#dialogic teaching

[cent-scratchnsniff]

messy doodles plus with some picked ramblings with them as i process, learn, and progress. yes only some out of many. i talk far too much. i missed so much too im just too tired to talk abt those aspects rifht now

[russellmoreton]

Reading Collage : Spatial Drawings/Documents/Analogue Photography by Russell Moreton Via Flickr: A Hut of One's Own, Ann Cline Texts,Annotations, Foundations, Pathways, Corridors, Bookmarks, Walking, Thinking, Ramble, Cross Country, Disciplines,

[karinyosa]

just expressed a strong opinion on a platform that is not tumnlr. what if they kill me

[realm-sweet-realm]

One For All, chapter four

In an AU where the protagonist never fell from the sky, the Survey Corps will have to pull together and make use of every resource at their disposal to face the challenges present in Pokemon: Legends Arceus. There will be surveyshipping.

Sorry for the long wait between chapters- the next one should be up in about a week.

---

The Survey Corps members moved aside for Laventon as he approached the pastures, each understanding that the quest of the lake guardians would take precedence. Laventon didn't have many Pokémon that were trained as anything but research subjects, but he gathered his typhlosion and beautifly nonetheless, along with some particularly mysterious specimens he hoped would come in handy. He then stuffed his backpack with healing items, food, and crafting materials and met the others at the gate. It wasn't long before the six were gathered.

"According to Cogita, the materials we need to forge the red chain can be obtained from beings in the three lakes," Cyllene reiterated once everyone was present. "Splitting up seems inadvisable until we know what exactly the trials will entail. We'll start at Lake Acuity, as it's the furthest from any route Kamado is likely to be taking. I've gathered enough flying Pokémon from the pastures to transport those of you who do not have your own. My staraptor is fit to carry two. Laventon?"

"Alright, you'll ride with me. Let us be off." Cyllene took out the staraptor and mounted it. Laventon got on behind her as the other four got onto various flying creatures themselves.

With that, the staraptor took off into the air, the other four following. Afraid of falling, Laventon grabbed onto Cyllene's waist. If she minded, there was no sign of it. Everything looked so small from the sky, and the air rushed past them as though they were going a thousand miles an hour.

In less dire circumstances, this might be very pleasant, Laventon thought. Then he took a closer look at the world below.

From the up high, the disarray caused by the bleeding sky was already apparent. Grasses were beginning to wilt and turn brown, and normally docile Pokémon were running about, agitated and confused. Worse was that in the distance, Kamado's army could be seen marching up the trails of the Coronet Highlands. Laventon looked up at the hole in the sky, two massive shining creatures seeming to peer through it, and it dawned on him that he might not live to take a recreational flight.

The group landed on the island in Lake Acuity, returned their birds, and entered the small cavern without much thought, only to be faced with a ghostly maned fox that was larger than an ursaluna.

"Is that- the vengeful fox?" Irida exclaimed, terrified. It was so much bigger than the legends had said.

Whatever it was, it charged towards the group, teeth bared.

Volo ran to the front of the group and threw out a Pokémon- a strange, ghostly thing Laventon didn't recognize. "Dark pulse," Volo ordered. The second the dark beam caught up to the charging zoroark, it went down. That was another disturbing thing about Volo- he always seemed to have just enough power to handle any given task, and no one quite knew how he'd acquired it.

In a flash of light, a small, blue figure appeared in the center of the cave. Though the creature was small, power could be felt emanating off of it in waves. Cogita had described the being with a yellow hood as being the representation of knowledge. Was this it?

R e i came a voice. It was like a horrible vibration in Laventon's skull, but somehow he could tell that it had come from the lake guardian. S t e p  f o r w a r d.  M y  t r i a l  i s  y o u r s.

Rei stepped forward.

S h o w  m e  h o w  y o u  h a v e  u s e d  y o u r  c a p a c i t y  t o  l e a r n.  I  w i l l  j u d g e  i t s  w o r t h i n e s s.

Rei hesitated, trying to work out what exactly he'd learned that might impress the being. It wasn't though he was terribly intellectual- wouldn't Laventon be a better choice for this? But he had to try.

"Well... I learned how to make a pokéball," Rei said. "I guess I could show you."

Rei knelt down and took out his crafting kit. "Basically, you just have to make something hollow. The nuts are already hollow, and I take the ores to a smith to make the top half. You just put the two parts into the seal belt, and that’s all they need to be functional,” Rei explained as he cobbled together a basic ball. “There's other stuff you can add, though. One thing that’s a really good idea is the spark release on top, so you know when a catch has been successful. Without that, you might think you’ve caught something only to have it burst out in your face when you go to pick up the ball. Aside from that, there’s different types of ore for different weights, and iron for better quality. And that's pretty much all I know."

The strange pixie twirled in the air and then lowered itself down to Rei's level, presenting him with something in its tiny hands: what looked like a fragment of claw.

T a k e  t h i s  p i e c e  o f  t h e  s p i r i t  a n d  b i n d  t h e  s k y  o n c e  m o r e.

"Is this... for the chain?" Rei asked. But before he even finished speaking, the Pokémon was lifting into the air and was already fading away- perhaps teleporting, or simply destroying what had always been a mere representation of itself controlled from elsewhere.

"Wait! I have so much to ask you! We need your knowledge to fix the sky!" Rei called out, chasing after the form. A few steps into the chase, the creature had faded entirely, and Rei stopped.

"You did well, Rei," Cyllene assured him.

"Indeed you did," Laventon added. "I'm sure it has its reasons for not granting us its knowledge."

The trip to Lake Valor was uneventful, and this time the group had a better idea of what to expect. Cyllene led the group in, on alert for a Pokémon standing guard. No sooner did she poke her head into Valor Cavern then were a barrage of poisoned quills shot at her. She scrambled out and took out her alakazam, which put up a forcefield.

"Laventon, can you identify what Pokémon these barbs are from? I didn't get a good look at the Pokémon that shot them."

Careful not to exit the safety of alakazam's forcefield, Laventon picked up a barb from the ground. He squinted as he looked at the quill, trying to place where he'd seen anything similar.

"Those are definitely from an overqwil," Adaman cut in. "Looks like a big one, too. Their only weakness is ground."

"Then I know something that might help," Irida said, taking out her Celestica flute. With a few notes, an ursaluna came running over the hill. It swam through the lake and shook itself off once it washed up on the island, soaking the six humans.

"Hey, big guy," Irida said, giving the bear a stroke on the cheek and ignoring the grime she was now coated with. "I know you're usually a finder, but would you mind fighting something for us today?"

The ursaluna grunted in acknowledgment and shuffled into the cave. After taking out a few additional psychic-types to bolster Alakazam's forcefield, the others followed in and watched as the bear charged the enormous pufferfish. The overqwil expelled its quills, but most of them bounced off the bear's thick hide as easily as they bounced off the forcefield, and those that did prick it didn't seem to bother the ursaluna in the slightest. The ursaluna roared, reared up, and took the giant fish in its mouth, shaking it around as it deflated. It threw the fish against a wall and then ran to it and slashed with its claws until it was satisfied that the job was done.

No sooner had the bear returned to Irida's side did a light begin to shine in the middle of the cave. From the light, another sprite appeared- the one Cogita had called "Azelf."

L a v e n t o n, came the spirit's voice, s t e p  f o r w a r d.  M y  t r i a l  i s  y o u r s.

Laventon glanced nervously at the others and then stepped forward.

Y o u  m u s t  c a t c h  m e, Azelf stated. A large bag of ultra balls appeared in Laventon's arms. Then, Azelf turned into a shiny zubat and flew out of the cavern.

Laventon continued to cast nervous looks at his companions. He probably seemed on the brink of panic. "This is much more suited to any of you, I mean-"

"Laventon," Cyllene said, "We will help you however we can, but Azelf wanted you. It must have its reasons. You can do this."

Rei gave a nod of agreement. "I had the same thought with my trial. If I could do mine, you can do yours." Behind Rei, the clan members were nodding as well.

“Jolly good,” Laventon said, straightening up. “Irida, I’ll need use of Ursaluna’s nose.”

"You have my blessing," Irida said.

Laventon mounted the bear. Ursaluna didn't wait for orders. As soon as Laventon was securely upon it, it took off back into the lake and began swimming across. Laventon had to pray it knew what it was doing. As the bear neared the opposite shore, Laventon looked back at his companions, following him on various flying Pokémon. Ursaluna ascended over the hills, and that's when Laventon caught sight of a glimmer of hope: to their left was a colony of zubat flying about in the shade of a forested area.

The bear took an aggressive right.

"No!" Laventon told it. "Ursaluna, you have to turn around!"

Then, Laventon saw it. A shiny stantler in the fields was looking at him with a competitive gleam in its eye.

"Oh my, Azelf has taken a new form! Ursaluna, you're a genius!"

The stantler took off at a run. It was faster than Ursaluna.

"Stop," Laventon ordered. The bear skidded to a stop. Moments later, the other five landed. "I need something swift enough to catch up to Azelf. Cyllene, may I borrow your alakazam?"

Cyllene handed him the pokéball. Wasting no time, Laventon released it and used the creature's teleportation to catch up with the stantler just as it transformed into a buizel and scurried into a thick, wooded area. The woods were too dense for a riding Pokémon, so Laventon took chase on foot. He was hardly the fastest runner, but the weasel stayed within his sights, looking back at him periodically as though to mock him. Laventon fumbled for an ultra ball, took aim at the creature as it watched him from atop a log, and then promptly tripped over a tree root.

Laventon laid in the dirt, trying to catch his breath as Azelf scampered away and his companions caught up to him, none of them half as tired as he was. He really was terrible at this, wasn't he?

G i v e  u p.  Y o u r  s t r u g g l e  i s  i n  v a i n.  R u n  f r o m  t h e  g r o u p  y o u  a r e  o n l y  a  b u r d e n  t o  s o  t h a t  a n o t h e r  m a y  s u c c e e d  i n  y o u r  p l a c e.

If it was the only way for them to pass the trial and save Hisui then perhaps that was for the best...

Cyllene offered Laventon a hand up. He took it.

"You know, individual strengths are often less important than the ability to use the strengths of others," Cyllene said. "Kamado has issued commands while injured that led the Galaxy Team to success. You are a field researcher. How have you caught slippery Pokémon in other regions?"

Laventon thought on that. "Well, there have been other species that I've had to flush out of their hidey-holes, and this isn't a big bush," Laventon mused. "If the five of you surround it with your Pokémon and move inwards, we can force Azelf out no matter what form it takes. I'll stand outside the bush, you get it to come towards me. Does that sound like a plan?"

"That sounds like an excellent plan," Cyllene said.

Laventon stood at the edge of the bush and waited as the other five and their Pokémon marched inwards. Bugs, birds, bats, rodents, and the occasional stantler were flushed out, and Laventon watched for any that showed signs of being Azelf, ultra ball at the ready. Azelf wanted to test him on willpower- on not giving up- so surely this was the correct course of action. Yes, he was sure of it.

Finally, a shiny buizel emerged from the bush, grinning at Laventon with pleased determination. Laventon hucked a ball at it. It bounced out of the way. He hucked another. It wasn't even close. Then, a number of other buizel emerged from the woods, scampering about as though Azelf had ordered them to make this trial even harder. Laventon trained his eyes on the white collar of the shiny and kept throwing.

Ten balls later, one hit. The ball shook once and then sparked.

Laventon let out a sigh of relief. Blood was coursing through him, and he felt more alive and keyed up than he could ever remember being.

The buizels dispersed, leaving behind only one- a second shiny. To Laventon's horror, the creature turned into Azelf. But then it picked up Laventon's ultra ball and handed it to him, along with a small horn.

T a k e  t h i s  p i e c e  o f  t h e  s p i r i t  a n d  b i n d  t h e  s k y  o n c e  m o r e, said the spirit before it vanished.

"That was some leadership, professor!" Rei explained.

Laventon was stunned silent. "I caught a swift and slippery little buizel all by myself," he mused. "A shiny one! My God, that was... I don't even know what that was!"

"It was a fine performance," Cyllene said.

Before long, the group was on the move again, and not long after that, they were on the island of Verity Cavern. Before heading in, the group took a moment to heal their Pokémon.

"So, if Uxie's trial was showing knowledge, and Azelf's trial was showing willpower, Mesprit's will be showing emotion? That sounds like a really lame trial," Adaman stated.

"Maybe it'll go to someone who struggles to control their emotions, and they'll have to do something frustrating," Irida suggested.

"In that case, it's definitely your trial."

"Oh, please. You're the drama queen. And anyhow, I fought overqwil, so I had my turn."

"Ursaluna isn't your Pokémon, and you didn't give it orders," Adaman countered.

"Hmph! well-"

"Now is not the time," Cyllene said, leading the group in.

Within the cave was an alpha goodra. Rei took out his decidueye, but Cyllene stepped in front of him. "Allow me," she said, taking out her staraptor. "Close-combat."

The bird struck at the armoured dragon, denting its shell, but the goodra struck back, hitting Cyllene's staraptor with its massive tail and knocking it into a nearby wall.

Cyllene gave her bird a stiff nod to let it know to continue, and took out her samourott. "Ice beam," she commanded.

Between the two attackers, the Goodra was giving out far less damage than it was receiving, but Laventon found Cyllene's choice to step in baffling nonetheless. With the amount of office work they had to do while the other members were in the fields, he and Cyllene were among the weakest of the Survey Corps when it came to their Pokémon's levels, and Rei had long surpassed them. It wasn't like Cyllene to fail to delegate when it was for the better.

Is she trying to make sure she won't have to face the trial? Laventon wondered as the Goodra finally hit the ground and Cyllene's Pokémon returned to her for healing.

Just as had happened in the previous two caves, Mesprit appeared to the six in a flash of light.

C y l l e n e, Mesprit said telepathically. M y  t r i a l  i s  y o u r s.

[popculturealchemy]

spiders . black . . . 50 shades basement . . might not know not . . sticky . . temperature difference . . . regulation . . . uncanney valley rods and cones metapore coagulating differently . . . biting not knowing what that means . . eating prey feels good. . . sticking to walls feels good. . . not knowing up from down feels good. . . . a different temperature . . . predicting the future of flies . . . . flies spawing . . . out of the ass of my dog. . . . Immediately in the city. . . . not a fly in sight till now. gravel only . .. . a gap in the earths core. . . . . cold temp . regulating . . . eyes adapting . . . using gravity differently . . . the moon . . . chaser . . gravity giver . . false rep of the moon . confusing us . virgin moon . . untouchable magnet marbell. north star . moon like similar maybe . pushing effect . . . sun . . . pulling effect . . . ripping time . . . In the well . . . In the coolness . . not needing light vision . . cats eyes hurting . . . cat eyes . . seeing it first. . from the treeing it coming from miles away. atop the masses . . like the sasquatch . . Its there . a bear . . on a branch while it happened. . . a bing boing. . . a slinky duct taped to a rubber ball. bounced around .

flapping wing

ugly sightls

.

.

rods and cones mashed together.

.

Ignoring nose in my field of vision

.

.

spiders crawling on my skin

ffeeling anxious

.

.

feeling like a black widow

.

.

like my grandma

.

.

setting traps.

.

.

predicting future to survive.

.

.

comfy bed

.

.

poor vision

.

extra demention.

.

.

loving in touching

.

.

water being close to water.

.

.

living in water

.

.

finding that balance.

.

maybe thats better.

.

trying new things

.

.

bioshock

.

snowflake

.

.

driving by iceburgs..

.

.

what a magnet.

.

.

undertog

tow

.

massive

.

.

Idk

.

.

underwater in the dark

.

.

.

In known properties

.

.

rods and cones bending light.

.so much

.

.

affecting outcomes

.

.

quantum something

.

.

.

kissing matters

keeping it simple

.

.

.

letting them know how you feel

.

tldr.

ending

[cornyonmains]

So, I finally got around to watching Adolescence on Netflix and now I see why the manosphere is in full on damage control mode. This show did its research and did SO MANY things right because of it.

Firstly, they didn't have Jamie cartoonishly espousing his beliefs like a cartoon supervillain, because they did their research, and knew these boys are being carefully taught by the adults in the manosphere to hide their power level. They showed the full reality of what Jamie had become under the tutelage of the manosphere by letting their teachings silently guide his actions.

Second, they almost completely removed Katie from the conversation. That was so important because men would have jumped all over that to devalue the messaging by calling it another piece of feminist trash centered around women. Men were center stage in this, portrayed in respectful honesty, flaws and all.

Jamie's dad was legitimately an alright dude, but he had his family walking on eggshells with those tantrums of his, and I imagine the truth of that was such an uncomfortable but necessary glimpse in the mirror for men. My brother has never laid hands on a woman in his life either, but he has that same inability to emotionally regulate when he gets angry, and I think it was important for men to see what it looks like for the people around them to deal with. By centering the male experience in an honest way, in making a piece of media men might not completely dismiss outright, they get to see what they look from the point of a spectator's view, and that's so goddamned important.

Third, they left a lot of stuff about the Red Pill confusing and vague. This is going to spur parents to do more research, which is so fucking necessary, and it's going to keep the manosphere from saying, "Well, this and this and this is completely misconstrued." This is important because if we want legislation passed to protect young people from the Manosphere, we need to focus on the long term damage over time done to the psyche, on the actual damage they're doing to young boys, rather than focus on criticizing rhetoric they've got meticulously built dialog trees to defend. We need to build a case that the Manosphere is full of predators absolutely breaking the psyches of young boys for money.

Something I need people to understand is the Manosphere would crumble without adolescent views. If any of them go to meet-ups, you can see pictures with their fans, and they're just awash in a sea of tween and teen boys. It's fucking horrifying. We would do damage this pipeline would never recover from if we remove their access to children.

[voidhope]

The Other Woman

(Part 2 FINALE)

—

Synopsis: Miguel had left Y/N for another version of his old wife in hopes of getting his old life back. To only realize the mistakes he’s made.

Link to Part 1

Pair: Miguel O’Hara x Spider!reader

Warnings: very heavy mental health, ANGST LIKE A LOT OF ANGST, ALL OF THIS IS ANGST, mentions of death/almost dying, long term establish relationship, cheating, swearing, therapy, physical fight, blood, feral protective miguel?

—

A/N: hello again! this one is more heartbreaking and longer than the first part oof… Very low dialog up until closer towards the end! wanted to just get through telling the story itself and the emotions. It’s just a very heavy storyline!! I want to say thank you so so much for showing so much support for part 1 i had no idea it would receive that much attention :O !! i wrote this out kinda fast as i didn’t want to loose the momentum of the idea. so apologies for any mistakes! all feedback is greatly appreciated ~

—————————————————

You used to make Miguel coffee everyday, with one cream two sugars, and he would nag about how he hated the taste. It was to your liking, not his. As you would sneakily take sips out of his mug while working next to him. Why didn’t you just get your own coffee? You claimed you could never finish it and just wanted a taste out of his. Miguel would roll his eyes at you every time he caught you but he adored it. He had secretly grown to love the way you made it and had become his only way of making coffee after meeting you.

Now as this version of his older wife made it the way he is suppose to like coffee, bland and straight, he found himself bothered by it. Going as far to correct her even though this was what he had been claiming to have missed so much. He was now seeing himself teaching someone else how to love him like you did…

He was only a shell of the man he was when he had Gabriella. Even though the copy of his old wife has her same personality, the relationship couldn’t be exactly how it was before because he had changed so much. You had helped him become whole again. His tastes and likings had all switched to everything about you. The charm he found in his old wife doesn’t hold a light to you now and he was getting frustrated. He had wanted this so badly. He felt like those babies who whine and cry wanting to eat a lemon and once they get their way they realize the sour truth.

Miguel never truly realized what it was like to loose you until three weeks after he told you the truth. Over the years the idea of losing you terrified him but he only ever thought of it being in death. He never considered separation when everything was perfect for both of you then. There were times he believed that you were made just for him and he treated you like his queen. Which you truly were to him in his spider society. Why would he ever throw that away? Look at what he did.

He gave himself every excuse in the book before you knew he was cheating on you. ‘This is only for research.’ he would think every time he found himself back in that universe. As everyone knew he was so serious about his work, obviously this is just him getting to know more about certain universes and canons. Lyla was the only one seeing straight through him knowing where he was actually going. Things kept tumbling and the more he found out about the place and spent time with her the more his grief and yearning returned. It was all just there, so reachable.

There was a time his mind tried to snap him back out of it while cheating on you and made him realize the guilt. The first time he kissed this woman you were there in his mind. He came home right after and held you without saying a word. You never questioned him, just showed him comfort as much as you could. Lightly stroking his back, you never over stepped or pushed him when he was vulnerable with you. He only closed his eyes and held onto you tighter processing how you were always too good for him. He was converting to living two different lives; his old self during the day and then coming home to you. He didn’t want to let go of either at the time.

Once he found out he could safely have Gabriella again was when he became distant with you. The shame of using you for research made him become stoic. He didn’t want to admit how wrong he was treating you. All while you were always being so loyal and trusting towards him. Things were slowly slipping through the cracks and he knew he couldn’t up keep it. He wished he could have had that conversation with you so much differently but it was over. Now he had his old life back, a dream he had his mind set on.

He ignored the shakiness in his hands when he returned to her after letting you go. ‘It’s all for the best.’ is what he would repeat in his mind as a mantra. His new girlfriend truly had no idea who he really was or what his background was. Miguel continued to feed her lies to the point where he even started believing them himself getting too lost in avoiding what he’s done. He believed he was happy as he spent time with her.

When she got too close to finding the truth after finding his wedding ring in one of his pockets, he set her off course from it by revealing his spider identity and taking her to HQ. This was the day that everything felt like it was crashing around him. Being reminded of his marriage, having to face his friends with his new lover, sharing his personal spider life, his work with someone who wasn’t you. He excused himself rushing to an unused office room while his chest was tightening. Pupils dilating as he realized it was his first time having a panic attack.

Nevertheless he continued to push it all aside and act completely normal with his girlfriend. He was feeling your absence the most while working. You had became an extension of him. He had trained you from scratch and you helped him build this society he has now. You knew the ins and outs of everything and fought perfectly alongside him. Now that he was on his own he let his girlfriend be there for him when he got stressed, but there always was a knot in his stomach he never could get rid of.

The more his mental health ate at him late at night the more he considered searching out for you. There was no closure between both of you and he never got to listen to how you feel. What was your opinion on all that happened? Do you hate him?

He wanted to speak with someone so badly but he dug himself in a hole too deep. You were gone, he was lying through his teeth to this poor woman he’s kept for some fantasy, he felt too ashamed to say anything to his friends, he would rather die if all his workers found out how big of a piece of shit he is. Anytime Lyla tried peeping a word that wasn’t work related he would snap. He had pushed everyone away and now he just felt alone.

Regardless he would wake up in the morning and swallow all his dark feelings. He would remember his grief of when he lost his family and it would put him back in the moment. He has another chance. He was happy with the direction he was going in now.

Right?

—

The day he found out you were at HQ he felt his heart stop. He was mid mission trying to call for Lyla but she wouldn’t answer. Frustrated he tried looking into what was happening only to see her busy having a conversation with you. It felt like something took over him when he opened a portal in less than a second. Without thinking nor wasting a heartbeat he rushed back. Just a glimpse of you, maybe just to hear a word out of your mouth. The feeling of having you back in HQ was making him ignore all his insecurities. How he would coward at the thought of trying to reach out to you before. You were in his home, your home, and the thought drove him wild.

You were already long gone though. Lyla stared at him not saying a word. The quietness in the room making his ears ring but his thoughts were screaming in his head. He stood there frozen still trying to recollect himself. He was the one that left you, what is wrong with him?

Again he went back and forth in his own head trying to convince himself ‘You wanted this.’ but if he did why is he feeling like someone just killed a puppy in front of him? Why is he here fighting with his self if this is really his dream? Why did he try chasing after you? The wounds of his past grief were too deep. He never took the time to properly heal and now look at what he’s become.

“Miguel, what’s this?” He was startled turning around seeing his girlfriend holidng your watch and skimming through the divorce paperwork addressed to him.

There was no more hiding, no more lying. He swallowed hard even though his throat was dry. He let everything he had kept away rise to surface. It hurt him to see the beautiful face his old wife shared contort into such anger and pain while finding the truth.

She didn’t stay, but for some reason he wasn’t upset. Though he longed for his daughter, he knew it would have never been the same now. He finally closed the door on his past. His heart had made the choice this time but it’s too late. Now grasping onto the divorce papers left by you, emptiness spread through his soul.

—

You on the other hand did not find yourself crying by yourself on a rooftop for long. The shift in the air from your arrival alerted the local spider-man immediately.

“It didn’t work out, did it?” He crouched down next to you as he noticed your watch gone and your missing wedding band.

Peter Parker knew both you and Miguel. Your husband had come to do many rounds of research in this universe when he took you. Eventually offering this Peter a spot in the society, which he politely declined due to just being busy enough here. You both never spoke much but always had an appreciation for each other.

“Do you need a place to crash at?” He continued while trying to get you to look at him. Reaching his hand towards you.

You had absolutely no one and you had been gone so long you couldn’t even go back to the little you had. When you met Miguel you didn’t hesitate to never look back and now it filled you with regret. How naive were you to put all your trust and reliance on him.

You took Peter’s hand. You were ready to start your own life and be your own person now.

—

Peter Parker was nice enough to let you stay with him as long as you needed it. You both had became ‘besties!’ as he would love to poke at you. The first month with him you were a disaster really but he showed you how he liked to cope using his spider abilities.

The first thing he helped you with was getting a new suit. Your old one resembled too much to Miguel’s and you felt suffocated every time you put it on. Peter had taught you to use your current emotional pain on whichever sad little villain was making trouble out in Brooklyn that night.

“Come on, we got multiverse spider-woman helping me keep these streets clean now!” He would taunt at the men while watching you easily take them out a little bit too aggressively. His feet kicking up and down while he sat on the side of a building watching you. The crime rate did go down a bit once word got around how strong your punch was. Peter’s just happy he can now spend some nights to himself.

You got yourself a job at the mart on the corner to help cover bills for Peter and save up. You were grateful enough the owners never batted an eye when you would disappear during a shift to either suddenly go cry uncontrollably or beat the shit out of someone at a nearby robbery. Next thing you were enrolling yourself back in university, wanting to finish that degree you never did.

It wasn’t too long that some of your older spider friends would stop by to check in on you. Seeing them was difficult sometimes, you were internally itching to ask about Miguel. Things were going okay for you on a very slow path of breathing step by step. You never wanted to feel that hurt again and so you very well pretend like Miguel didn’t exist if you could.

You couldn’t ignore the hurt resurfacing when you passed couples on the street. Or when you found yourself going to fidget with your wedding ring just to remember it’s gone. You can’t just move on from a relationship that was so deeply apart of you and lasted so long. You gave everything to him and it will take you much time to get yourself to build trust again.

After two semesters, you finally had your graduation. All the things you learned while in Earth-928 paid off as you barley had to study. Passing top of the class, you immediately got an offer for an internship opportunity with Alchemax and was able to get an introduction tour of the building beforehand.

What you hadn’t realized was that Alchemax had been looking for that girl who snuck into their offices a couple years ago. Who made another dimension’s spider appear and then went missing herself soon after. They had kept as close tabs on you as they could and how foolish you were to think your little break in wouldn’t come back to bite you. The moment you stepped foot back in their building, it was over for you.

—

Miguel had spent a whole year in much deserving therapy. Nothing could stop the embarrassment he felt when Peter B signed him up with HQ’s best spider-therapist after 3 months of constant out bursts. No one could come near the man when he felt like he had lost everything. Those first initial months were difficult for everyone around him.

Therapy did help, he hates to admit it, but it was a very rough ride. He finally was able to understand his deep inner term oil and heal his issues but moving on from you? No, he could never.

You were the only one who had sincerely stood by his side, always rooting for him. He never fell out of love with you despite of everything that he did. He just pushed everything down too deep and was blinded by obsession. Till now he could never deny that he still loves you. Maybe if he just would have went to therapy years ago instead of acting out on unsolved grief none of this would have happened. The guilt always making him toss and turn at night.

He would have big temper tantrums when he would find his coworkers going to visit you time to time and not sharing any details. He needed to know if you’re okay. Did you already move on? He longed to find you and speak with you but he knew he wasn’t ready yet. He was so self destructive and this was what he deserved.

Everyone avoided him completely when he overheard someone saying you were living with Peter Parker. Fighting crime with him and having a cute little home life. Peter followed you around now like a puppy. Miguel did not take the news well at all. Let’s just say, the large bill replacement for his monitor screens was what snapped him out of that rage.

He also wanted to strangle Hobie Brown every time he saw a glint in his eye when your name was mentioned around. Yet Miguel couldn’t hate the kid either, as Hobie was one of the people to try help repair the damage he did to you. How badly he just wanted to hold you and shield you in his arms from any other people taking you from him as if he wasn’t the idiot to let you go in the first place.

Everyone’s big, powerful, scary boss was really just a grumpy, wallowing-in-self-pity, sensitive, lonely man now. Mention your name too much to him and watch him start crying or take it out on whatever he could find nearest to him. He would some nights scroll through your wedding photos while listening to your last tracked log with Lyla. Your words cutting through him deep like long sharp knives. How he urged to go tell you it was all wrong and how guilty he was for making you feel like this.

Despite it all, he still believed in being the best of the best. He used his work to distract himself from his sorrows, to become numb. Even though his divorce paperwork were set next to him on his desk to remind him the pain. He never signed it.

—

“We can’t tell him!” Jessica gritted through her teeth. Small group of spider-people were hovered around Lyla taking in the new found information.

“Her canon events have always been uncertain, we can’t just stop and fix this one?” Gwen Stacy suggested in hopes.

“We have never prevented a canon event of hers or the people involved in it. It could be even more dangerous than a regular canon.” Peter B spoke grimly.

“When ‘as danger ever stopped us?” Hobie spoke up.

“Everyone get your gear.” Lyla added to the stress of the situation.

—

You couldn’t open your eyes properly with a strong blinding light being held above you. Arms and legs secured on top of a metal surgical table. You could feel the warmth of blood scattered on certain parts of your body, slowly starting to dry. It was a mix of yours and the people you had tried fighting through to get out of here when you realize the trap you were reeled into. Different people in lab coats poked and pried all around you while you were tied. Your mask was thrown on another table and your suit had large gashes across it.

Soon you also could feel the presence of Peter Parker being brought to the room, thrown slumped in the corner breathing heavily. They had gotten you too good. They knew everything and had planned this so detailed.

“Now you’re going to help me open the multiverse.” Kingpin loomed around you. All you could feel was searing pain as a laser aimed right at your chest.

—

Miguel was already staring out the window to the glowing night lights of Nueva York when he saw a big hole appear in sight of the skyline. His eyebrows furrowed while he was trying to process what he was looking at. It wasn’t a second later when all alarms started going off in his office.

“Qué carajos?” He exclaimed seeing the alerts of a possible universe collapse. “Lyla! Why wasn’t this being taken care of already?”

“I already sent people.”

“Then what are they doing?” He yelled. His confusion and anger only furthered when he saw a red alarm for a canon event.

“Canon event?” He whispered to himself. He always knew when these were happening, there were none scheduled for today. There was no way he would let one passed him, it’s not like this could magically appear? His jaw dropped in realization… a new canon event.

“Lyla, tell me the truth. Why wasn’t this reported to me?” He made the atmosphere turn cold. She knew he already figured it out.

“A new canon event was received this morning being given to Peter Parker. Of Y/N L/N’s death.” The words from Lyla made Miguel’s body go still. His eyes raced side to side while he processed it.

“No!” He roared, a fist slamming into the nearby desk. His massive strength breaking it in half.

“Boss, you can’t go on this mission only using your emotions.” Lyla warned. However Miguel was already half way stepping through a portal to find you.

He appeared, watching his team struggle to shut down the machine causing the collapse. Outnumbered by the amount of Alchemax puppets. A different kind of rage filled him as he saw you, for the first time in a year, suffering. Miguel was never one to act reckless while on missions but he had no plan here and just ran off the pure adrenaline the fight or flight had hit him with.

His claws tore into the backs of his enemies as he jumped beast-like across the room. Not hesitating spilling blood across the wall while he took everyone down as fast as he could. His team could only watch wide eye with an unsettling fear as they saw Miguel lose himself to his spider sense. While he fought they took the opportunity to take apart the machine.

Miguel was panting heavily, pupils blown wide glowing red, and fangs dripping with venom as the room slowly silenced. Kingpin laid on the floor slowly trying to drag himself after being beaten to a pulp. It was over. Peter B stopped him from doing anything further. Knowing Miguel would kill the man, Peter B let the team finish up to give Kingpin to authorities. Miguel turned frantically to look at you seeing the other spiders step away. Peter Parker was hunched over you in tears. Miguel fought the urge to snap at Peter and grab his hands off of you.

Your vision was too blurry and everything felt like it was burning. A shape that seemed too familiar came into your peripheral vision and you tried to push yourself up.

“Miguel?” Was the last thing you croaked before slumping back passing out. Miguel catching you in his arms before you could hurt yourself further.

“It’s her time.” Jessica spoke behind him. Yet he was refusing to let go. He had never defied the way the timeline worked since he created his society. He would never break the rules and you both had promised each other before not to. If there was a situation like this you both agreed to save the universe first. How stupid was he to think he would listen to that now facing it in-front of him.

He never got to tell you what happened. He never got to apologize. He never got to tell you one more time that he loved you. Even if you in result just spat in his face, at least he was able to talk to you one more time. You were never a placeholder or someone to fill a hole in his heart. His whole heart belonged to you and he couldn’t let you go thinking you didn’t mean anything to him. No matter the consequences, he needed to tell you.

“Call all the teams to control the damage of a possible universe collapse.” He turned to Jess with Y/N tightly in his arms. The spider-people watched speechless as he opened a portal and disappeared.

—

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—

—

Two weeks you laid motionless in the HQ’s medbay.

The clean up after breaking the canon was a little intense. They were able to get it under control as the event started to fade from your timeline once you were returned and starting to heal in Earth-928.

The spider society would remain silent near the medbay. The lights always being dimmed and hushed whispers between staff to not bother the distressed O’Hara. He refused to leave.

Your Peter Parker had now joined the team, much to Miguel’s dismay. Everyday your friends would come in and check to see how you were. Some telling stories about their day or any gossip updates you missed, in hopes that it would get you to wake up. They would ignore the gloomy Miguel who was basically glued to the seat next to you not saying a word to anyone.

At night Miguel would play with your fingers and softly stroke your hair all while pleading “Please don’t leave me, please don’t leave me. Por favor mi alma.” He knew it wasn’t his place to beg this after what he did, but he didn’t mind the words falling on deaf ears.

Miguel hadn’t eaten in days, he felt too nauseous from anxiety to even try anything. Pavitr had done the favor to bring you and Miguel’s favorite empanadas from a small street vendor downtown. Hoping to get Miguel to at least try the food before he ended up in a hospital bed next to you due to starvation.

You started to blink open your eyes, spots surrounding your vision. You could hear a soft breathing to your right side and you slowly felt your sense come back one by one. It felt like you just had a really rough nap.

��Oh my god that smells so good.” You moaned, sitting yourself up to try to look at where the smell of food was coming from.

You were met with a wide eyed Miguel holding a box of empanadas. His jaw slacked open acting as if he’s seen a ghost looking at you. Confusion hit you first for a second and then you start to panic.

Why was he here? Why was your ex-husband sitting right here? You started to push away from him and Miguel caught on to your panic.

“No, no, no mi amor stop.” He tried calming you. “You’re hurt, you’re going to open your stitches.”

You suddenly remembered everything that happened right before you blacked out. At that moment you forgot the hurt you had towards your ex-lover. Gathering yourself you just stared at him. “I’m suppose to be dead.”

Tears rimmed your eyes. Why did it feel like life just hated you so much?

Miguel engulfed you in his arms as you started to cry. You didn’t care right now. You had ached for this feeling again, so alone, with the comfort Miguel used to bring you. Just for a moment you could pretend like how it was before.

“We can’t do this Miguel.”

He knew what you were thinking. He didn’t want to let you leave his arms yet, as he let his self hold harder and push your head closer into his the crook of his shoulder. The tickle of your breath on his neck, he just wanted this forever.

“She left. Almost a year ago.” He let out to you. A big weight coming off of his chest. You pulled back from him and looked up into his eyes while you watched him avoid your gaze. You felt bad to say you could feel a bit of satisfaction bubbling in you.

“Good, she deserved better.”

“So did you.” Miguel sighed playing with his hands. Your eyes widened when you saw the ring still on his finger. He let you stare. “I-I could never. I couldn’t.” The emotions struggle to come out of his mouth. You understood him though. You always did. Placing your hand on top of his you just nodded.

“Please stay here.” He whispered.

Miguel had broken you in so many ways. Yet he almost ruined another universe just to keep you alive. You both needed time to talk and coming out a coma right now isn’t good timing.

“I finally became my own person when I went back in my universe. I enjoyed my independence.” The words pelleted at him. He could only hold his breath as he waited for you to continue. “I’ll stay… but not for you.”

It wounded him deeply; but he deserved it. This place will always be a home for you even if he wasn’t apart of it. Before he can tear his gaze and turn away, you reached out to hold his face close to yours. Your fingers gently rubbing on his cheeks as you slowly look at him properly after so long. You let your thumb smooth over his frown lines and he leaned into your touch closing his eyes.

“Let’s give us time.” Was the words you blessed that opened every door of hope he could find. He would take it, he would absolutely take it. He has to fight for you, he has to prove to you. He would do anything but for now he’ll be on his best patiently waiting for you.

Both of you sat comfortably without speaking, only the faint background beeps of the hospital monitor making up for the silence, while passing small glances. For once both of you felt a missing warmth you didn’t realize you needed. Sharing empanadas with each other, just maybe it will be alright…

—————————————————

The end!!! Thank you so so much for your time in reading my story. i really really was so happy with all the comments and feedback on pt 1 it really meant a lot!!!

i hope this was ok ~ i apologize for how long it was i was thinking of doing another part but just wanted to finish this up. I was in such a conflict how to end this. i hope it wasn’t too cliche or anything i’m just a sucker for very wanty needy dramatic stories. It’s a hopeful ending tho~ i couldn’t pick with just happy or sad.

So many of you had tons of amazing suggestions which I appreciated so much. I was such a mess trying to figure it all out. Many of you wanted to see Y/N move on with another person but I ended up going this route. I used Peter Parker as an obv character in y/n’s universe but it’s not tied to any specific one and you guy can think of him more to your liking if you want to!

If any of you would like a small drabble or imagine of another route of this story or just anything angsty/possessive and rarwrarwbarkbark miguel. I’d be glad to help lol!! My request box is wide open~ i had so much fun writing this!

—

TAG LIST!

@hoseokslefteyebrow @sleepyamaya @typicalife-101 @jenniferdixon05207 @geraskier-thots @nuttyrebelflower @youcantseem3 @ihateuguys @archangel1206 @southprw

[nightingale-prompts]

Davey Plays Games

More Davey

Barbara: Alright, we agreed that we would help turn Davey normal.

Davey: *lizard blinks*

Barbara: Or as normal as he CAN be. All things considered, Cocomelon isn't helping. We have managed to stunt his speech development and attention span. Thanks to Tim

Tim: But it worked and he's too addicted to short-term dopamine rushes and flashing colors to wander the earth looking for peds to torture and kill.

Jason: A great loss for the world. Can't we let him use his powers again?

Dick: Unfortunately no. And you are still not allowed to watch him.

Jason: It was an accident!

Dick: You put him on a long leash and walked him like dog-well bloodhound to find targets.

Jason: Well fuck me for using his talents to better the world. It's easy when he's a walking murderer detector. Besides he is a radar only for child and animal killers.

Dick: And he was able to slip out of his leash and escaped. He was able to target and kill two more people by the time we caught him again.

Jason: And nothing of importance was lost.

Barbara: Focus guys. We need to teach him how to talk again. Ms.Rachel is not going to cut it anymore.

Cass: (I've been teach him sign language)

Barbara: That works. We have at least been able to use baby sign. But it's still important to fill in his language development.

Tim: I have a plan.

Damian: Your last plan caused this.

Tim: Don't worry it'll work.

*****

Davey:(playing Fear and Hunger) Hehe, Bloody. It's so messy and funny.

Dick: What the hell is this Tim?

Tim: Progress. I've chosen a collection of indie horror games with heavy dialog, puzzle-solving, psychological situations, and enough gore to keep him interested. Corpse Party games, Slay the Princess, some niche murder mysteries, and a lot of pixel RPG horror games.

Dick: That can actually be working.

Tim: No, it's working. He got sad playing Slay the Princess when he realized that killing her made her sad. He learned empathy.

Dick: Oh my god, it's working.

[taravangians-storming-balls]

How to Write Moash - A Breakdown of Moash's Personality

A while back someone asked for some advice on writing Moash - they wanted to include him in their story, but since he’s such a divisive character they felt nervous about representing him accurately. Um. I accidentally made an entire document about it and figured I might as well share in case it's helpful to anyone else. It's long. (I'm sorry)

This is by no means exhaustive, and I’m very certain there are aspects of his personality I’m missing here, but it’s certainly a good start if you need a refresher on his personality or have never written him before. Obligatory these are my opinions and you’re free to write Moash in whatever way you wish ♥

Click here to read it in google doc format with headers and things or you can read the whole thing here below the read more:

Appearance

Might as well start here, just as a quick reference. Moash’s body type has been described as strong, lean, solid and tall. He has a narrow hawkish face, brown hair speckled with black, and a faded scar along his chin. The official figurine gives him curled, shortish length hair. His eyes are canonically dark brown that turn tan when he has his Shards, however, his eyes were accidentally described as dark green in an early release of TWoK and some people prefer to give Moash dark green eyes so you can do whatever the hell you want. Kaladin describes him as “a younger man, perhaps near Kaladin’s age”. More on that later.

Moash does not have slave brands on his forehead, and gets his Bridge Four tattoo on his left upper arm. Hot writing tip - depending on when in the timeline you’re writing Moash, you can have some fun with this tattoo. He’s no longer a part of Bridge Four, but forever will have marked in his very skin a reminder of the people he loved and then pushed away. Yippee.

General Personality / Tone

I feel like something some people forget with Moash is that he really is just some guy. Imagine a generic, grew up in a very masculine society, never got any therapy, doesn’t connect well with others DudeTM. He goes out with his friends. He's blunt. He wants the cool swords and powers. He doesn’t deal well with his emotions. He loves manual labor. Moash really is just some guy who is absolutely going through it.

In no particular order, here are some things about Moash. Some things I’ve left out of this list and only talk about in the Life Experiences section, because it’s more in the realm of analyzing than just selecting quotes to show off the things he does.

Skepticism

He didn’t expect or need their admiration. He knew what it felt like to be beaten down, despised. When you’d been treated as they had, you didn’t trust someone like Moash. You asked yourself what he was trying to get from you. (Oathbringer Ch. 51, Moash POV)

In the above quote Moash is referring to the singers he helps (Khen and Sah’s group), but to me, it’s clear he’s also talking about his own experiences. This was likely his exact internal dialog when he was busy hating Kaladin in the beginning of TWoK. Moash doesn’t trust easily, and generally needs people to prove one way or another their intentions before he accepts them. At the very least, he needs proof of what he’ll get out of a situation.

“I never promised it would work, Moash. If you’ve got a better idea, go ahead and share it.” Moash hesitated. “Well, if you really do teach us the spear like you promised, then I guess I don’t care.” (TWoK Ch. 46)

Moash has insecurities though, and can be played like a fiddle if people know where to press. Praise (of himself, his ideas, or his actions) and promises of power primarily does it for him.

He is also openly skeptical of things that don’t make sense to him and won’t hesitate to speak up about it, usually bluntly.

“Sigzil said these violet eyes of mine aren’t native to Alethkar. He thinks I must have Veden blood in me.” “Your eyes aren’t violet,” Moash said. (TWoK, Ch. 46)

This skepticism can lean pessimistic, and pops up in serious situations and normal everyday conversations.

To the side, the bridgemen turned back to work. Kaladin caught a few of them grumbling. “Bastard,” Moash said. “I said this would happen.” (TWoK Ch. 43, directly after Kaladin yells at Bridge Four that it’s hopeless and he won’t try any longer)

“Bah.” Moash dusted himself off. “He just saw a group of undefended archers and took the chance to strike. Lighteyes don’t care about us. Right, Kaladin?” (TWoK Ch. 62)

“It could have just been posturing,” Moash said, folding his arms. “Political games, him and Sadeas trying to manipulate each other.” (WoR Ch. 2, after Moash asks if Kaladin is willing to trust Dalinar)

Moash grimaced, looking at the bridgemen. “You assume some of them will be ‘more eager,’ Kaladin. They all look the same level of despondent to me.” (WoR Ch. 2)

“I think I’ll look silly in this,” Moash grumbled, but walked over to change. (WoR Ch. 2)

Trust

Moash is usually all in when he does put his trust in somebody or an idea, and it’s hard to shake him of this trust once he’s grasped it. In general, once he decides on something, it's hard to change his mind. This doesn't mean he doesn't listen - there are plenty of scenes where he listens to what Kaladin says - but it's hard to shake his worldviews once he settles on them. In any case, as soon as Moash decides he’s going to trust Kaladin, he’s immediately defensive of him and loyal.

“I’d surrendered my plans, but you’ve returned them to me. I’ll guard you with my life, Kaladin. I swear it to you, by the blood of my fathers.” Kaladin met Moash’s intense eyes and nodded. (TWoK Ch. 63)

“I have a plan,” Kaladin said. He waited for the objections. His other plans hadn’t worked. No one offered a complaint. “Well then,” Moash said. “What is it?” [...] Kaladin’s men nodded, and Moash seemed content. As contrary as he’d been originally, he had grown equally loyal. He was hotheaded, but he was also the best with the spear. (TWoK Ch. 62)

“I’ll never outrank you, Kal,” Moash said, faceplate of his helm up. “You’re my captain. Forever.” (TWoK Ch. 68)

It’s important to note that no matter how much Moash trusts someone, it won’t stop him from asking questions about what they’re doing - he won’t follow completely blindly.

Confidence

Moash acts with a lot of confidence, and will firmly state his opinions or what he thinks is true in blunt ways. Can be very confident of his own skills, and sometimes seems to take on the belief that if he just tries hard enough, he’ll be able to succeed at whatever lofty goal he has, sometimes in a way that feels boyish or naive.

“You shouldn’t speak so casually about the Fused, human,” Sah said, standing up. “They’re dangerous.” “Don’t know about that,” Moash said as two more passed overhead. “The one I killed went down easy enough, though I don’t think she was expecting me to be able to fight back.” He handed his waterskin to the overseer as she came around for them; then he glanced at Sah, who was staring at him, slack-jawed. Probably shouldn’t have mentioned killing one of their gods, Moash thought. (Oathbringer, Ch. 51)

He walked straight-backed with his chin up. Save for those dark brown eyes of his, he could have passed for an officer. (WoR, Ch. 2, Kaladin POV)

“Any man can win a Shardblade.” Moash said. “Slave or free. Lighteyes or dark. It’s the law.” “Assuming they follow the law,” Kaladin said with a sigh. “I’ll do it somehow,” Moash repeated. (TWoK, Ch. 46)

“We could swallow them,” Moash said. “You would choke. Spheres are too big, eh?” “I’ll bet I could do it,” Moash said. His eyes glittered, reflecting the verdant Stormlight. (TWoK, Ch. 55)

Questions

These trust issues, skepticism, confidence and bluntness leads Moash to asking a lot of questions and pushing back against things he doesn't get. He does seem to be genuinely curious why people do things, and was constantly theorizing why the Fused are doing certain things as he travels with the army. This isn’t scholarly curiosity, like Sigzil might have, just what feels like a need to know what’s going on. Moash isn’t afraid to walk up to nearly anyone and ask them about a situation, or why they’re doing something, no matter the position of the person he’s asking. I’d describe him as having a constant idle curiosity.

“What’d they do, anyway?” he said as he took up his rope. “What was that?” she asked, looking back at him. […] He didn’t actually expect an answer. (Oathbringer Ch. 48)

“So the gods,” Moash said, nursing his own drink, “were pleased that you solved problems on your own . . . by going to other gods and begging them for help instead?” “Hush,” Rock said. (WoR Ch. 46)

Moash strode right up to the creature. “I need to talk to someone in charge.” Behind him, Moash’s overseer gasped—perhaps only now realizing that whatever it was Moash was up to, it could get her in serious trouble. [...] Moash took a deep breath. “Can you tell me, then, why you treat your own so poorly?” (Oathbringer Ch. 54, it should be noted that Moash is a slave at this point)

To quote a Tumblr post of mine: This was 100% why he was talking to gaz in twok btw. I figure it was moments after kaladin punched moash in the stomach that he walked over like "yo where the fuck did this asshole come from"

And then, my personal favorite section which shows a lot of various Moash personality traits in my opinion:

“Something wrong, soldier?” Kaladin asked. Moash blinked in surprise at the use of the word, but he and the others had grown to expect all kinds of unorthodoxy from Kaladin. “Why did you make me leader of a subsquad?” “Because you resisted my leadership longer than almost any of the others. And you were flat-out more vocal about it than any of them.” “You made me a squad leader because I refused to obey you?” “I made you squad leader because you struck me as capable and intelligent. But beyond that, you weren’t swayed too easily. You’re strong-willed. I can use that.” Moash scratched his chin, with its short beard. “All right then. But unlike Teft and that Horneater, I don’t think you’re a gift straight from the Almighty. I don’t trust you.” “Then why obey me?” Moash met his eyes, then shrugged. “Guess I’m curious.” He moved off to gather his squad. (TWoK Ch. 30)

Defending Others/Reactiveness

When Moash is a target of hostility, he will often glare and grumble, or is snappish, but isn’t very explosive about it.

“Why do they do that?” Moash said quietly as a passing soldier tossed an overripe pile-vine fruit at the bridgemen. Moash wiped the stringy, red fruit from his face, then sighed and fell back into his stance. Kaladin had never asked them to join him, but they did it each time. (TWoK Ch. 57)

Moash climbed to his feet, rubbing his stomach and glaring at Kaladin. (TWoK Ch. 14, Moash directly after being punched in the stomach)

However, he’s very reactive when he sees something he doesn’t like, or when someone he’s attached to is being insulted.

“I’ll find a way to get them up,” Kaladin said. “You say things like that a lot,” Skar noted. “Leave off, Skar,” Moash said. “He knows what he’s doing.” Kaladin blinked. Had Moash just defended him? (TWoK Ch. 55)

The man looked him up and down. “I heard you held a bridge, practically by yourself, against hundreds of Parshendi. How’d you do that?” He did not address Kaladin with “sir,” as would have been appropriate for any other captain. “You want to find out?” Moash snapped from behind. “We can show you. Personally.” “Hush,” Kaladin said, glaring at Moash. (TWoK Ch. 5, Kaladin and Moash talking to a lighteyed Kholin guard)

The whipping began. The cries, the crack of leather on skin. That’s enough. (Oathbringer Ch. 48, Moash POV before he catches a whip to defend Khen and Sah’s group.)

He can also be fairly reactive in high stress situations.

“Would you two just storm off?” Moash snapped. “It doesn’t matter. You heard Kaladin. Even he thinks we’re as good as dead.” (TWoK Ch. 43)

Moash spat. “And this will accomplish something? Damnation, Kaladin, I feel like I’m already dangling from the noose!” (TWoK Ch. 62)

There is a balance to be found with Moash’s reactiveness, you don’t want to lean too far one way or another.

Moash moved up beside him. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “You’re right.” Kaladin smiled, this time genuinely. “I’m not going to pretend I don’t hate them,” Moash said. “But I’ll be civil. We have a duty. We’ll do it well. Better than anyone expects. We’re Bridge Four.” (TWoK Ch. 5)

Power

Moash is very routinely interested in the cool shiny things, things that give him power, and basically anything new as well. In many other spots I’ve included the quotes of Moash wanting a Shardblade, and in Oathbringer POV Moash says he dreamed of one for years.

The lean man had turned immediately at the mention of Shardblades, and now watched them hungrily. (WoR Ch. 16, Kaladin about Moash)

“I’d join them in a heartbeat,” Moash said, walking up behind. (WoR Ch. 46, about lighteyes)

He’s really eager to possibly learn Kaladin’s Radiant skills, and keeps butting in while people are talking to Kaladin about it to ask if he could teach them.

“Can you teach me to do what you did?” Moash cut in. (TWoK Ch. 73)

This is veering into the next main category about his life experiences, but I theorize that at least a portion of this desire for a higher position and power is that his life continuously beats him down and disappoints him over and over, and Moash wants to feel capable of fighting back. He's had very little control in his life, and craves it. Also power is cool and I’m pretty sure Moash likes cool things.

Worldviews

Moash believes in higher structures and relies on systems working. He likes structure, and likes to fit things somewhat into their spot. It’s a funny bit of contrasting ideals in Moash’s character, that he can be so skeptical of things and yet so willing to do what he’s told and believe in the correctness of societal structures he knows. He hates lighteyes, but he believes his society would work if there were only the correct people ruling. It’s almost as if Moash has a hard time imagining another option, the way he treats it. This gives him a certain naivety or childishness to his worldviews.

“Oh, I’m happy to punish [lighteyes],” Kaladin said. “But I have no desire to take their place, nor do I wish to join them.” “I’d join them in a heartbeat,” Moash said, walking up behind. He folded his arms across his lean, well-muscled chest. “If I were in charge, things would change. The lighteyes would work the mines and the fields. They would run bridges and die by Parshendi arrows.” [...] “Eye color is not so odd a method, compared to many others I have seen. If you were to overthrow the lighteyes and place yourselves in power, Moash, I doubt that the world would be a very different place. The abuses would still happen. Simply to other people.” Kaladin nodded slowly, but Moash shook his head. “No. I’d change the world, Sigzil. And I mean to.” (TWoK Ch. 46)

Moash shakes his head no to the abuses still happening if he were in charge and made lighteyes do those less desirable jobs. It doesn’t seem like he’s envisioning a world where lighteyes are abused, necessarily, but it’s hard to say what he IS actually thinking this would look like. He seems to trust that it would all just work out, thus the naivety I mentioned earlier.

More on this in the life experiences section, but Moash lost his family support structure at a young age (parents, and then grandparents), which likely made him lean more heavily on these outside society structures. 

Adding into this section that Moash is okay with a certain amount of violence and sacrifice. He likes it when people get what's coming to them, so to speak. This is a section I want to add more thought to later, but a good way to look at it is that Moash is rather typically Alethi.

Fixation

I touched on this in the Trust subheader, but Moash tends to go all in on everything he does.

“I’ve noticed you keep training when Teft lets the other men take breaks. Dedication is good, but don’t work yourself ragged. I want you to be one of the decoys.” (TWoK Ch. 63, Kaladin to Moash)

“Let’s get those armorers and help you take it off,” Kaladin said. “No. You go to Rock’s storming feast. I’m going to the sparring grounds to practice! I won’t take this off until I can move in it naturally.” (WoR Ch. 66)

“I came to this war to get myself a Shardblade,” Moash said. “And I still mean to do it, somehow.” He blushed, then turned away. (TWoK Ch. 46)

He’ll also get fixated just on random things. When they find an emerald broam in the chasms, Moash gets really enamoured by being able to keep that specific sphere. The bridgemen find and keep an amount of spheres equal to the worth of the emerald broam, but Moash practically pouts when Kaladin says they can’t keep it.

“Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” Moash asked, staring at the emerald. [...] “We could get all of the spheres,” Moash said eagerly. “Even the—” “No,” Kaladin said firmly. [...] Moash looked crestfallen, but the other bridgemen were eager. (TWoK Ch. 55)

You could even consider his desire to get revenge a fixation, and I think it is, but the trauma of losing his grandparents affected him so much that I think it gets pushed into a slightly different class. I’d say that once he becomes Vyre, Kaladin becomes a fixation for Moash.

Silence

In extreme states of duress, or even just shock, Moash often times will fail to respond verbally to others talking to him. The most extreme example we see of this is in Oathbringer Ch. 45, where he goes fully nonverbal after realizing that lighteyes are still in charge of the human slaves despite the opportunity under the singers to remove them from power and stop obeying them. He responds numbly to everything happening around him, and does not respond to the question Brightlord Paladar asks Moash, even when Paladar shouts at him to speak up. Paladar orders Guff to be beaten for bringing him somebody that “has something wrong with him”, and Moash remains silent.

Old Guff cried out as they seized him. Moash just nodded. Yes. Of course. That was what they would do.

They throw Moash out, and Moash barely hears their words. There are two other minor examples that come to mind to show off this silent response Moash sometimes has. In Ch. 40 of TWoK, Moash freezes when he notices Kaladin come out of the barracks alive, and doesn’t listen when Torfin yells at him, instead ducking out from under the bridge they were practicing with wordlessly. Also in Oathbringer Ch. 45 when Guff asks if Moash was a soldier, Moash just. Wordlessly stands up and stretches to show off his uniform coat? That last one more so shows off the weird way Moash can sometimes respond to things. Guff had to squint in the darkness to see his coat. Why did he do that instead of using his words. Anyway, that brings us to:

Social Skills

Moash isn’t awkward in social situations, and like we’ve already talked about, brings an air of confidence to most things he does. As far as I can tell, he feels comfortable in social situations. He does however, have a certain … extra-ness to him? He’ll just sort of say things sometimes.

“It was the king,” Moash said. “He had my family executed.” It took Kaladin a moment to realize what Moash was talking about. (WoR Ch. 44)

Moash says this completely out of nowhere. I’m not even talking about Moash bringing up his past out of nowhere after a period of silence between Kaladin and Moash, I’m talking about “it was the king” was not connected to anything Moash was talking about in the scene prior. It’s amazing Kaladin figured out what Moash meant by this.

He stepped up to Kaladin, then knelt down on one knee, Plate clinking. He saluted, arm across chest. (WoR Ch. 68)

Did you know that, besides Szeth kneeling for people holding his Oathstone, Moash is the only person in the books to go down on one knee like this to salute a superior? Moash is just Like That I guess.

“They tried to break me. Damnation, they did break me. But then he made me again, a new man.” Moash paused. “I threw it all away.” “Sure, sure,” Guff said. (Oathbringer Ch. 45)

Moash goes to find his old coworker/friend, Guff, and immediately starts waxing poetic to him about his time with Bridge Four in the most vague way possible, not really explaining anything. Moash just ignores Guff calling him weird.

Bridge Four

Moash valued the camaraderie and friendship of Bridge Four, and really attached himself to it.

“It just…” Moash said. “It didn’t feel right to go to sleep until we’d had a chance to… well, do this.” (TWoK Ch. 73, Moash talking about having Bridge Four stew around the fire after being freed)

Moash held up the patch, trying to catch the firelight for a last look, and then couldn’t bring himself to throw it away. [...] Were the others sitting around Rock’s stewpot somewhere? Laughing, joking, betting on how many mugs of ale Lopen could drink? Ribbing Kaladin, trying to get him to crack a smile? Moash could almost hear their voices, and he smiled, imagining that he was there. (Oathbringer Ch. 43)

He seemed to hang out with Bridge Four frequently for fun activities like going to the tavern, and was often a part of group activities. He brings that teasing quality to the one scene we get.

“You weigh about as much as a starved axehound, Lopen,” Moash said skeptically. (WoR Ch. 46)

Moash will often say “We’re Bridge Four” or other such chants of their name, like a thing of pride. It should be noted that this next quote is from after he ran away from Bridge Four and feels awful about it. He still feels attached enough to say this.

Orange blood coated him, steaming in the chill air. He seized his spear again, fingers slick with blood, and pointed it at the three remaining Voidbringers, who regarded him with stunned expressions. “Bridge Four, you bastards,” Moash growled. (Oathbringer Ch. 43)

Parshmen

Moash displays a lot of the casual microaggressions towards singers that many of the characters do - such as early Bridge Four interactions with Rlain in Oathbringer - including Moash referring to them as “shellheads” when speaking with other caravaneers. He doesn’t seem to display any hatred or ill feelings towards singers, but definitely was used to using parshmen in his line of work, as his caravans he worked on used parshmen frequently to pull the wagons when they weren’t using chulls. Moash frequently will just accept things as the way things are, and I imagine he never particularly gave any mind to parshmen or whether his society’s treatment of them was just. Parshmen existed, people used them because they were useful, and Moash would as well. 

Skills

The most skilled were Skar and Moash. In fact, Moash was surprisingly good. Kaladin walked to the side, watching the hawk-faced man. He was focused, eyes intense, jaw set. He moved in attack after attack, the dozen spheres giving him an equal number of shadows. (TWoK Ch. 63)

Moash is a great fighter, and proves it again and again in the books. He kills Leshwi with only a regular spear, and during the Battle of the Tower, is the only one to survive of his group defending a particularly hard section of the bridge. His dedication means he tends to learn things fast, and he has a lot of tenacity once he sets his mind to something.

It hadn’t even been a week yet, but Moash walked in the armor easily. (WoR Ch. 68, Kaladin about Moash walking naturally in Shardplate)

Kaladin normally wouldn’t have started resetting exercises until the second or third day. Yet here, Moash was drinking it in after only two hours. (TWoK Ch. 49)

Manual Labor ♥

Moash straight up loves hard, manual labor. 

The last station was the most interesting to Moash. This was for hard labor. (Oathbringer Ch. 45)

I’ve been trying to keep Vyre out of this section because he’s a different beast, but I can’t not note that he says people not telling him about the marble that needed to be hauled was like “keeping sweets from a child”. Odium is taking his pain at the time, and hauling around marble and working himself all day seems to be one of the few things he genuinely enjoys doing.

In general, Moash seems to be fond of physical exercise and moving around.

“Silversmiths. I never picked up on the trade. Liked to be out walking. Going somewhere.” (WoR Ch. 44)

Moash found himself enjoying these weeks hiking and pulling his sledge. It exhausted his body, quieted his thoughts, and let him fall into a calm rhythm. (Oathbringer Ch. 48)

While he does seem to genuinely enjoy it, Moash also uses working himself hard as a way to avoid any pain or feelings he’s having. When Moash is in distress, he tends to seek it out.

Lighteyes

Moash really hates lighteyes. Obviously, probably.

With a start, Moash realized that the man had pale green eyes. Yet he still raised his hand and volunteered to carry water—something that had once been parshman work. Well, that was a sight that couldn’t help but brighten a man’s day. (Oathbringer Ch. 45)

They’ll need to press the people into this, Moash thought. Maybe they can round up some lighteyes and make them trudge across the rock like beasts of burden. He’d like to see that. (Oathbringer Ch. 45)

When he has his own light eyes, Moash is firm in insisting he’s not a lighteyes.

“Everstorm tonight, Brightlord. We were given a half day off, in celebration.” “I’m not a brightlord,” Vyre said, checking the sky. (RoW I-4)

He does seem capable of respecting lighteyes however, if they prove themselves. He talks highly of Graves, and uses the fact that Graves married a darkeyed women to help prove to Kaladin that Graves doesn’t treat people differently based on their eye color. Moash comments in Oathbringer that he used to admire how refined Graves seemed.

Extra Bits

Moash painted his Shardplate blue with red accents, and then later got a custom made uniform that looks like a Bridge Four uniform but it’s black and red. Do with this what you will.

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He sticks his hands in his pockets to walk around a lot. In general he has laid back mannerisms, such as scratching his chin, shrugging casually, or resting his elbows on his knees.

-

The caravaneer salute is visually close to a rude gesture, and apparently they squabble a lot like a family. Moash probably fit in pretty well, even if he didn’t make good friends. It’s also fun to note that caravaneers have a distinct accent. Does Moash have this accent, or does he not for some reason? Does he suppress it? It’s a fun thing to add into writing.

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“You did it, Kaladin!” Moash exclaimed. “You found the secret. We need to make this work. Expand it.” (TWoK Ch. 62)

“Your eyes are really changing.” “Yeah,” Moash said. “But I’m not one of them, you hear me? I’m one of us. Bridge Four. I’m our . . . secret weapon.” (WoR Ch. 68)

There is something about these two lines that are connected in my brain. I don’t know what it is, but it’s important. Something about Moash’s use of secret in these scenes reads as so boyish and endearing to me.

-

“Now, there’s a soldier!” the quartermaster said with a laugh. “Still think you look silly?” He gestured for Moash to inspect his reflection in the mirror on the wall. Moash fixed his cuffs and actually blushed. Kaladin had rarely seen the man so out of sorts. “No,” Moash said. “I don’t.” (WoR Ch. 2)

Moash has a praise kink. Sorry but I’m not wrong.

He isn’t a total asshole, actually

This section is because the way Fuck Moashers write Moash pisses me the fuck off. Moash is gruff, he can be a bit of a bitch, but he’s not a monster. Here are some random quotes of Moash being normal and caring about people.

They were joined by Moash; despite the latter’s protests that he didn’t trust Kaladin, he looked almost as concerned as the other two. [...] “You did this for us,” Moash put in. “We’d have died on that field. Perhaps as many as died in the other bridge crews. This way, we’re only going to lose one.” (TWoK Ch. 34)

Moash stepped in. He wore his Shardplate, as always. “Storms, Kal. Were you asleep? I’m sorry!” “No, I was awake.” “In the darkness?” Kaladin shrugged. (WoR Ch. 77)

“Idolir and Treff?” he asked. “We lost them,” Moash said, growing solemn. “We did two bridge runs while you were unconscious. Nobody badly wounded, but two dead. We…we didn’t know how to help them.” (TWoK Ch. 40)

He barely had time to take a fresh breath of air as the bridgemen reached him, calling out with joy, nearly tackling him in their excitement. “You fool!” Moash said. “You storming fool! What was that? What were you thinking?” (TWoK Ch. 62)

“Head back and get some sleep,” Kaladin said. “You too, Bisig. I saw you on shift this morning.” “And you?” Moash asked Kaladin. [...] Moash raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got to be at least as tired as I am, Kal.” [...] “Then you’ll get some sleep?” Moash asked. (WoR Ch. 22, Moash encouraging Kaladin to sleep.)

Moash rarely glanced in their direction without finding one of them being beaten, yelled at, or abused. Moash’s heart wrenched to see and hear this. [...] His sledge soon caught up to the parshman crew. The two sledges walked side by side for a time, and Moash liked to think that keeping pace with his crew could motivate the poor parshmen. (Oathbringer Ch. 48)

Life Experiences and How That Influences Him

A lot of this becomes speculative as opposed to the above section that was just commenting on directly what we see in the text, but hopefully it’s clear enough what is directly from the book and what is me theorizing based on what we know.

Childhood is important, so lets talk about why Moash is fucked up. Moash lost both of his parents at an undisclosed, young age, and his grandparents raised him. His grandparents were 75 when they died, so Moash was raised by people fairly old. This can have all sorts of fun effects on Moash that you can add into your writing if you so choose. Moash might be familiar with certain pain medications he’d pick up for them, or maybe he’s used to speaking at a louder volume. Moash seems to be aware of how fragile they were.

“You doubt that sending a seventy-five-year-old couple to the palace dungeons is a death sentence?” (WoR Ch. 44)

Moash’s grandparents are also second nahn, which puts him at an interesting and also probably confusing spot in his society to navigate - important, nearly as much as the lowest lighteyes, but still not a lighteyes.

Before we go further we need to talk about Moash’s age. This is all speculation, because we don’t know more than that single line I quoted from Kaladin in the Appearance section earlier. “Younger man” could probably mean anything in your 20s, as low as 18. Kaladin is about 21 in WoR, and if Moash is near Kaladin’s age, I’m going to assume they’re within five years of one another. We also know that Roshone shows up in Hearthstone near the end of 1166, so by those parameters, Moash was anywhere between 10 and 18 when his grandparents were killed.

Personally, I think he needs to have been at least fifteen, because not only is Moash going on caravan trips and working at that point, but he also is completely on his own after their death and I just can’t imagine that for anyone younger than fifteen.

That’s extremely young to be dealing with the sudden death (and practical murder by your own government!) of the people that raised you, after already losing your parents at a younger age. It’s no wonder he didn’t process it well. On top of that, it doesn’t seem like he had any other support structure, and likely no one helped him through those feelings after finding them dead when returning home from a caravan trip. As of WoR, it is eight years since Moash’s grandparents passed, and he still seemed tense and angry about it when telling Kaladin what happened to him. He clearly hasn’t done much healing.

This event was huge in shaping who he is, and is important to keep in mind when writing him. Possibly even more important however, is this feeling of being alone and unwanted.

Huddled groups of people regarded him with hostility, even though he was just another refugee. He’d always been met with hostility, no matter where he storming went. A youth like him, too big and obviously too confident for a darkeyes, had been considered a threat. He’d joined the caravans to give himself something productive to do, encouraged by his grandparents. They’d been murdered for their kindly ways, and Moash … he’d spent his life putting up with looks like that. A man on his own, a man you couldn’t control, was dangerous. He was inherently frightening, just because of who he was. And nobody would ever let him in. Except Bridge Four. Well, Bridge Four had been a special case, and he’d failed that test. Graves had been right to tell him to cut the patch off. This was who he really was. The man everyone looked at with distrust, pulling their children tight and nodding for him to move along. (Oathbringer Ch. 45)

Okay so let’s unpack all that. Joining the caravans “to give himself something productive to do” screams troubled childhood to me, and it sounds like Moash has always had a hard time making real friendships outside of Bridge Four. Moash seems to be ostracized even from other darkeyes and a common target for hostility, and even Kaladin targeted Moash, choosing him of all the bridgemen to punch in the stomach and throw over his shoulder. There were likely a million little things Moash found himself in trouble for throughout his life, his fault or not.

He slid his knife from his side sheath—he still wasn’t used to being able to carry one that long. A knife that was too big could get you into trouble as a darkeyes. (Oathbringer Ch. 43)

It makes sense then why Moash is so standoffish, bristly, and distrustful of others. When everyone you meet immediately brings this hostile or defensive energy, you learn to expect it and guard yourself by being defensive first. Of course, then it becomes a vicious cycle. If there is one thing about Moash, it’s that he loves a vicious cycle. This is a fun thing to include in your plots - make that boy a target of abuse! Make him expect the worst from people until proven otherwise, and in turn people expect the worst from him.

Note that Moash lies to himself, and is good at burying his feelings in layers. If this is just who he is, it helps cover the pain of his life, because then it wouldn't have been possible for his life to have played out differently. Moash rationalizing away pain that he can’t handle feeling is something to keep in mind while writing him. As touched on above, Moash lost his support structures, and he never seemed to really learn how to process his emotions well.

Moash doesn't have a particularly high opinion of himself, likely due to all this bullshit.

“I always do that,” Moash whispered. “Why must we always take something precious, Guff, and find ourselves hating it? As if by being pure, it reminds us of just how little we deserve it. I held the spear, and I stabbed myself with it.…” (Oathbringer, Ch. 45)

Until a specific point in Oathbringer (we'll get to it) he views himself as defective compared to others, but it's important to separate how Moash views his skills and how Moash views himself. One of these things he is confident in, and will train hard until he's very skilled, the other is stuck in this belief that its inevitable that he'll fuck things up, and that is simply “the way that he is”. There is a thing that can happen when you find yourself frequently alone, where you simultaneously hold the belief that you’re better than everyone else and also a piece of shit at the same time. Moash doesn't want people to see things bother him, hell, he doesn’t want himself to know he’s bothered by it, and so he battles this with overconfidence, which is also backed up by him being genuinely good at practical skills. 

It's very possible that he was beginning to feel good about himself as he existed for longer in Bridge Four, as he had companionship and people who trusted him and respected his abilities, but after the betrayal it would send all these feelings crushing back down as we can see in his Oathbringer POVs.

Moash looked down at his Shardblade, the wealth of nations, the most valuable possession a man could own. Who am I kidding? he thought. Who did I ever think I was kidding? (Oathbringer Ch. 43, directly before Moash decides to fight Leshwi with a spear instead)

Side note - if he hasn't had very many friendships or people he feels he can be vulnerable with, that helps explain why he doesn't always navigate friendships elegantly and has trouble connecting with others. I also feel the need to note that I have a personal headcanon that Moash is autistic, but that’s not what this document is about so I’m not going to go into it. All the pieces to that are in here though, so you can form your own opinions.

Oathbringer

So Moash has been let down in his life, over and over and over and over again. Everything he tries to do goes wrong, including joining the military, as he gets sent to the bridge crews instead. After the next string of mistakes, Moash finds himself again a slave, but this time under the singers. The world appears to be ending, and Moash is desperately clawing for something to believe in or to relieve the pressure of his pain. Moash thinks he finds it in the fact that under the singers, lighteyes and darkeyes are finally put on the same level, and the lighteyes no longer have power.

Then this too, gets shattered. That’s when we see Moash have a severe crisis, and we get that mentality shift that’s important to inspect if you’re writing Oathbringer Moash.

He wasn’t broken. All of them were broken. Alethi society—lighteyed and dark. Maybe all of humankind. (Oathbringer Ch. 45)

Moash still believes himself a piece of shit, but now everyone else is too. He truly has nothing left in this moment, nothing to believe in. He is isolated, without friends or guidance or help. The world has done nothing for Moash, so he becomes disillusioned. Note that immediately after this, Moash does a classic Moash move of avoiding his feelings and seeking out something that will help numb him - this time, hard labor. My favorite thing when writing Moash is to play around with the various things he uses to avoid feeling his feelings. He is set up to be particularly susceptible to what Odium offers.

They told him to stay away, but Moash barely heard. He picked himself up, dusted himself off, then walked to the third of the work stations—the one seeking hard laborers. (Oathbringer Ch. 45)

Moash often fishes for a reason why things are happening, a justification for why it’s all going wrong. Moash also needs a structure to believe in, and so he flips to giving all his admiration to the singers, who comparatively, have treated him pretty okay thus far. More importantly, the singers aren’t humans, who have done nothing but disappoint him.

And he goes all in. Like he tends to. Boy doesn't do things halfway.

“Stop it!” he snapped, then shoved the other overseer aside. “Don’t you see what you’re doing? You’re becoming like us.” The two overseers stared at him, dumbfounded. “You can’t abuse each other,” Moash said. “You can’t.” (Oathbringer Ch. 48)

Moash needs there to be something good in the world, and he’s latched onto this idea that maybe the singers could be that, and Moash fights to try and keep this world view from shattering too. It’s not really about the singers, it’s about them not being the people who have hurt him over and over.

Hopefully this breakdown of his thought processes is helpful for creating your own disasters for Moash to go through.

Plot You Might’ve Forgotten

Bridge Four doesn’t know why Moash left at the end of WoR. 

Moash had been the closest to Kaladin, but he wasn’t in Bridge Four any longer. Kaladin hadn’t said what Moash had done, only that he had “removed himself from our fellowship.” Kaladin got stiff and unresponsive whenever Moash’s name was mentioned. (OB Ch. 35, Sigzil POV)

I don’t know how Kaladin got away with just not telling anyone, but apparently that’s what happened. Sometime between Oathbringer and RoW people seem to be aware of it, or are at least aware that Moash killed Elhokar in Kholinar. Still unclear if they know about WoR events, though a line from Adolin in the court scene in RoW implies at least he knows about Kaladin’s struggle with deciding to kill Elhokar with Moash or not. 

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Kaladin betrayed Moash. The timeline goes as such: Moash tells Kaladin about his grandparents, and Kaladin puts it together that Moash was behind the shitty attempt on Elhokar’s life. Moash convinces Kaladin to meet with Graves, and Kaladin is not on board for the regicide. Kaladin meets with Graves, and is still not on board for regicide and tells Moash not to meet with them anymore. Kaladin is making plans to round up Graves and his men, but oops Kaladin gets thrown into prison after Whitespine Uncaged. Now Kaladin IS on board for regicide because he got too sad in prison. Kaladin gets wishy washy, but does continue to give Moash the green light. It’s not until literally the last moment that Kaladin is like “wait! Moash we have to get revenge on Roshone instead actually” and understandably so Moash is like “wtf is wrong with you.” It's important to note that Moash breaks Kaladin’s ribs after that, so he definitely wasn’t an angel or anything.

If you want to headcanon that Moash was going to kill the king anyway whether Kaladin agreed to it or not, that’s up to you, but Moash before now wasn't in the habit of lying to Kaladin and he insisted he wouldn’t. He’s been honest the whole time when Kaladin asks.

Kaladin frowned. “Have you still been meeting with them?” Moash looked away. “Only once. To assure them that you’d come around.” (WoR Ch. 56)

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Moash got put into the bridge crews for no reason. Remember that thing I said about him continuously being a target of abuse?

“You joined up assuming they’d make you a spearman, didn’t you?” Kaladin asked. Moash hesitated, then nodded. “Some of those who joined with me did become soldiers, but most of us got sent to the bridge crews.” (TWoK Ch. 46)

Interesting to note that he tried to run away.

“This plan of yours had better work, lordling. Last time I ran away, I got a beating. I was told if I tried again, I’d get a slave’s mark instead.” (TWoK Ch. 46)

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Moash did not kick that kid. It’s very important to me that you know this. He did kick Lift though that one did happen.

Relationships

Just a brief overview of people Moash has interacted with.

Kaladin - All of ThatTM. They’re foils, they’re best friends, they’re rivals, their fates are bound together, whatever.

Elhokar - Also All of ThatTM.

Bridge Four - Rock pats him on the back, Sigzil and Moash were the biggest haters, Moash jokes with Lopen, etc etc.

Graves - Moash respects him, despite being a lighteyes. Then he dies.

Danlan - The only human woman Moash knows? She was working with Graves to kill Elhokar and is in the meeting Moash brings Kaladin to. They never directly spoke.

Rill - Mercenary working with Graves. He worked as a mercenary on some of the caravans Moash worked on, and is apparently the one that initially approached Moash after Moash was freed to connect him with Graves. This implies Moash probably did a lot of loud complaining about Elhokar while he was working the caravans after his grandparents passed.

Guff - The man Moash asks about after spotting caravaneers in Oathbringer. He’s a wheelwright, and used to work with Moash. I’m not sure of their relationship - Moash starts pouring his heart out to him immediately, but it’s unclear how familiar their relationship is since Guff doesn’t seem particularly caring towards Moash. Moash doesn’t try to seek him out again.

Uncle - Moash apparently used to run caravans with his uncle “as a youth”, but appears to not consider him family. My belief is that Moash’s uncle is the one who got him started in working the caravans.

Ana/Da - Moash’s grandparents. Moash describes them as kindly, and they ran their own silversmith shop. They were second nahn. “The only family he ever had”. Unclear if Ana and Da are their real names, or Moash’s name for grandma and grandpa.

Parents - Moash never mentions his parents except the one time - that they died when he was a child. He was likely pretty young when this happened.

Leshwi - Leshwi thinks he’s silly

Khen / Sah / the other singers - Moash catches a whip and punches somebody in the face for them, so that’s pretty cool. Moash teaches them how to fight with spears so they have something of a chance in the Kholinar siege to be promoted afterwards as Leshwi promises, and they seem somewhat reverent of Moash after he becomes Vyre.

Odium - drug dealer and boss combo. Has seen Moash’s gay thoughts for Kaladin. Appears to Moash as a singer, not human.

Jam - Moash rode in Jam’s caravan to travel to the Shattered Plains to join the military. Kaladin also knew a Jam in Hearthstone. Same Jam? I dunno.

Abrobadar - Moash got this guy’s Shardplate from the duel. Just putting this here because I worked hard to puzzle this out based on Plate color and so I’m gonna bring it up as often as possible. Especially because Abrobadar’s name is stupid.

Gavinor - Moash doesn't kick him. Gav wants to kill Moash anyway the little bitch

Vyre

Sorry I’m not going to finish this section right now, come back later.

[hedwigoprah]

Fic Cover Round-Up!

Since I have a few covers now, here's a post with all of them and the fic links, in one place. I hope you'll give them a read!

I had a wonderful time reading each of these. I'm so glad to have found them and their illustrious authors. I can't wait to see what you'll create next! Links and blurbs below the cut!

Roots of the Heart - @strugglinggranola | M | 36.8k Words

After The Veilguard, Emmrich returns to the Grand Necropolis, burying himself in academia, teaching, and tending to the dead. Then Myrna introduces him to her cousin Alyce Vonderwood. The Alyce Vonderwood. The woman who wrote Orlesian Orchids and Flora of the Anderfells - the books he owned and wrote in and dialogged with during the war with the gods. The woman who wrote the words that he knew better than some of his own work because he traced the letters so often they were imprinted on his very soul. But...he cannot have her. He should not want her. He is too broken from the war, too old, too...just no. It's not for him, not any more. She's too alive. But now, she's here. She's writing about the Memorial Gardens, about the plants that thrive in death. And who else at the Necropolis can help her with her research? Who else knows the difference between Wraith Root and Blood Ivy? Emmrich Volkarin.

Carry the Dagger - @notyourmamasdeerbat | M | 47.4k Words

Rook was not prepared to drop a statue on an elven god. Or for the world to immediately start ending. But Maker's Breath, they are meeting some of the most amazing people trying to stitch Thedas back together again, including the soft spoken assassin that keeps making their stomach do backflips without even trying. Lucanis was not prepared to meet a Veil Jumper so ready to set fire to the gods' coattails. Much less for them to ask his help in it. Spite, of course, is thrilled.

Good Luck, Illario! - @skullypettibone | E | 7.7k Words

Illario happily agrees to let Bellara tie him up and try out praise kink. He's a supporter of the arts after all, and she needs inspiration for her novel. Illario just didn't expect she would have so much to say. It breaks him a little.

Burn - @serensama | E | 17.9k Words

Rook is looking for validation and gratification and finds it in the willing arms- and pants- of the 'other' Dellamorte. There are feelings involved, but they don't matter, because they can't happen... or at the very least, shouldn't happen.

Since you made it to the bottom, hi how are you? Here's some trivia for your time: Tug of war was in the Olympics from 1900 to 1920.

[lightandfellowship]

This doesn't excuse some of Eraqus'...less-than-stellar parenting choices but I find it interesting how KHDR recontextualized his parenting of Terra, Aqua, and Ven by revealing that...well he never really planned to have apprentices/kids, apparently?

Master Xehanort: You've taken on apprentices. Master Xehanort: They seem quite bright. Master Eraqus: Better late than never.

We learn that Terra and Aqua were the first apprentices he ever had (or at least that's what's implied by the above dialog), and this happens in his like, 60's-70's approximately. For reference, he becomes a Master and Odin's heir at some point in his 20's. For like four or five decades he was doing...who knows what, watching over and protecting the Realm of Light I guess, but strangely not teaching.

When all we had was BBS to work with, it was easy to imagine that Eraqus had plenty of experience with teaching and raising apprentices given his age and role, but KHDR basically tells us that this is actually a fairly new experience for him.

And like. Here's the thing. Good parenting is a skill. It's something you have to learn and work hard to master. Maybe there's some "common sense" aspects to it, sure (like. y'know. be kind to your child) but there's a reason why child psychology studies exist and why many expecting parents read books/take formal classes to learn about proper parenting. It's a nuanced subject with lots of variance depending on the child, too.

Did Eraqus ever learn anything about how to raise kids? Let alone as a single parent, basically? While in his 60's-70's? While also never properly preparing for it because he never thought he would end up doing it and then BAM suddenly there's orphaned kids on your doorstep who need guidance and care and you can't just abandon them, right? <- not that we know Terra and Aqua's backstories, but I have to imagine they had no one else to turn to...

Again, this doesn't excuse how he massively mishandled a bunch of things regarding TAV's wellbeing, but I think in addition to "ignorance about darkness" affecting his actions, we can add "ignorance about parenting" on top of that.

[russellmoreton]

abstracts : The Ruins of Cinema by Russell Moreton Via Flickr: Heuristic Material : Collage 1. encouraging a person to learn, discover, understand, or solve problems on his or her own, as by experimenting, evaluating possible answers or solutions, or by trial and error: a heuristic teaching method. 2. serving to indicate or point out; stimulating interest as a means of furthering investigation.

[cayde-6]

Small things about characters I wish to bring up again.

Zavala had/has a knitting club, I don't know if he continued it after the Red War.

Ikora had a book club that most likely went wrong because Sloane had a line to ask about the book club but to get ready to duck.

Cayde and Shaxx played (Shaxx still does) dodgeball with the City's kids.

Saint most likely teaches people on how to hold a bird, I'm going off his dialog where he says that you and him will practice later with a sack of grain.

This is brought up multiple times but Uldren would tell the story of the two siblings and he would go all out on the theatrics.

When The Last City was still in the beginning era Ghosts liked to carry plates of food on them to Guardians and most likely civilians too, and Saint has known to do the cooking or at least when we learn of this he was the one cooking.

[akanemnon]

i liked the skit y’all made

Thank you, anon!

It took me a few weeks to do the animatic since I've never done this before. Throughout the entire thing, you can see how I teach myself how to get better at it.

Luckily, Alpha's dialog and foley are consistently good. They really carry the whole thing.

[athena-the-writer]

hello I am new to asking this, but I red in a headcanon that kratos would probably threesome lol, so i remembered that imagine a threesome with kratos and Deimos, yk when he was alive?, Like in between god of war 2 and 3, where the reader is a goddess of peace, that helped kratos heal and finds his brother?, And the aftermath of saving Deimos they go to the reader, and both kratos and Deimos fall in love with her, this can be fluff to smut,. And maybe long fic 👀

-🖤

A/N: First and foremost, I am so sorry it seemed like I ignored this inbox. I hope you can forgive my absence with this story, please enjoy.

Warnings: Kinda long, rough sex Threesome, some voyeurism, dirty talk, descriptions, MMF, multiple rounds, young Kratos so he's got his old character, Deimos! cameo and involvement, i tried to have dialog like the original game (yes, I had to watch some playthrough to remember)

Kratos stood over the broken body of the god who had imprisoned Deimos, blood still dripping from his Blades of Athena. His breath came in ragged gasps, and for a moment, the Ghost of Sparta could not move — not because of pain, but because of the unfamiliar ache of hope.

Deimos was alive.

Bruised, bloodied, but breathing. His brother....the one he let go all those years ago...the brother he failed to keep safe.

And you — the Goddess of Peace — stood by his side, your hands glowing with soft, golden light as you pressed them to Deimos’s battered chest. Wounds closed beneath your touch. Cracked ribs knitted themselves whole. The rage in Deimos’s eyes dulled to confusion, then to something even rarer: trust.

Kratos watched in silence, his fists clenching and unclenching. He had seen your powers before — the way your gentle magic soothed his own broken body, how your voice calmed the war drums that beat inside his mind. But seeing you now, healing his brother, mending a part of himself he thought lost forever — it stirred something deeper. Something dangerous. Something.... possessive...

"Rest, Deimos," you murmured, your hand lingering against his heart. "You are safe now."

Deimos’s sharp blue eyes flicked from you to Kratos. "Brother," he rasped, voice raw, "You .....came for me."

Kratos only nodded once, but in his eyes he made a vow. He would never lose his brother again. Not like he did all those years ago...

never again.

--

The journey back to your temple was not an easy one, but when you did cross the grand entrance Deimos nearly bring dragged by his brother. You bring him into your healing chambers made for treatment and rest.

The fire crackled low as night fell over your sanctuary. The candles and flames casting a warm glow along with the slivers of moonlight that had come in.

Kratos had departed some hours prior, his words terse: "I shall not be long. Tend to him."

You obeyed, as much out of duty as out of something deeper that stirred within you. Of course anyone and every woman had known Kratos for two things. His history of killing and his history of sleeping with women. Whether it be mortal or goddess, everyone knew what he led, and it was sure to be unforgettable.

The brother he fought so hard to reclaim — Deimos — lay resting before your fire, the light painting him in golds and reds. You pressed a cloth to his ribs, wiping away the last of the dried blood. Your magic hummed quietly beneath your skin, knitting flesh, easing pain. Still, you could feel Deimos's gaze — unwavering, searing — upon you.

"You bear a gentle hand, goddess," he said at last, voice roughened by both exhaustion and something heavier.

"You have endured enough cruelty....it is the least I can do...." you replied, your fingers lingering a moment too long against his skin.

Deimos's lips curved into a wry smile. "Cruelty is the way of the world. Yet you..." His hand caught your wrist with surprising gentleness.

"You would teach a warrior mercy....to lay your hand in healing and mercy...." You met his eyes — fierce and bright like his brother's, yet tempered with mischief, with longing.

A heartbeat passed. Two. You could feel your skin tingle, and your stomach warm from the way he looked at you.

Then Deimos rose slightly, despite the protest of his wounds, and his other hand found your waist.

"Permit me," he murmured, voice low and thick, "to show my gratitude." His lips met yours in a soft but hungry kiss. A soldier deprived of everything in life, now had it at his fingertips and would take full advantage of it. His mouth slanted over yours, hungry and reverent, his hands pulling you into the hard planes of his battle-worn body.

You gasped, and Deimos groaned against your lips, as if your very breath was wine he had been long denied.

"You are soft..." he rasped, nipping lightly at your lower lip. "So soft....so supple..." he pulls you to straddle his lap

"Deimos—" you whispered, half a plea, half a prayer.

He silenced you with another kiss, rougher, more demanding. His hands slid over your back, your hips, grounding you to him. You could feel the heat of his skin, the tremble in his muscles, the sheer need radiating from him like fire. Something hard and needy grew and throbbed under his clothing.

And then — the heavy door creaked open.

Kratos stood there, his frame rigid, his golden gaze cutting through the shadows like a blade.

You stilled — heart hammering in your chest — but Deimos did not falter. Instead, he held you tighter, a challenge gleaming in his eyes as he met his brother's stare.

Kratos's jaw tightened. His fists clenched at his sides. The silence was a palpable thing, heavy with unspoken desires and darker hungers. You would have said something to the god that stood before you, but Daimos turned your gaze back to him.

Deimos's mouth found yours again, greedy and coaxing, hands roaming your waist, your hips. You gasped softly, your body alight with sensation — so caught in him you almost forgot the other presence in the room.

Almost.

Kratos stood a mere pace away, silent and seething, golden eyes burning brighter than the fires that burned in the sanctuary.

His hand shot out, seizing Deimos by the shoulder and ripping him from you with a growl. You stumbled, caught only by Kratos’s other hand — large, calloused — curling possessively around your arm.

"You are too bold, brother," Kratos snarled, his voice like stone grinding against stone. Deimos chuckled low in his throat, undeterred.

"Would you have her all to yourself, then?" he taunted, licking a stray bead of your taste from his lip. Kratos's glare could have split the earth in that very moment.

"She is not yours to toy with," he said, and the low rumble of it set your heart hammering against your ribs. His gaze fell on you — searing, claiming.

"She is mine." something in your stomach flipped and boiled at the statement.

Deimos leaned lazily against the pillar near the fireplace, still smiling, watching as Kratos pulled you against the hard planes of his body — his mouth descending to claim yours in a kiss far rougher, far more desperate than Deimos’s had been. There was no question in it — only command, like the general he was... Your knees went weak, clutching at the folds of Kratos’s scarred leather as he devoured you.

His hands roamed with greedy need — one cradling the back of your skull, tangling in your hair, the other gripping your hip so tightly you knew you would bear his mark. He kissed you as if trying to stamp his soul onto yours. When he finally tore his mouth from you, his breathing was ragged, chest heaving.

"You belong to me," Kratos growled against your lips.

And though Deimos only chuckled low, amused, even he did not dare argue. Kratos lifted you effortlessly into his arms, carrying you toward the furs near the fire, laying you down like an offering he meant to claim completely.

He shed his weapons and armor with brutal efficiency, golden gaze never leaving you — never blinking, never softening. Only once, as he knelt above you, did Kratos cast a look over his shoulder at Deimos — a warning, a threat, and a promise all in one.

"Touch her again without my leave..." his eyes said, clear as speech, "...and you will answer to me."

Deimos raised his hands in mock surrender, but his smirk remained.

Kratos turned back to you — all the violence of war coiled in his touch — and you knew,

Tonight, you would be taken, thoroughly and utterly — but not gently. You would be his. He tosses you over his shoulder and exits the healing chamber to find yours. Walking down the hall and finding and grand chamber with a large bed at the end of the hall, he lets you fall onto the bed.

Kratos loomed above you, his shadow cast long and powerful by the firelight.

"You will take none but me," he growled, voice thick with hunger, the words rumbling low in his chest. his rough hands rip the fabric of your garments. Leaving you bare for him, his hands roamed possessively, calloused palms sliding along your hips, your thighs, spreading you open beneath his heavy frame. Unbeknownst to him, Deimos leans against the doorway watching intently, a wolfish grin playing at his lips, arms crossed lazily over his broad chest.

"You handle her like a prize, brother," he taunted, voice thick with amusement. "Yet she is no gold nor sword — she will not break."

Kratos did not answer and simply focused on you. The way your pussy was wet and ready to receive him. The way your skin shivered, how your eyes were half lidded as they stared at him. Instead, he gripped your jaw firmly, forcing you to meet his burning gaze.

"You will cry for me," Kratos rumbled, low and unrelenting, his thumb sweeping across your parted lips. "You will remember whose touch brings you ruin."

You whimpered under him, the heat of his words making your blood sing. Slowly, deliberately, Kratos aligned himself, thick and heavy against you, pressing forward with a slow, claiming force. You gasped, your back arching, nails clawing at the furs beneath you. He filled you completely — a brutal stretch that left no part of you untouched. Every rumor, every story was right; this truly was a pleasure you had never known.

Kratos groaned low in his throat, forehead dropping to rest against yours.

"You take me well," he breathed, hips beginning a slow, relentless rhythm. "You were made for this — for me."

Each thrust drove the breath from your lungs, every movement fueled by the seething need to stamp his claim onto your body, your soul. You clung to him, whimpering his name, and when you did, his pace grew even harsher, teeth gritting with possessive satisfaction. From the corner of your blurred vision, Deimos leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching intently.

"Is there room for another, brother?" he drawled, voice low and teasing. You've had other lovers and affairs in the past, even men who begged to even touch you, but never two at a time. Let alone two powerful men who had you at their mercy. Yet you let them, you let them worship and use your body.

Kratos growled — not in refusal, but warning.

"You will wait," he snarled without looking back, thrusting into you harder, forcing another sharp cry from your lips.

"You will watch." And Deimos, perhaps wisely, obeyed.

Kratos fucked you like he intended to carve his name into your very bones. He spoke against your skin, dark, reverent words that made you shudder.

"You are mine... my spoil, my prize..."

"None shall touch you and live..."

"You will bear my mark deep within."

You could feel the raw power in every movement — the brutal claim of a man who had lost everything before and refused to lose again. At last, after leaving you trembling, broken open beneath him, Kratos slowed, only then lifting his head to meet Deimos's gaze across your heaving body.

"Now," he said, voice a rough command, "you may touch." Deimos rose with the easy grace of a predator, a gleam of hunger flashing in his amber eyes. He approached, hands sliding along your sides, mouth finding the hollow of your throat, but Kratos never fully relinquished his grip. Even as Deimos joined, Kratos kept a hand possessively on your hip, anchoring you to him — a constant, silent reminder: You are his.

Deimos's touch was lighter, more coaxing — kissing along your collarbone, sucking at your breast — but Kratos watched his every move, muscles taut as a bowstring. And when Deimos made you moan, a soft, helpless sound, Kratos seized your jaw again, forcing you to face him.

"You will cry for me again," he rasped, his thrusts resuming — harder, deeper — as if daring Deimos to try and match him. Deimos only chuckled, tracing your ribs with lazy fingers.

"Greed and jealousy will get you nowhere, brother," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your fluttering pulse. "He has not changed, even in pleasure," Kratos growled a low, dangerous sound — and slammed into you with such force that your gasp broke into a keening cry.

"Say it," Kratos demanded, his breath hot against your lips. "Say who fills you."

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming sensation, but you obeyed, voice broken and desperate:

"You... Kratos...!"

Only then did he allow the faintest smirk to curl the edge of his mouth, a rare glimpse of satisfaction. Before bending to claim your mouth again, devouring your cries as he took you harder, rougher, deeper than before. Beside you, Deimos laughed softly — but even he did not dare challenge the victor. AS promised the God had taken you and claimed you as his. With sheer lust, passion, and dominance. Your body was spent and still shaken from the wonderful orgasm he had given you. Your body is covered by a sheer layer of sweat.

You sagged against Kratos, spent and shuddering, the heat of his seed still burning inside you. Kratos’s hand curved around your middle, holding you steady against him, but his chest heaved with the effort of restraint. Deimos rose slowly from his crouch beside the bed, the firelight catching the gleam of sweat along his scarred skin.

"Is it my turn, brother?" Deimos asked, voice low, mocking.

Kratos’s jaw tightened — the muscles in his arms flexed — but after a moment, he loosened his hold on you.

"Do as you will," Kratos rumbled, though the words sounded torn from his throat. Deimos smiled, slow and wicked, and reached for you. You whimpered as he pulled you forward, Kratos's cock sliding free of your abused entrance with a wet, sinful sound.

Deimos gathered you into his arms — strong and sure — and laid you out beneath him on the bed as though presenting an offering.

"You are a sight most rare," Deimos murmured, gazing down at you, trailing his fingers lightly over your slick, trembling thighs, "Ravished and radiant."

You tried to reach for him, but Deimos caught your wrists easily, pinning them above your head with one hand.

"Ah, ah," he chided. "You shall not rush me, little goddess. I mean to savor you." Kratos shifted behind him, the bed creaking under his weight as he watched, his dark eyes burning into your skin. Deimos leaned in slowly, deliberately, and pressed his mouth to your breast, suckling, biting just enough to make you gasp.

You writhed beneath him, your body already too sensitive, too raw — but Deimos was relentless. He kissed lower, over your ribs, your belly, his free hand spreading your legs wide.

"You are still open for us," he murmured against your skin, voice rough with reverence. "Still wet with my brother’s seed."

Kratos let out a low growl from behind — not in protest, but in approval. Deimos grinned against your skin, then rose to his knees, stripping the last of his armor free with swift, brutal movements. You caught sight of him — thick, heavy, flushed with need — and whimpered softly, your thighs trembling. Deimos caught the sound and laughed low in his throat.

"You fear I shall break you?" he teased, crawling over you, aligning himself at your slick entrance. "Be not afraid, little one. I shall only bring you past the peak of pleasure again...and again..."

And then he drove into you, slow but deep, splitting you anew on his cock. You moan, a broken, keening sound, your body arching against the bed. Deimos groaned, head dropping to your shoulder, as he sank into the hilt.

"Gods," he muttered. "You are tighter than the Fates’ own knots."

Kratos’s hand came to rest on your ankle, gripping, possessive, as he watched Deimos claim you. Deimos began to move — a slow, grinding rhythm his eyes locked on your face, watching every flicker of pleasure, every sobbed gasp.

"You take us well," he rasped. "As though you were made for us." He thrust harder, faster, making the bed slam against the stone walls with every brutal drive.

"You will shatter again," Deimos growled against your throat. "You shall cry for me, as you did for him." Kratos’s hand slid higher — caressing the inside of your thigh — but he did not interfere.

He watched. Watched as your eyes rolled back, watched as your jaw went slack, watched as your back arched off the bed. Deimos shifted his angle, hitting that spot inside you that made your vision see stars, and your cries grew high and desperate.

"Ah~ Oh Gods!~"

"You hear her, brother?" Deimos taunted through gritted teeth. "She begs for me now." Kratos’s nostrils flared, but he said nothing, his dark gaze heavy on where Deimos’s cock disappeared inside you.

You were helpless — undone — as Deimos took you to pieces, your body pliant and yielding beneath his brutal worship.

"Come," Deimos commanded, his voice a low, savage growl. "Come and mark me as you did him." You broke with a sob, your body convulsing, your inner walls clamping down around Deimos with a desperate, choking grip. Deimos snarled, thrusting deep once, twice, before spilling inside you with a guttural, broken sound.

You lay boneless beneath him, gasping for breath, your body trembling violently. Deimos collapsed beside you, panting, dragging you into his arms possessively. Kratos loomed at the edge of the bed, his jaw tight, his fists clenched, the hunger in his gaze undiminished.

"You think yourself victorious," Kratos rumbled darkly. "But the night is not yet ended."

Deimos laughed — low and wicked — as he stroked your trembling body.

"Then come, brother," Deimos taunted, voice thick with triumph. "Let us see which of us she favors, when the dawn breaks."

Morning breaks....

The sun had risen, casting pale light across the chamber, the soft glow illuminating the disheveled sheets and the quiet aftermath of the night. You lay still for a moment, the weight of what had happened pressing on your chest, a heavy mixture of soreness and lingering emotions that refused to be easily shaken off. Deimos was still beside you, his body warm and relaxed, the rise and fall of his chest steady with sleep. He seemed more at ease than usual, his features softer in the morning light. But even in his rest, you could see the edge of intensity that always clung to him, the sharpness in his expression even as he lay still.

On the opposite side of the bed, Kratos was already awake. You could tell by the tension in the air—the way his body was perfectly still, poised, as though bracing for something. He had his back to you, his massive frame still, yet there was a strange stillness to him. You couldn’t tell if he was lost in thought or simply keeping his distance.

The room was quiet, save for the sound of soft breathing and the occasional shift of the bed. The fire crackled quietly in the corner, the flames still alive, though their warmth seemed distant compared to the heat of the night before.

After a long moment, you couldn’t bear the silence anymore. You shifted slightly, your muscles aching in protest, and broke the stillness. "How long have you been awake?" you asked, your voice hoarse from sleep, though the words felt too heavy in the quiet room.

Kratos didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head, the weight of his presence in the room still as imposing as ever. Slowly, he turned to face you, and when his eyes met yours, they were unreadable, but not without an undercurrent of something deeper. Something unspoken.

"I’ve been awake for some time," he said gruffly, his voice as heavy as the silence had been. His gaze shifted to Deimos briefly, but it was only for a moment before he returned to you, as if trying to decipher something in your expression.

Deimos stirred next to you, blinking groggily and stretching as if the night had been nothing more than a fleeting moment. He let out a low groan, his voice thick with sleep.

"The dawn breaks," he muttered, glancing up at you with a lazy smile. "Still alive, little goddess?" His grin was teasing, but it held a hint of concern beneath it, a softness that contrasted with his usual bravado.

You nodded slowly, unsure how to feel. You weren’t sure whether you should feel relief or something more complicated.

"I’m… alright," you said quietly, though the words felt hollow, as though they weren’t entirely true. Your body was sore in ways you didn’t want to acknowledge, and the emotional weight of the night was too much to fully process just yet.

Kratos’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he said nothing more. He stood slowly, his movement deliberate, as though he was putting distance between himself and the moment. His large hand gripped the edge of the bed as he rose, and you could feel the tension in his movements—the unsaid words that hung in the air like a storm that hadn’t yet broken.

"I’ll gather my things," Kratos rumbled, his tone low, strained. "There are duties that must be dealt with."

Deimos watched him leave, his expression softening, though the glint of mischief in his eyes didn’t fade entirely. He shifted closer to you, propping himself up on one arm, his eyes watching you carefully.

"You’ll be alright," he said softly, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Last night was… intense, yes, but we’re still standing. We’ll make sure you’re not alone in this."

His words were oddly comforting, though you couldn’t fully shake the feeling that there were things left unsaid between all of you—tensions that hadn’t yet resolved. You glanced at Kratos, his broad back disappearing through the door, and a part of you wondered if he would ever let down the walls he so carefully built around himself.

"Will he be alright?" you asked, almost without thinking. You were referring to Kratos, of course, but you weren’t sure if Deimos would understand.

Deimos’s expression softened, his eyes reflecting a deeper understanding. "He’s not one for comfort," he said quietly, his tone more thoughtful than you expected. "But he’ll handle things in his own way. He always does."

You nodded slowly, your thoughts swirling with the confusion and complexity of it all. Deimos leaned forward, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. "Take your time, little goddess. Let yourself heal. We’ll figure out what comes next."

You stayed in the quiet of the room for a while, Deimos’s presence a strange, comforting weight at your side, and Kratos’s departure leaving behind a silence that felt just as loud as any spoken word. The aftermath of everything felt uncertain, but for now, you were left to try and make sense of it, with both brothers looming in the background, each carrying their own burden.

Hoping to see them both one day.

Alive and at peace....

[he-is-lightning-in-a-bottle]

My God I Love This Show

I think I've rewatched that final breakroom scene from Jun & Jun episode 2 at least a dozen times since it first aired yesterday, and I need to rave about it in its own post rather than just tags.

That scene is... perfection.

First, for non-Korean speakers, it's important to note they've already dropped into banmal with each other in private (the most intimate and casual linguistic form of address). This establishes them as societal equals, despite their wildly different social positions as boss and employee. It was an intentional choice by Choi Jun at the end of episode 1, when he took off his glasses, leaned over the seated Lee Jun in his office and greeted him properly with "오랜만이야" (Long time no see.) The fact that he dropped into banmal here was likely a bigger clue to Lee Jun that they know each other intimately than the actual words Choi Jun chose.

So in the breakroom scene. (!!!) Choi Jun is radiating confident dom energy and Lee Jun is INTO IT. He begins by making sure Lee Jun wasn't hurt by scalding hot coffee and telling Lee Jun to take off his shirt. But then he does the most batshit dom thing ever and starts removing HIS OWN CLOTHES. He explains its because he has a spare shirt for himself and plans to dress Lee Jun in the shirt he's been wearing all day. Why? Because he has a scent kink! And he just says it out loud. He wants Lee Jun to smell like he's HIS.

He checks Lee Jun out like a starving man and asks, "would my size fit you?" WHICH IS THE WILDEST BLATANT SEXUAL INNUENDO and Lee Jun KNOWS its innuendo because he clutches his pearls with his hand over his heart and replies "don't people say you worry too much?" causing Choi Jun to call him cute. Lee Jun can't help but smile shyly at the compliment, and Choi Jun pounces, immediately switching gears and ordering him to hurry up and take off his shirt. Lee Jun asks "right here?" as if that's the only weird or concerning thing about being told to disrobe, so Choi Jun takes off his own vest. This man is doing everything in his power to both rattle and comfort his cute former idol childhood bestie, and I AM HOLDING MY BREATH FROM THE SEXUAL TENSION.

And then we get the first truly jaw-dropping scene. Choi Jun calls Lee Jun high maintenance (the Korean phrase is better translated as "You're a handful."). Lee Jun bristles and apologizes. Choi Jun steps closer and tells him he doesn't need to apologize; it's a compliment. He LIKES it when he needs to put his hands on someone to care for them and it makes them smell like him; it makes them feel like THEY ARE HIS. The collar caress!! The neck tie grab and pull!!! The audacity of starting to unbutton Lee Jun's shirt for him since he's taking too long!!!! MY HEAD EXPLODING.

Lee Jun freaks out a little and puts distance between them again, so they have another fun little conversation filled with innuendo about repaying favors American style, which Choi Jun says involves less clothing!

And then we get the second jaw-dropping scene right on the heels of the first. Choi Jun says Lee Jun has grown fiestier (he likes them feisty? just a guess), but that he's still "squishy" on the inside. Lee Jun is already looking 10 times more secure in this conversation, unhesitatingly flirting back through the entire next few dialog exchanges. The eye contact! THE MOST PERFECTLY EXECUTED WAIST GRAB!!

The "you can teach me!!!" The way Lee Jun takes that as permission to manhandle Choi Jun right back, grabbing his hands and moving him around like a marionette!!!!

THE NECK GRAB!!!!!

And that final last line from Choi Jun that sent me SCREAMING INTO MY PILLOWS:

Looking at the rolled up napkin in his hand, "Malleable is something soft..." and then looking at Lee Jun's lips like the very thirsty man he is, he finally makes eye-contact again and finishes with, "squishy is... something sexy?" Lee Jun gulps. Cut scene.

MY HEART CANNOT HANDLE HOW PERFECT THIS WAS. From the dialog to the body language to the eye-work to the kink exposure to the RIDICULOUSLY HOT EXPOSED FOREARMS ON CHOI JUN. I am in awe and Korea is FEEDING ME.

@absolutebl this seems like your jam