#dark purple with little flowers all over.... literally :')

[reallyhardy]

omg i was just looking at random photos of amateur spongebob muscial productions and honestly THIS sandy is so cute:

she's literally wearing THEEEEEE cowboy boots that i described sandy as owning and wearing at the end of my regular-human-AU fic life over the sea 😭😅

[rollingsins]

In the name of Taylor Swift

summary: You have to break up with Vada. In the name of Taylor Swift.

pairing: vada cavell x fem!reader

warnings: pure fluff.

word count: 900 words.

a/n: maybe one of the dumber things I've written, but I was in a fluffy mood for bbg Vada. Inspired by tiktok.

“Baby,” You huff dramatically as Vada walks through the door to your bedroom, “I’m glad you’re here. We have to break up.” 

Vada halts. She blinks, her brown eyes widening as her entire face falls. Her hands fall limp by her sides. She’d arrived, not two minutes ago, while you were toiling in bed, thinking seriously. Clutching a twelve inch record in your hands and deciding some things just had to be done. 

“What?” She asks, sounding crestfallen, “But I got you flowers.”

She gestures to the stack of lilies she has in hand. She looks wounded, confused, hurt. Like a little puppy you’ve just kicked in the face. 

Immediately, you sit up, heart falling. 

“No, babe,” You retract, reaching out to her. She blinks back at you, eyes as wide as chocolate buttons, “I wasn’t being serious.  Not a real breakup. A fake breakup. A fake-up.” 

Now, she’s confused. Her eyebrows knit together as you watch as she tries to work it out. 

“A fakeup?” She repeats, blinking slowly, “Why?” 

You tilt your head back to reveal your latest purchase. A shiny, purple vinyl of Taylor Swift’s latest record. 

“Taylor Swift just released an album and I need to experience it in full.” You say, quite seriously. You are serious when it comes to Taylor Swift. You’d thought Vada would know this by now. 

Vada stares. 

Your lips purse into a coo as you pry the lilies from her hand. 

“You got me flowers?” You say, rubbing your hand over her cheek, “That’s so sweet.” 

She smiles, a little shy. 

“Yeah. The lilies you like.” She says, and then she frowns again, “But I’m confused. Why does Taylor Swift mean we have to fake break up?”

“Because I need to be sad, babe,” You explain as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “I need to feel pain the way she felt pain when she wrote these songs.”

“Doesn’t she have a nice song?” Vada asks, a little dubious. 

“No,” You say immediately, “I mean, yes, but I’m saving those ones for when we get back together.” 

“But we’re not apart.” Says Vada, still confused. 

You can’t resist. You lean down and press a kiss to the pout on her lips. 

“We are as of now.” You tell her. You exhale, close your eyes and try to think of Vada breaking up with you. A sharp pain flashes through your chest. You imagine her looking mournful as she does it. Stuttering over her words. Looking almost embarrassed as she tells you she never wants to see you again. 

It works, for a split second.

And then you open your eyes. 

She’s staring back at you, looking sweet as ever. Tilts her head like a confused puppy. 

“Say something mean,” You prompt.

She frowns. 

“No,” She says, “I don’t want to.”

“Babe,” You groan, “I need you to make me sad.” 

“I don’t want to make you sad,” She says. She leans into you and wraps her arms around your waist, snuggling into your chest, “I want you to be happy all the time.” 

You groan. In all your grand-scheming plans, you’d forgotten you were dating a literal ray of sunshine. A golden retriever of a girlfriend who’d never gotten mad at you, or said nasty things about you, or even had a bad thought about you in her life. 

But you need this. 

“Please?” You ask, smoothing down her dark hair to look into her eyes, “For me?” 

Vada frowns. She’d do anything you ask, this you know. And it's hardly a big ask. All she’d have to do is tell you she never wants to see you again and you’d cry and listen to ‘Last Kiss’ and pretend as if your entire world is crumbling. 

And then have vigorous make-up sex to ‘Sparks Fly’. A win-win, truly. A rollercoaster of emotions.  

You squeeze her shoulders in encouragement. 

“Okay,” Vada says, sounding resigned. Her eyebrows knit like she’s thinking hard, “I… don’t like your shoes.” 

At this, you snort. 

“You don’t like my shoes?” You ask, “That’s the meanest thing you could think of?” 

She looks up at you, pout still on her lips. 

“Yeah,” She says. She curls back into your chest, “Because you’re perfect and there’s nothing mean to say about you.”

She pauses. 

“And I actually do like your shoes,” She mumbles into your chest, “I’d steal them if we were the same size.” 

You sigh, wrapping your arm around her shoulders and lean down to kiss her head. 

“How am I supposed to listen to the album when you’re being so sweet?” You grumble. 

“We could listen to the nice songs together?” Vada pitches with a happy smile. And then her lips curl into a coy smile, “And then we could listen to the naughty songs and make out.” 

“There’s no naughty songs, babe, it’s Taylor Swift.” You say with a laugh. 

“Oh,” She looks a little disappointed, “Well, maybe we could make out to the sad songs and pretend like we just got back together?” 

You hum. 

Making out with Vada does sound a lot better than fake breaking up with her. She emphasizes her point with a kiss to your chest. 

“Fine.” You relent, leaning down to press your lips to hers. 

She sighs, happily, curling her hand against the back of your neck to pull you closer. 

“I hope you can rest easy knowing I’ll never experience the blood-curling pain Taylor Swift felt writing ‘Dear John’.” You grumble against her lips. 

She pulls back, a smile on her lips, “Good,” She says, “And you never will. I promise.”

[hp-hcs]

carnations — mlm! disaster! simp! enzo berkshire x male! mlm! muggleborn! gryffindor! reader

hooooo boy, alrighty, a few things:

i am in fact alive, hello! i just got really bad imposter syndrome about my writing and didn’t post any fics for like three months <3

i did actual RESEARCH for this fic. using an actual physical BOOK.

one of my lovely little darlings suggested an enzo + male reader + picnic date drabble, and it spiraled into 1.4k words of gay

you will get secondhand embarrassment from enzo in this. just warning you. but it’s in like a cute way so yk

ty all for not getting mad about me not posting i literally adore y’all sm 🤟

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Y/n,” Ron loudly whispered, elbowing you in the side. “Do you have a spare quill I can borrow?”

“Can you last one day without breaking something, Weasley?” You rolled your eyes fondly, giving him the quill in your hand and reaching down to grab another from your bag. Instead, your hand brushed against something else.

You retrieved the mystery object from your bag with furrowed eyebrows. It was a small rectangular object, no bigger than your palm, wrapped in brown paper and tied up with a pretty lavender ribbon—with a single green carnation in the center of the bow.

You set aside the carnation, unwrapping the tiny gift and being met with the sight of a small book, bound in leather, which bore the gilded name: FLORIOGRAPHY: A Guide to the Victorian Language of Flowers.

~~~

The first flower you found was pressed between the pages of your Runes textbook. A combination of a rich purple and vibrant yellow color, with a striking dark center that spread out onto three of its five petals.

You carefully tucked the flower back away in between the pages of your textbook, vowing to look it up after class.

You couldn’t focus for the rest of the lesson.

~~~

It took a while to flip through every entry of the two-hundred page book, squinting at the tiny illustrations, but you eventually found a match to the mystery flower.

————— PANSY Viola tricolor var. hortensis

Meaning: You occupy my thoughts —————

~~~

“Parkinson!”

Pansy stopped in her tracks, looking back over her shoulder with a look of distaste. “Yes, lion?”

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“We’re talking right now,” she drawled, but grabbed your sleeve and pulled you into a nearby empty classroom. “What is it?”

You root through your bag, drawing out the Runes textbook.

“Homework?” she scoffed. “I’m not a tutor, little lion.”

“No, not the book.” You rolled your eyes, carefully opening it. “I found this in between the pages this morning.”

Her eyes lit up at the sight of the pressed flower you cradled in your hand. “It’s you?” She looked baffled. “Huh. I never would’ve guessed. Anyways, congratulations on solving the first clue.”

~~~

An odd hot-pink flower, with little shoots sprouting from the center and reminding you a bit of those light-up fiber optic lamps from the Muggle world, sat in the palm of your hand. A second green carnation was tied to the stem of the mystery flower with another lavender ribbon.

Pansy had abandoned you as soon as the flower was in your possession, saying that she hadn’t been paid enough to stick around.

(You knew she was just as invested in this as you were.)

Finally, after flipping through the little leather-bound book for what felt like the hundredth time, you found the strange flower.

————— MYRTLE Myrtus

Meaning: Love —————

Huh. Well. Okay then. A little on the nose, but alright.

~~~

“Um, excuse me? Miss…Myrtle Warren?”

“A boy!” the unsettling ghost girl shrieked. “Twice! In one day!”

“There was another boy in here?” you asked hopefully. “Who was he?”

“Get out! This is the ladies’ room!”

“I’m real sorry, Miss Myrtle,” you said placatingly. “I’m just on a…scavenger hunt of sorts, and I thought a clue led to you. My apologies for bothering you.”

“A scavenger hunt?” Myrtle questioned, suddenly interested. She uncrossed her arms and floated down from the ceiling. “What are you looking for?”

“A flower of some sort? The last one I got was from a myrtle tree.” You held the offensively pink flower up for her to see. “It’s why I thought you might be the next clue.”

She looked flattered. “Well…the other boy who came in here earlier did have something with him. A package.”

“Did he leave it in here?”

“Yes.” Myrtle points to the dusty windowsill on the far wall. “Why is he leaving things for you?”

“I don’t know,” you said vaguely, hoping to bypass the conversation. As much as you’d love to discuss the intricacies of queer relationships with an annoying ghost girl who died in the forties, you’d rather do literally anything else.

So you merely picked up the brown paper-wrapped item, familiarly decorated with a lavender bow and a green carnation, and tucked it safely in your bag to be opened later.

“Thank you for your help, Miss Myrtle.”

The ghost giggled and her cheeks turned a silvery-white; probably the phantasmic equivalent of a blush.

You quickly hurried out of the girls’ bathroom.

~~~

————— CLEMATIS Clematis

Meaning: Cleverness —————

“I’m at a dead end,” you groaned, resting your head on your arms.

Ron patted your shoulder from beside you, only half paying attention to your queer plight. “You’ll figure it out,” he mumbled around a mouthful of pie, spewing crumbs all over the table.

Hermione made a face. “Charming, Ronald.” At his weak protests, she just rolled her eyes and turned back to you. “How do you even know it’s a boy anyways?”

“Carnations,” you mumbled. “Green carnations. Oscar Wilde’s secret symbol of homosexuality in the late nineteenth century.”

“Okay, so your secret admirer is a dork, is what you’re saying,” Ron drawled.

You looked up with a scowl, ready to throw back a witty remark, when you were interrupted by Lightning Boy-howdy-how-has-he-not-died-yet.

“What’s with the whole bouquet you’ve got going on, L/n?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the half-dozen flowers spread out across the table.

“Trying to decode some fuckin’ Victorian bullshit.” You smacked the book down on the table, frustrated.

Harry picked up the large dark purple flower you’d unceremoniously tossed in front of you.

“Oh, this is a clematis flower,” he said offhandedly. “My aunt and uncle have this exact shrub in their garden. The blooms never get this big though.”

You perked up in surprise. “You’re familiar with it?”

Harry nodded. “Yep. Tricky little bugger. Lord Neville’s a pretty aggressive feeder and needs lots of fertilizer, although that’s true of all clematis plants, I suppose. They’re also—”

“What did you just say?” you interrupted.

“It’s an aggressive feeder…?”

“No, no, the other part. Lord Neville?”

Harry quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah? It’s just the name of the subspecies, Y/n. No big deal.”

“Oh my Godric— I have to go!”

You shove everything into your bag, almost tripping over the table’s bench in your haste to get up.

“What about lunch?” Ron called after you, affronted.

“No time!”

~~~

You hesitantly opened the door to Greenhouse No. 5, peeking inside the warm shed.

“Neville?” you called out cautiously, giving one plant actively trying to wriggle out of its pot nearby a wary look.

You fully stepped inside the greenhouse, your attention immediately caught by the neat trail of green fan-shaped petals on the ground.

You followed the trail through the front room of the greenhouse, crossing through the threshold to the second room and looking up, only to see—

“Berkshire?”

Enzo rocked back and forth on his feet nervously, chewing his bottom lip and fiddling with the cuffs of his uniform shirt. “Surprise?”

You didn’t know the boy too well. You’d been his assigned partner on a few school projects here and there, and he’d always been friendly when you passed him in the halls, but he’d always seemed a bit reserved and shy around you.

You took a moment to draw your gaze away from him to look around the greenhouse. A silver and green Slytherin blanket was spread out neatly across the ground by Enzo’s feet. A proper wicker picnic basket, two crystal glasses, and a bottle of wine sat on the edge of the blanket, waiting.

Enzo himself had a green carnation pinned to the pocket of his shirt, tied with a lavender ribbon. You grinned.

“You did all this?”

He must’ve misinterpreted your tone of surprise, because he immediately panicked. “U-um, yes. Yeah. Yep. Sorry. I should’ve asked before trying to court you, right? Oh— rats, I didn’t I ask— I just thought you were so handsome, and nice, and— and I didn’t really know how to ask you out—” he rambled nervously.

“Thank you,” you interrupted, for his sake. “This is adorable.”

Enzo’s face was bright red, and you couldn’t help but grin at the sight.

“Why flowers?”

“Oh! Uh. Big part of pureblood culture. Flowers. Daphne, Astoria, Pansy…all flowers.”

You nodded, still grinning.

Enzo cleared his throat awkwardly and motioned to the blanket. “Please, sit.”

You settled down on the soft blanket across from him, sitting cross legged. At your perpetual grin, he seemed to relax a bit.

“Y’know,” you started, as he uncorked the wine and started pouring the glasses, “I think this is the perfect place for a first date.”

His hands trembled as you said that and he looked up at you hopefully. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you grinned. “Perfect place for romance to bloom.”

“That’s a terrible pun.”

“I know. Can you be-leaf it?”

“That’s worse.”

“Be nice. I’m a budding comedian.”

“Shut up.”

“Why don’t you use your tulips to make me?”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[please comment if you enjoyed this! this author needs constant positive reinforcement, like a literal toddler!]

[pursuitseternal]

“Treat Me:” tender loving aftercare from the Vampire Ascendant in “The Rogue You Were”

Ascended Astarion x Female Reader | E | 2K

For @starryjuicebox so he can tuck you into bed

Summary: He cradles you after a long session at his pleasure, and now the softness returns. He pampers, soothes, and cares for you, his beloved consort.

CW: soft A!A, mild injury tending, bath snuggles and hair washing, Oral female receiving, comfort, cuddling, and sunbathing.

Previous Ch | ao3 link | Masterlist

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

“Such a good darling, an obedient pet…” his voice is a distant purr, your eyes barely opening as he lifts you down. The silken rope slithers from your wrists, the broad expanse of his shoulders catching your weight as you drape down his back. “Come on, my love, time to tend your love bites and other… markings,” he snickers quietly to himself.

You murmur something, too quiet for even your mind to register. The thump of his footfalls sounds muffled through the veil of pleasured sensations… too overstimulated from his intoxicating brand of pain and pleasure on these nights he spends with you in his special room… when he lets that edge of danger within him come out to play. You catch your breath, sensation slowly returning to your arms where he had you suspended. As he cradles you over his shoulder, carrying you up to your rooms, his fingers trace his bite marks that pepper the backs of your thighs and dot across the swell of your ass cheeks. And every inch of you is damp… blood, sweat, and cum, that heady mixture that coats your skin.

Closing your eyes, you let his touch caress, chasing away the fleeting flashes of pain from moments ago. You can smell the instant he brings you into your bathing chamber, the sharpness of his scent, of citrus and rosemary and brandy hits your nose and wakes you up. You raise your head to the dimly lit room, two dozen candles flickering in the purple of darkness makes everything shimmer. A snap of his fingers and a couple spells, Astarion fills the elegant marble bathing tub. He sets you cautiously on your feet first before handing you into the steaming water.

Crimson eyes flicker over your naked body as it sinks beneath the water, that bottle of potion shines a bit in the candlelight as he pours it into your tub. “Just a little something extra to provide you some… relief,” he snickers, dipping his elegant hand into the waters to stir it around. A soothing numbness targets your most sore and swollen parts, and you sigh. Your body easing into the water, you barely notice the ripples of Astarion slipping his body beside you. It barely registers, his arm wrapping around you, the warm water pouring down your neck to rinse off the blood… the trickles that run down your face as he wets your hair and washes it clean of sweat and more.

For a starved as you can be for his touch, right now, you have glutted on it, overstimulated and nearly numb to that now-gentle caress.

A far cry from his bruising, marking, claiming touches that pleasured and teased you for hours.

But now, you are his treasure, cradled in the crook of his shoulder, attentive hands washing every offending swipe of grime that discolors your soft skin. The scents of flowers… lavender to relax, roses to pamper… it fills your every breath as your body finally softens and soothes the aches he’s driven into your body to the bone. You begin to hear his velvet purr in your ear, sweet words of praise and gratitude that you did so well tonight, words to affirm his love for you, to soften the literal blows he rained on the fleshy, jiggling curves of your ass.

The pain is intense but brief, and the pleasure is always more than immense… but it’s these moments after that make it all warm and worth it. Little droplets of scented water fall on your cheek as his hand cups your face, his petal-soft lips pressing tenderly against yours.

“Astarion,” you breathe his name, addicted to the way it feels to moan it… after all, it’s been ripped from your lips and screamed and whimpered and sighed countless times night.

“Yes, my treasure?” he croons right into the shell of your ear, a little shimmy of his shoulders, just as he once did during those hazy, nostalgic days in your camp.

You snuggle into his neck, lazily running your tongue over the sensual sinews where his pulse throbs. “Please… I’m feeling oh… so… peckish,” you give a tired laugh, one he matches.

An equally worn out laugh in his throat, he takes his finger, perfectly manicured nail point dragging across his neck to let a trickle of his blood run for you. The scent of it hits your nose in an instant, rich and powerful and complex like the most refined of vintages. You barely lick your lips first before you swipe along the scarlet trail he’s left for you. And then you suck, that thick, heady blood of his so smooth on your tongue and down your throat.

Aches and pains fade away, your belly growing more and more full with every swallow. It hums in your veins and restores your own power to you. Those longer nails rake against your scalp, teasing your wet hair and petting you like the precious little thing you are to him. A contented sigh from your lips, you release from his skin, a listless, pleasured twist of your mouth when you smile at him.

The palm at the back of your head presses your chin to his warm, waiting tongue, and he licks your chin clean. “I do so love to taste you… after you’ve tasted me…” he rasps against your lips, his words flowing into another languorous kiss.

His lips twist against yours… some brilliant idea inside his silver-curled head that he wastes no time acting on. Water sloshes over the side of the tub as he stands, your body already in his arms, your mouth already being consumed by his tongue and lips and teeth. Supernatural, strong, secure… he carries you in his arms to the bedroom to set you down on your wiggly, wobbly legs and dry you off.

The moment you’re dry, you happily crawl into bed, the softness of your sheets cushions you, another layer of balm to your pleasured and battered body. In the muffled distance, you hear him toweling off, the bed frame creaking and the buckling of the mattress follows… the telltale signs he approaches. That warm, sinewy frame of his covers you, slotted between your thighs, and you hiss at the insistent friction.

“Don’t you fret, my dear,” he chuckles, deep and low and wicked in his chest. “Despite the evidence to the contrary…” he grinds his still-hard erection over your mound gently, “you’ve done so well, I have nothing of that sort on my mind, just a little treat for my… treat.”

His voice purrs, his lips kissing and sucking lovingly across your collarbone and then over the pillowy tops of your breasts. He kisses around the angry, red bite marks from before… careful not to tease your nipples hard again. That warm tongue swipes up through the valley of your chest between them, only to have him kissing his way lower… and lower still. Hot breath warms your folds, the only prelude to his fingers and tongue licking into you with perfect precision. He paces his lapping, slow and attentive and thorough. Those same little growls he makes as drinks your blood reverberate through your slickened pussy. Fingers tease inside you, catching and stroking that bundle of nerves hidden in your channel until you hear your own sloppy arousal weeping from around his fingers.

Ravenous, his tongue laps it up. Insistent and strong, he sweeps up every drop of your slick and brings it to swirl around your clit. So tired, your poor brain and dulled senses barely hear the gasps from your own lips, barely controlling the rhythmic buck of your hips to match his fingers and mouth that worship you.

His voice rumbles such pretty words, such saccharine epithets into your folds. “Pretty consort…” followed by the wet suck of his lips, “…little treat…” Growls of his own hunger tickle as he curls that tongue back to your clit, “…mine forever, my love…”.

You feel his hair in your hands, not knowing how or when you fisted it as he eats you, feasting on you… A low sigh from his mouth sends you careening, that warmth and pleasure blooming from your core to swallow any last traces of lancing pain. Limp, breathless, boneless… you feel as if you’re floating in the downy bed beneath you.

You brace yourself for a moment for that fullness and friction of his cock, but it never comes. Only a tender kiss inside your thigh at the joint and the comforting weight of his body to lie beside you. His breathing is relaxed, warm and contented, as he nestles that sharp face and aquiline nose behind your ear and into the mess of your hair. He’s breathing you in… the fragrance of fresh-washed hair, the scent of your skin and fresh arousal. And despite that hardness at your lower back, he just pulls the heavy weight of your comforters over your naked bodies. Arms wrap softly but assuredly around you, one hand holding your arm, the other tucked snugly beneath both your still-drying heads. You feel the slowing thump of his pulse against your back as he pulls you even closer, the rush of his breath in your ear tingles your spine and relaxes you all at once.

Lulled to sleep by the warmth of his skin and the lullaby of his body…

Daylight caresses you, and instantly, as you stir, you know he’s already awake from his trance. The sunlight flooding your room, the curtains blown wide to let the dawn in, those are the dead giveaways. Those are the signals that he has already woken up and taken full advantage of his powers as Ascendant, his favorite—basking in the sun. Not that he would admit it.

He sits against the large window, letting his pale skin soak in the morning sun. Shirtless, just a pair of breeches on his legs, your sunwalking vampire, lets the warmth still thaw the centuries of cold and hurt.

Crimson eyes turn towards you, a knowing grin on his face the instant he hears your breathing change. “Ah, the only thing that sparkles more than the soft light of dawn…” he smirks, that same velvet tone of voice that made you first swoon, “the glint of your own scarlet eyes as you blink the lingering pleasure from your sleep.” You watch his muscles flex as he stretches in that shaft of sunlight from the window. Feline and a tad predacious, he slowly crosses towards you in the bed, a slightly sheepish grin on his full lips, even as his eyes clearly revealed his still lingering desires that had raged in the dark. “I’m… sorry if I was a bit more demanding than usual last night, darling, but you did so well…. My good, sweet consort.”

You give him that look that both provokes and placates, pursing your lips with a hint of a baleful glare from the corner of your eye. He sits beside you, and you keep your distance. Just enough.

“I always know when your negotiations either go horribly wrong or… intoxicating well…” you smirk, rubbing out the lingering soreness in your neck. It aches still, those harder to reach spots down the curve of your shoulder blades the worst from being suspended for so long…

And quickly, his hands replace yours. Those fingers, so strong and deft at picking locks and pleasuring you, knead into the aches and pains you just can’t reach. “So, do you wish to guess if negotiations with the dhampirs in Cormyr went to our advantage?” He purrs, hands still massaging your back as they wander lower. “Be warned, if you guess incorrectly, I'll treat you to more of the same rigorous attentions from last night…”

“And if I guess correctly?” You hum, his hands grasped teasingly around her swells of your ass now.

“Then I’ll treat you to more of the same tender care…”

You cock your brow and smirk, heart pounding for either way, it is always a treat with him.

[atamascolily]

Walpurgis no Kaiten Trailer #2 Breakdown

Aniplex dropped a 35-second trailer with new footage from Walpurgis no Kaiten, so let's take a look and see what we got!

Homura falls backwards in a stained glass cylinder that contains a spiraling staircase (we'll see the whole thing in a later shot). Note that this is the doppelganger because of her headband, and that the glass has Homura's distinctive diamond sigil on it, among other things.

We finally get our dance scene--not a pas de deux, but a waltz! Headband!Homura spins Madoka around, leading the action, and she appears to have taken Madoka by surprise. Note that waltzes also involve going in a circle.

I've talked before about how the doppelganger appears to be courting Madoka in the first trailer and how I think a Swan Lake-style "choice" might be forthcoming, so add this to the evidence pile. Madoka's voice over, "I will go with hope," also seems to suggest a choice.

I'm not sure where this is located, but I think it might be Madoka's house? A house, anyway. There are photos on the walls and chairs.

Doppelganger Homura is down so bad, y'all. And can you blame her? Also NOTE HER EYE COLOR HERE, HER EYES ARE RED, not brown (key visual) or purple (original Homura). Eyes are the window to the soul...

(Red eyes automatically make me think "Incubator", but I'm withholding judgement on that until we get more info.)

HELLO VISUAL METAPHOR!! Okay, so first off, we have a fan spinning in a circle, a cross-quartered circle with a closed eye at the center (!!!) surrounded by taped cardboard holding together a box marked with the emblems of "fragile, handle with care". I feel like that one speaks for itself.

(What do you want to bet that that eye opens.... EVERYTHING IN THIS WORLD IS SPYING ON YOU.)

Continuing the eye focus, here's a close-up on one of the Clara Dolls holding up a magnifying glass to enlarge their own eye. This is Ibari (Pride). Note the yellow flowers around the lower part of the glass and that Ibari's eyelash is similar in size and shape to the one on the box fan in the previous shot.

My guess is that the Clara Doll's role in this story is primarily as a group/decoration/background element rather than full characters in their own right (the chorus witnessing the action in a theater production, as it were), but I love how this shot turned out and would be happy to see more like this.

Doppelganger Homura (?) examines her reflection in a compact mirror. She has the headband, but her eyes are purple here, like the original. I think she's adjusting her appearance here--literally, if she can shapeshift--to match the original, especially since she's also missing the dark collar that characterized the doppelganger in the key visual. Note sure what is going on with her headband when I look more closely--it seems to stick out from one side of her head and doesn't lie flat??

The scallop shape and the "Dummee Venus" inscription are a little too on the nose in my opinion... Venus being the goddess of love and beauty who was born out of seafoam on a scallop shell. [Is there a Botticelli reference in the house? TBD!!]

I suppose this could be the original Homura here, but the context makes more sense for the doppelganger. Again, note the round/circle, and mirror imagery and focus on the eyes.

EDIT: I was wrong, "Dumme" is German for "fool", not a misspelling of the English "dummy", so this could be the original Homura after all. Although Walpurgisnacht is also a fool, so... I guess we'll see with more context, but I'm leaning towards Original Flavor Homura for now.

View of the spiral staircase from above... a circle combined with a straight line makes a spiral. Note that the surrounding glass has Walpurgisnacht's signature motif of "peacock tails", suggesting a connection between the doppelganger Homura and Walpurgisnacht, and that Walpurgisnacht herself appears as a circle on radar.

The staircase abruptly cutting off and going nowhere also seems like a metaphor, huh.

Balloons going free, compare to a similar shot in Rebellion where they are trapped in a glass dome where Kyouko and Homura have lunch (more on this in a bit). Boundaries and prisons are breaking down, magical girls/witches cannot be contained any longer.

"Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" Devil Homura is torn down and overthrown. Interesting that one stocking is red-striped (or is that a ribbon wrapped around her from someone else) and the other is pure white--but with a black bow around the ankle.

Madoka enjoys a nice date with...??

(Note: this shot is in a different place from the one that immediately follows; I believe the two are deliberately juxtaposed to be misleading. More on this in a bit.)

God, I love this shot. Half a glass (glass half full, even) with their surroundings in miniature, and the glass is cracked and held together by threads of gold (kintsugi). The ring makes her a magical girl, the outfit is a Mitakihara middle school uniform, and her hair is green, so this is someone new.

also the diamond-shaped placemats juxtaposed with the circular saucer.

Hi, new character!! I have so many questions, but it looks like they really are in a teacup, or at least a different teacup--the old glass dome from Rebellion (or someplace similar) is full of trees and also flooded and now home to water lilies and lily pads.

Nagisa is spending quality time in the ball pit (insert DashCon meme here). And so is this new girl... my guess is human!Charlotte, but I don't have any evidence about that besides vibes and the way these two shots mirror each other.

I love this shot so much! Not sure what's going on, but there's Sayaka in her magical girl costume at the bottom.

Based on the similar backgrounds in these two shots, Madoka is either having tea with Mami or tea with someone else in the same space. Cake and dessert and birthday themes, a la Charlotte's labyrinth.

Feather pillows exploding on a modernist couch.

Kyouko on a pillar/table eating a piece of cake. Cranes and cityscape in the background at night.

Runes and the pages of a book. Witches coming out of a book? Or... something else? (see below)

Flash shot of Sayaka bandaged in a theater.

And here's Kyubey! On the shoulder of the pigtailed girl last seen with Nagisa, wearing the dark collar of the evil!/mirrorverse Mitakihara Middle School like the doppelganger in the key visual. Her eyes are hidden by her bangs and she's smiling. Piloe of books/records (alternate universes, if Magia Record imagery is anything to go by).

Whatever's happening, Kyubey is so in on it, lol.

The salamander representing Homura's dark orb (powers) is stabbed with some kind of metal, near a tea cup, causing it to disappear and explode. It then transforms into a shackle. That's probably not good.

(Whose arm, though? Homura is the most likely suspect, but we'll see.)

White feathers ascending to heaven, a circular vortex made of clouds and shining light, spinning, spiraling...

One of which is a mixture of black and white. This feels very significant, given my earlier predictions about "confronting one's opposite" and "people are neither nor good nor bad but a mix a both" being major themes.

Anyway, I'm sure I'll have more thoughts later, but that's my quick off-the-cuff reactions for now!

[anxiety-elemental-kay]

Vash's Dual Powers in Trigun Stampede

Or: Christ on a cracker episode eleven really was that fucked up holy shit

Here’s that essay about Stampede Vash’s powers I mentioned a while back. This is another where I yell about Trigun and gender and worry I’m spouting shit that was obvious to everyone, but you’re getting the essay anyway.

Content warnings include discussion of sexual assault, pregnancy, and forced pregnancy. I’ll be talking about episode eleven a lot so. Yeah.

The first time we see Vash manifest his powers is the same time Knives and Conrad do: when he creates a black hole in his arm. We see it absorb the corpses of the people Knives just killed, and we can see from Vash’s panicked expression he has no control over it. Knives then cuts his arm off because his brother just manifested an entire black hole like right there.

(It’s worth noting that the music track for this scene is called ‘Drain Gate’, and another track using Vash’s theme is called ‘Plant of Drain’. In the episode twelve stinger the Pieces of Earth fleet reference using something called a ‘drain gate’, which might be related to FTL travel. I have no conclusions for this point, just that this powers seem to have greater implications than just ‘black hole’ in Stampede.)

So far this is stuff the manga has more or less covered before. Vash’s power specifically was creating black holes. In TriMax we see July and its citizens consumed by a black hole. For Stampede though, Orange gave Vash a secondary power: fertility.

And I do mean fertility and not virility; the capacity to become pregnant versus the capacity to impregnate someone else. At the start of episode eleven, Knives penetrating Vash is pretty obviously phallic. His knives are the literal mechanism by which he seizes control of and violates Vash’s mind and body. On the other hand, when Vash sprouts roots which connect to the other plants in the tank, it doesn’t read as phallic to me.

They look like umbilical cords.

Each root connects to the plants’ stomachs, and aside from a brief red flash this doesn’t appear to cause them any pain or distress, contrary to Vash flailing away from his brother’s blades. We see energy move down the roots from Vash to the plants, and when they unfurl to reveal their pregnancies the roots remain connected at their navels. They look surprised and afraid. Those pregnancies are, almost literally, also his.

For all of Conrad’s technobabble about the plant core and souls and whatever, Vash’s powers seem to boil down to this: he can send things to the higher plane by creating a black hole, and he can take from the plane by manifesting with his, or others’, bodies.

I think this interpretation is reinforced by a series of three shots after Knives says “Happy birthday Vash". The pussy portal opens behind Vash (with a goopy sound effect), we cut to outside the tower to see the purple flowers blooming on the roots, and cut again to inside the tank where the plants unfurl to reveal they’ve become massively pregnant. Portal, flower, pregnancy. It’s all about biological reproduction.

And then Knives goes into the pussy portal and finds an inter dimensional ovum, which he then also penetrates with his blades, explicitly to impregnate all the other plants.

Like.

Studio Orange looked at the Fifth Moon chapter in the original Trigun manga and said “You are like little baby. Watch this.” and then made an episode which made me spend the rest of the day somewhere dark and quiet when I first watched it because holy shit.

(It shouldn’t go unsaid Vash and Knives are canonically trans in Stampede, it’s in the text even if it’s not what Orange was thinking of! Vash is surrounded by yonic imagery and Knives has no dong I don’t know what else to tell you.) (edit: okay so maybe not CANON canon but i'd still argue it's an easy interpretation to make)

There’s always been a dichotomy at the heart of Vash as a character: a desire for peace versus the necessity of violence. A living weapon trying to live and love among humans who constantly reject him. Avoiding hurting others while physically capable of great and terrible destruction.

When Vash regains control he transforms the growths he was forced to make into a MacGuffin that’s easy for the twins to fight over. He transforms what he was forced to create into a bomb, because there didn’t seem to be any other way for him to neutralize the mass. (I assume this because Vash seemed to have immediate and almost perfect control of his powers in episode twelve, and it would be strange for ‘make a bomb’ to be his first choice for dealing with the roots.) Vash has been forced to create something that poses a danger to himself and everyone around him.

Vash was a weapon, even in creating life, from the roots growing to choke all of JuLai, to the pregnant plants, to the nuke cube obliterating the largest human city on the planet.

Forced creation is no different from destruction. Reproduction is not beautiful or honorable when unwilling.

(This is my essay so I’ll allow myself another aside: episode eleven is a good demonstration of why I tend to prefer genre above more realistic stories. Here, like in the manga, we see a metaphorical rape scene stripped of anything that could be (intentionally) titillating, leaving only the victim’s fear and pain. I feel like only in this kind of metaphor can sex be stripped away from assault, and instead put the focus on the emotions of the scene.)

Vash having fertility as a power is (one of many) things that fascinate me about Trigun Stampede. I’m an afab nonbinary person, I’ve always been afraid of getting pregnant, and I’ve never wanted kids. Sexual assault is something I’m deeply afraid of, and I would genuinely rather die than give birth. It’s all tied up in my feelings about my gender and my body and how it’s perceived by others. Vash is pretty much experiencing my literal worst nightmare.

All this circles back to what might be my favorite topic when it comes to analyzing Trigun: how it depicts masculinity.

There’s a lot about masculinity in Trigun that I think is genuinely radical to some degree, and whether it’s something Orange intended to add or if it’s just easier to do a queer interpretation of this version of the story isn’t a question I’m interested in. I’m gonna rub my gay trans little hands all this anime and you can’t stop me!

Stampede doesn’t depict fertility and masculinity as opposites or even incompatible. Vash and his body isn’t made repulsive because he has this power, in fact when he regains control he gets a color change and a sick new hairstyle. Vash possessing this power isn’t depicted as that different from the black hole, it’s just a thing he can do, but here it’s being taken advantage of by his brother. The disgust and horror isn’t from the metaphor of a man becoming pregnant, it’s because he was violated by someone who claims to love him and want to protect him.

For contrast, imagine a similar scene, in which a masculine character is surrounded by feminine/pregnancy imagery, and consider how it would likely be framed in most other mainstream media. Those of you who don’t live under rocks might even think of some examples! Typically in media, men seen anywhere in proximity to femininity are mocked and humiliated.

Vash’s masculinity, his identity, his personhood, are ultimately disconnected from his capacity to reproduce, and by what means his body is or is not capable of making babies. He regained agency because Meryl called out to him, and she called out because he inspired her, and she was inspired because he was out making human connections with people, trying so hard to do the right thing even when he failed. His powers are a part of him, but not what ultimately make Vash truly powerful.

I’m curious to see if/how Studio Orange will continue with this theme going forward. So much of Vash’s character is about contradiction, and in this way they’re making some of those themes even more literal. More contrast-y.

To wrap this up, here’s one more thing I’m curious about: what will become of the Independents who will be born from this? The pregnant plants escaped with Conrad and his flying saucer lab. Assuming any children survive, and considering how much the twins grew in only a year, they could have a role in the future story. What will they be like? How will their origin shape the people they become? How much will Knives control (or fail to control) his children? What will they think of humanity, of Knives, of Vash, of themselves?

[aclowntiny]

Wooyoung + Firsts

The last of my firsts 😌 hope you enjoyed this series! (LMAO I forgot I had this all ready to post forever 😅)

First Date: When he said ‘oh just come over, I’ll make something’, you didn’t think it was going to be a candlelit pasta dinner or that he was literally going to be acting like he was on a cooking show, but that, ladies and gentlemen, is Wooyoung. He whips up your first date dinner almost entirely from scratch and hey, if you like being in the kitchen he’s very eager to bring you in to help and watch up close! The conversation never stops flowing, either, both from him, your responses, or the kitchen banter you two surely get into!

First Time Holding Hands: On your first date, of course! This man wastes no time with physical affection and besides, your first date is begging for it- as you cook, he ‘helps you out’ plenty by guiding you. If you’re comfortable with it, he’ll probably hold your hand as you talk and eat, eyes on you the entire time.

First Kiss: Because he’s been so giving and caring, from hand-making you dinner on the first date to walking on the outer side of the street with a hand protectively resting across your back to buying you cute trinkets that catch your eye, you want to repay Wooyoung. Flipping the script he’d expect, you show up to meet him with a bouquet of flowers, handing them out with an eager smile. His face melts into an eager grin, dark eyes shining as he looks at you, hands faltering before they reach up and pull you into a kiss that shows you all his appreciation and then some.

First ‘I Love You’: Not many people can keep up with Wooyoung, but there you are matching every move, wink, you name it as you sing your hearts out together, his hands falling to your hips as he pulls another corny dance move. Who else but these two? Everyone else says, shaking their heads, but smiles play on their faces as the rush overtakes you in waves and he hits an exhilarating high note, grabbing you and dipping you for a victory kiss immediately after as if he didn’t even need air. Just you. Your hand finds the back of his head to tangle in his locks and pull him all the way into you. Even more exasperation and mock-disgust sounds off around you, but beneath the dim purple light of the room and the dreamy red haze cresting your heart, you can't care less. They can have a show, you both think. Wooyoung whispers to you how well you play together, how fun it was, and you wholeheartedly agree. “I love you,” he says, hand sliding from your thigh to meet the other at your back, standing you up again. “I love you, too,” you whisper back, leaned against his forehead, feeling his cheek slide into yours softly.

First Fight: Even if you don’t try to be hotheaded or get that way often, there’s just something about Wooyoung that brings out the passion in you for better or for worse. So when he seems a little too friendly to a waitress when you guys go out, it has you huffing because she was obviously flirting with him and he was practically egging her on. At least that’s what you say when he asks, and his annoyed response feels defensive to you. It degenerates into some snapping back and forth, but not much raised voices since you’re in public. “You know what? Fine,” Wooyoung says and your brow creases because what does he mean? The moment the waitress starts to walk back up, Wooyoung yanks you into an embarrassingly passionate kiss like he’d never given you in public before, pouring all his stress and frustration into it. She’s flustered and less than impressed, but Wooyoung is only looking at you when she leaves. “That prove anything?”

First Anniversary: Excuse to celebrate? Yes, please! Instead of making it a solemn scene, Wooyoung wants your hundred days to be fun so he takes you go-karting! A little competition keeps a relationship spicy in his mind, and he loves the banter on who will win, the ‘shut up’, ‘make me’ exchanges as you swerve past each other with childlike laughter. You love the break of tradition, but Wooyoung won’t let you forget his romantic side, presenting you with a single rose wrapped up. “Pull it from the paper a little,” he urges you, and that’s when the charm bracelet he got you falls out! Each charm is something to remind you of all your dates, like a pan for the kitchen date, a book for your book shop date, and a car for the latest one.

First Pet: Well aware are you of both Wooyoung’s tendencies and that video he was in with the dog… a dog that matches his energy perfectly in your mind! You guys adopt a black and brown shiba inu puppy that reminds you so much of him, right down to the volume of his famed doggy yells! Your name vote was Banshee for obvious reasons, but Wooyoung wanted something cuter, so you compromised with the similar name Benji instead. Benji is a ball of energy that practically jumps into his dad’s arms every time he comes home from practice!

[stirthewaters]

Too Sharp to Touch pt.3

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: slight language, descriptions of blood and blood usage

Summary: you decide to ask Wednesday to teach you to fight, only to discover she has a different plan in mind

Pairing: Wednesday x Reader

“Teach me to fight.”

That’s what you were going to say. Simple. How hard could it be? Surely, Wednesday wouldn’t say no, right?

You had got out of your werewolf anatomy class early, dismissed with a homework assignment that you could work on later, but now your main focus was on working up the courage to ask Wednesday to teach you how to fight.

She had a soft spot for you. You were almost positive you weren’t making that up. Surely the fact that she threatened your bodily harm slightly less than others at Nevermore, or in general, was a good thing, right? And besides, she had helped you out after your fight. That has to mean something. And no, of course you weren’t looking for a reason to get into a fight just because you knew she’d be there, but… hey, it was a perk. 

It still made that little patch of fur on the back of your neck prickle just thinking about those eyes of hers.

Enid had deliberately said to you that all you had to do was ask. No tiptoeing about it, just ask her.

"Come on, Y/N, it's not that hard. She's not going to bite." "Hopefully," you responded dryly, swinging your heels as you sat on her bed. "I just don't want to have to go back to fighting instructors, they suck ass."

"Well, you'll probably have to you don't ask," Enid said with a small smile. "She likes you, Y/N. Just go for it."

Those words had been banging through your head for the past three goddamn days.

Shouldn’t be a problem, right? Worst case scenario you’d just have to get a werewolf fighting instructor instead… oh god, that would be embarrassing. Most werewolves were naturally good at fighting. Why couldn’t you be the same? It was definitely frustrating, to say the least.

You continued to pace the halls, brainstorming. Wednesday was at her Hummers meeting, but it wouldn’t be long before it was over. You had a little bit of time. Why were you even stressing it out this much? You were a werewolf! It’d be a piece of cake! Besides, Wednesday was only human, after all. Or maybe not; you weren’t entirely sure what the Addams’ were.

Perhaps you could get her something. Maybe some flowers and chocolate? To convince her to help you out? Well, you didn’t have enough time to run into town and get some chocolates, but the flowers you could definitely do.

You got up, scrambling down the hallway and hurrying down the stairs, ignoring the calls from an occasional teacher to slow down, headed for the greenhouse.

You arrived just as class emptied out, luckily, and you fought your way - literally fought; you caught more than a few elbows in your side - through the crowd of purple uniforms. Stopping by the door, you quickly checked to make sure everyone had exited before slipping inside.

You were welcomed by the cool temperature of the greenhouse, accompanied by the soft humming of the electricity, but you didn’t stop long, examining the different plants arranged around. Surely nobody would mind if you took a couple flowers? You peered at the different arrangement of flowers before your eyes caught on a lovely black dahlia, recognizing its spiky petals and dark hues to be the flower you wanted. Carefully pulling two or three from the planter, you held them carefully, exiting the greenhouse and closing the door carefully behind you as you hid the plant in the pocket of your blazer.

You hesitated briefly at the door to Wednesday and Enid’s dorm room, still catching your breath from your sprint. You could hear movement inside and you knew it wasn’t Enid; the blonde was busy working on an art project with Divina and Yoko today. You held your breath briefly before knocking your typical three knocks on the door before entering.

Quiet music came from the gramophone in the corner, signaling to you that your assumptions were correct. You turned your head to see Wednesday exiting her closet, dressed in her black and white checkered jumper with a jacket thrown over it. 

“Y/N.” She paused, the slightest hint of suspicion in her eyes when she spotted you. “What do you want?” The raven didn’t comment on the fact that you had entered the dorm without permission and you noticed. 

Now on the spot under Wednesday’s stare, you took a deep breath, forcing your hesitation down as you pulled out the black dahlia’s from behind your back, noticing too late that they were slightly crumpled; you had to bite back a frustrated huff at the sight of them. You knew you shouldn’t have put them in your blazer pocket.

“I was wondering if you’d teach me how to fight?” Silence.

More silence.

Too much damn silence.

You looked at her, feeling embarrassed about asking her like this. Her eyes slowly gazed from the flowers up to you as you stammered, “y’know, because I’m not the best at fighting, and well, you are, and I thought it could work out.” You forced yourself to stop talking before you could make yourself sound any more stupid than you already did. You were probably messing this up.

Wednesday seemed to examine you for a moment, eyes slowly moving to the flowers before back to you, staying silent for a moment longer before taking the flowers from you, depositing them on her desk. Before you could ask what she was doing, the raven turned and knelt by her bed, pulling out a semi-transparent jug filled with what appeared to be…blood? Confused, you didn’t have time to respond as Wednesday approached you, dumping the jug into your hands as she spoke.

“If you wish for me to instruct you, then you may first assist me, wolf.”

You looked down at the jug in your hands and then back at her, cocking your head slightly.

 “Is this real blood?” She ignored your question, placing a notebook inside of her bag as well as what appeared to be a sponge and some other materials.

 “I wish to begin implementing more realistic depictions into my novel. All you will need to do is act the part of a corpse for a bloodstain pattern analysis.”

“A corpse?” You repeated, raising an eyebrow in surprise and skepticism. The raven nodded, slinging her bag neatly over her shoulders.

“Correct” - she fixed you with that familiar glare you knew so well, already heading for the door. “And then I shall uphold my end of the deal.”

You hurried after her with the jug; despite it’s heaviness you carried it without a problem. “Where are you planning on doing this?”

“The woods,” came the reply. Once again you had to quicken your pace to catch up with her. How could a person so short move so damn fast? 

“So, is this real blood?” You repeated your question again; you didn’t have an issue with blood - after all you were a werewolf - but even you had to admit that if Wednesday so casually had a large jug full of real blood in her dorm it was a little concerning. The scent of it was a little different than human blood; your sensitive nose picked up a slight taint to it.

“Does it really matter?” She responded with a slight roll of her eyes. “It’s pig’s blood.”

You fell into a quiet silence as the two of you walked over the uneven terrain, the hushed silence of the woods engulfing the two of you as you entered. It was calming.

“So I’m going to be a corpse?” You said to fill the silence.

Wednesday nodded, adjusting the bag around her shoulder as she walked. “Indeed. I’ve played the role numerous times for my own amusement in the Addams Mansion. Consider yourself fortunate I’m even letting you in on the act.” With a sigh, you followed her as she led the way, the jug making swishing noises as the thick blood sloshed around inside. 

“And how long will this take?” 

“If your performance suffices, then not long.”  - Wednesday slowed her pace slightly, her gaze fixed on the woods - “we’ll find a suitable clearing where I can conduct the analysis. You’ll lie down, I’ll do my work, and then afterward you’re free to do as you please.” The raven eyed your clothing for a moment. “I assume you won’t mind dirtying your clothes.”

“Of course not,” you muttered sarcastically. “We werewolves love bloodied clothing.”

“Yes, because impeccably clean clothing is such a priority in the middle of the woods,” Wednesday scoffed, rolling her eyes in response. 

Eventually she seemed to reach the spot she wanted, a gloomy clearing shrouded in shadows. It fit the vibe - or Wednesday’s vibe at least - the shadows encompassed most of the main clearing and the sounds of the Academy were too faint for even your heightened hearing to pick up on.You looked at Wednesday for instruction and she merely gestured for you to lay down on the forest floor. You set the jug down and awkwardly arranged yourself over the ground, wincing and plucking out a few uncomfortable rocks under your spine.

Once you had gotten comfortable enough to be in the position for a good amount of time, you watched as Wednesday set down her bag on a log, retrieving her materials and standing there for a moment as she examined you, dark eyes roaming over your body. Was she scanning you for imperfections? Observing you to give you some tips on how to act more corpse-like? Or was it something else entirely?

You started to speak before you were cut off by the raven kneeling down at your side, bringing the sponge, an already slightly bloodied handkerchief, and the jug of blood over to begin. You didn’t flinch once as she began to carefully and precisely dab the blood onto specific spots of your clothing or skin.

You held as still as you can manage, save your baited breath as Wednesday delicately smeared a nice glob of thick blood over your neck, pausing only when she saw your muscles tense slightly. Her brows furrowed just barely as her hand hovered right above your neck, not moving.

Now, Wednesday Addams was certainly not a person who blushed; in fact you seriously doubted that she even had the capability to blush; you wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t. Instead you watched as her nose scrunched just the slightest bit, the freckled skin over her nose darkening faintly, eyes flickering to yours once as she muttered, “don’t move.”

You forced your muscles to relax, watching as she smeared another good portion of blood on the side of your neck, feeling the cold thick liquid slowly running down your collarbone as she hesitated yet again, seeming to get stuck watching the blood on your neck before continuing, acting as if it never happened, arranging the blood in a pattern that appeared to be extremely specific to what she required.

Once done she prepared her notebook and began writing, pencil moving at impressive speeds with expert precision as she occasionally glanced back at you for reference, muttering once in a while under her breath, eyebrows furling in concentration as she recorded her observations before she repeated the process all over again.

When you were receiving a nice bloodstain on your lower calf you felt a raindrop on your nose as the sky darkened further, a low rumble of thunder making itself heard throughout the woods. You glanced at the sky and felt your body tighten a little at another soft echo of thunder throughout the woods; you never liked storms but you definitely weren’t going to seem like a coward in front of Wednesday. Especially not now. So you bit your tongue, laid your head back against the moss and let her work, trying to ignore the precise, somewhat gentle touches accompanied by the sound of pencil on paper.

You found the whole situation odd yet fitting.

After a bit longer, Wednesday sighed and stood, taking down a last few notes before starting to pack up her bag, replacing her materials neatly.

“You may get up now.”

With relief you sat up, looking down at the new bloodstains on your leg and neck. You reached down to try and wipe it but it stained. You huffed slightly, realizing you were going to need a good shower when you returned. Your clothes could use a good wash too if you managed to wash the scent of pig blood out of them.

You sat up, brushing the loose dirt and forest debris off your shirt and pants, stretching your aching joints; somehow some tiny rocks had managed to find you spine nonetheless.

“Meet me in the fencing hall tomorrow night,” Wednesday stared at you for a moment, not bothering to thank you as she abruptly turned and started walking again.

You hurried after her, catching up easily as you were used to the forest terrain; when you caught up you huffed, “no thank you for my service?”

“I will display my regard for your work by improving your fighting skills instead of supplying you with empty compliments,” the raven looked up at you with slightly narrowed eyes. “Don’t push your luck.”

You couldn’t resist a little roll of your eyes but you nodded. You never acknowledged the fact that you both knew she wouldn’t actually refuse to teach you how to fight. 

Or so you hoped.

As the two of you walked, a faint rumble echoed through the sky as a soft downpour began to rinse the forest. You felt the sprinkle wash away some of the lesser dried blood and you instinctively shook out your neck and hair a little bit, not a fan of wet hair or fur.

You continued walking, suddenly aware of Wednesday’s eyes on you once more. Observing you. Not with that same interest that she did when she was working. To you it appeared more inquisitive… slightly curious. Like you were a puzzle she was determined to solve. You pretended not to notice.

But you did. 

—————

pt.4 here!

[southernsolarpunk]

so since I've basically seen all the seasons at my house now I've got a decent understanding of the micro-climate of my yard, and i need to document it somewhere so here goes:

front yard gets scorched. straight up. it doesn't really let up until 2-3 pm so i need full sun drought tolerant plants in the front area. (i dug some swales to redirect runoff from the foundation of the house, so its a little more moist than it was when we first moved in) this can be slightly mitigated by planting a couple dwarf trees in the very front area of the yard but that'll only help a little. i got a hardy hibiscus 'dark mystery' (Hibiscus Moscheutos, native perennial) that i plant to take cuttings of next year that has been loving the heat. This area i also plan to plant a bunch of milkweed (current varieties I'm planning to get are sandhill milkweed [asclepias Humistrata] green milkweed [Asclepias Viridis] Purple milkweed [Asclepias Purpurascens]) I'm also planning to get some native ornamental grasses to place around the entire property (including the front yard) some other plants i planning to plant are cardinal flower (Lobelia Cardinalis), liatris (liatris Spicata), Gaillardia (Gaillardia Pulchella), prairie sage (artemisia Ludoviciana), mountain mint (pycnanthemum muticum). more to be decided after i put this wave in. (definitely want some bee balm)

right side of the yard (by the house) is dark, cool, wooded, and wet. the rhododendron i put in was doing great until my brother in law took a lawnmower to it. :( but at least i can replace it. this is also where i have my feijoas (he also ran over them but they bounced back). probably will just add some rhododendrons & hydrangeas. i need to look up some more native shade plants for this area.

left side of the yard (by the house) gets even more sun than the front yard. i want to get a green house eventually (i have to replace all the windows in my house so I'll repurpose those for it) so this is probably the best place to do it.

backyard is large, part is dry and sunny, and towards the back is wooded. this is where i plan to put the fruit & nut trees i want. i need to thin out some of the less mature trees because they're extremely dense at the moment. (got a battery-powered chainsaw. i would have just borrowed my stepdads tools but hes convinced i would break them if i used them. :/ but at least now my father-in-law can borrow mine if he needs it) in the center of the backyard is where i have 2 12x4 gardens beds, and in the future i plan to add 2 more. this is where i have a lot of passionflower maypop plants, i transplanted some to the fenceline but i want an archway trellis as well. (i have watched probably over a hundred gulf fritillary caterpillars turn into butterflies, they're everywhere) the right side of the yard is where i plan to put the taller fruit & nut trees, (wont block sunlight) but i also want to get some dwarf fruit trees to place around as well. also this summer i saw lightning bugs in the backyard (!!!!!!!) so i plan to put in some grasses around an area that's like 12x12 ft across that dips down a few feet. (this area literally looks like a dried up small pond) i looked up how to use clay to create a natural lining for a pond, so this area will be good for lightning bugs, frogs, toads, salamanders, etc. this is in the lowest part of the yard, so its an optimal place for it.

this is just some basic plans for the future- i got a lot of seeds online so its not too break-the-bank expensive, and i get a lot of bushes and trees from etsy which can be great for saving money, despite the slight increased risk for mislabeled plants. i save money with this so i can get some nicer varieties of fruit trees that i really want (fuji apples, hosui pears, bing & rainier cherry trees).

my father-in-law really enjoys canning and preserving so I'm growing all the trees so i can give him some fruit to preserve (he lives in a very low-laying area, and a lot of it is swamp so he doesn't have as much room for fruit trees, his blackberry jam is amazing) also a guy my partner works with is into gardening as well (dudes he gave us so many peppers literally pounds of them) so i want to be able to return the favor with fruit. :) my mom and stepdad also have some fruit trees but I'm hoping to grow some that they don't have so we can trade.

ultimately i just want to grow as much food as possible and give it away to everyone who wants it, while also hosting the ultimate butterfly rest stop.

if you read this and enjoyed it, I'm glad! I'll post about these projects as i do them (which will be slowly) so i hope maybe this will inspire some of you :)

[mangodoodles000]

God au

Phil has always had a bit of a green thumb plants always seem to bend to his will.

But

He did not wake up today to expect HE WOULD LITERALLY BEND NATURE AT HIS WILL OR EVEN CREATED IT!

He never expected or wanted to become a god no less expected to become a god of nature with all the death that walks behind his path.

He stumbles around in the courts and gold Palace looking for some guy called cucurucho? Apparently he's supposed to be filling him in on his duties and everything else about godhood he really didn't listen to those bunnies.

He manages to stumble into the office with a white bear that had an unsettling smile. This time he paid attention quietly to what it said about his duties and what rules he had to follow and what's more, but no one could blame him for his sudden burst.

"MARRIED!?! YOU DUM ASS I CAN'T BE MARRIED I JUST GOT HERE HOLY SHIT I AM SOROUND BY DUM ASSES"

He was a bout to lunch at the furry creature but it quickly pulled out a gun and shot him.

The world went black.

.

.

.

.

Missa was during the regular day today singing about cats and sandwiches, flirting with pineapples and guiding souls you know you know the whole works.

He's seen a lot of unexpected things in his life he would like to say. like the one time he saw a dinosaur get stuck in mud! he was the one to take it soul to the afterlife!

But never in his life would he think he would get any type of promotion no less GOD HOOD.

He's not fit or responsible enough to handle this responsibility he can hardly handle this!

But he follows the bunnies anyways, they said since cucarucho had to handle a issue that they would inform him instead of his duties and the rules that he must follow and another extra thing. He tried his best to listen carefully he could hardly believe his ears whenever he heard the last thing.

" Marriage?!? No no no you got the wrong guy I am nowhere near marriage man I can't even make a sandwich sometimes and you want me to get married oh no -

They wait until he stops burying himself in a little rabbit hole of emotions.

To lead him to the place where he is staying.

It's an odd place it is twisted and split and turned with life and death with every beautiful flourishing flower there is death the ground is littered in animal bones.

There are giant flowers that will eat you and Missa knows from almost experience he got a little too close on accident spooked by a different plant! And whell you can guess what happened next right?

Anyway they finally approached an open sanctuary in the middle a dark Palace lies almost being overtaken by life. He's led inside surrounded by a whimsical interior of deep green blues and purples with dark wood there are golden and silver accents everywhere.

He is led to every room and given a whole tour of the place they stop at one room with a crow school as a crust and they leave him.

He opens the door to a master bedroom the most fancy luxurious thing he's ever set his eyes on. But somehow it feels warm and comforting his eyes finally wander over to the bed seeing a man laying on top of it.

Spooked by the rather sudden appearance he screams and tries to scramble out the door but he ends up falling on his ass.

The sleeping man stirs from his sleep taking a minute to observe and soak in his surroundings.

" What the fuck"

Phil woke up with a throbbing headache and too much on his eyes he was in a room full of gold and a combination of green and purple silks and elegant dark wood furniture.

He looks over to see a man fallen on his ass probably the funniest s*** he seen today.

" What the fuck"

He can't help himself he laughs until he can't breathe. When he finally calms himself down he takes a minute to soak in the man's appearance.

He is lightly tanned he has dark hair a skull mask and he wears reaper robes. He looks anxious and out of place, Phil softens his gaze he can relate.

" Hay mate uh- want to check out this bed it's pretty comfy"

Here :) I thought I might have give you some crumbs

DA FUK U MEAN CRUMBS, THIS IS A WHOLE GOD DAMN FEAST-

Anyways, I really like this idea, it actually reminded me a bit of my au that I’m working on

I’ll take some of these ideas for inspiration in the future

Thank u for sharing this au tho :)

[funky-fox-fics]

idk if u were serious about the fluff prompts but uh...................... sure. let's think of cute fluffy things. for some reason i've got winter on the brain. it's october. I'm not doing hot chocolate I'm NOT because if I do hot chocolate i'll just start thinking about Christmas and then my ideas won't have any variety-

snow

literal sleeping together (my favorite tag ever forever)

sweet

movies

music

sunset

flowers

warmth

gifts

author's note: hello anon! i was being serious about the fluff prompts. those are a lot of prompts, so i put them in a spinner and came out with sunset! also you get hot chocolate as a bonus.

The crisp October breeze rattles through the trees, shaking their branches and whisking away the leaves like a child playing. It's a good wind, all things considered; Impulse soars along on it, wings catching the wind and twitching in response to the slightest change.

(He's very glad for elytrian bugs; he's always awed by the way Skizz does it, even with poking into his mind. It must be an avian thing--it's a thousand little calculations and observations, always running at the corner of his mind, and Skizz doesn't even pay attention to them unless Impulse calls them out.)

It's amazing, Skizz says, and Impulse pokes into his head to see that he's having dinner--pizza in his starter base. It's cheese, Skizz adds mildly, a hum of thoughts in the background delighting at the taste of it.

I don't mind cheese, Impulse conveys. He'd been heading back from the Shopping District, decided to do a fly-around, and the day's over now--there's no harm in a sleepover or something. Hold on, I'm right at your pyramid, gimme a moment.

He does one final circle around it, marveling at the gradient work--for someone who puts no stock in their building ability, it's pretty good--and then he flies straight toward where Skizz's base is. He barely even needs to take full control of his body. Skizz slips into the cracks, filling in Impulse's earthbound heritage with his own knowledge of flying, his own knowledge of his base.

Impulse lands, and the door behind him is wide open, showcasing a beautiful view of the sunset. The dusk paints the sky with gold and oranges, fading into pinks and purples and then into a dark blue near where the moon will rise. Still the sun reaches out with its rays of light like hands and trails them along the edge of the house, each stalactite, like a goddess taking her world into her hands at the end of its initial creation.

Skizz is there beside him, and the low hum of his thoughts is the only sound between them. The sun is setting, and it is downright beautiful. Impulse would've missed it in his bright city, where the sky doesn't change colors except for blue to black. But here there's less harsh light, an open door to see the sky through.

A soft awe-wonder-love passes through the bond, through the silence. Aren't the sunsets here beautiful? Skizz whispers in the backs of their minds, like if he speaks out loud the spell will break and the sky will become just a normal sky again, dark and starless and shadowed.

Beyond them, a crow darts across the grass, and with a rough and easy cry it launches itself into the air and swoops away.

The spell--if it was a spell, if the spell was just that beautifully unbroken silence--is broken. Impulse turns back to Skizz, who's absently holding his pizza and still watching the sun set.

Pizza? Impulse nudges against Skizz's mind, which is gold and orange and pink and purple and blue blue blue.

Right, Skizz says, shaking himself, turning back. I've also got hot chocolate. We can watch a bad Christmas movie later?

It's almost Halloween.

Fine then. IT?

Impulse laughs and nods, though whether it's only in their heads or also physically he doesn't know.

(That's the fun thing about being a binary. At the end of the day, it's so much easier to just have someone get what you're saying, you barely need physical bodies at all. The difference between physicality and mentality becomes blurred. Both of them know what's happening in both realms, so the line doesn't really matter. It's nice.)

They head into Skizz's kitchen for some pizza and hot chocolate. Through the window in there, the sun still sets, and the stars begin to come out.

[niki-phoria]

Hello, first of, I just wanna say your writing and stories has help me like literally 😭 so thank you so much!!!🤍🤍🤍

I was wondering if you could do Jake and Jay from Enphyen x male reader. Since valentines is tomorrow, maybe Jake and jay is trying to impress and try to get the male readers' attention. Jake and jay fights for Male reader to be their Valentine. For example maybe Jake and Jay trying to impress male reader with their muscles🥲. Ending could be fluff with male reader going out with both of them. Again if you don't wanna write this you don't have to lol. Have a great wonderful day!!!!!!!🤍🤍🤍🫧🫧

they look SO GOOD omg mullet jake >> and jay's earrings sknlknsl

pairing: non idol!jay x non idol!jake x male!reader (he/him pronouns) genre: fluff word count: 1.2k

includes: poly relationship (at the very end end), high school au, probably poor descriptions of high school, blushy jake, blushy jay, i love blushy boys lmao

a/n: thank you for requesting !! i made this a high school au bc i had a lot of inspiration for the idea i hope that's okay lol this is being posted after valentines day so i just made it into a normal confession fic. it means so much that you like my writing <33 i really liked this idea, i hope you like it :))

additional notes: it physically pains me that so many idols love justin beiber for some reason what does that man have that i do not /j i was looking for any solo covers from jay but all i could find was a duet with heeseung for off my face so that's what he sings here and the boquet is based on this pic

requests open !! read my rules first

you’re met with the overwhelming smell of flowers as soon as you open your locker. you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face at the sight before you. a bouquet of purple dahlias sits delicately placed between your textbooks. 

“i take it you like them?” jake asks, leaning against the locker next to yours. you smile, taking them out and holding them against your chest. 

“i love them,” you smile, pulling him into a quick hug. “thank you!” 

a light flush spreads across jake’s face when you pull away. “i’m glad,” he murmurs. he absentmindedly plays with the strap of his backpack. “hey, i was wondering-” 

his question is cut off by the shrill noise of the school bell, officially announcing the start of the school day. slowly, the student body begins dispersing through the hallways, entering various different classrooms. “shit, i have a test in second period,” you curse to yourself. “oh, what were you gonna ask?” 

“it’s nothing important.” jake’s blush gets a little darker as he waves you off. “i’ll walk you to class?” 

“sure.” you set the flowers back as you close your locker, eagerly returning to jake’s side. his hand brushes against yours before he slowly reaches over, taking your hand into his. 

you dramatically sigh, throwing your head back in frustration. jay stifles a chuckle as he watches you roll onto the floor, laying on the carpet. “math sucks,” you whine. “i hate it here.” 

“what are you working on?” 

“trigonometry.” you nearly hiss the word. 

“come on, it can’t be that bad.” you lift your head to glare at him through your fringe before dramatically laying back down. 

“i am but a poor teenage boy. i can’t be expected to memorize the unit circle!” 

jay laughs, setting his notes aside and kneeling down next to you. “alright, why don’t we take a break?” you sit up as he walks over to the other side of his room, grabbing his guitar from it’s resting place against the wall. 

“ooh, gonna play me a song, pretty boy?” the nickname makes a dark flush spread across his face as he sits across from you. 

“i wont be able to if you keep flustering me like this,” he whispers. you chuckle. jay sets the guitar across his thigh, positioning his fingers along the neck. “i’m a little nervous, i haven’t played in front of anyone before.” 

“well, i’m honored to have the privilege of being the first.” he nervously repositions his fingers on the chords, staring down at his hands. “hey,” you reach over to grab his hand, making him look at you. “you’ll do great. i’m sure of it.” 

jay smiles, nodding. “thanks.” he takes a breath before he begins, slowly strumming the strings. “‘cause i’m off my face, in love with you / i’m out of my head, so into you / and i don’t know how you do it / but i’m forever ruined by you.” 

jay lets the final chords ring out. you sit in a comfortable silence for a few moments. “you’re incredible.” a flustered smile makes it’s way across his face, blush deepening a little. 

“thank you.” he whispers. an odd tension hangs in the air when he looks up at you. you stare into his eyes, deep brown pulling you in. their darkness is alluring. in the next minute you sit staring at him in silence, taking in every part of him, you decide you’d like to get lost in them forever. 

you sigh, setting your belongings onto the library table. jake stifles a laugh as he watches you. “you know we’re gonna have to pick all of this up later, right?” 

you playfully glare at him, ignoring him as you set your bag down on the floor. across from you jay smiles. “you know y/n. he can’t study if he doesn’t have a highlighter in every color in case he needs to take notes.” 

“at least i’m prepared,” you retort, opening your computer. “what are we working on anyways?” 

“chemistry lab.” 

“don’t you actually need to take notes though?” your eyes widen as you look over at jake. 

“notes? did i miss something?” 

his eyebrows furrow as he looks at you. “for history. about the korean war?” 

jay chuckles. “did you forget?” 

“i think so.” you close your laptop, sliding your chair back to stand up. “can you watch my stuff? i need to get my textbook.” 

“go ahead.” 

“thanks.” 

jay waits for you to leave the library before leaning in a little closer to jake, voice dropping to a whisper. “are you two going out?” 

“what?” jake cocks his head at him. “no, why would you think that.” 

“i heard about the flowers.” 

“oh, that’s just a little joke we do every year.” jay nods. “why do you ask?” 

“i was planning on asking him out.” jake nearly freezes as he stares at his friend. this time it’s jay who’s confused at his reaction. “what is it?” 

“i, um…” jake glances over his shoulder before dropping his voice even lower. “i like him too.” 

“i thought you did.” jay has to stop himself from laughing at jake’s shocked expression. “come on, you’re not exactly… subtle.” 

“oh, and you are?” 

“listen, i don’t want this to affect our relationship, but i also don’t want to miss out on a chance with y/n.” 

“so, what are you thinking?” 

“i’m thinking we both ask him out and let him choose.” 

“choose?” jay shrugs. 

“i mean, unless you have a better idea.” 

“no, no. when were you planning on asking him?” 

“sometime tomorrow. probably at a cafe.” 

jake nods. “that works for me.” 

the cafe is nearly empty when you enter. you spot jake and jay immediately, both sitting together at a table. jay waves you over, smiling when you sit down. “sorry i’m late, i wasn’t expecting the rain.” 

“don’t be.” jake shakes his head. he slides a cup across to you. “we got you an americano.” 

“oh, thank you.” the cup is warm against your hand. you take your jacket off, setting it on the chair beside you. jay and jake share a glance together. you cock your head at them in confusion. “what are you planning?” 

“we’ve been talking, and we wanted to ask…” jake begins. 

“we both like you.” jay finishes. you raise an eyebrow at them. 

“and you want me to choose?” 

“that’s… kinda what we were planning, yeah.” 

you have to stop yourself from laughing in disbelief. “i’ve also been thinking and i like you too. both of you.” 

“so, you mean…” 

“listen, i really like you guys. and i’m willing to try this if you are.” 

jake is the first to react, reaching out to take your hand. “i really like you. i want to try.” 

you look over at jay. he contemplates for a second before nodding. “as long as we take it slow.” 

“we don’t have to do anything until all of us are comfortable.” jake squeezes your hand. 

“does this mean i can call you mine?” jay smiles. 

“i’ll be yours as long as you’ll have me.” 

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

"Cut!" | "Encore!"

a second part of "Cut" where it's the Others helping Roman figure out what's real and what isn't? Like a look into what continued support for Roman would look like. Maybe some creativitwins moments? – oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: self-doubt, not being able to tell what's real

Pairings: none? platonic dlampr? romantic dlampr? literally who knows not me

Word Count: 4839

After finding out that Roman's been having such a rough time, the others rally around him for Act 2.

 

After learning that Roman had, apparently, invented one of the most sophisticated psychological torture methods Remus has ever seen without even consulting him, and using it on himself, Remus decides that no, Roman doesn’t get to pretend he’s okay for a little bit.

And if that means he has to politely bully Roman into taking care of himself, then that’s what he’s gonna do.

“Come on,” he coaxes, throwing Roman’s favorite red rain jacket at him, “let’s go pick some mushrooms.”

“Re, it’s fine, I don’t have to—“

“A-bup-bup!” Remus holds up a finger. “No protesting, or else I’ll sic Ollie on you and tell him you’re worried.”

Which would lead to the Kraken cuddling Roman for the next week or so. All in all, not a bad thing, but judging by how much the thought of it is making Roman cringe, a good enough threat to make him shrug on the jacket and pull on his boots.

Remus pushes the door to the Imagination open to reveal part of their shared forest, a mossy path twisting into the foggy depths of the trees. The door shuts and vanishes with a slight hum as they start to walk, the soft crunch-crunch of their footsteps accompanied by noises that might be echoes of their own movement, might not. Every so often a shadow will pass through the mist, some large and hulking, others too quick to name. Large moss-covered boulders periodically loom out of the shadows, marking their path.

Roman’s red coat dulls and grows more vibrant in equal measure, almost looking like a bloodstain in the midst of the dark green forest. He shifts to walk a little closer to Remus, their shoulders brushing. It makes the grotesque little spark in the base of Remus’s chest burn just a little brighter; Roman’s still that brave boy that needs to know his brother is right next to him after all.

Maybe it makes Remus reach out and take Roman’s hand. Maybe.

As they move deeper and deeper into the mist, a shadow covers their path, almost swallowing them. They turn as a hulking wolf melts from the mist, a soft growl greeting them as two puffs of air leave its nostrils. Roman smiles softly, reaching up with his free hand. The wolf rumbles again, leaning down to touch its nose delicately to his fingertips.

“He missed you,” Remus says quietly, “and all your fairytale shit.”

“I’ve missed him too.”

The wolf huffs, sounding almost like a laugh, as he nudges the both of them onwards. Up ahead, in between the trees, lies a small clearing. As they pass underneath the wooden ceiling, sets of mushrooms greet them with an almost unnaturally blue bioluminescence. These are the ones Remus uses to feed the baby implings, and Roman to make some of the more complicated healing stuff. The wolf sits on his haunches as Roman produces two baskets, handing one to Remus as he starts harvesting some of the larger mushrooms.

“Hey, Ro?”

“Yeah?”

Remus toys with a leaf between his fingernails. “Why’d you start doing that?”

There’s a rustle as Roman pauses, sitting back on his heels. A quick glance over shows that he’s fiddling with a small purple flower. Behind them, the wolf sighs, putting his head on his front paws.

“It was easier,” he says eventually, “than trying to figure out what to do in the moment. I could try it as many times as I wanted to figure out what was right.”

“But that’s not what we would do.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, it kind of was. Not you, necessarily, but the others? I had them down perfectly for a while.”

“…Ro…”

The wolf stretches his neck out to take the very edge of Roman’s hood delicately between his teeth. Roman lets him tug him to standing, then over to his side. Remus gets up too, coming to sit between the wolf’s paws as he scents Roman’s hair.

“You smell sad, apparently.”

Roman pats the wolf’s cheek. “It’s fine, really. I just pushed myself too hard.”

”You were torturing yourself.”

“That’s exaggerating it, Remus—“

“You were subjecting yourself to horrible experiences for no reason,” Remus says bluntly, “aside from being fucking stupid, that’s torturing yourself.”

The wolf snuffles in agreement, all but making Roman sit down in the cradle of its front legs. Roman goes and Remus has the oddly entertaining thought of Little Red Riding Hood where the wolf and the grandmother are one and the same.

”It just worked,” Roman says eventually, still holding the flower, “it worked, okay?”

“Until it didn’t.”

Roman sighs and the flower falls to the ground. “Until it didn’t.”

The wolf noses at Roman’s hair. There’s a quiet rumble as he makes himself comfortable, curling more closely around the two of them. Remus takes the hint and shuffles close enough to pull his brother into his arms.

“Don’t do it anymore,” he mumbles, “come here, or something?”

“…I’ll try.”

The wolf growls at the mists until they part, the grove of mushrooms glowing faintly in the heart of the forest.

***

2.

Patton finds Roman curled up in the living room, nursing a cup of tea.

He’s been thinking a lot about what’s been going on recently, and at how much Roman had been bracing to get hurt every time something went wrong. With this in mind, he goes into the kitchen and takes out Roman’s favorite candy before walking over.

”Roman?”

Roman’s head jerks around. “Patton?”

Patton holds out the candy. Roman’s eyes widen for a moment and he sees his fingers twitch, before he looks back up.

“Is something wrong?”

A pang ripples through Patton’s chest but he forces himself not to wince. “No, kiddo, nothing’s wrong. I just thought you might want some candy.”

“O-oh.” Roman reaches out slowly, as if he’s waiting for the catch. When nothing comes, he takes it and tucks it safely into his lap. “Thanks.”

“Can I sit with you?”

“…sure.”

He half expects Janus to pop up. When he doesn’t, he takes a deep breath and sits on the other edge of the couch, looking at Roman out of the corner of his eye. Roman shifts a few times, clearly aware of his scrutiny, but he doesn’t say anything.

The clock ticks.

“Patton?”

“Yeah?”

“When…when we baked together last, what did we make?”

Patton frowns. “Last time…I believe the last time was chocolate chip cookies. For movie night.”

“Movie night, right.” Roman nods to himself a few times. “Thank you.”

“Would…would that be helpful?” He can’t help but push. “If I told you what else I remembered?”

“Not—maybe not right now, but if I need to ask you?”

“I can do that.”

They lapse into silence again. Patton tries not to stare too obviously at him. After a few long seconds, however, the words well up on the tip of his tongue and he can’t help it.

“Roman?”

“Yeah?”

“Can…I have a question for you.”

Roman shifts, turning to face him, the cup and candy balanced in his lap, almost out of sight. “What is it?”

“You seem…you seem like you’re afraid of me.”

Roman’s eyes widen. His mouth opens, probably to instinctively deny it, but he seems to remember that Janus can and will use that as an excuse to appear and smother him, so he closes it after a moment. Patton’s hands bunch and unbunch in the fabric of his pants. Roman looks away, his jaw working. His hand twitches on his cup again.

“It’s not that I’m scared of you,” he says finally, still not looking at him, “it’s…it’s more like I’m just…bracing.”

“For what?”

He winces again. “I’m—you know.”

“I don’t. Sorry,” he says when Roman flinches again, “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be short with you, I just want to know.”

“You’re always short,” Roman mumbles, sighing a moment later. “It just hurts sometimes when I’m talking to you and I don’t want it to hurt. But I know that’s not your fault and I’m not saying it is, I know that’s something I need to work on, I’m not blaming you—“

“Sweetheart, it’s okay,” Patton interrupts with a hand on his shoulder, “shh, it’s okay.”

Roman hesitates for a long moment before leaning into it. His chest flutters.

“I’m sorry it hurts,” he says instead, “is there…is there anything I can do to make it hurt less?”

”Not really. I just have to unlearn the whole…” He waves his hand in a way that’s probably supposed to indicate the Imagination. “That thing first. The, um, the reality checks are helpful though.”

“I’m glad.”

They go back to silence again, but Roman breaks it first this time. “Can—is that why you came down here?”

“Yeah. I wanted to talk to you.”

“How did you know I was here?”

Oh. Well, that’s an easy one. “It’s sunny outside and you finished your project yesterday. I knew you’d want to be down here to enjoy the warmth.”

Surprise and relief flicker across his face and a small smile forms. “You…really remember all that?”

“Roman, you’re one of my special little kiddos, of course I remember. Aww,” he coos when Roman’s face starts to turn pink, “you don’t have to be embarrassed, it’s okay!”

“Don’t do that, Padre.”

“Don’t do what?”

“No, no, no, that’s a trap, I know a trap when I see one. No, thank you.”

Patton giggles, shifting a little closer on the couch to lean against Roman’s side. The sunlight really does feel nice, not too hot, not too bright. His eyes drift closed, just enjoying the warmth of it.

After a moment, he hears the crinkle of candy wrappers and smiles.

***

3.

Virgil finds Roman in his room, sitting on his bed and looking too sad, and decides nope, it’s cuddle time.

Roman barely puts up a fight, which means it’s really cuddle time if Princey can’t even muster up a half-hearted protest, and soon they’re wrapped up in blankets with just the top of their heads poking out. Virgil hauls him up until he’s tucked under his chin, running his hands up and down his back as Roman stares off into nothingness. Every so often, a tremor will run through him, and he has to soothe it away before that little friendly face comes back.

“Hey,” he mumbles when Roman starts to glare at his desk instead of just looking at it, “hey, hey, Princey. You stay with me, okay? Don’t chase the mean thought rabbits.”

Roman hums something back, rubbing his cheek absent-mindedly against Virgil’s chest.

“You wanna talk about it?”

As soon as it comes out of his mouth, he knows it’s the wrong thing to have said. Roman tenses up and almost pulls away, growing somehow bigger and smaller at the same time. Virgil has to warp his arms tightly around him a squeeze to even get him to relax.

“We don’t have to talk,” he says as quickly as possible, “that’s fine. We can just lie here. I’m not gonna leave, you’re okay, you’re okay, Princey, calm down.”

It takes way, way too long to get Roman back from whatever brink that question pushed him to, to the point where Virgil’s rolling them over so he can squish Roman into the mattress. Only then does he finally lose that wide-eyed thing, sagging into the plush mound of blankets and leaning into Virgil’s touch.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Princey, it’s my fault for asking that in the first place.” He leans down to rest their foreheads against each other. “I won’t make you talk about it, I promise.”

“‘S stupid.”

“What’s stupid?”

Roman jerks his head. “That. That whole thing.”

“Why was it stupid?”

“You didn’t even do anything.”

Virgil sighs, shifting to prop himself up so they can talk properly. “As the Mindscape’s resident expert on freaking out about nothing—“

Roman snorts.

“—you’re fine, Princey. You…you’ve been having a bad time recently, so it’s all good.”

”..thanks.”

“Can I—and you can say no, you can tell me to fuck off, you have blanket permission to react however you want to this, not that you need it—can I ask why that question freaked you out?”

He braces himself for Roman to do anything from have a panic attack to hit him in the face—fair, honestly—but Roman just sighs, curling up in the lea of him. It’s…well, it’s kind of devastating.

“That’s the loneliest time.”

He frowns. “What’s the loneliest time?”

”Right before you tell someone what you did wrong.” Roman looks up at him. “Because they’re all concerned you’re upset, and then they hear why you’re upset, and then they don’t want to comfort you anymore.”

Maybe it’s because Princey’s unfairly good at describing things, or maybe it’s because Virgil’s paying attention to his emotional state right now, but he can feel the thing that Roman’s talking about. That cold swoop deep in his gut, the awful anticipation where you just know that they’re going to be mad or disappointed. The switch from having someone speak to you softly, that it’s alright, they’re here to help, it’s okay, to the cold as they pull away, as their voice hardens and their words grow sharper. How they’re going to tell you that you shouldn’t be upset, or that you deserve to feel bad, but you should focus on fixing your mistakes instead of letting you be hurt because you need to be.

Before he loses himself in the spiral of nasty brain feelings, he gives himself a small shake and hugs Roman tighter.

“You don’t need to be lonely right now,” he mumbles, “I’m right here. I’m right here, see? I’m not asking you what’s wrong, I’m not gonna be mad or disappointed, I don’t care. I care that you’re upset and you’re hurting and I want to help.”

Roman’s cold nose presses into the crook of his neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, Princey. If you gotta just sit with the hurt, I’ll sit with you.”

It takes a moment of shifting, but eventually Roman’s arms wind their way around Virigl’s waist and back. He squeezes. Virgil squeezes back. Some of the tension finally seems to bleed out of him, his eyes breaking from their stare to flutter closed.

“Oh, Princey,” he mumbles, half to himself, “you’re so tired.”

He makes sure the covers are pulled up around them and tucks Roman’s head against his. They’re probably not gonna be moving for a while.

***

4.

Logan holds out a hand before Roman can pull out his usual notebook. “I thought we could try something a little different today.”

“Okay, what did you have in mind?”

Logan reaches into his binder and pulls out a thin sheaf of paper, annotated with red pen. “I’ve been looking at some of the comments recently, and I realized that I’m out of practice with performing close-readings of texts. So I thought that I could talk about my analysis of one of the works that you’ve done, and you could tell me how I did?”

Roman’s mouth falls open. He drops his pen. “You—you want to what?”

“I’ve fallen out of the habit of that sort of analysis, and I’d like to not lose it entirely, so—“

“Why mine?”

Logan blinks. “Well, aside from the fact that you are one of the only writers with whom I can directly communicate and receive feedback, you are adept at crafting well-written pieces that would serve as excellent examples on which to practice.”

“I—uh—um—“ Roman splutters for another moment. “I-if you want to?”

“Thank you. I’ve picked one of the shorter pieces from the collection you updated recently.”

”Oh. Uh, okay.”

”Would it be helpful for you to have a copy as well?” Roman nods and he passes over another copy. “That does have my notes on it if you’d like to read along.”

There’s a flicker of something in Roman’s expression as he takes in the sheer amount of red ink on the pages, but he steels himself and nods. “Okay. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Excellent. Well, to begin with, I have to commend you on the efficacy of your opening line. It sets up the themes without being overt and it foreshadows the turning point that comes about two-thirds of the way through.” He moves down the page. “And the symbolism you’ve chosen really is masterful—taking the connotations of such well-known motifs and turning them on their heads, really incredible.”

“Uh—“

“I do have to ask: did you intend for the reading to be done multiple times? It’s habit for me; I find I develop greater appreciation for the writer’s craft upon a second read-through, but this one in particular, with the amount of parallels you’ve drawn begin the beginning and the end, it really does seem like—“

“Cut.”

Logan pauses, glancing up. Roman is staring at him, wide-eyed, his knuckles white on the edge of the table. The poor thing looks like he’s about to run away and Logan can’t stop himself from reaching for him.

“Cut,” Roman repeats, leaning away, “cut, cut!”

“Roman,” Logan says gently, “Roman, it’s me. It’s really me, I’m real.”

“But—but you’re being nice.”

Oh, Roman…

“N-not that you aren’t ever nice to me! You are nice,” Roman babbles, “you are, I just—I just meant that we’ve never done something like this before, and—and I just—I didn’t know—“

“Shh, shh,” Logan murmurs, trying to get his attention back, “can you look at me?”

Roman looks. Slowly, telegraphing his movements, he reaches over and takes Roman’s hands in his.

“Squeeze,” he bids lightly, “I’m here.”

Roman squeezes, an embarrassed flush coming to his face. Before he can apologize, Logan squeezes again.

“It’s okay. That was my error; I should have anticipated that you might react poorly to such a deviation from the norm. I didn’t mean to upset you, truly.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s alright if it’s not.”

Roman swallows heavily. His gaze hasn’t left their hands. As Logan watches, his eyes start to grow damp.

“Oh, little one…”

“It’s fine,” Roman insists, freeing one of his hands to scrub roughly at his face, ”I’m just being dramatic.”

"You're dramatic a lot, I daresay we're used to it." His gentle tone undoes most of the bite in his words, but clearly not enough from the way the hand in his twitches. "You're real, I'm real, we're here at this table, that's all real."

There's a tremble to Roman's lower lip as he tries to take a deep breath and steady himself. Logan opens his hand again, waiting, until Roman slowly places it back in his. After another moment, he looks back up. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, it's not your fault."

"Isn't it?"

"No," Logan says, firmer this time, "you are upset and rightfully so. You don't have to apologize for something upsetting you when you have no control over what will and will not trigger you."

"…okay."

"Are you alright to keep going? We can always stop if you'd rather do something else. I hear Remus has been working on his side of the castle, we could go walk around there instead."

"Is that okay?"

"Of course," he says, smoothly packing everything away, only for Roman to hold onto his copy of his story.

"Can I…keep this?" he asks, almost shyly. Logan smiles, ruffling his hair.

"Of course, little one. I'll be happy to talk about it whenever you like."

***

5.

Janus opens the door, softening when he sees Roman standing there. "Hello, sweetie, what can I do for you?"

"I'm making a bad choice and I want you to know about it."

He blinks. Right to the point, then. "Do you want to come in?"

Roman nods sharply, stepping inside as Janus shuts the door carefully behind them. He doesn't move any further inside, lingering by the door, until Janus prompts him again. "I'm trying not to…do that thing again."

"That's good, I'm proud of you for that."

A quiet flinch. "In order to do that, I'm…writing it. Instead. Not it directly, but something—a vent thing to help deal with it."

"Alright, I think I understand."

"In order to do that, I have to…sit with it."

Janus frowns. "'It?'"

"The…bad stuff."

Ah. "I see. Are there other alternatives for—"

"I'm not here to help stop it," Roman interrupts, even as he braces for what he thinks will be a consequence for talking over him, "I'm here because—"

He cuts himself.

Something terribly sad strikes Janus then, as he looks at the little prince trying to summon his courage again: when was the last time they saw Roman chase what he wanted? Without fear, with reckless abandon, with the passion that they all came to associate with him?

Had it been before the wedding?

Before the callback?

When had Roman gotten to want?

"I'm writing to get it out of me," comes the mumble and Janus shakes himself out of his musing, "and when…when it's out of me…"

Oh.

Oh.

"Come here when you're finished," Janus promises softly, "I'll look after you. We've been talking about doing makeup for a while now, I've got some stuff we can try."

Roman nods. His mouth twitches. And Janus can't help himself; he walks closer, reaching out to take Roman's hand in his. His gloves brush the familiar calluses, worn smooth from years and years of training, and he fits his fingers to the ones that feel the coldest. Roman's breath catches in his throat as he does, instinctively turning a little more.

"We can watch something too," he continues, still as though he's luring some skittish animal, "or just cuddle, if you want. I've missed one of my space heaters recently, you know Remus is much too squirmy."

Roman chokes out a laugh that's almost a sob. Janus squeezes his hand, daring to pull him closer. He wraps his other arm around Roman's shoulders, a sympathetic noise leaving him at the way Roman screws his eyes shut.

"We could go to the greenhouse too," he offers, and he sees Roman physically hold himself back from reaching out, "just sit there? The flowers are just starting to bloom, the cat that's found its way in there would be happy to have some cuddles."

"Stop," Roman croaks out, "I have to…I have to do it first."

"You don't have to be hurt to deserve comfort, sweetie."

"I think we both know that's not true."

Janus doesn't get a chance to address how devastating that sentence was before Roman's pulling away from his hold, mumbling a thanks, and walking into the hallway like a knight to a doomed battle. Janus watches him go for another second before he turns to the mirror over his dresser. He runs his finger carefully along the edge. Some of the gold flakes off onto his thumb and he turns it this way and that. Few of the bits retain any luster at all, let alone their original sheen.

Not for the first time, he feels a pang of regret for how he handled…everything. Especially with Roman. Remus accused him of using Roman's face as a launchpad to get himself in better standings with Thomas, and he didn't need to be Lord of the Lies to know that Remus was being as honest as they come. How much of Roman's disbelief of things was due to him? How badly did he shatter Roman's perception of reality that he felt the need to worsen it on his own? How could he have done things differently, what could he have done to avoid whatever this tenuous existence is they find themselves in now?

He gives himself a shake, dislodging the golden specks. There's no use dwelling on what's already been done. Roman has come to him to ask for help. That's more than he ever could have hoped for after all the two of them have been through. It's not up to him to determine what he could have done then, he has to focus on what he has to do now.

***

+1.

It's done.

It's done.

It's done and it's out of him and he never has to think about any of it ever again and he closes his laptop and stuffs his phone into his pocket and stumbles out of his room in an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants and he doesn't have to deal with the awful thoughts ricocheting around his head anymore and he's not going to the Imagination, he's not, he's not, he's not—

He almost doesn't realize he's made it to Janus's door until he's staring at it dumbly. He sees a hand lift up to knock on it—oh, that's his hand, he's knocking—and then the door's opening and there's Janus.

"Oh, sweetie," he hears faintly, "are you all done?

He nods and then he's being ushered into the soft dark room and there are gloved hands on his shoulders, guiding him gently over to the big overstuffed chair thing and Janus is tilting his chin up.

"Hey," he murmurs, and Roman blinks, "hi, sweetie. You look like you're in quite desperate need of a cuddle, is that true?"

He nods again, reaching up, only to let out a bewildered noise when Janus fully picks him up and carries him over to a bed of—oh, this must be where Janus keeps his heat lamp because all the pillows and blankets are soft and warm and it's like being put in the dryer in the best way possible. Janus chuckles when he mumbles something to that effect, lying down and wrapping all of his arms around him.

"Is that right, little prince? Are we putting you in the dryer so you can come out all clean?" He wipes a tear with his thumb, giving him a gentle squeeze. "Or are you going to be like Remus and fall asleep in the freshly clean laundry before I put it all away?"

"I heard lies and slander," Remus announces, appearing out of nowhere, only to coo at the sight of Roman reaching out for him. "Oh, hey, Roro, is it cuddle time?"

"Mhm."

"Remus," he hears Janus say, a little firmer, "I seem to recall a conversation about asking before we do things."

"I summoned him," Roman mumbles, "on accident, but he—I—"

"That's alright, then." Janus says, relaxing back into the pillows and scratching his fingers across Roman's scalp, "just wanted to make sure you were alright with it."

"Roro knows I'm the best at squishing people back into their meat sacks." There's a weight that he knows is Remus pressing carefully on his chest and legs, making him mumble sleepily. "You wanna take a nap?"

"…mm."

"You can fall asleep," Janus says softly, moving to lightly scratch his back, "I don't mind. You look like you could use it."

"That's rude, Janny, you saying he looks tired?"

"I'm saying that he's not been able to open his eyes since I picked him up."

Oh. That's true. Janus didn't turn the lights off, his eyes are just closed. But opening them sounds like work and everything is so soft and warm right now…

Wait.

Trying not to alert the others that he's awake, or that he's waking himself up, he rouses just enough to whisper cut.

Nothing happens. They don't fade, it doesn't get cold, nothing—nothing changes.

Then Janus lets out a quiet oh, sweetie, and Remus wraps his arms around his legs.

"We're real," Remus promises, "we're real and we're right here. Snakey has you, you're all good, we're all real."

"I'm right here," Janus murmurs, kissing his forehead—he wouldn't dare imagine that— "you're here with me, we're just having a nap, alright?"

"Will you be here when I wake up?"

"Of course, sweetie."

"Right here, Roro. We're not going anywhere."

There is such a strange feeling, Roman decides, about actually having the thing you dream about. You don't want to touch it, you don't want to ruin it by bringing into the reality you know. What if it decides it doesn't like it? What if it decides it doesn't like you? What do you do with a dream that wants nothing to do with you? Or worse, what if you do finally get your hands on it only to reveal that it was never worth dreaming about in the first place?

A hand gently tugs on his hair.

"You're thinking too much, sweetie." Lips brush his forehead. "Just close your eyes and rest. Let us take care of you."

"This is real," he can't help but mumble as Janus reaches out to turn off the lamp, "right?"

"Yes, sweetie, this is real."

From near the base of his ribs, he feels Remus nuzzle him. "Real as can be, Ro-bro. Now make with the shushy."

Roman dozes off in the warm pile of pillows and all he can think is encore.

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl

[clickityclackity]

Bloody Hyacinths (A Greek Mythology Retelling)

COPY PASTING FROM MY MAIN ACCOUNT AS THIS IS MY NEW WRITING BLOGGGG

just a little something i wrote after reading the Trials of Apollo.Apollo and Hyacinthus own my heart 🥺🥺

i really hope uncle rick brings hyacinthus into the story at some point in a future book cos he’s been mentioned so many times(/ω＼)

The meadow stretched out in front of us_, _adorned by purple flowers. I had created the flowers so lovingly, as I desired them to be a reflection of his beautiful eyes. Such a deed should have been child’s play for the great Apollo, but when I looked into those purple orbs, the turbulence of colored sea that pulled me in, it seemed to me that nothing could compare to the accentuated color of his irises. It had been a while since we got off my sun chariot, and my horses were on their way down the sky without me. In literal terms, the sun was beginning to set, wrapping the meadow in its dim colors. I didn’t stand there as the sun god that day, I was fulfilling my duties as a lover. Of cherishing the most wonderful mortal I’d ever met.

I glanced at him with expectant eyes. I hadn’t felt such need for validation in a couple centuries to say the least. His skin wore a dark, honey color and his sturdy figure turned to face me as I said, “My dear Hyacinthus, accept this gift as an expression of my great love and admiration for you. This island is now yours. When you lie down and let these flowers engulf you, you’ll know what a simple gaze of yours does to me.’’

_ _

I woke up with a start, for the fifth time the past hour. I’d seen the visions at least a thousand times before, my heart getting heavier each time the scene flashed before my eyes. Ever since my father, Zeus, turned me into a mortal, my sorrows aggrandized. My tears streamed down my cheek in patterns down my blistered skin like water moving down a crevasse. The pain had been agonizing enough when I was a god, but my puny mortal self had a pathetic response to heartbreak—heartbreak a several thousand years old.

The mortal world is cruel. Fear and danger roamed around every corner like wind spirits on Calypso’s island. With my immortality snatched away, the fear of death was so dreadful; it sent shivers down my fragile body. I could feel the dark, caustic mist approaching me insidiously, behind which is the face of the infamous Thanatos, Death himself, prepared to pull me into the ‘void’. Millennias lived in glory, all shattered within seconds. Surely no one could have imagined the great Apollo crumbling under the weight of mortality like this, not even Thanatos, or Zeus, or Apollo himself.

Not even my lovely Hyacinthus, whose life had so cruelly been taken away by my carelessness. I winced as the image appeared in my brain once again, my discus flying like Zeus’ lightning, Zephyros’ wind bending its course towards Hyacinths’s mass of blonde hair, him turning his head just in time for the discus to leave an ugly gash across his forehead. At least that’s what it looked like to me, until he started pouring out of the wound. I remember letting out a scream as he fell, his weight cushioned by the bed of flowers. You’d think my priority would be saving him. It should’ve. But I was too absorbed by my anger towards Zephyros, while his life slipped away- in the arms of the god of healing, who did nothing to save him.

I spent centuries blaming Zephyros. But deep down I knew it was my arrogance that was at fault. At some point I faced the truth and the blow was strong enough to break an Olympian. Its definitely strong enough to kill a mortal…

_ _

His head was cradled in my arms, his luscious hair a gold and red mélange. The red was all over my hands, how a murderer’s hand should look. ‘tha thymámai,’ I whispered persistently into his ears until his fair lashes veiled his purple orbs,  and his body went limp against mine. ‘I’ll remember. I’ll remember what it was like to love you.’ I would have done anything to save him, and you bet I could have, being a mighty Olympian. However, it was too late. Divinity meant so little at that moment. I wondered if he thought he was just another mortal in my life, who would wither anyway. That was the bitter truth. He was always destined to die anyway. But I, I was Apollo of the twelve Olympians. I had to carry on, without him. I had to carry on knowing the fact that I was the one responsible for his fall. It occurred to me, perhaps death isn’t as bad as it seems.

_ _

When I watched his face through teary eyes, death was the last thing I worried about. Such a punishment would give him justice, anyway. Or it could allow me to be with him, to love him once again. My vision was blurry but somehow his face was crystal clear. My tears only seemed to make his wonderful skin sparkle. And his eyes…their purple irises so intense, they seemed to radiate a fiery light.  The light I had so longed to see. The light I yearned for thousands of years after. I would do anything to save the purple fire that light up my life although I was the one to shut it down completely.

His face began to dissolve as these thoughts clouded my head. I reached out a quivery hand, and just like that, he was gone completely.

The meadow stretched out in front of me. i stood alone, my heart aware of his absence and aching. I stared at the island smothered in purple bulbous flowers, at least ten shades lighter with their heads low. Conceivably mourning. And right there in the middle was a cluster of dark colored....hyacinths. Yes, that’s what i’ll call them. He lay there on the purple hyacinths as they soaked his blood and grew into red and magenta flowers. Gradually more of the bloody hyacinths would grow and acclimatize among the shades of purple, forever reminding me of that day. 

‘tha thymámai.’

I woke up with a jolt again but it  had stopped having an effect on me after the sixth time. I was drained of energy although i lay asleep the whole time. But i couldn’t sit up either.

The visions were gone and i was miserable. I noticed that i was holding onto something tightly- _very _tightly as my hand was numb and my nails bloody. As my vision focused, I realized it was a hyacinth- insidiously soaking the blood from my palm. I let out a sob. All my despair came rushing out through endless streams of tears. I felt like I could go on forever- but my abject body would be unable to comply. So i cried until I had no tears left. And my mind just thought of the one thought that hadn’t occurred to me in years. it was possible to die from heartbreak and perhaps-

Perhaps death isn’t as bad as it seems.

[wordsmithwhumpsandfluff]

For the ask game: Eliana as sickie, Jordan and Keiko as caretakers with angst/stomach flu/emergency room

Ok. This one is intense. I actually nearly cried while writing this one💔

!!!!!!TW!!!!!!: Homophobia, racism, very dark thoughts & emeto

——————————————————————————————————

Eliana kept styling and un-styling her hair, unsure of what to do with it. One thing was for sure: her mom was going to make some comment on it, no matter what, like she always did. Her parents were always telling her to go back to blonde and to lose the purple.

“Two braids?” Jordan suggested.

“Already tried that,” Eliana said while parting her hair down the middle. Finally, with a frustrated sigh, she dropped her hands and let her hair fall loosely. “Why the hell does my sister want to go to California for her sweet 16? Can’t that bitch go literally anywhere else that’s not just a few hours away?”

Jordan smiled sympathetically, walking up behind Eliana and gathering the girl’s beautiful purple hair. “Well, I was going to have to meet your parents eventually. Plus, it’s only a day, and it’s not like we’re going to your sister’s party next week. And you said that your brother was coming, too, and he’s gonna basically be a buffer. Right?”

Eliana nodded, smiling as Jordan braided and twisted her hair into the most elaborate and beautiful bun she’d ever seen. It was a little bit messy, but still very elegant.

Eliana had been scared about how she would dress in front of her family, but she wound up just sucking it up and wearing her favorite Van Goh t-shirt and some jeans that she painted flowers on herself, and Jordan was wearing a jean jacket with a light blue summer dress.

Since the night before, Eliana’s stomach has felt. . . awful, to say the least. But it was manageable, and she was chalking it up to nerves.

Of course, her parents knew she had a girlfriend. She had talked about Jordan once or twice the last few times she visited her parents. But they were finally going to meet her, in person. Just the thought was making Eliana nauseous.

Jordan was frustratingly calm. But then again, Jordan had quite a spine, whilst Eliana still cowered whenever her mother simply said her name.

“Ready to go?” Jordan asked.

Eliana nodded.

“You have your phone, right?”

Eliana nodded.

“Your car or mine?”

Eliana nodded.

“Did you solve global warming yet?”

Eliana started to nod, then froze, looking at Jordan with confusion.

Jordan just smirked, grabbing Eliana’s keys from her kitchen counter and saying, “I’ll drive, sweetheart.”

— — —

“El!”

Eliana smiled as she ran up to her brother who was waiting in front of the restaurant. He hugged her tightly, basically lifting her off of her feet.

Jordan came up to them, smiling as well. “Hi, Aaron,” she said.

Aaron and Eliana broke apart from the hug and Aaron smiled at Jordan. “Hey,” he said. “It’s nice to finally see you not through FaceTime.”

Jordan chuckled. “Same.”

They exchanged a quick hug. Then Aaron lowered his voice slightly. “So, the preacher-patrol is inside. Mom got here really early, and said I was late even though I was early, too. So just warning you about that.”

Eliana sighed heavily, rubbing her hands against her face before dropping them and standing straighter. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

Aaron went inside first, and Eliana took Jordan’s hand in hers before following.

The table that Aaron went to had 6 people already sitting there. Jordan recognized Eliana’s parents from a few pictures she’d seen of them. She also saw two girls that looked younger than them, as well as another girl who looked almost exactly like Eliana but with natural blonde hair and a more simple (or boring) sense of clothing. Eliana’s younger sisters and her twin all looked at Eliana and Jordan with judgmental looks, and Eliana’s parents looked at them with a mix of disappointment, coldness, and disgust that they did a poor job of hiding behind tight smiles.

“Hello, mom. Hi, dad,” Eliana said while sitting. She looked at her sisters. “Hello,” she said to them. Only her youngest sister—Lucy, who was 14—gave a little wave back whilst her other sisters ignored her.

“Hello, Eliana,” her mother said. “You’re late, you know.”

“We agreed to meet at 1, mom. We got here at exactly 1.”

The woman shrugged and condescendingly said under her breath, “If you’re not early, you’re late. I’ve always told you that.”

The table was silent with tension. Jordan bit the inside of her cheek, feeling Eliana’s family casting looks at her. Eliana cleared her throat suddenly, saying, “I wanted you all to officially meet my girlfriend. This is Jordan.”

At the word ‘girlfriend’, Eliana’s twin curled her nose in disgust. She looked Jordan up and down, and then said to Eliana, “A dyke and a chink? Seriously?”

The words stunned Eliana and Jordan. Aaron glared at Eliana’s twin. “Miranda, what the hell?!”

Eliana’s parents glared at him. “Watch your mouth,” their dad said.

Looking exasperated, Aaron scoffed and gestured to Eliana and Jor and said, “Did you not hear what Miranda said to them?!”

“I was just saying what we were all thinking,” Miranda shrugged, rolling her eyes. To Jordan’s disbelief, Eliana’s mom nodded slightly in agreement.

A quick look at Eliana told Jordan that the girl was struggling to not cry. “I don’t know why I’m surprised you’re acting like this,” Eliana said. “We just got here. Can you all not act at least cordial for five minutes?”

Miranda scoffed. “You’re the one who came in here while flaunting your sexuality for everyone to see. Aren’t you ashamed?”

Jordan was still too stunned to speak.

“They weren’t flaunting anything,” Aaron defended. “And Eliana and Jordan don’t have anything to be ashamed about, Miranda, so shut up.”

“Don’t talk to your sister that way,” El’s mom scolded her son.

“And Miranda is right,” their dad added before looking at Eliana with disappointment. “I still hope you can see reason and save your soul when you grow tired of this ridiculous trendy mindset, Eliana.”

Eliana’s eyes filled with tears, “Why are you all like this?” she asked in a voice that broke Jordan’s heart.

Eliana’s other sister—Hailey, who is the one soon turning 16—suddenly said, “Why did you have to ruin my birthday trip by introducing your friend to us?” The insult in the word ‘friend’ was clear.

By now, other people in the restaurant were watching this happen. No servers were coming by, so they must’ve just been watching as well.

Eliana’s stomach was churning horribly, both from emotions and. . . something else. She felt dizzy and had sweat dripping down her neck. “You promised you wouldn’t be like this,” Eliana said sadly. “You all said that you’d try.”

Her mom scoffed. “I didn’t promise anything, so stop making things up. You came in here, holding hands with that. . . that. . . girl.” Her voice was dripping with disgust. “And you insist on calling her your ‘girlfriend’ because you think you have feelings for each other, and you embarrass us by saying it in public! And then you cause a scene because of it, and—”

“Mom, the only people causing a scene is all of you except Eliana and Jordan. And you knew that Eliana was going to introduce her girlfriend to you today. You’re acting like she just sprung this on you out of nowhere.”

Jordan was fighting to hold her cool. She was squeezing Eliana’s hand, and El was squeezing back.

Eliana’s dad sighed at her and Jordan. “We’ve held out hope that you’d get out of this ridiculous phase, Eliana. We let you back into our lives because you are our daughter, and we wanted to help you find the Lord. I’m not sorry that I don’t accept this. What you’re doing with your life right now. . . it disappoints me. You’re studying art instead of getting a real career, and you’re allowing yourself to fall into this liberal lustful mindset. And when you come back to us, crying because you didn’t listen to us and failed, I can’t promise we’ll let you back into our lives. And I can’t promise I’ll still see you as my daughter.”

Eliana looked down at the table, and Jordan felt her cool snap when Eliana began to sob.

“We’re leaving,” Jordan said in a low voice, standing while still holding Eliana’s hand. Tearfully and sniffing, Eliana stood as well, and so did Aaron.

Miranda snorted and said, “Wha’dya know, the homosexual chink speaks English.”

Pissed, Jordan whirled on Eliana’s twin and said, “If you’re gonna use a racial slur, at least get it right. I’m Japanese, you moronic bimbo, not Chinese.” Then she looked at Eliana’s family. “You all should be ashamed of yourselves. It makes me sick to know that there’s people like you whose love for their children is conditional. And by the way, your daughter’s art is a real career, and it’s what she loves. If being herself will make you drop her from your lives, then you really don’t deserve her at all. And if she ever does ever fall, she won’t have to go back to you because I’ll be here to help her back up.”

Eliana’s sisters and parents just gawped, silent as Jordan and Aaron led Eliana outside.

By now, Eliana was shaking, but not just with sobs. She felt weak and unsteady and. . . so cold.

“Gosh, I’m so sorry about that,” Aaron said to Jordan once they were outside.

Jordan sighed. “It wasn’t your fault. Eliana really wasn’t underestimating them.” Jordan then looked at Eliana, who was crying and still looking down. “Baby, it’s alright. Let’s go to my place, okay?” She looked at Aaron again. “It was nice to see you. Maybe while you’re still in town, we can see each other again.”

He smiled and nodded. “Yeah, definitely. And I don’t think I’m gonna be welcomed to Hailey’s stupid sweet 16 anyway, so I’m just gonna stay here in Tulsa instead of going to California.” He looked at Eliana. “Hey, El. You okay if I give you a hug?”

After a second, she shook her head. Aaron looked saddened, but understanding. “Okay, sis. I’ll see you later.”

They hadn’t even spent a full 10 minutes at the restaurant. Hungry, Jordan got some Taco Bell of their way back to her apartment, and she got a quesadilla in case Eliana decided to eat later since the girl said, “Not hungry,” and nothing else while hugging her stomach.

Jordan noticed how pale Eliana was by the time they arrived. It was a sickly pale, and Jordan couldn’t help but reach in to cup Eliana’s face. She frowned at the heat her girlfriend was giving off. “El, you’re sick,” she said. “Were you feeling bad before we left? Or is it from stress?” Stress fevers were a thing, right?

Eliana said nothing. In fact, she seemed so lost in her own head that Jordan wasn’t sure if the girl had even heard her.

Jordan grabbed the food and got out of the car, and then went around to Eliana’s side and opened the door. “El, baby, look at me,” she said, gently shaking the girl with her free hand.

Eliana looked at her with tearful and hazy eyes, the fever making her cheeks bright pink. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her bottom lip trembling a little. “I hate my family. They were so mean to you, and I’m sorry—”

Jordan shut her up by kissing her cheek, whispering, “It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s okay. Your family is awful, and you deserve better than them. I love you, okay? Now, let’s get inside. I’ll get you some meds, and you can sleep off this fev—”

Jordan was suddenly cut off when Eliana abruptly pushed her back and hung out of the car. Jordan was startled and confused for a second before Eliana puked onto the ground.

“Shit,” Jordan cursed, placing the bag of food on top of the car and reaching forward to steady her girlfriend.

Eliana whined, wrapping her arms around her stomach again. “Hurrrts,” she groaned, still sniffing.

Jordan had no idea what to do when Eliana puked a second time. And then a third. Eliana was becoming dangerously pale, and with every passing second, it seemed like it was becoming harder and harder to hold up her own head, and the only things keeping her from tipping out of the car were Jordan and her seatbelt.

Eliana was blinking a lot, struggling to focus on anything, and Jordan had a fear that she might pass out.

Eliana gagged dryly a few times, her back arching with heaves and coughing a few times, before Jordan said, “You’re empty, El. You’re empty.”

Exhausted and breathing through her mouth, Eliana leaned back against her seat.

Jordan was bent at a 90-degree angle as she tried to unbuckled Eliana’s seatbelt without stepping in the puddle of sick. It was another whole challenge to maneuver Eliana around the vomit, and Jordan had to walk while half-hugging Eliana since the girl couldn’t even stand on her own with how dizzy she was.

In the apartment, Jordan brought Eliana to her couch and laid her down there, propping a plush cushion under her head and covering her with a fuzzy blanket. Eliana still had tears in her eyes, and more sprung forth every time she thought about what her family had said to Jordan.

Anxiety began to eat away at her. No one would want to date a person with such a toxic family, right? They insulted Jordan openly as soon as they met her. Would Jordan break up with her because of this? No, she wouldn’t; Jordan wasn’t like that. Jordan loved her. But now her family would surely disown her. She’d always hoped that her parents would one day accept her. Now, there would be no chance of that at all.

Why do I have to be this way? Eliana thought to herself, a question she often asked when she was younger.

Why do they hate me?

Why did I have to be born like this?

Why did I have to be born at all?

“Hey, it’s okay, baby. You’re okay,” someone was saying softly. “Shhh, don’t cry. Shit, you’re really hot. . .”

Who spoke that softly to her again? Oh, yeah, Aaron did.

Lucy and Hailey couldn’t care less, and Miranda had gone out with friends. Her parents were in the living room, having some afternoon tea with their pastor, so Aaron was the only one taking care of her.

It seemed like everyone just stopped caring when Miranda found out about Eliana’s crush on Nellie Stewart. She had no more friends, and no more family. Only her brother still loved her.

Every memory was so vivid. All the times the family’s pastor had tried to exorcise demons out of her by hitting her with a bronze cross, how many times her parents had told her youngest sister to stay away from her until she was cured of her ‘mental illness’, all the days when Aaron had stood between her and her parents when she was bruised and bleeding and her parents had belts or wooden paddles or just their fists. . .

“. . . delirious and really sick. . . get here. . .”

Who was talking? Aaron’s voice wasn’t that feminine.

That reminded her of the one time when she’d been very sick as a teen. She had a fever and was in pain all over, and Aaron was practically begging their parents to take her to a hospital. She could hear them in the living room, saying, “She’s not that sick. Stop being dramatic,” and also saying, “Don’t be rude! Pastor Willson is here.”

Eventually, she heard the Pastor come into her room, and she felt his hand on her head as he mumbled a prayer. Her parents were arguing with Aaron, telling him that her fever was a punishment from God for being gay. Aaron called them crazy.

“El, baby, wake up! You’re scaring me!”

Aaron always got scared when she got sick. She used to get sick a lot as a kid. Deep in the back of her memories, she could recall the times before she came out when her parents actually seemed to care about her. She missed those days. They were so easy.

Memories flashed, going by quickly but feeling like they each lasted hours.

“. . . call an ambulance, Jor. . . hurry. . .”

Something cold and wet touched Eliana’s forehead. The shock of the coldness made her focus on the present.

Her vision was blurry, but the face she was looking at was familiar. Her girlfriend’s face, but a little more masculine. “Kei?” she rasped, her voice barely coming out. But she immediately regretted opening her mouth when her stomach squeezed and bile flooded her mouth. She coughed, choking on it before Keiko cursed and turned her onto her side, making a mess splatter on the floor.

Everything was spinning. Eliana felt like she was swaying and twirling, but she wasn’t moving at all. Her limbs felt like they were full of cement. Her stomach was burning as if it were full of lava. She was shivering as if she were freezing.

Everything seemed to fade and come back, over and over again. Sometimes, when the darkness faded, Eliana saw Jordan’s living room. Every other time, terror ran through her as she saw the familiar rooms of her old church, her old school, her old house—

“Mom? Dad?”

Eliana saw her parents sitting in the living room as she walked into the front door. The looks on their faces made anxiety sit in her stomach like a brick. “Is. . . Is something wrong?”

Suddenly, she noticed that her dad had a belt in his hand. “Miranda told us something. Is there anything you want to admit to?”

Shit, Eliana thought, her blood running cold. They know.

The memory changed then. Suddenly, she was on her knees on the floor, screaming and crying and begging for her dad to stop. She was now shirtless, only in a bra as her dad lashed at her back with the belt over and over, making skin break a little. Her mom was crying, muttering a prayer and begging God to remove the evil from her soul. The woman was sobbing, “Why does my daughter have to have this disgusting sin in her heart?! Why must she have allowed this demonic belief inside of her?!”

And all Eliana could think was five words:

I wish I were dead.

— — —

Eliana woke up with an IV poked in her arm.

Her throat hurt. Her head hurt. Her stomach hurt. Everything was hurting.

“Hey. You’re awake.”

Eliana startled slightly, looking over to her side and seeing Keiko sitting in a chair by her hospital bed. She realized then that she was in a dim hospital room.

She looked around, looking for—

“Jordan’s getting some coffee. She’s been chugging the stuff all night and day. Your brother, too.” Keiko smiled softly, his brows creased worriedly. “You okay?”

Eliana blinked at him for a second before giving him a single stiff nod. “My brother is here?” she rasped, her voice weak and scratchy.

Keiko nodded, rubbing a hand up and down her arm. “Jordan called him when we got you admitted into the hospital yesterday. You've been fading in and out of consciousness since last night. Aaron tried to get the rest of your family to come, but. . . um. . . something came up, I guess.”

Eliana appreciated Keiko lying to spare her feelings, but it was unnecessary. She knew that they just didn’t care and thought that her sickness was a punishment for being gay. “What’s wrong with me?” she asked.

“You’ve got a really nasty stomach flu. The stress didn’t help.” When Eliana gave him a confused look, he shrugged and added sympathetically, “Jordan told me about the restaurant incident. She didn’t want to, but I kinda needed some context when. . . when you. . . um. . .”

He went quiet, biting the inside of his cheek.

Eliana raised a brow. “When what?”

“When you started mumbling that you wanted to die.”

Eliana flinched, turning her head to see Jordan standing in the doorway. Her brother was beside her. Jordan looked like she’d been crying. “It started on the way here. At first, you were just crying, but then you started mumbling that you hated yourself and that you wanted to die. You were begging to not be hit. The doctors even considered having you admitted to the Psych Ward because of what you were saying.”

Aaron was quiet, looking at Eliana with glassy eyes. Then he said, “It was just the fever talking, right? You got those thoughts under control in High School and got better. Right?” He sounded like he was terrified for her.

Eliana smiled, for the sake of her friend, brother, and girlfriend. “I’m fine, really,” she said. “Mom and Dad just screwed with my head. I’m so sorry for scaring you guys.” She looked at all of them, one by one, before sitting up. “Hug?” she asked them all.

Jordan and Aaron both smiled a bit, stepping forward and both hugging her. Keiko joined the group hug as well, and Eliana melted in all of their arms. “I’m okay now,” she whispered, assuring them all. “I’m okay.”

[krenenbaker]

The TWST Boys' Favourite Clothes

What is their favourite item in their wardrobe like? (Includes all the students, minus the Ramshackle duo)

Heartslabyul

Riddle: A wool sweater. It's a deep red, almost maroon, with a cable-knit pattern. Riddle often feels cold, so the sweater has also become incredibly soft with wear.

Ace: A band tee from a concert he saw with his brother and a few of their friends. It's technically not even his shirt, it's his brother's (but Ace has had it for so long that it's basically his now).

Deuce: A baby blue short sleeve button-up shirt. It was one of the first things he got after he chose to change his behaviour, and he went shopping for a few "smart" clothes with his mum. ♡

Trey: A snapback hat with a floral pattern on the front section. It has a flat bill, and there are little purple, red, and yellow flowers over the fabric. But what really drew Trey to this hat (other than the fact that ooh, it's a hat!!) were the little clovers sprinkled throughout the fabric pattern.

Cater: A cream turtleneck that he bought himself. It's suuuuuuuuper soft, and fits him just right. Cater takes it with him absolutely everywhere he goes.

Savanaclaw

Leona: A purple and yellow silk shawl. It's soft, not too hot, and not too cool. Plus, wearing it makes him feel more regal - and powerful - than any other item possibly could.

Ruggie: A jean jacket made entirely of pockets from old jeans. His granny sewed it for him a few years back, and now Ruggie uses it almost every day.

Jack: His sweatpants. They're comfortable to wear, he can use them for working out, sleeping, lounging, literally whatever, and they're warm enough to wear just as-is outside during the winter months.

Octavinelle

Azul: Although he would hate to admit it, his navy blue hoodie. It's warm, and it's dark, and wearing it just makes him feel safe.

Jade: His hiking boots. He hates clothes and finds them uncomfortable and unnecessary, but his boots are practical. He loves how much grip they have, and the amount of cushion in the soles. He's been in a lot less pain since he started wearing them on hikes, instead of other shoes.

Floyd: Surprisingly for the biggest shoe-lover on the list, his collection of socks! Floyd LOVES being able to choose from so many different styles and designs, and to mix-and-match as he pleases. His favourite pair changes often, but he almost always likes his pink music note socks and his eel socks.

Scarabia

Kalim: His natural (undyed) linen pyjamas. Sure, they are nowhere near as fancy as most of his other garments, or as nicely tailored. But they're comfy, and breathable, and just feel so nice to wear.

Jamil: Interestingly, the hoodie from his school uniform. The design is cool, and it is something that's distinctly his. While his other clothes are familiar and well-fitted, this hoodie provides a different sort of security and joy.

Pomefiore

Vil: A high neck black tank top. Vil enjoys the simplicity of the shirt; it's just a cotton tank top, but he can combine it with a huge variety of outfits. Paired with a bright maxi skirt, under an off-the-shoulder sweater, with a lilac suit jacket and jeans... it's incredibly versatile while still being comfortable and easy to care for.

Epel: His first ever Applepom, more specifically, the hat. It may be missing the original apple, and it hasn't fit him in years and years, but it's still really special to him, and he has a lot of good memories associated with it.

Rook: His beaded deerskin vest. He made it by hand with his grand-maman and grand-papa when he visited them one summer. It is incredibly detailed, and - to Rook - the memories of the effort that went into its creation (from the hunting, to the tanning, to the sewing and beading) are almost more beautiful than the vest itself.

Ignihyde

Idia: Idia is our third, and final, hoodie lover! Idia's favourite hoodie is ridiculously oversized - it's absolutely MASSIVE, nearly reaching his calves in length. It's light blue, and has a pattern of black cats. He finds it to be extremely comforting to wear, and it fits his aesthetic too, so that's an added bonus!

Ortho: He doesn't exactly wear clothes, but his favourite part of any of his gear is his feet from his Athletic Gear. They're just FUN! Plus, it makes him feel like he's the same as the rest of his classmates, if only just a little bit more.

Diasomnia

Malleus: A set of dark green robes. They are beautifully tailored, the fabric is smooth, and they allow for a wide range of movement. (His second favourite item of clothing is a bucket hat that Lilia bought him. It is a horribly gaudy colour, with an odd cartoon character mascot on the front. Malleus can't wear it, of course, but he finds it endearing.)

Silver: His leather gloves, given to him by Lilia. They have become soft and pliable from the many, many hours he has used them in training and daily life, and are now perfectly formed to his hands.

Sebek: His jodhpurs. These pants are one of the absolute most comfortable articles of clothing in his wardrobe. They're also used for ONE distinct, specific purpose - horseback riding - which Sebek also appreciates about them.

Lilia: A pink mesh shirt. He finds it fun, and cool, and unique, and is just so different from what he used to allow himself to wear. Plus, it matches his hair, and he just knows that it looks good on him!