#but maybe i'll write it just for me

[vacantgodling]

Hi king ! Just popping in to let you know I have still not recovered from the line "Heaven knew no prayers would wash you clean, but he did." and I most likely never fucking will :D

heyyyyy <3 HONESTLY THANK YOU OUGH tbh i'm particularly proud of the banger lines and metaphors and similies and shit that i stuffed in that short little piece i'm actually surprised i was able to write it lmao it feels so surreal

the piece in question for anyone who hasn't read it

i think the other line i'm actually particularly not normal about is "He didn’t speak, but his hands were verbose." like idk!! it just really scratches an itch!!

[shouyuus]

lifehack for fic readers who don't know what to comment on fics -- if you just like copy-paste like... 2 lines that u liked in the fic u just read and comment that with the simple prequel of like "i rly liked these lines" ???? brother.

the way a fic writer would CARVE THEIR OWN HEART OUT and MAIL IT TO YOU FEDEX EXPRESS.

[queenharumiura]

2024 Akira Amano 'The Characters' Exhibition bonus 'Selfie-style' cards.

[ID: Official art of multiple characters from the manga and anime Katekyo Hitman Reborn.

They're all drawn as if taking a selfie, most of them smiling and/or doing a peace sign or another playful gesture with their hand.

Reborn, Colonnello, Viper and Fon are in their cursed forms, with Viper pulling their hood down, trying to hide more of their face.

Gokudera waves at us, with "Vongola Famiglia" written on his palm and the Vongola's emblem drawn on it too. Lambo is in his Ten Years Later version, Tsuna's shown both in his normal state and in Hyper Dying Will mode, Basil is in Hyper Dying Will mode too and Chrome's wearing cat ears.

Squalo and Xanxus are scowling. /End ID]

ID courtesy of @hopeswriting.

[atoltia]

imagine how traumatizing it is to suddenly be intelligent enough to process and verbalize that you don't like that the woman that raised you calls you her bodyguard rather than her child. you confront her about it, and you yourself are confronted by an onslaught of painful emotions that might not have been as painful back when you still had an INT of 6. you're not used to these emotions, to this articulation, because all your life all you needed to do was to follow, to listen to your boss, to protect. it was easy back then, you know that.

but right now you know better and it hurts so fucking much because you just want a mom. you just want your mom. you deserve your mom and yet you got a boss. you love her so much and you know she loves you so, so much. but still it wasn't enough because she never really made it known, not in the ways you needed.

you tell her. in the middle of a street where tensions are high because the gods a lot of these people worship are going away one by one and they don't know how to handle themselves, how to process it. the war is still ongoing. you're hunting some fucking asshole that stabbed the hand of his own child. a child that has your mother so worked up and want to save. and why? why that kid but never you? she's had you for years. she hatched you. did she ever do the same for you? was there urgency in her voice, fear in her eyes, when you got hurt? or were you just incapable of seeing it?

(or maybe, you thought bitterly to yourself, maybe it was never there in the first place)

so you leave. you walk away. turn your back on the woman who raised you, on the woman whose eyes were blown so wide as if you just slapped her with a hand rather than a simple truth of what you truly felt. it should be better this way, shouldn't it? you're strong. you're capable. you've been taught how to survive in the wilderness and you know your ways in the city. you'll be fine. you don't need her. you don't need your mother.

but you do. you really do. you need your mom because you love her so much that the thought of fighting with her makes you sick. you just want to be held by her, to feel the things you should have felt when you were a child. you need your mom. you want your mom.

so you turn back but she's not there. she's not there and you can't find her. you look and look and look but you can't fucking find her. something deep is burning inside of you, burning so hard and yet it's ice that coats your veins as you tear through the streets to find her. but you can't find her goddammit mama where the fuck are you?

you see an open window and there's something in your gut that tells you to look. so you look. because you can't find her and you need to find her.

she's dying.

bleeding out on the floor as that bastard stands over her with her own goddamned knife. you confronted her and left her. you left her. she now she lies, bleeding and dying on the floor minutes after you walked away because you weren't there to protect her. you left her you left her you left her.

(was the floor cold? or was it getting warmed up by the blood that's flowing out of her body?)

you want to kill him. rip out his fucking throat and tear him limb from limb because he fucking dared to hurt your mother. you'll kill him, you'll kill him, you'll fucking kill him.

he waves his hands and mutters a few words and suddenly- wait, why do you want to kill him? he raises his hands, takes the child, and you let him go.

he tried to kill your mom and you let him go.

you snap out of it, the ice that froze your veins is now at the deepest pit in your stomach, dragging your heart down to the depths of hell as you tried to stabilize her. your boss. your mom. your mom whose blood is now smeared all over your hands, her eyes fluttering against her frighteningly cold cheeks, because you left her alone. minutes. you left her alone for mere minutes and she almost ended up dead in a random room and on the cold fucking floor.

you're her bodyguard and you left her alone.

now how fucked up is that?

[thekittyokat]

you ever just have a lot, a LOT of feelings all at once about a character and not even remotely enough words or brainpower to FORM the words to describe everything you're feeling. so it feels like you may explode. yeah

[raphaerolo]

he's got gold in his eyes so i painted it

[a-most-beloved-fool]

Kira has a nightmare, one night when she's staying at the O'Brien's. Miles and Keiko, sleeping in the other room, don't hear her get up - but Molly does.

And Molly, being clever and kind, knows exactly what to do when someone has a nightmare. (Or, at least, she knows what her parents always do for her.) So she sits Kira down and brings her a glass of warm milk, and sits by her side as she drinks it.

Then, she takes Kira by the hand and leads her - to her parents bedroom. "I always sleep with mommy and daddy after a nightmare," she explains, when Kira stops outside the door. "It helps! Mommy chases the scary things away. And Daddy is warm."

"Molly," Kira says quietly, a little embarrassed, "I don't think your parents want me in their bed. Even if I did have a nightmare."

"No, they won't mind!" Molly assures.

Then, of course, Miles wakes up.

"Molly?" he asks, voice rough with sleep. "Did you have a nightmare?"

"No, but Miss Kira did!"

And now Keiko's awake, too, sitting up and saying, "Nerys? Are you alright?"

Mortified, Kira says, "Yes, I'm fine, I was just - on my way back to bed. Molly brought me here. I'm - sorry for waking you. I'll just be-"

"You can stay, if you want," Miles offers.

Kira doesn't quite think she heard him right. "What?"

"You can sleep here, if you think it might help," Keiko says.

"Or even if you don't!" Miles adds.

Kira opens her mouth, then closes it again. "I, uh-"

Keiko gets up, and takes Kira, gently, by the hand. Her palm is soft, Kira can't help but notice.

"Brr, it's freezing out here!" Keiko says, tugging Kira along. "You'd better get in before you catch your death of cold. Miles is practically a furnace, so you'll be nice and warm with us."

"And, Molly, you'd best go back to bed, too. You've got school in the morning," Miles says, as Keiko bundles Kira into the bed between them.

As Molly makes her way out, Keiko swings a lazy arm over Kira's back. "Sleep," she hums. "We'll be here in the morning."

Kira, feeling warm and cared for and more than a little overwhelmed, does.

[psychotic-nonsense]

"I'm sorry."

It's the first thing Steve says after everything.

After getting Vecna Cursed. After nearly dying. After a hallucination of Eddie saved him. After running through a looped forest. After finding sanctuary in Steve's memory of that Starcourt bathroom. After Eddie reveals himself as Eddie.

It's the only thing he can think of. It's not big enough to fit everything, but it's the only thing that fits in his mouth.

"Don't be."

Maybe that's the only thing Eddie can think of too. The only thing Eddie can bear to say.

Because don't be can't stop Steve's eyes from watering when he sees the vest in his closet. Don't be can't stop Steve's feet from dragging him to the cemetery every evening to clean Eddie's graffiti-covered tombstone. Don't be can't stop Steve from sitting beside Wayne and listening to him talk about the Eddie he remembers. Don't be can't stop Eddie's body from showing up in Steve's dreams, nor Eddie's corpse from his nightmares. Don't be couldn't keep the pain away enough, didn't stop Vecna from latching onto it while Steve was walking alone in the woods.

Don't be isn't enough for what Steve wants to hear. But even stuck here waiting, hoping, for someone to get Steve out, there just isn't enough time.

"I miss you."

"...Why?"

Eddie says it back so quickly, so quietly, like it's just unfathomable to him. Maybe it is, considering their last memories. But their eyes meet and he looks just as sad, just as longing, as Steve.

"You were my friend."

Steve can't help but say it like that. Like they were friends for years instead of days. Like Eddie was that important to him in their final moments. Like his heart really aches for Eddie every second of the apocalypse.

Can't help but say it like he means it.

"I wish we could've had more time..."

Steve's voice cracks a little there as he turns away, hiding. It's all he wants. It's all Vecna used to entice him with. It's all that's keeping him going, to finally fulfill the last request Eddie made. It's all he has left to feel close to Eddie.

The Eddie that's sitting right next to him, silent, his sight weighing on Steve's skin. Conscious and aware and the real Eddie. Trapped in Vecna's head as a backup power source, yet who still risked everything to come save Steve. Who Steve will never see again because killing Vecna means killing Eddie for good, and his heart doesn't want it, is begging for another solution...

But for once, his broken head overpowers his shattered heart.

"Maybe we did."

Eddie takes Steve's hand. Meets Steve's surprised look with his own small smile of hope. They're both suddenly tearing up, eyes glistening with life in this gray stall.

"Maybe in another world, we got a second first chance. A first second chance. Maybe even a third, or fourth. Maybe in a different life, we had everything we wanted. Because you, Steve Harrington, are too good for me to be doomed to meet just once."

And for a moment, Steve sees it. Feels it. Versions of them connected through the universe.

Little kids playing in the lake. One with bruised skin and shaved hair, loud but unfathomably lonely. One with a bruised heart and soft eyes, timid but stubbornly hopeful.

A rockstar with glittering chains, center stage in the spotlight. A set of eyes in the crowd or behind the curtain, watching only him.

A werewolf and a vampire, two cryptids of horror, meeting in the dead of a full moon night to feel safe with the only other one who understands.

A future where they won, where the only death was the one that mattered. A process of healing and learning, coming home to a family every single day.

A world without pain, without their hell, where two high schoolers found freedom from their shackles and company in each other. Hiding away together in the dark corners of the town.

Steve even sees other versions of them. Versions that he knows were originally never supposed to meet, yet forces so much greater than them pulled them together.

A metalhead drug dealer, constantly getting into trouble with one nail-bat-weilding cop.

A criminal's fugitive nature leading him to a rugged trailer park, and the dangerous owner within one such home.

An eccentric king in an old coliseum, always choosing one particular warrior as his champion.

A young programmer being pulled away from his work by sobs above his apartment, running upstairs to check on the law student that recently moved in.

Two actors, finding an easy friendship in the months of filming one season of a show that would change their lives.

In that moment, Steve's overwhelmed by the closeness he suddenly feels with the soul beside him. Falling into tears, he pulls Eddie into a tight hug, holding him so so close to convey everything he can't say. Feeling Eddie hold him back, hearing everything Eddie can't say in return.

Familiar music comes on outside the stall. Robin's voice calls out to him, telling him to come home.

And when he does leave, Steve hopes that someone out there will understand that he never can. Because here in Eddie's arms is the only place that will ever truly feel like home.

"Thank you... for everything, Eddie."

Thank you, Steve. For everything and more..."

--------------------

- List of AUs, in order, after, "Versions of them connected through the universe": Childhood Friends / Rockstar!Eddie / Werewolf!Steve & Vampire!Eddie / Eddie Survives / No Upside Down & High School

- List of Multiverse Steddie AUs, in order, after, "...yet forces so much greater than them pulled them together": Eddie x Gator / Baron x Michael / Geta x Sean / Keys x Eric / Quinn and Keery

[findafight]

Thinking about Dorothy, twelve and scared and wanting to go home, walking back to the Emerald city after throwing water on the Wicked Witch of the West. The adrenaline wears off as her and her companions, her friends, set up camp for the night, and it hits her. She's killed a woman.

Again.

And brave little Dorothy Gale tries to hold it together, tries not to worry the wonderful new friends who have supported her throughout her journey in Oz, tries to be brave. But eventually, once Lion and Toto are cuddled up and asleep, Tin Man has taken to staring into the small fire, and Scarecrow stays just inside the circle of light staring up at the stars, Dorothy lets herself cry.

She shifts to hide it, lies down and curls away from the fire, muffles her sniffles in the blanket they've carried for her. All the fear and loneliness, the frustration, the guilt that has built up since she dropped into Oz spilling silently out.

She breathes deep, trying to contain the sobs, until there's a hand on her shoulder, and Scarecrow is there looking at her worriedly. His eyes are buttons but the burlap surrounding them folds and crinkles around them, stitched eyebrows furrowing. She sits up slowly, watching as he tilts his head to the side, squeezing her shoulder gently.

Suddenly, she wraps her arms tightly around Scarecrow's middle, needing the comfort of a hug. (Dorothy is brave, yes, but she is twelve and homesick and guilt ridden.) She burrows her face into his chest, breathes in the familiar scent of straw. Her friend carefully rubs his hands down her back, whispering reassurances that she can't accept.

"oh, Scarecrow! I didn't want to kill her! I never--i never wanted to hurt anyone. I-I just want to go home!"

Scarecrow pauses, stills unnaturally for a moment, before pulling back from her. He looks her face over, button eyes twitching as his stitched mouth pulls into something like a grim frown. It is so unlike what Dorothy has come to expect from her boneless friend that it is mildly unsettling. The only time she recalls him being this serious is perhaps when they saw the Wizard and the man gave them the task to retrieve the Witch's broom.

Her Scarecrow friend is so often happy, carefree in a way that lifts her spirits. It wouldn't do now, would assuge her guilt, and his lack of levity grounds her in an odd way. She knows he had been afraid, or timid, or... Something else about killing the Wicked Witch. But now she's dead and Dorothy killed her, even if it was an accident to save him. She's unsure how long his seriousness will last. Or if it will reassure her.

He looks at her, unblinkingly (for Scarecrows with button eyes don't blink) before glancing over his shoulder towards Tinman tending the fire. He makes to stand, unusually graceful. "Let's go for a little walk, alright, Dot?" He says, almost casually, but there is a tension in his voice. She nods, allowing him to help her (however unsteadily) to her feet and wrap the blanket around her shoulders. They wander a ways away from their campsite, but still within sight of the fire Tin Man resolutely tends to.

Scarecrow loops himself down to lean against a tree and gestures for Dorothy to join him. When she's settled and the blanket is readjusted to let as little of the cooling night air touch her, he begins.

"I'm sorry I wasn't able to speak to you before all this." He gestures aimlessly. "But there were a lot of moving parts, and my mind is rather slow and tangled these days. Still. you should've known before hand."

"known what?" She can't help but ask. Scarecrow is acting mysterious. Though along their journey he sometimes would seem to know more than he left on, he'd never been avoidant of sharing with her before.

He sighs. "what I am about to tell you, Dorothy Gale, you must swear-" he grasps her hands and holds her gaze. "Swear you will never, ever, tell anyone."

Dorothy swallows. She nods. "I swear. Scarecrow, I swear."

"you must mean it. No-one in Oz can know of any of it."

She looks at Scarecrow, his button eyes meeting her perfectly human ones, and it strikes her that he has never seemed more human. He is obviously not; he has no bones and no organs; he feels no pain, can have his straw strewn about and restuffed and be perfectly fine; he does not need food or water or sleep; and he is, clearly, a scarecrow. But he has always had an air about him, a light in his eyes that leaves it without question that he was alive.

Now, though, with him asking, begging, her to swear she will keep some terrible secret for him; there is desperation in the way his voice trembles, his hands grip hers, his eyes stare her down. With that desperation, he seems fully human.

Dorothy squeezes his gloves hands, nodding. "I won't speak a word of it to anyone. Your secrets will be safe."

"Good. Good." He nods to himself. Shakes his head. "I am not quite sure where to start." He admits.

"the beginning?"

Scarecrow grins at her. Taps his burlap nose with his finger. "Ah, but where is that? When I met you? When I met her? Who's to say?" There is his silliness, sneaking through. It reassured Dorothy that perhaps this isn't some terrible story after all.

"you, I suppose?"

Shrugging, he sighs. "Yes. You're right." He rubs his ill formed jaw with his hand, takes a deep breath, and says with much gravitas, "her name is Elphaba Thropp."

Which doesn't make much sense to Dorothy. "Whose name?"

"The Witch of the West."

"how-"

"Dorothy," Scarecrow says. He rarely interrupts. "You must listen to the end. I am not telling you this to make you feel bad. Actually, hopefully it will ease your mind-" she doesn't know how knowing the name of the woman she killed will ease much of anything for her, but Scarecrow is so rarely serious. "Please listen. And-- and try not to judge me too harshly." She wonders what he might reveal that would make him think she'd judge him after he'd helped her so much. She nods.

He does what could be a swallow. He takes a deep breath, straw shuddering and trembling in him. His hands fiddle with the frayed hem of his shirt. "I know her name, because I know her."

Dorothy cannot hide her gasp. Scarecrow chuckles grimly. "Oh, Dot, it's worse than that." His head tips to the side as he looks at her. "I love her."

She shakes her head, pulling the blanket tighter around her. "But why--"

"I'll explain. I promise." He shrugs. "We met at school." He begins.

He tells her of almost-tramplings and of parties, and of roommates dated. "Glinda and I were never going to be long-term, if not for Elphaba, I suppose."

"Glinda? The good?"

"that's the one."

"oh my. Is it common for Scarecrows and Horses to attend school with Humans then?"

Scarecrow tilts his head again in that odd way of his. "Well, Animal bans restricted unsegregated businesses and schools. Under the Wizard things are very strict. Harsh. I had to make sure Feldspur was well away from the Emerald City a few years ago for his protection."

He sounded very grave, and the mention of the Wizard troubled Dorothy. He was behind Animals being pushed away? It didn't make sense. He was supposed to be wonderful.

"as for Scarecrows, I suppose I... Should have mentioned I... Well, Dot. I haven't always been a scarecrow."

"what?"

He scratches his cheek, shrugs. "I was Human, up until just before I met you"

"how??"

He winces. "I think I should tell it all in order, actually."

So he does. Explains how the Wizard tricked Elphaba, how she defied him, and he named her Wicked. Scarecrow tells her that he looked for Elphaba, that he and Glinda were sick with worry and grief, that they ended up in the Emerald City. How he continued his search.

Dorothy thinks he may never have told anyone this before. Scarecrow has been a steady presence for her during their travels, and now he unleashes secrets from his heart, she realises that he may have been pretending. For her sake.

His story continues mostly smoothly, until after he ran away with Elphaba (which, Dorothy can admit, she finds horribly romantic. Like something out of a fairy tale. It also causes acidic guilt to burn at her insides) and Elphaba had a vision of Dorothy coming to Oz and her sister's death. He trips and stumbles over their confrontation in Munchkinland, over him getting caught in Elphaba's place.

"I do not regret it." He says, steadily. And then avoids telling her anything that happened after except that they injured him, and he felt Elphaba's magic cover him. Then he met Dorothy.

She thinks the story finished, and is hurt and confused by why he would tell her all this. He loved the Witch, who was not so wicked, and Dorothy killed her. Why is he so kind, so gentle. He seems perfectly happy, now that all is in the open, despite that his love is dead. It makes no sense.

"I wrote to her, after we saw the wizard. Pure luck Chistery was able to get it to her."

He leans in, then, smiling. "Dot. Remember, I told you all this to ease your mind." He gives her hand a squeeze. "The most important thing you should know, from all of this. Is that Elphaba is a regular human woman that happens to have green skin." He says it significantly. Meaningfully.

It still confuses Dorothy.

He smiles, kindly, and asks "do you melt in the rain?"

Dorothy shakes her head.

"do you melt swimming in a pond?"

Another shake.

"do you cry in pain when you bathe?"

"no? It's just--" it hits her, then, what scarecrow is saying. She gasps. "It's just water." It comes out awed.

He nods. "Indeed."

"oh! It was a-a trick!"

His voice is sadder, now. "a cruel one, perhaps. But necessary."

"why?"

He tilts his head, hums. "For all the reasons I told you the story for. The Wizard sent us to kill her, and I love her, so I could not let it happen. If people know she's alive, she would be in danger. This way, we are free."

Dorothy can see it. See why Scarecrow told her all about their past. She had to know he loved her, had to know why he loved her, to understand why they did it, to accept it.

"I see. When will you meet her again?"

He smiles, big and full and bright. "As soon as I see you safely home, I shall meet her, and we shall leave Oz as well."

The thought swells Dorothy's heart. He sounds happy, her Scarecrow, self assured and unworried. He leaves his home to live with his love. It is tragically romantic.

She hugs him, smiling for the first time since they entered that castle. "thank you for telling me, Scarecrow."

He wraps his arms around her, squeezes, and says. "Fiyero."

She hums a question, making him chuckle.

"my name. It's Fiyero."

Dorothy pulls away, and continues to smile. "It has been very nice getting to know you, Fiyero."

"same to you, Dorothy."

She leans back in to hug him more thoroughly.

Tomorrow they will again set off to the tell the wizard of the Witch's death, but now it is enough for her to know that Elphaba lives.

[vaguely-concerned]

the question is who taught lucanis to knit. was it something he already knew how to do or is he picking it up over the course of the game as part of his 'if I manage to cram enough hobbies in there I won't have to sleep again ever. easy' experiment. did he learn it out of a book (as a sometime knitter, a horrifying thought but I wouldn't put it past him). as hilarious as I find the mental image of caterina with knitting needles I do not believe in it, did he pick it up from someone in the household staff growing up the same way he did cooking. is the sweater he wears with his introductory armour his own work (very funny if so it's just so. incredibly neutral toned and sensible.) I understand why he never does it on screen because animating knitting is the devil's own work and bioware were right to dodge right past it no one should wish themselves that kind of pain, but do you think off-screen he's using it the same way davrin does whittling during team meetings and book club nights (for real the grandmas were so right for this: knitting during social group situations is a neurodivergent life hack like you wouldn't believe if doodling isn't your thing/isn't doing it for you). it's that or sharpening his knives and some people seem to get a bit nervous about that so he mostly sticks to the knit one purl one of it all. does he make things for the team. for romanced rook perhaps. boring but useful things like socks and scarves, to be clear. I think mr. 'I made you a cake (cautiously marital intent)' would not mean to impress just make sure your feet weren't cold jogging around the heights of athim killing darkspawn. knitting more socks for harding so she won't get cold walking around everywhere in her fereldan *checks notes written on palm* clogs. some of taash' outfits... you think rook and lucanis are letting them walk around the anderfels like that without at least a token sensible scarf on even tho adaari are built different in terms of body temperature. I say no not in my lighthouse they would team up and mother hen them to shathann levels before they'd let that happen. (the scarf has dragons on it taash thinks it's kind of cool actually.) a bobble hat for manfred not because he really needs it but because he wanted to feel included. assan indignantly tries to steal it and fly away with it so he gets his own scarf to promote peace between the lighthouse little guys and it works. help.

[khaire-traveler]

Honestly, I'd love to write a respectful retelling of the Hermes and Crocus myth someday, as well as the Hyacinthus and Apollo one. Those myths just connect strongly with me, personally, for some reason, and I have a deep love for them. The thing that often stops me is the overall negative perception of retellings in the HelPol community. Some people get rabid over them. ☠️ I fear nothing I write, regardless of how meticulously I try to write it, would ever be good enough for the wider community, and I'm sure I'm not the only writer in HelPol who avoids writing retellings due to this. I would do my best to be respectful to the original culture, and yet, still, it likely would never be enough. I'm kinda just complaining lol, but I feel like people hate these sorts of things so viscerally within the community that even when a retelling has a genuinely interesting story to tell (Hadestown, as an example), they will not only ignore it but will actively despise it. It's discouraging. It stops actual worshippers from creating myth-based retellings, and in my opinion, that's a problem. Many people are upset that worshippers don't create retellings, then create an incredibly hostile space for such things to be created. If you want more content about the gods from worshippers, create a space that welcomes such things. This isn't to say feedback shouldn't be welcome; it's just to say that hating all retellings with such a fierce passion also prevents retellings from actual worshippers being written.

[xf-cases-solved]

headcanon/fic idea where during the cancer arc, mulder is over at scully's place on a saturday morning going over a case file (that probably could have waited until monday, but he wanted to check on her, and scully knows that, and mulder knows that scully knows, but they both just keep it to themselves). and at one point, scully checks the time and sighs and says she needs to call and cancel her nail appointment for that afternoon, and when mulder asks her why, she says it's bc her dr prescribed her a new med and it's giving her slight double vision, and "it's a common side effect and it's temporary, but i don't want to drive until i adjust to it, and it's not worth it to pay for a cab just for a manicure"

and mulder is like, "i'm not doing anything today, i'll take you"

and obviously scully dismisses the offer, but he keeps insisting, and the truth of it is, with all the constant med adjustments and (occasionally gross) physical side effects of medication and just being sick in general, she hasn't felt particularly attractive in weeks, and while it's not like she is trying to impress anybody, she takes a lot of pride in her appearance and how she presents herself to the world, and her nails are so brittle and the polish has completely chipped away from her last manicure, and honestly, this one little thing, no matter how inconsequential, really would go a long way to making her feel more like herself

so she eventually relents (which pleasantly surprises mulder bc she is stubborn af)

on the way there she's already apologizing for how boring he'll probably find it -- how frivolous and feminine -- and "it shouldn't take too long, i'll tell her to skip the hand massage," and mulder is like, "if you tell her not to give you a hand massage i will hold you at gunpoint until you let her do it" bc he is NOT about to let her skip out on some self-care bc she's worried he'll be judging her for indulging in something "girly"

(he knows she constantly walks a fine line between expressing her femininity and keeping it to herself bc she's worried it will make her male peers view her less seriously)

her nail tech immediately asks if mulder is her husband, even tho she knows damn well he's not bc she asks him if she's found a man yet at every gd appointment, and when she says no, the nail tech is like, "why not? he's handsome and he took you to your appointment, he seems like good husband material"

(they side step out of the conversation, but she is painfully aware of mulder's smirk)

her nail tech asks mulder if he wants a manicure too, and scully thinks she's probably joking, but mulder is like "hell yeah," and scully feels like how she does when he talks about aliens with random cops and witnesses with a straight face -- like, a little embarrassed, but also in awe of his complete lack of giving a fuck

so they are seated side-by-side and get manicures at the same time

mulder doesn't get any polish, but he lets his nail tech shape his nails and apply cuticle oil and, yes, give him a hand massage

he and scully have a brief debate about her nail polish, bc she always gets a super light pink or just a glossy finish (bc anything bolder would feel like overindulging in her femininity and she doesn't want to give any of her misogynistic peers more ammo), but mulder is mercilessly persistent, saying shit like, "that peach color would look good on you" (it wouldn't, she thinks, she's too pale for it) or "that burgundy one would match the new dark lipstick you got a while ago," and she's sat there wondering when the fuck he noticed something as trivial as the shade of her lipstick, and does that mean he's paid attention to other aspects of her appearance? and if so, what does he think of them?

(eventually she lets him talk her into an insanely light shade of baby blue, mostly bc he said it would complement her eyes and she was too caught off guard to tell him to stuff it, and the nail tech makes another casual quip about how good of a husband he would be, and a teeny tiny voice in the back of her head that she can barely hear is saying, "yeah, actually, he would")

when they're finished, he slips the nail tech his credit card while she is searching for her wallet in her overcoat pocket, and he does not look remotely remorseful when she reprimands him, that bastard

in the car, she can't help laughing at the way he keeps checking out his nails, tilting them so the sunlight hits them through the window and he can see how uniform and shiny they are (his nail tech talked him into a clear top coat)

he offers to drive to the chinese restaurant a few blocks from the lincoln memorial, bc she mentioned to him two weeks ago that whenever she is too nauseous to want food, she can for some reason always stomach that restaurant's egg drop soup, and even tho she's not nauseous rn and has also eaten enough egg drop soup lately that it actually sounds a little abhorrent, she says yes anyway, bc she's so touched that he remembered that small detail

they end up getting an order to go (she orders a full entree of vegetable shrimp along with her soup, and the look of relief and delight on mulder's face when he realizes she has an appetite for once makes her blush)

they go back to her place and watch The Thing, and then a rerun of jeopardy (they're pretty evenly matched in terms of useless trivia knowledge, but the final jeopardy question is "this man is the only doctor in history to have a 300% mortality rate," and scully was saying "dr. liston !" before mulder had a chance to process how that was even possible)

she gets drowsy early (another side effect these days), and mulder is discreet in not pointing it out, and instead makes an excuse about needing to feed his fish so he should probably get going, and once again, they both know what he's doing, but they both keep it to themselves

she walks him to the door, and before he leaves, he takes her hand. she lets him raise it up beside her face, even tho she's not sure what he's doing, until he says, "yep, i was right, these make your eyes even prettier," and like ??? what is she supposed to do with THAT??

in the end she does nothing except let him kiss the tips of her fingers, right on the light blue polish, and then lets him kiss her on the forehead. (she tries not to think about where else she'd like him to kiss her, and fails miserably)

they part with shy goodbyes, and it's only in retrospect that she realizes she hadn't actually thanked him, not really

when she is dressed and ready for bed, she slides under the sheets and calls his cell

"mulder, it's me," and somehow he sounds delighted to hear from her, as if they hadn't just spent the entire day together

"i just wanted to thank you for today. i really needed it"

she isn't able to express her gratitude in full, bc that would require being emotionally vulnerable and she's not v good at that, but she suspects mulder hears what she isn't saying anyway

"anytime, scully," he says, and she knows he means it sincerely. "my hands are so soft, i might have to make this manicure thing a regular occurrence"

she laughs

"goodnight, mulder"

"goodnight, scully"

in the morning, the first thing she notices is the blue of her fingernail polish, and the warm feeling it gives her stays with her through breakfast and all the way through the afternoon

[charliespoorasshole]

as much as i enjoy the idea of jitka finding out about hansry and helping them hide it and hans and jitka having a friendly platonic marriage while the three of them de facto raise heinrich together, i personally cannot wait to see hans being the worst husband ever

jitka, despite being nervous and scared out of her mind still being hopeful, and immediately losing that hope when she sees the dead and empty look in hans's eyes at the altar.

any excuses she had thought up fleeing her mind like a gut punch as she pretends not to notice hans slipping out of the bed on their wedding night and not coming back.

pretending how it doesn't feel like she's being strangled that hans couldn't be happier whenever he's being called away from her company, that he never stays in her bed chamber longer than he has to and that he never slept through a whole night with her.

eventually coming to terms with the fact that let alone hans's love, she will never even have his affection or a scrap of his attention. eventually not caring, and growing just as distant when she bears him his son, and trying not feel stung when hans doesn't even seem to notice.

but when she stops caring, she starts letting herself notice. starts to notice how whenever she sees him around, it's beside kobyla's bastard. how he can't seem to ever run out of reasons to summon him, how he never runs out of jobs for him to do, to keep him around, keep him close. how he always has a reason for him to accompany him on hunting trips, on political talks, on 'just needing to get away for a while'. away from her, away from their son.

how he always insists he's the only entourage he needs.

and how eventually she decides, fine. if this is how you want to play it, so can i.

[bumblingbabooshka]

I love Vulcans we need to get more into the emotional lives of Vulcans without imposing Human standards onto them. "The way you feel is wrong/repressive because it's not the way it's "supposed" to be from my perspective as an alien called Human" is boring to me especially when it's treated as correct. I wanna know how the aliens feel about their alien way of life. Vulcans are so interesting to me when written AS aliens and not as analogous to repressed Humans. I think about Tuvok's description of attachment to his family and how that isn't the emotion 'love' but something else, something that he feels no shame about having and sees as normal, as naturally Vulcan and I love it and I love it because there aren't any Humans there to go "Um actually checkmate you Vulcan s.o.b - that's emotion!" and he isn't being influenced by anything. These are his authentic thoughts. He sees his children, his family, as part of him. They were at times illogical, incomprehensible, and it was extremely rewarding to be in their lives. He thinks about them every day. They were well behaved. As teens they were contemptuous of authority and convinced of their own superiority. His youngest son loved one 200 verse story so he sang it to him. He'd rather die than betray his wife even in spirit. He's incomplete without them. It's obvious through Tuvok that Vulcan life is not inherently devoid of pleasure, comfort, or love and thus Human life (I think) should not be portrayed as inherently having something greater, deeper, more meaningful. I'm not talking here of society but of...emotional life. Interiority. There's this sense that all Vulcans are the same and miserable for it. That they hold themselves back and are indistinguishable and antagonistic to the self, repressed and wrong. That to be Vulcan is to suffer endlessly and Humans are all about Freedom Man and I don't know, I like that Tuvok's existence sort of challenges this as much as I acknowledge that Vulcan society is in fact repressive and unwelcoming to those who don't fit neatly into it. I'm not saying Vulcan society is a utopia, I'm questioning the perception of Vulcan emotional control - that way of life - as being inherently bad, devoid, or lacking. That Vulcans walk around with 'empty cups' and are only deluding themselves that to be that way is good. If only, Humanity moans, they could taste how delicious life could be! Tuvok is an average Vulcan. He does not struggle with emotion, he is not mixed species, he was not raised atypically, and yet he has a family he cares about and a wife he's loyal to and friends he values and none of these things seem to be Un-Vulcan to him. If Vulcan life was truly devoid of love and care, Tuvok wouldn't think of his family. They're not here, so why bother? When his pon farr came, he'd be trying to find the most compatible mate rather than risking his life by trying to meditate through it out of loyalty to T'Pel. T'Pel would also have just given Tuvok up for dead instead of waiting and his children wouldn't have traveled all the way to the most holy temple on the planet to say prayers for his safe return. I think these things are interesting and I wish they'd been explored more. The fact that caring about your family, caring about your friends, is not Un-Vulcan. The fact that Tuvok at no point longs for Humanity, sees nothing better or of interest to him in it. (Even in his teenage rebellion he only says he's sorry he was born Vulcan which reads less as Vulcan v Human and more like 'I hate this goddamn family' ykwim?). I want to know more about how Vulcans interact with each other, how they care for one another, what it means and what it's like to be Vulcan in more of an everyday way rather than what it means to be Vulcan vs Human.

[doubletroubletag]

i got almost all the next month's updates sketched! i'm not doing the last one simply because i am feeling the burn out of composing these pages. (each have at least 6 pages, a good amount have the max 12!)

that said, these are all just sketched. i want to do it in this order: backgrounds -> lineart -> transcript. i got other projects i need to work on (winning hat and NightFell) so I can't really guarantee when Tag will start to update again.

[tsukinoshinjiu]

"Here, wear this when we're out." Ravio handed him what looked to be a wooden mask in the shape of a wolfos's face. It was very simple compared to Ravio's, but unlike his, this one covered his entire face. The gray and white pattern felt oddly familiar to him, but he quickly dismissed the idea. He probably saw someone in Thieve's Town with one like it. "Not a rabbit?" Link asked, skeptical. "Each animal indicates someone's family ties. They're usually passed down to you by your parents." Ravio's smile turned mischievous, "Maybe if we get married someday, I can get a rabbit one made for you," he punctuated his response with a wink. Link quickly donned the mask to hide his reaction. By the sound of Ravio's laugh, it wasn't very effective. "Your ears are red~" Ravio singsonged. Fuck.