#fic: virtues and vices

[raayllum]

me naming the castle librarian and looking at tdp canon like

[cerpric3]

Ryan Ross

Waiting on a milk fic part two

[yv-sketches]

Who else has their fanfic bound and signed by the author? 😌

This one has both a cover and a dust jacket and I had the honour to meet the author multiple times (Author:em_gray on AO3)

[vidalinav]

I don’t know how to break it to all of you but I want to write Neris again…

[mithrilhearts]

I wanted to have a space where I could reminisce about some older fics that have been finished for a time, and deserve a little love! I can't just "shelve" them in my mind, so instead of letting them collect metaphorical dust, I want to showcase them! (Will I do this every Friday? Highly unlikely.)

Between Vices and Virtues

King Thorin Durinson has only held the throne for a few months after the death of his greedy predecessor. When Shire Inquiry journalist Bilbo Baggins is brought in to observe a meeting of powers, it's quickly made apparent that Thorin's sheltered and strict lifestyle has him completely disconnected from those he rules, as well as his family. It's up to Bilbo to show Thorin that the world is worth exploring and that not everything is as it seems. (modern royalty au, gen, 40k)

This was a part of 2022's Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang, where I had the amazing opportunity to work with @sleepysandwichguy! I've been thinking about this one a lot lately, and I have two sequels planned for it. So naturally, I had to share this one first!

[alilbitlesbian]

So, I've been feeling vaguely bad abb not updating Vices & Virtues, but also I got cramps in my left hand so no typing today (or not much, at least)

Anyway this is all you get; biblically accurate duck, shittily sketched by yours truly.

[astromechs]

read all of the montague siblings books, had a breakdown, had to quickly sketch out the monty/percy reunion at the end of nobleman's guide that we didn't get to see.

also on ao3!

This goddamn path, Monty thinks, is somehow much more winding and treacherous than he remembers.

Has he been gone that long? It has felt like an age to him, of course — even five hours without being in Percy’s presence does, much less going on five months — but surely, in reality, it couldn’t have been so long that he’s forgotten his own walk home. Granted, going on five months ago, he hadn’t a bad leg and a cane to be negotiated against cobblestones, nor had he the infuriating tendency to become winded after short distances that only returning from the brink of death can bring. Nor had he regarded his younger brother as anything more than a relic from a past to be neglected, or settled into the shoes of what being a sibling means for the second time.

He’d told Adrian that journeys can change a person, that one returns a man different than the one he’d used to be.

Funny, he’d assumed himself too old for such drastic shifts in his own life. Then again, there is the whole bit regarding what happens when one assumes.

God, that’s not how he’d like to think about an ass. If he’s thinking about asses, there’s only one that he would like on his mind.

Speak of the devil —

As he rounds the corner, the small garden that Percy had insisted upon cultivating in front of their home comes into view, along with the man himself — and Monty’s entire world. For the moment, he has his back turned, absorbed in whatever one does with flowers; God knows Monty hasn’t the slightest inkling. It’s always been fascinating to watch him work, though, whether on this, or evaluating a piece of music, or even the damn numbers. There’s beauty in everything Percy does, but there’s especially beauty in this, in the way he can be so lovingly absorbed in even something so mundane.

Despite their separation, despite how his heart jumps into his throat and his breath catches there, despite how every inch of him is screaming for him to move as quickly as he’s able so that he can finally feel the touch of Percy’s skin upon his own once more, Monty doesn’t have the heart to interrupt him. Not yet. He can stand here for a few moments more, painting the sight before him into his mind should he ever need it again (he hopes not; he hopes he never has to be apart from Percy for more than a few hours at a time for the rest of their lives, but just in case, he’d like more in his mental arsenal).

He steps closer, just a little, for a better look — but then Percy tenses, lifts his head from the flowers he’s inspecting, and turns, eyes widening. Inwardly, Monty curses himself for the disturbance, for ruining what he’s had weeks to plan as the perfect reunion.

Then again, he supposes the days of quiet steps and sneaking up on people are officially behind him.

And what does it matter, anyway, when Percy has dropped everything to run straight for him, his long legs carrying him there in no time at all? What does it matter when the two of them collide with a force that almost knocks him off his feet, when strong arms wrap around him and prevent that from ever happening, and he clutches tightly in return? What does it matter when all he can hear out of his one good ear is the sound of Percy’s heartbeat, all he can feel is the rise and fall of his chest, and all he knows is Percy?

It doesn’t, Mony thinks. Nothing else goddamn matters.

“Darling,” Percy finally finds his voice. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

“Never.” It’s said in a breath almost more than an actual word, this fierce resolve. This vow; the word sticks in his mind, burning like a brand. Maybe one day, he’ll be more receptive to such things being exchanged between them, but for now, pulling back a small distance, just enough so that they can look at one another: “You can’t imagine how difficult it was to be apart from your ass for so many months. Zounds, Perce, so many.” He heaves a sigh, only in part for dramatic effect. “It was so painful that I was lying awake at night, willing the masturbation demon to come for me. Can you imagine how bloody awful it’d be to have to toss off with a demon? All prickly, and not in the good way —”

“My ass?” Percy cuts off the thought, presumably before Monty can further careen down that runaway line of thought. Probably for the best; out of the two of them, Percy has always been closer to knowing it. They may have avoided at least half their sodding struggles on this… adventure had he accompanied them, but there’s nothing that can be done about that now. And Monty would rather not think of it, in any case, not when the corners of Percy’s mouth are turned up in the most enchanting hint of a smile. “You only missed me for my ass?”

“In my defense,” Monty lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug, a smirk beginning to tug on his own lips, “It is quite a notable part of you to miss.” For emphasis, the hand not clutching the top of his cane snakes around Percy’s waist, clumsily grabbing a finger-full of trousers.

Percy, in turn, lifts exactly one brow, just as he’s done well more than a thousand times, and in an instant, they both laugh. It’s easy; everything with Percy has always been easy, when it’s really mattered. Nothing could take that away — not time, not distance.

Not even the darkness that Monty will never quite be able to banish from his own mind.

There will have to be conversations, he knows; some will be more difficult than others, and some will be quite gravely serious. Just the mere thought of one in particular has his heart racing wildly in his chest for completely different reasons — but all will be had in time, without him running away from them. This he can solemnly promise.

For now, though, Monty is quite fine to simply be here, watching as the last rays of the setting sun seem to bring out the freckles under Percy’s eyes, seemingly making them dance. Every part of him has always been beautiful, of course, because anything that is Percy’s would have to be, but those, perhaps, take the ultimate prize.

Light-soaked days. His own words come to him again in this moment, settling over him like a cup of hot tea on a frigid evening, spreading warmth to the tips of him in a feeling that he can name without any difficulty at all. Contentment. Peace.

Whether or not he could possibly ever hope to deserve it, he wants to wrap himself in it for the rest of his days.

“Let’s go inside, my love.” After a time, Percy’s hand gives one last gentle squeeze before withdrawing. “I’ll put on a kettle, and you can —” His eyes drift down to the cane, widening as if he’s just now noticed it (and maybe he has, for all that they’ve been wrapped up in one another), and back up again. “You can tell me what in God’s name happened to your leg, for a start.”

“Oh, that?” There’s a light laugh tossed in with the question, deflection also as easy as breathing. “That was my dear sister. By which I mean that if we hadn’t found said dear sister….” He waves his free hand, vaguely, then clears his throat. “Can we save that story for after a shag? It’s all terribly gruesome, and, frankly, I’d rather not let anything get between me, you, and a bed. Bed optional.”

Percy nudges him in the shoulder, so lightly as not to knock him off balance; he’s careful to the last. “You cad.”

“Calling me a cad when I know you, Percy Newton.” The scoff, the big show of pretending to be affronted, is easy, too. “I know what filthy thoughts are lurking behind those beautiful brown eyes of yours.”

It’s Percy’s turn to shrug, to let the smile that’s been tugging at his mouth fully blossom. The setting sun is sparkling in his eyes now, and it’s all in all the most goddamn gorgeous sight that Monty has ever seen. He’s practically traveled half the world over at this point, he thinks, through one misadventure or another, and he’s seen sunsets over the sea and all sorts of things someone much more skilled than him would wax poetic about, but none of it, absolutely none of it has ever, or will ever, compare to the greatest man that this world has ever had the privilege of allowing to live in it.

The man that he has somehow been dealt a lucky enough hand to call his beloved — a hand that, by some miracle, he has somehow managed not to mess up.

No matter who may see, Monty is far from strong enough to resist rising on his toes and giving a kiss to Percy’s cheek, as he murmurs, “Let’s go inside.”

[iamthelowercase]

I've got something that's the exact reverse of this, actually. Like.

Character C: I'm jealous of my best friend who's a lesbian and her girl friends, but I'm definitely not trans. I hang out exclusively with her friend group, except for the goth enby who decide I'm eir friend now and who my best friend has a crush on. I'm super depressed for no apparent reason and feel bad about being a boy. I wish I could be a magical girl like it turns out my friends are, but even though trans girls can be magical girls, that's not an option for me because I'm not trans. The bad guys recruited me and it involved me stealing my best friend's appearance and even her pronouns, but I'm definitely not trans.

The magical girl who came out to C as a trans girl and also is in the school GSA: You are the most egg I have ever seen, and I own a mirror.

The rest of C's friends: *talking up the way C helps them out* *endorse the idea of C trying a skirt* *nominate C for the newest magical girl in their team* *actively congratulate C on the new pronouns*

Literally in the title: *Character C is going to turn out to be trans*

Character C: It kind a sucks that I'm not trans :( Oh well, such is life :(

The entire fandom: Oh come on C! How long is it going to take you to realize!

The manga: a college guy meets his childhood friend, who was formerly a boy but is now a woman, and has run away from home after an unspecified disagreement with her family which has left her with a significant amount of trauma; it's implied she was bullied heavily in the time since they've last seen each other.

But don't worry, she's not trans! She just got an illness which turned her into a woman!

The manga: a high school boy with an interest in make-up uses his gloomy, depressed (male) childhood friend as a model to improve his skills. This causes said friend to have an "awakening" and start dressing as a woman, and to overall be a much happier, brighter, outgoing person.

But don't worry, the friend is not trans! He's just a boy who crossdresses because his childhood friend likes him better that way!

The manga: a high school boy joins a club where the members can turn into magical girls, which in his case involves physically transforming into a girl. When in girlmode, he's much happier and enjoys his life much more, and overall prefers staying in girl mode; when the ability to transform is temporarily taken away from him, he sinks into a deep depressive episode.

But don't worry, he's not trans! He's just a boy who enjoys being a girl!

The manga: a college student loses a bet and has to crossdress for a night out on the town, and meets and hooks up with a butch girl; they fall in love and start dating. The boy always crossdressed when they meet, and starts enjoying being "treated like a girl" in the relationship and starts crossdressing even when he doesn't have to meet his girlfriend and enjoys activities such as clothes shopping and make-up and putting on nail polish.

But don't worry, he's not trans! He's just a boy who crossdresses to please his butch girlfriend!

The manga: a guy is magically turned into a girl as a result of saving his best friend, the crown prince, from an assassination attempt. The prince decides that he has to take responsibility, and asks the new girl to marry him; despite being smitten she refuses, wanting to date first. She is later offered a way to go back to being a man, but when she does turn back she's disgusted by her own appearance and depressed all the time, ultimately deciding to stay a girl.

But don't worry, she's not trans! She's just a boy who's been magically turned into a woman! And decides not to turn back when she can! Because she's not trans! Somehow!

"But we can't write trans women in manga! It's just not something that you do!"

[Image description: A one-comic panel. Gengar is glaring at a crowd of faceless characters; from the crowd, a speech balloon emerges, saying "You could if you weren't a fucking coward". End ID.]

[noxturnallyevermore]

hear me out

songfics, yeah?

okay now what about writing a series of fics all based off of one single album where each fic is a different song?

up for interpretation, however you wanna do it

but some suggestions:

- picking one ship for the entire album

- each fic is in the same narrative (same story, au, universe, ect)

- same tags for the entire album

- NOT reusing something for each fic (ex, each fic has unique tags)

- not reusing ANYTHING for each fic (each fic is completely unique)

in addition to this idea:

- each fic being based off of a whole album

- a fic for every song over the course of a few albums

- a series of fics where each fic is based off of one song (maybe the title/face/most popular song) from each album

idk, I just think it would be fun

also let me know if this has already been done so I can go read those fics 😭

if it hasn't, what if we call these albumfics? 🤲

[asscoups17]

Some of my Favorite Seventeen Fics

s- smut a- angst f- fluff

One shots ~

Beautiful Liar ~ s a f @onlymingyus (Mingyu x f!Reader) (wc: 25.6k)

Crossroads ~ s a f @smileysuh (Kim Mingyu & Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader) (wc: 19.8k)

Anteric ~ s a f @smileysuh (Mingyu & Wonwoo x afab!Reader) (wc: 16.6k)

Too much of a good thing ~ s a f @lovelyhan (wonwoo x f!reader x mingyu) (wc: 15.6k)

Favourite ~ s f @simpxxstan (boss!wonwoo x model!mingyu x f.reader) (wc: 15k) (OMG DEF ONE OF MY FAVOURITES)

Always Only You ~ a s f @honeyhotteoks (brothers bestfriend! Cheol) (wc: 14.2k) (FAVORITE)

Good Luck, Fermata Tower ~ s a f @beefboyandbabygirl (fire-lookout!seungcheol x female!fire-lookout!reader) (wc: 13.9k)

Clowns ~ s a f @smileysuh (S.coups & Jeonghan & Joshua & Wonwoo & Mingyu x afab!Reader) (wc: 13.3k) (FAVORITE)

Too Many Beds ~ s @miabebe (Seungcheol x afab!reader) (wc: 13k)

Creep ~ s a f @smileysuh (Mingyu x afab!Reader) (wc: 9.1k) (FAVORITE)

it’s all fun and games ~ s a f @dontflailmenow (Mingyu x fem!Reader) (wc: 8.9k)

Dare You ~ s f @dontflailmenow (bf!Mingyu x fem!Reader) (wc: 6k)

Fuck, Marry, Kill ~ s @bitchlessdino (fem!reader x ex!mingyu x shitstirrer!seungcheol x innocentbystander!wonwoo) (wc: 5.6k) (FAVORITE)

Vices and Virtues ~ s a f @lovelyhan (bodyguard!mingyu x fem!reader) (wc: 5.4k)

Do I Want to Hit You or Do I Just Want You? ~ s a f @dontflailmenow (Mingyu x fem!Reader) (wc: 3.9k)

The cake in the back! ~ s @toruro (dilf! Cheol) (wc: 3.8k)

Baby Fever ~ s @cheolhub (pussy-drunk-bitch-in-heat cheol) (wc: 3.4k)

Control Me ~ s @duhnova (gamerbf! Wonwo) (wc: 3k) (FAVORITE)

rules! “do i make you horny, baby?” ~ s @teeskz (gamer!seungcheol x fem!reader) (wc: 2.7k)

Practice Makes Perfect ~ s f @wongyuseokie (c.s.cxf!reader, j.w.wxf!reader, k.m.gxf!reader) (wc: 2.6k)

In The Dark Corners ~ s @sanakiras (fem!reader x ex!mingyu x bf!seungcheol) (wc: 2.2k)

gamers do it better ~ s @sluttyminghao (c.s.cxf!reader, j.w.wxf!reader) (wc: 2k)

On My Worst Behavior ~ s @sluttywoozi (rough Vernon) (wc: 0.6k)

Popsicle ~ s @loupetlapinn (Mingyu x fem!reader (wc: ???)

𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐚̀ 𝐝𝐞𝐮𝐱 ~ s @loupetlapinn (Seungcheol & Wonwoo & Mingyu x fem!reader) (wc: ???)

Series ~

Challenge Me ~ s a @seokgyuu (Pairing: OT13 x afab!Reader) (All Separate) (Total wc: 94k) (10000/10) (FAVORITE) (Messy to say the least)

ice cold, cabin fever ~ s a f @smileysuh (Seungcheol & Mingyu x afab!Reader) (wc: 25.9k) (FAVORITE) (Part 2)

Hits Different (…’cause it’s you) ~ s a f @gyuswhore (brothers bestfriend! Mingyu x Fem!reader) (wc: 20.2k) (FAVORITE) (Emotional to say the least)

Bloodily Safe ~ s a @starlightxsvt (psychopath!wonwoo x fem!Reader) (wc: 18.5k) (Game On! pt2 : 6k)

Push It Down ~ s a f @dontflailmenow (ex bf’s bestfriend! Cheol) (pt 5(last part) (wc: 16.6k)

Getting Closer ~ s a f @milfgyuu (Wonwoo x Fem!reader x Mingyu) (pt 1: 10.8k)

Cat & Mouse ~ s f @wonusite (bad boy au; Wonwoo) (pt 2: 5.6k)

After Class ~ s f @rubyreduji (professor! Cheol) (pt 1: 1.6k) (4 parts in all)

⭐️Last Update: 08/21/2024⭐️

[raayllum]

Summary: Soren and Opeli fall in love: a slow burn. a/n: there's 13 chapters planned and this fic is modelled after the idea of subverting/using the seven deadly sins. think everything is in the tags and we're gonna get into more TDP theology lore (in my head) and Opeli backstory / family stuff eventually; tags will be added as they are relevant. Uh, enjoy? Word count: 7k

Chapter One: Pride (I)

It starts because Soren wants to improve his poetry.

It’s a simple desire, really. He’d had his hands full the first few months after the war, refilling the ranks of the crownguard, keeping Ezran’s spirits up and Callum from doing something stupid in the name of love. Soren works up the nerve to ask Corvus to stay (for Ezran, of course). 

But it turns out that when you’re not constantly trying to impress your (dead) father or dealing with your sister’s (dark magic) pranks, or trying to kill some princes or stopping a war, you end up with a lot of downtime on your hands. For every friend in the crownguard he’d had that was loyal to Ezran, there’d been another that defected, and well... Soren doesn’t really know what to say to his fellow knights that much anymore. He’s too changed, in some ways. His armour doesn’t fit the same.

He doesn’t fit the same.

(Or maybe he never did, but hadn’t noticed until now? Feelings hurt. Confusion and loss and the aching absence and persisting, lingering presence of his family hurts .)

But words and pretty pictures don’t hurt, so Soren turns to poetry.

[pavus]

What began as a personal project of mine has spiraled into something way bigger and way more intense than I anticipated, so I figured I might offer it up to the Dragon Age fandom at large in case there was any interest in participating!

So, here's my idea for #VEILGUARD30:

Starting on October 1st and going day-by-day until right before Veilguard's launch on the 31st, this little event will begin! Whether you're inspired to write Dragon Age fic before the game's release or interested in developing your Rook, you're more than welcome to participate! And don't feel pressured to post every single day if that day's prompt doesn't appeal to you — this is meant to be engaged with to inspire you rather than bully you into writing every single day in October.

I posted this early to give everyone a running start, if they intend to participate or fish for curiosity and interest otherwise!

All sixty prompts are written down beneath the cut.

GENERAL WRITING PROMPTS.

Joining. Armor. Vhenadahl. Deep Roads. Bards. Carta. Dragon. Sovereigns. Potions. Orlais. Harrowing. Romance. Andraste. Campfire. Vallaslin. Lowtown. Mabari. Close Call. Elfroot. Demon or Spirit. Qunari. Templar. Halamshiral. Blood Magic. The Inquisition. Darkspawn. Dalish. Red Lyrium. Dreadwolf. The Veilguard.

ROOK DEVELOPMENT PROMPTS.

Name. Age. Race. Background. Class / Spec. Gender. Sexuality. Parentage. Siblings. Early Childhood. Adolescence. First Love. First Hate. Favorites. Injuries / Scars. Distinguishing Features Voice Type. Vices. Virtues. Homeland. Height / Build. Hair / Eye color. Personality. Aspirations. Fears. Hobbies. Views on Magic. Views on Elves.. Views on the Veilguard. Views on Solas.

[peonierose]

Hilde 😍 You’re writing again 😱 And you’re battling Covid? Girl I hope you’re doing better 🩷

Okay sometimes I read stories and songs pop into my head and this time this song popped into my head 😅

“Mondays suck!”

I hate Mondays too 🤣😅 Mondays were never my favorite day 😅

All his rational thought and peerless logic evaporate into thin air the second his drowsy gaze zooms in on the old waiting room under renovation currently withheld by the recent budget cuts. Within its hoary walls, a familiar sylphlike figure catches his eye, unwittingly staking her claim to his undivided attention.

Every time I read your writing I’m transported into your world with Tiffany and Ethan. And I’m always so amazed how beautiful your writing is. It’s like watching this beautiful movie or listening to this beautiful voice telling a story. Like those romantic movies, you know when someone writes a letter and there’s a voice narrating the movie? This is what it felt like 😍😱

He doesn’t have many vices—she is all of them.

This!!!! Was!!!! My!!!! Favorite!!!! Line!!!!

Hilde I‘m beyond glad you got your writing mojo back and you’re kicking ass and taking names 🩷

Can’t wait to read more about Tiff & Ethan 🩷 And get well soon, hope you have a wonderful day Hilde 🩷🩷

Vices & Virtues - Ethan Ramsey x MC

Dr. Ramsey's weaknesses don’t disturb his everyday life often, but when they do, a certain intern happens to always be involved.

Book: Open Heart, Intern Year (between Chapters 5 & 6)

Warnings: language, my rusty writing, a truckload of pining

Rating/Category: Teen+ / fluffy angst

Author’s note: [insert the ‘surprise, bitch’ & 'it's been 84 years' reaction GIFs]

I’m eternally grateful for the very few angels still waiting for new E&T content—this one’s for you 🫶🏻 Hope you’ll find a moment to read my word vomit and enjoy the mess (aka my writing). I appreciate every comment and like more than words can convey!

Edenbrook is indigestible on Mondays. Though Ethan Ramsey doesn’t believe in whatever ‘curse’ the human kind attributed to an absolutely random day, he cannot deny the madness that usually ensues upon the beginning of each week. An inexplicable air of post-weekend malaise does tend to envelop the globe, and Boston is no lucky exception.

“Mondays suck!”

Striding across the hustly-bustly pediatric ward, Doctor Ramsey overhears an agitated boy explicitly expressing his annoyance.

Ethan’s Monday has been a doozy of a day as well, but he’d rather keep his troubles six feet under, preferably in concrete. Nevertheless, a drop of sympathy implores him to stop near the patient’s room and watch the scene unfold at a safe distance.

The child blows a raspberry at the nurse preparing him for a corridor-long wheelchair ride, clearly upset about the surgery he’s being taken to.

A heavy sigh followed by the unmistakable giggle of a certain copper-haired radiologist interrupts Ethan’s first break during today’s demanding shift.

“It’s not Monday, kid. It’s just your life.” Doctor Herbert whispers into Ethan’s ear, a large cup of raspberry tea in her hand. “But at least it’s going to be all rainbows and candy again in three weeks.”

Meanwhile, the situation has escalated quickly: a river of tears streams down the young Monday-hater's cheeks now, his concerned mother shooting pleading looks between her shuddering offspring and the strict nurse trying to efficiently finish the task so she could move on with her hectic schedule.

A pang of dejection pierces Ethan all of a sudden when a long-forgotten fragment of the past he buried flashes through his mind. Before its splinters reopen old wounds, he swiftly pushes the unwanted memory back to the unexplored depths of his psyche.

“I don’t think he’s heard you.”

“Gee, Doctor Ramsey, share some of that cheerful attitude with the rest of us!” Liz nudges his side, almost spilling her hot beverage on his foot. She mouths an apology, but his unimpressed gaze falls elsewhere.

“You wouldn’t even know what to do with it.”

“Thank God your interns still haven’t caught that grumpiness you’re suffering from.”

“No need to worry, it’s not contagious.” He gives a dismissive wave of his hand, partially to announce his departure, then continues the journey to his primary destination: the harmonious sanctuary of his private office.

As soon as the elevator door closes behind Ethan, the confined space becomes his temporary resort. He takes a deep breath, rubbing his sunken, aweary eyes to relieve the tension—an aching remnant of the sleepless night. The exhaustion begins to mess with his senses, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary; permanent fatigue has been his steadfast companion for more than a decade of his career as a doctor.

There’s a crack in that orderly, borderline clinical life of his, as big as a closed fist, and he’s slowly beginning to realize its detrimental consequences.

But none of that matters now.

What matters is that his desperate efforts to bend Naveen’s stubbornness weren’t in vain; there’s still hope—a notion Ethan isn’t exactly on board with, but he puts his trust in science, and beyond any doubt science will point him in the right direction. As long as there’s time, he’ll do whatever it takes to save his mentor, his friend. He’s confident he can do it, he’s capable of diagnosing and curing whichever mysterious illness keeps Naveen captive.

He’s the only one who can do it.

A double shot of deep roasted espresso shall help this cause. Or, at the very least, make his Monday slightly more endurable.

Loud metallic thud followed by a streak of bright fluorescent lighting annunciates the arrival. Empty, windowless corridor welcomes his nostrils with the odious mixture of staleness and antiseptic, typical of the office wing on the sixth floor. He operates on autopilot, mindlessly trudging ahead, marginally consoled by the aura of eerie quietude. Blissfully oblivious to what the so-called Manic Monday has prepared for him next.

All his rational thought and peerless logic evaporate into thin air the second his drowsy gaze zooms in on the old waiting room under renovation currently withheld by the recent budget cuts. Within its hoary walls, a familiar sylphlike figure catches his eye, unwittingly staking her claim to his undivided attention.

Ethan’s dire need of coffee has vanished as well; he’s wide awake now.

Smiling to herself, a sense of pride evident in the alluring dimples carved into her cheeks, Doctor Addams arranges a stack of papers atop a massive couch protected by thin plastic sheet.

Ethan acknowledges that he must ignore the tempest raging inside his chest, but he’s unable to focus on anything else other than the energy she exudes, luring him in like a siren’s song.

This isn’t the first time the infamous Doctor Terminator is utterly powerless in the face of her—the most intriguing mystery he’s tempted to unravel for some godforsaken, unfathomable reason.

Everything he knows about Tiffany Addams has been collateral damage from their close proximity and the isolating nature of their work. Against better judgment, Ethan has stored every single crumb of information thrown at him, like it’s a treasure guarded in the vault of his mind, acquiring new pieces and adding them to this clandestine collection.

With certainty, there’s a new element behind that glass wall, ready to be studied in secret.

As though pulled by a magnet, his feet carry him towards the room while Ethan shuffles through a myriad of excuses plausible enough to start a conversation. A good excuse, however, requires an elaborate background story, supported by a carefully planned follow-up—both of which clearly out of his reach at the moment.

Fully aware of the possible disaster awaiting inside, Ethan steps into the room quietly, leaning against the doorframe with arms crossed over his chest. A sophisticated scent of sultry vanilla wrapped with notes of luminous lavender pervades the space, handily smothering the musty odor of the old hospital furniture stored here for at least a year.

Heedless of his presence, Tiffany remains locked in her own bubble. She’s seated on the couch, browsing through a large leather bag with a lot of noise.

Long onyx locks neatly tamed in a sleek bun reveal the exquisitely sculpted contour of her features, its sharp edges so far removed from the overpowering warmth hiding in her sparkling emeralds and tenacious kindness dripping from the corners of her full mouth.

That stark contrast surely must be a part of her allure, he reckons. Not that there’s any evidence at his disposal—he’s her boss, for fuck’s sake. But the set of cardinal rules applying to the situation doesn’t stop him from looking, nor does it dilute the poison seeping from that singular contaminated thought…

Loud, treacherous voice snarls inside his mind like a beast at the gates of his sanity.

This isn’t staring, this is a comprehensive risk assessment.

Regardless of the pretext, watching her feels almost perverse, but he’s too transfixed to listen to his voice of reason hopelessly trying to redirect him to the path of impeccable propriety.

He can’t look away. Can’t move either. She'll notice him…Eventually.

Is that all he’s become? A disappointment, a fraud. One of the best diagnosticians of the generation, the esteemed Dr. Ethan Ramsey is consistently failing to do his job. His own mind appalls him—once the most treasured asset, his pride and joy, now compromised, useless, struggling to cut through the veil of his inappropriate longing.

Perhaps instead of triggering a spiral of destruction, he should address a more pressing matter: why is there a splotch of purple paint on her cheek?

Better late than never, his focus switches from Tiffany to the negligible surroundings. On her left, spread across the polythene-covered couch, lie a couple of ridiculously abstract drawings, colorful and confusing, each of them made with the skill and precision equal to a six-year-old if he has to guess.

Suddenly, it all clicks.

Along with his tongue.

The short clack doesn’t make her flinch, though she straightens immediately, a glimmer of surprise shining in her riveting eyes when she looks up at the intruder and deems him worthy of a smile. Her lush, rosy lips curl up generously, greeting him with a beam so dazzling his body heats up like bare skin kissed by the blazing midday sun in the middle of summer.

The older doctor doesn’t return the cordial gesture—he has a reputation to uphold and his bruised dignity to save. He quickly takes refuge in the shadow of his perfect decorum, dexterously covering the unjustifiable act of treason committed by his very own carnality.

Tiffany, however, is undeterred in her mission to melt his callous indifference with the disarming sincerity of her vivacious spirit.

“Before you drop your sarcastic grenades on me: no, I have not found my true calling elsewhere. I have not been slacking up either. These aren’t even mine, so insulting someone else’s artistic skills would be totally inappropriate.” Her hand waves over the drawings.

“I wouldn’t dare to insult a respected artist and credit you with their art.” He retorts flatly, then spills the aforementioned sarcasm like the Lord intended. “Early Pollock must cost a fortune or two. How come such rare artworks ended up in your possession?”

His comment inspires a peal of infectious laughter; the powerful melody of Tiffany’s unadulterated amusement conquers the room, all but obliterating the chronic sternness of Ethan’s face.

He cannot help but bask in the glory of this unexpected outcome: he’s the reason behind the glorious, velvety sound; she’s laughing because of him.

“You made a pretty solid assumption, Doctor Ramsey, but I have to disappoint you: early Pollock had an affair with surrealism and his style was way more compositional than this.” She points at the glittery mess splashed in the center of one of the pieces, not so subtly suppressing another wave of laughter.

Miss Addams and her irreplaceable wit painfully remind him of the golden rule he often pretends doesn’t concern his giant ego: do not speak on the topics your knowledge of is insufficient.

Lustrous vivid-green eyes fixed on him and the urgency he’s facing at the moment leave him no choice but to quickly shake off the embarrassment and adapt his reaction accordingly.

Reluctantly, Ethan clings to brutal honesty. “I’m not an art connoisseur, so I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”

“Oh, trust me, you would.”

A smudge of amethyst retrieves the diagnostician’s attention for one split second, demanding a seamless change of topic.

“I presume you spent your lunch break on the pediatric ward again, trying to start a new art movement.”

Doctor Addams gasps theatrically and presses her slender fingers to her mouth, lowering her head slightly. “What gave me away?”

Ethan considers revealing the truth through another shot of bluntly delivered sarcasm (something he would have done in any other case), but his body betrays him, subconsciously drawing near Tiffany.

“Apart from the excited chatter on the second floor? Nothing.” He replies, straining to keep his impeccable composure just as she bites into her lower lip tantalizingly in what appears to be keen anticipation.

A few risky steps later she’s at his arm’s length, and he decides to measure that dangerously short distance; akin to an audience member of some ludicrous soap opera, the diagnostician observes his hand move towards the intern’s face in slow motion, as if that bloody limb wasn’t his and the falsely innocent intention swarming inside his incisive, virtuous mind filled him with repulsion.

Except he wants this. He needs to feel her.

Even though the mere ghost of an idea may bring his demise, he cannot break free, imprisoned by the torturous vision of her vanilla-scented skin gliding smoothly against his.

Much to his bewilderment, her breath quickens just as much as his; the evergreen forest in her eyes bursts into flames when their gazes meet, burning his hesitation down.

She wants this too.

Nothing could convince him to refrain from acting on this forbidden desire now, not a single reasonable thought seems to be charged with a cogent argument.

So he lets his thumb brush down her right cheek, down the lick of wet paint smeared across her warm skin, taking most of the dark purple off the silken canvas along the way.

The sky didn’t tear in half, there was no divine retribution exacted upon a sinner like him, no sign of punishment fit for his appalling misdeed.

“Nothing. At. All.”

Nothing but the silky smoothness of her face, rapid rise and fall of her shapely chest, and fiery heat searing through his veins…

Inevitably, the unbearable tension crackling between them dissipates in a flash when Tiffany snorts at the sight of his acrylic-stained thumb, a soundless ‘fuck’ escapes her mouth as she sprints to find a prompt solution for the paintmergency, stripping him of time to ponder on what the living hell just happened.

He takes advantage of the moment, immediately scolding himself, forcing his thoughts to flee from the crime scene concocted by his newly depraved brain.

“Must be your enviable instinct of an outstanding diagnostician then.” Cheeky as ever, she casts a playful eye over Ethan while rummaging through the drawers, summoning him to focus on her.

Within a long minute, she scuttles back to him, stretched arm offering one of the two pieces of paper towel sprayed with hand sanitizer. They use it to rub the paint off their skin. As soon as they’re done, Ethan quips back. Sort of.

“The balance between mockery and flattery is a bit too delicate to be used in a professional environment, don’t you agree, Addams?”

Unintimidated by the tricky question, Tiffany lifts her shoulder in a half shrug. “It all depends on the intelligence of the person you’re speaking with. You’re ultrawealthy in that department, so I assumed you wouldn’t mind some harmless friendly banter.”

“We’re not friends.” The speed with which he retaliates might have just sealed his fate. Deep down, he doesn’t quite believe those words himself, but there are rules to be followed unconditionally, rules that cannot be broken under any circumstances.

Dark, noble brows accentuating the breadth of her radiance crease together in sheer bewilderment. He can almost hear the scoff she’s choking back when she sees right through the cone-shaped hole in the thick wall separating them.

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“We’re getting there.” She nods vigorously, openly mocking his well-meaning mendacity with lips pursed into a thin line and narrowed eyes surveying him diligently.

„An attending befriending his intern? I can’t see that happening.”

A winning grin lights Tiffany’s features up. „It’s already happening, whether you like it or not.”

The more she pushes forward, infuriatingly so, the more he resists, fortifying his helpless defense.

„Would you be kind enough to explain why on Earth would I let it happen?”

“It’s beyond your control.” She shakes her head. „There’s nothing you can do now.”

He frowns at her, takes her fierce expression in, feigning utter disinterest in the mesmerizing spatter of freckles adorning her glowy skin.

Is the intensity of his glare too revealing? Can there be a flash of ardent curiosity swimming in his eyes and acting up against him?

„You’re awfully confident about all the wrong things, Rookie.”

She mimics the military salute, right hand raised sharply, touching her forehead, fingers and thumb extended and joined, palm facing down. „The colossal pain in your ass reporting for duty, sir.”

This display of her goofiness, derived from the smidgeon of irreverence he’s found himself covertly fond of, successfully penetrates his ruptured facade.

At last, Doctor Terminator’s perpetually grim face blooms with an ear-to-ear smile, so wide and genuine that Tiffany blinks once, twice, most probably questioning whether the exceptionally unusual scene in front of her is real.

The way she gapes at his mouth almost drills a hole in him—she’s that awestruck, like a pious believer who stumbled upon irrefutable evidence confirming the foundation of her faith.

“You should smile more. You…” Her plush lips part when she trails off, then sucks in a breath, as if to stop the profanation of their professional relationship jumping on the tip of her tongue from slipping out recklessly.

She wants this too.

“It suits you.”

Ethan’s cheeks erupt with disgraceful heat, resembling an awkward teenager attracting his crush’s attention for the very first time—the feeling almost as mortifying and inexcusable as the unprecedented lack of any snarky response.

As if the worst was yet to come, Tiffany keeps on staring at him with such exhilarating wonder and sureness he doesn’t quite know how to proceed with such abundance of emotion meddling with his stoic approach.

She wants this too.

For a fleeting moment, the abyss of his solitude shrinks significantly, purple paint filling the crack on the illusory contentment with the life he’s chosen, just as her piercing gaze invites him further into the impossible fantasy.

Then, a jolt of sobering guilt runs along his spine in a rude awakening, at the same time when Tiffany realizes the gravity of her daring statement and its perilous implications.

“I, erm…”

“Uhm, my…”

Ethan smashes the uncharacteristic uneasiness descending on them, a benign half-smile and barely perceptible nod encourage her to continue. “Go on.”

Her gaze flickers towards the hall, a tinge of crimson reddening freckled porcelain. “My break is almost over. I should head back to the ER.”

Hell must have frozen over: his fearless protégée, strong-willed and sharp-tongued at all times, befuddles him with this uncommonly demure armor plate she has put on. The most challenging obstacles and cases fail to break her down, stress and pressure never threaten her admirable strength, and yet there she is—bleeding from her own sword.

This supremely fascinating token of hidden vulnerability sheds new light on the beguiling collection of contradictions making her whole.

He examines the younger doctor pacing around the room as she gathers her belongings up, stuffing her capacious bag with them. Half-way, she spins to address him directly and points at her cheek.

“Am I…Still…?”

“No, you’re alright. The paint is gone.”

“Splendid.”

As she goes forward, assembling her patients’ drawings into a neat pile, and—rather intentionally—ignoring Ethan, he readjusts his tie and dives headfirst into the pool of her discomfort.

“Addams?”

“Hm?”

“You don’t have to dedicate such a vast portion of your free time to helping others.”

She freezes, visibly offended, but still intent on avoiding his gaze. “I know. I want to.”

“What I meant...Is that you need to add yourself to the equation, Tiffany.”

“I’m doing just fine, thank you.” She scoffs, the barely noticeable defensive undertone reverberating in her firm answer not entirely convincing for the diagnostics virtuoso.

His evaluation is disrupted by the abominably loud beeping of Tiffany’s pager. Their eyes finally clash for a brief shootout with no winner before she shuts the damn thing up.

“Well then. See you later, Doctor Ramsey.” She blurts out hastily without giving him a second glance and turns round to rush out of the room, but stops in her tracks near the door.

Something sparks inside that brilliant mind of hers, reigniting her boldness. Dense curtain of long lashes flutters at him over her shoulder, inky-black and luxurious akin to the finest lace, the signature magnetic smile dancing on her lips again—this time infused with genuine concern. She inspects his countenance for a still moment, inch by inch, crease by crease, until her head falls to the side like she has just uncovered his biggest secret.

“Consider locking the door in your office and getting some rest.”

“Giving me advice isn’t included in your job description.” He sneers, the unnecessarily harsh huff of his disapproval concealing the alien sentiment spilling inside his chest.

Somehow it’s still not enough to antagonize her.

Her eyes bore into his audaciously; the gentleness gleaming from elusive emerald green, reminiscent of safety, offers shelter he despairingly seeks, but cannot take. “But it’s nice to have someone watching out for you, isn’t it?”

Somehow they might have more in common than one would think.

Careful not to expose the motley collection of feelings stirring his blood, Ethan draws in a long breath and slips his hands into the pockets of pristine white coat, perfecting his posture, with tense body standing even taller, as though to appear completely unaffected by her undeniable appeal, more unrelenting.

He’s been looked at countless times, yes, but this must be the first instance where he feels truly seen.

It is indeed nice.

The attending doesn’t say a word, for he would have to agree with the intern. She smirks triumphantly, accepting the tacit disbelief etched on his face as conclusive proof of her diagnosis.

Instead of claiming victory through verbal manifestation of her sass, Doctor Addams attacks him using a different weapon: a provocative wink. “Just think about it.”

With a graceful twirl indicating goodbye, his Rookie struts out, leaving a dizzying mist of her divine scent behind.

Wasting no time, Ethan scoots to the exact place where she stood prior to this moment, soaking up the delicious cloud of fragrance, unable to resist sniffing the air like some sort of disgustingly pathetic creep.

Thankfully, there are no witnesses to this particularly revolting descent into madness.

No witnesses to the beginning of his fall.

Mind over heart has never sounded more delusional than now, that his hard-won empire of spotless reason stands on the verge of crumbling. But he’s not giving up–he can’t give up. There’s too much at stake.

Beyond dispute, Ethan Ramsey is not an easy man to defeat. The King of Quiet Desperation wears his broken crown with arrogance, each burnished gem representing his sins, though the ultimate one hasn’t brought him down yet.

Having put the mask of nonchalance back on, Doctor Ramsey turns off the lights and stomps into the empty corridor—his hand still carrying the heavenly softness of Tiffany’s skin like a fingerprint, like a sin, shaky fingers curling at the very thought of the contact—then begins a seemingly casual stroll to his office.

He doesn’t have many vices—she is all of them.

_____

A/N2: Hope you enjoyed this bad boy ❤️ Sorry (not sorry) if it's too long and repetitive...I literally can't shut up when it comes to these two fsksjdkfjs Plus it felt really good to find my writing mojo after such a long time!

PS. If there are any typos and/or mistakes...No, there aren't lol I'm fighting COVID at the moment, so my brain's a little foggy. I had this fic sitting in my drafts and decided to just go with the flow while I'm feverish and can't see any faults sjfskfkjf I'll get back to everyone waiting for a reply when I'm more coherent. Stay safe, lovelies!

[jeonride]

kim mingyu reading list / fic recs !

don't forget to like + reblog fics that you like to support the authors <3

navigation

FICS ! ✧*。

King of My Heart (smut, established relationship) by @gyuhanniescarat

Vices and Virtues (enemies to lovers, bodyguard!gyu) by @lovelyhan

The Only Exception (fluff, smut, college au) by @wonusite

Spoiled (smut) by @wonusite

The Perils of Apartement Living (smut, friends to lovers) by @dontflailmenow

A Sheep in Wolf's Clothing (smut) by @rubyreduji

The Secrets Kept from Roommates (smut) by @cheolism

Stay At Home The Series (smut, fluff, husband!mingyu) by @celestiababie

Oh No, He's Hot (smut, dilf!mingyu) by@ncteez

Honey Boy (fluff, mentions of nsfw & smut, light angst, college au) by @chocosvt

First Date (smut) by @cheolhub

This is How We Fall (fluff, light angst) by @bitterie-sweetie

Drift Away (smut, fluff, angst) by @playmetheclassics

Love and Warmth (fluff, humor, assistant!mingyu) by @viastro

Again and Again (mild angst, fluff, smut) by @lovelyhan

Snuggly (smutty fluff, frenemies to lovers) by @playmetheclassics

To The Brim (smut, husband!mingyu) by @toruro

Birthday Love (smut) by @sluttyminghao

Pup Code (fluff, angst, smut, crack, college au) by @beefboyandbabygirl

I Love Looking at You (fluff) by @taetaespeaches

Hold On (To Me) (fluff) by @taexual

Make Yourself at Home (fluff, smut, established relationship) by @celestiababie

Where Do Broken Hearts Go (friends to lover, song inspired) by @cheolism

Do I Want To Hit You or Do I Just Want You (smut, enemies to lovers) by @dontflailmenow

Light a Flame (smut, fluff) by @euphor1a

DRABBLES / SCENARIOS ! ✧*。

the one with mingyu and the twin bed (smut, fluff) by @eoieopda

what a view (smut, husband!mingyu) by @toruro

dry humping (smut) by @undermoonlightst

you + me = three (fluff, husband!mingyu x pregnant!reader) by @sunnylovespickles

his size part of cuffing season (smut, boyfriend!mingyu) by @number1mingyustan

making out with gyu (nsfw, fluff, established relationship) by @gyuldaengi

abandoned mall piano (romance, meet-cute, awkward mingyu) by @cheolism

uncannily perfect (fluff, soulmate au) by @slytherinshua

lick the bowl clean (fluff, college au) by @rubyreduji

home (way too much fluff) by @papercupids

heavy on your love (fluff, husband!mingyu) by @celestiababie

happy first father's day (fluff, husband!mingyu) by @icyminghao

[tomriddleslove]

Foolish, foolish thing.

✩Tom Riddle x Reader

Summary: The one where Tom reflects on how much he hates everything, yet he can’t seem to stop. Alternatively: Tom has a dramatic internal monologue.

A/N: I’m going to cry this is actually so foul but REPOST since I accidentally deleted my fucking account. I now have to try remember whatever I wrote 😭. This was my first ever fic so be nice ( or don’t it’s ok)

Song: Sour Switchblade - Elita

Warning: Brief mention of unaliving

There were many things in life that angered Tom.

Whilst it is safe to presume that worrying about mindlessness niceties was beyond the realm of Tom Riddle’s concerns, one could ground some form of justification for his pessimistic outlook on life.

See, anger is a scale. One one end, you have the mild anger. A brief moment of frustration - a hot flash, an unthought remark. It comes just as quickly as it goes. We all felt it. Wether it was reasoned or not, we all did. United in our emotions.

Then , there’s the midpoint of the spectrum, a noticeable presence in the day. Anger wraps her hands around your throat, she does not squeeze. The presence is noticeable, but not burdening. It affects you for a day, perhaps two . This one lingers slightly. It pushes at the surface of the heart, scratches lightly. No visible mark. Tom perhaps most resonated with this. Anger, like all emotions, was a part of being human, being mortal. In the absence of anger, we would not have happiness. Anger was not inherently bad.

Aristotle believed that the most virtuous of people; Those who hoped to achieve eudamonia - enlightenment- would find a golden mean inbetween the emotions. Everything was paired. For recklessness, you had cowardice. For the indulgent, you had the unfeeling.

The traits we associate with virtue, such as bravery, or compassion, lay inbetween the vices of excess and deficiency.

So let anger be the vice of deficiency, bitter and resentful. Happiness is the vice of excess, obsequious and suppliant. Most of us would fall somewhere in the middle, fluctuating between excess and deficiency.

Tom lived in deficiency. He let the anger accumulate. She held her hand against his throat, not enough to suffocate but enough for him to forget what it was like to breathe, uninterrupted. He seldom grew used to her presence, a welcome sight. That seemingly harmless scratch, the anger that wasn’t enough to send him lashing out, or breaking down, every single day. It erodes at him.

The only testament to Tom Riddle having a heart was the damage inflicted on it.

Perhaps what sent Tom to the very end of the spectrum was laughable. He could tolerate the relentless tirades from the children at the home he stayed at. He never cared much for their words anyways, it wasn’t enough to tip the scale.

It wasn’t the way his peers had largely changed their attitude to him after he had discovered he was the heir of Slytherin. The same mouths that tormented him, now singing his praises. No, he didnt care for that. Wether people liked him or not, he knew power came from fear. Yes, perhaps to establish that standing he needed to employ charisma, be at least undetected. But trust, and respect, would not get him anyway here. Anything that is earned, can be revoked. Fear was instilled. It was engrained - it controlled what you did, and how you did it.

So what did push Tom to that forsakes far end of the spectrum? The place where anger constricts your airways? She digs her teeth into the side of your neck and tugs at your heart?

Foolishness.

Tom hated foolishness.

He loathed it. The mere sight of it gnawed at his very being (or what was left of it) . He could not stand the the foolish. Those who deluded themselves into thinking it was ok to wallow in self pity. Those who believed they were untouched.

Any form of foolishness? He hated it.

One cannot live in constant anger for long. The toll it takes on the being is too high, it is simply not sustainable. There was a beautiful irony in Tom’s pursuit for immortality, for if he didn’t seek to do so he would surely be dead in a year. Two, if he was lucky.

Why? Because more often than not, Tom had now been living with an excess of anger for the better part of a year. He learnt how to breathe whilst being suffocated, learnt how to compose himself despite the pressure it exerted on him. Tom was witnessing the very thing that angered him so much daily now.

And he was the perpetrator.

His anger for foolishness came from his utter disbelieve that anyone could, or would, willingly allow themselves to be fooled. To be vulnerable, to have something that they blindly followed. He thought it was simply the most unthinkable, daft action anyone could do. Yet, when it came to you, Tom was an absolute fool.

There is no polite way to put it, really. Tom thought nothing of you when he first met you. No sort of spark, a burn, an indescribable longing. No- to him you were the nameless person he spent every Thursday afternoon with during your double potions lesson.

But maybe that was better. It wasn’t on some kind of hedonistic basis that he fell for you.

Rather, it was his very being that fell for you before he could even comprehend what happened.

It was alien to him, the way his heart beat ever so slightly quicker when you would brush past him to reach for some ingredients, the faint scent of your perfume sending him into a haze. It was him searching for you subconsciously every thursday, it was him somehow being attuned to every laugh you exchanged with your friends at the far end of the slytherin table. It was obsessive, it crept up on him and grabbed him, holding him hostage to his own dismay.

Tom's realization gnawed at the very fabric of his identity, as if the foundation of his carefully constructed persona was slowly eroding. The anger he harbored towards foolishness now manifested within himself, and the more he tried to resist, the deeper he found himself sinking into the quicksand of emotions he disdained.

Every moment with you chipped away at the fortress he built around his heart. It was a cruel irony, for the very emotion he deemed foolish had become an adversary within. The disdain he felt for the vulnerability of others now echoed in his own internal struggle, and the knowledge that he, the formidable Tom Riddle, was succumbing to such weakness tormented him.

Love was an unwelcome guest, an intruder in the sanctuary of his calculated existence. He despised the way his thoughts involuntarily veered towards you, the way his heart betrayed the logic he clung to so desperately.

He hated the way you made him feel. The way he found himself wanting to be near you. He found that he didn’t mind stopping what he was doing if he could be with you. You didn’t willingly veer him off his path to greatness, but heaven knows that for you? Tom would careen himself off that track. And he hated that fact.

He hated it so much he contemplated snuffling the life out of you when you sat together in your room, subdued by a comfortable silence. He contemplated ending it all (whether it be you, or him) . A simple flick of his wand, it’s all he needed to do, and you’d be gone.

But no.

See, Anger lingered, it built up. But love?

Love clung. It burrowed into the desolate hallways of his heart, embedding its tendrils into him, refusing to ever leave.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, and the taste lingered like an enduring reminder of his own fallibility-

His own humanity.

The universe, it seemed, reveled in weaving the threads of his downfall from the very fabric he detested – the foolishness of love.

A small sigh, whether it be of defeat or acceptance (were they really ever different things?) escapes his lips, as he turns over, the feeble blanket that enveloped the both of you providing little to no warmth in the mid November night.

His eyes trace over your sleeping form; the gentle rise and fall of your chest. His hand hesitates for a second, gently reaching out. He places his hand ever so lightly atop of your chest, the warmth of your body seeping into him the same way your very being sept into his. He feels the rhythmic beating of your heart, and is once again reminded of how easy it would be. To just pierce the damned thing, and not feel this way anymore. To not feel like you were drowning him , yet he also needed you to breathe.

He hesitates for a second but ultimately, as he has always done, moves his hand up to brush away a strand of misplaced hair from your face, as he lets his eyes flutter shut. He pulls the blanket slightly tighter over himself, resting his head near your shoulder, forehead pressed against your skin.

He’ll do it another day, he convinces himself.

Such a foolish, foolish thing.

[alilbitlesbian]

Vices & Virtues drabble

Too short to post on ao3 so posting it here instead.

Angel’s show and tell object seems to be- a theatrical little television show! You lean forward a bit to get a better view, wings beating softly to help you keep your balance as you do, you sit down as the show starts, showing Angel-

Tied up? In a basement? You glance to the others in concern, but they’re still watching, a few having suspicious looks, none of them seem concerned though.

“You’re finally awake… Angel Dust.” You tilt your head, feathers rustling as a man approaches poor Angel, grabbing him by the hair, you tense, feeling a bit of protectiveness well in your chest, no one gets to manhandle Angel like that! Where was this guy? Would Angel tell you if you asked? You’d give him a stern talking to if you found him!

“I want you to TELL me, where your BOSS, STASHES HIS VAULTS!” A knife is pulled on poor Angel, and your feathers puff up while your smallest two wings tuck around your sides in a sort-of hug. Where’d the KNIFE come from!?

You glance to Angel, assuring yourself he was still alive and well. There weren’t any wounds to indicate he was accidentally hurt, so you turn back to the little.. Ah, s..creen… Is the word? Angel’s show continues to play, you’re excited to see his acting career, even though he looks a bit too smug..

“It’s hilarious you think I’d tell ya anything.” Angel chuckles, grinning at the villain, and your heart skips a beat at the immediate reaction from the wolf sinner.

“FINE! I guess I’ll just have to FUCK the information out of y-”

You freeze.

Your wings are locked still in the air, the usually expressive things frozen where they had been, your expression was… Horrified might be a good word for it, your pupils the size of pinpricks as the horrific, depraved content shown to you continued to play, sex- moaning- aLL OF IT!

Depraved, perverse, unprincipled, licentious- Fucking! WHAT THE FUCK!?

You sit there in horror as Charlie attempts to compliment the show, eventually Vaggie notices your.. State and turns off the tv.

“Hey are you-” You raise a single finger, you don’t even look at Vaggie as you stand.

“Don’t- I need a shower, and some holy water. I’ll be back- Maybe.” Your wings unfold as you approach the exit of the hotel, flying off before Charlie can even attempt to call you back.