#I might replace it with something more chill but I still like the drawing

[leftysage]

I had some fun making a banner for my twitch, and I wanted to share the full image! I think it's very cute.

[gretavanlace]

Sugar II (part 9)

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, angst, language, the tiniest amount of alcohol consumption, digital penetration, masturbation, oral sex (fem rec), anal play, unprotected sex, etc

Okay, sweet peas, we’ve got one more chapter to go (maaaaybe two idk), but all your favorites will be back! Plus an epilogue. Thank you so much for sticking with me after I did sugar jake so dirty the first time around ❤️

The air is lush and fragrant with herbs, sizzling eggs, and Jake when you wake - though his side of the bed has already cooled.

He’s all around you. Clothes and scuffed boots tossed about the room. Guitar case propped open sans Gibson - where has she gone? The scent of his skin clinging to yours. The gentle bustle of him milling around in the kitchen. You roll over and shamelessly bury your face in the pillow he rested his pretty head upon last night. Drawing him in with a shiver of content���he is home and you are basking in the comfort that is the great return.

He’s humming something to himself, and though you can barely hear - and you certainly can’t place the song - you try to hum along, laughing quietly to yourself when it comes out sounding muddled and strange as you search for a melody you don’t know.

It doesn’t matter. If he’s humming, you want to hum along. You’d like to walk beside him always, twisted and tangled together like a silken braid of devotion.

Seduced by his silly siren’s song, your feet hit the floor as you search for something to throw on. You settle on the black blazer he’s tossed over the back of a chair and pad down the hallway. Lulled and lured by his quiet chaos.

You find him, back to the doorway, gingerly shaking a pan with one hand and tossing what looks to be diced veggies with the other, totally at ease and at home. A gorgeous, disheveled chef complete with yesterday’s sweats, t shirt that’s torn at the neck, and tangled hair.

Should you stand and watch him awhile? It sounds tempting…to watch him work, a sneaky, head over heels fly on the wall. The way he moves, every shift of muscle is intoxicating. Yes, you are bewitched, but even standing here bathed in his presence, you miss him, and that wins out.

”Morning, Jakey,” you smile, breaking his concentration.

”There’s my sugar,” he tosses you a look over his shoulder that stops your heart. “I’m making you breakfast, my love. Would you like coffee or tea?”

Bare feet dancing over chilled tile, you wrap your arms around his waist and rest your cheek between his shoulder blades, “Whatever you’re having.”

He backs up a little, no doubt worrying about your arms - though they are protected by his jacket - being too near to the stove, and turns, pulling you closer while walking you backwards towards the island, “How about we share a cup of tea? You hungry?”

Flashes of memories burn through your brain…last night, in the foyer wrapped up together on the floor while he kissed your body and wept. On the couch while you talked about how exactly this all might work. Later, in a bed that wasn’t yours, in sheets you wouldn’t wash.

You should be thoroughly sated, but yes…you are hungry.

”How’d I get so lucky, little girl?” His lips curve into a grin that derails your thoughts and replaces them with something much softer. Your heart is weak for the look in his eyes…the unapologetic, worshipful love that blazes there. “How did I manage to earn this?”

”Earn what?” You smile back, praying that the emotion pounding in your heart is as evident in your gaze as it is in his, “Us?”

His eyes duck away with a shy nod, “I just never thought I’d have you like this again. In my arms, not going anywhere. Staying.”

Your fingertips are at his cheeks, sweeping over the perfect warmth of his skin, soft as air, “Jake, you didn’t earn anything. You’ve always held my heart.”

Still unwilling to meet your gaze, he rests his forehead on your shoulder. “You took it away.”

”No,” you argue in a hush. Can he really not see? “I left it with you. You’re the only reason it beats, anyway. But if you don’t feed me soon, I fear I may perish.”

”Drama queen.” He grins, pecking your cheeks each in turn, grateful that you’ve eased his mind and calmed his tender nerves.

The kettle begins to scream and you patter off to the table tucked into the corner, homey and quaint, to watch him work to take care of you. Soon, you’re gifted a steaming mug along with another kiss dropped atop your head. “Splash of rum and a sprinkle of cinnamon, sugar. It’s 9 o’clock in the morning, you lush.”

”Trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me, Jake?” You tease back, watching as he moves to finish things up at the stove, throat seizing with aching affection…he remembers how you take your tea.

”I don’t have to get you inebriated for that,” he sounds gravelly and full of himself, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. “I could fuck you however and wherever I so felt the inclination, my lovely little doll, and you would grace me with your gracious and enthusiastic appreciation.”

You bat your lashes wildly at him as he presents two plates heaped with brightly colored, expertly sautéed vegetables and fluffy, scrambled eggs like cheery, sunny clouds. A bowl of swollen, fuschia raspberries deposited between your plates like a pile of sweetened jewels steals the show. “Oh, be still my heart…you know how I enjoy it when you speak like a dictionary.”

”I know, sugar,” there’s that beaming smile of his again as he offers you a berry, lightly teasing it at your lips until you open up for him. “plenty more where that came from.”

A comfortable quiet sparks to life as you both dig in and pass the teacup back and forth. He finally breaks it, speaking up around a bite of potatoes and peppers. “I spoke to Josh this morning.”

”And how is your missing piece?” You quirk an eyebrow over the top of the cup you have now commandeered.

He leans back in his chair and settles his gaze upon you, clocking your expression closely, searching for a reaction. “Obnoxious as ever. He’s annoyed with me because I haven’t looked over the lyric revisions he sent me, and I certainly couldn’t care less if I actively tried. However, he’s very excited to see you. Cross though he might be with his dear brother.”

”Hello, Oliver,” you wink, “Let’s have Jacob back, shall we?”

You haven’t forgotten Jake’s tendency for trotting out Mr. Reed when he’s dipping a toe or two into the waters of vulnerability.

“Do you miss him?” He asks quietly, “Do you want things to be the way they were before? Because I can live with that if it means you’ll stay.” He rushes on as if he fears he may lose his nerve. “I want you to be happy, whatever it takes, I just want you to be happy.”

Fork clinking lightly against your plate as your focus zeros in on his lovely face, you lean forward and reach for his hand “Did he tell you he came to see me? After I ran into Danny that day?”

His fingers slip into your waiting palm with a soft squeeze, “He mentioned that he found you and asked you hide away until we’d gone. I’ve never wanted to hurt him as badly as I did then. Not even when we were young and stupid. Not even that night, when he forced me to let you go.”

“He was only trying to protect you, jake.” Your head tilts, watching residual pain flare to life in his eyes. “I’ve done a great many things to hurt you, it’s a wonder he doesn’t hate me for it.”

“He could never hate you, sugar. Don’t say things like that, it would break his heart to hear them.” The conviction in his words is fierce, and that makes sense…they share a life force at times, it seems.

“He did ask me to hide away, yes…” you nod, wrapping your free hand around his knuckles, warming his touch with your own, “But did he tell you anything else about our visit? Did he tell you how easy it was for us? How we caught up and laughed and looked at each other like very old friends that had been lost to each other for too many years?”

His shoulders tense as though he’s bracing for a gentle impact, but on you march, whispering to him in this unfamiliar kitchen that feels fat full of love.

”Did he tell you that it didn’t even hurt, our being in the same room with everything so fucking different? Did he know that all I could do was sit there, falling silently apart and searching for you in his eyes?”

“But you loved him.” Now it’s his turn to search your eyes, but for what you’re not sure. “I don’t want you to have to tamp that out. Not ever. You love so beautifully, sugar. I can share.”

”I did love him,” you nod. “Very much. A long time ago. I love him still. Differently. And not the way I love you. I have never loved anyone the way I love you. You don’t have to share. Not anymore.”

His grip is pulling at you now, tugging you to your feet and into his arms, creaking the worn wood of his chair beneath the weight of you both as he buries his face into your bare chest, hiding his tears in the lapels of his blazer as he weeps into your skin.

“Shh, baby,” you soothe, stroking through his hair, holding onto him as he clings to you as if you might vanish like a sigh.

His face tilts upward, lips brushing over your chin and jaw, licking and tasting you through his tears. “I love you, sugar. Sometimes I feel like all this love I have for you is just going to break me into pieces, like I can’t hold it all inside. There’s no room for it. I’m too small.”

”Jake,” you feel like you could break into pieces right alongside him as he begins tugging his jacket away from your shoulders.

He shakes his head, hushing you silently, “So, I’m going to take all this love and I’m going to give it all to you. And I’m gonna fill our house with it, press it into the walls and let it seep into the floorboards. Every nail and every window is going to feel it. The pipes and hinges. The chimney is going to breathe it into the night when we light fires in the winter. And we’re going to have babies and I’m going to love them just as much, and I can’t wait to watch you love them…”

You feel baptized in his tears and the wet, warm press of his mouth as he tattoos beautiful promises into your flesh. How could you ever have believed that you wanted anything other than this?

“I’m going to exist for you every single day, sugar…” a sob escapes him, though he tries so hard to bite it back, “I already do…I always have.”

“I know, baby…it’s okay,” you’re kissing adoration into his hair, combing your fingers through the tangles, coddling him and cooing the softest endearments, desperate to mollify his soul, fraught to offer him peace. “Please don’t cry, jakey. You know I can’t stand it.”

Hearing his own words lilting off of your tongue, he pauses and gazes up into your eyes like he sees everything he’ll ever need in them, “When I said that to you, I wanted to disappear. I wanted to be…gone. I didn’t want to live in a world where you wore his ring on your finger with tears in your eyes. Will you miss him?”

Should you lie? Perhaps. But wouldn’t he see the untruths lying bare? Wouldn’t that hurt even worse? Your deception?

“Yes,” you nod, petting him as he presses in closer, “he was kind to me, and sweet. He made me laugh. He made me half-way happy enough to pretend. I’ll miss him sometimes…but never enough to look back and regret chasing after you.”

“I’m glad he was kind to you,” he whispers, kissing a drunken, winding path across the tops of your breasts, “you deserve kind. He loved you, I could see that. I didn’t want to, but I could. And maybe I hated that, but I would have hated the alternative so much more. I’m sure he loves you still.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you laugh softly, “he wasn’t very pleased with me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, sugar,” he stares up at you with eyes laced heavily in adulation, “you don’t leave a man alone so easily. You linger and overstay your welcome in the worst way. Learn to leave a room, sweetheart.”

He has pulled another laugh out of you, louder and bell like this time…it twists his heart with heated, pulsing adoration.

”Jake,” you pause, waiting for him to give you his honey brown eyes, “You were right when you said none of it matters. This matters.” Your palm finds your heartbeat for a moment, and then his own.

”I know, my love…” tears skate along his lash line like blissful, shimmering quartz, “I know.”

~

His mouth is at your throat, gentle hand splaying out across your abdomen, holding you down against the cool, polished wood of the table.

Fingers playing at your lips, he breaks a raspberry apart between his fingers before sweeping it over your waiting tongue. “You’re so beautiful, sugar. Aren’t you? Aren’t you my pretty, pretty girl?”

His shirt has landed on the tile, forgotten and worthless to this task at shaking hand.

“Yes,” nails digging into his shoulders to remind him of where you’ve been, of where your touch belongs, you nod fervently beneath his kiss, “I’m your pretty girl, Jakey. I’m your girl.”

Lips beginning a path up your cheek to your temple, he hums euphorically and grasps at your ankles, tugging gingerly until your heels are resting on the table. “Will you show me?” His voice is silken and inquisitive, tongue fluttering over your earlobe to bring chills to life inside you. “Hmm? Will you show me how pretty you are for me?”

”Anything,” you pant, arching away from the table, desperate to be closer to him as he pulls back.

You watch on, body throbbing and screaming for him while he pops a raspberry into his mouth and settles back into his chair, legs spread wide, hands fisted into flexing balls at his knees, “Touch yourself for me, sugar. Rub your sweet little clit, nice and slow, just for me.”

Maybe you’d like to say your body protests, maybe you ought to say that you shy away, maybe if you weren’t so indescribably in love with him you’d do both of those things, but as it stands….

….as it stands, you give him what he’s asked for without thought. There isn’t a breath of hesitation. You simply roll two fingers over your tongue, reach down between your thighs, and begin.

The hushed moan that tumbles off the tip of your tongue tugs a sigh from his lungs that sets you further on fire. He sounds so beautiful, so wholly under a spell that you can’t fathom having the ability to cast over this deity of a man.

“There’s my good girl,” he is so quiet, you’d scarcely hear him were your focus not so completely honed in on jake jake jake, “Does that feel good, little girl? Is my sugar making that pretty pink pussy feel just so nice?”

He is an obscene angel staring you down with snarled hair and wicked sin in his wild eyes.

A trembling sound is all you’re able to manage as your touch dips inside yourself to draw slick back up to your clit.

”Yeah?” he tilts his head, watching you reverently, “It looks like it does. You’re dripping all over the table. I want to lick it up.”

“Please,” your fingers circle faster, but something is missing. He, close though he might be, is missing.

”Please, what?” He sounds as needy and hungry as you feel. “Tell me what you want me to do to you and I’ll do it, baby. Whatever you want…I’ll fucking do it.”

”Your mouth,” your legs spread wider until your hips protest, and then you spread a little wider in offering. “I’d like to have your mouth please, Jakey. Please. lick me, please, please.”

A groan rumbles out of his chest like pained thunder as he wraps his arms around your thighs, tugging you in and burying his mouth exactly where you’ve so politely begged for it. Another anguished sound pushes from his lungs as he drinks down his first mouthful of you.

The tip of his tongue teases over your shivering clit, and then slinks down to dip inside you, and then down farther still to lap against that heavenly little spot where it shouldn’t be.

He hums against you while you whine and yank at his hair, pulling his kiss in closer as your hips lift away from the wood you’re making such a mess of.

“Fuck,” your fingers lace through his hair perhaps just a bit too tightly, but a quiet grunt signals his appreciation, “right there.”

“I know where you like my mouth every now and then, sugar,” his words are hot against you as his thumb slides, warm and thick, inside your cunt “Dirty girl.”

Watching you shy away so endearingly squeezes at his chest. You have always given yourself to him so completely. You have always been his girl. His mouth has known every breathtaking inch of your body in a hundred different lifetimes. His heart has known your heart in a thousand more.

Your fingers search out your clit, neglected and crying out for attention, completing that lovely trifecta as you rock your hips, fucking his face without shame.

He is yours and you will take him.

Your belly is burning, white hot and tight, coiling and churning as your body begins to tremble and flush.

“Gonna cum…” A complete sentence seems an impossible task “I— oh, please, please, please,”

His fingers replace his thumb with a feral growl low in his throat, tucking up in behind your clit as you watch his arm begin to move rhythmically below the table.

”Don’t cum,” you order through whimpers and whines that sound anything but authoritative. How difficult it proves to be to be bossy when his tongue is warm and wet where you shouldn’t adore it so damn much.

”I won’t,” his promise is beautifully muffled. “But I want you to do it. Cum for me, fuck doll…give it up pretty.”

You tighten deliciously around his searching tongue and delving fingers as it crawls through you like sinking into a warm bath that swirls with glittering, lilac goldfish. They kiss your skin soft as monarch wings; strange, swimming beings in the waters that are Jacob. It is lovely, though given the filth that has ushered you into this state, maybe that makes no sense.

He works you carefully until your breathing begins to stutter and gasp uncomfortably, and then there is his striking and stunning face - cheeks blazing with desire - kissing and licking up your body as you squirm languidly.

“Was that good, baby?” His teeth are dragging against the swell of your breast now, igniting a fire within you anew.

Jacob, always so cocksure and confident, sounds famished for your approval. How strange.

You hand it over willingly and honestly, on a silver platter of affection, “So, good, Jakey…I love you so much.”

“You taste like fucking candy everywhere,” his praise is little more than a whispered murmur as he buries into the crook of your neck, “I want you in my mouth and under my fingertips forever, for fucking always.”

The tip of his cock, full and hot like velvet, sweeps across your entrance, teasing inside just a breath before pulling back and then nudging in all over again.

“Put it in,” your fingers are clawing lazily at his hips, silently trying to guide him into action, “Fuck Jake, please baby, just slip it inside and—“

He grinds his hips forward, cutting you off, filling you up, pulsing and slick and hot and…

”My girl,” his words are humid at your throat as he whimpers through a physical shudder. “My sugar, my love. That’s my baby, that’s it…taking it so well. You feel so fucking good.”

His wandering fingers find and sweep over your clit with a glide as sweet as satin, and it has you clenching down around him so wildly his eyes snap shut with a furrowed brow, mouth hanging open in a silent moan.

Buried to the hilt now, those eyes lull open to stare down where your bodies connect. “Looks so pretty stretched around my cock. How’d this little cunt ever get so beautiful?”

Your cheek turns to meet the cool of the oak you're draped across, embarrassed in the most blissful way, but he is positively weak for the way his words cause your thighs to tighten around his waist.

His name begins to burn out of your lungs, smoking into the sun-soaked kitchen like a prayer.

”That’s it,” he sounds faraway, like he’s crooning to you from across the room, “My name, sugar…always my name.”

And then, there is his thumb, soaked in your need and brushing against that spot just below where his cock is dragging in and out of your cunt.

A wanton cry for more bleeds out of you, bringing forth another knit of his brow as he sinks inside you to follow the deep thrust of his cock, “‘Oh my’, right sugar? Isn’t that how my fuck doll reacts? All sweet like a lady, to being filled up so full?”

His loving, mocking tone snatches you back full circle to that very first night with him that seems so long ago…he has been all you’ve ever wanted, ever since. He is all you will ever want.

He is every direction, the night and the day, every song ever written…every poem ever wept onto pages, every star that will light the skyline tonight and all the ones that came before. He is every beat of your pulse, every breath in your lungs - and when you breathe your last, it will be his name on your lips.

White explodes behind your eyes as fireworks detonate down deep inside you, sparkling a crackling-like frenetic energy throughout your nervous system until you are tightened up and writhing with it…cumming so hard, so fucking hard, that you nearly force his beautiful cock right out of your body.

He follows your lead and pulls away, tugging at himself violently as you shower down over him like the filthiest, most exquisite drops of summer-of-love rain.

“Oh fuck, sugar, please,” he’s whining as his release lands hot and frantic against your quivering stomach, but for what, neither of you know.

You’re lost in his faraway expression, watching him fight for a deep breath as you search for your own composure when your fingers sweep through a milky ribbon painted across your navel…you want to taste him, but his grip is wrapped firmly around your wrist in an instant, with your fingers nestled against his cashmere tongue.

“I’ll clean my pretty girl up myself, if she doesn’t mind.” His mouth brushes soothingly at your hip just before he begins licking up his own release, eyes cast upwards to your own as you shake, stunned and blissfully shellshocked.

At last, you find your voice as his bubblegum pink tongue curls over the last drop, “You taste good, don’t you, Jakey?”

“Not as good as you, sugar,” His mouth is on yours now, kissing far too sweetly for what you know him to be capable of. “not even close.”

“Shower?” He pops another raspberry into your mouth and then nuzzles against your nose.

”Bath.” You correct, nearly melting into the table beneath his love.

~

A sponge, fresh out of its package and now smothered in body wash, drags across your chest as his chest rests against your back.

”We leave tonight?’ Your voice sounds unfamiliar…too content, too relaxed. It’s been such a long time since you’ve sounded this way. Since you’ve been so completely happy.

”I wish we could stay longer,” he kisses at your drenched, now squeaky clean hair, “just you and me.”

”Me too,” you sigh, settling back into his embrace even more, “but I’m also excited to see those idiots you call brothers. Especially the baby.”

”He’s missed you.” More kisses to clutch at your already stolen heart. “Nothing was the same without you, sugar. Time to come home.”

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @jakesgrapejuice @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @lvnterninthenight @paintmyhouse @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @thewritingbeforesunrise @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @calumspretty @sad1lynn @demolitionndann @gvfpal @starcatcher-jake @gretavangroupie @hugorobinson @jaketlove

[petalsthefish]

@jilychallenge || Winter In June || Partner: @elliemarchetti || Western AU

Prompt: Oh no! We got wet! However will we warm each other? Oh! By using body heat, ofc!

Fic Playlist Read on A03

4:35am

It was almost sunup.

James had been planning on leaving, thinking it was what they both wanted, until she stripped down with him and jumped into the frigid lake. Her red hair glistened with water droplets as she ran back to the bonfire, screeching about the chill of the morning air. James lingered in the cold water, letting it bite his skin until he couldn't feel it anymore.

He loved her, that was all he knew now.

When he joined Lily by the fire, his pale skin was prickling. She quickly shared her warm woolen blanket around his shoulders, drawing him close. Under the midnight blue sky, her emerald eyes still shined, her chin tilted up towards him, offering that wild smile he had fallen for just a week ago.

"Don't go back to Florida," she pleaded, "stay here, in Colorado, with me."

"What about Snape's company?" James asked, "who will keep them from buying the land out from under you?"

"But who will keep me warm if you go?"

James touched her wet hair, tucking it behind her ear, and leaned down to kiss her. She tasted like the syrup they had poured on their pancakes. His lips had grown accustomed to hers. They hadn't been able to stop kissing since their first kiss on the field three days ago. He moaned and dug his fingers into her hips when she opened wider to catch his lower lip and tug it between her teeth.

Despite the warmth of their sweet kiss, she had began to shiver a lot and stopped kissing him to pull on her thick socks and tan boots under the blanket, her hot breath like fire on his skin. She grabbed her underwear next, sliding it over her boots, then added her bra, much to James' disappointment.

James followed her lead, awkwardly putting his socks and boots back on. He also grabbed his plaid shirt, the one he'd stolen from the barn hand upon arriving and realizing his suits wouldn't cut it on the working farm. James pulled his underwear on over his boots, noting his wet skin probably made it harder to get dressed, but he didn't care cause he was freezing.

"Get back under here." Lily opened her arms wide, the blanket fanning out with her like a cloak.

James practically ran back into her arms, letting the warm blanket envelop them both. He guided her backwards so they could fall onto the log they'd been sitting on before she had suggested they go skinny dipping during a game of truth or dare.

The fire crackled beside them, casting flickering shadows on their faces. As they settled onto the log, the warmth of the flames and the blanket created a cozy cocoon, shielding them from the chill of the night. Her body adjusted, Lily using her legs to lift herself into a straddle until she was pressed against him, and he could feel her shivering begin to subside.

"I promise the lake is much more enjoyable in the summer." She told him as she brushed his hair from his eyes.

James looked into her eyes, a tenderness shining in them that had been there since day one. “You’re crazy, you know that?” he said, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

She laughed, the sound like music to his ears. “It was your idea to play truth or dare,” she teased, her breath visible in the cold air. “I just made it interesting.”

“I can’t argue with that,” he replied, his fingers tracing the outline of her face. “My testicles might have frostbite though."

"Oh boo, you poor baby." Her smile was suddenly wicked. "Want me to warm them back up?" Her eyes teased, but her hand placement on his thigh said something else.

James let his nose meet hers, shuddering a bit when her hand passed over his lap suggestively. "You know, you don't have to convince me to stay that way.”

Her smile faded slightly, replaced by a more serious expression. “I know. But I want to show you what life could be like here. A good life. With me.”

James’s heart swelled at her words. He had come to Colorado looking to just help save another farm threatened by cooperate America, never expecting to find someone like Lily. She was wild and free, a breath of fresh mountain air. She was everything he didn’t know he needed, and now he didn't know how to keep her and save the farm...without possibly losing her when she realized what she'd have to do.

“I don’t want to go back,” he admitted softly, his forehead resting against hers. “Not if it means leaving you behind.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away, her smile wavering. “Then don’t leave me behind.”

He kissed her again, the feel of her lips like coming home. Her hands clung to him, as if afraid he might disappear. He pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes with determination.

"I love you."

"Whatever, cowboy," she teased, ruffling his hair and kissing him long and deep.

“I’m serious, Lily.” James said once they broke apart.

Lily's eyes shadowed for a moment before she said just as seriously, "then don't leave."

[hahskeleton]

⚠️MAJOR MAJOR MAJOR TLAES/TSAMS SPOILERS!!!!!⚠️

Okay so WHATTTTTTTTT ECLIPSE GOT THERAPYYYYY!!!!

I know Moon made him go but I think it actually did him a little good! I’m being actually truthful, here, I think Eclipse really considered confessing a few things, but I also might be wrong. Eclipse could definitely still be putting up an act for all this but like he’s said in previous episodes, he never actually did anything he’s hated for doing. That was the previous copy of him, he’s just a replacement.

When he was asking about how Lunar was dealing with the whole *BOOM* thing and Earth was like, “We ain’t gonna talk ‘bout that” I’m honestly kinda glad. That would’ve probably flourished into a weird, long, argumentative conversation. On Eclipse’s part, tho, Earth’s pretty chill :)

When they were talking abt how Earth was coping with seeing Eclipse explode and Eclipse was like, “Yeah, how does that feel btw? Terrible? Scary?”

and then stuff happened and it led up to him saying, “You never know when your just going to go BOOM.” holy heck I should draw that. lmao I’ll probably be drawing a lot for this ep

also at the end when Moon fricking APOLOGIZED??? HUH??? Where was that hiding the whole time??? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I am so happy Moon finally said something to him, and damn it silenced Eclipse, too!

When he said, “You probably don’t want to hear it, but, I’m sorry for leaving you behind.” And eclipse DIDN’T SAY A SINGLE THING LIKE- holy moly man Eclipse I wish you actually took that relatively seriously. When that part came I was just-

ALSO when Moon said that specific line “I know you probably don’t wanna hear it, but,” we forget Sun has said the exact same thing to him before, except not him, it was Old Moon he said it to. In that episode, Sun said VERY DISTINCTLY, “I know you probably don’t wanna hear it, and I know I don’t say it often, but,”

This honestly probably means absolutely nothing, it’s just something I’m pointing it out—

Anything thing, when Eclipse first came in and Moon was like, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he was talking like he went into a dentist’s office and his kid was misbehaving. Also Eclipse is a five year old at heart and you can’t change my mind. The way he walked in and just started insulting everything and throwing sh!t around was kinda funny to me.

Also, yeah, Earth noticed he was avoiding trying to talk about himself and his problems, and she was right he was definitely doing that. He would change the subject whenever Earth asked something remotely close to his feelings or his trauma.

I have a lot more to say but I don’t wanna make this post any other than it has to be so yeah… I’ll probably post another ramble and rant post today sometime to ramble about Eclipse and lore and stuff.

[actuallythatgirl]

The Final Battle Alastor X Reader

The final battle, but instead of Alastor taking the hit, you do.

part 1 part 2 part 3

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

As we sit on the rooftop, a low, ominous buzzing fills the air. I glance up, my heart sinking as I spot a small, hovering drone circling above us. The logo of the VEES is unmistakable—those damn surveillance drones.

“What in Hell…?” I murmur, my mind racing with a surge of panic. I can barely comprehend the situation as my gaze locks onto the drone, its camera lens glinting ominously in the harsh light.

“We need to get off this roof, my dear,” Alastor says, his voice dangerously calm. He turns his head to look at the drone with a mixture of irritation and something darker, more menacing. His usual mocking demeanor has been replaced by a sharp, cold edge that sends a chill down my spine.

I scramble to my feet, my body still aching from the previous ordeal. “Are they—are the VEES recording us?” I ask, my voice trembling. The realization hits me hard—everything that’s happened, every moment of vulnerability, might have been captured and broadcasted. I feel exposed, the weight of their intrusion adding another layer of fear.

“Quite possibly,” Alastor replies, his eyes narrowing as he watches the drone’s erratic movements. “They’re notorious for their relentless surveillance.”

The urgency in his voice makes my blood run cold. The VEES don’t just record—they exploit. The thought of them having footage of this encounter, our injuries, our private moments, is nauseating.

“Fuck me,” I curse under my breath. The situation is spiraling out of control, and the thought of our private suffering being used for their twisted entertainment is almost more than I can bear.

Alastor’s expression darkens further, his usual composure fraying under the strain. “We need to move, now. If they’ve been recording us, we can’t afford to stay here.”

He struggles to stand, his movements still unsteady but driven by a fierce determination. Despite his injuries, he manages to help me to my feet. Together, we stumble toward the edge of the roof, our only focus now on escaping the prying eyes of the VEES and getting to safety.

"My dear, this is going to feel quite strange," Alastor chokes out, his voice rasping with exhaustion, almost more of a strained wheeze than his usual confident tone. I hesitate, trying to grasp what he meant, but before I can ask, the world begins to shift. It feels like reality itself is bending. The colors around us deepen unnaturally, as though someone turned the saturation way up, casting a surreal, darker hue over everything.

The ground beneath me seems to melt away as I feel myself sink, the familiar sensations of my body slipping away. My mind fights to hold onto some sense of control, but it’s useless—everything is dissolving. I try to look towards Alastor, hoping for some clarity, but the shadows swallow him whole. For a moment, I’m weightless, floating in some in-between space, detached from my own being. And just as quickly as the darkness consumes me, it releases its grip.

The world snaps back into existence with a violent thud.

I stumble, trying to regain my bearings. Around me, it’s as though we’ve stepped into a different time—a house, old but well-kept, like we’ve fallen back into the 1930s. The architecture is elegant, with polished wooden floors, brass fixtures, and vintage décor that could have come straight from a film noir. This must be Alastor's home—a place steeped in the charm and eerie beauty of a bygone era.

A groan from beside me draws my attention, and my heart skips a beat. I look down and see Alastor sprawled on the floor, his once-charismatic figure now crumpled and drained. His last ounce of strength had been used to bring us here, wherever ‘here’ is.

"Dear God… Al?" My voice trembles, the weight of fear pressing into my chest as I kneel beside him. Even in my disoriented state, I can tell something is wrong—very wrong. His face is pale, his eyes closed. I reach out, but my own body barely has the energy to keep me upright. My muscles scream in protest, and I sway, almost collapsing next to him. “Are you okay?” I choke out, desperately needing a response.

But none comes.

Panic tightens its icy grip around my throat. "Alastor, I need you to wake up… please." The silence is unbearable. My mind races as I realize he might not be conscious. "Now, damn it!" But again, there’s nothing—just the oppressive quiet of the house around us.

Fear thrumming through my veins, I whisper, "Forgive me for this," and carefully roll him onto his back, my heart pounding louder in my ears with every passing second. His normally sharp, mischievous eyes remain shut, his face slack. He’s out cold. I can’t even tell how badly he’s hurt.

The surge of fear becomes a roar, drowning out every other thought. I need medical supplies. Anything.

I spring to my feet, fighting through my own injuries as I rush from room to room, pulling open drawers, cabinets—anything that might hold some form of first aid. “Come on… come on. You get into enough fights, you have to have something,” I mutter through gritted teeth. Desperation turns my movements frantic, but each cabinet reveals nothing useful.

I dash up the stairs, feeling like I’m running against time. The house looms around me in its vintage elegance, each piece of furniture a ghost from another era. It’s unsettling how pristine everything looks—like time stopped in the 1930s. Then, I find it—an old wooden door leading into a bathroom. The décor is still perfectly in line with the rest of the house—white subway tiles, polished brass fixtures, a claw-footed tub—but my focus is the cabinet above the sink.

I fling it open and find a small box tucked inside. Finally—medical supplies. I grab it, but as I turn to leave, the sight in the mirror stops me cold.

I barely recognize myself. My reflection stares back, a grotesque version of who I used to be. My face is a battered canvas of swollen black and blue, the bruises blossoming across my skin like ugly flowers. Deep, jagged cuts stretch from my temple to my jawline, the blood drying in uneven streaks, cracking as I move. Dust and grime cling to my skin, mingling with the blood, while debris clots in my tangled hair, matting it against my scalp with a gritty, uncomfortable weight.

My arms are a tapestry of agony, crisscrossed with deep gashes—some still oozing sluggish trails of blood, the edges puckered and angry. Dried streaks stain the skin beneath my fingernails, and each movement pulls at the open wounds, sending fresh spikes of pain shooting through my body.

I lift my shirt, gasping as my fingertips brush against the large, purpling bruises that blotch my torso. The dark blotches are swollen, throbbing with each breath, a sickening reminder of the beating I barely survived. Every breath sends a ripple of pain through the bruised ribs beneath. This body, this broken shell, feels foreign—too fragile, too damaged, to be mine.

Shaking off the shock, I rush back to Alastor, hoping I’m not too late.

[chrysochroma]

within your walls (desire, desire, till there’s nothing left of me)

@febuwhump 2024: Day 2: solitary confinement

@badthingshappenbingo : locked in a freezer (card is at the end)

Rating: Teen And Up

Words: 2,367

Fandom: Hermitcraft

Warnings: Kidnapping, Torture, Human Experimentation, Unethical Experimentation, Temporary Character Death

Read on Ao3

the title is from Strangler Fig by the Crane Wives

this is inspired by @aquaquadrant and @lunarcrown ‘s Hels to Pay AU and From Eden by aquaquadrant.

i highly suggest you read that first bc it is both amazing and the context is helpful

this is the link to aquaquadrant’s From Eden master post

this is also inspired by this piece of art by lunarcrown

as well as lunarcrown’s orginal comic

anyways, enjoy some pain and suffering :)

Deep inside the Hels Tek facility, Tango stood, claws dripping with redstone dust, in front of a grid of circuitry.

The machine Dr. Atlas had sent him to repair wasn’t too complicated, in fact it wasn’t much of a challenge at all. It was just as simple as replacing a few components with the ones the circuit required and drawing a few more lines of redstone dust. The mechanism felt reminiscent of a puzzle you might give a toddler—Tango felt that all he was doing was placing the different shaped blocks in their corresponding holes—but he figured that it was just a test to see what he knows, which didn’t surprise him. This was like his entrance exam before being hired to work at Hels, he supposed. It explained why Dr. Atlas always seemed to be just a few feet away, no matter where they were. Tango hoped that that was a good sign.

A voice came from behind him. “Very nice.”

Tango jumped and spun around to come face to face with Dr. Atlas. “Oh! Doctor, didn’t see ya there. I finished fixing this thing for you,” He gestured at the contraption behind him.

Atlas took his eyes off Tango and studied his repair job instead, as Tango continued to talk.

“It wasn’t too hard, a few things were in the wrong places but that’s pretty much it.” He turned around to look back at his work.

“I see,” Atlas responded, somewhat distracted. His eyes had locked back onto the swirling crown of blaze rods floating above Tango’s head, and he reached into his lab coat.

“So, do you have anything else for me to do?” Tango fiddled with a spare comparator as he spoke.

Atlas stepped closer. “I think that you’ll be very beneficial to us here at Hels Tek.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Dr. Atlas.” Tango spoke, still focused on his redstone.

“So am I.”

Tango felt a sharp prick on his neck, and before he could turn to see what it was from, his legs gave out from under him and his vision went black.

A numbing chill spread through Tango’s bones as his eyes slowly opened. His mind was racing but his breathing was sluggish, muscles slowed by the cold. His senses seemed dulled—whether it was because of whatever knocked him unconscious or yet another effect of the raw, sharp iciness he was surrounded by, Tango didn’t know.

He was laying on the floor, staring up at a plain, white ceiling, dotted with glowstone lamps. They cast a warm yellow over the room, providing Tango with a false sense of warmth that he wished was real. He started to sit up, then immediately noticed an unfamiliar weight on his wrists and neck. The deep jangle of chains being dragged along the floor pulled him even further out of unconsciousness.

“Good morning, Mr. Tango.”

Tango’s eyes snapped up to see Dr. Atlas writing something into a small notebook. The pair made eye contact through the wall of glass separating them, and Atlas smiled. Tango tried to push himself up onto his feet, his arms trembling, but nearly fell onto his face instead. (He glanced up to see Atlas watching him fail to adjust to his lack of energy, then write something down.) His arms, his legs, his brain all seemed to betray him as he struggled to stand, but finally, he forced himself to do so. The heavy iron chains that connected to his collar and shackles and kept him tethered to the ground seemed to drag him back down, but he stood and looked Atlas in the eye.

“Hey, Atlas.” He called out. “What is this?” His voice was filled with confusion and frustration, but overall much less fear than there should’ve been.

“Your new assignment,” Atlas responded.

“Uh, no, thanks. What even-“ He looked around for a second, cutting himself off as he stared into the solid white room beyond the glass box he was trapped in. “What is this?” He repeated.

Atlas snapped his notebook shut and tucked it into one of the pockets of his lab coat. “Like I said, your new assignment, where you will be staying. Indefinitely.”

Tango frowned. “Yeah, no, let me out.” He looked down at the new jumpsuit he was wearing. “And where are my clothes?”

Atlas didn’t respond.

“Hey!” Tango raised his voice. “Let me out of-“ He stepped forward and the chain attached to his collar pulled taut, momentarily choking him. Hurriedly, he stepped back, coughing.

Dr. Atlas stepped up to the glass door, then punched a code into the keypad mounted on the wall next to it. The door opened with a click and Atlas stepped inside, followed by two other Hels Tek employees, who moved to stand on either side of him. Tango’s eyes flitted around the room, trying to keep track of all three at once. Then, Atlas nodded, and the other scientists stepped up, each grabbing one of Tango’s arms. Tango’s muscles tensed up—at least as much as they could—and he pulled against the scientists restraining him. Still, they held him fast, not much effort required.

Atlas stepped forward, reached up, grabbed one of Tango’s blaze rods, and yanked. The blaze rod sizzled, leaving a trail of sparks behind it, but it came loose from Tango’s crown and smoldered in Atlas’s hand. He brought it up to eye level to inspect it—golden, shining, smoking, and most of all, valuable.

Tango gasped in pain, but quickly regained his composure and continued to pull away from the scientists, while glaring at Atlas.

“Hey! Stop it! You can’t do that!”

Dr. Atlas tucked Tango’s blaze rod into his lab coat, then looked back at Tango. “Yes I can.”

The two scientists pushed Tango down, forcing him to his knees. He pulled against their grip with all his strength, but couldn’t do anything to stop them as they pushed him closer and closer to the ground, until he was on his stomach, his face pressed up against the concrete. One of them pinned his wrists behind his back, and the other held his neck against the ground until they had him under their control.

“Guys, hey-!” Tango protested.

Atlas leaned down, fixated on Tango’s swirling crown, then plucked each of the blaze rods out of orbit, one by one. Tango felt each and every one of them leave their place, their absence feeling like a pit in his heart.

“C’mon, not another one,” Tango pleaded. Dr. Atlas ignored him.

In the absence of any blaze rods, sparks fizzled up around Tango’s head, but no new ones formed.

Atlas frowned. “Hm. That’s a shame.”

“Atlas, stop this! Just- c’mon-“

One of the scientists forced his head back to the ground, slamming it into the concrete. Tango gasped at the impact. Then, from the sparks, a new blaze rod flared into existence. Atlas smiled.

“You know,” He looked Tango in the eye. “You and I are going to do great things together, Mr. Tango.”

“Atlas! St-“ he cut himself off with a wince as Atlas stole his final remaining blaze rod.

Still smiling, Atlas stood and walked out of the room, the other two following him out. The door slammed shut behind them, pushing another wave of ice cold air over Tango.

Slowly, he sat up, aching and fatigued, shivering. Then he tucked himself into a ball, too tired to fight back. He closed his eyes.

All of Tango’s days seemed to blend together, forming one painful, seemingly endless existence. Except it wasn’t really endless—Tango had died almost too many times to count over that long expanse of time. Almost.

Minuscule thorns like hypodermic needles jabbed into his skin from all angles. They seemed to suck the blood out of him, slowly and steadily, until there was none left. The branches wrapped around his arms and legs bore scarlet red berries, and the droplets of Tango’s blood scattered over the leaves and floor looked just like minuscule versions of them. They brought a constant, throbbing, piercing pain that Tango could never take his mind off of, at least until-

But that was too slow.

Deep red mist seemed to linger in the air, clouding Tango’s vision and filling his lungs. It burned his eyes and throat, adding to the pain swirling around his body. Each time a bottle dropped, he felt as if a portion of his soul was ripped away, claimed by the burgundy flecks that seemed to glimmer in and out of existence. He lost more and more of himself, never given a chance to recover, until-

<Tango was killed by magic>

But that was too effective.

Steam swirled up from the ground, enveloping him in a cloud of warmth. The red-hot, glowing coals were almost comfortable under his feet. The heat was scalding, yet familiar, and almost sympathetic. Tango was hardly surprised when the first sharp sting across his face came. The Doctors needed to have their fun, after all. So, he stood in the welcoming embrace of liquid hellfire and heard his bones snap, and break, and shatter, until-

<Tango walked into danger zone due to AtlasSyn>

But (as much as it was fun) that was too inefficient.

A cold, slippery nothing filled Tango’s throat, invading his lungs and emptying his mind of anything except panic. It was too thin, too slick to get a hold onto as it dissolved into his core, turning his embers into nothing but smoke. It filled him with terror like nothing else ever could. He was surrounded by it, and helpless to do anything to stop it from ripping away his life, his soul, his fire, until-

<Tango drowned>

But that harmed the product.

A prickling, unnatural chill crept over Tango’s bones. It seeped into his skin like salt dissolving into water—slow and gradual, yet present all the time. It seemed to touch each and every one of his nerves, somehow lighting them on fire and enveloping them in numbness at the same time. It sent a shiver down his spine so curious it almost could’ve tickled if it didn’t hurt so much. It ate away at him, bit by bit, until-

<Tango withered away>

It was perfect—slow, constant, enveloping, (painful,) impeccable. And so the experiments began.

Tango sat, unmoving, just like they told him to. He held still, just like they said, as rows of thorns were stabbed into his arms. Both of his arms were completely numb, yet seemed to be flickering with pinpricks of pain. Dr. Atlas himself was there to pluck the blaze rods from his crown, tucking each one into his coat as if he meant to protect them with his life. It was a constant cycle: Dr. Atlas would take a blaze rod from him, another thorn would be stabbed into his arm, and another blaze rod would appear, ready to be stolen once more.

There had once been a bouquet of wither roses in front of him. They were enchanting, almost would’ve been beautiful, if he hadn’t known what it was like to feel their wrath. Now, there was a pile of deep purple, almost black rose buds lying discarded on a table off to the side (they only needed the thorns).

As a scientist moved to place another bud in the pile, a clump of black, dusty pollen tumbled out of the flower and onto Tango’s arm. Almost immediately, it melted into Tango’s skin, turning the surrounding area a bit gray.

Dr. Atlas’s eyes instantly locked onto the still slightly gray spot. He pointed to the scientist holding the rose bud. “Bring that over here.”

They complied, and Dr. Atlas stuck his finger into the center of the rose, then pulled it out. Black dust coated the tip of his gloved finger, sticking to it like glitter. He turned back to Tango, then smeared the pollen across his forearm. Just as quickly as before, it absorbed into Tango’s flesh, this time leaving faint traces of black veins underneath his skin.

A newfound sense of pain rushed through Tango’s arm, pumping through his bloodstream. The sparks above his head flared, and a blaze rod shimmered into existence, taking its place in his crown. Dr. Atlas reached up a hand, then plucked it, a faint smile on his face.

The pollen was better, they’d found. It was more potent, more harmful, more efficient. The once discarded rose buds had suddenly become a treasure trove for the scientists, and Dr. Atlas couldn’t have been more pleased. And so the testing began.

Test #1: Tears welled up in Tango’s eyes as the now familiar prickling numbness drove him further to insanity. That black dust coated his throat and lungs, making him cough. A couple tears rolled down his cheeks as he felt one of his blaze rods get ripped away from him.

Test #60: Slowly but surely, they were tearing him apart. He felt like, as each blaze rod was stolen from him, a part of his fire went along with. His soul was being taken and sold to the masses for nothing but a bit of profit.

Test #157: Tango longed for the sliding metal doors to his blank white room to open. Even when they were there to refill the respawn anchor, trapping him here. Even when they came to empty the hoppers of his blaze rods, using him for their gain. Even when they came to chop off his claws, preventing any resistance. Because it was better than nothing, right?

Test #326: For Tango, crying was a constant. He took some comfort in it—among all of the deaths, all the malfunctions, through the never-ending blanket of prickling numbness, at least he had this. It was enough.

It wasn’t too much of a change for Tango when Dr. Atlas and the others came to move him into his new home. Just one torture chamber in a blank room to another. He could barely even notice a difference (maybe he didn’t care to).

Dr. Atlas smiled at him through the glass. “Welcome to your new home, Tango Tek.”

[zabala0z]

Hi I listened to six episodes of S3 and I’m back. I have nothing to do and school starts on Monday so lemme give my thoughts 🗣️

MAG 81: A Guest For Mr. Spider

Happy that Jon’s safe and in hiding! I remember Georgie was mentioned in Melanie Kings first statement so I guess she counts as a friend. Another spider theme. There’s so many spiders and I’m wondering what entity that could like fall under. I’m curious on “The Eye” because it hasn’t done anything, it just watched. Which makes sense. But Michael mentioned before that Jon being protected by it so is it like…chill????

MAG 82: The Eyewitnesses

Oh I hate Elias that little bitch I swear to god. Also the fact that the recorder didn’t turn off when they tried during Tims statement was interesting. Is The Eye doing that?? I don’t know maybe it’s just going weird.

Feeling bad for Daisy. Like she’s a murderer yeah but I like her ☹️ and I hate Elias. Super curious on his backstory though

MAG 83: Drawing a Blank

Auughhegughf I hate mannequins. Especially in games when you look away and they’re like getting closer. I’m wondering what the hell the deal was with this. Cause sometimes you can kinda gauge a motivation but this mannequin kinda just did a lot of stuff. Although the circus theme kinda reminded me of that one circus mentioned before. Maybe it’s like an element of The Stranger. Cause like mannequins are faceless and kinda take on different identities everytime you dress them y’know?? Lana was found partially skinned. Maybe the mannequin wanted that. Now that I know about these entities, I’m totally gonna search for links with them. I’m a sucker for cool horrors of humanity.

Also Breekon and Hopes deliveries mention!! I’m thinking they replaced the OG mannequin.

MAG 84: Possessive

Kind of another disease/gross shit theme in here? Also chills when they said “Gordie’s Dump” like eugh that got me. I’m still trying to understand what Maggie was doing. Like the boy saw Gordon’s face out of newspaper in the mud but Gordon was also in the house, Maggie smoothing paper over his face. Is she making like clones out of paper. Is she paper machéing clones???? They said whenever Gordon came to school, he had dirt under his fingernails so I’m thinking like every day he’s like replaced or something and then Maggie buried him??? I think.

MAG 85: Upon the Stair

This one was a lil hard because it’s a very strangely narrated statement but I managed! It made me think of Cheating Death where someone will replace the other person in whatever (someone replacing death after beating them in a game-someone replacing the stair figure after calling for them)

Jon did mention this but might as well say it; very Michael-esque. Somehow I don’t think he’s involved though 💀 I don’t know who is sending the statements to Jon. My first thought is Elias since he actually knows where Jon is and who he is with. Or so he says. Also the comment on like people becoming warped creatures is so true now that I think about it. I don’t want Jon to be a warped creature he’s too boring for that guys

Also Georgie is real. Go get that Hungarian dinner girl

MAG 86: Tucked In

Eughhhh it moves when you look. I hate that even more then when it moves when you DONT look 😭Also Tim has some problems he probably needs to work through. I feel like he knows more than he lets on. Like he did say to Martin that something worse is happening to the institute than it being haunted. Also, love Melanie King 🫶 it’s funny she doesn’t know what Og Sasha looked like since she knows she looks different then Not! Sasha. She just doesn’t know how.

Scary ass episode. I’m wondering if the creature in this and the one in A Fathers Love and Exceptional Risk are like…cousins or something because the one in this left behind “a small patch of foul smelling water” and in the other ones, brackish water would come out taps when I think it’s like close I think? Bit a stretch but maybe they belong under the same entity. Like darkness I dunno

Okay that’s everything! So far season 3 is super good. I love hearing the stuff outside the statements, it’s super interesting and I’m excited to see what happens next

[under-sedationnn]

mike schmidt x pregnant fem!reader pt.2

summary: a continuation of a day in the life with mike schmidt in which the reader navigates the joys, and hardships, of pregnancy.

"so, what are we thinking, a classic baby blue or something more adventurous? like" a pause, squinting at the screen, "green."

With Abby gone for the day, Mike and I plopped ourselves in the living room for a debrief of the day ahead. I opted for the floor, Mike helping me lower myself to the carpet in front of the TV. I groan as my butt hits the floor less than gracefully, and lay flat on my back as we chat.

"What sounds best to you, y/n?" he starts, stifling a yawn. I feel myself frown slightly in response, feeling guilty about how tired he must be feeling. He catches on.

"Hey hey, baby, I'm okay," another yawn, "I just need another cup of coffee, I think."

"No, Mike, you need to sleep," I say, and turn to lay on my side with my head propped up on my hand. He leans back on the couch and huffs, pulling his hands down his face as he lets out a sigh.

I pick at the carpet with my fingers, and wait for him to respond.

"I know, I know I need to sleep but- damnit, I'm trying to make this work, y/n." Face still hidden, he sits in silence again until I move to sit up. With great difficulty, might I add.

"And you're doing a great job, Mikey, but I really think you could use the rest. We could use the rest, right now." He moves his hands from his face and pulls me in for a hug by my neck. I trace my nails up and down his back through his shirt, and he lets out a small sigh.

He nods his head against my shoulder, and in silence, we move to the bedroom. The bed is still unmade, and we slip back under the covers as if we have never left. Turning to face away from him, Mike buries his front into my back and we melt into one another, the warmth of his chest replacing the chill of vacant sheets.

He places his hand on my stomach, and I feel at home in his embrace. "Mike," I start, "you're gonna be a great dad."

He kisses the back of my neck. "Thank you, baby. You're gonna be a great mom, I know it."

With that, the sound of the TV in the living room drowns out to a lulling hum and the morning light of the window slowly but surely fades to black.

"We're in this together, y/n."

````````````````````````````````````````````

When I wake up from my nap, I haven't moved from my original position, but Mike is gone. The absence of his warmth sends a chill through my body, and I sit up to find the nearest throw blanket.

Walking into the living room, I catch sight of Mike scrolling on my laptop at the table. His forehead is wrinkled in concentration, and when he looks up to find me standing in the doorway, he cracks a smile.

"Good morning," he says, "again."

I chuckle, and he turns his attention back to the screen, scrolling once again.

"Whatcha looking at?" I ask, moving to pour myself a glass of water. I open the dishwasher to find that it hadn't been run the night before, and curse myself silently. I give up for now, and walk back over to the couch. "Mike, please do remind me to run the dishes tonight. But seriously, what's got you all focused in? Looking for a new job listing?"

"I definitely should be, but the night shift pays the bills. Just look at this." He swivels the laptop toward me, and when I see different swatches of paint pulled up, I can't help but smile.

"Good thinking, Mike. Ooooh, I like this purple! It's like a periwinkle."

He leans in to look with me. "Yeah, they have a good selection for not too much money. I'm sure Abby might want a new coat of paint once we get started on a nursery, so we need to prep for that."

"Right," I draw out, "she's probably sick of the shade she's got. Needs something more big girl, you know?"

He only rolls his eyes, grinning slightly. "So, what are we thinking, a classic baby blue or something more adventurous? like" a pause, squinting at the screen, "green."

"Hmmm, green is quite daunting, huh?" I scroll for a few moments, and find a springy peach color. "This would look great with all the sunlight coming in, and we could get everything else in neutrals and use all the hand-me-down furniture my family gave us."

"I'm glad you're feeling inspired," and he looks over the paint color himself, turning to smile wider this time. "This'll be great, let's go pick it up now."

I kiss him, hugging him as well as I can, and waddle to our room to get ready.

After changing our clothes, I find myself on the couch, looking longingly at my sneakers from across the room. Mike walks in, follows my gaze to where my shoes sit, and places my shoes in front of me, chuckling as he goes for his keys.

I sigh, defeated. “Mike, I'm gonna be honest, there's no way I can tie my shoes.”

“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”

i know that this part 2 is late and was way shorter than the first but i did just want to give a little more attention to dad!mike because uh so cute?? anyways

thanks for reading!!

[razzmatome]

The Webs We Weave (Jude/f!OC)

A cautious witch stays alive.  Five words the Calloway sisters have lived by for as long as they can remember. They live like humans even though they’re not; a letter carrier, a dress maker, and a baker. They practice their craft in secret and never so much to draw the eyes of others. The hardest part of Bea’s day has always been playing peacemaker between her overprotective older sister and free-spirited younger. But everything changes when one of her sisters suddenly disappears. To make matters worse, the new investor in the dress maker’s shop is more than human himself and has taken too sudden an interest in her.  Caught between the urge to find her sister and the desire to stay safe, Bea must decide how fully she wants to step into the shadows and join the world she was hiding from.  A cautious witch stays alive, but a clever witch lives.

Pairing: Jude/f!OC

Word Count: 2354

CW: Swearing

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Note: Since we don't know what's going to happen on Jude's route, I thought I'd play with him and my oc in a different way. This story is technically set during William's route which is happening in the background and there are a couple relationships brewing in the background as well. I have ideas but we'll see if I can pull it off. I mostly just wanted to write a 'canon' setting for Jude and Bea. Borders from the lovely @/natimiles

         “Cate didn’t come home.”

         Bea looked up from the newspaper. Maggie was hovering at the edge of the table, twisting her fingers together. Worry was radiating from her, filling the room. She frowned as the words properly registered. “At all?”

         Maggie flopped into a chair, shaking her head. “Her room is exactly the same as yesterday.”

         That didn’t necessarily mean anything. Cate was particular about her things, liking everything to be in a certain place. But Maggie wouldn’t say that based on that alone. Setting the newspaper aside, Bea said, “What else?”

         A pained look crossed her face and she glanced away. “I came home late last night and I replaced your lock. It’s still mine on the door.”

         Something whispered down her spine, leaving a chill in its wake. There was no way Cate would forget to replace the lock when it was her rule in the first place.

         “Bea, something happened. There’s no way Cate wouldn’t come home. Not without telling us first.”

         No, she would have come home. She always came home. Since their mother had passed, Cate had taken her role as eldest sibling seriously. Too seriously if Bea was being honest, but they’d all processed Eleanor’s death differently.

         “We need to look for her.”

         Damn it. “No.”

         Maggie stared at her. “What do you mean no? Bea! We have to-”

         “Not yet,” she interrupted before her younger sister could start to spiral. “We can’t look without a plan. If we do, we might put her or ourselves in danger.”

         “She could already be in danger!”

         “We would know, Maggie.” Except if Cate were actually in trouble the last thing she would do was expose that trouble to her sisters. And judging by her expression, Maggie thought the same. “Tonight.”

         “What?”

         “We’ll look for her tonight. We need to prepare so that we don’t make anything worse.” Or expose themselves if Cate was fine.

         Maggie pressed her lips together, clearly displeased, and reached for her hand.

         Bea let her wind their fingers together, ignoring the tiny jolt her touch caused. She kept her mind clear, holding fast to the idea that Cate was fine. Maggie was a loose cannon on the best of days but adding a missing sister to the mix? She hadn’t dealt well with their mother dying, her emotions turning into a deep-rooted fear of the rest of her family abandoning her. Cate not coming home would have amplified that fear.

         She normally played mediator between the two of them so she understood both of her sisters’ emotions. But it was hard to keep a lid on her own concern to make sure Maggie didn’t act on her own.

         Her sister slumped after a few minutes, sighing. “You promise we’ll look?” she said in a small voice.

         Squeezing her hand, Bea murmured, “I promise. I’ll get everything ready.”

         Dark eyes searched her own before she sighed again. “Alright. I need to help open the bakery. Did you have breakfast?”

         There was no hiding her flinch this time and Maggie’s eyes narrowed.

         “You aren’t skipping meals again, are you?”

         “No. I’ll eat.”

         “You will,” Maggie said firmly. “Come to the bakery before you leave. I’ll give you something to eat on the way.”

         “You don’t have to. I’ll make something.”

         “I don’t trust you. You never eat properly if we leave you alone and you have that meeting with the investor today.”

         “Mr. Hale has a meeting, not me.”

         “You’re the only reason they’re still open to get an investor,” Maggie huffed. “They’ll want to talk to you if they want to know anything about the shop.”

         She really hoped they didn’t want to. “Get going before you’re late.”

         “Don’t forget to stop by before you leave!”

         Bea forced herself to smile as Maggie left before sagging in her chair. This wasn’t how she thought today was going to go. First, one sister missing and the other on her ass. She’d merely wanted to get through the day without incident. It was bad enough that with the investor wanting to visit, Richard and Sissy would likely be at the shop. They’d be in the way and make things harder on the ones that actually worked there.

         Twisting in her seat, she looked into the next room. What could have happened to Cate? It wasn’t like her at all to not come home. If she’d been running late, she would have sent word. Forget sending word; she couldn’t remember her sister ever spending the night out. Despite the fact that she and Maggie were grown adults, she was fairly certain Cate still checked to make sure they were in their rooms at the end of the night.

         Bea pushed out of her chair and walked into the sitting room. She approached a small side table in the far corner of the room. A flower arrangement took up most of the surface and in the center of it was a trio of candles, each a different colour.

         Taking a steadying breath, she passed her hand above the candles and watched flames flicker to life on all three. Each flame burnt the same colour as the candle. The yellow and black ones were steady, burning smoothly. But the orange one’s flame was diminished and flickering wildly in distress.

         “Why didn’t you call, Cate?” Bea muttered. She gripped the coin hanging around her neck and tried to focus. If Cate had been caught, any word or sign she sent would be traced and bring more harm than good. But there was strength in numbers and, even being cautious, there was little the three of them couldn’t overcome together.

         Closing her eyes, she let go of the coin and said, “Come to me.”

         A moment later she felt something curling around her legs and purring filled the room.

         She needed to make a choice now because she knew only one of them would leave her side. She couldn’t command both to. So did she send one to find the stable sister who had disappeared or to keep an eye on the chaotic sister who might not wait for tonight?

         “Jynx,” she said softly, “find Catherine Calloway.”

         A pleased meow before more purring.

         Looking down, she saw a single black cat at her feet, yellow eyes staring back at her. She leaned over to scoop him up and dropped a kiss between his ears. “Stay with me today, Grimm,” she whispered. “I’m going to need all the support I can get.”

         A soft paw touched her cheek, the purring growing louder.

         She took a deep breath and strode toward her bedroom. The sooner this day was over and they had answers, the better.

~

         Blowing smoke out the carriage window, Jude reviewed the contract in his hand. He knew every line, every word. He’d drafted it himself but he wasn’t above another check. He doubted the one who had signed it had done so as thoroughly as he should have. Wasn’t his problem though. Worked more in his favour that way.

         “You look happy.”

         “The fuck I do,” he growled, putting the contract away. “Shouldn’t have to check on a business ‘cause the shit who owns it doesn’t know shit about it.”

         Ellis hummed softly. “He did say it was his father’s shop.”

         “Family business and he’s family. He should know how to run the shop.” The fact that he didn’t was another point in Jude’s favour. It was highly likely that they were going to default on the contract in one way or another.

         Before drafting the contract, he’d gathered enough information on this family to know it was going to pan out for hin in the end. The dressmaker’s shop had been in the family for generations but neither the current nor former generations had picked up the trade. Despite that, they were still popular enough and seemed successful on the outside. But the family itself was a mess. A father who doted shamelessly on his daughter and a mother who preferred drink to her own family. A shameless son with a gambling addiction and a spoiled daughter who spent her every moment trying to climb the social ladder.

A single look at their personal habits had told him all he needed to know about why he’d been approached for help.

         Yet their shop remained afloat. That was the reason on paper for this visit. Even with everything he’d learned about the family, it had been nearly impossible to find any information on those that worked there. Any he’d sent had merely come away confused which wasn’t right. So now he was going to see what the hell was going on.

         His upper lip curled back. Victor had caught wind of the situation and made it something official to be investigated. It pissed him off that, on top of taking in that unlucky woman last night, the idiot was poking his nose where it didn’t belong. He had no interest in collecting more cursed; he just wanted to know what the fuck was going on in this shop and if it was going to interfere with his contract.

         It was far more likely the people he’d tasked this with were idiots and got drunk instead.

         An irritated noise left him. He had better things to do than check up on spoiled brats that were an easy mark. But here he fucking was.

         The carriage rolled to a stop and Ellis hopped out. Jude followed, finishing his cigarette. He stared up at the sign proudly proclaiming the business and exhaled a waft of smoke. “Let’s get this over with,” he muttered, striding toward the door.

         A little bell overly enthusiastically announced their arrival and every eye turned to them. Jude paid it no mind, heading to the counter and the official looking person standing behind it.

         For his credit, the man didn’t run but Jude didn’t miss the balk. “Welcome, sir. How can I assist you?”

         “Richard’s expectin��� me.”

         Pale eyes widened. “Ah, Mr. Jazza? Of course. Wait here and I will fetch him.”

         Watching as the man scurried away, Jude could feel the eyes still on him. It wasn’t surprising. This was a woman’s shop and he stood out like a sore thumb.

         Whispers raced around the shop as he waited and, while he didn’t outright pay attention, he heard every word they said. Drumming his fingers on the counter top, he counted the minutes he was kept waiting. They’d known he was coming at this time; what the fuck was the hold up?

         “Mr. Jazza!”

         That was not Richard. He watched with disinterest as the young woman flounced over to him. The daughter. What was she doing here? Everything he’d learned had said she rarely came to the shop. Meaning she was here because of him. “I was expectin’ your brother.”

         She stopped abruptly, a mix of emotions racing across her face. But he saw them and wasn’t about to forget them. Clearly he wasn’t what she’d been expecting. She quickly settled on the smile again but the edges were fake. “Richard’s coming. He wanted me to entertain you first while he finished his business.”

         There wasn’t anything entertaining about her. She looked like an overdone doll and didn’t sound much better. “My time’s valuable and I’ve only got so much to spend here. If your brother doesn’t value our contract, I can take my business elsewhere.”

         Something in her eyes shifted, a calculating look filling them for a moment. That he recognised. She was trying to figure out what she could get out of him. “I can show you whatever you want to see,” she said, reaching for his arm.

         He smoothly dodged her attempt. “Haven’t even told me your name.”

         She didn’t look pleased with him at all but her smile stayed put. “Oh, how rude of me. You can call me Sissy.”

         He really wasn’t going to do that. “I want to see the shop, see what I invested in.”

         Panic for a moment now, quickly stifled. “Oh, of course. Come this way.”

         She didn’t look confident at all which just further proved she didn’t know anything about the business. Had Richard thought he’d be distracted by his sister enough to forget why he was there?

         Anger coiled in his gut at that thought. If Richard thought that would work on him, he was in for a rude surprise. The contract between them was the only thing keeping his ass safe if he kept trying that shit. The moment he broke it….

         Ellis fell into step behind him as they moved toward the back and Jude took a slow breath. He’d dealt with idiots all his life. This wasn’t going to be any different. All he needed was some answers and then he could be done with this place.

         But he frowned immediately as they stepped into the workroom to find it empty. “Where are they?” he asked.

         “Oh, we sent them on break,” Sissily said breezily, waving a hand. “They don’t know anything anyways.”

         Jude took another breath. “How long does it take to finish a custom order?” he asked.

         She blinked at him. “Pardon?”

         “How much does it cost in materials to finish an order?”

         She took a small step back from him, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh, well, I don’t-”

         “How many repeat clients ya have that put in regular orders?”

         He wasn’t surprised when he saw tears flood her limpid eyes at the questions. “Mr. Jazza, I-”

         “Get the head seamstress or your brother. I wanna see if this was actually worth my time.”

         She quickly fled the room, a further sign that she had no idea how to run this business. Yes, he was an investor but to leave him unsupervised among their goods?

         Jude made a sharp noise and strode toward a window. He shoved it open, wanting fresh air. They hadn’t even been here ten minutes and he already wanted out. These people were going to set his teeth on edge every time he dealt with them. But he would deal with it until they ultimately created their own doom.

[waytooinvested]

Forgotten, Not Forgiven - Chapter 4

Still reeling from finding out the truth herself, Lena suddenly finds herself in the midst of an odd role reversal in which she knows that Kara is Supergirl, but Kara no longer has any idea she has ever been more than an ordinary human. And what’s more, Lena has no choice but to keep the truth from her for her own protection…

Rift era reconciliation/fix-it fic, starts out kind of on the angsty side but there will be more fluff later and plenty of bonding.

This and previous chapters are also on AO3

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

Back home in her penthouse Lena headed straight for the kitchen, not bothering to pause long enough to remove her jacket or shoes.

It turns out that you were just too incompetent to work it out. You’ve really let me down Lena.

She pulled a glass out of the cupboard, half filled it with chardonnay, then stared down into the pale liquid for a few seconds, as if it might offer her some words of comfort to replace the relentless echo of all that had happened in Lex’s bunker.

She’s just like you – a lesser imitation of the real power in her family.

Lena drained the contents in a single long swallow, shuddering as the chilled wine hit the back of her throat.

I would love to believe you, but that can’t possibly be true.

She looked down at the glass in her hand, twirling the stem between her fingers as she contemplated the last couple of drops at the bottom.

I can think of a Luthor who might think that something like that was fitting revenge, but it’s not Lex.

Then she threw it against the wall.

Hard.

It shattered, raining sharp fragments over the kitchen floor.

Good.

Lena left the glittering pieces where they lay and took out a whiskey tumbler, her movements deliberate and precise as she slammed it onto the worktop almost hard enough to crack the crystal, a counterpoint to the furious tremble that kept trying to assert itself in her hands.

She refused to let so much as a tremor show itself as she poured a triple measure from the dusty bottle she kept at the back of her drinks cabinet. It was rougher than her usual choice of scotch and lacked the subtle complexity of a fine sipping whiskey, but Lena wasn’t in the mood for slow savouring. She wanted to knock it back and feel it all the way down to her stomach.

She wanted it to burn.

Lena had let Lex live the last time they’d met, and to repay her he had taken the one person she least wanted to have to care about and forced her into a position where she had no moral choice but to actively save her; then behaved like he had done her a favour as he left her to be blamed for his crime by someone she had once called a friend.

She had helped Alex and the DEO to track down the missing Supergirl and had been on the point of getting her out safely, and yet had ended up right back where she always did – tarred with the Luthor brush and assumed to be a villain.

And as for Kara: somehow even unconscious Kara had managed to draw to the surface all the vulnerability Lena did not want to admit to herself she possessed and reignite the searing flame of a betrayal that simultaneously overshadowed and was dwarfed by how much she had loved her before all this happened.

Well, let them.

It was over now, and they had got all the amusement they were going to get from her.

She had done her part and got Kara safely home. She had warned the DEO what would happen if they convinced Supergirl of her identity without finding a way to circumvent Lex’s trap, and even shot her own brother (albeit unsuccessfully) in an attempt to stop any further harm being done. Alex and the entire DEO would be working on Kara’s case from now on, and it was clear that they neither needed nor wanted her help with that. She had nothing to feel guilty about, and she didn’t owe them another second of her time.

From now on, they could damn well manage without her, and if they tried to rope her in again-

Lena’s cell phone rang.

Out of habit, she pulled it out her pocket and stared at the name on her screen.

Alex.

Fucking nerve.

She looked at the ringing phone in her hand for a long moment before jabbing the screen to reject the call.

Only it seemed that the half glass of wine and single swallow of whiskey she had managed to consume so far must have gone to her head faster than usual, because somehow she had hit the accept icon instead, and now she was holding the phone to her ear as if she had any intention at all of speaking to Alexandra Danvers, now or ever again.

Which she absolutely did not.

‘What do you want Alex. Did you call to tell me you’ve changed your mind and you’re coming to arrest me after all? Because it’s not a wise move to tip off your criminals in advance like that’.

Well, maybe a nice cathartic argument was exactly what she needed right now.

‘No, of course not... I actually called to thank you for your help getting Supergirl back, and to apologise. I was beyond out of line with how I treated you today, and I’m sorry. No matter how bad it looked I should never have assumed the worst like that – I know you would never hurt Kara the way Lex did. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I tend to get kind of over protective when I think Kara’s in danger and this time you got caught up in that... it’s no excuse, but I wanted you to know. I really am sorry Lena’.

That was… not what she had been expecting. The apparently sincere apology slightly took the wind out of her sails, though it was far from good enough. After all, apologising after the fact was easy. It didn’t mean that if something like this ever happened again, they wouldn’t find themselves right back where they had been, with Alex’s gun aimed squarely between Lena’s eyes as she reduced her to nothing more than another scheming Luthor.

‘Apology noted’.

Her tone crackled with the ice she hadn’t bothered to add to her drink, and Alex must have sensed that she was about to hang up on her, because before Lena could tap the end call icon she called out again, at a volume clearly intended to be heard by someone who had pulled the phone away from their ear.

‘Wait! Lena, I also wanted to check on how you’re doing. Today was a lot, and I can’t imagine how I’d be feeling right now if I’d been put in a position where shooting Kara felt like the only option I had left’.

Lena should have hung up anyway, but it was such a patently ridiculous false comparison that she couldn’t resist getting drawn in long enough to refute it.

‘Yes, well, Lex and Kara are hardly the same, are they?’

‘No, but he’s still your brother, and that can’t have been an easy choice to make. I honestly don’t know if I could have made the same one in your position’.

Of course she couldn’t have, Alex would always put Kara’s life ahead of anyone else’s. It had been one thing they used to agree on.

‘That’s because you’re not a Luthor’.

Not a scorpion. Not like Lena.

‘And you’re not as ruthless as you’re making out. I’m sorry I let myself forget that today, but you shouldn’t. You saved Kara. Even after everything that happened between you, you called me and offered to help get her back, and then you did. I owe you for that. I truly hope that we can find a non-lethal way to deal with Lex once and for all, but if it ever really comes down to it and there is no other choice, I will take the shot myself’.

Lena stared down at the phone in her hand, as if that might somehow help her take in the vehement resolve in Alex’s tone as she promised to shoot Lex Luthor.

Maybe she had a little more sting in her tail than Lena had given her credit for.

‘I thought the DEO didn’t kill these days’.

‘We don’t if we can help it, and I won’t if there’s another way. I don’t want to be a killer. But sometimes there is no other way, and if we reach that point with Lex, you shouldn’t have to be the one to do it’.

There was a lump in Lena’s throat that she couldn’t entirely explain.

It wasn’t gratitude.

It was just that she had never imagined that someone else would offer to do this just to spare her from being the one who had to kill him. Lex was her brother. Her problem. Her responsibility. It was a burden she had borne for years without any expectation of relief.

Not that she intended to lay it down now.

But even so…

She sighed, hearing the whoosh of her breath crackle through the speaker and across the miles that separated them to reach Alex’s ear, a wordless acknowledgement of an offer she couldn’t bring herself to say thank you for right now.

‘I assume this is the part where you ask me to help you find a way to get Supergirl back?’

‘Honestly? Yeah, we could really use your help. You know how Lex operates better than any of us, and you are mind blowingly good at off the cuff inventions for things no one else would even consider possible. I would love to have you on this. But that’s not why I called you, and if you decide that the way you feel about Kara and the rest of the DEO means you can’t or won’t do that I will understand. You have already done more for her than we had any right to expect’.

If Alex had tried to persuade her to help Lena would have been able to dig her heels in and refuse, and wouldn’t even have felt bad about it. It was true. She had already saved Kara, and there was no immediate risk to her life or to anyone else’s. She did not have to do this.

But somehow, when it became a genuine choice that she could say no to without consequence, Lena found herself unable to do so. She wondered fleetingly whether Alex knew that, and was trying to reverse psychology her into helping them with Supergirl, but she didn’t think so. Alex was a good Director and a genius in her own right in her field of bio engineering, but, as demonstrated by what had happened in the bunker, subtlety was not her forte. If she had called Lena with the goal of getting her to help undo Lex’s meddling, she would have asked outright.

Besides, this wasn’t just about Kara and whether or not she would get to be Super again one day. As the increasingly hysterical news articles about the disappearance of Supergirl proved, the entire city had become so reliant on her to save them that they didn’t know how to function without her, and innocent people were eventually going to die because of that.

‘I’ll help’.

‘Seriously? Lena, thank you. It’s really good to have you back on the team’.

‘Let me be clear here Alex. I will help Kara get her memories of Supergirl back, but that’s it. We are not friends, and this doesn’t changed what happened between us before Lex interfered’.

‘Fine, we’re not friends’.

Lena could almost hear the exasperated eye-roll taking place at the other end of the line, but she ignored the tone and took Alex at her word.

‘Good, just so long as we’re clear. Now, fill me in on where you are with Kara’s case and I’ll get started’.

‘That might take a while, and I need to finish the rest of the tests and collate the results first. Meet me at Al’s at 6pm tomorrow and we can go through it then. I feel like we’re going to need a drink for this’.

[gale-gentlepenguin]

Gale Reviews: ML Season 5 episode 17 Adoration

(Spoilers as this episode is out before other ones)

-Andre bonding with the child Audrey the supposed love of his life had with another man.

-I pity that man, changed everything about himself for love… it’s actually kind of sad. Because it’s clear he fell for the wrong person.

-Zoe got someone she is in love with. I’d say it’s Marinette, because she has LITERALLY no other people she has seen interacting with. But I doubt it will appear since this is an international show. So my bet is they will imply it without saying it, plus, Zoe doesn’t show the photo she was gonna bury.

-oh so Zoe is in 8th grade while Marinette is in 9th grade. So at least that conforms Audrey cheated on Andre AFTER having Chloe, Damn

-so those two are the reps. Also. Marc is a year younger than them. Interesting

-oh the zoenette is strong in this one

-The storage of all the gifts she made for Adrien, which needs cleaning out. Guess Marinette chilled out about things. Good on her.

-huh… this is the first time we actually get a full on tour of her room. (We see it a lot, but never knew how she divided her stuff up. Neat.

-Oh the hidden adrien simp board is new. Love the touch. (I love the little sticky drawings)

-That probably hurt Zoe more than she would let on.

-not gonna lie I know Andre isn’t his real name, but I get why he changed it. It’s a mouthful.

-the butlers name is Armand!?

-Zoe knows everyone in the hotel. Good. Glad that girl is respectful to the people that help run the place. (Zoe + 3 respect)

-And Chloe and Sabrina are there… what a shock (not really)

- Yea the show really just removed any and all character development they had for Chloe and squeezed it into Zoe. Points for Zoe standing up to Chloe.

-At least Audrey is still in character.

-Andre really be like (I prefer the daughter that was born from another man banging my wife than my own) points to the Simp mayor

-I take it back Anax as a nickname sounds kind of dope

-You ever just see a character on screen and hope a piano falls on him? Yes I’m talking about Gabriel that sterilized tampon

-now Nathalie here being the GOAT with only one line. Respect for Nathalie. Girl really gave up on her simp tendencies and decided to just be the mother Adrien needs

-Gabriel really be the worst. Looks like Lila gonna cook up something

-seems Zoe forgot about the photo is out. Which I bet will cause a misunderstanding with her hiding it.

-What exactly does Sabrina have morals in? Also side note, PUNCHING BAG?! Really?

-Yea, Chloe just be mustache twirling evil

-Vanisher is back and with Dog powers

-Lila literally plotted an akumatization.

-if I had a dollar for everytime Someone couldn’t tell Marinette they were in love with her. I’d have 2 nickles. Which isn’t a lot but weird it happened twice

-Marinette is pretty clever figuring out all the details… EXCEPT THE FACT THAT ITS HER!?

-Marinette shows she supports Love is Love.

-Op she thought it was a he, to bad Marinette you failed the game. Rip.

-wait did Marinette just condone polyamory? I might have read that wrong

-Marinette consulting Alya on the matter

-oh so that’s how Marinette gets the assumption it’s Adrien. To be fair, I’d have come to that conclusion at some point to.

-oh I can feel the awkward situation coming in 3…2….1….

-Zoe, thinking (wow I reall fell for a simp)

-ah yes the cringe is finally here, now to spend the next Hour trying to watch the episode.

-OOOO A MONTAGE, so how many items can be retrieved via one whistle blow

- They really replaced Luka with Nino. Wait… DOES THAT MEAN WHAT I THINK IT MEANS! Was the truth finally revealed?!

-I get the plan now, they are framing her for stealing stuff. So basically what Lila did in the episode Ladybug. That’s not surprising but also kind of mid. I was expecting more pizzaz. Side note, Zoe was with her the whole time? Also why would she steal from her parents?

-The Chloe accusing her part was clever, because the motive of Chloe walking in to yell at Marinette is very believable

- okay I take it back, this plan has Pizzaz. But the fact everyone sort of just believes it even her own parents? Like come on? And with an akuma litterally anything is possible.

-And Marinette caught on, sees vanisher thanks to the flowers.

-Chloé legit has a Gold phone?!

-Zoe is taking the blame! Zoe no!?

-Oh! Vanisher can just call back whatever she wants. Proof is in the pudding. Good thing Marinette is ladybug. Piñata time!!! Viva piñata

-yum ladynoir crumbs

- Rip Luka’s guitar

-Chloe now getting stared down

-So confession time!

-Well she never outright say it… but She pretty much says it and Marinette confirms it though turns her down. I’m surprised they did that much

-I was complaining earlier about subtlety but this was tastefully done.

-I FUCKING KNEW SHE WAS DOWN BAD SINCE DAY ONE!

-Good on Zoe for encouraging Marinette. Even though she got turned down. But at least it was canon

-Oh damn Marinette is gonna confess

-SHE DID IT FOLKS! She fucking did it! And Adrien is receptive! Will we get a kiss!?

-GABRIEL YOU COCKBLOCKING FUCKING PIECE OF GARBAGE! I WILL END YOU!

-My heart breaks for Marinette

_________________________________________

7/10

It was a fine episode, I think a lot of it felt padded out, and while I enjoyed the first few minutes and the LAST few minutes were epic. The rest of the episode felt… meh.

Yea Adrien is a sentimonster. There is no denying it. Like I’m sorry for the hood outs. This episodes ending confirmed it completely. Which may be the reason I’m not gonna rate it higher.

[evilbunnyminho]

part one: a walk in the garden

lee minho x reader, slow burn

The rain tapped lightly against my window, a soft percussion that woke me in the dim light. The sky was a brooding gray, making it difficult to tell whether it was early morning or late afternoon. I slipped my feet off the edge of the table, feeling the cold seep through the hardwood floor and sending shivers up my spine. I moved to the window, drawing back the curtains to peer outside.

There he stood—tall, broad, and still. His expressionless face gazed out at the gardens. I couldn’t miss this chance. I slipped out of the room, careful not to be seen. It felt futile, as if every move I made was always under watchful eyes, yet I pretended to move in secret.

I resisted the urge to run, but my steps quickened as I descended the stairs. I pressed against the glass door, my breath fogging it as I watched him. His back was turned to me, his hair and clothes soaked by the rain. I imagined the discomfort of water dripping into his eyes, yet he stood there, unmoved.

Though I hadn’t made a sound, I knew he sensed my presence. In this house, everyone seemed attuned to my every thought and movement. Perhaps I was simply that predictable.

I walked down the hall to another door, hearing Mrs. call my name softly.

I smiled and whispered, “Shh.”

Stepping into the cold, I pulled my robe tighter against the chill. The wind bit through the thin fabric, but he still hadn’t turned to face me. I ventured deeper into the garden, weaving through the tallest bushes, hoping that if I hid well enough, I might turn green and bloom one day.

Suddenly, I heard shuffling behind me and my heart raced. Was he following me? I quickened my pace, only to realize it was just a rabbit. Disappointment settled in, and I slowed my steps, turning back—only to bump into him.

Startled, I looked up. His eyes were dark and piercing, narrowing as they met mine. Goosebumps rose on my skin, not just from the cold but from the intensity of his gaze. He didn’t say a word, but the hardness in his eyes softened, revealing a flicker of sadness.

His skin, pale and porcelain-like, contrasted sharply with his dark hair. No matter how harsh the weather, he always seemed untouched by it, never rugged or worn.

“I fear you’ll catch a cold,” I murmured, clutching my robe tighter, the damp fabric clinging to me.

He silently produced an umbrella, holding it over my head, and gently replaced my wet robe with a warm blanket he had brought. He had anticipated this, prepared for it, just as he always seemed to.

I watched his hands as he worked, never touching mine. His touch was always just out of reach, a constant tease that made me crave it all the more. Every day, I resisted the urge to reach out, to feel the veins that stood out on his arms. I wanted him in a way I could never admit, desperate for his attention, his touch, and terrified that someone else might claim him first.

I wished, irrationally, for my legs to break, just so he would have to carry me. But I knew that if it ever came to that, I wouldn’t be able to draw him out like this anymore.

“Stand under it with me,” I asked, my voice barely hopeful. He rarely fulfilled my requests or spoke to me.

I felt pathetic, a fool in my own home, yearning for something I could never have. “y/n, let’s go inside,” he said, his voice steady.

I looked away, gathering my composure. “That’s okay, Minho. I want to be out here. You can go inside,” I replied, turning to the garden once more. The cold wind, the rain, the scent of wet earth—this was the closest thing to comfort I had.

“y/n,” he called again, but I ignored him, closing my eyes. My father had been away for treatment, leaving me alone in this house. The fear that he might never return haunted me. The soft grass under my slippers was the only gentle touch I felt, the only solace in my silent days.

Surrounded by people, yet utterly alone, I turned back toward the house, a growing anger replacing my despair. How could I have everything and nothing all at once?

I approached Minho, standing close enough to challenge his composed exterior. His curious eyes watched me, uncertain for once. My heart pounded as I reached up, gently brushing the rain from his eyelashes. He flinched at the touch, his eyes widening in surprise.

For a moment, he seemed vulnerable, caught off guard. His gaze softened, and I saw the tension in his shoulders ease. He looked down, studying my face, waiting for me to speak. His eyes were glossy, a stark contrast to the stoic mask he usually wore. Even drenched, his hair framed his face perfectly.

“Let’s go inside,” he repeated, more softly this time.

I shook my head, lost in the moment. I wanted to hold onto it, this rare vulnerability. But he looked away, returning to his quiet self. He took my hand, for the first time, and led me gently toward the house. My mind raced, overwhelmed by the sensation of his touch.

I wanted to ask what he was doing, but I feared he’d let go. Instead, I stared at our hands, marveling at the roughness of his skin against mine. As his grip loosened, I tightened mine, watching him close his eyes for a moment, perhaps savoring the connection.

“Minho, do you think I’m sad?” I asked, stopping abruptly. He turned, his expression puzzled.

“Can you just speak to me?” I demanded, my frustration boiling over.

He hesitated. “No,” he said flatly.

I looked down, struggling to control the storm of emotions inside me.

“I don’t think you’re sad,” he continued, his voice softer.

I glanced up, hope rekindling. “Then why do you avoid me? You make me feel like an ogre. Everyone in this house makes me feel like an ogre.”

There was a silence after my confession. It was the most sincere I could be, even though the confession itself was overwhelmingly embarrassing.

He chuckled, a surprising sound. “What a beautiful ogre.”

His words startled me. I laughed, caught off guard by this unfamiliar side of him. He didn’t answer my question, but his playful smile was enough for now.

He escorted me back to my room, holding onto my soaked robe. As we reached the door, he called to the maids, politely asking them to prepare a warm bath for me. With a slight bow of his head, he turned to leave, but I couldn’t let him go just yet. I reached out, grasping the end of his sleeve.

“Will you speak to me again tomorrow in the garden?” I whispered, barely daring to hope.

He paused, looking back at me with a soft smile. He gently removed my hand from his sleeve, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. Without a word, he turned and walked away, leaving me with the memory of his smile and the ache of unspoken words.

As he disappeared down the hallway, I stood there, the weight of the day settling over me. The maids arrived, ushering me into the warmth of the bath they had drawn.

I slipped into the water, the heat seeping into my chilled bones, but it did little to quell the longing and confusion swirling within me.

He was a mystery. I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, whether he would keep his distance or if this brief moment of connection would blossom into something more.

I closed my eyes. What a beautiful ogre, I thought, curiously.

The next day, I noticed him missing from his post. His absence made me wonder if he had quit after my inappropriate move yesterday. It should have discouraged me from wandering into the garden to look for him, but there I walked gently to find him.

The air was crisp, with the scent of rain lingering from the previous day, and the sun peeked through the clouds, casting a gentle light over the landscape.

I wore a simple dress and carried a light shawl, the fabric fluttering slightly in the cool breeze. My heart beat faster with every step as I wandered along the garden paths, searching for any sign of him.

Finally, I spotted Minho near a secluded corner of the garden, standing by a tall oak tree. He was dressed simply, with his dark hair slightly tousled by the wind. I had never seen him out of his uniform. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought, staring out into the distance. I hesitated, watching him from afar, before gathering my courage and approaching.

“Minho,” I called softly, almost afraid to break the quiet of the morning.

He turned to face me, a faint smile appearing on his lips. There was a warmth in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, a subtle but significant change. I felt a flutter of hope at the sight.

“You came,” he said, his voice low and calm.

I nodded, stepping closer. “I was the one who asked you out here.”

Minho nodded in response, his expression thoughtful. He gestured toward a nearby stone bench, inviting me to sit. We settled there, side by side, the silence between us comfortable yet charged with unspoken words.

After a moment, I spoke again, my voice barely above a whisper. “Why did you come?”

He looked at me, a playful glint in his eyes. “It’s my day off,” he said with a soft chuckle.

I couldn’t help but smile at his lighthearted tone. “You came all the way out here on your day off?”

He shrugged, a small smile still playing on his lips. “I had nothing better to do.”

I felt a pang of guilt, knowing he had chosen to spend his free time with me. “I’m sorry if I made you feel obligated,” I said, my voice sincere. “You don’t have to—”

He cut me off gently. “It’s not like that. I wanted to come.”

There was a pause as I absorbed his words, feeling a mixture of relief and something else—something warm and hopeful. “I guess I feel bad sometimes,” I admitted, looking down at my hands. “Like I’m intruding on your life or taking up your time.”

Minho shook his head, his expression softening. “You don’t need to feel guilty. I enjoy our conversations, even if they’re rare. And besides,” he added with a slight smirk, “it’s not like I have a bustling social calendar.”

I laughed softly, feeling the tension between us ease. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.”

He nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “Me too.”

We sat there for a while, the conversation flowing naturally as we shared small stories and thoughts. I asked him about his interests, his hobbies, and he responded with more openness than I had expected. He even joked about his love for quiet, uneventful days, saying they suited him just fine. There was a playful ease to his words, a subtle humor that made me smile.

“You’re not as stoic as you let on,” I teased gently. “You are nothing like I thought you were.”

Minho chuckled, a rare sound that warmed me. “I guess I have my moments.”

The more we talked, the more I realized how much I enjoyed his company. There was a depth to him, a quiet strength that drew me in. And while we were still taking things slow, I felt a growing connection, a sense that we were beginning to understand each other. Another part of me wondered who knew this side of him when I had spent so much time in the dark.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, Minho finally stood. “I should get going,” he said, though there was no hurry in his tone. “But I’ll see you tomorrow?”

I smiled, feeling lighter than I had in a long time. “Tomorrow,” I agreed.

The next morning, I woke with a sense of anticipation, eager to see Minho again. I quickly dressed, opting for something simple but warm. My heart raced with a mix of excitement and nervousness as I rushed to the window. There he was, standing at his usual post by the garden, as still and serious as ever.

His presence was a stark contrast to the warmth and openness of our conversation yesterday. I hurried to get ready, running down the stairs and out onto the steps, hoping to catch a glimpse of the softer side I had seen before.

Minho stood with his back turned and stiff like a statue. He didn't turn towards me, didn't acknowledge my presence. I wondered if he hadn’t yet heard me.

I walked around him, searching his face for any sign of recognition or warmth. He looked right at me but his eyes were cold and hard. The playful glint in his eyes, the subtle smiles, and the light-hearted humor from the day before were gone. It was like the Minho I had glimpsed was a fleeting illusion.

Desperation clawed at me as I tried to get his attention. "Minho," I called softly, hoping to break through the icy exterior. I forced a smile, hoping to coax one from him, but there was no response. He remained silent and still, his gaze unwavering and impassive.

My heart sank, a heavy weight settling in my chest. The sudden shift in his demeanor felt like a punch to the gut. Why was he acting like this? What had changed overnight? The questions swirled in my mind, but there were no answers to be found in his unyielding expression.

Tears welled up in my eyes, stinging with the frustration and confusion of the situation. I had thought we were making progress, that we were slowly bridging the gap between us. But now, it felt like we were back at square one, or worse. He watched me silently, his face a mask of indifference, as if my tears meant nothing.

I couldn't hold them back any longer. The tears spilled over, trailing down my cheeks. I felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly helpless.

As I stood there, crying in front of him, he did nothing. No comforting words, no gentle gestures. He simply watched, his expression unreadable. The silence between us was deafening, filled with the unspoken chasm that seemed to grow wider with each passing moment.

I felt a mixture of anger and sadness bubbling up inside me. How could he be so cold, so distant after what we shared? Was it all just a game to him? A fleeting moment of curiosity?

Unable to bear the silence any longer, I choked out, "Why won't you say something?"

But he remained silent, his eyes locked on mine, offering no comfort, no explanation. The weight of his gaze felt like a physical burden, pressing down on me, suffocating any hope I had left.

In that moment, I realized how truly alone I was. I had been stupid enough to have opened my heart to him, only to be met with a wall of cold indifference. The garden, once a place of beauty and hope, now felt like a prison, trapping me in this painful, one-sided longing.

As the tears continued to fall, I turned away from him, feeling utterly defeated. The warmth and connection I had felt yesterday seemed like a distant memory, replaced by a cold, harsh reality. And as I walked away, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was losing him, that whatever fragile bond we had was slipping through my fingers.

It was as if Minho were the forbidden apple, and I was now paying the price for my transgression.

[clarktooncrossing]

DUDELZ of the Damned | Rosie of the Jungle, Pt. 1

HEY THERE PEOPLE OF TODAY AND ROBOTS OF TOMORROW! IT'S ME, CLARK!

A chill is in the air. You can feel it can't you? Perhaps you even recognize it. That same chill arrives every year right on the dot. With it comes a frightful howl in the moonlight, the only other sound to be heard. Otherwise there is a strange calmness settling around you, like the point of ease before the storm. By now the howling has stopped. It has been replaced by a different sound. Footsteps. Big, heavy, dragging, as if the figure didn't quite know how to use their legs. Perhaps it's a random passerby. Perhaps it's a rotting, frightful feature freshly risen from the grave. Perhaps it's some other, unspeakable horror waiting to pounce! Whatever it is, you're not waiting around to find out! Yet no matter how far you run, it can't be escaped. The chill in the air, the howling of the wind, the heavy footsteps, it all leads back to one thing: October is here! And with it comes the return of the DUDELZ of the Damned!

Yes weirdos, like last year, my approximation of Sketchtober has returned. I call it an proxy because there was no list of prompts. Nah, that'd be too limiting. This is yet another case where I compiled my own list of ideas, sketched them out, then used one color per picture. With all that said, let's see what spoopy scribblings await us today!

Legend says there is an ancient city hidden deep within the jungle of Africa. Many have ventured deep into the wilderness to find it, but seldom have come back successful. Or alive. This fabled city and all of its riches is at risk to becoming lost to time. Unless Rosie Stardust can find it first! Finding herself on Earth-618, the cosmic cutie becomes acquainted with a naval merchant named Paul D'Arnot, who tells her of the infamous civilization the locals call Opar. Never one to shy away from a challenge, or the chance to discover something new, the sentient spacial-anomaly tasks herself with finding the jungle's last hidden treasure. After she dresses for the trip, of course. Luckily this world is still stuck in the late 1800s, meaning she's sporting the trendiest dresses coming out of London. Luckier still, Rosie is able to befriend most creatures she encounters, so the local animals are more than willing to help. One baby baboon quickly grows to liking the Cosmic Cutie.

Needless to say, Rosie has an easier time traversing Africa than Jane Porter did. This sketch idea came about after my friend @burningthrucelluloid watched Tarzan earlier this year. He was providing commentary over on my Discord server and it got me to watch the movie again. I say, as if I needed an excuse. Disney's take on this classic story is easily one of my all-time favorite films. It features amazing animation, a sensational soundtrack, doesn't treat the gorillas like savage monsters, makes its lead hero more compelling than he's ever been, and their version of Jane Porter is hot. She's brainy, competent, managed to teach a man with no English how to speak it fluently in like a week, and voiced by Minnie Driver in her prime. You might think that's why I drew Rosie in this outfit, but really it was the realization that her curious nature and kind spirit would mean she'd get along swimmingly with the cosmic cutie. From there the image of Rosie in Jane's dress refused to leave my mind, so here we are. Actually this was my second attempt at putting this idea on paper. My first draft turned out great, save for Rosie's arms. She was meant to be holding the baboon in awe while the furry rascal looked on in confusion. Upon rewatching the movie it dawned on me that having the monkey draw the lady would be a funny reversal of roles. Either way, happy 25th anniversary to this fantastic film! I hope you all enjoy this sketch. And remember: be kind to baboons. They usually roll with backup.

BONUS QUESTION: Are you a fan of Disney's Tarzan?

MAY THE GLASSES BE WITH YOU!

[kaivyrin-fr]

he's here! please give him a little pat would you

or, project avroaan, in summary:

generation 1

i acquired the first two pairs in april/may of 2020:

in order aidziam and khusavir, and milan and unsophylax.

a/k were retired in about december 2022, and m/u in july 2022. their range was fairly wide; if i were starting this project from the beginning now, i most likely would have established four initial pairs, rather than two- i was waiting for a long time with these guys, just throwing colors all over the place, before i got anything usable. i held onto a good number of their offspring, just in case, but only ended up using two.

generation 1.5

in november-ish 2021 i picked up a new skydancer, intending to replace aidziam.

after their first nest however i realized i'd been a fool- of gen1, aidziam was the only one with opal, which is one of the target genes i didn't want to compromise on, and this skydancer, lotineve, didn't have it. so back to the drawing board i went, and a couple months later i picked up snowsprout.

snowsprout doesn't actually have opal either, or constellation, the other required gene- but their colors are a much tighter range than my other gen1 pairs. i figured i'd keep them around, see if i can get a decent colorset out of them to pair against the offspring of gen1.

also in early 2022 i picked up riovi.

i didn't have anything to do with her for a bit, but her colors are pretty close, so i kept her around.

generation 2

in july 2022 lotineve and snowsprout threw lorus.

lorus didn't actually stick around for very long, but i paired him to riovi for a couple nests for the heck of it, since they were technically capable of throwing the target colors.

in august, l/s threw razelan.

razelan's colors are really good! they wouldn't work against riovi, so i picked through my hoard of held-back offspring from my gen1 pairs for anything that might be useful. the best match was granitelegs, from m/u.

at about the same time i picked up paikea from the auction house (so while he's technically gen1 wrt this project, as he's unrelated to anyone who came before, i'm counting him here since he was paired to a gen2 offspring), and paired him to algernon, a held-back offspring from a/k.

at this point, since i was using offspring from both my gen1 pairs actively, the only use from continuing to breed them would be replacing algernon or granitelegs with better colors, or hoping that i'd find something on the ah that i could pair to them like paikea, and making a second pairing under one of the two lines. but frankly, since i at this time had four breeding pairs with both required genes between them and much better colors (l/s, r/l, g/r, a/p), and my lair space is at a bit of a premium, i chose to retire them.

unsophylax and khusavir have since been exalted. milan and aidziam are still chilling in my hibden and will probably be exalted next time skydancers get an exalt bonus while fire is profit pushing. or our next fight. whichever comes first.

generation 3

october 2022: literally granitelegs and razelan's first offspring is atasna.

he's got two of the three target colors (antique/peridot) and his primary is only one off (pearl)! he's great! i paired him to riovi and retired lorus.

roughly a month later, algernon and paikea throw adaban.

he's got the colors i'm looking for (maize/antique/peridot) and one of the two genes (constellation)! fantastic!

i've made great progress, rng is on my side, now all i need is r/a to throw a female with opal and the right colors, or a/p to do the same and someone else throw a male with constellation, and i will be set.

the reason i want a pairing like this is because the end goal is a hatchling with wind eyes, and i am (notably) not in wind. i don't want to have to rent a nest more than maybe a handful of times, because i am (notably) socially anxious. the solution: make my life 10x harder by trying to get not one but two dragons of the colors and genes i want. ahem.

i figure after this surely i'm close to the end. i'm halfway there! i've got a whole dragon of the right colors!

...i am not close to the end.

i end up in a holding pattern for literally over a year. i continue breeding a/p, even though adaban is already of the right colors, because they are capable of throwing opal so i might as well give them the chance to throw something technically better than him.

a handful of times, r/a throws a female with the right colors, but never with opal. it's miserable.

in march 2024, r/g throw aelia.

this is... fine. he's of the exact right colors, and has constellation, so i replace atasna (his sibling) and breed him to riovi. it doesn't really make much of a difference in the odds, but might as well. every advantage i can get and all.

generation 4

in june 2024, riovi and aelia finally, at long last, throw aithea.

she's perfect- maize/antique/peridot, with constellation and opal.

her breeding cooldown expired on july 3, 2024. i was travelling that day and very busy the next few, so i didn't get a chance to acquire a wind nest for her and adaban until a few days later. to my worry, they only set two eggs- getting the right tert and sex is 1/4, and my luck has been. worse than that.

but! late last night, i received the return crossroads from my host nester (shout out to raybbit!) and there he was!

baby! baby boy!

picked up a cherub prim, slapped it on him, and that was it.

i'm still fiddling with how i want to dress him (and i haven't got a skin- all things considered, i think i might as well sink the last mile and get him a custom), but as it stands, this is roughly what he'll look like when he's done done.

but that's just icing on this cake of tears. four years and more pain than rng had any right to give me over pearlcatchers, it's over.

hurrah.

[yuexuan]

[Review] 置换凶途

Title: 置换凶途 Replacing the Evil Way

Author: 猫茶海狸

Length: 99 chapters + 5 extras

Tag: crime, mystery, parallel world, time travel

Summary [taken from novel updates]:

He Wei took over a murder case in an abandoned mansion, and the deceased Cheng Zesheng, Male, a pianist, was killed by gunshot.

At the same time, in the same mansion, Cheng Zesheng was leading a team to inspect the scene. The deceased, He Wei, male, a company employee, died of suffocation.

Different worlds, and different professions, the only thing in common was that they had died in each other’s world.

What was it that connected the protagonists of the murder investigation in the two parallel worlds? With the collision of time and space, the two parallel spaces had quietly changed. He Wei gradually found that this was an unsolvable situation. Struggling in the cycle of fate, how could Cheng Zesheng be saved?

Without meeting, there would be no beginning.

When the clock strikes zero, would he still stand the opposite?

Novel | Novel[translated] | Audio drama

Comments **Contains spoilers**:

The story starts off with two cases in parallel timelines, with MC and ML investigating each other’s death. Their worlds collide, however, when they stay within the 404 apartment unit: it starts with seeing signs of each other’s presence to eventually seeing each other’s full body manifestation. 

The clues of the two unsolved cases start making more sense as they take into account the parallel worlds, with people traveling between the worlds and time, including their alter-self. Everything seems to culminate around the scene of the murder. Just who killed MC and ML’s other selves? 

Highlights

I love stories that involve time travel and parallel worlds. They are such a headache to decipher, but at the same time it’s also so fun to try to figure out how the clues piece together and how MC can break through the cycle of unhappy endings. The different clues fit so well together and MC’s actions at one point in time have immediate bearings on subsequent events (so remember to bring pen and paper to note down the clues!).

There is something quaint about the structure and style of the story that reminds me of other danmeis such as 小镇 and 桐花路私立医院, which I really like. It’s the type of story that draws one in with the mysterious and strange setup, but also leaves one satisfied without having to give full explanations of why the parallel worlds and time loops happen. I really can’t explain it other than give the story a try and see whether you like this style of stories.

Along the same line, the creepy vibe of living alone in an apartment with clear signs of another inhabitant is very well written. I find myself sitting on edge while reading MC and ML’s initial meetings, even though I know they are each other’s ‘invisible’ roommates, but the way it is laid out nevertheless sends chills down my spine.

Cons

The mystery part mostly lies with the parallel worlds and less so with the actual cases, which leads to some pretty sus police behavior. For example, the fact that the police ignored the lake where the body of Xiao Shen was thrown in seems like a huge oversight and doesn’t read well when the story tries to show MC and ML’s ingenuity.

The story also isn’t fully resolved - It is not clear what happens to Cheng Zesheng in the parallel world where he has the cat that could travel between both worlds. The story focuses only on MC, thereby completely omitting the other ML in another world.

This might be a con for others - The later part of the story pretty much omits ML and features more interactions between MC and ML’s older brother. So if you’re into romance, I feel like this might not be a satisfying direction in the story.

[hymnoire]

do you still have room for grief? it feels like it is everywhere. casted about like umbra, glinting in the draw of an eye, soaking into the walls like sponges with spilled wine. if you listen closely, you can hear the murmur of it, quiet voices at a funeral, the wind in a winter forest. a dandelion with no seeds left. what color is grief? when you close your eyes and imagine it, is it a casting range of hues or is it a solid, steady glim? sliding against your skin, breathing into your veins, licking like tongues at your heart. is it black knives like sea grass on the shore, cast by the pale sand and harsh sun? lean black shadows on bleached bone. is it blue, soft and lonely, colored like crushed mica? gaudy clouds and yearning, bitter ponds? is it gauzy mauve, the smoky, rose-purple of late autumn?

grief is only as deep as the love it's replaced.

"Grief—it is not a weight I will bear, nor a phantom I will cradle. It lingers, yes, casting its long, cold shadows in the silent spaces, seeping through the cracks like an old and familiar chill. But I shall not let it nestle upon me, not for long. Should grief come draped in colors, I will drain them dry, bleed every hue until they are but whispers, stripped of meaning. I will not be held captive by the black blades of despair, nor by the soft, aching bruise of blue sorrow. And I shall not bow before the mauve twilight that clings to the fringes of a dying day—never when we can rise toward a horizon unmarked by endings. Why, then, should I open my door to grief when we stand on the precipice of a future untaintted by it? This world hums with possibility—why must we bow to death and loss when we have the power to cast them aside? What is mortality but a chain, an echo of a primitive past, destined to be forgotten? We were forged for more. Our lives, unbound from the limits of time. Within us lie answers, dormant in the marrow of our bones, pulsing in our blood, awaiting the moment we will draw them forth, rend the fabric of the known, and bend the stars to our will. Grief coils only around those who remain tied by flesh. Why mourn, when we might transcend? If love roots itself deep, let it grow into something that neither withers nor fades. Why drown in sorrow when we can pursue the infinite—time bending, unraveling before us until death itself becomes but a shadow, forgotten in the endless vastness? I will not wait for grief to find me. I will break its grip, twist its purpose beyond recognition until it is something foreign, something powerless.

We were never meant to end."

Kaeleena places the letter down. The pen down. Will he notice? Will he not? She believes he will. Her fingers move with a delicate precision as she folds the paper, just as Gaya would have. Gaya isn't so delicate but Kaeleena has noticed the care the black swan puts in these letters. The handwritten, it has been mimicked perfectly too. Never would she have imagined Gaya, her very own sister, to have a pen pal. How romantic it seemed, so unlike Gaya—yet, Kaeleena knows her sister far too well. Beneath that unshakable exterior, Gaya’s vulnerability is a quiet storm, raw and real. It’s a part of her she rarely expresses but never truly hides. Gaya unfolds herself only to those she finds worthy, and Kaeleena, once, had been among them. They used to speak in ways no one else could understand—the twin swans, as they were called. Their conversations were hushed and sacred. They even invented their own secret language, a shield against the world, a way to speak freely just the two of them. But time has changed them both, the day Gaya got adopted to a new family, the day Kaeleena has been chosen as the Mother Supreme successor. Their shared language now a relic of the past. These days, the only time Gaya uses it is to shout at Kaeleena, to tell her to stop. Stop what? Stop pushing too far, stop standing on the verge of madness, stop using the world as an experiment. Kaeleena is visiting Gaya in Seoul the days, they have been reconnecting ... slowly. And today, with her sister away, Kaeleena finds herself alone in the apartment. Curiosity seized her, pulling her toward Gaya’s home office, where a pile of letters is hidden in a box in a drawer. Without hesitation, Kaeleena read them all, absorbing every detail—the tone, the prose, the emotions in the ink. Kai. The name appears again and again, the box is only letters from him. At first, Kaeleena wonders: a lover? But no, it doesn’t feel like that. Gaya has never been one to indulge in such romance, the kind that would bloom through letters. Gaya's love stories are all fleeting and meaningless, the black swan doesn't mate for eternity. Platonic, perhaps—yet deeply meaningful. It unsettles Kaeleena, this realization that they’ve drifted so far apart that she didn’t even know about Kai. Jealousy grows within her, directed at this stranger who has become the keeper of Gaya’s thoughts. Gaya, who once confided in her, now shares her nightmares, with someone else.The letters reveal fragments of things Kaeleena thought were long buried, erased from Gaya’s memory at the House of Misericorde. Is she remembering? And who is this Kai, who listens so intently, who seems to feel Gaya’s words as if they were his own? Kaeleena imagines him—sensitive, vulnerable, and perhaps terribly lonely. He draws Gaya out, leading the conversation with thoughtful questions, yet always allowing her to turn the focus back on him as Gaya often returns the questions, curious if he feels the same, seeking connection through mutual understanding. It's a slow dance of curiosity and empathy. He’s perceptive, too much so. Kaeleena can sense it. Perhaps it’s this that irks her most—that Kai, someone she’s never met, understands her sister in ways that Kaeleena should be the only one to. The letter is ready now, sealed and addressed. Kaeleena stares at it for a moment longer, her mind filled with thoughts of Kai—of Gaya, of the distance between them. Perhaps she, too, can find Kai. If she looks closely enough.