#what's the point of making these if they're gonna be in my gallery forever

[iwasbored777]

Sonic movie text posts cuz I made these weeks ago and forgot to post them

(please don't repost)

[neptunescore]

Historical au and hair brushing/braiding please!

Trope Mashup

Mar!!! So nice to see I haven't scared you off after my momentary loss of sanity and dovquez info dump🤗

I'm gonna assign landoscar to this bc they're the first ones that came to mind.

This one would be pretty angsty. However, after some research, I have realised I can get away with it, so...

Victorian era brothel workers Lando and Oscar, except they're both girls and have come into the sex worker life because of different but equally unwilling circumstances (doesn't mean they're not having fun with it).

Their first meeting happens because of some grimy old moustached man wanting to have a threesome, and the Madam pairing the 2 of them up. Cut to the morning after, and the both of them just start talking, realising that they get along pretty well.

I feel like in this au, Lando had been abandoned at the brothel as a child, and so she's literally grown up living with the Madam and having no choice but to get into the work, bc that's all she's ever known. She's not necessarily unhappy abt it, but she does wish the other girls would talk to her more (she's a little ostracised for being the Madam's 'favourite'), and well... no one really knows this, but Lando wants to be an artist. She wants to have her work up in galleries, and she wants to be known.

Oscar, on the other hand, has just recently lost her family bc of some sort of devastating accident, and that's how she falls into the market. The Madam doesn't know it, but Oscar’s got a plan. She's a writer. Well, an aspiring one. And she's been sending her works and scripts to all sorts of theatres. It's just a matter of time before one of her works gets picked up and she gets some quick money. She's out of here then... or so she thought.

Because now there's this pretty girl seeking her out whenever she's free. A pretty girl with flowy dresses and bright eyes and flushed cheeks. A pretty girl with long curly hair that she has no idea how to take care of. Oscar's got a short bob. She had three sisters. She sits Lando down and wraps her fingers around thick locks of hair and plaits them up. Winds flowers in them and brushes loose strands away from the olive of Landos face. She wants to do this forever.

I think at one point, the 2 of them grow like super close, and Lando (very self-consciously) shows Oscar some of her paintings. Oscar is obviously awed, because this is beautiful. They deserve to be hung up in kingdoms. And also, ecstatic. Because oh my god, Lando's also into the arts. They have like a heart to heart after that, where Oscar confesses her feelings, what she wants to do and then begs Lando to come with her.

I don't think Lnado would agree to it first, too scared of the concept of change to acc listen to Oscar properly. I think she'd start avoiding Oscar, ignoring her. And Oscar would just be left to deal with the heartbreak, watch day in and day out as Lando's hair got more frizzy and unkempt, bc Lando can't even get herself to touch it without thinking of Oscar.

At the end, Oscar really does get the money. And right when she's abt to make her getaway she goes to visit Lando one last time, and thats when Lando finally realises, yh this is it, this is the only time I'll be able to get out, and if not then I'm never gonna see the literal love of my life ever again.

To conclude, they rent a small little apartment, sell their respective arts to have enough money to live comfortably, have very gay sex, and also Lando's hair never looks frizzy again.

[allwormdiet]

Sentinel 9.5

Every thirteen year old in this story is going through hell

Dear Parian, how do you puppet cloth dolls with boxing gloves on their hands?

Nah but this is nice to see them getting along with each other, and I'm glad that Vista gets to see something cute in such a blighted fucking time.

The background levels of desperation and fear in this setting remain very strong and evocative.

Gayyyyyy

Vista like "hey I'm not young enough to actually enjoy this, but I'm old enough to act polite about it"

God that's so fucking cool

Oh man who could have possibly predicted that putting a thirteen year old in constant life-or-death situations with people dying around her could possibly result in a warped perspective on death and dying, that's so weird

Oh man, who could have possibly predicted that enlisting a thirteen year old in a quasi-military policing organization where she's legitimately got seniority over high schoolers could possibly result in feeling distanced from her own age, that's so weird

So like, is there truly nowhere else to put the team portrait gallery than right where everyone sees them every time they enter? Just put them in another hallway or wing or something, especially if you're dropping bodies.

Still a little darkly funny that Browbeat doesn't even get a portrait, guy was straight up too new to even put in front of a camera

The idea that Coil has only managed to infiltrate the PRT at all because they're letting him infiltrate the PRT is. Oh my fucking God he's so bad at this. So far every win we've seen him take against other players is because they feel bad enough to let him have it. Coil, you have got to fucking hang it up my man, the minute someone decides to actually deal with you you're cooked

(It's almost certainly gonna be Taylor, on account of that child you kidnapped and forcibly addicted to drugs)

Okay so like. Hwoo. I keep talking about the expectations being put on the Wards in this fucking story but this is a really steep one. Let this fucking mole into your midst and let him do what he does. Let a tinker, a goddamn superpowered tech specialist, hang out where your stuff is.

I know they all agree to do it but they already all agreed to fight fucking Leviathan, Vista agreed to kill a man for seconds on the clock, we're waaaaay past the point where any boundaries might still be crossed

Hey you know what, self-awareness is good, it's healthy, I wish someone would let Taylor have some but that's fine

Okay, well, at least Piggot is willing to treat these kids a little like kids. And address some of the concerns that they have. And promise that she'll find some kind of compensation for the fact that these kids are going above and fucking beyond in their role as junior heroes.

Glad Kid Win gets a... win

and while I don't love Clockblocker making fun of Piggot, I get it. She's the authority figure in their lives, she consistently plays the role of bad cop with them. That's how it goes.

Okay so Vista turned thirteen on the day that Leviathan hit Brockton Bay, which means she's been at this since she was eleven, maybe younger. This now puts her pretty firmly in the same age bracket as Alec, and that might put her at silver or bronze for youngest known trigger event depending on how old Miss Militia was at the time.

Also, the fact that Vista has thrown herself into her career as a cape, at age thirteen, as a means to not have to spend time with her parents? That's bleak. I continue to maintain that she should be allowed to commit any misdemeanor she wants to and get away with it forever

So Hookwolf almost murdered an 11-12 year old and they truly can't just commit to having a single Triumvirate member sit on his Birdcage transport the entire way along just to make sure he actually gets gone? At least until they're out of the Empire's reach, surely, like what the fuck

Do the unspoken rules not kick in on attempted murder? Do you need a corpse to make it stick?

Jesus God, Sophia, I am trying to keep an open mind about you but so far you have just been such a jerk in so many directions.

Like obviously she's not doing well but what's the alternative for her at this point

Just gotta pick up the slack left by two older, more experienced(?) teammates who had a lot of hopes and emotional bonds riding on them. And Browbeat.

Does anybody on this team like Sophia?

Weld is good people. Also I think "empathetic" is technically the correct word unless the ability to warp space like putty also comes with emotion reading.

This is sweet.

Also, yeah, cry. It's good for you.

Godddddddd fucking dammit Sophia.

This is so unreasonably cruel to do to a teammate, never mind to a kid

"Bluh bluh life is pain, the real world is all about what's hard, suffering builds character" shut the fuck up Sophia, Vista put up bigger numbers against Leviathan and doesn't have a rusty knife in place of a personality.

Also "kids" girl you have at most three years on her

Big bad Shadow Stalker can't handle being the one under the microscope

Yeah no for real, the moment she gets provoked in a way even kind of resembling the way she provokes others, she resorts to acts of physical violence. Thin-skinned hypocrite, thy name is Sophia Hess.

Guess Vista's lucky she's not taller and more gangly or else Sophia would've tried to rip her ear off.

Current Thoughts

Vista is the PRT's strongest soldier and she is out there fighting their hardest battles. She also has not reached high school yet and possibly wasn't even in middle school when she first donned the costume. This whole system is a scam.

Cool to see Weld better settling into the leadership role, at least.

And then Sophia. Sophia, Sophia, Sophia. I don't know what the Undersiders have planned for you but right now I'm having a hard time feeling sympathy. Do unto others, you little maniac.

[pjohoo-reclists]

Percy Jackson/Rachel Elizabeth Dare Fic Recs

insomniacs plus skatepark dates by blackpercy

G | 200 words | Complete

Percy Jackson/Rachel Elizabeth Dare, Percy Jackson & Rachel Elizabeth Dare

it's a date at a skatepark. but it's 2 am. and they're best friends.

I’d Stay In Your Arms Forever If I Could by robindrake93

T | 500 words | Complete

Percy Jackson/Rachel Elizabeth Dare

Fluff, Light Angst, Implied Sexual Content

Rachel and Percy spend the night in Paul’s car.

Not Your Missing Half by lyssq

G | 700 words | Complete

Percy Jackson/Rachel Elizabeth Dare, Percy Jackson & Annabeth Chase

Alternate Universe, Soulmates, Soul Identifying Marks

Despite the summer heat, Percy Jackson was wearing a hoodie over his camp t-shirt. Rachel Elizabeth Dare was the only one who knew why.

obligatory underwater kiss by newrome

G | 700 words | Complete

Percy Jackson/Rachel Elizabeth Dare

Underwater kiss, Camp Half Blood, Canon Universe

it's an obligatory underwater perachel kiss, exactly what it says

at least the moon is the same for both of us by lilllac

G | 900 words | Complete

Percy Jackson/Rachel Elizabeth Dare, Percy Jackson & Rachel Elizabeth Dare

Fluff, Romantic Friendship, they're both troublemakers and I love them

Rachel was a reminder that there was a good reason - a mortal as well as a divine one - to still be giving so much of himself in that war, even though Percy sometimes felt that he was handing over more parts of his soul than he would have remaining, in the end. (could be read as either platonic or romantic, it's up to you).

it's a demigod thing by newrome

G | 1.2k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Rachel Elizabeth Dare

Canon Compliant, Goode High School, Post The Battle of the Labyrinth

“Imagine being some normal kid in Roberts’ Pre-Calc class and looking at the Percy Jackson and not knowing he’s some superhero who bends spit.” “Don’t forget toilets,” I joked. “That’s my specialty.”

You’re gonna hear me roar by voices_in_my_head

G | 1.3k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Rachel Elizabeth Dare

First Kiss, Book 5: The Last Olympian

"“I’m sorry, that was stupid of me. You don’t have to kiss me if you don’t want to, of course,” Rachel was babbling. (...) “No, I want to,” he interrupted her, not even sure what she had been saying but to be fair, he thought that Rachel herself didn’t know anymore what she’d been going on about, just trying to fill the silence with words." Set during the beginning of "The Last Olympian." What if Beckendorf had arrived a few minutes later to take Percy to war?

Broken Nose by robindrake93

T | 1.6k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Rachel Elizabeth Dare

Percy Jackson has Nightmares, Sharing a Bed, Established Relationship

Percy has nightmares that make him lash out in his sleep.

and i know that we're headstrong, and our heart's gone, and the timing's never right by shayvanburen

T | 1.6k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Rachel Elizabeth Dare

Alternate Universe - College/University, Art Galleries, Canon Divergence

five years after his fight with kronos, percy bumps into rachel one wintry day in new york.

Cover Up by robindrake93

T | 1.7k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Rachel Elizabeth Dare

Tattoo Artist Rachel Elizabeth Dare, Established Relationship, Future Fic

Percy asks Rachel to cover up his SPQR tattoo. Rachel agrees.

Red and Blue Make Violet by Takara_Phoenix

T | 2.0k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase

Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Family Fluff, Future Fic

After the wars, Rachel passed the spirit of the oracle on, because she had only taken it to help. Now, she wants other things in life. Ten years later and she has everything she ever wanted.

Paper & Trust by robindrake93 

T | 2.0k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Rachel Elizabeth Dare

Future Fic, Romantic Fluff, Falling in Love

Rachel and Percy have always been in love.

A harbor from my storm by dcninja 

G | 2.0k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Rachel Elizabeth Dare, Percy Jackson/Rachel Elizabeth Dare

Friendship/Love, Slow burn, Percy Jackson Needs a Hug

At some point he realizes it’s something he’s always done, from the first moment he met her at Hoover Dam. He uses Rachel’s mortality and the clarity of her sight as a shield from the world he lives in, from all the gods and monsters and prophesies that try to do him harm.

Lighting Candles by robindrake93

T | 2.1k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Rachel Elizabeth Dare

Romantic Fluff, Established Relationship, Kissing

Percy goes to Rachel's cave and they make candles together to liven the place up.

It's a Goode Reunion by Kingdom_Melody

T | 2.1k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Rachel Elizabeth Dare

High School Reunion, Post The Trials of Apollo, Percy is Old

Percy and Rachel return to Goode High School for their year's 10 year reunion. Where they run into some old "Friends"

send me your location. by LovelyVerisimilitude

T | 2.2k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Rachel Elizabeth Dare

Established Relationship, Arguing, Long Distance Relationship, Fluff

“I think we need to talk,” Rachel says, unhurried. “About the other day.” Percy’s grip stiffens, and his throat almost closes up when he says, “What’s there to talk about?” “I just feel like―like we’re drifting apart.” She turns to him, her mouth physically frowning, her brows crinkled in concentration. “And I hate that.” (MODERN AU ― Rachel’s been away, Percy’s been stuck at home, and somehow, neither of them seem to get along like they used to.)

Look Out To The Horizon (To Infinity) by ashilrak 

T | 3.0k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Rachel Elizabeth Dare

Deity Percy Jackson, Established Relationship, Bittersweet

“Apollo’s watching us, me, you,” Rachel said, seemingly out of nowhere. “Keep an eye out on him.” He blinked, confused. “What’s that got to do with anything?” “You’ll see.” Her smile was sad. “But he’ll be with us along the way, and you need to be prepared for that.” Of course he would be. Apollo was close to the Oracle of Delphi. As far as Percy knew, that’d been true for much of history, though the relationship took different forms. Rachel was different though, someone Apollo considered something of a friend. “I love you,” she said. “Don’t ever forget that.” — Or: Percy lives as a new God, never leaving Rachel's side. As the years go by, Rachel grows older and Percy, well, doesn't. Percy deals with what it means to love a mortal and Demigod dreams that never went away. Apollo waits.

[werehounded]

I know I'm a Hadley blog at this point but this week has been literally the happiest I've been since. Well. A long time. A very long time.

And it says something when my mum even asked me, before I told her about Hadley and me being together, if my pain was a bit better because I was walking taller and looked less upset/sad all the time.

She then said, after I told her about me and my love, that she was happy for us. She said some things protectively about them treating me right too. But she said that I looked happy above all else. And I am. I can't believe how happy they make me.

It's something about the true healing nature of queer love. The 'ordeal' of being known and seen and loved by someone.

Every time they call me handsome, my heart slips a beat.

I don't consider myself remotely desirable or attractive. So to have someone as beautiful as Hadley is, inside and outwardly, be open about desiring and loving and finding me attractive?? It's so healing. It really is. They even call me ANGEL!!! and when I tell you that I want to melt every time they do that...

God I can't wait to take them to the seaside! I have plans yall. I'm gonna buy them a silly hat and seaside treats and win useless claw machine plushies for them. We are going when the light show illuminations are on there, or maybe the Christmas events they have up there with the pretty lights too.

I want to have them sit on my lap in public, hold my hand too. I want to kiss and cuddle them and show them how much i adore them.

It's a long way off, feels like forever away. But I'm determined that we will meet. And we will make this work despite the distance. We will love and be loved. We will be together. At least for a while.

I also want to take them down to London! Maybe for a week or so there. There's so much to do that we could spend a month there and still be busy, but hotels are pricier there, so. I want to take them somewhere real fancy. Show them off to everyone. I want to sleep in a fancy hotel for at least one night and wake up overlooking the city with them and feel on top of the world for just a moment.

I don't know yet what or where we'll fill the other two weeks ish with. We'll figure something out. Manchester, Liverpool, and Brighton are all options I'm thinking over. I want to take them to museums and maybe a theatre show or two and aquariums and galleries and maybe a zoo and watch them watching the world go by. I want to see the moon and stars reflected in their eyes. I want to watch the sunset and sunrise with them. I want to show them around my (awful) hometown and have them meet my parents and my best friends. I want to tell them how much I love them. I want to show them the same thing. I want to spoil them (both with gifts and with acts of service/physical touch cause that's what I'm all about, lol). I want them to know how I adore them. How I'd do anything for them. I'm in this for the long haul, if they'll have me. Forever, even.

And the moment i see them, when they arrive off the plane, I'm going to kiss them so fiercely they'll think I'm never going to let go. I'm going to pullt hem into my lap and hold them and call them every single sappy teem of endearment I have for them.

Ultimately, I have hope that this will work out. Somehow. It will, I'm begging the universe. Just our relationship generally, not just them visiting in the first instance.

I'm sitting here crying rn, and I know it's silly, but I've never felt so loved. I've never been made to feel desirable or handsome or anything like that. But Hadley makes me feel all of that, and more besides. They love me. They LOVE me. Me!

I know this is kinda uncharacteristically soft and vulnerable for me to post here. But... I love them so much. I can't believe that this is my life and they're my SO now. I can't wait to watch ATLA and Pacific Rim and the Scifi animated movie they love, which I've forgotten the name of already, on video or voice call with them, in the meantime whule we save money up. I can't wait to show them some of my fav media soon, too. Good Omens brought us together and brought us to this point, so I'm forever thankful to DT and MS and Terry and. God. I just. I'm smitten. Big heart eyes and everything. The Crowley to my Aziraphale.

[darthstitch]

Fic Snippet:  Cursed Dice™

It is said in the lore of D&D that the Phenomenon of the Cursed Dice™ was all too real.  

Sometimes, there were days when the hapless player would keep rolling 1's, much to the detriment of his character.  A merciful DM might try to help the player out a little, especially since nobody wanted to throw out a carefully planned storyline with the inadvertent death of one of the heroes or string it out for a dramatic and suitably tragic finish.  Dream had done that before, for Eddie's magnificent exit in the homemade Hawkins campaign, with his rendition of Metallica's Master of Puppets.

Today, however, they were playing a more traditional version of the game, with Eddie again in his cherished warrior bard role.  This time, he was facing off against Steve's cruel half-orc chieftain, Maglor the Malevolent.  

Initially, it had all gone well - Eddie was in fine form, shouting eloquent invective against Steve's raging barbarous orc warrior.  There were even a few power chords strung on his electric guitar....er.... lute.

The other players in the party, having been grievously wounded in the battle, had no choice but to watch and hope that Eddie's Bard would save them.  Popcorn had been produced and was being passed around.  

And then, disaster struck.  

Eddie was hoping to deliver a fatal blow by jumping up on Steve's orc and stabbing him in his one weak spot - the magical Achilles' Heel, so to speak.  It was at that point that his dice were cursed.  He kept missing and slowly, but surely, Steve was wearing him down.  

"Eddie," Dream warned him.  "Your death is imminent if you do not change your tactics.  You must do this soon."

"You're going down, Munson!" Steve said gleefully.

"Fine!  I'm gonna seduce my way outta this!" Eddie decided.

"WHAT."  This was everyone else's reaction.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Steve groaned.  

Eddie shrugged.  "I'm a bard.  When all else fails, kiss the sonuvabitch."

"Language, young Eddie," Dream reproved him, although it was clear that the Prince of Stories was trying very much not to laugh.  "It is, as always, your choice.  And if the dice does not fail you."

It was a natural 20.  

"Motherfucker," Steve facepalmed.  "Make it good, Munson."

Eddie cleared his throat.  And then:

So close, no matter how far

Couldn't be much more from the heart

Forever trusting who we are

And nothing else matters

Never opened myself this way

Life is ours, we live it our way

All these words, I don't just say

And nothing else matters...

Everyone started yelling.  The world was also treated to the sight of one King of Dreams burying his face in his hands, doing his utmost to stifle his laughter.  

"Are you fucking kidding me right now," said Max flatly.  "Metallica song lyrics?!"

"Hey," Eddie defended himself.  "If you and Eleven here had Kate Bush, Steve and I can have Metallica.  Also, it's not like our literature and history professors here weren't setting such fine examples, amirite?"

"At least Uncle Dream and Professor G were quoting Shakespeare and Keats!" Rose pointed out.  

"They're immortal, so they're allowed the classics!"

"Murphy, am I supposed to be seduced by this?" Steve protested.  

"It was a successful roll, Steve Harrington.  So Maglor the Malevolent was bemused and a little charmed by Eddie the Banished's attempt at wooing.  That being said, he has only but begun his courtship. It requires your consent, after all."  

"Fine!" Steve decided.  "I'm gonna roll and see if he can withstand how we answer courting attempts. Let him survive a kiss from my mighty Hammer of Grond!"

"It's too much!" Dustin was keening.  "Too many jokes! Too many!"  

"Any of them have a hope of at least being PG-13?" Mike said hopefully.  "We still got kids in the audience."

"By all means," Rose said brightly, with a pointed look at Jed.  "If you scar my baby brother for life, I know where you sleep, Henderson."  

"I'm gonna shut up now."  

Steve ignored the peanut gallery and rolled.  

It was a fail.  

"NOOOOO!!!!" Steve groaned.

"YAAAAAASSSS!!!!" Eddie cheered.  

"Y'know, it is kind of romantic - the warrior bard and the dread half-orc chieftain," Eleven observed.  "You two deserve each other."

"I call shenanigans!" Steve howled.  "Our DM is an eldritch magical being with a terrifying sense of humor!"

"You doubt my honor, Steve Harrington?  Just as I am now in the midst of setting aside the carefully plotted storyline I have planned so I can instead tell the tale of how Eddie the Banished and Maglor the Malevolent celebrated their wedded bliss?" Stars danced in Dream's uncanny blue eyes, filled with dire promise.  

"Sorry, Murphy," Eddie said brightly.  "We'll get back on the adventure as soon as Steve and I are done with our honeymoon."

***

*runs*

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine one-shot “Artistic Differences” (Rated NC17)

Summary: Kurt and Blaine have known each other all their lives. They've loved each other almost as long. But as Blaine uses his love for Kurt as inspiration for his music, Kurt has yet to reciprocate. And since painting is Kurt's entire world, Blaine is worried about what that might mean for the two of them. (2703 words)

Notes: I had been writing this for the @klaineadvent Drabble Challenge 2020 prompt 'opinion'. I finally finished it. Wee! XD

Read on AO3.

Baby, you're not alone...

'Cause you're here with me...

And nothing's ever gonna bring us down...

'Cause nothing can keep me from lovin' you...

And you know it's true...

It don't matter what'll come to be...

Our love is all we need to make it through...

Blaine stops singing when he notices an echo haunting his lyrics, lingering on the high notes for longer than written. He listens with eyes closed, smiling at his keyboard. 

His boyfriend Kurt, humming behind the melody. 

Blaine has been ironing this song out for the past three hours now but Kurt hasn't complained once about the constant stopping and starting.

He never does. 

Blaine peeks over his shoulder as he continues to play with the harmonies and watches Kurt, focused on the canvas in front of him, swaying to the rhythm of the music, happily sandwiched between his two passions - art and music.

It's a mild and sunny Saturday - a whole day devoted to cleaning up commissions and tying loose ends on weekly projects before their one day off together. Blaine and Kurt share a studio space - normally unheard of for an artist and a musician, but they make it work. It helps that they've known one another for so long that being alone together is the same as being alone with themselves. That also means they get the inside scoop on what the other is working on long before the public does.

And what they're not working on, which has begun to bother Blaine.

Blaine adores everything his talented boyfriend comes up with. Even regarding his more controversial works, there isn't a thing Kurt has painted that Blaine finds objectionable. Kurt puts his heart and soul into every painting, no matter who it's for, and no matter the subject. A writer from Artforum once wrote: "Kurt Hummel goes beyond the veil to showcase not just the external, but the core of every subject - their drives and motivations. It pairs nicely with the transparency of his own soul, which shines through the gouache and the gesso to leave the viewer with a tangible piece."

And therein lies the root of Blaine's problem.

A glance at one of Kurt's canvasses and the world knows everything it needs to about what he loves.

But one subject in particular has gone wholly unrepresented.

“How come you've never painted a portrait of me?” Blaine asks.

"Hmm... what's that, love?" Kurt mutters, switching out brushes, then moving from a blob of Titanium White to a smear of Winsor Blue.

"How come you've never painted a portrait of me?" Blaine rises off his piano bench and relocates to the wooden folding chair behind Kurt's easel in the hopes of pulling his attention a bit. "You've been an artist for as long as I've known you, and I've known you your entire life. But not once have you ever painted a portrait of me."

“Why do I need to? I have you right here," Kurt says, pretending to bop the tip of Blaine's nose with his brush. "Besides, these aren’t personal." His gaze bounces between the three canvases set on easels in an arc in front of him. "They’re bought and paid for.”

"But what about your private stuff? You've shown me your sketchbooks and your digital art files. Unless you have some hidden folder marked 'secret boyfriend art' that I've yet to come across, there's not a single piece of me in any of your work."

Kurt doesn't steer his gaze away from the apple he's adding highlights to to acknowledge his pouty boyfriend, but the corner of his mouth hitches. "If you say so, dear."

"I know so," Blaine grumps, crossing his arms over his chest and dropping back in the chair so hard he nearly topples it over.

"That's your opinion."

"You're evading."

"Is it really so important to you?"

"Yes! It would be nice to be immortalized by my artist boyfriend!"

Kurt snickers. "Are you that much of a narcissist?"

"Your art is important to you! More than that - it's your life! You paint everything that you love! You've made dozens of paintings of Finn, your father, your mother, your Navigator... "

"My Navigator is my baby. It deserves love. I don't get to drive it much living in the city," Kurt defends. "Besides, those paintings I posted on Instagram landed me a huge contract with Lincoln, and that paid for our month-long tryst to Bali. You're welcome, by the way."

"I'm not saying I'm not grateful... " Blaine pauses, the smile on his face a souvenir from thirty straight days of overindulgence in sex and alcohol. "I think I more than proved that on that private beach? Under the moonlight?"

"Yeah, you did," Kurt growls, silently hoping that will be the end of this discussion.

"But... " Blaine picks up and Kurt's heart sinks.

No luck.

"... nowhere am I present in your work. Not that I've seen. Not even in the abstract. And that makes me think... " 

"Think what?" Kurt mutters, his playful attitude fading the longer this conversation drags on.

Blaine sighs, realizing how much like a spoiled toddler he sounds. But he's in too deep to stop now. "That you don't expect me to be around long."

Kurt's snicker turns into a full-blown chortle. "We've been together forever! You staked a claim on me in kindergarten! Are you suddenly going somewhere?"

"Can't you take this seriously?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's ridiculous!"

Blaine huffs. "Great. So my feelings are ridiculous."

"No, Blaine, your feelings are valid. This argument is ridiculous. Believe it or don't, you don't know everything about me. Or my work. What does it matter what I put on a canvas? I told you that I love you! That I would always love you! I tell you over and over and over! Those are my words! My truth! Listen to my truth!"

"B-but what if you change your mind?" Blaine grimaces when that toddler inside him begins throwing an all-out tantrum.

"Then I change my mind!" Kurt groans, slamming his free hand down on an open tube of Dandelion Green, sending a thick ribbon of paint a good four feet. "I'm allowed to change my mind! And so are you! But I don't see that happening!"

"Then why won't you marry me?"

Kurt pulls a face, probably without thinking about it. "Because I'm not very fond of marriage."

"Why not? Your parents had a great marriage! And your father has a wonderful second marriage!"

"But your parents don't have a very good marriage, do they? Nor your older brother, who's been divorced twice already! " Kurt argues, frustration causing him to forget himself and clean his stained hand on the untucked hem of his shirt instead of a rag. That should be a huge red-flag for Blaine to back down, yet he doesn't. Common sense? Sorry, don't know her. "And the national average isn't that great, either. Doesn't it mean more that I choose to stay with you instead of feeling obligated to?"

Blaine doesn't have an answer for that, even though the answer is obviously yes. Of course, it does. And in high school, that would have been enough to shut Blaine up. But admitting to that feels too much like conceding, and this one time, this is an argument he wants to win. "Did you hear that song I've been working on?" Blaine asks, switching gears so quickly, it puts Kurt on edge.

"Yes," Kurt replies, his voice becoming tight quickly. "It's lovely."

"I wrote it for you."

"Thank you. It sounds wonderful. Another huge hit in the making."

"It's the 15th song I've written in your honor."

"Wow," Kurt says dryly, predicting the direction this is heading. "That many?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's an incredibly kind and loving gesture, one that I didn't know required reciprocation."

"It doesn't require reciprocation. But it would be nice."

Kurt rolls his eyes at Blaine's agenda. Tit for tat. Is that how this is supposed to work? "From what I remember, those songs made you a pretty penny."

"So?"

"So, it's not like you wrote them for me and kept them between us. Most of those songs are chart-toppers."

"But I didn't release them for the money! I wouldn't care if they didn't make me a dime! I put them on the albums because I'm not afraid to let the world know how I feel about you!"

Kurt's brow furrows as he fights through a blooming headache to decode that declaration. Once he gets it, he gasps. "I'm not hiding you away if that's what you're implying! You go with me EVERYWHERE! Every gallery opening, every art show! There have been articles written about our relationship! You're no dirty little secret!"

"I never said I was."

"No?" Kurt chuckles bitterly. "You're sure implying it a great deal!"

"That's not what this is about."

"You're right. It's not. Blaine!" Kurt tosses his brush into a mug of water and starts pacing the floor. "I am a gay artist walking a very fine line."

"I'm a gay artist, too!" Blaine says, offended.

"But you're a musician. And a songwriter. Musicians are supposed to use love as their muse. Writing about your relationship is expected... unless you're Taylor Swift, apparently."

"Yeah. What's up with that?"

Kurt shrugs. "I don't know. The point is that the second I make a piece of art about our relationship in any way, shape, or form, I'm afraid that's all it will be about, no matter what I intend."

"Isn't art supposed to be subject to interpretation?"

"That's just it! If I hint that my art has anything to do with you, that will become the only interpretation. Because too many straight people see the homosexual experience as solely about the right to fuck who we want to fuck and nothing else. I make a portrait about you or dedicated to you, and after that... " Kurt's eyes leave Blaine's face, scanning the room and his canvasses all around for help making his argument. He finds a painting of a forest they hiked through in Bali and stops there "... a tree that I paint will no longer be just a tree. It will become a symbol. In a forest of evergreens, if one needle is slightly browner than the rest because the paint oxidizes weirdly or whatever, then it'll be about you and me on the skids and nothing else. And I don't want that to happen."

Blaine turns in his chair to find the painting Kurt is staring at. On the surface, it's trees, dirt, and sky, but underneath, it's much more than that. That painting of their beloved paradise is perfection - so much so that he can feel the sun on his face, the breeze kissing his cheek, smell the sunscreen on his skin. "I understand what you're saying, but... "

"But?" Kurt grinds out between his teeth. This is the frustrating thing about arguing with Blaine. Even when he says he sees Kurt's point of view, he doesn't seem to really.

And when he's not winning, he gets dismissive.

"... I think you're overthinking things a little."

"And you're not?"

"Another evade," Blaine says, pointing at him in a way reminiscent of his brother's only acting technique.

Kurt grabs the hair at his temple and pulls to keep from flinging the palette in his hand like a frisbee at Blaine's head. "Isn't it more important that you know how I feel about you? You inspire me every day! Your love, your support, your music - they feed my soul! But do I have to plaster it on a wall to make it real?"

"That's kind of an empty question because you don't! There are no paintings of me! Not even in our apartment! And I'm sorry, but I think that's very telling!"

Kurt nods, his lips pulled taut. "You're right, Blaine. Not one. And it is very telling." He drops his palette on his work table and circles the room, grabbing finished canvases and carrying them over. He positions them purposefully, placing some under UV lights he has mounted to runners on the ceiling. 

"What... what are you doing?" Blaine asks with worry, wondering if Kurt is about to do something hasty, something that will ruin his paintings, waste all those hours of work, jeopardize the money he has yet to collect for them. 

Kurt doesn't answer. 

He doesn't even look at him. 

He works silently, his shoulders rigid, his footsteps heavy as he collects paintings Blaine forgot about, paintings that had made Blaine bristle because they were of places they had been to together, things they had made a point to see only with each other, but not a one included him. Those Kurt flips upside down.

He swipes a squeeze bottle of clear liquid from his army of supplies. It could be water. It could be paint thinner. Blaine doesn't know, but he's not certain he wants to find out. He's about to leap off his seat to stop him, but Kurt switches off the overhead lights, turns on the UVs, and Blaine stops. He watches in horror as Kurt douses the flipped canvases in fluid, but the paint doesn't run. Whatever is in that bottle, it sticks, but only in certain areas, and before it dries completely, Kurt dusts the paintings with a fine powder, one that brings hidden images to life beneath the lights.

“Oh my God,” Blaine mutters, stepping back to get a better look.

Every painting, in one way or another, is of him. Of them. And not just recently. There are images of them from college, high school... middle school. There are profiles of Blaine in the negative space between flowers of one painting, and in the clouds of another. A fluorescent image of teenaged him playing guitar to a silhouette of Kurt sitting beside him. There are shadows of them dancing, singing, even a daring one of them making love up against a wall. 

And the flipped landscapes? Their vacation pictures, as it were? The glowing dust reveals portraits hiding in plain sight, painted upside down and invisible to the naked eye. All of these images, Kurt painted in ways where no one would detect them if they weren't looking for them. If they didn't know they were there.

And they are in every. single. one.

Now that he's seen this, it's safe to assume all of Kurt's works carry similar Easter eggs, even paintings long gone.

"Why... why didn't you tell me about this?" Blaine asks, too stuck on stupid to move, walk from painting to painting and examine them properly.

"Why did I need to? I love you. I've told you. What else did I need to prove?"

Blaine shakes his head slowly, ashamed of himself. What an imbecile he is! Kurt is absolutely right. He loves him! He didn't need to prove it! The hurt Blaine felt - that was on him. It wasn't Kurt's responsibility to fix it. There isn't a day that goes by where Kurt doesn't show his love to Blaine in one way or another. Blaine didn't need this. He really didn't.

And right now, he doesn't feel he deserves it.

On a side note, how wrapped up in his own crap has he been that here, in this space that they share, where proximity has forced Kurt to memorize every song Blaine has been writing for his latest album while he paints, that he never realized just how frickin' talented his boyfriend is!?

"Kurt... " Blaine finally finds the strength to take a step forward, drawn to that ghostly image of them making love. It's a simple shadow of the moment, but it evokes a powerful memory "... these are incredible. How did you... ?" Blaine expects an answer before he can finish. Kurt is rarely shy about discussing his work.

Though Blaine should use this opening to his advantage - apologize since those should have been the first words out of his mouth.

But he gets nothing.

"Kurt?" Blaine looks over his shoulder in search of his boyfriend, ready to make amends. 

But Kurt is gone.

[coffeeandcas]

To continue this? Or? It's gonna be super angsty, like Dean-Winchester-has-an-awful-past angsty. WDYT? Destiel AU, obviously.

“Six dollars? For coffee? Is that a joke?”

The girl, pigtailed and snub-nosed, stares at Dean in utter indignation as he holds out her decaf, sugar-free, no-foam monstrosity. It’s got so much fake caramel syrup in it that it barely even qualifies as coffee at this point and it definitely isn't worth six dollars but hey, he doesn't make the rules. Bored, Dean wiggles the paper cup at her.

“Yuh. Don't like it? There's a Starbucks across the road, go get diabetes there, instead.”

Affronted, the girl huffs and puffs at him while she digs in her purse and Dean dumps the coins in the cash register with an extremely fake, ‘Have a great day!’ before leaning back against the sink and rubbing the back of his neck. Outside the sun is shining but it's chilly and autumnal and red-brown leaves skitter and swirl along the sidewalk, carried by a gentle breeze and stopped in their journey by people’s boots and sneakers. It's warm in the coffee shop and he tugs restlessly at the deep V of his black t-shirt, leaving a smear of wet coffee grains on his collarbone. It's a rare moment when the shop is quiet, and he takes in their few customers listlessly. Two girls sit huddled together on their iPhones, giggling at something, wrapped up in scarves and mittens despite the indoor warmth. An Asian kid, Kevin he thinks his name is, is dozing off in front of his laptop and a pile of textbooks in the corner. A couple sit in silence, both staring out of the window with empty cups in front of them, tension pulling into faint lines at their mouths. And a cute guy with short, military-cut hair and pouty lips talks on his phone loudly, laughing as he talks about some woman named Anna. Dean rolls his eyes. One of his many, many pet peeves is hearing someone yack loudly on their cell phones in public. He turns away, washing his hands under too-hot water and wiping down the bar. He had averted his eyes from the father and son sitting near the door, the kid colouring in a picture energetically and the father ruffling his hair with a fond smile. The boy only looked about eight years old. He swallows bitterly and grits his teeth, muttering to himself. Only two hours left of his shift then Ruby will be here to take over from him and he can head home to catch up on Dr Sexy and maybe hit the gym.

The bell at the door signals someone’s arrival and Dean plasters on his usual fake smile, feeling it melt into a small, more natural one as he sees his customers. He even manages to ignore the flurry of leaves that have blown in with them. These two are regulars, coming in together most days, sometimes twice a day if it's cold and blustery like today. They're both blue-eyed and painfully handsome, and today wearing matching blue scarves; one of them is in a slightly ill-fitting tan trench and the other in a long wool thigh-skimming coat with a black beanie covering a shock of dark hair. They're twins, and the most identical twins Dean has ever seen. They're talking intensely about something as they approach the bar, one of them shaking his head and laughing, and their faces split into identical smiles as they see their barista.

“Dean! Hi!”

“Hello, Dean.”

And Dean’s lips incline just a tiny bit, the closest to a genuine smile he ever manages when it comes to customers. Or to most people, really. He doesn't exactly like these two; they just annoy him less than most people. They're… he has no other word for it. They're both sexy. Nice to look at. Some might say intimidating. They seem to walk with the kind of purpose that evades most people, like they're constantly on some sort of heaven-sent mission, and he's forever watching other customers follow them with their eyes whenever they leave with their coffee cups clutched in their hands.

“Hi.” He wipes his hands and tosses the towel. “The usual?”

“For me, yes. Please.” Tan trench-coat smiles at him, pulling a black leather wallet from his pocket. Black beanie is tapping his teeth wth a manicured fingernail and looking up at the board behind Dean’s head.

“You've got plenty of new drinks. Pumpkin spice season is always my favourite. Is there anything you recommend?”

“No. Are these to go?”

“I'm so glad I asked, thank you for your expertise.” Black beanie grins at him, displaying a row of flashing white teeth, and trench-coat elbows him.

“Jimmy, be nice. And choose your own drink. Yes please, Dean, both to go.”

He knows they're called Cas and Jimmy, and he knows they own Novak & Novak, an art gallery a block away, but he can never work out which twin is which. Normally he has to wait for one to say the other’s name, because firstly it feels rude to ask but secondly, he doesn't really care. They're Cas and Jimmy. Why should it matter to him which one is which?

“Fine, I'll have… a vanilla brûlée latte with foam and extra whip please, Dean-o. And a slice of carrot cake, or whatever that is.”

Jimmy smiles at him again and Dean’s teeth ache from the amount of sugar in the drink the man is requesting. Around Jimmy’s neck is slung a camera, a white and tan Olympus with matching strap, which he has to push aside to find his wallet in his pocket. Cas elbows him before he can pull it out.

“My treat. Your turn tomorrow. And what about you, Dean?” Cas’ smile is more reserved, almost shy, but his blue eyes twinkle as he turns back to the bar. Nonplussed, Dean just stares at him.

“What about me?”

“Can I buy you something? You look like you've had a long day.”

“Oh, gee, thanks pal.” Dean rings up their order, irritably. He hates being told he looks like shit. “Way to make a guy feel good about himself. And no. I don't want a coffee. I get them for free anyway.”

“Oh. Right. I…” Cas has gone pink all the way to the tips of his ears. Jimmy is staring at the floor, a lock of dark hair curling onto his forehead, and he looks like he's got his lips clamped tightly together to suppress a laugh. Or a giggle. Jimmy Novak looks like the type to giggle. “I apologise, Dean. I didn't mean to offend you-”

“Whatever.” He hands Cas his change and turns away. “Your drinks will be ready soon, gimme five.”

“Alright.” One of the twins responds, then Dean is sure he can hear whispering over his shoulder. Or hissing, more like. One twin berating the other about something. Their voices sound so alike he can't tell who's speaking, and he doesn't really give a shit anyway. He's used to being talked about. People have been talking behind his back ever since his thirteenth birthday, he's grown a thick enough skin that it doesn't bother him any more. He doesn't care what they're saying.

He slides Cas’ extra-shot latte across the bar to him, frowning when the other man offers a shy smile. Cas is possibly, maybe, potentially the more attractive of the two, at least in Dean’s eyes. He's got to know the twins a little since they moved to Vancouver last year, after Jimmy almost fell into the coffee shop with an exaggerated gasp about his need for caffeine, and in that time he's noticed a few subtle nuances about the men that make them different. They're so subtle, however, that most of the time he still can't tell them apart at a first glance. Jimmy is the more talkative of the two, and seems the more energetic. Cas is shyer and more studious, and has a few more fine lines at the corners of his eyes than his brother, lines which Dean notices now as he looks at him and immediately feels irritated with himself. Why has he even noticed? Stupid of him. Cas must be at least a decade older than him. Eight years, maybe.

He finishes Jimmy’s drink and hands it over, turning away abruptly before either of them can attempt a conversation with him. He isn't interested. He's tired, crankier than usual, and just wants to be left alone. Honestly, he feels like Shrek half the time, wanting to be left in peace in his own solitary life. But, annoyingly, people do keep insisting on talking to him.

“Well, bye Dean-o.” The nickname grates on him. Jimmy sips his drink thoughtfully then nods, apparently satisfied. “See you tomorrow, I'm sure!”

“I'm already looking forward to it!” Dean matches Jimmy’s cheerful tone with unconcealed sarcasm and both twins bark out identical laughs. Jimmy gives him a two-fingered wave and saunters off, fussing with his camera, while Cas lingers.

“Did you forget something?” Dean asks, blunt as ever, and Cas turns his blue eyes on him, eyes as clear as the ocean and for a split-second Dean is captivated. Then he coughs and looks away awkwardly.

“No. I just wondered… I just thought…”

Cas is tracing a swirl in the rustic oak bar top with a finger and Dean follows its path. Cas has nice hands, objectively. If he were interested in peoples hands, or in Cas, he would say they were nice. Strong. Artistic, if the dents in his knuckles are anything to go by. They look like they would be nice to hold, his fingertips smooth and his palms soft, nails short and well-kept but not groomed like Jimmy’s. Dean would think those things if, you know, he was interested in Cas at all. Which he isn't.

“If maybe you, uh,” Cas falters and stops and Dean has to resist drumming his fingers on the bar. The bell at the door rings again and a small gaggle of teenage girls come in, jostling each other out of their way as they approach, all clutching their phones and with a little too much make-up on for Dean’s tastes. Cas, oddly, goes beet red and seems to think better of whatever he was about to say.

“See you, Dean.”

“Uh, OK, bye…” He scowls, watching Cas walk away to join his brother by the door then they both leave in another flurry of leaves. The hell was that about? “Weirdo,” He mutters under his death then turns to the teenagers with his fake-happy smile plastered on his face.

“What can I get for you guys?”

[allwormdiet]

Arc 6: Tangle, Concluding Thoughts

Lotta emotional highs and lows to get through here, so let's not dawdle

Okay, from the top now

Brian Laborn is actively evading all of my attempts to understand him. I will discover what makes him tick no matter how long it takes, and I will know whether the furniture building was meant to be a date or not

Speaking of which, my God 6.3 was fucking awkward. Some of that I'm certain was intentional, and good job at that, but holy shit I was actually uncomfortable with the way Aisha is described on her first appearance. Like I guess that can be chalked up to Taylor being awkward and mean but I'm gonna be real, I'm eyeing Wildbow on this one, if there's ever a fucking Worm Revised Edition that had better be on the rewrite block

Uhhhhh, lessee, what n-ahh. The gallery job.

I'm torn on this one, honestly. The build-up was solid, the entrance was delightful, and in the moment-to-moment stuff the fights were fun, but... the Undersiders went in with like half the Protectorate's numbers, and then proceeded to fight a wholeass PRT squad and then every hero there, and beat almost all of them. The Wards didn't do jack shit before being taken out, Assault and Battery got one cool team move and then were dusted, Triumph got downed by a dog, Velocity... Velocity found out a critical flaw in what gets sacrificed in the name of full power efficiency.

Someone on Discord pointed out that Miss Militia using the machete against Regent was actually a good way to discourage him from making her arms move, which is honestly smarter than I initially gave her credit for, but she still wound up puking inside her own costume so it's not like she's coming away from this smelling like roses.

Armsmaster and Dauntless are the only heroes who come out of 6.5 to 6.7 not looking like complete chumps, and Dauntless doesn't have a whole lot of personality on display so he barely counts as a character.

Overall it feels like the Protectorate heroes lost a lot of their bite with this entire sequence. The Undersiders are getaway specialists, thieves who don't pick fights unless they're sure they can win, and they just challenged like one of the highest-rated heroes in the Protectorate and his entire squad and came out of it in one piece. I'll grant that between the ambush conditions and the functionally unmatched battlefield control provided by Grue and Skitter that they tilted multiple factors in their favor, but that still doesn't feel all the way sufficient.

It should've been a lot closer, I think, and in some places it was already pretty close.

I hate Coil's entire vibe so much, I hate hate hate this dude. Smug motherfucker with his choreographed limo rides and coin tricks and shit. I'm gonna have to put up with this for a while, I can fucking feel it, goddamn him.

Somewhat relatedly, Tattletale... I don't like her less but I'm keeping a closer eye on what she says and does. If she's actually vibing with Coil and not just working with him as a matter of opportunism then that. Doesn't reflect great on her.

Hebert family continuing to break my fucking heart. I swear to god these two are gonna take fucking forever to mend the rift between them, and it's gonna involve at least a half-dozen more near-death experiences, goddammit

Edit: fuck me forgot the interlude

Birdcage scares the shit out of me, I think what makes Dragon’s role as architect and warden even worse is that she clearly takes no joy from the act.

Bakuda died as she lived, with bombast and sudden, violent cruelty.

Ahh, fuck, what even is supposed to be next in the story. Leviathan is close, right? I don't know if he's showing up the very next thing but I've been wrong before. God I hope there's, like, a second to breathe before an Endbringer rolls up.