#also I don't want to go pausing and writing what I think about a particular thing each time

[wings-of-ink]

Sorry to interrupt your writing or break, but I was wondering how do you write the whole "you do this," or "you see that" etc etc

Without it just being bland? I ask because you make it seem like we/the reader are really seeing or feeling it. But how do you do it without overusing you, your, etc? I hope this question makes sense, I wanted to know if you had like a rule of thumb you went by for it? Or practice/warmup for it? No problem if you can't answer

No worries, dear, you're good! Just the reaction asks are on pause for now, other questions are still good.

I'm honestly not sure how to exactly answer your question, because I don't know if I do anything special - at least consciously. Some of that may be more on the reader, like the "yous" and "your" kinda fade in the background. Your brain reads them but doesn't super focus on them, so they just blend in.

I read in a book about editing that when writing dialogue, it's often better to just say "they said," "they asked," or "they yelled" instead of stinging out the action for speech, which actually brings too much attention to the cue itself. The author explained that the mind just sort of glazes over those things, so the conversation feels more seamless. I try to do that, especially since there is lots of dialogue to go through. Maybe it's sort of like that?

The only thing I really try to keep in mind is imagining it frame by frame. Like, if I were the MC right now, what could I do or say, and what is a logical flow given the circumstances? I really like a "logical" feel to what's happening, and I want you as the reader to feel like you're really behind the MC's eyes.

I also prefer action to description, which probably keeps a reader in the flow of things. I am still trying to find a balance here since some things really do need to be fleshed out.

I also don't really do much practice or warm up, but I still try to write other things when I just need to set GC down for a bit. And I try to read a lot too when I'm a bit burnt out on writing, helps reset the old noggin.

I am probably not the best at analyzing my own writing and process, but that's all that comes to mind about that in particular. It's an excellent question though, and I'm happy that you feel that way about how I write. I'll have to think more consciously about it as I continue. ^_^

[kuoddo]

Today will be the day that I will muster up my courage and draw someth- oh hey look the final Sonic Prime episodes dropped!

[lis-likes-fics]

Perfection

Pairings: Spencer Reid x bau!adhd!Reader Word Count: 2.6k words Warnings: Mentions of rape, mentions of murder, dead body, crime scene, descriptions of gore, typical Criminals Minds stuff, character with ADHD, mentions of medication... A/N: This is a little more self-indulgent than I meant for it to be, but I do want to point out that this is some of my experience with ADHD, so I'm not just writing random stuff. It is slightly exaggerated, but I also say that about everything I do and it is pointed out that this is based off an off day.

The long alleyway makes for a nice crime scene, specifically because, despite the busy streets of this city, it's secluded and easy to overlook. It's not too small that the police team cannot fit, but it's small enough that you couldn't cram a really small building into the space. You don’t know how that’s relevant, but somehow it is.

The scene is relatively fresh, the latest of three that brought the BAU to the case. The police handling the scene had it cleared off for you, Spencer, and Derek to examine, via Hotch’s orders.

Spencer's watching you because he loves watching you, and because you're a little off today. There's something about the way you shuffle on your feet or the way you chew on the dead skin of your lip that he finds peculiar. To be fair, you're like this a lot, but today your symptoms are more obvious than usual.

Your eyes scan over the scene with a million different thoughts rushing through your head, less than fifty percent of them actually coherent and fit for conversation.

The three of you spitball ideas back and forth as you look at the man laying cold on the concrete. He's white, lean with light hair and a relatively thin frame. He's nothing like the other two victims, who's physical profiles were all over the place. The only thing they have in common with one another is a single occupation—male prostitution. While this and the first worked on the streets, the second’s job actually took place within a gay strip club a few blocks away from here.

He's got a starting blow to the back of the head, like the other two, and a number of bad bruising and heavy brutality to the rest with overkill to the chest, hands, and genitals. The message feels clear, but there's something a little off.

“Judging by the position of the body,” you speak, your hands restless, “and the way the weapon is discarded, I think our unsub snuck up on our victim in a blitz attack, hit him with the lead pipe, and ran that way.”

You don't point in any particular direction. Spencer glances up from his spot crouched next to the body. Your eyes are stuck on the bloody pipe several feet away from the body toward the secluded area around the back of the building that leads to more secluded walkways through more alleyways.

There is a long pause where they wait for you to explain, but you never do. Spencer thinks you look far off as he examines your face. Derek looks at you, his brow furrowed as he glances around. “Which way?”

“What?” you hum, looking up at him.

Derek elaborates, “Which way did the unsub go?”

It’s your turn to furrow your brow, turning the thin ring on your middle finger. “Did I say something about the unsub?”

Spencer stands, moving over to your side without spending too much time looking at your face. He doesn't want you to feel dumb or awkward, because he loves you and you're just a little forgetful sometimes.

“Yes,” he says in no particular way. “You said the unsub blitzed the victim and ran. Which way did he run?”

He achieves his goal, because you seem to make an “Oh, duh!” face before pointing in the direction of the street. “That way.”

He follows your finger, his brows knitting together. “That way toward the street?” He looks at the pipe, sitting in the exact opposite direction, like they ran and dropped it. “The pipe looks like he'd run the other way to avoid the street. Why do you think he ran toward?” It's a genuine question.

“To throw us off,” you shrug. “It's riskier to go toward the street, but it's also less suspicious than walking alone in the opposite direction where someone could see you and the victim and assume fault.”

He hums. You add on, speaking as quickly as Spencer usually does, “It also means he looks normal enough that he blends in with the crowd. Someone would see a strange figure coming out of a dark alley, no one would really notice a passerby turning a corner. And if this is a popular spot, it's too loud to hear anything going on all the way back here anyway, or no one thinks much of grunting noises when they do hear it.”

You trail off at the end, tight brows staring at the corpse. Derek shrugs, “But what was our victim doing all the way over here in the first pla–”

“There's something in his mouth,” you interrupt accidentally.

“What?”

You kneel down, taking the offered gloves from Spencer and putting them on. You open his mouth just a slight, spotting the white sticking out from under his tongue. Upon seeing it, both of the boys furrow their brows and tilt their heads. Spencer hands you some tweezers he'd borrowed from forensics for this reason.

Carefully, without disturbing the body as much as possible, you remove the strange object from under the tongue. It's a tiny slip of paper, folded up very small and still a little damp from saliva and any other bodily fluids it may have come in contact with. You unfold it.

“‘Unclean’,” Spencer reads from over your shoulder.

“That makes sense for the victimology mixed with the profile. He's a male prostitute,” Derek points out.

“Which explains the locale,” you say, rocking back and forth on your heels.

“What?”

“The locale,” you look up. “You asked why he was here. He must have been working, lured down here by the unsub, who waited for him to turn his back before he struck.”

Spencer agrees, taking a picture of the slip to send to Hotch. “He was killed at night. The streets are crowded, easy to slip into and not be seen. It's more risky to stray by yourself. What you said makes sense.”

You look up at him, standing to your full height again. “What did I say?” There you go again.

Morgan speaks up, “What you said about him runnin’ toward the street.”

Confusion passes your mind momentarily. “He ran toward the street.” You don't say it like a question, you say it like you're trying to back yourself up on it.

“That's what you said,” he insists.

You remember thinking that, but you don't remember saying that out loud.

Spencer swoops in like your hero, brushing his knuckles against the side of your arm. “Remember? You said,” he licks his lips, “ ‘it's riskier to go toward the street, but it's also less suspicious than walking alone in the opposite direction where someone could see you and the victim and assume fault.’ ”

You nod, remembering his word-by-word recitation as you watch him. “Yeah. I did say that.” You flag down one of the forensics workers to bag the evidence. She does so, taking your contaminated gloves with her as she leaves. You squirt a hefty amount of hand sanitizer on your hands from its place on your belt loop. “This is the first victim who's been left behind with a note, right?”

“Yes, autopsy results found nothing like this on the other victims.”

“If the victim was working when he was attacked, it’s possible that, paired with the brutality of the assault and the note left behind, our unsub may be experiencing some kind of internalized homophobia.” You trail off at the end.

Derek shrugs, looking down at the body. “There’s no evidence of sexual assault. Not on the other victims, at least.”

“How old do you think this building is?”

Spencer looks at you, your eyes scanning the wall of one of the buildings you’re between. Your bottom lip is pulled between your teeth, picking at the dead skin again. He thinks you’re cute.

“Focus, honeybun,” Derek reminds you, pulling your attention again.

“Sorry.”

“Judging by the faded color and uneven edges of the brick, and the decay in the mortar,” Spencer says, “I’d say this building is at least 50 years old. Well kept at one point and then let go not long after its production.”

You nod along slowly, taking in the information with a hum. “That’s cool…” Now that that’s out of your mind, you think for a moment. What were you saying again? Spencer watches your eyes light up. “Oh!” You turn to Derek. “He’s obviously confrontational, but he may still be very insecure in his ability and, thus, have to make up for his pent up energy with an excess of violence. Homophobia would explain the obliteration of the chest, hands, and especially the genitalia.”

Derek raises a brow. “What?”

“You asked about sexual assault,” you shrug. “If he continues to escalate above the note, we may see these words carved into the skin as a substitute for sexual violence, or even just blatant rape activity.”

Derek thinks about that, considering your analysis with a nodding head. He sighs and hums, “Alright, I’ll talk to Hotch.” He begins to turn away, grabbing his phone.

Spencer thinks you may have gotten distracted again because you ask, “Did I do something wrong?”

Derek looks back at you, shaking his head and flashing you one of his charming smiles. “No, honeybun, you’re perfect.”

“Oh.”

He leaves to take that call. You start to walk after him and Spencer gently takes your hand. You turn to face him, confused at first but giving him a sweet smile only a second later. “Are you okay?” he asks gently, his voice soft.

You tilt your head, “What do you mean?”

Spencer shrugs, taking your other hand just to rub his thumbs over your knuckles. “You’re hyper today, a little more distracted.”

As if proving his point, you begin shifting back and forth on your feet, shrugging and then shaking your head at the same time. “I’m okay,” you assure him, squeezing his hands gently. “I haven’t taken my medication in a couple days.”

He furrows his brow, suddenly a little worried. “Why not?”

“Didn’t feel like it. Also, I forgot it.” That makes sense. Spencer makes a mental note to remind you to take them as soon as you get back home. “But I’m okay, prommy.”

He smiles. “Prommy?”

“Promise,” you clarify, letting both your hands down so you can swing his from side to side. He lets you.

“I know what you mean,” he says. Though he knows he should probably be more professional because you’re both in public and leaving a crime scene (and Hotch might reprimand the both of you for it if he saw) he raises a hand to cradle your cheek because he doesn’t care. He just wants you to feel safe and loved. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nod definitely. “I’m good.”

“Okay,” The way he says it is soft, as soft as a kiss to your forehead or a brush of his knuckles on your skin. “You know, I love you, right?”

You nod, smiling at him like he’s the world—because he is. “Yeah. I love you, too, honey.” You kiss his cheek quickly and pat it. You probably shouldn’t have done it right then, but you did, and you don’t regret it for even a moment.

Spencer’s just happy you know he loves you. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s go before Morgan leaves us.” He takes your hand as you both begin walking. He swings your joined hands, just as he knows you like it.

“He wouldn’t leave me,” you shake your head. “He likes me too much.”

Spencer chuckles. “Everyone likes you.”

“Not everyone.”

He looks at you, furrowing his brow. “Who doesn’t like you?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. And then immediately after, “Why does the sun look yellow? Isn’t it supposed to be white or something? I heard that somewhere.”

Spencer is happy to answer your questions as he opens the car door for you. Derek is already sitting in the front, his hands on the wheel. The passenger’s seat is empty, but Spencer sits in the back with you. You both speak gently so you’re not disturbing Derek. “The Earth’s atmosphere scatters blue light more efficiently than red light, so the slight deficit in blue light means the eye perceives the color of the sun as yellow. But, yes, the sun is actually white.”

“That’s cool,” you mumble. “I think sharks would look cool as hell with piercings. Do you?”

“I do,” Spencer chuckles. In the front seat, Derek shakes his head and smiles to himself, amused by your conversation.

“Did you know that sharks don’t have bones, so when they die, the saltwater dissolves their bodies so the only thing that’s left is their teeth?” You begin ranting, absent-mindedly picking at dirty under your nails. “And also, their bodies are primarily made of cartilage and connective tissue. It’s lighter than bone and keeps them flamboyant. Also, their skin has a similar feel to sandpaper.”

When you ramble, you sound like Spencer. You spend so much time with him and endorse his info dumps so much that you take on his speech style when you go on info dumps of your own. Spencer loves this because he knows that people tend to mimic the people they love as a sign of affection, and you mimic him a lot more than you think.

He also knew about all your shark facts, but he’s happy to listen. He smiles, “Is that what you were doing up late last night?”

You smile a little, turning away from him. “I got distracted.”

“What’s your thought process behind getting from the sun to sharks?” he wonders. “I’m curious.”

You shrug. “Well, you said your thing and I said it was cool. And then I remembered a post I saw that sharks would be cool with piercings. Then I remembered my shark things.” You glance down at your fingers, bringing them to your lips as you notice a tiny part at the very edge of the nail where it would probably tear off. “I just think sharks are cool,” you mumble around your finger.

“They are cool,” he says. He doesn’t want you to accidentally hurt yourself so he adds on, “Will you hold my hand? It’s a little cold.”

You look down at them, “Yeah.” With a nod, you take his hand between both of yours and let them warm his back up. They’re a bit chilly but they don’t feel that cold to you. You hold them anyway, because you love holding his hand. You intertwine your fingers with his and then cover what’s left.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says. He thinks for a moment. “Did you eat today?”

You nod, still watching his hand as you turn it to look at his palm. You gently trace the lines of it, forgetting for the moment that he’d wanted you to warm his hand up for him. But, as usual, he doesn’t mind. “I had a cereal bar this morning. One of those Coco Puff ones. They’re like Rice Krispy Treats.” He doesn’t think that’s sustainable. “And, before you ask, I did have water.”

He smiles. “I know. I told you to drink some before we left. You hungry?”

You shake your head, “Not really.”

“You want a snack?” he compromises, hoping—and knowing—you’ll say yes.

“Yes, please.”

“Okay,” he hums. “We’ll grab one on the way back.” Derek nods gently, remembering to do just that. It will only take a moment.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Spencer says, his voice lowering to a whisper. He knows Derek can still hear him, but he always just wants to whisper to you.

You look up at him, “For what?”

“Being so perfect.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes but ultimately smiling at the warmth in your chest. “You’re so cheesy, Spencer Reid.”

He’ll gladly be cheesy for you.

Criminal Minds taglist: @queermaxwooo @mdanon027 @lilianhallee @hpstuff244444 @thegr8estpuff @niktwazny303 @bubbles2300 Tag yourself here...

[benispunk]

Good Company

logan howlett x reader

hello!!! guess who's back with a new story...I'm actually a bit nervous about it because I haven't (fully) written a reader insert fic in so long and I don't even know if it's a good depiction of the characters😭 anyway keep in mind that it was hard to write that, English is not my first language, and that I also want to write more, but I'm kind of shy around here. Okay enough about me. Enjoy!!

Wade worries that he’s seriously messed up with Logan, thinking he’s done something so bad that Logan might actually want to destroy him. Unsure of what went wrong, he turns to Y/n, Logan’s girlfriend, for advice.

TW: language, and Wade Wilson I guess.

Masterlist

Y/n was enjoying a quiet evening at her apartment, curled up on her couch with a book, when she heard loud knocks on the door. It was so insistent that she couldn’t help but roll her eyes, already suspecting who it was.

She opened the door to find Wade standing there, with a pizza box in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other.

« Wade? » She raised an eyebrow. « What are you doing here? »

The man in question grinned brightly, shoving the pizza box toward her face as if it were an offering from a royal subject. « Surprise! I come in peace with gifts, for you, your majesty. I know, I know, you’re probably thinking ‘why is my most handsome friend standing at my door on this particular Friday evening, when I could be enjoying some alone time’- but here’s the thing, I was in the neighborhood, and I needed an excuse to come and see you, sunshine. »

Y/n’s skepticism deepened, her eyebrow arching even higher. « You were in the neighborhood? »

He shrugged, unbothered by the disbelief in her voice. « Fine, I was bored and I needed to see you and get away from the apartment. »

She frowned slightly, trying to figure out if there was more to this visit than he was letting on. « Alright, Wade. Come on in. »

Wade didn’t need a second invitation. He strolled into the apartment, setting the pizza and beer on the coffee table before flopping down on the couch with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times before. Y/n followed, sitting beside him, her curiosity piqued.

« Okay, spill it. What’s going on? » Y/n asked, tilting her head as she studied him.

Wade cracked open a beer, took a long sip, and then let out a dramatic sigh. « First, I did really miss you and I’m so happy to see you »

Y/n softened at that, a small smile playing on her lips. « I’m happy to see you too, Wade. But what is it? »

« Second… » Wade’s usual bravado faltered slightly as he searched for the right words. « You know how Logan’s got that permanent scowl like he’s auditioning for ‘Grumpiest Man Alive’? Lately, though, it feels like he’s been directing all that grumpiness at me. I’m used to him being grumpy—kind of comes with the territory—but now it’s like he’s gone from ‘mildly annoyed’ to ‘seriously, get out of my sight.’ »

He paused, looking down at the beer in his hand, his fingers fidgeting with the label. « And I know I’m an asshole and I annoy him every single minute of his life- like a sugar rush and a headache all rolled into one- but he’s been kind of on the verge of trashing down the place all because of one stupid joke. So I’ve been trying, or at least I think so, to be less…the annoying bitch that I am, but I feel like he’s getting worse with me? I’m trying to laugh it off, but honestly, it’s kind of eating at me, Y/n. You’re pretty much the Logan-whisperer—got any insights? »

Y/n’s expression softened at Wade’s revelation. She reached over and squeezed his arm gently. « Logan’s got a lot on his mind and, as you may know, he doesn’t know how to deal with that. And I think that, because he doesn't know how to express all of those things, and the fact that it takes a lot for him to open up, he might be pushing you away. He did the same thing with me at the beginning of our relationship. It was fuckin’ hard to deal with but I couldn’t let him do that. »

« Yeah, but your his girl. It's different. What if he decides he’s done with me? I mean, who else is gonna put up with my charming personality and endless movie references? » Wade’s attempt at humor fell flat, his unease still evident. 

She chuckled softly, shaking her head.

« Sorry, I just- It’s just that I- ugh. Do I need to pay you at the end of this therapy session, counselor? »

« Go on, Wade. » Y/n urged, her tone gentle but firm.

He sighed, leaning back against the couch. « He’s my buddy. I don’t want to lose him. And I especially don’t want to be the reason he’s leaving me. I would rather have you telling him to stop being friends with me. If he even considers me as a friend…»

Y/n cut him off, her voice firm. « Of course, he does! You’re his friend, Wade. Probably one of the best at that. Never doubt that, trust me. And I’m sorry he has you feeling that way. Those walls he put up around himself, it’s not for his own safety, he truly believes that he’s a danger for others. Whatever he does to you, it’s because he cares too much about you to be a burden in your life. He’s a fucking idiot for that, yes. It hurts even more to know that, yes. And I’m certainly not trying to defend him, but you should know that I had to work hard to break those damn walls. »

Wade stared at her, a mixture of hope and disbelief in his eyes. « You know, for someone who spends so much time with a guy who barely talks, you’re pretty good at this whole talking thing. »

She smiled, her heart warming at the sight of Wade starting to relax. « Takes a lot of practice. »

As they settled into their usual banter, Wade felt a little lighter, knowing that Y/n understood his concerns and had reassured him. Logan might be tough to figure out, but with Y/n in the picture, Wade felt like maybe things would be okay.

He grinned, the familiar mischief returning to his eyes. « I’ll fight for our man »

Y/n laughed, shaking her head in amusement. « You’re ridiculous. »

Wade took another sip of his beer, his grin widening. « Yeah, but you love me for it. »

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the fond smile that tugged at her lips. « Yeah, I guess I do. »

___

Logan found himself standing outside Y/n’s apartment door, hesitating. He could hear muffled sounds of laughter from inside, recognizing Wade’s loud one. With a heavy sigh, he pushed the door open.

Inside, Y/n and Wade were on the couch, a pizza box and empty beer bottles cluttered on the coffee table. Wade was in the middle of an animated story, and Y/n was smiling at him. The sight made his chest tighten. He’d been so wrapped up in his own head lately that he hadn’t even noticed how much he was distancing himself from all of this. 

Wade spotted him first, grinning from ear to ear. « Hey, Logan. Decided to join the party after all? »

Logan grunted, closing the door a little harsher than he intended, making Y/n jumped at the sound. « Didn’t expect to find you here. »

Y/n smile faded slightly, sensing the tension in the room. She moved on the couch, making space for Logan beside her. « We were just hanging out, figured you might want to join us » she said.

Logan hesitated, his eyes lingering on Wade for a moment before he finally sat down. The silence that followed was thick, the easy banter from earlier replaced by a heavy, unspoken tension. Y/n could feel Logan’s frustration radiating off him, and Wade’s nervous energy was practically palpable.

« So… » Wade started, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence. « You, uh, missed some prime pizza. And I even saved you a slice. It’s in the kitchen, waiting for you, like a good little slice of heaven. »

Logan just grunted again, staring at the coffee table instead of acknowledging the gesture. Y/n felt the tension mounting and knew she had to do something before things got worse.

She gently nudged Logan with her elbow, giving him a small, encouraging smile. « Maybe you should eat something. Might help you feel better. »

Logan glanced at her, his hard exterior softening just a bit under her gaze. But before he could respond, Wade cleared his throat, drawing both of their attention back to him.

« Listen, Logan, » Wade began, his usual bravado faltering as he tried to sound casual. « I know I’m not exactly Mr. Sensitivity, but…have I done something to piss you off more than usual? You’ve been, uh, a little more…murderous lately, and I’m starting to think it’s not just my charming personality. »

Logan frowned. « What are you talking about? You’re always fucking annoying, bub. »

Wade forced a laugh, but there was an edge of vulnerability in his voice that Logan couldn’t ignore. « Yeah, I know, but it feels like I’m more of a target than usual. Like, did I cross some line? Or is it just me being my usual, lovable self? »

Y/n squeezed Logan’s hand gently, trying to ground him.

He looked at her, his frustration battling with the guilt that was slowly taking over. Admitting that something was wrong was never easy for him. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly conflicted.

« It’s not…It’s not you, Wade, » Logan finally muttered, though his tone was still gruff. « I’ve got a lot of stuff on my mind and, uh, I guess I’ve been taking it out on you. »

Wade’s expression shifted, a mixture of relief and concern. « Okay, so…what’s on your mind, then? Maybe I can help. Or, at least, I can try to stop doing whatever it is that’s making you want to claw my face off. »

Logan didn’t answer right away, his eyes darting between Wade and Y/n. He could see the worry in her eyes, the way she was trying to keep the peace between them. It only made him feel worse. He wasn’t used to people caring so much, and it unsettled him.

« It’s nothing you can help with, » Logan said after a long pause, his voice softer now. « Just…shit I’m dealing with. Doesn’t mean I hate you, Wade. Just means I’m not great at dealing with stuff. Also, you’re still a pain in the ass. »

Wade nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. « Okay, I can get that. I appreciate it. But, you know, I’m not exactly great at feelings and all that, but I’m here if you need to… I don’t know, punch something or whatever. »

Logan managed a small smile at that, finally meeting Wade’s gaze. « Yeah, I know that. Thanks. »

Wade grinned, his usual energy starting to return. “Well, now that we’ve had our little therapy session, how about we crack open another beer and watch a good movie? It’s like the ultimate bonding experience. And what’s the best thing for that? A fucking musical.”

Logan’s expression immediately soured. « You’ve got to be kidding me. »

Wade’s grin only grew. « Oh yeah, peanut! »

Y/n laughed, her eyes twinkling with excitement as Logan let out an exaggerated groan, his shoulders slumping as he reluctantly gave in.

Wade chuckled and patted Logan on the back. « Let’s fucking go. »

As they settled onto the couch, Logan couldn’t help but shake his head in amusement. Despite his grumbling, there was a genuine warmth in his eyes as he looked at Y/n and Wade. He found himself laughing at Wade’s over-the-top dance moves and Y/n’s infectious joy.

Logan glanced at his girlfriend, who was practically glowing with happiness as she sang along to the movie’s songs. It was clear he was enjoying himself, even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud.

___

Later that night, after Wade had left and they were alone again, Logan stayed behind at Y/n’s apartment. He was still living with Wade but coming back home after tonight wasn’t the best idea. He needed the calm he found in Y/n’s home. They sat together on the couch, the remnants of their evening scattered around them.

« You know, you handled that pretty well. » she said softly.

Logan let out a long breath, leaning back against the couch. « Yeah, well, didn’t feel like it at the time. »

« But you did, and that’s what matters. » she insisted, turning to look at him.

He looked down at her, his gaze softening as he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. « I don’t know what I’d do without you. »

She smiled, leaning into his touch. « Lucky for you, you won’t have to find out. »

Logan pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on top of her head. For the first time in a while, he felt like things were starting to make sense again.

He tilted his head slightly, brushing his lips against the top of her head. She lifted her head up, catching his gaze, her eyes reflecting a mixture of affection and relief. Logan's eyes softened as he looked at her, the weight of the past few days seeming to lift.

He leaned in, pressing his lips against hers, soft and slow, as if she was made of glass. The most precious thing in his heart. Y/n's hands found their way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer as she deepened the kiss.

When they finally pulled back, their foreheads rested together, both of them breathing a little heavier.

Logan searched her eyes, his voice soft and sincere, a contrast to his usual gruff. « I love you. »

Y/n’s lips curled up. « I love you too, Lo. »

For the first time in a while, he felt a deep sense of peace. And as they sat there, surrounded by the soft glow of the apartment, he knew that, no matter what challenges lay ahead, they’d be okay. They’ll always find a way.

xx

Thank you for reading <3

[bibliophilesince2003]

Oplita Oneshot

This is based off of Transformers One. I've been itching to write something wholesome, and I absolutely adore Optimus and Elita as a couple. Normally, I put my writing on Wattpad. Then again, those are usually full-length stories. It just made sense to do this particular oneshot here. Perhaps I'll do more oneshots of my favorite fandoms in the future.

So, yeah, this is for my fellow die-hard Oplita fans.

Also... this takes place after the ending of Transformers One, maybe a few months or so after the ending. Sorry, I'm not sure what a month is in cybertronian terms; Google was unhelpful. If you have not seen Transformers One in its entirety, this one shot may not be as impactful as it could be.

-

Optimus ducked as he walked past the door frame, mumbling to himself. His eyes were glued to the data disks in his hands; he had grabbed far too many. A few dropped to the ground. He bent to pick them up, but only lost more in the process. Optimus shook his head and resorted to sitting on the ground, spreading out the data. Now he could read them better, though some of the works and markings were faded and illegible. He grunted, his legs getting in the way. Being taller and bulkier had its advantages in battle, but he couldn't exactly crawl through vents like he used to. Bee had joked that perhaps the Matrix of Leadership had a "switch" for shrinking, but Elita said that size didn't matter. Then, she promptly added, stupidity was sure to remain.

He was glad he didn't intimidate her, even after becoming a prime. Her suggestion to "adapt" to sudden change was both firm and helpful, though harsh. Now, it settled deep in his spark, and he began to overthink. What if he didn't adapt? Would she think less of him?

A memory flashed through his mind, eliminating his worries about Eilta. He may have been dying, but he remembered catching a glimpse of Elita leaning towards the edge of the well when he fell. It was both shocking and endearing, but he was glad Bee yanked her back. It warmed his heart before pain overtook it, pain so great that it rendered him unconscious. He hadn't mentioned it to her, and he didn't think he ever would. It would be a secret to hold on to, at least for the time being.

Optimus was so engrossed in his work he didn't hear the automatic doors open. When footfalls finally reached his ears, Optimus scrambled and gathered up the data disks to the best of his ability. Elita and a few of her soldiers in training turned the corner and walked down the hall. Elita put her hands on her hips.

"And here is our leader, on the ground and sorting through old data disks like a desperate scavenger. Don't worry; he's tougher than he looks."

"That's reassuring," said one of the trainees; a pink and white female cybertronian.

Optimus cleared his throat, gave a lop-sided grin, and backed up. He dumped the data disks on a table and apologized, though it was mostly for Elita's sake. When he returned to the group, Elita gave him an amused look, but waved a hand in front of the trainees.

"This is Arcee, Smoke, and Cliffjumper. It's part of their training to visit the archives. A tactical warrior is just as powerful as a physically strong one."

"Wheeljack was part of your training program, wasn't he?" Optimus asked.

Elita rolled her eyes, and Cliffjumper answered for her, holding back a laugh. "He got bored."

"He joked about starting his own group; a group that didn't mind going the extreme," Smoke said.

He paused, then added to his statement. "Maybe it wasn't a joke."

"It definitely wasn't a joke," Arcee said.

"I'll have a talk with him later," Elita said, and Optimus nodded.

He stared at the wall just above their heads, lost in thought. Elita straightened.

"You ok?" she asked.

"What?" Optimus snapped out of it. "Oh, I'm fine."

Elita turned to address her trainees. "Meal break. Get your energon and look over some of the data this place has to offer that you think will benefit you. I want you at the station in a couple of hours; no sooner, no later. Got it?"

They nodded and obeyed; heading down the hall and turning the corner. Silence fell as their chattering grew distant.

"I said I was fine," Optimus said, attempting a laugh.

It sounded hollow.

"What's wrong, Pax?"

Optimus' shoulders dropped in surrender. When she called him that, he always felt inclined to answer, as if he were a miner under her command again. "Pax" or "Orion" would only come from her, though, and she never used it in front of others. He was to be Optimus Prime to everyone else; a title that carried authority and a great deal of weight. All cybertronian citizens were aware that their life could never be the same; many were expected to train. Really, he wasn't the only one experiencing change.

"I don't know if I can do this," Optimus blurted, clenching his fists.

"You're going to have to be more specific," Elita said.

"I'm a prime, but I've never led. I'm expected to fight in a war that hasn't begun but haunts the future. I think we both know Megatron will be back; he will want to take my place. Maybe he should."

Elita sighed and took Optimus' hand. "Come on."

Dazed, Optimus nodded. They walked down the hall and through various rooms. Neither of them let go, fingers tightly intertwined.

"Find a place where we can talk, Pax. I haven't broken in here like you have."

"Commander's orders," Optimus said, picking up the pace.

They entered a dimly lit, musky room. Elita coughed, letting go of Optimus' hand to wave her hand in front of her face. "Couldn't you have picked a better place?"

"The worst places are often the best places," Optimus said.

"Is this vagueness going to be regular thing, now? I hate it."

Optimus braced his back against a shelving unit, though it didn't contain very many data disks. With a grunt he gave a few hard shoves, and the shelving unit moved to reveal a broken door that led to a precarious platform overlooking Iacon.

"Is this how you would get in?" Elita asked, coming closer to observe.

"No; there were more dangerous entry points with small ventilation systems. I got stuck for a full twenty minutes, once."

"And to think... if you had just stayed there, we could have avoided all this chaos."

"What... and have Cybertron miss this charm?" Optimus motioned to himself.

Elita rolled her eyes, but Optimus caught a small smile. He backed up, letting her go first, and Elita stepped onto the platform and approached the edge. She leaned forward, and Optimus sucked in an inward breath, squeezing past the door frame. She sat at the edge, legs dangling. As soon as Optimus sat beside her, she spoke.

"You won't know how to lead."

Great. Another one of her "encouraging" pep talks. Elita turned her head and waited until Optimus locked eyes with her.

"What I mean is... leading can never be mastered," Elita said. "So, you need to act like you have it all figured out. Voice your fears with the ones you trust, but don't put them on public display. You're right; Megatron is out there somewhere, plotting your demise."

"I don't like the thought of preparing citizens for war," Optimus said.

"It has to be done. The few already capable fighters we have don't stand a chance."

"I know."

"We have to win," Elita said.

Silence fell. They could both agree on that. Elita put a hand on his shoulder.

"You are nothing like Megatron."

"I... try to envision him as he was. He was my greatest friend, Elita. And yet, anyone is capable of betrayal."

"You may doubt yourself, but I would never betray you. Even when I seemed your enemy, yelled at you, and -"

"Punched me in the face?" Optimus offered.

"Yes, even then, I never hated you. You were just... too ambitious and eager for my taste."

"Interesting," Optimus said, looking upwards in thought.

Elita laughed and knocked him in the shoulder, and Optimus gasped dramatically and fell, rolling closer to the edge of the platform.

"I thought you would stop punching me," Optimus groaned, finally sitting up when Elita's eyes widened, no doubt worried he might fall, or perhaps having PTSD of when he had, in fact, fallen.

"Oh, come on! That wasn't a punch," Elita said.

Optimus laughed and stood up, offering a hand. Elita took it, and he helped her up.

"What were you doing rifling through the data disks, anyway?"

"I'm trying to find what remains of Alpha Trion's wisdom. The Matrix of Leadership offers many surprises, but I'm without a mentor. I wish he were here."

"You have everything and everyone you need," Elita said.

Optimus dipped his head, and Elita placed her hands on either side of his face, lifting it back up. "I expect you to be on the training grounds this afternoon. Maybe you can convince Wheeljack to join the group."

"Would they listen to me?"

"You have an axe for a hand. How could they not?"

Optimus laughed, and Elita lowered her hands, nodding in satisfaction.

"Thanks, Elita."

"Any time, Pax."

[captain-mj]

GhostGaz but like, okay listen

when fics/art do the thing where one is naked and the other is in a suit and tie, I go rabid. Especially when the one dressed up keeps their clothes on when they fuck

Not raunchy, but still :3

Went to twitter and searched this ship up like I do with all ships I'm writing for the first time right? And... wow almost everything was poly141 stuff and not like... actual GhostGaz?? I'd be happy to feed the starving masses

Ghost hated dressed up. It was dumb and he only did it when Price forced him to. Despite all of his protesting for this particular event, he still had to wear it.

Obviously the mask was still on, but he had a suit and tie on. Signature black with a red shirt instead of white. He ran his naked fingers along the fabric to straighten it.

Someone knocked on his door to alert him that he needed to get moving and he gritted his teeth, trying not to curse. He was frustrated, but not quite angry enough to take it out on the random person Price sent to pass along the message. "I'll be right out."

There was no real response but Ghost could see a shadow at his door, so whoever it was, they were lingering. He opened the door to see Sergeant Garrick looking up at him.

Gaz was at just the right height that he had to tilt his head to look at. He looked startled that Ghost had opened the door so suddenly and blinked a bit like an owl at him.

"Sergeant."

"You look good in that suit, sir." Gaz said it plainly and simply. Like it was no big deal.

Ghost felt a bit of heat in his face, but he ignored it. "Thank you, Garrick. Now move."

That should've been it. He expected that to be all there was to it at the very least.

But throughout the entire... party? It was basically a meet up for a few higher ups who usually brought their spouses (and on one horrible occasion, a mistress which Ghost immediately reported to his wife) to talk. A glorified military ball in his opinion.

Anyway, Gaz stared. A lot. He wasn't shy about it. His eyes wandering up and down his body in a way that was horribly objectifying.

Normally, Ghost wring anyone's neck who did that and maybe throw in some threats to put him in the infirmary if he didn't stop staring. But this was Kyle. And Ghost always found it hard to stay mad at him. Never could quite put his finger on it, but most people had that problem.

Ghost eventually just stared back, even letting his eyes wander.

Kyle Gaz Garrick was a pretty man. No doubt about that. He had a beautiful smile, long eyelashes, and could be cold, even vicious if the situation called for it. Also, the long legs he had? The hips? Now that Ghost was really looking, he could pretty easily imagine picking him up and setting him on the counter. Finding out if his skin bruised easy like a peach or if he'd have to work at it.

Ghost regained eye contact and Gaz grinned. Those fangs of his exposed.

"Captain. Have I been here long enough?"

Price smiled at him. "Yeah, you can go ahead and head out."

Gaz flashed a more persuasive smile. "Me too, sir?"

"Sure, Kyle." Price smiled at him and then patted Simon on his shoulder.

Ghost kept a steady pace and sure enough, Gaz was right next to him. "I think you look good in that suit too, Kyle."

"Thank you, Ghost."

"Do you look better out of it?"

Gaz stumbled and used Ghost's arm to steady himself. Ghost wasn't sure how real that was, but it was convincing enough. "Want to find out, sir?"

"You can call me Simon." Ghost yanked him along. "My bedroom."

He didn't miss the victorious little grin Gaz got at that. "Will you keep the suit on?"

"I was planning on it, trust me."

They stumbled into the room and Gaz grabbed the edge of his mask. He paused and looked at him. "Just want to kiss you. Don't have to go further."

"Take it off, Kyle."

Gaz didn't hesitate. Before the mask even hit the floor, Gaz was kissing him breathless. He nibbled on his lips and pressed against his chest.

Ghost did what he thought of in the ballroom. He picked him up, marveling a little at how easy it was to do. He set him on the dresser and started to get rid of his suit.

Gaz was a work of art. Even with his shirt only unbuttoned. Toned, warm skin. Unlike Ghost, he hadn't had a chance to get a bunch of scars yet, but there were a few. A bullet graze here. Small cut there. His mouth quickly found them, licking over them and marking over them. He fought to get the shirt off his shoulders so he could get to more.

“Fucking hell, Simon. I won’t run away.”

“Better not. I’d just chase you down.”

Gaz groaned. “Hot. I think i could get away from you.”

Ghost huffed at him. “Like to see you try.” He bit into the soft flesh of his shoulder, enjoying the softness. Gaz’s pressed his thigh against Ghost’s reaction and he rutted against him immediately.

Ghost pulled off Gaz's pants and grabbed his thighs. Thick and soft, perfect for him to sink his fingers into. He picked Gaz back up and carried him to bed this time.

Gaz laid down on his bed, looking absolutely beautiful in his sheets. His hard cock sat on his stomach and leaked precum all over abs. Ghost grabbed some lube and coated two of his fingers. "You still okay with this?"

Gaz grinned, all sharp and pretty. "Yes, Simon. I am. I'll tell you if you need to stop, okay?" He reassured him, currently running his ankle over Ghost's still clothed side. "Fuck you look good in a suit."

Ghost blushed and Gaz immediately noticed, looking suddenly more smug than before. "You're hot usually. Very commanding. But something about the suit being added..." He bit his lip and Ghost plunged his fingers in to him to shut him up before he said something stupid.

Ghost was never much of a talker and this was no different. Instead, he listened to all the little noises he let out, relished each gasp and moan and whine. His mouth found his nipple and he licked over, enjoying how it made him squirm. His fingers moved almost robotically. Plunging in and out. In and out. Staying the exact same pace as they worked incredibly tight walls open.

His cock was straining against his suit pants now as he pushed in deeper. He eventually pushed a third finger in, reveling in the sweet stretch and the even sweeter whimper it got.

Gaz panted softly. "Alright, you've done your job now get to the main event."

"Don't want to accidentally hurt you."

"i'm a big boy, I'll be fine." Gaz reached down and unzipped his pants, eagerly pulling out his cock. "I see you're a big boy too."

Ghost scoffed at him and pushed him back down. He pulled him to the edge of the bed and lined himself up with one hand and kept a tight hold of Gaz's ankle with the other. Despite Gaz's teasing, he took it slow. He was so tight. Soft and inviting, but he had to work for it.

Gaz bit his lip hard and tried to wrap his legs around his waist. "Simon." He raised his hips to make it a little easier.

Ghost bottomed out and he wasn't sure he ever wanted to pull out. Gaz clenched around him erratically as he tried to get used to how much he was being stretched and it was doing something to his brain chemistry. Scrambling something fundamental until the only thing he could think of was how good this felt.

How was he going to survive meetings with him? Hearing him speak? The entire time knowing he was the best fuck he had ever had and they had barely gotten started.

After a moment, Ghost rolled his hips nice and easy. Gaz's eyes rolled back and he realized he was pressed right against his prostate. He took advantage, pulling out just a little and thrusting back in hard, getting a proper moan out of Gaz.

"I'm going to ruin you, Garrick." Ghost promised before starting to pound into him. He probably should've waited a little longer, made sure that Gaz was adjusted, but Gaz clawed at his shoulders and begged for him to keep going so it couldn't be that bad of a decision. His blunt nails couldn't get through the fabric but it felt good to feel how desperate he made him.

They kissed again and he bent Gaz almost in half, pushing him until he thought it would hurt but Gaz didn't seem bothered at all. He clenched with every thrust, begging Ghost to be as rough as he wanted.

Ghost bit his throat hard. He tasted blood for a moment.

Gaz's begging changed. "I'm going to come, fuck, so close." He clawed at his back, only succeeding in yanking his shirt up.

Ghost lifted up and kissed him again. Gaz bit Ghost's lip when he came and his legs went from simply wrapped around him to being a death grip, pushing him deeper inside. Ghost finished only moments after he did, panting softly.

Gaz kissed his cheek. "Is the suit yours?"

"Yeah."

"Ask me over any time you feel like trying it on."

[sebastianswallows]

Hello! Could I offer you a prompt? I often see fics about Ominis experiencing sight for the first time, but how about Slytherin!MC being the one afflicted with a temporary blindness, and now having to rely on Ominis for guidance, 'seeing' the world from his perspective? Maybe as a result of some unruly student's potion experiment? Thank you for your time and work!

Hello, nonny!

Thank you so much for an Ominis prompt! I love to write about this sweetest boy. And sorry this took so long, my dear 💚

Oh my though, I guess I don't read fics with him often enough, because I haven't noticed that many where he experiences sight. Not sure how I'd feel about those, because it... takes away from his character, sort of. I don't know.

Anyway! I have a fluffy little fic for you 😘 Hope you enjoy it!

I wrote it that it was all Garreth's fault, because of course.

— PAIRING: Ominis Gaunt x F!MC

— WARNINGS: none

— WORDCOUNT: 3.8k

She cursed Garreth all the way to the Hospital Wing. The classroom was left in deathly silence after the Gryffindoor’s latest experiment had literally exploded in her face. Professor Sharp seemed… worried, but not very shocked. Clearly, things like that had happened before — especially since Garreth had started studying at Hogwarts. For his part, the boy seemed horribly contrite, or so he sounded as he fretted over her. She suspected at least half of his regret was due to the inevitably harsh detention he had to look forward to — perhaps something even worse, if the damage to her eyes proved permanent.

As she made her way through the castle, leaning on Sebastian and Natty — who both insisted to go with her, the sweethearts — she could think of nothing else. She couldn’t see anything. The last thing she had seen was Garreth’s smouldering cauldron where he was pointing out the way a particular piece of snail shell was melting, and then a great big flash of green, then blackness. She had thought for a moment that she’d fainted, but then she realised her eyes were open. By the time they reached the Nurse, her heart was still pounding at such a frantic rate she thought she was going to be sick.

“Well, she’s blind alright,” said Nurse Blainey after performing a few charms.

“What did you think? That I was lying?!”

“I will wring Garreth’s scrawny little nec—”

“Watch your tongue, Mr Sallow.”

“Can you fix it?” asked Natty in the most politely-frustrated voice she’d ever heard.

There followed a long discussion about what had caused it, which required them to bring Professor Sharp there — who, to his shame, hadn’t exactly been aware of what his students were doing — then Garreth — who also wasn’t sure what had happened with his potion, but he could at least list the ingredients he’d used.

All the while, she waited there in silence, hearing voices all around, footsteps echoing close and far, and tense, worried conversations. The Nurse had placed her in one of the beds in the corner while they decided what to do with her. Natty and Sebastian stayed by her side, quarrelling over what potions they could brew to cure her until she had to tell them to shut up.

By the time classes were done for the day, the Nurse had reached the conclusion that Garreth’s failed experiment, while exceedingly dangerous, would not affect her sight for long. Only a few weeks.

“A few weeks?!”

“Yes, two or three. Four if you’re unlucky.” She could hear the woman shrug.

“What am I supposed to do for three weeks? How can I study? How—”

“If I’m not mistaken, you’re not our only blind student. I’m sure Mr Gaunt can be of some help to you during this time.”

She recoiled at hearing it. “I don’t want to be a burden to—”

“Nonsense,” said Sebastian from somewhere behind her. “Ominis would do it happily!”

“I would,” said the boy. A pause followed as everyone else realised he’d entered the room. From the sound of it, he was standing a few feet in front of her.

The Nurse was happy with this arrangement, which meant fewer responsibilities for her. Professor Sharp breathed a sigh of relief, after which he promised to write to her parents and inform them. Sebastian and Natty, meanwhile, were disgustingly supportive, trying all the while to cheer her up. She shunned all of them, and would only go back to the Common Room with Ominis.

“Do you wish to have dinner first?” he asked quietly as they walked out of the Hospital Wing arm in arm.

“I’m not hungry,” she mumbled. “…Wait, are you?”

Ominis chuckled. “Could send Sebastian out to the kitchens to bring us something… He would do it. Careful, stairs.”

They went down step-by-step, and all through the castle, and after what felt like too long they finally made it to the Slytherin Common Room. She knew she was slowing them down, and Ominis didn’t deny it, but he was supportive the whole way — and not in that fretful, exaggerated, compensatory way Sebastian and Natty were, and not in the anxious manner of Garreth…

If Ominis was worried about her condition, he didn’t show it. As cool and calm as the lake, as sturdy as the rock Hogwarts was built on, he was by her side from the first moment.

The first order of business, while Sebastian fetched them a late dinner, was for her to learn the echolocation spell Ominis used to walk around.

“No, don’t hold it pointing down,” he said as he guided her hand. “Straight forward is better.”

“But what if I stumble onto something?”

“The spell will detect it in time.”

“Well I’m not feeling anything yet…”

“Just… try to cast it harder.”

“Cast it harder? You’re terrible at teaching spells. I want Sebastian back.”

“Yes, well, Sebastian can’t cast it,” mumbled Ominis.

“What can’t I cast?” asked the boy as he dashed into the Common Room.

She could already smell ham and cheese and the salty-sweet aroma of cold sausages. Two plates clinked as Sebastian placed them on the table by the fireplace, where she and Ominis were standing.

“My echolocation spell.”

“Ah yes, can’t cast that,” he said, followed by the soft floof of him plopping on the sofa.

They didn’t make much progress on that first night. His wand was far more accustomed to performing it than hers — but the promise of being able to learn it helped her sleep that night, after an hour or so of crying in fear and anger.

Waking up the next day was disorienting. She felt herself wake, she felt her eyes open, but not seeing anything seemed so… unreal. She nearly panicked all over again. Being in the dungeons, there was no sunlight to feel on her skin to let her know whether it was even morning, but then she heard the other girls shuffling around the room.

Imelda led her to the washroom, and later helped her dress — and for once, she didn’t have a snarky thing to say.

“Must be quite a nightmare,” the girl commented in what she perhaps imagined to be a sympathetic tone. “Can’t imagine flying in this state…”

“Yes, well, thanks Imelda, neither can I…”

She was relieved to hear Ominis’ voice again when she came downstairs.

“Over here!”

“How did you know it was me?” she asked, arms stretched in front of her in what she was sure must’ve been comical.

“You have a distinctive magical echo.”

“Do I…?”

“And Sebastian told me.”

“Morning,” the boy grinned from behind his friend.

Still, Ominis must certainly have been good at detecting where she was, because she felt his hand cup hers within seconds.

“How do you do that?” she asked.

“Just followed the sound of your voice,” he smiled.

“It all sounds the same to me…”

“You might think it does now, but eventually you’ll find it’s easy to tell distance by sound… The whole castle has very good acoustics for this sort of thing, in fact.”

“You make it seem so easy,” she smiled, her eyes tearing up at the sheer scope of all she had to learn to just survive the next few weeks.

“I promise you’ll find it easy too,” said Ominis, placing his warm hand on top of hers as she held his arm. “Open fields, now that can be an issue. But inside, here? You’ll get used to it in no time.”

Sebastian followed them for breakfast, but walked at a bit of a distance, letting Ominis explain things. Going to the Great Hall was a bit faster today than going to the dungeons had been the day before. She walked a bit more confidently already…

Breakfast was spent learning more about judging distance by sound.

“Here, now you try,” said Ominis, handing her a jug of pumpkin juice and an empty glass.

He’d just demonstrated how easily she could guess when a cup was close to filling by the sound the liquid made as it was poured — from a deep sound to a high one. She filled it just the right amount.

“That’s very good!”

“Really?” she grinned.

Feeling around the plate with the cutlery was done easily enough, but finding out what each pile of food held relied more on her sense of smell…

“Ah, I… wouldn’t recommend that.”

“What did I just pick up in my spoon?”

“What does it smell like to you?” asked Ominis with a little smile.

“Mashed potatoes…?”

“Well, I just hope you like parsnip porridge.”

And getting food onto her plate presented another difficulty… A few sausages rolled away before she gave up and picked them up with her hands rather than the fork, her knife kept slipping and clanging loudly on the plate whenever she cut into something, and her fingers landed in mustard sauce more than once.

After a little trial and error and a bit more cursing, she finally managed to get something she really liked. She moaned with pleasure, but it was cut short by Sebastian’s giggling.

“Whot?” she asked with her mouth full.

“Nothing,” he said with an obvious smile.

“What did you take?” asked Ominis curiously.

“It’s a seed cake,” she said defensively. “Just a little syrupy, that’s all.”

Sebastian laughed into his fist.

“What?”

“Nothing!” he said again. “Just… always thought you hated spotted dick.”

“Ewww!”

By the time breakfast was over, she was more angry than upset. Ominis considered it an improvement — at least she wasn’t on the verge of crying anymore. He supported her elbow with his hand as they walked out together. When the sounds of students passing by got louder, he felt her clinging to him more.

“Don’t be nervous…”

“Oh,” she said, her hand relaxing, “sorry.”

“It’s not just that,” he chuckled. “I could hear your breathing pick up, and your footsteps too, as if you were stomping on the ground.”

“It’s that obvious?!”

“It is,” he nodded. “For instance, how do you think I feel now?”

She sighed, feeling completely at sea as they walked together to class, in a direction she couldn’t tell, surrounded by noisy students — and Ominis was testing her.

“I don’t know… Calm, I suppose.”

“Why is that?”

“Your voice is low, and your arm is steady, and… and I can hear you smiling when you speak.”

“That’s quite good,” he chuckled.

What Ominis didn’t say was that he also felt worried about her, and worried about how useful he could be in these following weeks, how good of a guide or a teacher… He thought that it was obvious from his clipped tone and his lingering silences, but was glad to be proven wrong.

The first class of the day was, predictably, horrible. They had Charms, and the girl could scarcely follow the instructions on wand movements, had no idea whether the egg she was given had been shrunken and enlarged according to instructions, and was left feeling around for it awkwardly in order to tell where it was.

“How do you even know where to point your wand?” she sighed frustratedly.

“That’s where the echolocation spell will come in useful,” said Ominis from beside her. “It’s not just the direction, but the depth as well, how far something is from you.”

“We have to practice that more,” she grumbled, waving her wand uselessly. “Undercroft, after class.”

They ended up spending every break in their schedule that day in their secret room, with Ominis placing random obstacles in front of her while she tried and tried and… finally succeeded in making her wand cast the spell. It was just before they had to go to dinner.

“I did it!”

“Not bad,” said the boy — and she could hear his voice approaching, could hear his steps resounding in tighter and tighter echoes. “The cast is still pretty weak though…” She could tell he had his hand in front of her wand, judging the strength of the pulse for himself.

“It’s such a strange sensation… I can feel the shape of your hand in mine, through the wand, but it’s…”

“It’s a bit blurred, isn’t it?” he smiled.

“Yes, as if… as if through a fog.”

“Well, I’ve never seen fog,” Ominis chuckled, “but I’ll take your word for it.”

They went to dinner together and this time she walked on her own, holding her own wand in front. She grinned at being able to sense Ominis’ own echolocation spell, like rings on the face of a lake meeting each other.

“Can you feel people’s features with this spell?” she asked quietly as they entered the Great Hall.

“Not particularly… The size of someone, perhaps, but it is not so fine as to tell you what somebody looks like.”

“Can you tell the difference between, for instance, Sebastian and Garreth?”

“Naturally,” he laughed. “Garreth smells of toxic fumes. Sebastian smells of Confringo.”

Although that dinner was still speckled with splashes of sauce and spilt pumpkin juice, each meal got easier as the week progressed. Her echolocation spell, as well, got stronger. She wasn’t exactly confident enough to run through Hogwarts’ halls, but she found it easier to avoid running into people — and not get bumped into either, as her hearing became better at picking up all motions around her.

Attending class was easier too. She soon learned how to take notes on her own, although she wasn’t sure when she’d get the chance to read them. Ominis taught her a neat trick of holding onto the inkwell and use her fingers to precisely dip her quill in it. To tell whether she’d taken enough ink, she could test it on her finger first and see if the tip felt wet.

“You’re sure you don’t want a self-writing quill?” he asked.

“I want it,” she said, but first I want to do this on my own.

Ominis smiled. “And keep track of the parchment too. Find something as a placeholder for where you left off. Don’t want to write on top of what you’ve already written.”

With his guidance, she mastered a fairly simple system of holding onto the parchment with one hand, finger poised on her last line, and then cupping the inkwell with the other before dipping her quill.

What she still had trouble with well into the second week was spellcasting.

“How… just… how?” she hissed, smacking her wand up and down during a particularly troublesome Transfigurations class.

She heard a subtle laugh, and knew that it was Ominis. “Having trouble?”

“How am I expected to transform this damned ferret into a feather duster when the damned thing keeps moving?!”

Ominis had mastered the spell quickly, she thought, as she could hear no more animal squeaks from his side. About half the class had finished, judging by the mix of sounds from satisfied students and ferret trills.

She felt a warmth approach her from the side. Ominis took gentle hold of her wrist.

“Here,” he said, “maintain the location spell, and do the motions of the transfiguration spell from your wrist.”

She tried it a few times, his hand constantly around her wrist.

“Listen to where the animal is too, don’t lose track of him in case he runs away.”

She grit her teeth and frowned, ready to give up, but with Ominis’s help, she finally managed to do it just before the class was done.

“Bloody annoying,” she sighed, dropping her wand to the desk and wiping her sweaty palm on her robes. “Thank you, Ominis,” she mumbled. “Doubt I could’ve done it without you…”

“You could have,” she heard him smile. “Just would’ve taken you longer.”

To help calm her nerves, the boy suggested they go for a walk around the lake.

They walked and walked until the sun set. They could feel it as the air cooled all around them, as the evening grew loud with nightbirds, as the grounds became silent with all the other students gone inside the castle…

It felt strange to walk beside Ominis like that, without a word, without a touch, only the quiet sound of his footsteps in the grass. The water of the lake lapped on the shore beside them in lazy little waves, stirred perhaps by the creatures underneath or the light breeze. It set her senses on fire to feel how different it was to have that large, cold body of water on one side, and the warm shape of Ominis on the other — because she could feel it, could feel every detail. Even the wet earth underfoot and the grass, the dead leaves and dry branches, they all had a scent of their own that filled her mind more than the mere image of them ever could. Although she missed her sight very much, she could not deny that she felt more connected to everything around her in this way…

Her hand reached out and took Ominis’s arm — his right one, where he held his wand. Not even needing to ask, he switched it to the other hand and held her palm in his.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, but from his tone, she could tell he wasn’t worried.

“No,” she said. “Just wanted to feel your hand.”

“Well, there it is,” he chuckled. “Bit clammy… Sorry about that. Always gets that way when I hold my wand too long.”

“Mine too,” she smiled.

Their fingers interlinked as they kept their slow walk around the edge of the Black Lake. A thought kept swirling in her head, and she was torn between giving voice to it or keeping it to herself. She didn’t know if Ominis could tell, but —

“What’s on your mind?”

— of course he could.

“How did you know?”

“I swear I can hear you thinking sometimes. It’s the same with Sebastian.”

She laughed, but said nothing.

“So?” he asked again. “What is it?”

Her hand tightened slightly around his. “I was wondering if you might seem to the touch the same way you look. The face, I mean, and all that…”

“Ah,” he said, his tone teetering somewhere between amused and nervous, “you want to try to… ‘see me’ with your hands?”

“Could I?” she asked, her face turning slightly toward him as if she could better detect how he was reacting to all of this.

“Only if I could do the same,” said Ominis with a tight smile.

They reached as far around the lake as the grounds permitted and sat together on one large, smooth rock. Beneath them, they could hear the lapping of the water, quiet and gentle, and owls hooting far off in the woods. It felt almost as if she were floating on air, cross-legged, far from the ground, with nothing surrounding her but the cool night.

They tucked their wands in their pockets and fiddled their thumbs, both too timid to start.

“Well, you asked,” said Ominis after a prolonged nibbling of his lips, “so you go first.”

“Alright,” she sighed, her mouth pulled up into a nervous smile.

She stretched her hands before her gently and was almost startled when they reached his chest. His school uniform was much like hers, a little rough, but well tended to. Moving upwards, she reached his neck, and quickly skipped it until she felt the smooth line of his jaw with both her hands. For no reason at all, her eyes closed. Perhaps it felt more peaceful that way…

His chin was delicate and pointed, leading up in soft angles to his ears. Moving inward, her thumbs traced his high cheekbones, his temples, his arched brows, then dipped delicately over his eyes — his were closed as well. She smiled as she tickled the surface of her fingers with his long lashes.

“Well?” asked Ominis. “Is there a resemblance?”

“I think so,” she smiled. “You look the way you feel.”

“Oddly poetic of you,” he chuckled.

Her hands slid slowly down his face, framing his slightly long nose, falling then to his lips, soft and full. She gasped at feeling them, noting things she never realised before: how delicate they were, how defined, and slightly dry… She traced down to his chin again when she felt them part.

“Yes, I suppose that’s you,” she joked. Her giggles filled the tense air around them. She could feel him smile against her fingertips.

“My turn now,” said Ominis.

She squeezed her hands in her lap as she waited, and then the boy surprised her by cupping her face and slowly bringing them together, covering her like a mask.

He felt her from chin to forehead, taking in the full plains of her features, before he began to touch them each in part. He brushed her eyebrows upward, traced the shape of her eyes, ran his finger delicately down her nose to the tip, and brushed his thumb against her lips while his other hand caressed a broad path from her forehead to her jaw. She felt very thoroughly known after this…

They walked back to the castle in silence, hand-in-hand. As they did, she noticed in herself a feeling of… peace, of not caring anymore that she couldn’t see. She missed the colours of everything around, of course, the beams of light, the peaceful glow of the Slytherin dorms, the star-filled sky at night, but she didn’t feel like she lacked anything anymore.

That made it all the more shocking when, three and a half weeks into her blindness, she began to see vague shapes of light. Ominis’ thin face bloomed into a smile when she told him. She could see it in spite of the cloudiness of her vision.

She still used the echolocation spell to get around, and breakfast became easier, but the blending of shapes and colours so overwhelmed her senses that often she would close her eyes when she wished to concentrate.

It was probably for the best, as she fell behind on her coursework and had never gotten to practice reading Braille with Ominis. Her notes, she now could tell, were atrocious, and her fingers were horribly stained even now.

As the days passed, her vision gradually improved, and by the end of the fourth week, she was almost back to normal. Her eyes teared, unused to all the details.

“Come now, no need to cry over it,” said Ominis with an awkward laugh. They were returning from another visit to the Hospital Wing, where the Nurse had checked her progress.

“I’m not crying,” she sniffled. “How could you tell, anyway?”

“You mean aside from your voice being all choked up and your breathing irregular? Just a lucky guess.”

“I’m just feeling… too much, I think.”

Ominis took her hand in his. “I know,” he said with a small smile. “I’ll miss it too.”

And she didn’t need to ask what he meant.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for asking my mother not to do certain things?

Let me start off by saying i'm homeschooled. I've been homeschooled my entire life. I don't have any friends offline, so I've pretty much come here to ask for outside opinions from my friend groups (online).

Prefer not to state ages, if that's okay. It makes me uncomfortable.

I have ocd, suspected autism, and either auditory processing disorder or misophonia (we're not sure which.) as well as a plethora of other issues. my mother is very aware that i have ocd (she has it herself) and i've mentioned misophonia to her several times. she doesn't know about my other mental issues, as for reasons you're probably going to see here, as i don't feel comfortable or safe telling her. (or, i've tried, and she doesn't listen, or tells me i'm "being dramatic.")

my ocd is quite crippling, to the point i've tried medication, herbal tea (chamomile seems to work a bit!), asking friends for advice, and even asking her for advice. as of the last year, it's had a grip on my life and has been quite a problem for me. i'm unable to do things i want or need to a lot, and especially struggle doing most things, even basic tasks. i'm unable to see a therapist/counsellor or psychologist/psychiatrist for personal/financial reasons.

a lot of my triggers (well, not exactly triggers for the ocd, but they stop me from doing things.) revolve around sound, especially people talking. whistling is a major trigger for my misophonia/apd, as are other high pitched noises.

my mother has a tendency to watch tv a lot, and i often ask her to not do this when i'm trying to do certain things, as it makes my ocd a bit worse, and it's often rather loud. (please note i wear headphones a lot of the time for sensory issues.)

however, when i ask her either to turn it down, pause it temporarily, or ask her to turn it off for a bit, she has a tendency to get mad/upset. to the point of throwing a bit of a fit over it, in a way that to me seems a bit attention seeking (in the bad way). she says things like "fine, whatever." and flaps her arms about dramatically or slaps her legs, or she says "i don't even wanna watch it now, it's ruined."

i'll go ahead and say she's a bit self-centered in a lot of ways. for years she has said i've "targeted" her and "treated her terribly" even though any time i was (to her) doing these things, i was usually defending myself or telling her to do something that she needed to do that had been requested for days/weeks/months/sometimes years. i also have a tendency to ask her what she's doing, either out of genuine curiosity, or because she has done something strange to me that i didn't understand. which she gets mad over.

she also gets mad if i ask if she's coming over here (i have a tendency to walk/pace in certain areas to music, it helps with stress/adhd/also helps me write/act things out. she is very aware of this and this isn't really a problem.) or ask how long she will be over here. she seems to think me asking this is telling her she can't come over, or desperately trying to get her to move. admittedly sometimes i DO want her to move, but 90% of the time i am just asking so i know if i need to move to a different area to walk or just stop temporarily.

sometimes when i am having a particular peak in my ocd/anxiety/whatever else, i ask her not to talk for a moment/few minutes, either so i can do something i need to, or because i'm afraid it will make it worse. she'll either get mad about this, or go on a tangent about "not catering to me" and saying things "the real world doesn't work like this, and nobody cares that you have ocd/issues." she has a tendency to take my issues as a personal attack on her, when in reality i would ask anyone to stop for a moment.

she has a tendency to belittle me in a sense for it. i've tried to explain some of it to her (without revealing details of my trauma she doesn't know about, as most of my ocd is linked to severe ptsd.) and she says it "doesn't make any sense" and i "need to stop" and i "need to just make myself stop." she has ocd, and knows compulsions are not always rational, and yet still says these things.

part of my desire not to go to a therapist is because of her. she claims they will either try to put me away take me to another home/put me in foster care, or drug me up on medication that will make me dull. (the other part is more personal, and unrelated to her, but to my aforementioned trauma.)

one of the things i especially ask her not to do is whistle, or make a few other certain noises (eating loud, using nail files around me, etc) because they are especially triggering to me. she'll either blatantly refuse and say i "don't get to tell her what to do" or i don't "control her" (please note i am just asking, but when i DO specifically tell her to stop, it is because she either already knows this sound is triggering to me, or i've already asked, and i'm losing my patience.) or she'll do it louder/more just to trigger me further (my father also does this. sometimes as a joke which in some ways is worse.) or she'll go on the "not catering + nobody cares" tangent again.

i know my ocd and other issues can be a bit interrupting, but i don't ask huge things of her or anyone else. all i ask is for them to not make certain sounds around me, temporarily ask them to not do something/stop doing something, or ask them to do it a bit quieter for me. please note she has the ability to watch tv/videos on other devices with headphones easily, she just chooses not to. and worse of all, they treat it like it's not interrupting to me, when it affects my everyday life in ways far worse than asking/telling them not to do something.

it makes me feel unwanted and unappreciated, and i'll admit, i've contemplated....not existing, if you will, many times over this issue and others.

i just don't really know if i'm asking too much, or if they're just being shitty. i want outside opinions on this.

so, AITA?

(id put a tl;dr in here, but i don't really know what to put. feel free to do it for me. also, i know this was kinda long, but i needed to put some extra things in, sorry if thats like an inconvenience or anything!)

(adding my sideblog here so i can get notifs, @ocdaitathrowaway)

What are these acronyms?

[bedlamsbard]

Some concept writing! Deaging isn't usually a trope that does anything for me, but I've been toying with this particular concept for a while now, and wanted to play with it while I was still too discombobulated from moving to work on Home. I do have a pretty good idea of where this would go, but I'm not sure that I'll return to it as a full chaptered fic. also I would have to do a lot of research in order to make Sokovia like. work.

About 4.1K below the break; CACW AU. (Would be SteveNat but they don't actually appear in this sequence.)

*****

By the time Tony got off the stage and checked his constantly buzzing phone, he found he had twelve missed calls from Rhodey, two from Pepper, and one each from the Vision, Sam Wilson, and Clint Barton.  He stopped just past the curtain, waving off the dean when he tried to speak to him, and called Rhodey first.

“Who’s dead?” he demanded.

“What?” Rhodey said.

“Who’s dead?” Tony repeated, feeling his shoulders brace in anticipation of the response; he could think of plenty of reasons for Rhodey or Pepper to call, but the others weren’t very likely to.  Well, Vision, but not Wilson or Barton.

There was a momentary pause on the other end of the phone, then Rhodey said slowly, “No one’s dead.”

“Okay, so who’s been horribly maimed?” Tony demanded, glancing around.  No one was running toward him to tell him that there had been some kind of terrible Avengers emergency, so whatever had happened hadn’t hit the news or social media yet.  In his experience, there was no one more willing than college students to put their noses in where they weren’t wanted, and considering some of the people Tony had met in his life that was saying something.  “I know the Lagos thing was a shitshow, but I thought all of us were fine.”

“You need to get over here now,” Rhodey said.

“Where is ‘here’?” Tony demanded warily.

“I’ll text you the coordinates.”

“I got a thing.”

“Cancel it.”

“You know I’m retired, right?” Tony said, but he was already walking toward the closest emergency exit, ignoring the dean’s startled expression and attempt to stop him.

He had come in the helicopter, not the suit, which he was ostensibly trying to wean himself off of on Pepper’s insistence.  He’d built a suit into the helicopter, though, and it would be the work of a few seconds to get into it and take off; it would get him to the coordinates Rhodey had just sent faster than the helo would.  On the other hand, that would probably get the attention of all the reporters who had been in the audience and who were waiting for the press conference that was supposed to follow the event.  If Rhodey didn’t want the press to know that they were apparently having an Avengers-level emergency, then Tony wasn’t going to be the one to alert them.  At least not yet.  He wasn’t about to leave the helicopter parked here for some curious undergrads to dissect, though.

He let FRIDAY take the helicopter out of MIT’s airspace before he engaged the suit and fell backwards into the freedom of the wind, letting himself take a few lazy loops for the hell of it before turning towards the coordinates Rhodey had sent.

As soon as he got there, it was obvious from the air where the Avengers had been and presumably still were.  The complex had probably once been an old SHIELD facility, which meant in practice it had really been an old Hydra facility; that was presumably what had brought the team out here.  Not only was it in the middle of nowhere, but the area around the site was heavily forested; Tony guessed that none of the scarce population in the vicinity had noticed when the Avengers had flown in.  He could see the Quinjet parked on the remnants of a helipad, near the far end of one of the still-standing buildings.  The two other structures had both collapsed, one sometime ago from the look of the wreckage and the other so recently that it was still smoking.  Wanda Maximoff was sitting cross-legged on the ground outside it, holding a water bottle and looking shaky while the Vision stood beside her.  Steve’s shield was propped up against the Quinjet’s ramp, but the man himself was nowhere in sight.

She jumped as Tony touched down next to them, though the Vision looked as implacable as usual.  There was a long scrape across Wanda’s cheekbone and dust on her leather jacket and in her hair, but otherwise she looked unhurt as she scrambled to her feet.

“Where’s the fire?” Tony asked, putting back his faceplate.

Wanda looked like she was going to cry, and after a moment, Tony corrected himself and asked instead, “Where’s Rhodey?”

“Colonel Rhodes is on his way,” the Vision said, which turned out to be an understatement, since before Tony could respond Rhodey slammed down beside him, making Wanda jump again.

“Finally, someone sensible,” Tony said, turning towards him in relief. “You know I’m retired, right?  Emergency calls are supposed to be Cap’s thing.”

Rhodey had put up his faceplate when he landed, which meant that Tony saw his face go grim as soon as he heard Steve’s name.

Tony felt an odd looping sensation in the pit of his stomach.  He and Steve weren’t friends exactly, not the way that Tony was friends with Rhodey or Bruce, but they were friendly.  They weren’t not friends.  It took him a moment before he could ask, “What’s happened to Cap?”

Rhodey pressed his lips tightly together, then confessed, “We don’t know.”

Tony stared at him. “What do you mean you don’t know?  What about –”  He looked around at the compound again, taking in the overgrown buildings and leaning fences.  There wasn’t another living being in sight.  “What about Romanoff and Wilson?”

“Sam’s fine.  Natasha –”  Rhodey hesitated.  “She’s missing too.  Sam’s looking for them.”

“What?” Tony said, feeling like he had missed some important details somewhere.  “Missing?  How?  What happened?”

“It’s my fault,” Wanda said, clutching the water bottle to herself.  The Vision put a hand on her shoulder and she leaned back into his grip, her eyes sparkling with tears.

Tony turned to stare at her.  “What, like – you snapped your fingers and went abracadabra and sent them to Timbuktu?”

“No, I mean –”  She hesitated. “Maybe?”

“Maybe?”

“Nobody went to Timbuktu,” Rhodey said impatiently, making Tony return his stare to him.

“What happened?”

Rhodey made a helpless gesture, oddly delicate despite the bulk of the War Machine suit.  “Well,” he started, and then stopped before trying again, “Well –”

“Oh, god, they’re dead,” Tony said.

“They’re not dead,” Rhodey said. “That would be easy.”

He glanced up as Sam Wilson’s shadow passed over them, circling once before he backwinged and came in to land alongside them.  “No sign of them,” he reported grimly as his wings folded themselves back into his harness.  There was an empty spot there; Redwing must have still be off somewhere. “But I don’t think we were ever really going to find Nat around here, not with the woods this thick.”  His mouth twisted.  “Not from the air, at least.”

“What, like she went feral and ran off?” Tony demanded, more confused than ever. “And took Rogers with her?”

“Well –” Rhodey said again, then thought about it and admitted, “Well, actually, sort of, yeah.”

*

There was video.

It wasn’t very good video; FRIDAY edited it together from the War Machine’s, Falcon’s, and Vision’s cameras, which meant that it was jumpy and incomplete, overlaid by Rhodey’s and Wilson’s HUDs.  All three of them had been outside the building when whatever had happened inside had happened; the only witnesses had been Wanda, Steve, and Natasha.  Steve and Natasha were gone; Wanda herself didn’t seem to have a clear idea of what had gone down.

“There was a man –” she said, and then stopped, still holding the water bottle against herself like a teddy bear.

“There was a man, okay,” Tony repeated, prompting.  When she didn’t go on, he muttered to Rhodey, “When’s Barton getting here, again?”

“He’s meeting us at the compound,” Rhodey muttered back.  “We’re not going to find anything else here.”

There was something terribly final about that.  Tony looked at him sharply and said, “Nothing?”

“Not at this point,” Wilson said.  There was a grim set to his mouth that Tony didn’t like, though his expression was still a little baffled by the turn of events.  He didn’t know Sam Wilson well, since the other man had been Steve’s friend more than Tony’s and had only joined the team after Tony had left, but Tony knew him well enough for government work.

Tony glanced up, where the Vision was just visible hovering above them, using his scanning capabilities to search for Steve and Natasha.  The general consensus was definitely that they wouldn’t be found if Natasha Romanoff didn’t want them to be found.  Everyone seemed to agree that whatever had been true about Steve Rogers’ woods capabilities in 2016, his ability to get around in them in his current circumstances was probably highly abbreviated.

Tony went to look at the footage again, frowning to himself behind his faceplate, since he had had to lower it to watch the video.  From outside, the building had looked well and truly deserted.  He watched Steve, Natasha, and Wanda go inside, all three of them careful and wary.  For exactly twelve minutes, nothing happened ��� nothing visible from outside, anyway.  Then scarlet energy exploded outwards from the building, making Rhodey and Wilson bank away; Vision had stayed where he was.

For a few moments the energy hung suspended in a nauseating red cloud, like something out of a horror film, then all of a sudden it was sucked back inside as part of the building collapsed in a pattern that was uncomfortably familiar.  The video veered dizzyingly as all three men swooped in, the radios suddenly crackling with overlapping voices.  At the last minute Wilson pulled back and veered away to fly circles around the building; of the three of them, he was least maneuverable inside, where his wings wouldn’t do much good.

Tony watched the three views on the inside of his helmet, a rather nauseating experience.  Rhodey had to force his way through the rubble of the building, while Vision simply phased through it; Wilson kept looping the outside of the building, asking periodically for status updates.  It was through his HUD that Tony spotted the figures slipping out of the ruins of the building.  As Wilson swooped in for a closer look, he saw that one was a slight red-headed girl in black.  She was half-dragging a boy with her, tall and lanky and awkward with it; he actually tripped over his own feet once.  As Wilson stooped on them, the girl turned, a pistol in her hand, and shot at him.

He got one wing up to block the bullet, though the action dropped him a few feet in the air and gave the two teenagers enough time to make the tree line that had been encroaching on the courtyard.  The girl went unerringly to the thickest place, where Wilson wouldn’t be able to follow with his wings out, still dragging the boy behind her.  He looked back at Wilson, his eyes wide, his face thinner and younger than Tony was accustomed to, just like the girl’s was.

They vanished into the woods as Wilson swept after them and had to stop, dropping to the ground as his wings folded up behind him.  He followed on foot, or tried to.

Inside the ruins of the building, Rhodey and Vision had found Wanda passed out on the floor.  The shield was next to her, covered in a fine coating of dust but otherwise untouched.  There was no sign of Steve or Natasha.

Tony retracted his faceplate and said, “What in the Freaky Friday hell?”

Wilson took his goggles off and rubbed a hand over his face.  “They looked right at me and didn’t know me.  I spent twenty minutes following on foot – trying to, anyway, never found a trace of them.”  His mouth twisted a little.  “If it’s what it looks like, then that’s all Nat; Steve said that the first time he ever left New York was to go to Camp Lehigh when he was twenty-four.”

“It can’t be what it looks like because what it looks like is insane,” Tony said.  “Also impossible.  Where’s Thor when you need him, the guy who actually knows about shit like this?  How long has it been?”

“Four hours.  They could have reached the highway by now, gone anywhere from there if someone picks them up.”  Wilson grimaced.  “The way Nat looks right now, someone would have picked them up.  And she has a gun, so…”

“This is America, everyone has a gun.”  Tony started to rub at his temples and remembered just in time that that would be an extremely painful experience in the suit.  “Okay, just so we’re all on the same page and I know I’m not hallucinating, what…was that?”

Sam and Rhodey exchanged a significant look, Vision’s expression remained inscrutable, and Wanda clutched her water bottle more tightly to herself, her gaze darting to Steve’s shield.

“They’re kids,” Rhodey said.

Tony winced. “Yeah,” he said. “I was really afraid that was what you were going to say.”

*

Clint Barton was waiting for them back at the compound.  “What happened?” he asked as they all filed out of the Quinjet.  The question was obviously directed at someone who wasn’t there; Tony saw him waiting for Natasha and Steve to come out last, and when they didn’t he actually stepped up on the ramp to look inside, where the shield had been stowed in a corner.  His gaze went to it, then he hopped off the ramp and repeated the question, his face going serious.

He didn’t take the answer well.

“They’re what?”

Wilson made a helpless gesture in response, stepping aside to let the Vision tenderly lead Wanda into the compound’s main building.  Tony eyed them as they passed; Wanda still hadn’t offered any explanation of what had happened, though it was clear that she had been at the center of it.  He still wasn’t entirely sure that he agreed with Steve’s decision to bring her onto the team over a year ago.  Against Ultron, maybe, but that should have been a one-off as far as he was concerned.

Clint’s expression was grim.  “Let me see that footage,” he said when Wilson had finished laying out the situation for him as best he could, which wasn’t very.

He watched it silently once they were inside, then looked around at the five of them – Wanda and Vision had reappeared, Wanda out of her field garments and now in comfortable clothes, the Vision looking as imperturbable as ever – and said, “You know the problem, right?”

“They’re kids?” Tony said dryly. “Or – teenagers, I guess.”  Long experience had taught him how to recognize jailbait at a glance.

“No.  Well –”  He tossed his head, looking uncomfortable, and went on, “If this is what it looks like, then they don’t know us, they just know – uh, whatever age they…are.  Were.  Are?”

“Uh-huh,” Tony said warily.

“Nat was with the Red Room up until eight years ago,” Clint said, sounding like he was expecting that to mean anything to them.

“Yeah, but she’s a kid, so –”

“She was raised in the Red Room,” Clint said.

“Yeah, but they’re gone,” Wilson said.  “They have been for years.”

“She doesn’t know that,” Clint pointed out.  “And Steve –”

Wilson winced.  “He was a kid in the twenties and thirties,” he said.  “But – I’ve seen pictures from before Steve got the serum, and that wasn’t – that was Steve, Steve now.  I mean, Steve as a kid, teenager, whatever, but with the serum.  Which means whatever happened to him couldn’t undo that.”

They all looked at Wanda, who had sat down heavily on the couch.

“Wanda?” Clint said.  “What happened in there?”

She fiddled with her rings, not meeting anyone’s eyes, and then said, “I didn’t know he was there when we went in.  I don’t – I have to know someone’s there before I can read them.”

Tony gritted his teeth but didn’t interrupt her; he still didn’t have a good grasp on what Wanda’s powers actually entailed, which grated on him.

“Do you know who he was?” Clint said, sounding very patient.  He sat down on the couch beside her, his fists clenching and unclenching before he stopped them with an obvious effort.

Wanda nodded slowly. “Only from the papers,” she admitted. “I never met him.”

Clint blinked and looked around at the rest of them, his eyebrows raised.  Wilson had perched on the edge of the coffee table, clearly trying to make Wanda feel more comfortable by not looming over her, but Tony and Rhodey were still standing.  Vision had gone over to the kitchen to get her a glass of water; he returned, his passage eerily silent, and pressed it into her hand as he sat down beside her.  Wanda took it, then had to cup her other hand around it too to keep it from shaking as she took a sip.

“Our newspapers?” Sam asked. “Someone one of us knows?”

They’d all made plenty of enemies over the years and not all of them had ended up behind bars; theirs wasn’t a profession that guaranteed friends.  On the other hand, Tony couldn’t think of a single person who could have produced this result – well, not one that was alive, anyway, since according to Thor Loki was dead.  Even if he hadn’t been, this seemed a little too petty for Loki.

Wanda shook her head.  “From home,” she said, then clarified, “From Sokovia.  He –”  She said something in her own language.

“The equivalent would be a baron,” the Vision translated for her.

It was JARVIS’s voice, of course – it was always JARVIS’s voice, and now as always it made Tony flinch a little to hear it.  It had been his call and they’d needed the Vision to beat Ultron, but at seventh and last he still didn’t know if the trade had been worth it.  He hadn’t even thought about it at the time, what the real cost would be.

“A baron?” Rhodey said, his eyebrows climbing. “They still have those?  I thought the Soviets –” He hesitated, clearly uncertain whether or not it was a sensitive subject, but Wanda just shrugged one shoulder.  Tony did the math and realized that she probably wasn’t old enough to remember the fall of the Soviet Union.

His memories of the event weren’t particularly great themselves, since it had been the same year his parents died.  Even without that, though, he hadn’t been all that interested in what was going on in the Eastern Bloc; at the time the closest he had ever come had been when he and Rhodey had crossed over into East Berlin a few years earlier just to see what all the fuss was about.  He didn’t remember having been impressed.

“Families like that don’t forget,” Wanda said, with a faint note of bitterness in her voice. “A lot of them left when the Soviets invaded during the war – the Great Patriotic War – World War Two,” she clarified when they all looked blank.  “After independence, when the ones who left came back, they brought it back with them.”  She put the glass of water down on the coffee table and drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, and added dryly, “Some of them wanted to restore the monarchy, too, but nobody would vote for it.”

Tony looked at Rhodey, who shrugged helplessly back at him, then asked, “This guy have a name?”

“Zemo,” Wanda said, like that was supposed to mean something to them.  “Helmut Zemo.”

“Sounds German.”

Wanda shrugged again. “A lot of people in that part of Sokovia have names like that.  Some speak German, too.”

Tony remembered abruptly that he still couldn’t find Sokovia on a map.

“What did he want?” Wilson asked.

She hesitated.

Tony felt himself tense, unwillingly remembering the greasy feeling of Wanda sliding into his mind the previous year.  His fingers twitched a little, wanting the security of his suit back, but he had left it in the Quinjet and it would have to smash through several walls to get here.  Not that walls couldn’t be replaced, but it would be so messy.

Besides, Wanda Maximoff was, technically speaking, on their side.  Even if right now it didn’t feel like it.

“Wanda?” Clint prompted gently. “What did he want?”

She was quiet for a long time, long enough that Tony started twitching. His phone buzzed in his pocket, probably Pepper wondering what was going on, but he didn’t reach for it; he wanted to know what was going on.

“Sokovia,” she said finally, and a single tear slipped down her cheek.  She dashed it away impatiently with the back of one hand.  “His family died at Novi Grad.”

Tony felt a muscle work in his jaw.  “And?” he demanded.

Wanda was quiet again, and then she said, “I don’t remember.”

Tony opened his mouth to call bullshit and then stopped himself with an effort.  Maybe it was bullshit and maybe it wasn’t.  Right now, at this exact moment, it didn’t change anything.  They could get the truth out of her later.

Wilson and Barton joined him and Rhodey in one of the labs later, leaving the Vision to fuss over Wanda.  Tony, not being stupid and definitely not wanting to relive his teenage years, waited until the door had shut behind him before he said, “So she did it, right?  Whatever happened to Steve and Natasha?”

Clint grimaced.  “It sounds like it, yeah.  You guys see any sign of this Zemo guy?” he asked Wilson and Rhodey.

They both shook their heads.  “He must have gotten out while Vision and I were looking for Wanda and Sam was chasing Steve and Natasha,” Rhodey said.  “Ever heard of him before?”

The question was directed at Clint, who shook his head. “Never had anything to do with Sokovia,” he admitted.

“FRIDAY?” Tony said.

“On it, boss.”

“We’ll get something on the guy,” Tony assured the other three men. “If he was in the news, even in a shithole like Sokovia, then we’ll at least know what he looks like.”

Clint shrugged.  He sat down heavily and clasped his hands together, pressing them to his forehead.  “This guy’s not the problem,” he said. “Well, not great, obviously, but not the biggest problem.”

“Steve and Nat,” Wilson said.

Clint looked up. “Nat, mostly,” he said. “Steve’s probably harmless right now; he doesn’t know anyone.  Nat –”

“Come on, she’s a teenager,” Tony said. “I mean, a teenager with a gun, but –”

“She’s still a Black Widow,” Clint said meaningfully.

“You said that already,” Rhodey pointed out. “Look, whatever Nat thinks is going on right now, the Red Room’s gone; she can’t go back even if she wants to.  That’s not a problem we need to –”

“Just because the Red Room’s gone doesn’t mean that no one in Moscow’s going to pick up the phone if she tries to check in,” Clint cut him off.  “We did all the clean-up we could eight years ago, but there were loose ends that even Fury couldn’t get tied off; SHIELD never had all that much pull with Russia, even after the end of the Cold War.  And Nat’s high profile.  Leviathan – whatever Leviathan turned into – whoever’s running it now would probably pull out their own eyeteeth to get her back, especially if she can bring Captain America with her.  Leviathan was the USSR’s answer to the SSR and SHIELD,” he added in response to the blank looks he got.  “As far as I know, Russia kept the name, the same way everyone keeps talking about the KGB even though it’s been the FSB and the SVR for years.  As far as we know, they didn’t go belly-up when the Red Room fell, but that’s a big ‘as far as we know.’  And I never had all that much to do with the Russians anyway; it was mostly before my time.  You’re going to have to call Fury and Hill to find out more.”

Rhodey massaged his forehead.  “You really think Nat’s going to want to go back there?”

Clint’s mouth twisted. “It’s not about wanting.  That’s not how places like this work.”

“And Steve does know someone today,” Wilson put in suddenly.

“What, Peggy Carter?” Tony said, doubtful.  “She’s, what, a hundred years old?  You think he’s going to turn up on her doorstep?”

Wilson shook his head.  “If he’s a kid, then he hasn’t met her yet as far as he knows.  But there’s someone out there now that he did know when he was a kid.”

They all stared at him, and then Clint said, “Jesus.  Steve’s been looking for the Winter Soldier for years and getting nowhere, you don’t really think he’s going to find him now.”

“No,” Wilson said. “But Bucky Barnes might be able to find him.”

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/727841287119814656/ehh-generally-they-were-like-ask-specifics-about Can you expand on writer’s block not being real?

--

Sure!

I think everyone who's ever made art has hit points where it's hard to go on making art or where a particular project isn't moving. So from that perspective, sure, a version of it is real...

But there's a particular version of it that's what a lot of people mean where you're A Writer™ and then the magic inspiration gnomes come and steal your inspiration juice. This is mostly nonsense, and quite a few author types who've actually finished long projects will tell you so.

When you sit down to a blank page and it stubbornly stays blank like your head, that's a symptom of something... and the something in question is often either depression and overwhelmed feelings that are taking over your whole life or an entirely correct instinct that your project is flawed and the next step is not writing that next scene.

Many people try to be pantsers instead of planners, get maybe a quarter into a project, and then choke. It's because they started with the kind of concept that requires planning, but they haven't planned. If your plot revolves around the characters eventually learning the meaning of life, you'd damn well better start with what you, the author, think that meaning is and work backwards. Same if your characters are solving a twisty mystery or complicated thriller conspiracy: you will not come up with a genius idea that ties everything together just by writing by the seat of your pants. If you don't go in with the ending in mind and some waypoints to write towards, you're going to choke. This is exceptionally common in grandiose fic concepts that are like "What if this true blue hero were a viiiiillain, oooooh!" where it's neat, but 99% of the point is showing us the work of getting from A to B. People write the prologue showing us the big concept and then flash back to how it all started... and then stop.

I see it a lot in projects that start with a character sheet for RP. Yeah, for RP itself, noodling along and figuring out what X would do in situation Y is great fun... but for many longfic/novel plot types, you will not arrive at a workable plot this way. You'll end up with a mess that can, at best, be used as brainstorming and completely rewritten from the ground up, using only key cool images or character observations. There are authors that start from individual characters and then see where they go. In my experience, they don't tend to be working in the genres that fic fandom types tend to want to work in. It's also something that often takes a lot more experience and skill than starting with a basic plot outline, and inexperienced writers often overreach.

It's not writer's block. It's a project that needs to be taken out back like Old Yeller.

Even the salvageable projects that are making you pause usually have some other issue like you not being clear on the central emotional themes even if you've outlined some factual plot. Or you've demanded that your characters do a particular thing for plot convenience, but you know deep down that it doesn't ring true. You can't write the next scene because there is no next scene. You need to rework the forced part till the rest can make sense.

And even more common than any of the above is people thinking that just because Danielle Steel sits down every morning and writes for eight hours, that means they can and should with no warm up or experience. Trying to force yourself to be a type of writer you're not—majorly overdoing it on any work, in fact—just leads to burnout and inability to function.

[wings-of-ink]

Ask Guidelines

For the sake of streamlining my inbox, please follow the guidelines below when submitting Asks. I appreciate all your questions, but I simply find that I lack enough free time to spend with them. Some weeks are busier than others for my inbox, but I personally feel it's a bit unfair to those of you who may be waiting a long time for a response. Plus, I do need some "me" time now and again, no matter how much I love sailing around on here.

The biggest and most important thing:  Reaction/Response-style Asks need to be paired down. These are lots of fun for all of us, but they take up a majority of the time I spend on the inbox. When you submit a request like this, please specify your top 2 (max of 3) characters (ROs, side characters, etc…) you want to know the answer for. If you do not specify, I will pick for you based on how quickly I can answer. I'll note, that if you are curious about both parents in GC, I will count them as 1 "person" so you don't have to choose between daddies.

Please do not submit multiple Asks with the same question for the other characters. This will just eat up my time, and I do not want to delete them, but I will have to.

If your question has been asked before, I will try to find a link to it for you (most of these I have tracked in a document). I haven't yet put together an FAQ since I really don't get a ton or repeats for the same questions. One day, I may make a searchable document with them.

Comments and error reports are still very much welcome. If you by chance do not want a response posted, please simply let me know if that is what you prefer. I generally like to post at least a little response to these for you, but if that makes you uncomfortable, please let me know in the Ask.

Music suggestions are welcome (for instance if a song makes you think of a particular character).

Art suggestions are welcome (if an art piece makes you think of a character and such).

Asks that are long/wordy are still okay, as long as they meet the other Ask criteria. I don't mind reading a lot since I can still do that fairly fast (and I totally understand the need for context or if you have several comments to make). I can be wordy myself, so I get it, sometimes you just want those details in there. You may not get a super long response in return, but I read every word.

Try to space out your Asks in general. If you have, say, 3 or more questions, I would appreciate it if you could give me a buffer of time to respond. A good rule of thumb would be to wait until you get your first question answered, and then you submit your 2nd question and so on. This will also help you gauge how full my inbox is (or how much time I have to spare). Much of the time, I try to answer Asks in the order they are received. The only exception to that is if I get ones that I either need to think on a bit or the answer will take me a while to write.

NSFW Asks are totally okay with me. There is not much outside of my comfort-zone. If something is too far, in my opinion, for a public response - I will simply delete it and pop a courtesy post out to try and signal to you that it is one I cannot answer.

I was hoping to avoid placing any rules on my inbox, but I never anticipated this many followers or that anyone would have quite so many questions or comments for my work. This is to ensure that I keep myself controlled more-so than any of you. I have so much fun chatting with you and answering questions, that the IF writing and planning ends up delayed. Since that's why we're here, I need most of my free time to go to the IF(s) and any extras.

I will make updates to this post as needed. There will be a link to at the very end of the Pinned Post too. If the inbox gets a bit crazy or is too much to juggle during crunch times, I will continue to pause it during those so I can catch up.

Thank you and take care, everyone! ^_^

~Lunan

[lizzychanstuffss]

i’ve had this fic prompt floating around in my head for while now and can’t stop thinking about it hnnngg

okay so i’ve seen a couple fics of Astarion being protective of the reader, but what about the reverse? i wanna see Star’s durge/former durge partner—if he lets them—go full guard dog mode on whoever is stupid enough to pick a fight or be rude to him. both of them know that the other is fully capable of handling things on their own but that doesn’t stop them from wanting to protect each other.

gender neutral tav/durge/reader please? if you decide to write it that is ^-^

have a nice day/night!

So the very large fic I am still working on has both of these in it but because I am also a sucker for fics where Astarion gets scary dog privilege from durge I will also do a shorter one for that! :3

Atarion x Durge!Tav GN

Spoilers for act 3 (also be warned this is super self-indulgent in regards to a certain drow scene)

CW: canon typical violence

BOOM

The explosion was jarring to say the least and startled everyone in the party. Although that was quickly shaken off by seeing who exited the house causing your eye to twitch with anger.

"HOT! HOT! HOT!" The drow spoke as she casted a healing spell along with brushing off some of the ash staining her clothes, you had hoped to never see the bitch again but here you are staring at her face to face...and wanting to rip it off.

"Oh my silks-" 

"No no noooooo! We are leaving. I am done with your bullshite woman" You say and begin to walk away, your party stared at you slightly confused. As it wasn't like you to just walk away like this even with people you hated. Although Astarion caught on to what was happening rather quickly.

He grabs your hand before you can walk off whispering in your ear. "If you are doing this for me...well thank you but just talking to her won't kill us." You looked at him, your brow darkened.

"And if it does?" Voice no more than a whisper as you two had the private conversation.

"Well death never stopped me before. I don't know why it should now." He says slightly teasing you, as it seemed like this wasn't as serious to him as it was to you. 

"Astarion....I just think this might not be wise for me to be around her." You gave him a knowing look.

"If you do anything stupid I will simply pull you away before you hurt anyone....besides maybe she'll actually have something useful to tell us who knows." His words gave you pause, but the man knew you better than you wanted to admit. You could tell in the back of your mind that if you didn't at least ask about it then it would continue to gnaw at the back of your mind, so without further ado you turn around and step up to Araj.

"Alright sorry about that...are you okay?" Sighing as you speak, there is a noticeable amount of disgust behind your words. 

Brushing off your reaction to her, "I'm fine, but I think you'll like what I discovered...your blood has proved to be the breakthrough that I have needed in my research" She smiled, a shiver ran up your spine, and it wasn't pleasant.

"Oh and I see you brought the heartstop-" 

"If you say anything about Astarion or ask him to bite you again I will gut you." Your gaze is intense and shocks her a bit but all she can do is laugh.

"Why do you care so much? He's just your charge." At this point you had heard enough. "Besides I was just going to offer, not ask, what's the harm in that?" You could tell she was taunting him as well as yourself.

"Listen if you want to keep talking about him like he's not here then we’re leaving" You crossed your arms and she just pouted like a child who was told that couldn't have any more candy.

"Fine- Let's discuss your blood then, it's quite powerful and is exactly what I need to continue my research, but there is one more step I need you for actually...if you would come inside we can discuss it more." Turning away before you can give her an answer, just rolling your eyes before starting to walk to her door and feeling a particular vampire's hand squeezing yours. 

You give him a smile and step inside her destroyed home, looking around at all the wreckage. Carefully stepping around the destroyed surrounding as you were now all inside she then turned to you. 

"Alright so what was so important you needed me to come inside, and make it snappy my patience is wearing very thin Araj." 

Giving a fake smile she continued "I have a potion that will be able to unlock the latent potential of your blood. I admittedly have no clue what it will do to you but it should be very powerful." 

You think about it, but Astarion pipes up a disgust in his voice, "If that is her potion I am smelling, say no, all she's offering is pain and I don't want to see you hurt" Taking his words into consideration you answer her.

"I'm going to have to say no, I trust him more than I do you." You give her your own fake smile and then start to walk away from the obviously annoyed woman.

"You're listening to a vampire spawn really!?" She scoffs "First you defend him and tell him he's his own person...then you refuse to convince him to bite me" You could hear her rolling her eyes and you stop walking to the door. At this point it's just you and Astarion inside the building and you can feel an anger rising in Astarion, and yet he’s just trying to walk out of the building, but you can't take it anymore.

Turning to Araj you look her over, "If you say what I think you're about to say I highly suggest you rethink it...." Your threats are not thinly veiled in the slightest, not that you really intended them to be.

"What, he's just a sl-"

You grab her by the throat silencing her, causing Astarion to turn back, staring at you. He doesn't say anything, but you manage to catch his eyes with your own and then in a few moments there are words exchanged but nothing is spoken and it's simply ended by a nod on his end. That simple yes was enough to know what you were asking but also giving permission to do this on his behalf. He didn’t need you to do this for him, but he wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t like when you got like this so without further ado he stepped back to enjoy the show.

You produce a knife from your pack and without a thought you shove it into her stomach, twisting it causing the drow to cry out in pain. You're enjoying this more than you want to admit. Yet it doesn't make you feel disgusting like the other times you've enjoyed violence. Your hand stays steady on her throat squeezing it until her cries were nothing more than gasps for air as she slowly faded away in your terrifying grasp.

Soon enough though she was nothing more than another corpse. Astarion placed his hand on your shoulder, it was a gentle touch as you slowly came to your senses turning to him after dropping the corpse of the drow.

"I'm sorry...I just couldn't stand how she was talking to you, I tried my best to hold back but" 

He kissed your forehead gently with a smile on his lips, "It's alright, my dear…besides I enjoy a bit of occasional bloodshed in defense of me." His lips are a soft comfort to you, you almost looked away back to the body but his hand directed your chin back to him. He keeps his hand there for a bit and you fall into his touch kissing his palm a little smile making its way to your lips. 

"We should probably clean this up shouldn't we?" You ask him, and he gives you one of his classic smirks.

"Well, we don't have to do anything~" He gets a little cheeky with his words and you can't help but roll your eyes playfully. Taking a note from him though the two of you walk out of the house closing the doors behind you and looking at your other companions you give them a smile.

Shadowheart and Lae'zel just look at you deadpan saying nothing figuring it was better just to not ask at this point. You shoot Astarion a smile as your group heads back out into a city.

[timetoddddavis]

Have I mentioned here how I'm low key obsessed with Sakito? He's like this... showboating, deeply traumatized, hungry, yankee manchild who's nice to kids, and I dunno if you know this but this is 100% my brand.

Like he never grew up, he's Peter Pan all the way down, he ran away as a child and now he's back and he's still! A child!! His changer is a game controller ffs, when he gets here, it's all a game to him. He does not care about the stakes at all he just wants to go FAST. Because none of this is REAL to him, this place isn't real. These people aren't real. It's a GAME until he meets back up with his one tether to earth.

Watch him when we see him interact with his childhood friend, the downwards gaze, the mumbled apology, his parental figure giving him little pushes. His motivations are all id, he just wants to eat home cooking and play games with his friends. He is a KID. He's the naughty little boy who lives in your neighborhood who fucks up your flowers and cusses at adults and eggs the cops and gets into fights, but he shows up at your house and gets shy and doesn't ask for anything and you feed that kid because you know SOMETHING is going on with him and he needs support.

Sakito is SO NICE to kids, too, it's so sweet, it's the only time he's really openly warm and it adds such a good shading to his character. He's a traumatized kid who grew up to be a BIG traumatized kid, right? So when a kid is troubled, when he's faced with kids, he treats them with respect and warmth. He gets down to their level. He smiles and speaks gently. He believes them.

The episode with Taiya's school and the dream, when Sakito's trapped in his own head, he doesn't even treat the ILLUSION of a child with his usual roughness. And I think that's really beautiful! We don't know what happened to him as a kid, but we do know he doesn't pass it along.

AND JUST, AN ASIDE, BYUUN D IS SO GOOD. THE ALIENS SAKITO MET WERE BORDERLINE SCARY, ANYTHING COULD HAVE HAPPENED TO HIM. BUT BYUUN D WAS THERE. AND HE'S STILL THERE. AND SAKITO IS A DANGEROUS VIOLENT LITTLE SHIT, BUT HE GETS FED AND HE READS HIS CREATIVE WRITING AND THEY NEVER GO ANYWHERE APART. It's like Sakito met his imaginary friend and he was real and he took him away from all the bad things and he took care of him. Do you get it??

And also Tsuta is sooooo good as Boon Violet, if you watch him he puts in these tiny little pauses when he hits a particular pose so it has time to really hit you in the eyes, it looks so fucking good on camera. That could totally be the action director's doing, I don't actually know, but it doesn't seem like every suit actor is doing it quite as pronounced so I'm willing to give it to Mr. Tsuta.

And he's. He's... you know. A lil thicker. Nice butt. Nice *gestures broadly* legs... and like... *gesturing becomes more unhinged* torso. Good to watch at his craft and also just good to look at. I look forward to seeing him do more main roles, if that's the direction he goes in.

I would shell out for those suit actor 'racer cards' so fast, you have no idea.

[snailstep-and-her-clan]

So how did Tuliptail die and how did her parents react? Also do they have anymore kids?

This has been in my inbox for a while because I needed to figure out how to approach it.

I know the people who follow blogs like mine are mainly here for the pretty pictures, but a comic seemed like such a difficult undertaking for this particular part of the story.

And even though I am a writer, I haven't had a lot of energy to write these days even though I know exactly how this would play out...

So lets try a very bare bones script like how I would format the dialogue in my comics !

Here goes:

The Carrion Place

*Snail and Tulip are on a hunt together as new warriors. they pause at the top of a steep hill overlooking the carrion place (dump/scrapyard)*

Snailstep: Do you remember the scary stories Magpieleap would tell during leafbare when we were little?

Tuliptail: You mean about the rat king?

Snailstep: That's the one. Do you think it's real?

*the two of them stare down in silence for a moment before Tuliptail starts to climb her way down the hill.

Tuliptail: Well, only one way to find out!

Snailstep: Huh? wait- what are you doing?! We've been told to never go in there!

Tuliptail: Yeah, when we were apprentices! but we're warriors now.

Snailstep: So what? not even the senior warriors go in there! you can get cut up by twoleg rubbish and you can't even hunt the rats because they just make everyone sick, remember?

Tuliptail: who said anything about hunting them? I just want to have a look around. You don't have to come if you're going to be a mouseheart. *passes the threshold of the wide open chain link gate*

*snailstep hesitates, looking anxious and frustrated, before following after her sister, ears flat and tail bristling*

*as the two girlies vanish into the junkyard, the ghost of Firebright follows after them*

*Tuliptail is curiously sniffing and messing around with random scrapped items, meanwhile Snail is looking tense and glancing around*

*A rat skitters past, knocking several things down a huge pile of junk and Snail jumps back, arching her back*

Snail: That rat was the size of an apprentice!

Tuliptail: really? I must have missed it.

Snailstep: Look, we've had a look, can we go now? this place stinks of rats and twoleg filth, and it's giving me the creeps!

Tuliptail: The creeps? come on, its smells but it's not like there's anything to really be scared of so far.

Snailstep: It just feels like we're being watched, and I don't-

*more twoleg junk crashes and clatters, making both cats jump. there is a dark hollow in the rubbish, and Tuliptail slowly approaches it. Snailstep hesitates, but takes a few steps forward*

*the ghost of Firebright suddenly appears beside her (Nelly's ghost in the car in haunting of hill house style), screaming* RUN!!!

*the rat kind emerges, a great swarming pile of rats that descends upon the two cats, overwhelming them*

*fighting off any rats that attack them, the two she-cats flee blindly into the dump, pursued by a mod of large rats, Firebrights ghost running alongside Snailstep*

*as snailstep runs, she passes a dog house, and the junkyard dog lunges from the darkness, snapping at her. Tuliptail launches herself onto the dogs face before it can do anything. a two leg sitting on the porch drinking a can of beer stands up, shouting as the two cats keep running. The dog is chained and cannot follow, straining at its chain and snapping. The two leg grabs a shotgun and aims at the fleeing cats*

*there's a loud explosion sound, and Snailstep keeps running and running until she's far into shadowclan territory unable to run anymore. she looks around and realizes that Tuliptail is no where to be seen. Snailstep yells for her, frantically searching (think Bambi when his mom died)*

*back at the carrion place, the twoleg grabs the lifeless body of a cat and throws it into the piles of filth. when he's gone, the rats begin to creep out from hiding to inspect it*

How did the parents react?

Something like this:

But also have some actual writing:

Duskheart sat at the gnarled roots of the great oak, his stiff shape blocking the entrance to Cherrystar's den like a heavy stone. He greeted her approach with one terse sentence.

"Cherrystar doesn't wish to see anybody."

Not even me? The words died in Snailstep's throat. Duskheart's hard, unreadable face told her the answer.

"Oh. Ok." As Snailstep turned away in defeat, tail dragging in the dust, she felt Duskheart's cold blue eyes fixed on her back.

He wishes it had been me instead. The thought pricked her like thorns, and she flinched. Duskheart may not be a demonstrative mate or father, but Tuliptail had been his kit. He must resent Cherryspeckle's adopted kit for surviving when his own blood had not.

***

"Have you eaten?" Duskheart's voice pulled Snailstep from the deep dark hole that had been steadily swallowing her up. Her former mentor stood over her, glaring down at her.

"I- I'm not hungry."

"I didn't ask if you were hungry, I asked if you'd eaten."

"no." Snailstep scored her claws into the dark soil, looking away.

Duskheart turned and padded away without another word. Snailstep curled back into a tight ball and closed her eyes.

The feel of fur pressed against her back and the scent of sparrow made her look up. Duskheart was laying beside her, shoving the bird under her nose with a paw. "Eat."

She shoved it away irritably. what was his problem? "I said I wasn't hungry."

"Mousefang told me you've not had a meal in almost two days. Eat."

Why does anyone care?

"Just give it to the queens or something." Snailstep turned her back on him, rolling back into a ball like a pillbug.

"Are you ill?" Duskheart asked curtly. "Do you need Mousefang to check on you?" She could hear the vaguest hint of sarcasm in his mew.

"Leave me alone Duskheart." She growled. "You're not my mentor anymore."

"But I'm your father."

His words made her sit up and stare at him. To her even further confusion and amazement, Duskheart leaned forward, awkwardly licking her between the ears.

"Cherryspeckle and I have already lost one daughter." He murmured in his low, cold voice. "I have no intention to sit idly by while our other one starves herself to death."

Snailstep tried to choke back a sob but failed. Duskheart continued to silently groom her as the tears welled up and spilled out onto her paws.

[dilatorywriting]

Hi there!! Just wanted to drop by and say that reading through your works has been absolutely amazing, genuinely thankful that you’re willing to share your writing with us! The first of your works I read was the crewel (heroes vs villains) fic, and I’ve been ruminating for a while regarding the prefect’s dynamic with both crewel and the Rogersons— as it had finished with the prefect rekindling their relationship with crewel, do you think they still keep in contact with the couple considering how close they had gotten until the overblot disagreement? I understand however if it was kept vague intentionally!! Regardless, it’s been a pleasure reading through your works, and congratulations again for graduating!! Hope you’ve been taking ample time to relax and recharge :D

It was a really fun dynamic, but also definitely a challenge to balancce lol. Technically there was supposed to be another part, but I was having some problems with the series and lost steam for it, and was honestly happy enough with the sort-of-make-up/there's-room-for-healing note to pause on.

Idk if I'll have time/drive to ever getting around to finish it but the original plan was-- (spoilers below for anyone who minds)

--to make it build more and more into an 'us versus them' mentality, which the MC would struggle a lot with. Because obviously their friends are so important to them (despite the stress they cause lol), and the Rogersons don't quite seem to respect that in comparison to keeping to 'what's right.'

The turning point in particular was going to be a scene where when the MC mentions Crewel again in passing, the Rogersons would end up joking about their pasts growing up (as they all grew up in the same area of the Queendom of Roses). And through that, show their spite---talking about how Crewel was always unpleasant and mean, and eventually having an "oh, darling. What was that song you made up for him? It was so clever" and going into their own version of the Cruella Deville song. Which would make the MC realize that they had basically bullied Crewel in their youth, and no wonder he hates them.

Which on and on would be the whole 'you all were cruel to him and he STILL ended up being okay with me coming to see you as long as I was happy. Meanwhile you all as adults stiil try and keep me from seeing him and encouraging me to leave, despite all the efforts he's putting in and that he hasn't done anything to you."

Cue return to NRC and happy endings abound with a wonderful, silly adopted family who have learned to be a bit softer around the edges and accept affection rather than flee from it. The end.

[misc-obeyme]

For the event, may I request “Let me try.” with Solomon? (Not sure if that prompt has been taken already lol)

Anyhow, have a wonderful day/evening ^^

Hello, anon!

That prompt was indeed available, so you're good! I really debated with myself about whether to make this one angsty or not, but in the end I went with fluff. This is because several prompts have been chosen for Solomon and I have no doubt that at least a few of them will end up on the angsty side of things! Also I took some artistic liberties with potion ingredients, so there's that lol.

Thank you for participating!

1,000 Followers Event!

GN!MC x Solomon with prompt "Let me try."

Warnings: none!

There was something all consuming about trying to master a potion, especially when the ingredients needed to have precise measurements, the concoction called for exact swirling motions, and the complexity of it both challenged and excited you.

It was already past dinner, but you couldn't tear yourself away from the potions lab at RAD. It was your last class and you had told Belphie to go on home without you. The professor had given you permission to stay late and work on it. Neither of them had likely realized just how long you would stay there, completely distracted by your attempts to make the potion work.

The table you were working at was full of discarded bottles, bits of ingredients, and several loose pages of notes you had been making as you went along.

You had turned off the sound on your D.D.D. so that you could concentrate. It was sitting face down on the table nearby, most likely full of notifications from concerned demons. You were sure that Belphie had told the others you had decided to stay behind, but they likely thought you'd have come home by now.

You didn't have time to worry about that, though. You were going to make this potion work if it meant staying up all night long.

It wasn't that this particular potion did anything that mattered to you. In fact, you were pretty sure it was only meant to give the drinker heightened hearing. A fairly basic thing, but for some reason the potion itself was complicated. You'd likely never use it for anything, but that wasn't the point anymore.

You carefully poured a flask of sparkling liquid into the little bowl you were using to mix ingredients.

A single drop caused the potion to explode.

You yelped, backing up and waving at the air around you, which was now full of noxious green smoke.

"MC?"

You whirled around, startled. Who would be here at RAD at this hour?

You relaxed as you recognized Solomon standing in the doorway to the lab.

You let out a breath. "Solomon, you scared me."

Solomon came into the room to stand beside you. He smiled apologetically. "Sorry about that. I heard you yell, so I wanted to make sure you were all right. What are you doing?"

You told him about the potion and how you couldn't seem to make it work right.

"Hmm," Solomon said, looking over your piles of ingredients and pages of notes. "I'm sure you won't be happy to hear this, but I think you've mixed up some of the ingredients."

You frowned. "That can't be right. I've been using this list all night." You picked up a page from your pile, indicating the list you had jotted down during the lecture earlier that afternoon.

Solomon took the paper from your hand and leaned in to show you what he was looking at. He pointed at one of the items on your list. "This says you need devil grass, but the ingredient is actually devil sweetgrass. And this lists powdered devilstone, but it should be powered bloodstone."

"How did I write down two ingredients wrong?" you asked.

Solomon chuckled. "I don't know, MC, but that's likely the problem. Do you want me to help you try it with the right ingredients?"

You turned to look at him, about to refuse his help, but you paused. Solomon had been standing quite close to you so that you could see the ingredient list in his hand. Now you found yourself looking into his eyes. You took in the soft smile on his lips, the way he seemed to be looking at you with an overwhelming fondness.

And even though you were determined to get the potion right because now it was a matter of pride, you found you also didn't want him to leave.

"You don't mind?" you asked. "I know it's late."

"You should know by now that I don't mind helping you at any hour," Solomon said. "You're my apprentice, after all. What kind of teacher would I be if I left you to struggle with this alone?"

You huffed and took the list out of his hand. "I just can't believe I wrote these down wrong. I have to make the potion now or I'll never be able to rest."

"You're almost there," Solomon said, looking at the ingredients on the table. "You just need to change those two things."

Solomon found the missing ingredients in the lab's supply closet and brought them back over to you. The potion's meticulous instructions required the devil sweetgrass to be chopped in a specific way. You had been chopping the wrong ingredient, but you were fairly certain you had been doing it correctly.

You picked up the knife and were about to start, but Solomon stopped you by putting his hand over yours.

"You need to tilt the knife a little more like this," Solomon said, repositioning your hand.

The feeling of his hand on yours, the way you could sense him standing so close behind you, made you forget what you were doing momentarily.

You took a deep breath and began to chop. "Like this?"

"You're doing great, MC," Solomon said, still standing close behind you.

He lifted his hand from yours and let you continue on your own, but you instantly missed his touch. You scolded yourself mentally. You were here to make a potion and Solomon was here to help you. You shouldn't be letting yourself get distracted like this.

You were hyper aware of everything Solomon was doing as he guided you through the steps of making the potion. Every time he passed you some ingredients, your fingers brushed against his. You found you had a hard time looking away from his hands when he was demonstrating how to stir the potion properly. And he was always meeting your eyes, causing you to feel a little twist in your stomach.

You did your best to pretend that you were completely focused on the potion you were making. You hoped it was enough to cover up how distracted you were just by Solomon's presence.

When the potion was finally done, you looked down at the bowl and smiled. It was the correct shade of light green and nothing had exploded at all.

You grinned at Solomon. "It worked! Finally! I thought I was going to be here all night!"

Solomon smiled back at you. "Are you sure it worked? Don't you want to test it?"

You looked back down at the green potion. Certainly a potion for enhancing your hearing wouldn't be dangerous to test, right? But for some reason you were apprehensive. Probably because you had seen all the failed versions of it you had made previously.

Solomon seemed to know what you were thinking. He laughed lightly. "Why don't I test it, instead?"

You were about to protest, but you didn't have a chance. Solomon picked up the bowl and took a sip of the potion you had finally finished making.

You stared at him, eyes wide. "Did it work?"

Solomon met your eyes. "I can hear the clock ticking in the next room over. I would say that's a success."

You slumped in relief. You had been afraid something terrible was going to happen to him.

Solomon put a hand on your arm and smiled at you. "Well done, MC. I'm proud of you."

These words, his touch, caused a thrill to go through you. You tried to act nonchalant, smiling back at him.

Solomon cocked his head a little, as though listening. "MC, I can hear your heart racing."

All hope you had of keeping your composure vanished as you felt the heat rising in your face. You instantly covered it with your hands, backing away from him in your embarrassment.

Solomon laughed a little, reaching out to stop you. "You don't have to be embarrassed."

You peeked at him from between your fingers. "You're teasing me on purpose, aren't you? You've been doing it this whole time."

Solomon's amused chuckle revealed all. "You got me. How can I make it up to you?"

You turned your back to him, face still covered by your hands. "You can't!"

You were truly embarrassed and you didn't think your blush would be dying down any time soon.

You didn't move as you felt Solomon come up behind you, putting a hand on your back.

"Let me try," he said quietly into your ear.

That fluttering feeling returned to your stomach. You let him turn you around, let him gently pull your hands away from your face, let him tilt your chin to make you look at him.

When Solomon kissed you, you let yourself step into the circle of his arms, let yourself embrace that flutter in your gut, let yourself forget your embarrassment as you lost yourself in the feeling of his lips on yours.

You let yourself give in because you were beginning to realize just how much Solomon meant to you. When you were struggling, he was there to help you, even if he teased you along the way. It was how he let you know that despite his status as the most powerful sorcerer in the three worlds, he still just wanted to be with you. And who were you to hold that against him?

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