#wilt's writings

[wiltking]

Pairing: Peter Parker / Wade Wilson Word Count: 7,593 Rating: Explicit

"Wanna see it?"

Peter’s head snaps up. "... You'd let me look?"

"Don't see why not. What've I got to lose? My dignity?"

- here's my T4T spideypool fic where i gave Wade phalloplasty! huge emphasis on the 'idiots in love' tag. i wrote this as a break from my more serious wip, and it shows. i hope you have as much fun reading this as i had writing!

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Synonyms for "wilt"?

Wilt—to lose turgor from lack of water; to become limp; to grow weak or faint

Dehydrate - to lose water or body fluids; to deprive of vitality

Desiccate - to become dried up

Devitalize - to deprive of life, vigor, or effectiveness

Droop - to sink gradually; to become depressed or weakened

Dwindle - to become steadily less; shrink

Emaciate - to cause to lose flesh so as to become very thin; to waste away physically

Enervate - to lessen the vitality or strength of

Etiolate - to deprive of natural vigor; make feeble

Hang - to fall or droop from a usually tense or taut position

Languish - to be or become feeble, weak, or enervated

Loll - to hang loosely or laxly; droop

Parch - to become dry or scorched

Sag - to droop, sink, or settle from or as if from pressure or loss of tautness

Sap - to weaken or exhaust the energy or vitality of

Shrivel - to draw into wrinkles especially with a loss of moisture

Slouch - droop

Slump - to assume a drooping posture or carriage; slouch

Wither - to shrivel from or as if from loss of bodily moisture; to lose vitality, force, or freshness

Wizen - to become dry, shrunken, and wrinkled often as a result of aging or of failing vitality

Yield - to give way under physical force (such as bending, stretching, or breaking)

Hope this helps with your writing. Do tag me, or send me a link. I'd love to read your work!

More: Word Lists

[wiltkingart]

I read Mouth to Mouth to Mouth the other day. And i enjoyed it very much.

I have to confess that I'm usually apprehensive about reading literature about the trans(masc) experiences, because I feel like it hits to close to home. So having horror and fantasy as separation screens has work wonders. (It does help that I'm a bit of a monsterfucker haha)

Really excited to see more of your work, both in text and artwork (which it is amazing btw, I love your brushstrokes). Thanks you very much.

i understand the apprehension. im kind of similar, i usually dont enjoy contemporary fiction about trans experiences. a lot of them focus on coming out + family dynamics with younger protagonists and i'd really rather not. much more interested in reading stories where the main character just so happens to be trans, and their transness still greatly affects the story, but theres more going on outside of that, too. so in that way, fantasy is a great vessel, and i had a very satisfying time translating different trans themes into the fabric of MtMtM. glad you enjoyed reading about it :-)

[crownedinmarigolds]

"You'll be like Him." He says through gritted teeth, a lump firmly lodged in his throat as he held back his real anger. "I will be." She agreed, smiling serenely. The kind of smile that could only mean true satisfaction. Real happiness. Has he ever seen her look this way before? Envy made his hands ball into fists at his side. "It's really going to happen, He promised me. I'll become a miracle-maker, just like Him." "Fuck that." It's practically a snarl. He couldn't believe the naive shit coming out of her mouth. "He's going to kill you. You're going to be changed forever. No more Noa, just a body being puppeted by a demon while the real you gets thrown to the void." A lamb to slaughter, meat for the grinder. She looks up, her eyes nearly black even in the light of the foyer. She's so much younger but it always looked like she was some old soul underneath that beautiful face. It made his stomach twist and his breath catch. Her lips, red with their mother's lipstick, thin as her expression shifts to utter disappointment. He wanted to throw something. "You don't know anything." Her raspy voice says simply. He feels a snap in the back of his head, "Took the fucking words right out of my mouth."

[paperxcrowns]

i am genuinely tweaking over the fact that macgyver (2016) practically glosses over the fact that Mac was straight up!!! Lying!!!! to bozer for YEARS.

this would have been such good material to use to explore Mac and Bozer's relationship, and how complex the situation was bc YES it feels like a betrayal but it's also Mac simply protecting Bozer from his dangerous life and still keeping him close despite the danger, despite the very real possibility of bozer accidentally finding out or simply using bozer to get to Mac.

NOT TO MENTION. Boze was Mac's only link to something not remotely related to his job!!! the only bit of normal in his chaotic life!!!!

both of them having to find their footing again after the reveal bc nothing can go back to normal. like. bozer thinking back to all the weird injuries mac returned home with from his think tank business trips, all the lies, all the secrecy, all the time. justified hurt on bozer's side as well as understanding bc if the roles were reversed wouldn't bozer also lie to keep his closest friend safe? understanding the reason doesn't make the years of lies hurt any less.

adhjfkglgl i have. so many thoughts about this. i am clawing at the walls.

[lemonberryshortcake]

Death is inevitable.

When the dust had just barely been settled, the flock freed from the pillars staked in the ground, and the battle had finished.

The god laid on the ground, bloodied and scarred, his scythe just barely held in his hand. A blade’s light shining down on his face but he paid it no mind, instead he focused on the sight of the lamb, her face a mess with tears.

“Narinder….!”

He could hardly make out what she said, his consciousness slipping from his hold.

He felt something soft beneath his head.

When he first awoke he was lost, confused, he did not know where he was but then the memories came back. Vague and painful. His arms felt heavy, muscles and skin having returned to his once completely bone, his chest felt uncomfortable with each breathe he took.

He was not in the medical bay, that was clear, but apart of him was shocked when he noticed the familiar shrine with dried flowers strung above it.

When the door opened slowly he closed his eyes tight, he didn’t quite know why, but when he heard her voice talking to the supposedly unconscious him, he understood.

“Good evening Narinder, I hope you’re sleeping well.”

Her voice was soft as she rambled on to him about nonsense, he could hear the click of a tray, feel the dampness of a towel. He hadn’t even noticed how hot he felt.

His hand shot up, gripping her wrist tightly, glaring up into her dark eyes. Voice gravely and hoarse, but he did not care about that as he threatened her life, announced his hatred and how he’d get his crown back.

But anger is temporary.

Eventually it will fade or change, not even a ex god is safe from such a thing. He went from despising being in her presence, constantly attempting to murder her. To just ignoring her presence or mocking her.

Then eventually he was angry again, but not at her directly, at the flock for working her to the bone. And he took it upon himself to help her care for herself.

[unforth]

Prefacing this TGCF post with: people can draw and write however they want forever and I support them and this is about my personal view of these characters.

Anyway.

I saw a post today that had Xie Lian singing "when will my life begin" from Tangled and it drove home what really bugs me about a lot of fan casts of Hualian onto popular media (see also my Howl's Moving Castle take). It's this idea that Xie Lian is, well, waiting for his life to begin, and Hua Cheng swoops in and makes it exciting, when this is imo so utterly antithetical, and in fact opposite, to canon.

Xie Lian has lived and lived and lived. He was a prince, he fought in wars, even during his 800 years fallen the whole book is an exercise in showing that he WASN'T just waiting around, he kept doing things the whole time - Fang Xin Guoshi and General Hua and and and. AND he also cultivated to the point of ascending again. Xie Lian is a fucking bad ass idealistic martyr who doesn't know when to quit and at least to me that's the whole point of his character and I love that about and for him so to see him inserted into existing franchise AUs as the wilting flower waiting for a moment to shine is utter character erasure and it makes me insane enough that I'm writing this post about it even though I think I shouldn't and even though I genuinely don't want to rain on anyone's fandom parade. But like. That's not him!

You know who it is?

It's Hua Cheng!

Hong Hong'er lives in Xianle, a kingdom where all this stuff is happening, and he just watches from the sidelines. He's an observer at the parade. He's just some kid. And then he falls (or jumps, or is pushed, you pick your interpretation) and he's caught by literally the coolest guy in the entire kingdom. He's the nobody who gets swept off his feet! And it changes his whole life! Like I think it wouldn't irk me so much to see Xie Lian get typecast that way if Hua Cheng wasn't right there literally living his "I met God and it changed my whole life for the better" fantasy. He seriously deserves to get recognized for this. I get that he's the loud flamboyant one so that makes it seem like he should get cast as a Howl or a Flynn or whoever, but like. He was waiting for his life to begin, and it does, when he meets Xie Lian.

And like. I get that these are kinda competing interpretations that depend on when you look at canon - I'm looking at the original 800 years ago events, others are looking at Hua Cheng coming in 800 years later - but still the "present" in TGCF isn't imo about Xie Lian having waited to be saved, he hasn't been in a hat shop for his whole life boredly making hats, he's never stopped moving and never stopped adventuring and never stopped striving to change the world. Hua Cheng is living out his "you saved me now I save you" fantasies but fundamentally they save each other over and over and over again and that's beautiful and I hate seeing it erased to make Xie Lian into the wilting flower. Like. The one who basically hasn't done anything that whole 800 years is ALSO Hua Cheng. We don't hear about him going off and having idealistic adventures. Everything we know of that he's done was directly related to Xie Lian (ie burning the temples). Other than that he seems to sit around in Ghost City chilling with his ghoulies. So again, finding Xie Lian is what pulls him out of his funk and prompts him to start acting for good, whereas Xie Lian has been acting for good the whole time.

Ugh. I should shut up now, just, I've been in this fandom for four years and this has become such a pet peeve of mine because it reflects such a huge disconnect between how I perceive these characters and how much of the rest of fandom does. And that frustrates me, cause I wish there was more content in line with my perception.

[sledgehammer-to-a-discoball]

Fun Quest Ideas for BG3.

A secret task: What in the hells?

If playing as the Durge and in pact with Gortash we

1. Go to Flynn's Cobblers and use Illithid power on the parents to learn about his past.

2. Go to the house of hope and talk to Nubaldin about Gortash

3. Kill Raphael in the House of Hope and Save Hope

I think we should be able to tell Gortash we killed Raphael and get a reaction out of him. That would be neat. Not necessarily exposition as that would be ooc, but it would be neat to make Enver think Durge remembers something about him, personally?? or cares enough?

You do with your parents to thy will babygirl, your personal assassin took care of the threat.

Bonus points for conflicted/disgusted (depending on her approval) Karlach dialogue along the lines of 'You're not doing it *for him* are you?!'

[marshmellowtea]

celia hates basically all of chris's friends by virtue of them Being Chris's Friends (it personally offends her that there are people who love him better than she ever could in his life), but she has a special distaste for sandra, who she not only dislikes for being a dirty whore promiscuous, but she's also openly accused her of trying to steal chris from her, an accusation that held no weight when it was first leveled at her cuz sandra hadn't thought she cared about chris like that but it slowly became a self fulfilling prophecy as she spent more time with him and his parents and decided "yeah, actually, i am going to steal your son from you and your creep husband you piece of shit, fuck you celia fuck you fuck youfuck you"

[princess-of-purple-prose]

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: 人渣反派自救系统 - 墨香铜臭 | The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences 

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply 

Relationships: Shen Jiu | Original Shen Qingqiu & Yue Qingyuan 

Characters: Yue Qingyuan, Shen Jiu | Original Shen Qingqiu

Additional Tags: Angst, Yue Qingyuan Angst, not as bad as my fics for him generally are lmao, in which yqy is aware of sj's general flaws as a person and still performs guilt as penance, the enablerrr 😭😭😣, this is my second fic about someone accidentally triggering someone via innocuous phrasing?? whoops, warning for offscreen child abuse as it perpetually exists in a miasma around sj, this is set many years pre-binghe for the record, not particularly sj friendly but i'm trying to be canon-accurate not to bash, this is not a qijiu fic and implying otherwise would make me sad :( 

Summary:

Were Yue Qingyuan a better sect leader, a better man, he would say as much.

Instead, for a moment, Yue Qingyuan feels like his mouth is full of gravel, like his teeth have shaken loose to rattle in his useless, too-full mouth. For a moment, Yue Qingyuan is all howling void, all buried boy. For a moment, Yue Qingyuan is nothing and nobody at all.

Yue Qingyuan, sect leader and once-brother, attempts a short-lived intervention.

[appalachianapologies]

could not tell you where this came from. i was simply eating my rushed lunch and was gripped with the idea. bone apple tea have a snip with absolutely zero context ily <3

“Hey man, you alright?”

Mac shivers when he looks up, pushing wet bangs out of his eyes. Most of the blood is on the back of his hands, but Mac imagines that it still isn’t a great look.

“Oh. Wait, Angus, right?”

“Mac,” he replies, coughing as soon as he rasps out the word. “I go by Mac, now.”

“Oh, cool. I’m-”

“Bozer.” Nevermind the fact that they happened to be in the same grade in a town with barely 5,000 people—Mac’s pretty sure that everyone’s heard of Bozer. 

He gives a sheepish smile, as if he could read Mac’s mind. “You okay? Stupid question. Can I like… call someone for you?”

That’s a big part of Mac’s problem. Not that Bozer would know. “No,” Mac shakes his head, swallowing anything else. “I’m okay.”

“Do you like… want a ride or something?”

This time, Mac shakes his head with more fervor. “I uh, I appreciate your concern. But I’m good. Really.”

Bozer stares at him for long enough that standing out in the rain has probably gone from annoying to uncomfortable. “Look, for my own peace of mind, could I at least do something? I don’t feel great about leaving you here. Seriously. No ulterior motives.”

It’s almost funny how much it seems that Bozer hasn’t changed one bit in the five years since Mac’s seen him. Despite the fame, he’s still the same person who would wait long after school with someone when they missed their bus, or share crackers from his lunch. 

Mac couldn’t imagine still being the same person he was in high school. Not after everything.

Without asking for permission, Bozer moves, squatting and joining Mac on the side of a wet and dirty curb. 

“You don’t…” the words are lost on Mac as he tries to get them out. “I’m fine.”

“I’m not gonna leave you on the street when it’s raining.”

“I’m a stranger.”

“We spent twelve years together at school,” Bozer counters, though ‘together’ is a strong word. They existed in the same space geographically, but outside of study hall and the one off literature class, never saw or interacted with each other. Bozer was the type of person that everyone knew for all the right reasons, and Mac for the wrong ones.

Bozer pulls his phone from his pocket after a few seconds, but just barely glances at the screen before stuffing it back. “I haven’t seen you around here for a while.”

Mac raises an eyebrow. He wasn’t the only one who left Mission City. Last Mac heard, Bozer was getting calls left and right from Hollywood. Reporters, magazine owners, the whole thing. 

He’s right, of course. Mac hasn’t been back here for five years, but Bozer is the last person that Mac would’ve expected to recognize that. From Mac’s rough understanding, neither of them have called this town their home for a long few years.

“I haven’t been here for a while,” Mac eventually replies. There’s still a part of his brain that can’t quite comprehend the conversation he’s having right now. The fact that he’s even here to converse in the first place. 

“How’s your grandpa?”

A hollow laugh nearly escapes through Mac’s chest. “Dead.”

“Oh, shit. Fuck, I didn’t know.”

Shaking his head, Mac looks down at the rainwater beginning to collect in the divots of the road. “It’s fine. Just happened.” It’s the only reason Mac’s back here.

“Hey, listen, I know you’re probably going to say no to this, but just hear me out, okay?” Bozer doesn’t wait for Mac’s approval to continue, “Come back to my house with me.”

“Boze-”

“Just warm up, eat some food. My parents always cook too much, and I know they wouldn’t mind.”

This time, a laugh does manage to get out. Nobody’s parents want to see a sopping wet, road-rashed Mac. Nobody’s parents would even want to see a Mac that was put together- his own included. 

“I’m not leaving you out here. Just- please, man. I don’t want to wake up to my dad saying that they found your body tomorrow morning, okay?”

“You won’t.”

“Please.” Evidently, Bozer’s not above begging. “If you don’t come with me, I’ll end up telling my dad anyway, and you’d end up spending the night in the station anyway. You’ll at least get a home cooked meal this way.”

Mac bites the inside of his cheeks hard enough that he tastes blood.

“Mac-”

“Fine.”

“Yeah?”

Exhaling, Mac gives him a nod. “Yeah.”

[wiltking]

Pairing: Geralt/Iorveth Media: The Witcher 2 Word Count: 7,166 Rating: Explicit

In the crumbing hot springs above Vergen, Geralt and Iorveth come to a few understandings. Stories are laid true, truths are exchanged, and a temporary solace is wrought within an unexpected embrace.

- here's something that i wrote in a frenzied daze across 3 days when i realized no one has written a trans geralt / iorveth fic before. its melancholy, its raw, it haunted by lost memories tinted by lost sorceresses and wounds that cant heal. its also very, very horny.

[thesixthplaneteer]

Here is my entry for the Masquerade Breach zine!! I have been hitting that word limit like a brick wall for the past month, and I am too excited to keep it to myself! My piece is titled Hell-O-Ween! A Masquerade Breach Story because we like cheesy horror in this house. Thank you for reading!

It’s the late 1980s in Las Vegas, Nythanel, and Noa are attending a Halloween party being put on by Don Jacob Rothstein. Held in a mansion in the desert far away from the city, so the more illicit activities don't fall under unwanted scrutiny, and only those in the know are supposed to be there. One person slipped past security, an ancient enemy of the Giovanni whose true motives are unknown, but their eyes are set on Noa tonight. What can a neonate necromancer and waterblooded sorcerer do when things really start to go bump in the night?

The green makeup of his Audrey Two costume hid the redness but Nythanel still felt the warmth of embarrassment and anger on his face. Fighting back tears he side stepped between costumed guests, tray toting servers, and did his best to fight the urge to bull them over as he went back to the ballroom. Don Jacob Rothstein's Halloween party was in full swing. The dance floor was lively, the bar was packed, and the live band seemed like they could go all night long.

He wanted to make his problem everyone else’s problem but held onto his senses, making a scene at the head of Clan Giovanni’s party wouldn’t make his night better. Noa’s bright red hooded dress and silver devil mask were easy to spot, but seeing her didn’t bring the ease to his mind he wanted. A tall figure in an elaborate red Venetian masquerade costume with a matching laughing mask loomed over her, holding her wrist.

The party-goers near them shuffled away and gawked. No doubt they thought some crass couple brought their backroom fun to the front. A wall of bodies formed to watch, but over their shoulders Nyth could see another masked person grab Noa from behind. Nythanel shoved over a woman in a peacock dress and jammed his elbows into the sides of two clowns to get through.

Noa struggled to get out of their grasp, but Red Mask jerked her arm the other direction. The snap was audible over the music, a pained scream erupted from Noa, a jagged peak shot up from under the sleeve of her dress. The crowd around them gasped, some retched, some clapped for what they thought was some Halloween entertainment, some quickly fled, others watched on unsure what to make of the display.

Nythanel burst free of the crowd and charged them, seeing that the second assailant's costume was also Venetian - though far less elaborate and the color beige. Red Mask noticed his approach and abandoned Noa with a leap backward as Nythanel slammed into the tussle, bringing them all down to the floor hard. Noa’s silver mask clattered to the ground while Beige’s mask was knocked askew but stayed on their face. The thin fabric of their costume tore as Nythanel gathered a fistful of it and pulled, the other fist delivering a hard blow to the back of their head, forcing them to surrender Noa in order to defend themselves.

The surrounding crowd was now comprised mostly of individuals thinking this was simply a show for the party. Some clapped, some cheered for who they picked as their favorite, while a few pulled their partners away.

Moving with trained agility, Nythanel threw his leg over Beige, pushing them onto their back, gaining control of the situation. Flesh exposed itself, the torn collar of the costume revealing their throat. Nythanel gazed at the sight for a moment. He had no Beast. There was no voice demanding he feed, no inner monster begging to kill. This desire was all his. He opened wide and lurched forward, his fangs breaking skin. Any scream to come was cut short by the crushing of their windpipe beneath teeth. Fresh warm blood cascaded into his mouth. Mortal, musky, the sting of alcohol, and a wine-like sweet finish. Sanguine he thought to himself as it empowered his own weak vitae.

Nythanel didn’t see where the sawed-off shotgun came from, nor notice how Beige was able to pull the concealed weapon, he only heard the deafening bang that brought him back to reality. A shower of blood and bone poured from a bystander’s face. Screams of terror erupted from the crowd, they slammed into each other in their mad scramble, going toward the back of the manor to get away from the no longer entertaining brawl. The band abruptly stopped, the gunshot ending the revelry. Not wanting to risk Noa or himself being the target of the next round he twisted and wrenched, flesh and inner tissue tore until he ripped free the section of throat seized by his vicious teeth.

More yells of fearful confusion came from the guests, the handful of them brave or drunk enough to think they could stop a gunman turned and ran as Nythanel spit the chunk of meat onto the floor. Suddenly, he felt pressure build in his ear drums, his heart became heavy with dread despite the flood of passion from the blood. He'd felt this before, when Noa had shown off her necromantic powers in their rare moments of being able to be alone together since arriving in Las Vegas. Nythanel had thought he’d become accustomed to it, or at least shouldn’t be caught off guard by it. Still it numbed the hot anger and hatred he felt. A curtain of wispy, incorporeal figures began to fall from the ceiling. They manifested into the material world like shadows cast into the air itself as they drank in the light, only allowing a dim glow to illuminate the room. Recognizably human, yet completely otherworldly. One such shadow fell over the victim of the beige thug’s gunshot. The body began to twitch and jerk, a sickening gurgle came out of its throat as the air pushed out of its lungs. Nythanel reeled back from the corpse shambling back to its feet, and turned to see Red Mask holding a black stone.

Noa moved to stand, and for a moment she was awestruck at the blatant display of Oblivion's power. Her already dark eyes turned black like a starless night. She wiped her palm across Nythanel’s chin, wetting her hand with the blood of his victim. Willing forth her vitae through the protruding wound in her arm, she let it drip down and mix with the cooling blood before taking hold of the locket around her neck. The air around her became humid and cold. A shiver went through Nythanel as he felt an icy touch trace his spine. The rose on his lapel wilted, and the few mortals that tried running past them collapsed, their eyes went dull, skin turned pale. Sapped of life. She waved her hand out in front of her and took measured steps forward, like a priest performing a sanctifying prayer, and the wispy shadows began to retreat.

The sound of wet choking reminded Nyth of the reanimated corpse, and as his head turned back, he saw it rush past him. His body at first couldn't move as a deep and primal terror seized him. It was walking death, but not his kind of death. True death, the kind even the undead feared. He didn't want to go near that thing, but as it closed the distance between itself and Noa, he knew he had to act or he would lose her. Grabbing hold of his dying lapel rose, he squeezed hard along its thorny stem to draw blood, calling upon the sanguine power within him. He mumbled the incantation and the rose revived in his hand, more vibrant than ever.

Nythanel willed the rejuvenated plant to grow, attempting to whip it towards the corpse to stop it in its tracks. With perhaps more luck than skill, the branch wrapped around the creature's throat, barbs digging into dead flesh. Nyth pulled hard, managing to stop it mere inches from Noa, yet the body remained upright as it struggled to fulfill its goal of reaching her.

Noa didn’t waver at all, either completely confident Nythanel would help her, or far too focused on taking control of the descending wraiths.The room was a thunderous cacophony of horrified cries and screams of dismay, the shattering of glass on the ground, the panicked stampeding of a mob with no direction to go in. Those who had witnessed Nythanel's attack and the arisen corpse tried to run away, but those who hadn't seen pushed back to try and reach the front exit. Spirits accosted various bystanders, forcing themselves into unwilling bodies to inflict more fear onto those surrounding them. Poltergeists scattered plates and knocked over chairs, some managing to even drop a large chandelier on top of the crowd. In the confusion, they didn't care who was trampled. The guests desperately lashed out at anything impeding their own escapes. Jewelry, costume accessories, blood, and bodies all dropped to the floor and were stomped on without a second thought. The wraiths were erratic, but Noa fought, countering the incantations of Red Mask as the shadows ebbed and flowed around them like a turbulent ocean. To an unknowing observer, the two appeared to be simply standing in place and muttering strangely, but Nythanel knew they both were manipulating the thin fabric separating the land of death from the land of the living.

The rose Nythanel turned into a weapon was also being sapped of its life and desperately it drank from him to stay alive. He shifted his weight and pulled as hard as he could to try and bring the corpse to the ground. There was little hope in killing something that was already dead. He forced his will onto the rose once more, allowing it to drink even more of his vitae. It expanded rapidly in response, sprouting more branches that ensnared the body and sawed into its skin with mutated spikes. Despite it being controlled by a spirit, it was still limited to the strength of the muscles it still possessed, or so Noa had previously explained. The writhing and wriggling vines continued to tear, severing the veins and nerves and rendering the wretched thing immobile for good.

His vision started to blur, his head swimming as his vitae was near exhausted. The rose had taken root in his arm and now it threatened to drink him dry. With nearly all he had left, he willed the passing of seasons on the flower, advancing its life cycle to the point it began to wither and decay until it too became immobile and dead.

The two necromancers were still locked in their strange duel, fighting for control of the spirit current that flooded the manor. Nythanel knew he had to help Noa, something better than running headfirst into a death dealer but his options were limited. His eyes went to the floor for answers, and sure enough there was: shotgun. Hurriedly he picked it up and aimed, hoping it had the promised second shot, though the room spun in his hungry near-delirium. With a squeeze of the trigger the weapon thundered, sending its payload into the shoulder of the Red Mask. Crimson exploded from their wound as they stumbled back, their concentration breaking enough for Noa to gain the upper hand. Her good arm raised higher, and the undulating ceiling seemed to calm as the wraiths obeyed her. The shadow over the ballroom lifted slowly as she brought them to heel.

The Red Mask despite all of the trouble and their fresh injury seemed to have accepted their defeat. With only a glance to Noa and a dramatic throw of their cape, a cold silence surrounded them as they simply walked away. Despite the chaos of the still frightened crowd, they were swallowed within the mob as if they had not even been there. Nythanel at first made a move to follow, but stopped himself as Noa began to buckle. Good riddance, he thought sheepishly as he turned to her, relieved the death dealer decided to just leave. She was more important to him, anyway.

As the full brightness of the lights returned and the pressure lifted from his ears, the distinct sound of Italian leather stomped across the floor towards them from behind. A ham-handed man took hold of his collar and jerked him into the air, the shotgun crashing loudly onto the marble.

"You're gonna wish you were fuckin' dead when I'm through with you, Warlock." Growled Adolfo Puttanesca, right hand of the Don.

[wiltkingart]

Finished reading mouth to mouth to mouth last week and haven’t stopped thinking about it. Really fantastic work, thank you so much. Such a range of stories, but all with such a distinct sense of rich worldbuilding and full of squirmy visceral horror. It’s really hard to pick a favourite out of all of them, but Sting, Godling, and Mouth to Mouth to Mouth were probably my top ones, though bits of Crystalline have stuck with me, and Lambskin was just such a good one as well. I love body horror stories, and to read an entirely transmasc one was amazing. You have such a good sense of worldbuilding and making unsettling but extremely captivating stories. I hope you keep writing, I’d love to read more of your work. (Love your art too! Been a fan for many years!)

thank you very much! i've been writing on and off for quite a while but i finally feel like i've gotten my footing, or at least have a better sense of what i want to focus on and how to actually make it happen. at the moment i have a few wips (a t4t disgraced assassin x bare chested mercenary erotic story, a long medieval vampires novel, and most recently i've got sadistic fairies clawing at my brain). so i'm not sure which one you'll be able to read next, but no matter what i'm looking forward to writing a lot more next year!

[maintitle]

I really like the use of Varric so far in this game. I figured he'd die (and I thought he did and shed a few tears), and I was fine with that because there wasn't much left to do with him, ESPECIALLY when they stripped him of his entire past. Weirdly though, this has worked. Instead of making him 'best friend', they've essentially taken him as a seasoned and tired man with a history in tragedy and standing by the side of people who have to make tough decisions and made him a mentor or father-figure (I could be reading that last part wrong, but I'm playing a Crow and the backstory of them implies their young-ish.)

His beard, by the way, I think is pretty big proof of where he's at in his life. The fact that you're given his shaving mirror and yet he's unshaven proves he's exhausted, he's been on this grind for a year and a lot of the humor he had has been worn down through tragedy and the constant chase. He's a really imperfect character for this mentorship role, he's never truly been someone who see's the big picture, but what he IS is the guy that can relate, sympathize and humanize the person making the hard decisions. That's a perfect personality to be in that role, even if his advice isn't always gonna be the best.

I was worried that stripping these characters of their history would hurt their characterization, and I still am, but they seemed to do really well with Varric despite that.

[thecreatureinyourcloset]

I need help clarifying out somethings for my au, which I am gonna call first year dead au as a placeholder. If you have any other ideas, please tell me!!

Anyways if you need a recap all the first years are going to die in this au (ortho is not included as he’s technically a second year, but yuu and grim are included)

So Ace’s death is caused by strangulation, but how is where I am stumped on. There are two options. He is either Sayori styled or rose plants go into his dorm and strangle him is his sleep.