#I went back to the document

[larissa-the-scribe]

O Desafio - História please!

Thanks for the ask! (from this ask game)

Info:

So this is actually a bit of a weird one lol. I grew up in Brazil and speak Portuguese as a second language, so at one point when my family was traveling in the States, I decided to write a story in Portuguese for practice. I was not good at the finer points of Portuguese, and hadn't read much in Portuguese, so the prose was, uh. lacking. Still, it became a fun vibey fairytale sort of story that I still really like, and hope to someday come back to. Probably in English since I do Not trust my grammar/prose in Portuguese, but who knows, maybe it (and all of my books maybe, fingers crossed) might get translated.

It's the story of a young orphan girl, a skilled information broker, who gets contracted by a councilman to help him confirm the existence of faery encroaching on their kingdom. He's worried that something is terribly wrong in the faery forest that will also affect them, and wants her (and a small team) to find out what they can about the situation. She agrees, because he promises, in return, to get her the proper papers and funding so that she can leave the country --but she is very skeptical that "faery" is a thing. Also the heir to the throne has been missing for a while, which is definitely totally unrelated to the fully-trained knight in their party.

This scene is when Kira, doing preliminary investigations, gets attacked and knocked about by a shape-shifting monster in the woods. She is not a fighter and not used to monsters--thankfully, someone nearby is.

Short snippet:

Uma lança apareceu, de repente, como se estava crescendo do pescoço da criatura. Com um gorgolejo horrendo, a criatura cambaleou por um longo momento, o processo de transformação parado. Tombou no chão. Kira exalou, percebendo que ela estava no chão ainda, estremecendo. Ela ficou instavelmente de pé, retornando a funda ao cinto dela. “Tu deves ser a Kira.” Ela virou, procurando a voz. Pertencia ao um cavaleiro; ele desceu do seu cavalo, levantando o viseiro do seu capacete e revelando uma cara muito mais jovem e gentil do que a armadura pesado prometeu. Ele era mais alto que parecia no cavalo--Kira se ofendeu nisso. Ela não gostava de se sentir mais baixa do que precisava. “Sim, sou eu.” A própria voz era estranho e tremulo. Acalma, Kira. Respirando fundo, ela adicionou com mais força, “e quem é você?” O cavaleiro sorriu e estendeu a mão. “Sou Alnor. Foi mandado para te procurar.”

Translated snippet:

A spear appeared, suddenly, as if it were growing out of the neck of the creature. With a horrible gurgle, the creature staggered for a long moment, its transformation process halted. It thudded to the ground. Kira exhaled, realizing that she was still on the ground, trembling. She got unsteadily to her feet, returning her sling to her belt. "You must be Kira." She turned, seeking the voice. It belonged to a knight; he got down from his horse, raising the visor of his helmet and revealing a face much younger and gentler than his heavy armor promised. He was taller than he looked on the horse--Kira took offense at that. She didn't like feeling any shorter than she needed to. "Yes, that's me." Her own voice was strange, quivering. Calm down, Kira. Taking a deep breath, she added with more force, "and who are you? The knight smiled and extended a hand. "I'm Alnor. I was ordered to come find you."

[malewifeph1lza]

6/5/23 FITMC QSMP - Day 76 - STRANGER IN PARADISE

FIT CLIENT MESSAGE TRANSCRIPTION:

CONNECTING

BYPASSING FEDERATION FIREWALL

ATTEMPT FAILED

ERROR

Hello, it’s me.

Sorry I’ve been taking my sweet time.

I’ve been busy…

We need to pivot from our original plan.

I’ve adopted a son, and I’ve been caring for him.

I’ve grown attached to him, so he’s my priority.

Being a single dad is a challenge at times.

But its much easier than the nomadic lifestyle.

Life here is very different from the wasteland.

But I haven’t forgotten our agreement.

I will fulfill my contractual obligations.

They’re still falling for the whole “vacation” thing.

I ask that you be patient though, as we have a problem.

Something called “The Federation” controls this entire island.

They’ve been keeping us here.

As long as they are in the way, I can't access what you are looking for.

And the anti-cheat on the island is strong.

I haven’t been able to use my abilities.

The Federation must be eliminated for this to succeed.

I’ve gained everyone’s trust and made friends…

I’ve been helping their fight against the Federation in order to advance our plan.

Still… it hurts me to see everyone suffering…

Some have lost things they cared about…

But this struggle is an unfortunate necessity…

The conflict is increasing the value of what you seek…

I know you’re paying me…

But have you considered……

…the true cost?

Regardless of my personal feelings, I’ll slowly move the plan forward.

I hope you find what you’re looking for.

It’s getting late…

MESSAGE FAILED TO SEND

Disconnecting…

[miodiodavinci]

the burnout is real lads . . . . .

[grailfish]

pokes u on thr fumcken NOSE

[monstermoviedean]

anyone else have the weirdest and most vivid dreams between snooze buttons

[jamietwat]

👀

[idsb]

Maybe I should never leave Australia and just find a regular job and stay here forever, because I think seeing someone who takes photos like THIS get hired for a gig I had the connections for but wasn’t even a considered hire on is just the last straw for me lol like this on an arena tour I was well well worth being considered for is just one too many

[tanicus-caesareth]

guarana drama, damage control

[ace-malarky]

Soul of the party for three by three!

oh hey, thanks for the ask @aziz-reads!!

This is a lead in to a scene I have half written bc this story has so many like I just bounce around whatever catches my fancy with this one lmao

Investigation time

Solaris pushed at the warehouse’s great doors, as if they would have been left open. They didn’t so much as sway at his touch. “They slide,” Tamhas said, running his fingers along it. “But also – oh, here.” He brushed his knuckles against a hidden handle, revealing a much more reasonably sized door built into the main one. “It’s also locked, but–” Light, tapping footsteps echoed across the square as Tamhas trailed away, muttering to himself and Tadhg. Solaris spun on his feet, twisting about to see who was creeping up on them. A boy, younger than Solaris, hat pulled low over his eyes, wearing dark but faded tunic and trousers. He paused, balanced as if to run, as he spotted Solaris standing in front of the warehouse. Solaris recognised him from somewhere, but–

just three lads kicking about in the warehouse district, nothing to see here!!

[yandere-daydreams]

do you happen to know where i could find this old yandere sebastian fic?

your guess is as good as mine, buddy. i did make a sorta half-hearted effort to find it when i got that first ask, but it seems to have gotten buried in the deepest bellows of deviantart - where we'll all end up eventually. it's too bad. i'm pretty sure that counts as, like, a historic document or something.

[crunchycricket]

Art school assessment came around, 2024

[astramachina]

Reviewer reads a splatterpunk novel. Gets upset by the graphic depictions of torture and gore.

I am once again begging people to please, please not pick up any random horror novel and go in blind unless you're absolutely certain you can handle anything that fits under the category of horrific. If you don't want to look up content warnings, at the very least make sure what genre of horror you're getting yourself into.

[hourcat]

.

[threewaysdivided]

Hey ! i'm a longtime follower of your blog and I've read a lot of your YJ analysis and why the latter seasons totally flopped. I haven't seen you comment on Young Justice Phantoms, although I guess your opinion remains the same. However I'd love to read it one day.

PS : I do think Greg Weisman is a decent writer, but not that good at characterization and desperatly needs editors and not enablers *sigh*

Hey nonnie!

Glad you’ve found my YJ writing critiques interesting. 

The reason why I haven’t commented on Young Justice: Phantoms (or the final Targets comic) is that I haven’t watched it, haven’t read a synopsis and have no plans to ever do so.  My interest in the series went pretty cold as far back as Invasion but at the time I was willing to give the showrunners good faith on their claims that they had a plan to bring things together and that the problems were mostly production issues.  However, after how bad Outsiders was (and having seen similar awfulness from Greg Weisman in other franchises) I don’t have any good faith or trust left to give them.

I talked at length about how Outsiders left the show with no compelling narrative as part of this big Invasion breakdown (grumpier TL:DR version here), but here are the most relevant sections:

In terms of the Central Conflict, the Light are proved utterly correct: by Outsiders the Original Team are callous, hollow husks of their former selves, who have replicated a worse version of the same status quo the Team originally formed in response to. Dick, Kaldur and M’gann’s Anti-Light are a new upper echelon of older heroes who keep even more secrets from the next generations, who exclude the new generations far more strongly from knowing their plans, who give them even less reason to trust or communicate with them, and who do so for less just, less honest and less narratively justified reasons than their own mentors’ understandable (if condescending) desire to shield the proteges from the parts of the Life they may not yet have been equipped to face. Not only that but their constant lying with the intent to control others, and refusal to hold themselves accountable for those actions goes directly against both the League’s stated heroic ideals of “Truth, Liberty and Justice” and Red Tornado’s conclusion that caring is “the human thing to do”. By the end of Outsiders, even the existence of the Team itself is undone; decommissioned into the exact kind of safe training space that the Season 1 characters were desperate for it never to be. […] With Outsiders, any actual narrative set by Young Justice Season 1 is over. By their own standards the Team have lost, and lost entirely.

The meta-narrative of Young Justice Animated is that of a show that started with a promising initial season and strong sense of narrative identity, only to discard every part of that identity.  With Invasion the show discarded its original characterisations, themes and ideologies; replacing them with contradictory and often antithetical ones.  Outsiders would then shed even the surface trappings of its aesthetic (in favour of the more generic “modern DC” art-style) and mission-based narrative structure.  There is nothing left, save for some superficial proper nouns and call-back references: the textbook definition of an In Name Only Sequel.

I didn’t bother with Phantoms (and am frankly a little artistically insulted by its existence) because I knew it was doomed from the start to be a narrative stillbirth.  Having actively abandoned its original identity, Young Justice was left desperately scrambling to forge a new one, by clawing at the one thing it had left: people’s nostalgic attachment to the Season 1 iterations of the cast.  But this could never work because every season since has been engaged in a performative pretense of not acknowledging the character-breaking contradictions and hypocrisies forced upon the original cast by the poor writing decisions.  Phantoms would have to thread an impossible needle: wanting to be about the “journey” of the original cast for nostalgia reasons, while not being able to acknowledge that the last two seasons (and attaché comics) have resulted in all of them either actively failing or being tragically soft-locked out of their explicit character arcs without breaking that kayfabe of performative ignorance.  And, in trying to tell a story without engaging with that story's content or how broken it had become, what would they have left but to fall back yet again on canonical filler, sidequests and references held loosely together by contrivance? 

It could only ever be a zombie-fic of itself: having long-since concluded or abandoned any remaining character or plot threads, driven forward solely by the stream-of-consciousness compulsive-writing of a production team desperate to remain present, relevant and profitable.  And from the feedback I’ve heard from the general community and fandom friends who kept watching, it seems like Phantoms did indeed pull down the curtain on that empty, directionless, hollow-automaton-filled narrative for a lot of people.

As for Greg Weisman himself, while I agree that he is a particularly poor character-writer, I will respectfully but firmly disagree that he’s otherwise decent.  I think the fact that we have to caveat “he’s a decent writer” with the condition “so long as he’s surrounded by a team of strong editors and directors to keep him from being awful” kind of reveals that he isn’t.   I also don’t really accept the premise that the main fault lies with the people around him for not stopping that.  They certainly haven’t helped but he’s a grown adult who can make his own decisions. Enablers don’t generally induce behaviours; they simply amplify or become complicit in the behaviours that are already there.

In the video Plagiarism and You(tube), Hbomberguy did a great job of laying out the difference between “honest mistakes” – which can be easily cleared up by good-faith apologies and explanations – and “dishonest behaviour” – where the person(s) is aware that what they are doing is not appropriate and falls back on reputation-protecting deflections and “non-apologies” to avoid consequences when caught.  Weisman would not so-frequently disrespect his colleagues’ work with contradictions, or write patterns of misogyny, queerphobia, casual racism/ableism and abuse apologism into his stories if he did not fundamentally feel entitled to do so, was not comfortable and in agreement with those beliefs, or did not think he could get away with it.  And the way he has routinely responded to even gentle, good-faith comments by fans expressing frustration/confusion with inconsistent characterisation/structure indicates someone who knows he has done the wrong thing but resents being questioned or held accountable.  And then we see him continuing the same behaviours.  A “decent writer” should not need an editor to hold their hand and explain why directly contracting explicitly-stated characterisation is bad practice.  A “good ally” should not need someone to tell them that disproportionately subjecting queer/non-white characters to shock-value violence, writing minority characters to be dirty/dangerous/less valid in their identities, erasing/demonising/misgendering AFAB trans and bisexual identities, rewriting strong female characters to need motherhood or men to “tell them who they are”, writing gay men to be secretly misogynistic/racist, and framing victims as being equally responsible for their abuse is offensive.  All of which he has either directly done or tacitly allowed under his lead.  Multiple times.  Across multiple series.

These are not isolated incidents of “good-faith mistakes” from a newcomer learning the ropes (if they were, it wouldn’t bother me like this).  Weisman has had multiple seasons - multiple franchises even - and decades to show himself to be the kind of sincere ally and visionary artist of integrity that myself and his fans wanted him to be… and that he has so benefited from presenting himself as.  He has chosen not to. Say what you want about their stories, but you can’t claim that marginalised creators like ND Stevenson, Rebecca Sugar, Dana Terrace and allies like Neil Gaiman didn’t push back hard against their own publishers and make a lot of careful compromises in order to tell those stories in a way they felt was respectful. Weisman is in a very privileged position, with a resume that carries a decent amount of clout. He could have held himself to the creative standards he publicly expresses; could have worked improve his craft, could have examined his own biases and actually learned from the communities his stories speak about/over.  But he didn’t – because obviously it's easier and more comfortable to keep being lazy, keep relying on his colleagues to carry him, to not question his own biases/privileges and then lie when caught.  And with the money he makes, and all the second chances and new jobs he keeps getting handed, what incentive does he have to change that behaviour? 

So, personally I don’t buy his attempts to position himself as an UwU Nice Guy Ally whose haters are taking him out of context and whose nasty publishers keep forcing him to do incoherent bigotry.  He’s a grown-up, who can own his own behaviour.  And, even with a generous reading, this is at best the behaviour of a fair-weather sell-out who is willing to abandon his principles at the slightest hint of pressure from above.  That is not what respect looks like.  I wanted to give him good faith, but in light of all this, I find I can no longer trust him to keep his word or be honest about his intentions.

This is kind of the other reason why I choose not to support or engage with YJ Phantoms (or the revival in general): on top of being utterly disinterested, I just don’t want to incentivise this kind of creative behaviour with more money or attention.  I also can’t ignore what could be a pattern where Weisman makes grand promises that he likely never has a plan or intent to fulfill, then deliberately leaves holes/timeskips/inconsistencies in his narratives in order to generate ongoing demand for separate-purchase side content which promises to “fill those gaps”… but which never does because there isn’t actually a plan to facilitate that (thus creating an endless cycle of demand and profit).  To me that cuts a little too close to the potential for a privileged creator to be exploiting their clout and the good-faith belief of their fanbase in order to grift those fans out of their time and money.  I don’t find that acceptable.

So, yeah.  Not to deploy the GIF again but:

It'll be a big, fat doughnut on YJ Phantoms content from me 🍩. Sorry!

[derogatorydennis]

sorry cant hang out have to explore the deep dark depths of my university's online portal containing documents from 2013 tonight

[solsearchingnights]

Thinking about early iitv chapters. Anyone want Jimmy's Double Life flashback? Because its below the cut since I giggled reading it again.

Through chance alone he had ended up sharing the life and pain of a man who was easy to fall for. Tango just hadn’t been interested in catching him.

Jimmy remembered one night, sitting beside a campfire and looking over the ravine. Cleo, Martyn, and Scott were with them, neighbors sharing a starry night. Tango was treating them once again to a retelling of his mission to surface their Warden. He was a captivating storyteller, and every time he’d recalled the harrowing adventure, there was a new close call, another daring escape. Jimmy trilled when his man wrapped a nametag around the warden’s neck, and gasped as Tango misstepped, straying from the wool path and only a breath away from oblivion as he was chased into his hastily made tunnel. When he described the splash of the warden entering his waterway, Tango kicked up sparks from his toes.

Their neighbors, having only heard the tale once or twice before, were appreciative of the theatrics. Appropriate cheers and exclamations danced around the fires of the circle, and the flames of Tango’s hair.

“And now,” Tango’s tale came to a close, “our sweet baby boy is free. Swimming to his heart’s content and able to kill all the fish he wants!” He stood on the edge of the ravine, arms spread wide, and took a bow.

Jimmy’s heart skipped as he saw just how easy it would be for Tango to be pushed slip and perish on the rocks below. Without thinking, he lunged forward, wrapping Tango in a hug and pulling him back to solid ground, to safety. He laughed, trying to play it off as no big deal. “My soulmate, everyone! Bet you wish yours was as brilliant!”

Tango beamed, hugging him back. His warmth was impossible not to relax into. “I had to avenge the Ranch! Now everyone knows not to mess with us.” He announced it to the dark night, but met Jimmy’s eyes. 

The moment was over far too soon, but it left Jimmy breathless, spinning.

“So now I just have your grudge under my base for the rest of the server?” Martyn grumbled, but it wasn’t serious. “I can hear that thing when I’m trying to sleep. It’s terrifying.”

“Good!” Jimmy and Cleo quipped in unison.

Cleo giggled as Jimmy continued. “Serves you right for building that hideous thing on our doorstep.”

Wisely, Martyn didn’t try to defend himself. Instead, he stood and stretched. “Gonna go treat myself to some nightmares, then. You all have a good night!” As he left the ring of firelight, he disappeared into the blackness. There was a distant sound of rattling bones and a yelp to mark how far he’d made it. Cleo flinched and rubbed her arm, but rolled her eyes when Scott tilted his head in question.

“I’m gonna head to bed, too.” Tango rolled his shoulders, then waved to the campfire. “Y’all are welcome to stay as long as you like.” And he started towards the main house.

Jimmy hummed for a moment, considering.

“Go on.” Scott teased. “He’s getting away.”

Jimmy smiled at Scott, appreciating the encouragement. While their own relationship status was constantly breaking the dial of, ‘it’s complicated,’ Scott and Jimmy were happy to see each other happy.

Cleo snorted, “Though if you want to cuddle with this one sometime I wouldn’t mind the break.” She elbowed Scott in the ribs.

“Hey!”

“Jimmy, you could have warned me he’s clingy.” She leaned forward, mischievous smile on her lips. “Though I have on good authority that Tango’s an excellent little spoon, so you might be set.”

Blushing furiously, Jimmy coughed up a chirp. “I’m sure he is, Cleo. Now if you don’t mind, I’m gonna— I’m just gonna go.”

The pseudo soulmates chuckled as he left them behind. 

He caught Tango tugging a sleep shirt on, back turned to the doorway. Jimmy felt his ears burn and feathers puff as he averted his gaze. “Um,” he coughed, “anything I can do to set up for the morning?” He ruffled a hand through his hair, trying to self-soothe and relax his tattling feathers. “Anything you have planned I can help with?”

Tango smoothed out his shirt and turned to grin at Jimmy. “Nah, we’ll see what tomorrow brings, but I don’t have any plans.” He scooped a blanket off a shelf and tossed it over his shoulder. He started to make his way to the ladder. 

“Yeah, okay, cool.” Jimmy winced at his words. “So I wanted to thank you.” He stepped the rest of the way into the room, raising his voice to make sure Tango wouldn’t have to stop to listen to him. “What you’ve gone and done with the warden, it's really incredible.” He busied himself pulling his own sleep clothes out of storage.

He could hear the ladder creak as Tango began to climb. “Of course! Anything for the Ranch!” The creaking stopped, too soon for him to have reached the second floor. “And thank you too, Jim.”

Jimmy, his shirt half-removed, froze.

“Just look what you’ve built here, all while dealing with my less-than-stable reputation.” Tango chuckled. “A warden loose on the surface is the least I could do for you.” The creaking resumed, and soon there were footsteps on the second floor.

Jimmy exhaled a shaky breath. Trying so hard not to overthink his next steps, he dressed for bed, and followed Tango up the ladder.

The blaze hybrid was laying in his own bed, smiling idly at his communicator.

“Tango?” Jimmy begged his voice to sound stronger than he felt.

“Mmh? What’s up?” His eyes flicked off the screen to peer at his soulmate.

Jimmy took a step forward. “I’m really glad we’re soulmates. Getting to know you has been such a blessing.” He tried not to cringe at the awkward wording. It sounded as if he hadn’t spent weeks figuring out how to say this. “Every moment I spend with you I’m finding more ways to appreciate you, and if you’ll have me, I’m committed to being whatever kind of partner you want from me.”

It didn’t matter if the silence lasted seconds or minutes, it felt like a lifetime to Jimmy.

When Tango exhaled a laugh, Jimmy jumped.

“Sorry, I just didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that.” Tango put down the communicator and sat up.

Jimmy’s heart stuttered.

“Jimmy, I don’t know how obvious it is, but I’ve been torn up with guilt for our first death.” He rubbed the side of his neck, where Jimmy knew a faint scar from the blast marked his flesh. “Learning you’re stuck with me like that? With me proving I can’t protect us? Absolute nightmare!”

Jimmy clicked in protest, then realized Tango might not know what it meant. “Not at all, Tango! I’m the cursed one, it was probably somehow my fault on a big ol’ universal level or something.” He wasn’t sure where his soulmate was going with this response, but despite his better judgment, he was hopeful. “And I don’t care about all that, you’re more than worth an accidental death or two.”

Tango grinned. “So we’re officially putting that behind us? Gonna take on the world baggage-free?”

“Of course!” Jimmy’s brow furrowed, trying to parse what was happening. “What part of me pouring my heart out in confession makes you think I was holding a grudge?”

The communicator pinged and drew Tango’s gaze for a second. He returned to Jimmy and tilted his head. “I don’t know if you know this, Jimmy, but you’re a super nice fella. Something tells me if you actually loathed me, I wouldn’t have any way of knowing until a moment like right now.” The comm pinged again and Tango’s hand drifted to it.

Jimmy could feel the blush return. “Right, I mean, I definitely don’t hate you.” The conversation was still very positive, complimentary, and so confusing. “Tango, I’m confessing my–” Don’t say ‘love’ that’ll scare him off for sure. “That I’m quite taken with you, here. I’m not sure you’re following.”

When he laughed this time, Tango’s sharp teeth and inhuman eyes sparked instinctive fears of being devoured. Jimmy shivered and couldn’t tell if he liked the thrill or not. “Sorry, you’re so right. I’m gonna stop overthinking it.” Tango threw his arms wide, clearly inviting a hug. “Of all the people in this crazy-ass server, I’m glad I got to be soulmates with my new best friend. Things could have been so much worse!”

Jimmy didn’t have the time (or the willpower) to stop himself from falling into the offered hug. By the time Tango had shut the iron door in his face, locking it by naming him ‘best friend’, Jimmy was tightly wound in his soulmate’s arms. He was sure Tango noticed him stiffen, positive the blaze had heard his breath catch (their faces were next to each other, how could he not?). And when Jimmy only offered a shallow laugh as a response, there was no way Tango didn’t hear the color of hysteria dancing through each sound. 

But whatever should have come next would only be that: ‘should’.

The communicator pinged. It was wrapped in Tango’s hand, resting right on Jimmy’s neck. The sound may as well have been a shard of ice, cutting through the warmth of Tango’s arms and directly through Jimmy’s heart.

Tango huffed a laugh and detangled from the hug. “Sorry, Zedaph got a link through the server and I’m just getting the chance to catch up on his messages.” He leaned back on the bed, tapping at the screen with one hand and patting the mattress next to him with the other. “We’re probably gonna video chat in a second if you want to meet him? Impulse will be on too.”

And there it was, the proof Jimmy needed that he had overstepped. The warning laced in with the invitation, that there were others already filling the role in Tango’s life that Jimmy had found himself imagining he might–

“No, I’m okay, thanks.” He stumbled back. He coughed. “Actually that reminds me, we left Cleo with a lit fire next to our wooden ranch.” He rubbed his hands up and down his arms.

“Oh, I suppose we did!” He craned his neck around, peering out the window. “You think they’ve put that phase behind them, orrrrr…?”

“I’m gonna go check on that.” He tripped over his feet to get to the ladder. “I’m suddenly very unsure about a lot of things.” At least that was true.

When his feet hit the first floor he chose not to hear Tango’s excited greeting as the call connected. Jimmy made for the front door and shut it gently behind him.

Eyes closed, Jimmy let himself fall back against the rough hewn wood. He had no idea what came next. He wanted to be numb, to be lost for any feeling at all. But instead his brain was fully engaged in reliving everything he had missed, every sign he had misread. He had bombed the most basic test of their relationship and failed to notice that there were hard limits in place.

He wanted to sob. His chest was so full of emotion that there was no room left for even the heartbreak.

A laugh fell from the window above and repelled Jimmy like a cannon blast.

He stumbled away from the house, blindly moving down the hill and towards the point of light on the edge of their territory. Desperate to ignore one source of merriment, he found another. As he approached it was clear Cleo and Scott were preparing to leave. 

They were talking in low but energetic voices, laughing and enjoying the night. Scott was using his sword to spread apart the logs on the dwindling fire, and Cleo was gathering the remains of roasted apples and campfire-boiled tea for disposal. Still too far to make out their words, Jimmy caught Scott throwing some remark over his shoulder, and Cleo responding by throwing a half-eaten apple at his back. Their laughter was the first clear bit of the exchange he heard. Jimmy wished he had the capacity for envy at their easy camaraderie.

“Oh, Jimmy! Welcome back!” Cleo was the first to spot his approach. “Are you doing okay there, bud?” Goddamn his friends for having empathy and being good people. It would be so much easier if they were selfish and unaware of the feelings of others.

“Oh, you know,” he gestured to the sputtering fire, “thought it might be a good idea to put the fire out, what with the Ranch’s recent history.” It was close enough to the excuse he gave Tango that it felt consistent.

Too bad it wasn’t particularly believable.

“Jimmy.” Scott’s voice was a familiar chide.

It only took a few seconds of silence for Jimmy to lose composure. There was barely a sound associated, it was a quiet cascade of tears.

There were hands on his shoulders, gentle shushes and kind words. His head was pulled down to a shoulder in a protective embrace; the familiar texture of Scott’s denim overshirt pressed against his face. He felt his cheeks burn in shame. Here he was, crying over the rejection of one man while in the arms of another he still loved. And Cleo. Cleo was there. 

“Jimmy, can I touch your feathers?” Scott’s question was gentle, non pressuring. If Jimmy said no, everything would be okay.

And if it were anyone other than Scott the idea would have disgusted him. As it was, nothing sounded more right. He managed to release a chirp of affirmation, and was immediately rewarded with soft fingers on the back of his neck.

Cleo asked something, but he couldn’t hear through the growing haze behind his eyes. He just nodded, trusting that his friend wouldn’t be asking him to agree to something harmful. A second later and he was being lifted, scooped up like a sleeping child. He chirped in surprise, but a hand behind his ear and reassurances from above quelled any real protest.

She carried him through the darkness. He had enough wherewithal to marvel that she was unbothered by the act of carrying a man taller than her over rough terrain in the middle of the mob-filled night. Jimmy knew he should be insisting on his independence, that they would be mocking him as soon as they knew he was losing him marbles over an unrequited crush. But even more, he knew he should appreciate the affection while he could. His friends might be insufferable, pranking, bloodthirsty, bastards, but they took care of their own.

It took no time at all for them to be on a wooden porch, Cleo carefully setting his feet on the planks. Jimmy blinked up at the building and recognized Scott’s house.

“I’ll be just over the bridge if you need me, ya’hear?” She gave Jimmy’s shoulder a squeeze and walked away.

“Come on in, Jimmy.” Scott laid a hand on the small of his back and urged him through the open front door. “Is this a ‘give it time’, or an ‘eat our feelings’ kind of cry?”

Jimmy tried to laugh but just hiccuped.

Scott stepped past him, moving to start the furnace for light and warmth. “Pick one, the couch or the bed. I’m fine with each and I’ll not leave you alone either way.” The elf’s ear twitched as the flint and steel sparked loudly.

The practical man inside Jimmy said, “couch.” The active, sad, and needy Jimmy set his sights on the bed and made his way over to it.

“Extra blankets?” They both fell into each other’s habits so easily.

“Yes please.” Jimmy’s voice was small, but he knew Scott heard as the sound of a chest opening was followed by the overencumbered grunt of the man.

Several pounds of wool and cotton landed in a mound in front of Jimmy. “I’m going to get some hot cocoa, you arrange the bed.”

It was natural, being in Scott’s space and making it shared. No matter what else was happening in his head, Scott had a way of making him feel grounded, safe. At home, his mind supplied. As he folded and unfolded blankets, pretending not to notice how nest-like the arrangement was, Jimmy listened to the familiar sounds of Scott’s tuneless humming from the kitchen. It soothed something deep down, spreading a sense of ‘rightness’ through his bones.

Of course that didn’t mean he wasn’t still an absolute wreck. Jimmy would have to call his emotional state in that moment, “complicated and unfair.” Most overwhelming, as he fluffed a pillow and cast a critical eye over his work, was the emptiness of disappointment. It was coming from all directions. He was disappointed, of course, that Tango didn’t return his feelings. That was the easiest to understand. But even more than that was the self-loathing disappointment in himself for letting these feelings fester and embed themselves in him in the first place. He had no right to Tango’s affections, so why had he been so set on claiming them?

He warbled, a sound of frustration and mourning. Scott, accustomed to translating such sounds, called out.

“I’ll be just a moment, Flower. Trying not to spill.”

And wow, it had been a while since he’d heard a pet name. It sent a wave of warmth down his spine, fighting back the chill of sorrow. Either Scott was really tired, or he was presenting as very pathetic right now. Jimmy suspected he knew which was the culprit.

Scott came in, mugs in hand and another blanket draped over an arm. He settled the cocoa on the bedside table, and nodded appreciatively at Jimmy’s achievement with the bedding. “How bad we talking? You want me in first?”

Jimmy blushed. Why yes, he would like Scott to get in first so that he could tuck the man in and reassure himself that everything was perfect. But he was embarrassing himself enough without fully reverting to their old relationship habits. Resolutely, Jimmy climbed in first, deciding not to care that doing so messed up the blankets folded at the edge.

And this was a problem he hadn’t maintained the bandwidth to consider before this moment; the bed smelled like Scott. Cleo too, it was obvious she had spent time over, cuddling and scheming. But Jimmy hadn’t been prepared for how his fragile emotions would handle being sat in the middle of a fortress of blankets that smelled like his best friend.

He tried so hard not to fall into the stereotypes of hybrids. He kept his vocalizations to himself and his most trusted friends, covered his visibly inhuman features, and suppressed every urge to treat his friends to songs and shiny objects. But sometimes it was too much.

Right now it was too much.

The crying began anew and Jimmy threw himself into the bed. He buried his face in a soft blanket, letting the tight weave soothe his skin and the scent of Scott soothe everything else.

Fuck it was so hard to be over Scott when everything about him felt like home.

The bed dipped next to him and a hand ghosted up and down his back. Giving up all pretenses of dignity, Jimmy turned his body to face the elf and made grabby hands to Scott.

“Just a second, Lily.” Scott brought a hand to Jimmy’s chin and eased their eyes to meeting. “There’s something I need to know first, okay? Everything else can wait and you don’t have to tell me anything more than this.” The green crystals dancing around Scott’s head were soothing, like visual white noise, scattering the intense troubled thoughts.

Jimmy nodded. “Anything.”

Scott leaned down, foreheads nearly pressing together. “Jimmy, did Tango hurt you?” His eyes were hard, searching for a true answer and ready to act when he got one.

Jimmy’s own eyes went wide. “No! Not at all! He would never.” Not in the way Scott was asking, not on purpose, not cruelly.

For a few seconds, Scott’s eyes stayed on Jimmy’s face, waiting for him to change his answer.

“Really, Scott, it's nothing like that.” He leaned forward, nuzzling his forehead against Scott’s cheek. “I swear to you, Tango hasn’t hurt me.”

Scott hummed, then nodded. He wrapped one arm around Jimmy and reached the other back to the bedside table. “Thank you, I just had to be sure.”

Comfort fought a hard battle, but curiosity won out. Jimmy lifted his head up to see what his bedmate was doing. He was slightly annoyed to see him typing on his communicator. An indignant click left Jimmy’s throat and Scott responded with a grin.

“Believe me, Flower, you want me to send this message. I’m just letting Cleo know we’re good and that she shouldn’t go kill Tango in his sleep.”

Whatever sound Jimmy was trying to make turned into a choked sputtering.

Scott laughed and set down the device. “Now do you want to talk about it? Or should I just make you forget about everything for a while?”

His feathers freshly ruffled, Jimmy leaned into Scott with a groan. “I don’t know. I feel like an idiot and I only have myself to blame.” His hand shot up to cover Scott’s mouth when he felt the retort coming. “Let me be sad, Scott, don’t tell me how typical this is.” He was melting down, his face pressed into Scott’s neck. He felt the Scotsman’s laugh more than heard it.

“Okay, okay. Sheesh.” He pried Jimmy’s hand off his mouth. “How about I preen your feathers and you decide if you’ll tell me anything substantial.”

Jimmy considered. “Do I have to move? Because you’re very comfortable.”

“If you still trust me to do this while I can barely see what I’m working on? Sure.”

And with how busy all the feelings in his head and heart were, Jimmy found he was happy to let trust win out for this. “Go ahead, Petal.” If he didn’t mention the pet name, maybe Scott would pretend he hadn’t heard.

If his smug laugh was anything to go by, he wasn’t going to pretend any such thing. But without comment he slipped his hands under Jimmy’s shirt and carefully worked it up and over his head.

The air in the house was warm, thanks to the shared body heat and the furnace, but Jimmy still shivered. Blankets pressed into his skin and air snuck under his feathers. Soon, practiced hands scratched small circles onto his flesh. Jimmy melted further. 

“Oh Jimmy, you haven’t touched these in ages.” Scott’s voice was mournful as his hands pet down the feathers on his partner’s back. “I thought you said you were taking care of yourself?” Fingertips wove through the yellow and white down, meeting the sensitive skin below and lighting Jimmy’s brain on fire.

He gasped, unable to hold in the expression. “I– I am. I get what I can reach.”

Scott’s fingers stilled and Jimmy tried to control his pout. “Poppy, most of your feathers are back here. You’re telling me you’ve only been cleaning your shoulders for the past, gods know how long?”

Indignant, Jimmy corrected, “And my arms! And those bits on my scalp.”

Scott snorted. But much to Jimmy’s relief he resumed the light scratching. “I’m not sure I should be doing this, lovely. Are you sure you don’t want a professional to take a look?”

Jimmy’s arms pulled Scott closer. “Frankly, I’m still not sure how you ended up doing this. If I weren’t heartbroken right now, those dumb things would be out of luck for much longer.”

“I am,” he began carefully picking debris out of the fluff, “deciding which part of that to focus on right now.”

Sensing his mistake, Jimmy decided simply not to care. It was Scott. He would have gotten the answers from him one way or another.

They cuddled in silence for several minutes. Jimmy was still too wound up to be at risk of falling asleep, but he was content with the current arrangement. Scott was focused, his humming rumbling against Jimmy’s ear and punctuated by little tugs on his feathers.

He hadn’t realized how uncomfortable his back had been until this moment. Every tiny, sharp pain of irritated skin and embedded dirt was being knocked away, one by one. Whenever Scott smoothed down an area and moved on to the next, Jimmy could feel the way the skin was settling after being angered for so long. There was some part of his mind that seems to have been screaming at him to take care of this for a while, but he was only now able to acknowledge it as it was calming down.

“Jimmy?”

The spoken word stirred him. “Mmmhm?” He should get a prize for his eloquence.

“It’s okay to be disappointed. I’m sorry Tango didn’t reciprocate, but I’m proud of you for shooting your shot.”

Goddamn Scott and his goddamn paying attention to the words he said.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Scott kept at preening as if he wasn’t stirring the pot of Jimmy’s emotions. “I’ve been missing you.”

And that was acknowledgement of a whole set of circumstances Jimmy had thought he’d squarely sorted out.

“And I don’t want to be a scumbag and take advantage of your distress, or heaven forbid make you think I’m celebrating this in any way.” He smoothed down another patch and moved along. “But if you’re out there being vulnerable you deserve to know. I miss you, but I’ll be happy as long as you’re happy.”

“Scott,” his mouth was dry and he wasn’t sure why, “I thought we were over? I thought that’s what you wanted?” He shook his head, what little he could pressed into the other body. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

The laugh carried a warmth through him that Jimmy could pretend was a purely platonic appreciation for friendship. “Honestly Jimmy? I don’t know. I’m not…good, for you. That hasn’t changed. I can’t say that I would be any closer to something you deserve if we were to try again. But like I said, you deserve to know.” One hand moved off the feathers to rub circles on Jimmy’s lower back. “I’m truly happy to be your friend, even if it means I’m nothing more. Tango is missing out on a genuine, beautiful partner by turning you down, and I hope that he sees that before this is all over.”

“Pretty words, pretty man.” Jimmy grumbled into Scott’s neck. “I’m not in a headspace to know what feelings are the important ones, so I’m not gonna make any declarations.” Instinctively, he kissed the soft skin in front of him. “But thank you.”

To his credit, Scott stuttered in his motions for just a second. “You want that cocoa before it gets cold?” As Jimmy started to protest, Scott continued. “I need you to move anyway so I can get at that other shoulder.”

So they drank cocoa, and groomed Jimmy, and cuddled like there was no outside world waiting to take this momentary peace away. And nothing was decided, no problems were solved. But as Jimmy slipped out of bed in the morning and brushed cyan hair out of Scott’s face; as he delivered a chaste kiss to the elf’s forehead and silently latched the door behind him; as he got an early start feeding animals and tending crops with the sunrise coming to meet him; he was content. Things would get better. They would be worse. But there was a wordless determination to see it through staked into his heart.