#thanks again for the prompt <3

[funkypoacher]

From your pinned prompt list: Ghosts I Have Seen

fiiinally getting back into my prompts list (and thank you so very much for sending this). This is a bit of a 'look behind the scenes' -- this scene, in fact.

It's from the second half of the first chapter of my Honest Hearts fic which still doesn't have a title (ffff). This half of the chapter is from July's POV, meaning you wouldn't get to see what's going on in Daniel's head, except, thanks to this prompt, I've now written it. dundundun.

With a setting sun, supper dishes soaking in the river, and a full stomach satisfied, it’s a strange time to see ghosts, but there they are. They aren’t in her boldly-wondered question. They’re not in its answer, either. What happened to New Canaan? passes quickly between them, the faces of those murdered on Daniel’s mind as opaquely as what he says next.

‘They were lost.’

While not exactly illuminating, it’s transparent enough; however, that’s still not where his ghosts lie. They’re here; they’re her. Miss Wells talks about what a higher power might do for the Sorrows—what the NCR can offer them: protection, education, and a support net—and all these beautiful, democratic notions plucked from her teacher’s lecture-books which she clearly takes as gospel. And in every passioned breath—in the piqued pink of her cheek—Daniel sees his ghosts. He sees the ghost of himself setting out on his first mission, full of joy, and generosity. He sees himself some years later, returning to the Sorrows, continuing to preach God’s love. He sees himself, again and again, propelled by optimism and yet destined for where he ends up: losing the people he loves to grand ideals, all of them victims of sloth.

It will not happen again. New Canaan’s fate cannot be mirrored in Zion.

“What the NCR wants from Joshua would never be justice,” Daniel says, entering the conversation she just accused him of half-listening to. “What you want is vengeance. To rain wrath upon a man you have no right to judge. Only God has that right, and He will judge Joshua. In the end.” Daniel looks her over, not bothering to interpret her expression as that of either indignation or confusion, while saying, “we’re done here,” and he motions to the last of the dinner dishes in his hand: a dried, chipped cup.

“Right. Well.” Miss Wells stiffly collects her washing rag and the tallow soap. “Thank you for helping with these.”

“No. Thank you.” Daniel’s voice softens. As he looks at Miss Wells, he thinks of himself those years ago, and knows he must be better. He cannot simply debate with Joshua over the morality or spiritual weight of what must be done—he has to do more for the Sorrows than wonder what would have happened if those old roads had remained forgotten. And he now has a good notion of the actions to take. 

Seeing a clear path before him, Daniel realizes he’ll be able to bury his youth’s hubris. It makes him—well, it makes him rather forgiving, just then.

“I have something for you,” Daniel says as Miss Wells is walking away, the softness of his tone an offering in itself. “Back at camp.”

and sadly it's not even his penis :(

[dr-lizortecho]

That fic is the cutest thing ever! We were robbed of getting to see Max in the alien antennas on the show, and I love how Liz said he was embracing his heritage 😃 I love the fact that she watches him chop wood in her favorite jeans for him 🥰 🥰

I’m glad you enjoyed it!!! And yeah I’d have loved to see more characters wearing the antennas 😂

(also, my girl Liz be plotting how to make Max look his best while performing his allotted household duties, as she should)

[hailsatanacab]

I'll ask after that secret number 8!

I only remembered secret number 8 because I saw your wip here! I'd started this one based on the same prompt, then lost said prompt and stopped working on it 😅

Instead of a snippet, I'm just dropping it all here - maybe that way I'll feel inspired to finish it?

———

It’s a full house for dinner tonight and, really, that should have tipped him off.

Bruce sits at the head of the table, smiling softly as he watches over everyone’s antics. Damian is regaling Dick with everything they saw at the zoo that day (Danny had been so happy to see Delilah the purpleback gorilla again, and her new little additions to the troupe, too!) and how well they are implementing the grant the Wayne Foundation had gifted them. Tim, Steph, Cass, and Duke are all engaged in a thumb-war tournament which Danny has no interest in participating in. It just wouldn’t be fair on them.

Danny loves that look. The one where Bruce’s eyes crinkle when he thinks none of the kids can see him. It oozes love and it makes Danny’s heart, his core, ache. 

It’s been a little over a year since Alfred found him on the street and managed to wrangle him back to the manor to stay—even after the whole biting thing when he realised how rich they were. 

A little over a year here and Danny’s starting to feel like family.

Starting to feel like he might, just maybe, like to make it official.

“Danny,” Bruce says, drawing everyone’s attention. Danny starts at his name, but Bruce’s voice is warm and calm, and his shoulders lose their tension almost immediately. “Danny, I have something I would like to tell you.”

“Uhhh…” is all Danny can croak out, eyes flicking back and forth between Bruce and the rest of them. Smooth. Looking good, Danny.

Except… they’re all happy. All smiles, all relaxed body language, all radiating calm and love and acceptance. Well, not Damian—his face is as thunderous as it always is—which at least means it’s nothing too out of the ordinary.

“Danny, first of all, I just want to impress upon you that this is in no way something you have to do. You are under no obligation to join us and, no matter what, you shall always be welcome with us in the manor.”

Wait, what? Danny squints at Bruce, trying to parse exactly what he’s saying… Is he—is this them asking to adopt him? Do they want to make it official, too? 

It’s been a little over a year and of course Danny has imagined calling Bruce ‘Dad’. Of course he’s imagined being part of the family, of course he wants to make it official!

He can’t help the beaming grin or the bright and bubbling “Yes!” already waiting on his lips. All Bruce has to do is ask, all Danny needs to hear is—

“I’m Batman.”

The smile freezes on Danny’s face.

His lungs stop working, his heart stops working, he stops working, he just—

“And I’m Nightwing,” Dick smiles, breaking the awkward silence. 

Danny’s eyes snap to him, and then down to Tim when he admits to being Red Robin. Duke is Signal, Steph is Spoiler. Damian begrudgingly tells him he’s Robin, but Danny can barely hear it over the ringing in his ears.

“I’m Black Bat.” Cass cocks her head, almost looking concerned. It always felt like she understood him the most. Whenever he was feeling low, too in his memories, or stewing after a nightmare, she was always there, ready to card her fingers through his hair and never mention his tears. It makes his heart ache to think of it now. “It’s okay, Danny.”

It’s meant to be reassuring, but how—how can it be okay? How? 

Danny’s spent a little over a year with them. A little over a year with Batman. 

Batman, who works with the Justice League, who works with…

A little over a year. 

Just under 16 months since he escaped.

“Danny? Are you alright?” Bruce asks

Finally, his lungs kickstart and suck in a shuddering breath, only for everyone to drop their smiles.

Didn’t take them long, did it? Now that their ruse is up, there’s no kindness in their eyes, they’re just… cold, calculating. Evaluating. 

“Why?” Danny gasps, his fingers tingling, his heart in his throat.

Just under 16 months since he—has he escaped? Or was this just another one of their experiments?

"I... I trusted you, why—" Danny chokes back a sob, gritting his teeth as his shoulders shake. Why? Why would they do this? "I was happy here, with you. I thought... Weren't you happy?"

"Danny..." Bruce is looking at him, eyes narrow and eyebrows pinched, in some cruel facsimile of confused concern and all Danny can think is how much of an actor he is. How well he can play the part of a doting father. How much he made him want that.

"I don't understand, why..." 

"I'm sorry we didn't tell you before, I can imagine that it comes as a shock. We shouldn't have lied to you, Danny, but—"

"Stop it!" Danny slams his hands down on the table and pushes himself up on wobbly legs. Even standing, he feels so small. Smaller than Bruce, than all of his adopted siblings. They crowd above him when they all stand, too. "Just stop it! Why are you doing this, why are you still pretending? Stop it!"

It was easier, with Danny's biological parents. The knowledge that they'd do anything to get him on a lab table, to open him up and see what makes him tick, to rip him apart molecule by molecule, had always been there. He knew they hated ghosts. He knew they hated Phantom. He knew they hated him. It was easier because it was something he'd known all his life. When he died, when he became a ghost, he knew what to expect from them. It hurt, of course it did.

But it was easier than this.

"Danny, I'm going to need you to take a deep breath. You're having a panic attack and you need to breathe."

"Breathe?" Danny laughs, the sound harsh and choking, too high pitched in his hysteria. "You're joking, right? Or is this just more of the—the experiment?"

"Danny, please, we don't know what you're talking about, you—"

"You don't know? You're Batman! You work with the Justice League, you work with—" His words choke off as his stomach churns, bile rising in his throat. His whole body itches, screaming at him to leave, he can't go back, he can't, he can't, he can't!

Bruce takes a hesitant step forward and Danny scrambles back, his feet catching on the chair behind him and sending him careening to the floor. Where are the agents? Why aren't they swarming in, ready to apprehend him, strap him back on the table, carve him from the inside out.

"Please, Danny, calm down. We don't—"

Danny stops listening. His back hits the wall and he pulls his knees into his chest, his shoulders dipping down as he begins to sob. His heart throbs inside his throat, too painful to swallow around. Tears fall hot and heavy on his face.

Sure, he could run. He could phase out through the wall and he could be out of Gotham in a couple of hours. He's escaped the GIW once, he can do it again.

But that was before Batman knew who he was. Before he had the World's Greatest Detective on his tail.

Before he... 

He really thought this would be different, you know?

He wanted to make it official.

"Why did... Why were you so nice to me? Why did you make me like you? I really—I really liked you. I-I thought we could be a family."

"Danny, we are a—"

"Don't lie to me!" Danny snaps, but the force of his anger leeches all the fight from him, and suddenly all that's left is a bone-weary tiredness. There’s a lump in his throat that hurts. There’s a line down his chest that burns. "I don't care. I don't care anymore, I don't. Just... don't make me go back there. Please." 

Is it futile? He thought he knew how the GIW operated by now, the depths that they would go to achieve their results, but this... this was a whole new level of pain that Danny thought he had left behind him in Amity.

"We're not going to make you go anywhere, Danny, you're safe here, I promise."

"Safe? Safe? You must have—" he takes a deep breath, tries to stop the quivering of his voice. It’s all starting to make sense, now.  "The reason you're telling me who you are is because you must have told them everything already. I know the Justice League—I know you're working with them, which means the ex-experiment is over now, and they're coming to take me back. And I can't go back."

"Danny—"

"I can’t!” Danny glares at Bruce with all the rage he can, fingernails digging into his skin. “I’m not going back!"

"That's right, you're not going back, Danny. I won't let that happen." Bruce crouches down in front of Danny, his hands open and raised as if he's trying to say he's not a threat. "I don't know who you're talking about, and I'm sorry about that, but I can promise you that you’re not going back there. We will keep you safe."

Danny pulls himself closer, tucks himself further into the wall, eyes flickering all across the room waiting for that tell-tale flash of white as the agents start to swarm.

He should take his chances now and run, he should go, he needs to go!

The rest of them, his brothers and sisters of a little over a year, are spread out, giving him and Bruce some space. The same concern colours all of their faces. Why are they still pretending?

Steph is chewing on her thumb. 

Danny liked Steph and her brash confidence, her jokes. She's been promising to paint his nails for months now, they've just never found the time. He was going to go for green and black, or maybe a galaxy theme, depending on what she felt comfortable doing.

He likes them all.

"You were supposed to be my family." His mouth turns down at the corners and his voice shakes like a child. "You were supposed to—why? Why would you—I don't understand why you would make me like you..."

"This isn't an experiment, Danny," Bruce's voice is steady, soothing. "I promise."

"But you work with them and—"

"Who do I work with?"

"The Justice League."

"Yes, I do, but we—"

"And the Justice League works with them. The GIW." Danny trembles with the name, clutching tightly onto his hoodie. "I'm not going back there, Bruce."

Danny doesn't miss Bruce's look over his shoulder, nor Tim's nod in return. Tim turns slightly to the side to hide his movements, but Danny bets he has his phone in his hand, probably letting them know they can take him now. Guess this is it, then. They'll be here soon, and he'll be gone.

"Kill me."

"Danny? What do—"

"If you ever had any kindness for me, if you ever cared, kill me. Please, Bruce. I can't do it again."

"Danny..."

"End me now. Take my core out and break it, please, before they get here."

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day 1: Cuteness Aggression

oh we are so back

Thank you so much to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together for the second year in a row <3

No warnings for this one, just 800 words of Aether teaching Aeon rhythm guitar and them being too dang cute lol

"Put your fingers right here, yeah, right on that fret," Aether says, gently adjusting Aeon's fingers on the fretboard of their Fantomen. They've been at it for hours. Aeon's still relatively fresh Up Top, and they have a lot of learning left to do before they get sent off on tour.

To their credit, Aeon's an excellent student. They soak in new information like a sponge, eager to learn just about anything that's put in front of them. They adjust their fingers so they're playing the right chord, straightening with a grin when they strum and it sounds much better than the discordant thing they'd done earlier.

"Just like that, pup," Aether repeats. "Take it from the first verse." He hits a button on his phone, and the metronome ticks about twenty clicks slower than tempo. Aeon nods, starting to play.

Aether watches as Aeon makes their way through the verse and chorus of Year Zero, and he's taken back for a moment, fumbling over these same chords with far less grace than Aeon has now, Omega kindly readjusting his fingers. He shakes his head, dispelling the memory to watch them.

He watches Aeon's face, watches as their brow furrows in concentration, eyes locked onto their hands as they play. Their tongue peeks past their lips, watching their fingers move over the fretboard. Their tail wraps around their thigh, the spade tapping in time with the metronome.

They get through the verse and chorus, playing through the bridge without a single mistake, and Aether whoops. "You're doing so good, pup, took me ages to get that right."

"Thanks to you! You're a really good teacher, Aeth," Aeon beams, grinning so wide their cheeks dimple, and Aether's fingers twitch, curling into fists. If it weren't for putting the Fantomen in their lap at risk, he'd have pulled them into a crushing hug about three minutes ago.

He still mirrors their grin, flashing his gold capped fang. "Oh, don't mention it, pup. At this rate, you'll be outplaying me by the end of the tour." Aether watches in delight as a violet blush spills over their cheeks, and they shove their two-toned hair out of their eyes.

"Aeth," Aeon says, dragging it out as the spade of their tail pads against the vinyl floor.

"I'm serious," he says, reaching over to ruffle their hair. "Now, I want you to run that again a couple more times, and then we can see about getting you up to tempo."

Aeon beams, settling their fingers back in the starting position as they go again. Aether watches and fights every urge to squeeze them as that look of complete concentration settles on their face again.

Again, they make it through with no mistakes, and no mistakes when they loop the section for the third time. Aether grins, reaching over and turning the metronome slightly faster.

A half hour passes and Aeon's only improving. Aether couldn't be prouder of the younger ghoul, honored that this is the ghoul who will follow in his footsteps. Aether gets them up to tempo, and they're crushing it, eyes bright as it finally clicks in their head that they're doing it. He has to fight another wave of squeeze them as tight as you can, half-heartedly making another excuse about the guitar between them.

Aeon eventually sets the Fantomen back on the rack, rubbing absentmindedly at the callouses quickly forming on their fingertips. Aether can't fight it anymore. He stands, bringing the younger quintessence ghoul into a tight hug, holding their head to his broad chest, his fingers carding through their hair as he squeezes tighter and tighter.

Aeon yelps as Aether manhandles them into the hug, squirming until they free their face, gasping in a breath. They blink up at him owlishly. "Aeth, can't breathe," they wheeze. "What're you doing?"

Aether laughs to himself softly, not letting go but loosening his arms around their ribs. "Sorry, pup."

Aeon settles now that they're not being actively crushed, chest heaving. "No, really, Aeth, what was that for?" they ask. "Not complaining, but that was outta nowhere."

"You're just cute when you're in the zone, the face you make when you're concentrating is sweet." He ruffles their hair, knuckles against their scalp."Gimme your hands, I saw you rubbing your fingers."

Aeon complies, letting Aether take their spindly fingers in his grip. There's a spark of quintessence between them, just enough to soothe the sting from playing. In time, the callouses will harden, making it easier for them to keep playing. But for now, a little balm of magick won't hurt.

"I'm very proud of you, pup," he says as he works, glancing up to meet their mismatched eyes.

Aeon beams, settling more into Aether's arms. "Thanks, Aeth."

"Of course. Same time tomorrow. I'll get you started on Square Hammer."

[spaceratprodigy]

for the mistletoe prompt: #3 for miss Iris & Nick?

@bokatan — [ smooch prompts ]

That'll get the coolant pumping! 💖😈💖

[gianttol]

♡ GT July 2023 Prompt List ♡

Big thanks to @pocket-ozwynn for helping with the prompts!

[lazybakerart]

a cute harringrove thing for you: billy being in the middle of trying to do something but he keeps shaking away bits of hair that get into his eyes and steve just comes up behind him, puts his hair into a bun, then casually goes back to where he was while billy's stunned and blushing before he returns to his task with a big grin on his face

The AC's out.

Billy's cracked the unit open with a flathead screwdriver he found under the sink and a few choice words. July hit hard. Sweat drips down his nose as he tries to fix and not kick a heavy metal box down three stories.

In the small kitchen just a few feet behind his hunched back, Steve's popping more ice out and yelling at the radio - a Dodgers game has gone to shit.

Billy swipes his sweat-stuck curls back just to have all of them tumble right back in the way again.

Summers always leave Billy regretting growing out his hair.

He hadn't meant to. A couple months without a haircut grew into a couple years where a couple of half-assed snicks with the scissors he uses for zip ties and toe nails were all he made do with. Every year he forgets how much of it there is when summer arrives to remind him.

Snapping back up, screwdriver in a vice-grip, Billy yanks his hair back with both hands and yells FUCK YOU at the stained popcorn ceiling and his own mane fried with West Hollywood humidity.

"What's wrong now? What happened?" Steve has the honest nerve to say after over an hour of this.

"I'm shaving my head."

A deep sigh and Steve's opening some cabinet that creaks and needs to be oiled - the deal when they first moved in was Billy dealt with the electric shit and Steve got everything that wouldn't have him sizzling when he got distracted.

Plumbing means rock, paper, scissors comes out and goddamnit if Billy doesn't lose every single round.

He and the plunger have built a relationship.

Billy blames dying and coming back with fried nerves and a second-rate case of stigmata making his every joint he's got stiff, his hands getting the worst of it. He'd be a lousy second coming anyways.

"That time of year again, huh?" Steve says.

He stands behind Billy, swatting away his frustrated steel-grip to comb through Billy's curls, pulling them back and away.

"There are these things - they're called hair-ties," Steve gently pulls Billy's hair through elastic, "And I know you like using rubber bands because you're a freak," Slowly he winds Billy's overgrown hair around, "But these are, like, at least twice as good. Now, we just twist," He twists, "And twist some more and - boom! Done. I'm awesome."

Steve spins Billy around by the shoulders twice, his sweaty feet squeaking on the scratched up oak floors. He holds Billy in place, sweaty hands on Billy's sweaty nape, sweaty thumbs running circles, and it doesn't seem to matter much to him that the AC is broken and they're reaching the peak 90s on the thermostat.

Steve's looking at him.

All tender.

All sweet.

A little tipsy from better beer than they chugged in high school. It's been seven years since they hit the highway and left Indiana for good. Three more months and five more days and they'll hit eight.

"Oh no." Steve croons at him. Smile turning cotton soft. Those sweaty hands move to cup Billy's face and those running thumbs rub just under Billy's eyes. "Why are we crying?"

"It's hot." Billy says.

Pinching his ears around his piercings, Steve tells him, "You're hot."

Billy sniffles. Snot drips, meets his upper lip and Steve wipes it off - eight years worth of tears and snot and blood and spunk and so much sweat.

And so much fucking good shit.

From an open window in their cramped apartment, a slice of warmed July breeze catches on the back of Billy's newly bared neck. He tosses the screwdriver somewhere.

"And," Steve pecks him on the lips, bites at his nose to make sure Billy gets heat-stroke, "You've got a great ass."

The AC can wait a little longer.

[sensitiveheartless]

{rolling over in bed, switching positions during a kiss} make them fall over the bed, hehehe

[forestials]

My secret Santa gift for the @officialtolkiensecretsanta for @tinnurin!

Two kings enjoying festive mulled wine together in winter.

[alectoperdita]

Heeyyy there, can you do 36, 30 or 7 from the ask game???? Joukai of course. Thank uouuuuu!!!

From Put That Guy in a Situation(TM) Ask Game

36. Avalanche/huddle for warmth & 30. Only one bed

Ahhhhhh! Sorry this one took so long. It's longer than usual, though, so I hope that makes up for the wait. Thanks for your patience. ;;;_;;;

tags: hurt/comfort, minor injury word count: 3,265 words

---

Skiing was stupid. People who skied were even dumber.

Case in point, rich, arrogant good-for-nothing assholes skied.

Kaiba skied.

Jounouchi's argument was ironclad. Unassailable even.

"Watch it, you oaf," a voice colder than the biting wind howling around them snapped in his numb ear.

"I should leave you to become a popsicle," he grumbled, firming his stance in the soft, powdery snow and readjusting his grip on Kaiba, careful not to jostle the other man and set off another tirade of complaints.

"I could say the same."

The fingers burrowed under the fold of Jounouchi's scarf bit into the nape of his neck. Hard to tell if it was because of an involuntary reaction to pain or a deliberate warning. Either way, it and Kaiba's words took the wind right out of Jounouchi's sails.

Yeah, skiing might be stupid, but it was even dumber to attempt a slope above his novice ability only to get lost off the trail. Especially as a winter storm brewed. But he couldn't stand how effortlessly Kaiba made everything appear, so suave and eye-catching in his ski gear. Or how he turned up his nose at Jounouchi.

It inspired a familiar feeling, one that drove him to act recklessly.

So it was Jounouchi's rotten luck that Kaiba, as the most experienced skier in the group, ultimately tracked him down. Kaiba predictably berated him for his idiocy, Jounouchi snapped back, and they fought. And then, in a begrudging attempt to extract Jounouchi from a ditch, the man fell and busted his leg instead.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he studied Kaiba's beet-red face. Kaiba wore his ski goggles atop his head like a hairband, pulling back his bangs and exposing his forehead. So it wasn't hard to spot the pained grimace wrinkling his brow. Flurries clung to his long lashes, no matter how often he tried to blink them away. He was sweating buckets despite the frigid temperature.

Jounouchi sympathized with that. Underneath his thick winter coat, his own clothing stuck uncomfortably to his skin. He'd kill to be back at the lodge and enjoying a hot shower.

"We need to get out of the open," Kaiba declared.

Jounouchi swept a critical eye across the windswept landscape. There were trees and snow as far as he could see, but his range was limited. Visibility plummeted as the storm intensified.

"Can't you, like, call for help? Doncha have a satellite uplink on you all the damn time?" asked Jounouchi.

"Atmospheric conditions affect satellite communication," Kaiba sneered, as if it were the most obvious fact in the world.

It probably was to a guy like him. Jounouchi merely rolled his eyes and focused on their terrestrial concern, repeatedly putting one foot in front of the other to make the most painstaking progress. It was the only way they'd get out of this if they couldn't count on rescue incoming.

"Who would've guessed you had such dainty ankles?" he said, then winced when it sounded like a shout as the howling wind died down at that precise moment.

"Excuse me," hissed Kaiba, tightening his grip. Ouch, ouch, he was definitely squeezing his neck on purpose.

Jounouchi had already dug his hole, so whatever. "I think you need more calcium in your diet, dude. Ya twisted that ankle like nothing. If you're not careful, you're gonna start breaking your hip like 'em little old ladies."

"First of all, it's not a fractured ankle, it's a fractured tibia. Second, my calcium intake is fine. Better than yours, given the trash I've seen you shovel into your mouth. And third, I'm taller, which means I have a higher center of gravity, which affects..."

Jounouchi tuned out the rest of the rant. He could feel the nervous energy flowing from Kaiba to him. As long as Kaiba kept running his mouth, it meant he stayed awake and alert. It meant he kept working with Jounouchi to cross the increasingly treacherous and snow-blind slope.

A stark shiver wracked their bodies. Jounouchi paused to assess his companion again.

Kaiba's teeth chattered. Sweat blanketed his forehead. Neither were good signs.

"You okay? Cold? In pain?" he asked softly.

"Yes," was Kaiba's reply. Which was as clear and helpful as mud.

Jounouchi sighed and urged them onward. He could only guide them toward what he hoped was the downward direction and pray that they stumbled back onto the trail.

After limping for what felt like hours, their footsteps dragged heavier and heavier behind them as snowfall and fatigue weighed them down in equal parts. That was when Jounouchi spotted what he prayed wasn't a mirage beyond a thicket of trees.

Slanted rooftop, horizontal wooden slats, the glint of glass windows—a cabin!

Giddy from the sudden shot of adrenaline, he nudged Kaiba. "Hey, hey. There's a cabin up ahead!"

Kaiba blinked blearily. He'd grown strangely quiet during the recent stretch. Now, he squinted, scrutinizing the building in the distance, perhaps wondering like Jounouchi if it was real.

The decision made itself.

"Let's go. You know what? I'm gonna carry you on my back. It'll be faster." Jounouchi was already carefully lowering Kaiba onto the snow-blanketed ground while keeping the weight off his injured ankle.

"No," Kaiba snapped. He clung to Jounouchi's biceps.

"It'll be fine, ya stubborn bastard. I swear I'll never tell another living soul so your damn pride can stay intact. I dunno about you, but I wanna get out of the cold ASAP."

"And if you drop me? Or you break your ankles next? What then?" challenged Kaiba. There was an increasingly frantic light shining in his eyes.

"Trust me. I don't wanna die out here any more than you do!"

For several terrifying beats, Kaiba stared at him. His claws were locked in rictus, threatening to rip into Jounouchi's padded winter jacket.

"C'mon, we're both freezing our butts off."

Jounouchi didn't know what convinced Kaiba in the end. Maybe the poor bastard was too wrung out to pick a fight.

"You drop me and it'll be the last thing you ever do." The threat lacked teeth, though.

Kaiba's hands trembled as they released Jounouchi's sleeve. They shook when they planted themselves on Jounouchi's shoulders. Kaiba was heavier than anticipated. Turns out there was meat on those bones after all. But it was a weight Jounouchi could shoulder.

The strangest sensation by far was the hot and heavy feeling of Kaiba breathing down his neck. Yet it was a soothing reminder that Kaiba was alive. Jounouchi huffed and puffed the final stretch to the tiny cabin, but he never dropped Kaiba.

Once they climbed onto the raised porch, Jounouchi deposited him against the railing and shook the accumulated snow from his gear. Eyes drilled into his back as he pulled off his beanie and brushed his hair clean.

The dog comparison he was certain was incoming never materialized, though. Kaiba must really be tired.

Hobbling on his feet, Kaiba's gaze stayed fixed on the door. "How do you propose we get inside?"

"Uh... Key under the mat?"

Kaiba leveled a disgusted look at him. He banged twice on the door with his fist. "Hello? Can anyone hear me?"

Right. Also, wouldn't hurt to check if there were already people inside. Preferably someone who could help them and wasn't going to hunt them across the mountainside for sport. He blamed Bakura for that last thought.

Leaning close, Jounouchi peered into the window, straining to see through the gap between the curtains. It was dark inside. There was no movement. No one was home. That made sense. The ski racks out front stood barren.

They'd long abandoned their equipment, too. No point in dragging extra weight along when Kaiba was already injured.

"Stay here. I'll check around back," ordered Jounouchi before hopping off the porch.

He circled the perimeter. It hardly took any time. To call it a cabin was probably generous to someone like Kaiba. But it looked sturdy, and it offered shelter from the storm. As he passed one window on the side, he noticed a small sign in it that read "Ski Patrol."

He jogged back to Kaiba. "Cabin belongs to ski patrol. There might even be a phone inside!"

Kaiba turned and greeted him with a key ring dangling from his index finger.

"Where'd you find those?"

"Hideaway inside a fake rock." Kaiba gestured to a pile sitting in the porch's corner.

Jounouchi laughed. "So I was right. That's basically under the mat. God, I hope they're the spares to this place."

He was glad they didn't have to go with his backup plan of busting through a window.

Braced against the doorframe, Kaiba went through two keys on the ring before he unlocked the door. Jounouchi whooped in celebration. Then, he moved forward to shoulder Kaiba's weight and usher them inside.

To Jounouchi's relief, the cabin came equipped with indoor plumbing and even a gas stove in the open kitchen out in the main room. There was a small round table and several chairs, but nowhere to lie down. But in another interior room, he found a bed.

One cramped twin-sized bed squeezed between the wall and a narrow nightstand. There wasn't room for much else.

He went back to the main room to report his findings. Kaiba sat at the dining table where Jounouchi left him, but he had his injured leg propped up on a second chair, ski boot and all.

"Phone's down," Kaiba grunted. "There's electricity, but there's no telling how long the generator will hold up. It's best if we don't use it until we must."

Jounouchi groaned. Guess it was too much to hope for. "Cool, well, there's only one bed."

Kaiba stared at him, unblinking for long lengths. Yeesh, did the bastard really think he was going to fight an injured person for the sole bed?

He approached the table. "You should take it. You're the one with the busted ankle. Want me to carry ya, princess?"

Laughing, he barely dodged the ski goggles Kaiba flung at his head. Somehow, that restored the equilibrium between them.

"Make yourself useful and find a first aid kit," barked Kaiba.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Inside a kitchenette cabinet, he located a red bag with a white cross.

"Found it!"

A soft swear answered him from behind. He glanced over his shoulder and watched as Kaiba hunched over his elevated foot, struggling with his bootstraps. Jounouchi heaved a sigh, and on his way back to the table, he grabbed an afghan blanket folded on a shelf. He deposited the first aid kit on the tabletop and the blanket onto Kaiba's head, where his hair turned damp from the melting snow.

Kaiba cursed, louder this time, his limbs flailing under the blanket. Jounouchi kneeled down next to him, shed his gloves, and started working the snaps open. Above him came a snarl. He peered up just in time to see the outrage on Kaiba's face melt into shock after he ripped the wool away. Fighting a sudden wave of self-consciousness, Jounouchi lowered his gaze and kept going. His fingers, slowly warming, fumbled briefly on the next catch.

He waited for Kaiba to say something. Anything. Bark an order. Throw an insult. But Kaiba had gone deadly quiet, howling in his silence. The behavior was so strange Jounouchi wondered if Kaiba also hit his head when he fell.

Either way, Jounouchi felt the other man's stare drill through the top of his head.

Next came the hard part: getting the boot off without further agitating Kaiba's injury.

Again, his eyes flicked up to Kaiba's face, where he noted the almost contemplative expression that now dominated its planes. "Ya ready for this?"

Kaiba squared his shoulders, then nodded.

Yet afterward, the man's forehead was drenched with sweat, his face stripped of all color. Jounouchi went straight to the first aid kit and fished out the painkillers. With trembling hands, Kaiba snapped up the packet, tore it open, and swallowed two pills before Jounouchi could ask if he wanted a glass of water.

Figures Kaiba was the kind of freak that could swallow pills dry.

As Kaiba slumped forward and placed his head down atop the table, Jounouchi helped him out of the other ski boot as well. He set the footwear, both emblazoned with fancy KC logos, aside.

"Thank you."

The words stunned Jounouchi. His head whipped up, and he gawked at Kaiba. He couldn't see Kaiba's face, but the tips of his ears blazed bright red.

After several seconds of awkward silence, Jounouchi replied, "That should be my line. You're the one that found me after I got my dumbass self lost. So thanks for coming to get me."

To his surprise, Kaiba didn't lift his head. His bangs smeared across the tabletop as he nodded, though.

"And sorry you got hurt because of that," Jounouchi added quietly. His eyes darted back to Kaiba's elevated leg, but the thick pants made it impossible to gauge the severity of his condition. "How bad do you think it is?"

The table muffled Kaiba's reply. "Are there scissors in that kit?"

"Yeah."

"Cut the pant leg up to the knee."

Knowing that the alternative was somehow peeling Kaiba out of said pants, Jounouchi obeyed without complaint. He worked carefully, though, not wanting to cut Kaiba. A gigantic bruise sat halfway up to Kaiba's knee, right around where his ski boot ended. The entire area was swollen, but there was no sign of blood.

"No bone pushing through the skin, so that's a good sign." Kaiba said, suddenly right next to Jounouchi's ear. His warm breath puffed over Jounouchi's cheek.

Jounouchi jerked back, grabbing the chair's back to steady himself.

Thankfully, Kaiba was too preoccupied with examining his leg to notice his overreaction. "I should splint it."

Jounouchi jumped to his feet. "Splint, yeah, makes sense. Ya need a stick or something, right? I'll look for one."

As luck would have it, he dug up segments of PVC pipes already cut in half. Kaiba also appeared pleased when he presented them, kindling a warm glow within Jounouchi's ribcage.

"Can I help with anything else?" he asked, despite not knowing how to make a splint.

Kaiba hesitated before replying, "I have it handled. But I'll let you know if I need anything."

Jounouchi nodded automatically. He bounced between one foot and the other as Kaiba worked. But when Kaiba peered up at him for a second, something inside him snapped. He spun on his heels before declaring, "I saw a firewood shed out back. Gonna see if I can get a fire going for us."

Without waiting for a response, he fled the small cabin. The cold hit him in the face like a slap. It was invigorating. Got his blood pumping in a good way.

It wasn't until he dropped several split logs that he realized he'd left his gloves inside. Instead of going to retrieve them, he sank to his knees and cupped his numb hands to his mouth, blowing hot air over him. He couldn't say how long he stayed like that before the chill finally drove him back into the cabin.

Kaiba barely acknowledged him when he returned. That made Jounouchi feel simultaneously better and worse. The bastard hadn't even waited for Jounouchi to return before he somehow hobbled his way over to the loveseat close to the fireplace.

He focused on the fireplace instead.

Once the fire got going, the temperature inside warmed considerably. Unsurprisingly, Kaiba had to be bullied out of his outerwear before he could be swathed with blankets over his shoulders and his newly splinted leg.

Save for the seldom pop and crackle of the fire, it was silent.

Kaiba glared at his smartphone, occasionally adjusting its position as if that would catch a stray signal bar. Jounouchi also checked his phone, but he was sure his coverage was shit compared to Kaiba's.

Jounouchi also hung up his jacket to dry and shed his ski boots by the door. He didn't hesitate snatching the quilt off the bed in the other room, huddling under it while standing next to the fire.

"You stand any closer and you'll catch fire," came a dry quip from behind him.

He turned to face Kaiba and found the man with his phone facedown on his lap while squeezing the bridge of his nose. He lay lengthwise along the too-small loveseat with his legs elevated on the armrest and his sock-clad toes peeking out from under a blanket.

Despite that, Kaiba looked cozy? Shit, Jounouchi felt a bit insane even thinking about that. But Kaiba appeared comfy. His sharp angles and harsh lines blunted under woolen curves.

Disarmed. Soft. Jounouchi had never seen him that way before.

"What?" snapped Kaiba, jerking Jounouchi from his hazy thoughts. When he shivered, though, the entire fabric mass shook with him.

"Still cold?" Jounouchi asked as he padded closer.

Kaiba dropped his gaze to his pale hands clasped on his lap. "Nothing to be alarmed about. I've always had circulation issues."

Jounouchi laughed. "Cuz you're a skinny beanpole."

Kaiba glared, but he didn't argue.

Another insane thought crossed Jounouchi's mind. One he shouldn't dare entertain, but being cold probably wasn't good for Kaiba's leg in his current state. He had already dedicated himself to Kaiba's well-being to this point. Might as well ensure neither of them became popsicles before Kaiba could get proper medical attention.

"Alright, budge up."

Kaiba should hurry. Before Jounouchi lost his nerves.

"Excuse me."

"Ya heard me. Make room. We're gonna share body heat."

"Why?" Kaiba's voice rose an octave. He gave Jounouchi a frantic once-over from head to toe.

"So we don't freeze, duh."

Kaiba looked at him as if he was insane.

Jounouchi felt insane.

"Look, you're still cold, and I'm not giving you this blanket too. It's the last one," he argued.

For a moment, Kaiba looked as if he might eject Jounouchi from the cabin entirely, busted leg be damned. But then a miracle happened. Kaiba, after lowering his gaze, scooted forward, leaving space for Jounouchi to join him on the furniture. With his heart in his throat, Jounouchi squeezed in, carefully wiggling until he bracketed Kaiba's tense form with his legs. Without asking, because he was positive the answer would be no, Jounouchi pulled the other man's back flush to his chest.

Kaiba stiffened. He froze as if he had been left outside in sub-zero temperatures. That gave Jounouchi an opening to slip an arm around Kaiba's waist, but he left the limb atop a layer of quilt.

From this angle, he could only make out the back of Kaiba's head and the tip of his flaming ears.

Kaiba remained strangely mute. Only the steady rise and fall of his chest signaled his consciousness. Another shudder wracked through his body, and Jounouchi could feel it, from the hissing inhale to the tensing of back muscles to the exhale and shoulder slumping under the woolen weight.

Kaiba stopped shivering afterward, though. So that counted as a success, right?

"Don't worry, I don't mind sharing the bed with you if you want a space heater there too," Jounouchi joked. A hard lump formed in his throat, and he fought the urge to tighten his arms.

In response, Kaiba elbowed him in the stomach. But it was a light touch for him.

Jounouchi wouldn't admit it out loud, but he was content to remain here. Just the two of them huddled under blankets until the storm finally passed. And when Kaiba leaned back against him, he gave the impression he didn't mind either.

Read other prompt fill ficlets here

[sun-marie]

how about Wyll and Karlach giving each other flower crowns, if you still have sketch slots available 🥺 (or just Karlach making one for Wyll!)

These two make me so unreasonably happy, thank you for the prompt 🥹 💗

Send me 2+ characters and/or ships and a prompt for a quick messy sketch

[hms-tardimpala]

Ficbinding: Saw collection

Warning: long post

As you may have noticed, I recently got into Saw, and the fanfic quality is phenomenal. The writers in this fandom are exceptional and unafraid to write the kind of freaky shit I love. In a month, I've read enough amazing fics to fill a small book, so I did!

As usual, the fics come first. There are nine, by four different authors (I found writers I love right off the bat in this fandom).

By @theflirtmeister:

Our land is sharp and glorious (3.5k, E) (special mention to this one for being the first Saw fic I ever read <3)

Tell me sweetheart (1.6k, M)

What suits your taste (3.3k, E)

By @degloved (Wolverton on AO3):

See me bare my teeth for you (1.9k, E)

The Issue series (3 fics, 7.5k, E)

Pig on speed dial by @gurokatt (2.9k, E)

Helping hand (1.9k, E) is by an anonymous author I salute, wherever they are.

These are all great fics I wanted to bind to make rereads easier and I recommend them all strongly (just mind the tags). A big thank you to the authors for replying positively when I reached out, I hope this is a good surprise!

Now let's talk shop.

This is my smallest book to date, and I have a good reason for that. As silly as it sounds, I wanted to make a book that could fit in a pocket of Amanda's cargo pants^^ I chose red for the cover and black for the headbands and bookmark to mimic the Jigsaw coat. This cloth is amazing: the pictures above show the book in real lighting (I took them at the window to catch what light was left today). It's a non-uniform blood-like dark red, which is perfect for Saw. It's also slightly reflective, as if it were slick, as you can see in this video under artificial lighting:

I went crazy with the cogs, I know.

I'm very happy with the fonts I chose: "s'AWsome" for the title, "impact label" for the fic titles (reversed for the author names), "underway" for the drop caps and "reem kufi" for the body of the text.

I decorated this book more! Every fic starts with an image of an object related to Saw (I used chains, blades, a puzzle piece, a bear trap, a scar, etc...). I also put the title of the fic and the author's name at the top of the pages. I wish I could have put something between these and the page numbers, but it would have been too small to look good. I used barbed wire for breaks in the stories because of course I did.

I'm especially proud of the "underway" drop caps, look!

They look like fingerprints!!! The oily residue and everything, you know!

What didn't work?

This time, most of what I did worked perfectly. Well, I did have to print, cut, fold, sew and glue this three times because I made mistakes when trimming the textblock. But in the end it's fine because I don't think the uneven edges are jarring when it comes to a Saw collection. There's a small spot of glue on the cover that I'll be the only one to notice. I could have strenghtened the back less for a book this size, it would have made it bendier.

One the whole, I love this book and the stories inside it and, as a craftsman, I'm very proud of myself.

Reminder: Feel free to ask me about materials, fonts and tools, it won't bother me at all to tell you what I used, but I'm too lazy rn to write it in this post that's long enough already.

[heavywoolcoat]

[cianmars]

Learning to stay still.

(A Doctor Who fanfic)

AO3

The Doctor watched as the Tardis wheezed then dematerialised. 

That was new.

All of this was. 

He didn’t realise that he’d been simply staring into the space left behind… he’d been left behind too, in a way. He knew it wouldn’t have worked out well, him and the Doctor, neither of them were made to be companions, this version of him especially seemed to be unsuitable for the job of being the Doctor's Wrangler. 

He tried to hide his jump when he felt a nudge on his shoulder. He covered it up with a quick smile, just a small one, at Donna who was looking up at him in concern. 

“You alright?” 

She’d asked him that so many times, to this face, and the same face on his younger self. He didn’t lie to Donna, as a general rule, but he had never been good at admitting that he wasn’t okay, actually.

He had been working on it. 

“You know me.” 

He looked down at his bare feet, bi-generation had left him with only half of their clothes, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d come out as better considering he was now shoe-less and commando. 

“Yeah. I do.”

Her firm tone forced him to look back at his best friend. If he didn’t think she’d hit him he would have pointed out that when she looked at him like she was now, she reminded him a bit too much of Sylvia. 

He tilted his head to the side, lowering his voice so only Donna could hear him. “I guess I just… kind of expected him to have popped back by now. Not to stay,” he added quickly, “just… y’know.” 

He felt her hand take hold of his and squeeze, so he squeezed back. 

“I’m sure he’ll be back to visit, some day. I mean, I kept getting to see this old face, didn’t I?”

He glanced at Kate and Shirley, who were talking about something, he should probably help them, should probably figure out a way to fix the human race again. But he just couldn’t. He felt a lump in his throat, and squeezed Donna’s hand again. “You were one of the few… I should have… you were different.” 

There was silence and understanding between the two of them for a minute or two. 

“I think he was right, that version of you, you need to work on yourself first. I mean… you’re kind of a mess.”

The Doctor barked out a laugh, feeling some of the weight lift off of his shoulders. 

“Yeah, I guess…. I guess he’s right.” he thought back to the hug from his older self, he wished it had been longer, it had been stabilising, but now he was cast adrift. He didn’t know what came next. 

So he did what he always did. 

He put on a smile, and raised his voice, adding levity, and an easy smile.

“I should probably help Kate, and Shirley, y’know fix this mess your lot have got yourselves into this time.” 

Apparently Kate Lethbridge Stewart had been polite in pretending not to listen to his and Donna’s conversation, as she immediately turned to him, holding a screen in her hands, starting to hold it out to him. 

“We have-”

“No.” Donna’s voice silenced Kate immediately, The Doctor still didn’t know how she did that, he supposed he could do it too, but Donna managed to even shut himself up, and he’d always sucked at getting himself to shut up.

“I-”

“No,” Donna repeated, glaring at the Doctor now, even though it had been Shirley who had tried to interrupt that time. “You heard him, you heard you. You’re not doing anything other than coming home with me, eating whatever my mum’s cooked, and having a kip.”

He had the decency to look away from her, down at the floor again, as he tried to stretch the truth a little, “I’ll be okay, I’ll do that, but I’ll help here first.” He looked at Donna again, begging her to understand, as she always did, he needed to do something, to not feel useless. 

To prove he could still be The Doctor.

She just shook her head with a sad smile on her face, “Not this time Doctor.” She squeezed his upper arm, looking not at him now but at Kate. “I’ll be taking him home, you lot can handle this. He’s grounded, Doctor’s orders.” 

“Donna, “ he grumbled, “I can’t be grounded, I’m a billion years old and a Timelord with a Tardis, and a million more lives to live.”

She just rolled her eyes at him. 

He loved her but she couldn’t half annoy him sometimes, it was clear to her that she disagreed with him being ‘unable to be grounded’. Kate just nodded at Donna, not looking at him, whereas Shirley kind of smirked at him. She was trouble, good trouble, he’d have to take her on an adventure, if she would go. 

Donna was talking to Kate about something, The Doctor wasn’t paying attention, and she still had hold of him, as though he was about to jump in his box and run away… he supposed she might have a point with that one. 

“C’mon, martian,” she pulled him fondly as she started to walk away from the Tardis, “We’ll catch a lift off this lot, the Tardis will follow us, or go where she goes when she ditches you. We’ll get you well, and then we can go on some adventures.”

He looked back at the Tardis, as though she’d be able to intercede on his behalf, she didn’t. Traitor. So he followed after Donna, trusting her to find the way out of this place. 

“Oh,” Donna called over her shoulder at the leader at Unit, “and send me the contract, I’m sure you have all my details, 150K a year we said, right, and 6 weeks holiday?”

The Doctor smiled faintly, he didn’t know the details she’d worked out, but he was almost certain that she had just given herself a promotion. 

The first challenge he faced was a seatbelt, refusing to put it on until Donna had glared at him and told him he’d be walking soon, still without shoes. He’d clicked the belt on, grumbling under his breath. 

Donna chatted to the Unit soldier who was driving them, something about the time Atmos nearly filled the world with gas to prepare the world for the Sontaruns, about his trick with the tennis ball, and nearly sacrificing himself. The Doctor didn’t join in, he just zoned out, knowing he was safe to do so when Donna was with him. 

He had shuffled into Donna’s home, still shoeless, he should acquire some shoes soon, or at least some socks. He was quiet as Donna announced to her family that he’d be staying in their spare room for a while, until he was ‘better’ in her words. He kind of hoped one of them would protest, give him an excuse to stay in the Tardis, he wouldn’t go away, but he’d be able to keep his distance. 

But none of them bothered: Shaun seemed pretty easy going, genuinely nice, saying ‘Y’right mate?” with an easy smile. Sylvia looked apprehensive, just ever so slightly, but she was clearly trying, she knew now that him being there wouldn’t actively kill Donna, still she sent him a smile, before excusing herself to the kitchen to cook him a ‘proper meal’, he guessed he wasn’t sure the last time he had eaten. Rose, Donna’s Rose, smiled at him, before Donna quickly made it very very clear to her, and to the Doctor, that neither of them, or anyone at all, would be using the Tardis until she said so. 

He’d find a way around that, but maybe not right now, he wouldn’t push it yet. 

He was led upstairs to the spare room, sparsely decorated; with a bed, a wardrobe, and a bedside table. The walls were blue, not Tardis blue, but blue enough that he knew some part of Donna had remembered. 

He let himself drop onto the bed. 

“Doctor…. Are you okay?” 

Her voice was so soft, and he was so lost, he tried to swallow the lump in his throat again, but this time it didn’t work. “I don’t know…. I don’t know anything, what to do, who I am… What I am…. I just,” he let out a breath feeling tears in his eyes. Before he knew it she had her arms around him, sitting on the bed beside him, holding him close. 

He clung to her, his best friend, his lifeboat. 

“I don’t… I’m not okay, Donna.”

“I know,” she soothed him, no trace of the teasing they often had between them. “It’s going to be okay though, it’ll just take a while, and a lot of work. But you have me, you have a family Doctor, you’re not alone. You can breathe now, you can stop, you don’t need to worry about anything right now.” 

“I’m so tired,” he admitted, feeling each and every year of his life he’d lived since he had last had this old face. 

“You can tell me about it, when you’re ready, about it all.” 

“Is this what I do now?” he pulled away from her, but didn’t move from sitting beside her, their knees both touching, grounding him still, “Just sit here and cry.”

“Sure. That’s what I did, a lot, when I forgot you, I mean I didn’t know why obviously. It was hard, really hard, but I had my mum, and my grandad, they let me be sad, and then they helped me move on. They’re experts at this, and I’m the world expert in The Doctor, “ she smirked at that, “Between us all we can figure it out.”

He smiled back at her, it wasn’t a huge beaming energetic smile, but it was full of his heart. He didn’t know what he had done to deserve her, if he did deserve her of course, which right then he wasn’t sure he was. 

“First things first, you need some clothes, Shauns will be big on you, but considering you two split the clothes between you and he was wearing the pants….”

The Doctor groaned, throwing himself back to lie on the bed, covering his eyes with his hands, “Don’t. Why’d… I mean couldn’t the universe have just given us both clothes?”

Donna snorted, “She’s got a sense of humour, the universe.”

The Doctor couldn’t help but agree, uncovering his eyes as he watched Donna leave the room. 

He let his eyes fall shut, taking in a deep breath. 

Then another.

And another. 

[capn-twitchery]

Tell me some fun snippets from your brain (not winning at getting them out without invitation but I also want to Know)

OOOH thank you let me see what i've got,,,,here is a definitely incomplete list of incomplete concepts rattling around in my brain that i wanna expand on sometime

backstory stuff for both of them! red honey stuff for twitch i still gotta iron out the details for

& stuff for grace pre-neath which is very vague currently, and i FINALLY figured out why he's doing nemesis--but it's not for himself. it's for a dead guy that he murdered

also wanted to do an interactive story from grace's pov of the aftermath of the ship ending up in the neath & the search to find help, slowly losing crew along the way (tragically Or murderously) up to when twitch bails him out

evolution gripped me by the brain and i really wanna clink twitch against the second sacristan (as Enemies of some kind) but i gotta figure out where i'm going there. you can definitely get a bad ending AU out of it but i'm not sure what else!!

speaking of bad endings, sending grace to the grand geode to get Dawnpilled >:3c he ends up there in canon anyway (and gets out before he ends up as a sequencer) but both would be fun to explore

i have some wips for this already but some ideas for the SSea officers on twitch's crew, their dynamics, their history with twitch, etc etc. there has to be some drama there, i can't imagine murdering and resurrecting the navigator for purely selfish reasons does nothing to the crew dynamics

i also have about 100 unorganised snippets of dialogue or mini comics in my head,, most of them are just silly goofy things based on me trying to figure out wtf grace and twitch have going on

their first meeting(s), feelings about developing crushes (horrified, mostly), overdramatic arguments bc neither of them can verbalise their feelings if it kills them, twitch being a goddamn weirdo, but also cuter things. because i am nothing if not a hurt/comfort fan 😌

(i hope this was even semi understandable to anyone other than me!! i am notorious for never pinning my ideas down. thank you for asking me to ramble it is Always appreciated♥︎)

[humberg]

'That the biochip?'