#wrote more than i expected

[closedownregulus]

Prompt: Feb 14th - Lips | 1183 words | @jegulus-microfic part two , three and four :)

Barty Crouch is an idiot. The first time James came to this conclusion he was only 11 years old and Barty was refusing to give him back his football cause “football is not for losers, weirdo”, since then, the thought crosses his mind from time to time – Barty Crouch is an idiot. Not only an idiot, but also stupid, not only fucking stupid, but also deadass ugly, not only ugly, he is also an arrogant piece of shit, not only that, he’s also a- argh, James could go on and on about all of Barty Crouch’s flaws, he could go for hours, days, damn, even weeks if someone gave him the time of day to do so. Honestly, he can’t think of one good thing to say about the guy, nonetheless, Regulus’ been kissing him senseless for the past 7 minutes – not that James is counting or anything – seeming fucking dead set on finding Barty’s hidden qualities, if he has any, in the inside of the boy's mouth. Not that James cares that his best friend’s baby brother has been snogging the most annoying man to ever walk earth for 7 minutes and 36 fucking seconds, like they´re stuck in a game of 7 minutes in heaven or something, or, more accurately to James, 7 minutes and 49 seconds in the deepest pit of hell – not that he’s counting (whatever).

Part of him, the hopeful part, is kind of holding on to the idea that this is some weird kind of practical joke Regulus is playing on Barty, he knows James' football story, maybe that’s the way he’s found to revenge him, making Barty fall in love with him and then leaving the guy tormented by the memory of a kiss with a boy he’ll never be able to have playing in loop in his head. Part of him, the protective part, hates that fucking Barty Crouch has even the memory of a kiss to play in loop in his head, part of him wants to yank it off. Part of him, ugh, part of him is scared that Regulus is not some boy Barty can’t have. Part of him – the possessive, petty and kinda insane part – hates that it’s Barty instead of James, who has known Regulus for years, he’d know what to do to make him feel good, he’s sure he’d figure out the right buttons to push in a matter of seconds. Instead, it’s another person in what should be his place, touching Regulus in places James never will, running his tongue over his lips and tasting Regulus in ways that James will never be able to – he hates to think about the sounds that he’s dragging out of Regulus, sounds that he’s getting to hear, swallow, save for later. Fuck. James might kill the fucking guy.

It’s not like James wants to be in Barty’s place - or whatever, it’s more of a protective big brother's best friend thing, he’d rather kill himself than actually kiss Sirius’ baby brother, it’s literally the most disgusting thought that could ever cross his mind ever, literally. Which, if he’s being totally honest, it does from time, but it only causes him to experience the deepest feeling of disgust, he can literally feel his stomach doing weird loops and stuff, which can only be translated to pure and utter repulse, literally. It’s not like it’s a recurring thing or anything, it’s just that he’s a fucking 17-year-old, of course the idea of kissing people he’s always hanging out with is gonna come to him out of fucking nowhere. And like, Regulus does have this freakish pink lips that look really soft and it's kinda hard to not stare at them when he's been going on and on for hours about some book he's recently read, specially when he keeps biting his lower lip every five minutes before saying the next sentence. Not that the thought crosses his mind in a weird, out of ordinary, creepy constancy or anything, really. It's just, you know, your ordinary 17 year old boy next door normal amount of thinking about kissing your best friend’s brother – which he doesn’t by the away, just, rarely, sometimes, in a daily basis, rarely.

The point is, James is Sirius’ best friend, and Regulus is Sirius’ baby brother, James remember him as a toddler, with his big grey eyes and messy dark hair all over the place, so of course he’s gonna be concerned about Regulus’ well being and not want him to snog some dumbass just cause he found the free time to do so. He wants Regulus to be with someone that is worthy of him, not that James can think of anyone that managed to meet the criteria so far, or that ever will. Well, if he stops to think about it, in an ideal world Regulus would grow old alone and a virgin, but is that really so bad? James will visit him everyday and they’ll play videogames and do star wars marathons. Fuck it. He’ll even listen to Regulus talk about his pretentious books and let him put his depressing emo music, he already does that all the time anyway, he might even sing some of the lyrics that he’s already learned from having to listen to it every time they hang out. Well, and if from time to time Regulus happens to feel kinda alone and horny, James would even be ok to helping him out with that, you know, in the sole interest of keeping him away from losers. If that’s what it takes to save Sirius from having to endure life as the brother in law of some dumb, ugly idiot, James doesn’t mind sacrificing himself for his best friend, call him a fucking altruist if you will.

James bets Barty Crouch has never touched a single episode of Star Wars, or a book in that matter, maybe he can’t even read anything with more than fifty pages or pay attention to any movie that's longer than one hour. Also, he doesn’t look like the kind of guy who’ll be able to appreciate Regulus’ music and try to actually understand and connect with the lyrics, which is the most important part to Regulus, he’ll probably try and change subjects every time Regulus tries to explain his interpretation. Basically, James is pretty sure they don’t even have anything in common to talk about, they won’t even be able to have a proper conversation! What are they gonna do? Just kiss the whole time they’re together? Every single minute without stopping so they can avoid awkward silence breaks? Ha.

The thought makes James want to instantly puke.

He hates this party, but he doesn’t want to, actually, he can’t, leave Regulus here with this idiot to do to him whatever the hell he pleases out of James sight. Fuck. He doesn’t even want to think about that. He hates absolutely everything that’s happening right now, but, most of all, he hates Barty Crouch. The reason? Barty Crouch is an idiot.

And he stole James’ football.

#jegulus #jealous james potter #dead gay wizards #james potter #barty crouch jr #regulus black #jegulus microfic #alternate universe #english is not my first language! #it's my first time posting anything I write and I'm kinda nervous #bare with me #wrote the whole thing whilst listening to disintegration by the cure so it turned out more angsty than I expected #light angst #repetitive wrong use of the word literally #clueless james potter #starchaser #jegulus fic #sunseeker

[a-witch-in-endor]

Chapters: 19/30 Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar), Zuko & the Fire Sages, Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Yue & Zuko (Avatar), Azula & Zuko (Avatar) Characters: Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang (Avatar), Yue (Avatar), Azula (Avatar), Zuko's Hat Additional Tags: Funny Hat Zuko AU, Fire Sage Zuko AU, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Found Family, Fire Hazard Siblings, canon-typical child abuse, Zuko is the Temple's Baby Nerd, Worldbuilding, Zuko Joins The Gaang Early (Avatar), Zuko has never met a hill he wasn't ready to die on, Autism Summary:

High Sage Kenji blesses Fire Prince Zuko with the resilience of the reed, who bends in the wind and never breaks. When he is done, Fire Prince Ozai narrows his eyes, seemingly displeased by this blessing. But Kenji does not speak for himself; he is only a vessel. 

-

The newly-crowned Fire Lord Ozai offers his firstborn son to service in the temple.

This turns out to be a catastrophic mistake.

#while mighty oaks do fall #funny hat au #fire sage zuko #sorry for the long disappearance #life got hard #have a 14k chapter because - as always - I wrote way more than I expected to #“It’s hardly like there’s some kind of trouble we could get into by succumbing to Zuko’s passion for paperwork.” #welcome to ba sing se #joo dee 4ever

[inficetegodwottery]

So. Werewolf 5th Edition.

Werewolf 5th edition sucks. A lot.

Edit- I made some errors in my initial edit of this post that were fuelled entirely by being underinformed and almost insensible with anger, disappointment, and anxiety.

Some very informative responses have been made that I intend to incorporate into a much better and less rambling post with those updates and corrections. I'll probably delete this one soon as I type that one together, so folks only see the updated version.

Sorry for any mistakes I made on this old version, again, I was in an extremely poor place mentally and thoroughly dispirited by the total butchering of what was supposed to be a less shitty and mean-spirited version of a setting I care deeply for despite its foundational flaws and 30+ year history of exactly this thing happening.

I'm still very, very angry. But it's important to be angry and correct. This post was not made by someone informed of all the facts, and I intend to correct that.

Paradox Interactive has made the brave decision to reboot the controversial Werewolf the Apocalypse setting entirely rather than try and fix it, and have somehow done a worse job than the games studio that released an RPG book titled an ethnic slur.

It's taken me almost a month since this came out to be anywhere near mentally prepared enough to even collect my thoughts on it.

Man, it is rare to see an edition of ANYTHING that pisses off old players, new players, players who want to keep the lore the same, players who want to change the lore, conservative players, radical players, and even powergamers.

How do you set out with the intention of making an infamously dated and poorly researched/outreached setting LESS uncomfortable and racist from a modern perspective.... and end up with something EVEN MORE racist and uncomfortable, but also suffocatingly tonedeaf, insincere, and deeply sinister and corporate in its erasure of existing issues rather than addressing them whatsoever.

We made the Get of Fenris irredeemably evil because some of them in the past were nazis and also nazis like Germanic mythology, so the viking werewolves are all nazis now.

Okay, I understand why you did that from a modern political perspective even if its kind of heavy hand-

The Native American werewolf tribes have been removed entirely and replaced with American Murican werewolf tribes. Renaming and rewriting them to be more respectful was just too much work! Now they're more inclusive. :)

The Irish werewolf tribe is now the Nature Werewolves tribe, like every other tribe of Werewolves also is, but also stripped completely of celtic origins.

The Red Talons are openly genocidal ecofascist malthusians and somehow NOT IRREDEEMABLY EVIL like the Get of Fenris are.

Also the feminist all women werewolves are no longer all women or even feminist. AND ALSO SOME OF THEM ARE SOCIAL DARWINISTS AND THATS SUPPOSED TO BE A GOOD THING!?!

Also we entirely dropped the themes about how forcing children to be a part of a war they barely understand while also lying to them about the crimes their ancestors committed that led to the current crisis is fucked up and evil.

Now its actually awesome to be a child soldier born into a repressive apocalyptic death cult with a siege mentality and everything is cool about that actually, you're the Good Guys, and no amount of covered-up historic genocides or internal/external bigotry will ever change that! :)

Also we solved the way people were uncomfortable with the idea that werewolf society is transitioning messily from being horrible ableist assholes that discriminated for centuries against those they view as deformed, disabled, or sexual deviants to new generations that don't care about that stuff, by removing disabled werewolves entirely! Problem solved! No more discomfort or moral conundrums! We are the liberal-est!

There's just something so unbelievably fucked up and suspicious about erasing entire minorities from a fictional universe because they were handled poorly in the first edition, rather than talking to writers and outreach specialists FROM the real world equivalents to those minorities to try and rewrite them.

Don't worry, we removed the group the setting was bigoted against! Problem solved! Just remove the minority!

I've written my own post on why the Metis/Crinos-born should be renamed and probably rewritten, but as a severely disabled individual with multiple hereditary disabilities that severely impact my QoL, outright removing disabled characters in a work of fiction because the prejudice other characters showed them in-universe made people uncomfortable makes me want to tear out someone's throat with my teeth.

Sure, completely remove my ability to play disabled a character fighting back against prejudice and bigotry, rather than rewrite the most uncomfortable aspects of YOUR FUCKING PORTRAYAL OF THOSE CHARACTERS to make it more clear who the sympathetic one is supposed to be.

It's just so unbelievably cowardly and whinging and wretched.

So fuck it, I guess!

Fuck the deeply applicable themes of being born into a well-intentioned but deeply flawed and bigoted society, and trying to create the better world your parents always told you your ancestors fought for, while dealing with the fact that your world is built on mass graves those ancestors helped fill.

Fuck a game that deals with intergenerational trauma and the ethical hellscape that is a highly religious society devoted to the very same ideals it often violates just to win fights against the enemies it created through its own arrogance and prejudice.

Fuck a game that lets you play someone born different, born strange and sickly, bouncing constantly between people who pity you and people who view you as subhuman, before finally finding the people, the family who love and accept and fight alongside you for a world that has never accepted you, but WILL FUCKING KNOW YOUR NAME.

That's not relevant to the real world at all!

There are no kids born in deeply flawed and hypocritical societies, who grew up on stories of the glorious future their society would create, forced then to reconcile the hopeful dreams of a better world with the comprehensive list of horrific things done in the name of that future.

There are no children born confused and alone in their navigation of the maze that is past atrocities, ethnic conflicts, religious prejudice and dogma, or modern propaganda attempting to erase the histories of all of those things.

There are no disabled teens who spent their lives believing they didn't belong in the world, kept going only by the connections they forged with other outsiders and people who fought back against the kind of wretched bigotry that suffocates children to death, who found homes and families they could trust outside the pissant communities they were born into.

Apparently those people don't need a game! They don't need to explore those feelings!

Just throw some more nazis in, so we can pretend we care about social issues or understand the redeeming threads of a deeply flawed gameline, ostensibly so we market it to leftist youngsters, but while we also erase the entire point of a game WHICH IS ALL ABOUT BEING PUNKASS YOUNGSTERS DESPERATELY TRYING TO FIND THE REDEEMING THREADS OF A DEEPLY FLAWED AND PREJUDICED SOCIETY THAT CONSTRAINS THEM, FINDING A WAY TO REBEL AGAINST BOTH THE EVILS OF THE RACIST BASTARDS WHO RAISED THEM AND THE POMPOUS SHITHEADS WHO WANT TO DESTROY THE WORLD OUT OF GREED.

No! We want a squeaky clean, sterile white game that AmericanTM parents can be proud of their kids for playing! A marketable game, that advertisers will gladly pay Revenue to put their products in! Play the good guys, everyone! You're the good guys! Be a big werewolf UwU!

Don't worry about historical atrocities or the flaws of the society that raised you! That's Pentex propaganda!

Fighting bad guys means you can't do anything bad yourself! The Emperor told me so! Deus Gaia Vult!

A hollow, performative, offensive jizzstain that should've been scrapped in its crib. I have no idea how this edition got past a quality assurance team.

Hell I have no idea how it got past a legal team, given the number of real peoples' likenesses they used without permission.

Devoid of artistic integrity or merit.

#werewolf the apocalypse #W5 #wta #owod #world of darkness #I'm just so tired man #putting most of this under a TLDR so I don't flashbang people with tabletop rpg drama #I genuinely thought the new writers would be better at this stuff than the old White Wolf #Nope. #turns out they're just as bad #I shouldn't have expected anything more from them after the V5 Chechnya bullshit #but I guess I just had the dumb notion of hoping they'd gotten better #how the fuck do you do worse than a company that wrote a sourcebook about the Holocaust???!?

[lloydfrontera]

male authors, writing m/m friendships: their bond will develop through hundreds of chapters, we will get to see each stage of their budding relationship, they'll constantly be in each other thoughts, their first instinct will always be to reach for the other, their first worry will always be the other's safety, they'll spend every minute of the day together, they'll be complete opposites and yet perfectly compliment each other, they will put everything they ever loved in risk just to keep the other safe, they will give their life without hesitation to save the other's, they will fight and argue and tease and joke around but they will always be at each other's side at the end of the day, they will plan to spend the rest of their lives together, sharing the happy moments and the hard times, the idea of being without the other being unthinkable, the thought of being always together coming naturally, as easy as breathing.

the same male authors, writing m/f romance: she'll like,, smile once at him and he'll start thinking of marrying her and having children with her idk

#i talk a lot <3 #tged #the greatest estate developer #ch 368 #LITERALLY WHAT THE FUCK SIR #i remember the romance being sudden but this is fucking ridiculous lmaooooo #it came out of fucking nowhere!!! it's so shoehorned in there they almost cut off the heel to make it fit!!! #i don't think they've spent more than like.... 12 hours in the same room in all the years they've known each other.... what the fuck.... #and in fucking ch 368!! literally 40 ch away from the ending!! #less than 10% of the way to the end!!! i thought i was exaggerating when i said 90% of the novel had no romance but no!!! #i was fucking right!!!! #this is........ infuriating skjashdkdsf #to be clear i am not saying friendships cannot do everything i just listed here #of course they can!! more friendships in fiction should be like that!! but!!! you cannot write a friendship between two characters like tha #and then put one of those two characters in a romantic relationship with a completely different character #and not give it even a tenth of the attention you gave to the friendship and expect me to find it realistic!!! or compelling!!! #either give it the same level of attention or just!! don't include it!! #that's also an option!! just leave the incredibly compelling friendship you wrote be the highlight of the novel!! #let it be the most important relationship of the plot!! let it be the happy ending for those characters!! that's perfectly okay!!! #FUCK!!!! #i'm fine i'm normal i'm okay

[eh-whereismycat]

I feel like the fact that Felix is created from the emotion of jealousy explained his behaviour in his first episode to some extent, the way he impersonated Adrien out of jealousy, because Adrien has friends and crush (which he couldn't has neither of those until the death of Colt, stated in Representation, Colt's has the power to control Felix's feelings whenever he is attached to someone)

Yea, at this point of the plot we can all agree that Adrien is abused by Gabriel, but it was not this worse before Gabriel lose his fricking senses, poor parenting and madness asided, he "loved" Adrien when he obeyed him.

In Felix's eyes, even if he's obeying his father, Colt would just beat him up real bad, both mentally and possibly physically. But Adrien could live under a false impression of love and freedom, was able to express his feelings and bonding with his friends occasionally, NOT knowing the fear that his life is bonded with a fucking ring. BUT still, Adrien did not fight for his authority despite he has much more chance than him (Felix clearly doesn't know Adrien is Chat Noir).

Heck, of course he is jealous.

And while he is created from jealousy, Adrien is possibly created from a more loving and positive emotions, talking about identity crisis.

The core ingredient of his soul, the feeling that he is different from all the other humans, and the difference between him and Adrien, the only one kin he has before Kagami, he is filled with jealousy.

Regardless of all of these, he forms a similar understanding with the sweet boi Adrien about parenting and life.

During Pretension, Felix said "your duty is to protect them, love them, help them discover their own meaning to their existence."

During Representation, Adrien/Chat Noir yelled "that have a child is to help them blossom, to grow, to find themselves and to be free!"

As in S5 we see Felix is becoming more soft and sentimental towards his mother, duusu, also Kagami, and how Kagami is helping him to trust and works with Labybugs, this boi is growing up form his past, and I can see he is going to be filled with much more joyful emotions other than the jealousy that created him, I think we are all looking forward for these kids' future. They are breaking their parents' curse.

But still, please get them all into group therapy.

#somehow I wrote much more than I intended to #ahhh I really need to stop my assignments are chasing me #this anti hero Felix taste much better than I expected thank you Zag #miraculous ladybug #ml spoilers #mlb #felix #ml representation #ml season 5 #feligami #mlb season 5 spoilers

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

cough hack wheeze who wants a teeny tiny fantasy au snippet with uhhhh laughingstock Tension. it's like... half a scene! unedited & out of context As Is Tradition

~

“Nothin’ much. I think I’ll poke around nearby towns, shake down some travelers - see what falls into my paws.”

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Barn,” Howdy says. He sweeps aggressively, spreading dirt more than gathering it into the usual neat piles. “Who knows if those ne'er-do-wells are still roaming around the woods - if you and Ed couldn’t take them, what makes you think you could alone? Or- or! What if you stumble across those cultists? I hate to think of you stuck in an ambush with no help coming, knowing fully well that-”

A large paw slips the broom out of his grip and sets it to the side, and Howdy stammers to a stop as Barnaby crowds him against the bar with a soft, “Howdy.”

Howdy swallows hard, bracketed on each side by strong blue arms. The look Barnaby fixes him with dries up his well of words and bristles his fuzz. Howdy’s heart hammers against his ribs. He can feel Barnaby’s body heat, and it’s lighting his blood on fire. 

“I’m not gonna be reckless, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Barnaby says. He barely needs to speak louder than a whisper for Howdy to hear him loud and clear. He smells like sweet smoke. “The other day was a one time deal, cross my heart. But, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll take someone with me. I’m sure Jules is itchin’ to get outta town.”

“What would really make me feel better is if you stay,” Howdy blurts, just barely reining in the with me. He tenses, knowing that he’s toeing a dangerous line. One wrong word, and he’ll make the unspoken spoken - but the stress drains out of him as Barn’s eyes go soft. Perhaps that wouldn’t be so bad. Of course there’s no reason to worry, not about this, not with him. There never has been.

“You know I can’t do that,” Barnaby murmurs. “Not yet.”

Howdy doesn’t need to say that he knows. Not for the first time and with any luck, not for the last, it clicks in his mind that they’re on the same page - he doesn’t need to be a telepath to understand the thoughts behind Barnaby’s dark eyes. 

Barnaby says it anyway. “I gotta get him back. I can’t… there’s no room for anythin’ else right now.”

Howdy sighs through his nose and slumps against the counter digging into the small of his back. He nods and adjusts the lapels of Barnaby’s vest. His fingers ghost over soft blue, and Barnaby doesn’t flinch at the contact. If anything, he leans the barest millimeter into it. His gaze burns into Howdy’s, even if they aren’t meeting at the moment, but it isn’t a bad feeling. Quite the opposite, actually.

“Well,” Howdy says in a low voice, “if you find a good lead, send for the rest of us. I’ll be there as fast as my four legs can scamper.”

Barnaby smirks. “Even if you need to take a boat?”

“Even so, Barn.”

The smirk slides into something that isn’t a frown, but isn’t a smile. It’s too soft for a grimace, but too intense for simple recognition. Barnaby seems to sway forward, and Howdy is sorely tempted to meet him halfway.  

But Barnaby’s claw taps the counter, and he pulls away before anyone’s mind can be made up. Howdy’s hands slip from his lapels, brushing against fur as they fall and knuckles skimming over the smooth, fresh scar cutting across Barnaby’s belly. 

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Barnaby says, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He squeezes Howdy’s shoulder and then his back is turned, and he’s leaving. All Howdy can do is watch. 

And call out after him, “Your table will be open and waiting for you.”

Barnaby pauses in the doorway and looks over his shoulder at Howdy, and his grin is so full of affection that Howdy may just burst. 

“With a free pint?” he asks.

“Hey now, don’t push your luck pal.”

Barnaby bursts out laughing, and Howdy can hear it even after the door thuds closed.

#clawing and sobbing and- no. no #im normal. im so normal i swear #yk on a related tangent. i keep wanting to go to my sleep but spotify keeps playing bangers #all of my Lore songs... the animatics in my head... i dont want to not listen! #so i thought hey. might as well offer Yet Another Snippet! #i have many these days! #i almost posted the human au carnival snippet but uhhhh this one won out. i wrote it like. two hours ago #im sorry if it lacks some Personality or if theres blatant Mistakes #im tired! i meant to be asleep two hours ago! its 2 am! #snippets from the bog #laughingstock #wh fantasy au #its not shown in this tidbit #but barnaby has his pack and it contains Not Only Wormie! but also Puppet Wally! #barnaby: i gotta find wally 🥺 #honey... you have had him the whole time... kiss your caterpillar.... #the. the tall one. not the teeny worm. #well. the teeny worm too but she just gets a little kisth on her tiny face. #the tall caterpillar would get uhhhh a lil more than that id expect. lotsa sugar yk yk #im. gonna go sleep #these two will be my nightly bedtime story as i drift away... #and hopefully ill wake up early enough to find the christmas lights before The Stream #and maybe crochet a few more rows.... read a couple more chapters... #i just misspelled read as red i need to be Unconchus

[tteokdoroki]

men will start foaming and the mouth and convulsing when they realise their wives / daughters are not there to do the housework and responsibilities

#both my mum and i earn more than my dad and he started tweaking when we stopped doing his laundry / cooking for him etc #even during my masters (in which i worked full time and wrote a 12K thesis) he expected me to cook and clean #anyways i hate men ! #esp my dad lol #✧ ₊˚💭੭ — aali just posted

[moonlitkilljoy]

so. the line of tape. it's existence makes me lose my marbles to no end, but probably not in the way you'd expect. it's the fact that even with this clear divide they STILL spill over into the others space. i've see a lot of people talk about it as if it's this clear divide in the lab that hermann and newt steer clear from but that just isnt the case!

if it was, you'd expect the lab to look something like this layout

but look at the actual movie

it looks like more akin to something like this

newt's samples, tables, and stands for his dissection tools spill over the line right into hermann's space. there's definitely room on his side of the lab for everything, he's just. spread out across the entire lab instead. AND it seems like this is what the lab usually looks like, hermann only makes to point out the entrails on his side and not the rest of newts things, it's a shared space— not a divided one. what i'm saying is that even though hermann makes a big deal out of his side of the lab versus newts side vis-à-vis the intestines, he definitely doesn't care that much about separating himself from newt OR his space from newts space in general. the way i see it, they argue and bicker a lot but ultimately they find comfort in the others presence, hermann just doesn't want to deal with potentially-hazardous kaiju intestines right by his things ^^;

#pacific rim #pacrim #newmann #hermann gottlieb #newt geiszler #newton geiszler #benny beeps #should i tag this as newmann?????? unsure but im tagging it anyway because the intent is there #also yes i spent way too long illustrating the floor in a stylized and simplified yet faithful manner— what of it #anyway i love them and i'm thinking of them always #shoutout to gay scientists #and also to my friend toad for being willing to talk to me about these guys so often ^^ #AND ALSO TO MY FRIEND ATLAS. because he read me the most beautiful think piece about pacrim that he wrote the other day #and im still thinking about it #and one more shoutout to everyone who's interacted with me irl in the year of 2023 #because i have not been able to reel in my hyperfixation infodump terror radius at all ffdgjkdlkjg #anywho. uh. have a nice day/night if you're reading this!!!! i'm still working on those fic recs i promise!!!! #just taking longer than expected fjdlfgk i wanna make sure i do each fic justice

[didhewinkback]

jealously, jealousy

a one shot from the Something Old universe (its 4k sooo can't quite call it a blurb can I)

lots of these glimpses from their relationship are lovely and bright and i wanted to explore the ugly.

-------

2013

You were frozen on your stairs, the speech you had just spent an hour rehearsing flying out of your brain as you stared down at him. The two of them, you should say, as they chatted with your parents. There he was, the love of your bloody life, wrapped around the world’s most famous pop star. And here she was, in your living room. In your hometown. With your Harry. 

No - not your Harry. Clearly not your Harry if the way they were leaning into each other was any indication. He brought her home for the holidays. How could you be so stupid?! To think that he’d ever want to be with –

“You gonna keep standing there or you gonna say hi?”

His voice snaps you out of your mental spiral, still sending goosebumps down your arms after all this time. You lock eyes with him to see him and her and your parents, looking up at you. Oh god, mum’s got that look on her face. You were fine, this was fine. Legs shaking as you head down the stairs, hoping the smile you pasted on your face is somewhat convincing, hiding the way your heart is shattering in a million pieces each step you take. 

You step into his open arms to give him half a hug, pulling away rather quickly, knowing you wouldn’t be able to handle feeling his arms tighten around you. Not when it doesn’t mean the same thing to him. Not when it never will. You ignore the look on his face, his slightly furrowed brow at how you’re acting, not looking at him, not clinging on for dear life like you usually do when you haven’t seen him in ages. You introduce yourself to his girlfriend, who looks ten times prettier in person than she does in photos, if that’s even possible. She grins widely, telling you it’s so nice to meet you, that she heard a lot about you. 

You have to bite your lip from blurting out a “Hmm, wish I could say the same.” But instead, you smile and weakly joke, “All good things I hope.”

“Of course,” Harry says, eyes burning a hole in the side of your face, as she nods enthusiastically next to him, perfect hair shining in the living room light. You look at him briefly before looking down at your hands, your ever perceptive Dad picking up the conversation instantly, asking them how their flight was, how the weather’s been in LA, the two of them laughing as they begin to tell you all about the embarrassing flight attendant they had on the flight over. You watch as he tilts his head back in laughter, as she slaps his arm. 

It makes your stomach turn, tears pricking your eyes though you quickly blink your eyes to hide them.  You had to get out of here. 

“I’m gonna, um, use the loo. Excuse me.” you say as you speed down the hallway, turning right into the washroom, not before you hear her say “oh my god the loo. How cute is that?!” 

You close the door behind you and instantly turn the sink on. Grabbing a hand towel and burying your face in it as hot tears pour out of your eyes. You imagined this day going so differently. Walking down those stairs, jumping into his arms, pulling him outside at one point to confess your true feelings, praying his face would light up, that he would grab your face in his hands and kiss you. 

White hot shame burns through your body, making you clench your eyes shut. You’re such an idiot.  Why would you ever have expected that to happen?! He’s eons out of your league at this point, bringing pop stars home for the holidays. You can feel the negative thoughts whirling around in your brain, picking apart your body, personality and mind in comparison. Never anticipating this heaviness in your chest. It’s like someone stomped on your heart. He wasn’t yours, he was never going to be. Why are you so upset over something you never had? 

All you wanted to do was go back to your room, bury yourself under the covers and never leave again. But you had to go back out there despite the tears streaming down your face, the way your heart physically aches. 

Usually when he comes home for the holidays, you spend every second together, catching up on each other’s lives, making the other laugh until they cry, stuffing your faces with every holiday treat imaginable until he falls asleep mid conversation on the couch. But you can’t do that now. You can’t even look at him now. Not without tears filling your eyes, devastation sinking heavy into your bones. 

You allowed yourself a few more minutes, just leaning your head against the wall, trying to regulate your breathing. Trying to ease the pain, trying to not feel stupid for even feeling the pain in the first place. So, this is what it feels like to break your own heart. To get your hopes so high only to absolutely crash and burn. 

You had always wondered when this would happen. A when, not an if. When the difference in your lives would become too big a barrier to cross. You were just the small town friend, he was now a massive pop star traveling around the world. He could have anyone he wanted. Why would he ever choose you? He’s never going to love you like that. It’s not his fault, it’s just facts. He needs someone at his level, who is as stunning as he is, who can travel the world with him at the drop of a hat, who can keep up with his lifestyle. Not some friend from home who’s still doing revisions at uni. 

You buried your head in your hands, before pushing off the wall and staring at the mirror. Yikes. Tear tracks covered your cheeks, your eyes were bloodshot. You’ve been in here a while but couldn’t leave looking like this. That pop star was going to think you were absolutely shitting your brains out in here. What a first impression. You snort, starting to clean your face up. What a night this was turning out to be.

Once you deemed your appearance passable, you stepped out of the bathroom, feeling relieved when you heard your mom call out, “Dinner’s ready!” No small talk in the living room then. 

You head into the dining room, opting for the seat next to Gemma and across from Archie, instead of your usual next to Harry. There’s someone else in that seat now. God, could you be more pathetic?! 

You pour yourself a large glass of wine, willing yourself to get a grip. You muscle your way through, fake smiles and keeping quiet, something Gemma picks up on but never mentions, instead carrying the conversation for the table, her endless wit making the smiles less fake as time goes on. You can feel his eyes on you but don’t dare look over his way, any time you come close your eye catches on the way her chair is pulled close to his, on their hands linked on the table like they were 42 years old. 

He keeps trying to draw you into the conversation, mentioning things that happened in your childhood, making jokes about himself that you typically would jump in on but you stay staring at your plate, clutching your glass of wine a bit tighter, your planned speech rattling around in your head, feeling seconds away from a mental breakdown. Fearing the words would spill out of your mouth the second you looked at him, “You’re my best friend but I think I’ve been in love with you my whole life.” You squeeze your eyes shut and take a long sip of wine. Not today. Not ever.

The rest of dinner passes in a wine soaked haze and later, you’re elbows deep in the sink, having shooed all parents out of the kitchen under the guise of being a helpful daughter. You can do this. You can clean the kitchen, watch a round of games and go to your room. Almost in the home stretch, almost –

“Hey, stranger.” he says softly, placing some empty glasses next to you, you nearly drop the dish in your hands. You hadn’t heard him come in. 

“Hey,” you say, looking up at him before looking back down at the sink, suddenly very focused on a stuck speck of food.

“Missed you,” he says, lightly punching you on the shoulder.

“Yeah,” you say back, straining out a laugh that gets stuck in your throat. “Me too.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the way he’s intently watching you, brow furrowed as he pinches at this lower lip before drumming his index fingers against the side of the counter. You stay silent, knowing you should speak up, try to make this less weird, try to make yourself appear okay but you just can’t seem to find the right words. 

He sighs, running his hand through his hair, looking back through the kitchen entrance before taking a small step closer to you. 

“Hey,” he says, waiting until you finally look over at him before speaking, voice low so only you can hear. “‘M sorry I didn’t tell you she was coming. Wasn’t meant to be a surprise.”

“Didn’t even know you were dating.” you say, cringing the second the words leave your mouth. So much for playing it cool, being the unaffected pal. 

“Yeah,” he says, grimacing. “I’m sorry for that, too. It’s been –”

“Hey, no I get it.” You say quickly, shaking the excess water off the casserole dish before placing it on the drying rack, quickly grabbing a new dish to wash. Your hands are going to be dry as hell, but you need to keep doing something. “I’ve had lots of stuff going on with uni, you’ve had loads going on. ‘S what happens, right? We’re growing up, and we’re living in completely different worlds, right? You don’t have to worry about me. I get it, really.”

“But that’s not -,” he says, his brow furrowing in confusion. “I don’t mean -”

“H?” And that’s her voice using the nickname you gave him. You quickly turn back to face the sink as he quickly turns to face her, taking a tiny step away from you in the process. It’s hardly noticeable but you notice it, because it’s him. 

You begin to fiercely scrub again, dry hands be damned, as she walks into view, wrapping her arms around him and leaning her chin against his chest.

“Your family wants to get the games started. How long were you thinking of staying for? They wanna do charades but I, like, hate charades.” she says with a pout. 

“But charades are the best part, babe.” he says, squeezing her close as she rolls her eyes. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” she says, kissing him on the cheek. “But can we leave after like, one round? I’m still, like, super jetlagged and want to be okay for our flight out.”

“Yeah, sure.” he says, before turning his attention towards you. “You coming?”

“I think I’m gonna stay here and clean up. You guys go ahead.” you say, glancing over at them quickly.

“But I can’t play without my rival team captain. Have to redeem myself from last year’s embarrassment.” he says, trying to goad you into your usual banter.

“It’s okay, really.” you say. “I’d just make the team numbers uneven. Seriously. Have fun. I’ll come in in a bit.”

“Ookay.” he says slowly, looking a bit lost and confused, frozen in place until she takes his hand and leads him out of the kitchen. 

You shut your eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath before turning off the sink, hearing the sounds of team selections happening in the living room. Knowing you’ve got no one to blame but yourself for this one. You hear footsteps and turn to face them, bracing yourself to have to face him again, breathing a sigh of relief when you see your dad, walking in and leaning against the kitchen island, eyeing you carefully. 

“Hear you’re not playing.”

“Just wanted to help clean.” 

“That’s a first.”

“Dad…”

He squints at you, mouth open to say something else before seeming to decide better of it, taking a step forward to wrap his arms around you and you sink into it, letting yourself be held. 

“Can clean the bathrooms next if you want.” he mumbles against your head, chuckling at his own joke when you groan. 

“Teenage boys are idiots, love.” he whispers. “It’ll be alright.”

You take a deep breath in, tempted to correct him, to say it’s not that, it’s uni or the holidays or seasonal depression. Instead, you nod once before squeezing him back. He plants a kiss on your head and takes a step back, nudging you under the chin.

“Come in when you’re ready, yeah? We’d love to have you out there.”

You nod, blinking rapidly as he squeezes your shoulder once before grabbing another bottle of wine off the counter and heading back into the living room. 

What a right mess you’ve made. You stop thinking and just start cleaning, staying away long enough to get all the dishes sorted, all the excess food put away. You slowly make your way into the living room, heart dropping when you see Archie holding court in the center of the room, unable to hold in his giggles as Harry screams out the wrong guesses at him. It really is your favorite part of the holidays but you can’t bring yourself to revel in it, feeling utterly sorry for yourself.

You last about half a round before mumbling apologies to everyone, blaming a headache and heading upstairs to your room, ignoring all lingering eyes. You shut off your light and lock the door, collapsing into tears on your bed. 

The rest of the holidays pass by in a blur. You’ve got one goal in mind: Don’t think about Harry.

Which is why later in the week, when you lock eyes with Conor Williams at the pub, something you would typically brush off, you lean in. Harry’s never liked him, you’re not sure why, and you can’t deny that that isn’t a motivating factor as you make your way over to him. You flirt, you forget. You don’t think about Harry. You can’t. 

2017

Harry’s hands were clenching the glass in his hands so tight, his knuckles were turning white, watching that bloke Kyle or Tyler or whatever the hell order you another Pimms. You don’t drink Pimms. Everyone knows this. Everyone, except this bloody idiot who thinks he’s worth your time. Tosser. 

Johnny kicks him under the table. Must not be doing a great job of hiding his emotions, then. 

“Ease up, mate.” he mutters, raising his eyebrows when Harry looks over at him. “Glaring daggers at the poor guy.”

Harry scoffs, adjusting the newsboy cap on his head, if only for an excuse to do something with his hands. 

“Am not. ‘S just. She doesn’t drink that. She used to go on rants every night when we were young about how much she hates that drink.” 

“Yeah but ‘s just a drink. People can change their mind on things.”

“Not her. Not on that.” Harry grumbles, eyes drawn back to you at the bar, at the way that bloke is running a finger down your arm. 

It makes his stomach turn and he’s not sure why. He’s always felt protective of you but in the way he’s protective of Gemma. He never feels like this when he sees Gemma with a bloke he doesn’t like. Maybe he’s just not used to seeing you out with guys, he thinks, jaw clenching when that guy leans in to kiss you, eyes quickly averting to the table in front of him, fingers toying with the drink rings on the surface.

“And you wonder why she never lets you meet the blokes she’s seeing.” Johnny snorts. 

“What do you mean?”

“Do you ever think -” Johnny’s eyes catch on movement at the bar and shakes his head, seemingly changing his mind about what he was going to say. “Right. They’re coming back. Just, go easy on him, yeah? He’s nice enough. She must really like him if she’s letting him meet you.”

Harry opens his mouth, ready to ask him what the hell he means by that, when the two of you slide into the chairs across from them, that bloody drink still in your hands. 

Conversation picks up once again amongst the group and Johnny’s right, this guy is nice enough. He’s an attentive listener, looking at you like the sun shines out of your ass. As he should, you’re way out of his league. Dude should be thanking his lucky stars every day that you even look in his direction. 

Harry shakes his head at himself, unable to pinpoint where exactly this vitriol for this guy is coming from.  He’s fine. There’s nothing wrong with fine except you deserve more than fine.

Harry’s eyes latch onto the drink in your hand, the way you’ve been fiddling with the straw but never taking more than one actual sip and it makes his blood boil all over again. He fucking knew it. He leans back in his chair a bit, unable to hide the cocky smirk that blooms across his face.

“Looks like darts freed up, if anyone’s up for it.” Kyle or Sammy or Tyler says. Harry’s never been this rude in his life but he can’t help it. Something about this guy just brings it out of him. 

“Why don’t we take a crack at it, Tom?” Johnny says, already standing up. Tom. Right, that’s his name. Couldn’t have paid Harry to remember that. Maybe he should slow down on the tequila. “Let these two catch up.”

“Talk shit about me, you mean?” Tom says, cracking a smile Harry’s way, which he weakly returns. You and Johnny laugh, which makes Harry want to punch a wall. It wasn’t even that funny. Besides, making you laugh was his job. Oookay.  Definitely need to slow down on the tequila.

“Oh!” Tom says, quickly turning to you. “When you want another one, my tab’s still open at the bar.”

Harry snorts at that, instantly trying to cover it with a cough when all eyes fall on him. Tom can’t be serious. You’ve barely taken a sip. 

He waits until they walk away before sliding his drink over to where you moved seats, right across from him. Watching you watch him before you set aside the drink Tom got you and pick up Harry's glass with a soft “thanks” and a small smile, and take a long sip, his eyes catching on the length of your neck, the way your throat moves before he quickly looks down again, a blush coloring his cheeks. He feels all out of sorts, on unsteady land.

“You gonna tell him you don’t drink Pimms?”

“It’s not my favorite drink but it’s alright,” you say with a shrug, and he’s suddenly angry all over again.

Memories of sitting at house parties with you, you ranting about how much you detest the drink after a boy from a rival school tried to bring one over to you in hopes of getting closer to you. You shut that down right quick, launching into a diatribe about how not all girls drink Pimms to anyone who would listen, which ended up just being Harry on the couch, watching and giggling as you got more passionate with every sentence, hands gesturing in the air. He sat there, content to just watch and listen to you until the world stopped spinning. 

It became a running joke over the years, every time he would get a round he would ask you what you would like before saying “Pimms?” before you could say anything, to which you would roll your eyes and flip him off. And here you were, pretending to drink the bloody thing. He wants to scream. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, he has to ask, the question burning him alive. He’s never seen you like this. He’s aware he’s overreacting - drinking a drink you hate isn’t necessarily a cause for concern but if you’re letting this prick walk all over your choice of drink, what else are you letting him do? He can’t even think like that - his imagination already prone to running wild, the thought of anything happening to you making the back of his neck burn up. “You hate those.”

“It’s just a drink, H.”

“‘S not like you to settle for something y’ don’t like.” he shoots back, watching as you stiffen at his words, your eyes suddenly intensely focused on the drink in your hands. 

He feels erratic, teetering on the wrong side of tipsy. He’s never felt like this about you before and he’s not sure what to do about it, not even sure to articulate how he’s feeling. All he knows is that seeing you with this guy feels wrong. He’s wrong. 

“It's not about the drink, H. It’s -” you sigh, clutching his glass tighter, a frown on your face as you look up at him. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“I get you.” he says. “Get you enough to know better than to order you that drink –”

“Okay, but you don’t -” you say, clenching your eyes shut as you let out a huff of frustration. You take a breath and open your eyes, looking right back at him, eyes blazing. “I mean this with respect and love but you don’t get what it’s like. Dating when you’re not like a model or a celebrity. It’s not easy.”

“‘M not an idiot,” he huffs, a frown lining his face. Wishing he ordered another tequila. “I’m aware –”

“You’re not though. The apps are utter shit and they’re all we have and finding a good guy on there is so rare.” you say, on a roll with no signs of stopping, anger lacing your tone. “So he gets my drink order wrong but he’s nice to me, shows up when he says he will, we have decent conversations and he doesn’t insult my intelligence like some of the other guys I’ve matched with. I can handle that”

“That’s shit. Think you need higher standards,” he says, knowing the words came out wrong the second he says them. 

He meant it differently, meant to say you deserve more than this, but by the look on your face he knows he fucked up, by the way you gape at him. “I didn’t -”

“No, you did.”

“If you just -” 

“Like sorry, are you suggesting you have higher standards than me? The millionaire that fucks anything that moves?”

It’s a low blow, intended to hurt and it works.  By the look on your face he knows you know it, face dropping almost immediately after the words come out of your mouth, bringing your hands up to cover your face. 

It’s something he’s used to by now, comments like that, something he has learned to ignore, numb himself to. A comment that comes from strangers on the internet and plastered all over headlines. Not something anyone that knows him would say. To hear it from you strikes differently and strikes deep. He feels like he’s 16 again, scrolling through twitter to find mean things people said about him, desperate for people to understand that’s not who he is. 

The two of you sit there in silence, the hurt feelings that hurled insults giving way to regret, remorse, guilt. The noise from the pub roars around you as the two of you sit there, both a bit in shock at how off the rails this conversation has gone. How did you end up here? He was meant to tell you what he thinks, meant to be nice. And now here you were, hurling insults at each other, hitting each other where it hurts the most. 

You’re muttering apologies under your hands and you pull them down from your face, clasping onto his forearm. 

“That was awful. I didn’t mean to -”

“No I was pushing - “

“No.” you say firmly, “I don’t say that shit to you. I know it’s not true. I knew it would hurt you and get you to lay off me, so I said it. It wasn’t okay. And I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t being very fair -”

“You were pissing me off but that’s no excuse.” you say, eyes never wavering from his, utter sincerity in your tone. “I hate that I said it, regretted it the second it left my mouth. I didn’t mean it. At all.”

“I know,” he says. And he does. Knows that's not how you see him, that it’s never been how you see him, the sincere look in your eyes quieting the ever present voice  in his head from wondering if there’s not a small part of you that thinks it. That thinks he’s become everything they say he is. 

He knows you only said it because he was really giving you a hard time, though you didn’t give him any answers to his questions, which are still gnawing at him. He forces himself to drop it, the questions dissolving on his tongue. There’s another place for this conversation. Not in the middle of the pub with the guy you’re seeing just a few paces away. 

He’s desperate to ease you both back into familiar territory, this fun catch up night taking on a much heavier tone than either of you anticipated. 

“Y’ meant it a little bit,” he says, small smile on his face . 

“Given your track record, I’m not sure you can blame me,” you say, smirking as you take another sip. 

“Oiii.” he says, laughing when you do. There you are. This is more like it. 

“‘M sorry for being a dickhead,” he says, once your laughter has subsided. “He seems like a nice enough guy, ‘m just protective of you. Want to make sure he’s treating you right.”

“Okay, Dad.” you say with a roll of your eyes. 

“‘M being serious,” he says with huff. “Just think you’re …you’re a really incredible person. And you deserve to be with someone who knows that. And celebrates that.”

Your face is unreadable, blinking rapidly before looking back down at your, well his, glass. 

“Thanks, H.” you say softly. 

“And you should be with someone who knows your drink order.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, laying your head on your arm that’s resting on the table. “You are insufferable.” 

He giggles as you shake your head, taking another sip of his drink. He knows he promised to drop it but there is something really weighing on him. 

“Can I ask y’ something?” he asks, waiting until you nod before continuing. “Johnny had said that y’ don’t really let me meet the guys you’re seeing. Or like let them meet me.”

“You really haven’t been missing out on much.” you say, ruefully. 

“Okay,” he says, huffing a laugh. “But I - I don’t like missing out on parts of your life. Or meeting people that are important to you. ‘S not - it’s not because of me, like… being me?”

“Oh no. It’s not that at all. ” you say quickly, with a firm shake of your head before averting your eyes from him once again. “It’s… um, it’s complicated.”

“I can understand complicated.”

“H.”  you say, cringing. “I-”

“Please. I -”

He’s cut off by his phone vibrating on the table. The contact “E” lighting up his screen, a photo of a candle from their first date filling the screen. You lean back in your chair, wiping at your eyes quickly.

“Shit. I should -”

“No, go ahead.” you say, pushing his drink back towards him, picking up your own and taking a sip, the move making his brows furrow in confusion. 

“There’s just a whole time difference thing.” he says with a frown. “But I really want -”

“H. Go.”

“Right,” he says, getting up to step outside to take the call, feeling better when he sees Johnny and Tom return to your table. He hears Tom ask if you’re alright, if you’d like another round. He’s almost out of earshot before he hears your reply:

“Yeah, thanks. Seems this is just what I need.”

Huh.

----

a/n: part 5 is coming but i really wanted to explore some lows of their relationship / dig deeper into moments mentioned in the story. she talks about this moment in part one, he talks about his moment in part 3. i was editing and editing this and cant keep looking at it so am kinda posting blindly. if you made it this far pls let me know what you think!

taglist: @tobesolovelysstuff, @louyoursins, @daydreamingofmatilda, @jojo-blog53, @marzhshaim, @devilsqueen722, @just-happiness-only,@lomlhstyles, @feestyles, @spock4presidnet, @sunshinemoonsposts, @indierockgirrl,

#tried to make that pic smaller but i fear this is massive #feeling self conscious as all hell but i wrote this whole thing to make part 5 smoother so am sharing it bc it became a whole lot more #than i expected #something old #harry styles fic #harry styles angst #allusions anon if you are still out there #this is essentially 4 u lol

[greenerteacups]

What do you think as Hermione's career would be post battle of Hogwarts? To me her being minister for magic really doesn't make sense. She does not have patience or tact to wade through murky waters of politics 😭😭

So hard to say! The Trio are so, so young when we leave them, I find it almost impossible to project their futures farther than a few years out. The job that suited me at 17 would be radically unsuited to me now. That's why of all the Trio, Ron's ending strikes me as the most realistic — he jumps straight into the save-the-world business again, burns out, realizes he's actually Done The Fuck Enough, Thanks, and pivots into a low-stress career where he gets to see his family a lot. Feels accurate! The others are weirder to me because they do seem to just... pick a lane and stay there.

With Hermione, you could spin her a couple ways. You could say that she leans into her bookish side and does research or teaching, which is not my preference for a couple reasons (namely, I don't think Hermione would like academia as a profession; she finds her classwork interesting and enjoys intellectual validation, but she'd be stifled and wasted in a DPhil program, and she'd be infuriated by the administrative politicking of your average higher-ed faculty). You could say that she gets disaffected with politics and ends up as a barrister or a lobbyist of some kind, but if anything that requires more political finesse, because you don't actually have institutional power, you're just handling the people who make decisions and trying to persuade them of your goals. This is not Hermione's preferred method of influence. She's not even particularly good at persuasion, she just happens to be smart enough (and right often enough) that people take her ideas seriously.

Or you could say her brashness fades with the years into a softened flavor of tell-you-like-it-is honesty, which some politicians actually do successfully trade on; as we see in British politics today, you don't have to be all that charming or clever to get ahead, you just need to be really driven and well-connected (which Hermione completely is; she fought shoulder-to-shoulder with the first postwar Minister and her bestie, the Literal Messiah, runs the Auror Office.) But I don't know if Hermione especially wants to be Minister, after the war. She's just watched years of horrendous bureaucratic incompetence plunge the country into a violent civil conflict. She's had not one, but two Ministers of Magic try to bully or shame her friends into complicity with fascism. Her view of government is... likely extremely dark.

But Hermione also isn't the kind of person who sees her life as a quest for happiness. Babygirl has a savior complex that makes Harry look selfish. (She basically kills her parents — yeah, obliviating is a form of murder, #changemymind — "for their own good," and justifies every batshit, vindictive, mean-spirited move she ever pulls on the grounds that it "helps" one of her friends.) She is a mean, lean, dragon-slaying machine, and she needs a dragon. After Voldemort, the Ministry is the no. 1 threat to muggle-borns and non-wizarding Beings. As a war heroine with basically infinite political capital, I'd be surprised if she didn't try to do something there. That said, Hermione is so vivacious and dynamic that she could potentially grow in a hundred different directions; it's possible that all of this, while true of her at 18, becomes completely inaccurate by 22. That's why I'm not too fussed about any particular fanon interpretation.

#greenteacup asks #sidebar: I know Minister “of” Magic is an Americanism but mea culpa #Someday I might actually bite it and pay someone to britpick Lionheart but I can't do it now #because I have a ban on editing published fic unless it's finished. Otherwise I'll never get around to writing the actual ending #I have a Process #is it the best process? likely not! but it makes the words go. so here we are. #I also think the fact that JKR is Gen X makes a difference here. careers worked differently in the 80s and 90s than they do now #i.e. we have the gig economy and a lot more mobility and EXPECTATION of mobility in your early life #that means career changes & professional pivots through your 20s and 30s are increasingly normal #and in fact have always been normal — but the image of the 'true' or 'ideal' career has changed #so we look at those careers and go hm. really? none of them changed? #none of them even went to uni? do wizards... just not? #but again. I believe the epilogue was written almost completely without consideration as to what happened between the BOH and then #I really believe that JKR did not know what happened to Harry except a wedding and 3 kids. because that was the whole point #I don't think she even knew what his career was when she wrote that scene #It existed to marry everyone off and do a quick munchkin headcount #because of the understandable temptation as an author to keep your hand on the wheel. but it didn't even matter! #the epilogue changed NOTHING! it was the most useless chapter in the series! I just — GOD #you can absolutely accuse me of being sour grapes about my ships getting nixed. I AM sour grapes. I AM a hater. #AND I have plot/theme/craft reasons for disliking it. #I'm not objective. I just want credit for being a sophisticated hater. my grapes may be sour but they're still artisinal.

[meowzermoo]

Might as well also ask for regressor Baseball headcanons if you don't mind.

Yeyy I love little Baseball!! :>

My Head-canons under cut:

I feel like Baseball regresses to around 4 years old, but sometimes younger depending on his emotions

The stress of being the peace keeper of his team often catches up on him when he’s little, and he gets very emotionally sensitive, needing lots of love, coddling and reassurance to feel better

He needs company when he’s regressed! He gets lonely very easily and always needs someone there to make him feel safe! He’s very shy about his regression but loves company from people he really trusts, especially Nickel!

Nickel is his main Caregiver. He isn’t very confident in his parenting skills but tries his best to be there for him, and really enjoys taking care of him! Being a caregiver really brings out Nickel’s soft side that people usually don’t see. He often calls Baseball “little buddy”

Baseball would probably be an outdoorsy kid! When he’s feeling playful, he likes fun activities like kicking around footballs, hide and seek, and laying in the grass

When he’s feeling extra little, he doesn’t talk too much, going mostly non-verbal, but likes snuggling up with his his caregiver and quietly playing. He loves quietly flicking through picture books and stacking blocks!

When he’s very little, he almost always has his paci, and gets very upset when he doesnt have it

Sometimes he’ll point to a picture in his li’l books and look at Nickel, gesturing for him to explain it, like “what animal is that?” Or “what’s that colour?”. Often times Nickel gets roped into reading the whole story book for him (He’s a surprisingly good story teller!)

I head-canon he’d love watching shows like Octonauts, Paw Patrol and The Backyardigans!Snuggling up with a bunch of blankets and watching cartoons makes him feel super small! Nickel has no interest in kids shows but likes watching them with Baseball cuz he knows it makes him happy <3

He knows all the Backyardigans episodes by heart and likes humming along to the songs!

#wowow i wrote way more than expected! #Hope ya like these! :3 #i started this yesterday and left it thinking ‘ugh i cant think of anything good’ #then came back the next day and suddenly had loads of ideas AAA #osc agere #sfw little community #inanimate insanity agere #age regression #my edits #age dreaming #agedre #inanimate insanity #agere edit #ii baseball agere #ii baseball #object show community

[wombywoo]

kinda serious ask but do you feel like you put more effort than talent into your art? it took me a while to accept i'm not naturally gifted in art and that i should ACTUALLY PUT IN THE WORK so i wanna know if you feel the same / differently!! whenever artists go "idk i just draw" i'm like how. how!! XD

Ok! Serious answer for a serious ask!

I'll be honest and say the whole concept of 'talent' is mostly bullshit and not something that artists should ever aspire to hinge their work upon. Every drawing, painting, doodle takes ~effort~ no matter what! I think people misconstrue this idea of talent being necessary to make good art, when really it's just a matter of how you apply yourself and the skills you've developed thus far.

That being said--I think there is a level of instinct that may make these skills easier for some people than others, but most of it is always *learned* rather than something gifted.

To actually answer your question, lol, I do put a massive amount of effort into all of my drawings. That's not even just the physical aspect, I will sometimes spend hours researching references (for my latest COD pieces, I've spent an absurd amount of time googling uniforms and medals -_-)

So maybe the real incentive shouldn't be to achieve talent, but rather passion! Because that's where most of my own motivation comes from~

Also, bonus! because I'm oversharing--this is what my thumb looks like irl:

I have literally deformed my finger to the point where the nail grows in dented from how much effort I put into my art (but also because I hold my pen like an idiot and it's too late for that to change 😭)

So yeah! Effort is real! Talent is BS!!!

#asks #this got way more passionate than you were probably expecting lol #but don't sweat it my dear #artists who say they 'just draw' are lying 🙊 #lmao I realized i wrote 'cod pieces' in this x'D #let that be my word of wisdom for the day~

[becca-e-barnes]

this for subby!bucky 😵‍💫

There’s nothing hotter than a man moaning his way through a make out session and grinding his hard-on against your body, idgaf. Men moaning in general fucking floors me 😵‍💫

But I really like the thought of him starting off thinking he's in control of himself. Not necessarily in control of you, he just thinks he's pretty composed, all things considered. The featherlight kisses have his heart beating just a little faster than normal but it's manageable.

It all just gets away from him though. The tiny pecks turn into tender, deeper kisses and your hands start to wander. Those kisses inevitably develop into a kind of frantic passion that he has difficulty keeping up with. His brain goes a little foggy and nothing else matters except getting more of you and getting it now.

He loses himself in the feeling of you so entirely that he hardly notices he's been trying to ease the throbbing need in his own cock. "O-oh fuck." He groans, eyes closed, cheeks flushed, lips slick and dick twitching in his pants.

"We can go slower if this is too much for you, baby." You whisper softly, keeping your face close to his. God, he's beautiful like this and you know he'd whimper if you told him that.

"No, God. I don't need you to go slower. I need more." There's no shame in those blown out pupils when his eyes flutter open. He's not embarrassed by his own need. Instead, there's a complete trust that you'll take care of him because you always do. There's no judgement or reservation between you both because there simply doesn't need to be.

"I can do that." You laugh quietly, tugging him towards you so your lips can crash together with the exact same intensity as before and it never fails to amaze you that he melts into your touch so entirely.

You feel how hard he is and in truth, it would be difficult not to given how he's grinding it against your body with more purpose than before. His mouth is so hungry, never managing to taste enough of you and in no time, it's trailed down your neck, sucking at your skin while his frantic grind continues.

"Good boy, Buck. That's it, rub yourself silly on me." You encourage, drinking in his pathetic groan. That permission almost makes him wish he could cum in his pants.

"You're like a puppy, aren't you? So eager. You just can't help yourself." Your hand drifts downwards, rubbing over the bulge in the front of his sweatpants and you feel him absentmindedly thrusting into your touch. He's a moaning mess, babbling and begging, lost the lust that's now making the fingertips of his flesh hand tingle and his head spin.

#asks answered <3 #anon #becca writes spice #sub!bucky #One more minor inconvenience today #is quite possibly all it would take #for me to burst into tears #Just one #i had an idea stuck in my head all day for some angsty poetry #And I wrote it and it was even more fucking tragic than I expected #over something that I'm literally not even sad about #it just has a lot of potential to be something that someone else in the same situation might be sad about? #So idk where it all came from #And now I can’t go to something I was really excited about #bc it’s over my mum’s 50th birthday #i think I’m just going to lie in bed and not move for the rest of the night #Maybe if I lie still enough I’ll dissolve

[eskawrites]

well, kids. i've done it. i've written tales of erathia fanfic. original fic? who even knows at this point

@sweepy-stringbean had the absolutely brilliant idea of not only making Vecna the villain of the fictional fourth movie in this franchise, but also having a flayed Moss/Max "betray" the group by quite literally stabbing Tenar in the back

and, well, it's all just kinda grown from there

(this is also the backstory to that incredible, soft tenlark art that i've been staring at for like three weeks straight. Rae, I adore your work and your mind and everything you've come up with in regards to these beautiful gay fantasy losers)

anyway

-

Tenar’s chambers always seem bigger at night. The bed is too wide, making her feel too small. The windows stand taller, darker, far more imposing than they feel when they’re letting the sun in. The air seems heavier, full of the grief she can never shake, the responsibility she’ll always carry, the doubt that fills every day.

And tonight—and most nights, recently—an inescapable sense of longing.

Tenar is no fool. She might avoid it, might do all she can to deny it in the light of day, but she knows precisely who she longs for, and why. How can she not, when Lark is the one who makes the grief and the responsibility and the doubt a little lighter? Lark can step into the room and fill it effortlessly, without even saying a word. She can bring the light through the windows, can sit beside Tenar and hold her hand and make her feel far from small.

And all Tenar can do is lay awake at night, thinking of her.

Maybe she is a fool. Or a coward, because despite all that they’ve been through, she still shies away from telling Lark the truth.

But in her defense, she really does think Lark should know by now. Everyone in the kingdom has spent the last few years questioning why Tenar chooses Lark again and again—to travel with her everywhere she goes, to sit at her right hand during meetings and ceremonies and decrees, to protect her and accompany her and advise her and challenge her in ways no one has ever managed before. Surely, surely, Lark has figured out by now why she is, consistently, Tenar’s first choice.

Though perhaps that is unfair. If Tenar cannot be brave enough to speak directly, why should Lark have to be bold enough to make assumptions?

Tenar rolls over, tangling the sheets further around her legs. She curls her arm beneath her pillow and tilts her head up to look for the moon through the window. It’s faint, nothing but a barely-there glow behind a screen of clouds.

She is a fool, but she doesn’t have to be. And maybe, just maybe, her room doesn’t have to seem so empty. Tenar pushes herself upright and kicks away the sheets.

Two guards stand outside her door—a precaution of her own doing, but one that she hates. They stiffen to attention when she steps out, then relax with a wave of her hand. She beckons one to come with her and starts down the halls.

Lark’s room isn’t far from her own, but the walk is cold in the castle’s drafty corridors. The guard following her holds his lantern aloft, causing shadows to flicker around the edges of the light. They pass no one.

There is no light seeping through the cracks of Lark’s door when they arrive. Tenar steels herself. It won’t be the first time she’s woken Lark from sleep, and she’s certain it won’t be the last. She can only hope it will be worth it.

But when she raps on the door, no one answers. Tenar waits and listens for any sound of movement on the other side. After a moment, she turns over her shoulder and looks at her guard.

“Have you seen her about tonight?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

Tenar frowns and turns back to the door. She raises her hand to knock again, but the sound of footsteps behind them stops her. The light moves as her guard spins to face the newcomer. Tenar turns, too, and relaxes when she sees who it is.

“Moss,” she says. “What are you doing up so late?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” Moss’s grin is cheeky, if not a little stiff.

Tenar smiles back. “Looking for Lark, actually. Have you seen her?”

“Not tonight. But I’d be happy to walk with you until we find her. Save you from having to hang out with a stuffy soldier.” Moss smirks as the guard frowns and shuffles self-consciously.

“Be nice,” Tenar scolds her, no bite to her voice whatsoever. She turns to her guard. “You can return to your post. Thank you.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” He leaves without another word. The hallway darkens as he turns the corner, taking the lanternlight with him, but Tenar and Moss are both comfortable enough with the dark by now.

“Shall we?” Moss asks, tilting her head down the hall. Tenar nods, and together, they walk away from Lark’s room.

-

Lark leans against the wall across from Moss’s room, arms crossed over her chest, glaring at the closed door. There is no light coming from beneath it. No answer to her soft knock. No sound or movement at all from within.

It’s not unusual for Moss to wander the halls, even this late at night. Just like it’s not unusual for Moss to snap at her friends when she’s frustrated, or avoid people when she’s overwhelmed, or hide what she’s really thinking when she believes her own thoughts to be too weak or vulnerable to share.

Logically, none of it is unusual. But Lark has never really been one for logic. That’s Tenar’s job, and even Tenar has been urging her to just talk to Moss lately, if she’s so worried.

And she is worried. So is Tenar. So are Arren and Ged.

“Fuck this,” Lark mutters to herself.

She adjusts the bow on her back and crosses the hall. The door is locked, but only for a moment. She and Moss told Tenar years ago most of the castle’s chambers were child’s play to break into. They’re working on it, but considering the fact that most of the threats they’ve faced wouldn’t be deterred by a locked door, it’s pretty low on the priority list.

Lark swings the door open just enough for her to slip inside and close it again behind her. Moss is nowhere to be seen, but there are still embers glowing faintly in her fireplace. Lark sighs and walks further into the room.

The desk is a mess of discarded books and crumpled papers. A jar of ink has spilled onto its side, seeping into a stack of blank parchment. The wardrobe is a mess, the door hanging open, clothes spilling out of it. None of this is unusual.

The bed is made—that part is unusual. The sheets are stiff, tucked in neatly. Lark frowns and walks over. The nightstand is empty, the lantern sitting on top of it dark and cool. She turns and walks over to the fireplace instead.

Heat still hovers around the hearth. The coals must have been recently scattered. Lark kneels before them and reaches a hand out. Very recently, she thinks.

She grabs the poker hanging by the fireplace and sifts absently through the embers. She needs to find Moss. She just—has no idea where to start.

She pulls the poker back, and it catches on something in the corner of the fireplace. Lark tilts her head and leans forward a little. A page—crumpled into a ball, half-burnt, but still solid enough for her to scrape out. She picks it up and smooths it out with shaking hands. Ink blots cover most of what hasn’t burnt away, but there’s enough to recognize Moss’s handwriting. Enough to make out a few phrases.

Sorry, jumps out at her. Then, darkness and I’m scared.

I don’t know what’s happening to me.

Lark scrambles to her feet. She stuffs the page into her pocket and runs from the room. Her hand goes to her bow as she starts down the hallway.

She still has no idea how to find Moss, but she has to be here somewhere. The embers are still warm. She can’t have gone far. Lark can still find her. She can still stop whatever this is. She can still help her, before it’s too late.

-

Moss and Tenar don’t speak much as they walk. Moss trails a few feet behind her, her steps so quiet Tenar keeps looking over her shoulder just to make sure she’s still there. She looks pale in the dark halls. Her hair is dull, washed out in the shadows.

“I’m not sure where to look for her,” Tenar admits. Lark has followed Tenar’s lead during most of their nighttime wanderings; she doesn’t know where Lark would go if left to her own devices.

“Perhaps she’s out looking at the stars somewhere,” says Moss.

But Tenar shakes her head. “It’s too dark tonight. All she’d see is clouds.” And she wouldn’t go sit and look at clouds—not when it’s so dark, and there isn’t even the glow of the moon to keep her company.

“She could still be looking for fresh air,” suggests Moss.

Tenar doesn’t think that’s the case, but she also doesn’t have any other ideas. Besides, Moss knows Lark just as well as she does, if not more. Maybe she knows something Tenar doesn’t.

Or maybe she’s looking for an excuse to step outside and have a quiet moment of her own. Something has been troubling Moss, lately. It’s been worrying Lark. It’s been worrying Tenar, too. Maybe, if they have a moment to themselves, Tenar can try to talk to her.

“Alright,” she says. She takes the next left, making her way to one of the balconies overlooking the gardens.

They don’t meet anyone else along the way. Everything is quiet as Tenar leads them through the double stained glass doors and out onto the balcony. The air is cold, biting even for the late autumn night. Tenar shivers as the chill seeps immediately through her nightgown, but beside her—covered only in simple clothes and a thin, hooded cloak—Moss seems entirely unaffected.

It’s obvious that Lark isn’t out here, but Moss doesn’t make any moves to leave. She stands in front of the doors and stares out past the balcony’s railings. It’s too dark to see the gardens. Too dark to see much of anything at all.

“Moss?” Tenar asks softly.

Moss shakes her head. That distant look lingers in her eyes. “I don’t know where she is.”

“That’s okay.” Tenar continues to watch her watch the night. “Is there…something else you want to talk about?”

This time, Moss’s eyes flicker toward hers. Only for a moment, though. Then she drops her chin and looks away again.

“What do you mean?”

Tenar shrugs and turns away. She walks toward the railing, giving Moss space to gather her thoughts, or her words. Or her courage.

“A lot has been going on lately,” she says, keeping her voice light. Behind her, Moss stays silent. “Farmers reporting decay in their fields. Sightings of strange creatures in the forests. Disappearances, in the border villages. I think everyone is a little uneasy because of it.”

“Are you afraid, Tenar?” There’s something almost mocking in Moss’s voice. Tenar almost looks back at her over her shoulder, but then she stops and sighs, letting her head hang.

“I would be a fool not to be, wouldn’t I? After everything we’ve been through…I know better than to doubt my own instincts.” She pauses, then, “You do, too.”

Moss stays silent.

“Moss?” she asks again. No response. Tenar lifts her head. “Please talk to me. I know something has been bothering you lately.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

Her voice is dark—not angry, but furious. Tenar turns and sees Moss directly behind her, eyes dark, a shadow hanging over her face. A blade in her hand.

Their eyes meet, and Moss flinches, her arm jerking to the side even as it thrusts forward.

The whole world shrinks down to that balcony, to just the two of them—to the sharp, blinding pain in her back, and the overwhelming sorrow in Moss’s eyes.

Tenar’s hand moves of its own accord, finding the dagger at her waist and swinging up. Moss’s eyes widen as she stumbles back. She pulls her own knife with her, and Tenar screams as the blade tears through her again on the way out. She feels blood running down her back, soaking her gown. She shoves Moss away with another cry and throws the dagger—not at her, but past her. It crashes through the closed doors, shattering one of the stained glass windows.

They hear voices almost immediately, calling out in alarm. Moss bares her teeth.

“Moss,” Tenar whispers.

It’s like something breaks between them. Moss falters. Fear fills her gaze. Her arm falls, holding the knife loosely at her side. For the first time, Tenar sees tears streaming down her cheeks.

They hear footsteps, light and quick, then, “Tenar!”

Lark’s voice. Tenar could sob. She’s shaking, her legs trembling beneath her. She reaches out for Moss, but that dark, furious expression fills her face again—a look of hatred so cold that she doesn’t even look like herself. Moss backs away toward the railing just as Lark bursts through the doors.

She sees Tenar first. Terror crosses her face.

And then she looks at Moss.

Her eyes dart down to the bloody knife in Moss’s hand.

“Moss,” she breathes.

Moss shakes her head. She takes another step back. Lark starts after her, but she bolts and hops over the railing before she can reach her.

“Moss!”

Lark sprints forward. The balcony catches against her hips, stopping her even as she leans dangerously far over it, reaching for someone who is no longer there. Lark pulls her bow and starts to aim, but she lets out a frustrated growl and lowers it again before she even has the arrow nocked.

Tenar’s legs give out. She catches herself on the railing. She can hear her own harsh, broken breaths in her ears.

“Tenar!”

Lark grabs her and eases her down to the floor, but Tenar shakes her head.

“Moss—you need to help Moss.”

Lark ignores her. Her hand slips toward Tenar’s back, and burning pain courses through her veins. Tenar bites back a whimper.

“We need to get you a healer.”

“Lark, it wasn’t her. There’s something wrong, something—”

“I know,” Lark says through her teeth. “I know, she—but this looks bad, Tenar, we gotta get you help.”

“She’s in danger—”

“So are you.”

“I’ll be fine, I—”

“Tenar—”

“Lark,” Tenar says in the same voice that addresses her people, that orders her council, that leads knights onto the battlefield. “Go after your sister.”

Lark looks toward the railing where Moss disappeared, then squeezes her eyes shut. A tear slips down her cheek. Tenar wants to reach up and brush it away.

Lark’s grip on Tenar tightens. “No,” she says. “Not until you’re safe.”

She looks down again and meets Tenar’s eyes, and Tenar can’t resist it anymore. It hurts. Everything hurts. She can feel the blood on her gown, clinging to her skin. The night is already growing colder around them. Lark is moving against her now, stripping her overshirt and bunching it to press against Tenar’s back, and that hurts, too—enough to make darkness seep in on the edges of her vision.

Moss is gone, disappeared into the night. Something is wrong with her. She’s not herself. Lark knows, and Ged and Arren will believe her, but will anyone else? The guard who escorted her to Lark’s door—he’ll know Moss was the last one with Tenar. Will he think Moss was acting of her own accord? Will everyone else?

Lark is shouting something, her voice cracking as she cries out for help. If the council blames Moss, will they even listen to Lark? Or will they try to stop her from finding Moss and helping her?

“Lark,” Tenar whispers. Lark turns to her immediately, holding her a little closer. “My dagger—by the door.”

“Ten—”

“Please,” she says, because she knows it will work. And it does. Lark gently lays her down, then scrambles across the balcony to grab her dagger.

She returns within seconds. One arm wraps around Tenar again while the other offers her the hilt of her blade. Tenar takes it, then grabs Lark’s wrist.

“What are you—”

“Listen to me,” Tenar says, and Lark does. She always does. It makes Tenar want to apologize. But she can’t. She turns the blade and passes it back to Lark, pressing the seal that rests in the center of the cross-guard into her palm. “Moss needs you, okay? You—you have to protect her. You have to protect your family.”

Lark nods. “I will. You know I will. But Tenar—”

“And you have to protect this kingdom. Promise me you will.”

“I’ve already sworn that oath to you,” Lark says, her voice rough. “Stop talking like this. You’re going to be fine, and we’re going to find Moss, and we’re going to fix this. We are.”

“Lark, I…”

But whatever she wants to say—the words she was finally brave enough to share—fades away as darkness clouds more of her vision. She hears Lark call her name. She hears others, too, people finally running out onto the balcony to help, crying out when they see the two of them lying there in a growing pool of her blood.

Tenar wraps Lark’s fingers around the hilt of the blade and lets go.

“Tenar!” Lark catches her hand before it can hit the stone. Tenar doesn’t respond. She looks over her shoulder at the guards who stand frozen, now, staring at the scene. “She needs a healer! Now!”

It snaps them back into action.

“Sound the alarm,” one of them barks, sending someone else running back down the hall. “And you, run ahead to the ward, tell them what’s happened. You two, help me carry her.”

They all start moving at once. Lark forces herself to let go of Tenar as they lift her and start carrying her away. In the distance, she hears the ringing of the alarm bell, followed almost immediately by the cries of more guards. Torches and lanterns start blinking to life across the grounds.

“Lark!” It’s Arren’s voice, and Ged’s. Lark turns as they appear down the hall, running toward her.

They falter as they pass the guards carrying Tenar away. Ged stumbles a little, but Arren grabs him and keeps pulling him along toward the balcony.

“What happened?” Arren asks. “Tenar, is she—”

Lark closes her eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Where’s Moss?” asks Ged. Lark can feel the weight of Moss’s writing in her pocket. Maybe she’s still on the grounds. Maybe she’s tearing through the woods, running for her life. Maybe she’s already met up with whatever force has taken her from them.

Ged and Arren understand her silence enough to know not to ask anything else. Not yet, at least. Not here. Guards still hover around them, scanning the balcony for some hint as to what happened, or just standing there staring at the pool of Tenar’s blood.

Blood that is soaking into the knees of Lark’s pants, still. She pushes to her feet, feeling sick.

“What do we do now?” Ged asks instead.

Lark opens her eyes again, but before she can respond, one of the guards walks up to her.

“I was about to ask the same thing,” he says.

Lark stiffens. She doesn’t want to sit through their questioning now—not when she doesn’t know if Tenar is okay, or where Moss is, or—

“What would you have us do, Your Highness?”

Lark stares. Arren stares.

It’s Ged who breaks the silence.

“Oh, shit,” he whispers, looking down at Lark’s hand. “Tenar’s blade.”

Lark looks down, too. She is indeed still holding Tenar’s dagger in a white-knuckled grip. She hadn’t even realized it.

“What—”

“She put it in your hands, didn’t she?” the guard asks.

Lark forces herself to look up at him. “Yes, but—”

“Then she placed the fate of the kingdom in your hands, as well.”

“I—that’s not—it’s just a blade.” Lark stares at it in her hands. She will her fingers to uncurl and let it drop, but they don’t. She can’t.

“It’s tradition,” Ged says quietly. She turns to stare at him instead. “Especially during wartime. A quick way of establishing succession when a monarch is—”

“Tenar’s not dead,” Lark snaps.

“And if she wakes again,” the guard starts. Lark glares at him, and he holds his hands up. “When she wakes again, she will resume power. But until then…”

He steps forward, then lowers himself to kneel in front of her. Lark shakes her head. Behind him, the rest of the guards lingering on the balcony follow suit, bowing their heads. Ged kneels, too, elbowing Arren in the thigh on the way down so he takes a knee, too.

“Queen Regent,” the guard says to her. “What would you have us do?”

#i regret nothingggg #tenlark #erathia #writing things #sweepy-stringbean #celebrity fake dating au #(not really but i want it in the tag anyway) #can you believe #just. like. any of this #because i can't #i wrote this instead of writing max and nancy scenes in the cfdau lmao #for a niche audience of like. maybe 7 on a good day #which is 7 more than i ever would've expected <3 <3 <3

[vulturevanity]

I know what you are

#my next life as a villainess #hamefura #currently reading through the Verge of Doom manga! #unsurprised to say I hate Geordo even more in this timeline #I haven't seen enough of this Keith to form an opinion of him #though I'm already far more compelled by the broken family dynamic here than by the Weirdness in their relationship in the main TL #and VoD!Mary is so far much more friendly with Katarina than her straight-up obsessed canon counterpart #WILD that VoD!Bakarina is so far shaping up to have far healthier relationships than canon!Bakarina despite unfortunate timing #not that I ever expected a reverse harem to depict healthy relationships at all #btw shout out to the author of the series “through tinted glass” on ao3. you get it #and also whoever wrote Zucchini Flowers. That fic basically fixed every issue I have with the polycule lmao #but I'm rambling #romance in chiaroscuro

[pencilofawesomeness]

Erza gripped the scepter hard enough to make her metal gloves creak. However, neither the hum of the magestone nor the act of using her strength to the fullest could placate her, and neither could it solve this matter.

“Jellal,” she said—slowly, carefully. Erza was positioned between him and the mirror, and she trusted her reflexes, but she still couldn’t help but to doubt her ability to stop him from escaping. Or, rather, from throwing his life away. “Let’s talk this through.”

Jellal chuckled dryly, without mirth. The bags under his eyes appeared darker in the light of the dorm courtyard. “There’s nothing to talk about. We both know that the Arcane Response Unit won’t be persuaded. I’m going.”

“The Headmage is speaking to them now. This is all just a misunderstanding. We’ll work this out.”

Erza absolutely hated not being able to do more. Her respect for the ARU and the role they played in this world absolutely did not diminish that this whole situation was bullshit and Jellal was being wrongly scapegoated. It was unjust and plain wrong. If Erza thought that marching up to the captain (a second time) and demanding this bogus investigation to be dropped would work, then she would have done it in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, even she knew that this could not be solved with violence—or with caving in. They had to stand their ground and play this right, and that meant keeping her dorm here while the Headmage worked her wits and magic. 

Surely, everyone else would see the reason she clearly saw—even when Jellal himself doubted it. 

Jellal was only eight when he came to the Queendom of Roses. Only eight when they met. He was a shy and awkward child, and he refused to talk about where he came from. That was alright though, because even Erza knew that it was sad. That was why he had been sent to Grandpa Rob. Erza had just been thrilled for another fae child to join Rob’s home for orphans, because it had meant that there was at least one other kid she could play with without fearing their fragility. 

He was her best friend, and he was a good man. Erza wouldn’t have made him her vice housewarden otherwise. Jellal helped people and he was kind and he was careful and conscious of those around him, and he sought peace and balance above all else. And people seriously thought Jellal, as a child no less, was somehow responsible for an attempt to overthrow the Kingdom of Heroes’ royal family. It was utterly absurd. 

It was even more absurd that Jellal was willing to accept it. 

“Erza, I have to go. I— I did do those things. I can’t continue to ignore it.”

He might have succeeded in making that declaration cold, but the crack in his voice belied his fear. Erza’s determination settled. She swore to protect the people of Heartslaybul, and to lead them down a victorious path. She would even protect them from themselves. 

“I am the Queen here,” she declared, throat tight. “My word is law. And I say you stay.”

Jellal shifted into a ready position—to fight, to flee. The movement alone cut her to her core. “Erza, I’m not who you think I am. I’m not worth it.”

Her heart cracked. She wondered if the Queen of Hearts ever felt this pain, her desire to protect her people a visceral and painful thing. Maybe that was why she sometimes appeared so violent in history—because she, too, swore to protect her loved ones from anything. 

The past few weeks she had had to watch Jellal suffer under this weight. She watched him try to convince her that he wasn’t who she knew he was. It hurt to even consider. It hurt worse that he thought so little of himself, and little of her for not believing that she would trust him. 

Erza would not be easily swayed. Not even by him. She reached into her Inventory and she grabbed a long, weighty lance. 

“You don’t get to decide that.”

Jellal lunged. His magic mastery was always an impressive thing, and he could boost his very movement. However, her reflexes were not to be trifled with either—and, she had planned for this. She knew him well, after all. 

“Now!” she shouted, and a flurry happened all at once. 

Erza employed Jellal’s own trick, hastening herself to meet his path and bodily block him with her lance. Behind her, several magic barriers were erected around the mirror, and Erza quickly added her own, for good measure. 

A vine wrapped around Jellal’s ankle, yanking him backwards and straight into Elfman’s bear-hold. 

The plan quickly fell apart though. With a potent burst of magic, Jellal ripped himself out of the hold. He levitated Elfman with ease and tossed him straight into Droy. 

“JELLAL!” 

Mirajane appeared in a fury, floating above him. Erza spotted the flash of guilt across his features right as the junior batted him downward with ice magic. 

“Stand down,” Erza ordered, a little desperate. 

But Jellal had his own share of determination, evident in the sweat gleaming on his too-pale face. “Don’t fight me on this.”

“Too late, man.” Jet, the only one arguably faster than Jellal thanks to his Unique Magic, swept Jellal off his feet right as he tried to get up. 

Mirajane met her eyes, and reluctantly, Erza nodded. 

“Soulbinder,” Mirajane chanted, and in seconds her UM manifested around Jellal, the dark tendrils physically rooting him to the ground and eating at his magic. It was a violent restraint, but it worked. Erza knew that any less Jellal would fight through. Not that he wasn’t making an attempt now. 

“Please,” she practically begged. “Don’t throw yourself away.”

Jellal tugged at the spell, a heaving breath making his exhaustion known. “You think I want to?” he whispered. 

In the silence that followed, the soft admission might as well have been a shout. 

“Do you think I want to go? To admit that any of that stuff happened? To— to accept the role I played?”

Erza swallowed. There was something dangerously shaky about his countenance. The strain in his voice was brittle, and her instincts whispered that something was about to snap. The air grew thick with that anticipation. “Jellal…”

“NO!” His shout was raw and hoarse, full of tears and anger and everything, that it startled Erza into silence. 

“I never wanted this! But I can’t change what happened. No amount of hoping and pretending will ever change it!”

The atmosphere shook. An ugly sort of magic began to fill the air. Erza realized it too late, when Jellal’s tears mixed with his sweat and turned black.

“It will never change that I was her pawn!”

#fairy tail x twisted wonderland #crossover au #jellal fernandes #erza scarlet #overblot #i lied to myself I wrote things #overblotters get little mini fics now they are special I guess #guys lemme tell you Jellal and Mystogan ran away with this story it is intense #i don't actually plan on writing more than random snippets but whoo boy #i would be tempted to do more #also designing phantoms is weird but fun #those manifestations of fear and expectations and being #this scenario definitely ends with a good cathartic breakdown from jellal #dude needs therapy #I'll find a better way to unload this backstory without spoiling my Greater Headcanons one day #until then ten guesses XD