#The premise sucked

[dogboy-butch]

I cant believe people are pretending the Barbie Movie was good.

[faeriekit]

The Foster Mother

Now on ao3 and VHS release

There was, supposedly, someone waiting for him in the green sitting room.

“…Why?” Tim asked. Most of the usual suspects had already come by to give their “condolences”—former Drakes Industries investors, curious about the newly orphaned heir; fellow socialites, once again flocking in to give and receive sympathies for their “close friends, the Drakes”; gawkers come to see what they could scavenge off of a dead family’s home, never mind that their child was alive.

“She claims to know you, Master Tim,” Alfred offered, kettle in his hand. He spent a moment deciding between different two canisters of tea; a sign of possibly difficult future conversation. “Her interest in your father's estate seemed quite…minimal.”

…Alright.

Tim was still in his formalwear. Dissolving Drake Industries would take at least another year, and plenty of future hours cementing the future home of certain resources in their dissolution, but the outfit probably was more appropriate for whatever oncoming conversation that was about to ensue than his planned change into Dick’s old hoodie and board shorts.

Okay. Tim steeled himself. The self-determination…mostly worked. Whatever. He trudged up into the green sitting room from the kitchen with his usual introduction ready on his tongue.

And then Tim walked into the room.

And then Jazzy was there.

*

Tim had been three, and Miss Jasmine had been his had been his third nanny. He’d outgrown the wetnurse early on, and his second nanny had been dismissed, so although Miss Jasmine was the third nanny, she was first nanny Tim could consciously remember.

She’d had red hair. She’d been very gentle with him.

She got him up in the morning and put him to bed at night; for the first time, there had been someone who sat with him until he was asleep, reading all sorts of books his parents had left to engage him with as an early genius. Then, when those were over and done as promised to his parents, they got unauthorized books from the library: silly books with made-up words, dinosaur books, books about teddy bears and adventures around the world.

Tim hadn’t been allowed to travel the world. Tim hadn’t been allowed a teddy bear. His parents had thought it would encourage undue attachment.

(It had been the same reason he’d never been given a pacifier.)

Miss Jazz had given him a knitted bunny. She’d said her dad had made it especially for him.

The toy’s name was Bunny and Tim remembered him being very soft.

She didn’t smile all the time, but smiles were rewards that were easy to earn. He finished his meal and she smiled. He finished an educational puzzle and she smiled. He was quiet all through her phone call and she smiled, and answered all his questions once she was done.

Jazzy had been the first person in his life who was there all the time. She’d kissed his forehead after the bath and kissed his scraped knees; she’d carried him in his arms when he was tired and sometimes even when he wasn’t. His parents had wanted him to be independent, proactive, and not clingy, but Jazzy had been someone who he could run to from his bed when he’d had nightmares and someone he could cuddle on her lap with when he’d cried.

She was gone when he was seven. He didn’t remember why. His parents had probably never told him, but still; he'd assumed he'd have found out why eventually.

Jazzy looked the same right now as she looked in Tim’s memories, although she was likely no longer a college student at a nannying gig. Her red hair was pulled into a high bun, her dress modest and conservative from her neck to her ankles. There was a backpack beside her foot. She was sitting, one leg crossed over the other, on the high-backed loveseat in the green sitting room.

She looked up when he came in.

Tim. Stopped in his tracks.

It didn’t matter. Jazzy—Miss Jasmine stood up as soon as she saw him, eyes alight with worry. Foggy memories were swimming to the forefront of Tim’s brain. He couldn’t move.

“Tim?” Ja—Miss Jasmine asked, teal eyes raking over his frame. Tim froze where he was. He didn’t move, wide-eyed and terrified for no reason at all when Miss Jasmine got closer to him, at a distance that was more appropriate for a conversation.

She stood there. Watching him. It felt like his mother had just come home from her trips with Dad, and a ghost of old terror wafted through him as he waited for her to decide he’d done something wrong. Her voice got softer. Her eyes got softer. Why was Tim feeling so wrong-footed?? It was only a former staff person!

“Tim?” her voice was so gentle. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m—“

“M’s Jazz,” Tim croaked. Which. Wasn’t the level of formality he’d been going for, but better than Jazzy. He wasn’t a toddler anymore.

Miss Jasmine was so tall—honestly, was she taller than Bruce? She’d seemed insurmountable as a child; he hadn’t expected her height to truly be so statuesque as an adult.

(Or. Well. Almost an adult.)

She didn’t quite kneel down, but she did stoop lower, as if Tim was small and he needed to be on equal footing in order to have a serious conversation.

He could see all her freckles. Tim swallowed. It was too familiar. Everything about her was too familiar.

“You’re so big now,” Jazzy whispered, looking at his hair, his suit, his polished shoes. He didn’t feel it. “Oh, you’ve grown up so well.”

Thanks, Tim almost said. Something stopped him—something thick in his throat, to impassable to break through.

“I—“ he tried. He coughed. “Why…you… You’re here?”

Jazzy threw him an incredulous look, and then an incredibly wry one. “Well,” she drawled a little too primly, in the way that Alfred occasionally made obvious statements, “I’d think it obvious that when one’s parents have passed away, that those who care about you might come to check and see if you’re alright.”

Which. That didn’t make sense. Jazzy hadn’t come back for any other reason; she hadn’t come back for his mother’s funeral, nor when his father was injured publicly by a villain. Why start now?

“And,” Jazz added, seeing his visual confusion and distrust, “Your parents can’t exactly threaten me with a kidnapping charge for visiting you when they’re dead.” Pause. “Which I am sorry about. My condolences.”

Which. Whiplash. What a statement.

“Uh,” said Tim, who was rapidly losing control over the situation.

Jazzy stood again, and went back to her seat; she didn’t set herself down, though, as she only stooped to grab her backpack. “I am sorry for being unable to visit, although I really wanted to; you were at a very vulnerable age and had already moved into a class a year above you, and your parents should have been less hasty about replacing your main caretaker. The assassination attempts were unwarranted, but they did drive the point home that attempting contact was perhaps discouraged.”

“What,” said Tim. “Assassin what.”

“They were ninjas,” Jazzy offered, as if that was an answer. “Except the last one, which was a former marine. The point is that I do care about you, and wanted to ask if you had any idea where you’re going now that your parents are no longer…available guardians.”

Tim’s mouth opened. It closed.

Jazzy waited patiently.

“…How have you been?” Tim tried, resorting to a part of the script they hadn’t gone through yet.

Jazzy’s laugh was tired, but no less real. It was nothing like listening to his parents titter politely; he didn’t think Jazzy would even know how to fake a laugh. “Well, my brother told me that my former bosses had died, which was somewhat stressful. Otherwise, I’m pretty happy: I live with my brother and worked with him for the last few years. I was going to pursue medicine, but…well. The assassination attempts made it hard to interview for scholarships. I suppose that I could return to that now,” Jazzy mused, attention now elsewhere. She pulled the backpack off the floor and up into her grip. She opened it, and flipped through its contents. “How are you doing? I know that Wayne Manor fosters, but your parents were always rather…hands off. I thought the difference in levels of attention might be overwhelming.”

It was. Tim should be surprised how clearly she sees through him—

—But Jazzy used to watch him stim for almost a full hour after school, twisting Bunny’s arms back and forth until he could calm down. Seeing other people all day had been too much for him. Coming home from his parents’ parties had been similarly stressful.

She’d never been mad at him for it. She held him while he talked and stimmed and talked and talked and talked, and brushed his hair sometimes, or if it was very late and he was very young, helped him brush his teeth through all the medieval execution facts he could name.

“It is a lot to get used to,” Tim agreed quietly. He didn’t want to be ungrateful. He didn’t want to let on anyone about his plan to leave.

He had an out. The papers had already been filed; there was an actor waiting to play his uncle for a custody battle, ready for the fight.

Tim was ready to up and go. It was no hardship to leave all the good things here; anything beat making Bruce stick his fingers into Tim any deeper than they already were, compromising the dynamic they’d already established.

It was for the best.

“I can imagine,” Jazzy sympathized easily. “And I wanted to offer—well. I know there’s probably a lot of choices available to you, but my brother and I recently moved back to Gotham proper for the time being. He’s teaching astronomy courses at the university and I’m filing paperwork for Arkham patients. It’s not so privileged a home, but it’s quieter, and more central in town.”

…Tim’s heart skipped.

He. He couldn’t stop staring. Jazzy stared back at him, quiet and sure. Sure of what, Tim had no idea, but…

Why? Why would she want Tim? There was no way she would be able to get to his trust fund without his help, and he for sure knew better than to enable her ability to leech from him. The last time she’d known him, Tim had been a snot-nosed kid who cried all the time and couldn’t be normal for twenty consecutive minutes. His parents couldn’t even stand to be on the same hemisphere as him as a child. What appeal did this have for her?? What could having a teenager with severe baggage living in her house do for her?

And it’s not like there was any chance she knew he was Robin!

“Oh,” Jazzy suddenly interrupted. “I brought these for you, by the way. Your parents had tossed them out at various points; I’ve washed them since, of course.”

She handed him the backpack by the handle.

…Tim peeked inside.

On top was Bunny, still a washed-out faded sort of pink. He looked as fresh as he had the day when Tim’s parents had ”cleaned out” Tim’s nursery—in other words, a faded, a little gray, and slightly discolored from an old spaghetti stain. His button eyes were big and blue.

And beneath him were books that hadn’t passed his father’s muster as appropriately masculine reading material: The Velveteen Rabbit, with the cover a little scarred from a fierce attack of wet wipes. There’s A Monster at the End of This Book, with a goofy-looking Muppet on the cover, gold spine beat up beyond belief. Art Tim’s teacher at the time must have laminated and sent home; Tim’s dorky, crayon cat proved he would never make it as an artist, but attached to it was a photograph of a grinning boy with a bowl cut and a missing tooth.

Tim stared. There’d been purple marker on his hands and face. His grin looked…really bad, actually, like as if he was baring his teeth because he didn’t know how to smile. There was no formal grace there. Nothing to show the neighbors, nothing worth framing to put into the line of sight of the investors in the office.

Jazzy had kept it and brought it home with her. Jazzy had fished it out of the trash, and brought it with her to give back to him in Gotham.

It was crinkled like it’d been folded, over and over again. Further down in the bag was a crumpled certificate dedicated to “Timmy Drake, for: knowing a lot about octopi”, and a baby blanket Tim didn’t even remember. It had rocket ships on it. It looked as if someone had cut into it with scissors, although it had been obviously and brightly mended with red embroidery floss later on.

Jazzy had only been his nanny until Tim was seven. She had simply been gone one night, and Mom and Dad had been home for ten nights after without help before giving in and hiring Mrs. McIlvane and Mrs. Edith. Ms. Edith had never been so…permissive…with Tim as Jazzy had been.

Tim swallowed. He carefully put everything back into the backpack, unsure if he even wanted to keep it or not. It wasn’t like he could leave it here; he’d be gone, ideally, before the week was out. There was no point in taking it with him if he only planned to live with a stranger until he was eighteen.

“J…” Tim tried. He cut himself off before he could get too informal without prompting. “Miss Jasmine—“

“Just Jazz,” Jazzy corrected politely.

“—Why are you here?” Tim asked, ignoring how she’d technically already answered. He didn’t believe her. “What made my parents fire you?”

Jazzy’s expression turned…soft. Tim couldn’t look at her. Something horrible was welling with it, and he didn’t know how to cope.

“I’m here because I care about you,” Jazz repeated, and knelt beside him. She looked up into his face, and took his hand. Tim didn’t know why. He was practically an adult—he didn’t need this!

“And I was fired because your Mother overheard you calling me ‘Mommy’ on accident when you were tired. I suppose she was insulted, although I’d never know why; it’s not like she was ever home to bond with you in the first place.”

Tim’s throat closed. He missed his mom. He missed waiting up for his parents’ flight home, seeing their headlights outside the window, and knowing they’d bring home gifts from overseas. He missed using Mom’s perfume, and knowing he’d used more of the bottle sitting on her dressed than she ever had, but that it still smelled like her. He missed hearing his Dad telling all sorts of adventure stories and promises through the phone to be home for the holidays, even if Tim knew there was every chance he’d find some other way to spend the time back in Gotham.

And there was some small child in him who missed Jazzy, who hugged him and walked him to the library and made him soup from a can instead of fancy dinners and, who’d never needed to be waited for in the first place.

Tim looked at Jazzy’s round, freckled face.

He swallowed.

Tim moved out before the end of the week, as expected.

[tazaryoot]

“And the Children Shall Lead”

[stere0typical]

Your best friend dies. Your best friend hasn't been your best friend for centuries, in fact they've been known to refer to you as an enemy.

But your best friend has died and wants their remains to be brought home. And you agree to bring them back to where you grew up together (as best friends) because that was your best friend.

And on the way your best friend comes back, as some unnatural version of themselves that isn't your best friend and you both crash. You get greviously injured, so bad in fact everything about you changes, not just your exterior but the very fibre of your being. You've changed before but now you're more unlike your best friend than ever.

And your best friend, no longer dead, decides to destroy the whole universe, everything anybody has ever known or loved or cherished, but you stop them at the last minute, because that's the waltz you and your best friend have been dancing to for decades.

And you see your best friend hurt people and you forgive them anyway because that's your best friend; how could you they ever be unforgivable?

And your best friend refuses to take your hand. Your best friend refuses to accept your forgiveness, rather dying than accepting your outstretched hand.

You're enemies, aren't you?

Your best friend dies. You bring them home.

[i-like-books-and-women]

Oh the crippling reality of small fandom means if I wanna read the fic I'm probs gonna have to write it

[yodawgiheardyoulikemecha]

I endorse this message.

[theloveinc]

act i scene i: older, childless, bachelor Barbarian!Bakugo finds you six months pregnant hiding in an empty stable during one of his clan raids--and instead of slaughtering you as a much younger him might've done...he throws you onto his cart of treasures and decides to take you home so he can start the family he never had with you and your child as his bride and baby.

[blimbo-buddy]

“Dude you gotta check out this xenofiction book called “Horizon of the Wild” if you don’t like the warriors series, 20x better than all the books combined”

The plot summary: Chaney is a young and restless labrador who thinks that his young female owner and her daughters pampers his life too much and decides to leave the comfort and safety of his home after a cat from the forest named Old Peanut tells of a war between wolves and cougars. He decides to rally up dogs and cats alike to join the war and save the wolves but struggles to keep his group. Chaney also has more male members of his group and the few women he allows in, he lets join with hesitance and annoyance, these women characters consist of The Mother molly-cat named Unicorn who every second worries about her kids back home and is motherly. Woman; young and pretty molly-cat named Dee Dee who Chaney has feelings towards; and badass warrior terrier named Bethany who is cool and strong, did we also mention badass.

The wolves are scattered and unfit to fight the war alone but so are the cougars. The two forest animals also are written in a really racist and anti-indigenous way and the dogs and cats are written like white people, but you’ll all ignore that. The dogs stay loyal to the wolves but some cats stray away and side with the cougars. During the conflict, Chaney falls in love with a she-wolf named [Really racist/stereotypical name] but is stuck between becoming mates with another canine or breaking the never-before-mentioned rule of “Dogs and cats don’t mix” and being with Dee Dee the young and pretty molly-cat. But besides that he grows suspicious of the wolf pack leader, “Stereotypical ‘scary native’”, believing him to work with the cougars to betray his pack for some reason.

The author of the novel, Gerald Ivy has done a solid 2 days of research where he cites [Outdated info] as his main source of research of pack dynamics and animal behavior. He stated in an interview that regarding his least favorite characters, they were Unicorn and Dee Dee and stated, “I was relieved to kill off Unicorn I got tired of writing her to be honest. Dee Dee going missing and never being mentioned again wasn’t a mistake I just forgot about her.”

Disney has bought the rights to a movie adaptation of the book and fans couldn't be more excited

[frog-with-no-therapy]

I want a spider X dcu but have Peter working at the league's base in space as a mechanic or a scientist, cause of course they will have the best material and information to help him make a way home. Except that Peter is weird.

Like, weird weird. Like, spider bite kind of weird with a hint of different culture from a different world kind of weird.

Listen most of his interactions with humans in their world is with them cause he's at the watchtower all the time, so his understanding of what is normal is a bit skew, and he probably also got used to acting more spidery, especially when in a lab or sm (courtesy of his time at the avenger tower where he doesn't really have to hide his spidery side)

Then you take into account him having a different kind of humour and a different set of memes and you have the whole justice league thinking he's secretly an alien

[the-owl-tree]

can frostpaw redeem a clan that has fallen from the holy path and followed a wicked non-believer?? can she show them the light of god starclan again?? find out in the least christian arc so far of warriors

[cloudysarts]

wow look at these 2 random human men. i wonder if this moment will be paralleled in their afterlives

~i dont support vivziepop or her shows + this art/redesign is from my rewrite~

[lord-squiggletits]

Actually I have a hot take that's been brewing on my mind a little in regards to Cybertronian society and physiology and stuff so like

I've said it's annoying when people impose human gender binaries on the genderless alien robots with no sexual dimorphism, but honestly I also find it annoying when people impose human standards of childhood vs adulthood on the non-organic robot aliens who are almost always born/built immediately having all of the faculties of what we would call an "adult," just lacking in actual worldly experience.

Obv there are exceptions like the recent Earthspark where the Terrans are explicitly children/child-coded

But it's honestly just so weird to me sometimes sjdkshfjd people will be like "awwww baby" to Bumblebee and ma'am that's literally a grown man. Also what functional difference is there b/t a robot that's 4 million years old vs 5 million years old when their race is technically near immortal. Like why are ppl calling Rodimus a child out there when dude is literally the same age as or just slightly younger than characters like Optimus

It's not nearly as annoying or offensive as when people put cisheteronormativity in a culture that wouldn't have it, but like. Am I the only one who finds it really boring to impose human ideas of age on alien robots ESPECIALLY when it comes to basically recreating "oh here's mommy and here's daddy and here's the baby" like sigh

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 19: Psychological

I’ve been meaning to do something like this to Legend in particular for a while now, I finally had an excuse with today’s prompt (though all of them were a little weird...). I’ve also been getting Legend a lot I realized... oops.

Warnings: not too much. themes of loss/grief, heavy on the hurt/comfort

Read on ao3

————————————————————

It was the perfect kind of day for lazing around.

Warm and sunny, with a cool breeze that rustled against the palm trees and stopped the sunshine from being too hot. The ocean waves rolling in the background, and the occasional cry of a seagull lending to the sleepy atmosphere.

Legend sighed happily, and rested his head on Marin’s where they were flopped together in the grass.

“You’re being so clingy, Link,” she teased as he nestled in, and he held on a little tighter, making her squeak in surprise.

“I only just got you back, I’m going to enjoy every second,” he said determinedly, and she laughed, the sound musical and warm.

Goddesses he’d missed her.

He’d had a quiet hope during all of the time he’d been traveling through portals with the other heroes that maybe... somehow... he’d find Marin again. They were traveling through time, right? Anything was possible... maybe she was alive and well somewhere.

He hadn’t dared to hope too loud, but then the most recent portal they’d gone through had left them on a beach by the ocean. His only warning had been a shocked gasp before he’d turned around and found himself being hugged by the girl he thought he’d never see again.

Marin.

He sighed in happiness, and he knew Marin was smiling at him, her hair tickling his chin.

“I really missed you,” he admitted quietly, voice still thick from his earlier tears, and Marin hummed, nestling into his arms.

“Me too, Link.”

The shouts of the others as they messed around in the water drifted by on the wind, and Legend closed his eyes, content to stay exactly where he was. He hadn’t felt this relaxed in ages, not since they’d last been able to rest at the ranch, and he was going to enjoy every second of it.

Something flickered in his mind then, and the noise of the others momentarily grew.

Legend opened his eyes, something cold suddenly trickling through his chest, and he sat up, taking his head off of Marin’s.

“Link?” she asked, and Legend looked at her, studying her features. Brown eyes, red hair, freckles dusted across her nose... just like he remembered.

She sat up as well, and he put a hand on her cheek, feeling her skin under his palm, warm from the sunshine. Legend carefully rubbed a thumb under her eye as he looked at her, her eyebrows raised. She looked exactly like he remembered. Exactly the same, but why...

“Link, what’s wrong?” she asked again, and Legend looked at their surroundings, then back at her, trying to focus on her face again.

He couldn’t quite do it.

The cold feeling grew, settling deep into his chest, and the world faded around the edges, just a bit. Dread began to overtake him, and Legend took Marin’s hands in his, feeling at her skin with shaking fingers.

She felt real. She felt real and looked real and sounded real, and earlier when she’d suddenly kissed him she’d tasted real, but—

But—

“This is a dream,” he choked out, and Marin looked at him, her brown eyes brimming with sadness.

“It is,” she said quietly.

Legend held on to her still, almost desperately, but the world was fading the more he tried to cling to it, the ocean slipping away, Marin’s brown eyes fading the longer he looked at them.

“I’m sorry Link,” she said gently, then disappeared with everything else.

Legend woke up alone.

He opened his eyes, staring dully at the ceiling, and swallowed, closing them again with a shaking sigh. That dream. Again.

His fists clenched as he tried to get his emotions under control and not think about it. Anger and grief and a swirl of all sorts of other awful feelings raced through him without his permission, and he clutched at his blanket, shaking slightly.

He hated that dream. He hated it.

He’d had it multiple times since he’d come on this stupid quest, and every time was worse. Every time he desperately let himself believe that it was real, that they had gone through a portal and he had found Marin, but every single time he woke up.

Legend swallowed thickly, scrubbing his arm over his face, and only feeling more angry when the sleeve got damp. Great. He’d been crying in his sleep.

And the worst thing was, it had been tears of joy.

“Legend?”

He flinched, and wiped his face again before glancing beside him, seeing Wind and Hyrule both awake and looking at him, some of the others stirring.

“Are you okay?” Wind asked in concern, and Legend turned away, his shoulders hitching up.

“Fine,” he choked out, then threw his blanket off and left the room they’d all been sleeping in.

All of them except for Time of course, who was sleeping in his own bed with his red-haired wife who’d probably triggered his stupid dream because he only ever had it when they were here—

Legend forced himself not to stomp down the stairs or slam the door as he went outside, despite how sorely he was tempted. He’d let the others get some sleep at least.

He certainly wasn’t going to get any more.

Legend sat down with an angry huff on the steps of the porch of the farmhouse, his elbows on his knees. Resting his chin on his hands, he glared out at the mostly-darkened fields as his breath shook, lit only by a thin sliver of moon. A cricket was chirping somewhere, and Legend listened to it, struggling to calm down.

He wasn’t going to cry. It had just been a dream. It hadn’t been real, so there was no reason to cry about it.

An owl hooted, and he tensed up, hunching over and burying his head in his hands.

He wasn’t.

The door behind him creaked, and Legend snapped his head up, prepared to send one of the others back upstairs with a sharp word, but the words died in his throat as Malon stepped through the doorway, her red hair almost brown in the shadows.

Great. It was the last person he wanted to see right now.

“Sorry if I woke you,” Legend muttered as Malon crossed the porch over to him, wrapped in a shawl against the chill.

“Oh you didn’t,” she said, looking back at the house. “Wind and Hyrule were whispering right outside my door, and they woke me up.”

Legend huffed out a small laugh, and looked out at the darkened fields again. “Sounds about right.”

“...May I sit?” Malon asked, gesturing to the steps.

Legend shrugged, not looking at her. It wasn’t like he could stop her, they were her steps.

Malon hummed, and settled herself down next to him, Legend relaxing slightly at the distance she left between them. At least she was giving him space.

A bit of her hair caught the moonlight, and Legend swallowed, looking at his feet.

He wasn’t thinking about it. Nope.

“I’m sorry to pry hon, but... I’ve noticed you don’t seem to sleep well when you’re here,” Malon suddenly spoke up, her voice gentle. Legend stiffened. “Is there any way we can make things more comfortable for you? I know it’s stuffy being crammed in that room with seven other boys.”

“No, it’s plenty comfortable,” Legend muttered, not looking at her. “It’s not... it’s not that.”

Malon was silent for a minute, and Legend slightly curled in on himself, wishing he’d taken his blanket with him. It was kind of cold out here, and he hadn’t even put on socks or anything.

A part of him was relieved it wasn’t warm though. It made it easier to keep the memory of his balmy dream away.

“You know, I’ve sat on this porch in the middle of the night many a time,” Malon said softly, looking up at the moon. “When I was a little girl now and then, but mostly right after me and Link were married. He’d try not to wake me, but his adventures left a lot behind. He rarely slept through the night. Still doesn’t, sometimes.”

She breathed in, and let out a deep sigh, looking over at Legend with a sad look in her eyes.

“I hate to think you’ve been through even half as much as him,” she said softly, and Legend hated the sting that started up in his eyes. “And I know a few kind words aren’t going to fix any of that. Especially from me, I know you don’t prefer my company.”

“...What?” Legend startled, and looked at her.

“Well, I assumed you weren’t too fond of me since you always avoid me when you boys end up here,” she said in surprise, and Legend stared at her, then shook his head, just stopping himself from letting out a bitter laugh.

Of course. Of course he’d pushed her away and made her think he hated her.

He was awfully good at that, wasn’t he?

“No, no Malon, you’re not...” he tried to explain, but his voice caught in his throat, a sudden lump making it impossible to speak. He swallowed thickly, and Malon waited patiently for him to finish, remaining silent as he tried to gather himself, not pushing.

Legend swallowed again, and looked over at her.

“You look... like someone I lost,” Legend said thickly, and closed his eyes against the tears gathering in his eyes. “I-I wasn’t trying...”

His voice broke, and he harshly cleared his throat, nearly shaking with the effort not to cry. A hand cautiously settled over his own, and Legend looked down at it, his lip quivering.

He couldn’t cry, he wouldn’t cry, he refused—

“Oh hon, I’m so sorry,” Malon said in a gentle, grieved voice, and Legend couldn’t stop the sob that hiccuped out of him.

Malon immediately scooted closer, and Legend didn’t resist when she gathered him into her arms, shaking as he entirely broke down. It was like a dam had burst, and Legend sobbed into Malon’s arms, equally hating himself for crying and feeling utterly overwhelmed at the emotions that were rushing past his defenses.

He’d only let himself cry for Marin and Koholint once before. But now all the grief and guilt were pouring out, with him unable to stop them one bit, and he choked on another sob, tears pouring down his cheeks.

He hated crying.

Malon held him the whole time while he sobbed, gently rocking him, running a hand through his hair. Her arms were warm and tight, and Legend wondered distantly if his mother would have held him like this if she’d still been alive.

It could have been a couple minutes or an hour later, but Legend’s tears finally slowed, and he sighed, feeling entirely rung out.

Malon ran a hand over his head, and Legend felt heat rise in his cheeks, embarrassment hitting him almost as hard as the sudden surge of emotion had earlier. He’d just spent the last however long it had been crying onto a woman he’d only met a handful of times, and his tear-stained cheeks felt hot.

He quickly raised his head and wiped his eyes, and Malon gave him a gentle smile.

“Better?” she asked, and Legend gave her an awkward nod, sniffling a little. He did feel better, come to think of it.

“Sorry I—” he began to apologize, but Malon stopped him, squeezing his shoulder.

“No trouble at all, hon.”

Legend stared at her, then nodded, ducking his head down. He still felt wrung out and embarrassed, and the ache was still there if he thought too hard about the dream that had woken him, but... he also felt warm.

Like everything would be okay.

...He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like that.

Legend exhaled, and when Malon tucked her shawl over him, he found himself leaning into it.

Neither of them said anything else, and they sat together on the porch for a long time, Malon occasionally running a hand over Legend’s hair, until the sky began to change from navy to pink, stars winking out.

And after that night, whenever Legend found himself at the ranch, he slept the entire night through.

[cityzenshark]

I think we all can agree the reasons EarthSpark is not going well are:

Locked behind a streaming platform that's blocked in multiple countries.

It took about a year for it to share to Netflix (per batch).

Terrible/Lack of marketing in social platforms & regular TV.

Wrong airing times on TV (my brother randomly opened Nickelodeon and viola - Earthspark! ... at 11 a.m ... when kids are still at school.)

Overpriced toys. The one-transform toys is worth a week of meals, meanwhile the show accurate ones are equal to a whole month.

No communication with their viewers. (Not telling when the next batches are coming -> No hype -> Viewers forgot or assume the season is done.)

Trying to make it a special thing for the franchise's 40th Anniversary that isn't going well.

TLDR; Hasbro's terrible marketing for Transformers is in the sewers and Earthspark is one of -- if not the -- biggest victim of it.

[mymarifae]

WHY ARE THEY GROWING UP WHAT THE FUCKKKKKKKKKKK

[butchdykekondraki]

if i have to see that fuckass demon hotel show one more goddamn time im going to kill someone