#anyway we needed another angsty thread

[spoileds]

had   been   a   couple   months   since   pair   decided   to   put   their   feelings   aside   for   their   sake   of   their   relationships   with   caleb   ,   after   all   the   other   male   hadn't   done   anything   to   deserve   the   betrayal   his   girlfriend   and   best   friend   would   cause   .   however   it   had   been   agony   for   zuri   ,   watching   prescott   and   their   mutual   friend   ,   sasha   get   closer   ,   rolling   eyes   at   their   make   out   sessions   ,   having   to   pretend   her   feelings   for   caleb   were   still   there   and   that   she   loved   his   touch   on   her   skin   when   it   was   now   the   blond's   touch   she   craved   .   had   managed   to   pull   herself   away   from   caleb   as   zuri   made   her   way   to   the   bar   ,   eyes   rolling   but   secretly   ecstatic   when   prescott   soon   followed   .   '   surprised   she   let   you   come   over   here   ,   the   way   she's   been   sat   on   your   lap   and   glued   to   your   lips   all   night   ...   '

[roonilwazlibimagines]

[analviel]

I see a lot of examination and discussion of how Shen Jiu had the setting/backstory of a protagonist, could've been a protagonist if not for a twist of fate, and in a way his shape is still a protagonist when SY literally piloted his body- but not. (I think we all get hung up a lot bcs he didn't become protag like he deserves but he also didn't become a full on villain, who's still a protag of his own story, but just a scum villain because of the misunderstanding, somewhere along the way something happened and held him back in that in-between place, unable to tip over completely one way or another.)

It's often brought up that he's undergone his own blackening into a scum villain and I think about that a lot, but you know, his settings never actually trailed off too far from the protagonist setting, with the 'from the lowest to the highest' template- idk if that makes sense, but anyways, I of course have read more than my fair share of fix-its, but often, if not always, it's a time travel scenario.

But WHAT IF:

But what if Shen Jiu, rather than swallowing the shards of Xuan Su, uses it to cut himself free of the immortal binding ropes or whatever is stopping his qi. Which is not LBH's parasite blood I don't think they have that ability but whatever. I mean, you'd ask how would he, without arms and legs, escape? A nifty thing we're all familiar with called author's will.

A time when LBH is away to deal with one thing or another, and SJ, after years of lifeless staring, and even more lifeless staring in the aftermath of YQY's death, moves. The thing about not attempting to escape for a long, long time, is that people lower their guards and grows complacent, and it's not as if there's anyone checking up on him to see if he's eating meals or whatever, LBH is more than happy to get suggestions from his wives for torture ideas but was very controlling of who gets to inflict it (Xuan Su was just left there and he did manage to swallow it). So Shen Jiu, with only Xuan Su's blade and it's inherent property as a spirit sword, not even an active one which means on one hand there's no active qi in it but the latent one from its materials, and on the other hand it's not bound to anyone and was more malleable, whatever. ANYWAYS. Skip.

Shen Jiu knowing of one thing or another, or several things that's a combination of common healing theory, rarer healing practices, less than righteous surgery techniques, equals bastardized body repair and ends with him frankensteining himself with some shaky qi threads. The needle is a piece of Xuan Su. He doesn't blink bcs his pain receptors are no more.

Scenario A.) I want SJ to play the 'mysterious wandering protag with a mysterious dark past and a mission for vengeance', only wanting to kill LBH before planning to retire from existance himself and he goes with his cool and angsty scarred body that he'd DIY'ed. The blood parasites are solved by something ruthlessly self-destructive only someone with SJ's coldness and lack of actual desire to continue breathing would do without even some initial testing. This would be done quick and dirty to keep LBH from teacking him. OR/AND

Scenario B.) I say or-slash-and because the scenario A could be cut off or maybe they could be combined. The handy dandy sun and moon dew!!! Plant it, grow it, kill himself, and recover his full potential all those years ago! Of course this would take quite a while, so he might need scenario A anyways. And conveniently enough, it puts him in the path of....... dun dun dun ZUZHI-LANG!!! And TLJ by proxy. Allies get! Maybe! Because TLJ wants to kill the sects, right? But his son did it here for him, so maybe he wouldn't bother anymore. Or maybe it's not enough bcs he hadn't killed all of everyone, so let daddy fix that right up. Or/and, LBH feels threatened and threatens in proper blackened protg manner and TLJ threatens back and flat out stomps him.

So. Maybe!

To expand on the rest of the Jianghu, the other 4 Peak Lords we know are alive, SQH, QQQ, WQW, and MQF. Bcs we don't have definite details on the timeline of PIDW, we can conveniently fill in space, put a lot of cause and effect, the cultivator world is in an uproar by the reveal that LBH is a demon (it's not as if they were okay with that, duh, if they'd known he was a demon, SJ's actions would've been treated as the only logical thing to do) and YQY is dead, AND SQH is a traitor, so that's down two - or rather three with SQQ- influential people, two of which were heavily involved in how everything is run (SQQ, while not actually lazy in his cultivation, was indeed lazy and unmotivated in most tasks that involved coordinating with others).

I really don't think SJ would feel even a little bit betrayed by SQH. To be betrayed you have to trust first, and his whole thing was that he never trusted anyone from CQMS. For SJ, SQH didn't betray them so much as his loyalty just belonged to another. Still would kill the rat next time he sees him tho (spoiler alert, he doesn't, kill him that is, but he does see him eventually).

So, I'm of the belief that Airplane's drafts included the Peak Lords as big boss too, where TLJ is the big boss of the demonic realm, they're the ones for the cultivation world, and my headcanon is that they were purposely met with sudden deaths one way or another in PIDW, and none actually died in a straight up fight, which is on brand with LQG's deviation, SQQ's trial, and YQY's thousand arrows (that I say are one of those bullshit golden finger artifacts of PIDW, maybe something like 'heavenly damned arrows of a thousand rays' that always flies true to it's target and could seal rare level pokemon rip-offs beasts for every single one. No reason that they would be normal p arrows, really). SQH might have fought or just been completely taken off guard by his lord killing him out of the blue with no chance to wriggle out. But Like QQQ was backstabbed. WQW was poisoned. MQF sacrificed himself for a beloved disciple (and that's why WQW died because he set out to find his martial brother but didn't know he'd already died. Awww).

(connected to another headcanon, the other five unnamed Peak Lords died long ago in the first battle against TLJ when he was sealed)

These people were meant to be a team. Or at least a set.

So SJ goes on an epic quest of getting power to kill his Qi-ge's killer via sun and moon dew possibly while he gets his tactician brain creating up something to kill LBH (OP characters are not killed in straight up fights, as we've learned, they're tricked or betrayed) and accidentally finding and gathering his siblings who, at that point, happen to have become guardians of havens and refuge communities in pockets of the world that holds the remnants of cultivator and human realm, where the demonic forces have spread far and wide in every realm. It's initially written to later, eventually be conquered by LBH. For example there's a hidden cave passage that leads you to Mu Qingfang's hidey hole, a pocket dimension with much rural fantasy aesthetic, housing parients and normal mortals with farms and houses woven to giant trees. Wei Qingwei is found underground creating weapons and defenses day in and day out to source to QQQ and MQF. Qi Qingqi with her armies always on the move, squads spread out in the realms, resisting against the demonic forces, helping Mu Qingfang rescue stragglers, from her old fairycore ensemble shifting to dragoncore, rarely resting with her inedia in the hollow of a mountain.

(xianxia aesthetic, whimsical aesthetic, aesthetic aesthetic aesthetic!!!!!!!!).

They..... Well. It's an awkward reunion.

SJ was shocked to meet the first lord sibling he'd seen since his imprisonment, shown only by a slight widened eyes, but emotions quickly gone. His first words is, "Do you wnat to kill the beast?"

He didn't care about the answer, if they said yes, then alright, if they said no, then he'd just walk away.

They say yes. Every one.

So, the rest really depends on how you interpret his relationship with them before the trial.

A). Was it a case of it's exactly what it looked like and they oh so very righteously hated him and he hated them back, a bunch of misunderstandings and not-so misunderstandings building up?

B). Did they have mutual respect and mutual awareness that everyone in the room they hold their PL meetings in were assholes of different flavors? Did they expect Shen Jiu to save himself in the trials, was dissapointed when he didn't but since he didn't give any indication of wanting to be saved, shrugged their shoulders and left him to his life, as they have always poked and snided at each other but always kept away from actually interfering with their lives (no matter how evil they thought the others were, because they may be evil, but they were still siblings and that just meant they had evil martial siblings. Love morally dubious group of PL but still ride and die)?

C). Or maybe they actually had a good relationship consisting of a lot of sharp teasing and reckless verbal and physical lashing and tantrums that you can really only get away with to your siblings, but was twisted by outside perpective?

And, on the way, maybe he learns to form relationships properly, with people that he loved nothing like the all-consuming soul twisting and mutually hurtful and destructive way he dedicated everything to Yue Qingyuan (from his loyalty to his shrivelled love and every hurtful words).

Just. Friends. Family. Siblings.

Imagine SJ eventually wandering off, with a burnt down Peak that would never again beholden him to promises, broken and otherwise. Grieving, yes, but somehow at peace than he'd ever been in. A very long time?

Ming Fan, who'd perhaps been in Qi Qingqi's Fairy Haven (of course that's the name, we've got a theme people) that was the group that consisted of people that bayed for the Emperor's blood or just the more active cultivators (with GYX mayhaps), a loyal disciple reunited with his Shizun. Or mayne he'd been the one to have found SJ as a human stick and helped him get spare body parts.

I imagine in this world, once Luo Binghe is... out of the picture, one way or another, busy dying or busy having an appropriately dramatic amnesia arc for him to develop character development, NYY takes over as the Empress, with her court of demoness and humans, and Harems becomes synonymous to Council. LMY her right hand helping keep everyone in line, who are also partially managed by SHL, who weighted her options and pros and cons and found establishing her position as left hand pretty good for now. The rest can come later. Imagine NYY growing up, not in brute strength bcs that wasn't how she was taught, nor is it her strength, but perhaps in a way that SJ would idly wonder if perhaps he should've endorsed her to Qiong Ding. Not all harem members stay of course, and some had to die. Ning YingYing becomes the First Empress of the age of peace in the unified two realms and first order of business is secure her influence. Second is ban slaves. Third is to encourage a tentative cooperation between humans and demons.

(Additional note: LBH having a protagonist halo doesn't make him unkillable, the death just has to meet several requirements, like being suitably glorious and impactful, and also maybe tragic- ehem killed by his own father or shizun, and seeing his washerwoman mother at his last moments. The protagonist is just another tool to set up the story and evidently, genre change is not impossible.)

(I imagine a confrontation between SJ and LMY early on that goes along the lines of SJ saying, "Wouldn't you know better than most, the thirst for vengeance for a brother's death?)

What if SJ's fix-it comes after PIDW, you know. PIDW being his tragic backstory. A slave who climbed so high despite the past clinging heavy on his shoulders, and then falling down lower than he'd ever been and resolving his issues and then climbing back even higher with more stable footing.

Qiu Haitang, Yue Qingyuan, Liu Qingge, their Five Unnamed Martial Siblings, Luo Binghe- regrets, and triumphs, all part of his story to mull over whenever he reaches the top of random hills and sets out his tea set. It's a bittersweet plot I like thinking about.

[nikethestatue]

Hi and sorry this is pretty long. I am the anon who asked about the “why sjm would have included az in the mating bond storyline, when she already had a 3rd party” ask. I just wanted to elaborate on my thought processes around this and get your opinion. I always ask myself when reading a book and guessing about potential storyline’s what did the inclusion or lack of inclusion of this scene, that person, that bit of information bring to the plot and how can it move current storyline’s along. With the el/lu storyline that we have at present, her not accepting the bond, being uncomfortable around him and him being almost indifferent to her at this point what would we need to do to get with them to get them from point a to b. Well we could stay with this, have el still fighting the bond because of reasons but slowly giving in, could use a lot of popular troupes in this storyline, forced proximity, one horse/bed, fake dating and missunderstandings etc, make it angsty and eventually they do fall in love. Bingo! a to b achieved. No need for Az to have been brought in at all. Or we could have the love triangle storyline once again no need for Az we already had gray, could have had the plot be unable to accept becoming fae, staying with gray (even tho he was a raging prick, which has the bonus of helping have the readers rooting for Luc instead of having readers divided between Az/luc) because it’s her last threads to her humanity, it could of been her journey in accepting not being human (but we already kinda had that plot point with nes/cass so unlikely) luc helping her thru it and having to overcome a 3rd party, possible troupes, watching yr mate be with someone else (done with Rhys/feyre), jealousy, mutual pining, misunderstandings lots of areas to explore here. Anyway you get where I’m going with this, the point being, no matter which way you look at it Az didn’t need to be included in el storyline in order to achieve the end goal of having el/luc together. In fact it just makes it messy for an author to tie up all loose threads and have everyone come out happy including the reader. Also applies to the imfamous bonus chapter. You have to ask yrself what was the motivation for the author of including 2 intimate scenes involving one person, one intimate scene of 2 MAIN characters that gets interrupted and then immediately having the male go and have another intimate scene with a side character. If you wanted the 2nd scene to imply a romantic connection you could of just left the 1st scene out all together and still had the same outcome. You didn’t need to end el/az to start az/gwyn because in the actual books, although it’s been hinted at, it hasn’t been confirmed. Why do things in the 2nd scene that are unromantic, even antiromantic, like a guy regifting a gift from one girl to the next, (he could of gone to the library the next day with literally anything else and the scene would have been the same) why have him simping for a girl immediately before going to the actual love interest. Why make a messy situation, once again, when you didn’t need to unless you never intended for the 2nd scene to be romantic. Which ever way you look at it having the az/el storyline confirmed in the bonus matters because otherwise you’ve created a narrative nightmare for both the el/luc and az/gwyn storylines that didn’t need to exist if it, ultimately, wasn’t going to mean anything

No you are absolutely right. There is no need for Azriel in that situation. Unless you actually need him to be partnered with Elain. Especially not for this long.

I've entertained many options for how Elucien can happen--and yet, if SJM wanted to write Elucien, slow burn, learning to like and then love each other, it's very possible. But there is enough of an obstacle in there--their mutual reluctance, and especially Elain's--that Azriel isn't needed. They'd have enough to overcome without the interference of another character. At most, he could've played a Tarquin-like role. A short flirtation, for a chapter or two. Not all these pivotal scenes which SJM gave Azriel, and not Lucien.

There also wouldn't be the need for Vassa or Lucien living there. In these books, you want the man to fight for his woman. He should pursue her, woo her, court her, not peace out and shack up with another female. I mean, there is no real come back from that.

"Hey Elain, I know we were mates and all, but I was banging Vassa while you were deciding. No, I didn't do everything in my power to convince you and show you the man that I am, who is worth loving and who is worth your eternity. I left at the first sign of trouble."

That's really kind of not an ideal setup.

And there is nothing to say about Gwynriel, because it's not an obstacle as it doesn't exist.

[bellaxgiornata]

Below the cut is an unedited and very rough excerpt from chapter one of yet another side project I'm currently working on. It is a Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader story where Reader can travel the multiverse and is being hunted because of that ability. It is tentatively titled Keep Coming Back to You. There's also a world of intelligent zombies Reader gets pulled into whenever she really panics which she calls Nightmare 1. In the story, she starts out meeting college Matt and Foggy but because of her ability and her need to hide, she obviously disappears often. So she eventually meets a slightly older Matt (season 1?) as time passes. And this story will be an angsty slowburn after some initial romance (all thanks to you Elektra).

This is a very, very rough concept I'm still working on which will also probably involve Doctor Strange at some point.  And I'm going to say it's 18+ for some smut (because we all know I write smut) and violence/gore (I mean...there's zombies). Just curious who is even interested before I invest too much time in this one.

Anyway, below the cut is a raw snippet from the middle of chapter one!

_________

"You can't hide forever, girl," they called out again. 

You tried to ignore them, your eyes searching for the thread that you had always felt a slight draw towards, though lately it was getting harder and harder to find through the multitudes of universes. Home–that thread meant Home to you. Or at least lately it had become something like Home. You figured you’d jump there and then quickly find somewhere else to jump to lose them for good for a while.

"The others couldn't hide from me either," they told you, their voice closer. 

Their words caused you to pause, momentarily distracted as the threads glittered before you, varying shades of colors and lights softly reflecting along your jeans. 

"You’re not the only one, Serena," they continued, smug satisfaction in their tone. "And I know that's not your real name, girl."

Your head snapped to your left. They were standing at the bottom of the playset’s slide now, staring right at you through the dark with a menacing smile. The teeth of the young man they were currently possessing flashed at you like a warning. A terrified shiver ran down your spine at the sight.

"I always get them eventually," they called up to you. "Just like I'll get you."

Ice cold fear shot its way through your veins. Before you could control it, something was tugging sharply at your body. That horrifyingly familiar feel of cold hands gripping your shoulders and yanking you forcefully backwards hit you hard. 

And then you were falling. 

Your stomach felt like it was flying up into your throat, your organs shifting and squeezing unpleasantly inside of you as you were pulled–the second worst possible thing that could have happened to you in that moment. 

Just as fast as it had started the sensation stopped. You landed hard on your knees along cracked pavement, wincing in pain at the rough drop. Your hands instinctively flew forward, scratching roughly along the broken cement as you tried to steady yourself on all fours. Panting hard, you looked up and surveyed your surroundings while hoping against all hope you weren’t where you thought you were. But your heart fell to the demolished road beside you the moment you took in the sight of the plant life overtaking the decrepit houses around you. Eyes closing, you tried to fight back the sting of tears.

Not here again. 

A fresh wave of panic rolled through you as you quickly and quietly rose to your feet. It had been awhile since you’d been to this world, but you remembered exactly what you needed to do. You needed to be silent. You needed to remain calm. And you needed to get the fuck out of here as fast as you possibly could. Before one of those things found you. You just needed a second to catch your breath and scan your surroundings to make sure you were safe and alone. Then you would find a safe universe and jump again.

That's it, you told yourself. Just calm down. I'll get out of here, I always do. Just need to stay calm.

You tried to take a steady breath, keeping your eyes open while you scanned the area around you. Carefully you expelled the breath as gently as you could, your eyes taking in the sight of the apocalyptic neighborhood. There was a gaping hole in the roof of the house just in front of you, the front door entirely missing. Both houses beside it had broken windows and ivy snaking its way up the front of them. The exterior paint had long since faded and the mailboxes out front were rusted and tipped to the side. But at least you didn't see any movement. As you observed your surroundings, you kept an ear out and listened to every single noise around you. For now, the soft whistle of wind through the copse of trees nearby was thankfully all you could hear. Everything else was quiet.

Good. Silence was good here. Silence met one of those things weren't about to jump out and try to savagely rip you to shreds and eat you like you were their last meal.

Or infect you.

Fuck, I hate this place.

Cautiously you made your way through the tall grass as it brushed against your jeans, the soft swish of it hitting your ears. The overcast light from the sun sneaking through the cloud cover overhead was a sharp contrast to the dark night you'd just been running through moments ago. 

Traveling through worlds was incredibly strange. It could be broad daylight in one place, but then you could jump and end up somewhere where it was pitch black seconds later. Same with the weather–it could be springtime somewhere, with birds chirping and flowers blooming, and then another moment you were landing in three feet of freezing cold snow in a pair of shorts. 

Your concept of time was entirely fucked at this point.

Moving on the front of your feet, you tried to make as little sound as possible as you walked. It was difficult to catch your breath, trying in vain to keep your labored breathing steady and quiet after that chase you’d barely escaped. You just wanted to get your back against something solid and search the threads for a universe that felt safe to jump to. That was your focus right now.

You moved slowly, careful to be as soundless as you could and grimacing at the stains of old blood you saw splattered along the panels of the house as you walked. You crept your way gradually around to the side of the house, glad that it was windowless. Very carefully you turned, stepping backwards until your back hit the wall. At least nothing could sneak up behind you while you worked now.

With a sharp exhale through your nose you tried to focus on the space before you yet again. Gradually the threads of multiple universes appeared, shimmering in the overcast light of the day. This time there was a rush of blues and purples that came forward. You squinted, reaching two fingers tentatively out and trying to get a feel for a few threads of light. 

Maybe you needed to find somewhere new. Somewhere that they wouldn't easily think to find you. But you hated finding new worlds. You never knew what you would be walking into every time you jumped. Though usually if you trusted your instincts you would end up in a world similar to your Home. Right now that's what you needed to find.

A noise came from not too far away, cutting through the silence. You froze instantly at the sound, your fingers holding onto a thread as your eyes darted to the side. And then the jarring, guttural, screeching noise that plagued your nightmares rang out through the trees nearby. The hair along your arms instantly rose, a prickling feeling growing at the base of your skull.

Your jaw clenched, your heart rate rising again. Time was up. You needed to get out of here now. You didn't need to encounter one of those again. You had nothing to fight it with and you sure as shit wouldn't manage to outrun it. 

As the terrifying, rasping growl cut through the air around you yet again, you knew exactly what that sound meant from the time you’d spent here before. It was searching, probably having caught onto the fresh scent of the blood on your scraped hands. But before you could pull the thread of light between your fingers and jump, it disappeared. All of the colorful lights before you suddenly vanished.

"Shit," you whispered. 

That loud, rasping roar reverberated through the air again and shot another spike of fear and adrenaline through you. 

It had gotten closer. 

As you turned, trying to remain calm, you prepared to hide in the house behind you. But that’s when you heard it. Something like a high-pitched shriek in response. There was a second one. And they were communicating with each other. You knew what that sound meant.

They knew something was here.

[letstalkwhump]

Let’s Talk Whump No.7

Welcome to Let’s Talk Whump, a series of interviews that spotlight the amazing people in our whump community. I’m Malice and I’ll be your host. 

Today we have @kira-the-whump-enthusiast joining us to share his whump story!

Tell us something non-whump related about yourself!

Hi I'm Kira! I'm just a guy on the internet who has something wrong with him (affectionate). Outside of whump I do a lot of regular OC stuff! Though, it always ends up angsty. I draw a shit ton, I watch video essays, and I pet my cat. He's adorable and amazing, by the way!

What does whump mean to you?

God, I don’t know man. It's when the character gets hurt and it makes me smile, I guess. For me it usually ends up being brutal torture of the physical or mental kind!

How did you discover the whump community? 

So I found the whump-culture-is blog, and I kinda skirted around the whole idea cuz I wasn't super comfortable with it yet. And then I stumbled upon Hazeshift by @whumpwillow!!! That was the story that got me into whump, it clicked a switch somewhere in my brain. And from there I started following more whump blogs, creating some OCs to whump, and eventually made a blog! Now I’m here.

It seems to be a common thread that everyone has a specific whump story that just clicked! Have you found that your whump tastes have changed over time?

I think my favorite tropes have largely stayed the same, same as my hard preference for OC over fandom. But I've gotten way more into making whumpy art lately! It's mostly on my art blog @kira-does-art-sometimes So, I haven't exactly been writing. I am still doing some though,  I'm just really bad at finishing it.

And your favourite whump tropes?

May the devil bless my soul, I am not mentally normal about any of this. 

First of all I am an avid whumper-turned-whumpee and villain whump fan. This is the Main Trope I enjoy because it is just so good. Look man, I just need to see the somewhat sympathetic (or not) bad guys get whumped and then maybe get a hug afterwards because even if they did bad shit before, they still don't exactly deserve bad things to happen to them? I dunno know, it's a bit soothing. Also god, there are so many good dynamics you would have. Reluctant caretakers, righteous whumpers, whumpees-turned-whumpers,,,, god, I am insane for this. Also the angst potential is ridiculous and I love it. 

I am also a fan of sicko shit like cannibalism and gore and vivisection. Like yes, cut that guy open and eat his organs. I will never not be normal about cannibalism and also I believe it is completely ethical if it's fully consensual. Anyways, fucked-up cannibalism is very good too. I need the people to eat each other. I need blood dripping from mouths and staining smiles. I need the faux-intimacy of feasting on another. Vivisection is also great for similar reasons. It is very Intense and Torture and I think it's fun!! You can also eat the whumpee's organs. Food for thought, pun intended! 

Glasgow smiles!I love those. I need to give more of my whumpees those. I just think it's neat and it's an alternative gag. You can't exactly talk without pain when your face has been slit open.

Immortal whump is the best. Because you can just do anything, really stretch a guy past their limits and then do it again!!! The fun never ends because they can't die, at least not permanently. Killing an immortal is underrated. And I don't mean permanently. I mean like bringing them back, again and again, and continuing the murder! Is that not fun?! 

Isolation in whump is very underrated. Solitary confinement is a form of torture after all. I think there's something very resonant for me about the simple. Lack of anything to the point that it drives you insane. The only thing making you like this are the walls cutting you off from the world. How do you explain that to people? I also like other fucked up forms of isolation like when the whumpee pretty much only interacts with the whumper or people on their side. The way that it can fuck them up is very intriguing to explore in writing I think. 

I realize this is somewhat sicko behavior. I have decided to not apologize for this. Also if the FBI is reading this, I um. I have little to no desire to do this in real life okay don't arrest me.

I think we’re all screwed if the FBI ever decides to look our way…I look forward to sharing a cell with you all! Do  you have a favourite piece you've written? 

I guess I'd definitely have to say Spirals and Solitaire is one of my better pieces!! Look. I just needed to write about a woman with depression. That's my favorite type of character. It combines a lot of my favorite tropes. A villain with angst for days being trapped in a room and slowly, slowly, going fucking insane. Getting way too attached to the only person that talks to them. And a bystander who doesn't help until it's too late. But better late than never hey? 

Also I am still a fan of Midnight Meal which is really surprising since it's like almost a year old I think? I think it holds up! I just like the cannibalism. And the gore. And I have gotten the best comments on it. Thank you to the nice people who left comments on it! Definitely my most sicko piece out of all my writing. Isaac's my favorite whumpee and this is not even the worst thing that happens to him, by the way. 

I also have this single series, Diamonds to Dust that I have definitely updated recently. I may or may not actually start writing the seventh chapter. I apologize for the radio silence on this lol. Storm and Zuri and Xavier are my beloveds. Also Lusik and Octavia are fucked up lesbians but I haven't gotten into that yet. My favourite toxic ship!

What's your writing routine like? Is there a must have drink or snack? 

My writing schedule fucking insane to be honest. Kinda goes like: 

- At a random point in time I get an idea. 

- I ruminate on the idea for an extended period of time. From like a week to a year. Average is prolly a couple months. 

- After the rumination I finally get some words on the goddamn paper! I write in fucking simplenote cuz I can access it on all my devices. 

- The words never get finished on the first day. From then it is three days to two months until I continue the goddamn thing. Or I just don't. Sometimes that happens. 

- And then the editing. Oh god. The editing. Suffice to say I hate it, I hate it, I hate it but it's necessary so I do it. Actually this takes like two weeks max cuz again. Hate it to shreds. I send it to my lovely whump friends for beta reading. I love yall!

- And then post. God help me when I do that. 

This is why I never post anything sorry about that. 

Usually I write in my very comfy bed in the evening. I don't really munch on snacks or drinks when I write.

Is there anything specific that you find easy to write?

I find that it's pretty easy for me to write characters with depression. When the character is just angsting and going through the emotional ringer, it's pretty easy for me to write stuff. Honestly that's probably how I got Spirals and Solitude finished so quickly. It's literally just like three thousand words of Wrenna having depression. I really struggle with writing like pure fluff. I dunno know,  I just find it hard to create a good conflict when it's so lighthearted.

And  do you have any current projects?

I have like a couple WIPs who are not finished yet. I may finish and post them one day. I am also always drawing. Probably of my OCs or fan art of my friend's OCs!

Bless us with some writing advice please!

You ask me??? For writing advice. Uhhhh I dunno man. Just get a little silly with it. Being Quality is overrated. Someone's probably gonna read it and get something out of it even if it's just like seven words in comic sans or whatever. Or maybe you are the one who reads it and gets something out of it! Self deprecation is overrated too. Your writing is probably fine. It is probably even good. Likely, it is even great and amazing! 

Shoutouts?

Huge shout out to @whump-in-the-closet for being extremely cool and having the best OCs and writing. And also listening to my little sicko OC rants!

@whumpcloud has literally some of the best whump stories I've ever read like god! I go feral for their characters. 

@zillastar13 has extremely amazing writing and very good taste. Love their art!

Anything you'd like to add? <3

Lowkey I think we as a community need more transgender characters. In any role. I just need to see more guys who are transgender. Who get a little funky with their gender. Who maybe even have their transsexuality impact the story in some way. Same for like, characters of color and female characters. I'd love to see whumpees with lots of different backstories and female characters in lots of different roles in the narrative. I personally don't think that the violence that women and minorities face in real life necessarily has to be analogous to the violence faced by a character in a story. I know it can go very badly but it can get a little tiring sometimes to only find stories with cis white male characters. Variety pls.

It was awesome to have you here, Kira! Thanks for stopping by!

And to all you folks at home, have a whump-derful day!

[cryopathiic-a]

[ rainfall ] sender finds receiver out alone in the rain

[ needs ] sender asks receiver what they need

angsty prompts || accepting some

There was the thud of the car door slamming shut; shortly before the pitter-patter of dress shoes on a wet pavement. It was pouring, more than it should be around this time of year. Hard enough to have white gold melt into silky threads shortly after he took off running after her. She had the umbrella to get by, on her short walk from the uber to the hotel stairs, after all. All he had... was an acute sense of smell that helped him stalk her all the way there.

❝ Wait, wait! ❞ A hand raised as he rushes after her and almost trips into a puddle. And he picks himself up, prancing, slowing down only after she's stopped and turned to ask him what he could possibly want — what more he could possibly want.

Because he was taking too long. And he coaxed her into waiting, time and time again; and she is not known for her patience. So, part of him still holds onto the thought that this might just be another one of her schemes; something to make them jealous and force them into popping the big question. Why else would they just... tell him something like that?

I am seeing someone else.

And after that, they stormed out with him following suit, looking like a kicked puppy.

❝ One moment, please, give me at least that. ❞ A finger held up, motioning for her to wait. And then he drops down on one knee; and gets his pant sleeve wet, in the middle of the driveway where everyone is watching. And there's this moment where they're just looking at each other, a question hanging from his penetrating gaze before he slowly lowers his head and reaches down...

— to tie the shoelaces of his boot. They'd come loose.

The next moment he's sprung back up and heading for her with bated breath.

❝ Oof, anyway, c'mon let's talk more about it — we can talk over dinner! I know this nice place... we'll just head there quietly and catch up a bit, maybe grab a bite, something to drink — ❞ To loosen her up so he can manipulate her subtly. ❝ Muzan-sama... come on, we've known each other forever. You can't just walk out on me like this. I'm sure if we just air out our feelings we'll sort this out — we always do! Come on... 'darling' ? ❞ There's that sweet, venus fly trap sort of smile again.

[vishaila]

a long awaited giant list of plots for every single muse i have. listed will be muse info & beside each connection will be gender & age range if applicable. most are romantic, but i’m 100% okay with making them platonic after some plotting. **note: some muses have powers and/or are not human. they have human verses. quite a few of these plots listed are for different verses anyway. look at my muse page for further details about these muses. also these plots aren’t very concrete, we can change them as much as we need/want to :)

PLEASE LIKE AND/OR MESSAGE ME IF YOU ARE INTERESTED IN ANY OF THESE PLOTS. while i recognize that the same plot may be written out differently with a different partner, i’ll likely cap each plot at a maximum of two depending on how much attention certain ones get. thank you for understanding.

some of these plots/muses contain triggers that involve chronic illnesses, accidents, abuse, and death. please use caution. if you’d like to avoid certain triggers tell me and i’ll tell you which muses to avoid.

yvette beaumont. 24. bisexual. tattoo artist. she/her. tati gabrielle

[any, 21-29] would kill for a classic flower shop owner/tattoo artist thread. can’t really go wrong with that.

[platonic or romantic] in an au where yvette can use her tattoos as sort of magic runes, she tattoos a specific rune [muse/mun’s choice] onto your muse. whether she tells them or not can be discussed / whether your muse knows of her abilities can be discussed.

[any, 21-29] rival tattoo artists...? idk. @.@ it’d be fun. can be platonic.

juniper kelley. 25. bisexual. law student. she/her. ryan destiny

[platonic or romantic] hear me out. ever seen htgawm? please. just the entire thing. give to me. i want the murder i want the panic i want the entire angsty stupid mess of trying to clean it up.

[any, 24-30] fellow law student? rivals to lovers ? i’d like to see it. constantly trying to one up eacother in class mhm.

[any, 24-30] friend who is going through some family/relationship legal trouble that reaches out to juni to help out/for her opinion. she’s always harbored some feelings for them and is hesitant in doing so but is convinced to help out anyway.

harsh reddy. 31. bisexual. start-up ceo. he/him. dev patel

[any, 27-35] personal assistant of a sort? likely more so a best friend that harsh feels comfortable leaning on when he needs to bc of the stress of running his start-up.

[any, 27-35] fake engagement lol.... as i am indian i think it would be fun and cute to explore... wedding traditions like that.... ;___; his sibling is getting married and he abruptly says “oh well im engaged too lolll” and ur muse is roped in. haha . how fun :p

gun hwang. 23. bisexual. webtoon creator. he/they. kim hongjoong

[any, 22-28] gun and your muse are exes, and gun based a character in his ground breaking webtoon-turned-tv show after the relationship they had. hint: based. it’s not very obvious to anyone that it’s from a true story until your muse, an actor, gets cast to be playing ‘themself’ in the show. doesn’t bode well for gun, who’s invited to help out the director to really get his vision across.

[any, 22-28] haha fake dating time! gun needs someone to come to an event promoting the webtoon company they make webtoons for with them! and who better to ask than the one (1) friend they have, aka your muse :) alternatively, your muse needs to bring a s/o to a big important family event and they panic and choose gun. meanwhile, gun is very fucking terrified of big important family events considering their own family situation. this is fine :)

ilseong park. 21. bisexual. crown prince. he/they. kang yeosang

[platonic romantic antagonistic] your muse was namil (dead older brother)’s best friend. how r they acting now. esp considering.. well.. how much alike ilseong looks to namil . how sad.

[any, 20-25] SLAMS HANDS ON THE TABLE. PRINCESS PROTECTION PROGRAM ANYONE???? ilseong is sent to another country to attend college to keep him safe. maybe your muse knows who he is maybe they don’t. ilseong is looking for that #college experience. give it to them.

[any, 20-25] bodyguard :) ilseong’s reckless and stupid and needs someone to practically babysit him otherwise he’s gonna escape and put himself in danger. we can’t have that can we?

[any, 20-25] please just any dramatic royalty plots i will sell my soul..

winter hollis. 22. lesbian. streamer. she/her. chloe bailey

[women/nonbinary, 20-27] hear me out: they hate eachother online but in real life they’re besties. or vice versa. and! they don’t know the other’s alter ego. how fun!

[women/nonbinary, 20-27] established relationship! winter’s kept her relationship with your muse a secret from her fans because they get a little bit... @.@ but your muse shows up when she’s streaming a game once and everyone goes wild aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa  

james ‘jem’ maddox. 32. bisexual. vet tech. witch. any pronouns. candice patton

[platonic or romantic] jem finds your muse’s pet and returns it to your muse <3 they hit off <3 meet cute.

[platonic or romantic] your muse brings your pet in and jem saves it. can be a little bit of meet ugly LOL

[any, 27-37] idk i think it would be fun to have recent exes that just keep running into eachother and okay fine we can try again one (1) more time except it’s a mess and their friends r begging them to stop going back to eachother but they Can’t. anyway.

barbra ‘barbie’ floyd. 31. bisexual. neurosurgeon. she/they. shaunette renee wilson

[platonic or romantic] literally any grey’s anatomy esque plot. give it to me. i want the drama i want the absurdity i want the tears the angst

[any, 27-35] in a similar vein as above -- an ex-patient :) they get tangled together and fall in love ohhh~ except they end up in the hospital again ;___;

[any, 27-35] barbie uses dating apps. sometimes. when she’s desperate and needs to get her friends/family off her back. can go literally anywhere we can pretend to start from the actual dating app part like it’s from scratch.

dakota ‘kota’ lee. 21. bisexual. con artist. he/him. choi jongho

[platonic or romantic] give. me. kota’s. con. artist. squad. i can create more (private) muses for this i want a small lil squad of con artists just them against the world~ doing fun heists and things.

[any, 20-22] okay. they were friends in middle/highschool before kota went on t/got top surgery/even knew he was trans and they kinda fell apart from eachother/lost contact and kota did always have a tiny little crush on them but he was scared of ever admitting it and well now it’s been. a long time since that. and they come back into his life and he’s like ah well . im basically a new person. maybe we can try. bc he still has feelings. this is a very roundabout way of saying i want ex-friends to lovers <3 mwah

[any, 20-24] your muse is rich! kota and them have a one night stand and kota steals from them <3 maybe they know maybe they don’t

zuhi bhatti. 32. bisexual. professor. she/he. parveen kaur

[any, 28-36] okay stay with me here. give me zuhi’s ex-fiancé. the   fiancé  broke it off because they thought she wasn’t giving them enough time. they find eachother again. zuhi wants to get back together because of course she does. whether your muse agrees or doesnt is up to you but personally i’d love to explore the fall of their relationship and the rebuilding of it and the hesitance and the angst and everything that comes with it.

[any, 28-36] LOL. REBOUND!!! she deserves a little bit of a rebound. maybe it’s only one night maybe it lasts a month. maybe they stay friends after maybe they don’t maybe they were always in love with her and she sees them as temporary.

[any, professor and/or researcher] your muse work’s in the same department as zuhi at the same university :) a little bit of a rivalry. for fun :)

ender shim. 22. bisexual. hospital receptionist. vampire. they/them. jung wooyoung

[???] the vampire that made ender a vampire. please note -- ender is very bitter about it because they turned them into a vampire AND THEN FUCKING DISAPPEARED. left ender to deal with the process of figuring out vampirism by themself. its very stressful.

[???] a vampire that Didn’t turn ender BUT finds ender being a stupid vampire and decides to help them out. for the record: ender is terrified.

[any, 20-27] the one (1) friend ender has. u know that classic “you can feed from me it’s okay” thing? yeah... yeah..... lays down for a second...

LITERALLY ANY VAMPIRY THINGS PLZZZZZZZ I AM ON MY HANDS AND KNEES.

angel hart. 21. bisexual. actor. ghoul. they/them. savannah lee smith

[any, 20-26] literally any and all co-actor type things... PR relationship. co actors that can’t stand eachother off screen but have to act buddy buddy on screen. practicing lines together and uh oh they kiss. etc etc

phoenix ‘nix’ nam. 21 / 33. bisexual. college student / major tech conglomerate heir. they/he. choi soobin / lee minhyuk

unless otherwise stated, all plots are for 20 year old phoenix.

[any, 20-25] superhero-y type things (applies to benji, ember, and jacky as well). nix (& others) can be seen as heroes or villains depending on who you ask. can be their enemy? rivals 2 lovers anyone ?

same type of thing (also applies to the others) except they’re like. super spies?? yeah. missions and stuff. give me things for that.

[any, 20-25] is your muse looking for a roommate? look no further! nix lives in a penthouse all alone LOL. you know that one headline “Straight guy worries he’s being homophobic to gay roommate, realizes he’s fallen in love with him”. nix can be either one it doesn’t matter.

benjamin ‘benji’ reid. 24. bisexual. works in tech. telekinetic. he/him. chance perdomo

(super spy/hero stuff from nix applies here)

[any, 22-29] i want cheesy romantic things for benji. absolutely super fucking cheesy. domestic things. those two people who everyone is like “oh theyre definitely dating” but they aren’t. yet

jacky alston. 23. bisexual. medical student. healer. he/they. quintessa swindell

(super spy/hero stuff from nix applies here)

[platonic or romantic] your muse is a fucking klutz. they do not know about jacky’s healing abilities but he always fixes them up good as new without them knowing. hey you ever watch daredevil? how claire and matt were? he’s claire. give them a matt.

naomi shimada. 34. gay. private investigator. he/they. sen mitsuji

[any, men/nonbinary if romantic, similar age] they met years ago when naomi was still in the fbi and were partners (i mean literally, they worked together, but they could have been partners). your muse is considered dead. while naomi is working a case as a PI he comes upon something that leads them to find your muse, alive. cue angst heartbreak reconnection

[platonic romantic antagonistic] haha your muse is a criminal. naomi is tasked with finding them/taking them down. he thought this case was going to be small and easy but it quickly unravels into something much bigger than expected. game of cat and mouse. at eachother’s throats. one of them always one step ahead of the other.

alijah greene. 32. bisexual. medical intern. he/they. alfie enoch

[women/nonbinary, similar age] ex-wife! they’re on good terms, they just weren’t compatible. they have a son that they coparent/share custody of that’s around 11 now. probably never get back together but it’d be nice just having quiet chats between them and talking about how their relationship was and how their current ones are.

[any, 27-36] ah the act of falling in love with someone after being single for so long and having to balance a demanding job and a kid. it’s difficult. alijah still wants to make it work. but is your muse as invested in this blooming relationship as he is?

harin song. 26. bisexual. medical intern. she/they. han sohee

[any, 24-30] as the sibling that’s continuously overlooked, she’s trying everything to get attention from her parents, whether that be good or bad. this type is definitely the bad kind. your muse, for whatever reason, is a really fucking terrible influence and/or person. harin brings them to the family winter vacation anyway :)

[any, 24-30] your muse is haneul’s best friend. harin likes them. maybe they’ve had a relationship for a bit and are hiding it. maybe not. who knows.

haneul song. 26. bisexual. surgical intern. he/him. lee dohyun

[any, 24-30] just generally flirty vibes :) for fun :) haneul has a big ol’ crush on your muse. they may or may not return it but haneul shows off every time he sees them anyway. plz notice him.

siobhan ‘shiv’ walsh. 26. bisexual. medical intern. she/her. samantha logan

[any, 27-30] okay stay with me. we all know shiv has issues with people saying she’s only here bc of nepotism considering her aunt runs the hospital. give me a resident/attending that Knew shiv’s aunt was bringing her to work here for a Fact. they know she’s here because of nepotism. they are fully absolutely annoyed at this fact and make it their mission to make shiv’s life hell. and it’s working. kind of. because turn’s out shiv is actually very good at what she does and probably would be here anyway. enemies to lovers type beat.

beejal ‘bee’ chaudhry. 25. bisexual. author. can make avatars of herself. anya chalotra

[antagonistic  platonic romantic] your muse Knows that bee’s mom is a high profile actress and that her dad is a politician. they know. they plan to bring this to light for some reason. maybe they dont like her. maybe they don’t like her parents. whatever. chaos.

[any, 22-30] REALITY TV SHOW. i havent seen any but i just think it’d be fun to write bee in that type of environment considering how awful she can be. will likely require a lot of plotting. romantic or platonic or antagonistic i want them at eachother’s throats i want them to kiss i want them to be messy.

[ggomos-maribat]

Petals of You

To one of my most amazing friends, a light of my life and inspiration, Robyn @the-coffee-fandom <3 I wish you a happy birthday and I hope you like this little angsty gift :3

To others, it seemed like a blessing but to her, it was a curse.

Marinette had her powers manifest at the age of five. She began seeing crimson threads, wispy and light, wrapped around everyone's pinkies. The threads would cross over, intertwine, and loop around places, connecting two or more people who were fated to be together.

Soulmates.

That was what she could see.

She wouldn't go around telling people about what she could see, of course, unless she trusted them. She'd only keep everything to herself, thinking that people didn't have to be with their fated to be happy anyway, and she'd hate a life spent on matchmaking.

As Marinette accepted her ability into her life, she started to notice soulmates who were together. She would feel a rush of happiness seeing old fated couples looking fondly at each other, shy teenagers sneaking glances at each other, and fated strangers meeting each other. One way or another, those who were soulmates would find each other in time, even without her influence.

And each passing day, she grew excited about meeting her own, smiling down at her own pinky finger with its thread loosely tied around it. Since she moved to America, the string had gotten tighter, which meant that her soulmate might be close.

Marinette looked up, hearing the bell at the door ring. She beamed, tying up a bunch of white lilies to store away for later.

"Dana! Andrew!" She greeted the middle-aged couple. "The usual hyacinths and roses?"

"Can we have red chrysanthemums for today?" Dana smiled back. "They'll look wonderful in our photos."

"Twelve roses and three red chrysanthemums, coming right up!" Marinette chirped. "How about a white wrapper?"

"That will be lovely, thank you," Andrew replied.

Even without her vision, she could tell that the two were clearly soulmates. They were regulars of hers, buying flowers either separately or together whenever they went out on dates. Apparently, flowers had been important in the beginning of their relationship, so they paid careful attention to the languages and meanings.

"Drew gave me these chrysanthemums during our third date," Dana giggled. "I kept them in a vase next to my bed."

"That's really sweet," Marinette said, plucking a ribbon from the shelves to wrap the whole thing up.

Just as she handed the bouquet to the couple, another customer entered the shop. His hair and clothes were disheveled, and his tie was loose around his neck. There was a subtle stain on the hem of his dress shirt and his shoes were frayed.

But what made Marinette freeze was the thread attached to his finger.

Which led back to hers.

Her breath caught in her throat but she tried her best to maintain her composure. She nearly couldn't hear her own voice over the sound of her beating heart when she said, "Hello, how can I help you?"

"Hi!" Her soulmate gave her a blinding smile, his blue eyes almost glittering. "Uhhh, do you have some flowers for confessing to someone?"

Marinette's smile wavered. Be calm, Mari. It might be a platonic thing right? I can't jump to conclusions. Her traitorous heart welcomed a twinge of pain. But you can't control who your soulmate will be with . . .

"Sure," she breathed out. "Err—sorry sir, I'll need more information before I can put together an arrangement."

The man raked a hand through his hair while Dana and Andrew quietly left, leaving Marinette waves of goodbye. "He doesn't even like flowers in the first place," her soulmate muttered. "Why am I doing this?"

Her hand involuntarily twitched as she glanced briefly at her own pinky. "May I suggest starting off with something light? Or do you plan on confessing right away?"

"I think we should go with that, yeah." The man nodded. "To be honest, I'm still nervous about doing it."

"I take it he doesn't really know about flower languages?"

"Probably doesn't care," he groaned. "I just want a sweet gesture. We have something, but I just wanted to make it official, you know?"

Marinette felt tears at the back of her eyes. She resisted them, refusing to break down in front him. What did I expect? That we'll meet, fall in love, and get together flawlessly?

"Subtle first, then." She shuffled to another corner to pick out the flowers. "What do you value in him? In your relationship?"

He shifted awkwardly. "We started off as friends actually. We were really close. He's . . . reliable. We've gone through a lot together and I treasure our memories." His shoulders rose and fell. "I don't know if that helps but I trust you on that."

He sounds so sincere, she thought inwardly. He must really love him.

"You can call me Marinette." She pointed to her nametag. "And let's see . . . alstroemeria and pink tulips for friendship, daffodils for joy and new beginnings, white carnations for faithfulness and pure love."

As she spoke, she took the flowers one by one, ignoring the string between then fluttering idly.

"Tim. You can call me Tim," said the man. "Thank you so much. Should I come back to get a different bouquet next time?"

She fidgeted with her fingers. "I'm sure he'll appreciate that already. But if you want to express a deeper love, you can come back if you want."

When he held the bouquet close to him, Marinette found the colors striking against him, contrasting against his eyes

"I'll definitely come back," Tim promised, handing her the cash plus a generous tip.

As he walked to the door, Marinette watched their string lengthening, phasing through the walls until it was pulled tightly once more. After checking that no one else was around, she rubbed the wetness from her eyes and went back to work.

---

Marinette gently placed a bouquet of daisies inside a vase. She barely got any sleep in the recent days, with one boy plaguing her mind and all her time devoted to working at the shop. She put a palm on her mouth to cover an incoming cough and found a stray yellow petal wedged between her fingers, probably from the daffodils she worked on earlier.

Was I too busy to notice that it got there?

Sighing, she wiped her hand on her skirt to brush the petal off. How evil, for me to find a daffodil of all flowers. It just had to be a symbol of unrequited love.

The bell at the door chimed and Marinette felt her string being pulled. Her eyes momentarily widened at the sight of Tim, looking tidier than when she last saw him.

"Good morning!" He waved a little, coming up to the counter. "Marinette, right?"

Why did her chest twist painfully when he called her name?

"Hey, Tim," she said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "How were the flowers?"

He grinned. "Kon loved them. He won't admit it to my face but he definitely loved them. That's why I'm here to get another bouquet."

"I'm glad to hear that." Am I, really? "What will it be this time? Are you guys officially together?"

"Not just yet, that's why I need to make one more move. Oh by the way, here's something I picked up as an extra thank you for helping me out last time." Tim pulled out a coffee cup from a paper bag, setting it down in front of her. "Sorry, I wasn't sure what you liked so I got something sweet."

Astounded, she stared at the steaming cup in front of her. Why does he have to be so kind?

"Thank you. You didn't have to." She flushed. "And I love coffee in any form."

He put a hand on his chest. "That's a relief. I'm a junkie myself."

"For the next bouquet . . ." Marinette took a sip from her drink. The frothy milk was heavenly, coupled by the sweet caffeine. "What about something more classic? Red roses—twelve of them to be exact. That number is a declaration of love."

He hummed pensively. "I wouldn't want to be too cliched though. Is there anything you can add to the roses?"

"What about three stalks of sunflowers, for adoration and loyalty?" Marinette offered.

"That sounds great! Can I have a really big bouquet?"

Tim came back regularly after that. She'd suggest combinations of different flowers adhering to him and Kon's love and friendship and often, she picked out the freshest and brightest flowers out of her stocks. While she wrapped up his bouquets and attended to other customers, they would chat with each other about themselves and the meanings of flowers.

She would tell him the meanings of each of the flowers she sold him. Lunaria for honesty and sincerity. A protection plant. The reddest of jasmines for romantic love, sprinkled with yellows for optimism and happiness. Delicate carnations for admiration and gratitude.

Tim would remember all of it. He was keen in being fluent in the language of petals, and even picked out a combination of his own as a gift for one of his friends for their birthday.

And Marinette was just as eager to talk to him, nevermind the tugs in her heart and the swaying of their thread in the corner of her eyes. She found him charming. Adorable. Witty. Easy to talk to. She could see them growing close, clicking together perfectly if they had the chance outside of her work.

But in the end, she knew she was only a flower shop worker to him. Every morning, she'd wake up seeing petals next to her on the pillow, not acknowledging where they came from or how they got there. She'd only sweep them away out of sight before coughing a fresh batch.

One day, Tim came to pick up a bouquet he pre-ordered in celebration of one month of being with Kon. As Marinette put the flowers on the counter, she also brought out a smaller bunch, tucked away daintily in a decorative basket.

"What's this?" Tim raised an eyebrow.

"Just a little freebie." Marinette clasped her hands in front of her. "We had some extra flowers lying around and I figured you could use a bouquet of your own."

"It's beautiful," he marveled, carefully picking up the basket. "Does it have flower meanings?"

She laughed nervously. "I just put together random ones, regardless of the meaning."

It was a lie.

She had arranged that basket deliberately, pouring her unspoken emotions into each of those flowers in hopes of easing the dull pain she felt. Yellow acacia and gardenias for my secret love. Forget-me-nots so you could remember me from time to time. Calla lilies for my unreturned devotion. Lily of the valley shaped like tears. Buttercups for my naivety.

"Thank you so much." Tim smiled softly. "No one has ever given me flowers before. Ironic, I know."

Her voice cracked. "Thank you too. Those flowers are better off in your care."

---

A couple weeks after giving her bouquet, Tim brought Kon to the flower shop. He was exactly like how Tim described him: rough-looking, leather jacket, piercings, cropped hair. She stopped watering the potted plants the moment they came in.

"So this is where you get your flowers." Kon looked around, hands buried in his pockets.

"Yup," said Tim. "Hey, Mari, this is Kon."

"It's nice to finally meet you. Tim told me a lot about you." Marinette hoped her smile wasn't stiff when she shook hands with the tall boy. Looking down on their joined hands, she noticed something.

Kon didn't have a red string.

She blinked a few times just in case she was only seeing things. But it wasn't a trick or illusion. Kon wasn't bound to another by fate at all.

This kind of occurrence wasn't the first for her. If a living being wasn't technically born 'human', they wouldn't have a string attached to them. She had observed this in some sentimonsters who paraded as real people during her time as Ladybug. But still, she didn't know what Kon was, and she didn't have any intentions to pry.

"Good things, I hope." Kon eyed Tim, who rolled his eyes.

"I suggested we put together our own bouquet today," Tim told her.

"Sure! We have a selection over there. Feel free to pick out the flowers and I'll put them together for you." Marinette gestured to one of the walls, feeling a lump in her throat again.

"Taking this as a chance to show off your flower language skills?" Kon nudged his partner.

Tim scoffed. "I'm an expert now! Watch me."

Tim interlocked his fingers with his boyfriend's, dragging them over to the array of colorful flowers. Marinette looked away when they started whispering to each other, exchanging teasing but fond gazes.

She busied herself with wiping the counter and thinking. If Kon doesn't have a soulmate  . . . maybe I could . . . ?

She hadn't done it before, but she knew she had the ability to. The thought of taking things to that direction scared her, fear injecting right down to her fingertips. But if I want to make them happy . . . if it will make Tim happy for them to be together in the realest way possible . . .

Marinette glanced at the couple again. They were irrefutably in love, absolutely perfect for each other. It would only bring her grief if she didn't take the step she needed to. Maybe I'd still have a chance to find someone else, right?

She gingerly lifted her hand, looking at the string that connected her and Tim. She pinched a part of it between her thumb and index and pulled, severing the string completely. Her hand went up to her lips to give the thread one last goodbye before she blew it towards Kon's direction.

It worked like magic. The lost thread immediately wrapped around Kon's pinky, giving him a fated one, an eternal connection to Tim.

Meanwhile, tiny flowers began to bloom at the base of Marinette's finger. Flowers only she could see.

---

Tim entered the coffee shop with a skip in his step. He was on this way to work and decided to stop by the flower shop to bring Marinette coffee. But when he slipped through the door and past a small crowd inside the shop, it wasn't Marinette who was manning the counter, but instead it was an elderly lady.

"What can I get for you dear?" The lady asked with a sad smile that couldn't reach her eyes.

Tim scanned the pre-ordered arrangements prepared on the counter and shelves. Lilies. Chrysanthemums. Gladioli. Orchids. Aren't these funeral flowers?

"Sorry, is Marinette around? I brought her some coffee," he said sheepishly.

The lady's smile quickly fell at the mention of the girl. Her eyes locked on the ground. "Marinette is . . . Marinette's not working here anymore," she replied quietly. "She passed away two days ago."

Tim almost dropped the coffee cups. Marinette? Gone? Without a word? Was there an accident? Was she caught up in a Rogue attack? He swallowed. "Can—can I ask what happened to her?"

The old woman's lips pursed together, irises glistening. "We don't know. She passed in her sleep and the doctors found nothing. She wasn't sick at all before that except for a mild cough."

His hands went cold. No, there has to be some explanation. With a hitched breath, he looked at the flowers for mourning decorating the shop. It's all for her.

"Our regular customers ordered lots of flowers. They loved her so much, that sweet girl." The woman dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, touching a branch of a fake plum blossom in a pot next to the register. "Would you like to offer some as well?"

"Ye—yes." Tim cleared his throat, still stunned by the disappearance of his friend. "Some marigolds and pink carnations, please." 

Taglist: @tinybrie

On AO3

[cavegirlpoems]

in which i unpack my thoughts on netflix’s sandman.

So like, I read the sandman comics at a, uh, formative age. There was stuff in there that was, with hindsight, perhaps not great for a twelve-year-old to be reading but other bits were Big and Important and Shaped Who I Ended Up Being. Like with thirty years of hindsight we can find issues with how Wanda is treated, but for eggy twelve-year-old me, she was the first time I’d seen a trans person depicted as anything but a punchline or monster, and the last sympathetic trans woman I’d see in fiction for another decade or so. So that was a big deal. And like, there are characters in there who were a big fucking deal to me. Rose Walker and Thessaly and Lyta Hall were just... these were images of femininity that I could see myself in. They shaped me and my view on what gender *can be* and that influence has had knock on effects on the woman I ended up as. Also Merv is just fucking cool. Look at him.  So I was a fan from a young age, and have remained a fan for a long time.  This, I hope, should establish my credentials as an actual fan, since that seems to be a thing nerdy women need to do in order to be taken seriously when talking about Nerd Shit. Anyway.  It’s my personal opinion that adaptations of things you love mostly suck. What makes it work in one medium will fail in another, and seeing the work you love distorted and contorted by the needs of the new medium will just make you see all the ways the adaptation fails. There have, in my experience, been very few cases where something I’m into has been adapted successfully. The first silent hill film was actually pretty good. The comic of Coraline by p craig russel is another, as was the stop-motion film, more or less. The first and third lord of the rings films. But these are exceptions. Often you can’t jam a book-shaped peg into a film-shaped hole, or what have you. So the fact that The Sandman - something that had been kinda formative for me - never got adapted - was considered ‘unfilmable’ even - that was comforting to me. I’d never be there being all ‘see how they butchered my baby’ with it like I was with the His Dark Materials film. And then it turns out that they were going to adapt it, and I got very very scared that they were gonna slice all of the queerness and angry feminity and pain - all of the stuff that made me care about it - out of it. So seeing that the casting etc was super fucking queer, and that Neil was afaict directly involved with stuff? That they GOT IT? That was comforting. Like I was sceptical, but hey, maybe it’ll be good? I don’t know, yet. I’ve seen netflix’s track record when it comes to finishing series it starts, and I don’t trust them. Once it’s complete, I’ll watch it, because starting watching something with that much personal emotional weight to it only to have it just stop in mid-flow isn’t something I’m willing to do to myself. But I’m confident! It looks good! I’m excited! Oh, but the fandom. The fandom response has been, I dunno. What I expected, but not what I’d have wanted. There’s shipping, of course. This is the first time I’ve been exposed to Fandom Culture interacting with something *I* cared deeply about. It’s a weird feeling.  I mean it was inevitable. Morpheus is a skinny and angsty white boy who dresses weird. (except for the various times he’s not, but I don’t think those have come up yet from what I can tell). So, of course, one of the biggest fandom responses I’ve seen has been the desire to ship him with a man. For some reason, we just gotta get this twink a boyfriend. It’s not that there’s no gay characters to yaoi-fy in the sandman. The text is fucking crawling with gay stuff. It’s really incredibly gay.  And like, I dunno how to explain this, but Morpheus is written... pretty het. Like, ‘Dream keeps falling in love with women and then treating them horribly’ is... it’s like one of the main plot threads. It’s not a side thing, it’s a centrel pillar of Why The Plot Ends Up That Way. These (universally tragic) straight romances are kinda central to his arc. *Speaking as a gay person*, not everything needs to be made gay, sometimes you can just enjoy a straight story for what it is. I quite like Love Is War, for example, despite the fact that kaguya is straight. i digress. And then the other character that seems to have really taken off is The Corinthian. Again, I suppose it was inevitable. He’s another skinny white boy, and this time he’s Dark and Scary and does Crimes. At least this one is actually textually gay. Still. Entirely predictable, and the fandom fizz is catering to an audience that I don’t share tastes with. They find men hot, for example. Not everybody is lesbians, though, I guess, and that’s not their fault. Death is a pretty fucking central character and her casting is *perfect* everything I’ve seen of her makes me go YES THEY GET IT. and I want to roll around in gifs of her being kind and cool and humane and just... nada. All the shit that *mattered* to me? That made me *care* about the sandman as a series? Well, most of those characters are women, and most of the ones that aren’t (Fiddler’s Green, Merv, and Lucifer) are fat, working class, and played-by-a-woman-in-the-adaptation respectively, so no yaoi for them.  Like I was *shocked* not to see The Fandom Discussion about Lucifer. Turns out there was an unexpected but obvious reason why not. I suspect this is a relief. I’d hate to see Merv get Sans Undertale-ified. Please, for the love of all that is holy, don’t make Merv a sex symbol. It’d only go to his head. (obviously the fash are very angry that the adaptation has queers and non-white people and yucky girls in it, and whilst it’s very funny to see them angrily demand that it should stay faithful to the source material by not having gay stuff forced in, honestly who fucking cares what the fash think. they’ll get angry at a fucking yoghurt commercial. fuck ‘em. this isn’t for them, it never was, and they can choke on it and die angry) I dunno, though. The Sandman, as a series, is fucking full of female characters that are well-written and nuanced and explore different facets of femininity (particularly queer femininity), and I just... kinda don’t see that discussed as much. Maybe when (or if) netflix gets to volumes like A Game Of You and The Kindly Ones, we’ll see more of it. I don’t see much discussion of the cool weird mythological stuff, or the stuff with Lucifer and my Bad Bitch Mazikeen either. Fuck, I love Mazikeen. She is, so far, the only canon character in anything ever that I’ve done cosplay for. Her casting is perfect. I want mazikeen to step on me. I digress again. It’s just... weird, I guess. Having this series that’s been so personal to me and has so far flown so far under the radar of pop-nerd-culture suddenly be the topic of conversation. I’m part of A Fandom now, whether I want to be or not. And that’s... an unsettling feeling. I feel strangely alienated from something that I found formative. And like, I don’t wanna gatekeep, or say that the people discussing it aren’t Real Fans. That’s a shitty thing to do, and I’m pretty sure a good chunk of the people posting about the sandman are, like me, people who were invested in it years ago and are just taking the chance to talk about it now it’s in the zeitgeist.  Go read the comics, they’re amazing. Order the whole lot to your local library, or buy ‘em if you’re rich. But in the past, the sandman was something that a tiny slice of queer nerdy art-crowd-kids were into. It was the Bauhaus of comics, y’know? And it suddenly blowing up and going mainstream is... It’s a lot to adjust to, I guess.  So that’s what this post is, I suppose. Me vomiting all that out into a stream of consciousness weird-ass blogpost about my feelings about this. Fandom’s weird, y’all. I’m still excited to watch it. And if you haven’t read the comics, OH BOY OH GOLLY are you in for a treat. Just wait until they film The Kindly Ones and you’ll have rose’s little monologue about love and it’ll break your fucking heart. I hope it doesn’t get cancelled until we get that scene, and also the really touching scene where dream his big sister’s hand. 

[syrupwit]

ooh ooh ohh how about "Characters psychically or magically linked so hurting one hurts the other" for Anders and whoever because the options for ANGST are ENDLESS here (also happy friday mwahaha)

Hello, and thank you so much! This prompt... went places. I'm afraid it's not quite finished, but I think it's reached a good stopping place, so: Under the cut, please find ~3100 words of angsty, painful, I-probably-got-some-magic-details-wrong Anders/Fenris for @dadrunkwriting.

-

The blood mage had still been casting when Fenris’s greatsword cleaved her. Therefore, the entire thing was his fault, from her companion's subsequent explosion to the sickening, thought-stopping pain that now lowered Anders’ body to the floor. 

The spell might have been meant for any of them. In Anders’ not entirely expert opinion, it felt more like Entropy than blood magic. He knew of some Entropy spells that were used to bind a stronger enemy to a weaker one, in order that they take their counterpart down with them when they fell. In more evenly matched pairs, the spell worked gradually, trading energy between the victims until both were drained to their dregs. But such spells took great finesse and concentration, and usually expired when their caster did.

“Hold still,” hissed Anders to Fenris, supporting himself on one elbow and trying to crawl towards him. “Hold still, you blighted elf. That’s my leg too right now, and if you don’t let me heal us—”

“No magic,” said Fenris firmly. He twitched the mess of his calf, and another roil of pain made Anders gag and tremble. Fenris’s eyes were bright and hateful on him.

“Oh, Fenris,” said Merrill, presumptuously close, “healing potions can only do so much. Look at you, you’re sweating, you’re as pale as Anders. I’ll get Hawke.”

“No magic,” Fenris repeated. “Let him know how it feels.”

With obvious strain, he lit his brands. The agony in Anders’ calf was interrupted by a burst of fresh pain across his body, like hundreds of pinprick shards of glass shifting suddenly under his skin, each of them locked in motion with a deeper ache in his spine. He opened his mouth to scream, and his vision was swallowed up in blue—

-

Anders awoke sweating, trapped under wads of blankets and bedding, his body sunken into a goose-down mattress. Muffled conversation issued from downstairs, accompanied by faint and pleasant cooking smells. Hawke’s place.

“Justice?” he said aloud. There was a worrying tang of iron in his mouth, but none of the… greasiness, or the nauseous satisfaction, that attested to the fulfillment of certain appetites. His stomach turned anyway.

“Hello, Anders!” said Marian. 

“Oh. Hello, Hawke.” 

She stood from the chair she had taken beside his bed and walked over to him. Anders looked up at her, wishing she would put a hand on his forehead or something.

“Don’t worry, Merrill talked your friend down before anyone got torn to pieces.”

“Really,” said Anders.

“You could sound more surprised. I’d advise thanking her profusely the next time you see her, if only to spare me additional lectures on the superiority of Dalish attitudes toward spirits.” Hawke smiled at Anders, and he returned it wanly.

“Fenris is down the hall,” she continued. “He’s still out. I’d like to keep you here until we know for sure the spell has worn off.”

“I’m needed in Darktown,” Anders protested, struggling to sit up. He clenched his teeth against a sharp but bearable pang of pain in his leg.

Hawke was unimpressed. “Darktown can spare you for a while longer.” 

“I have work to do, Hawke—”

“No, I have work.” From downstairs came the commotion of someone arriving. “That’s Varric now! Anders, stay. I want to find you in this bed when I come back.” She waggled her eyebrows at him, but there was no real meaning in it; the thread of innuendo was dangled, as always, in jest.

He bit his tongue and nodded. Hawke left.

-

It was too hot. Anders managed to throw off some of the blankets and helped himself to the pitcher of water at his bedside. This effort tired him enough to let him return briefly to sleep, which was interrupted by the need to use the chamber pot. Then an overwhelming wave of pain bowled him over and sent him sprawling on the floor.

“Great, you’re awake,” he said to Hawke's rug.

-

Needless to say, Fenris wasn’t happy.

“He can stay here,” he said, glaring at Anders from the doorframe. “I am not so fragile as to require constant supervision.” Healing potions had done much for the appearance of his leg, but he walked with a torturous limp, and the prior day’s events still clearly weighed on him. 

“Taxes!” Hawke said, massaging her temples. “I have taxes due in one week, Fenris, your taxes and mine. Do you know how many forms I would have to fill out if you succumbed to blood magic and died in that mansion? The trouble and grief it would cause me?”

Probably not much, Anders wanted to say, but he was still near speechless with—how did Fenris stand this? It was a constant, grinding gray ache from teeth to nails, lashed through with brighter ribbons of acute and fleeting misery. He’d barely made it back into bed.

No wonder the stupid elf was such a killjoy. If he cared, or weren’t sure that the suggestion would be met with blows, Anders might have offered to research some pain relief for him when things went back to normal.

“I will not be trapped,” Fenris burst out. 

“It’s just a few days, Fenris.”

The elf swore an oath in Tevene and limped away down the hall, Anders’ jaw clenching with each step.

-

The rest of the day passed in a haze of pain, boredom, and exhaustion. Most of it was likely due to the spell, but Justice had been taking slipshod care of Anders recently, not letting him eat enough, not letting him sleep. Anders managed to drink a little broth and take several naps in between Fenris’s bouts of swearing and stubborn, likely spite-driven attempts to pretend he could tromp around the house like a normal person.

During one of those naps, he found himself in an unfamiliar dream. 

Anders was in a close, shady courtyard, its high walls lined with flowering vines. Windchimes sang in a gnarled tree. There was a permeating atmosphere of sadness, a melancholy that echoed with each peal of the windchimes, but somehow there was no hurt in it.

The ocean thundered somewhere close. The air smelled of salt, smoke, and unfamiliar spices, twined through with the rare waft of flowers. Above the courtyard walls, he could make out a single ragged spire—

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” said Fenris.

There was a little elf girl at his side with no face. She ducked behind Fenris’s leg when Anders looked at her.

“It’s the spell,” said Anders. He scrubbed a hand over his face and was relieved to find his own features still there.

Fenris narrowed his eyes, which he also still had, and crossed his arms over a startlingly bare chest. Bare in several ways, Anders realized; there was no lyrium in his skin.

“I don’t want you here,” said Fenris with a defiant jut to his chin, like that would do anything.

“I’m not too keen on being here myself.” Let the elf keep his sadness. This was clearly Minrathous, and maybe Anders would have liked to look around a bit, but… memories. Private. Closer to Fenris than he ever wanted to be.

“I have told you many times, mage”—here Fenris stalked forward, threatening—“I do not want this. You will leave now.”  

“I’m not sure why you think I have any control over this situation,” Anders snapped, and thought for a second. “Wait, what?”

Fenris gave a growl of exasperation, seized the front of his robes, and kissed him.

-

In the waking world, Anders fell out of bed again.

-

Fenris was glaring at Anders so hard that his forehead throbbed.

“Would you stop that?” Anders said. “I know it hurts. I can feel how much it hurts.” The rest of his body hurt, too, but Fenris already knew that.

Fenris glared harder.

It was breakfast now. Anders’ sleep had been fitful and fragmented, unrestful. He knew he’d had vivid dreams, but couldn’t remember them. Fenris didn’t look much better than Anders felt, and Anders was even more tired than yesterday.

Their companions at the breakfast table were Hawke and Varric, who, judging by the state of their undereye circles, would likely have still called it the dinner table. Ledgers, inkwells, and half-sorted piles of papers surrounded them. The sideboard was cluttered with empty pots of tea and little glasses, long spoons and sacks of broken sugar in a rainbow of browns and ambers. 

Hawke’s hair stood up in all directions; she ran her fingers through it, shedding sparks, and made a pitiful noise. Varric had broken out an astonishing pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, which he adjusted on his nose while he read.

“Don’t spill that, Anders,” said Hawke, as Anders accepted a cup of tea from a humming Orana. “Actually, go sit on that couch in the other room.”

“So Fenris can sit at the table, but I can’t?”

“Fenris is a gracious guest,” said Hawke, as Fenris turned his glare on Orana and refused tea with a sharp jerk of his chin. It was odd how hostilely he treated her; didn’t they know each other? Although, there had been many mages from Kinloch Hold who Anders—no, best not to follow the thought. Trying to sympathize with Fenris wasn’t worth it.

Hawke continued, “I’m just concerned that you’ll fall asleep in your gruel again. You tend to sort of plonk forwards, while Fenris can sleep sitting or standing up without changing his posture. It’s remarkable.”

“I can do a lot of things standing up,” Anders yawned, and his hands tremored, jolting tea over the lip of his cup.

“Anders! Couch.”

Orana brought him toast. Fenris’s rudeness had failed to subdue her good mood, and the toast came served with a slather of rosehip jelly, dusted with some fragrant clinging powder that could have been pollen or very fine citrus zest. Hawke’s larder grew more exotic daily.

Guilt prickled over him. Justice was evaluating their breakfast, and he disapproved. It was too fine, too much. But it would go to waste if they didn’t eat it.

Anders chewed his toast slowly, listening to Hawke greet her mother, scold the dog, and snipe back and forth with Varric. In the kitchen, Orana was singing lowly but carryingly to herself. Even Fenris omitted the occasional grunt.

The sun was rising higher, and Anders was still very tired. He didn’t manage to finish his toast, or his tea, before he dozed off again.

-

He was in his own dream this time, an old one. He hadn’t realized until now that there had been a prior dream, but here he remembered it. 

Anders was in the Anderfels. A wisp bobbed in the burnt-out skeleton of a barn, playing the role of his younger self. It was as big as a mabari pup and weeping musically.

“This is new,” said Fenris, from somewhere behind him.

Anders glanced at him. “Not for me. You’ve managed to intrude on my worst memory. My childhood home was burnt down by Templars.”

Fenris gave no response to the lie.

“After they took turns pissing in the ashes, they tore me from my weeping mother’s arms and dragged me to Ferelden in chains. I was five.”

“Hm.”

“You’re very unsympathetic, Fenris, did you know that?”

“You have no need of my sympathy,” said the elf, gazing at the scenery around them, the half-remembered trees and distant mountains.

“Maybe not, but it might be nice once in a while.” Was that really his own voice? He sounded younger, looser somehow. Anders put a hand to the back of his head and touched hair that was soft and unbound. He slipped a hand in his robes, over his heart, found the skin there not yet gnarled by a scar—

Fenris was looking at him now. If he had ever looked at anyone like that in waking life, it was news to Anders. Not news that he wanted to hear, since Fenris was volatile and unpleasant and clung to his prejudices like a stupid, stubborn dog with a dried-out bone; but it had been a long, long time since anyone had kissed him, and Fenris wasn’t a person he felt especially compelled to warn away.

Fenris took a step closer to Anders, something uncertain in his posture. He had the lyrium brands in this dream, and Anders could hear them singing quietly, off-key, in a way that had made his waking muscles learn to tense with expectation of pain. In the dream, however, there was no pain.

“You’re different here,” Fenris said. He reached out to touch Anders’ cheek. 

Anders caught his hand. “I thought you didn’t want me here.”

“Yes, well”—Fenris smiled at him, gentle and teasing, the least likely thing in the world—“this is your dream.”

This time, Anders met him in a kiss.

-

Anders jerked awake and found himself face-down on the floor by Hawke’s couch. He had the feeling that something very unsettling had happened, but he wasn’t sure what.

“Gah!” he said belatedly. 

“See?” said Hawke. “Plonk.”

-

It had been nearly three days, and the spell wasn’t going away. The pain was gone, but Fenris and Anders were both experiencing severe and increasing exhaustion, no matter how much they slept. Anders continued to have vivid dreams he couldn’t remember.

More worryingly, something was wrong with Justice. Anders could still feel him, but he was muted, suppressed, weak. He felt almost apathetic about it, which might have been the worst thing of all.

While Anders’ Circle education would have come in handy now, the exhaustion and the grind of sharing Fenris’s constant pain made it so that he couldn’t think straight for long enough to string two ideas together. Hawke, for all her practical expertise, knew nothing about magical theory. It was time to call in another resource.

“This is so interesting!” said Merrill, beaming at Anders and Fenris on the separate couches where they were arranged. They scowled back.

“Can you do something about it, or…?” said Hawke.

“Ladies,” Varric cautioned, clearly meaning Hawke. He seemed to feel compelled to mediate between them, though who knew why.

“Oh, sure,” said Merrill, and launched into a stream of exposition that Anders was partly able to follow. A lot of it was typical Merrill nonsense, but at least some of her reasoning seemed sound. Between Merrill’s academic semi-mastery of Entropy and Hawke’s ability to, at least on occasion, successfully use Creation magic, they might be able to disrupt the spell by working together. 

“We’ll need to put them to sleep first, though,” said Merrill.

“Best put pillows on the floor for Anders,” said Hawke.

Anders’ eyelids already felt heavy. Fenris was raising some protest, but his voice was weak and whinging, nearly petulant, and it could not hold Anders’ attention. His vision blurred.

-

Through the thick white mist surrounding them, Anders made out Fenris at his side. He knew at once that they were in the Fade.

Anders had become so used to pain that he had stopped noticing it, and now all he could notice was the pain’s absence. It buoyed him up like a draft and punched laughter from his chest. Fenris startled, turning to him with wide eyes.

“I know where we are, I think,” said Anders, and smiled in apology. “The Blackmarsh. It’s in Ferelden.”

“Ah.” Fenris shifted. “I thought this was—somewhere else.”

“Could be both, could be neither. That’s how things are in the Fade sometimes.” 

Fenris allowed Anders to take his hand, which was bare, and they started along a dirt path together. 

When the path had appeared, Anders was uncertain. He knew, intellectually, that he should be alarmed, but all he could focus on was his lack of pain and the fact that he was touching Fenris. Fenris’s hand was warm and rough, and smaller than it looked, with bitten nails. For some reason, that was charming.

The path meandered over flat terrain through the mist. No landmarks appeared, nor fellow wanderers, nor even the shape of plants or trees. The mist felt like swaddling or goose-down around them. 

Anders decided to tease Fenris. “What dreams of yours have I been showing up in?”

“What?” Fenris was looking down at their joined hands, playing with Anders’ fingers as they walked. 

“You said you’d told me to leave before. ‘Many times,’ if I recall.”

“Oh. Yes.” Fenris’s shoulders went up slightly in embarrassment. That was charming, too.

“Well?” Anders pressed. “Did you kiss me in all these dreams?”

“It was you who kissed me last time.”

“I’ll kiss you now,” said Anders, pulling them to a stop, and did. Once was insufficient, so he did it several more times.

“In answer to your question,” said Fenris, still close enough that Anders felt his lips move, “no. More often there has been… violence. Of several kinds.”

“That’s a shame,” said Anders, meaning it.

“Why?”

“Well,” Anders thought, “I might like to know you better. If I can only know you in dreams, I’d prefer them to be happy ones.”

“I don’t have happy dreams,” said Fenris.

“Maybe you could.” 

Fenris heaved a great sigh and pushed his face into Anders’ neck. He was so sweet like this, pliant and warm, and the mist had wrapped around them like a blanket. If they just stayed here, stood here, let the mist twine tighter and tighter while they rested cozily in its grip—

“Andraste’s rusted nipple piercings,” said Anders, cursing himself for the world’s greatest fool, and shoved Fenris away from him just as the sloth demon rose from the ground.

-

Merrill had a theory, which she kept trying to share over Fenris’s shouting and attempts to get at Anders. The blood mage’s misfired spell had worn off days ago, but had weakened the two of them and repulsed Justice, and then attracted a demon in the process. Certainly everyone felt foolish, but at least the demon was dead now? Right? Anders?

“It was the mage’s plan all along,” Fenris asserted. He was clearly holding himself back from just phasing through Hawke, who had placed herself between him and Anders. “He intended to make a pact with the demon and sacrifice me. He lulled me into docility, took me to the Fade—”

“I saved you, you stupid elf! I was as much a victim as you!”

“You are a liar,” said Fenris, “and a lecher.” Cold hatred shone in his eyes. 

Rage stirred in Anders, remembering how shyly Fenris had kissed him, and he nearly leapt past Hawke to strike him down. It was a lucky thing that Justice was still waking up, or the room might have gone up in flames.

[mxvladdy]

Hi, I love your writings 💜 and wanted to suggest a prompt, but if it won't hit you or if your requests are closed than feel free to ignore.

What if MC will forget the brother and that they are in relationship (it can be as side effect of some spell /potion etc, but it will last for quite some time, no one knows how long). How brothers will react on that? What they will do to make MC fall in love again, or will they do anything at all? Or they decide that it's the chance to change everything? What if MC won't love them again? I don't know if that can be angsty (I want some angst), or you can do whatever style you find appropriate. Anyway, if you don't feel like doing for 7 brothers you can do only for brothers of your choice (who you feel comfortable to write about, but maybe Lucifer, Mammon and Beel?? ).

Thank you! And have a good day or night!

A/N: 80000 years and a day later I post lol ;.;. Sorry for the wait! I tried something new with this, hope you like :)

So I was going to drop all three at the same time but it turned into 20+ pages of work. So I will post in 3 separate parts since they all turned into beefy boys... Much like their counterparts >:)

Hope you like it!!!

Part One of Three: Lucifer

Magic is a beautiful and powerful thing. It permeates the Devildom like an eternal fog. For the residents, it is as common as breathing. From the strongest of their kind down to the lowest inhabitants, it is integral to their culture and daily life. Mistakes and accidents happen daily with young and old alike learning or experimenting. Magical rebounds and mishaps mean very little to them, especially the brothers. From the Celestial Realms down, they have seen it all.

Sometimes they forget that to you, magic can be a volatile and dangerous.

The crackle of energy and the acrid taste of sour magic on his tongue are his only warnings before things went south. He reaches for you, strong arms moving to shield you from the blowback of energy discharging around you both. Lucifer crouches, turning his back to the explosion to cover you from the debris and dust raining down. The rebound of the failed spell washes over him for a moment turning his stomach on impact. A heavy miasma coats the room. It weighs down his wings momentarily before disappearing as quickly as it had come.

Once the dust settles, the room fills with light-hearted teasing and jabs at the inept caster. Whatever chastising remark he had stuck to his tongue. When he looks down at you the air seizes his lungs in horror. You were heavy and unresponsive in his arms, eyes closed and face slack. Physically, he could see nothing wrong with you, no hair unkempt or dust on your uniform. He shakes you trying in vain to rouse you.

He doesn’t remember fleeing the room with you clutched tight to his chest nor the shouts of his confused brothers all he could focus on was your limp body cradled in his. You weren’t waking up. None of his magic was working, and you were still sleeping. It was like looking down at his brothers all over again. The feeling of dread, of helplessness, had him staggering. You were like his little Lilith all over again, another failure in his unending life span.

The healer's answers do nothing but anger him. Diavolo’s weak speculations drive him into a frenzy. Wait, they want him to wait. For how long was anyone's guess. They say that you just need rest, the human body is unaccustomed to such stresses. That though your body is weak, a human’s spirit is strong. You’ll recover-he had to trust that you would heal on your own. Trust… he had so little of that left to begin with, but he had he gave to you.

He couldn’t lose you. Couldn’t lose this small flicker of hope you brought into his life, of happiness. He didn’t want to be alone again.

So he waits, a permanent sentinel by your bedside. He sits in silence stuck with his sins. His rough hewn palms cover your small hand to warm your cooling finger tips. He strokes them with callused fingers. He contemplates all the little things he could have done differently while he waits. Hells, what he should have done differently. Spells at the best of times were unruly and dangerous and in the hands of a novice? He shakes his head squeezing your hand. He was so stupid to have let you take that course. Why hadn’t he told that weak pissant of a demon off for trying such an incantation? Or at least to take it outside. Was he that bad of a protector? Of a lover? Deep down he wants to be angry at you. That this somehow was all your fault, with your puny human constitution and defenses. He wants to blame you but the moment passes with a gut-twisting sense of guilt and almost shame.

The days move on unceasingly, the clock on your wall mocking him with every steady tick and turn of the hand. With each moon that passes his simmering anger and wounded pride cools to an ice cold fear in his veins. The healers stopped showing up daily, they were at a loss like the rest of them.

No one would say it, least of all around him, but he heard it travel down the halls like an unwelcome guest. The whispered sympathy, the soft admissions of acceptance. He blocks them out, his world narrowing down to nothing but your icy hand and weak pulse. Your room begins to turn into his. His paperwork fills your desk, while he holds meeting over the phone. One hand clutching his phone to his ear and his other always touching you. No one but him is going to take care of you. He refuses help, turning down Diavolo’s increasing offers and pleas of support.

He turns them down each and every time. He will take care of you.

Yet, no matter how much he tends to you and researches you remain inert.

It’s maddening, he was suffocating under the weight. Finally he tips. One night drunk and desperate in his destroyed room he does the last thing he could think of.

The hardwood of his bedroom is unforgiving under his knees. The cold of it soaks through his pants and the harsh grain digs into his skin. But he doesn’t care, he wasn’t looking for absolution anymore, he was begging for your salvation.

It burns him bowing like this. His pride lashes out, roaring like the untamed beast it was as he dives deep searching within himself to find the tattered remains of his former self. Each second with his eyes closed and head bent was tortuous as his pleas fill the oppressive silence of the room. No matter the discomfort of the moment he can only think of you. No cost was too steep to have you open your eyes again.

Lucifer should have known going back to his father would be a mistake. Nothing was ever simple with them, everything was by their rules and their way. Not even being the once most favored son could fix that. Your eyes open, sure. They are hazy with confusion, but also bright and full of life. You were back.

Papers forgotten Lucifer approaches you like he would a wounded animal. He stares in disbelief for a moment before succumbing to his need to hold you. “Amata-” He breathes out in relief into your neck squeezing you closer to him. Lucifer pulls away when he notices you not embracing him back. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. You just took me by surprise is all.” You rub your eyes and smile wearily. “What did I do to deserve such a good morning hug?”

His smile fades, hearts sinking. “Do you not remember?”

“Remember?” Hmmm. You look around you at the clutter of your room. “I- remember being in class, then you over me.” Something must have happened, but for the life of you, you couldn’t recall. He fills you in leaving small blanks hoping to see some recognition in your bewitching eyes. But you sit, nodding along taking his word as gospel truth. “Wow.” You lean back on your pillows. To be asleep for so long, you had so much work to catch up on. “Thank you for looking out for me.”

There was an odd look in his eyes before he nods, rising to his feet. “Of course… for you, anything.” He flees then, choking back a sea of emotions to go fetch a healer to look you over. It was as he expected. You were whole and healthy again, back to your old wonderful self. Except for him. Did you truly remember none of him? Have you really forgotten how he held you at night when you were able to tear him from his works.

How could you forget the words he would whisper to you as you drifted off long after the candles had been snuffled out, the sweat had cooled on your skin, and your limbs loose and tangled with his? Would you ever remember the way he would watch you at school? How he would search for you and watch you with vigilante and hungry eyes. You were not his little lamb anymore. Even after everything he had lost you.

It was what he bargained for with his father it seemed.

He calls a meeting soon after informing his brothers and the Prince of your condition without telling them of his speculations as to why. “We will say nothing.” He speaks standing rigidly while the room erupts with confusion around him.

“Why not tell them?” Beelzebub asked brows drawn low in concern.

“And say what?” Lucifer rubs at his nose pinching the bridge tightly already feeling a dull throbbing growing underneath. “What would it change?” He leaves it at that and retreats to his room. He looks at his dusty chambers and broken furniture from his explosive temper. It is so cold again without you there. This is how it must be. The thought brings a broken whine from his lips. Tt soaks through his leather gloved hand, refusing to be shoved down. He didn’t want to believe he was so forgettable, that something as intimate as his trust and love was so weak in your soul. He had thought surely he had ingrained himself deeper than that. You were in his mind.

He turns to his private libraries that night, looking for any scrap of information he could find. Perhaps the threads of him were there within you, maybe they just needed to be mended. He often forgot how malleable the human mind was, how easily things can just slip from them. Each book on the topic started promisingly enough before piddling off to a dead-end or debunked hypothesis.

He hunts down the student that had fired the spell. If he knew the original purpose of the spell maybe he could recreate the reaction? No, yet another dead end.

He comes to realize one night sitting hunched over on the grimy floor that either your mixed blood had altered the spell's intentions or the fact that since you were not in your original timeline it had changed something deeper within you that none of them had taken into consideration. Or, perhaps-just maybe he truly did make a deal with Father.

Devil below, he hoped that wasn’t true. How ironic it would be that the first time they had heard his pleas to only answer it with more pain and punishment. Either way, he must accept this...eventually.

“You know, if you keep frowning like that it’ll leave permit winkles.” Lucifer ignores his brother, not glancing up from his journals to entertain him. He had recently found more old tomes deep in his studies. “Luci.” Multi-colored nails block his view of his documents.

“Move Asmodeus. I will not ask again.”

Asmo frowns but moves his hand back to his hip. “You need to breathe brother. Take a minute for yourself.” Lucifer snorts dismissively, flipping to the next page. Asmo sighs deeply, his old bones rattling with the heavy gust of air. “You know you won’t find anything in there. We’ve all tried, you know? Read up on fruitless leads and scoured the depths of the catacombs too. Satan’s hands are a mess from rummaging through his books.” He swallows thickly. “Perhaps it is time.”

“Time for what?” Lucifer rises to his impressive height towering over his smaller brethren. “I do not like what you are implying Sakhr.” Asmo flinches, he hates that damn name. He calms the simmering rage underneath his well kept skin. Lucifer was hurting, he lashes out blindly when he is. He always suffers alone.

“I’m not implying anything. We just want-” Lucifer laughs, the hollow sound pulls at the emptiness within Lust’s heart.

“What would you know of my wants?” His ruby eyes lock with Asmo’s. It was a mistake. Lucifer’s presence was imposing at the best of times, but as mad as he was now it was a knee jerk reaction from Asmo to put his guard up. It was a strong defensive mechanism that Asmo took special care not to let slip, but as Lucifer approaches him shoulder hunching and chest puffing up in anger. It took only a moment for his defenses to take over, eyes locking Lucifer saw exactly what he wanted reflected back at him.

He didn’t know what Lucifer saw but he could see the absolute agony etching into his older brother's glassy eyes with each second. Asmo steps back breaking eye contact with a gasp, the trance between them breaking. “I-I’m sorry!” He trembles.

Lucifer says nothing but raises a shaking finger while he collects himself. Finally, he looks up, face impassive once more. He shakes his head and points to the two chairs in front of his desk. A wordless order that Asmo takes. Asmodeus watches Lucifer busy himself with a decanter, broad back turned to him. “You meant no harm,” Lucifer says, voice tight. He turns back with two glasses in hand. “ I-my aggression was unnecessary.” He offers Asmo a glass before sitting back in his throne-like chair with a grunt. They drink in silence.

Asmo swirls the spicy drink around his tongue thinking hard. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He thought he could make things better by offering a shoulder or ear, perhaps tell Lucifer that you were doing well. You didn't seem to notice the hole at the table or in the classroom where Lucifer used to join you and the rest of them to eat or study. They had missed seeing him look so at peace around them. Everything had reverted back to like it was when you first arrived between the two of you, and it was affecting everyone. “Talk to me?” Lucifer blinks.

“And say what?” He peers at his empty glass before grabbing the decanter. “I’m fine? I have meetings piling up and I frankly don’t give a damn anymore. Or the fact that I have yet to cancel the table I had reserved for our anniversary dinner?” His last words waver dangerously before he burns them away with a large gulp of his drink. He sees the look in Asmo’s honey-colored eyes when he looks up. “I don’t need pity.”

Asmodous sniffs, waving away the thought. “Please. We all know better than that. I just want to check on you, and perhaps give you an idea?”

“What idea could you have that I have not thought of?” He asks curiously. Asmo lights up leaning in.

“What if we’ve been going about this the wrong way? We’ve been looking at magic to solve this when the answer was in front of us the whole time. Humans aren’t used to magic, so why look to it for the solution?”

“I don’t follow.” Lucifer puts his glass down leaning back in his chair. Was science what he needed to look at? He had tried that, had talked to human doctors and surgeons that owed him “favors”. They were as unhelpful as the rest.

“We are thinking like demons! We have to think like a human, woo them again. You did it once, surely their attraction wasn’t wiped out, just their memories.” Ahh. Lucifer shakes his head. He had thought of that, staring at himself in the mirror. Many nights were filled with the nagging fears of defeat. If his father had a hand in your recovery could he even be allowed to try again? Lucifer looks back at all the things he said those nights kneeling by your side. It was foolish, what even contract he might have accidentally made had too many open ends, too many half wishes, and clauses.

“I’m afraid I have already thought of that my brother.”

“Then why haven’t you tried? Have you given up?” Asmo is met with silence. “Does that mean the rest of us have a chance?” He gets the reaction he was looking for then. Lucifer’s form shutters, a full body twitch as his body blurs around the edges in warning. “Seems to me like you haven’t given up yet. So what is stopping you.”

Lucifer crumbles under his brother’s worried gaze. Perhaps he could divulge his worry, just this once. “I asked father Az.”

Asmo gasps in surprise, eyes wide in disbelief, then dawning realization. “You think They did this?” Lucifer shrugged, running a hand through his disheveled locks. “They wouldn’t-they couldn’t...could they?” None of the brothers knew what their father was up to anymore, nor if They were even still able to track them. It was an ever present cloud of stress over all of them. While they trusted Diavolo and his protection, the nagging fear was never-ending.

“This is perfect!” Asmo claps his hands together. Lucifer stares at him in confusion. Lust’s smile grew toothy and dangerous. “Do you know what this means?”

“No.” His younger brother snorts looking down at his nails. His mind was running a mile a minute. For as organized and crafty as Lucifer is, he sure had his moments.

“Think about it. If Father did meddle then you have to try courting them again. Defying Father is a talent!” Asmo claps his hands in giddy delight. “Wouldn’t it just chafe their linens if you got back together?”

“And what if They didn’t meddle?”

“Then what do you have to lose?” Lucifer laughs. It was breathy and lifeless at the start but grew in intensity as Asmo’s words sunk in. Why was it when he said it it made sense?

“As devious as ever Az.” Lucifer smiles. Yes, he could win you back easily and reclaim his pride all in one fell swoop. “Thank you for reminding me of who I am.” They were troublemakers, the lot of them and it was time for him to prove it once more that he was the worst of them.

He starts the next day dressing down for once in his long life. He wears an outfit you always complement tucked neatly into a pair of dress slacks you bought him after a date gone awry. He smirked, remembering the tight squeeze of your hand on him on the drive home. The friction of your palm on the smooth material...he tipped his dry cleaner extra that night. “Good morning.” He purrs out in greeting taking his seat at the head of the table. The few brothers around the table freeze for a moment, keen eyes darting from him to where you sat still eating as if nothing had changed. Asmodeus shot him a wink.

“Morning.” You chirp back around your spoon. “It’s good to see you back at the table. Finally got a break from work?” The demons hold their collective breath.

“Yes, you can say that I came to a revelation of sorts.” He hums into his mug.

From that point on no matter what corner you turn on Lucifer was there. A pleasant smile on his lips and an offer of aid. “Thank you for the help!” You drop the large stack of books on your desk with a satisfied grunt. “You know- even though our pack is still somewhat new, if you need help with your work I’d be glad to give you a hand too!”

“Would you?” He hides his predatory grin under his hand. “ Some of the matters I have to attend to will require some long, hard work. It may take up some of your nights.” The flush that graces your cheeks and the warm buzz from his pact mark make him giddy.

“I’m willing.”

Slowly he begins to pull you back into his world. He leaves well placed hints of your past together scattered around his workspace. Your favorite Devildom blooms and treats always seem to be around when you come to offer your help in the evening. He slips old pet names into daily conversations as you scribble notes and transcribe letters for him by the soft light of his desk lamp. Pacing himself was never so hard before in his life. Was he finally cracking through? Or were you falling for him again? It was a heady rush to be sure, the mix of anticipation and thrill of such earthly courting made him realize many things he didn’t see the first time around. He learns all over again just what he loved about you.

He had forgotten how patient you were around him and with his siblings. Your keen eye and attention to detail reminded him just why he trusted you. You flitted about him picking up things he missed and settling brotherly disputes without him having to waste his breath. It was almost like things were going back to normal, minus the cold sheets beside him at night. But he sticks to his plan, finding pleasure in simply learning about you all over again.

It came to an end sooner than he had expected.

“Enter.” Lucifer calls from his overflowing desk. It was finals time once again and the damages done to school property were picking up dramatically. He heard your fluttering heartbeat before you even entered his domicile. It picks up as you approach.

“Am I interrupting?

Lucifer looks up from his work, a grin growing on his tired face. “For you, never.” You smile back, coming closer. You held a mug of coffee in your hands. The beast within him wanted to raise its hackles in triumph and howl. His life must be a divine comedy. This night is playing out just like it did nearly a year ago. Did you remember too? Or was this just how it always was meant to be?

“I haven’t seen you in a bit, and got concerned.” You fiddle with the handle of the copper mug. Lucifer nods, it was true. He regrettably had to put his plans with you on hold, he had spent so much time scheming he had let a few things build up. “Asmo told me you were hold up in here working, and I thought you could use a pick me up. He-he helped me make you some coffee.”

Ah. It wasn’t the same as the first time, but it was a matter of time before his sibling started meddling again. He takes the cup from your outstretched hand. “Thank you, this is much appreciated.” You glow under his praise taking a seat by his side.

“Need any help?” You eye the stack of papers with interest. “I’ve gotten pretty good at reading the fine print.”

“Have you now?” He pushes a small stack of papers towards you. “Very well, I would love your company again.” You take the work with a nod eager to spend time with him again. He watches you work, unable to contain his growing smile before looking down at the cup by his side. The tar-black coffee looks back at him. Oh, how he wished to commend his brother and berate him all at once. It is putrid and stomach-churning but he savors it all the same.

“Is it alright?” You pause watching him drink in. You have never seen him so enraptured by a drink before.

“Yes.” It will be.

[teddy06writes]

Gonna Fix It

requested by this anon: “hi!! could you maybe do something angsty and fluffy with Fundy (or anyone really) where the reader is a trans guy? he/him”  

Fundy x transmale!reader

trigger warnings: transphobes, homophobes, some swearing (I used the words tranny and fag) {I am both gay and technically trans please don’t come for me}

premise: When your dead name is leaked, along with photos of you pre transition the entire internet is quick to judge hypercritically, but your boyfriend is quick to take care of it

(y/n/n)- your nickname

(f/l/y/n)- first letter of your name

(y/d/n)- your deadname

“blep” talking

‘blep’ texting/messaging

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

“(y/n/n)!”

“Yes Tommy?” You asked.

“How’d you feel about selling drugs?” 

You snorted, glancing up at your face cam and the messages in chat before turning your character to face Tommy’s, laughing, “What?” 

“Do you want to sell drugs with me and Wilbur?” He repeated. 

You blinked, moving your character to look at the van and then back at him, “Tommy, I would love to sell drugs out of a van with you.” 

“Yes! We have secured another one lets go! Pogchamp!” 

You chuckled as Wilbur joined vc, following Tommy’s character over to the van as he announced, “Gentleman! We have a problem, we need to find a better cover for our operations.” 

You looked around the inside of the van, filled with brewing stands and furnaces, “A hot dog van.” 

“Pfff- a hot dog van?” Tommy laughed. 

“It would be a decent cover.” Wilbur admitted, “We should do it.” 

Almost reluctantly Tommy nodded, and Wilbur moved on, “Next on the order of business, we need new recruits beside just (y/n).” 

You grinned, “I know just who to ask!” 

You started to leave vc when Tommy warned, “No Americans and no women.” 

“You got it.” 

You left vc, talking to your twitch chat as you messed around in discord, “Weird lot, them boys. Anyway- apparently I’m a drug dealer in Minecraft now! And I’m gonna recruit someone else!” 

After a few messages through discord your boyfriend called you, “Hello?” 

Upon hearing Floris’ voice chat started spamming about you being a simp.

“Yeah so Tommy and Wilbur kinda roped me into selling drugs on the smp and they told me to get more people, so I’m calling you.” You explained. 

“Angel why didn’t you just come ask me? Was the call necessary?” 

You rolled your eyes, “Shut up chat I’m not blushing! It was easier than getting up. Are you in or not?” 

“Yeah sure.” 

~~

Child: ‘(y/n) big man’

Child: ‘big (f/l/y/n)’ 

(y/n): ‘what do you want Tommy’

Child: ‘get on the server we’re making plans for our country’ 

You sighed, quickly moving to boot up Minecraft, starting stream along with it and quickly giving an intro before logging on to the smp and joining vc. 

“Ayyy! Big man!” Tommy yelled. 

“Tommy!” You responded, though significantly less enthusiastically. 

“(y/n) come to the hto dog van we’re making important decisions.” Wilbur said. 

“Okay.” You headed down the prime path toward the van, listening to the others chatter. 

“Okay so we need a name for our country,” Wilbur said as you arrived, “Something that fits. I am open to suggestions.” 

“Pog something.” Tommy offered.

“ehhhhh.” 

“Pogtopia!” He exclaimed. 

You punched his character, “That’s so stupid.” 

“Well- hmm, we’re all men here soooooooo Manburg!” WIlbur mused. 

“It needs to be more European.” Eret said, tossing you some of the block to start helping with the walls. 

“L’manburg.” You offered. 

Wilbur and Tommy burst out laughing, “Perfect!” 

“No Americans and no women! Just the way I like it!” Tommy yelled. 

Everyone began to laugh at that, and you grinned, entirely unaware of the chaos beginning to unfold all over twitter, and even in your twitch chat.

~~ Later that night you ended up flopped across the couch, Floris sending you a text from his office, ‘Don’t forget to take off the tibby prison angel’ ‘I’ll be done with this soon and we can cuddle’ 

You chuckled, dragging yourself up off the couch and shuffling off to the bathroom to change out of your binder, and pull on a different hoodie, a bigger one that you had stolen from Floris.

By the time you were done and had come back out into the living room Floris had also emerged from his office, and was staring in horror at his phone. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked. 

“You haven’t been on Twitter lately have you?” 

Immediately you were going for your phone, taking it off silence to be bombarded by notifications, “uhhhh.” 

Floris bit his lip, “I think you should read it for yourself.” 

Quietly you opened twitter, checking first the hashtag that appeared at the top of your mentions ‘#y/nisalie’ 

Your breath hitched as you opened the hashtag, immediately seeing the original tweet, ‘#y/nisalie y/n has been lying to all of us a thread: apparently this tranny didn’t have the guts to put out that “he” was lying’ 

You scrolled through the tweets, ‘Man, I can’t believe (y/d/n) thought (y/n) was a good fake name’, ‘well at least we know Fundy isn’t actually a fag’ and then worst of all, ‘Guys I found what (y/d/n) actually looks like!’ followed by a picture of you, pre transition. 

The world felt like it was caving in as you slowly sank down against the wall, tears starting to flow, “How did this happen?” 

Floris was quick to sit down next to your, pulling you into his arms, “I dunno angel.” 

You turned, sobbing into his shoulder, “Why are they like this? Wha- what am I gonna do?” 

“I’m gonna fix this,” He murmured, “I promise.” 

You curled further into his embrace, tears soaking his shirt as he rubbed circles into your back.

“It’s gonna be okay angel, it’s gonna be okay.” 

~~ You avoided the internet at all costs for the next few days, not streaming, not being active on twitter or any other socials, hardly ever leaving Floris’ embrace for more than a few minutes as more and more notifications filled your phone. 

It took a lot of coaxing from your boyfriend to check your twitter notifications after two days, and when you did you were delighted to see dozens of positive messages from real fans, and messages addressing the situation from all of your friends.

Eret: ‘dudes (y/n) is litterally trans, is you can’t deal with that then get out of this community; it’s seriously not okay to disrespect someone like that.’

Wilbur: ‘guys remember when I said trans rights and trans rights until I’m dead? Well that applies to (y/n) as well so piss off and stop bothering them’

Tommy: ‘listen up, serious tweet for once: you guys really need to learn how to recover someone and there pronouns, stop calling big man (y/n) by his dead name or get off the platform’

Along with countless others, and of course one from Floris as well, who had made a thread as soon as he saw what was going on:

‘Guys, listen. My boyfriend is the most wonderful human being in all the world. Whoever leaked his dead name or went looking for pictures of him before his transition is honestly a monster and I hope you realize the weight of your actions. Apparently we as a community have a few things to go over,

1: respect creators boundaries, if (y/n) didn’t want to tell you he wasn’t born male it’s not your business, 2: respect people’s pronouns, if someone tells you to use he/him they probably know if there right or not, 3: you can’t fucking invalidate someone like that, and put them on display as a fucking hashtag.

4: if anyone ever tries to talk about my boyfriend like this, (using the wrong pronouns, misgendering, using his dead name or in any other way invalidateing him) I will personally make sure you are never allowed on social media again’

You looked up from your phone, “Y- you got them to stop?”

Floris smiled, “I told you I was gonna fix it.”

[wreckofawriter]

Thorns and Roses

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader also Blaise Zabini x reader if you squint.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Blood, swears twice? Angsty (fluff ending)

Summary: Hanahaki Disease AU! You are despareatly in love with your bestfriend. His unrequainted love causes flowers to grow in your lungs which you are forced to cough up until death overcomes you. The only removal of this sickness is a spell which also takes every memory of the loved one with it.

A/n: look at my dumb ass post late for my own event... this fic is for the first week of Cliche Month. My cliche was Hanahaki Disease. Check out the other writers work. They are amazing!!

    Roses used to be your favorite flower. Their delicate petals stained with glaring crimson intrigued you since you reached for one in your mother’s garden and pulled away with a bloodied hand. They could be found around you constantly; arranged in sparkling vases and patterned on your dresses. Bouquets were gifted to you by friends and family during holidays and birthdays, they surrounded you. 

    Now as you coughed into the toilet of the girl’s lavatory you wished to never see a rose again. You could feel the thorns tearing you apart, your throat sliced to ribbons as you clutched the stark white porcelain. You heaved a final time, petals falling into the clear water, the blood upon them staining it pink. You felt dizzy, copper thick in your mouth. You choked out a sob, tears spilling down your cheeks and dripping off your chin. You brought your hand to your face, whipping your mouth with its back and blinking back a fresh wave of cries. You pushed yourself to your feet, knees sore from resting on cold tile too long. You flushed, watching as the red and white petals spiraled from view. 

    You stepped from the stall going to the mirror and dabbing away melting makeup, a few practice smiles at your reflection flashed before you exited the secluded room. 

    Hanahaki disease had been glorified around you for years. The aesthetic and purity of its cause and symptoms making it seem like some dream or fairytale. You had learned quite quickly it was anything but. While everyone talked of the beauty of growing flowers within you they never talked about the pain of thorns piercing you with every breath or the blood which lingered on your taste blood because of never-ending cuts and tears of skin. They never talked about the stab you felt each time the person you loved looked your way or the times you had to swallow petals to keep your quickening death a secret. 

    Blood and roses painted a pretty picture but they stopped being so charming as you choked them out every few hours. 

    You walked quickly to class, each step you took emitting pain in your chest, pain which you had gotten phenomenal at ignoring. Snape didn’t bat an eyelash, despite the fact that you were six minutes late. The stabs grew searing as you took a seat next to the scowling blonde who had unintentionally bloomed flowers in your chest.  

    “Where the hell were you?” Draco scoffed his tone cold.

    “Bathroom.” You replied plainly, eyes tracing the slope of his nose as he turned away from you. Your eyes continued to follow his profile, creating trails on his jawline and under his light grey eyes. 

    Draco turned back to you, “Is there something on my face?” 

    You shook your head, feeling petals flutter in your stomach, thorns following. 

    He said nothing, eyes flicking around your profile, looking for clues of your strange behavior. “Are you sick?” He asked, “You look pale.” 

    You shook your head yet again, “I feel fine.” Lies came so easily recently.

    Draco didn’t give in easily, his gaze searching your own as if he could read through your words to your failing heart. “You’ve seemed off recently,” he stated turning back to the lesson.

    “I don’t know what you mean.” You replied. Lying really had become effortless.

    Draco didn’t like your sudden disappearances and untrustworthy excuses. You had been distant and unfamiliar in recent days. Your schedule seemed skewed, jokes, and laughter seeming to die as you rushed to unexplained meetings with no one before reappearing thirty minutes later with blood on your sleeves. You always smelled of the liquid, copper had replaced your floral shampoo and tropical perfumes. Everything about you simply felt wrong, like an invisible switch had been flipped leaving you as an imposter. 

    You forced a thin smile at the girl across from you as she said her greetings. Pansy dug into her plate of eggs, glaring up at you suspiciously. Your relationship with the girl had always rested on the edge of a knife. She despised your relationship with Draco, her eyes going green whenever you were seen together. You wish you could tell her there was really nothing to worry about. 

    “You’re hiding something.” She satiated plainly.

    You scrunched your nose in mock confusion, “What?”

    A scoff rose from her lips, “I’m not stupid y/l/n. Something is up with you, everyone can see it.” 

    “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” You huffed rolling your eyes, hoping she didn’t notice the goosebumps that rose on your arms, fear of being discovered chilling you to the bone. 

    Blaise sat down next to you sensing the tense atmosphere and glancing between you both, “This about Draco?” He asked cautiously.

    You shook your head quickly, a stab of agony shooting through you at his mention. 

    The boy shrugged, snatching a bagel and beginning to dress it with jam, “Anyway, you guys are coming to Hogsmeade right?”

    Pansy answered excitedly her high pitch making you wish you’d stayed in bed. The conversation droned for a moment and you focused on your breathing. You knew the time which you would be able to do such a necessary act was limited. It was only a matter of time before thorns punctured a lung or pushed through your heart. 

    “You’re going right y/n?” Blaise asked, drawing you into the words spoken between them. 

    You bit your cheek, “I don’t think so.” 

    Blaise groaned, “Come on, we always go! It’s like a tradition.”

    You frowned, “You didn’t go last week.”

    The trap he had fallen into struck quickly, “Well doesn’t matter, you need to go.” he recovered.

    “And why’s that?” You hummed nursing an orange juice that tasted of copper. 

    “Draco gets pissy when you don’t come.” He explained. The words would have made your heart soar if vines weren’t threaded through your veins. “Especially after quidditch practices.” 

    You sighed, “Draco isn’t my responsibi-” you were cut off by a spear thrust into your chest. The glass you held fell from your grip and shattered on the table. Eyes darted towards you in confusion as you bent over in agony. 

    A muffled voice broke through your momentary disconnection from the conscious world.

“Y/n are you okay?” 

Your eyes fluttered open as you gasped for air, tears pooling in your eyes, “I’m fine.” you rasped standing quickly from your seat as you felt petals push up your throat. You sprint from the room without another word, hand clasping over your lips as you desperately tried to swallow the floral arrangement crawling up towards your lips. You managed to make it three corridors before collapsing to the ground, heads turned, eyes locking with you as let out a rattling set of coughs. 

You didn’t hear the words of concern or cries for help as your mouth filled with blood. You felt something push from your mouth landing on your hands lightly. A rose blossom stared back at you as you opened your eyes. Its white petals unfurled stunningly, deep crimson puddles pooled between them. Red dripped lazily down your hands and you began to cough again. Thorns tore through your flesh escaping into the light of the world drenched in red, petals floated in the small puddle of blood around you like tiny boats in a lake of fire. 

You hiccuped twice, the pain the action caused forcing tears down your cheeks. Your ears rang with shouts and gasps, your hands tightening around the flowers you held, only then noticing the cuts which littered your palms. 

Blaise thundered around the corner, shoving people out of the way to see what they had gathered around. His eyes widened when he saw you, blood drenching the front of your uniform, tears mixing with crimson as they dripped off your chin. But the most alarming thing which sat in that hallway where the roses. Four of them, in full bloom, were littered around you, their meaning sinking terror into Blaise’s head. He dropped to his knees in front of you, hands coming to your shoulders.

“Shit y/n,” he mumbled feeling his eyes prick.

You were sobbing, wincing with every shake your body gave, “I can’t forget.” You whimpered, “Please, I don’t wanna die but I can’t forget him.” Your begs were cut off as you began to cough again.

You felt numb. The potions you had been given driving away not only pain but every other feeling your body had manifested. Moving felt like wading through thick mud, the weight of the blankets adding to the confusion of your nerves. 

The ceiling of the hospital wing had become boring hours before, the dark of the night staining the white a deep blue. Your brain ran through memory after memory, thinking that if they replayed through your consciousness enough they would be stuck there, even after they were cut from your body with the flowers within you. You could hear his voice, smell his cologne, and feel his hair. The pain of your body had left but that of your mind had been so deeply engraved it was hard to distinguish from the former. 

The ache you felt from the image of his angry tears and hoarse screams were far worse than the occasional stab of a thorn. Maybe it would be better to forget. Forget the pain, the love, all of it. To forget him. Yet every time you thought of the idea your eyes welled with tears and that unsettling ache of your chest worsened. 

Memories became more and more recent as the melody of the platinum blonde continued to play. Those of a few hours ago were the freshest, still crisp around the edges, full of brilliant colors. 

You didn't want him to find out, let alone find out from someone who wasn't you. Yet Blasie had told him the second after he had dropped you where you now lay, betraying everything within you. 

He had come into the wing still dressed in his quidditch robes, broom in his left hand as he stormed through the previously quiet area. 

"How dare you." He had seethed, broom hitting the ground with a clatter. 

Your eyes had become focused solely on him the second his voice had graced you.

"How fucking DARE you!" His eyes were glossy with fury.

"Mr. Malfoy!"  Pompfery shouted behind him

You were in a confused daze, dull pain shooting through you as Draco neared. "What?" 

He was in front of you now tears sliding down his flushed cheeks as he gripped the metal of the bed frame.

"You can't just fall in love with me!" He shouted, "You can't just, j-just," his voice faltered and fell and he slumped forward. 

You sat up wanting to move towards him, "I'm sorry." You whimpered a hand coming to rest on his own.

He snatched himself away from you, "You were just going to let yourself die?" 

You paused another stab of pain dulled by medication sending white to your vision. Were you going to let yourself die? Die for the memories of this boy? It seemed a bit pitiful as you thought about it. "I don’t know." 

Draco was appalled, his mind reeling as you stared up at him, eyes wide and glistening, "Don't put your blood on my hands." He hissed turning and storming from the room.

You called after him, voice straining, throat burning. He didn't spare a single glance back and you were left staring at his disregard broom as blossoms bubbled in your throat.

Draco had always had an easy way out when he was younger. His mother loved to spoil him and his father would keep him out of trouble with little effort. He had easy choices that were made for him. But recently things have been different. The expectations of his parents raised as he wanted to do nothing but flee from the life they had given him.

You had been safety for him. Your lack of questions and secret intent made you a safe haven. He didn't have to worry about your thoughts of him because he knew they were positive. He didn't have to be concerned with his reputation or his future or his family. He could just exist with you. Exist freely. The bonds which held him to the earth disappeared in your presence and he could float amongst the pink clouds which you lived. 

You were his best friend. And now you were going to be ripped away from him. And there was no one to blame but himself. His unreturned feelings were killing you, this was all his fault. And now your memories would be pulled from you and you would become nothing more than a stranger. 

It hurt to know you may have died for him. Died to keep him in your mind. It hurt to know all the blood you had spilled stained his palms. 

The dorm rooms were darkened, the murky waters of the lake filtering soft moonlight through their depths. Sleep seemed like a faraway friend to Draco as he stared out at nothing. His thoughts were washed together like paint doused in water. A strange dream-like haze had rested over his life since he saw you on that bed. His thumb ran over the bumps of his knuckles, where your hand had rested hours before.

"You shouldn't have blamed her." 

Draco didn't look up, his eyes locked into the dark waters, "I know." 

Blaise sat down next to him, legs crossed, "You should apologize." 

"I know." 

There was a long pause. Neither boy knew what they were supposed to say.

Draco felt his eyes sting, resent bubbling in his stomach, and having nowhere to go, "I don't want to lose her." 

Blaise sighed, "You are either going to have to lose her or love her. It's up to you." 

But it wasn't up to him. He couldn't choose to love you. 

The next day was unsure like a scene that was cut from a movie. Draco spent his time lingering in his hazy consciousness. The thoughts of losing you slowly driving him insane. His vision swam with your image in hallways, eyes falling through him. He would be a stranger to you. And he would have to keep it that way for your own safety. He would be forced to watch his best friend live her life without the memories they shared. The sting of realization grew with each moment.

Your pain had begun to fade. You weren't sure if it was because of the medication or if your body was simply shutting down. The latest you could get McGonagall to cast the spell was tomorrow night. Then every moment you and Draco had shared would be flushed away. 

At least the coughing fits had stopped, thorns no longer tearing your throat to pieces. No more roses covered in blood. You felt a sense of peace.

Your far away mind was drawn back by Madam Pompfery's shrill voice. 

"You may absolutely not visit her!" 

"I just want to apologize!" Another tone retorted.

You sat up quickly, blankets shoved to the side as your bare feet made contact with the ground. 

The argument grew louder as you neared, words turning harsh. 

"Draco?" You called, peeking around the corner to see Madame Pomfrey standing with her back to you blocking the doorway, the blonde just in front of her.

"You should be in bed." The nurse scolded me, turning to look at you.

"I want to see him." You stated firmly.

She had now turned to face you fully, "Go back to bed y/l/n." 

You glared back at the woman, "Let him in." 

There was silence, you're gaze unwavering as the older woman slowly caved. 

"Make it quick Malfoy."

You wanted to choke on the awkward silence that followed after the woman departed. Dracos eyes were glued to you as your own darted between your feet and the nearby wall. 

“She’s right. You should be in bed.” he spoke.

You shrugged, “I was feeling better. The medication helps.”

“You shouldn’t be standing regardless.” He huffed walking past you towards the bed you had been in a few minutes before. 

    You rolled your eyes but followed him, knowing he was right didn’t make you feel any better. 

    “I'm sorry about before,” Draco mumbled as you set yourself against the headboard. You tilted your head in a silent question, “I shouldn't have yelled at you yesterday. It's not your fault.”

    You cracked a small smile, head tilting back until it hit the wall. “Of course it's my fault.” 

    Draco was silent and you gazed at him from the corner of your eye. His eyes were cast at his feet, the melancholy look on his face making you sour. 

    “Please don’t be sad.” You muttered, “I can't have my last memory of you be sad.”

    Despite your plea, his eyes grew misty, the weight on his chest so heavy he thought it might crush him. 

    Your feet felt light and for a moment you thought you might be dying. Your head felt so clear, you wouldn't have been surprised if Draco started saying you were floating off your bed. Your chest felt warm and fuzzy, like hot chocolate after hours in the snow. 

    “I can’t lose you.” Draco sobbed, tears finally spilling from his eyes. “I can’t lose you, y/n. Please don’t leave me.”

    Part of you wanted to slap him, “It's not a choice.” You swallowed thickly, “I didn’t choose to fall in love with you.” It was the truth. You didn’t choose to plunge into the deep waters of absolute devotion. You were pushed. Pushed by each smile and laugh. By each joke and eye roll. He had pushed you into the whirlpool of love and you had been sucked deep under. And now you couldn’t breathe.

    “I can’t watch you forget me.” He croaked his head held in his hands, “I love you y/n, you can't become a stranger to me. I couldn’t watch you live without me. I couldn't live with these memories knowing you don't have them.” 

    Suddenly the lack of pain made sense. The light, fuzzy feeling overwhelming your body was comprehensible, “Say it again.”

    Draco met your eyes, “What?”

    “Say you love me again.”

    His eyes widened, momentary surprise taking him before it was pushed aside by a rush of relief, “I love you.”

    It was like a drug drawn from his lips, it burnt like whiskey down your throat, warmth filling you. You sat forward quickly, hands coming to cup his cheeks, damp and sticky with tears. Droplets of your own gathered, rivers of relief dripping off your chin.

    Your lips met hastily. The taste of salt mixed with the bitterness of blood was unsavory but neither of you seemed to care as you pulled him closer. Kiss deepening as his hands fell to your waist. You found yourself sinking deeper into the water you had fallen into, oxygen suddenly filling your thirsting lungs.

    You were unaware of the thorns that filled Blaise’s. Yellow petals spilled from his lips, his throat filled with blood. As you tucked your head into Draco's chest, his was buried into his hands, tears filling his eyes. He was hopeless, the thorns would tear him apart and you would put roses on his grave

Taglist:

@accio-rogers @roslea @k3nz-doodl3 @theseuscmander @sleepingalaska @chloe-geoghegan1

Masterlist

[spidernerdsblog]

Match made in Hell : Prologue

A/N : Well this series will be hella angsty. Hope you like this. Feedbacks and suggestions are always welcome.

Pairing : Mob! Tom Holland x Reader

Summary : you always wanted a simple life but to be born as the daughter of a dangerous mobster turned out to be a curse for you. Everything changes when your father gets your lover killed and forcefully marries you off to another mobster as a part of a deal. You hate your father and your husband the only thing you seek is now revenge. Will you ever be able to fall in love again or this burning hatred inside you will consume you?

Warnings : 18+,mentions of blood, murder, death, misogyny, implied sexual theme.

SERIES MASTERLIST

It’s the middle of the night as you sneak out from the backside of the dingy motel you and Ethan chose to hide for two days before catching a bus to Virginia. You were headed to the NY port bus terminus as you cautiously walked through the dimly lit alleyway. Both of you carrying a duffel bag in your hand as you briskly walk down to the main street.

"Ethan come on'' you whisper yell looking back to your boyfriend who was walking right behind you with whom you have planned to elope and start a new life away from your father's clutches who happens to be the mafia king of Northeast United States and wants to forcefully marry you off to another mobster of Europe to expand his territory and grab hold on their turf.

"Y/N are you sure your dad will not find us trying to flee right under his nose?" Ethan asks nervously. You smile softly as you put down your bag. Your hands reach up to his face cupping it gently.

"Don't you worry honey. I have a friend over there who has made all the necessary arrangements. In a few hours we will be in our paradise far from all of this. Just you and me, baby."

"But what if your dad already knows about us and sent his men to kill me."

"By the time daddy will come to know about us running away he will have nothing to do. He has no power in the southern states so we will be safe." You press your forehead on to his before stepping away from him and are about to turn around to resume walking but then the inevitable happens.

BANG! a gunshot was fired from a near distance.

You flinched at the deafening sound and felt something graze past you as some viscous liquid splattered on your face. You run your hand through your face to find blood stains and look at Ethan with horror in your eyes, a bullet has punched it's way right through his chest causing a hole in its wake as blood oozed out, his white shirt slowly turning scarlet red.

"Ethan!! oh my god!!" you gasped and rushed to him. Ethan felt dizzy, his vision going blurry as his body began to collapse. You quickly hold on to his weight slowly crouching down to kneel on the pavement placing his head on your lap.

"No! No! No, This can't happen!" You didn’t know what to do as you franctically pressed your hands together on the wound on his chest trying to stop the bleeding, tears running down your cheeks.

"Mija" your throat went dry at the deep voice. You turned your head to find your father standing all tall and powerful, face expressionless with his hands stuffed inside his pockets and right by his side is your step brother Julian. In no time his hunch men surrounded the area.

"Daddy he's dying do something please." you sobbed.

"You shouldn't have tried to run away Mija or else poor Ethan would have been alive to see tomorrow's daylight."

"C'mon now get up." He reached out his hand to you.

"What? No! Daddy please help him. He'll die. I'll do whatever you say, marry whoever you want but please save him." You begged him as fat tears rolled down your cheeks.

"It's too late for that Mija. You should have known well that after your engagement you are just a safe-keeping of the Holland's for us. Son-in-law is really upset with your behavior. He is the one who helped us track you down."

"Jules at least you try to understand." You turned to your step brother in despair.

"Enough sister we have to go, we don't want the whole NYPD chasing us for a petty collateral damage." he says sternly.

"You already are a big disgrace to the family. Thankfully my step brother-in-law is very generous to accept you even after all this."

"No I'm not going with you anywhere, either you shoot me like him or else I'll do it myself." You scrambled up back on your feet and with a swift move snatched the gun from the holster of one of his men standing near you. You pointed the gun to  your head holding onto the trigger.

"Y/N Martinez enough is enough! Drop the gun now!" your father commands agitated.

"No!" you shakily press the trigger a little more as tears pricked your eyes.

"You'll not do that Y/N." your father warns again.

"Oh hell I'll do if I don't get to live with the love of my life then you will not get what you want." you spat trembling in rage.

"Y/N no.. No" Ethan croaked in pain, the angry demeanor you had softened at his voice.

"Ethan, honey.. " you dropped to your feet kneeling beside his weak body.

"if you die then I die too." You sniffled. Ethan threaded his fingers to yours.

"No, Y/N you - you have to live. For me. Promise me."

"No" you whimper.

"Promise me Y/N, this-this is my last wish" He took large gulps of air while he spoke. You screwed your eyes shut feeling helpless at the given moment.

"I-I promise Ethan." Your voice quivered.

"I love you Y/N.." he smiled weakly as his voice trailed off as it was becoming difficult for him to breathe.

"I love you too baby." You sniffled. Ethan's eyes were droopy as he struggled to stay awake. He was barely breathing.

"No, no Ethan, stay with me please." you clutched onto his hand desperately. He swallowed his last breath of air before succumbing to eternal sleep in your arms.

"Ethan?" you shake his lifeless body. "Ethan wake up!!" all was in vain as Ethan's limp body lay on the pavement.

"Ethaaan!!!" you wail.

"Take care of the body. I need to handle my ever rebellious daughter." your father ordered.

"Okay boss." one of his capos obliged.

"Now c'mon and let's get you prepared for your husband." your father grabbed on to your arm.

"No,no,no" you try to grasp onto Ethan's lifeless body. Your father ripped you apart from his body forcing you to stand up on your feet.

"It's your last week with us anyway, spend some time with your mother, make some happy memories, she will miss her only daughter the most."

"Happy memories?! You took every ounce of happiness from my life, you are a monster! You all are! I hate you!" you screamed struggling hard to free yourself from your father's firm grip.

"One day you'll know everything your daddy did was for your own good. So stop fighting and do as you are told like a good girl" Your father and brother Julian dragged you to the car. You were a walking dead when you reached your home which seemed a prison to you now. Your mother came rushing to you.

"Oh sweetie you're safe. Thank god I was so worried." she wrapped her arms around you in a hug.

"Mom.. Ethan.. He's gone." You broke down in her arms.

"It's ok sweetie. Don't worry everything will be fine. You are my strong girl I know you will get through this" she cradled your face pecking your forehead trying to console you.

"Ask your daughter to stop acting like a brat and learn how to be a good wife to her future husband and tend to his needs. Don't want the Holland's point fingers at us saying we didn't raise our daughter right."

"Why did you do this Victor?"

"After so many years are you questioning your husband Rosette?"

"No, I'm questioning a father and how could he do this to his only daughter?"

"She brought it upon herself." your mother was about to say something but was cut off by your father.

"No! I don't want to hear anything more about this. Just do what I said." he says sternly.

******

"The Martínez's will arrive in a week, start making all the necessary arrangements."

"Once the deal is done you will be taking over our family business son are you ready to sit on this throne?" The senior Holland asks his eldest son Tom in the presence of his younger twin sons Harry and Sam and Tom’s future consigliere and best friend Harrison as he stood in the middle of the spacious conference room patting on the big leather chair placed right in the middle of the wooden round table from where he has been running this empire all these years commanding men to do all his dirty work and sealing fate of people who didn’t comply by his wishes.

"Always ready dad." Tom stood tall.

"I know you are, my son. This is the day I have been waiting for all my life."

"Okay now enjoy your last few days of freedom of a bachelor before you are a married man." he pats his shoulder proudly and was about to leave the room but turned to him again.

"One more thing you need to keep a tighter hold on your woman from now on Tom. Her carefree days are over, she needs to be made aware of her responsibilities including giving the family an heir."

"Yes dad."

As his father leaves with the twins Tom slumps down on one of the chairs with Harrison beside him. He lets out a long sigh taking out his phone.

The first thing he does is open your Instagram page and go through your pictures which has turned out to be a habit for him for the last three years. Harrison was sitting beside him as he saw your pictures too. Some were with your college friends, some you attending one of your dad's galas in the prettiest designer dresses and some bikini clad sunkissed aesthetic pictures of you on vacation on some exotic island. Tom thought you looked unearthly in every picture but his mood would go sour seeing the comments below of several guys objectifying your body. He felt like hunting them down and chopping off their fingers with which they typed such lewd comments.

Though he himself wasn’t a man of high morals either drinking, gambling, bringing in girls every night in spite of being engaged to you though each night he wished it was you on his bed, not some random hooker he picked up from the bar. He is well aware that you don’t like him and despise this whole marriage. But he has nothing to worry anymore now because in a few days you are going to be his for lifetime. And he is confident that he will win you over eventually.

"I see why you are hell bent to marry her, she's a siren." Harrison remarked snarkly, breaking Tom from his thoughts.

"Hopefully she sounds like one too" Tom chuckles.

"But you really want to spend the rest of your life with her? She doesn't seem to be the one to follow rules."

"She's always been a wild horse since childhood that is why I like her even more and trust me wild horses are more fun to tame Haz. I can assure you in no time she'll be roaming around like a puppy around me."

"And how do you know you'll be able to tame a headstrong girl like her?"

"That will not be an issue because once I make sure that my child is inside her she will have nothing to do." He smirks. "Motherly instincts, you know how that works. After all, she's a woman. How much ever she hates me she will never separate her child from his father."

"And once I will have her father removed from the picture and taken over their empire she will have nowhere to go."

"You know she'll hate you more than she already does after you kill her father."

"Her father is no less than a monster. I will be doing her a favor actually." Tom once again glances at a portrait picture of you.

"Princess your kingdom eagerly awaits your arrival." he mutters to himself with a smug grin on his face.

.................................................................................

Taglist in bio or just send an ask or dm I’ll add you

[wolf-and-bard]

So, I wrote a Lambert x Aiden thing because of a conversation I had with @littoraly-art, so here we go. It’s hurt/comfort, but very much on the angsty side.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: explicit language, (brief) mentions of self-harming behaviour

You can also read it on AO3 if you want to

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

The hunt didn’t go according to plan. Lambert underestimated the amount of ghouls that would crawl out of that shithole and fought them well into the night, dodging and striking, dodging and striking for hours on end. They chased him through the forest and branches whipped at him. More than once, did he narrowly escape their bites and when they were dealt with and he stumbled back to light a bomb in the nest, he wasn’t fast enough on the retreat. His ears still ring and white spots dance at the margins of his vision. Lambert only notices that he’s overdosed on Thunderbolt when he’s already back at the inn he booked for the night, two ales down, and his muscles are still taut, ready to strike, while his sense of self-preservation has plummeted. Fuck. His fingers shake as he gestures for another drink. Sweat gathers at his collar, at the small of his back. He wants to sleep and rest, but he won’t be able to, not with the residue adrenaline.

“Lambert?” someone says and Lambert hunches his shoulders. Maybe if he hides his face, he won’t be recognized. But Aiden’s already emerged from the crowd and, anyway, he would have smelled Lambert the moment he set foot into the building.

“It is you!” Aiden saunters over, all neat bun and scandalously tight gear, his brown hair looking almost black in the downcast light of the inn. His smile is brilliant as he takes the chair opposite Lambert. Takes Lambert’s hands and inspects them for wounds before bringing them to his lips. “Hey, there, pup,” he murmurs against Lambert’s knuckles. Lambert’s heart does skip a beat, but with that comes a flare of anger. Aiden doesn’t get to be lovey and cheerful when Lambert wants to crawl out of his own skin. He hums something indiscernible.

“What is it? Talk to me.”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, really? Alright, if that’s how you want to play it,” Aiden says mockingly, letting Lambert’s hands go. “What? Oh, yes, it is good to see me, isn’t it? How I am? I’m so glad you asked. I managed to haggle a big fat fee on a rock troll couple that were mating up in the mountains and causing avalanches and now I’m drowning in coin. Pretty crazy, right? If I made it okay? Aww, sweetie, there’s no need to worry. Haven’t got a scratch on me. You wanna hear more about it? No, of course it isn’t too much to ask, I will happily oblige.” 

"Just... leave me alone," Lambert cuts in, and lifts his tankard to veil his face. He's good at hiding his emotion, but in the face of whatever this is and with the day he's had... well, his boundaries are more than probed.

“What? So, you can give yourself a sorry hand-job and cry yourself to sleep? No, sir, that would be incredibly pathetic and a crime against humanity.” Aiden smiles and before Lambert can keep drinking, he’s snatched the tankard away and emptied it himself. Great. Now there isn’t even that to hide behind. Lambert likes Aiden, he really does. On most occasions, he’s so overjoyed to see him that he doesn’t recognize himself. Aiden makes him feel… too many things to think about right now. Today though, Lambert’d rather be alone.

“None of your business.”

"Fine, have it your way" Aiden says with a good-natured shrug and, humming, stands. He makes a beeline for the nearest table full of average-to-handsome soldiers with the Temerian blazon on their chests, and slams a hand down on the table. His hips are cocked out, his smile sly, exposing overly sharp canines. They all look up at him with varying degrees of surprise, realisation. “Any of you boys down to fuck a mutant?” Lambert's blood runs cold, he’s had enough of this. He hurls his empty tankard across the room, angling just so he doesn't hit anyone - though no guarantee on the rebound – and leaves.

His armour, clothes and swords are scattered across the small room he rented by the time he makes it into bed, wearing only thin cotton smallclothes. He sits not two minutes, contemplating whether to go asleep or order himself more alcohol to dull the edge of his frustration even further, when Aiden comes into the room, no knock, no courtesy.

“Aren’t you off sucking flaccid cock? Or are you already done the whole lot of them?” Lambert spits, and crosses his arms over his bare chest. Aiden’s eyes darken and he shuts the door behind himself, forceful enough that it rattles, then slips out of his own armour and boots without much ceremony. “Go get your own room, asshole.”

“You know what? Go fuck yourself,” Aiden replies in a measured manner. All his earlier aloofness is gone, replaced by a gravity Lambert has a hard time looking at. Aiden sorts both their stuff into neat piles, then takes Lambert’s swords to the corner chair. Lambert stares at his own knees, but he can hear every tiny movement of Aiden’s hands as he cleans Lambert’s swords, inspects them for chips, pulls out a whetstone to restore their edge. The amount of care this alone conveys almost brings tears to Lambert’s eyes. Aiden could be deep-throating handsome soldiers right now, but instead he’s here, doing for Lambert what he doesn’t have the energy left to do for himself.

When he’s done the swords, Aiden does the same to his own pair, then examines the two sets of armour plating for tears or gashes that need mending. He lines up both chests of potions and counts out what’s missing, takes notes for ingredients. It’s a normal routine, only that usually, each witcher does it for himself. Lambert feels a mixture of embarrassment and affection heat his cheeks, but he doesn’t look up, not yet. Only when Aiden finishes with a soft exhale and wanders over to the bed which dips under his weight, does Lambert uncross his arms. Dares to take a peek. Fuck. He shouldn’t have. Aiden’s pupils are wide in the starlight that falls through the single window, the moon painting him in blues and silvers. Some of his hair has escaped his bun and his lips part on a sigh that expose his teeth. He’s a fucking vision, too gorgeous to be sitting here.

For once, there is quiet, so rare with the two of them. If Lambert lets go of consciousness a little more, it almost feels like a dream. If it were, he would reach out, draw Aiden onto his lap, lose himself in the familiar glide of their bodies against one another. As it is, the silence hangs by a thread and Lambert cuts it, edges fraying into dust between them.

“What,” he barks and Aiden sighs again.

“The only cock I want to suck is yours, idiot. Flaccid or not.

“Is that so?”

“Yes? I thought I had made that abundantly clear.” Aiden has. There have probably been more blowjobs than nights they shared a bed, altogether. And maybe that’s the problem. Aiden might not seem it now, but one day Lambert’s cock will not be enough to make up for his mouth.

"Why were you so obnoxious then?" he asks.

"Because you need to learn not to push me away, Lamb. I'm here, I understand, I'm yours." Three quick sentences that puncture Lambert like barbed arrows. I'm here feels like sparks of an off-kilter Igni that eat at his fingertips. I understand goes right to his gut and makes him feel like he is out on the rocky sea, in a rickety boat all by himself, at the storm's mercy. I'm yours is the lightning that strikes then and short-circuits his nervous system into small spams. He takes a deep breath and the soft kiss Aiden places on the corner of his mouth when he leans over helps quell the panic. "I can't change how I am," he says. Prickly, loud-mouthed, mean.

"You really aren't... no, that's not gonna work, is it? C’mere." Aiden crawls over the bed and settles next to Lambert, draws him against him, his strong arms wrapped firmly around Lambert's bare chest. Lambert's head is throbbing lightly, heartrate kept accelerated from the alcohol, but he deflates a little. Notices the small vial with almost clear liquid Aiden is holding between his index and middle finger. “You didn’t drink it, did you?”

Lambert shrugs. So, maybe he forgot to take the White Honey, fucked-up as he was. So, maybe he didn’t want to take it, stay fucked-up a little longer. He has days like this, where the lingering toxicity of the potions stokes some dark flame deep inside of him, kindled by his hatred for what he is, what he has become. Lambert isn’t prone to self-harm, but this, well. This he is prone to and Aiden is seeing right through him. Fucking cat, fucking.... is this love yet?

“I didn’t.”

“So, do it now.” Aiden uncorks the bottle with one hand and his grip on Lambert tightens so that he would have to struggle to escape it. For a moment, Lambert thinks about refusing. He wants to wallow, dammit, he wants to pity himself and maybe have Aiden pity him too. “Don’t think about it, pup. You can bullshit your way around other people, but not around me,” Aiden continues and holds the vial to Lambert’s lips. Lambert snatches it away and empties it in two long drags. Immediately, his vision sharpens and his lungs clear. His muscles stop trembling and his heartrate settles into its normal, mutated rhythm. “Better?”

“Better,” Lambert agrees sulkily. He tosses the vial aside and sinks back against Aiden.

“You’re really stupid sometimes, you know that?” Aiden says with a sharp edge to his voice, but he noses at Lambert’s ear, under it, breath hot over the skin of Lambert’s throat.

“You’re the one that’s stupid…” Stupid for caring for me. Stupid for still being here.

“Will you stop it already? I’m trying so hard to be patient and you keep pushing me away. Did you forget who I am? What we share?”

“I didn’t,” Lambert says. He is weak and tired. He lets Aiden tug at his chin and half-turn him for a kiss that lingers even after their lips part for breath.

“Then drop the farce. Fuck, I don’t know what to say to you,” Aiden whispers against his mouth, chasing each word with a kiss to Lambert’s lips, the corners of his mouth, his nose. “I love you, Lambert, I love you so fucking much, but I can’t keep prying you out of your shell. Don’t you trust me?”

I want to love you too, Lambert thinks.

With my life, Lambert thinks.

You’re the best person I’ve ever met, Lambert thinks.

But he isn’t ready for that yet and so he settles for the next best thing: “I’m sorry.” The rest of it he pours into their next kiss, one that feels frozen in time for how slow and indulgent it is, the world reduced to the drag of their lips and the scratch of Aiden’s canines, the stuttering of his breath. Lambert wriggles around until he straddles Aiden’s lap with his thighs and frames Aiden’s tanned face with his scarred, pale fingers. Even paler next to his lover. Aiden fucking glows and Lambert is less a man, more a phantom next to him.

“Fuck, puppy, you’re so beautiful, do you know that?” Aiden gasps when they part once more. His hands are splayed over Lambert’s upper back and they are both half-hard against one another, but Lambert doesn’t feel like sex. He feels like curling up and having a good cry. He feels like kissing Aiden again, and so he does.

“And here I am, trying so hard to hide it so you peasants don’t feel bad about yourselves,” Lambert says, on instinct more than anything else. He wants to slap himself, this is exactly what Aiden meant, isn’t it? But Aiden laughs, the fucker, a clear sound that sets loose something fluttery inside of Lambert. Shit. It is love. “I thought the scar would have done the job.”

“Joke’s on you, I adore the scar.” Aiden presses his lips to the bottom of it and drags them along, skipping Lambert’s eye in favour of nuzzling his forehead. It’s ridiculous. It tickles. Lambert laughs and hides his face in Aiden’s neck. Aiden sighs and his hands wander up to Lambert’s head, cradling it. “Promise me something, pup?”

Anything, Lambert thinks. He grunts.

“Allow yourself this. I don’t need you to fall onto your knees and profess your love in some grand gesture, but… don’t shut me out. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Thank you.”

Lambert falls asleep like that, tucked against Aiden’s chest and he wakes in the morning facing the sunrise with an arm slung around his bare torso and Aiden’s nose pressed against the nape of his neck. He allows it to last.