#not sure if this will make the final draft

[catt-nuevenor]

A Brief Guide on Uploading ChoiceScript Demos to Itch.io

Since Dashingdon is shutting down, and there will be a lot of folks wanting to host their ChoiceScript demos elsewhere, I thought it'd be a good idea to provide a brief guide on how to do so for itch.io.

This is for Windows in the folder actions, but it shouldn't be too difficult for folks to translate for Mac. This also assumes you haven't changed any of the files within your game folder other than those found under 'scenes'.

Within your game folder, locate the 'web' subfolder, right click it and select 'Send to' then 'Compressed (zipped) folder. Name your newly compressed file something sensible, and I recommend moving it to a new folder outside of your game files, just to keep everything neat and tidy.

2. Assuming you already have an itch.io account, navigate to your dashboard, and click the 'Create New Project' button.

3. Name your project as you like, and under 'Kind of project', select the 'HTML' option.

4. Set the 'Pricing' to 'No Payments', you cannot use ChoiceScript for profit unless it is with the Choice of Games or Hosted Games publishing labels. No one wants to get in trouble unnecessarily here.

5. In the Uploads section, upload your newly zipped file we made in step one. After it's finished uploading, you'll be given one drop down and two tick boxes. You need to tick the 'This file will be played in the browser' option.

6. I've found so far that 'Viewport dimensions' work quite well for desktop at 1080 x 640. Either use these numbers or experiment and find what works best for you.

7. You must tick the 'Enable scrollbars' option for your game to display properly, otherwise options, text and buttons can be clipped off the bottom of the viewport.

8. Continue filling out the rest of the form, or skip it for now and scroll all the way to the bottom to the 'Visibility & access' section. Here make sure you have 'Draft' selected. This prevents others from finding your game until you're ready, and I always recommend play testing things before you make your work public.

9. Finally, hit the 'Save' button, then go and have a look at your creation by hitting the 'View page' link. And there you go! When you're ready for public release, just change the option in section 8 to 'Public'.

---

A few things to bear in mind about hosting on itch.io:

There isn't currently any way for your readers to save their game. I'm sure someone could write in a plugin similar to Dashingdon's at some point, but as for right now, this isn't available. See addition/edit below.

Make sure you properly tag your game with the 'choicescript' and 'interactive-fiction' tags. There are an awful lot of games on itch.io and it's easy to get lost in the crowd. Make sure folks can find you by having the right tags.

I hope this brief guide was useful to folks.

Best of luck to you with your writing!

---

Addition/Edit:

Thanks to @hpowellsmith for bringing this to my attention. You can add save functionality to your game by using this addon:

The ChoiceScript Save Plugin

Just tried it out on my own game and it works perfectly.

Rather than run through the addon author's own tutorial here, I'll just forward you to the Readme on their Github page.

One small note I would add is when it asks you to make the two small additions to your index file, make sure you right click the file and open it with your coding program, don't double-click it as this will just open it in an internet browser, and it won't give you the access to what you need to change.

[4vanaa]

FROM THE SIDELINES! | 12

| A RAFE CAMERON SMAU

PAIRING: basketball player!rafe cameron x podcaster!reader

SUMMARY: you’re a cohost for your college’s sports podcast, where your playful commentary about star basketball player rafe cameron gains attention. under pressure from your strict father, the university president, you agree to fake date rafe, who also needs to clean up his image in time for his draft.

Masterlist

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The arcade buzzes with life, the kind of energy that feels a little chaotic but entirely fun. You glance at Rafe, standing beside you in front of the basketball arcade game, his hands resting casually on his hips like he owns the place.

“You scared?” you ask, tilting your head with a smirk.

Rafe raises an eyebrow, a cocky grin tugging at his lips. “Of you? Not a chance.” He swipes his card to start the game, the machine lighting up and blaring a countdown. “But I’ll take it easy on you so you don’t cry, Princess.”

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that,” you shoot back, stepping up to grab the first basketball.

The timer starts, and you immediately launch your first shot. It hits the backboard with a loud clunk, before bouncing off the rim.

“Strong start,” Rafe teases, already sinking three baskets in rapid succession. His movements are smooth, almost lazy, as if this is barely a challenge for him.

“I’m warming up,” you mutter, grabbing another ball. This time, it circles the rim before dropping in, and you let out a triumphant “Ha!”

“Congratulations,” he says with mock enthusiasm, not even looking as he sinks another shot.

By the time the timer buzzes, Rafe’s score is more than double yours. He steps back, flexing his arms like he just won the NBA Finals. “What can I say? Talent.”

“Oh my god,” you say, wiping fake sweat from your forehead, “congratulations. You beat a 5’6” girl at a rigged arcade game. How do you live with yourself?”

“It’s not rigged,” he replies, leaning down until his face is level with yours. His grin is infuriatingly smug. “You’re just bad at it.”

You shove his shoulder, but the laugh bubbling out of you gives you away. “Rematch. Let’s go.”

“Again?” he asks, swiping the card to start another game. “You sure your ego can handle another loss?”

“Shut up, Cameron.”

The second round goes about the same, though you manage to close the gap a little. By the third, you’re breathing hard, your hair slightly disheveled, and your cheeks hurt from smiling too much. Rafe doesn’t let up, mock-cheering every time you make a shot.

“Almost there, Princess,” he says, grabbing a ball and shooting it without even looking. Of course, it swishes through effortlessly.

“Okay, you’re just showing off now,” you huff, grabbing a ball and chucking it at him instead of the hoop.

He catches it easily, laughing as he tosses it into the net without missing a beat. “Admit it. I’m better at this than you.”

You sigh dramatically, stepping back. “Fine. You win. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.” He drapes an arm around your shoulders as you walk away from the machine. “You want me to win you something? Maybe a stuffed animal to match your bruised pride?”

You roll your eyes, but his teasing makes you smile. “I’ll take the biggest one you can get. Think you can handle it?”

“Princess,” he says, glancing down at you with a grin, “I can handle anything.”

The diner is exactly what you’d expect: checkered floors, laminated menus, and the faint smell of coffee that’s probably been sitting on the burner for too long. You slide into the booth, reaching for a menu even though you already know what you want.

“You always this decisive?” Rafe asks, sitting across from you.

“Always,” you say without looking up. “Fries and a milkshake. Why mess with perfection?”

He leans back, drumming his fingers against the table. “You’re really gonna order a sugar bomb and grease for dinner?”

“Yes, Dad,” you reply, finally glancing at him. “What are you getting? A protein shake and a side of broccoli?”

His smirk is immediate. “Burger and fries. Gotta keep the bulk up.”

“Ah, the diet of champions,” you say, shaking your head.

When the waitress comes by, you both place your orders. Once your food arrives, the conversation shifts into an easy rhythm. You dip a fry into your chocolate milkshake, ignoring the way Rafe watches you like you’ve just committed a crime.

“Does it taste as gross as it looks?” he asks, his nose wrinkling.

“Don’t knock it till you try it.” You push the milkshake toward him.

Rafe shakes his head. “I don’t mix sweet and salty. It’s unnatural.”

“You’re unnatural,” you shoot back, pulling the shake back toward you.

His grin widens. “That’s the best you’ve got? I expected more from someone who roasts me for a living.”

You shrug, popping another fry into your mouth. The conversation eventually turns more serious, the playful banter fading into something softer.

“So,” you say, twirling your straw around the edge of your glass, “do you ever get tired of basketball?”

Rafe hesitates, the confident smirk he usually wears slipping for a moment. “Sometimes,” he admits. “It’s a lot. The pressure, the expectations—it feels like everyone’s waiting for me to either succeed or screw up.”

“That sounds... heavy,” you say, leaning forward slightly.

“It is,” he says, his voice quieter now. “But it’s what I want, you know? I’ve been dreaming about the NBA since I was a kid. It’s everything I’ve worked for.”

“Do you ever think about what happens if it doesn’t work out?”

He glances at you, his blue eyes steady. “Not really. I don’t like to think about failing.”

You nod, chewing on your bottom lip. “Makes sense. Didn’t know you were so sweet, though. I thought you were just another hot basketball player.”

Rafe raises an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “So you do think I’m hot.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you reply, throwing a fry at him.

He catches it mid-air, laughing as he pops it into his mouth. “Whatever you say, Princess.”

🏷️ : @sereneera @orangerafe @fruitcakerafe @akobx @lilithblackkk @ultraviolett @drewsephrry @ethanthequeefqueen @marleymarleymarleymarley @dylsdaily @inthelibrarybtw @davinashifts333 @redstappen @malibuhearts @bettys-redwinesupernova @defnotayonna @pogueprincesa @my-name-is-baby @jjmaybankmylovee

[sulumuns-dootah]

꧁𓊈Ppyong crochet pattern𓊉꧂

A/N: Aaa my first crochet pattern! And also a lil celebration of 500 followers ^^ (My explanations kinda suck imo, so don't be affraid to ask about anything♥)

Hook size: 5mm (I use size 3.5 yarn tho) Other supplies: Stuffing, material for the features & stitchmarkers Difficulty: Beginner! (could even be your first project ^^) Final size: About the size of my hand

Stitches/Abbreviations used:

ss - slip stitch

st - stitch(es)

ch - chain

sc - single crochet

inc - increase (two st into one st)

dec - crochet two stitches together

inc-lump - part made out of increases (you'll see when you get there)

Join each round with ss and ch1 to start another round

Start with magic circle

R1: sc6 into magic circle R2: inc6 R3: (inc, sc) all around R4: (inc, sc2) all around R5: (inc, sc3) all around R6: (inc, sc4) all around R7: (inc, sc5) all around R8: (inc, sc6) all around R9 – R16: sc all around

Count out or find quarters of your stitches and mark them

R17- R22: sc around, dec in marked st

Take out the middle stitchmarker (the one opposite of the beginning of your row, not the ones beside it)

R23: sc all around

Make sure your stitch markers are still in the relative quarters they should be in

R24: sc around and do inc into both marked spots

(Keep track of which extra stitches come from the increases – I'll refer to them as inc-lump)

R25: sc around while (inc into the first st, continue sc, inc into the last st) of each inc-lump R26: sc all around R27: sc around while (dec (the first two st), continue sc, dec (the last two st)) of each inc-lump R28: sc around while (dec2 (the first two and the last two st)) of each inc-lump R29: (dec, sc5) all around R30: sc all around R31: (dec, sc4) all around R32: sc all around

Stop and stuff as much as you can

To close off the body just dec all around and sew the remaining opening close after adding extra stuffing if you need

For the wings, horn and face I recommend felt (my mouths are out of fabric bc I didn't have pink felt) and for the shibari rope I just used some random twine I had.

Shape-wise, for the horns I cut out a circle and cut that into quarters. For the eyes I cut out a small circle and cut that in half (plus some tweaking to get that uneven shape). The mouth is kinda annoying bc you just gotta draft up the shape. And for the wings I have the shape here:

How you attach these is entirely up to you, but I've sewn on the tail and horns(didn't even need to stuff them) and hot glued the face features.

If you want to add his tail, you possibly could pull some pieces of the same yarn through the centre stitch on his back and braid it (or just cut it out of felt)

[beccastareyes]

Coming from physics & astronomy, besides 'academic library access'...

If you are getting funding from NASA, you need to publish open-access, so you write the cost of that in your grant. I assume other US governmental agencies work the same way. (This is highly field specific; I know humanities folks don't have that kind of money.)

For another field-specific thing, arXiv.org. Several academic journals explicitly let you post the draft you send to them for final editing/typesetting to this website, because they decide the fact astronomers regularly browse it for preprints boosts the likelihood that the work is cited (thus, increasing the impact factor) is worth more than someone maybe stuck paying for a paper they need to read. (Not true of the giant important journals, like Science and Nature: they don't need your paper to be cited to be considered Important.)

At this point, I suspect emailing an author and just asking for a copy of a paper would work. Summary: astronomers tend to assume academic publishing is bullshit enough that if your library doesn't have access to a journal, you can still get the paper pretty easily. (Like, my thesis advisor was the chief editor of a major journal, and was still telling me to make sure my work was on the arXiv and gave me old preprints of papers he wanted me to read from when those came in paper form.) At best, we might point you towards the legit free sources first, especially because for a student, emailing a scientist to ask for a PDF of their paper is also creating a potential connection.

It occurs to me that I'd probably be a lot more personally upset about the present media IP situation if my skill and experience at academic research didn't also make me extremely good at piracy.

[oh-no-its-bird]

Mayhaps I want to ask about "genderfuck"

From this ask meme

Oh this is a fun one actually, like, in my heart. It's also an Ichigo one, full disclaimer, so

SUMMARY // Hatake Ichigo and the trials and tribulations of being a shinobi girl hitting puberty, who just so happened to have been born a boy. --- "Maybe I should just castrate myself." Ichigo sniffled. "Ichigo," Her mother sighed, still patient. "You are not allowed to try and castrate yourself till at least 20." "But it'll be too late by then!" She wailed.

I think I might have already posted this one snippet of it bc I remember thinking it was funny, but oh well Ill just post it anyways if that is the case.

But like, eunuch Hikaku mention:

"I bet Hikaku-sama would know how to castrate someone." Ichigo mumbled, kicking at the floor dejectedly, and her mother paused. "Why in the world would Uchiha Hikaku know how to safely castrate someone?" Ichigo stared at her mother blankly, who stared back with an equally confused expression. "Um, cuz he's a eunuch, right?" "Excuse me?" Ichigo frowned. "He had to chop of his own thing, for some mission in the Daimyo's court or something, right? Before he became clan heir?" "Where did you hear that?" "The twins told me!" Ichigo scowled, oddly miffed by her mother's doubt. "And you believed them?" Ichigo planted her fists on her hips. "Well when I asked Kagami, he believed it too! And every time after that when I mentioned it to people, no one argued!" "Hatake Ichigo," her mother began, setting down her knife with a soft clack onto the cutting board. Ichigo froze at her mothers dangerously level tone. "Have you been going around telling people that the Uchiha clan heir is a eunuch." "Um." Was all she could manage, finally realizing she may have messed up. Just a bit.

Anyways I thought it'd be fun to tackle being trans specifically set in early konoha, and all take a fun little peek at all the world building aspects I could possibly dig into with it!

I have an older post still buried in my drafts about my takes on how it's interesting to think ab how Konoha developing as a village might have impacted the trans experience of its shinobi and civillians— specifically from the standpoint of paperwork.

Thinking something along the lines of, earlier konoha had more unregistered home births and messy paperwork that also made it very easy to go in and change details of by simply going to an office and saying "Hey btw my mom filled out this form wrong when I was born. I'm a girl just so u know." And you'll just kinda get a shrug and a "oh ok cool, I'll change that then"

Vs more modern Konoha where you might get some more complicated loops to jump through and extra paperwork stating specifically that you are trans and would like to Officially Request (tm) a change in the presenting gender listed on your file and also would you like to sign up for our hormone therapy or any gender affirming surgery?

Just like. Thinking ab the little things and progression and changes through time (none specifically good or bad) at how things are done depending on the state of the village. Fun to think about

Sorry anyways:

For this oneshot, if I ever continue it, I also would have fun in playing with how different clans and groups see gender.

Like, Ichigo goes to the Orochi who are rather infamously gender apathetic and kinda just do their own thing as part of their clan culture.

The Shiranui make a cameo with their concepts of how gender can be used as a weapon and presenting yourself certain ways is just another tool in the box to play with for a shinobi

The Inuzuka come in w their matriarchal clan to talk ab the concept of womanhood or smthn quirky like that, I'm not too sure yet but I think it'd be neat if they were there

Just. Having fun exploring the ways different clans and their cultures view and interact with gender. Some clans are welcome to the concept of trans people, some clans legit just don't care, some clans have trans ideas built into their identity, others might think it a bit strange but ultimately not their buisness, etc.

Then also the differences between how shinobi clans treat gender and transness vs how civilians treat it (w the shinobi caring a whole lot less ab it all. Probably bc they have other things to worry about)

Early Konoha is already so ripe w potential as a melting pot of cultures meeting for the first time ever ,,, I wanna play with it.

I will say tho going into it and still now, I kinda just plan on steering clear of transphobia— if it were to appear it'd be in flashes and get a "damn, that's crazy. Anyways." Reaction from Ichigo as she goes back to asking Tobirama if he has a cure for her growing a beard

I like playing things as straight as possible and really leaning hard into "ok but what are ALL the reactions I can get out of this and how do I play with them" but I kinda just. Don't wanna write that. This'd be a fun, silly comedy about a ninja girl learning ab shinobi clan history and gender culture and I will indulge myself on that

ANYWAYS ! thank u for playing the ask game w me Domoz, sorry I dive bombed u w Ichigo for ur reply rip

[lemonsprite]

𝐕𝐨𝐰𝐬 || 𝐂𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐑𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐱 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐫

Summary: The Inquisitor enjoys seeing Cullen flustered much to Ser Rutherford’s disapproval Word count: 492 A/N: this isn’t necessarily an x reader but more so a fic about Cullen and my female inquisitor Fiona (because I love them my little boopsies). That being said I’m not gonna use a name but I will be using she/her pronouns and describing her appearance-wise like my inquisitor so if you want to interpret this as an x reader be my guest just know it’s not really intended to be one!! >< Warnings: none!!

It was hard for him to focus.

Cullen was supposed to be inspecting the newest recruits forms- making sure they knew which side to grip their blade from and how to properly hold their shields, not stumble around like a blundering idiot.

But oh it was impossible. The inquisitor was much to pretty to be out on a battle field like this.

Her pale skin turned rosy from the cold, her breaths coming out in clouds of air each time she spoke.

Speaking of which, Cullen had not been listening to a single word she’d been saying. Far too busy nodding his head and staring at the way her golden eyelashes fluttered with each blink.

“Do you take vows?” Asked the inquisitor, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her pointed ear.

“Excuse me?” Flustered Cullen, snapping from his reverie to look the inquisitor in her eyes before clearing his throat.

“The order.” She smiled, clearly sensing that Cullen’s mind had been elsewhere during their conversation. Cullen groaned internally, wishing he could kick himself in the head.

“We uh… vow to serve the Maker yes.” He explained, busying his hands with straightening invisible wrinkles in his jacket. “And to protect the world from dangerous uses of magic.”

The inquisitor hummed thoughtfully, rocking back and forth on her heels playfully before shooting Cullen a small smile.

“And physical temptations… do templars have to abstain from such things?” She asked, her wide eyes much to kind to be hinting at such things.

Cullen’s face went bright pink, choking on his own spit in an attempt to respond to the inquisitor.

“We um- uh… I-“ he stumbled, coughing slightly as he cleared his throat. “We can marry your worship… but uh… templars seldom do so…”

The inquisitor seemed to pout playfully at that, though the mirth in her eyes spoke unsaid volumes to how much fun she was having teasing Cullen.

“Some templars do vow celibacy in dedication to the maker however…” Cullen explained, trying to retain a modicum of decency trying to push the sudden barrage of unwanted thoughts pertaining to him and the inquisitor from his mind.

“And have you?” She asked, that deceptively adorable smile gracing her lips once more. “Taken such a vow?”

“No…” Cullen coughed, kicking himself mentally for responding to quickly. Don’t look so desperate Rutherford…

“Maker can we please speak of something else?” Begged the previous Templar knight, his skin felt like it was on fire and if his heart were to beat any faster Cullen feared dropping to the floor dead in front of all his new recruits.

“Mm… I suppose…” sighed the inquisitor teasingly, giving in to this torturous game of cat and mouse between them. “Tell me about life in the Circle Cullen.”

Andraste, the way she can change the subject like she wasn’t just inadvertently asking to pin Cullen to the wall five seconds ago.

Maker knows this inquisition will be the death of him.

HIHIHI Sorry for being dead I almost failed college el-oh-el but everything’s okay now!!!! I had my birthday last week and have been chilling in my dorm with my kitty (my ass somehow escaped academic probation) for the last few days when I decided to finally finish one of my drafts TT I hope you enjoyed this short Drabble

[sugawhaaa]

Okay hear me out either jungsu or junhan having the INSATIABLE urge to kiss you stupid which they would obviously never do because you’re still friends and they respect you to much but after a little goofing around you end up a pinned under them and just look so pretty and they just can’t hold back maybe it’s a little spicy maybe it’s incredibly spicy whatever direction you want to take it

JUNGSU DRABBLE

♡•{is that even a question}•♡

Warnings//genre:: fluff, confession, wee lil bit suggestive,

Pairing:: friend!Jungsu x gn(?)reader

A/N:: omg this took me so long to complete I'm sorry 😭 idk how long this request has been in my drafts for but it wouldn't surprise me if it was over a year...

Xh masterlist:: 🍭

🎧::

You and Jungsu had been friends for years. The two of you are inseparable but Jungsu always thought of you a little more. When you first became friends everything was fine, you really were just friends and he felt that way too. As things proceeded he slowly felt himself falling for you. He didn't want to but he couldn't help it. When he saw you during prom, everything changed.

Every time you hang out he can't help but admire your lips, wishing he could just kiss you, once was all he needed.

The two of you had just moved into an apartment as "friends" because it was most convenient to split the cost of rent instead of paying full price. House pricing was no joke these days and who wouldn't want to move in with their best friend? You were putting your bed sheets on your bed when Jungsu knocked on the door before opening it. He watched your body as you leaned over the bed to tuck in the corners of the bed sheets. His breath caught in his throat but he composed himself.

"You still settling in?" He said in a teasing tone as he walked over to you. You stood up and turned to him.

"Yes I am," you crossed your arms, pretending that his statement highly offended you. You went over to a bin on the floor grabbing your pillows, fluffing them up before putting them on your bed. "Too bad I didn't have a big strong man to help me," You smirk and he laughs.

"What, are some pillows and blankets too heavy for your little arms?" He teases and you roll your eyes before tossing your weighted blanket to him, causing him to stumble over at the unexpected weight. "Jesus, why do you need a blanket this heavy?" He laughs before putting it on your bed, making sure that its facing the right direction. He helps you get settled in, moving heavier bins and organizing shelves that were too high for you to reach. He then flops down on your bed, your scent rushing over him. You come over to sit next to him, leaning over him slightly.

"Can't you believe we're living together now?" You smile down at him. He can't help but smile in return at your beauty.

"Yeah, it's gonna be pretty wild," Jungsu tilts his head as he looks up at you, his hair a mess on the bed. "Though we basically already did with how often we'd visit each other," He chuckles, stretching his arms out behind his head. He then notices your hair brushing up against his hand, he tugs at it.

"Ow, what was that for?" You scowl at him as you hold your head, sitting up now. Jungsu shrugs and keeps minding his business but then you tug at his hair, much harder. the two of you begin to scawbble, poking and pulling at each other. You then pull out your pillow, hitting it across his head, and that was the final straw. Before you knew it was above you, tickling you mercilessly and as you laughed hysterically, gasping for air, something switched in his head, a flicker of an idea.

He runs the back of his knuckles against your cheek and you freeze, his touch going from teasing to tender. "Jungsu?" You say softly and he looks up into your eyes. Something lingers in his gaze, a need, a desperation you can't quite place; like he's just about to do something but he's holding back. He doesn't reply to your calling, simply leaning down hesitantly, giving you time to dodge, before pecking your lips.

You're left momentarily frozen.

Many times before you thought about liking him more than a friend but there was always this inner turmoil about the idea. There's all sorts of things to consider before falling for a person, or at least admitting it to yourself, the main one being: How will this effect your relationship now? No one wants to lose a friend and what's a worse way to lose a friend other than replacing your thoughts of them to be romantic? But suddenly all these thoughts came flooding back to the surface.

"I'm sorry," He apologizes, his voice thick with sincerity and conflicting emotions. You aren't sure how to reply. You don't need him to apologize but on the other what else is there to say?

The room falls silent. Painfully silent. "Sorry, I'll leave now," He pulls himself up but you take his hand. He turns to you surprised but there's still a hint of sadness beneath his eyes.

"Don't go," You slowly let go of his hand as he steps closer. "We should talk,"

"I don't know what to say," He quickly replies with a sharp, honest answer. There's another pause and you swear you can hear footsteps of people walking outside. You take a deep breath as you think of response.

"But I feel like now, whether we like it or not, we need to talk," You look up at him and his cheeks flush pink. He nods and sits down beside you. "I'll start. I've been thinking for a few years now about whether or not I have feelings for you," You begin and Jungsu braces himself for a rejection of a lifetime. "And I could never quite make up my mind," You confess and he nods, understanding. "But I think I just couldn't admit it to myself. I was so afraid of losing you or changing things, I was afraid of change," You admit and Jungsu looks up at you quickly.

"I kinda felt the same. I liked you for a long time but I thought I'd die without you knowing," He chuckles, "But I guess, uh, now we're here?" He forces a nervous smile and you laugh at how tense he is.

"So, does this mean we're a thing?" You ask, your words only pure of intent.

"Do you wanna be?" He smiles shyly and you can't help but giggle at him.

"Is that even a question?"

[pingnova]

Supernatural writer Steve Yockey was added to the project last year, latest in a line of writers for AOS4. It was decently big news from a Variety article:

The studio still intends to make what it’s dubbed the “final chapter” for the Pine-Quinto-Saldaña cast, and Steve Yockey (“The Flight Attendant”) is writing a new draft of the script.

Yockey is famously popular among Destiel fans for being friendly towards the ship. That's no guarantee that that AOS4 will have explicit Spirk but it certainly gives me some hope.

He was writing for Dead Boy Detectives - now that it's over he has room for another project. Part of the dithering could be that Paramount hasn't liked anyone's script enough yet - they had the same problem with TMP and AOS1 which held both productions back. Can't be sure that Yockey's script will make the cut. I sure hope it does though.

Last big update I heard, Zoe Saldaña signed on as Uhura again October 2024, but hadn't seen a script yet.

If SNW is gonna keep insisting that the “deepening slow-burn bond” between K/S that’ll be happening in S3 is strictly platonic, then I think AOS4 should come out with Chris Pine and Zachary Quinto making out sloppy style for a third of the running time just to prove a point

[tldrthor]

Not even death (part one) | bucky barnes

// Summary: It's been 70 years of being his widow, and the world had moved on. But she never would. Commiserating on their wedding anniversary, (y/n) Barnes is attacked by an assailant as she visits her husband's grave. There's something just a little too familiar about the whole thing.

// warnings: ws!bucky barnes x avenger!wife!reader, lots of grief, canon-typical violence, angst, f!reader, platonic!steve being a cutie patootie

// word count: 4.5k

enjoyed? please like/reblog! you can find my masterlist here <3

part two | part three

The third best day of her life was her wedding day. 

“Would you switch that off?” She motioned toward the radio in the corner, its incessant drone filling the room. The news blared on—reports of the war, the draft, the daily toll of lives lost. She didn’t need to hear any more. She had already heard it in her head a thousand times, played over and over. Her fiancé was a sergeant, for God’s sake. And she, herself, was getting ready to be shipped off to Europe as a nurse, just another casualty of a war that seemed endless.

Her mother bustled around her, fingers moving with practiced precision as she pinned back her daughter’s hair, spraying the air with the sharp scent of hairspray. She worked on her like a sculptor carving stone, the final touch of a masterpiece. Every movement was deliberate, as if her daughter’s future rested entirely on the perfection of her appearance.

“Sweetheart,” her mother’s voice was soft but laced with concern, “are you sure about this?” The question came between bursts of the toxic spray. “James is a wonderful boy, but this is so rushed. Maybe you should wait until after the war. After everything settles down.”

The girl sitting in front of the mirror understood the hesitation, the fear that gripped her mother’s heart. She saw it in the tightness of her shoulders, in the way her hands shook ever so slightly as she worked. Her mother didn’t understand, couldn’t. How could she? How could anyone? The love she shared with Bucky wasn’t something that could be explained in simple words or the framework of time. It wasn’t about waiting until after the war — it was about the now. It was about carving a life together, even if that life was destined to be brief. It was about this moment. And if the war did its worst, she needed to know the world would remember their love.

“Maybe there won’t be an after,” she whispered, almost to herself, the weight of the words heavier than she intended.

Her mother paused, the hairspray can still in her hand, but didn’t turn to look at her. Instead, she leaned in, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s head, the warmth of the gesture lingering long after she pulled away. She returned to her task, the silence between them thick with unsaid things. Her mother didn’t have to say anything. She knew the question was unanswerable, the truth too raw to put into words.

The memory had been burning its way into her thoughts since the moment she woke up that morning. Over the years, the pain had dulled – god knows it had been long enough. But on days like today it felt like the pain all came flooding back – like she hadn’t moved forward from that day, and all the tragedy that followed, at all. It was her second least favourite day of the year: their wedding anniversary.

“Penny for your thoughts?” A familiar voice interrupted her self-pity from the doorway of her office. He knew what day it was. And she was certain he was here to make sure she wasn’t spiralling into the familiar, unending depths of grief she had been known to inhabit.

She mustered a small smile, relief creeping over her features as he walked in and sat in the chair opposite her. “Just reminiscing.” She typed quickly, finishing the email she absolutely had to send now, before giving her full attention to the Captain.

“Seventy-four years, huh? Hard to believe.” Steve leant back in the chair, his hands clasped neatly over his lap. She could feel him examining her every move, looking for signs of weakness no doubt. He continued; “How’re you holding up?”

She sighed. “I’m doing okay, Steve. Going to visit his grave later… if you want to join?” 

“I wouldn’t want to impose–”

She shook her head at him, cutting him off with a gentle firmness. “Nonsense, Stevie. You’re never imposing. We’ll go to the cemetery and then grab some italian from that place in Brooklyn?” 

He nodded, his features softening. He knew that her insistence was not her being kind – it was an unspoken way of asking him not to leave her alone. “Italian it is.”

A sharp knock on the door interrupted their moment. The agent standing in the doorway straightened, a look of respect on his face. “Sorry to disturb you, Commander. Fury’s requesting your presence in his office.”

Her gaze flicked up from the papers in front of her, her expression shifting from the kind, friendly one that Steve was used to, to the calm professionalism of the former head of SHIELD and current Commander. “I’ll be right there, Agent. Thank you.” 

She stood up from her desk, the movement deliberate, Steve following her lead. “Sorry, Steve. Duty calls.” Her tone softened slightly, but still carried the weight of someone used to giving orders.

“Right you are, Commander.” He smirked, a teasing glint in his eyes.

She rolled her eyes at him but couldn’t suppress a small, fond smile. Her heels clicked down the hall, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet office. Left behind in the silence, Steve reached for the photo frame on her desk, his fingers brushing over the glass as he studied the picture. 

Both of his best friends, looking the happiest they’d ever been. Him, too, standing to the right of Bucky. He still considered it one of the greatest honours of his life, to have been Bucky’s best man -- to stand at the altar as his two best friends committing their lives to one another.

Back when each other was all they had. They always had an extra inhaler on hand for him, just in case, and secret codewords for when he wasn’t feeling well, so he didn’t have to explain his chronic health conditions to anyone else. When she wasn’t commander, she was just (y/n), and when she wasn’t visiting Bucky’s grave instead of celebrating an anniversary they should’ve spent old and grey together.

Back when they were just kids, ready to be shipped off to war. 

The church was full, but it might as well have been empty. It was just the two of them at that moment. Just Bucky and her, standing at the altar in front of their family and friends, yet none of that mattered. Everything else — the wedding guests, the flowers, the music — faded away, leaving only the man in front of her.

Her hands were trembling, but she didn’t think he noticed. She tried to keep her mind away from the next steps, from the inevitable. They had no idea what would happen when they were shipped off to the other side of the world. Neither of them did. This moment was all they had.

Bucky stood tall in his uniform, as handsome as she remembered from their first meeting, when he had looked at her with those wide brown eyes and a grin that made her stomach flip. His strong hands gripped hers tightly, like he was afraid to let go. His jaw was tight, his shoulders squared — he was trying to hold it together, just like she was.

The minister spoke, but her attention was fixed on him. The slight furrow of his brow, the way his mouth turned down in concentration, the way he steadied his breath before every word. She wanted to reach out, pull him into her arms, and whisper that everything would be fine. But she couldn’t lie to him. She couldn’t promise that.

"Do you, James Buchanan Barnes, take (y/n) to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or worse, in war and in peace, as long as you both shall live?" The minister's voice was deep, but it seemed so far away.

Bucky’s grip tightened on her hand. "I do."

The weight of that simple phrase hung in the air between them, pulling at the corners of her heart. The words were not just an affirmation of love, but a promise — one that would either be honoured in the years to come, or one that would be broken by the unforgiving hands of fate.

The minister turned to her, his eyes kind, yet somber. She swallowed hard, forcing the lump in her throat down as her hands shook. "And do you, (y/n), take James Buchanan Barnes to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or worse, in war and in peace, as long as you both shall live?"

"I do."

The minister smiled softly, as though understanding what they were really asking of each other — what they were really saying. This wasn’t just a wedding. It was a promise, forged in the fires of uncertainty, that they would try to carry their love into whatever came next, whether that was days, months, or years.

Bucky squeezed her hands once, then brought them up to his lips, kissing the back of her hand gently. She saw the soft smile on his lips, the one that always made her feel like the luckiest woman in the world. She smiled back, even though the pit in her stomach had only deepened.

"By the power vested in me by the State of New York," the minister continued, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Her heart thudded in her chest as Bucky gently cupped her face in his hands. His eyes searched hers for just a moment, full of a hundred unspoken words. Then, he leaned down, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that tasted like heaven and heartbreak. He kissed her like he was memorising the feel of her, like he wasn’t sure when he’d be able to do it again.

Got held up in a meeting, I’ll meet you at the cemetery? The text blinked on her phone screen. She sighed, slipping her coat on and locking her office door. She hadn’t really wanted to go by herself, but she didn’t mind. She knew he would keep his word.

She stepped into the cool New York air, letting the crisp bite of it settle in her lungs. She could have taken a cab, but today, she decided to walk. The weather, the perfect chill she had once shared with Bucky, should have brought some comfort. They had always loved walking on days like this – finishing with a steaming hot cup of cocoa from Marcels’ street cart. She could almost taste it, even though Marcel and his cart were long gone. Today, it was different. The cold air was suffocating, like a reminder that she would never have that again.

She got there quicker than she intended to, having realised she was marching there. The squeak of the poorly-maintained gate interrupted the eerie silence of the cemetery, even the wind barely stirring the trees. Not even the noise of the traffic dared to encroach on this hallowed ground, as if the outside world was shut out.

Her feet moved on their own, guided by the kind of muscle memory that only comes from years of repetition. She didn’t need to think about where she was going—she had walked these paths so many times, the route was etched into her mind. She had come here hundreds, maybe thousands, of times.

The last slivers of sunlight were fading, casting long, stretching shadows over the gravestones, highlighting the one she was here to see. 

Sgt. James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes Gave his tomorrow for our today. 1917 - 1945

Looking at the familiar stone, she felt the weight of the world pressing into her shoulders. She didn’t cry here these days – she couldn’t bring the tears to fall. It felt more like her heart was being plunged into an ice bath and held until it screamed for air.

“Hi, handsome.” She smiled, touching the top of the stone, ever so lightly. She had noticed, the past few times she had come, that there was a little dip in the stone where she had touched the stone every time she came to visit for the last seventy years. Another reminder of how long she had been alone. 

She remembered him at the altar, standing tall as her father walked her down the aisle. He had been a strapping young man, full of strength and kindness, with an unshakable need to protect those around him. She had adored his Sergeant’s uniform — the way it spoke of everything he had endured, his unwavering dedication, and the spirit that had always driven him. It was that same uniform he wore when he became her husband, in that perfect moment when she thought maybe everything would be okay.

And then, last year, she had seen it again — his uniform — displayed at the Smithsonian exhibition. The sight of it, the memory of him in it, hit her like a punch to the gut. She had barely managed to hold it together long enough to step away, stumbling to the bathroom where she had collapsed in front of the sink, choking back bile.

A sudden shift caught her attention – the crunch of a footstep. There hadn’t been anyone else here. Her instincts kicked in before her mind could process the danger. Her hand dropped to her side where her concealed knife rested, fingers brushing the hilt as she turned on her heel. 

A shadow at the edge of the cemetery. The figure stepped into the rapidly dimming light, revealing a man clad in dark tactical gear, his face obscured by a mask and goggles. A glinting silver arm by his side. It wasn’t the kind of thing you wore to visit a graveyard.

For a moment, as they locked eyes, there was nothing but silence. She thought, just for a second, that there was something familiar about him. There was a stiff hesitance in his actions – his face turned briefly from her to the gravestone she was visiting. It wasn’t the right time to think about it, and she wasn’t one to say no to an advantage in a fight.

In one fluid motion, she drew her blade and without missing a beat, she moved. She sprinted towards him, adrenaline surging in her veins, and threw herself in a roll to the side. The assailant’s reaction was immediate – his metal arm shot out to intercept, but she was quicker. She ducked low and spun around, coming up on his left side and launching a series of precise strikes.

Her knife aimed for his throat, but he blocked it effortlessly with his metal arm, the screech of metal against metal echoing in the still air.

The man moved quickly, the metal arm slashing towards her with terrifying speed. She dodged to the side, her own body moving like a blur but narrowly avoiding the strike. She retaliated immediately, aiming a series of rapid strikes at his torso, testing his defences once again.

His reactions were sharp, almost inhumanly so. Faster than anyone she had ever seen. She managed to keep pace with his dizzying movements, moving with the fluidity of someone who had done this dance many times before.

She threw another jab, hitting his side. It did nothing – she hadn’t managed to land an effective attack yet, and she was one of the best in SHIELD at hand-to-hand. There was something not right here, something she was missing… 

Taking advantage of her failed hit, his boot connected with her chest, sending her crashing against one of the gravestones. She hit the ground hard, but didn’t stay there – she rolled with the momentum, popping back to her feet smoothly, eyes never leaving her opponent.

He lunged forward, slashing upwards with his knife. She screamed as it made contact with her cheekbone, her hand moving up to cover her new wound and wincing at the claret staining it as she pulled away. She tried to ready herself for his next move, but with the distraction, he was too fast. His strikes were brutal, calculating, each one designed to incapacitate. She was no stranger to close combat but she struggled to match him blow for blow, as the fight dragged on.

She began to feel the weight of her exhaustion. The assailant was relentless, she would give him that. Like a force of nature. She couldn’t help but feel more and more that the odds were stacking against her. As she tired, the attacker only seemed to get quicker and stronger.

With one miscalculation, she found herself pinned to the ground, his boot pressing into her chest, the cold metal of his arm looming over her. She desperately gasped for breath, struggling beneath his weight as she began to feel her ribs crack – the harder she struggled, the tighter his grip seemed to get.

“Get off!” She shouted, desperate to break free. Her words only seemed to fuel his determination. Maybe this is it, she thought. She took a glance at Bucky’s grave – maybe they would finally be together again. 

As her struggles became weaker and weaker, a haze reached around the edge of her vision. A red, white and blue blur collided with the attacker’s side, sending him stumbling back off of her chest.

“HEY!” Steve’s voice was like the heralding of an angel. She gasped in a breath of relief as the pressure on her chest finally released.

She scrambled up, her heart still hammering – her chest in immeasurable pain. Steve stood between her and the assailant as she felt like she was hacking up half a lung and at least part of her heart. 

“You good?” He called back to her, his eyes unmoving from the man in front of them. The man who previously had been ready to kill her, but now seemed to be showing hesitation once again. She could only cough and splutter in return, but it meant she was breathing at least.

The moment of hesitation passed. 

With a growl, the attacker lunged again, attacking Steve with a fury that made her blood run cold. But Steve was ready. He met the assault with precision, using his shield to parry each blow, his movements fluid and practiced.

The attacker didn’t manage to get through Steve’s defences in the way he had hers, no longer able to use physical strength as an advantage. With a sickening crack, Steve’s shield slammed into the side of his head.

It was a move that would’ve knocked an ordinary man out cold, at the very least. But their assailant simply shook his head, as if trying to clear it. His eyes seemed to lock onto her for a brief moment, and then, in the blink of an eye, he darted back, disappearing into the shadows.

Steve and her both froze, staring at the empty space where he had been.

“What the hell was that?” She muttered, trying desperately to catch her breath. Her legs shook from the adrenaline, and Steve finally tore his eyes away to look at his friend. 

His jaw tightened as he scanned the area. “I don’t know, I’ve never seen anyone move like that.” He turned to her, “Are you hurt?”

“Cut to the face, at least a couple of broken ribs.” She wheezed. “Who the hell was that, and what did they want from me? Why did he run?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, but it definitely wasn’t a random thug. That was a highly trained killer. And whoever he is or whatever he works for, they clearly want you gone.”

She shook her head. “If they wanted me gone, why wouldn’t they have just positioned a sniper above the cemetery. This felt personal, Steve.”

He grimaced. There was something deeply troubling about the whole affair. Attacking a widow at her husband’s grave, that wasn’t a coincidence, it was a message. Nothing was sacred, and nowhere is safe.

“We need to go.” He put his arms around her, helping her along as she continued to splutter and cough. She threw one last look back at Bucky’s grave, her own blood splashed across it. Something about the imagery made her shudder.

“You’re not going back to your own apartment, (y/n). You can stay with me.” Steve’s voice was firm, with a strong undercurrent of concern – it was clear that he wasn’t asking, just telling. Normally, she would protect, argue that she needed her space. But after the terrifying encounter in the cemetery, the weight of everything – the fight, the fear, the haunting glimpse of the man sent to kill her – maybe it was for the best that she wasn’t alone.

She tilted her head, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I’m technically your superior, Captain. You can’t give me orders.” The teasing edge was there, but it was tired, the last remnants of her usual strength finally slipping away.

Steve chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. But there was something in his eyes that told her he wasn’t going to let her play that game tonight.

“Unfortunately, Commander,” he replied, his tone playful but insistent. “I promised my best friend I would look after his wife for the rest of my days before he left for Europe. And that trumps any kind of hierarchy said wife finds herself at the top of.”

She smirked, recalling the days before – before everything went wrong, before there was a permanent hole in her life that took the shape of Bucky Barnes. Before the war. Before everything.

Her smile faltered just slightly as she shifted on the couch, wincing from the pain in her chest. Steve was quick to step closer, his hands hovering near her, ready to help.

“You’re sure you don’t need a doctor?” He asked, his voice quieter now, more like the Steve she had once known – concerned and kind, but with an edge of the stoic man who had seen too much and lost too many.

She shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment. “I’ve broken my ribs a thousand times, Stevie. They can’t do anything but pain management.”

There was no bitterness in her voice, just a simple fact. Her body had carried the marks of war for longer than she cared to count – bruises, scars and the slow, agonising wear of decades spent in battle. They say time heals all wounds, but she had enough marks – physical and mental – to prove that wrong.

He sat down beside her, his frown deepening. “What about the cut on your face?” He asked gently, his eyes scanning the healing wound on her cheek. “Looks like it’s going to scar.”

She reached up slowly, brushing her fingers over the cut, the jagged line that would probably never fade. “Just add it to the list, I guess.” she said quietly. Her voice was light, but there was a hardness in it. She was weary after fighting for so long – fighting to survive, fighting for what’s right, fighting to honour a love that was taken from her before it had a chance to bloom.

Seventy years. And yet, in some ways, she still felt like that woman in the secondhand dress marrying Sergeant Barnes, praying that her husband would come back to her. 

He didn’t. But she had kept going regardless.

A quiet silence filled the room as Steve stood up, moving around his small Brooklyn apartment. The soft clinking of dishes and the rhythmic sounds of him making tea or coffee or whatever else he could find to busy his hands was soothing, almost like a lullaby. 

She sank back into the cushions, closing her eyes as the pain in her side and the exhaustion in her bones began to catch up with her. She had barely slept the night before, and today had been a nightmare in every definition of the word — a fight with some kind of enhanced being, a near-death experience, and now, Steve was here, keeping her from falling into a darkness she wasn’t sure she could crawl out of alone.

“I’m exhausted,” she murmured, her voice catching slightly. She didn’t need to pretend in front of Steve, not after everything they’d been through.

Steve moved quickly to her side, adjusting the blanket around her, his eyes never leaving her face. He didn’t need to say anything. He simply nodded, a small, concerned smile on his lips as he tucked the blanket around her tighter.

“I’ll stay up,” he said softly, his voice steady and comforting. “Keep an eye out. Sweet dreams, (y/n).”

“Thanks, Stevie.” she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut as the exhaustion overwhelmed her.

Her dreams, as they always did, were filled with memories of Bucky. The sound of his laugh, the way he held her hand on their wedding day, the way his arms had felt around her when they said goodbye. And then, the last time she had seen him — the last moment, frozen in time, before everything changed.

“Guess this is it, huh?” His voice was low, filled with both sorrow and resolve.

“So much for a honeymoon.” She smiled, sadly, her fingers brushing over the collar of his uniform. “I just wish I could come with you.”

Bucky let out a heavy sigh, his hands still resting on her face, his thumbs gently stroking her cheeks. “You will. In your own way. You’re going to make a difference, (y/n). You’re gonna help save lives.” His voice cracked slightly as he spoke, and she felt it deep in her bones.

"And you’ll be back," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince him or herself. "You’ll come back to me."

Bucky gave a faint smile, though it was bittersweet. "I’m coming back," he promised, but the weight of it hung between them. "I swear it."

All she could focus on was the warmth of his touch, the strength of his hand holding hers, the slight tremble in his fingertips that betrayed the fear he wasn’t letting anyone see. The two of them stood there, hand in hand, while the world around them celebrated a union that felt both like the beginning of something beautiful and the end of something they couldn’t protect from the violence of war.

I promised, didn't I! Thank you to everyone who voted on my WIP poll, it was super informative!

Reminder you can join my taglist via the google form here <3 Special thank you to @ironwinnerwonderland who specifically requested Bucky Barnes on the form!

Masterlist

[mirabai0821]

Blood and Honey WIP CH 358/2

Pairings: Tav x Halsin / Tav x Astarion Warnings: Oh hey, more angst Words: 631 Summary: Halsin rescues Thaniel, but Tav breaks a rule. And though Halsin and Astarion are bitter rivals, unlike one another in every way, the only thing they can agree on is kicking off in Tav's ass when she does something incredibly dangerous. But it does not go the way they expect.

Tav barely had a moment to collect her breath before Astarion collapsed on her like a dying star.

“How very gods damn dare you!” He seized her by the shoulders, grip so hard it bruised, but his eyes held none of the fury of his voice, only fear.

“Astarion,” Tav sighed. “Can we give it a rest, it’s over. Everything’s fine.”

“No, everything is not fucking fine! Do you have any idea what you just put m—us through with your little stunt?” “C’mon Asty,” Karlach intervened, unsteady on her feet as her last healing potion worked its way through her veins. “No harm, no foul.”

“No! Don’t let a happy outcome overshadow what just happened!”

“You’re overreacting, Astarion,” Shadowheart said.

“I am not.”

“He is not.”

Two voices echoed. 

Astarion and Halsin.

The malignant shadows had dispersed as though banished by sunrise even though the land remained wreathed in darkness. But with its spirit returned, something in the air shifted, lightened. The first whispers of hope scented the breeze.

A miracle, Halsin thought, cradling Thaniel in his arms. But ice cold dread lingered where hope should have bloomed. Seeing Tav on the far side of the portal dredged up a fear that could not be calmed by Thaniel’s peaceful, sleeping face.

Fear that quickly morphed into anger. For the first time ever, he felt kinship with Astarion. He knew exactly what the younger elf felt, knew the exact shape and form and taste of his fury. It bubbled up the back of his throat, tasting of metal and bile.

“Halsin?” Tav reached for him but he shrugged away. 

“I told you to remain here,” he growled through clenched jaw and gritted teeth. 

“I only wanted to…”

“How much help could you have done dead!” Astarion screamed, uncaring of the fey child’s slumber.

“That’s not fair!” Karlach said. 

“No, no,” Astarion countered. “The tadpole in my head, you head, her head, Tav’s head, all our fucking heads – ursine company excluded of course – That’s!! Not fair.”

Tav rose to her full height, tail twitching angrily. “What would you have had me do? Let him die.”

“Yes!” Halsin and Astarion’s voices echoed again and this time they could not ignore it. They exchanged a look, both bewildered yet comforted to find themselves on the same side.

“N-no,” she said, voice wavering from steel to straw in a single syllable. “You don’t…” She looked between the two, lips quivering, eyes watering. The words were there on her tongue but she couldn't say them, she was afraid to say them like this. Tav took a shuddering breath, grateful that Shadowheart and Karlach were there to collect the shattered pieces of herself she knew she was about to leave behind.

“You don’t…You don’t get to pretend to care about me then ignore me. That’s what’s not fair.”

Astarion’s mouth flew open, a retort ready but nothing came, and his mouth shut again with an audible click. Halsin’s face merely burned with embarrassment, his fury melting away to leave behind shame. 

“You both have made it pretty clear that…” Tav stopped again, courage faltering, before it abandoned her wholly. 

But she didn’t care. 

“You’ve both made it pretty clear that I’m not who you want and that’s fine. I’ve accepted that. Made my peace with it. But I don’t understand why…why that also meant that I had to lose you both as friends too.”

“Despite that,” she continued. “I can’t…won’t …stop caring.”

“So there,” she finished.

“Well damn,” Shadowheart whistled. 

“Hell yeah!” Karlach agreed. “C’mon soldier, let’s get you something warm and boozy, you look like you took a bath with a cheese grater.”

Tav smiled, slinging one arm over the barbarian’s shoulder while Shadowheart took up her other. 

The women left the men behind in stunned silence.

[demi-pixellated]

Detective Gallus

[humming-fly]

Happy to report I have finally started listening to Malevolent and to no one's surprise I am already obsessed (I'm almost done with s2 atm please don't send me spoilers yet sdlkfj)

I'll skip over my usual formality of having one normal art post before diving into shitposts let's not waste anyone's time here

[1mm4d13]

Sum stuff goin down with DangerVille and Goji Center

[mihotose]

anyway probably the best way to play disco elysium is to not zone out when its talking politics at you. its the talking politics at you game

[raziiyah]

i liked how this scene explicitly acknowledged how tiny randall really is

[transfemkaladin]

final thoughts on wind and truth:

it was kind of mid. like it was Fine but it felt a lot weaker than the others yaknow

i like adolin, okay? i like shallan as well. i like them a LOT. but their povs (also jasnah’s and dalinar’s) just kind of. dragged a little for me?

kaladins therapist arc was fun (he gave therapy to a talking sword. on ACCIDENT. that’s fucking hilarious) but felt a little unsatisfying. the whole time he was talking with szeth i felt frustrated bc like. idk

and don’t even get me STARTED on the “‘no,’ kaladin said. ‘im his therapist’” line. that bit was ASS. it broke the tone and tension of the scene unnecessarily, in a way that hindered rather than enhanced the storytelling, and for what. an unfunny joke.

by the way. for a book that was theoretically supposed to focus on szeth i really wish it had done more of that. yeah he got more pov chapters and stuff but also i came away. not knowing nearly as much about shinovar as i would’ve liked. which is a personal preference thing (maybe i just liked elid a lot tbh. i do think she should’ve gotten at least one pov chapter)

oh THATS what it was. the only outside perspective we really got of szeth was kaladin’s. i think seeing how szeth was perceived by others while living in shinovar would’ve been a good addition.

ishar’s plotlines felt unsatisfying as well. like all that shit with torturing spren and putting them into physical bodies, and then it was just written off as “oh yeah that was just part of his insanity 👍”. like yeah it was but i wish it had gone somewhere

GAVINOR. the loose end of all time to me. what the fuck happened to him after the duel. does he remember his secret handshake with lift.

i miss navaniel. toxic yuri please come back to me. with sadalinar and navaniel and kalmoash all gone and kaladin and shallan healing there’s no one to be toxic and insane anymore. it’s just taravangian. we need more interpersonal problems we need more people sabotaging and fucking shit up for no reason

im also sad abt the venli povs bc she was one of my favorite povs in past books. but then in this one she was just There. where is her conflict. she didn’t even swear an ideal or anything.

tbh i think that’s probably my main problem with the book. the plotlines were all interesting and i liked getting to know more about shinovar (and i never really cared about szeth before so im glad we got to know him more!) but it all just felt like it was kind of There. maybe it was bc of the short timeframe but everything just kinda Dragged a little and everyone was kind of There. there’s only so far you can stretch the tension on that contest of champions, and when you spend over 1300 pages covering ten days? everything starts to feel a little like a filler episode.

also a lot of things just felt kind of underwhelming. the truth behind the recreance? eh. the stormfather being tanavast? eh. chana being shallan’s mom? eh. this was probably bc of the tension problem at least a little though

to be clear, i didn’t hate it. there was a lot i enjoyed- it’s just that the parts i enjoyed weren’t really given as much narrative emphasis, and the short timeframe of the story made my sense of pacing weird.