everyone feels lost
every once in a while.
then, everyone gets on track,
remembering where they want to go.
i feel like i’ve been lost
for so long,
wandering in this limbo
where every corner i turn
reminds me of the previous one,
and the previous one,
and the previous one…
i doubt there is an exit at all.
could someone be so kind
to come and rescue me,
so that i can get back on track again,
please?
no one can know about this relapse - you see, i’m supposed to be pulling myself up by my bootstraps - this is harder than i thought it would be. my brain is the city that never sleeps yet my eyes have lost their light - i pray i don’t have to answer for this in the afterlife because i can’t even handle being in the limelight.
—  smspoetry (honest thoughts about 24,236 people following my writing)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: Sometimes things remain unspoken. 
Warnings: Smut. Please only read if you’re 18+
A/N:  Okay, I have no explanation for this. It’s based off this and I had to write it instantly. It maaay also be a way of me testing the waters. We’ll see how this little drabble goes! Please, please let me know what you think.  
Word count: 462

Masterlist


“Oh god, right there!” you moaned, clutching onto the man beneath you. The leather of the seats creaked under your movements as you rolled your hips.

“Fuck,” came the strained reply. His hands snaked their way up your back, longing to touch your heated skin but all he felt was the expensive silk of your dress. The fabric was grasped between his fingers desperately and he momentarily was afraid he’d rip it but couldn’t find it in him to care. 

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the day i realized that i didn’t harbor old love for you anymore, was a beautiful one.
it had been months since i’d last felt your presence in every quiet pause.
and i had moved on ages ago, i just forgot to remember each time you reappeared in my thoughts- if you ever did.
so now i don’t have a date of when i finally let you go,
i simply have a date of when i finally realized that i let you go.
and maybe that’s all i ever needed.
—  letting go happens quietly |(morsus engel)|
Make Amends

I’m back again, feel like its been a while. Probably because I’ve been sitting on this one for a bit and didn’t know if I would post it at all. Felt like if I didn’t I’d probably still be in a funk, so I kinda wanted to get it “off my desk”. 

So here’s Harry putting his foot in it without realising how, playing Daddy and fixing his shit with a good cuppa and some classic missionary lovin’ and a dirty mouth.

Thanks to everyone for their love on the first piece. I do appreciate you all. x


The hum of the car had been deafening and the way you didn’t wait for him as you left the car made it more apparent that he was right to think that something was wrong.

He sighed heavily from behind the steering wheel, head falling back against the leather headrest of the driver’s seat, as he watched you open the front door of the home you shared and let yourself inside.

In the short five minutes he stayed away, he tried to think where he’d gone wrong tonight over the business dinner and he couldn’t find fault.

In fact, the way he recalled it you seemed to have a great time. Laughing in the candle light, conversing with ease with not only Glenne but everyone else around the table and enjoying your wine.

Sighing again, he reached from the keys of his car and pulled them out of the ignition before he mumbled under his breath, “‘ere goes nothing.”

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Say it Again (but Better)

“The stars are beautiful tonight, aren’t they?”

The company wasn’t exactly welcome as Draco looked at the neighbour’s garden over the balcony.

“This is the city, Potter, the stars are hardly visible.”

“I meant the ones in your eyes, I can see them sparkle, you know.”

His lips twitched as a tentative hand came to rest on his own. Leave it to Harry to be a cheesy sap just when needed.

“You tell this to all your friends?” Because that’s what they were, friends, just friends.

“No.” The breathy whisper was a tease, a temptation of what he couldn’t have. “Just you.”

The blurred lines between enemies and acquaintances seemed so much more preferable to whatever they were now. Becoming friends was never supposed to happen, they were never supposed to be close, but they were—and he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“Just me,” Draco whispered just as softly. He wished the admittance didn’t cause his heart to beat rapidly and his stomach to flutter nervously.

He’d like to think it was the other way around. It had always been Harry, even when they were enemies, even when they were nothing but a nuisance to each other; Harry had been the only one that could shake him, the only one that fascinated him just as much as annoyed him. So much of his youth had been spent with Harry in the background, and Draco wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“I take it your day hasn’t gone well?”

A harsh snort left Draco as he tried not to become angry, tried not to let the turbulent and confusing emotions come forward, again.

“They don’t matter,” Harry said, tone soft but not in a way that Draco wanted, not when it was said as if he was breakable or fragile.

“Of course they do,” Draco argued as he clenched his fists tightly, far too hard. “They held my future in their hands and they crushed it, obliterated everything I have worked so hard on.”

When Harry closed his eyes, Draco felt defeat stem up and replace his previous anger. Before he could close his eyes too, a warm hand wrapped around his wrist and fingers unclenched his fist. He relaxed his hand and watched Harry entwine their fingers.

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The Rooftop Party - Tom Holland

Summary: Your heart aches to belong to your co-star Tom, who you’re sure only sees you as a friend. Things come to a boil during a particularly eventful party ;)

Word count: 2.1k

A/N: I watched Crazy Stupid Love the other week and I can’t stop thinking about that Dirty Dancing lift scene, so… Here we go. Full inspo came from there, but I put a spin on the relationship and scenario. Hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

Originally posted by dailytomgifs

His arms are around your waist and his chin’s pressing over your shoulder, and the gentle warming heat of his body slowly drifts over yours. You shiver a little as Tom hugs you, pulling your back into his firm front, the loose tips of his hair tickling the side of your face as you try your best to pretend your heart isn’t beating out of your chest at the contact.

“What ya doing?” He asks, words drifting directly into your ear. You sigh contentedly as he sways the two of you together, and though you aren’t able to see his face, you can almost picture the lazy grin plastered to his lips.

“Jus’ looking at the view,” you say, eyes moving from where you’re watching his hands on your hips and up, over the edge of the building. You’re at Zendaya’s birthday party and it happens to be on the roof of a tall building, meaning you’re able to peer over the edge of the walls and look out across the twilight of the city sprawled beneath you. It’s incredibly peaceful, to be standing at the edge of the party with Tom’s arms wrapped around you and his chin on your shoulder. There’s just one thing wrong…

You aren’t together, and you know the arms around your waist are his idea of being close to a friend.

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Attention all science fiction out there!

Ok, so this is the periodic table

And this line here, is important.

Why? Because accept from the H (hydrogen) every freaking element in there is explosive in water. The more you’re going down, the more dangerous it will be. Some of them can even burn your hand if you touch it!

Why is is soooo important? Cuz I’m sick and tired of evil scientists who claim to control the world without an actual plan. You want to be evil? Say you will put those things in alcoholic drinks. It won’t explode until you’ll swallow it. You want to hurt the hero? Make them touch it. Want to make an explosive? Put is inside and pour water.

DO. YOUR. JOB.

LEARN F*CKING SCIENCE.

(also all the bottom line is radioactive so you can use it.)

anonymous asked:

Hello!! If you can/wanna, could you write something where the hero tells their team to go and save themselves while they buy time and the villain who loves the hero saves them and then gets furious at the team for leaving them to die even though they were told to? Thanks in advance but no worries if you can’t!! Your Blog is so intriguing and I love your writing so much!! Have a wonderful day!

“They left you to die.” 

“No need to sound so pleased,” the hero said, warily. Mostly because the villain didn’t sound pleased at all. “Just because you know I’ll stop you, right?” 

“There’s a bomb about to go off.”

“Always thought I’d go off with a bang. What’s your excuse for being here?”

“I heard some idiot planned to lug it out somewhere to die with it.” 

“You should have bought popcorn, and binoculars. You’re far too close. You’re ruining my saving people thing.”

The villain laughed, a harsh hysterical sort of now. “God, even now you’re trying to save me as well? That’s pitiful.” 

“You can’t stop this. We’ve won.” 

“I can stop you, it’s almost as satisfying. Give it here.”

“Are we going to argue over a bomb?” the hero was almost amused. 

“Whose arguing? Give it here.” 

The hero stepped back, away, and the villain stepped close with them. Definitely not going away a safe distance. 

“Put it down, then, if you don’t trust me,” the villain said, eyes fixed on them. “But you don’t have to die to buy time.” 

“I need to get it far enough away.”

“You’re far enough.”

“Liar.”

The villain grimaced - so it was probably true. It would still cause damage, and not just shattering every bone in the hero’s body damage kind. 

The hero’s throat tightened. Their hands felt clammy. They wished they could be unafraid.

“If you die for this,” the villain said, “they’ll be no one to stop me from ripping your treacherous friends limb to limb.” 

“There won’t be either if you don’t back off. You’ll be dead.”

“None of us would be dead if you’d just give it here!”

“I’m supposed to believe that?” After everything, they were supposed to believe that?

“Perhaps you imagine I’m feeling suicidal?” The villain met their eyes and held out a hand. 

“You probably have a teleport or something.” 

“I don’t have a teleport! God -  I know you don’t trust me, but trust that. Please. The only thing that will turn that bomb off is my fingerprints and a code.”

The hero faltered. They knew it was supposed to be the logic, cold and hard, that did the trick. Obviously the villain wouldn’t come here to die. 

It wasn’t the logic. It was the look on their face, fury beyond anything they’d seen, and desperation. Life. Fierce, vibrant, beating. It was that tiny little please at the end, spat out like poison, but offered all the same. 

The seconds ticked red and world-ending. 

The villain lunged and grabbed the bomb. 
Their hand was a flurry of movement, cracking it open among the complicated strings and spells. 

The bomb didn’t blow. 

The hero hadn’t prepared for the bomb not blowing. They felt dizzy, weak kneed, breathless. They sagged against the ground, and stared, heart pounding in their ears. 

The villain offered them a hand again, gaze glittering, touch soft. 
“I really am going to kill them for leaving you.”

The hero laughed. Stopped. The villain was serious. Really, really serious. 
“I told them to.”

“They should have been brave enough not to take the order.”

“There was no point all of us dying, that’s just stupid.” 

“You’re just stupid.” 

The hero stared at them, and thought the villain must be shaken, or something, to be acted like this. Maybe they’d found out they had twenty four hours to live. No, they would have let the world burn with them if that was true. 

The villain swallowed, and their hand trembled. The fury hadn’t died. 
“I would not have left you.” 

That’s just stupid. The hero didn’t say it, the realization that followed struck all the words out of their mouth.

“Oh,” was all they managed, dazed, and wasn’t that stupid. 

“Oh,” the villain said, viciously, and squeezed their hand. 

And then they teleported.

Bastard.


NOT A PR0MPT

Day 4: “No, stop!”

WARNING for suicidal thoughts under the influence of drugs and non-consensual drug use.


“Boss, Peter just entered through the kitchen window and is looking for you,” FRIDAY told Tony. He looked up from his project, taking his safety goggles off and tossing them on the desk.

“That’s weird. It’s Wednesday,” Tony muttered, going toward the elevator. “Is he bleeding and/or have any protruding bones?”

“He does not appear harmed, but he is having trouble standing upright.”

“Shoot. Probably a concussion,” Tony cursed as the elevator doors opened. Tony hurried out of them, setting off toward the kitchen. Sure enough, when he turned the corner, he saw Peter leaning against the counter, his head laying on his crossed arms. He wasn’t even in his suit.

“Pete? Did you hit your head?” Tony asked as he approached.

Peter jerked upright, swayed dangerously. Tony stuck his hand out as if to steady him, but Peter gained his balance after a moment.

“Mr. Stark,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I was walking home from Ned’s—“ he slumped against the counter again like he was too tired to hold himself up “—and someone threw a handful of powder in my face and now I feel really weird.

“Yikes,” Tony agreed. “Let’s take you to the medbay and check it out, ok?” He laid a gentle hand on Peter’s shoulder and coaxed him back to standing. They made their way to the elevator, Tony responsible for keeping Peter walking in a straight line.

Peter listlessly followed Tony into the medbay and nearly collapsed onto a cot. Tony was starting to really worry about whatever drug the kid accidentally just got high on. This wasn’t a typical reaction to any kind of recreational drug that Tony knew of.

He drew some of Peter’s blood, putting it into the computer to analyze. When he turned back around, Peter was sitting up, which was odd considering he’d been practically boneless the last few minutes.

“Pete, you good?” Tony asked.

Peter blinked at him. His eyes focused on Tony for a second before they seemed to go sort of… blank. The absent, unaware look sent shivers up Tony’s spine.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter whispered and Tony relaxed a little bit. At least the kid still knew who he was. “I don’t know why I came here. I’m sorry.”

“Peter, you came here cause of the powder, remember? You got powder blown in your face. I’m having FRIDAY figure out what it is,” Tony said, glancing over his shoulder to look at the computer screen to see how the progress was coming.

When he turned back around, Peter was gone.

“Whoa, what the heck? FRI, where did he go?” Tony dashed toward the windows, but none of them were open and when he peered down, he couldn’t see Peter scaling them.

“He’s on the roof,” FRIDAY said in a rush.

Tony’s blood ran cold.

“Elevator, now,” he shouted as he ran. The doors were open, waiting for Tony, and once he’d dived in, they shut of their own accord and the elevator rocketed upward.

He reached the highest floor and darted out, scrambling to shove open the door to the stairs leading to the roof.

What was Peter doing up there? How had he gotten there so fast?

The blank look in Peter’s eyes from a moment ago appeared in Tony’s mind and he felt bile creep up his throat.

Tony sprinted up the stairs three at a time, his knees protesting the abuse.

When he reached the top, he flung himself into the door so hard he bruised his shoulder, but it didn’t matter because as soon as it opened, Tony could see Peter. Peter, standing on the raised ledge of the tower, staring down at the ground eighty floors below him.

Tony could feel his heart stop beating.

“No! Stop!” Tony cried, breathless.

Peter didn’t look back, but he didn’t step forward either. His head was tilted to the side, like he was curious.

“Peter,” Tony pleaded. “Peter, listen to me.”

“Ben? Is that you?” Peter asked tremulously, his voice so low Tony almost didn’t hear him.

It was like getting a bucket of ice water dumped over Tony’s head. Whatever concoction Peter inhaled, it had him so far in his own head that he thought Tony was his dead uncle.

Tony only knew three things about Ben Parker; he liked Star Wars, he called Peter ‘Petey,’ and Peter blamed himself for his death.

I’m sorry, he thought, whether to Ben or to Peter he wasn’t sure.

“Yeah, Petey, it’s me,” he said, walking forward as silently as he could.

“Ben. How… how are you here?”

“Well, I’ve got to keep an eye on my favorite nephew, haven’t I?” Tony asked, hoping that sounded like something Ben would say. He was terrified, so mind-numbingly terrified, that Peter would figure out his charade before Tony could grab him.

“I… I wish I had died instead of you,” Peter hiccupped, still staring down at the street hundreds of feet under the toes of his sneakers.

“Don’t say that,” Tony begged, tears coloring his voice. “You don’t mean it. That drug is in your head, Petey. That’s all this is.” Tony prayed that’s all this was.

“It… it’s so clear to me now,” Peter said. “May would be better off. I got her husband killed. And I’m a burden. Mr. Stark wouldn’t have to look after me anymore.”

No!” Tony shouted, lunging forward, then schooled himself when he saw Peter flinch. “No, baby, that’s not true.” He was going out on a limb with that one, but May called Peter baby all the time. Luckily, Peter didn’t seem suspicious of ‘Ben’ using it. “They’d be miserable without you, Peter. They’d never be happy again, if you did this.”

Peter was shaking his head, like he was trying to get his thoughts in order. Tony had to take a moment to stop the sobs building in his chest from tearing up his throat.

“We love you, Petey. I love you,” Tony whispered.

“Yeah?” Peter asked, his voice quivering.

“Yeah.”

There was a long moment of quiet as Peter considered that.

“Uncle Ben, I’m scared.”

“That’s ok, baby,” Tony assured, coming close enough to touch Peter, but he refrained, afraid of startling him while he was still perched on that ledge. “I’m right here.”

Peter held his hand backward and Tony grabbed it, holding on tight.

“I don’t want to do this,” Peter whimpered.

And that was all Tony needed. He reached up, wrapped an arm around Peter’s waist, and pulled. He staggered under Peter’s weight, and only made it a few feet before he fell, Peter still clutched to his chest, but that didn’t matter because they were away from that terrible drop and Peter was alive.

Tony sat there, panting, his heart racing, and held Peter close, his knees coming up on either side of his kid to create a barrier around him.

“Ben,” Peter said, twisting around in Tony’s arms so he could see his uncle’s face.

Tony met his gaze, saw the drug-induced confusion. And then Peter blinked, and it was gone.

“Oh,” Peter breathed, heartbroken understanding dawning on his face. And then his eyes rolled back and he went limp in Tony’s arms.

Tony managed to manhandle Peter so that he could carry him piggy back style down the stairs, into the elevator, and back to the medbay. After the initial moment of horror, Tony had quickly realized that Peter had just passed out.

The drug, as it turned out, was fairly harmless. “As long as you don’t give in to the temptation to throw yourself off a building,” Tony snapped at FRIDAY when she told him, and then winced. The image of Peter standing on the edge of that roof would live forever in Tony’s nightmares.

He got Peter hooked up to an IV for fluids, then collapsed into the seat next to his cot and had a small mental breakdown.

An hour and a half later, Peter woke up. Tony had desperately hoped that Peter would remember none of what transpired, but when he looked at Tony, his eyes filled with tears.

“Hey,” Tony shushed, leaning forward and taking Peter’s hand. He brushed the hair away from his forehead while Peter took shaky breaths, trying to stave off a full meltdown.

They were quiet for a long moment, neither knowing what to say after the night they’d had.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter finally whispered.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“I- I know you were just pretending to be Ben, but… did you mean what you said?” Peter’s voice trembled, his cheeks flushing pink.

Tony wiped away the single tear that ran down Peter’s temple.

“Every word, Pete.”

White White Blue White

For @gnarf bc they’re super nice and I don’t think I’ve ever gifted them something before which should be a crime

“Harry, what do you think?” Harry looked up from reading one of Molly’s letters to see his boyfriend hold a bookshelf against the wall. “Should I leave the colour like this, or should I paint it to match the wall next to the door?”

“Ehhh,” Harry hadn’t had enough coffee yet for these kind of questions. “Aren’t they both, like, the same colour?”

“What?! No.” Draco gaped at him in disbelief, before pulling himself together and pulling Harry off his chair, dragging him to the wall next to the door. “This is white with blue as a base. The bookshelf is white with white as a base. That is not the same. Tell me that is not the same Harry. Tell me that you see two different colours.”

Draco gestured wildly at the bookshelf he was holding against the wall, looking more than a bit frantic. Harry definitely hadn’t had enough coffee for this yet. “I-, eh, yes I see two different colours. The wall is a bit… Well, blue-ish, I suppose. But they’re still very small varieties of the same colour, so why does it matter?”

“They’re not varieties of the same colours. They are different colours.” The way Draco looked one would think he was talking about something very important. Which he wasn’t. For all Harry cared he could paint the bookshelves blue with purple polka dots. “One is white based, one is blue based. I don’t know which one best fits this bookshelf, and I need you to help me with it.”

“Well then pain one half blue based white and the other half white based white, whatever that means.” He shrugged. “Then people will see the difference and you have a very unique bookshelf.”

Harry.” Draco looked like he was about ready to smack him over the head with his bookshelves. “I am not going to give our book shelves two completely different colours! That’s ugly! Unique is just another word for ugly. Do you want the first house we live in together to be ugly, Harry?”

“No.” Harry stepped closer and gently pried the bookshelf away from his boyfriend. “I want our first house to have a happy you in it.” He put an arm around Draco’s neck and kissed him. “Why are you so stressed about this?”

“I just want it to be perfect.” Draco muttered. He struggled for a bit but soon melted into the hug. When Harry pulled him closer he felt about a million knots in his lover’s back, and he made a mental note to make Draco a new massage appointment. This moving into their new house together thing was a lot more stressful than planned. “I just don’t want you to change your mind and leave.”

Draco.” Harry honest to god stumbled when he heard that. “I am not going to leave you, even if this house is turned into the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Draco immediately tensed up even more and pulled back. “You think it’s ugly?”

“No, babe. I think it’s perfect.” Harry kissed Draco firmly on the lips and pulled him close again. “I’m just saying that if it wasn’t perfect, I wouldn’t care because I already have perfect. I have you.”

“I am not perfect.” Draco pouted, though Harry could see he was fighting a smile. “I can’t even decide on the colour of our bookshelves.”

“Oh Merlin just shut up about the bookshelves.” Harry buried his face in Draco’s neck and laughed. “Just give them to Teddy and Luna, have them paint something fun on it. That way it’s out of your hands. And if anyone ever makes a comment about our bookshelves I will personally kick them out of the house.”

Draco chuckled. “Okay.”

“And Draco?” Harry pushed his nose against Draco’s jawline until he looked up. “I didn’t say flawless. I said perfect. To me, you are perfect. For me, you are perfect. All of you, including all your flaws and quirks. I love you.”

Draco finally smiled then, and kissed Harry back.  “You are perfect for me too, Harry.”

docs.google.com
Voltron: Legendary Rewrite (Chapter 1)
Hello, hello! Welcome to the outline of the first “chapter” of Voltron: Legendary Rewrite. I’m your host, Katie Klanced! As the title “Voltron: Legendary Rewrite” might suggest, I’ve decided to re-do Voltron and twist it to meet my fancy. Because I really like Voltron, and I’m particularly atta...

My laptop says it’s October 14th now, but it’s technically still October 13th somewhere, right? Right? Right. 

ANYWAY. Hello and welcome all to the outline of the first chapter of my Voltron rewrite! I’ve been working on this for a long time, which is to say that I started this project back on August, forgot about it for most of September, and remembered it about a week ago and started busting my butt to get it done. “It” being… The first episode of Voltron! (Not to be confused with the pilot episode of Voltron, which is technically three episodes in one. No, this outline covers the events of Shiro crash-landing on Earth, to him waking up in Keith’s crack house shack.)

If you read this, and I’m honestly begging you here, PLEASE like and subscribe send me your feedback!! My writing + thinking style can be super wonky, and I am open, nay, DESPERATE for suggestions as to how I can improve. If you don’t want to offer a complex and in-depth review, I totally understand because lol. I wrote the damn thing and I can barely comment on it. But please, feel free to send me responses/reactions of any and all kinds!!! If I’m being honest, I’m really curious as to which of my jokes landed and which could probably stand to be cut out.

Warnings:

  • Mild language (though I tried to tone it down)
  • References to drugs (but only ever as jokes)

The tree in our backyard had hundreds of pieces of paper nailed to it, and it was all my son’s doing. He hid his hands behind his back while he waited for me to come up with an opinion. There was ink on the paper, and I stepped closer to examine. Stick figures, all of them, drawn with a black pen and nailed to the tree at the head.

“Is this a new game?” I asked my son while I felt the paper. It was ruled, from a notebook I’d give him.

“Kind of,” he said, and then thought better of it. “Not really. It’s more of a hobby.”

“A hobby,” I echoed.

When the wind came our way, the paper fluttered and rippled, making even more noise than the leaves above. My son looked proud of what he’d done.

“What exactly are these?” I asked.

“So you know how every single second, someone in the world is probably dying, right?” he said. “These stick figures are like totems, they capture the essence of that dead person, at one specific moment.”

Each stick figure had something distinctive about it: a mop of hair, a briefcase, a fedora, fangs, gumboots.

“It’s really like catching fish in a stream,” he went on, “Except I’m catching… hmm… souls? I mean, I don’t know if souls really exist, so.”

“Souls do exist,” I said, turning to face him for the first time since I’d stepped in the backyard. The sun was setting, and we were both enveloped in a dull, darkening purple. Far behind him, an almost-full moon climbed the evening sky, pits and craters out for show.

“You think so?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said, and knelt down to look at him in the eyes. He stepped back, intimidated, perhaps. “Has anyone else seen this?” I asked.

“Nope,” he looked behind me, as if imagining showing someone else his handiwork, a tree nailed with white paper.

“You have to set these souls free,” I placed a hand on his shoulder. “And you have to promise me never to do something like this again. This isn’t a game.”

“I told you it’s not a game, it’s a hobby.”

I shook my head, squeezed the bridge of my nose. “Take every single soul off the tree. I’m not going to tell you again.”

He nodded and bit his lip. I could smell the disappointment, and I’m sure he could smell it too. I stood up. “By the time I’m back, I want to see this tree clean, is that understood? Not one scrap of paper, not one nail.”

My son nodded and looked at his feet. His hands were still behind his back, and he shifted his weight between his two feet. I turned to return to the house and figure things out when he drew a scrap of paper from behind his back.

“What is that?” I asked, and grabbed the paper. It was another stick figure, in a brown jacket, with glasses, with a stubble, with cropped hair and…

“This is me,” I said. No more words appeared. They just refused to show up.

My son smiled the saddest smile I’ve seen.

Frozer (a better ending)

“Hey…Ladybug?”

Ladybug paused before turning off as her partner looked to one side, toeing a hole in the melting ice. 

“I…before when I was doing my own thing…” Chat Noir sighed. “It’s…not your fault about the rose thing. I shouldn’t have brought it up. That…wasn’t your fault and I shouldn’t have let it affect this fight like I did…I’m sorry for letting you down.” 

Ladybug opened her mouth to reply but a shrill trill of beeps interrupted him. He gave her a shaky smile, darting off over the rooftops as Ladybug watched him go. 

“Hm…” Ladybug said with a small smile. “Look who’s suddenly growing up.”