#finally I can return to my whimsy

[cupophrogs]

I’m still alive I promise

[foldingfittedsheets]

When I was in third grade I got Weird with writing. It makes sense in hindsight. Oppressed people find their own ways of carving out space for themselves.

The first bit I did landed me in trouble more immediately. I was given, god knows by who, one of those enormous giant pencils. I loved it. My tiny nine year old body was consumed with love of this pencil that was roughly 1/3 of my height. I insisted that I would only use this pencil in school.

It was an unlucky year to be stricken with whimsy. My third grade teacher was a tyrannical Japanese woman fueled by her dislike of children. I suspect the cultural divide between how she expected children to behave and the reality of American children broke her.

She was three foot nothing and getting berated by her was the first time I’d ever looked down at an adult. I also saw her once standing next to her white 6’ behemoth of a husband and tried to conceptualize how two such disparate people had sex. I never could.

If you think I’m exaggerating her wrath it’s worth noting that my best friend at the time developed a stress disorder from this woman and I fell into a bizarre stutter that cleared up the moment I was out of class. In her classroom breaking down crying was a weekly occurrence.

But despite the frigid conditions, I persevered. I stayed silly. I brought my enormous novelty pencil to class every day. It was an act of rebellion that I sank my teeth into and refused to let go. I could barely sharpen it because its girth defied standard sharpeners the way I defied my teacher. This was my pencil.

When she attempted to confiscate my giant pencil I rose an unholy ruckus. This would not turn into the confiscated holographic Charizard, my tamagotchi, or my little pop frogs that she never returned to me. No. This was my goddamn pencil. There was no rules against enormous novelty pencils and after a heated week of debate she finally conceded I could use the hated thing.

It was stolen by my kleptomaniac friend a week or so after that a fact I’d only discover at the end of the year. But my tiny mind was convinced the evil teacher had stolen it.

In retaliation, instead of resuming normal behavior I decided that I would do all my writing upside down and backwards. No one, least of all myself, could explain why I felt this was necessary. Maybe I felt I’d be cool like a spy, maybe I just needed to buck the teachers hateful authority, or maybe I was just a little autistic kid.

When taking notes or writing essays I’d arrange the paper to be upside down. It may surprise you to know that my penmanship was actually quite decent, albeit I wrote a little more slowly than my classmates. That’s why it took the teacher a while to realize what was going on. There wasn’t a drop in the quality of my writing.

Unsurprisingly she hated it when she found out. She lambasted me both privately and in front of the class to write normally. I asked if my writing was illegible. She had to admit that no, it was not. I shrugged. I did not see a problem.

Like the pencil my new writing fixation was cited as being a distraction to the other children. But similarly she didn’t have an easy way to make me stop. She marked me down, gave me several talking tos, and generally bullied me into writing like everyone else.

All attempts at correcting me simply ran off my back. I had found a way to cope with how miserable she made all of us, by inflicting misery back upon her. I was unswayed for the rest of the year.

When I graduated up into fourth grade and had a teacher I adored it suddenly stopped. I looked at the paper and thought, Well that’s silly, and flipped it the right way round.

I can still write upside down, though, a testament to my worst year in public school.

[rivvyve]

It’s Tuesday!! Today’s the day to make noise.

To anyone who’s page this comes across, an assist would be amazing!

Do you like Whimsy? Supernatural Elements? A sassy evil witch that would slay (in more ways than one) on Real Housewives? Or maybe an army of cats with a tendency to swear like sailors at the beck and call of a (very) horny Cat King? Shapeshifting, Demons, the goddess that is Ruthie Connell?

Maybe you’re anticipating the next season of Stranger Things, wishing Eddie Munson would return and kiss Steve Harrington on the… mouth. Or maybe Supernatural left a hole in your heart more all consuming than the homophobic superhell Cassie-boy found himself in. Or maybe you’re peeved with Netflix for cheating out on the final season of The Umbrella Academy. Perhaps you’re looking for a great Halloween show, spooky season is here and Harry Potter is more Christmas, after all.

May I introduce you to Dead Boy Detectives! Queer friendly, feel good, incredible storytelling, insanely kind fandom- take it from me, you can quite literally check my post history to see how rarely I post. Me and social media? PASS! And I’m an artist? Shouldn’t I be better at it to, ya know, gain a following?

Anyway, I’ve been sidetracked. To summarize, this show is good it got me on Twitter (we’re not calling it X, right? That’s just stupid). That’s a DAMN good show.

I mean, check this out:

We got a cool Boy with a Bat too!

Alternatively, maybe you want to just help out some people so they don’t lose a show they love. That would be pretty cool of you. Also valid: the chaos and sheer power of making Netflix listen to people and take back a stupid decision. Personally, that’s a solid reason- tell them they suck, bark at the CEOs, you know, fun things.

To finish off- even if you decide to pass this post up, thank you for taking the time to read. I’m sure some of you have been completely bombarded by now, and that’s probably annoying. Even if you skip this, i hope your day is well, your pillow is always cool on one side and that you never lose a show you love.

Here’s the petition if you’d like to sign for us. And seriously, give Dead Boys a shot. I sincerely doubt you’ll be disappointed 🏏💀🔍

And hey! Thank You💕

[orchideous-nox]

The Amazing Devil are underrated storytellers

Like I'm sure many people did, I discovered alt-folk band The Amazing Devil through Joey Batey as a fan of The Witcher. Someone on TikTok was talking about the song Fair and how the actor who plays Jaskier (or Dandelion, depending on preference of material) from The Witcher sang it.

Instantly, I knew I had to listen to this song and I sat with it on repeat for an hour, picking through references and laughing at how pure and simple the love conveyed in those words was. It's the kind of love you dream of, where your partner completes you and life without them seems impossible. A love that goes beyond you both, as if there was no choice but to fall for one another. It's not pretentious or impossible to understand. It's universal and I fell in love with it.

Months later, I found Battle Cries, a song of overlapping whimsies. It tells the tale of two lovers ending their relationship and trying to find pieces of calmness in the uproar of their breakup, comparing it to a war not just between each other but within themselves. There a metaphors deeply woven within the lyrics and each line is magic as Joey and Madeleine sing over each other, words occasionally syncing up, representing the way they struggle to feel in tune with each other at the end of their relationship.

Battle Cries lead me to Marbles, the story of a couple where one of them is suffering from memory loss, the trials and tribulations of watching the person you love forget who they are and who you are too. It is a beautifully told story that feels so genuine, making me wonder how close to home the inspiration was. This song is an absolute guarantee at tears while also making you laugh.

Ruin came to me next, as wells as Drinking Song for the Socially Anxious and The Horrors and The Wild, three songs with such incredibly different vibes that don't just need to be listened to but thoroughly devoured.

Finally, a song I can never praise enough, Inkpot Gods. This song brings together so many ideas and images I love. Again, it is heavy on its use of metaphors but contains one of my favourite references they have ever used. The song discusses the love you can hold for another person and the lengths you will go to so you can protect them. It talks of breaking generational expectations and being there for someone when they can't defend themselves.

The best part of Inkpot Gods, however, is the Lord of the Rings reference where Madeleine sings "you might not fear a man//but to a woman by the end you'll kneel and plead". This is popularly theorised to be about Eowyn in The Return of the King and the line "I am no man" she speaks as she ends her foe's life, a show of her strength not despite of her gender. Easily the best line of the trilogy to me, and hearing it in song form cements this, following it with "I'm more than what my mum told me", breaking this tradition what what a woman can or should be.

While Joey Batey was the draw to The Amazing Devil's music for me, Madeleine has kept me there, she has such a beautiful voice and her and Joey together have made some stunning music that I will always love. They tell these fantastic stories within a few minutes, creating characters worthy of epic tales and narratives so deep and complex it leaves you thinking for long after.

[ginalongillustrations]

Taryon Darrington

& Doty

Vox Machina

Critical Role

Hello, yes, I have loved this one human male Adventurer and his best friend robot since the moment he yelled out 'you there' and I would defend him with my life.

I was so lost and frustrated with my MN designs that I honestly might just put them away until the animated show drops, so I have some time to rethink things. Fjord is the first design I've ever made that I've wiped from my timeline but I hated it so much. So why not make a character I just love and know I can't fuck up.

While I was struggling and wanted a laugh, I kept returning to Tary's scenes and just knew I had to get his print done to honour this great character.

I went very Elizabethan with his design because it seemed the right amount of flamboyant, but the helmet wasn't working in the design, so it was relegated to a symbol at the bottom.

Doty changed a lot, as you can see by my sketch to final designs. Originally, he was much more blocky. More square headed and a bit of Laputa because I love that whimsy of it, but I ended up going almost entirely with the insanely amazing Doty design done by Slideshow Collectibles for their figure.

[reimenaashelyee]

The World in Deeper Inspection UPDATE Read: (Chapter 1: Pages 57 to 68) (COMPLETED)

About the comic

Grimsley confronts the man who set him on this goose chase.

And with that… that’s the end of the 10th Anniversary revamp!! Can’t believe it took me almost a year to get this short project done, but blame my school and day job for that! *drives the nail into the TWIDI IS NOT DEAD sign deeper into the wall*

It was enlightening to reinterpret my first ever completed comic (more complete than the strips and unfinished or one-off shorts I had done prior) – basically the one that started me down the road to a career as a published author. I was happy to see how much my style had improved – not just in the layout, flow and pacing – but in how my characters have become more expressive and energetic, and how comfortable I am with the cartooning. Here is the proof that drawing comics helps you get better at comics!! It only took 10 / 11 years!

Plus, after a long while of drawing with a more reserved, professional approach (see: Seance Tea Party, Alexander Comic), I enjoyed the abandon and whimsy of TWIDI. The lettering is inconsistent all over but that only adds to the handmade whimsical charm of TWIDI, so lol.

Anyway – I have the 10th Anniversary ebook edition up on my Ko-fi and itch.io! This edition carries both the original and revamped versions of Chapter 1. No new cover or illustration for it this time; I think they are perfect as they are.

I have been meaning to make a continuation of the end of TCM that bridges the start of Chapter 1. It’s a long time coming: a story that had somewhat existed since the early days of TWIDI in 2010. Hopefully I will find that stability in my life to return.

Open the cut below to see my notes.

There’s also nothing exciting here, EXCEPT I severely cut down on the number of panels (and the verbiage).

As with the previous spread I cut down and distilled a lot of the verbiage. I shifted the dialogue slightly so that the reveal that Mr. Brown is a Lord comes from Grimsley (in 2013, Mr Brown never admitted he was an aristrocrat until this page) – it made more sense since Grimsley had gotten the info independently from the newspaper article and Andrew, and Mr Brown not mentioning it himself fits with his whole lying thing. For this spread and the next couple of them I am zooming out the panels to include more scenery. The 2013 layouts felt very claustrophobic, with the over-reliance on bust shots of the characters to carry the tension of the conversation.

Some more dialogue trimming and background scenery. I decided to change the setting for the chase sequence to be within the cemetery – just ’cause it makes more sense than if it was done all around Brookham. The panelling for it is a bit more dynamic too – look, Grimsley is parkouring!!

I have no idea why 10 (actually, 11) years ago I had so much trouble conveying and pacing this sequence of Mr Brown being set on fire. That’s the hindsight of experience, I guess??? Anyway I added a few more panels for actual build-up, and the blocking is way better now – there’s more energy (especially Skeleton’s expressions) and clarity (omg we can finally see where and what’s happening to the lamp). The last panel is a new addition to better connect with the next spread. Also… I am excited to see how much further I can draw Mr. Brown’s demise.

Man, the difference some changes in pacing can make. I added some panels with witnesses to the fire, just to emphasise why Grimsley and Skeleton have got to run. It’s crazy enough if a Brookie has got to witness immolation in the middle of the Night, but two paranatural spookies??? Also human fat has such a colour hdsjkfhsdkf the things that come out of an immolated body are so eerie….

The 2013 spread is almost perfect. 18 Year Old Me got it.

[violet-shadows]

Moving On (Part Four)

⊱ Previous Part ❈ Next Part ⊰

Masterlist

Summary: After loving Azriel in secret for years, you decide it’s time for you to move on.

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (She/Her)

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: drugging with the implied intent to commit SA, attempted kidnapping, vomiting

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

 Hope is a fickle thing. It can be a blessing, carrying us forward when the darkness seems infinite and giving us the strength to persevere. It can also be a curse, lingering despite logic and reason, making disappointment all the more crushing. You had tried to rid yourself of hope for so long where Azriel was concerned. You even thought you succeeded a few times, accepting that your feelings would never be returned. But then, a flicker of hope would spark, only to be snuffed out once again, plunging you into darkness. Last night, when Azriel said those fateful words, the hope that bloomed within you was all but explosive, fierce as a wildfire but as brief as a candle in the wind. In the end, it left you breathless and aching. And, as always, kicking yourself for your foolish whimsy. 

“Do you not understand how precious you are to me?!”

The words echoed in your mind long after you left the House of Wind, twisting like a knife in your gut. You knew he didn’t mean it the way you wanted him to, and yet, for a brief moment, you had hoped you were wrong.

“Precious to you… as a friend.”

“Right.” 

You replayed the memory, focusing on how he recoiled, grimacing as he clarified. As if the alternative was revolting. It had taken everything in you not to crumple as you sought out Cassian, keeping your head high and jaw tight when you asked him to fly you home. Your friend had read the look on your face but mercifully didn’t press when you shut down his line of questioning.

You spent the rest of the day shut up inside, numb and wallowing in self-pity and embarrassment, and when the sun finally set over the City of Starlight, you lay in your bed and cried. 

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

“So who’s next on the roster?” 

Mor startled from her place at her desk, pushing shiny blonde locks out of her face as you entered. She blinked owlishly, not answering, and you clarified, “For dates?”

“Dates?” Mor echoed, cocking her head to one side. “More dates? I thought… I figured… after what happened…”

“I’m not going to let one bad experience ruin everything,” you declared with a shrug, forcing yourself to remain the picture of nonchalance. Acting like something didn’t bother you was your specialty, and you weren’t about to switch up now. “Besides, it wasn’t one of your picks that turned out poorly.” 

Mor shifted nervously, her previous enthusiasm over playing matchmaker gone. “I just thought you might want some time…” she trailed off. “Or maybe you and Az…”

“Me and Az what?” you prompted her when she didn’t finish her sentence. 

“Nothing,” Mor said, plastering on a bright smile that you knew meant she was changing the subject. “If you want back in the game, we’ll get you back in the game.” 

“Yep, I’m ready,” you replied, flopping into a chair across from her. Neither of you missed the way your voice wobbled with uncertainty, despite your assurances. This seemed to give Mor pause, and she was quiet for a long moment as she glanced between the fireplace and you. 

“Before we go through my roster, as you call it,” Mor began, folding her hands in front of her on the desk, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you shrugged.

“Have you ever considered… would you ever consider giving Az a chance?” Her tone was gentle, almost pleading, and you shot her a questioning look. 

“Az? As in… Azriel?” you asked. She nodded her expression remaining grave. “What do you mean? Give him a chance to what?” 

“You know what I mean,” she pushed. “Give him a chance… to see if there’s a spark. There’s no pressure! I was just wondering if you had ever considered.” 

“I’m not following,” you felt your eyebrows pinch together as you tried to unravel her words. “How would I give him a chance? He doesn’t feel that way about me.”

“Very funny,” Mor snorted, rolling her eyes in good humor, but her eyebrows shot up when she saw you were completely serious. “You’re serious.” 

“Of course I’m serious,” you exclaimed. “Did you hit your head or something? Are we talking about the same Azriel? Tall, dark, handsome, speaks to shadows… that guy?” 

“Yes, that Azriel,” Mor replied. “The same one who is completely in love with you.” 

The air rushed from your lungs and you sputtered, you gasp soon turning into a high, keening giggle as you took in the absurdity of Mor’s statement. “That’s a good one, Mor,” you said, shaking your head. “But you really shouldn’t tease people.” 

Instead of joining in as you expected, Mor shook her head in apparent exasperation and sighed. “Look, I usually wouldn’t meddle,” she began, earning an incredulous look from you. “Not in something this personal, at least. But apparently, you’re dense enough that you need a little help, so I’ll spell it out for you. Azriel is head over heels in love with you and he has been for a while.” 

“You’re serious,” you said, shock sobering you. 

“Completely,” Mor nodded. “By the Mother, we all thought you were just great at pretending not to notice. You really didn’t know?!” 

You opened your mouth, only to shut it again when words failed you. “I don’t think… that can’t be…” 

“Well, it is,” Mor said. “You’re the last to know, apparently. And now that you do know, what do you think?”

“What do I think?” you echoed numbly. Your face felt numb and a ringing filled your ears as if Mor’s revelation was a physical blow. “I don’t understand.” 

“Look, if you don’t want things to change, they don’t have to,” she said. Her voice sounded distant like she was speaking from the other end of a long tunnel, and try as you might, you couldn’t tear your gaze away from the fireplace to look at her. “I just thought I’d throw it out there as an option.” 

The roaring in your ears grew, and if you hadn’t already been sitting, you were sure your knees would have buckled. Surely, Mor was joking… or just plain wrong. But one look at the pensive expression on her flawless face told you otherwise. Mor, as usual, was Truth, and she was being honest at this moment. 

“Y/N?” the sound of your name brought you out of your thoughts, and you took a deep breath before making any reply.

“He’s not in love with me,” you said. Your voice sounded flat and dull, the polar opposite of the chaos that was roiling within you. 

“He is,” was Mor’s retort.

“He’s not,” you insisted. Shock was giving way to irritation and you wanted to scream. Surely, you had enough crushed hope to last a lifetime by now. “I would know.”

Mor simply laughed at that. “Apparently, you wouldn’t know,” she said, “because he totally is.” 

To your horror, helpless tears sprang to your eyes. It wasn’t her fault. Your friend didn’t know of your feelings for Azriel, so she couldn’t know how much this was ripping your heart out. But it was, and your composure was beginning to crumble. “You don’t understand,” you averted your eyes, furiously blinking back tears. “He can’t be.”

“Why not?” Mor’s voice had lost its teasing edge as she rounded her desk to sit next to you. When you finally looked up, concern and confusion were all you could read on her face. “Make me understand, Y/N.”

“He can’t be in love with me,” you said again, staring at the fire as you steeled yourself to make the confession. “He can’t be, because I’m in love with him.” 

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

Azriel took deep breaths as he approached the Townhouse and worked to adopt the calm facade he usually wore without effort. There were very few things that could make the shadowsinger truly nervous, and you were at the top of the list. It had been more than a day since your last conversation, and while Azriel told himself he was giving you time to cool off, he knew that wasn’t the whole reason he had stayed away. In truth, Azriel needed time as well. Time to shore up the gaping hole in his chest and to tamp down the impulses that your presence had brought out. He had been so close to telling you the truth, and yet, he had never been further. The worst part was, he couldn’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse that you left before he lost his cool entirely. Part of him wished he’d just blurted it out if only to get the burden off his shoulders. But he knew you, knew your heart, and it would be selfish to put you through the pain of rejecting him. 

So, when you rushed out of the House and into Cassian’s arms, he went to the roof instead of chasing after you. He stayed up there for several hours, punching and kicking and running until his knuckles bled and his legs shook from exertion. When he finally stopped, it wasn’t because the roaring of his thoughts had quieted or the yearning within him had ceased, but the insistence of his shadows, who were growing increasingly agitated as he ignored their pleas to rest. He acquiesced eventually, long after the sun had set over the city, and trudged down the steps towards his now empty room. 

Cassian caught him in the hallway, his customary humor nowhere to be found as he appraised the shadowsinger. “Are you okay?” he asked. It was a stupid question and one they both knew he wouldn’t answer honestly, but Azriel appreciated the invitation to open up, nonetheless. Even after five hundred hears of his taciturn nature, Cassian still offered an ear every time. 

“M’fine,” was all Azriel had muttered, brushing past his brother without a second look. He hadn’t thought about the way your smell would linger in his rooms, and when he opened the door, it drove the air out of his lungs as if he’d been walloped. Something like grief settled within him when he flopped down onto the sheets that smelled so strongly of you. The feeling weighed heavy in his chest, following him into his dreams when he finally drifted off.

When he woke the next morning, he ignored the tug in his chest as he inhaled, struck once more by the unyielding urge to search you out. He had only just avoided laying himself bare before you, and now he was itching to throw himself back in the fire. He wondered if this qualified as a form of masochism, to subject himself to the thing he wanted most but could never have. Perhaps it was, but the realization didn’t help and soon his wings were carrying him towards the Townhouse where you dwelled, driven by self-destructive tendencies and the selfish craving to see you again. 

He stood outside the Townhouse door for a long minute after he arrived, debating whether or not to knock. On one hand, it seemed like the polite thing to do. On the other, he did technically live in the Townhouse from time to time, and not letting himself in would probably be seen as odd. In the interest of maintaining a facade of normalcy, he took one last moment to screw his features into a neutral mask and walked in. 

The lower level of the Townhouse was empty, but he could hear the faint muttering of two feminine voices coming from the second floor. Mor had taken to living at the River House most of the time and had recently converted her old bedroom into an office. She said it was to get some peace and quiet away from Rhysand, but Azriel wondered if she did it to stay closer to you. 

At one point in his life, he thought he was in love with Mor. He was sure his feelings for the blonde were as intense as they could get, that she was it for him. Then he met you, and the affection he’d felt for his friend paled in comparison. It was nearly laughable, in hindsight, that he had been so hung up on Mor. Now, he envied her, for the friendship she had with you. 

He contemplated the change in his feelings as he ascended the stairs, his steps silent as ever. When he reached the landing, he paused before turning the corner into Mor’s office, his ear pricking as he caught the tail end of your sentence. 

“He doesn’t feel that way about me,” you were saying to Mor, your tone slightly sad. Were you talking about a suitor? A friend? Azriel froze, torn between making his presence known and learning the context of that sentence, his shadows already swirling around him, concealing him from sight. 

Before he could make a decision either way, Mor let out a scoff, “Very funny.” There was a pause, and Azriel resisted the urge to send his shadows around the corner, to ask them to describe the look on your face. “You’re serious,” Mor said after a long moment, sounding incredulous. 

You spoke up, then, sounding almost scandalized. “Of course I’m serious. Did you hit your head or something? Are we talking about the same Azriel? Tall, dark, handsome, speaks to shadows… that guy?” Azriel’s mouth went dry, his heartbeat stuttering when you said his name. Now he was sure he should make his presence known. Eavesdropping was one thing, but listening in on a conversation about himself was too far. Aside from the obvious invasion of privacy, did he really want to know what you would say behind his back?

He willed himself to cough or move, to stop the conversation from progressing before he heard something he didn’t want to hear, but his feet remained rooted in place. A heartbeat later, Mor was responding in the affirmative, and Azriel’s stomach dropped. “Yes, that Azriel. The same one who is completely in love with you.” 

Azriel’s heart seemed to stop in his chest as time ground to a halt. Mortification and dread swamped him and his shadows pulled in tighter, ready to ferry their master away from the nightmare unfolding just around the corner. He remained frozen in place, though, unable to resist the temptation of hearing your reaction. Distantly, he felt slightly betrayed that Mor had revealed his secrets, but he supposed he had his own lack of subtly to blame for that. Despite how his friends thought his affections for you were obvious, though, he had managed thus far to keep you from suspecting. Until now.

The silence that hung after Mor’s words seemed to stretch on for minutes while Azriel stood paralyzed. Then, a laugh rang out, so out of place he all but jumped at the sound. It took him a moment to figure out the laugh was coming from you, and his stomach dropped. He didn’t know what he expected, but laughter felt like a particularly cruel twist. It reminded Azriel of the way adults giggle at children when they make outrageous declarations, amused, and almost pitying. Was it really so preposterous, to picture Azriel at your side? He knew the answer, but a small part of him still hoped it wasn’t.

Azriel was traveling through shadows before he made the conscious decision to leave, unwilling to subject himself to further torment. He hadn’t heard the full conversation, hadn’t really known that you were laughing at his expense, but his insecurity filled the gaps in his knowledge, edging out logic with self-loathing and melancholy. Despite all of this, he wasn’t angry at you. You had every right to reject him. It was nothing less than expected, and he had been mentally preparing for it for years. He always knew you would reject him. He’d even made peace with it. So why did he feel so devastated? 

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

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[cilil]

Of Faith and Folly

AN: I wrote this due to random inspiration and to get some negative feelings out. Please heed the warning; nothing super egregious happens, but I know it can be triggering for people who deal with abusive family members.

ഒ Characters: Manwë & Eru ഒ Synopsis: Eru scolds Manwë after the Valar decide to bring the Elves to Valinor for safety. ഒ Warnings: Abusive parent ഒ Short oneshot (~600 words) ഒ AO3

"So you have brought the Children to Valinor, Son." 

Manwë lifted his gaze skyward when he heard his father's voice in his mind, smiling. "We have." 

Why?" There was an edge to his tone. The serene, bright blue of Manwë's eyes became clouded, and he looked confused. 

"Because we feared that Melkor might continue to harm them." 

"And what folly, pray tell, made you believe that you know better than the grand plan? Do you now believe yourself wiser than to have faith in my designs, as I taught you?" 

Manwë's smile faded, and he flinched instinctively. "Father, forgive me, I thought this was part of the plan." 

"You err." Eru didn't sound as furious as he had been when Melkor had attempted to ruin the music, but his voice was cold. "Did you think that I would let him destroy all of my firstborn Children?"

"No, Father." 

"Then where was your faith in me? Even if your kin may at times stray and be faithless, I know I taught you better." 

Manwë felt his fána shrink. "I know, Father. I merely thought–" 

"My will I put into your heart always. Had you truly listened, you would have known better." 

"Yes, Father." He fell to his knees, trembling. Eru had never been this angry with him, mildly irritated at most when he had made mistakes as a young spirit. Anger had been Melkor's emotion, both to display and to evoke within others, while Manwë was met with the same love and joy he showed others in abundance. 

"Do you want me to rectify our mistake?" he offered. "We may yet make it right -"

"No." Eru's judgement came quickly and with grave finality. "I have spoken through Námo already. A decision has been made, and so it is doomed. All ills that shall befall your land in the future will be your burden to bear. May you listen well to me next time and find greater wisdom in it, so that you may in the end atone for your error." 

The weight of his presence was lifted from Manwë's ëala, and he found himself still on his knees, crying and shaking. What had he done? Why hadn't Eru spoken to him earlier? Hadn't he promised him that everything would be good and right in the end through his grace? Was all of that null and void now because he had been disobedient, even though he hadn't meant to? What was he going to tell the other Valar?

And why was he so afraid?

Manwë wrapped his wings around himself. He loved his father. He adored everything about him. So he had been raised, so he had been taught. Nothing bad or evil would ever befall him if he only had enough love and faith. 

(Melkor had always been the exception to this, admittedly, refusing to love him back no matter how hard Manwë tried to win his affection, but Eru had told him that his brother was a failure and not to fret.)

He was still afraid. 

And if any of the others found him like this he would have to make excuses or explain. Manwë forced himself to rise, wiped his tears and restlessly tugged on all muscles in his face until his expression had returned to his usual serene smile. 

Eru had told him that he had to see it through to the end now, and if he tried hard enough, maybe he could still make things right. He was hesitant to think that way, scared that he might once more evoke his father's ire by trusting his own convictions, but for the sake of everyone else he had to try. 

And despite everything, he still looked forward to welcoming the Elves in his realm.

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @edensrose @elanna-elrondiel @i-did-not-mean-to @melkors-defense-attorney @saintstars @singleteapot @stormchaser819 @urwendii

[yunarim]

🥀 DAUGHTER OF EVIL | RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

The flower of evil sweetly blooms with maddening color // Although it's a very lovely flower // Indeed, there are too many thorns to touch it

ʚ🌹ɞ — ever since little you’ve been a servant of evil famous for an unswerving loyalty and devotion to the queendom’s only ruler, a crimson tyrant named riddle rosehearts. his every complaint, his mere whimsies — you’ve made those all come true, had he only snap his fingers. and now, witnessing the end of both of you — you wonder, what kind of future awaits you two?

✎ tags : gn reader, saga of evil inspired, reader as len (aka servant of evil but not riddle's twin, reader and riddle are not siblings in any ways), can be read as platonic, angst throughout the fic, mentions of death, happy ending

▸notes : lmao i actually re-entered my vocaloid obsession phase and decided to give it go. i kinda have all the dorm leaders assigned to the 7 deadly sins series, would you be willing to read everyone else's parts? ㅋㅋㅋ ✦ W.C. : 2.8K

“So, shall we start?”

Riddle crosses his legs, a high heel pointing at the lowly being in front of his eyes begging for something ever so utterly insignificant it’s boring. Ah, no, there’s another emotion making his blood boil in his vessels — annoyance.

“Your majesty,” a plowman swallows under Riddle’s sharp gaze and folds his hands in a prayer gesture, falling to his knees. “I h-have no right to beg, b-but the field can no longer be plowed, it has exhausted all its resources. A-and it hasn't rained in the kingdom for a long time…”

“Ha,” Riddle lets out a provocative laughter. “So? You know you can’t beg me, but came here just for that purpose?”

“P-please, if only you could cast a rain!.. I will repay you twice, no, thrice as hard!! P-please, your majesty, I!—”

“To think that you expect me to excuse you for ruining the field!” He laughs, the hoarseness in his voice rises with a playful tone gliding around him. “Ha!! You insolent brat. You’re forgetting I sorely despise such ignorant fools like you. Off with your head!”

You know what follows this line. You see a collar of an unbelievable beauty, yet also of an eeriness no one would ever want to experience. The collar clasps around the man's neck thin from starving, and wants to dart your glance somewhere else but him, knowing exactly well that you can’t. 

“N-no…” a plowman cries. “I’m begging you, your majesty!! Please, anything but my magic!—”

“Take him away,” Riddle sighs, unamused. “I can’t stand these wails anymore.”

“As you wish, your majesty Rosehearts.”

Riddle follows your figure with a concentrated gaze fixed on your movements, and frowns at your actions. You tell the guards to get rid of the man that instant, no emotions flowing in the gleam of your eyes, and he wonders… How could you fit him so well?

There’s an absolute silence when you return and stand beside him at his right, a strong aroma of roses lingering around. It’s deceptively alluring, yet you feel like your skin could crumble just by standing here a second longer, though you also admit there’s no choice other than bowing your head so low it’s painful. 

“Yuu,” you don’t dare to shift your eyes to him, nor to move an inch. 

“Yes, your majesty Rosehearts?”

“How many times have I told you to stop calling me that?”

 “You’re my sublimity, my only light and meaning of my lowly existence,” you answer unswervingly. 

“Haaa,” Riddle sighs, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Want to be beheaded so much?”

“I am very sorry, your majesty.”

“You don’t look sorry at all.”

You finally move, ready to fall on your knees, but he rises from his throne and waves a hand, stopping you from doing anything absolutely ridiculous. Ah seriously, did he hurry when thinking you fit him so much? 

Can’t you see he’s being different to you?

“Yuu,” his voice is suddenly low and dark. “Drop your act immediately, I know you’re a terrible actor.”

“In order to be an exceptionally flawless servant to you, your majesty Rosehearts, I must—”

“Enough!!”

You finally look up at him, witnessing his frown.

“It’s Riddle for you.”

You jolt when hear his heels echoing in the hall, and turn around to raise an objection, but then again who are you to have the right to do that? 

The bells ring with deafening blows of the striker against the bronze walls, and Riddle turns to you, meeting your lost glance.

“Oh, it’s tea time.”

“I’ll prepare everything.”

You bow as lowly as you can, and ask to excuse you for leaving, and go back to the kitchen as if nothing ever happened a few minutes ago.

He’s always been like that. You remember him since you were born. You, a child of a counselor close to the previous king, possessing an enormous amount of magic within, and Riddle, future kingdom’s ruler. Despite your family losing all its value and status, you were assigned to being Riddle’s servant, thanks to the devotion of your ancestors. 

Every other servant would often ask you how come you just didn’t abandon your position with the magic of your level or why wouldn’t you just kill him. 

You don’t know yourself. If it was that easy to answer, you wouldn’t be here in the first place, and yet an image of Riddle’s genuine smile with a child-like playfulness splashing in the corner of his small red lips was fathoming you with a happiness blossoming inside. 

Your heart aches whenever you remember Riddle mother’s strict yells and slaps she gave for mistakes at the age of five. You remember him sneaking out to eat a strawberry tart you bake, you also can’t forget the scars she left on you for being so lenient and exceeding your authorities—to think you dared to try helping him. 

After all that,

Was there even a way to betray that smile that shines on his face when he looks at you?

“Oh, Yuu.”

You bow to Riddle when you see him approaching you riding a horse. His intimate tender smile who no one ever managed to witness, the smile he demonstrated exceptionally to you. 

You can’t help but smile at him in return and jolt right after, remembering you have no right to do that.

“Ah,” he says, jumping off the horse with a light elegant move, and comes to you. “Why did you stop?”

“Stop?” You echo him. 

“Smiling. It suits you.”

You swallow painfully, lowering your head and hearing an annoyed sigh from him again.

“Well then,” his hands land on your waist, causing you to gasp. “I just have to make you smile again.”

“Y-your majesty Rosehearts?..”

“Josephine,” he calls his horse and smiles. “Help me out.”

Josephine lowers slightly to make it easier for you to get on, and Riddle tries unsuccessfully to put you on. 

“Your majesty Rosehearts, let me…”

You follow his silent request to get on the horse, and look at him with a confused gaze. Everything becomes more complicated when he jumps right after, making your back touch his chest, and he grabs the reins. 

“Y-your ma!—”

“Ha-ha!” His laugh is clear and genuine, he smells like roses even on a horse, and you can’t help but smile. “I always wanted to ride with you.”

“With me?..”

“Indeed. You’re different from them.”

“Yes?” 

“You…” A strong wind current makes you close your eyes and grab the reins in order to not fall, and feel Riddle pressing his whole body to yours, making sure you will hear him almost whispering in your ear. “Never speak bad about me behind my back.”

You don’t know how to respond, but Riddle doesn’t look like he would be happy to hear your reply in any case, so you let yourself enjoy the ride for a minute, and then turn to him, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of his pinkish cheeks. 

“I have something to report—”

“Yuu!”

You hear two familiar voices, and ask Riddle to dismount. He helps you to get off the horse, and those who called you by your name run to you, welcoming in a warm embraces.

“Ace, Deuce,” you greet them calmly, despite your heart beating much faster. “I apologize for meeting you in such an unpleasant state of mine.”

“Nonsense,” Ace laughs off. “You’re just as silly as ever!”

“He’s right,” Deuce joins him and pokes your cheek. “We missed you!”

“I…” You turn to Riddle.

He’s not frowning, he’s not annoyed, he’s… You know that emotion. Disdain.

“Good afternoon, your majesty,” Deuce welcomes him, bowing, and Ace follows him not so eagerly. 

“Ignorant as you ever were.”

“Your majesty Rosehearts, I wanted to report that Ace Trappola and Deuce Spade came in order to negotiate regarding the distribution of magical resources.”

“That is right, your majesty,” Deuce says. “And we have to proclaim the most important decision we had to make.”

You feel Ace grabbing you by the shoulder and look at him as if he lost all of his mind. And maybe he really did.

“We need to take Yuu with us as the only person left in the whole Queendom of Roses with such an enormous magical energy in order to provide them a promising future.”

You met Ace and Deuce while going shopping in the Clock Town, running out of magical artifacts, and instantly felt an unknown warm feeling growing in your chest. Red roses of happiness blossomed within, when you recognized that you can actually feel the emotion of being loved by your friends. You genuinely enjoyed the times you happened to meet them in the town. 

And even though you knew they, like all of people in the Queendom of Roses, couldn’t stand Riddle Rosehearts’s tyranny and frivolous restriction of other people's magical abilities, you were predestined to have an exceptional enormous magic flowing within you, which Ace and Deuce were interested in. And unlike others, their unrotten desire was to make you happy, to let you study magic just as freely as you wished. 

You once said you can’t betray your master, and the following question ‘Why is that?’ was absurdly reasonable, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to answer. 

There was no such reason. Nothing except for Riddle’s warm smile, his lenient approach to you and the way his cheeks grew red when he was trying to impress you with gifts. You couldn’t dare to imagine deceiving his rapid heartbeat whenever you two studied magic together.

But Ace and Deuce were adamant to the point they wanted you to be free even and tyrant to be dethroned miserably. Despite knowing the state Queendom of Roses was in, how people starved and died after their magic being restricted which led to rain no longer falling and soils drying out forever, you still were… selfish.  

And maybe your friends were too when deciding they could just rip you off Riddle’s strong chains.

“Make sure the Clock Town is badly stirred.”

You fell on your knees, your mind filled with void, and the only thing you could think about was to execute an order Riddle gave. 

Your hands were shaking, you couldn’t hold the magic pen properly, and the flames of red flew everywhere around the Clock Town. 

Heart-rending screams filled the entire space. You did not notice how the cinders and burnt dust filled your lungs; hysterical crying and crackling sparks of fire rang in your ears, but you mindlessly walked forward, squeezing the magic pen in your fingers.

“Yuu…” Deuce heard you, turning around.

He threw his head up, and a new stream of unrestrained tears gushed from his clear teal eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Remember me and Ace love you.”

He chuckled before you casted a magic spell devouring him.

“Goodbye, my dear best friend.”

You closed your eyes, dropping the pen and letting out an uncontrollable wail.

The servants ran away as time was short. You watched Ace leading the opposition, magic traces so obvious it could be seen in the air with the flows of bright crimson, ashes surrounding every inch of the castle, and you drew the curtain. 

“Your majesty Rosehearts, you should run!”

“To hell with running away! I’m not a coward! I want to protect you!!”

“Y-you majesty Rosehearts,” your voice trembled at how genuine Riddle sounded, and you bit your lip, kneeling before him.

“Before long, the angry townspeople will probably overthrow us. Even if we so rightly deserve this. Despite this, I will still defy them.”

“Don’t you dare!! It’s an order, Yuu!”

You turned to him, his eyes glowing with unconcealed sadness and rage at once, tears sliding down his cheeks. 

“Off with your head!”

You reflect the spell he tried casting on you, gifting him with an apologetic smile, and Riddle sees how much blot you accumulated.

“Yuu… no… you can’t…”

“Riddle.”

He rose up his head and felt air hitching in his throat, not allowing him to say anything to you. 

“I’ll cover as you, and you use all the magic remaining to cover as me. You need to escape immediately, this would be my one and only wish. You remember I never asked for anything? Now it’s time for you to finally grant me your safety.”

Wave of magic enveloped you, and the second after Riddle was staring at the copy of himself, an ink embracing your limbs, and he felt pathetic for leaving you in that state. 

“You… you ignorant… brat… How could.. you!” Sobs prevented him from speaking clearly, squeezing his throat with burning rods, but he could not go across your last request, waving a magic pen, and taking on your appearance. “If it’s to protect you, I will even become evil.”

Even if the entire world becomes his enemy, I will protect you, so just be there smiling and laughing. 

You feel like burning, ashes and magic currents no longer feel familiar, it’s a deadly fire to your skin, and you see Ace screaming when flames envelop your body, and you physically feel how phantom rips off your body, the threads of your connection dying out. You use your last remaining powers to let the cover be saved to the very end, even when Ace’s hateful odious gaze filled with poison towards Riddle fixes on you.

It’s painful. It’s painful to the point you want to let your cover wear off, to beg Ace to save you from this burning hell, and the glimpse of familiar crimson hair locks somewhere behind the wall of dust chains you up to the conscious state for a moment. 

Ah… right. The very reason you feel like disappearing is him. 

You smile at him, seeing his teary eyes, and want to run closer, to ride Josephine together one more time, to sneak out and eat a strawberry tart, to practice magic together, to—

To envelop him in your warm embrace and to never let him go. If I could be reborn, at that time, I’d like to play with you again.

You press a hand to your forehead, wondering how in the world did you end up transmigrating to the other dimension. It was pretty much fine minding your business on Earth, why would you suddenly transfer here? And what is here actually?

You hear people whispering something about you—magicless human, blah-blah-blah or whatsoever—is magic really a thing here? You suddenly feel a viscous feeling tiring you out when you think about using magic. How peculiar, given you don’t even know what it would be like.

“To think you presume you would run away from me.”

You blink absentmindedly when you hear the voice so oddly familiar and strangely endearing, despite the situation not being conducive. 

“Off with your head!”

The tone, the hoarseness in this voice makes you jolt and swallow, you don’t realize you’re shivering. 

“You okay?” Someone asks you but you don’t hear anything despite the voice.

You follow its source with your concentrated gaze and finally find the boy with bright red hair and gray eyes, an annoying gaze of which is aimed at the creature who introduced himself as Grim, who caused the commotion.

“As wonderful as ever. Any and all magic gets sealed by your Unique Magic, Riddle-san.”

Riddle…

How come you know his name despite never having met him before?

“Hmph,” the boy shrugs it off. “Of course I— Huh?”

You feel his gaze landing on you, and he drops his magic pen, looking straight at you. Indescribable feeling fills you up instantly, and you suddenly just know your skin feels like it's burning, and somehow there’s a rose aroma lingering in the air.

“Yuu?..”

“Huh? You know them?” The other boy asks when Riddle parts his lips.

“I am not… sure?”

“You’re,” you approach him, subconsciously feeling a strange urge to embrace him. “Riddle Rosehearts.”

“You’re correct, indeed, but how in the world… Ahem.”

He coughs and stretches out a hand to you to shake it.

“Nice to meet you. Please call me… Riddle.”

“What?! Did dorm leader Rosehearts just say to call him only by his name… this magicless human?!”

You don’t know what you are getting down on your knees and taking his hand, pressing an ephemeral kiss on its back. 

“W-wha?!—”

“Oh!” You raise up instantly, realizing what you just did. “I’m sorry, it was an… instinct?..”

“Is that so…” 

Somehow… you don’t understand what is that exceptionally majestic about him, but you smile and see how his cheeks grow red.

“Riddle,” you say his name out loud quite awkwardly, as if trying to roll it on your tongue and taste how it sounds, and he blushes. “I know it’s sudden, but would it be okay to eat a strawberry tart together after this all will be solved?”

“I… don’t mind.”

If I were to be reborn... it'll be nice if we'll meet again.

© yunarim 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧.

[squelchbug]

wtf verified my email finally after 2 yeaurs turns out i been missing out on a lot of Interaction . any ways . CND posting at 5 am here’s my guy his name is Cacophony

no way in hell i can concisely summarize all his shit rn … unless

the basics : he’s a Yuanti Tiefling Monk, 7ft tall& 32yrs old rn. he was raised in Partirisvarati and as a child amidst a war he got tossed into a prison where he then had his hands cut off &eyes gouged out by brutes as punishment for getting caught attempting to steal a handful of seeds for his family’s farm . but don’t worry. he got better

hes blind , uses Tremorsense . knows Common & Bolidian (Partirisvarati native language. +because it’s funny, as this dialect is translated into Common, it gives him a cockney british accent). got acid blood & is venomous, but he’s too polite to use it for evil, until he isn’t . he is a goofy goober(walking murderweapon) but alas, is a creature of joy and whimsy at heart . he suffers w PunchDrunk syndrome& frequent tremors/seizures . wizardry antics grew his hands back and gave him an extra arm, thanks Dee . (hi Simon)

he spent ages 10-20in prison, 20-23on parole+ after escaping parole he met Krishika, Krissie for short, a Githyanki halfOwlin Warlock. bsf4lyfe. actualy, wrong, these two are insane . imagine if you would a psychological torment comparable to that of a paranoid mother hellbent on building a dynamic so codependent slash parasitic BOTH sides end up Killing & Dying for eachother(multiple times) each against yet fully within their own wills (i love contradictory!). Krissie… has issues and problems. her soul had been permanently shattered into three components, and due to some species complications , left her In-Between multiple states of being at once . Blah blah blah… autism to save for another day..All she wants is some god damn control in her life . enter sir scapegoat Cacophony, who’s only aspiration since gaining real freedom for the First Time In His Life , is to provide an unconditional support to any new friend he makes !! 😁😬.. Cacophony lets & encourages Krissie to use him as a vessel for possession, as at the beginning it’d benefited both of them, but overtime, Krissies state had worsened and too late she’d realized she had been taking advantage of Cacophony. Krissie is fueled fully on adrenaline and fear, and the moment she knew she done fucked up was a pivotal point for them both- a point of absolutely No return, Krissie decided Cacophony would be much safer in her grasp and at her command. She strikes a deal with a man named Soren Trouvaille to soulbind herself to Cacophony, turning them both functionally immortal , unless one kills the other half . glances around

….as a result of multiple decades worth of various forms of mental abuse Cacophonys biggest flaw remains to be how forgiving he is 🫶 or yk, better put, how willingly he will allow second chances to those he considers worth it. he’s done an awful lot of healing these last four years. i blame his lovely husband (Soren, Tabaxi/Orc Artificer/Cleric) and their weird daughter (Siobhan, Jackal Artificer)

more of them soon, i love them very much . love heart xoxo . their family is so perfect icant wait to talk abt them . yes i mentioned a Soren Trouvaille earlier and yes this is him ooo drama

what more to share on Cacophony… i don’t know how to go in depth with personality and morals even tho i desperately want to lmfao . Cacophony is such a hypocrite, and he genuinely doesn’t mean to be . he will formulate an opinion on you based off of the Whys and How’s of the situation rather than the What. absolutely describe him as understanding as he tends to dig to the root of the cause for Anything and fully hear you out,but as a professional hypocrite he Will abandon this method of he doesn’t like you 💀. he’s an extreme optimist, or as i like to call it, Delusional ! people like to accuse him for putting up a front, but i swear he’s just insane . he would be dead in the fucking gutters if he wasn’t , truly . aint he a sweetheart , though . ok i’d love to add more . but i am dying. gootbye

[the-greatest-magic-of-all]

For the bingo if you’d like, “Leaving doodles on their notes/books/items” for Fabriz?

(I love your writing btw, I’m always excited when I see you’d posted something new)

Aww, thank you so much!! I'm honoured that my writing can make you that excited. I really hope you enjoy this one!

Send me a prompt and help me get a bingo!

Words: 2,742

Throughout his freshman and sophomore years at the Aguefort Adventuring Academy, Riz had a mini mystery running the back of his mind. The stakes, though, were not Penny Luckstone’s life or the end of the world, but his sanity because…. someone kept doodling on his shit!

Ink stars and constellations littered the corners of his study notes. Tiny jellyfish and sea turtles swam across the backs of his flashcards. The margins of the cheap mass-market mysteries he liked to read were filled with wonky daggers, bottles of poison and other murder weapons. And his clues! Not even his clues were safe! Sometimes he’d look away for a minute or two and return to find that they were framed by long lines, some straight, some wavy, that ended in sparkles or hearts. Like he was going to post them on Studygram or something! They would wreck any street cred he could conceivably scrounge up as a teenage private eye!

Well… he doesn’t hate them. Not entirely… Okay, not at all! They’re cute! They fill him with a whimsy that he usually never allows himself to have in his day-to-day life.

But it still drove him batty that he didn’t know who was making them! Over the course of both school years, he’d narrowed the possible suspects down to one of the Bad Kids. It had to be.

At first, he was worried that the list of suspects would include any of the classmates he sat beside. Both in class and during study sessions in the library or study hall. But when the doodles appeared on some of his Nightmare King notes over the summer on a day he’d spent only with the Bad Kids, he was relieved. It’d be a lot easier to find his bandit.

Adaine, he struck off the list first. He’d seen what her spellbook looked like, perfect elvish handwriting and everything placed just so. No doodles to be seen anywhere in the pages of her notes either. And now, looking back, he’d spent more than a handful of evenings studying with her and never had he found a doodle on his things afterward.

Kristen was out too. Though he had seen her doodle on her clerical homework or her arms many times before, he didn’t believe that she had the level of stealth or sleight of hand to elude him for this long. Plus, none of her go-to sun and moon doodles matched any of the ones he’d seen before.

Which left him with either Fig, Fabian, or Gorgug as his culprit. For the longest time, these three had stumped him. Not to mention by that point Spring Break had arrived and they had bigger fish to fry. Unlike Adaine, he hardly studied with either of this trio, so he had no way of knowing whether or not they consistently doodled on their own shit. And unlike Kristen, he considered all of them dexterous enough to evade his passive perception if he was distracted enough.

Thankfully, Fig helped this case immensely one afternoon at the end of sophomore year. It was when they were supposed to be studying for their finals in the Aguefort library. With her feet kicked up on the table, she abruptly looked up from the bardic history book she was maybe reading. Eyes filled with mischief. Leaning over, she plucked his pencil out of his hands and immediately drew a dick in the middle of his notes. For what reason, he had no idea. He'd been too in shock to stop her. Smiling a wide satisfied smile, Fig gave him and nod before going back to her book without a single word.

After a beat, staring at her with wide eyes and furrowed brows, he mentally crossed Fig off of the suspect list.

Leaving only Fabian and Gorgug as his doodle bandit. He had to admit, at this point, he was willing to flip a coin and just decide who it was that way. Because may the Gods damn it all, he should’ve put these two at the top of his suspect list and disregarded the other three.

Fabian had some artistic talent since he was the one who handmade his business cards, on two separate occasions. And he’d once seen the stack of sketchbooks Gorgug had tucked a bit underneath his bed.

Yes, of course, he could always just ask both of the boys whether or not they were his doodle bandit. And if he did so, he’d more than likely get his answer but… what if they stopped once he confronted them? For the first time in his life, Riz was hesitant to close the case on a mystery. He found himself vacillating on asking after the doodles whenever he was alone with one of them—no, that’s a lie. He only felt a worry stir within him when he thought about asking Fabian, he still didn’t know why, though.

Like right now!

At any point, from the moment Fabian barged into his office with lunch for the two of them to now, as the harsh afternoon sun tried its best to cook them alive, he could’ve asked. Just mentioned that he’d been finding doodles every which where and asked if they’d been drawn by Fabian’s hand. Easy peasy! Fabian would either answer yes or no! And then he’d finally know!

But. Riz. Didn’t. Do. That.

He kept quiet. Stuffing his mouth with the artisan BLT Fabian always insisted on getting him to stop any questions from falling out. And when that was all gone, he filled his mouth with explanations of everything he’d found out so far on the entity that shouldn’t be spoken of. That seemed to do the trick. Instead of a head full of doodles, he’d reoriented his brain toward solving a more important case. Yes, much better.

Hours went by like that. Both of them fanned themselves with scraps of paper as they tried to unravel the mystery of the N*ght Y*rb. Well, Riz was trying to unravel the mystery. Darting from his desk to his freshly emptied corkboard to pin up clue after clue. Fabian, on the other hand, lounged across his couch like a fainting aristocrat. Only chiming in with complaints about the heat every five minutes.

To which Riz would reply that he was free to go back to his arcano-conditioned home not twenty minutes away. The most recent time, as he copied a quote from a library book on Realmspace, he added under his breath, “Not like you’re making yourself useful.”

Fabian gasped as he shot upright, a well-manicured hand clutching his invisible pearls. “The Ball. How very dare you!”

“What?” Riz whined with a grin at his best friend’s ridiculousness. “You’re not!”

“I can be very useful.”

“I never said you couldn’t!”

“Hurtful,” Fabian shot back. Jabbing a finger at Riz as he raised his chin and pouted. “That’s what your words are.”

“Fuuuck, come on!” Riz said, trying to keep at least some irritation in his voice. It was hard though. Fondness kept sneaking in and filling his voice with mirth as Fabian crossed his arms in a huff. Somehow pouting even harder. “Okay, alright, I’m sorry. You can be very useful, Fabian.”

Fabian’s pout turned into a small, smug smile. “Apology accepted.”

“Good.” Riz sat back in his chair and let himself take in all of his work finding any clues he could on the N*ght Y*rb. It should be enough to start a proper clue board for it all. “Now get over here and be as useful as you say you are. Help me pin up some of these clues.”

“Ugh,” Fabian groaned as he threw himself back onto the couch. Draiping a dramatic hand over his eye and sighing before he caught Riz’s eye said, “Fine.”

Lifting himself from the couch with a small hop, Fabian strode over to Riz’s desk filled with books and clues. He looked over it all with a befuddled expression. Hands on his hips, his eye scanned the organized chaos (at least to Riz it was) and Riz watched them as they started to glaze over. Taking pity on him, but not without a chuckle, Riz gestured for Fabian to swap places with him at the desk.

“The clues should be somewhat colour-coordinated with highlighters. So group together to blues with the blues and the yellows with the yellows and the—”

“I’m not thick, The Ball. I understand colour-coordination.” Fabian said with a playful scowl.

“Just saying. Sheesh, touchy,” Riz murmured as he slipped out of his desk chair to let Fabian sit. Of which Fabian noogied him for the audacity, but sat down all the same. Readjusting his rumpled hair and tie with a smirk, Riz went on and said, “I’ll be on pin duty. Got it?” Raising a hand toward Fabian in a request for a high five. And even though he rolled his eye, he accepted his request. Completing the high five, trying to hide a smile as Riz yelled out like they finished a team huddle, “Break!”

Working like a well-greased machine, his clue board for the Case of the Terrible N*ght Y*rb began to take shape. With Fabian taking on the more menial task of organizing all of his cluttered thoughts and clues, it left Riz able to focus purely on stringing them all together into something more... coherent. Don’t get him wrong, it was still a chaotic mess of scribbled notes and red string, but it was a vast improvement.

Whenever asked, Fabian would hand him a notecard or just a torn-off notebook page for him to pin and then link to another. A stray quote on an old newspaper clipping. Half of an omen from ages long past hastily written with a dying pen. Most of a text conversation he had with Adaine that he printed out and annotated.

It had all been going so well until he got lost in thought. Staring off through the window at the sun setting under the horizon. Trying to connect to disparate thoughts because of an itching in the back of his mind that they in fact could be connected at all. After five minutes of silent contemplation, Riz decided to put it on the back burner for now. For the sake of getting the last couple of clues on the board.

Still staring out of the window, Riz extended an open hand toward Fabian and asked, “Could you hand me a blank notecard and pencil. I’m on to something but I don’t know what yet.”

“As you wish, detective,” Fabian answered in his usual posh drawl and placed the card and the pencil in his grasp.

Without fully looking, Riz scribbled down those disparate yet somehow connected thoughts and went to pin them up on a corner of the board. It was only then, as he sunk a push pin into the top of the card that he noticed something off about it.

In the bottom corner of the notecard was the profile of his face drawn in graphite surrounded by familiar-looking stars. His long ears, dark curly hair, a pensive expression and even his bad habit of biting the tips of his claw. All of it was shown in a tiny little doodle on this card. But that would mean—Riz gasped. His heart skipped a beat.

Every hesitation and anxiety he had about solving this little, frivolous mystery left him in the blink of an eye.

“You’re the doodle bandit?” Riz exclaimed and whipped around to shove the notecard in Fabian’s confused face.

Well-kept brows shooting up, Fabian looked down at Riz as if he’d grown a second head. “I’m the what?”

“You’re the one that’s been doodling on all of my shit since freshman year!” Riz said as he couldn’t contain all of the bursting, soaring, warm feelings that were exploding within his small frame and began to climb Fabian. He bound up and onto Fabian’s lap to point out the doodle of himself on the card to him. His slim tail kept him balanced as he perched on Fabian’s thighs while it also wagged excitably behind him.

Fabian reared back, one of his hands covering the lower half of his face. “No, I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have!”

“I have done no such thing!”

“What’s this then?”

“Okay, so I’ve done it once.” Taking Riz’s wrist in hand, Fabian yanked the notecard down and out of his face. Getting all up in Riz’s face, foreheads touching, Fabian (presumably) tried to intimidate him into ignoring this revelation. “Once does not a pattern make, The Ball.”

But Riz Gukgak was not so easily intimidated.

“No, it doesn’t.” He said, feigning defeat. Just long enough for Fabian to have started loosening his hold on his wrist to slip out and fall back to the ground. And perhaps very ‘Ball’-like, once his feet hit the floor, he didn’t stop moving. Instead, he darted for a filing cabinet next to his desk. Yanking the lowest drawer open, he pulled out yet another clue board and presented it to Fabian with righteous vigour. “But I think all of these should do it. Ha!”

Fabian’s eye widened and his mouth fell open just a bit as he beheld the sight in front of him.

Every single doodle Riz had ever found on any of his things was pinned to the surface of this 18x24-inch board. Either ripped out of notebooks or meticulously photocopied, it didn’t matter, not an inch of the board wasn’t concealed by one of Fabian’s idle creations.

A night sky worth of stars and constellations covered the top half of the board while dozens of adorable sea creatures inhabited the lower half. The middle was more of a free-for-all. Intricately designed blades. Sprawling vines. Skulls and bones (duh!). Sparkles and hearts. Anything and everything. And now—Riz took the newest notecard, the one with his face on it and pinned it to the center of the board—him.

Looking at it all, Riz felt a little dizzy at how jubilant he felt knowing that Fabian made all of it.

This is why when Fabian piped up and said, “Oh. Well then. I apologize.”, Riz almost gave himself whiplash with how fast his head spun toward him.

Apologize?

“Huh?” Riz asked, his face scrunched up in confusion. Too caught up spiralling in his own pleasant feelings to have realized that Fabian might’ve been spiralling in a different direction.

“Obviously it’s been bothering you for a while now,” Fabian said with a gulp. Grimacing as he gestured toward the doodle-filled board. “I’ll, umm, try not to, uh, ‘doodle on your shit’ anymore.”

“No!” Before he could think not to, Riz flickered forward to grasp his gesturing hand. His small green claws wrapped around Fabian’s warm ones, far larger than his own, and squeezed them. Heart racing, in fear or for another reason, Riz had no time to decide as he tried to prevent his one worry about this case from coming true. Stumbling over his words because of how quickly they were trying to leave his lips, Riz said, “I-I don’t, I don’t mind.”

A cautious look of hope bloomed on Fabian’s handsome features. “But you made a clue board about it.”

“I know but I really don’t mind them. In fact, they,” He looked down at Fabian’s doodles again and smiled. Looking back up at Fabian with a tender expression. His pupils were undoubtedly as dilated as could be. “They make me happy.”

Cautious hope melted into fondness on Fabian’s face he smiled shyly and squeezed Riz’s hand. “Well, then. I’m… very happy to hear that.”

The two of them spent a couple more moments staying just like that. The setting sun bathing Riz’s office in hues of golden orange and red, before finishing up their work. From then on, with the Case of the Elusive Doodle Bandit solved, Riz kept that board filled with Fabian’s doodles out where he could see them. For those long nights spent researching or studying when he needed a morale boost.

Sometimes he’d even come back from school or from working a local case and find a new doodle. Of a bird or waves or himself from an angle he didn’t realize he was being drawn from pinned to the board. 

The doodle bandit striking again when he least expected it.

Two down! Three more for a Bingo! Thank you for sending me this ask, Erin! Again, I hope you enjoyed it!!

Send me a prompt and help me get a bingo!

[stevetonyisendgame]

It's the second day of work reveals for A Second Chance: A Steve/Tony Endgame Mini-Exchange and we have 7 fics and 2 artworks today!

Thank you to all participants - we’re so excited to share all these beautiful gifts with you! Enjoy and remember to leave kudos/comments for our hardworking creators to show your appreciation!! ❤️

A reminder to our dear creators that you can change the publication date of your works now that they have been revealed, so that they appear on the first page of the tags!

1. a beast of a burden for mrsgingles | FIC - 2.7k, T

Tony has secret conversations with Steve that even Steve isn’t privy to, even now. In those secret conversations, he says exactly the right thing to make Steve duck his head and smile, and when he confesses that Steve is the most infuriatingly beautiful thing the universe has ever come up with and he’s been madly in love with him for years, Steve admits he feels the same way. Then there are the conversations they actually have, which tend to go much worse because Tony is sarcastic and Steve is seething, and it’s a miracle they’re back on speaking terms.

2. The Five Stages of a Time Loop for embittered_ambition | FIC - 40k, M

Tony Stark looks Thanos in the eye. He raises his gauntlet in defiance and states his iconic phrase. He snaps, expecting death. But death doesn't come. Instead, he's back in his basement, completed time travel model in front of him. He builds the time machine. He snaps again. Again, and again, and again. Tony can't for the life of him seem to change the outcome of this story. What does change, though, is his feelings around it.'

3. Art Gift for Missy_dee811 | ART - G

As Steve prepares to return the stones, he hears a familiar voice.

4. One Final Surprise for XtaticPearl | FIC - 1.6k, G

Tony accidentally calls Steve from the flip-phone after his wedding gets called off.

5. I’m begging for you to take my hand for IronChantress3000 | FIC - 1.2k, T

Tony never saw anything as his.

6. It Was Always You for ralsbecket | ART - G

Everyone lives and nothing hurts :')

7. it’s that easy for zappedbysnow | FIC - 3.8k, T

Steve has two problems: 1. He has feelings for Tony but he’s not sure what to do about it. 2. Peter and Harley don’t seem to like him and he doesn’t know why. Actually, he has three problems. 3. There’s no way in hell Tony would be interested in him when his kids clearly hate him. Bucky thinks Steve’s only problem is that he’s an idiot.

8. i was put together wrong for MayBiTheWay | FIC - 11.7k, T

Even in his anger, in his misjudgment, or even in the barest glimpses of inadvertent cruelty, everything Tony did was with passion. No matter what, he was always graceful, grandiose, effusive. Incandescent. Tony grows in front of the cameras and keeps a world of expectations balanced on the tightrope of his shoulders, but nothing ever seems to be enough. The hubris is a fallacy and the smirk Steve had always known to be a front isn’t whimsy, as he’d expected; instead, it’s bred. As he follows a couple of his steps, Steve feels as Tony does, which is to say: intensely. Every happiness is a marvel, every pain is acute. The higher they fly, the harder they fall. (In which the stones beckon Steve into a glimpse of Tony's past, and it proves to be his unraveling.)

9. you’ve got to close your eyes and see for nostalgicatsea | FIC - 7.9k, T

Morgan manages to bring Tony back eleven years after Thanos’ defeat, long after everyone’s learned to live without him. Everyone’s overjoyed once they get over their shock, but Tony finds it hard to adjust, now that Pepper’s moved on and Morgan’s not a little kid anymore. Somehow, the one constant is Steve.

[goodluckclove]

heyyy !! congrats on getting out of hand jail. i wish you joy and whimsy upon your return to somewhat normalcy in your daily activities.

i wanted to share a very tragic aroace short story idea i came up with yesterday. i have a LOT of things i need to prioritize right now, so i'm not going to try to write it for a while, but i wanted to sort of pitch it.

the premise is pretty depressing. a person goes through their daily schedule while reeling from the sudden death of their queerplatonic partner. they're in utter shambles; a few times in the day, somebody they interact with, like a store clerk, boss, child, etc ask them what's wrong. they tell each person something different, with phrasings like "my friend died", "my spouse died", "my roommate died". finally when they return home at night they are confronted with the knowledge that they will not be given time to slow down and process their grief tomorrow, either. the message of it is that it can be impossible to summarize the depth of a queerplatonic relationship, and that non-romantic relationships are unfairly prioritized.

i've often struggled to put the love i have for people into words, and it is much easier for me to envision or handle loss or rejection. this story idea is a way for me to not only to talk about the nuances of relationships, but also communicate incredible love in a way i know how.

anyways, i just wanted to share! glad your hands are starting to get out of time out. give your cats skritches for me :)

Oh God that. That is rough, my friend. Jesus Christ.

I found myself reading that and hoping for some semblance of light, like maybe a brief interaction with a child young enough to accept the concept of queer platonic love with little judgement and even some curious enthusiasm. But like maybe that's not the place, man. Maybe that's not supposed to be where it goes.

But fuck man that's beautiful. I would love to see you explore that.

[huntingatdusk]

Into The Present (And The Shadows) Update: Land of Dreams Concept Art, Inspiration Boards, and More!

Starting with the music!

I've made a playlist of songs that inspired me and made me think of the Land of Dreams! There's a lot more, but I selected my favorites and the ones I think get the aesthetic across well! Please enjoy!

Moving onto the inspiration collages I've made!

(Note: These are INSPIRATION BOARDS; as such, all of the screenshots and art are not mine!)

Starting off, we have the location appearance inspiration! My main focus was on Alice in Wonderland, Alice Madness Returns, fairy rings, and mushrooms! Games like Subnautica and Pokemon: Sword/Shield's Ballonlea also gave me ideas! I wanted the area to feel like a forest with fairies playing mind games with those who enter!

Keywords that I focused on were: Unreality, Change, Shifting, and Transmutation

In terms of making the area feel dream-like and constantly shifting, I turned to things like the movie Annihilation and, again, the dreamlike whimsy of many Alice in Wonderland interpretations! The Shimmer from Annihilation was my biggest inspiration, however! A quick TLDR of the Shimmer is that they're an alien race that can manipulate DNA and cells and are slowly changing the world by mixing and changing every single cell on Earth! They're constantly manipulating things, such as changing human DNA to grow like flowers! That is why it was such a big inspiration for me! The constant shifting and changing and the feeling that something you know is off in some way.

Changing our focus to the concept art that I have created myself moves us into spoiler territory, so look ahead at your own risk!

When considering the enemies in this area, my main idea was to base a majority on insects! Some can be very pretty and ethereal, while others can cause a lot of fear in certain people! Using this base idea, I made a few possible enemies for the area, such as pot-like enemies that create spaces on the terrain that slow the player down. Or large centipede hybrids that can deal heavy blows as well as wrap around the player to allow other enemies to attack! Enemies that are based on very simplistic fears that could also be changed into something considered pretty.

For Epiales as the final boss, I had one goal in mind: to think of something that could be in the base game while having details that differ in the art style that are frightening or disturbing! As such, I also looked at certain texts talking about Epiales specifically, and a particular line stood out to me: he is referred to as "a black nightmare" and "a spider.". Using this, I wanted something covered in shadows with hyperrealistic details showing from inside of them, as well as multiple arms. And so the design for Epiales was born! Snakelike, covered in matted fur made of shadows, with horrifying human eyes, teeth, and hands, as well as multiple sets of limbs! I think I achieved my goal, haha.

That's all for now! Thank you all for keeping up with this project! It's been a lot of fun, and I'm excited to create more!

[sotwk]

Can I ask what inspired you to write about Legolas having other siblings?

Superficial yet honest answer: Because it means getting more Elves that resemble both Legolas and Thranduil, and that means you get a gorgeous lineup of characters that look like THIS:

(Please click/zoom to enlarge)

L-R: Prince Turhir, Prince Gelir, Crown Prince Mirion, Prince Arvellas, Prince Legolas

Now for a more thorough, meaningful answer...

What inspired the "Sons of the Woodland King" (SotWK) AU, the core premise of which is that Legolas had brothers?

It started as a roleplay concept, back in 2004 (I think? It was so long ago!), when I first started dabbling in LOTR fanfiction not long after the release of RotK.

Because roleplaying games typically encourage the creation of original characters, I suppose it just occurred to me that having multiple Princes of the Woodland Realm would make for an interesting setting and premise centered around the Elves of Mirkwood.

Believe it or not, I had not even read The Hobbit at that point, and it was prior to PJ's film adaptation, so inspiration did not come from Lee Pace's magnificent portrayal of Thranduil--though it certainly turbo-fueled ideas later on!

SotWK back then was quite a silly, shallow game focused primarily on fluffy romance and shipping, without much direction, canon authenticity, or detail. I still have some old copies of the stuff I wrote from that era; they are definitely cringe and I don't care to share them again, ever. LOL.

Fast-forward to 2014, when The Hobbit Trilogy came out. I returned briefly to the Tolkien fandom and the SotWK concept, and dropped a few chapters of "Greenleaf's Day Out", only to pause it halfway, unfinished (because I got distracted when I met the man who would then become my husband...and life happened).

Fast forward again to 2022: A husband and two babies later, in need of a hobby I can squeeze in between the hectic activities of motherhood/adulting, I returned to fanfiction writing and wound up coming to Tumblr to share it. Finally equipped with book knowledge from LOTR, Hobbit, AND the Silmarillion, I completed "Greenleaf's Day Out", my first (and so far only) Thranduilion-focused story, and decided I wanted to keep writing and sharing more.

Why the Thranduilion Princes, brotherhood, and family-centered stories hold such a dear place in my heart:

I grew up as one of three sisters, and just one brother whom I love but never really had a close relationship with. I guess with boys being few in our family (even amongst my cousins), I didn't have a lot of interaction with them growing up, and it led to a fascination and fondness for brotherhood stories.

As most of my followers know by now, I'm a mom with two sons of my own. The birth of my second son coincided with my return to fanfic writing and the Tolkien fandom, so surely life with my young family influenced the decision to focus on the SotWK concept.

I think Thranduil is an AMAZING character with a fascinating yet underdeveloped history. I enjoy creating stories about his background as a king, a lover/husband, and a father, but I love most of all his role as a father both to his biological sons and the citizens/subjects he views as his children.

Thank you for this wonderful Ask @a-world-of-whimsy-5, and giving me the opportunity to share my writing history! <3

[my-own-walker]

hiii so sorry i request a lot i js love ur writing!! can u plz make an imagine of alex from adult world? one where we take a shower with him (fluff not smut)? thank uuuu

Wake Only To Bathe In Greens And Blues

note: plssssss i've been WAITING for an alex request. thank you!! Don’t apologize at all for requesting things!!

warnings: major TW for death and mourning (was feeling emo when I wrote this), mentions of nudity, showering together, fluff (no sm*t), if you want shower sm*t that's not what ur getting here

+++

I woke softly, most likely due to the sunlight streaming through the curtains, directly into my eyes. Always a sensitive sleeper, little changes could disturb me from my sleep. The smell of grass and chalk-covered sidewalks wofted through the open window. The air was warm and thick and wet. The morning brought with it a familiar sound. A memory. A reminder. 

The mourning doves cried out from their perches in the trees. Their woeful song of sorrow. I couldn't help but stop and overhear their calls. Their pain. 

I saw him in the mourning doves, sitting by my window, nesting in my gutters, close to me on a low-hanging branch. The doves were not afraid of me. They were him. He became the mourning doves. He was there. He was with me. He was gone, but his omnipresent soul lived on in the cries of the birds that wouldn't seem to leave me be. 

Honeyed summer days rotted with the churn of my stomach each morning when I heard that familiar sound. The sound of warmth and freedom, for most. Loss and grief for me. I resented the summer. It brought me only pain. 

I wanted to enjoy the alluring sun and the heavenly feel of winter taking its final bow, but he was there.  I wished he would let me run with my arms outstretched into the body of daybreak without the tethers of heartbreak. Let me relish in the sun without hearing his mourning dove cries. 

Omnipresent, unceasing memories.

I loved him, but how I wished he would please leave me be.

Alex's stirring shook me from my thought. He turned over onto his side, eyes fluttering open innocently. Like a child waking from a midday nap. His face was illuminated by the beam of sunlight sneaking through into the room. His expression contorted into one of concern as soon as he was awake enough to process anything.

'My god,' he croaked, 'Y/N, are you ok?' He shifted and brought his hand up to wipe my cheek. I didn't even realize I was crying. I chuckled softly through my tears and sniffed.

'Man, yeah,' I laughed. 'Just being stupid.'

'How long have you been up like this?' he asked, concern creeping into his tone.

'Only a few minutes, I'm sure,' I sighed, looking over at the clock. It had actually been an hour.

+

Summers with my dad were amazing. As a child, I reveled in the whimsy and wonder of trips to the woods with my father. He was an outdoorsman. An absolute enjoyer of all things natural.

As a little child, I would spend entire summers with him at a cabin in Lake Pleasant. He was a single dad. He was totally hopeless raising a little girl by himself. Nevertheless he persisted, and I grew up a regular tomboy. We’d fish in the lake, hike on nearby trails, and stargaze at night. He was a birdwatcher as well. Mourning Doves were his favorite to hear.

‘That means summer’s here, baby girl,’ he’d say, stars in his eyes. He died in the summer. His favorite time of year. Alone in the cabin.

A mourning dove sat perched on the roof of my car at the funeral home the day we said goodbye. I cried, knowing it was him saying hello.

I couldn’t be there when he went. The first summer I didn’t spend at that cabin. I was too busy. A college student with a summer job. I needed the cash. But money could never bring him back. Money could never fix the way summer was forever spoiled for me.

+

‘Baby? Y/N,’ Alex whispered in an urgent tone.

‘Ah, god. I’m so sorry, I-I was,’ I stammered. ‘My dad.’ That was all I could choke out before the tears returned.

‘You don’t need to say another word,’ he assured me, caressing my cheek. ‘You don’t have to explain.’ He handled my grief well. I couldn’t imagine possessing the patience and grace he had.

I reached up and touched my hair, paling when I realised the absolute state I was in. I pulled at a nearly matted knot and sighed. I was still wearing yesterdays makeup. Depression had a funny way of creeping up on me. I was suddenly all too aware of how much of a mess I was.

‘Do you maybe want a shower?’ Alex asked. ‘I can take one with you.’ Showers were hard for me. In my grief, I would stand in the shower for nearly hours just thinking about ‘what-ifs.’ Showering with Alex helped.

We shared a small apartment in town just a few minutes down the road from my college. Living with Alex quite possibly saved my life. I loved him so intensely. He was so tolerant and kind. The perfect little housewife (said jokingly, of course). He was better than me at matters of domesticity.

I stood and smoothed my hands over my shirt. Alex stood on his side of the bed stretching. In an instant, he was by my side.

‘You look gorgeous,’ he whispered softly in my ear.

‘Hardly,’ I scoffed.

‘Come on,’ he beckoned, stepping toward the bathroom. Alex turned the shower on and removed his boxers. I slipped my t-shirt, shorts, and underwear off and stepped under the stream of water, joining Alex in the delicious warmth.

I felt his hands snake around my waist as we stood under the water together. I grabbed my shampoo and handed it to him, asking without words for him to wash my hair. He massaged the floral smelling soap into my knotted hair gently. Having him take care of me like this was heaven on earth.

I turned to face him and burst into tears as I looked him in his eyes. He was everything to me. The way he made sure my needs were met made me feel so whole. Instead of speaking, he just wrapped me tightly in his arms. I rubbed the smooth skin of his back as he embraced me. His fingers moved mindlessly through my hair.

The water washed over us, cleansing me of the pain I felt. Nothing mattered in the world besides he and I.

‘Now can you wash my hair?’ Alex laughed, lightening the mood a bit.

I giggled and grabbed his shampoo. He always knew the way to make me feel better. His love was beautiful and all-encompassing. There were no bounds to his heart.

When we finished up, he ran ahead of me to grab me a towel. He wrapped me in it and gave me a kiss on the forehead, making a show out of the smooching sound.

+++

Doing my best to get around to all the request in my inbox right now! Sorry this one got kinda depresso. It’s kinda like a (cough) true-ish story to my life so it got personal. Don’t know why I took it that route haha.