#i agree that it's not so transgressive!!!

[finitevariety]

THR Yellowjackets interview

[thedreadvampy]

btw about Neil Gaiman I periodically agree with the 'Neil Gaiman is annoying' stuff bc I feel like both he and Amanda Palmer seem like people who I would go insane stuck in a room with bc we have very different ideas about art and suchlike. and I also do think that the career trajectory he's on lately is cynically redoing his greatest hits and pretending that was the dream all along when it clearly was not. which is at best meh.

having said which

as far as I can tell by far the most common complaint about Neil Gaiman is "Snow, Glass, Apples is problematic/gross/it's got incest and rape and frames the child as the aggressor"

which strikes me as a weird complaint to pull out of a 40 year body of work tbh when that short story is pretty clearly coming from a place of 'how far can I push this'. like you don't have to like the story. I don't really like the story. but it is. a horror story.

like and this is the thing with particularly 90s alt horror right? a lot of the interest is in transgression and sitting in the worst possible perspective and seeing what happens if you pull those strings. like I really like Clive Barker for example but there's a good chunk of his short stories that I'm like I'm not picking up what you're putting down Clive this seems Kinda Off. but that willingness to write some trite or Bad Message horror fiction that doesn't land is imo a side effect of being willing to try writing uncomfortable and unpleasant fiction at all. which is what horror is for, among other things, it's for creating discomfort as a form of catharsis or engagement.

like I am not a huge fan of the type of sex-horror that pops up in a lot of Gaiman's work and other contemporary horror writers - to me I don't find it upsetting or horny it just ends up feeling kind of edgy and tryhard - but I'm also a bit like. it does seem like a lot of people's beef with Neil Gaiman is that In The 90s He Was A Horror Writer

and this approach to Problematic Horror in Snow, Glass, Apples I find kind of microcosmic of how The Discourse often approaches art in this kind of 1:1 way. if you write a story which seems to line up with rape apologia it can only be because you agree with it. if you write a story about transphobia you're a transphobe. if you write a story that makes me genuinely uncomfortable you're attacking me.

but artwork, especially art like horror that's not necessarily trying to provoke enjoyment as its main response, is necessarily hit and miss. and if what you're shooting for is discomfort then whether it works, falls flat or goes too far incredibly depends on your audience. and making good art - as in art that makes its audience think, art that opens the audience up to discomfort and catharsis and sticks with them and changes them - requires the space to experiment and tbh the space to fuck up. like they aren't all going to be winners and they certainly aren't all going to work for you as a singular audience.

personally I don't see the appeal of Snow, Glass, Apples, less cause it's nasty and more cause it's hack. ooh an edgy monstrous version of a fairy tale where there's lots of rape and cannibalism? you're soooo original Neil. but like. that's fine. I don't really vibe with like 70% of Neil Gaiman stuff I've read but I still like Neil Gaiman because the stuff that works for me really works for me.

idk I think there's a lot of folk on this website who shouldn't interact with horror cause they clearly aren't interested in being horrified. that's not everyone who dislikes Snow, Glass, Apples, but it's a real undercurrent to a lot of the criticism and tbh this kinda vibe is shit for art. making standout art What Is Good also requires being ready to make art which stands out for the wrong reasons. sometimes they'll be the same art to different people.

[gibbearish]

kinda frustrating how we've spent the last few months acknowledging how a lot of well intentioned but guilt trippy social justice posts are like specifically designed to worm into ocd ppls brains and then now every single post abt palestine is "i dont care how bad your mental health is, i dont care how bad looking at all this makes you feel, if you don't read every single post you see on this topic in full you are a horrible person and directly contributing to their deaths. 'waaaah my mental health' well at least youre not being bombed, did you think about that??" and its like. i absolutely get where youre coming from but you dont get to complain that guilt tripping is bad then turn around and use it anyways because you think the cause youre using it for is worthwhile. like. everyone thinks the cause theyre using it for is worthwhile, thats why theyre using it. but its still a shit way to do it

[landlordevil]

i tried activating the solar lance since i'd never done it before and hearing how devastated lae'zel is... a few of the companions can get flippant, kind of a "well what are you gonna do?", but lae'zel truly mourns the loss of the creche. It's such a loss for her- losing her faith in Vlaakith, losing her faith in finding a cure, losing one of the only places she could tether herself to. All of the first act she urges us to find this creche, says we'll be safe and cured and even if we're objectively a weak, ragtag group of people she's willing to risk her life to save us. Her relationship to other Githyanki, even if they've never met before, is extremely important to her. She's willing to share that with you. And how does that compassion get repaid... the creche is a crater in the ground. For some stupid relic. Because of our own greed. At least when you kill the creche to fight your way out they have a chance to defend themselves, and they WANT you dead because it's Vlaakith's word against your own. There's something honorable in that, maybe, I don't know. It's just so wrenching to think that this group of people came into this creche and decimated it in the search for a cure and Lae'zel's entire world has just been ripped out from under her. Her loyalty to the others has condemned her.

[borom1r]

I have thoughts abt Beanix but they are NOT coherent ooooargh!!!! HIM!!!!!!!

[gotjacobian]

Something entertaining I’ve noticed from talking to people about Tailslide: people’s perceptions of Kestrel split correlated with their existing familiarity with Genius as a world/game system. People who are more familiar with it seem more likely to assume… general “good kiddo”-ness from him, I guess? Less lying, monologuing, scenery chewing, etc, or at least more benign versions of those things. While people who aren’t familiar seem more likely to expect gremlin behavior.

My guess is that people who know Genius have a picture in their head of the full spectrum of “Like That” the Inspired can embody, and know how relatively grounded K is in that context. I dunno how I feel about that from a writing perspective. I don’t think either read is wrong, but I do always feel like I could be doing a better job of including colorful characters and mad science shenanigans that would give people more of the Genius world context. But I also like the idea of people being less sure about exactly how much of K’s  high-obligation chill is a front off the bat. 

This is related to one of the comic’s “baby’s first long-form narrative” problems: the exposition works essentially backwards from how it should for an uninformed reader. More specifically, it does a pretty good job of introducing the specific things in Tailslide that are abnormal in the Genius universe (K working for the mortal government, a “reformed” Clockwise leaving Lemuria to rejoin the peerage, Quinn running for peerage chair as a mortal). But the average reader (untouched by Kyle Marquis) is in all likelihood gonna be more familiar with stuff like SCP-type agencies and abstract organizational politics than Genius’ specific world-of-mad-science flavor. Like, it could definitely be worse. It WAS worse, back when the concept of ‘clockstoppers’, ‘unmada’, and ‘inspiration’ were showing up in that order, which led to my first rewrite of the prologue and chapter 1.  But I can see now that the worldbuilding still requires either some prior familiarity or some patience and faith on the part of a reader to hit the way I want it to. 

This makes sense given the audience and mindset I was writing with at the time, and I’ve been taking the issue into account while finishing rewriting the ch1 dialogue. If I ever redo some pages in their entirety, I think I’d lengthen the prologue both for the sake of better drama, and to spend a little more time introducing the mad science bits of the world before we get to the TLA, Peerage, and OLT. The other thing I’ve considered is major edits that would rearrange chapters, probably starting with Chapter 4, then 3, and then splitting 1 and 2 somehow across future pages if they’re used at all. I don’t love this idea, though. I think it would completely wreck how Altmann/K’s relationship is introduced in chapters 1-3, which is one of the things I really like about the story as it currently (or will shortly) exist(s). I might try cutting the pages this way and reading it as an experiment at some point just to see if that’s the case - but these are all minor, extremely hypothetical longterm goals compared to just Making More Pages either way. 

[deadsetobsessions]

DCxDP Writing Prompt: (I wrote some myself but yk)

Ghost was Gotham’s first cryptid. That’s right. Even before Batman. He’d established himself in the city as someone who takes care of things, helps the weak, aid some of the strong trying to do good. His information network sprawled the expanse of the city. In between the day the Waynes died and Batman’s reappearance, Ghost set up shop and slowly began to remove the sludge clinging to Gotham’s spirit.

Danny thought the name was a little bit on the nose but as someone who used to go by Invis-o-bill, he definitely wasn’t complaining.

Besides, people had accidentally aligned with ghost culture when they began calling Gotham his haunt. It was, and having people recognize that helped to boost his core. It was his haunt, and while he was taking down mob bosses, they were also considered his to take care of.

Which meant Danny felt it the moment Batman stepped into his haunt. He stayed his immediate violent reaction only because Gotham herself materialized to stop him from scalping the guy. She whispered to him how his parents died on these streets, how she wanted to choose him as her Knight. The Lady Gotham looked at her King, and asked him to withhold his judgement, bowed her head and pleaded.

Danny, eyes glowing a toxic green, stared at her until the rage from Batman’s presence- invader! trying to steal his haunt!- had calmed.

And he agreed, probationally.

The Ghost stood back and watched, commanding his network of people to assess and judge the Bat as a possible asset. A possible ally.

And so the Ghost’s continent of people, from prostitutes to white collar workers, from street kids to socialites, watched.

And Lady Gotham’s knight proved himself. And he found one of Ghost’s informants. And Danny?

Danny tilted his head back and laughed, glad he allowed Bruce Wayne to live despite his unknowing transgression.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Just Jason being the human version of a house cat.

Someone on here said that Jason is just a massive lap cat and I can’t help but agree because just imagine it; an absolute beast of a man finding solace in resting specifically on your plush lap, his strong, warm arms caging your waist as his face is burrowed pleasantly into your stomach in content, groans in displeasure whenever he feels you move even the slightest of inches.

How dare you move when Jason was just getting comfortable, apologise now for your transgressions.

Jason’s warmth would be advantageous to you during the colder months but an absolute nightmare during the summer, more so if you’re the type to get warm really easily and it ends up irritating you. But this is neither here nor there.

‘Jaybirdie?’ You ran your hand through his hair, scratching his scalp now and then.

Jason groans, showing that he was listening.

‘I’ve got to get going soon or else they’ll call and ask why I’m late.’ You tell him as you felt his arms tighten and you smile. ‘And I can’t exactly say that my 6’2 boyfriend is sprawled across my lap like a stubborn house cat that is refusing me to leave. Now can I?’ You finished, moving your hand away from his hair and focusing on rubbing his upper back, wishing you could see his muscles beneath the black t-shirt. You could only being to imagine the way his beautiful muscles would contract and relax from your touch as though they were like the waves you’d see at the beach, webbing and flowing; it was borderline enticing.

‘Then don’t go then. Simple as.’ His muffled voice said against your stomach.

‘I can’t, I promise to help out at work because someone called in sick…again.’ You muttered out the last part. You didn’t know why your co-worker wasn’t sacked for having so much time off but you knew you weren’t the only one that didn’t like them, and from what you’ve been told by older co-workers, this wasn’t the first time they’ve done this and even then you were surprised that they still even had a job to come back to. So because of them, you and your fellow co-workers were being worked to the bone to cover their hours on top of your own.

‘Again?’ Jason asked, lifting his head up from your lap, having been kept up to date on the goings on in your workplace. ‘How haven’t they gotten pulled in for that shit?’

You shrugged your shoulders, genuinely as baffled as he was about the whole thing. ‘Honestly have got the slightest clue Jay, but It’s all the more reason for me to go.’

Jason groans as he reluctantly lets you go but now you were the one upset at the sudden loss of his warmth and that must’ve been apparent on your face as Jason smirked mischievously as he reassumed his position on your lap, his strong arms went back to holding your waist tightly and his face burrows back into your stomach as he sighs in content once more.

‘See, now you don’t wanna go now because your Jaybirdie won’t be there to keep you warm.’ He teased as you tugged at his hair, causing him to groan.

‘That’s not-‘

‘Oh don’t play the coy card with me sweetheart, we’ve already been through that stage in our relationship.’ Jason cuts you off. ‘because if you wanted to leave that badly you wouldn’t be rubbing my back or running your hand through my hair like you are right now.’ Jason then looks up at you with a raised brow as if challenging you in daring to say otherwise when you both knew the truth.

‘It’s just- we don’t typically get enough time together.’ You began. ‘Crime in Gotham has been on an increase as of late, which is taking much of your time, and work has been asking everyone to pitch in and help cover until our co-worker decided to comes back at their own accord.’ You paused to stroke Jason’s cheek, internally melting when you felt him press his face further into your hand, gingerly kissing your palm. ‘It just doesn’t give us enough time for moments like these, the moments we crave most.’

‘The moments where we’re just together.’ Jason finishes for you and you muttered a small ‘yeah.’

A silence befalls you both as you tried to engrain this moment into your memory because neither of you knew when the next time you got to peacefully exist in tandem, whether that be doing your own thing or doing something together, just as long as you were with each other for longer then a fleeting five minutes.

‘So do you still want to go to work?’ Jason asked. ‘Or do you want to be selfish for once?’

You gave it some thought and soon after began to reach for your phone and punch in the work number as Jason squeezed a thigh in his large hand. ‘Selfish it is.’ He murmured with a smile as he gotten himself comfortable before feeling you run your fingers through his hair once more.

[pageofheartdj]

I think Lilith is in Heaven not to relax after all.

Adam had a deal with Lilith about something.

And if Lilith just left Lucifer, I am SURE Adam would have bragged about it in the fight, ESPECIALLY after Lucifer's comments. And we know Adam is shit at keeping secrets, so there is no way he wouldn't have slipped.

So whatever the deal is, it was probably FOR Hell's benefit. I do not remember Adam directly lying, so he wouldn't have twisted the truth to paint Lilith badly.

"If you want to stay here" and by staying there she keeps helping Hell/her family out? But how? What was the deal she had with Adam? About the extermination day? Is THIS how Adam/Heaven agreed to kill sinners only?

Clearly this is supposed to be a secret. Lucifer most likely knows this and doesn't say anything. ADAM had a chance to tell it to Charlie directly, but all she got is Lute's 'daddy asked hell-borns being pardoned'. "Go ahead and kill everybody" might not be so simple.

And even then, it should be nullified now, shouldn't it? With Lucifer fighting exorcists off and killing Adam. It seems like the exterminations days are over.

So Lilith is free to go? Unless there is someone else above Adam who wants things to stay the same AND Hell dead. Not just sinners, all demons. And by staying in Heaven, Lilith makes sure there is no mass move against Hell.

But why Lilith? What her staying in there does? Were demons more motivated with her being present? Does Heaven blame Lilith for Lucifer's transgression and keep them separated? Or is it to punish him more? What??

And now that Lucifer will most likely keep fighting against another possible attack, Lute demands Lilith to do something about it. About the Hotel, that messes things up between Heaven and Hell.

[dotster001]

When You Escape Him; Non NRC

Summary: Yandere Neige/Chenya/Rollo/Najma x gn!reader. He adopts a child that looks like the two of you. You run to give you both a chance at life. You never expected him to find you.

CW: these are probably the tamest of the crew, yandere content, probably ooc but we know so little about these guys, Rook's an ass, gaslighting/manipulation, restraints, Rollo's darling is on their last straw, Stockholm syndrome

A/N: I was gonna include Najma, but she's so pretty, she could do whatever she wanted, and I'd be like, "whatever you say, babygirl." Anyways...I did not include her here...for reasons....

Edit: I am a dumbass. I figured out how to write a Najma part.

Heartslaybul Savannaclaw Octavinelle Scarabia Pomefiore Ignihyde Diasomnia Staff

Three years into your relationship, he had come home and placed a baby in your arms.

"They were left in a box, all alone. And, well, he looks like if the two of us had a child," he sheepishly stared at the ground. "I just, I just figured it must be a gift from the seven."

You knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to tie himself to you through this boy. He looked just like him, and you were disgusted and scared.

Until he opened his eyes for the first time, and you found yourself staring into your own.

And you knew. You had to give this child the opportunity for a better life. A life without him.

In the end, your son did the opposite of what he had intended. And the first moment you could, the two of you had escaped.

You'd gotten an invitation to Rook's estate in the Sunset Savannah. 

Rook had basically become your son's godfather, though you had to doubt his motives. At first that is.

You'd been suspicious. Of course Rook would want to raise up the next Neige le Blanche. Your son was the spitting image of him, but with the added “bonus” of having your “radiant, glowing eyes.” You couldn't help but worry that Rook was helping you because he wanted to be the one to help polish and prepare the one who would grow up to be the fairest of them all.

Your suspicions had faded over time, as he seemed to be taking a hands off approach, opting to send money, buy food and clothes, and play pretend dad if someone asked questions. He'd visit twice a year, expressing his excitement to simply play fairy godmother to the boy.

Then one evening, long after your son had gone to sleep, you'd sat late into the night talking in front of Rook's grandiose fireplace. The both of you had inched closer and closer, until he'd taken your chin in his hand, and was whispering against your lips.

“I've always loved your eyes. I'd always hoped that it would be my son you'd share them with.”

You laughed dryly. “Perhaps in another universe, there's a boy who looks like Rook Hunt, who has my (e/c) eyes.”

“I hope that Rook treasures him as much as I treasure S/N and his parent. Perhaps you can make the transgression up to me, by allowing me to dote on you, and continue to help raise your son.”

It had been a night where, despite not having drunk anything, you'd felt intoxicated: on eachother, and the firelight, and promises for the future. The next morning, you'd both agreed it was best to proceed as usual. Perhaps, as time went on, you would fall into something naturally. You weren't far off as it was.

A month later was when you'd gotten the invitation to his estate.

Your son was excited as always. And when you'd arrived, Rook had told you he had set up a tea party for you. The door opened, and a pair of arms were wrapped around you.

“Oh my sevens, thank you, thank you, thank you!” 

You stiffened, but didn't have time to react as Neige pulled away, and got down on your son's level, cupping his cheeks, and cooing softly. The static in your ears was preventing you from understanding anything he was saying. But you were the only one out of the four people in this room who was not smiling.

Neige pushed a lock of your son's hair back, and gave him a tearful smile, and you watched as your son skipped out the door. You felt Rook's hands on your shoulders, and it brought you back to earth. He gently directed you to one of the two chairs of the tea party you had been promised. You sat with a thud as Neige took the one across from you. 

You looked up at Rook, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. He reached out, and gently brushed one away.

“Do not cry, Mon Trickster”

“Why?”

He smiled softly, yet still had the decency to look heartbroken.

“I cannot stand between soulmates. You can't let true love escape, for someone like me.” He leaned in and whispered in your ear, “Just give him a chance. The beauty the two of you  create together is not something I can allow to get away.”

And then he left the room, shutting and locking the door behind him, as you stared at Neige, who practically had hearts in his eyes. He reached across the table and gently took your hand, stroking the back with his thumb.

“I missed you both. So much.”

You bit your lip unsure of what to say.

“Listen, I know I've made some mistakes, but,” he sniffled a little, “I want you back. Please, give us another chance.”

“I don't think-”

“I'm so much better than I was! I hurt you, I know, but I'm not that person anymore.” He got up from his chair, and knelt before you, pressing your hand to his heart.

“I swear on everything I love that I will never hurt you again. I'll be less controlling. I won't fly off the handle. I won't give you the silent treatment when you have to talk to someone who isn't me. Please.”

He knew his crimes. That was a pretty huge step. And as you stared into his pleading eyes, you remembered how much you used to love this man. He seemed so earnest. 

Maybe you could learn to love him again.

“And what if you're lying?” You asked, hoarsely.

“I'm not.”

“A-a trial period. That's all I'll agree to.”

He looked ecstatic as he jumped up, and wrapped his arms around you.

“Thank you. I promise to never make you cry again.”

You believed him. Just like you'd believed him everytime he made you pretty promises. 

But, maybe this time…

“Oh. Hey Y/N. Meow's it going?” Chenya said as though him shopping at the supermarket you always shopped at wasn't about to send you spiraling.

He reached past you, grabbing the bag of chips on the shelf next to you. You didn't dare move. Sudden movements made him excited. You'd sent your kids to grab something you'd forgotten in the frozen food aisle. You prayed it would take him a while to find it.

“Nya, you have nothing to be a scaredy cat about. I'm just here to shop,” he said with a wide smile, grabbing another several bags of chips. “See, I have a mew family. With an even more purrfect son.”

“Oh, well good for you, Chenya. I'm happy for you,” you said, quickly turning your cart so that you could run if you had to.

He looked at you, face blank. “So, I don't need you anymore.”

“That's so great. I'm happy for you,” you took a step back, trying to decide if you should call someone over, just in case he decided to be wild, just to fuck with you one more time.

“I'm glad. So leave me alone. M’kay?” He said, his face still uncharacteristically blank.

“Sounds good.”

You slowly walked out of the aisle. Once you were out of his eyeline, you ran for your son, and grabbed his hand.

“Forget it, baby, we're just gonna go home,” you whispered.

“But why?” He whined, begrudgingly putting the ice cream sandwiches, that you definitely didn't ask for, back on the shelf.

“I forgot my wallet at home,” you explained, but he didn't seem to be listening. He slowly pointed slightly behind you. Then you felt a tail wrap around your middle.

You looked over your shoulder, but as usual there was no body attached to the tail. You held back a groan. The only way to deal with him was to give him nothing.

“Nya, you were supposed to get insanely jealous!” He whined, and you felt his rough tongue lick up and down your neck, possessively.

“You said you were happy, and that you didn't need me,” you reminded, trying to subtly give your son the eye signal. You'd established it about a year ago. If you gave him that signal, it meant he had to get a grown up to help. Chenya was too unpredictable, so you had to hope that if your son got away, he would actually get help, or he'd be taken care of by a family far away. He turned on his heel, ready to walk, not run, down the aisle, when a hand grabbed his shoulder.

Chenya 's face hovered above the both of you, clearly upset. 

“Where are you going? Bad kitties get bites,” he warned. Your son, who was not related to Chenya, unfortunately had the same feline features and instincts. Upon hearing that warning, his ears drooped, and he looked down at the floor, whimpering.

“Aw! So pwecious! Papa will forgive you!” The tail around you disappeared, as Chenya recorpperated himself before your son, happily squishing his cheeks, and nuzzling their noses.

“Uh, who are you?” Your son asked nervously, looking at you as though you'd have a logical answer.

“That's-”

“Didn't you hear the first time? I'm your papa!” Chenya giggled happily, as he squeezed your son in a hug.

“This man is scary,” he whimpered.

“Chenya, let's just have a chat-”

His eyes turned to you, and you couldn't fight back a gasp. The anger in his face was something you'd never seen before.

“No. No more chats. No more discussions. No more, ‘let’s take a break's’. We are going home right now.”

He floated over to you, his face less than a centimeter from yours. “And, this time, you are going to stay put. Or the baby kitten is gonna be all mine to raise. I don't think you'd like that very much.”

Your door shattered into a million pieces. And there he was, holding his staff, and looking very displeased with you.

He held out a hand, clearly expecting you to take it. 

“Come.”

You simply sat there, too shocked to even blink, let alone process the command. The fact that he'd found you, meant you were already fucked. Taking his hand would have lessened whatever “purification” punishment he had cooked up for you in your twelve year absence. But you were too shocked.

“How-”

“If you have enough brains to ask questions, then you know you should take my hand, and come home. Before I get angry.”

“We should talk about this-” you began, but cut yourself off as his eyes flashed angrily.

“You had plenty of chances to talk about it. But you chose to act like a child, and run away from your problems.” His staff started to glow, and you swore you saw fire in his eyes. “You have one last chance. Come.”

You stood slowly, knowing he wouldn't hesitate to burn your apartment to the ground, just to make a point.

“S/N is asleep in his room,” you said, taking a step in that direction.

“We're leaving him.”

“What!”

“He was supposed to teach you how to behave. Instead he caused you to be foolish, and run from me.”

“Wait, Rollo, you can't be ser-”

“The child is obviously a distraction. So, he has no use for us.” 

You stared at him, and then ran for your son's room. Rollo quickly caught you around the middle, dragging you towards the exit.

“You can't do this!” You shouted, trying to wrestle from his firm grip. “That's my son!”

“One of your neighbors will see the broken door, and take him in. He is not your son anymore.”

You screamed, and struggled, but, for some reason, none of your neighbors even opened their doors to investigate. He dragged you all the way to his car, no one stopping him. He threw you in, quickly tying you down, before beginning the drive back home.

You continued to scream at him, calling him inhuman, a monster, how dare he separate you from your son? How could he care so little? Your son looked like him, for hell's sake!

“I told you. That boy was a means to an end. And he failed at that end. So I have no use for him. And neither do you. You'll soon forget.”

You snapped at him, and he groaned.

“Oh, just shut up for five minutes,” he muttered, and you found you no longer had your voice.

Ooh, you were steaming. When you had your voice back, you'd let him have it. Then again, so would he. He'd  throw you straight into your punishment, which would probably get worse when he realized your son had been manifesting signs of magic, meaning you needed to be “cleaned”. 

But, at this moment, you realized something. 

If you had to kill this man to get your son back, you were pretty sure you now had the resolve to do it.

You hesitated a moment, before knocking on the front door. You heard shouting inside, then were greeted by Jamil opening the door. He stared at you for a moment, his eyes widening. Then he groaned, and rolled his eyes.

"Najma, you can relax now. They're back!" He shouted into the house. You winced as you heard her squeak. She came running for you, wrapping her arms around you and her son.

"You gotta start taking better care of your things," Jamil warned her.

"Shut up," she muttered into your neck.

"I'll go tell Kalim to call off the search party," Jamil mumbled, walking past the both of you.

"I'm sorry, baby," you whispered, tears springing to your eyes.

She pulled back, her face furious.

"What the hell, Y/N? You scared me half to death. Where did you go? Why did you leave?" She snapped.

You sniffled, more tears flooding your eyes.

"I'm sorry. I don't know. I just got very scared for a moment. So I ran. I don't know why. I'm so so sorry."

She stared at you for a moment, before she sighed heavily.

"This may be partly my fault," she muttered, but you shook your head. How could this possibly be her fault? She was perfect!

She gently took your son from your arms. You reached back over to take him back, unsure why your stomach was turning, but she softly smiled at you.

"It's alright, Y/N. Come inside."

She walked in, and for some reason your feet felt like lead as you followed her.

"I know exactly what I did. It's not your fault, love," She smiled at you sweetly, but you were doubtful. Didn't you just run with your new son, filled with unspeakable terror, out of nowhere?

She laid your son in the basinet she'd gotten for the living room, then took a seat on the couch, tapping the space next to her. You quickly joined her, laying your head in her lap as she caressed your cheek.

"I thought you were far more adjusted, so I rushed us into the next step. You just weren't ready yet, and it clearly startled you. I'm sorry," she said, a regretful smile on her face.

"That's not true! I'm so ready. I love you and our son so much!"

Her eyes looked so sad, as she leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"You don't even know," she whispered forlornly, before perking back up. "But, we'll work it out. We're in it now, the only thing to do is move forward!"

You felt lulled under by her gentle caresses, drifting off into a nightmare filled sleep. The last thing you saw, was a bitter expression on her face. Not that you'd remember it when you woke up screaming. You never did.

[tired-and-ticklish]

Back On The Air

Sequel to Broadcast Interference

Disclaimer: This is a tickle fic, so if that isn’t your thing, then just ignore this. 

Summary: Vox learns there are consequences to messing with the Radio Demon.

TW: Tickling (Intense, seriously), Swearing, Restraints, Vox and Alastor are both Bastard Men, Mentions of Cannibalism

Alastor hummed, looking over his captive. There were many things he could do Vox, ranging from eating him to ripping his soul apart, but he always believed in a little ‘tit for tat’, so to speak. Speaking of the TV Overlord, he seemed to be switching between trying to escape, and glaring at the Radio Demon so intensely, like he was trying to set him ablaze.

“Come now, did you really think I would just let you get away with your transgressions?” Alastor asked, standing in front of the trapped TV.

“No, I thought you were so old and senile you’d forget.” Vox taunted, grinning down at the Radio Demon.

“And you thought I was pushing my luck?” Alastor hummed as his eyes scanned the TV, looking for a good place to start.

Well, as a cannibal, he did always have a preference for ribs. He gave Vox no time to react, quickly skittering his fingers over the area. Vox jolted, biting his lip (did he even really have lips with having a television for a head?), not wanting to give Alastor the satisfaction of breaking him so easily. That was fine, Alastor preferred the slow approach to torturing his victims.

“I-It’s no use, y-y-y-you fossil.” Vox tried to keep his laughter at bay, but Alastor’s ears twitched as he heard it. A snicker here, a chortle there. 

“And now you’re going to try and lie to me on top of everything else?” Alastor tutted. “Perhaps you need to be taught some manners.”

“S-S-Shove it up your ass-” Vox started, only to snort as the deer’s fingers moved to his sides.

“You really just keep digging yourself deeper, Vox.” Alastor hummed. “First, you break into the hotel-”

“Thehehe dohohohohor wahahahas unlohoho- SHIHIHIHIT-” Vox screamed as Alastor tickled faster.

“Don’t interrupt me.” Alastor growled, continuing to dance his fingers up and down Vox’s sides. “Secondly, you steal hotel property-”

“Thehehehe fuhuhuhuhuck ahahahare yohohoohhu tahahahalking abohohoh- FUHUHUHUCKING HEHEHEHEEELLL!” 

“Since you obviously need a reminder,” Alastor said as his hands moved dangerously close to Vox’s hips. “You drank from Husker’s bar while he isn’t even here, you made a mess of the hotel, attacked the hotel sponsor, myself, and then made the foolish mistake of testing me.”

“Nohohohot mihihihihy fahahhaault youhohohohou’re sohohohoho fuhuhuhcking tihihihcklish!” Vox exclaimed, trying to glare at the deer demon.

Alastor leaned in close, his voice low. “So this is a fitting punishment.”

Before another snarky remark could leave the TV Overlord’s mouth, Alastor’s hands were suddenly upon his hips. Vox let out a surprised squeal at the contact, much to the Radio Demon’s amusement.

“GEHEHEHEET AAHAHAHAHWAHAHAHAY!”

“My my, so easy to read~” Alastor teased with a chuckle, slowly circling his claws on Vox’s hips. “I take it this is a good place to stay for a while then~?”

“EHEHEHEHEHAT SHIHIHIHIHIHIT!” Vox replied, trying his best to at least pull one of his legs out so he could kick Alastor away from him. The tendrils held strong, obviously not ready to let the TV Demon go until the Radio Demon was satisfied. 

“Seems like you agree!” As if to accentuate his point, the Radio Demon’s claws dug into the spot, kneading and squeezing as much as he desired. 

Vox’s laughter went up an octave as Alastor continued to tickle his hips. No matter how desperately he tried, the TV Demon couldn’t escape the Radio Demon’s claws, poking, prodding, squeezing and spidering all over his hips. After a few more moments, Alastor stopped, allowing Vox a moment of respite.

“Okay.. you prick, you got your revenge. Now let me go!” Vox growled, Alastor simply chuckled.

“Oh, I can’t do that just yet, old friend.” Alastor hummed, looking the TV Demon over a bit. “There’s still so much more to punish you for.”

“Go fuck yourself!”

“Charming as ever, Vox.” Alastor hummed, getting an idea. “You know, all this fighting has left me quite famished, and I see a nice little meal in front of me~”

More shadowy tendrils appeared, ripping open the TV Overlord’s jacket and shirt, just as he had done to the Radio Demon. Vox’s eyes widened, threats flying out of his mouth as Alastor leaned down by his stomach. His threats and pleas fell on deaf ears as the deer began to lightly nibble on his stomach.

“Fuuhuhuck! Fuhuhuhck stohohohohhop!”

The Radio Demon paid him no mind, nibbling and biting Vox’s stomach, his sharp teeth adding to the ticklish feeling. Unlike many of the demons of Hell, the TV Overlord lacked any animal features, making the rest of his body hairless, and thus, even more susceptible to bites, nibbles, and raspberries.

“I-Ihihihih’m gohohoohhing to kihihihihilll yohoho-” Vox tried to threaten, only to be cut off by his own squealing as Alastor blew a raspberry right on his navel. “FUHUHUHUHUCK!”

And, just to make it worse, because Alastor was a prick, he squeezed Vox’s hips, pinching and tickling them once again.

“DAHAHAHAHAAHMN HIHIHIHIHIT STAHAHAHAHAHAAP!”

The raspberries, bites, and nibbles continued for a while, as well as the squeezes and pinches to Vox’s hips. Soon, however, the Radio Demon grew bored of the spot, stopping his attack. The TV Demon caught his breath, glaring at Alastor.

“Are you fucking finished?!” Vox growled.

“Hmmm, nope. There’s one more spot I wish to try.”

Alastor’s eyes drifted up toward Vox’s TV antenna, tilting his head curiously at the sight. Vox seemed to notice this, watching as the Radio Demon’s hands moved toward his antenna. Before the TV Overlord could yell at the deer to get away, he felt it, Alastor’s fingers rubbing and stroking the antenna.

Vox lost it.

“F-FUHU-FUHUH-FUUHUHUCK NHOHOH-NOHHO-NOHHOT THEHEHEHERE!” He exclaimed, his voice glitching as he was tickled. 

“Oh~?” Alastor hummed, rather amused. “Is the TV buffering again?”

“NNOHOHOH-NOHOH- NOHOHOH!”

“Goodness, such a reaction and only from a few little tickles~” Alastor was enjoying this quite a bit. “You know, I thought of another reason why radio is the vastly superior entertainment option.”

“SHOHOH-SHOHOHOHO- SHOHOHOHVE YOHOHOHOUR REHEHE- REHEHEHE- REHEHEASON UP YOOHOHO- YOHOHOHOUR AHAHAHA- AHAHAHA- AAHAHHAASS!”

“Consider this; I could easily broadcast your laughter all over Hell! Wouldn’t that be fun~? No one even has to see your face to know how badly I’m tormenting you. I could just simply describe what I’m doing, letting every single denizen of Hell know exactly what breaks you~!”

“DOOHOHOHN’T-DOHHOHOHN’T YOUHOHOHOH DAHAHA-HAHAHAHA-DAHAHAHRE!”

“Imagine what the masses would think about this? ‘Back on air, the Radio Demon, featuring a very, very ticklish special guest~!’ It would be quite embarrassing for you, wouldn’t it?” Alastor chuckled, delighted by the idea. “I wonder how your employees would feel, knowing that their boss loses all his composure from a few well placed pokes.”

Vox laughed even harder from Alastor’s teasing, the deer’s ears picking up the sound of the TV’s internal fans kicking on to cool his internals down. This only made Alastor even more amused, laughing to himself at how easy it was to completely fluster the TV Overlord. How he wished he could keep this up all day.

Sadly, Charlie and the others would return soon, and even though Alastor was not killing Vox or hurting him, he really wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. After a few more slow, agonizingly ticklish strokes to the TV’s antenna, he backed away. As Vox caught his breath, the shadowy tendrils unceremoniously dropped him onto the floor.

“F…fuhuuhuhcking Hell…” Vox panted, a few more snickers escaping as he composed himself. “You’re evil.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be a powerful Overlord if I was kind.” Alastor chuckled. The TV rolled his eyes as he got up. “Now, we should fix this place up, before the others-” “What the fuck happened to the hotel?!” Vaggie’s voice interrupted, both Overlords turning to see the group had returned.

The bodyguard looked positively pissed that parts of the hotel had been damaged in Alastor and Vox’s fight. Charlie was staring at both of them in shock. Niffty, despite the smile on her face, was seething at how messy the hotel now was. Husker and Angel had both had tubs of popcorn, clearly about to enjoy whatever show was going to happen, until the bartender saw the broken bottles around the bar.

“Well, that seems like my cue to leave.” Vox said, straightening up, before giving Charlie a respectful bow. “Terribly sorry about the hotel, your highness.”

He didn’t sound sorry at all. With a small zap!, Vox had sent himself away through the hotel’s TV, leaving the Radio Demon to suffer with the consequences of the slightly ruined hotel. Of course the TV Overlord would leave him to deal with the incoming lecture and yelling from Vaggie, as well as Charlie’s disappointed scolding.

“Before you all get yourselves in a twist, I’ve already told you I would not let my new project fall into disrepair.” As Alastor said this, he snapped his fingers, his shadow minions quickly appearing and getting to work fixing and cleaning up his and Vox’s mess.

“Why was Mista Vox here anyway?” Angel asked, before noticing Alastor’s torn shirt and jacket, and smirking slightly. “Oooh ho-”

“Because he likes to be a thorn in my side.” Alastor interrupted. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Hey, ya don’t gotta explain yourself ta’ me, Smiles~” Angel teased, only to yelp as Alastor smacked him on the head with his cane.

“Yeah well, can you try to keep your fights with other Overlords out of the hotel?” Vaggie sighed, dragging a hand down her face. “Or whatever hate-fucking you two do.”

“I can assure you all, I’m not interested in anything of the sort. Especially not with Vox of all demons.” Alastor growled dangerously, a clear sign to end this train of thought.

“Um, Al, I appreciate you protecting the hotel.” Charlie began, getting between the Radio Demon and the others. “But, like Vaggie said, couldn’t you have done it outside?”

“Had I known he was showing up, I would have taken things outside.” The Radio Demon responded, looking at his nails casually, like he was already bored of the conversation. “Too bad he left before I could get him to replace the alcohol he stole from Husker’s bar.”

“That motherfucker!” Husk exclaimed, quickly going to the bar to check the damages and see how much alcohol was missing.

Despite the headache that came with having to explain himself, Alastor had learned something very interesting today, as did Vox. Something that would make their future encounters much more entertaining. Perhaps the TV Overlord wasn’t as boring as the Radio Demon thought.

[yaksha-lover]

Thus Always to Tyrants

Summary: Lilia has always been an enigma to you; slipping through your fingers at every attempt to get close - follows fae!reader’s relationship with lilia from childhood to the war to present day in briar valley

Lilia Vanrouge x Fae!Reader, small background Meleanor x reader hehe

wc: 3.8k

cw: i’m too into medieval fantasy so i created unnecessary lore (clown noises), also i haven’t read book 7 so prob butchered canon, (but spoilers), angst, grief, unrequited (?) love, pining, mild description of war events/tragedy

Even then, he hadn’t seen you. Before the wars and before the bloodshed, when there’d only been long grass to tickle your ankles and azure skies allowing you to guess at clouds, Lilia had never seen you.

There’d always been something, someone, to distract him.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself. It’s easier this way, to imagine that there’s something other than disinterest and disgust keeping you apart.

The forests of Briar Valley are filled with pine trees, their scent so potent you wished you could bottle the air and take it home.

That was where you and Meleanor had met Lilia. You’d grown up in the royal castle, the two of you spending afternoons giggling about the latest court gossip and eating all the sweets you could before the queen could scold her daughter.

That day is one of your fondest memories, and not entirely because of him. The trunk of the giant oak tree was hard against your back, but you hadn’t been able to think about anything but the feel of your princess’ head in your lap. She’d simply closed her eyes and demanded you read to her, dark hair spilling around your legs.

“As you wish, Mel,” you’d agreed, gathering up one of her favourite books.

She’d only popped an eye open to tease you. “Mel, is it? Not princess? Perhaps I should have you punished for such transgressions~” She giggled.

“If I am to be placed in the dungeon, then who will feed you ice cream and read to you, dear princess?” you countered, ruffling her hair.

“Hmm, I suppose your insubordination will have to forgiven…but only if you allow me to remain on your lap for an adequate amount of time. Any sooner, and I’ll have to punish you myself~”

She was temperamental yet whimsical, delighting you as much as she terrified you. Mostly, Meleanor was your best friend. Your only friend, truly. There weren’t many children your age around the castle; you were only there because your father sat on the high council as the master of coin.

After you’d been reading aloud to her for some time, a sudden rustle in the trees caught the both of you off guard. The princess had jumped up quickly, all the combat lessons she’d taken with the head of the Queen’s guard finally paying off.

Out from the vegetation, a short, dark-haired fae who looked to be around your age emerged. He was fitted in what could only be described as rags; torn and stained all over. Despite his disheveled look, you thought he had a certain charm about him.

Meleanor, who’d grown taller than you ages ago, towered over him. It was almost a pitiful sight.

The princess had narrowed her eyes and asked: “Where have you come from?”

“Nowhere,” he’d answered simply, looking down at his feet. “I’m no one.”

That was the meekest you’d ever seen him, no indication of his true vibrant personality.

From that day in the forest, Lilia had been with you. Meleanor had begged the queen to let him stay in the castle, to grow up with you and her as another companion. The princess’ tears worked especially well on her mother, so of course she’d gotten her way.

As she grew up, the princess only became more and more beautiful. You weren’t the only one who noticed, either. The three of you were still young at the time, but Lilia seemed fond and more than fond of Meleanor. The princess returned his affections, but perhaps not with the same intent; she almost smote him when he’d jokingly proposed to her with a ring of grass. It made you angry, for a while. She was your friend first, and now Lilia had come to hog all her time and attention.

It was hard to see your only friend pulled in a new direction, especially one that seemed so far away from you. That was back when you were small; things settled quickly after that, with the three of you falling easily into friendship. There would still be times, occasionally, when you were envious of the friendship shared by Meleanor and Lilia, but it was on both ends. You simply wished to be included, not to have the princess or Lilia all to yourself. That was never a possibility, after all.

As you grew, it wasn’t long before Meleanor fell in love with Levan. You’d been…annoyed, at first, at how fast your friend had seemed to leave you behind yet again.

“You promised to take me flying today, dear princess,” you’d said, trying and failing to keep the gloom out of your voice. “Don’t you remember?”

Meleanor looked up from brushing her hair, making eye contact with you through the mirror. “Forgive me, I cannot turn away Levan…my heart will not let me.”

“But it will let you turn me away?”

She turned now, facing you directly, some of her signature anger evident in her expression. Her violent temper only seemed her grow with her adolescence. “Stop this foolishness! You are my friend, but Levan is my beloved. If you find issue with that, you will leave my castle at once.”

As though you couldn’t feel more humiliated, she’d moved, stopping in front of you and tilting your chin to meet her gaze. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you’d whispered, wondering when things had changed.

And then she’d pulled you into her arms, and suddenly she’d felt all too familiar again, hugging you and telling you she loved you, asking you to always stay by her side. As her dearest friend.

Being cold to Levan only pushed you further from Meleanor, so you were forced to accept his presence. Once the initial hostility dissipated, you found that Levan was quite pleasant.

If Meleanor was always destined to be with another, then you were happy it was someone as great as Levan, at the very least. With your princess’ time now being taken up by her lover, you and Lilia spent much more time alone together than before.

The first time you had the courage to broach the subject of marriages and pairings had done nothing but splash the cold water of Lilia’s indirect rejection on to you. With how cold and empty you felt, it was as though the shivers went bone deep.

Your father had insisted on looking for a match for you. A political marriage to improve your family’s standing, surely. You had protested and held it off as long as you could, but now his asks were becoming unavoidable.

You’d thought - hoped - that Lilia might be interested. He wouldn’t be your father’s number one choice, but he would still accept it; Lilia may not have been of noble birth, but his status as a respected general amongst the court bought him points. Marrying him would certainly be better than any stuffy old fae you’d be forced to settle down with.

It wasn’t just avoiding others, either. You wanted Lilia, as loathe as you were to admit. He was your friend, a close companion, and perhaps you’d even desired more.

It was difficult to voice to yourself that your affections went beyond platonic when you were not so delusional as to imagine that he felt the same in any way.

No, you felt like an afterthought to Lilia. As though you were merely Meleanor’s friend, and not his own. He wasn’t so kind to you as he was the princess, and the affection he held for her, although now platonic, went beyond anything you could imagine receiving from him. Even Levan seemed to bond with him easier than you had after knowing him for years. It was like he tolerated you more than anything; when Meleanor was off with Levan, you were the only option left.

It shouldn’t have hurt so much when he said he didn’t wish to marry. The ‘you’ part seemed unspoken, even though he claimed reasons of freedom and lifestyle instead of saying anything about you.

Regardless, he’d made the decision for you. Your father would ship you away from the castle, to be married to a stranger, leaving behind your beloved…friends.

At least he would have, had the war not begun so suddenly.

-

If you believed Lilia had hardened his heart to you before, then becoming a war general had hardened his heart to the world. Although it was the last thing on anyone’s minds, had you tried to bridge the gap between the two of you, not only would you have failed, but you might’ve gained a nice scar along with it.

To the untrained eye, Lilia seemed to thrive on the battlefield; swift with strength that went unmatched by any. But you knew better. There was a sense in which Lilia lost himself in action, where he seemed so distant from the boy you’d grown up with; perhaps it was his own way of coping with the horrors he’d been forced to experience, fae he fought alongside being slaughtered. In the end, it hadn’t mattered who they were before the battlefield; nobles and common folk alike fought and fell.

It was torturous to wait out the war in the castle. Every letter that came made your heart race, fear taking ahold as you read through the list of your fallen companions. It almost seemed inevitable that one day Lilia or Levan might appear on the list and send you into despair. Your only saving grace was Meleanor, the two of you keeping quiet company during this time, both not allowed to join the conflict and feeling useless for it.

You begged your father to let you join Lilia; you weren’t the most skilled fighter, but your healing magic excelled beyond any other, and you could hold your own for the most part. He’d denied you until so many had been lost that the queen asked for your service. None of you had known just how close tragedy was, how your departure for Lilia’s camp would mean leaving behind your beloved princess to die.

-

“Go back,” Lilia had growled at you. It was the very first thing he’d said since you’d come to his camp.

“I’m here to help, instead of rotting away in the castle while my people suffer!” You’d followed after him as he strutted between tents, giving orders to the other soldiers.

He’d shook his head, glaring at you. “You’re a spoiled little noble, you know nothing of the battlefield. Go back home. It’s not safe here.”

“I know I’m sheltered, but I’d like to try and help where I can! I don’t care what happens to me.”

Lilia stopped in his tracks, not facing you as he spoke.

“You don’t care? You’re selfish, you know that? What would Meleanor do without you? What would I-” He shook his head. “I don’t have time for this. Go back. Don’t make me make you.”

“Perhaps I am selfish, but what about me, Lilia? Shouldn’t it matter that I can’t possibly imagine a life where we’re not together, fighting side by side?” Your voice goes quiet. “I had a dream, an awful dream. One where you were dead…I’m afraid. I don’t want that dream to become real.”

You’d thought, for a moment, that his hardened gaze had wavered, but the next second, he’d ordered one of his subordinates to take you back to the castle. Perhaps the softness you believed you saw within him was only a trick of the light.

-

You’d been a fool. A fool in grief and despair, but a fool nonetheless.

Meleanor’s death had pulled you away from yourself, made you into some automaton which possessed none of your good qualities, for which you had to wonder if there were any to begin with. She’d been your friend, your only family. You should’ve been with her; you should’ve died with her. You should’ve done anything you could, and you’d failed.

It was only by a day that you’d left the castle and missed the fight that occurred.

Meleanor fought bravely, a knight had told you. And Meleanor died.

You waited for Lilia to come back. To come home to you. Your heart sang, a brief reprieve from all the aching when you found out he was alive; he was all you had left.

He never came, at least not to see you.

You fled the castle. There’d been no goodbyes to your father and no concern for Meleanor’s child.

If she’d been around, she surely would have killed you for your selfishness, but your head swam with grief and so you left everything behind.

-

It had been…surprising, to hear from Malleus. You’d heard amidst your travels that your father still sat on the small council, so perhaps he’d heard of you from him, considering they were together in Briar Valley. Who else would have known about you and your relationship with his mother?

There was General Vanrouge, but he…why would he even mention you at this point?

You’d taken to calling him that in your mind, if only to distance yourself a little more from your past. You heard he’d returned to Briar Valley years after you’d departed, but other than acting as a guardian for the prince and a curious human boy, you had no idea what he was up to.

It was a wonder the world was as big as it was, meaning you’d never run into the general during your travels.

And here, on the desk of your hostel, sat a letter from the crown prince. Your Meleanor’s son. The one you’d left behind.

With the distance of time, a new feeling stirs in your chest. One of unease and shame, yet another failure to the Draconia’s. You hoped the boy was doing well. Would it even be possible to accept if he wasn’t?

Well, he was asking, along with Meleanor’s mother, that you pay them a visit once again. The Queen…you’d abandoned her too, in a way. You dared not hope that she thought of you as another one of her children, but in a way, you’d loved her as a mother.

Heat burned at your cheeks. With your focus on Meleanor, Lilia, and Levan, you’d forgotten there were more people you considered your family. More people that you’d left behind in Briar Valley.

After all this time, you owed them an explanation, no, an apology. You owed them your return home.

-

Malleus greets you at the gates.

You’re stunned, for a moment. Dark locks of long hair sprawled elegantly across his shoulders, two curved horns peaking out from his head. Piercing green eyes that look into your soul.

He’s the spitting imagine of your best friend.

You try to move forward, but a green-haired fae stops you in your tracks, moving between you and Malleus.

“Keep your distance! Have some respect for your Prince!”

Malleus is quick to shake his head. “Leave them be, Sebek. This is Lord Tyrell’s child. My mother’s childhood friend.”

Sebek is quick to step-aside, bowing before you in apology, allowing you to step forward and hug Malleus. He’s motionless for a moment, and you’re worried you’ve crossed his boundaries, before he slowly slides his arms around your back, returning the hug.

“The resemblance between you and your mother…it is truly incredible. Pardon me for getting emotional, but I wasn’t expecting you to look so grown up…last I saw, you were merely an egg.”

He looks at you, smiling gently. “It’s nice to meet a friend of my mother’s. I feel I hardly know anything about her. Even Lilia refuses to speak of her.”

Your heart stirs at the mention of your former friend’s name. “I hope I can provide some memories of her.” You look away from him. “I only wish I could’ve done so sooner…I apologize, Malleus. I should have been here for you, just as Lilia was. I should have taken care of you, not left you behind when you were only a child…”

He shakes his head once again. “You are here now. That is all that matters.”

“Thank you, I hardly deserve your kindness.”

He returns your smile. “It is what my mother would have wished for, is it not?”

-

He leads you through the halls of the castle, but you wouldn’t have needed his help to get around. Every wall in the castle is burned into your brain, engrained with a variety of memories.

The halls are vastly the same as you remember; the same silver trim, the velveteen carpets, and the Draconia sigil hung on banners.

Only one thing stands out as different to you: there’s one more portrait than before.

Normally the Draconia family portraits were done about every century, so it made sense that one had been added semi-recently. This one is just of Malleus and Maleficia, occupying a rather empty-looking frame. Even if you didn’t know about Meleanor and Levan, you would know something was missing from it.

Your train of thought is interrupted by the appearance of a Silver-haired boy. He pauses to stare at you for a moment before smiling.

“You must be MC. Father has told me so much about you.” He bows lightly.

“You’re Silver? Lilia’s boy?” You take his hands in yours. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“And you as well. We’ve promised to help some of the younger knights with their training, so Sebek and I won’t be able to stay for dinner, but I hope you’ll stick around. It would be nice to hear about you from more than the stories my father shares.”

“I’ve been gone so long, I certainly intend to stay for a while. Maybe I’ll be able to tell you some stories of your father when he was younger.”

With a nod, Silver is off.

Malleus leads you into the dining room and you catch your first glimpse of Lilia Vanrouge in over a century.

-

He’s different and the same, all at once. He’s maintained his youthful looks, but his hair has radically changed; cropped and pink, where it once flowed in its red glory.

You turn to greet Maleficia first, bowing in front of her. “It is an honour to dine with you, your grace.”

“Stop that nonsense. Come to me, my dear. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”

The queen embraces you gently in her frail frame.

“I am truly sorry,” you whisper.

“It’s already forgotten,” she whispers back. “The past is the past, and we are here now. Please, take a seat, so we may dine together once again.”

Maleficia and Malleus sit at the head of the table on each side, so you take your place across from Lilia.

“It’s nice to see you again,” you offer.

“You as well,” Lilia replies, seemingly at a loss.

The dinner proceeds, Maleficia and Malleus asking questions about your travels. Lilia chimes in occasionally, but he’s uncharacteristically silent. Or perhaps characteristically? You hardly know him anymore, after all.

Once the final course comes and goes, Maleficia stands from the table. “Malleus, let us take our tea in the garden today. I believe these two have a lifetime of catching up to do.”

With that, the two of them are off.

-

“I missed you.” You don’t intend the words to come, but they spill out of your heart anyway.

“As did I.”

You fidget with the cutlery in front of you. “You’re still so formal with me after all this time. Have we truly become strangers?”

“You could never be a stranger to me. Not a day has gone by without you being in my thoughts.”

“And yet you never went looking for me. You returned to the castle only after I left, starting a family, raising Silver and Malleus…”

“They needed me. You know that.”

“You left me. You were all I had left after…I would have done anything, followed you anywhere. I would have helped you take care of Silver, Malleus. But you left without saying a thing.”

“I never knew…”

“Of course you did. Everyone did.”

“Nothing good would have come from us being together.”

“At least you’re finally being honest about your feelings. If you hated me as I feared, you should have sent me away the moment I came.”

“Hate? No, it was never like that. The distance between us…it seemed quite impossible to traverse.”

“Distance? We grew up in the same castle for hundreds of years…”

“That’s not what I was referring to.”

“Then to what?”

“You know how they all thought of me. The senate, your father, all believed I never deserved to be so close to you and Mel-” Lilia takes a moment to breathe. “To you and the princess.”

The mention of her name has you squeezing your eyes closed. Even after hundreds of years, it hurts to remember your beloved friend, her sweet memory tainted with the despair of her death. “Why does it matter what they thought?”

“They never would have allowed it. You know that.”

“No, that’s not true. My father said…”

“He lied. He was the first to send me away after her death.”

“He what? I- I was told you left, torn apart by grief.”

“I was in pain, but I always planned to return home…return to you. But the senate, they declared that there was no place at court for me anymore. That I failed- I failed at protecting Meleanor.”

A short silence rings between you. It’s perhaps the first time either of you have heard her name said aloud in centuries.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I never knew.”

“I never wanted you to. I’d rather you hate me than your family.”

“I understand. But you were my family, too. Perhaps the only one who truly had my best interests in mind and not some political scheming or such. And now look at you: Silver, Sebek, Malleus. Against all odds, you’ve found yourself a new family.” While I’ve ended up alone, you don’t say.

“You know I’ve always said, families are better the bigger they are. Perhaps it’s far too late, but-”

“Later’s better than never.”

A moment of understanding passes between you two, perhaps for the first time.

“Your hair…you look quite different from when I last saw you.”

“Hmm, Red was going out of style, I suppose. Although I’m sure you wish I hadn’t changed it. You always did prefer red.”

You shake your head softly. “Perhaps in the past, but we’ve both changed, haven’t we? No, I was going to say that it becomes you.”

The silence that settles between you is filled by an exchange of gentle smiles and a skimming of one hand over the other, until the two finally link together.

[prokopetz]

Did you have a post a long ways back that posited like... Four perspectives on the relationship between a player and their character in TTRPGs? Neither Tumblr nor Google have been helpful and I'm not even sure if it was you or I'm grossly misremembering. (I was trying to put thoughts together about approaching character design and creation and I wanted to do some reading before I made claims I felt were baseless.)

It's something I've discussed in a number of posts, yeah. This isn't meant to be exhaustive by any means, but the basic taxonomy I use when bashing games together is as follows:

1. I am my character. My character knows what I know, and does whatever I myself would do under those circumstances, if I happened to be an elf wizard (or what have you).

2. I am an actor playing the role of my character. My character does whatever seems best to them, according to my understanding of their motivations and the information available to them (which may differ from the information available to me as a player).

3. I am a narrator writing a story about my character. My character does whatever would produce the most engaging narrative.

4. I am playing a game, and my character is my playing piece. My character does whatever scores the most points.

Most games have particular assumptions about which of these stances its players will adopt baked into their rules, and some design patterns may in fact require players to adopt a particular stance; for example, Fate Core’s Fate Point economy really only makes sense in the context of a player-as-narrator stance, because gaining and spending Fate Points as a player doesn’t correspond to anything that exists from an in-character perspective. A game’s rules may, however, support multiple stances, or even encode assumptions that players will switch between different stances in different parts of play.

These distinctions are a big part of why folks in the tabletop roleplaying hobby have been arguing about what “metagaming” is for half a century without ever coming close to a working definition: there is no such thing as “metagaming” in the abstract. Metagaming is simply any at-the-table behaviour that transgresses the boundaries of whatever stance(s) toward one’s character a particular game or group has agreed are appropriate. Metagaming for an I-am-an-actor-playing-the-role-of-my-character stance looks absolutely nothing like metagaming for an I-am-my-character stance, and so forth.

Is there any particular part of this you wanted me to expand on?

[imagine-knowing-a-name]

déjà vu

Summary: After Age of Ultron, the team are left with the decision of what to do with Wanda, and they’re not in agreement. Natasha becomes staunchly defensive of the witch, remembering her own fate at SHIELD was decided in a similar manner.

(Summaries are tricky but Nat defends Wanda, R defends Nat, then they comfort each other at the end)

Word Count: 1188

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff & Reader; Wanda Maximoff & Reader (Platonic)

Warnings: Half the team are being mean to Wanda and Natasha gets sad :(

A/N: Based on this request. Thank you all for the awesome response to my last fic, it gave me the motivation to write despite everything else going on rn, so thank you and reminder to reblog and comment on fics if you can, because that’s what keeps writers posting their fics on here :) Enjoy!

»»————-　★　————-««

"We cannot let her waltz around scot-free without any repentance for her crimes!"

"She just lost her homeland and her twin brother; you don't think that's enough punishment?"

"She's HYDRA. She volunteered. She is everything we've been fighting against and you want us to, what? take her under our wing? make her even stronger than she already is?"

"Yes! That's the kind of power we want on our side-"

To nobody's surprise, Steve and Tony are at odds, driving the argument. Thor had backed Steve with the insight that second chances had done his brother a world of good. But everyone remembers the Battle of New York, and soon even Steve is wishing the God of Thunder would rescind his support. Bruce agrees with Tony, still racked with guilt over the Johannesburg incident. Then Clint voices his support for Steve, upon a conditional level of trust, to return the sides to an imbalance.

Sam and Rhodey use their newcomer status to remove their ballot from the decision; the two of them sneaking off, likely to do better things with their time.

The argument continues, never ceasing for breaths since everyone talks over each other, constantly interrupting the previous point. You grimace from your place in the corner; sitting, observing, and waiting for them to tire themselves out before you say your piece. Natasha meets your eye. She is doing the same.

"She's a child!" Steve continues

"She's going on 26! Steve you were Captain America by that age, I was the most famous CEO in the world! We weren't let off the hook for anything, were we? We weren't told we were 'just kids so it's all okay'. I paid for my mistakes, same as you did, and this glowing ball in my chest is proof of that."

"That's enough," Natasha finally speaks. Her voice is all it takes to bring the group to silence. "She's a victim. She was manipulated into her actions and she came around as soon as she realised that. We've all made mistakes, and joining the Avengers was our chance at redemption; let her have that."

"Her actions are her own, and I'm sorry, but they're too severe to wave off as a mistake, or ignorance"

"Is that the same with me?"

"What?"

"See, I was a victim too, but no one ever treated me like one."

"Nat-"

"No. Nobody was controlling me when I went through the Red Room; my actions were all my own, same as Wanda. But when your childhood is defined by manipulation and indoctrination, how much does that matter? I did the only thing I knew how to do and followed orders, same as Wanda, and I lost people along the way, same as Wanda. Have you even spoken to her, Tony? She's known since the age of 10 that your missile killed her parents, and HYDRA took advantage of that; you think you'd keep a levelhead if you found someone responsible for your parents' deaths?

So no. I spent too long thinking my transgressions were all my own, and I won't stand here and let Wanda believe the same."

Natasha strides out of the door with purpose and speed, while all eyes in the room track her movements in silence. It is only when the door slams that the team begins to break from their stupor.

You look around unsurely, meeting everyone's eyes as if to confirm its truth. You are the first to break the silence. "I'm going after her." Nobody contests.

You don't rush, you know where Natasha is after all and you know she needs time alone, but you also know to check up on her after an argument like that. You were there when Clint brought her back to SHIELD, when Fury and the archer broke into arguments echoingly similar to the one the team just had. You remember how much she struggled from her own mind, how they left her in a cell, just as the Avengers now have to Wanda, and you remember the thin walls, where Natasha could overhear all their arguments regardless of how you tried to distract her. 

It isn't a surprise to you when you open Natasha's door and she refuses to speak. She watches you enter and makes space for you to sit beside her on the bed, but she doesn't speak. You talk to her for a bit, praising her stance, but it's clear she needs longer alone.

"I'll be here when you need," you say. She nods. You walk back to where you're needed most, passing through the common room still full of arguing Avengers on your way.

"Stop thinking about yourselves for once, and think about your fucking team," you say without even stopping to look at them, then you continue your path out of the room.

»»————-　★　————-««

Guilt sets in on the remaining Avengers as they fall to silence yet again. Clint reminds them what Natasha went through and from that memory, Natasha's hasty exit, and your outburst after seeing the assassin, they can all conclude how much the topic has hurt their teammate.

Clint apologies through her bedroom door; the others say sorry to her face once she lets them in. Natasha sighs, then nods her acceptance of their apologies. "The person you really should be saying this to is Wanda. She deserves support, not solitary isolation."

"Yeah, I don't think it's all that solitary," Tony says. He flicks his wrist to the wall, and soon enough FRIDAY is displaying a feed of Wanda's cell.

"Is that Y/N?" Steve asks, squinting for a better look.

Meanwhile, Natasha smiles, recognising the scene in front of her and knowing, with certainty, that it was you. She watches you and Wanda sit cross-legged on the floor with a plastic yellow board coming up between you. You both analyse it closely until you pull a circular blue chip from your hand and slide it in.

"That's four!" you cheer. Pointing out the four circles you had managed to connect. Wanda frowns, but you can tell it is not akin to the sorrow she had felt so often recently. At this moment, her mind is distracted entirely from that and focused only on the game. 

"We have to play again. I can win this, I know," the Sokovian frowns. "I get first move."

You're still dividing the 'connect 4' pieces into their respective colours when a knock sounds on the cell door. You look up as Natasha opens the door, greeting Wanda with a smile.

"You doing okay?" you ask.

Natasha nods. "Thank you for being here, Y/N. And as for Wanda-" she switches her gaze- "we've got a room prepared for you if you're willing to stay. You can learn to control your powers; the team agreed I can train you."

"I would like that," Wanda mumbles, her nerves around the assassin still clear.

"Come on then, I'll take you to your room.” Natasha smiles and escorts her out, but before falling out of your earshot, she leans into Wanda conspiratorially, “I’ll even give you the secret to beating Y/N at that game.”

[criminalamnesia]

for a slight spinoff to the traitor pieces...

how bad would it have been if the initial interrogation had been passed off to another team?

i feel like protocol would bar the 141 from having to hurt one of their own, if anything for conflict of interests, going too hard or too soft on them, liabilities, etc

BUT. they have the advantage of knowing so much about their teammate, that they probably reported their weak points- family, traumas, insecurities, ALL OF IT, and all of it told to them originally in what was supposed to be a level of confidence. The 141 is betrayed anyways, they think she spilled their secrets, so they do it with bitterness but no regret.

Well no regret until it turns out she hadn't betrayed them in the first place! whoops!

i think its one thing for you to ask forgiveness after literally cutting off their finger and crippling them, but its another thing entirely to have not been the one to beat her, but to be the one supplying all of her deepest thoughts and weak points to allow someone ELSE to do that much more effectively

THAT is much worse of a betrayal imo. especially since it'd embolden the boys more as they beg for forgiveness; they weren't even the ones who beat you, it was out of their hands! but they dont realize just how deep of a transgression it was for them to turn on one of their own like that. hypocrites

im also thinking of it being like, a week or two since you got detained, and they're doing some digging for their own missions, and someone sees a lead not end up right... and after some chasing they realize themselves that the intel was forged and then THEY gotta be the ones to go to the higherups and get you pulled out of there. they feel like heroes, and that you'll be so happy to see them again when you wake up in the infirmary, but you see the faces of your team and remember how the interrogators beat you to questions about things that you had only ever told to your boys

those are just my thoughts teehee!

your mind is so powerful.

(honestly, you guys should take this series out of my hands and write it yourselves. you all have so many good ideas!🥰)

but I kinda agree with you. physical torture is awful, don’t get me wrong. but the team sees that, and they don’t feel bad because they didn’t inflict those wounds.

psychological torture, though? they can’t see what they’ve done to you, but it’s there. and because they can’t see it it makes it so much worse. it makes it so much harder for them to understand why you won’t forgive them, and why you won’t praise them for clearing your name.

[babyloniastreasure]

Enkidu FGO is absolutely a troublemaker. Enkidu Source Material was also absolutely a troublemaker, but of course he was! He was literally created to be the equal to the #1 Mesopotamian troublemaking king, Gilgamesh. It's basically a requirement

I see it from time to time, but there's an opinion that Enkidu was killed in the Epic because he was a troublemaker. This is not true, but easy to understand why it's a popular conclusion

The decision to kill Enkidu was made after he and Gilgamesh made some glaringly poor choices--the first one being the slaying of Humbaba, and the second the slaying of Gugalana. I think people attribute the reason Enkidu was killed instead of Gilgamesh to Enkidu's actions after Gugalana was killed, which something I will get to in a moment. It might be different in Fate, and depending on what version of the epic you read some details differ, but generally here's what went down

Gilgamesh one day gets the idea that he and Enkidu should go into the Cedar forest and kill its guardian, the monster Humbaba. Now, wood was a very sacred and rare material in ancient Mesopotamia, cedar wood in particular. Hence why the gods had such a powerful monster keeping it safe. Gilgamesh goes to Enkidu with his grand idea to hunt down and kill Humbaba, but he needs Enkidu's help to find him. Enkidu is very hesitant at first and tells Gilgamesh the equivalent of, "Dude that's a terrible idea. Humbaba is extremely powerful. Absolutely Not." Gilgamesh urges Enkidu to reconsider, because together they can survive anything! It'll be easy with the two of us and it'll be so much fun!

Enkidu is eventually persuaded and agrees, and together they track down and kill Humbaba, as well as his seven sons. They worship/thank the gods by sacrificing Humbaba-meat to a fire (as ya do), and they cut down a RIDICULOUS AMOUNT OF CEDAR while they're at it, then sail home down the Euphrates on a newly carved boat and a bunch of extra wood. Needless to say, The Gods Were Not Pleased.

But since this was King Gilgamesh and Enkidu, they chose to simply take note of this transgression and not do anything to punish them so long as they didn't do something equally grievous in the future.

Fast forward a bit and Ishtar is upset that Gilgamesh doesn't want to sleep with her. Gilgamesh heavily insults her, naming off dozens of her past lovers and how she treated them, driving her to tears. She goes up to the heavens and pitches a fit to her father, Anu, about the rejection. She threatens to raise zombies all over Mesopotamia unless he gives her the Bull of Heaven (Gugalana) to lay siege to Uruk in vengeance against Gilgamesh. Sending out this divine beast is a HUGE deal, not a decision to make lightly. However, Anu doesn't want zombies. He gives her the Bull.

Ishtar immediately sends it down to Uruk where it promptly kills a BUNCH of people and causes a heap of environmental disasters. Enkidu fights it off alone for a while, but it isn't until Gilgamesh joins the fight that they are able to take it down. Gilgamesh makes the final blow, killing him, and with Gugalana defeated the kingdom celebrates victory. They worship/thank the gods by sacrificing Gugalana-meat to a fire, and Ishtar shows up again. She is very upset that Gugalana was slain. How DARE you two kill the Bull of Heaven? She says. Do you have any idea how important that was? She says. Enkidu responds by insulting her and throws a chunk of the meat from Gugalana's hind at her head. She is humiliated and goes back up to the heavens. I think this is where people get the idea that Enkidu was a troublemaker, and that this was why he was chosen over Gilgamesh to die. However. It is not. Once again, The Gods Were Not Pleased. Gilgamesh and Enkidu are out of control. They call a meeting.

Gilgamesh and Enkidu, as a pair, had:

Slain two divine beasts (which they knew the importance of)

Cut down a sacred forest (which they knew the importance of)

Heavily insulted the same goddess to her face. The patron deity of the kingdom, no less!

Three major transgressions! But the most concerning ones were the deaths of Humbaba and Gugalana, and were the primary discussion at the god-meeting. The others are bonuses.

The gods decide the fitting punishment is death. However, killing both Gilgamesh and Enkidu is too severe and must choose one.

Now there's no literal written reason for Enkidu being chosen. But looking back on the Epic as a whole, we can infer the reason he was...is Gilgamesh.

Enkidu was created by the gods to rein Gilgamesh in, to control him. Gilgamesh on his own was unruly, unchecked, overpowering and selfish. By giving him Enkidu, he had someone he could be unruly with, who would check him, who could match his power and balance his needs. Enkidu was literally made to be his perfect match, and thus he became the most important thing in the whole world to Gilgamesh. Some might say that Gilgamesh's wanton disregard was rubbing off on Enkidu, or that Enkidu's unwavering loyalty and support was making Gilgamesh overconfident, and that he was killed because he was no longer fulfilling his purpose. However, I do not think that's the reason, either.

There's this neat thing in Mesopotamian literature and poetry where the theme of the work appears again and again. Prose is often repeated, whole stanzas are recycled over and over, words and the way grammar is used, and lines are reused in patterns. Very often, a work begins and ends the same way. The Epic of Gilgamesh is a shining example of this and does it constantly. So,

Just like in the beginning of the Epic, in order for the gods to rein Gilgamesh in, they use Enkidu.

--

TLDR; Enkidu was not killed because he was a trouble maker. By killing both Humbaba and Gugalana, both he and Gilgamesh were in trouble but only one of them needed to die as punishment. Enkidu was chosen because he was created to control Gilgamesh--both through his life and through his death.