#and then some prompts that are almost done

[damnfeelings09]

VALENTINE'S DAY COUNTDOWN

First date - Shadow the Hedghog

Pairing: Shadow the hedghog x female reader Tags: fluff, comfort, awkward crush. Word count: 750. Prompt: you and Shadow have been friends for a while, and although he has a massive crush on you and is dying to have you as more than a friend he's not willing to take that step (secretly he's very insecure okay) after a little encouragement from Sonic he asked you out he never imagined how it would end. Notes: First valentine's day prompt and what better way to start it than with my eternal love Shadow. I'm love/romance depraved so these promts will be fluff in its cheesiest and purest form (like melting chocolate in a super sweet cotton candy ice cream with a Cherry on top kind of sickeningly sweet) This time I'll try a different style so let me know if you like it.

Shadow wasn't afraid of anything. He was the ultimate lifeform after all, then… why did his pulse quicken every time he was near you? Why did he feel his palms get wet each time you smiled at him? Why did his fight or flight response activated every time you were there?

Shadow wasn't afraid of anything. But maybe, maybe he was afraid of what he felt for you, afraid that he would become addicted to the feeling of you caressing his cheek, afraid that he couldn't go on without seeing the sparkle in your eyes every day, afraid of getting used to the warmth of your hand on his, afraid that if he said a word of what he felt he would lose you, because let's be honest, who could love a monster like him?

He was unsure, and every time that happened he went to Rouge, however the bat was not at home, so he went to his second best worst option. Sonic

Sonic with his usual cocky grin as Shadow explained the situation. Sonic, the same Sonic that he punched every chance he got just to release some stress and because he enjoyed it, the same Sonic that screwed up time and time again running away from Amy was the one that Shadow had decided to approach for romantic advice.

“Just don't think too much about it Shads” Sonic had said ”She likes you, trust me”

“Easier said than done”

“Well, it's either that or you'll be stuck with ' what could’ve been' forever.”

Honestly, Sonic hadn't been much help, but at least he had planted the seed of doubt in Shadow. What would be the worst that could happen if he kept his feelings to himself? You would probably find someone, that someone would take your hand, receive your caresses, taste your lips and you would forget about him, leaving him aside, alone, unloved.

No. Shadow wouldn't let that happen, the little bit of love he got from you was too addictive and he wasn't about to let anyone else have it. He had made up his mind and although the chances of you feeling the same were low they still weren't 0. He still had no idea how he managed to do it, well maybe he had a little idea. He knew he had walked you home, he knew he had said a few embarrassing things as you walked together making you laugh, what he didn't know was where he had gotten the courage to ask you out when you were about to enter your house.

“See you tomorrow Shadow,” you said waving goodbye to him.

“Wait” he said almost in a whisper. You turned, shaking your head to the side “I... ah...” he scratched his head.

“Is everything okay?”

“I wanted to... I wanted to ask you out.”

“Sure! You know I love going out with you Shadow”

“As... in a date”

“Oh...” oh? What did that mean, it wasn't the yes he was expecting but it wasn't a denial either, it was as if he had surprised you, as if you didn't imagine he could have feelings for-

“I'd love to” you cut off his thought bringing him back to earth. The smile on your face showed shyness but the pink blush on your cheeks and the loud thumping of your heart confirmed to Shadow that his feelings were reciprocated. “I... I'd like you for a while, just didn't know of you might... like me too” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear meeting your gaze with Shadow's causing him to blush. If this were a cartoon his eyes would have turned into hearts and little blue birds would fly around his head.

“I've been feeling like this for a while too, just...”

“It’s okay” you smiled “I'll see you tomorrow for our date” you walked up to him and deposited a kiss on his cheek, waving your fingers in a goodbye motion and closing the door behind you. Little did he know that you slid down the door frame, hand on your heart triyng to stop the rush in your body.

Shadow stood outside your door, his hand holding the very spot where your lips had touched his cheek trying to capture the warmth of your touch, his stomach felt funny as if something was churning inside him just remembering your kiss. It was then that he realized that maybe allowing himself to be happy wasn't such a bad thing.

[marril96]

Mirrors

Chapter 2: Broken

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: While Agatha is resting, Billy engages you in a heart to heart.

Editor: @fruityhahn

Previous chapter.

Agatha looked so peaceful when she slept. There was a calm to her, a peace that wasn't often known to her. Her head lay in your lap as you caressed her hair with utmost tenderness, your eyes glued to her face that was still unnaturally pale. Were it not for the steady rise and fall of her chest, and the gentle beats of her heart that reverberated against your forearm, you would have thought her dead.

Thankfully, she was very much alive.

You swore to do whatever it took to ensure that it stayed that way.

While the rest of the coven had gathered around a fire and engaged in chatter and laughter, you had made a fire of your own, hidden away behind the trees and away from prying eyes. Giving Agatha some privacy as she rested. Giving you some time alone with her for the first time in three long, long years.

You'd draped her coat over her, covering every inch of her, hiding it away from the cold that was eating away at her. Every now and then your hand would slither down to her side and feel the flesh that, mere hours ago, was pierced deep, almost to the bone. Just to make sure that the wound was no longer there. That for some strange reason, hadn't reappeared. That she wasn't in danger of bleeding out again.

You'd come so close to losing her. It was worse than the last time since then at the very least you knew that she was alive. She wasn't in your life but, to the best of your knowledge, she was among the living.

She almost wasn't that lucky.

You're such an idiot, you thought, shaking your head in disapproval. She could have told you that she was injured. She could have asked for help. No matter how awkward things were between you, you would have rushed to her aid, no questions asked.

Which was exactly why she'd kept it to herself.

This was just another problem that she could avoid addressing. Just another problem that she could ignore in hopes that it would go away.

Things like this never did.

Which, in turn, had only made her even more keen on pretending it wasn't there.

Even as the pain got unbearable (it had to have been; that wound was pretty deep) and she was barely able to keep herself on her feet, she'd kept on a brave face and insisted that nothing was wrong.

Had she not collapsed, she would probably still be at it, pale as a ghost but insistent that she was okay.

You fucking bitch.

If only you could hate her. Even when she did things like this, you couldn't muster an ounce of hate towards her. You hated that she did it, hated that she'd put you in a position — once again; this wasn't the first time she'd done this in your centuries together — where you feared for her life. Hated that she couldn't put her pride aside and let you help her before things got this bad.

But her, you could never hate.

You loved her too much for that.

Yet another thing you hated.

A rustle prompted you to twitch, shaking you out of your thoughts. Your hackles rose, firm as needles. Instinctively, you bent over Agatha's sleeping form and pulled her closer against you, shielding her, protecting her. Keeping her safe from whoever and whatever could possibly pose a threat to her wellbeing.

Teen's thin form slowly padded closer, his hands up to signal that he was here in peace.

A breath you'd been holding in left your mouth, almost painfully. Relief flooded your veins, lifted heavy weight off your shoulder. "Sorry, I thought…"

I thought you were Rio.

Out of everyone, she was the last person you wanted around Agatha at a time like this.

"You're good," Teen said, offering a smile that proved he meant it. "I just wanted to see how she's doing."

"She's still asleep." Your hand resumed its place on her hair, fingers twining into chocolate locks. "Unconscious. Whatever."

Teen gave a nod of understanding. "Mind if I sit?"

"Go for it."

You didn't exactly want company, but there was no harm in letting him join you, if only for a few minutes.

The kid cared about Agatha; that much was clear. Be he the Scarlet Witch's son or not, he was a kind soul. He meant no harm.

Agatha was quite fond of him, as well. When he had gotten injured, she was the one who'd urged Jen to act. She was the one who'd sat by his side until he'd woken up.

She could pretend all she wanted — she cared about this kid. She cared too much for her own good.

He reminded her of her own kid.

Not that she would ever admit it out loud.

"You're very protective of her," Teen remarked.

Heat rushed to your cheeks, staining them flush. "Someone has to be."

Especially now that she was powerless. She needed someone in her corner, someone to have her back. Someone to defend her when she couldn't do it herself.

"She doesn't exactly have a stellar reputation," the kid said with a chuckle.

"Nope." Understatement of the century. "Most people aren't her biggest fans."

"I've noticed."

Who wouldn't?

"Everyone either wants her dead or hurt."

"How come you don't?"

"Because I got to know her."

Because she let you get to know her.

Because she let you fall in love with her.

Because, behind closed doors, she wasn't the cold-hearted bitch everyone thought her to be.

"She does grow on you," Teen said.

It was your turn to let out a chuckle. "She sure does."

His face suddenly grew serious. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Do you know what happened to her son?"

Yes. You did. She'd told you once, two centuries ago, and had spent the rest of that night crying her eyes out while you'd held her and assured her that she wasn't a bad mother, that Nicky had loved her and had known that he was loved in return.

"That's not my story to tell."

Agatha had sworn you to secrecy. She didn't care about what people were saying about her. Didn't care that they'd spread around a tale of her having murdered her son or sacrificed him to the Devil. Didn't care that they'd made her out to be a monster.

As much as it pained you to listen to the rumors, you had to let it go. 

It was her life. Her character. If she didn't mind having it assassinated, who were you to say anything?

"Just… don't believe rumors, okay?" You couldn't tell the truth, but you sure as hell could point in its general direction. "People say awful things. None of it's true."

"Jen said—"

"That's definitely not true," you cut him off, setting the record straight. You'd wanted to strangle the other witch, especially after her gossip had resulted in Agatha getting that awful hallucination, but Agatha had ordered you to back off. "I can't say much. Just… it wasn't her fault."

That was what made that situation so tragic.

Agatha had done right by her son, had loved him and cared for him the best way that she knew how, and that still hadn't been enough. She'd still lost him.

Teen nodded, taking your words in.

"Don't prod her," you told him. "She doesn't like talking about it."

"She closed off when I asked her."

"She has a tendency to do that."

Of course, you had ways of making her talk, regardless.

Most times.

If she was being really stubborn, not even mind control could get the words out of her.

"Any other Agatha tips and tricks?" Teen asked with a hint of amusement in his tone, trying to lighten the mood.

Your response, on the other hand, was as serious as a heart attack. "Give her some grace. She's not bad. She's just… her. She may say or do some unsavory things, but that's not who she is."

Your eyes fell to her face in your lap. She looked so serene. So soft. The picture of the woman you fell in love with, once she'd lowered her walls and let you in. Once she'd allowed you to meet the real her.

Yes, she was selfish, yes she was wicked, but there was good in her. It was there in traces, present in every touch of her hand, every brush of her lips against yours, every comforting embrace and loving word that came out of her mouth in times when you most needed it.

Your Agatha was no angel, but she was a person, with all the good and bad that came with it.

She was your person.

"Don't take it to heart when she pushes you away."

"Is that what you did?" Teen asked, contemplating his words for a few moments, unsure whether to dare to prod.

One look from you was enough to assure him that it was okay.

It was only natural to ask.

After all, he had been there when Agatha had shown up at your house — the house that the two of you had used to share — and started reaming you out for having abandoned her, and you, giving as good as you'd gotten, had screamed how she had been the one to abandon you.

In reality, you'd both abandoned each other.

You'd both suffered, each in your own way.

"Yeah."

It would be a lie to deny it.

You'd been doing so for long enough.

"Can I ask what happened?"

You thought it over for a moment, then decided, what the hell.

Maybe telling someone would help lift this enormous burden off your shoulders.

"Three years ago we got into this massive fight. She left and…" The lump in your throat hurt to swallow. It burned its way down. "She didn't come back."

Fights like that were a yearly occurrence in your relationship. Usually, one of you would leave in a huff, pissed to high heavens, in desperate need of space, of time to cool off and clear her head. A few days would pass, and the angry party would return home. There would be tears and a conversation filled with apologies from both sides, and the truce would be sealed with a kiss.

There was none of that this time around.

Agatha hadn't returned home.

She hadn't responded to text messages or picked up calls.

It was like she had disappeared off the face of the planet.

The words that had left your mouth that day had been foul. You'd never spoken to her like that before. Had never known you'd had it in you to even attempt to.

Agatha, true to her character, had given as good as she had gotten. Her sharp tongue had made sure to make every insult sting like a slap to the face.

It had, by far, been the worst fight the two of you had ever had.

When she hadn't returned and had — it seemed — ignored all of your attempts to contact her, you'd thought that that was it. She'd had enough. She'd decided to cut you off for good and go her own way. She'd decided to find herself a girlfriend who wouldn't yell at her and call her names. She'd decided you just weren't doing it for her anymore.

So you'd let her go.

You'd moved on.

Well, theoretically.

One didn't move on from Agatha Harkness. One didn't just stop loving her. It would be impossible.

But you'd learned to live without her.

For the past couple of weeks you hadn't even cried once.

It was progress, of sorts.

Then she'd shown up at your door and, instead of hurt, there was guilt, and it was there to stay. For good, it seemed.

Just as you deserved.

As much as you wanted to pretend otherwise, the brunt of the blame was on you.

You shouldn't have given up on the woman you loved.

You should have looked for her.

You should have fought for her.

"And you didn't look for her?" Teen said softly, as if afraid of offending you.

The truth itself was far more offensive than any perceived slight.

You gave a small shake of your head. "I thought she'd moved on."

"Did you move on?"

"I thought I did."

Your hand slid to Agatha's side again. All clear. No wound. You allowed yourself a breath of relief, a welcome distraction from the turmoil that was eating you up inside.

"Sounds like you guys just had a misunderstanding."

That was exactly what it was.

A misunderstanding.

A case of mixed signals. Something a simple conversation should be able to fix.

It would have, if not for what had transpired as a result.

Oops didn't even begin to cover it.

"Yeah, well, that misunderstanding cost her three years of her life," you said, angry at yourself, at the dire situation that your inaction had contributed to.

"That wasn't your fault," Teen pointed out.

It was your mother's, you thought bitterly.

Wanda had inflicted unparalleled damage upon Agatha.

And you had let her.

You were none the wiser, pissed at the woman you loved instead of directing your anger where it actually belonged. Too busy resenting her to consider unforeseeable circumstances might be at play.

"You don't understand, Teen." You almost said Billy, but you caught yourself at the least moment. Agatha was way better at this stuff than you. "That spell that she was under… it was torture."

Even short-term exposure to such a spell could leave permanent marks on one's psyche.

Agatha had been under it for three years.

Three years of pain. Three years of anguish. Three years of torment.

Your hand gripped her shoulder. You pulled her closer, relishing in the fact that, despite everything that had transpired, she was safe. She had people to help her when she was in need. She had a coven.

She had you.

"She was suffering for three years and I had no idea."

Teen shifted uncomfortably. His gaze briefly fell upon Agatha's sleeping form before returning to you. "I'm sure she knows it wasn't on purpose."

"It doesn't matter. She was still hurt, and I wasn't there to protect her."

"You couldn't have known."

"Yeah, well, I should have!"

Teen flinched, startled by your outburst. Uttering a small apology, looked down at Agatha's tranquil face. Still pale, still deathly cold. No healthy blush that usually adorned her cheeks.

"I can't even imagine what it must've been like." You brushed your fingers across her cheek, tenderly, softly, as if she were made of porcelain. As if one careless touch would shatter her into a million pieces. "She won't talk to me."

Even if she did, there wasn't much that you could do.

Something like that didn't leave one's mind unscathed. The damage, once inflicted, was done. She would bear that pain for life.

The only thing that you could do was have her back. Assure her that it was okay, that you loved her no matter what.

This was just another scar in her collection. It didn't make her weak. It didn't change how you saw her, how you felt about her.

She was still your Agatha.

The problem was she was stubborn and would die before allowing herself to be vulnerable yet again.

"You can still be there for her," Teen said.

If only it were that easy. "She won't let me."

"Make her," he said with a shrug. As if it were that easy. As if Agatha would admit defeat and surrender without a fight.

You had to laugh. "You think anyone can make Agatha Harkness do anything?"

There was that time she'd caught the flu, and she wouldn't take Tylenol to lower her fever because human medicine was beneath her. You'd ended up crushing it into her soup, which, when she'd realized the white, gritty substance weren't spices, as you'd adamantly claimed, had ended in her dramatically proclaiming that you were trying to poison her.

Granted, that could have been the fever talking; Tylenol hadn't yet kicked in. But still.

"You're here now, aren't you?" Teen said.

"Only because she's unconscious." You stroked Agatha's hair, thick and beautiful. Silk between your fingers. You missed it. "I'm fine with her not wanting me around. I just want her to be okay. That's all. I don't wanna force myself into her life."

"Something tells me that you wouldn't be here if she didn't want you to be," Teen pointed out. "Even if she's putting up a front."

A smile broke out on your mouth. "Maybe."

She did say she didn't hate you.

Maybe there was still hope.

Maybe she could find it in her to forgive you.

"You said it yourself: she's not bad. She's just… her. Give her some grace."

You had to laugh. "Using my own words against me? That's very Agatha of you."

"It's true," Teen said with a chuckle.

Yeah. You supposed it was.

Agatha could do with some grace.

She didn't have people — friends, loved ones — out there to look out for her, to have her back even when she was in the wrong.

For three long, long years she didn't have you, either.

You wanted to make it right.

Agatha deserved that much.

"I should get back," Teen said, motioning to the rest of the coven out back, their chatter and laughter a distant echo.

He glanced down at Agatha; at her face being caressed by your fingers, at the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, concern etched all over his face like a tattoo.

He didn't want for her to be hurt any more than you did.

"She'll be okay," you said softly, offering him the same guarantee that Lilia had given you.

Agatha was strong. Resilient.

She would survive this.

She would recover in record time, as if she'd never even been in this predicament.

"I know," Teen said. "She's the baddest bitch in South America and Europe. Nothing keeps her down for long."

A laugh, loud and hearty, tore from your throat.

He was right; this was just an injury. One of the countless she'd acquired over the centuries, that she'd lived through with relative ease.

Who was to say she wouldn't do so again?

Your Agatha was nothing if not a fighter.

No sooner had his footsteps faded in the distance than Agatha's voice, coarse like beach sand, broke the silence that had settled over you. "Wasn't that disgustingly sappy? Lifetime channel would be proud."

How could you forget?

Your Agatha was nothing if not a sneaky bitch, as well.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @miss-moon-guardian @hermslore @uniquelesbianidiot @natashamaximoff1 @alsoknownasmel @swan-queen-is-magic @tardisesandtitans @ahintofchaos @fruityhahn @midnight-lestrange @lift-heavy-be-gay @katieswain123 @riovidalharkness @revleftshark

[777bae]

SWEET AS HONEY WILL SMITH

Summary :: Will’s distracted by everything about you—the way you talk, your hands, your smile—until you call him “darlin’.” It’s enough to short-circuit his brain, and when he finally blurts out his feelings, your knowing smile says everything. (REQUESTED :: prompt 21 with southern!reader)

Warnings :: none

Word count :: 1.9k

It happens so fast he almost misses it.

Will should be listening. Really, he should. But there’s a problem—you.

You’re standing in front of him, fire in your voice, conviction burning in your eyes, speaking with so much passion that it fills the space between you like something tangible. Every word, every syllable, is laced with that unmistakable Southern drawl that always seems to catch him off guard, always seems to sink into his skin and settle somewhere deep in his chest.

And Lord help him, he finds it fascinating.

Your hands move as you talk, slicing through the air, shaping your words in ways that make them feel even bigger, even more important. You’ve always done that—talk with your hands, as if words alone could never quite hold the weight of what you’re trying to say. Like your thoughts are too alive to be contained by your voice alone.

But it’s not just the way you speak that’s got him hanging onto every single moment like it’s something to be memorized. It’s everything.

The way your fingers dance midair, sometimes curling into a fist when you get really into what you’re saying, only to relax a second later. The way your brows furrow when you’re serious—like right now, as you try to drill some kind of wisdom into his thick skull. The slight curve of your lips when you’re teasing him, that flash of mischief in your eyes before you force yourself to stay on track.

He notices all of it.

Every shift in your expression. Every flicker of light in your eyes. Every movement, no matter how small.

And the way you’re looking at him now? It’s got him teetering between actually listening and just watching you, like you’re something out of a dream.

He should focus. He knows that. He wants to focus on the words, on what you’re actually saying. And he’s trying—he really, really is.

He catches fragments, little bits and pieces of your voice cutting through the haze in his mind. Something about how he needs to be more careful, more aware. Something about how you’re just looking out for him, and how he never takes things seriously.

And he knows you mean well. Knows you’re saying all of this because you care.

But the problem—the real problem—is that Will has been distracted by you since the very first day he met you.

And tonight is no different.

“Are you even hearin’ me?” you ask, exasperation creeping into your tone.

And then it happens.

“You hearin’ me, darlin’?”

Will’s brain short-circuits.

It’s instant—like someone pulled the plug on his entire system, like his mind just slammed on the brakes so hard it sent his thoughts skidding in every direction. He stops. Completely.

His breath catches. His heart stumbles over itself, then picks up again at double the speed. His ability to think, to process, to function as a normal human being, is gone.

Because darlin’ just left your lips like it belonged there.

Like it was effortless. Like you didn’t even have to think about it. Like maybe—just maybe—you’ve been calling him that in your head for a while now, and this was just the first time it slipped out into the world.

And God help him, Will doesn’t know what to do with himself.

You said it so easy, so natural, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like you didn’t just shake the very foundation of his world with one little word.

And now? Now he’s completely useless.

He just… stares at you. Like a damn fool. Like you just hung the moon and he’s only just now realizing it. The conversation? Gone. The reason you were even talking to him in the first place? Couldn’t tell you. The time of day? Not a clue.

The only thing he knows—the only thing—is that you called him darlin’, and now he’s completely, utterly, hopelessly ruined.

Somewhere, in the very distant part of his mind that still has a grasp on reality, he registers the way your hands drop to your hips. The way your head tilts ever so slightly. The way you’re waiting for him to say something.

But how—how—is he supposed to respond to this?

How is he supposed to function when you just—when you just called him darlin’?

You’re right there, looking at him with those sharp, knowing eyes, and Will can’t do a damn thing about it because his brain is still rebooting.

“Will.”

You snap your fingers in front of his face, trying to pull him back to earth, but he’s too far gone.

“Are you even listenin’ to me?” you press, your voice carrying that familiar mix of amusement and impatience, like you already know exactly what’s happening in his head.

And it’s that damn accent again, lilting, teasing, wrapping around the words in a way that makes his stomach do a ridiculous little flip.

Will opens his mouth.

Then closes it again.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

It’s humiliating, really, because Will Smith considers himself a pretty smooth guy. He’s never been the type to be at a loss for words, never been the type to just freeze up like this.

But you—you—have gone and made a complete idiot out of him with one little word.

And the worst part?

He likes it.

You huff out a small laugh, tilting your head at him, eyes glinting with something dangerous—something knowing. Like you can already see the mess you’ve made of him, like you can tell exactly what’s happening in that scrambled brain of his, and you’re just waiting for him to catch up.

“What’s wrong with you?” you ask, teasing, a slow, amused smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

You.

You are what’s wrong with him.

You and that voice of yours, that accent that curls around every word and makes his chest feel too tight. The way you’re looking at him right now, like you already know the answer to your own damn question. Like you already know exactly how gone for you he is.

Will tries—really tries—to gather himself, to do something, anything, other than stand here like some love-drunk fool. But it’s useless. His brain isn’t cooperating, his body sure as hell isn’t cooperating, and his heart? His heart is pounding so hard it drowns out every logical thought in his head.

He swallows, hard.

His hands feel too big, too clumsy, like he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with them. Should he shove them in his pockets? Cross his arms? Do something that doesn’t make him look like an idiot? It doesn’t matter, because all he can think about—all he can feel—is the way you just gave him a pet name, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And the worst part? He knows, deep in his bones, that if you wanted to call him darlin’ for the rest of his life, he’d let you. Happily.

He’s already drowning in it, already too deep, and there’s no coming back from this. No saving himself.

And then—before he can even stop himself—he blurts out, “Say it again.”

Your lips twitch. Oh, you know exactly what you’re doing to him. And Lord help him, you like it.

There’s a flicker of amusement in your eyes, a tease, a challenge.

“Say what again?” you ask, all innocence, but there’s something in your tone, something light and playful, and it only makes him sink deeper.

Will exhales, slow, like he’s really trying to hold onto the last shred of composure he’s got.

But it’s slipping.

“You know what,” he murmurs, voice lower, rougher than before.

And then it happens again.

That damn smirk of yours grows, slow and sweet, curling at the edges of your mouth like you know exactly what’s happening to him—and you love it. You lean in just a little, not enough to close the distance completely, but just enough to make his pulse do that stupid little stutter, like it’s trying to keep up with the hammering in his chest.

If he wasn’t already completely lost in you, this would do it.

But the thing is, he’s already gone. You’ve already wrapped him around your finger with that little word, with that damn accent, with the way your eyes twinkle when you know you have him exactly where you want him.

And then—then, just like that, you say it again.

“Darlin’,” you murmur, low, soft, like it’s meant just for him, like you’re whispering a secret only the two of you share.

Will swears—swears—his heart actually stumbles in his chest, like it can’t keep up with the chaos you’ve set in motion inside him. His breath catches, lodged somewhere in his throat, and for a second, he feels like he might not even be able to breathe. His knees feel weak, wobbly, and it’s completely ridiculous because he’s literally just standing here, trying to hold onto whatever shred of sanity he has left.

But you just called him darlin’ again—and now, he’s done for.

There’s no coming back from this.

He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. He’s frozen, stuck in place, watching as your eyes gleam with that quiet satisfaction. It’s like you know you’ve got him exactly where you want him—and you’re not rushing it.

“Will,” you sigh, a soft, teasing sound that somehow only makes everything worse. You shake your head, like he’s the one being ridiculous now, and you’re still waiting for him to catch up, waiting for him to snap out of the daze you’ve got him in. “Focus. I was sayin’—”

And then—without thinking, without any idea where it’s even coming from—he finally opens his mouth and the words spill out.

“I think I love you.”

The second the words are out, it’s like time stops.

Will feels the weight of them in the air between you, feels the way they hang there, heavy and impossible to ignore. His heart is pounding so hard he thinks it might burst, and his mind is racing to process what just happened, but it’s already too late. The words are out—there’s no taking them back.

He freezes.

He swears he’s suspended in time now, waiting for the reaction, for the response that’s going to tell him whether he’s just made the biggest mistake of his life, or the best decision he’s ever had the courage to make.

He holds his breath, watching you, waiting for something—anything. The seconds stretch out longer than they should, stretching into an eternity, and for a moment, he thinks maybe the world has stopped turning altogether.

Then, slow as honey, you smile.

That smile.

It’s knowing. It’s patient. It’s like you already knew this was coming, like you’ve always known how he feels, even when he didn’t have the guts to say it aloud. Your lips curve into that smile, and it’s warm, almost lazy, like you’re in no rush, like you’re savoring the moment.

You take a step closer, just enough to close the gap, just enough that Will can feel the warmth of your body, the soft scent of your perfume, the way you seem to own the space between you two. Your fingers—your fingers barely graze his wrist, but it’s enough to make his breath hitch all over again, like your touch has a power he can’t quite explain.

“Well,” you murmur, voice dripping with that teasing warmth, “it’s about time you figured that out, darlin’.”

And that’s it.

Will feels like he might collapse. His heart is still racing, but now it’s not from panic—it’s from the soft, lingering joy that spreads through his chest, the joy that only comes from hearing those words from your mouth, knowing you’re not backing away, knowing you’re not running from what he just said.

No, you’ve just pulled him closer, and everything in him surrenders.

[midnight-mourning]

The Thought That Counts

💘💘Midnight's DCA Valentine's Day 10💘💘

This one was super interesting for me as someone who's ace to sit and think about, shout out to the aroaces, this one is for you, little hurt/comfort just because that's what i was feeling

Prompt: Sun and Moon discussing with an Aroace yn why they dislike romance? Or maybe just watching some really bad romcoms on a horrible day

Word Count: 1753

Read here if you prefer ao3!

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The sound of happy love songs has started to grate on you recently, you're not going to lie. You get maybe like, a couple days worth, but all week long feels a bit, excessive. Not to mention the barrage of lovey dovey advertisements, decorations, and so on you've seen everywhere you've went.

Sure, it all wasn't intentionally done to annoy or make you uncomfortable, but sometimes it certainly felt like it. 

As you walk into the Daycare for work, you do your best to ignore it as per usual. Today would hopefully be the last day—since it was Valentine's, after all—and then you could go back to living in peace. 

Again, it wasn't necessarily a hate for the holiday, rather it was just a general discomfort. Not typically feeling, if ever at all, attraction for other people just made you feel like you were getting pressured into a game everyone else was playing. Except for you that is. 

It just wasn't your holiday, and that was fine, you just simply wished others would see it that way too. Instead of having to constantly be on edge if you said the wrong thing about not wanting the persistent reminder that you don't fit inside the box everyone else puts you in. 

It was a bummer, and it hurt quite a bit. Losing friendships and the likes in certain cases. Just because of the fact you didn't experience the world the way they did. 

But, you'd deal with it. Just like you've always done. 

If you could, that is. 

Unfortunately, your favorite coworker(s) had made it a bit difficult to keep your head down and avoid like you typically did. 

Valentine's was their favorite holiday—though, you think they said that with every holiday—and thus they had to go all out for it. 

Every inch of the Daycare was covered head to toe with decorations, streamers and paper hearts covering every surface. Instead of the Daycare theme, age appropriate love songs played through the speakers up above softly, adding to the overly love-filled atmosphere. 

For them, you were sure it was great, exactly the vision they had in mind. For you, it was just, too much. 

But the decorations and the music weren't the problem. Unfortunately, it was Sun and Moon themselves causing the 'issues' you were dealing with. 

All week long they'd been leaving little things for you to find throughout the play area. Little handmade cards with endearing notes. Paper roses folded neatly by your belongings. 

It tore you up inside, mainly because you knew what this all was leading up to, and you were almost dreading having to tell them. It wasn't that you didn't care for them. You really, truly did. A lot. So much. 

But not like that. Not at this point, that is. Sure, maybe it was possible, but at the current moment, the idea of such just made you feel, off. 

So when Sun came up to you near the middle of your shift, something hiding behind his back, you already had a guess as to what it was. 

Before he said anything, he seemed to pause, almost deflating upon getting closer to you. 

You speak first, trying to keep your tone light. "Everything alright, Sunny?"

"Of course, Sunbeam!" Still, he keeps his hands behind his back. "But, is everything alright with you?"

You nod with a smile. "Of course. I'm just a little tired is all."

"Oh... are you sure? You've seemed a bit, upset all week long. Would you... like to talk about it?"

Your brows raise, both in surprise and in fear that you'd been found out. "I, no, that's okay! It's not um, something I really want to talk about right now."

"Right. Of course." He steps back, then another, then turns around but manages to keep whatever he was holding hidden from you. "Well, enjoy your break, friend!" 

He walks off then, before you can stop him, and your heart sinks a bit. 

The rest of the day proves to be, incredibly stressful. The party for the kids goes great, but it leaves you with a terrible disaster to clean up. It sours your mood more than you expected, especially after finding the mess of glitter glue hiding underneath one of the tables, you spend nearly thirty minutes scrubbing on your hands and knees to get it cleaned up. And when you emerge you remember all the rest of the clean up you still have to do, stressing you out even further.

With a sigh and a stretch to crack your back, you trudge over to where the trash is and deposit the used paper towels into it. You turn around to get back to work, but are shocked to find Sun standing there, looking a bit cheered up compared to your last 'official' conversation earlier. 

"Hello Sunshine!" 

You smile, tired. "Hi, Sun. Need something?"

"It's not what I need, but rather, what you need, friend." He pokes your chest once, rays spinning. "I have a little surprise for you. If you'll accept." 

Your brow furrows. This seems a bit different than earlier, so you're curious. "Oh?"

"Yup! Now come on!" He takes both your hands and starts pulling you out of the Daycare, heading in the direction of the theater, you in tow. 

You don't protest physically, too tired and stressed—as you quickly realize—but do speak up about it. "Woah! What about cleanup?"

"Clean up can wait! You obviously don't feel well, and we need to fix that immediately!" Sun pushes open the theater doors with his back, leading you inside. "And Moon and I have just the thing for it."

After your eyes adjust to the lighting, you're surprised to see there's a film pulled up on the large screen, with a couple of beanbags and blankets piled near the middle of the room. There's a smell of popcorn in the air that makes your mouth water. 

Sun finally stops once you're over by the beanbags, pushing you to sit down in one, covering you with a blanket once you comply. He sets a bag of popcorn and a couple boxes of candies in your lap. When he's done he pats your head and sits down in a bean bag not too far from you. But you do note it's not his usual spot beside you, but you let it go as he claps his hands. 

His rays spin. "Ready to get started? This is just for you, but we went ahead and took the liberty of picking the first film."

"I, yeah, I guess so. Thank you guys, I uh, needed a break." You take a bite of popcorn and turn to look at the screen. "More than I expected—Is this 'Valentine's Day'?!" You almost choke from your laughter. 

"Of course! It seemed fitting, and the reviews we read were very passionate!"

You shake your head, settling in. "Passionate is the key word there, I think."

The film passes by quicker than you'd expect, chatting with Sun every so often to explain why the story makes you laugh so much, explaining what exactly a romcom is, and just in general decompressing from the day. 

They let you pick the next one—with Moon getting to be out to watch this time instead—and you choose another classic bad movie, 'Bride Wars' to keep the theme up. 

Again with Moon though, he keeps his distance from you, settling in a respectable few feet away. Which, you did appreciate in the beginning, after being overwhelmed with the amount of in your face love-dovey stuff the past several weeks. But now, you're feeling, lonely. 

About a quarter of the way into this movie, you decide to speak up, turning to your lunar companion. 

"Hey. What's going on with you guys today?" You ask, reaching a hand over to rest on his. 

Moon flinches, not making eye contact with you. "We're just, we thought, it doesn't matter. We don't want you to be uncomfortable with us, Star."

"Uncomfortable? With you?" You shake your head. "Never. I mean, yeah I was a little worried when—" You stop, realizing it's not helping as he shrinks in on himself. "I, let me explain, I guess."

Moon nods, and you sigh. 

"Romance, just, isn't my thing. Not usually, if ever. I just, I don't really get those feelings for other people. And when it gets constantly shoved down your throat, you start to realize how uncomfortable with it you actually are. Really uncomfortable. I just wanna be me and not feel like I have to be something I'm not, that I can't be." You shake your head again. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I can still feel attraction and the likes, and I, I care about you two a lot. Especially you two. But it's just, not like that? I want to be close with you, be around you all the time, I like your jokes, your teasing, talking to you, but the idea of romance, in general, just, gives me a bit of an ick sometimes, does that all make sense?" You lay back, running a hand through your hair. "I mean, I—I think I'm in love with you both, but not in the way that I have romantic feelings for you? Sorry this is a word vomit of an explanation I'm sorry—"

You feel arms wrap around you, pulling you up into a hug. 

Moon's voice is soft, just a murmur. "We're sorry."

"Moon, it's not on you—"

You can feel him shake his head against you. "Not that. We mean we're sorry you have to deal with that. It's not fair."

"Oh, yeah. I guess so."

He pulls back, hand resting on your cheek as he looks down at you. "We care about you too, a lot. It, doesn't have to be anything more than that. It's enough just to be able to say it. Does that make sense?"

"Y-yeah. It does. More than you know." You feel your face heat up, either from embarrassment or excitement at understanding. You bury your head against his chest. "And as for like, the gifts and stuff, that's still okay. They're still sweet, and they mean a lot. I promise."

Moon snickers. "Sounds like you just enjoy getting things."

"Not true! I really do like it! It's the thought that counts." You protest, now fully embarrassed. 

Moon hugs you a little tighter, humming. "I suppose it is."

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Thank you for the request @starspindle! It was interesting to tackle in that through writing I learned a bit about myself and my own indentity, plus i just enjoy writing hurt/comfort hehe ^^

My writing Masterpost

DCA Valentine's Masterpost

Tag list (if you would like added, simply say so!):

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[graceisinthelibrary]

Can I ask for the situation prompts. 9) Your favourite song is playing. (Maybe a slow dance 🥺)

Hello there,

I'm not sure if this is what you had in mind, but here we go...

“And the roses will die with the summertime, And our roads may be far apart, But there's one rose that dies not in Picardy, 'Tis the rose that I keep in my heart!” 

It was the saddest part of the song Audrey had ever heard, but there was so much truth in it. As the gramophone played on she blinked a tear away and did her best to focus on her knitting. She really should have put on another record for her little afternoon break, but it was one of favourites. So sad and yet so precious. 

“Roses of Picardy” reminded her of the Great War. Her war. The war she had served in as a Wren, when she had been of more use than today. These days she was only knitting socks for the boys at the front, hoping they would keep their feet warm. After all it was still January and the snow on the continent was deep. 

Rueful she remembered the time when she had done more than knitting to support her country. Her time in the Wrens had been an eye opening experience for her. She had learnt to shoot, had served on a minesweeper or had been taught how to use a telegraph. She still knew the Morse alphabet by heart and how to read a navigation map… She couldn’t believe there was nothing but knitting for her to do, but maybe she just hadn’t found the right occupation to do her bit yet.  

As she hummed along to the song, she also remembered the dancing. The singing. The comradery. The fun she had had with Dorothy. The sense of not knowing what lay ahead, the adventure of it…but most of all the dancing. The soldiers, mainly officers, who had asked her to dance. Most of the time it had been nothing but innocent fun. There had been wandering hands, of course, but she could deal with them. The dancing had been a way to pass the time. As long as they had danced, they had been alive. 

She remembered one particular officer who had stolen her heart just by dancing with her. Back then she had already been married, but he had allowed her to dream of another life than the one ahead of her. For one night she had envisioned another future than the one society had been expecting of her. 

“You’re in a jolly good mood.” 

She startled and almost dropped her knitting needles along with the two thirds of the sock she had been working on. 

“Mr Farnon!” She complained as she picked up her gear. As she looked over her shoulder she saw him standing in the doorway to the dining room, his arms crossed over his chest, a bright smile plastered all over his handsome face. 

He chuckled as approached her and kneeled down to help her. “I remember the song,” he said. 

“It ain’t Gilbert & Sullivan,” she joked. 

“I used to dance to it during the war,” he said, the fond memory now visible in his eyes. 

“Me too,” she confessed with a chuckle. “Those were the days.” 

“I guess we did have some fun after all,” he assumed as he handed her the sock, trying not to prick himself at the needles. Her fingers brushed against hers and she felt a little tingle where he touched her. 

He pushed himself up and sank on the sofa. 

“I seem to remember having encountered a couple of Wrens on my way back from Ypres. They served on our ship and I remember how marvellous they were - on the dance floor and in every other regard.” He gave a glance that made her blush. Did he try to flirt with her? 

“Well, the officers certainly knew how to get in our good graces.” 

“Did they succeed? With you I mean?” His brown rested on her, inquiringly and with a certain sense of mischief sparkling in them. 

“What do you think?” She returned the question, unwilling to give away too much. The former Captain Farnon had certainly been a notorious flirt in his day and age. 

“I think Principle Hall probably knows more than she lets on,” he replied. He looked down at his fingernails and added, “I got married on leave, so the last thing on my mind was overdoing it. But I enjoyed the dancing.” 

“Well, many did…” she mused. 

“Although once…” He paused when her eyes shot up. “I met a Wren who made me reconsider my vows in an instant.” 

“I reckon she were special,” Audrey said, trying to keep the mood light. Mr Farnon had loved his wife very much and she had a hard time imagining him straying from his promises to her. He wasn’t the kind of man who took vows lightly. 

“Dark hair, clear eyes, soft smile,” he summed up. “And wicked sense of humour. She was lucky I was taken.” 

“Were she?” Audrey wondered. 

“I remember dancing the night away with her…” He rose and put on the record again. 

“She is watching by the poplars, Colinette with the sea-blue eyes, She is watching and longing and waiting, Where the long white roadway lies…” 

“May I ask for this dance…” 

“Mr Farnon!” She giggled and looked down on her pinny. “We can’t… what if someone comes in…” 

“Then I’ll be willing to swear you’re teaching me how to move my rusty old bones!” He stretched out his hand. “Come on now, Mrs H! We haven’t got all afternoon!” 

With her knees consisting of pudding and her heart racing in her chest, she rose and followed him into the middle of the room. As he pulled her a little closer than necessary, her cheeks began to burn, and she wanted to hiccup with excitement. Their bodies fitted so well… he moved so exquisitely elegant that she felt clumsy and worried to stumble over her own feet. But she didn’t. The longer he guided her across the room, becoming more and more bold with her, she felt lighter. She picked up on his pace, relaxed her hand that was resting on his shoulder and started to giggle when he finally whirled her around. 

When she ended up back in his arms, she felt his lips brushing over her ear. His whisper was a bit husky and his hot breath made her dizzy, “I’ve always known it was you…” 

[aealzx]

As Sonic slammed through the enemy’s weapons Knuckles slid to a stop next to Shadow and threw his body protectively over the black hedgehog’s smaller form, a hand resting on Shadow’s head, and face turning to snarl at the soldiers. Only when significant damage had been done did Sonic skid to a stop, standing between the soldiers and Shadow with his arms spread wide, blue lightning rippling off his form. The quiet that fell over the field wasn’t complete, but it was still numbing. “Stay down, new hedgehog. I’ll keep you safe,” Knuckles spoke quietly to Shadow when he tried to push himself up despite the form over him. He smelled of blood mixed with ash, and Knuckles could hear the slight wheeze in his painfully heavy breaths. It was a simple command, but Knuckles was uncertain if the way Shadow’s form relaxed after a moment was a good thing or not. He seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes open.

____________

“Mr. Wachowski. Care to enlighten me why you’re here?” Commander Walters returned the greeting. “Well, I live here,” Tom answered with a brief smile. “Green Hills is right over there, in case you weren’t aware. We’d appreciate it if the military wasn’t firing off weapons so close to town.” “A minor incident. We have it under control, and will be leaving shortly.” Sonic snorted and opened his mouth to shoot a bitter reply, but Tom stopped him with a hand. “Great! Well then, I’ll just pick up my kids, and we’ll pretend this never happened. We can tell the town you were cleaning up a rogue Eggman drone?” Tom suggested brightly. That got Commander Walters to crack a fake smile. “Ah. Yes, that should do nicely.” “Cool! Keeping it simple. I like it,” Tom breathed, clapping his hands together and turning slightly. “Honey, is kid number four safe to move?” “Four?” Commander Walters spoke in mildly confused protest. “Uhhhhh yeah. Two right here, and then two over there with Maddie makes four,” Tom returned easily, pointing to Sonic and Tails near him, and then Knuckles and Shadow as Maddie reached them. Commander Walters cleared his throat. “I’m sorry Mr. Wachowski, there seems to be a misunderstanding. Project Shadow is property of G.U.N.. I can’t allow you to take it.” “Huh,” Tom voiced, forcing a pause. “That’s strange. I thought slavery was illegal in the United States.” “You know what I mean.” “No, I actually don’t. Care to enlighten me how kidnapping a lost child and subjecting him to experimentation and indefinite imprisonment is something the government does?” Commander Walters’ expression twitched, and Tom started nodding his head. “Yeah, we figured some things out,” Tom confirmed the unspoken, possible question. It prompted Commander Walters to change tactics, shifting his shoulders and drawing a breath for a new conversation. “We’re simply containing a dangerous weapon. It’s standard procedure.” “Excuse me? The only dangerous weapon we’ve had to deal with recently was that moon slicing cannon your people built. The one that my kids stopped, because some nutcase stole it from you. Remember that?” “Didn’t he almost kill you in the process?” “Because he thought I was you!” Tom snapped. ”And seeing what you've done to him now I can see why his first reaction to seeing you was to fight!” “He's dangerous-” “He is a child!” Tom bellowed. “And if you would treat him as one, as a person, instead of a weapon he may have come to like you instead of wanting to kill you the moment he saw you! Now are you going to take my suggestion and get the hell out of here without a fuss, or are we going to have to do this the hard way?”

____________________

“I think he passed out.” Maddie faltered for a moment, but then pushed through, somewhat reassured since they were already in the clinic. “Alright. That’s okay, bring him over here,” Maddie directed, pointing to a shallow bathing station. “We need to get him clean. Can you get his gloves and shoes off?” she gave for further instruction before turning to her three boys. “Knuckles, take your brothers to the front room and call Uncle Wade to come help watch you three.” “But I wanna help!” Sonic protested, already having been dancing around their feet staying out of the way but also trying to stay as close as he could. “I know, but this is a little more intense than I’d like you to have to deal with,” Maddie assured, running her hand over his head. “I’ll be good, I’ll listen.” “No, Sonic,” Maddie stressed. “I’m gonna have to do surgery to fix his ribs, and I don’t want any of you to see that. Okay?” Sonic’s eyes went wide, and Maddie raised her hands to steady him if needed. It was a little blunt, but she didn’t have time to keep trying to convince him. “It’ll be okay, boys. I’ll take care of it. So just be good for Wade, alright?” “I’ll watch over them, mother,” Knuckles assured, moving forward with Tails already clinging to him and putting a hand around Sonic. “Come. Let us contact our Uncle, then construct a plan to welcome Shadow home.”

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__________________________

__________________________

Iiiiiii have a lot of scattered incoherent thoughts about Shadow getting adopted that I cannot figure out how to string together in a straight story, so I'm just doodling and writing the lil bits that pop into my head. 8 |

Something about Shadow trying to find his inhibitor rings again, but he only gets the 2 for his legs and G.U.N. finds the other 2 first, which leads to Shadow trying to steal them back but inevitably getting worn down by them and his own chaos energy beating him up. So he gives in and goes to Green Hills to find Sonic for help because "I thought that...since you wouldn't kill me… even after all I did, all I said, I thought that maybe…. maybe… you could help me"

This all took long enough that the Wachowski fam had enough time to talk things over about everything.

This also might be the 'I may have beat Shadow up a lil too much haha whoops' headspace 'cause he ended up with this list of injuries by the time the fam got him:

2 displaced broken ribs on the right (stabilized by Maddie with pins to be removed later)

broken right arm

broken left leg

injured right lung (causes wheezing mostly)

large laceration on right torso and right thigh

I'm still not sure if I want Walters to be the one there chasing Shadow or if it should be the other military lady and Walters helps stop them and let Tom and Maddie take Shadow 8 |

anyway post is getting way long so * finger guns and leaves ya'll with this *

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

For B-Day prompts, maybe a Harry Potter/Dragon Age crossover, however you see that going down.

Age 5

“I told you!” Minerva hissed at Albus as they carried Harry Potter through an old city. “The worst kind of Muggles.”

“I know,” Albus said, feeling old as he looked down at the sleeping five-year-old in his arms. A broken arm and blackening bruises on his face were the result of his uncle. Mrs. Figg had finally bothered telling Albus about the abuse, having secretly liked the idea of a wizard being hurt by Muggles. Her guilt was obvious at the fact she was complicit in the abuse.

Albus frankly didn’t give a damn. The guilt should eat at her for what she’d done.

“Is this new option any better? Going through the portal to Thedas seems like a terrible idea,” Minerva said.

“I watched her for weeks Minerva. She has a good heart,” Albus told her as they got to the meeting point. The woman they were meeting was already there. A dark skinned woman in a white coat with a square hat tilted to the side, a fishnet veil on the other side. She had a golden prosthetic she leaned on a bit as she smoke a cigarette.

“Albus,” the woman said. She put out the smoke, studying them. “Who’s the kid?”

“You didn’t even tell her?!” Minerva hissed like her animagus form, glaring.

“I wanted to keep it as quiet as possible,” Albus replied. “Neve Gallus, this is Harry Potter. James’ son.”

Neve blinked in surprise, staring at the sleeping child. Her cousin had a son? She knew he’d died in some war, but not that he had a son. Nor…

“His former guardians,” Neve said, motioning to the broken arm. Albus nodded grimly while the woman with him looked like she would love to kill something. Interesting. “I’m the only option?” Neve asked.

“It’s best for him to be with family. When his mother died she cast a powerful piece of magic. It’s stronger with her blood relatives but anyone related to Harry can hold them,” Albus said calmly. Neve hesitated, staring at the child.

She shouldn’t. She worked almost all the time, was currently helping fight off the Venatori where she could, had terrible habits…

But…

“I’ll take him,” she said calmly, staring at the boy. Her cousin. A piece of family she could have all over again.

“Splendid,” Albus smiled at her before it turned to a grimace. “I should tell you more.”

The conversation after had Neve in full agreement she did in fact need to know that.

-

Harry didn’t really know what to think of Neve. She was nice. Really awkward around kids but she was nice. Always made sure to listen to him and gave him his own room! She was magic to! Like his parents! Like him!

A different type of magic she said, explaining about Thedas. Apparently they had something called the Fade and it was external with some people able to access it. Harry’s magic was internal and he could draw it out.

Neve was a detective to which was cool but Harry had seen how the police always ignored things so he was a bit wary about that. At least until Neve told him she didn’t work with the police or Templars much cause they didn’t like them.

He still didn’t know what to think of her though. She was… different than what he was used to.

Maybe he’d get use to her.

Age 7

“Harry,” Neve said, hand on her forehead as she stared at her son. “What did you two do?”

Ron Weasley, a kid from a family Albus knew that he was delighted to introduce them to (Neve then looked into her contacts in the Wizarding World for others because she knew the old man was a politician at heart so he’d stick them with his followers), was looking at the ground. He was Harry’s best friend so far, the two constantly wanting to play together. Which wasn’t to hard. The Viper was more than willing to have a Floo set up at the pawn shop for the kids to come through. Softy.

“I… may, may-“ Harry raised a hand to point at Neve, emphasizing the word, “have somehow exposed about six Templars as Venatori. With… Ron’s help?”

“… this is my fault isn’t it?” Neve asked with a sigh. “You looked through my notes.” Harry blushed, looking down. Neve shook her head.

“He’d make a fine Dragon,” one of the men who were shamelessly listening in said. Neve turned to stare at him, causing the man to wince. “In the future.” He amended.

“Well, I won’t ground you for curiosity. I will for nearly giving me a Maker damn heart attack,” Neve scolded. “And I’m telling your mother Ron.”

“Oh Merlin,” Ron went paler then normal as Neve ushered the boys away.

Age 11

“Now, don’t do anything to crazy,” Neve told Harry as she brushed off some ash from his coat.

“I won’t Mom,” Harry said with a smile up at her.

“Do not run off into the Forbidden Forest without a teacher or older student.” Neve said firmly.

“Not going to tell me just stay out?” Harry asked cheekily. Neve rolled her eyes.

“I’d try but you would do it anyway,” Neve said. She leaned down to give him a kiss on the forehead. “Have fun. Solve a mystery. Write me and your dogfathers.”

“I will,” Harry hugged her tightly before he got on the train with a wave. Neve smiled, her heart full.

(At the end of the school year she had to just laugh at a letter. Her son took to much after her.)

[trollhunted]

Oh boy, now that I'm done with the rewatch it's time to air out some of the grievances I have with the writing choices made regarding the antagonists...

Starting off a little more positive – Merlin's portrayal worked fairly well overall as this arrogant manipulative old jerk of a wizard, who may have noble goals but achieves them via not so honorable methods in the name of the greater good.

It was a pretty good bait-and-switch with the way the show had built up this image of the mysterious and benevolent mage, but left enough hints to his true character via little details that quickly turn sour in hindsight once you've actually met him. He's not a villain, but they did make him a decent morally gray character in the few episodes he's around.

However, I think he should've been held more accountable for his actions and behavior, especially when his grand plan doesn't work out because he was too wrapped up in his own head to see the truth.

That leads me to Morgana, the big evil "mastermind" of the show. I have to say, I love how utterly unhinged they made her in the first half of season 3, though she loses some of that by the end of it. I don't really have many complaints about her as a villain, but rather like to nitpick aspects surrounding her character and some missed potential.

Design-wise I find her a little lackluster as someone called "the Eldritch Queen" and while it definitely was a fun idea to contrast Merlin's dark armor with all that gold, I believe they missed the mark a little. They should've gone a step further and contrasted the design even more by giving it a creepy and organic direction. Her "armor" could've been more insectoid and reminiscent of bones or dead wood.

Also, a small thing that always bothers me are the green accents on her, when that was being established as Merlin's color. It does connect them visually in a way, but mostly just feels out of place to me. Now, about that missed potential...

As a queen of shadows, I would've liked if they'd played up her insidious nature a little more. As Claire, instead of immediately trying (and badly failing) to kill the Trollhunter, they should've dragged out the possession a little. She could've used this position to destroy the team from within, test their limits, tear them apart to weaken their will, only to have it all backfire with how much they trust and care for each other. It would've paralleled Angor's approach, because considering his background, he must've picked up these methods from someone, no?

Another writing point that bothers me is her imprisonment. No matter how you look at it, sealing an ancient evil sorceress inside (or even near) the heartstone – a MAJOR source of pure energy – just sounds like an all around bad idea. Wouldn't it make sense for her to feed on that energy? And even if not that, shouldn't you be worried about her corrupting it??

I get that from an animation standpoint it's an extremely convenient way to have everything happening in one place, so you don't actually have to set up so many new assets, but man... it's just kind of stupid lol.

Honestly the way I would've rationalized this whole deal is: instead of having her sealed up in Arcadia Oaks, California of all places (why did they even end up there?) she could've been imprisoned within the previous Trollmarket in europe. Her and Gunmar have tried to bring about the Eternal Night before and almost succeeded, which led to the battle of Killahead, where both were sealed away.

Imagine Gunmar and his forces had taken the old Trollmarket and used its heartstone for that spell, draining it in the process. Although they were stopped and defeated, Trollmarket was destroyed and their rock of sustenance dead, which would prompt the trolls to leave and seek a new home across the globe.

Merlin could've trapped Morgana in the empty heartstone as a way to contain her powers, using the last of his magic. Maybe the reason he was so sure she would be weak and easy to vanquish after her imprisonment is because he had intended to slowly syphon her energy to empower himself and never considered that she would figure out how to reverse the spell to drain him instead.

And to add some flavor to this location, Morgana's presence could've twisted the old Trollmarket into something eery and barely recognizable, giving others reason to avoid this place. It could've served to show the heroes what may become of their beloved Trollmarket if Gunmar wins, given them more incentive to fight for what they have.

That's just an idea though.

Angor Rot was always a big pot of missed potential to me and his return in season 3 just ended up feeling, well, hollow lol. He was introduced as a great antagonist but in my honest opinion kinda fell off the moment they destroyed his soul and just turned him into an angry beast. Besides the overall bad taste it leaves behind, we really didn't need a Bular 2. And it's a little annoying they somewhat continued with that direction even when he was revived and supposedly got his soul back.

I like that they cared enough to dig a little into his conflicting emotions given his history & enslavement, but these moments should've been brought up in the climax of the first season. He should've regained his soul back then and suddenly be forced to reconcile with the atrocities committed in the name of his mistress. His revenge on Strickler should've conflicted with his newly regained conscience...

And, oh man, Strickler is a bit of an annoying case. It's kind of absurd to me that they would choose to give this man an easy "redemption" while tossing around Angor's corpse like that.

Angor Rot literally had his soul and autonomy taken from him and while these actions definitely twisted him throughout the ages, at the end of the day it was never his choice. Strickler was in a somewhat similar situation as a changeling made to serve Gunmar, but the major difference is that he did have a choice. Multiple even.

Even in his predicament, Angor chose to offer the Trollhunter a deal to free both of them of Strickler's control. Whether he actually would've honored that deal is hard to say, but I think even if he'd betrayed Jim's trust, it would've made for a good opportunity to speak of who he used to be and what he's become, and have his first real choice in centuries be to spare them.

Strickler on the other hand is far more vile and self-serving at his core. At first you could argue that it's mostly the (very real) threat of Bular breathing down his neck that pushes him to harm Jim despite his soft spot for the kid. But when both Bular and Gunmar are out of the picture, instead of using this freedom constructively, he doubles down on killing the Trollhunter while finding every opportunity to get under his skin.

This man literally chooses to continue beefing with a teenager and don't get me wrong, I love it. Comedy aside, it is genuinely a fun exploration of his character and what makes him work as a complex personal antagonist. But the fun quickly stops when they try to rush him into a lackluster "redemption arc" to get him on the main team.

I'm aware that tons of people love the stricklake pairing and "lady x monster man" is very much a del Toro staple, but I really don't think Strickler should've been "redeemed" given everything he did, there should've been FAR more serious repercussions. It would've made more sense to me to put him in a "reluctant, not entirely trustworthy, sort-of-ally" position than suddenly have him be one of the Good Guys because... romance?

Not to mention the quality of their writing and characterization took quite a dip to mend their relationship and make said last minute romance happen. The drama surrounding it was cheesed up to such a degree it felt like they were putting on a play and didn't tell anyone.

Nomura's turnaround makes perfect sense narratively speaking because she was a straight-forward, impersonal antagonist, who only began to sympathize with the enemy when they were forced into the same position and she had nothing left to lose. She probably gave Jim a few nightmares, but the Lakes don't have anywhere near the number of reasons to hate her as they should with Strickler.

Oh and on the topic of changelings, let's get to the Janus Order. In my honest opinion, I think the Order was an overall waste. What made the changelings fun to me was precisely how they jumped between playing human and the cruel brutality of their monstrous nature. They weren't really a blend of these two worlds, but rather just putting on an act.

That's what made examples like Strickler, Nomura, and NotEnrique emotionally toeing the line of what it means to be human so interesting. Because they aren't human, but have learned to love the world they live in. And it's also what would've made Jim's transformation so strange/special, because he actually would've embodied joining those worlds.

The Janus Order both visually and narratively throws a wrench into that for no reason. (And don't get me started on the whole "evil, politically powerful organization secretly controlling the world" deal..........)

The way I could actually see a point to that direction, is if it had been a relatively inconsequential side-plot where the Janus Order is more like a small-scale cult of humans or even low-grade sorcerers worshipping the Pale Lady. It could've been a one or two episode issue that would've mainly served to build up some lore & foreshadowing surrounding Morgana, before she would've made her big entrance in the third season.

Ah... and even Gunmar could've been handled much better in the later seasons. Bular isn't a perfect character, but he serves his purpose as the introductory villain fairly well and for a kids show like that, it's a sensible execution.

Gunmar's character started out very strong – as the presumed endboss, they combined Bular's intimidation factor and Strickler's conniving nature with him and added some class as a millennia old monster warlord. It works fantastically. While that image falls a little here and there, his portrayal in the Darklands still makes sense as someone who seemingly lost all hope and resigned himself to his eternal prison... and even then he displayed a malicious sort of patience by wanting to break Jim's spirit instead of simply killing him.

So for that to quickly turn into an impatient old man, who just barks out threats and orders and blindly follows whatever anyone tells him the moment he's on the surface... it, well, is pretty disappointing. It's understandable for Bular, the younger and less experienced son, to be rash and impatient, but a warlord? That's a position that requires a ton of patience and tactical prowess.

I really wish they would've kept the way he was presented in the first season and give us this big villain who's not only physically scary, but observational and dedicated enough to send Chompsky back with a message saying he'll kill all those Jim holds dear for killing his son and then listing literally everyone the kid knows.

Plus, his origin as some kind of actual monster born from a corrupted heartstone should've been explored! They could've gone into that endless hunger he apparently displays, that would've made him consume countless living creatures and even drain the magic energy out of crystals...

Instead we ended up with Bular 2 again, but even worse somehow, and it just made Gunmar about as threatening as a parked truck.

[ladytauria]

Pairing: Tim Drake/Jason Todd Rating: Explicit Words: 6.8k

Jason really should learn to watch his tongue around Tim.

finally. after over a year. this beast is done <3

Jason takes a drag from his cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs for a beat, two—then exhaling through his nose. His shoulders loosen, the nicotine doing wonders for his frayed nerves. The smoke joins the general haze of the Iceberg Lounge; the frosty interior and low lights making everything look almost dreamlike.

The night is starting to wind down. If it were up to Jason, they would have left hours ago. He knows his appearances at the Lounge are necessary if he wants people to keep following his rules, and that he gets decent intel from it, but—

Fuck, he just gets so tired.

At least Tim is here, tucked sweetly under Jason’s arm like he hasn’t spent most of the night being an absolute menace, making idle conversation with Jason’s lieutenants.

He has one last informant to meet with, and then they can get out of here and go home.

He snubs out his cigarette and takes a sip of his whiskey. He’s been nursing the same one most of the night, for appearances sake if nothing else. Tim squeezes his thigh under the table—more reassurance than teasing, though it definitely adds kindling to the smoldering flame in Jason’s belly.

Jason lowers his glass as he scans the room.

Finally.

His informant perches on a bar stool, waving at the bartender before looking over his shoulder. Their eyes meet through the swirls of smoke, and the informant dips his chin. Good. They haven’t been kept waiting all this time just for there to be nothing to hear.

Their eyes meet through the swirls of smoke, and the informant nods once; the barest dip of his chin. Good. Jason’s not sure what he would have done if he’d waited all this time, only for there to be nothing to hear.

He stands, ghosting gloved fingertips across Tim’s shoulders, straightening the strap of his dress—a slinky black number that emphasizes his hips and gives a tantalizing view of his fake tits. Jason has been resisting the urge to slip his hands, or his head, under it all night. “Hold on a minute, sweetheart. Daddy’s got some business to take care of.”

He nearly turns scarlet the moment the words leave his mouth. Why did he say that?

Tim doesn’t miss a beat, tilting his head back to peer at Jason through false lashes and sending another wave of jasmine perfume wafting under Jason’s nose. There’s a sharp, amused twinkle in his eyes. “It’s all work with you, Red,” he says, a pout on crimson lips. Jason wets his own unconsciously, stomach clenching. “When are we going to get to play?” Tim trails a long painted nail over Jason’s forearm, the slight scratch of it leaving behind a faint white line.

Jason swallows, as subtle as he can. The irony of Tim asking such a question is lost in the smoky tone of his voice. “Soon, baby,” he promises, voice rougher than he’d like. He can’t help but lean over and kiss him, right on that red-painted mouth. It’s not nearly enough. “Just let me take care of this, and then I’ll take you home.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Tim tells him—and it’s a little bit femme fatale, but mostly, it’s Tim himself speaking. His pink tongue darts out; wetting his lips like he needs one last taste of Jason.

Jason has to tear his eyes away, taking a fortifying drink of whiskey before passing his glass to Tim. “Finish that off for me, won’t you, baby?” He nods to his lieutenants, and then he’s off, still fighting the blush that threatens to take over his face.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Of all the things he could have said—

It’s all Tim’s fault. He’s been driving Jason crazy all night. Jason never should have complained about his nights at the lounge; then Tim wouldn’t have suggested this idea in the first place. But—well. Jason hadn’t seen how Tim playing as Hood’s arm candy could go wrong.

Big mistake.

He’d forgotten just how much effort Tim put into his undercover identities.

Or—

No, that wasn’t quite right.

Jason had been expecting Tim’s identity to cater to their audience. And in a way, it did. It was easy for them to dismiss him as a threat, association with Hood or no. The amount of conversations that had taken place right in front of him, as if he wasn’t even there, would be infuriating if it wasn’t playing right into their hands. But the appearance of the disguise…

That was tailored specifically to Jason.

Subtle makeup to soften his face; just enough padding to give him the illusion of curves. Small breasts, a black wig, just a bit longer than his natural hair—and jewelry to draw the eye from anything he couldn’t disguise. And—look, okay. Jason is biased. He thinks obsessive, 72 hours no sleep, wearing his rattiest clothes, caffeine-addled gremlin Tim is hot. This Tim? Dolled up in provocative outfits and sultry make-up? He’s a goner.

And Tim knows it. He walks a fine line, teasing just enough to work Jason up without also compromising his persona as Hood. It’s maddening… and hot as hell. Could anyone blame him, if maybe his brains were a bit addled? Or if maybe, just maybe, he wanted to turn the tables on Tim, even if just for a moment?

Jason doesn’t think so.

If Tim asks, Jason will tell him it was a slip of the tongue. He got too deep into the Hood headspace. Otherwise—they can just… forget about it. Pretend it never happened in the first place.

Yeah. That sounds good.

[makenna-made-this]

BAWKtober Day 12 - Quilt

I've got your love to keep me warm

[disposal-blueeee]

VARGASTOBER - day 24 : mirror

[microwaving-tesilid-argente]

liking Reed has irreversibly changed my relationship to fiction because now i'm automatically sympathetic towards villains.

the villain is planning and plotting to keep the love of their life by their side? we love to see a motivated individual take charge of their life. villain is planning to destroy the world? yesss king, omg you're absolutely cooking. the villain has a sad backstory and is incredibly messed up by their trauma? even better. i love you so much, i want you to find peace and happiness and/or fulfil all of your dreams and wishes. (this includes destroying the world.)

[skeletalheartattack]

hi I like gelato a lot

[seaofolives]

🎭 #torokatober2024 day 6/31: trick 🎻

Café au lait. Mocha latte. Cappuccino.

Quatre recognizes them, but he’d been swamped with meetings since he left his office that they’re now just words on the menu.

Still, he smiles readily when the man in a green suit approaches to take the seat opposite him.

Freezes when he recognizes Trowa Barton picking up his menu instead. But…he was supposed to meet someone else…

“Is this a trick to get me to rest?”

“Please cooperate, President Winner. This is a professional meeting.” Of course. Of course, it is.

Quatre brings up his own menu to hide his tearful grin.

find the list of prompts here!

[katimanki]

Cleradin my beloved😌💕

Mike just wanted to give a pretty flower to his wizard boyfriend

[incorrectquotesideas-deactivated]

Person A: Do you want a beer? I’m paying.

Person B, going through the restaurant’s menu: No. Ugh, where’s the good stuff?

Person A, half jokingly: I thought you were an alcoholic.

Person B: Exactly. I’d need at least, like, four beers — without food — to get slightly buzzed, and my stomach can’t fit over 2 beers in it. I’m small. I’ll have a rum, neat.