A Miracle - Tumblr Posts

Raziel walks in noticing the clutter but doesn't comment on it. He nods and grabs the wood, glancing at the little angel carvings and smiling underneath his helmet, pulling out a small simple knife he uses for carving and finding a place to sit he looks at Bluelight before starting on something, and does something most beings have never heard from him, some kind of vocalization, as he starts humming quietly

A knock at Bluelight's front door rings out, someone's there, who could it be? Nobody should know about this place... But Raziel knows all of heavens secrets, it's his job to know, so for one reason or another, God's most silent angel is here

*before anyone can answer the door, the boat creaks and Raziel sees a half finished carving of a rose fly out of the window… along with the sounds of rage and anguish… and the door to the cabin flies open, a very ANGRY looking Bluelight standing on the other side, looking like he’s about to stab the other angel with his carving knife.*

WHO GOES THERE?! And interrupts my WORK!

i have just realized i never formally made an introduction post to pin to my blog, like, ever. i’ve had this account for years. whoops.

hello! i’m nym-ic!

i use all pronouns, and by all, i literally mean all. i could care less what you use to describe me in sentences, so if a certain pronoun set is more comfortable for you to use, or you’d like to practice inserting neopronouns for people who actually primarily use them, feel free to use me as your test dummy!

i’m a big mcyt fan (read: it’s all i watch and read about), so my blog is about things related to that!

i’m not a big blog (like at all) but sometimes i’ll post something that’ll get some attention, so if you like bullshit posts, i’m the blog for you (callout posts not withstanding)!

if you do decide to follow, i hope you enjoy your stay and that we have a fun time!

GENTLE DEMON

checks watch

WORM TIME

hi I saw your recent post I hope your moving went smoothly!

I have a loose prompt, if you wanted/had time/had WiFi to write: an interrogation room meet-cute between villain and non-field agent hero

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them the hero realized they were in the wrong room. A very wrong room.

They blinked. The villain blinked, taking them in.

“You look lost.”

“That’s rude,” they responded before they had the chance to think about it. “I work here.”

“Do you now,” the villain said, and the hero grew abruptly aware of their jacket stamped with the Agency logo, their gloves marking their designation as a touch based hero. It was a miracle they didn’t turn red with the embarrassment of it.

They tried the doorknob behind their back. It rattled, but didn’t open, and internally they started screaming. Just a little bit.

“They don’t open from the inside,” the villain said helpfully. “Security risk, or something like that.”

“I know that,” the hero snapped, and the villain raised an eyebrow. “Sorry.”

The apology blurted out before they could stop it.

“Did you just ‘apologize’ to me?” The villain looked at them incredulously.

“Uh,” they managed. “Funny question.”

“Funny—“ the villain cut themself off. “It’s not a question, I literally just heard you apologize.”

“Maybe you should get your hearing checked out,” they offered, and winced, because apparently every sane part of their brain had fled to France and left them with a singular suicidal brain cell.

The villain’s mouth was slightly open, as if they weren’t entirely sure what was happening. The hero shared the same sentiment.

The villain glanced at the camera, then back to the hero.

“You’re not a field agent,” they said, as if it was dawning on them.

“You don’t know that,” the hero said defensively.

“You’re holding a file.”

“Field agents are capable of holding files,” the hero replied. “Kind of rude of you to assume they can’t.”

The whisper of a smile tugged at the corner of the villain’s mouth.

“Sorry,” the villain said, and it was just barely mocking.

The hero rocked on their heels a bit, drumming their fingers on the file in their hands.

“They’re taking a while to get you out,” the villain observed.

“Yeah, Bob’s on duty.”

“Oh, so Bob doesn’t do his job?”

The hero jerked. “I did not say that.”

“It was kind of implied, though,” the villain said earnestly.

The hero had interacted with villains before: ending interviews for files, the odd informant. Never held a conversation though, and certainly not for this long.

This was why they didn’t do field work.

“What, no response?”

The hero smiled, sickeningly sweet. “I’m compiling commentary to add to your file.”

“So you admit to not being a field agent.”

“Continually makes assumptions, poor listening comprehension…”

“Not a very long list,” they pointed out.

The hero felt their smile sharpen. “The rest involves curse words.”

The villain barked a laugh, and the hero jerked slightly in surprise.

The villain regarded them like they were deciding something, as if they could see something within the hero that they themself couldn’t.

It had been a long time, longer than the hero would like to admit, since someone, anyone, had looked at them like that.

Like they mattered at all.

“I like you,” the villain said finally, slowly, like they weren’t entirely sure those were the words that were going to come out.

“You also like crime.”

“And you know how dedicated I am to that,” the villain said pointedly, a glint in their eye.

“How sweet,” the hero managed after a moment. “This is exactly why I became a hero. To be compared to felonies.”

The villain just smirked. They peered down at the handcuffed hands, then looked up at the hero. They weren’t sure when they had moved away from the door, closer to the villain, but somehow it had happened.

There was something warm to this; it sat in the hero’s chest, light and airy.

“I’ll text you when I get out. Say, next week?”

“You’re going to jail,” the hero reminded, mouth dry.

The villain grinned. “Right,” they drawled, amusement splashed across their face. “Jail. Which is where I am going. And where I shall stay. Absolutely.”

Something clicked, and the hero didn’t have to look under the table to know the villain had slipped their cuffs.

Despite their best efforts, their eyes flicked downwards, like they could see the now empty cuffs below the table. The villain grinned further, as if in challenge.

Are you going to tattle?

The hero swallowed.

“I’m really not supposed to be in here.”

“I’ve gathered,” the villain said. “You work the desk all the time?”

“Yes.”

“Personal choice, or…”

“I like it,” the hero said defensively. “It’s just puzzles, and I’m good at those.”

“Puzzles?”

“Putting things together,” they said vaguely. “Routes and evidence and all that.”

The villain’s brow furrowed, as if they were mulling something over. Their gaze returned to the hero, and it was searing.

“You’re the one who found me, aren’t you.”

“Oh,” the hero said, blushing. “That’s-I’m not—“

The villain leaned forward. “Am I in that file?”

The hero tucked it behind their back.

“No.”

“Are you lying?”

“No,” the hero said with emphasis. The villain laughed.

“You’re bad at this,” they said, but it was fond.

“Thanks, I try,” the hero said. They were waiting for the villain to stand up, but they seemed content to just sit there and watch.

“Mhm,” the villain agreed, and for some reason, the hero flushed even further.

The villain’s gaze snapped to the door, and they tilted their head as if listening to something.

“They’ll be here in a minute,” they said. The hero blinked. “To get you out,” the villain prompted.

“Right,” the hero said. They had forgotten they couldn’t leave, but the villain didn’t need to know that. They had a feeling they knew anyways.

“I’ll call you,” the villain reminded.

“You don’t have my number,” the hero protested.

The villain gave them a look. “You’re cute. Do you like pizza? We could do pizza.”

“We could never speak again.”

“Funny, I’ve never heard of that restaurant.”

“You—”

“Oh look, they’re here!” The villain said cheerfully.

The door swung open, and someone the hero vaguely recognized stepped in.

In the next second, the hero was in the hallway.

“Oh, and love,” the villain called, and the hero cursed themself for blushing. “Don’t be jealous of the other felonies. You’ll always be my favorite crime.”

The hero ducked their face behind the file, but they couldn’t stop the pleased smile that crept from the corners of their mouth.

Constellation | @jegulus-microfic | word count: 439

Regulus wakes up to James’ watchful gaze. Slow and bleary-eyed, he moves to face him. James is looking down at him, arm propped up, and cheek pressed against the palm of his hand.

There’s something about that look. Regulus is slow to realize the weight of it, but once it settles, he goes still. 

“What is it?” He almost wants to cover James’ eyes and tell him to stop looking at him like that.

“Nothing,” comes James’ response and his voice is infinitely clearer than Regulus’, bearing no trace of sleep. Exposing him.

James has been up for a while, watching Regulus sleep.

It’s early morning. The birds are chirping their song and the sun is slanting through the blinds, painting the walls of their bedroom and bringing its warmth into their bed.

James runs a hand through Regulus’ locks, softly, reverently, moving an errant lock from his face and behind his ear. It’s futile work, as it falls right back where it was. Regulus blows air at it in response, and James smiles.

He moves, running his hands through Regulus’ hair, past the nape of his neck and settles on the vast expanse of his exposed back.

James traces the spots and freckles scattered across Regulus’ back with a careful finger, barely touching as he moves it along. 

“Even here,” he breathes, “there are constellations.” It’s barely a whisper, entirely to himself, as he continues to thread the marks together along his path.

Regulus leaves him to it, suppresses the where else in me do you see stars? that burst through the tingling in his stomach at James’ ministrations.

After a while, James starts tracing a familiar pattern, less soft now, covetous rather than reverent.

J F P

“Stop that,” Regulus says, failing to keep a reprimanding tone.

“Stop what?”

“Marking me.”

“I’m not marking you. I’m connecting the stars.”

J…F…P

“How awfully convenient that the freckles on my back spell out your initials.”

“It’s not all freckles; there are a few pimples here.”

Aaaand the show is over. Regulus rolls onto his back and pushes James down onto his pillow. He goes without a fight, a stupid grin on his face.

“Good morning to you, too.” 

“I hate you.”

“You should tone down the sappiness, it’s getting to be too much even for me.” And before Regulus decides to chuck his pillow at him: “Breakfast?”

“Pancakes.”

James snorts. “Not if you’re making them.”

Regulus helps him off the bed with a push of his foot on James’ ass, and cocoons himself.

“You burn them one time,” he grumbles to himself, burrowing into the pillow that smells like James.

what's the deal with american liberals and shoddy metaphors. "imagine your house is on fire and it's not a good house but all you got and your only firemen are hitler and mussolini each with a baby and bathwater" well no thank you, İ'm not going to imagine that