#in real time. imagine being the person he leans on for support. imagine him taking you for a LIAR. imagine him being mad at you

[bonnielunkas]

fic posting again, whoops!! consider this a little taste of what's to come, i guess

[theetherealbloom]

The Things I Would Do, Just To Be Here With You

Summary: Amidst the whirlwind of movie premieres and busy schedules, you and Pedro Pascal, both thriving in your respective careers, find ways to celebrate each other despite the distance. While Pedro promotes Gladiator 2 in London, he longs for your presence at the after-party.

Or, you two would scream at the stars for keeping you apart... and the government too.

“Pedro Pascal x f!reader, Pedro is promoting Gladiator 2, and reader is in Wicked (Elphaba or Galinda of course!) for the screenplay of Wicked, and they are just really supportive of each other but also joke about their own movie being the best. Finding time to come to each other’s premiers. Posting behind the scenes or visiting each other.” — From @imaginemixedfandom

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Surrounded by A-Listers, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Red Carpet, Cameras, Paparazzi, Long Distance, Timezone Difference, Social Media, Interviews, I’m not a Spanish speaker, I might be wrong with the terms, please don’t come after me T^T,

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Ty @imaginemixedfandom for giving the idea! I didn’t really want to replace the reader with the cast of Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo. Those two are just too iconic. So instead I will make the reader a writer for the screenplay adaptation of Wicked tehe. You all should listen to brent iii by Jeremy Zucker and Chelsea Cutler, it’s absolutely one of my favorite albums of this year. Lastly, remember this is all fictional and for fun! Enjoyyyy my loves!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: and the government too! By Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler

gif by @andrew-garfielld

| Main Masterlist |

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING

“Hi.” Your voice was soft as you nestled deeper into the duvet, your body cocooned in its comforting folds.

“Hola, mi amor.” Pedro’s face lit up on your phone screen, the warm timbre of his voice washing over you like a balm. “I miss you.” “I miss you too… so much,” you replied with a little pout. The time difference between London and New York was merciless. Between his packed schedule promoting Gladiator 2 and prepping for Fantastic Four, and your whirlwind of work with the Wicked movie premiere, your conversations had been reduced to stolen moments like this. Still, even through a screen, Pedro had a way of making you feel like the most important person in the world. “You look cozy,” he said with a lopsided grin, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “Meanwhile, I’m freezing my ass off here on set. I think my nose might fall off.” You laughed softly, the sound tinged with longing. “I’d trade you, you know. I’ll take the cold if it means I get to see you.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He leaned closer to the camera, his face filling your screen. “If I weren’t contractually obligated to be here, I’d hop on the next flight and show up at your premiere tomorrow. Red carpet and all.” You smiled wistfully, your fingers brushing against the edge of your phone as if you could reach through it to touch him. “You’d outshine me. Imagine the headlines: ‘Pedro Pascal steals the show at Wicked premiere.’” “Please. Everyone’s going to be talking about you. ‘Brilliant screenwriter dazzles Hollywood!’” He paused, his tone softening. “You’re incredible, you know that?” Your throat tightened at his words, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Stop, or I’ll actually cry, and my face will be all puffy for tomorrow.” He chuckled. “Okay, okay. But seriously, mi amor, I’m so proud of you. You’ve worked so hard for this.” “And so have you,” you countered. “The Gladiator 2 trailer broke the internet, and you still found time to send me flowers last week. You’re amazing, Pedro.” “Yeah, but flowers aren’t the same as being there with you.” His voice dipped, a hint of regret slipping through. “I hate being this far away.” You sighed, your heart aching in tandem with his. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled with the unspoken tension of your shared longing. Then, Pedro’s grin returned, bright and mischievous. “So,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “who do you think has the better movie? Be honest.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Are you seriously asking me to compare Wicked to Gladiator 2? One’s a heartfelt, magical adaptation, and the other is a testosterone-filled epic. They’re different.”

“Uh-huh,” he teased, crossing his arms. “Sounds like you’re dodging the question. I knew you were scared to admit Gladiator 2 is better.”

You scoffed, sitting up straighter in bed. “Scared? Please. I just don’t want to hurt your feelings when Wicked inevitably becomes a global phenomenon.”

Pedro laughed, the sound rich and contagious. “You’re lucky I love you. Otherwise, this would be grounds for war.”

“Lucky? You’re the lucky one,” you shot back, smirking. “I’ll prove it when I finally see you in person again. But until then…”

You brought the phone closer, pressing a soft kiss to the screen. Pedro mimicked your gesture, his lips brushing his camera lens.

“Goodnight, mi vida,” he murmured.

“Goodnight, Pedro.” Your voice was tender, laced with all the love you couldn’t put into words.

As the call ended, you clutched the phone to your chest, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. Despite the distance, despite the chaos of your lives, you knew one thing for certain: Pedro Pascal would always be worth the wait.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — MORNING

Today was the day. You were walking the red carpet for the Wicked movie premiere. A sea of celebrities, producers, fellow writers, and editors would surround you. The sheer magnitude of it all left you feeling both giddy and utterly petrified.  

You smoothed your hands over the silk robe you wore, your palms damp with nerves. While you loved the craft of storytelling, the spotlight had always felt daunting. You preferred to let your work speak for itself—a tendency that paired surprisingly well with dating Pedro Pascal, the literal human embodiment of charisma and charm.  

“There, all done,” Laura, your makeup artist, said with a satisfied grin.  

You blinked at your reflection in the mirror. Your skin glowed, your eyes were accentuated just enough to look striking without overwhelming, and your lips were painted a perfect shade of confidence.  

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you said, giving her a warm smile.  

“Of course I did,” Laura replied with a wink. “Big night for my favorite screenwriter.”  

Mia, your stylist, emerged from behind a rack of gowns, holding up the dress. “Speaking of big nights... Ready to put this beauty on?”  

You nodded, though your smile wavered. “I just wish Pedro were here,” you admitted, your voice quieter now.  

Laura and Mia exchanged sympathetic glances before Laura gently squeezed your shoulder. “You’re going to look incredible, and he’d lose his mind if he saw you. How about we take some pictures to send him? A little preview for the man himself.”  

You hesitated, glancing at your phone on the vanity. “I don’t want to distract him. He’s busy with interviews and set work. London and New York aren’t exactly next door…”  

“All is fair in love and war,” Laura teased, her giggle breaking the tension. “Come on, babe! If anything, it’ll be motivation for him to hop on the next flight.”  

Mia chimed in, smirking. “Or just to remind him what he’s missing. Trust me, teasing Pedro is a public service.”  

You laughed despite yourself, feeling the nerves lift slightly. “Fine, fine. But if he complains, I’m blaming you two.”  

They ushered you into the dress—a masterpiece of emerald silk and intricate detailing that clung perfectly in all the right places. As Mia zipped you up, Laura stepped back, her hands pressed dramatically over her heart.  

“Pedro’s going to lose his shit.”  

“You look like a literal goddess,” Mia added, spinning you toward the mirror.  

For a moment, you hardly recognized yourself. The reflection staring back radiated elegance and confidence, even if you didn’t entirely feel it yet.  

“Okay, okay. Take the pictures,” you relented, biting your lip as you tried to contain your grin.  

Laura grabbed your phone and started snapping. You struck a few playful poses, twirling and laughing as Mia adjusted the hem of your dress. It felt silly, but imagining Pedro’s reaction warmed your chest.  

Once the photos were taken, you grabbed your phone and hovered over the message screen. You debated for a moment, then attached the best photo and typed a quick message.  

You: Wish you were here. But since you’re not... Enjoy this. Don’t let it distract you too much, cariño.  

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, the familiar swoosh of the message sending making your heart race.  

The reply came faster than you expected.  

Pedro: Distract me? How am I supposed to do anything now? You look like an angel. No, better than an angel. Drop-dead stunning. 

You couldn’t stop the grin from taking over your face.  

Pedro: Red carpet better be ready. They’ve got no idea who they’re dealing with tonight.  

The butterflies in your stomach multiplied tenfold. Before you could reply, another message appeared.  

Pedro: I’m so proud of you. Go knock ’em dead, mi amor. I love you.  

Your throat tightened, and you had to blink back the sudden tears threatening to ruin Laura’s hard work. You tapped out a quick reply.  

You: I love you too. Now go back to being the coolest man alive.  

“You okay over there?” Mia asked, watching you with a knowing smile.  

“More than okay,” you said softly, tucking your phone away.  

As you prepared to step into the whirlwind of the premiere, Pedro’s words echoed in your mind. Even from thousands of miles away, he made you feel invincible.  

Tonight wasn’t just about the red carpet or the glitz and glamour. It was about celebrating what you loved—and knowing Pedro would always be your biggest cheerleader, no matter where in the world he was.  

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON — AFTERNOON  

Pedro sighed deeply, his head resting against the back of his chair. The steady hum of activity on set felt like background noise, the voices and clatter muffled by the ache in his chest. His fingers drummed lightly against his thigh, the motion absent-minded, a physical echo of the restlessness he felt inside.  

He missed you.  

It wasn’t the casual longing of someone who hadn’t seen their partner in a while—it was the kind of yearning that settled into his bones, heavy and persistent. A few hundred miles of ocean separated you, but it may as well have been an entire galaxy.  

He opened his phone and scrolled back to the picture you’d sent him that morning. The emerald dress, the way it hugged your form, the way your eyes sparkled even in a still image—it took his breath away. You looked like a dream. His dream.  

“If I were there right now…” he murmured under his breath, running his thumb over the screen as if he could touch you.  

If it were as simple as hopping on a flight, he’d already be on his way. He imagined the way you’d light up when you saw him, how you’d rush into his arms. He’d bury his face in your hair, inhale your scent, and hold you so tightly that he’d forget about the world outside.  

But it wasn’t that simple. The timing was off, as it so often was with both your careers in full swing. He was tied to the production schedule of Fantastic Four, and you were in the spotlight for Wicked. The universe seemed determined to keep you apart, and for the first time in years, Pedro felt the cracks in his patience.  

He closed his eyes, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. “Damn stars. Damn schedules. Damn… government,” he muttered bitterly. The laugh that followed was humorless, the frustration thick in his voice.  

If he could, he’d scream at the stars for conspiring against you both. Curse the invisible forces that made life so complicated. He’d barter with time itself, twist it and stretch it, just to have you here with him for a few stolen moments.  

He wondered what you were doing right now. Were you nervous about the red carpet? Did you feel as hollow without him as he felt without you? Pedro clenched his jaw, guilt gnawing at him. You deserved to have him there, to walk that carpet with you, to hold your hand and beam with pride as you took in the applause for your work.  

“Pedro, they’re ready for you!”  

The call from a production assistant jolted him from his thoughts. He blinked, the weight of reality crashing back down as he stood and stretched.  

“Be right there,” he called back, tucking his phone into his pocket.  

As he made his way back to the soundstage, he couldn’t shake the thought of tomorrow. The Gladiator 2 premiere loomed ahead, another milestone he should be celebrating with you by his side. Instead, you’d be halfway across the world.  

But one day, he promised himself, one day, nothing will keep us apart.  

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING 

The flashing lights were relentless, casting an almost blinding glow over the red carpet. The screams of fans and the constant click of cameras created a symphony of chaos, one you weren’t entirely comfortable navigating. You’d always preferred the quiet—curled up with a book, tucked away from the world’s prying eyes.  

But tonight, you smiled and posed alongside your cast and the production crew. You owed it to them, to yourself, and to the story you’d helped bring to life.  

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Winnie Holzman, the original writer of Wicked, leaned in with a smile, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the crowd.  

You nodded, though your voice was tinged with nervousness. “It’s incredible. Overwhelming, but in the best way.”  

“You’ve done amazing work,” Dana Fox chimed in, her excitement infectious. “We wouldn’t be standing here without your screenplay tying it all together.”  

Jon M. Chu, ever the cheerleader, clapped you lightly on the back. “Tonight’s your night too. Own it.”  

You laughed softly, feeling a little more at ease with their encouragement. Together, the four of you posed for the cameras, sharing a few candid laughs before heading closer to the press area.  

As you stepped into the spotlight for interviews, the questions started flying.  

“How does it feel to see Wicked finally come to life on the big screen?”  

“It feels surreal,” you answered, your smile genuine. “Everyone on this project has poured so much heart into it. To see it come together like this is... overwhelming in the best way.”  

“You’re known for being quite private. How are you handling all the attention tonight?”  

“It’s definitely out of my comfort zone,” you admitted with a small laugh. “But I’m surrounded by such a talented and supportive team, which makes it easier.”  

Then, inevitably, came the question you’d been bracing for. “We couldn’t help but notice that Pedro Pascal isn’t here tonight. Do you miss him?”  

The question tugged at something deep inside you. “I miss him so much,” you said softly, your expression softening. “He’s busy promoting Gladiator 2 and filming in London. I know he wishes he could be here, just like I wish I could be there for him. We’re both incredibly proud of each other, though.” You grinned, a playful sparkle in your eyes. “But, of course, Wicked is better. Don’t tell him I said that.”  

The interviewer laughed, and you followed with a wink before stepping away.  

AFTER THE PREMIERE  

As the credits rolled and the crowd applauded, you walked alongside Jon, Winnie, and Dana toward the exit. The night air was cool and refreshing after the heat of the theater.  

“You were glowing on that carpet,” Winnie teased, nudging you gently.  

Jon smirked. “Bet it’s because of a certain someone who couldn’t make it.”  

You flushed immediately, your cheeks warming. “Stop,” you mumbled, though your smile betrayed your embarrassment.  

“Oh, come on,” Dana added with a laugh. “You were gushing about him earlier. Just admit it—you’re head over heels.”  

You sighed dramatically, though your heart raced just thinking about Pedro. “Okay, fine. I miss him like crazy. I just—” You paused, glancing up at the stars. “I wish I could be there for him, you know? For his premiere. He’s always so supportive of me. It feels wrong not to do the same.”  

Jon stopped walking, turning to face you with a thoughtful look. “So go.”  

“What?”  

“Go to him,” he said with a shrug. “Take the jet. I’ll make the call.”  

You blinked at him, stunned. “You—you’d let me do that?”  

“Of course,” Jon said, waving off your concern. “You’re part of the heart of this project. If being with him makes you happy, it’s worth it.”  

“But I don’t have a ticket, and I need to pack, and—”  

Dana held up a hand, already pulling out her phone. “Relax. I’ll call a car, and we’ll pack together. You just focus on getting there.”  

Before you could protest further, Jon had already stepped aside, dialing someone on his phone. Dana grabbed your arm and started steering you toward the waiting car.  

“You’re really doing this,” she said, grinning.  

“I—I guess I am.” Your voice trembled with excitement and nerves. “What if I don’t make it in time? What if—”  

Dana cut you off with a gentle squeeze on your shoulder. “You’ll make it. And even if you don’t, just being there will mean everything to him.”  

AT THE AIRPORT  

The private jet was waiting for you, its sleek frame illuminated by the glow of the runway lights. You quickly texted Pedro’s manager and assistant, letting them know you were on your way.  

You: I’m coming to London. Please don’t tell him. I want it to be a surprise.  

The response was almost immediate:  

Franklin Latt: Got it. He’s going to lose his mind—in the best way.  

As you settled into your seat and the jet began to taxi, your heart raced. Seven hours separated you from Pedro, but for the first time in days, the distance didn’t feel insurmountable.  

You leaned your head back against the seat, clutching your phone tightly as you closed your eyes. You could already picture the look on his face when he saw you.  

Just hold on, Pedro. I’m on my way.  

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING

The energy in Leicester Square was electric. Fans filled the barricades, the roar of excitement nearly drowning out the camera flashes as Pedro made his way down the red carpet. Dressed in a sharp black shirt, the top unbuttoned, slacks, his signature charm, and a warm smile lit up every interaction as he stopped to greet fans and pose for photos.

The press area was bustling, and soon Pedro found himself standing in front of a journalist holding a microphone.

“Pedro, congratulations on Gladiator 2! How does it feel to be here tonight celebrating this film?”

Pedro grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It feels incredible. This is one of those projects you dream about as an actor, and to see it all come together, to see everyone’s hard work pay off, it’s… it’s a real honor.”

The interviewer nodded. “You’ve had an amazing year, between this and your other projects. But we couldn’t help but notice that someone special in your life had a big night recently—the Wicked premiere in New York. Did you get a chance to see any photos?”

Pedro’s face lit up instantly, a laugh bubbling out of him. “Oh, I did. Believe me, I did. She sent me some pictures, and I’ve seen the ones floating around online too. I mean… she looked absolutely stunning. Like, knock-you-out, breathtakingly gorgeous. I might be a little biased, but still.”

The crowd nearby caught wind of his gushing, and a few cheers erupted. Pedro laughed, scratching the back of his neck.

“Honestly, I’m so proud of her,” he continued, his voice softening. “She poured so much of herself into that screenplay, and to see her get the recognition she deserves? It’s the best feeling in the world.”

The interviewer smiled. “There’s definitely a lot of love and mutual admiration between you two. Word on the street is you’ve got a bit of a friendly competition going on—Gladiator 2 versus Wicked. Any truth to that?”

Pedro chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, it’s absolutely true. We’ve got a bet going. She’s convinced Wicked is going to sweep the box office, and I, of course, have complete faith in Gladiator 2. Let’s just say the stakes are high—winner gets breakfast in bed for a week.”

The interviewer laughed along with him. “That’s adorable. Who’s winning so far?”

Pedro smirked. “Let’s just say she’s got me a little worried. But I’ll never admit that to her.”

LATER, BACKSTAGE

Pedro leaned against the wall, sipping from a glass of water while chatting with Paul Mescal. Their conversation flowed easily, but Pedro’s gaze kept drifting toward the entrance, as if hoping for some sort of miracle.

“You’ve got that look again,” Paul teased, nudging him with his elbow.

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning ignorance.

“The ‘I’m desperately in love and missing my girl’ look,” Paul quipped with a grin.

Denzel Washington, who had just joined the conversation, chuckled. “He’s not wrong, man. You’ve been staring off into space like a lovesick teenager.”

Joe Quinn walked by, overhearing the exchange and throwing in his two cents. “It’s cute, though. Very romantic. Someone should write a movie about it.”

Pedro rolled his eyes, though a bashful smile crept onto his face. “Okay, okay, I miss her. Can you blame me? She’s halfway across the world, and I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Frank, Pedro’s manager, stepped in, giving him a supportive pat on the back. “You’ve got it bad, buddy. But hey, it’s not a bad problem to have.”

Frank couldn’t help but smile to himself, already knowing what Pedro didn’t—that you were on your way. He could only imagine Pedro’s reaction when he saw you walk through those doors.

“Alright,” Pedro said with a dramatic sigh, “can we please focus on the fact that we’re here for Gladiator 2 and not my love life?”

“Sure,” Paul said, smirking. “But if she shows up, we’re all watching you lose it.”

Pedro laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll take that bet.”

Little did he know, he was about to owe a lot of people a round of drinks.

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING  

The crowd in the after-party buzzed with excitement, a mix of A-list chatter and glasses clinking. Pedro stood near Lux, their conversation about the night’s success lighthearted, though his gaze kept drifting toward the entrance. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, only that the ache of missing you hadn’t dulled, even amidst all the celebration.  

Lux, sharp-eyed as always, caught the slight shift in his expression and smirked. “You’ve got that look again,” she teased.  

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning nonchalance as he sipped his drink.  

“The one that screams, ‘I wish she were here.’” Lux nudged his arm playfully.  

Before he could muster a witty retort, Lux’s eyes darted toward the entrance, widening in surprise. “Well, speak of the devil…”  

Pedro turned, following her gaze, and the breath left his lungs.  

There you were, stepping into the room, your black silk gown catching the dim lights perfectly. Your hair, slightly tousled from the rush, framed your face with an effortless beauty that made his heart stop. Heads turned as you walked in with Frank, but Pedro didn’t notice anyone else.  

He froze, jaw slack, his mind racing to comprehend that you were actually here.  

“Pedro,” Lux whispered, amused. “Close your mouth before you catch a fly.”  

But Pedro couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. All he could do was watch as you walked toward him, the soft smile on your lips turning into a grin as your eyes met his. He vaguely registered Joe, Paul, and Denzel laughing nearby, but he didn’t care. You were here.  

When you finally stopped in front of him, your grin widened, and you quipped, “Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was terrible—there’s a movie premiere happening, and I—”  

Before you could finish, Pedro moved.  

He swept you up in his arms, lifting you off your feet as a chorus of cheers, whistles, and laughter erupted around you. You let out a surprised giggle, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he held you close, burying his face against your shoulder.  

“Dios mío,” Pedro murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re here.”  

“I’m here,” you whispered back, your fingers threading through his curls.  

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes brimming with love. “I can’t believe this. You’re really here.”  

You smiled, tears threatening to spill as you cupped his face. “I couldn’t let you have all the fun without me.”  

Pedro didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance, kissing you with a fervor that made the entire room fade away. The kiss was deep, all-consuming, and when you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless.  

Your laughter broke the moment, and Pedro pressed his forehead to yours, his hands still firmly around your waist as if afraid you might disappear. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly.  

“For what?” you asked softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.  

“For being here. For being you. For… everything.” His voice was low, reverent. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’ll never stop thanking the universe for it.”  

You kissed him again, a soft press of lips this time, and smiled against his mouth. “You don’t have to thank the universe. Just let me love you.”  

Pedro let out a soft laugh, his arms tightening around you. “You’re incredible, you know that?”  

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” you teased, resting your head against his chest as the room slowly came back into focus.  

From the sidelines, Joe nudged Paul, chuckling. “Think he’s gonna let her go anytime soon?”  

Paul smirked. “Not a chance.”  

Denzel clinked his glass against Joe’s. “Now that’s a man in love.”  

And Pedro? He didn’t care about the laughter, the cameras, or even the early morning call time tomorrow. For now, you were in his arms, and nothing else mattered.

[baeshijima]

imagine being a baker stationed in marmoreal market, okhema.

it has been a few months since you first started the business. as is with most, it was a slow start. in the beginning only few took interest, probably curious about the new the dessert shop popping up from seemingly nowhere. you’d garnered a loyal set of regulars, however, who always came for either something sweet to kickstart their day before work, or to treat themselves before they went back home.

in between those times? sparse. but you made it work… somehow.

what it did allow for, however, was the trial and error of new desserts! you can’t always be following the same recipes as everyone else; you have to put you and your craft out there!

…which brings you to now.

“so?” you prod, fiddling with the hem of your apron as you watch mydei chew a piece of the freshly baked golden honeycake. “how is it?”

having mydei in your shop is nothing new. he was the first to know about you wanting to open this shop in the first place, after all — back when you were an aspiring baker and he a runaway crown prince trying to find refuge for his people in okhema. despite his duties as a chrysos heir, he still manages to pop in every day when not away for a mission. how? well, you chalk it up to his sweet tooth and appointed position as your official taste tester.

a pleased hum escapes him; the soft clinks of cutlery rings out once more.

“i prefer your version of the golden honeycake compared to the traditional one,” he comments, taking another bite of the pancake. lifting his gaze to meet yours, a fork is outstretched towards you, a neatly cut square of the golden honeycake skewered on its prongs. “what made you want to change the recipe?”

“oh, that?” arms braced against the small two-person table, you lean towards the fork. a soft sweetness coats your tongue as you concoct a reply. “well, i wanted to make something you would like as a little thank you. you’ve supported me to pursue this dream for a while now. if it weren’t for you…” your voice tapers, eyes softening and lips spreading into an appreciative smile as you meet his slightly widened eyes. “if it weren’t for you, i doubt i would’ve had the courage to make it this far. so thank you, mydei, for being with me during this time.”

“it’s… it’s no problem.” mydei responds after a brief silence, the words briefly interrupted by a swift clearing of his throat as he glances away. “think nothing of it.”

save for your pleased hums, idle comments on new recipes you want to try, and the bustle of marmoreal market just beyond the walls, tranquility befalls your space.

when mydei calls out your name, you halt at the unusually resolute tone. “your efforts will come to fruition. i will make sure of that.”

---

well. sure enough, his words came true. the sight of the shop filled with customers and the long queue trickling into marmoreal market is evident proof of that.

when faced with the sudden influx of customers just two weeks ago, you thought it might’ve been a hallucination concocted by zagreus themself to torment you.

it was only after the thirteenth order of golden honeycake did you start to suspect zagreus wouldn’t waste their time on such a trivial matter on a speck of dust such as yourself. the real nail in the coffin was when you overheard some rather telling chatter between two ladies.

“wow! this modified version of the golden honeycake really is amazing! no wonder crown prince mydeimos loves it!”

“i wonder how they managed to get him to promote it…”

…if you knew having mydei say a few good words about your baked goods would boost your sales exponentially, you would have asked if he wanted to be a part-timer back when you first opened! looking at his withering stare and rather prominent frown as he waits for you to finish your closing shift, however, has you rethinking the choice.

(well, even with him being a prude, mydei would still undeniably draw in customers, so maybe asking him wouldn’t do any harm…)

unbeknownst to you, mydei’s down-trodden mood has to do with the very customers you’re trying to draw in. maybe if he wasn’t so weak to your dismayed gaze and kicked puppy demeanour when a less than satisfactory number of customers came into the shop every now and then, he wouldn’t be feeling so neglected by the attention you’re giving to the crowds of customers now barging their way into your shop.

a subtle grimace flashed across his features. what are they, a bunch of starving dogs fighting to get their meals? don’t they know basic manners? etiquette?

seriously, just until recently it was always quiet in the mornings. it was always just you baking and getting the store ready, and him watching you do your craft, helping out wherever he could — namely in taste-testing said baked goods.

in spite of the part of himself which regrets spreading the word of your talents and having them hog all your attention, the larger part of himself knows you deserve all of this at the very least.

he has witnessed your dedication and continuous efforts to make this dream of yours come true throughout the years you’ve known each other, and it certainly would be no lie if he said you’d weasled your way into his heart. from that day you’d offered him and his people baked goods and drinks upon their arrival in okhema, mydei should have known there would be no escape from seeking you out, ultimately causing this all-consuming fondness for you to grow by the day.

leaning back with a heavy sigh, mydei glances over at the counter where you’re still hard at work. really, your closing hours are soon. should he perhaps stand menacingly at your side to shoo away the customers? no, maybe just directly making them leave would be the most efficient. and—

a torrent of warmth engulfs him, clinging to his skin. mouth slightly agape, he can only gaze wordlessly at your joyful interactions.

…perhaps a few more customers would do no harm. just a few, though.

(curse that heart-melting smile of yours. it truly is the bane of his existence.)

[linkcharacter]

I feel like many people are too focused on what Curly could've 'done' instead of what he 'thought' about it, how he saw and processed it in his head. As I see it, the point isn't that he did nothing, it's that he keeps shoving away and downplaying Jimmy's bullshit in his perception, which would then lead to inaction from Curly's side. That if he could've, we don't know if he would've. Action is very much needed in cases like Anya's, though it wouldn't make things better in the Tulpar situation, BUT that's just the horror of it and it doesn't remove Curly's faults outside of that. The point is that Curly is human and isn't exempt from trying to avoid the issue at hand in his head because of who he is as a person and the environment they're in, the condition Curly's in. He knows it's BAD with Jimmy, yet due to either or both, prolonged conditioning of their toxic friendship and Curly's stunted mental state, it doesn't click in his head properly.

If Anya didn't end up pregnant, if Jimmy didn't crash the ship, would Curly have seriously contemplated about Jimmy or rethought their friendship after finding out he's a rapist? Would anything have changed between them? I would imagine if Curly want half-delirious half-conscious and not going through an existential crisis, then I would give it a very stretched "maybe", and it still would've taken time to detach yourself from a close friend (with possible emotional abuse benefits). But we don't know what COULD'VE been, we just know he DIDN'T. And that is behavior of an enabler, not ill-willed or inconsiderate, but it's human to be afraid of change and be attached. Still ended in upkeeping his friend's harmful behaviors, not due to lack of wanting him to change but that's just how things are. It's realistic, there's no inherent 'morality' attached to Curly's actions, they were simply actions, what matters is the result. Good intentions don't mean much in face of a horrific outcome.

Would Curly keep attempting to give Jimmy help to be better, in vain like he was suggested to have done before? Very possible. "We said tomorrow will be different. Today would be the last day."

Would Curly report Jimmy to the authorities if he could? We don't know (I'm leaning towards a no though). It's not a bad thing to want your friends to be better and believe in them, nor do I think cutting them off is always the best course of action. Rehabilitation is a good thing (though we don't know exactly how Curly tried to help Jim) and having a support system as friends can make it more effective especially if it's a person struggling financially and mentally in life like Jimmy. Yet Jimmy still has to take accountability and be handled in a proper manner for what he did, not just be let go off the hook, only hoping he will improve like Curly does. At some point Curly had to stop making Jimmy's actions his responsibility but never did, until the end.

The conditions of the Tulpar themselves are very lackluster, the system is unfair and harsh with what we know about Mouthwashing's world. The companies are uncaring and scummy as they are in real life, Pony Express especially being cheap and has no regard for the safety and well being of their employees. It all creates a systematic environment for the worst human traits to fester in unchecked, no one single individual could've "fixed it".

So realistically I don't see much that could've been done in the environment they were in and no matter what Curly did, the outcome would never be good. In any course of action Curly could've gone with, the situation isn't changing, Anya was assaulted, Jimmy is the Co-pilot, the duration of the flight is more than the pregnancy term, conflict within the crew will be punished financially by the HR, they were fired. It's horrible and irreparable no matter what. That is the situation.

But

Curly still downplayed it, that's the point. It's not about the potential actions we imagine he could've taken, it's about all the things he didn't take into account and lacked proper judgement towards his friend, which ended up festering a destructive parasite called Jimmy.

Not to mention that Mouthwashing is such a multifaceted game in terms of its themes, it cannot be defined by ONLY this one Curly idea. There's so much more to the story.

[ladyloveandjustice]

So I have no stake in ships in Avatar the Last Airbender, I do not have any real ships for the show. But when I was looking in Katara's tag for art and stuff, I saw this reoccuring claim that Katara always supported Aang with his problems and feelings, but that Aang never supported her back with hers.

And I don't care about the ships, but I do really like the friendships in Avatar, and that bothers me. It's a slight on Aang, but also on Katara (implying she wouldn't stand up for herself and break it off if a friend was all take and no give, which doesn't fit her personality at all.)

Aang does support Katara whenever he gets the chance, which is unfortunately few and far between because Katara seems to have a hard time leaning on the people she cares about and talking in depth about her own trauma and feelings about it, though she will do so when she literally doesn't care what the person thinks about her (and both times she opened up to Zuko about her Mom initially were her lashing out at him and not caring what he thought about her in return).

This would be something that would need to be addressed for a romantic relationship between them to truly work, and I imagine it would be part of the journey of finding a way to stay together, but it's very much not Aang's fault. And as I said, when he gets a chance to support her she does. Since I just recently rewatched most of the series, have a list of those times!

-His first time being supportive of her is literally a half hour after they first meet. As soon as she tells him about wanting more waterbending experience, he enthusiastically offers to fly all the way to the north pole so they can find her a master. And this very clearly means a lot to her.

-I don't think Aang knew how supportive of her he was being here, but there's the "I haven't done this since I was a kid" "You still are a kid!' exchange. As much as people accuse Aang of seeing Katara as his Mom (he's literally the one character who doesn't express that he does in The Runaway btw and I think that's for a reason) their first interaction establishes that he sees her as a kid, just like him, and think she should have fun like a kid does. This must have been huge for Katara, who'd been forced to take on adult responsibilities at a young age, who resented having to hold the family together, who thought her childhood was over. Aang helped her have fun and be the kid she is, and he'll continue to do so.

-When she lost her mother's necklace (And Zuko subsequently stole it) he was very concerned for her feelings and seemed to immediately understand the weight of that loss, due to his own experiences with loss. Not only did he make her a new necklace to wear as a way to comfort her, as soon as he saw Zuko had it he said "you're giving that back to me" and risked being hit by Zuko in his attempts to grab it. Then he gave it back to her and she was ecstatic!

-He was so supportive of her during the waterbending scroll episode it's actually ridiculous, despite how she lashed out at him. It's unclear if he actually understood she was upset or if this was just his unwavering respect for her coming out, but when she was upset that he learned the first move faster than her he said "well you didn't have such a great teacher!" and it clearly makes her feel better for a bit. He immediately forgives her for lashing out at him, doesn't judge her at all for stealing the waterbending scroll, or for accidentally dragging them into trouble. He, in fact, goes out of the way to reassure her, looking happy at the chance to work together and reminding her they need two waterbenders. And he appreciates her joke at the end (he's just straight up being simp (affectionate) there, and I get it).

-When Pakku won't teach her he immediately denounces him as wrong and unfair and is willing to sacrifice his own education (which he needs to save the world) because he won't stand for it. He remains upset about it even after Katara persuades him, tries to secretly show her what Pakku taught him, and cheers her on when she fights him.

-When she's crying over Jet's death, he's the first one to notice and reach out to her, putting his hand gently on her shoulder and drawing her into a hug (that becomes a group hug). She smiles and clearly feels comforted. They probably talked about it offscreen too (but this cannot be shown as they would need to directly acknowledge his death to do so)

-He's pretty much always praising her as a teacher, and when she grumbles about him not calling her Sifu, he goes out of his way to call her that.

-He notices that she's mad at her Dad and asks her about it, but she deflects

-He looks really sad when he has to remind her she has to take off her mother's necklace for their Fire Nation disguises, again it's something he very much seems to empathize with her about, he understands the weight of what it means to her.

-He not only doesn't judge her for lying during the Painted Lady saga, but praises her and enthusiastically helps her commit ecoterrorism.

-Both he and Sokka move to comfort her when she's crying after the bloodbending fiasco. Most of the comforting of her happens offscreen, which I do think is a shame, and a contrast to how Aang is handled- but it's more of a "he's the main character" thing, since the same happens for Sokka as well (I'm sure Katara and Aang talked to him about Yue's death and at least tried to comfort him, but we don't get to see that).

-He was trying to support her during the Southern Raiders ep, whether you believe he did it well or not, both according to his beliefs and cultural values and by trying to emulate the ways she's talked HIM down from revenge and hatred in the past. He specifically brings up those two incidents- losing his people and losing Appa- where she stepped in to keep him from losing himself to rage. As this post notes, he also specifically echoes her phrasing from when she was urging him not to lose himself to the Avatar state (she says "watching you be in that much rage and pain is really scary" and he echoes "you're feeling unbelievable pain and rage" while talking to her in this ep.)

It's not just the air nomads he's trying to emulate here, but her. Just like Katara doesn't want to see him consumed by hatred and pain, he wants the same for her. His concern is not for her mother's killer, but for her, he fears this will hurt her, just like her concern was always for him and how this would hurt him in those times he was raging.

He wants to do for her what she did for him. But, Katara is not him. She is not someone who will be talked down by someone else when she is grieving, angry, and looking for revenge. Nobody can stop her when she sets her mind to it. She needs to wrestle with whether to kill him and she needs to come to her own conclusions, because she's the only one that can stop her. And Aang realizes that. He says it's a journey she'll have to take on her own, that she needs to face him doesn't stand in her way.

(I wonder if it kind of hurt, deep down, that he couldn't reach her the way she always reached him. I wonder if he felt upset that he couldn't find the right words like she did for him. But I don't think there were any right words. She needed him to step back. It was her choice to make. So he did.)

And in the end, he was correct that she didn't want to do it. She did choose that based on her own feelings and values.

His assumption Katara not killing the guy = forgiveness is definitely him just kind of applying his assumptions and values, but when she says she doesn't forgive him, he doesn't like, judge her or anything that we can see.

So yeah, quite a few examples! It can feel lopsided because more attention is paid to Aang and Katara's personality affects things.

Katara is both open about her emotions and not. She's someone who will look after other's feelings but not really discuss her own pain with people she cares about, until it all builds up and bursts out.

And it's not surprising she's most concerned about Aang, if my friend had recently (from his perspective) survived a genocide where he lost everyone he loved and was now tasked with saving the world at twelve years old, I'd be pretty worried about him and want to support him too! Aang goes through a lot by virtue of being the protagonist, he has the most pressure on him, he's routinely in the most danger, he literally dies for a few minutes. It's not surprising Katara has more opportunities to comfort him, but he unfailingly supports her in any of her problems of goals (when they're not murder) when he can.

I do think there's some missed opportunities to explore Katara and develop their relationship, but it doesn't make Aang a bad, unsupportive friend, or Katara his Mom and not his peer.

[chvoswxtch]

Romcom - with Hotch ? 👀🫶🏼

Girl i’ve been waiting for the right time for you to hopefully take this and do your thing with it cuz you’re amazing. I know it’s specific and long so pls feel free to do with it what you like. Also I’m not sure it fits your movie night theme, so then maybe just keep it for when you maybe do wanna write it???? Here it is, whatever….

K so like hotch and reader are like couple goals, been married long, working through everything and are just downright adorable BUT THEN hotch nearly dies…like for real gets shot in the stomach or something - something real scary. And aaaaall the time he’s mumbleling stuff, reassuringly or scared like: you cant tell my wife she’ll end me or tell her I’m fine, gonna be home for dinner…

But maybe she’s there and she’s trying her hardest to make everybody move, but Morgan is just not having it, making her stay tf back…

When she finally sees him she’s s c a r e d…so terrified of might having actually lost him, of it happening again cuz he will be in these situations again and who is she if not supportive and understanding…just scared and hopelessly in love. bye.

honey you essentially just wrote a whole ass masterpiece on your own

but you asked for my dramatic flair & I am nothing if not a dramatic bitch that lives for the ✨ t h e a t r e ✨

headcannon below the cut

if i stay starring aaron hotchner

derek knew you would physically fist fight him in the middle of that hospital hallway if he even dared to try and keep you out of hotch's room. he kept trying to reason with you, that you wouldn't wanna see him in that state, but you were not in a state of mind to be reasoned with

when you got the call from rossi that your husband was in the hospital, that familiar stone of dread sank in your stomach, nearly sending you through the floor. he didn't say what had happened, not over the phone, but you could hear the fear in his voice, which terrified you

the solemn faces of his team didn't help ease your anxiety, and the grisly details sent your nervous system into a full on meltdown. you could only pick up bits and pieces of what the surgeon explained

gunshot. loss of blood. critical condition. touch and go.

being in the bau was a dangerous job, and hotch had gotten hurt a few times over the course of your marriage, but it had never been this bad

nothing could've prepared you for the sight of hotch bruised and bloodied, laying in a hospital bed, connected to a bunch of wires that were keeping him alive, with an oxygen tube in his nose to help his weakened lungs do the most basic of human subconscious functions

panic, fear, anger, hopelessness, desperation, sadness; all of these emotions were crashing over each other like perilous tides and you were drowning beneath their tenacity

hotch was the strongest person you knew, physically and mentally. he was your rock. to see him reduced to something so fragile and broken shattered something within you. it wasn't like you were foolish enough to think your husband was invincible, but he was smart and cautious, he knew what he was doing. but today reminded you just how human he was

all you could do was sit there by his side and hold his hand while you fluctuated from silent weeping to full fledged sobbing. it didn't feel like enough, but it was all you could do. you couldn't help but replay this morning over and over in your head, analyzing every frame. had you told him you loved him? had you kissed him before he left? had you savored the few seconds before he walked out the door, not knowing that he might not walk back through it?

"don't tell my wife."

you'd been sitting there for what felt like an eternity in silence with nothing but the haunting background noise of beeping machines and chatter in the hallway. it was so faint, you almost didn't hear it. hotch still looked like he was sleeping, and you weren't sure if you'd imagined it or not

"what?"

you leaned in a little closer, and when he let out a deep exhale, the first sign of life you'd seen since you stepped into this room, you almost burst into tears

"don't tell my wife."

his speech was slightly slurred as he mumbled, and you weren't sure if it was due to the blood loss or the anesthesia that was wearing off from surgery

"why not?"

he was so out of it he didn't even seem to recognize your voice

"because she'll kick my ass."

you couldn't stop the laugh that escaped your lips at that, covering your mouth with your hand while the most imperceptible of a smile tugged at the edge of his lips

"I promised i'd be home for dinner."

giving his hand a gentle squeeze, you sniffled and wiped at your damp cheeks with a sad smile

"i'm sure she'll understand if you're a little late."

a sound that was a cross between a snort and a scoff left hotch as one of his thick dark brows subtly arched

"you haven't met my wife."

brushing your thumb over the back of his hand, you reached out with your other to gently push his hair back

"maybe this is a cosmic sign it's time for a vacation."

in the midst of gently carding your fingers through his hair, the next words that left his lips caught you off guard and made you go still

"maybe it's time to retire."

a full minute of silence passed, and then slowly, hotch's eyes opened, and as if drawn by some invisible magnetic force, the immediately found you

the pressure of him squeezing your hand, a silent gesture of not just reassurance, but also his strength returning, had tears welling up in your eyes all over again

hotch slowly turned his head to look at you, his eyes wandering over your face like he was trying to memorize every detail, and then a gentle but weak smile graced his mouth

"I won't be late for dinner ever again, honey."

I made myself emotional and now i'm gonna go cry excuse me

[aspenmissing]

Hi! I really love your work it's really funny and I love how you write it always brightens my day whenever you update🤣🤣🤣🥰🥰🥰

I hope you don't mind can you do arcane characters (mostly Jayvik) X male reader like reader is almost like Tadashi Hamada (from Big Hero 6) but had some kind of intelligent mix like Tadashi and Hiro and reader introduced them their invention Baymax and some fluffy moments 🤣🤣🤣

Btw I hope your doing fine and getting some well rested as well have a lovely day🥰🥰🥰😄😄😄😄

ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜᴄᴀʀᴇ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 5107 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ɪɴᴊᴜʀʏ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ɪ'ᴍ ɢʟᴀᴅ ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴀʏꜱ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ! ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴀʟʟ ɪ ᴡɪꜱʜ ꜰᴏʀ! ᴀɴ��� ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜᴛᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴜɴɴɪᴇꜱᴛ ɪᴅᴇᴀ!!! ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴋᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ᴡᴇʟʟ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ ᴅᴀʏ/ɴɪɢʜᴛ <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx

JAYCE

The Council chamber was eerily silent as Y/N stood at the center, the bright glow of hextech illuminating his face. He had stood here before, pitching ideas, debating ethics, but this time was different. This time, he wasn’t here for war, nor for innovation in defense.

This time, he was here for them.

For the people.

He adjusted the lapels of his coat, taking a deep breath. He wasn’t nervous—he was excited. This was his dream, and today, he’d share it with Piltover’s greatest minds.

Across the room, Jayce Talis leaned forward, elbows on the desk, a mix of curiosity and admiration in his amber eyes. He had always admired Y/N—not just for his intelligence, but for his heart. Unlike most inventors in Piltover, Y/N didn’t seek power or prestige.

He sought change. Real change.

And that? That made Jayce’s heart race faster than it probably should.

“Well, Y/N?” Mel Medarda’s voice cut through the anticipation. “We’re listening.”

Y/N grinned, then turned to the large metallic case behind him. With a simple press of a button, a soft chime filled the air.

“Hello. I am Baymax, your personal healthcare companion.”

A mechanical hum followed as the large, inflatable healthcare robot unfolded itself from the case. The pristine white exterior reflected the golden light of the chamber, and two simple black eyes blinked back at the council.

Silence.

Wide eyes.

Jayce’s mouth opened, then closed again.

“…What?”

Y/N barely suppressed a laugh at their expressions.

“This is Baymax—a non-combat, non-aggressive healthcare companion designed to provide medical aid, emotional support, and overall well-being assistance.” He gestured toward the robot, who gave a tiny wave. “Unlike hextech weapons, Baymax is programmed solely to help people.”

He crossed his arms, watching their reactions. “Imagine—someone gets injured in the undercity? Baymax can treat them. A child falls sick? Baymax diagnoses them. This isn’t just technology—it’s the future of compassionate science.” He turned back to the robot. “Baymax, scan, please.”

A soft whirring sound filled the air as Baymax’s sensors activated, scanning the room.

“Scan complete,” Baymax stated. “You appear to be in good health. However…” He turned to Jayce. “Your heart rate is elevated. Are you experiencing distress, or is this an emotional reaction to external stimuli?”

Y/N smirked. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

Jayce, face burning, cleared his throat. “I—I’m fine.”

Mel raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Interesting.”

Baymax blinked. “Would you like a hug?”

Jayce coughed into his fist. “I—uh—what?”

Y/N clapped a hand on Baymax’s arm. “He does that. It’s part of his programming—hugs release oxytocin, which helps with emotional regulation.”

Jayce chuckled, shaking his head. “That… actually sounds kind of nice.”

He didn’t expect Baymax to take it as confirmation. Before Jayce could react, he was enveloped in soft, cushioned arms.

“There, there.” Jayce froze. The Council froze. Y/N? He was barely holding in his laughter.

Jayce, trapped in the warm embrace, let out the deepest sigh of his life. “…Okay. I take it back. This might be the greatest invention ever.”

Y/N grinned. “I knew you’d come around.”

Cassandra Kiramman leaned forward, expression unreadable, but her sharp gaze was locked onto Baymax like a predator assessing its prey.

“And how, exactly, does this… thing fit into Piltover’s priorities?” Her tone was measured, careful—but there was skepticism in it, wrapped in diplomacy.

Y/N turned to her, unfazed. “Piltover claims to be the City of Progress. But what is progress if not ensuring the well-being of its people?”

Cassandra exhaled sharply through her nose. “And yet, progress also means maintaining stability, efficiency, and control. You expect us to pour resources into a… medical assistant, when we have far larger concerns?”

Baymax blinked. “I detect high stress levels in Councilor Kiramman. Would you like a hug?”

Silence. Jayce choked back a laugh as Cassandra’s face darkened.

“No,” she said flatly.

Baymax nodded. “I am always here to help.”

Mel chuckled, amused, but Cassandra was not.

“This… this is different.” She studied Y/N with a calculating gaze. “And you want Piltover’s support for this? Not for war, not for military applications, but for—healthcare?”

Y/N met her gaze, standing firm. “Yes. Because Piltover has enough people working to build weapons. It has enough people trying to be gods. What it doesn’t have enough of—” He looked at Baymax, then back at them. “—are people trying to save lives.”

Silence settled again, but this time, it was different. Mel exchanged glances with Jayce, who was still watching Y/N with something undeniable in his eyes. Admiration. Pride. Affection.

Finally, Mel nodded. “You have my attention.” Y/N grinned.

Step one: complete.

And from the way Jayce was still looking at him, as if he had just rewritten what it meant to be an inventor, maybe—just maybe—he had Jayce’s heart, too.

VIKTOR

The dim glow of Piltover’s streetlights shimmered through the workshop’s glass panes, casting long shadows over the cluttered workbenches. The faint scent of oil, metal, and aged paper lingered in the air as Viktor leaned against his cane, his amber eyes keenly observing the young inventor before him.

Y/N was unlike anyone he had ever met. He carried the same passion for innovation as Viktor, but there was something else—an unwavering warmth behind his intellect, a determination to use his mind for more than just progress. It was a quality that set him apart in a world of ambition-driven scientists.

Viktor had spent much of his life surrounded by minds focused on advancement, on the endless pursuit of knowledge. But Y/N was different. His ideas weren’t about pushing the boundaries for power or prestige. They were about people. About healing. About making life just a little easier for those who had no means to help themselves.

"Alright, Viktor," Y/N smirked, adjusting his gloves before typing a command into the console. "Prepare to have your mind blown."

Viktor arched a brow, intrigued. "That is quite a bold claim, my friend. But I am listening."

With a single keystroke, the large capsule stationed in the center of the room whirred to life. The lights flickered as it hissed open, revealing a white, inflatable figure with a friendly LED display for eyes. The gentle whir of servos accompanied its movements as it stood upright, its simplistic form a stark contrast to the usual rigid, metallic constructs found in Piltover’s workshops.

"Hello, I am Baymax, your personal healthcare companion," the robot spoke in a soft, endearing voice.

Viktor blinked, gripping his cane slightly tighter as he took a cautious step forward. "What… is this?"

Y/N grinned proudly, stepping beside his creation. "This is Baymax—an advanced healthcare assistant. He’s designed to scan and diagnose medical conditions, provide immediate treatment, and offer emotional support. He’s soft, non-threatening, and completely safe for all users."

Viktor studied the inflatable automaton carefully. His fingers brushed against Baymax’s exterior, pressing slightly against its soft, pillowy surface. "Interesting choice of material…" he mused.

"It’s vinyl—intended to be comforting and harmless," Y/N explained. "I wanted to create something that could genuinely help people, especially in places like Zaun where proper medical care is rare."

Viktor’s expression softened at that. There it was again—that sincerity, that unrelenting drive to improve lives rather than just chase after accolades. It was rare in Piltover’s scientific community, where so many were obsessed with legacy rather than empathy.

"Zaun…" Viktor murmured, his voice carrying a distant edge. "You wish to bring this there?"

Y/N nodded without hesitation. "I grew up seeing people suffer because they couldn't afford doctors or medicine. I know you understand that better than anyone, Viktor." His voice softened, a flicker of concern flashing across his eyes. "I know you’ve experienced it too."

Viktor exhaled quietly, his fingers tightening around his cane. He had long since buried the pain of his past, the struggles of his youth in the Undercity, the way sickness and injury had been a death sentence for the poor. He had climbed out of that abyss through intellect and sheer will, but Y/N… Y/N was building a bridge back, extending a hand to those still trapped there.

"I admire that," Viktor admitted, his voice unusually gentle. "Most here would not spare Zaun a second thought. You… are different."

Baymax blinked, scanning Viktor for a moment before speaking. "Detecting elevated heart rate and muscle tension. Are you in distress?"

Viktor let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "No, I am simply… fascinated. I have spent years trying to merge science with humanity, and yet you have done it so effortlessly."

Y/N rubbed the back of his neck, slightly sheepish. "Well, I wouldn’t say effortlessly. This took years of testing, failed prototypes, and enough coffee to kill a lesser man."

Viktor smirked at that, tilting his head. "Perhaps. But still, it is remarkable." He stepped closer, his amber eyes locking onto Y/N’s. "You are remarkable."

Y/N felt heat rise to his cheeks at the unexpected praise. He had always admired Viktor—not just for his mind, but for his resilience, his unwavering dedication despite his physical struggles. Viktor had fought against fate itself, refusing to let his body dictate the limits of his genius. And now, hearing that admiration returned made Y/N’s heart pound.

Baymax tilted his head. "Y/N, your body temperature has increased. Are you experiencing romantic attraction?"

Y/N choked on air while Viktor let out an amused chuckle.

"Baymax!" Y/N groaned, face burning as he turned toward the robot. "Not now!"

Viktor hummed, clearly enjoying his reaction. "A rather… efficient assistant, indeed." He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a softer tone. "I would not mind if that were the case."

Y/N swallowed, his heart hammering in his chest as Viktor’s golden eyes held his gaze. The words lingered in the air between them, weighty yet gentle, an unspoken invitation rather than an outright declaration.

Baymax, ever the observer, made a small noise of approval. "I have been designed to support emotional well-being as well. If you would like, I can provide a list of recommended activities for romantic bonding—"

Y/N all but slapped a hand over Baymax’s smooth exterior, his face now fully aflame. "We’re good, buddy! No need for that!"

Viktor laughed softly, a rare sound, warm and genuine. It was a stark contrast to the usual exasperated sighs or dry chuckles he reserved for the scholars of Piltover. Y/N found himself staring, momentarily captivated by how easily Viktor's features softened when he was truly at ease.

Perhaps, he thought, just perhaps… this was the start of something far greater than any invention.

JAYVIK

The clang of metal against metal echoed through the lab as you adjusted the final piece of your latest project. Your fingers moved with practiced ease, tightening bolts and securing panels as a soft hum filled the air.

“Almost there…” you muttered to yourself, stepping back to admire your work. Before you could take a breath, the lab door swung open, revealing Viktor and Jayce.

Viktor, ever the curious scientist, leaned on his cane as he examined the workshop with keen eyes. “So, Y/N, what is this new invention you’ve been teasing us with?” His voice carried its usual wry amusement, but you could hear the genuine interest beneath it.

Jayce, less patient, crossed his arms and grinned. “Yeah, you’ve been holed up in here for days. Let’s see it!”

You wiped your hands on your lab coat, a confident smirk playing on your lips. “Alright, alright. Just promise you won’t freak out.” You turned back to the large white capsule standing in the centre of the lab and pressed a button on the side.

With a soft whir, the capsule unfolded, revealing a large, inflatable robot with round, black eyes and a soft, vinyl-like exterior. The robot blinked slowly before speaking in a gentle, almost monotone voice. “Hello. I am Baymax, your personal healthcare companion.”

Viktor’s eyes widened slightly as he took a careful step forward, intrigued. Jayce, however, let out a laugh. “Wait—you made a giant, marshmallow-looking robot?”

You rolled your eyes. “Baymax isn’t just a robot, Jayce. He’s an advanced medical assistant with an AI capable of diagnosing and treating injuries.” You turned to Baymax. “Go ahead, scan Viktor.”

Baymax’s eyes lit up slightly, and a soft, pulsating sound filled the air. After a moment, he spoke again. “You have increased heart rate and elevated stress levels. I suggest rest, hydration, and reducing workload.”

Jayce burst into another round of laughter. “See? Even the robot thinks you work too much, Viktor.”

Viktor, though initially skeptical, couldn’t help but let a small chuckle escape. “I think I like him.” He reached out, lightly pressing his fingers against Baymax’s soft exterior, only to pull back in mild surprise. “He’s… warm?”

You grinned proudly. “His exterior is made from a non-abrasive material designed for patient comfort. And he has a ton of medical knowledge that can help people in need.”

As Viktor examined Baymax further, the robot’s eyes scanned downward, pausing at Viktor’s cane. Baymax’s eyes blinked as he processed the data. “Detected degenerative condition affecting lower extremities. Recommending pain relief and physical therapy.”

Baymax’s chest compartment opened with a soft click, and a small tray extended forward, presenting a neatly packaged set of prescribed medication. “This should assist in pain management. Would you like recommendations for further treatment?”

Viktor stared, momentarily speechless. His fingers hovered over the tray before he looked at you, his expression unreadable. “You programmed him to detect conditions like mine?”

You nodded, your voice softer now. “I wanted him to help the people I care about. You included, love.”

Jayce wrapped an arm around Viktor’s waist, pressing a soft kiss against his temple. “Looks like Y/N’s a genius in more ways than one.”

Viktor chuckled, shaking his head as he reached for the medication. “You continue to surprise me, můj drahý.” He then turned his gaze to you, warmth evident in his golden eyes. “Thank you.” (My Dear)

You felt warmth creep up your neck at his words but played it cool. “Well, get used to it, Viktor. I have plenty more where that came from.”

Jayce pulled you both into a loose embrace, grinning. “Now, this is a power trio.”

Viktor smirked. “I look forward to it.”

Baymax tilted his head slightly before speaking again. “Would you like a full list of physical therapy exercises to improve mobility?”

Viktor let out a thoughtful hum. “That… might actually be helpful.”

Baymax’s eyes flickered as he processed the request. “Compiling customized therapy routine… done. I will now demonstrate.” He suddenly lifted his arms and began mimicking gentle stretches, his round body moving with an almost comedic level of precision.

Jayce snickered at the sight, pulling you in closer. “You’ve really outdone yourself, Y/N.”

You watched as Viktor observed the demonstration with genuine consideration, his hand resting on yours briefly before he squeezed it. “It’s not just the invention, but the thought behind it.” He glanced at you meaningfully. “You always think of others first.”

Jayce kissed the top of your head, then Viktor’s. “Guess that means we’ll just have to keep thinking about you in return, huh?”

Baymax blinked again. “A supportive social environment improves overall well-being.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “See? Even Baymax agrees.”

Viktor sighed, amused. “Well, then, I suppose I am in good hands.”

Jayce smirked. “The best hands.”

The three of you shared a quiet moment, wrapped up in warmth, support, and something undeniably perfect.

VANDER

The dim light of Piltover’s undercity flickered outside your small workshop, the faint hum of neon signs mixing with the distant chatter of the Last Drop’s patrons. Your workspace was cluttered—but in an organized chaos kind of way—blueprints and half-assembled mechanisms covering every surface. A soft whirring filled the air as you made the final adjustments to your latest project, a carefully designed medical assistant that you'd poured your heart and mind into.

Baymax.

A healthcare companion, something that could actually help the people of Zaun without a price attached, without strings pulling them into something worse. Something good.

That same idea had been what first got you tangled up with Vander. Well, that and the way he always had a habit of showing up whenever you stayed out too late tinkering, dragging you back to the bar with an exasperated sigh and a firm hand at your back.

"You’ll work yourself into the grave," he’d always say, but the warmth in his voice gave away just how much he cared.

He didn’t pretend to understand half the things you built, but he knew their importance. He knew you were important.

And then, there were the kids—Vi, Powder, Mylo, Claggor. You never thought you’d get attached, but somewhere along the line, they had wormed their way into your heart. Now, you couldn’t imagine a day without their noise, their chaos, their mischief.

Which is why it shouldn’t have been a surprise when something crashed in your workshop.

=

A sharp clang, followed by a small yelp.

You sighed, already bracing yourself. “Powder?”

A nervous giggle came from the corner of the room.

You pushed back from your desk, rounding a pile of scrap parts to find the blue-haired girl crouching beside a fallen shelf, one of your unfinished prototypes scattered across the floor. She had that guilty look she always wore when caught red-handed, her wide eyes darting between you and the mess.

“I—I wasn’t gonna break anything!” she blurted, cradling her arm. That was when you noticed the small scrape on her elbow, a thin line of red just beginning to bead up.

Your heart softened despite yourself.

“You’re lucky it was just a shelf,” you muttered, crouching beside her. “Let me see.”

She hesitated, then held out her arm. You reached for her elbow, carefully brushing your fingers against the scrape to check how deep it was.

“Ow!” Powder whined, flinching slightly. Before you could apologize, a soft chime echoed through the workshop.

“Hello. I am Baymax, your personal healthcare companion.”

Both of you froze.

From the corner of the workshop, a white, inflatable form slowly stood up, its round head tilting slightly as its digital eyes blinked in a slow, friendly manner.

Powder gasped. “WHAT IS THAT?”

Baymax, utterly unbothered, scanned her with a soft blue light. “You appear to have sustained a minor injury. I will now treat you.”

Powder scrambled backward, nearly knocking over another stack of parts. “It—it talks! It moves! Is it a Piltie robot?! A Hextech thing?! Is it dangerous?!”

You snorted, watching as she continued to gape at the robot. “Relax. He’s here to help.”

Baymax, meanwhile, had already pulled a small canister from his internal storage. “This may sting a little.”

Powder barely had time to react before the antiseptic spray was applied. She flinched, letting out a tiny eep before glaring at you. “Warn a girl next time!”

You chuckled. “Would you have let him help if I did?”

Powder considered that, then huffed. “...Maybe.” Before she could poke at Baymax further, heavy boots sounded from the hallway.

Vander.

You turned just in time to see him fill the doorway, arms crossed, brow raised.

“What’s all this noise about?”

Before you could answer, Baymax did it for you.

“You appear to be in a state of stress. May I offer you a hug?”

Vander blinked. “...What?”

You wiped at your face, barely holding back a laugh. “Meet Baymax.”

Vander's gaze flicked to you, then to the soft, white figure standing in his bar, before exhaling heavily. “You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”

You smirked, stepping closer to him. “Not when it comes to making things better.”

His expression softened, something unspoken settling between you. A quiet understanding. He let out a low sigh, one hand reaching out to rest at the small of your back, thumb pressing briefly against the fabric of your shirt.

“Just don’t let it start treatin’ half the damn Undercity,” he muttered. Baymax perked up.

“I am programmed to assist anyone in need of medical attention.”

Vander groaned. Powder giggled. You just grinned. And despite the chaos, despite the world outside, you knew this—this was home.

SILCO

The dim light of the Shimmer-lit canals cast an eerie glow on the water’s surface, refracting in jagged lines against the damp walls of Zaun’s industrial underbelly. The air was thick—tainted with oil, metal, and the faintest whisper of burnt ozone. Machinery hummed in the distance, the rhythmic clanking of gears and steam valves blending into the ever-present soundscape of the undercity.

It was a city that devoured the weak. A place where survival meant clawing your way up from the bottom, cutting through whatever stood in your path.

Silco had never been one for sentimentality, and yet, here he was—stepping into a workshop that smelled of soldered wires and ink-stained blueprints, belonging to the one person who had made him question whether the undercity truly had to be as merciless as he had always believed.

Y/N stood at the center of the room, a soft grin playing on his grease-streaked face, his eyes alight with barely-contained excitement. His hair was a mess from running his hands through it, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, exposing small burns and scrapes—marks of a man who built with his own hands, never just ideas.

Silco’s gaze swept over the controlled chaos of the workspace. Papers were strewn about, half-assembled contraptions lay abandoned on tables, and gears of varying sizes were scattered across the floor like discarded thoughts. It was a stark contrast to the order he imposed on himself, yet… there was something magnetic about it. Something alive.

Tonight, however, Y/N seemed more eager than usual.

=

“Silco, I’ve been working on something special,” Y/N said, pushing his goggles up onto his forehead, his fingers smudged with oil. His voice was rich with enthusiasm—an emotion Silco found both amusing and, at times, exasperating.

Silco arched a brow, stepping further into the room. “Finished, you say? This isn’t another one of your little ‘experiments’ that might explode in my face, is it?” His tone was as dry as the dust that gathered in the corners of Zaun’s forgotten streets, but there was an unmistakable flicker of amusement beneath it.

Y/N chuckled, wiping his hands on a rag. “Not this time.” His lips twitched into a smirk. “This one… is different.”

He turned toward the far wall, pressing a button on a nearby console. There was a soft whirring noise, followed by a faint hiss as hidden panels slid apart. From the shadows, a figure emerged.

Tall. White. Smooth. Completely non-threatening.

Silco instinctively tensed, reaching for the blade hidden within his coat. The figure was unlike anything he had encountered before—its rounded shape lacked any sharp edges, its body devoid of any obvious weaponry.

And then, it spoke.

“Hello. I am Baymax, your personal healthcare companion.”

Silco blinked. His grip on the knife loosened, though his expression remained unreadable. The robotic figure waddled forward in an almost comically slow manner, its eyes—simple black dots—staring at him in a way that felt unnervingly earnest.

“What in the world…?” Silco murmured, gaze flickering to Y/N.

Y/N beamed, practically vibrating with excitement. “Baymax is a medical assistant. He’s programmed to scan for injuries, provide care, and offer emotional support.”

Silco’s sharp eyes snapped back to the robot. “Emotional support?” His voice was tinged with skepticism, as though the very notion was absurd.

Baymax tilted his head slightly. “You appear to be experiencing high levels of stress. Would you like a lollipop?”

For the first time in years, Silco was at a loss for words. He stared at the small, bright piece of candy being offered to him, as though it were some kind of cruel joke.

Y/N pressed his lips together, shoulders shaking as he tried—and failed—to contain his laughter.

Silco shot him a withering glare. “I must say, this is… unexpected.” He finally took the lollipop, examining it between his fingers. “And utterly ridiculous.”

Y/N nudged his side playfully. “Oh, come on. Baymax is revolutionary! He could change Zaun—help people, heal them.” His voice softened, his excitement giving way to something more genuine. “You don’t have to do this alone, Silco. You always carry everything on your shoulders. I built Baymax to help.”

Silco’s mismatched eyes met Y/N’s, and for a moment, the sounds of Zaun outside—clanging metal, distant shouts, the hum of factory belts—faded into the background.

He was used to being studied, scrutinized. People either feared him or wanted something from him. But Y/N? He saw him. The man behind the revolution. The tired soul behind the war-torn eyes.

Silco exhaled slowly, fingers tracing the edge of the lollipop before tucking it into his coat pocket. He wouldn’t admit it, but there was something oddly comforting about the idea that, for once, someone—or something—could look after him.

Baymax beeped softly. “Would you like a hug?”

Silco’s body went rigid. “Absolutely not.” Y/N threw his head back, laughing freely. Silco narrowed his eyes. “You’ll regret this.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that,” Y/N teased. He stepped closer, placing a hand against Silco’s chest, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of his coat. His touch was warm—human.

Silco sighed, his resolve cracking just enough for him to allow the closeness. He lifted a gloved hand to rest against the small of Y/N’s back, pulling him in just a fraction closer.

“You really are impossible,” Silco muttered, his voice softer now.

Y/N grinned. “And you love me for it.” Silco hummed, not denying it.

Baymax tilted his head again. “Your heart rate has increased. Are you in distress?”

Silco groaned, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “Get rid of it.”

Y/N, still laughing, simply tightened his hold. For the first time in a long, long while, Silco allowed himself to be cared for. And maybe, just maybe, he didn’t hate it as much as he pretended to.

JINX

The neon lights of Zaun flickered overhead as Y/N adjusted his goggles, fine-tuning the last details on his latest project. A warm glow hummed from within the hidden workshop, filled with half-assembled gadgets, stacks of blueprints, and the ever-present scent of metal and oil.

Jinx, ever the wildcard, sat cross-legged on a worktable, toying with a handful of grenades like they were pebbles. “Sooooo… what’s the big deal? You said you had something ‘game-changing’ to show me, brainiac.” She twirled a wrench between her fingers, smirking. “Is it a gun? A bigger gun? A gun that shoots more guns? Spill!”

Y/N chuckled, shaking his head as he gestured to a large, white capsule-like figure standing motionless in the corner. “Jinx, meet Baymax.”

With a soft whir, the robotic figure inflated, its smooth, pillowy surface expanding as it came to life. “Hello. I am Baymax, your personal healthcare companion.” The robot’s voice was calm and soothing, starkly contrasting the chaotic energy radiating from Jinx.

Jinx blinked. Then blinked again. “You built a—pfft—giant talking marshmallow?”

Baymax blinked back. “I am not made of marshmallow. I am an inflatable robotic healthcare provider. Are you in need of medical assistance?”

Jinx squinted at the bot before turning back to Y/N, utterly baffled. “Okay, I was expecting something more… y’know, dangerous. Explosive. But this? This is—”

Baymax suddenly stepped forward, scanning Jinx with his sensor. “Your heart rate is elevated. Are you experiencing distress?”

Jinx scoffed, hopping off the table and placing her hands on her hips. “Pfft, me? Distressed? Please, I live in a permanent state of awesome.” She turned to Y/N, grinning. “But seriously, Tin Can over here is kinda hilarious. What’s it do?”

Y/N beamed, proud as ever. “He’s designed to help people. He can diagnose injuries, provide treatment, and even offer emotional support.”

Jinx tilted her head. “Emotional support? Like a therapy dog?”

Baymax lifted a hand in what could only be described as a polite wave. “I can provide comforting hugs.”

Jinx stared at the bot. Then at Y/N. Then back at the bot. And before Y/N could stop her, she lunged forward, pressing every single button on Baymax’s interface.

“Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

=

The next few hours were nothing short of mayhem. Baymax attempted to bandage Jinx’s non-existent wounds, diagnosed her with “high adrenaline levels,” and proceeded to offer her a lollipop. Jinx, in turn, tried strapping a rocket booster to his back, claiming he needed an “upgrade.”

Y/N groaned, rubbing his temples as Jinx cackled while Baymax waddled around, trying (and failing) to keep up with her hyperactivity. “Jinx, for the love of science, please don’t give Baymax a grenade launcher.”

She pouted dramatically. “Awww, c’mon! He’d make an epic battle bot!”

Baymax blinked. “Violence is not recommended for patient well-being.”

Jinx threw her hands in the air. “See? He’s gotta loosen up!”

Suddenly, Jinx grabbed a can of spray paint from the worktable and turned to Baymax with a wicked grin. “Alright, marshmallow, let’s give you a makeover.” Before Y/N could protest, she was already doodling haphazardly across Baymax’s pristine white surface, adding a skull and crossbones to his belly.

Baymax, unfazed, simply stated, “My exterior is designed to be non-threatening.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jinx snickered, stepping back to admire her work. “There! Now you look a little more Zaun-approved.”

Y/N sighed but couldn’t help but chuckle at the ridiculousness of it all. “Baymax, initiate cleanup protocol.”

Baymax’s scanners whirred. “Beginning sanitation process.” His arms extended, and a small nozzle sprayed a mist that instantly dissolved the paint.

Jinx’s jaw dropped. “Hey! That took me a whole five seconds!”

Y/N smirked. “Yeah, and it took Baymax less to clean it.”

Jinx groaned dramatically before flopping onto the workbench. “Fine, fine, I admit it. He’s cool in his own weird, fluffy way.” She eyed the robot one last time, a glint of mischief still lingering in her eyes. “But if you ever make a version that can throw punches, you better call me first.”

Baymax blinked. “I can provide non-violent conflict resolution strategies.”

Jinx snorted, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, good luck with that in Zaun.”

Y/N sighed but couldn’t help but smile as he watched his best friend and his creation interact. Sure, it was chaos, but maybe, just maybe, Baymax was exactly what Jinx needed—a little softness in her world of destruction.

And maybe, just maybe, she’d learn that not everything needed to explode to be fun.

Well… hopefully.

[iliiuan]

I have more thoughts about stilling as disability, and the narrative surrounding stilling.

Stilling as disability is so on point. The person is no longer able to do a task they were previously able to do. They are ostracized by their peers. They often sink into depression.

In the books, we get to explore the experience of stilling with four characters: Logain, Siuan, Leane, and Setalle. Each character handles their disability differently. Logain falls into deep depression and his only motivation to keep going is basically revenge. Siuan has a somewhat similar motivation, although her revenge is much more complex. Leane chooses to embrace her life, to become the woman she would have been if she hadn't become Aes Sedai. Setalle moves away, marries, opens an inn, and works to help women kicked out of the White Tower. Each finds new life after stilling, the women a little more easily than the men (an effect of the taint?).

How do these narratives align with narratives and realities of disability in the real world?

The ostracization is perfect. People are very quick to drop a friend who suddenly requires considerably more effort to spend time with, and who is possibly unable to reciprocate favors, who has almost no money, and who is probably really negative about life. In the books, it's very much presented as the stilled woman being a reminder of what could happen, and no one wants to be around that. Which does also happen with disabled people, especially those with physical deformity. The Aes Sedai take it one step further, though, and pretend that they are ostracizing the woman for her own benefit, to prevent her from feeling the loss that she experienced. I find all of the book narrative of the social response to stilling to absolutely reflect the social response to disability in the real world. Ostracization as "protection" is less common, but it does happen.

Next, we have depression. This is so incredibly accurate to the experience of becoming disabled. I can't speak as well to the experience of congenital disability, but I imagine that they also frequently mourn what could have been. But it's not just the loss of ability that's driving the depression, is it? It's also the loss of social network, standing, and power. Being helpless is depressing. Being socially isolated is hell. The Aes Sedai have another layer to their depression, though: The loss of power and Power. Moving from being one of the most powerful people in the world, someone even kings and queens give deference to, to being just another ordinary person — that stings. To lose contact with a source of Power regularly referred to as something akin to the Sun — that's devastating. The book narrative surrounding depression as a response to becoming disabled is absolutely accurate.

Now let's look at the individual responses of our four stilled characters, what they say about each of them, and what we can about how the narrative handles disability.

Logain has the double disability whammy of being affected by the taint on saidin, and then being stilled. His sanity is suspect from the beginning, but for all appearances, he seems to stay sane throughout the series. The depth and timing of taint-induced insanity is quite random, which is very true of many debilitating illnesses. (Schizophrenia is a pretty analogous illness in that its usual onset is in a person's early 20s, but can manifest across a great range of ages.) When he is stilled, Logain is also pulled from a seat of power. As False Dragon, he had amassed an army and was actively conquering new territory. His decline is 100% in line with someone who has been removed from power and Power, who has a minor identity crisis in accepting that he is not the Dragon Reborn, and who has been removed from his entire social support network to be watched by a bunch of Accepted who would rather do almost anything else. He is having a Very Bad Time. So when Min, Siuan, and Leane pick him up, he is quite understandably hitting rock bottom.

The three of them fight tooth and nail to keep him alive, keep him motivated, and keep him going. Layered with their determination is Min's viewing that he is destined for greatness. Even though his destiny is written, they still have to do the work in the moment that keeps him alive. They choose to shelter and protect him, in part out of fear of what he might do left to his own devices, in part out of compassion for a fellow human being who is Going Through It, and in part out of the habit of believing that he is their responsibility. The disabled banding together to take care of each other is a powerful narrative. It is sad that the world throws us away, but our worth as human beings cannot be so easily destroyed. We bring value and strength to each other, and are able to move forward all the same.

Siuan, very similarly to Logain, is removed from a seat of power, as well as being stilled. She does not have the shadow of the taint to contend with, and her identity is rock solid. She has her mission, which has been her whole world for nearly 20 years, and she simply decides that it will continue to be her whole world. She makes strategic decisions based on long-term plans. She is changed, but also remains the same. In Siuan we see how disability creates difficulties and obstacles that can be overcome. This particular disability narrative is toxic by itself, and yet also a needed narrative within the broader discussion of how disability affects people. It does not serve anyone to pretend that disability is always devastating, never surmountable, always so absolute that there is no escape. So if Siuan's story was the only disability narrative in the books, I would call it inspiration porn. Thankfully, it is not the only narrative. Rand al'Thor has terminal illness that he can't escape. Min has chronic illness that causes her constant problems, and limits her participation in the world. The male channelers have madness that can strike at any time. Within the Wheel of Time, we have a great diversity in disability representation, which places Siuan's arc in the position of true inspiration, not a toxic narrative of applauding ability in the face of disability.

Leane, while occupying a seat of power, was a support power rather than a principle power, and therefore does not have as much difficulty in accepting her lowered position. She does have a new perspective on her identity, though, and actively chooses to embrace who she was before she entered the White Tower. For her, letting Leane the Keeper of the Chronicles go is what allows her to continue forward. She displays a much greater flexibility with her identity than either Logain or Siuan, and more successfully moves into being a new person. She is still a follower at heart, and continues to support Siuan, but it is out of loyalty to Siuan-the-person, not because she has any illusion of regaining political power.

Some people deride Leane for chasing men as a way to deal with her stilling, but they have overlooked some key aspects of who she is. This is a woman who openly flirted with Perrin in The Great Hunt. She is Domani, for whom flirtation is a social construct used to gain and maintain power. I feel like a lot of her critics are prudes who don't want to admit so. Domani flirting is to suggest, to entice, and to leave satisfied even though everyone stayed dressed and sat apart. It is an artform, and she chooses to re-embrace it now that she is no longer tied to the Tower concepts of sexual frigidity masquerading as professionalism.

Leane's response to disability, then, is to embrace something that her ability had taken from her. Many newly disabled people indeed find that they cannot do much standing, but they suddenly have time for fiber arts that they can do while lounging. Or they are physically incapacitated, but now have time to read and think and learn. Similarly to the narrative surrounding Siuan's stilling, Leane's storyline would be disappointing if it was the only disability story in the series. In contrast, however, I cannot think of a single character who was so disabled that they could not do anything productive. I could make excuses for this, such as reading a story about someone who can't do stuff would be boring, or that the world lacked resources to deal with that level of disability, but it falls a little flat for a series as long and complex as The Wheel of Time.

Finally, we have Setalle. Now Setalle is different in that she burned out while interacting with ter'angreal. She was not in a seat of power, but burning out removed not only her Power and social network, but also her life's labor. She could no longer do the work she loved. I've watched quite a lot of Dancing with the Stars, and one of the judges, Len Goodman, can no longer dance. He has been cut off from doing what he loves by a body that betrayed him. He can still function in the world; indeed, he still participates in dance as choreographer, teacher, and judge, but he cannot dance. This is Setalle's experience, without even the peripheral participation. She must find something else to do. When we meet her, she has already worked through her grief, found new motivation for life, and built a business and family. She shows that the Tower is not telling the entire truth about stilling, that life without Power is possible, and that the true reason they kick people out is so that they themselves don't feel discomfort.

Setalle's narrative is so spot on for how most people respond to disabled people. They don't want to associate, because they don't want to remember that they are only human, that disability comes for us all eventually. Her story also highlights the lies we tell about disabled people, as an excuse to not provide accommodations, to brush them into a care home and give up on them.

We as a society create categories of people who we've decided can never be part of society: people with Down Syndrome, Autism, and Schizophrenia, to name some of the better known. While there absolutely exist members in each of these groups who cannot function without 24-hour intensive care, there are many more members who can actually participate fully in society. Such participation requires regular society to make some concessions, however, and people are generally unwilling to do so. An adult having a panic attack and therefore removing themselves from the source of panic? Cringe. What's wrong with them? Someone who talks to imaginary friends? Or who is spaced out most of the time? Creepy. Someone who misunderstands instructions, or often forgets things? What a hassle to deal with. Why should I be the one to bother? We are very unkind to those who do not have what we consider a baseline skill level for dealing with life. But we also didn't even try to bring many people up to their full functioning level. Occupational therapy has changed things for very much the better on that front, though I think we still have a long way to go.

We find ourselves now deep in the mire of disability vs ability. Is a disabled person only valuable with respect to what they are able to do? Is a person not worthy of life and love if they are completely incapacitated and dependent on others? On the other side, should we ignore a person's potential just because they will never acquire certain skills or abilities? How do we find the balance between supporting a person so that they can fulfill their potential as human beings, and providing for them because they cannot do things? The conversation rages, and I do not care to provide answers here. I simply wish to acknowledge that finding that balance is not straightforward, and will be different for each person.

The narrative in The Wheel of Time focuses solely on people who do have ability, whose disability is an obstacle that can be surmounted. I do think it's fair to criticize the story for lack of total disability, but not harshly. The story is about what it is about. Other stories address complete incapacitation. (Please, please read Vorkosigan Saga for a broader perspective on disability and inherent worth.)

With respect to stilling in particular, the story also provides a cure. What's interesting about the cure is that it does not restore the patient to full capacity if performed with the same half of the True Source. So, a saidar user cured with saidar will not be as Powerful as she was before stilling, whereas a saidin user cured with saidar will return to his original strength.

The Cure is always floating in front of the disabled person. If only I could get the Cure, my life would be great again. Which is not entirely true, and the narrative of the cure for stilling does an excellent job of demonstrating this reality.

Logain, when cured, has his full strength, but he also is re-exposed to the taint, and the countdown on his madness restarts. What's more, he is now seen as a danger to the people who have been caring for him, and transitions from being a free-roaming prisoner to being watched and guarded non-stop. The cure did not, in fact, fix his life. He still has to work through the problems at hand. He is not returned directly to his former glory.

Siuan, when cured, is far weaker in the One Power than she was before. Because of the way Aes Sedai rank themselves, she finds herself at the bottom, required to follow. She is stubborn and manipulative, though, and finds a way to maintain her power through Egwene. It's horribly corrupt and delightful to watch. She becomes a puppet master, leading from behind. Even so, she is aware of her limits, and to whom she owes what. Her manipulation is often straightforward, especially with Egwene in particular. She becomes the trusted advisor because she proves herself trustworthy. Siuan's story arc shows that even with the cure, a disabled person will still often come out the other side with lower social standing than before.

Leane, on the other hand, decides that she is a new person, and insists on switching Ajah. Her response to the cure is very similar to her response to the disease: She will become the person she thought she had abandoned and suppressed. Her main point of conflict after being cured was with the Green Ajah accepting her. Her story provides a lens into how a person can change profoundly, but the people around them are unable to accept their change.

Setalle, having burned out rather than being cut off, could quite possibly not be curable, which provides a nice balance to the narrative of the Cure. Not everyone can be cured, and we should still treat those who can't be as full human beings deserving of respect.

On balance, The Wheel of Time provides an array of narratives that give us ways to understand various levels of disability, the different ways disabled people cope with their disability, and the social consequences of disability. While it lacks any examples of complete disability, it does very good work with the themes that it does explore, including what happens when someone is cured.

[runawaymaven]

guilty as sin ? Paul x reader part 2

Part 1

A/N: I'm taking requests for twilight! mainly the wolf pack!

You blinked, feeling a strange energy pass between you and Paul, a sensation you had never felt before. The way he was looking at you made your heart race, and his stare was so intense that you couldn’t tear your eyes away. Embry’s words echoed in your mind: "Imprinted." What did that even mean?

"Imprinted?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, looking around at the group as their laughter died down. "What does that mean?"

The room fell silent, and Sam’s expression turned serious. He cleared his throat, stepping forward and placing a hand on your shoulder. "Y/N, why don’t we sit down for a minute? I think it’s time I explain some things about... our heritage."

You glanced at Paul, whose eyes hadn't left you since he entered the room. His expression was unreadable, and it only added to the confusion bubbling inside you. Reluctantly, you nodded and followed Sam as he led you to the living room, the others staying behind in the kitchen.

Once seated on the worn-out couch, Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked at you with a mix of concern and something else—something that made your stomach twist.

"Okay, this might sound unbelievable at first," Sam started, his voice calm but firm. "But everything I'm about to tell you is real. Our tribe, the Quileutes, have ancient legends that have been passed down for generations. Stories about our ancestors being able to transform into wolves."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Wolves? Like... werewolves?"

Sam nodded. "Exactly. We have the ability to phase into wolves to protect our people from a very specific kind of enemy—vampires. It's part of who we are, part of our duty."

For a moment, you were silent, trying to process what Sam had just told you. It sounded absurd, like something out of a movie, but the way he spoke—the seriousness in his voice—made you reconsider. There was something about Sam that was different, something about all of them.

"So... you and the others are... werewolves?" you asked slowly.

"Yes," Sam confirmed. "We all are, including Paul."

Your mind was spinning. "Okay, but what does that have to do with 'imprinting'? Embry said Paul imprinted on me, and I still don’t know what that means."

Sam exhaled deeply, exchanging a glance with Emily, who had entered the room and stood by the doorway, offering a supportive smile. "Imprinting is... well, it’s like finding your soulmate. For a wolf, when we imprint, it means we’ve found the person we’re meant to be with. There’s no choice in it—it’s an unbreakable bond. It's not something that happens with everyone, but when it does, it’s instant and powerful."

Your heart thudded in your chest as you processed his words. You turned to look at Paul, who was leaning against the doorway, still watching you closely. The intensity of his gaze made your breath catch.

"So... Paul imprinted on me," you repeated, your voice barely audible.

Sam nodded. "Yes, and I know it's a lot to take in. But Paul can explain more. I think it’d be best if you two talked."

Before you could respond, Paul pushed himself off the doorway and walked over to you, holding out his hand. Hesitantly, you took it, allowing him to lead you outside onto the porch. The cool air hit your skin as you stepped out, but all you could focus on was Paul—this boy, no, this werewolf—who had just imprinted on you.

Once outside, Paul let go of your hand, turning to face you. His expression softened, and he took a deep breath. "I know this is a lot, Y/N. And I can’t imagine how overwhelming it must be. But I want to explain what this means—what imprinting means for me, and for you."

You swallowed hard, nodding slightly. "Go on."

"When I first saw you," Paul began, his voice low and sincere, "everything shifted. It’s like... everything else faded away, and you became the most important person in my life. Imprinting means I’ll always be there for you, no matter what. It’s not just about romantic love—it’s about being whatever you need me to be. Your protector, your friend... whatever you need."

His words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The weight of it all was so heavy, and yet, something about Paul’s presence felt... comforting.

"So, you're saying... we’re bonded now? Like, forever?" you asked softly.

Paul nodded. "Yeah. But I want you to know, I’m not here to pressure you into anything. Imprinting isn’t about forcing a relationship. It’s about being there for you, in whatever way you want. I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes."

Your heart fluttered at his words, but your mind was still racing. This was all too much, too fast. But at the same time, something about Paul’s presence felt undeniably right, like the pull you felt earlier wasn’t just a fluke.

"I... I don’t know how to feel about this," you admitted, looking away for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts.

Paul stepped closer, his voice gentle. "I get it. Take your time, Y/N. I’m not going anywhere."

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze, and for the first time for a while, you felt a small sense of comfort.

"Okay... I think I need time to think about this. Process it"

[pascaloverx]

NO LIGHT

SUMMARY: Your life is simple. You are a pastry chef who has just opened a bakery near your home. A new life, being a new person. But when James Barnes shows up at your bakery injured, asking you to offer him shelter, your life takes a sudden turn.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The characters in this fanfiction are not my creation and all belong to the Marvel universe. This story will feature scenes of violence, brief intense intimate moments, and inappropriate language. To the readers, I wish you a good read and ask that you engage with the fanfiction if you like it. Do not interact with this fanfiction if you are underage. Enjoy reading. This chapter contains violence and sexual content.

FIVE SEVEN

SIX (+18)

A few days later, after several visits to the hospital pretending to be Steve Rogers' wife, he is finally being discharged today. His recovery has been remarkable; he no longer needs support for his arm, only a brace. Naturally, you came to pick him up from the hospital, ready for your last performance as his wife and to return his car that you've been using. Sure, you have your own car, but it doesn’t quite compare to Steve’s. As soon as you walk into the hospital, you spot your fake husband bidding farewell to the medical staff.

"My beautiful wife, light of my life. Come and thank these wonderful people with me for the excellent job they did taking care of my arm and ensuring I’ll never have financial stability again," Steve says playfully, as he bids farewell to a group of nurses escorting him to the hospital entrance. You laugh as you approach him, and he pulls you into an embrace. You nestle gently against his chest, placing his arm around your shoulder so he can lean on you for support.

"Your husband is a very kind man, we’re going to miss him; he has some great stories," one of the nurses says, sounding quite interested in Steve. You smile faintly, imagining the nonsense Steve must have shared while he was either drugged or simply bored.

"He really is great at telling stories. Thank you all for taking such good care of him, I don’t know what I’d do without my precious husband," you say, placing a lingering kiss on Rogers' cheek. He looks into your eyes, as if you were a forbidden fruit he longed to taste. After the goodbyes, you both head to the parking lot.

"Where did you leave your car?" Steve asks, his arm somehow still draped around you. You smile a bit sheepishly and point to his car, just ahead of where you stand.

"As your wife, I had to borrow something personal of yours, you know, to make it seem real," you explain, trying to justify yourself as you watch Steve pull away and rush to his car, checking it over to ensure everything’s intact.

"No one would’ve known that your car belongs exclusively to you, my dear fake wife. But since there’s no damage, I’m glad you enjoyed it. Now hand over the keys," Steve says confidently, as if he's ready to drive. But you shake your head, denying him the keys.

"The doctor said yesterday that you need to rest your arm for the next few days, and that’s why I came to pick you up—to take you home. After this, I suggest you call a ride service, a taxi, or use public transport," you say, opening the passenger door for him. He gives you a reluctant look, clearly displeased with not driving. Yet something in your fierce gaze and impatient grunt convinces Steve to get into the car, and soon enough, feeling victorious, you get in as well. In no time, you’re driving toward Steve’s house.

"My house is nearby. You must be wondering how I'm already living in a place, considering I just got back to the city," Steve says, fidgeting with his fingers, his voice a little slurred as if still under the influence of painkillers. "I'm staying in Bucky's old place. He's probably furious that he can't go back there—it would’ve made a good hideout. Maybe that's why he shot me. Or maybe it was Natasha's idea." He mumbles some of his words, and you try to keep a neutral expression, knowing full well that he’s aware it was either one of them who shot him.

"How do you know it was one of them? It could've been anyone. And if you don’t mind me asking, who is Natasha?" Your award-worthy performance of feigned ignorance seems almost convincing even to yourself. You watch as Steve stops fiddling with his fingers—despite the brace—and looks at you, as if carefully considering his response. He lets out a heavy sigh before speaking.

"As for the shot, you already know. Even when I’m not all here, I can still tell when you're lying. But Natasha... she was Bucky’s partner before he started working with the wrong people. They had a pretty close partnership, you could say. It was the first time in years I thought Bucky could actually have a healthy relationship with someone. They loved avoiding unnecessary emotions, obsessed with fieldwork, and even today, they’re both still great marksmen."

Steve pauses, his frustration palpable, and continues, "Their partnership ended when Bucky took on an undercover mission that was too dangerous for Romanoff. She didn’t want to lose herself in the disguise. I’m betting he ran straight to her for help, and that pisses me off. He could’ve come to me—I would’ve helped him. Now it’s my job to bring him in for questioning." His frustration boils over as he bangs his braced arm against the car's dashboard, letting out a grunt. You can’t quite tell if it’s the pain or the possibility of a scratch on the car that bothers him more. As he speaks, you finally start piecing together the puzzle of Barnes' past life and who Natasha is to him, though only on a surface level.

"Surely he must have had a good reason for not reaching out to you. As for him being your possible shooter, it seems foolish to believe there's any justification for him to have put your well-being at risk. Maybe he’s no longer your best friend; perhaps he’s just a reckless man." You speak, carefully holding back your true thoughts. This might be the perfect moment to reveal everything you know to Steve Rogers, to make it clear that you’re aware of much more than you let on. But you can’t bring yourself to do it. You feel like a pathetic fool, unwilling to risk your crush being put in jeopardy.

"You two had a fight while I was in the hospital, didn’t you? Your words are so sincere; you must really believe Bucky is an idiot for shooting me. Well, know that he isn’t. The shot was practically perfect, it didn’t do much damage. He’s just trying to keep me away. But he’s not a cruel or reckless man." Steve says, looking at you as if searching for a reaction that confirms his suspicions. You park the car in front of the address Steve gave you and lean closer after unbuckling your seatbelt, then do the same for him.

"Mr. Rogers, understand once and for all that your friend and I have nothing. Why would a man with such a dangerous life want anything to do with a mere bakery owner? It doesn’t make sense. But I hope things get clarified between you two soon. Now let me help you to your house, and then we’ll part ways and never see each other again," you say, locking eyes with him as you undo his seatbelt.

Steve's face, which was almost smiling, turns serious. "I want another date; our last one was definitely interrupted." He leans in slightly closer, your faces mere inches apart. You’re taken by surprise, trying to fathom what Steve could possibly want from you now.

"Let's get inside your house quickly; the painkillers must be talking for you. In case you don't remember, your only interest in me is to know about your Bucky, nothing to do with wanting my company," you say firmly, noticing him staring at your lips as he contemplates his response.

"That was before you saved my life. Now my interest in you is personal. I promise to try not to expose your lies on this second date. How about I pick you up in a week when my doctor says I can start putting effort into my arm again?" Steve replies, a hint of determination in his eyes.

"You just said that whoever shot you didn't intend to kill you, Mr. Rogers. I merely took you to a hospital," you say as you exit the car, then open the passenger door and lean toward him. "And I don't understand the need for your arm's recovery. Now, put your arm around my neck, and let's go inside; it's getting cold out here." It really is getting colder since you left the hospital. He leans on you, remaining silent, likely fearing that you might let go if you get annoyed or uncomfortable with something he says. It’s only when you both enter his house with some difficulty, and you lay him down on his large, comfortable sofa, that he grabs your hand before you can step away.

“I need my good arm to be free so I can give you all the fun and pleasure a real date with me could offer. Give me that chance, and I promise I won’t bother you again,” Steve says, smiling as he looks up at you.

You contemplate his face for a few moments, considering whether you truly want to go on a date with Steve. Gently, you caress his hand before moving it away from your arm.

"Next week, make that proposal to me again—with your arm fully recovered. Let’s see what my answer will be then. For now, I'm going home. Take care of yourself, Mr. Rogers," you say as you watch him give you a victorious smile. Before leaving Steve’s house, you place his car keys on the kitchen counter.

As you hear him shout a "See you next week," you take a rideshare back to your apartment, eager to rest. However, upon arriving at your door, a sense of alertness washes over you. Given the recent events, you had decided to keep a can of pepper spray in your bag for self-defense. If some thug were to try to rummage through your things or rob you, they would certainly regret it. Without hesitation, you slowly open the door and spray pepper spray at the first figure you see in front of you. Barnes lets out a grunt of pain, murmuring "fuck, fuck, fuck" repeatedly as he covers his eyes.

“What the hell do you think you're doing? This stuff got in my eyes!” Barnes growls, writhing as he tries to rub the pepper spray out. Without hesitation, you rush to the kitchen, grabbing cold water and a cloth.

“Hold still, I’m trying to help,” you say, but he pulls back sharply, resisting your touch. Your patience snaps. Pushing him against the counter, you press your body firmly against his, taking control of the situation. You pull his hands away from his face with swift determination and begin gently wiping his eyes with the cold, damp cloth. As you carefully clean the remaining spray, his tense frame finally stills, allowing you to tend to him without further protest.

"Apparently, you must have suffered some kind of brain damage if you think trying to shoot me compares to me simply defending myself from an intruder. We're nowhere near being even, Barnes." You place the cloth down on the kitchen counter and turn to take in your apartment. Bucky had brought a bouquet of roses, most likely as a peace offering.

"I missed having you around, even when it feels like you want to hit me," Barnes says, his gaze fixed on you. You immediately turn to face him. You so dearly wish to trust his words, but lately, it seems as though he’s been toying with you.

"There’s no need to come at me with your charm, trying to use me again. I have no intention of continuing to be manipulated by you," you say with firm resolve, attempting to distance yourself from Bucky, though you don’t truly wish to. Yet, he pulls you closer, pressing you against the kitchen counter before lifting you onto it. He positions himself before you, standing between your legs. You lock eyes, both wearing expressions of seriousness.

"As if much evidence were needed to reach that conclusion. You hid in my restaurant because you had likely already noticed my little crush on you. Then, you must have used me to provoke your partner, with whom you had a relationship—so much so that she thought it necessary to nearly shoot me. And finally, you are using me to distract Steve. It's all clear now: I’m just a simple woman you decided to manipulate because I’m naïve enough." You spill your conclusions, struggling to contain the sadness welling within you. He shakes his head as if to deny everything, his body language betraying his discomfort under the weight of your accusations.

"You must think I’m a monster. If you believe I’m manipulating you because you’re an easy target, you’re sorely mistaken. You simply fail to see what’s right in front of you," he says, running a hand through his hair as if trying to calm himself. He is clearly irritated, yet there is a hint of sadness in his expression. "The day we met, you asked me how my day was going. I told you I was having a tough day. You said everything could be fixed with a cup of coffee and then handed me one. I sipped your bitter coffee and told you it was delicious. Do you know why? Your eyes—they told me you were worth the effort of pretending to enjoy it. I don’t live near your bakery; I was there while working undercover, and even then, I used my real last name because I didn’t want to lie to you. I fought against the urge to ask you out for months because I knew I would have to deceive you. But I returned almost every day to your bakery because I wanted to see you. To drink your bitter coffee and taste your new recipes. Because seeing you made me feel normal," he confesses, his face just inches from yours. For a moment, you feel a pang of guilt, realizing you may have crossed a line.

"I want to say that I don’t trust a word of what you’ve said, but the truth is, even if you’re using me, there’s nothing I can do to stop it. And if my accusations have offended you, I apologize. It’s just that you’re not sincere with me. You didn’t tell me about Natasha, and I…" You pause, contemplating your next words. Should you admit that you feel somewhat jealous? Or that you’re considering accepting a date with his best friend? At this moment, everything feels so confusing to you.

"You’ve drawn your own conclusions. I don’t blame you, but I can’t reveal more than what you already know. So, in the end, you’re right to conclude that I’m using you. What other justification could there be for all of this, right?" Bucky’s expression and tone reflect a certain weight, a gravity that hangs in the air. It’s amusing how you find yourselves engaged in this relationship discussion that doesn’t truly exist, all while so close to one another. He continues to occupy the space between your legs, positioned right beside your body, as if holding you in place. The question remains: do you want him to step back?

"If that is all you have to say, then you had best leave," you reply, unsettled by the casual way he speaks, as though he isn’t erecting a wall between you. Yet, instead of stepping away, he draws closer, a tension growing between you that had not fully existed before. His hands gently cup your face, and you close your eyes, trying your best not to give in just yet.

"Do you truly want me to leave?" Barnes asks, his fingers brushing over your cheeks, then tracing your lips. You open your eyes to meet his gaze—those blue eyes, the most beautiful you’ve ever seen, fixed intently on you. You shake your head no, still watching him, unable to look away.

"I want you to want me. But nothing suggests that we’ll cast aside reason and embrace this mutual attraction," you say softly, as though too shy to openly admit your desire for him.

"To hell with reason," Barnes replies, pulling you toward him. His lips, possessive, devour yours as though he were savoring your taste. You return the kiss, urging Barnes to press even closer to you. Your hands explore his body while he holds your face, deepening the kiss with fervor. Your hands trail down Barnes' back, when you reach his rear, you squeeze his ass. He lets out a drawn-out moan near your ear as he starts to reach for the opening in your pants. With impressive agility he manages to help you take off your pants while holding you closer to him.

"Fuck me on the couch, Barnes. I want a reminder of you every time that I sit on it," you say with your mouth still pressed against his. He immediately picks you up, carrying you to your couch. You let out a little laugh, as if you were getting nervous but at the same time excited. Which was true, she'd wanted to have this moment with him for so long her mind was almost exploding. Barnes leans you against the edge of the couch as if he wants to support you there to continue where you left off. You reach for the hem of his shirt, ripping it off his body immediately. He's definitely as ripped as you'd expect him to be. Gently, you begin to kiss his belly, from bottom to top. When you kiss near his neck, he holds your face; pulling you in for a kiss. A slow kiss, as your tongues find each other's rhythm. He only breaks the kiss when he realizes that you still have a lot of clothes on.

"I hope to make you have a pleasant memory of our time together," he kisses your neck as he removes the rest of his clothes and yours. When he lowers the strap of your bra, he places small kisses on your shoulder. While with one hand he opened the clasp of your bra, as it fell to the floor, he massaged your breast. His cold fingers made contact with the tip of her breast, pulling it lightly. Then he ended up grabbing the other breast while massaging the other. His warm tongue sucking your left breast while his cold fingers pinched your right breast. Between your moans and his grunts, you were being deliciously explored by Barnes.

"I want your cock, Bucky. Inside me, fucking me; I want to feel you," you say almost as if you were pleading. The smug smile Barnes gives you makes you almost regret what you said.

"Your wish is my command," Barnes says, stopping whatever he was doing and spreading your legs, positioning himself at the entrance to your pussy. "Tell me how much you need me, Y/N. Tell me what you want from me," Barnes whispers as he teases you by lightly thrusting his cock into your pussy. His fingers stimulating your entrance too, massaging your pussy that is already wet, by the feeling of almost having his dick there.

"I've wanted you since I laid eyes on you, I want to feel you deep inside me," you say almost as a mumble. Your fingers scratch Barnes's six-pack, making him let out a groan. His eyes light up the moment he looks at you and finally, he penetrates you. His cock is completely inside you almost as if it were throbbing with pure lust. You let out a loud sigh, grabbing his bare ass with your hands. You help him with the movements, while he thrusts into you. The feeling of grabbing his ass while he puts his dick in you, it's almost divine. Your moans increase with each thrust of his, as you feel an explosion of pleasure take over you. At this moment it doesn't matter that your ass is hurting a little, that your back is in a almost uncomfortable position. The pleasure of being fucked by James Barnes is far greater than any momentary discomfort.

"Hold on to me, princess. My body is yours to do with as you please," Bucky speaks and you grab his neck, scratching him as you feel your orgasm form as Barnes continues to thrust his cock into you. As if he notices that you are about to cum, he starts thrusting more slowly, as if he wants to prolong the moment. You hold him close to you, nibbling on his ear and then kissing him. Finally you both come, almost in sync. You melt in his arms, not feeling strong enough to pull away from him.

"How about we take a bath together and then we can go to bed?" Bucky says while you don't even have the strength to answer him.You just nod your head and let him carry you to the bathroom.

You wake up in bed, uncertain whether what happened on the sofa was reality or merely a figment of your desire. Yet, your body confirms that you and Barnes truly slept together. But the other side of the bed is empty—he left while you were still asleep. Perhaps it’s for the best; this way, you won’t foster false hopes. Maybe it will hurt less if you pretend it was just a dream. You rise, though standing proves a bit difficult, and upon seeing the time, you rush to open the bakery. After a refreshing shower, you slip into a loose dress, tie up your hair, and hurry out to open your bakery.

But something feels off—you sense that someone is following you. Perhaps it's paranoia, yet the feeling lingers. Just before grabbing the keys to open the bakery, you turn around. It turns out you weren’t paranoid after all. A strange man, wearing a cap and dark sunglasses, stands right behind you. He pulls a knife and thrusts it into your stomach. The force of the blow causes you to stagger slightly as you lock eyes with him.

"Tell Barnes he can’t hide forever. Tell him Alexander Pierce sends his regards," the man sneers, twisting the knife deeper. "Hail, Hydra!" he exclaims before yanking the blade out of you and running off.

It feels as though your world has stopped, your life flashing before your eyes. All the times you wanted something but let it slip away, all the moments you couldn’t be who you were meant to be. The mistakes made, the victories earned. Your eyes grow heavy as you clutch the wound, feeling your blood spilling from you. Then, through the haze, you see a figure rushing toward you, and you recognize him instantly. A weak smile forms on your lips.

"I knew you'd be my hero," you whisper, as the strong arm of the man holds you steady. "Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you," is all you hear before you lose consciousness.

[blackenedsnow]

Hi! I really like the way you write! I would like to make a request. I would love if you could write about P1 Dude cuddling and comforting the reader (his partner) about their struggles with trauma and psychosis. I feel like he would understand these things. The context would be that the person was completely unsupported most of their life and is trying to come to terms with these things, but is scared to open up about it.

held together

WARNING: Mentions of trauma and psychosis, discussion of mental health struggles

PAIRING: Postal (1) Dude x Reader

NOTE: To anyone dealing with trauma and psychosis. I know it's incredibly tough, but you don’t have to face it alone. You deserve love, support, and understanding, just like anyone else. Stay strong—you’ve got this. Take care of yourself!

SUMMARY: You’ve always carried the weight of your trauma and psychosis alone. But Dude has always known more than he lets on.

The house was still, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the next room. The silence weighed on your chest as you sat on the couch, knees pulled up against your chest, staring blankly at the wall. You had been lost in your thoughts for what felt like hours, though time had become a blur.

Dude was there, seated beside you, but his presence was quiet, patient. You hadn’t said much—hadn’t been able to. The disarray in your mind made it hard to find the words. Years of trauma, of trying to survive without support, had left you feeling broken in ways you couldn’t explain.

“You’re real quiet tonight,” Dude finally said, his voice low and rough, but there was no edge to it. He wasn’t prying, just observing.

You hugged your knees tighter, your heart pounding in your chest. There were things you wanted to say—things you needed to say—but the fear of being misunderstood, of being seen as broken, kept your lips sealed. You had spent so long keeping these parts of yourself hidden, terrified of how others would react if they knew.

Dude shifted beside you, leaning forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees. He didn’t look at you directly, but you could feel his attention, his quiet support. He didn’t push you to talk. He never did.

Maybe that was why, of all people, you could almost imagine opening up to him.

“You know…” His voice broke the silence again, soft, contemplative. “I get it. What it’s like to be in your head, and not have anyone really get it. Most people… they can’t handle that shit.” He paused, glancing sideways at you. “But I’m not most people... you know..”

You looked at him then, your gaze meeting his. There was something in his eyes—something raw, real. He wasn’t just saying it to make you feel better. He knew. He understood in a way no one else ever had.

The weight of his words made your chest tighten, but this time it wasn’t from fear. It was something else—something that felt like a mix of relief and terror, like you were standing at the edge of a cliff, knowing that if you jumped, he would catch you.

But the jump was still terrifying.

“I… don’t know where to start,” you finally whispered, your voice barely audible.

He nodded, like he understood that, too. “You don’t have to. We’ll start wherever you’re ready.”

The lump in your throat grew, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep your emotions in check. “It’s just… everything’s so messed up. My head… I can’t tell what’s real half the time. And it’s like… no one’s ever understood. They just… left.”

The words spilled out, shaky and raw, and you felt your chest tighten with anxiety. You’d never admitted any of this out loud before. Talking about the delusions, the paranoia, the way your mind twisted reality until you couldn’t trust anything or anyone… it was too much for most people.

But Dude didn’t flinch. He didn’t look at you like you were crazy or broken. Instead, he leaned back, resting his arm on the back of the couch, and let out a low breath.

“Yeah, I know that feeling,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. “It’s like living in a bad dream you can’t wake up from. Everything’s off, and you’re just trying to hold it together while the world acts like you’re the one losing it.”

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes despite your efforts to hold them back. “I… I’ve never had anyone to talk to about it. I’m scared that… if I let it all out, I’ll lose it. And then… then what?”

Dude was silent for a moment, then he shifted closer, his hand resting on your knee—firm, grounding. “You’re not gonna lose it,” he said, his voice steady, certain. “Not with me here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His touch was solid, real, pulling you back from the edge of the spiral your thoughts were leading you down. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you had to fight your mind alone. He was there, steady and unshaken by the storm in your head.

“You don’t have to hold it together all the time,” he added, his thumb brushing lightly against your knee. “You’re allowed to let shit out. I’ve seen worse... I think.”

You let out a small, shaky laugh. The way he said it—like it was no big deal, like he wasn’t afraid of your head—made something inside you ease, just a little.

“I don’t wanna scare you off,” you whispered, though part of you knew by now that he wouldn’t be scared away. Not by this.

Dude snorted softly. “If I was gonna get scared off, it would’ve happened a long time ago.” His voice softened, and he looked at you more closely. “You don’t have to hide that stuff from me. I’ve seen the worst of it, and I’m still here.”

There was a weight in his words, a history that you knew he carried too. He was saying it to comfort you—but he was also saying it because he lived it. You knew about his struggles, his own mind playing tricks on him, pushing him to the edge more times than he could count.

And yet, he was here. Still fighting. Still living.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded, feeling a little lighter, like maybe—just maybe—you didn’t have to carry all of this alone anymore.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t enough to express everything you felt, but it was all you could manage for now.

He didn’t need more than that. Instead, he just gave your knee a reassuring squeeze and leaned back into the couch, pulling you gently into his side. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, firm and warm, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself relax into the comfort of someone who truly understood.

The noise in your mind didn’t disappear. It never would. But for now, with him beside you, it didn’t feel so overwhelming.

[djevel-skapning]

Heavy Trip headcanon’s!!

Felt like sharing these cuz why not lol

Most are just stuff I feel like fits in how i see things and how I see them, some are more personal taste and others are just random too, so if u disagree with any that’s totally fine!

I love these guysss

Turo❤️

First of all.. Bi Icon

Therapist friend.. he always wants to leant a listening ear and comfort people around him, yet won’t let others do this with him..

Passiv Suicidal, would never admit to it

Actually had a sorta disliking to his job in the psychiatric institution, but he liked taking care of the people there so he stuck with it

Looking past the music his band makes he also sings as a way to express himself

He’s an ambivert, leaning more to introverted

Often can be really anxious. His anxiety can lead to him vomiting from being overwhelmed, this can also happen randomly..

Turo loves hugs but refuses to ask for them.. generally loves physical touch

Strong habit of playing with his hair or chewing on his nails

He’s close to all of his friends, though he’s really close with Pasi the most

Turo once got corpse paint done by Xytrax

Jynkky💙

HE’S SUCH A SWEETHEART

Always tries to be supportive and optimistic, putting others before himself..

Had a bad nu metal phase before switching to heavy metal-

Probably was the extrovert who adopted all of them and made the friend group they are now

Jynkky is a horrible liar.. poor guy lol

Extremely clumsy.. I can imagine he once accidentally knocked over his whole drum set-

Tries looking at the bright side in every situation

Is very fond of physical touch, loooves hugs!

LOVES the reindeer soup Lotvonen’s mum makes

Him and Lotvonen are closest to each other and share familiarity, as a kid Jynkky often was treated like a second child to his parents

Lotvonen🩵

He might be annoying but he’s just being himself

most likely to have ADHD out of the group

Secretly loves 80s glam metal

Lotvonen IS the gay cousin..

Pretty sure my guy has some anger issues-

Loves taking care of the reindeers at the slaughter house despite knowing their end-

Dislikes the reindeer soup his mum makes but still eats it for her.. griefs the reindeer ngl

General love for animals, was probably the type to beg his parents for a pet as a child or brought random outside animals in the house

He’s very willing to eat inedible things, just give him 20 cents lol

Dude definitely has brainrot and annoys Jynkky with it on daily basis

He’s also definitely obsessed with FNAF and knows the lore by heart

Pasi/Xytrax🖤

Hyperfixation on black metal and other different subcultures / genres in general..

Can sing really good but has stage fright and generally doesn’t like singing in front of others.. that’s why he’s the bass player, no one gives a damn about them lol /j

Deep interest in Satanism and Paganism.. most likely reads about Odism too

Definitely likes to bone hunt in the forest

Likes painting his nails black

Close to Turo, appreciates how he can express himself without being judged

Listening to music on his discman/walkman while working, usually no one cares

He doesn’t talk a lot.. but if he does he speaks his mind to the fullest

Professional daydreamer (real af)

He rather suppresses his feelings and acts nonchalant all the time because he just can't express his emotions „correctly“..

Way too much sense of awkwardness

has a constant monotonous voice, even if he doesn’t mean it

Probably autistic

He’s the last one to enter a relationship, either because he simply doesn’t understand the concept, is oblivious to hints or because he knows he can’t express his affection

If he’ll get a partner the gender wouldn’t matter at all, if he loves someone it’s unimportant to him. Although he doesn’t label himself people assume he’s pansexual.

[thescarletnargacuga]

Thank you very much I now ship raceway Jax and Gumigoo…..

Now I picture them in the middle of hardcore fighting with Jax just screaming “Kiss me!” Just in the middle of it and then the lock suck faces on the racetrack in the middle of the night……

Me in the middle of writing Chapter 10: I must write this immediately.

GUMMY BUNNY

A RACEWAY AU ONESHOT

Raceway AU by me

WARNING: heated makeout

~~~

"TAKE IT OUTSIDE!" Pomni screamed with annoyance.

Gummigoo and Jax had been arguing since the day's race ended, and everyone was sick of them. The day cycle was long over, most of the others had gone to their rooms just to shut out the bickering men.

"HE STARTED IT!" Gummigoo and Jax pointed at each other, shouting back at Pomni in tandem.

"I don't care who started it, just take your problems where no one else has to listen to you two!" Pomni's eyes glared hard anger at both of them. "We are sick and tired of it! Emphasis on the tired!! Go outside or go to bed!"

"You're not our mother." Jax spat.

"Seriously, Pomni. Why don't you go to bed? The others have." Gummigoo was all fired up, not listening to reason.

"I'll call Caine." Pomni crossed her arms.

Jax and Gummigoo glanced at each other nervously.

"I bet he's in the middle of something right now. He doesn't care to be disturbed. Imagine how upset he'd be if I had to interrupt him over this." Pomni narrowed her eyes, lifting her hand in a snapping pose.

"Now, hold on-" Gummigoo put out his hands.

"Alright! We're leaving." Jax marched for the door, Gummigoo behind him.

Pomni sat back in her recliner with a satisfied smirk. Finally, some quiet.

"Can you believe her?" Gummigoo grumbled.

"She was bluffing. I just didn't want to deal with her any more than I want to deal with you." Jax growled back.

The two walked a ways from the garage to the starting line. It was dormant for the night. Crickets filled the night air with song. The occasional firefly blinked in the grass surrounding the track. The full moon is high in the sky.

"You're going to deal with me, what her you like it or not!" Gummigoo's voice raised again as he grabbed Jax by the back of his tracksuit.

Jax raised an arm as he turned to make Gummigoo let go. "What the [%$!#]!?"

Gummigoo lunged forward, grabbed Jax by the collar and slammed him to the support beam of the start line. The larger gator held strong as Jax tried to get free. "No one here but you and me, mate. You're not going anywhere."

The fury in Gummigoo's eyes was real, that's why Jax's face was colored so darkly. He was angry, a little scared, and unexpectedly enticed by the rough treatment. He struggles to think. The quips that usually came so easily to him died in his throat. He just laughs.

Gummigoo was thrown off by the weird response. "What's so funny?? I literally have you by the neck! I could snap you in two, as scrawny as you are!"

"Oh, I wish you could." Jax laughs more. "If I thought breaking my body would be enough, I would have thrown myself under my own kart a long time ago. You can't do anything that matters. You're an NPC, just another piece of the game."

Hot breath rushed from Gummigoo's flared nostrils like a dragon. "You wanna make this personal? Alright. Your attitude not only leaves you without any friends, but without purpose in this already pointless existence! You're nothing but a nuisance! A thorn in everyone's sides! You cheat, you lie, you taunt, you tease and for WHAT? For a crumb of satisfaction? Pathetic."

Jax stopped laughing. "You wanna repeat that last part, mate?" He mocked.

Gummigoo leaned closer, pale eyes locked on Jax. "You. Are. Pathetic." He repeated himself slowly, emphasizing each word.

Jax's throat went dry. Gummigoo's teeth looked much larger this close. His heart was racing looking into the gators searing white hot eyes. He tried to save face, but not being able to get away and struggling to find words had him cornered. "If you're going to be this close to me, you better kiss me." He said in an empty attempt to get Gummigoo to back off.

Gummigoo was so mad, so far gone, he wasn't going to back down no matter what was said to him. "Nice try." He chuckled darkly. "But that would be giving you what you want, wouldn't it?"

"Wait, what!?" Jax's face flushed entirely. His bravado shattered like sugar glass. Gummigoo had entirely flipped the script and Jax was not ready for it. "It's not-"

"Oh, but it is. Every day, you single me out. Every day, you taunt me. Every DAY, you find an excuse to mess with me personally. Every race, it's just you and me duking it out for 1st. If I didn't know better, I'd say you had a crush." Gummigoo's grip tightened as he slightly closed the gap between their bodies.

Jax started to panic, his ears flattened. "You- you don't know what you're talking about! You're just-! You-!"

The end of Gummigoo's mouth was almost against Jax's, he grinned. "What's the matter, little rabbit? Scared the gator might bite? You should be."

Jax gulped. "You're all talk."

"Care to test that theory?" Gummigoo opened his maw, sharp teeth moving in on Jax's neck.

Jax squirmed. "You sugar coated lunatic! You-!" Jax froze when Gummigoo's teeth came in contact with his skin. He seethed at how good it felt.

Gummigoo could feel Jax's racing pulse. It finally dawned on him what he was doing. His pride wouldn't let him back off first. Jax hadn't told him to stop. He closed his jaws further.

A quiet moan escaped Jax. "Fu-" He panted. "Fine. You win. Just-"

Gummigoo lifted his teeth away. A clawed finger made Jax look at him. "Do you want me to stop?"

The moment of tenderness pissed Jax off all over again. "[%$!#] no! Kiss me already!"

Gummigoo crashed his lips against Jax's, pressing him against the beam with his whole body. Jax wrapped his arms around Gummigoo's neck, grabbing at the back of his head. Gummigoo picked up Jax by the thighs, holding him up against the beam for a better angle. Jax locked his legs around Gummigoo's waist. The kiss was frantic and uncoordinated, saliva dripping from their locked tongues. Gutteral moans from Gummigoo and whimpering groans from Jax was all that was heard over the crickets.

~~~

A/N: anyway, back to chapter 10. 🎶doo, doo, doo🎵

[maxdibert]

Omg now I'm also curious about what you think about the characters' political spectrum. I think Severus would be a centrist and the type of guy who would say "facts above feelings". His worldview is very isolated in the books, he only focuses on how the world impacts him and what benefits him the most, so he would be pro worker rights, but I doubt he would take things that don't touch him, like feminism, seriously. Would he be an incel? Lol idk. Lily would be a typical liberal feminist. James and Sirius would be centrists or just apathetic, because why would they actually care about politics when they have it all, but they would pretend to be liberal to safe face and attract girls. Peter would be right leaning and probably an incel too. Remus...I genuinely don't know.

Hermione would be a liberal but I can see her becoming more leftist with time. Ron a liberal, same as Harry. Dumbledore would be a leftist but do nothing to change the system, just like in the books.

I'm not an expert so I'm curious what'd you think? Do some of my guesses fit?

It always amuses me when people frame Severus as an incel when canonically he’s always gotten along better with women than with men. In his household, his father—the man—was the negative figure, while his mother’s world seemed to be what interested him most. His first friend (and apparently his only real one) was Lily, a girl, and he also hung out with Petunia, despite them not liking each other. At Hogwarts, his safe space was still with Lily, a girl, while boys represented the negative aspects of his life: on one side, the Marauders, all men, making his life miserable, and on the other, his housemates leading him down a dark path. As an adult, as a professor, despite the comment he makes to Hermione, he’s always shown to be much harsher and more aggressive with boys than with girls. In fact, his antipathy toward Hermione is significantly less intense than what he feels for any of her male classmates. His paternal figure, Dumbledore, is a gay man, and the only coworkers we know he had a cordial relationship with were McGonagall (a woman) and Charity Burbage, with whom it’s stated they were “friends,” another woman. Then there’s Narcissa, who apparently knows where his shabby Muggle house is in his poor Muggle neighborhood, and with whom he behaves unusually gently, considering his usual crappy personality. That’s not the behavior of an incel, nor is it the behavior of someone who hates women. In fact, given his history as a victim of violence, with all that violence being perpetuated by men, it’s not surprising that he might feel considerably more comfortable with women, who have not been negative figures in his life but rather the opposite.

I don’t see Severus as a feminist supporter, because I don’t think he’s someone who actively participates in political matters. After his flirtation with the far right and the way that blew up in his face, I see him as someone who stays on the sidelines of such things. But I absolutely do see him supporting laws against gender-based violence, for example, because he was a victim of a violent household. I don’t see him going to protests, but I don’t see him opposing them either. Politically, I imagine him as more of a centrist who might occasionally vote for more progressive parties on social issues he considers fair, given his life experiences and working-class origins, but never getting involved in those debates or sparking discussions because he’s pretty burned out from his own past.

Lily is a self-insert for Rowling, so yes, absolutely a neoliberal white feminist, the type who’s all about “I love Hillary Clinton,” with a perception of women’s rights that only considers the problems of white European women and doesn’t grasp intersectionality or dissident feminism. The kind who thinks some people “take things too far” or who says, “I’m a feminist, but the real kind, the kind who doesn’t hate men,” you know? She’d never have voted for Thatcher, but she’d probably see her as an excellent example of an empowered woman, if you catch my drift. That kind of person. Maybe progressive for her time, but a total relic by 21st-century standards. I see her as the type who starts out with more leftist ideas in her youth but gradually shifts to the right over the years, although always supporting basic social causes that won’t fix systemic issues but make her look good in a conversation.

James and Sirius are the typical rich boys who don’t understand the struggles of the poor but think they’re “not like other rich people,” so they claim to have a progressive mindset. Sirius, for example, is the type to bash the right but then treat waiters like crap if they don’t serve him quickly enough at a restaurant (ahemKreacherahem), and he’d get really defensive if someone called out his problematic comments because “I stood up to my fascist family; I know what it means to fight for my beliefs.” Zero self-criticism because zero fundamental political awareness. James is a bit like Lily: “I’m progressive, but let’s not go overboard because extremism doesn’t lead anywhere,” which is a very convenient way of saying he supports workers having vacations but doesn’t want them burning down factories because “that’s not politics; that’s terrorism.”

Remus is the kind of guy who votes for social-democratic left-wing parties with union leanings but doesn’t say so openly at a dinner party and always presents himself as more moderate because he cares more about what people think of him than about his own rights.

Hermione is the classic progressive who seems very leftist within her circle and stands out because, surrounded by a bunch of centrist and neoliberal idiots, she might almost pass for a Bolshevik. But real Bolsheviks would treat her like a system lackey. She’d be seen as too leftist for conservatives and too conservative for the left. She also has a pretty questionable white savior complex and could use a solid dose of deconstruction and some reading on the issues of Eurocentrism and colonial leftism.

Ron is the guy who votes for progressive parties because his whole family always has, and his family does it out of the same habit, so he doesn’t even know what he’s voting for; he just does it out of inertia. And Harry? Harry is a neoliberal with socially progressive tendencies, but social issues only matter to him if they directly affect him. Plus, he’s a system loyalist because he ends up as an Auror, which is the magical equivalent of being an MI5 agent, so… On this account, we’re ACAB; sorry, not sorry.

Dumbledore is the typical guy who was a fascist in his youth and later joined some far-left party but still approaches it the same way he approached the far right: all or nothing. His political vision isn’t ideological in itself but entirely militaristic. He wants to achieve the objective, and he doesn’t care who he steps on to get there, so he’d actually make a fantastic Stalinist.

[post-apocalyptic-fantasy-au]

5

[previous] [next] [first]

Impulse made the promised soup for dinner that first night, and Tango found that Gem was right. It was delicious, a perfect blend of meat (real meat!) and vegetables (fresh from Gem's own garden!) and broth, every flavour blooming in its own right and simultaneously supporting all the others. They ate it with buttered bread, which was light and fluffy and, like the pancakes, still warm; nothing like the cheap rolls Doc sometimes brought him.

Impulse told him the meat was beef as Gem carefully added a garnish of small rocks and explained it was to help with digestion. Gem told him the vegetables were potato and leek and onion.

Tango realised, as Skizz tore chunks of his bread off rather than taking bites like Impulse was, that his teeth were just as sharp as Tango's own. He still had no idea what Skizz was, and wasn't sure if it would be rude to ask - he knew Doc would have hated anyone to ask him - so he said nothing.

The five of them conversed relatively easily, with minimal questions regarding Tango's past being passed around. He suspected they'd had a conversation about that somewhere in the course of the afternoon.

After dinner, Gem and Skizz made a bed for Tango on the sofa while Tango showed Impulse and Zedaph how his sleeping cap worked.

It was clever thing - fire- and waterproof, thick enough that even the heat of the flames struggled to make it through, but with just enough small holes in to allow them to keep breathing and stay alive. It protected his bed, or the sofa in this case, when he slept and his head when he washed.

Impulse and Zed were fascinated, asking about a million questions about how Tango's hair worked and how the cap worked and how they'd found out it worked and how they'd realised it was necessary. Tango answered each question carefully, leaving out any mention of the lab, or anything that could point to it.

He was realising very quickly that it wasn't out of some concern for the privacy of the lab that he kept it a secret, but more out of a strange unwillingness to admit to it. He didn't want to talk about it, didn't even want to think about the lab and its goings on and his life there. He told the others only the bare minumum that would answer their questions, because he of all people understood curiousity, but didn't tell them a single thing beyond that.

Finally, Zedaph's wings started to get tired, leading him to drop slowly out of the sky, and Impulse caught him and suggested they all get some sleep.

Zedaph settled down on the sofa's armrest, and Tango lay down on the sofa, Torchy curling on his chest. It was soft - unbelievably soft - and so, so warm under the blankets. He'd never been so comfortable in his life, and on his second night away from four familiar walls, he fell asleep in seconds.

*

Tango awoke to the sun streaming in through the windows. For several minutes, he didn't move, enjoying its warmth. There was no mistaking his distance from the lab this time - he'd never even seen the sun before leaving, let alone been woken up by it. It felt like his own personal miracle.

Finally, with a sigh of resignation, he opened his eyes.

Torchy was still fast asleep on his chest, only the scales on his chest keeping his lungs from collapsing under the weight, and Tango could spy Zedaph snoozing on the armrest in an entirely different position that he fell asleep in. From up the stairs that Impulse and Skizz disappeared to, gentle snoring was floating down to him. A faint knocking came from Gem's room as she presumably twitched her hooves in her sleep.

Tango's eyes landed on the messenger bag leaning against the sofa, and he thought of the smaller bag hidden inside, his gift from the Queen.

Careful to avoid stirring Torchy, Tango reached down, opened the flap and pulled out the drawstring bag. For a moment, he merely held it in his hand, feeling it's extreme weight. He couldn't imagine how such a small item could be so heavy.

Tango slotted two clawed fingers into the bag and tugged it open, turning it upside down.

Out fell a small rock.

It was no bigger than the top half of his thumb, roughly triangular in shape, and maybe a centimetre thick in the centre.

And yet it weighed as much as a decent sized stone. A geologist had brought him some once, to see what he would do with it. The thing had barely fit in his hand, so he'd had to use both to hold it securely, and it had been almost perfectly spherical. It had weighed almost exactly as much as this tiny slip of rock.

What was so special about this, Tango wondered. Why couldn't he open it in front of Doc and Cub? How could it possibly save his life? Unless he shoved it down someone's throat or something, which he wasn't particularly inclined to do, he couldn't see how the pebble could be used as a weapon.

Tango slid it around in his hand - he would have rolled it, but since its sides were almost perfectly flat, it didn't do much rolling. He found he quite enjoyed its strange weight. It felt... secure, grounded somehow, despite resting on nothing but his hand.

Something shifted upstairs, footsteps crossed the ceiling, then silence for a few moments. A grunt. More footsteps, this time heading this way.

Tango panicked. He was supposed to be up and ready by the time someone came to collect him in the morning, but if he moved now, Torchy would wake up and do what he always did when he didn't wake up naturally: burn the place down. But if he stayed put, he'd be in so much trouble! He had to move!

He tried shifted Torchy carefully, but the moment Tango slid his hands under the tiny dragon's body, he stirred, starting to wake up. Tango froze. No, no, no, no, no!

He was dead. This was it. Whoever was coming would be furious at him, and he'd deserve it! He should have planned for this, shouldn't have been so foolish as to lie there and do nothing after waking! Idiot!

The footsteps reached the stairs, and Tango's fear left him a statue, lying helpless on the sofa, ready for the punishment he knew awaited him.

They'd trained him so well! He'd worked so, so hard to do what they wanted, and it wasn't enough. He still couldn't be good enough.

No. No, he couldn't just accept this. He still had a few seconds. He had to be good enough. He had to.

Tango braced himself and readied his hands where they were still tucked under Torchy's body. He would have to be quick about this.

He could do this.

Without hesitation - he didn't have time for hesitation - he moved, keeping his hands as stationary as he could as he shot to his feet, before gently lowering Torchy back onto the sofa. The dragon stirred, snorted, shot out a stream of smoke, and didn't awake.

Tango yanked his sleeping cap off, shaking his head a bit to get his flames roaring again, and tossed it onto the sofa. He was just stretching casually - he had had to twist his arms painfully to get up without moving them - when Skizz appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

The other male paused when he spotted Tango, then grinned. "Hey, Top!"

"Good morning, Skizz," Tango said, doing his best to make it sound like he wasn't reciting the same thing he said every morning, changing only the name.

Skizz glanced at Torchy and Zedaph, still fast asleep, then gestured for them both to move to the kitchen. Tango followed him, and Skizz closed the door once they were both inside. Tango couldn't help but feel boxed in.

"How're you feeling, buddy?" Skizz asked. "Did you sleep okay?"

Tango nodded, smiling like his heart wasn't still pounding. "I'm feeling a lot better."

"Good, I'm glad." Skizz's grin wasn't fading, so Tango didn't let his, either. "Are you always up this early?"

"I'm not used to getting sun in the morning," he admitted, before realising that may have been too much information.

But Skizz merely nodded. "It took me a while to get used to it as well. You'll get there, don't worry." Skizz clapped his hands, then rubbed them together. "What do you say we get some breakfast started?"

"Sounds good!" Tango had no idea what help he could be, considering this was the first time in his life he'd ever even been in a kitchen before, but he would certainly try.

He looked around, hoping to at least be able to identify some of the things in the room. A few of them, he managed - the toaster and kettle, for example - as they'd been brought to him to see whether he could heat bread and water faster than them. But most were mysteries.

Skizz first crossed to one of the kitchen's larger occupants. It seemed to be a small, hollow, metal box, with a glass front and four circles on top of it. There were a collection of knobs on the front, just above the glass window, and Skizz twised one. Nothing happened.

"Dang it, dude!" Skizz grumbled, and kicked the thing. It didn't help. "This stupid oven can never decide if it wants to work or not!"

Oven. That's what the thing was called. Good to know.

"Is it... seadust-powered?" Tango asked uncertainly. Was this something everyone would know?

Again, Skizz didn't seem concerned. "Yeah. All responsibly sourced, don't worry! I provide the scales myself! But anyway, Impulse built most of it himself. The clock and timer mechanism was our buddy Etho, but Dippledop did the rest."

"I could take a look if you want?" Tango offered. "I mean, I'm not amazing or anything, but maybe I could spot something Impulse missed?"

"Sure, if you'd be up for it. I can't imagine Impulse having anything against it."

Skizz helped Tango pull the oven away from the wall to reveal the small space behind where the seadust and its tiny components were laid out. Tango crouched down and crawled closer, using his hair as a torch to peer into the hole in the wall.

It was a thing of beauty. He spotted the clock mechanism running along the side immediately, and told himself he'd have to come back to take another close look later. Right now, from what he could gather of the problem, he was looking for the on/off switch.

A glance over his shoulder located where the knob to turn it on would connect to the seadust, and when he turned back, he could see the string of dust that must have led right up to that connection point. He followed it, studying repeaters and comparators and observers carefully. It seemed to be fine, even when he looked over it a third time, checking and double checking notches on each component.

"What is that knob supposed to do?" he asked Skizz.

"Turn it on!" was Skizz's very useful reply.

"Okay... And what is it supposed to do when it's on?"

For the first time, Skizz sounded confused when he answered. "Well, get warm. You know, like an oven."

"Right. Just checking." Great, so that was a thing he was meant to know. Skizz would probably start getting suspicious of him now.

He shook off the concern and scanned the other dozens of fine blue lines. There, that one had a heating mechanism! But then he spotted another. And another. In fact, there were five heating mechanisms within this single contraption.

Okay, so he just had to find the one that connected to his knob.

He went back to the string he was following earlier, and followed it further, checking each branch that led into it until he was sure it didn't lead to any of the heaters. Finally, he found the right heater. He checked its entire circuit once, twice.

As he was triple checking every component, the kitchen door opened behind him and Impulse's voice said with a laugh, "Why is my oven in the middle of the room? Oh, hello, Tango!"

Tango, who had frozen guiltily, was very grateful for the training that allowed him to say on muscle memory alone, "Good morning, Impulse."

"He's fixing your seadust, dude!" Skizz sounded disproportionately exciting by this fact.

Tango braced himself, ready for the same anger Doc got when anyone else touched one of his seadust contraptions. Instead, Impulse only said, "Oh, good! That thing's been driving my insane for ages. See anything?"

"Uhh, not yet. Sorry." Tango wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. Where was the screaming? The accusations? The threats? Where were the demands that he put everything back just as he found it or he'd regret it for the rest of his life?

"No worries. We'll leave you to it!"

Two sets of footsteps crossed to the far corner of the room and were followed by whispers, and Tango forced himself to move again. He could wonder about Impulse's reaction another time: right now, he had a job to do.

He couldn't remember where he'd left off his last go-over, so he started from the beginning of the circuit again. Mere moments later, he spotted it: a comparator somehow stuck between comparison and subtraction. It must have gotten knocked at some point, though all the comparators Tango had ever worked with had safeguards to prevent something like that from happening.

With hands that were steady from years of practise, Tango flicked the delicate switch to comparison mode - a quick glance over the seadust around it showed that would be the best fit - and then backed his head out of the hole and stood up.

"It should work now," he announced, forgetting to wait for Skizz's help before shoving the oven back into its place.

"For real?" Impulse started at him, and Tango braced himself as the dwarf crossed to the oven and twisted the knob. A light switched on inside and the whirring of a fan filled the room. Impulse laughed, and the sound reminded Tango of the sound Cub would make when one of his experiments gave the desired outcome. "How did you do that?"

Tango shrugged. "A comparator was stuck. It was no big deal."

"No big deal? I must have looked over that seadust about a million times by now and I never once spotted that!"

"Sorry," Tango muttered.

"Don't be sorry!" Impulse was beaming, but he seemed to rein himself in a bit. "Thanks for the help, man."

Tango shrugged again, his face warming. "No problem."

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I can't wait for Tango to have his trauma responses loved out of him :D

[milkykityway]

How does Sungchan Riize

act when in love relationship

* disclaimer just entertainment purposes only.

(The World ,The Empress ,The Hanged Man ,Seven of Wands ,Strength, Six of Swords ,Eight of Wands ,The Emperor ,Ten of Pentacles)

When Sungchan’s in a relationship, he’s all in. He doesn’t do half-hearted love — if he’s with someone, it’s because he really sees a future with them. Being in love makes him feel complete, like he’s found something really important in his life. He’s super affectionate and caring, the type to make sure his partner always feels loved, safe, and supported. He’s very caring and protective when he’s in love. The Empress energy makes him naturally attentive — like, he’ll notice when you’re stressed even if you don’t say a word, and he’ll try to make you feel better in small, thoughtful ways.

He’s also really patient in relationships. If there’s ever a misunderstanding or a rough patch, he’s not the type to rush to judgment or walk away. Instead, he tries to see things from the other person’s perspective, even if it means putting his own ego aside. At the same time, he’s super protective about the relationship. If challenges come up, he’s not going to back down — he’ll fight for you quietly but firmly. He has so much inner strength when it comes to love, like he wants to weather the storms together, not run away.

At the same time, he brings a lot of calm energy into love. He wants a peaceful, steady connection, not a dramatic, chaotic one. Once he knows he’s serious about someone, he’s pretty fast at showing it — texting often, making plans, wanting to move forward together. He doesn’t play games; he just goes for it.

The Emperor shows that, deep down, he sees himself as the one who wants to protect and lead in the relationship — but in a way that feels safe and stable, not controlling. He wants to be your safe place — the person you can always lean on.

And with the Ten of Pentacles, you can tell he’s a “forever” type of lover. He dreams of creating a real future together — stability, family, shared goals, a home full of love.

Examples of how he’d act in a relationship

• Texting you randomly during the day just to say he’s thinking of you or sending you something that reminded him of you

• Protective but not possessive -He’d make sure you feel safe and cared for, but he’ll also respect your independence.

• Defending you if people misunderstand you or talk badly — he’d stand by your side without hesitation.

• Planning for the future He talks about “us” more than “me,” and you’ll notice he’s imagining a life together — planning trips, dreaming about where to live, or just discussing what kind of future you both want.

• Listening patiently during arguments or emotional talks, even if it’s hard — not interrupting, just quietly trying to understand you.

• Spoiling you a little — like surprising you with gifts, cooking for you, or making sure you’re comfortable when you’re tired or stressed.

• Taking the lead when things get messy — if plans fall apart or there’s a problem, he steps up to fix it instead of panicking.

• Being physically affectionate — probably someone who loves hugging, hand-holding, leaning his head against yours when relaxing together.

Being with Sungchan would feel like having both a best friend and a life partner — someone who’s soft when you need it, strong when you need it, and always, always there for you.