#i'll write this eventually

[ddarker-dreams]

More darling, content (darlingverse) when?/jk I love all your darlings <3

ANON !!! this makes me so giddy you have no idea sjgfksldgj;

i actually have this idea. it's silly but i think it'd be really fun to write. essentially, the MCs (god darling from first contract, HWR reader from hell within reach, SR reader from scarlet ribbons, and n darling from nexus) are stuck in this escape room style scenario. instead of solving puzzles though, if they ever want to leave, they all have to truthfully answer a bunch of very personal questions. for example:

If you could go back in time and change something, what would it be? 

Admit something about yourself you’ve never told anyone. 

these sorts of things.

i think they'd have some interesting interactions...

[talon-is-trying]

Star and KO, final answer-

A: B, what the hell were you thinking??!!

B: YOU TOLD ME NOT TO THINK!

[im-not-a-pleeb]

Okay but John Price who isn't in the mafia, he's mafia adjacent- maybe he's a contract killer or something. His latest target is some fat, balding politician who is in cahoots with the criminal underworld. It would have been an easy job if it weren't for you, his daughter.

As soon as Price lays eyes on you, the plan changes. With your father out of the picture there will be nobody to keep you safe, and he knows that you won't trust him on principle. But that's alright, nothing he can't fix...

So instead of offing the politician, he exposes him. He gets him on trial and makes sure to comfort you through the proceedings. Sits with you in the audience each day, making sure you've eaten and got home safe.

And if there happens to be an attack that kills your father one day as he takes the stand, that's alright. Price will shepard you to safety. He'll offer to look after you until they can ensure nobody is wanting to kill you, as well. Never can be too safe.

Of course, you'd have no idea that he arranged it all from the beginning. You'd only know that he was a constant, protective presence through the nightmare you'd found yourself living in. And if you did somehow find out and try to escape?

Well, Price has Simon for that. The big ghost man would be more than delighted to frighten you back to John's waiting arms. Because "what a silly girl, trying to run like that. Shh birdie, you're safe now. I've got you, yeah? I'll always be here to keep you safe."

[post-it-notes7]

happy 4th anniversary heart and soul!

[confuzing]

It's normal to have like, six plus AU ideas at once right? Anyway, Head Disciple almost Shang Qinghua confronts the cutest little digression from the narrative you ever did see:

SQH: *crouches down in the dirt to examine Shen Yuan*

SY, a baby: *giggles and pats SQH*

SQH: Ok little bro you're super cute but I know for a fact you should have been stillborn.

SY: *chews on his own hand*

SQH: ...you are criminally adorable. Shit. Well, you're here now. What's the worst that can happen?

SY: *high pitched baby yell*

SQH: Exactly.

SQQ: What the fuck are you doing?

SQH: Just admiring your extremely cute baby shidi!

SQQ: *picks SY up* That better be all you're doing.

SQH: Are you hearing this baby bro? Tell your mom we were just talking.

SY: *giggles*

SQQ: Don't be nice to him Shen Yuan.

SY: *waves at SQH*

SQH: *is slain by SY's extreme baby cuteness*

[tea-cat-arts]

Lin Ling's arc was about establishing what the rules of the world even were

Yang Cheng’s arc was about how malicious actors can use those rules/ others' compliance with the rules to screw people over

Cyan's arc was about how the rules aren't set in stone and that a happy ending is still possible

Liu Yuwei's arc was about how by forming genuine connections and building up a real support system, you can put yourself in a position to reforge the rules entirely

In this essay I will-

[winter-parrot]

for @911whatisyourpride week 3: family. took this prompt a little sideways but the idea hit me like a truck like two hours ago and then i typed this entire ficlet directly into the tumblr post dialog like a madwoman, so.

buck doesn't exactly try to adopt a dog, and fails anyway. tommy picks up a dog and an (ex?)-boyfriend. | bucktommy (duh) | post season-8 | 2.4k

now on ao3!

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

Buck keeps thinking about Blaze. Not Bingo, who went back to his family and is probably spoiled and happy and exactly where he belongs. But Blaze, whom for that single day had belonged to Buck. Who had been a friend when he and Eddie were on the outs, and everything was falling apart, and he had nobody to talk to because everyone thought he was overreacting. Someone who was happy to see him, who looked at him adoringly, who took joy from Buck's mere existence and gave joy in return.

Now, his life is a hundred times the mess that it was back then, but the parallels aren't escaping him.

And yeah, yeah, he's always got Maddie. But she's not his, not really; she's got more important people in her life. Her own family. Chimney, and Jee, and newborn baby Robert-who-he-still-cannot-call-Bobby. Chim's got her and Jee and Robert, in return. Eddie's got Chris, and Tia Pepa. Hen's got Karen and Denny and Mara too, now. Athena's got May and Harry, and anyway he's not going to impose on her, not now, not after everything.

Point is, everyone's got someone who's theirs. Everyone except him, that is. For a minute there he thought he might have Tommy, but well. Shows you how much he knows about love, about building a family.

So instead he's sitting all alone--in a shitty little Airbnb he's got for the week, because apartment hunting in LA is anything but fast--thinking about Blaze. And looking up dog rescues, just to dream about holding them all, and bringing one home, and having someone to greet him and be excited to see him when he gets home.

He knows it's pathetic--knew it even then, when he was clinging to Blaze and ignoring Eddie--but the one thing more pathetic than having a dog for your only friend and source of love, is having no one for a friend and source of love. Although, dreaming about having a dog for his only friend and source of love, when he can't even get a dog because he doesn't have a home address and anywhere with a pet deposit is going to be way out of his price range, is probably more pathetic than both.

The thought doesn't stop him from scrolling, and scrolling, and scrolling past the little squares of photos and blurbs. There's a five-year-old beagle named Dot that reminds him a little too painfully of Blaze. A six-month-old mutt of a puppy--they think it's maybe a boxer mix--with bright blue eyes called Frankie. A massive ninety-pound Doberman named Sergeant with a noble air to him--and behaviour problems, apparently. A tiny yorkie, by far the teey-tiniest dog he's ever seen, called Mini.

And then, at the bottom, a raggedy three-legged lab mix called Tres. He's the longest-running resident of the shelter, according to his bio. Lost his leg in an accident, while wandering in the streets. Seven years old, old enough to have trouble being adopted even without the missing leg. He's also got the biggest, most soulful brown eyes Buck's ever seen on a dog. Ever seen period, maybe.

Before he quite realizes what he's doing, Buck has the address memorized and the keys to his Jeep in his hand. No, that's not entirely true. He sort of halfway realizes what he's doing, but refuses to let himself recognize it all the way. Because if he did, then he'd have to acknowledge that it's insane, and then he'd have nothing to do but sit there and think about how pathetic he is, and how sad Tres looked in the photos.

The shelter is almost halfway across the city, because he wasn't exactly paying attention to the location when he started down this impromptu spiral. But that's alright; he's on day one of a four off, so he's got the time to kill. It's early enough, too, so traffic won't even be that bad. (He Does Not think about why he was up so early on his day off. That way lies grief and pain and danger, and he does not want to end up accidentally wrapping his car around a power pole.)

Still, this is LA, and "not that bad" ends up being nearly an hour instead. Plenty of time to think about what the hell he's doing, and all the million reasons it's a stupid, impulsive idea. But he's started this already, going Full Buck as they'd say, and he's determined not to turn back. Maybe he can't take Tres home, doesn't even have a home to take Tres to, but that doesn't mean he can't go see the dog, right? Maybe he can't be enough for anyone in his life, can't make them happy or hold them together, but surely he can be a bright spot in one sad dog's day. He can be good for this one thing.

The shelter's open, but just barely, when he gets there. No cars in the tiny parking lot, thank God, because most sane people don't show up to animal shelters at--he checks his phone--8:17 in the morning. The tiny bells above the door chime a happy little chorus as he walks in. A woman behind the front desk looks up, seeming startled to see him there. Fair enough.

"Hi, u-um, I saw this dog on your website?" Buck says, uncertainty tilting his sentence up into a question.

"Are you looking to adopt?" the woman--Miranda, according to the name tag Buck's now close enough to read--asks, already rummaging for some forms.

"U-um, not-not yet. I don't, um, I don't currently have a pet-friendly place," Buck says. He doesn't have any place, of course, but that's a lot to unload on this poor woman at barely eight in the morning. "B-but, um, but I'd like to someday. When I'm in a- a better place." Winces at the phrasing; apparently he's so chock full of death euphemisms these days, it's leaking out everywhere. "I just, um, I just wanted to see the dog for now? Maybe play wit him for a bit, if-if that's something I can do?"

Miranda looks at him for a long moment. It feels, oddly, like the way Bobby used to look at him. Piercing and uncompromising, but not unkind. Like she was looking at him, really looking, past his shell and right down to the core of him--not to judge, or find him wanting, but just to see. To understand. To maybe even help. The moment stretches like gum, and Buck's not even sure he's breathing. Not until she nods once, sharply, and says, "What was his name? The dog you were looking at?"

"U-um, Tres," Buck says, somehow surprised by this turn of events despite literally showing up here for it. "I was looking at Tres."

Miranda's face turns apologetic. "Oh hon, someone already put in yestereday to adopt him."

Something inside Buck stretches past breaking point, snaps into overstretched pieces. Of course he can't even do this right. Too late and not enough. Forces his lips into a smile that feels far too brittle for how practiced it's become, these past few weeks. "R-right. Okay. That's, that's good for him, right? G-going home to someone who can love him." Love him better than Buck ever could. Who probably has a yard for Tres to play around in, and a cozy fireplace for Tres to curl up in front off, with a fluffy dog bed all set up and waiting.

Miranda nods, but she seems distracted, chewing at her lip. Looks down at her desk. Shuffles through some papers, looking for something. Squints down at one sheet, running her fingers along the lines. "Pick up time, pick up time... ah! Yeah, that's what I thought." She looks up at him, still holding the paper in her hand. "Listen, you seem like a nice guy--the people who come here for the saddest dogs usually are. You can see other dogs, of course, whichever ones you want. But if you've got your heart set on Tres, The owner's out back right now, picking up Tres and his stuff. I can go and ask if he'd be okay with you at least say hi to Tres."

Buck nods, mumbles out a thanks that may or may not come out intelligible past the growing knot in his throat. He can't explain it, why meeting Tres feels so important. Maybe it's because he felt like they were kindred souls, in some terribly pathetic way, forgotten and left behind and waiting, waiting, waiting for someone to finally want him. Maybe it's because he thought that he could save someone, even just one sad dog, from the terrible loneliness eating him up from the inside--and be saved in return. Maybe he just wanted to be good for something, anything, and this was the one tiny thing that felt maybe, possibly, within his reach.

Or maybe he was just a sucker for a sob story and big sad eyes and abandoned dogs. It doesn't have to be that deep.

Miranda pops her head in from the back door where she'd disappeared to. "He said yes, of course. Come on and meet Tres. It'd be good for his socialization anyway, to meet some more people."

Well. At least this whole insane trip wasn't a total loss, then. He can go meet Tres and his new owner, play with a dog for a few minutes, and then drive back to his sad Airbnb so he can keep searching apartment listings. Buck makes his way across the lobby, towards the door that Miranda's holding open. Ducks out through the gap. Steps into a little back yard, lined with straggly grass and patches of sand. Looks around for Tres.

Finds himself looking at familiar blue eyes, instead.

"Evan?" Tommy says, staring right back at him like he's seeing a ghost. His eyes are wide, and so blue, and rimmed faintly red with exhaustion. Buck's pretty sure there's new lines in their corners, stupidly wants to reach out a run a gentle finger over them, to learn their new shapes. Clenches his hands into fists in his pockets to stop himself.

"T-tommy," he says, more breath than word. Has to swallow twice and clear his throat awkwardly before he tries again. "Hey. I, uh, I didn't know you were in the market for a dog."

Tommy shrugs, a little awkward. Something about the motion somehow makes those strong, wide shoulders seem small. "House was feeling too quiet. Thought a dog might help liven things up. Plus, I've always been weak for the puppy eyes." The last sentence comes out with the weight of a confession, too heavy for the back yard of an animal shelter with a soon-to-be-spoiled three-legged dog sniffing around by their feet.

Buck makes his lips curl up at the corner, pretends he doesn't notice it feels more like a grimace than a smile. "You've got good taste," he says, jerking his chin towards Tres. "I had my eyes on him this morning, too."

"Sorry," Tommy says, and it feels like he's talking about more than the dog. "Didn't mean to steal him from you."

It's Buck's turn to shrug, this time. He tries not to think about other things Tommy's stolen, not from him but for him. Tries to hold on to the fading memory of how he felt that sun-drenched morning in Eddie's kitchen, in that helicopter still full of hope over the LA skyline. Tommy's going to be good to Tres. Buck knows, because he was good to him, too. Besides, Tommy's got a solid house, big back yard and a fireplace just like he'd been picturing.

Buck's got no house, and no dog, and no one to go home to. He leans down to pet Tres instead of thinking about that. Lets Tres lick his face and slobber all over him. Pretends that's why dampness weighs down his lashes.

"I was just gonna take him home, get him settled in," Tommy says above him, after a few prolonged minutes of silence.

Buck get up, because he does know how to take a hint, sometimes. Time to get out of Tommy's hair, let him take home the dog he wants without the ex-boyfriend he didn't want. Doesn't meet Tommy's eyes as he turns to leave, because even he's got a limit for how pathetic he's willing to be in one day.

"Do you want to come with me?" Tommy says, the words uncharacteristically rushed.

Buck looks up with surprise. Tommy's got a hand rubbing against the back of his neck in a gesture Buck hasn't seen in ages.

"D-do you want me to?" Buck says. Tries not to feel like he's asking about more than just Tres. Fails. It's like they're having a whole second conversation--except they're not, because they haven't said more than maybe fifty words to each other and neither of them are actually saying it. So maybe it's all in Buck's head; maybe he's gotten so desperate that he's reading signs into innocent

Tommy's wide-eyed again, breathing a little fast and shallow. For a second, he looks almost panicked. Doesn't quite look at Buck as he reaches down to clip a leash onto Tres's collar, and lingers to pet down the line of Tres's spine with a huge hand.

When he stands back up, something in him has straightened. He's steady, looking Buck straight in the eyes as he nods firmly. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. I want you to come home with me." Glances down at his feet, where Tres is sitting patiently with his tongue rolling out. "You and me and Tres."

They're still not talking, not really. Not about the them of it all But it's the closest they've come since the helicopter--no, since before that. Since that morning, maybe.

It feels like an invitation. Like a closed door, reopened. Like a second, third, fifth chance at something.

Buck leans down to give Tres one last pat--for luck, for hope, for gratitude, for courage. He takes the hand Tommy opens to him. Him and Tommy and Tres. It feels like a good place to start.

[neosvcr]

dry humping with anton... him holding your hips, guiding you against his bulge. whispering encouragements against your lips with that grin of his, finding you so adorable when he watches you fall apart on his lap. his own self restraint hanging on by a thread as he felt you leak onto his thigh. cooing at you, almost mockingly, but you were way too desperate to care. pressing kisses against your lips and revelling in the way you struggled to kiss him back. laughing softly when he pulls your hair back to see the tears in your eyes. begging him for his cock, and him promising to give you what you want soon. he just wants to see you pathetic and desperate for him.

[javert]

Tomorrow Ye Will Get Your Pay

Dual Timeline Historical Fiction - 90k words

New Bedford, 1867 Amos Cudjoe, a harpooner on his second voyage, joins the crew of the bark Wampanoag, hoping to earn enough money to return home and marry. Before he can step on board, he meets Tobey, a greenhand freed by the Civil War, looking for something that he isn’t going to find. Amos loans Tobey his last name, and his friendship, and ties their fates together in their dangerous hunt for oil. New Bedford, 2057 Marcus Ashton, a historical interpreter on a reproduction whaling vessel, finds Amos's journal-- and loses himself. As his life falls apart in the hottest summer on record, visions of the past and future offer no consolation for the present.

[Read for free on AO3] [Print/Epub pay-what-you-want on itch.io]

Cover image: Landing the Shore End of the Atlantic Cable - Richard Dudley

[spacetimeaccordionfolder]

please please please Dark World Butcher??? Please?? Dennis Collins again please? Snarling wolf like animal who just can't wait to get his teeth wet? But even more so?? Please?????

[mellosdrawings]

i love the n2 squad 🙇🏻‍♀️ please spare any angst crumbs if you have some

"I love the n2 squad, please make them suffer <3" Sorry that made me cackle xD Same tho

Angst 1:

Jamil is obviously very self conscious about his position compared to Leona and Vil. No matter what he stays stuck in his own mind about being a servant while they are (basically) royalty, being only vice Housewarden while they are Housewardens, being in second year while they are in third year, etc. He's seen with his own two eyes what Vil and Leona are capable of too.

He's not self-deprecating so much as he is frustrated. He wants to be worthy of them, he knows he can hold his own beside them. But he's still very self conscious and he hates it.

It comes in little things, but one of the scenario I've thought about is "kneeling" (no, not that kind, perverts /jk). Vil, while being the most perfect goddess ever, isn't actual royalty, and Jamil has knelt for him a few times while dancing and caring for his feet after wearing new heels for too long. With Leona though? Nope. He completely blocks. Just the thought makes him resent himself and Leona. But also Leona despises how obviously Jamil treats him and Vil differently.

(How do they resolve that? Well first they talk it out despite both being wound up. Vil acts as mediator.

And then Leona shocks everybody by kneeling to Jamil. He tries to even things out even though he can't change their situation. Yet. Because in truth he's such a sap that his very first thoughts about marrying his boyfriends happen here. He can even things out.)

(“Do you want a massage ?”

Leona and Vil’s attention crash on him with a weight that sends Jamil off balance. “What ?” he asks.

“You wish to massage my feet ?”

And Jamil realizes the implications of what he just said. There are massages and there is kneeling at one’s feet to attend to them. And Jamil has sworn to himself that he would never kneel again, that he would find a way to get back on his feet to stand as high and proud as Kalim, that no matter what he would never fake submission again.

It’s not fake here. Submission ? Maybe. Worship ? Definitely. But it’s not fake. Jamil would gladly go down on his knees for Vil, any and every time without a second thought, without shame. Because Vil wouldn't ask that of him. Vil doesn't need to belittle anyone to be able to stand over them, Vil would never belittle Jamil like that.

So Jamil goes down on his knees and lays a hand on Vil’s calf. “It’s alright,” he reassures them, and for once he means it. “Here.”

Vil only hesitates a couple more seconds before he gives one foot to Jamil.

While his hands work the blood flow inside Vil’s feet and calves, he takes a side look at the heels. They are brand new, Jamil sees, not even a single sign of wear on the soles. They have cut into Vil’s heels a bit so Jamil avoids the area and mentally notes to check into the bathroom for a first aid kit.

Vil sighs, melts into his seat, and Jamil smiles to himself.

And then Leona huffs. And it doesn't sound like a good thing.

Even Vil redresses in his seat to send an inquisitive glance at him. Leona just shakes a lazy hand toward them and turns on the bed for a nap. “Ignore him,” Vil says to Jamil. “He’s being petty.”

“Why, do you want a massage too ?”

Leona snarks a sardonic laugh. “As if you’d drop on your knees for me.”

And…

Jamil wouldn't. His hands halt on Vil’s feet. Jamil doesn't think he could kneel for Leona like he does for Vil, at least not without feeling resentful. The last thing Jamil wants is to find any reason to resent Leona. But things as they are, Leona’s status reminds him too much of the Asim.

He could kneel for Vil without feeling ashamed of himself. That man was no man, but a deity descended to earth in the form of the most gracious and beautiful being they could find. He has hordes of people willing to stand in lines for a second of his time, helpers all around him adjusting his clothes and makeup and hair. He worked hard to end where he is.

Leona is a prince. Born into royalty, possessing servants, and any time Jamil thinks too hard about them he’s unnerved.

Of course he loves Leona. Of course he’d do almost anything for him. But Jamil has been conditioned to serve and Leona is used to be served and Jamil just can’t.

He can’t.)

(Drabble I've had in my drafts for a while.)

Angst 2:

Another LeoJami but it's just too easy to imagine them at odds.

The first few months are... difficult, to say the least. Because while Jamil is very good at forethought, he's also used to have a very open and talkative ward. Leona though seems to be unable to express himself properly, barely saying a word, talking in riddles, etc.

Of course Jamil explodes at some point. "Can't you just be clear for once?! Do I have to play mind games whenever I talk with you?!"

Oh, but it's not just between those two. As I've once said, communication is a pretty difficult thing for them all. Vil isn't faring any better. He does keep things to himself far too much until he reaches breaking point, keeps his hardships from the other two until they have to physically restrain him into bed so he can take a break and talk to them.

(“Why are you kissing me ?”

Jamil thinks Leona has fallen asleep once more until the man finally moves, just enough to show his face to Jamil without actually releasing him.

He looks positively unimpressed.

“You are very slow on the uptake, Viper. Not the first time I guess.”

Jamil feels like punching him. Is that a quip about how long it took him to understand Leona's intentions back in Tartarus ?

“Contrary to popular belief, I cannot read people's minds,” Jamil says with gritted teeth. He's just good at guessing what Kalim wants from him since they have done it for so long, and people started thinking that's just a thing he does with everybody.)

(Short excerpt from my LeoJami fic)

Angst 3:

Also, for a few weeks after they start dating, Jamil is... very confused about Leona and Vil's flirting. When he talks like that to other, it's certainly not because he likes them, so it just sounds like they are fighting to him. It makes him a bit anxious for a while before he eases into the relationship and gets used to their love language and banters.

Plus, in my own headcanon Leona and Vil have been something for some time now, so Jamil also has the fun ordeal of carving his place into the relationship. Try to be with them and not with them. Leona and Vil have to learn to change their habits to make some place for Jamil, while Jamil has to assert himself. It... becomes angsty really fast until they are forced to tackle this issue.

(Jamil has never felt more awkward.

He’s in the back with Vil, Leona acting as their personal chauffeur, holding a manicured hand in his like it is the most natural thing in the world. And he feels awkward.

Vil and Leona have been bickering (flirting) ever since they got in the car and Jamil just doesn't know what he’s supposed to do. They have a snark in their flirting that Jamil could never reciprocate. He’s been bitchy with Leona a few times but that hadn't been flirting at all then. Leona just got on his nerves and Jamil had to exteriorize his annoyance somehow, it’s been in the form of arrogant remarks and biting threats that never once deterred Leona.

And he won’t even try with Vil. There’s no way he’s baring his fangs at him, even for a flirt or a joke.

So here he is, listening to a flirting Vil and Leona must have honed for years, and he feels like a complete stranger. He might as well not be here, he’s not even sure Vil and Leona would realize if he vaporized into dust.

It's not the first time he feels like that in only a week. Vil and Leona are assertive, Jamil is not. Vil and Leona have history. Jamil is brand new. Vil and Leona have their habits. And Jamil… well, his habits are to stay quiet to the side until the big shots ask something from him.

Jamil isn't complaining. They have been nothing but fantastic all week with him, Jamil must have reached the gates of heaven and been allowed in to enjoy such wonders. He wouldn't trade that for anything.

But… At times it feels like it's only Vil and Leona, and Jamil doesn't know how to dance around that. He's not sure if he should carve his way into their walls until he is completely nestled and they couldn't possibly remove him, or whether he should let them be just Vil-and-Leona, even when Jamil is around.)

(Drabble I've had in my drafts for a while)

Angst 4:

No, actually I'll keep this one for later 😏 Just know it involves a STYX rewrite with @aria-faye and it is veeeeery angsty (and soft. And angsty. And soft. And very angsty)

(Sneak brainstorm arts from the project fufufu)

[bumblingbabooshka]

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

[everythingspokenfor]

Friends with benefits with Bakugou, but with a bit lies of angst, you want it to be more, even slightly more than what you get would suffice, but Bakugou, he regrets whatever you too already have going on, wishes he could go back in time and stop himself from every starting this arrangement.

[toupee-or-nottoupee]

need me a bagginshield fic that's doin a parallel of that scene in HUJ where thorin is all like "Why did you come back?" and bilbo is like "Because I have a home. And I'm going to help you get yours back if I can because it was taken from you."

and its a reshirement of Thorin going back to the shire like a year or three later and bilbo is like "Why did you come back" and mr dwarf goes "Because you helped me take back my home. And I have found, Master Baggins, that mine seemed to be with yours."

[gossippool]

clownpool anyone? <3

when logan joins a circus troupe to replace the previous lion tamer, wade immediately catches his attention. his costumes are bright and symbol-clashingly loud, and his presence on stage not only matches that energy, but it's unbelievably graceful. he hand-sews all his costumes, and oftentimes wears short sleeves and skirts with gloves and stockings. on rare days, though, he wears the jumpsuits.

it's different when the curtains are down and the stage lights are off. wade is friendly enough, but he never talks. some of the troupe don't even know if he can. they tell logan that he walks so quietly that he often scares them without meaning to, so they've taken to making him wear bells everywhere. (they kept having to increase the number of bells, because he's somehow insanely stealthy even with them on.)

he's just as strange as his clown persona, but in a subdued way. logan catches him sleeping in the most impossible places, mask and makeup off, toy unicorn always attached to him somehow. the first time logan sees wade without his mask is when he finds him sleeping, curled up like a cat, on the aerial hoop. it's how logan finds out that the scars he sees not covered by his stockings and gloves cover his whole body.

some of them tell logan in whispers that his house burned down as a kid, hence the burn scars. some speculate that he was the one who did it (logan finds out much, much, much later that this is true--he'd burned down the house of his abusive parents, fully intending to get burned down with them, before the firemen raached the scene and pulled him out. logan also finds out just how deep wade's self-loathing runs. it's during the very bad days that he wears the jumpsuits to cover himself up.)

logan initially planned to maintain a cordial distance from him. everyone else seems to be quietly fond of wade, but also slightly scared, and he can't say he blames them. but soon he can't escape wade.

he finds out that wade really loves his lions. he sits next to their cages and pets them, and plays with them on the training ground when logan isn't looking. he doesn't know how wade keeps getting them out of their cages, but he's seen wade asleep draped over them once. the lions seem to love him too.

logan eventually lets wade hang around whole he trains, and he talks to wade and can tell he listens. he can tell wade trusts him.

and one day wade opens up.

[findafight]

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

Again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"the beginning?"

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

"you, I suppose?"

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

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

"The Witch of the West."

"how-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Glinda? The good?"

"that's the one."

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

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

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

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

"what?"

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

"how??"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It still confuses Dorothy.

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

Dorothy shakes her head.

"do you melt swimming in a pond?"

Another shake.

"do you cry in pain when you bathe?"

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

He nods. "Indeed."

"oh! It was a-a trick!"

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

"why?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She hums a question, making him chuckle.

"my name. It's Fiyero."

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

"same to you, Dorothy."

She leans back in to hug him more thoroughly.

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