#about the two of them relearning to work together

[feathers-in-the-night]

I dont know if I've already talked about this but i remember when i was writing Broken Wings, I wanted it to be as dramatic as possible, I wanted them to be so at odds and for their situation to seem absolutely impossible, because in my mind, that would make their reunion so much sweeter, right? that would make them reuniting so much stronger, right? That would prove their soulmate status so much more, because they were able to overcome every obstacle.

Right?

And then at one point, a reviewer told me that they'd stopped rooting for the two of them to get back together, because I'd done too good of a job showcasing their incompatibility. And more people started expressing the same opinion.

I had made the ship unshippable.

That review really stuck with me. And it keeps haunting me as I write this new story. I regularly check back with it, making sure I'm not making the same mistake twice.

And then I reread Feathers and realized I actually hadn't made a very compelling case in that story either.

It made me realize that the foundation of their relationship was extremely flawed - the undeniable imbalance of power, given that Dick was her mentor and her leader. Essentially her boss. The fact that she started out not respecting him or his opinion at all, and he tries to force obedience from her, instead of earning respect.

The fact that Dick kissed her without her consent?

IM NOT SAYING that this wasn't the point at the time. Like I was definitely trying to write a messy couple. They were teenagers. They were stressed and trying to save the world from an alien invasion. They were all each other had for a while - Dick was there to help Morgan time and time again, and she was the only one that knew his secrets, who he could confide in, and who he didn't have to lie to at the time. She always found some way to lighten the mood for him, and he always supported her through every obstacle she faced.

They helped the other find something human in the alien invasion.

Like, it makes sense they fell for each other, right? They needed that, at the time. It was a messy but genuine road to a messy but genuine relationship - it was something necessary to survive the insane circumstances they were in, and the amount of pressure they were under.

But what happens when the alien invasion is over, and there's relative peace? When they aren't fighting for the fate of the world anymore, but are dealing with more mundane tasks, like school and work and small-scale missions?

When the closeness of the other person is no longer the only thing keeping them sane?

It was always inevitable, that they would break up. The very foundation of their relationship was built on something that wasn't meant to last. It was lifesupport - and at some point, lifesupport needs to be turned off, whether because the person is dead, or because they are recovered.

That's why Dick says "Thank you for being exactly what i needed." when she gets on that plane. What he needed.

So then, what is this sequel about?

It's about exploring the two of them trying to find each other in a new way. This is about the two of them going off on their own to fight find themselves, and when they're ready, to reunite. (Not that they know it yet).

This is me proving that they are compatible. They can be. Just not in the form that we left them in, in Feathers. And not in their Broken Wings versions.

This is about the two of them realizing that this is it for them. This is fate. They're fate. But not because of some cosmic power willing it, but because they decide it for themselves. They decide to cast away all the issues from their previous relationship, and rebuilt it on a much stronger foundation. Something healthy, something long-lasting.

I was 18-19 when I wrote Feathers. I had never been in a relationship. I was relying on tropes and dramatic moments, on the stuff I had seen in movies.

I'm 27 now. I'm married. I have a kid. I understand the everyday trappings of being in a relationship. The stuff that makes it work. How it actually feels be to heartbroken. To be in love. To long for someone out of reach. To find your home with a person. And as I write this story, I use the experience I now have. I'm still using the beloved tropes, I'm still using drama - they still fight, they still do wrong by each other, but they're getting better.

My mission statement is to write a story that makes people think "These two are soulmates" and not "These two aren't good for each other".

Because I want to leave them at a point where I can feel confident in saying they stay together.

[sagaduwyrm]

DCxDP Idea - Tucker x Tim Soulmate AU:

Now on AO3

So the Justice League believes the Fentons and the GIW. Not completely, but enough. That’s the bad news. The worse news is that they have Danny, and are apparently planning to use him in some kind of spell to banish all the ghosts from the living plane. Which, okay, sure, not the worst idea, except that trying to banish a Liminal is a great way to kill them instead, and guess what everyone in Amity Park is? Not to mention what powering such a ritual could do to Danny.

Tucker is not having a panic attack. He might have one later, but right now he has a job to do.

So the thing about the Justice League is that they’re powerful and together they cover each other’s weaknesses, but individually they are, if not manageable, then at least survivable. They can’t take on the entire league, but Ghosts and their ilk have fangs for a reason, and every predator knows how to divide and conquer.

Technus and Skulker are using Lex Luthor’s tech to deal with the Supers. Jazz has got emotional manipulation and FrightKnight’s sword to take down the Flashes. Desiree agreed to start a mage’s duel with the Justice League Dark. Sam, Ember, Johnny, and Kitty hopefully have the watchtower in hand, with Walker playing backup to get Danny free.

Tucker has two jobs. One, work with Technus to take down the Justice League communications without making it look like anything is up. Two, for the love of the Ancients, do not let the Bats realize something is wrong.

And you know what? He’s got this. Duul Aman was the most feared sorcerer of his time. Tucker isn’t him, not really, but he’s no slouch in the magic department. Egyptian magic, the way Duul Aman knew it, was almost like code. Relearning it was as easy as breathing, but the real reason Tucker’s job is to deal with the bats is because he took it further than his last life ever could. Sure, he’s a dab hand at illusions, his curses are almost as nasty as Sam’s, and instant sandstorms are never not useful, but where he really thrives is with tech. Afterall, if ectoplasm can be combined with computers, why can’t magic?

Tucker is the world's first technomage and he’s goddamn proud of it.

It’s his saving grace now. Infiltrating Oracle’s system took weeks, and he still wasn’t able to look at or do anything important, but it was enough of an opening for his magic. He wormed his illusion through every single piece of bat-tech he could reach, whispering in their ear, Gotham needs you. The Justice League is fine. Gotham is where the problems are. 

Weeks of work and sleepless nights, and he still doubts he’ll be able to keep them from noticing anything for more than a few hours. Luckily, by that time Danny will be free and Tucker will be long gone from Gotham.

This confidence lasts until he brushes hands with another guy in the cafe. He can feel the bond snap into place, a soulmark crawling across his body. Tim Drake stares at him, eyes wide but sharp. 

Tim Drake.

Red Robin.

Shit.

Time to see whether fighting ghosts extends to fighting humans, because he is not letting this asshole mess up Danny’s rescue.

+++

The first thing Tim notices when he meets his soulmate is the rage in the man’s eyes.

They’re really pretty eyes. A bright, glowing gold, lined in kohl. Almost certainly a sign of magic. 

They look at him like the man wants to turn him inside out and burn the remains. Tim’s a little offended, beneath the shock and awe.

“Fuck,” the man hisses. Tim’s offense is starting to supersede his surprise. He’s a catch, thank you very much.

He says as much. The man laughs, and it’s almost friendly.  The cafe is empty. The people of Gotham have good instincts, and there’s something in the air around this man that puts Tim’s hackles up.

“You know, I think that’d be more believable if you hadn’t started this.”

Tim’s brow wrinkled. He felt like he’d remember starting something with his soulmate though? What was he supposed to have started, anyway? Saying ‘this’ wasn’t very specific. 

He rolled and dodged to avoid the sudden lash of golden sand. Ah. A fight. He could do that. Figure out why his soulmate was angry later, defeat him now.

He reached up to call for backup and only got static.

Shit.

He was on his own. Time to show this bastard why underestimating a bat was a bad idea.

[actual-changeling]

the undercover mission in arcadia only lasting a few days is a criminal waste of potential. lock them in those suburbs together for a month MINIMUM. slowly infiltrating the community and gathering information while trying to not go insane with the way they're Not Talking to each other.

they sleep in the same bed, share meals, spend most of their time together doing research and working on other cases—but do they talk? really talk? about the tension and the awkwardness and the way she still flinches whenever he touches her even with warning? or about the fact that no matter how hard he tries, mulder can't help but linger in her space?

it's torture, it's being locked in the basement office with him, it's watching through a glass door as diana takes his hand and smiles. it's mulder's voice saying words she cannot erase from her memory, fibreglass stuck in her capillaries.

long days of silence followed by even longer sleepless nights. scully refuses to give in and move to the guest room so whenever the dreams get to her, she's stuck in the bathroom relearning how to breathe.

despite everything, though, he's still mulder. she watches him—sunflower seeds, shitty movies, shittier jokes, a spark of warmth in his eyes—and sees him again, not a mask of apathy, and the part that misses him begins urging her back into his orbit.

neither of them ever consciously makes the decision to slowly tear down their walls and yet it happens day by day, week by week. old habits seeping through the cracks.

the first time she wears one of his sweatshirts it takes her two hours to notice and then she cannot bring herself to take it off—she's cold, that's all, she tells herself (he never asks, she never tells). mulder's hand lands on her lower back more and more frequently, and she stops flinching, allowing him to touch, to lead, to shield her from prying eyes like he's always done. he's her partner, unwavering and determined and soft.

he never forgot how she likes her coffee, that she reads the newspaper out of order, that she needs a glass of wine and a long, hot bath at least twice a week. patient and attentive and the friend she's been aching for.

it scares her shitless whenever he manages to make her laugh, the sound having become oddly foreign to her own ears. scully's afraid of the air vibrating in her lungs and the lightness in her head, the way she can forget about everything for a moment. the anger doesn't disappear but it makes space for familiar fondness and the warmth radiating off of him whenever she stands too close to him which is more often than not.

eventually, they talk. awkwardly, slowly, with her voice raised and his eyes trained on her as he listens to every word. there are apologies spoken for things she's already forgiven him for but she needs to hear them anyway. the first time she seeks out his embrace they both cry; something breaks open and finally gets a chance to heal.

they pretend to be in love day after day until it starts feeling like the truth again. until they can finally stop pretending, one way or another.

[brujamala-aka-gigi]

quick 100 word pick a pile reading

Pick one and let me give you a short piece of advice from my tarots.

pile 1 pile 2 pile 3

pile 4 pile 5 pile 6

MASTERPOST & PAID SERVICES

xoxo gigi <3

btw im doing a tarot ask game this week, vote here for the date <3

pile number one

Your emotions are not your enemy. Sensitivity is only a disadvantage when you can’t allow yourself to process and express what goes beyond logic. Your growth can be stunted if you can’t embrace the messages that your feelings carry. Being able to ignore the inner workings of your subconscious mind is not a great ability, and it will become something that clouds your judgment. Take time to learn about this side of you, take time to name each emotional experience and work on it. 

pile number two

Inspiration is a great source of power and energy to achieve many things, but keep in mind that you must be able to continue working towards your goals even when it seems like there’s no real reason or no energy to do so. Creativity is a muscle, don’t let it shrink while waiting for something outside of your control to give you reasons to move forward. There’s times and places for impulsive playfulness, but discipline is always valuable even when it becomes tedious.

pile number three

Sometimes the conflictive situations and people around you are not themselves the problem to be solved, but more so a manifestation of something deeper in your life that it’s most likely not being taken into consideration. Before starting an argument, think if it's worth fighting against the problem or reflecting on what about that problem actually strikes a nerve that moves something deeper in your unconscious mind. It’s let about the things themselves but more so about what they represent to your personal experience.

pile number four

Don’t let yourself become the victim of your own negative thought patterns whenever you feel defeated. Nobody enjoys failing, but you are smart enough to know that getting stuck on self destructive cycles of stagnation is possible to avoid. Don’t fall for toxic positivity either. Take the time and the patience needed to look deeply into what’s making you unsatisfied, and be honest with yourself on what actually will help you move on from this. Challenge your typical approaches without engaging in negative self talk.

pile number five

Being confronted by new perspectives and forced to relearn things might seem traumatic at first, but this is a great opportunity to test what should stay and what should go when it comes to your beliefs. As constraining as situations like this can be, you can always rely on your own intellectual independence to make out of them whatever you want. Take this as an opportunity to test your mental strength and the resilience of your values and ideals, not many people can handle being questioned.

pile number six

Your desire for control and your impulsiveness might not seem compatible at first, yet this sort of opposing energies are present to keep you moving forward. Both come from a lack of understanding about unconscious needs, but when working together and being balanced by each other, they can take you to some really necessary conclusions. You should remain careful tho, as you might hurt yourself when acting impulsively after being bored of the control, or when trying to go back into control after being impulsive.

[knight-says-rollout]

Would you mind telling us about more disabled Cybertronians?

Oh boy would I

For this list let’s focus on physical disabilities, both because they’re the most commonly dismissed by the fandom and bc if we try to cover everything we’d be here all day (that can be another list, maybe, if y’all want)

This isn’t going to be comprehensive bc I’m tired but!! I will aim for a broad variety of examples nonetheless

Bumblebee - You all know him, you all love him. He’s the most obvious and most well known example of a disabled Cybertronian character.

In many iterations he is mute

Not by choice but because he lacks a voice box. Bee physically isn’t capable of speech and depending on the version has different tools to work around that. Sometimes he uses his radio to repurpose song and radio dialogue into speech, in cyberverse he also makes use of the internet for clips. In the aligned continuity (tfp and connected media) he speaks in binary, a very simplified form of language using beeps and buzzes, but still lacks a real voice and can’t form words.

In IDW he has a cane

At one point in the comics Bumblebee was shot by a human protester and as a result used a cane for a good bit of time. I haven’t had the chance to read that far into IDW yet so I’m not sure how long he had the cane for but it was enough time that it’s a solidified part of the charcaters history. I’ve seen little models of the cane for sale, to be paired with bee figures.

TFP Ultra Magnus - everyone’s favorite awkward commander, despite his popularity he’s surprisingly overlooked when it comes to this discussion

An amputee, he lost his hand

During an energon raid with wheeljack, magnus’ hand was crushed. Ratchet couldn’t save it and had to amputate, replacing it with a hooked prosthetic. I call it a prosthetic rather than replacement part because despite him being able to move it, it’s not a hand. Not in the way he had previously, and he has to relearn how to use it at all.

I think that’s an important distinction to make when discussing disability and transformers. Some bots might have only ever had one hand, or no legs, or etc but that’s always been their level of ability and since they Are robotic. Yeah they might not have the same capabilities as another bot but that’s a hard metric to go by. Seekers can fly but a grounder isn’t disabled because they can’t fly too, it’s a different standard.

WFC Shamble - far lesser known than Magnus, and reasonably so, this background character is Also missing a limb

Amputee, leg edition

His prosthetic is a lot less fancy than magnus’s, it’s a simple peg leg. Put em together and you get a pirate. Not much to say about him since i don’t know how he lost the leg, just that he did.

Shadow Striker - Most awesome lady in cyberverse. Unlike the above two, she Was able to get actual replacement parts rather than prosthetics. Despite this, she is both shown throughout the show and implied to have

Impaired mobility

Chronic pain

She was able to get replacement parts yes but they were needed because she was blown up. The limbs she was given were kinda just what the others could Find and as such are mismatched and don’t fit her very well. Her motor skills took a blow especially when it comes to combat, something she used to excel in. Her new limbs are described as unstable and prone to malfunction. The loss of mobility and implied chronic pain that come along with her situation are rough, but she makes do.

SG Soundwave - my favorite little guy, he’s in a bit of a different situation than the previous.

Bad Joints ™

His body was entirely overhauled multiple times, successfully, but the latest frame change was done with conflicting metals. Earth and Cybertronian materials clash in his joints, making them prone to getting stopped up. The most affected hinge being the one on the door to his tape deck. It is so prone to getting stuck that his cassettes refuse to dock with him at risk of getting trapped. To work around this, Soundwave has the aid of a personalized case he carries around that they dock in instead.

IDW Sunstreaker - speaking of assistive devices, this guy was (for a time) a wheelchair user! Or,, hoverchair.

Temporary,,, paraplegic? Correct me if another term fits better

Taking this moment for an aside to say hey!! Lookit that, both canes and hoverchairs are things that canonically and casually exist on cybertron!! It’s not too wild to assume there are bots out there who use them long term!! Yes both characters on this list were repaired eventually but they’re also both very popular old characters from an action based franchise and hasbro doesn’t have the balls to make something like that permanent yet. We the fandom are not hasbro. We can do whatever we damn want with our OCs. It’s canon that ur little guy can use mobility aids.

Ok, PSA over, anyway yeah Sunny’s body was basically wrecked and alpha trion was able to repair all of him except his legs. This put him in a hoverchair for a good amount of time.

Finback - he’s a con, a pirate, who developed a “metal wasting disease”

He’s on permanent life support

The disease is going to kill him eventually, and it’s explicitly stated that he’s come to terms with the idea of his death. In the meantime he’s using pretender tech, kinda like fancy armor, to reinforce himself and boost his immune system

Perceptor - for a microscope, the fact he’s got vision issues in multiple continuities is kinda ironic

He’s fully blind in cyberverse

He lost an eye in IDW

Between the two we get to see both routes taken to work with this. Adaption and technological aid. In cyberverse he uses his scope to compensate for the loss of vision Toph-style. In IDW he built himself a monocle that basically replaces the pieces that are missing.

Now we get into the uniquely Cybertronian disabilities, one’s that don’t quite translate to human conditions

Transmutate - is a beloved bot from beast wars

They can’t transform, they don’t have an alt mode

I’m hazy on the details of their character but afaik they came from a damaged stasis pod. Described as deformed and handicapped for their both their lack of an alt mode and general appearance, they are probably the oldest explicitly disabled Cybertronian character

Xaaron - from G1 is in a similar situation

He can’t transform, it would kill him

Unlike transmutate he does have an alt mode, a tank, but after thousands of years without transforming he is no longer able to. The new stress it would cause on his body would kill him.

Broadside - continuing with the subject of alt modes, this clumsy boy is a boat! That’s not a good thing.

He’s very prone to motion sickness

As you can imagine, chronic sea sickness isn’t the most helpful thing when you are the boat. This brings in the entirely new element of mobility issues that are inherent to alt modes. A bot that functions fine in root form might not in alt mode and vice versa.

Trailbreaker - is another instance of this. He’s not a fast car by any means but that doesn’t stop the fact

His frame has a very high energon cost

Possibly the least fuel efficient autobot, he’s got an outlier ability on top of it all that only further increases his required energon intake. He needs to pay more attention to his energon levels and refuel more often overall.

G1 Knockout - yes that’s right the shiny medic himself is on this list, though not for the same reason as his tfp version, g1 knockout still lives up to his name

He’s prone to fainting

A knockout in the more literal sense, he faints when he gets too excited. Fully collapses and everything. Since he’s a fall risk, his teammates take care to keep an eye on him.

Annnnd Yknow he probably should’ve been earlier in the list along with the “human-ish” issues but I’m tired, it’s late, and I’m bringing this list to a close

Im sure there are more characters that I didn’t mention but I hope this helped! Thank you for the ask

[cinnaminsvga]

Harana Preview | Jungkook

harana (n.): the act of wooing someone by serenading them

→ summary:

Unwilling to settle down with you after five years of dating, Jeon Jungkook decides to break up to chase after his dreams. In the aftermath, you leave your hometown, desperate to forget your past and relearn what it means to be on your own. Two years later while on your way to work, you pass by a familiar voice singing songs about a girl he had left behind.

{or alternatively: Jungkook still sings the love songs that he wrote for you. He still means them, too.}

→ genre: busker!au, exes to lovers, fluff, angst → warnings: jimin is insane and kinda crude (he has some issues going on), jungkook is a pathetic wet bunny but he's trying his best, so much yearning, ambiguous ending??? but my god there is hope!! the humanity of it all!! → words: anticipated 10-15K → a/n: what da hell who is she... HEY SO its been a while since ive written anything longer than 2k words and i really wanted to get back into writing, if only for practice... plus this is part of my heart full of hugot series that i teased literally eons ago and i want to finish it before the year ends... pray for my sanity ( ; ω ; )

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

As you struggle to pull yourself together, a familiarly loud voice rings outside the edge of your consciousness. “Hey, Y/N! Fancy seeing you here…” Jimin greets you, his usual jovial demeanor halting midway when he sees your panicked expression. He clears his throat, perplexed. “Umm… Are you alright there, girl? You’re looking a little pale.”

You do not even have the mental capacity to wonder why Park Jimin was miraculously early to his shift, nor why he seems genuinely worried for you. Rather, all you can do is wave him off and use what little time you have before the restaurant opens to steel yourself for hours of melodious torture. 

“I’m fine, Park. You should get to work,” you grit out, wiping your sweaty palms on your uniform. Normally, Jimin would have teased you about the obvious wrinkles on your skirt. 

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jimin huffs, always the contrarian. He thinks better of it, however, and softens his tone. “Are you feeling sick or something? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You freeze, perhaps giving yourself away a little. “I’m fine,” you repeat. 

“You know, if you refuse to elaborate, I’m going to have to retract your shower privileges,” Jimin taunts with a smirk. 

You feel a migraine growing by your temple, making you wince. God, why must men be the source of all your problems?

“I’m just… a little annoyed by the busker outside the restaurant,” you eventually admit, trying to be vague. Unfortunately for you, Jimin hates beating around the bush and would never take your crap if he knows something is up.

Unable to withstand the weight of his unimpressed stare, you continue, “He was someone I used to know, that’s all.” You aren’t going to be any more specific than that, though you imagine Jimin gets the picture. You zip your lips, hoping to whoever is causing you pain that Jimin would somehow let the matter drop and leave you to your misery.

You brace yourself for his onslaught of questioning to come, and… it doesn’t happen. Instead, when you glance at Jimin, he is mysteriously stone faced. You wait for him to speak for what feels like a few minutes, but he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to tease or ridicule you. He simply watches you with a pensive expression. You can barely stop yourself from staring back at him, slack-jawed at his silence. 

Of course, you aren’t just going to question your luck, or what little you have at least. So, you stay silent back and purse your lips uncomfortably.

Finally, Jimin seems to snap out of his strange reverie. He fixes you with a bizarrely sympathetic grin, patting you affectionately on the back. “I see… Well, if you ever need a drink tonight, head over to the bar for a little sip. I got you covered,” is all he says in response before sashaying away. 

That was so fucking weird. You want to chase after him, perhaps beat the truth out of him. Jimin is nothing but a scheming dick, and you aren’t about to let him roam free with such sensitive information about yourself. Just as you’re about to stomp his ass (perhaps to relieve some of the building tension from your weary soul), your manager pops his head from his office door. 

“Y/N! Make sure you’re logged into the booking system. There’s going to be a party of 20 coming in about an hour,” he reminds you, shooting you an apologetic look. You nod back with a sigh, swiping the booking tablet from the hostess desk and scrolling through the logs. Sure enough, it is going to be a busy night despite being a Monday evening. Perhaps a little busier than usual, in fact.

Whatever. You will use whatever distraction you can get, and perhaps the approaching noise from the restaurant patrons will be enough to drown out the sound of his voice. 

You aren’t religious by any means, but you pray to whatever higher power exists that Jeon Jungkook doesn’t somehow decide to enter the restaurant. Stay outside, you plead. Outside the restaurant and your life, if possible.

Throughout the evening, you do your best to push aside the memories that threaten to resurface. You greet customers with a smile, lead them to their tables, and ensure their dining experience is pleasant despite the anxiety poisoning your insides. It's a routine you've perfected over time, a shield against the chaos of your emotions.

As the night wears on, you can feel Jimin's eyes on you from across the restaurant. You sneak glances back at him, and you blanch at his pitying gaze. If the restaurant had been slightly less crowded, you would have flipped him off. 

He’s probably enjoying my suffering, you think darkly. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you straighten up and do your best to appear more unaffected. Just as you do so, you can hear Jungkook perfectly hitting a soulful high note. 

“I’m so sorry for thinking I was strong,” you whisper to the universe. “Forgive me for my insolence.” You clench your fist in anguish, ignoring the confused looks from the customers in front of you. 

By the time your shift comes to a close, you are completely and utterly drained. You feel like a snail that has been continuously salted over the past eight hours, and you cannot help but cheer in relief when the clock finally strikes two in the morning. You have to wait for the last few diners to make their leave, but otherwise you are ready to let your bed swallow you whole. 

You stand by your hostess desk, leaning your head against it with a defeated sigh. Jungkook’s voice had died down only a few minutes ago, and you hope that by this point he has mercifully left the premises. You want to take a peek to make sure, but just as you’re about to make your way to the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder stop you in your tracks.

“‘Sup, bitch.” Jimin still has that weird, pitying gaze pointed at you, though his words don’t match it. “Are you okay to go home alone tonight? I can bring your dumb ass home if you want.”

You shove his hand away, ready to bite his head off when you think better of it. If Jimin drives you home, then that lowers the chances of seeing Jungkook down to pretty much zero. 

“You know what? Thanks,” you grouse. Jimin smiles at you winningly, and the image of it brings a shiver down your spine. You hit him, creeped out. “Hey. Stop that, will you? You’re being really weird?”

Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Me? Weird? At least I don’t look like a damn firework ready to explode just because my cringelord ex-boyfriend is singing sappy love songs outside—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethe, stomping on his foot. He yelps in pain and slaps your shoulder in retaliation. 

“Ouch! Watch your ogre feet! My shoes are worth twice your monthly rent I’ll have you know,” he bristles. He breathes deeply, likely finding his inner calm (which you doubt exists). “But because I’m so nice, I’ll ignore your earlier transgression and blame it on your underdeveloped amygdala.”

You don’t know what’s more surprising: the fact that Jimin knew what an amygdala was or that he was forgiving you in the first place. “Whatever. Let’s finish closing up and then head out. I’m exhausted.”

[writerze]

author’s note: i haven’t posted anything on here in a longgg time. apologies if the story is all over the place i’m writing this at 2-4am !!

warnings: none, except for my corny ass writing

summary: you’re new at school and instantly gain miles’ attention.

part 2

e!42 miles morales x fem!black!reader

He admittedly had a small crush on you the first time he noticed you.

You were new to the school and you already stood out from the rest of the students. The way your looks and personality gained not only his attention, but as well as your new peers, was almost like a magnet.

Just his luck, the two of you shared a class together.

You sat a few seats to the side of him, unintentionally giving him the perfect view of your profile. Once the class started he tried paying attention, but it was stuff he already knew and had no interest in relearning.

He got distracted, deciding it was more interesting to look at you than whatever the teacher was saying. Miles didn’t notice that he was staring at you for that long, but you clearly noticed the heated gaze from someone nearby.

When you finally looked at him, he didn’t freeze like you expected him to do but only continued staring you down. You broke the eye contact first, leaning so that your braids covered the side of your face. If you could blush, you’d definitely be red right now.

Miles finally put his attention back on the teacher, but his mind only continued to go back to how pretty you looked.

⭐️

It’s been a few weeks since you started your new school and since you noticed Miles’ stare. Neither of you had made any direct contact, but in class or brief instances in the hallway the two of you always made some type of eye contact.

Your teacher’s voice discussing the new project they were assigning the class disrupts your thoughts. You were currently sitting in the class you shared with Miles’. Ever since you first caught him staring at you, you always made sure to look good in class or wherever at school you thought you’d see him. You were hoping that he would make the first move, but at the speed the two of you were going it was never going to happen.

“For the project you need to at least be a group of two or three. No more than that or your project will not count.”

The class echoes with different sounds of content or displeasure, people knowing exactly who their group would be or not having any idea.

You couldn’t help but glance at Miles, who just so happened to be looking at you.

“Begin searching for your partners. Move your desks together if needed.”

The dismissal of your teacher caused the students to rush to get up to find their desired partners.

“Hey! Y/N, do you want to work with me? This seems easy.”

“Y/N!! Work with me, you can come over my house to work on it!”

People you knew of in the class started coming up to you, asking if you’d want to work with them. Most of them being boys that were trying to get at you and a few being girls that thought you were able to get them more popularity.

You weren’t fully aware, but ever since you came to the school you were almost always the student’s main topic. People always had something to talk about when it came to you. It was either the fresh set of nails you had or the new braids you wore or the new pair of jordan’s you had on. One way or another, you were always talked about.

You quickly declined everyone’s offers. “I already have a partner! Maybe next time?” You quickly stood and walked towards Miles’ desk, who had been watching the whole ordeal.

“Hey..,” you took a moment to glance at him up and down. His fresh braids, cool fit, and of course his handsome features made him look so good. You were always confused on why you rarely see him talking with anyone.

“You don’t have a partner yet do you?”

His eyes stared into you, a passive look on his face, as he took his time to respond.

A slight smirk came across his face as he looked you over. “Nah, why? You tryna be mines?”

You couldn’t help but feel as if he had a double meaning behind his words.

A/N: I CAN WRITE WAY BETTER THAN THIS I PROMISE

[the-modern-typewriter]

And so they all lived happily ever after.[1]

Theodore could finally breathe.

The two of them had bought the quiet, peaceful cottage that they had always talked about[2] and filled it with things[3] because they were allowed to do more than simply need now.[4] They were allowed to want, and build a home because home no longer had to be wherever the resistance had camped up for the night. Honestly, Theo had thought he’d be dead before that ever happened. Being born the chosen one, nobody had ever expected him to survive fate long enough for the aftermath, least of all him. [5]

Didn’t that mean he had the earned the right to be happy, now?[6]

“Theo.” She sat opposite him at the kitchen table, and took his hand, and looked at him like the world still needed saving, like he hadn’t done enough. “This isn’t working,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

It came out of nowhere.[7]

***

“I don’t have nightmares,” he said.[8] “We won. I killed the Shadow King, if anyone should have nightmares-”

He forced his expression to ease. He shouldn’t resent Adina her nightmares, if she had them. He knew the battlefield they had met upon. In a world of blood and conquest and power that made him feel like he was going to sizzle from the inside out, she had been a cooling balm. She had made him a man, instead of something out of legend.

“I know you were there too,” he continued, because she was acting like he’d somehow forgotten that. “But it’s over.” Didn’t she see that it was over? “Whatever nightmares you have, we’ll get through it together, yeah? They’re only dreams.”

“Memories.”

His jaw clenched. “They can’t hurt you unless you let them.”[9]

Her mouth clicked shut and she swallowed hard. At some point, during the argument, they’d both surged to their feet. Her arms were crossed against her chest, defensive, like either of them should have any need for defences anymore. They were safe with each other. She knew that! Before she started this conversation, they had been fine. Hadn’t they been fine?

“If there was a button that could make me feel differently,” she managed. “I would hit it in a heartbeat. God. I’m not – I know this isn’t your fault. I’m not saying that. I know you’ve gone through enough. I know this isn’t fair, but I—”

“You just need time.”[10]

They had time now, didn’t they? Walking through the woods filled him with a calm he’d never known before. The green trees, dappled by sunlight, made it impossible to dwell on the cold feeling of bloodied stone against broken bones. Everything was light, and air, and the freedom to run.

There were no people to be responsible for, no important envoys to encroach upon the time they managed to snatch together, always wrenching them apart. It was him, and her, and they didn’t have to live in a stolen moment anymore. Wasn’t that enough?[11]

“How can you be so okay?” Adina’s voice crumpled on the question, so small, and it felt like a knife between his ribs because it sounded like an honest question too. “After everything…” Her eyes were big and desperate - he recoiled. He could finally breathe, and she would have him drown.

After everything, he was allowed to be okay. Was he supposed to live forever feeling guilty for everything he could have done better? Was he supposed to have died too?[12]

Maybe, yes, in her story he should have.

It was easier to love a legend than a man. It was easy to make promises to someone who wouldn’t live to hold you to them. For a second, he hated her, more than he’d ever hated the Shadow King. He didn’t want to be a thing of hate anymore. He didn’t want to fight anymore.

“Everything?” He repeated, oh so softly. His fists curled, nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood and he didn’t want to ever draw blood again either. He stopped.  He relearned how to breathe. “You do not get to hold ‘everything’ against me, Adina. I did everything you asked of me. That all of you asked of me. For you. For this.”

“Theo…”

“We love each other.” He turned away because he couldn’t look at her. “That’s all that matters. We’ll get through this. Happily ever after.”

She flinched in the corner of his vision.

“Please.” He closed his eyes. “You want to talk about everything? After everything, let me have this. Give me this. It is the only thing I ever asked of you.”[13]

She exhaled a shaky breath. The silence stretched. Then, she kissed him sweetly, gently, like everything was okay. She whispered the words against his lips:

“I’ll try.”

***

It was better again, after that. Their fight became another battle of the past to be buried with their dead and forgotten. 

In the mornings, they would paint the sunrise that they had once spent hours trying to picture, when the endless night of the Shadow King’s reign felt like it never might never break. The first time Theo had seen that the sky could truly be pink he thought maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t made it through after all. But he had.  In the afternoons, they would walk hand in hand through the woods and he would tell her about all of the new growth he was learning about. He liked the names. The colours. The hope.

It wasn’t perfect. Now that she’d pointed it out, he stirred sometimes in the night to find her awake still. When he caressed her face in the dark his hand would come away wet with silent tears.[14] On those nights, he would kiss her honeyed and slow because he didn’t have to kiss her like she was oxygen anymore, until she melted in his arms and smiled again. [15]

The weeks turned into months, which turned into years.

She stopped crying, with time. She healed.[16]

The shadows were gone.

And so, they all lived happily ever after.[17]

----

[1] Happily ever after! It was just another bloody thing to fail at, wasn’t it?

[2] He’d always talked about it. He was happy. The cottage was perched in the middle of the woods, far enough away from civilisation that she could pass days without seeing another person. Sometimes, it felt like they must have lost, because the world that she knew wasn’t there anymore.

[3] She shouldn’t resent him his clutter. He deserved clutter. She knew he deserved clutter, his houseful of little wooden figurines he carved, after everything. 

[4] She hated the clutter.

[5] It was a terrible thing to want happiness, but not know what to do with peace; she’d learned to love him fighting. But now, he loved gently, sword forgotten, armour laid to rest, and that was not the version of him that she’d fallen love with.

[6] She missed the man she’d fallen for.

[7] She couldn’t do this anymore.

[8] Because he was the only one who had truly suffered.

[9] Was it so simple? Had she got it wrong? Was she merely not trying hard enough to move on? His expression told her that, yes, she needed to try harder. They were supposed to be a team but, to his mind, when it came down to it…he’d been the one alone against the Shadow King, hadn’t he? So, if he could heal then why couldn’t she? She hadn’t been the one buckling under the weight of prophecy. She had no right.

[10] That was the other thing everyone always said, along with happily ever after. Time healed all wounds. She just needed time. But how much time was that? Too much, it seemed. There had been a woman she met in the aftermath of the battle at Sunburst fields. She had lost her lover. Adina couldn’t remember the woman’s name, only what she had confessed when no one else was there to hear her.

[11] The woman said, “I’m not allowed to mourn her. No one knew we were together, you see. She had a husband. But she loved me, and I… no one will ever know now, and I must mourn her like she wasn’t mine to mourn. Like I might mourn a stranger.’ The woman’s voice dropped barely audible. "And I think it might just kill me. How do you heal a hurt when you have to pretend it’s not there? Like it’s a papercut instead of a bullet wound?"

[12] He fought to protect her. To protect all of them. In his story, she was the victory he came home to. She was his happy ending. She was not supposed to be broken.

[13] He had fallen in love with her when she was selfish. A good, selfless girl did not love in a stolen moment, after all. Stolen moments had to be taken from someone. But he didn’t want selfish now. He didn’t want someone who had done battle, who had hurt, and been hurt. He didn’t want a woman with a shadow in her heart.

[14] And, so, he fell out of love with her in the way that a person forgets their wallet on the train – with that stabbing sense of panic, of leaving something vital behind, without yet being able to place what was gone.

[15] Instead, he fumbled and groped for the debris, the receipts, the bits of change and dust at the bottom of the bag of them that had meant something important once. He began to look at her like a stranger when she reminded him that she was sharp. That he had loved something sharp, once.

[16] He looked for clues for what was missing.

[17] He would never find her.

[bronzeagepizzeria]

TEN AND ROSE: WERE THEY HAVING SEX?

Disclaimer: I absolutely support people writing whatever makes them happy; this is NOT a criticism of ten x rose smutfic/established relationship/babyfic etc, I’ve read and enjoyed several of those, this is simply my reading of their canon relationship.

Every once in a while, the Rose Tyler tag sees text posts about how, obviously, Ten and Rose were sleeping together throughout Series 2, as evidenced by their absolutely sizzling chemistry in episodes such as New Earth and Tooth and Claw.

Most of them are usually in good humour—a “can you BELIEVE this chemistry” sort of thing, but there does exist a genuine belief among some that they really were sexually intimate already.

So, let's examine this canonically, from a Tentoo lens.

Were they having sex?

Short answer: No.

Long answer?

Throughout Series 1, we pick up on hints of the Ninth Doctor’s feelings for Rose growing, as well as Rose beginning to have feelings for the Doctor. It’s quite subtle in comparison to Series 2; here’s two great friends beginning to fall in love—flirting and bantering and getting jealous of other love interests xD. It’s not a very explicit romance (and this is why Rose haters tend to prefer NineRose, but that’s a conversation for another day) but it is heavily implied, and it is sealed with a kiss in The Parting of the Ways.

When Rose looks into the heart of the TARDIS and comes back for the Doctor, this romance is made explicit. When the Doctor dies to take the vortex out of Rose, the romance is made explicit. This is no longer a crush, or simple endearment, they’re in love.

The Tenth Doctor is born out of this love. He now knows the extent of Rose’s feelings, and he knows just how far she is willing to go for him. (This is a blessing and a curse, but we’ll come back to that some other time.)

Rose’s immediate reaction to seeing Ten is asking him to change back—(something that noticeably distresses him—the fact that she might not like him anymore). She spends the entirety of The Christmas Invasion mourning him, (which is fair since he never told her the tiny little detail of his ability to regenerate. Sigh.) and only really comes around to him at the end of that episode. We can safely assume, then, that they haven’t had sex.

In New Earth, they’re still very much relearning their dynamic—how do they work together, fit together now? We learn that Rose is physically attracted to the Tenth Doctor, thanks to Cassandra, and Rose's slightly mortified reaction at hearing this from him implies that there's been no confession of the sort to him.

You could argue that maybe something happened off-screen between Episodes 2 and 3, but as Ally on the tentoo x rose server pointed out, that would be shoddy writing. A physical relationship amongst the main two leads that is never even alluded to with a chaste kiss, is odd. So we can assume this major development didn't happen.

Tooth and Claw, the one episode that is constantly subject to 'they were totally shagging' discourse, has exceptionally flirty energy, yes, but this is because Ten and Rose are both very tactile people. Make no mistake, they definitely are flirting and being more touchy-feely than strictly necessary, but it would be narratively inconsistent for the reason for this behaviour to be 'they were having sex.'

Why?

I'd like to point out this dialogue we get from Queen Victoria:

This moment is extremely important; it plants the seeds for the proper beginning of one of the main themes of S2, which is the biggest reason the two of them are not constantly shagging in the TARDIS.

From this point on, something has been re-awakened in the Doctor, the fear of outliving someone he loves again.

We have to remember the Doctor is a severely traumatised man, a man who has outlived his entire species, and the idea of this girl he loves dying and leaving him alone is unbearable.

In School Reunion we get this spelt out for us. The Doctor sees Sarah Jane again, and reality strikes. This will be Rose, one day. There’s a key confrontation that takes place in this episode, an argument that remains unresolved because there are certain things Ten cannot bring himself to say.

DOCTOR: I don't age. I regenerate. But humans decay. You wither and you die. Imagine watching that happen to someone who you…

ROSE: What, Doctor?

There is a later confrontation in the same episode, where the Doctor is tempted with the idea of never having to see anyone wither and die again.

Even the infamous The Girl in the Fireplace doubles down on these themes--the Doctor's immortality. Time running out.

The Age of Steel two-parter brings with it the “gingerbread house”. Things we want which we cannot have.

This, in fact, is the crux of their entire relationship, folks. The incompatible lifespans. Rose's mortality. Untapped desire. The unsaid.

This is why it's important and impactful that Rose, on the last day she gets to see the Doctor, ever, plucks up the courage to actually put words to what she feels. This is why the unfinished confession in Doomsday hurts so much. Because they finally, finally took that plunge but it was too late.

Assuming that they've been in a physically intimate relationship all the while takes away from the gravity of this moment.

(Not to mention it's super exploitative, considering the inherent power dynamics. To think Ten had sex with Rose all that time--entirely aware of her feelings--and didn't have the decency to say he loved her and then proceeded to force her to choose between him and another version of himself...is problematic.)

I would go as far as saying it's a fundamentally wrong reading of their entire relationship, and of the Doctor himself.

I've seen people say the "baby scare" in Doomsday is proof that they'd been physically intimate, but it is, quite obviously the Doctor being afraid Rose was pregnant with Mickey's baby, not his.

DOCTOR: You've still got Mister Mickey, then? ROSE: There's five of us now. Mum, Dad, Mickey and the baby. DOCTOR: You're not?

He is, in his not so subtle way, trying to figure out if Rose is back with Mickey. It only hammers in the fact that he's missed his chance---not that the child might be his.

DOCTOR: Rose Tyler, Defender of the Earth. You're dead, officially, back home. So many people died that day and you've gone missing. You're on a list of the dead. Here you are, living a life day after day. The one adventure I can never have. ROSE: Am I ever going to see you again? DOCTOR: You can't.

Again, the narrative hammers this in. Their time is up. Rose will inevitably move on one day, without him.

All this to say…

TenRose in Series 2 is a tale of what could be. Of missed opportunities, and the lives and love we could have had.

But why is this important?

In order to understand Tentoo and Journey's End, it is vital we understand this aspect of TenRose. The yearning, the skirting around feelings in the room, the denial of gratification on Ten's part. The desire he cannot give in to.

Because Tentoo is the realisation of this desire. He is the second chance.

He is the embodiment of the Doctor grabbing hold of his one, short life and deciding to live it to the fullest. Tentoo is making a choice here--a choice to truly love Rose the way he has ached to do for years. This is why it's significant that he was able to get the words out while Ten wasn't.

This is why Rose chooses him.

This snippet of an email RTD received from Pete Bower sums it up extremely eloquently:

“In having one Doctor grieve for his lost love, while the other Doctor went off with that same lost love, you have written of that moment we all have where we make a choice. It is grieving for the love we never had (and the sex we never had) because of the choices we made.”

[seabirdtxt]

It's been a while since I made a request to a blog, but I really enjoy your writing, and your AUs got my brain going with ideas (especially the Glitch AU). It has me thinking about how our favorite little Puppet boys would react to some of the... interesting hobbies I have: two of those being things like Doll making/repainting, and cosplaying/ general fantastical costuming.

I feel like both of these hobbies have the potential to lead to both hilarious situations and moments of being a bit... perturbed at best (especially doll making: the random assortment of doll limbs being places, or having naked dolls that are precariously hung from the ceiling to finish drying from paint jobs).

I do know that at least Kabukimono and Wanderer (Scara might have forgotten since he hadn't used the skill in a long time, and Wanderer likely relearned it) know how to sew, so the sewing part could be cute bonding time.

Could be platonic or romantic in nature: both would be fine. And also, fully understand it will probably take you time to get to this, of you even get to it at all. I just appreciate you taking the time to read this request~! Can't wait for your next bits of work: hope you have a wonderful day~!!! 💕💕💕💕

hey!! thanks so much for your request!! this was a funny idea bc i can't imagine any of scara's iterations being any good at collaboration but for all separate reasons lmao

I'm not too knowledgeable about doll making but hopefully you like this anyway :D i wrote it as a bit of a glitch!AU spinoff in my mind, but feel free to imagine any other scenarios these three clowns might come together for hahaha WC. 1.3k

----- ⚘ -----

When the three puppets were told not to enter your room and disturb your hobby workstation, this isn’t what they had in mind. Wanderer thought maybe you did something embarrassing as a hobby, Scaramouche thought it might be something potentially dangerous especially if you intended to keep it a secret from them, while Kabukimono was certain that you did some sort of artistic craft that you preferred to keep hidden until the end product was finished.

All three of them were right, in some way or another. 

The three of them stand in your workshop, staring in horror at the dozens of separated doll components you’d strung up around the edges of the room. Scraps of tiny, doll-sized outfits were scattered around your desk, and a half-painted doll head was mounted on some sort of device in the middle of the chaos. The doll’s single painted eye watches their trespassing with silent judgment.

You’re glad you find them out so soon, and you have exactly three seconds to stop them from touching anything in the workshop.

“WhatareyouguysDOINGinhere?!” Nailed it. 

Kabukimono leaps a vertical foot into the air out of fright at your sudden and shrill outburst, while the other two react in more subdued manners before turning around to face you, standing in the doorway behind them. Your arms are outstretched, palms forward, and you’re braced as though you’re anticipating some sort of impact.

“Don’t. Touch. Anything.” You warn. “Not all of these are dry, and if you smudge anything I’ll have to restart them.”

“Why do you have a bunch of dismembered doll corpses?” Scaramouche asks, jerking his thumb at the precariously hanging doll components.

“A seller in Inazuma asked me if I could help him finish a few dolls, since I told him I used to do it as a hobby back in my world.” You explain, not dropping your guarded position. “If any of you want to eat dinner this week, I suggest you step away from the dolls. Slowly.”

“Can you not call them that?” Kabukimono complains to Scara as the trio carefully shuffle out of your workshop. “They’re not corpses, they just haven’t been put together yet.”

“Well, they aren’t alive either, so what’s your point?” 

“If you need some help completing them, I can pitch in.” The three of you look wide-eyed at Wanderer, who seems to immediately regret making the offer. He shrugs and looks away quickly. “Or not. Whatever.”

“I’d love some help,” you start hesitantly. “But what did you want to help with?”

“I can sew the clothes, I guess.”

Scaramouche’s nose wrinkles at this statement. “You can sew?”

“Why is that so surprising?” Wanderer counters, reaching into the inner lining of his haori and showing off a small, familiar cloth doll. Instantly, Kabukimono is patting himself down with a frantic expression, before pointing at Wanderer accusingly.

“Where did you get that?! I lost it a long time ago!”

“Heh, of course you did.” Wanderer smirks. “I made mine. What, are you telling me you never thought of making yourself a new one?”

“I was never good at doing the small stitches…” Kabukimono pouts, crossing his arms and eyeing the doll jealously. 

“That aside,” Wanderer continues, turning to you. “I can help you finish the clothes for your project dolls. The faster you can finish them, the faster you can retrieve the commission for them, right?”

“That’s true, I guess,” you acquiesce, already running the math in your head. If you could get the commission for the dolls early, you might not have to budget as hard this week. 

“I wanna help too!” Kabukimono declares, raising his hand (a bit redundantly, given he’s standing right next to you).

“Whatever,” Scaramouche snorts and waves dismissively as he begins to walk away. “If that’s what you nerds want to waste your time on, be my guest. As long as you don’t make it my problem, I don’t care what you do in your free time.”

“Party pooper,” you say, sticking out your tongue at his retreating back. “Well, what do you say, guys? Let’s get this bread?”

“Sure,” Wanderer nods, heading back into the workshop.

“What does bread have to do with dollmaking?” Kabukimono asks, even as he’s herded into the room by you.

“I’ll explain later, let’s finish up these bad boys first,” you promise, and the workshop door closes behind you.

----- ⚘ -----

“I made another sword!” Kabukimono declares, hurrying over to your workbench and showing off the tiny doll-sized sword he’d made. The fifth one, so far.

“That’s great, buddy!” You give him a pat, to his delight. “I think we’re okay on swords for now, though, d’you wanna try making something else this time?”

“Okay!”

Wanderer looks up from where he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, a few pins sticking out of his mouth as he uses them to hold his patterns in place. 

“Did your toymaker guy say what kinds of dolls he wanted?” He asks, holding up another utilitarian-looking outfit. “I can’t imagine this is what he had in mind when he asked for your help.”

“I mean, these are kind of edging into action figure territory,” you shrug. “But that’s probably fine. There’s a market out there for everything, nowadays.”

“Make a kimono that looks like the Shogun,” Kabukimono suggests, handing Wanderer some purple fabric. “Everybody likes the Shogun, right? She should be pretty popular.”

You and Wanderer both wince (for different reasons) at Kabukimono’s well-meant statement. However, Wanderer does take the purple fabric and sets it gently aside, and you wonder if he’ll take the suggestion after all. 

“Are you losers done in here? I’m tired of doing the dishes for two days straight,” Scaramouche kicks the door in, uncaring of the delicate work you three are doing. Thankfully, the risky parts are all done, so nothing suffers any damage with his sudden entrance. Scara drops three bowls onto your workbench, each piled with fried rice and vegetables.

“Ha, you’d make a great housewife,” Wanderer snickers, earning himself a smack on the back of his head. “Ow.”

“Thank you!” Kabukimono takes his bowl and brings it to where he’s working on something, hopefully not another sword. 

“Thanks,” you say as well, giving Scara a genuine smile. The puppet scowls and leaves as quickly as he’d come in.

“Don’t bother! It doesn’t benefit anyone if you drop dead from starvation, you know?” he sneers over his shoulder as he slams the door shut. 

There’s silence as you three eat the lunch that was generously provided, stacking the bowls and putting them beside the door for when you guys go for your next break.

“I think I’m done after I finish this last outfit,” Wanderer sighs, holding up the unfinished garment. It looks hilarious in his hands, a cheerful pink and purple kimono in stark contrast to his deadpan expression.

“I’m almost done too!” Kabukimono adds, holding up his latest project: a doll-sized armor set. You smile gratefully at the both of them, even as you rub your temples with a sigh.

“Okay, great, I’ll put these together and bring them to the toymaker later this afternoon, then!” You say, hoping you sound enthusiastic about it. You think about the mismatched collection of outfits and sword accessories, wondering how you were going to sell this to your temporary employer. 

----- ⚘ -----

As it turns out, if there’s one thing Inazumans like, it’s swordsmen. The toymaker looks in awe at your half dozen tiny samurai, handing you a pouch of mora with a pleased word of thanks. 

As you’re headed back home, you get a telepathic message from Wanderer.

KABUKIMONO WANTS TO KNOW WHEN WE’RE GETTING MORE DOLLS.

‘He fired me, we’ll have to do something else,’ you think back, hoping you don’t sound too guilty in your head.

As much as you love these guys, you aren’t sure you could take another two days straight of having to collab with them. Hopefully buying some treats on the way home will placate them.

—– ⚘ —–

^ reader trying to juggle all three scara iterations without breaking any of the dolls LMAO

[count-lucio]

lucio headcanons because i can't help myself. just a warning that these are rather canon divergent, so keep that in mind while reading! anyway, with no further ado-

my objectively correct lucio 'headcanons' (i am normal)

- he has chronic nerve pain from the constant pain + stress his body was under while he had the plague - even after he comes back. he walks with a cane most days, and claims it's for 'fashion' (it very clearly isn't)

- the whole "missing an entire arm" business is a MUCH bigger deal than the way the game shows it- it's a genuine disability, not just a fun character trait. i'm begging you all to consider lucio needing (and wanting) to spend time with his prosthetic off. lucio phantom limb syndrome and phantom pains. lucio struggling to do things that require both hands on occasion and having to relearn everything after getting his prosthetic. lucio being too rough/too strong/etc with his left arm because he can't feel what he's doing. as much as he loves the gold he can't help but feel terribly insecure and incapable because of it sometimes.

- lucio is not even a tenth as stupid as the writers make him out to be for funny haha villain points. he's actually incredibly intelligent and a big fan of studying + reading "just because." he's very literate and articulate, just overexcitable (and maybe slightly over-emotional) and doesn't always express his intelligence in the best way (or stop and think before doing things). he's also fairly talented, and rather proficient in writing and playing piano - the grand piano in the foyer belongs to both him and nadia!!

- same thing goes for what an incompetent leader he's portrayed to be in the game... it's absolutely nonsensical that he alone was in charge of vesuvia for multiple years and that entire time knew nothing and learned nothing about being an effective ruler. perhaps he's not the most responsible leader at all moments and maaaybe he can be a bit. harsh. but i can't see military-tactical, hand-selected-to-rule-vesuvia-lucio being an INCOMPETENT leader.

- also, the previous count, count spada, took lucio in and taught him everything he knew - the game hardly touches on this and it's an absolute crime because i think the two of them had such a close (dare i say father-son) relationship and spada effectively took lucio under his wing and gave him the necessary training to be an effective leader before naming him his heir. the two of them were very... my parents hate me and i don't know what parental love feels like x i never married or had children and i regret it immensely, yknow ?

- his relationship with morga is much more strained than what's portrayed in canon - both her and his father were rather abusive throughout his childhood and he hides in the palace every time she visits vesuvia and makes nadia deal with her for him (i use 'makes' loosely - nadia would do it even if lucio didn't ask. she's not very fond of morga either and is sympathetic to lucio's fear of her).

- speaking of nadia, the two of them really don't hate eachother all that much. their relationship is much more complicated than what's shown in the game (everyone's is, really, it's all a lot more blurry and queerplatonic than what was written to make it work as a romance game) and while they most definitely butt heads quite often, she by no means hates him and they do, actually, get along a fair amount of the time. they have quite a bit in common and work well together. most of the time.

- contrary to popular belief, mercedes and melchior are not unruly and untrained- they're both trained impeccably, just in lucio's native language, making him the only person capable of controlling them. however when it is him in charge, the three of them are a force to be reckoned with (especially when out hunting) and mercedes and melchior move flawlessly alongside him, nearly predicting what he wants without him even having to speak it aloud. they're impeccably behaved- just for him and him alone.

- on the topic of languages- lucio was raised speaking something different than what is spoken throughout the game. there is no direct real-world equivalent but it's... scandinavian in nature. he has the faintest hint of an accent (and no, it isn't a jersey accent) but he's been speaking other languages for so long it's not quite as noticeable as it was during his mercenary days - although it is quite a bit more noticeable when he's drunk, and he's very prone to cursing in his native language.

[luna-rainbow]

Thanks for your answer for the last ask.

What is wrong with the writers of the new MCU material? Do they just hate Bucky, especially the writer of the Falcon and the Winter Soldier (he's NOT the Winter Soldier anymore!)? Did Bucky kick their cat or something? This hatred and victim blaming is not justified! "Oh Bucky's just a cray-cray psycho killing machine with cool metal arm but probably belongs in a padded cell. Lol he says he had no choice such a lame excuse..."

Soo…I don’t know if people still remember the rumours from back in 2021 and I don’t know how much of it is true, but my guess at it is this: there were supposed to be two main writers on the series. Spellman was supposed to take Sam’s story, while the other guy wrote Bucky’s story. For whatever reason, the other guy quit before he finished, and didn’t give the writing team enough time to put things together.

From a story craft point of view, Bucky’s story in TFATWS reeks of first-draft-ism. It’s a scattered plot of events that don’t quite string together, and a self-contradictory characterisation that hasn’t yet been smoothed over (but was made a little more believable by Sebastian’s efforts). You can tell some central character themes had been planted in the first draft — the PTSD, the guilt, the messy way he’s trying to relearn how to interact with people (Yori, Sam and later the Wakandans), the struggle with breaking free of his past. These were all strong, interesting character beats for Bucky to work through, and it honestly could have been a good story. And I think that’s when the original writer bailed.

When Spellman picked up this draft, he was pressed for time, he hadn’t watched CATWS and he never thought he’d needed to know about Bucky’s story, so he reads TheMovieSpoiler summary of the movie and tries to piece the rest of the story together. But Bucky’s not his priority nor his interest. There’s already beats of the story that were planned and have to be there for IP reasons. So beyond what was already in the first draft as mentioned above, Bucky is made to be the fall guy to make the rest of the plot happen. Zemo’s release — well we can’t make Sam help break out the criminal that killed an African king so we’ll make Bucky do it, who cares if it makes no sense for his character. The counselling session — the show’s few moments of levity, doesn’t matter that it makes no sense but hey, forced homoeroticism is hilarious, isn’t it? The Wakandan three-way fight — I may be remembering this wrong but I think Skogland said it was one of the first scenes that she had planned for. That fight had to happen, and again Bucky was made to provoke the Wakandans to the point Seb had to step in and say, almost literally, “he would not fucking say that” to make them wind back the animosity between Bucky and Ayo. Sam’s suit — oh no we can’t have Sam asking for it himself that would be too egocentric, we also can’t have Wakandans offering because well, not like the plot actually made Sam a strong ally for Wakanda, so we get Bucky asking for Sam’s suit to be made minutes after he fixes his mistake of releasing Zemo. It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t make sense if it’s Bucky doing it, cos I really think by this stage Spellman didn’t give a shit about a character that wasn’t supposed to be his responsibility in the first place. It’s like when you’re doing group project and your teammate bails on you, you’re gonna do just enough to get that pass but you ain’t putting in the effort for a distinction cos just looking at the unfinished work is pissing you off. So then Bucky also becomes the token white male who pushes all the wrong buttons during the few token racism scenes cos we gotta make Walker have some redeemable qualities and he’s already a dick so we can’t make him racist too.

So instead of having a thoughtful story about a veteran trying to grapple with his guilt and PTSD and lack of agency and making some mistakes along the way, you get a weird disjointed plot of some guy…with some bad dreams…who randomly does things for no good personal reason…who gets made the butt of the joke for the stuff he’s experienced cos he’s got a metal arm and super soldier serum how hard could it have been he just needs to go and apologise for killing people while simultaneously having multiple poignant scenes portraying his lack of agency.

Every writer who tells you “a hero is only as interesting as the villain” just secretly wants to write a simpable villain. And when that writer isn’t very skilled, you get the disaster of TFATWS where a lot of effort is spent on making Zemo funny and personable, and Walker nuanced and sympathetic, instead of making either of the titular heroes funny or personable or nuanced or sympathetic. And yeah, I really don’t think Spellman ever cared enough about Bucky to want to make him sympathetic…or a hero. Remember when he said Bucky pulling open the van door was the first time Bucky has ever been a hero? Fuck right off with that.

[modmad]

TPoH: Update!

Possibly won't update next sunday due to sudden family visitation! We'll have to see, plus I am still relearning how to draw using a tablet and hands are variable in levels of pain, so if there's more variation in quality please understand.

Read TPoH from the start here.

Update here on the TPoH website!

Thank you all  for the kind and loving support! If you want to buy books of this comic YOU CAN! Volumes one and two AND THREE are now in stock and you can get even more books in the form of TPatJ and Unbecoming! Find them and more here in the TPoH Topatoco shop right here, or tell your friends about it! There are also always lots of my doodles to buy on nice stuff in my Society6 merch box too!

If you like TPoH and my other work and want to help keep a soul and body together monetarily, please consider supporting me on Patreon, even just one or two dollars a month helps!

[weaveandwood]

Midwinter in Waterdeep: Part Three

Gale/Tav | Angst & Pining | Read Part One | Read Part Two | Read on AO3

Summary:

Over a year after their relationship ends, fate brings the couple back together for one too-short night.

The sun set and the moon rose in the night sky without a sign of Gale. She was once again confronted with her demons, whispering in her ear about his habit of getting so lost in his own work and focused on his own ambitions that he left her alone, adrift, and purposeless in the aftermath of their adventure and again now. Her only solution then had been to run, leaving him and the biggest piece of her heart behind. Those demons tugged at her another time. She wasn’t strong enough to resist them. I can’t do this. 

AN: The final installment is here! Thank everyone so much for all your support on this mini series. I hope you love it as much as I do, and I'm sorry for ripping out your hearts along the way. CN: Suggestive language, mild descriptions of panic

The first Midwinter was spent in reverence of each other. They watched the annual fireworks from his balcony and stayed up until the dawn began its ascent over the horizon. Hours were spent relearning each other’s bodies and minds after being strangers for so long. She spoke of her jobs, the contracts she accepted, the locations she visited as he kissed her neck in that one spot that was her undoing and his hands worked his way up her thighs. He spoke of his apprentices, new spells he was crafting, his colleagues turned friends while she kissed the faint remnants of the orb tattoo on his chest, her hand trailing down the line of his stomach. He worshiped her throughout the night and she accepted his offerings gladly.

While the sun rose, she lay in his arms, head on his bare chest as they made plans to spend next Midwinter together. 

Dangerous. Tempting. Stupid.

He cast an illusion to make it snow in what used to be the bedroom they shared, just to see the smile on her face that would no doubt satisfy him for another year. She kept the longing she had to stay with him locked away deep inside, remembering the tormented look on his face the previous night when he ran to her. She couldn’t be the cause of that again, she didn’t trust herself with his heart.

They both wept after they parted. 

**

The second Midwinter, they met in the market - the first time Gale had been in almost two years. They got sweet rolls and held hands as they walked to the inn he reserved for them this holiday. They barely got into the room before their bodies collided and their clothes ended up in a wrinkled pile on the floor, not wanting an inch of space to come between them on their one, too-short night together where she was his and he was hers, though both confessed there was no one else during their time apart. 

She asked for another illusion as he traced his fingers up and down her bare back, the muscles and small scars from so many adventures illuminated by the moonlight. He made the room fill with small glowing rabbits, her favorite animal. 

“You remembered.” “How could I ever forget anything about you?”

He gifted her a sending stone that was modified to only relay a signal when the pair were within a certain distance from each other, so he would know she was near, that she was safe at least one day a year. He kept its partner with him at all times - if not in his pocket, then within arm’s reach, counting down the days until he could feel the trace hum of magic that said she was close, that she was coming back to him. She always kept the stone in her pack or under her pillow as she slept in the wilds and reminisced about stolen moments in tents with him. 

***

The third Midwinter, the sending stone in his pocket flickered to life a day earlier than expected, before the sunrise. He met her at the gates of the city full of concern, but she relieved his fears by explaining she had extra time this year and could stay this additional day, if he wanted. Of course he wanted! He was elated as they walked back to the tower, but had to finish up the term today. He kissed her deeply and promised to be back by sunset, a familiar line she had heard plenty before.

Hours ticked by in quiet solitude. The walls of the tower closed in on her and the sounds of the city aggravated instead of soothed. The sun set and the moon rose in the night sky without a sign of Gale. She was once again confronted with her demons, whispering in her ear about his habit of getting so lost in his own work and focused on his own ambitions that he left her alone, adrift, and purposeless in the aftermath of their adventure and again now. Her only solution then had been to run, leaving him and the biggest piece of her heart behind. Those demons tugged at her another time. She wasn’t strong enough to resist them.

I can’t do this. 

The day had completely gotten away from him - he didn’t realize how late it had become as he rushed home after a long day of examinations and meetings with fellow professors. The only thing that kept him going was the thought of spending two nights with the love of his life, lost in memory and passion. 

He called out to her as he walked in, receiving no response. The tower was empty. His breathing quickened as he collapsed against the wall in the entry, sinking to the floor. A cold panic took over as he found himself alone, reliving that first day all those years ago. He ran his shaking hands through his hair, looking for a note, a sign, anything…and found no trace of her. 

She’s not here.

She didn’t come back that night. The next morning, he ignored the faint buzzing from the stone as he walked to Blackstaff to finish some paperwork before properly starting his holiday as he did every year, though this year it was more of a distraction than anything. He came home late to find a package on his doorstep - a small silver moon earring to wear in the empty piercing where Mystra’s symbol used to reside with a note that read “Be a moon unto yourself.” He could feel her watching but went inside anyway. He tucked the parcel in the same drawer with her ring and extinguished all the lights in his tower, wearily retreating to his study. 

She sat across the street from the tower huddled in her coat, crying through the fireworks until the early morning. Something broke inside her that night, deeper than what already was fractured. 

I’m sorry. 

****

The fourth Midwinter, he received a delivery at his office in Blackstaff Academy. Inside was a sending stone, almost exactly like the one he had gotten her two years ago. His heart beat faster - was she returning it? Was this goodbye? Had the last Midwinter ruined them? They hadn’t spoken but at times he felt his original stone humming, knowing she was near Waterdeep on a few occasions over the last year, resisting the urge to go to the gates each time for a glimpse of her. 

He felt the familiar crackle of magic as he inspected the parcel. No, this one is a different stone, he thought with relief, hearing her voice when he touched it for the first time.

I love you. I’m here. Meet me outside of the city if you can forgive me.

His eyes filled with tears, replying with the only message he could ever respond to her with.

I love you.

She smiled to herself as she heard his warm voice in her head. I love you. It was the first time they had said it to each other in so long - even before she had left him. A flicker of hope surged within her. She met him at the gates as the sun set, grabbing his robes and pulling him to her to kiss him deeply before he even had a chance to say hello. There was so much to say, so much to confess, and so little time. She took his hand and led him away from the city, deep into the woods off the main road where she had set up a tent for them, a campfire waiting. He moved to kiss her, to begin their usual dance of removing clothes and grasping at each other to stave off the chill in the air and the loneliness in their hearts. He longed to touch her, to feel himself inside her again. 

She stopped him. 

He listened as she told him about her next adventure on the other side of the continent. How she purchased the new sending stones because she wanted to hear his voice in her head every day when she would be so far from him. How after last Midwinter, she wanted to move forward and not spend every moment together thinking about the hurts of the past. How she realized the irony of her saying that while sitting in a campsite that was reminiscent of the one they shared all those years ago. How she was ready, finally, to offer more and hoped he would accept. 

“I love you, Gale.”  She’s real. “I love you, too.” She’s here.

The Midwinter fireworks from Waterdeep looked especially beautiful that night as they made love underneath them. 

*****

The fifth Midwinter, she met him at the gates of the city, his message that morning running through her head. Meet me at the gates at our usual time. I have a surprise for you. I love you. 

Every day they sent each other a message through the stones. Every first message ended with “I love you.” Every reply started with “I love you.”

He was practically buzzing when he saw her, drawing her tightly into his embrace, just as he did that night five years ago when she came back into his life by a chance of fate - and yes, after that night he most certainly was a bigger believer in fate. She was safe, she was here, and she loved him. He led her to the woods, the same spot she set up their campsite the previous year. In its place was a small cabin surrounded by wildness, enchanted to be invisible to everyone but the two of them. 

He needed her like air, but he refused to suffocate her with that need - not with traditional roles or expectations, not with her always having to adjust to fit into his life, his routine, his schedule, never the other way around. He wanted to fit into her life. She was the moon, she was the stars, she was the sky. She was precious to him, more important to him than even the Weave. He didn’t need anything but her - not his tower, not his accolades…just her. He loved her, and saw her, and understood what she was capable of offering. This cabin, he hoped, would be proof of that, and would be their home when she was between contracts, between adventures. 

She cried as he said all of this to her with tears streaming down his own smiling face. He held out the silver ring he had purchased for her all those years ago. She couldn’t believe he had kept it safe, looked after it as if he knew she would be back. They were different people then. They were different people now. After all this time, he remained devoted to her, steadfast, even as she pushed and pulled, clawing at the boundaries of his love. She believed him - for the first time, she felt understood. She was understood. He knew her, he was safe, he was here, and he loved her. She knew there could never be anyone else for either of them. He was her home. This was her home.

They kissed as he slipped the ring onto her finger. 

******

The sixth Midwinter, Gale found himself looking out the window of their cabin watching the snow while he prepared their dinner for the evening, replaying their messages from that morning in his head. 

I will be home at sunset. Will be with you for a month. I love you.

I love you. Please hurry back to me, I cannot bear to be apart from you much longer.

He laughed softly to himself. Home. If you had asked him five years ago, while he was bereft and reeling, what he thought home was he would have told you a study full of books, a desk littered with parchment, and a full wine cellar. Now? Home was the smile she gave him when he cast illusions. Home was the way she laid her head on his lap when he read to her, no matter the subject. Home was the way she brought him tea and kissed the top of his head as he stayed up late, working on new spells and theories by candlelight. Home was the sound of her voice calling his name as his mouth was between her thighs. Home was a tiny cabin hidden deep in the woods. 

He twirled the silver ring on his own finger, the twin to hers. He had felt the hum of the original sending stone only a few months after their last Midwinter, during Greengrass. He rushed to the cabin after classes were completed for the day, wondering why she hadn’t told him anything through their messaging stones, wondering if the original stones were malfunctioning. He had no sooner opened the door before she pulled him in and kissed him deeply. He led her to the bedroom, both of them shedding layers of clothing along the way as they reunited. Later that evening, she lazily ran her fingers through his hair as the dancing lights he cast hovered over them, lighting the room in a beautiful pale blue glow. 

“Marry me, Gale.”

They were married that week in a small ceremony, only Tara and Morena in attendance, though once word got out, many congratulations poured in from all over the Sword Coast. She had left later that week, and now she was finally coming home. He glanced at the bags he had brought from the tower, full of work and tomes, and contemplated putting them away before he felt his favorite hum of magic in all the world. 

She stood in front of their cabin, looking in through the window at him. Her eyes watered, whether from joy or the wind she couldn’t say, but she’d blame the wind anyway. Four small glowing rabbits hopped around at her feet and led her to the door. 

“Welcome home, my love.”

[dairy-farmer]

Jason's life had always been about fighting. He had to survive domestic abuse with his piece of shit father and suffering from addiction mom. Than he chose to fight for innocent people, when Bruce adopted him. After he died, fighting was all he had left. It never even occurred to him to try and start a new life as a civilian.

Then, after suffering from headaches, nausea and fainting for some time, Tim went through examination and found out that he has a brain tumor. He underwent a surgery and was left with a horrible outcome: he couldn't move, talk, take care of himself.

Bruce found him a nurse, because no one could be there the whole time with him. When Bruce introduced them and softly explained to Tim that the woman is going to be his caretaker, Tim turned pale, his breathing got shallow and his body started shaking. Bruce had to ask nurse to leave, only after Tim calmed down.

Jason honestly doesn't know, how Bruce expected Tim to trust with his life to a complete stranger, considering the business they were in. It was obvious that they needed to find someone, who he already knew. In the meantime they will take turns taking care of him. Except that didn't work out as well. Damian was a kid, who tried to kill Tim, do he was out of question from the start, Alfred had too many responsibilities, and Dick and Bruce had emergencies constantly. The first time Dick called Jason to ask to sit with him for a few hours, feed him, etc, Jason wasn't happy about it, but he had no problem with Tim. Poor kid didn't ask to suffer so much, so Jason spoonfed him, read him a book, talked at him about his adventures with the Outlaws, joked about Dick and his poor choices. He even made Tim smile weakly.

Next time he was asked to play nurse, he was ready. Tim's face light up when he saw him, and Jason thought that it's not all bad.

"Hey Timmy, ready to hear more about miss Bennet's adventures?"

At some point Jason just... Stopped leaving. He made it his goal to make Tim smile as much as he could. He fed him, watched movies with him, read to him. Suddenly Tim Drake was like the center of his universe. Sometimes Dick, Bruce or Alfred would take over for him for a couple of hours, but usually it was just the two of them.

One time Dick started talking about his weekend with his friends, things that they did, Tim got upset, so Jason shut him down. Then Damian started making comments about Tim's slow recovery, even though there was progress: Tim was able to sit now, talk using monosyllabic words, even feed himself slowly on his own. Though he still was tired all the time, still had headaches. Dick with his fun stories about normal life without health issues and Damian with his comments didn't help with Tim recovery. Besides, Bruce was frustrated because of another crisis.

That's why Jason decided to pack their things and move to a safe house. Tim looked relieved, which only cemented Jason's decision.

During the first week on their own they were faced with a problem: in the manor Alfred bathed Tim, because he was still physically too weak to do it on his own. So Jason had to do it. No problem, even though sounds a little awkward.

That was when things changed. Jason was soaping his body, when he thought for the first time, how soft and smooth Tim's skin is. When he was massaging Tim's scalp, Tim moaned, his pink lips slightly parted. After they were done, Jason helped Tim get in the bed, went to shower to get himself clean and finally relaxed, letting hot water wash over him, when he touched himself to the memory of Tim's body.

It was like they build a heaven just for the two of them. Jason helped Tim to get to the bathroom, went to a store to buy groceries, called out "I'm home", when he was back, then started to cook. Tim was slowly relearning how to do things on his own. They spend time doing something together. They went to sleep separately. It would have been perfect, if only Jason didn't fall in love with Tim and this civilian life they were living.

Things changed again, when Jason helped Tim into bed after bath and was ready to go jerk off in the shower, when Tim stopped him and asked if he could help him. Jason, confused, didn't get it. Tim touched his cock through his sweatpants, and Jason groaned. Then he finally kissed him.

this is so cuutee!!! 🥺🥺🥺 the way that jason takes over taking care of tim when he's not able. the way jason learns how to best care for tim, gets attuned to his feelings, realizes that the best way to help him is get him out of the manor.

then jason growing attracted to tim and the private little life they now have together!!!!!hiding his attraction to tim but then tim catching on and reciprocating!!!!!🥰🥰🥰🥰

[herearedragons]

prompt "🎄 there ain’t language for the things i feel" for anyone!

Thanks for the prompt!! feeling normal about this one!! as you can probably tell by the word count!!

Lord Huron lyric prompts

content warnings: Devil-typical stuff (murder, references to past abuse, robot body dysphoria)

spoiler warnings: spoilers for Devil's entire storyline and for the end of The White March Part 2

it's also on AO3 because I've put way too much work into this

there ain’t language for the things I feel (Devil of Caroc x The Watcher, 2964 words)

The Devil of Caroc feels nothing.

Not the floor under her feet. Not the cold mountain air. Not the grip of a knife in her fingers.

She's had to relearn how to move, how to do everything that requires you to know where your body is. It was kinda funny, the look on Galvino's face when his precious "creation" couldn't take a single step forward.

Those first days, part of her wondered if she should just stay that way, a useless heap of metal on the floor that won't move no matter how much you kick or curse at it; maybe then the old madman would deem his experiment a failure and let her rest.

But Galvino didn't take her apart, and, after a few days of sullen motionless defiance, Devil got bored.

The learning was slow, but she had nothing else to occupy herself with, and by the end of the week she was walking. Things would still slip out of her hands when she tried to pick them up, but eventually she had that figured out too.

But while she got the ability to move back — got good at it, even; learned how to be quick and quiet with the mess of metal that her new body was — everything else was gone.

She took to fiddling with her hands just to see them move, tapping her fingers against her own armored plates just to remind herself there's something there at all; carving shit into Galvino's walls and the occasional tree just to see she'd left a mark there, some kind of proof she still exists in the world.

It didn't help much.

Years later, in her dreams she's still folk, and can feel and smell and hurt, and oftentimes the things she dreams feel realer than anything that happens in her waking hours.

She dreams about her home sometimes: about soft rabbit-pelt blankets and the smell of food cooking over a fire, the voices of her folks and her brothers and sister coming from the other room.

More often than that, she dreams about killing.

Sometimes it's the killing she's already done; sometimes it's the killing she still needs to do.

She dreams about Harmke a lot. When she kills him in her dreams, he screams and writhes and gurgles as his flesh splits open under her blade, and she feels his warm blood on her hands.

It doesn't play out like that, when it really happens.

Oh, he screams alright; he makes all the same noises everyone else does, and he bleeds, and he rasps out a last breath, and then he goes still.

And Devil feels nothing.

Nothing.

Not even a tiny bit of what she's felt in her dreams.

And really, she should've known, there's nothing different between that death and all the others she's caused since she woke up inside of this metal thing, but it's —

It's —

It's been the one thing that kept her going, and now it's gone.

And she got nothing from it.

*

The Watcher's got eyes like golden coins, a tongue sharper than her teeth and a real knack for striking fear into folks two, three, four times her size.

Devil likes her.

She's liked her from the moment she punched Galvino in the stomach and skewered his neck on her blade as he doubled over.

It was clean, fast, precise. Like clockwork. Like a trap closing.

And then she told Devil she did it to read his soul as he died; to get the answers he wouldn't give her when he was still living. To learn how to keep Devil from rusting.

It takes her some time to figure out why the Watcher cares so much.

(Mae, just call me Mae, she says and rolls her eyes like she’s had to repeat that more times than she cares to remember)

Eventually Devil pieces together that Mae’s family's had a history with slavery, and Galvino's bold-faced attempt to sell Devil to her rubbed her wrong enough to kill him for it, and try to see his wrongs made right.

Funny thing is, Mae doesn’t care about the murders much. Seems her family doesn’t have a history with that.

She doesn’t hesitate a second before agreeing to help her track down Harmke.

“It’s only fair,” she says.

Things being fair is important to her. It’s the Goldpact Knight way, never leaving a debt unsettled.

So Mae helps Devil do her killing, and in return, Devil promises to help with hers.

It’s only fair. 

Besides, she doesn’t mind Mae half as much as the rest of them, and she’s the only one who can do Devil’s repairs now.

“That’s temporary,” Mae tells her. “You’ll learn to do it yourself, and then you won’t depend on me or anyone else.”

She says it with the same zeal that Pallegina, the feathered girl, has when she talks about her Republics. Devil reckons that might be the way all paladins talk.

By then, it’s after Harmke, after the Battery, and she’s resigned herself to the fact that it’s just going to be like this, forever. 

But when Mae looks straight at her with those gold-coin eyes — and she’s got this way of looking that makes Devil feel like she’s really looking at her, seeing something past Galvino’s work that even Devil herself can’t find — and says you won’t depend on anyone else, it almost feels like an oath; a promise that there’s something waiting for her still.

*

There’s a new dream comes to take the place of the one where she kills Harmke.

In this one, Mae runs a hand through her hair, and then Devil pulls her closer and kisses her. Mae’s warm in her arms, her hand rough with a swordswoman’s calluses against her cheek, and Devil cuts her tongue on one of her fangs and tastes blood.

It feels just as real as the other dreams.

And then she wakes up, a bronze corpse with a mask for a face, and she feels nothing, nothing, nothing.

She should’ve seen this coming. They’ve been trading looks and words for a while now; hard to remember who started it, or when it turned from just figuring each other out to something different.

Mae makes her laugh. She’s got this hardass conviction that lets her stare down a club-swinging ogre and say let’s talk, a worse obsession with words and numbers than Galvino had, and a real short fuse for people wasting her time. 

She’s clever, she’s got a way with words, and she’s a beauty to watch in a fight.

Devil would say that’s just how she likes ‘em, but truth is, it’s been so long since she’s liked anyone that she doesn’t really remember.

She just knows she likes Mae. And sometimes, Mae looks at her like she knows, like she thinks about it too.

They’ll never have what Devil's dreams are showing her, though.

Sometimes that gnaws at her so badly that she needs to find something or someone to break, just to get it to stop.

Other times, she’s glad for it.

Part of her was worried she’d grow aimless after Harmke’s death didn’t bring anything she’d hoped for. She couldn’t for the life of her guess that she could still want things other than killing; that she could dream about something that hasn’t got anything to do with Cold Morn.

It’s a part of her that could’ve died in the fires or in Galvino’s cursed machine, and now she knows that it didn’t. That, on its own, is probably worth something.

That, and the way Mae smiles at her sometimes.

*

Mae frowns, tracing the dent in her chest plate with gloved fingers.

Devil doesn't feel it, of course.

"Try to lift your arm?"

Devil does as asked, lifting her right arm until it gets stuck halfway and doesn't go any further.

"...Alright, put it back down."

She does.

"I think we'd have to open you up and look," Mae says. "And I don't want to do it out here in the snow."

She glances over her shoulder, at the rest of their party taking a second to recover while they try to figure out Devil's situation. Turns out, taking a maegfolc's club straight to the chest is a bad idea even if you're made of bronze; go figure.

The rest of them are doing alright, already patched up by Hiravias' and Mae's joined efforts; Mae herself still has blood in her hair from a cut that just closed up.

Funny thing about flesh: easier to hurt, but sometimes easier to fix, too.

Mae looks back at Devil, and says:

"I think you should fall back. The Eyeless will be going after our reinforcements; you should have a clean shot through."

She's right about that. Even with some of her gears stuck or whatever the Hel happened in there, getting back to the edge of the crater won't be a problem if Devil goes alone.

Except, Mae's hand shakes a little as it withdraws from her chest, and there are dark circles under her eyes, her right eye bloodshot.

She's keeping it together, but she's not well. These god-visions have been pushing her to the limit.

"Sure you won't need me in there?" Devil asks. "Could be trapped. Who'll be disarming that, Kana?"

Mae shakes her head:

"We'll manage."

That's that, then. She won't budge.

Devil shrugs; something screeches and grinds inside of her as she does.

"Fine," she says. "It's your funeral."

"Fine by me as long as it's not yours," Mae parries.

Devil rolls her eyes.

Goddamn paladins.

“Don’t go dying in there,” she tells her.

Mae just grins, all stripes and golden eyes and sharp teeth, and offers her a hand up.

Then, the rest of them go down into the cave, and Devil goes in the opposite direction.

She weaves her way between ogres and Eyeless and Bleak Walkers beating the shit out of each other, unnoticed; they’re all so caught up in the skirmish that she barely needs to hide.

She finds a safe-looking nook near the edge of the crater with a good view of the battlefield, climbs in, and waits.

*

She must have dozed off at some point, because the rumbling startles her awake.

It's in the ground and in the rocks around her, and her first instinct is to get the Hel out of her hiding spot before she gets crushed. Once she does, she gets a better idea of what's happening: the tremors aren't happening near her, they're coming from the lake.

When she sees the ice begin to crack, she knows something's happening down there, where the rest of them are.

Where Mae is.

Devil takes off running.

*

She makes it to the water just in time to see them pour out of the cave mouth. Something in her body is making a clicking noise that wasn't happening before, and it's getting on her nerves.

As they scramble across the ice, she moves along the edge of the water to meet them on solid ground. She's got a bad feeling all of a sudden, she doesn't know why, and it's the kind she hasn't had in over a decade.

They get closer.

Sagani and Itumaak make the leap to safety like it's nothing. Kana nearly loses his balance; Devil catches him with her good arm, then Sagani joins in, and they pull until he tumbles forward. Zahua leaps over with Hiravias under his arm, and then it's —

Edér. It's Edér.

And he always goes last, to make sure everyone else makes it through.

Soon as he regains his balance, Devil steps up to him and grabs him by the collar of his armor.

"Where's Mae?" she asks.

She doesn't like the look Edér gives her.

"I'm sorry," he says.

She tightens her grip, metal grinding against metal.

"You tell me what happened or I get it out of you."

He doesn't flinch, just stares back at her with his mouth set and a weird shine to his eyes.

"She stayed back," he says. "One of us had to. She made us draw lots, and... she pulled the short one."

Then he swallows, takes a deep breath, and repeats:

"I'm sorry."

That's when she realizes he's on the verge of tears.

Devil flinches, releases his collar like she's grabbed something hot or sharp, and turns away, which just forces her to face the rest of them.

Sagani's sitting on the ground, her face buried in Itumaak's fur as she holds him close; Hiravias is dusting himself off, turned away so that none of them can see his good eye; Kana's weeping openly, strangely quiet for a guy his size; and Zahua's just staring out at the cracked ice with a look of wonder, or maybe jealousy.

Their grieving faces close in on her like a torch-bearing mob; wherever she turns, there's one of them, driving her back into the fire.

She feels a scream starting somewhere in the back of her mind — no words, just violence with nowhere to put it.

And then, she's cold.

She's cold, and the ground is hard under her feet, and the wind blowing from the crater whistles through the seams of her body, chilling her core, tugging at the tightly wound wires in her faulty right arm, and her chest aches where she'd taken the blow.

The air smells like pitch and smoke and salt.

Her knees buckle and she collapses, the fight knocked out of her at once; there's nothing she can do but stare at her own twitching hands, still bronze, still wrong, and feel.

For a brief, horrible moment she understands everything Zahua had ever said about pain being beautiful.

Then, something clicks and catches inside of her, and the world goes dark.

*

Devil dreams about home again.

Her face is buried in a rabbit-fur blanket, and she can hear — and smell — a crackling fire nearby.

It's warm.

There's someone sitting on the bed next to her. She pushes the blanket off, sits up to see who it is.

Mae startles, ears flicking up, but quickly relaxes again and smiles at her.

"You woke up," she says. "Thank the gods. I was just about to start worrying I'd messed something up."

Devil doesn't even question it; she doesn't want to.

She reaches for her —

And freezes.

Her arm is bronze, engraved with vine patterns and arcane nonsense, reflecting the light of a fire somewhere to her left.

But she still feels the soft fur and the bedding, and the air smells like wet clothes and healing potions and smoked fish.

Mae takes her outstretched hand in hers, and her hands are warm and rough, just like Devil always dreams them. And, now that Mae's fully turned towards her, she can see the large bruise over almost the entire right side of her face.

Too many things are wrong. Her hands. The smell. Mae's face. Devil's starting to think that —

"How are you feeling?" Mae asks.

— that she's not dreaming this.

"Ain't you dead?" she creaks out.

Mae laughs; there's a tense edge to it.

"I thought I was," she says, and then repeats, her smile fading, "I really thought I was."

Mae looks down — she's still holding her hand — and runs a thumb over the side of Devil's palm.

A shiver goes down her spine.

Mae looks back up, and asks:

"Can you feel this?"

There isn't a single thing Devil can bring herself to say, so she just nods.

Mae exhales and squeezes her hand, bowing her head over it, almost as if in prayer.

"It worked," she whispers.

Devil finally manages to scrape some words together.

She says:

"You did this to me."

Mae shakes her head, looks back up at her.

"Not me," she says. "Abydon. I just asked. It's... a long story, but the gist of it is that I did him a favor, and he said I could ask for one in return. I asked for this."

She lightens her grip on Devil's hand just a little, but she doesn't let go.

Devil stares at her, and tries to understand.

"You... asked for me to feel again?"

Mae shrugs, and gives her a shaky kind of smile Devil hasn't ever seen on her before.

"Well, he said he couldn't make you folk again, and that was his next best offer."

Something strange happens to her.

Her body gets warmer, a strange heat coming from the core in her chest. Things click and turn, and when she tries to speak, just a weird creaking noise comes out.

Devil knows she can't cry, but it feels like she's about to.

She stares down at their hands intertwined on the rabbit fur for a long moment; her ornate bronze, and Mae's small hands that are warm and alive, with faded scars and little tufts of fur on her knuckles.

"Don't know what I done to deserve someone who'd get a wish from a god and waste it on me," she says finally.

Mae squeezes her hand again.

"I just wanted to give you something," she says, her voice shaking as much as her hands are. "I thought I was dying, and I — I didn't want to leave you like that. I wanted my love to be good for something."

"Effigy's eyes, Mae," Devil says. "Come here."

She pulls her into her lap, meeting no resistance, and hugs her.

Mae's warm in her arms, her breathing and heartbeat a long-forgotten rhythm against Devil's chest. She hugs her back, squeezing tightly, and Devil feels it. She feels it.

Devil buries her face in Mae's hair — it's thick and wavy, and warm like the rest of her — and cries without crying.