#Alternate Ending

[lothepoorpeacock]

okay that's actually something which would have rotated the course of story by 360 degrees-

Aside from the ending, two major changes that would've made me love BF even more:

1) If Yut-Lung had decided to work with Ash instead of hating on him. Mainly because I wanna see Yut-Lung in more action scenes, instead of him lounging around on a fainting chair like a 1920s socialite

(This is a fainting chair)

Yut-Lung finally forming normal bonds? Actually having friends?? Getting to see AshEiji up close so he could understand how healthy relationships work??? I wish. There's actually a fic kinda like this called Stray Phoenix.

2) If fuckin Tarzan Blanca had come back a few episodes/chapters earlier, but solely for the purpose of saving Ash. Imagine the redemption arc! I would love to see him portrayed as someone capable of regret, instead of him being written as a Voice of Reason when he's...not. He could've accepted Golzine's contract, ended him easily, then gone to help Ash and make up for leaving him in Golzine's hands. He owed Ash that much, and it would've given us even more awesome fighting scenes.

[mybbmbby]

As a sort of part 2 for your work about clingy Simon while reader is cooking, how about in kissing you neck while you chop veggies you accidentally slice your finger a little? Not deep but it is bleeding. How would he react? Love ya!!!

This is my first anon reply, so thank you for the idea! I decided to make this like an alternate ending to my last post, so I hope you enjoy! 💞

ೃ⁀➷ part 1

Ever since Simon came home from deployment he’s been clinging onto you constantly. “Missed you, lovie,” he’d tell you, trying to justify his constant hold on you. Sure, you thought it was cute, this big military man clinging onto you like some kind of koala; but his intentions weren’t always as innocent as they seemed.

•·················•·················••·················•·················••···············•

You decided to try and ignore his soft touches, beginning to mince up the rest of the garlic clove from earlier. His kisses only got more insistent, teeth nipping gently at your skin, his tongue soothing over the skin afterward. “Simon, I can’t,” you began, the knife dropping back down onto the cutting board, the sharp edge slicing the skin on the side of your finger accidentally.

“Shit,” you murmur out, wincing at the sting from the blade of the knife, blood leaking out from the small wound, a drop falling down onto the counter.

Simon’s head leans up from its place against your neck as he hears you wince, eyes darting down to the small wound on your finger. He pulls away from you, moving to stand closely beside you, grasping your wounded hand, eyes inspecting your finger. “Ain’t too bad, I’ll getcha cleaned up,” he said softly.

Blood didn’t have much of an effect on Simon, having seen great amounts of it in his line of work. He gently nudged you over to the sink, turning on the tap, running your bleeding finger under the stream of water. The water burned slightly as it rushed over your wound, brow furrowing ever so slightly at the unpleasant feeling.

“This is your fault, y’know, since you were distracting me,” you said with a huff, looking over at him. He let out a faint chuckle, a soft smile on his rugged face as he looked down at you. After a few quiet moments, he turned off the tap, drying off your hand with a paper towel, holding pressure against the wound on your finger.

“I’ll be cuttin’ stuff up for you for a while, sweets, don’t want ‘cha to hurt yourself again,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Simon, this is literally the only time I’ve ever nicked myself,” you said in protest, your other hand taking his place in holding pressure to the wound while he looked around for a band-aid in a nearby drawer.

He quickly found a box of them, taking one out, pushing the drawer closed with his hip. Peeling apart the paper to the band-aid, he spoke softly as he wrapped it around your finger, “I want to help though, y’know I love to be ‘round you.” You couldn’t help but smile at his words, nodding your head lightly in agreement. “TV’s fuckin’ boring me to death anyway,” he huffed out, eliciting a laugh from your lips.

[nadinescholtes]

What if Monty didn't listen and got to Lunar before the Astrals?

Solar really cares about Lunar. Back in his dimension Lunar was the first who showed him kindness after a long time. When Lunar returned from the dead, you could hear his voice break a little when he said: Lunar?

Solar, him seeing Lunar like this broke his heart. I also think Lunar needs a hug from a friendly Eclipse because of his issues with Eclipse.

What will happen after this? The Astrals came right after and saw the whole situation. They still sent him to prison and Lunar went without a word. When he got back, he was still kicked out (to protect the kids) but Solar gave him one last hug before he went out the door.

What do you think? I wanted to try some drama and angst.

I still love where the shows are going, I just want to explore.

[kuj0goth]

More evil cultist Fiddleford ft. Stan who is working his butt off to take Fidds down.

To recap, this au centers around Fiddleford kidnapping and erasing Ford’s identity the very same night he sends the postcard to Stan. He is left unable to function and cannot take care of himself.

I imagine the turn this au would take is for Stan and Fiddleford to have a battle of wits type rivalry as Stan tries to gather proof that something is amiss with the whole situation and Fiddleford has to keep the brothers separated (while actively losing their mind). Bill will be involved.

Settled on “Blind Eye Ford Au” for the title because it’s vague enough to encapsulate all of my ideas.

Excited to share more!

[blissfulflw]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𝐵𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑇𝑜 𝐵𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐹𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠

Pairing- Uchinaga Aeri (Giselle) x fem reader

Genre- Angst, (some fluff)

Word count- 4137

A/N: This fic is based off the song ‘Back to Friends’ by sombr

“We’re back to being friends but it’s never just that”

The lights in the practice room buzzed overhead, fluorescent and far too bright for how dim everything felt inside you.

Aeri sat across from you, laughing—too loudly, too easily—at something Ningning said. Her voice, warm and familiar, laced with that same lilt that used to curl around your name in the dark. Now it wrapped around everyone but you.

You laughed, too. Because that’s what friends do.

It had been three months since the night she ended it. Not with anger, not even with tears. Just quiet, tired resignation.

“I can’t keep doing this… not when it could ruin everything.”

Everything. Her career. Her image. SM’s precious doll couldn’t be tangled up in something so messy. So real.

So you let her go.

Well—no.

She walked away.

You just stood there and didn’t chase her.

Now, things were “normal.” Which meant you were back in the same room, the same group chat, the same proximity where nothing ever felt the same.

She glanced at you then—only for a second. Long enough for your eyes to meet.

Long enough for your chest to tighten.

Long enough to remember.

But she looked away first.

And that’s when you knew: she remembered too.

She just chose not to say anything.

Like always.

The ride home was quiet.

You sat by the window of the company van, earbuds in but no music playing. Just static silence and the occasional murmur of the others behind you. Aeri was a few seats back, talking softly to Karina, her voice muffled but unmistakable.

She used to sit beside you.

Your shoulder used to be her pillow on the way back from late-night rehearsals. You’d tilt your head, just enough to feel the weight of her hair against your cheek, and she’d mumble about how sore her legs were, how she hated SM’s mirrors because they made her look tired.

“You never look tired to me,” you told her once, eyes closed, fingers brushing hers beneath the shared blanket.

She had smiled—sleepy, soft, and so in love.

“That’s because you’re looking at me like that.”

You blink, the memory washing over you with a sting that feels almost physical.

When the van stops outside the dorms, you’re the first one out. The air is cold and damp, Seoul’s late spring drizzle soaking into your hoodie as you wait by the door for the others.

Aeri steps down last.

You hear her behind you, her footsteps slowing when she sees you standing alone. For a moment, the only sound is rain. You think maybe she’ll say something. That she’ll break character—just for a second—and let you see her.

But instead, she walks past you.

You catch the faintest whisper of her perfume—vanilla, musk, and something uniquely her—and the way her hand tenses by her side like she wants to reach for yours. Like she almost does.

Almost.

You don’t turn around.

You just whisper to yourself,

“You used to hold my hand like you meant it.”

_____

That night, sleep doesn’t come.

You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling of your shared dorm room, listening to the hum of the air conditioning and the distant rustle of someone getting water in the kitchen.

It’s probably her.

You hate that you know her habits that well. That your body still reacts to the sound of her steps, to the rhythm of her breath in the silence. Like it remembers what your mind keeps trying to forget.

Eventually, the ache becomes too much.

You swing your legs out of bed and pad barefoot into the kitchen, hoodie hanging off one shoulder.

She’s there, of course—leaning against the counter, sipping water like this is normal. Like the air between you isn’t heavy with everything you’ve both left unsaid.

Aeri turns, startled. Her eyes widen, then soften.

“Hey,” she says quietly, like it’s the first word of a song you used to know by heart.

You swallow. “Couldn’t sleep.”

She nods. “Me neither.”

You both stand there, the space between you only a few feet but it might as well be a canyon. Her fingers tighten around the glass.

You open your mouth—then close it. And she sees it. Of course she does.

Her voice breaks the silence. “Do you hate me?”

The question slams into your chest.

You stare at her, startled. “What?”

Aeri doesn’t look at you. Her eyes are fixed on the floor. “I mean… I would. If I were you.”

You take a breath, shaky and sharp. “I don’t hate you, Aeri.”

She finally looks up. And there it is—everything she’s been holding back. Regret. Fear. Love. God, it’s still there.

“I didn’t want to let go,” she whispers. “But I was scared. Of what people would say. Of losing everything I worked for.”

You laugh—dry and bitter. “So you let go of me instead.”

She flinches.

You step closer, just enough for her to feel your warmth. Not touching—never touching.

“I would’ve waited for you,” you say, voice low. “I still am, if I’m honest. But I can’t keep doing this if you’re going to pretend it never mattered.”

Her eyes shine, and you see the crack forming in her armor.

“I never stopped loving you,” she says, almost like it hurts to say it.

You smile, but there’s no joy in it. “Funny. You’re really good at acting like you did.”

Silence settles again. Thick. Heavy.

She opens her mouth—maybe to apologize, maybe to beg—but you shake your head gently.

“Goodnight, Aeri.”

And you walk away, not because you want to. But because you have to.

She doesn’t follow.

You turn your back to her. It should be final. It should feel like closure.

But then her voice cuts through the quiet—cracked, raw, the way you’ve only ever heard when she’s breaking.

“How can we go back to being friends,” she whispers, “when we just shared a bed?”

You freeze.

“How can you look at me and pretend that I’m someone you never met?”

Each word lands like a blow. You can feel the memories rising, thick and unwelcome—her hand curled around yours under the sheets, the way she said your name like it was a secret, like it meant something sacred. The warmth of her skin. The way she kissed you slow, like time didn’t matter.

She shared everything with you.

And then she walked away.

You turn around, and she’s crying now—silent tears slipping down her cheeks, but she’s still trying to stay strong. Still trying to act like the truth doesn’t ruin everything.

“You think I haven’t asked myself that every single day?” you say, voice trembling. “You think I don’t lie in bed and replay every second we had, wondering how the hell you can pretend it didn’t happen?”

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to.

Because it did happen. And no amount of pretending can erase it.

You take a slow, shuddering breath. “You made me feel like I was something worth breaking rules for. And then you decided I wasn’t.”

Her knees buckle a little, like your words hit her physically. But she doesn’t stop you when you step back.

“I can’t keep being your almost, Aeri.”

Her lips part. Maybe she’s going to say your name. Maybe she’s going to say stay.

But she doesn’t.

And that silence?

That’s the loudest answer you’ve ever heard.

_____

You don’t see her the next day.

Not really.

She’s there, of course—at rehearsals, at meetings, beside you during makeup. But there’s a new kind of silence now. One that wraps around you both like barbed wire. Every glance you catch feels like a wound reopening. Every touch not given, another wall built higher.

You wonder if she’s avoiding you.

Or if she just doesn’t know how to be near you now that the truth’s cracked the surface.

You try to focus on the choreography, on the beat of the music, the count in your head. But your mind keeps flicking back to the kitchen. Her voice. The look in her eyes when she asked:

“How can we go back to being friends when we just shared a bed?”

You remember the night she meant.

It had been a week before she ended things.

You both knew it was coming—the tension from the company, the fear in her eyes every time your fingers brushed in public. But that night… you let yourselves forget.

You let yourselves be soft.

Her arms around you. Her lips against your throat. Her voice breaking as she said, “Stay, please—just for tonight.”

And you did.

You stayed.

Now, every moment since feels like a betrayal of that night.

Later, in the dorm hallway, you hear her behind you again. The silence that always comes before her voice. But this time, you don’t walk away.

“Aeri,” you say quietly.

She stops mid-step. You don’t turn, but you feel her gaze burning into the back of your neck.

“I meant what I said,” you continue, fingers curling at your sides. “I can’t keep living in the ghost of what we were.”

“I know.”

Her voice is soft, broken.

“Then why do you keep haunting me?” you ask. “Why do you keep looking at me like I’m still yours, if you don’t want to be mine?”

The silence stretches long. Too long.

Then—

“I do want to be yours,” she says. “I never stopped.”

You close your eyes.

“Then why didn’t you choose me?”

Another pause. Then, even quieter:

“Because I didn’t think I was allowed.”

The honesty in her voice makes something inside you collapse.

You finally turn around. She looks like she hasn’t slept. Like maybe she’s been asking herself the same questions every night that you have.

You could run to her now.

You could forgive her.

But something holds you back—because loving her has always meant losing parts of yourself, and you don’t know if you can afford to keep bleeding for someone who won’t fight.

So you say nothing.

And she doesn’t push.

You both just stand there—bathed in hallway light, drowning in everything unsaid.

The hallway feels too bright. Too sterile. The kind of place where nothing raw is supposed to happen.

But you’ve reached your limit.

You look at her—really look. Her arms folded across her chest like she’s holding herself together. Her eyes rimmed red, mouth parted like she wants to explain, to beg, but she’s too scared to say the wrong thing again.

So you speak for her.

Quietly. Bitterly.

“How can we go back to being friends…”

Her head jerks slightly—recognition in her expression. You’re repeating her own words. But you’re not done.

“When we just shared a bed?”

You take a step forward. She doesn’t move.

“When you kissed me like I was the only thing in the world that felt real. When you cried into my chest and told me you were scared, and I said I didn’t care—I just wanted you?”

Your voice is cracking, but you keep going.

“How can you look at me and pretend that I’m someone you never met?”

She flinches.

Tears rise in your throat before they fall.

“How could you do that to me, Aeri? If you actually loved me?”

That’s the moment her walls finally collapse.

She takes a step toward you—just one, hands trembling, eyes wide with grief. “I didn’t know how to choose you without losing everything else.”

“And I was what, collateral damage?”

“No!” Her voice sharpens with panic. “You were everything. That’s what made it so hard.”

“Then why wasn’t I enough?”

It slips out before you can catch it, the truth naked and trembling between you both.

She doesn’t answer. Her face crumples.

You step back. The tears are falling freely now—hot, bitter, unforgiving.

“You broke my heart and then asked me to be your friend,” you whisper. “Like that would be easier. Like I’d forget everything you gave me just because you’re too scared to keep it.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she chokes out. “I swear to God, I never wanted to—”

“But you did.”

Silence. A final blow.

And this time, when you turn away, she doesn’t stop you.

She just stands there, tears streaking her cheeks, hands limp at her sides, watching the one thing she said she loved walk away—again.

Except this time, it might really be the last.

_____

It’s a few days later when it happens.

You’re backstage at a music show, sitting stiffly in the corner of your group’s dressing room. Earbuds in, head down, pretending to scroll through messages you haven’t answered. You’ve kept to yourself since that night. Let the silence stretch. Let her live in the space she created.

You didn’t expect her to fight for you.

But part of you had hoped.

You glance up when you hear her laugh—bright, that specific octave you used to think she saved only for you. Aeri’s standing a few feet away, near the hallway connecting to the other dressing rooms.

She’s with another idol—someone from a popular boy group. Someone tall and golden and easy.

They’re standing too close.

Her arm brushes his.

He says something that makes her laugh, and she tilts her head just the way she used to when you whispered something against her ear. Playful. Intimate.

Your stomach twists.

You tell yourself it’s probably fan service. Just another planned interaction. SM is good at orchestrating chemistry where there is none. You know that.

But she looks too comfortable.

And he’s looking at her the way you used to.

You don’t realize you’ve been staring until Karina nudges your shoulder.

“You okay?”

You force a smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”

But your throat is tight. Your eyes are burning. And it feels like something’s clawing its way up from inside your chest—raw and sharp and loud.

Because maybe it is just for show.

Or maybe it’s not.

Either way, she’s still smiling for someone else.

And all you can think is:

How could you hold me like I was the only thing that mattered, and then laugh like that with someone new?

The jealousy isn’t even the worst part.

It’s the betrayal. The quiet ache of knowing she still hasn’t come to you—not to explain, not to fight, not to say she regrets letting you walk away.

She just moved on.

Or maybe she’s pretending again. The way she pretended not to love you. The way she pretended you could be “just friends.”

You turn your head and blink away the tears before anyone sees.

But inside, it feels like someone’s driving a blade straight through you—slow, deliberate.

And the worst part?

You still love her.

Even as she’s breaking you.

You don’t talk to her that day.

You don’t even look at her.

But she notices.

You can feel it in the tension of her body when you pass in the hallway. In the way her laughter falters when she realizes you’re in earshot. In the silence that follows her when she walks into the dressing room and sees you curled up in the farthest corner, earbuds in but no music playing.

She doesn’t approach.

She just watches.

And for once, you let her.

Let her see what she’s done—what you’ve become in the aftermath of her choices.

_____

It’s late that night when you finally break.

You’re alone in the bathroom, the fan humming above you and your hands gripping the sink so tightly your knuckles ache. You stare at your own reflection, and you don’t even recognize the girl looking back.

Tired. Dull. Hollow.

This isn’t who you were when she loved you.

This is who she left behind.

You whisper it at first, just to yourself.

“I hate you.”

Your voice cracks.

“I hate that you let me go. I hate that you kissed me like you meant it and then left. I hate that I still check every room just to see if you’re in it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. The tears come too fast, hot and familiar.

“I hate that you looked at him like that.”

Your voice breaks entirely.

“I hate that it still feels like you’re mine.”

You slide down the wall until you’re sitting on the cold tile floor, knees pulled to your chest, arms wrapped around yourself because there’s no one left to do it for you.

Because she’s not here.

Because maybe she never really was.

The next morning, she tries.

Not with words—Aeri has never been good with those, not when it matters—but she lingers beside you in the kitchen, opening the fridge even though she doesn’t need anything. She brushes past your shoulder when you’re tying your shoes. She laughs a little too loud when you’re nearby, like she’s trying to recapture something lost.

And you snap.

You stand up. Loudly. And when she looks at you, startled, you finally say it:

“You don’t get to smile at me like that anymore.”

The room goes silent.

Her eyes widen. “What?”

“You don’t get to act like we’re okay. Like this is okay.” Your voice is shaking, but the anger steadies it. “You let me fall apart while you kept performing like nothing happened. Like we didn’t happen.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“No. Stop.” You step forward, and her back hits the counter. “You don’t get to mean anything anymore. Because you watched me drown, Aeri. And you chose not to jump in.”

She looks like she’s about to cry.

Good.

Because for once, she should.

She’s still on the floor, her head buried in her arms, her sobs quieter now. A dull hiccup here, a shaking breath there.

You should walk away. You want to walk away.

But you don’t.

Because no matter how badly she hurt you, no matter how sharp the words she left behind, she’s still Aeri.

And you still love her.

You crouch down beside her slowly. “Come on,” you murmur, gently brushing hair from her face. “You can’t sleep on the floor.”

She blinks up at you, eyes red and glassy. “Why are you still so kind to me?” she slurs, voice thick with guilt. “Why do you still… care?”

You avoid the question. “Let’s just get you into bed, okay?”

You help her up, and her body folds into yours like second nature. Like muscle memory. Her arms come around your waist clumsily, and she leans her head against your shoulder.

And then—barely audible, breath warm against your neck—she says it:

“Baby…”

Your whole body goes still.

She used to call you that only in the quiet. In the spaces between kisses. In the breathless seconds after laughter and before sleep. It was yours.

And hearing it now—drunk, broken, fragile—it shatters something in you.

You swallow hard. “Don’t call me that.”

But she doesn’t hear you. Or maybe she doesn’t care.

“I miss you,” she murmurs. “I miss you so bad, baby. Please don’t hate me…”

You guide her to her bed gently, ignoring the way your hands tremble as you pull the blanket over her. She clings to your wrist like a child.

“Stay?” she whispers.

You pause. You should say no. You should.

But she looks so small like this. So not the composed idol the world knows. Just Aeri—messy and drunk and terrified of being alone.

So you sit beside her, careful not to slip under the covers, careful not to give her the wrong idea.

She turns her head toward you. Her voice is quieter now. “I loved you first, you know.”

You close your eyes. “Then you should’ve fought for me.”

A long silence.

And then: “I still want to.”

You don’t answer.

Because wanting and doing are two very different things.

You sit there until her breathing evens out, until her fingers go slack on your wrist. Until the weight of everything you’ve been holding in settles like ash over your chest.

You brush a tear from her cheek before you even realize your hand’s moved.

And then, quietly—like a prayer—you whisper:

“I still love you too.”

But she’s asleep.

She won’t hear it.

Maybe that’s for the best.

_____

The room is quiet, sun bleeding through the curtains in soft gold. You’re still sitting in the chair beside her bed, arms crossed, head tipped back against the wall. You hadn’t meant to stay the whole night—but your legs felt too heavy to move, and maybe a part of you needed one last night close to her. Just to remember.

Aeri stirs.

You glance over as she groans quietly, hand pressed to her forehead, already wincing at the hangover. Her eyes flutter open, and the moment she sees you—really sees you—everything on her face shifts.

Regret. Confusion. Then shame.

She sits up slowly. “You stayed…”

You nod once. “You were a mess.”

She lets out a bitter laugh, then rubs her face. “I remember… some of it.”

“I figured.”

Her hands tremble slightly in her lap. “Did I say anything… awful?”

You look at her for a long moment, and when you speak, your voice is soft. “You called me baby.”

She freezes.

“And you told me you loved me.”

Silence stretches thin between you.

“I’m sorry,” she says finally, voice hoarse. “That wasn’t fair.”

“No,” you agree quietly. “It wasn’t.”

Aeri looks at you like she’s searching for something—maybe a crack in your armor, maybe a reason to hope. “But I meant it. Even drunk. Especially drunk.”

You nod again, slowly. “I know.”

She opens her mouth to speak again, but you hold up a hand. Gentle. Final.

“You can’t keep doing this, Aeri. You can’t keep breaking me open every time you feel broken.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” she says, desperate now. “I want to fix it. I want—”

“You already lost me,” you say, and it’s the first time you let the words come out. Really come out.

Her face crumples.

You inhale slowly, steadying yourself. “I’ll always love you. But I can’t keep waiting for the version of you who’s brave enough to love me back.”

She nods, tears falling freely now.

You lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. It’s not a promise. It’s a goodbye.

“Take care of yourself,” you whisper.

And then you stand.

You walk out the door with your heart in pieces—but your head held high.

Because sometimes love isn’t about holding on.

Sometimes it’s about knowing when to finally let go.

_____

Alternate ending:

You wake before she does.

Your neck aches from where you’d slumped against the edge of her bed, but you don’t move right away. Instead, you just sit there, watching her sleep.

She’s curled toward you, face soft in the morning light, tear tracks still faint on her cheeks. Her hand rests near yours—not touching, but close enough to feel the warmth.

You should leave.

You meant to leave.

But something about last night still lingers. Not just the apology. Not just the pain. Something deeper.

When she finally stirs, her eyes flutter open—and panic sets in almost immediately.

“I—” Her voice is rough. “I didn’t mean to show up like that. I was just—God, I’m so sorry.”

You don’t say anything for a long moment.

Then: “Do you remember what you said?”

She hesitates. Nods. “Some of it.”

You meet her gaze. “Do you mean it?”

She sits up straighter. Her fingers tremble as she reaches for yours but doesn’t quite take them. “I do. I meant all of it. I just… didn’t know how to say it sober.”

You watch her carefully. She looks raw. No defenses. No mask.

“I let fear control me,” she whispers. “I thought loving you meant losing everything else. But it didn’t. It just meant being brave. And I wasn’t. Until now.”

You swallow hard. Your heart’s thudding in your chest, loud and hopeful. But cautious.

“What do you want, Aeri?” you ask softly. “Really.”

She takes your hand in both of hers now—firm, sure. “You. Only you. And not just in secret. Not for a night. For real.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever—you believe her.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you slide your hand into hers and pull her gently forward until her forehead rests against yours.

“Then be brave,” you whisper. “Because I’m not doing this halfway again.”

She nods, eyes wet, smile trembling.

“I’ll fight for us,” she says. “Every day. If you let me.”

You press your lips to hers—soft, careful, but real. And when she kisses you back, it feels like coming home.

_____

The both of you step offstage after a joint performance. She’s sweaty and beaming, breathless from the adrenaline. You start to turn away—to keep it professional—but her fingers brush yours, and then she quietly, quickly laces them together.

A small gesture.

But this time?

She doesn’t let go.

And you don’t have to hide the smile that rises to your lips.

Because finally—she chose you.

And this time, she’s not afraid.

[1-shatterd2-void-3]

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INSPO FROM THIS

[hannahbarberra162]

Will EP omega reader meet the whitebeard pirates? How would shanks react?

Hi Nonnie!

This was originally the trajectory before I decided to take it in a different direction. Not all the WBP since this story is set after the Paramount Wars and they’re disbanded but I was going to have the Reader meet Marco….

This is an alternate ending so not as proofread / edited. This is set after Reader has come to from the heat (you’ll get that scene in the next chapter - which, yes, I am writing). Shanks is a bad boy in this one, don't come for me.

I'm not gonna do the tag list for this (except @mfreedomstuff ) since it's not a chapter of the main story. I do have a few more ideas / scenes I thought of for this maybe I'll write them eventually.

All the actual chapters

~

Shanks POV

Your first heat had gone well by Shanks’s estimation. The physical demands were rough on you, you had been sleeping and eating in excess since it ended to make up for the days on end with little of either. He’d also had to recuperate after your heat but because you began heat in a worse state it was taking you longer to get to your baseline. He checked on you every hour or so as you slept, bringing you food and water as you needed it. You protested with a groan as he checked your temperature and breathing but allowed him to move you as he pleased like a limp rag doll. 

There was one thing that bothered him though - the bite mark from Kid still hadn’t healed. He’d given you his word during the heat that he wouldn’t claim you but he didn’t like seeing the bite from your former Alpha. He’d already spoken with Hongo about it already but the doctor said there wasn’t anything to do except wait.

Unless.

Shanks had known Marco the Phoenix since he was a child, the former Commander slipping in and out of his life like the tide. They weren’t friends exactly but Shanks had offered Marco the opportunity to join his crew many times. He’d slept with Marco a few times over the years and Shanks deeply enjoyed the experience - though they sometimes fought for dominance.

But there was something in Shanks that had always wanted to bring Marco to heel. Marco acted like he was above Shanks, like he was better than him. He always had too, enjoying being the golden child of Whitebeard for years after Shanks had to watch his own Captain publicly executed by Marines. Even after Whitebeard’s death Marco hadn’t joined Shanks’s crew which stung his ego. It didn't help that Marco’s Zoan form had an ethereal beauty like no other and it only elevated his charm and charisma. Marco was powerful, strong, handsome and well respected outside of his piracy for his skills as a physician. Unlike others, Marco wasn't fooled by Shanks's games and lackadaisical attitude and saw right through him. No, Marco needed to be shown his place in the world but the opportunity hadn’t arisen. 

Regardless, Marco could heal the bite on your neck in seconds if he visited the ship. Mulling over the idea, Shanks decided to call and see if Marco could fly out. The ship wasn’t that far from Sphinx, Marco could make the trip quickly if he so chose. Grabbing his snail off his desk, he dialed and waited.

“Oi, Marco. How are you?” Shanks asked the calm looking snail as the call was picked up.

“Shanks, to what do I owe the pleasure yoi? What do you want from me?” Marco responded dryly, already anticipating a request. The snail was looking over at something else as Marco continued to work through the call.

“Maybe I just want to see how you’re doing, call up an old friend,” Shanks teased before turning serious. “I am happy to hear you’re doing well, but you’re right, I need a favor. I have an Omega on my ship and she has a wound that’s not healing -”

“Is it not healing or not healing fast enough for you yoi?” the Phoenix interrupted, still not giving Shanks his full attention as he continued to read. Shanks’s irritation was rising but he buried it deep, he wanted Marco’s help.

“It was an infected claiming bite that didn’t take. She just went through heat and it was bothering her, she kept rubbing at it until it was raw. I had to Command her to stop before she left it alone. She’s still recovering - her previous Alpha beat the shit out of her, she was barely alive when I found her,” Shanks said with a frown on his face. Marco was a lot softer than people knew - he was sympathetic to weaker people suffering at the hands of those who were stronger. Shanks knew adding in the bits about your status would tip the scales in his favor. The snail sighed and looked at Shanks with its heavy lidded stare.

“How is she now?” Marco asked, the doctor in him rising to the surface. Shanks gloated internally as he knew he had Marco hook, line, and sinker.

“She’s sleeping a lot, eating when she wakes. It was her first heat - she’d been taking suppressants for years on end so it was particularly rough. I think she’d return to normal faster if she wasn’t also healing the bite,” Shanks mused aloud, knowingly ensnaring the former Commander further.

“Hm. And I suppose you want me to come heal her despite the fact that Hongo likely told you to wait it out yoi,” Marco said with a frown. Shanks smiled brightly, Marco correctly guessing the desired outcome.

“Well, if you’re offering…” Shanks said, letting the sentence dangle. He waited in silence, knowing Marco was going to accept.

“Where are you?” Marco asked in a huff, crossing his arms.

“Not too far from Sphynx, maybe a day’s flight away,” Shanks said jovially. 

“Fine. Head towards the island, I’ll get the coordinates from Benn. You owe me.” Marco said with finality before hanging up the snail. Shanks’s smile widened even further.

Your POV

You heard an unfamiliar male voice near the entrance of the cabin. New men weren’t something with a positive association for you but this voice was melodious, almost like a bird song, the person speaking with soothing calm. Listening in, you heard the Emperor speaking to the man like they were old friends. A knock on the cabin door alerted you that they were about to come in so grabbed the blankets and pulled them up to cover your nakedness. You hadn’t worn clothes since before your heat and all that you had were the Emperor’s.

“We’re coming in,” announced the Emperor brightly. As the door opened you saw a man as tall as Benn standing behind the Emperor. His teal eyes met yours and the world stopped for a moment. You’d never seen someone so beautiful in your life, his wanted posters not capturing his true essence. You knew it was Marco the Phoenix but you couldn’t bring yourself to say a single word. You nearly uncovered yourself to walk to him but stopped yourself at the last moment. He wasn’t speaking to you either, standing in shocked silence by the doorway with a stethoscope wound around his neck.

The Emperor looked between you and Marco and started talking but you weren’t listening. All you wanted to do was talk to Marco, to bare your soul to him, even though you’d never met before. He smelled like coconut, pineapple and a touch of spiced rum. You had the urge to lick his scent glands, to bask in the glorious smell of this Alpha. You’d never felt this way with any other Alpha - certainly not with Kid but also not with the Emperor. He walked towards you hesitantly, like you’d bolt if he moved too quickly. You watched his graceful movements as Marco approached, entranced by his very being. The Emperor suddenly put two fingers under your chin and tilted your face to his own. 

“Have you met Marco already?” he asked with a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. You noted his stiff shoulders and dominant body language. The Emperor was annoyed and in a dangerous mood, you thought to yourself. Marco forgotten for the moment, you nuzzled into his hand - an act that he’d praised you for before.

“N-no. I was just distracted,” you said quickly, afraid to admit you were staring at the handsome stranger. Your proactive touch mollified the Emperor somewhat as he dragged his thumb up and down your cheek.

“I apologize for startling you yoi. Like Shanks said, I’m Marco. I’m a doctor -”

“And a pirate,” Shanks added, giving Marco a smirk. Marco gave the Emperor a disdainful look.

“Yes, and a pirate yoi. I used to be Whitebeard’s First Division Commander, but that’s in the past. Now I’m just a doctor,” Marco said with a calm smile. 

“I’m not so sure, maybe we can finally convince you to join our ranks after all,” Shanks continued, giving Marco a strange look. Marco returned Shanks’s look with one of his own. You weren’t sure what was being communicated between the two men but you didn’t want to be in the middle of it. Cringing backwards, you covered yourself up further with the blankets. Marco’s gaze flicked to your face and his countenance softened. 

“It’s alright, I’m going to take a look at you yoi. I heard you have a wound that isn’t healing, is that right?” Marco said, pulling a pair of gloves from the pocket of his doctor’s coat. He sat down next to you on the bed, still towering over you with his tall frame.You nodded, moving your hair to the side so Marco could see the wound still left from Kid. He sucked in a deep breath through his nose and put on the gloves.

“I’m going to touch you now, just around the bite, OK?” he said to you softly. You nodded again and shifted towards him in the bed to allow him easier access to your neck. The Emperor moved and leaned against the opposing wall of the cabin, watching Marco’s every move with barely concealed interest. You weren’t sure what he was thinking but you hoped nothing bad came to Marco because of it.

Marco moved his fingers along the stitches Hongo had given you, pushing on the wound in a few spots. His assessment was clinical but it was the most caring anyone had touched you in a long time. He hummed to himself before placing the buds of the stethoscope in his ears. 

“I’m going to listen to your heart and lungs yoi. I’ll press the bell of the stethoscope against your skin a few times and listen, OK?” You nodded eagerly, waiting for the contact to continue. You knew what stethoscope usage entailed but it was thoughtful that Marco described what he was going to do anyway. You pulled the blankets down further than you needed to give Marco access to your chest and back.

“How’s she doing?” Shanks interrupted, sitting himself next to your other side on the bed and putting your hand in his own. Marco removed your hand and returned it to a resting position.

“Shh. I’m listening,” Marco said, dismissing the Emperor. You were sure Marco was hearing your heart beating fast from Marco rebuking the Emperor. You’d never heard anyone speak to him that way - even though his crew were relaxed and casual they always maintained an air of respect towards him. Marco on the other hand was irritated with the Emperor and didn't hesitate to make his feelings known.

Marco placed his fingertips on your back, his warm touch gentling you to the sensation of the cold stethoscope. As he listened, you saw his eyes rove over your well loved body from the heat. Your gaze dropped and your cheeks heated as you looked over all the hickeys and bite marks over your front from your heat with the Emperor.

“One more deep breath, there we go,” Marco said soothingly, rubbing a small circle on your back. You did as he said and he removed the stethoscope from his ears.

“I can heal the wound yoi. Like I already said, it was healing just fine on its own. You were too rough with her during her heat. Look at her, she’s covered in bruises and bites. If she’s already healing wounds you shouldn’t add more. Control yourself,” Marco continued, giving the Emperor a dirty look. You hugged your knees with your arms and ducked your head for the ensuing confrontation.

But none ever came. Instead you heard the Emperor’s laugh ring out in the cabin.

“Eh, it was more difficult than I thought. Would you care to find out?” 

Marco POV

There was no doubt in his mind the cowering little Omega was his fated mate. He wondered if you could feel the connection too but given your acute distress and prior experiences he doubted it. He felt a pull to you, he was drawn to you like a moth to a flame. It was like some missing piece of him had settled in his soul and he was finally complete, after looking for something he didn’t know was gone. You were absolutely breathtaking, even littered in the evidence of harsh treatment by other Alphas. His first instinct had been to whisk you away on the wings of the Phoenix far from Shanks, back to his home on Sphynx where he could claim you and keep you safe. Alas, things would not be so simple in the real world.

Your scent soured as Shanks extended Marco a crass invitation to have sex with you. Marco highly doubted that he’d shared you before - Shanks was covetous and jealous by nature. Even now while Marco was attending to you as a medical professional Shanks was inserting himself unnecessarily to gain your attention. Shanks hid his true colors under the guise of an easy going and amicable nature but Marco knew better. He was cold and calculating, always seeking what he didn’t have. Which is why he’d never joined Shanks’s crew despite the many offers or dallied with him more than a few times. Shanks never let something that he wanted slip through his fingers and Shanks wanted Marco.

Marco’s hackles rose but he pushed the feeling down. He needed to play nicely with Shanks and think his plans through before he acted. No matter what Shanks did or said, Marco wasn’t strong enough to take him on. He’d lived with an Emperor for long enough to know that Shanks was in a class of his own and even the Immortal Phoenix could be killed by his hands. Instead, Marco put his hand on your shoulder and stood up, inserting himself between you and the Emperor.

“I’ll heal her now then let’s chat outside for a few minutes yoi,” he said to Shanks with a neutral expression. He turned to you and gave you a warm smile, trying to convey his love and kindness in a single facial expression. He thought he saw the flicker of a smile on your sweet mouth.

“I’m going to use my Devil Fruit powers to heal you. It won’t hurt so you don’t need to worry,” Marco said, already trying to heal your growing anxiety. You nodded at him and your shoulders relaxed slightly, revealing the ugly bite on your neck. Something part of him was pleased you weren’t claimed by Shanks but Marco didn’t think it was due to benevolence on Shanks’s part. Marco knew you’d be claimed in the next heat whether you wanted it or not. His gift worked best on skin to skin but he didn’t want to make you too uncomfortable. 

“I’ll be on the deck. Don’t enjoy yourselves too much,” Shanks said with a wink. Marco wanted to throttle him right there - couldn’t he smell what his remarks did to you? How afraid and small they made you feel? But even so Marco was thankful for the reprieve from Shanks’s presence. The Captain swaggered away after patting your head like a beloved dog, slamming the door to the cabin behind him.

“Nothing is going to happen that I haven’t already told you. I’m going to heal you with my powers and that will be all. I do have to touch you and it works best if it’s nearest to the injury. May I heal your neck?” Marco explained in a calm and patient voice. Giving you expectations of what he would do might quell your anxiety. You nodded once more, still not speaking. Marco reached slowly for your neck, one of his hands large enough to wrap around nearly the whole thing. The other he placed on your upper back to steady your erratic breathing. In his heart he wanted to pull you in for a soul searing kiss but he’d have to deal with Shanks first.

“Easy, easy. I’m going to begin, alright? It might feel strange but it doesn’t hurt,” Marco said as his flames began to rise over your neck and upper chest. Your eyes opened wide and you tried to swivel your head as you were engulfed in his power but Marco kept you steady. “It’s alright, shh, it’s alright. Relax, just relax, nothing bad will happen yoi,” Marco cooed at you as you ceased looking around like a frightened rabbit. He didn’t want you to struggle against him, nothing in him could ever hurt you. You soon allowed him to heal you without worry, closing your eyes and leaning into his touch.

Marco focused first on the bite but extended the flames to the rest of your body as well. He healed all the marks Shanks had left until there was no sign that you’d ever been intimate with the Emperor. Before removing his hand from your neck he felt something unusual.

“Do you have an old injury here yoi? To your larynx perhaps?” Marco asked quietly while palpating the area, not wanting to alarm you. You looked down and nodded again. 

“Would you like me to heal it? I’m not sure it will work completely but it may help,” Marco offered. He’d learned over the years that some people preferred their scars and marks to remain as momentos or as badges of honor. Though injuries like the one you had to your throat were rarely something worth remembering. 

“Yes, please,” you rasped. Marco tried to heal your broken vocal chords and damaged neck to the best of his ability, sending wave after wave of healing flames to the area. All too soon, the healing was complete and he had to go deal with Shanks.

“How do you feel now?” Marco asked, removing his hands completely from you. They itched to remain on your skin but he wanted to give you the space you needed.

“Much better, thank you,” you said, reaching to touch the now healed bite on your neck. He’d only heard your voice briefly when you were trying to soothe Shanks’s ego but it sounded smoother already. 

“Unfortunately it did scar a bit due to the age and severity of the injury but the scar should fade somewhat over time,” Marco said as your nimble fingers probed the area. You stretched your limbs and gave him a ghost of a smile, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Thank you Marco,” you said softly. Marco had so much he wanted to say and do but the Emperor was waiting for his audience.

“I’ll be with Shanks if you need me,” Marco said, rising from the bed. He felt your eyes watching him as he crossed the messy cabin and left, closing the door softly.

Shanks was sitting at the circular table on the deck, his ochoko filled with sake. His calves were resting on the table and his arm was behind his head in a relaxed pose as he watched the sea. To most, it would look like he didn’t have a care in the world. But Marco knew Shanks was toying with him, like a cat would a mouse before the death blow. Benn was reading the paper next to his Captain and gave Marco a pleasant nod when the two made eye contact. Marco returned it. 

“We have a lot to talk about,” Shanks said, still gazing at the sea. Benn took that as his cue to leave, folding his paper in half and tucking it under his arm. He gave Marco a clap on the shoulder as he passed.

“She had greater injuries than you told me yoi,” Marco complained as he sat down in the now unoccupied chair. 

“Yeah, she was pretty busted up when I found her. I took her from Kid - not sure if you knew him, I didn’t before then -” 

“She’s my fated mate,” Marco cut off Shanks, wanting to get to the heart of the matter. He was loath to play Shanks’s games but for now he’d have to endure. Shanks grinned a toothy smile and lifted his feet off the table, planting them on the deck. He crossed his legs at the ankles and sat up, picking up his ochoko.

“Hm, fate is a cruel mistress. Since the Celestial Dragons interfered with the mating process, fated mates have become an old wives tale, a bedtime story for children. They say when an Alpha finds their mate they would do anything to stay by their side and keep them safe. That a bonded Alpha and Omega share the same lifeline, their chests beating with the same heart. So how fitting that a myth should become real for someone so mythical,” Shanks said, swirling his sake in the small cup. The Emperor’s eyes danced with mirth as Marco watched him take a drink from the ochoko. Marco felt like a snare was tightening around his ankle, like a wild animal stuck in a trap it would never be able to get out of. 

“You’re not going to release her yoi. Are you going to claim her?” Marco asked, already knowing the answer to both questions.  

“No, she’s staying with me. As for claiming,” Shanks said before draining his cup, “I will during her next heat. But so can you.” Marco didn’t react outwardly, keeping his face still as his heart threatened to burst out of his chest. Shanks refilled his glass to the brim with sake.

“I did some research and it seems Omegas can be claimed by two Alphas. But I found out something even more interesting. Did you know Apex Alphas can claim other Alphas?” Shanks said, pouring sake into an empty ochoko. Picking it up, he extended it to Marco. The implication was clear - Marco would be able to claim you if Shanks claimed Marco. Marco would never be able to leave Shanks though he was unsure of other possible ramifications.

“We’ve had fun before, eh Marco? I think adding an Omega would be beneficial for both of us. You’d be able to stay with her, tend to her, care for her…along with my help, of course. What do you think?”

Marco knew he had only a few moments to consider the proposition or Shanks would revoke it and think of something worse. Marco tried to engineer a solution to his problem in the short time frame but Shanks had him backed into a corner. The Alpha in him couldn’t leave the Omega on the ship, he needed to be near her and protect her like he needed to breathe air. He wasn’t strong enough to challenge Shanks for her and win. He couldn’t leave her and he couldn’t take her. Marco’s eyes met Shanks’s triumphant gaze and broad smile.

Shanks had finally won.

Marco extended his hand and took the ochoko from Shanks. Every moment spent with Shanks further sealed his fate but it also brought him closer to you. 

“Welcome to the Red Haired Pirates,” Shanks said, draining his cup with a cold smile.

[waywardsou2]

Am I the only one who has this vivid image in my head of bilbo leaving at the end of the hobbit.

Walking down the newly formed path that leads away from Erebor and back to his little home in Bag End

Having not said goodbye to Thorin, nor the others officially. (Because Thorin didn't die stfu)

And having Thorin watch him longingly from the ramparts, watching as he slowly fades as he crosses the bridge into Dain to see if anyone can ferry him home.

Only for Thorin the be approached by Balin who says that Thorin should "go"

And Thorin yeets himself off the fucking ramparts onto the bridge bellow and sprints like a madman to reach Bilbo before he can cross the second bridge

...

I think I need to write something

[fuckyeahisawthat]

I was thinking about an alternate ending to Furiosa that I would have found more narratively satisfying, that dealt with the two third acts problem without radically altering other parts of the movie.

Imagine if you will:

The climactic action sequence is the one at the Bullet Farm and maybe a bit of the chase after. Same setup. Furiosa has the best chance she's ever had to get home, but she can't make herself leave Jack. Goes back to fight for him. He still dies--not in the same horrible drawn-out way, but Dementus kills him. Furiosa gets caught in a wreck or something with her arm pinned. Echoes of Max leaving the guy handcuffed to the burning car in Mad Max 1. He can live if he chops his arm off. And chop she does. Not in time to save Jack, but in time to kill Dementus. That's not long and drawn-out either but he is very clearly dead by her one remaining hand.

Maybe that's when the backup from the Citadel that they called for when everything went to shit arrives. Furiosa gets brought back to the Citadel, probably without much choice at that point because she's barely conscious due to rapid unplanned disassembly of arm. She is welcomed by Joe as a hero for slaying his enemy. Promoted to Imperator and told she will lead the War Rig crew when the rig is rebuilt new and better than ever. She was Jack's second-in-command after all.

Everyone is treating it like a victory for her but we feel it as a defeat, because she still lost the one person she cared about, and in the aftermath of that it seems like she has given up on trying to get home. Accepted that a high-ranking position in Joe's armada is the best she's gonna get. Maybe we even see her planting the peach tree at the Citadel as a sign that she's accepted she is never going home.

(We know she'll try again in Fury Road, but it doesn't look like she knows that.)

In this version of events, I think Joe would gift her the prosthetic arm. You are part of my war machine now. She has proven herself valuable enough to be taken care of, like the History Man advised her. Valuable enough to be repaired instead of discarded.

I am chewing on the parallels. At the beginning of the movie she has a chance to escape, but she can't leave her mom. She goes back and watches her mom die and gets trapped by Dementus. At the end she has another chance but she can't leave Jack. She goes back and watches Jack die and gets trapped by Joe. It's the kind of dark ending that works for a prequel when we know she is going to have her moment of victory in Fury Road.

I'm imagining the image of her being brought back to the Citadel in hollow triumph after killing Dementus. She's half-dead, one-armed, riding on the front of a car like the end of Fury Road but she's being kind of propped up like a trophy. Versus the end of Fury Road and its moment of real triumph--a return she never intended but this time to a place that maybe can be a real home for her at last.

[nadinescholtes]

Part1 Part 2

I had to make a joke out of the last part.

Another reason Nexus needs a new body is that his pelvis was beyond repair. Even if they don't have anything there, in the shows they showed us that it is still a delicate area and painful if punched or kicked.

[bleachyeyes]

alternate ending in the comics where Medic doesn't revive Sniper

rip Mundy's parents

I got the meme from @sir_fluff_butts on twitter

[evenceflux18]

Coraline be like: No I don't over react, nothing would make me freak out

Also Coraline when Wybie do his thing: *Screams at the maximum pitch of her volume to show support*

[sunnysideprincess]

Gonna start cross-posting my stocking soon(?), until then

🫴✨ cry

.

Here's when Steve realises—Tony Stark is in love with him. It's when Tony risks his own standing with the government—risks the million employees associated with his name—to come after Steve, just to admit he was wrong. It's in Siberia, with the haunting of Maria's screams hanging between them—when Tony looks at him and asks ", did you know". It's when Steve has his shield raised high and Tony's eyes are bright with a resigned sort of fear.

It hits him when he's sitting on the jet, Bucky snoozing on the sick bed and T'Challa alerting his people and Steve is wearing the armor Tony had carefully, painstakingly designed for him—"Tony Stark has been in love with him for a long time".

Here's when Tony realises—Steve Rogers is in love with him. It's on Vormir, when his fingers are clawing in the dirt towards Tony—his body fighting with all its might against the pull of nanites. It's when Steve's got dirt on his face, tears pouring down his cheeks and Tony thinks ", what a tragedy". It's when the wind cries louder than Steve—his name echoing in the otherwise silent cliff and Tony finds hilarity in that this is the second person Steve has lost to a fall from great height. It hits him when his bones break, the force of impact dislodging his soul from his body and he's still hearing the raw, broken screams of a distant love—"Steve Rogers has been in love with him for a long time".

Here's when they find each other—in the afterlife, Valhalla as Heimdall says. A warrior's due. Steve has scars running down his left side, his face a canvas of constellations as he traces the fractures on Tony's skin. To Steve, Tony is the most beautiful sight in the land of gods and ancient beings. And to Tony, Steve is the pull of gravity, the sun keeping him steady in his orbit.

It hits them both—this is it, this is where they get to keep their love. Not in the living, but surely in death.

[riotcat103]

Ren: He understood things , He...Thaught me things , And he took care of me.

M/C: so like a sugar daddy situation?

Ren:

M/C:

[alexdanger0894]

Marble Hornets alternate ending where Jay survives and while in the hospital he tells Tim "You're not the source. You're the solution."

[fandomnerd9602]

Wanda: Strange I’m happy here

Strange: in this illusion?

Wanda: what? No this is my farm. I bought it. I met my detka after Westview. We got married and Y/N’s been helping me with the boys

Y/N walks out of the house with a stroller carrying newborns Billy and Tommy…

Y/N: sorry honey the boys wouldn’t sleep until they saw their momma.

Wanda: oh my detkas

Wanda lifts both up to her chest…

Y/N encircles them all in a hug…

Strange: you have a very lovely family.