#and the way i had to REWRITE THE FULL THING TWICE

[lacesoflove]

glimpses of you pt. 1 | hamzah x editor!reader

rating | slightly suggestive, nothing too crazy though

warning | semi-proofread! smoking of ganja lol

author's note | will be rewriting this slightly because i hate most of this but i wanted to put something out :) also my first series ayeeeee

YOU HAD FOUND YOURSELF IN THE DESPERATE PREDICAMENT OF EITHER KILLING YOURSELF OR TURNING TO ONLYFANS.

Both options felt equally unappealing, and frankly, a little extreme for what the was, at its core, a mundane problem: you were broke. Flat out. You were just another college student drowning in debt, tuition fees rising like clockwork, and your part-time gig at the campus café barely covering any of your basic expenses. Still, you didn’t fancy having your ass plastered on the internet, and suicide seemed a bit tedious if not dramatic. So there you were, perched on the rickety communal library computer, two minutes left on your internet credits, with the only things popping up on your screen were clearly scams or were posted by “Jessica” or “Alex” living 5km away who, shockingly, wouldn’t be resolving your financial crisis.

Then, as though God had decided to throw you a bone, you saw it: a post for a part-time video editor.

The job was listed by someone named Mandy, a vet who was working as a vet but also did YouTube on the side, and working full-time with animals didn’t leave much time for Adobe Premiere on her end. The pay was decent—more than decent, really—and seemed almost too good to be true. You clicked her socials out of pure paranoia, half expecting her to be some creepy guy with a burner profile and you realised then and there, in the library of your communal college, all the years spent in highschool doing edits would now finally pay off. Literally.

Without thinking twice, you messaged her and said you’d take the job.

The next day, she sent you a zip file with raw footage, and that’s when it all began.

Editing for Mandy became your saving grace. She sent you a few videos every other week, and you gradually got better at your craft. So much so, in fact, that Mandy stopped reviewing your work altogether. She uploaded everything you sent her without a second glance, calling your edits “art” like you were the second coming of Stanley Kubrick. 

Which was an odd thing really. The trust she had in your work - which she’d call ‘art’. It was nice how much she trusted you so much with something so important to her, yet she didn’t really you know you beyond your name, your availabilities and the fact you had a roommate and said roommate needed your help with schoolwork thus leading you to being a bit slower with the updates on a video.

It was kind of difficult not forming a weirdo pseudo-parasocial relationship with her, on your end - after all you’d edit her most intimate moments. Her videos consisted mainly of her and her boyfriend, who you’d come to find out name is Martin. You knew so much about her life - her quirks, her habits, her boyfriend, Martin. He was nice and easy-going. Funny even -  you remembered laughing when he noted his surprise that you were just some college student who did Justin Bieber edits back in highschool and not a certified editor. You laughed along, but his words stuck with you. You were just some college kid. And yet, you knew the most intimate corners of their lives—their inside jokes, their fights, the way Martin looked at Mandy when she wasn’t paying attention. Something about the love they had for each other stirred something ugly in you.

Eventually, she wanted to meet up with you. The message came a little out of nowhere. It was around 10am after you had just bombed a test, and you were bed-rotting in your dorm room when you felt your phone buzz and your eyebrows furrow when her caller-ID popped up. “I just feel bad,” she’d remarked in a over the call. In the background you could hear her dog Rudy, if you recall, playing in the background. “You’ve done so much for me, and I barely know you. Let me take you out as a thank-you.”  She followed up by saying she wanted to go somewhere downtown, cozy  - you rejected as, although it was sweet, but honestly being paid was a thank you enough (as well as the fact that you could barely afford some of the places she suggested) - but she was relentless in her generosity so you gave up, put on the most “I am not a broke college student and this restaurant you suggest will definitely not financially break me” outfit you could find in the depths of your, and your roommate, closet and met up with her. The dinner was…nice. Mandy was calmer than you’d expected, a bit blunt, but funny in a way that made you feel at ease. By the end of the night, after too many drinks and a waiter accidentally spilling pasta all over you both, you’d started to think of her as a friend.

You began hanging out at her shared apartment with her boyfriend, sometimes sleeping over with her in the same bed (her boyfriend, Martin, banished to the couch). You’d watch movies till the sun came up and helped yourself to breakfast without having the typical self consciousness of being a guest.

And then you met Hamzah.

You’d gone to Mandy’s to pick up a bag of clothes you’d left behind. She’d given you a spare key ages ago—it was easier that way, she’d said—and you hadn’t thought twice about letting yourself in. You figured you’d grab your things and leave unnoticed.

As you walked past Martin’s office, though, you froze.

Sitting in one of the gaming chairs was someone you’d only seen in clips before. Hamzah.

He was leaning back, scrolling through his phone, a dab pen loosely held in one hand as he exhaled a slow cloud of smoke. He hadn’t noticed you at first, not until the floor creaked beneath your weight. His head lifted, brows furrowing as his eyes landed on you.

“Uh, hey,” you said, awkwardly waving.

Before he could respond, the bathroom door opened, and Martin appeared, wiping his hands dry on a towel.

“Oh, hey, Y/N!” Martin grinned. “Here for your stuff? It’s in the bedroom.”

You nodded, eager to move past the awkwardness, but as you left the room, you caught the brief exchange of looks between the two men.

“Who’s that?” Hamzah asked, his voice low but not low enough for you to miss.

“Mandy’s editor,” Martin replied. “You know, the one I told you about.”

Hamzah hummed, and though you were already walking away, you couldn’t help but feel his eyes trailing after you.

After you left, you weren’t really sure how to feel about seeing Hamzah. You knew you had to get used to him, especially considering he was just as close to Martin and Mandy as you were, if not even closer. It was strange, weird even. You knew a lot more about him than you should’ve - you’d seen him before, of course—in Mandy’s footage, in the background of videos you’d spliced together, laughing with Martin, rolling his eyes at a bad joke. But seeing him in person was something else entirely. You wanted to know more about him though, you weren’t sure if that was weird. The memory of his gaze stayed with you longer than it should have. You felt weirder about the fact that you didn’t feel weird enough  about it, that you did sometimes wonder what he was thinking of when tying strings of footage together. You found yourself replaying footage of where he smiled more than other pieces of footage. Maybe you were weird.

Martin and Mandy were throwing a get together. It was small, Mandy assured you when she noticed you wavered, picking up upon your your reluctance. “Me, Martin, and a few friends. Totally lowkey.”

You should’ve realised that meant he’d be there. 

Hamzah wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea of a party, but the thought of hanging out with Martin made it tolerable. That, and the unspoken promise of weed, along with the fact that it wasn’t going to be some huge, overwhelming crowd. Just Mandy, Martin, Chase, Claire, and a handful of their friends who weren’t part of their usual social media circle.

What bothered him, though, was the mention of a “special someone.”

Martin had been annoyingly vague, but Hamzah knew. It had to be you.

He’d caught himself that day, when his eyes lingered on you far too long as you stood in the doorway of Martin’s office. The second he let it slip, Martin noticed. Martin always noticed. And once Martin had something like that to tease him with, it was game over.

To Martin, it was probably exciting—Hamzah showing genuine interest in someone for once, and not just anyone but someone in their circle. Hamzah, on the other hand, was already bracing for the sly comments, the well-timed nudges, the not-so-subtle efforts to push him into a conversation with you. By the time he was on his way to the party, he already had a headache from overthinking. Worse still, he could feel another one building as he tried - and failed - to think of something, anything, to say that wouldn’t immediately come off as awkward or disinterested. And what if he did mess it up?

The idea of talking to you shouldn’t have felt so monumental, but somehow, it did.

You walked into the party with your roommate, Candance, who was dying to meet the so-called Mandy who, ever since entered your life, seemed responsible for your sudden ability to start paying for your own drinks when you and her went out. Candance was buzzing with the need to socialise and almost immediately departed from you to talk to Mandy’s female friends, one of which being a girl who believed was named Clara or Claire? You weren’t really sure, you tried to avoid Mandy’s other friends, Not for any strange or unkind reason—it was just how you were. Conversations with Mandy’s friends always seemed to trip you up, words slipping out of rhythm, leaving you stranded in awkward silences. Even Mandy’s good-natured attempts to bring you into her group couldn’t quite shake the feeling that you didn’t belong - that you were simply a girl who just edited her videos.

So, you’d drifted, quiet and unnoticed, until you found solace on the balcony. The Toronto air was crisp, a faint chill weaving through the hum of the party inside. You laughed as you noticed someone, Martin probably, had started blasting Nettspend. You leaned against the railing, fishing a blunt from your pocket, and lit it with practiced ease. The first inhale hit like an exhale—something uncoiling in your chest as the smoke curled upward, vanishing into the dark. 

Hamzah stepped into the party, the familiar rhythm of low laughter and muted music settling around him. He made a beeline for the drinks, grabbing a red cup filled with liquid courage (something he’d need plenty of).

It didn’t take Martin long to corner him, practically bouncing with thinly-veiled amusement.

“So, where’s this ‘special someone’ you mentioned?” Hamzah asked, feigning casual indifference. 

Martin’s smirk was immediate, sly and deliberate, as he gestured toward the balcony. “Out there.”

Hamzah followed his line of sight. You were leaning against the railing, the soft glow of the city lights flickering against the smoke curling from your hand.

“What do I even say, man?” Hamzah muttered, suddenly too aware of the weight in his chest, the too-familiar flutter of nerves threatening to undo him.

Martin shrugged, already stepping away, his grin widening. “I don’t know. Maybe start with hello? Or ask for a hit?” Hamzah sighed. Hamzah sighed, half-resigned, as he watched Martin retreat into the party, clearly pleased with himself. He really needed to get Martin to stop meddling in his love life—or, as both Martin and Mandy liked to point out, his complete lack of one.

Still, here he was, stepping out onto the balcony before he could overthink it. You hadn’t noticed him yet, your attention fixed on the glow of the city beyond the railing. It wasn’t until the soft creak of the door closing behind him startled you that you turned, wide-eyed.

“Oh, shit,” you exhaled, clutching your chest. “I didn’t see you there.”

Hamzah raised his hands in mock surrender, a small grin tugging at his lips. “My bad.”

“Do you do this often?” you asked, recovering quickly. “Creep up on people?”

“Do I look like I creep up on people?” he shot back, a flicker of amusement in his tone.

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. “I don’t really know you.”

“Fair point,” he conceded, leaning against the railing beside you.

When he gestured toward the blunt in your hand, you passed it to him without hesitation. He took a drag, and something about the faint taste of cherry on the filter made him pause, his heart betraying him with a quick flutter.

“So,” he started, exhaling slowly, trying to mask his nerves with feigned ease, “what do you know about me?”

“Your address,” you said flatly, with a nonchalance that made him blink in surprise.

“What?” His eyes widened, and he gave you a look that silently demanded an explanation.

“In Mandy’s videos,” you clarified, smirking as you watched his alarm shift into sheepish realization. “When they visit you, the background gives away your street and house number. I’ve had to edit it out and censor it.”

“Oh. Damn.” He winced, scratching the back of his neck.

“You’re welcome for not doxxing you,” you said with mock seriousness, plucking the blunt back from his fingers.

“Thanks,” he muttered, exhaling a stream of smoke that curled into the cold night air.

For a moment, the silence between you wasn’t awkward. It hung there, fragile and almost weightless, like the smoke that lingered before dissolving into nothing. 

You both stood there for what felt like an eternity, the air thick with the smoke, your thoughts muddled by the high creeping through your veins. The party had been loud, the music had pulsed in your ears, but out here, on the balcony, everything felt quiet. Just the two of you and the low hum of the city below.

Hamzah’s gaze was steady, yet unreadable. You could feel his presence in the space between you—close, but not close enough. It was like you both were hesitant, waiting for something to shift, to give you the sign that it was okay to lean in further.

“So,” he started, voice a little lower than before, “this is where you come to hide, huh?”

You half-laughed, half-sighed, glancing down at the blunt between your fingers before looking up at him. “Yeah. It’s easier to think out here. Or forget, I guess.”

“Forget what?” His tone was gentle, but curious. His eyes didn’t leave yours.

You paused, biting your lip. “Stuff. Life. Whatever.” The words felt a little too raw, too honest for this moment, and you quickly added, “I’m not a big fan of parties, anyway. Too much noise. Too many people pretending they’re happy.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Hamzah said softly, his voice seeming to drop even lower. He stepped a little closer, and you had to resist the urge to step back. His proximity didn’t feel intrusive—it felt electric, like you were both standing on the edge of something. “I don’t really do parties either.” He paused, looking down for a second before meeting your eyes again. “But I like the quiet. The realness. The moments where you can just... breathe.”

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how dry your mouth was. “Yeah, me too.”

There was a moment of silence, and it felt heavy in the air. Your fingers brushed his, the contact brief but enough to send a ripple of warmth through your chest. Your heart skipped a beat, and you found yourself wondering if he felt it too.

“Y’know,” Hamzah began, his voice even quieter now, “I never really thought I’d be sitting on a balcony with Mandy’s editor, talking about life.”

You smirked, trying to lighten the tension. “And yet, here we are.”

He chuckled, but the sound was low, almost intimate, and you noticed the way his gaze flickered down to your lips before darting back to your eyes.

Your heart raced in your chest, and suddenly, everything felt a little too much. The weed, the energy between you, the overwhelming urge to close the space between you.

“I—” You started, but your words faltered. You didn’t know what you wanted to say, only that something had shifted, something that felt too important to ignore.

Hamzah took a step closer. His hand brushed the side of your arm, his touch lingering, just enough to make your pulse quicken. He tilted his head slightly, studying you, as if searching for some kind of sign.

You could feel the heat rising between you, the weight of his presence pressing in. “You okay?” he asked, his voice soft, but you heard the underlying question—something more than just your state of mind.

You nodded quickly, but then your nerves caught up with you. You could feel the anxiety building, and before you could second-guess yourself, you blurted, “This is weird, isn’t it?”

Hamzah smiled faintly,  “not really, I think you’re nice.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and then, without thinking, you found yourself leaning in closer to him. Your lips were so close you could almost feel the heat between them, but then—just before you closed the space—your nerves overtook you. You stopped yourself, your breath catching in your throat.

Hamzah froze too, his eyes locking onto yours, both of you so close yet not quite there. The moment was suspended, hanging in the air like a breath waiting to be exhaled.

“I…” You pulled back slightly, the tension between you thick and palpable now. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you could feel your face flush. Fuck you hated being high. “Sorry. That was… stupid.” You stepped back a little more, suddenly feeling too exposed, too vulnerable.

Hamzah didn’t move right away, his eyes still locked on you. He looked like he was weighing something, deciding something. “No, it’s not stupid,” he said quietly, his voice steady, but you could hear the hesitation there too. He ran a hand through his hair, as if trying to gather himself. “I just—don’t want to make things weird.”

You nodded, but the knot in your stomach didn’t loosen. The air felt charged, and you couldn’t decide if you were relieved or disappointed. “Right.” You cleared your throat. “I should go.”

Hamzah didn’t say anything, just gave a small nod, his expression unreadable. You turned away quickly, as if running from the tension, and walked back inside. The party felt suffocating now, the music and laughter too loud, the distance between you and Hamzah somehow stretching even farther despite what had just happened.

You could feel your heart beating fast in your chest, the weight of everything swirling inside you. Your mind raced, replaying the moment over and over. What if you’d leaned in? What if you hadn’t pulled away? 

You asked Candance if she wanted to go home, and naturally, with her charisma she had become good friend’s with one of Mandy’s friends and was knee deep in a tea-spilling session.

You wished her goodbye grabbed your things and hurried out of the apartment, your pulse still racing as you made your way home. The high was still with you, the dizziness mixing with the anxious energy that had taken root in your chest. You couldn’t shake the feeling of his presence, like an echo, lingering in your mind.

As you stepped into your dorm, you kicked off your shoes and collapsed onto your bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to make sense of the mess inside your head. Why the fuck had you tried to a kiss a guy you only know through your friend’s videos? You wanted to scream and kick.

You rolled onto your back, eyes closing, but the image of him, that near kiss, lingered in your mind like smoke—unwanted but impossible to shake.

Would he tell Martin? Worse, would he tell Mandy? Would she be mad that you nearly kiss Hamzah? Would you lose your job?

You glanced at the clock. It was late, and you were so tired, but the restlessness wouldn’t let you sleep. Instead, you reached for your phone again, scrolled through your messages, then stopped.

One new notification.

It was from Hamzah. 

“Hey, sorry if I was too forward earlier. I was a bit high. You cool?”

You stared at the message, the screen flickering under the dim light. Was he apologizing? Or was this just his way of dismissing it, making it nothing?

Your fingers hovered above the keyboard. Was he expecting an answer? What were you supposed to say?

Finally, you typed a response, only to delete it a moment later. It was easier to just lie here in the silence, letting the unanswered questions fill the space. You weren't ready for any of this.

taglist: @xoxoange1l @sillyfungirl10112 @adiormoi @cheesecakeluver @homesick4la

[iwannascreameurekaa]

So you're telling me that Leo returned to what was basically his home after dying, after killing and sacrificing himself t save his friends, family, and everything he loved, after literally exploding which probably wasn't very painless, he got back to camp halfblood after all of that only for his siblings and friends and those loved ones he died for to line up and punch him?

no crying? No hugs? Nothing from the hoard of people that cared about him and might've missed him and thought that he had actually died?

and it wasn't even playful punches either because it states, multiple times in the book, that Leo was hurt and that the punches were painful?

okay Rick I understand what you were trying to do but seriously?

And the only person to do the whole "crying and hugging" thing, which is probably a lot more realistic than freaking punching him, when reunited with Leo was piper and that was basically only because she was already sobbing because Jason was dead

Sometimes the canon makes me wonder if these characters really did actually care about Leo cause it's hard to tell and now I feel even worse

justice for Leo yall this is just mean

Edit: after this being up for a while and having different peoples opinions and memories throw at it, i would like to say that Percy and Will are the only ones to NOT punch Leo on his return to camp half blood and Harley did in fact end up sobbing but he also punched Leo. Twice. Really really hard. So

one commenter said how they believed that this is a common occurrence of ricks writing being unable to shown negative emotion in a correct way idk how to word this and honestly yeah I'm starting to notice that too (not hating on Rick) sometimes I love these parts of the books where it just doesn't make sense cause that means that I and many other authors have full rein to rewrite it as we please and we're gonna do that anyways even if the canon made sense in the first place

[pinkandpurple360]

ppl point out Blitzo literally apologized to Stolas in Ozzie's (when he shouldn't have had to) when Stolas accused him of never feeling sorry but I just noticed

that wasn't the only time

Blitzo literally says 'I'm sorry' when he says he can't go rescue Stolas from Striker because he's busy.

so that's twice he apologized and Stolas somehow forgot

and if you count non-Stolas related apologies he also apologizes very loudly and sincerely to Loona at the end of Seeing Stars.

Stolas acting like Blitzo is this prideful guy who never apologizes and it's a major flaw of his is just him rewriting reality, yet again. it comes off like he only believes it because Blitzo wouldn't cave immediately and apologize a second time for expressing how Stolas made him feel (or in Stolas' head, for refusing to believe Stolas genuinely liked him despite it being entirely Stolas' fault that Blitzo has no good reason to believe that)

honestly it really feels like the classic abuser strategy of projection where the perp accuses the victim of doing something they literally just did to their victim

the perfect moment for Stolas to apologize would have been at the end of full moon - a genuine apology, not that weaselly-words 'I'll do everything but say it's my fault for making the deal' speech he did earlier. but he doesn't and in the very next episode accuses Blitzo of being the one who is incapable of apologizing

yucky abuse dynamics asides, idk why we're expected to believe Stol1tz will last longer than five minutes when one party is comically incapable of self-reflection or sincere regret and the other party is being manipulated into apologizing just for expressing their feelings

🤕 except it’s the writer herself who keeps altering past events to make her favourite character look better. So she creates a new character flaw in Blitzø who has actually apologised more than any in the character in the show. 7 times in the series.

1. Sorry I (x) your husband - to Stella (weird but it counts)

2. In truth seekers when he vowed to be a better friend to moxxie and reminded him his value, and to use his actual name. I count that.

3. I can’t do it tonight alright, I’m sorry. - to stolas

4. Loona my sweet baby girl I’m so sorry I’ll never replace you no matter what.

5. Aw shit stolas i cant today alright I’m sorry I’m literally on my way to take Loona for her very important S.H.O.T.

6. I’m sorry Fizz. I’m so sorry you got so hurt, I’m sorry for what you’ve lost and I know I can never make that right. But You have no idea what I lost in that fire. I mean it’s all my fault, I’d hate me too. I do hate me.

7. Stolas, wait, I’m sorry. - stolas kicked him out

8. Him berating himself and verbally lifting stolas up as amazing, so that he stops crying and stops drinking. Shows remorse also. None of which stolas deserved.

Stolas has once. To via. Unless you count a polite ones in those simpering texts of his. In seeing stars via doesn’t let him because she blames herself entirely due to Loonas words. I struggle to count the “sorry it’s a bad time yet again Blitzy but I’m in a sitch” because he’s asking for something. So if you stretch, that’s maybe 3.

The sad part is Blitzø internalises all of stolas’ cruelty and insults and believes them to be true. Blitzø already has an internal voice of hate and criticism; stolas is his externalised self hatred. Because why wouldn’t he believe the prince, stolas is the one dressed so nicely, singing so nicely with pretty props, crying and surrounded by people crying with him, who all hate Blitzø, so stolas must be right.

Idc, Blitzø knew stolas was in trouble and reacted accurately. He had other things to do and Millie offered to help him. He was going to go over there. It’s weird that Viv wrote him to say “he can get hurt?” “I didnt think he was capable of-” and this was all she could come up with to make stolas all wounded and all betrayed. I’m tired of Blitzø throwing himself in the line of fire all the time. Stolas encourages his worst instincts. It’s not his job to protect stolas. But he did anyway. Even if he had saved him Viv would say “but it’s his fault striker even came back at all because reasons” I think it’s Stella’s fault actually but maybe that’s just me? He’s angrier at blitzø than Stella because he didn’t fulfil his damsel fantasy?

I think vivzie doesn’t account for fans who aren’t knee deep in stolitz Twitter, Instagram, ao3, r34, tiktok etc. Those fans have the romance in their heads the show doesn’t need to even write it. I’m guessing their dynamic will end up as Stolas replacing Loona. Blitzø allows him to abuse him because he feels guilt and sympathy, he wants there to be love between them. The relationship is based on this feeling of remorse and self hate, and pity for how lonely and hurt stolas is.

[withonly-sweetheart]

Not Quite Right

You're Leon's mystery, he's your mystery. He defends your honor without hesitation, but being around you has him questioning his own morals.

a/n: k personally i didnt deliver with this one i kinda sold but im some kinda block rn needed tk get smth done 🤨😔 (useless core) might rewrite later if ive got inspo

there IS a part two with both a happy and sad ending because i cant let sadness take over but i also just read "if he had been with me" and so yeah ill update this with the links when i post those

tw: angst?? age gap if you squint really hard and look between the lines but nun too serious (theres also suggestive content but wtv)

" if you couldnt tell

they said teamwork makes the dream work

hell i had some help "

wc: 1.8k

The saloon was always bathed in a hazy lemon glow, glaring back at Leon’s squinted eyes as the sawdust kicks up under his boot heels. He peels away from the rowdy crowd and nods to the barkeep for another whiskey. He never really was able to read the small, messy names of absurd drinks scrawled onto the curling paper.

Groaning in frustration, he slams it down, digging his nails into the yellowing parchment. Across the table, he catches your eye, specifically those of which narrow directly at him.

Leon admires your uniform; short, tight-fitted burnt hazel dress. It’s always been ugly to him, but you look… ravishing in it, though his eyes are cool as they flit your way.

And he realizes something else, snapping through his mind rapid-fire.

No one looks at him like that and gets away with it.

“Another round?” he calls out as you saunter past. You eye him sideways but say nothing, shifting your stance at the regulars’ raucous shouts. Not the slightest bit bothered, Leon presses, “Looks like you know your men.”

“Is that so?” you smile, knowingly. “Well, I know that folks say you’ve been ‘passing through’ a while.”

Leon chuckled. “And what do folks say about you?”

“That I know things.”

Intrigued, Leon leans forward. “And what do you know?”

You lean in as well, voice low and intimate. “I know a desperate man when I see one. What are you running from, cowboy?”

“What do you think?”

“That you’re a no-account drifter always poking your nose where it don’t belong.”

Leon chuckles, tilting his hat to adjust to the sudden shift in light. “Reckon I’ll be poking around a while longer then.”

You consider him a long moment. Strangely, Leon wishes he knew what you were thinking. “We’ll see, cowboy. We’ll see.”

Leon smiles. "And what do you suppose that means, miss?"

You chuckle drily. "I’m sure you know exactly what I mean, sir.” And with that vague answer, you turn away, step away, linger in front of him for a moment longer before sauntering away, leaving him with pink ears and flustered thoughts.

If it were anyone else, Leon would’ve been irked. But something about you is different. He doesn’t know why, in a town full of women who adore him, you’re the one to entrance him. He also doesn’t know why instead of pushing you further away, he wants to get closer, unravel your mind like tangled yarn.

So when he walks in the next week, he sits in his regular seat and raises his hand, already spotting you swaying to the music in the back. He knows you see his curled fingers first, before you zero in on his face and the corner of your mouth lifts.

"You seem to have me all figured out." Leon says as you walk past, one hand balancing the drinks on a tray. He tilts his head, studying you curiously. "You’ve done your homework, haven’t you, sweetheart?”

"I sure have,” you reply with a slow, lazy smile, leaning over the counter so only he can hear. “It might come as a shock, but I actually might be using my senses.” You lean away, completely unaware of the effect your husky voice has on him.

He blinks once, twice, before a broad grin spreads across his face. “Well…”

“I’ve got your regular?” you offer, twisting over your shoulder to check the drinks. “On the house?”

“That’s my girl,” he praises as you hand him the cool glass, somewhat back to normal. But your words linger in his mind for an indefinite amount of time. Everywhere, anywhere, whoever’s talking, he wishes it was you whispering weakly into his ear.

Especially when he comes in, as if on a schedule, the next week. His eyes are on you but his thoughts elsewhere, his senses stepping in, flashing warning signs and ringing sirens in his head.

He watches you walk past a group of men he usually sees at this particular bar, in that spot, assuming they’re regulars. What really messes with his temper is when one of them whistles appreciatively and all their eyes immediately switch from your face to a lower area.

“Pay them no mind,” you say dismissively, snapping him out of his trance. “This town has its share of fools.”

Leon pretends to glance you over before returning his stern gaze to them, recognizing one of the rowdy patrons. “Like him?”

The man catches his eye and scowls. “You got something to say, drifter?”

Leon turns back to you with a roguish smile. “Reckon it’s time I shut them fools up, what do you say?”

You sigh resignedly. “Just try not to get yourself killed.”

<><><>

You perk up at the sound you already recognize as his boots shuffling across the wooden planks. You glance back down at the drink in your hands, slightly warmer than usual because he returned so late.

When he excused himself a few hours ago, you assumed he had work to take care of. He always came back, anyways, so why bother yourself with the details when you knew that if he wanted you to know, he would’ve told you.

“Well, where have you been-” You immediately stop talking at his appearance. Blood drips down the side of his face, staining the stubble he’s been steadily growing, trickling down his neck. A bruise lines his jawline, maroon and vivid against his pale skin. He staggers over to you, slumping onto a stool, an awkward lean to the right the only sign of his pain.

“Is that mine?” he rasps, reaching for the drink.

“Kennedy!” you exclaim, gesturing to his state and yanking the glass away from his outstretched hands. “What did you get into?”

“Nothin’.” But you hear the sharp inhale he takes before continuing, “Now, did you get all this ready for me?”

“Mhm,” you mumble, gripping your glass tighter, slightly concerned.

“Use your words,” he chides. And now you aren’t concerned as much.

God, he makes you feel so stupid.

“Yes,” you grit out, struggling to be heard against the bustling crowd.

“How ‘bout this?” Leon hums, not waiting for your answer. “Drinks are on me.”

You can’t help but let a smirk tug at the corner of your lips. “Yeah? Anything I want?”

“For a pretty little thing like you, yeah,” he muses, fully turning to face you. You get a better look at his soft, baby blue eyes, fluffy, sandy hair, the way the ivory lights cast shadows across the planes of his face.

“How about not getting into fights?” you joke. He arches an eyebrow as you pass him napkins. He smears the blood across his chin, right under his lips. You can’t help but stare as he tosses his head back to swallow the drink, imagining the liquid burning his throat. “Did you actually fight that guy? You know I was just jokin’ right?”

Leon rasps something you don’t hear, eyes glazed over. “This… is different. What’d you put in it this time, sugar?”

“Just somethin’ special,” you respond vaguely. “Thought you’d like it.”

“Tastes like shit,” he comments, gingerly pushing the glass away. “What, you going around assuming everyone likes what you like?”

“Last guy did,” you mumble, slightly dejected that he didn’t take well to your concoction. To be fair, you did mess up the first guy’s order, mistaking his single for a double and decided it wouldn’t bother Leon if you got him a different drink, right?

“Last guy’s taste ain’t mine,” he says simply, humming in compliance. You wonder exactly what happened on the way here, why he shows up every week without fail. “Tastes stronger than usual.”

“Can’t handle your drinks?” you jab, the corner of your mouth lifting. It’s always amusing to you when you watch a guy stumble out of the bar, so affected by something you made. It sent a feeling of power rushing to your head, like you could potentially control everyone here.

Or more specifically, the one person you wanted wrapped around your finger.

Leon.

So what if you kept him coming back, glancing up at him every time he left, silently begging him to stay for one more drink? You grew up learning that if you wanted something, you had to work for it.

“I can handle anything,” he slurs, words connecting themselves to the sounds he makes, small purrs escaping his throat and going straight to your head. “It’s just… heavy…”

“Heavy?” You chuckle. “Right.”

“What’d you put in this?” he repeats.

“Just the scotch.” Leon immediately snaps up.

“You know I can’t-”

“Can’t what, Leon? Because you know what I sure can’t do?” His surprised and somewhat curious expression spurs you on. “I can’t sit here and pretend that there’s nothing between us, keep you coming back here every week and have you leave me on the other end of your string.”

You poke him square in his upper chest, digging your finger into the little dip between his collarbones. “And although all the other girls you take to bed can handle that, I sure can’t.”

“I’m… leaving you, sweetheart?” Leon chuckles dryly. “As far as I can tell, you’re the one walking away from me.”

“You walk in here and call me your pretty thing, then leave like it’s nothing!”

“My pretty thing?” The swinging lights dance across Leon's face as he turns, searching my gaze as if seeing new things.

“How much longer? This isn’t how you treat-” In the midst of your rambling, something switches in the air between you and Leon grabs the side of your face, leaning forward, eyes defiant yet demanding.

Quicker than the setting sun through hot summer dusks, he bends his head until your breath mingles, hot and sweet.

And when his lips meet yours, they taste sweeter than you expect, fuller than you see on the outside, like you’re tasting what you can’t see. At the touch of his other hand cupping your head, your doubts slip away.

He doesn’t need words to tell you what his pride had kept tied up tight before. You hear yourself make a sound of protest as he pulls away, suddenly, harshly, eyes shadowed by… regret?

“I… shouldn’t have… shit,” he seethes under his breath. Leon pushes back from the table, the legs of his stool grating against the wooden planks. His brows are knitted tight, like he’s wrestling some demon you can’t see.

You reach for him again but he flinches away, not meeting your imploring gaze. You realize it’s like looking at a stranger wearing Leon's face.

The thought wrenches your heart, so desperately, you plead, “Don’t go. Please. Stay. What do you need to say?”

“I… need to go,” he says, voice trembling. “This was wrong…”

"Don't do this," you beg, hating the tremor in your voice but powerless to still it. Weeks of yearning lead to one perfect moment, shattered before your eyes.

"I'm sorry." The words break on Leon's tongue like he doesn’t mean much to them. He backs towards the door, unraveling with every step while you watch, helpless.

Moonlight throws his anguished profile into sharp relief as you plead, "Stay. Tell me what's got your hackles up, cowboy."

But Leon only shakes his head, hands drawn tight. "You know this won’t work. Us… we can’t."

The words land like blows, stealing your breath. You stagger after him onto the porch, heart cracking down the middle at the distance in his eyes.

"You're running scared is all." Your own voice sounds small and far away. By the set of Leon's shoulders, you know this was a battle you've already lost. “You think you’re not the right one.”

“That’s it,” he says, eyes crinkling at the corner with his smile. “Atta girl.”

“Why?” you insist. “If the shit between us is mutual-”

“Because you’ve got your whole life in front of you, girl!” he says, exasperatedly. “I’ll just fuck everything up for you.”

“But-”

“No buts,” he cuts you off, voice final. But you can hear how it hurts him too. “I’m not heartless. I’ve got a conscience, and as much as it eats away at me, I won’t let it have this one too.” His dull eyes find yours. “I won’t let it have you, too.”

He pauses at the top of the stairs, silhouetted against the inky sky. When he turns, there’s no trace of warmth left in his smile. "Take care of yourself, sweet girl."

Then he’s gone, swallowed up by the dark. You sink onto the creaking steps, tasting tears and the agony of loss, the stars uncaring as they sparkle down at you.

[undertale-fic-librarby]

Howdy! As second place Error propaganda, I have prepared a list of fics that should be mostly focused on Error!

At Their Mercy by Devcipher (Teen And Up, Complete)

The multiverse had been perfectly balanced when the seven higher beings weaved it together. Through countless interferences, however, the balance has begun to tip, and stability is threatened. Fate's creation has been unresponsive to their warnings, and thus a solution must be made. While feuding with Destiny over a monster to be Ink's counterpart, Karma intervenes. Inspiration from Harrish6's Forced God of Destruction universe, but a unique alternate multiverse/universe of my own. Discord is constantly breaking the link for the ATM discord but: https://discord.gg/DgHWGnMNrs *EDIT: My server got raided twice please message me for a link lol* Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/devtemrys

Wayward by Queer_Sleep_Demon (Mature, Incomplete)

Error had always been in control of his teleporting abilities. He knew the ins and outs of world-hopping like the back of his hand. The joke was on him, though, because the multiverse didn't play by anybody's rules. An impulsive decision to teach Nightmare a lesson in respect went horribly wrong. As a result, Error and Nightmare become stranded in a foreign and hostile dimension. Finding a way out was easier said than done.

It's All Just Training, Right? by atomiCherry, Souldew_UT (Explicit, Complete)

Hopping from universe to universe after his own Anti-Void no longer suffices as a safe place from the chains of Fate, Error winds up in Nightmare’s Castle with none other than the God of Negativity himself, who’s far too pleased with the Destroyer’s presence. Unaware of Nightmare’s true intentions, Error finds himself taken aback by a suspicious yet remarkable deal that very few people have the courage to propose. It was meant to be a simple session, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but then the both of them find out that there might be more to their meeting than meets the eye… - updates every Tuesday and Friday

A Long Week For A Tiny Error by Sosa_Star (Teen And Up, Complete)

A cruel trick by Nightmare leaves Error in a Huge predicament. Will he return to normal? What's a tiny destroyer to do? Survive, that's what.

Against the Remembered Many by StrelitziaMystery1097 (Not Rated, Incomplete)

Dream stared at the endless white and shuddered against how oppressive this place was. His eye lights focused on the only thing here. There was a skeleton on the ground with his hands over where his ears would be. Most of the skeleton had turned dark with glitches and the occasional error but part of his face and some of his left arm and torso was still white. He wore the typical Sans hoodie but with different colours and red glasses. He was muttering to himself. "Are you okay?" A.k.a: What if Dream had met Error before he completely went crazy? (This fic is inspired by For the Forgotten Ones.)

Temporal Difficulties by Tigercoolyeet (Teen And Up, Incomplete)

On a random night in Outertale, Error and Blue are attacked by Ink and sent tumbling off a cliff. Destiny, one of the seven deities, saves them from their Fated fall into the Void and whisks them away to the Astral Plane: the place where the deities live and watch over the multiverse. Due to Fate’s magic blocking Destiny from sending Error and Blue back, the deity enlists Time to slowly reintegrate them back into the multiverse’s code through time loops. However, from there, things get a little… interesting. Especially when the loops start affecting more than the two skeletons. Fate’s sure going to have a fit when they get back. Or, The crack-treated-seriously, Error & Blue-centered time loop fic that no one asked for. (Or or, I’ve been wanting to do a time loop fanfic for one of my fandoms and I’ve finally found the solution.) NOW RECEIVING A FULL REWRITE AND (HOPEFULLY) TAKING THIS OFF HIATUS

To the depths of the soul by Lena_Inris (Teen And Up, Complete)

Two centuries have passed since Error reached the new multiverse and started a new life. He entered into a relationship with Nightmare and Ink. Everything was wonderful. Life was normal and quiet. And the memories of the old Multiverse were just nightmares now. However, this was the worst moment for Error to decide to want to have a child with his two partners. Ever since his ex-partner managed to find him, the problems started to appear. And Error is very useless when he is pregnant, it doesn't matter that he is a god, he can't use his magic.

I'm Not a Doormat (but I Want You to Step on Me) by Golden_Au (Explicit, Complete)

Error didn't consider himself the type of person that let others get away with treating him like a doormat. He wasn't some fucking pansy you could fuck with without consequence, okay? That being said... He wouldn't mind being stepped on by a certain god.

Our Kind Of Intimacy by Moss-On-The-Bones (General Audiences, Complete)

Ink had the marvelous idea of making Error his canvas. A little over 1k words of Error being painted on. This is a part of a reverse big bang with @wewawoomp on Tumblr. Link to the art will be at the end notes.

No Mother Left Behind by TerminusVerso (General Audiences, Complete)

Just admit you love him, Error.

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

Friendly Encouragement

A/N @darklydeliciousdesires thank you for introducing me to this man. So writing this took like six turns, and it's now become a multi-part childhood best friends-to-lover anthology; this is part one. My confidence is still pretty trash, especially because this is a new fandom/character so I'm not all that happy with this even with the seven rewrites.

Contains: Fluff, supportive Sean, childhood best friends to lover, mild smut.

1.7 K words

After getting some help from Sean, there ends up being some revelations.

The daylight was well and truly gone, and Sean had been pouring over your rejected grant proposal for hours, trying to figure out why it hadn't made the cut.

He lifted his head off his hand, looked away from the paper and shook himself awake before throwing the folder onto the ground and turning to you with his jaw clenched. "I don't get it, love, it's flawless."

You shrugged. "It's also apparently too client focused. Too much about helping people and not enough about the bottom line."

He rolled his eyes, clearly ready to rant about what the heads of charities really got up to, before he stopped himself. "You're going to go back in there tomorrow and demand he reconsider."

You looked at him for a moment, hoping you'd heard him right. "Yeah, that's not going to happen, I don't even know where to start. I'd go to the CEO, but she's travelling, and he'll get ahead of it before I even try."

He was off the couch like a rocket, marching over to you with a determined look set on his face. "Then we'll practice."

He wrapped his strong hand around your upper arm and dragged you to his home office, letting you go a few feet from his desk before sitting down. "Pretend I'm this finance arsehole, we'll work through it together."

You wanted to protest, to tell him he was being silly, but the look on his face told you that you wouldn't be leaving the room until you did what he asked.

You sighed and threw your hands up. "Fine, but I don't see how this is going to help. I am capable of getting things done, it's just him."

He almost looked offended. "I know that, I've known that since you called Mr Bollen a pompous baboon in the fourth grade."

He paused and smiled softly, that disarming smile you had seen him use so many times before. "Think of me as an empty space, I'm not going to do anything other than sit here so you can bounce your ideas around."

You huffed. "Fine."

You left the room and closed the door, taking a deep breath before knocking twice. "Come in."

You walked in, head held high and back straight like you did that morning, and met Sean's eye, his serious look preventing you from laughing. "Mr. Campbell, I think you should reconsider my grant. The numbers page on page six made it clear that it's doable and…"

Your thoughts left you, and you flopped down onto one of the office chairs. "This isn't going to work."

Sean wasn't put off and reached across the table to grab your hand. "He's not the first pig you've had to deal with, he won't be the last. Now what's tripping you up?"

Sean had a knack for getting information out of people, so there was no point in lying, you just had to say it carefully so no one ended up dead.

It wasn't really that hard to relent with the way he was looking at you, his face neutral but his eyes full of twinkling affection that almost looked more than friendly, it made your heart flutter. "I'm pretty sure I lost the grant because I refused to go to the luncheon. I didn't think the money that could be going to the program should be spent on drinks."

You saw the fleeting glimmer of anger in his sea blue eyes, but it was gone in a flash, and you continued. "This isn't the sixties. He gave the grant to one of his drinking buddies, and it's not going to help anyone, and I can't do this because if I'm alone in a room with that prick, I'm going to hit him."

Sean chuckled and patted your hand lovingly. "Ah, love, you might not want to hear this, but you need to sink to his level." Your eyes went wide, and you stuttered about being unable to do that, but he cut you off. "I'm not talking about blackmail, just let him know that all it would take for him to lose his job is an off hand comment in the lift while the CEO is there."

You sighed, he was right, as always. He took in your look of resignation with a smile and waved his hand. "Well then, up you get. Once we can get through this without that bleeding heart of yours balking, I'll order in from your favourite restaurant."

You raised your eyebrows and shook your head. "Bribery, Sean, really?"

He still hadn't let so of your hand, and his thumb rubbed your skin affectionately. "Only the best for my favourite girl."

****

You were still riding the high of how well it all went when you showed up at Sean's. There was no point in knocking; the Wallace house was your second home, and you practically lived there. You waved to Mrs Wallace as you walked by the kitchen, and she gestured towards Sean's room to let you know where he was.

You rapped on the door, and his voice floated through the wood. "Come in." He grinned when he laid eyes on you and popped up from his small desk to greet you. "You're smiling, so it went well. Tell me everything."

It all came out in an excited flurry, going between telling him what had happened and explaining how the head of finance had squirmed like a coward the more you spoke. Sean's grin only grew until he was close to laughing, accepting your thanks graciously as you wrapped your arms around him.

He could feel your excitement as you spoke and he couldn't find it in himself to let you go as you finally slowed down and it became his turn to speak. "I'm very proud of you y/n." He paused, wondering if the tone of the hug was really changing or if he was just imagining it, but he took his chance anyway. "And it is I that should be thanking you, the way you have handled the last year has been admirable."

He didn't know how to put the rest of his thoughts into words, that you were all he thought of when he was away, that despite being back at the top, he felt achingly lonely when you weren't around, that he's loved you since he was sixteen. He tightened his arms around you and buried his nose in your hair. "I love you."

It wasn't a strange thing for him to say; you said it to each other all the time; it was the way he said it that gave you pause, but you replied nevertheless. "I love you too Sean."

"Not like that." He pulled away from the embrace, but only enough to place his hand on your cheek. "I've loved you since you showed up on my doorstep in that bubble gum pink dress the night of that stupid year ten dance."

It felt like a dream, the way he tucked a strand of hair behind your ears as he gazed at you like you were the most precious thing on earth. "Your mother bought me that dress. It was hideous."

The distance between you got smaller as you both leaned in, and he whispered against your lips. "I thought you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen." His nose brushed yours, and his other hand left your back so he could hold your face in his hands as you moved yours to his shoulders. "You are the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

When his lips found yours, it was like you had the last breath on earth between your lips. Your hands wove into his hair, and you moved in step towards his bed, finally stopping when the backs of your knees hit the edge. You pulled away from each other breathless, his hands moving to your shirt as you spoke. "I knew before you."

He chuckled as he pecked your cheek, his beard brushing your skin as he made his way to your neck. "Is that so?"

"It is." You broke contact only long enough for him to pull your shirt over your head, his polo following as you took in the sight of his bare chest. He was all lean muscle wrapped in pale, freckled skin.

He licked his lips as his eyes raked over your bare skin, then his lips were down your neck to your chest as he reached behind you to unclasp your bra. "When?"

It was hard to reply with his plump lips sealing around your nipple, but he looked at you through his red eyelashes in a way that let you know that silence wasn't an option. "Two weeks before the dance when that Harrison freak ruined my science project after I turned him down and you punched him."

He smiled against your skin before nipping you, the bite of his teeth sending a shiver up your spine. His lips found yours again as your hands moved to his belt, your fingers played with the buckle for a moment, but it was your turn to smile as you moved your hand down to palm his rapidly hardening cock through his black trousers.

It seemed to be tit for tat with him because he slid his hand down from your rib cage to use his long and dexterous fingers to pop open your pants, dispensing with any teasing so he could graze his fingertips over your bare flesh. Your breath caught in your chest as he slid his fingers through your slit, stopping for a moment to rub your clit before they continued with their nonsense patterns.

He parted from you briefly, his face flushed with lust as you managed to get his pants off and pushed them down enough to get your hand on his cock. He gathered himself enough to look at you like he wanted to swallow you whole and kissed his way to your ear to speak. "We have some catching up to do." With that, his hand left your pants, and he brought his fingers up to his lips to lick you off of them.

The sight was enough to make your knees buckle. "Yes, we do."

His lips were restless as you moved onto the bed to lie on your back, and then he was ripping your bottoms off, underpants and all, before shedding his own. "You're not leaving this bed until midday tomorrow."

His fingers were back on your centre, and the look in his eyes was positively heartstopping, a mix of lust and love that made it feel like your skin was on fire. "That's fine with me."

Fin

@daydreaming-belle

[xoxo-ives]

we are sunflowers begging for light

cold, dark streets and apartments full of familiar warmth

or, tim can't keep his mind on patrol

wc: 1188

(tim-centric rewrite of 'the way you weigh your head on mine')

(title from 'heaven sent is a coffee cup' by bears in trees)

Crack! A fist collides with Tim’s cheekbone, snapping his head to the right. He blinks twice, reeling from the impact. Another blow lands on his mouth, and he feels his bottom lip split. The metallic tang of blood fills his mouth, and he spits onto the ground. He shouldn’t have let himself get so distracted. His opponent faces him, chest heaving after the several minutes of cat-and-mouse they’d been playing.

Tim had been distracted, letting his mind wander, only going through the motions of combat. His head wasn’t in it, and it was increasingly obvious the longer it went on. Eventually, the mugger was able to land two hits, one of which he’s sure will bruise. He sighs, ending the fight quickly. He leaves the guy on the corner in front of a police station, unconscious with his hands zip tied behind his back.

He starts to make his way home, returning to his thoughts. Thoughts he isn’t sure he could put into words even if he wanted to. Thoughts that made his heart beat faster and his face feel warm. Thoughts of you, at home. Likely asleep, because you have class tomorrow morning. He wonders about what you might have done while he was out. Maybe you’d read a book on the couch, or watched your favorite show, or done nothing at all in particular.

He thinks about calling you, telling you he’ll be home soon. Just talking to you so he can hear your voice. If you’re already asleep, which you should be, he won’t see you until tomorrow afternoon. You have class early in the morning, and he has work. He’ll come home for about two hours, and you’ll both be so tired it’ll hardly be a conversation at all, and then he’ll be patrolling again and the whole thing will start over again.

As selfish as it is, he hopes you're not asleep. He wants to see you, if only for a moment. He climbs the fire escape, slipping in through the window to his bedroom. His boots hit the floor a little louder than he intended, and he winces. He opens the door of his room, intending to have some water and maybe some food before trying to get whatever sleep he can. When he swings the door open, you’re standing there, warm and soft and familiar. 

“Hey. You’re home.” Your voice is quiet, but it’s the most wonderful sound in the world right now.

“I am,” he says. “You’re still awake.” He doesn’t say it aloud, but you both know what he’s thinking. It’s late. You should be asleep right now.

“Yeah. Probably should have gone to sleep a while ago, but I…” You trail off, and he wonders for a split second if he needs to be worried. “...can’t sleep when you’re not here. Feels wrong.”

“What? What does that even mean?” He’s touched, but he’d be lying if he said that didn’t confuse him a little.

“It’s too quiet when you’re out. The apartment feels too…empty. I don’t like it. It makes me uneasy, and I can’t sleep. Maybe it’s dumb, I don’t know,” you say, shaking your head.

“It doesn’t sound dumb to me.” It sounds like exactly what he needs to hear. “It sounds nice. Sounds like you want me around, you know?”

“Of course I want you around,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re my best friend, idiot. C’mere.” You put your hands out, motioning for him to come closer. He does, and you cradle his face gently, hand on his jaw. You move his head to the side, fingertips ghosting over his cheekbone. He feels his skin burn where you touch him, and he prays to every god he doesn’t believe in that he isn’t blushing.

“You got a bruise here.” He hums, not trusting himself to say anything other than how close you’re standing to him. “What happened?”

“Just some mugger. Caught me off guard.” Because he was thinking about you.

“Caught you off guard?” Your voice is playful, and it makes him feel like he’s flying. “You losing your touch, boy wonder?” He rolls his eyes and pushes your shoulder gently. He hasn’t been Robin for years, and yet you insist on calling him by that silly little nickname. He asked you once why you do it. You’ll always be my Robin, you had said fondly, grinning at him. He feels his heart twist at the memory, knowing you didn’t mean it in the way he wished you would.

“I was just distracted,” he says. He tries to use the Red Robin voice, the voice he knows you listen to. He can see in your eyes that you want to push, though.

“Distracted? By what?” And there it is. You’re not going to drop it easily.

“Doesn’t matter.” He’s trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice, knowing he’s not quite succeeding. He hopes against hope that this will be the end of it.

“Clearly it does, if you were so off your game you got punched that hard.”

“Just leave it, okay?” he finally snaps. “I was thinking about something else, and I wasn’t paying attention. It. Doesn’t. Matter.” 

“Fine, keep your secrets.” He can tell from the way you mutter it that you’re upset, both annoyed and hurt in equal measure. “You really should clean that lip, too. Don’t want it to get infected.”

“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes again, not even sure what he’s annoyed about now. “You don’t need to mother me.” He refuses to admit that he appreciates it every time you fuss over his injuries or insist on making him food. He feels loved, cared for, wanted when you remind him to come home safe. Even if you don’t say it with words, he hears it each time you leave leftovers out for him, each time you wash the grit out of his palms, each time you leave a water bottle next to his work bag. 

“Okay. Sorry.” Your voice is just a whisper now, and he can’t help but feel guilty. “You want tea or anything?” He sighs. Even now, after he’s snapped at you, you’re trying to take care of him.

“Tea sounds nice actually. Chamomile, please.” He hears you move to the kitchen, and he unties his boots and takes off his mask, setting them in his room. He finds you on the counter next to the stove, looking at something on your phone. He stands as close to you as he can get, pushing your legs out of the way before wrapping his arms around you and leaning against your chest. Your chin settles on the top of his head, and he can feel you playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. He hears the kettle boil and pours the water quickly, not wanting you to go anywhere. He returns to his place against you, breathing deeply. 

“You alright? Long night?” He can feel the words vibrate through your chest against his cheek, and he finds it soothing. 

“Yeah. You have no idea.”

[allyjoe755]

hiii so for colin could you write something where colin and reader are both crushing on each other but for some reason colin isnt allowed to court her so theres just loads of tension and longing looks and encounters where they want to do/say more but all they can do is be subtle about their flirting/feelings. ill leave the ending up to you thank you 🥹💕💕

Okay I think I kind of ran with this and started to do my own thing... but I hope you enjoy! It was loads of fun to write (despite the fact that I lost my first 600 words and had to rewrite it. I now know true terror) (and I might even have ideas for a part 2 if you're interested *cough cough*). Also be warned this was not proof read so if anyone sees any mistakes... no you didn't

This, the Dance

colin bridgerton x reader (no use of y/n)

W/C: 1835

warnings: none

o-o-o

You wished your dance card wasn’t full.

Not that you wished you were not dancing. Quite the opposite, in fact. You supposed you enjoyed dancing, if only to make the otherwise long night of a ball go by faster. No, dancing was not the issue… and, in truth, you did not mind that your dance card was full at all.

What you minded was that it was full, and missing a name you so madly wanted to see on it. You did not care about any name being on your dance card, save one.

You wished that your dance card had Colin Bridgerton’s name written on it.

And yet, it did not. Of course it did not. Why did you fool yourself before every ball with hopeless prayers and dreams, desperate that, just once, it would not be the case?

Your first and last dance with the third Bridgerton son happened at Lady Danbury’s ball at the start of the season. You had enjoyed yourself immensely, with small talk and smooth movements. You believed him to, as well– until your dance had ended and he noticeably avoided you thereafter.

The rejection had stung, but you had determined you would move past it.

That was, until the next day, when Colin Bridgerton had snuck away from his family while promenading to find you and yours, to explain and apologize for his actions.

For some reason, Colin had not listened to his brother wholly that night– a fact that you would forever be grateful for.

In his hurried explanation, Colin Bridgerton revealed that your father had been boasting to twice as many heads of cattle in your family’s farmlands, leading to a slew of deals made under false pretenses… one of which being with the Viscount Bridgerton. And, of course, the viscount was a shrewd man, quickly discovered your father’s dirty scheme, and cut ties immediately.

According to the viscount, that included you– for if your father could not be trusted, how were you to be? And so, after your dance, Lord Bridgerton had pulled his younger brother aside, and advised him to not consort with you henceforth. Because, of course, every young debutante was exactly like her father.

If you stopped to think about it, what you truly wished was that your father were an honest man, not a crooked one– or,  if he were to be crooked, that the faulty deals he made would not be with one such Viscount Bridgerton.

It was for those reasons that you stood now at yet another ball without Mr. Bridgerton’s name on your dance card. A joyous occasion, indeed.

With a sigh, you made your way over to the refreshments, grabbing a glass of wine and taking a small sip.

“Good evening, Miss.”

While others may have startled at the voice, you did not. In fact, you recognized it immediately. You hid a peaceful smile as you held your glass in hand.

“Mr. Bridgerton,” you responded. “How are you this evening?”

“As well as I can be,” he all but breathed out– and you didn’t dare to look at him, because doing so this close was such a dangerous game… but you’d caught his eye from across a room enough times to know the look of passion and defeat and longing and rage that he surely held in his eyes.

You only hoped that in those moments where the roles were reversed, and he saw you from across the room, that your eyes conveyed the same.

An achingly familiar pain clawed at the edge of your stomach and twisted with your heart. You couldn’t count the times that you had been forced to meet like this. Refreshments were the one place where either of you could speak even a few words to each other. After all, there were still social graces that the viscount expected his brother to perform and appearances to uphold– and completely ignoring you while you both happened to be retrieving refreshments would be unacceptable.

And so, you had used that to your advantage. You had met near the refreshments just for a chance at a few small words, and you refused to take it for granted. You had learned how to be succinct, how to express and convey as much as one could in the small amount of time allotted. It was here that you learned of Colin’s love for travel, his ability to sing, his enjoyment of journaling… and where you learned that he was kind and chivalrous and lovely.

It was here that he first “I love you” was hurriedly confessed in a hushed voice– one that you quickly, ardently returned.

“I am dancing the next quadrille with Lord Fife,” you mentioned. It was as close to an invitation to dancing as either of you could get. In a quadrille, you would at least pass partners and could enjoy those fleeting moments together.

That was another thing you enjoyed about a full dance card. It gave you the opportunity to inform Colin who you’d be dancing with. If he was dancing too, at least he could be close on the dance floor.

He nodded. “I’m to be dancing with Miss Stride, I believe.”

“Very well.” You curtsied. “I shall see you then.”

It was a strange goodbye, but your meetings and interactions needed to be short, lest you bring unwanted attention your way.

Two more dances. That was it, and then you would be on the dance floor with Colin… and you supposed Lord Fife and Miss Stride, but that did not matter as much as being able to dance with him.

o-o-o

If you did not know this estate so well, you were not sure you would have been this brave.

Or, perhaps, if you were not so worried, you were not sure you would have been this brave.

You were sure the time between your meeting and the dances was a blur, for you were not focused on that time, only the time that you would get to spend during the quadrille. You intended to relish the moment, the small amount of time you had.

And yet, you couldn’t.

You couldn’t, because Colin was not. Colin, the man who you had grown to love… who stood in front of you during the dance as if you were almost strangers.

No, it was worse than that. Even strangers would speak and smile at each other. Colin Bridgerton did not even grace you with that. His eyes would not meet yours, he was stiff in his movements– and after you bowed and curtsied to each other, he all but rushed off, down a corridor as if… as if he were mad. Upset.

You didn’t understand it, and you weren’t sure why, but something in you knew that you could not have it. You were always nothing more than cordial during dances– you did not dare risk raising suspicion– but this… this was different. Different in a way that you did not like, in a way that you could not just let lie.

And so, after a few moments, you travelled down the same corridor, searching for Colin– or, rather, searching for a room you thought he might stow himself away in.

A small library had been the answer. Colin stood inside, leaning against the window sill and looking out, only turning when he heard you open the door.

“Colin,” you said, closing the door behind you. “I’m glad to have found—”

“What are you doing here?”

You took a step back from his interruption, noting an almost unrecognizable harshness to his features.

“I could ask you the very same thing,” you replied after a moment. “I came to find you, to make sure everything was alright. The way you had been at the dance…” You let your words trail off.

Colin sighed. He walked back for a moment before turning around and running a hand through his hair.

“There’s something wrong, isn’t there,” you said, more of a statement than a question.

He said your name, but the tone that his voice held… your stomach soured.

“We cannot do this anymore,” he finally spoke. “I cannot do this anymore.” 

You shook your head. “What do you mean?” You asked, and hated the way your voice wobbled.

“No!” He exclaimed quickly. “No, it’s not that.” He took a few steps toward you and grabbed your hands. “It’s… this. This arrangement. I cannot stand only knowing you from a distance. I love you.”

 A wave of relief washed over you. “Colin, you know that I love you.” You pursed your lips. “But what do you suggest we do? Your brother would not have it, I doubt I have any dowry to speak of—”

“You think money is what I care about?” He shook his head. “I could not care less if you had a single penny to your name. It is you. You are what I want.”

“But your brother—”

“We could elope.”

“Colin!” Your eyes widened and your hands left his. “You cannot be suggesting we go to Scotland to marry. You cannot be proposing!”

“And why not? You are the person I wish to spend the rest of my life with—”

“I am not going to marry you in Scotland!”

Colin grinned. “But you will marry me?”

You paused, flustered, not believing that this was happening right now.

“Yes,” you answered softly. “Of course I will marry you, Colin— but I don’t wish to marry you under scandal. Your family may be able to handle it, but mine cannot.” You sighed. “We are in enough trouble as it is; I don’t wish to heap more on.”

“Then what would you suggest?” He asked. “You and I both know Anthony.”

In truth, you knew the viscount very little,  but you did know him well enough to assume his thoughts on the relationship. Eloping in Scotland would not change his disapproval— but it would not allow him to prevent a marriage altogether like he might try in London.

However…

“Your mother,” you said. “Surely there is no way she would let the viscount stop us.”

Colin paused.

“My mother’s greatest desire is that each of us find a love match.” He smiled at you. “You are right. That is what we have done. She would not allow Anthony to prevent this—” 

He grabbed your face and placed a kiss on your forehead. It almost made you dizzy, the wonder of it all.

“Have I told you that I love you? Because I do. I really, really do.”

A pure, bright laugh escaped you. “I love you, too. Now come.” You walked back to the door. “We have a ball that we are meant to be present at. I doubt anyone has noticed us missing… but I don’t want to take any chances.”

“We can tell our families tomorrow,” Colin said. “I will come to call on you, and then we can head to Bridgerton House together.”

Together. You smiled.

“I’d like that very much, Colin.”

[imagionationstation]

Dona AU Rewrite - New Girl In Town

Leo was knocking before he could chicken out of it.

Normally, he would have thought twice about bothering April when it was so late at night, but he had no idea where his brothers had run off to and Sensei would be mad if he came home without them. He felt like he was going to explode if he didn’t talk to someone about the excitement bubbling in his chest.

Besides, who better to talk to about humans than the human girl who probably has had tons of friends over the years? It was so obvious!

Also, also, in all the comics and movies and books that he’s ever seen, teens love being awake at all hours. So she’ll probably be happy to have some company! It’s a win-win!

He raps on the window, careful to keep his voice low.

The last thing he wants is to attract her aunt. That’ll be a fun convo.

“April! April?”

The floorboard creaks. He stiffens and ducks back, relieved when a familiar face comes to the window with half-open eyes.

She squints at him, muttering his name.

He can’t really hear her, so he waves, giving her a moment to wake up. She grumbles under her breath, pushing open the window with a sleepy, “…etter be good.”

“Hey.” He smiles sheepishly, suddenly questioning his choices. He clearly woke her up. The way her eyes keep slipping shut tell the whole story. Hoping to be considerate both to her and to keep her aunt asleep, he’s careful to keep his voice low. “I- need to talk.”

“Can I wait ‘til morning?” She rubs her eye.

Leo blames her human upbringing and her current lack of sleep on the fact that she should know he can’t come back come morning, hurriedly blurting, “I met this girl-”

April springs awake in a second, grabbing him by the shoulders.

“Tell me everything.”

He had every intention of doing so, but he’s glad that she’s no longer an unwilling audience. She stares at him, fists up, eyes wide, and Leo suddenly realizes that he doesn’t… Actually know that much about Karai. He looks to the sky, embarrassed. “Well, she’s really cool.”

He peeks at her. April nods, quick.

“She’s also- a martial artist.”

April nods harder, bangs moving as she does. He grins.

“And- uh-” Oh! “She’s in the Foot Clan!”

Leo is looking right at her and somehow still does not see the rolled-up magazine coming until it’s smacking him in the face.

Maybe he should of.

“Are you crazy?!”

He probably should of.

Okay, bad topic. “April, she’s different. She’s-”

April has pulled away, leaning on the windowsill. “In The Footclan.”

“Yeah, b-but she’s-”

She gets louder. “In the Footclan.”

This is not going how he pictured it. “Look, I know I shouldn’t be hanging out with her-”

April crosses her arms and rises to her full height. “You got that right! You know why? ‘CAUSE SHE’S IN THE FOOTCLAN!”

Leo winces. Geez, no wonder Donnie wants to be friends with this girl. They’re more alike than he thought.

“April!” He grips the windowsill, fingers digging into the wood. He needs her to understand. Why can’t someone understand? “She’s fun! And I’m tired of being the responsible one! Why can’t I be stupid or selfish? When do I get to have fun?”

April sighs, arms falling to her side, “What does she want from you?”

Leo looks away. “I don’t know. I’m meeting her later at the Birley Building. She’s got something planned.”

April blinks, “So like a date, or-?”

Leo rears back. “No! Just- I don’t know. Maybe she wants to hang-out. Or talk. That’s stuff friends do? Right?”

“Sure, that, or-” Leo looks at her curiously and she snaps, “Maybe she wants push you OFF the Birley Building? It’s a trap, Leo!”

“I don’t think so.” He frowns, voice firm. “There’s good in her. I know there is. I can feel it.”

April stares at him for a moment. Her voice is tainted in disbelief. “I hope you’re right.”

The window slams shut. Leo flinches, turning away.

Well. That did… Not go the way he thought it would.

Karai is waiting for him when he gets there.

He does a loop around the building, scanning for any signs of hidden warriors. She has no Foot legions with her, so it’s not an ambush. If she intends to kill him, she wants to do it herself. But she’s already had the chance to kill him many times. And she hadn’t.

Was it just to get his guard down? Why waste the time and effort?

He groans. He’s going to regret this, isn’t he?

…He’ll probably regret it more if he never solves the mystery.

He lands on the parapet.

“About time.” There’s a smirk in her voice. “I was beginning to think you were a no-show.” She turns, a hand on her hip. “But you don’t disappoint.”

He studies her, walking closer. “So… What’s this about?”

He catches the tossed binoculars. “That.”

He turns, brows furrowed, before raising them up to his face. His eyes widen, breathless. “That’s the sword of Miyamoto Usagi.”

She kneels, so he does too, looking between her and the weapon as she speaks. “The greatest swordsman in the history of Japan. It’s ancient. It’s priceless. And it’s yours.”

He blinks at her, startled. She grins. “If. You help me.”

Leo doesn’t like the look in her eyes. He’s seen it in Raph’s before he asks him to do something that they both know Sensei would never allow. “…Do what?”

“You know what.” Leo really hopes he doesn’t. He really, really, really hopes- “We’re going to steal it.”

That is just his luck, isn’t it? He frowns. “No, we’re not.”

Her mood drops. “Come on, that sword is just sitting there collecting dust!” He glances back to it. “You know you deserve that katana.” Adrenaline races at the thought on what it might be like to merely hold it. Must less wield it. “Certainly more than some lazy rich guy.”

Karai stands and Leo stiffens. He keeps his eyes on the blade because that’s safer than revealing how tempting the thought is.

“Stop being responsible, Leo.”

She gets down on a knee, closer, looking to him expectantly. She’s eager for him to follow through. Impatient for him to join her. She wants him to come with her. He doesn’t want to let her down.

He’s always the downer. Always the killjoy. Or the spoilsport.

But… But this isn’t turning down a R-rated movie or tattling when Raph tries to talk Donnie and Mikey into doing some dumb, harmless prank that’ll backlash on all of them. This is stealing. Thievery.

“Stop waiting for people to give you the life you want.”

Leo’s heart races as she inches closer.

“Go out and take it.”

“No.”

Leo closes his eyes and looks away. He can’t. He can’t. It doesn’t matter how much he wants to listen to her or how easy it would be to sneak in and retrieve. How simple it would be to let her lead.

It doesn’t matter that she might be mad at him, and he might lose his only shot at an awesome sparring partner and maybe-friend.

She stands. “I’m getting that sword, Leo. With or without you.”

His heart sinks. He surprised to find himself hesitate.

Okay. So, maybe it does matter. It all matters.

“Choose.”

But at the end of the day, it’s not who he is.

He stands, holding his ground.

“I can’t.”

At the end of the day, he still has to look in the mirror and think about the kind of example that he’s setting for his siblings. Who will they become if he starts opening these doors? Actually crosses this line?

Even if he’s not leader, they’ll follow him.

“It’s wrong.”

And he’s not a villain. It’s not who he is.

“You’re starting to bore me...”

It doesn’t have to be who she is either.

She reaches for her blade. He grabs her hand.

He searches her face. “Karai, you don’t have to do this.”

“I know.” Her grin returns. “That’s what makes it- fun!”

Karai moves, abruptly, kicking and flipping him before he has a chance to process the intent or action. He ends up on his face, shell in air as she plans a foot on his carapace, arm in a really uncomfortable position behind him.

How many times is a human girl going to catch him off guard tonight? Good things his brothers aren’t around to…

“Leo!”

Oh, come on. The universe could have at least set him Mikey!

Or Donnie! He’d even deal with her. Anyone but…

“What- what are you doing?!”

Couldn’t she have at least knocked him out?

“Who’s she?!”

Karai doesn’t say anything. Great. Just great.

“Uhm… Uh…” Leo’s fingers tap the concrete before he awkwardly raises his hand to gesture between them. “Raph, Karai. Karai, Raph.”

Raph gawks, “What are you, friends with her?!”

Yeah, that’s the question, isn’t it?

Leo thinks he’ll take April’s advice next time.

[morningstargirl666]

hi, how's it going? love tbbw and all your other works! any wips in progress?

im fairly new to the fandom and was looking for a few good kc authors...any recs for fics and/or authors?

Hi! Thanks so much for enjoying tbbw! I'm not really working on anything else other that tbbw right now, but I do have a ghost!caroline au somewhere in my pile of drafts, as well as the next chapter for Divided We Fall and Songs of the Sea --- not that they're anywhere near finished 😂.

But if you meant what I'm working on for tbbw currently, I'm up to the old chapter 30, which is now split between chapter 41 and 42 in the rewrite (yes, it became two chapters --- not at all SHOCKING). I'll share something I worked on just last night under the cut.

As for kc authors.... so many good ones! @cupcakemolotov / cupcakemolotov and @lalainajanes / LalainaJ and @lynyrdwrites have hundreds (and I mean that literally) of kc fics under their belts, spanning dozens of aus. @bellemorte180 / BelleMorte180 also has done a ton of aus with many of them multichaps --- my favourite of hers is a one-shot called The Howling. @helpless-in-sleep / perfectpro has written an absolutely transcendant fic that deals with Caroline's trauma with Damon and I'm told her Adams Family AU is a kicker too. @little-miss-sunny-daisy / sunnydaisy has written a mix of brilliant aus and canon divergence fics, much like perfectpro. If you're into canon divergence and multichaps, @stars-and-darkness / for_darkness_shows_the_stars is your gal. @ks-caster / KS-Caster is much the same. It's not personally my thing, but if you liked the baby plot, @galvanizedfriend / Yokan has got you covered with The Wolf. @kirythestitchwitch / KiryTheStitchWitch is currently organising @klarolinewinterexchange which will release some new fics into the wild soon, and her own fics are legendary too.

If you want to check out some relatively new authors (that I've met recently anyway) there's @accidental-rambler , @artemisravencourtney , @impossiblekryptonitecolor , @averseunhinged and probably many more I'm forgetting. And because I can't leave my fellow kc artists unmentioned, @certifiedceraunophile @the-road-betwixt @stardust414 @push1na @highgaarden have all done some Queen Shit in this fandom and need to recieve more love, so go check them out.

As promised, here's a little sneak peak for tbbw --- Sam is NOT having a good time hehehehehe

Turns out, getting shot in the head was just as pleasant as it sounds.

The pain was unlike anything else when he woke; like a hot poker had just been shoved right through his skull, searing through the tissue behind his eyes. But before that, before he became aware of the pain, woke to the world around him — there was the in-between. 

A vampire’s soul didn’t cross to the Other Side when they were ‘killed’, even though their bodies imitated the process of dying. They were clinically dead to the rest of the world when their necks snapped, or when a wooden bullet was put between their eyes. And even as the magic that kept Sam from true death began healing his body, the cells in his brain had already started dying, releasing one desperate flood of DMT before the lights went out, dreaming bigger than he’d ever dreamed before. Some see their life flash before their eyes; memories skittering across your brain, full of loved ones and friends, mixing with a firework display of imagination to create one last delirium-induced fever dream. 

Sam, well.

Sam saw Riley.

She’d been little, when they were taken. Barely just older than four. He remembered she had their mom’s eyes; their mom’s laugh. During those dark days, deep underground, where no one could hear them scream—

He’d have given anything to make her laugh. He managed to, once or twice; coerced a smile from that small, innocent face.

That face, in all its deathly stillness, was the last thing he had seen before Lycaon’s venom had torn its way through his body, setting his blood on fire. Lycaon had been too late to save her, nearly too late to save him. 

The bite was always a gamble; a simple toss of a coin. Life? Or death?

That day, Sam had lived.

But his sister had died.

And all those memories; that kaleidoscope of horrors that warped and twisted behind his eyelids rushed to the surface, lingering like a wraith as he woke, hissing in his ears. His expression twisted with pain as the agony inside his head split his skull open, and for minute, he thought it was the witches, twisting their magic into his blood vessels with cruel fingers and making them explode—

“He’s awake! He’s awake!” a voice shouted to others, out of place in such memories. 

The vervain hit Sam next. Suddenly he found himself coughing, rolling over as harsh breaths shook his entire body, struggling to breathe through the poison in the air.

“Ask if Klaus is alive–” another voice was saying, further away and distinctly male.

“Hybrid!” someone else yelled over them. “You lying, traitorous excuse of a lap dog. Where’s my brother? Is he alive? Answer me!”

Sam’s eyes shot open. His fingers scrambled over his forehead, digging into the wound in the middle of it, wincing at the pain and wheezing in every breath of vervain-infused air, pulling out something close to the surface. It dropped to the floor amongst the hay and dirt, a sharp, pointed thing; a wooden bullet.

The fuck?

“Sam, thank god,” someone near him said; the one who had spoken first. He looked up, meeting concerned, kind eyes. Her face blurred, Sam’s eyes tearing up from the sting of vervain. Her voice sounded urgent, trying to reach him through the wooden, barred walls. “Are you okay? Sam, can you hear me?” 

Wait… barred?

He stared at her fingers, wrapped around an iron bar to the right. Like a cage.

Sam looked up, eyes moving around the pen he was caged in, gaze roaming the walls; from the barred window slightly higher up and the locked cell door, to the vervain misting in the air, blowing out of the fans in the corner of the room. When he spoke, it was just one word, but the sheer desperation in his voice, the fear, like he was pleading for a lie, struck a horror in him so deep, everyone heard it.

“No.”

It was bigger than the ones the witches kept him, the walls haphazardly reinforced together, rather than meticulously organised — premeditated — but the feeling was the same. He could feel the walls closing in, the dread — the knowing — that there was no escape suffocating him more successfully than the vervain. Helpless. Forgotten. Left to rot in the dark and the cold.

And this time — alone.

“Sammy? I’m scared.”

He choked, but not from the vervain. He rolled onto his back, scrambling away from the cell door in front of him like it was a terrifying beast and not a simple meld of iron and hinges.

“It’s alright, Ry. Someone will come, you’ll see.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” A pause; followed by movement in the dark. “Pinky swear?”

A quiet, sniffled giggle. “Pinky swear.”

Sam stared at the cell door in horror, beginning to shake his head back and forth, repeating that same word over and over.

“No, no, no, no, no, no-”

His hand came up to clutch his hair, pulling so harshly at the strands it hurt, just as his back hit the wall behind, nowhere left to run.

“Sam! Sam!” Caroline yelled, trying to get his attention. “What’s the matter?”

Sam couldn’t hear her.

“Dad says you lost your younger brother,” he’d asked Klaus once, when the man had still hated him, sneering whenever he came close.

“I don’t talk about it.”

“That’s alright,” Sam had said back, looking out across the woods, leant on the cabin’s balcony. “I don’t talk about it either.”

Klaus hadn’t said a word, but he’d looked at him. And then his face had softened. In the silence that followed, for the first time, they found some common ground.

[queencoldart]

A Dog's Mother is officially canceled

Maybe you saw this coming, or maybe this comes as a surprise. I feel terrible because I repeatedly promised to continue updating this story. Now that I have a full time job, I realize I bit off so much more than I could chew.

I initially took a break from updating the story because I was basically pouring all of my free time into it. Every new upload consisted of many different drawings, not including the editing. I was fatigued.

Then I lost the entire script and was never able to recreate it to my liking. After that I began to rewrite parts that weren't great to begin with. This is when I realized that the way I've set the story up in previous uploads, I created some problems down the line. I tried to painstakingly fix them before continuing to upload. Twice after I attempted to continue drawing, I lost a whole bunch of my progress due to files getting corrupted. Then I lost access to the medication that helps me focus, which I still haven't regained. The more I tried to return to the drawing board, the more I couldn't force myself to do it, especially when I became incredibly busy with school and finally work.

It's been so many years now and I sense that people have had their fill of generational trauma stories. I like to keep my promises, so this hurts to do and I am sorry to all of those who have been anticipating the rest, but I think it's time for me to retire the project and move on instead of worrying about releasing it and feeling guilty any time I draw anything else.

Since I am not finishing this project, what I'm about to say isn't going to spoil anything.

Garble softens his approach to Cinder after being confronted by Smolder and seeing the final confrontation between Torch and Sconce. He was never fully convinced that he was doing right by Cinder by being extra hard on her. We learn that Garble is actually very worried about his sisters, because the world they live in is changing so quickly and the only reliable way he knows how to protect anything is by being tough.

The earthquakes, as shown and alluded to in part 2, were precursors to a massive volcanic eruption that creates very hazardous conditions for Ember, and for Torch when he saves her. Sconce returns and prevents Torch from being injured during his rescue mission. By doing this, Sconce demonstrates enough love for her son that Ember wants to give her a chance. It makes no difference to Torch, however. He doesn't believe in rewarding his mother with a rekindled mother-son relationship for doing something right. This insults Sconce and both she and Torch double down instead of making up, subverting the (Millennial) Parental Apology Fantasy trope.

Sconce's double standards prevent her from validating anything her son tells her and Torch insists his mother stays far away from him. Ember gets in between them again but this time she acknowledges her father's feelings and takes responsibility for ignoring his boundaries. She thanks Sconce for saving her father and promises to stay in touch, but implores her to leave. Sconce's emotions have exhausted her so much she has no fight left in her and she goes home.

In the epilogue, a very conflicted Sconce shows clear signs of cognitive dissonance. Her husband's snide remarks about their son make her uncharacteristically upset. While she doesn't have a change of heart immediately, it is implied she may have one later.

Several things happen after the epilogue. This isn't a part of the story, but I may draw related pieces at some point.

Ember stays in contact with Sconce, as she promised. Sconce is fond of her granddaughter and tries to ask about Torch, but never gets any details besides that he's "doing fine". Sconce writes to Ember that Torch accuses her of wrongdoing, yet never told her exactly what she did wrong. Torch is incredibly dismayed when Ember tells him this and says he isn't interested in hearing what she and Sconce have to say to each other, although it is abundantly clear he wants to know whether or not his mother is badmouthing him.

Basalt passes away. Torch has no reaction to this news, which upsets Sconce when she hears it. At the same time, she feels like she should be more saddened herself. Sconce doesn't feel like she can stay in the south anymore and begins wandering. She meets different dragons along the way, who teach her how her son's leadership affected dragons. She becomes gradually more pleasant, in no small part due to a lack of Basalt's influence, and even begins to learn bits and pieces of the truth about her late husband — information she is initially very resistant to. She encounters Torch by coincidence. This time she doesn't confront him and leaves immediately. This surprises her son, but he doesn't pursue her. He asks Ember how his mother is some time later. This piques Ember's curiosity, to which Torch simply states that he wants his mother to be well, nothing more.

The process of Sconce's reformation and eventual redemption is a long one. She and Torch eventually mend their relationship to the point they are friendly with each other, but Torch never forgives her, not even after she's willing to make amends and accepts she isn't owed forgiveness. She watches Grandma Griddle enjoy the joys of motherhood that could have been her own if she hadn't been so stubborn and counts her blessings.

I didn't intend for there to be a moral of the story, but if there is one, the main takeaway shouldn't be that those who redeem themselves will eventually get rewarded for it. It should be that it took Sconce more than two thousand years to repair her relationship with her son. Most people don't have that long, so... don't be awful to your kids, I suppose!

[ohwell-itsme-but-danganronpa]

what are the fics that you're currently reading that are still getting updated?

Okay, so. Fair warning, this is mostly going to be "Fics that have been always slow updating & fics that went on an unexpected hiatus and have me scratching at the door, crying for an update, with a silent prayer when I open ao3" galore.

Barely a Planet, Barely Pluto gotta love dystopian post-game. and Kokichi's service dog, very important.

fool me twice

Pine Soot [I am so normal about those two fics, definitely not thinking about them on a daily basis and wondering about future developments, you know if those were finished I would binge them and reread regularly, content that is catering to me personally, because the slow burn would boil over and be ruined if it was any faster, fuck communication, getting together isn't even on the radar, there are more important things, bait me with a scenario that could be used as an excuse to make them make out and make them fight instead, I'll lick it off the floor, thank you]

honorary mention to Romantic Rivals it's just one chapter, but I love the concept

Me into you body swap fun

Can You Not? [now. what I am feeling for the awaited update here is more dread than excitement, but I loved this fic from the beginning and the early chapters were everything to me for a while, before we reached the suicide arc I came back to it daily, I still want to see it through and hope there's a way for it to end well]

Helping Hands(ies) [I've learned that atp some people think it's just always been called the full version, but that was an April Fool's edit, since that's when the last update posted. Tbh, if it doesn't update I'll still reread it every once in a while, easily one of my favorite fics ever, fwbs are tied for first place with fake dating for my favorite trope, and it's in the same spirit]

Truth Bullet: Bloody Kokichi ch3 rewrite, we always love to see Shuichi actually help Kokichi, but with this twist? tasty

meeting your match actually recently updated and left me with a fresh wave of hunger for more

Apple of Temptation what even is saiou nation without BrightStar posting, come on, we had a fic coming one after another, so spoiled, what I am to do without a regular dose?

x.X.x.Ch3ck3r3d.K1ng.H0rs3.G4ym3r.x.X.x's Guide to Boring Roommates (That Are Definitely Not Cute At All)

aaand I think I mentioned all the other ones in the other post, highlighting Healing is a Made-Up Concept for people that are Decidedly Not Kokichi Oma one more time tho, since I put it in the already bookmarked section, but the updates been coming in rather quickly this far, so I am hooked on it

+ one last honorary mention to Ghost Fucking 101, really just what I needed, it cheers me up to see it update

[nottoofondofgaypeople]

You should make a long post about Laurance

You are so lucky I got that Vylad ask before this... Ohhh boy

Full stop, this post is probably going to be one of the longest things I post on this Nether forsaken website. Laurance has been a comfort character since I first watched this series years ago in spite of all the bull shit Jesson put him through. I have many many many thoughts on him, and none of them will be organized.

I'm fairly confident that this post will get into some very unhinged territories, I cannot be normal about this man

I feel like this should go without saying, but all of the headcanons I have dumped onto Laurance on my main blog apply to this rewrite. Including this one which you have definitely all seen, and all Shadow Knight headcanons are also canon here.

But let's talk about this rewrite specifically. Because when Laurance comes back from the Nether, and he confesses his love, the mother fucker does it! He actually gets Irena to say she at least feels something towards him! It isn't much, but she doesn't get all awkward when he says that he loves her, and she's supremely gentle with him while helping him with his recovery. This really quickly turns into romance and the two are effectively dating shortly after.

Yeah Laurance's eyes aren't magically fucking cured to perfection, that's stupid an abelist.

Actually, because I want peak recovery arc material out of this rewrite Laurance is going to get to spend a lot of time learning how to fight with this new form. His body has been pretty significantly altered from the process of undeath and also the torture. I'm so for real when I say Laurance has so many scars, just so many of them, 18 million scars all over his everything. He already had some from being a stupid fucking child, but these ones are a lot uhm... bigger.

Laurance has to adjust to the new symptoms of his body. A lot of them are slow, appearing over time. The first major thing Laurance notices is that when he stops thinking of breathing for long enough, he just stops breathing. Shadow Knights don't need to breathe, so their body doesn't naturally do it. But Laurance never fully died, so he kind of does need to breathe?? And this is just where it starts.

I think the doll symptoms start kicking in a lot slower than I initially thought of. There's still the first time that it happens, but then it doesn't happen as often. Maybe once or twice, but the next time Laurance really deals with that is during the Season 1 finale (but it isn't Garroth that knocks him out (but that's a whole post unto itself)). Going into Season 2 though, it gets worse and worse. As the Shadow King has more influence over the Overworld, the calling gets stronger and stronger.

More often than not the calling manifests as a whisper in the back of Laurance's mind, something that sends a tingle down his spine and not in a good way. His blood runs hot, and he can feel his body pulled to Irena. Like his blood is tied to her life force and constantly trying to bring her to it. And any time he's around her, that voice gets louder, starts multiplying as he fights it, all of them demanding him to kill, to do it, to free himself of the burden, to gain eternal life.

Laurance doesn't want eternal life though!! He never has!! He wants to fall in love and start a family and grow old with his partners!!

Okay so going into Laurance's childhood a bit, I've said it before and I'll say it again, Laurance is the mcd equivalent of a theater kid and yet somehow fumbled in choosing his class and ended up as a fighter instead of a bard, the goof. He picked up the Lyre when he was a teenager, mostly because his father bought one and expressed an interest in teaching Laurance how to play, and he was all over that.

He stops playing it when he goes to the guard academy cause they just don't have instruments there (which is a crime), but he does still spend a lot of time remembering songs and finger placements, mans is doing whatever he can to make sure he doesn't fall out of practice. When Laurance comes back to Meteli as an official guard he celebrates by having a party in the town and finally getting to play his beloved lyre again.

He doesn't play it as much when he's a guard, but he always tries to stay in practice. And he won't let any blindness get in the way either, his muscle memory is so on point he barely needs his eyes unless he's reading sheet music, which is usually right in front of him.

I could seriously go into a whole character analysis of comparing Laurance to Orpheus, specifically from Hadestown, like I really want to, but I'll restrain myself to just the general myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. Laurance really thought he could walk into hell and defy the gods. He really thought he could just do that. And even when he was faced with punishment, when Orpheus was forced to stay in the Underworld in her place, he endured it all for her. And actually this is so funky the roles are kind of reversed. Because Irena is the one who can't turn around to look at Laurance when they're running out of hell. If she does, she will die. That is guaranteed. Eurydice has always acted in the assurance of her survival. Unlike Orpheus in the same position, she can manage to not turn her head.

Hhhhhhg Laarmau as Orpheus and Eurydice is literally everything to me you don't understand.

And yes Laurance being Orpheus coded is why I gave him a Lyre, I won't even deny that. Like, c'mon, Laurance very earnestly trying to earn Irena's affection and saying "I also play the lyre" and Irena snarking back "A liar and a player too? I've met too many men like you." I'm--

Stay focused!! This is not the Hadestown post!!

What if Laurance was like obscenely physically affectionate? Like he's so so so physical, he loves having a point of contact with someone at all times. It doesn't have to be anything big either. He just likes wrapping his arm around Garroth's shoulder, or having Irena play with his hair. It was something important before the Shadow Knight transformation, and he only needed it more as time went on. The feeling of his lovers heartbeat reminds him he's alive.

And other people touching him reminds Laurance he still has this body. In spite of all the Shadow Kings control, he has control of his own body in this moment and he is using that control to show love and care and that matters to him more than anything. He likes holding hands, putting his hands on people, having other people do the same, even the smallest amount of affection is enough for him to selfishly crave more.

Laury likes singing a lot. His voice got a little deeper after the Shadow Knight thing because his vocal chords got just a little shredded in the Nether, but he still loves singing and singing with his friends and lovers. Laurance singing some sappy love song to Garroth who is just completely smitten, or singing some silly little campfire song to boost Cadenza's mood when she's having a bad day.

THE TABLE BIT!! I simply adore the table bit!! All of it! And it's even better in my rewrite cause even if the dialogue and the scene plays out almost exactly the same, they're in love while doing this silly bit!! Such fucking dorks I want to throw them against concrete.

Thinking about Laurance and Ungrith. Laurance finding this wyvern in the forest while exploring one day and befriending it almost instantly because Laurance is just a very kind person. Even if Ungrith isn't allowed to be with his brethren, it's okay because this weird fuckin kid is really entertaining and a genuinely great friend. I know it isn't possible but a scene where Laurance, Garroth, and their wyvern childhood friends get to hang out and talk would probably fix all my problems.

Raven doesn't literally anyone but Garroth touch him, but when Irena tells him about Ungrith, he's willing to let Laurance pet his scales or whatever you do to show affection to a flying lizard. It's not the same, but it's better than nothing.

Laurance's favorite place to kiss other people is on the cheeks, but his favorite spot to be kissed is the forehead. I think that he doesn't admit this to people, rather lets them figure it out. Both Garroth and Irena figure out Laurance likes kissing their cheeks a lot, like he does it constantly, especially because Garroth has freckles and Laurance is determined to kiss every single one of them.

Garroth is the one who learns about Laurance's affinity for forehead kisses cause he's only like two inches taller than Laurance, but that difference matters a lot to both of them. And Garroth can tell very easily from the way Laurance always loves looking up at him with those big doe eyes. Once he tells Irena this, she starts asking Laurance to bend over or kneel in front of her so she can kiss his forehead very tenderly.

Because I made Garrancemau polycule real in my rewrite, Laurance's calling latched onto Irena, but man oh man, it tempts him with Garroth sometimes. He fights so hard to protect Irena partially because if she dies by someone else's hands, he knows it'll latch onto Garroth. And sometimes the calling urges him towards it anyway, considering it'll work. A calling is best answered by the death of a lord, but the death of another guard isn't always a bad thing.

Every time Laurance runs from his lovers to fight the calling he feels so cold without them. Like if he bothers to try sleeping while on his own it just feels so cold. So empty. It doesn't feel right to try to sleep without Irena in his arms and Garroth snuggled up behind him and a blanket over the three of them.

I think Laurance cries a lot. He doesn't really have hang ups about showing his emotional side until he's a shadow knight, and even after, he only tries to hide his anger. He never hides his anguish, his sadness, his absolute misery as a result of the nightmare he was forced to live through. Laurance's crying is so loud, so wretched, almost agonizing for him. It forces his entire body to shake and tremble, sobs being wrung out of him almost forcefully.

I want. him. to be okay. and happy. and I know he won't be. Aughfhhg.

[madsworld15]

New Fic Alert! once you know you can never go back (Brian/Justin)

This one answers the prompt: hogging the blankets (Prompt #19) [13/21 for me personally] for the QaF Prompt Challenge 2024. This is also part of the Diabetes Chronicles series and serves as a follow-up to you're still the one that i love I want to give a shout-out to my discord pals for always reading and supporting my works when they can: @maryp50, @lostcol, and @winderlylandchime

Justin was already in bed by the time Brian finished his paperwork from the latest campaign he was overseeing. After 11 years together in New York, they’d slipped into a well-oiled routine. Most nights, they went to bed together. But on occasion, Justin had to stay up writing lesson plans or grading, or Brian had last-minute rewrites or contract negotiations to go over.

They were inching closer to a new decade of life; for Justin, it was his 40s, and for Brian, it was his 50s. However, a conversation Brian had with Michael and Ben during their visit a few days prior was sitting heavily on his brain. Michael and Ben had adopted Hunter in 2005, had J.R. in 2004, and added another little girl to their family in 2010. Now, their daughter was 7, and the couple had been gushing about how wonderful their lives were. Brian had surreptitiously watched Justin during the conversation and noticed his partner had gone quiet. 

The old Brian would’ve ignored the elephant clearly in the room, but Brian had become a much better communicator in the past decade or so. His relationship with Justin grew stronger every year because they were both willing to voice their concerns as they arose instead of waiting for them to fester and create tension. In the early days, the family had always blamed Brian for the lack of communication in their relationship. Still, they always failed to see how much Justin also failed to voice specific desires until it was a mountain of an issue instead of a molehill.

Brian sighed, shut off his computer, and walked through their brownstone, checking each room for stray lights or electronics that might still be on. He quietly opened the door to Gus’ room and checked to see if the teen was still sleeping. Since Brian’s recent hospital stay last month, things have been tense between them. But Justin assured Brian it would eventually blow over once Gus had time to process everything.

Once he was sure Gus was okay, Brian crossed the hall to the room where Isaac stayed most nights. The kid was still living with his parents full time, but at least once or twice a week, he spent the night with the Taylor-Kinneys. Tonight was one such night. Isaac could be found crashed asleep on his stomach with his arms wrapped around the pillow his head laid on. Brian smiled at the young boy, picturing another boy who had used his best friend to escape the stress of his home life.

Finally, Brian made his way to the bedroom he shared with Justin. He took his glasses off and folded them as he approached the bed. Only the lamp on his side of the bed was lit. Justin was turned on his side, facing away from Brian’s side. It was half past 11, meaning his partner was probably sleeping soundly already. However, when Brian pulled his shirt off and tossed it toward the laundry organizer, Justin rolled over with a groan. 

“Warn a guy next time. I might have a heart attack waking up to a sight that gorgeous.” Justin mumbled with a lustful twinkle in his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up. Go back to sleep. I’ll only be a minute.” Brian smiled at Justin as he threw on a white undershirt and slipped off his jeans.

“You didn’t. After almost two decades with you, my body just innately senses when you are nearby and becomes alert.” Justin smiled sleepily up at Brian.

Brian pulled on sleep pants and climbed into bed. He scooted close to Justin and kissed him on the lips.

“Is that so.” Brian whispered, “Does that include all parts?” He gave a mischievous look, his lips tucked behind his teeth in anticipation.

“Bri, I’m half asleep and 34 years old. I can’t just turn things on that quickly anymore.” Justin sighed and tried to act like having sex was the furthest thing from his brain.

Brian’s hand wandered down toward Justin’s crotch and lightly cupped his half-hard dick. “Really? I guess he didn’t get the memo.” 

Brian chuckled and then quickly kissed Justin’s lips once again. “I’m kidding. I actually think we should talk about something.”

He then grabbed the blankets and pulled them onto himself and away from Justin.

“Well, first, you can give me back the covers.” Justin grabbed the blanket, attempting to pull it back to his side.

“But, Sunshine,” Brian jokingly pouted, “I’m cold.”

Justin rolled over and wrapped his leg over Brian’s, “Well, I can warm you up. That way, you don’t hog all the covers.”

Brian pulled Justin down into another kiss. This time, their tongues danced in each other’s mouths, fighting for dominance. Even after all these years, Brian and Justin still found kissing one of the most intoxicating things they could do together. It was one of their favorite activities inside and out of the bedroom.

“What did you want to talk about.” Justin finally broke away, giving Brian his full attention.

“I was thinking.” Brian started, but then he stalled, unsure how to start the conversation in the first place. He pulled away from physical contact with Justin, hoping it would help organize his thoughts. Justin sat up and watched him, waiting.

Brian sighed and rubbed his temples. He worried that bringing up the subject after all these years might cause discord in their relationship. Things had been miraculously happy between them for many years. Do I really want to mess that up?

“When we were out to dinner with Michael and Ben the other day, I noticed your expression changed when they started talking about the joys of raising J.R. and Violet.” Brian looked toward Justin, who was sitting stone-still and silent. He reached over and grabbed the blond’s hand into his own.

“You looked like you were sad or like you regretted something. And in the days since then, you’ve been somewhat quiet.” Brian squeezed Justin’s hand. “I’m worried I’ve done something wrong.”

Justin shook his head and gave Brian one of his smiles that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “No, just my brain being stupid. That’s all.”

“Justin.” Brian’s tone was gentle but stern. He needed Justin to tell him what was on his mind. “Whatever it is, we can talk it through and find a solution.”

“It just made me regret all the time we lost out on with Gus. It would’ve been fun to see him discover new things about the world when he was younger.” Justin shrugged. “Told you. Just my brain being stupid.”

It was what Justin wasn’t saying that had alarm bells going off in Brian’s brain. He moved so that he was flush against Justin and pulled the younger man against his chest. 

“Justin, do you wish you hadn’t sacrificed having kids by being with me?” Brian’s voice was barely audible. He held back the emotion that threatened to seep through. 

Justin is still young enough. He can go somewhere else if he wants kids. Maybe that’s why he’s been distant. Maybe he’s thinking about leaving me.

“I didn’t.” Justin placed his hand on Brian’s chest and drew soft circles there. “Brian, just because I thought I wanted kids when I was younger doesn’t mean I sacrificed that dream by being with you. I just followed a different, more important one.”

Justin placed a kiss on Brian’s chest. Brian tangled his hand in Justin’s hair and rubbed his scalp. He still wasn’t convinced Justin was simply trying to placate him. They’d been down this road before, years ago, where Justin wouldn’t say that he wanted a marriage and a family because he loved Brian so much and couldn’t see a feasible way of having both.

“We broke up before the bombing because I wasn’t willing to give you a family or marriage.” Brian’s words choked their way out of his swelling throat. “So, I’d understand if that conversation reminded you what you gave up.”

Justin positioned himself so that he was supported on his elbows as he hovered over Brian. “Bri, are you not hearing me? I don’t want kids if it means I don’t get to have you.”

“But that doesn’t mean you don’t want them at all,” Brian argued.

“Why are you being like this? Is it because Gus is still upset with you about sleeping with guys outside of our partnership?” Justin looked Brian up and down, trying to understand, “I’m not going to leave you. I love you. We have a commitment to each other.”

“But, you still want kids. Deep down.” Brian wanted to reciprocate the declaration of love Justin had just given him, but he needed Justin to settle his mind first.

“Brian. We have kids, two of them.” Justin pointed out. “Gus lives with us full-time now, and Isaac is practically ours at this point, too.”

“But, you didn’t get to raise a child from the start. I know that’s been in your heart. I see it in your eyes whenever someone you know has a baby.” Brian squeezes Justin’s arm and gazes discerningly into his eyes.

Justin’s eyes widened when he finally realized what Brian was trying to propose indirectly. “Are you seriously telling me you’d consider adding a baby to this at your age?” Justin’s eyes were a mix of shock and teasing.

“I’m not that old yet, and you definitely aren’t too old. If it’s something you really want.” Brian paused, “I’d do anything to make you happy.”

“Bri, I am happy with you, Gus, and Isaac. I am happy being the fun gay uncle to my sister’s and Daphne’s kids. I don’t need a baby to make me happy.” Justin reached out and cupped Brian’s cheek.

“Please trust me on this.” Justin kissed Brian, quickly grabbed the blanket, and rolled away from the brunet.

Brian chuckled and rolled his eyes. He loved Justin more than words could ever express. While his mind wasn’t entirely convinced about Justin giving up children, he could let the issue drop for now. Justin grinned at him and challenged him to reach over and steal the covers back. So Brian did. He turned off the lamp and laughed at himself as Justin adjusted both of their bodies to their typical sleeping position. 

They always started with Brian on his back, arms wrapped around Justin, cuddled against his side, his head on Brian’s chest. By morning, they would both be a mess of tangled limbs and pillows, but it was always agreed that their nights would start with intimate touches and gentle kisses. 

Once Justin had settled for good, Brian brought his lips to the top of Justin’s head and whispered, “I love you.”

[honestmouse20]

okay now that all 10 episodes are out on youtube in english, Ful lthoughts on monkie kid s5! spoilers under the cut :)

So, the big one. I really hardly notice the chance in animiation studio. I still see people being upset about it and saying its worse. But if no one had told me, I wouldn't have noticed.

On to the Fun stuff (pain)

This season is so freaking heartbeaking yall. Like MK has always felt like things were His fault, that he was bringing the chaos to the world. And then his Worst fear comes true. Nyua tells him that she created him For that reason. He exists for taht sacrafice and the demon (what's his name? the guy at the end?) only sped things up. Woke him up early. That's Insane! He really is the beginning of the end. And even when he Tried to do the right thing, sacrafice himself so everyone else would be safe, the universe/gods/whatever still were going to take his sacrafice and rewrite the world again anyway. And that's what Gets me about this season. Bc yeah MK listens at first and sacrafices himself. But the seccond he learns they've been pulling his strings this whole time and that his friends Won't be safe, he realizes taht he's still in control. He goes back to spend their last moments with his family and That ends up being waht saves everything. They share the power and prove that they don't need someone else calling every shot. it's just... a Lot for a lego show and im so so pleased with it.

Second thing! Uh we need to talk about Wukong in episode 9 and 10 bc oooh boy. NOt only was the man who was Terrified of dying to the point of becoming multiple times over imortal and taking his name out of the book of the dead WILLING to die so that MK wouldn't. But he fought MK with what I am assuming was his full power for the first time. MK wasn't holding back either. And that means a lot I think. MK is finally stronger (or maybe AS strong as him). Also the fact that MK used the circlet on him guts me everytime.

Also, adding onto the whole Wukong those last two episodes. What the Hell were those screams when MK 'dies'??? I have never heard something like that in a lego show. it gave me Chills. Like I fully expected him to yk get angry get Mean again but not just LIke That. That was so real sounding. Props to his va bc Shit dudes

third thing! Speaking of VA's god MK's was doing Just as good. All those little moments where his voice wavers as he comes to belive that sacraficing himself is the only way. God and the way his voice sounds as he tells Piggsy that 'jsut because it's hard doesn't mean it's not the right thing' (or something along those lines). This season Hurt me so much yall. Especially as MK chose to come back and Wukong catches him. And he just keeps telling him he's okay??? PAIN??

Oh and at the end when MK is just crying??? IM fine. Yep. His voice actor really nailed all of this. 10/10

Fourth thing! I said it in my other post but uhhhh Macaque?? He sacrafices himself Twice in this season. First into the Pagoda and then by using up a lot of his strength getting them all out of those bindings so SWK can save MK. For all their bickering this season (some might say like an old married couple) Maqaque and Wukong really do seem to be making up yk? and i mean not to mention at the end when they all think it's over and Wukong reaches for him????

Fifth! Are we gonna talk about the memory demon thign showing Wukong The fight with Macaque???? Like of all the shitty/awful things he's done and lived through, That is what the demon shows him to hurt him the most. And it is the Most painful thing bc MK's is all about his monkie side and sacraficing himself. And that's His biggest fear. SO it makes sense that Wukong( and the others) were shown Their worst memories. And yk the fact taht after he's cut free there are Tears in his eyes??? god Im gonna have to watch this season a few more times to pick out all the little details cause the tears thing I only noticed bc someone pointed it out in the comments on the video i was watching.

Final thoughts lol

This season was Incredible! Not only did everything MK has been through Finally catch up with him, something they've been hinting at since s1, but it did in a very satisfying way. I was on the edge of my seat all through the 9th and 10th episodes. I genuinly didn't know who was gonna do the sacrafice. And then when MK jumpped in, I was in awe bc this is a lego show. They wouldn't kill the main charcter. But I really like how they got around that. BC it doesn't Feel like getting around it. It feels like the thing mk Would have done. IF the goddess had told him that his friends were safe, MK would have stayed. 100%. The way his voice breaks as his knees give out when he realizes (incorectly) that they're safe. He'd have died to save them. The only reason he comes back is bc it was a pointless sacrafice.

The season as a whole was also really good. I was a bit confused why it was so easy for MK to get al the stones but then it was revealed that it was Meant to be. This was supposed to be his destiny so things litterally fell into his lap. That was a really nice touch I think. I also really loved all the character interactions! Piggsy calling him son Repeatedly. MK saying he has a ton of dads. Just. Big emphasis on family and i Can't Wait to see how MK's almost sacrafice is gonna change things in following seasons! Bc that was a suicide attempt guys. He saw a world better without him in it and tried to die. if you take away all the fancy wording that's what it is. And ik lego would never yk Say that. but they're already tackling bigger themes than they have before (in this show and dreams and ninjago) so I have faith that they'll go somewhere with this too. Clearly Mk is still terrified and hurt by everything so I really hope eveyrone will come together to try and help him through all this. And yk the next big bad. Can Chaos be a big bad??? I'm so excited for S6!

[generalluxun]

ML Fanfiction: Showing Love

This little one shot is a rewrite of the end of Queen Wasp. It never sat right with me, Marinette badmouthing Chloé to get Audrey to pay attention to her (and we see how well it turned out having her in Paris) Who wouldn't prefer something with some awesome Marinette and Moma Sabine in it? Link to the post on AO3 in my bio. Full text below the break.

Marinette was so sure. She had seen what everyone else had, but unlike so many people she couldn't, wouldn't look away. She might have every reason to, it might be any number of people's responsibilities before her, but she was Ladybug. It was more than a costume. It was more than fighting villains. It was saving people, and everyone deserved to be saved.

She was so sure. When that 'go away' came through the door, it was expected. When that baffled 'Dupain-Cheng?' left Chloé's lips -she never used Marinette's first name- it had been a victory. Yes Chloé, even you.

She was so sure. She marched up to the helipad with a plan fully formed. She declined Audrey's offer. She stepped aside to present Chloé to her mother. It was easy to brush aside the 'Chlorine?' It was just a quirk, right? Nothing else made sense.

She was so sure. 'Why don't you love me, mom?' broke her heart. No child should ever have to ask that. It was Chloé though, Chloé could be trusted to misread anything. This was the way to clear everything up. It was all a misunderstanding.

"But… Uh– of course I-" Audrey choked. She turned her head. She wouldn't even look at the girl, hunched and desperate before her. When she managed to force the words 'love you' from her lips they were almost unrecognizable.

She was so wrong.

"No."

Both Audrey and Chloé turned to her, one still wallowing in confusion, the other with indignant surprise.

Marinette had to fight to find her voice. Hope, warmth, and pride had turned to a burning anger and disgust. She looked at Audrey and saw something incomprehensible. "You… don't… Do you?"

Marinette was stunned, but after being contradicted twice in as many minutes, Audrey was moreso. She looked at Marinette over her sunglasses, "Excuse me?"

"You don't. It doesn't make sense, but… you don't." Marinette found strength in her anger. "You can't even make yourself say it! The one thing every child should be able to count on, and you can't even do that much!"

"Listen here Mariachi, don't you tell me how to handle my employees, Cardamom is-"

"She's your daughter, and her name is Chloé!" Marinette was shaking with rage. "I hate her and I can remember her that much! She's awful, mean, cruel, and makes my life hell but even she deserves better than you!"

Marinette snatched Chloé's hand and began dragging her off. The blonde was stumbling after her passively, clearly still reeling. Her 'Dupain- wait- I-let me-' protests were meek, Marinette ignored them.

She was waiting, listening, holding out for that last little bit of hope as she marched away from the pad. There was still a chance… but no. No outraged scream, no fervent protests, no last vestige of maternal instinct followed after them. Just to drive home the point, the sound of helicopter rotors starting up was the sound that saw them off the pad.

"Dupain-Cheng, stop!" Chloé finally found her strength and yanked back, pulling herself free. She turned back, scanning the sky.

"Chloé, where are you going?"

She didn't even look Marinette's way, instead pulling out her phone as she answered. "She can't have gone far, the limo is fast. I can get Jean-Loius to chase her dow-"

Marinette caught the phone even as Chloé lifted it to her ear. The look she got for it was crazed. She moderated her tone, speaking softly. "And then what?"

Chloé's eyes snapped to her, a hunted look to them. "Then we can- I can- … " She want from shock to shout, "Dupain-Cheng you were the one who dragged me here!"

The truth stung. Marinette channeled the pain though, admitting, "And I was wrong! Who can blame me? Who could think that… that… just, how?? It shouldn't be hard for a mother to love her daughter!"

Chloé sniffed, posture changing again, chin up. "Oh it's not hard, Dupain-Cheng. All you have to do is be exceptional."

Chloé spoke such nonsense with complete confidence, Marinette was left gaping, "No! No, that is so messed up, don't you see? You want to win a medal? Sure, be exceptional. You get your parents' love just by being alive. You're her daughter."

Chloé's head snapped to the side, she scoffed, "You're talking presents, Dupain-Cheng. You get presents by being alive. Love you have to fight for."

Marinette wasn't sure she'd ever heard anything more wrong in her life. The insanity of it threatened to overwhelm her. A part of her mind went into overdrive recontextualizing years of interactions. She wanted to just shut down. No!

She wouldn't be wrong, not about this. She grabbed Chloé's hand again and started off, "Come on."

Chloé stumbled after her again, "Where are we go-going? Dupain-Cheng!"

"It's Marinette! And you're coming to dinner. You're going to see what a family looks like."

"What? Dup-" Marinette glared and Chloé corrected herself, "-arinette. You don't even like me. I heard you."

Marinette stopped, but didn't let go. She looked back at Chloé, the girl was on the ropes, worse even than when Marinette had found her. A small selfish part of Marinette wished she could enjoy it, a very small part.

Instead she spoke evenly, "You're right. I don't like you. Can you blame me? You've been a terror, bullying me, harassing my friends. The thing is I don't have to like you to know what you just said isn't right, and I'm going to show you. You might be the worst person I know -second worst now- but even you deserve a parent who loves you."

Chloé started to talk, stopped, looked around as if the answer might be walking past them, ground her teeth, then tried and failed to speak again.

Marinette held up a hand to stop the meltdown-in-progress. “We can call it off if you want. You can go home, I can go home, and we can pretend this never happened.” She lowered her hand and tried her best Ladybug voice. “If we do that though, nothing will change. Whatever you’re feeling right now, it won’t go away. What I’m feeling won’t go away either. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want that. I want things to change. I want things to be better, for both of us, but I’m going to be honest, I don’t know if I’ll ever have the strength to do this again.”

Marinette let out a sigh, her anger was flagging and her energy with it. While she still could, she offered her hand.

She tried mimicking a familiar smirk as she asked, “So, what do you say, Bour-geois?”

Chloé flinched at her offer, more emotions played across her face in a cascade. A hint of determination flashed and she reached out, pausing halfway and looking around again.

Marinette prompted, “No one’s watching. Even if they were, just make a scene.”

A small light sparked in those deep blue eyes. Her lips curled into a smirk that was familiar but without fangs. She set her hand in Marinette’s and said, “This is ridiculous.”

Marinette turned, pulling her along before either of them could change their mind. “Utterly ridiculous!”

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

Another small burst of adrenaline saw Marinette all the way home. Chloé didn’t let go, and neither did she. It wasn’t a tender connection though, it was a lifeline. Her too-loud greeting clued her mother in right away. Her father just accepted the strange situation with his usual gentle confusion. It was still a whole bottle of nitro-glycerine waiting to go off.

Sabine spoke first, “Marinette! Honey! You’re home! And you’ve brought… a friend?”

Her mother’s doubt was palpable. Marinette spoke, again too loud, “Mom! You know Chloé from school. She’s going to be coming to dinner, if that’s okay?”

Sabine looked between the two of them, then visibly clicked into ‘mother’ mode. “Yes, of course. I was just going to go up to begin preparing it. I can call you when it’s done.”

“Call-” Marinette realized a flaw in her plans. Everything was working as long as she kept momentum, but now…

From beside her, “Don’t you design things, D- Marinette? Show me some of it.”

Choé’s voice rose and fell in a strange oscillating tone. It kept trying to settle back into its usual domineering affect, but then being knocked out of it, seeking another groove. When Marinette looked at her she snapped her head away quickly, but slowly turned back, waiting.

Marinette took a chance she was right about what she was seeing. “Sure. We’ll be upstairs, Mom.”

They had to let go of each other to climb the narrow stairs into Marinette’s room, and suddenly Marinette was adrift. On top of that, Chloé Bourgeois was in her room! Alarms, warning bells, klaxons, and a little voice perpetually screaming all sounded at once in Marinette’s head. Instead of doing any one of the dozen sane things though, she walked across to her desk and picked up one of her notebooks.

“This is your room, huh?”

Marinette froze. That voice, here. She was still fighting to force her paralyzed limbs to move when the voice came again.

“It’s small… too small. You should have it expanded. You- you’ve got a chaise too? They’re so comfy. I used to flop on mine after dance cl-  I um.. Steps, I have some leading up to my bed too, but this many Marinette? You’re just showing off.”

Chloé’s voice was still working the scales, looking for a place to call home. Marinette recognized babbling when she heard it, long proficient herself. She found she could move again. Turning, she held out the notebook. “Well, you know me, can’t do anything halfway. I think your balcony is bigger than mine too, but I like my view. If you’re still here when the sun goes down, I can show you.”

Marinette had just long enough to panic at her own offer as Chloé hesitantly reached out for the notebook. Their eyes met again and she saw the panic was mutual.

The exchange turned into a snatch, but as Marinette braced for ridicule Chloé instead retreated to the divan, opened the book, and went silent.

The pause gave Marinette a chance to question, to doubt. She shuffled to her desk, but then was stuck. She couldn't just sit there staring at Chloé, but history had her trained not to turn her back either. She settled for half-facing and with her phone out, then she wasn't *staring* staring, right?

Needing to get her thoughts down but not daring to open her diary, Marinette began typing out a note to herself with her thumbs.

What am I doing? It's Chloé. Yeah, but that isn't right no matter who it is. Why me? I could probably try and ask Miss Bustier. But

Marinette drummed her thumbs on the sides of her phone as she thought. A quick glance showed Chloé had progressed through several pages of sketches, but there was not a peep out of her. In fact Marinette wasn't sure if she had ever seen Chloé so focused. Hiding in details to keep from thinking about the big picture. Marinette was very familiar with that trick too.

I want to do this. I want to be the one.  It's not like I like her, or want to hang out. It's…

I want to win. I can't do anything about Mr. Flaps yet, but this I can do something about. Beating this villain doesn't do anything. I've been doing that all year. So maybe getting her to stop being a villain would work. That train thing was awful, and wrong, but she didn't run either. How long would she have tried to stop it on her own? All the way? She liked Ladybug. Can I use that? Is it too soon to talk about her using the Miraculous? Would clumsy Dupain-Cheng asking just embarrass her? Gah. Akumas might be hard, but at least I have my lucky charm.

She looked up again. The notebook was closed in Chloé's lap and the other girl was looking around Marinette's room in more of her uncharacteristic silence.

Marinette hit delete on her note. "Nothing in there to your liking?"

Chloé startled. She ran her hands over the front of the notebook and started softly. "No, I-" Her fingers gripped the cover and she regained some fire,"What am I supposed to say? Hmm? Should I gush? Should I pick it all apart? I was miserable in my room, with mommy leaving and you with her. Now she's still gone, I'm here in your room, with you, and I'm still miserable. Should I call Daddy? What would I even scream for? What am I doing here, Marinette?"

Marinette went through a flash cycle of feeling sorry for Chloé, being angry with herself for feeling sorry, then feeling guilty for being angry. "You could always be honest… about the designs I mean. There's no one to hear. As for the rest…"

Marinette tilted her head back and spun slightly in her chair, she didn't have Cat Noir to buy her time here.

"I-" Marinette leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Look, I'm still processing what I just saw. It's a lot. I thought if I just got you together, away from the lights things would be better. Now… Now I'm realizing it wasn't a fluke. Seeing her was like seeing an adult version of you. Or, really… you're a little version of her."

Chloé puffed up slightly at that, but it was an unsure sort of preening.

Marinette continued, "So like, everything. Everything, was that you, or you trying to be her? Has Audrey Bourgeois been my bully by proxy for all these years?"

It seemed to take hold. Chloé deflated again, and when she rallied it was the sound of someone desperately treading water. "Mommy is a winner! Winners step on losers and little people."

"And the unexceptional?"

Chloé's mouth snapped shut. Marinette could see the tears forming in real time. She knew what would come next if a certain someone was paying attention. That wasn't what prompted her though. She was just so sick of pain.

"You're not unexceptional, Chloé. You are a whole lot of things, things I would get in trouble for saying if my parents heard, but unexceptional isn't one of them. If your mom can't see it. Then she's blind."

Marinette sighed. With Ladybug it was easy, fight and flee before the timer. Staying, talking, this was hard.

"It's more than that though. You want to know why you are here? To see how it is supposed to work. My mother, she's amazing. I'm not bragging or trying to rub your face in it. I want you to see what a mother is supposed to do. Maybe if you do, you'll see that it's not worth chasing after one who doesn't. It's not worth bending yourself into her shape. It's not worth hurting other people. Hurting people is easy, Chloé. Saving people, like Ladybug does, that's hard."

As she finished, Marinette realized her trap door was slightly ajar. She was trying to steal a look without making it obvious when Chloé's voice rose in a mumble.

"I liked.. the coat."

Marinette couldn't follow, "The what?"

Chloé was still slumped."The coat, page seven. I would wear that."

Marinette squinted until it clicked. "Oh!" She tried to remember back that far. "The cropped one, with the feathered collar?"

Chloé picked at the edge of the notebook. "I always liked feathers, but… ridiculous."

Marinette filled in the blanks. "Then I came along and," She did her best Audrey impression, "feathers are in."

Chloé nodded. She stopped picking, flexing her fingers but silent.

"That just proves it, right? You shouldn't have to live like that, no one should."

"So, what? If I stop, I still don't have a mother."

Marinette struggled. Chloé wasn't wrong, and Marinette couldn't picture a life without her own mother. Not just as a mother, but as someone there, supporting her, encouraging her, and correcting her, loving her.

Marinette went to her last resort, honesty, "I don't have all the answers, Chloé. I brought you here to show you there was something else to want, a different way to be. Maybe, if you want that, you can try a different approach. It might not be Audrey -probably better if it isn't- but there are others. Ms. Bustier seems to care a lot about you."

Chloé brightened suddenly, "Or Ladybug?!"

"I, ahhh, don't think she's, unmm, looking to have any daughters right now…" Marinette hedged.

Chloé's cheerfulness evaporated. "You're right. She probably hates me now, you saw what I did. Everybody saw what I did."

"Chloé, I think Ladybug might be very understanding. I can't imagine it would be easy for a hero to hate anyone. But, let's not focus on that. Let's focus on the here and now." Marinette glanced towards the trapdoor, "And I think I smell dinner cooking."

With that, the door swung open and her mother appeared. "You do indeed, my dear. If the two of you would come down and wash your hands, it is time to eat."

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

Dinner was… well, it was awkward. Marinette wasn't sure if Chloé had eaten a family dinner ever before, and with four people the potential for miscues was exponential. Her mother was a blessing in all this, as Marinette had believed she would be.

Sabine prompted Chloé with a steady flow of questions. Like clockwork the blonde would start with a full head of steam but peter out quickly into uneasiness. Without acknowledging the change, She would simply ask something else, seemingly unrelated. Her dad was largely quiet, his eyes ping ponging back and forth between the two, and a spoon often forgotten in his mouth.

Marinette missed a good chunk of the exchange, lost in her own thoughts until a sharp clearing of her mother's throat and, 'Isn't that right, Marinette?' in just the right tone of voice clued her in. Her mother was pumping Chloé for information. It was a flood of details and stories that Marinette herself would never have been able to pry past sealed lips.

They seemed honest too. The usual bragging melted away quickly before her mother's gentle, 'That's nice, dear.' Genuine stories earned genuine engagement. Chloé was speaking to Sabine like a daughter, or at least like someone desperate to know what being a daughter felt like.

Chloé didn't eat much, which was fine because Marinette stress-ate for three. Dinner was winding down when Chloé's phone went off. The change was instant and complete. Her entire body language shifted as she pulled it out.

"What, Daddy? … So what? … No! You never come up any-"

That clearing of the throat again. Marinette's response was Pavlovian, and already she wasn't the only one. Chloé cut herself off mid-word and both girls looked to Sabine. Marinette's mother merely looked serene, the smallest of smiles on her lips. Marinette instantly tried to figure out something she might have done wrong. To her surprise Chloé winced visibly and when she spoke her tone had changed.

"I already ate. I'm eating at a… classmate's house … okay, Daddy … It's the Dupain-Cheng bakery … no rush."

She hung up and prodded an untouched portion of tofu and vegetables on her plate with her fork.

"I have to go home."

It was the weirdest experience for Marinette, feeling upset at that news.

“Well, honey,” Sabine broke the stalemate, “Would you like to take anything home? I may not work at a Michelin hotel, but I like to think my food is good the next day too.”

Chloé cast around the table. Marinette was holding her breath. Chloé eventually mumbled, “Some of those gougères, maybe?”

Sabine nodded, “Right. Okay everyone, clear.”

Marinette stood, grabbing her plate and a nearby server. Her dad hastily shoveled several more bites into his mouth before grabbing as many plates as his big hands could carry. After a pace, Chloé even picked up her own plate and followed Marinette like a lost puppy to the kitchen. By the time the plates were scraped and stacked, Sabine had bagged up several puffs and pressed the bag into Chloé’s hands. “Marinette, why don’t you see our guest downstairs? Take care, Miss Bourgeois. You are welcome to come again.”

Chloé stood there for a moment, bag held in front of her like a shield, then without warning launched herself at Sabine, nearly knocking the smaller woman over as she threw her arms around her.

Sabine braced herself, and patted the girl gently on the back, “Bao bei.”

Chloé disentangled, shot Marinette an embarrassed glance, then dashed for the stairs.

Marinette had the space of time it took her to follow to try and catch up mentally again. She found Chloé looking out the door to the shop and stepped up beside her. “Did this help? Can you see what I mean?”

The bag crinkled in Chloé’s hands. “Don’t ask me that right now. I have to go home and sit by myself in my room, unless I can convince Sabrina to come over. I probably shouldn’t yell, right?”

“There are other ways to do things.”

“People say ‘no’.”

Marinette gave a little laugh at that. “Yeah, asking is a lot scarier, believe me.”

“You don’t like me, Marinette. Why did you do all this? And don’t give me some high-and-mighty Ladybug talk. You’re just a normal person, like me.”

Marinette shifted her weight from foot to foot. “Everyone wants to beat their bully. I do too. I just saw a way to maybe have a person left when the bully was gone.” She glanced sidelong at the other girl, “How did I do?”

Blue eyes met blue. Chloé looked away and crossed her arms, bagheld in one hand. “I’m going to take you off my list, Marinette. I guess I should take everyone off for now, so maybe that isn’t so special. You’ll be at the top of the list of people who aren’t on my list though. That’s the best I can do for now.”

Chloé’s limo pulled up outside. Chloé tried the door, then Marinette unlocked it for her. “It’s a start.” Marinette had a flash of inspiration and added, “I’ll tell you a secret. It’s not losing if your new self is the one to take down your old self.”

They exchanged another look, then Chloé stepped out into the evening. Marinette locked the door behind her and watched years of problems get into a limo and ride away, maybe for the last time.

“That was the Chloé, right?” her mother’s voice startled her, even being soft.

Her mother knew the answer, she wasn’t really asking, she was prompting again. “Yeah.” Marinette touched the window, “It was.”

“You’re not going to New York, then?”

“No, even before all this I had decided. I have too much to do here to run away around the world. Then I saw… I don’t understand it, Mom.”

“You weren’t raised to understand cruelty. Maybe I should have shared more of what is out there sooner, but I never wanted to add too many shadows to your world of color.”

“Does this mean I can’t be mad for all the things she did?”

“Of course you can. Pain is pain, and it hurts. This just means there might be a way to stop the pain and heal, rather than having to cut off that wounded part of you, like so many do.”

Marinette thought about that. The idea made her smile. She wasn’t sure, but she was hopeful. “Thanks, Mom.”

“I’m proud of you, ma choue.”

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

End Note:

Sabine uses the phrases on purpose. Mandarin for Chloe so she won't necessarily understand it. It's more for the tone and the action. It could easily have been 'there there' but Sabine's a mom and her heart also goes out to a child, so she uses the term of endearment.

For Marinette she switches, so that it's not the same phrase she used for Chloé so close. Each child should feel special.