#and now they know they have the capacity to do something like that and be used like that and they're scared

[stargazerlion]

Ok i volunteered at a shelter and lowkey this is a great idea. The hard part about shelters is that its a high stress environment where they dont get to socialize much with humans, which makes them less adoptable (people are less likely to adopt the cat that hides in a corner, and especially if combined with conditions that limit adaptabilitylike being feisty or old or having a disability). So like legit a major part of volunteering was going in, spending time with the cats, and yes you clean the cage and monitor them for signs of illness, but you also pet them and play with them so its normal and theyre calmer, so when their perfect family comes looking by theyll be able to make a better impression, go home sooner. Now this is probably more of a foster situation, since afaik most prisons are not combined with shelters, but a lot of foster situations are the ones where you have a shelter near capacity, a handful of animals that no one will adopt and are getting more and more stressed, so you want to get them to a temporary home fast so they can recover and open room to take more animals in. I imagine this is mostly the type of cats that would be going to these prisons. And again often nothing wrong with these cats, they just might be on the old side or too high energy for family households or have FIV or something. So it gets these animals out of the shelter into a somewhat better environment, opens up more room in shelters, gives the prisoners a way to make a positive impact, its a win win win situation. And btw, unless they are so incompetent they literally did not consult a animal behavior specialist, theres no way theyre just throwing the cats in a cell with random prisoners willy nilly. There will be training. I had to do about 8 hours before I was allowed to volunteer hands on with the cats. And the prisoners will be expected to listen and learn and probably be tested and observed so they know what they are doing, and the guards can weed out the theoretical Evil Man(tm) who wants to hurt animals so bad that he joins a program to help animals to hurt them, i guess? As much as i dislike and distrust the US prison system they almost universally fall on the too restrictive side of things than the too lenient, so Im not particularly worried for the welfare of the cats, assuming proper training and supervision is done

Also for prev, yeah they dont get to take them home which is sad, especially if bonds form, but as someone who has seen many cats off to forever homes there is also a joy in knowing you helped them get there

The Indiana Men’s Prison runs a program known as “Pawsitive Impact,” which allows inmates to care for shelter cats. The initiative provides a unique opportunity for inmates to develop life skills such as responsibility, empathy, and patience by looking after the cats. Inmates are tasked with feeding, grooming, and socializing the animals, preparing them for adoption once they’re ready.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

talking about married ladies, it is quite interesting that georgina doesn't wear a ring! if you look at princess leah, she has a ring on her left hand's ring finger; but if you look at maleanor, who's also married, she wears a ring on her right hand's middle finger! this makes me wonder if different races have different wedding ring customs! personally, it made me think that merfolk just dont wear rings as proof of marriage; in the little mermaid prequel, for example, ariel's mother and father wear no rings despite being married (i think???) anyway, i hope we find out more about this what do you think? are there any other married characters that come to mind?

I don’t have any comment on the actual Disney characters and whether or not they wear rings and in a consistent place after marriage; I’m of the opinion that even if I checked this, details that are true in the Disney versions do not always translate over to Twst. We also can’t tell what are animation errors or not, especially granted that it’s usually the lower budget sequels or prequels that show married characters.

Traditionally, a wedding ring would be worn on your left hand’s ring finger (fourth finger from the thumb). The only Twst parent to be wearing a ring like this is Queen Leah.

As someonetwisted said, Maleanor wears a ring on her right hand's middle finger. This could be indicative of different races having different traditions when it comes to where their wedding ring is worn--however, because we have seen so few married fae + merpeople and no married beastmen to compare to, it's unclear whether this is the case or if Maleanor's ring is just something she wears as a sign of opulence as a princess.

The only other fae I can think of is Baur, but it's not obvious if he was married or not at the time of Lilia's time as a general. Even if Baur were married during that era, his armor would make it difficult to wear a ring:

This is probably also why the Dawn Knight wears no ring. However, I do believe that if you extract the in-game assets, he is shown to be wearing a wedding band under his armor.

Lilia, who is a single parent and never got married, of course wears no ring. (It would also be odd to pass as a high school student while you’re wearing a wedding ring/j)

Then we have Dylla and Eric Venue, who may have been married at one point or (for whatever reason) are no longer with their partner. Neither wear rings, which could be because they never actually married or have split up with or lost their spouses in some other way. It could be something practical though?

For Dylla, a ring might get in the way of her truck driving and delivering goods. She may not want to wear something “fancy” for such a physically demanding and casual job. For Eric, a celebrity, he wouldn’t want the public to know he is already taken or has been with a woman in a physical capacity. This is especially the case because Vil doesn’t want people to know about their familial connection and claim he only has his success due to nepotism.

When it comes to parents who are happily married, there's the Clovers (from the Heartslabyul manga!) and Mr. and Mrs. Shroud.

You can't see Mrs. Clover's hands, but Mr. Clover appears to wear no ring. I'm going to assume Mrs. Clover is the same. Again, I see this as a practical thing. Wearing a ring while making baked goods seems unsanitary.

Mr. and Mrs. Shroud wear gloves, but no rings. I'm not as certain about this one, but maybe Mr. Shroud avoids wearing a ring due to workplace professionalism? He does seem to be the more serious one of the duo.

As for Mrs. Shroud, maybe she foregoes the ring (despite being so love-dovey) in case it gets in the way of her job...? I'm not sure how tech stuff works, but my thought is that this would be to avoid the metal or gem of the ring interfering with whatever she's inventing in case they come in contact. Or maybe she just wants to match with her husband?

The only married merperson we know of right now is, of course, Georgina, who wears no ring:

One proposed (kek, get the pun?) reason as to why this is is that every race has different traditions or customs to indicate being taken. However, I wonder if there's another reason...?

If you look at the true form of a moray eel merperson, they have webbed fingers. This would make it extremely difficult to wear a ring. (I should point out that the more humanoid merpeople, like the Atlantica Memorial Museum guards, do NOT have webbed fingers, so it would be possible for them to wear rings.)

It seems tedious for morays to keep a ring prepared just to slip on every time you visit the land. It also feels like a small thing like the ring would be easily washed away by the waves. And how frequently would you be going to land, anyway? Would this extra effort be worth it??

I also think it’s entirely possible that Georgina doesn’t wear a ring because it goes against glove etiquette. Yes, there is such a thing 😂

In glove etiquette, you are not supposed to wear a ring over your gloves. This just is not done, I’m assuming because it can mess with the fabric. (Besides, rings are measured to fit your finger, without taking gloves into consideration!) It’s also not advisable to wear rings under your gloves, as this would ruin the smooth silhouette with an unsightly lump.

Another component of glove etiquette is the length: shorter gloves are appropriate for cocktail parties and more informal occasions, while gloves that extend past elbow length (which is true of Georgina’s outfit) are for formal occasions. Since Georgina does appear to be formally dressed and in attendance for an acquaintance’s pre-wedding festivities + is a well put-together woman, it’s not too far-fetched to assume she doesn’t have a ring on in order to conform with the etiquette.

We probably won’t see Mr. Leech this event, but maybe in a future one! That’s probably when Floyd gets his “hometown” (a bit of a misnomer, since Ultramarine City and Maquillaville aren’t Jade or Vil’s respecrive hometowns) SSR. I always thought that Jade took after his dad since Mr. Leech stresses the importance of proper dress and attitude… but hey, maybe he’s got a bit of loose cannon in him like Floyd??

[ghoulangerlee]

Dew's wearing a boot and he's so brave about it!!!

spreading the copiamountaindew agenda again w/ this one. not proofread so if you spot anything pls lemme know I'll be back after I sleep pls forgive me my brain has been fuzzy since my car accident last week!!

----

There's very little time on the road between shows for comfort, but Dew makes the most of it, sprawled out on the couch with his injured foot propped up in Mountain's lap—stabilized between several pillows, one of them being a memory foam one that someone on the crew had picked up shortly after the incident.

Mountain, to his credit, doesn't move all that much, easily keeping the ice pack held over the worst of the injury while the bus continues to putter down the road to their next destination.

Every so often, one of the girls or Rain will bring him a new ice pack when his has gone warm and melty, and Aeon's been pretty great about keeping him held to his medication schedule—nothing too heavy, just ibuprofen and Tylenol on their show days, but there's a promise of something more to help him sleep when they're not stuck on a cramped bus and they can rest in a hotel after tonight's show.

It's not exactly how he'd expected to spend a new tour but well—he's here now, and there's no take backsies.

"Phone's been buzzing," Mountain murmurs, pulling him from his light doze, his hand warm against Dew's bare shin, "Probably Copia calling to check on you again. Might wanna get that." He squeezes gently, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he speaks.

Dew snorts softly, but picks his phone up from where he'd dropped it on the table by the couch, face down and out of the way after his last dose of medication, "Definitely C," he says with a shake of his head as the screen goes dark at the tail end of a call, "Should I call him back or just—"

His phone lights up again, Copia's name splashed across the front, and with a fond shake of his head, he swipes across the screen and answers it, "You're on speaker, C," he says, mostly as a warning, he doesn't really care, neither does Copia—everyone with the exception of V's ghoulette have shared Copia's bed in some capacity, so there's no secrets between them, but he likes warning him anyway.

"Dewdrop," Copia says over a burst of static, "How are you feeling?"

Dew hums, glancing down at his foot propped up on Mountain's lap, "Like shit," he says, "But ready to be off of this bus and at the next venue at least. We have at least thirty more minutes before we're there."

"Ahhh yes the long travel," Copia says, there's something in his voice, a wistfulness that Dew can pick out that sounds almost like longing, "Tonight you'll have a break, yes? It's only a couple of days before you need to get on the road again but I made the schedule for the tour and I remember giving you at least two full nights to sleep in a bed so I expect you to do that."

Dew snorts, "Well I'm definitely not going sight seeing," he says, "Strict bed rest orders when I'm not working. According to the doctor at least."

The line goes quiet for a moment, and then, "How bad is it really?" Copia asks, his voice soft and careful.

"I'm probably doing myself no favors by being on it," Dew says finally, glancing at his foot, there had been some bruising at first, but now he knows it's gone, most of the superficial stuff cleared up by Aeon's magic—the fractured bone however, still present despite everything else. "But the boot will help, people continue to do things with fractures all the time. I'm icing it and wearing the boot. Elevating it when I'm not wearing the boot. I've got people around me taking care of me..." He trails off, bites his lower lip, "I'm probably going to talk to V about shoes with more ankle support though."

Copia huffs on the other line, "Fucking V," he mumbles, "I'm really glad you're alright Dewdrop." He says softly. "When I'd heard you were injured...I was so worried."

"Gonna take more than shitty shoes to take me out, babe," Dew teases, and then, softer, "I miss you. Not having you on stage kind of sucks."

That makes Copia laugh a little, "I'll pretend like I haven't seen photo and video evidence of you having the time of your life on stage and accept that for the romantic declaration that it is," he says teasingly.

Dew goes to open his mouth, to say something, but there's a sound in the background, something he can't quite make out, and Copia's voice coming back over the line.

"Duty calls," he says dryly, with a sigh, "I'll talk to you later, you rest some more. I love you."

Dew hums, presses his head back into his pillow and closes his eyes, feeling a rush of longing and want all of a sudden, "I love you too," he says, "Call me tonight after the show?"

Copia laughs, low and warm, "Of course I will. You and Mountain both."

The call disconnects shortly after and Mountain squeezes his shin again as the two of them settle for the rest of the ride to the venue.

-

They're about forty minutes late to arrive due to several factors that Dew's not aware of, but his foot aches when he finally fits the Velcro straps of the boot back around his leg and foot properly and he leans most of his weight on Mountain when he stands.

They don't necessarily have to get off the bus here, but he's going a bit stir crazy and needs to move around now before he bites someone's head off. Besides, he needs to talk to his guitar tech about a few things anyway, so he lets Mountain loop an arm around him as they take the steps off the bus one at a time, the bottom of the boot thunking heavily against the metal with each step he takes.

He's only a little out of breath when he gets to the bottom, taking a moment to lean against Mountain with his eyes closed to just breathe before they begin the trek towards the inside when he hears a stutter in Mountain's breathing.

"Big guy?" He asks, frowning, blinking his eyes open and looking up at the earth ghoul who's staring straight ahead with a look on his face that Dew can't quite place.

Mountain blinks several times until his eyes go a bit red rimmed, glamored face screwing up into something unreadable before he's wrapping his arm tighter around Dew and using his strength to all but haul the shorter ghoul forward, half lifting him from the ground as he does and when Dew finally looks in the direction that Mountain's looking it all falls into place because—

Oh.

Oh.

Copia's standing there.

He's wearing his stupid red tracksuit, looking rumpled and tired and like he just got off of an airplane flight, duffle bag sitting at his feet, but he's there.

Mountain's barely placed Dew firmly back on his feet before he finds himself sandwiched between ghoul and not-quite-human, wrapped in a tangle of arms as he feels Mountain curl protectively around the two of them, Copia's face nudging the underside of his jaw where he's trying his best to bury himself in his embrace.

"What are you doing here?"

Dew asks that, it's his voice that says it, something choked and not at all normal sounding as he worms his arms under Copia's jacket so he can get as close as he can without being indecent.

Copia doesn't answer at first, just breathes in a few times and then, "I needed to see that you were okay."

And oh.

Oh.

Dew squeezes him tighter, presses his face into Copia's hair, "I missed you so fucking much." He whispers.

Mountain makes a wounded noise around them, "How long are you here for?"

"A few days. Officially, I'm checking in on a few things. Making sure everything is going smoothly. Unofficially, I'm here for you two. To see you, to spend time with you." Copia finally pulls back enough so he can look at the two of them, there are tired lines around his eyes, a redness to them, "I missed you both so much, I was planning to come out later on, but..." He trails off sheepishly, "I've never been good at not being impulsive when it comes to matters of the heart."

Dew laughs then, cups his hands around Copia's cheeks and pulls him into a solid kiss, revels in the feel of his mouth for a moment—a long moment as everything melts away, just the feeling of being surrounded by the two people he loves the most.

When he pulls away, Mountain swoops in too, kisses Copia as well, shorter and less intense, and Dew watches as the two of them trade soft pecks over his shoulder for a few moments, everything almost perfect except for the pain making itself know in his ankle.

He lets it come to a natural end though, leans most of his weight off of his injured foot and onto Mountain until they pull apart, twin flushes on their cheeks, "As cute as you two are, we should probably head into the venue."

Copia leans in and kisses Dew once more, a fleeting and soft thing before he's untangling himself and picking up his duffle bag, "Let's go then," he says and then together, Copia and Mountain move to support Dew's weight more evenly.

The walk into the venue isn't too terrible between the three of them, Dew feels lighter, having Copia there, close again, he feels more complete, as cliche as it sounds, and when Copia drops him off with his guitar tech with a promise to be back once he's properly dressed, pressing a fleeting kiss to his glamored forehead—right between where his horns would be, he feels like tonight's going to be a good night, despite everything.

[stevishabitat]

Absolutely.

But keep in mind that companies have drunk the AI for customer service kool-aid so hard that in the past five years they have taken lean staffing to its absolute extreme.

There are no representatives anymore.

And those of us left are working beyond our capacity and have been doing so now since the original COVID quarantine when companies realized they could lower expectations into the basement and get away with it.

The purges came hard and fast and now budgets formerly used on human beings with actual skills are poured into the AI toilet. Because AI may suck at customer service, but at least it doesn't ask for health insurance, sick days, or shift differentials.

I love helping people, and I want to solve your problem, but I've been running on empty for so long I don't remember what it feels like not to be stressed and I'm expected to get through more calls and chats and emails daily than would have been tolerated at peak times just a few years ago.

And the people I used to go to behind the scenes to fix things in real time or maybe overnight have also been replaced with chatbots, phone trees that go nowhere, and online forms that create help tickets that nobody is around to look at.

So if it's not something I can fix myself, I have to submit a request and wait and hope that someone will get back to me in an unknown number of business days.

What late-stage capitalism looks like in customer service is companies knowing their service is shit, but because they could show on a spreadsheet that they saved some money in the second quarter by yet another mass layoff, the board of directors is happy and the shareholders are happy. And reputation with customers/the general public is nothing compared to making the Board happy.

Quality and Reputation mean less than nothing, and there's no one left to complain to.

one of the most infuriating things about becoming an adult is when you realize that it actually is 10x easier to solve problems by making a phone call vs literally any other communication method

[stellamancer]

i am disgusted at how little time i took me to puke this out. gojo x gn!reader. not proofread. despite all odds established relationship. sorry if he feels a little off. it's been a while. just over 350 words.

"Anyway, that is why you should give me that mochi."

You stare at Satoru blankly, his entire explanation having gone in one ear and out the other. All you know is that he wants the sakura mochi in your hands that may very well be the very last sakura mochi of the season that you bought with your hard earned money.

"No," you say automatically.

Cue the freaking waterworks.

"What? Why not?" he whines. "Don't you think an awesome and handsome guy like me deserves a sweet little treat?"

The look Satoru receives from you is scathing, but years of knowing one another has made him immune to even your most lethal of death glares. You will have to find a new method— preferably one that does not require you touch him because he would like that far too much and you can't be having that.

"Well?" he nudges when you don't give him a verbal answer, as if glowering at him is not enough.

"Maybe, if you didn't buy and scarf down thirty of them," you tell him flatly. You really don't know where he put all those or how he could possibly stomach that many sakura mochi without feeling ill. The wonders of his stomach capacity never cease.

"Well, I can't eat my money, now can I?" Satoru retorts.

You roll your eyes.

"Okay, okay, fine, if you want it so much, then why don't we share it?" he suggests, grinning, and there's a dangerous glint to it, a tell tale sign that he's about to say something you don't want to hear. "You know, the way that couples do?"

A hot flash of annoyance licks at your stomach and you decide you hate him. You hate him so much. You don't know how or even why you agreed to date him, all you know now that it was a mistake that you very, very sorely regret.

"Actually, you know what," you say and he perks up thinking that you're conceding to his demands. He should know better. "I don't think I really want it any more. So, I'll give it to you. My treat, babe."

you shove it in his hands and he is so overcome with love that he kisses you and you forget you wanna deck him.

[agentoffangirling]

I really don't like it when people try to present Team Cap and Team Iron Man as being the same thing, bc they're very clearly not? (And sorry for doing this type of discourse in 2025, but it needs to be said)

Because let's be honest, the mainline MCU didn't really focus on the Sokovia Accords past Civil War. It's not present in Doctor Strange, Black Widow, Homecoming (at least in a large capacity), certainly not Ragnarok or GOTG 2, Black Panther, and almost no one cares by Infinity War. When we look at the projects post Accords, there are hardly any moments where they matter, and by 2025, they're fully repealed. Nine years of being active, five of whom were during the Snap, meaning only four years, and most of the projects don't go very in depth. That tends to lead mainline audiences into believing it was never that bad in the first place and that Cap was being selfish

But we see how the Accords really effect everyday powered people in the supplemental material like Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. After being introduced, powered people had three options

Go into hiding. Live a normal life. Never show off your abilities

Sign the Accords. If you were part of a government agency like S.H.I.E.L.D., it is heavily implied you had to sign or you couldn't work for them anymore

Don't sign and show off your powers? You go to the Raft

This went for everyone, it didn't matter if your power was making farts smell good, you counted as powered. Imagine the bank down the street is getting robbed, with these in place, you couldn't do anything about it if you weren't signed or you risked going to jail; they're awful options

Or what if you were signed? Great, now all your information (powers, weaknesses, danger level, LITERALLY EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU) is held in a massive server that can be easily hacked and accessed. We see in AoS s4 that signed Inhumans are getting harmed bc the Watchdogs, a hate organization, was able to get their hands on their information and find out exactly where they were. POWERED PEOPLE WORE TRACKERS THAT WAS CONSTANTLY BEING UPDATED ON THEIR LOCATION. THAT'S FUCKING WRONG IN SO MANY WAYS

Let's switch gears for a sec here and go to another side, where thankfully, that isn't happening to you, but you do wanna make some kind of change in your community. You notice that people are going missing, that there's weird power outages and decide that's worth looking into, so you go to the council and present your case. Now, as we all know, politicians never agree on anything, so the chance of getting an immediate yes is almost impossible (I'd argue 1% is far too generous in this case). It may take weeks, months, or the decision is swept under the rug and oopsies, now the entirety of Florida is covered by a blanket of darkness!

Or you get a no, and actually, they want you to check out this tiny little village in New Zealand, and so you have no choice but to go. You quickly realize that this isn't really worth your time and feel like your services are required elsewhere, but again, you're not able to back out. When you return, you find that London has been utterly destroyed. This is a situation that Steve himself brings up, and it's something that absolutely could happen! There are just endless risks to this

Then, of course, the worst scenario, being sent to the Raft, which, bc it's in international waters, they can do whatever they want to you!! Doesn't matter if it's inhumane, no one can do shit about it. It's stated in "Jessica Jones" that prisoners aren't allowed to have any contact with the outside world, and if you go in there, you go in for good. Almost no one makes it out. Again, it doesn't matter who you were and what your powers were, you would be stuck inside with the worst of the worst. WANDA MAXIMOFF WAS IN A SHOCK COLLAR AND STRAIGHTJACKET. How in any situation is that okay??

Steve understood this, understood the true consequences of handing themselves over to hundreds of governments. He wasn't against having regulations (neither am I) but he knew this wasn't the right way to go

One side holds all the power. The other holds nothing. This is in no way equal

[supercorpkid]

If Death Has No Claim

Supergirl. Baby Danvers. Lena Luthor x BD! Reader, Alex Danvers.

Word Count: 3.7k

Notes: kinda angsty, but happy ending.

You don’t remember leaving the fight. Just pain—sharp, cold, blooming behind your ribs like something ruptured. Everything was too loud. Too bright. Then, too dark.

Somehow, you find her balcony. Barely. You land clumsy on your knees, half-conscious. Your vision swims, one eye swollen shut, blood trailing warm down your face.

You reach the glass with shaking fingers. Tap once. A wet, red print smears across the windowpane. You try to breathe. Can’t. Try to knock again. Don’t make it. Your hand slips down the glass as you collapse, leaving a trail like a signature.

You can’t believe this is how you die.

She appears in the blur of it. The door flies open. Lena stares for half a second—frozen, hand still on the handle—before she’s rushing forward.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” she breathes, her voice cracking like glass. “What happened to you?”

You don’t know if this is real or a dream. If this is the next life or still your own. But you say her name. Chant it. Like a promise, like an oath, like a last word.

“Lena…”

Your lips barely move. You taste blood. And then you're gone.

She doesn’t remember asking for help. Doesn’t remember yelling Hope to initiate the Lena Luthor Protocol. Doesn’t remember the medkits or the blacklisted Luthor tech no one knows she still has. Lena doesn’t even know how she manages to carry a Kryptonian to her couch.

The world’s gone fuzzy at the edges—except for you. You, limp and bloodied on her sofa. You, breathing shallowly. You, barely alive.

She wipes the blood off your face with trembling hands. Tells herself it’s to assess the damage, to keep you from choking on it. But the truth is: she can’t stand to see your face like this.

Not when your skin is usually warm. Not when your mouth is usually curled in that stupid smile that drives her insane.

Now it’s slack. Pale. Split open from someone’s fist.

A tear falls before she can stop it. 

“Who did this to you?” she whispers, voice shaking. “Why—why does it always have to be you?”

You don’t answer. Of course you don’t. You’re out cold. Barely holding on.

So she presses her forehead to yours and whispers it again, softer now.

“Why does it always have to be you, my love?”

She cleans your face with trembling hands. Clutches at your ruined suit. Whispers your name again and again, like she could summon you back with nothing but want.

Nothing changes. Not even as the sunlight emulator beams down at full capacity, burning both your skins.

The silence presses in like a vice.

Her hand trembles as she brushes your hair back from your face—careful, so careful not to touch the bruising blooming beneath your eye. Her fingers come away bloody. Again.

And then the memory slips in. Like bile. Like poison.

It started with laughter.

The kind that left you breathless—leaning into each other on Lena’s couch, the TV long forgotten. One of your knees was hooked over hers, your fingers toying absently with the sleeve of her cardigan like you didn’t even realize you were doing it.

And Lena—Lena had been staring at your smile like it was sunlight. Like it was something sacred. Like it belonged to her and not to you.

You turned toward her, some half-formed joke still on your lips, but it died there when you saw her face. The way her smile had softened into something else. Something closer to awe. To devotion.

Her eyes dropped to your mouth. The room stilled.

It felt like a spark. A held breath. Neither of you moved—but the air between you did.

You were so close. So achingly close.

Your fingers slipped down her sleeve until your palm settled on her tight. And hers, as if pulled by gravity, found your waist. She held you there—gentle, but sure. Like she wanted you as close as this, if not closer.

Still, no one moved. Not yet.

It felt like one of those moments that lived outside of time.

You were the one who leaned in. Just a little. Just enough for your noses to brush. For her to feel your breath on her skin like a ghost touch. Close enough that she parted her lips and shut her eyes���trusting, wanting, willing.

So ready. All yours.

But you didn’t kiss her. No.

You whispered her name. And it sounded like she owned it. Like she was the only Lena in the world. Or at least, the only one that mattered.

“Lena… I can’t,”

Her eyes opened. Confused. Soft. Her hands tightened slightly at your waist, stopping you from pulling away.

“Can’t what?”

You swallowed, trying to steady your voice.

“I can’t be your girlfriend.”

She flinched—just slightly. “Oh.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” you rushed. “God, Lena, I do. You have no idea how much I do.”

“Then why—?”

“Because what we are, what we could be, it’s more than that. More than titles and could-have-beens and almost-was. I don’t want to be something the world can name and then destroy when it gets hard.”

She didn’t look away. Didn’t interrupt. But her hands had started to shake.

You reached up. Touched her cheek.

“I want to be your person,” you said. “The one you trust when everything else falls apart. The one who stays. The one who knows you better than anyone.”

She blinked a tear.

“Lena, I—I want to be yours in a way no one can take away. Even if you fall in love with someone else someday, or your family disapproves, or the world tries to tear us apart—I want that unshakable, permanent place. The one that’s always mine.”

She closed her eyes again, breathing like she'd just been hit.

“I want to love you past the boundaries of this life,” you said, voice cracking. “I want to promise you something stronger.”

She was really crying now. Silent tears slipping down her cheeks.

And then, your voice went quiet. Reverent.

“Let my last breath be yours. Let your name be the final word on my lips. I want to give you more than just my heart, Lena—because when my body is no longer here, I want you to still hold my soul.”

That broke her. But she kissed your knuckles anyway. Touched your face like she was memorizing it.

Because worse than not having you the way she wanted… was not having you at all.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”

And for some goddamn reason, she let you walk away from that moment. From her. Because you made it sound poetic. You made it feel holy. Better than heaven itself.

But it was everything except what she needed. The soul, but not the kiss. The promise, but not the touch. You gave her everything but yourself. And somehow, that still felt better than nothing.

​​And now, as Lena kneels beside you, your blood drying on her hands, that moment claws its way back to life. She remembers what she promised not to need. But she needs it. She needs you.

Because of all the places in the world, you came here. To her.

And when she pulled open the balcony door and caught you before you could fall, the last thing you managed— The last word that had crawled from your throat, thick with blood and pain—

Was her name. Just her name.

And now she understands more clearly than ever: You're dying. And that’s why you came. To keep your promise.

Lena bites down on her lip, trying not to be sick. She wouldn't know how to explain what pain tastes like when it melts into her tongue.

She wants to scream. To beg. Instead she reaches for your hand again—threading her fingers between yours like she’s trying to re-learn how to breathe.

“Do you know what that did to me?” she asks, staring at your broken face. “That night? Having to watch you walk away, like loving me too much was some kind of mercy?”

Her voice shakes. Breaks.

“I don’t want your last breath, Y/N. I want your firsts. I want the rest. I want all of it.”

And when her tears fall this time, they hit your skin like rain.

“Don’t make me keep that promise,” she whispers. “Wake up and love me like I need you to. Like you want to.”

It’s Alex who reaches out, less than an hour later.

There’s panic trying to be buried under her calm. A watery sound crackling at the edges of her voice.

“We lost track of Y/N,” she says with not even a hello first, like the words are spilling out before she can think them. “The mission went bad. Kara—Kara’s in the med bay at the Tower. Unconscious. We got her out in time, before it got worse, but I—Lena, I don’t know where my little sister is. Please, help me—”

“She’s here.”

Lena can’t deal with Alex’s tears right now. Not when she has so many of her own—burning behind her eyes, catching in her throat, begging to be let out.

“She flew here. I’m doing everything I can, okay? She’s—”  Lena glances back at you. The word safe dances at the edge of her mind, something she wants to offer to ease your sister’s fear. But she can’t say it. Not when you look like that—raw and gone.

“I’ve got her.”

Alex exhales. Softer now. “I’ll take care of Kara. You keep her safe.”  A pause. A shift. Something like a watery smile in her voice.  “She’d want it that way anyway.”

Lena closes her eyes. That shouldn't make her cry harder. But it does.

“I know.”

“If she needs anything, you call me, okay?”

Lena nods, even though Alex can’t see her. “I will.”

She hangs up without saying goodbye.

And when she sets the phone down, she turns back to you—like she’s never going to look away again.

It takes her a while to realize her hands are shaking. That she hasn’t moved since she hung up on Alex. Just stood there, watching your chest rise and fall in that uneven, terrifying rhythm.

Lena forces herself into motion.

She tries to make you more comfortable, pillows, blankets, warmer sunlight. But it’s not enough. Not when your skin’s still cold. Not when your lips are cracked and pale.

So she lifts you, as carefully as she can, like you might shatter in her arms. You're heavier than she expects—not in weight, but in everything else. The limpness. The trust. The unbearable stillness.

She lays you in her bed.

And then she hesitates.

Your suit is clinging to you like second skin, ripped in places, soaked through in others. Lena swallows hard. Her hands hover above your chest and she peels the suit away slowly, whispering apologies like prayers, like spells to keep you here.

The first thing she notices, when she pulls back the ruined fabric, is the blood.

It’s everywhere, still tacky near the worst of it. Smearing over your skin like something possessive. And for a second she can’t breathe just from looking at it. Food threatening to come back, again.

She forces herself to keep going. Fetches warm water. A cloth. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, not sure what she's apologizing for. “I’m just— I need to see where it's bad, okay my love?”

You don’t answer. Of course you don’t. Haven't moved an inch in hours.

She cleans you in silence. It feels too sacred to speak, too fragile to break with anything less than reverence. Her hands are gentle. Shaking, yes, but steady in all the ways that count. She tends to the blood on your stomach with careful fingers, wiping away what she can, dabbing softly at broken skin.

It’s intimate in a way that terrifies her. You’re wearing nothing but silence and scars. And she hates that it feels familiar.

She dresses you in something soft. Something you kept here—because of course you did. You left pieces of yourself tucked into drawers, hidden in plain sight. Quietly scattered through her house. Nestled deep inside her soul.

Then she notices her own shirt—ruined and sticky with your blood. She takes it off with a wince, grabbing the first sweatshirt from your drawer.

It smells like you.

And for the first time since you crashed into her arms, something in her unclenches. It smells like life. Like comfort. Like all the things she used to have, when loving you in stolen glances was enough.

She slips it on. Breathes deep. Pretends the fabric is a heartbeat.

And then she climbs into the bed.

It starts with respectful space. But the longer she watches you lie there, too still, too pale, the more the tether between your heart and hers pulls taut.

She circles closer. Inch by inch. Like gravity.

Until her forehead rests against your shoulder, her nose nudging your collarbone, her hand curled between you like a secret. She whispers your name. Just once. Like a spell.

And, “I love you.”

Soft. Shaking. Terrified.

“If you make it out of this,” she breathes, “I’ll let you choose, okay? You can keep the soul and not the lips, if that’s what you want. I’ll give you anything. I’ll break in whatever shape you need. You can have me—my heart, my body, everything—any way you want.”

Her voice catches. Her lips brush the skin on your neck.

“Just stay.”

She doesn’t mean to fall asleep. But she does—right there, wrapped around your quiet body like you’re the only thing that still makes sense in this world. The night lulls her with your breath too shallow to trust, your pulse too faint to hear. 

She wakes to warmth. The soft kind. Morning light pouring through the windows like a promise she doesn’t dare believe in.

And then she sees you.

The sunlight has found you first—spilling across your skin like it remembers you. Touching your face like a benediction. There’s color in your cheeks now. The faintest flush, but unmistakable. And your lips… they aren’t blue anymore. They look almost kissable again, and the thought makes something tear in her chest.

She jolts upright. Her body floods with panic before her mind can stop it. She’s scrambling off the bed, half-tripping as she rushes for the med kit on the dresser, fingers shaking too hard to unzip it properly. She tries to remember everything—vitals, CPR counts, Kryptonian physiology—anything that might tell her how to keep you alive.

She doesn’t notice your hand move at first. Not until it catches hers. Fingers weak, but there.

And Lena freezes. Looks down.

Your eyes aren’t fully open, but they’re fluttering. Heavy with exhaustion. But you’re here. You’re here.

And then—your voice. A rasp, broken and aching and soft as prayer, “Don’t go.”

She doesn’t breathe. Just stares, wide-eyed, as if you might disappear if she blinks.

“Don’t move,” you whisper again. “Please. Just… come back. I need you.”

Lena shatters. Drops everything. Crawls back into bed with the urgency of someone who’s just been given a second chance. Her hand finds its way over your heart, slow and careful, trembling now for an entirely different reason. Her head settles back on your chest like it belongs there.

And for the first time, she lets herself believe that maybe it does.

Lena must’ve fallen asleep again—curled into you, her breath finally syncing with yours, her hand still on your heart like it’s been counting your heartbeats even in her slumber.

She hears it before she feels it. A low, impatient grumble beneath her ear. She gets up, just to watch how your eyes flutter enough to make her know you're waking up, how your breath is strong, how the colors are back into your face, and all the purples and cuts that were painting you are slowly fading. Very slowly. 

Then your voice, raspy but unmistakably yours breaks her out of her trance, “What? Is there something on my face? I know it’s not food, ’cause I’m starving.”

She doesn’t laugh. Actually, she almost hits you.

She jerks back, staring down at you, her mouth caught somewhere between a sob and a swear, because how dare you make jokes right now? How dare you be funny, be you, like she didn’t just spend a night bargaining with every god she doesn’t believe in? Like she didn’t pull blood off your skin with trembling fingers and whisper promises you were never supposed to hear?

But then you finally open your eyes, and you see her. You see it on her face. The tears, drying fresh on her cheeks. The darkness under her eyes. The way her lip trembles like she’s still stuck in the moment where she thought she'd lost you.

You reach up with hands that feel like hope and find her face. Thumb brushing just under her eye, reverent and gentle. A ghost of a smile finding your lips—just enough to soften her.

“It’s okay, Zhao” you whisper. “I’m here. I’m not leaving you.”

And she breaks all over again.

Not with panic this time. But with relief so violent, it shakes her apart. Tears streaming down unstoppable.

She kisses your palm. Nods once like she believes you. And then she presses her forehead to yours, eyes closed, heart wide open.

“You’re not allowed to scare me like that again,” she breathes. “Ever.”

She stays like that for a while. Forehead to yours, breath shared, her hand cradling your cheek like she’s still trying to convince herself you’re real. That this is real. That she didn’t dream you back to her.

You’re the one who breaks the silence again. In a way that shatters the fragility of the moment, but gives life to it at the same time.

“Hey… do you think there’s food in this apartment or am I gonna have to crawl to the nearest diner and hope they take near-death as currency?”

She lets out a noise—something between a sob and a laugh. Wipes her face with the back of her hand, still trembling.

“You’re unbelievable,” she says, voice cracking in the middle.

“What?” you rasp, smile crooked, soft, “I'm Kryptonian. You knew that about me when you chose to love me.”

She shakes her head like she can’t decide if she wants to strangle you or kiss you.

Then she gets up—reluctantly, like leaving your side might undo whatever miracle just occurred—and mutters, “Fine. Don’t move. I’ll see what I can find.”

“Bring coffee,” you call after her, voice a little stronger now, just enough to make her pause in the doorway and look back at you. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

She wants to say it. Wants to carve it into the air between you— how you’re hers, how she loves you with a depth that rewrote her, how she’d argue with death a thousand times just to keep you breathing.  But instead, she only smiles.

“Just thinking if I should let it go, or kill you myself.”

You laugh at the joke, and she can't think of a more beautiful sound she would ever want to hear in her life.

Lena moves in the kitchen, quickly, purposely. Coffee. Food. Everything you like. All arranged fast on a tray, because she refuses to waste another second away from you.

Your face lights up when she walks back into the bedroom, and she schools herself into believing it's because of the food you so desperately need, and not because of her.

“Oh, baby,” You manage, between the coughs and strangled noises you make while trying to sit up in bed. She ditches the tray on the bedside table, to help you up. “You saved my life and brought me coffee. What’d I ever do to deserve you?”

She rolls her eyes, before sitting on the edge of the bed, to help you eat. But before she can move, your hands find her wrist, and stops her at once.

“Lena, I died.” Your voice is barely a whisper. “Last night, between the fight and you finding me—I died.”

“No, you were—”

“I did.” You nod, slow and sure. “I died. In your arms. Just like I promised I would.” A breath trembles between you. “And somehow, you gave me another chance. Another life.”

Her throat bobs as your hand rises—fingers brushing against the fragile warmth of her neck. “You’re the reason I’m alive, the only reason I’m still here.”

Lena wants to speak. To protest. But nothing she could say feels worthy enough to touch this moment.

So you keep going, voice softer now, reverent like prayer.

“I gave you my soul in that last life, Lena. Gave you my final breath, my last act of devotion. But now… I want to give you more than that.” Your eyes meet hers—clear, unwavering. “Please. Let me give you even more in this one.”

Lena stares at you like she’s trying to memorize every inch of your face, every word you just said. Like she might lose you again if she blinks.

Her lips part, but no sound comes out. What could she possibly say to that? What answer could ever be enough?

So she doesn’t answer.

She leans in.

Slow, cautious—like approaching a secret. Her hand finds your cheek, cradling it gently, reverently, like she’s afraid to shatter you all over again. And you, you lean into the touch like it’s the only gravity you know.

When her lips touch yours, it’s not perfect. It’s trembling and tear-stained and full of all the things she never thought she’d get the chance to feel again. But it’s real.

It’s not hungry—it’s holy. It’s the kind of kiss people think about when they don’t believe in second chances. The kind you give someone when you’ve already mourned them, and they’ve somehow returned to you anyway.

You kiss her back like you’ve been waiting a hundred lifetimes for her to finally understand: this was always the point.

She pulls away just enough to rest her forehead against yours. Both of you are breathing hard. Eyes closed. Hearts open. Then, in a voice so quiet it barely exists:

“Okay,” she says. “You don't get to scare me like this ever again.”

You smile. Press your lips to hers again, just briefly.

“I can't promise you that, baby. What I can promise is that I'll come back to you every time. Even after I die, I'll come back to you.”

Lena kisses you one more time. Slow, lingering.

And when she pulls back, she finally says it, “I love you. I’ll always be waiting. I'll always be yours.”

[bahngarang]

chapter 7.0 ☆ the lock and key theory

ss: 3

wc: 1,763

cw: swearing, food mentions, jokes about disability (from a disabled writer)

a/n: seeing my work while I'm innocently scrolling through the skz x reader tag is WILD y'all

yn's office hours were... interesting. during their first year as a part-time professor, it had initially been pretty boring. no one really came to their office. the students preferred to go to their more serious professor, as it were – and dr jang was definitely more serious and more experienced. she had more of a reputation. which was fine, yn was perfectly happy to lesson plan and do the more computer heavy side of their research in that time. they enjoyed working alone. no distractions.

the second year? not so quiet.

it had started small. justin being the main instigator. he was always one of the more outgoing ones. he came in once or twice a week, bothering them with questions about the material. things he probably couldn't have figured out on his own, but it was kind of nice. 

now, yn had justin, and oftentimes a few of his friends, hanging out with them during office hours. doing homework, asking about assignments and essays and sometimes just yapping. and, strangely... yn liked it. sure, sometimes they had to use urban dictionary to decipher the young people language, and deal with the occasional millennial/old person joke, but it was pretty fun.

today was one of the more yappy days, clearly. justin did have his laptop out, precariously placed on his legs, but he was completely ignoring it except to make sure it didn't drop to the floor. instead, he was rambling on about how painstaking sewing beaded fabric was, and stitching and so on. don't get them wrong, yn was absolutely listening, but they were also having something close to a religious experience with today's cheesecake that dr jang had brought up from the cafeteria for them.

"–and i've already managed to break two needles on that stupid stuff, even though I spent ages unpicking the beads by hand, like, at this point, is it even worth it?"

"mmh," yn hummed sympathetically, taking another bite of cheesecake, chewing slowly. shifting on their desk chair, they crossed their right leg over their left to get more comfortable. "well, considering how much you've been talking about this for the last couple of months, I don't think you should give up now just because you're frustrated over some fabric."

justin huffed. "yeah, but it's annoying, and-" he stopped, and yn looked up at him from their lesson plan after a few moments of silence.

"what?"

"nothing, it's just..." he squinted at their knee. "has that tattoo on your knee changed? did you get a cover-up or something?"

"it's not a tattoo, it's my soul mark," yn said, before looking down at their knee in confusion. they were less averse to showing it now that it was pretty much unreadable. or... it was.

"what the fuck..." yn muttered to themselves. it wasn't completely as it was before all the knee surgeries, but it was definitely... closer than it used to be. and even through their sheer tights, they could read a few initials – b.c., s.c., and y.j.. well. shit.

"do soul marks... usually change?" justin murmured.

yn's area of expertise was not soul marks in any capacity, but it couldn't be a coincidence that the only three of their soulmates that they'd seen – and touched – were the ones who's initials they could read now. one? sure. two? weird, but okay. but three? yeah, something was definitely going on. yn hadn't heard of soul marks changing after interactions with soulmates, but then again, they also didn't know anyone else who'd had their marks fucked up, especially to the extent of their one. "uhm... not that I know of..."

"that's... weird."

"... yup."

"does it feel any different?"

"i would have noticed earlier if it did," yn replied.

"do you know why it's doing that?" justin asked curiously, leaning further over yn's desk to look closer at it.

"i... have an idea," yn said to their chagrin.

"cryptic."

"you're my student, you don't need to know about my love life," yn said. "i'm sure you have much more pressing matters to worry about. like... studying..."

"boo. that's boring," justin said, heaving a sigh and draping himself over the back of his chair.

"i feel i should remind you that you have a test next week," yn said flatly. "and while studying may be boring, it does help your results." yn left out that they had not been the most avid studier during their university years. do as i say and not as i do, right? justin didn't have to know.

not that he listened, continuing his impassioned rant about beaded fabric and other things, while yn silently had a mini crisis over the new development in the soulmate department.

"hi," yn mumbled, frowning down at the pan in front of them. they were... attempting to cook dinner, their phone set up against the back wall of their kitchen counter. but it was one of those days when they had to drag a chair into the room so they didn't have to stand up, so it wasn't a particularly nutritious meal. still better than not eating, though.

"hey." the audio from minji's end was... crackly. the connection in the gym she went to was shitty, to say the least. and she'd chosen to accept the video call while on the treadmill, which was a choice, for sure.

chika giggled quietly, and the half-drunk margherita that she held told yn she was at least a little tipsy. her location was unclear, but it was clear she'd found some room away from the main party where she wouldn't be disturbed for a while. "guess who I'm with," she hummed out in a sing-song voice, before turning the camera to bring her companion into frame.

yn, at this point, wasn't surprised at who it was. it was, in their mind, only logical – chika was at a versace event, so was hyunjin, and fate seemed to have it out for them recently, so why wouldn't it be him?

"we're hiding," chika whispered. "it's very loud. and there are too many people. i am quite overstimulated."

"hello," hyunjin said shyly, giving a small wave to the camera.

yn, for all the repressing of their feelings, still couldn't deny how cute he was. it was just one of those things. they suspected it had a little to do with the fact that he was their soulmate... but it was also just one of those things.

"so, what was the stuff in the group chat about your soul mark changing?" chika asked, a shit-eating grin spreading across her face, as if one of my soulmates wasn't unfortunately right beside her.

"shut the fuck- oh, my god, get your furry ass off my counter!" yn complained, getting up off their chair to grab bingus, who was making his daily escapade into the kitchen cabinets. honestly, they wouldn't really have a problem if it was the ones at ground level, but trying to haul the cat's fluffy body out of the top shelf of the higher cupboards every day was just... it took far too much effort. they sighed, walking back into frame, holding bingus like the little baby he was, slumping back down into their chair, breathing a little heavy. "he's such a pest."

"just grabbing your cat has you breathing like that? damn..." minji said with a slight laugh, the background noises of her running slowing down as she lowered the speed of the treadmill.

"yeah, well, health is wealth and I am dirt poor, if you catch my drift," yn said, scratching bingus behind the ears and kissing his little forehead.

hyunjin gasped from the other side of the camera, his eyes going wide. "you have a cat?"

yn chuckled, picking up their phone to hold the camera closer to their kitty. "he's called bingus. i woke up to him sitting on my face this morning."

hyunjin muttered something that the microphone didn't manage to pick up, but evidently chika found it absolutely hilarious in her drunken state. "he's so cute..."

bingus meowed gently at the camera, blinking his wide eyes innocently like he wasn't just trying to use yn's ramen stash as a cat bed, instead of literally any other surface in their apartment. he was a strange one. although, maybe that was just cats in general.

"that he may be, but he also made five escape attempts in the past hour and was sulking until about ten minutes ago because I wouldn't let him risk his life in seoul traffic," yn replied in exasperation.

minji sighed sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "you clearly don't love him then."

"yes, i hate my cat and want him to live an unfulfilling life. he reminds me of that often. maybe i shouldn't have trained him to come with me on my bike. i've given you a taste for danger, hm?" yn smiled down at bingus, kissing his cheek.

"you have a bike?" hyunjin asked.

"yeah," yn confirmed. it was pink, and had hello kitty detailing – what more could you want?

"they're objectively less safe, you know that, right?" minji said. it was a conversation they'd had many times, but it always ended the same.

"i never said it made sense," yn protested. "but, unfortunately, i don't have the luxury of being able to walk everywhere, i'm scared of cars, and me and public transport don't mix well because it's usually too busy to sit down, so... this is my solution."

"i think we should go back," chika said, finishing the conversation abruptly. "i think donatella has some attachment issues," she whispered, not that it was any quieter.

yn chuckled. "alright. see you in a few days."

minji's pout was practically radiating through the screen as she said her goodbyes, to no surprise. it wasn't just donatella versace who had attachment issues.

and so, yn was left alone with their thoughts again while they ate their noodles – and simultaneously tried to stop bingus eating them as well. hyunjin was... nice to talk with. not that they expected otherwise, but... a part of them wished he wasn't. it would have made it easier to reconcile staying away for so long.

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[pandaofsecrets]

I already went over why I like Lukagami here, so I'm gonna go with ChloNath.

First of all, I can see why they'd like each other. Nathanaël has been characterized as having a bit of an anger problem ever since his first appearance, so it's not that much of a stretch to think that he's had to deal with people who told him to stop being angry, like it's that simple. He would therefore relate to how people tell Chloé to "be nice", but never elaborate on what that actually means or give her a solid incentive to do so. Chloé would similarly relate to Nathanaël's insecurities, even if she doesn't openly admit it at first. Chloé also strikes me as someone who likes the angry, combative type. She seems to quickly get bored of people who yield to her—Kim did everything she asked and was rejected with extreme prejudice, and the less said about Sabrina the better. And it makes perfect sense, because Chloé is used to being given things on a silver platter. Everything she gets without having worked for it is going to have no value for her.

Now, this does sound like a relationship that would quickly spin out of control, but honestly I think it'd actually serve as a great vehicle for self-improvement for both of them. For one, of them are the way they are because they're constantly acting like they have something to prove. Chloé is trying to be the "exceptional" person worth her mother's time, and Nathanaël lashes out at people because he's trying to project the image of someone that shouldn't be messed with. So, both of them are likely to double down when they feel judged or rejected. If they're with someone who meets them on their own terms and who they can safely take their issues out on, they're eventually going to get to the point where they go "Wait, this is dumb. Why am I doing this?" For another thing, both of them have this thing where they project their idea of the "perfect" partner on their crushes and get super huffy when said crushes don't stick to the script. Only, they're about as far away from each other's ideal as possible, so being together is going to teach them to stop living in their own heads and take the other person as they are. It's the same reason the Love Square works so well—or at least it would in a better show. Adrien having a completely hidden side to him that Marinette has to reconcile would teach her that love is less about planning cute dates and making gifts for someone's next 35 birthdays, and more about actually understanding the person next to her with their flaws and sins. And vice-versa for Adrien, of course.

Second of all, staying on that "perfect partner" idea for a bit, most of Chloé's ideal of the perfect guy comes from her parents in one way or another. Nathanaël being the furthest thing away from that would mark a definitive break between the values instilled in her and who she chooses to be going forward. It would force her to choose between what she's been taught and what she actually wants in life, and to actually commit to that choice.

Third, Nathanaël would be one of the first to correct people when they call Chloé irredeemable, even if it's just in a "It's not that she can't get better, it's that she doesn't want to" kind of way. Nath's Jewish, and in Judaism there's not really such thing as a point of no return. Evil is a choice one makes, and not making that choice is seen as always a possibility. You know that bit in Steven Universe where White Diamond randomly stops being a tyrant because of a single conversation (nay, a single comeback)? It's that idea, taken to the extreme. Nathanaël is going to be one of the few people who, even if he doesn't personally forgive Chloé, is never going to deny that she's got the capacity for change.

Judaism also sees good and evil as less about being and more about doing, and emphasizes taking real, tangible measures to fix what you've done. Nathanaël would force Chloé to seek atonement in a real way, where she has to think about the impact of her actions and actually put in effort to make up for her wrongdoings.

[Sidenote, typing this out makes me realize just how completely at odds Nathanaël would be with the show's system of morality where intent is everything. He'd be the least likely to judge Chloé for doing the right thing for the "wrong" reasons, but also the least likely to let, say, Marinette or Félix off the hook because they had "good intentions". No wonder he doesn't get a lot of screen time.]

Lastly, they have had the most interesting interactions with Hawk Moth. Nathanaël is the first character we see to be punished for trying to defy him (Evillustrator), and Chloé is the first character to actually succeed in defying him (Miraculer). If there was a scene where Chloé helped Nathanaël break free of an akumatization, it'd bring everything full circle.

I'm asking in genuine curiosity; is Twitter just behind the curve or is there a real rise in anti-crackship sentiment? I mean I've talked to people who just prefer to ship whatever's canon so long as it's not an actual crime, but... it just feels so boring.

Actually, please repost this with your favorite ship regardless of canonical merit and explain why you enjoy it---I'm curious and crave dopamine.

Only fair to trade, mine at the moment is Artistic Musing.

[vaguely-concerned]

powerful mental image of lucanis expounding passionately about any given one of his limited but extremely deep areas of interest (the wyvern/knives/coffee/cooking/murder continuum of lucanis dellamorte special interests if you will) while rye lounges around and Beholds him with palpable twink boutta pounce energy

[mcytegg]

as a zamcvit enjoyer im winning now i think. the roles have reversed. 4c is the one yearning for zam now ^-^

[numberonetribble]

Stuck at my mom's house until the 27th, can't finish the comic I was working on until then :( here's a rough Cowboy!pinup sketch of Bumblebee and some Breakbee + Piston angst:

[sylustra]

Sylus saying "...don't run" to MC when they're finally being openly honest about their desire for one another and their trust and shared spaces.

[moonchild-in-blue]

I haven't really done much art for tumblr (at all) lately, cus life, but! Here's a lil something I've been working on (it's a Xmas gift) 💙

(also peep that lil January calendar painting 👀 i did mini squares for each month for myself, because I need to have a physical one always, and they each have their own colour 🥺)

[intertexts]

i sgould get really into quiltin.g.

[jackass-jones]

Really into the episode of Ouran where this girl confesses her love to Mori but he doesn’t feel the same because he’s into Honey and the girl’s reaction is just like YIPPEE I LOVE YAOI THATS SO COOL FOR YOU YAY 🥰