#rip to anyone who try to read the remaining stories

[prunpplee]

make paper flowers for your friends, they deserve it

[erika-xero]

Beware, the long post incoming. Pro tips for artists who work on commissions!

DISCLAIMER: I do not have, like, a HUGE online following and can’t be called a popular or viral artist, but I do have some experience and I’ve been working as a freelance artist for more that five years, so I could share a few tips on how to work with clients with my fellow artists. Scroll down for the short summary!

First of all, you always need to have your Terms of Service written down in a document that is accessible for your potential clients. And by terms of service I don’t mean a set of rules like “I don’t draw mecha, anthro and N/S/F/W”. There is much more into it, than you may think when you first start drawing commissions.

You’ll need to understand how copyright law/author’s rights in your country works (for example, US copyright or Russian author’s rights, be sure to check your local resources). There are a bunch of sites where you can actually read some legal documents (. I know it might be boring, but TRUST me, you WILL need this knowledge if you choose this career path.

Russia, for example, is plagued with shops selling anime merchandise. The merchandise is usually printed somewhere in the basement of the shop and the shop owners literally rip off other people’s intellectual property. If the artist ask them to remove their IP from the shop the owners usually try to fool them with lies about how the IP works. They will tell you, that you have to register copyright on every single drawing and if you don’t do it anyone can reproduce and sell your artwork. In reality, copyright law in most countries simply doesn’t work this way. Once you create an original work and fix it, take a photograph, write a song or blog entry, paint an artwork, you already are the author and the owner. Yes, there are certain procedures of copyright registration, which is only a step to enhance the protection, but you become an author the very moment you create a piece of art, and no one have a right to take your creation from you. Knowing your rights is essential.

Some of your commissioners may try to scam you too, but most of them might simply not be aware of how copyright law works. I literally had people asking me questions whether or not the character I am commissioned to draw becomes MY intellectual property. I literally had to convince the person (who was legit scared, since the commissioned piece was going to be a first image of his character ever created) otherwise. If you have an idea of the character written down or fixed in any other form such as a collage, a sketch, or a concept art -- the character is yours. Artist may have rights to the image they create, but not the character itself. Your potential commissioner must acknowledge that their characters, settings and etc. is still theirs, while your artwork is yours, if your contract doesn’t state otherwise. You can sell the property rights on your artwork to your commissioner if you want, but it is unnecessary for non-commercial commissions. And I strongly advice you to distinguish the non-commercial commissions from commercial ones and set the different pricing for them. Even if you sell ownership of your artwork to your commissioner, you can not sell the authorship. You will always remain an author of your artwork, thus you still have all the author’s rights stated in the legal documents.

Another thing that is absolutely necessary to be stated in your terms of service is information whether (and when) it is possible to get a refund from you. You absolutely have to write it down: no. refunds. for finished. artworks.

You have already invested time and effort to finish an artwork. The job is done and the money is yours. I’ve heard stories of commissioners demanding refund a few months later after the commission was finished and approved by the commissioners, because, quote “I do not want it anymore”. Commissioning an artist doesn’t work this way, artwork is not an item purchased on shein or aliexpress that can be sent back to the seller. It is not a mass production. It is a unique piece of art. Example: My friend once drew a non-commercial commission for a client who tried to use it commercially later on. She contacted him and reminded of the Terms of Service he agreed with, offering him to pay a fee for commercializing the piece instead of taking him to the court or starting a drama. He declined and suddenly demanded a full refund for that commission via Paypal services. My friend contacted the supports and showed them the entire correspondence with that client. She also stated that the invoice he paid included a link to the Terms and Service he had to agree with if he pays that invoid. The money were returned to her.

However, partial refund can be possible at the certain stage of work. For example, the sketch is done, but something goes horribly wrong. Either the client appeared to be a toxic person, or an artist does not have a required skill to finish the job. I suggest you keep the money for the sketch, but refund the rest of the sum. It might be 50/50 like I suggested to my clients before (when I still could work with Paypal), but it really depends on your choise. I suggest not doing a full refund though for many reasons: not only you make yourself vulnerable, but you also might normalize a practice harmful to other artists this way.

The main reason why full refund when the sketch/line-art are done must not be an option is that some clients may commission other artists with lower prices to finish the job. This brings us to the next important point: you absolutely need to forbid your clients from altering, coloring or overpainting your creation or commission other artists to do so. This also protects your artwork from being cropped, changed with Instagram filters or even being edited into a N/S/F/W image. Speaking of which. If you create adult content, you absolutely need to state that to request such a commission, your commissioner must at least be 18/21 years old (depending on your country). And as for the SFW commissions you also have to state that if someone underage commissions an artwork from you it is automatically supposed that they have a parental concern.

There is also a popular way to scam artist via some payment systems, called I-did-not-receive-a-package. Most of the payment systems automatically suppose that you sell goods which have to be physically delivered via postal services. This is why it is important to state (both in the Terms of Service and the payment invoice itself) that what commissioner is about to receive is a digital good.

And the last, but not the least: don’t forget about alterations and changes the commissioner might want to make on the way. Some people do not understand how difficult it may be to make a major change in the artwork when it is almost finished. Always let your commissioners know that all the major changes are only acceptable at early stages: sketch, line-art, basic coloring. Later on, it is only possible to make the minor ones. I prefer to give my commissioner’s this info in private emails along with the WIPs I send, but you can totally state it in your Terms of Service. I do not limit the changes to five or three per commission, but I really do appreciate it when I get all the necessary feedback in time.

To sum this post up, the info essential for your Terms of Service doc is:

- The information on whether or not your commissions are commercial or non-commercial. If they are non-commercial, is there a way to commercialize them? At what cost?

- The information on author’s and commissioner’s rights;

- The information on whether (and when) refunds are possible;

- The prohibition of coloring, cropping, overpainting and other alterations;

- The information on whether or not you provide the commissioner with some physical goods or with digital goods only;

- Don’t forget about your commissioner’s age! If you work with client who is a minor, a parental consern is required. And no n/s/f/w for underage people!

- You may also want to include that you can refuse to work on the commission without explanation in case you encounter a toxic client or feel like it might be some sort of scam.

- I also strongly suggest you work with prepay, either full or 50% of total sum, it usually scares off the scammers. I take my prepay after me and my client agree on a rough doodle of an overall composition.

- I also include the black list of the themes: everyting offensive imaginable (sexism, homophobia, transfobia, racism, for N/S/F/W artists it also might be some certain fetishes and etc). Keep your reputation clean!

- Ban N/F/T and blacklist the commissioners who turn your artworks into them anywayss, don’t be shy <3

These are the things that are absolutely necessary but are so rarely seen in artists’ Terms of Service that it makes me sad. Some of these tips really helped me to avoid scams and misunderstandings. I really hope it helps you all!

[perlelune]

Tag, You’re It | Ethan Landry | vii.

Happy, carefree college days meet their abrupt end when every guy who approaches you mysteriously turns up dead.

Warnings: NON-CON, Stalking, Bimbo!Reader, Clueless Reader, Loss of Virginity, Incel Ethan, Cheerleader Reader, Skin Carving (w/knife), Canon Typical Slashing, Voyeurism, Kidnapping, Forced Masturbation, Filming, Blackmail

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

The brightness of the floodlights beaming across the stadium rivals that of the stars' peppering the sky. The bleachers are packed, students waving and cheering from the crowd at the lined up players. 

Tension hangs in the air, so thick and palpable you feel the weight of it clogging your airways. 

Shaking your shoulders and strengthening your spine, you rush to join the other cheerleaders at the edge of the field. 

The minute she notices you, Alana makes a beeline for you, her blonde ponytail swinging from left to right and her forehead creased with a deep wrinkle of displeasure. 

You go still and keep your gaze low as she approaches. A lion might cower beneath the sharp coolness of her glare. 

If anyone can make someone flinch with her eyes alone, it's Alana. 

"Where the hell were you?" she blurts out without ceremony, sternly planting herself before you with her arms crossed.

Words stumble out of you in a nervous heap.

"I-I ran into a friend and-" you start but she interrupts you with a dismissive wave of her immaculately manicured hand. 

"Nevermind, the game’s about to start," she says, gripping her temple and releasing a deep, irritated sigh. She squints and mutters below her breath, "Just because I moved you from flyer to backspot doesn’t mean you get to slack off."

Your heart pinches at that. After Halloween night, nothing was the same. While Alana agreed to let you remain a member of the squad, she shifted your position when the rumors about you being in cahoots with Ghostface spread around campus like wildfire. 

She didn’t want you to sully the squeaky clean image of the team. So you were relegated to the bottom of the pyramid where you could blend in and not bring too much attention to yourself.

You don’t mind it excessively. The looks people give you are one thing. You’ve learnt to brush off the unfortunate scrutiny. 

But being part of the team…it’s the one thing in your life you’re actually good at. 

Damn near everything else, you have spectacularly failed at. 

Cheerleading makes you feel good about yourself. 

You don’t want to lose that. 

Lisa tosses a questioning glance your way, green eyes flicking to Ethan up in the bleachers, diligently snapping pictures. 

He notices you peering up at him and smiles at you but, unlike every other time, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes and he quickly looks away. 

When your focus settles on Lisa again, confusion etched on features, your heart sinks. 

You mouth the word 'later' to her. As she nods at you, your stomach knots at the prospect of the conversation ahead.

If only you could tell her now, rip the band-aid…but the game's about to start. 

You held high hopes for it to work out. Lisa was voted 'hottie of the month' more times than anyone else on the team. 

Everyone who meets her instantly falls for her charm and stunning looks. 

She also has many hobbies outside of cheerleading, from video games to card games you couldn’t understand anything about if you tried your hardest. 

You thought she and Ethan would click and make such an amazing couple. 

It never occurred to you he might already like someone else. You can’t remember getting a glimpse of him with any girl no matter how much you scratch your mind to recall. 

Now your curiosity is piqued about this mystery girl.

Ethan sounded so taken with her. 

She must be quite the girl to have stolen his heart like that, probably as cool and smart as he is. 

Maybe you could try to set them up instead. 

You're still hell-bent on figuring out a way to thank him for how much he's been there for you lately.

Helping him gather the courage to pursue the girl of his dreams could be one way to do that.

Alana claps her hands, her attention pivoting to the whole team, the other girls’ tense expressions mirroring yours. "Everyone, showtime!" she finally announces.

Thoughts vacate your mind as you lift your pom-poms and concentrate on performing the routine to perfection. You don’t miss a single step, losing yourself to the beat played by the band.

You can’t help but bask in pride when you land a perfect pirouette, never faltering once. 

Everything’s right again. Simple and easy. 

The thrill of the game. The bated breath each time the opposite team tilts the odds in their favor. 

The rush of victory. 

Victory.

Before you know it, the game’s over and the elated clamor of the crowd is filling the stadium. 

Amidst the overflow of joy erupting around you, Tyler fights his way through the crowd to reach you. 

He’s still in his football uniform when he effortlessly lifts you from the ground and whirls you in the air.

"You’re my good luck charm, gorgeous," he beams. 

You laugh as your head spins. "Ty, put me down."

He does as you say, keeping his hands on your waist to steady you when your feet touch the grassy floor again. 

"Sorry," he chuckles. "Got carried away."

As he bends over you and his lips graze your cheek, your stomach flutters. 

He rears back, blushing while holding your hands. "I’m sorry. Was that okay?"

Mouth agape, you blink up at him. "It’s totally okay," you stammer, heat rising in your cheeks. 

You’d missed that feeling, the simplicity of casual flirtation and having a crush. 

The euphoric bubble is popped when your gaze locks with Lisa’s in the background. As you watch her go back inside, your chest twinges. 

You squeeze Tyler’s hand apologetically. 

"Can we pick that up later?"

He gives a swift nod, his bright grin intact. 

"Of course. You’re coming to the OKB house to celebrate, right?"

"Maybe not. My friends and I kind of had plans."

He cups the side of your face. 

"Okay. What about Saturday night then? We can do dinner and a movie." He pauses and studies you. "I’m just not about games. I like you and I’d love to take you out sometime, that’s all."

His straightforward admission curves your lips skyward. But the smile on your face quickly dies as a chill blooms at the base of your spine, scattering outward and freezing you in your spot. 

Sucking a sharp breath, you whirl and inspect your surroundings.

You’re astonished to find nothing barring the excited people celebrating around you. 

You could have sworn you felt…something. 

Like someone watching you. 

The strange sensation clings to you as Tyler inquires, his tone rife with concern, "Is something wrong?"

You shake your head and slot a wobbly smile onto your face. 

"Uh…not at all. I’m free on Saturday," you chime. 

"Awesome. I’ll text you the details."

You hum your approval and he brushes another soft kiss on your cheek. 

Part of you is over the moon. You’ve wanted this for weeks since Tyler and you started hanging out. 

But something is off, though you can’t pinpoint what. A wrongness you can’t define or explain. 

Even as you stroll down the hallways toward the girls’ locker room, your nerves are frazzled, thrumming in alert. 

It’s been weeks since you’ve been this tense. Since…him.

"You’re coming, babe?" Mindy says, grabbing your hand as she runs into you in the hallway. 

Anika’s by her side and gives you a tight hug. "Hey, it’s been a minute," she observes.

You can’t deny that. Between cheer practice, Ethan tutoring you and all the assignments you need twice as much time than everyone else to complete…you’ve neglected hanging out with your friends. 

Before you can open your mouth to explain, Mindy rolls her eyes. "It’s because she spends all her time with Ethan now."

Anika giggles as your best friend pretends to gag at the mere mention of Ethan’s name. 

Usually, you’d respond to her antics but you’re too distracted tonight. 

Besides, there’s a conversation you need to have as soon as possible, much as you dread it. 

"Don’t wait for me. I’ll catch up," you tell Mindy before making your way to the girls’ locker room. 

Chad tries to stop you on the way to share his excitement but you promise him you’ll see him later. While disappointment paints his features, he lets you go.

Ethan’s nowhere to be seen and you remember about the trash he mentioned before the game. Your brow furrows in befuddlement. What an odd time to pick to handle his garbage. You suppose Ethan’s just this obsessive about having a clean space. Maybe he’s one of those ODC people. 

Gnawing on your lip, you sluggishly drag your feet inside the changing room. Most of the girls are wrapped in bubbly chatter, the excitement of the night coating the air. 

You clear your throat and sit on the bench near one particular redhead with a dour look on her face. 

Twiddling your fingers, you clear your throat before trembling words spill out of you. 

"Hey, Lisa. So I-"

She cuts you off while buttoning her shirt, "Don’t bother. I can already tell from your face."

Your brows draw together.

"My face?"

"Yeah, you just…you wear your heart on your sleeve, you know?" Her voice cracks as her mouth twists in a hollow smile. "He said no, didn’t he?"

Your shoulders sag. "I’m so sorry."

She flips her hair and releases a heavy sigh. 

"Don’t be. Plenty of fish in the sea and all that." She picks up her backpack and stands, hands on her hips. "Bummer, but it is what is."

"He said he already likes someone else," you explain, hoping to soften the blow. 

She gives you a pointed glare before scoffing, "Someone else, huh?" She exhales and folds her arms. "Do me a favor…Let him down easy, will you?"

Your lashes bat as you tilt your head sideways. "What do you mean?"

She sighs again and sidles closer to you to gently cradle your face.

"Sweetie, there aren't a lot of girls Ethan hangs out with…"

Your confusion grows tenfold. You noted that too. Was she trying to hint at the identity of the mystery girl? Did she figure it out before you could?

"Uh?"

Lisa scrutinizes you before an acrid laugh peals from her lips.

"I envy you sometimes, you know," she says, letting go of your face as a forlorn smile pulls her lips. "Maybe if I were more like you…I wouldn’t feel as crappy as I do right now."

"Lisa…"

She takes a step back when you reach for her, flashing you a huge grin. 

"I’ll see you at practice. Thanks for trying."

Lisa leaves and you change out of your cheerleading outfit and back into a regular one. You elect to shower at home on the way to meet up with your friends, too down in the dumps to properly bask in Alana congratulating you for your performance tonight after giving her usual post-game captain speech. 

As you gather your things from your locker, preparing to leave, your phone rings. 

You scowl at the unknown caller ID, picking up without much thought.

"Hello?"

"I thought we had something special. I’m so disappointed in you, princess," a distorted, tragically familiar baritone rumbles on the other end of the line.

Your heart drops to your feet. 

"I didn’t do anything. Please…" you whimper, tears already collecting in your eyes. 

You thought you were done with him…or rather that he was done with you. After giving him what he asked, you thought you were off the hook. 

You were so stupid.

Ghostface unleashes a sinister laugh, turning your blood to ice. 

"Didn’t do anything? Giving away what’s mine to some lame alpha bro. Opening your legs for some dickhead who doesn’t deserve you."

You sniffle, your fingers quaking around the phone.

"We haven’t done anything, I swear."

"Good…And you never fucking will."

His foreboding inflection makes your insides wrench. Abruptly, the call ends. 

Your phone clatters to the ground as you rush outside, tears streaming down your face. Every single thought in your head is turned to Tyler and the danger he’s in. 

You don’t get far, pandemonium unleashing around you as you leap into the hallway. Panicked students bump into you. You zigzag through them as the thunderous beats of your heart grow louder in your ears. 

A frantic scream reaches you from the other end of the hallway. 

"Somebody calls an ambulance," they shout. "Ghostface shanked one of the players in the shower."

Your eyes go wide as you stumble and collapse, the room swiveling off its axis through the veil of your tears. 

~

[synthsamuri]

Happy Halloween! 🦇

Please enjoy the prologue of my newest 19 days fanfiction, Ravenous. A story about vampires, vengeance, a mysterious killer, and of course, tianshan.

Read here on Ao3 or see below! Enjoy!

1961 New Hampshire

It was the longest night of the year, deep into the month of December as fog rolled over the hills of the countryside. Evergreen trees towered high on either side of the winding highway, green pine speckled in white snow that was just beginning to fall. It was a cold night, made colder by an eerie chill that had settled on the valley north of the town of Larkspur. Off to the side of the road, high up in the trees stood a young looking man. The chill did not bother him, nor the white snow that gathered in steady piles on the dips of his body. He had been still for so long, nearly becoming part of the landscape.

The man’s blood red eyes watched the road, unblinking, unmoving. Not even a breath disturbed the air around him. He was starving. Hunger filled his every thought, every nerve of his being. He would have left days ago if not for being so cemently frozen in place, commanded to stay still until his release was given. He was drying out, blood vessels rubbing together like sandpaper under his skin. It was the first step into desiccation, an unpleasant precipice he had walked too many times before. He was on edge, senses focused onto every sound, every flutter of every wing, every footstep of every animal. He stared at the road waiting, endlessly waiting until his mind was so consumed by the thought of the hunt, of the kill, that he thought he might snap, but still, he stayed still. Then finally, a red Ford Thunderbird rounded the corner driving up the mountain. At the sight of his release, his body unlocked from its stasis, muscles engaging, heart beating once more.

In a matter of seconds he had scaled down the mountainside, ready in place as the shiny red car drove through the predetermined spot. The driver didn’t see him coming, swerving in shocked horror to miss the man that suddenly appeared in the road. Tires squealed on wet snowy pavement as the car came to a grinding halt, dipping into the dead grass and shrubs on the side of the road.

The driver, a man dressed in a brown, well worn suit, stumbled out of the car, desperately scanning the road through large wide rimmed glasses. “Stay in the car!” he shouted to a woman sitting in the passenger seat.

Bitter cold stung the man’s cheeks and fingers as he squinted into the dark, trying to see the road ahead. The only light available was from the red taillights of his car and the cold caress of speckled moonlight through the trees. He desperately searched for the man. Who would be out walking alone on these mountainous roads.

“Hello?!” he shouted but only the wind answered. He swerved his head as he heard a car door open. “Honey! Stay in the car!”

The woman took a step out and onto the wet dead grass, clinging to her jacket. “I didn’t even see anyone, Henry! Let’s just go!”

“I saw a man on the road. I swear! We can’t just–”

“There! Henry, look there!” The woman pointed and the man’s eyes went wide. A little down the street stood a man in an expensive looking pinstripe suit. He had bright white hair and he was slowly walking towards them. Despite the wind and the snow, two golden eyes shone brightly back, sending a chill through both of them.

“Get back in the car!” The man yelled, sprinting back to the driver’s side, but before he could reach it, a grip so strong ripped him back. Soon a shocking, searing pain pierced his neck and he screamed out in utter agony.

“Mo Guan Shan! Stop.” Harsh but firm words rang out, though the man didn’t register them, couldn’t with the white hot pain coursing through him.

The pain retracted from his neck but the grip remained. A growl rumbled behind him, deep and angry. His blood went cold, not just from the wind and the snow but it was a feeling, a dreadful knowing that death itself was right behind him.

“I’m sorry about my dog.” A sly, chilling voice said, and suddenly the man with white hair was right in front of him. “He’s on a tight leash but my influence only goes so far when he’s this hungry.”

“Who- who are you?” The man stuttered. He could feel the hot blood on his neck trickling down to his shoulder. “What do you want? Money? Please, I’ll give you anything just p-please.”

“I think you’ll find that you already know me, or, at least you know my kind. Isn't that right? Professor Henry Watkins?”

“Y-Your kind?”

“My name is She Li.”

The professor’s eyes widened with frightened realization, but he was quickly distracted by the woman who stepped further from the car. She looked terribly confused and kept her distance, remaining close to the vehicle. “Henry?! What’s happening?”

“Stay back!” The professor cried as tears welled in his eyes. The grip on him tightened.

“Careful,” She Li scolded with a mocking tone. “You’re riling him up. My compulsion is strong but as I said, he’s hungry. Starved even. Human emotions excite him. It’s part of the hunt, like a game. A game I doubt you want to play.”

The professor dared to look back and immediately wished he hadn’t. Two horrifying blood red eyes were staring at him, burning into his being with a beast like hunger. It was unsettling how unnaturally youthful the man looked, he couldn’t have been older than his own sons just starting to make their own way in the world. His skin was taut and pale, contrasting against orange red hair. Unlike the other, this one was dressed in nothing but rags, torn and bloodied. He smelled of blood, the stench of death was overwhelming. Was it a man or was it truly a monster? Blood dripped from his jaw and his grip was like steel cutting into him. The red eyed man snarled, baring sharp fangs hungry for another taste of his blood. The professor couldn’t help but cry out in fear, trembling and sniveling at his worst fears coming to life before him. The monster responded, eyes widening, jaw opening ready to take another bite.

“Enough!” She Li commanded, pupils dilating and shrinking as he stared down his pet. The professor felt the man, or rather the beast behind him shiver and sneer in submission. Soon the grip on his arm grew softer as the white haired man exuded his will over his lesser. “Behave for me, and I will let you feast on the woman.”

“No!” The professor immediately pleaded, pulling at the grip on his arm. He was filled with terror at the idea of his wife being mutilated. “She’s innocent, she knows nothing! Leave her out of it!”

“Ah,” She Li laughed. “So you know something? Where is it then? You know what we are, so I assume you know what we seek.”

“Just promise you’ll let my wife go, spare her!”

“Of course,” She Li smiled darkly. “My word is my bond. I won’t lay a finger on her.”

The man behind him growled, fingers gripping down once again, blood dripping from his mouth onto the professor’s neck. He could all but feel the blood stained breath inches from his neck. The white haired man raised a palm to his beast, warning him to back down. “Give me what I ask and no harm will come to her by my hand.”

The professor sniveled and cried, clinging to the desperate hope that his sins would not claim the life of his wife. “I-in my office, b-back at the university I have notes tracking down my findings, all of them are yours! My key is in the car!”

She Li frowned. “So you don't actually have it.”

Desperate laughs erupted from the professor's twisted face, tears streamed down his cheeks. “No one has seen it in decades! My family is dying out, only a few of us are even left to care. It could be a myth for all we know! I’m just a researcher! I did what they asked! Only what they asked!”

She Li scoffed, wiping back his silver white hair from his face. “We both know the role that you’ve played. You can try to pretend that you were a mere follower but I see through your lies, Professor Watkins.”

“Look, I told you what I know. You’ll, you’ll let us go now?”

“Let you go?” He laughed, so loud and long that it sucked the life right out of the air. It was as if his very voice was ice down their throats. “No. Your family’s work has led to the death of so many of my people and I’m nothing if not a just and fair leader. You will die, a slow, painful death. Justice for my little family. But first, you will experience the pain of losing your family, just as I have lost so many of mine.” He looked up and nodded to his fledgling.

The iron grip detached from him immediately, and the professor dropped to the cold paved ground, watching as the beast stalked towards his frail wife. She shivered and groveled, falling to the cold wet earth and begging for an explanation, a reason why.

“Wait! Wait, you promised!! You swore you wouldn’t hurt her!”

“I swore I wouldn’t hurt her. I said nothing about my companion here. And, well, I wouldn’t advise getting between him and a meal.”

“Run!!” The professor screamed, and watched as his wife clumsily got up and began to pitifully run towards the woods.

She Li hummed in amusement. “That’s good, he likes it when they struggle. I really should be thanking you. The entertainment does him good, keeps him well behaved. Eternal life can be so monotonous, boring really.”

The professor struggled to get up and help his wife but She Li shoved him back down, resting his foot on his back. She didn’t last long, tripping on the long drapes of her expensive dress, a gift he had bought her for her birthday. She screamed, wailed and pleaded for her life, for his life, but it meant nothing. Gnashing teeth and rivers of blood were next. Her cries faded as her life force drained away. The monster was all consumed, devouring her, ripping her skin with such force that it tore and bled. He ate so ferociously that her head was ripped from her shoulders and even then, the monster lapped at the blood, unable to stop.

The professor went numb, going into shock until those red eyes turned on him next. The red eyed beast stalked towards him, licking the blood from his lips. The foot lifted off of the professor's back as She Li stepped in front of him. “No sudden movements now,” he warned. “I need you alive, professor.”

The professor sat up slowly. Deep sadness, rage, and utter humiliation filled him. His hands shook and his tears stilled. All he could focus on was the deranged man stalking towards him. “What?! Was my wife not enough!!! Still hungry for more? You sick twisted creatures! You deserve what you got! You’ll all burn in the end!!”

Something sparked in the eyes of the bloodied monster, a glimpse of humanity perhaps shining through the consuming hunger.

She Li quickly approached and placed a hand on his fledgling’s shoulder, pushing his attention back to his golden gaze. “You’ve had enough now. This one is mine. Return to the house and wait for me there.”

The professor looked around. He was going to die. Here in the mountains where no one would know. All his research to uphold his family’s legacy, all his hard work, for nothing. No. He wouldn’t die for nothing. He wouldn't let his wife’s death mean nothing! With a leap, he jumped up and started to sprint towards his car.

The sudden movement was like a trigger. Instincts of a starving hunter took control, and before She Li could stop him, Mo Guan Shan reacted. He chased down the professor and sank his teeth into his skin. The professor screamed out, squirming and fighting for his life. But with every drop of blood that was taken from him, his drive and ability to fight was drained as well.

“Enough!” She Li commanded but Guan Shan did not respond, sucking, eating, devouring. Trying to satiate the incurable hunger.

“I said enough!” She Li grabbed his pet and ripped him from the professor, throwing him to the ground. The professor dropped as well, dead or soon to be. His wounds were far too great and he had lost too much blood to be healed now.

Riled up and angry about being stopped, Guan Shan flipped back up to his feet, growling and baring his fangs. Any lucidity or humanity was gone in that moment, it was all just the unyielding hunger. He immediately went for the professor’s body once more. There was still more blood to be had, it was going to waste!

She Li grabbed him harshly by the neck. He was older and stronger. An elite from an old family of which there were only a few left in the world. Guan Shan was but a fledgling in comparison. His speed and strength though incomprehensible to the human eye was nothing to She Li. “You will listen,” he hissed.

Guan Shan shriveled and whimpered under the compulsion, losing his will and his mind to the great weight that settled on it under She Li’s golden gaze.

She Li took in the scene with great disapproval before returning his gaze to the struggling man in his clutches. “You are proving difficult to break, but you will break. Even if it takes a hundred more years, we have all the time in the world. It’ll only get worse the longer you fight it. You know nothing of hunger!” he spat.

Sputtered, bloody wet coughs erupted from the professor lying on the ground, interrupting their squabble. “V-vampires. You’ll all burn.” More blood came pouring out of his wounds, out of his mouth. His voice was garbled, he was drowning in it. “You'll… burn.” With that he breathed his last breath and his body went cold.

[mykingdomforapen]

spinning silk | writer's commentary

Hello! It has been a long journey but my Link Click fic, spinning silk, has come to a finish. It has been a joy to write and to share with you, and I really hope that you enjoyed the journey. I am so excited for you to read it now in its completion!

I thought it would be fun/interesting to include a writer's commentary about the story, as I've included elements that I'm excited about and would love to talk about the thoughts behind them, the history, foreshadowing, et cetera.

I will try to shy away from explaining too much in case we wanna preserve some level of the Author is Dead skskks . Happy to answer questions on a separate post or DMs though if there is interest! If you are interested in this commentary, please join me! If not, no worries and merrily we roll along.

Spoilers ahead!

The Epigraph

It's easy to miss the epigraph in this story, which is at the beginning of chapter 1 and is very brief. I don't know if anyone here is Chinese-literate, or if you popped it into a Translation app. If you have, you would have realised that the epigraph actually spoils the ending of the story!

A reminder of the epigraph:

君埋泉下泥销骨 我寄人间雪满头。 -Bai Juyi For his friend, Yuan Zhen

Bai Juyi and Yuan Zhen were famous Chinese poets from the Tang Dynasty, and good friends. Bai Juyi would have written this after Yuan Zhen died. The poem's translation is thus:

Your bones are buried under the spring mud; I remain in the mortal world with my hair white as snow.

In the context of this poem, white as snow can indicate someone growing old as they sit at the grave of their friend, therefore their hair turning all white. It can, depending on the translation, indicate someone who sat through the winter until snow layered upon their head , by the time spring comes. Or, in the context of Link Click, Lu Guang's white white hair. Which interpretation should it be? 🙂

Also fun fact I accidentally miscredited the poem for the longest time to Li Bai, another famous Tang Dynasty poet. Oops!

Silk

Ah, this story is built on silk. I think it is fairly famous, the 'red thread of fate' from East Asian/Chinese culture, the concept that you are somehow tied to your soulmate by a long, connecting red thread. I wanted to use the concept of thread as fate, but expand it beyond just about soulmates and relationships. That was the motivation behind depending on silk imagery for Liu Xiao's plan, to play on a well-established concept in Chinese mythology and add my own twist to it. Especially since Liu Xiao was the one in S2 to make the comparison, of people having a thousand parallel fates/threads.

As I was musing on an idea for this fic, that was when I happened to visit an exhibit that included the life cycle of a silk worm. My mother then told me how when she was little, she used to raise silk worms as pets. That got me to muse on the process of making silk--how you have to boil the cocoon and then unravel it slowly until it is a single, long thread. You have to be so careful with it because if it breaks it's kind of pointless, and how magnificent it is that such a cocoon could be so uninterrupted, singular, continuous.

Which brings me to the climax with Lu Guang, when he is trapped in a literal and figurative cocoon of silk. So as Liu Xiao had said (or at least, I think he said it...I forget lol)--when you make silk by boiling the cocoons, you kill the silkworm inside. Silkworms leave the cocoons by chewing a hole through it, which essentially renders the silk unusable because it's all chewed and broken, but now the silkworm is a moth and flies free. The thread of silk, the cocoon, must be ripped and ruined, only then can a silkworm emerge with wings, transformed. Only then can it live.

(Fun fact: one of the first things I knew I wanted from this story was the scene of Cheng Xiaoshi using his threads of fate to sew up all the ripped seams of time. That was, in many ways, the impetus of this story's idea--the image of him so selflessly giving up his own future and life to the act of something as gentle as mending)

Wen Xi

I loved writing chapter 2, honestly. Not only because I get to write about a dive, which is the charm and heart of Link Click, and not only because I get to write about my culture and province (Cantonese represent!) but also because in my eyes, the Wen Xi dive functions similarly to how I interpret the earthquake arc functions for canon.

There was a moment where I almost had a scene where CXS actually interacted with Wen Xi in person. He would have run into her at one point, and of course he can't act like he knows her because she doesn't realize he was the one who did the job for him, but he would have had a moment with her. She was sitting on the curb, struggling with some of the mangosteens she bought. He remembers how she doesn't like getting her hands sticky and wet and how Song Liming used to open them for her when they were kids, so he would have asked her if she needed help and gave her that little bit of kindness. This was ultimately scarpered so that he and Qiao Ling could have that more plot-driven moment of worrying over Lu Guang.

Other Deleted Scenes/changed scenes

Not so much a scene as it is a theme that I wish I could have expounded on more but ultimately couldn't figure it out. Which is to say, I wish I could have played around with Liu Xiao more. Liu Xiao, Lu Guang, and Li Tianchen are the trio who are manipulating fate and the future. They are also three characters who are, in their own way and for their own reasons, trying to use the control of time to answer for a painful trauma that they cannot bear to face full-on. For Liu Xiao, that flashback scene of Liu Min would have played a bigger role in the story. I wish I could have completed this, but at the same time, in my head in order for him to confront it is to own up to it, and find healing from it. He did not want to do that in the playground of my imagination. So I left him be.

Actually, Liu Xiao was supposed to be a little more villainous in this story! He would have been a bit more purposeful about Cheng Xiaoshi, knowing that CXS' abilities are causing the 'knot' in the silk and then intending for CXS to die alone/far from Lu Guang so that Lu Guang would not repeat the cycle. Ultimately I preferred Liu Xiao to be a bit more morally gray. He struck me as someone who didn't have a personal grudge against CXS at the end of the day. All he wants is his own peace of mind.

There was also going to be a moment, although I ended up scrapping it early on, where the photograph of Cheng Xiaoshi and his mother would have played a bit more of a role in the story. There would have been a moment where, upon discovering what Lu Guang was doing with the silks and realizing how much damage it was causing not only to him but to the world, Cheng Xiaoshi would have felt like he was the cause of all of Lu Guang's misery and now also the misery of the concept of time and space, since Lu Guang was essentially destroying the world because of him. In a moment of being in a pretty terrible head space, Cheng Xiaoshi would have half considered diving back into that photo as his mom and straight up Terminator his childhood self to save everyone the trouble. Qiao Ling would have strongly talked him out of it. Ultimately I felt that was, well, a bit dark, and not really fitting to the rest of the story.

Speaking of the photograph's purpose, the opening scene used to be a wee bit different, where Cheng Xiaoshi would actually give Qiao Ling the photo of his mother and ask her to hide it from him. He would never explain why, but Qiao Ling would have a guess as to what the reason was. I changed it because I wanted the story to have a bookend. It begins with Qiao Ling holding Cheng Xiaoshi as he slept to keep him warm. As does it ends.

Culture(???)

I'll be honest, I'm borne of expats, so I'm not the one to break down the traditions and culture of the characters. At the same time, I definitely was raised in Chinese culture and spent formative periods of my life in China, so there are a lot of things I take for granted and not think to explain when in fact it is not actually a universal experience.

But anyway! This is a section to explain my caveat. I am Cantonese. Link Click very likely takes place in a northern city. China's food culture is EXTREMELY diverse, so the food that I have eaten in China, because I spend all my time in a specific province, is probably food that Cheng Xiaoshi, Lu Guang, and Qiao Ling seldomly eat! But I couldn't help myself, so I wrote about my favorite foods. Because I write fic for ME.

That also goes for the daily living aspect as well. For all I know, Cantonese doctor visits, city walking, food delivery, groceries, etc. are the same as Northerners. For all I know, it could be wildly different! I have no idea. I do reckon though that our trio live in a quieter, smaller city than what I'm used to. I mean, look at their neighborhood.

Not regarding shanghuo, though. Shanghuo is everywhere in China.

Anyway, a quick rundown of things:

black sesame porridge: A very Cantonese sweet porridge. Technically considered dessert, but also lauded to be full of nutrition. Technically considered 'soup' but I write fic for me.

Also, black sesame soymilk. Soymilk is great.

Sun Wukong- LG compares himself, or wished to compare himself, to Sun Wukong escorting Tang Sanzang to the west. This is in reference to our beloved Monkey King in The Journey to the West! He is an iconic literary figure dating back to idk I think the 1400s or something and his story is quite long and mythical but long story short his mission was to escort a monk westward, towards South Asia, to collect some important scripts. He had to protect Tan Sanzang from all sorts of demons and devils along the way.

Pixiu- Lu Guang makes a passing comment in his point of view about putting a Pixiu at his doorstep and hoping it pays off Cheng Xiaoshi's debt. Pixiu is a little guy (arguably dragon, probably not) that likes to gobble up gold. If you put a little Pixiu statue in your area, the idea is that he will bring wealth to you. He's got a whole story about him where he ate up all the gold of the heavenly palace and the Jade Empress was so mad she sewed up his butthole so he would have eternal constipation, or something like that. Don't correct me if that's wrong because that's how the story was told to me and I delight in it LOL. I love him. He's my favorite idiot.

Clay pot rice -Also a very Cantonese dish. Frankly, the rest of China is missing out if it is only contained in the Canton province. Rice that is cooked with meats in a clay pot which makes the rice v ery aromatic and deliciously crispy around the sides. Qiao Ling was NOT going to take that out for takeout, that girl was 100% just gonna treat herself in a restaurant and CXS was gonna have to deal with scraps and leftovers.

Zhinü- I'm realizing that Lu Guang makes a lot of references in his internal monologue LOL. This is in reference to the Weaver Girl and Cowherd folktale, one of China's Four Great Folktales (which include Lady Meng Jiang, Legend of White Snake which is my personal favorite, and the Butterfly Lovers). It's a very classic Chinese story about a celestial weaver girl, Zhinü, who is the daughter of I think the Jade Emperor who is like the heavenly king of gods, and her lover the mortal cowherd. Long story short, her father was unhappy that she fell in love with a mortal and so separated her from her husband and children with the Milky Way. One day a year, the birds take pity on the lovers and form a bridge across the galaxy so that they can reunite. Between her and Lu Guang's weaving--or rather, spinning silk--I couldn't pass up the opportunity to make a reference.

yangmei wine - Liu Xiao is drinking some Yangmei wine. Yangmei is a type of fruit in China and I am pretty sure I actually made him drink a different wine than what I'm imagining. What I intended for him to drink is a wine that is made of a particular fruit that isn't strictly speaking edible, or at least not eaten for enjoyment. It's usually always only used for making wine, and you let the little plums (so t ospeak) soak in the alcohol until it is a bright red. Very sweet. Very strong.

Sanmao- At one point Lu Guang compares Cheng Xiaoshi to Sanmao because Cheng Xiaoshi had a small sliver of hope for his parents snatched right from underneath his nose. Sanmao is an iconic Chinese character from a long-running comic that began in the 1930s. He is a poor orphan boy during the era before and during WWII, who is just trying to survive extreme poverty. He is often mistreated by passerbys and is very lonely, often looking longingly at other kids who have food to eat and have parents. Every time someone treats him with kindness and he has just a little bit of hope that he can have a family or some good fortune, some awful circumstance happens, usually tied to tense socioeconomic injustice or war.

One of the less traumatic panels of the comic lol:

Jiuzhaigou- Cheng Xiaoshi mentions wishing that he could go there one day, and then at the end Qiao Ling and Lu Guang say that they will go together. Jiuzhaigou is in the Sichuan province, it is a nature realm that is very beautiful. There are natural deposits that make the lakes ultramarine blue and crystal clear. It's so beautiful! A photographer's dream.

Tangyuan- sweet and sticky rice dumplings that can be filled with sweet filling such as peanuts, black sesame paste, sweet egg, or more! They are often eaten during holidays, both during Winter Solstice and the 15th day after Lunar New Year. Indeed they are symbolizing family togetherness, although less because of stickiness and more because of a pun in their name. But maybe stickiness has something to do with it? Winter Solstice foods in different regions of China are also somewhat sticky, even if they don't typically eat tangyuan. I just know what I'm told lol.

Doraemon-A popular Japanese manga/anime from the 50s or 60s that is immensely beloved by the Chinese to this day. He is a robotic cat from the future with a fourth dimensional pocket full of futuristic gadgets that he uses to help Nobita, a fourth grader in the 50s, with his every day problems. He's wonderful. Also, he has a time machine which is tucked in Nobita's homework desk. Fitting....

Yixiu- Another popular Japanese anime, I believe from the 80s, that was also quite popular in China. It's about Ikkyu-san, a little monk/prince whose profound wisdom solved all sorts of grown-up's shenanigans.

Jiejie- A reader had asked the significance of Cheng Xiaoshi calling Qiao Ling this in the penultimate so I figured I'd bring it up here as well. 'Jie' is an indicator of older sister, or a bit of a respectful but also affectionate term for a young woman. Just like how Lu Guang calls Qiao Ling 'Qiao Ling jie' in the show. When he does it, it's friendly but also not actually meaning that he sees her as a sister sister because it's attached to her whole name. Cheng Xiaoshi in this story, not necessarily canon, refers to her as Ling jie every now and then. To me, this is him hearkening to childhood terms, as that is what his parents would refer to her as when he was growing up.

Take this with a grain of salt because I am a diaspora and not originally from the culture. Qiao Ling referring to Cheng Xiaoshi as 'didi' (little brother) in the show, and in the end Cheng Xiaoshi calling Qiao Ling 'jiejie' (big sister) in this fic are not rare, so to speak, or inappropriate, but you don't typically refer to someone who isn't related to you as your 'didi' or 'jiejie' unless they are blood related to you. You can call your sibling this, or your cousins this, but uuuuusually not someone who is like a sibling to you--singularly, yes, like Ling jie, but not typically Jiejie. Them calling each other this means that they truly see each other as their sibling. Also, those terms are a little bit childlike, so to speak. There are more 'grown-up' ways to refer to your little brother or big sister. In Cheng Xiaoshi's case, someone his age will probably refer to a sister as 'a jie' or 'jia jie'--at least, in Cantonese this is the case. 'Jiejie' is a little kid's way of calling their sibling. Like, up until I was about 7 years old I would have referred to my sister this way. To call someone 'jiejie' now, particularly to their face, I feel is a very vulnerable address. It's like if you as an adult who usually calls their mother 'Mom', in a time of deep distress or sadness and in need of comfort, revert to calling her 'mama' or 'mommy'. Like, you're both probably in tears to get to this point. At least, that is my experience with addresses, and therefore Cheng Xiaoshi's lol. Any fellow sinos out there can correct me but that was my intention for that part of the story. Cheng Xiaoshi is vulnerable, and he is seeking comfort from his big sister.

Mama's nursery rhyme- The story of the little rabbits and their Mama Rabbit is a very well known children's story in China. The story wasrecounted as close to memory as I can, so the only other thing I can say about it is that this is how the song goes.

Well, that's all I can think of right now! If there are any questions or you're curious about something, feel free to send me a message! Otherwise, I hope I didn't resuscitate the author too much.

[litnerdwrites]

I was out all day yesterday, so I couldn't upload it then, so here it is now. Day seven, extended version. I do have plans to make this a series, and once I have all three series planned out, I'll be sure to ask who's you want to see first. Be sure to look out for more Euphemia content until then too. On a side note, did anyone see Kerri's stories, where she was scrolling through the first few pages of Throne of Secrets. We got a glimpse at the first couple of pages and honestly, ever teaser just makes me more impatient to read it.

This is probably my favourite piece, and the longest that I've written. Even though it's extended, there's so much more that I wanted to add, that I'll probably put into the series. I really loved writing Lust, and trying to balance gentle, romantic side with his lustful, jovial one. Although, I don't think there was much room for the latter here but I'll be sure to give it ago in the series. What are some of your favourite Lust moments from the trilogy? Let me know! @princeofsinweek

Day 7: Lust/Lover

Speak Now - Lust x OC

WC:4,077

TW: Almost forced marriage, abuse (father striking his daughter, plus forced fiancé hurting bride), mentioned death of a parent, mentioned canon typical violence.

Amara was stone faced as her ladies maids tittered around her, tugging, tucking and tidying up her hair in preparation. They had tried to make smalltalk at first, but when she didn’t respond, they quickly gave up. 

She wanted to grimace at her reflection. She wanted to tear the pins and veil from her hair. She wanted to smear the makeup from her face, even if she had to break a few nails and tear her skin to do it. She wanted to rip the silk and lace from her body, and throw it to the pigs. 

She wanted to run.

But she couldn’t. 

All because she had nowhere to go. Noone to turn to. 

The gown itself was classic. An a-line gown made of silk, with a sweetheart neckline, and thick lace sleeves. The ivy patterned lace reached right to where her neck met her head, and somehow managed to irritate her skin. Yet, despite her growing discomfort, she remained like a statue, even as the maids began wondering if she even lived or not. 

“You will wed the Prince, and you will finally make yourself useful to me,” 

Even as it echoed in her own mind, her father’s voice remained harsh, arguably colder than even the northernmost flaming tombs. It became his usual attitude after her mother had been killed by who Amara now knew was the Goddess of Death in an act of vengeance. The father she knew and loved lasted until the funeral, but once people began moving on with their lives, things began to change. Gone was the gentle, doting father she knew, and in his place was a shell of a man who only sought power and fame. 

Even at the expense of his own daughter.

Part of her, thinking back to that night, when she felt as though things had turned around for her. 

Growing sick of the scent of alcohol and sex in her home, she’d wandered to one of the many cliff sides in Palermo. 

She wasn’t sure how long she’d sat there, eyes locked on the crashing waves below, but not really looking at them. 

It would be so easy to just… Push herself forward, and let herself fall. So, so easy. 

But, before she could properly contemplate the idea, he was pulled from her  thoughts by the distant sound of music. As if in a trance, she made her way down the side of the cliff wondering if it was the cold, or anticipation that had her limbs trembling. What she hadn’t expected was to find a bonfire, and a single male dancing on the beach. 

The sculptures that nobles commissioned from renowned artisans to line their overly elaborate halls must’ve been inspired by the man. His skin was gold, and hair dark. His charcoal eyes seemed to glow under the light of a flaming circlet that wrapped around his head. Yet, somehow, she got the impression that if she met his gaze, she’d feel like she was trapped in a darkened abys

se of desire. 

“If you like what you see, then why not join?” The male’s voice jolted her from her thoughts. 

He had been across the beach a moment ago, but now he stood right in front of her. Too close. His face was too close, as he bent at the waist to examine her. It was only then, when she felt that flaming circlet flicker against her forehead that she realized how… Wrong- no. Not wrong. How… Strange it was. 

“Doesn’t your head get hot during the summer?” she had blurted out, before slapping a hand over her mouth. 

The man’s eyes widened, and he had jerked back, clearly surprised by the question. He observed her, eyes narrowing somewhat, before leaning back, letting his lips spread into a grin.

“There are no summers where I’m from,” he shrugged. She blinked up at him, hands still pressed to her mouth, but eyes wide and curious. He seemed so jovial when she first saw him, then he looked like he could see all of her secrets laid bare, before going back to seeming like he was having fun. “Should you not be more concerned by this?” he cocked his head to the side.

Amara dropped her hands from her mouth, and blinked up at him again. After a few moments under his expectant gaze, she raised a brow, and rocked on the soles of her feet, answering with a shrug. “No. My mother was a witch,” 

Lust’s brows shot up. 

“You seem remarkably comfortable sharing that, when all it would take is the wrong person overhearing for you to be condemned,” 

“You aren’t exactly human either, in case you hadn’t noticed,” she pointed out, “I know enough about malvagi to know that if you wanted me dead, I’d be dead. Clearly, you don’t. Not as of yet, anyway,” 

Lust’s brows shot up again, as he circled her. 

Amara held her chin high, eyes tracking the male. 

Silence stretched on for what felt like hours, though was likely only minutes.

“Do you know who I am, Stella Stregah?” he finally asked.

“A Malvagi,” she stated, matter of factly, before looking behind him, “Why are you having a bonfire all alone?” 

“Would you care to join me?” was the only response he gave.

“Will you attempt to use your powers on me?” she asked.

“Dance with me, and perhaps you’ll find out,” the demon bowed at the waist, offering his hand to her. 

Amara eyed him skeptically, but shrugged and accepted.

Music filled her ear again, though there was no discernible source, as the demon guided her through the steps. Amara let him. She followed his lead, though never once made eye contact with the demon. 

“Which one are you?” 

“I am the Prince of Lust,” 

She narrowed her eyes on him. Taking a moment to examine herself, and thinking over their interactions thus far. It didn’t seem like he used his powers on her.

“Why haven’t you tried to influence me with your sin, yet?” 

“Believe me, I’ve been trying,” Lust huffs. 

“What?”

“Our powers can only inflate emotions that are already present. When I reached out to inflate yours, I sensed no emotion to inflate. Either you truly feel nothing, or they’re so deeply buried that even I can’t find them,” 

“I…See,” 

“Is that why you considered jumping from the cliff, Stella Stregah?” 

Lust raised a brow, examining the way her face scrunched. 

“That’s not your concern, Malvagi.” Amara snapped, moving to pull away.

He chuckled, yanking her into a spin, before she could, then caught her, and pushed her into a dip, hand cupping the thigh of her raised leg. His face was mear inches from hers.

“No need to be so wrathful, little witch. Let go of your troubles for a night. Release those pent up feelings and give in to your desires,” 

“I’m not sleeping with you,” she told him, point blank. 

“I never said you should. Not unless those are your desires,” Lust shrugged, not rising from the dip, letting his hand trail down her leg, “Dance. Drink,” she glanced behind him to see a table of drinks and food she hadn’t noticed before, and on the other side, comfortable looking chairs were laid out around the bonfire, “Rest. Talk. Sing. Give into whatever brings your pleasure,” 

“You mean to feed your sin,” 

“Perhaps. But can you deny that giving in to pleasure, forgetting what ails you, even for a single night, would be bad?” 

It wouldn’t. She knew it wouldn’t. 

“Surely you have plenty of people available to feed your sin,” 

“Yet I crave you,” 

Amara’s eyes narrowed. 

“If I give into pleasure, you won’t use your sin on me?” 

“Not unless you ask, little witch,” 

“Then it’s a deal. Just for tonight.” 

“Just for tonight.” 

It hadn’t been just for a night. 

She had returned two nights later, and made the same deal again, swearing it was the last time. Then again. And again. And again. And again. 

Eventually, she gave into more and more of her desires, spending more than a couple of those nights with him making love on the beach, or in a cave. One time, he’d even appeared in her bedroom while her father was out drinking. Lust had wrinkled his nose when he appeared, be it at the sorry state of the place she lived in, or the clear evidence of her father’s vices, despite his  own position, she couldn’t tell. 

Eventually, she’d found herself coming to enjoy the jovial prince’s company. Perhaps it was unwise to do so, given what she knew of the malvagi, yet, she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. Even as she began to desire more than just his body. Instead, she longed for tender nights where he held her by the fire after a particularly vigorous session of love making in a cave. 

Foolishly, she longed for the scowl he gave at her proposal to roast marshmallows over his flaming crown, before reluctantly agreeing if only she never shared it with her brothers, only to watch her oh, so tenderly as she made s’mores for them. Above all, she longed for the high she felt in his presence, which she recently learned wasn’t due to his sin, but rather her own feelings, and delusions.

That was all it was. Delusions. 

Princes of Hell are content to rule alone, with no desire to share their power with anyone. 

Now, at least she had her memories to hold onto as she got married. Then, when Prince Zarus would transform her into one of his own at the reception, right before injecting her with his venom, she’d likely lose all senses, or memories of her Prince. Perhaps that would be the mercy. To forget all of it, and be lost in the oblivion for the rest of eternity. 

A sharp knock snaps her from her thoughts. In the mirror, she watched the lady’s maids quickly shuffle out, but glanced away at her father’s entry. She refused to even look at him. 

He, obviously, noticed this too, but for once, did not strike her. Instead, he examined her.

“You don’t look like a whore, for once,” he comments. Amara said nothing. “Don’t look so sullen when you walk down the aisle. You are to wed royalty, and if you wish for comfort in your new life, do not let the prince tire of you.” 

“Don’t pretend this is for me,” she whispers, “All this is so you can gain wealth, power and immortality. You care nothing for how I feel about the matter.” Tears well in her eyes as she gazes at her reflection, feeling like an imposter. 

Her father approached, ignoring her flinch as he placed his hands on her shoulders, leaning beside her head to watch her in the mirror.  

She refused to meet his gaze.

“Nonsense. You’re the precious,” his hands squeezed uncomfortably tight, voice strained, “daughter that my wife left behind before she died. I am merely doing what is best, so that you might live a life of comfort,” 

Amara wanted to retort. To hurl insults and decor at him, but knew the guards would happily inject her before the wedding started, upon their Prince’s orders, and drag her down the aisle in that state of euphoria if that’s what it took. She didn’t want that. She wanted to put it off as long as she could. Yet, she also wanted to be rid of her father. 

Mercifully, another knock at the door dragged her father away with one, final, painful squeeze of her shoulders. 

She barely noticed the newcomer enter after her father, the woman draped in silver, emanating a familiar sensuality. Amara’s eyes snapped to hers as she pressed a finger to her lips. A slip of paper drops in front of her, before she uses transvenio to make her escape. 

Eyes wide, Amara reaches for the paper, slowly unfolding it. 

My dearest Amara, You don’t have to say yes. Meet at the back door and I can take you away from here, somewhere you’d be happy. I’d give absolutely anything for that, so I ask that if you wish to escape this, then come find me. I’ll be there until the reception ends.  Forever yours, Prince Lust. 

The message burst into flames, leaving behind a slip of paper with a map drawn on it. It appeared to lead from her room to the place he was waiting. The only issue were the guards outside her room. With furrowed brows, she shoved the paper into her pocket, hoping she’d have a chance on the way to the altar. 

Finally, when her father came to collect her, she walked to the end of the hall. 

“Father. I- I forgot my necklace! Could you go back and get it?” 

“Just leave it, before we’re late,” he assures, with thinly veiled irritation and faux kindness.

“But it was a gift from the Prince. He’d be terribly angry if I don’t,” she tried.

Her father raised a brow, but nodded to the guards, who turned back. She and her father had watched them head back up the hall, to her room, before she turned on her heel, reaching for the paper. She’d made it halfway up the hall before a firm grip pulled her back. 

“Where do you think you’re-” he noticed the paper. His eyes slid over the map, narrowing on it. Before she knew what was happening, a sharp sting was felt across her face, strong enough to send her to the ground, “You whore! You think you can escape this? You think you can embarrass me?!”

She shrank under his ire, more tears welling in his eyes. 

“I- I’m sorry-”

He yanked her up by the arm. 

“No. But you will be. Just you wait until the reception is over,” he hissed, “Now compose yourself,” 

She did her best as they stood in the hallway, certain that the guards heard everything. A put of dread opened up in her stomach and minutes ticked by far too slowly, yet far too quickly at the same time. Each second was like a step towards the gallows. 

She barely processed the guard’s return or her father clasping the necklace around her. She didn’t bother to hide her stiffness, or heartbreak, even as her father snapped at her to smile. As far as she was concerned, this was as good as walking to the executioner’s block. 

The doors to the throne room opened, revealing the altar, where the immortal throne, where Zarus, sat at the end of an aisle laid with red and black petals. 

Amara didn’t care much what plant they were from, only that it felt like a mocking reminder that the path to her future was scattered with more and more burdens to laden her shoulders. 

She didn’t notice when she got to the altar.

She didn’t acknowledge the priest, or her fiance. 

She stood in stony silence, with the eyes of bloodsucking monsters pinned to her. 

The lines she dreaded most were coming.

She hardly felt like she could breath, much less speak. 

She wanted to run.

She had to run.

She needed to run. 

Run. 

Run.

Ru-

“Do you, Amara Willows, take Prince Zarus to be your Prince and your husband, and to serve him and his court, for the rest of eternity?” 

Her throat dried up. 

She couldn’t speak.

“Amara?” a distant voice called.

She couldn't discern who.

She could feel her father’s harsh glare on her, and the Prince’s hand tightening on hers. 

“Amare Willows, do you take-” 

She couldn’t take it. She ran. Amara practically jumped off the altar, gown bunched in her hands, as she raced for the doors. There was yelling, and she felt pain in her foot as she stumbled, shoe falling off in the process, but she refused to acknowledge the pain as she made for the doors. It only really sunk in as two guards caught her arms in a bruising grip.

“Let me-” 

“Aren’t you supposed to ask those with objections to ‘speak now’ or some bullshit?” 

Amara’s head snapped towards the door at the familiar voice. Charcoal eyes met her own, and the flames that circled his head flickered somewhat brighter. As per usual, he wore an embroidered suit jacket and pants, foregoing the shirt. 

It was him. 

He was here. 

Her prince was here. 

“There is none in this court who would dare object to their Prince’s union,” scowled Zarus. 

“Luckily I’m not part of this court then,” Lust grins, ever the jovial one, “So allow me to say with all sincerity in my non-existent heart,” he mocked, only, there was something different. His eyes had an intensity about them that she’d never seen before, “that I object,” 

“Lu-” she tried to reach out, only for Zarus to appear in front of her. 

The guards back off when Zarus grabs her wrist. 

“On what grounds? You have no right to interfere in our affairs,”  

“I do when you take a member of my court,” 

“My daughter has never been a member of your vile court!” Her father interrupted, his face going red, from embarrassment or rage, she couldn’t tell. 

“You see, that’s where you're wrong,” Lust starts, as he begins his way up the aisle, “She and I had made a deal, that involved her allowing me to fuel my sin through her several times a week. Marrying you would prevent her from holding up her end of the bargain,” 

Her eyes widened as she recalled the deal she made, time and time again. 

“Each corner of The Underworld has its own set of laws. Human law, the law of the Shifting Isles, dictates that a woman may not enter such agreements without her father or husband’s consent, deferring only to their female line in the absence of a male relative,” her father snapped. 

“Yes, however, each law can be overturned by The King,” 

“Not without valid reason to-” 

“And there is,” a new voice called. 

The man who just entered is burly, with dark hair, tied back with leather, and upswept, dark eyes. A scar is carved through his right cheek, a silver gleam against his darker features, and fine black suite. Despite how bored the man seems, the way his hand remains in reach of what appears to be a dagger’s sheath makes it clear that he’s been assessing everything with a warrior’s eye. He came prepared for violence. 

Lust told her about him before. Anir. The King’s second. 

“Consent is the most important aspect of courtship and marriage. Yet your bride doesn’t appear to want to be here at all,” Lust muses.

“What nonsense-” her father snapped, but was cut off by a withering glare from Anir. 

“The King has asked me to confirm this. If it is true, then he’s willing to recognise House Lust’s claim of the woman, and has ordered me to leave behind a declaration of war as a result,” Anir holds an envelope between two fingers. 

“This is ridiculous-” her father attempted again, only to be cut off again.

“Of course my bride wishes to be here,” Zarus turns from Anir to Amara, grip tightening painfully on her wrist, “don’t you?” 

Amara winces, unable to speak from the strength with which he was holding her. Anir examined her, waiting, but the pain in her wrist became too much. She was sure he was crushing the bone, even before she heard a snapping sound coming from there. She wanted to cry out, only for the pressure on her wrist to vanish in a moment. 

That was the moment the petals scattered on the aisle started coming closer. It was as if she was falling.

It wasn’t until warm arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her to a warm chest, that she saw Lust kneeling beside her. Through her gaze, though blurred with unshed tears, she noticed a female demon, the one from before, gripping the Prince’s hand almost as tightly as he did her’s. Tighter perhaps. 

A warm hand gently guided her face away from the sight, so that she might meet the gaze of her prince instead. 

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t make it,” she whispered, thinking to her failed attempt at escape,” 

“It’s okay, little witch. I’m here now,” Lust whispers, cradling your body. 

You turn to see the man, Anir, approaching too. His gaze is calculating as he observes you, likely trying to figure out what to report to his prince. 

“What’s important now is that you’re honest,” he tells you sternly, though not unkindly, “If you don’t wish to marry Zarus, speak now, Miss Willows,” 

Her heart races at his words, at the opportunity to escape. She wants to reach for it, to grasp it but-

“But where will I go?” she asks weakly. 

Lust, who was cradling her wounded wrist in his hand, smiled gently at her. Like he had many times before. 

“You’ll come with me,” he whispered. 

“But why? You have so many demons to feed your sin, so why-” 

“Because I want you,” he reminds her, “I’ll tell you as many times as you need. I want you. Not anybody else,” he leans down to your ear, “Come back with me, to House Lust. Join my court officially. Be mine. Let me make you my princess, and then be mine. Mine for eternity,” 

“Lust-” 

“Hush. Let me finish,” he waits for you to nod before speaking, “In return, I’ll give you all the comfort and pleasure you want. I won’t have dalliances with anyone else. I won’t look at anyone else. Nobody but you. I’ll give you whatever your heart desires, if you just say ‘yes’” 

He’s practically begging, in front of the entire vampire court, and his brother’s second, no less. 

You don’t bother to contain your tears as you lean up, wrapping your good arm around him. 

“Miss Willows-” Anir begins. 

“Amara, I forbid-” 

“Yes,” she manages to get out through her sobs, not breaking your gaze from Lust’s, “I want to go to House Lust. I want to leave this place,”

Anir nods, beginning to address the room again, but you pay it no mind. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Lust’s shoulders, mindful of the injured wrist, and buried your face there. The demon from earlier tried to console her, only for Lust to wave her away. He could feel her emotions. The fear, and heartache for her situation, all overshadowed by relife, joy, and desire for her freedom, for Lust. He felt no need to inflate it, instead, he gently encouraged her to let it out however she needed. 

It was only when Lust deposited her on a bed covered in deep plum silks, and overly stuffed pillows.

“Care for a bath?” he asked.

“As long as it stays one. I’m far too tired to do anything right now,” she murmured to him.

Lust chuckled, but agreed, as he helped her from, what he called, an inordinate amount of fabric, as she giggled and reminded him that it was only two layers.

“Two layers too many,” he huffed, before tearing the dress from her body and depositing her in the bat. 

While she soaked, Lust gently wiped the makeup from her face, before pressing a kiss to her temple. He brought some ointment and bandages for her wrist, silently wrapping it, before carrying her back to bed.

“If you don’t wish to sleep bare, I could have some night clothes brought,” he gently offered, as he helped her dry off.

Amara shook her head.

“I’ve slept beside you, naked, in caves, and on sand. I think I’ll be fine to do so while wrapped in the most comfortable silks I’ve ever seen,” she assured.

Lust smiled, nodding, before reaching for something from the bedside.

“I only wish for your comfort, little witch, before I make good on one of my promises,” 

Amara blushed at the reminder.

“You don’t-”

He ignored her as he took a ring in one hand, hew good wrist in the other. 

“I want to. Let me make you my princess. My fiance. My only lover,”

She stared at him, noting sincerity in his dark eyes. Amara nodded.  

“Then, from now until eternity, be mine, Lust,” 

Lust slid the ring to her finger, then pressed a kiss to her lips.

“Mine,” he nipped at her.

She giggled, and nipped back.  

“Mine,” 

[allisonreader]

Here's the start of my @inklings-challenge story this year. Hopefully I'll be able to finish it, but as of the moment I'm stuck and still not fully sure of what the theme will end up being. Anyways I present the rough start of my story.

V.C.C.S- Vector Climate Control System

It was a cold blustery type of day like they hadn’t had in a while. It was a forbidding omen of the changing seasons as old ripped propaganda poster flapped with each gust of wind. The faded words speaking of the Vector Climate Control System still legible.

It always surprised him just how many posters and old billboards remained, proclaiming the wonders of how the VCCS was going to change the world for the better.

He pulled up his coat collar to try and block some of the wind as he made his way home from work. He’d have to remember a heavier coat with a hood in the coming days.

The wind was going to make his face as red as his hair with the way it was whipping through the buildings around him. The wind was gusting hard enough to rip down an old flyer and try to blind him with it. He huffed as he read it.

*A Revolutionary New World Is Coming! The Vector Climate Control System will eliminate the question of "what will the weather be like today?"

Once the V.C.C.S. is employed extreme weather will be curbed. No more droughts! No more hurricanes! No more tornadoes! No more blizzards!

Extreme weather will be controlled and moved where it is most needed and is safely out of the way.*

There was more that he could have read, but he didn’t need to. He scrunched up the flyer to dispose of it at home, putting it in his pocket until then.

He knew all about VCCS as they had learned all about it school. They had been taught all about the seven circuits of nine towers. How each system worked both in its own little loop as well as within the entire system.

But also how it failed.

There were both political reasons as well as technical factors. As the system did not work as intended or expected. Making a bigger mess than if it had never been set in place.

The towers still remained as they were too large to demolish with any ease. Finally he made it to the warmth of his home.

"Hey there Delilah, I’m home!" he called out upon entering.

"I hear you!" Delilah called back, coming out from the kitchen a couple minutes later. Which had given him a chance to remove his coat and take the flyer from his pocket, ready to recycle.

"Oh! Jake! You’re as red as your hair!" Delilah exclaimed, putting both of her hands on his; as expected, red cheeks. "What do you have there?" she asked when she felt the wad of paper in his hands as he hugged her.

"It’s nothing important. Just one of those old VCCS flyers that tried attacking me in the wind," he said.

"Well that was rather mean of it, after everything else that happened with that."

"Hmm, at least now there will be one less flyer littering up the place about it."

"There’s that I guess," said Delilah. "Let’s get you warmed up properly."

🌤️🌩️🌨️🌧️☀️⛈️🌪️❄️💨💦🌊

Over the next few days the weather grew more intense, more wild and unpredictable, until the weather casters were starting to speculate that there was a malfunction of one of the towers a part of the VCCS.

Complaints about the suspected malfunction grew day by day as the weather continued to get increasingly worse and more wild. Wind was practically nonstop and rain, sleet, and snow cycled through without a rhyme or a reason. Other than harsh winds, you never knew what you were going to get.

The weather casters were speculating/observing that from what weather conditions and patterns there were that it appeared to only be the one tower in the system acting up and it was the one closest to us. Which was still many kilometres away from where we were.

Messages were sent to those who managed the towers to see what was happening with the tower and what was going to be done about it. No response was ever received from anyone who anyone tried to contact. No one wanted to deal with the malfunctioning tower that was supposed to be shut down.

The weather grew worse until he was unable to walk to work anymore. Not that Delilah wanted either of them to go out in this wild and unpredictable weather.

[starryredpandawrites]

Since Slicer/ Carly isn’t a part of the story (well more so she wasn’t activated)

If she somehow were- how would Bendy deal with her? Being unable to cus she’s so quick? Or do like the widow king (the nonbinary icon spider creature) and be chomped to bits for say having almost gutting his may-or-may-not-at-that-point-actually-be sister

Yeah I know random question, more so being reminded of her again kinda left me wondering :0

Oooooo good question

Honestly, one of the reasons I left her out is partially because I wasn't sure how to deal with her (and I hate her since she drove me absolutely insane in the game. Good game design, cool character and concept, very good at making me hate her). But since you asked, here are some ideas I've had :)

Adding a cut because this ended up a lot longer than I expected lol

It depends on how tangible she actually is, because, if I'm referring correctly, Audrey can't actually hit her when she attacks, so we have to decide whether the Ink Demon can hit her too.

I also had a theory that she was just a hallucination, so it would be kinda fun to play with the idea that only Audrey could see her.

If the Ink Demon could see and touch her, he would be just as surprised and freaked out as Audrey the first time she appears. However, being the Ink Demon, he would immediately react offensively and rip her to shreds. If he was in his baby/Bendy form, it would spark a transformation but not in time to actually deal with the threat, but I think it's likely he would stay in demon form until she appears again, and then he would rip her to shreds. He would also likely eat her remains which would stop her from coming back. Threat neutralized.

However....if Audrey was the only one who could see/interact with her....

The Ink Demon would lose his damn mind.

At first, he would react to Audrey's reaction, (transforming if he wasn't already in demon mode), growling and searching for a threat.

Seeing nothing, he would get mad at Audrey for overreacting and imply she's losing her mind, until he notices her injuries.

His sister is being attacked, taking real damage, but he can't see/deal with the threat. Goodbye baby form, Bendy would get super overprotective, refusing to leave Audrey's side, growling and clawing at shadows, killing everything/everyone who crosses their path. He would get more and more frustrated with each attack, questioning his and Audrey's own sanity more over time. At some point he sees the Slicer through Audrey's eyes and decides enough is enough and takes Audrey back to his lair (against her will, of course). If he can't remove the threat, he'll remove the threatened.

Of course, Audrey wouldn't accept this and spend the next while trying to escape Bendy and trying to convince him the Slicer isn't that much of a threat but he won't have it. This is the first time he's encountered something he can't fight. Even if Henry always came back, he could still kill him. Poor babs confidence has been thoroughly shook.

Not sure what would happen after that but maybe he can fight the Slicer using Audrey's vision, idk.

Thanks for reading what turned into quite the rant, I would love to hear anyone else's ideas if y'all have any :)

[spicybylerpolls]

Well, unknown hero agent man / pen symbolism anon, i hope you're reading this, cos you hit the nail on the head! this kind of symbolic storytelling is not only a fine art of cinema (being lost these days a little sadly, what with the whole netflix speedy turnover etc), but exactly what (good) films of the horror genre aim to do.

horror has long been a way to creatively tell 'normal' dramatic stories through subtext and symbolism. not sure if this is still a way around traditional censorship but im sure it began that way. films like the exorcist, the shining, rosemary's baby... all classics that are filled with subtext. its also an exciting way to talk about things that might seem trite or too bleak when portrayed as a 'straight' drama (this is the term meaning 'non-genre based' or 'non-musical' lmao). So you could say that ST is NOT straight, in more ways than one 😉

but much of this will go over casual viewers heads, so its finding the balance between making a story believable on the surface (another dimension exists! scary government men trying to kill us!) and subtextually (the UD as a metaphor for trauma/AIDS/closeted homosexuality/abuse etc) if viewers are clever enough to see/feel it. i say feel because much of storyviewing is instinctive instead of analytical.

so ST incorporates both - not just metaphorical, vague storytelling, but also real issues too. but it goes one step further, and actually has characters talk explicitly about reading deeper into stuff (murray's behind the curtain speech). it's a very meta show, even for a genre piece, which is why it astounds me that some people think it's not that deep lol. and some people think that only literature can be deep, but never tv or movies - which is an insult to anyone who has ever been passionate about cinema tbh. It's a statement that would probably rip the heart out of the duffers' chests and stomp on it. these guys are super nerds who have dedicated their adult lives to this passion project. as finn said, 'most people make it then just cash in - im so glad they still care'.

I'm sorry you don't feel comfortable talking about the beauty of this storytelling on your main. it really does surprise me that the fandom is so censorship obsessed because sexual metaphors have long existed in visual media, and especially in horror films. there used to be a long post about byler and a potential sex scene at lover's lake on here, but the user disappeared and the post went missing. it was about all the sexual imagery in ST, with a focus on byler in s4. i especially loved how they mentioned mike's introduction, where he was just in underwear: it is both appropriate for the setting, but also gets the audience used to him as a growing lad with a body and draws attention to those uncomfortable, potentially sexual aspects of being a teen. i mean, he was in tiny pants for god's sake. did we need to see that? why did we see it? etc etc

hilariously, they also referenced the always sunny in philadelphia scene where a character is in a therapist office talking about a pen being a dick. he then puts it in his mouth and chews the pen lmoao

i think you'd enjoy @therainscene's rod symbolism post too. I'm personally hoping for some explicit sex scenes with byler, because the show so far has arguably been telling that story metaphorically already for 4 seasons, and bringing it out of the subtext could be a storytelling device in itself. bringing byler's secrets into the light. after all, this is a period piece that aims to shed light on a bygone era. its not a propaganda piece that needs to remain coded; the reasons for staying secretive still exist for mike and will in the 80s, but times have changed since then for us as a global audience, and more importantly, the aspirational message has changed. what message would the duffs want to send to viewers that are still bigoted? clearly one of the beauty of homosexuality, seeing as will, our fav gay boy, has been the darling sympathetic victim of the show since s1e1. the show needs to remain true to both the 80s while also having a strong message for this decade in order for modern audiences to be able to gain something from watching this story; in order for there to be a reason the show exists at all.

so to answer your question, i had never picked up on the pen symbolism until now, but i immediately agree, not least because 1) it must have a meaning that connects to byler's conversation otherwise why does it just interrupt them with no reason? (from a storytelling pov), and 2) because of the always sunny scene lolllll

thanks for the discourse! if you stick around into s5, im sure we will be able to start discussing this on our mains. it'll be a new era and there might even be gifs/pics of byler to accompany our 'spicy' discourse haha!

Amazing/fascinating points! Thanks for adding to the discussion!

[mysticraven20]

I’m excited to announce that this year I have once again taken part in the @mlbigbang

‘The Situationship’ will begin releasing on Friday 5th January (my birthday 🥳) as a special celebration. Then chapters will follow on a Sunday.

This year I have been paired up with the incredibly talented @peonyfanart and Miraculouslyshellie and I cannot wait to share the artwork for the fic! I am completely overwhelmed by what I’ve seen so far and I cannot thank you both enough for choosing this fic to work on 💗

Also, a huge thank you to my beta @uptoolateart for being magnificent and such a wonderful support, and also Lorena for reading through for inconsistencies in the story line.

Be prepared for 32 chapters of shenanigans, chaos and fun — with a twist

The Situationship

Synopsis: What if ‘the one’ split into two…?

Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Lady Luck herself, has finally fallen on her feet after years of playing catch-up. Her boss, Mary Humphries of The House of Humphries, has invited her to be first assistant at an important meeting in London with none other than Gabriel.

But with bad luck seemingly always knocking on her door, she needs to make sure she doesn’t ruin this opportunity — which is easier said than done.

When she mistakes handsome, geeky looking Adrien Agreste as Gabriel’s personal assistant, suddenly she seems to have magicked up some luck.

They could not be more different in personality, yet after surviving a rather interesting Akuma together, a strange and exciting friendship begins… It’s just a shame one person doesn’t agree.

Someone who happens to be his ‘other half’.

Except:

Absent-mindedly, she reached out and grabbed her Chat Noir plushy, holding it tightly against her chest and feeling the bubbling emotion edge to break free. She didn’t want to leave him, not when she’d just figured it all out, when she’d figured out what she wanted them to be. It wasn’t just Paris she was unwilling to let go of — it was her partner too.

They’d been dating for just over three months, and what a blissful three months they’d had! But now it was all prematurely ending. They’d known this would happen. They’d known when they decided to give it a try that there was an expiration date looming over them. Both understood that their lives were about to take drastic changes in direction – but they’d decided to do it anyway, to finally give in to their overwhelming feelings — even if it had a short shelf life.

And now, the inevitable was happening and she hated it. More than anyone could ever imagine.

Alya stood from her position, making her way around the back of Marinette and wrapping her arms around her neck, her chin perched protectively on her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Marinette nodded in response, aware the bubbling had finally broken free, spilling over and making a great escape down her cheeks. Alya knew the heartbreak she experienced every time she thought of leaving her partner. It felt like a divorce. Like a bereavement.

Every time Marinette thought of saying goodbye to her partner it was as though her heart had been ripped out. Nothing more than a confetti of complicated and complex emotions.

“I just… I…” She broke down, tears falling as she buried her face in her hands and grieved the loss of the most important thing in her life.

The sobs continued late into the darkness of night, as she and Chat Noir said their final goodbyes. Their hands were joined tightly together as they sat under the moonlight.

They were spending their last remaining hours together on their rooftop — exactly where they should be, spending hours talking into the darkness of night, reminiscing and conversing about nothing and everything – Chat Noir being his usual fun self even through the heartache he easily displayed on his sleeve. He was an open book to her, an encyclopaedia of all that was good and sweet in this world. No one would ever come close to him, and she understood that. No one was Chat Noir.

“You’re my true love,” he said. “And, as in the fairytales, true love will always prevail — because it's strong, and we’re strong. Stronger together.”

Marinette didn’t know where he was going, or what he was doing, but the pain of having to say a final farewell hurt more than anything she had done before, both giving in to one more night of passion before reluctantly leaving in the early hours of the morning.

Later that day, he left Paris.

Three weeks later, she did too.

[wafultheawful]

This whole thing is in regards to the Moira/Mercy fanfiction I wrote ages ago (but never finished) called Zero Sum Game: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16938996/chapters/39802293

I've gotten a lot of comments on ZSG over the last several years and every single one of them has been kind, supportive, and understanding of what I was going through at the time. I was struggling badly but so many people took time to say something nice anyway. I didn't reply to everyone but I cannot overstate how much the random drops of kindness helped buoy me through some bad times.

I started writing it during my first marriage, through our divorce, and continued it into a disastrous new relationship after that, both of which informed my writing heavily. I put a LOT into this story (detail-wise) that was me simultaneously trying to appease the tastes of these two women I handed over way too much power to, but also trying to write how I thought a realistically positive relationship 'should' be. (Read; How I wished it could be for me).

I'm happy to say that I now have a very real grasp on what a positive relationship is like, both with myself and with someone you love. Struggles and all.

So what to do with ZSG? There's still a lot of good there, but to save the beast I have to rip out a lot of it's guts and replace them with new ones. It's a lot to do creatively, it's even more so emotionally. Rereading it has been an exorcise in reliving associated memories with each chapter, sometimes even paragraph to paragraph.

I don't think it's unreasonable how long it's taken me to fully come back to it. But I am glad to be back to it, if just to put it to bed.

So again, for anyone who's an old fan, a new one, just vaguely interested; thank you for your time and your kind words. I actually have a real grudge against deleting things so the new ZSG will be getting a whole new upload that will be linked to from the old one once it's up. It is getting rewritten top to bottom though most of the plot points will remain the same.

This is going to take some time so I'll probably post it in chunks rather then wait till the very end.

If you read this whole thing, thanks!

[midnightsunnyday]

With Good Intentions (Chapter One) (Updated) ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Masterlist A03

"Hell is full of good meanings, but heaven is full of good works."

➥pairings: MC & Everyone ➥content warnings: not beta-read. We cook our stories like Solomon. Hurt/comfort with some humor. Using alcohol and food as coping mechanisms. Curse language. Mild violence. Mentions of suicide. Panic attacks. The brothers are kinda assholes in this story. And so is MC. Also, Diavolo is kind of suspect and so is Barbatos. ➥summary: after the events of Chapter 16, the brothers and Diavolo are forced to deal with the inevitable fallback of their actions towards MC, all while attempting to help them through their growing existential breakdown Or... what would happen if the MC didn't "serve as a bridge" for the brothers after lesson 16? How would their relationships change? And how would the brothers navigate their emotions without the MC's help? A/N: holy shit guys, when I say this story took forever, it took FOREVER. I had this idea in my head since early 2022, but due to some personal issues, it never came to light until now. I really hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please let me know how you feel about it in the notes. As always, take care.

Before all else, you were just your average, regular, no-name human. A statement in which you were fine, just perfectly fine, with admitting to.

You liked decorative mugs with cute animals on them. You were consistently outraged by the rising cost of food. You gave unwarranted opinions on topics that you knew little to nothing about. More importantly, you were wonderfully oblivious to your stake in the status quo, pursuing life as you pleased, unbound by fate or duty. On a flying rock in the middle of nowhere filled with billions of people, there shouldn’t be anything special about you. Until it was.

You sat there, peering out from yourself into a world that wasn’t quite yours. At loved ones that only mimicked those you’d left behind. You would’ve objected to all of this, the food, the drinks, the general merriment, if only you weren’t so tired, being dragged along without qualm into the common room to indulge in this nonsense. The celebration had only started, yet it felt as if you were trapped in time, watching the same scene for eons.

With great fanfare your death and all ones committed or attempted thereafter, were made completely inconsequential, the existential implications of one’s life being erased with the snap of a finger rendered irrelevant at the pop of a cork and the fizz of white champagne. One of the brothers spoke to you. Honestly, it was hard to tell which one. Everything was too bright, too loud. Some nonsense about wanting a muffin or other. You’d replied, yet were unsure of your words, as no part of you, not even your voice, felt like it belonged in this space.

Right, well, sure watching your mangled corpse be tossed down the stairs like a leaking bag of garbage to be disposed of might be traumatizing for the next person…no, forget trying to rationalize it. This was definitely traumatizing.

And this feeling. It was like dying all over again, slowly with each breath, but there was no urgency, no threat to twist and break your neck, no end to this "pseudo-death." It was your body who turned against you, a painful ache that gnawed itself from the depths of your stomach and came ripping, screaming, up, up, until the only thing that held it back was the clenching of your eyes. You sat with it. Struggled with it. Wondered if anyone noticed. But when you finally opened your eyes again, the same scene remained: a family—nearly ripped apart from centuries of pain, anger and regret—were laughing like it never happened. And you—still wallowing in what only lasted a few moments—were losing it.

You tried to steady your breaths. Tried enjoying the warmness of your tea. Distracted yourself with cookies, and cupcakes, and stories of failed schemes and embarrassing “childhood” photos. Maybe with time, you would learn to accept what seemingly couldn't be changed. Like with Belphegor, who nuzzled himself into the crook of your arm, dawning a face that made you realize, though with slight disgust, why it was easy to baby him. In time, you’d look back at this day, laughing away fear for awkwardness. In time, you’d find a way to raise your hand without clenching it into a fist to stroke the top of his head. But that time would only come once you allowed yourself to accept it all. This shitty prize, whether you wanted it or not, was yours. You were their family now, forever. Always in sight. Always fretted over. Always followed. The beginning, middle, and unforeseen end to the lives of the seven strongest rulers of hell. What good would it do to run ruin such splendor with your finite problems? For now, you should be happy. For now, you should be grateful. For now, you should breathe, relax, and just—

“Hahaha. There must have been so many things you’ve all wanted to do for Lilith over the years.”

“I’m not Lilith you insensitive asshole.”

The silence wasn’t sudden, because at first, it was hard to believe you’d said it. Like a misheard lyric in a song, everyone’s mind halted, replayed, then with clarity, lost it. Mammon and Leviathan gasped. Satan dropped his fork. Asmodeus covered his mouth. Belphegor winced. And Beelzebub, who never stopped eating, stopped eating. Even the flames from the fireplace seemed to dim slightly as if all the collective oxygen of this now incredibly warm, incredibly small room was sucked in and held. And as you stood there, fists clenched and teeth so tight they could crack brick, did you realize…

Oh.

Shit.

I could’ve sworn I said that to myself.

You waited, expecting a certain demon’s voice to rumble up from the quiet and reprimand you, yet Lucifer, like the rest of his brothers, did not speak, his mouth tight and twisted in not quite anger, not quite shock. Instead, he turned, with all the caution of a startled dog, towards Diavolo.

“I believe there’s been some miscommunication on my part,” Diavolo spoke. For a man that was just insulted to his face, he remained a bit too relaxed. “It was not my intention to offend you.”

"That's not the point!" You yelled again.

So what was the point? At the very back of your mind, beyond all the anger and anxiety, a thought struggled to form. It might’ve been inadvertent, yet your comment wasn't exactly misdirected. You didn't care being compared to Lilith, yet it wasn't what upset you. No, it was more complicated than that. Diavolo was unmoved, the shadows from the fireplace deepening the lines of his face, the mass of his body appearing larger in the dimness.

In the corner of your vision, a hand reached for you. "Hey, cool it, will ya?" Mammon urged, placing it upon your shoulder. "Everyone here knows you ain't Lilith."

You shook your head, hoping it would rearrange your scattered thoughts. "It's not about her."

"Eh? Whad'ya mean it's not about her? Didn't you just--"

"I know, I know!" You stamped down your foot. "It's before. Before the past. There were all of you. And Diavolo said...he said I had to come here, so I did and Barbatos took me to the door and...he took me to the door and..."

And there, like all fools who learned too late, did it dawn on you.

“Did you plan for Belphegor to kill me?” you asked.

Diavolo blinked. “Pardon?”

“Did. You. Plan. For. Belphegor. To. Kill. Me?” You pulled yourself from Mammon and stepped forward. “When you made me go to the past to check who let Belphegor out of the attic. Did you,” you gulped back a sob, “did you know I’d be in danger?”

Diavolo paused, and you envisioned the winding gears struggling behind his eyes. “I understand that the last few hours have been hectic for you," he said," perhaps it better if we continue this at another time?"

“I asked you a question.” Your voice rumbled, unsteady by the weight of your chest.

"And I heard it. Unfortunately," his smile was slight, "I feel no need to answer it."

"No need?" You weren’t sure whether to laugh or grab the nearest object and beat him with it. "Am I not worth an answer? The person you dragged down here and had killed isn't worth an answer?"

"I'm sorry, but I will no longer discuss this matter here." It wasn't long ago when Diavolo told you he could never lie, yet it seemed withholding the truth was another thing. You quickened your mouth to speak, yet Barbatos was far quicker.

“I believe the Young Master has spoken," Barbatos said, stepping into your view. “Regardless of what offense you believe occurred, I must ask that you refrain from continuing this outburst.”

“Or what?" You jabbed your finger into Barbatos's chest. "Will you tie me up in vines and drag me down to the dungeons?”

"Nothing of the sort," he said, brushing your hand away. "Yet your behavior is unbecoming, and furthermore, lacking in respect."

"Respect?" Your laugh was pained. "What do any of you know about respect? You think because you’re royalty you can just say and do what you want?” You swept your arm across the entire room. “You think you all can just say and do what you want and afterward just…fucking eat cake like it never happened? Huh?”

Some part of you expected them to act, to do anything other than sit there with those insipid looks on their faces. In some, like Satan, you could see the very bubbles of reflection beginning to float to the surface of their consciousness, eyes sharpened and red with stinging hindsight. Yet there were others like Leviathan, head tilted toward the ground as if contemplating burrowing himself beneath it. It only made you want to fill the room with your voice. Until it rang the walls of the House of Lamentation. Until it echoed out into the night. Until the entire Devildom could hear you screaming, “Say something you selfish bastards.”

“Oi, that’s enough,” Mammon called to you. “Let’s just calm down before we get ourselves into something we can’t get out of, yeah?”

“Mammon’s right,” Asmodeus said, yet not before peering toward Lucifer. “Just…forget about the party, ok? Go relax in your room.”

"With all due respect, that isn't your decision to make, Asmodeus." Barbatos turned to Diavolo. "Young Master?"

Everyone looked to Diavolo, his face pensive. It was insulting, really. That after all was said and done, now was the time that he considered your well-being. "I believe it best," Diavolo spoke, "that you listen to Mammon and Asmodeus."

You scoffed, face wet and heated. You'd gone a bit past the point of common sense. If this ended in your punishment, then so be it. Until then, you would not move. Not until you got your answer. Not until he and Barbatos admitted what they did. Not until--

"Enough of this, please." Lucifer was not the type to plead, something you, and everyone else for that matter, responded with various expressions of disbelief. "This was supposed to be..." he clutched his breaths as if catching himself from slipping into someone less than his title suggested. “Let’s not continue this further.”

It was the softest you've ever heard him speak, and the most tired he ever looked. The brother's confirmation of Lucifer’s words hung in the air, and with it, your bravado. You never expected them to get it. After all, how could beings that would never know the brush of death or time understand your feelings in this moment? Though you also never expected them to just…do nothing, either. It hurt you, in ways too tired to yell further.

You turned, silent, and moved. Into the halls and towards your room door, tossing it open before slamming it shut and locking yourself inside. Not that it ever kept anyone out. A great heaviness sat upon your shoulders, and you carried it towards your bed, allowing gravity to do the rest as you plopped face-first into your sheets.

Maybe I could suffocate myself in my sleep if I stayed this way? A grim thought. And, unlikely.

For a while, the only sounds were your own heartbeat and shallow breaths. Your room wasn’t far from the common room, so you supposed the shock from before hadn’t died yet.

Finally, with a voice carrying all the weight of a vagrant, Lucifer spoke, “Pardon me for stating the obvious but, I believe it best...that we all call it a night."

And no one, not even Satan, called him out on it.

[anthurak]

So recently reading an interesting/disturbing post/article on the Franklin Expedition and rewatching the Helluva Boss shorts have combined to produce this random little brain fart of an idea:

Who do you think wins a fight between the racist, xenophobic murder penguins from Mission: Antarctica, and the fucked-up monster polar bear from that one book/show about ‘What if the Franklin expedition had a fucked-up monster polar bear?’

Personally my money’s on the penguins. If for nothing else than by sheer weight of numbers.

Heck, while we’re at it let’s expand these matchups:

How well do the bunch of unhinged, murderous xenophobes fair against the unhinged, murderous xenophobes who happen to be penguins?

I.M.P. vs Fucked-Up Monster Polar Bear?

And finally; three imps vs. two ships worth of British dudes high off their asses on lead-poisoning.

Well for round one I’d say the Franklineers don’t even last long enough to start their Donner party. Like I imagine the penguins take one look at those Englishmen and are immediately infuriated that anyone else would DARE try to be more racist and xenophobic than them and massacre the lot on sight. Heck, maybe the penguins then try and get the ships free of the ice so they can sail out onto the open sea and make war on the English.

As for I.M.P. vs F.U.M.P.B., while it’s not an easy fight by any estimation I do think our imps come out on top. Maybe they need to call in Loona for some extra muscle/rip-and-tear. Like yeah, that bear is tough, but it also has to contend with armor-piercing sniper rounds from Moxxie, shotgun blasts from Blitzo, AND a Millie likely in full feral-murder-gremlin mode going all stab-happy on it with a knife.

Alternatively, maybe Loona in full-on berserker-mode 1v1’s the thing? This one is entirely due to my bias of wanting to see Loona do cool shit :D

Finally we have our imp trio vs. the two ships of loony, cannibal-happy british dudes, AKA; I.M.P. getting a bulk order with the promise a very nice payday.

The funny thing about this matchup is that I feel like each side has an entirely different perspective as to what’s going on.

For the Frankliners, this is (more of) a horror story as they are gradually being picked off one by one in brutal fashion by a mysterious, unseen killer who appears suddenly to brutally slaughter one or two of them, then just as quickly vanishes without a trace.

Meanwhile, while Blitzo, Moxxie and Millie might LIKE to go all inverse-doomslayer on the hapless would-be colonizers, there is the little problem of it being REALLY FUCKING COLD. So they instead decide to take it easy on this one, using their Asmodean crystal to just pop in and take out one or three guys before popping back to the comfort of Hell for a few hours/days, rinse and repeat.

And the best part is that when our heroes pop in to take out a couple guy only to find that they’ve already been whacked by a third guy who also seem to be trying to eat them for some weird reason, our imps realize these humans will just kill themselves for them! Now they just need to pop in every other day or so, whack one or two dudes, and the rest will do their job for them.

Admittedly, after a few days the remaining humans are looking pretty gross and possibly a bit undead, so Blitzo, Moxxie and even Millie start taking out their targets from a distance. Thankfully at this point they don’t really even need to be killing them directly. Like one of them just saw Moxxie perched on the mast, screamed about demons and angels, then immediately stabbed one of his mates to death and started eating him.

So by the last few days, Blitzo, Moxxie and Millie are just popping in to go ‘OOGA-BOOGA’ a few times and letting the job take care of itself.

[sixosix]

I need you to know that I squawked at the cliffhanger of childe’s appearance. Lost my mind and almost threw my phone. Fingers crossed that Aether got to him before the banquet!

But to the chapter as a whole! There are?? So many things I wanna talk about? I’ll try to keep it somewhat short so I can fit it all into one ask but sienussnei-

I’m like 50 percent sure those strings pulled had something to do with the fauti. Something I remembered!! Not every person from the house of the hearth becomes one of the fauti! But they still do remain close to the group! My crack theory is that Rosalie is one of people in that latter group. Arlecchino was able to fully attempt an assassination on Furina without anyone knowing before or after( including the orphans in this as well since they don’t say thing about it as far as i know? And im absolutely positive they wouldn’t push for more info and take her at her word that she didn’t have the gnosis) and the only reason why it was a attempt and not a success is because she stopped herself! Either way though, considering her disguise used for that same attempt, I sure that the hooded figure was Father herself.

ALSO THE PINING OF THIS MAN!!! That polearm?? The sudden flip from fake to real the moment he saw Rosseland (I’m assuming that was the kitty in question) had led Thawed!Reader to him? The instant flirtations? Not to mention that despite the fact Thawed!Reader kept talking about kissing him, he refused!! Because he knew they were both drunk and not quite in their right minds to do that!!! THE MAN CARES!! It’s also a blessing and a curse rn that Thawed!Reader is kinda drunk. A blessing because she isn’t hiding her feelings as much, but a curse because she isn’t being subtle at all. The straight forward question she asked? Lyney isn’t drunk enough to forget that.

The callback to the last chapter too! She really does know lyney so well, even after all this time. He was right, she did know he was lying. And she’s just sitting there, trying to figure out what’s going on while Aether’s just sitting there like ‘you two nerds love each other.’ Not that she would admit it out loud. Yet. Also RIP reader, paimon and Rosalie are friends now, friendship forged by food. They aren’t gonna leave readers life once this is over and done. Say goodbye to your peace and quiet! (Although lyney may complain about that but that’s a different story-)

Losing my mind also over Rosalie and Thawed!Reader’s connection. She doesn’t even realize she is calling Rosalie maman!! But Rosalie does and it’s just so soft and sweet and family and rurnfjkeis. I’ve known Rosalie for 7 chapters and if anything happens to her I will kill everyone in this room and then myself.

Great chapter as always! I’m a little sad to hear regular updates are potentially stopping for a bit but I fully understand! Best of luck with school!!

-Deadman Aether Anon

deadman aether anon i wish you couldve seen my face when i saw your ask i literally lit up. and im sure that the other readers have been waiting for your thoughts as well, based on the tags of reblogs i read (“cant wait for deadman aether anon's insight now”)

HAHA i talked about this w my friend but i wanted to make childes appearance TERRIBLE. i wanted everyone to be like "FUCK. I LOVE YOU BUT NOT NOW." while childe shows up lke a celebrity in a disneyshow. it seems like it worked LMFAOO

INTERESTNG CRACK THEORY U HAVE!!!! the truth will be revealed eventually but i applaud u for how ure thinking of it. :D big brain as usual. it is also interesting to see people trying to figure out who the hooded figure was? deadman aether anon idk if u saw but there are other people guessing differently. im surprised bc i thought it was pretty obvious !!

YEAHH!! IT WAS ROSSELAND !!! i love rosseland and how lyney ended up making the cat his assistant-- that little backstory is so cute. rosseland is such a smart cat, too; writing that scene of leading mc to lyney didnt seem absurd in the slightest to me.

drunk t!reader is a mess kwdhkdfhd some drunk words are sober thoughts. and yes i think and know that lyney is a gentleman. even drunk he would always put reader first. always!

aether is so silly he came in there to blackmail someone and ended up playing secondhand matchmaker, if that makes sense LMFAOO i actually love aether and readers dynamic its so absurd when you look at it from a different perspective. its such a strange friendship they ended up making

yes ure right!!!!!1 im not sure if im portraying it well but reader calling rosalie maman is so ? subconsciously done. its like looking at a cat and going "here kitty". u look at rosalie and the way she treats reader and u go "thanks maman".

tysm for this ask!!!!!!!!! always such a delight to see you stopping by and sharing your thoughts, but i think ive said that every time by now LOL. and thank u too for the wishes T__T ill need them when i deal with chemistry <333 MUCH LOVE

[xxvalkyriesxx]

Death's End - Chapter Two

Masterpost

Read AO3 or below

AN: Hello again <3 It's been a little bit since I've been back in this story's world. Yall are gonna have a super big treat tonight as I'm doing a double chapter release tonight! Chapter three will be up soon <3 Chapter two was just a little short for my liking plus I need to sit down and write which will hopefully be the epilogue soon and the next chapter of Flying Changes.

Thank you so much for the support! Enjoy <3

CW: graphic descriptions of violence, violence against women/children

Snippet

“Do you know who I am?” Cassian taunted the male.

The male cried out as the dead pushed his head into the snow. Cassian strolled up to him, placing his boots on either side of the male’s head.

“I think I asked you a question.” Venom dripped from his words.

“Y-you’re the Lord of Bloodshed. The Prince of Bastards.”

Cassian growled. “Lord of Bloodshed will do just fine.”

He pulled the male’s hair making him look at Nesta. She stood stiff and tall, her arms at her side.

“Who is she?”

“T-the witch.”

Cassian yanked his hair harder, sneering. “Try again.”

“T-The High Lady’s Sister.”

The General of the Night Court tsked. He looked over to the empty eye sockets of the skulls that stared at Nesta. He had seen more death than anyone should in five hundred years, however, the dark magic that ran through the corpses made Cassian stay on edge. He killed thousands, but the dead didn’t come back, not like this.

Swiftly his hand yanked the male’s hair, dragging him out of their grasp before bringing him to Nesta’s feet.

“Her name is Lady Death.”

**

Cassian watched as his mate broke the bargain she had made with her sister, his High Lady. The fear of her future rolling tides of anxiety and dread into his soul.

But even with the broken bargain, Cassian could only watch in awe as Nesta pointed to the ground near her. The ground shook as skeletons clawed out of the earth. The disturbed ground made the dirt swish to mud as the skeletons rose. Some had armor on them, some had nothing at all. Some of the dead were fully intact while others not so much.

Illyrian skeletons stood with their boned wings spread, talons still sharp. There must have been fifteen, maybe even thirty of them. Mother, it was probably more than that. They stood, watching Nesta, waiting for their orders.

Nesta pointed to the Illyrian rebels that surrounded Cassian, a death sentence bestowed upon them. The rebels shook in fear, coming face to face with dark magic that was so powerful it made Cassian bow his head in respect.

“What in the bloody fucking Mother is that!?” Screamed one the rebels.

“What is your witch whore doing? Tell her to stop.” Another yelled at Cassian, yanking at the collar of his armor.

Cassian could only smirk in response. “What my witch does best. Making males scream.”

The dead ripped the rebels away from Cassian, holding them down as they screamed and tried to fight their way for an escape, the dark magic doing its work. Nesta strode into the center of the clearing where Cassian and the rebels were. Her grace was the exact same to a wolf’s that found its prey. The rebels screamed as Nesta approached them, Ataraxia reflecting the moonlight off the blade. Cassian’s siphons glowed in response.

She didn’t ounce a word as the dead held the rebels in execution positions, holding them down by their shoulders as their knees snuck into the snow. Swiftly Nesta made one head roll, then two, three. Screaming pleas were useless as two more heads fell to the snow, the faces frozen in horror. Blood spattered onto the snow and onto Nesta; the Masked now tainted.

The last remaining rebel alive sobbed as urine stained the snow he kneeled in. 

He was the one who called Nesta a whore.

“Please, please let me live. I’ll tell you everything. Anything you want, jus-just let me live.” The male pleaded, tears streaming down his face.

Nesta tilted her head, a clear sign to Cassian she was still there even with the Mask on. A moment passed before she put Ataraxia away, back in the sword’s sheath. The rebel broke into sobbed prayers of gratitude, however the dead illyrians still held onto him. Nesta raised her hand again making the newly dead stand up on their feet, headless and ready to serve.

Quietly Nesta walked over to Cassian, silver eyes glowing from the Mask.

Never stare into the eye’s of a predator. A lesson Cassian was taught from a young age that shaped him into being a predator himself. But now standing several inches shorter than him, Cassian looked right into her eyes.

Death’s eyes.

Lady Death.

They were going to get into so much trouble with this stunt. Fuck it.

Cassian purred. “It’s been awhile, Sweetheart.” He picked up her cold hand, kissing her knuckles. Her silver eyes blazed from the mask’s cutouts. He pulled away, picking up his broadsword from the ground. The blade’s girth was wide, catching the mirror expression of the Illyrian male him.

“Do you know who I am?” Cassian taunted the male.

The male cried out as the dead pushed his head into the snow. Cassian strolled up to him, placing his boots on either side of the male’s head.

“I think I asked you a question.” Venom dripped from his words.

“Y-you’re the Lord of Bloodshed. The Prince of Bastards.”

Cassian growled. “Lord of Bloodshed will do just fine.”

He pulled the male’s hair making him look at Nesta. She stood stiff and tall, her arms at her side.

“Who is she?”

“T-the witch.”

Cassian yanked his hair harder, sneering. “Try again.”

“T-The High Lady’s Sister.”

The General of the Night Court tsked. He looked over to the empty eye sockets of the skulls that stared at Nesta. He had seen more death than anyone should in five hundred years, however, the dark magic that ran through the corpses made Cassian stay on edge. He killed thousands, but the dead didn’t come back, not like this.

Swiftly his hand yanked the male’s hair, dragging him out of their grasp before bringing him to Nesta’s feet.

“Her name is Lady Death.”

“L-L-Lady Death. I-I beg you.”

“She doesn’t answer to whiny males. I would know.” Cassian muttered before he handed Nesta his own sword.

“Would you like to do the honors, Sweetheart?”

Nesta glanced from Cassian to his sword then back to him. A moment passed as the male kneeling in front of them screamed and cried.

“Together.” Her voice was barely a whisper reaching for the handle of his sword.

“Together.” Cassian echoed her. Clasping his hands over hers, they held the sword over the Illyrian male’s head.

The male shouted out pleas and curses and prayers right as the broadsword sunk into his head, his voice going quiet. Foul smells of shit and tears engulfed the newly corpse. The look of horror frozen onto the face. Cassian put his sword away, never taking his eyes off Nesta.

“Come on, Nes. Playtime is over.” He coaxed.

But Nesta made no move to take off the Mask, instead she stood where she was. The tips of his fingers tapped against the side of his leg. Even in the cold he felt sweat build up on his forehead.

Cassian sighed, cradling her face in his hands.

“Nes, come out. We can play after you’re back.” His voice husked, trying to lull her back like when she scried years ago to find the Dead Trove item that jailed her.

Nesta flicked her hand out, making the ground shift. Footsteps and bones rattling grew closer as the dead stood around them. The dead were a mix of skeletons, rotting corpses, and the freshly killed. Cassian noticed all of them seemed to be males by their size. 

Cassian’s heart leaped from his chest, unsure what his mate was planning. “Nes..?”

His mate stood next to him, her gaze on their audience.

“Sweetheart, you need to take the mask off. Now.” He asked.

There was a settle shift from the dead, causing Cassian’s siphons gleamed in power as he took a stance, ready to fight them. However before he could grab his broadsword, Nesta pulled his head down to her’s, kissing him.

The kiss was familiar and new all at once as their lips connected. Somehow Cassian felt the power rumble from the Mask as the two shared the intimate moment. Eventually Nesta broke their kiss, leaving him breathless as Nesta turned, pointing to the dead. Cassian stood on weak knees as his head turned, seeing that the dead were no longer standing, but were on the ground, kneeling. 

Nesta sneered at them, the silvery eyes blazing in control and power before she screamed. Her scream echoed, making birds fly off the trees. Her voice was pain, trauma, and darkness. The pitch was loud, but Cassian dug his nails into his palms, refusing to cover his ears. They were equalled in life and in death. Was the ground shaking or was it all in his head, Cassian couldn’t tell.

She fell to her knees as her screams died down. The Illyrian warrior walked over to her, kneeling next to her. Tears were streaming down her face from beneath the Mask. Nesta peeled the Mask off her face moments later but Cassian swore it was a lifetime. Nesta’s body fell to the snow  as the dead did the same, dropping like flies.

Cassian pulled her into his arms, her body shaking. He kissed her head as heavy sobs racked through her. She clung to him tightly, her voice too hoarse to speak. Gently, his hand traced her back, creating soothing motions. When he pulled away, he saw her rose colored eyes from the tears. Her mouth moved, but not a sound slipped out. 

I love you.

Then she went limp in his arms, her breathing slow. Quietly he held her as he picked up their swords before flying off to a small cabin he hadn’t been to in centuries.

Tag List (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed):

[shark-myths]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you so much for the tag ((and drag)) @carbonbased000! this was very fun and thoughtful to do.

who is writing things right now? i never remember. i will tag a wide and perhaps not terribly relevant range of: @toorational @just-about-nothing @27-royal-teas @leyley09 @alienfuckeronmain @stereostatic @setting-in-a-honeymoon and anyone else so inclined!

++

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

65

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

968,103, but as i’ve said before, i have orphaned a lotta fic as well

3. What fandoms do you write for?

pretty much just Fall Out Boy, but i will occasionally dabble in something random! this includes tony stark femslash (not sorry, will not apologize), cobra kai, and anything about girls or characters who could compellingly be made into girls.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Difference Between Real Love and the Love on TV

Stranger Danger

Boys Next Door / Assholes

From Russia With Love (this is one of those random sidesteps, a MCU femslash epistolary)

Jet Black Crow

(As an aside, it is so wild to me that older fics have so many more kudos than newer ones—you can really tell that fob went 5 years between albums! imo this is NOT a list of my best fic.)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

for years, I responded to every single one! then at some point i fell behind because of my high standards for trying to put the same thought and effort into my responses as all you lovely people put into the comments, then i became overwhelmed, then i stopped. I AM SO SORRY IF I OWE YOU RETURN COMMENTS, i read them and i treasured them and you are a huge part of the reason i keep writing. love u all!!!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I only write happy endings, man! I stopped writing tragedies a long time ago. My angstiest fics are red and unafraid of living and In Every Universe. the end of Made One Way (Cobra Kai) is ambiguous and potentially brutal, depending on how you take it.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

um, every single other one! I’m a big fan of the gory fairy tale ending of The Boys Time Can’t Capture, and transmuting the hiatus into an act of mutual care and love in Sell Out Girl meant so much to me.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

not since my first fandom and god, don’t

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

yes, a bit, could probably write a little less about feelings and a little more about feelings if u know what i mean. I’m super into sex as a person so i almost never write about intense romantic connections without bringing smut into it somehow; they feel really tightly linked for me, and i think i also crave media with HOT and INTIMATE connections between queer people. In terms of kind, i guess i’d have to say it’s largely rushed vanilla emotion-and-orgasm driven scenes. not a very flattering oeuvre i've created here.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

mash-ups are my favorite thing to do! I especially like ripping off movie and fairy tale plots and making them stranger, or else taking a really specific constrained timeline from someone’s life or a piece of media and transforming it somehow. best sandbox ever. my craziest one is probably the coyote ugly / beauty in the beast peterick fic, Wolves Dressed As Wolves. and i love this type of transformation in everything, whether it's the weirdo gender shit i just learned duchamp was doing or katherine addison's destructively beautiful 'sherlock holmes except there're ANGELS' novel or the buenos aires re-imagining version of vivaldi's four seasons by piazzolla, my life and taste keeps taking me into the various ways we fold and refract and remake the same experiences over and over again through different lenses or angles or selves. to quote some author whose identity i forgot years ago, though the quote remains: "there are no new stories." all art is iterative, and the most interesting thing we can do as creators is deviate in new, unexpected ways.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

yeah, a million years ago on deviantart

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes! I have had a few translations and a podfic. I love it when people want to interact with my stories in their own way, all interpretations are welcome.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

one day i hope to be domesticated enough that @carbonbased000 can write with me. I used to co-write by passing the laptop back and forth with my bestie in high school; we wrote self-insert x-men fanfiction based on the comic books in like 2004 and it was an absolute blast; but generally i am considered impossible to work with, by both myself and others.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

i feel completely unqualified to answer this question. i have been driven insane by any number of pairings in my life. when i was younger, i was more interested in internalized homophobia themes in ships, because that's where WE were culturally in the early 2000s and where i was in relationship to myself, and i think each change and growth and greater empowerment and self-possession in my own life is mirrored in what i am interested in. i feel the most drawn in by dynamics between people that are creative and give me a new way to access and explore interesting ideas and themes; i’m a real sucker for shared art products and touring bands as unique and agonizing ways to connect people. there are so many different ways to express that someone is your soulmate and you'll never convince me throwing away all trappings of a traditional life in order to rove the earth and make art with your friends isn't one of them.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

do you not just block out your WIPs from your mind so that you can live in moment-to-moment freedom?? I am a finisher in general, i have a few peterick drafts lurking around in my gdocs but if they remain untouched, it’s generally because there are only a couple thousand words to them and i’m not very excited about the possibilities of the fic. there is a sequel to a meticulously historically accurate pirate fic i wrote long ago called Providence, i got to about 30k and then lost all of my extremely painstaking notes and research in a software update. I’m still very interested in and excited by the idea, but i lost the notes and felt too traumatized to continue with the project genuinely a decade ago, so the idea that i will return and finish the fic seems fairly unlikely. Providence is one of my greatest pieces of writing ever, though, so hope springs eternal, i guess!

16. What are your writing strengths?

lyrical prose and conveying humor via unusual sentence construction. i was recently told i write arguments well and feel tough as a result, like, watch out! you don’t want to fight me!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

i am lazy and easily distractible, i don’t plot in advance, i barely edit because i get really rigid and have trouble seeing any other way to say something than how i’ve already said it, i have an unwillingness to delete and rewrite even when that’s the only way forward (see: my eternally 90% finished age swap peterick au), i use up all my emotional energy elsewhere and then neglect my craft for weeks at a time. 

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

sometimes i’ll use pet names in another language if it makes sense for the character, but i avoid this in general as i’m not fluent in anything other than english. I would, have, and do sound like a duolingo lesson.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

afi bandom, when we used to call it slash, when i thought i had invented it with my friend at summer camp, when i was 13 and sent her kidfic stories i wrote out by hand in pink envelopes.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

genuinely i almost always write things i personally want to read, so i love them all! except the fucking fixed stars of heaven, everyone knows that fic tortured me to within an inch of my sanity. My most personal and personally meaningful fic is Girl Out Boy. i have a tattoo of it on my arm.