#The angst is gonna be so real

[darkcomets]

God I was not ready for that 😭

MAJOR SPOILERS LOL

BAKUGO’S DEATH HAD NO RIGHT BEING THAT GOOD, GOD DAMMIT-

Boy don’t I love seeing my favourite character die

I love his character and development, and while I know that he’s coming back, I’m still crying over this. Well done MHA, you’ve officially broken me for life

Bakugo started off as an absolute asshole of a kid, a product of society. Because of his quirk, he was always complimented and encouraged by his classmates, which helped inflate his ego. He was bratty and aggressive, mainly thinking of himself, constantly trying to beat down Midoriya because of his own insecurities.

But because of the newer environment at UA and all of the villain attacks and events that forces high schoolers into situations they shouldn’t have to handle yet, Bakugo has been forced to see that he isn’t the strongest person around, and that he isn’t the centre of the world. A fact that he eventually has to accept. And we can see that it works. Bakugo and Midoriya’s relationship throughout the series is one of the most important ones (in my opinion) for both of their characters and perhaps the storyline too. It starts off with a bully and victim, two people who have been stuck with each other for basically their entire lives. Bakugo bullied and abused Midoriya for his quirkless mess to make himself feel superior, and once they got into UA, the bullying died down because of the new environment they’re in that won’t enable Bakugo’s behaviour, but their relationship was still strained. After being forced to work together time after time again, they eventually start to learn to work together. Then Camino happened and Bakugo basically broke down in front of Midoriya, expressing his frustrations and anger at his weakness and Midoriya’s newfound strength, and the two of them fought. The fight ended pretty quickly (I think), but by the end of it, the two seemed to have gained a better understanding of each other.

In the movie, Heroes Rising, we can see the two now being able to work together. Izuku is at a point where he is able to trust Bakugo with giving him One For All, and Bakugo asks him ‘What about your dream?’ He is literally thinking about Izuku in this moment, and his future, and sounds like he is almost worried. While he doesn’t remember anything afterwards, it was a hell of a fight, and their relationship has continued to evolve.

In Season 6, during the first war, Bakugo literally sacrifices himself for Midoriya. His body ‘moved without thinking’ so it was an instinct to protect Midoriya, someone he used to despise and constantly shit on. And during Deku’s vigilante arc, he not only stood in front of Class 1A and somewhat led them in the search for him, he apologises to Midoriya for everything he had done. Of course, an apology can’t undo everything that he had done to Deku in middle school and before that, but it is a huge development in his character. Because the Bakugo that we started off with would never have ever apologised once. Bakugo is calm throughout the entire apology, and not an inch of anger or aggression is shown in his expression, this is pure and genuine emotion. He admits his weaknesses and his reasons for his actions towards Midoriya, acknowledging them as something he should not have done. He knows that an apology doesn’t change what he has done, but Bakugo is willing to change. He is starting this change by calling Midoriya ‘Izuku’ instead of Deku. Bakugo using his first name shows how their relationship has grown immensely and that they really have gotten closer. It’s a huge moment for the two of them, and what ultimately causes Izuku to finally relent and falls into Bakugo’s arms. And now in Season 7, during the battle against Shigaraki, Bakugo reflects on things with Shigaraki’s words. And most of those thoughts is Izuku. And right as he’s walking up to Shigaraki, ready to fight again, he is thinking of Izuku. He thinks about All Might, and admits himself that he was ‘kind of a brat’ when they first met (slight understatement, but still). And right as his body falls onto the ground, the All Might card he opened with Izuku falls next to him. He kept it, after all those years. Something he opened with Midoriya. Personally, I see it as some kind of significance that it’s Izuku losing a key part of him. They started this journey together, and now one of them has fallen, and two has become one. I am not ready to see his reaction oh my god-

That’s just how I see things. I might be a bit biased as a bkdk shipper, and I probably got some things wrong since I haven’t watched the anime in a short while, but that’s my view on this. Bakugo isn’t a saint for apologising and calling Izuku by his actual name, but I think that’s the whole point of his character development. Going from an absolute asshole who looks down on everybody around him and thinks himself better than those around him, to someone who knows that he was wrong for his previous actions and has started to learn to work with the people around him. Someone who still has his flaws but is learning to get over them, acknowledging his own weaknesses. Bakugo isn’t an amazingly kind person like Izuku, but he has still made amazing development in character. And that’s what makes him one of my favourite

Damn this is long 😭

Tell me if I got anything wrong or missed anything out

[aphel1on]

AURGH auwarghh the autistic parental trauma... the epi was wacky hijinks then dropped this on us out of nowhere... (sobs) laios... laiiiiooooos

[alien-bluez]

Lark can't handle nice things, and as he says "always fucks it up."

Drew a scene from this fic here, please please go read it right now!

[autisticlancemcclain]

this is how it continued

———

This is how it ends.

———

This is how it ends.

———

This is how it ends.

———

This is how it ends.

———

Lance tries for weeks to make it end.

The words crawl up like bile in the back of his throat. Keith, he tries to say, time and time again, we need to talk. And when he manages to push through the stinging burn and say them, breath turning to dust in his lungs, Keith crooks his finger under Lance’s chin and meets Lance’s eyes and replies, just as quietly, Of course, sweetheart. What’s wrong?

And every time Lance is faced with the softness in his dark eyes, the steady way he holds his gaze. And every time something inside him cracks, desperate and howling and selfish after being deprived so long, and his bravery dries up like a tiny stream in the summer heat. And instead of saying When did you start loving me, Keith, ‘cause you woke up one day and decided we’d been together for ages and everyone thinks you’re crazy his chin trembles and his eyes burn and he cries, again, and tells Keith of the months without him.

Every day I’m sorry I left you behind, Keith whispers into the heat of Lance’s skin, and every time in response Lance knows, I do not deserve this from you. And the desperate howling selfish part of him grows stronger and stronger.

Lance needs to make it end.

———

He cannot make it end publicly.

It’s too…messy for that. It has been too long now. He hasn’t counted the days but he knows what it looks like right before Keith screams himself awake, now, knows how to press his cold hands to the side of his neck and the curve of his ribs to startle his dream-self into thinking kinder thoughts. He knows how the chip on Keith’s right front tooth feels on his tongue, his knuckles, his shoulder. He knows that Keith showers with his eyes shut out of years of habit of showering in the dark and fearing the sting of the soap.

Rarely do they stop at a hotel. Usually they sleep in shifts, staying in space for days at a time instead of resting every night. It’s horrible and cramped and makes everyone cranky, but it brings them home faster. After everyone is fed up of air travel, which never takes long, they often stop somewhere small and uninhabited and out of the way – a moon, a burgeoning planet, a long-abandoned one. Whatever is closest. On those nights, the nine of them, plus the animals, will stretch and enjoy the fresh air, if there is any, maybe watch a setting sun. And then they will make a fire and cook rations or a real meal, if they can find ingredients and Hunk or Lance have the energy. And after everyone has eaten and conversations have long begun to slow, after teeth have been brushed and faces have been washed, after their friends have nodded off one by one, Keith will push their bedrolls together to make one, spread a blanket over the two of them, and hold Lance close; without question, without hesitation. And he will be out in moments, gently snoring along to whatever alien crickets are crooning into the night, and Lance will trace the shape of his face under the light of the dying embers and forget to be guilty. He will feel safe in Keith’s hold like he does not feel anywhere else and his feet will be warmed between Keith’s thighs. He will fall asleep with a smile on his face.

———

Five months into their journey, Coran says: “I have an announcement to make.”

“What’s up?” Pidge asks, swinging her feet from where she sits sideways in her chair, hair a mess, face buried in the not-quite-DS they found a few planets back. Lance smiles and rolls his eyes.

“In the next quintaint, we will be approaching Deruyn. The Deruy were close friends of the Alteans, eons ago, and the Chancellor has extended to me an invitation to reacquaint ourselves. If you’re all amenable, my dears, we have been invited to stay in the guest wing of her royal quarters for a week.”

Lance straightens up, rubber band ball he was toying with slipping from his grasp. He hears it bounce several times behind him before an abrupt stop, and then a very angry moo. He winces.

“Sorry, Kaltenecker.”

She huffs, clearly still miffed.

Everyone is talking over each other, eyes bright and excited through their video connections. Coran looks pleased, watching them all chatter. Lance catches his eye and smiles at him.

A whole week in a royal wing…and a real royal wing! Nothing like the paladin quarters they lived in on the Castle. They bedrooms will be huge, probably; fancy and ornate. Maybe a canopy bed and pillows comfier than Lance can even fathom.

And baths. Lance hopes there are big, deep baths he can almost swim in.

“You look dreamy.”

Keith’s amused voice startles him out of his daydreaming, although he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed. Everyone else is still chattering on, bubbling with excitement — no one is looking at him.

“I am,” Lance admits. He puts a hand to his forehead and sighs, more dramatically than necessary, pleased when it brings the expected reaction of Keith’s fond little smile. “There might be baths, Keith. Real baths. And oils and soaps and soft towels. And pillows! And a queen-sized bed!”

Keith’s smile turns teasing. “What you need is an Alaskan king.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Keith’s laugh has gotten rumblier since his space whale growth spurt, that’s the only way Lance can explain it. It’s softer and darker and suggests smile lines around his eyes he didn’t have before. Every time Lance looks at them he imagines them getting deeper and wider.

“Been a while since we’ve been somewhere with a real bed, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Gotta make sure they don’t book us two separate rooms again,” Keith huffs, crease appearing between his eyebrows. “I still don’t know what that was about.”

Lance’s mouth goes dry.

I do, he should be saying. I know exactly why there were two separate rooms booked for us. In fact I can guarantee it will happen again.

But he is a coward. And the words die somewhere in his belly, before they can come anywhere near his throat.

———

It takes time to reach Deruyn. Some of this is because Shiro read the map backwards and set them back two days. (“I’m dyslexic!” he had defended, to their booing and whining. “There is not booing and whining to dyslexia! Do you boo and whine a lisp? No! Let me live!”)

By the time they finally manage to drag their poor, exhausted Lions to the sizeable planet, everyone’s excitement is so palpable Lance doesn’t need an emotional bond to feel it.

“Fresh air,” sighs Allura.

“Good food,” seconds Hunk.

“People to talk to that aren’t you fools,” agrees Pidge.

“A mattress,” Keith adds, and shoots Lance a wink.

Despite himself and rolling mess of feeling in his stomach, Lance flushes.

Coran accepts a call as soon as they’re within radio range, greeting a narrow-faced, pink-skinned woman who must be the Chancellor. Immediately they delve into a conversation that Lance doesn’t even pretend to follow. He recognizes Coran’s tone from the many times his mother would strike up a conversation with an aunt or uncle or any guest at all as they were leaving the house — this conversation could be hours long. His eyes glaze over, sliding away from his Lion’s display to take in the planet in front of him.

Deluyn is large, that much is obvious. It’s hard to scale something with such magnitude when it’s so close to your face, but if Lance had to guess, he would place it somewhere between Jupiter and the Balmera. It has no rings but the whole planet seems to glow, slightly, although Lance can see no clear source for it. The colours visible from orbit are entirely alien to him, so he’s not sure what is water, if anything is, but from the angry look of the planet’s poles, the dark green things are clouds.

What feels like a million hours later, but it probably only around fifteen minutes, there’s a click as the Chancellor and Coran end their call, and they are urged forward into landing. As they get closer to the landing strip, Lance notices dozens of children sprinting along the barrier, holding signs and flags and cheering. He grins, twisting his hands tighter around Red’s controls, hanging back just slightly from formation to give himself space to move. Then he yanks the controls to the side, feeling Red roar as she whips around in a tight circle, flames rolling down her back. The children jump up and down, fists raised, mouths open in shouts of joy. Several of their grownups watch with wide grins, too, necks craned to watch Lance spin around.

He pulls back into formation after a couple of tricks, sliding smoothly in between Black and Blue. His heart rate ticks up, and suddenly his undersuit feels tight, itchy. He squirms in his seat. When Shiro’s face pops up to relay landing instructions he flinches, and immediately hates himself for the hurt look that eclipses his friend’s face.

“…Lance?” Shiro asks softly, confusion lining his voice. He looks like a kicked puppy. Lance is a monster.

“I’m just jumpy, I’m just jumpy,” he assures, forcing a smile and holding it there until Shiro’s shoulders relax. “You know. So excited to see where we’ll be staying.”

“Yeah, me too! Coran even said they have this massive sauna they’re really famous for. I can’t wait. I miss what saunas do for my skin. And, plus, having our own rooms will be nice.” His excited grin turns sly. “Well, most of us will have our own room.”

Lance’s heart pounds for a totally different reason. “Okay thanks Shiro bye —”

He reaches to cut the connection but Shiro stops him, laughing.

“No, no, wait, I’ve got landing instructions. Their staff is limited so we gotta go one at a time, okay, stay in your Lion once you’re parked in case you need to adjust…”

Thankfully it’s nothing too complicated. Keith lands first, and Lance next to him, then Pidge, then Allura, then Hunk. Once they’re all parked and confirmed by ground control, they’re cleared it exit, none of them taking their time.

Well, everyone else disembarks pretty fast. Kaltenecker remains and stubborn pain in the ass as usual, and Lance is stuck trying desperately to drag an 800 something pound cow that has absolutely no desire to work with him. “Kallie,” he begs, tugging uselessly on her leash, “you dumb ass fucking animal. Please. I am begging you. I put up with your farts in the cabin for days on end, which has got to be shaving years off my life. The food I feed you could be better but in all fairness, I’m getting the same slop you are, so. Maybe cut me some slack.”

She doesn’t even moo at him.

Lance tries bribery.

“Say, you want good food? I bet they have good food on this planet. Nice, sweet, fresh grass. You love grass. You want grass? Please come on, Kallie. Everyone else has already left and I’m going to die of embarrassment if I’m the last paladin left, doing the walk of shame with his stubborn cow behind him. The jokes will write themselves. I’ll have to quit and join a travelling circus, and then who will put up with you? Remember that Allura wants to turn you into hamburgers.”

Clearly hamburgers were the wrong thing to mention, because if cows can glare, Kaltenecker does. She even has the audacity to huff her cow breath at him and drag them both further into Red. Red, who is a traitor, does absolutely nothing to help and is in fact laughing herself sick, loudly, in Lance’s mind.

“I shoulda left you in that damn mall,” Lance grumbles, not meaning it. He sighs and collapses against his cow’s side, closing his eyes. Just his luck. The rest of his friends are gallivanting about a fancy-dancy castle as guests of honour, and Lance is babysitting a methane machine. “I’m gonna have to sleep here tonight, aren’t I.”

“Well, I hope not.”

Lance yelps, jumping to his feet. Unfortunately, in his haste, his boot hooks around Kaltenecker’s hoof, and since she is still unmoving, he goes sprawling. Fortunately, Keith got stranded in a space whale for two years and took Prince Charming classes, or something, so he catches him.

“You’re such a nervous wreck,” Keith says fondly, leaning down to kiss him instead of letting Lance stand like a normal person. (Not. That Lance. Is necessarily complaining. But for prosperity’s sake, and everything, keeping a man in a dip for too long is just undignified, Keith, you should know that, you graduated top of your class from Fairytale University. So. Pull yourself together.)

“Am not,” Lance protests. He sighs as Keith adjusts his hold on him, patting around blindly until he finds the edge of Keith’s braid and undoing it. He slides his hands in that thick hair with a relish as soon as it’s free, making Keith chuckle (but, wisely, not say anything, because the one and only time he commented Lance avoided him for two days out of pure embarrassment).

“I sent the rest of the team on when you didn’t come out. Figured Kaltenecker was giving you trouble.” He meets Lance’s eyes and grins, dark eyes mischievous and sparkling, and Lance is seriously going to walk off a bridge because who authorized that, who, who approved the combination of big dark eyes and a crooked grin and a face that promises trouble. Huh? The fuck’s up with that. “Figured I could help.”

Lance manages to find a shred of dignity within himself and steps slightly away. “That’s great, Noble Kent, but last I checked you couldn’t drag an 800 pound heifer either, so.”

Keith nods. “‘Course not. Brought Kosmo. Here, boy.”

The wolf poofs to existence at Keith’s side, barking excitedly. He bounds up to Lance first, expecting his usual barrage of kisses and head scratches (which he gets), then gets all shy as he walks over to his crush. Kaltenecker looks over at him and no lie rolls her eyes, looking away again. Kosmo, however, is undeterred, barking happily before blipping them both out of existence.

“She is never gonna love you, dude,” Keith says, shaking his head.

Lance snorts, taking Keith’s offered hand and heading down Red’s ramp (finally). “Wouldn’t it be weirder if she did? I think we’d have to break them up. Like, ethically.”

“Could be a Donkey and Dragon situation.”

“Shut up. It ruins my perception of you every time I’m reminded you’ve seen Shrek.”

“You’re perception of me,” Keith repeats, musing. His right eyebrow twitches, and it’s too small to see at arm’s distance, but Lance knows a tiny scar ripples there, from when he was fourteen and got it pierced in defiance of Shiro. “What is your perception of me?”

Lance keeps himself steady. He puts one foot in front of the other and keeps his left hand held in Keith’s. There is nothing interrogating in Keith’s tone, he reminds himself, although maybe there should be. When he looks up Keith’s eyes are open and curious and something else he doesn’t know how to name.

“You’re honest,” he says quietly. He means to say more, has a list he could probably recite bullet by bullet, but he doesn’t.

“Honest,” Keith mutters to himself. “Huh.”

Lance swallows. He doesn’t know how he could possibly explain the weight to that. Keith is committed and brave and talented and beautiful. But more than that he is truthful. Does he see? Does he know?

An empty landing pad passes remarkably slowly when two people walk in silence. There are crafts of all kinds and tarmac upon tarmac. Eventually, though, they start walking somewhere a little more crowded; thin, reedy people resembling the Chancellor waving to them as they pass. Lance would stop to ask for directions, but the giant castle is kind of hard to miss, so they just walk in the direction of it hope their armour will do the talking for them.

Keith catches a richly dyed ribbon blowing by as they pass through a crowded market, trapping the fine thing between his fingers as it passes between them. It’s a strange and familiar colour, walking the line between indigo and deep violet. He glances around for a stall that might be selling them, and when he can’t find one, he turns to Lance and says, “Hold out your arm.”

Lance does. Carefully, Keith unlatches his vambrace, tucking it under his arm, then peels up his undersuit to lay bare his wrist. His tongue sticks out of his mouth slightly in concentration as he ties it among Lance’s dozens of string bracelets, right above his blue Moana watch still counting the hours back home.

“There,” he says proudly. “Looks good on you.”

Lance reaches up and kisses him until neither of them can breathe.

———

They know they will be teased when they finally meet with their friends at the castle.

“Let’s not,” Keith suggests, nodding at the guards who move to let them past.

“I’ll find out where our room is?” Lance says.

Keith nods. “Yeah, we’ll need that.”

“‘Kay, wait here. Don’t be obvious, or Allura will smell drama and come running.”

He’s jinxed them by saying anything at all — no sooner do the words leave his lips does Keith tense up, screwing up his face in an attempt to appear neutral but resembling instead someone who is trying very hard not to sneeze. Lance manages not to laugh, squeezing his hand once before darting off, choosing a random corridor and going with it.

Thankfully, he manages to find a person who holds a clipboard and walks with a purpose, so he assumes they know what they’re doing. Double thankfully, they do, and not only direct him to their rooms but press a labeled map into his hands. It even has a schedule on the back for mealtimes and room cleaning, which is something Lance totally forgot existed. He runs back to Keith quickly, careful to avoid the kitchen and the armoury — places he’s sure his friends will be.

Keith is earnestly inspecting a mounted sword on the wall when Lance returns. His nose is maybe an inch from the polished blade, probably less, honestly. Lance bites his lip to hold down a snicker and takes a picture, intending blackmail, but it ends up being the perfect shot — his hair is slightly wavy from the braid he wore earlier, and there’s a cute scrunch to his nose, not to mention his squinted eyes like he’s wishing for reading glasses. It becomes Lance’s background almost without him meaning to.

“C’mon, nerd,” he calls, smiling as Keith startles. “I got a map and someone is gonna meet us there with a key. I wanna check it out, get a move on.”

Keith does indeed hurry over. “I’m so glad they got it right this time. One room! No need to debate over it.”

Lance falters. He’d been so caught up in the excitement of the room and then Kaltenecker and then…Keith, he forgot. They’re not what Keith thinks they are, what Lance has been pretended to be.

“Right,” he manages, mouth suddenly dry. He desperately tries to shove the enthusiasm back in his voice, forcing his face into a smile when Keith looks back. “Right, yeah, that’s so much less of a pain.”

There is indeed someone with a key when they get to the room. The door is light, in both colour and material, and although his feelings are still heavy and conflicting, his excitement wins out. Keith takes the key, thanking the attendant, and a small voice in the back of Lance’s mind whispers this could be them some day, on Earth, with a key of their own. He does his best to ignore it.

“Ready?” Keith asks.

“Please oh please let the bed be bigger than Red’s cabin,” he responds.

Keith snorts. Slowly, out of what must be a desire to torture Lance, he slides the key into the lock and turns it. Lance doesn’t hesitate before shoving it open.

“It is bigger than the cabin!” he shouts, and wastes no time running up and onto it.

He practically sinks into the mattress, so soft it’s like it’s made of hopes and dreams. The blankets are the fluffiest things he’s ever felt in his life. And the space — he stretches out as far as he can, fingers to toes, and not a single limb comes even close to the edge of the bed.

The mattress dips beside him, and a hand slides along the back of his neck.

“This is you before you notice the big canopy.”

Lance lifts his head immediately. He fights back a very undignified squeal when he does, indeed, see a gossamer blue canopy hanging softly from the high ceilings.

“And the windows too, sweetheart. Floor to ceiling, like you like ‘em.”

Lance scrambles to his knees to check. They are. And the view is breathtaking.

“And the bathtub? Is it huge and clawfooted?”

Keith ducks his head, smiling, and presses a lingering kiss to his cheek.

“I’ll go check, you grandma. You take your armour off.”

He listens for Keith’s footsteps, waits for them to go from carpet to tile, waits for the “Yep! Claw foot!”, waits for the sound of rushing taps even though he didn’t ask, even though Keith didn’t offer. He turns on his back and stares as the canopy, inspecting the padded wooden roof structure from which the gauzy curtains hang, tracing its sturdy edges and even corners.

Keith makes him feel so warm.

He’s felt a lot of cold, in a lot of places, for a lot of his life. Part of it is the stupid anaemia that he gets to live with. Part of it is stuff he doesn’t like to think about. But Keith comes in with his warm hands and warm smile and stupid big warm heart, and Lance is thawed in every frozen inch of him. It’s good. It’s so good.

He wants it so desperately.

He comes when Keith calls, stripping his armour along the way. Keith is waiting for him in the bath when he gets there — and it is huge, close enough for them to both sit comfortably without brushing so much as a toe against each other, but of course Lance settles his spine against the curve of Keith’s chest the second he slips inside the steaming water. The room smells of sandalwood and lilac.

“You are so important to me,” Keith murmurs, seemingly at random, pressing his lips along Lance’s stretched neck, following the arch of it as he tips his head back to rest on Keith’s shoulder.

Lance’s breath sighs out of him, rising and mixing with the steam. He lifts a shaking hand to twine it to Keith’s, squeezing. Their joined hands are wet against his chest. Together they rise, up and down, up and down, up and down, with every shaky breath.

———

They giggle like teenagers, sneaking into the kitchen well after dark and well after most of the castle has finally gone to bed.

Neither has wanted to face the team’s teasing just yet, or even the team at all, really. Their room can’t be called a room so much as a small apartment — bookshelves lining the wall that Keith had been eyeing for hours, a massive wardrobe, a beautiful velvet sofa, even a small icebox. Neither of them have said it but it feels, implicitly, like their own little space, their own little commune, beyond the privacy of a hotel room. It feels like somewhere they could live. They’re billions of miles away from Earth and anywhere Lance could consider home, but it’s nice to pretend, and neither of them is ready to hop back into reality — or Hunk’s roasting — quite yet.

(It is not what Lance’s mind is pretending. In no world could they ever live in a castle like this. It is foolish to spend his time fantasizing about a future they will probably never have, a home they will never build. The guards stationed at every door should break Lance’s fantasy. But he has always been very, very good at pretending.)

“Just grab some of everything,” he whispers to Keith. “We have actual room cleaning, remember? We can have some dirty dishes, no one will mind.”

“There’s certainly space for it,” Keith agrees.

In minutes the two of them have piled almost more than they can carry. They’re much slower on the walk back, but no less giddy. As soon as the door is locked shut behind them, they’re sat on the bed, even though eating on a bed is disgusting and usually Lance would never permit it, and stuffing their faces.

“Oh my God, this thing tastes like strawberries. Here, try.” Keith holds up a juicy looking silver fruit, Lance leans over to bite it. It does taste like strawberry. He dusts off his hands and crawls over to chase the taste off Keith’s tongue.

“Strawberries get you going?” Keith mumbles, and Lance grins and says, “Something like that.”

They have more food than they can possibly eat and they eat until they can barely move. The rest they wrap up and stick in the icebox.

He can feel Keith falling asleep, head getting heavier, so he pats him gently on the hip and whispers, “Come on, get up, at least get ready first. Wash your face.”

Keith groans. He squishes his face further into Lance’s belly, making him squirm and laugh, and mutters something he can barely here. “Hnnngh. You first. I’ll catch up.”

“You’ll fall asleep,” Lance scolds, but he gets up first anyway. When he glances behind him he sees that Keith has at least managed to put one foot on the ground, so maybe he really will get up and put some pyjamas on.

Lance snorts. Yeah, right.

He takes his time and pokes around the bathroom, having been too preoccupied to do so beforehand. There’s a stack of fluffy towels and cloths on a shelf, and even a couple rough ones for exfoliating. In a cupboard lies dozens of soaps and oils and creams and a million other things, labelled in that same holographic translator stuff the Olkarions use so Lance can read them easily. He is impressed by the wide range of selection — he’s been slowly rebuilding his skincare collection, and will indeed be looting at least half of these bottles to complete it. There’s enough stuff here to do a whole soak. Nice.

Then he turns towards the sink. And he stares.

And he starts to cry.

Laid out exactly as he likes it is his stuff from his pack. His toothbrush, his primary face wash, his hair brush, his lotion, everything. In order of how he uses it, with the sink in the middle, and everything an appropriate distance from the sink so he doesn’t soak the whole counter trying to reach for whatever comes next in his routine. A setup his has perfected over many years and has had genuine conniptions over misplaced steps and wrong orders. Something inane and stupid and that only matters to him.

Of course Keith has noticed, of course Keith has memorized, of course he has replicated.

Lance is a horrible, horrible person.

This is has to be how it ends.

“Keith!” he shouts, and the man comes in running, half groggy and robbing the sleep from his eyes. He’s in a t-shirt and boxers.

“Lance?”

“My brush is — in the wrong place.”

Keith inspects him carefully. “You’re crying.”

“Because the brush is in the wrong place! I keep it in the same spot, I like it here, you know I like it here, why is it —”

He interrupts himself with a great, heaving hiccup, so large it shakes his whole body, and he’s furious with himself, with his shaking hands, with the careful look on Keith’s face.

This is how it ends.

This is how it ends.

This is how it ends.

“This is not where my brush goes,” he insists again, desperate to keep his voice steady, desperate to make it angry.

“Okay,” Keith says simply. He walks over and pulls the brush gently from Lance’s hands. “Where do you want it?”

Lance tries to breathe in. His chest shakes and shudders, poking holes in his voice. This isn’t working. Why isn’t it working?

“No, you’re supposed to — I’m being unreasonable.”

“You’re upset about something.”

“Something stupid.”

“Okay. I’ll fix it. I can fix it.”

“No, you can’t — I’m not —”

The rest of his strength leaves him.

This is how it ends.

This is how it ends.

Why can’t he make it end.

Slowly, Keith reaches out to grab his hands. Lance lets him, like the coward he is.

“Come to bed, sweetheart. You’ve had a long day. You need to sleep.”

“Okay,” he whispers, defeated, squeezing his eyes shut. He keeps them shut as Keith guides him to the giant bed, as he pulls back the covers, as he crawls in and waits for the sound of the light switch to be flicked off, of the tiny creak of Keith’s weight as he joins him.

For a long moment Keith is quiet. Long enough that Lance would assume he’d fallen asleep, except that he still sits upright, except that his hand has slid under Lance’s shirt, and his thumb traces a line across the small of his back, over and over again.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” he whispers.

A new tear slips hot down Lance’s face.

This is how it ends.

He knows, or at least he must suspect. Maybe he realized his mistake some time ago, and has been waiting for Lance to fess up, to explain why he went along with Keith’s mistaken affection in the first place. Why he used Keith, confused as he was, for his own selfish needs.

“I’m sorry,” he says hoarsely. He can’t bring himself to turn around, to sit up, to meet Keith’s eyes.

Keith’s hand doesn’t so much as twitch. “What for?”

“For leading you on.”

That certainly gives him pause.

“Leading me…on?”

“Yeah.” Lance sniffles, dragging himself upright and away from Keith’s affectionate hands, huddled against the massive headboard. “You came back…confused. I don’t know. You thought we were in love. I wanted it, so I let you. I’ve been manipulating you.”

“Lance…” Even only in the silvery blue moonlight streaming in from the windows, Keith’s face is unmistakable, obvious; strong brow creased in worry, head tilted in confusion, face pulled with something like desperation. “Lance, we are in love. Aren’t we? I love you. And you love me, I know you do.”

Lance shakes his head. His tears make his face crumple and he knows how ugly that makes him look, so he hides his face.

“No, I made you feel that way, I didn’t correct you back then and it’s habit now so…”

He trails off. Keith doesn’t respond. He wonders if he’ll stay the night, bed surely big enough for him to sleep without touching Lance at all, or if he’ll have to go get a new room.

A tiny, tiny part of Lance’s brain recognises the irony in that and wants him to laugh. But the steady breaking of his heart keeps it at bay.

“…Back at the tarmac,” Keith says what feels like hours later, startling Lance out of his skin. He looks up at the man with wide eyes, having half-convinced himself he was already gone, and Keith meets his gaze determinedly. “Back at the tarmac, you said I was honest. Did you mean that?”

Lance swallows.

“Yes.”

Keith holds his gaze, looking for something, then nods, having found it. “Believe me then, sweetheart.” He crawls forward, slowly, as if he is afraid Lance will startle away from him. That fear is what startles Lance out of his stupor, out of his guilt, out of the dread that has been building in his stomach for months. He hasn’t seen that kind of fear — the fear of getting too close — on Keith face since he came back. And never does he want to see it again. He throws himself into Keith’s arms, too hard, hard enough to hurt, but Keith catches him and holds him and squeezes just as painfully tightly. “I love you, star of my skies.”

“That’s cheesy as hell,” Lance croaks, and Keith laughs, wetly and beautifully. “I love you too.”

“Good.” Keith kisses the top of his head. “Good.” He exhales, long and shuddering; relieved. “God, I spent two years waiting for this exact moment.”

The statement strikes Lance as odd. “This exact moment.”

Keith tenses. Lance tenses, too, and immediately he relaxes again, breathing steadily until Lance matches him.

“On the space whale, time was…stretchy.”

“You mentioned.”

“Two years I lost.”

Lance tightens his hold. “I know.”

“Most of it was survival camping, really, but there were these visions, sometimes. For Krolia and me. Our pasts. You guys, in the present.” He takes a breath. “Our future.”

Somehow, Lance gets the feel he’s not talking about his and Krolia’s.

“Our future?”

Keith’s breath tickles his neck. Lance doesn’t dare move. Goosebumps pimple his skin and he lets them, shivering, warmed.

“Yes. So much, all the time. More than anything else we saw. Just — tiny snippets, here and there; your face when you sleep, your fingers on a bow, you dragging me on a surfboard and a million other places I woulda followed you to anyway.”

One of his hands slides down Lance’s ribs, fingertips light enough to make him shudder, and rests, cupped open at his hip. “I saw this,” he admits. “Not — the whole conversation, or why, but my hands on you, in this bed, in the moonlight. It kept me going.”

Lance closes his eyes and tries to imagine. Stuck in a strange place where days don’t seem to pass with a stranger who claims to be his mother, watching visions of himself in the future, over and over again.

“No wonder your head was all wonky.”

“Yeah.”

“You’d already been with me. For two years.”

“For twenty. Thirty. Seventy.”

“…That’s a long time, Keith.”

“God, I hope so.”

Lance smiles. “You gonna stick with me that long, hotshot?”

“Like glue, darlin’.”

Lance looks up and, sure enough, Keith’s eyes are closed, face slack. He’s clinging onto consciousness with every bit of strength in his body, things like keeping his accent in check losing priority. Lance settles again against him, guiding them gently so they lie comfortably against the pillows, and breathes out, slow and long.

“Tell me about our future.”

“House on th’beach,” Keith murmurs. His words are slow and pulled apart. “Stone’s throw from your mama’s.”

Lance traces sleepy circles on his skin.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Little boy with hair like yours followin’ every little thing you do.”

His breath hitches. He hadn’t thought about that — hadn’t let himself think about it. It’s dangerous, for more than one reason.

But tonight they’re safe. Under the silvery moonlight, with a bed three times bigger than they are, nothing can touch them.

“What about a little girl with your smile?”

“You got it.”

Lance’s smile is warm and giddy, tucked into Keith’s arm, etched there like it’s permanent. “Good. Goodnight, mi alma.”

“Night, baby.”

This is how it stays, forever and ever and always.

[somegrumpynerd]

A bunch of doodles of Dream and Nightmare having fun as kids

From a perfectly normal lighthearted tiktok

[deantfwinchester]

A New Chapter

Pairing: No-Outbreak!AUJoel x Teacher!Reader (pregnant)

Moving forward in the narrative a bit y'all. Our girl is pregnant now, so we're a couple years into their marriage. The premise of this one's a little goofy, but he looks so pretty in the Gladiator trailer I couldn't help myself.

Summary: You and Sarah go Halloween costume hunting and find the perfect family costume, much to Joel's chagrin. He'll do just about anything for his little girl, though. :)

Warnings: fluff as per usual. a teeny bit of angst and emotional h/c, but so so fluffy. a couple of suggestive little innuendos for fun, but very much PG as usual.

A/N: I'll make a little timeline at some point explaining how these all fit into the same universe, but they're definitely the same couple so far! I've got plenty more planned for these two, and I'm excited to keep going, but I've also got a kind of multi-chap AU situation I may try to write? Idk, guess we'll see which bulleted fic I'm inspired to expand next, lol.

Word Count: 3.3k

__________________________________________________________

“You can’t be serious,” Joel looks at you, exasperated. 

“Serious as a heart attack,” you respond, smiling wide. 

“Hell no!” he says, amused at the very idea. 

“What, Sarah’s got that precious little goddess dress from the costume store, and they were right next to it!” you exclaim. 

___________________________

You’ve just presented Joel with a gold and white roman general costume you found while you and Sarah were shopping for Halloween costumes. You took her to the costume shop after picking her up from school and the two of you were over the moon. Halloween is your favorite holiday hands down - you and Sarah have always had that in common. It was one of the first things you bonded over, and Joel was thrilled that the two of you wanted to do that together. You hadn’t been looking forward to finding a maternity costume though - it was still early September, but you knew one that fit well right now would be pretty uncomfy by the end of October.

You and Sarah walk a few aisles in before stopping in your tracks at a beautiful mythology display - long dresses and beautiful accessories with the names of different Greco-Roman goddesses in a row, with a family-costume display showing mannequins of an adult man, adult woman, and a teen girl and young boy. The young boy’s costume had a shield and chest plate of worn-looking plastic, and the teen girl’s costume was a long ombré-colored dress with little gold appliqués printed on the hem.

Sarah was enchanted. And you were enamored with the childlike wonder she felt touching the low-quality polyester and spandex blend. The adult women’s costume mirrored the toga-like shape of the girl’s, but was one-shouldered and of a different shade. Sarah saw them and immediately knew what she wanted to be for Halloween this year - a princess in this goddess dress and you an empress to match. The names on these costumes were inaccurate as hell, but you weren’t here to hold Spirit Halloween to historical accuracy or academic integrity. The look on her face made it clear you couldn’t say no - especially when you saw the Maternity option hanging in a thick plastic bag next to it closed with a plastic snap. At least this costume would hang loosely no matter how much you’re showing by Halloween. Might even drive Joel a little crazy. 

Once you agreed to it, you decided just the two of you couldn’t do it alone - not when there was only one member of your family to be left out. You grab the Adult Men’s costume hanging next to the mannequin - it was different from the boy’s, not some sort of battle armor, but labeled Emperor to match the adult women’s. It’s white and lined in gold leaf appliqués just like the goddess costumes. It's a beautiful costume, with a cape and a little caged skirt thing hanging over the tunic. You’re especially fond of the myriad golden accessories accompanying this costume - wide bangles and a little headband of golden leaves. You’re torn between cackling at how much Joel would undoubtedly protest such an elaborate costume and practically salivating at the image of him wearing it. He’d look ridiculously hot in this costume — you’d just need to convince him. 

Joel isn’t totally averse to costume-wearing, especially for his girls’ favorite holiday. He would put on a little something here and there to appease you or Sarah - maybe a cape or a few accessories. You’d seen pictures from one Halloween a few years before you met them with Sarah in a pretty little pink fairy costume and Joel in a much too small pair of wings and a feathery tiara, holding a matching wand. Seeing it never fails to make you smile.

Joel is a wonderful father to Sarah - he can always tell her No when necessary, whether it has to do with her health and safety, development, or due to financial constraints, but always explains to her why. As much as he’d love to spoil her to pieces, he wants to make sure she grows up with a realistic understanding of the world around her, and understands both her privilege and the difference between Want and Need. The way he communicates with her and makes parenting choices with a focus on the kind of person she is and will become is in large part what drew you to him - to a place where you not only felt comfortable being with him, but having a child with him. You are more than confident he’ll be a wonderful father to your next child as well — he’d made that clear when you’d first found out.

When it wasn’t necessary to tell Sarah No, however - he couldn’t ever look his little girl in the eye and resist. Letting her polish his nails, play with glittery make-up, and wearing little wings to match her own were just a few of the things he’d done to make her smile. If the only reason to say “No” was that he didn’t want to, well it simply wasn’t reason enough.

With this knowledge in mind, you were fairly certain Joel could be convinced to put on this elaborate costume - maybe with some work boots instead of the mannequin’s little sandals, though. And a pair of shorts under the skirty pieces, probably. Once you and Sarah have picked out the shades you want and spent way too much time staring at the wall of accessories for your own costumes, you leaf through the men’s costume bags for Joel’s size and snag one off the rack. Sarah’s eyes go wide when you turn around and raise your eyebrows at her, and a huge grin spreads across her face - she’s laughing excitedly at just the prospect of her dad in this elaborate costume, and shaking her head vigorously while agreeing - it has to come home. 

____________________________________________

“C’mon baby. Y’all’s are beautiful but this?,” says Joel, gesturing to the elaborate white costume you’ve removed from the bag and hung up to present to him in all its gilded glory. “This is insane. Looks more like a damn wedding dress than a Halloween costume.”

“Oh but Joel, it’s so beautiful! I know it’s a little elaborate, but Sarah and I are already gonna be matching. We want you to do it with us! Dress as a family for the party,” you plead, and you can see his resolve beginning to crack. He shakes his head, both hands on his hips, and glowers at you, though it lacks any real contempt.

“Darlin’ I think it’s precious that you and Sarah got these little matching costumes. Hell, nothing could make my heart happier than seeing you two looking so gorgeous together in these pretty dresses she chose. But y’all are my beautiful little stars of the show, let’s be honest,” he finishes, placing his hand heavily on your hip and drawing you closer. “You, Sarah, and her perfect little sister on the way,” he grins, resting his other hand on your belly and locking eyes with you. 

“That’s kinda the thing though, Joel. This is the last Halloween we can do this, just the three of us. Every Halloween after this will be a different kind of special, but it’ll never just be us and Sarah again after this year. You know she’d love it, no matter what the reason,” you say with a slight smirk, knowing you and Sarah both want this, at least in part, to mess with Joel. 

He locks eyes with you,and his are gentle and wistful at the idea. You’re both elated at the mere thought of the future ahead with your growing family, but the change is a big shift for all of you. You worry about Sarah more than anything. You’ve had this conversation a couple of times already — the age gap between Sarah and the baby is so big, you just worry she’ll feel left out when you two get busy, or get hyper focused on the baby those first few months. 

You aren’t afraid to admit that you’re scared — scared you won’t be able to give the baby everything she needs or scared you won’t bond like you should. It’s a big relief to you, a new mom, that this won’t be Joel’s first rodeo. He’s already assuaged your worries on multiple occasions during this pregnancy and preparation period with his existing knowledge in child rearing. There’s not a man in the world better suited to fatherhood, and his quiet confidence and reassurance when your anxieties arise comfort you more than he’d ever understand.

But the fear is still there — fear of not being enough, leaving Joel to feel like he’s alone in this all over again, even with you standing beside him. You’re especially scared you won’t ensure Sarah continues to get all the attention and love she needs. You know fully well that your love can only multiply — it does so a little each year a new set of students arrives at your classroom door — but your attention can unfortunately divide, and sometimes will, despite your best efforts. 

Yes you both want to mess with Joel a little with your request that he wear this elaborate costume that’ll make him a bit bashful; but more than anything, you want him to do it with the two of you for Sarah. To make that choice to remind her that the two of you would do anything for her — as goofy as the request may be — no matter how much your lives change in the coming years. You want to do as many special things for her as possible beforehand — and you need his help for this one. 

“I just — I know it’s silly, but I want her to enjoy this chapter as much as possible before things change. And I know you do too, I’m just…,” you look down at your feet as you say this, unable to find the words to continue. Your eyes mist over as you think about it, and before you know it, you’re in his arms, face pressed tightly against his chest. His hand holds the back of your head, pulling you close, thumb moving gently back and forth over your crown, soothing the concerns he could see encroaching as you spoke. 

“Sweetheart.‘S not silly at all,” he pauses, searching for the words to help you find solace in your unease. “I know you’re worried about that, I do. And do you know how much it means to me that this is on your mind? That you’re busy growing a little person in there, having to think about mothering a baby for the first time, and she’s at the top of your list?” Joel stares at you with a sincerity that aches in your chest before he continues, “And that’s why I want you to remember that she knows. You’re an incredible mother already, baby, and none of that’s gonna change. The fact that you’re concerned about it in the first place is enough. I really believe that, baby. Sarah’ll always know that we’re here.”

You’re crying for real now, burying your face in his chest again as he squeezes you tight, resting his head on yours as it lies in the crook of his neck. He closes his eyes and holds you for a bit longer, slightly swaying back and forth to soothe you. He knows the hormones are playing a part in your worry and reaction, but also knows better than to identify them as such. No matter the cause, you’re experiencing these feelings — and no matter how fleeting they are, he’ll make sure you get what you need. 

After a minute or two of holding you in silence, Joel pulls his head back and looks down at you, rubbing your back to rouse you from your trance. You look up at him to see a small smile on his face and enough warmth in his eyes to have you weeping all over again.

“Alright darlin’, let’s go give this ridiculous getup a shot,” he says, gesturing toward the bedroom with his head.

“Really Joel?,” you ask, voice filled with hope and gratitude. 

“Course baby. If I’m gonna wear it, gonna damn well make sure it fits right.”

“Wait’ll you see the accessories!” you say excitedly, wiping your eyes and sniffing back the last of your tears.

“Oh good lord,” he huffs out, rolling his eyes playfully before grabbing your hand and leading you to the bedroom, costume in hand.

______________________________________________________

~ Halloween Night ~

“Have I told you yet how gorgeous you look in this costume?” you ask in Joel’s ear as Sarah runs ahead of the two of you toward the door to Tommy’s. 

“Only about seven times since I first put it on, sweet girl,” he says to you through a smile, chuckling at your insistence. “Better give it a rest, or my head’s gonna be too big to fit through the door by the time we get home.” He smirks at you, squeezing your hand in his as you cross the yard. 

“Ah, I think it’ll fit just fine,” you reply, rubbing a gentle hand against his chest. “Did I tell you how sexy you are tonight yet?,” you whisper closer to his ear now, smiling while you do it, grinning wider as a light blush touches his cheeks before he smiles at you as well.

“Hmm, I’m not sure. Mighta mentioned it once or twice.” His brows furrow as he feigns consideration. “I’d much rather talk about how incredible you look tonight, darlin’,” he whispers into your neck before pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder, all too softly for the hormones rushing through your system. He knows it too, when your eyes go wide and your own cheeks flush, and is far too satisfied with himself for your liking. Years into your relationship and he can still drive you wild with so little — you have plenty of tricks up your sleeve as well, but the second trimester has been giving him an unfair advantage lately. 

Before you can gather your thoughts, you’re behind Sarah at Tommy’s door as he opens it to greet you, cowboy hat on and beer in hand. Otherwise, still dressed in his work flannel and jeans. Damn, Joel’s gotta be jealous right now. 

Tommy hugs Sarah and ushers her inside before looking at the two of you, eyes widening as he takes in Joel’s appearance, pretending to hide the elation growing on his face at seeing his brother in such an elaborate outfit. 

“Well ain’t that a lotta gold? Not sure what I expected when Sarah told me, but this wasn’t it,” he says, biting back a laugh. “Gotta say brother, didn’t think you had it in ya,” he says, clapping Joel on the shoulder, unable to conceal his entertained grin any longer. Joel rolls his eyes in response, and along with Tommy, looks to you.

“Now you look beautiful honey. Though I gotta say, if you’re goin for one of the Vestal Virgins, I think you may be in trouble,” he jokes, looking down at your growing bump and pulling you in for a hug.

“Aren’t you a riot,” you say flatly, rolling your eyes and smiling at his comment before hugging him back, “Hi Tommy. Y’all having fun in here?”

He moves aside so you and Joel can enter the house and Joel follows after Sarah to grab you both a drink. He’ll grab a beer like his brother, while you’re relegated to a soda without caffeine for the time being. 

“Course we are!” He waits until Joel moves further away and leans toward you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I have to say — Thank you. Thank you so much. For that,” he gestures toward Joel at the little drink bar with Sarah. 

You chuckle a little with him, “You’re welcome. Go easy on him tonight though, alright? I know he’d much rather be wearing what you are right now,” you ask.

“Alright, alright, I promise. But please take pictures. Take so many pictures,” he laughs, and you laugh with him. “Seldom I get to see my brother like this, I’m gonna need a record of it.”

“Oh yeah, that’s kinda the idea. Speaking of which, you really put some effort in on the costume for tonight, huh?,” you ask, unimpressed, but good-natured.  

“Hey, I’m hosting! A little busy gettin’ everything together. Besides, a cowboy hat always suits me,” he gives a winning smile before changing the subject. “Now how are you and my little niece doing tonight?,” he asks, moving a hand down to your belly and bending a bit to greet the little one from outside. You place your hand on top of his and move it over to the side where you’ve been feeling the baby moving around lately.

“Say something to her again,” you instruct, “she’s been wiggling up a storm today.”

Tommy speaks to the baby above your belly again and you feel a little foot move ever so slightly against his hand. The way he lights up warms your heart, and you’re nearly overcome with emotion. He’s so excited to feel her that he hugs you to him once again. 

The two of you talk a bit longer about the newfound quickening, and you’re elated at his enthusiasm. It’s an incredible feeling, knowing just how much this baby will be loved — how surrounded she’ll be with family, and how happy everyone will be to have her there. Before you can think yourself into happy tears, Joel returns, smiling wide overhearing his brother’s excitement. He has a beer in one hand and an odd-looking green drink in the other, adorned with a black bendy draw covered in skulls. Your eyes widen as he hands you the cloudy slime-colored monstrosity. Tommy looks warily at the drink, and excuses himself to go talk to Sarah instead. 

“Oh Joel, what is that?!” you ask amused.

“Go on, try it darlin’” he says, gesturing for you to take a sip.The morning sickness had been rough in the beginning, and though it had tapered a few weeks back, you weren’t exactly looking to reawaken the nausea anytime soon. 

You sip with hesitation. It’s surprisingly tasty, a little fruity and fizzy. When you look down in it to find two gummy eyeballs staring back at you, bobbing around in the green. You laugh aloud at the sight, and Joel smiles so wide his eyes nearly close - he has two favorite sounds, and that’s one of them. Soon enough, he’ll have three. 

“It’s delicious, but what the hell is it?,” you ask through the laughter. 

“Sarah and I thought you might like a little Halloween mocktail to shake things up. I think it’s lemonade, sprite, and some of that blue stuff? Might be some pineapple or orange juice in there too, I think Sarah just started adding stuff. Gummy eyeballs were apparently a necessary garnish - she said they’re ‘on theme’ and that you’d agree.”

“She’s very right. Thank you sweetie, I appreciate it,” you say, taking another sip before kissing his cheek. You got him this time, and he grows a slight bashful blush at the public affection, but it’s never unwelcome. 

“Course. Happy to experiment for you anytime, sweetheart,” he grins back and you lose the battle, jaw dropping open a bit in response, eyes wide at him. 

He laughs again and puts his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side, before kissing you gently, just enough to keep the rise going. The two of you look over to see Tommy and Sarah talking excitedly, mixing some sort of other “punch,” this time in a shade of red. You raise your cup to Joel’s lips, and he takes a sip, looking surprised at the quality of their amateur mixology. You lean your head against his shoulder as you both look on at the party, wistfully watching your daughter enjoy herself. You stay there for a while, doing everything to remember the final Halloween of this beautiful chapter, just before a new one begins.

[fallen-mario-bros-au]

Aight just a warning I'm pretty new to Tumblr and I'm DEFINITELY new to making AUs so I'm pretty nervous to post anything here but I figured I'd just rip the band-aid off.

FIRST POST HYPE!! :D

Anyways I love Mario and I love Undertale and I NEEDED TO COMBINE THEM LEGALLY so I decided to make an au about it! Dunno if I'm actually going to do anything serious with this, I mostly just want to imagine cute shenanigans with my favorite characters and whatnot, but who knows? Maybe I'll actually try to give this a proper plot

So here's the basic info:

- Mario and Luigi, in the midst of trying to chase down Bowser, who has just kidnapped the princess again, somehow wind up far away from the Mushroom Kingdom and on Mt. Ebott. Where, of course, they fall into the underground.

- All the monsters are pretty much their canon counterparts (at least, my best interpretation of them 💀)

- Mario ends up discovering he has the power to reset/load/save/etc, but Luigi does not. This is because Mario has the most determination to get out of here and save the princess

- Toriel isn't quite as overprotective of them as she would be if they were a literal child like Frisk, but she is still very motherly towards them because it's just kinda who she is. She would probably be concerned about them potentially attacking the monsters so she might make them promise not to hurt anyone. I still don't think she would want them to leave because Asgore would take their souls

- Honestly mostly this is just an excuse for the Mario Bros and the Skelebros to hang out XD

- the thing that is really interesting is that Mario and Luigi are not 1, but 2 humans, which means only one of their souls would be needed to break the barrier. This ends up becoming a real issue but I could see it being resolved in a few ways.

1. one of the bros self sacrifices so the underground goes free (much to the dismay of the other, and also my heart would break haha)

2. They decide to just stay in the underground instead of going home (but they would be pretty sad about it because oh no their kingdom is still in danger

3. ??? IDK tbh

- Since Mario can load saves, he's just constantly in this angsty cycle of trying to keep his bro from getting killed off ;;

- Not sure if Mario could keep the resets secret for long since Flowey would taunt them about it, but he definitely would be pretty closed off about it, especially to Luigi. He does NOT want Luigi to know about the horrible things he's seen

-ofc cut to Luigi being confused as heck as to why Mario seems to already know what's going to happen.

- they have cute sweaters because I said so

- not sure how omega fight would work, but either way Mario would have to fight to save both of them (probably all by himself :c)

- I want them to eventually do true pacifist but IDK how it would work so I'm not gonna think about it too hard rn

- Mario and Undyne having a friendly rivalry about who's the most heroic

- sans trying to convince them they could just stay in the underground and they're like "no we have to save the tiny mushroom people" and he's like "ur just like my bro fr"

- monster speculation about the purpose of mustaches

- It would be kinda funny if they had the firebrand and thunderhand since... Like... Humans aren't supposed to be able to do magic

- "are you sure you're humans? You're so small"

- *confused Italian noises*

Also here's some assorted doodles (I know the quality sucks 😭)

[takethelx3]

Every moment they're on screen I want to draw them. Thank god for sketchbook.

[tswwwit]

I want a bill whump so bad, if dipper falls in love with bill every time he reincarnates but hes also a little bit different in every reincarnation, could there be one where hes almost entirely replused by bill, or already in love with someone else?

We all love to see that terrible little man struggling! Typically hurting Bill is accomplished via Dipper-death, but this is a neat alternate scenario. You know he's definitely going to start out totally full of himself! Winning his husband back should be easy! Until he realizes he has no idea how he did it in the first place.

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

DARK CREAM WEEK: day 5- punish/reward

idk man i think your threats would work a lot more often if you stopped being so handsome about it fdrgbegh<333

dark cream week and comic are by @zu-is-here

[thatcoyperson]

// SESSION 9 SECRET LIFE SPOILERS [the ending] AND I MEAN MAJOR ONES

-

I got this idea from what Martyn said during his lore stream the other day and it cured me of my writers block, so I wrote this in a few hours after hearing it

[CW for blood, mentions of death, and I feel like the fact that my friend was saying "it all hurts" for like 30 minutes after reading this counts for something]

• -------- • -------- • -------- •

It’s over Scar. She's dead.

Standing in the ravine, Scar stared blankly at the stone ahead of him as those ghostly words echoed in his mind.

It was over.

He’d won.

Despite everything, he’d won.

A breathy laugh escaped him. It didn't feel like a win. Nothing about this did. It felt hollow and empty, meaningless.

A win was supposed to be a grand show to the world that you can make it to the end, a final showing that it can be done despite everything. One last stand against the world. That's what a win was meant to be.

But this wasn't any of that, not when Scar was stuck frozen in place, the faint rhythmic sound of liquid dripping off the rocks somewhere behind him being the only thing he could hear once the blood rushing to his ears subsided. How was any of this meant to feel like a win, like the grand finale to something that had been the last few months of his life when it was the furthest thing from grand? When he felt the furthest thing from victorious? How was he even meant to feel victorious or grand in a situation like this? He'd spent the whole season alone just trying to make friends, only for him to win by shooting the closest person he has to one of those.

Alone…

He never liked being alone.

How did he win while he was alone?

How did the guy with no friends win?

He laughed to himself, bow still held in one hand, and using the other to push his hair back. A pained smile was painted across his face as he laughed, asking himself how? How did he win? How did he make it this far all alone? How did he manage to tell himself that just one more day, one more day and it would be worth it enough times to where he won? It didn't make sense. Not to him at least.

No matter how long he stood there wondering to himself, there was still one thing that was left to be done. Hit the button.

He had succeeded his task after all, right? Scar had won, despite how meaningless this victory truly was.

All he had to do was hit the button and it would all be over. It would finally end. He could go back to Hermitcraft, his home, his friends. He finally wouldn't be alone anymore.

It didn't quite feel like his own movements when he started to climb out of the ravine, disconnected from everything going on. He desperately ignored the hazy sight of a red shawl to the side of his vision, feeling sick if he put any thought into what he knew was laying under it.

He didn't feel nearly as sick passing by a similar black shawl on the ground up on the surface, orange hair catching his eye for a split second as he slowly made his way across the blood stained grass and battle worn landscape of the world. And, shortly after, he reached the statue that stood in the centre of it all.

The Secret Keeper.

The being that doomed him from the very start. Quietly, he wondered to himself, was it proud? Proud that it's favourite player to mess with - proud that the one it moulded into the unwilling villain - had won? Was it proud of everything it had done, all the pain and suffering it caused? Or did it even think at all. Maybe it was just a simple stone statue, designed to have no will or intention, to have the sole purpose of handing out tasks at random, and Scar was just losing it from being alone for so long. He’d likely never get an answer.

It didn't matter though. Not when he was about to leave, not when he was about to finally be free from this hell he was stuck in, not when he was going to finally be able to see his friends again.

Letting out a shaky breath, Scar reached down and pressed the button.

…

A faint click echoed around the area, and then nothing. Nothing happened. It was just silence. No gust of wind to whisk him away back home, no welcoming voices of the hermits congratulating him on his win as they fade into view. No anything. Just silence. Painfully loud silence. Nothing changed. He was still there. Alone.

“Uhm… haha real- real funny there guys,” Scar chuckled awkwardly, his voice filled with unease. Why was he still here? That should’ve worked. Staring up at the Secret Keeper, he waited for a moment to see if it would react at all.

Nothing.

With a level of anxiety he hadn’t felt before, the button was pressed again, and again nothing happened. The world continued to stand still around him.

The feeling of unease began to grow in Scar’s gut, mixing with fear and making him feel sick all over again. “Aha, ok now thats-” The button was pressed again. Nothing. “-that’s enough this isn’t-” Again. Nothing. “-this isn’t funny anymore- oh god no please.”

Scar’s chest tightened the more he pressed on the button, becoming more and more desperate every press. “No no please just- please just take me home please I can’t do this anymore please.”

Tears began to swell in his eyes, panic truly setting in as he pleaded for an escape. Why wasn’t it working- why wasn’t it doing anything?! Was it broken now that the game was over? Was that why he was stuck- why he couldn’t get this stupid button to work?!

Falling to his knees beside the button, his head hit against the corner of the pedestal it was on. Pain slashed across his forehead at the impact, and he could feel the sickeningly familiar warmth of blood begin to well from the cut.

“PLEASE GOD JUST LET ME GO HOME!” he screamed, hitting the button again and again, his hand becoming sore and bruised the more time went on. The more he begged and pleaded and cried for whatever stupid entity was in control of this game to just let him go.

All he wanted was to go home, to see Jellie, to see his friends, to not be alone anymore. He’d been alone for too long, wasn’t that enough?

Loud cries and desperate pleas slowly turned into quiet sobs, and he brought his hand away from the button, resting them both on the edge of the pedestal beside his head.

“Please…” he sobbed, blood running down into his eyes and mixing with his tears. “Please just let me go.” a moment passed for him to catch his breath. Then, quietly: “I can’t do this anymore, please…”

His pleas went unheard. He was alone.

Alone…

He never liked being alone.

[oh-no-its-bird]

Adjusting my glasses to take a peek into the umbrella academy tag like Hmmmm. Maybe I don't want to watch the new season after all.

[shrekgogurt]

I have a lot of words written for Chapter 15 of that behemoth in the making I Knew A Boy, I Knew A Man and only some of them are good. Here are a few of those select ‘good words.’

Simon POV, past (age fifteen):

“You’re out of uniform,” Premal announces, flashing his prefect badge at Penny and me like a fucking copper.

Cachu hwch. (Pig’s shit.) (Total fucking disaster.)

We’ve been caught out.

And it’s not even our fault.

I woke up this morning and realised all my socks were gone—stolen by Baz’s psychotic aunt, no doubt. She was glaring at me like I pissed in a great Pitch family heirloom when she dropped him off yesterday. (And it was her.) (I’m convinced.) (Because Baz once told me he would rather saw his arm off with a rusty piece of barbed wire than touch any of my “chavvy accouterments.”) (So...) Anyway, Penny shirked her own socks at breakfast in solidarity and together we’ve managed to hide our bare ankles from even the most militant professors. But we forgot Premal was on the prowl, drunk off his new power and the opportunity to wield it over his siblings.

Penny crosses her arms in defiance. “We’re not even in your year.”

“You don’t need to be. I’m authorised by The Headmistress to distribute demerits to anyone who violates school policy.”

“Listen to yourself!” Penny’s arms flail as she yells. “The Headmistress? She gave birth to you! Call her mum, you prat!”

Bah humbug! Editing!? I have to do it!? And also still finish the last bit of the rough draft??? Boo! But, writing in a notebook has been great for speed if not a bit of a downgrade in initial quality.

Thanks for the tags! @alexalexinii @artsyunderstudy @monbons @prettygoododds @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @mooncello @blackberrysummerblog

Now tagging! @bookish-bogwitch @brilla-brilla-estrellita @captain-aralias @cutestkilla @ebbpettier @emeryhall @excalisbury @facewithoutheart @fatalfangirl @hagnoart @iamamythologicalcreature @ileadacharmedlife @ineffable-grimm-pitch @ivelovedhimthroughworse @j-nipper-95 @larkral @letraspal @martsonmars @messofthejess @mitranian @nightimedreamersworld @ninemagicks @noblecorgi @onepintobean @orange-peony @palimpsessed @raenestee @rimeswithpurple @roomwithanopenfire @theearlgreymage @theimpossibledemon @thewholelemon @urban-sith @valeffelees @whogaveyoupermission @yellobb @youarenevertooold

[dogshit-enchantment]

whump W for the sonux shippers (me, im sonux shippers)

[majorproblems77]

Taken by nightmares

TW - nightmares, Cia being creepy, warriors gets bullied by his own brain 101, warriors get his soul stolen (in the dream F), Sky gets a little present, but its not pleasant, blood

Running running running

He was running out of time

Time ticked forward. The flames rose higher. The pain in his soul turned sickly.

"LINK!"

Turning around he found a monstrous beast.

Ganondorf.

The glow of the stolen fragments of the triforce shone from his head as the beast stomped forward. But he felt frozen in place.

Impa lay still on the ground nearby. He was too late to save her.

He raised the master sword in front of him, her glow reflecting in the beast's eyes. A final light in the darkness that was consuming the world around them as it fell away in pieces. The screams of his fellow soldiers echoed through the abyss as the wind picked up into a torrent of pain and destruction.

"You have failed."

A sickening voice echoed from behind him. Female....

Cia...

Unable to move he found hands tracing up his arms as nails dug into his flesh. slow steady footsteps filled his ears as she came into view. Her eyes glowed crimson as she tilted her head and smiled.

"You caused this pain." she smiled. Plaicing a hand to his chin as she drew herself into his face. He could feel the blood rushing to his ears. "You should have given yourself to me. It would have made this so much easier..."

He couldn't speak. He couldn't get away.

Trapped.

Alone.

"My chosen one, my perfect soul. Give yourself to me."

He struggled, he cried, but no noise came out.

Let me go! Let me go!

"Your gods can't hear you now..." She giggled, as she took a step back from him, "By my guiding hand, you are mine to the end!" Turning to him she raised her staff, a dark red mist emanating from its gemstone. Stretching across from her and ensnaring him in its grip.

Gold light begain to stretch across his body, "I will manipulate you into my image. And together my hero we shall rule this world."

Nonononononononononono

Let him go!

"..nk"

He could feel his very essence being drawn from him as the darkness began to seep into his bones.

"....ink..."

Just another sacrifice for her war.

Just another one converted to her perfected image...

"LINK!"

Bolting upright the first thing he did was grab the thing in front of him. Turning it around as a scream of pain left it. Green and red filled his vision as gold joined it.

"Link it's okay!"

"NO! NO I WONT BE A PUPPET! I WON'T BE PART OF YOUR PERFECT IMAGE!" He gripped tighter. forcing the object into the green fabric. Another sound reached his ears. Another yell. More pain more suffering.

"Sky can you get free?"

Sky?

"No."

Sky? Sky... Sky...

The next thing he registered was a knife in his hands. A blade pressed against skin. Panicked voices.

"Step back. You're scaring him." A calm voice, unwavering and unafraid.

Who were they ? They wanted to kill him. They were going to kill him or take him to Cia or or or...

"Link. It's okay. The threat has passed." He pushed the steel against the man's neck. "Put the knife down. No one is going to hurt you."

Dusty blond hair filled his vision. As he registered the wrist in his hand roll slightly.

"Who do you work for?" His voice was low, and the knife pressed tightly against his neck. "You have five seconds."

"I work for Hylia. My name is Link. Like yours. I'm a hero from an age before yours." The man spoke plainly and slowly.

Other Links? Other Links...

the chain...

He moved the knife away slowly but The man did not relax. "Put the knife down, captain. It's okay..."

"Its okay... ITs okay.... Its okay..." Slowly repeating it to himself he moved the blade ever so slowly away from his neck. Watching for sudden movements.

The shift of grass from a boot...

On instinct, he turned the blade and stabbed quickly. Finding his blade stopped short of the man's neck by his own arm. Which was now dripping crimson red blood.

Pushing the man to the ground he jumped on top of him, removing the blade from his arm and trying to space it into the neck where it would be safest.

If they can't talk they can't tell. If they can't tell they can't find you.

The man below him pushed away at his arms, pain ghosted his features as he found leverage and twisted his body sending him to the ground. The man above him pinned him down, his arms placed above his head as he felt something heavy collapse across his legs.

"Warriors! It's me! Sky!" The piercing blue eyes looked down at him.

Sky... Sky....

Sky!

He let out a gasp before looking towards the skyloftian again. "Sky?"

"Yep. Thats me. You back?"

Everything came rushing back to him. He'd attacked Sky. He'd almost killed him.

Dear hylia....

"Sky?"

"You had a bad dream, that knocked your senses for a bit." The skyloftian smiled. and offered him a hand.

He offered him a hand?!

His eyes fixed to the skyloftians bracer where blood pooled around some damage. He didn't say anymore. Turning away. "I'm sorry..."

He felt a pat on his shoulder. "I'm okay." You could hear the grimace in his voice. Trying to hide the pain. "Get some rest, we can talk in the morning."

Why would he want to talk to him in the morning?

"I almost killed you!" He spoke to the air. His voice filled with shock as a hand raised to his lips.

"You were taken by a nightmare. That is not your doing." Sky's voice was unwavering and calm.

How could he be so calm at a time like this?

"I...." He tried again.

"No. Get some rest. We will talk in the morning."

Curling up on his side he spoke no more, but he would not sleep either. The threat of nightmares returning too close for comfort.

[eskawrites]

#21 for the angsty prompt, if you feel like it <3

21. "This isn't what it looks like."

Nancy has picked up many skills in all her years fighting the supernatural forces beneath Hawkins. How to shoot a gun. How to set a bear trap. How to bandage a wound, sort of. Well enough, anyway.

How to pack a bag quickly. How to sneak out of the house without being seen. How to disappear.

Her clothes are easy enough to throw into a suitcase, though she lingers for far too long debating whether she wants to throw Robin's sweater in there, too (she does). She leaves all her things in the bathroom, figuring she can just buy more wherever she ends up.

She doesn't touch the photos, knowing she doesn't deserve them, but she ends up just standing and looking at them for a while, getting lost in her own raging thoughts as she wonders yet again what the hell she's doing. Why the hell she hasn't done it yet.

She lingers too long. She hears Robin's car pull up, the sound of her tires on the driveway familiar in a way Nancy hadn't even realized until now. The car door shuts, and Nancy stares helplessly at the mess she's made of their bedroom. She hears the jingle of Robin's keys, then the turn of the lock. Her vision is blurred by the time Robin's greeting carries through the house. Then,

"Oh, you're in here. I--Nance? What's wrong?"

Nancy turns around in time to see Robin notice the suitcase open on the bed, Nancy's entire wardrobe piled inside it.

"What's going on?"

"This isn't what it looks like," she tries, but she was never a good liar, really. Clever, determined, analytical, but a terrible liar. Especially in front of Robin.

"Then what is it?" Robin says, giving her the benefit of the doubt anyway. An understanding Nancy can't stand. A chance she doesn't deserve.

And all Nancy can do is stare at her.

"Nancy?" Robin asks, her voice pitching high and nervous. "What's going on?"

"I can't," Nancy breathes.

"Can't what?"

"I just--I don't--I'm sorry, Robin."

Robin is crying now, too, reading the silences between Nancy's choked words, seeing her so vividly and so thoroughly. Nancy hates it. She wishes, suddenly, for Robin to be like Jonathan. Like Steve. More friend than lover, more stranger than friend, in the end. Someone easy to let go of. Someone who will let her go.

But Robin isn't like that. She's always been more. She's always known exactly why Nancy says the things she says, does the things she does.

"I--" Robin falters. Takes a ragged breath. Tries again. "What did I do?"

"Nothing," Nancy rushes to say. "Nothing at all, you didn't--you know you didn't, Robs, you know it's always been me."

Robin shakes her head. "Then don't do this. Don't go."

"I don't know how to stay," she says, and she hears Robin sob.

"Try," Robin begs. "Please. For me. For us. Please, just try."

"You deserve so much more," whispers Nancy

"You don't have to always run."

"But what if I do?"

"You don't."

"Robin--" She can't do this. She turns sharply away from her, unable to look at her anymore, to face what she's doing to her. She grabs the suitcase instead and pulls it toward herself. Her hand goes to the zipper and tugs hard. It catches, and she grits her teeth and shoves the sleeve of whatever's in the way back inside.

Robin's sweater. It's soft to the touch, recognizable immediately. Nancy's fingers curl around it without permission. Behind her, she hears Robin's shaky breath.

"You don't have to do this," she says.

"I already have." Nancy turns to face her. Her hand won't let go of the sweater, so she pulls it with her, bundles it in her arms and holds it to her chest. "Robs. If I stay, you will spend the rest of our lives terrified that I'll try to leave again."

"Nance--"

"I can't do that to you. I can't--you--I'm sorry."

"So don't go."

"I'm so sorry."

"Nancy, please."

Nancy shakes her head. Screw the suitcase. She can buy clothes, too, when she's gone. She just needs to go.

She starts to walk out of the room, but Robin catches her by the arms as she passes her.

"Robin--"

"Just tell me why." Robin searches her face desperately. "Why? You have unresolved trauma? I know, I do too. The nightmares? The flashbacks? Your terrible sleep schedule and your unhealthy coping techniques? I have them all, too."

"You deserve--"

"Bullshit. Don't tell me I deserve better, I want you."

"I want you to have more."

"Not possible." Robin lets go of her for just long enough to step into her space, to reach up and cup her cheeks, brushing the tears gently, frantically, away. "I know your grief, Nancy. I know your pain, and your fear, and I know your need to run. Just please, please, don't run from me."

"I'll hurt you. I have hurt you."

"And you'll do it again, and I'll hurt you, because that's what people do. But we'll heal each other, too. Love each other, too. You just have to give us a chance."

Nancy closes her eyes and hugs the sweater closer. "Let me go, Robin."

"No." It comes out as a whimper.

"Please. Just let me go."

Robin's hands tremble against her, but she does as Nancy asks. She always does what Nancy asks, and Nancy loves her for it even as she absolutely loathes the slow, painful way Robin releases her now. She loves her, and that's the most terrifying thing she's ever faced. Nancy steps back, widening the distance between them.

She pulls the sweater on. It's long on hair, bulky enough to be instantly warm. The sleeves go past her fingers, and she bunches them in her hands and holds on for dear life.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, opening her eyes again even as she backs away further. Robin watches her, eyes wide, broken heart on her sleeve. Nancy forces herself to turn around and keep walking.

She can hear Robin following her, but she doesn't argue again. Not as Nancy pulls on her sneakers, or grabs her purse, or pulls her keys down from the hook by the door. She just trails silently after her, watching Nancy rip herself out of the life they've started to build together.

But as Nancy opens the door and forces herself down the front steps to her car, her own thoughts start screaming at her again, voicing all the protests she's certain Robin is biting back now.

Nancy stops. She stares at the car, then down at the keys in her hand. An escape. A retreat. A new beginning, as if starting over has ever made her any less broken.

She turns back around. Robin is standing just outside the door, socked feet on the cold concrete, tears on her cheeks as she watches Nancy go.

"I don't know how to stay," Nancy says, and maybe it's supposed to be an apology, but it feels more like a plea.

"I'll figure it out with you," says Robin, always hearing everything she never says. "You know I will. You just have to trust me."

"It's not you I don't trust."

"I trust you, Nance," Robin breathes. "I trust you with my life. I trust you with my heart."

"I wish you wouldn't."

"That's not your choice to make."

She swallows. "But this is."

Robin closes her eyes. "This is."

Nancy drops her purse. She runs back up the steps. Robin opens her eyes in time for Nancy to slam into her.

"I'm sorry," she cries even as she wraps her arms around her.

"I know. It's okay."

"I'm going to hurt you."

"And I'll forgive you, just as long as you love me, too."

"I do. I don't know how not to."

"Then that's all we need," Robin whispers. Her hand tangles in Nancy's hair, and Nancy clings to her like a lifeline. "I promise that's all we need."