#miscommunication in writing

[byoldervine]

Something that I’m considering at the moment writing-wise is how miscommunication is used in media. A lot of the time it’s used for angst and can even be the catalyst of an entire plot, yet often it can come across as more frustrating than anything to the point where many people have miscommunication as a writing pet peeve. And don’t worry, I know this post went on for ages longer than even I planned, so there’s a TL;DR for the final paragraph

So what exactly is the challenge with miscommunications that can cause them to fall flat in a frustrating manner? A lot of the time it comes down to realism; is the miscommunication believable, or is it something that ends up being frustrating because you don’t understand why the characters don’t talk it out and get on the same page? Is there a reason why the characters don’t just talk it out? Is it because one character is hiding a secret from the other? And if so, is hiding the secret worth the miscommunication? And the more plot-relevant the miscommunication is, the more important it is to get it right; you can’t have a weak catalyst

One popular example of unrealistic communication driving the story, at least in my opinion, is actually Frozen. Anna is kept out of the loop so badly that they literally alter her memories and have Elsa locked away from everyone except her parents for around a decade without so much as explaining to Anna why she’s no longer allowed to see her sister. And when she finally sees Elsa again for the first time since they were little kids, she’s of course ecstatic to see her again, and for a minute they get along great. But the moment Anna wants more company, be it Elsa’s, Hans’ or anyone else’s, Elsa completely shuts down and abruptly ends the party without any real explanation. There’s one line here that really makes the lack of communication clear in a way that I find frustrating:

Anna: Elsa, please! I can’t live like this anymore!

Elsa: … Then leave…!

I’m sorry, what?! You’d rather tell your sister to leave the only home she’s ever known, in front of the entire kingdom and visiting nobles, than to pull her aside and at least come up with a shitty lie as to why you don’t want more people in the castle? Or, y’know, just tell her the truth now that she’s a grown woman and not a reckless child without any real understanding of the potential dangers of such powers?

And even when Anna and the whole kingdom finally know the truth about Elsa’s powers, Anna climbs the North Mountain (on her own with no experience, to Elsa’s knowledge at this time) and finds Elsa’s ice palace to reassure her sister that she’s not mad and that she’s glad she finally knows the truth and can understand and try to help Elsa… she’s still keeping secrets? I get it, she’s used to keeping everything a secret, so it might be hard, but the secrets are already out at this point, you might as well finally get it all off your chest that the reason she hid her powers and shut herself out was because of a childhood accident that left her scared to hurt others. At this point there’s nothing holding Elsa back aside from, at worst, the worry of ‘what if Anna hates me for hurting her?’, which isn’t likely now that we’ve seen how completely unmad Anna was about literally everything else. If anything, she’s excited to finally know the truth!

But it gets to a point where, even if the lengths Elsa went to to hide her ice powers at the party weren’t bothersome to you, it gets frustrating when Anna goes all this way for her sister to reassure her only for Elsa to continue keeping secrets and sending her away with no clear reason as to why she’d continue after the big secret is already out of the bag. And when it’s getting to the point that shutting Anna out is, by Elsa’s own admission, ‘only mak[ing] it worse’, and Elsa can see with her own eyes that keeping these secrets is hurting Anna just as much as telling her potentially could, she summons Marshmallow to kick her out and ensure she’s gone. I just… why? What’s the point? It’s not creating further tension, it’s just riding the coattails of the tension from the initial reveal and trying to make it last longer than it should, with no reward for either character and not even a clear or satisfying in-character reason for it. It feels contrived for the plot, and that’s frustrating

But how can we use miscommunication to drive the plot in a realistic, non-frustrating way that doesn’t feel contrived? Well, we’re actually gonna look at something you fellow Tumblr users may be familiar with; @buggachat’s popular Bakery ‘Enemies’ AU, or BEAU for short. For those unfamiliar, BEAU is an AU of the teen superhero romance cartoon Miraculous Ladybug. In this AU, male protagonist and famous model Adrien Agreste never went to school as he does in canon, meaning he and female protagonist Marinette Dupain-Cheng never met - outside of their completely secret alter egos Chat Noir and Ladybug respectively, of course. The AU takes place after Adrien’s father, Gabriel Agreste, is revealed to be the main supervillain the two heroes have been fighting this whole time, Hawkmoth, and as such designer Gabriel’s fashion empire has collapsed, leaving Adrien out of work, as well as considered a terrorist like his father by many people in Paris, until Marinette’s parents allow him to work in their family bakery. The two heroes can’t transform or use their powers after defeating Gabriel/Hawkmoth, so they have no way of finding out the identities of one another or knowing if they’re okay

So what’s the miscommunication here? Well, alongside Hawkmoth, there was another supervillain who in the AU hasn’t been identified and their power source (a magic brooch called the Peacock Miraculous) hasn’t been found. So Marinette is under the impression that Adrien might have been the Peacock Miraculous user and assisted his dad in terrorising Paris, as well as being here in her parents’ bakery because he knows she’s Ladybug and wants to get revenge on her for ruining his life (getting his dad arrested, costing him his home and job, etc)

The thing is, we as the readers are aware that Adrien couldn’t possibly be a supervillain like Marinette thinks; he’s her superhero partner Chat Noir, and he still utterly adores Ladybug and hopes she’s okay and wishes he knew her identity so he could see her again

And it makes sense both in-universe and for Marinette’s character that she wouldn’t be communicating her fears or suspicions; if she says these things and she’s wrong, she’ll come off as horribly insensitive at best or she’ll be revealing her superhero identity for no reason at worst; if she says these things and she’s right, she’ll be letting a supervillain with a vendetta against her know she’s onto him while she’s powerless. There’s no scenario - except for the exact scenario she’s in, which she has no reason to suspect - where telling Adrien will have a good outcome

And unlike the Frozen example I gave before, BEAU actually progresses with the miscommunication rather than remaining stagnant on the same point; Marinette constantly tries to reason with herself, talk her suspicions down as unrealistic and dramatic, etc. She starts to let her guard down around Adrien as the pair bond. She starts to feel sympathetic for him, she starts to find him funny and amusing, she starts to see how sweet and kind he can be, and she tells herself (after screaming at herself for liking a potential villain) that someone that kind can’t possibly just be faking it. She even starts to get a crush on Adrien as they become friends and start hanging out together even outside of work. It appears that the conflict is going to be dismissed as Marinette being paranoid, which would more or less snuff out the need for communication

But then Marinette starts to confuse signs of Adrien being Chat Noir with signs of Adrien being exactly the villain she feared he was. The first example I can remember is Marinette finding an ungodly amount of pictures of Ladybug on Adrien’s phone (which he has canonically btw) and realising his search history includes a concerning number of ‘Ladybug identity theory’ searches or similar. In truth this is Adrien being a simp for Ladybug and wanting to find his lost partner again because he misses her, but of course Marinette doesn’t have this information, so her ‘Adrien is a supervillain’ theory leaps back to the forefront of her mind since that makes more sense to her with the information she has. It doesn’t feel contrived, the contents of Adrien’s phone pairs perfectly with the context Marinette is currently working with to feed the miscommunication while also making complete logical sense to the readers who already have all the pieces of the puzzle, there’s no point where it feels like Marinette has jumped through hoops to come to the conclusion she did, it all makes perfect sense from just a glance

And while, yes, it sucks that she didn’t catch on, it’s no more frustrating than any natural miscommunication inherently is, because the characters are thinking and behaving in ways that make sense and don’t break your immersion to just scream “Oh come on already! Just TALK!”

Actually, I think that’s the main trick to making miscommunications as a plot-driving force work; make it so that the conflict isn’t avoided with one single conversation, or at least ensure that the character continues to have a clear, legitimate reason as to why they believe that keeping secrets or otherwise avoiding communicating would be the overall better outcome as opposed to having that conversation

A lot of the time there are clichés that coincide with the plot-relevant miscommunication trope that are used to explain why proper communication would be less desirable than continuing to hurt yourself and/or others by not doing so. What I’d say is likely the most popular one is the ‘I’m just trying to protect you’ cliché, in which the entire conflict of the plot - or at least a plot in the story - occurs because one character didn’t tell another character something very important, usually resulting in the main character now being completely unprepared for the central conflict of the story that they’re now being thrust into. This cliché is usually very unpopular because it tends to be a rather wishy-washy explanation at best; if you really wanted to protect the person you kept this from, why wouldn’t you prepare them in case it comes back to bite one of you in the ass? It tends to be a case of Character A wanting to move on from a tragic past by forgetting about it rather than confronting it as opposed to actually trying to protect Character B from it, only for Character B to then have to either get involved in or actively take over the confrontation of Character A’s secret when it catches up to Character A and/or Character B

A recent example of this would be Ant-Man: Quantumania, in which the catalyst of the plot is Cassie sending signals into the Quantum Realm to their ants, but also unknowingly to the villains. Janet is aware that the villains are down there, but hasn’t told anyone that the Quantum Realm is inhabited by intelligent life forms. Throughout the movie, Hope and Hank grow increasingly frustrated with Janet for still not telling them about what kind of danger they’re all in, even while they’re all in the Quantum Realm themselves. Keeping Hank and Hope in the dark wasn’t protecting them by that point, if anything it was only putting them in more danger, so when Janet pulled out the ‘I was trying to protect you’ line it was very hard for me to take that as anything more than a lazy excuse. Everyone needs to have a certain level of understanding of things in order to truly be protected from them, that’s why we have warning stories like the boy who cried wolf

If Janet had been honest from the beginning, the plot would fall flat, but even giving the other characters a minimal amount of warning only for the pursuit of scientific discovery or whatever else leading them into the Quantum Realm regardless would work so long as you don’t continue to have her not provide information ‘for the protection’ of the people that are about to die due to a lack of information on their environment and/or situation!

Another pair of clichés in this area are ‘I’m just waiting for the right moment’ and ‘I didn’t want to hurt you’, which can often coincide. For the former, Character A does intend to have the important conversation with Character B, but they’re waiting for some kind of perfect moment in which to reveal information that they know that Character B potentially and/or definitely won’t take well. Now this one can be slightly more forgivable considering it’s realistic to want to wait for the ‘right moment’ and everyone’s put off being the bearer of bad news before. It’s also easier to accept it when there is an actual intention to have effective communication, and since there are indeed bad times to drop these things sometimes holding off is necessary

But the miscommunication becomes frustrating when Character A continuously finds themself with an opportunity to communicate with Character B, but they frequently don’t. Bonus points when it’s a really important and time-sensitive issue; it’s not the end of the world if you repeatedly chicken out of confessing to your crush, but if you’re consistently refusing to mention that doomsday device you planned to try and get to to stop tomorrow morning is going to go off at midnight, you’re maybe in a position where it needs to be vocalised. I think the best way I’ve personally seen it phrased in writing was one of the books in the series Time Riders (I haven’t read it in donkey’s years so I’m paraphrasing like hell here) where Maddy, who has kept a secret from her friend and coworker Liam since the final line of the previous book, realises that ‘there isn’t ever going to be a good time to tell him, just a time’. I think that’s brilliant because it denounces the idea of there being ideal conditions to deliver bad or otherwise hard-to-swallow news; you’ll dampen the mood whether they’re the happiest or saddest they’ve ever been. You’re not looking for the perfect time, you’re just waiting for the first appropriate time

And while we’re not too far from the example of a crush, miscommunication through the ‘I didn’t want to hurt you’ cliché is used a lot to break people up or show a struggling relationship; one or both characters will be left in the dark by their partner, their concerns and questions will be brushed off or they’ll even be straight-up lied to. This can often make the relationship appear one-sided or toxic, however, so if you’re intending to have the couple stay/get back together at the end then it needs to be handled carefully to have these issues addressed and actively worked on by the characters. Instead of making the plot look bad (outside of any romance plots going on here) you’ll instead make the couple look toxic and unhealthy, and it’ll be harder for people to root for them. Not to mention having that talk with your partner is usually way less hurtful to them than putting them in a shitty situation this whole time where they’re worried about you and your relationship. It’s like choosing not to apply a plaster to a cut because you know it’ll hurt when it comes time to rip it off; bleeding out isn’t a solution that’s any less painful, and it can often have worse outcomes

Alternatively, there is one plot in a media I love that relies on unhealthy miscommunication in the plot that I think is done wonderfully; the ship Stolitz in Helluva Boss is built on an unhealthy foundation of, as Blitzø himself said; a ‘transactional fucking’, or as Stolas more eloquently put it; ‘what’s between [Blitzø and Stolas], just a comfortable lie’. Blitzø starts out completely irritated with Stolas and only indulging in their situationship in order to get Stolas’ Grimoire, whereas Stolas is completely emotionally invested from the start but is trying way too hard and completely overlooks Blitzø’s abundantly expressed lack of initial interest and the obvious fact that he starts out only using Stolas for his own benefit. Despite being the main ship of the show, as well as one of the two main plots, the ship is toxic from the start, with the show pulling no punches to show this

The pair are currently in a strange state where Blitzø is starting to develop genuine feelings for Stolas while Stolas is becoming increasingly aware of Blitzø’s disinterest and lack of work being put into their relationship. Stolas is now looking to secure a way out of this situationship without hurting Blitzø’s business (which requires Stolas’ Grimoire to function) though he hasn’t said this to Blitzø, as well as not outright admitting that he wants more to the relationship than sexual favours in return for the Grimoire. Blitzø is also not communicating well with Stolas, he’s a character with a lot of trauma that causes him to push others away as a defence mechanism, yet he also craves that kind of intimacy a relationship brings. Both characters want the same thing, but both struggle to communicate this

We’ve seen that Stolas at least has put in the effort to try and offer Blitzø an in or an out as he desires, which in turn scares Blitzø into thinking that Stolas wants him to take the out and that Stolas doesn’t care about him further than sexual favours. Both of their traumas and communication styles are working against them and fuelling each other to perpetuate the miscommunication further

But what makes this a good use of miscommunication is that that’s the point - the relationship is built on unhealthy foundations and the characters both need individual development in order to move past their traumas. The way the show is set up, the relationship seems to be on its way to ending before they get back together with a more healthy foundation to build off of. Both characters are already showing individual progress and development with being more open despite their traumas, so they’re well on their way to a healthier end. The miscommunication works because it’s acknowledged to be unhealthy and is treated as such, with the consequences being real and understandable and expected. There’s a real psychological reason for both of the characters to be struggling with this, both traumas are explored frequently and the characters are shown actively working on this. And it’s not going to be resolved just like that, there’s a lot going into it. It isn’t frustrating because it’s a feature and not a bug, and they take the time to address every side of this in a way that doesn’t feel contrived or out of character

So in conclusion to this MUCH longer than expected ramble, miscommunication is easy to do wrong, but there are lots of great ways to do it so long as you ensure that the miscommunication comes from realistic sources without being contrived or out of character, and if your characters have no in-character or in-universe reason to withhold certain information, you generally should let them open up, especially if the reasons to share outweigh the reasons to withhold. Holding back information to ‘protect’ others or to ‘not hurt them’ tends to put them in more hurt or danger in the long run where it counts, so be sure to try and tell them at the next appropriate time that comes up. Other than that, you should be good to go

[utterlyazriel]

an eternity, my love

eep! this is a bit longer than the last at just over 6k forgive me... but thank so much for all love on the first piece 🥹 and thank u for all your lovely ideas! i hope this does sum justice to the nonnie who asked for further miscommuncation... <3 part one here but u don’t need to read it to read this :)

How does one even begin to decide what to wear to dinner with a person, the person, who matched your soul perfectly?

When your friend had hunted her way through clothing stores of Velaris and stashed away a custom dress — far fancier than anything you owned — for the first date with her mate, you had laughed at her.

Now, staring at your closet in only your undergarments, you were beginning to envy her preparation.

Seriously, how are you supposed to choose?

You pick up your latest addition to your closet, a glossy dress the colour of red wine that reveals the length of your legs and planes of your collarbones— perfect for a night out dancing.

With a grimace, you place it back on the hanger. It was far more scandalous than you would want to be on a first date, even though — well, you’re sure that, being mates, Azriel would like anything you wore.

You heave a sigh. An uneasy prickle beneath your skin has you crossing your arms; it was almost alarming how badly you wanted to impress him. But… mating bonds were rare and powerful.

Almost as if you had summoned it — in fact, maybe you had — there’s a soft shimmer in your chest. Your beautiful glow, the bridge between you and Azriel humming to life. In a way you can’t explain, it’s as though you can feel him soothe across your mind, his soft touch full of assurances.

He’s comforting you. All your emotions must be shooting down the bond without your permission. Gods, that would take some getting used to. You wonder if he can feel your resounding pang of embarrassment as well.

You do your best to push back something less nervous, more of your excitement for the night to come — and you know, without even seeing him, he’s smiling.

After another moment of fussing, you decide on something simpler than your glossy night dress.

Comfortable black slacks with plenty of flow to them and a shirt you thought was one of your nicer ones. With the slightest touch ups to your makeup, you rush yourself out the door before you convince yourself to change all over again.

The Sidra keeps you company, a rush of water beside you as you wind through the streets of Velaris, eyes flicking up to take in the darkening sky. The sun was sinking below the mountain tops, rays tickling across the ridges.

And while you could admit that Velaris was very beautiful in the daytime, you were a true Night court citizen— and believed its true beauty came out at night.

Somehow, despite the lack of concrete plans made as you had ushered the male out of your office, you knew resolutely that you would be able to find him. You weren’t even worried about the timing of it all. It was… what was the word? Absurd. Insane. Utterly, breathtakingly incredible.

Sure enough, as you exit the alley and round the corner, your eyes falling on the sage green building you reside in for work, there he is; waiting for you.

You inhale a sharp breath. A thousand cells in your body fizz, hum, and glow, at the mere sight of him.

It's easy to understand just how he had garnered his dark reputation, the image of him every bit of the Spymaster of the Night Court — a title like Shadowsinger has never been so fitting for him.

He’s blurred at the edges, a thousand tiny wisps that blend him into the shadows of the nighttime. His wings stretch up behind, towering over his already tall frame, black as ink, and beneath his darkened attire, you can spot his tan skin. Your eyes drag up his neck, tracing his adam's apple, along the scruff of his sharp jaw until you reach his hazel eyes.

Your heart burns.

In the depth of it, you know, if he doesn't love you, he will undo you completely.

It's wholly terrifying to come face to face with — the intensity of the mating bond scorching through your mind like a fierce wind, burning embers left in its wake.

It's enough to make you pause, the definitive thought that doing this, offering him your heart and trusting him, could very well lead to your ruin.

Your chest squeezes tightly. You let your eyes drink in the Illyrian, the Male who waited so patiently for all those years and was prepared to wait years more, if you had asked.

Focusing, you pluck up that golden thread in your chest and hold it tightly. It heats and melts, hotter and hotter, and you know that any fear you have, you can conquer to be with him.

Ruination be damned.

—

Azriel notices you the moment your frame exits the alley, notices the moment you pause — has been able to feel you drawing nearer to him this whole time. Your every emotion is transparent to him through the bond between you, whether you’re aware of it or not.

You must not have the tightened mental shields he had come to be so familiar with over all his years. It makes sense; you are no warrior. Mental walls over your mind are not something you have ever had to concern yourself with.

Azriel vows it to be one of the things he teaches you. You deserved the privacy of your emotions, at the very least.

But... for now, Azriel can feel them all. It's why, as you round the corner, Azriel can feel your eyes on him and then, then he feels it.

The wash of fear that spills over your bond like icy water.

An old enemy rises within him. He grits his teeth, even as he feels the fear from you slide away and he tries to ignore the sting from an unhealed wound. But self-deprecation never seems to drown, no matter how much he tries to suffocate it within him.

He shifts his hands, relieved suddenly to have them covered up beneath gloves. His wings tuck in tighter, if possible, and he wills his shadows sternly to contain themselves. Something in the slightest baring of his teeth has them obeying. They shoot to his sides and make themselves scarce.

All this in time to greet you pleasantly as you bounce into view, sidling up before him with a shy grin. It's only been a few hours since he got his proper look at you and yet, you're every bit as breathtaking as you were earlier. More so, in fact.

It feels as though Azriel has never seen the sky before and you before him, are the first sunset of his life. You look so pretty that Azriel could probably gaze at you all evening if you so allowed him to.

And then, he remembers the pang of fear.

He doesn't waste time mulling over which detail of him had made you afraid — only that he would dim or change or hide any part of himself to stop it from happening again.

"Hello, again," You say, your lips pressed together to contain your smile. You have to tilt your head back to look up at his handsome face. His shadows swirl around him and despite his strict instructions, one still slips away to touch you.

You don't notice it circling your ankle, tentative and shy.

"Hello, again." Azriel echoes your words, unable to help his own glimmer of joy.

He wants to offer you his arm, his hand. Can feel it within him, down to the very marrow of his bones, the craving to be closer to you, to touch you, however he can.

Azriel swallows heavily and does what he has done over decades, over centuries; he takes the wanting and pushes it down, down, down.

The two of you begin to walk, side by side, with no destination in mind. Aimless and content at the same time.

Azriel doesn't need the bond to see the flittering of nerves hidden in your expression. The shadow still circulating around your ankle climbs higher, like it wants to comfort you too.

Azriel wills it to still, desperate to not scare you again. He drops his shoulders from his usual warrior posture in hopes of making himself a little smaller.

“You don’t need to be nervous.” He says reassuringly.

You steal a glimpse at him, your smile breaking into a grin. Your nerves are still potent but less so.

“Who says I’m nervous?”

Azriel smiles gently, his eyes dancing across your face as he reads your lie easily. “I do."

There's a scrunch between your eyebrows then, like he had seen during his time in your office earlier. Azriel places a hand on his chest, over the place where the glowing tug is strongest.

"I can feel it.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you stare at his gloved hand, the cogs in your brain spinning and turning at a rapid rate. Still strolling, your hand rises slowly and touches to the same spot on your own chest. Azriel can feel his heart stutter at the sight, you holding the spot that connected you to him undeniably.

"You can?" Your gaze lifts to his face, puzzlement adorning your features. You frown and focus for a moment, staring hard into the distance — and Azriel feels a sudden twinge of disgust through the thread.

"Did you feel that?" You ask, eyes wide and curious.

Azriel nods wordlessly and he can't help but ask. "What is it you were thinking of?"

You look embarrassed for a moment, eyes averting to the ground. You chuckle awkwardly and tuck your hair behind your ears, glancing back up at the Male with a sheepish smile.

"Brussels sprouts."

Azriel blinks once, twice, and then has to turn to hide his smile. He tries to cover his laugh with a cough. It doesn't work, given how you make a small noise of indignation. He turns back, his politest expression on.

"Don't laugh at me!" You whine, reaching out to poke him in the shoulder. Your touch radiates through his body like a drop of golden sun, blazing warm.

"You're right," Azriel hums, his lips twitching as he presses back his smile. "My apologies, my lady. This is important knowledge I should be filing away. I swear on my life I will feed you no brussels sprouts this evening, or any in the future."

He wants to nudge your shoulder with his own, just to touch you, wants to reach out as easily as you had. But his shadows slip before his self-control does, skittering out along onto your shoulder and giving you a small shock and Azriel remembers himself. His fists clench tightly at his sides.

You walk side by side all evening, like two planets in orbit — close, oh so close, but never quite touching.

—

The first date you share is nothing short of… wonderful.

Resolutely and overwhelming good, the entire date you can't help but feel as though your very soul is singing, a thousand particles blithesome at the nearness you get to share with Azriel. He's surprising in a manner of ways.

Firstly, he's terribly quiet.

Next to him, you look quite the blabber-mouth, no matter how much he insists he enjoys it. His dark eyes are intense as they watch you closely, soaking in every word that passes your lips, and yet, beneath it, his dry sense of humour comes out to play. There's the occasional tease, almost as if just to see if he could make you flustered. (He could, easily).

With a Male as beautiful as him, suited to your very being in every way, it's nearly unbearable how much you ache for him. How much his very attention creeps down your neck and makes every nerve along your spine tingle.

You know it will take some time to get used to his unwavering and devoted attention.

There’s… just one small, itty-bitty, tiny problem.

He doesn’t touch you.

Throughout that whole first evening, you had noticed it somewhat— a flex in his gloved hands, a moment where his wing strayed too close only to be pulled back in a flash, even his shadows, darting out to be near you but never quite touching you as they had on that first meeting.

His hands reach out but they do not find you.

At first, you believed it was a first date thing. Azriel was, first and foremost, a gentleman, and you thought perhaps, his skirting touch, like his hand lingering over the small of your back but not touching it, was to be polite. Courteous and gracious.

Then, you had seen him just two days after that date, all bundled up in your giddiness that it had managed to slip your mind.

The two of you had spent the day together, traversing through the market — before you quickly found a quieter space for your mate as it became clear that large bustling areas, such as the Palace of Threads and Jewels, were not so suited to his tastes.

As you had tugged him out of the crowd, laughing over your shoulder at how he fought to keep his broad wings from knocking into anyone else, the thought suddenly snapped back into you.

Though you yearned to link his arm with your own, to interlace your fingers with his, you remembered his hesitance. Remembered the hover of his gloved hand.

And so, you dropped his arm the moment you cleared the crowd.

A hurt warbled deep within you to so do and knowing you were not the deftest at schooling your expressions, you hid your face so you could contain your childish reactions. You huffed at your own upset. What matter is it if your mate has no affinity to touch?

Truly, it was a miracle to have found a mate at all, you tried to scold yourself. You would not take him for granted for a moment, not even if it was not quite the picture of perfection you had envisioned.

Rooted deep in you was a truth; you could abide by this, abstain to his level of comfort for years, for millennia, if it made him happier.

The fabric of the mating bond, connecting the two of you intrinsically, made it so you would not want it any other way.

It's a decidedly Azriel thing.

He always wears the gloves, he never touches you more than he has to, and he's got... this really specific look when you're doing a terrible job of hiding your emotions.

As he had vowed, Azriel had set about teaching you how to build the mental walls up within your mind, brick by brick by brick. While it would help you hold against daemati if that loathsome situation should ever arise, it would also shield you from your mate.

It would protect you from having your emotions ripped out for him to see, no matter how much you held back — if it was in your mind, it would travel down the bond.

So, the wall had to be built. It had been tedious, tricky, and tiring work. Yet every time you would feel yourself ready to throw in the towel, Azriel would lean in closer, his hazel eyes softened, and his hand resting upon your arm, thumb swatching up and down, to encourage you.

"I know it is tiresome," He had mused, that faint smile twitching at his lips as you scowled at the ground. His thumb was still moving, still drawing light circles on your bicep. The skin beneath it blazed with warmth. "But it is worth it, that I can promise. You deserve this privacy, my dear. I would never wish to take it from you."

My dear, my dear, my dear— the words had sunk into your sternum and bloomed, bright and golden.

It's enough to hold onto, his kind affections. The sweet shape of his mouth when it says your name. The way his lashes kiss in the corner when he can't hold back his smile.

It's enough to soothe yourself over. To take the lack of touch on the chin and swallow down your desire for more.

It's why— why you can't help yourself— why you couldn't tear your eyes away from Azriel's hand where it touches Cassian's arm.

You're meeting his family today, which you've quickly realised doesn't mean his mother or father but instead means... the literal Highlord of the Night Court.

There are several warriors crowded around the cramped entrance room to the River House. Each of them is taller than you, and two of them with the very same huge wingspans that you've come to revere on your own mate.

Your usual talkativeness has been dimmed in your shock, though, really, it shouldn't be such a surprise. Azriel is a force to be reckoned with, honed over decades, and the Spymaster of the Night Court. You know these things. The company he keeps makes sense.

Somehow... still, seeing them all together leaves you strikingly speechless. The legion that protects your home — a family.

Rhysand greets you first, dapper in his dark attire, his violet eyes equal parts calculating and welcoming as he steps forward and offers his hand.

Despite the fact you have never bowed to him before, you still have to repress the urge. His power is overwhelming, the very night lapping at his edges and you're suddenly very grateful to be meeting him as a friend and not as a foe.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Rhysand's voice purrs out, soft as silk. When you place your hand in his, he brings it to his lips and presses a polite kiss to the back of your hand.

"Any friend of Azriel's is a friend of mine."

You can feel your own heart thundering in your chest. Azriel hovers behind you, his presence soothing in itself. You can't see it but his wings are outstretched towards you, cocooning around you ever so slightly. A shadow hovers behind your shoulder, just out of sight.

"I— the pleasure is mine, my Highlord." You manage to make yourself speak.

You almost wish you hadn't when your words inspire a burst of laughter from one of the others behind Rhysand, the other Illyrian. He's tall, his hair dark but longer than your mate's own.

As your hand is dropped, Rhysand turns to scowl at the Male laughing, and you only grow further perplexed when he gives a whack against the other's shoulder. They begin to squabble for a moment — and you don't even hear Azriel move until he's speaking, his lips right by your ear.

"You'll have to forgive Cassian." His voice is low, raspy in a way that sends a zing down your spine. You shiver lightly. "He can be well-mannered at the best of times. But I promise he isn't laughing at you."

The two Males seem to tune back into Azriel's words, even though they had been whispered for you specifically.

"It's true!" The Illyrian, Cassian you now know, pipes up. He brandishes a devilishly handsome grin at you, with his hands held up in defense. "I apologise. It just still makes me laugh to see someone address this one so formally."

You blink. "But... he is the Highlord."

Azriel speaks again, bent over still to talk in your ear, but much less of a whisper this time. "Rhys is our Highlord but he does not bother with such formalities."

"And," Cassian interjects, lugging a punch into Rhy's shoulder, much like the other had done to him not a moment before. "Before he was the o'mighty Highlord, he was our friend."

Cassian says the word o'mighty with such an air of sarcasm that you can't help but glance at Rhys, sure he wouldn't take such disrespect. But around you, there are only easy grins.

"Might we move to somewhere more comfortable than the doorway," Azriel speaks up from behind you, his voice dry. "Unless that is, you're all hoping to do one-on-one greetings with her?"

There it is, the dry sense of humour you've come to adore. The group before you seems to grumble, as if they were quite keen on the one-on-one meetings but begin to move through the house.

One of the group dips back to walk beside you and you do your best not to repeat your past mistakes, even as your eyes widen almost comically. Azriel chuckles silently to himself, feeling your polite astonishment down the bond.

"It's so great to finally meet you.” Feyre, your Highlady greets you, her pretty face rife with glee. She seems genuinely very happy to make your acquaintance. "Azriel has told me all about you."

You stumble in surprise, your eyes casting back to Azriel behind the pair of you. His eyes are fixed on Feyre, narrowed at her blatant betrayal, his shadows swirling around him. She sticks her tongue out at him playfully and you smother a laugh.

When his eyes shift over to you, you're positively delighted at how his cheeks have turned the lightest shade of ruby.

"Feyre is very persuasive when she wants to be." He murmurs, almost grumbling. You turn back to the Highlady and she grins at you, devious and captivating all at once.

It’s a whirlwind once you reach one of the many living rooms, each member of Azriel’s family all very eager to shake your hand.

Cassian grips it firm, his grin still on the side of wicked as he tells you he’s been waiting years to find the woman who could contain Azriel. Nesta, his mate as you find out, is a fierce kind of pretty with a grip as strong as Cassian’s. She tells you welcome to the family with the smile of a shark.

Morrigon is next, breathtakingly gorgeous, and every bit as charismatic as Azriel had described. You don't catch the glimpse between Mor and Cassian, not the beat of relief they both feel at your arrival in their lives— in Azriel's life.

It's swallowed up in her words, going a mile a minute. She jumps about, like popcorn in a pan, overly keen to finally speak to the one whom the Mother deemed worthy of Azriel’s heart. Where are you from? What do you do? How did you meet?

“Mor,” Azriel warns, after her twelfth consecutive question about your life. He hasn’t moved from his protective position behind you, close enough you can feel the heat of his body. His wings had brushed your shoulder just once.

“Yeah, Mor,” Rhys jeers. He nudges his cousin in the side playfully and Cassian snickers behind the group. “Give the girl some time to breathe.”

Even with all of Azriel's masterclass on who you would be meeting, it's still terribly overwhelming just trying to keep track of them all. They're each such strong spirits, each with seemingly a thousand battles in their past and far more years with Azriel.

On top of this is the fact you met both your Highlord and Highlady so casually in one single afternoon. It's difficult to not be daunted by the group that is so clearly intertwined with each other on a deeper level altogether— bonded by devastation and choosing each other through love.

Try as you might, you can feel the seed of doubt, of insecurity, make a home between your ribs.

You clamp down the shields you've spent the last few weeks learning, building the wall up and holding it tight. It's silly to feel dismayed because these Fae, these friends, know your mate better than you do.

Azriel had told you he had been waiting for you for five hundred years. For the first time since you've met him, you wonder if he was ever disappointed.

And then— then, you see it.

Azriel's hand on Cassian's arm. Then the half embrace they share, a hand on each other's neck as Cassian grins, wild and fierce, and presses his forehead against Azriel's own; brothers, sharing a moment of euphoria at the other finding his long-deserved happiness.

You should be soaking in the smile Azriel hides from you too often, showing his teeth and crinkling his eyes. But instead, you can't see past it, can't stop the loop in your own mind as it prints a fact over and over and over.

It isn't an Azriel thing; it's a you thing.

He doesn't touch you.

The mental walls in your mind feel paper-thin as a fresh kind of agony ripples through your chest. The soft rejection of a mate stings, a papercut on your very heart. You can feel it warble through you and know, terribly, the exact moment that Azriel feels it too.

His head whips around, his dark shadows that surround him suddenly spinning and flitting faster than before— a couple dive across the room to you.

You stand up and the chair scrapes noisily beneath you.

"I—" You say before you realise you haven't planned an exit or an excuse in the slightest. Azriel's gaze burns into you. You turn to Feyre instead, who had been talking across from you when you rudely stood up.

"I'm so sorry, I just—" Some excuse, any excuse! "I think I— left the stove on."

It's a lie. A complete utter lie that fools no one in the room as you retreat from it hastily. None of them try to stop you though, which you're thankful for. Each of them watches, every expression slightly concerned as you hurry out of the room, your feet walking backward rapidly until you bump into the door frame.

You pass through it with your eyes on the floor, knowing that all of the eyes are on you. You know the ones you can feel searing into your soul are Azriel's.

You leave the River House. You walk along the Sidra, your steps hurried and your chin tucked low. It hurts. It hurts the feeling inside you. A tear streaks down your cheek, unbidden, and collects on your jaw. You wipe it away meanly.

The sight of your apartment door is an overwhelming comfort, one that has you sighing aloud as you rush up to it, your fingers already digging around in your pockets for your key.

And like always, you never hear him coming.

"What happened?" Azriel asks, his voice almost pained.

You give a little yelp of surprise and whip around, remembering half a second later that there's still evidence on your face of your tears. Azriel grows characteristically still, his hazel eyes fixed on yours as you sniffle for a moment, aggravation beginning to creep in.

He could feel everything from you and you got... what? Whatever he deemed fit to offer? How is that fair?

His usually wispy shadows are inkier than usual, almost tornado-ing around his shoulders. They keep leaping out towards you before being caught in an invisible net, a barrier between you and them.

Even as Azriel remains motionless, his eyes are the opposite—they jump around, searching, hunting, begging to find the cause of your pain. Had it been one of his friends?

"Please," He tries his words again.

His heart throbs painfully when you finally find your key and turn your back on him without a word, unlocking your door and pressing your way inside. He follows quickly, wings tucked in tight, unable to keep his shadows at his side this time. They whiz to you, circling your ankles protectively.

"Please," Azriel says, an anguished growl to his words. "What hurt you? I will— my friends, if they said something— if it was someone, I hunt them down and make it right for you."

You inhale sharply and when you speak, your tone is cold in a way you have never used before with Azriel. You say the words without thinking.

"It would be impossible to hunt yourself, Azriel."

Regret howls through you like a hurricane the moment you say the words. You don't mean to be mean, jealous, or whatever unseemly emotion you can't stop from sprouting in your chest, growing in size, tangling into your heartstrings like twisted gnarled vines. It hurts.

You turn back to him, mouth open. No words come out.

Hurt is slashed across his face, his eyebrows furrowed tightly, his shadows tucked in tight. It's as though he's blended into the very air, the wispy edge of him threatening to retreat into his own shadows.

All his emotions on display just for a moment, before they're schooled away. Tucked away, hidden, not for you to see.

Inside, your hurricane howls again, this time in pain.

You can tell he feels it, even as you mentally gather your bricks. It isn't fair. How can he have every bit of you and you get what he pleases to return?

You want to know him completely, want to see every part of his rugged, weathered soul, and love him anyway. It's an untold type of agony to have him deny you.

"My love," His feet finally move, his wings almost dragging on the floor as he steps forward, slowly, as though he was afraid he might spook you.

"Tell me how to fix this pain." He pleads. His gloved hands are held out, palms up and suddenly, he looks nothing like a warrior. Just a Male, afraid of losing what is most dear to him. You shake your head, like a child, and keep building your brick wall.

"Please don’t keep this from me," He takes another step forward, his shadows sent awry as they dart across to you. You can feel them on your calves, on your arms, feel the tiny kisses they leave. Azriel speaks again, voice low. "My love, I can feel your pain.”

You can't help how you screw your eyes closed, the ache in your chest unbearable— made worse when you know he can feel it too.

"That is my problem." You utter the words quietly, eyes still clenched shut, knowing he can hear you. He takes another step, close enough now that you can feel the heat of his enormous frame, his wings bracketing around you. "I cannot hide anything from you."

Azriel makes a noise, a punched-out wounded sound that reverberates down the bond.

"My love," He murmurs for the third time. Down the bond, you can feel his sweet love, his golden gentle feelings travelling along to assure you. "I would not wish for you to hide anything from me."

“But you hide everything from me." You whine, eyes finally crinkling open. Azriel stares down at you, his eyes softer than they've ever been. You can see the hurt swimming in them, the hurt you've caused. Still, you speak.

"You hide your emotions. You hide your touch, yet you give it willingly to your friends." You share each ugly thought with him, whispered as you gaze into his face to search for your answers.

Lifting your hands, you curl your fingers around his wrists tentatively. Azriel swallows heavily, his eyes dancing down to where you're touching him. You slide your hands forward, dragging the pads of your fingers over his pulse, along his palm, til your hands are holding his gloved ones.

"Is there some test I don't know about?" You ask, your focus on your intertwined hands. "Is there— do I have to earn this?"

"No," Azriel chokes out the word suddenly. You look up at him. He clears his throat and you feel his hands grip yours back, surer and stronger than you had. "No, I'm sorry. There is no test, nothing to prove you deserving of this. I just..."

His words trail off and you watch as he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, as if gathering his courage. His hands slide from yours, pulled backward and you nearly feel the urge to cry once more— before you realise he's removing his gloves.

The skin of them is warped, you realise acutely with horror. The skin of his hands is swirled and mottled, an injury long healed but scarred for eternity. Azriel is watching your face closely, holding his hands close to his chest as though he was prepared to hide them away at the first flicker of fear.

You're grateful for the link between and all your shoddy attempts at blocking him out. Your love and your unwavering devotion drifts along the bond.

Azriel shudders, his wings giving the tiniest shiver. Slowly, gently, he reaches out towards you. You feel his hands, the unruly scarred feel of his skin sliding along your jaw to hold it tenderly. He has never held you like this before.

He cradles your face gently — like his hands have never held weapons of war, like they aren't twisted and marred with a memory he can't forget, like they're worthy of holding something so precious.

Azriel holds you as if you're holy — and he's come to kneel at your altar.

"I was afraid of what you would think." He admits. His voice is hoarse, gravelly as he fights off the lump in his throat. "I— on the first day we met, I felt your fear along the bond and—"

"It was not of you." You interrupt him, your hands jumping up to cover his own where they hold you. Azriel inhales sharply, eyes darting to watch.

But you pay him no heed, the palm of your hand covering his like a lover would. You let your thumb soothe up at down the ridges of his skin. You let your love ripple along the bond.

"It was not fear of you, Azriel." You repeat, your voice soft. His eyes are still fixed on your joined hands. His wings have begun to pick up, no longer drooping behind his back— you're not sure if he even notices.

"It was fear for how strongly I already felt for you." You lean into his hand and Azriel lets you, lets the length of your nose nuzzle into the touch of his hands — something no one in all his years of living had ever done before.

"It was fear that you already could ruin me," The words are murmured. "And that I would let you."

You whisper his name to pull his wide-eyed gaze from where his hands touch you and his hazel eyes burn into yours. Every whitened scar on his skin, every eyelash, the adorable pinch between his eyebrows; you drink it all in and smile at him. Azriel, your mate.

"Azriel, I chose this despite that fear. I choose you.”

Azriel quivers at the words, at your unflinching tone and suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, time moving around you, untouching, with such a perfect grace.

“I choose you too,” He murmurs, an emotion so strong a fire of possessiveness streaks down the bond. This time, you can feel his wall melt away, allowing you access to all he feels — his mountain of fear and his melting relief.

“Forgive me—” He begins and you laugh without meaning to, cutting him off.

“Stop,” you say, the word light and as pretty as your grin. “We keep doing this to ourselves, tying ourselves in knots over and over.”

Azriel laughs, his lips twitching into a smile as he allows himself to stroke his thumb lovingly over your cheek. The way you melt beneath it, your lashes fluttering and heart burning so brightly he can feel it in his own chest too— Azriel knows this longing will long outlive his body.

“We do,” He agrees. He dips his head a little lower, probably the only apology you’ll let him have, and inhales shakily. His hands shift across your face, down to hold your chin, his fingers pressed together tightly to hide the way they quiver.

“Then let me apologise in another way,” He murmurs, his voice closer to playful. “In a way I’ve been selfishly depriving you of.”

And when he kisses you, it’s with a reverence that softens all your corners.

His lips are plush and sweet, and with the way he dedicates himself to your bottom lip, you can’t help how you sigh into his mouth. He finds home in the curve of your mouth.

It’s delirious the way he kisses once, twice, three times like he’s hungry for something found only in your lips.

Your hands stagger forward, leaving his own to wind over around his neck. Your fingers curl up, raking through the hair on the nape of his neck — feeling the shiver that travels up his spine, his wings giving a little flare out.

He kisses you breathless, one hand abandoning your jaw to wrap snugly around your waist, bringing you closer to him.

When he pulls back, something within you glows molten gold at the panting that leaves his lips. He’s gazing at you, his hazel eyes alight in a way you haven’t quite seen before. His wings shift behind his shoulders, curling forward to wrap the two of you together, not quite touching.

Your heart thrills. You grin, your lips still just an inch apart as Azriel nudges forward, his own twitching in that way when he fights his smile. His lips brush yours, his smile barely held back.

“Have you forgiven me yet?” He says, sweet and low, allowing the smile to finally pull his pretty mouth up at the corners.

“Or should I make it up to you a little more?”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, chaste and gentle.

“Mmm,” your eyes are bright as they peer up at him, full of playful mirth and adoring affection. “You're forgiven but... I think you should make it up to me, just a little more.”

Azriel willingly obliges, his smile as sweet as the moonlight.

—

some people i thought might want to be tagged :)

@strangerstilinski @astoriaviviane @lana08 @florence-end @lportes-22 @torrick17 @florencemtrash @sidthedollface2 @seafrost-fangirl @goldenmagnolias @jeweline16 @meshellexplosionmurder @michellexgriffey @susiekern @toobsessedsstuff @fxckmiup @littlebookbengal @elenapril0502 @glitterypirateduck @hnyclover @technoelfie @itsapunklife @coffeecares

[unclewaynemunson]

Pt2 to this post

'Is something wrong?' Nancy asks, not long after the two of them have taken their familiar spots on the hood of Steve's car. They're basking in what might be the last warm sunlight of the year, looking out over the quarry, at a safe distance from the edge.

It's become a tradition the two of them share, ever since they reconnected back in March. It calms them both, to just sit here and take in the view, no one around but each other. Nancy is one of the few people Steve can share a comfortable silence with: sometimes they sit here quietly for what feels like hours, side by side, listening to music or to nothing but the birds singing around them. But they also have their best conversations here: it's the place where Nancy entrusted him she wanted to break up with Jonathan; it's the place where they talked about their shared past and decided they would always love each other as friends; it's the place where they finally talked about Barbara in a way they couldn't when they were younger. It's where Nancy talked about the ghosts still haunting her and Steve talked about how lonely he sometimes felt.

Steve huffs. 'How did you guess?'

'When you frown, you always do it with your whole face,' Nancy notes. 'So it's hard to miss, really.'

Steve glances at her side profile. There's a serenity to her features that's still relatively new. It means she's healing, slowly learning how to be happy again. It means she stopped waiting for the end of the world and started believing in a real future again. It makes Steve proud of how far they both have come.

'I had a fight with Eddie,' he confesses. 'And with Dustin, I guess.'

'What happened?'

He sighs. 'It's complicated.'

'Wanna tell me about it?'

The look in her eyes is kind and inviting. Steve hesitates. He wants to, but he doesn't know if he can. It's a risk. It's scary.

But he can't imagine Nancy Wheeler ever being careless with his secrets. He can't imagine her judging him, can't imagine her being as small-minded as most people in this town.

He was planning on telling her anyway, because things had been going so well with Eddie lately and – no, he shouldn't think about that right now. But maybe it would actually be nice to talk about it with Nancy.

'So, um...' His throat feels tight and his hands are sweaty. 'I recently discovered some things about myself. I-' The words get stuck somewhere on the way to his mouth, and he clears his throat.

Nancy doesn't push, but only gives him an encouraging nod, waiting for him to find his voice again.

'I found out I like boys,' he finally manages to confess. 'And I need you to know that – that that doesn't mean that what I felt for you wasn't real. It was. I loved you, and now I fell in love with a boy. And-'

'Steve.' Nancy's hand suddenly covers his, causing him to finally jerk his head away from the view over the quarry, to focus on her face again instead.

Her eyes are wide, and she squeezes his hand.

'You don't have to explain yourself to me,' she tells him. 'We're good. But thank you for telling me. For trusting me with this.'

Steve heaves out a relieved sigh, and Nancy smiles; it's that genuine kind of smile which reveals all kinds of dimples and soft lines across her face.

'We might be more similar than you thought,' she tells him, a faint blush spreading over her cheeks.

'Really?' Her words make his breath catch in his throat. He squints at her, trying to see her in this new light. 'Are you saying what I think you're saying?'

She shrugs. 'I don't know. I'm not sure yet,' she admits. 'Still figuring things out.'

'Take your time, there's no rush,' he tells her. 'But...' He bumps his shoulder against hers. 'When you're done figuring it out, talk to me, okay?'

She nods. 'Okay.'

For a while, it's quiet between the two of them. Some kind of raptor circles high above them in the sky. They both follow it with their eyes until it disappears among the tree tops west of the quarry.

'Is it Eddie?'

Steve blinks dumbly a couple of times.

'Wha- what?'

'The guy you were talking about. The one you fell in love with. It's Eddie, isn't it?'

'Jesus, Wheeler, what kind of sorceress are you?' Steve exclaims.

Nancy laughs again. 'You're not being as subtle as you think,' she tells him. 'The two of you have been hooking up for a while now, haven't you?'

Steve huffs dramatically. 'This is unfair. You know everything; I can't even tell you my own secrets anymore!'

'So what happened?' Nancy asks. 'You said you had a fight with him?'

'It's fucking stupid,' he sighs. 'Dustin was getting way too excited about the fact that I was gonna be hanging out with you, so I told him I was seeing someone. Next thing I knew, he was telling Eddie all about how I was seeing a girl.' He waves his hands around to make annoyed air quotations. 'I wanted to tell Eddie it was a misunderstanding, but Dustin was there, so I couldn't out us just like that, and he looked so betrayed and heartbroken... He didn't wanna listen to me.'

Steve sighs; he still can't manage to forget that look in Eddie's eyes when Dustin delivered the big news. 'I wish I would've talked about what I felt for him earlier. I should've been honest when I had the chance, y'know. But I was afraid he wouldn't wanna label what we had, that he wouldn't feel the same way – and now we're in this whole mess. God, he must hate me right now, Nance.'

To his surprise, Nancy gives him an unexpected slap against his arm.

'Ouch, what the hell was that for?!'

'What are you even doing here with me, Steve? You should've gone after him, tell him how you feel!'

'I tried, obviously, but he didn't wanna listen to me!'

'So make him listen! You're in love with him, he obviously feels the same way about you, and you let him leave to wallow in a broken heart he doesn't even need to have!' She rolls her eyes and slides off the car, adding something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like an exasperated 'Boys!' before she pulls Steve off the car as well. 'C'mon, time to get your ass over to the trailer park. Right. Now,' she says through gritted teeth. And, well, Steve knows better than to argue with a determined - and truthfully quite terrifying - Nancy Wheeler.

Read the last part here Taglist: @withacapitalp @ultimatedreamer104 @irregular-child @jcmadgirl @estrellami-1 @myguiltyartpleasure @hallucinatedjosten @jaybren @thew1ldblueyonder @melodymeddler @alycatavatar @zoeweee @lolawonsstuff @fairy-princette @saramelaniemoon @phirex22 @krazyperson @xxsky-shockxx (I only put people on this list who explicitly asked to be tagged. That's really no problem, I love to do that so dw about asking, but I got a lot of relatively vague reactions to the previous post that i'm not gonna dissect and interpret, bc I don't wanna clog anyone's notes unwanted. So just to be clear: i consider it a huge compliment if anyone asks for a tag but please do it clearly if you do!)

[urfriendlywriter]

miscommunication prompts:

(feel free to use <3 req by @seungspolaroid )

"Do you think I'm joking around right now?"

"everytime i look at you, i feel more alone."

after A says something that B understand wrongly, "i think i fucking deserve better than that."

"out of all the people, why would you..."

"you upset me multiple times, [name]-" "i don't know what i did, i swear idk why you're so mad right now?" "I'm the mad one now huh.."

"how hard it is for you to sit and TALK to me? "

"wow. you're putting words in my mouth that I've never said."

"no one can save this relationship now, can they?" "it isn't like something i saw is gonna change your mind."

"you lost me a long, long time ago."

"but you said that.. you said what you knew would hurt me the most. you did it too." "i.. didn't.."

"how can i believe you?"

"i don't trust you anymore."

"what is your problem? why won't you trust me anymore??"

"talk it out with me please, please i beg you."

"you didn't say that...?" "i.. didn't."

[bluerosefox]

Everything, including the bride. WAIT, BRIDE?!

Pariah Dark had, much like in the afterlife, had been a tyrant ruler when he was alive. He ruled with an iron fist and despite having many trophy concubines (from conquests and others) he wanted his actual partner to have some intelligence. So he set up a magical puzzle box and whoever solved it would have the honor of being his 'Queen'.... That was all before he died of course and later forgot about the box when he set his conquering sights on the Infinte Realms.

But some things from the living can still count even in death.

So when Tim Drake found the box at his first and only archeologist dig site he was brought to with his parents and solved said box after sneaking off with it he unknowingly became the Ghost Kings 'bride'.... Unknowingly he dodged that huge bullet when years later Danny Phantom beat Pariah Dark in rites of conquest and gained everything under Pariah's name...

Including his future 'bride.'

[wasabi-gumdrop]

First base is comedic miscommunication. Second base is holding each other when wounded. Third base is being their royal advisor.

wow that’s crazy if you zoom in to Kabru’s notes that’s exactly what he wrote as his grand master plan

[written-by-jayy]

Prompt #4

Masterlist

••••••••••••••••••••••••

Whumpees misinterpreting or taking too literally something caretaker says always gets me, but there's one specific scenario that I don't ever see, but it's been on my mind a lot lately;

Whumpee was kidnapped and has been held in a basement/prison/etc. for quite some time now. Months or maybe even years at this point. They've been severely injured (maybe by torture, failed escape, etc.) and finally they're being rescued. Only, the person rescuing them is a stranger (Caretaker). Not that Whumpee minds, at this point they just can't care. Anything is better than this, anywhere is better than here.

As their bindings are being undone, Whumpee's eyes begin to flutter as a wave of exhaustion comes over them. Caretaker notices this and they lightly tap Whumpee's face, "c'mon, I need you to keep those eyes open for me, alright? Stay awake, you can't go to sleep yet."

Whumpee, to the best of their ability, listens.

Infact, they listen so well that a few days into recovery, Caretaker notices how tired they seem.

"You alright there? You can take a nap if you need."

Whumpee looks at them in surprise as their eyes begin to well up, a slight, grateful smile creeping its way to their face. They begin thanking Caretaker profusely.

Confused, Caretaker questions them on their reaction and as they piece everything together, they ask Whumpee if they've not been sleeping.

"When you came for me, you said I have to stay awake. And I think I was good, I did good right?" They ask, proudly and excited to finally sleep.

Or they feel guilty and admit that they think they passed out a few times but they're so sorry and they didn't mean to, and they'll be good from now on, they promise!

Either way, Caretaker feels a combination of concern and guilt. They hadn't specified when Whumpee would be allowed to sleep, becuase they didn't think they had to.

They apologize to Whumpee and explain that that's not necessary and that it was a misunderstanding and miscommunication.

Idrk where it goes from here, so if you have any ideas, or you want to write something based on this, lmk or tag me! I'd love to hear some ideas!

[paramountie]

See I don’t understand why so many writers rely on miscommunication when the superior technique is always “I communicated perfectly but what I said was extremely stupid”

[cannot-be-cyn]

yoohankim are never in the same room with complete memories

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

Whumpee, who’s past is full of betrayals and them being used by the people they cared about. Finally finding comfort and happiness with Caretaker, someone who cares about them just as much.

However, when Caretaker is caught cheating on Whumpee, everyone expects them to scream, cry, lash out at Caretaker- it would be justified.

But instead, Whumpee smiles, “I’m fine.” After all, that person is so much prettier, can provide Carwtaker with so much more… It’s what Caretaker deserves, they tell themself.

So what if they feel like they’re dying? Surely this pain in their chest will fade with time. It’s what Caretaker deserves, that’s all that matters.

[[Additional comfort aspect of the cheating being a big misunderstanding, and Caretaker gently scolding Whumpee for being so quick to put down their own worth and feelings for someone else]]

100/100 thank youuuuuu

[yuri-is-online]

Oh my God trey has a domesticity kink 💀.

Yuu puts a hand to his forehead to check for a fever and he is griping that counter.

Yuu makes a joke about being his housewife/husband/gender neutral chibi thing in the future and he is trying SO HARD to keep it in his pants lmao suffer

Listen- he takes care of everyone else but never himself. To the point he probably just doesn't realize he even wants that because he assumes he'd rather just be left alone.

Yuu tells him to rely on them more, and he's left a dent in the counter and doesn't know why. But oh god why has it gotten so hot in here he needs to leave immediately.

[add1ctedt0you]

Really funny chengxian fics tags lol

[sciderman]

Gwen Stacy was 100 gazillion percent not dead before Peter’s web reached her??? What killed her while she fell? THE AIR????

and here begins one of the more hotly debated topics in spider-man comics canon - what killed gwen stacy?

(i could make a video essay about this)

goblin says that the shock of the fall alone is enough to kill her

and honestly, i don't think that sounds fake. like i mean, i've never been thrown off a bridge before but like, the shock of that could probably kill me. i don't think that's fake at all. i'd have a fucking heart attack mid-air. yeah.

but there is the pointed. snap.

so, really, regardless of whether gwen was already dead or not, the snap is a reality. if she was alive or dead, it doesn't matter, so if the shock of the fall didn't kill her, the snap would've.

i kind of don't know why norman would say she was dead before the webbing reached her. it seems more in norman's diabolical brand to double down and tell peter that his webbing IS what killed gwen. but i think maybe this is another case of the writers and artists not being on the same page - same as how it's described as the george washington bridge

but the artists didn't get the memo. that bitch is not the george washington bridge.

that bitch is the brooklyn bridge!!

headcanon that i guess in 616 the brooklyn bridge is called the george washington bridge. sure. why not.

i figure the gwen "snap!" thing is another instance of the writers and artists just being on distinctly different pages. there's this very funny workflow in comics where they kind of give the artist a rough outline of the plot and the final dialogue isn't actually written until the comic is pencilled so there's always, always miscommunications between the writers and artists. where the artist draws the brooklyn bridge but the writer thinks it would be fun if actually it was the george washington bridge after the fact because get it. norman loves money. but in the synopsis it didn't actually matter what bridge it was so the artist just drew whatever the fuck bridge!!

so. i think it's the same with the snap. in the synopsis it probably says "gwen dies in the fall" - artist interprets it as whiplash, and draws it so. writer has the idea that actually, it's the shock that kills her. synopsis says "dies in the fall" and it doesn't actually matter how. point is she dies! however the fuck!

i'm honestly so obsessed with the running gag in spider-man comics where you know the writers and artists are on different pages. in two separate rooms doing two separate things. rereading the comics is so funny when you know that weird workflow and you see a scene where the art is saying one thing and the words are saying another. almost like a 4kids dub.

that's why you get such great moments such as the panel that has caused the most outrage in my activity feed. the brown/blue pants debate.

HIS PANTS ARE BLUE!!

[wheatnoodle]

eddie keeps inviting steve to his shows with his band and steve keeps declining every single one even though everyone else he knows and loves is going.

don’t get him wrong, steve would love nothing more than to show his support to his friend by going to his concerts and dancing along to the music. but that’s the problem.

he can’t dance to the music.

because he can’t even hear it.

after the mass amount of head trauma he’s suffered in recent years, steve’s already not so perfect hearing just got worse. first his left ear was ringing, just a pitched whistle in the back of his head. then it got louder. kept getting louder until all he heard from his left ear was this stupid. fucking. whistle. steve could no longer hear someone speaking to him if he wasn’t directly facing them, preferably angled a little bit to the right.

and of course, because he has just the best luck in the world, it’s around this time that his right ear started quietly whistling in the background. it too got so loud until another solid knock in the head, in just the right spot, left everything muffled. no more ringing at least, but now it just sounds like he’s underwater with ear plugs at all times. did he ever take it to a doctor? of course not, doctors have needles and needles give you drugs and drugs make you pass out and passing out lets guards drag you down a hallway and-

and of course he didn’t mention it to the party. except robin, who is an extension of steve himself. they have enough going on and quite frankly, he doesn’t want them to look at him like that. like they pity him. like he’s different now. or worse, like he’s lying. because king steve the hair harrington? deaf? as if. it even sounded ridiculous to himself.

so he keeps picking up late shifts at family video every tuesday, friday, and saturday night. a ready excuse why he can’t go. something he can prove. an alibi. and eddie keeps asking him. keeps looking at him with these big, hopeful eyes and this stupid smile, and steve keeps saying no. eddie’s shoulders will sag and he’ll deflate, pouting and whining out a “you said that last time”. and steve will fluster and look down at whatever his hands decided to keep busy with, seem like he didn’t have the time for the conversation.

“i have to work, eddie. you know that.” he feels a puff of air on his face and looks up.

“-but i guess it’s whatever, yeah?” eddie was talking to him. he’s got his hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket, leaning back on foot and looking at steve like he’s bored, like steve is hurting him and he keeps hurting him and he’s tired of it. and steve realizes it’s not just the look, he is hurting eddie. and eddie is tired of it.

steve has no clue what eddie was saying. he’s standing there with wide eyes, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. he’s panicked, he’s lost. it must show on his face. eddie huffs out a breath and shakes his head, the leather on the bottom of his combat boots squeaking as he spins on the floor. he walks out the door, throwing up a peace sign without looking back. and then he’s off.

robin is next to him in an instant, knocking over the tapes on the “Employee Recommendations” table. she’s leaning in front of him, staring at him like he’s insane.

“what the hell was that?!”

“i don’t- i don’t know.” steve’s hands are shaking. Robin takes a hold of them, squeezing them tightly in her own to provide some grounding pressure.

“okay, okay. just…just breathe. just give him some time to cool off. i’ll talk to eddie at the show. just breathe, babe. it’s gonna be okay.”

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1342

Submitted by @red-river-potato01 - thanks!

Character A is the black sheep of the team and isn't very well-liked by most of the others. Because of this they often lash out at the others since all they ever get is negative feedback. When the rookie Character B joins, A assumes they'll be like the others, especially when the team warns B about them. Yet to their surprise, B ignores all that and is nice to A. A isn't sure what to think, but they soon become very protective of B, enough so that they put themselves in harm's way for them...

[yourgalgremlin]

Regulus, thinking about torture methods: I’ve always wanted to try Watėrboarding.

Barty, thinking he means a03 Watersports: Hell yeah! I wanna watch.

James, thinking he means Waterskiing: Can’t we all do it together?? We’d prolly have to take turns, do you wanna try it?

Barty + Reg: YES.