#and i feel like i know that if i ever bother to reconnect with her she’ll treat me the exact same way anyway

[iampikachuhearmeroar]

to the younger people on this Webbed Site (affectionate)™️, please don’t feel bad blocking people or feel bad when you lose a follower on sites like tumblr/tiktok/insta etc.

as someone whose basically grown up on social media (i’ve been on it since the the dying days of myspace in 2007/2008 and the switch to facebook being the dominant social media site in 2009/2010); i know the feeling of hating yourself or beating yourself up when people delete you or unfollow you. for example when i was in my early days on tumblr from 2011 to 2014…. when i lost a follower, i would beat myself up and wonder why the hell someone would unfollow me. what was i doing wrong??? what was the last stick to make them unfollow me??? please don’t hate me and i’ve got to rebuild the 10+ followers i’ve just lost. how long will it take???

back on facebook in my final years of high school in 2012 and 2013, i was setting multiple statuses a day, all in an “experiment” to see if i could get 50 likes in a day over several statuses; since i could never get 20-50 likes on statuses at once, like all the so called “popular kids” at school did all the time. hell i remember one of the popular girls from the catholic school i went to posting bikini pics back then and getting literally like 400+ likes and i was SUPER bitter.

i also heavily beat myself up when people deleted me. i got angry, so i would stalk and stalk and stalk and stay up until 4 am wondering why the fuck people were purging me out their friends list like wildfire….. when like…. literally 90% of my statuses over my last two years of high school were me giving off Major Depression Vibes™️….. which i now realise in my late 20s that it wasn’t healthy posting a bunch of “im such a failure and everyone knows it” and other statuses like that, super frequently. by deleting me, people were preserving their mental health. and you know what??? good for them. because, after all, your newsfeed is not your therapist (or your diary), and nor are your friends.

and yes i know that i was Edgy Girl As Hell On Main™️ back then, and using that as my excuse to post those posts and to avoid therapy (although the main reason i’m not in therapy right now is obvs the cost and every therapist around in my area closing their books bc of the pandemic etc). bc hell, now in my late 20s, and over the last few years, i have actually started deleting some of these said statuses. and especially when i was feeling low. because i realised reading them back years later in facebook memories just made my anxiety/depression exponentially worse than it needed to be. actively culling your own Edgy Emo Tumblr Sad Girl Posts™️ from years ago makes you healthier as well.

but y’all. there has to come a time when you stop fretting about whose deleted/unfollowed you and why. and there also comes a time when you have purge your own friends/follow list anyway, when you realise that there’s some people you cannot stand to have in your newsfeed. one particular case in point, for me, is my old friend from public school in 2012 & 2013, let’s call her taya (not her real name). taya was (can't say is really when i barely ever talk to her now) the type of friend who constantly belittles your problems and makes her problems seem super more pressing than yours- basically she pits her suffering etc in competition with yours. she makes out that her mental health is far more important than yours and posted about it all the time. she straight up laughs at your shit and tells you yours doesn’t matter. 99% of her statuses at the time were about her being the “black sheep” of her family etc etc etc. hell, she even laugh reacted to a status that you intended to be important and urgent (it when i was in hospital in 2020 and maybe i shouldn’t’ve posted this. but still.) while anyone and everyone else who reacted to the status reacted with the sad react/the care react/heart react, or just liked it. anyway. you know this type of friend.

there comes a time when YOU can’t (and quite frankly shouldn’t) tolerate this anymore, no matter how close you are or close they/you think you are with them. i ended up deleting taya for a few years, a while ago now, because her statuses and shared posts were actively making my mental health worse. and it always seemed when i was feeling at my worst, she would post stupid shit on my timeline like “we all have that friend who acts like their (when it should be they’re) dead” or some other rude/snarky internet shit and be all like “haha get up you sack of shit 🙄😂” as the caption…. as if i wasn’t already telling myself that on the daily at the time. whereas 90% of her profile was all those stupid “only real people who REALLY CARE about mental health will share this status! be the BRAVE 10 who care!!!” or whatever the fuck else posts. and depressing shit about being a “lone wolf” and “being a strong scorpio woman who’ll never find love bc no one can handle my insanity and constant empathy for everyone” and “being a brutally honest bitch is tough when it doesn’t win you friends. but at least my true friends stick with me!” etc etc. just overall toxic friend stuff.

and y’know what??? when i deleted her, i guilted myself. good god i guilted myself. “why would i do something so mean by deleting taya when i’ve known her for so long???” and “it shows just how disloyal i am as a friend by deleting her” i asked and told myself on a loop until i literally THREW UP out of guilt for deleting her. but girl. sometimes a bitch needs to really protect her mental health from people like taya over here who thinks she’s the centre of the universe and EVERYONE must care about HER PROBLEMS AND TRAUMA ONLY 24/7/365 bc apparently they’re the most urgent things in the world bc “why can’t you understand my empath mind???”. like yes taya, i care, to a point. but i am NOT your licensed motherfucking therapist. for fucks sake. and no taya. you are NOT an empath when you can’t read a room for goddamn fucking shit and can’t understand why people are constantly tired and worn down around you.

and girl (back to myself), you are NOT being selfish or disloyal by deleting and/or blocking this energy sucking friend. and no, if you paint yourself/other people paint you as a “nice person”, blocking these types of people from your feeds etc isn’t you being mean to THEM. it’s YOU being actively nice to Y O U R S E L F, which is a hard and almost alien thing to learn when you always put everyone else’s needs and perceptions of you before yours. (and trust me, it’s something i’ve just realised RIGHT NOW while coming back to constantly re-edit this post lmao 😂).

like yes don’t get me wrong. i did listen to taya’s rants and stuff, as a friend does. but my god. the way she ALWAYS belittled my shit and laughed in my face (or it felt like laughing in my face on fb messenger) at the lowest points of my mental health was fucking awful. her depression posts made it even worse. but my fucking god. i could only take so much. i had to delete her. she did eventually find me and add me again after a couple of years. when this happened, i immediately got rid of her from my feed. i just clicked “don’t show me taya’s posts” and that stopped her constant stream of negative posts on my feed. however, it didn’t stop some of her dumbass comments like “hahaha as IF you’d get weight loss ads on your feed when YOU aren’t fat like ME!” on my posts; which i learnt to ignore or vaguely respond to before her comments got out of hand. like taya everyone gets weight loss ads apparently; bc fb ad filters don’t discriminate when you don’t tell them to.

tbh most of her insensitive behaviour shit towards me was from her instant labelling of me as the “funny friend” and the “doesn’t take shit from anyone friend”. which then meant to her that i could never be sad or never feel anything negative and could always take whatever bullshit people chucked at me….. and especially when someone says something hurtful etc bc it’s apparently all meant to slide off me like…. - i can’t think of a good metaphor- but you know what i mean. it also meant to her that i was NEVER being serious about anything EVER bc funny people don’t have the capacity to be serious, ever. apparently.

but anyway. there comes a point when you have to care about yourself more than keeping people on your friend/followers list out of obligation because you’ve known them for so long. if you can’t tolerate what they post or can’t have a civilised convo with them about what they post (mostly bc i never bothered with this girl bc i knew she’d NEVER listen to me bc haha funny friend can’t be sad or angry or argumentative!!!! say something funny. for thee is mine own personal fool)… just delete them. or if you feel like you can’t delete them, just take them out of your feed so that you can no longer see their triggering posts. same with sites like twitter with following.

and this goes for other toxic people in your life too. because my high school stalker/creeper tried to re-add me again a while ago now…… and i instantly blocked him; bc i’d seen from going through his profile that he hadn’t changed at all…. and that i knew he’d start harassing me to fuck him (he’s a massive incel type guy) etc like he always does. i knew after all my time in hospital and stuff over the last couple of years, that i have NO TIME AND ENERGY to deal with his manipulative bullshit anymore (and i never really did in the first place anyway tbh). so before he could even start a convo with me, i just straight up blocked him. i’m never letting him in again to hijack my mental health and my self-esteem.

and even though, yes when you get older, it’s still fun to try to sniff out the person who has deleted you all of a sudden (bc tbh here, i still do this for funsies)… in reality, you know deep down that you’ve lost connection with them. or let’s be real, you never liked them in the first place in school or wherever else you met them (could be work etc)…. that yeah. you were just waiting for them to delete/unfollow you anyway and you don’t care that they finally have.

and the weird social obligation where you feel like you have to keep this person on social media because you’ve known them for X amount of years is fucked up and dumb. because if amanda or victor is constantly belittling you or constantly posting upsetting shit and they do nothing about fixing their feed after you’ve told them that it bothers you (if you’ve done this), maybe it’s time to just straight up delete/block them anyway so you can hopefully no longer see or engage with the upsetting stuff that they keep posting. and i’m obvs deflecting the fact that i actually did engage with posts that made my mental health worse (hello 2011-2015 tumblr era black & white depression blogs) on here back in the day, but i no longer do that.

moreover, follower counts and friend counts mean fuck all. they’re arbitrary. and the fact that social media makes you feel like an asshole for deleting/unfollowing/blocking people from your feed/dash etc….. it’s ultimately important if their posts are fucking with your mental health and/or you can’t have decent convos with this person about anything because they make it wholly about themselves; or have labelled you as a certain friend role which means you can never X, when they can….. it’s better to dump them out with the trash where they belong by deleting/blocking them. these stupid as fuck numbers have nothing to fucking do with loyalty and other traits for irl friends. the idea of loyalty in a follower only matters when it becomes your career. because without “loyal fans/followers”, you don’t make a mark (or y’know you don’t get brand deals/sponsors etc).

and also overall, this post is a big fuck you for growing up on social media. it really does especially hurt people with high anxiety etc. it’s utterly exhausting and it’s exactly why i haven’t made the supposedly necessary 1000+ different social media accounts: from insta to tiktok to twitter to whatever the fuck the next one is going to be. i just have no energy to invest in having to spread myself thin over several SM accounts to see the following stats and the for you page on TT for example, feeding me videos that could inevitably make me feel worse. i actually actively have to cull the videos on my facebook watch feed, which i talk about every so often.

i did all this shit 10+ years ago, beating up myself over losing followers when i was only at like 500 or something and it also hurt when i was in my obsessive tumblr cleaning out phase, at just how many of my old followers, and sometimes mutuals, On This Here Hellsite (affectionate)™️ had deactivated over the years. it really shooketh me to my core, if the kids are still saying that. i don’t want to do that on other social media platforms, though.

and as i’ve stated in the past on here, it’s also exactly one of the reasons why i dropped out of the comms and media studies (triple major in marketing comms/PR/advertising) degree that i originally started undergrad uni with in 2015. i had no energy to expend to “professional” social media account follower counts- which we were being marked on as part of the course. i had no desire for engagement and the study of social media engagement in a professional space like i thought i did from using tumblr, at that point in time, for 4 years. but systematically and critically studying it seemed like a nightmare because why should i give a shit that people on my course aren’t engaging with my tweets and wordpress posts??? (like i know why but still).

BUT ANYWAY. this post went in so many different directions…. and i hope that if i have any younger followers, that they know that the younger millennials/older gen z (idek what the fuck i am) know the struggle of growing up online and that blocking/deleting etc people on the internet is good. and also that losing followers/friends etc is okay esp when you get older. unless of course you made this shit your career…. on this front, i have no idea how to help you on that tbh

#life #about me #shut up ilona #ok dgmw the girl that i talk about in this post is obvs at a better place now when i look at her fb occasionally #and i’m proud of her for that #but man she does still post some of those annoying strong woman posts and stuff like that #but i will never forgive the way she treated me when i was not doing well mentally #and i feel like i know that if i ever bother to reconnect with her she’ll treat me the exact same way anyway #so it’s better to never interact with her anyway #and not have her in my feed in case she gets in that really horrible mental space again….. #…..and ruins my mental health in either the short or long term again #and i’ll also never forgive her for laugh reacting at that status i set while in hospital that was all like #‘hey life i know i joke about wanting to die a lot it doesn’t mean that you actually dole it out to me though lol not lol’ #after my body decided to shit out an illeus after my stomach surgery in 2020 #and i lost a litre of blood etc when that happened and stuff like that #like i was like a hair breadths from death and this bitch is all like ‘hehe funny friend don’t mean shit be my funny monkey’ #and like no i was being serious learn to read between the lines #but also yeah i’ll admit that i shouldn’t’ve even set the status anyway #but i was sick etx in hospital and wanted support lmao #anyway. it is what it is z.

[yanderes-galore]

Yandere Lucifer who falls for a hell born reader who’s maybe a hell hound who works at the hotel for free as long as she’s helping; hcs please.

I don't watch Helluva Boss but I do have a vague understanding of Hellhounds in this universe so... I'll try my best :) Again I altered the idea a little bit but I hope you still like it.

Edit: The note is outdated as now I do watch Helluva Boss. It's good, ignore past me.

Yandere! Lucifer with Hellhound! Darling

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Unhealthy power dynamic, Manipulation, Degrading behavior (You're called a good girl due to being a Hound, idk if it counts), Possessive/Protective behavior, Delusional behavior, Clingy behavior, Possible kidnapping, Dubious relationship/companionship.

Alright, according to my research, Hellhounds are Hellborn who rank under Imps.

They are bottom of the ladder Demons who are used for labor, pets, or guards of some sort.

Hellborn are unable to be redeemed, as a result they don't typically bother with the Hotel.

However... Here's my idea.

You were originally some sort of nanny or guard for Charlie.

Either Lucifer or Lilith had appointed you, a Hellhound, to care for Charlie when they can't.

This resulted in you staying at the Hotel with Charlie.

The Hotel is a home to you, plus you care for Charlie and help in any way you can.

Lucifer's obsession wouldn't start until he visits the Hotel.

He knows about you, the Hellhound that was taken in because his daughter saw you and got so damn excited.

You had no home, so Charlie's parents allowed you in.

You were so nice with his little girl.

You were an adult female Hellhound who left the Gluttony Ring to find a job in the Pride Ring.

Upon being offered the job of guard and caretaker by Lucifer/Lilith, you take it gratefully.

Since then you'd been caring for Charlie, a loyal servant and guard dog.

The last time Lucifer saw you was when Lilith took Charlie.

Being the ever loyal hound you were, you followed them obediently and left Lucifer alone.

When Lucifer enters the Hotel, he is surprised to be greeted by you.

You're surprised to see him and smell his familiar scent, but you bow and lead him inside.

It... caused Lucifer to smile upon realizing someone does still care.

"There's no need for the bow, girl... we can be casual. Now, how's Charlie? Been treating her well?"

Lucifer wasn't expecting to be so happy when seeing you again.

Maybe it's the depression and the fact his wife left him.

For some reason... he feels a bit attached to you.

Even more so when he sees how loyal you are toward Charlie, often protecting her and receiving pats on your head.

It feels a bit strange for him... but he does think he's falling in love again in some way.

Lucifer probably just yearns for companionship of any kind.

Be that platonic love or romantic love.

You've always been such a big help for him and his family since they took you in.

I mean... you already parent Charlie more than him at times.

Lucifer is noticeably awkward when he tries to reconnect and speak with anyone in the Hotel.

However, he seems to talk fine with you for the most part, often asking about Charlie and how you've been throughout the years, you got your Hellbies shot, right?

Lucifer has trouble understanding his feelings towards you, he may even be a bit delusional.

Yet... he seems rather intent on getting closer to you since he entered the Hotel.

Now, here's where I'm just going to talk little HCs of Lucifer with a Hellhound! Darling.

He definitely would call you a "good girl".

That along with petting you or calling you into his lap.

Lucifer would give you a kiss on the forehead and often just likes holding you to feel your soft fur.

I imagine he's possessive of your attention at times due to feeling neglected by those he loves.

Lucifer may make you rubber duckies as gifts.

He's also asking about you with Charlie since he thinks out of anyone Charlie knows you best.

Definitely thinks you also love him just as much, even if you just see him as a master or some sort more than a partner.

If he's jealous or irritated with something, you calm him down by jumping in his lap and licking his face.

It shocks him for a moment, even if he knows that's just how Hellhounds show affection, but soon it just melts him.

I prefer a dubious pairing in this, but you can see him with a Hellhound darling in either way as you're a guard to Charlie.

He may also be protective since you're such a precious person to him.

With Lucifer... he plans to not make you feel like you're low on Hell's hierarchy.

You're not just a peasant to him.

You're his Hellhound, his good girl who has always been loyal...

Unlike others he's loved....

You aren't a pet to him, although some Hellhounds are often seen that way.

You're someone he sees as family of some kind, you make him and his daughter happy.

You always have...

Which is why he doesn't like the idea of letting you go.

You're loyal to Charlie but respect Lucifer.

Loyal to the point of never leaving the Hotel...

But... what if he ordered you to?

What if he asked Charlie to let him borrow you for company.

He promises you it's okay to part from Charlie for a bit.

He'll return you to the Hotel in due time (He won't).

Lucifer doesn't want to be alone again right now...

You'll be a good girl and listen to your master, yeah?

"The pets feel nice, don't they? There's my loyal girl... missed you so much...! Don't worry about Charlie, she's a big girl now. You've done your part. Just worry about me... alright? Don't need you to go back to the Hotel right now... just need you here with me!"

#yandere hazbin hotel #yandere lucifer #yandere lucifer morningstar

[heliiacus]

to traverse this with you

tags: armin x reader, fluff, reconnecting, banter, sharing a jacket, cuddling, reader uses she/her pronouns

warnings: none!

words: 1.9k | masterlist

They used to love one another, long ago. Not loudly, nor ferociously, or even in a way that the other knew about, but they did. She knows that now. It could have stayed simple. They could have stayed apart. It has been years since she's been deployed to Marley, to live and work under a secret identity; and grieve as she may have for him, she could have lived with it. She really could have. They could have stayed star-crossed, torn away by war, but things just had to get difficult. Now, with tensions rising, she is forced to relocate – to trek through the lone mountains in the desolate Marleyan wilderness, in an attempt to clandestinely reach a port outside Liberio. And in another world it would have, perhaps, been a task of a casual undertaking. It could have been simple. Were it not for him, by her side: the man she has grieved for this entire time. Were it not for this one simple, stupid mistake.

All day. All day, she sees the looks he gives her. Watching her carefully – almost militant – his eyes follow her, looking for something she thinks she has an idea of; for her to stumble, or to feel ill – to need a break, perhaps.

And yet, she can't quite read it. Not entirely. Something in that unfaltering, watchful eye eludes her, and though it does truly bother her, she pretends it does not.

She can't blame him. She knows she couldn't. She knows, by now, that she really did scare him, and it's not like she does not understand: he was afraid for her, and had she not been afraid for him, before? Or ever since? She still remembers it starkly, those long days on Paradis; the uneasy, ill-ridden palpitations she would get when tending to his training wounds. Not the cuts or scratches, but the larger, deeper ones. His would not heal as fast as they should have, she remembers that vividly: steam rising, and rising, and yet the wound would heal so slowly. Sometimes, not at all.

So she says nothing, in spite of it all. She lets him watch her, coddle her when he deems necessary. She takes breaks when he suggests them, three times more than necessary, and she dare not cough – moreso for his sanity, rather than hers.

And through it all, they talk. They talk, and they talk, heavy-footed through the hard ground, and all the while she does not stop to think why it is so different now: why now, of all times, two weeks after they have met again, it is as if she were seeing him for the first time. He is different, he was different, but now, unexpectedly, it is as if those differences have wound themselves in her, in some far-off, untouchable place.

Discarded were the pleasantries, the world events and major life changes; they talk about books, and the 104, and the horrible, sordid, and joyous things that have truly changed for them in all these years; and she is shocked speechless when she hears he does not like Razomov anymore, and he just laughs and laughs when he hears that her favourite poem has not changed, not one bit. "Stubborn," he tells her, over and over, and she just laughs with him, knowing it's true.

And the day drags, it stretches, it is grueling to the last drop, but suddenly, somehow, though nearly strangers they were, they are not anymore – it is as if a shift happened in her, strange and disorienting. But she smiles eagerly at him now, and she can see it clear as day that he does, too: blooming and exuberant, his timid frame slowly turning loud and animated.

"I think," Armin says eventually, wind falling quiet. "We should break for camp here. It's a good spot, and we need rest."

She stops, looking around. Here, ahead of them, the summit of a hill towers over them, with a thin sliver of a trail behind. A soft impasse, she thinks, with not an animal in sight – safe and sound, or so it looks like.

"Camp it is," she says, hauling her backpack to the ground.

Camp is set swiftly, as is dinner, and soon they sit by the smolders of a small fire, talking back and forth in hushed voices. The day had been warm, but now, with the thin light melting over the horizon, she feels a coldness bloom harshly in the air. It must be the altitude, then, she realises quickly; the cold grows unnaturally quickly here. Suddenly, the night before begins to make more sense.

She startles when she sees Armin stand over her, pulling his jacket over her shoulders. "Aren't you–" she begins, but cuts herself short when she sees his lips curl softly. "I guess not."

"Not," he confirms, sitting back down in front of her with a tired thump, and then he sighs, looking up at the sky. "This is by far the most precarious mission I've been sent to."

She hums in response, finding herself, momentarily, at a lack of words. She sips her tea, and does not speak until her eyes meet his again. "I imagine it's more difficult to travel when you're escorting a.. civilian."

"On enemy territory. On high alert. In foreign wilderness," he lists off, one hand delicately marking each peril on the other, and she smiles at the familiarity of the gesture; he's never stopped doing this, it seems. "Thank the walls we're not that far now."

"A week more, right? Give or take."

"Closer to eleven days, if your health will stay," he sighs. Then, eyes sharp, he looks back at her. "How are you feeling?"

She shrugs nonchalantly, then smiles at him. "Fine. I don't feel like I’m about to fall ill and die." She watches as he begins to smile back at her. "Unless you count being brought to death by being coddled too much."

Armin has the audacity to blush at that. Deeply, eyes cast down, but he laughs with her when she kicks his shin.

"I’m just worried, alright?" He chuckles, then, softer: "You really did scare me last night."

"I know," she says, air heavy in her chest. She nudges at his shin again, eager to have him look at her, and he nudges back. The gesture is simple, short, and yet she lingers on it, watching him. "I’m sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Granted, I don't think I approached it with the gravity that I should have.. or something."

"Stubborn," he says, smile crooked and warm and so close to something she once called home, and he rubs at the nape of his neck before telling her: "I’m sorry, also. I feel like, for these two weeks, I've been.. I don't know. Everything is just so different now – out of control different." Though slow, his smile falls, eyes eager as he looks at her; open to her. She can read him, if only just for this moment: contrite and discomforted; palms up and open for her, if she were to just reach for him. "I had to adjust. It wasn't easy."

"I know," she says, and his jacket feels heavy on her frame. "Me too. It wasn't easy." She thinks to reach for him; she does not dare. "Everything is different now."

He hums then, craning his head back, eyes on the halcyon sky. "Not everything," he says, and he smiles. It's so simple. Such an easy smile. She looks and looks, watching the man with this strange, earnest yearning in her heart, wood cracking softly in the fire, and it is as if they were seventeen again. As if he were, once again, reading to her by the campfire well into the night, wind grounded between the trees; or if they were burrowed, once more, into notes and inks by the weak lamplight.

"We should head to sleep," she tells him finally, winded and adrift within this vast feeling in her chest, and it is only when he stands, boot stomping at the smolders, that she is able to breathe.

Then it is moonlight that envelopes her, and as Armin heads to their tent, she sits there still, heart racing unevenly. It is so quiet here, so quiet it's almost overwhelming. She feels the cold walk on her skin, beneath the jacket and her clothes, and she knows Armin was right this morning. A feeling roils in her at the thought: discomfort, she thinks at first, but it is not that. It certainly is not that.

"Are you coming?" Comes a voice, and she turns to him, standing hunched at the foot of the tent.

"Yes," she says, standing quickly, and in few quick steps she's back inside with him.

They glance at one another carefully, readying for bed. She unrolls her bedding, settling it down with a meticulousness that is not akin to her; tucking and unfolding, straightening the blanket. And yet she can't help it. Armin's jacket now burns on her shoulders, and yet she dare not pry it off of her.

When she finally stops, she stares at it. She thinks she should ask him, or wait for him to say it, and yet somehow, somewhere in her stomach, the thought irks her, so she does not wait. She grabs the bedroll by the edge and drags it, pulling it close to Armin, and finds him, with surprise, doing the same.

"You should keep that on," Armin tells her, pointing to his jacket.

"Won't you get cold?" She asks, almost absently.

"Oh, no," he says, nodding, tone distant as he handles his blanket. "I mean, with the titan and all."

"Right," she agrees quietly, and as she watches him lie down, as she watches him rest his head, that roiling, disorienting feeling returns: vicious and grasping, holding her breath hostage. She feels it in her hands – an urge to take the jacket off, and a stronger, more omniscient urge; one to take the lapels in her hands, to fold them closer to her, to inhale his scent and keep it in her memory and to not let herself forget it ever again.

She lay by his side like this, hands almost shaking, chest trembling with a broken breath. And he watches her. Of course he does.

"If you're uncomfortable.." he begins, gently, of course, carefully. He lays a hand between them: a barrier, perhaps; maybe an offer.

She does not take it. "Oh, I’m alright," she says, willing herself, by the breadth of her last will, back into balance. "Just some things on my mind."

He seems to settle at that, the worry in his eyes softening. "Want to share?" He asks placidly, and it is only now that she realises how awfully close he is.

"Hell no," she replies with a swiftness, smiling readily as it gains a giggle out of him.

"Thought as much," he says, grinning widely at her. "At least you've smiled."

And she did. She continues to, watching the man next to her settle. She breathes in, and out, her lungs not stuttering once. "We should sleep," she tells him once more, beneath her breath.

"Let's," he agrees, and his hand stays still, and then he asks her, so quietly she barely hears it: "Do you want me to hold you?"

"Yes," she breathes. She doesn't think when she says it, she doesn't wound herself into the future or the past. She simply closes her eyes when she feels his arm curl around her frame, as she feels his warmth come closer to her, beckoning to her: not as desperately close as they were this morning, but tentatively, tenderly, almost. Her hand touches his chest, and for a moment she feels his own on top of it, clasped soft and delicate, before he lets it go.

And she is tired, she knows that now. Her eyes droop heavily, lulled with an ease by the warmth undulating from him to her. Head spinning with exhaustion, pulse beating in the hand that lay on Armin’s chest, she finds herself with no energy, no light within her to feel embarrassed about telling him: "I could get used to this."

Armin doesn't answer, not for a while. His hand – flat at her back – pushes itself into her, just a little; a peculiar sound leaves him – contentment, she thinks, but just barely. And in the silence, in the stillness that surrounds them outside of their bed, she feels herself begin to drift, melting seamlessly into his arms. Then, as she lay on the precipice of sleep, she thinks she hears him say, so quietly it feels almost private: "Then do."

dividers by arlerts-angel

tag list: @arlerts-angel @nilaaaas @supersupper @levistealeaf @sukunascrustyfinger @bel-https @arminarlertssword @dilfkentolover @er3nscottonpicker @lemontrees-things @layla240 @funkkage @ryoiii @siy-draws @katestrophes

as always, thank you so much for your support 💗 reblogs are very welcome!!

#armin arlert #armin x reader #armin fluff #armin fanfiction #armin x you #armin aot #aot fanfiction #aot headcanons #attack on titan x reader #armin x y/n #armin smut #attack on titan smut #jean x reader #levi x reader #eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #aot x reader #attack on titan x you #aot x you #aot fluff #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot x reader fluff #aot x reader smut #armin arlert x you #armin arlert x reader #armin arlert x reader smut

[justagalwhowrites]

Halcyon - Ch. 2: Just Didn’t Think You’d Remember

You and Joel reconnect. A continuation of Halcyon from the prologue through ch. 1, a modern no outbreak AU TLOU fic found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Modern No Outbreak AU, No use of Y/N, Slow burn, 18+ only, Minors DNI

Length: 4.7K

AO3 | Main Master List | Prologue | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

There was a child staring at you. 

It took you half a second to process that fact, the alcohol from the night before making your head pound and stomach turn. It also didn’t help that you didn’t really know any children so you weren’t sure you’d ever woken up by one sitting just inches from your face, watching you intently. At least, not recently. It wasn’t exactly something you were expecting. 

“Hi!” she said brightly. 

“What the hell…” 

“I don’t think you’re allowed to say that in front of me,” she cut you off, still watching you intently, her curls bouncing as she cocked her head. “At least my dad tells my uncle that all the time when he says that. Why are you on my couch?” 

You lifted your head a little bit and dropped back on the pillow when it made your stomach turn. You were under a vaguely familiar crocheted blanket in a room you absolutely did not recognize and you had no idea where to even begin. 

“Well, kid…” 

“Sarah,” she cut you off, still smiling. There was a gap in her smile and her front teeth were still a bit too big for her face. 

“Sarah,” you repeated. “I don’t even know where I am so you might know better than me…” 

“My dad’s friends who sleep over usually stay in his room,” she said, sitting back from you a bit. She was perched on the edge of a dated coffee table, her skinny legs sticking out straight in front of her from a pair of bright blue shorts, a matching jersey with a soccer ball on the front of it on top. “He tries to act like I don’t know about them though. So it’s weird you’re out here, I don’t usually get to meet his friends.” 

“Right,” you said, propping yourself up on your elbow. Your head spun. You felt fully clothed under the blanket so you didn’t think you’d had sex with anyone. Which, since you didn’t remember fucking anyone, was a good thing. But that meant you’d wound up at some guy’s house - a guy who had a kid - and didn’t know how. Or why. Or who. “And… Who’s your dad?”

 “Hey, Baby Girl,” Joel rushed over, bending over to get on Sarah’s level. “Pretty sure told you to eat breakfast, not bother my friend…” 

“I’m not bothering her!” She protested, turning her big brown eyes to you. “Am I?” 

You were about to agree with her but Joel didn’t give you the chance. 

“Do you or do you not want braids for the tournament?” He asked. “Because I’m not gonna have time to braid all that hair of yours if you’re sittin’ in here, goofing off, instead of eating your cereal. So. Gotta pick. Goof off or braids. Which is it?” 

She sighed heavily. 

“Braids.” 

“OK then,” he said, straightening up to his full height. He somehow looked even more massive from your position on the couch as he stood next to a little girl. “That means you gotta get movin’.” 

She got up with a huff and tilted her head back to look at the ceiling as she stomped away. 

“Never let me do anything cool,” she muttered. Joel just shook his head and smiled a little, watching her for a moment before he turned his attention back to you. 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he said. “Told her to let you sleep…” 

“No,” you shook your head a little and sat up, your stomach churning. You blinked for a second, the light from the windows still holding that soft, hazy quality the early morning sun had. “S’fine…” 

You started piecing together the night before, at the bar. Joel coming up to you, the two of you having drinks that devolved into doing shots and, at some point, you forgot your address. You didn’t remember ending up at his house, though. 

And you certainly didn’t remember him saying anything about a kid. 

“How you feeling?” He asked, his hands in the pockets of his cotton sleep pants and an amused smile on his face. “You seemed to be having a hell of a time last night.” 

“Been better,” you replied. “Jesus, I am not 17 anymore…”

Joel laughed. 

“Yeah, tell me about it.” 

“Hey Dad!” Sarah called from another room. You winced a little at the sound, your head pounding. 

Joel looked up, toward where her voice was coming from. 

“What’s up, Kiddo?”

“Do I have to eat the apple, too?” 

“Is it on your placemat?” He called back to her. 

She sighed, so loudly you could hear it. 

“Yes.” 

Joel shrugged, even though you were the only one who could see it. 

“Well, there’s your answer,” he said. “C’mon, you’re about to go run for hours, you need fuel. Eat at least half the apple, then I’ll braid your hair.” 

He looked back at you. 

“Coffee?” 

“Probably good,” you said, trying to find the will to get to your feet and looking down at the blanket that was now half on your lap and half on the couch. You realized why it was familiar now. You’d passed out under it many times, it had been the blanket that Mrs. Miller kept draped over the back of the furniture in the living room. It had just been a while. 

Joel held out a hand and you considered it for a moment. Joel was offering you a hand. To touch you. Though, you realized, you’d probably touched him at least some the night before. You were a cuddly drunk. But still. It was Joel. The guy you hadn’t even spoken to in more than a decade, the guy you’d spent just about all of high school in love with, the guy you lost your virginity to on prom night like some kind of inane cliche you’d tell one of your students to rethink if they turned it in as a piece of writing. Touching him felt monumental. 

You took his hand. 

He tugged you to your feet and you draped the blanket on the end of the couch before trailing behind him to the kitchen.

Sarah sat on one side of the table, intently reading the back of a cereal box, 2/3rds of an apple sitting on a paper towel next to her bowl. You sat across from her, hoping you didn’t look too haggard and ridiculous, and Joel went to the coffee pot on the counter, pouring two cups before adding milk and sugar to one. He stirred it and set it in front of you before sitting at the head of the table with a mug of his own. You just looked at him for a moment. He frowned. 

“What?” He asked. “Take it different now?” 

“No,” you said, picking it up and taking a sip of it. “Just didn’t think you’d remember.” 

He shrugged, taking a sip from his own cup before leaning over to look at Sarah’s bowl. 

“Need two more bites of apple and four more shredded wheat,” he said, checking his watch. “And we’ve got 20 minutes before Emily’s here to pick you up.” 

“She’s always late…” 

“Not countin’ on that,” he said. “Come on, kiddo.” 

She rolled her eyes but made a show of taking another bite of apple before going back to the cereal box. 

“What do they put on the back of cereal boxes now, anyway?” You asked. “When I was a kid there were puzzles and things.” 

“Stuff like that,” Sarah said. “But they’re stupid and easy. I’m trying to figure out if they just took a picture of one shredded wheat and used it over and over or if there are different ones.” 

You stifled a laugh and raised your eyebrows at Joel who just shrugged. Sarah took another bite of apple - an almost laughably small one - and looked away from the box to look at you. 

“So what’s your name, anyway? And why are you at my house? And…” 

“Eat your cereal,” Joel cut her off. She sighed but obeyed. “And this is Goldie. She’s a friend of mine from when I was a kid. We hung out last night but it was too late for her to drive home and be safe so she stayed here.” 

Sarah frowned and swallowed. 

“Goldie is a weird name.” 

“Sarah,” Joel scolded. 

“What!” She looked at him. “It is!” 

“That’s because it’s not actually my name,” you said. “It’s just what your dad and his family call me, like a nickname.” 

“Oh,” she said. “OK. How come I haven’t met you before?” 

You glanced at Joel who looked back at you, seemingly at as much of a loss as you were. 

“I’ll tell you if you eat two more shredded wheat,” you said. She scrunched her freckled nose for a second before obeying. You resisted the urge to laugh again. “I lived pretty far away until recently. I just moved back, so I haven’t seen your dad in a very long time.” 

She nodded slowly and swallowed before dropping her spoon in her bowl and tilting it toward Joel. 

“Have I met the dad requirement?” She asked, sass and sarcasm evident. 

“We’ll accept it because of the time crunch,” he said. “Run and brush your teeth - actually brush ‘em don’t just run the water - and grab me two hair ties, your brush, and the gel.” 

She shoved her chair back from the table and ran off, pounding up some unseen stairs and slamming a door behind her. 

“Jesus, need to bottle her energy…” Joel groaned, rubbing his eyes before taking a sip of coffee. You just stared at him. He frowned. “What?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, Joel,” you said, incredulous. “Maybe the entire child you have that you didn’t think to fucking mention?” 

He winced a little at that. 

“Yeah, sorry,” he said. “Kinda thought you’d sleep through gettin’ her out the door. You were pretty damn out of it…” 

“You said you weren’t married!” You hissed, going back over the conversation from the night before that you could remember. 

“I’m not,” he shrugged. “Don’t need to be married to have a kid.” 

“OK but where’s her mom?” You asked, keeping your voice low. 

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he shrugged again. “She left years ago. Been just me and Sarah since she was about four months old.”

“Joel,” you gaped at him. “You’re a dad. To a kid.” 

“Yeah,” he laughed a little. “Tends to happen when you have one…” 

Sarah came storming down the stairs and ran over to Joel, hairbrush and gel in hand. 

“Alright,” he said, standing up with a groan and taking the supplies from Sarah. “Couch, let’s go. We got maybe ten minutes, ain’t doin’ that zig-zag part you like…” 

“But Dad, they’re always late!” She groaned, heading for the living room. You picked up your coffee and followed, watching as she flopped on the couch where you’d spent the night. “There’s so much time!” 

“You are not making anybody any later,” he said, balancing the bottle of gel on the back of the couch before starting to separate her hair into two parts with the brush. “Hair tie.” 

He held out his hand and she slid one off her wrist and dropped it into his open palm. He took it and tied half of her curls off to one side before focusing on the other side. 

“You excited for your games?” He asked as he started near her forehead with a chunk of hair, his large, thick fingers moving with almost surprising deftness through her curls, adding more to each strand as he went. 

“I think so,” she said. “Coach keeps acting like we’re going to win but I dunno. We’re playing the Lightning for round two and they kicked our butt last time.” 

“That was a few months ago, right?” He asked, working his way down her head. “Y’all have gotten better.” 

“I guess,” she said. “But so have they, right?” 

“Maybe. Maybe not. Hair tie.” 

He held his hand out again, half of her hair now gathered in a French braid that reached the top of her shoulder. She pulled another hair tie off her wrist and handed it to him. He tied off the braid and moved on to the other side. 

“Gonna behave yourself today?” He asked. “Listen to your coach and Emily’s mom?” 

“Yes,” you could hear her eye roll from across the room. 

“Good,” he said. “Expect you to be on your best behavior…” 

“But I like my worst behavior.”

“Yeah, I bet you do,” he said, finishing the matching braid on the other side of her head. He squeezed gel into his hand and smoothed it over her hair. “Mean it, Kiddo. Be good. Watch that mouth of yours.” 

As if on cue, the doorbell rang and Sarah jumped up, running to answer it. There was a little blonde girl waiting on the other side of it and a woman who looked like a harried, older clone of her was standing at her back. 

“Hi Joel,” she smiled. “Hope we haven’t kept you waiting!” 

“Not at all,” he said. “Right on time. Sarah, got your stuff? Grabbed your lunch?” 

“Oh crap,” she darted past you, back toward the kitchen, and came running back with a lunch bag. Joel picked up her duffle bag from the entryway floor and put it over her shoulder. “OK, got it!” She smiled. 

“Good,” he kissed the crown of her head. “Alright, have fun, Baby Girl. Kick ass, play nice.” 

“Kick ass, play nice,” she repeated before leaning around him. “Bye, Goldie!” She looked back to Joel. “Bye, Dad!” 

The woman - Emily’s mom, apparently - looked you up and down and you smiled tightly at her. You just heard her turning to Sarah when Joel closed the door as the group headed to the car. 

“So who’s your dad’s friend?” 

You flinched as the door closed and Joel turned to look at you. 

“Breakfast?” He asked. “I do got shit besides shredded wheat. Looks like you might need some grease to soak up that liquor.” 

“I seem to recall that you’re the one who wanted to do shots,” you replied. “But yeah, I won’t argue with food.” Your stomach churned. “Or I think I won’t, anyway.” 

Joel jerked his head toward the kitchen and headed that way, you trailing behind him. He just nodded at the table and you sat down, holding your coffee cup in both hands. You watched as Joel got eggs and bacon out of the fridge and started cooking. It took effort to not look surprised. You weren’t sure Joel had even knew how to boil water when you knew him. Of course, that had been a while ago. And he apparently had a kid to look after so he had to have picked up a few things. 

“So,” you said after a few awkward minutes. “Last night…” 

He nodded and took a swig of coffee. 

“What about it?” 

“I don’t remember all of it,” you said slowly. “And I’m pretty sure we didn’t but… did… did we…” 

“You askin’ if we fucked?” He looked at you brows raised. Your face got hot and you nodded, resisting the urge just run away now and pretend you’d never met Joel Miller to begin with. He laughed once. “No, Goldie. We didn’t fuck. I tend to prefer my women aware enough to actually know what’s goin’ on, thank you very much. You weren’t exactly clearin’ that bar.” 

You relaxed a little. 

“Thank fuck for that much,” you took another sip of coffee and Joel put bagels in the toaster. “So… You’re a dad.” 

He laughed a little and cracked some eggs in a pan. 

“I’m a dad.” 

“How’d that happen?” 

He looked at you for a moment. 

“You telling me a fancy college professor doesn’t know about the birds and the bees?” He teased. “When two grown ups love each other very much…” 

“I will come dump coffee down your shirt.” 

He laughed and shook his head. 

“Just happened,” he said after a moment. “One of those things, I guess. Not like it was on purpose but…” 

“How old is she?” You asked. 

“Turned 11 in July,” he replied. 

You did a little math in your head and you laughed once, loud, before clamping your hand over your mouth. 

“What?” He frowned at you. 

“Oh that’s rich,” you shook your head, sitting back fully in your chair. 

“What?” He asked again, looking genuinely confused. 

“If she turned 11 in July, that means the last time I saw you, you had a knocked up girlfriend at home,” you tried to stifle your laughter and failed. “Oh man and you were on MY ass about my life choices…” 

“Hey, I was right though,” he pointed the spatula at you. “Fuck that guy.” 

The toaster popped and he pulled the bagels out, smearing cream cheese on them before putting an egg on each one, followed by some bacon and a slice of cheese. He finished it with salt and pepper and put a plate in front of you before sitting next to you. You just stared at the sandwich for a moment and he frowned. 

“What?” 

“How do you remember this shit?” You asked, looking back up at him. You remembered trying to convince him to even try a bagel sandwich with cream cheese when you were hung over teenagers on a Saturday morning and Joel reluctantly agreeing that it was delicious. 

He shrugged. 

“You had good taste in breakfast sandwiches.”

You took a bite and moaned a little in spite of yourself. Joel looked at you, brows raised and mouth full and you felt your cheeks get hot again. 

“Sorry,” you said. “Just been a while since I had one of these.” 

“What, fuckin’ Brad not much of a cook?” He asked. 

You laughed a little. 

“Not of things like this,” you said. “No.” 

He nodded slowly before setting his sandwich down. 

“Alright,” he said. “Two options. One, we get you an Uber so you can get on with whatever you famous fuckin’ authors do on random Saturdays.” 

You rolled your eyes and Joel ignored you. 

“Two, you wait until I can get my truck runnin’ and then I drive you home.” 

You frowned a little. 

“What’s wrong with your truck?” 

“Needs a new radiator,” he said. “S’why I’m not going to Sarah’s tournament today, just got the part delivered yesterday, haven’t had the chance to fix it. Can help, if you want.” 

You smiled a little. 

“Like old times.” 

He smiled back. 

“Yeah, something like that.” 

“Well, as it happens, famous authors don’t do much on Saturdays,” you said. “We pretty much sit at home and procrastinate on writing.” 

“Sounds like bullshit.” 

“It is. But it means I am free to hand you wrenches.” 

He smiled. 

“Then let’s go, grease monkey.” 

***

Well that hadn’t been how Joel thought the morning was going to go. 

You’d been dead to the world when he got Sarah up. You’d always been a heavy sleeper and he doubted that had changed much in the past 15 years. When you passed out on his couch in the afternoons as a kid, an atom bomb couldn’t wake you up. When the two of you would sneak out to go get drunk and star gaze at the park, you’d fall asleep curled against his side and he’d have to be the one to set alarms on his shitty flip phone to get you both up. You slept right through them. 

So when he’d found you talking with Sarah on the couch, he hadn’t been sure what to do. 

But you’d solved that problem for him, taking the fact that he had a child he hadn’t told you about in stride. At least until Sarah was out of earshot, anyway. 

And Joel wasn’t about to tell you that you’d done the math about her conception wrong. That, when it came down to it, you were the reason he had a daughter in the first place. 

It was surprising, how easy it was to fall into your friendship again. Like no time had passed, like the last time you’d spoken to him it hadn’t devolved into screaming and tears.

“Gimme the 3/4 inch wrench,” he held his hand out below the front of the truck and watched what little of you he could see as you rifled through the tool box on the ground and dropped the wrench into his waiting palm. “Thanks.” 

This felt like old times, too. His truck in high school had been a beater on a good day. The damn thing needed some kind of work every other day, it seemed. But you were always happy to be there for it, handing him tools on demand and reading him questions from his upcoming history exam in between. He got so good with cars that he worked on yours, too, when you finally got one. Your shitty sedan needed just as much work as his shitty pickup but he liked feeling like he was doing something that was keeping you safe. Like he was doing his job, making sure your car wasn’t going to break down on you. 

“So,” he said as he waited for the coolant to drain. “Divorced, huh?” 

You sighed. 

“Yup.” 

“What’s the appropriate thing to say?” He asked. “I’m sorry or congratulations?” 

You laughed dryly. 

“That’s a great question. I’ll let you know when I figure it out.” 

“Flathead.” 

You took the wrench from him. There was a clattering sound as you dug through the toolbox again and then you put the screwdriver in his waiting hand. 

“Can I ask what happened?”

You sighed again. 

“I’m still not sure I really know,” you said. “Things seemed fine. Great, actually. I’d just sold my book and was promoted to a tenure track role at the university and things just kind of… I don’t know, devolved? I almost wish it imploded so I could figure out what the breaking point was. It more just faded.” 

He wasn’t sure if he could say he was sorry without lying. He pulled the air intake duct and held the screwdriver out. 

“Pliers.” 

You traded out the tools and he went to work on the coolant hose. 

“I’m sorry you were hurt,” he said after a minute. “How are you doin’ now?” 

You were silent for a bit. 

“Divorce is a strange thing,” you said eventually. “I was married for 10 years. I know that he started Lipitor last year to keep his cholesterol under control and that he likes his french fries just this side of burnt and that he gets up like clockwork at 3:45 a.m. to pee. But I have no idea what state he’s even in right now. I know all these things about him but I don’t know him at all any more. It’s like he’s all that’s ever happened to me and like he was nothing to me at all. I’m not sure what to do with that.” 

Joel held out the pliers. 

“10 millimeter wrench.” 

You traded him tools again. 

“He why you’re in Austin?” He asked eventually. 

“Something like that,” you said. “I couldn’t stay teaching at the same school, not when… He’s getting married again. We haven’t even finalized the paperwork but he’s already replaced me and I couldn’t just sit there and watch it…” 

Joel slid out from below the truck to look at you for a moment. 

“He’s a fucking jackass,” he said bluntly. 

“Thanks,” you smiled a little. “Anyway, Anna’s here. She’s been needing some help for a while so I figured why not now, you know?” 

Joel slid back beneath the truck. 

“Sure,” he said, removing the fuse box. 

“Can I ask what happened with Sarah’s mom?” You asked after a moment. 

He held out the wrench. 

“Flathead again.” You traded the tools out, your fingers brushing his skin. He worked on the fan assembly. “And you can, just not that interestin’. We were seeing each other, pretty casually. Shit happened, she got pregnant, I panicked but she didn’t want an abortion so I tried to get my shit together. Then Sarah was born and… fuck, it’s like everything made sense, you know? She was perfect from the first damn second. Like everything I ever fucked up was supposed to get fucked up in just that way so she could be here. Her mom didn’t really feel that way, though. Think she thought it was gonna be easy for some reason and it wasn’t easy, not at all. 

“Scared the shit out of me when she left,” he continued. “Didn’t tell me where the fuck she was goin’ or what she was doin’, just vanished. Took me a few days to figure out she wasn’t dead but she basically told me she’d sign all her parental rights away. She didn’t want to be a mom and even if she did, she didn’t want to be a mom with me. So me n’Sarah moved on.” 

You were quiet for a moment. He held out the screwdriver. 

“Keep that close,” he said. “Need the 11 millimeter socket.”

You took the screwdriver and gave him the socket. 

“I’m sorry you went through that, Joel,” you said after a moment. “That must have been really hard…” 

“It took us a while to figure each other out,” he said. “But… I dunno. Worked out in the end. Think it was supposed to be just me and her. Works best that way. Now if I could get the rest of my life to go that damn smooth I’d be set. Flathead again.” 

You gave him the screwdriver and the two of you were quiet for a bit, the only sounds the sounds of Joel working on the truck. 

“What’d you think of Curtis & Viper 8?” You asked after a minute of not quite awkward silence. 

“Oh lord,” he laughed. “That training montage?” 

“Such bullshit, right?” You laughed back. “I know they weren’t really going for realism but there’s a limit, even for those…” 

“Should get drunk sometime when we’re not hung over,” he said. “Watch it again, I’d kill for your commentary on that shit…” 

“Oh you have to be drunk to watch that again,” you were still laughing. “But I’m in.” 

Joel smiled, even though you couldn’t see him. 

“Cool.” 

The time it took to replace the damn radiator flew by and, before too long, he had a working car again. But you were still at his house hours later, the two of you talking about nothing and everything at all. Eventually, you checked the time and sighed. 

“I should really get home,” you said. “Actually get changed, I probably smell.” 

“Nah,” Joel replied. “You forget that I played football with Josh Samuels, talk about smell…” 

You laughed at that and Joel relished the sound, the seemingly unbridled joy you had when you laughed like that, how he wanted to give you whatever you wanted just to make you laugh like that again. 

“I’ll drive you,” Joel said. “Assuming you can remember your damn address this time.” 

Joel drove you to a tree-filled area not far from the school, the neighborhood full of old builds and lots of reasons to keep the trees, your house a little bungalow in dark brick and ivy. He had the strange urge to go inside and check and make sure your electrical was run properly, that you had working heat for the coming winter, that you had some food on hand. 

“Thanks, for everything,” you smiled a little. “I had fun. A lot of fun.” 

“Me too,” he smiled back. “I’m glad I ran into you, Goldie.” 

You opened the door part way but froze with your hand on the handle. 

“Can…” you looked nervous. “Would it be OK if we did this again sometime? Maybe not the truck care part but the other parts. But I’d be fine with truck care, too.” 

“Sure, Goldie,” he smiled. “I’d like that.” 

You smiled. 

“Good,” you said. “It’s really good to see you, Joel.” 

“You too, Goldie.” 

He watched you walk up to your front door and let yourself in, staying outside until he knew that you were safely back at home.

Next Chapter

A/N: Y'all, I love having Joel dad. Him and Sarah are just two peas in their little pod and I'm in love with them.

I hope you liked this chapter! I'm really enjoying these characters and I'm so looking forward to exploring everything they mean to each other and everything they've been through both together and apart.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy the ride. Love you!

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #halcyon

[xzhdjsj]

Alex x Reader

Alex meets you again after years (his pov)

Here's a little something I wrote while procrastinating the Zaros fic and request I'm currently working on💀

ENJOY‼️

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Life in New York was all I’ve ever wanted; one major decision that changed the trajectory of my career path for the best it could ever be. But something was missing, New York just wasn’t home. My parents visited and my friends called but the loneliness was inevitable.

The collection of memories I held close to my heart had sufficed for more than a decade but I just couldn’t stay in some place, where I was all alone, anymore. Besides I had made enough money to restart a comfortable life back home, so I did just that. I moved back to England. 

Initially I didn’t take any of the job offers I got, I needed the time to reconnect with the people I left. I was able to catch up with friends and colleagues, but not everyone stayed in one place. People move and change, start afresh and continue living. Maybe I should do the same.

I also couldn’t stay unemployed forever, so I decided to reopen a studio. It was nostalgic for sure, although I had no one to share the happiness with this time. Given my much improved resume, work was a bigger hit than it ever was and soon I found myself shooting for big companies and events.

Like the one I’m currently photographing. Some huge law firm hosted their annual anniversary celebration and hired me to capture important moments throughout the night. It was a lively event, a rich and deluxe atmosphere that I sure as hell did not fit into. 

“Mister? Why do you look so worried?”, I hear a small voice, then  felt a tug on the leg on my pants.

“Ah well hello there, who might you be?”, I squat to face the small child in front of me. 

“Allison sir! But you can call me Allie!”

“Allie huh? That’s a cute name, I’m Alex”

“All my friends call me Allie! Nice to meet you Mr. Alex.”

“Really?”, I raise an eyebrow and she nods, “So does that mean we’re friends now?”

“It does!”

I take her little hand in mine for a handshake and she giggles.

“I’m hereeee!” Allison legs go of my hand and runs towards the voice as I get back on my feet.

“We’ll at least I have a friend here ton-”

“Allison? Honey where are you?”, a worried voice comes from behind Allison, a familiar voice.

“Allie I told you not to sneak off like that, I was worried.”, the familiar voice continues, gentle and soft as I remember it.

“It’s okay,” Allison drags the owner of the voice over to where I’m stationed. “Look I made a friend!”

“Oh really? Well let’s meet the... m”

I couldn’t hold eye contact. Not after how abruptly I left them so many years ago.

“Alex, its... its good to see you again” their voice still as soft as ever, delicate like flower’s petal.

“Meet Mr. Alex!”

“Name, hi”, I start off, a weak start even for me.

“Oh? You know Mr. Alex?”, Allison chimes in.

“Yes Al, Mr. Alex and I were... friends when we were younger.”

“friends”

None of this should bother me, a child shouldn’t need to know of our history together.

“Alex, this is Allison, my daughter.” 

“my daughter”

Except it does bother me. It bothers me a lot actually.

“We’ve already met!”, Allison’s voice rings in again.

“It’s nice seeing you too, Allison has quite the charm.” I forced out.

“Right, I’m sorry sweetie.” they laugh with Allison. 

“I knew it, I definitely remembered your eyes from somewhere.”, I reach down to pinch Allison’s cheek.

“Yes, I get that very often. I didn’t you were back, I thought you’d stayed in New York for good.” they smile. 

God, I miss that smile.

“Thank you”

“Hahaha I just missed home. I didn’t feel like being away any longer.”

“Ah I see. Well then welcome back.”

There was nothing else to be said, and the silence could eat me whole.

“I’ll get going now, I hope you have fun tonight.”, they broke the silence.

“Yeah, you too.”

I watch as Allison holds onto their hand walking back to the middle of the room. My chest burns, it burns so much I feel like I might throw up but I keep watching them. I watch as they approach a man wearing a suit, who turns around and lifts Allison in his arms. His other arm wraps around their body and he kisses their forehead. I couldn’t take it anymore; I couldn’t watch anymore. I promptly excused myself, running to the bathroom. My throat clenched and I threw up. I must’ve stayed there for at least an hour. I cried and cried, more than I’ve ever cried even when we broke up. 

I couldn’t help it. I kept thinking, that could’ve been me. I could’ve been the one holding a child that was ours and comforting them when they needed it. I wouldn’t be photographing anyone else tonight, I’d be beside them holding them and kissing them.

IT COULD’VE BEEN ME. IT SHOULD’VE BEEN ME. WE COULD’VE HAD IT ALL.

Could’ve, would’ve, I left… so we didn’t. 

#zsakuva #sakuverse #asmr #alex #id pay money to see him cry and throw up from regret #this kinda reminds me of rolling in the deep by adele

[rinstagrams]

seeing you tonight... it's a bad idea, right? content: ex!gojo x reader, language, suggestive (16+), mentions of sex w/c: 1.4k

♬ bad idea, right? by olivia rodrigo.

“hey, shoko invited us over for drinks and gossip.”

you hardly hear what utahime suggested, too busy typing away on your phone. your eyebrows furrow at the latest text sent, nearly outright ignoring your coworker and friend. “can’t,” you say after a moment’s pause. “plans.”

it’s not very often that you and utahime get sent out on missions together, let alone in tokyo. she hardly gets away from her teacher work in kyoto, but the curse you’d been sent to exorcise today in tokyo was perfect for her technique and yours. since the trip back to kyoto is a bit long, you’ve both opted to stay the night. it’s pretty standard that you would stay with shoko on a night in tokyo. but recently…

utahime raises an eyebrow at you curiously, standing behind you to peek over your shoulder at your phone. “plans?”

“yeah,” you say, clearing your throat. “i have something to do.”

“i think you mean someone to do.”

“what? hey!” you exclaim, trying to sound indignant. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“oh, so gojo didn’t just send you his new address?” 

“stop snooping!” you say, locking your phone and holding it close to your chest out of view. the look utahime gives you, however, is unavoidable. damn her and that damn teacher look of hers. you sigh, shoulders deflating. “i really don’t wanna hear a lecture right now. can you save it for the train ride back?”

“i’m not gonna lecture you.” but the look she gives is really enough to have you feeling like a scolded child. “but i thought after last time, you said you were done with him.”

“i know he’s my ex,” you say, picking at your nail. “but can’t two people reconnect?”

since your break-up a year ago, you and gojo have avoided each other at all sorcerer events. it’s kind of funny, seeing the lengths the two of you will go to avoid each other. but nonetheless, in the end, you always find yourself with him in tokyo behind closed doors. up until now, you thought you’d done pretty well at keeping it a secret… guess not.

“you don’t reconnect with gojo satoru of all people. i still can’t believe you dated him, he’s a selfish prick.” that much is true, you think to yourself. but despite how self-involved and cocky he might be to everyone else, he’s… not so selfish in bed, to say the least. “he’s not even that hot.”

“i’ve seen hotter,” you hope that maybe agreeing with her in hating gojo will lighten the load on you. instead, she narrows her eyes at you and says, “you’re not getting back together, are you? because i’ll slap some sense into you right now.”

“i only see him as a friend.” biggest lie you’ve ever said. 

utahime actually snorts, very uncharacteristic of her. “sure, sweetie. let’s see how you feel after a glass of wine and a lay with gojo satoru.” you groan and shake your head, refusing to admit to yourself the truth of his words. 

“nothing will happen.”

“yeah, sure,” she says, completely disbelieving of you. “and what’ll be your excuse when you wake up in his bed?”

you bite the inside of your cheek. “tripped and fell.”

-

when you pull up to gojo’s new building, a penthouse on the top floor of a tall apartment complex, you’re not surprised at the text that tells you to just come on up. stupid satoru, not even bothering to walk you up. 

he’s stupid, rude, and hardly chivalrous. you know that this is a bad idea, and you’ll probably regret it in a few days when the mortification settles in, but for now, who cares? 

you don’t even knock, because satoru already has the door open. he leans his tall figure against it, arms crossed over his broad chest wearing a smile on his face. his hair is a little disheveled, glasses hanging low on his nose, and you can already smell the familiar scent that tells you he just had a shower. 

“satoru.” you remember your words with utahime earlier. you’re sure you’ve seen much better looking men than this white, gangly string bean, but for some reason, you can’t really remember when. 

“hey, beautiful. mission went okay?” the care in his voice makes you remember the way he used to fuss over you when you were dating. you roll your neck out, nodding. “yeah,” you tell him. “neck hurts like a bitch, though.”

“let me help you with that,” he says, stepping aside to let you in. you place your stuff down and already as the door shuts, satoru brushes your hair to one shoulder. quickly, his hands work on your shoulders to massage the small knots out from your muscles, even without you asking. it feels good; for someone whose technique revolves around not touching people, he’s still surprisingly good at massages. 

“thanks,” you say, voice soft. 

“anything for you. you worked hard.” his voice is low, and after a few moments, you feel soft kisses pressed to the back of your neck. on your jaw. down your shoulders. you nearly shiver beneath his touch.

“seriously, satoru? straight to it, huh. i can’t shower, first?” you laugh, voice a little breathless as he brushes his tongue over your sweet spot on your neck.

“i figured we could do a second round in the shower.” 

you laugh and close your eyes, relaxing into his touch as his hand comes around to pop open the button on your jeans. your last thought before you give in is, here we go again. 

-

you wake up in the morning to the light shining in through the windows, but also to the buzzing of your phone. as you rub the sleep from your eyes, you curse. shit. four missed calls from utahime. she’s so gonna kill you at the train station. 

stifling a yawn, you start to shuffle in bed, standing to gather your clothes. before you can swing your legs over the bed however, you feel a tug by the waist. over your hips, satoru has a strong arm to pull you back in. a sleepy groan leaves him. “don’t leave,” he whines like a kid. 

“i have to go back to kyoto,” you tell him, trying to tug yourself free to no avail. 

“stay.” a strong pull drags you back to bed with him, and your back is pressed smugly to his chest. his chin hooks on your shoulder and you feel him poking at the back of your thigh. “i’ll teleport you back later.”

“satoru,” you say, tone chastising. “i really don’t have time for a morning quickie.”

behind you, he sighs. the mood seems to have dropped now, his playful childish tone now gone from seconds ago. “i’m not talking about sex. i just want you to stay. i’ll make you breakfast.”

“you know that’s not what we do. we agreed that when we were gonna do this, it wasn’t gonna be like before.” before, when you were dating. before, when you had so many problems that couldn’t be solved with just sex. now, at least you can still have the sex without the relationship baggage. 

“i miss you.”

a sigh leaves you, and you turn to face him, his arm still around you. when you meet his eyes, they’re no longer sleepy, but serious. “satoru,” you call his name, sounding serious. “you shouldn’t say those things.”

“but i do. miss you, i mean.” he sighs. “i miss seeing you more than just every few months for a fuck. i wanna see you in the mornings, and on the weekends.”

all you can do is sigh. he goes on, “we were good, weren’t we? i miss you, and i know you miss me too. i wish we could give it another try. i’m not just saying it because of last night, but… i’ll be better. i’ll really try. i’ll come every weekend, we can go on dates all the time. i’ll be less annoying.”

“that might be hard for you,” you mutter. it’s an insult, but it shows to him that you’re beginning to open up to it, and that brings a smile to his face. a beautiful one, his blue eyes filled with mirth and not obstructed by glasses or a blindfold. 

“and you’ll work on not being mean to me, right? we’ll be good together. will you give me a second chance?” 

the two of you never worked out, and you know that for yourself. you know the problems behind it all, but what a fool you were to think you could be satisfied with just this. the two of you butt heads always, but maybe it’s worth it for moments like these. it’s a bad idea but… you’ve never been fond of good ideas. 

a heavy breath leaves you, but you can’t hold back the smile. “okay.” he grins, and it’s wonderful. oh, utahime’s going to kill you.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #i'm soooo into this man and i just had to write jjk x guts #i need him so bad!! you don't understand!!

[wosoluver]

Not good at saying goodbyes.

Part 2/? - previous - next

Lena Oberdorf × Reader

And here you were about to turn 23, you were a late bloomer in football. Only having a big boom in the past two years, playing for Barcelona.

You were set to play the euros for your national team, as you already did play for the qualifiers. You had finally been called up to play, and represent your country. That was, Spain. Despite being born and raised in Germany, you were only a little girl. The most memories you had in football was unfortunately made in Spain. It had been almost 15 years. So it felt like the right thing.

If someone would have told you that then, you would never believe them. You would say there was no way, and you would take the first chance you had, to go 'home'.

But you followed your path, with the best opportunities you had, presented to you. And that's how you ended up where you were now. On a top team, being among awarded players. And you were happy. Really. But something was always missing, and you couldn't figure out what it was.

Asking for a transfer to Bayern Munich as a loan, was a slight desperate try, at trying to fix that feeling.

And the deal had been settled.

And you were feeling great and confident, despite knowing you would have to sooner or later face your old friend, but for only 90 minutes max.

Your plans had been frustrated when a week after the announcement over your contract, Bayern announced another transfer. From Wolfsburg. The very same girl you couldn't stop worrying about.

You deeply hoped you would be better at hello, better than you ever were at goodbyes.

Not knowing where to start was tough. After all besides the loss of contact, you had so many chances of reconnecting. But you both chose not to.

You, because you were extremely scared of the rejection. And her, simply because she was still not over how betrayed she felt, even after all this time.

You didn't know what you were expecting, but being humiliated by having your existence ignored, was not on your list of possibilities.

You came in, to get ready for your first day. Georgia came over to try and fit you in.

"Hello! It's nice to have you here already! Your spanish right? Do you have a german family? You have a german last name."

"Well yeah, I was actually born here, but I grew up there."

"Really? But you play for the national team no?" she asked as you two moved outside.

"Yes, played for them first time this year."

"Hola!" - said Giulia coming close to you.

"She's speaks english and german probably." - said Georgia stoping her friend from embarrassing herself with bad spanish.

"Yes, english or german, or spanish, whatever you prefer."

"We're so excited to have you here, come I'll take you around, you can meet everyone."

And you did. But when you were about to approach Lena and Lea, she simply walked away.

"Hey, sorry about her." - said Lea, with a tight lip smile.

"It's fine."

But it hurt. And it was only going to get worse.

Every chance she had to pass you the ball, she didn't. Everyone noticed at this point. And in the locker room, she didn't make an effort to hide the fact that your presence bothered her.

From that day on, that's what it was like.

You knew you deserved a cold shoulder, but this was too much, and it started taking a tow on you.

You decided to move back to Germany, trying to fill a small void you had deep down, not to make it feel worse. Had you made the right decision?

"Good morning Y/N!" as she caught up with you on the parking lot.

"Morning Georgia."

"I know it's none of my business and you probably don't even know, since you just met. But is there something wrong between you and Oberdorf?"

"Uhm-" in a way you were kinda glad to be cut off.

"I'm sorry it's just been so weird. We've never had something like this happen in the team."

"I'll try talking to her."

You hated the unwanted attention, especially on something you were so sensitive about.

But she was one of your captains, if she came up to say something like that, it was probably because she wanted to sort it out.

Lena's pov

"You need to try and be more subtle, the girls are worried about the team's harmony." - said Lea to her friend.

"I'm not going to play my feelings down!"

"I'm not asking you to. But at least inside the pitch, you need to put your feelings a side momentarily. You can't let this harm our team's performance."

"See that's exactly what your doing!"

"Lena! You just got here. You can't risk this over pride. You don't need to talk to her, just play football like I know you can."

This time she only nodded. This couldn't be bigger than her career. And that she agreed on.

reader's pov

During training today, it felt like something was different. Besides the fact you had fallen in the same group as Lena. And you two did football like you used to. So much, you had beaten the opposite group on 5-1. Something that hadn't happened yet since your first day. Her passes from the middle field to your position as a left winger, made sure that most balls got into the penalty area so Lea and Pernille could manage goals.

The way she had been acting made you think something between you had changed. That gave you a little hope as you went to talk to her, later in the locker room.

"Hey... I just wanted to- I wanted to apologize." - You said barely above a whisper.

"I don't want your apologies. I'm not doing this for you."

"Still, I need to apologize. There's no excuse to what I've done and-"

"Your right there's no excuse." she said dryly as she walked away.

You felt like someone grabbed your heart that was already holding on to it's pieces, and smashed it against a wall.

You never thought you would see this side of her. In reality that part of her had only been created after the harsh reality had hit her all those years ago.

Like you had drove her to create the best side of her. The kind, funny and quick witted one, you had managed to do the same, but for the worse.

You moved as quick as you could into a stall, and cried your eyes out, as quietly as possible. Not quiet enough though, apparently.

"Y/N? It's Giulia." She said softly as she sat down next to you, outside the stall. "Do you need anything?"

You were quiet for a few minutes.

"A hug?" whispering back.

You sounded like a little girl, scared off by the monsters under her bed.

"Of course."

You got up and unlocked the door, as you walked into her arms.

"You don't owe me an explanation. But if you need to talk, I'm here."

"Did you hear any of it?"

"Yeah."

"We were childhood best friends. When I had to leave the country. I didn't say goodbye. I couldn't."

"How old were you?"

"About eight."

"You were just a kid!"

"It's still my fault."

"Honey no! You were so young, I can't imagine how it was for you. You were about to lose everything you knew. You can't spend the rest of your life carrying this weight!"

"Well even if it was a child's mistake, I have lost her forever. If I could go back in time I would."

"I believe you. Just give her a little time, and she'll see it too. What you two did today was amazing! You guys were synced like one. I saw a slight tiny smile on her face when you assisted those two goals."

"Really?"

"Yes, it was in her eyes. She is really good at keeping a straight face, but I'm better at reading people."

"Thank you. I haven't talked about this in years."

"I'm here. Now let's get you home, do you need a ride?"

"No, I'm good, I drove here."

"Okay. Anything, you call me, yeah?"

We'll probably have four or five parts on this fic 🩷

#woso x reader #lena oberdorf x reader #lena oberdorf #futfem #fc bayern frauen #dfb frauen

[marximoff]

déjà vu | w. maximoff

summary: as you slowly reconnect with Wanda, you feel a familiar feeling of déjà vu.

warnings: heavy make out, smut, strap-on sex (Wanda receiving) mentions of smoking, mentions of drinking, canon typical violence, angst.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 10k

A/N: this chapter sure was long awaited (i know it was you horny gays) but before the hot sapphic sex everyone wanted (emo wanda my beloved), this chapter deals with a character study of both r and wanda, to understand a little more about who they are rn as people

((by the way, I'll be taglisting the chapters from now on, so if you want to participate, just say something in the comments

enjoy!

|series masterlist|

|part one| |part two| |part four| |part five| |part six|

《《《《《《《ᱬ》》》》》》》

A carton of almond milk, a jar of peanut butter, a dozen eggs, a stick of butter, a can of peas, a bag of soft multigrain bread and a sizable bottle of wine are the components of the plastic basket that Wanda carries slung over her right arm.

She doesn't know that she forgot to get a can of corn too.

But the basket is kind of weighty and she might as well use her magic to levitate the items around her own silhouette, but she prefers that way, holding them down herself with her own arm strength.

Sometimes it's good to keep the sense of normality active. Even if normality just means carrying a basket full of groceries around the supermarket.

She then looks at the face of the brown watch buttoned at the base of her left wrist and checks the time, blinking her greenish eyes after squeezing a long, full yawn in the back of her throat.

A gray-haired old lady (Mrs. Sharon Davis, an elderly widow, all wrapped in her pale blue cardigan) in front of her appears to be in a conflict with herself to find some of the change interred in the lowest of her silver wallet.

And Wanda scrutinizes the establishment around herself, between the shelves stocked with groceries and the glossy linoleum floor; the weary gaze wavering absorbedly over her own white-fabric sneakers and contingently fixing on a dark, even smear on the floor between them.

 Old Mrs. Davis still hasn't spotted her desired coins, and she's been digging into her wallet for the silver pennies for a good few minutes now.

Wanda listens over her shoulder as someone pulls into a shopping cart right behind herself and lets out an audible groan, evidentially annoyed at the delay of the old lady with her change, but Wanda doesn't see the point in bothering to torment herself.

It's not yet six o'clock and she'll be peaceably walking home, for Westview is a small, undisturbed, reticent suburban town where everything is so close and easy to find. And she knows that, with her house being just a few blocks away from the locality of the modest market, she won't be long in coming to prepare dinner for her and her boys (whom she has left securely at the house, both doing their math homework).

She smiles tenderly to herself when she thinks about Billy and Tommy.

After all, she knows she's never loved anyone as passionately as she loves those two little boys (the grace of her life, the reason for her morning smile and for the blaze of keenness pulsing within the fond fortifications of her warmish heart).

For her they are everything, and that is why she would do anything for them – they are the epithet of the purest form of love that Y/N had ever gifted her with; the culmination of their love converted into two vulnerable little creatures that are made up of the best of the two of them.

She just knows, like a good mother who understands both her children so well, that at that moment, the twin boys are probably watching some silly cartoon on the television set beside the broad fireplace found in the corner of the commodious living room.

And she is placid in a supermarket line, getting a whiff of the eccentric consequence of the odd combination of the full-bodied aromas of cleaning product and some sturdy feminine perfume – an even slightly nauseating aroma, kind of overpowering and suffocating.

(In some aisle away from her, a child is heatedly asking his mother to buy him some treats)

Wanda then ponders about making something a little special for dinner, and recalls about the delicious kugel recipethat her mother used to prepare in the length of her childhood days, back in devastated Sokovia, so many years in the remote past that encompasses the beginning of the disasters that marked her life.

The memory that gushes over her is sentimental and bittersweetly recurring to her core; she deliberates about the sporadic months of starveling and a small humble family of four, when her father was lucky with his sales and there was a sufficient amount of money left to buy the soldiers' leftover ingredients.

But then, she retrieves back to the years of her late youth, all lived in the restful caresses of the compound in upper Manhattan. She was still understanding about how to breathe without having Pietro to hold her hand. She was learning to live on her own.

She was coming to terms with the truth that living didn't inevitably have to be a bad experience at all; not when Y/N showed her that there could still be delight in the little things in life.

And it was Y/N who used to marvelously praise the dish when Wanda found comfort in the act of cooking, and she always repeat a few slices every time Wanda cooked it so long ago, when they were just two teenage lovers (and eventually also young wives, both living in a small bubble of love and companionship on the edge of a comfortable wooden cottage surrounded by dozen of yards of apple orchards).

There was the sweet virtuousness of the warmth of two young girls' lives at that time. It was the first time that Wanda was really fond of being young (of breathing and having a beating heart, of having a life to live valuing every little detail of it).

She memorizes the exultant smile of her ex-wife, looking so light and beautiful even while talking with her mouth full (a half-crocken smirk drawn to her left-side, like the smirk also articulated in the innocuous characteristics of her little Tommy after he was born, which reminds her so much of the radiance that used to gleam in the sweet features of her former companion).

Her ex-wife wasn't always a lonesome and distant creature creeping in the corners of her mind, and it genuinely aches inside her chest to remember that.

Y/N always devoured lavishly every traditional Sokovian dish she has ever prepared and promptly asked for more – and then thanked her with a chaste kiss placed on the pulp of her lips, which promptly evolved into the building of an intimate, sweaty moment with two bodies rubbing greedily against each other.

But she soon lets out a crestfallen, rather disillusioned sigh, repressing herself for having gone back to those secluded memories amorously stored in the edge of her brain in the first place (of the concept of two adolescent girlfriends absorbed in love in the purest sense of the word, emulating the seriousness of a relationship with adult bearing, but never losing, at its core, the youthful sweetness worthy of teenage lovers). Two girls playing love in a world that was a little too hard on them.

She glares ruefully at the bulbous base of the red wine bottle and then lets out a sorrowful exhalation.

Her relationship with Y/N felt like it was straight out of the old sitcoms that she always appreciated so much, where no problem was a genuine obstacle and that, by the end of the day, the two lovers would be in each other's affectionately secure arms again (and that perhaps she let have an effect on her a little too much, when dealing about decisions made early on in her adult life).

But then she reminisces that she was merely turning eighteen years old when she became a wanted on an international scale, and that, prior to that, she had also grown up in a war-torn country.

She never knew how to behave like a normal person per se – whether that was before or after she became able to expel bolts of magical energy from her fingertips. She never quite knew how to fit into the role of a child or a young adult in the first place. Not by herself.

There was no time in Wanda’s life to understand precisely how to fit these labels (she was protesting with so much loathe constricted within her heart, volunteering to save her homeland, being made of little more than a lab rat by the clutches of a bunch of mad men, being used by the being that promised her greatness, but only ended up costing her the life of her darling brother).

In the cramped confines of a bleak, sullied cell, with only a modest television in the corner to entertain her mind away from the needles and the brutality, there were not many allusions of love and passions that elapsed through her life outside a square screen.

Wanda was aware that she just mimicked other people's movements and transcribed them into her own actions, as if it was all just a show and she was its young star, trying to intomb in her core the path of catastrophe and violence that had always shadowed her closely; it was only the years of strict therapy, self-knowledge and self-care, right after being blipped and coming back, that edified her to be her own person in a truly healthy way. There would be no more extremes in her life.

Her cohabitation with Y/N at the time facilitated, of course – even though her wife had changed a lot in the time that followed since the blip, at first, things had worked out well between them. Or as well as possible under the anomalous circumstances.

The two of them took care of the (still) newborn twins and of each other, always with great tenderness and affection while they did it. At least that's how it worked for the first year after their reunion – until Y/N got into alcohol's graces for good, that is.

Their relationship had always felt rather light and jovial before Thanos snapped his fingers. And after that she might even have come back, but it was indeed her marriage that had turned to dust in that remote dreary day in Wakanda. In all honestly, she's not quite sure what's changed in that meantime that she's been away (dead, she was dead). And it's uneasy to ponder about it, but sometimes she does – she can’t help it.

Her corporeal existence had disintegrated into a sift of life, crumbling into her own ashes. There was color, and then the dreadfully wide expanse of emptiness (death); she, as a self-aware being, ceased to exist with just a thought and a snap of two fingers.

Her consciousness faded before she could even realize she was doing it – the palms of both her hands constrained firmly against the wound in YN's stomach that was leaking bundles of fresh blood. And Wanda never relatively questioned her existence before that (she only questioned why she ceased to exist in the first place). Returning to dust, as people of faith would say.

Five long years that slipped through her fingers and dripped onto the floor in the form of a veil of dust.

It still feels odd in her guts, even ten years later, to remember that there's a void somewhere in her life that would be filled with the time that was thieved from her by the Infinity Gauntlet. A void that had once been filled by the subtle presence of Y/N's love.

(Once, when the twins were about a year old after the blip, Y/N drunkenly knelt down with her face defectively reclining on Wanda’s thighs and questioned her as to why Wanda and the babies where the ones erased from existence while she stayed behind, abandoned like an old piece of furniture that no one wants to use anymore. Wanda never knew how to answer it, but they got divorced about a month later)

But she imagines that it, the crumbliness of their relationship, has something to do with the fact that they were both a little precocious in getting married before their twenties properly speaking; maybe if they were older and more experienced before doing it, she thinks, standing in line at the supermarket, maybe then they wouldn't have had the sorrowful culmination that they did (the crying faces and the broken hearts).

Maybe they could have risen together, and not just drifted further and further away as the days passed.

Maybe Y/N didn't feel guilt-ridden every time the twins cried in need to be held or fed. Maybe Wanda wouldn't have queried her for the love she no longer knew how to give – she is fully aware of the fact that she has always had a somewhat pushy nature, after all.

Maybe this, maybe that.

She doesn't know why she's been thinking about maybe so much these past few days. But it's not her fault that her ex-wife happens to be so pleasing to the eye.

The person behind her in line grumbles again, and there is a mischievous chuckle that reaches her ears with airs of grace. Wanda is sincerely considering summoning some coins with her magic for Mrs. Davis.

“Oh my God, this wine is divine!”

It is Sarah Proctor who addresses Wanda, the key to undeniably everything in this town. Wanda knows it's the other woman because a sudden pulsing urge to fade away takes over her nervous system as soon as the voice echoes behind herself.

She is the high-nose blonde woman who lives up the street, is a devoted member of the Westview Elementary School parent-teacher association (in the year before Wanda had witnessed her make a young teacher leave the room in tears after a meeting), proudly cultivates the most exquisite yellow roses in the neighborhood and wears a pair of classy yoga pants that would fit a young teenager with half of her age. A self-proclaimed wine mom.

Her daughter is a classmate of Billy and Tommy, and the children often attend both the Proctor and Maximoff residences – which occasioned in Sarah a vague idea of intimacy that only endures in the head of the blonde woman with bobbed hair.

She has already invited Wanda several times to Westview Pool Club girls' gatherings, but Wanda politely declined with an odd smile and a trivial wave of her hand, because she's never been the socially outgoing kind of type—and she's always been under the impression that every attempt Sarah made from approaching her were due to the fact that the other woman knew of her past as an Avenger (as did most of the small-town citizens), and so was trying to turn her into a kind of living-tourist-spot for the eyes of the rest of the world to witness.

(Rumors had it that Sarah would run for mayor in the upcoming election, and having a former Avenger as the face of her campaign certainly sells well with the predilections of the American public. Little does she know that Wanda won't vote for her)

“Oh yes, it's one of my favorites” Wanda retorts, talking about the dark tall bottle of red wine prudently deposited inside her plastic basket “It's been a while since I've had a drink, so I decided to buy a bottle to open this weekend”

“Some special occasion, I suppose?” Sarah articulates a suggestive grin, but Wanda just frowns uncertainly, half squinting at her neighbor.

“What- no, no. No” she flashes a half embarrassed, half awkward smile, chuckling nervously while doing so “Y/N is staying with the boys for the weekend, so it's just a special little thing for me. All by myself. A quarantine-style staycation. A whole weekend... just to myself"

“Y/N, huh?” Sarah raises a well-crafted eyebrow in a pique of curiosity “Your ex-wife, right? I remember seeing her at the twins' birthday party. I mean, she's pretty, yes, but she's quite the quiet type, huh...”

“Yeah, she was never one to talk much… but neither am I, honestly"

“A pair made in heaven, indeed” Sarah then flashes a smile, but the taste that slides across Wanda's tongue is bitter and kind of hard to swallow.

She shifts her body weight uncomfortably from one leg to the other.

“But wait, she's also an Avenger, isn’t she? Yeah, she's the one in the black and white outfit! Oh my God! Who wore a jacket over it and had that kinda mean attitude, all punk rock and stuff?”

“Herself” Wanda agrees, pressing her lips together in a long, clumsy line. She just wants to go home and cook her damn kugel.

“Oh my, how did I not notice this before? I remember seeing her in the news once, when I was in college. I also had a taste for delinquents back then, if you know what I mean”

Wanda feels a hot twinge high in her face and she bites the inside of her cheek in a rather timid act (but there's no denying that Y/N's somewhat rebellious attitude has always had a lewd effect on her legs as a young teenager with a schoolgirl’s heart).

“She and Black Widow, I think, saved the life of the mayor in that bombing on the Fourth of July in... 2015, 2016, maybe? Yeah, I remember that! She's the one who's super strong, isn't she? Who held up a scaffold once and saved those kids”

 "That's her, yes"

The brunette muss in a limp voice, which seems to draw a slightly indecent laugh from the blonde woman with her shopping cart full of knick-knacks and silver hoops clicking in her earlobes. It is from her that the aroma of sturdy perfume comes.

“Well, I imagine that super strength of hers comes in handy in some… situations”

“Situ-“ but then she blinks just one time “Oh”

Mortification hangs over Wanda like a bucket of paint spilled over her dark-haired head.

She opens and closes her mouth like a golden fish, frowning, and her cheeks don't take long to reach strong shades of scarlet, glowing red like one of the tomatoes inside Sarah's cart.

It's inappropriate, and she knows it, but she can't help but feel a certain tingle in her breasts as lapses of memory enlighten her thoughts with the ghost of touches coursing along her body. Then she thinks of Y/N's warm, measured breath against her earlobe (of strong hands pinning her wrists above her head, of a tense, impassive hip against her own hip, of the cracked headboard and the broken bedframe). A movement and a moan. An electrical discharge in her bowels.

And then, fuck...

Just Y/N tearing her insides apart.

The other woman smiles viciously, and Wanda suddenly wishes she hadn't put on a sweater before leaving the house, because she can actually feel herself starting to perspire at the expectant look her neighbor bestows on her.

She's never been one to deal with such intimacies with anyone other than her ex-wife (merely some casual, unsuccessful and sporadic blind dates that's never been more than a few kisses and a few touches here and there, by no means ending up in her or anyone else's bed).

But she permits herself only to flash a wan grin towards the other woman when she realizes that, in front of her, the old lady has lastly found her damn change.

Fucking finally.

And then, with the memory still boiling hungrily in her innards, like a hungry beast devouring her from the inside out, she takes a large step in the other direction, trying to walk away from Sarah as humanly possible, as if the other woman carries with her a toxic cloud that sickens everything that comes in contact with her.

If Wanda couldn't probably get a nice lawsuit for that (or worst), she'd turn Sarah into a disgusting slimy frog.

“Well, I, I, I need to go, Sarah, but it was really nice meeting you around here. Bye” the enchantress raises her wrist, bidding the blonde woman goodbye with a wave of her hand and a small, introverted (half-awkward) grin.

There is barely time for an answer to be formulated on the part of the housewife. Wanda's cheeks are still red hot as she (virtually) dashes through the small supermarket's automatic double doors like a fugitive on the run. Mrs. Davis drops a coin on the floor on her way out.

ᗢ

You don't know exactly how long you've been raising and lowering the joint of your bent elbow above your head. It doesn't feel right to do it, just as it doesn't do it if it feels wrong. It's just necessary – it’s like cracking some eggs if you're in the mood for an omelet for breakfast.

You just have the fullest conception that a few good minutes have passed since the beginning of all the activity, and as in the rehearsal of a play, you are repeating the gestures until you overcome them with great proficiency and your culmination comes out perfect, from your liking.

And you don't bother to intend to stop doing it anytime soon – such a guttural, animalistic and barbaric action. At this point, the movement is already instinctive after being recorded in at the core of your memory, an automatic message engraved between the ligaments of your neurons.

 You've done it innumerable times before, and you know you'll do it a few more times after this one.

You lift your right arm, lowers your implacable fist constricted like a steel ball, the resonance of smashed cartilage and wrecked bones echoing in your eardrums, all instructed by the figure of a bloodthirsty invisible conductor within the ramparts of your own cranium.

The face of the bewildered guy lying beneath you looks like a loaf of raw, misshapen meat as you repeat a cadence of sequentially delivered punches against his facial bones.

And he, who is at least twice as big as you, lets out a piercing howl of pain from the cavernous depths of his throat, as even a wild bear would do if attacked deep in a forest.

But in that alley on Long Island there is not a soul available to help him to get rid of your uncomplacent fists – not at the end of a passage that is unpopulated, far from prying eyes that could creep in your direction during the action which takes place there, a beacon of environment squeezed between two amorphous walls of scorched bricks, which gives the illusion of a single long, damp, narrow street. 

A sphere of blood is clotted on your face, like an eccentric gemstone, a dark red pearl splattered under the arch of your left eyebrow. And you pant heavily, your veins stiffening.

You've never been one to refuse punching a motherfucker in the face – your forte has always been pounding up things, whether on the countless missions conveyed alongside your teammates or at work during your teenage years, taking advantage of your inhuman gifts to have something to eat at the end of the week.

You've never had a dilemma in whacking someone’s ass. Even more so when that said someone had committed a hate crime against a racial minority and got away with the trial, because that's the way it is in New York City.

The recurring metallic scent of fresh blood squirts in a jet of reddish color, thick and gleaming across your rigid, compact knuckles. The gruesome fragrance is no stranger to your sense of smell, and you're not quite sure whether you want it to be or not.

But it is what you are; as an inherent component of your biological chemistry (like the serum gushing through Steve's veins, altering him from inside out, or the magic pulsing within Wanda's core, changing the structure of her brainwaves), you know that hostility is a primeval part of your nature longer than the placid ends of an ordinary, quiet life.

The peaceable domestic life lived alongside Wanda is long gone, and desolation and wrath are your only roommates within the walls of your morbidly valueless apartment.

You've been living like a cornered animal for fifteen years in programmed mode, always exposing your fangs and your claws at any sign of danger, just self-destructing, dying little by little, not craving to exist for one more day after laying your head on the blandishments of your pillow and staring blankly at the ceiling, whirling through your usual drunken state. Just desiring to somehow wreck your imperishable body that can't be cut or torn by human hands or tools.

People much well-intentioned than you are long gone, and you, by some implausible probabilities, were (cursed) fortunate to have endured thorough all the catastrophes that life directed at you.

The car accident as a child. The blip as a mother and as a wife, as a friend.

The damn journey by the mountain of Vormir, in which three of you went in the grip of that appallingly isolated planet, and only two came back with a chest full of oxygen and life pumping through your nervures. The avid combat for proprietorship of all the six Infinity Stones, and the provenance of the final snap that brought back peace to the equilibrium of the universe by eliminating the existence of its greatest known threat at the time.

You just seem to live confined in this unbearable cycle of misfortune, and it's not fair to others that you are the person left to tell the story of those who are gone.

If only you could, you would swap places with the true heroes who gave their lives for the greater good. You would even be honored to do so yourself.

Your chest heaves and deflates severely within the molds of your leather jacket fitted around your shoulders over a short-sleeved plain shirt, your veins bulging with rushing blood, and you rise to your feet, setting up your knees, and step back to inspect the big man who lies defeated to the floor of the alley, amidst a pool of his own blood and filth typical of places like this — your jacket sleeve shimmering with bundles of fresh blood, a coat of gleaming sweat limping glistening on the beam of skin on your forehead, near your hairline.

He is still alive, groaning in a vital position, and is severely battered. And it was never your intention to kill anyone. He probably learned his lesson. Maybe you should break his legs, just in case.

A tremor rolls under your black sneaker feet as a loud motorcycle passes by in the distance. Sirens also pass presently afterwards, coming and going with their blue and red outcome.

But there, squeezed inside the claustrophobic walls of the dim alley, you are far from any possible intervention. You then register a single shake that travels along the outline of your left leg as your cellphone pulses inside the back pocket of your old jeans, shivering against your hip bone.

 You take an elongated gulp of air before diving into your flickering pocket and hooking the device through your fuming, blooded finger length. You know your pupils are dilated and dark.

Your gaze is empty and brittle as you scrutinize between the digitally formed words before your motionless eyes.

Frequent bursts of oxygen are a method of neutralizing the pulses of adrenaline throbbing in the artery inside your neck. But the taste that slips between your teeth is acid and sour, and you lock your jawbone at the information that is cognitive to you.

Hey, Y/N. Are you really going to come get the boys tonight? I saw in the weather forecast that it will rain later, so I wanted to check with you just to make sure

(seen)

It’s Wanda

(seen)

By the way

(seen)

Yes, you know it's Wanda (your sweet Wanda, the trace of humanity lingering inside your icy chest), that she texted you. And it doesn't astonish you at all (not anymore), because not many people contact you lately during the sunny period of the day.

You two have been keeping in touch the last few days, after all, you told her that you wanted to be more present in the twins' lives. And it's not an untruth at all, but your sly creaking anxiety makes you feel like it's a kind of uncertainty inside your throbbing stomach walls.

Maybe it's not the right decision, the voice inside your head spoke. Maybe at this point in life they don't need you anymore. Maybe this is a breakthrough, or even the commencement of a calamity worthy of a Greek novel, you're not quite sure yet.

You turn on your heels and spin your back on the battered man, so you can send your reply to your ex-wife's number without looking at the ferocious outcome of your latent tantrum.

yup, your avid thumbs type along the digital keyboard provided on the screen of the small electronic device, i’ll be there in 1 hour or so. hope they like cheeseburgers.

And then you slide your upper teeth along the flesh of your lower lip, somewhat unsure of how to proceed.

try to enjoy your staycation btw. you deserve it

(seen)

:)

(seen)

You don't know why you sent her that stupid emoji.

It's not like you're a teenager reproducing a failed flirtation attempt with the girl you have a crush on anymore.

But a lapse of realism is present as your vision aims on the blood folds on your stinging fingers folded around the cellphone, and you feel a heavy ball of constricted lamentation taking shape in the back of your throat when your sorrowful eyes scrutinize thorough the lines of your hands and find there only odious signs of a cavernous viciousness (a raw, physical cruelty also reflected within the mirror of your shattered soul).

In the background, the man is still groaning in pain. And you're not sorry you broke him in a beating. No, no. You're just sorry for yourself, because you didn't bat an eye when you did it.

Vaguely the memory of Wanda placing chaste kisses along your hands invades you, and you realize you wouldn't want her to kiss your unseemly fingers right now (because you find her too pure to dwell on the filthiness of your touch).

The skin on your hands abruptly itches and feels dull, and you don't feel like having those plagued fingers around your children’s immaculate faces anymore.

ᗢ

The twilight of dusk breaks with the trepidation of an ingrained thunder, which rumbles all in a glow of white light that splits along the longitudinal path that comprised the pleasant suburb that is Westview.

So, this is an opaque afternoon resulting from the middle of the rainy day, gray and hazy in its chilly essence, with tenuous threads of a torrential drizzle protecting the foundations of the two-story house on the slopes of the street, making the dewy ivy rustle on its ground, dripping slowly from the eaves of the ceramic tiles.

Standing on the porch of Wanda's house, you ponder that you should have listened to the weather forecast when it was said that during the afternoon there would be a period of rain. Your dark hoodie is really soaked through and your hair, pulled back in a high half ponytail, is damp against the skin of your own forehead. You feel kind of stupid.

Compact, opulent, slate-colored clouds were uneven against the emerald green of the panorama of howling houses, hills and trees, like the leaning of thick smoke from a desolate fire.

A fierce storm, nevertheless, is not anomalous in the face of the oscillating spring climate of the state of New Jersey, which is not a real stranger to the rainy weather of the season. Thus, the nonstop drizzle is not the atypical episode of the day altogether.

The conquering event of such a rank happens when Wanda opens the door and finds you there, standing with your elbows dripping cold droplets water in the light wood entrance, and then pulls you into the cozy embrace of the pleasant climate established within that domestic environment of her own home.

“For God’s sake, Y/N, you're soaking wet!”

She reiterates, surveying you with an apprehensive gaze that runs the length of your head to toe, her slender ringless fingers still pressed worriedly around the outline of your right forearm tucked beneath the humid fabric of your damp blouse – but Wanda doesn't seem to realize as she's still carries with the action, and you kind of don't want her to let go of you anytime soon, so you say nothing about the warm touch tingling on your cold skin.

“Yeah, the rain started when I was halfway there and there was no way for me to avoid it, so I just went with it” you mutter, with a certain lack of interest smoldering in your quiet voice “Sometimes I wish I still had a car...”

“But you didn't bring an umbrella?” Her gaze is accusatory in your direction, the tone of voice sounding dangerously concerned inside your ears.

“Well” you kind of sigh, shrugging your shoulders within your hoodie, without looking her straight in the eye “You see, I, hah… I didn’t think it was actually going to… you know… to rain”

And then you look at her, and the exact facial expression you'd expect to find there makes its way until it slides all over her face. She’s pissed off.

“But I told you it was going to rain!” she then frowns at you, looking a little exasperated while doing it, her beautiful features drenched in an irritated tone of incredulity “Seriously Y/N, you need to listen to what I say more! What if you get sick?”

You flick an eyelid at the grumpy figure of a very upset Wanda standing right in front of you, exhaling aromas of tea and crimson color. It's funny how the pique of nostalgia slips through your bones – there is an air of familiarity when a subtle sense of déjà vu settles into your cognitive system, like the feeling of coming home after a long trip. You feel at home. You feel belonging.

This image is very cherished to your spirit, and you can't help but to articulate a small grin that feels light in your heart in front of your ex-wife, who then aims towards your gaze with a gleam that is an assortment of misunderstanding and irritability flickering in the greenish irises, the color that look like two emerald stones embedded within her eyeballs, curving a single one of her sharp dark eyebrows in an high arching cut.

You feel married to her again for half a fraction of a second – it's like your remote newlywed routine all over again. And the feeling is actually good.

She looks so pretty. It's like you could kiss her lips right there.

“What? What's so funny?”

Wanda questions you in an almost petulant way, and you let out a pleasant chuckle as she tilts her head slightly to the side of her right elbow, her chin pointing toward the tip of your nose – her typical irritating movement as the harbinger of an angry reaction to anything that troubles her spirit.

“You know I'm physically incapable of getting sick, don't you?” you declare, still with a smile carved along the outline of your own lips, and Wanda crosses her forearms close to her chest in an even vaguely embarrassed way in front of you.

She was always a stubborn bratty type anyways.

“It's that super durability mutant thing or some shit like that. At least that's what Banner told me once, and he's a smart guy, so I believe him” you casually shrug, “I haven't had a cold since I was, like, thirteen. Shit, I don't even know if I remember what it's like anymore. You don't have to worry about me, Wanda"

“W-well,” she exasperated in a timidly cute way, even a little childish in essence, pressing her open palms against the sides of her hips well-guarded by a pair of pale mom jeans – the attire so far from the miniskirts and chains and torn clothes she used to wear when she was younger, at the apex of her mean girl phase.

Today isn't the first time you've noticed that her waist got wider as a result of the prudent ripening endowments of late adulthood blossoming into her beautiful body-type. It suits her well. You want to touch her skin through the fabric of those flimsy jeans and the thin white cotton blouse; your fingers itch to do it.

“Just because you don't get sick like other people it doesn’t mean you can walk around in the rain whenever you feel like it. You look like a wet dog right now, you know”

“Alright, alright, I get it” you raise both your hands to shoulder height in a placid gesture of surrender “No more walks in the rain”

“You're impossible, Y/N” she then rolls her green eyes into their sockets, but you just smirk jokily at her reaction.

It only takes a nonchalant magical flutter of Wanda's wrist, with her right five fingers all enveloped in a fading mist of crimson steam, for the well-versed witch to make your garments still swell on your body, expelling from the bristles of fabric, as even in a chemical separation reaction, the water molecules that soaked them in the first place.

It's like a huge hair dryer blowing hot air the entire length of your body and then unexpectedly stopping as if pulled from the socket, making your skin temperature pleasant again like a sunny embrace all around your body.

You find yourself dry in a matter of seconds, from your socks to your underwear, thanks to her remarkable magical gifts.

The tingles consequential from the scarlet mist touching your skin still slither down the length of your body. It is familiar and eccentrically comforting – it's like eating again a candy that you used to eat during the preludes of your childhood; tastes like home and happiness.

“You know what, your powers come in handy sometimes, I’ll give you that” you say in a mocking tone of voice, and she raises a single eyebrow in response.

"I'm still considering throwing you out for dripping water on my carpet, just so you know"

Wanda just casts a weary glance in your direction, but there's a slight lighthearted tone that resides in the green outline of her graceful irises, as if an inside joke has taken hold between you two.

She smiles, and so do you, because you feel comfortable while doing it – a pair of complicit grins from someone whose chest is filled of joy and fullness. The atmosphere that sets in is comfortable, and you feel more relaxed being close to her.

You don't really do it, but it feels like your fingers are entwined with the fingers of her own hand – the specter of touch is written between the two of you, and it's as if your soul can really feel hers at its core, like two magnets that can't stop attracting each other instantaneously. You've always gravitated towards Wanda's overwhelming presence, and things won't be any different now.

“Come on, the boys are watching cartoons in the living room” Wanda says, then turning her back on you so that you follow her lead to the intimates of the house, “You can stay until the rain stops”

You follow after your ex-wife without further circumlocution, the two of you passing through the small and comfy entrance hall as you go after Wanda into the large rectangular living room, your hands always tucked inside the single pocket of your hoodie as you accompany her with phlegmatic steps in your essence.

Your shoulders feel even lighter as she turns to you and casually offers you the sweetest smile you've ever seen in your life.

Torrential rain is still pouring down from the sky outside the house, and the boys Billy and Tommy can be seen wearing warm, comfortable clothes, both the twins snuggled up against the back of the gray linen sofa, their little smart eyes looking smilingly at each other’s faces and not towards the television screen, where some cartoon that seems unfamiliar to you is shown.

They seem to share some secret that only two people with some primal connection as to what unites them would be able to do it, but the sounds of banter irrigated in the air of childish shenanigans reveals the mockery between their giggles.

They are brothers and they are twins, yes, two parts of a whole, born of the same womb that they shared from the beginning of their existence as two living beings, but you were always a little happier to realize the closeness established in the friendship between your children. Billy and Tommy are each other's best friends.

The pair then seem to make themselves aware of the presence of their two mothers as they enter the room, and the smiles of both children scintillate in enthusiasm as the pairs of eyes look up and acknowledge your appearance a little further behind Wanda's still figure, following her very closely, ceasing the small section of chitchats they had between the two of them.

"Mom!"

"Mommy!"

From the sofa the boys joyfully call out to you, beaming in your direction. You can't help but do the same to them.

“Hey, my demons spawn. What are you up to there, huh?”

“We were preparing something! Okay, so, mom,” Billy speaks in response, barely seeming to be able to contain the glee of excitement inside his tiny body.

"Listen to this-!" Tommy complements his brother's phrase, in a tone of enthusiastic anticipation.

"Hey, I want to start it!" but the other twin intervenes promptly, almost indignantly.

Tommy frowns, turning up his freckled little nose towards a rather annoyed Billy, who is sitting next to his left elbow. The little boy briefly tilts his head to the left side towards his brother, and you know you've seen similar action in Wanda's characteristic mannerisms.

“No, I want to start it!”

"I want to start it!"

“But I want to start it!”

“I want to start it!”

“Why don't you both” Wanda then promptly interferes with the small disagreement between the boys, increasing her mother's reproachful tone of voice a little, preventing, at the beginning, that the intrigue takes a somewhat bigger proportions “Start it together?”

“Yeah” you support her in a complacent tone of voice “You two came up with the idea together, so the right thing would be to do it together too. Whatever it is, I mean”

"Okay"

"Okay..."

The two of them mutter almost in almost defeated tune, fidgeting together on the couch. You think that they look cute while they're there, tiny and sitting like two baby rabbits.

"You ready?" Billy questions in a low voice, turning to the brother beside him.

“Yeah” Tommy mussed back, nodding in agreement.

“Okay,” says Billy then, almost proudly, “Three, two, one, go”

And then, you can barely contain a smirk when the boys, in different and discrepant voice tones, begin a silly chant in their thin children's voices. In the corner of your peripheral vision, you notice that Wanda also lets out an amorous smile, melting into a comfortable puddle of kindness, dying in love with her two singing little children sitting across from the two of you.

“We like ice cream like any child should” they hum together, vocalizing playful tones as they proceed through the song's component words, “And if we get some ice cream, we pro-mise to be… good!”

Then they look towards the two of you, displaying expectant smiles written all over their childish faces. And you and Wanda exchange glances, and the smile she offers you is very similar to the one that graces the curve of Billy's lips.

"Nice try, smarty-pants, but you haven't even had dinner yet"

“But mama” Tommy replies in a pleading tone of voice “We really want ice cream!”

“Yes, we want ice cream!” exclaims Billy in agreement "We can't wait!"

“Well, we can have dinner first, then ice cream. What do you guys think?" you offer them, your eyes darting towards Wanda's face "But you need to have dinner first to grow to be strong and healthy, and ice cream is for dessert only. Right, mama?"

Wanda looks in your direction, and then smiles. And you smile back, because the situation is prone to do so. You, for the first time in so long, feel welcomed and hassle-free in the presence of others.

The air inside the house is blissful and warm, so unlike your empty, disdainful apartment forgotten somewhere on the West Side of Midtown Manhattan. Wanda doesn't feel like your ex-wife right now – at least, that's not how she looks at you.

“Right” her eyes flash pale green beams towards you “Let's have dinner first, mommy”

ᗢ

You wake up in the middle of the night, but maybe you just haven't fallen asleep at all.

The sheets that grace the bottom of your body are soft and comfortable, and the pajama set you wear is not your property. It's late in the course of the long night, and like so many that have passed before this one, you just know you wouldn't be able to rest your relaxation anytime soon.

How could you even do it? Perhaps you stayed longer than you realized detailing the gloomy ceiling of Wanda's guest room, counting in your mind as you scrutinized every passing second so that you still had control over something (time being something), so that you wouldn't go mad at being dismembered alive by each of your own inner demons.

If the beginning of the night was watered in jubilation and a serene comforting coziness on your part, the firstfruits of the dawn soon came to frustrate you in the form of intrusive thoughts quite harmful to your twisted mental health.

The torrential rain didn't stop anytime soon, and after having dinner with Wanda and the boys (in a very warm congregation, you were sitting at the table with your family, eating the same food as them and breathing the same oxygen, always supported by grins of pleasure as you chatted eagerly with each other), and the twins were slow to fall asleep after two generous mugs of chocolate mint ice cream each.

Your ex-wife insisted that you stay for the night after the two of you carried them upstairs and deposited them in their respective tidy beds, showering each of them with chaste kisses to the tops of their childish heads – Wanda's little staycation was long-forgotten by then.

You let out a disturbed sigh, both palms of your hands polishing the length of the dull face of yours.

What the fuck, you think, what the fuck are you doing there? This may even be your family, but this is not your house. It's not your home. Not anymore.

Reverberating through your insides you find the throttling need for a drag of a cigarette eating away at the bottom of your lungs like a harmful parasite sucking the life from its source, and then you get up to do it, because lying down feels like it consumes you from within in a profuse haze of bubbling anxiety that bursts from your stomach to your mouth, making you feel so weak inside.

It has always struck you as a somewhat ironic cynicism on the part of the universe that you, who are possessed of an impenetrable shell on the outside, suffer so much from the brittle fragility of your own interior – hard skin does nothing to protect a broken mind.

The lavender bedclothes had begun to tighten the muscle in your neck after a while, and in the room just down the hall, you assume Wanda sleeps comfortably cuddling in her bed.

When searching inside the single pocket of your hoodie, the well-folded garment on top of a plain desk in the corner of the room, soaked in the darkness of the shadowy environment, the absconse pack of cigarettes from a brand that you are quite familiar with, that keeps you company in the acrimonious moments of solitude, you take a single cylindrical unit towards the spaces open to your drooping mouth and then you find the cold lighter with your fingertips, leaving for the entrance door of the room offered to you by your ex-wife.

After descending the stairs, stepping one step at a time with your bare feet, you are surprised that the door leading to the backyard is already open before you are even there, and the cold night wind has blown inside the house like a curious, invisible animal, installing an icy feeling of dysphoria within the broad walls.

But before you could search with your watchful eye for some intruder who went beyond the icy specter of the night, in avid state of alert, you notice an apollonian silhouette hunched outside, sitting on the step outside the door, with a long waterfall of soft hair in the color of a raven's down running halfway down her spine.

The restlessness that weighed heavily on your shoulders eased as the familiar full-bodied scent of hibiscus tea mixed with the sweetness of a mild strawberry shampoo slithered into your nostrils and filled your lungs thirsty for smoke and tobacco.

As you approach, you see that Wanda, wearing a sheer silk robe over a red nightgown, is accompanied by a large cup that exhales small clouds of steam, with the tiny bundle that carries the tea herbs submerged into the hot water inside the dark container.

"You really have loud thoughts" Wanda's small, soft voice ripples through the air and then hugs your body as your ex-wife turns toward you with a lingering slowness that, to you, is as familiar as the taste of your unsmoked cigarette.

Her eyes glow an intoxicating green hue amid the darkness of the night, only supported by the silver light of the moonlight coming from outside the residence.

You feel like a frog being studied on a silver platter in some high school biology class.

Wanda's diligent gaze always seemed to be able to penetrate through the cracks of your soul – she always understood you as if she were an expert when dealing with any subject concerning you.

You let out an uneasy sigh, oddly scratching the inside of your throat as you do.

"Sorry if I woke you up, it wasn't... it wasn't my... intention"

“It’s okay” she mumbles serenely over a sip of hot tea, the pulp of her nacarine lips being moistened by the hot liquid she's ingested.

“I still haven't been able to sleep anyway”

And it's no surprise to you, because you slept and woke up next to this woman for several of the component years of your life span, and it was always well known to you that Wanda is a woman quite affected by long sleepless nights, not being able to afford to actually close her eyes and be fortunate enough to have a good night's sleep.

Countless were the nights turned to morning dawns, when you both resided under the same roof in the compound back at the Avengers Tower, so many years before you were there, standing in the middle of her kitchen, silently watching her perform the simple act of drinking tea at her backyard door.

“Still having trouble sleeping?”

“Once in a while”

Wanda answers you, and with her eyes she indicates the empty space next to her right elbow so you can sit there.

“Sometimes I need to relearn how to sleep all by myself”

Without saying a word, you cross the entire length of the kitchen, passing by the island and the marble sink, to be seated on the marble step that freezes your warm skin, next to the woman who smells of hibiscus with strawberries and deep scarlet tones.

Her eyes recognize the figure of the unsmoked cigarette between your fingers, unlit and forgotten like the insignificant little rolled-up tobacco paper that it is, and then she looks toward the profile of your silhouette, blinking once with her thick eyelashes as she does so.

“You start smoking again?”

“Yeah, it's been a while, actually. Not that I'm proud of it”

Your gaze shifts to the small cylinder, turning it between the digits of your index and middle fingers of your tender right hand.

“That shit helps me calm down, I guess. Or at least I like to think so. I don’t know"

Silence touches both of you shoulders, and there is a moment for Wanda to sip more of the tea that has spilled into her cup. When the drink is gone, then all the way into her stomach, she places the container on the floor, close to her left ankle like a tame kitten, safe from her company.

You are still hesitating in the uncertainty of whether or not to light up that damned tempting cigarette.

“Earlier today,” she begins, immediately drawing your attention to her pretty face, and you're met with her pink lip as she clamps her upper teeth over the contour of her wet mouth.

“You and me and the boys... it was good. They like having you around. And I... I like it too, Y/N”

She hums in the sigh of the night. You feel a crackling feeling swelling inside your swollen chest, but you don't say anything in sequence, because it's Wanda who continues to converse in the silver moonlight.

“I had forgotten what it was like. Me and you acting like family. It's good, It’s… really good"

You choke relatively. For Wanda, a heartbeat rumbled in her ears. And then she looks at you, and you look at her.

And suddenly, you don't want to light that cigarette anymore – because she leans her chin forward, leaning her head towards you, and you do the same when your body cries out for her, lips colliding in midair like the consolidation of a wish, a scarlet fever supernova bursting within your own chest.

And then, the full-bodied freshness of hibiscus darts into the half-open breach in the gap between your lips, pressing a velvety tongue against the slit between your teeth, discharging into your mouth a red-sour-sweet flavor, definitely good though, but rougher than usual as the two of you now share a needy, somewhat sloppy, even animalistic kiss.

Even if there is indeed a need on Wanda's part, and you just need someone to scare you away from the evil inside your head.

 Your ex-wife, in a thoughtless act, dives with her clever hands into the thin fabric of the tank top that clothes your impenetrable skin, grabbing the sides of your waist in a needy way, as if all she wanted at that moment was to feel you, as if her entire existence existed based on physically feeling you snuggled into her icy body.

She blinks, consenting to the overflow of her feelings, enraptured by the image of your cheeks burning and your chest heaving.

And she does what she thinks is right to do, which seems to be the only option possible in this small moment of affection and dedication, filled with an ember that if she could name it, she would call it love - because she knows she love you, even if she didn't say it out loud yet.

You are the love of her life, and she is the love of yours.

Wanda then hurls herself even farther forward, a nymph figure smitten with idolatry, and takes her prize, pressing the commission of her red lips against the outlined mouth with the flavor of melancholy that could belong to none other than you, so exotic, and never the same.

You feel the smart hands rest at the end of your spine with an almost practiced disregard, seeking nothing but feeling at first, far from the lascivious idea of consolidating the carnal act. Wanda just wants to feel you close, all to herself, comfortable in her grip.

Between a set of pink lips, a tongue is present, and this tongue curls up in another in a not hasty and exaggerated way. It's elegant. It's careful. It is harmonious.

But a slow kiss unravels, and Wanda holds her breath and returns in search of more of her favorite flavor to keep in her mouth, only to be promptly reciprocated by a devoted you, a soft nostalgic familiarity edging your silhouettes connected by the lips beneath a star-studded sky, with an absorbed perfection that no one else but the two of you would be able to achieve.

Up and down, side and side; surrounded by genuine attunement, lips moved carefully, following an invisible line that dictates your not so reckless actions.

A waltz of delicate, tangible lips that still fit together so perfectly, so neatly, that you might as well cry.

But the pacified kiss soon takes the form of a fervent kiss as you pant hot against your ex-wife's lips, and the fervent kiss becomes little kisses sprinkled around her neck that soon dissolve into a hollow moan, into a world where there didn't seem to be any more worries as long as you were in each other's arms.

In her own time, Wanda drags her teeth along the lower lip of your mouth, which groans deeply in response with a tingling in your throat, a tiny fraction of time passing until, like a buzz, quick, rough lips take refuge again in a tongue inside your mouth, and you feel an icy hand grasp your breast in a primitive way.

Clever fingers, soaked in crimson, traveled to your scalp, and a light mouth caresses yet another moan of yours. In a heartbeat, Wanda swings a leg over your knees and sits right on top of your lap, grabbing your wrists to put your hands around her waist.

The feeling is familiar. Toxically familiar.

It is the red invading your senses, intoxicating you with dense doses of scarlet.

You know very well that, even before the enticements of alcohol and cigarettes, your primary vice has always been the crimson sweetness of Wanda's body.

And, well… you're not known for being resistant to the temptations of your addictions.

ᗢ

A crimson marble glow glistening under the palms of both your hands. Sweat glistened in the hollow of your groin across your burning hips.

Wanda riding on your lap, naked as a Renaissance painting displayed in the dim light of a museum, her chest heavy like a marathon runner. The long, thick length of the red strap brushed against a specific spot on her inner walls that made her delirious and increasingly pivot her hips toward you, seeking more, brushing against each other like two animals in heat.

There was nothing rational in that animalistic act.

The symphony in the room was that of skin beating wet against skin; of her lascivious wetness voraciously swallowing your cock.

You could see it from the single, retracted drop of sweat that poured into the valley between her own swollen breasts, the two mounds swaying just before your lascivious eyes; a delight modulated to your stormy gaze, profuse as sea water, which clouded your young girlfriend's body with a predatory look, immersed in illicit labor.

Your insides tingled in a white-hot tingle, both clits sliding through the material of the strap, the insides of your thighs strong and wet against Wanda's pulsing center.

Her tight pussy pressing against the erect silicone phallus between your legs, the red of the material buffed with the sticky juices from inside of her. That was her bed, her sheets wet beneath your sweaty bodies, the walls of her room reverberating the pornographic grunts and moans from deep in her throat.

“F-fuck-!” she clenched her teeth, her nails lacquered with black nail polish carving red paths in the muscles of your back, “Y/N, fuck, right there, ah-!”

Her thick Sokovian accent spilled into your ears, and something primal and cavernous rumbled inside you, like a spark that explodes in a raging fire.

You wanted to own her.

You wanted to consume her.

You wanted to eat her alive; fuck her until the mold of your strap was forever etched into the walls of her greedy cunt, which was increasingly squeezing the silicone phallus, a delicious pressure forming a red knot just below her belly button.

“Ah-! Ah-!, pozhaluysta, pozhaluysta-!” she gasped in her native dialect, loud and clear against your ear as you fucked her as hard as possible “Trakhni menya... ya pochti u tseli, ya po-pochti u tseli... Ugh, dorogaya!”

“Fuck, are you close?”

“U-uhum! ” she kind of moaned, both eyes squinted two lewd lines “Please don't stop, don't stop Y/N, ah-!”

The scream was loud as you dropped her suddenly onto the sheets, her sweaty back slamming against the thick material of the mattress, her dark hair spilling across the pale material of the pillow.

You slipped your hands between the folds of both her knees and brought her lower back close, barely giving her time to miss your strap inside her dripping cunt before guiding the red material between her sticky folds, resuming the vigorous action of fucking your way against her coccyx.

Your strong hand pressed itself (as did the bone of your jaw) against the upholstered headboard, and there a rip was deferred by your own touch – as it had done to a plucked pillow, and a lampshade shattered to the ground.

The lamp above your heads flashed white. Wanda's eyes glowed a profuse scarlet that swallowed the moss green of her irises, the darkening of her dilated pupils making her eyes look like two bottomless wells of lust.

You buried your face against the beam of sweaty skin that joined her neck to her collarbone, and placed a generous, savage bite there.

"Fuck- I’m cumming, I'm cumming!" she decreed, panting against your bare neck, pressing her fingers against your buttocks in an incitement to the act they so indomitably committed.

“Cum for me Wanda” you murmured against her ear “Cum on my cock, pretty girl”

The bed hit the wall again. And again. And again.

You didn't stop at the first orgasm. Nor in the second. Nor on the third.

《《《《《《《ᱬ》》》》》》》

#wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #wanda reader #wanda maximoff imagine #billy maximoff #tommy maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda x reader #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch imagine #scarlet witch x you #bottom wanda maximoff #bottom!wanda #bottom!wanda maximoff x you #bottom scarlet witch #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader

[whumpsoda]

The Furniture

I just loveee recovery❤️‍🩹

Cw: people being treated like/acting similar to animals, mentions of kidnapping, conditioning

———————————————————————

Caretaker knew it would be different. She was fully aware that five years through hell would change a person, maybe even completely. She’d already had a full insight to it while both whumpees had been in the hospital.

Now that they were moved into her home permanently, she had hoped it would get better. Maybe the hospital had been too stressful for them, maybe they were too far in shock that they didn’t realize they had been rescued.

Caretaker was fully aware that she had been much too hopeful when she saw Whumpee 1 crawling out of the car. Ever since he got back, Whumpee 1 had only moved on all fours, and if told there was no reason for him to do so, Caretaker only recieved a confused expression in response. 

“Hey, dude, I promise, swear on my life, that you can walk now okay? Please?” Whumpee 1 let out a faint whimper. Whumpee 2 walked sometimes, other times crawling. To Caretaker’s relief, he was at her side on two feet.

Caretaker took a moment to think. She lived in an apartment, there was no way she would let him crawl all the way to her residence. She’d never admit it, but she didn’t really want any outsiders to see him on all fours, either. “What-what if Whumpee 2 carried you?” She said it tenderly, yet she could still see the both of them tense. It seemed that everytime she said their names now that a strike of dismay struck through them.

They both stared at her, no discernible response from either of them, only puzzlement. She’d seen it so many times since they’d been reconnected, and it pained her deeply. 

After a moment, Whumpee 2 reached his bulky, muscular arms down to the man on the ground, enveloping him in his arms. Whumpee 2 hoisted him up bridal style, lifting the six foot plus man as if it was nothing. 

Caretaker swallowed. “Is… is that alright? Do you guys feel okay with it?” Since their rescue she’d never seen either of them express any opinion whatsoever, even if she had asked them of it. Both of them nodded hesitantly. “That’s good. If either of you get uncomfortable in any way, let me know. Please.” 

Fortunately, they made it to her apartment fairly quickly, only running into a couple people. Her apartment building was luckily not very large. Unfortunately, those the group did run into had understandably supplied concerned glances.

The whumpees did not seem bothered though, which was good in a way. They didn’t seem to notice at all what Caretaker had seen. Whumpee 1 seemed relatively dazed most of the time, and Whumpee 2 always seemed too focused on Caretaker.

As she attempted to wriggle her keys out of the door, Caretaker ushered them inside of the cozy home. “If you’d like, you guys can sit in the living room… area-thing. I cleaned up just for you guys.” She grinned and chuckled lightly, trying to lighten the mood. Neither man gave any reaction.

Whumpee 2 set the other man down on the floor, Whumpee 1 once again taking on his instinctive crawling position. Caretaker could see them heading over to the couch area as she slipped her shoes off and set her things down. 

She couldn’t let them see it, but Caretaker was in shambles. She had absolutely no idea what she was doing, absolutely no clue what to say or how to help them. As she held her head in her hands, she attempted to collect her thoughts.

Caretaker slipped her hands from her face, and turned her gaze to the couch. The only problem was, no one was sitting on it.

Whumpees 1 and 2 were on the floor. 

Luckily she had set down a rug, so they weren’t sitting on the hard flooring of the apartment. Whumpee 1 was kneeling, back straight and his hands positioned on his large thighs. Whumpee 2 had his legs spread and bent, his hands set to the floor in front of him. 

“You guys can sit on the couch.” She made sure her words were casual, so as to not distress them. Neither moved. As she swiftly stepped in their direction, standing intimidatingly above them, the men both stiffened. 

To both of their dismay, she plopped down across from the bot of them.

They stared back, slack jawed. “Is… did I do something wrong?” She fiddled nervously with a strand of her hair between two slender fingers. Whumpee 2 moved his mouth as if to speak, but stopped before any sound was able to escape. “You can speak, dude. I’m not gonna get mad or anything.” His face relaxed slightly, but his frame stayed rigid. Whumpee 2 had spoken several times before, while Whumpee 1 had yet to do so.

“Owners… shouldn’t be level with pets, sir.” While it’s the type of response Caretaker had expected after hearing him speak similarly before, she was still majorly unprepared to hear it. 

“Is that… is that why you guys didn’t sit on the couch?” Whumpee 2 kept his eyes plastered to the floor, as did Whumpee 1. Whumpee 1 kept his head down and his back slumped, as if to make his lanky frame appear smaller.

Whumpee 2 nodded obediently. “Pets don’ get ’ta be on furniture. Those’re human things.” Caretaker felt the overwhelming urge to vomit from the way she heard him speak of himself. The more she heard him talk, the more she also realized how robotically and momotonous he spoke, much unlike how she had remembered him. 

“What if… what if I said I want you guys to use the furniture?” She tilted her head, examining his face. 

He wasted no time to supply a mechanical response. 

“Pets don’ get ’ta be on furniture. Those’re human things.”

#pet whump #whump #whumpblr #conditioning whump #recovery #whump writing #caretaker #My writing #writing drabble

[embodyingchaos]

Hi! Since you are writing for Finn could you please write about the gaga episode including the reader and they help him with his red outfit or the rocky horror episode? Thank you!

❥ hi sweetheart! MY FIRST GLEE REQUEST AAAAA im so excited, i hope you like this! (so sorry this is so late!)

theatricality rewritten pairing: finn hudson x gn!reader genre: platonic, fluff, sorta angst(?) warnings: finn being sortaaa homophobic, mention of the f slur, finn being a jerk, this is like so bad im so sorry word count: 1.9k

the halls of mckinley were filled with students roaming around, conversing with one another while someone was just trying to put their books back into their locker. y/n swore as the books inside their locker fell out and plopped onto the floor, “how the hell does this even happen, i put them sideways for god’s sake.” they whispered to themselves, bending down to grab them before rearranging their positions. as they were putting their books back in, finn hudson had approached them.

“hey, y/n.” they looked up, “oh, hey finn. what’s up?” y/n asked as they closed their locker, “so many things are up. so many damn things.” he exasperatedly said, leaning his back on the wall. 

finn and y/n had been friends ever since pre-school, they used to be best friends but some things change. they both reconnected when they joined the glee club around the same time. “what is it now? rachel? quinn? puck?” “kurt.” y/n whistled lowly, “that’s a new one.” they started to walk down the hallway to head to the glee club. “what about him?” “well, my mom made us move in with him and his dad, and now- now, i’ve got to share a room with him! like the dude’s fine and all, sure, but i need my privacy and he kinda makes me feel, i don’t know, uncomfortable?” finn rambled, stuffing his hands into his pockets as his flannel brushed to the side.

y/n only chuckled, “why on earth does he make you uncomfortable?” their question makes finn fidget a bit, “he just… i’m so sure he likes me. it’s obvious. sharing a room with him is like sharing a room with a girl that likes me.” y/n gave him a weird look, “okay, i’ll pretend you didn’t just compare kurt to a girl and that you think he likes you-” “i’m not thinking it! he does!” they sighed, “right. look, if it bothers you that much, sleep in the living room. it isn’t that complicated, finn.” finn huffed and nodded as they entered the choir room.

he sat beside tina, who was looking a little off today and that’s when it clicked. “you aren’t wearing your usual goth look, t. what happened?” y/n asked her as they sat beside finn, “figgins thinks she’s a vampire and said if she wore goth any time soon, she’d get suspended.” mercedes explained, “what.” y/n deadpanned, in disbelief that their principal actually believes vampires are real.

“it’s so weird.” “this so isn’t you.” artie and finn commented, “i feel like an asian branch davidian.” tina expressed woefully, will frowned at her state. “tina, are there any other looks you can try?” mr. schuester’s question started a plenty of suggestions. “biker chick?” “cowgirl?” “hood rat.” “computer programmer!” “cross-country skier.” “catholic schoolgirl?” “a happy-meal, no onions… or a chicken.” everyone looked at brittany with concern before tina had enough of their ideas.

“look, i appreciate it, guys, but it just isn’t me. i know who i am, and i’m not allowed to show it. it’s like communism.” she begrudgingly comments before rachel stomped into the room, fervent as always.

“guys, we have a serious problem. you know, i’ve been doing some deep background on vocal adrenaline-” “isn’t that against the rules?” artie asked her, “no, not at all- or, probably. whatever!” schue shook his head at her answer, but rachel didn’t really seem to care. “anyway, what i figured out, i rooted through the dumpsters behind the carmel auditorium and i found 18 empty boxes of christmas lights.” tina’s eyes widened, “oh, no.” “which led me to joelle fabrics. i asked them about red chantilly lace and they were sold out!” rachel exclaimed and now the girls and kurt looked entirely worried. “oh, sweet jesus.” “oh, my.” mercedes and him commented, a few of the guys looked confused.

mr. schuester looked at rachel, “what?” “they’re doing gaga.” kurt explained while mercedes and rachel expressed how screwed they were. “we should have guessed it. they’re going full out theatricality. they know it’s the easiest way to beat us. damn them!” y/n took a deep breath in, they were definitely screwed.

“what’s up with this gaga dude? he just dresses weird, right? like bowie?” puck’s question made rachel scoff, “lady gaga is a woman! she’s only the biggest pop act to come along in decades! she’s boundary-pushing! the most theatrical performer of our generation, and she changes her looks faster than britt changes sexual partners.” “that’s true.” she agreed as kurt went on a rant about how amazing lady gaga is.

“it makes sense that vocal adrenaline would pay homage. it’s a brilliant move. she’s a perfect fit for them.” artie muttered, “now, hold on a second.” schue spoke up, “we might be able to kill two birds with one stone here. we can help tina find a new look and find a competitive number for regionals.” tina smiled as y/n held her hand encouragingly.

“this week, your assignment: gaga.” a round of whispers filled the room as the girls and kurt began to plot, rachel announced the ideas were coming to her, needing a pen and paper before mr. schuester pointed at his office. the boys, however, didn’t look too happy about it. y/n was pretty neutral on the topic. 

after the glee meeting, both finn and y/n walked side-by-side in the hallway as they headed to class. they turned to finn, “you look excited about gaga.” they commented sarcastically but finn didn’t catch that. “what? i’m not-” “i know. i was being sarcastic, you big doof.” y/n smiled, “come on, it isn’t so bad. lady gaga’s got some catchy hits, like just dance.” finn tilted his head, “of course, you don’t know that song. why did i even mention it?” they muttered to themselves, looking around the hallway with a bored expression.

finn let out an annoyed grunt, “why are we always doing the things the girls wanna do?” he wondered out loud, y/n pressed their lips into a firm line. “well, if that’s how you feel, then why don’t you express it to mr. schue? i’m sure he’ll understand your point of view. sometimes.” the tall boy nodded, slowly smiling. “maybe i will.” he simply said before turning back around to head to mr. schuester’s office. “aaand there he goes.” y/n quietly commented, continuing their journey to history class.

gaga week had gone extremely well, other than karofsky and azimio picking on tina and kurt, and rachel finding out that vocal adrenaline’s coach was her mom. finn had also convinced mr. schue to allow the boys to do a song by the band kiss instead of lady gaga.

y/n was getting text spams and long rants every five minutes from finn about how much of a hassle it was to live with kurt, it was honestly starting to get on their nerves. they didn’t care about it much until they got a text from the quarterback saying he had called kurt a slur when he was blinded by rage. 

finn drove to their house and was immediately met with an upset face. “i cannot believe you called him that!” they yelled as finn fell onto their bed with his hands on his face, “i know, dude. i feel really bad about it, too.” he groaned in frustration, mad at himself for being such a jerk.

“i wanna make it up to him, but i just don’t know how.” finn muttered, staring up at their bedroom’s ceiling. y/n fiddled with their oversized t-shirt before their eyes lingered on a specific costume that was hung on their closet door; their gaga costume. y/n smirked, “i have an idea.” they slyly turned towards their best friend who raised his head up with a questionable look on his face.

with that, they spent the entire night fashioning up a theatricality costume for the boy as a way to show his support for kurt and that he was different from the other guys on the football team who would judge and scrutinise everything the glee club did.

the next day, since it was the end of the week, everyone had decided to go to school in their costumes. y/n didn’t mind but it was a bit uncomfortable to get to and from class in white latex tights.

“woah! guys, why are you all in your theatricality costumes?” mr. schue asked as he walked into the choir room, “it’s the end of the week. we were kind of hoping to learn what the lesson of the assignment was.” artie told him, “well, um, you guys have had some great numbers this week but i’m not sure that i know either.” he confessed and the rest of the club chuckled with him before a voice spoke up.

“i do.” tina walked into the room in her usual goth attire, “goth tina! you’re back!” y/n exclaimed, beaming at her. the girl smiled at their enthusiasm, “i refuse to dress like somebody i’m not to be somebody i’m not, and i learned it’s good to be a little theatrical.” she said before taking a bow as everyone applauded. “there she is! she’s back!” mr. schue encouragingly announced, patting her on the back.

artie looked around amidst all the cheering, realising that two people were missing. “wait, where’s kurt? and where’s finn?” his question made everyone look around, before the revelation hit y/n. “guys, we need to go find them. now.” the entire club ventured out together through the hallways to find the two guys, which they did.

“oh my god.” “what is finn wearing?” santana stated and quinn asked, in shock. “he wanted to make up for something he did to kurt so i helped him with his gaga costume.” y/n explained, “problem was that we could only use this old shower curtain i found in my attic.” they added, snickering at the sight of their friend wearing a red, rubber-looking dress. they walked towards them as they noticed karofsky and azimio were once again bullying them. “‘cause i’m pretty sure we can take the both of you.” “yeah, but can you take all of us?” puck quipped as they backed finn up.

“okay. okay, i get it. i took biology. you know what, karofsky? we done disturbed the freak hive! the worker freaks is trying to protect the queen freak.” azimio mocked, “next time, we’ll bring some friends, too.” karofsky threatened before the two jocks walked away from the group.

rachel took off her shades, “i’m tired of everyone calling us freaks.” she complained, “well, look at us. we are freaks.” mercedes joked as everyone laughed along. finn smiled at this, “but we’re all freaks together, and we shouldn’t have to hide it.” he told them before sudden clapping attracted their attention. 

“nice job, finn. think you just figured out what the lesson was, kinda makes me wish i’d planned it.” mr. schue joked, “but mercedes is right, you do all look incredibly insane.” y/n smiled and turned to finn, high-fiving one another. “told you my plan would work.” they whispered to him as he rolled his eyes, “yeah, yeah. you’re always right, i get it.” y/n only punched him lightly on his shoulder as they all began to walk back to the choir room.

#finn hudson #finn hudson x reader #gender neutral reader #gn reader #glee #glee fanfic #glee x reader #glee oneshots #glee masterlist #glee fanfiction #finn hudson x gn reader #platonic #finn hudson oneshot #finn hudson imagine #theatricality episode #childhood friends #glee club #glee imagines #glee finn #glee finn hudson #kurt hummel #gender neutral pronouns #gn pronouns

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Hiyo! Just wanted to say that I've been reading for a while and have hooked ever since! ❤ But I wanted to ask for a part 2 fic to the Raditz x Sanji! Reader? (Feel free to delete this if it's too vague)

-It had been several months since Raditz came into your life like a wrecking ball, but it’s also been several months since Raditz found the one he wanted to be his mate for life.

-You were a great cook and you always seemed to stuff him full, you were extremely powerful and did have a nasty temper, but you were also gentle and sweet to his nephew, Gohan, constantly cuddling him.

-Raditz and Goku reconnected, getting to know each other and enjoyed their time sparring with one another.

-Raditz was able to send a message to Nappa and Vegeta secretly, telling them about this world and that it was a world worth living in, full of food and was mostly peaceful and had tons of feisty women and strong people to spar against

-Raditz told everyone that these two would be coming soon, and originally they were going to assist with invading and enslaving everyone on the planet, taking everything for themselves, for Frieza’s army, but hearing this, they were curious about this planet.

-After a lucky freak accident, that may or may not have been planned by the other two Saiyan men, Frieza was killed and his army disbanded, letting those who had been forced into his army be free.

-When Raditz got word of this, he breathed a sigh of relief, knowing this world was going to be safe, that you were going to be safe, as he was vying after you, bringing you large catches, showing that he was a provider, showing you that he was a good mate.

-Unfortuneately you didn’t see it like that, not being a Saiyan so you didn’t know customs, you just thought he was bringing you meat that he wanted you to make food into, which was technically true, since he always ate so much.

-Bulma, Goku, and everyone else was made aware of the other two Saiyans that were coming, one of them being the prince, and he told you all about the destruction of their home planet of the same name, by Freiza and how the survivors were forced to become soldiers for him, but now with his death, everyone was free and Raditz told you all that he invited the two other remaining Saiyans here to live.

-While not bothered with it, Goku did warn Raditz that these two would have to behave and not make any trouble, just like him, and if they did that, they would have homes, clothes, and food provided for them, thanks to Bulma and Capsule Corp.

-When Nappa and Vegeta arrived, they weren’t expecting such a warm welcome, Bulma greeting them alongside Goku and Raditz, telling them that she arranged living arrangements for them, in exchange for them not attacking or hurting anyone that wasn’t in sparring matches.

-It was a pretty fair trade and the two met Gohan, who was a little shy, but they saw his tail and that he was also a Saiyan, something Goku confirmed, that his son was half, which showed the two new arrivals that humans were compatible to have children with.

-You exited your restaurant that was near Capsule Corp, “Food’s ready!!” Gohan and Goku both cheered happily, running towards you before Raditz followed, “This female runs her own eatery and can easily feed Saiyans.”

-Nappa and Vegeta laughed, thinking he was joking, teasing them all after you seated them all, after you closed the restaurant for the day for them. You took that challenge and kept bringing out more and more food, only stopping once all five Saiyans all had full distended bellies, unable to eat another crumb.

-You smirked down at the prince, hands on your hips, “Don’t underestimate me again or I’ll stuff you again!” he couldn’t help but smirk up at you before knocking out, just like the others who were fast asleep.

-Your food was one of the few things that kept these three non-natives calm, as you would always feed them, and you were happy to do so, seeing your food being enjoyed.

-Raditz, despite being lower in rank compared to Nappa and especially Vegeta, let them know early on that you were his mate, even if you didn’t know it yet, and while annoyed at first, Vegeta found himself drawn in by the hot headed but creative Bulma, and Nappa found Lunch to be the perfect woman, she was delicate and gentle, but whenever she would sneeze she would turn angry and violent, easily getting his heart.

-However, just like with Raditz and sometimes Goku, they had to go out and hunt their own meat if they wanted large amounts which they had no issues doing, until it turned into a competition between the three, sometimes, four, of them on who could get the biggest creature.

-Raditz was scowling while stuffing his face, seeing Gohan on your lap as you cuddled him, a bright smile on your face, giving him all your attention, something Nappa teased him for and the two meatheads quickly got into a fight.

-Holding Gohan on your hip, despite wearing heels, you leapt up and delivered a guillotine kick to each of them, sending their heads down to the ground, “If you’re going to fight do it outside!”

-Vegeta couldn’t help but grin, leaning over to Bulma, “I can see why Raditz likes her.” Bulma agreed as the two got up, hanging their heads as you scolded them, despite being half their size.

-That evening, Raditz approached you to walk you home, the normal routine for the two of you, but you noticed he was a bit quieter today, more withdrawn.

-When you inquired, he glanced over, as he had been feeling conflicted since you disciplined him, seeing you yelling at him with a child on your hip, you looked so good like that, “I want to give you a child and make you my mate.”

-Despite being so confident in yourself, you immediately froze, holding your bright red cheeks, turning from him, “What- what are you talking about- dummy?!” you were so cute when you were shy, calling him names.

-Raditz swept you up into his arms, holding you princess style as your arms went across your chest, looking away from him, cheeks burning bright red as he took to the skies, flying with you in his arms, “I don’t know if I’m ready for children yet- maybe after a couple of dates we can discuss going to the next step.”

-He chuckled warmly down at you, enjoying seeing you so shy, but if you wanted to wait and go on some of these ‘dates’ he would oblige to keep you happy.

#one piece #dbz #raditz #sanji reader

[amethystunarmed]

Reconnection

Word Count: 1613 AO3 Link “Well, well, well, this is a blast from the past, now isn’t it? Love hearing your voices through dime store speakers again. What was the phrase he used?” She emphasizes he, like they should know exactly who she is referring to. “Gives it a sort of... lo-fi charm?” And, for the first time since Sam has joined the OIAR, Chester’s voice stops of its own accord, midway through a statement. ~~~ Sam watches his computer have a mental breakdown. (The original Archives Cast are the Avatars in the Protocol Universe.)

It’s in the middle of a talker, of course, when everything goes to shit. 

It had been a normal day. Alice is humming over her coffee. Gwen is grinding her teeth as she tries to ignore it (probably the reason Alice has been humming for over a goddamn hour). Colin was off somewhere, probably ripping more wires out of the damn walls. Lena hasn’t spoken to Sam since their impromptu meeting, and Sam is pretty sure he is better off for it. Sam himself is doing his best to ignore the current statement like Alice advised (he’s failing), while Chester prattles on about a man reading subway goers their violent deaths hours before they happen. 

Like he said, normal. 

It’s then that a woman walks out of a door Sam has never really given much thought to. He isn't really sure where it even goes. (Has it always been there?) But the thought leaves him as he becomes much more focused on the woman in front of him.

The woman is mousy, bookish, and larger than life. She wears her hair in a high ponytail, frizzy curls spiraling out in wild waves. Sparkling horned rimmed glasses adorn her face, and she wears a brightly colored sweater over an even brighter skirt. It is floor length, and covered in trippy neon spirals that Sam can’t help but stare into. And her hands... Her hands...

“Who the fuck are you?” Alice shouts, and Sam suddenly remembers just where he is. What is happening?

“Ma’am, you can’t be-” Gwen says, hard steel in her voice, but she falters. There’s something like recognition, like horror, dawning on her face. The woman ignores her, eyes locked on Sam’s computer.

“Well, well, well, this is a blast from the past, now isn’t it? Love hearing your voices through dime store speakers again. What was the phrase he used?” She emphasizes he, like they should know exactly who she is referring to. “Gives it a sort of... lo-fi charm?”

And, for the first time since Sam has joined the OIAR, Chester’s voice stops of its own accord, midway through a statement. “What on Earth...” Sam whispers, but no one seems to be listening.

“You...” Gwen actually stutters, sounding more unsteady than Sam has ever heard her. “You’re the woman from the cafe!”

“Yes, good eye , Gwendolyn,” the woman cheers, clapping her hands together. “Though I suppose I shouldn’t expect anything less from a Bouchard.” Gwen stares at her, face rapidly paling. 

“I thought I was imagining...” She swallows, looking like she may faint. “You were following me...”

“I figured it would be a fun little remix!” the woman exclaims, gleefully. “I do so love to put my own twist on a classic.” She holds out her long, distorted hand. Her fingers bend and retract in the fluorescent lights, and Sam can’t see where one begins and another ends. “I’m Sasha, by the way.”

The red light on Sam’s webcam blinks on. Sasha squeals with delight and pushes past him. The brush of her skirt against him burns like TV static. He yelps and pushes his rolling chair back on instinct, sliding across the office. Hands grab the back of his chair, and he knows it's Alice steadying him, pulling him away.

Sasha doesn't bother looking at him, eyes locked on the webcam with vicious delight. She does a little spin, skirt twirling in kaleidoscopic patterns that make Sam feel ill.

“What do you think? I'm a bit different from before, but it's not like you can tell the difference!” 

Sam’s computer makes a high pitched grinding sound that sounds almost like a wail.

“Cool your processors!” She giggles. “I'm sure you don't need my whole sob story, how I came to be what I am. I ended up just... filling a void. No Michael this time, with no Institute to send him to his doom, and no need to grab Helen to play your friend. But poor Sasha James can't help but stick her nose in places it doesn't belong, and well, we figured you would show up eventually.” She lights up, as if remembering something fondly. “I made Head Archivist at the university, before I died this go around!” Her smile curls through her cheeks. “We both know I deserved it, after losing out last time.”

The computer stutters out beeps, almost an inquisitive dial up tone.

“Of course I remember you!” Sasha cheers, “It makes no sense, and that is kind of the whole deal, isn't it?” She chuckles, and it sounds like squealing spiraling fireworks. “I am so excited you finally arrived. Wait until I tell Timmy about this!”

Sam’s computer clicks and whistles. He can hear the gears grinding.

“He won’t get the joke, of course,” Sasha continues, prattling on like Sam’s computer isn’t making sounds out of an eldritch horror. “But he’ll appreciate the irony once I explain.”

The computer wheezes, like it is taking deep, gulping breaths.

“What, did you think since the Magnus Institute doesn’t exist, it was all sunshine and roses?” Sasha clucks her tongue, “We still had encounters, we just had nowhere to go.” She grins. “I'll have to let all our friends know!”

“Chester has human friends?” Alice nearly shrieks from her hiding spot behind Sam’s chair. “Chester from the ‘puter?”

Sasha tilts her head, back and forth, mulling it over. “Well, human may be a bit of a stretch.”

“F-friends? Plural?” Sam says, fearing what he already knows to be the answer. “There's more of you?”

“Oodles more!” Sasha assures him, head bobbing like a freshly oiled doll. “Basira's a drag, takes ages to get her out of the dark and Daisy is a chore to hunt down! But I'm sure Melanie and Georgie are around. What a power couple, the Slaughter and the End? One to kill and one to collect? Almost rivals the synergy of the Spiral and the Stranger!” She taps her long, long fingers against her chin. “Though, I suppose I may be biased.”

With each name, Sam's computer whirs louder and louder. He swears he hears something inside snap, and a smell like burnt rubber wafts through the room, but it never quiets.

“And of course...” Something changes in her voice then. It's just as light and bubbly as it was before, but there's an edge to it now, like an iridescent butterfly knife. “Jon and Martin should know, too. Shouldn't they, Chester?”

She says the name like it's a joke. The computer whistles like a tea kettle.

“Martin's in a fog most days and we'll have to untangle poor Jon from his webs, but I'll think they'll make an exception. Particularly since it gives them an excuse to see each other.”

The computer stops for a moment, and makes an error sound, like what Sasha just said couldn’t compute.

“Always so convinced you are the center of the narrative, aren’t you?” Sasha scolds. “It's funny, isn't it? Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood, happy together at last. And all they had to do was die.” She peers down her horned rimmed glasses with surprising disdain. “Not that you would know. You still managed to fuck it up.”

Sam didn't know a computer could make a sound so similar to a sob.

“Of course, I could be lying,” Sasha says, shrugging. “You'd know all about that.” The thing’s voice dips, and swirls with a hatred that makes the back of Sam’s neck prickle. “You were so very quick to jump to conclusions, back in the day. So suspicious of everyone but the singular entity that deserved it.”

The computer (the thing in the computer?) makes a low, regretful groan.

“Maybe none of this is true, maybe you didn't doom them all. Again.” She hums a dizzying melody as she thinks. “But... we both know better than that, don't we?”

There is a pause, a moment of stillness. Sam doesn't breathe, doesn't know if he could if he tried.

Then Sasha's perfect peppy persona snaps back in place. “Well, toodles! I have places to go, people to eat. Try not to cut yourself on all those angles, Chester.”

And she skips out the door, which promptly vanishes behind her.

(Sam’s desktop tower shudders, and jerks like it was shoved.)  

Sam curses. 

(The tan plastic cracks along the edges, and bulges.) 

“Should we smash it?” Alice asks.

(The flat panels distend and warp with rippling force.)

“I... I...” 

(Like something is pushing outward.)

“Great, she broke Gwen.” Alice’s voice is high-pitched and frantic. “Sam, please tell me you have a plan?”

(Like it is trying to hatch .)

Sam has no fucking idea what to do.

Before he can say as much, there is another error noise, and blue and white text flashes across the monitor.

“Did it...” Sam is almost afraid to say it, like he’ll jinx it. “Did it crash?”

As if answering his question, the monitor goes complete dark, then lights up with the Windows logo.

Alice, Sam, and Gwen watch in silence as it boots up, unaffected by the dents and distortions in its casing. They stare at it, in rigid stillness, like it will reach out and bite. At this point, Sam wouldn’t be surprised if it did. The start up tone dings, and Sam jumps so hard he nearly falls out of the chair.

And then Chester's voice picks back up, right where it left off, what feels like a lifetime ago. With the strange door gone and Chester back to normal, it’s almost as though nothing has changed.

(But it has. It has it has it has it has-)

“So,” Alice says, voice shaking, “Anyone want to go for a pint?”

#the magnus protocol #the magnus archives #sasha james #jonathan sims #alice dyer #samama khalid #gwendolyn bouchard #tmagp #tma #the distortion #the spiral #body horror #my writing #my fanfic #timsasha #jonmartin #fun fact: this was written before the last episode #I predicted the future and am feeling so normal about it

[karofsky]

I dunno, maybe these last few seasons are really getting to me because I am in such a transitional period in my life, and I feel so lost because I do feel like I should know where I'm going or what I'm doing, but I don't, and even when I try it does just become trial and error, and that's frustrating.

But it's like... maybe because of that, I don't really understand how people aren't grasping at what is happening to these characters? Obviously we all interpret things differently, but there is just like... a disconnect that has been bothering me. Like, they all have had their lives turned upside down from the time we've spent with them, and they are desperately trying to land on their feet while also being so caught up in their hundreds of years of life to not really understand how to land at all. They keep fumbling because they were so stuck in their ways that anything new is terrifying to them.

This got kind of long, but just...

This is especially true with Nadja? She has always felt the need to prove herself-- even her former ghost was disappointed that she hadn't done anything, so of course when your past self is disappointed in where you are, that's going to fuck you up. She spent the entirety of season 3 trying to build up the vampiric council, only for it to be incredibly frustrating-- but then it gave her an opportunity! So she took it! And then quickly realized, oh wait, actually I might have been frustrated because none of this is actually rewarding for me, so I'm going to do the complete opposite of this and do what I want. And she had a great time with the nightclub, until it failed, which is why the fact that it failed hit her much harder than anything else. This had been her thing that she started by throwing away what everyone told her was a great honor of an opportunity, and it backfired.

So now? She's lost, and found comfort in the one thing that she has clung to for all these years: her heritage. Nadja is incredibly connected to her former life, and has so much sentimentality about it that of course it was second nature to adopt this family. She lost her family, and this new one accepts her as she is, and isn't asking her to prove herself, because all that matters is that she is enjoying her life. Even when they didn't like Laszlo at first, they didn't blame Nadja-- they just hated Laszlo. And in the end, they (of course, by sheer luck) loved Laszlo, because while they love Nadja for who she is, what Nadja chooses to love (a dumbass with a zest for life and a drive to be honest no matter the cost) ends up being just as important. Nadja is both who she has always been and who she will always choose to love, and I hope she realizes this season that that's enough.

And the others are all going through this self-discovery too! Laszlo, who started out as this uncaring asshole who turned his nose up at humanity, is slowly reconnecting to the humanity he was always close to in the first place. His best friend is a human he would do anything for. He can put aside any differences he has with Guillermo because deep down he understands that Guillermo is important to him. He quite literally witnessed life flashing before his eyes as he took the time to raise Colin, only for it all to instantly be gone. He's gotten so caught up in his eternal life that he forgot that life isn't just some foreign concept anymore, and is always happening, to and around him, and always would pass him by if he wasn't careful to get out there and experience it again.

And then there's Nandor, whose entire character arc has been about loss. He lost his home, he lost his former glory, he lost love after love. His arc this season isn't a new one; in fact, it's probably the end of his. All Nandor has ever wanted was to be respected, and cared for, and loved, and treated like his thoughts and feelings mattered. And no one has ever done that for him like Guillermo has. Nandor has lived so many lives and met so many people, and he understands how important those lives are, but they have always passed him by as they have Laszlo. Nandor has never had a constant until now, and now he is realizing that, oh shit, he has that thing, and that thing is slipping away. Guillermo will be the one thing that makes or breaks Nandor, but either way, he is coming out of this permanently changed because of it.

Even Colin and the Guide are on self discovery, albeit more direct and sudden compared to the others' slowburn. Colin might have his old memories, but he is notably different. He doesn't feed off the others as he once did, and instead reserves it for strangers. He doesn't want to be told what to do for his campaign, despite the fact that it would ultimately benefit him, so he ducks out. He shows genuine care and emotion towards Nadja and Nadjita, and again towards Evie. He's hesitant in a way old Colin never was, because old Colin wasn't raised by Laszlo. Something in there has changed.

And the poor Guide! She was quite literally enslaved to work for hundreds of years, to the point where it wasn't until she crossed paths with the gang that she even realized how much she was missing outside of work. She craves something other than a purpose for the first time in years, and that thing is genuine companionship and love.

And... gosh, the Guillermo of it all. "Nothing ever changes" because from the beginning, Guillermo's ONLY goal was to be a vampire. He preached family, and he does genuinely consider the others his, but his core being was always so invested in this life he'd built up for himself. So, of course, the fact that it wasn't happening was his breaking point, and he dove after it, immediately learning the consequences. He realizes that, even though his transition is fucked up, there is no difference between human life and vampire life-- and he hates that. He hates it because he, for 13+ years, has been so selfishly absorbed in this power trip he craved that he has failed to see that things have changed-- everything has changed because he existed as who he was, drive and all. The entire house has morphed because Guillermo was there to be that tether to their former lives, but now while they are so caught up in the joy of life, Guillermo is swinging the other way right past them.

And again, maybe it's because I relate so deeply, or maybe it's just because I'm reading too far into things, but I just... I dunno. I feel like these characters are so complex, and lately it feels like people are trying to keep them in the boxes they've created for them. Just my two cents, I guess.

#long post #wwdits #tbd #probably lol

[flower-boi16]

Scrooge's Character Arc is Amazing And Here's Why

OK SO I REALLY WANT TO TALK ABOUT HOW MUCH I LOVE SCROOGE'S ARC IN SEASON 1 SO LET'S GO!!!!

In the series premiere, we first get introduced to him as a grumpy old man, not bothering to spend some time or talk with his nephews and shoving them into a room to do their own thing. He pushes the nephews away, choosing not to spend time with them because "family is nothing but trouble". He claims that he doesn't need family and can do things on his own.

However, later on in the episode when the boys (and Webby) mess with stuff in the garage and accidentally unleash Pixu, the golden dragon, and Scrooge uses the stone gauntlet to defeat it, he goes to the boys, and tells them they endangered themselves and Scrooge while also almost getting him killed multiple times...

...and he enjoyed it. He felt a feeling he never felt before; the thrill and excitement of danger and adventure he would get into with his family before, and he decides to take the boys on his trip to Atlantis as they're very first adventure. It's the beginning of Scrooge reconnecting with his family, and the rest of season 1 shows him bonding with the boys more, as he connects with them as family, going on adventures with the boys like he did with Donald and Della.

Now we get to the penultimate episode of the season, The Last Crash of the Sunchaser. At the end of the episode when they make sure the ship is balanced, Scrooge tells the boys what happened to their mother, tying up the main mystery of season 1. After the reveal, the boys blame Scrooge for their mother's disappearance since..ya know, he built a spaceship for her.

At this point, Scrooge would've finally connected back to his family again - so he makes himself vulnerable to the boys for once and...they attack him, accusing him of being responsible for their mother's disappearance, after he did so much for them and reconnected, which causes Scrooge to lash out at them.

At the end of the episode, after Beakly tells Scrooge that he's pushed away his loved ones once again, saying that she hopes he's happy, he says..."I am". After all he's done with them, taking them on adventures, bonding, taking them in, they stab him in the back when he lowers his guard towards them to be vulnerable, so he's glad he lashed out and pushed them away, as he regresses back to his old mentality;

Family is nothing but trouble, and he's better off without them. The final episode of Season 1, The Show War, features the grand finale to Scrooge's arc. When Magica gets into McDuck Manor possessing Lena, we see Scrooge has...well, he's been turned into a bum with little care for adventuring.

The episode shows how far Scrooge has regressed, going back to how he was in the first episode; a grumpy old man who shuts himself away from others, especially his own family. He's not the thrill seeking adventurer he was before this point, he's just a depressed bum who took "letting himself go" to a whole new level.

In fact, the episode has him regress even further from that point, as Magica feeds into this, saying that Scrooge doesn't need his family, he did everything by himself alone, he can do it again. The thing is, if Scrooge did do that...he would be pushing away all the people that ever cared about him, isolating himself and cutting all communication from his family in order to keep himself alone...

...that's not a very healthy way to live.

But he's Scrooge McDuck! He doesn't need family, he did everything alone before and he can do it again...but...despite Scrooge's cynical & negative views on family...there's an aching part of him deep down that truly does miss them. And, when Lena reminds Scrooge how great his family truly is, how no matter what, they'll always love each other, support each other, care for each other and face any daring adventure together, he realizes just how much he truly misses that.

How much he misses the thrill of experiencing adventures with his family after pushing them away out of his grief of losing one that was close to him deep down, in spite of his prior negative and cynical views of family.

It fully completes his arc of reconnecting with his family, as when he meets up with the boys again, he expresses that he deeply missed them.

Scrooge started out as a grumpy old man who shunned himself away from the people who cared about him out of pure grief and loss of loosing Della...until three little scamps came barging into his doorstep and made him experience the thrill of adventure again.

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #ducktales analysis #scrooge mcduck #ducktales' character writing is SO underrated #I am going to make a post about Lena soon btw #her growth is just as great as Scrooge's

[dittobooty]

I haven't written a fic in at least 8 years but a really good AU does something to a man so have this little ficlet I wrote in like 15 minutes and didn't even bother to read back over for mistakes and don't even have a title. I just didn't feel like drawing a whole comic for this okay? This is inspired by @charliethechandelure's Weird Summer AU. Hopefully it's not too messy, enjoy.

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

The news about Pedro was only given to them after everything was said and done in Wano. Franky sobbed for the boy they had only known one summer. A tear sprang to Robin’s eye and she silently wiped it away. That night they would grieve in each other’s company but on the Grand Line there’s no time to properly mourn a loss before you have to keep going. So they decided after that night to accept his passing and move on. That was until Egghead brought them back in the company of two people they never thought they’d be close to again. The truce with Lucci and Kaku was uneasy but necessary. To annoyance of Lucci, Franky was as boisterous and friendly as ever, as though their circumstances had never ripped the pairs apart. It wasn’t until after they had dealt with York and the Seraphim that there was a moment of peace to truly reconnect but, more importantly, to break the news to them. “May I speak with you both for a moment?” Robin asked, calmly approaching the two. Kaku barely remembered anything from the time that they had spent together that summer. He was so young at the time that all he could recall were like snapshots in a hazy dream, the feelings remaining more than any actual events. Lucci on the other hand could remember everything but he never spoke of it, almost as though it was a point of shame in his life. “What do you want?” Lucci replied, never even looking in her direction. “It’s Pedro, he…” “He’s dead isn’t he?” He responded with a voice that felt like ice. “Yes…” This was how it was on the Grand Line. People came and left your life regularly. People died regularly. Kaku struggled to remember the boy that they were speaking about, finally recalling the young leopard mink. He instinctively traced his fingers along the beads of the now too small friendship bracelet that he still kept on his wrist and watched Lucci for any reaction but there was none. “Sorry for your loss” Kaku decided to say. He supposes it was his loss too but it doesn’t feel right to claim it since Pedro was a ghost to him long before his actual death. Robin nodded. “Thank you” she said quietly before leaving them alone. Lucci was always a hard character to read, even for Kaku who had known him for so long, but there were always small signs. Right now the man was looking down with a slightly furrowed brow and a clenched jaw. This was the most grief he’d allow himself. Kaku wonders if the young mink haunted Lucci long before this moment given his devil fruit. There was no way of knowing, but if the loss hurt him, he would be there to help him heal.

#one piece #egghead spoilers #whole cake spoilers #pedro #franky #nico robin #rob lucci #kaku #weird summer au #I just wanna hurt people the way I hurt lmao #thank you for this au I'm having a good time with it and hope you don't mind all the stuff I've been making lately #fic #ficlet #idk what to tag this I don't write fics #probably should have got somebody to read this over before I posted it but fuck it we ball

[aimmyarrowshigh]

What are your top 5 Marvel movies and why?

Ughhh, this is so hard! THERE ARE SO MANY EFFING MARVEL THINGS. And there are so many that I love pretty equally but for different reasons/in different moods?

But okay. If I take the TV shows out of the equation entirely -- because my #1 Favorite Marvel Thing is WandaVision, 100% -- then I thinkkkkk arghshjsfhgsfhgjhsjfhj okay.

5. Spider-Man: No Way Home *OR* Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings 4. The Marvels 3. Spider-Man: Far From Home 2. Captain America: Winter Soldier *OR* Black Widow 1. Ant-Man and the Wasp

I know, controversh list. A lot of Phase 4. A lot of post-Endgame. But I really like the movies that are character-driven, and I feel like these are the movies that all have pretty significant scenes outside of the main plot. Like there are scenes in all of these movies that are just... the heroes hanging out and being people, or delving into their past, or reconnecting with their families. ESPECIALLY reconnecting with their families/loved ones.

AMATW is literally about getting Janet back and reuniting Scott with the Pym/Van Dynes, CATWS is about getting Bucky back, Black Widow is about Natasha realizing that she "had two [families]" all along, The Marvels is about Monica and Carol reuniting, Shang-Chi is about the Xu family legacy, NWH just fucking breaks my heart with Peter and May. FFH is kind of an outlier on the family front, but it's very much an Irondad story, and Peter is the only thing that makes Tony interesting to me.

They're all movies that ask the hero to pick who they're going to live for, rather than who they're willing to die for, and they all get really... non-romantic answers (except Stucky, obviously, which is the most romantic ship that has ever existed in the history of Earth). They're also all movies that grapple with the idea of Legacy, which is such a big part of superhero stuff but rarely gets more than lip service.

I also feel like it probably says something about me that Ava, Bucky, and Antonia are all "the villains" of my Top 3 and those sweet babies are NOT VILLAINS AND HAVE NEVER DONE ANYTHING WRONG, EVER. SAVE THEM. GIVE THEM SOUP. AND BLANKETS. AND AUTONOMY.

And the only villain in my list who I'd say is like, Unilaterally A Bad Guy is Mysterio.

Peter successfully rehabilitates his villains in NWH, because that's who Peter is.

WenWu is just... so fucking sad and heartbroken and tragic, and like... Is WenWu's Plotline Not Just WandaVision But With Ten Rings Instead Of The Hex?

And yeah, Dar-Benn does very much attempt some genocide, but she is also trying to survive a planetary extinction and genocide, and I understand where she's coming from in her desperation, and I don't think that she's Evil. My feelings on the Kree/Skrull dichotomy in the MCU are complex and needlessly political in a way that I shan't get into because the MCU itself never will, either, so why bother.

Like, of the villains in my favorite MCU films, Ava is desperate and brainwashed, Bucky is brainwashed and desperate, Antonia is brainwashed and desperate, Dar-Benn is desperate, WenWu is desperate and brainwashed, The Sinister Six are all desperate (and some brainwashed)... the only True Baddie here is, again, Mysterio.

And like, we knew... all too well... nyuk nyuk... that Jake Gyllenhaal was bad.

IDK. These are my favorite MCU films because they have my favorite character dynamics/interactions in the MCU front and center. I love Scott and Cassie, Scott and Hope, Scott and Luis. I love Steve and Bucky, Steve and Sam, Steve and Natasha. I love Natasha and Yelena, Natasha and Alexei, Yelena and Alexei, Natasha and Milena. I love Peter and MJ, Peter and Ned (and Ned and Betty, LMAO), Peter and Tony('s legacy). I love Kamala and Carol, Carol and Monica, Monica and Kamala, and the Khan family. I love Shang-Chi and Xialing, Katy and Shang-Chi. I love Wong. I love Aunt May. I love the three Peters. I love Ned's Lola. I love Otto Octavius. I love the dynamics that boil down to "the hero loves this person enough to become a better person for them."

"The hero loves this person enough to become a hero."

They're also all kind of found family movies? Or friend-group movies, at least? IDK. I just like them.

#asks #marvel #ant man and the wasp #captain america #ant man #black widow #spider man #the marvels #captain marvel #ms. marvel #shang chi