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jerek · 2 years

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can't seem to face up to the facts

okay im posting midfic but none of this actually happened it was GOING to happen but it was all written before we got the info we have now. imagine these all as like, different timelines i guess

warning: girl it's andumid anduin is so mentally ill. blood, skin picking, he steals a kiss, a little bit of a creep factor.

-- valdrakken --

The moment they were alone-- for how long, he didn't care-- he set Midha against the wall.

Anduin could see her expression shift. She wasn't holding her daggers, but she'd do something to him. He pressed his knuckles firmly, harmlessly, against her larynx.

But what could he say? It was almost funny-- he half-chuckled before managing something like: "You have no idea how close you came to ruling Stormwind."

"What?"

Midha's voice was barely more than air. Try as he might to keep his tone even, he couldn't help but snap. "Don't act like you don't know," he commanded. "How was I supposed to feel? Should I pretend I don't care?"

Her breath brushed his face. Almost against his will, Anduin entertained the image of Sha-tendrils snaking down his throat, or out through his nose. His eyes, either rolled back or glowing white like the Forsaken.

Still, there was no ache in his bones. Only his chest. His voice dropped to a wheeze: "Say something. You went to all that effort to humiliate me, and you won't even say anything?"

She pushed back. It felt...

It should have felt like rejection. It should have stung: maybe then he'd feel that pain he was supposed to feel, telling him to stop and think. But it was only pressure, and so all he felt was Midha's touch.

And he didn't know what he was doing.

The very moment he'd shoved his mouth into Midha's, the exact instant he tasted copper under his teeth and pomfruit on his tongue, he felt pins and needles all over his skin.

That must have been the well she was drinking from. It must have been what kept her going, though for Anduin, he could almost collapse. He couldn't feel the weight of his body on his legs.

She tried to shove him off again, or so he'd realized a moment later, this time grabbing his neck like a kitten. He retaliated in kind, feeling the thud of her body in his teeth, something vile threatening to hiss out from his mouth.

Even though this did far more for him.

Anduin's pulse resonated once, in all his body, and he tore himself away.

Midha had the same look on her face that he imagined was on his. Then, slowly, the shock faltered and faded back to her usual blank stare.

"Like that was your first," he coughed up-- "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He'd come to by now. He cupped her face, wiping the corner of her lip with one thumb. "I didn't mean to--"

Something stung his cheek. His head turned on reflex, only to be met with a thin line an inch from his eyes... an arrow?

No. A bolt from a crossbow.

His hands unfurled from her shoulders. Suddenly he was clammy. He stepped back, away from the bolt and from Midha, and very slowly turned to see who had fired the warning shot.

And he sighed. A bead of warm blood rolled from the nick she'd left.

"Midha, do you know this woman?" Anduin asked.

The woman interjected: "Do you know this man?"

-- valdrakken, some hours later --

He hadn't allowed the cut from the crossbow to close. Anduin was slipping down an odd slope-- he had been for quite some time. He found he no longer grew faint at the sight of his own blood as he had so many years ago.

There was still a visceral reaction, yes, only it wasn't panic. The blood was as warm as the inside of his own body. As warm as the inside of any human's body... and he couldn't say for any other mortal race, but he liked to imagine they were comparable.

With the cut still open, still bleeding, and when the next few hours were his-- he pressed his thumb against the flow, flattening it into a wide print stamped on his cheek.

The print itself was warm, as if the thumbprint was itself a thumb, remaining where he'd touched a second ago. A coppery note lingered when he breathed in-- it made him alert, lessened the weight of his eyelids on his eyes.

He wasn't slipping, he concluded. He was being carried-- being swept on the scent, like the grace of the Light allowing him to levitate.

If only it weren't his own.

He smudged the blood out like charcoal. And his nail found the scratch again. A tendon in the wrist at his side twitched, his jaw squared fleetingly, every time his playing at that wound strummed too close to a nerve, but it worked and the cut began to weep again.

Blood, he reasoned, was proof of injury. And injury was proof of suffering. Suffering proved that one was... real? Truly in the here and now? Blood was what one signed the dearest of oaths in. It made brothers, made enemies. Rivers of it had carved ravines out between the Alliance and Horde for longer than he'd been alive.

He wanted Midha's blood. He wanted Vyneia's blood. Part of him wanted to bite down on the ghostly Warchief he dreamt of every night, as if she were meat, as if he could partake of her, make her flesh his, and in that way make her real.

But it wasn't hatred that Anduin felt. He wished, more than anything else, that whatever inspired worship could be so thoroughly proven to live and listen. If the Light could bleed, he would bathe in it, and that would be worship.

His face was in his hands. The sharp, metallic smell pooled like fog, steaming the hollow of his skull. Whatever made Midha capable of her feats of strength... she would understand. She wouldn't just paint his face, like he had found his hands carrying out: she would tinge his vision.

His eyelashes were stuck together in clumps. Around his chapped lips, he felt a pulling. It cracked when he moved, and left black flakes. He blinked away some from his eyes.

It wasn't long before Anduin's chest was bare. The only evidence he left would be where his caution failed and his fingers wet the fabric of his coat. Or where his nose caught on the neck of his undershirt-- and then only until they were clean. He wondered: where was Wrathion?

He hadn't known it before, he imagined, but it felt as though he'd always known that Midha kept the worst sides of her adventuring firmly out of her prince's sight. And for what? He'd saved her so many times. It wasn't as though he was innocent, either.

No, nobody in this odd menagerie was innocent at all.

Someone knocked. Anduin's veins were chilled before he even realized what the sound was.

"...Yes?" he asked. Though his voice was small and still, internally he felt a sick humor at the idea that Wrathion himself was knocking.

"Can I come in?" came a smaller, stiller voice.

"I'm not dressed."

Thank the Light he'd had something clever to say.

He remembered reading a historical account of a few Gilnean children, lost in the gray wilderness, who without supervision had completely given themselves over to their worgen curse. They claimed to have murdered Forsaken laborers, easy to catch and still unquestionably evil-- but nobody could verify whether the victims were all undead.

And when one boy was returned to society, and the balancing ritual redone... he was inconsolable.

How, he wondered as that boy might have, could it be he who'd done all this?

"It's nothing I haven't seen," he could make out. And she was right... had she always been this practical? He couldn't trust his memory.

After a silent few seconds, she added, "Unless you're really stark naked. I can come back--"

"No, no, just a moment." He was on his feet, wiping from his face as much wetness and as many clotted scabs as he could in the time it took to slide his chair in and cross the room. His lips and his teeth remained parted around three different sentences, each as ridiculous as the others, and then he was at the door.

Like a child hiding his mischief, he opened the door only two inches wider than she was at the shoulders. "Come in," he said.

Midha was exactly as he'd remembered. She took silent, careful steps, twirling one of those twists of hair in her finger, and turned on him the same candle-light eyes.

"I wanted to say..." she began.

Two seconds of that gaze was more than enough.

"Please tell me you know why I'm like this," he said. He didn't mean to interrupt, but: "I've been on your side of this conversation... how many times, now? Saying I understand, saying I've figured it out-- and this time, I suppose I have, but..."

But now that he had fully crossed over, now that he was fallen and Midha was the one reaching out to offer a path back into the Light, he was blinded.

"Say you know. Even if you don't, make something up."

She blinked at him. She blinked away the white pupils, the ever-present aura that hung like mist. That Midha, uncorrupted, should have been his queen.

"Maybe you're rebalancing yourself?" She clasped her hands behind her back, stretching her arms as if it'd fix all the tension between them. "You don't have to know right now, but that's what I think. Your mind is doing what your body does when you get a fever."

"Fighting off an infection?" he asked. "Maybe-- but the sooner it's over with, the sooner I'll have my people's faith again."

He'd let his guard down, and when his chin dipped, he felt another flare of the Sha's power. There was the faintest smell of burning metal, a numbness on his jaw... she was burning away the stains.

"You represent Stormwind to the rest of the Alliance."

He replied: "And command the Alliances' forces as a whole, if I must."

"How much of Stormwind's government is yours in peace?"

"How much of it must I, personally, sign off on?" Anduin smiled. "My father didn't trust the nobles much. He had good reason, and I try to be as diligent as he was. And whatever's handled by other officials is still within my right to overrule."

"...Is Turalyon gone?"

"Well, he hasn't vanished again-- but then he hasn't declared himself Warchief of Stormwind, either. I consider him an advisor."

"How many kings lose themselves to the title?"

His head grew heavy. A dizzying, leaden pool swelled in his brain, or so it felt, the strange malaise that question burdened him with.

She was leading him, he realized. Guiding him toward either a well-built argument, or full corruption by Despair or Doubt.

"You're trying to make my decisions for me," he said.

"I can't make those decisions."

Anduin's breath stilled as Midha went over the cut. It was like biting into something icy cold-- the Sha spilled under his skin and made it tense and pale. "So it seems," he went on, "neither can I."

Lost in his thoughts again. He barely felt her hand-- but then, she was all he was thinking about.

It was almost impossible not to get pulled in. "It must be indescribable. Keeping the Sha hidden away," he remarked. "Living and breathing for one other person. I have a hard enough time with people I've never met."

Midha dipped her chin. So quick it almost wasn't a nod. "You're right. I always think it'll break me in half."

"And it never does, does it?"

"It never does." The last of the red washed out in what looked like milk. "I do what my mother did-- exploring, except she took the lows and I take the heights."

"Heights of what?" Anduin's arms unconsciously wrapped around his middle-- what lofty purpose was he supposed to see in stretching himself til he unraveled?

The milk turned to vapor, which smelled how she had in the water. Her finger was still a little too close to the cut-- where the angry capillaries made soft and reddish.

He answered himself. "Heights of anything that's given to you. Light, Midha--"

"You swim or you sink. You keep going, or you fall behind."

Her whisper of a voice was insistent in a way that tugged at the ground under his feet. She went on: "I bleed so I don't burst. Live so as not to die. Love..."

Her lips shifted, in some immeasurably small way, toward a smile. "Eventually, everything feels like love."

And what was there to say to that?

"I don't know whether to hate you. Or whether I should pity you, for thinking things like that, or maybe just..."

Anduin sighed. "Join you. In your madness."

"Unless you'd prefer some other madness...?"

He couldn't help his gaze breaking off-- looking down. She had Katrana's tongue. Katrana's way with kings. He wasn't so different now, from his father then.

"No," he said, "if I have to lose my mind, I'd rather lose it to you."

"Good." Midha rolled on the ball of her foot. Anduin himself readied to step back, maybe to catch her close to him-- but she caught him first, her thumbs on the veins of his throat and her lips on his teeth.

He gave an unsteady hum as everything, the walls and his spirit in his body, were shunted forward. His legs knotted, as did the apparition from last summer, the Timeless Isle python that he always expected to kill him.

Don't think too hard now, he asked himself. Anduin looped his arms around Midha. She was so much smaller than him-- his wrists could cross over her back, and his nails clawed into his own forearm.

Her palm was shockingly warm against the back of that hand. Don't, he repeated internally. This is what it's supposed to feel like.

-- stormwind keep --

If it were any railing-- and it could be any railing-- this would be the one.

And now would be the time. Midha was leaning over, almost bent over the wall, staring down at the city below. His hand was on the small of her back, where it tipped up like a duckling's tail.

"You know," he said, walking his fingers up her spine. "Turalyon wants to have spells put in place that would unmask dragons on entry to the city."

Midha's breath halted. Then, slower and somewhat more strained, it started again.

He let his smile show. "Imagine how he'll feel when he can't unmask you."

"Do they think I'm a dragon?"

He chuckled. "I can't imagine they truly believe that. But they'd probably want to check anyway... just to be safe, you know."

"I don't think I'd be much different. If I was."

It was an effort just for her to speak. The Sha couldn't be mastered by anyone, and it was punishing her for trying. True poetic justice, Anduin thought to himself.

"No," he said aloud. "I'd still know you by your human form. I think... mortal minds just work that way, don't you? Maybe if you were a dragon, you'd be able to read my mind a little." His fingers slid back down. "You could see what I was really thinking, right on my face."

She turned her head. He could see it-- the dull, insistent pain she was in, like what he felt when he lied. She asked him, her eyes dull with doubt: "What are you really thinking?"

His smile broke through. In response, he looked to their left-- at a royal guard.

"Excuse me. Could she and I be alone for a moment?"

Beneath the visor, the guard's eyes widened. But he nodded-- "Yes, sir," and left, followed by the other guard posted at the doorway.

His heart skipped. Not in fear, but like a child skipping through a sunlit meadow. This was the dream he had forced to be real, the life he was about to prove himself capable of living.

"This is so much better when I don't have to fight you for it," he said, and tipped her chin up into a kiss.

#dragonflight spoilers #anduin #anduin wrynn #midfic #andumid

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fenghuane-a · 2 years

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i was going to do SOMETHING for the past few hours but instead i keep getting distracted by random things. case in point: the MEGA ULTRA BEAM ATTACK in some jttw inspired [adapted?] dc comic series that’s currently sending me into hysterics. “oh theyre all working together to fight some big baddie! :D” and then red son’s parents get beam attacked and die instantly and i cANNOT STOP. LAUGHING.

just the mental image alone like. you got the whole gang there. erlang, nezha, the demon family, your titular main cast, and then they just get vaporized by this evil guy’s big spooky laser, and then he LEAVES. okay, story’s over, everyone go home, bye, sorry everyone you know and love (???) is dead lol. this isnt even that objectively funny, im sure its written to be tragic but all i saw was a two paragraph synopsis of it and that was enough to get me WHEEZING.

i don’t know anything about dc comics At All, nor do i care to find out, just as an outsider looking in this is really fucking funny.

#◉ oh lawd it wigglin’ ( OOC )#// i keep rereading this shit and getting a headache laughing

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stuckwith-harry · 4 years

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hm im striking no inspo for literally anything to say but here’s a v average prompt .. hbp harry flirting w ginny and being all nervous piney boy abt it

i’m aware that you requested this like 7 months ago and i’m aware that you’re aware that i’m aware of that. what you aren’t aware of is that i’m posting it right this second because we’re currently all yelling about music in the groupchat. well you and mina are yelling, i’m being suspiciously quiet right now. anyway. surprise! it’s here!

i made a fumbling play for your heart (and the act struck a spark)

I remember we broke into laughter

when we saw each other. What was between

us wasn’t a fragile thing to be coddled, cooed

over. It came out fully formed, ready to run.

Ada Limón, “What I Didn’t Know Before”

He should’ve put the pieces together sooner, because when he woke up she was already there, everywhere, didn’t creep up on him so much as he turned around one day and found he already loved her. Even in Slughorn’s cool, shadowy dungeon it felt like summer more than anything, full-bellied laughter, warm and thundering and pushing through damp earth towards oxygen, the flowery scent, and Ginny that same afternoon, bringing it back to him, her fiery hair catching the sunlight falling through the common room windows. There, too, that flowery scent that would go on to haunt him so soon.

You didn’t know, then?, Harry wants to shout at the boy from that afternoon. How could you not know?

This is the beginning and the end of everything: a Saturday afternoon spent shooting through the air like a box of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes’ finest pyrotechnics let loose over the Quidditch pitch. By the time Harry’s team hits the ground again, seven pairs of knees buckling under the force of the landing, the sky overhead is flushed and the air vibrating with potential.

“Look out!”

Harry tears his eyes away from her too late and grunts as the Quaffle she’s thrown finds its goal with a dull thud. Ginny claps a hand over her mouth and comes running towards him, half laughing, half mortified, her Quidditch robes fluttering loudly around her as she jogs across the grassy pitch and thunders to a halt in front of him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”, she says and swiftly places her warm hands on either side of his face, examining his cheek, which is rapidly flushing red where the Quaffle made contact. Harry’s stomach drops as she pulls his face towards her, biting her lip.

“I-It’s okay”, he tells her. “I was distracted.”

Ginny gently turns his chin to get a better look at his bruise. Harry can feel her warm breath on his face, can see the freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose, the crease between her eyebrows.

“What d’you reckon?”, he asks her, inexplicably out of breath. “Am I finally gonna look cool and daredevilish?”

Ginny breaks into a reluctant grin – Harry feels a rush of pride and relief at her chuckle and the crinkled back of her nose, something eager and insistent that threatens to knock him off his feet.

“’fraid so”, she tells him, as he grins back at her. “I mean, I like your particular shade of goofy, but …”

She lets go of him, a terrible bereavement, and picks up the Quaffle lying in the grass between them, forgotten.

“I meant for you to catch this, anyway. C’mon, Captain, let’s get changed.”

Harry watches her ponytail swing from view, his heart drumming wildly behind his ribcage, his head spinning. He makes a mental note he’s been underestimating Ginny’s throw arm.

You didn’t know, then? How could you not know?

“What happened to you?”, Hermione gasps when they come climbing through the portrait hole together, a thoroughly dismal-looking Ron following close behind.

“I gave him a shiner”, Ginny says with an apologetic grimace in Harry’s direction.

“I don’t mind”, Harry assures them, and weirdly doesn’t. He grins back at her, heart drumming in his chest. “We’ve decided it helps the bad boy image.”

Ginny looks at him over her shoulder as she walks across the common room and falls sideways on an armchair, legs dangling off one side.

“If that consoles you. It suits you, anyway”, she says, considering him with a smirk.

“Well, I trust your opinion”, Harry smiles.

Still, there is that bewildering urge to keep talking, and still, the drums in his chest are swelling, and when Hermione jumps up to take a look at his cheek, Harry tells himself it’s stupid to find it annoying but can’t quite manage to convince himself. Out of the corner of his good eye, he watches as Ginny curls up in her armchair, the last of the sunset warming her already flushed face.

He finally drops on the scarlet sofa in front of the fireplace, cramped between Ron and Hermione, the left side of his face throbbing unpleasantly. When he catches Ginny’s eye, she grins at him, warm and blazing in the half-dark of the common room, and a similarly golden afternoon comes rushing back to him: Slughorn’s dungeon, and then Ginny, brand-new and startling even in all the ways he’s grown to know her, that haunting, flowery scent, and all the time he’s let pass since then, all those months spent exchanging jokes like secret handshakes, all those times his heartbeat quickens when he makes her laugh.

Can’t you tell? Can’t you hear the drums?

Harry grins back at her. Some inexplicable, new warmth unfurls in his chest, some strange wild joy. He’s going to spend all of this summer submerged in it, all those stolen afternoons on the sunlit castle grounds, those weeks he’s going to learn that he has never felt more extraordinary than when he was at his most ordinary.

You didn’t know, then? How could you not know?

“You look better!”, she tells him a week later, when she catches him in a hallway before class, the pads of her fingers gently tracing the place where the thin frames of his glasses meet his cheek, where his bruise has faded to purple and yellow, his skin slowly turning back into its usual brown.

Harry stands breathlessly as her fingers slide gently down to his jaw, her face inches from his.

“You know, I really underestimated your throw arm”, he tells her wildly. “It’s quite vicious.”

“Harry”, she tells him sincerely, her warm hand still on his jaw, “that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“All this time I should’ve been afraid of you, and I didn’t even realise.”

“I could kiss you”, she says, beaming. Harry’s heart performs something like a triple backflip with a spin and falls flat on its face.

When he fails to answer, she frowns, though a mischievous glint remains in her eyes. “I didn’t give you a concussion, did I?”

“No, no, I’m fine”, he says quickly. “I can hardly feel it anymore.”

“Right, then”, she says brightly and lets go of him. Harry watches her walk away, fiercely wishing he had a concussion.

“Terrified”, he calls after her, with a mighty leap of courage, his mouth seeming to act on its own accord. Maybe he has a concussion after all, he thinks, his heart wildly drumming in his throat.

Ginny turns and looks at him – it feels like stepping into the summer sun. Harry looks back at her, frozen in place.

Have you figured it out yet? Can you hear the drums?

Finally, she grins, face half-quizzical, half-amused, giving way to something quiet and knowing.

“Right”, she says, then: “I’ll see you around, Harry”, and it sounds like a promise.

#on god this boy is so dumb and i love him #hinny #fanfiction #harry potter #hp fanfic #smallfern #emi tag

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faunusrights · 4 years

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OFFAL HUNT REMASTERED LIVEBLOG // CHAPTER 21

IN THIS EPISODE OF MURPHY IS SO VERY SLEEPY BUT THE UPDATE SCHEDULE TAKES NO PRISONERS (FOR THE MOMENT):

“So it’s true,” she wheezed between grit fangs—“that bitch really does have you on a leash.”

KINKY,

me: okay lemme refresh on what happened last chapter-- me: /remembers me: oh yeah! yeah that SUCKED,

lets us continue on the journey of deep and immense sadness with glynda ‘clown shoes’ goodwitch!!!!!!!! here we go here we go

It took a while to pry back the jaws of her soul and wrench herself out of them.

ooh i rly like the context change here. before glynda was kinda falling back into her soul as a way of just Getting On With Shit or protecting herself, but now it’s framed in a fun new way of please can i get out of here now. good job glynda. look at u GROUNDING YRSELF like a CHAMP who should have been in a TKO LIKE FIVE ROUNDS AGO--

What did that mean? Had she asked Cinder about Ochre? Glynda struggled to recall, but the memories swirled like clouded ink in her skull.

i still love the continuation of glynda’s Mysterious Messages To Herself. she leads such a thrilling life of ‘did i write that’ and ‘did i do that’ and ‘what does any of this mean’

Hating herself, Glynda found she couldn’t remember.

and also a less thrilling life of the squeaky clown shoes variety. glynda PLEASE

She had to know: was anything Cinder had given her real?

the YOU and the US,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, the DESTINY. dw babe im sure cinder Has Never Told A Lie, Even Once In Her Life, On Account Of Being A Very Open And Honest Person,

Had she been abandoned? Cinder had been unhappy when she left. Angry, maybe. Angry enough to take her leave for good? Or had she always planned to?

i love watching glynda slowly become kind of,,,,,,,,,,,, more aware of herself in relation to other people? sometimes she still Moves or Does w/o rly thinking it thru, but we’ve got quite a change from, like, early chapters of glynda where she was barrelling along with VERY little disregard for both actions AND consequences,,, but look at her now!!!!!!! using her whole ass BRAIN. im proud of her.

When she tried to dismiss this first fear, another one was waiting underneath: had something happened to Cinder?

In her attempts to keep Glynda’s soul from smothering them both, Cinder had been quite willing to converse over the phone with her—even if her texts were short and snippy, she usually at least responded, to avoid backlash. Did she not care anymore? Or—

Or was she unable to?

/leans in, like, uncomfortably close to the microphone

glynda darling i do Not mean 2 worry u but yr (future) gf is currently grieving, pissed beyond belief, and also

/checks notes

failing her way into becoming strawberry jam

But, surprisingly, there was another half to Glynda now: one that worried, despite facts, that Cinder was in danger. That Cinder might need her.

GO AND GET THE GIRL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! GO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The light caught in every golden thread of her crown emblem, embroidered with diligent precision. But something else caught her eye: the midnight black surrounding it had a sheen to it. Subtle red ducked through the fabric, glittering like burnished stars in a distant night sky: fire Dust.

The flash of a memory: Cinder’s face when Glynda had complained that her last cape had been burned.

This cape would not burn.

okay so no lie i cant read this bit without my eyes starting to water abt just how GOOD this section is and i have cried TOO MANY TIMES over this fic ALREADY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! but GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! T H A N K Y O U F O R T H E F O O D !

CINDER MADE IT FIREPROOF. SHE DIDNT HAVE TO. SHE DIDNT NEED TO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BUT THE SYMBOLISM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IS U N R E A L. I AM CRYING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

GO GET THE GIRL YOU MORON

Glynda didn’t know what to do.

Glynda dialed Winter.

and i am INSTANTLY launched back into the comedy that is glynda goodwitch’s life at large THANKS FOR THE WHIPLASH

“No, I mean… I was awful to you the last time we spoke. I know I was. I keep thinking about it. I’m so sorry, I just… Don’t have anyone else to go to right now. I don’t know who else I’d call.” It was horrible to admit. Loneliness had never shamed her before because her soul had held it at bay. Now it made her sick. “I’m safe. If you don’t want to talk to me…”

LOOK AT THIS CHARACTER GROWTH,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, GLYNDA!!!!!!!! YR DOIN SO WELL BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! EVERYONE COME LOOK AT HER THINKING WITH HER M I N D.

“I lashed out at you, Professor Goodwitch. That wasn’t right of me. I should have known that you weren’t truly to blame for what you said. I know Cinder. She’s manipulative. She twists the world and makes you think she’s a different person than who she really is. I blamed you in the moment, but Cinder Fall is truly the person at fault for making you believe that I would try to hurt you. I shouldn’t have raised my voice or said the things I did.”

/rubs face

like winter needs to be in this fic and og was bereft not having her actually take up 30% of the space as she DESERVES, but god i forgot that shes a whole Thing and winter please just. shush. for a moment. for a second. ilusm. but please shut up.

Glynda was pacing, her Scroll levitating near her.

side note but casual uses of glyndas semblance is one of my fav things i love seeing it. glynda ‘look mom no hands’ goodwitch out here,

Glynda closed her eyes. The tactile recollection of cats arching, bristling, and spitting. Backed into corners. “Maybe she was panicking. I don’t know.”

i dont rly have much to say here other than continuing to enjoy Cinder As Cat, the ongoing metaphor. glyndas just gonna pick her up the scruff of the neck eventually and we will ALL b thankful.

ughghghgb im not gonna copy paste this whole convo w/ winter because this is a liveblog not a shitty projection of the fic on the side wall of a bowling alley, BUT GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD glynda is so WORRIED,,,,,,,,,,, past glynda is befuddled. bemused. why does future glynda Feel so much. but future glynda is FEELING and i love her. das yr gf yr worried abt. DAS HER,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, and also yr other gf winter too but like that’s a long-con sort of egg to hatch,

While it had been some time now since Glynda had been in a proper fight, she expected no trouble. This wasn’t Cinder—ergo: this wasn’t a real threat to her. Still, she would bide her time and hold her silence, if only for the chance of getting a hint of what was going on.

This wasn’t Cinder—ergo: this wasn’t a real threat to her.

LADS,,,, LADIES,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, BEANS,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, IS IT GAY,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, TO SEE YR RIVAL AS YR ONLY REAL THREAT,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

The group crossed the room as one unit, guns aloft and eyes peeled, determined to not be ambushed.

Glynda intended to ambush them regardless.

i dont like 2 say when an au gets a character so right that all other interpretations aren’t valid, but.......................... offal hunt gets glynda so right that all other interpretations aren’t valid, and thats that, on that,

One left. Glynda didn’t hesitate. She had been built to fight Grimm; far stronger, far quicker, far more bestial foes than these. She was herself a blade, sharpened far too fine for these intruders.

sounds hot

“Are they...alive?”

Glynda didn’t pause to check.

“Professor? Are they alive?”

glynda: fuck them kids

“How will you get to her?” Winter asked.

“I always find her in the end,” Glynda answered.

hrm,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, i wonder if that’s foreshadowing something

Her soul was churning inside her, longing for solace, for Cinder. She could picture the way like a burning trail in her mind’s eye; that bright-yellow tether between herself and Cinder, that pathway between their souls that she had tread so many times before. It always led her to Cinder.

HRM,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, I WONDER,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

“Good luck, Glynda.”

“Thank you,” she said again, pausing under the streetlights. “But I won’t need luck. I’ll find her.”

FELLAS,

what a good chapter!!!!!!!!!!! also i cried. BUT I HAD A REAL GOOD TIME. I CAN IMAGINE THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE LESS OF A GOOD TIME, BUT FOR NOW, I WILL ENJOY THE MENTAL IMAGE OF GLYNDA’S BICEPS AND HER FUTURE WEDDING ALSO,

#rwby #offal hunt #liveblog

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spiderman-homecomeme · 5 years

Note

Hey! I love your fanfics! Could write something like MJ making fun of Peter calling his penis web shooter? 👀

okay first of all: YES.

second of all: This took me approximately a million years to finish, but here it is!! Sorry it took so long!! Thank you so much for sending this in and for your patience!!

This one gets a lil saucy guys (nothing explicit bc im a coward lmao), so hold onto your butts ig

here’s about 1.2k of sweet n’ saucy fluff

There’s been a handful of embarrassing moments in the short time Peter’s been on this Earth, a good portion of them being more recent than others, and he’s come to accept that for the most part; being a perpetual fool was just part of the whole awkward teenager gig.

But accidentally revealing his not cool-in-the-slightest nickname for his… well, nether regions… that he’d said while on a mission in Prague—as a joke—to his best-friend-newly-turned-girlfriend ranks pretty high up on the top ten list of his most mortifying moments.

He knows he’ll never live this down.

He’s not sure what exactly it was in his brain that tells him that this would be a good thing to just spit out in the heat of the moment, that this would somehow not totally ruin whatever it is they were about to do.

Maybe he was drawing too much inspiration from the variety of adult films he’d seen; his own god-awful attempt at dirty talk.

It was all going so well; so perfectly, in fact, that he couldn’t really tell if this is another one of those dreams or not.

He’s sat at the edge of his twin bed, dressed only in a pair of boxers as, in a surge of shaky confidence, MJ disconnects her lips from his and sinks to her knees in front of him, the movement so fast it’s almost disorienting. His brain practically short circuits at the image of her between his legs, his fists mindlessly grasping at the sheets under him, knuckles turning white at the pressure.

Ohgodohgodohgodohgod.

It had to have been a moment of sheer panic, just something his nervous brain made him say in an effort to ease the tension, to break the thick silence. Up until this point, they’d only ever gotten to the ever magical second base, so this was completely new, uncharted territory.

He thinks he might die at the way MJ briefly looks up at him from under her lashes, a shy grin tugging at the corner of her lips. The sudden urge to pull her right back into his lap and never stop kissing her is almost overwhelming, but he remains strong.

Well, for the most part.

He’s still internally freaking the fuck out that his beautiful girlfriend is currently having what might be the world’s longest staring contest with his boner.

She seems almost as nervous as he is, her arms at her side as she sits back on her heels, palms flat against the tops of her thighs, her fingers tapping anxiously. Her eyebrows raise in a silent question, eyes glancing between his face and the prominent tent in his boxers.

Peter nods, perhaps with a little too much enthusiasm, swallowing thickly as she cracks a giddy, toothy smile. He mentally kicks himself for being so inarticulate at such a crucial moment, silently wondering if MJ can tell how freaking nervous he is as she shifts her weight forward. His breath catches in his throat as her fingers slowly ghost along the tops of his thighs, her touch feather-light as she starts toying with the waistband of his boxers.

And it’s then, right then, that Peter’s mouth seems to wanna go rogue, to become this loose cannon that doesn’t play by the rules. Fuck his brain. He didn’t need that.

Peter deepens his voice—or, he tries to—though the breathy quality is unshakable as he puts on a false, almost comedic sense of bravado.

“You wanna… play with my… web shooter?”

First, he realizes, perhaps, that it’s a pretty dumb question.

Second, he realizes that the cheesy lines in all those porn movies tend to not be realistic at all and that they actually sound really goofy when applied to real life situations.

And third, he realizes he may have broken his girlfriend.

MJ freezes in her place, her brows pinched together in confusion for barely a second, as if she’s questioning the very sense of reality in that moment, before she snorts loudly, hearty scream-laughs wracking her body as she crumples forward, resting her forehead on the edge of his knee as she tries to hold herself up. “You did not—!” She struggles to get the words out through her laughter. “You did not just—!” A hiccup, a wheeze. She shakes her head, looking back up at him, and for a moment, he thinks her little giggle fit might be over.

In her defense, she tries to maintain a stoic expression, though she’s only able to hold it for a split second before bursting into more boisterous laughter.

He thinks his entire body might just be the exact same shade of red as his Spider suit.“MJ—”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” She holds a finger up, cutting him off, before clearing her throat, though a stray chuckle still bubbles up from her chest. “It’s just…” And it takes her another minute to collect herself, though she still’s still practically vibrating with amusement. “Web shooter?” She finally asks quietly, as calm as she can manage, the corners of her lips twitching violently as she tries to hold back another laugh.

On the bright side, she doesn’t seem as nervous anymore.

As embarrassed and absolutely mortified as he is, Peter can certainly see the humor in the situation. He’s unable to fight back his own sheepish smile, nudging her gently. “Shut up!”

“That was lame,” She teases. “Really lame. Even for you, dude.”

“I know, I know!” He huffs. “Gimme a break, okay?” He pleads, playfully nudging her again when he can see the early signs of another fit of laughter start to take her. “I thought it would…” He pauses, tilting his head from side-to-side as he lowers his voice, shrugging timidly. “… enhance the mood.”

She purses her lips in an effort to keep them from breaking, mirth twinkling in her eyes as she nods solemnly. “Mmhmm. Yeah. Makes sense.”

“Clearly, it didn’t work.”

MJ shrugs. “I mean, it made me laugh, so that’s something.”

Peter lets out a huff of amusement as he shakes his head.

“So this isn’t like… a kink of yours is it?” MJ suddenly asks, the teasing lilt in her tone still very much present.

His eyes widen in surprise, jaw dropping. “What?!”

“I mean, you’re not gonna have me call you Spider-Man are you?”

“—Oh my god, MJ.” He throws his head back as a fully exasperated groan escapes him.

“—And like, throw the mask on, have me ask you to web me up or something—”

“—Please, stop—”

“—I mean, whatever gets you going,” MJ reasons, her lips pulled into a faint smirk. “Whatever helps your Peter tingle, I guess.”

If it was his own initial comparison of his dick to his web shooter that killed him, that was what put the damn nail in the coffin. At this point, he knows that there’s nothing he can do or say that can stop this relentless teasing.

For the umpteenth time that night, he shakes his head. “I hate you,” he says with all the affection in the world.

And MJ only grins cheekily back at him, squinting. At the near radio silence that falls after, the air still crackling, she moves to sit next to him, playfully knocking her shoulder against his. “But, hey, if it’s any consolation, I did learn something.”

Peter’s gaze snaps to hers. His head cocks to the side, eyebrows pinched in slight confusion. “What?”

“I mean, I didn’t know your web fluid was organic—”

She doesn’t get to finish that sentence, both of them unable to contain their smiles as he effectively shuts her up with a firm, but loving kiss.

#spideychelle #petermj #ffh spoilers #michelle jones x peter parker #michelle jones #peter parker #fic #prompt #im just gonna rate this m for now lol #there's some jokes in here that are not how do u say... family friendly lmao

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tikitm · 5 years

Text

@flame-cat and i are just

heavy on the angst right now sksks

they gave me an idea of like , oscar protecting qrow and i remembered a post or two they made before so i was like owo whats this and i wrote it.

im sorry

(I also had this under ‘for dadmom’ in my google docs so uh)

enjoy !!

Oscar let out a loud wheeze, leaning against the door and forcing himself to breathe. This battle was intense! Every single turn lead him to believe that something terrible was going to happen. Every single attack seemed way too close for comfort. Every comment seemed to cut into him a bit more than he would like to admit - and none of the comments were directed towards him!

“I hope you’re not getting tired, Oscar.” Maria said, and he could practically hear her smile. “Stay on your toes.”

“...R-right, right.”

Oscar shifted his weight from one foot to another leaning out the door a tiny bit. He needed to find a weakness, or they would be struggling to fight this thing forever. He bit his lower lip and scanned the robot, trying to see if what he thought was correct. He was about to exclaim something to Ruby, but he stopped when he saw a little black bird get swatted to the side and onto the land.

Qrow!

“Ms. Calavera! Dive!” He said hurriedly, a wave of panic washing over him. Qrow had already turned back into a human, and Oscar could see that he would struggling to stand up.

“You ingrates don’t know the power of Atlas! You’re a joke!” Cordoven yelled. She was charging up an attack. “You’re insignificant!” Oscar jumped out of the plane before it even landed on the ground. He stumbled, ignoring Ms. Calavera’s shout and screamed, “Qrow!”

Qrow’s head snapped towards Oscar, his red eyes wide. The boy lunged forward and pushed Qrow out of the way of the blast and had barely enough time to move out of the way himself.

He stumbled back, a strangled cry escaping his lips. He didn’t realize it was fire dust - and it was hot. Oscar fell onto his back and grunted, the flames hissing and jumping out at him.

Better him than Qrow, a voice in the back of his mind said. At least Qrow is useful.

Oscar let out a shuddering sigh and stood up, scrambling back when he felt like the fire got too close. He was paralyzed for a moment, and then a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him to the side.

“Kid! What the-”

“Look out!”

Oscar could see the blast coming from the corner of his eye. What it was? He wasn’t sure.

He didn’t know what came over him. Even before this, he had always felt everyone was more… important than him. They were more important than him. They had more significance than him in every single way. If he were to die…

If he were to die, Ozpin would just reincarnate again. He wouldn’t matter, would he?

Everything seemed to go in slow motion as he shoved Qrow to the side, the attack crackling and sizzling in the corner of his eye. Qrow fell back, and the sensation that overtook Oscar was so painful that he had to bite back a scream. It was lightning dust - he knew that now. The lightning sizzled and crackled in his ears and his entire body burned. The next thing he knew, his eyes were fluttering open and he was being… carried? Dragged? Black spots crowded in his vision so her couldn’t see too much.

How were attacks like that even legal?

“Why did you do that?” Qrow asked, trying to keep his voice level.

“I… I owe you-” Oscar couldn’t get the sentence out. He coughed weakly and tried not to focus on how every single nerve in his body screamed.

“Holy shit, kid. Holy shit.” Qrow kept on muttering. He could distantly hear Cordoven’s scream of ‘get back here!’, and then bullet being shot.

“Wh…”

“You don’t owe me jack shit, kid!” Qrow’s sudden outburst made him flinch. The mental image of a fist flying towards him filled his vision and he whimpered softly. There was silence, then a soft sigh. “Look… Oscar.” Oscar felt himself being placed on the ground. Qrow was probably kneeling on the ground in front of him. The freckled boy took in sharp breaths, his eyes hazy and his vision half-black. Is this what Qrow felt like when he got electrocuted by Hazel?

He was more important than Oscar.

“Oscar… you don’t have any favors to repay me.”

“B-but… Haven…” Oscar struggled to get those two words out because holy shit everything hurt.

Qrow stopped moving for a second - Oscar was afraid that Qrow stopped breathing. The older man then let out an almost watery chuckle. “Kid. I was protecting you because I wanted to. You don’t owe me anything. I don’t expect you to repay any debts to me.”

“B... But-”

“No buts, kid.” Oscar could hear the weak smile in Qrow’s voice. “You don’t owe jack. Shit.”

“...’anguage.” The farm boy murmured in reply, ignoring the way Qrow huffed.

“Okay Mr. Language Police. I’ll get someone to come watch after you for a bit, yeah? Maybe Jaune can heal you up.” Shuffling. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go beat the shit out of the witch who hurt my kid.”

The weight of Qrow’s words sank in about 5 seconds after he left.

His kid.

He guessed... he was rather important to someone after all.

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby6 #rwby6 spoilers #just because oscar didnt get hurt doesnt mean i cant make angst of him #im sorry this is kind of bad sksks #oscar pine #qrow branwen #bangs hands on table oscar angst #ill write fluff soon i promise #i mean ill try lmao

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