#but I think from mists perspective she’s not happy

[wrathofrats]

Would we mayhapse get another round of the Dew fights with someone and they have to very roughly make up like that SwissDew one I'm sure we all love deeply (I know I do)

Ofc dear anon, also I’m so so very happy you enjoyed my Swissdew series, I regard that one so very deeply in my heart. I hope you enjoy this one!

Mist finally confronts dew after his transition.

Warnings for hurt no comfort, implied but not described character death/tragic event, implied but not described torture/traumatic events, mist blames aether and omega for dew and deltas botched transitions

-

“So you really went through with it”

Dew barely registers the sound of her walking outside. The light from the kitchen brightens the space behind him as mist slides open the door. He can’t help but wince seeing her shadow darken his space on the porch.

“Yup”

The cold air whips around them, bringing goosebumps to mists skin while dew sits in his chair unphased, a pile of ashes and old newspapers lay beside him. The air smells like dead leaves tinged with the smoke coming from dew burning pieces of paper at his fingertips. Something that would be comforting on any other night makes her stomach turn. His usual smell of aloe and chamomile long since singed into a sickly petrol that invaded her senses. Mist hadn’t seen him since his transition until now, dew purposely avoiding her to avoid this very interaction.

“I’m sure aethers real pleased with his work this time” mist bites. An attempt to antagonize him, force him to finally talk to her. She doesn’t bother to sit down, only chooses to stand behind dew and wonders if he will even spare her a glance. The wind scatters his pile of ashes, sending them into the yard as dew puts out the flame on his finger.

“Don’t bring aether into this”

“Why shouldn’t I? You know what happened to delta-“

“Delta wasn’t aethers fault mist”

Her throat closes hearing her own name come from his lips. Something she hadn’t heard in weeks and she honestly didn’t know if she would ever hear it again. Because of a botched transition or dew practically disowning her she didn’t know. But a searing ice cold chill ran down her spine. A small part of her brain begged him to just look at her.

“It wasn’t but it was the same situation. If omega of all ghouls can fuck up did you really expect me to trust aether?”

Dew grabs another newspaper and turns it into ash as his flame only grows hotter.

“I told you to stop fucking mentioning him”

“And why should I? What if something happened” it’s all mist can do to not raise her voice. She tries to focus on the sky, count the stars instead of wondering what dew even looks like under his hood. She wonders if it’s even her dewdrop under there. She’s scared of the answer.

“Aether loves me. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt me” more ash dances around the deck, a line of minuscule destruction in favor of lighting the entire deck up while dew attempts to control his new magic.

“Do you think we didn't love delta? He wasn’t some failed experiment like you seem to think he was” mist rubs her face with her sleeve, catching a stray tear that was forming as the cold air invaded her skin

“I never said that”

“Besides, did it not hurt? Did aether not hurt you when he fucking scarred over your gills? Did it not hurt when he forced the fire magic through your veins? Did it not burn? Do you honestly think-“

“What the fuck is your point mist?” Dew stands up to face her.

She can’t help her reaction. A gasp covered by her hands as she stares at what used to be her water ghoul. The gills along his neck had scarred over hastily, red and wrinkled irritated skin stretched over them irregularly. The veins in his hands had turned an ashy grey color, no doubt a side effect of the searing fire ghoul powers that now coursed through them. Dew quickly covers his hands with the sleeves of his sweatshirt, looking away from mists gaze.

“My point is I could hear you screaming in the infirmary dew.” A tear falls down her face as she fixates on the irregular skin around his neck

“I was fine”

“I stayed there every night until omega told me you were ok. Don’t tell me you were fine when I had to listen to you go through that” her fists clench at her side. Dew still won’t look her in the eye.

“You didn’t have to stay. That’s your fault”

Dew makes the mistake of finally looking at mist. A tear runs down her cheek as he takes in her own state. Dark bags under her eyes as she wraps one of dews discarded jackets around herself. The glance doesn’t last for more than a second or two before dew sits back down again. It’s not a sight he wants to bare, he doesn’t want to believe that mist has torn herself to shreds because of him.

There’s no response that makes sense for her to say. A sick feeling in her stomach after weeks of fighting with him to be told it’s her fault for caring. And maybe it was her fault for spending multiple sleepless nights in the infirmary, for standing at dews door multiple times a day hoping he would answer when she knocked, hell even for not being able to take off the jacket she stole from him months ago.

“I thought you were going to die dew”

The words burn in her throat. A reality she hasn’t yet faced but hits her like a bag of concrete.

He stands up once again, gaze fixed to the ground as he pushes past her to open the door and walk inside.

[the-authoress-writes]

Somewhere Out There

Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x Wife!Reader

Synopsis: Deployments are hard, but when you have someone to come home to, someone to love, that makes things easier, painful as it may be.

Warnings: Maybe a little bit of angst, I guess, offscreen sort-of implied married-people-doing-married-people-stuff 😉😉, minuscule cursing, a PG-13 use of the F-word, and a crap-ton of fluffy, lovey-dovey goodness.

Author’s Note: I don’t write reader fic.

I really don’t.

I write ship fic and gen fic, and I’d say I’m pretty decent at it, judging from the comments on my stories.

But then, @valmare came along, and we just clicked.

Mostly through screaming about Top Gun, naval aviators (*cough*tomkazansky*cough*), and our mutual appreciation for Val Kilmer.

And I knew I wanted to write something for her, especially since she was celebrating 300 followers!

Unfortunately, deep down, I knew I couldn’t write a ship fic for her.

I would have to write a reader!fic.

So, because I love her, I delved into the uncharted (for me, at least) waters of reader!fic.

I’m honestly not sure if this is any good, I wrote it in a perspective I’m not used to, and I hope and pray it makes any kind of sense.

Title is from the song of the same name, “Somewhere Out There”, from An American Tail.

To my dear Mir, I swear I began writing this yesterday, but I touched on things that you did in your own most recent fic, however, I couldn’t for the life of me, find another way to put what I wrote.

I promise on Goose’s grave that I did not plagiarize you.

All I can say is… fangirls think alike?

Please don’t hate meeee!!!!

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this attempt at wading in the waters you so expertly navigate, my dear!

Happy 300 Followers!!!

The mist was rolling in from the sea, she absently noted, while the rising sun caught the minuscule droplets of water in the air, making the very wind shimmer.

Even inside, she could smell the faint tang of salt in the air, one of her favorite scents, but it was missing the key part—so much was missing.

The warmth of her husband behind her, for one thing, as they watched the sunrise on this window seat, her legs bracketed by his, his arms around her, the scent of spice, bourbon, and jet fuel which was all him, surrounding her.

God, she missed Tom.

Right now, he was halfway around the world on a ship, and she was watching the weekend sunrise without him, for the first time since they got married.

She knew this was part of being married to an active duty naval aviator, but it didn’t make the ache any better.

She tugged the collar of the USNA t-shirt up to her nose, but the scent was so faint from when Tom had tossed it to the floor the night before his deployment.

She sighed; she could still remember how he’d made her feel that night—he’d made her body sing, playing her like an expert musician would his instrument.

She’d felt him for days after, and if she focused enough, even now, she could almost feel his hands on her, the paradox of how gentle they were, despite the callouses on his palm, his lips on hers.

For all that he was called “Iceman”, she never saw an iota of the reasoning; with her, he was never anything but unfailingly warm, gentle, kind, loving, and passionate.

It had been nearly a week since she dropped him off last Monday at Miramar, exhorting Mav and Slider to bring him home to her.

The grave promise in the two men’s eyes as they readily agreed, had to be comfort enough, and wordlessly, they hauled Tom’s seabag between them, a strap in each of their hands, cheerfully bickering as they went, to give her a chance to say a more private goodbye.

She didn’t know what to say to him—this had to be one of the most painful things she’d ever done—giving her husband up to the sea and sky for ninety days, not knowing if he’d return to her alive, safe, having to trust only in his skill on the stick and his wingmen to bring him back to her.

Tears stung at the corners of her eyes, and Tom’s eyes softened, as he drew her into his embrace. “I’ll come back to you, lyubimaya moya,” he whispered in her ear, all too aware of how dangerous it was to speak Russian on base, outside of the safety of the walls of their house, but aware that she needed the comfort.

“Promise me—promise you’ll come back to me, Thomas Kazansky,” she fiercely murmured, drawing back to look at him, taking the opportunity that she would shortly not have.

“Always.

No matter what, no matter what oceans part us,” he replied, an intensity which would frighten others, but which soothed her, in his crystalline eyes.

She gasped and desperately tugged him to her, his kiss piecing her heart together and breaking it, all for knowing that it was the last time she’d feel it for three months.

He’d taken her soul with him the moment he let her go to do his duty.

Back in the pain of her present, a sob masquerading as a sigh tore from her lips—it wasn’t enough; it would never be enough until she had him back in her arms, back in her bed, back in this house, where she felt like a shade of herself, a modern-day Eurydice.

Her legs reluctantly carried her to the kitchen, where she prepared her weekend coffee, narrowly resisting the urge to pull out two mugs instead of one.

But when she picked up the can of Maxwell House, she fumbled it, because it was far lighter than it should’ve been—heavy, but not the still-full can it should have been.

Tentatively, she opened it, and gasped when she saw that the can was filled with folded-up pieces of paper, each marked with dates on them, in Tom’s careful, exacting writing.

She tipped the can over, and the papers came spilling out—there had to be at least three months worth of letters here, one for each day of his deployment.

She frantically searched through the pile, looking for today’s date.

Upon finding it, she dashed back to the window seat, deliberately peeling the tape holding it closed, unable to treat the letter with anything less than the utmost care.

She quickly noticed Tom’s writing here was cramped, as if he were trying to fit everything he wanted to say on this one small piece of paper.

“Hello, solnishko,

If you’re reading this, it means that you’ve found the letters I wrote for you; one for each day of my deployment.

As I write this, I am next to you in bed, looking at your beautiful face, so peaceful in sleep, but the mere thought of my impending departure already tears me apart more than I thought possible.

I won’t have thought of anything else but you since the moment I left your arms, I am absolutely certain.

You know all too well why I joined the Navy—my search for a home, a real home, one not plagued by unattainable standards and harsh words.

I eventually found one in the sky, and for the longest time, she was enough, with her freedom, her thrill, but there were still demands, still standards, though the words were kinder.

Then I met you.

And you changed everything.

You are my home, lyubimaya moya; with you, I don’t have to be Iceman, or Lieutenant Kazansky; with you, I can be Tom.

Just Tom.

Your Tom.

I can’t wait until I can be your Tom again.

Eighty-four days, zhizn moya; and I’m yours again.

Yours forever,

Tom”

She pressed her hand to her chest, careful to avoid crumpling the paper beneath her hand, a tear slipping from her eyes, the ache of his absence soothed with the absolute confirmation that he was thinking of her just as she was about him, and intensified, knowing that he was so far away.

Eventually, she sniffled, brushing away her tear tracks, wishing it was Tom’s hand, and gathered herself.

Eighty-four days.

Eighty-four days, and she’d have him back—a short eternity, to be sure, but a small price to pay for what she’d get back at the end.

Until then, she’d count the sunrises, holding him and the words he’d written for her, close to her heart.

Tom stared out at the horizon, watching the sun come up on the relatively quiet deck of the Enterprise.

It meant that he lost a good thirty minutes of sleep, but it was worth it, just to know that his wife was looking at the same sunrise, or she would be, at any rate, given the time difference.

The horizon spread out before him; endless, and the fleeting, errant thought that she was just there, beyond the beyond, entered his mind.

So far—a little over six thousand nautical miles, more or less, depending on the course and speed of the Enterprise, further than any F-14 could fly—and yet so near, because she was never far from his heart.

He’d never thought he could love anything or anyone more than her—among his other endearments for her was zhizn moya, because that was what she was to him: his life.

Tom idly twisted the band of gold around his left ring finger, more proud of that simple ring than the hard-won blue-jeweled Annapolis ring on his right.

God, he missed her.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Tom turned to see Mav, coming up to lean on the railing beside him, none of the usual cockiness on his face.

“You shouldn’t be up yet, Mav.”

A haunted expression lingered on the edges of his wingman’s face as he searched for anything but the truth to tell, and Tom knew. “The usual?”

“Yeah,” Mav rasped. “I—I checked on Merls and Sli, but I got—got worried when I—I didn’t find you, so…” the black-haired pilot trailed off, before continuing, “you okay?”

“I should be asking you that, but… yeah, I am, just…”

“Just missing her,” Mav nodded sagely, almost wistfully.

“Yeah.”

“How do you even handle that?” Mav asked, frowning.

The sunlight made him feel more honest than he would probably otherwise be, Aurora’s kiss a comforting benediction, reminding him of all he had to come home to, and he replied, “What makes you think that I am?” He shook his head, “Doesn’t really feel like I’m even here, honestly.”

Mav good-naturedly smirked, “You left your heart in San Diego?”

Tom side-eyed his wingman. “Yeah, actually.

You’ll understand it one day, when you meet the right one,” he sighed, thinking of his wife’s beautiful smile.

“I dunno, Ice, I’m not sure if I want to be you, or be thankful that I’m not.”

Tom scoffed, unable to help his grin. “It’s the worst feeling in the world, to be away from her, to exist without her, after knowing what it’s like to be with her—”

“Not exactly selling it, Kazansky,” Mav interrupted.

Tom rolled his eyes, “I wasn’t done, dickhead.”

At Mav’s grin, Tom continued, “As I was saying, it’s the worst feeling in the world, to be away from her, to exist without her, after knowing what it’s like to be with her, but knowing that I get to come home to her… that makes it all worth it.

I hope you get this someday, Mav.

You sure as hell deserve some fucking happiness in this life.”

Mav smiled weakly, but honestly. “Maybe one day, Ice.”

The two of them smiled at each other, before Tom clapped Mav on the shoulder. “We better get going—the guys should be awake now, and if we don’t get to mess, Slider and Merlin might just take all the good stuff.”

“Good is relative,” Mav scoffed, making him laugh.

“Okay—the better stuff.”

They laughed, beginning to make their way back in.

But just before he stepped through the door amidships, he couldn’t help but look back at the horizon, the sun shedding the last of its dawning gentility, to turn into the harsh, blazing light that it was in this part of the world.

Eighty-four days.

Eighty-four more sunrises holding her only in his heart until he could also hold her in his arms.

It was a high price, to be sure, but in the face of having eternity as hers, what was eighty-four days?

Until then, he’d count the sunrises, holding her close to his heart.

“Hey Ice, you coming?” Mav called.

“I’m coming,” he replied.

And with that, he stepped inside to do his duty, eagerly awaiting the next sunrise, each consecutive one bringing him closer to his home, to his beloved wife.

I headcanon Ice as having Russian descent, but quite frankly, you can tear Slavic!Ice from my cold, dead hands.

To me, he’s either Polish or Russian.

Russian Glossary

Disclaimer: endearments and translations taken from Google—please don’t hesitate to correct me if I’m wrong, which, odds are, I am.

Lyubimaya moya: my darling/my one and only sweetheart

Solnishko: little sun

Zhizn moya: my life

[camilledlc]

Because I love relating songs to characters and analysing why it works so well, I just have to rant about how So Long, London by Taylor Swift is Vanessa's perspective of her break up with Wade. This one is reaaaally long, so be ready for that if you still chose to read this. It is 4,5k of a weird analyse no one asked for. You have been warned :

I think the main reason why Vanessa (that I will from now call Ness) ended things with Wade was because of how bad he was doing. She tried to be there for him, but there's only so much you can do for someone who doesn't want to be helped. So really, it is quite evident as to how this song can be related to their story. I'll go in order of the lyrics, and really dive in with the meaning of the song. I'll write this as if Ness wrote the song herself, kinda. But despite me relating it to Ness, it will also kind of be a study of the song in itself, if anyone is interested in that.

The opening line "I saw in my mind fairy lights through the mist" shows two main things that to me will be crucial to understand exactly how it all went down and Ness' state of mind. The two central element being obviously the fairy lights and the mist. The mist represents this gloom, this sadness that had surrounded Wade, and therefore herself. He was extremely depressed because of the Avengers' rejection, and didn't seem to be able to pick himself back up. Everything for him became a mist, but it also made everything for Ness turn into a mist. Always being around a deeply person, to whom you're entirely devoted, it will take a huge tole on you. Their sadness become yours, etc. And by that point, you may think that there was no reason for her to stay, but no. That's why the fairy lights are here. The fairy lights doesn't represent the exit, the ending of this relationship that would finally brought her peace. This early on in the song, it wouldn't make sense. The author is still too deep into this relationship. The fairy lights are probably the reason why they are still together by that point, despite all the pain that it's causing Ness. Because while the relationship can generally be associated to a mist, there are moments of happiness, of "fairy lights through the the mist". Not all moments are bad, and they are occasions where Ness can see the old Wade, and what they used to have. And she wants to fight for that. Because deep down, they love each other in ways that can't be matched, and they loved each other for so long.

And so, this leads us to the next lyrics : "I kept calm and carried the weight of the rift / Pulling him tighter each time he was drifting away". Because Ness can see that not everything is bad in her relationship, that there are still pieces of what they used to be left to fight for, she tries. She tries to "[keep] calm", to be the rock Wade is in desperate need of. For Wade, it feels like his world is falling apart, as he can't seem to find a purpose for his life, a way to matter. He falls more and more into depression, unable to pull himself back up. The only thing stopping him from "drifting away" is Ness. But on the other hand, she can't keep carrying them both on her shoulders. It "weights" on her, and understandably so. She wants to be there for Wade, and she tries as much as she can to save him. But maybe it's a responsibility that's too heavy for her, and so, the come the next lyrics.

"My spine split from carrying us up the hill / Wet through my clothes, weary bones caught the chill". Those are pretty easy to understand and very explicit. The weight of Wade's sadness is becoming too much for us, and she is breaking under it. By being the only one trying to lift them up, she's going to end up even more broken than Wade. I of course think that "wet" references sadness in general. Sadness is often paired with deep blues, cold colours and a general theme of water--because of tears. With the "mist" being also a metaphor for this sadness, it isn't surprising. But this means that this sadness that Wade carried, this "mist", finally got to her. The "mist" finally reached her and made her "wet", meaning that his sadness started to become her sadness. She "caught the chill", she started to feel depressed too, because always being around someone depressed--especially if you're the only one lifting them up--makes you depressed too.

"I stopped trying to make him laugh / Stopped trying to drill the safe". Another easily-understandable set of lyrics, yet devastating in the context of Deadpool. We know a handful thing about him and how he is generally perceived by others, and one of his main traits is that he's funny. He is always one to laugh, or crack a joke, the one that makes you happier when things are bad. He is the one supposed to make other laughs, but with how bad he feels, the roles are reversed, and Ness has to try and try and try to make him happier, to "make him laugh". It must have been really heart-breaking to see the dynamics in their relationship change this much, see a person she knew like the back of her hand becoming a ghost of who they used to be. And eventually, he started to close up too much to her. He would be 'somewhere else, not fully there'. He wouldn't let her in, tell her what he was truly feeling--despite the fact that she could sense how bad he was doing. He became a "safe", a total stranger that she couldn't figure out, until she eventually had to give up. This is even more depressing when you know that Wade has had tendencies to lie to protect himself and push people away, which he could've also done here with Ness.

All of this leads her to start being angry, and confused, and wanting answers from him. Not the Wade she saw before leaving him, but her Wade, from before all this. She wants to understand : "Thinkin, how much sad did you think I had / Did you think I had in me?". I see this as both a rhetorical question, telling him that she can't handle all of his sadness and that she has to leave him behind at some point. That she doesn't have this much sadness in her to support him. But I also believe it has some genuine aspects of an earnest question, always waiting for an answer. Yet, she will repeat this multiple times, probably alluding to the fact that she doesn't have any. Because Wade doesn't have an answer to that either. She wants to know just how far Wade was willing to let himself fall down while thinking that Ness would stay, that she would pick him up. In a way, I think she felt betrayed and hurt by the way he was treating her, waiting for her to be there for him while he purposefully let himself drown in his own misery. So, eventually, she's angry and demands answer, demands an explanation to all of this, because this isn't the Wade she fell in love with.

And that's why it's so tragic : "Oh, the tragedy... / So Long, London". In this, we see just how heart-breaking their entire story is. It wasn't supposed to end this way, yet at that point in time, she saw no other issues. She didn't want to leave him, but she had to. It was tragic because it couldn't have been avoided, yet she felt as if it wasn't fair, and it wasn't meant to be this way. She can only constate that their ending is tragic, and she has to accept it despite the evident pain and sorrow (the punctuation). And so, she leaves. All of this, only could lead to that conclusion. She went through all stages, from loving him, to trying to support him, to giving up on helping him, to being angry at him, to giving up on them altogether now. She isn't fully saying goodbye, as she still feels as if their lives are too intertwined for them to not see each other again eventually. They both love each other too damn much to never do so, to truly end things here. By that point, she accepts that she must leave, and that their story ends, but she knows the love hasn't completely disappeared yet.

But when she says "You'll find someone...", she does admit that while love may persist, the relationship is over for good. By that point, she only includes him in the finding someone part. I think it's because she herself hasn't moved on from him, and she isn't sure by that point that she can. They know they can't date anymore, but she doesn't think that she'll fall in love as hard as she did with Wade with anyone else. But for him, she wants him to move on and find someone who will be able to handle Wade. In a way, she may feel guilty for leaving, despite knowing that it was killing her on the inside to stay. So she wishes for Wade to find someone who, unlike her, will be able to help Wade, or at least carry his burden with him without splitting under the weight.

I feel that the next part is a bit trickier, so if my ramble doesn't make sense, feel free to ignore it! But otherwise, I think that the lyrics "I didn't opt in to be your odd man out / I founded the club she's heard great things about" are definitely laced with bitterness. To me, it really represents that moment of Wade getting better, and how Ness will view herself into that. One the one hand, she knows she isn't entitled to anything regarding Wade anymore because she chose to leave, but on the other hand, she feels as if she didn't have a choice to leave. Everything was so awful that she had to leave for her own sake, so she didn't opt out of his life. She didn't want to be his friend, but she couldn't be anything else. Yet, everyone--including Wade--will make her feel like it was her decision. Even though they respect it, she feels that they don't understand that it wasn't truly her decision, and that under other circumstances, she would've never left Wade. If it wasn't for her survival, she would still be with him. But now, she is purposefully being left out of everything regarding Wade and all of his accomplishments. People will say that it's great to see him better again, to see him happier, and a true hero that wants to matter, etc. And yes, he did that on his own, but it does feel to her as if it invalidates everything she went through. She helped him for so long, and eventually had to give up. So he got better on his own and is praised for it, but what about all of her efforts? Don't they count in his recovery? Isn't her support the foundation of the person he is today? She is one of the reason Wade found his spark back, yet because she left before he did, she can never say as much. And it must feel bitter to see how much time and energy and love you lost trying to help someone who got better after you left them, after you've had enough.

Which is why we have "I left all I knew, you left me at the house by the Heath". Because, yes, she may have been the one who left Wade first officially, but Wade had left her way before that. When letting himself become a shadow of who he once was, he left Ness to fend on her own, the only one keeping their love, their home alive. The "house by the Heath" represents this home that they made for themselves, it was their lives, their futures. But Wade abandoned that mentally. Yet, it falls on Ness when she decides to abandon it physically. In this whole verse, she is feeling bitter, and angry, and regretful. She left everything behind, because Wade felt like her everything. But she wasn't the first one to do so, and Wade had actually done it before. She had in the past tried to support him when he had cancer, only for him to leave her to bear this alone. So, actually, she was the only one trying actively not to leave, not to let this relationship die.

"I stopped CPR, after all it's no use / The spirit was gone, we would never come to". It implies that for a long time, she tried to maintain their relationship alive, but it was for nothing. "The spirit" of their love had left when Wade did too, when he metaphorically left the relationship. It couldn't be brought back, and even if they had tried, it would've been too late. Their relationship was already too damaged to be salvaged. There is no use to perform CPR on a dead body.

The next lyric is heavily marked by the voice of the singer, showing the anger and resentment growing : "And I'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free". For this one, I think it's crucial we remember the context of both who they are in general. Ness is a woman in her mid-thirties/forties, meanwhile, Wade is an immortal guy who can't age nor die. Wade still has the whole eternity in front of him to do whatever he wants, to be someone great. But Ness spent most of her life with him, and now she's getting older. No matter who she ends up with it will be a very recent and new relationship, and it will take time to grow, and so she may have trouble later having the family she'd wanted. For her, it may feels like as if she's spent so many years with Wade, only to be back at square one. Except that for him, he can take the eternity to move up a few square, but her, she doesn't have that time. She doesn't have eternal "youth", which is why she may be so pissed, both at herself and at Wade. It can be very easy to start resenting someone when you feel like you have wasted so much time on them, for nothing to come out of it eventually. And it would be better if Wade was in the same boat as her, because then they would both have wasted time and it would be no one's fault. But she is alone in this, she is the one who gave her "youth for free".

The "For so long, London / Stitches undone / Two graves, one gun" only reinforce this idea. She gave her youth "for so long" and now she's feeling resentful. In a way, it feels like her decision killed them both. She knows the negative impact their breakup had on Wade, of course. But here, she also acknowledge just how much it affected her too. With "one gun", aka her decision to leave, she killed the both of them ("two graves"). Kind of in a "you had to kill me but it killed you just the same kind of way". And now, the relationship that she carefully spent time stitching up each time it split is now completely broken, the "stitches undone".

And so, she accepts that she has to move on : "I'll find someone". She knows how bad her decision also affected her, and how hard it will be to get back everything she lost to this relationship. But she can't stay down, and she has to find a way to move forward somehow. And she knows that it's possible, that eventually, she'll find someone else, she'll fall in love again and that life goes on. It's a way for her to try and find peace, to definitely put her relationship with Wade past her. And by the beginning of Deadpool and Wolverine, she believes that she has found that someone, she found Dermot. Someone good, who is different yet someone she is really happy with. She can fully move on, and so wants to try and befriend Wade, as a way to really put this all behind. Because despite knowing they can't ever get back together, she still has a lot of love for him--whether it's romantic or now platonic, she'll always love him, as he is one of the most important person for her. But it's clear that while she's almost moved on completely from him, he hasn't done the same. And because of the way he still holds out hope for them to be together again, she feels as though he thinks she abandoned him all over again.

So in a way, the upcoming bridge is her way of defending herself. "And you say I abandoned the ship / But I was going down with it" is literally her reiterating that she wasn't the one who left first, she was actually holding onto that relationship even more than Wade was, even though it was killing her, "My white knuckle dying grip". The singer's voice is by then really angry, and I think Ness is too by now. It feels unjust to be blamed for leaving a relationship. I don't think they are blaming her consciously, because Wade would never want to make her feel bad about it. But the sole fact that he's still holding out hope that they work out put the blame on her for the fact that it isn't working out. In a way, him still wanting her and not being able to move on makes her even now the responsible for Wade's misery, which is unfair because she already had to bear it and suffer from it for long enough in their relationship.

The next lyrics will all be analysed as a whole, so sorry for that : "Holding tight to your quiet resentment and / My friends said it isn't right to be scared / Everyday of a love affair / Every breath feels like rarest air / When you're not sure if he wants to be there". This may be a bit triggering, se be careful, but I think that while the original song may be talking about not wanting to be there in a relationship, from Ness' point of view, it will be more like there at all in this life. Wade is canonically a character that has a severe mental instability, a lot of traumas and issues, and he is one of the character who tried to off himself the most--even before having a regenerating factor. He clearly has always struggled with his mental health, and it was even worse during his depression. So when Ness feels scared that because she's "not sure if he wants to be there", she's talking about being scared that Wade would take the opportunity to off himself if he could die. It is extremely scary to be in a relationship with someone who doesn't wish to live anymore, when you never know if they are faking their smiles, planning on leaving it all behind, if you're not sure you'll wake up and they'll still be there. Even while knowing he can't die, it is still a terrifying thought. So now, their entire relationship, their "love affair" is completely overtook by this fear that it will all end at any moment, and also by this need to take every good thing in because they may not last, or there won't ever be any other good thing afterwards. Every moment of true joy "feels like rarest air". Because now, everything in her mind revolves around Wade's sadness, his "quiet resentment" of feeling like he doesn't matter, of not finding his purpose in this world.

But there's only so much that one person can take, and so, eventually, she is back to asking "So how much sad did you think I had / Did you think I had in me? / How much tragedy?". This times, it really feels as though she exposed previously during the bridge every arguments in her favour as to why she had to leave, and now she's showing him all of those arguments and telling him 'see?', and in the words of the song "Just how low did you think I'd go? Before I'd self-implode / Before I'd have to go be free". And those two last sentences summarize pretty much everything : she was self-imploding, so she had to leave and be free. This relationship, despite still having some good moments that guilted her into staying, was more like a prison to her by that point. In this bridge, she seems finale with her explanation, and feels a certain form of validation of her decision. By then, she is certain she made the right choice, and she is trying to show others, and especially Wade, that she had to move on and that still holding hope for a relationship together was just invalidating everything she went through (even if Wade isn't necessarily wanting that, or even realizing she might feel that way. He can't help but love her, but respects her decision nonetheless. There is no bad guy here, just a very complicated situation).

The very end of the song is definitely right by the end of the events of Deadpool and Wolverine. Wade tells her explicitly that he still loves her, still wants her, wants them. But when he tells her he still loves her, all she can think of is : "You swore that you loved me but where were the clues? / I died on the altar waiting for the proof / You sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days". She may know, realistically, that Wade really did love and still do, but during the end of their relationship, she couldn't feel it. Everything in Wade's life was now centred around his sadness, which is here represented by the "gods of [your] bluest days". Their relationship was too much, and so he "sacrificed" it, because in his mind, there was no room for anything other than his depression. Which is valid and comprehensible, but extremely hard to live for Ness. She was desperately waiting for him to show her that he cared for her, that he still loved her, that he was still with her, like shown in the flashback when Cassandra Nova peered through Wade's mind. She asked him directly for proof of his love, and she eventually had to leave the "altar" because she was dying there otherwise. Wade was feeling so awful that he couldn't remind Ness just how much he loved her, so even now, she can't accept that he still does.

Besides, we know she has supposedly moved on, as she is happy with her new boyfriend Dermot : "And I'm just getting color back into my face". After everything, she eventually felt like a lesser version of herself, beaten up by this tragic relationship. Wade's constant sadness got to her. But now, it's been a while, and she had time to move on, to find her own new happiness. It might be different colours than when she was with Wade, but she has colours nonetheless. She is happier out of the relationship. Yet, she can't help but be mad : "I'm just mad as hell cause I loved this place / For so long, London". It is quite obvious that despite being happy now, she had also been happy with Wade before all this. There had been so long where she thought she was gonna marry Wade, found a family together, that he was her soulmate. She knows it's for the better, but there's also something so frustrating about having to leave something that brought you joy for so long because now it has soured. The lyrics "Had a good run / A moment of warm sun" reminds that. Before Wade got depressed, there relationship was truly and utterly an happy relationship. There was so much good in it, and for a long time, it seemed like it would last. But it didn't.

"But I'm not the one / So long, London". She is here fully letting Wade go, and letting their romance go. In admitting that she isn't the one for Wade, she is admitting that they weren't soulmates who were meant to be, and that maybe it's better this way. She is admitting that even the earlier stage of their relationship was extremely good and happy, it was not enough. She isn't the one for him because she could love him at his best, but couldn't at his worst. And there is no shame in that, she knows now that some people aren't meant to be, despite being perfect for each other in every other aspects. For example, when she sees Logan, she understands that he can handle Wade at his worst, that he can lift him up. At the same time, it's a bit bitter because she wished she could've been the one, but she is also really grateful to be out of this relationship, and yet knowing that Wade's got someone else that will be there for him. She can leave peacefully knowing that.

Then, we have another repetition of "Stitches undone" which symbolize definitely the end of relationship, with nothing holding it together anymore, and "Two graves, one gun". Personally, I always heard something else and liked what I heard more, which is "Two graves, one gone". Here, it would be a representation of how they felt during Wade's depression. He was so sad that he was almost dead, which killed her on the inside too. They were "two graves". But some graves aren't meant to be side by side. She left the graveyard, found happiness again somewhere else. She brought herself back to life by leaving. Now, there is one grave that is "gone". But by using the last sentence "You'll find someone...", she is in a way giving him permission to move on from her as well, to leave the graveyard that was their relationship. She hopes for him that he'll find someone who will bring him back to life to, and she even thinks that Wade found that person already, found that in Logan. Now that she let go, she's telling Wade to do the same. To let her go.

The three different instances of "you'll find someone / i'll find someone / you'll find someone" really represents the progression of the breakup and the healing from it. At first, it's a way to convince herself that she has to leave, that she isn't made to handle this. By then, none of them have moved on. Then, it's her finding her own way of happiness, admitting that she's moving on. And the last one is her telling Wade to move on too. By the end of the song, their relationship has definitely ended, it's over for good.

"So long, London".

[sweatreleaseofdeaths]

I never liked some aspects of SNK's ending since it came out back in 2021. Not because I thought it was bad or because I thought it wasn't well made, but because it felt forced. 

The sudden change of Eren's feelings about Mikasa was one thing that pissed me off, but also because Isayama's original ending wasn't even supposed to be the one that we got. It felt like he only wrote that specific ending for the fans and readers (and maybe because he was tired too; have you seen the bags?) and not because that was the ending that he wanted to write. 

Like you can clearly tell by the last arc that he took a drastic turn on where the story would go to make it "happier," for lack of better words.

 

The way I saw it from the beginning, there was no getting out of it. No happy ending whatsoever. And true to it, the ending with got was bittersweet. Everything Eren did was for nothing because the cycle started back again.

I did actually appreciate that, because it showed us something that was an actual reality. Even if it did help for a bit, nothing really changed because it's in humanity's nature to always start the cycle once again.

However, what I wanted to see more was his original idea of everybody dying. Instead of that, Isayama went and tried to pull a Naruto (with Armin and Eren) so that they could talk it out, understand each other, and come to an understanding. (The understanding being: the reasons of his actions, Eren's need to die, and their promises) 

From an interview (if I'm not mistaken), the original ending was apparently inspired by "The Mist," which is basically about the protagonist being the cause of his loved ones downfall in an attempt to protect them. Sounds familiar, right? It feels like it was going in that direction, then Isayama just decided to make them all resolve their differences, for some reason. 

I personally don't hate the ending; like I said, I just think it was a tad forced on his end.

 

On the Mikasa/Eren thing, do NOT get me wrong. Mikasa is and has always been an important character to this story. Her as well as her relationship with Eren IS special. Now just because what they share is special doesn't necessarily mean that it's "love.".

On Mikasa's side, she literally lost her parents and met Eren a second later because he killed for her and came to her defense. She latched into him because of that. She was a traumatised child with a deeply unhealthy view of love, so while she did love Eren, the way she showed it could be interpreted as just obsession toward her rescuer.

But the thing with Mikasa's character is that the more the story goes, the more you see her become her own person without Eren. Either it be choosing between her desire to stay with him or her duties as a soldier, or even when she had to make a choice between killing him or not being willing to because of how much she loves him.

I honestly love Mikasa as a character so much. You can see her growth and see her trying to get past her trauma step by step. So, at the end, even though she never stopped loving Eren, she moved on and started a life for herself, because that's where her development was leading to.

Contrary to her, Eren had little to no self-restraint. He was hot-headed and only believed in what he believed, walking the path that he felt was right. He was obsessed with one thing and one thing only (that's literally everything he talked about), never straying from it no matter what happened.

I feel like he never tried to get past his trauma, only feeding into it the more time passed. From always getting into fights because of different perspectives he had with people (i.e., hitting one of the guys who was badmouthing the scouts with a stick) to ending 80% of humanity. Eren was selfish from the beginning; everything he did was for himself. Even the rumbling was partially for himself because his freedom couldn't be obtained if the people outside the walls were still around. 

Eren was and will always be a deeply selfish person, but there is also more to that. (So much more that I'm not even going to get into that here, because I love Eren too much and wouldn't be doing him any justice by resuming his character in just a few words.)

 

TLDR: Eren did not love her romantically (he did LOVE her; it just wasn't romantic), and even if Isayama wanted to say that they did love each other, what they shared ultimately was toxic. It could've turned into something better if Eren was less self-centred, but then again. My issue with all of this is that Isayama underexplored this aspect of their relationship so much that it just was out of the blue (and might I add ooc without getting shot) when Eren started wailing about not wanting her to end up with someone else.

You can't just make a story, build it, and put effort into it, then make a little throwaway line of "Oh, these two love each other, btw." That's just not how it works. You have to develop it for the readers to understand, and even if some people end up not liking it, it wouldn't matter because at least you made it make sense. 

 

Also! I'm not criticising SNK, nor am I criticising Isayama. I've loved this story for years, so really, at the end of the day, even if some things still felt off to me, I will keep loving it to death. (And you can ship whoever you want who gives a fuck!)

[gamerbearmira]

You know the cryptid au you had in the past with Dolores, Mirabel, and Antonio? How about we have a cryptid family au?

From the villager's perspective they talk normal, act normal, and look normal but up closely…something just seems OFF. When they look at you it’s like they're staring into your soul. Julieta does this the most. 

-

Let’s say cryptic people run on Alma’s side of the family, Pedro knew of course, he knew the first time he met her. He was in the woods and bumped into a tall, lanky, eerie looking woman. They had a stare down for a few seconds.

Pedro was a part of a cryptid/monster hunting/research team and he was told of weird creatures that reside in the woods. Supposedly two twin children got “taken” by one and were presumed killed when they couldn’t be found. 

In the dead of night, while looking for any mysterious creature, he bumped into Alma, which he mistook for a tree. She’s very tall, around seven feet to be precise. 

When they met their eyes, something happened. Pedro didn’t see malice, evil intent, or anything negative. He saw warmth, even with devoid eyes…he saw a person in shock, maybe even a little fear. She wasn’t attacking him, she was backing away, as if even with her tall stature, he would be able to hurt HER. But Pedro didn’t want to hurt her, in fact, he was just curious. 

But before he could say anything, she sped off QUICKLY! 

He tried finding her, night after night, day after day, in the woods. He would scream-

“I DON’T WANT TO HURT YOU I JUST WANT TO TALK!”

After a week or two, he found her but not in a way he expected, she was smaller, a bit shorter than him in fact. How the hell did she get smaller?

She seemed a little more angry this time though as she stood between two trees. Mist appeared around her, the whole forest in fact.

“If you think you’re going to come here and hurt my family, you are sadly mistaken” Her voice echoed in the darkness. Her devoid eyes staring straight into his. 

Family? She had a family? Were they like her too?

It dawned on him that she had family around here that were more than likely just like her. Strange.

“I- I don’t want to hurt you-”

“YES YOU DO! DON’T TAKE ME FOR A FOOL! I know what you and your whole team is doing and I won’t stand for it. Take your crap and leave!”

By crap, she meant all the traps they had set up around the forest and weapons she would see them with in town. Guns, machetes, bear traps, bullets filled with either poison or some tranquilizing BS…all the things ANIMALS should be hunted down with. And Alma (including her family) were in fact NOT animals. 

Pedro always saw cryptids as nothing but creatures that should be hunted and killed before they hurt anyone or anyone else. But he was never a man to harm anyone who didn’t deserve it. But…where did those twins go?

This woman seemed civil enough to talk to, maybe she he could talk to her.

“L- Look…I was told two twins got lost in these woods and didn’t come back out. People suspect that they were taken by-”

“Those two children were being abused, so my family took them in. End of story” The first time Alma saw Pedro, she didn’t have a clue who he was, hence why she ran off. But now knowing he was basically out to harm her family, she wouldn’t stand by that.

Abused?...Well, come to think of it, the tears of the mother of the twins did seem a bit fake. And the father didn’t cry at all, he was supposedly “comforting her”.

“You know I can’t just believe that, right?” Pedro raised a brow

Before she could give a reply, a small voice yelled out behind her. A little girl by the sound of it.

“Alma, Alma! You can’t be out here, people are out to hunt-” 

“Elesia! I told YOU not to be out here at night” Alma turned around to stop the girl from going any further.

“Elesia?” Pedro muttered

Alma turned around to meet his eyes, “yes, she’s fine. As well as her brother, happy?!” 

Pedro didn’t know what to say, yes, he was happy the children were okay but…a monster was protecting them? No, the woman in front of him wasn’t a monster, and by the sounds of it, they weren’t either.

“Uh…si”

“Bueno, now leave and take those people with you”

-

After weeks of searching those children were never found and neither were the cryptids. The team left but a few months after that, Pedro went back to the town again…just to visit. 

Alma was so confused as to why he kept coming back for her. At first she just thought he saw her as something to observe and stare at as if she was some science experiment but I turned out to be more than that.

Pedro would visit and stay in her town for a week or two before going back to travel some more. The more they spoke the more they learned about each other.

For example, Alma carries an amulet that helps her look human. It has been in her family for generations and all family members have one. However, it’s uncomfortable because it makes the wearer feel like they're in the wrong skin.

Pedro got into cryptid hunting because when he was younger, the infamous El Hombre Caiman, almost took his mother. Thankfully his father taught him how to use guns, and he managed to shoot the creature enough to scare it off.

He knew he didn’t kill it but at least his mother was safe.

(El hombre Caiman, A legendary creature said to possess both human and alligator features, El Hombre Caiman (or “Alligator Man”) was supposedly once a fisherman who was transformed into an alligator by the spirits of the Magdalena River. He’s a sort of werewolf figure, who returns every St. Sebastian’s Day to hunt for victims. The myth is especially prevalent in the town of Plato, in Colombia’s Magdalena department.)

His friends had similar occurrences but with different monsters and such. That’s why the team exists in the first place. Once Alma learned this information she wasn’t so upset at the thought of ��Cryptid hunters”. Come to think of it, that’s probably why more exist in different places.

Because most cryptids weren’t harmless. Some thrived off of harming others.

Over time they warmed up to each other, got married, and had their three beautiful babies. I think you already know what happens next. 

Encanto is a little more different in this au. Houses are a little more spread out…farther away from Casita to be more specific. Casita emits mist 24/7, in the day it’s not too much, it’s barely above two feet, but at night you can barely see anything.

This is done so the madrigal cryptids can come out in their real forms without the fear of getting caught. I’m not sure what their cryptid forms would really look like but seeing as their part human it wouldn’t be so creepy. 

This is the cryptid madrigals au

-

Another idea I had is the whole family being cryptid hunters themselves, it started with both Pedro and Alma, after Pedro’s passing she took a break for herself and her kids. But when the triplets took an interest in cryptid/monster hunting as well, she decided to open the business again.

She taught them everything there is to know about them. History, biology, weakness, strengths, the whole shabang. They still have their gifts but they aren’t used for the benefit of the town.

Bruno uses his gift to see where a cryptid might actually be or any scary/ severe outcomes so they can plan to avoid them. Julieta cooks snacks just in case they get hurt along the way. Pepa uses her lighting as a defense mechanism. Over time she learned how to aim it so it can hit the target perfectly. 

Of course, when they got married and had kids they took some years off and stayed in Encanto to raise the children. And as they did when they were younger, their children got interested in the concept and their parents told them everything they could about it.

When Mirabel didn’t get a gift it was shocking and a little upsetting, but they moved on and made sure to let her know she’s special without it. 

I’ll try to think of more, but this is all for now, feel free to share whatever ideas you have. 

I DO❗❗ that au was so silly, causing havoc for their family, we love that 💪

DO IT AGAIN BUT X4❗❗ I mean. I like both ideas, but I like the one where they're all cryptids, that is SO cool and. It gives me an excuse to draw them as crytids and you know I'm taking the chance. And I genuinely find this au really interesting 🙏

UHHH VERY NICE SNIPPET?? REAL??? Good on Alma for being suspicious of Pedro but also understanding his pov. And Pedro understanding her pov. Makes me wonder how he died. Gee 🌚

ANYWAYYYY ERMMM...I know you said you didn't know what they might look like, besides Alma, which even I couldn't pin point an exact cryptid type for her so. You know I'm just gonna work with what I've got 🙏🙏 gonna be spitting my ideas, pick and choice as you please and. Lemme know if you have more cause you onto something right here buddy 🪕🪕

I did the husband too, idk if they're human or not but. I wanted to <33 I did some research on them, tried to match them up to best of my abilities but some of them might seem random. Isabela was definitely the easiest, next to probably Pepa and Bruno. Madremonte was an obvious choice, and then since Pepa is always pinned as emotional, I think her being in a constant state of either crying or on the verge of tears is somewhat fitting. At least she can get her emotions out 😭 Bruno, I just?? Associated him with sand rather than time, and he damn sure ain't no Sandman, bro is the BOOGEYMAN and you know we love that.

I think the one who could pass for human even without the amulet or fog is Camilo. He's basically a Doppelgänger, or Uncanny Valley. Not quite human looking, but you can't pin point what he does look like. If anyone glanced at him, he'd look human. But the more they look they notice that his eyes and smile are a little too wide, he's a little too tall, and his voice changes ever so slightly each time he talks. The other MIGHT be Félix, but he might have trouble keeping his head attached. Maybe Dolores.

I think when Isabela was little (and this is if they have gifts or abilities), she had to wear boots becayse everytime she walked, especially bearfoot, plants and vegetation would grow like crazy. It wasn't until she got older that she could control is it better.

Julieta's cryptid is probably the most passive, it does heal. But Julieta herself is just off. Ironically, she keeps her eyes closed a lot, but she opens them when she's out and about, and by far she has the WORST staring problem. Like more than Camilo, but let's be real, he probably learned it from her, and she probably learned it from Alma. But Julieta somehow just has the creepiest stare. Maybe it's just cause the way her eyes look.

Speaking of eyes, I think even with the amulets, their eyes are a constant. Really dark, pretty much black, and dilated to the point where you can barely see the whites of their eyes. It might looked cute on the younger members like Antonio, but on the adults, its just unsettling.

ALSO. The fog reminds of the The Fog from DBD. In certain maps, especially the day maps, the fog doesn't affect it much, and you can use stuff to make it disperse. But on night maps its harder to see, and there's an exlcir that can make the fog thicker and make it hard to see 🤓☝

As for Casita uhhhh I got nothing. Just that maybe it's closer to the tree line. Maybe it's like that one movie monster house. Shiiii cause where's Pedro 🤨 he's trapped in the house 😛 jkjk, maybe Casita's a cryptid too. Or just anti social...to other houses 💀

[suitsusboth]

Hi! I saw on your twitter that you have another idea for season 2 au (post gazebo). What is it about? 👀

hello! yes, i do. i’m trying to get it order bc i just know how s2 pissed me off s3 is probably also going to piss me off and i’ll want to write something. from my annoyance with s2 love came back to me was born, but that was a fix-it before the dreaded wedding. i think it’s be fun to see how things play out after ep six but without kate falling off the horse and that’s why the sharmas “forgive” her.

i wanted to start in a place of true conflict for kate— she has undeniable feelings for this man, and him for her, but it just feels like it could never be. never should be if she wants to heal her relationship with mary and edwina. but then she realised, after the mist of the gazebo scene falls away, she was forgotten about. and it’s sort of a breaking point for her.

i want it to be a deep dive on the sharma family and their dynamics/history and why they are the way they are. it’s not my intention to villainise mary/edwina at all, but i want to explore the unhealthy dynamic they have going and then find a way to come out on the other side of it. i also want kate to realise she can have good things, want her own dreams, let herself love and be loved. that sometimes she does need to put herself first.

and some good old Anthony apologising. because that’s what kate should have gotten 🙃

my intention is to make it a two part series, so the conflict and healing between the three woman would take some months (aka, end of s2 and then carry into what would be s3. i highly doubt i am going to follow much of what the show does in s3 and it would be a kanthony focused perspective, obviously). i just feel like that’s realistic? healing and forgiving can take time.

i won’t lie i was inspired by the recent ts album release and the stages of grief for the first intended part: denial, bargaining, anger, depression and acceptance. i just think they fit very well with the concept i’m imagining.

i don’t know if it would be everyone’s cup of tea, especially as we’re moving into Kanthony happy era. but it’s been in the back of my mind for a while so maybe i will write it 🤷🏼‍♀️

[stxrshxpxd]

autumn

pairing: 90s professor hugh grant x reader

word count: 3k

warnings: student x teacher

prompt: reader falls for her university professor and she thinks it just might be a mutual feeling…

requested by anonymous <3

September.

I had seen Mr. Grant twice in passing on my walks across campus and through the seemingly endless hallways of marble flooring and dark stain wooden arches, on my little quests to navigate my way through my new university. The first time I had turned my head rather indiscreetly and nearly walked into a massive pillar as I studied his locks of brown hair bouncing away from me along with his rushing steps. The second time I had felt a stab deep in my stomach at the sight of him across the library, pulling his hand through said locks of brown hair, before ending his short conversation with the headmaster and quickly disappearing again.

My third encounter with him came on a September morning with ambiguous weather. I sat watching the strong sun begin to beam through the patchy coat of clouds and chase the morning mist away. As the doors opened to the lecture room I expected a large pregnant belly to enter first, but instead that pain in my stomach returned at the sight of Mr Grant marching inside. There were scattered whispers and mumbles around the room. I had no one to whisper to, and so I took a deep breath and secured my gaze on the bronze buckle of his belt and bit the inside of my cheek.

“I take it Mrs. Sherman hadn’t told you who would be filling in for her,” he chuckled at the palpable surprise in the room. “Well. It’s lovely to meet you all. I’m Professor Grant. I do recognise a few faces around the room.” His gaze hopped between students and he gave a handful of them soft smiles, skipping over me. “Well… Mrs. Sherman went into labour on Sunday and now has a little baby girl at home.” I noticed he spoke with his whole face and half his body, smiling, raising his brows and opening his arms in celebration at the happy news. “So, I will be teaching the rest of your Literary Analysis course this year.”

The sun had come to lay across half his body and was making the silver ring on his pinky glow brightly.

“I heard you’re reading Sense and Sensibility,” he said and a few of the students nodded in silence, backs straight and ears eagerly open. Mr. Grant swiftly pulled out a small, weathered copy of the book in question from the back pocket of his black suit trousers. For some reason that act made the stabbing in my abdomen worse. I held in a sigh at the fear that everything he did would make my stomach wrench in agony.

October.

The rain was beating aggressively against the large windows to my right and added to the soundtrack of Mr. Grant humming between his nods as well as tapping his index finger softly against the desk he was half sitting back on. I had lost track of what the student behind me was saying about Children of the Corn but forced myself to hurriedly tune back into the monologue once I felt Professor Grant’s eyes resting on me occasionally. I anticipated his question and I searched my mind quickly.

“That’s a very nice analysis, Thomas, thank you. Y/N, what thoughts did this story provoke for you?”

I couldn’t recall a time when I had properly shared my analysis directly with him before. My written words about Sense and Sensibility had been met with a seeming intrigue on his behalf though.

I greatly appreciate the depth of your character analysis. It shows you have a strong sense of morality and can view a person from a number of perspectives without favouring one. That is a very helpful tool. I am eager to hear more of your thoughts this year!

I had read the scribbled comment at the bottom of my short essay over and over, and right now they were the only words in my brain.

“Um, well, I think King has an incredible way of creating an atmosphere with just a few words. It’s quite remarkable.”

Mr. Grant nodded and smiled in agreement. Finally my thoughts caught up with me and I stammered on, all the while staring at the previously hidden forearms now sticking out of Grant’s rolled up sleeves.

“And, um… the thought that followed me all the way through the story is the exploration of religion in the modern world. Oftentimes I feel that religion is this untouchable and completely unstoppable thing that is, sort of, ironically out of our hands. You know, do we create it or does it create us?” Professor Grant’s smile grew slightly and I looked away, desperately trying to not lose my train of thought to the beauty of his pale, soft face.

“And also what is the difference between religion and cult, what defines them? …And why is one seemingly the pinnacle of good and the other inherently evil, if the line between them is so blurred, or indeed can’t be drawn at all? …Is ruthlessly shunning and marginalising people not just as bad as brutally killing them in a corn field? It’s just a choice of mental or physical death really. Except there isn’t a choice.”

I looked back at my professor once I had gotten my sentences out. He nodded slowly and pondered calmly with that satisfied smile on his lips, as I sat half panicking in the silence. All I could hear were my words echoing in the air between us.

“And do you think it should be stopped? Religion.”

He tilted his head and I took a deep breath in, in the midst of my light panic. He chuckled sympathetically with me, realising the magnitude of the question he had just asked.

“Yes and no, of course… I just think that it’s been a hell of a long time since society existed without religion, it might well be very healthy for us to step back and consider the world without it.”

“So, yes?” Mr. Grant suggested for me with a charming grin and an eye with a big twinkle in the centre. I laughed shortly and looked down at my nervous hands toying with my pencil.

“So, maybe,” I responded, looking up again. He chuckled and nodded once more and combed his fingers through the left side of his hair, only for it to bounce right back to its previous position.

November.

My eyes ached as I sat with my head hanging over my borrowed copy of E.M. Forster’s Maurice, reading the same line over and over again. I had read the book a few years earlier and adored it, but re-reading it now as the time was nearing 11 pm on a Friday night the words carried little meaning. Even my own words in my neat notes appeared increasingly alien.

The library was lit up softly and was about as silent as it could possibly get. It felt wrong to move and make sound as I stared out at the vastness of the room and the hallway outside of the library walls. Suddenly, just as my gaze had fixed sleepily on a framed painting hanging in line with my eyes, a person startled me as he came walking down the hallway. It was Professor Grant.

I shortly pondered the concept of fate as he turned his head casually and locked eyes with me. A smile came upon his face and he steered his steps inside the library without hesitating. He was in his usual black suit trousers and tight belt, a button-up without a tie, and a long coat and knitted scarf draped over his forearm. Under his other arm sat a thick stack of stapled papers caged in firmly against the side of his ribs. Shortly again I pondered the concept of jealousy now, before he spoke and washed my mind clean of everything else.

“Why aren’t you at that big dormitory party?”

Mr. Grant sat on the edge of my table and glanced down at me. He tossed his stack next to my stuff, at which my eyes scanned it and noticed several little notes and markings in red ink scattered throughout the text. I concluded that he had stayed late in his office to mark essays.

“How do you know about the party?”

He laughed quietly and looked around the room momentarily, allowing me a few seconds of shamelessly staring at his strong jaw as he looked away from me.

“Kids always think they’re very secretive. My hearing and deductive skills are excellent in fact.”

I smiled when he looked back at me, but the sentiment of the smile faded quickly from inside me.

“Do you think of us as kids?” I asked in the most neutral tone I could manage. He was only fifteen years older at the absolute most. He couldn’t be a day over thirty-five.

Mr. Grant’s soft stare dropped down my body in stages, seeming to halt at my collarbone and ribs and then my hinged hips where his gaze settled a short while.

“No,” he decided after a moment’s silence.

I didn’t know how the rest of that conversation was meant to go or indeed how to deal with the apparent tension that had built in the quiet room. Instead I backtracked to his initial question of why I was in the library on a Friday night.

“Well… You set an essay due Wednesday, didn’t you,” I chuckled breathily and impulsively looked down as I closed the book in my hands. We both gazed down at the cover and it felt like a strange form of eye contact. When I looked back up I saw a soft smile on his lips.

“That’s one of my favourite books.”

I exhaled and responded quickly.

“I will choose my words carefully.”

My professor’s smile grew and he met my eyes with his visibly tired ones, shaking his head.

“I trust you.”

Something in the air made me feel as though our conversation was coming to an end and it made me sad, which was why I grabbed onto a bit of substantial conversation I could find in our repertoire.

“I’m not big on parties anyway.”

Mr. Grant had crossed his arms now and nodded with the remnants of a smile.

“I understand.” He thought for a second and licked the corner of his mouth. “The parties in your future will be much more up your alley, when you’re an esteemed author. Trust me.”

He spoke of me being a revered published writer, yet all I felt like was a silly teenage girl as I tried to control my blushing cheeks at his sweet words. And then a soft groan escaped him as he reached to grab his essays again and stood on his long legs, clearly on his way to exit again.

“Just don't forget your old Literary Analysis professor when you’re famous,” he demanded sweetly and I simply kept smiling and blushing as he headed out, leaving me with my own company again. I had to fight to stop grinning and I found I was on the verge of breaking a sweat under my knitted jumper.

December.

For a few weeks now I had noticed an increase in stares between me and Professor Grant. I had found him resting his eyes on me several times across the room and once I thought I had made him blush, simply by looking up and meeting his eyes. He had looked down quickly and stuck his one hand into his hair, tensed his brows and stared down at his books again. I had mirrored his actions but hadn’t been able to make a single note for the next few minutes, completely consumed by the idea of letting my lips gently kiss his brow bone and feel him soften at my touch.

I was currently wrapped up in another one of those thoughts as I stared out the window, where light snowflakes were falling and slowly but surely forming a thin white coat over the lawn. I could hear his voice loud and clear as he was in the middle of a lecture - something about anti-heros apparently - but I wasn’t listening to the words. In my mind my lips were attached to his jaw and my fingers rushing to unbutton his shirt. Just as my mouth had reached his collarbone, his real life self changed his tone of voice and I tuned back in.

“Right, we’ll continue this tomorrow for a bit. And we will also have a chat about the exam in two weeks. So, bring all your anxieties and questions tomorrow and we’ll talk it through. Does that sound alright?”

I scanned the room quickly to find all the nodding and smiling students begin to toss their books into their bags and I scrambled to do the same, but once my eyes turned back to the front of the lecture room I found Mr. Grant on his way over to me.

“Hi,” he uttered quietly with a kind smile and I returned it. His hands were in his trouser pockets and his head tilted slightly as he looked down at me.

“I heard,” he began, glancing away at the last few students leaving the room. “from Mr. Holland.. that you’re doing quite well in your Creative Writing class.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I shrugged and laughed shyly as I fidgeted with the pages of my notebook.

“Now, I would hate to find out you have a favourite class that’s not mine, but,” Grant sighed jokingly and then gave me another soft curl of the lips. “I would love to read some of your writing if you wouldn’t mind. I promise to give you nothing but praise, of course.”

I chuckled and had to force my mind out of the gutter of imagining what type of praise he might give me.

“No, I want your critique,” I nodded, still anxiously toying with the notebook that conveniently enough held a lot of my creative writing drafts and half-ideas. Mr. Grant nodded back and swivelled around to my side of the table as I began flicking through my notebook to the sound of my umming and ahhing nervously.

He had planted his large palms on the table and his head hung between his broad shoulders as I finally decided on a page that felt somewhat representative of my work. His thin-rimmed glasses had been pushed up into his hair for the majority of the lecture, and he pulled them down now as he focused his eyes and mind fully on my text.

He was so close to me I could feel his scent begin to fill my nose, and his tricep was nearly brushing against my shoulder. I studied the few veins on his hands as his fingertips instinctively held the paper down against my table.

“It’s really good, Y/N,” Professor Grant finally concluded with his voice just a step above a whisper. “Really good.”

I looked up to make shy eye contact again and found his expression had changed from his sweet, composed smiles he would usually give me. There was something behind his spectacled eyes that suggested conflict. I realised there were just a few inches separating us and the urge to stand up and press my lips to his grew quickly, until I simply couldn’t fight it.

Pushing my chair back and half standing up, I planted a desperate kiss on his already slightly parted lips. For a second everything stood still and I wasn’t sure if he was kissing me back, but at least he wasn’t pulling away. Then I felt those gorgeous hands coat my sides, if only to help stabilise me as I staggered to my feet. It felt like everything happened within the space of a nervous heartbeat. Soon he backed away a step, his warm palms being the last to leave my body. Grant anxiously threw a glance behind him at the half open door as he wiped his bottom lip with his thumb. The sounds from the hallway came back to me again and regret washed over me with such power it nearly made me lightheaded.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” I breathed.

“No,” he simply said and shook his head. The empty space in the air made me feel like he was supposed to or wanted to say something else, but he didn’t for a while. His eyes hopped from one corner of my face to the other and his chest rose and fell with his stressed breathing. At last his gaze settled on my lips.

“Y/N, you’re…” He rubbed his forehead and took a few more steps further away from me. “You’re very special and I really admire you… There’s just no way this can happen. You understand that, don’t you?”

He turned around to find me standing in the spot he left me, horrified by my own actions.

“And you have no idea how common it is to fall for a professor. It’s a very peculiar relationship; a student and a teacher… It happens. It’s absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about, okay?”

Fully knowing I was going to be excruciatingly embarrassed by this incident maybe for the rest of my life, I nodded.

“Really, it’s alright,” Professor Grant spoke in a warm voice with a definite sadness behind it. My whole body was vibrating with nerves and heartache and I managed to move my stiff limbs enough to pick up my books and bag.

“Okay,” I exhaled, wanting so badly to believe him. I left his concerned expression behind as I passed him and stepped out into the hallway, managing to catch the heavy sigh he let out behind me. Even still, with embarrassment weighing down my steps, the only thing I could think of was the incredible feeling of his lips against mine and his hands holding my waist. My insides ached as I realised I would never be allowed to kiss him again. Hell, I wasn’t even allowed to kiss him this time. My lower lashes held heavy tears as I stomped outside and kicked my boots through the fresh snow, heading towards my dorm.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Is there any other small/significant storyline that you changed from the original plan you had for cbmthy? Only if you want to share of course! I'm so in love with the fic I think about it constantly, can't get enough of it!!

Also, would you be willing to write drabbles once the fic is done? Like an Az pov, or an alt version of the events?

I hope this doesn't come off as me being dissatisfied, I'm just curious! In the end, it's your story and you know what's best!

(((I absolutely love what you've done with it)))

You're so sweet for asking this anon <3, thank you :')

(be warned I ramble quite a lot below)

the major pathway:

So I might repeat some I've already said, because I can't remember too well which once I've spoken about before, and most of the time I forget there was ever an alternative pathway until someone says something that reminds me of it! That being said, possibly one of the more extreme alternate pathways I briefly (not entirely seriously) considered taking the story along was that when Azriel takes the arrow and reader panics, thinking she's killed him, that instead of her sole intention being 'call for help' when her magic detonates, instead her intention is still to kill herself so she doesn't have to live with the guilt of murdering Azriel and that turns her magic malicious enough to result in Azriel's actual death! And almost reader's, too. I think I actually still have a draft tucked away somewhere for that potential ending, with reader living on in between worlds, thinking only Nesta can see her but pretends she can't (Nesta thinking she was seeing ghosts and becoming ill again, and trying to work through it), remaining trapped in the room where she killed Azriel, until Rhysand, filled with grief and misdirected hatred, turns her to mist for taking his brother :) Obviously, having it typed out, you can see why that didn't happen :)

The CBMTHY au, Slaughterhouse:

There was also a kind of au I was considering while thinking about reader possibly becoming a negative presence? I was thinking about writing something called Slaughterhouse, set a century or so after cbmthy! The rough outline was reader was deemed dangerous enough to be locked up in the prison after her initial outburst that tears through the magic of Prythian and sent the island into nuclear winter (thank you, Frozen), and then, all these decades later her cell is finally unlocked and the story follows as her and Azriel try to find the rest of the IC after the Prison fractured and Prythian was overtaken by the immortals once again! I still might write that one day as an au because while I despise horror and angst, I love me a good post-apocalyptic setting (thank you, tlou part 2)

Drabbles/aus

I think your idea sounds nice! With potentially writing short things once the story is completed? I have a few ideas that I just don't think would fit into the actual story so it would be nice to still get a chance to write them down afterwards if people enjoyed cbmthy's actual ending enough and found it satisfying enough to remain interested in it? I also think it would be a lot of fun to potentially write some of the cbmthy from Azriel's perspective once it's done, like what he thinks of Bas, how he felt when she ran away to autumn, what was going through his head when she kind of confessed to him in chapter 1 in the library? Those would definitely be drabbles I'd have to think long and hard about though, in order to get things right

And thank you for asking!!! It makes me so happy whenever anyone seems like they want to know more about cbmthy since it takes up such a large part of my mind now :')

Thank you for being interested in it <3

[chibishortdeath]

i absolutely love your tags on my post about the mysterious woman, it's nice seeing someone who's as passionate about her as me ❤️

Hehehe, thank u, I’m pacing around all happy about it rn (>.< ). I love Simon’s Quest and how genuinely odd everything that happens in it is.

And the Mysterious Woman doesn’t get talked about very much and y’all are missing out!!! She’s so so so fun to speculate about!

I ran into I think it might have been an old conversation on like Gamefaqs or some other comment section somewhere and there were a surprisingly large amount of people in the conversation who said that when the game came out they assumed that she was meant to be Selena, and that’s just aaaaaa so so interesting to me. And it wasn’t just American fans either, there was someone from Japan who assumed the same. It’s so awesome getting to see the perspectives of people who were there when the game was new and this theory has me going nuts sometimes lol. On one hand it makes sense for the ghost woman in the Belmont family graveyard to be someone from the family, but on the other hand is she really “mysterious” anymore if it’s someone Simon would know?

And why did the Mysterious Woman not mention the Tooth of Vlad and only the other five pieces that she knew would partially summon Dracula instead of the intended burning, burying, and breaking of the curse? Especially if she’s meant to be Selena/Simon’s wife or if you interpret her as Sara? Simon’s Quest really went for the twist of having the call to action character and the one to get Simon out of whatever rut he was in for 6 years in the first place be the first person to lie to him. Which is just so!!!! Aaaa!!!!!!!!!!! This also raises the question: is the Mysterious Woman actually a force of good? Or did she just know that Simon was desperate enough to believe what she was saying to him? I’ve seen some people theorize that she was some kind of Dracula cultist or even a possible form of Death because of this.

Or was she completely right that summoning and killing Dracula is the only way to break the curse? After all a lot of other games in the series that revolve around curses end in Dracula being brought back and defeated. But this is also a strange option as usually when Dracula is resurrected it’s by cultists or Death or whoever else and it’s not a good thing and is just for the purpose of having the evil dark lord do evil things. So that would make this game one of the few scenarios in which Dracula’s resurrection is justified which is so weird I just— thinking about Simon’s Quest to hard is gonna kill me one day lol X,,,,,D.

She also says that one line of “within your own heart, you might be able to defeat the evil if you wager your own life” and thinking about that along with the ominous vagueness of the endings all having different eulogies so similar that you could genuinely make an argument for any of them being the canon ending and the fact that almost all of Simon’s symbolism is related to self sacrifice and martyrdom is uh… interesting. Also a lot of people forget that the area around Castlevania is also cursed, not just Simon. The swamps are messed up, the towns get less saturated in color more empty the closer you get to the castle, and there’s monsters everywhere, this wasn’t entirely a selfish endeavor to save himself.

Anyway, the Japanese manual also talks about the Mysterious Woman in specific ways, appearing and disappearing with the mist. And maybe this is a way to keep her as mysterious as possible, but it’s an interesting choice of words. They could’ve said she walked away into the mist, but they specifically said “disappear”, which is an awfully ghostly thing to do. And it’s also weird cause we kinda do see another character suddenly appear out of thin air in a graveyard in who I like to call the Garlic Guy. The Garlic Guy is also massively under appreciated like what the heck is up with that whole interaction 💀💀💀. Go to the graveyard, only at night, and some hooded figure will suddenly begin to exist in front of you if you lay garlic on the ground and then give you a bag. And then like most things it’s completely unexplained and you just have to keep moving on. I’m thoroughly convinced Simon is just as confused as we are lol. And in a way she is also treated the same way as any other NPC: she does something unexplainable and is never mentioned or important again. The way the game is written I swear it’s designed to make you feel anxious and rushed, ya know like a guy who is actively dying would feel.

And the fact that none of this is ever explained is just so ominous. It adds to the tension of the game and themes of not being able to trust anyone. Nobody trusts Simon, Simon can’t determine who’s trustworthy, there’s NPCs that you don’t even get to know who or what they are, sometimes even the hint books aren’t particularly helpful, things happen and you just have to keep going as to not waste any time.

Hopefully any of this makes sense lol I ain’t reading all that again to check cause I gotta go have lunch cause I forgor about it whoops. Anyway I am very normal about Simon’s Quest and every character in it, please everyone play this game it’s good I promise— (;w; )

Edit: oh my god I did not realize how long this ended up oopsie—

[pgaftrpar2ie]

Hoodwinked on OakPoint (2017)

Okay so #BOOM. Holdon lemme-

Set the Scene: October 2017, Bronx, New York, Halloween Night

Its my first time in #NewYork, I just turned 18 and my gurl @ the time had brought me tickets to go see #TRAVISSCOTT !! On #HALLOWEEN NIGHT!! @ the time i was the biggest Trav fan, truthfully idk if we were fighting at that time (we were always fucking fighting) but she #FISHERR looked out I will say that much.

PS: D****** would end up being my most #toxic love/relationship, which you'll begin to understand in later post. Anyways..

Lets put this into perspective. Im not a person that brags cause my family story started in a place of poverty. I love where im from, #PGCounty. Simply put-my family did everything the right way to get us out of that situation and that's the story I choose to tell. Now if you FROM THAT then you KNOWW #hood shit when you see it.

My biggest pet-peeve has to be: You was never raised in that environment but you swear you THINK you know how to move cause you not "scared". Then me "reading-and-reacting" gets confused for overthinking and being "pussy". So you think.

No. That?.. Her? Problematic.

So we get into the concert. Travis literally takes 1.30hr to come out with NO OPENER, or I dont remember. In the mist of his taking his sweet ass time-it was some niggas in that mf ready to shake the spot on bro. They was moving hella funny fr. They had secret lil call outs, matching Mocler's on and shit, it seemed like they was looking for somebody. They had these masks on like different animals type shit and im just lookin, watchin how they move. See, I was lookin too hard, lacking-just right behind me over my shoulder was a Monkey mask and a Moncler.. Damn. I got caught lookin by the same person ion want the attention of. Fuck it. Be cool, we cool. I think to myself.

My gurl on the other hand has no clue what the hell is happening, turns around, cusses the dude out for standing too close. Great.

Some "yeah, whatevers" and a couple "sound goods" were exchanged as I stepped in between them. Situation diffused. Problematic.

TRAVIS SCOTT IS ON THE STAGE. Im screaming, she screaming, everybody's pumped. Its great. Now if you ever survived the Rodeo you know there's no such thing as staying in one spot. if you not strong enough you WILL get pushed over. Its simple. So I got my gurl in one arm and the other hand recording/moshing, whatever. I held it down. In this moment there's actual #peace and #serenity. We not fighting, Travis Scott is flying on an eagle, were looking in each others eyes the whole time during #Drugs Like This, I almost loved her. So close.. Then she looses her purse. #OMFG. Money, ID, Social, phone, charger gone, all in the fucking purse. Why. UGHHHHH

First instinct, make my girl happy. I pull out my flashlight and point it at the floor, franticly moving people out the way and interrogating them at the same time. This somehow makes my gurl more unhappy. Problematic.

I look up and Zebra face, Moncler man got the fucking bag. He's literally looking back smiling as they walk through the doors of the warehouse. In between us there 2000 people, raging. Fuck

[justanotherwildfangirlsstuff]

Percy Jackson & The Titan’s Curse

Goddamn. This one HURT. I think this one traumatized me as a kid so I blocked it out of my memory 😂. Like I knew what happened going in, but I forgot just how much of a punch to the gut it was.

I fell in love with the Hunters as soon as they were introduced. The idea that anyone could be a part of them and you could just fight off monsters forever with sisters? The stuff of dreams. I loved that we got more interactions with the gods for this book as well, with Ares, Poseidon, Hermes, Dionysus & Zeus returning and Athena, Aphrodite, Artemis, and Apollo coming in as well. But damn, the deaths here really hit. This was the first time loss was genuinely something that hit me as a kid, since it was always something I struggled with understanding. And then i had to see my new favorite character get DECIMATED. A lone tear still comes down my face when I read that section, but the beautiful constellation tribute was truly touching. They deserved a happy ending, but it showed that heroes aren’t always promised one.

Also, hot take but back on Olympus, I enjoyed the debate between the Gods on if they should live. I loved Athena’s perspective specifically. We frequently believe that what we believe in is the truth and the wisest decisions will back up our truth. But Athena’s argument isn’t whether or not if they should live or die, it is about pointing out the benefits or detriments of keeping them around. True wisdom is laying out ALL the facts, even those that don’t fit our desires and then making a decision based upon it even if we don’t like it. She was right for abstaining from voting. It was the wisest move since it was not fully clear if they were an eventual danger or not.

Favorite quote: Percy’s first encounter with Aphrodite was VERY CLOSE to winning, same with the Dam conversation because that was SO ICONIC but alas the one that got me cracking up was when Dionysus made the mortal ‘Kronies’ minds break (bonus points for also being the first time Dionysus calls Percy by his name)

“All around us, the manticore’s minions were still acting completely nuts. One of them found our friend the homeless guy, and they were having a serious conversation about metal angels from Mars. Several other guards were harassing the tourists, making animal noises and trying to steal their shoes.”

I don’t know why, but the image of these buff mercenary types running around like that cracks me up, especially since they are mortal, so I’m not sure if the Mist helps cover anything up here.

[gwynbleiddyn]

get to know charas: 26, 32, 55 for A Certain Princey Boi

[CRACKS ME KNUCKLES] let's get this man some reality checks

26. who do they miss?

MAN THERE'S A LOT OF PEOPLE

there's the obvious - his family back home in the sundisk city. his wife, his best friend. the people who knew him as he was, before he appeared as the man that Talisman know him as now. people who still live and breathe and people that he could, potentially, return to. however, there's still a reluctance there even as Talisman creep closer and closer to Akhenaton and i think deep down, missing them is easier to deal with than the idea that they might not love him the way he is now, because he very much isn't the boy who left those shores.

(tbh i don't know if he understands how he's changed for the better, and i think his mother and shadiya will see it more clearly than most for knowing him the way that they did. he's not less selfish, but he's capable of altruism in balance. he's still vain and ostentatious, but he's starting to see beauty in himself for himself, not for other people. nothing fundamental about him has changed because, he's said it himself: to be anything other than what he is would be fatal, but he has been able to find some middle ground between himself and what people want to see

...to an extent 👀 bitch is still skewing neutral and has a petty and MEAN streak)

then there's the less obvious, the more strained tethers that have been cut - and he has no way of fixing those frayed ends. his father, in whose long shadow mio felt safest. his grandfather, whose old and gnarled hands would guide mio's early footsteps in a garden that would one day belong to him. two men that, in spite of how abrasive and ultimately damaging their ambitions were to him, mio cannot quite bring himself to unravel himself from for fear of losing them entirely.

there is something to be said for the amount of grief that maahes holds onto in life that maybe alludes to the weight of love he carries, even in their absence. he doesn't speak it. he's carried it for so long now that it's seeped into the very bones of him, into the fundament, and to name it or expose it would just shatter him. it'll happen one day but i think he's just biding his time until he can do it in a place where he would be happy to meet his end, bc that's how dangerous it feels to him - it would be a death and rebirth all in one.

32. do they seek control, or do they want less of it?

this is a man whose entire life was decided the moment he was born, and it's only deviated from that because of one (1) choice that mio made decades ago when he wasn't even in his right mind. until that point he was 'guided' by many hands and many voices, none of which were his own. even with Talisman, he kind of prefers to just ride the wave because he doesn't really know what else to do. leadership is something he expected to happen because it's his birthright, not something he's had to work for.

that's changing, slowly. he has more confidence in direction now, and he'll speak up if he thinks he can lead them somewhere or take charge in situations that are more familiar to him (i guess most recent example being w/ king hithaldor in the tower of mists - royals are all the fucking same and he knows it)

i think in a way he's trying to prove to himself that he can take leadership back home. his perspective is changing - he saw that his grandfather wasn't a willing ruler, he was forced into the crown and crumbled. mio's father, on the other hand, took the crown with purpose and became a beloved king, a figure of legend, almost. he sees the pattern repeating in his brother, khenum, who sits on a throne he was likely never going to have and mio doesn't want to see him fail because of it. there's a driving force there, for sure.

55. whose hand do they reach out for?

god i think he's really afraid to.

he could hold Shadiya's hand on their wedding day and pretend, just as well as she could, and it worked for both of them. there is, there was, a love there beyond words but not the kind of love everybody else wanted it to be - this wasn't a marriage of heart and mind but of soul alone, the guaranteed pathway for Pelor's divinity to continue its reign within the Sundisk. they held hands often, as reassurance. as a reminder that they made this choice together, and they would not leave each other alone to face it (until mio did, without thinking 😬)

he desperately wanted to hold Onu's hand from time to time. and he would catch Onu's fingers on occasion, when Onu wasn't looking. he'd see the way Onu would tense like a serpent, waiting to bite whoever might look at them and ruin the moment where they were allowed to dream of the ordinary. their reality was the true poison, not Onu's bared fangs.

it had been strangely easy to find Diric's hands, steady and reliable, and not entirely unlike the presence he was used to having at his side years ago. the anchor to Mio's pendulum swings of impulse and self-indulgence. but even in that absent gesture, so often made, there were always shadows of a past that Mio couldn't sweep aside. both the sweet and the bitter. impossible to tell apart.

i think he keeps his hands clasped now.

[lacenvs3000w24]

nature 'n me 💏 (unit 01)

Sanctuary. When I think of my relationship with nature, it’s this word that is enduringly intertwined with the concept. I treasure my relationship with nature because of the absolute sense of belonging that it grants me. It’s easy, I think, to feel insecure in the day-to-day, to constantly feel a need to prove yourself, to prove that you do belong. In this way, being with nature has always offered me an unmatched sense of clarity and calm. Nature Club™ is “no membership required” & “no prior experience needed”.

Of course I belong, because everyone does. In other aspects of life, I think that that sentiment, in an entirely genuine sense, is pretty hard to come by. It’s also so so easy to get caught up in the “me me me” rumination. Getting outside, being in the fresh air surrounded by green, that is where I feel like I can really truly think, and also where I feel like I don’t necessarily need to. The tunnel-vision of my own life opens up, and there is so much more to see and appreciate. Being in nature is being in a place larger than my own life, or than anyone’s - it’s being in the place where everything connects.

Nature feels like family, and it feels like home.

images sourced from Pinterest (left) Photographer: ГОРЮКИНА ИРИНА (AIRIN GORUKINA) (right) Artist: Hannah Eddy

The idea of nature being a sanctuary for me, for my thoughts, goes back to being a kid. In childhood, “going outside” was much less of a deliberate act, I think. Even then (though I maybe didn’t realize it), it was the one place where my mind could run wild and free - where it was entirely up to me to ‘preoccupy’ myself. Really, this just meant being alone with my thoughts, but not in a spooky existential way. Instead, I was free from the constraints of media (TV, internet, even books) and entertaining myself meant dreaming up imaginary and fanciful stories about the twigs, pebbles, and plants around me. I grew up right across from the St. Lawrence River in southeastern Ontario. For as long as I can remember, this was my happy place. It was my own personal taste of wilderness, a place I could feel the breeze coming off the water, where I could sift through the treeline and lose track of time. As a kid, my family didn’t really prioritize typical outdoorsy activities, so this was my own way to seek that out. This is where Mother Nature and I signed our BFF contract.

image (without text) sourced from https://www.brego.net/lord-of-the-rings/horses/horses-of-rohan/

So yeah, nature does give me perspectives that feel impossible to access through screens and pages. Still, I think these forms media are actually what really sparked our friendship. Little me did everything possible to convince herself that no, she’s not riding her bike on a path in the treeline, she’s actually Legolas on horseback, halfway through an epic journey in Middle Earth. Lord of the Rings and other fantasy movies and novels had all the elements of wondering about and appreciating nature. Even now, that childhood magic still trickles in here and there during hikes, ski trips, and time spent in the sun. Later on, more realistic depictions of nature had me hooked. I remember watching “Gorillas in the Mist”, a fictional telling of Diane Fossey’s story, in my grade 10 science class. The thought of being immersed in a rainforest for weeks on end was one I couldn’t (and wouldn’t) shake. Then came my discovery of Jane Goodall's work and David Attenborough-narrated nature documentaries. I’m now a fourth year zoology student, and in the spirit of full disclosure, I have to admit that all of those played a huge role in my choosing this major. As I said, my family wasn’t huge on raising a bunch of little naturalists, so I honestly think I have these forms of media to thank in giving me my sense of place and sparking a lifelong interest in the wonder of the natural world.

image sourced from https://www.britannica.com/biography/Dian-Fossey

These days, somewhat unfortunately, I think making time to get outside has to be more intentional. The responsibilities pile up, we get busy, and all of a sudden we’ve spent the better part of a week cooped up in classrooms, libraries, and apartment rooms. Nature and me are like long-distance best friends sometimes. Even though I haven’t visited home for too long, I know she’ll welcome me back, and the love will still be there 💚

[defiledtomb]

Hey there! Was kinda curious: what if one day Id physically brushed against MC and realized they could feel them, warmth and all, and smell their scent? Like, their senses came back but it was limited only to MC? This while things are still tense between them (Sorry this is such an Id-centric question, but their situation is kinda... unique. ALSO, please give Oma all my love, she seems like a sweetie~)

:D I'm so happy Id visits your thoughts enough to prompt this question! And hello, what a gorgeous scenario, that Id can only sense MC. A soulmate kind of thing :') I love it!

In my head, Id can sense other things eventually, once they learn to categorize and identify what it is they are feeling. There is no doubt in my mind that what Id senses from MC is foundational to their new perspective; they would be drawn to MC's warmth and connect their scent to positive feelings. If MC doesn't romance or befriend Id again, I'm sure it would lead to a lot of conflicting feelings!

I think when Id is visiting MC they are very overwhelmed but keeping it buried inside, though the memory of feeling MC with all senses will stick with them for the rest of their life!

Also a quick drabble under the cut because I couldn't stop thinking about this. Mist!Id without armor, discovering that they can sense MC:

The first thing Id hears is the humming, vibrating the air around the small meadow they have drifted into, caressing the still sleeping flowers awake. This is the golden hour -- Id’s mass of mist shimmers in the glow of morning sun, floating over the vegetation, rustling the leaves. Silently, they sweep over high grass towards the source of the sound. 

A heaviness sets over Id as they spot MC; tendrils of sunlight dance across their skin, over the curve of their jaw. Id watches silently as MC hunches over a patch of mushrooms, foraging. An old sailors song rests easy on their lips, hummed softly for themselves. Id drifts closer, careful, planning for mischief.

Just as Id reaches a tendril of mist towards MC’s worn shirt, they snap their shape back, stars exploding throughout their soul, their mass, their body. Id can sense it now; flesh, heat, the breeze caressing skin, the scent -- the scent. Id assumes the shape of a person and slumps down behind MC, still unnoticed. Dragging their translucent hands over their face, Id heaves a breath as they smell it again -- it comes from MC, concentrated bliss enveloping everything Id knows. Should know. It’s been so long. Overwhelming sensations crawl throughout Id’s form, forcing them to hack on a sob. 

“Who goes there!” MC shouts, brandishing their knife.

Id slips away quietly and quick, the sensations falling away the further they get. They won’t tell MC what happened today. 

Id is sure they are trembling, vibrating throughout as they drift aimlessly back towards the thick of the forest.

No, they won’t tell today. But they wish they could.

[jeanandthedreamofhorses]

SNK’s Original Ending

Looking over the 2017 Bessatsu Shonen interview with Isayama again, it came as a slap to the face. While we always knew Isayama was considering changing his original, darker ending to a happier one, it was unclear until now what the original ending entailed. 

But given the way Isayama describes it, it’s abundantly clear that the original ending was exactly what we had been made to expect since the moment the Rumbling began. The plan Eren told Floch was the real deal.

Isayama claims that he ‘originally wanted to illustrate something similar to the film “The Mist”’. 

From the perspective of that film’s main characters, it’s hard to say that it has happy ending. The original ending for Shingeki no Kyojin originally went in that direction?

By the middle of the film, the story of The Mist is at the typical level of a B-list movie. But at its conclusion, it used the main character’s deep, intrinsic beliefs of what’s right to corrupt the main character himself, leading him to act in contrary ways. What the audience believed to be correct is also flipped upside-down. In the beginning, I spent a while analyzing how to imitate this style for Shingeki no Kyojin.

This is exactly what Isayama did with Eren in the Final Arc. His ‘deep, intrinsic beliefs of what’s right’ corrupt him and make him act in contrary ways. To ensure the freedom of him and his own, he steals freedom away from others.

Every character has to reassess what they once thought about Eren as their perspective is ‘flipped upside-down’. It is the same for the reader, as we are forced to question whether freedom is worth such a terrible cost.

Then, in the final chapter, we are told that all this characterisation of Eren was a ruse and that his friends had been right about him all along, soothing our consciences and, in the process, killing the moral complexity of the story dead. But judging from this interview, it really seems that Isayama had originally intended that to be the real Eren, with the Full Rumbling as his real goal.

What’s especially interesting about ‘The Mist’ is its ending.

SPOILERS BELOW

The protagonist, his son, and his friends are in a car surrounded by monsters. The protagonist decides to kill the other passengers in order to save them from an even worse fate. But after leaving the car, the protagonist realises that a rescue team had arrived and were exterminating the monsters. He had killed his loved ones for nothing.

I assume the ending of SNK would be similar in that regard. Although Eren did everything he did to protect his friends, he would ultimately wind up killing them when they try to stop him. He would have caused mass destruction for no reason at all. That’s how I expected the narrative to proceed for a very long time, and I’m almost certain that’s what Isayama was originally angling for. It already happened to some extent with Sasha.

What Isayama has to say about the movie ‘In This Corner of the World’ is also interesting:

The story starts prior to when combat began, but at some point even the main character, whose livelihood is opposite from a battlefield, also became someone who heeded the calling “fight on!” And then, she was defeated by such a development. The movie doesn’t explicitly answer the question of “Is war a bad thing?” - and I think that’s quite innovative.

The main character being defeated by their decision to ‘fight on’ is very reminiscent of Eren’s famous ‘Tatakae’.

If he winds up killing his friends because of that determination, it’s fair to say that he too would have been ‘defeated’ by it.

Likewise, Isayama’s admiration of how the movie doesn’t try to provide a clear moral answer to a difficult question suggests that the original ending would have also possessed this ambiguity. He confirms this later in the interview.

But considering the root of the issue, rather than evaluating “what is right”…to be influenced by various other works and their philosophies, and to truthfully illustrate my exact feelings during those moments - I think that’s what Shingeki no Kyojin’s ending will resemble.

It would have been unclear whether Armin’s justice or Eren’s liberty was more important; whereas in the ending we got, Eren received the praise and admiration of everyone. 

Although Isayama later claimed he didn’t mean to give the impression that Armin approved of Eren’s actions, that is certainly the impression which is given. The hero-worship of Eren in the final chapter is quite unambiguous.

Evidently, Isayama decided to change course. He writes:

At first I explored emulating The Mist, but now you could say that I’m moving in a more peaceful direction, similar to Guardians of the Galaxy. I’m not talking about whether Shingeki no Kyojin will have a good or bad ending - I only speak of my own attitude as the creator, as well as differences in my methods of ensuring that the readers enjoy the series.

Certainly, the ending we got resembled ‘Guardians’ more than ‘Mist’: a happy ending with a clear moral message where everyone gets along. And I have no problem with ‘Guardians’-style stories. The problem is that you don’t write a story meant to emulate one extreme only to suddenly pivot to the other extreme at the very end. Can you imagine if ‘Guardians’ ended with a ‘Mist’-style conclusion? It would be awful, and that’s exactly what happened here.

Because the last chapter was so jarring, I suspected a last-minute change, and I reckon some elements of it probably are last-minute. However, there are some things that were set up earlier - Mikasa’s conversation with Eren in 123, for instance.

But there are also a lot of plot threads that never go anywhere, like Mikasa’s relations with Hizuru and Historia’s parallels with Ymir. So, what gives?

This interview’s confirmed it for me. Around the Marley Arc when the interview took place, Isayama thought up an alternate ending (way too late in the story). From there, Isayama wrote the series with two different possible endings in mind and it was only in the last couple chapters - hell, maybe even in the last chapter itself - that he actually settled on one. This explains the ending’s inconsistencies, as well as why only half its plot threads paid off. Chase two rabbits, catch neither.

The worst part is that the reason he gives for changing it is because ‘now I feel responsible towards the reader’; whereas in The Final Exhibition interview he tells us:

I think I wanted to attack something. Like betraying people or hurting people. And, well, it's not exactly nice, but hurting the readers too... In all honestly, I feel that's what I really wanted to do. For me, as a reader, when I think, "this manga will remain in my heart," it means, for example, it phenomenally hurt me: It's those kinds of experiences I'm after.

These are the ‘differences in my methods of ensuring that the readers enjoy the series’ that Isayama talked about. His priority shifted from the *irresponsible* desire to ‘phenomenally hurt’ us to the *responsible* desire to make us happy. It became more important that we merely ‘enjoy the series’ than for it to ‘remain in [our] heart[s]’.

In other words, fanservice over themes. Would to God that Isayama had, like Eren in his original ending, been totally *irresponsible* with his creative freedom. Instead, his desire to be responsible ironically meant betraying the story’s themes, and, in turn, betraying a very large portion of the fanbase who were reading the story for something other than straightforward escapism. 

The story can no longer remain in our hearts, because Isayama didn’t put his weight into the final punch. Ironically, it is the point at which SNK abandons Nietzschean themes that it proves Nietzsche the most right: ‘Pity is an infection’.

[hlizr50]

Gwynriel Week Day 2 - Favorite Headcanon

Bow or Bleed

Read on AO3

-Gwyn-

Gwyn examined herself in the mirror, turning her hips and looking over her shoulder. She was technically covered, but also decidedly not, navy chiffon so dark it was nearly black waterfalled down her legs, the milky skin of her leg exposed by the hip-high opening. The top of the gown had long sleeves and a deep neckline past her breastbone, but it was also sheer – strategically placed beading and applique crept up her stomach and over her breasts. It was certainly the most scandalous thing she’d ever worn.

Azriel had warned her before the meeting with the High Lord, nearly three weeks before. Times were peaceful – something they were all thankful for – but Rhysand wanted to remind the denizens of the Hewn City of the Night Court’s might, introducing the new division of their defenses. Therefore, the three female leaders of the Valkyries were requested. Her mate had kept her hand firmly gripped in his for the duration of the discussion, and that silent support was just one of the many reasons she loved him. So was his deference to her decision. That was something that had been a little more difficult to achieve, the shadowsinger being as protective as he was, particularly where Gwyn was concerned.

They had discussed in depth what she would find in the Court of Nightmares and the expectations that came along with being in attendance in a position of power. And while, in the three years they had been together, they had explored any number of intimate situations and dynamics in the comfort of their private home, it was Azriel who had suggested that Gwyn be regarded as the dominant one of the two.

The inhabitants of the Hewn City know that I am to be feared. And I want them to see the woman who has tamed the infamous spymaster and cower. Not only from a perspective of your safety, but to be perfectly frank it would be incredibly arousing.

She had laughed at that.

And so Azriel and Gwyn had painstakingly discussed every detail, the two of them valuing preparedness and knowledge above all else. Where would they be expected to stand? How were they expected to interact with the rest of the inner circle and the Valkyries? He came with her to dress fittings, discussing how the fabric would move and working with the Valkyrie and the seamstress to ensure she looked tempting enough to draw attention, but covered enough that she wouldn’t be constantly pulling and tugging. They had even come home with a replica of the skirt so they could train together, for the unfortunate possibility that violence might become a necessity.

So here she was, with her chosen sisters, examining herself one last time before their entrance into the Court of Nightmares. When she looked up she found Nesta at her shoulder.

“Ready, Gwyn?” The redhead could see the faint glimmer of concern in her friend’s eyes.

A reassuring grin crinkled the freckles dotting the former priestess’ nose and the corners of her eyes. She trailed her fingers over the hilt of the dark blade sheathed at her thigh, drawing strength from its weight and the lingering power from the hands that wielded it. Gwyn nodded, the copper waterfall of her high ponytail brushing past her ears and cheeks.

“Let’s give them a show,” Emerie quipped with a smirk.

Gwyn regarded the two females that had been at her side, constant support and friendship and love over the past four years. Nesta was a queen in every sense, beautiful and dangerous, with a neckline that dipped even lower than her own. Her gown fit tight against her, black velvet rich and luxurious. She wore her weapon for everyone to see, the sword Ataraxia hanging from the black leather riding her hips. Her leg was also revealed by a near-indecent slit in the midnight cloth, the tightness of the dress pulling the ends apart and baring it for all to see.

And then there was Emerie, who had opted for pants, tailored just right to show off the strength in her legs. Black silk fell loosely from her honey brown shoulders creating lovely drapes over her front and baring her smooth muscled arms. The back of the garment only met at the small of her back, letting all appreciate the ripples and cords of muscle and the incredible wings that marked her as Illyrian.

Emerie smiled wryly, ready to intimidate, but it was Nesta who pushed open the wooden doors with as much force as she could muster. Gwyn was inwardly satisfied at the sound that cut through the cavern. She lifted her chin and fixed her gaze forward toward the raised dais, where the High Lord and Lady sat enthroned in dark power. She would not turn her gaze toward the shadowsinger as they strode in, footfalls synchronized as if they marched into battle. She kept her head lifted, near-arrogant smirk on her wine-painted lips.

But, Mother, could she feelhim. The flicker of power, the gold thread between them taut with heat and tightly coiled desire. Gwyn didn’t dare a glance, but she could feel the burn of his hazel gaze – likely now closer to molten gold – roaming over her.

The three Valkyries stopped at the foot of the dais, Nesta in front with Gwyn and Emerie at her shoulders. When they each fell to one knee before their High Lord and Lady, the copper-haired warrior could feel the cool, moist air prickling the skin of her now-exposed thigh. But she didn’t feel exposed, even with so much less of her covered than she was accustomed to. She didn’t feel weak, even as she bowed in the midst of this infamous court. She was a wholly different person from the quaking priestess that had been rescued from Sangravah, and it was this court that had helped build her up. She was a warrior, a Valkyrie, one of eight Carynthians to ever exist, and now she was a general. And through all that she had become a sister, friend, lover, and mate, and it was those bonds that truly gave her strength.

They rose and turned to face the court, and Gwyn did her best to observe nonchalantly. So many leering stares, expressions of disgust – so many fragile males opposed to the concept of powerful women.

“The Valkyries were legendary in the Great War, and we are pleased that these three females have resurrected their practice and built new ranks.” Rhysand’s voice was rich and dark, like the velvet that clung to Nesta’s skin. “As their skills have improved and their ranks have deepened, the Valkyries have been inducted as an official division of the Night Court defense. Even in times of peace we all know that it is imperative to remain dedicated and prepared. These three females join the ranks of my Inner Circle as generals, and they will be respected as such.” There was a pregnant pause after his statement, the court regarding the three of them, sizing them up. “Any word or action against them will be counted as a word or action against myself or the High Lady. And while all of the denizens of the Hewn City understand how I manage those slights, let them rest assured that these women will exact their own justice.” After one more glower over the crowd the females split apart, turning toward their respective mates.

That’s when she finally laid her eyes on the Spymaster of the Night Court, clothed in black leather and swathed in shadows. The angles and planes of his face, in this dark place, made him impossibly more beautiful. He was an imposing creature when he needed to be, and in the Court of Nightmares he would only be seen as this man of malice – an angel of death.

With near-glowing eyes fixed on her and her alone.

-Azriel-

This plan could have been a grave mistake.

Not because Gwyn wasn’t absolutely breathtaking and fearless, and not because he didn’t believe that any male would think twice before approaching her with the shadowsinger apparently on her leash.

No, this plan was very potentially a mistake because Azriel wasn’t sure he would be able to keep himself from swathing them in shadows and ravishing her in the middle of the damned great hall as soon as she was within arm’s reach.

He’d known what the dress would look like on her tall frame – he had accompanied her to consultations and fittings, ensuring that his mate would feel comfortable and safe during this foray into the sinister underbelly of the Night Court. The inspiration for Amarantha’s domain not-so-long ago.

To say that the idea of Gwyn stepping foot in this place had given him pause would be a grievous understatement. His shadows had twirled around his wings in agitation when Rhys had informed him, but he also knew that his mate was not the same girl he had rescued from Sangravah those years ago. He had agreed to let her hear the request and decide for herself what she would do, and he would be happy to do everything in his power to ensure that she was prepared.

The female that faced him now was nothing short of a queen.

Azriel found himself thinking back through the times that he had been rendered breathless by her astonishing beauty – more times than he could count. The first time he’d seen her in the Valkyrie leathers he thought he might have to leave the room, lest he melt into a heap on the floor before her. Their first Starfall together his shadows had frozen around him as he remembered how to breathe, her dress and eyes outsparkling the heavens. The evening of their mating ceremony, where a simple silk shift had sent tendrils of inky mist dancing and had nearly set his soul on fire.

Before him was a warrior, confident and ferocious. And his. Her skin was moonlight against the darkest blue the seamstress could find, curves barely concealed beneath lace and beading that had been expertly placed to toe the line between demure and deadly. Makeup was not something the former priestess indulged in often, but the wine-red that painted her full lips tempted him to lick his own and the kohl lining her teal pools only seemed to set them ablaze. The high ponytail was somewhat unexpected, but it was the sight of the blade strapped to her thigh – so dark it seemed to absorb any light that dared touch it – that had the breeches of his leathers tightening considerably and his twirling shadows thickening.

Truth-teller.

Neither of them needed weapons to be deadly, but that didn’t mean they would venture into the Court of Nightmares unarmed. And there would be no better way to send a message to any who dared covet his mate than for her to brandish the deadly blade that was known throughout the continent.

Gwyn strode toward him, head held high. She had schooled her expressive eyes into cool indifference, something she had likely learned from him, but Azriel could spy a glimmer of mischief. She was enjoying this game, and he was more than content to play it with her. He lowered his chin and dropped to one knee as she approached, and his shadows could hear the whispers of stunned onlookers as the spymaster placed himself firmly beneath the Valkyrie in the hierarchy. A wry grin curled his lips as he watched those exquisitely formed legs come to a halt before him and the hand at her right hip present itself. He kept his gaze fixed on the speckled flesh of her knuckles as he raised his own scarred hand, cobalt siphon flickering, and grasped her fingers before leaning in to reverently press his lips to her knuckles. He could feel the golden warmth of her satisfaction in his chest, sparks of desire intermixed.

When he released her hand it moved to his face, two long elegant fingers landing under his chin and pulling it upward. Lifting his gaze, he found her face alight with fierce confidence.

“Shadowsinger,” she purred, applying more pressure to encourage him to rise before her. Their stares were transfixed in the eyes of the other as he did so, her hand only moving far enough to land in a possessive grip toward the back of his neck. He couldn’t hide the smirk that crawled over his lips, enamored as he was with the predatory confidence that she wore.

“My lady,” he murmured, dipping his chin. “You look absolutely exquisite.” The slightest pink blossomed on her cheeks, proving that she was not completely immune to his charm. She circled him and stepped up behind him onto the first stair to the dais, keeping her palm on is neck. He had to stifle a groan, reveling in her possessive touch and the heat of her at his back between his wings. Her breath snaked across his ear and his skin pebbled, her lips like a phantom touch over the shell of it.

“You are beautiful and dark, as always, love,” Gwyn whispered before dipping her chin and pressing those soft painted lips just below where the sharp line of his jaw met his neck. His breath shuddered and his mate gave a soft giggle. “Your shadows are quite… friendly tonight.”

“Well, lovely general, I can hardly be expected to control them when you make it so difficult for me to even manage myself,” Azriel breathed.

“Hmmm. You do make an excellent point.” She gripped his jaw and pulled it to the side to claim his lips with a bruising kiss. When she released him he nearly drowned in the teal pools that captured his gaze. He could see the challenge there, the desire, the pride. He loved when he could glimpse those things in her expression, when he could put those feelings there. Gods, the way it felt to bow before her, to be the one she trusted to submit to her will. It was a distinct possibility he wouldn’t survive the night.

“I know you have duties, Shadowsinger,” the Valkyrie stated softly, dropping her fingers from his jaw. His permission to leave her side, to stride through the shadows and dark corners of this hall to ensure that members of this court still understood the price of disrespect and the power of fear. He turned, tucking his wings tight to avoid striking her. He meant to look back into those piercing, starlit eyes, but his gaze caught on Truth-teller at her thigh. He lifted a mottled hand and settled his palm over the hilt, letting his callused fingers brush delicately over that tempting sliver of porcelain flesh. Leaning down, he brushed his mouth over the peek of skin just above his thumb.

“Wine, my lady?” He straightened and grinned crookedly at her flushed neck and chest. She dipped her chin in confirmation and he turned, striding into the throng of revelers. Hopefully his High Lord didn’t expect him to listen too closely. It was peacetime, after all, and he had to contend with every delicious image of Gwyn flashing through his mind. Hopefully his shadows would pick up on anything glaring and drag his attention out of the gutter.

He had retrieved two goblets and turned back toward the dais when he felt a twinge of anxiety in his chest, tightening the golden thread that connected the Shadowsinger and the Valkyrie. He weaved quickly in and out of the dark swaths in the hall, his shadows carrying to him the echoes of words between her and a yet-unknown male.

“…quite an actress, priestess…”

Azriel quieted the snarl that threatened to push through his lips as he rounded a pillar silently, finding Gwyn’s back pressed against it and the male – one of the darkbringers, he realized – doing his best to tower over her. He stayed silent, tucked into the darkness. He had vowed not to intervene until it became obvious that she couldn’t handle the situation. And while he had felt the moment of uncertainty in their bond, his mate looked calm and nonchalant – if not a small bit annoyed.

“Although I find it difficult to believe that a timid acolyte from the library sanctuary could best the Spymaster. They say the women in the great library have experienced great horrors, but perhaps if you warm the bed of the angel of death, you’re into that kind of thing.”

The male had lifted a hand to Gwyn’s face, making to touch her. And quick as the wind she had Truth-teller in her hand, blade against a particularly sensitive part of the male who thought he could dare to insinuate what he did, much less dare to touch her. Azriel saw the rage sparkling in her gaze, all traces of anxiety and annoyance gone.

“Think very carefully about the next thing you say,” she hissed. When the male tried to smirk and play it off she pushed the blade the slightest bit deeper, the edge biting into the leather of his pants. “I am a general. I won the Illyrian Blood Rite. I have bested far more intimidating creatures than yourself. So do ask yourself if you want to test your luck.”

Azriel’s lips twisted into a sadistic smile, basking in the glow of his mate’s strength. Her eyes darted to him for a split second, and the male’s eyes followed. The color drained from his face when he saw the rippling shadows twisting and rising like flames over his shoulders and wings. But a push against the dagger at his crotch shifted his attention back to Gwyn.

“Hear me now, brute,” she seethed. “I do not always keep my Shadowsinger so tightly leashed. And he does not take kindly to unimpressive, brainless males touching the female that he belongs to.” My Shadowsinger. The female that he belongs to. Mother above, those words went straight to his already-straining cock. “So I hope that little thrill that pulsed through your undoubtedly underwhelming dick when you thought you could intimidate me and bend me to your desires… I do so hope it was worth it.”

The male stepped away with hands raised, but the copper-haired queen kept her blazing stare on him, dagger still ready in her hand.

“Shadowsinger, I hope you have that wine,” she cooed, sheathing the weapon when Azriel stepped to her side. He offered her the goblet and then offered her an arm, muscles and shadows tremoring from barely contained fury. His instincts warred within him, an urge to rip the male limb from limb against the desire to whisk his mate into an alcove and plunge his tongue between her legs until she was screaming his name. He wasn’t sure if he had ever desired her with such a feral male pride, and from the heat blooming across her chest he could tell that she could feel that pulsing need through their bond. But her breathing was slightly more shallow than normal, and he remembered that nervous twinge he’d felt before she’d nearly castrated the man. The spymaster let them to a darkened corner, shadows swallowing them and hiding them from prying eyes and ears.

“Are you alright, songbird?” All pretense and games were gone, leaving only the soft voice of a protective male concerned for the love of his eternity. He took her wine glass and set both of them on the stone floor. When he straightened he pinned her with his gaze and raised callused fingers to trace the freckles on her cheek. Gwyn sighed a calming breath and leaned into his touch.

“Yes, love. I was nervous for a moment, but I think I handled things quite well,” she smiled widely. He released a dark chuckle of his own, stepping into her and pinning her gently against the wall. Azriel tilted his head and leaned down, pressing his lips against the sensitive space under hear ear. Nipping at it, then flicking his tongue over the spot to soothe it, smiling against her soft flesh as he felt her gasp beneath him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more aroused in my life, Gwyneth Berdara,” he uttered into her neck, voice low and guttural. He pressed his hips against her, letting her feel what she had done to him. “When you called me yours, when you said I belong to you… Gods, nothing has ever been truer.”

Azriel dragged his lips wantonly over her jaw toward her mouth, nipping at her bottom lip when he got there. He was on fire for her, every inch of him aflame with want for his warrior queen. He crushed his lips into hers, tongue beseeching. She gave in without pause, and he greedily pulled at her lips and tongue. He wanted to breathe her in, needed to taste her.

“Azriel,” she gasped, but he continued pouring himself into her, only stopping when her hands cupped his face gently. He pulled back and took in her swollen lips and lust-darkened eyes. “We need to behave, remember?” The shadowsinger groaned, earning a musical laugh from the Valkyrie. He leaned his forehead against hers.

“Fine,” he growled. “But as soon as we get home, rest assured, I will have you. And I want you to keep Truth-teller on that pretty thigh.”

Gwyn’s cheeks turned crimson and his throat rumbled with approval. He pressed a quick, hard kiss into her lips before stepping back, giving her some air to cool the heat on her face. Swiftly, he scooped up their wine goblets and offered his elbow to her.

“Ready to terrorize more unsuspecting males, my lady?” Azriel grinned wickedly, and she threw her head back, a cackle erupting from her throat. She tucked her starkissed hand into the crook of his arm.

“Always, Shadowsinger.” Quickly, before he let his shadows disperse, she pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek. “I love you.”

The bond burned golden fire in his chest, swelling with love and contentment and bliss. “I love you, too, Berdara.” He murmured, and then they were in the throng again, the music and revelry of the Hewn City swallowing them. He let his shadows wander and listen, but his attention was focused on his mate for the remainder of the evening. He marveled at her confidence, her strength, the pride she felt at being able to conquer this moment. Feyre may be his High Lady, but Gwyneth Berdara was his queen. And, if tonight was any indication, he would gladly bow before her for the rest of his immortal life.