thoughts.  “She’s soaking wet, we need to get her out of these clothes.  Nat, do you have anything she could wear?”  Natasha nodded and silently left the room to fetch the clothing as Bruce started to peel off the soaked-through layers one by one until she was left in just a t-shirt and sweatpants, both littered with holes and tears and both obviously far too short for her but still loose against her skeletal frame.  Natasha took the job from there, exchanging the old clothing for a pair sweats, which despite being a size small, seemed to drown the girl in fabric before covering her in the blankets and moving her closer to the fire.  

After that, everyone settle down around the living room, each of them seeming to understand the unspoken agreement that they would wait to decide what on what they would do next until after she woke up.  So, that’s how they stayed for the next 2 hours.

-- Your POV --

I slowly cracked my eyes open, the light flooding in and immediately giving me a headache.  Huh, I guess I didn’t die.  That’s a good thing, right?

I brought a hand to my forehead as I slowly sat up, my eyes shut tight as I did my best not to throw up.  God, I was so hungry.  At least I wasn’t cold anymore, though.  Maybe it’s just that I’ve gone completely numb... or crazy, because instead of just not being cold, I actually feel pretty warm.

I opened my eyes again and stared down at the blanket covering me and the couch I was sitting on.  Oh geez that can’t be good.  I looked back up and around, doing my best to stay completely silent as my eyes flickered from one person to the next.

The man I had robbed only just a few hours ago sat in a chair right in front of the couch, snoring softly with his head lolled back.  At a table nearby, typing away on a computer, was the man from the library who only had 4 dollars in his wallet.  Sitting at the same table was a very big, very muscular man with long blonde hair who I’d never seen before, but judging by the massive hammer that was placed beside him, I doubted he was good news.  Standing at the kitchen sink was the man who’d stopped me from falling when I was taking his wallet.  Sitting behind a bar, nursing a glass of what looked to be scotch, was Tony freaking Stark, who I had only just stolen a very, very expensive watch from.  Finally, standing by the doorway and leaning against the wall was the red-headed woman who found me out and chased me down with her boyfriend.  And she was making direct eye-contact with me.

“She’s up,” she called, shocking everyone in the room -- especially the man in the chair, who must have jumped about a foot in the air as he was startled awake.  I clenched my jaw and frowned.  What is it with this chick and always ratting me out?

Before you could say the word ‘Assemble,’ all six people in the room had gathered around me.  My heart beat wildly in my chest as I stared from one person to the next.  Why were all the people I robbed together in one place?  Did Tony Stark bring them all together so they could get revenge on me?  How did they even find me?  Is that blonde one a bounty hunter or something?  He certainly had the build for it.

“How are you feeling?”  The man from earlier asked me gently.  I frowned and stared back at him.  No way was I going to talk to these people.  I have the right to remain silent, right?  Or is that not a thing with elaborate revenge plots?

The library man stepped forward and placed a hand on my forehead.  Immediately, I flinched away.  “Her fever’s gone down,” he said, stepping back into place, the slight anger he still held towards me clear in his voice.

I glanced around the room, weighing my options.  I had no idea where I was, no idea how to get out of here, and I don’t think I could outrun the redhead and her boyfriend again on solid ground, especially when I can still barely move without another wave of dizziness hitting me.  So, in other words, I’d have to somehow convince them to let me go.

Ok, yeah, I’m definitely gonna die.

“Do you have a name?”  Reflexes guy asked, and my frown deepened.  Maybe I could pretend to have lost my memory.  Library guy said something about a fever, right?  If it was bad enough, it could’ve messed with my brain.  Plus, they have no way of knowing how long I had it.  Alright, that’s my game plan for now.  A pitiful, helpless amnesiac.

Slowly, I shook my head, bringing my knees to my chest as I stared at him with wide eyes.

“How about an age?  Do you know how old you are?”  This time, it was the boyfriend who spoke.  I liked him way better.  He had a kind voice, and he didn’t really seem to be holding too big a grudge against me.  He was probably dragged to this weird revenge party by the redhead.

I shook my head again, allowing my body to shake ever so slightly, tears gathering in my eyes.

“Alright, cut the crap, kid.  Tell me where my watch is,” Stark took a few steps forward.  My eyes went wide, and I scrambled backwards in an attempt to get away from him, my heart going a mile a minute as my breathing got faster and faster.

“Quit it, Stark, you’re scaring her,” the boyfriend snapped.  Stark huffed and rolled his eyes, moving back to his place in the semi-circle with his arms crossed.  Yeah, I definitely like the boyfriend best.

“Do you remember nothing, child?” Blondie boomed.  I flinched at the volume, hiding my face in my arms and sobbing quietly.

It was quiet for a little bit, and I smiled.  They must’ve felt guilty, which meant they believed me.  Maybe I could pull this off after all.

“Alright, kid, that’s enough.  Stop messing with them.”

“What?  Nat, what are you--”

“Seriously, you’ve had your fun, now stop it with the crocodile tears and tell us your name.”  I slowly peaked up to find the redhead -- Nat, apparently -- smirking back down at me, her right hip jutted out as she rested her weight on it and her arms crossed.  She merely lifted an eyebrow at me, her smirk widening ever so slightly.

I sighed and lifted my head.  “How did you know?” I asked softly.  The men in the room gaped at me in surprise, while she only chuckled a bit.

“I lie all the time, kid, it’s part of my job.  I know another good liar when I see one,” she answered with a slight shrug of her shoulders.  “Now are you gonna tell us your name or not?”

I frowned and hugged my knees tighter.  “It wasn’t all a lie.  I really was scared,” I muttered, staring down at my lap.  “It’s not exactly fun to wake up in a place you don’t know and immediately have people coming at you or yelling really, really loud.”

Stark glanced away guiltily while Blondie just sent me a wide, toothy grin.  “My apologies, child.  I have yet to truly understand this ‘indoor voice’ that you mortals are so fascinated by!”  I flinched slightly at the still very loud voice, but at least it wasn’t quite as loud as before.

“Name, kid,” Nat stated simply, immediately seeing through my attempt at changing the subject to try and make them feel guilty again.

I sighed.  “My name is (Y/N),” I finally muttered.

“Have you got a last name, (Y/N)?” Reflexes asked again.

“Not any that concerns you,” I immediately snapped back defensively.

Reflexes frowned and rubbed his face a bit.  “Fine, we’ll go back to that later.  How old are you?”

“18,” the lie came quickly and easily.  I had said it so many times that by that point, it was starting to feel more natural than the truth.

“Try again,” Nat said.

I grit my teeth and glared at her.  “You really need to stop ratting me out.”  She just smirked and shrugged again.  “Fine.  I’m 12.”

Silence as five pairs of shocked eyes turned to Nat for confirmation.  Slowly, she nodded, almost seeming a little shocked herself.  My words took a minute to settle in, and I frowned, staring back down at my lap.  At least now they probably couldn’t kill me.  Although, I’d probably prefer that to going back to that hellhole of a foster home.

“Nope, sorry, I call bs,” Stark was the one to break the silence.  “No chance a twelve-year-old reads nuclear physics, and more importantly, there’s not a single chance a twelve-year-old outsmarts me.”

“Yeah, that’s what every grown-up says,” I rolled my eyes.  “The fact is, you got completely fooled by a twelve-year-old kid, and you need to learn how to deal with it.”

“Alright, so where’s my watch?” Stark grit his teeth, fuming in annoyance at my attitude.

I rolled my eyes again.  “I sold it,” I answered simply.

“Ok, so why did you lie to Clint?  That watch was expensive.  There’s no way you would be starving only a month after you sold it,” Stark smirked triumphantly, as though he had just unearthed some massive conspiracy.

“I didn’t keep the money.”

“...I’m sorry, what?” Stark asked.

“I said, I didn’t keep the money,” I repeated.

“Then where the hell did it go?” he frowned.  He obviously didn’t believe me.

“Language, Stark,” Reflexes cut in.  “She’s just a kid.”

“Please, I’ve heard the word ‘hell’ before.  What street did you think I was living on, Candycane Lane?”  I scoffed before suddenly realizing my mistake.

“You live on the streets?” Library guy asked softly, looking more and more guilty with every passing minute.

“Of course not,” I responded quickly, trying to backpedal on what I’d accidentally let slip.  “I just hate my parents so much it feels like it.  I only steal so that I can rebel against them.”

“That lie was just bad,” Nat shook her head almost in disappointment.

“(Y/N), what happened to the money from Stark’s watch?” the boyfriend -- What did Stark say his name was?  Clint? -- spoke calmly and gently.

“I used it to buy toys and canned foods,” I answered rather quickly.  He was nice.  I felt comfortable around him.

“You were starving, and you bought toys?” Stark scoffed.

“Not for me, dipshit,” I rolled my eyes again.  I feel like I do that every time Stark opens his mouth.

“Language!” Reflexes gasped.

“Why did you buy toys?”  Clint continued to speak gently, taking my attention away from my annoyance at Stark.

I frowned.  “I bought them for the kids at the orphanage.”  Clint just nodded, encouraging me to continue.  “Every year I scrape together what money I don’t use on food to buy them toys, but they usually end up being really crummy ones that they all have to share.  This year, I was finally able to buy them all really good ones.”  I paused for a moment before adding, “Christmas can be really sad there, and there never used to be any toys.  I don’t want the other kids to have a sad Christmas anymore.”

“You used to live in an orphanage?” Clint asked.  I winced at the question, digging my nails into my palms.  I didn’t mean to tell them that.  I sighed in defeat and nodded slightly, avoiding their eyes.

“My mommy died when I was one, and my daddy didn’t want me anymore,” I paused a moment, trying and failing to swallow the lump in my throat.  Quickly, I moved myself as far away from the topic as possible.  “I used the money I didn’t spend on toys to buy groceries for the homeless shelter.  They need it more than I do anyways.”

There was another heavy pause before Clint spoke again.  “How long has it been since you’ve eaten anything?”

“Counting today?” They all nodded.  “About five days.”

Reflexes immediately walked away, and I ducked my head further.  He was probably going to call the cops or maybe the orphanage.  Either way I’d have to go back.

“(Y/N)?” Library guy’s voice brought me back to reality.

My cheeks were wet.  I was crying.  I didn’t mean to do that -- it doesn’t work on Nat, so why even bother?  Still, I couldn’t stop.  “A-are you g-gonna send m-me b-back n-now?” I whispered, my voice thick as I gasped between every other word.  I squeezed my knees tight to my chest and let out a sob that I was trying desperately to hold back.  “P-please... I don’t... I don’t wanna go back!” I broke down sobbing, my face buried in my arms and my breaths coming shorter and shorter as my heart pounded frantically against my ribs.

I couldn’t breathe.

I felt like I was under water, each breath coming in harsher and more labored than the last, the air growing thicker by the second as I struggled to take it in.  I could hardly feel the tears on my cheeks as my brain begged me to take a solid breath, screaming at me that I was dying -- that I needed to stop this right now, or I would die, which of course only made me panic even more.

I felt a pair of arms gently wrap around me and slowly looked up, hiccupping softly, my entire body shaking like a leaf.  I stared at Tony Stark from where he sat beside me.  “Calm down, purse snatcher, no one’s sending you anywhere,” he said, rubbing my back comfortingly.  “I need you to focus on me.  Try and match my breaths, ok?”

“P-promise me you’re not lying,” I mumbled from my still mostly curled up position.  “Promise I won’t have to go back.”

“I promise I will never lie to you,” he responded immediately.  I sniffled, my bottom lip trembling as I stared at him, searching for any signs of a lie.  When I found none, I launched forward into his lap and buried my face in his chest, sobbing pathetically.  “Easy, kid.  You’re ok.  In and out, just like me, ok?  In... and out,”  Tony soothed, gently patting my back as I cried.  His arms were warm.  It was surprising, but still, it was really, really nice.  Slowly, I came back down to reality, each breath shaking violently but still managing to keep time with his.  Finally, after a few minutes, I’d managed to calm myself down.

A very large hand landed on my shoulder, and I looked over, my body still shaking a bit as I clung to Tony like a lifeline.  Reflexes was standing there, holding a plate full of steaming hot pizza.

“You need to eat,” he said, moving the plate closer to me.  I nodded and took it, my hands still shaking slightly.

“Thank you, Reflexes,” I said softly.

“Reflexes?” he tilted his head a bit.

“O-oh, um... When I met you, you managed to catch me after I bumped into you, even though I was trying to fall, so I’ve kind of been calling you Reflexes in my head ever since...” I muttered, my face getting red.

Reflexes stared at me for a moment.  I could feel Tony laughing behind me as the others struggled not to laugh out loud.  “You can just call me Steve,” he sighed.

“That’s right, you don’t know our names yet, do you?” Tony grinned.  I turned to look at him, only just then realizing that I was still sitting on his lap.  

I blushed harder and scooted off his lap, muttering a quick, “Sorry.”

Tony smiled back in reassurance, although he looked a little... disappointed?  No, wait, that’s stupid.  Of course he wasn’t disappointed; he’s Tony Stark.  That look was probably just the leftover annoyance at having some dumb kid crying in his lap.  “Don’t mention it, kid, but you gotta tell me what you’ve been calling the rest of us in that little head of yours.”

“U-um... well, I called Steve ‘Reflexes,’ and, um, Nat was ‘Redhead’.  Clint was ‘Boyfriend’...” Clint choked on thin air, and Tony bursted out laughing again, not even making an attempt to hide it this time.

“W-why ‘Boyfriend’?!” Clint yelped.

“Because you were on a date with your girlfriend, um, Nat, when we met?”  I said it almost like a question.  Was there something wrong with that?

“She’s not my girlfriend, kid,” Clint sighed, shaking his head.  He didn’t seem quite as bothered anymore, though.  Was there really something wrong with me calling him ‘Boyfriend’?

“Ok, now tell me the rest,” Tony said excitedly, leaning forward.

I leaned back a bit but nodded.  “Ok, well the guy with the glasses--”

“Call me Bruce,” he interrupted.

“Um, Bruce then.  He was ‘Library Guy.’”

“Oh, that’s right, you recommended he read his own paper,” Tony grinned.

“Yeah exactly,”  I smiled softly before, slowly, my smile dropped and my eyes grew about 3 sizes.  “Wait, you don’t mean...” I turned to face Bruce in disbelief.  “You aren’t that Bruce.  As in, Bruce Banner?  The nuclear physicist?”

Bruce chuckled a bit and rubbed the nape of his neck.  “Yeah, that’s me.  Nice to meet you.”

I gaped, my mouth opening and closing like a fish.  “I’m such a big fan,” I whispered softly.

“Wait, so you mean you actually understood those papers?  That wasn’t just another lie?” Bruce frowned slightly.

“I would never lie about that,” I shook my head frantically.  “Your work is absolutely incredible.  I used to get lashed all the time cause I’d stay up all night reading your papers.”

A flash of pity crossed his face.  I frowned and cleared my throat.  “I, um, I always really like learning new things,” I muttered awkwardly.  “When I was little, I would spend hours in that library every day.  My caretaker didn’t believe I actually understood it, either.  She even got me tested to prove I was lying.”

“And?” Tony prompted.

“Turns out I have an IQ of about 278,” I shrugged.  Tony’s jaw dropped, staring at me with eyes wide as saucers.

“Isn’t yours 273?” Bruce asked, trying to hide the chuckle threatening to seep through his voice.

“I-I... Well... Just tell us the rest of the nicknames, would ya, kid?” Tony stuttered, avoiding Bruce’s eyes.

“Oh, um, sure,” I smiled a bit.  It felt like my chest filled up a bit, a soft warmth spreading through my heart.  They looked like a family.  It must be so nice.  “The super buff blonde guy--”

“Thor,” Tony provided.

I blinked in shock at that.  “Wow, your parents must’ve been real confident to name you after one of the Norse gods,” I muttered.  “Well, Thor’s name was just ‘Blondie.’”

Tony snickered at my comment, and I frowned.  Were these nicknames really funny?  I didn’t think they were.

“Child, I was not named after anyone.  I am Thor of Asgard.  It is a pleasure to meet you,” he smiled, taking a knee before me.  I lifted an eyebrow and leaned over to Tony.

“Is he crazy..?” I asked softly.

Tony chuckled.  “No, he’s not.  Haven’t you ever heard of the Avengers?”  I shook my head.  “Woah, seriously?  Ok, well, long story short, he is the actual Norse god, Thor, and he lives on the planet Asgard.”

I looked at him curiously before nodding.  “Alright.”

“Seriously?  You believe me just like that?” Tony asked, a small, if slightly confused, smile on his face.

“You promised me you’d never lie to me,” I answered simply.  “Of course I believe you.”  

Tony opened his mouth and closed it again, a look I’d never seen decorating his features.  I shook my head just a bit to clear it and grabbed the piece of pizza on top before immediately shoving it in my face, managing to scarf it down in under 10 seconds before moving onto the next.  The six adults stared at me as I finished piece after piece until the plate was empty only 2 minutes later.  I glanced up and smiled slightly.  “Thank you for the food,” I mumbled through the last mouthful of pizza.

“Wow, ok, I’m not gonna lie, kid, that was pretty impressive,” Tony chuckled.  “I don’t even think bird brain over here could eat that fast.”

“How do you keep people from stealing your food, then?” I asked, tilting my head slightly to the side.  The room fell silent again, the adults sending me worried glances.  I frowned and ducked my head again, trying to avoid their searing gazes.  I must’ve said something wrong again.

“Honestly, we don’t.  How do you think Thor got so big?” Tony grinned, clearly just trying to diffuse the tension.  I smiled up at him gratefully.  

“Alright, I think that’s enough excitement for today,” Tony said, standing up.  “Sorry, kid, but it’s way past your bedtime.”  I tensed up a bit at the sudden movement, and he sent me a reassuring smile.  “Don’t worry, I’m just taking you to a guest room.”

I nodded and took his hand, standing up slowly.  I held the loose clothing tightly so that it didn’t drop, trying to ignore the many worried eyes that looked over my still ever so slightly shaking, thin figure that couldn’t even hold up the small pair of sweatpants.  I followed him down one of the many hallways of the tower, gripping his hand as tightly as I could.  

Finally, we reached a large room, a neatly made bed stationed in the middle of it.  I tried to climb into the bed, but Tony ended up having to boost me up, his hands lifting me gently by my underarms so that I could get on top of the unreasonably tall mattress before tucking me in under the thick blankets.

He took a step back, and my heart immediately leapt into my throat, my hand darting out to grab his wrist.  “It’s ok, I’m just turning out the lights,” he answered the question without me even having to ask.  As soon as he had flicked the switch off, he came back and sat down in a large chair by the bed.  It was silent for a moment, and I stared up at the dark ceiling, thinking over everything that happened in the past few hours.  It didn’t make any sense.  Why would he do all of this?  What did he have to gain from giving me food and a place to sleep?

“Why are you being so nice to me?” I heard my own voice rise up through the darkness.  I’m not quite sure why I asked that.  Still, I wanted nothing more than to hear the answer.

“You remind me of myself,” Tony said slowly, the careful thoughtfulness clear in his voice.  “You’re a good kid.  You deserve a little bit of help.”

It was silent for another few minutes.

“Would you... would you please hold me hand?” I asked softly.  I’d barely even finished speaking before my right hand was engulfed my another, much larger one.  I could feel myself smile just a bit, my eyes fluttering closed.  I squeezed it slightly, and before long, I had fallen asleep to the sound of Tony’s breathing.

[klvbxlove]

endearing (yu & kanji x gn! reader)

a/n: so, thanks to my cousins who’ve been talking about it often in our groupchat, i’ve gotten hella obsessed with the anime, “persona 4: the animation″! i frickin’ love yu and kanji; they’re my new anime husbandos LOL. anyways, i know i mainly write for iida (BNHA), but i figured i’d give this a try ‘cause why not? (and besides, i wanted to express my love for yu and kanji and maybe feed some simps LMAO). i should also point out that because this is my first time writing for persona 4, the characters might be OOC; i apologize :( but regardless, i hope y’all will like it! 

(this GIF is so cute, omfg. also, LOOK AT KANJI’S ARMS OH MY GOD. SIR, PLEASE HUG ME WITH THOSE ARMS DAMMIT!!!!)

reader type: gender neutral

reader specification(s): none

genre(s): fluff, romance

trigger warning(s): none

summary: yu and kanji find you cute-- no wait, endearing, no matter what, especially when you’re sleeping

word count: 1.3k words

♡ ♡ ♡ (ꈍᴗꈍ)ε｀*) ♡ ♡ ♡

key:

(f/a/c) = favorite anime character (h/c) = hair color (y/n) = your name

♡ ♡ ♡ (ꈍᴗꈍ)ε｀*) ♡ ♡ ♡

   Usually, you would have spent the weekend like any other weekend. Watch anime and eat nothing but your favorite food by yourself.

   And well? You were not by yourself anymore. Instead, you found yourself in your room with your boyfriends, Yu and Kanji. You had your lap on Yu’s lap, feeling his hand stroke your (H/C) hair, as Kanji leaned against the gray-haired male. Both of them were talking about something, but you did not pay much attention to it.

   In all honesty, you were still in shock that you were able to spend moments like this with them. Well, it was more of you being shocked that you ended up in a poly relationship with the duo in the first place!

   You remembered you had wanted to confess your feelings towards Yu and Kanji, but you could not. For one, you were too much of a coward. Two, you knew both of them would not feel the same way (Yu was extremely popular with the ladies, and Rise did seem to have a bit of a crush on him. Meanwhile, Kanji seemed to be crushing hard on Naoto). And three, you would have difficulty deciding which person to confess. You did not even know if either of them were okay with a poly relationship! 

   But of course, you cannot forget to mention you did not want to make your friendship with them awkward by confessing to them and having them reject you. You could not even imagine yourself hanging around the boys as often if that were to occur!

   Finding out that Yu and Kanji just so happened to feel the same way about you felt like a bit of a dream. Reminiscing to their flustered faces after their confessions (although Kanji was much more flustered than Yu), you swore your jaw almost dropped to the ground (literally). You even almost considered asking Chie to knock you out with her kung-fu moves to wake you up if this was a dream.

   Nope! It turns out it was not a dream at all. 

   And of course, you said yes.

   Whether or not you were exaggerating, you did not care. But that day felt like one of the best days ever in your life. No other day could compare to it. And since that day, you felt lucky to call Kanji and Yu your boyfriends.

   Back to the present, you slowly felt a sense of drowsiness overcome you as your eyes were beginning to close. There something about the feeling of Yu’s hand against any part of your body that easily comforted you, especially whenever he is calming you down from crying. It must have been a feeling of comfort if you could put it that way. It was so comforting that it was already making you feel sleepy. 

   But you know what? No point in trying to fight your eyes back open. Besides, you have been tired the whole day.  And the position you were in was also comfortable.

-

   “Hey, do you think they would like this?” Kanji turned around towards Yu, holding up a handmade plush he had finished. It was supposed to replicate one of your favorite anime characters. Kanji originally wanted to make it small like his usual plushies. However, he had taken notice of how you preferred the larger ones that you could hug.

   “I saw them watching some anime series the other day and found out they love this character a whole damn lot.” Kanji explained. While Yu noticed how proud he was of his creation, he also noticed some slight jealousy in his tone. The gray-haired male assumed that Kanji felt insecure about seeing their significant other practically squeal over an anime character. Not that you would ever break up with them for that. You would never be disloyal to them for an anime character!

   As Yu’s eyes looked over the plush once again, he smiled softly and reached out to take it from Kanji. “Yeah, it is pretty cute,” he answered, feeling the softness of the creation against his skin. He could already imagine you holding it tightly as if your life depended on it. “Do you wanna give it to them?”

   “I mean, yeah, I was kinda planning to,” Kanji rubbed the back of his neck. Then he looked down at you. “Hey, (Y/N).” 

   No response. Kanji waited a few moments before trying again. “(Y/N)?” he called your name, making his voice a little louder. 

   Yu also attempted to get a response by gently tapping your shoulder. But when you let out a soft snore, both of them realized you had fallen asleep.

   “Okay, well, I guess I can give it to them later, then,” Kanji said, lowering his voice so he would not wake you up.

   “Yeah,” Yu nodded, putting the (F/A/C) plush down. He figured you should sleep on your bed instead. So Yu carefully lifted you into his arms and stood up, carried you in a bridal style, and walked over towards your bed to put you down. He made sure your head was resting on your pillow before he pulled the blanket over your body.

   For a while, your boyfriends watched you (non creepily!) as your chest rose up and down from your breathing. For the most part, you did not move often in your sleep. Although every once in a while, you would make a noise. 

   “You know,” Kanji spoke up amidst the silence; a blush was already covering his cheeks. “I never realized how cute (Y/N) was when they sleep." Then his eyes widened. "N-Not that I’m trying to be a creep or anything!” He began defending himself, like Yu had some suspicions, as he waved his hands. “I’m just saying! I mean--”

   “It’s fine, Kanji,” Yu chuckled, interrupting him. “I understand. I mean, cute is a bit of an understatement. They are quite endearing. And not just during their sleep.”

   More moments of the boys watching you passed. At this point, Kanji was developing the urge to climb into bed with you and hold you close against his chest in an attempt to cuddle you. Meanwhile, Yu felt a pang at his heart due to the sight in your peaceful form.

   It seems like you had that effect on your boyfriends. And you did not even know it.

   “Should we...leave or something?” Kanji leaned over towards Yu and whispered. “I dunno. I think it would be a bit weird if we kept staring at them like this.”

   “Mmm. Kanji, Yu...”

   Said boys averted their eyes towards you. You had your hands reached out, almost as if you were trying to grab something. At first, they were confused (did you want something?), but Yu walked over towards your bed and kneeled in front of you. Out of curiosity, he placed his hands into yours, and you immediately grabbed it, holding it tight as if you were scared he would slip out of your grip. Yu smiled softly again, then turned back. “Or maybe we should cuddle them?" he suggested.

   Kanji knew he must have looked like a tomato, but he did not care at this point (Not like anyone else could see). You being clingy was something that always made his heart race. He could already hear your voice whining their names and saw you pouting with those puppy dog eyes.

   Damn it! You were way too cute-- no, way too ENDEARING for him! He almost could not take it!

   “Alright, I guess we could,” Kanji mumbled. Carefully, he climbed into bed, getting into the position where he could big spoon you and wrap his arms around your waist. Yu did the same thing, except he was facing you. The boys looked at you with loving glances while Yu gently caressed your cheek using his free hand (your grip on his other hand never released).

   “Sleep well, (Y/N),” The gray-haired male whispered, placing a kiss on your cheek before brushing a strand of your (H/C) hair out of your face. After Kanji decided to do the same thing, except he placed a kiss on your neck, they eventually fell asleep with you secured in your arms. 

[icerosecrystal]

Daminette - The Goddess of Deception vs the Goddess of Creation Pt. 1

Next

Marinette, goddess of deception, at least, that’s what everyone thought. In reality, she was the goddess of creation, but all the other gods and goddesses had handed over the title to another goddess. Lila was her name, and she was the actual goddess of deception, not that anyone except for Marinette knew. Even the queens and kings of Olympus Tikki, Plagg, Wayzz, etc. were starting to believe Lila. How did Lila manage to do this? Well, it all happened a year ago.

(A Year Ago)

Marinette was heading out to meet her friends. Once she arrived, she heard a loud, obnoxious voice claiming to be the Goddess of Creation. She looked around and saw a girl with sausage hair, talking to the rest of her friends. Supposedly, she found out she was the goddess a couple of months ago, and she and the god of the sun, Adrien were to be married in six years. While the dates were correct, her claims most certainly were not. Marinette then came up and questioned, “How could you possibly be the goddess of creation?”

Yeah, tactlessness was not her forte. Sausage hair burst into tears, exclaiming, “Of course you would question me! I expect nothing less from the goddess of deception.” Marinette couldn’t believe what she just heard, she tried to stammer out an answer, but after sausage hair’s response, everyone swiftly turned to glare at her.

“That’s so not cool, have you been lying to us the whole time, Marinette,” Alya yelled, “And just because you are the goddess of deception, that doesn’t mean you have to have it out for poor Lila.” Oh, so Lila was her name, it should be Liar, not Lila. Everyone continued shouting similar things to Marinette, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see Lila looking at her smugly.

Lila then loudly laughed and said, “Well, I should tell more about what it’s like being the goddess of creation, ” and she then dragged everyone along, leaving Marinette shaking with blinding rage. She felt a tap on her shoulder and looked around to see Adrien looking at her. He had a disappointed look in his eyes.

“Marinette, why would you do that? If you leave Lila alone, she will get some more friends and will eventually admit that she isn’t the goddess of creation. Just play along.” It made Marinette even angrier was he implying that she should leave her future in the hands of a LIAR!

Marinette gave him a cold glare, “ I don’t care what you think, Mr. Agreste. You think Lila’s well being is more important over my own. She is stealing my title and future, and it will end up harming everyone, including me.” She saw him opening his mouth to most likely retort, but before he could, she turned on her heal and said, “Have a good rest of your day Mr. Agreste.” After seeing Adrien’s true colors, Marinette swore that if she ever got out of this mess and be identified as the true goddess of creation, she would do everything in her power so that she wouldn’t marry Adrien. For he is a fool, the god of the sun is.

~Present~

Marinette sighed, reminiscing in the consequences that day. Who knew that her friends had so little faith in her?! The only good thing that came out of the whole ordeal was that she ended up dodging a bullet in having to marry Adrien. But, she realized that if she does come out as the true goddess of creation, she would have to marry him. Fortunately, it would be a bit harder for her to do because Adrien had kissed Lila, which resulted in the breaking of the bond between Marinette and Adrien. It came with a price of immense pain, but the bond, still broken.

Either way, she would end up losing something if she left or stayed, and did she want to out her true identity to a group of people who believed a stranger over her? No, she didn’t. So, she made the hard decision to disappear, well the semi-hard decision. She would miss her parents, the god of baked goods and family, and the goddess of the harvest. She would miss Luka, the god of music, Juleka the goddess of insecurities, Kagami the goddess of war, and surprisingly Chloe, the goddess of subjection, whom she got closer to over the year of isolation that Marinette faced from her old friends. Nonetheless, she would be sad about leaving them, but she needed this. She got in contact with her Grandma, goddess of traveling, and she then left for the mortal world, saying goodbye to Olympus, if only for a couple of years.

(Time Skip of 4 years)

It has been four years since Marinette left Olympus, and she was so happy. She was able to explore so many different places in the mortal world with her grandma. But, unfortunately, her grandma was needed back in Olympus a year ago, so she had been traveling by herself ever since. She was currently in Los Angeles, California. It was crowded with many mortals and was very noisy, but it was incredibly beautiful and a new experience for her. She was walking around the city when she saw a doorway. She looked around and saw that none of the mortals could see it, meaning it belonged to Olympus. She looked back at it and saw a dark figure leaning against the alleyway leading to the doorway. When he saw her, he pushed off the wall and walked to her. He stepped in front of her and smirked, “Little goddess, what are you doing all alone? And why are you looking at one of the gateways to the Underworld?”

Wait, Los Angeles was one of the gateways to the Underworld?! (Yes, I did get this idea from Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief) But, if that’s the gateway to the Underworld, then it meant that this figure in front of her was Damian, the god of the Underworld! “Yes, I am,” Oh, crap, she said that out loud. “Little Goddess, you didn’t answer my question. Why are you here and not on Olympus?”

It took a minute for the question to register into her brain before she promptly explained how Lila claimed the title of the goddess of creation, how she was the real goddess of creation. How she got completely isolated because Lila said that she was the goddess of deception. Marinette ranted about how her life had been five years ago, and how Marinette had had enough, deciding to leave Olympus for the mortal world. The whole time, she could see Damian’s face growing darker, and he looked like he would try as hard as he could to commit a murderer to a goddess, which confused her. Why did he care she just met him? By the end of her tirade, Marinette was panting for air, before she realized that he might no believe her like her old friends. So she timidly asked, “Do you believe me?”

Damian was snapped out of his murderer planning and quickly reassured her, “Of course, I believe you! I can feel the aura of creation surrounding you while you can most likely feel the aura of destruction and death around me.” She understood what he meant about the auras. She was also relieved that she had finally found someone who believed her.

Damian watched her closely before asking her a question that changed everything, “Would you like to go to the Underworld with me?” Marinette looked startled for a second before carefully thinking about her answer. It would be a great experience staying in the Underworld. And Damian had been so kind to her so far, on top of all that he believed her. No one believed her, especially not a stranger. She looked him straight in the eye before giving him her answer, “Yes.”

Damian leads her through the doorway, and after a series of confusing twists and turns, they finally reached the Underworld. Most would find it dark and spooky, but for Marinette, she was in awe of how all the shadows mixed to make a type of beauty that was found only in a place like the Underworld. Damian was watching her closely and smiled softly at the look of sheer awe displayed on her face.

Before he could say anything, a loud voice yelled from somewhere, “Well, if it isn’t Demon spawn, and look, he brought a goddess!” They turned around and, Marinette saw a god, as she assumed, with black hair with a shock of white along with blue-green eyes. His sentence was followed by a crash and dogs barking, and finally, three more gods barreled in from a doorway. Two of them squealed in delight, while the other one yelled, “Is that a real, goddess?” (I did just casually quote Frozen in the middle of my one-shot)

From there, it was chaos, all the boys were asking questions, trying to know her, but all of the questions were flying overhead, none of them understandable. Having enough, Damian whistled, halting everything to a stop. “Tt, enough you useless, morons! What’s going to happen now is that you are going to shut the hell up, let me explain how I met her, and then you will ask Father and Pennyworth to come here so that I may introduce each of you to her. UNDERSTAND!” They all muttered agreements and then waited for Damian to explain how they met. Damian then went on to explain how they met and exactly what Marinette told him about her past. By the end, all the boys looked like they wanted to tease him or get more info on Marinette. They decided to choose the former.

“Oooh, the demon’s in love. The brat found a girl on the street,” the boy that was in the room from when they first arrived exclaimed.

“Tt Todd, go get Father and Pennyworth so I can introduce you,” Damian yelled harshly. The other boy raised his hands as if to surrender and ran out of the room. After some awkward silence, he came back with two gods trailing after him.

“Damian, what is this,” the younger of the men asked.

“Father, this is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, she is the goddess of creation, but the goddess of deception claimed her title, and everyone thinks that Marinette is the goddess of deception,” he went on to explain everything he already explained to the other gods. Once he finished explaining, he introduced everyone. “Marinette, I would like to introduce you to my Father, Bruce Wayne. These are my adopted brothers, Jason Todd, Tim or Timothy Drake, Dick or Richard Grayson. My best friend Jon or Jonathan Kent, and my butler Alfred Pennyworth. Father is the god of darkness and adoption, Todd the god of weapons and witchcraft, Grayson the god of death, Drake the god of judgment, Alfred the god of emotions, and finally, Kent, the god of happiness. If you couldn’t tell, he’s visiting.”

Marinette smiled widely at all of them, “It’s nice to meet you all.”

“Ahhh, blinded, we’ve been by the pure sunshine that you are,” Jason yelled, covering his eyes. Marinette’s mood automatically soured, “Please, don’t compare me to the sun. You would be comparing me to the god of the sun who is an asshole and a coward.” They all raised an eyebrow

at her response but didn’t further question it.

“Go be idiots somewhere else, heathens,” Damian screamed, pulling out a katana with the intent to impale them. All of his brothers and his friend ran out of the room, screaming bloody murderer, while his Father and Alfred calmly walked out.

Damian turned back to Marinette, “Would you like to stay for a little bit?” Damian asked. “Would you like to stay forever?” someone shrieked along with a thump. (If you couldn’t already tell, I am obsessed with Disney movies. This was a Mulan reference.)

Marinette smiled gently and replied, “I think I would like that.” Loud whoops, were heard after her response, which caused Damian to groan in exasperation.

(Time Skip, it is about the time of the “Lila’s” and Adrien’s wedding)

Marinette has been staying in the Underworld with Damian and his family, and she has been enjoying it. They were all very kind and supportive of her. They helped her, and she found common interests with each of them. But, out of all of them, she connected with Damian the most. He was the one that brought her here, and he was the one who always had her interests in mind. He made sure to check in on her every day, making sure that she was satisfied with her day and didn’t want to leave the Underworld. Marinette wouldn’t admit it out loud, but she loved how much he doted on her. It was a nice change for her. But, she finally realized the actual reason when it smacked her in the face, literally.

She was walking down one of the long windy halls that she would most likely end up getting lost in, but her being the stubborn person that she was, refused to ask for help. She then smacked right into a shirtless Damian. He grabbed her shoulders to steady her and looked at her, “Are you alright, Marinette?”

But she couldn’t answer. The only thing she was capable of doing at the moment was staring at Damian’s toned chest. It was smooth and had a beautiful shine to it underneath the lights. He had huge biceps, broad shoulders, and a very clear eight-pack. He had just finished exercising, so he was sweating, which made him look even hotter,“…Marinette, MARINETTE!”

“Huh,” she mumbled out. Damian gave her a curious look, “What were you looking at?”

She looked up at him, “You hot, I -I mean, you look nice, n-n-no, uhh your a chest look amazing, w-wait no, ” she then started mumbling to herself, so that Damian couldn’t understand her and hid her face in her hands.

He gently took her hands and rested them on his chest while putting his hands on her hips and pulling her closer, “So, you think I’m hot. Am I hot enough for you to do this?” He started leaning forward slowly so that she could pull away anytime. Yet, she didn’t. She instead tilted her head up and brought her lips closer to his, fluttering her eyes shut. Their lips met in a moment of passion. Her lips were warm and sweet, almost like strawberries, and they molded against his lips. Damian gripped the back of her neck, deepening the kiss, evolving it from chaste to intimate. It felt like a dream, her hands around his neck, his in her hair, and around her waist. Her finding the feeling of being loved. She pulled away and put her hands back on his chest. She looked into his amazing emerald eyes and his swollen lips while panting in sync with him. He pulled her close again and asked her after giving her a peck on the lips, “ Be my girlfriend?” “Yeah,” she replied, and they went back to kissing, this time making out. They heard the cries of joy at her response, it looks like they had some incompetent fools to murderer later, but for now, it was just them.

That had been a couple of months ago, and they were happy together. While things were going great in the Underworld, things were falling apart in Olympus and the mortal realm. Because Marinette, the real goddess of creation, was in the Underworld, plants stopped growing, and many other things that the goddess of creation controls, was, in the process, of destruction. In Olympus, the Kings and Queens were trying to figure out the cause of the lack of life in the mortal realm. And so they went to Lila. Lila claimed that someone was stealing her powers. The kings and queens were skeptical, but since everyone else believed her, they figured that it must be the truth. And so, everyone on Olympus was ordered to find the thief. And the wedding of creation and sun was to commence.

Back in the Underworld, Damian and Marinette were making plans to expose Lila, but one thing was still troubling Marinette, “Dami?”

“Yes, little goddess.”

“If I do go through with the plan, I would have to marry Adrien. I don’t want to marry him!”

Damian hummed thoughtfully, “That does seem like a problem. What do you suggest?”

She blushed underneath his loving gaze, “Would you be willing to marry me?” Damian looked stunned, opening and closing his mouth, looking like a fish. After several failed attempts to speak, he manages a nod with a hint of red splayed across his cheeks. Marinette squealed and tackled him to the ground.

Dick came inside, pretending that he wasn’t listening to their conversation the whole time, “Well, congratulations, make sure to use protection, we don’t need little demons running around the place.” Marinette blushed and swiftly tucked her face into the crook of Damian’s shoulder. If looks could kill, Dick would be dead three times over with the glare Damian was giving him at the moment. Dick seeing his reaction, quickly left the room in an attempt to avoid being stabbed by Damian.

Marinette cuddled into Damian. Damian looked at her tenderly and spoke, “When do you want the wedding to be? And before you answer, I want to tell you something. If we get married, we would be together legally, but you won’t be the Queen of the Underworld automatically. To do that, you need to eat these six pomegranate seeds, but don’t do it for me, I don’t want to ruin your life, okay?” She looked at him and nodded, “Good.”

They held the wedding the next day. It was a beautiful ceremony, but none of Damian’s family could believe it. Who would have thought that the goddess that he met in an alleyway in Los Angeles would be with him forever? None of them expected it. By the end, both Marinette and Damian were happy that they were together. But, they still had one more obstacle to face, the wedding of the goddess of creation and the god of the sun.

To be continued…

[perlukafarinn]

Sweeter Than Roses

happy holidays @galaxystiel​ from your @destielsecretsanta2020​ secret santa! sorry this is late but since i didn’t know i would have to pinch hit until a couple of days after posting date, this was the quickest turn-around i could manage. i hope you like it!

Dean loved the holiday season. Of course he did, he made about a quarter of his annual income in December. People liked to eat baked goods on Christmas, go figure.

But he hated the holiday season, too. Every single day was busy, every hour was rush hour. Sometimes he didn’t get the last orders done until an hour after closing. He had seasonal hires, of course, but in the three years since he opened Rolling Scones, he’d always ended up underestimated how much extra help he needed.

Thankfully, things quieted as soon as Christmas was over. The last week of the year, while still busy, was a calm oasis compared to what came before. This meant that for the first time all month, Dean wasn’t busy with twelve other customers when Cas dropped by.

Cas had been coming to Rolling Scones twice a week, like clockwork, ever since he took over the flower shop next door a few months ago. Dean had been sad to see Mildred, the previous owner, go but he’d been prepared to welcome his new neighbor. He’d even set aside a complimentary piece of pie for him, because who didn’t like pie?

The first time Cas had come by, Dean had been so dazed that he almost forgot not to charge him for the pie. Dean hadn’t even thought he had a type when it came to men but here Cas had been to prove him wrong, handsome and charming and weird in the exact right way to come across as endearing rather than awkward. 

He always came about half an hour before the lunch rush, ordering a cup of coffee and a new type of pastry every time. Then he hung around while he ate, talking with Dean if he wasn’t with another customer. 

And yeah, maybe Dean treasured those quiet moments with Cas, learning about flowers and their symbolic meaning and explaining to him how to make the perfectly flaky pie crust. Maybe he looked forward to the days Cas would come by the rest of the week. Maybe he’d added a few items to his menu since Cas started frequenting, just to give him the incentive to keep coming. 

It was called being a good business owner. 

This past month, Cas had come by for his coffee and pastry and taken them to go. He’d been busy, too, so stopping wouldn’t have been an option even if the bakery hadn’t been crowded and Dean hadn’t been on the phone with some asshole who absolutely needed sixty-four macarons in eight different flavors for a holiday party that same evening. 

Today, though, was just a slightly-busier-than-average Monday. For both of them, judging by the foot traffic outside that Dean could see from his spot behind the counter. 

Cas even arrived a little bit earlier than usual, carrying a huge bouquet of red roses.

Dean watched him, amused as Cas navigated his way past the chairs and tables, head just barely poking up past the flowers in his arms.

“What’s this?” he asked as Cas finally arrived at the counter. 

Cas placed the flowers down, giving Dean an abashed smile. “Cancelled order. A young man was intending to propose on Christmas Day but apparently, his girlfriend had different plans.”

“Yikes, poor guy.”

“Yes,” Cas said. “But I felt the bouquet should be enjoyed by someone, so I thought of you.”

Dean grinned. “You’re not planning on proposing, are you? ‘Cause I like you but I don’t think we’re there just yet.”

“For the bakery,” Cas clarified, cheeks growing pink. “I - uh, I thought they might look nice in your window.”

“Relax, I’m kidding.” Dean picked up the bouquet. It was heavier than it looked and up close, the smell of them was almost overwhelming in its sweetness. “Thanks, Cas. I don’t gotta feed them, right?”

“Only water.” 

Dean looked around for some free space for the flowers then, failing to find one, put them back down on the counter. “So, what’ll it be today?”

Cas placed his order - a cup of coffee and a festive peppermint eclair Dean only offered around the holidays - and stood at the counter as he ate, talking with Dean in between customers. As soon as he left, Krissy walked up to Dean and smacked his shoulder.

"He gave you flowers?” 

Dean rubbed the spot she hit - kid was getting stronger by the day. Maybe he should stop making her knead the bread. “Yeah?”

“And you didn’t take the hint and ask him out?” she asked.

“They weren’t for me, they were for the shop. It wasn’t a hint.”

Krissy crossed her arms, raising her eyebrows in disbelief.

“Was it?” Dean asked faintly.

“I know they say your mind starts to go as you grow older but, wow.”

“I’m not that old,” Dean protested. “You’re… young.”

“Nice one, boss.”

“Shut up.” Dean scratched the back of his neck, observing the roses still sitting on the counter. “You’re not messing with me? You really think that was a hint?”

“He gave you red roses. Dude couldn’t have been more obvious if he walked up to you and shoved his tongue down your throat.”

Dean shoved at her. Krissy danced out of reach, sticking her tongue out at him.

"Go man the register," he told her. "You've got customers waiting."

She rolled her eyes but did as told. Dean picked up the bouquet, getting it out of her way, and went to the back to find something to use as a vase. As he looked, he thought about what Krissy had said.

Had Cas meant that gift to be romantic? There were times when they talked that Dean thought his feelings might not be unrequited but then, he usually dismissed it as wishful thinking. Cas had never asked him out. He usually responded to Dean's more overt flirting with a confused but polite smile. That had to mean he wasn't interested and was just too nice to say so, right?

But then again, red roses. Those were objectively the most romantic flower, even Dean knew that. Sure, Cas had said they were for the bakery, but he'd also said I thought of you. He could've thrown them out or donated them or done whatever he did with flowers he couldn't sell. But no, he'd brought them to Dean, because he'd thought of him.

And Dean had gone and screwed it up by making a bad joke. 

He needed to make it up to him. Just asking him out wouldn’t be enough and it wasn’t like he could give Cas flowers back. But, Dean considered, an idea forming in his mind, he could give him something else.

 It took a couple of tries. Dean’s first attempt ended with a soggy middle. His second in burnt edges on the carefully crafted apple/rose petals. His third was perfect, the apples sliced not too thick and not too thin, curling up beautifully in the oven as they dried while still retaining their vibrant red color.

He stared down at his creation, cooling on the counter in his bakery’s kitchen. It was an apple pie and a rose bouquet rolled into one, the apple slices serving as petals arranged on top, sweet and tart just the way Cas liked best. 

Cas wasn’t due for another visit until tomorrow but Dean was too nervous to wait. Both Krissy and Kevin were working today and the lunch rush wouldn’t start just yet, he had the time to drop by next door and deliver his gift. And possibly ask Cas out, put his heart on the line for what might just be a simple misunderstanding of intentions.

No big. A couple of minutes, in and out.

He put the pie on a plate, covering it with cloth for the short trip over to Cas' shop. Krissy dryly wished him good luck on his way out, to which he responded with a raised middle finger.

("Good luck? He's just delivering pie."

"Oh, Kevin.")

Dean had only been inside the flower shop a couple of times since Cas took over. A lot had changed since Mildred left, most noticeable of all a window in the ceiling that let in the pale morning light, shining directly down on the counter where Cas was working alongside a dark-haired woman. He smiled as he spotted Dean at the door, turning to the woman to say something before leaving her alone with the customers and making his way over.

"Hello, Dean." God, had he always looked this beautiful? "What brings you here?"

Dean opened his mouth, then realized that he had no idea what he was going to say. Wordlessly, he shoved the pie at Cas' chest. Cas looked confused but accepted, pulling the cloth away.

"Oh, this is lovely!" Cas looked back up at Dean. "You made this for me?"

Dean shrugged, his ears growing warm. "Just- since you brought me those roses yesterday. Thought I'd bring you something nice in return."

"Thank you, Dean, but there was no need. It wasn't any trouble for me, I had the roses by chance and no one else to give them to."

Dean's stomach sank. So it hadn't been romantic after all. Krissy had been way off and Dean had been desperate enough to believe her.

“It’s, uh, no big.” Dean cleared his throat. He needed to get out of here, quick. “I was gonna test out this technique anyway, so I figured I might as well try it on someone. Anyway, I gotta go back. Busy time, you know how it is.”

Cas nodded. “Thank you again for the pie.”

“No problem.”

 Krissy had the good sense not to say anything when Dean returned less than two minutes after he left. She must have explained to Kevin what was going on because for the rest of the day, the two of them were model employees, quiet and helpful - in other words, nothing like their usual selves.

Dean sent them home early, figuring he’d use the time it would take him to close up by himself to stew in his disappointment and get it out of his system before he got home. He hadn’t lost anything, after all. He and Cas hadn’t broken up. It was just a stupid crush, a passing infatuation, and Cas would still be his friend once he got over it.

He’d be fine.

He’d almost managed to convince himself he believed that whole crock of shit when someone knocked on the door. Dean looked up, ready to tell them off when the bakery was so clearly closed, but stopped short when he saw Cas standing outside, giving him a small wave.

Dean was tempted to pretend he hadn't seen him, or to wave him off under the pretense of needing to close up quickly. 

He'd need to talk to Cas again sooner or later, though. He closed the register, walking up to the door and swinging it open. A cool breeze greeted him. Dean now noticed snowflakes lazily drifting from the sky, covering the ground in soft, powdery snow.

Dean stood aside but Cas remained in the doorway, looking nervous.

"I think I may have misunderstood you earlier," he said. "After you left, Meg told me that the pie was- that it might be a romantic gesture?"

Dean stared at him, his face on fire. Great, so Cas had been completely clueless and this Meg chick had to go and rat him out? And now he was here to, what, make sure Dean knew nothing was going to happen?

"Was it?" Cas prompted after a long silence.

Dean looked away. "Does it matter? Look, I promise I'm not gonna make things awkward if that's what you're worried about. Nothing has to change, I'll get over-"

"There was no proposal," Cas blurted. "I just wanted to give you flowers."

Dean blinked. "You-?"

"I intended to be honest with you but when the moment came, I lost my nerve." Cas smiled sheepishly. "So I made up a story about a botched proposal. The truth is I like you and I've wanted to ask you out for a while."

Dean laughed. He couldn't help it, this situation was beyond ridiculous. 

"I wasn't testing out any new techniques," he admitted. "I just wanted to give you pie."

Cas' smile widened and if he'd been beautiful before it was nothing compared to now, beaming and pink-cheeked, eyes sparkling in the artificial glow of the streetlights. Dean wanted to kiss him so bad and for once, he had no excuse to hold back.

Cas must have been thinking the same thing because they met in the middle, noses bumping in their excitement, before Cas cupped Dean’s cheek and tilted his head, bringing their lips together. It was a sweet kiss and Dean smiled as he could taste the apples and cinnamon on Cas’ lips. 

Dean’s heart was pounding as they parted, stomach fluttering with what felt suspiciously like butterflies. 

“I know offering pastries to a baker might be as useless as offering flowers to a florist,” Cas said, “but I have some pie left over if you’d-”

Dean cut him off with a quick kiss. “Baker or no, I never turn down pie.”

But even with the promise of pie Dean was in no hurry to move and neither, it seemed, was Cas, because they lingered in the doorway, trading kisses until their noses had gone cold and Cas’ dark hair was dusted with melting snowflakes. 

[livesincerely]

keepsakes

Also on Ao3

00000

Davey stops and stares, absolutely stunned.

“Jack,” he breathes.

“Hi, Davey,” Jack quietly greets, hands tucked deep into the pockets of his jacket.

“You...” Davey swallows around a sudden lump in his throat, a hand braced against the doorframe in an attempt to steady himself. “What are you doing here?”

“I got the address from Les,” Jack says, rocking a little on his feet. “I’m in town for the week visiting Ma and Charlie, thought I could swing by and see you for a sec.”

“Oh,” Davey says, still trying to process the fact that Jack is here, that Jack’s actually here, standing outside of Davey’s door. His hair’s a touch shorter, his skin a bit tanner, but he’s still Jack.

He’s still Jack.

“So, uh, can I come in?” Jack asks.

“Oh, right.” Davey gives himself a little shake, then takes a step back and holds the door open wider. “Yeah, sure. Please, come in.”

“You moved out of the old place,” Jack comments as his eyes rove around Davey’s modest entry and living room, and his tone is casual but the words are weighted with an unspoken question.

“It was a bit too much for just one person,” Davey says, averting his eyes. “A smaller apartment is easier to keep up with.”

He doesn’t mention that he hadn’t been able to afford the rent for their old apartment by himself, or that even if he had been, all the reminders of their life together, all the hollowed out spaces Jack had left in his wake—the places he used to be but isn’t anymore—would’ve driven him away regardless.

“Can I get you anything?” Davey asks after a brief pause. “Soda or coffee or...?”

“Coffee would be great, actually,” Jack says. “But, uh, only if it won’t put ya out.”

“It’s no trouble,” Davey says. “Here, go ahead and sit down and I’ll fix you a cup.”

He leaves Jack to pull up a stool at the counter while he pulls two mug out of the cabinet, turning on the coffee maker with a quick press of a button.

“So, how have you been?” Davey asks, careful to keep his head down and his voice light as he waits for the coffee to brew. “How’s Santa Fe been treating you?”

“‘S good,” Jack says. “It’s great, it’s got everything: clear skies, gorgeous sunsets. If you go out to the desert at the right time of day the views are unreal. So, uh, life’s pretty good.”

“And work’s going well?”

“Real well,” Jack confirms. “Now that I’ve been there a while they’re startin’ to give me my own projects to work on, which is great. Nerve racking, and I’m constantly terrified that I’m gonna fuck it all up, but great. Honestly, the studio space and the stipend I get for supplies on its own is pretty incredible, let alone all the experience and connections I’m getting too. So, yeah, things are goin’ well.”

“That’s great, Jack,” Davey says, even as his heart gives a painful little lurch. “I’m glad things are working out for you.”

“Couldn’t ask for much more,” Jack responds, and the way he says it is strange—strange enough that Davey risks a glance at his face. But Jack’s expression is flat and impassive, giving nothing away. “How’re you doin’, Davey?”

“Good,” Davey says, turning back to the coffee maker. “I’ve been good.”

“Yeah?” Jack asks. “Anythin’ interestin’ goin’ on?”

“Just the same old, same old,” Davey replies. “Nothing new to tell, honestly.”

“Nothing at all?” Davey can’t tell if Jack sounds disappointed or relieved. “Did you ever end up gettin’ that transfer you wanted?”

“I, uh, rescinded the request after you— after everything,” Davey answers, watching the the coffee bubble and drip, his chest tight. “There wasn’t really a need, and it was easier to just stay at my old branch.”

“Oh,” Jack says. 

The silence stretches between them, stiff and heavy and awkward. Instead of coming up with something to fill it, Davey busies himself with serving up their coffee, fixing one mug with his usual creamer, then the other with even more cream and a heaping spoonful of sugar, which he sets gently in front of Jack.

“Here you go,” he murmurs. 

Davey takes a small sip of his own coffee, trying to decide what’d be worse: asking Jack another question and having to listen to him talk about how wonderful and perfect his life in Santa Fe has been or just sitting there quietly and trying to pretend like this whole situation isn’t agonizing. 

He tries, “So, um, have you had the chance to—”

“What the fuck, Davey?” Jack bites out. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Davey freezes, eyes wide. Jack’s holding his mug in both hands—like he was about to take a drink and got distracted halfway there—and the look on his face is one of absolute fury. 

“Why do you still have this?” Jack demands, setting it down so hard that a bit of coffee sloshes over the side. “Why would you keep—?”

Davey looks, and then he realizes. The mug is a simple, sturdy thing, bigger than most of his other ones so he doesn’t have to refill it as often. He’d grabbed it out of habit—it’s always sitting near the front of the cabinet because of how often he uses it, and he honestly hadn’t thought anything of it.

But now he’s seeing what Jack sees: the trellis of flowers that encircle the rim, painstakingly painted by a careful hand in yellows, golds, and blues. Remembers the smell of the clay and the rainbow wall of glaze, remembers the satisfied grin that had turned so sheepish and shy when they returned a few days later to pick up their creations, remembers the flutter in his stomach as he reached out for the surprise gift, remembers the thrill of electricity when their fingers brushed…

Davey swallows.

“Why wouldn’t I keep it,” he says in as even a tone as he can manage. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”

“Oh, so that’s where you draw the line, huh?” Jack says, and his voice his like the rumble before a storm rolls in. “That’s how it is? Knick knacks, keepsakes, sure, those you’ll keep around, but the stuff that’s actually worth having? That’s actually worth fighting for? You can just let all that go without ever sayin’ a fuckin’ word otherwise because who gives a shit—”

And suddenly Davey’s furious too.

“Right, because you were so fucking eager to stay?” he asks with a derisive scoff. “Give me a break, Jack, you couldn’t wait to leave. Just fucked off to the other side of the country and left me here to pick up the pieces—”

“You were all but pushing me out the fucking door!” Jack yells, throwing his hands up. “‘It’s a wonderful opportunity, Jackie,’ ‘You’d be an idiot not to take it, Jackie,’ ‘It’s what you’ve always dreamed of, Jackie!’ What a load of horseshit—”

“Oh, so it’s my fault for being supportive?’ Davey asks, incredulous. “Are you serious?”

“I’m just sayin’, you weren’t exactly bent outta shape at the thought of me leavin’,” Jack says coldly. “Didn’t seem to bother you one fuckin’ bit. Probably relieved to finally have an excuse to get rid of me—”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Davey hisses, stepping forward until they’re standing nearly chest to chest. “I’ve missed you like you wouldn’t believe, missed you every single goddamn second of the last eight months, don’t think for a moment that I didn’t, you fucking asshole.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jack asks, chin lifted in challenge. “If you missed me so fucking much, then why’d we break up?”

“Because you were moving to Santa Fe!” Davey yells, completely fed up. “You were leaving, Jackie! What else was I supposed to do, except let you go and try my best to be happy for you?”

“If you really wanted me to be happy,” Jack growls, “you would’ve come with me.”

“You didn’t ask me to come with you!”

“And you didn’t ask me to stay!” Jack roars back.

“Ask you to stay? Ask you to stay?” Davey says, a wave of emotion stinging at his eyes, a note of hysteria shredding his voice, something aching and frenzied clawing at his chest. “Of course I didn’t fucking ask you to stay, I was never going to ask you to stay! It was Santa Fe, it was all you ever fucking talked about, it was your dream, Jack! It was everything that you wanted! I would never even suggest that you give that up, God, what kind of shit-ass person do you think I am, that you thought I would ever, ever try to stand between you and Santa Fe when I know how important it is to you—?”

“I’m not fucking hearing this,” Jack says, with a frantic, jerky shake of his head. “I am not fucking hearing this. I— You—“

He rakes a hand haphazardly through his hair, the other pointed accusingly at Davey’s chest, jaw clenched and eyes glittering. His throat works silently for a moment, two moments, then he turns on his heel and storms out, the apartment door slamming behind him with a thunderous bang!

And Jack’s gone, tearing right back out of Davey’s life like he’d never returned in the first place, the abandoned coffee mug the only evidence that he’d ever been there at all.

And Davey’s alone, his heart pounding a lurching, deafening beat in his ears, the churning, curdling, swirling feeling in his gut a perfect mirror to how he’d felt all those months ago, quietly, impossibly heartbroken as he watched Jack walk away.

Davey takes a shivering, shuddering breath, scrubbing a trembling hand across his mouth. Fuck.

He might’ve been standing there for thirty seconds or thirty minutes when the front door swings open again. Davey’s head whips up just in time to see Jack step inside, closing the door behind him with a soft, purposeful click. Then he can only watch as Jack stalks forward, eyes blazing, fists his hands in the front of Davey’s shirt, and drags him into a bruising, desperate kiss. 

“I love you,” Jack says. “I love you. I loved you before I got the job offer, I loved you while I was searching for apartments and planning the move, I loved you every time I talked up Santa Fe to you, tryin’ to convince you to come with me any way I could think of. I loved you when we broke up, I loved you when I left, I loved you when I landed, and it’s been eight fucking months and I’m still so fucking in love with you—”

Davey interrupts him with another heart stopping kiss, threading his fingers in Jack’s hair as he pulls him closer. They still fit together so perfectly, lips and teeth and tongues all moving together like they’d never been parted, and its so good that Davey could almost cry with it because he’d never thought he would have this again.

“I love you too, Jackie,” Davey promises. “I love you and I’ve missed you so much—”

“I missed you,” Jack says, punctuating the declaration with another kiss. “You’re it for me Davey. There’s just you. And I… I can’t give this up again. Santa Fe ain’t worth nothin’ if you’re not there with me.”

“I thought that was what you wanted,” Davey murmurs, and its a confession and an apology. “I thought I had to let you go.”

Jack shakes his head. 

“I wanted you to keep me,” he whispers against Davey’s lips. “And I wanted to keep you too.”

“Then keep me,” Davey says. He realizes now, that it’s as simple as that. “Keep me.”

00000

Jack’s pov here

Tag List!: @yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside @corbinthecowboy @stroopwafeldetective

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Herbert West

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

“Oh, Herbert, this is-”

“Y/n. …Yes I know.” The man interrupted, prompting your awkward smile to drop momentarily. Herbert was an …interesting character, to say the least. 

- You met the re-animator through Dan who’d been a friend of yours since you joined the school. Dan had sort of taken you under his wing after you first met, becoming like an older brother to you. You; being a year younger than him and away from home for the first time, were very happy to have someone looking out for you. 

- Obviously, Dan was a pretty big part of your life and you were a pretty big part of his life as well. Because of this, Herbert most likely heard of or had; at the very least, seen photos of you prior to your meeting which is why he didn’t need an introduction. 

- At first, Herbert finds you; like pretty much everyone else, dreadfully irritating. He’s very short and stand offish with you, only calling you miss y/l/n or a harsh sounding y/n. But that all changes when you’re finally able to speak with him alone. 

- You’d stopped by Dan’s apartment one day, only to find that the only one home was Herbert who seemed very ready to close the door on you after informing you that Dan was out with Megan. You said the magic words before he was able to. 

“Herbert? I haven’t really been able to speak with you until now but I just wanted to say that I’m a huge fan of your work,” Bingo. “Or, rather, your theories. Dan's told me about a few of them and I find them very fascinating and well, um-”

“Why don’t you come inside Y/n?” Herbert says, a small smile on his face, one without any hidden boredom behind it. 

- Prior to that, you’d never heard him speak your name without a touch of irritation to it so you were eager to do whatever you could to remain in his good graces. 

- When Megan and Dan arrive back at the apartment, they’re surprised to see you and Herbert sitting in the living room and talking, or more accurately, surprised to see Herbert talking to you rather passionately about life and death.

- Dan gives you an odd look as you greet them and say how you should probably get going, the look only grows more confused as Herbert says goodbye with a seemingly rather genuine smile on his face. He doesn’t know what happened but he isn’t sure he likes it. 

- From then on, Dan watches suspiciously as Herbert seems to grow more and more fond of you. He grows to somewhat dislike Herbert's sudden interest in you, especially after he finds out what the man does in his spare time and is propositioned by him. He fears that he’s trying to manipulate you into helping him. 

- But that isn’t the case. No, Herbert just likes having you stroke his ego and listen to him talk about his work like he’s gods gift to earth and to you, he is. 

- You thought Herbert was attractive the moment you met him, regardless of his somewhat odd and standoffish behavior. When he starts letting you into his life, your crush on him only worsens until you’re pretty much head over heels in love. So you sort of follow him around like a lost puppy and while he generally dislikes having people bother him, you become a bit of an exception. 

- Over time, Herbert genuinely begins to like you, and he certainly cant deny that you’re attractive. He has a very scientific way of understanding his feelings for you, refusing to believe that love is a thing or admit that he actually has romantic feelings for you. 

- He reasons that his body thinks you’re a suitable mate and that's why he cant stop thinking about you. He allows himself to lower his ego and believe that he’s not above his animalistic urges, if only to refuse that he actually loves you. 

- Herbert doesn’t think of himself as one for relationships but seemingly against his own will, he yearns for one with you. So after a few days of avoiding you in an attempt to see if his feelings will fade away, he pulls you into his life once and for all, intending to never let you go. 

- After things had been going so well, the sudden cold shoulder from the scientist had bothered you, so when he calls you on the phone and asks you to come by the apartment, you jump at the invitation, happy that things are back to the way they were. 

- When you arrive, he leads you into the basement and sits you down, telling you to watch as he injects his reagent into one of his specimens. He watches the way you react, his body nearly pressed against your back as you stare in awe at the creature before you.

- If anyone were to walk in, they would see far more than just a man showing a friend his morbid creation. The expression on his face would say everything. To him, this is one of the most intimate things he can do. To introduce you to his work, to trust you with his findings, to explain to you how it works. 

- When Dan returns home, he finds you sitting side by side in the basement, Herbert's notes and reagent sprawled out before you. A wave of discomfort rolls through him as he asks what's going on. Herbert merely says “she knows” with a small smile playing at his lips, his eyes moving to the side of your face with a look of subtle adoration. 

- From then on, you’re involved in practically everything, even if Dan isn’t pleased with it. Your relationship with Herbert evolves very quickly, he’s not one for patience. 

- He doesn’t verbally confess his feelings for you, not at first. Instead, he lets the tension grow between you until he’s pushing you back against his desk and kissing the life out of you. 

- There’s very few times where Herbert truly loses his calm and collected composure and this is one of them, his mouth moving feverishly against yours, hands wandering, breathing shallow. 

- The two of you say nothing as you part, he goes back to work and a while later you go home, a million thoughts racing through your head and your heart still beating quicker than normal.

- A few more kisses like that and the two of you wind up in bed together. By the time you’re finished, its the middle of the night. You know you should probably go home but you don’t think he’d let you with the way his arms are wrapped so tightly around you. 

- You try to move and his arms tighten even further, pulling you back against him even closer. The message reads loud and clear; you’re his now and you aren’t going anywhere. 

- Your relationship won’t be conventional, you knew that from the start. Nothing Herbert does is very conventional and that's something you’ve learned to accept. But for better or for worse, you’re together and there’s no signs of you ever parting. 

- There’s two sides of Herbert out in public. There’s the Herbert who doesn't touch you at all, acting somewhat distant because he wants to remain professional. And then there’s the Herbert who never lets go of you, remaining close at all times and holding you in some way, shape or form. 

- He’s pretty much touchy with you at all times, unless you’re in front of someone he feels he must put on airs for. Anywhere else or in front of anyone else and his hands or some part of him never leaves you. 

- Deep kisses. Herbert..., how should I put this, devours you?  He’s always got this tight hold on you like he’s scared you’ll part from him as he steals your breath away. 

- Distracted pecks on the lips as you go to leave the room while he’s working. 

- He finds it sort of amusing to startle you which he oftentimes does so without even meaning to. He’s fairly quiet so you usually don’t hear him enter the room, you only realize he’s there when you turn and nearly have a heart attack upon finding him suddenly standing near you. He’ll usually try to hide his smirk but occasionally your reaction will earn a laugh. 

- Beware the flattery. If he’s complimenting you more than once in the span of a minute, he most likely wants something. 

- Trying to get him to take a break and/or actually go to sleep. He gets really wrapped up in his work and won’t go to bed for literal days so occasionally you’ll just have to drag him away against his will. 

- As much as he tries to avoid sleep, he’ll still have to at some point. When he does go to bed, he likes being the big spoon and holding you tightly against him. 

- Sometimes he legitimately cradles you or a part of you against him, especially when you're scared or upset. He’ll usually either hold your head in his lap or quite literally wrap himself around you, speaking to you almost uncharacteristically sweetly. 

- He’s somewhat touch starved. He’s never really bothered to find himself a girlfriend, thinking of them as pointless distractions, but now that he has one, he can’t help but admit that it does feel good to be touched and loved, particularly by you. 

- Occasionally, he’ll have you sit on his lap as he records his data or let you write down what he says, leaning his chin on your shoulder and wrapping his arms around your waist. 

-  He doesn't use nicknames very often but occasionally he’ll let slip a “dear” or “darling”. Honey, sweetheart; generic little things that come naturally out of a persons mouth when they’re in love. 

- Tight hugs while he speaks softly in your ear. 

- Cheek kisses. 

- Making sure he actually eats and doesn't waste away in the basement. You’ll bring him down some food if he doesn’t want to leave his things, it’s one of the rare times that you get a very earnest, pleasantly surprised yet still a little distracted thank you. 

- Occasionally keeping him company down in the basement. You’ll go to leave after you do what you needed to do and he’ll call your name and say; almost shyly, “Why don't you stay? Sit down here. Keep me company”. He’ll usually let out a little laugh as well, trying to ease his feelings of awkward vulnerability. 

- You're really not sure if he owns anything besides a suit. You legitimately think the only comfy thing he owns is a sweater you got for him on his birthday. 

- Speaking of birthdays, he doesn't like celebrating his; mainly because he’s never really had someone to celebrate it with. He accepts your gifts almost like he isn't sure what he should say or do, usually replying with an “oh... thank you.” and a quick kiss to the cheek. 

- He’s not fond of parties or social gatherings but he will go with you, mainly just to be your date and make sure you’re alright. That and he thinks your coworker has a thing for you which he is not happy about it.

- Your friends and family are most likely going to find him strange, though I think your mother or grandmother would probably fall for his carefully constructed charm and like him a lot. He isn’t ashamed to say that he’s fond of her as well, occasionally asking about her and getting a genuine smile on his face whenever he sees her. 

- He may or may not constantly forget your anniversary, not because your relationship doesn't matter to him but because he’s Herbert and he doesn’t understand the intricacies of dating. 

- Your pets don't like him and he’s not very fond of them ether. He stiffens when they enter the room and they leave once they see him. You find it almost amusing. On the other hand, they could also never leave him the fuck alone, absolutely adoring him while he tolerates them for your sake. 

- Sarcasm and snide retorts. That’s literally just how Herbert talks so don’t take offense.

- Stopping Dan from trying to kill him whenever your boyfriend turns into an asshole and starts trouble.

- He definitely likes ordering you around a little. He’s sort of a wimpy guy so being in control of things is like a drug to him.

- Letting him ramble on about his work and accomplishments. You think he likes to hear himself speak. 

- He’s not much of a small talker. Unless the conversation is about something actually meaningful or science; specifically his science, he isn't all that interested in it. Meaningless talk annoys him and he’s got more important things to do than exchange pleasantries.

- He’s not a very heavy set boy so you could pull him away from his work if you really wanted to, though I suggest you don't. You don’t want to get between him and his work.

- Being roped into his plans and work. He always manages to get you to help, even if you really don’t want to.

- I never said Herbert was nice, did I? Well, he isn’t; not completely at least. He’s oftentimes selfish and will do whatever it takes to persuade you to do something or change your mind about something. He’s a master manipulator first and loving boyfriend second.

- Bandaging him up when his work gets …rough.

- Trying to comfort him when things don't work out. He never wants to accept that its his fault so you just agree with what he says and pull him away from his work. 

- Feeling bad for laughing at his somewhat morbid humor. 

- Apprehensively helping him inject himself with reagent, only because you know he’ll do it anyways. He’s a stubborn bastard, all you can do is try to ween him off of it. 

- He’s a scientist who works with the dead and get’s covered with blood daily, your period isn’t going to gross him out in any way. Tell him you have cramps, he’ll give you advice. Felling emotional, he’ll be a little more caring than usually. Want to cuddle, he really wants to work but seeing you desperate to hold him is worth leaving it momentarily.  

- You’ll leave something of yours in his room and he’ll tell you that he put it in his bottom drawer. When you open the drawer, you’ll find that it’s empty besides the thing you were looking for. That’s how he’ll tell you he’d like you to leave some of your things there so that you don’t have to constantly leave at night or early in the morning.  You’re pretty much the only one ever allowed in his room, mind you.

- He gets very jealous and he wont play nice either. He’ll openly insult them and probably get a little snappy with you too. His attitude has definitely caused at least one argument between the two of you.

- He’s ready to kill to protect you. He’s not necessarily protective of you but he doesn't want you getting hurt. He tends to pull you behind him or stop you from moving any closer to something if he’s not sure about what will happen or if it’s safe. 

- He takes care of you when you’re hurt or scared, assuring you that everything will be alright, dressing your wounds or trying to snap you out of your fright whether he’s doing it for you or for his own selfish reasons is up to interpretation. 

- He has no filter. He just says what he pleases without any regard towards other peoples feelings, whether his words are directed at you or towards someone else. There’s always a bit of tension in the air as/after he speaks. 

- He gets snappy when he’s frustrated or under pressure. He’ll raise his voice at you and argue wickedly, still continuing his rant even as you go to leave though he’ll angrily question you as to what you’re doing in the middle of it. 

- He can definitely hold a grudge if you really make him upset so you’ll either have to force your way back into his life and apologize or wait until he just cant take it anymore and begins to miss you. Let it be known that Herbert never truly lets a person out of his grasp. Being close to him is like being in a spider web. 

- He isn't above manipulation. In fact, he practically wrote the book on it. Its usually subtle when its with you, careful word choices and purposeful touches. He’ll apologize and say all the right things to get you to forgive him. Don’t worry, he is actually sorry and tries his best to not do what upset you again. 

- He doesn't say I love you; Its not really in his vocabulary. He may have said it a few times in your relationship but not at all often. He shows you he cares more than he verbally expresses it. 

- He has no intentions of letting you go anytime soon and you have no intentions of going. You might have a strange relationship but its your strange relationship and you love it. 

[ardett]

White Monsters and White Claws

New Karlnap fic dropping!

Description: Karl drinks energy drinks. So does Sapnap (but only when Karl does).

or somehow the feeling of having an energy drink is like the feeling of meeting someone for the first time is like the feeling of having a crush

Current word count: 2251

Of course you can always check it out on Ao3!

Sapnap knows he’s being too quiet when he visits Karl. 

It starts at the airport. He texts Karl as he’s walking outside but when he looks up, glimpsing the North Carolina landscape properly for the first time, Karl is already rushing towards him.

Karl practically tackles him, yelling his name. Sapnap fumbles with his suitcase handle. Eventually he ends up dropping it in favor of bringing a hand up to the small of Karl’s back. He curls his fingers into the back of Karl’s sweater, too gently for Karl to even feel it.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Karl whispers, absolutely giddy.

Words suddenly escape Sapnap. He just nods into Karl’s shoulder. A bubble forms in his chest, iridescent and buoyant. He can’t quite describe the feeling but it’s something excited and soft and nervous.

Fragile.

Karl makes him feel so fragile.

“Okay, let me get you to my house. I’m sure you’re tired.” Karl grins at him, bright and blinding. Sapnap opens his mouth to respond but only manages an affirmative hum, barely a sound at all.

He grabs his suitcase and lets Karl drag him along with a hand on the sleeve of his hoodie. It’s not holding hands but it’s close.

His mouth tastes like soap. The bubble grows.

Sapnap does manage a few words during the ride. Thankfully Karl does most of the talking, jumping from general excitement that Sapnap is there to their schedule for filming to what he wants them to do while streaming. It’s overwhelming but only in the best way.

Maybe this is a bad thing but Karl makes Sapnap feel young.

There’s only a couple years between them but it’s less the years and more the experience. Karl may be a college drop out but Sapnap’s never left home, not until he moved in with Dream, and he knows it’s not the same. It’s not the awkward trying-to-find-friends freshman year and the deafening frat parties and the shared study sessions in the library while the sun rises. Half of what would have been his college experience was spent in a pandemic anyway. Obviously things have changed in the last year with the radiating effect of Dream’s success but in so many ways, he still feels like he’s the same person he was in high school. Karl, on the other, seems fully realized in a way Sapnap never could.

All those things and the cans of White Claw Sapnap finds in the fridge next to Karl’s Monster energy drinks do nothing to help his anxiety. That’s the other difference between 20 and 22, isn't it?

Sapnap knows Karl just wants him here to film and have fun. There’s not a lot of expectations except a couple of streams Karl wants to do and even those are still a bit up in the air. But those aren’t the expectations Sapnap is worried about.

Maybe he’s setting himself up for failure by worrying about this, by putting so much pressure on it, but it’s the first time they’re ever meeting in person. Does their friendship change? Does it stay the same? Can it?

Sapnap’s pretty sure it can’t, is the thing, as much as he wants it to be exactly the same. It’s not even Karl’s fault. It’s undeniably Sapnap’s and his sudden inability to properly form words. Sapnap and the stupid fragile bubble pressing against his lungs.

(It’s a secret, isn’t it? The bubble is a secret.)

There’s a tap on the already open door. “Hey, you done unpacking yet?” Sapnap glances up to where Karl is waiting. Both their gazes trail down to Sapnap’s still zipped suitcase.

The corner of Karl’s mouth tips up at the corner, teasing. “Dude, you’ve been in here for like 30 minutes. You’re not even on your phone.”

Sapnap stands.“Shut up. I’m just gonna live out of my suitcase anyway,” he mumbles.

“Okay, okay.” Karl holds up his hands, taking a step back. “Come down then. I’m gonna order some dinner and then we can stream, yeah?” He turns on his heel and heads down the stairs, not waiting for Sapnap.

Not that it matters. They both know Sapnap will follow.

-

Sapnap lets Karl order them delivery. He tries to offer to pay but Karl refuses to take it, “I have a real job, man. Save it for college.”

“It’s community college. It’s not that much,” Sapnap protests.

“Still though. I spent all that money on college and didn’t even graduate. You are gonna graduate, right?”

“That’s the plan.” Sapnap scratches at the table top. It’s not even the flimsy portable kind of table that he and Dream still have, despite living in their rental house for a couple months now. It’s a real wooden table.

There’s something so permanent about Karl’s life. 

His photos on the walls are in frames, not hung up by bits of tape or command strips. He has enough bowls and plates for guests. All his kitchen chairs match.

It makes Sapnap feel like a fraud.

What does he know, after all? He’s so new to all of this. He never even seriously thought about a career in streaming or YouTube but suddenly it became a reality before he could even process it. He was invited here because he was supposed to add something of value to these videos but it seems that everything that fell into his lap was partially by luck.

And he thinks about how hard it is to say a single word to Karl and wonders if he’s worth this. If he’s ready for this.

But those are two different questions, aren’t they?

Even if he is worth it, even if he deserves this, he knows he’s not ready. He just knows it. Dream wanted this so badly, to have a career in content creation, worked so hard for it, and then dragged them all along in his wake. 

And Sapnap is grateful for that, so so grateful, but now he’s here in fucking North Carolina without Dream or George or his parents or anyone he knows except Karl who’s older than him and can drink and has a real job and doesn’t need to ask his parents permission to go to another state and god—

He doesn’t even know what he is to Karl.

Are they friends? Are they pretend lovers? Are they even acquaintances? 

Sapnap’s no stranger to internet friends but he knew Dream before he knew the name of his first crush. He hasn’t even known Karl for a year. He doesn’t deny that what he feels is… intense but it feels like it shouldn’t be. Shouldn’t it take longer to feel like this? For someone to make you feel this lost?

Sapnap can’t help the rush of relief when food arrives and he can substitute eating for talking.

“Alright, you good to stream soon?” Karl asks, gathering up the trash on the table to throw away.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” Sapnap clears his throat. “What… What are we doing again?”

“Eh, I figured we would just go on SMP for a bit. This is just the first stream, so I don’t have a real plan yet.” Sapnap watches Karl mill around the kitchen. 

Sapnap checks his phone, seeing a message from Dream.

Dream: excited to see you guys stream soon don’t forget to have fun with your mans :)

Sapnap swallows. His hand curls into a fist on the table. The food they just ate curdles in his stomach.

Why is it so different with Karl than with Dream? Sapnap doesn’t remember feeling like this when he met Dream. It was an exciting moment of course but they settled into a rhythm so much easier than he can find one here.

But maybe the sick feeling is also because he feels like Dream is teasing him.

Dream loves to joke that Sapnap is engaged to Karl. And it’s all fun and games until Sapnap sees all the rings that Karl wears in person and he feels like… like… he almost wants a matching set.

He just wants them to be close. In whatever way he can get. It’s a desperate kind of want and need.

It’s not like he really wants to be engaged to Karl in real life but the thought of a physical token to remind him that Karl cares, Karl values him, this isn’t just a weird fling that Karl couldn’t avoid, it sounds so comforting. He wants to know Karl. He wants Karl to know him. He wants to understand what it means to be close with Karl.

It’s like missing Karl even though he’s right here.

He’s right here.

He’s right here.

He’s—

“Sapnap? Come on, I’m gonna leave you behind if you don’t hurry,” Karl giggles.

Sapnap hurries.

-

It feels like they’ve only been streaming for a few minutes when Karl is already getting up again.

“I’m gonna grab a Monster cause my head hurts.” Karl sends a light grin Sapnap’s way. It makes him feel a little less abandoned.

Sapnap’s fiddles with Karl’s game settings while the other is gone, staying a little too quiet for being live but not quite knowing what else to say.

He startles as his phone rings, flipping it over to see Dream is calling him.

“I’m live, I’m live,” he says into the mic as he picks up the call.

“Yeah, I know, dude.” He can practically hear Dream’s smirk through the phone. “Don’t put me on speaker yet though. What are you even doing?”

“What do you mean, what am I doing?” Sapnap squirms and after a second, he mutes himself to the stream. He glances at the door. Karl still isn’t back.

“Come on, you’re like, so timid. Karl’s a nice guy. I don’t even know why you’ve been so nervous.”

“Shut up,” Sapnap hisses. The bubble in his chest aches. He hates feeling so out of his depth. He’s painfully aware of the camera trained on his face. “You know why. Besides I’m not—”

“You totally are,” Dream laughs before his voice sobers just a bit. “He’s not being mean to you or something, is he? I mean, not mean mean but you know you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to for those Mr. Beast videos or whatever, right?”

“I know, Dream, relax. Honestly, it’s been fine.” Sapnap hunches in on himself a bit, curls around his phone and the sound of Dream’s voice.

“Okay, okay,” Dream placates. “I know you’re fine and I shouldn’t worry. So what have you been up to then?”

“You know I’m actually streaming right now, right?” Sapnap smiles. His eyes flick back to the screen, to the chat racing along the side asking what he’s saying.

“Sure, you just want to ditch me, I get it,” Dream teases.

“I don’t—” Sapnap snickers. Then he pauses. “He has a real wooden table,” he says suddenly before immediately flushing. He can feel it on his cheeks, see it on the monitor, the bit of red dotting the high parts of his cheeks.

“What?”

“Um—” Sapnap stumbles over his words. “I don’t know why I said—”

“Hey, I’m back!” Karl calls, throwing the door open. Sapnap’s eyes dart over to him.

“Bye, Dream,” Sapnap rushes, hanging up the call before Dream can say another word.

Karl taps his Monster down on the table, slipping over to the other side of Sapnap. “Was that Dream?”

“Mm,” Sapnap hums. He grabs the drink automatically, joking, “Thank you for the drink.”

“Oh, you want it?”

Words fail Sapnap (again, he can’t keep doing this) so he just nods instead even though he never has energy drinks, he doesn’t even like coffee, caffeine has always done weird things to him, but now he’s dug himself into an even deeper hole.

“I’ll grab another one. You can have that one.”

And then Karl’s gone again.

Sapnap’s phone dings. 

Dream: U r such an idiot

Sapnap scowls and rips the tab off the Monster. He downs half of it before Karl is even back.

And he regrets it as soon as Karl walks into the room again.

The caffeine hits him immediately. It sends his heart fluttering, pushes his words up his throat, starts his hands twitching.

Everything becomes ten times harder than it already was because god, every single emotion that made his heart beat before is now making his heart pound.

It’s absolutely impossible to ignore, especially when Karl collapses against Sapnap laughing at a funny thing on the screen. He feels the way Karl shakes against him, the way he buries his face in Sapnap’s shoulder and curls a hand around his bicep. His own heartbeat is deafening in his ears, a frantic escalating drumbeat.

“I can feel your heart beating,” Karl murmurs, too low for the mic to pick up. “Relax. You don’t like the facecam?”

Sapnap shakes his head almost imperceptibly. 

Karl’s face tilts towards him. “Something else?” he asks.

“Um,” Sapnap’s hand tightens on the mouse. He clicks something he didn’t mean to. “Let’s not worry about it now.”

“Sorry,” Karl apologizes, pushing himself off Sapnap. 

Sapnap is sure that Karl misinterpreted what he meant. He’s sure Karl thinks that Sapnap wasn’t comfortable with how close they suddenly got, but maybe he wasn’t. It’s hard to know with Karl. Nothing’s comfortable but it’s more about boundaries being pushed rather than boundaries being crossed. 

And Sapnap knows that some of those boundaries are there because of fear.

Either way, the energy drink isn’t helping.

Part 1/3, next chapters coming soon!

[staylavendertea]

music, ya know

this is a complete impulse of lying in bed middle of the night thoughts that i don’t even know if anyone’s gonna see that have been stemmed off the experiences of the past couple days, topic of 1:41 am mind boggle:

music and it’s aesthetic and importance in literal every sense cause it’s just that important to me

first experience of realizing this, i’ve always loved film scores and listening to music and the orchestral pieces from movies and shows, but it really seemed to hit me recently, like the fact that this week’s new LOKI episode, no spoilers, has the most badass score and a badass scene with such a perfect mix and musical atmosphere. i literally had one of my best friends over, who has a very small interest in comics, cinema, marvel in general, especially a show about a norse comic god that they know nothing about, and whilst they sat there for my own regard, watching the show like a normal human being would, i sat there clinching their hand, watching in awe as our music is louder than actors talking tv speakers spurted out the most spine tightening world building story and just wandered “jesus that was good” and whilst i will always think about the superior acting, cgi, the amount of different people that just went into those few scenes and like what was physical set and what was computer image and what the hell did i just watch that has my brain running olympic marathon circles right now?

the thought that said brain kept going back to was that fucking score. it was literally tearing apart of every corner of my head and why was it doing that?

second experience, another marvel one, but i digress. black widow (no spoilers i promise), thursday night, movie theater for the first time in i can’t even remember how long now and we set through so many previews just for fucking boss baby to start playing and the reaction of the theater to make me burst out laughing.

however whatever works in that little projection box, gets fixed and the movie is pushed to just a little before it starts, a nice small pepsi ad, the regal rollercoaster intro (if you go to regal movie theaters ya know what i’m talking about), and then i hear it - the marvel studios logo - something so musically engraved into my head that my ass that can’t sing for anything, can harmonize with the sound and makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up around movie theater surround sound. but i can’t think of that now, i’m here to watch black widow, a movie on hiatus with the rest of the world for so long now, a character i didn’t know much about it or truly, didn’t have the most connection with in the first place. yet through that one movie, i seemed to build one of those.

ofc though scarlett johansson’s beautiful acting and world building, but it isn’t until the end of the movie that i even realize why. it was the fucking score again. when i think about it, the beginning of the movie felt like all of black widows scenes in the avengers movies for me, kinda just, there. not really emotionally tugging, not bad ofc either, but just, there. in the present, watching something cool in motion. but then it hits, what i can only describe as a theme that somehow tells the entire black widow movie in one singular composition. something so badass, story telling, but also just singularly black widow-esk. i can tell you that i walked out the movie theater rambling about the composition and looking up composers.

third experience, the most recent as it was literally like 20 minutes ago and sprung one train rail of a thought process that immediately tugged me into typing this brain vomit into a tumblr post. i have playlists. for everything. and when i say everything, i fucking mean everything. i’m a writer and a reader, i have playlists mostly for the young avengers, my most utter comfort characters, and their stories i’m writing. i also have playlists/genre/specific song for about every book i read.

when i read red white and royal blue when that came out, i noticed i listened to one of the drunks by panic at the disco the entirety of the ending of the book and the words and music fit together like puzzle pieces, not only did it make the reading experience better, but i was so fucking emerged in my over hyper-imagitive brain that when i finally actually finished the book, i still never left. rewind present day to the beginning of this past june, one last stop comes out, ofc i get it the day it comes out with my anticipation building like wildfire. i start reading that night and i put on my recents on my liked songs playlist (true to true spotify user) and i slowly over the next day as i read and finish the book, windle down to the genre, then the band, to the album, to the exact song that feels like the carbon copy of the words i’m reading. that song was only ones who know by the arctic monkeys. now go back to this past week, anyone who reads the carry on series knows, anyway the wind blows came out this past tuesday. i waited till wednesday to buy the ✨pretty special addition barnes and nobles copy✨ so that the dear friend that indulged me by watching loki that same day could buy it at the same time and make a cute book date or whateva. i started reading that night and something just felt ,,, off. i didn’t know what it was, but i was living off the pure joy that simon and co give me so i ignored the feeling. until i realized why it felt off this morning. i wasn’t listening to any fucking music, literally nothing, not even queen. motherfucking. queen.

i looked for the snowbaz playlist i made when i read carry on for the first time back in 2016/2017 when i was still a freshman in high school just to remember i deleted that literally forever ago. so i made a new one. like an hour and a half ago. very inspired on how i made the playlists for the young avengers and all their stories. letting the music talk.

the fact that all these rambling thoughts have led to this conclusion makes my head hurt, but for me at least in my own experiences. music talks. a two way conversation. a radio broadcast, turning the peg until you match the same frequency thats being put out and you can hear it and understand it. it’s like when you see comedians on stages or actors on panels, they talk, you have reactions, you talk back, and so forth the loop continues until the last voice, last note, rings out. music and songs and orchestral pieces and bands and composers and lyric writers are telling you the stories in reverse. they don’t know their doing it, obviously they meant something entirely different in their creations, but it’s like literature and any work of words and storytelling. interpretation. to me, the notes, pianos, violins, guitars, drums, singers, cellos, and anything that can make sound you can think of, is telling you something. whispering in your ear as you watch or read. facial features, emotions the characters dont say out loud, outfits, they way their standing or talking or moving or interacting with anything and everything.

when i just made that carry on playlist, i played it, decided to try read some good almost 2 am fan fic as you do, my hanging on by a thread sleep brain telling me words aren’t recognizable right now, and tighten myself into a blanket to see if i can sleep at all. the playlist still plays and my never shuts up head thinks it’s own daydreams, stresses out about anything it can, that is until the song plays. the one that just speaks the carry on trilogy language. the one that i found whilst i was reading wayward son and then would play whenever i re read carry on. the one that started this whole way too long ass post in the first place. cant be alone tonight by atlas. i heard just the first sound and i saw them, as if i were in the same room, like i never even put the book down in the first damn place because i’m actually terrified of finishing it. i could see simon in his oversized hoodies, baz in an outfit that was way too good just to be sitting inside, agatha looking as pleasantly pretty as ever, penelope poking fun at shepherd, and shepherd poking fun right back; bickering, laughing, saying the dialogues i try to remember so i can write them later, existing.

in a way music doesn’t just talk, but it lives. it lives and breaths. a three way conversation you could say. characters, stories, plot, and settings talk to the music, then the music delivers us listeners the message, so that we can send one back. this literally took me over an hour to write and i should point the important note that i do have synesthesia where colors and sounds and colors and words do the association so this entire thing might be me being entirely biased, but alas, i love sound so much and if there is anyone else that feels the same ways as i do as just a simple good film score and song makes anything ten times better, feel free to talk, i will totally be awkward, but i need some music freaks like myself around so feel free to hit me up, also if you love movies and cinema also feel free to hit me up as i need movie buddies and now it’s 3 am and i will be going to bed - peace out 🛸

[anasticklefics]

Rinse And Repeat

Fandom: MCU

Characters: Natasha, Tony

Anonymous said: Natasha wants physical affection but doesn’t know how to ask for it, so she has taken to intentionally pestering Tony. It tends to lead to tickling which devolves into cuddling.

Words: 1 673

Natasha knew that Tony knew what she was doing. At one point in her life she might’ve been subtle about it; not have given into her need several days in a row. But the Avengers had cracked something in her that had once been frozen, and now she found she couldn’t be bothered to pretend the crevice wasn’t growing.

The first night she’d found Tony in the dimly lit kitchen, an empty cup resting in his palms as he waited for the water to boil. She grabbed one for herself noiselessly, their eyes meeting but neither of them saying a thing. Tony merely ducked his head in greeting, fingertips drumming against his mug. Hot red, with white cracks on the damaged parts. Maybe a symbol, if Nat had been into that sort of thing.

She’d sought him out because she was desperate, but she found herself hesitating now. The circles under his eyes spoke of long nights with no sleep. Whether it meant he’d had a bad week or a productive week she wasn’t sure. Her own body felt restless despite the hour, but they’d found each other wandering around the halls in the middle of the night before and so she didn’t expect him to ask, but of course he did.

“Can’t sleep?”

She shook her head.

“Tea might help.”

“I’m hoping it will,” she replied, as if it had been her whole reason for being there. He didn’t have to know. At that point he didn’t yet. “You?”

“Same.” Tony turned toward the kettle, the sound getting fainter as it finished up its one and only job. “Let me.”

He poured the water into her cup while she searched among their quite excessive tea collection for something soothing, just to keep her facade up. “This one?” She held up the package.

“Sure. Thanks.”

It wasn’t awkward, but it didn’t have the usual daylight flair of trying too hard to have things feel natural. In the middle of the night when both were feeling exhausted, restless, deprived, Natasha and Tony spoke without using words. She’d never had expected that when she’d arrived at Stark Industries named Natalia years prior.

She was certain he’d planned on returning to his quarters with his cup, but instead he sat at the table, silently inviting her to do the same. She settled beside him, both staring ahead as they waited for their tea to cool. If someone entered this would probably look quite strange, but Nat felt herself relax at his side.

“So.”

She turned to watch him, their bodies facing each other ever so slightly now. “So?”

“How’s your tea?”

“I haven’t drunk it yet.”

“Oh. Right.”

She lifted the cup to her mouth and blew on the drink to cool it before taking a sip. “It’s good.”

“Good.”

She felt herself grin. “We’re having some profound conversations tonight.”

He let out a laugh, sudden and loud. “Aren’t we? It almost feels as if we’re giving too much of us away if someone’s listening.”

“We better be quiet, then.”

“Should we?” He tilted his head at her. Had she been anyone else, she might’ve averted her gaze. “I say screw them. We shouldn’t not participate in profound conversation just because someone might be listening.”

She raised her cup. “Cheers to that.”

They toasted. They drank. Natasha leaned into him for a moment as they resumed their staring ahead, elbows knocking, shoulders merging. That was all she dared do that night, unsatisfied and restless still, but when she caught Tony’s eye after she’d pulled away, she knew he knew.

*

She found him in the chilly living room the next night, someone - maybe Tony himself - having left the window open to let the dry December air in. Tony was sitting on the couch beneath a quite frankly huge blanket, tablet in hand. She shivered in greeting, and his eyes found hers in amusement before he pulled one side of the blanket off of him to invite her under it.

Miraculously, she accepted; settling down beside him as he returned to his tablet. She had no reason to be in there at this hour. No tea, no book. Just her, so obviously seeking out his company. He didn’t question her. In fact, they didn’t speak for nearly ten minutes before she heard him sigh and put the tablet down.

“Are you warm enough?”

She slid down further on the couch, knees knocking into his own curled up ones. “Yes.”

“I was only going to air the room out a little, but got too comfortable to get up and close the window. I should’ve asked you to do it when you were standing.”

She shrugged. “It’s quite nice, actually. A nice contrast.”

“And it gives us a reason to snuggle all up with each other.”

He wagged his eyebrows and Natasha shoved him, not blushing, but too close to embarrassment for comfort. “This was your idea, Stark.”

“And it worked perfectly.” She made a move to stand, but Tony grabbed her wrist and pulled her down again. “Oh, come on, stay. I’m sorry, it was a joke. I’m not here to force you to be cuddly with me. See?” He grabbed a pillow and shoved it beneath the blanket. “We can fit like three of these between us.”

That was the moment Natasha had to make a choice between dignity and comfort. For once, she chose the latter.

“You don’t have to pretend you don’t want to be close to me,” she said, rolling her eyes as she pushed it off the couch as if it was on fire. “I don’t bite.”

Tony could’ve used his knowledge against her. Could’ve reminded her of the previous night, of her need to be close without talking about it, but he didn’t. Nat would remember that for the rest of her life, she was sure.

He sighed and leaned into her, cheek resting against her shoulder so that she had to rest hers on his head. “Wake me if I fall asleep,” he said with a yawn, both knowing she wouldn’t.

*

She ditched subtlety entirely the next night and found him in his workshop, elbow deep into something she couldn’t identify. Maybe it was the fact that he was busy, combined them sleeping all laced up in each other until a confused Bruce found them the next morning, but Natasha didn’t feel like sitting on the couch to patiently wait for him to finish.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” she asked, approaching him.

“When am I ever asleep at this hour?” he asked, sparing her a glance before returning to his creation. “But now that you’re here, hand me that screwdriver, will you?”

“You’re using me for labor, I see,” she said, doing as he asked anyway. “There will be consequences.”

“Well, if there will be consequences now anyway, grab me that hammer.”

She poked his exposed side where his shirt had ridden up. “Don’t take advantage of my good heart, Stark.”

He jerked away from her touch. “Don’t do that.”

“What, this?” She poked him again. “And why not?”

“I’m working- god, stop.” He straightened, his arms covered in oil as he tried to grab her hands. “Oh, so now you’re trying to get away, huh? I’ll show you.”

“Don’t you dare touch me with that all over you,” she warned, taking several steps back as everything backfired.

“But I have the overwhelming urge to hug you right now, Nat, I can’t pause to wash.”

What a sight they must’ve been, with a dirty Iron Man chasing a now laughing Black Widow around the room. What a pair in general. Natasha still didn’t know how they had turned into this, but there was no going back now. She could feel it in her bones.

She could also feel Tony’s hands on her sides, gripping them enough to tackle her onto the couch, the oil-covered fingers finding her ribs. Tony probably knew she’d let it happen, but he wasn’t stupid enough to mention it.

She was also letting him tickle her to pieces, though it was a struggle to not turn the tables instantly. But despite the grime and the humiliation she realized as soon as she started giggling that this was needed almost as much as the physical affection she’d been trying to silently coax out of him. She hadn’t realized it before.

She’d save the freaking out about it all until later, when she was alone and wide awake in her bed with the sensation of Tony’s quite skillful fingers wiggling over her skin still lingering, and maybe the memory would turn the freakout into something milder.

*

Tony didn’t let her live it down after that. The moment she settled beside him on chairs or couches or even floors, with the night covering them like a blanket, his hands would sneak into a new spot just to try it.

“I didn’t expect you to be ticklish all over,” he said one night, not smirking as much as staring at her in wonder as she covered her knee after his swift attack.

She snorted and grabbed for his knee back, grinning when he let out a surprised laugh. “Two can play that game, Stark.”

“Yeah, but we both know I’ll win.” We both know you’ll let me win, he didn’t add, but they both knew it.

She shook her head and Tony snuck in one more poke to her side before letting his hand drop, knowing not to test his luck too much. Knowing Natasha didn’t handle embarrassment well and this was toeing the edge.

She relaxed as soon as he leaned into her, knowing he wouldn’t tickle her again that night. It was funny. She’d not realized they had a set routine until now, but every night was pretty much the same choreography. Find Tony, sit with Tony, pester each other, cuddle. Maybe fall asleep depending on where they were. Rinse and repeat.

She wouldn’t change it for the world, even when Tony found out her neck was a death spot.

[onecanonlife]

careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 6,196

Chapter Warnings: swearing, implied s.uidical ideation, non-graphic panic attack

Chapter Summary: In which Wilbur frankly has no idea how a reunion with his father is supposed to go, considering the circumstances. Also, a ghost makes an appearance.

(masterlist w/ ao3 links)

(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Three: listening for that angel choir

He comes to awareness violently, lurching into a sitting position, his hand outstretched before him. He is silent, but that’s probably only because he trained himself to be, back when they were so afraid of someone finding where they were, down in that dark, hidden ravine, stone on all sides and darkness above, closing in. He doesn’t remember what he was dreaming about,

(fire all around and the world falling to pieces and it’s all so very beautiful, and the worst thing is Tommy’s horrified face but he’s too far gone to care)

but the vestiges cling to him like cobwebs, difficult to shake off. He takes a moment to steady himself, to bring his breathing back under control, and then looks around, the remembrance of where he is coming swiftly. Technoblade’s living room is unchanged from last night, but there is no sign of Technoblade himself.

There is, however, someone in the kitchen.

He can smell food—eggs, he thinks. There’s someone moving around, their tread light and sure, and he knows those footsteps, knows them like he knows his own name.

He is standing before he can think better of it, and it is habit that keeps his own strides silent. He walks to the doorway of the kitchen and stops there, stops because there is a man at the stove, his back turned to him, but Wilbur doesn’t need to see his face to know him. He never has.

Something about this picture is wrong, though, and he doesn’t know what it is. He’s seen this a thousand times, if not in this setting, has woken up to this exact thing on countless occasions, back in their old home, back before Techno started going off to tournaments, before Tommy and he left to make their own ways, before Phil started spending more and more time on hardcore worlds, out of contact. Before all of that, it was just this, just Phil making them all breakfast in the sun-soaked morning.

Something about it is wrong, and he can’t pick it out, and he can’t stand here forever. He could leave, could turn his back and slip out the front door when no one is watching, but that won’t be well-received, and he hardly wants to be followed. That really only gives him one other option, and it’s ridiculous, how fast his heart is beating, because it’s just Phil.

(it’s just Phil, and that’s the problem, isn’t it? just Phil, and you can’t face him, not after what he did, not after what you made him do)

It’s just Phil.

So he leans against the doorway, and he clears his throat.

Phil whirls around, spatula raised.

(was he always on such a hair trigger? or is that new?)

He lowers it after a split second, his face flickering through several expressions too fast for Wilbur to process. Eventually, he settles on a warm smile, but there is something lurking around the edges, something that he is hiding, though Wilbur has no hope of figuring out what. For some reason, this doesn’t feel like seeing Techno again at all. With Techno, it barely took a moment for old patterns to resurface, barely took a moment to remember how to read him, but with Phil, it’s almost like looking at the face of a stranger.

(did you think he’d be the same? did you think he would be unaffected? even the most stable of anchors rusts eventually, exposed to the deep water)

“Wilbur!” Phil says, and he could weep to hear the sound of his voice, even though it hasn’t been that long, not technically. Not that long since the last time Ghostbur spoke to him. “Good morning! Did you sleep alright?”

He thinks about his nightmares and decides not to say anything.

“Pretty alright,” he says, and then adds, belatedly, “Good morning.”

The words come out awkwardly. It’s too casual, too normal, and everything that’s happened since the last time they ate breakfast together is sitting in the air between them, about as unobtrusive as a flashing creeper and just as dangerous. There’s too much left unsaid, and he has no idea how to go about fixing that.

So he just keeps standing there. Silently. And Phil stands there too, just as silent, just as watchful, just as awkward, and perhaps Wilbur should take comfort in the fact that he, too, seems to have no idea what to do. But he finds no room for comfort within himself, only a vague resentment, because wasn’t Phil planning to bring him back anyway? Just what was his plan for afterward, if he had managed to succeed? Was it this? This silence, this hesitance, this painful awareness of the distance between them, of all the things that went so bitterly, terribly wrong?

If this was his plan, Wilbur can’t say that he’s all that impressed with it.

But then, Phil steps forward. Only a bit, and slowly, as if he’s approaching a startled animal. Wilbur would be angry at the implication if he didn’t feel like he was one, if there weren’t something snarling and desperate caged within his ribcage, calling for him to either fight or flee.

“Would it—” Phil starts, and then stops, and it’s odd, because Wilbur doesn’t remember his father ever being so hesitant. Phil’s confidence has always been quiet, but at the same time unmistakable, and that makes this so very strange. “Would it be alright if I hugged you?” he goes on to say, and Wilbur’s brain stutters to a halt.

He can’t help but remember

(the spatula becomes a sword and his great creation is in ruins around him and he is laughing and sobbing and wild and everything is spiraling, spiraling, and what a glorious destruction it is, a beautiful chaos, and the center cannot hold and he is begging pleading shouting and there are tears streaming down his father’s face and an awful waver in his voice, but the sword is in his chest and he can feel nothing but relief, relief, relief, it’s over now, you can rest, your symphony is not finished never finished but it is over at long last, good night, good night and goodbye)

the last time Phil held him.

But that was then, and this is now,

(isn’t it?)

and Phil is watching him with an expression that might be either desperation or hunger, masked behind a slight smile, and that is what drives him to nod, what drives him to open his arms slightly, and then Phil is embracing him, and—

The mess in his head goes quiet. Just for a second, his father is enough to drive his demons away.

And it’s like fireworks on his skin, fireworks at first and then an all-encompassing warmth, and he doesn’t fit into Phil’s arms quite the same as he did when he was a child, is taller, older, cobbled-together pieces of the bright future he used to have, but something in him recognizes this feeling, recognizes it as safety, as comfort, as home. He slumps a bit, melting into the touch, and Phil doesn’t complain at suddenly holding up half of his weight, just adjusts his position a bit and grips him tightly, like he thinks that Wilbur might disappear if he lets go.

“God, Wil,” Phil murmurs. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

Wilbur closes his eyes against the words. He doesn’t have the heart to tell Phil that he isn’t. Even if for a moment, he can pretend. Pretend that this was his idea, that he’s alright with this, that what he wishes more than anything else isn’t to escape back into rest and away from this world that is too bright and too sharp and too laden with consequences.

“It’s good to see you,” he says instead, and that, at least, is mostly honest.

His hands are clutching the back of Phil’s shirt, entangled in the fabric, and beneath his hands, he can feel Phil’s wings shifting. It is then that he realizes what he didn’t, earlier: Phil is hiding his wings, and that is what is wrong, because Phil never does that around the house. Never.

Though, come to think of it, Ghostbur never saw him with his wings out either. Not once.

Did Ghostbur ever question it? Did he ask and then forget about it, because the answer upset him? Or did he just not bother, presuming that Phil had his reasons and that everything was alright? That sounds like something Ghostbur would do, and for a moment, he is overwhelmed by a seething rage at his dead counterpart, because why couldn’t he ever be useful—

(better to be useless and happy than alive and miserable and the cause of everyone else’s misery to boot, better to forget than to remember, better to let it all go and float away in the wind with the dandelions and the blue blue sky)

“Are you alright?” Phil asks, and he realizes that he’s balled his hands into fists. He pulls away from the hug, steps back to meet Phil’s eyes, pretends that the sudden lack of contact doesn’t leave him feeling bereft.

He tries for a smile. He doesn’t think he manages very well. His skin feels as though it’s stretching oddly, as though it’s forgotten the proper shape for the expression.

“I’m fine,” he says, and that—that is a lie. That is a lie for sure. But what else is he supposed to say?

The wings—or lack thereof—are bothering him. Now that he’s spotted their absence, he can’t unsee it. He’s not sure how to ask, though, because he has the sneaking suspicion that

(he shielded you you idiot shielded you from your own explosion from your own destruction don’t you remember don’t you remember the way he cried out and the feathers in the air and he was holding you holding you don’t you remember don’t you remember how he tried to protect you even to the last don’t you remember)

there’s something about it that he’s not understanding, still, and he hates this, hates not even being able to trust to his own recollections, but he supposes that’s what he gets for his troubles. A beating heart and a mind full of holes and a wide open world that feels like a cage and a precarious stability that he thinks might go out from under him at any moment, like sand into a hidden ravine, and he’ll be sent down, down, down—

“Oh, great,” Techno says, and Wilbur jerks, wheeling around. He hadn’t heard him—but then, Techno has always been able to move far more silently than ought to be possible for someone with such a terrifying presence, with such a weight to his blood-soaked step. “You guys are being weird, aren’t you?”

He blinks.

“What?”

“We’re not being weird, what are you on about?”

His voice overlaps with Phil’s, and it’s a bit weird.

Techno snorts, stepping further into the kitchen. “Don’t be weird in my house, you guys,” he says. “If you’ve gotta be weird, do it somewhere else. I can’t take this.”

“What, the great Technoblade can’t handle an awkward social situation?” he says, and there is more bite to his voice than he intends, and Techno hears it, judging by the way his lips twist into a scowl.

“You know I can’t,” he says. “I hate socializing.”

What should have been a joke has turned into something that is—not. Wilbur should have known better than to push, maybe, should have known better than to call Techno out, because Techno does hate socializing, does hate being forced into awkward situations, hates an enemy that he cannot defeat with his sword. But then, none of that is quite right either, because awkward social situations are one thing. This should be quite another. Because they’re family, or at least, they’re meant to be, and no amount of awkwardness should be able to outweigh that. And yet, here they are, Techno glaring and Phil quiet and Wilbur suppressing the urge to bolt from the room and start sprinting across the tundra.

Staying the night was a mistake. Not leaving when he could was a bigger one. He’s not sure what he was thinking.

(he does, he does know what he was thinking, and he was thinking that he wanted things to be the way they used to be, if he was going to be alive, if he was going to be forced to live in this world once again, he wanted a family that was strong and steady and whole, not the fractured mess that this is, not fragmented and separated and snapping at one another’s throats)

“I’m making breakfast,” Phil puts in. He seems so very weary. Wilbur’s not sure why he’s only picking up on that now, but the bags under his eyes could probably pass for bruises. “Techno, Wil, how about you sit down? The eggs’ll be off in just a few minutes.”

Techno huffs, shooting Wilbur one last glare. But then, he does as Phil asks, sidling past to sit at the dining table, the chair legs making an awful scraping sound against the floor.

Wilbur remains standing.

“C’mon, Wilbur, come sit down,” Techno says. “I want eggs.”

Something shifts. His blood is buzzing, like his veins have been replaced with live wires. It’s a picture of domesticity, father making breakfast and son waiting for it, and he belonged here once but now he’s a piece that doesn’t fit, his edges worn away and grown out wrong.

(they shouldn’t fit either, and it’s wrong that they do, wrong that they’re comfortable with this even when the picture is incomplete and Tommy isn’t here)

“I’m not staying,” he blurts out. He doesn’t know he’s going to say it until he does. And once he does, it’s out there, and he can’t take it back. But he doesn’t think he would if he could. It’s the truth, even if he’s only just discovering it. He’s not staying. He can’t.

Phil has turned back to the stove, but Wilbur can see the way his back goes stiff, the way his shoulders hunch, just a little.

“It’s breakfast,” Techno says slowly, almost bewildered, if Techno did bewilderment. He doesn’t, usually, but perhaps that’s another thing that’s changed sometime between Wilbur’s death and now. “You can’t stay for breakfast?”

“I can make something else, if you don’t want eggs,” Phil murmurs. Wilbur barely catches the words.

“It’s not about the eggs and you know it,” he snaps, and then stops to take a breath. Phil is silent. “Look, I wasn’t even planning on being here as long as I have been. Where’s Tommy?”

“At his old home, I think,” Techno says. He is holding himself very still, watching Wilbur very carefully, and viciously, cruelly, Wilbur considers making the attack that he is so clearly expecting. Considers leaping across the table and going for his throat, rolling around on the ground like they did when they were kids, playing, roughhousing, sparring, only this wouldn’t be any of those things. He wouldn’t be able to defeat Technoblade, of course, but he’d be able to get a good few licks in, even if he doesn’t have a real reason to do so,

(he wasn’t there for Tommy he left Tommy alone left him to that monster’s mercy he abandoned him and even when Tommy came to him he discarded him again tossed him aside as if they weren’t raised together weren’t brothers as if none of it meant anything at all he spawned withers in L’manberg and destroyed it destroyed it all destroyed even what it stood for and there won’t be any coming back from that)

even if his rage is aimless, directionless, building in him like a volcano begging to erupt, begging to destroy everything in its path, to delight in the carnage and—

He’s felt like this before. He’s felt like this before, and it didn’t end well, and it set the stage for all of Tommy’s suffering, and if that’s not a reason to try to hold back, he doesn’t know what is.

“That’s not what I was asking,” he says through gritted teeth. “I’m asking you why he’s not here. You don’t see a problem with it?”

“We’re not on the best terms with Tommy at the moment,” Phil says quietly, and Wilbur wishes he would turn around so he could see his expression, but for now he’ll settle for glowering at his back.

(where was the father when his son needed him the most? not there, not there, never there, and what happened to the father who raised them, to the father who promised he would always be by their sides?)

“And whose fault is that?” he demands. “He’s a fucking kid, Phil! He needed someone in his corner, literally anyone, and I’m sorry, but the fucking amnesiac ghost couldn’t quite cut it!”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Phil asks. “Do you really think I don’t have any regrets? That I wouldn’t give anything to have him here, safe with us?” Phil wheels around, then, and usually, in times past, such a motion would be accompanied by a flaring of wings, an instinctive response, but there are no wings behind him, and without them he looks so very small. Once again, Wilbur is struck with that overwhelming sense of wrongness. “I know damn well that I failed him, Wil, that I failed all of you. You don’t need to tell me. I already know.”

“Phil, wait, no—” Techno starts, but Phil shakes his head.

“I have, Techno, don’t try to deny it. I’ve failed you all, and the worst bit is that even when I had chances to try to fix things, I didn’t take them. Haven’t taken them.” He meets Wilbur’s eyes. “All I can do about that is apologize. I am sorry, truly. But Tommy doesn’t want to see me. He’s made that clear, both after you died and after Techno and I destroyed L’Manberg. If you’ve got ideas, Wilbur, I’m open to them.”

And really, what is he supposed to say to that? His rage shrivels up, becoming something cold and hard and acrid on his tongue. Phil believes what he’s saying, that much is clear, and perhaps that’s the most disappointing thing of all, that he’s given up so easily, given up on keeping their family together.

(part of him understands. part of him understands that in the wake of everything, in the wake of his father murdering one of his sons and alienating the other, of course he would retreat to the third, to the one who was still there, to the one he thought he could still help. part of him understands the way that he clings to Techno, unwilling to lose, in his eyes, the only son he had left to him. part of him understands why Phil always takes Techno’s side)

(but part of him whispers, bitter and sharp, that Techno has always been the favorite. so was it ever really a choice, between Techno and Tommy? did he lose sleep over it, any time during the late watches of the night? or was he secure in his opinion that he’d done all that he could do, even though he never tried to do more?)

“I need to go,” he says, and braces himself for their renewed protests. But Techno is silent, and at length, Phil nods once, short and sharp.

“Will you be coming back?” he asks, and Wilbur gives the question due consideration.

“Maybe,” he says. “We’ll see.”

Phil closes his eyes. Nods again.

“Okay,” he says. “Please be safe.”

It’s as close to a blessing as he’s going to get, as close to an understanding as they will reach, and somehow, it sounds like more of an apology than anything else Phil has said. And if, for his own peace of mind, Wilbur has to pretend that he doesn’t hear how wrecked Phil sounds, how he seems to have aged another five years in the past five minutes, well.

“I’ll try,” he says, and he’s not sure whether he means it or not, and he thinks that if he stays here any longer, in this small kitchen with eggs on the stove and his father standing in front of him like he’s pronouncing a death sentence and his brother glaring balefully from one side, he will lose his resolve.

He’s angry, but he doesn’t want to hurt them. Not really. That compulsion is gone, it seems, washed away in the peace of the void, and only time will tell if it will return, now that he’s been ripped back into existence.

But in the end, hurting them is the thing he knows how to do best.

So he leaves. Nods once, sharply, turns on his heel, and walks toward the front door, grabbing his coat as he goes. It’s not in the same spot he left it in last night, is draped near the crackling fire, and there’s only two people who could have placed it there and Phil wasn’t there by the time he fell asleep, he knows, and his mind recalls the sensation of a blanket being draped over him. That is enough to get him to stop, to pause.

But not to stay.

The sunlight is cold, but he barely feels it at all.

----------

He manages to make it out of the tundra before he breaks down.

He wasn’t expecting it, even though he probably should have been, but it doesn’t matter either way, because he blinks and he’s on the ground, hands braced against wet grass, heaving for breath because this is so fucking fucked up—

It was a mistake. Going to Technoblade was a mistake, because now he and Phil both know that he’s back and he just walked out on them and he’s so angry at them for so many things but now they’re probably angry right back and when the fuck did his family get so fucking broken? And now he’s here, in the forest again, and he’s all on his own

(but he’s not on his own and there are so many eyes watching him)

(he is on his own because there’s no one to stand with him, no one brave enough, no one who truly sees)

(he is on his own because he’s pushed everyone else away and even at his lowest point there was a voice in the back of his mind screaming for him to stop to walk away to take a step back and gain some fucking perspective but there’s no one there for him and it’s all his fault)

(he is on his own even though Tommy is still there, despite everything, because even Tommy is wary of him now and that same voice tells him that he deserves it even as he denies it all and decries his little brother for a traitor)

(but he’s not on his own)

and his empty stomach is rolling and he can’t fucking manage to get a good breath in, and this might be how he dies again, and he doesn’t think he would mind all that much if it was because he still doesn’t want to be here, with all the cares and all the worries and all the responsibilities piling up on his back once again, and who the fuck thought this was a good idea? Who the absolute, ever-loving fuck took a look at what he did last time, took a look at how he cracked under the strain and blew up a city, and thought that it was a good idea to bring him back into the world?

In fairytales, when monsters die, no one brings them back. The victory is celebrated and the villain forgotten and their grave spat on. Wilbur never got a grave, but the principle should be the same.

He still can’t breathe properly. He’s gasping for air, but he can barely hear himself over the pounding of his heart in his ears. He might die here. He might die here, and he’d be mostly fine with that, if it weren’t for—

Tommy.

It’s probably Tommy’s fault that he’s here. Probably Tommy who—got Dream to resurrect him, and he really does need the details about that. But he still wants to see him, still wants to see his brother, and the original plan holds true. Find Tommy, then kill Dream, and maybe then he can think about his options. He can’t allow himself to die here, even if he feels like he’s going to, like his ribs are going to crack apart and his brain pound right out of his skull.

(and even besides all of that, what would Tommy think if he saw the message on his communicator, saw WilburSoot died without any context at all, without knowing that he was back in the first place?)

It’s easier when there’s someone there to help him. But he has no one, so he regulates his breathing himself, little by little, his progress set back every time a new wave of panic and desperation crests over him and makes him choke on air. But he does it. It’s not pretty, but he does it, and after some time, he’s kneeling in the grass, exhausted and wrung out and still here, for better or for worse.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck!” Each one increases in volume, and by the last one, he’s shouting. No one answers. He thinks he startles a few birds.

And then the forest is silent. He curls his fists into the grass, tearing up a few blades.

To the side, there is a flash of blue.

The hair on the back of his neck stands up.

(there’s something he’s forgetting)

“Who’s there?” he calls, his voice rough and hoarse. “You’ve been following me, don’t think I haven’t noticed. Come out where I can see you!”

He gets no response, but he can’t say that he was expecting one. He clambers to his feet, sighing sharply through his nose.

(there’s something he’s forgetting something was it something he said to Tommy what was it)

“Last warning,” he says. “Come out. Or I’ll make you.”

It’s an empty threat, said with more confidence than he feels. But he has to be right about this, has to be, or else he’s been hallucinating, has been letting his paranoia get the best of him already, again, and if that’s going to be the case, maybe Tommy really would be better off without him there, because he refuses to go down that same road now that he knows where it leads.

(even though part of him still yearns for it, yearns to go to hell and take everything with him)

(it was something he said to Tommy, in that moment when the veil between worlds was thin and he could see his brother there, plain as day, sitting on that bench with Tubbo at his side, and Tommy said Dream could bring him back and he said no fucking thank you and also that)

“Aw, you been pining for me, Wilbur?” someone says, and it all falls into place.

(he wasn’t alone. he wasn’t alone in the void. as much as he might have liked to be, as much as he liked to pretend otherwise. he wasn’t alone. not then, and not)

He pivots, and uses the momentum to send his fist right into Schlatt’s stupid, smug face.

And it passes right though him. It’s a strange sensation, one that sends sparks of electricity up his arm and feels a bit like dozens of tiny firecrackers are going off. For a split second, there is a bit of resistance, and then a give that sends him stumbling forward, off balance.

“Did that make you feel better?” Schlatt asks.

“Fuck you,” he snaps, stepping back. “What the fuck are you—what are you wearing?”

Wilbur doesn’t think he’s ever seen Schlatt wear anything but his signature suit and tie. Not since they were young, anyway, young and stupid and ready to take on the world,

(for each other, and where did that fall through?)

so painfully ignorant of everything to come. But the Schlatt in front of him is not the Schlatt he knows, not quite, is off in so many subtle ways and one big one. His pallor is grey, his horns chipped and cracked, his hair mussed and disarrayed, but all of that is overshadowed by the oversized blue sweater, a horrible parody of Ghostbur’s yellow one, and honestly, Wilbur wouldn’t be surprised if that’s exactly what it’s meant to be.

“What, you don’t like it?” Schlatt smiles, more a baring of teeth than anything else, and—his teeth didn’t use to be so pointy, right? “I think it’s a fashion statement. All the rage with ghosts these days.” He steps back, and the movement is wrong; it’s so obvious that his feet have no real traction on the ground, that he’s moving in the same way that Wilbur remembers Ghostbur doing, willing himself into the new space rather than working dead muscles.

(funny, though, that Schlatt would at least pretend to walk, would at least pretend at some semblance of normalcy. Ghostbur almost never did, was always content to float around and disregard the unease he caused, to hand out blue and avoid any confrontation that might make him uncomfortable. but then, Ghostbur was completely happy to be the way that he was)

“You’re an arsehole,” Wilbur grits out. “The fuck are you doing here?”

And just like that, the pretense is gone. Schlatt rises into the air, tilting forward, though he keeps his eyes level with Wilbur’s, scowling ferociously. He’s a bit transparent around the edges, Wilbur notes absently, a bit fuzzy, like he’s dissolving into the air bit by bit.

“You think I want to be?” Schlatt says. “You think I wanna be here, Wilbur, really? I had all the booze I could possibly want and none of the pitfalls, and now I’m here, in this shitty world with all the shitty people I never wanted to see again, and I can’t even fucking touch anything!”

His hand lashes out, and Wilbur flinches on instinct, but it passes through his shoulder harmlessly. There is the strange electric sensation again, but other than that, nothing.

“You think this is what I want?” he continues. “I’m fucking dead and I want to stay that way. None of this haunting bullshit. My business here is fucking finished. Over. Done. I don’t want to be here.” He pauses, and it’s for effect, because he doesn’t need to breathe, he’s just a dramatic arsehole. “And yet, whatever asshole dragged you back down here caught me too. I’m just as thrilled about it as you are, but I can’t figure out how to get back. So that’s a fucking, I don’t know. Fucking karma, maybe. How’ve you been?”

Wilbur stares at him for a moment. He starts laughing before he can stop himself, hysterical gusts, torn from him like someone is reaching into his chest and squeezing his lungs out, and he doubles over, bracing himself against his knees.

“Oh my god,” he eventually manages. “I don’t wanna fucking be here either. This is so fucked.”

Schlatt is silent for a moment, and the only sound is the last of Wilbur’s laughter, dying down into desperate chuckles. It’s not funny, not funny at all, but it’s either laugh or have another breakdown, and he’s filled his break down quota for the hour.

“I figured,” Schlatt says, calmer now, quieter. He drifts back down so his feet at least appear to be touching the ground. “I figured, I knew you didn’t want to—fuck.” He runs his hand through his hair and sighs, and once again, Wilbur is struck by the action. It’s for effect, or perhaps it’s just habit, but either way, the dead don’t need to breathe. Can’t, really, though they can go through the motions if they put the effort in.

“You’re the worst and I hate you,” he says, and there is absolutely no heat in it at all. “Why are you here?”

Schlatt looks at him incredulously. “I just said—”

“No, I mean here.” He gestures. “With me. Unless you have to be, or something like that.”

“Nah, I can walk away from you,” Schlatt says wryly. “Believe me, that’s the first thing I tried. But where the fuck else do you think I’m gonna go, Wilbur? You think I’ve got anybody waiting for me with open arms? That’s ridiculous.” He pauses. “Also, I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who can see me. I did a little tap dance routine for Technoblade earlier and got absolutely nothing, so.”

“What?”

“No, yeah, see? I can go invisible, like this, and hide from you,” Schlatt says, completely ignoring what his question was actually about, the bastard. And then, he vanishes, like he was never—wait. No, he’s still there, but Wilbur can only tell if he’s not looking directly at him. And even then, it’s just a faint shimmering, and an almost transparent splash of the color blue. “I can tell I’m invisible when I do that. But when I do this—” He reappears, his arms crossed— “no one else can see me. Except you, apparently. Make my fucking day, why don’t you.”

“Gladly,” he replies automatically. “Wait, why is that even a thing?”

“You’re asking me?” Schlatt demands. “How am I supposed to know? You’re the one who was a ghost for months, you should know how this works!”

“I really don’t,” he says. “And besides, Ghostbur wasn’t actually me. Just a fragment. A shadow.”

“Real poetic,” Schlatt mutters, and, well. Wilbur doesn’t have much to say to that.

They stand there in silence for a moment. Or rather, Wilbur stands, and Schlatt drifts about half an inch off the ground, the soles of his shoes brushing the grass. He briefly considers whether attempting to punch him in the face again would be worth it or not, but dismisses the idea. Dismisses it a lot more easily than he should, actually.

“I feel like I’m not as angry with you as I definitely should be,” he says.

“Well, I’m fucking pissed,” Schlatt says, and then, after a moment, adds, “Not so much at you, though. I mean, I am. But not more than I am at the general everything. Do you remember much of the—the you know?”

He

(darkness all around and a howling emptiness but so much better than the world so much more peaceful and after a while the void felt like an embrace, felt like coming home)

(Schlatt was loud and irritating and the clink of his whiskey glasses made him want to kill him all over again but it was a break from the monotony and it was nice, sometimes, to have someone to talk to, someone who understood if only a little, someone with whom he didn’t have to hide his shattered edges in favor of painting a prettier picture)

(empty and not and there is no death for the already-dead so the only thing to do is come to an understanding)

doesn’t, not really, only recalls a general sense of peace, the rest that he so craved, attained at least. And he knows that Schlatt was there, too, knows it, but while he remembers talking to Tommy, that one time, he can’t remember if he ever actually spoke to Schlatt. Evidence is pointing toward the affirmative, he thinks.

“Not much,” he says. “Do you?”

“I remember it was better than here,” Schlatt says. He kicks at the ground, and scowls when his foot won’t make contact with anything substantial. “I had all the booze I could’ve wanted. Sure, none of it was real, but that didn’t matter much. I’d kill to have a drink right now. Literally, I would murder someone.”

“Good luck with that,” he says.

“Shut the fuck your mouth.”

“I’m planning on seeing Dream,” he says, ignoring that. “After I find Tommy, anyway. I’ll make him tell me what he did to bring me back. And you, too, I suppose, assuming it was the same thing. Why are you a ghost when I’m not?”

“You keep asking me these questions like you expect me to know the answers,” Schlatt says. He levels his glare at him, but it doesn’t look very angry. Just tired. Wilbur knows the feeling. “Ask him to send me back, how about? I don’t want to fucking be here.”

His eyes slip shut. “Neither do I,” he says, and it’s more of a confession than it has any right to be. His tone matches Schlatt’s: tired, exhausted, weary, wrung out, sick of everything.

When he opens his eyes, Schlatt is gone. There is no sign of blue, no shimmer in the air. He’s really gone, then, but he assumes he’ll be back. For better or for worse.

He sighs, gathers himself, and resumes his march through the forest, looking for Tommy.