#muh writing

[hermits-hovel]

20. bandaging/stitching up an injury

[part 1 here!]

the long-overdue second part! thank you @cadrenebula!!

quick disclaimer though, this got… long. obscenely long. unnecessarily long. I take these prompts and just... run. I’m very sorry 8′]

20. bandaging/stitching up an injury CW: blood/gore, mentions of stitching (obviously)

If there is aught Ancel can be grateful for, ‘tis the fact that the heavy downpour would help wash away and mask the scent of blood from any nearby beasts.

All the rest—the rainstorm itself, the enshrouding darkness of the night, the dead dragon he was towing, his many wounds—he could do without.

===

Scrape…

Scratch…

Scrape…

… Slip.

His jaw collides with the ground, and in a fit of frantic indignance, Ancel pounds his fist against the slick rocks as if to punish them.

“Gods—Damn it all!”

Still, he wastes no time rising once again to his feet. His legs burn, his body aches, and he’s all but certain he’s losing blood somewhere—but there exists little time to register any of that, not with a more pressing matter at hand.

Dragons are often drawn towards their fallen brethren; he doesn’t know why, and doesn’t care to learn. All he knows is how dangerous it could be to leave a freshly killed nuisance laying in undesirable locations, lest one risk attracting an endless chain of them.

And so he spits, bends down, grabs the tail of the young wyvern, and resumes dragging its corpse towards the cliff’s edge. He pulls intermittently, steps and yanks, to accommodate the dragon’s weight and to keep himself established upon the wet terrain. He cares little how much his wounds feel fit to burst at the overexertion.

And once there, ‘tis with a grunt of effort that Ancel heaves the body over the edge. He watches it tumble down, collide with the rocks and grow ever fainter until the rain-wrapped darkness swallows it from view.

That would have to do.

With the deed done, his adrenaline begins to wane, and it hits him all at once—the damage he’d sustained in the struggle.

===

As Ancel reenters the hollowed threshold of their cave encampment, he inhales softly, deeply, gathering every onze of composure he yet has before proceeding further in.

The dim light of the campfire still shines, dusting the area in a warm, modest glow. To the back wall rests their supplies and weapons haphazardly scattered about, and in their midst lays one chocobo in deep slumber.

So too does Estinien, not too far to the right of the cave. Whether or not his resting is at all restful remains to be seen, with his features strained and breath laborious as his body continues fighting its current illness.

Thankfully, the sounds had not roused him; or so it would seem.

Ancel notes that the cold cloth he’d supplied him with had fallen away, and he suspects it had grown warm by now. He would need to refresh it.

But first…

Approaching the leftmost side of the cave—his side, he established—Ancel limps towards his makeshift bed with the aid of his lance, and once there, carefully lowers himself down. He swallows any inclination to gasp from the shooting pains across his body.

And promptly curses himself upon releasing a soft hiss of breath through his teeth.

His recklessness, his folly.

‘Tis utter folly. To engage a dragon without armour, let alone without a plan is entirely too dangerous, and he’d known it full well when he grabbed his lance and charged at the beast. 

But there had been no choice, no time.

Praise Halone though he does for his triumph, She did also welcome unto him due repercussions for his haste. The monster did not succumb without a fight, and had made diligent use of its jaws and claws. As Ancel peels down his rain and blood-soaked breeches, he learns the severity of it—the reason his left leg in particular is nigh impossible to walk upon.

Even in the feeble light he can tell. The gash in his thigh is viciously wide, and the surrounding flesh is pocked and punctured with memories of the dragon’s teeth. Blood still flows in thin rivulets, pools high in divots and drips onto the blanket below; nearly his entire leg is smeared red.

It takes a concerted effort to keep his breath soft and steady at the sight of it. No matter how lightheaded he is, he would need to work quickly.

===

The sudden movement out of the corner of Ancel’s eye startles him, and had he been in a less compromising position, he might have felt compelled to grab a weapon.

Alas, he can find little relief in realizing the movement belongs to Estinien. The man had surrendered a short series of waking gasps before rolling onto his side and propping himself up on his elbow. 

Almost immediately, his eyes fixate dazedly upon Ancel.

Ancel, whose bloodstained lance is leaning against the wall, whose hair is yet damp and dripping from rainwater, whose bare shoulders are draped with a spare blanket.

Boasting a very bloodied thigh. Flanked by various flasks and medical supplies. Noticeably haggard and weak as he struggles with a makeshift compression band.

Damning, to say the least.

“… ‘Twas not my intent to disturb your rest,” Ancel claims calmly. “If I have.”

“What—“ Estinien swallows the graininess in his voice. “What have you done?”

“I know how it looks, but I assure you, I’m well. Worry not.”

Try as Ancel might to concentrate on his ministrations, any hope of doing so is fated to fail. He spies yet more movement in his periphery, and paired with a distinct shifting noise, his heart nearly stops when he realizes—

Estinien has pulled himself to his feet.

In complete defiance of his lingering vertigo, he begins staggering over. Ancel might have succumbed to the shock had he not been promptly consumed by an immediate and overwhelming opposition to the notion.

“Estinien, no,” Ancel scolds sternly. “Did you not hear me? I can handle this.”

But the knight does not listen. He drops clumsily to his knees next to Ancel and swats his hands away from the bandage. “You’ve lost so much blood you’re paler than I,” he mutters and places a palm upon Ancel’s chest, pushing firmly. “Lay back.”

“You—“ Ancel gasps, indignant as he keeps himself propped upright. “Perish the thought! You’re—still running a temperature, Estinien, I can feel it.”

“I don’t particularly care.”

“Estinien.”

“I need—“ Estinien stops short, as though rethinking his statement; after a short exhale and a resigned shake of his head that he rephrases, “Let me do this.”

A strangely-worded request, and a peculiar tone he’d struck besides.

There rings the barest hint of urgency, a kind Ancel hadn’t heard in Estinien’s voice before. ‘Tis not that of a man delivering orders in combat, nor of a caretaker advising in earnest. It sounds more desperate than that, as if he were afraid of what could occur if he doesn’t carry the task through.

The thought of Estinien being gripped with apprehension is enough to stave off Ancel’s objections for the time being. He reaches up, clutches the blanket around his shoulders, and allows himself to lay back against the rocky surface of the wall.

In truth, he admits, ‘twould not likely matter who took up the deed. Utterly robbed of their strength, neither of them seemed in the best condition to be administering such delicate operations. While Ancel holds little confidence in Estinien’s enfeebled hands, he can’t say he had much faith in his own, either.

Once Estinien finishes fastening the tight band, he pauses to inspect the wound closer, then takes one of the flasks at Ancel’s side. He observes it for a moment before looking to their scattered belongings.

Ancel thinks to inquire his intent—after all, he’d already gathered what was needed—but instead watches with mounting confusion as Estinien places the flask down, leans over, and retrieves one of their discarded belts. That confusion only escalates when he loops the leather and holds it to Ancel’s lips.

“Bite,” Estinien instructs.

… Ah. For the pain.

Too tired to argue, Ancel takes the belt between his teeth and shifts his position somewhat, looking to brace himself for the inevitable discomfort.

The feel of Estinien placing his hand—alarmingly warm still—on his knee does well to earn his focus at the very least. And then, the flask is inverted, and liquid is poured directly into the gash.

As expected, the pain is instantaneous, a piercing, nauseating sensation that makes Ancel flinch. His muscles seize with the effort it takes not to twist away, and a deep hiss saws into his lungs as his teeth dig into the leather of the belt. A final, muted whimper escapes his throat without consent.

Estinien murmurs something Ancel can’t hear, but there’s no reason to ask him to repeat it. He had already taken a cloth and gotten to work gently cleaning the wound, his features drawn stiff with concentration.

And as ever, perhaps spurred by a need to avert his focus from his howling nerves, Ancel’s thoughts wander as he takes the sight in.

The situation brings to mind the first time the two had met—when Ancel pulled Estinien from their flaming barracks and administered the selfsame treatment to the gaping wound in his leg… albeit with markedly less efficiency. 'Tis with a sentimental whim that Ancel thinks to drop the belt and remark upon the parallel, but he quickly dismisses the idea.

He doubts Estinien is the reminiscing sort. And that was in the event Estinien even recalled the encounter; it took him an age just to remember Ancel’s name, after all.

When did they truly become friends, then? Had they at all? Those sound like questions Estinien would avoid answering, and in a way, Ancel finds himself similarly inclined—afraid of the answers, afraid of differing answers.

At least, for his own part. Estinien, on the other hand, never seemed to care quite as much; at least, only ever cared as much as he needed to.

Mayhap… he would merely find the question ridiculous.

‘Tis easier to never ask, then. An aching mystery indeed, but a safer one. And that was well.

That’s… how we are.

===

“Almost…” Estinien mumbles, pausing to wipe his forehead with his arm.

He had gotten the wound partway sutured, and by now, Ancel had grown fairly accustomed to the pain. The belt in his teeth helped stave it away, but his wandering thoughts and overall weariness likely played their parts in that endurance.

Estinien had also managed to tidy his leg quite nicely, enough to locate scratches and punctures that could hardly be seen in the mess of crimson. Dried patches and smudged fingerprints yet remain, however, and Estinien’s hands had grown horrendously stained. While this was to be expected, and he seemed wholly unbothered by it, Ancel can’t help but feel remorseful.

He takes the belt from his mouth, just for a moment. “There—“ A grunt as Estinien pushes the needle through again. “There are enough clean cloths for your hands.” Wince. “E-ere you dress the wound.”

Estinien nods, though it was unclear if he truly heard. Mayhap he’d already thought of that.

Aye, he is remarkably efficient in spite of his illness. Trembling fingertips did lead to accidental pricks, and by the Fury are his searing hands still utterly distracting against Ancel’s own cold flesh. But beyond the way Estinien endeavours to breathe, and the intermittent pauses he takes to ensure he stays sitting upright, one might struggle to tell that the man had taken ill at all.

‘Tis rather surreal, his manner of care—his demeanour now. Firm, as expected, but careful, delicate, so distinctly unlike him.

... Mayhap, then, 'tis not so difficult to tell that Estinien was out of sorts.

The thread tugs a final time, and the wound closes. Estinien cuts it loose with the nearby blade, and then sets both items aside before shutting his eyes.

Regaining his stamina before initiating the last step, like as not.

Ancel shifts ever-slightly, lowering the belt from his mouth and placing it at his side. He takes the liberty of removing the bandage around his upper thigh, grabbing the blade and easing it under the tight binding. Once he cuts it loose, he surrenders a sigh of relief.

“... Tell me true,” Estinien urges.

Ancel freezes, but regards him in silence.

“A dragon,” the knight continues, “entered our encampment. Did it not?”

Ancel swallows, feeling a hot wash melt over his body. It seemed remarkably like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have, despite knowing the necessities of his actions; despite how obvious it had been what manner of creature had gifted him his wounds.

But Estinien doesn’t appear angry at all. In fact, his tone and expression both are nigh indecipherable.

“… It wandered too close,” Ancel confesses, setting the blade down. “‘Twould have entered the cave and cornered us. No recourse but to engage ere it could do so.”

“Killed, or wounded?”

“'Tis dead, no question. I discarded its body over the cliffside. None of its kin will happen upon it, or us, Fury willing.”

Estinien nods, and after drawing another weary breath, opens his eyes. He turns his head slightly, slowly, and takes one of the few remaining clean cloths with intent to rinse his hands.

The silence feels suddenly naked, dialogue now missing where it should have been. Estinien has more to say.

Given the right questions.

“… Had you heard it, then?” Ancel prods meekly. “The struggle, that is. Did it rouse you after all?”

There is no answer at first, but he can hear the gears turning in Estinien’s head as he wipes the blood from his hands. And what was once a demeanour indecipherable suddenly grows notably troubled.

“Outcries reached my ears while I slumbered. ‘Twas clear as a bell in my head.”

Ancel can’t help the pang of discomfiture that strikes him at the way Estinien words that answer. He wants to respond, but not a cohesive sentence comes to mind.

Instead, he can only furrow his brow and watch his comrade cast the bloodied cloth away in favour of retrieving a new one—one he uses to dress Ancel’s wound. He does so wordlessly at first, but upon fastening the cloth in place, Estinien speaks again, eyes lidded and voice falling as quiet as it had ever been.

“Rather than wake me,” he says, “the sound engulfed my dreams. Commanded them. And no matter how real I knew the danger was, my limbs would not listen.”

His eyes fall shut, and his brows knit with slight strain—a wince, almost—and it passes as soon as it appears. Estinien confesses then, in a tone no different, yet no less haunting:

“I could not wake—only watch.”

It takes Ancel a moment to fully process his words, to realize their meaning—and then, try and fail to determine why Estinien had spoken them in the first place. ‘Tis the first time, perhaps, that he’d heard him say anything so unguarded, so…

… Personal.

“This sounds more like a nightmare,” Ancel whispers, “than a dream.”

There comes no verbal response, and no movement either at first. But after a slow, utterly telling blink, Estinien shifts and takes another roll of bandages, obviously intent on finishing what he’d started without any further elaboration.

He doesn’t need to elaborate—his earlier persistence now has its answer.

Concern and sorrow twist and churn in Ancel’s chest. Without giving himself a chance to hesitate, he lifts his hand to Estinien’s and takes the roll between his fingers, pulling it gently. It comes away as effortlessly as breaking a fruit from a vine; no resistance, no reaction.

“Estinien…” The name leaves him as an aching whisper, but the man in question offers no response.

Completely blank. He has finished speaking.

The silence continues to marinate between them, stagnant and heavy as though time had ceased to pass altogether. Ancel pulls his lips into a thin line. 

What could he say? What wouldn’t sound hollow? Did any such combination of words exist?

What does Estinien want to hear?

A smile, one weary and lost, forces itself onto Ancel’s lips.

“‘Tis… fortunate, then, that I survived,” he ventures. “To see the danger passed. To greet you as you awoke.”

Estinien’s eyes flicker to Ancel, his expression unchanging; yet there lies consideration beneath his exhaustion, hesitation beneath his discomfort.

Still too saccharine for his liking. Ancel’s smile turns apologetic.

“Ah... n-nevertheless. I think…” Ancel shifts to the side, granting more space on his makeshift bed. “You have... more than done your part for the day.” He peels the blanket from over his shoulders and lays it out over the area, covering the spot that had pooled with his blood earlier.

Sitting upright, he gestures to the freed space. “Lay down and rest proper.”

Although partway certain that Estinien would refuse outright, the man simply pauses—calculates. Hardly a beat passes before he begins to slowly shift and lower himself down 'til he’s laying on his side, a heavy exhale escaping him.

Relieved with his compliance, Ancel relaxes his shoulders and begins to wrap the bandages around his leg.

===

‘Tis finished at last—each wound he sustained, patted clean and dressed appropriately.

And now he can rest. 

He can rest... assuming he can first refresh the damp cloth he’d given Estinien earlier.

Assuming he can do so without waking him again.

Estinien himself appeared to have succumbed to slumber already, but he’d done so at a far closer proximity than Ancel would have liked; his own fault, granted, but nevertheless a hindrance. Moving without disturbing the knight may prove a challenge, but ‘tis better than allowing his head to burn. 

Better than falling asleep here. And so Ancel begins lifting himself. 

... Only to be stopped. He hardly makes it a few ilms forward before a warm palm rises and presses itself flat against his stomach. He flinches and freezes in place, his eyes darting immediately to the culprit: his fever-addled comrade.

Still laying on his side, eyes shut, but Estinien’s arm is indeed raised and braced against Ancel with notable intent.

“Is something wrong, Estinien...?”

“Rest.” The word is hardly audible, bogged by exhaustion. Ancel blinks, taken aback by the request.

“I—… I was about to,” he clarifies. “To refresh your cloth. Then I’ll move… t-to your side of the—“

“Rest here.”

Spoken more clearly, yet Ancel is certain he misheard this time.

Myriad questions cross mind—the whys, the well-beings—and hundreds more that he would never dare inquire.

Is this something you normally ask for?

This is not something you… would normally ask for. Is it?

Why now do you ask?

‘Tis the fever, no question, reducing Estinien’s ability to care, melting his steel-clad guard down into a viscous mercury. He isn’t thinking at all. He would never ask anyone of this.

Are you even awake?

“Now,” Estinien mumbles, impatience lining his voice.

Aye. Barely awake, but awake nonetheless.

Ancel thinks, for a moment, to decline politely. ‘Twould have been easy to do so. But instead he pauses, left considering Estinien’s words from earlier.

How shaken he seemed to be from his dreams, how they proved enough to spur him into action. His ‘need’, as he phrased it ere correcting himself, how easily he succumbed to his own frailty once he saw it through.

‘Tis an instinctual guess to say this feels similar. An urgent measure, a weary precaution, Estinien’s backhanded method of seeking purchase—a sense of control where he no longer held any.

A need for security; a request for comfort.

"...”

When Ancel lowers himself, ‘tis with slow and watchful movements at first. He keeps as much of a gap between them as he can, but something about doing so begins to feel... unkind, somehow.

Once he is laying upon his back, Ancel shifts himself closer, ‘til their bodies are but ilms apart. His arm arches over Estinien’s frame, though he keeps his palm on the ground.

He expects little response from this—none, in fact—but is taken further aback by the precise opposite. Estinien’s hand does not leave his stomach, but it instead remains and furls into a fist. He takes shockingly well to their new proximity and curls in even more, nudges himself closer, lays one side of his burning head against his comrade’s pounding heart.

Indeed, upon experiencing this, Ancel feels suddenly as though he’s the one who’s taken ill.

“Is...” 

Is that sound going to bother you?

Ancel can’t bring himself to ask the full question, but Estinien doesn’t seem to notice; doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, in fact. Though only the top of his head is visible, he appears to be unconscious already.

The relentless burning of his skin is more apparent than ever, and briefly does Ancel consider the threat to his own health. Sleeping so close to Estinien would put his own condition at risk, without a doubt.

Yet there exists no true mind between them. 

He finds that he cares for the risks about as much as Estinien seems to; mayhap, they both care more for the nervous pulse now making its paces through both of their skulls.

Aye... ‘twould seem the sound of a beating heart to guide his slumber is what Estinien wanted to hear.

#muh writing #estinien varlineau #ancel louvre #wolstinien #local knight sedated by fever; gay undertones ensue; more at 8 #i love me some estinien angst too okay hfbfbfbfhdjf #but WASSUUPP BOYS i still write :3 #this one's been in the drafts for a hot minute.. literally like mere paragraphs from completion. and then the Blorbos attacked #still going to do blorbo content but i need these older ficlets exorcised from my body LMAO #again so sorry for the length I'm rly good at getting carried tf away akjdhfglkd #also sorry for the tense change from the previous one -wheezes-

[ilynpilled]

Have you seen that post on how Cersei pushing Jaime into forcing sex on her is an abuse technique on her end?

no, but i checked his tag now lol. while i know that george explicitly expressed that the sept scene was intended as consensual by him, i still believe that jaime’s pattern of pushing to have sex with cersei, and how, speaks of an unhealthy relationship with consent in this relationship on his part, a lack of respect for boundaries on his part, as well as objectification on his part that cannot be removed from the context of this society’s gender dynamics, especially when it concerns cersei’s themes and her character (to contextualize and expand on what i mean, heres a very quick collection of quotes regarding how jaime’s relationship to cersei, sex, swordplay, and even violence blend or function similarly in relation to very heavy dissociative tendencies):

i understand the jc dynamic’s set up:

“She has never come to me, he thought. She has always waited, letting me come to her. She gives, but I must ask.”

“She wanted to draw his face to hers for a kiss. Later, she told herself, later he will come to me, for comfort. “We are his heirs, Jaime,” she whispered. “It will be up to us to finish his work. You must take Father’s place as Hand. You see that now, surely. Tommen will need you . . .”

i also understand how george seems to establish communication and patterns within this dynamic that reinforce his expressed intention, which is also apparent in a scene that a third party witnesses and how that mirrors the sept, and i obviously also do not think these two would do all of this healthily and establish things akin to safe words (though i take issue with a lot of things here still when it comes to grrm and how consent is framed):

and i understand george framing cersei utilising sex, or even love and affection, as a means to have power, and that being a big factor in this relationship’s dynamic and how she takes control (see instances when cersei does initiate— jaime’s narration is not entirely correct, we know of the inn, which is unique but important, so it is interesting that he chooses not to connect this until feast, that would mean confronting something he doesn’t want to— and what motives she has: “She smiled for him, so sweetly. “Do you remember the first time I came to you like this? It was some dismal inn off Weasel Alley, and I put on servant’s garb to get past Father’s guards.” “I remember. It was Eel Alley.” She wants something of me. “Why are you here, at this hour? What would you have of me?” His last word echoed up and down the sept, mememememememememememe, fading to a whisper. For a moment he dared to hope that all she wanted was the comfort of his arms.”

but i do not think that changes much about the issues on jaime’s part, or how a lot of fandom frames cersei. we know cersei only enjoys sex with jaime (it is sex that is categorized as different from lancel, osney, taena, and robert — all of these also cannot be conflated for obvious reasons — by her), she says so, but that doesn’t change that she still believes that it is her only source of power and means through which she can reach equal ground within her society. we can understand why cersei thinks and functions this way: we understand how she was reared and how she was viewed as a sexual object and a tool for political transactions with no autonomy since childhood by every adult around her. we see how and why jaime is needed by her to feel “whole”, and how he is her “sword.” it is also not difficult to acknowledge that while the abusive dynamic is not what i would consider equal: jaime does not verbally berate her to the degree she does him, does not physically hit her and throw things at her, does not use her or emotionally abuse her the way that she does him (and no, i personally do not agree with people that say they are equally terrible to each other or they equally benefit from this relationship), jaime still ultimately has power over her due to his gender (the physical is obvious, but on top of that this is a medieval society with extreme levels of gender inequality), and nothing will really erase that because this relationship does not exist in a vacuum. this is not diminished by how this relationship functions, her status as queen and jaime’s status as her kg, and other variables that play into the unequal power dynamic. it will always have to be acknowledged that cersei is a woman + everything that comes with that being the case in a medieval society with complete patriarchal domination. i also think the unhealthy belief system of “we are one. you are me. i am you. we are two halves of a whole” will have effects on the understanding of consent and how both parties function in the relationship. i think this extreme delusion would lead to a plethora of issues when it comes to consent and boundaries. with cersei too, the moment she (including her offering sex) is rejected by her “other half” she emphasizes and says things like “you swore that you would always love me.” and “i was a fool to ever love you” or starts verbally berating him, emasculating him, being ableist etc. this relationship operates on some absurd conditions and ultimatums, it is not healthy, hence things like “the things I do for love” too. in reality, it really is the opposite of “unconditional destined lovers.” both of them have things that they end up prioritizing over the other, and both have an incorrect idea of the other that fits their specific needs and wants. i just despise this whole “cersei groomed and manipulated jaime since they were children” bullshit. a child is not capable of this. teenaged cersei was navigating the strict and dehumanising boxes that her father and society forced her into since she was 7 years old. she looked to her brother for comfort and escape as much, if not in many ways more at this point, as he did. i also think cersei escapes into the relationship to subvert those societal patterns in many ways (i have seen people discuss that jaime views her as an equal and a person more so than others: “If I were a woman I’d be Cersei.”) but this still does not change the flaws that jaime has. he is not only a man in westeros, he was also reared by tywin lannister lmao. he is a misogynist with a skewed understanding and view of a lot of things. no point in denying this.

i also understand “mutual abuse is not real”, and understand the damage ignoring that can do to narratives revolving around victims of abuse, and the issue with framing ‘retaliation’ or ‘bad victims’ as mutual abuse (see discussions regarding robert and cersei for example and some of the putrid narratives that come out of that), but we are talking about fiction and its themes, discussing an author’s known intention and execution of that intention (that we can also criticize), as well as what is written in a text, and i do not think we should be ignoring the nuances when it comes to applying a modern lens to a medieval society with some very different and more severe and strict paradigms when it comes to gender inequality and the oppression of women.

here are george’s actual comments that i do not believe contradict the bulk of my perspective either tbh:

#pls be normal when it comes to this conversation theres a reason i hate talking about it #bc shit like this being approached from but muh meow meow or shipping nonsense is fucking obnoxious #ask #cw abuse #cw rape #i tried to balance george’s intentions and the flaws i personally see in his writing and my personal perspective and whats also clearly #indicated in the text #also #i am afab with a relationship to this topic and if u r gonna respond with deeply odd comments i will ignore u lol #jaime is my fav i am not ‘hating on him’

[hyp3rfixation-h3ll]

not to get into discourse mode on here but the recent shit w/ ao3 being once again called out for being run by racists/genocide supporters and seeing so many fucking Absolute Gormless Shitheads blindly defend OTW and going " dOn'T bRiNg FiCtIoNaL PoLiTicS iNtO tHis!!!111!1 " as if they are not immune to propaganda is wild . my siblings in sin , ao3 is literally The Racism Fetish Fanfiction site , and propaganda via fictional work is exactly how racism perpetuates. ao3 and the otw are a part of the problem whether you choose to acknowledge it or not because they contribute to the cycle of violence , fetishisation and colonisation of marginalised groups via complacency (and sometimes even blatant PASSIVE ENCOURAGEMENT) , and then they cover it up by using soft cutesy buzzwords like " anti-censorship " and " free speech " and their dumb ass complex tagging system to appeal to white people , so when Actual Minorities and people affected by the shit they put on there speak up about it they're met with all kinds of bullcrap about "jUsT bLoCk ThE tAg If It'S a PrObLem1111!111" or "YoU'rE jUsT bEiNg a fAnDoM cOp!11!!"

You're a part of the problem if you support ao3 and actively continue to use it & donate to them , especially in the wake of the OTW being actively chockful of zionists who will , ironically , silence those who speak up and rally with Palestine for liberation . And If you decide to take this as me being hostile towards you or trying to " bring fiction into real world issues " , remember that at Any point in time you can go on ao3 for yourself and find thousands and thousands of raceplay fics and other various works that glorify and condone racism , and that the otw and their large userbase (primarily composed of white people!) has a track record of trying to shut up POC when this issue is brought to light .

Idgaf if ao3 is for " anti-censorship " , because there's a difference between anti-censorship and HIDING BEHIND the concept of free speech and the 1st amendment to do and say awful , horrendous things and believe you're above critique , punishment or consequences for it .

tl;dr: fuck ao3, fuck the otw, free palestine, and most importantly: you are NOT and will NEVER be immune to propaganda if you choose to ignore it because it benefits you.

#the captain's rambles #ao3 #archive of our own #racism cw #free palestine #🍉 #otw #ask to tag #also its dumb to request not bringing politics into the topic of ao3 #the concept of anti / pro-censorship Is a political statement #anyways. this isnt even touching on the nasty shit ao3 will let you put on their site about Real People (INCLUDING REAL CHILDREN) #mfs be like “you guys are so worried about fictional kids!11!!” yeah cuz if thats what youre willing to write about fictional kids #then how the Fuck am i supposed to trust Your bitch ass with writing about Real Children in a Normal manner #btw ao3 / otw bootlickers who try n come in here and go ERM ACKSHUALLY will be shot at on sight by my rocket launcher #fiction bleeds into reality and can and DOES influence it you dickless jabronies . that's Literally why The Jaws Effect is a phenomenon #and why racist propaganda (like what the IOF spreads) is so effective #you cannot rally against the oppressor and side with them at the same time because “muh fanfic site” #pick a side or get out you spineless fucks #oh and btw. if you try to equate this with just mindless discourse you're incorrect and undermining the larger issue here #which is Literally #otw and ao3 are built off of racist and arguably white supremacist values and THAT is why they fire people -- #-- for having the oh so heinous opinion of “hey. racism is Bad.” and allow fics that condone racism and fetishise it on their site. #and post. this has been your once in a lifetime tumblr rant from sonic t hedgehog about why white people in fandom more often than not #fucking suck Butt Ass & absolute Balls #im gonna go shower and get some tuna now

[vermillioncrown]

tpac ch 9 preview

for tim's bday, he will be getting ceaseless mockery from korvin (me)

#verm bits #on tpac #(he gets everything) #(but in due time) #it's such a strange switch to go from loving summer to hating it #my summers didn't used to be so...moist #been muh-ing around like a blobfish #stuck in ppt hell for all parts of work/research #writing future stuff as calibration/guiding pieces #feel like both everyone and no one goes through that state of creation where they want to delete everything in a fit of pique #thought that's probably tied to my work mood lbr

[rodolfoparras]

I shall return in the morning I’m so sorry for leaving so quickly but I haven’t slept properly and I need to sleep immediately 😭

#I hope I wasn’t too what’s the word brief? with my replies I’m just very tired but I had 20+ asks and didn’t want to leave you guys hanging #until tomorrow but I appreciate y’all sososos MUH and I’m giving y’all all the kisses and hugs I just need to roll up into a ball and sleep #I ADORE U FRIENDS JAVE A WONDEFUL NIGHT DAY MORNING MWAH MWAH MWAH #not writing

[relocatedheads]

I cant get him out my head!

( I saw @sarafinatheasassin send this ask to @xxxgalaxyfriendxxx and felt a strong itch to write this :) i hope i’ve done the idea justice )

Summary: “sonic develops a crush on shaodw in sonic 3 and maddie is the one who had to sit him down and give him ‘the talk’ becuase tom is too busy freaking out becuase he wasn’t expecting this at all and poor sonic is just super confused about what’s going on”. Pairings:  Sonadow Trigger Warnings: None :) Content Warnings: Short tempered moments 

The wachowski’s morning route was set in stone at this point: Maddie does yoga accompanied by Knuckles, Tails is tinkering with some new invention at the dining table, Sonic is helping Tom cook up breakfast - everyones favourite, Pancakes! The radio is pattering nonsense in the back, only really to be heard when Tom hums a song, the true sounds of the room are bowls and spoons tapping, renches cracking and Maddies laughs as Knuckles struggles to remain a fairly simple pose. Sonic and Tom laugh too through the window, obviously causing the Echidna to growl at his counter parts.

“You wanna go tell them it’s pancake time?” Tom bumps Sonic, whilst putting the pan on the stove.

“If he pounces at me, its your fault!” The boy left the room to get his brother and mum. He’s joined moments later with both. The boys understand its time to sit at the table and it’s now Maddies turn to be kitchen helper. A brief welcome-back kiss and a choir of ‘ewww’s are the sounds of the room. Maddie turns the radio up slightly as she dots about getting the toppings.

“It’s 8am and it’s time for the morning news. We have a few stories for you this morning, folks. There was a serious accident the west side of state last night and roads heading in and out are still either closed or at a stand still, household bills are hitting an all time high and the govner is due in court this afternoon to being talks to help this crisis and GUN have sent out a public statement sharing they’re reopening the research project, Project Shadow, after 50 years of inactivity.” The reporter signs off and the sounds of the room reenter pop space.

Maddie and Tom share a look, “Project Shadow? Are they mental?” Tom gasps.

“I don’t see why now. Wasn’t it too dangerous?”

“Well it has been 50 years-“

“Whats Project Shadow?” Tails interups.

“Some research project to create a remedy for illness. There was a scientist who spent years on it, he tried to create this ultimate life form but everyone presumed it was a waste because it got shut down after a while and nothing was to show for it.’ Maddie informed the boys, serving their plates simultaneously.

“Ultimate life form.” Sonic laughs, “That's so pretentious!” 

“My father used to tell me about it. He had some odd interest in it. Perhaps because it was so far advanced for that time, i won’t know. But its actually quite sad. The scientist had a sick grandaughter, can’t remember what was wrong with her but it wasn’t easy on them.” Tom finished, filling the seats at the table.

“Did she die and that caused him to retire his project?” Sonic asked.

“I remember losing my father, it made me want to protect the master emerald even more. Why would he dishonour his purpose?” Knuckles retorted.

“Humans suffer when losing people, Big Guy. Some of us will get stronger but others lose themselves a little.” Maddie told him directly, returning her attention to the rest, she continued “Nobody knows if her dying caused the case to go under, nobody knows when she died. It kinda just…. stopped.”

————————————————————————————

“Nice to see you showed up, Hedgehog!” Robotnik yelled from his robot.

“I always show up, Robotnik!”

“See you’ve brung your friends with you, too! How sweet!” The 3 exchanged looks “I’m getting that emerald back even if it means i have to kill you”

“Over my dead body!” Knuckles retorted, the doctor laughed.

“Knuckles! You can’t send offers like that!” Tails facepalms.

“Is that how its gonna be?” robotnik laughs, sending the first hit.

The team battle for a short while, Tails using his dining table inventions to aid him, Sonic spin dashing and Knuckles crushing. The team hold themselves well against the doctors tech. “I’m going too easy on them!” He yells to Stone,

“Does this mean-“ Stone begins

“-Show them who we’ve got? Release him.” Robotnik finishes.

On ground, the ragtag team find themselves stood in a back to back huddle awaiting the next move. The move is unprepearable, a blacked out frame similar to Sonic’s is thrown in front of them. The distance between the 2 groups is filled with a low growl from Knuckles, a gasp from Tails and a squint from Sonic. He knew how shadows worked… his shouldnt be that high up-

Sonic could see the eyes, hands, mussle, feet of the new foe but couldn’t register how something that looked exactly his shape existed. His eyes took it all in, similar build, similar stance but all too unfamilar. The black fur, the white tuft, the panting stance, the red framed boots, the rings. He knew this creature was, too, a hedgehog but it felt so too different to be one. The figure dissapeared, the trio found themselves spining around looking for it.

Knuckles was first. He got swept off his feet almost within an instant, the black blur had thrown the lad to the floor, disapearing once more. “What- Who was that!” Knuckles grumbled to his crew. Sonic stood in sheer shock, Tails ran straight to help his fallen mate.

Sonic felt his brows knot instantly, he looked around for the culprit. “Ahh!” Tails squilled as the blur reappeared, taking the fox in his hands. Sonic knew he should be angry, he should be defending his brothers, but for as much as his brain was screaming at him, he couldn’t move. All he could do was watch, mouth a gape, browed scrunched, breath held. All he could look at was the stranger.

The foe turned his direction to the blue hedgehog. Sonic felt an unfamilair ping, he wasn’t scared but he wasn’t his overly confident sassy self. In the corner of his eye he could see Knuckles regaining himself paying his attention to the fox, but the majority of his vission was given to his darker counterpart. At a speed hes only used to experiencing, never witnessing, he’s clutched by 2 white hands, running him away from his friends. His eyes clocks to his face, taking in the piecing red eyes, similarly point nose and red liner around his eyes.

“I thought you were mean to be the strongest creature in the galaxy?” He spoke in a low gravelled angry voice. Sonic didn’t answered, “Where’s the emerald!” The being threw Sonic to the floor, “Answer me!” “Do you know who i am?”

“I-um..”

“Sonic! What are you doing!” Tails yelled from the sidelines. Sonic didn’t know how to answer, he didnt know what to do, he didnt know how to move. This creature was straddled above him, throwing his fists at him and he was taking it. He’s never done this in his life.

“Why won’t you answer me!” The being grabbed the sides of Sonic’s face, “I’m the ultimate life form! Ignore me and you’ll regret it, hedgehog-”

‘ultimate life form’. the words tattooed themselves to Sonics brain, conversations from the other day flew into his head. His brain hyper focused on them 3 words to the point he could see nothing but the boy atop of him. Was this ‘project shadow’? Was this the remedy? Why would a he be after an emerald? Why? How does he know about them-

He was balled off the hero in a grey haze. Turns out Tails had a net shooter on him too!

As the figure was flung to the floor, Sonic was bolted up right. “This isn’t over yet, Faker.” The stranger disapeared yet again.

Knuckles was by Sonic, lending him an arm to lean on, Tails walked over to the two, “Hey, Sonic, are you alright?”

Sonic was staring at the bundle of netting on the dirt, cold confusion, “I-I um..” Knuckles and Tailed shared a glance.

———————————————

The crew were playing baseball, Knuckles on back stop, Tails swinging, Maddie and Tom in the field and Sonic batting.

“You got this, Sonic!” Maddie cheered

Sonic set himself us, staring at the ball, settling himself into the sand. He sighed  into his concentration, but the moment the built up air left his lungs, his brain left the situation. Red cold eyes were his focus, the close us face of a stranger, pretty red eyes framed with red liner, a small point nose and a seemingly constant frown.

“Strike 1!” Tom yelled.

“Huh-?” Sonic zoned himself back in, shaking his head. Everyone staring his way.

“You okay bud?” Tom tilted his head,

“Yeah! Just testing you guys!” He lied, faking his laugh and confidence 

------------------------------

“Tails, Darling, twist the spaghetti around you fork, like this,” Maddie giggled at the poor fox.

“Oh! Thank you!” 

“How dare you dishonour me, spaghetti! Am I not worthy!” 

It was the wachowski’s spag bowl night. They often had dinner together, chatting about their days and telling old stories. It’d been a few days since Sonic met Shadow, and it was consuming his life. Today he found himself shifting off mentally to think about the hedgehog. Right now, he could feel his family talking but he couldn’t comment on what the topic was. He was sitting with his head propped up on one hand and his other twirling the pasta around his fork. His mind was racing about this hedgehog, and his pretty sharp feature, low rippled voice, his roughness and his-

“Bud?” He was pulled back with a nudge to his foot. He looked up, Tom had whispered to him, “You okay?”

Sonic propped a smile on his face and gave a nod, enthusiastically eating a forkful. He quickly fell back into his daydream. Wondering what it’d be like to have that hedgehog here with him. 

----------------------------------

Today, Sonic woke up to having the hedgehog on his mind. He’d dream about him. A simple, fluffy nonsense dream. The two in a tuff, Shadow (he was assuming this was his name due to the project title) pinning his arms above his head, heavy breathing. The two somehow ending their wrestle in a kiss. 

He woke up somber that day, not particularly wanted to leave his bed. Tom breakfast making buddy unheard of that morning was a first. 

“Where's Sonic, boys?”

“Asleep, Lord of Doughnuts.” Knuckled reported, sitting on the counter.

“What-? He’s usually well awake by now?” Maddie huffed, leaning into Tom who was cooking eggs. 

“He hasn’t been himself lately.”

“Maybe he’s getting ill. Do you guys get sick?” She looked over to the red echidna, who was a mouthful of grapes. He nodded,

“Rarely. But it happens!” He mumbled through the grapes.

The humans share a glance, Maddie ruffled Knuckles spins and kissed Toms cheek, heading for the stairs to their attic. She knocked on the entrance, no answer. “Sonic? Can I come in?”

“Mmm”

“I’m coming in.” She opened the hatch, seeing her boy still tucked up in bed. “You feeling okay, Mister?”

“Yeah.”

She sat on his bed, he reluctantly moved his feet, sighing. She put the back of her hand to his forehead, he had no temperature. “You sure? You’re never in bed this late?”

“Yes. I've already told you.”

She raised her brows at him, “hm”, She looked around the room, “Well im here if you need me. Also you need to clean up a little in here. You three are too messy.” He hummed a reply, it made her smile sadly, “Get up, Sonic. Your breakfast is gonna go bad.” She stood up to leave the room, “And a bad diet will make running very heard for you!”

He huffed, turning in his bed again.

------------------------------------------

The 3 boys were chilling in their room, Sonic laying upside down on his bed, Knuckles and a pot of grapes slumped in the bean bag, Tails laying belly down on the floor tails swirling absentmindedly. 

“Sonic, can we talk about the other week?” Tails offered

“What’s up buddy?” Sonic smiled, like his usual self

“You dishonored us in the face of an enemy!” Knuckles pipped up, raising his grape holding fists. Sonic looked away at this, he was still annoyed at himself.

“i wouldn’t put it like that, Knuckles. But are you okay Sonic?”

“Yeah, i guess, i never expected there to be another- another me! yaknow?” The blue hog was now fiddling with his fingers.

“Did it shock you? You never freeze up?”

“He- I don’t know.” Sonic rolled himself onto his belly, “I can’t get him out of my head-” The other boys narrowed their eyes to him, “Like, he called himself the ultimate life from. Like what mum and dad were speaking about! But i dont know why i cant stop thinking about him!”

“How does thinking of him make you feel?”

“Um- Weird. Like, i can’t do anything. He won’t leave my head. I get tingly hands sometimes.”

“Mum said once she used to get tingly hands when dad used to declare his love to her-” Knuckled added

“Knuckles, I don’t think Sonic feels that way”

—————————

“should we take the boys to get icecream?” Tom suggested rolling onto Maddie, who was relaxing on the sofa.

She laughed, “Is this you being a kind dad, or you using your own ice cream wanting through them?”

“Maaaaybe, but you know you want some too.. i know oozie does.”

They shared a quick kiss, “You go round them up, i go start the car?”

Tom bolted up, walked down the hall to the loft hatch, he got a few steps up the ladder about to knock-

“But i dont know why i cant stop thinking about him!”

“How does thinking of him make you feel?”

“Um- Weird. Like, i can’t do anything. He won’t leave my head. I get tingly hands sometimes.”

“Mum said once she used to get tingly hands when dad used-”

Tom speed down the ladder as quietly as he could, running to the garage where Maddie was, he grabbed her hands as she was about to enter the kitchen and sat her back in the car, shh’ing her the whole way.

“Are you-”

“I THINK SONIC HAS A CRUSH.”

“What!”

“I went to knock for the boys and i heard them talking. Sonic said something about not being able to not think about someone! he said he gives him tingly fingers! Knuckles said something about how you’d tingly fingers with me but i left before he finished!”

“Oh my god!”

“What do we do! I knew this would happen but no so soon!”

“This explains why's he not been himself lately!”

“Wait- Who do you think it could be?”

“Who has he meet lately-?” Just as these words left Maddies mouth, the two shared a knowing look. The boys had shared their encounter with them, they were both aware of Sonic stumbling but had palmed it off to nervousness.

“Oh no. This is even worse! He can’t- He’s gonna just be pining. There’s no way” Tom felt himself deflate at the idea of his sons first love being so unavailable. “Theres no chance they’ll ever see each other again or even, anything! He couldnt’ve fallen for Knuckles”

“How is that any easier-”

“At least he sees Knuckles and it could be spoken through- but now he’s going to go through all the pining and teenage emotions. Maddie i can’t do this- he’s still a kid!”

“Okay, Okay. Tom, i’ll speak to him. He’ll get through it! We don’t even know for sure yet”

————————————

“Mum?” Maddie heard a small voice, behind her.

She turned to see Sonic, in a dishevelled state, quills unbrushed. “You okay, darling?” She was making hers and Toms bed, she had set the pillow down feeling the room go heavy, he pattered on his feet for a moment, scratching his arms. 

“Can I-umm” She could his eyes going glassy, “Eh-” He took a breath, “Can I tell you something?” She nodded, sitting on the bed, welcoming him. Once sat, he continued, “Erm-” He sighed, looking at his hands.

“Hug?” She asked, arms out. The hedgehog fell into her arms, melting instantly. She felt his tight shoulders. “Take your time, bud. It’s only me and you.” Sonic seemed to fall apart at that. She felt his small sob, and his hand hold her tighter. They stayed like that for a moment or two, letting Sonic direct the next move.

He pulled away, sipping his nose, sniffing. “Ew, im sorry- I- I don't know what come over me.”

“it’s okay, darling. We all cry sometimes.” She smiled

“Mum?” She nodded “I um- You know what black hedgehog we met a few weeks ago?” Maddie nodded again, “And you know how we all are almost aware he’s Shadow, like The-Project-Shadow Shadow?” Another nod was given. “Well- err-”

“Take your time,”

Sonic huffed,” I think I like him. But I dont know why. Or how I could. I’ve only met him once. But he won’t get out my head. Mum! Everything I do, I think about him- like he’s even in my dream now. I get jelly hands sometimes thinking about him and Knuckled told me you got that with dad. But you and dad had met loads of time- And I can’t like someone who's trans hurt me- How can I-” The hedgehog work vomited

“Breath, kiddo.” She put her hand on his now pink cheek. “Liking people can hit was anytime, any place, any intensity.” Sonic nodded, “You're okay to feel this was- it’s cute. Thank you for being so honest” He smiled at being called cute. “What do you like about him?”

“I keep thinking about his voice!” Sonic throw himself face down in the bed, “It’s so cringe- but it keeps replaying in my head. And his face- his eyes, Mum.” Maddie chuckled to herself, remembering being in this situation but with Tom. “I still feel his hands on mine and it-”

“It makes them feel all fuzzy and not real?”

“Yes!” Maddie laughed, “What do I do?”

“Live in it, Sonic. You can’t do anything right now, but you’ll get a moment. Like how you and Knuckles had your moment to settle your peace, you’ll get your moment with this Shadow.”

“But what if I mess it up! Mum, he wants to kill me! He’s after the think we’re protecting! Knuckles will kill me before he does!”

“I can’t answer that. Only you know that one. But you know better than anyone, everyone has a cover they show everyone else. Maybe he’s not a rude killing machine and it’ll just a play-”

“Hmm But I can’t function around him!”

She laughed, “You’ll figure it out, bud. Thank you for telling me. Remember to breath through it all, refocus yourself.”

Sonic jumped at her for a hug, “Thank you mum! I knew you’d understand better than Knuckles and Tails”

“What’d they say?”

“Tails told me to not star at him if we battle again, he said its very creepy. Knuckles told me, if I ‘dishonour the master emerald, I will dishonour the family name’” He put on a fake Knuckled accent. Maddie laughed.

“If you do meet again, chat to him. He may need that” 

“I’ll try” 

“Now, you can help me make this bed”

“No!”

#This IS SO LONG IM SOCSORRY #MUSH MUSH MUHS #fluff #sonic movie 2 #sonic wachowski #sonic boom #sonic the hedgehog #sonic 3 #sonic the movie #maddie wachowski #tom wachowski #sonadow #sonadow headcannon #shadonic #sonadow fluff #sonic fluff #my writing

[beevean]

I don't think people are really that much harder on Japanese media than they are on western ones. I've seen people who criticize plenty of manga and anime who also disliked the Netflix Castlevania show's handling of minority and LGBT characters. Plus, we can't ignore how often western superhero media is criticized for being fascist, misogynist, racist, etc. Progressive types aren't necessarily fond of stuff like The Powerpuff Girls reboot either. God of War only recently started being seen as mindless sex and violence with the last two games changing direction.

If someone doesn't like Berserk, chances are they won't like Netflix's Castlevania either. Or at least they'd be very critical of things like Hector and Lenore.

While it's true that Western media gets its fair share of backlash even from the people it supposedly panders to, I've seen takes on Japan and Japanese people from supposed "progressives" that were positively vitriolic in a way I would expect from a 4channer at best. I absolutely believe japanophobia is slowly being normalized under the guise of "japan is the land of pedos and fetishes which makes them icky". (also, as a Sonic fan, may I remind of that one user who said that they wanted to bomb SEGA's HQ in Tokyo for the heinous crime of imposing mandates on Shadow's writing. Which is the cultural equivalent of threatening to hijack planes into buildings in the US. like, can you at least being a little more sensitive in your temper tantrums)

You're right however that we can't know if the people who shit on Berserk for the number of rapes or how Casca's was depicted are also the same exact people who happily ship Lenector as the cutest most tragic couple ever. It's more about the general, common attitude. From what I've seen, the "Griffith did nothing wrong" crowd is (in proportion) much smaller and much more criticized, to the point of being a meme, than the "Hector should have been happy to have become Lenore's pet" crowd. I'd be happy to be wrong, of course.

But now I'm curious about the overlap of Berserk fans and NFCV fans lol. Especially the overlap of Griffith stans and Lenore stans :P

#ofc as a berserk fan nfcv is even more insulting because i can *see* that it wants to ape the manga #because muh violence and muh sex and muh church bad #(and striga's day armor is so blatant lol) #and sure berserk's writing has aged poorly in some aspects perish the thought of a story started in the 1990s being questionable nowadays #but somehow it treated abuse better than the supposed progressive modern show did #and the church bad antagonist was leagues ahead of what nfcv and nocturne produced #nfcv only copied the general aesthetic but it didn't really *understand* what made berserk so compelling

[kj-munch]

gonna start allowing myself to post non madcom art here i think.. :]

#started as a vague vent but now i just like it #also yeah i think restricting myself to only posting madcom art on here has kind of been stifling me artistically i think #because id rather put effort into stuff i can post -> meaning trying to force all my art to be madcom -> making me kind of burn out on it #i still love acton and murphy so muh but ive been enjoying myself drawing sona designs too lately #this is pretty rough but PRETTY GOOD FOR ME considering i usually only do sketches #anyways yas. this sona was technically first made in like.... 2021? and ive been bringing him back to deal with some stuff #and experimenting w his design a lot in the process hes not usually this blue #IM TALKNG A LOT. ok queuing im currently writing this at 4:30 am #kuiper #my art

[dusksmote]

Are you ever going to finish your fanfics? Cause I’ve seen talk about some other fanfics you were writing but seemed to have never finished/published them

No pressure or anything just wondering if you’re ever going to start writing again

Love your fics btw

thank you 😊😊

i do have several finished/nearly finished fanfics i planned to post, but i guess the short answer is that right now i'm separated from the sp fandom. there have been times i've considered posting, but the mental effort is just too great. it has nothing to do with the online fandom or flamers (lol), i've just run my course with sp and right now i'm enjoying other things. it's also been nice to step back from all the attention.

i'll come back and post them eventually, but i'm not sure when. whenever i inevitably get sucked back into this crazy show lmao.

#rn i'm actually like 150 pages into writing an original fiction piece so there's that #ask #lulu-123456-789 #muh fanfic

[hermits-hovel]

Gonna bully your son with one of those touch prompts - caressing the other’s cheek

51. caressing the other’s cheek

There had been a... change in Ancel, he noticed.

Evidently their soured relations of a decade’s past had carried into the present day, with Ancel doing everything in his power to remove himself from any situation where Azure Dragoon lingered. While Estinien had long resolved to put their incident from his own mind, he couldn’t blame the man his irritability—especially now that they were practically joined at the hip for the duration of their peace-driven mission.

That discomfort aside, however, Estinien also sensed a peculiarity in Ancel's very being; there was a strange likeness, a second breathing essence within him that was not there before. Similar sensations would occasionally follow those men and women of the Order, though this was passing strange. He couldn’t recall Ancel ever joining their ranks back then, and that certainly hadn’t changed to his knowledge.

Regardless, Estinien did not yet entertain the flickers of concern he felt when that essence dared show signs of flaring out of control; they were small, fleeting, and quelled in seconds. Ancel seemed to carry himself quite well, though he did not appear to wield that inner vitality once during the course of their journey.

That was, until now. And that flicker of concern grew tall enough to shadow the whole of Sohm Ahl.

Not that Estinien disapproved the way Ancel had turned such a merciless blade upon the throats of hostile dragons—far from it, in fact. He might have commended the swordsman for being so thorough had he not considered the behaviour highly irregular.

Up until this point, Ancel had been fairly levelheaded, if not painfully terse. But now he was slaying the dragons of Sohm Ahl with an added layer of bile and vitriol. He treated them as though they were midges on a hot day, like pests more than adversaries, and spared no time recuperating between encounters despite his blatant exhaustion.

These were not actions born of passion, nor were they manifest hatred for the creatures. Ancel hadn’t suddenly improved or changed his strategies, this was different—this was instinctual. Angry then afraid, hunting and hurrying, over and over.

Ancel gored the next dragon, near mangled it, then paused. Considering his kill? Taking a breath? Nay, fighting something else, something that could not be seen, but felt, and felt keenly.

That second essence, another will; his own, but different. Stilted. Jagged. Anomalous.

Hungry. Draconic.

Ancel shook the crimson from his blade like water, pulled his blood-soaked mask away from his face, and inhaled softly before letting it snap back over his nose. Without waiting another moment, he continued to march forward into the narrow passage ahead.

Alphinaud and Ysayle followed suit, but as ever, went completely ignored. The boy’s periodic warnings against Ancel pushing himself too far fell again on deaf ears, and Ysayle, though silent, had begun to regard their comrade with the same disdainful glare as she had Estinien.

A madman and a murderer they saw—but the dragoon knew better.

“A moment,” Estinien chimed, noticing the way Ancel flinched at his voice before he finally stopped walking. The other two slowed to a halt in turn, casting a pair of puzzled glances over their shoulders.

“Is aught amiss?” Alphinaud asked.

“I require a word in confidence with our companion,” Estinien explained and looked to Ancel. “Now. And I am not asking.”

Alphinaud frowned, bewildered, lips parted in what looked to be intent to question him—but sensing the urgency in Estinien’s request, he instead responded with a dutiful nod. “Right. We’ll reconvene up ahead.”

Estinien returned with a permissive nod of his own. With that, Alphinaud exchanged a brief look with Ysayle and followed her past Ancel, who appeared stiff as a statue.

There they stood, silent even once their companions’ footfalls fell out of earshot—and then they were alone. 

Alone, together, for the first time in years.

The air hung thick and tense, but Estinien allowed no time to for either of them to absorb it. He stepped forward, closer, immediately earning Ancel’s attention as he turned around to face the dragoon directly.

Too wary. He needed to play his cards carefully.

“Far more indelicate than you used to be,” Estinien remarked, utterly bludgeoning the silence.

There was something restrained and distinctly off about Ancel’s subtle shift in posture. He made no attempt to straighten his back, to raise his chin, or even lower his weapons—behaviours the man was always so prone to upon being addressed in manners professional, even recently.

That duty-driven knight was no longer present.

“... Are you not in favour of such brutality,” the swordsman inquired flatly, as though it took him great focus to speak with even that amount of calm.

Rather than answer immediately, Estinien began a slow, careful path around Ancel until he effectively blocked the way forward. He noted the way his comrade continually turned to keep facing him, how he made sure to maintain a set distance between them whenever Estinien stepped too close.

“Struggle though you may to believe it,” Estinien spoke low, “there are manners of slaughter I do not condone.”

A light scoff could be heard, muffled underneath the mask Ancel wore. “You’ve not criticized me in an age. Are you no longer content with our unfamiliarity?" A bitter, almost nervous breath of laughter escaped him with a shake of his head. “Why now do you choose to admonish the way I bleed our foes? Am I truly such a blight upon your existence?”

Estinien paused for a moment, his chest rippling with the faintest quiver at such accusations. Yet, exacting his own measure of restraint, he calmly stepped away, reached behind his back, grasped his lance, and drew it slowly. He lifted it then, until its tip was aimed directly at Ancel’s chest.

“I am merely warning you.”

Though he couldn’t fully see Ancel’s expression, Estinien could feel the way the man’s blood recoiled and hissed. His posture was pulled more taut, his boots scraped the dirt, his shield rose somewhat, and he shook his head again as if administering a warning of his own.

“… And I am merely doing what is necessary, Estinien. Now—“ Ancel knocked his shield against the lance and went to step around him. “Move.”

But Estinien granted no quarter. The dragoon shifted to counter Ancel, shoving his lance into the shield and ultimately forcing him backwards.

And within that instant, like molten lava through splintered rock, that steel-clad resolve cracked and bled, and hot black outrage spilled forth in an overwhelming tide.

Ancel lunged at the dragoon. He made no sound, yet a shrill, dizzying screech like iron nails on glass shot through Estinien’s head, near-forcing him to flinch where he stood. What was once a vaguely threatening presence had suddenly blossomed into a foul manifestation, the likes of which he had never seen. The monster roiled before him, defiant, frantic, desirous of naught but murderous relief, victims with which to expend its volatile energy.

Yet behind that spitting rancour was coiling terror, like fingertips breaching a murky surface; a wordless plea for help.

Their weapons clashed, sparks flew, and before Estinien knew it, they were locked within a terrible dance. He blocked each blow, stood his ground, but knew time was slipping fast—that soon it would enmesh his former friend too deeply. Calling out was useless, he knew, but spilling blood would make it worse. 

He had to find an opening. Now. Now—

There. The shoulder.

In a flash, Estinien freed his right hand of his lance and grabbed Ancel’s right shoulder, effectively spanning his forearm over the taller man’s chest. Gathering every ounce of strength, he swung and shoved both himself and the swordsman into the cavern wall, pressing his entire upper body against him and keeping his back pinned to the rocks. Ancel’s sword clattered to the ground, his grip lost from the unexpected force.

The beast bellowed, and Ancel’s body reacted in kind. But Estinien was stronger.

“Unhand me!” Ancel shouted in panic, his now-free hand flying up and grasping desperately at Estinien’s throat—to choke and to push. The dragoon grunted and gasped, focusing entirely on securing his hold, and adjusting his own body for every crack Ancel’s struggling managed to chip.

Once he felt he had a moment, Estinien dropped his lance and lifted his hand to his helm, pulling it shakily from his head and casting it aside. He then reached for Ancel’s mask, and despite the manner in which the man protested and twisted his head away, Estinien managed to peel the bloodied leather down to his jaw. His goggles received the same treatment, now strapped in an awkward angle over his forehead.

“Ancel. Ancel,” Estinien wheezed, forcibly calm. “Look at me.”

The utterance of the name seemed to still the body, and for a mercy, Ancel relieved the pressure over his throat—but it wasn’t enough to quell that howling blood in his veins. Ancel decidedly did not listen, keeping his exposed face angled down and letting tousled bangs fall in the way.

Without thinking, Estinien slipped his hand over Ancel’s cheek and gently coaxed his head to face his own until their eyes could meet.

“Look,” he ordered again. “Breathe.”

“I—…”

“Abandon it and reach for me.”

He wasn’t certain what to expect when Ancel did return his gaze, but the discomforting shiver that coursed up his spine near loosened his hold. 

Pale eyes familiar, but tainted. That same glint of diffidence, that selfless determination of his, now worn and dulled and painted over with anguish and hatred. His pupils were vertically misshapen.

How did you let it go this far, Estinien wanted to ask. But now was not the time.

The insidious fog had begun to disperse, at the very least. Ancel was calming, regaining control; near gasping for breath by now. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, but he shut them ere they could fall. He was trembling violently.

“Easy,” Estinien soothed. “You are yet your own.”

Ancel surrendered more shuddering breaths, but eventually nodded and leaned his head further into Estinien’s hand. The dragoon found himself automatically curling his fingers in reply, his thumb shifting over his cheek, and a strange warmth washed through him.

It wasn’t as though he hadn’t offered similar solace to others before—fellow dragoons on the cusp of losing themselves in like manner, particularly—but when spoken to Ancel, his words felt different, more personal somehow. They’d been close friends before, certainly, but they were strangers now. They both preferred that, did they not?

But to be so close, to speak so softly, to caress and comfort in utter sincerity, hearkened Estinien to decade-old memories unwanted and uncelebrated.

Namely, the last time he held Ancel’s face thus.

“Estinien, I...” Ancel managed, his voice shriveled and weak. “I apologize… this won’t... happen again...”

Estinien swallowed a lump in his throat, noticing then just how close his face had drawn to his companion’s. Slowly, carefully, he withdrew, watching Ancel through the corner of his eye just in case. Ancel didn’t move, apart from grasping his elbows and letting his head fall forward.

“We’re short on time,” Estinien murmured, kneeling to retrieve his helm. “But I must caution you further: the dragon within is no trifle.” 

“I know,” Ancel breathed.

“You don’t.” 

Somewhat surprised by his own interjection, and thankful that Ancel didn’t seem to react, Estinien exhaled and slipped his helm back over his head. “You fight its urge, but you are not controlling it,” he clarified. “If you’re to continue on this journey or any other, you must tighten the reins. Else...”

Estinien retrieved his lance and rose to his feet. Ancel was looking at him now, wearing a lost, exhausted expression he had not the time nor energy to decipher in full. The dragoon, in turn, regarded him with a grim look.

“... Else, you will force my hand—and it will not flinch.”

dragon stuff! dragon stuff! dragon stuff!!!! sour interpersonal relationship... dragon stuff!!!!!! thank you for the prompt @azure-dragonsinger​!!! happy to report he got deftly bullied here :3c (and finally.... a fic that takes place in MSQ..... thank u god) 

I got carried away (as usual) but this gave me a great excuse to write this scenario out ;w; (and thank u @lilbittymonster for the ‘dragoons losing control’ brainwyrms bows bows bows)

from touch prompts!

#ask #muh writing #ancel louvre #estinien varlineau #wolstinien #getting to write ancel's inner dragon in any capacity is fun and i will take any excuse to do it #rip ancel's shoulders btw he never learns

[slautertm]

me having to get ready to go out versus me just wanting to stay in and write out this drabble i've had in my head all day

#besties i don't want to go out but it'll be FINE #maybe i'll sneakily write on my phone muh haha #but ily all so much please take care of yourself #{ OOC }

[subconsciousmysteries]

Men are absolutely losing it because women are seeing through their bullshit and I'm here to watch their collective narcissistic meltdown

#I understand anti feminists because feminism is a CIA funded plant that dug its own grave in regards to the trans stuff #I understand anti fems until they start saying we need to feel compassion for incels lol #I can tell these anti feminist women have never got stuck with a narcissist / borderline personality man before #The only way you can deal with a Cluster B is shut them down like the animal they are. #No sympathy no compassion... Their entire pathology is about exploiting your compassion to get you to enable their evil. #They are demonically possessed individuals #Even if you don't believe in that stuff... If you've dealt with one before and processed it... you know there's no fixing them #You can't love incels out of hating women #They have a deep-seated womb envy that transcends feminism or anything to do with the modern times #Coddling them literally makes it worse #See if the population understood enneagram things would be much easier lol #4s (incels) need to get they ass whooped by some harsh eugenic 1-ness #You cannot love them out of being hateful #And 2s (gender conforming women) need to grow some self awareness and understand that they keep themselves trapped in the “feminine role” #It's not muh social conditioning muh patriarchy keeping women sympathizing with gross men #It is our own 2-ish hubris #I need to write a book about gender dynamics inspired by enneagram 2 cuz this understanding is so so lacking in our culture #When you try to “fix” a broken man you are trying to impose your will on him and establish power over him. #It's absolutely not about you being a poor little innocent victim of patriarchy even though that's what you become when it backfires on you #Speaking as a 2-ish woman who has learned the hard way you can't fix broken hateful men

[fl0tketz]

going to kill the person who invented LaTeX.

oh, you want proof? you want write mathematical proof??? better learn how to code fucker!!

#hate it here!!!!!!! #muh it improved readability and understanding well it worsens *writability* by ten thousand percent!! #worse if you want me to show my work. i’m not writing all that shit out!!!!! just trust me bro #🪆

[hatchetfieldgazette]

last night i found out one of the ship names for grace and max is Jagertitty and i have not been the same since

#i don’t. it’s #i mean it’s a Choice but holy ghost #anyhow hi i’m speed eatting then i’ll be writing muh haha #actually lingering on my phone now though #( OOC )

[is-the-owl-video-cute]

I checked that person's blog and literally the first thing I see is a post complaining about Wattpad banning bestiality and incest 💀

I shouldn't laugh because this is serious but this ask caught me so off guard it caused a guffaw hard enough I started coughing.

#Mainly because it’s like these people strawman themselves #how are you pushing 40 and still doing this #muh freeze peach is infringed upon if I can’t write my fic about two dog brothers boning or whatever #if it troubles you that those are banned there is only one reason why and it is not a good look on you

[willowdied]

i am going to be slow af for the next two weekish but i am feeling unhinged so have more characters i'll add

matilda bishop - headless

nibbly - hatchetfield

tinky - hatchetfield

zoey chambers - hatchetfield

girl jeri - hatchetfield

ruth fleming - hatchetfield

alice woodward - hatchetfield

jason jepson - hatchetfield

natalie - yellowjackets

taissa - yellowjackets

#please keep in mind i have seen One episode of yellowacket's they are just mine im claiming them #i bought the other episodes though so MUH HAHAHA #and i know when i finally catch up on cr i will fully be adding more #and neverafter #rip my stableish muse list #anyhow i have been listening to the same song for like an hour but i live im writing for today #Somewhere???? #( ooc )