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ryker-writes · 1 year

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To add more angst to your Sibling Vil headcanons, what's if the reader is the one who overblots instead of Vil, after he basically ruins their confidence and realizes Vil has some resentment toward them? Revealing in their overblot form that they never even wanted to be famous and only did it for Vil's approval

yesss the angst I live for it!

For those who didn't see the original post you can fine it here. (Let me know if link doesn't work)

Vil's broken sibling relationship (alternate ending)

when Vil did hang out with you, he would always point out some small thing about you that was out of place

even if you had everything together, he would find something to criticize

afterwards he would always make a comment about how you should be careful because your actions reflect on him and your father

sometimes he would even give you a backhanded compliment or when he was especially angry, he would straight up insult you and claim he's trying to help you

it became very clear that Vil hated you

hated how you acted and how you looked

you two used to get along

he even helped you become who you were today

when you were young, he would always help you with how to act or how to look right for all the cameras

he carefully help you and taught you back then

but now he was openly insulting you and hating you

according to Vil, you were many things

you were an idiot for not being able to understand or see the simplest things

you were naïve and stupid for not realizing that your friends only liked you because of your fame

you were annoying

you were lazy

you were ugly

your own brother said all this to you

the only person you thought you could truly rely on, hated you

maybe he was right about you

maybe all those things were true

everyone else probably say you like that

now it was so much easier to pay attention to all the negative publicity you got

Vil was right

you wish it wasn't him that said it, but he was right

it's safe to say that your confidence wasn't doing too great lately

and as you walked through the school halls, it felt like everyone was watching you with criticizing eyes

like they were just waiting for you to embarrass yourself

and when you did, they would be watching, recording, and laughing

so lost in your own thoughts, you weren't paying much attention to where you were going

and you ran into him

your dear brother who hated everything about you

of course, he started criticizing you again

and in front of everyone

"Looks like you're even worse than I thought if you can't even pay attention to where you're walking. You look more unsightly today than usual. You really can't get anything right can you?"

the students around you two started whispering, some even snickered

they were talking about you

you could just tell

it was too much

everything they were saying was too much

you couldn't be here

not with them, not with Vil

you backed away from Vil with tears in your eyes

and you looked directly at him

the cold and uncaring expression clear on his face

thinking back on it, did he ever even care?

was he only ever helping you because your father was forcing you two to be in the spotlight

did he only help you because he couldn't be seen next to someone so hideous?

how horrible it all was

your life, your image, your thoughts, you

for just one moment you wished they would all stop talking, stop talking about you

without even thinking you sent one spell, a simple spell, in Vil's general direction

and that was enough

enough for the air to suddenly feel so thin and an overwhelming sense of dread flooded through you

the world seemed darker

like someone had dimmed everything down

but the whispers got louder and louder until it turned into shouting

they all hated you

it was clear

you just had to accept and give in

Vil was right

you could feel liquid running down your cheeks

reaching up, you went to wipe away the tears

but when you pulled your hand back, you saw black

those weren't really tears

it was blot covering your hand

and it wouldn't stop running down your cheeks like a river that never ends

it ran down your hands and even covered your arms

you could feel it run along your skin and even drip down to the ground

but none of that even mattered right now

Vil stood in front of you now looking shocked

everyone else scrambled to get away from you

of course they did

"You should be proud, Vil. They all love you, and would never run away from you."

he pulled out his magical pen

"You're even incredibly stupid when you overblot. You can't even see how much they love you more than me. They've said that you're the most beautiful. You don't even work that hard and you get amazing opportunities. Meanwhile spend every hour of every day trying to be the best."

looking down at yourself, you could see that your clothes have even changed

beautifully designed clothes were in the place of your old ones

drops of blots swirled down your clothes, and somehow made them look nicer

Vil said they called you the most beautiful, but he's also told you how ugly you were in the past

how could he suddenly change his words like that

they obviously didn't like you that much

they constantly talk and even now avoid you

it made you angry

Vil has been nothing but cruel to you

you couldn't control it

and you lashed your magic at him

he was able to dodge some of your attacks and even started attacking you

your anger just kept building up

"Are you serious? You made me like this. You helped guide me when we were younger. I never even wanted any of those roles! I never wanted to live like this!"

you sent a particularly strong attack his way and he took it full force

Vil staggered back, disheveled and wounded from the fight so far

but your attacks just kept coming and only grew in intensity

"All I ever wanted was for you to just accept me, to like me. But ever since we started growing up you've done nothing but hate me."

it was getting harder to see and hear what was happening

ink plagued all your senses

and all you felt was anger

when you next opened your eyes, everything was blurry for a second

your body felt weak and it hurt to even move

but when your vision cleared, you could see that you were in the school infirmary

and sitting next to your bed was Vil

he seemed to notice you were awake

"How are you feeling?"

despite his calm tone, Vil looked rough

still beautiful as always, but a well trained eye could see the way his hair was slightly out of place and makeup ever so slightly smudged in the corners

he had been here a while

once again you could feel water run down your cheeks

you quickly reached up to wipe it away and looked at your hands

it was actual water this time, not blot

Vil sighed and grabbed your hand

"I'm sorry."

a heavy silence hung in the air afterwards

a million things that he wanted to say

things he needed to say

but right now, he couldn't find the words

so Vil promised himself that he would be able to tell you everything and that he'd do everything he can to try to fix what both he and his father had broken

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #twst vil #vil schoenheit #twst vil x reader #vil shoenheit x reader #vil x reader #vil angst

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yoshida-chiyo · 5 months

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"let me take care of you"

pairing: heeseung x fem!reader

genre: smut

warnings: explicit sexual content, bdsm dynamics, domination, use of lube, strong language

word count: approx. ~500

disclaimer: No images used in this post belong to me. All credits to respective creators. Contact for credit/removal. Your work is valued.

author's note: This narrative contains explicit content intended for mature audiences. minors dni.

As soon as he entered the room, Heeseung knew he was in for a wild night. You had been teasing him all day with suggestive texts and photos. Although he had been trying to play it cool and act unfazed, he couldn't deny the growing anticipation in his stomach.

You were sitting on the bed, dressed in one of his button-up shirts and a pair of lacy black panties. Your hair was in a messy bun, and a mischievous smile played on your lips.

'Hey, sweetheart,' Heeseung greeted, already feeling his heart race.

'Hey, baby,' you purred, patting the spot beside her on the bed. 'Come here.'

Heeseung eagerly walked over to her and sat on the bed, his eyes fixed on you. He could feel the heat already radiating off of you, and it only made him want you more.

You leaned in to kiss him but pulled back at the last second, leaving him breathless and wanting. 'I want you to lay down and let me take care of you tonight,' you said, your voice low and seductive.

Heeseung didn't need to be told twice. He lay back on the bed as you crawled on top of him, straddling his waist and sending shivers down his spine.

You began kissing down his neck, leaving a trail of fire in your wake. Heeseung could feel himself getting turned on already, his body responding to your touch.

'Fuck, baby,' he cursed, his hands gripping your waist tightly.

You smiled against his skin, knowing you had him right where you wanted. You continued to leave a trail of kisses down his chest, stopping to pay special attention to his sensitive nipples.

Heeseung moaned and arched his back, his hands running through your hair. 'Please, don't tease me,' he begged.

You chuckled and sat up, straddling his hips. You leaned down to capture his lips in a passionate kiss, your hands running up and down his chest and causing him to shudder with pleasure.

As you kissed, Heeseung could feel himself getting lost in the sensation. He knew you were purposely trying to overstimulate him, and he couldn't help but love every minute of it.

You pulled away from the kiss and sat up, a mischievous glint in your eye. 'I want to try something new tonight,' you said, reaching over to the nightstand and grabbing a small bottle of lube.

Heeseung raised an eyebrow but didn't protest as you poured a generous amount onto your hand. You began stroking him slowly, your eyes locked on his.

'Shit,' Heeseung moaned, his body responding instantly to your touch.

You continued to stroke him, increasing the pace and pressure. Heeseung could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge. Just as he was about to come, you stopped and leaned down to whisper in his ear.

'Tell me, who makes you feel this good?' you asked, your voice dripping with seduction.

'You do,' Heeseung moaned, his body trembling with pleasure.

You smiled and leaned back up to kiss him, your hand still stroking him slowly and expertly. Heeseung could feel himself getting lost in the sensation, his mind foggy with pleasure.

With one final stroke, he cried out and came, his body shaking with the intensity of it. You continued to stroke him until he was spent, then you leaned down to kiss him again, your hands running through his hair.

'You're amazing,' Heeseung whispered against your lips.

'So are you, baby,' you replied, a satisfied smile on your face.

Note: Please refrain from reposting my work. If you appreciate it and would like to share, kindly link directly to the original post. Thank you for respecting the effort and creativity put into this content.

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superums · 7 months

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why do i cry — 42! miles prt 2.

spidey!reader. angst with happy ending. for general audiences. (cannon) character death. no y/n. childhood friends to crush to enemies to lovers. no official confession but a official confession. part 2 of this fic. somewhat of a accidental confession trope

color coded text: miles. you/spidey.

inspired by: why do i cry - margo guryan

"miles?" you felt like throwing up all over again, looking at the boy you've loved for almost all your life talking down to you. you were almost living the worst day of your life all over again.

you closed your eyes, expecting another barrage of punches only to be met with a hand grabbing your mask. you grabbed his arm but you were too weak to stop him.

in a instant your face was met with the cold snowflakes falling from the sky. readjusting your eyes you saw him standing over you. time stood still—what was a few seconds felt like years, decades.

your body loved faster then your mind did, snatching your mask, you put it back on before leaving him in your wake.

that entire week you genuinely felt sick with heart break. your mother tried to get you out of bed many times but she each time she came your face was wet with fresh tears.

you couldn't tell her why, you didn't want anyone else thinking less of you. instead you told her "i just need time.. please."

she gave you space, cooking your favorite meal every single day until you felt better and each time you did think you were getting better, the image of miles standing over you would come back making you feel sick all over again.

in the four weeks it was almost like you stopped existing from anyplace but your bedroom and in your absence crime started to pick up again, and so did the complaints from the media.

"some hero spidey is huh? kingpin robs bank after bank and that useless web-head is nowhere to be found?! new york this just shows we can't trust that sorry excuse of a hero for anything!"

jonah jameson yelled into his camera—he wasn't alone. from all over new york, anchors were throwing every professional name they could think of at you, miles felt like he was the blame.

in the weeks you've been gone his mind has yet to calm. he was about to kill you, if he didn't take off your mask theres no telling what he would've done.

he's been trying to stay away from you, but now crime is risen and theres been several threats that someone is going to attack the brooklyn bridge he knew he had to find you.

now he's standing in your bedroom. he almost stopped breathing as he stopped your still frame. walking closer, he sat next to your feet gently as he could. it took him forever before he opened his mouth.

"i..." he looked at his gauntlet. "i'm sorry for what i did... what i said." the lack of light of your room hid his the sick look on his face. your eyes were wide open and watering slightly as you saw his dark figure from the moonlight outside.

"i did believe what they said about you—how you killed my father... how you're a murderer... a cowardly killer. maybe since it was....maybe since it was him, it was easier for me to believe." you almost felt sick as you saw him wiping his face and sniffling; he was trying not to cry.

you listened as miles talked to himself out loud; he says that he didn't know how to handle jeffs death and that uncle aaron was the only person he felt like he could turn to.

that he worried his mom because he's out so late and bearly talks to anyone anymore but he has to provide for her now that his dads gone.

it takes him a while to stop talking and after that he sits in your room in silence almost like he was going to say something else, instead he heads to your window.

your open eyes stared into the darkness corners of your room as you contemplated stopping him. you wanted to let him go, you wanted to hate him but your heart wouldn't allow it—grabbing his hand you stopped him in his tracks.

whipping his head to face you, you stood on your knees in your bed, you were visibly disheveled, even shaking as you held his hqnd. "miles, i....." you were fighting back vomit and tears as you looked at the boy you love.

it didn't seem appropriate, he just confessed he wanted to kill you because of the news and that he wanted to make you pay—but you can't hold this in any longer. for as long as you could remember you've wanted to confess to him, now this might be the last time you see him ever you have to get it off your chest.

"miles...i like you—no i love you... even after what you said to me on that roof top." it felt like the world stopped for both you and him, his heart fastened as he stared at you. you closed your eyes, expecting him to leave, to say he had a girlfriend even laugh again you but instead you were met with a hug.

his gloved hand rubbed your back and his head burring itself into your shoulder. "i don't know what i'd do if you didn't..." you two cradled each other for a while before separating to look each other in the eyes. "i didnt mean to hurt you." he says after a moment.

holding your hand, he walked you to your window before opening it again. you squeezed his tighter as you saw him get ready to leave. kissing your cheek, he began to climb out of it. "i'll come see you after school... make sure you're dressed, imma take you somewhere." "y-yeah okay."

your legs felt like jelly as you watched him leave. heading back to your bed, you layed on your back for a moment before turning on your stomach and kicking your feet. "i better hurry up and get to bed.. i have a date tomorrow."

taglist: @lunagalaa @awow-2 @coffeeandtealol

#42 miles x reader #miles g morales x reader #earth 42 miles × reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #prowler miles x reader #atsv headcanons #atsv × reader #atsv imagines #miles morales x reader #miles morales x black!reader #spiderverse x reader #miles morales headcanons

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cupids-chamber · 1 year

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♡. When your feelings for your best friend twist into something more than what one would usually expect.. | 1k+ words, Best friends to lovers, Mutual pinning, Riddle Rosehearts x Reader, Gender neutral reader, Unexpected confession, Fluff.

You couldn’t tell exactly when you started falling for him, it was unexpected. How you started taking care of yourself, grooming yourself for a simple meet up with him; keeping a distance when you were in a bad mood, casual conversations with them being something you anticipated more than anything else, how everything he did made you internally melt. The soft words, praises, and compliments that fell from his lips, causing heat to rise towards your face. Everything was so foreign, it wasn’t anywhere near to what you initially felt for him, the feeling a foreign casualty to the binds and labels of your relationship.

How his soft touches, hugs, brushes of the arms, and more became all the more effective to you, who swore time and time again that you were not falling.. for your best friend… His lengthen glances, slightly red cheeks became all the more apparent, you couldn’t avoid the thoughts spiraling through your head. Overthinking every small everlasting moment with him.

His thoughts collided, his world dropped and sank the moment he realized what he felt for you, a tad bit flustered being around you in general— ‘have you been getting prettier?’, he couldn’t stop himself from letting the words fall from his lips. Over analyzing all your movements to the point it was alarming, having you in his thoughts as if it was a daily prayer he couldn't help but always preach.

His touches increased, everything you did made him freeze. All he wanted was to capture the moment, and keep it safe deep within the confines of his mind and memory. When you call out for him in the halls, he couldn’t help but grin loosely, avoiding his friends and comrades' questions about his reactions that seemed so— odd. His feelings were leaking, overflowing, to the top of the teacup; no matter how many times he takes a sip and gulps down the feelings and buries it deep within his heart. He couldn’t stop it, not when it was overflowing, not when his heart beat got ever so louder when he saw your face; Riddle could feel his body envelope in a pleasant feeling of warmth when he heard your voice.

He was deep within the pit of fiery flames of affection and adoration, his dreams consisted with you, the thought of you, the images of you. Every small movement you make, everything one could possibly misunderstand, he wanted to misunderstand.. Riddle knew better to overthink simple gestures, but he couldn’t control his thoughts.. Not when the picture of you, your voice, the words that you speak; keep him up at night, tossing and turning. Sleepless nights with only dreams and images of you. ‘I must be crazy’ is what goes through his head, when he calls you so late at night; claiming with stupid, pitiful.. excuses that his ‘insomnia’ kept him up at night; but he couldn’t stop himself, when he gets to hear your sweet voice, something that pulls him to sleep, ‘I’m insane’ are his thoughts, as he scrolls through the endless amounts of messages the two of you exchanged, waiting for you sign to turn online.. So he could message you…

Scrolling through magicam, looking at pictures of you.. ‘What is wrong with me?’ he’d question himself, as he looks at your latest posts; fighting the urge to instantly reply the moment you appear on his notification bar, no matter the time or place… Would you be upset if you knew? Just how crazed he was for your affection?, maybe you’d find the entire ordeal disgusting, in fact it was quite humiliating for Riddle himself, just how disheveled and obsessed he seemed in private, yet couldn’t help but put on the sweetest front when coming to face you. He couldn’t help but grow slightly jealous of other men or more possibly your ex lovers, when he meets them or when you speak of them. He has no right to feel this way, not when you’ve given him all the love and respect he could expect; not when you’ve closed into his heart and provided him the comfort of a close comrade that he needed, someone he can rely on, for about everything— and yet he could never explain this feeling of adoration and crave for your attention and time.

Oh god… He was in love.

“I love you..” the words came out in a whisper of sorts but you heard it, of course you heard it.. Why wouldn’t you? It felt as time paused itself there as the two of you tried collecting your feelings, letting the walls fall and the gates open. Riddle foresees that the tea cup won’t ever really stop overflowing.

Calmth embraced the two of your surroundings, the unnerving feeling and tension came to a stop; as you embraced him. The warmth in your arms provided comfort and ease to the man, who felt his heart beat a tad bit faster and louder as you whispered the three words he wanted to hear back, the words he had only heard you uttering in his daydreams. The three words that kept him up at night, at least now he can say those sleepless nights were worth it, as he buried his head into the crook of your neck; a sigh of relief escapes him, as the two of you enjoy the moment tied to one another. Maybe untangling just what your relationship truly was could be discussed later, and he can finally have the freedom of preaching that he is yours and your his.

An inaudible whisper fell from his lips; his eyes glowing with curiosity and want. As he finally kissed you, the moment was fleeting and yet so soft and sweet; the taste of your lips on his own engraved into his skull and mind. A heavy breath of relief and adoration fell, “I love you, I truly do..”; he’d say those words a million times more, if you only gave him the permission to do so.. Would you do him this tiny.. favor?

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naturecalls111 · 3 months

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I wrote this on twitter but I thought I'd put it here too, since I occasionally get asks on how I draw/any tips I might have. On twitter I also made the caveat that I don't feel I'm qualified to give anyone tips, LOL, but I was drawing today for an assignment and felt like this is worth noting to any beginner artists who have a tendency of clinging onto sketches that they feel like they finally got right! (A.K.A, a habit I still have years later HA!) This isn't so much of a tutorial as expressing my thought process in this discovery of how to draw more dynamic pieces. I found it to be satisfying on my end, seeing it unravel, so hopefully it can help someone who may be struggling with the same thing I am.

MAKING MORE DYNAMIC PIECES, A PERSONAL STUDY!:

I wasn't upset by this drawing, but I could tell there was something stagnant about it so I ended up pushing it and redrawing it a million times to see if I could somehow make it look more dynamic.

Here's one part of the timelapse - I'm clearly adamant on trying to make this pose/composition work but while the sketch itself may look better, the stagnation hasn't changed. Perhaps this works for some people, but anyone seeking a dynamic visual will be able to spot that this simply isn't working as anything more than a semi-decent anatomy study attempting to be applied.

I changed the position of both arms, I tried to play around with the angle of the head, I tried to just the hips forward more so that the spine had increased curvature, but the main issue, really, was that the initial composition lacked the dynamism in general. It prioritised dramaticism over dynamism. Both can exist in the same piece - it did not, in this one.

This was the new sketch I started with. Less rigid base to go off of. Just getting down the general shape I wanted to score - make the spine and tail take a sort of mid-whip path, shoulders hunched, hips cant forwards, as if he's curling in on himself. I think for a dynamic piece, it's more helpful that your initial sketch uses the body as a general marker as opposed to something to do lineart over (granted, I don't really do lineart anyway, my sketch is usually the extent of my "lineart", but since this is just looking at creating a more dynamic composition, I think it still applies!)

Here it's the same principle. For the left image (the legs) I've established where the knee of the right leg goes, and where the hip that precedes the left leg will sit. These are just base anatomical structures that help me figure out 1. Whether or not the mere idea of this composition will work, and 2. where I have to stop once I start drawing. For me, having some sort of limitation for the body helps me stay within range of proportionate anatomy (not that I particularly care for the anatomy to be realistic, just proportionate to the style I'm drawing in)

On the right image is also the same principle. Establishing the movement of the arm, the elbow/arm bend, and the hand. (If you see the full sketch before the two above, I established the hand in that one too - it really is helpful figuring out the placement of the hand ahead of time.) If it looks atrocious afterwards I always have the lasso tool/eraser to save me.

The new attempt brings me to this. While preference in art is subjective, I do think I'd be staying in SOME realm of objectivity when I say this is more dynamic than my initial sketch, LOL. Of course, lighting/rendering choices help push the composition a little more, but this achieves what I couldn't do with that first sketch. I had a general idea, but it's important to know when to let go of something that clearly isn't working.

Would love for anyone to add their own tips or ideas to this post - I'm not particularly known for dynamic pieces so I'm always looking to learn. This was a really valuable study for me so I wanted to share it, but everyone has their own method and what works for me may not work for the next person!

There's a few other asks that asked me for tips on general anatomy, and more specifically legs (oh dear god, I'M going to need to study for that before writing out any sort of resource guide for that, lol) that I hope to get around to doing in the near future. Thank you for your guys' vote of confidence, haha! ❤️

#nc111 tutorials and studies #sketch #art tips #art help #study #I had a lot of fun with this piece so while part of this was definitely to passively respond to my inbox requests #a big part was also just me wanting to talk about my brain expanding as I realised how to Push A Composition #I can't wait to try more things in the future to try and get more dynamic compositions #let me know if this was helpful let me know if it was utterly useless #I'm not a great teacher but I used to tutor my neighbours 7 year old daughter and she found my methods boring but hey she got better

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queers-gambit · 1 year

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Creepy Crawlies

inspired by this image by @applegin

prompt: Aemond and Helaena witness how deep your fear goes.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!reader featuring: bestie!Helaena

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 1.7k+

warnings: cursing, spoiler FREE, author has arachnophobia and projects in this, spiders (it's a warning to me), generally pretty docile. oh, and, i'm def pretending Aemond's just strong enough to carry a human, so, use a bit of your imagination.

#WhyPayForTherapyWhenYouCanWrite

In truth, you're not sure how or why it happened. Some said it was the Will of the Gods, others claimed it simply made-up, while others said it could've been your own mind playing tricks. Either way, every which way you turned, someone was there to discredit your fears.

It's not like you asked for this kind of humiliation! Honestly! Did people genuinely think you did this on purpose? Did they think you liked this? Being this way? As if it wasn't enough to have fear in general, but tenfold when nobody seemed to understand nor validate the way you were engulfed in anxiety.

Over all, the creepiest, fucking eight-legged, eight-eyed crawlie around. Something you regarded as Hell Spawn, others might call a spider. Either way, you despised the wee creatures - and though you understood boot crushes the little guy, the idea of being so close to one that you could kill it sent you into overwhelming panic.

Ah, fucking spiders.

Again, you're unsure how this fear developed but it was as if you woke up one day and couldn't stop screaming at the sight of the little creature sent from the depths of Seven Hells. Your older brother became the official "Spider Killer" of the family since you spent most of your time with him, but after getting married, your husband now assumed the role.

Years ago, both your mothers had agreed to a marriage arrangement to ensure loyalty from your House (should the time come), and six weeks after your 17th nameday, you were reciting vows to your white-haired lover. He held no quarrel with your fear, and in fact, he was the first to ever not make you feet at fault for it.

It wasn't Aemond's place to ridicule you. He's seen you with a sword, with a bow and arrows, hell, even with an axe - and sometimes, doing all of that while on horseback! He understood you to have no fear, and yet, when a spider comes in your vision, it was as if any and all rational thought vacates your mind. He's seen you throw-up from your anxiety, so, he quickly understood his role and never once complained nor belittled you for it.

Aemond didn't mind killing spiders for you. He could understand that you needed "proof" of their vanquish, showing the squashed bug on his boot, and only then would you breathe easier. However, if around his family, Aemond knew his sister, Helaena, would become upset by him harming - like alone, killing - any insect. She'd prefer them to be set free outside, and as compromise, Aemond would simply escort you out of the room to leave his sister time to collect her buggy friend. He'd walk you to the kitchens, fetch some water, watch you crack your neck, and then venture back to whatever gathering.

You always hesitated before returning to events. Most times, wherever you saw the spider is the exact place you avoid - almost as if there was an invisible fence keeping you away.

Aemond would pause you, slowly pick up his sister's jar, and show you the little fucker was safely inside with a screwed-on-tight lid. You didn't like it, Aemond knew that, but you both made an effort to actively not upset Helaena.

One day, when a thick hurricane ravaged the city, Aemond found you in the middle of lessons and decided to seek out his sister - never seeking Aegon out unless for family matters. His sister, as usual, was catering to her collection of insects, smiling when she saw him, and inviting him over. She mindlessly explained who was who to Aemond, telling him what they did or what their purpose was in an ecosystem.

He listened.

He asked questions.

He was a perfect brother.

And he didn't think you'd know where to find him on such a day, because the moment Helaena handed over a spider to Aemond, bidding he be gentle and not let Aegon near the creature (who had been in and out all day), there came a squeak by the door.

"Oh," Helaena frowned, seeing your frozen form. Her brother had told her of your fear, thinking she'd understand the best. "I-I can introduce you, if you want? Wi-Will that help? Will that help you feel safe?"

You paused, heart melting at her words. "Um... Uh, I-I don't, I, uhhh... I just don't know what will help."

"It's okay, darling," Aemond soothed, nodding at you, hands turning over to let eight-legs carry the spider around.

"Here," Helaena nodded, waving Aemond after her as she approached you. "Why don't you just watch, say hello? No touching," she promised, standing slightly behind you as if you block your exit.

"Um... I don't know..."

Aemond took slow steps, eye never leaving your face. You gulped as he took another step, and from here, he could see a sweat glistening on your forehead - so he took another step.

"Wait! Wait, no!" You begged, feeling Helaena's hands on your upper arms from behind. Aemond was too close now, and you couldn't look away from the arachnid crawling around his flesh. The same flesh you touched, the same flesh that worshiped you nightly, the same flesh that warmed your own in the night. "NO!" You sobbed, backing up so forcefully, you almost tripped over you sister-by-law. "No, Gods, please, no! NO! Just no! G-Get away from me!"

Helaena gasped your name, but your eyes were blown, hands shaking, throat swelling, stomach churning. Aemond spoke your name softly, frowning, but you could only pant as you leaned against the chamber wall beside the door. "We're gonna put her back now, okay?" He spoke softly, nodding slowly at you.

"Please, please, just kill it, jus-just get it gone!" You begged,.

"We'll get it away from you, it's okay," Aemond agreed, his sister quickly opening her jar to let her brother lower the bug into the glass. "It's okay, love, look, just look here." When your eyes flashed to his, then to the jar, he made sure to move slowly and shake the little Hell spawn from his hand.

"I'm so sorry," Helaena frowned.

"It's not your fault," Aemond promised, watching you as you tried to regain your breathing. "It's not her fault either..."

"Um," Helaena looked at you with worry, "m-maybe you'd like to see the others? I have ladybugs, grasshoppers, too. They're nice."

You gulped, "I-Is the spider gone?"

She held up the jar, turning for her little work bench and setting the jar in a satchel - out of your sight. "Is this okay?" She made sure.

"I-It can't escape?" You squeaked.

"No," the girl shook her head. "I'm sorry I scared you."

"No, no," you assured slowly, "it's me."

"Can I ask?"

You eyed her for a moment, "I don't have an answer... I've been like this since I can remember."

She frowned, glancing at Aemond. "Why aren't you comforting her?"

"She doesn't like to be touched like this," Aemond whispered.

"My skin hurts when I'm having these feelings," you admitted with a frown. "I just... You gotta let me calm down."

"Come sit?" Aemond offered, gesturing to the furthest arm chair from the work bench.

"I-I think I should leave. You guys were having fun and - "

"No, no, I want you to stay," Helaena insisted. "We can do anything else!"

"I'm so sorry," you sighed.

"Don't apologize," Aemond frowned, slowly approaching you.

"Aht!" You warned with a finger to halt him. "You're not touching me after a spider!"

"Oh, sweetheart - "

"No, no, no, no, wash your hands," you snipped. "I can't touch you, please, Aemond... For me?"

He sighed, but turned for the wash basin as Helaena lead you to the sitting area. She showed you her ladybugs and grasshoppers, and soon, you were giggling as the grasshoppers just bounced around like a little spring was on their legs.

Aemond eventually joined you, but he could see the panic in your eyes from still being in the same room, knowingly, as a spider. He understood why you wanted them killed instead of set free, and he would've done whatever it took to ensure your comfort. However, it could mean putting his sister's comfort at risk - and nobody, but Aemond, cared about Helaena's feelings.

So, when you married Aemond, you both understood that you two were essentially Helaena's keepers. If that meant capturing spiders rather than killing them, so be it, but Aemond hated watching you suffer. So, he pretended he was needed elsewhere with you to make your escape, and only when out of the room did he swear you took a breath.

"I'm sorry I couldn't kill it," he sighed.

"No, it's okay... Thank you for getting me out of there."

"Anytime," he nodded with a frown. "I wish I could've helped more."

"You help plenty," you assured. "I should learn to knock before entering rooms."

Aemond chuckled, "Yeah, as if that would ever happen."

"Hush." But then, you admitted, "I wish I didn't have this fear."

"Then you wouldn't be you," Aemond eased, letting his hand slide around your waist. "It's okay to be afraid."

"Yeah?"

"'Course," he smirked, "because your husband isn't afraid of a thing and can easily take on the Hell Spawn."

"See!" You cried with a gasp. "You know they're devious little fuckers, too! Sent upon mankind to repent for our sins!"

"Maybe that's why you fear them."

"Hmm?"

"You sinned big time in another life and now the spiders are sent, seeking atonement."

"Oh, ha-ha. Thought I married a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, not a court jester."

"Perhaps, a bit of both?"

"You'd have to be actually funny to be a jester - OW!" You laughed when he pinched your ribcage to make you squeal. "Unfair advantage! You're so bloody tall and have an angle!"

"Hm," Aemond considered, shrugging with a relenting nod, and then stooped low to haul you over his shoulder as if a sack of flour - moving forward to your bed chamber.

"Aemond!" You squealed. "Put me down, this is not appropriate! You know I hate being man-handled! Oh, my God, please, love, there's people watching!"

"Then they can mind their own business, just like we are," Aemond grunted. "I am merely escorting my wife to bed so I can fuck the fear outta her all night."

"It's only past lunch, Aemond!"

"Then I know what I want for dinner," his other hand rose to give a playful swat to your ass; hearing you giggle as he turned the corner.

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond the kinslayer #aemond fluff #hotd aemond #house of the dragon aemond #aemond hotd #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen imagine #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen fanfic

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sharkgirldick · 4 months

Text

Chum in the water

Here's a" hypnosis" story I never finished and don't think I ever will. Enjoy.

Another weekend, another long Saturday of playing games with my best friend all afternoon. She and I had met a few years ago at work, and we hit it off pretty fast. I invited her over to play years ago on a whim, and it immediately became a standing plan. Today, though, she was a bit off.

We were usually evenly matched in whatever games we played, swapping wins back and fourth. Today, I was kicking her ass. She was fidgety, nervous, and just couldn't concentrate on anything we tried. After beating her by a mile for the fifth time in a row, I set my controller down.

"Hey. What's up?"

"Well…" She squirmed a little in her spot on the floor before digging out her phone. "I was checking out that occult site again, and-"

"That bullshit one?"

She chuckled, "Yeah. The bullshit one. I found this hypnosis app that all the reviews say is the real deal."

"So you downloaded a virus so you could fail to hypnotize me again?"

"No way!" she playfully hit me on the shoulder. "This time is the real deal, I can feel it." I rolled my eyes, but turned toward her anyway. Makes sense, she always gets excited to try out some new hypnosis or possession or summoning thing with me. She must really believe in it to get so out of wack this time around. Maybe… Maybe now would be a good time to play it up. Pretend to by hypnotized and startle her if she tries to do something embarrassing.

Besides, hypnosis didn't work on me. Licensed hypnotherapists have tried and failed, even when I did everything they said to a T.

"Okay! Ready." She looked at me expectantly.

I rolled my eyes, playing along like usual. "Alright. What do I need to do?"

"The instructions just say to look directly in the middle of the image and think of my name over and over. Got it?" With a nod from me, she turned the phone my way.

I looked dead center. The image was a generic pink swirl with some soft static overlaid on it, words like "obey" and "listen" occasionally flashing. Oh, brother… I really hope she didn't spend any money on this. Still, I kept staring straight ahead. After about a minute, she moved the phone away.

Cautiously, she waved her hand in front of my face. I just blinked like normal. She lifted my arm and let go, and I just let it fall back to my side. She lifted it again.

"Don't move your arm." This time, I held my arm in place. Incredulous, she waved her and in front of my face again and rubbed my stomach. Involuntarily, I shuddered from the touch, as I'm a bit sensitive, but I managed to keep my arm up and my gaze straight. Satisfied, she said "Stop holding your arm in place."

She stared at me for a moment, a big, stupid grin spreading across her face. She laughed and pumped an arm in the air. "I did it!" With that, she cupped my face and kissed me.

It was more shock than anything else that I didn't react. I had expected her to make me do something embarrassing, like make stupid faces and do dumb poses while she took pictures. This… Wasn't planned for.

"Oh, right. Um. Kiss me?" She thought my lack of a reaction was due to the lack of command. I didn't have time to hesitate if I wanted to see how far she would take this. I leaned forward and pressed my lips against hers, as instructed. Actually meeting her half way this time, I could tell she was hungry. Her arms wrapped around my waste as the kiss turned into unabashedly making out, and I wanted nothing more than to wrap my arms around her in return. I waited instead, letting her desperately press against me, hands running up and down my back and sides.

Minute after minute passed; eventually, she broke the kiss, breathing hard. I pressed more kisses on her cheek, and she sighed happily.

"Stop kissing me." With that, I leaned back, once again assuming my hypnotized stare. "God that was... You're a good kisser. Did you... Like kissing me?"

I nodded. "I really enjoyed it." She beamed like it was some grand accomplishment, then she flushed, looking a bit worried.

"Uh... When you wake up, you won't remember anything that happened while you were hypnotized, okay?"

I nodded again, and echoed back "I won't remember anything."

She relaxed again, and looked over at my bed. "Lay down." Obediently, I got up and followed where her gaze led and laid in my bed. Almost as soon as I put my head down, she was in my lap, straddling me. "Pull up your shirt

#text post #shark thoughts #feeding frenzy

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2-guns-b1tch · 3 months

Text

I’ve got my eye on you, Valentine! 💘

Pairing: General!Scarecrow x F!Reader

I’m super late for Valentines Day (I’m on vacation cut me some slack) but o finally finished this. Some characters may feel a little bit ooc and the pacing may be a little fast, but I tried my best I hope you guys like this.

Rating : General Audience. A little bit of angst, but mostly fluff.

For most of his life, Jonathan hated Valentine's Day.

He remembered the time at school when the day finally came and all the kids were exchanging cards, but Jonathan only found his box empty. Worse were the few times when he actually received a letter and there was that temporary feeling of happiness, only to later discover that it was all a cruel joke from his classmates.

Who in their right mind would have a crush on Jonathan Crane? The lanky, weird boy who always wore patched clothes and had his face buried in books.

Over the years, the date stopped being terrifying and became just annoying. Jonathan couldn't help but roll his eyes when he noticed that stores hanging up the pink and red decorations, how couples seemed even more clingy in public and the chubby image of the Cupid with his little bow was everywhere he looked.

Deep down, there was still that disappointment, the loneliness that seemed to follow him wherever he went, but he tried to cover up any silly feelings with his work and studies. He didn't have time for romance. He didn't need the chocolates or teddy bears or stupid cards.

And that was why Jonathan felt in a bad mood today.

"Valentine's Day. February 14th. Day to celebrate the martyr Saint Valentin.” Calendar Man whispers to himself as the Arkham staff handed out colored paper and blunt scissors to the patients.

For some reason they thought it was a constructive activity to make Valentine's Day cards. Nonsense. Nobody was interested in this stupid holiday. Well, except Harley who seemed to squirm in her seat with excitement.

Jonathan stares at you from across the room. You looked concentrated, your tongue tucked between your lips as you took the red paper and cut it into the shape of a heart. Your eyes meet for a second and you smile sweetly at him before Jonathan looks away.

You were a relatively new piece in Gotham's criminal world, but you had already done enough noise to be sent to Arkham by the Batman.

You and Jonathan got along well, you could even say you were friends, but nothing more than that. You seemed to actually pay attention to his lectures about fear and the human brain and he liked listening to you talk as well.

Maybe he could do something for you. You were kind after all. And funny, your laugh never failed to bring a smile to his lips. And smart. And beautiful. And…

Jonathan shakes his head. God, the doctors were right about him finally going crazy. You would never accept anything he gave you. Jonathan had always been the weird kid and that hadn't changed.

“Out of ideas, Jon?” Edward asks as he spies over Jonathan’s shoulder.

“No,” he says without looking at him. "I won’t do anything."

“Oh my friend, don’t be so grumpy,” Tetch says, cutting out several paper bunnies holding hands. “Would you like us to make a card for you?”

“No,” he says again, crossing his arms. “I don’t want anything from either of you.”

Edward follows his vision to you, a mischievous grin on his face. “Let me guess, you’re embarrassed to send her a Valentine’s card, aren’t you?”

Jonathan feels like he was back to his school days. Not exactly, since he didn't have any friends back then, but Edward was like an annoying friend pressuring Jonathan to confess to his crush.

“Don't say nonsense, Edward. I’m not in the mood for your jokes.”

Edward throws his head back in laughter. "Don’t be shy. You can tell us if you have a crush on someone. After all, we are your best friends, right, Jervis?”

Jervis at the moment seemed more interested in the paper hat he was making, so Edward decides not to wait for his answer.

“Come on, I can even help you,” Edward says, nudging him with his elbow. “Ok, write this down: What is a vampire’s sweetheart called? A ghoul-friend!”

Jonathan roll his eyes instantly. “That was terrible.”

“Trust me, women love riddles.” He winks, brushing his hair back.

“I won't take relationship advice from you, Edward.”

"What do you have to lose?"

“Let’s see…” he adjusts his glasses before starting to count on his fingers. “My dignity, my time, my patience…”

“You complicate things too much. Don’t tell me you’re scared.” The look Edward gives him is challenging, a smirk on his lips.

Jonathan opens his mouth to defend himself. Fear? He was the master of fear! He was the bogeyman that hid in the shadows. The nightmare of Gotham's citizens. But any complaints died on his tongue.

He stares at Edward full of venom before speaking again. “Pass me the damn crayon.”

Edward grabs a red crayon and hands it to Jonathan, still smiling smugly.

Jonathan curses under his breath as she folds a light pink sheet in half. The crayon stays in the air for a few seconds until he finds the right words and starts writing.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, from your friend Jonathan Crane.” He writes simply in his impeccable handwriting.

"Done. Satisfied?" He lifts the card into the air, showing it to Edward.

Edward wrinkles his nose. “This is so boring! It doesn’t even have hearts!”

“You're crossing the line, Edward.”

“Actually, he is right.” Tetch says in a moment of sudden clarity. “It’s a Valentine’s Day card, it should have lots and lots of hearts like mine!”

Tetch shows his card full of collages and details dedicated to his beloved and unreachable Alice.

Jonathan rolls his eyes again and sighs in defeat. He decides to add a small heart in the corner of the page, discreet enough that you might not notice it.

“Good enough,” Edward pats his shoulder before leaning back against his chair, looking pleased with himself.

The rational decision would be to throw the card away, but something about it stops Jonathan from doing so. Another dark part of him has the desire to add more details. Spilling out all his feelings and secrets until every corner of the paper was filled with sweet, silly things. But he holds back, clutching the crayon in his hand.

When the time runs out and the cards start to be handed out, his chest tightens.

Edward and Tetch were kind enough to hand Jonathan cards, although Tetch wrote nonsensical rhymes and Edward’s had a riddle that he answered before Jonathan could finish reading.

Even if Jonathan didn't want to admit it, he was grateful for them. Edward and Jervis could be difficult and annoying, but they were the closest thing he had to friends. It was an unlikely partnership, but it worked. Sometimes.

The two of you are the last people in the room when you get up and start walking towards him. It's at this moment that Jonathan realizes how fast his heart is beating inside his chest. How sweaty his hands are and how dry his throat is. He knows these symptoms very well. Fear. He was afraid.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Crane.” Your tone is light, but the way you say “doctor” sends a shiver down Jonathan’s spine. He swallows hard, giving a small nod.

"Evening."

"What you got there?" You ask.

Jonathan fumbles for a second before realizing you're referring to the cards in his hand.

“Oh, Edward and Jervis did this for me.” He feels heat rise to his face. Was he actually blushing?

"Can I see?"

Jonathan doesn't answer, just hands you the cards. Your lips stretch into a smile as you read what Jervis and Edward wrote.

“I didn’t know these two could be so cute.” Your gaze turns to him again. “They must really like you.”

“Don't be fooled. They can be truly horrible when they want to.” Jonathan says in a somewhat playful tone and you chuckle.

“And from who it is this last one?” You gesture your head towards the card in his hand.

He squeezes the paper even tighter between his fingers. He could just lie. Forget about this silly Valentine's Day idea and tear that damn card into little pieces.

But the way you look at him, full of expectation, makes Jonathan's heart melt inside his chest.

“Well, it’s… for you.”

“Oh, good, because I made one for you too.”

He stares at you dumbfounded for a few seconds in silence.

"Really?" It's stupid, but he can't help but ask. He feels like a kid again, like at any moment the curtain will fall and everyone will laugh at him for believing anyone could ever like poor Jonathan.

“Of course it’s for you, silly. Who else would it be for?” You wink at him, handing him the card.

Jonathan takes it with trembling fingers, handing his to you as well. The paper feels like it will disappear from his hands at any moment, but it is so real, so tangible.

You glued some big and small hearts on the front with “Happy Valentine’s Day” written on the bottom in red ink. He rubs his thumb over your handwriting, trying to savor every detail. When he finally opens the card an unconscious smile spreads across his face. You had made a simple drawing of a crow holding an eye in it’s beak and on the side it said “I’ve got my eye on you, Valentine.”

"Did you like it?" Your voice pulls him back to reality.

“I… Yes, of course.” He clears his throat, trying to compose himself. “But I’m afraid mine isn’t as good as yours.”

And then he notices the way you are holding the card, pressed against your chest like something valuable.

"I loved it. Seriously. But I think you forgot a little something.”

“Sorry for the lack of details. I don’t have much practice with this.”

You shake your head, chuckling softly. "It's not that. You forgot to ask me if I want to be your Valentine.”

He waits for the the joke to sink in and for the moment you brush him off with a laugh, but you don’t stop staring at him with a serious expression.

He hates it. He hates it how exposed he feels. How bare his is before you. He hates even more how he hopes this not some kind of joke afte all.

“Stop playing with me.” He almost sounds like he's begging.

"This isn’t a joke."

"You can’t be serious."

You cross your arms, frowning your eyebrows at him. "Why not? Why is it so hard to believe that I want this?

“Oh, please. This is ridiculous. Is this some kind of prank? I have been the target of this kind of joke before and belive me when I say they aren’t funny.”

“Oh my God! You’re can be so dense sometimes!” You sigh in frustration, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “Well, if you're not going to ask me, then I will. Jonathan Crane would you like to be my Valentine?”

If he was blushing before, now his face is burning hot. His brain is a mess of emotions, but it’s unable to actually form any coherent words. He can’t even remember the last time he was speechless.

You’re staring at him and he knows he needs to say something. Anything! Jonathan could never forgive himself if he ever let you go without knowing how much you matter to him. So he decides to do the only thing he is capable of.

He approaches you slowly so as not to startle you, his eyes searching for any indication of discomfort, but you dont move a muscle. He leans towards you and when he's sure you want this, he presses his lips against your cheek.

The kiss is shy and quick, barely brushing your skin, but when Jonathan pulls away you're staring at him as if he'd placed the stars in the sky.

“Yes,” He finally manages to say, “I would like to be your valentine.”

Before you can say anything, a guard appears in the room, interrupting your intimate moment.

“What are you two still doing here? You should be in group therapy. Come on, move before you get in trouble!" The guard orders.

In any other situation Jonathan would be annoyed, but now he just does what the guard says, pulling you out of the room with him.

The two of you sit silently side by side on the chairs positioned in a circle with the other patients. Jonathan knows someone is babbling something in the background, but all he can focus on right now is how your knee is touching his.

Jonathan catches you staring at him, your lips stretched into the sweetest smile he's ever seen and he can't help but smile too.

This may be the best Valentine’s Day he had in a long time.

#happy valentine's day #batman rogues #batman villains #batman #jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane x you #fluff #the scarecrow #scarecrow x you #scarecrow x reader #valentine’s day fic

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mysticwolfshadows · 1 month

Text

Taken - Zutara - Part 10

First / Previous / Next

Zuko does his best to tell Katara about everything he felt when she first came to the Fire Nation. How he felt getting to know her.

She was a light, for him, in the stifling darkness that was the Fire Nation Palace.

He wasn't always proud of how he handled things. He ran from her when his mother vanished, and he ran when he returned her to her family.

But he was ashamed of the Agni Kai.

He tells her about the war meeting, how he had gotten in and was allowed to sit with the generals, as long as he was silent. Zuko tells Katara about the plan that the general submitted. She is enraged, just as he had been, and for once, he feels vindicated. Uncle had always supported his decisions, but Katara only did when she truly believed he was right.

It's when he tells her about the Agni Kai with his father that Katara snaps.

"He did this to you?" she demands, her hand reaching up to cup his cheek. "Your father did this because you refused to fight him?"

Zuko can't help but lean into her touch. The majority of his face on that side has lost all feeling, yet where her fingers touch seem to burn. For the briefest of moments, Zuko wondered if maybe she had somehow learned to firebend. But that was silly.

Zuko pushed on, explaining how he had woken to his father in his room, reading a proclamation that he was to be banished. The brigade he had felt the need to save, young and untested soldiers, would become his crew. And he would not be allowed to return home unless he had the Avatar.

"But the Avatar has been missing for 100 years," Katara counters, her voice soft and somber. "Zuko, it's an impossible task. The Fire Lord doesn't want you to succeed."

"I know," Zuko grit out. "But the crew is stuck with me as long as I'm banished. If I don't find the Avatar, and deliver him to my father, I can't go home. Which means they can't go home."

Katara stares at him, something unnerving about her expression. She had always been too good at reading him, and in the moment, it was daunting.

"Is that what you were doing in the swamp?" she asked. "Looking for the Avatar?"

Zuko jumped. The last thing he wanted was for Katara to know about what happened in the Agni forsaken Foggy Swamp. He'd gone because it was said that the veil between the mortal plane and the spirit world was thin there. People who entered reported having visions, sometimes of their past, occasionally of their future.

He had hoped that the Avatar would just be in the swamp. And, failing that, he was wanting a vision to help guide him to his future. Instead, as he and Uncle had stumbled through the swamp, he'd caught sight of long brown hair. At first he had thought it was his mother, but the figure had been too short. Then he had seen the coat he had ordered just for Katara, and had sprinted off into the swamp without thinking twice.

He chased the mirage through vines and trees, loosing his uncle. When he finally came to a stop, he was out of breath, standing on one side of a river. A mirror image of Katara kneeling on the other side. She had looked so dull and lifeless, as if that light he had seen in her had been snuffed out. In his panic and confusion, he had stepped into the water, trying to wade his way to her, only for a catgator to lunge out of the water. He couldn't remember much after that.

"The swamp was said to be very spiritual," he said instead. "But it was just the chaotic terrain disorienting people."

For a moment, Katara was quiet. She sat next to Zuko, her back against the wall, looking across the room.

"Zuko," she said, slow and careful, as if trying to not show how she was feeling. "If the Avatar is really out there, he's likely the greatest hope for the war ending quickly. What will you do if you find him?"

For a moment, he frowned. It seemed like a silly question to him. "I'll bring him back to the Fire Nation and return home."

Only, as Katara nodded, he saw the twinge of disappointment. He wondered why she would be upset, only... The answer was fairly obvious. The Fire Nation had slaughtered her people, kidnapped her, and forced her to serve the royal family for years. The Fire Nation had done nothing but hurt her in the name of this war.

If the Avatar was out there, if the Avatar could end the war, Katara had all the reason to want him to. She probably hoped that the Avatar would appear and remove his father from the the throne in the most painful way possible. Zuko felt his stomach roll at the thought. Not because he didn't want his father to perish, but because Katara had every right to want that.

First / Previous / Next

#fanfic idea #atla #avatar the last airbender #fanfic #katara #zuko #zutara #wip

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split-spectrum · 9 months

Text

Water and Rock

Chapter 9

Pairings: Obi Wan/FemReader

Warnings/Tags: smut, slow burn, dubcon

Description: There are only so many excuses a master and padawan can make to kiss under "extenuating circumstances" before circumstances stop arising and start being created. You are an expert at your craft - a Jedi knight in service as a spy for the Republic. When your former master Obi Wan joins you on a mission, it's clear things aren't the same as they once were. The trials you face together may break your bond, or turn it into something else entirely.

☆☆☆

An hour of meditation, two turbolifts, and several long hallways later, you're curled into a regulation-sized bunk inside your temporarily assigned crew quarters. Standard-issue sheets scrunch under the weight of your body shifting from one side of the bed to the other as you pull apart every detail of your earlier conversation in your head.

"Wh-" you'd started and stopped, then tried again, feeling like you were dragging yourself out of quicksand. "Why did you show that to me?"

"Because you needed to see."

He'd given his reply with his eyes still closed, affording you the ability to let your frustration show on your face. He always seemed to speak in this enigmatic, closed off way in the moments you needed him most.

"You hesitate to give yourself to the will of the force, because of your shortcomings. But my own thoughts would be impossible to tolerate without its help. You must realize that."

Impossible to tolerate echoes in your mind.

You're still drenched in the remnants of his aura, lying on your side, letting the images play behind your eyes over and over. Had it been a thought or a memory he'd shown you?

And which did you prefer?

You interrupt your pointless contemplation, finally, and drag yourself back to the present moment, admonishing yourself. You couldn't be making worse use of the limited time you have. What you're doing is not only torturous, but reckless for many reasons. Your mind needs to be in the best condition possible or you risk the success of the mission, not to mention all of your lives. You need to be resting.

You shift onto your back, rolling a deep breath into your body and slowly back out. Your training allows you to drop into sleep almost immediately, all of your muscles relaxing at your insistence. You close your eyes, and within minutes your breath becomes soft and steady. You release your grip on reality and let sleep take you.

Moments later, your eyelids flutter, then separate at the crack of light splitting the room. As it begins to widen, you realize someone is coming through the door. You wince at the intrusive brightness, mouth flattening into a grimace. Then your sleep-adled mind catches up, allowing you to feel the presence at the edge of your room. All at once, every nerve in your body is crackling. You sit up.

"General?"

Obi Wan is filling the space in the doorway, light spilling around him as if he were a beacon. He's turned slightly to the side, as if he's not quite sure whether to enter. His eyes are downcast; you can tell from the way the shadows catch his eyelashes. Then his face disappears into darkness as he closes the door behind himself. You wait in stunned silence as he crosses the room.

When he approaches the bed, you finally find your voice. "What are you doing?"

"I came to finish our discussion," he says quietly. "I wanted to be sure that I made myself understood."

You clear your throat, sitting up a bit. His voice, though soft, is heavier than usual. There almost seems to be something accusatory in it. You give your reply slowly, questioningly. "I understood."

"Did you?" he retorts evenly.

You blink. "Yes, sir."

"I disagree," he responds, taking another step toward you. "I would have expected that if you took my meaning, you would have come to my quarters."

He turns and sits on the edge of the bed next to you, his warmth pressing up against your shin.

"You... didn't ask me to report to your quarters," you answer hesitantly, words falling out of your mouth as you try to process your confusion. The way he's sitting, the way he failed to knock before entering... something is off.

He looks at you with something flickering in his eyes that you can't quite place. "I'd hoped you would have chosen to come."

He places a hand over yours and suddenly it's all familiar. So familiar. And it's as wrong as it's ever been.

"This is a dream," you whisper, pulling your hand back.

The only light in the room comes from blinking buttons on a wall panel, but it's enough to see the corners of his eyes crinkle into a soft smile.

"Or a vision."

You sigh. Whatever it may be, it's not conducive to a good night's rest. This has happened before, shortly after your arrival on Ilum. You thought you had moved past this.

"You are troubled," he says, keeping his gaze steadily on your eyes despite your obvious irritation.

Dream or not, it's hard to keep silent when he stares at you that way.

"You shouldn't be here."

"But you know why I am."

There's no point in arguing with your own psyche. "Yes. Because... because I'm not in control of my thoughts."

He looks at you pityingly for a moment, then leans forward and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is so gentle, so real.

"I am here to ease your pain."

You take in a breath, feeling a slight tremble in your chest. "Then go away. Let me sleep in peace."

"Is that truly what you want?"

His hand drops to your jaw and he hooks his thumb back to graze your ear. You close your eyes and sink into the feeling of him sliding his fingers around the back of your neck. He tilts your head upward.

"Or is it this?"

He asks the question while sinking his other hand into the bedding, the mattress dipping where he presses into it to lean closer. When his lips meet yours, all the sound in the room evaporates - the humming of the ship, the distant noises of officers going about their duties, even the sound of the sheets moving beneath you, all sucked into an oppressive and heady silence. It's as if your brain is shutting out every sensation that isn't the feel of him; the taste of him.

Your mouth is too eager to meet his, dragging fervently over his welcoming lips. He kisses you more deeply, licking into your mouth and sliding his head from side to side in a slow-motion shake, as if he can't believe how good it feels to drag his tongue along yours.

You bask in the pleasure of sucking on his tongue before releasing him, panting. "We shouldn't... I shouldn't be..."

Nudging between your lips again, he whispers hotly into your mouth, "I don't hear an objection, yet."

Your silence answers him.

He pulls back and swallows desperately, and then he brings his knees onto the bed to surround you, covering your mouth hungrily again. Your kiss isn't broken even when he tears off his robe and drops it to the ground. You almost wonder when he found the time to change out of his armor and back into his tunic when you remember that none of this is real.

He's spread his body over yours and he's holding himself up by the elbows when you pull away, slightly separating your lips to murmur weakly, "This isn't... right."

But you don't stop him when he kisses you again. You might have the strength to hold yourself back, but the extent of your willpower ends there. When he presses his lips onto yours, you'd rather stop breathing than push him away.

"Why do you believe this is wrong?" he asks, opening his mouth a little more to let your tongue in.

You pull back, bringing your chin upward to take a shuddering breath. There are too many reasons to name. "My master taught me to resist these feelings. To- to overcome them, and instead I have visions of him... of you... doing this."

He leans his weight onto one shoulder, digging his elbow into the bed and sliding his other arm around your waist. "Your master... is only a few rooms away. Are you so certain this is your vision?"

A stutter of air leaves you when he grinds his hips into yours, punctuating the question. Your mind is a wreck, and you're unable to formulate a response.

"Don't deceive yourself," he tells you, making you gasp like you're drowning when he rolls his hips again. "I showed you my thoughts. I think of you often. I know you think of me, too."

It feels like you're coming apart. The idea that these could be his desires...

"You need only ask, my dear," he rumbles just below your ear. "I'll show you what I want."

As quickly as he'd brought you to delirious intoxication with his presence, his words bring you back to reality in an instant.

Something has been off since the beginning, but you hadn't been able to place it until now. This vision isn't Obi Wan, and it isn't you.

As inconsequential as it would seem to anyone outside of the two of you, there are certain words your master simply doesn’t use when speaking to you. My padawan is for affection and comfort. Commander is for neutrality and respect. Young one is for warnings and gentle corrections. He reserves your name for intimacy, using it to reinforce moments of gravity when you were young, and using it to speak candidly as you've grown.

Among this list of names and titles, my dear is nowhere to be found. He uses that saccharine placeholder when speaking to politicians and civilians. He uses it as a buffer, keeping pleasant distance between himself and whichever acquaintance (or enemy) serves as the recipient. He would never use it when talking to you. It's too simple, too condescending, and too cold. He wouldn't say it, and you wouldn't imagine him saying it.

You break the kiss, holding him back at last. "What are you?"

He looks down at you almost playfully, as if he's allowing you to press your hand into his chest as an amusement. "I am what you have asked for. I am what the force has brought you."

You press your own lips together in a firm line, starting to pull out from under him. "I haven't asked for anything."

He raises a brow, and the familiar expression on his gorgeous features makes you struggle to separate the man - the being - in front of you from the master you know and trust.

"But you have. You called out for guidance from the force. You called out for relief."

You ignore his second comment, the implication making your stomach tense. "Okay, then. What guidance can you offer me?"

He gives you a soft look, reaching his fingertips to your temple, presumably to run through your hair again, but you back further out of reach. He smiles.

"So frightened, of only a touch."

"It's not only a touch," you tell him, shaking your head slightly. "You know that. We both know that." You're still talking to him as if he's Obi Wan.

He releases a small puff of air to show that you're testing his patience, and props himself up to get a better angle at your face, now that you've dragged half of your body away from him.

"What is it that you fear, truly?"

You roll your eyes, almost laughing in disbelief of the question.

"If it's guidance you seek, we must start at the beginning," he insists. "What do you fear?"

You blink your eyes closed for a long moment, then open them. "Attachment. I've felt it longer than I knew what to call it, and it's getting worse."

He pulls his body from yours, rolling to the side of the bed and sitting up again. Then he leans toward you a bit. "And why do you fear attachment?"

Your eyes snap up immediately to search his. "Attachment leads to possessiveness... and darker things. A Jedi must remain neutral, think clearly and magnanimously. It's impossible for me to protect all life if I value one over another."

A wry look passes over his features. "So you believe all lives are of equal value?"

"Of course."

"If this is true, how can a Jedi fight a war? If you would trade one life for another with no consideration for the merits of either side, why fight? What do you accomplish?"

His words send a chill through you. Questioning the Jedi Order, the very tenets of your beliefs, is beyond inappropriate. It's dangerous.

"All lives are of equal value, but some cause more harm to others than can be ignored. It is the duty of a Jedi to protect peace, justice, and balance. Sometimes this can't be accomplished without taking lives."

He feigns mild surprise. "So you would take innocent lives for the greater good?"

Your brows pinch together in offense. "Not innocent lives, no."

"Then you admit, you pass judgment. You decide which lives are worth protecting and which are worth destroying."

"What are you accusing me of?"

"I'm not accusing you of anything, my padawan. I am simply trying to illustrate a point."

"Which is?"

"To live a passionless life of total neutrality is, in itself, an evil. We must form attachments to some degree in order to determine what is good and sacred."

Your gaze is cast downward, your eyes darting rapidly over the bed. "You're wrong. It's possible to cherish a life and still remain passive when that life is lost."

He snorts, a noise you don't recall ever hearing him make. "Spoken as someone who has never lost a life they truly cherished."

At that, you bristle. "I've lost many companions throughout this war."

"But none you truly cared for."

"That's enough," you grit, trying not to raise your voice. "I cared very much for them."

"Then perhaps you do understand my point. Did you rejoice when they joined the living force?"

"Yes," you say, eyes widening emphatically. "Yes, I did."

"And did you also grieve?"

You hesitate. But you see no point in lying.

"Yes."

"Would you call your grief an evil?"

You don't know what to say.

After a long time, you open your mouth again. "Why are you asking me these questions?"

"To open your eyes, young one," he says slowly, gently. "To help you understand that what you feel is good and right. You can use it to grow stronger in the force than you ever have been. You should not fear it."

The pit in your stomach grows deeper. He's saying everything you desperately want to believe. You would almost think that perhaps this vision is yours after all, if it weren't for the unsteady way it makes you feel when he looks at you.

"I don't believe you," you whisper.

"If you do not trust in the guidance of the force, all will be lost."

"I do trust in its guidance. But you are wrong."

It's true - you trust in the force. But what you aren't saying out loud is that you trust your master above all else. He's the only thing you've ever been able to put complete faith in, and he's taught you attachment is forbidden.

"And if I told you what you would lose if you do not listen to me, it would not change your mind?"

"I've already said, a Jedi doesn't fear to lose anything."

"Not even my life?"

That catches you by the the throat. "What do you mean? Obi Wan's life?"

His eyes suddenly seem colder. "Without a true connection to the force, you will be unable to see it coming; to stop it. And his death is coming sooner than you think."

You pull your knees out from under his body and spring out of the bed to face him standing up. "What are you saying?"

He regards you in a way that makes the back of your neck tingle. "Things are currently in motion that will result in the death of your master, and you will be helpless to stop it, unless you open yourself to more possibilities than your Jedi teachings allow."

Your breath picks up even faster. Your eyes dart briefly to the end table near the bed where your lightsaber sits. Obi Wan- no, rather, this... stranger... catches your glance.

"Don't be a fool. Listen to me."

"I'm not a fool," you tell him, pulling your saber through the air and to your hand in a split second. "And I'm no Sith."

He chuckles. "Nor should you be. Nor am I."

"Yet you ask me to reject the teachings of the Jedi? Sounds pretty Sith to me." Your saber illuminates, bathing the room in green light. "Get out."

"You wouldn't threaten an unarmed man?" he says, spreading his arms in a gesture of helplessness.

You drop your gaze to his hip where the lightsaber hangs from its clip. "No, I wouldn't."

He gives a humorless laugh and sighs, posture relaxed and open until he suddenly shifts and brandishes his saber, his spine rigid, his eyes steeled. "Your lack of faith will be your undoing."

He swings forward, crossing his blade with yours, and though your mind is frozen in shock, your muscles reflexively parry his blow. You trade one, two, then three strikes, and with the forth you press in on him, sliding down his blade with crackling ferocity. He shoves you back and you whirl, using the momentum to catch the side of his blade. He juts it upward, out of the way.

A sickening hiss fills the air as your lightsaber pierces his chest, sinking deep. His mouth falls open and he drops to his knees on the floor. Your master's face looks up at you. It's not him.

It's not him. But it's so undeniably... him.

"Remember this feeling, young one," he pants. "It is not far off. You will soon see."

You retract your blade, shaking, and remind yourself this isn't real. It's little comfort when you're staring into eyes that so clearly belong to him.

You're hardly able to speak, and your voice is trembling when you try. "Tell me. Tell me when it happens."

He smiles, something almost triumphant in the way his eyes glint in the darkness. Then he vanishes, leaving you staring at an empty room.

Your shoulders crumble, your hand still gripping the hilt of your saber, and before you can begin to recover, a knock comes at the door.

"Commander?"

When you don't answer right away, you hear someone entering the door's code, and it slides open. Obi Wan is standing there, and the concerned look on his face is almost enough to send you over the edge. He's in his bedclothes, but he's carrying his lightsaber.

"Are you alright?"

Your immediate reflex is to tell him everything, but you catch yourself, and stare silently instead. If Obi Wan knew what you had seen, he would remove you from duty. And if what you've been told is true, you can't allow that to happen.

The right thing to do - you said it yourself - would be to submit to the will of the force. If you care for someone and they are meant to die, you should remain passive.

Just not him.

You clear your throat, softening your stance and returning your lightsaber hilt to your side, holding it more casually. "I'm fine, sir."

He looks around the room. "I felt a presence... I... could have sworn you were calling out for help."

You force a smile. "No help needed. I was just doing some training exercises."

A long silence passes as you try to calm your labored breathing. Then he inclines his head toward you in a slight nod. "I am sorry to have disturbed you."

After you say your goodnights for the second time and he leaves, you collapse back into your bed, eyes frozen open, and run a hand from your forehead back over your hair. You've crossed a line with this decision. But then, what's one more line when you've already crossed as many as you have?

After hours passed in fitful sleep, you're finally heading back to the bridge, stepping quickly to keep up with Obi Wan, who's dressed in the uniform of a Separatist Commander. It had taken a lot of arguing, but you're now dressed as a Separatist soldier as well - a lieutenant. Obi Wan had raised the same objections as before, but you had assured everyone that the mission would have a much higher chance of success with you inside the station, and you essentially guaranteed failure if you were left on the outside. His disapproval had been quite clear, but with so many lives hanging in the balance he ultimately had no choice.

The details of the mission had been decided, and you're now heading to meet Storne on his arrival. The displeasure in Obi Wan's expression tells you that a polite conversation on your walk down to the hanger is not going to happen. You keep stealing glances to the side anyway, trying not to be obvious. While the uniform's hat is stifling his hair, unfortunately for you, he still looks great in it. His beard is cut short and trimmed precisely, and the grey collar that feels tight around your throat is hugging his throat perfectly.

As you enter the hangar and approach the ship that's in the process of landing, you force your eyes straight ahead again. The bay doors open, and Storne makes his way across the landing dock.

"Thank you for coming so quickly, Storne," Obi Wan greets.

"It was an easy call, with an offer that size." He catches sight of you and smiles. "But hey, let's just call it a personal favor anyway."

You give him a reserved smile in return. "It's good to see you again."

Before Storne can reply, Obi Wan turns his body to the side and gestures to follow him. "We don't have much time. Our ships are waiting, and we need to brief you on the updated plan."

You turn to follow, and less than an hour later, you've landed on the surface of the moon, several miles away from your final destination.

You've spent the majority of the flight in meditation, and by the time you emerge from your ship, you've managed to shake the adrenaline from that morning's confrontation and center yourself enough for the task ahead. Obi Wan's fighter is already on the ground and he's standing beside it, staring in the direction of the listening post, although it can't be seen from this far away. He's obviously deep in thought, arms crossed and toying with his beard. It looks a bit strange, and you suppress a smile at seeing a Separatist soldier in your master's familiar pose.

A moment later, a small freighter touches down between your two ships, and Captain Shrike steps out ahead of Storne. He nods his helmet toward you in greeting and you nod back. The dark forest green of his helmet markings are stark in comparison to the dull surface of the moon. The majority of your surroundings are dusky grey, but in some areas there are patches of tall, brown grass. The landscape isn't much to look at, so you turn your focus back on your commanding officer.

"Let's go over the plan once more," Obi Wan says, approaching the three of you. "Captain Shrike will set up a base of communications nearby to monitor our progress and send updates to the main fleet. When we retrieve the necessary data, we will need to advise the captain via commlink immediately, essentially yes or no - whether the Separatists have the intel or not."

He turns to Storne. "You and I will be approaching the station using my interceptor, as it's the only ship small and fast enough to avoid detection. At least, for a short while. But long enough for me to drop you into the water to make your entrance. Since you won't be able to use electronics without being detected, Captain Shrike will track your location with heat mapping and report back. Once you've reached the location to disable the ray shields and droids, we will wait exactly fifteen minutes before the Commander and I approach the main entrance. She and I will use the interceptor to get close as well, but we'll need to walk the last mile in order to avoid any chance of the ship being spotted. I presume you had enough time to review the rest of the details enroute?"

Storne shakes his head. "I did, but I still don't understand why she can't be the one to make the drop." He gestures at you. "Don't get me wrong, Kenobi, but if I have to sit in someone's lap I'd rather it be hers than yours."

You can almost see the rapidly whirling gears in Obi Wan's head grind to a halt. Of all the things to comment on at this moment, you can imagine that was the last thing he'd expected to be a concern.

He blinks, then answers. "As I've said, there is only one ship small and fast enough. And I will be making the drop, as it is my ship." There's a long pause. "Are there any other questions?"

Storne raises his eyebrows in annoyance, shrugging. "None from me."

He looks at you and Shrike, then back at Storne. "Very well. Let's get moving."

He climbs back into the cockpit of his ship and slides to the side. As far as he's pushed himself, there's still hardly any room left, and Storne does indeed wind up completely in his lap. The discomfort is visible on both of their faces as the cockpit door closes and they lift off, leaving you and Shrike to yourselves.

You can't help but imagine Shrike is mirroring your smirk below his helmet.

"I wonder what they'll talk about."

The clone captain doesn't answer, but you could swear you hear a snort.

Several minutes later, Obi Wan's ship tears across the landscape and slows to a stop in front of you. You stand up from where you've been helping Shrike set up his listening equipment and cross the dusty ground to where he's parked. The cockpit opens and you give him an expectant look, to which he nods in answer.

"The drop was successful, as far as I can tell."

"Good," you respond, setting a foot on the wing of the ship and springing upward with a little help from the force. He stands, offering a hand although you know that he knows you don't need it. You place one foot into the cockpit, on the floor, and he helps you the rest of the way, turning your body in front of him. You're concentrating very carefully on keeping your breathing slow and even, and keeping your mind occupied with the details of the listening post, trying not to give any amount of thought to the way his hand gently rests on your side, positioning you between his legs as the two of you sit down.

There's absolutely no extra room when the cockpit door closes again, and your back is pressed hard into his chest. His hand leaves your side when he wraps both his arms around your shoulders to grip the controls. You swallow hard, closing your eyes at the feeling of him surrounding you, and release another measured breath. Unfortunately, with every slow inhale you're just filling your nose with his scent, and while you'd expected him to be freshly showered, you didn't expect the cologne. He doesn't often wear it, but then, you imagine he'd wanted to take every step possible to blend into the other officers. It almost makes you smile to think of him stepping out of the shower and deciding which scent reminded him more of a Separatist commander.

You quickly redirect your thoughts from imagining him stepping out of the shower.

Your knees are already in pain from pressing into the the panel in front of you, and you move a little, trying to find a more comfortable position that probably doesn't exist. When you shift, you feel Obi Wan's chest fill with a sharp intake of air. You stop moving.

"Sorry. Are you alright?"

His voice is right in your ear. "Yes, fine. Just, try not to move, if you can."

The ship lifts off again, and you pull your shoulders further inward to try and give him more room to operate. It makes no difference, though. As small as you try to make yourself, his arms are still spread over you, his black gloves resting on the sides of your knees as he works the ship's controls. He leans forward to get a better view of the flight panel and his beard tickles your neck. You can feel the goosebumps breaking out over your skin, making you grateful for the long sleeves of your uniform.

"Did the captain finish setting up his equipment before you left?"

You feel the vibrations of his voice traveling from his chest into your body, and despite your efforts against it, heat is starting to pool at your center. "I think so, yes."

The question is irrelevant, and it's clear he's forcing conversation. You find yourself hoping he'll force a little more conversation, as every time he talks he's running his beard over the nape of your neck.

"General, heat tracking indicates Storne is almost at the halfway point."

Shrike's voice over Obi Wan's commlink pulls you abruptly out of your thoughts.

"Thank you, captain."

You look out the window and see the listening post in the distance, repeating the details of your plan of attack in your head, turning through imaginary blueprints from your reports. But it doesn't matter how much effort you put into reviewing briefing notes when Obi Wan's hand reaches between your legs.

He brushes your inner thigh, sending a jolt of surprise and a wave of heat through you all at once. He retracts his hand as if he's been burnt.

"Ah, sorry," he murmurs in a cracked voice. He clears his throat, the noise rumbling through the muscles of your back. "I needed- could you...?"

His hand gestures to the switch he'd been trying to pull, resting below your knees. You flick it upward, lighting up a new part of the panel before you.

"Thank you," he says, adding, "I know this is quite uncomfortable, but at least the flight will be short. We're nearly there."

You take in another deep breath, hoping he isn't feeling you shudder. Uncomfortable isn't the word you would use.

More like agonizing.

But at least the flight will be short.

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n7punk · 3 months

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So I know in a lot of your fics Catra is red color blind and you’ve explained it in the fic notes but do you have a place where you’ve fully explained what she can and can’t see?

very bad question to ask me because i am not a Science Person, but my understanding is that our color vision is made up of three cones, red, green, and blue. the more cones you have (and also the more you study names for different shades, i wish i was kidding but Learning Words actually improves your vision), the more shades of color you perceive (generally). in humans you get red-green colorblindness as the most common type and blue-yellow (yes i know i didnt mention yellow cones. it's complicated) as the second one.

this varies wildly for animals. for instance, we used to think mantis shrimp saw colors we couldn't hope to distinguish because they have 12 color receptors and we have the aforementioned 3, but now we think they actually see less than we do and they just have so many different receptors because their cones suck. so like, while we may be able to see many shades of blue and green with one cone, they need a Light Blue cone, and a Dark Blue cone, and a Turquoise Cone.... etc etc. and again, this is just where we're at with shrimp right now! we actually have no clue what cats see - if it's reduced shades due to a generally lower number of cones (they definitely have at least this), red-green colorblindness like in humans, just red colorblindness (something speculated for both cats and dogs), or monochrome colorblindness. different studies and resources have come to different conclusions, so in the end i usually pick just red because it's pretty unique and she's a fantasy species.

all the colors we see happen by wavelengths of light entering our eye. If a color is picked up a ton by our red cones and a little bit by the blue, we would see that as purple, right? except sike, the wavelengths of light do not work like our usual understanding of colors and what cones purple belongs to is not red + blue. i watched a video on this and then decided i wasn't going to understand it and moved on with my basic understanding of color mixing for what she can and can't see, but that didn't stop one Very Annoying Reader from trying to correct me and completely missing the point even after i explained it to them that disability representation is not to mimic any one person's Exact Situation, but to instead represent their overall struggles. literally none of the experiences i give catra apply to humans but just because it's her tail that makes some chairs really painful for her rather than scoliosis, that doesn't make it any less relatable when she finds the world hostilely designed for her body.

lmao can you tell its a sticking point for me. anyway, i often (although not always in AUs, partially because of not wanting to deal with annoying commenters when it Does Not Matter for what i'm trying to convey) write catra to have either very few or no red cones in her vision, which gives her a visual experience that is unique to us and very difficult to simulate due to that wavelength thing being more complicated than just removing red from an image. I don't know what colors catra would really be able to see if a human did have her specific kind of colorblindness, but i do get more specific in this fic about what my general take was early on. Slowly i've shifted to lean more towards her just having generally reduced cones more densely clustered on missing red cones, which would mean she would see fewer shades of color in general but would be able to see all the base colors we do, even if the variation and strength she gets is weak, especially heavily in red (this is kind of what i'm working with for modern AUs. if i mention adora's red jacket, she can kind of see that, just not nearly like we do, and maroon just wouldn't exist for her). this is the type of colorblindness my mom has (cannot tell navy from maroon from black, but easily tells red from blue from black. she leans slightly more towards deutro in her weakness) and is one of the speculated color perceptions for cats.

so i guess to answer your question: it depends on which fic you're reading LMAO.

also, because i can't not mention this: those colorblind correcting glasses (enchroma, etc) are not real, do not give you the ability to perceive things you literally do not have the receptors to, and actually work by filtering out wavelengths of light to make the colors that you see more potent, but it doesn't change the actual colors there, it's just like applying a filter to photo on fucking instagram. it actually limits your color perception even further and you cannot "train" your eyes with them just like you cannot train a limb to grow back. its a scam, and at three figures for a pair of glasses, it really hurts people and their families when they fall for it.

#fic ask #anon

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 year

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Hi! I really love and appreciate your analyses work because I find it so rare to come across these days. Most content about TWST I found is either about in-game stuff or fics of various genres and AUs. It's refreshing in a way, and I just want to tell you that I absolutely adore your work.

I just read your analysis of Cater in canon and how romance comes into play, and I couldn't stop thinking about something when you mentioned how he lights up after taking pictures. Since Cater moves around a lot due to his father's work, I think the pictures immortalize whatever connections he had regardless of how long he got to stay in the area before he eventually moves away with his family.

Aside from Magicam and pictures being his coping mechanisms, it's what little Cater has to connections and relationships even if he distances himself due to his fear of rejection and of being forgotten. I only know bits and pieces of Cater in-game because I don't have many cards of him, but the little I do know of him made me think that he would take pictures to keep memories that would be forgotten once distance and time come to pass. He yearns for deep relationships similar to Riddle and Trey's friendship, but he's so afraid of what comes with such a sentiment that he would resort to pictures and a memorable, public image to keep everyone out of arms' reach.

Even if the people he was friends with (prior to moving away) forget him and move on with life, Cater would have his Magicam account and the pictures. He'd find solace in the memoirs he had taken himself, whether it was just a day inside the Heartslabyul dorm or something as grand as Beansfest. He also takes pictures of the latest trends such as the newest cafe or dessert in town, maybe even a once-in-a-lifetime traveling circus if that's a thing in TWST. Those trends are probably his gateways to finding people with similar interests (I'm using similar doubtfully because Cater does craft his personas so well that he might as well be a pseudo-INFJ) aside from meeting a Magicam influencer quota.

I believe Cater cherishes pictures this way aside from maintaining an image and switching personas in order to be liked and remembered—because those are the closest things that could resemble deep and close relationships to him without compromising his fear.

I may be wrong though, so feel free to correct me! I did say I don't have many cards of Cater so I'm not entirely sure if my speculation is justifiable or otherwise. I'm so sorry this ask became so long 😭 Cater is such an interesting character to analyze, and he's not even in my top 5 personal favorites. I hope you have a nice day!!

[Referencing this masterlist!]

Hello, I’m glad that you enjoy my works! ^^ I kind of do some of everything, but analyses are a big passion of mine. I’m happy that they’re being appreciated since they often take me a lot of time and effort to put together.

Ah, that must be in one of my older analyses, so it’s probably suuuuper outdated by now 😅 Mmmm, I do think it’s generally accepted that Cater desires deep and genuine connections like what Riddle and Trey have (but is too scared to open up to others). However, I don’t know if he actually places a ton of value in the pictures he takes. In my initial post, I meant to imply that Cater likes taking pictures because of the inherent clout that he can rake in from it, not that he necessarily attaches precious memories to those pictures.

Cater may use social media as a coping mechanism, but he also uses it to project what is knowingly a manufactured image of himself and his life out into the world. He takes so many pictures and posts so frequently (and not all of them are associated with doing things with friends; a lot of them appear to be selfies); it’s debatable whether it’s all just for show to feed the social media algorithm/his need for online validation or if he actually cherishes each and every photo (and thus the memories associated with them).

Social media is a means for him to find stability because the internet provides him with a way to keep in touch with everyone no matter where he physically is. However, social media also promotes an environment in which you’re encouraged to put your “best face” out there, to get the most attention and social approval (likes, shares, etc.). In heavily relying on social media for his socialization, it has probably fostered some of Cater’s currently observed insecurities (ie the fear of rejection or being seen as vulnerable if people learn about the not-so-perfect parts of him that he keeps off of Magicam—because what is social media if not a carefully curated photo album of all your “best” moments?).

How Cater engages with others online actually isn’t detailed often; whenever he mentions his socials, it’s almost always in the context of posting something or tagging someone. It sounds very “one way” and passive; Cater seems to be posting more than actually interacting with others or having extended dialogues. We see in his Robes vignettes that he likes comments, but the way he speaks about them makes it sound like he has to like back as an obligation to thank a particular user for the engagement. He confirms in his latest JP birthday interview that he’s always thinking of new places and things to post, but he doesn’t say his motivation is to make friends, he says it’s to get likes. Even when he’s by himself and doesn’t have to put on a show for anyone else (ie post-party in his Ceremonial Robes vignettes), Cater is concerned about getting likes. He presents his intentions as very shallow ones (whether you think he’s a reliable narrator or not is another question though 😂).

Cater also mentions using horoscopes as ice-breakers, which gives him a chance to show his social intelligence and skill at making people feel comfortable talking to him. I don’t think he’s really intending to find people with similar interests or actively going out of his way to try and make new friends; when Cater approaches someone, he usually wants something from them and he knows how to use his cheery and laidback demeanor to do it (ie he asks Malleus for a photo of him in Malleus’s PE Uniform vignettes, he gets cozy with Adeuce to get them to do his chores for him in the main story episode 1, he talks about using the freshmen for “good material” for his Magicam in his Robes vignettes, he consistently asks Vil to collab or take pics with him so he can get some of Vil’s clout, etc.). Cater uses his amicability to get others to lower their guards and play along with him. Then you have Trey, whom we know Cater likes and has said before that he wishes he had “someone like Trey” in his youth. It’s clear that Cater wants to be Trey’s friend, but this isn’t reflected in Cater’s behavior. He doesn’t go out of his way to try talking to Trey or inviting him to hang out; he seems to spend more time with his club friends Lilia and Kalim, but even then, they mostly get up to shallow activities like sitting around, eating snacks, and talking. Cater doesn’t push beyond that boundary, and the limitations of his own comfort. Likewise, we don’t really know of instances when he made efforts to befriend people online or via his socials.

Cater has a conversation specifically on the topic of memories, experiences, and departures in Silver’s Halloween vignettes. In it, Silver talks about how once he graduates, he won’t be able to visit his school friends like Kalim anymore and how that will make him feel lonely. Cater says that while he could worry that “I might not see you guys again someday”, he could also just as easily decide to have a good time with his friends while he still can. “That way, I’ll always have the memories”. Notice his use of “I” rather than “you”, referring to Silver. Cater may be speaking vaguely about his own experiences moving around and leaving friends behind. If we accept this interaction at face value, it does seem to imply that Cater puts value in making real connections and spending time with his loved ones, without necessarily having to immortalize the moment in a picture. It is the memories he cherishes—so while it can be said that he may place more value in pictures associated with certain happy moments, it’s also true that he's capable of just enjoying himself and appreciating what he has without commemorating the event with a photo.

dbksbskwwb Anyway, it’s hard to say for sure just how much Cater cares about those individual pictures just because 1) he’s an unreliable narrator, 2) you really wonder if he has more selfish reasons for acting as he does sometimes because he has demonstrated the capacity to manipulate others, and 3) his best memories don't always come with pictures. This doesn’t mean Cater is heartless or a bad person! I definitely think it’s possible he has some kind of attachment toward his pictures, since those are the closest approximation Cater has for the intimacy that he seeks without leaving him vulnerable to others. It’s just that I’m not sure if he places as much value in the pictures he takes as we may think he does. He has other motivations mixed in there, and it's possible to isolate Cater's feelings attached to happy memories from the pictures.

P.S. Just so you know, you don’t necessarily need Cater’s (or any character’s) cards to learn more about him; sometimes Cater lore is dropped in other peoples’ vignettes and event stories. Additionally, you can almost always find a source for his vignettes online by either Googling it or just accessing the unofficial Twisted Wonderland wiki.

#Cater Diamond #notes from the writing raven #feedback for the writing raven #Trey Clover #spoilers #Malleus Draconia #Ace Trappola #Vil Schoenheit #Deuce Spade #Riddle Rosehearts #Heartslabyul #Kalim Al-Asim #Silver #twst analysis #twst character analysis #twisted wonderland analysis #twisted wonderland character analysis

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awek-s-archived · 1 year

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i am a bit curious as to why you dislike idle. i don't particularly love them myself but i'm curious as to your reasoning

ok thank u so much for asking first of all because i feel like a lot of people over the years have been curious about this and instead of asking me abt my reasoning regarding anything to do w idle they kind of default to anon hate, so. DKLFGJKLDF

im gonna give background, i followed y/uqi predebut, since that video came out of her as a young trainee moving from china to korea and being a part of a series where trainees go up to strangers in the streets and ask them to listen to them sing to gauge some of the public reaction to them if they debut. she sang in front of this one particular girl who used to be a trainee herself but couldn't live with the pressure and kind of yearned for that dream still, i guess? anyway, she gave y/uqi a lot of advice that i feel really helped ground her and to this day i think she's actually the only or at the very least the most grounded member of idle. and the only one i actually have nothing against and would love to see thrive, because i sincerely think she would and i'll come on to that later.

the tldr version is that i don't agree with the rampant racism and cultural appropriation that they engage in from music videos to general looks to sounds and beats in their actual songs. it's a lot. i know kpop groups in general are very guilty of this and sometimes, not very often, when you tell them it's wrong they apologise and stop doing it. but idle fall under the same category as suju and m/amamoo in that they literally don't care that they're doing it, because they have seen and i believe apologised about it then continued to do the same thing. but my issue with them as a group wasn't ever really directed at specific members until miss s/oyeon's international fuck-up where she said she wants to make 'ethnic hip' music as basically her excuse of why she appropriates cultures.

i paid a lot more attention to their group behaviour after that and there was a time of hiatus where y/uqi and m/innie in particular were very chill and doing their own thing where they were extremely different from how they were when s/oyeon ruled over them. y/uqi went back to being the grounded, friendly, chaotic and generally nice person she was before with no issues or controversies and m/innie did also. i don't really care about the other two so i can't comment on them extensively but these two i paid attention to because i know i liked them from before. but miss s/oyeon?? well, she carried on the group controversies all on her own, lmao. more racism and cultural appropriation but this time she also blatantly plagiarised another producer's songs and released them, lied about asking for permission to recreate the song DOWN TO A T (the song is wave by a/teez btw). basically she admitted to stealing it without using so many words but continued to promote it and didn't give the credit that was due for her plagiarism. i think this was one of 3 (?) plagiarism accusations in the space of a few months. so she's very big on growth as an artist and thinks of herself as a big producer but ultimately all she does is steal the songs from smaller artists and smaller producers and pass it off as her own. obviously as a creative myself, i'm not ok with this and i think she's a poor excuse of an artist to do it. she doesn't deserve the title.

in the last couple of comebacks, she profited off m/arilyn m/onroe's death and image, which is disgusting to me. i don't care what excuse her fans think up to make it ok -- especially when this came out at the same time as 2 documentary series about m/arilyn and she was a huge subject of discussion globally again. so it was evidently a ploy for cash and probably a good stepping stone to s/oyeon trying to make ~empowering music~ for women. sadly all she's doing, if her lyrics are anything to go by, is promoting the exact stereotype of women that everybody else is trying to fight against. she's saying, it's ok for women to love themselves but creepy for them to engage in sex or for men to be physically attracted to them because that makes them perverts (nxde lyrics allude to this VERY heavily).

i also personally don't like the attempted profiting off lgbt fans with 'oh my god', which people made theories about BEFORE she publicly came out as saying that it represents love in all forms, and kept alluding to it AFTER to give fans something to talk about despite officially saying she doesn't want to limit it to homosexuality -- so, how was it a song for the gays then? it wasn't. she was going with the fan theory to get talked about. it's not a bad marketing strategy but it is vile from an actual gay person's point of view, and the fact that she backtracked officially to say it's not ABOUT anything specific while feeding into the ~ally~ delusions privately is disgusting to me, personally. and i'd get if it was taboo to the point of it being career-ending, but there are plenty of other kpop groups who have explicitly stated their videos or songs or dramas, or ANYTHING, are strictly in representation of lgbt love both before and after oh my god -- o/nlyoneof in particular.

more recently of course, the attempted dissing of rookie groups, however light -- those are children. you're a grown woman. if you want to write a disstrack, don't do it about people who are a decade your juniors, OR a decade your seniors. she dissed h/yuna and h/yojong in a song and then sent h/yuna a signed album this comeback. weird to me, even if there are no hard feelings. it's not about the action so much as the attitude with which she keeps doing those things. this is where my newfound m/innie dislike comes in too, because she recently PUBLICLY dissed i/ve for winning an award against idle despite the fact that idle had already won a similar award something like the day before or a few days before. but i think i'll get over it because i genuinely don't believe that that's her actual attitude, i think 100% it's s/oyeon's influence.

and my reasoning for THAT is y/uqi's recent interview, where she said she and s/oyeon don't get along virtually at all, and fight all the time. she (y/uqi) finds it funny and thinks it's a sign of being close and honest, which it can be -- but that's not a healthy relationship, period. if you can't talk to someone without arguing, you don't get along ever.. that's not a friendship. but it does in a sense bring me comfort because i hate the type of person s/oyeon is and the fact that y/uqi argues with her so much tells me that she's the polar opposite. furthermore y/uqi also mentioned wanting to be the leader in situations, and that just tells me everything i need to know re: how much they actually agree with s/oyeon's creative decisions for them as a group and perhaps as individuals too, since she's currently cube's favourite and has significantly more pull than anybody else at that company.

i know you asked about idle full group dislike but it does all come down to s/oyeon in the end, because i think all of this controversy and all this behaviour could've been avoided if somebody knocked her down a peg. but i think everything she does is shallow and performative at best, she's not a hard worker like everybody thinks she is, but she does see herself as a martyr in all aspects and i guess tries to capitalise off it. which ok, that's her business, but i think it's gross and unfair to drag the other girls down with her. nevertheless all her choices (that she's proud of, too, let's not forget) up to now have made the group as controversial as it is now and is why i dislike it so actively as a unit, even aside from the other individual members.

#wow this is mad long im sorry #asks

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runningwithscizzorz · 6 months

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Saw the previous anon ask, and I wonder something, then AI can't replace artists, that means they can still do some bussiness with their art? I know art is not only to make money, but some artists are worried because of people stopping on buying commissions, what do ya think?

Eh, I'm not worried about that

Personally, I wouldn't want a commission from some shill who thinks they can get "the equivalent of a commission" with AI art anyways, but that's just me being extremely principled. People will not suddenly stop valuing art because of AI giving you a warped and stomach twisting version of what you want. I saw a video of a Boba shop that used AI to generate an image and IMMEDIATELY you could tell it was AI generated. That alone would turn a lot of people off to go into that shop. If you're so lazy you couldn't bother to hire a competent artist to design you a logo, what does that say about your business?

People will get bored of AI art. It's a trend that is throwing artists into a frenzy, just like 3D animation did for the artistic industry. I'm confident in people's humanity to value and desire art made my aching hands and heavy hearts

And blah blah blah statistics, money, government stocks or whatever the fuck could prove me wrong, but being anxious will not make this situation better. I continue to be hopeful and create art

#asks

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next-autopsy · 6 months

Text

A/N: Well, hi there! I hope you’re enjoying this story as much as I am! This chapter is semi Francesca focused, hope y’all like her! Quite a bit of backstory in this one, we uncover a family mystery and I’m so sorry for it.

Lmk what you think x

Based on the actors portrayal/hbo show and written with no disrespect to the real life veterans. Also all images found on Pinterest.

TW: Smoking, swearing, general awkwardness, mentions of death/loss,

Tags: @malarkgirlypop , @panzershrike-pretz (let me know if you want to be added!)

Made of Glass

Chapter thirteen: Baby Birdie

Smoking had always been something Francesca took solace in, the earthy smell reminded her of the men in her family. Her father had smoked since before she was born, she always pictured him with a thin cylinder of fine tobacco in his hand.

When her two older brothers had hit their early teens, they both took up the habit. At first, they had hidden it from the paternal figure but quickly came to realise he didn't care so they stopped sneaking out to puff cigarettes in the dark alleys of their neighbourhood.

Francesca often thought of her brothers and how they were fairing. Both had enlisted in the US marine corps the second Europe had declared war within itself in 1939. Her oldest brother, Giovanni, was 23 and the younger, Niccolo, was 22, that was nearly three years ago, and she hadn't seen them since. She would receive one, maybe two letters from each of them yearly and that's how she knew they were both still alive.

She turned her thoughts else where, inhaling and exhaling gray clouds. Rossi was perched on the steps of the barracks she lived in, enjoying the quiet dark.

To her dismay, the quiet dark was disturbed by the rhythmic thump of Army issued boots and the dirt path that lead in her direction.

Francesca saw the shadowy outline of two figures, two figures that were yet to notice her.

As they came closer, she recognised Birdie but not the man she was with. The pair seemed uncomfortable, the girl fidgeted with her hands and the guy was looking every which way except towards the woman.

Francesca cringed for them. Their weird energy reached out and touched her and she wanted to run off or hide her face in her hands.

She didn’t. She sat and watched.

It was like witnessing a car wreck, Rossi could not pull her attention away, morbidly curious to see what happens next.

Nobody said anything, no words exchanged but the couple had stopped walking and both looked like they wanted to hang themselves.

Rossi kept silent, hoping if she said nothing they wouldn't notice her and she could ignore this moment of her life.

“Uh...” And, “Well...” Were spoken at the same time by each of the on edge….friends? Were they friends? Francesca couldn't tell.

“Thanks... for ya know....” It was Birdie who bucked up and broke the bizarre tension that had formed in the strained hush between them.

“Yeah...” The man turned to walk away, figuring he could leave the strange encounter and act like this interaction did not occur.

“Liebgott?” The southern woman called out to him, pausing his steps, he looked over his shoulder at her.

“Yeah?” There was a beat of nothing. Birdie fidgeted once again. To Francesca it looked like she was about to tell him something important, begin a speech or break some bad news to the poor fellow attempting to run away. But Birdie didn’t, she only uttered one word and it sounded forced.

“Night.” It's not what she wanted to say but in all honesty she didn't know what she wanted to say. It was like she spoke his name but didn't remember why.

“Night, Coldwell.” Then he was gone, Birdie couldn't help but feel something. Disappointment? Unfulfillment? She was conflicted and she didn't really know why.

“That was weird.”

“Jesus Christ!” Bernadette's hand flew to her chest and she whipped her head around faster than the speed of light. Though she calmed when she noticed Francesca sitting in the dark, huffing on the tail end of a cigarette.

“Frankie! Announce yourself dammit! You scared me half to death....” Birdie let out a sigh, “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough.” She answered, “Wanna smoke?”

“God yes.” The younger girl accepted her offer and sat down next to her roommate, taking the tobacco stick between her fingers. Francesca took out a second one and placed it between her lips, then lit both.

They sat side by side, huffing and puffing until there was nothing left to consume.

“Frankie, huh? I earned myself a Birdie nickname.” The Italian woman commented lightheartedly.

“Sure did.” A smile grew on her face, the nickname had slipped out accidentally but she was glad for it. This moment felt like a good one, one she'd look back on as the beginning of their blossoming friendship.

“At least it's not a disease.” She had a smirk on her lips, word of Birdie’s STD riddled friend had gotten around.

“Was that… a joke? Did you just make a joke, Frankie?” A giggle escaped her lips.

“Yeah, cherish it. I won't be making another.” The black haired woman spoke in a stoic tone but a smile crept onto her face and she bumped shoulders with Birdie, who laughed at the action. Francesca felt herself smiling wider at Birdies enjoyment, the noise was filled with a musical merriment and it was contagious.

The women sat outside on the wooden steps and shared another cigarette, they passed this one between them. Bernadette began telling Frankie the childhood story of how she acquired her nickname: Birdie. As a toddler learning to speak, the full ‘Bernadette’ was a incoherent babble so one of her older sisters had shortened it for her to Bernie. But of course the two year old's pronunciation was still being perfected and it changed to Birdie and stuck.

The image of a baby Bernadette, wobbling around on uncertain feet calling herself Birdie sparked a chuckle from the Italian girl. It prompted her to share her own tale from her youth and the two went back and forth, while one puffed on the smoke the other would share a memory.

This is how Bernadette learnt of Frankie’s family. Her father worked as a mechanic as did she and her two older brothers before they all enlisted. She was surprised to hear they were both currently deployed in the Pacific theatre of war.

Birdie shared the information of her own brother, the eldest: Victor, affectionately called Junior as Victor was also their fathers name. He signed up for the US Navy in 1939 and after training was stationed in Hawaii. He was aboard the SS Arizona when it was targeted by the Japanese. He died on December 7th, 1941 in Pearl Harbour.

He was the reason Birdie and James had signed up. Originally, the southerner was going to put her name down as a nurse but she’d heard of the special program for women and how it would send her to the front lines and she was in, no questions.

Francesca sympathised, she too had lost a family member. The New York Italian informed her new friend of her seldom talked about parent. Her mother had an incurable sickness and passed away when Frankie was young. Young enough that she barely remembered the woman, she could vaguely picture a face, a warm smile, an encompassing hug, a gentle voice or sweet smell but not much else.

Most of what she knew of her mother was learnt from pictures or stories her brothers told her. She had asked her father about the woman once and he did not react well. He yelled and hissed at her and stomped off to his room to drink away the memories of his late wife. Frankie never asked him about her mother again.

Bernadette had hugged her after hearing the tragedy. She was incredibly close with her family, especially her mother and couldn’t imagine not having her in her life. Francesca didn’t mind much, she didn’t know anything different, but she accepted the hug anyway, Birdie was warm and the comfort she provided, was needed.

The pack of smokes had emptied over the course of time the two spent bonding, which was their signal to head inside and sleep.

Which is exactly what they did, sharing a look from across the room as a silent ‘goodnight’.

——————————

As the weeks phased into months Toccoa began to feel more like home. Bernadette had found her footing and slipped into a schedule she looked forward to. Lectures were a welcome break from vigorous PT and the friends she had made were becoming closer and closer everyday.

Liebgott had gone back to dropping bad natured comments aimed at her the morning after whatever that night was. Although his tone had changed and his words seemed more like attempted jokes. She noticed his lips curling ever so slightly at the edges when he muttered the banter and his genuine distain for her felt fake and put on as if he wanted everyone (including himself) to believe he didn’t like her. She replied with her typical witty comebacks but hers too felt forced like a show for anyone listening. The shift unsettled her to her core but she didn’t really know why, she should be happy Liebgott was finally coming round and didn’t wish her dead… so why wasn’t she?

On the third day after the entire Harriet debacle, all four men were apprehended.

Nixon had told Birdie that someone outside of the attackers had confirmed the initial confession, which gave them absolute proof. The three men were dishonourably discharged and sent home in disgrace, while the fourth man was transferred out of the 506 and left Camp Toccoa effective immediately.

Birdie was pleased to hear the news but couldn’t for the life of her figure out who had told Sink, maybe the men had blabbed to their friends and one of them felt bad? Who knows, it was anyone's guess.

Birdie didn’t dwell on it too much, instead she had wrote to Harriet and explained the whole story. The ex-How company woman was still recovering weeks later with a broken pelvis and stitches in the back of her head but she had been allowed to move to her home state. She thanked Birdie for her part in finding and punishing her violators and had truly meant it, learning of the men being held accountable had eased her mind. It eased Bernadette’s guilt some but she figured the feeling she couldn’t get rid of would stay with her for the rest of her life, always wondering what might have been.

The two promised to keep in contact and Harriet even invited Birdie to come visit her in San Diego once the war was over. Of course, Bernadette had accepted and found herself picturing California, it became her fantasy, one she would carry with her throughout the years ahead of her.

The entire regiment was being moved to Fort Benning, marching 137 miles to break some record the Japanese troops held. It took three and a bit days of marching plus a train ride but they reached their destination.

Fort Benning was set up similarly to Camp Toccoa yet they were so different, it gave Birdie an eerie feeling of familiarity.

A/N: That was a tad depressing, sorry folks! But Birdie and Frankie bonded over dead loved ones so yay!

Also, finally they’re in Fort Benning, goodbye Toccoa!

~ next-autopsy ~

Chapter fourteen

#band of brothers #easy company #hbo war #joe liebgott #band of brothers fanfic #fem oc #oc #lewis nixon #next autopsy #made of glass #made of glass chapter thirteen #first fanfic

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