#what aren’t I doing enough of. how have I misstepped.

[fictitious-little-stitious]

This is long. At the risk of making things more awkward for myself, here’s venting and trying to organize some thoughts. Attempted metaphors and similes for the state of my fanfic experiences. Heads up: insecurities, doubt, and the like.

My experience on here is like being at a bar or a party with several people. Everyone is there for basically the same thing and having a nice enough time. I’m having a great time even! There’s people I know and there’s talk of what we enjoy or what’s new. After laughing along with others or listening intently, I finally think of something witty or insightful of my own to contribute, so I build up the courage to share. I wait for a lull or opportune moment…

And I share! Sometimes it’s blurted out, sometimes it’s mulled over. Still, I know what I say is worth sharing. I know without a doubt that I am clever and creative. I’m humble enough to know I might flub my words or it might not be everyone’s cup of tea. I try to speak up loud enough, I even repeat myself once or twice if needed.

Sometimes there’s that person or two or more who was nearby and heard me and are so glad I shared. We don’t even need to suddenly become bosom buddies for us to appreciate eachother. They might draw others’ attention back to me or have a nice, brief interaction with me.

But often times, either of two things happen: nobody else hears me or they hear me and just look at me. Some of them are people who I’ve been listening to the whole party. With the first, I can attempt to speak up louder, see who or what’s grabbing their attention, wait and try later, or save face by keeping it to myself.

Now when people hear me and just look at me? Maybe they smile a bit but whether it’s one of politeness or sarcasm or mild appreciation, who knows. There’s no booing or murmurs, no glares or quirked eyebrows, no criticism. However, there’s also no poorly muffled laughs, no looks of rapt attention, no shoulder bumps, nothing to encourage me to continue either. They’ve shown that they heard me speak, but I still don’t know anything more from them. Likes? Dislikes? I’m no mind reader. They seemed to welcome my attention to them earlier when they were the story teller.

So I go back to idle visiting and listening, which I still enjoy. I’ll think of things to say, sure, but I put myself out there less and less. Because why speak just to hear yourself talk? And now I’m taking everything in, but there’s less of an outlet. Then I have a harder time being cheerful for others, including the ones who’ve stuck with me. And I know I better leave before I fade into the background.

———

I enjoy sharing parts of myself for engagement and attention, and my writing is a small part of me. But I feel so embarrassed and naive, that I want to take back everything I’ve written. I must’ve misread the audience or expected too much. Maybe what I said was too niche and I could’ve kept that for myself to be amused by. I’ve deleted games and prompts I’ve reblogged because how pitiful it is to see that with no answered asks following it.

My experience, and other people’s too, has been more stagnate (people with 5x, 10x the notes I get are feeling the decrease in engagement) when I yearn for it to be dynamic. To have pleasant exchanges about any assortment of topics. To visit about characters and stories and ideas, or have a quick simple interactions to say yeah, we both see this or here’s something this reminds me or how did you come up with that? or imagine if X thing happened, what then?

I try to adjust my approach to fit the medium: use specific tags, use tag lists, post teasers, self-reblog, cross post to another site, share positivity and show appreciation. I remember authors so I can check their blogs for updates, instead of waiting for the updates to come to me. I’ve played the ask games and submitted requests. I try to share milestone and writing celebration posts when I see them. Let’s be vulnerable and show more of my personality, I think as I share another game or teaser or read fics of different characters, maybe I’ll seem more approachable.

Being a hypocrite is not where it’s at, I have reblogged tons of fics and shared my genuine reactions because I’ve enjoyed doing it. That’s why I made this blog in the first place: read and share and be a silly fan of whoever. Writing was an after thought. Both are fun, rewarding ways to connect with others, explore characters, and challenge and express myself.

But I sense that there’s an imbalance between the level of what I’m giving and what I’m receiving within this community, and my expectations for both. And I’ve been setting myself up for disappointment. Now I know there’s more than one way to engage with fics and community. It’s not as strictly transactional as I did xyz for you this many times, now you better match that. That’s unfair and unrealistic. It’s reciprocation that’s on my mind.

I’m pouring from a cup that occasionally gets filled, and often partially at that. It’s gotten harder to enjoy myself and to give generous pours to others. I feel like holding my cup upright and trying to take back what’s already been poured.

It’s apparent to me now more than ever that people just don’t notice the things that I notice. They don’t operate or remember or interact how I do. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but adjusting to that is kicking my butt. I am so weary of swinging and missing, of holding out hope.

I’m unsure what this (any of what I just said) means for my fic experience or future of it, but it was churning in my mind for a long, long while. This is one way for me to work through what I’ve been feeling lately. Many people are feeling disheartened and burnt out. I’m sad that I feel the need to rein in my enthusiasm when I’ve never even had that thought in all my years on this site.

….

#now watch there’s gonna be some obvious ass typo in here 🤣 #i withdrew from here for 2-3mos at the start of 2022. I got 0 msgs & <15 notes on older fics or queued. #so when i felt better to come back I had little indication that people thought of me just because or noticed my absence. #but then i show up in an inbox and it’s all ‘omg hi *cute nickname* you’re back!! 💕🥰’ #am i missing smth obvious here? a social convention or fandom interaction 101 bullet point? #i’m not even the third wheel here i’m the donut in the trunk #what aren’t I doing enough of. how have I misstepped. #truly i am so confused #my assorted gabs and chats #feels a little off tone for this post but it’s the tag i got

[blackopals-world]

… lunar eclipses aren’t called blood moons cause of their color, not originally anyways, but because celestial!Yuu’s occasional murder in which they use the blood of whoever is on the receiving end of the moon’s ire to color their light as a warning to all: do not stray from the moon’s light.

The moon shines best at night

Attempt not to stray from its light

Enter not shadows or stray from its sight

Or gain much more than a fright

There is much to fear when you can not see. So it’s best to stay in the moon’s good graces, lest you find yourself pitched into shadows that the moon will not guide you out of. The moon’s light is it’s grace and mercy, the shadows in which it spares none. If the moon abandons you, you probably deserve it.

———

Aaaa, that got a little more poetic than I intended. I hope this was alright? Apologies, I just got a lil inspired by your newest celestial/immoral!Yuu post-

… what I mean by “not originally anyways” is definitely a nod to how Grimm’s Fairytales have gotten more, ah, “kid friendly”, so people definitely say blood moons are called such cause of their color in modern times, but if you find old enough folklore or beings, you’ll know the real reason-

I hope this wasn’t misstepping? I really enjoy your posts and wanted to share a little of an idea/inspiration I got from it-

- Puppet

Thank you so much for that Puppet.

#celestial!yuu #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland yuu

[mermaidlighthouse]

Ok, I’m sure it's been said somewhere else but I haven’t seen it and I’m just so mad at myself for missing the parallel here…

So, in this post I was talking about how Ed used to love pirating but had moved beyond it and then had tried going back (the Kraken era)…and I was just like FUCK…that’s just Stede’s entire plot in s1. Stede was able to reconcile that he didn’t “fit” in his old life anymore in s1 whereas we needed to give Ed more time. As the post says, this is mostly because he had Izzy being the devil on his shoulder and the voice in his head and Izzy was a constant presence in his life. Stede was able to be outside the toxic environment and frankly, his issues had more to do with his situation and less to do with actively toxic people constantly undermining his growth - a lot of his issues are more internalized.

Ed’s arc is recognizing and dealing with the fact that he doesn’t “fit there (pirating) anymore”.

Stede did love at least some parts of being landed gentry: his clothes, his books, his children, he didn’t love Mary but he didn’t hate her either. (I do recognize the order I have put these in and that was on purpose…). He loved them “best he could”. He tried going back when he was told he would never be more than what he was always perceived as, that he was a cancer, he was weak, he was poison. Take into consideration the fact that one of the Badminton twins was also literally the voice in Stede’s head telling him he was worthless and the Izzy parallels become apparent. 

Stede’s conversation with Mary about love is a parallel to Mary (Read)’s conversation with Ed. Both Marys function to tell them or allow them to realize they are joined together, they are wrapped up in each other. Stede needed to understand what it meant to be in love and Ed needed to understand love wouldn’t be stolen from him, it wouldn’t slip through his fingers like so much silk…

They each have a scene in which they are told what they aspire to be is out of their reach. That they aren’t good enough for what they desire. They then both run back to what was comfortable, not because it was healthy or good but because it's what they’ve known for so long. They each come to realize they have been changed by having met the other. And we get to watch them acknowledge that to themselves AND each other.

The fact that we are allowed to see them come to this realization individually and on their own timelines is SO vital because while there are parallels and while they may be in a relationship; they are each allowed their own path of self-discovery and each allowed to take as many steps as they need to get there. The fact that they are also allowed to have backpedaled because change is scary and sometimes you make a misstep is just so important. Trauma is not one size fits all and neither is healing.

#do you ever have a fuckin epiphany and you get so mad at how obvious it was? #this show is so good #the writing is always so on point #gentlebeard #blackbonnet #stede bonnet #the gentleman pirate #edward teach #ed x stede #ed teach #blackbeard #our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd season 2 #ofmd s2 #izzy hands #the new unicorn #mary bonnet #mary read

[growingnerves]

I saw the teaser and it got me thinking…

It’s not some mysterious happenstance that lead to Melissa McBride appearing on our screens again. She’s still around in TWDU because she is responsible for so many of the most iconic, rewatchable and deeply engaging moments and that isn’t easily forgotten among fans. We will always want her here so we can continue the story with Caryl as a united pair. And much as I share in the enthusiasm over how powerful her presence is, that alone isn’t enough! The quality of their story together still matters to us. The generic “thrills” aren’t working. I’m sure Melissa wants quality material to dive into as much as the fans do. She considers us in a way that others working on this spin-off will not. However, the fans will always be an objectively important aspect to the show’s ongoing success or failure. After all, who’s going to be watching?

It can be hard to believe our voices are being heard after countless disappointments, cruel shipbaity manipulations and needless retconning; it has often felt like we haven’t been valued. But the more we speak up about our expectations, the greater chance we have of getting them met. I don’t want past missteps to discourage us to the point of accepting something merely “inoffensive.” Let’s think of what this spin-off could be!

Nothing in those promos is engaging me on a meaningful level and this far along into a story, that shouldn’t be a difficult task. We need to see major changes going forward, especially with the writing. The title alone is unacceptable, and even if I could accept it (which I can’t!), “acceptable” isn’t enough. Once whatever future we get for Carol and Daryl is on our screens, it can’t be undone. Once it’s been decided, we will have to live with it forever. So now is the time to have the highest of expectations and demands. Nothing is set in stone yet! Now is a better time than any to pour our energy into advocating for what we want to see. I’d rather be criticizing the show now rather than once it’s been irreversibly ruined by the current showrunner (Zabel). We know we are going to see Caryl together again, that is our only guarantee atp. Which version of the spin-off we get, could still change, especially going into S3! We don’t have to settle for a lesser version of what should be OUR show.

Our dedication should be rewarded with something to look forward to, not something that causes dread. The dread of further disappointment is what drove viewers away. It burned me out to the point I never finished watching S11 of TWD. I didn’t tune in for the initial season of the spin-off because omitting Carol was the most nonsense decision imaginable. The only thing that would make me consider returning is a storyline worth my time. Because boy do I get invested when I give a damn. Imagine getting a story with actual stakes and payoff. Something a little more captivating than watching two friends suffering through seasons more of the apocalypse.

The purpose of reuniting these two is to profit on their unmatched bond and chemistry. They are capable of anything when they are together and taking their relationship to the next level would open up so many new possibilities storywise. Give us something fresh tonally. Let the relationship develop naturally into something romantic as it always should have been. That’s what’s going to get people talking and clamoring for more. That’s what’s going to get word to reach those who left. Seeing a middle aged couple headlining a series is groundbreaking tv and that representation alone could bring in loads of new eyes and reinvigorate online discussion.

What show are they trying to sell me based on the brief window into S2 with tonight’s promos? Caryl’s relationship isn’t the centerpiece here. What I saw was an attempt to catch my attention with repetitive action sequences. There’s nothing original about shootouts and car crashes and distractingly bad looking CGI blood and verbal cliches. Carol interacted with Daryl’s props? That’s the best you can give me? The unique draw this show has, that makes the appeal one of a kind, is Carol and Daryl played by Melissa and Norman. That’s an absolute narrative goldmine and something no other show on tv can claim. I’m echoing so many other fans when I say this. We are able to see the potential for greatness. An emotionally intimate slow burn relationship built over many years will always have within it a vast, complex narrative to explore that new characters cannot bring to the table. AMC has a rare gift in their hands. Continued success of the franchise hinges on the network making the right call when it comes to this duo. That’s where the attention should go. That’s the tease I was looking for tonight. That’s the upcoming payoff that would win back my trust and viewership. I want to see something I can feel passionate about again. We understand these characters aren’t learning to navigate the world without each other. They are fighting to stay alive so that they can be together again and realize their relationship in a way that is new. Caryl’s history runs deep and they couldn’t give us a single emotional beat to grasp onto in the promo- that’s how I’m feeling right now.

Side note cause I can’t help myself but I know I’m not the only one who noticed that Melissa McBride is a total smokeshow in that teaser. It’s not an obscure observation by any means haha. She looked goddamn amazing and badass and well, fucking hot 🥵 It is an undeniable privilege to see this woman on our screens again.

#caryl #the book of carol #caryl spinoff #melissa mcbride #carylers #bitching at 4AM 💅🏻

[horsetailcurlers2]

do you have any headcanons about reginas upbringing with cora and/or her relationship with the king? i know it can be a sensitive topic on here but imo theres no way they both didnt abuse her in some way shape or form

yes i very much do and they are all objectively awful and sad. i’m a bit hesitant to answer for a couple of reasons. the first reason is that i definitely have an idea of what she went through in my head but to write it out is very different than to just have it in the back of my head when i think of or read anything about her character. the other reason is that my headcanons aren’t anything new. they’re all things lots of other people have thought or written about. however, i do have thoughts so i will try my best. TRIGGER WARNING for child abuse, marital rape, and mentions of eating disorders.

-cora was abusive. hands down, there is no ifs, ands, or buts. even from what they show in the show (it’s an ABC sunday night family show. when it comes to the especially dark topics, they are usually vague or just stick to heavily implying things), we see her manipulating and gaslighting her daughter, being extremely controlling and critical, and physically restraining her in aggressive and violent ways. i think cora was definitely physically abusive- she often used magic instead of her hands because she rarely wanted to mar regina’s beauty.

-i can see her doing things like restraining regina when she was very young if she ever “misbehaved”. i have an image in my mind of little regina being tied to a chair and forced to endure hours of etiquette lessons. cora probably would direct painful bursts of magic at her if she ever misstepped. she’s definitely struck regina before- probably mostly slaps. but she probably would heal the marks with magic (besides maybe the lip scar but i don’t have one solid headcanon about how she got that)

-regina definitely grew up hearing the philosophy that children should be “seen and not heard”. she rarely got to do anything childlike. maybe she was allowed to play with dolls or indulge in dress up games if cora was in a good enough mood to ignore her for the day, but cora probably started telling her she was too old for things like that when regina was around eight or nine.

-regina was probably also very isolated as a child. she rarely socialized with other children outside of rigid balls and parties. she spent most of her days with private tutors or learning how to be a “proper lady”.

-image is extremely important to cora. the only thing cora truly valued about regina is her looks. this has resulted in an complex about her looks even in adulthood. the regina we see in the show is clearly a person who values her appearance. even as the evil queen, she presents a very carefully curated image to the world. if there is one thing that cora has beat into regina, it is that appearances matter. she rarely likes to be seen without makeup and she is very particular about her outfits.

-i also think this contributes to a complex about her intelligence. her mother was always belittling her and calling her a “stupid girl” and her so called husband never had any interest in hearing what she had to say about anything. this is part of why magic is so seductive to her- she can prove that she is more than just a pretty face. (i also have dragon queen headcanons about mal being one of the first people other than daniel to be interested in her intellect)

-i also believe that cora was probably cruel to regina about her darker complexion and would make her wear light makeup and powders and avoid staying out in the sun for too long. same thing with her hair- she taught regina to dislike her natural curls. she always had to iron them out straighter or reshape them into more “perfect delicate ringlets” (like snow’s hair), or hide them with braids. this all feeds into a fucked up whitewashing thing cora definitely perpetuated.

-and her body. especially as she got older, cora was very strict about what regina’s body was supposed to look like. she was supposed to be beautiful and desireable to male suitors, which in cora’s mind= thin. cora would control what regina ate on a daily basis and essentially had her on a starvation diet. i definitely headcanon regina as having issues with eating just based on a few comments she makes in the show and one line in “regina rising”. even as an adult, regina can still hear cora’s voice in her head when she eats or looks at her body in the mirror. to cora, regina’s body has always been a commodity and it has to be maintained like one. this is a very very hard mentality for regina to shake.

-i have very complicated feelings about henry senior. on one hand, he was the only loving presence in her life for a very long time. on the other hand, he was never strong enough to protect her- not from her mother’s abuse and not from being sold off to a fifty year old man. i think that although he was the thing she loved most, she also resented him a bit deep down. (side tangent: i think regina has a deep seated complex about single fathers because of this. like, look at her issues with jefferson, hansel and gretel’s dad, and owen/greg’s dad. it’s almost like she is punishing them all for not being able to protect their children). and he felt a lot of guilt about never intervening until it was too late and she was consumed by darkness- i think he was in a way resigned to his death. he didn’t fight that hard against her killing him because he felt like he was finally making a sacrifice for her happiness or he was paying some sort of penance.

-the king. ughhhhhhh. okay i have made a few posts before about how creepy king leopold is but let’s just state it very plainly: that man raped her. what business does that man have marrying an 18 year old stranger? she looked visibly distressed when he proposed. there is no way he thought she was super into it. “snow needs a mother”?????? one that is barely eight years older than her?? when she has a perfectly good nanny taking care of her. no, that man has a thing for young girls (just look at eva in those flashbacks) and he wanted a beautiful young wife to warm his bed.

-this is horrible and dark, but i believe regina’s wedding night was her first sexual experience. as much as i would have liked daniel to be her first time, there’s almost no way she would have gotten away with it when cora kept her on such a tight leash.

-he treated her like an ornament. he dressed her up and paraded her out to balls and parties only to ignore her all night and dote on his daughter. if cora treated her like a commodity, then leopold treated her like a doll. something to entertain snow during the day and to entertain him at night.

-snow of course was ignorant to all of this darkness until many years later. she thought she had a very happy childhood with her father and stepmother. this is part of why she has such a hard time reconciling her kind and loving stepmother with the cruel and evil woman who wants her dead.

-regina learns early on not to refuse him. that it is easier and less humiliating if she lets him have his way. i can’t even describe how awful and traumatic i think her wedding night was.

-i really don’t know if he would have been physically abusive in other ways. i think he had an inflated ego and probably bought into all the people calling him a “kind king”. he thought that he had a right to her body and she was the one out of line for not happily obeying him. but i wouldn’t be surprised if he got physical with her in other ways, considering the way he canonically locked her up in her room and read her diary.

-his is the one murder she will never regret.

-she likely had long lasting trauma surrounding sex. after the end of her marriage she is so consumed by her rage and thirst for revenge. she gorges herself on the freedom of finally having control over her own body for once in her life. this is a big part of why she goes so crazy as the evil queen.

-i personally think that regina never really thinks of her marriage in terms of what it was. like, she knows she hated it and leopold was awful and disgusting. but she never attributes the word “rape” to it al until many many years later. she still has it ingrained into her mind from her mother and her husband, that she was his wife and it was just her duty. she doesn’t even fathom that it’s possible for a husband to rape his wife. i think she eventually goes to therapy or one day she is watching something on tv and they talk about marital rape and something just shifts within her. suddenly she feels so vindicated. she can finally put a name to it. for years, she thought she was being dramatic and that rape was something that happened with strangers and not within a marriage bed. it is both terrifying and incredibly cathartic to finally name what she went through.

ugh i’m sorry to end on such a sad note. regina has gone through way too much (obviously this doesn’t absolve her of all the evil she has done, but it definitely explains a lot of it and nobody should have had to go through all that).

#regina mills #ouat #once upon a time #fuck you cora!!! #fuck you leopold!!!! #she was a baby #sorry if this isn’t as well articulated as i would’ve liked. i’m very tired lol but i saw this and got fired up #i’m writing a character study of sorts in which regina goes to therapy if anyone is interested #tw: abuse #tw: ed mention

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

New to your blog, and I’m so happy that you think around the issues rather than ‘bat shit crazy’ being the go to reason/excuse. Anyway I have always thought that one of the major problems was Andrew basically had a half in/half out deal, he had his Pitch at the Palace, a commercial operation which totally exploited the Royal connections. It was also said that whenever a tech company applied to ‘pitch’ they had to sign over a percentage of equity just to get a foot in the door.

So given that as a template it’s not surprising that Harry thought he could do the same, particularly if he believed his own publicity that he was ‘the favoured grandchild’, like his uncle was allegedly the favoured second son. Plus of course Andrew lives in the imposing Lodge, was ex-military, and if you believe the press ‘air miles Andy’ spent a lot of time in private planes piggybacking royal duties with a round of golf.

As with Harry’s uncle/godfather I believe there was genuine confusion when he was told he couldn’t have what he wanted and I think the stroppy exit was only supposed to force the Queen to bring him back and give him what they wanted. Harry seems obsessed with fairness, whether that’s Balmoral sausage distribution, the income from the Duchy of Cornwall, or getting the same deal as his uncle. You would think that someone with a world class education, coming from a thousand year old dynasty would have at some point grasped that life just isn’t fair, and you make the most of the cards you are given which though considerable aren’t enough for the DoS.

That's a really good point - Andrew had half in/half out for a really long time. Before Pitch at the Palace, he also had that Trade Representative gig where he basically flew around on private jets to private holidays drumming up business for the UK.

That seems to be where Harry and Meghan got some of their audacity from - if Andrew can do it, why can't we? Where they misstepped was probably in how aggressive their demands were and how aggressively they made them, which most likely caused the discussions to become hostile.

I think the stroppy exit was only supposed to force the Queen to bring him back and give him what they wanted. -> I agree. Harry probably didn't expect The Queen to call his bluff and that also caught him completely off-guard.

My theory is that Harry and Meghan only agreed to the one-year review period thinking that everything would go to shit without them and the palace would be begging them to come back. Well, that didn't happen so when it came time for the one-year review and no one was begging them to return, it made them angry and they began negotiating with Oprah for a tell-all to get their revenge. (The press release announcing the "no, they're still out" result of the one-year review was on February 19, 2021, and Oprah wasn't finalized until around that same time.)

#ask #brf #sussexes

[maya-eden]

Sixth Sense - Part 2 ~ Natasha Romanoff

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Warnings: Foul Language, Fighting

Word Count: ~3.4K

Part 1 | Part 2

"What about now?" 

"No...just no."

"Ugh, I don't get what I'm doing wrong!"

Natasha's frustrated huff was received with a chuckle by Y/N, who tried burying her face against her pillow to muffle the noise, only to be whacked in the arm by the redhead.

"This sucks, you suck! I mean, who even invented this shit? Makes no logical sense at all." Natasha refused to admit defeat so instead preferred condemning the game.

"It's a kid's game, Red."

"Yeah, a very stupid one at that. Can I put this card over this one when they aren't the same color? And what if they are the same color and the numbers don't match? Can I add a +2 after you or not? You didn't explain this well enough." Natasha let her annoyance get the best of her and babbled all her words out at a speed far greater than what Y/N could ever pick up on.

Catching up on her misstep, she opened her mouth to apologize but when her remorseful eyes met her best friend's all statements were lost.

"Why are you smiling at me like that?"

Y/N appeared to be caught off guard by the question, looking down at the bed covers under her and gulping dryly as she came up with an answer.

"I don't think you have the mental capacity to play UNO."

Natasha wasn't expecting that, she huffed out in slight annoyance and nudged the chuckling Y/N in the leg before shoving the cards to the end of her bed and also laying down beside her best friend.

"Whatever. Gosh, I'm tired." The red-head brought her arm up to cover her eyes, not noticing the dreamy gaze that had taken over Y/N's eyes as she watched her.

"I'm on the lookout tonight, you can rest."

Natasha furrowed her eyebrows and perched up, looking at the other girl with confusion, "You were on lookout duty yesterday, though. Tonight's my night."

"I was on lookout two days ago. Tonight's my night."

She quirks an eyebrow at the response, trying to backtrack her days to make sure she wasn't being fibbed to.

"Y/N/N, are you trying to gaslight a master spy slash super hot assassin?"

Y/N's lips tilted into a small smirk and she adjusted herself on the bed to be closer to Natasha.

Slowly lowering the redhead to lay on her arms, she began running her hand through Nat's curls, making her, almost immediately, sigh in relaxation. "I don't know, am I?" She whispered.

Natasha's eyelids dropped and she couldn't do anything but nod in response, enjoying the warmness that Y/N's touch brought her.

She felt as if she was laying on clouds, "You're comfy." She confided quietly against Y/N's chest, knowing the latter wouldn't be able to hear her or read her lips.

Natasha slowly slipped further and further away from this reality, a peaceful dream world impatiently waiting for her. She was almost reaching it, when the steady scratches on her scalp were suddenly halted.

Groaning in resentment, she tilted her head, looking up to catch Y/N already watching her.

"Have you ever thought of escaping?"

The unexpected question made Natasha sit up with wide eyes and a fallen mouth, scooting away from Y/N as if the latter had stung her.

"What?"

Not missing the tension that suddenly filled the room, Y/N also sat up and faced her best friend, reaching forward to grasp the redhead's hand in her own.

"I just...I wa-why don't w-" she cut off her stuttering with an annoyed sigh and played with Natasha's fingers as she thought her words through. It didn't matter how much time had passed nor how low long the two had been best friends...even nowadays at almost eighteen, Y/N would find herself nervous at Natasha's more serious gazes.

"I don't want to fight or kill anyone else, Nat. I don't wanna hear stupid Madam B talking about Animal Planet again and I definitely don't want to pretend like I don't know you when there are other people around." The desperation for something more was presented in her strained voice and furrowed eyebrows.

She clenched Natasha's hand tightly as she spoke her next words, "I like you, Natasha. Why don't we escape together and live freely? Just you and me."

Needless to say, Natasha was caught off guard by the abrupt speech, having never heard such a narrative coming from Y/N before.

She pulled her hand away from her best friend's and drew it up to feel Y/N's head, searching for bumps.

"Did you hit your head when we invaded that warehouse some hours ago?" The question was genuine and the worry was obvious in Natasha's gaze but Y/N only rolled her eyes and looked out the window of their hotel room.

Their graduating ceremony was almost here so they both had joked about this being their last chance at gathering the best possible youth memories. After that, they'd constantly be shipped around the world to accomplish mission after mission and God knows how lucky they'd have to be paired up on missions as frequently as they had been until now.

Paris didn't seem to be too bad of an option for their last night together as teens. All they had to do was infiltrate a governmental warehouse that stored several classified documents. They were in and out in an hour without being seen, experience and skill making them as smooth with the operation as possible.

Tomorrow they'd be going back to Russia and Y/N saw this as her last chance to set things straight with Natasha.

She breathed in some air and suddenly faced the redhead again, "Tell me you don't like me, Nat. Look me in the eyes and tell me that." Her tone, as well as her usually soft gaze, were suddenly more strict and tense.

"I don't lik-" Her sentence was interrupted when Y/N suddenly gripped both of her cheeks and turned her head to make her look at her.

"Look at me when you lie." She whispered, clenching her jaw in what seemed to be irritation but also pain.

Natasha could read her too well. Every little expression on Y/N's face, that had once appeared so bland and monotonous to her, was now a myriad of feelings, thoughts, and emotions.

Her gaze fell to stare at her best friend's lips and she slowly found herself leaning in.

Gosh, the countless times she had wished to just let go of her fears and take those lips into her own. Taste them. See if they were as soft as they looked.

Natasha thought about what it would be like. To run away from the organization. Find herself a normal job and live a common life without worrying about whether she'd make it out alive tomorrow or not.

And then she pictured Y/N by her side.

"Just the two of us?" She whispered out, lost in the moment and looking for Y/N to guide her through the darkness.

"You and me, Red." The latter replied with nothing but sincerity in her gaze.

Natasha couldn't help but smile at the images that filled her head, reaching forward to gently cup the back of Y/N's neck.

She was about to fully lean in and meet her best friend's lips when something poked her thumb. Y/N was too caught up in the interaction to realize what was going on, but Natasha knew fully well what she was touching. The sharp little disk at the back of the other girl's neck...a tracking device.

The one Dreykov would use to locate and capture them. He'd get them back- even if he had to use all of his Widows to do so.

He'd torture them and kill them. Parade their bodies around the Red Room as a lesson for every other girl.

'You escape, you die. This is your aquarium, trying to leave it will only result in you choking to death'

So Natasha pulled away at the last second and cleared her throat before looking away. Her gaze fell on the UNO cards at the end of the bed.

"Can't we just go back to playing cards? This is our last real night as teens so why do we need to ruin it?"

Y/N was, visibly, caught completely off guard. Her eyes were almost fully closed since she was ready to be swept off her feet with a kiss that would take her breath away, so she didn't fully catch Natasha's words.

"W-what?" She stuttered out.

Natasha suddenly huffed and stood from the bed, marching from one side of the room to the other. Conflicted emotions shone brightly on her face.

She suddenly stopped and turned to Y/N with a clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows.

"Listen, I accept whatever you are but you have no right to push your agenda on me and try to manipulate me into doing something as reckless as even thinking about escaping."

The room was bathed in silence as Y/N tried to assimilate and think Natasha's words through.

The redhead was emotional and her words came out fast, lips blurring together into an incomprehensible mess that she couldn't read.

After the secret was revealed, Natasha was pretty quick to adapt to Y/N's disability, even in an environment as unhelpful as the Red Room.

Whenever it was just the two of them, she'd articulate her words precisely, while making sure to not look like a clown like she did the first time she had tried doing that.

When they were surrounded by people and Natasha noticed the small hint of fear flashing through Y/N's eyes whenever she didn't understand something, she would sneakily and silently guide her back into clarity. Be it with little gestures, nudges, and sometimes even full-on encrypted messages.

Right now, though, unlike all of those times, Natasha seemed to be too caught up in her emotions, rolling her eyes in anger when Y/N asked her to repeat herself.

"Fucking hell, Y/N!" Natasha gripped her hair in frustration and approached the girl. She tapped Y/N's chest a bit more forcefully than she initially intended to, "You." "And me?" Natasha tapped her own chest before shaking her head, "Never gonna happen. Did you catch that?"

"Why are you treating me like I'm a fucking moron?" Y/N squinted her eyes in pure confusion and discomfort.

Natasha snickered, "Because you are acting like one! Thinking we could be a thing and then asking me to run away with you? I mean, where are we? Hollywood Boulevard? We are not in a fairy tale, Y/N. We belong to the Red Room so you better start fucking accepting that. Control your feelings and act like the damn top-class student you are. 'Cause I'm done playing pretend with you. I'm done acting like everything is alright between us when we both know you have feelings for me and can't control yourself. I. Am. Done." Natasha asserted everything in one quick breath, not caring that Y/N wouldn't have picked up on every single word she said, and collected her jacket and duffel bag from the floor.

Without looking back at her best friend, she snatched her weapons from the chair they had been set in and bolted out the door.

_________

The next time Natasha saw her friend was three weeks after their fight at the hotel.

Y/N seemed to be avoiding her like the plague but it's not like the redhead had foreseen any other reaction from her...she just hoped, deep down, they could miraculously continue being friends, despite recognizing very well how much of an asshole she had been.

Life went on for both of them.

They were both sent on two separate missions, and by the time Natasha arrived, she was rushed into the training grounds.

The test for her ceremony had begun.

Killing the man was harder than she originally thought and then fighting the super soldier was no easy task either. Natasha convinced herself that if she let go now, she could end all the suffering in her life. 

But Madam B knew her far too well to not know when she wasn't committing 100% to a fight.

Natasha won and, in the blink of an eye, found herself strapped to a gurney with numerous nurses scrambling around her as she was being transported down a lengthy hallway.

The procedure left her alone with her subconscious for some hours.

When she woke up again, this time without her reproductive organs, she found herself already wanting to give up on the new life she had just started.

"I should've taken up on your offer to run." The drugs still present in her system turned her mind foggy and made her smile sloppily at Y/N, who had been sitting on the ground beside the infirmary bed and holding onto her hand for the past three hours.

The Y/E/C eyed girl didn't want to risk being discerned by one of the guards or the nurses doing their rounds, so the best solution was just ducking out of sight and hiding whenever someone came in.

"I'm not here to talk," Y/N commented shortly and coldly.

"Yeah, why are you here then? I haven't seen you in weeks."

Natasha would have known the answer to her question if she wasn't drugged out of her mind.

They had both been fearing this procedure for a while now and swore to be there for each other when the time came. So, when Y/N arrived back from her mission, bloody and exhausted, her feet seemed to form a mind of their own and she made her way to her friend.

That didn't mean she wasn't mad or disappointed, though, so she stayed quiet, ignoring the way Natasha squeezing her hand to get her attention brought butterflies to her stomach or the way such action made her rethink the redhead's words from the other day.

"Your hair is surprisingly fluffy for the shit soap they give us here." Natasha's free hand suddenly met Y/N's head.

The girl leaned forward and buried her nose in her best friend's curly hair, loving the comforting but fresh scent Y/N always seemed to carry. The latter had been using braids for the past few days because of her mission, so it was normal for her hair to have more volume.

Natasha didn't seem to pick up on this fact, though. "Very curly hair." She commented with a surprised hum.

"And you always smell very good which is unfair to us common mortals."

"Shut it, Natasha." Y/N hissed out, not amused by the antics. If the drugged girl proceeded with her spurs, guards would be bursting through the doors any second now.

"Oh dear lord! God of fluffy hair and good smells-" the redhead was almost shouting, employing every trick in her books to get Y/N's attention.

"-Natasha shut up!" Y/N whisper-shouted, pulling on Natasha's arm.

"Please, bring back what was once mine and give me my best friend's attention back! I was an ass and deserve puni-" Natasha's loud exclamations were cut off by a hand that was suddenly clasped to her mouth, keeping her silent.

Now standing, Y/N seemed a bit more amused, rolling her eyes and looking away in an attempt to hide the growing smile on her face.

"You're such an idiot." She grumbled, peaking at the window of the room to see if Natasha had caused any commotion.

Not catching any unusual behavior in the empty hallways, Y/N turned back to Natasha and suddenly noticed the way she was already watching her with pure admiration and love in her green eyes.

Y/N let her go and tilted her head with curiosity, wanting to see what her best friend would do.

"I'm in love with you, Y/N."

This considerably dampened Y/N's mood, "What?"

"I love you with my whole being and I want to live with you and have kids and a cat and maybe a turtle an-"

Natasha was cut off by the other girl, "-No, no, no." Y/N repeatedly shook her head, a deep frown taking over her face as her posture tensed up.

"Yes, Y/-" Natasha ignored the pain that coursed through her entire body to sit up and reach forward to cup Y/N's cheek, only to have her hand slapped away.

"-No, no. Natasha, I get that you're drugged but you're being mean."

"Y/N, I'm telling you the truth, let's leave this place. Let-"

Once again, Natasha was cut off.

The redhead's words seemed to be too much for Y/N. She shook her head again and backed away from the bed, "-Stop, stop it!"

She stared at the redhead with teary eyes and this appeared to be more than enough to bring Natasha back to her senses.

"I've been telling you that I like you since we were thirteen. You and I both know that I meant it romantically but you always brushed it off as a simple platonic comment. So you can't just tell me those words after the one time you royally fuck up. I understand that you may not feel the same way, but using my feelings as leverage to make me forgive you is just mean." Y/N finished her sentence with a hard glare on her face and used the sleeve of her uncomfortable spy suit to wipe away the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Y/N...I'm so sorry." A now much more serious and honest-looking Natasha spoke up, tears also filling her eyes.

She opened her mouth to continue her apology but her best friend beat her to it.

"I don't wanna hear it while you're like this. You're gonna heal and during that time you better start making up a god damn good apology inside that head of yours to make me forgive you. In the meantime, you stay quiet and go back to sleep." Y/N sniffled, once again whipping her tears with her sleeves and crouching down to sit on the floor. She silently held her hand out between them.

Natasha couldn't help the small teary smile that reached her face at the action and interlaced their fingers.

She knew she had messed up...but she also knew she could fix it. She was going to fix it.

Natasha did as told and spent the week where she was bedridden because of the vasectomy coming up with the best apology she could muster.

She was discharged on Friday and Y/N had left for a mission one day before that, leaving Natasha an apprehensive mess while she waited for her return.

Unfortunately, Natasha was dispatched on a mission a week later, on the same Monday that Y/N arrived from her mission.

The redhead cursed her luck at their misaligned schedules, reevaluating her apology over and over again as she infiltrated the building where her mission was about to take place.

Fate appeared to have different agendas for the two girls, though, because that day Natasha would find herself face to face with the one and only, Clint Barton.

The man who offered her a getaway out of the world she was imprisoned in all her life. He gave her a second chance at life, an opening to redeem herself and make up for all the wrongs she had brought about.

He assured her she wouldn't have to look back on this part of her life...that she could leave it all behind and move on to create a better future.

And Natasha accepted his propositions and surrender.

As the cuffed redhead strode inside the unfamiliar jet that would bring her to the United States and took a curious look around, Y/N opened her eyes for the first time after her vasectomy and also took a curious look around the familiar medical room she was laying in.

"Wakey, wakey, Y/N."

She anticipated a mop of red crouching beside her bed and smiling up at her but instead found Madam B and Dreykov surrounded by armed escorts.

They didn't look too pleased and readily dismissed her anguished cries, unhooking her from the machines and roughly hauling her across the Red Room towards Draykov's office.

They shackled her to an uncomfortable wooden chair and sat in front of her, letting one of the guards hold a knife to her face.

"Now...what can you tell us about Natasha Romanoff?"

/////

Taglist: @fayhar, @liladoesfanfics

#avengers #marvel #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #red room #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #deaf!reader

[frstcorinthians]

; angels that have no place

summary: “Must be nice to have your own room now, then,” she replied, then immediately tensed, worried she’d misstepped. They were both here because of tragedy – for all she knew, that crewmate was dead now, blown to bits up in the wide open sky. He sighed, stretching out his legs and tilting his head. “To be honest, I kind of miss it.” His voice didn’t sound upset or angry. Looks like she’d dodged a bullet once again. Vera always said her lack of tact was going to get her in trouble one day, and she kind of liked this Robert Rosenthal. Or at least, she didn’t mind having his company in the kennels. wc: just a tidy 1.3k notes: so i know i said i wasn't going to write for mota until it was all said and done. but that one line in e6 made my brain start firing away and it wouldn't stop until i did this. i don't know if this is going to become a whole Thing but knowing me i wouldn't be surprised. anyways enjoy!!!! its also on ao3 if you prefer that

“We have all the sports and activities you can ask for. Tennis, bicycles, croquet, riding with hounds, the list goes on. Relaxation is the order of the day here.”

“Riding with hounds” sounded like the stupidest thing Anna Marie could imagine, but she could be grateful for the upside-down minds of the British if it meant the Flakhouse had a kennel. She could curl up here, among the snuffling noses and velvety ears of the dogs, and not think about Cora or Ruby or Vera or any of the girls on the Morning Ride. These dogs – foxhounds, the woman who brought her in had told her – weren’t the same as her hounds back home, but their eyes were sweet and they bayed the same once she got them riled up. Anna Marie couldn’t find it in her to dress up and trot along on a horse, but she had come to enjoy going through the woods on foot, trying to keep up with the pack of dogs let loose on the forest. Aside from the people who worked here, she was one of the only ones who came to visit the dogs. So when she came down one night and saw an unfamiliar man knelt down, petting Goose, she almost stopped in her tracks.

She could hear him talking quietly to the dog. “You are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, aren’t you?” His voice was soft and singsong-y, a universal tone for talking to pets. He scratched Goose behind one ear and Anna Marie felt her mouth curve up at the scene. It had been a long time since she’d had a reason to smile.

“Goose is sweet,” she finally managed to find her voice. The man jumped at the sound of her voice, spinning around to face her, surprisingly coordinated. Hardly a curl was out of place, despite her sneaking up on him and the late hour. His eyes were very blue in the low light. “He likes when you scratch him at the base of his tail.”

“I’m surprised he let me pet him at all. I’m not great with dogs.” He forced a laugh out, trying to stay casual. Anna Marie could see the shadows under his eyes. She’d bet he’d been sleeping about as much as her, which is to say, not at all.

“What are you doing down here, then?” She stepped carefully over the mass of sleepy hounds, heading for her favorite spot. She’d been here long enough that the dogs knew to leave her a space against the wall where she could prop herself up and bore herself to sleep with one of the doctor’s dense medical texts. Cora would have gotten a kick out of seeing her read through it. 

Anna Marie boxed that thought up nice and neat and punted it to the back of her mind.

“Went out for a late night stroll, realized I never saw the kennels,” he turned to follow her progress across the room, looking amused at how she picked across the space. “You?”

She shrugged, pushing someone’s rump out of the way of her legs as she sat down. “I like it here. Reminds me of home.”

“Where are you from that you have this many dogs?” His eyebrows furrowed and he looked dubiously around the kennel.

“I don’t have quite this many, but we hunt with ‘em back home.” Anna Marie couldn’t bring herself to crack the textbook open now. She was surprised at how much she liked talking to this man, whoever he was.

“Man,” he rocked back on his heels. “The biggest dog we had back home was my aunt’s terrier. She used to terrorize the corner store, nipped at the owner’s ankles when he didn’t give her a treat.”

Anna Marie laughed. The sound was rusty, punching out from deep in her chest. It felt like something was coming unstuck inside her. She absently fidgeted with one of the dog’s ears, rubbing it between her fingers. The man shimmied over closer to her, finding an unoccupied spot between Goose and another dog. “I should introduce myself. Robert Rosenthal.” He stuck out his hand, waiting for her to shake.

She accepted. “Anna Marie McDowell.” His name was familiar, though she couldn’t place it at first. She kicked it to the same place as her other boxes, decided she’d worry about it at a later date. “What was your aunt’s dog named?”

“Rigatoni,” he replied, fidgeting with a spare leaf. Anna Marie laughed again, pushing her fist in her mouth to keep from startling the dogs. “He was shaped like a noodle, so the name stuck.” His smile was bright as he laughed along with her, even in the dim room.

“My favorite dog back home is named Sawyer,” she offered up, once her laughter had quit. “He snores like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Sounds like one of my crewmates,” he said. “I love him but, man does that sound keep me awake.”

“Must be nice to have your own room now, then,” she replied, then immediately tensed, worried she’d misstepped. They were both here because of tragedy – for all she knew, that crewmate was dead now, blown to bits up in the wide open sky.

He sighed, stretching out his legs and tilting his head. “To be honest, I kind of miss it.” His voice didn’t sound upset or angry. Looks like she’d dodged a bullet once again. Vera always said her lack of tact was going to get her in trouble one day, and she kind of liked this Robert Rosenthal. Or at least, she didn’t mind having his company in the kennels. 

They were dancing around the topic now, the reasons both of them were here. Even Anna Marie wasn’t so bull-headed as to come right out and ask. If someone did that to her, she’d probably take a swing at them. She didn’t want to talk about her girls, she just wanted to go, to get back at it, up in the sky. She was meant to be up there; her fingers itched to adjust the dials, to keep the wings of her craft steady, to chat with Ruby about where she’d take them if she could. And instead she was stuck here, in some ridiculous dress-up fantasy house where they could all pretend nothing was wrong.

Her mother’s voice came to her now, drifting through her head: quit acting ugly, Anna Marie. Her mama was right, as always. She was being ungrateful, like a spoiled little kid. She should be basking in the sun, playing tennis with some handsome pilot or chatting about this-or-that with the other girls. But she was never one for small talk, and tennis was for rich people up north. An image came to her mind unbidden, her and Rosenthal in crisp white polos, laughing and gently batting their rackets back and forth. It was so out of character she couldn’t help but snort.

Rosenthal heard her, smiling softly when she caught his eye. “Do you spend time with the dogs during the day, too? I don’t think I’ve seen you around playing croquet.”

“I do. I usually let ‘em run through the woods, see if I can keep up.”

“Mind if I join you sometime? I’m sick to death of sitting around.” His expression seemed hesitant, like he was worried he’d overstepped some boundary. “I promise I won’t come dressed for fox hunting.”

“Sure,” she answered, leftover laughter still coloring her tone. He brought out a levity in her she hadn’t realized had been missing so long. “Come down one morning.”

“Alright,” he nodded, hauling himself up to his feet. Goose snuffled at the disturbance, before rolling over to take up the spot. “It was nice to meet you, Anna.”

“Anna Marie,” she corrected reflexively. Rosenthal gave a small wave and left, off to sleep or, more likely, explore another part of this endless home of leisure activity. Anna Marie finally opened the textbook to a section on the femur, falling asleep before she’d even gotten two paragraphs in.

#masters of the air #robert rosenthal #mota #mota oc #anna marie mcdowell #aleks.docx #im addicted to naming my ocs after counties in north carolina #theres 100 of em though so ive got plenty to work with

[simons-twsted-children]

Wingman and Mentor for any of yours and a canon character!

Wingman: Answering this one for Marcel! I think that though Jamil and Marcel aren’t ever exactly “besties”, they do develop a sort of mutual respect for each other over time? And while Marcel tends to be slow to recognize/acknowledge his own feelings, Jamil would probably pick up on them pretty quick? Especially if he sees how Marcel and Bobbi interact (how much care Marcel takes to make sure Bobbi doesn’t hurt himself, and how he’s consistently offering him samples/making sure there’s food set aside for him, even when the dish is for a purpose other than Bobbi’s consumption) and then how Marcel’s attitude towards Ruggie changes (and in a vastly different way from how his attitude towards Jamil himself shifts)

He’s probably the first one who does actually process that the generally grumpy/blunt Marcel has two massive soft spots for these boys. I do think he might eventually confront Marcel about it, prodding him as to why he hasn’t done anything to act on those feelings. While I don’t think Marcel acknowledges to Jamil that the feelings are real, the confrontation is probably the first pebble in the avalanche that leads to him eventually recognizing “oops, I’ve caught feelings” and eventually entering into a relationship with the boys?

I don’t think Marcel himself is generally sociable enough to give relationship advice, but I do think he’d offer to listen in the case that Jamil needed to talk through stuff about his own romantic missteps.

Mentor: This one’s for Roddy! I wouldn’t say the “mentor” is such in a traditional sense, but I think Ace is probably instrumental in Roddy’s journey of self discovery? (Note: I’ve also decided in the last few days that Roddy is a Savannaclaw student, as opposed to Pomefiore, which has an affect here)

His first stretch of school is likely marked by a lot of him being taken advantage of and shoved around by his fellow dorm mates, who find his overly polite attitude to be insufferable. He makes the mistake of asking Leona what club to join, and ends up getting his ass kicked both ways across the field by a certain swan ( @tixdixl ‘s René). He’s confused, alone, and out of his depth.

Of course Ace is gonna see this poor guy and ask “is anyone gonna help him” and not wait for an answer.

I think Ace is one of the first people who encourages him to make choices for himself, and not based on what those in power around him decide— That he needs to be his own person.

(Ace is also one of the ones who directly calls him out when Roddy inadvertently takes this too far in the wrong direction)

I’m not sure about the inverse? There are definitely skills Roddy has that Ace doesn’t, but I can’t immediately think of a context where Ace would need to act, and would have the patience to actually learn from Roddy as opposed to attempting to speedrun it?

#ask game #answered asks #Roddy Sheperd #marcel hamelin #twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #my ocs #twst oc

[alexanderlightweight]

For the dragon au...Magnus getting into a tight spot or just a dramatic looking scuffle, which ends with a fully grown dragon busting in to protect his hoard? (We've seen a lot of tiny dragon Alec, curious to see how big he actually is!)

here we go! some of alec almost getting to be his actual size

i hope you enjoy this!

<3 lumine

-

“Lorenzo Rey says that you purposefully and maliciously attacked him. Lowering the defenses of his wards and allowing for magical attacks.” Valois looks both exasperated and tired and Magnus would love to be responsible for both of those things but he’s not.

“Do you really think I’d waste my magic on something like that?” Magnus asks, truly curious because even as powerful as he is, something like that would truly be a waste.  “Though I have to wonder why Rey is so upset, unless he was doing something he shouldn’t have been. I wasn’t even aware he was moving permanently to Brooklyn.”

It’s a social misstep and Rey splutters before his face twists into a stubborn grimace.

“You did something to me! You and that strange lizard you’re always carrying around.”

“How do you know about that?” Magnus asks, suddenly no longer feeling generous and his magic flaring, roiling about him angrily.

Magnus is about to say something else when he feels the first warnings of frost as the hall darkens and the temperature drops.

“I’m afraid you seem to have upset my guest.” Magnus murmurs and he steps back, curious as to how Alexander is planning on dealing with this.  From what he’s seen, his dragon prefers subtlety and while Magnus enjoys a good show, he’d never begrudge Alexander doing whatever he preferred.

That’s the plan, at least until the very building begins to shake apart and one of the Elder’s curses as they fail to hold the integrity of the building together.  Magnus is curious as he lets himself be guided towards Alexander.

Alexander who was in the waiting hall when Magnus’ magic had spiked in irritation. 

Alexander who is currently shifting larger and larger, slowly almost as if it’s a very careful threat.

“Darling, did you curse a warlock on my behalf?” Magnus asks, trying to bring levity into the situation and he blinks for a moment, staring up at the full moon in wonder and questioning if he’d hit his head.

Because strangely enough, he’s seeing double and it's the night of a new moon, not the full ones he's seeing.

Then the twin moons disappear as Alexander blinks and then his enormous head slowly shifts so that his chin is protecting Magnus from debris.  It’s as if Magnus has suddenly climbed in a large, protected cave and he leans against cool scales and pets them with magic appreciatively.

There’s a loud thump as Alexander trills, tail thwacking the building without a care and Magnus is feeling petty enough that he doesn’t mention his dragon’s lack of awareness. Alexander ginormous size explains why he’s so careful and delicate, keeping himself small in Magnus’ loft.

“Aren’t you magnificent.” Magnus admires and despite his sincerity, Alexander makes a noise that sounds amused. 

“I’m only half my actual size.” Alexander rumbles, voice shaking the earth like a volcano ready to explode. “You said this place was a safe haven, I didn’t want to destroy it completely.”

Magnus coos and presses a kiss to Alexander’s giant muzzle and he pats the scales there and a moment later, he has a pleased Alexander trilling into his caresses.

That’s the scene Rey and Valois and half the Elder’s find them in, Magnus with his hands full of the gentle, giant muzzle of a very irritated dragon as it nuzzles him adoringly.

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #the taste of his magic #shadowhunters #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood

[alilbatflies]

Had this on my mind for a while before I managed to put it into words somehow. something something the devotion of a guardian angel to their human...

... ... ...

I have a guardian angel.

It gives me advice. It guides my way.

It’s not malicious, like a demon would be. I hear its voice at all times. It speaks softly to me.

I’ll keep you safe, is what its words mean.

There is a bug on my wall. I do not want it there. I reach for something to squish it with, some death easy for it to bear.

Don’t kill the bug, my angel whispers.

“But it scares me.”

It scoops the bug up on a piece of paper and moves it outside, away from me.

There is an Inconvenience at my doorstep.

How do I make it go away? It doesn't want to leave. Like a bug crawling up the wall.

I shoo at it, tell it to leave.

Much to my surprise, it listens to me.

It walks away. I watch it leave. My angel watches with me.

I watch other people. Many of them walk the world without a guardian. I wonder sometimes…

“Why did their angel leave?”

They have sinned.

It is human, I think. The path is narrow and oftentimes bumpy. The ride of life can get out of hand quite easily.

I wonder what it must be like, for an angel to leave. I wonder if those without an angel know their shadow is their only shield.

“Will you leave me, should I misstep?”

You will not.

“You can’t know that.”

I will not let you.

I cannot imagine seeing that through. And yet, my guardian angel sounds so sure of me.

I’ll keep you safe.

Sometimes, I wonder: Would my angel choose me?

There’s a Problem at my doorstep.

How do I make it go away? It doesn’t want to leave. If words aren’t enough, do I stain my hands with its blood, until it’s scared and running for shelter? Do I fight it away?

Violence should never be your answer.

I talk to the Problem. It does not listen to me at first. I talk some more and more until it finally turns. It leaves slowly, checking for an opportunity to be bothersome again.

I feel better now that the Problem is gone.

I am exhausted. It took a lot.

I fear the day my strength will be futile against the Bad Thing at my door. I doubt my guardian angel’s words will help then, at all.

I have a guardian angel.

It gives me advice, it guides my way, making sure I don’t wander astray.

It always follows behind me. I only catch an occasional glimpse of its glow in the corner of my eyes. The glow of a halo, I think. It is too faint to make its shape out properly.

You do not need to see me, my angel says. Listening is enough.

Perhaps those who have lost their angels have heard, but not listened.

I’ll keep you safe, it reassures me.

There is a Danger at my doorstep.

How do I make it go away? It doesn’t want to leave.

I assess the Danger, it terrifies me. My hands are shaking. It’s too heavy for me. Do I attempt to fight it? It will rip me to shreds. It will overwhelm me.

How do I defend myself from something so out of my league?

The Danger gets worse the longer I let it be. I have no resolve to face it.

Violence should never be your answer.

I wouldn’t win, anyway.

I turn away and hide my face as the Danger moves towards me.

I keep my eyes closed. I cover my ears. I feel myself crying unwanted tears.

Somehow, I feel no pain.

From behind me, the sounds of a fight. Bones snap and it occurs to me, my guardian angel whispered just as the Danger leaped my way.

I’ll keep you safe, it reminded me.

The sounds fade away.

I blink my tears away. When I look up, the Danger has gone.

From behind me I hear a thunk. It sounds like a heavy string snapped. In the corners of my blurred vision, I see a shadow.

Two horns where my angel’s halo used to be.

I have a guardian demon.

It gives me advice. It guides my way.

It is not malicious, like many think a demon to be. I hear its voice at all times. It speaks softly to me.

I’ll keep you safe.

No matter the cost, no matter what it takes.

It’s not always what I want it to be.

I didn’t choose it. My guardian chose me.

There is a bug on my wall. I do not look as my demon scoops it up and takes it outside.

Things are as they’re meant to be.

My guardian stays by me.

My hands are clean.

A path of bloody steps marks my way. It trails after the sinner that protects me.

I have a guardian demon.

My angel fell for me.

#writeblr #writing #creative writing #snippet #angels #angels and demons #guardian angel #why do angels fall #was the title originally. but i think a title is not needed for this one. it felt odd with a title #i think this reads a little bit like poetry but its not quite that. i think. #why do angels fall. i wonder sometimes #bug mention #nothing severe. but there

[oldestenemy]

history unheeded is doomed to repeat - part 2

Read part 1 here <3

“What did you do?” There is a sharpness to Malorn’s voice that they do not hear often, if ever. “Months we’ve been looking for Duncan and you—you drove him off!”

They wilt in place.

They do not want to deal with Malorn right now.

They don’t want to answer questions.

Their feet beg to run.

But they heave a breath, eyes roaming the sanctum one last time.

“Not here.” They say softly, holding out a hand for Malorn to take. “Please, I don’t want to do this here.”

He hesitates to grab their offered hand, but accepts it, eyes never leaving theirs. They vanish into the momentary dark, eyes opening to the watchtower hall and dragging Malorn along towards the tower itself. High up. Surrounded by the sky and the smell of the woods. Something to keep their nerves in check.

“Why did you say all that—what did you—”

“—don’t pretend any of it’s a shock.” The wizard mumbles, sitting down with their legs hanging from the edge of the tower. “I—he doesn’t understand.” They refrain from adding none of you do. “Duncan has this idea in his head that I’m some favored prodigy, that I’m special and important and unrightfully powerful—” They stop at the way Malorn is looking at them. “—Just say it.”

“Well, aren’t you?” He asks, the ghost of an incredulous laugh in the words. “You never tell us the worst of it—you come back from every new world more decorated and powerful than the last, Ambrose showers praise on you—or used to back when he was still our headmaster—you speak to Bartleby like he’s an old friend, you’ve saved the entire Spiral more than oncefrom—”

“—from things like me.” The wizard finishes over whatever he’d been about to say. And Malorn just stares at them, confusion painting his features. “Malistaire Drake, Morganthe, even the Rat to an extent. Prodigal in their own right. Powerful beyond measure. Falling off into despair or power trip or ancient trap. For Morganthe—the loss of her magic and Ambrose’s missteps in her teaching, her desperation to prove herself resulting in the Spider Magi bending her to their will. Malistaire’s loss of Sylvia and subsequent maddening grief. Rat’s intense desire to please his father.” They pause, eyes blank, thinking about Xiabalba. And then about Xol Akmul. How they could have fallen then, into a destructive course when there was still a part of Azteca that lived. Unknown and hidden. “I could have walked away from the loss of Azteca—I did walk away—in the mindset that I was powerful enough to change it, that I had to be…”

“You looked the part,” Malorn confirms, “you came sprinting out of Bartleby covered in blood and ash and glass, your eyes were gold and—gods I swear the color was spinning like they were molten—” He pauses, frowning slightly, “—you said you tried to use the Dragonspyre key to go back in time—I never asked what you meant.”

“Tried, being the important part there.” The wizard shakes their head, a bitter smile creeping over their face. “Cyrus beat me to the top of the Basilica, threw words at me that he’d spoken to Malistaire at the top of the great spyre just before I had to kill him, I…I knew it was pointless, but I couldn’t accept it.” Their gaze drops back to the treeline. “I realized that was how he had felt about trying to bring Sylvia back. It’s…crushing, knowing you’re capable of everything except the one thing you want most.” They let out a laugh, it’s bitter and short. “I thought after all of the mess I’d been dragged through, the spiral owed me one thing. It was a delusion. I didn’t care though.”

Silence falls with those words.

They don’t see how Malorn could have a response anyways.

They hadn’t meant to—

“Why did you fight him?”

“What would you have done?” The wizard asks in reply, “He wanted a fight, he wanted to beat me, he wouldn’t have come with us even if I refused.”

“I would have had even less of a chance than you,” Malorn mumbles after a while, “Duncan hates me.”

“He’s jealous of you—the same way he’s jealous of me.”

“What happened between you and Duncan anyways?” Malorn asks “I know you were never exactly friends, but you weren’t—you didn’t hate each other.”

“I don’t hate him.” The wizard corrects, “I don’t really think he hates me either, or you—he’s envious of the image he’s constructed and he doesn’t know what to do with that—but to answer your question—” They explain about the early morning they’d spent curled up and bleeding out in the center of the academy grounds, about Duncan finding them there and trying to convince them to stay, to recover.

“But you left, didn’t you.” They don’t know if it’s worse or not, that Malorn knows them well enough to guess exactly what they did.

“I didn’t just leave,” they mumble “I threatened to fight him if he didn’t let me go—I’d just—as far as I knew I had just lost Dyvim, I was still reeling from Azteca, I couldn’t stop or wait—I barely caught up to Morganthe in the end as it was.” They pause, thinking of the Celestial Calendar, of how it had been whispering its warning since then. “The fight with Duncan—it would have come sooner or later—I could feel it waiting for us.” They don’t mention Duncan’s attempt to remember their name. They don’t want to upset anyone else by drawing attention to the anomaly of their missing identity.

They are the Wizard.

Savior of the Spiral many times over.

What more need be said.

“I don’t think he’s ever really forgiven me for Malistaire’s death either.”

“What? He can’t actually—”

“—It’s easier to blame me than Ambrose, or Cyrus, or Malistaire himself. It’s more straightforward. I pursued him to Dragonspyre, I dealt the final blow, I’m easy to pin the blame on, even if I was just—” just a child, just following orders, just doing what I was told. They trail off, and there is quiet again for a while, just the whistling of wind through the woods surrounding the watchtower.

It’s never dark here.

Perpetual midmorning, accompanied by birdsong and the splashing of toddpoles in the creek.

“You told Duncan to go into hiding—so you’re, not going to tell Ambrose what happened?”

The wizard shakes their head, “No. I found what I needed, there’s no reason to put Duncan in potential danger if the—schismists, whoever they are feel cornered.”

“What’s happening this time, really?” They look over at Malorn and the concern in his expression guts them.

They don’t want to worry him, or Penny, or any of the others.

“It doesn’t matter,” They tell him quietly, “I’ll fix it.”

“It does matter,” Malorn insists “you aren’t actually invincible, you can’t keep carrying all of this alone—”

Duncan had said that too.

At the academy while they held in their own insides.

“—I am though.” The wizard replies, “I fall in battle, I wake up in the commons, in the Basilica, in Bastion, on my hands and knees, broken and heaving sure—but never dead.” The words come out hollow and final. “She’s not done with me.”

Are they really doing this?

“Do you remember the voice you heard in Northguard? The one that told you I was in Nidavellir?”

“It wasn’t anywhere near that specific,” Malorn replies, looking a little lost by the apparent change of subject. “but yeah, I do.”

“That was Grandmother Raven.”

“What?”

“That’s why I was so—I wanted to make sure you hadn’t heard her again—every action I take, every word I read, every thought that isn’t quite my own. It’s all Raven, guiding me forward.” Or at least it had been, until now, when she seemed bent on telling them to keep out of affairs that didn’t concern them. As though that had ever been possible.

She is silent more often than not nowadays.

Only there to prod and press in small moments.

“I needed to make sure she wasn’t dragging you into this.” The wizard says, “She’s the one who trapped us all in Nidavellir—I don’t think she meant it to turn out that way—” not that they’ve been able to ask her, too busy cleaning up their own mess. “—but she needs me, needs someone following the path she lays out—”

“—that’s who you shouted at,” Malorn says suddenly, “that day we broke into your castle—you—you were shouting at Grandmother Raven…”

Yes.

They had been.

And Malorn had flinched away from their words like they’d burnt him.

Like he was afraid.

“Have you ever gone against what she wanted?”

“I’ve tried.” The wizard says, “I tried with Azteca, I succeeded in Polaris—but it’s not—she’s not making me do anything, not really. It’s like I can’t help it. I’m already there.”

~*~

Worlds away. In the sweltering heat of Dragonspyre.

Suzie Gryphonbane hears a familiar voice begrudgingly ask for her help.

Read the whole series here <3

#wizard101 #wizard101 fic #wizzy fandom #w101 #wizard101 fandom #wizard101 fanfiction #wizard101 fanfic #lark is still playing funky wizard game from their childhood #i have a writeblr for this but shh

[witchsickness]

do you have a favorite billy moment in canon? least favorite? and what about steve?

hope you’re having a nice day !

ohh man. first of all, billy’s the best thing that ever happened to this show so jot that down. i love all his scenes dearly. too bad st got cancelled after s2 and we only got, like, five scenes of him : /

favorite. absolute top tier billy scene for me is the workout in the living room:

he’s smoking. benching a small child οn each arm. the tv’s on. while he’s blasting his music? framed by the ugliest curtains in the history of drapery. it’s just. it’s all so. SO. 

and it’s such a layered scene? the definition of when the cat’s away. neil’s not home, so billy feels safe enough to step out of his room. do the things he loves the most. all at once! maybe try to imagine a life where he doesn’t need to contort himself into impossible shapes to fit into the small box neil’s allotted him. a life where open doors aren’t mandatory, but optional. where his house isn’t a minefield, set to detonate at the slightest misstep. it’s one of those scenes that are funny until you remember all the reasons that make it so. why billy needs all those distractions, a hurricane of white noise all around him while he’s in the eye of it, silent. why he looks so wound up, trained to always expect the worst. why he’s lifting with such determination. set on making himself as strong as possible to -- never use that strength when he needs it the most, as proven later in the show. it’s an exercise in futility. a window in another, easier life. and that uhh breaks my heart <3

fave steve scene. unsurprisingly, if you’ve ever read anything i’ve ever written, is from s1. the fight in the alley. screaming crying climbing on walls etc

look at him. he’s king shit. about to find out ‘no’ exists. first time he’s ever had it directed at him. he’s hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. betrayed, and rejected, and furious about it. being coveted by him is a privilege you simply don’t refuse. it’s inconceivable. and yet. in this moment, everything he’s ever known comes tumbling down. suddenly, the unthinkable happens: he loses at his own game. i just. jesus

i find this scene equally tragic? steve has never known rejection before this moment. he’s the big fish in a small pond, the golden boy everyone wants to shake hands with to see if some of the glitter will rub off on them. a rich kid with an easy life where everything is possible. everything is buyable. a life of never having to fight for anything. never even considering the possibility. but in this second. it’s his record scratch freeze frame moment. his fall from grace. his how-dare-you-do-this-to-ME glare. the slap in the face isn’t just literal. king steve is unvanquished no more. in this moment, he’s starting to realize the true depths of his loneliness. if not for daddy’s allowance, steve has nothing to offer to anyone, and nothing to show for it but mercenary friends. who needs real emotional connections anyway though, right?

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #not me using any chance i get to promote the king steve agenda 🤧 #anyway love it when ppl ask me stuff and give me an excuse to talk about Them w/out feeling insanely annoying! #ask #anon

[dr-lizortecho]

I'm a delena lover too and wanted to know any delena UOs you have? A few of mine if you promise not to make fun of me - 1. I honestly don't think delena is nearly as "toxic" as it's made out to be? I mean, context matters, and this is a show about screwed up monstrous vampires, so no ship is going to be the epitome of 'healthy' lol. But I actually find delena a lot more honest and real than stelena was and a lot less toxic than klaroline. They communicate and adapt much more than antis give them credit for and are genuinely loving and supportive. I'm dying on that unpopular hill :) 2. I actually think s5 is my favorite delena season? It leaned in to the "but they're not healthy!" stuff too much, but it also showed them at their best, most loyal and passionate and adoring, without the icky shadow of the 'sire bond' crap that ruined s4 for me. And Elena is so...free that season? I don't know, I just love it. S6 has great domestic moments but yet another unpopular opinion is that something about the 'falling in love all over again with no memories' storyline felt really inauthentic and rushed to me. I like it in theory, just not the execution. 3. Delena is NOT just about physical attraction. At all. Like I truly believe that even if they could never have sex again they'd be very happy together. They connect on a much deeper level imo, seeing each other for who they truly are. 4. I do not in any way buy Elena as a doctor or even a science person---in my mind she became a teacher or a counselor :) 5. Elena is thought to be similar to Stefan but imo in actuality she's more like Damon imo---super passionate, follows her heart and instincts to a degree that some see as selfish, reacts in the moment rather than focusing on the past or future etc. 6. I actually think Damon has a better, softer heart than Stefan. He's crazy and impulsive and self-destructive and a whole bunch of other things, but he's also a lot softer and more willing to acknowledge his flaws and try to change than Stefan is. Again, these are all just my very UOs! Can't wait to read yours too!!

Hi anon! I adore them- like there’s three ships that I really feel encapsulate romantic love for me, that taught me what it is and how it works, and Delena was the second of those ships so it means a lot to me personally

So I am so far removed from fandom I barely know what counts as popular opinions and unpopular opinions, but feel free to ask me specific questions at any time! Though my two fav characters are Tyler and Bonnie if that counts <3 I’ll start by kinda saying my thoughts on the things you mentioned as your unpopular opinions- which I fully understand even when we slightly disagree! Below the cut so it’s easier for my non-tvd followers

On Delena being called toxic- I talked about it in part before (but alas I can’t find the post) and contrary to popular belief I think they’re not toxic (granted after they get together) outside of the regular amount you should expect in all teen dramas regardless of supernatural elements or not. Unlike a lot of the other relationships they have a lot of communication and consent involved from the start, because they have to with the precarious Stefan ties and the sire bond. On top of that they both acknowledge the parts of their relationship that aren’t the best and actively work towards making them better, however, with the flaws and missteps afforded for drama ✨

I can’t be impartial about s5- definitely not enough to be able to decide about Delena in it. I wasn’t a fan of that brand of angst tbh (sorry anon I do get the appeal) and the racism throughout just hurt my heart too much- but they definitely had some top tier sexy moments. Personally, I loved season six because of the approach of them sharing a best friend and all the little moments and musical beats. Like- watching Damon want to live became something so important to me and really felt like the conclusion for his character arc.

As for the sexual aspect- I do think it plays a part (as with every relationship that involves sex) but it definitely isn’t the peak of it or the draw, it’s a perk. Because if it was the sex they’d have been done with each other after that long hot summer. But there is a tendency in fandom to try and remove all romance and depth to relationships they don’t like- because if it’s shallow they can be rude and dismissive to shippers.

In regards to Elena- I don’t think she’s too similar to either Salvatore, I think she shares common traits with both. But at the end of the day it wa she’d similarities to Stefan that drew them together and her differences to Damon that drew them together. Which is why Stefan was a relationship that let her heal and come back to herself and Damon was the relationship that pushed her out of her comfort zone and helped her grow.

As for Stefan and Damon I don’t think there’s anything to be gained from claiming any one character is “softer” or more “moral” than another. It’s all about action and reaction and growth. However, I think you might be catching onto the sensitivity of their triggers, which Damon’s trauma responses are way more easily triggered throughout the series because unlike Stefan he hasn’t sat with them and worked through near as much of his traumatic experiences. Which is why his healing process through Elena learning of and reminding him to be kind to himself you watch him heal and grow. Which isn’t to be confused with him being “defanged” for a romance- because it was happening regardless of if he and Elena stayed friends or not.

#tvd #tvd asks #asks #anon asks #delena

[paradoxolotl]

Quick drum solo on my knees

Anyways, here’s Nevermore (snippet)

~~

Nicky pulled up short, forcing Neil to twist right to avoid running into his back. “Oh,” he said, voice high with an automatic cheer Neil hadn’t heard in months. But it was the fear threaded through the word that caught his attention, his head turning to find what had stopped their progress back to Foxhole.

A man stood in the alleyway, so pale he was almost ghoulish under the failing street light. As Neil watched, he slowly pulled his gaze away from the dirty wall to land on their group, the movement near mechanical. That, paired with a carbon copy of Aaron’s face wiped of any and all emotion, sent a pickling shiver down Neil’s spine. There was something terribly unnatural about him, with the way his mouth pulled into a sickening grin at the sight of them, even as his eyes stayed dark. The grin only lasted only as long as the next flicker of light behind him, quick enough that it might have been a trick of the shadows. If not for its afterimage still burned into Neil’s mind, he might have believed it to be imagined.

He said nothing, his head twitching cocked. At the motion Nicky breathed a quick prayer learned from his mother, no louder than an exhale. Neil had the distinct notion of being cornered, even with no wall at his back. There was a predator lurking beneath the surface of that dead stare, and the knife in Neil’s pocket felt flimsy in the face of it.

With a steadying breath, Aaron stepped forward. “What are you doing here, Andrew.”

“They’re supposed to warn us when you’re off base,” Nicky said, fingers flitting across his pockets and shirt. In a rush, he added, “Not that we aren’t excited to see you!”

Andrew’s gaze slowly shifted from where it had locked onto Aaron to pin Nicky in place. He said nothing, but stepped forward.

Even with the space between them, Neil could feel how tense Nicky and Aaron grew with each step Andrew took. He was silent as he moved, not even a whisper of noise against the pavement. He stopped less than a foot before Nicky, head tilted back. This close, Neil could see the dark scaling of his clothes, how they fit him as a second skin.

Nicky flinched violently when Andrew’s hand reached for him, and it was Aaron who snatched the paper pinched between his fingers in the wake of a stammered apology. Scanning quickly, Neil watched Aaron’s face set into a carefully neutral mask, the one he only used when his emotions were close to breaking him. Neil knew if he scented the air he would find it thick with anger and fear. But he stayed still, unwilling for Andrew’s attention to shift to him.

Aaron’s grip tightened enough to threaten the paper he held. Eyes snapping up, he swallowed. “They released you.”

“What?” Nicky cried. “But I thought-“

“Seven years.” They froze at the sound of Andrew’s voice, the words quiet and flat. His finger came up to brush his cheek, over where Neil knew Nicky carried a faint scar. “Did you forget?”

“No,” Nicky nearly shouted the word, his hands shaking as they rose in an abortive motion. “Of course not, Andrew. It’s just-“ he let out a laugh, tight and strained. “I guess I hadn’t realized so much time had passed.”

The finger on Andrew’s cheek twitched, a sharp press down and release. What Nicky had said was a misstep, the air rushing from his lungs in a pained hiss.

Without acknowledging the words, Aaron shoved the letter into his jacket pocket and stalked past Andrew, seemingly tired of the interaction. It was effective, Andrew’s gaze snapping to follow him. With Andrew’s attention off of him, Nicky darted away, giving Andrew a wide berth. Breaking the tension was a controlled detonation, and Aaron appeared to be well versed. Though, Neil should have known it was not without sacrificial casualties.

Throwing his thumb over his shoulder, Aaron said, “That’s Neil. Don’t kill him.”

As Andrew’s empty eyes landed on him, Neil felt his body bristle at the threat. This time, the grin stretched wide enough Neil’s own cheeks ached. Somewhere in the back of his head, he wondered if he had any control over it.

“Neil,” Andrew said slowly, as if testing how the weight of the word felt on his tongue. He leaned forward, close enough his breath fanned over Neil’s collar. Andrew’s grin grew impossibly wider, and something flickered, a shadow shifting. In a whisper, he said, “Someone’s looking for you.”

The words sent a bolt of cold fear through Neil’s blood, his brain screaming with the old need to run. His hair and eyes were different, countless cities and names between him and his past, but Andrew spoke with promise. Clearly it hadn’t been enough, the scraps he had left behind a trail for the bloodhounds.

Mary would break him blue for it, but she was dead, and he refused to fall into her legacy. Steeling his spine Neil let his fathers smile carve itself into his face. His eyes flicked over Andrew once more, the familiarity of his suit clicking into place. “Nevermore,” he breathed.

Andrew clicked his tongue. “Not anymore,” he sang.

Swallowing, Neil curled his fingers around the blade tucked into his pocket. By the huff of breath Andrew let out, he knew the move didn’t go unnoticed. “Are you here to kill me, dog?”

Finally, Andrew leaned back out of his space, face falling blank once more. “No.”

There was no reason to believe him. Andrew blinked, slow and challenging, eyes locked onto Neil’s face, knowing as much. Thumb brushing over the edge, just shy of cutting, Neil blinked back.

“Then why are you here?” he asked.

Andrew shrugged, and the motion looked odd. “Where else does someone like me go.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t,” Andrew said. “No one does.”

#aftg #all for the game #the foxhole court #the raven king #the kings men #andrew minyard #neil josten #para's fics #aftg fic wip #aaron minyard #aftg fanfiction #aftg fanfic #twinyards #the foxes #nicky hemmick

[jaggededges123]

17 kiss eighthcest 👁️👁

17. First Kiss

The first time Silas Octakiseron sinned knowing his transgression ahead of time… was terrifying. It was worse than the time that Colum had taken him on a trip to the top of the belltower in the Octavian, when Silas had passed out because of how far his stomach seemed to drop looking down, and down, and down from the fenced-in area. It felt as if one single misstep might have caused him to plummet so far that he would disintegrate to dust upon hitting the ground, skipping the need to be buried in the catacombs entirely.

When they rose from their evening prayers, from huddled together and linked hand to hand to standing and the same, Silas refused to let go. He’d explode if he did.

He tugged on Colum’s hands to keep the big, weathered man in place, and he stood on his toes to press his lips clumsily and chastely to his cavalier’s. It was the first kiss he’d ever given or received with this sort of intent. It was a statement bigger than its outer facade, Silas declaring that in this one aspect of himself, he would accept and indeed welcome imperfection.

He would welcome Colum, no matter if it was a subversion of their vow. Their vow was large enough to hold more now, now that Silas was older than when it had been made.

Silas landed back on the rest of his feet lightly, his expectant gaze never leaving Colum’s face for a moment. Colum was remarkably still, like an unusual statue in their austere set of rooms, and the tips of his ears flushed darker, along with one particular patch on Colum’s left cheek.

“You’re a bit too old to say goodnight like that, aren’t you?”

Before Colum had even finished his weak protest, Silas felt like he’d been thrown outside of the city without proper protective gear on. His heart cracked in his chest the same way it had when Colum had told him what meat was made from at the age of six, but worse.

Colum still thought of Silas as a child. Silas thought of Colum as… more than he should. More than he’d been taught to.

But, in Silas there was also a deep-set ember in his belly, of the angry variety. His thin cheeks puffed a little as he let go of Colum’s hands finally, embarrassment and shame coating the heartbreak and bruised ego.

“I’m not a child, Brother Asht,” he insisted, scowling and feeling very adult about it. He shot one last glare at Colum before stalking back to their bedroom to finish preparing for bed. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t insinuate that I was.”

It seemed he still had a lot of work to do before his offer to commit this single sin would even be considered.

Elsewhere…

Colum Asht was shock-still in the middle of their small prayer room that jutted off to the side of the Master Templar’s bedroom. His hands still felt warm where Silas had held them as they’d joined each other in prayer, and then where Silas had held him to—

How old was Silas again? Was he fifteen, sixteen, or seventeen? He could have even been older or younger. It was sometimes difficult for Colum to remember small details like the passing of years since some years ago when they’d taken their vows. In any case, Silas seemed just as small and delicate, the perfect picture of a pale Eighth House necromancer, as he always had been since he had been a child.

There was no possibility in Colum’s mind that Silas had kissed him with any intent other than familial comfort and intimacy in mind. Silas was the Master Templar, and Colum couldn’t remember a single time when Silas hadn’t done his utmost to ensure that he didn’t even come in the general vicinity of a sin.

Finally, Colum shook himself out of it. Of course, Silas wasn’t a child anymore, and as such wouldn’t appreciate Colum stepping out of line by pointing out his young age. He probably hadn’t meant anything by that kiss, owing to his general state of innocence, and so any meaning that Colum would impose himself upon the action would, in a sense, be Colum’s own depraved mind. That must have been the case.

Colum blinked an additional six times and said a quiet prayer to ground himself in the moment, and then he followed his necromancer into the bedroom to help Silas get comfortable in bed so that he himself could go to sleep.

#eighthcest #silas octakiseron #colum asht #silas's brain: mission failed--we'll get em next time #i'm so sorry this probably isn't what you had in mind but god #i couldn't not #tombcest #thanks for prompting me! <3