#would you be interested in seeing this updated on ao3? please let me know if so!! and if i should put together a taglist!!

[stellar-solar-flare]

This popped up on my dash and since you said that the conversation is open, I thought I would share my two cents, even if it might be stuff you are already familiar with and do yourself. I don't think I'm in the same fandoms as you but things mentioned here are observations made from multiple fandoms. Although I have been writing in AO3 instead of tumblr for the most part, my experience here comes from writing almost exclusively Steve Rogers longfics (mostly 50k+ words, 10+ chapters) from 2021. I don't claim to be super popular - I'm just reflecting on the relative differencies I have noticed in my engagement.

First of all, please don't quit a series just because it has been over a month. That's not a long time for an update at all! If you're writing fic, it's something you do on your free time without getting paid, so there's absolutely no reason at all to apologize life getting in the way.

From my own experience, I have to agree with the consistency and speed of updates being pretty big factors on engagement. I have noticed most reader engagement when I have been able to push out one or more update a week for multiple weeks straight. It helps people stay engaged with the story and invested when the story is fresh in their minds. But then again, I have gotten a lot of comments when coming back from a hiatus too so I think it's not the only factor at all.

Writing a lot, even if it's not the same series, helps keep one's fics on people's minds, and helps establish you as someone who writes X character (with a certain kind of characterization). I share sneak peeks sometimes, but that's just because I am too impatient to wait, they're not from 'marketing' standpoint. Personally I try to focus on writing and let the writing itself do the rest, but I do make a point to reply to comments and thank people, even if that is sometimes very delayed, so that they know I appreciate them. I also don't talk badly about my own writing, because as a reader, seeing someone do that can very easily turn me off from reading their story. (To be clear, I don't mean venting about the human frustrations of writing but publically calling your own stories bad etc.)

One of the big things for me as a reader and a writer is having multiple storylines going and having 'hooks' in the story, so to speak, so that the readers know what they're looking forward to when the story continues. Cliffhangers are the ultimate form of this but things like a character uncovering a partial piece of information that raises questions work too. I spend a lot of time establishing chemistry, both romantic and platonic, so that the readers have something to root for.

Then again, engagement always depends on the story. Some things do better than others. Sometimes I think a fic is going to be well-liked and it doesn't get much attention, sometimes a thing I thought was just pure self-indulgence gains a lot of reader interaction. Which brings me to my next point - I think that the writer's enjoyment bleeds through the story to readers; things that I have enjoyed writing the most are my most popular fics. And sometimes when I think I'll write some easy 'trope soup' that'll get a lot of interest, it's crickets. I think there's a lesson there for me.

I try to engage with people and be a part of fandom beyond writing. I read and comment other people's fics, I reblog stuff, I talk about everyday things and try to stay active even when I have no capacity to write (happens to us all). It helps foster a sense of community, and while it's not self-serving and I read and comment out of genuine enjoyment, ultimately being active in fandom and engaging with writing helps us all. It does feel like current fandom population doesn't comment as much as they used to, which is a shame. But I try to be the change I want to see in the world.

It's also worth noting that sometimes there are these 'lulls' in fandom where everyone is sort of quiet and busy with life, I assume. Like major holidays. They just happen, and the season will change again. Also, scheduled reblogs and comment replies help reach different sets of people.

Finally, focusing too much on the stats is a thing that for me is a road to madness that sucks all enjoyment out of writing. It is human to want engagement and look at the pretty numbers but again, what matters is the enjoyment you get from a story. Personally I have written a 250k longfic in a tiny niché that was commented regularly by one single person and occasionally by about five people. And I still love that fic to death and am so proud of myself for writing it.

That's my two cents, from my personal experience. As always, they should be taken with a grain of salt, and they might not be universally applicable. I wish you the best with writing and hope that the muses are kind to you.

Writers of multi-chapter fics:

How do you keep your readers engaged as the story gets longer?

I've heard from many, and seen it myself, that interaction drops significantly as the chapters accumulate (which I honestly do not even understand...hence why I'm asking this) but I've also seen a lot of writers who have quite lengthy fics where the engagement and excitement seems to stay consistent throughout.

They're receiving asks with comments and questions about the latest chapters, the reblogs are abundant compared to likes, and I'm just curious if there's anything anyone does differently to help maintain this other than just being a great writer 🤣 (which I'm realizing is probably the key thing and that there's nothing to do other than just be able to write a really good story which I'm clearly not haaaaa)

I've tried sharing snippets of upcoming chapters in the past and they've always fallen on their face, I've released chapter playlists, etc so I feel like from a "marketing" standpoint I've done what I can? And also as writers we shouldn't even have to work that hard to "promote" our fics considering people ask to be on taglists and what have you. (This is the site for sharing and ACTIVELY participating in fandom...)

It's been a struggle to keep myself motivated to finish up my series and I'm starting to wonder if there's even a point now that it's been over a month since I've updated (which I realize consistent updates are likely a huge factor as well 🙃 but, you know, life.)

Anyway. Thinking out loud here. Any advice/conversation is welcome! 💗

[artbyeloquent]

GUESS WHAT BITCHES (AFFECTIONATE) WE'RE COOKING WITH GAS!!

Transcript under the cut. Original post/idea.

All bad stories begin with a summoning circle.

That’s what Ramira do Monte had scolded when she caught Vivian in the Directed Study section. 

She puckered her lips like she’d just had a sour draught of potion while her eyes tooled Vivian head to toe. They lingered at the dismal shape of her hair, the dirt beneath her fingernails, and the muck flaking off her boots. 

Finally, her gaze came back to the spellbook clutched in Viv’s ashen hands. Bronzen leather embossed its seams, its title scrawled in Old Xelan. a complex lock which possessed no keyhole clamped its pages shut. 

“Let me see your DS slip,” she puffed, hand extending vexedly. “No professor in their right mind would sign off such a tome to a baccalaureate.”

Viv shoved her fist deep into her robes and produced a crumpled scrap of parchment. Ramira brought it excessively close to her fleshy nose and stared at it long and hard. 

“Professor Lambright?” she said suspiciously. 

“I’m apprenticing his research,” Vivian said, careful not to reply too quickly. 

“I won’t be doing anything unsupervised, Ramira. I mean, c’mon, without a Tombkeeper’s License? Do you really think so lowly of the dear Professor?”

Ramira’s lips pressed so tight they might well fall off. Her folly was and always would be an utter faith in the hierarchy. She thrust the tattered Directed Study slip back into Vivian’s calloused hands.

“You know what they say,” she harrumphed before repeating the immortal words.

It was easy to dismiss at the time. However, keeping the warning out as she traced sigils in goat’s blood was another task altogether. 

She hadn’t lied. Well, not technically. Lambright had asked for the book. He had wanted Vivian to get more hours into her apprenticeship docket. And sure, he’d be pretty pissed if she knew she had followed their lesson by drugging his tea and taking the book for herself.

But what else was she to do? It had been an insane gambit to even convince him a baccalaureate was ready for this kind of training at all, let alone make him think this particular book was his idea. She couldn’t chicken out after all she’d been through.

[puraiuddo]

༺JazzProwl Fic Recs༻

— brought to you by puraiuddo -

This is by all means not a complete list of banger JP fics! It's my personal favorites—those fics that lodged themselves in my brain for one reason or another and never left.

Hopefully this list satisfies at least some of the sudden influx of interest for JP fics (and given how well rec'ing a fic turned out last time...) But, nah for real, not to make rec'ing fics fake deep or anything, but I think the fandom would be a better place if people were more unapologetically enthusiastic about fics and less afraid to interact with authors. So if you use this list to find some fics you have to promise to leave some unhinged comments! ٩("•̀ᴗ•́")و ̑̑

But before I start, I want to acknowledge the prevalence of potentially stereotypical depictions of Jazz in regards to his speech (❞), criminal/violent/sexual characterization (▾), or backstory/origins (⟲) in the JP/TF fandom. I've attempted to flag fics with the corresponding symbols above, because I'd like to recognize those problems while still rec'ing for a variety of other fantastic qualities. That said, I'm not infallible so please use your own discretion.

I've also tagged fics with "hiatus" if it's been a while between updates, but the author hasn't made a comment—these fics are especially important to interact with, b/c you never know if the author stopped posting b/c they weren't getting any reviews!

Now, without further adieu...

༺♡❦♡❦♡❦♡ -ˋˏ ♫ ♡ 𓆩𓆪 ˎˊ- ♡❦♡❦♡❦♡༻

༺JazzProwl-centric༻

Mistakes on Mistakes Until— by jabberish

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 280,212 - Alt-War AU』

Ricochet's got a bad case of conscience and he's pretty sure it's about to get him killed. (aka I think I've read every defection/ex-Con au and now I'm forced to make my own. Jazz-centric.)

* (づ ᴗ _ ᴗ)づ♡ The crème de la crème of JP fics. I really can't properly articulate the sheer amount of love and respect I have for MOMU other than that if you haven't read it, your life is worse for it. Go read it. Then read it again. Now. (I've read it 4 times. No, I'm not joking) I love all the fics on this list dearly, but MOMU holds a very special place in my heart. Flawless characterization, flawless dynamics, flawless plot, one-of-a-kind writing style... it's got it all. Of note: I've not flagged it despite its premise, because it will expertly subvert your expectations and you need to read it to understand. Bonus: it's got a lot of well-deserved fanart!

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Untitled Series by Need2Scream

『(2/?) - ffn - Words: 158,064 - War AU - hiatus』

Where the Lonely Ones Roam - 116,327

"Say you have a little faith in me. Just close your eyes and let me lead. Follow me home. Need to have a little trust in me. Just close your eyes and let me lead. Follow me home. To where the lonely ones roam." Eventual Prowl/Jazz

Spark - 41,737 - hiatus

"Chase you deep into the unknown. In my dark, in my dark, you're the Spark."/ "Roam with me, come down to where all of the others fell. Get lost, in the dark to find yourself. Just remember what I said, 'cause it isn't over yet."/SEQUEL to Where the Lonely Ones Roam

*It's not clear by the summary, but the series is essentially about Jazz and Prowl's developing relationship as they overcome war-related trauma, intermingled with a spectacular amount of original lore. See the author's ffn bio for a rundown. The originality and attention to detail in the world building in this AU is awe-inspiring. There are 2 fics in the JP series, but the author has a bunch of other Gen fics set in the same AU and another on ao3. Bonus: some of the Gen fics are Jazz & Prowl-centric and can be read as romantic!

༺♡༻༺♡༻༺♡༻༺♡༻༺♡༻༺♡༻

Crime in Crystals Series by Aard_Rinn

『(7/?) - ao3 - Words: 258,030 - Crime/Hitman AU - hiatus - ▾ ⟲』

The Hitman - 6,942 - pt 1

Prowl is the last clean cop in Praxus, the final flickering light in the darkness. There are plenty of people who would like to see him snuffed.

2. The Clarification, 3. The Kill, 4. The Capture, 5. The Prime, 6. The Talk, 7. The Chase 8. TBD

*The main plot is broken into 7 separate fics, but it's all one continuous story. Read the whole thing! It's on my all time favorites. It's thrilling, tremendously action packed, and the character dynamics are some of my favorites. It's also hysterical and wholesome and I've reread it a stupid amount of times. Bonus: it's got fanart + there are 5 extra fics, including a Jazz-centric prequel, in the same AU.

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War Eternal Series by Hearts of Eternity

『(3/4) - ffn - 2m? idk it's insane - Bayverse War AU - discontinued - ▾ ❞ ⟲』

Where You and I Collide - 362,090 - prequel

Separately, Jazz and Prowl are like forces of nature- they are uncompromising and uncontrollable. But what becomes of their natures when these two unstoppable forces collide? Will one break the other, or will they both be stronger for it?

As We Come Together - 485,586 - pt 2 - Gen

While the surviving Autobots begin to flock to Earth in response to Optimus' call, trying to find a new home on the strange organic planet called Earth, some unfortunate bots are beginning to realize the price of war may have been too high. Sequel to Time

May We Never Let Go - 408,409 - pt 3 - Gen - d/c

Hell literally lies in wait above Earth as the Cybertronians and Earthlings coexist uneasily, rattled by every attack the Fallen and his master launch on them. With new evil rising, the powers that be on Earth and beyond are gearing up for war.

1. As We Come Together, prequel 2: Surface of the Sun

*Long, convoluted explanation coming up given that this series is obviously a whole different beast compared to likely any other fanfic series you or I have ever encountered in our lives... b/c the author is just superhuman or smth idk...

The series is officially listed as 4 parts (WYaIC, WTWHL, AWCT, MWNLG). Where You and I Collide is the JP-centric prequel to the other 3 Gen fics (that have substantial background JP). WTWHL is technically part 1 of the series, but it's sorta more character-focused ficlets than a continuous story... which is why I didn't specifically list it as a rec even if that makes things more confusing... (ᵕ¬ᴗ¬) Also the author didn't list Surface of the Sun as part of the series, but it's a direct prequel (like WYaIC) starring the Lambo twins and it's... oh it's so good... absolutely shatters my heart that it's been d/c'd.

I've not listed an exact world count, b/c if you want to read every bit of the AU with all its prequels and offshoots (which I would highly recommend and have done)... I'm not gonna do the math for you, sorry. The main 4-part story is ~1.7m+ which I realize is frankly insane and extraordinarily intimidating, but it is so sooo sooooo worth it. The author has created their own fully fleshed out TF world with its own lore and characters and the time and effort they've put into is mind-boggling .

Anywho, despite ultimately being d/c'd, the series is still tremendously readable and nothing about JP is left feeling unbearably unfinished. I also happened to track down the lovely author and beg for a summary of the ending, b/c I'm a bit of a freak and they very kindly provided it so if not knowing how a fic ends bothers you/prevents you from reading, you have the option of getting closure even if you can't have it written out.

༺♡༻༺♡༻༺♡༻༺♡༻༺♡༻༺♡༻

Fathomless by Sroloc_Elbisivni

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 19,949 - Fantasy AU - complete』

Jazz is drowning on dry land on the other side of the world. Once upon a time, before Jazz was born, the Rust Sea covered a swathe of Cybertron bigger than the territory of any city-state except Iacon. The sea had been more powerful than any engine besides the one at the heart of the planet itself, big enough to swallow a metrotitan in its depths, the birthplace of storms. Thing is, none of that was Jazz. He doesn’t remember those days, before he was himself, except in his dreams. And his dreams are terrifying.

*This fic makes me feel some type of way... it gives me shivers. It's so eerie and the premise is so unique. It's also beautifully bittersweet, which is a hard concept to pull off.

༺♡༻༺♡༻༺♡༻༺♡༻༺♡༻༺♡༻

The Judge by SilenceoftheLlamas

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 107,653 - Alt-War AU』

Prowl’s got a secret, and he’d rather be dead in the ground before he let anyone find out about it. Jazz’s got one too, but he’s not as good at hiding it. Prowl is a secret superhero, Jazz is a secret fanboy who doesn’t know that he works with the guy. By night Prowl is the virtuous hero The Judge, but by day he’s just an unassuming tactical officer.

*Jazz and Prowl are sorta painfully adorable in this fic and the JP is so sweet it makes my teeth hurt. Plus it's got a really fun premise with lots of shenanigans.

༺♡༻༺♡༻༺♡༻༺♡༻༺♡༻༺♡༻

Black on White on Black Series by pipermca

『(3/?) - ao3 - Words: 86,248 - fix-it, War AU - complete』

Anamnesis - 31,097 - pt 1

When Jazz and his team are lost on a mission, Prowl has to carry on alone. But a discovery a thousand vorn later could turn his life upside down again.

2. The Ghost of the Howling Plains, 3. Pulling Strings

*Super interesting sorta-kinda-fix-it fic and/or explanation for the events and characterizations in IDW. There are 3 stories in the main JP plot line. Bonus: there's 2 "Extras" fics for cut scenes from the main fics.

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Crystal Ghosts Series by Rizobact

『(2/2) - ao3 - Words: 85,688 - Fantasy AU - complete - ⟲』

Enduring as Crystal - 40,517 - pt 1

There were a lot of reasons Prowl visited the library. He never knew the most important one was waiting for him in the garden behind it.

Eternal as Love - 45,171 - pt 2

Prowl promised he would help Jazz, the ghost of the crystal chapel in the garden behind Praxus' central library. He just couldn't anticipate what shape that help would wind up taking.

*Another super unique premise! I love a good historical mystery and the imagery is specularly evocative! And I'm a sucker for the trope... which I can't reveal, because of spoilers.

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Untitled Series by Vaeru

『(2/2) - ffn - Words: 10,766 - War AU - complete - ❞』

Descant - 7,925 - pt 2

G1/Jux compliant. Requiem sequel. Prowl doubted that his desired image of Respected Superior Officer came across very well with a half-scrapped mech clinging to his hand, but he loomed as best as he was able and glared.

*Requiem is Jazz-centric and I'd say more of a prequel to Descant than Descant is a sequel to Requiem... if that makes any sense. Regardless of how you view it or what order you read it, it's fucking brutal. (-‿-“) Bonus: author also wrote another really great fic called Transformers: Juxtaposition which is Lambo twin-centric and OC-centric, but perhaps one of the only OC fics that I've ever enjoyed.

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Domino Milkshake by SilenceoftheLlamas

『oneshot - (1/?) - ao3 - Words: 24,886 - War AU - complete - ❞』

Jazz drunkenly pretends that he's dating Prowl. Only he isn't, and the mech is right behind him.

*It's a fake dating AU... what more can I say? I love the the begrudging developing romance and the meddling friends. Bonus: it's got fanart!

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Hunter's Spark by WandersUnderStarlight

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 43,645 - Alt-War AU - ❞』

Jazz disobeys orders to abandon the ruins of Praxus and runs into one of the Senate's dirty secrets.

*This author also has a few more JP fics that I enjoy like An Offer He Can't Refuse and Long Patrol. I gotta offer aisclaimer though: the fics are... fairly cliche and a bit OOC. Hunter's Spark is much more tame than the other two, though. They're all sorta a guilty pleasure of mine, because it's fun to enjoy Prowl being a bit of a BAMF and Jazz being a bit of a damsel on occasion even if objectively I understand why it's not everyone's cup of tea. ("￣▽￣";)ゞ But the author definitely deserves credit for creative and entertaining premises and a really nice writing style!

༺☆★☆★☆★-ˋˏ ♫ ♡ 𓆩𓆪 ˎˊ-★☆ ★☆★☆༻

༺General༻

Little Brother by Meiza

『oneshot - ffn - Words: 64,542 - War AU - discontinued』

Prowl is infamous for being a logical, nigh emotionaless thinker who's better at battle calculations than interpersonal relationships. How he was roped into taking care of the last survivor of Praxus is anyone's guess.

*Prowl & Bluestreak centric, but Jazz has a solid amount of screentime. The subplot is pre-relationship, co-parenting JazzProwl and it's cute as hell. It's not 'officially' discontinued, but it hasn't been updated since 2010... so... At least it doesn't end in a cliffhanger. (╥﹏╥|||)

༺✩༻༺✩༻༺✩༻༺✩༻༺✩༻༺✩༻

Things We Don't Tell Humans by SineadRivka

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 363,057 - Bayverse War AU - complete』

This was a first for us Autobots; never before have we come in contact with a species like these humans, so eerily similar to our own race and twice as tenacious as Sparklings. The question was, how far can we trust the humans with our culture? Some things have translated between cultures without much effort. Other subjects, however…

*Please note the tags! Also... I'll be honest that I mostly skip to the JP parts and main plot points in this fic as it's about a very ensemble cast and I'm not interested in TF humans ... so I can't entirely vouch for the integrity of the whole thing. (￢ω￢;)

༺✩༻༺✩༻༺✩༻༺✩༻༺✩༻༺✩༻

Echoes of Messatine by MlleMusketeer

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 303,863 - Alt-War AU - complete - ▾ 』

Cybertron hurtles toward war, and only a handful of mecha see it. Not Megatron, whose inflammatory writings gain him agonizing attention from those on high. Not Ratchet, the Iacon Medical Center’s most prized practitioner, whose Dead-End clinic remains the worst-guarded secret on Cybertron. Not Overlord, whose iron hold over Cybertron’s underworld is beginning to falter. Not Orion Pax, whose concern over the sudden silence of one of his favorite writers drives him to take up his hero’s pen. Not Terminus, who only wants to survive. But Trepan and Senator Shockwave both know well what’s coming. One aims to use a defiant miner’s fall to crush the aspirations of the masses. The other wants to use that miner’s triumph to ignite them. Neither much cares about Megatron himself, or his ultimate survival. Therein lies their fatal error.

*Not clear from the summary, but the premise is essentially "what if Megatron got the matrix instead of OP" and how their pre-war lives would have to pan out for them to ultimately switch roles. Just a really fascinating, supremely well-done "what-if" fic, but also probably the weirdest one to put on this particular list, b/c JP turns into megatron/JP at the very, very end... but... I just kinda ignore that development since it happens in like almost literally in the last chapter and you can def read it as friendship up until that point... (¬⤙¬ ᵕ)

༺☓○☓○☓○☓○-ˋˏ ♫ ♡ 𓆩𓆪 ˎˊ-☓○☓○☓○☓○༻

༺Mature༻

*listen... don't @ me. They're definitely saucy, but they're not explicit. Yada, yada... hey minors, don't read these! ...But we all know you will so just don't talk to me or anyone else about it, cool? Cool. (☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

Intermission by crabapplered

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 5,049 - War AU - complete - ▾』

As the war stretched on for interminable vorn, Prowl found himself faced time and again with the mounting stress of his position. Many of those times he was forced to face alone, the gear grinding stress sending him to Ratchet for system overhauls and forced defrags. But every so often he'd be fortunate enough to have Jazz on hand, and when he did, well, it didn't take much. Pressing Jazz up against the wall, cramming him into corners, pinning him facedown over Prowl's desk. It didn't matter as long he could keep Jazz still.

༺☓○༻༺☓○༻༺☓○༻༺☓○༻༺☓○༻

Audition by crabapplered

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 12,783 - War AU - complete - ▾』

If one were to be delicate, one would say that Jazz and Prowl are incompatible. The blunt truth? 'You just lie there with this blank expression on your face,' he'd been told by his last partner. Signal had stayed longer then most, willing to try since Prowl was so obviously doing his best, interfacing to please his partner and give him what Prowl himself disliked. In the end, though, it hadn't worked. 'You don't like me touching you, you don't like the mess, you don't even like the overload, and half the time I swear you're running economic simulations in your CPU you look that bored. I don't want that. I don't want you miserable, and I don't want me miserable, either.' So why can't Prowl stop wishing?

༺♡❦♡❦♡❦♡ -ˋˏ ♫ ♡ 𓆩𓆪 ˎˊ- ♡❦♡❦♡❦♡༻

That's all, folks.

ദ്ദി(｡•̀ω-)✧ ~Happy reading!

and for the shit tumblr search/tag system, i offer: #jazzprowl #jazzprowl recs #jazz x prowl #jazzprowl fic recs #jazzprowl fanfic recs #tansformers fic recs #tf jazzprowl #tf fic recs

[zara-renata]

Sleepy time with Xavier | ao3 | my other lads fic

Summary: You suffer from chronic fatigue and worry that Xavier is only placating you when he says it's fine on the occasions you're too exhausted to follow through on plans together. On one such bad day, he reassures you in a way that you can no longer doubt.

Notes:

And now for something entirely different from the Sylus series (regular readers, please don't stab me in the face). I am bursting with ideas for the Sylus fic and will continue posting regular updates as before (work permitting), but I was directly inspired by @starfallforest's fic about how, due to his evol, Xavier lights up like a supernova when he orgasms, and bends space-time so that you can feel what he feels and the lines of identity blur between him and his lover. I had insomnia the other night and kept thinking about the hurt/comfort possibilities of being able to literally feel your lover's feelings, and I want to use that idea in the Sylus fic because there are hints that he can enter dreams and manipulate consciousness, so this is my thank you to a sweet person who inspired the idea. Xavier x fem!reader, Xavier x mc, second person POV This story contains: mc with chronic fatigue, hurt/comfort, bottom!xavier, pegging, oral sex (f receiving), tried to keep the sex more sensual than explicit but it's there. My first attempt at "smut", hope it's demure, hope it's classy. I normally write gender neutral reader, but i find it really hard to leave out body parts when drafting sexual content so i went with fem reader here. If anyone wants this story as either gender neutral or male reader (both of which would slightly affect the descriptions of the sexy bits), let me know because it would be simple to adjust. But if no one is interested in Xavier or other LI content from me, then I figured one version should be sufficient.

You come awake slowly, still tangled in a strange dream in which you were on a planet that is strangely familiar even though you somehow knew it’s not your own. You were sheltering in ancient buildings clinging to a high, sloping cliffside spilling down into a gray, turbulent ocean. Everyone around you was afraid, and somehow you had the knowledge, the way one sometimes has in dreams, that this was the end of this world. You were one of the last survivors of all the calamities that had afflicted this crumbling planet until now, at the final end of all things. All who were left were now huddled along with you, watching the sea. The meteor was coming. Nothing could be done to stop it. If you didn’t see it in the sky, you would know it was time by the sudden retreat and then rise of the ocean waves.

You wake, just as the tide receded—you were waiting in frozen fear, trapped in the terrible knowledge that when the water returned, you and everyone you knew would be swept down and into it, the final gasp of life on a doomed planet.

As you come awake, your heart is racing. You feel your chest with your hand, running your fingertips over the pounding there while reaching for your phone on your nightstand. You squint at the screen—it’s nine in the morning on a Saturday. Normally you’d be stretching languidly, enjoying the fact that you are able to sleep in on the weekends instead of hurrying into work. But the dream’s deep dread—its exhausting terror—lingers, and your body feels so heavy. It’s nine in the morning, and you already know that today will be a Bad Day.

You don’t remember a time when you didn’t have chronic fatigue. Maybe when you were younger, you wouldn’t fear the days on which just the most basic of tasks required for daily life are simply too much for your depleted body. Where taking a shower, or doing the dishes, feels as daunting as running a marathon with no training, or pushing an SUV uphill with the emergency brake still on.

But now your fatigue is almost a constant companion. It seeps into your body, siphoning your strength on the worst possible days. You sometimes think that the energy stolen from you by this condition would be enough to power Linkon City for a year.

It’s Saturday, and you resign yourself to just curling up in bed and drifting until hunger, or the need to go to the bathroom, offer enough pressing incentive to drag your deadweight out from under your warm soft duvet.

***

Xavier lets himself into your apartment with the key you made specifically for him, since you use a fingerprint scanner to get in yourself. He slips out of his shoes and hangs up his jacket on the wall rack in the foyer. Something about the stillness of your place has him holding his tongue, when usually he’d call out softly to you to let you know he’s here. As he makes his way further into your home, he notes how the curtains are still drawn in the living room, and that the kitchen is tidy in a way that lets him know that you probably haven’t used it yet today.

It must be one of your bad days. He was looking forward to going to hotpot with you tonight, the date he knew you were also looking forward to this Saturday night, but he’s already reaching for his phone to call and cancel the reservation. His earbuds are in, so as he quietly lets the restaurant know you won’t be coming, he gets to work assembling snacks on a wooden cutting board and getting the kettle going for a caffeine free tea. He lifts the kettle from its base right before it begins to beep as it finishes warming up, and pours you a mug in the chipped World’s Greatest Hunter cup that Caleb gifted you when you graduated from the Hunter Academy. He then carefully carries everything back to your bedroom, where you’re curled up amidst the soft duvet and mountain of pillows and plushies so that only your hair is peeking up above the covers. He pauses, soaking in the sight, overcome with how adorable you are. His slow heartbeat hitches, for just a breath, at the gratitude of being able to see you like this, so close, instead of dreaming about you from a great distance.

He sets the board on one of your nightstands, lifts the steeping teabag from the mug and places it in the little bowl decorated with shooting stars. A gift from him since you love drinking calming tea so much. He then reaches back, pulling his cozy white hoody and undershirt from his torso and dumps them on the floor. His jeans are next, and then he’s lifting the duvet, slipping in behind you with a sigh. 

***

You come awake again—terribly relieved that this time your sleep was peaceful, dreamless—only to find your beautiful boyfriend’s warm body curled around yours. Maybe his solid presence at your back is why you didn’t have another unsettling dream.

You blink, coming to your senses all at once. You grab your phone from your nightstand and see that it’s well past the time you had agreed to head to the restaurant. 

You feel awful. You hate that your body betrays you like this, and so often ruins plans not only for you, but for your skilled warrior of a boyfriend too. Your sweet, curious explorer. So often you aren’t up to following through on plans the two of you make together on your precious days off from the stresses and risks of being a hunter. He has never complained, but you feel terrible, every time, for not having the energy to do even the most mundane of activities and ruining his rare chances for fun or relaxation as a result.

“Are you awake already?” his sleepy, soft voice drifts from behind you. He tightens his arms around you.

You snort. “Already? I wish.” Your stomach twists in hunger. “I should have gotten up hours ago. Why didn’t you wake me?” you ask forlornly.

“I didn’t want to interrupt your rest. And I can always use a nap.” You can hear the smile in his voice, right before you hear him yawn languidly.

You’re grateful that he never complains. You’re grateful that he never seems to be bothered by you having to flake out on plans, and never seems disappointed at last-minute cancellations. But you also can’t quite believe that his peaceful facade is the whole truth. There is always that undercurrent of worry lurking in your mind, wondering when he’ll finally have enough of being forced to deal with your condition. He rarely offers reassurance on his own—it’s only when you ask him, “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”, that he always replies with a calm, “Of course.” You never quite believe him, despite your best efforts to trust him.

“Still. I’m so sorry that we missed plans, again, because of me,” you murmur, curling a little tighter into yourself.

He pushes himself up on his elbow. “C’mere.” He gently urges you to roll over and face him. He smiles down at you, his ocean eyes soft as they drift across your face. “I made you some tea, but I guess it’s probably cold by now. And also some snacks. Wanna watch the latest episode of Super Hunters?”

You just stare at his pretty face, struck again by how utterly lovely every part of him is. Not just the sweep of his nose, his generous mouth, the blond of his soft hair. But the inside of him too. Gentle. Kind.

“Are you sure you’re not upset?” you finally ask, heart aching with how much you love this man, hating the fact that you’re so needy for reassurance from him.

He leans forward, taking your hand in his, and runs his nose along your forehead, down one of your cheeks, before he brushes a feather-light kiss to the side of your mouth.

“I’m sure. I can think of so many things we can do, right here in this bed. Things that are just as fun as eating good hotpot,” he answers, eyes drifting from your eyes to your mouth, to the skin above your sleep tank top, and back again.

“Like watching Super Hunters?” you tease, lifting an eyebrow. Because you know him. And you know that one of the things he loves as much as eating good food, is loving you with his body.

“Like watching Super Hunters, or…” he reaches out and runs one finger along the curve of your breast. “If you’re not too tired, I’m happy to do all the work. But if you’re not up for it, I’m also happy to order in for us, and spend the rest of the night watching shows with you.”

This, too, you have trouble believing. He has never pressured you into intimacy, but you worry when he says it doesn’t bother him when your fatigue, your faulty body, affects this part of your relationship with him, as it does everything else. You don’t know how to reconcile the cognitive dissonance in your head—you know that Xavier is not the kind of man to feel entitled to sex, or to get angry for needing to cancel plans because his partner has a medical condition out of her control. And yet, you also feel guilty for not being able to offer him more consistency in both of these aspects of your shared life together.

You lie there, soaking in his beauty. Your eyes drift from his lovely face down his strong throat, the breadth of his shoulders, his defined pectorals. The darker blond trail of hair starting at his navel and drifting down into his pretty little blue boxer briefs. You’re exhausted, but you want him. You always want him, whether it’s just holding his hand, or much, much more. You’re not going to let your frustrating body get in the way of the pleasure he’s offering you, on top of everything else tonight.

“How about we have those snacks, and then we can… do something other than watch Super Hunters.” Your breath is caught as a surprised, pleased smile lights up his face.

“That can be arranged,” he says softly.

Later, after you’ve had your fill of the fruit and nuts, the crackers spread with tasty toppings, and drained the mug of cold but still soothing tea, he gently urges you onto your back under the soft duvet. You’re cocooned, both warm in the little nest of your bed, as he licks into your mouth, kissing you slowly, seeming to savor the tea lingering on your tongue. You respond, tongue meeting his, enjoying the languid pace of his kisses. Time slows, becomes meaningless, as he leisurely drinks his fill of your mouth.

After a lifetime, or perhaps only a few minutes, he slips from your mouth, and begins pressing gentle kisses down your throat, drifting down, down, pausing at the softness of your breasts, running his hands up and under your sleep tank top until you lift your arms and let him pull it from your body. He lets it fall somewhere over the side of the bed. His tongue is warm and wet as he nuzzles your breasts and gently sucks lower, running his nose along the skin of your belly and resting his cheek there, just for a little while. You sigh softly, luxuriating in the feel of his weight on you, his warm breath against your skin.

After a while, he moves again, down, down, tongue sweeping down your hip, lips pressing slow kisses to the inside of your thigh. You feel his big hands gently grasp your hips, and his agile fingers are pulling down the sides of your underwear. He lifts your ass for you so you don’t have to expend the effort, and then the underwear is tossed just as your tank top was.

He nudges your legs wide and settles his big body between them. Your heart's rhythm speeds, the rest of you responds to his attention. Your fatigue fades into the background as all of your focus narrows to his tongue between your legs, the wet insistence of his lips on the most sensitive parts of you. He makes small appreciative noises in his throat, the same that he makes when enjoying a particularly good meal, and you’re reassured that this at least, he loves doing for you.

The pleasure in your tired body builds, and builds, but he’s in no hurry. His fingers join his tongue, advancing and retreating. Sometimes he pauses, resting his cheek on your thigh as he did on your belly, simply breathing you in, tongue running along his own lips, as if he’s savoring the taste of you. Time passes, and all at once the movement of his tongue, the pressure of his mouth becomes too much, and you come on a quiet gasp, softly—the peak of your pleasure stretches, feels like it lasts beyond what is possible. Finally, you’re catching your breath, sated, drifting back into your body from the timeless orgasm he just gifted you.

Wordlessly, he reaches beyond the duvet to pull your strap from your nightstand. He lifts one of your feet and slips it through one part of the harness, and then repeats the motion with your other foot. He slowly drags it up your legs, goosebumps trailing his fingertips in the chill of the air exposed by the duvet falling down a little as he fixes the strap in place between your thighs and gently tugs on each bit of the harness to ensure that it’s resting securely and comfortably against your skin. 

When he is done, you are filled with a pleasant fullness, and a new heaviness rests between your legs. While he was pleasuring you, he had used one of his hands to soften the way for you, leisurely working your wetness into himself. He rolls onto his side, the little spoon, and scoots back against you. He reaches for the lube in the nightstand, and you laugh softly when the scent of cookies and cream fills the air. 

“What?” he asks, and you can hear the lift of his lips, the smile in his response. “I love cookies and I love sex, why not enjoy both at once?” 

How can you argue with such logic? You’ll never be able to eat cookies again without recalling his warmth, his big body pliant against yours, and you realize that you’re just fine with that.

He reaches behind, between your bodies, and coats the cock of the strap with the lube. He then helps you work it into himself, little by little, until you’re fully seated and pressed warmly against his broad back. He sighs and you feel him reach for his own dick, stroking leisurely. With each slow, rolling undulation of his body rocking back into yours as he seeks his pleasure, your own builds, desire again temporarily eclipsing the exhaustion. You begin to rock your hips, little by little, and he whimpers softly with each thrust. You trail kisses down the back of his strong neck, gasping a little at how good it feels to press into him, for the motion to press the seat of the strap deeper into you, his skin silk under your lips, his whimpering an incentive to go a littler faster, to push a little deeper, just to hear more of it. His muscles ripple and shivers sweep along his skin under your touch. 

Gradually you speed your thrusts, and you feel his hand working faster on his cock by the movement of his muscular arm. He has been here with you before, so he is not afraid or hesitant like the first time. You angle your hips a little, and are satisfied when you hit his prostate, evident from the loud keening that comes out of your normally soft spoken boyfriend. You’re on the edge of coming again, only waiting for the telltale clenching, the moaned “I’m coming” from Xavier. 

When he finally falls over the edge, you go with him, and he lights up like a supernova, back arched, his thick backside grinding into your hips. He’s blinding, magnificent, the light under his skin almost too much for you to look at directly. He is starlight. He is the sun, soaking you through, warming your skin, your exhausted muscles, the blood pumping through your veins, down, down to the marrow of your bones, the tender center of your tired soul.

You squeeze your eyes shut against the blazing form of your lover, and you’re suddenly adrift—space and time are an origami flower folded from the parts of you and him, him and you, drifting like petals on a breath, stardust in the a vast ocean of night. 

You are him, your skin translucent, blazing bright as a star, your body filled with so much pleasure—filled with so much affection, gratitude—and sorrow. Sorrow for the fact that you don’t have the poetic words to convince your lover that the days she’s most exhausted are some of the days he loves the most, just lying with her reading quietly, sheltered in this safe harbor from the cruelties of time and distance. You understand that for her, her exhaustion is a burden, a source of guilt and helpless anger. That she thinks of her own body as flawed, when all you can see is its perfection in every curve, every breath, the regal line of her nose. You would never wish for her to suffer because of the exhaustion racking her body, but you sometimes think that she was made just for you, her fatigue mirroring your own—lying in bed fulfills you as much as exploring a new city, tasting a new favorite meal. You’re so content to be lost right here with her in this familiar but never boring geography of bedsheets, the topography of her body a map you want to read with your hands like braille, to learn, to lose yourself in every day. You hate that you don’t seem to have the words to reassure her that you love all of her, because of, and not despite, all the parts that make the whole of her. 

Time stretches, space contracts. You fall back into yourself. The blinding beacon in your arms slowly fades, Xavier’s warm bulk suddenly solid against you again. He sighs, sated. You can feel his rapid breathing expanding his strong lungs, his broad back against your chest. 

You drift together quietly in the peaceful aftermath of the love you just shared. The relief coursing through you is like slipping into warm water, soothing you in a way that brings tears to your eyes. You trust that the experience you just had wasn’t a lie—you were feeling Xavier’s true feelings as you reached the height of pleasure, together. You don’t believe that he’s capable of lying, of placating, as his soul melted into yours, twin stars bound together.

This is enough for you. An unexpected gift, a reassurance you never dared hope for. But Xavier isn’t done. He begins to speak, without you having to ask.

“Please don’t feel bad, on the days you’re tired. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he says softly into the peaceful quiet, only the sounds of your breaths, his breaths filling the room. You don’t have the words to answer him right now, your pleasure-soaked body feeling heavier and heavier as you sink further back into awareness, the fatigue exacting its price for the energy you just expended loving the precious man in your arms. You just hold him a little tighter, nuzzling into his soft blond hair. He seems to receive the message as he slips his hand in yours and squeezes tightly.

After another endless moment, you hear him say almost inaudibly, “I love you.”

“I love you too, star boy,” you manage to whisper into his hair. You drift again, and the memory of your dream floats into your thoughts. You think that you could endure anything, even the end of the world, with this man in your arms.

[the-letterbox-archives]

about tag lists - update!

alright, so the poll came back, and it was very close win for no (keep so i can be alerted to posts), with yes (i will find the content regardless) close behind. this has posed a dilemma to me - my original reservations about holding a tag list are still relevant, but so are my concerns about engagement.

BUT! the amazing and intelligent @gioiaalbanoart suggested something i view as a way to get the best of both worlds. to stop flooding people with tags and getting random hollow likes due to obligation, but remind those who are interested in the archives of new content, @.gioiaalbanoart proposed a newsletter of sorts!

the way i'm picturing it is i'll collect a master tag list of whoever wants any kinds of story or tag game updates and release a fortnightly newsletter of anything i see relevant enough to advertise and remind people of! stuff like chapter updates, significant tag games, archival updates, and maybe small bits of exclusive content (suggestions open for that)! so i'd like to ask whether that's a good idea or not - if you have other ideas please don't hesitate to bring them to my attention! this would replace my normal tag lists, and though it would be a fortnightly update (well. i'll try ;-;), i believe it could declutter people's dashes and get information out!

so... another poll! (i am clinically obsessed with polls it's an illness-)

@wyked-ao3, @48lexr, @thecrazyalchemist, @moltenwrites, @yourpenpaldee,

@glassfrogforest, @the-golden-comet, @gioiaalbanoart, @drchenquill, @paeliae-occasionally,

@tc-doherty, @corinneglass, @mysticstarlightduck, @thecomfywriter, @thelovelymachinery,

@kind-lion, @leahnardo-da-veggie, @an-indecisive-nerd, @honeybewrites, @loverboyxbutch

[tswaney17]

Eternal Consolation Prize

@elriel-month | Powers & Possibilities

I've had this idea in my head since reading HOFAS (iykyk), and I'm so excited to share this one with you. Feysand are villains in this one, don't at me. It just made an interesting twist.

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics​​​

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Trigger warnings: Some angst and canon-compliant violence

Word Count: 2,196

This fic will be posted on AO3 only. Read the beginning below or click here to head to AO3.

Elain had thought she had known true fear. Thought she’d faced the worst of it when she’d been stolen in the night and forced into the Cauldron against her will, ultimately fucking up her entire life when she was turned.

She thought she felt it again when the Cauldron had lured her into the heart of Hybern’s camp, believing she’d never see her family again. That those monsters would do the worst to her.

Then she thought she felt it when she saw Nesta and Cassian before the King, seconds from death, only to be saved by her stepping out of a shadow and using Truthteller to deliver the killing blow to the now-dead King.

In the short lifespan of her Fae life, Elain had faced death and fear like a second skin and walked away. Somehow, she walked away.

But not this. There would be no walking away from the invisible shackles her court, her family, had thrust upon her. Words were being spoken, but she couldn’t hear them.

She was suffocating within her mind.

Read More

~~~~~

Remember, sharing is caring! Please reblog if you liked the fic. It helps spread my work and I truly appreciate it. 💕

While I have moved most of my fics to AO3 only, I am still going to utilize a tag list here on Tumblr. This as a permanent solution and may change in the future. For notifications, you can follow and subscribe to my fanfic account where I will be reblogging updates and snippets only. You can also find me on ao3. If you would like to be added to my tag list, please leave a comment on this post.

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics​

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Taglist: 

@nikethestatue

@reverie-tales

@123moiaussi

@duskwhisperer

@zdenkah

@nyxreads

@shedoessoshedoes

@athena-85

@jasmineandshadows

@nightcourtseer

@nivem565

@debramclaren

@illyrianvalkyriecarynthian

@secretpuppyflower

@justreallybored

@ultadverb

@the-regal-warrior

@roseandshadows

@tcursebreaker

@kingravinger

@mis-lil-red

@eloeloeheheh

@fawnandshadows

@swankii-art-teacher

@miss-bee-cat

@bookhhrelaz

@impossiblescissorspeachpaper

@elrielbaby

@lesolehabitantdelalune

@thoughtsaboutshows

@britishwings

@aelin21galathynius

@saz-griffin

@azrielslight

@bookstaninthesoul

@curiositywoman

@karsyn-b2

@elainsweetcobalt

@emilyondemand

Some tags seem to not want to link, which could be related to your visibility settings. Sorry about that!

[gallavichthings]

It's time!

How would you all like 21 22 fics on the 21st 22nd of December?

The Gallavich Masquerade Ball 2023 is now open! Grab a glass of champagne or anything else you'd prefer, some hors d'oeuvres, and choose your (first) dance partner for the night!

You can check all the fics in our AO3 collection or on this post, after the cut. A list of all authors with links to their profiles is also included. This post is pinned so you can check it whenever you want.

And here's the link for the form where you can put your guesses. It's only one form for all the fics, so please wait to submit your guesses only after you've read them all.

Here's the updated point system:

Points for readers: Correct guess on first choice: 5 points. Correct guess on second choice: 2 points. Incorrect guess: lose 1 point. (Please note that you only lose 1 point per story, even if you guess incorrectly on both choices.)

Points for writers: If someone correctly guesses your fic (regardless of in the first or second choice): 1 point. If someone wrongfully guesses your fic: 3 points.

Leaving kudos and comments is allowed and appreciated! Writers are also allowed to answer, but it's up to them whether to already do it or wait until everyone's identity is revealed so as not to give anything away accidentally. Oh, and if you want to post something about the fics here on Tumblr but can't tag them, I can serve as buffer for now lol.

Oh, and the surprise? The winners will get some great fanart, courtesy of the talented @doshiart! Isn't that awesome?! 🥂

Cheers!

Keep reading to get a list of all the fics with their summaries and word count, as well as a list of all the authors, with links to their AO3 profiles.

FICS:

AITA?  (2,072)

AITA? My new clients (29M and 31M) threatened me and I want to fire them. I know that’s not official therapist speak. TLDR; I want to encourage them to have healthier boundaries and find a new therapist, but until then, what do I do?

Attitude adjustment (4,483)

Post-canon Ian and Mickey figure out some relationship issues. That includes insults, (play-)fighting, more insults, and orgasms. Or: Mickey is having an attitude. Thank god Ian knows exactly what to do.

Black Charcoal meets Fiery Red (1,838)

Ian poses in a life drawing class. A straight forward job, if not for the guy with the blue eyes who can't stop staring at him.

Carnival (3,136)

Ian and Mickey spend the evening at a carnival... "Ian locked the car’s door, and put his arms around Mickey’s shoulders, as they walked towards the carnival. He had brought the leaflet home a few days ago, wiggling the colorful sketch of a carousel and the outdated font under Mickey’s nose with some hopeful glee. Mickey had protested for habit sake, but had caved in pretty easily..."

Five Dates with Brad f*cking Pitt (4,269)

Sometimes things may not be what they seem. Especially when there are assholes around who add fuel to the fire just for the sake of a fucking joke.

Groceries (2,260)

A routine trip to the store turns into a trip down memory lane.

The Guardians (4,879)

3,000 years ago, they had to join forces to defeat an evil sorcerer. Now, the sorcerer was back, and more powerful than ever. Could they defeat him for good?

i'll find a new place to be from (5,947)

They stand in silence for a couple beats, unspoken words lingering above their heads. The cig in his hand has long burned out and Ian resists the temptation to light up another, and another. He feels his mouth open, and close, then open again–but nothing comes out. Time’s up. "See you inside, Red," Mickey finally says before pushing the door open, and Ian remembers how to breathe.

Infused Attraction (3,434)

Mickey has to receive Iron infusions. Ian is a student nurse who is assisting the other nurses with the infusion. Mickey is interested in the redhead. Ian is seemingly interested in him too. Let's see how it goes!

Italy (I Trust And Love You) (3,183)

"Ian closed his eyes and ran a hand through his damp hair. He sighed and straightened his shoulders. Took a deep breath, as if to steal himself for some monumental task, and walked off down the sidewalk. The rain made quick work of drenching him. Ian didn’t seem to notice. In the dirt beneath the tree, drawn in crude blocky letters made with the toe of his boot: I + M." OR A story mostly told through Debbie's eyes during world war two, as she worries for all her brothers, but particularly the one sent home much before the rest.

Jump To Recipe (5,977)

Hiring Mickey Milkovich - Freelance Photographer to shoot the photos for his food blog was the best move Ian’s ever made. Mickey’s a fantastic shot, plus he’s committed to the success of Ian’s blog. (He’s fucking hot, too. But that’s just an added bonus.) And the best thing about him, is that in all the ways he’s professional behind the camera, he’s refreshingly unprofessional to Ian’s face. Which means when he comes around, Ian always knows he’s in for a good laugh, intriguing conversation, and an ego boost - Mickey never shy about how much he loves Ian’s food when they dig in after the shoot. Ian’s made chocolate lava cake today. But when extra time leads to their at-home appointment going way off script - Mickey wanting to update Ian’s headshots, but with a twist - who will the spicier photos leave wanting more, the “housewife army” from his blog’s comment section, or Ian and Mickey?

A Lot (4,245)

What could have happened if Ian had told Mickey that he was worried about going to Mexico with him?

The man in the van (2,141)

“Suppose I should thank you for the compliment then,” Ian teases, smirking a little. The guy snorts. “Don’t mention it, Red. I just call ‘em like I see ‘em.” He proceeds to shamelessly check Ian out again, licking the corner of his mouth as he does. or Ian Gallagher wouldn't mind some excitement in his life. Enter one Mickey Milkovich, ready to oblige.

ole red (5,596)

Mickey is out of prison and walking the straight and narrow with help of his cheering section, P.O. Larry . It’s hard being tough in a pastel polo and dad shorts. Old Army is just a paycheck until he meets the assistant manager, Ian. Finally he figures out Ian was Mandy’s Ian from their teen years. Mickey is attracted to the redhead but is still closeted. Ian responds to Mickey lashing out by revealing he knows Mickey’s secret. Mickey decides to be brave and the reward , huge 😈

The Reason to Exist (4,851)

lieutenantcolonel [18:22]: can you stop stealing my loot lieutenantcolonel [18:22]: this team only needs 1 sharpshooter anyway 😐 mm1234567890 [18:23]: shut up u f** lieutenantcolonel [18:23]: WHAT

Red Hot (4,364)

Ian's workday has been shitty... but his afternoon might just be very different. Thanks to his favorite nephew and a certain mouthy and opinionated stall owner at the winter farmer's market.

A Salute Before We Sink (4,601)

The world will end tomorrow. Ian's only chance at survival is to earn a spot in an underground bunker. One man stands in his way.

Snowballs and Sneaking Out (2,441)

Mickey shows up to the Gallagher House in the middle of the night with a surprise for Ian.

So drunk on you (3,878)

"Then Mickey launches himself into quite a detailed account of the previous evening and there goes Ian’s sanity. He’s learned over the months to hone his selective hearing. That is, he’s not tuning Mickey out completely but he’s trained his brain to gloss over the facts that fall under the TMI category and focus on the highlights. Again, for the sake of his sanity. Because the thing is, he’s so gone on Mickey it’s actually embarrassing. And he’s been gone pretty much from the very beginning." Just another friends-to-lovers story.

Span the Distance, Bridge the Border (4,988)

Ian and Mickey are happy, living on the West Side and adjusting to life as husbands in their new apartment. Things are going well, really well, until one day Mickey’s brothers show up. And God only knows what they could possibly want.

weight of the world (3,360)

Mickey thought he was fucked for life and that he’d never see his mom again. Turns out he was wrong about both of those things.

Wonderful- a Gallavich Christmas Mini-fic (5,030)

In which Mickey learns the reason for the season or How the Mick gained Christmas.

AUTHORS:

Blodeuwedd

Calli_Writes

Captain_Jowl

energie_vie

Gallabitch73

gallawitch

Gembu

GrandSelfMythology

IanGalagher

JuliaKay

lingy910y

MissSnowwhitepink

mmmichyyy

My_Brain_Melted

NotHereNJ

Rayrayor

sam_writes_fics

Suzy_Queue

sweet_perversion

Sweetbee78

whatthebodygraspsnot

whatyouandihave

[otaku-girl-ao3]

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

This year, I'm giving Kinktober a try~ I asked, and y'all responded overwhelmingly that you would prefer kinktober to whumptober or flufftober, and would rather see one-shots over a long fic incorporating all of the prompts.

I'm not going to lie, like, a good 80% of these fics are probably still going to be Wonka fics. But there should be the odd Bullet Train, BBC Ghosts, and even an MCU or two in there.

As always, everything will be smut-heavy and explicit, so please do not click through to my AO3 account if you aren't 18+.

I'll update this master post with new fic links each day in October. Each day's fic will include between 1-3 of that day's prompts.

Prompts: found via Reddit.

Interested in keeping up to date with my latest fics? Check out my main account on AO3: Otaku_girl and consider subscribing to make sure you don't miss a smutty update~

Fics

Day 1 - Harness - All tied up (and nowhere to go) Wonka (2023) - Willy/Felix - M - light D/s, rope bondage

Day 2 - Watersports - Desperate (for your touch) Wonka (2023) - Willy/Felix - M - omorashi, light D/s

Day 3 - Crossdressing - Princess Wonka (2023) - Willy/Felix - T - lingerie, sugar daddy, light D/s

Day 4 - Virginity - Touched (for the very first time) Bullet Train (2022) - Tangerine/Ladybug - E - virginity, smut, multi-chapter

Day 5 - Fisting & Dubcon - Tumbling down Wonka (2023) - Felix/Bleacher - E - coercion, dubcob, whump, dark

Day 6 - Suspension - I won't let you down (so please don't give me up) - Peter Parker/Wade Wilson, Pre-Wade Wilson/Logan - M - bondage, jealousy, established relationship

Day 7 - A/B/O & Daddy kink - Hold on to me (tonight) - Willy/Felix - E - nesting, heat sex

Day 8 - Slave training - You look so good (there on your knees) - Willy/Chief, Willy/Felix, Willy/Chief/Felix - E - SSCK, sharing, oral fixation

Day 9 - Praise kink and sharing - Right now you're mine (all mine) - Willy/Felix, Willy/Felix/Arthur - E - Pavlov, accidental conditioning, accidental voyeurism

Day 10 - Aphrodisiac - You've never had chocolate like this - Reader/Willy - E - magic chocolates, reader insert (no y/n)

Day 11 - Dirty talk, blowjobs, uniform - Tuesdays - Wade x Peter - E - Spideypool, anal beads

Day 12 - Overstim and anal sex - I get overwhelmed (so easily) - Willy/Felix - E - multiple orgasms, vignette

Day 13 - Dom/sub - Too hot to handle - Pat/Cap - E - angst, fluff and smut

Day 14 - Breathplay - You don't have to say - Tangerine/Ladybug - E - Daddy kink, light D/s, Submissive Tangerine

Day 15 - sounding - I love that you shake (when I ravage your skin) - Felix/Arthur - E - sounding, under-negotiated kink, mildly dubious consent

Day 16 - gloryhole - Honey, I don't wanna know - Tangerine/Ladybug - E - anonymous sex

Day 17 - fucking machine, spanking, gags - You say it best (when you say nothing at all) - Tangerine/Ladybug/Lemon - E -vignette

Day 18 - cock warming - Devotion - Willy/Felix - M - vignette, subspace

Day 19 - degradation, anonymous sex - Trust - Willy/Investors - E - dead dove, noncon

Day 20 - honeymoon - Love me like you do - Felix/Arthur - M - smut and fluff

Day 21 - hate sex, triple penetration - (I've got) Trust issues - Felix/Arthur - E - part 1 of 2 - poly chocolate cartel

Day 22 - size difference, sleep sex - Sweet dreams - Willy/Bleacher - enthusiastic consent, consensual somnophilia

Day 23 - M - lactation - The sweetest ingredient of all - Willy/Reader

Day 24 - E - pegging - Breathe - Tangerine/Reader - sex work, pro-domme reader, submissive Tangerine

Day 25 - E - crying - A moment in time - Tangerine/Ladybug - vignette, bottom Tangerine

Day 26 - E - surrender, cockrings - (I've got) Trust issues - Felix/Arthur/Chief of Police/Gerald - E - part 2 of 2 - poly chocolate cartel, hate set

Day 27 - E - aftercare, face sitting, Master/slave - Breathe - part 2 of 2 - Tangerine/Reader

Day 28 - E - fear, cheating - Behind the wall - Felix/Arthur, Felix/Chief of Police

Day 29 - E - swallowing - Initiation - Willy x Cartel, Willy x Felix

Day 30 - E - bondage, sadism - Masochist - Arthur x Reader

Day 31 - E - pet play - (I need) your love - Arthur x Felix

[dangerousduckcloud]

Flowerbeds make up for a nice eternal rest

Read it also on AO3

“Don’t scream, bitch.” Your breath caught in your throat, the night wind cold in your face, a single lit blinking streetlight on top of you lighting up the street, the rest covered in darkness. “The boss will be happy to see you again.”

Chapter 11 < > Chapter 13

Masterlist

taglist: @kurai-hono-blog @katrina0-0 @readingfictionnothingelse @lookingforsyd

If anyone else would like to be added to the taglist, let me know!

This chapter took me a bit later to update than usual because a lot of changes (nothing bad) happened on my life, so I didn't have much time to be on my computer, but things are settling down now!

You couldn’t continue with the conversation, what else could you say? The boldness you’d felt disappeared as suddenly as it appeared, being replaced by shame that soon overcame your body, taking its rightful place in the part of your brain that fed of the worst possible outcomes your mind could think of at his lack of reply.

Because he didn’t even try to reply, to try and say something only to come out empty and leave it like that. No. He never even tried it, as the writing status never showed up (Not like you had spent half an hour looking at the screen in hopes of a response…).

He was certainly content with leaving it like that.

With a disappointed sigh, your gaze moved from the empty notification box on the phone to the droning voice in the background of the room, the weather cast of yet another raining week in Gotham. Why did they even bother? It rained every week in Gotham.

Letting your hand drop to the bed, you left the phone somewhere around the sheets, searching for the tv remote, surfing channels until you could find something mildly interesting.

“—llionaire Bruce Wayne, it sure is a wonder how he’s managed to keep his company afloat.” The host said, the show was one of those evenings gossip programs that only helped to spread rumors about famous people. “Must be from all the air in his head.” Fake, canned laughs accompanied the lame joke. “Seriously, who in their right mind hands seventy percent of responsibilities of their multi-billionaire company to their seventeen-year-old son? It’s only a matter of time before he drives it to bankruptcy.”

Your lip curled at hearing the presenter talk trash about Tim, if only they knew he was as smart —if not maybe even smarter— than Batman, they wouldn’t be talking shit. Tim could physically and mentally outsmart everyone watching the program right now. Hell, even the leader of the League of Assassins was so impressed by his smarts he wanted to work with him.

Huh, did Tim still had his spleen? You should make a note of asking him later.

A muffled ding from your phone had your heart beating fast, looking under the covers to find the device and check if he’d finally replied. You did have a message, but the sender, as well as the content, made you frown.

              | Come down to the cave.

It read. A second text popping up a few seconds later.

              | Please.

It was unusual of him to say his ‘please’s and ‘thank you’s, so you assumed it must be something important to him to say it. You stood up, not wanting to leave the kid waiting, switching your sandals for sneakers, as the cave tended to be quite cold, especially late in the evenings.

When you got down there, you couldn’t see anyone, specially since patrol wasn’t going to start until a couple of hours later, when the family would come down here to warm up before going out. Was he simply pranking you? You scoffed at being forced to get up from your comfy bed for nothing, turning around to go back to your room.

“Hiya!” A voice said from behind, hitting you on your arm with a cheap, plastic sword.

“Damian!” you groaned, rubbing your arm with the tip of your fingers. It didn’t really hurt; it was mostly the anger at being hit. “What the hell?”

“I gave away my location with a cry of war, you should have been able to block it.”

“Yeah, well, ‘s not like I was expecting to get jumped at here.”

“And that was your mistake.” He said, walking towards the training area, leaving the toy on the floor. “I shall rectify that for our next outing to the city in our civilian identities, shall we get confronted with an unfortunate situation once again.”

He took off his shoes, his socked feet bouncing slightly on the training mats, waiting for you to do the same. Your head tilt lightly to the left, the meaning behind his words dawned on you.

“You want to teach me self-defense?” The tip of his ears’ turning pink was enough answer for you, walking up to hug him. “Aww, Damian! I knew you cared!”

“Let go of me, dolt. I am only doing this to avoid another hostage situation that impedes the imprisonment of criminals.” You let him go, the kid dusting his clothes of any visible dust, with you feeling guilty at being reminded that Two-Face escaped because of you. “Now, remove your shoes so that we can begin.”

“But I’m not wearing gym clothes.” Your loose, red t-shirt, and black, cargo pants were probably the worst thing to train with.

“It is preferable to be wearing something you are most likely to wear if another incident were to happen, that way it doesn’t impede you from fighting back.” You hummed, using the tip of your foot to remove your shoes, not bothering to untie them.

The blue mat underneath you was firm. If you were to fall with even the least of force, it will most likely hurt for a second, but nothing that’ll do any kind of damage.

“Alright, what now?”

“You have been held at gunpoint already, but trying to disarm an armed man is the least thing you should do unless you are highly trained in martial arts like us.”

You frowned, kicking your right foot on the mat.

“So, what am I gonna learn, then?”

“Tt. I thought you were smarter. I just told you. Martial arts.”

You stood rooted in your spot. Damian Al-Ghul Wayne, grandson of the Demon’s Head, son of Batman, was going to teach you to fight?

“You want to teach me crime fighting?”

“No. Todd would endlessly hunt me if I did that— I am simply teaching you self-defense, whatever you decide to do with that knowledge is up to you.”

“What’s got Jason to do with— Umph!” Damian didn’t give you the opportunity to finish, instead, his foot swiftly knocking you on your back, the air leaving your lungs. You were right, the fall did hurt even on the padded mat. “Why?” You groaned, accepting his had to help you back up.

“You need to improve your surroundings awareness, but we can work on that during the day. Now, copy my movements.”

You did regular warming up exercises first, until he began to swiftly swing his arms as if to punch someone, going all the way out and then snapping them back in, going slow and then gradually upping the pace. While doing so, Damian thoroughly explained the exercise —the hook punch— would help you build muscle and getting your shoulders strong.

Once Damian was satisfied with your punches, he moved on to teaching you an uppercut, a right kick, side kick and a front back kick, first doing them in the air, moving to the training dummies, to a kick pad he was holding to teach you precision.

You were spent. Your shoulders hurt with the tiniest of movements, you were sure your knuckles were slightly bleeding from under the bandages, your legs were pulsating, tiny needles pricking you everywhere.

You felt like you wanted to nap for a thousand years, while Damian was barely sweating, taking a sip of his water, another bottle left on the floor next to your head, a straw pointed at you.

Lolling your head, you took the straw into your mouth, moaning once the refreshing water touched the desert it was your lips, an oasis for your broken body.

Damian sat down next to you, legs outstretched and his arms supporting him behind him. “He likes you too.”

“Who?” You asked, unsure if the two of you had been talking about someone and your brain didn’t register it.

“Todd. I had never seen him so upset when a civilian was in danger.”

Then why hadn’t he responded to your last message? It’s not like he didn’t know where you were all day, every day, to come and talk. And as much as you would like to believe love at first sight was real, it simply wasn’t. You two hadn’t spent that much time together for him to develop any kind of feelings, you wanted to believe there’s a possibility he might consider you attractive, but that was it.

“It’s simply because he knows me. I’m sure he would’ve been the same had it been you, or Cass, or Steph.”

“It has been us already, in our line of work it is not uncommon to be held at gunpoint; he worries, of course, but not like he did with you.”

Do not listen to Damian your mind screamed. But why not? your heart begged.

“It’s… different, Dami. He knows you’re capable of taking care of yourselves, I’m just a normal person, not a vigilante. I don’t know what to do in that situation.”

“Tt. What will it be? He would’ve been the same if it was us, or he does not worry as he is aware of our capabilities? Cloud your judgment with poor reasoning as much as you want. That is not the truth.”

Why were you so hellbent on not considering the possibility that maybe, just maybe he did like you? Every time the idea crossed your mind, your pulse quickened, and you felt empty. You always thought it was nervousness, excitement, maybe even hope.

But it was quite obvious if you thought about it for more than one second; it was fear.

Fear of having your feelings reciprocated, fear of having something real and having it taking away in an instant. You don’t belong here, you’ll leave and you can’t take that love home with you; they’re going to forget you, move on like they do from every single weird plight they’re drag to every month or so, while you’ll be left hollowed out with the longing of a life you’ll never be able to have.

“Ready for tomorrow?” You changed topics, heavily lifting your body until you were sitting, legs crossed, it pained you to do the simplest of movements, slowly closing and opening your hand to try and get rid of the pain. Damian had grabbed the plastic sword again, swinging it around as if it were a real one, his strikes to the dummy getting harsher at the mention of school.

“It is just a waste of my time, time I could be spending patrolling. Father does not allow me to go out during the week. Do you know how many cases I could be helping with?”

His last strike to the dummy broke the sword, the clattering of the plastic muffled by the training mat.

“Come on, school’s not that bad. I’m sure there’s some interesting clubs you can join, why don’t you check them out tomorrow?”

“Whatever…”

He picked up the broken part of the sword, checking to see if he could probably glue it back together. He walked past you, to where you’d seen some crates positioned to the far end wall. You’d finished your water already, but with doing more exercise this night than your whole life, you wanted to drink a whole river, however, that meant getting up and walking all the way to—

“Don’t scream, bitch.” Your breath caught in your throat, the night wind cold in your face, a single lit blinking streetlight on top of you lighting up the street, the rest covered in darkness. “The boss will be happy to see you again.”

No, no, no, no. That voice, that cold, metallic barrel on the back of your head couldn’t be real, they’re gone, behind bars and with several broken bones, courtesy of Red Hood.

Where was Jason?

Jason, Jason.

JASON.

You were back on the dingy basement, blood curling screams shattering the heavy atmosphere, steps were getting closer and closer from everywhere, echoing around the dilapidating walls.

“You thought you could escape?” A voice said, warping into a raspy, warbled voice reverberating all around you, eerie and screeching. “You can’t escape from the Scarecrow.”

The disembodied voice took form, a burlap mask with black, empty eyes that never stopped looking at you, even when he had his back to you, neck twisting like an owl’s.

“This will hurt, Jane.” He grabbed your arms, screaming in your face, the hold fickle until the palms were barely touching you, your name being called over and over again, but the voice wasn’t gnarled anymore, it was distant, raspy but childish-like.

“Jane!” It called again. Your vision was blurry, unfocused, bright blue lights enveloping you, the screams fading until they turned into a constant hum you’d learned to tune out. Through your tears, blurry green eyes met yours, but those were not the ones you wanted to see, these ones were harsh, cognizant, and hopeful, hiding his panic behind a green ocean. “Jane, you are safe. You are in the Batcave. I am Damian Wayne, not the Scarecrow.”

“Damian?” He nodded. “I—What happened? I wanted more water and then… Then I was there.”

“I am not sure. You had a panic attack, but I do not know what caused it.”

You screwed your eyes shut, trying to remember what the cause could’ve been. “I felt something, on the back of my head.” With a shaking hand, you prodded behind your head, feeling nothing but your hair and sweaty neck. “That’s when I heard the voices.”

Damian’s eyes widened, biting his bottom lip, looking at something behind you, following his gaze to see the taped-up sword discarded on the floor.

“I did not know.” His voice wavered the slightest bit. “I simply wished to annoy you, but when I put the sword to your head… You froze up, trembling and begging. I did not mean to cause such a reaction.”

You took a deep breath, calming your racing heart. Damian wasn’t here when you tried to escape, and knowing how great this family was at communicating, it was safe to assume no one had informed him of the kidnapping.

It was hard to be mad at him for something it wasn’t his fault (although you wanted to, for bringing you back to that moment), hell, you didn’t even know something like this could’ve happen, and with him looking so lost, out of the loop and believing it was his fault, you could barely hold the sentiment of anger. He looked so miserable, almost as much as you did. “I did not know that could happen.” Damian whispered, more to convince himself that this was an accident than anything else, and sat down away from you, afraid he would do something else to cause another panic attack.

With your heavy arms, you opened them, inviting him to hug you. The kid was wary, getting up a couple of centimeters. “Would you please hug me?” You knew you had to make him believe he was only doing it because you were distressed —which you were, a lot—, knowing he wouldn’t do it out of his own volition for not wanting to be seen as weak. Only when you said please did he stood up, sitting next to you, his arms encircling you in a way it showed he wasn’t used to hugging people and thus didn’t know how.

You hugged him tightly, resting your head on his hair, his head burrowing on your shoulder. You needed this as much as he did.

“Where… Did you go?” His voice was soft and doubtful in a way you’d never heard him speak. “You said that you were ‘there’.”

Taking a deep breath, you began explaining to him how unsafe you felt at the begging of all this, thinking you’d been kidnapped, and how you escaped only to actually be kidnapped.

“I am not surprised Drake did not bother to explain the situation. His incompetence is not surprising.” He scoffed, a light chuckle coming out of you. Midway during the explanation, you both laid down on the floor, some bats flying on the roof from time to time. “Are you… Will you inform Grayson of what happened?”

“Hm?” You were looking at a bat perched on the ceiling, cleaning its wings.

“I will understand if you do, and I will take any punishment you deem fit for my blunder.”

“What?” You turned to look at him. “Damian, I—Yeah, I will tell him, but not to accuse you or anything, just to let him know that things like that can provoke bad flashbacks for me, but you won’t be reproved for an accident.”

He nodded, turning his gaze back to the bats. What did he had to endure to believe that he had to be punished for a mistake? For something he had no control over and had no way of knowing it would happen? From what you’d gathered, he’d been here for at least a year, maybe a bit more. It wasn’t easy to understand the way you’d been brought up wasn’t the right one, to forget everything you’d been taught to in the span of a year, but his reaction made you think that not much had changed since he moved in to the manor.

You would have to pay more attention to the way he was treated around with everyone.

The silence that came upon was disturbed the sound of a motorcycle’s engine, only one person who could belong to. You both stood up, with Damian running to the parking pad.

“Akhi.” Damian greeted him. Jason got off the bike, taking off his helmet, his soft curls were all over the place, the tips wet with sweat. Did they have a heater in here or why were you feeling warmer?

“Hey, Demon Spawn.” Despite being a harsh nickname —and one would think it was because Jason didn’t like him—, it was the opposite, a warm smirk on his face, messing up Damian’s hair. “Oh, hey, Jane, what are you two doing down here?”

“Dami’s teaching me to defend myself.”

“Mmh.” Damian agreed. “I taught her five moves; she is a quick learner. I could have taught her more, but her brittle body had to take a break. Of course, I can still go on.”

It couldn’t be a compliment from Damian if it wasn’t also veiled as an insult.

“Really? You plannin’ on joining us on patrol now?”

Despite de carefree attitude, he was slightly tense.

“Not in a million years.” You chuckled, and the deep sigh leaving his lungs did not go unnoticed. “Just in case I get taken hostage again. The universe travelling agency didn’t mention anything about high crime rates.”

“That’s Gotham for you. Hey, is Dickhead here? Got some intel about the trafficking case.”

“He’s off planet with the League.” You replied nonchalantly, when had that become a normalcy in your life? “I’ll go find Tim; Dick left him in charge.”

“I will go.” Damian quickly piped up. “He should have been here already preparing for patrol.”

Without waiting for a response, he ran towards the stairs, and up to Bruce’s office.

The little shit left you and Jason alone on purpose.

[woofwoofwolf]

That which matters more (part 1)

Tighnari x reader.

EDIT AS OF AUGUST 29TH: I'm still working on this fic, but it's going to be longer than I initially thought. (I'm currently at 20.000 words on chapter 9 out of a planned 18, but that will probably become more.) So you can see this as the first draft of chapter 1.

I know I keep saying this but I will most likely be posting soon ish, with weekly updates! I'm working really hard on this fic, so please stay tuned.

Warnings: Fem!reader, (though I think there is no gendered language in this chapter, but I might have missed something so fair warning) reader is aro/ace, (but again idk yet how big of a role this will play.) Minor injuries

1580 words

This is chapter one of a series I'm working on right now, and although I don't think I'm going to be able to finish it anytime soon, I think if people like it on here it might motivate me more to actually finish this? I currently have 5 chapters planned and I've started chapter 3, but I constantly go back and change stuff in previous chapters (the reason why I never post anything tbh) soooo... who knows. This first chapter might also get changed in the future, but I'm actually decently happy with it so far?

Let me know what you think! I'll post this to AO3 in the future.

“Be careful, please,” Collei nervously clasped her hands against her chest, eying the ivy covered ditch you were standing over. “You’re going to fall!”

“I almost got it, just stand back and don’t worry-” You gasped out. Your left arm was fully outstretched, while your right grabbed on to a branch sticking out from the ledge right across from the flower you were trying to pick. “After this we can go back to Gandharva Ville, I promise-”

“Got it!” You said when you finally had the stem of the flower between your fingers. However your  wide smile soon turned to shock as the dry root you were grabbing onto cracked and snapped, and sent you tumbling down a hole, right through the dense ivy.

Collei screamed as a dull thud sounded at the end of your tumble. “Oh my goodness, are you alright?!?!” Her knees fell to the ground to peer into the hole you just fell into, which was thankfully a lot less deep than she had thought it to be. What surprised her tho, was the big yellow cloud that hit her face, completely surrounding the both of you, while you were splayed out on a bed of moss, entirely covered in ivy and pollen. Around you were dozens of the mystery flowers you had just picked. “O-oh no- What do I do!”

A cough signalled that you were still alive. “A rope would be nice,” you groaned.

“Right! A Rope!” Collei sprang into action, quickly looking for a rope in her satchel. “Can you climb out on your own? Oh.. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to carry you.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine… I only scraped my knee a little bit,” You said as you tried to stand up on the slippery moss. Ugh, your leg was going to be sore for a while… “There’s so many of them!”

“I’ll bandage it as soon as I get you out!” Collei said as she secured the rope to a rock.

“No, not that! The flowers!” You pulled the ivy of your arms, making the pollen fly off you, making you cough again. “They sure produce a lot of pollen too… You think holes in the ground like these are their preferred habitat?”

Collei sighed with a small smile. “Well… At least you’re well enough to still be talking. You could’ve hit your head, you know? Master Tighnari isn’t going to be happy.”

She was right, you knew Tighnari was going to lecture you on your detour from your regular patrol, but you hoped that seeing this mysterious flower would distract him enough to not go on for too long.

You grabbed onto the rope, thankfully still able to climb out of the hole yourself. You triumphantly held up not only the flower you plucked earlier, but also two other samples, WITH roots attached. “They’re BEAUTIFUL! I bet not even Tighnari has seen these flower before!” Observing it a little more closely, it was very similar to a Sumeru rose, but the interesting thing that had drawn you closer to it in the first place was the fact that not only did it glow brighter than a regular similar rose, it had also been changing colours from a soft yellow, to a regular Sumeru rose purple, all the way up to a deep red. But it seemed to have stopped now that you had plucked it. Interesting, you were going to have to examine why that was.

Collei sheepishly smiled, but quickly worried herself over your bruised and bleeding knee. You tried not to worry her further by suppressing the coughs that were coming from your irritated throat, but she noticed nonetheless.

“It must be the pollen,” Collei said worriedly. “Oh no, What if it’s toxic?”

You pensively shook your head. “This flower doesn’t have the usual characteristics for that.” You explained. “Besides, you breathed in a good amount too just now, and you seem to be fine..?”

A bit of anxiety crept up in your chest. If Collei got sick because of you, you wouldn’t be able to face Tighnari ever again, nor would you be able to forgive yourself. You were going to have to hurry back to Gandharva Ville and ask the expert to be sure.

Said expert Tighnari was not very amused when you returned that evening, but before the lecture, came first aid. He quickly had baths filled for you and Collei. While Collei went to wash the pollen out of her hair, Tighnari went to re-examine and properly clean the wound on your knee.

“I collected samples of the pollen in some flasks, and brought a few complete specimens with the roots intact. They’re really quite unique flowers. I haven’t seen them in textbooks, nor have I ever seen them on our regular patrol routes. If you bring me a map, I can point out where we found these. If we figure out what made them grow there, I’m sure we could find more of them. I-” You were cut off by another coughing fit.

Tighnari watched you worriedly, taking out a stethoscope. “Could you lift up your top? I’d like to examine your breathing.”

You awkwardly did as he said and breathed in and out as he instructed. “I’ll be fine, really! I just took in a big gulp of dust and pollen, it’s only natural my lungs are irritated a bit. Collei breathed it in a small amount as well and she wasn’t coughing at all. This plant doesn’t have any of the usual characteristics present in flora that produce toxins.”

“Maybe.” Tighnari answered curtly, a blank expression on his face. “I’m going to have to examine the pollen to be sure.”

You were silent for a bit as Tighnari noted some things down on a clipboard. The lack of the usual annoyed and sassy lecture was spooking you a little bit. “Tighnari, I… I’m sorry…”

He sighed and finally looked you in the eye, looking for signs of sincerity. “At least you have the decency to know what you did wrong.”

You nodded. “I shouldn’t have put Collei in that position. Next time… Next time I’ll note the location on a map and ask for you or other forest watchers to come with me.”

“Good.” Tighnari said with a nod. “I know you didn’t deliberately put Collei in danger and that’s the only reason I can begin to look past this. I also agree that from the looks of it it’s part of the same genus as the Sumeru rose. If anything I’d be worried this points to an issue with the Ley lines, but I haven’t heard of any incidents that would point to this… They sure produce a lot of pollen though,” He was more so muttering to himself, than he was explaining anything to you.

“However-!” He pointed his pen right in your face, interrupting his own rant. “Although I’m very happy to see some enthusiasm from you, endangering yourself like that is still absolutely unacceptable.” Ah, there came the lecture. One you absolutely deserved, mind you. “Had you fallen unconscious, Collei would have had to go back to the village on her own to get help. Worst case scenario you could have broken your neck and died. The first and most important skill for a forest watcher to learn, is not the ability to secure the safety of the forest and its visitors, but the safety of themselves. Do you understand?”

“You guys talk as I’m not useful to have around at all.” You both turned to a pouting Collei, leaving your response to Tighnari unsaid.

“Your time as a full fledged watcher will come, Collei,” Tighnari calmly explained. “You’re still young, and besides that we have your condition to worry about. Beyond that you know you have my full trust.”

You self-consciously looked away from the two. You wondered what you could do to earn Tighnari’s trust like that. Maybe the flower you discovered really was a new species? Would that get him to talk to you about it?

“Oh I know,” Collei answered, timidly plucking at her nails. “I’m just saying.”

You interrupted the sweet scene with another set of coughs. “S-sorry.. my lungs and throat feel sore, it must’ve all gotten really irritated by all the dust…” Tighnari hummed in thought. “Best you go wash off all that pollen. I’ll have it examined as soon as possible. If that cough hasn’t gone away by tomorrow evening, please come and see me again. And we’re going to have to schedule you in for more forest safety training.”

You cleared your throat. You were hoping he was going to forget about any punishment. Then again, this probably didn’t count as such in his mind. “Alright. Thank you Tighnari.”

“And, (name),” He said after some hesitation, just before you were to leave the hut. You turned to him, met by his soft gaze.  “Please do know there’s nothing you have to prove to me, okay?”

You felt a warmth bloom across your chest. “…Okay.” With that you turned around to leave, but not before having another coughing fit. You quickly dashed out of Tighnari’s hut trying to muffle your cough with your hand. When you removed your hand you saw that you had coughed up a soft pink coloured petal covered in spit. Gross. Though, you supposed that this petal was what was stuck in your throat and that your cough would let up soon.

[blissfulip]

—Legion

On AO3

Priest!Viktor x F!demon!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Priest Kink, Blasphemy, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, demon reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Post medieval era, Dubious Science, Church Sex, Roman Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Shameless Smut, Masturbation

Cw: blood, self flagellation, masturbation

Words: 1.7k

[A/N: extremely blasphemous, but again, you saw the tags. Please read at your own risk! (also, let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby

Playlist made by my baby Soln <3 @ihopeinevergetsoberr

Next

I.

Extra ecclesiam nulla salus. 

 There is a certain comfort in fear. When you see what awaits you at the gaping, harrowing mouth of hell, knowledge of the place you must avoid, ultimately, is power. There was a time when Viktor pitied those who did not know—those who lived despondent lives, unaware and unafraid of damnation. Recently, he had found himself wishing he knew less. 

 A ravening beast with a thousand bloody teeth, inside its mouth a cauldron, and in it the souls of the accursed with sin, boiling over scorching flames as legions of fiendish demons dragged in multitudes more. This image plagued Viktor’s mind without rest, be it vividly in his dreams, in the colossal fresco at the entrance of his local cathedral, or in the comical props onstage at the theater plays. 

 The parish clergy that had taken him in as a kid had made the mistake of noticing his outstanding intelligence and awarding him time to dedicate to studying philosophy, a privilege that many of the choir monks and lay brothers did not receive. In university, philosophy had turned into physics, and soon that turned into astronomy, which he had to keep a secret on account of the recent prohibitions put in place by Paul V’s Inquisition over the study of Copernican theories. 

 After he was ordained and returned to his home cathedral, this once silent yet innocent interest had turned into complete secrecy, and the fear of God that had once given him solace now tormented him. At times he considered giving up on his work; the mechanical objections of Copernican theory should not be of this much significance to him after all; there had to be something of value in what Thomas Aquinas had to say, and perhaps Agustine of Hippo had some good points. Nevertheless, it was the night sky that called to him, and even this far from it, he could not escape. 

 But outside the church there is no salvation , and Viktor knew that even if he was never to be condemned as a heretic in life, what awaited him in death was a flaming tomb at Epicure's side. Quod extra ecclesiam nulla salus. 

---------------------------------------------------

His parish was a pious one, but Viktor would refuse to receive lithe from the members of his church. The first time he tried this, the bishop was immediately alerted, and he was secluded to live in the small room inside the chapel as a ‘punishment’ for his impertinence. Viktor did not mind; the lands he had been previously allotted were too much to care for on his own, with cleaning being especially hard once his leg would start tiring out, and the presence of the personnel of lay brothers that would follow him around made his studies impossible; thus, the contained space of the church was comfortable to live in on his own.

 It had been a particularly cold morning. The week before, he had received word of the imminent visit of his diocesan bishop, and the impending possibility of his stay at any moment in the near future had tied his eyebrows into a permanent knot and his shoulders into a tense bundle of nerves since that morning. 

 To his dismay, the state of his works had made no decent progress, his journal being nothing more than a few numbers and three words on a painfully empty piece of parchment. He understood Latin; he had studied it at length in university, but when he took a break to read the Bible, the words on it floated around aimlessly, in a messy concoction of nothing. 

 “Per fidem enim ambulamus et non per speciem,” he repeated to himself in a whisper, and then closed the pages lethargically. 

 He read the cover of a white volume that had been lying on his desk for over a month now. He was sure he would have possibly agreed with what Foscarini had to say, so the feeling of dread he felt every time he laid eyes upon the title was mystifying to him. Though it made sense after some reflection, he was afraid. 

 When he read Copernicus, it felt distant, a world he was only a visitor in, but the Foscarini was a carmelite father, one of his own that was now nothing short of a persona non-grata in the eyes of the Roman Catholic Church. Viktor was afraid that what he had to say might make sense and that he might be so correct in his observations that this knowledge would drag him into the same status. 

 In retrospect, he should not have read it. 

 In fact, opening the cover was a big mistake on its own. Not even 3 pages in, the door of his room unceremoniously barged open, revealing the full figure of Father Isodore. Viktor and him never really got along; his time in the monastery as a kid was full of rule-breaking and inappropriate questions, and to Father Isidore’s dismay, insatiable curiosity remained Viktor’s fatal flaw well into his adulthood. 

 Not a single word was uttered as he carried his sunny disposition and rubicund complexion over to Viktor’s desk. There was no use in trying to hide what he was holding; Viktor carried the same guilty look on his face every time he did something he was not supposed to. Once a cute kid trying to hide some innocent misdeeds, his expression had grown into one of unadulterated shame and indignity in the wake of sin, and the bishop knew this all too well. The book was snatched off his hands aggressively.

“‘Epistle concerning the mobility of the earth’,” he read, “would be an interesting read if only as a piece of fiction, and perhaps in a different climate.”

“Your excellence, I eh—”

“Save it. Don’t worsen your sin by bearing false witness.”

Viktor looked down and sighed in resignation, a disappointed sadness creeping up in his throat.

“You are very much aware those texts have been forbidden, but since words seem to slide off you, I hope physical penance can remind you of your depravity,” Father Isidore said coldly as he handed Viktor the whip that usually served as no more than a piece of decoration adorning his wall. “Ten of them, and be intentional. One pater noster after each.”

“Yes, father.”

“It’s a shame; I have come to congratulate you on your work for the community. Repent. ” The emphasis on the last word punctuated his departure.

A cold feeling arose in Viktor’s stomach as he looked down at the whip, something akin to fear but also awfully comparable to excitement.

Three deep breaths are what he allowed himself; it would be better to get it over with as quickly as possible. He removed his vestments unhurriedly, only his bottoms remaining as he sluggishly kneeled by the bed, and the chilled air on his back was, in hindsight, not as bad as he thought at the moment. His hand trembled slightly when his grip on the whip tightened, and his jaw locked into a gritted grin as he sucked air in through his teeth.

The first flick of his arm was swift, like ripping away a bandage to make the pain go away as fast as your wrist could tug at it. It did not help; the feeling of the small metal beads digging into his skin was instantaneous, and it disappeared soon, but the burning that replaced it lingered.

“ Pater noster, qui es in cælis:sanctificetur nomen tuum; adveniat regnum tuum; fiat voluntas tua, sicut in cælo et in terra .”

A swarm of ants biting at the exposed skin on his back was a scorching fire.

“Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie,et dimitte nobis debita nostra, sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris; et ne nos inducas in tentationem; sed libera nos a malo.”

Then it subsided, and the slight chills on his arms were due to something else. He took his time with the second hit, languidly whipping both hands back this time to maintain the same level of strength. The aching this time was different; the burning of his skin was quenched by the few droplets of blood and sweat trickling down his spine. And there was something else—a burning feeling that was misplaced not on his back or wrists but in his lower stomach.

“Pater noster, qui es in cælis:sanctificetur nomen...” He started once again, both hands holding one another around the handle of the whip, closed in prayer as he shut his eyes tightly for concentration. This proved to be fruitless when an uncomfortable tightness in the fabric around his crotch distracted his attention away from the words he was reciting. He tried to continue with his prayer, but an ill-calculated movement tugged at the tender skin of his back, and the brief sting made the already confining feeling worsen, morphing into an odd mixture of ache and delight.

He figured out what this meant soon enough. The conflicting feeling did not originate from any sort of confusion about what he was experiencing; it came with the quandary of his two options: either keep going to conclude his penalty and follow orders, or go against those orders to avoid tainting this sacred act with his depravity.

He unlaced his trousers before going for the third whip. The aching feeling on his back was almost completely gone, replaced by a numb tingling along the wounded skin and an unbearable heat in his groin. The fourth hit was one-handed. Right hand wrapping tightly along the handle and left hand mirroring the grip around his cock as he pumped himself mechanically. When the metal hit the skin, a jolt of what felt like electricity traveled all the way down to his stomach, the member on his hand twitching in anticipation.

There was no fifth hit or anything beyond that. A final tug with a firm hand and gritted teeth culminated in his climax, hot viscosity percolating through his fingers as he rested his forehead on the edge of the bed. His chest heaved up and down as he whispered a string of prayers. Shame washed over him.

“Castigo corpus meum.” He repeated incessantly until he had enough strength in his legs to stand.

[crazy-ache]

Dear Lucien, Dear Elain: An Epistolary Fic (Chapter 5 Update)

Title: Dear Lucien, Dear Elain: An Epistolary Fic (Chapter V) Rating: M Summary:

“Perhaps you can speak them to me, if you so wish. I apologize if that is too forward, but I yearn to know you beyond simple pleasantries. 

Yours truly,

Lucien

P.S. My lady, your secrets are always safe with me.” 

Epistolary (adj., of a literary work) in the form of letters. After the winter solstice in ACOSF, Elain and Lucien exchange letters as a means to get to know each other away from prying eyes. This fic is a collection of those letters.

Author’s Note: CHAPTER UPDATE for our collab (me + @zenkindoflove)! We plan to have regular chapter updates on Mondays moving forward, as we have made some great progress on future chapters! P.S....did you catch the innuendos? ;)

READ HERE ON AO3

Preview:

I’m delighted to hear that you are interested in accompanying me on my journey! Truth be told, I do not have enough experience of the world and the pleasures it has to offer to know what would satisfy me. I suppose, I will have to trust in your wealth of experience and your steady hand to guide me through these desires. I would welcome a long, thorough exploration, as my previous travels ended too soon for my liking. So, I think it would please me to spend sufficient time, discovering new sights and experiences, and some clever bouts of spontaneity, to the point that I am tired and sated.

If you'd like to be added or removed from our Tag List just let us know! (see tag list on reblog)

[auroreliis]

Introduction!!!

Hiii :D I'm Aurora, but most people call me Rorii!! I use she/her pronouns!!!

First of all, I recommend staying away from my page if you're under 16. Perhaps not all of my posts include 18+ topics, but some do and I really, REALLY don't want anyone under 16 interracting with my content (I'm also quitte iffy about people under 18 viewing my content, but I suppose I can't really stop you if you think that you can handle it...).

I need to clarify that English is not my mother tongue, so please forgive any errors :')

I mainly use this blog to share my thoughts and ideas!!! BUT I am veryyyy insistent on making sure that my posts are correct (okayyyy I may not always succeed, but still), so I might take a bit longer to post simply because I'm making sure that everything makes sense ;D

Other times, I will be offline for weeks at a time, because I have no inspiration :'(

That being said, I try my best, but my schedule is all over the place...sorry <3

Some more info about me!! My favourite band ever are Arctic Monkeys <3 Also, I am a bit of a yapper, so hopefully I will be forgiven if I ever go on and on about something <3 Also also, purple and red are my favourite colours!!!

I easily hyperfixate on things (and I bet you can't guess what it is now...)

I often play video games when I am free and my favourite ones EVER are Little Nightmares and Hitman!! Though Fields of Mistria and Stardew Valley might as well be on the list too.

When I am not playing video games, then I am watching hour-long video essays <3

I often read books before going to bed, mostly classics, but not exclusively <3

Oh also! Sleeping is my favourite way to pass time :)

My Ask-Box is always open!!! (And I swear, I try my best to answer everything :')...)

If you did send an ask and haven't recieved a reply yet, it's likely because I have not enough inspiration to make a good post about your ask. However, as soon as inspiration strikes me, I will write and write and write!!!

Frequently asked Questions!!!!

Q: What fandoms do you write for? A: Any fandom that I am currently interested in, so feel free to request and recommend me various media that you would like to see from me...however, DC has had a lot of power over me lately...

Q: Is there any topic you won't write about? A: A few come to mind, like extreme kinks and fetishes (age play, scat/pee/vomit play, non-con, etc.). However, if it is anything super niche or specific, feel free to ask me!

Q: Do you have any side blogs or other socials? A: For now, I have no side blogs, however, I have a secret AO3 account!! Let me know if you think you've found it ;D

Masterlist!!!

Yes, I finally have a masterlist. I've tried to compile EVERYTHING on here and will try to update regularly:

Masterlist

That would be all for now :)

Thanks for reading this <3

[riddler-green]

Tea for three. Prologue

Summary: You have been a patient/prisoner of Arkham for several months since you were charged with a crime you did not commit. But what happens when you meet Batman's latest enemy? the man of the hour? In which you help Batman on his cases, you're Edward's new favorite person, and Jonathan is part of your past that you want so badly to return to.

Edward Nashton x reader, Bruce Wayne x reader, Jonathan Crane x reader.

A/n: Holaaa everyone! here I am posting another story that I thought of in a sleepless night, I think it's one of my most ambitious fics that I've been planning but that makes it cooler! I should clarify that this fanfic is mixed with the 2022 movie with the Nolan saga (but in such a minuscule way that it's barely imperceivable). I'm back from my vacation so I'll update my other work soon! ♡

I also want to clarify that English is not my first language, so an apologize for the spelling mistakes. ✧˖°. (My English is rusty :´p).

(Also this fanfic is published on AO3) ✿

Warning: Fluff and angst, Obsessive Behavior, Canon Compliant (the flood occurred, sorry) Movie spoiler (Batman 2022) if there is another warning I did not put, please let me know.

Words: 5,400

You stroll as two guards lead you to a room, you don't know where they are taking you but it's not like you could complain either. The guards behind you ignored you all the way chatting with each other as if they were not watching an Arkham patient, they let you into the individual visiting room. Still, you nicknamed it the interrogation room because you only come here when that person requests your presence.

You sit down without a problem in the stiff metal chair, the approving noise of the iron partition sounds throughout the place, and you hear one of the guards closing the door leaving you alone with him.

At first, it was tedious, even traumatic in a way to come to this room to talk to the person who captured you and brought you to Arkham without hesitation. You couldn't refuse to see him, not when the caped man is a colleague of an important commissioner. No matter how many times you told him, how many times you yelled at him that you were innocent, he either didn't believe you or just wouldn't listen. You got tired of telling everyone around you that it wasn't your fault, none of them listened to you.

The metal partition rises completely, and little by little you see the almost imperceptible figure of the knight of the night. He kept silent without sitting down, standing in front of you analyzing you as everyone does nowadays, but you no longer care what he thinks of you, you are practically a hopeless case for him.

"Hello?" your greeting sounded confusing, you were not expecting a visit from him, but you have an idea why he comes to you, on certain occasions he shows you cases of different indoles, also that he has found some clue of the…

"I'm looking for the Riddler" He doesn't greet you and moves closer to the glass that separates them, you can take a better look at him, he's still the same since the last time you saw him, his attire nor his face have changed at all, but you notice something different in his voice, is it tiredness you hear?

"The Riddler?" you look at him unclear as to what he means "Who is that?".

"A serial killer" he informs you, you often hear those terrible words from him, how often does Batman chase killers like that, it's like there's one every week, it's cruel but it's the truth, Gotham is the cradle of evil, hell on earth, some would say.

"And what have I got to do with him?" you ask hesitantly.

Batman leaves a gray folder in the crack that connects the two rooms as if it were a mailbox "I need to know your perspective".

For a moment you thought about rejecting whatever is in that folder, but your curiosity won you over, you slowly grabbed the folder somewhat heavy because of the many sheets stored, on the cover of the folder you can see a CLASSIFIED in capital letters, that fuels your interest even more and you open the folder.

It's a lot to take in at once, you open your eyes from the initial shock, you haven't seen so much blood since your clinical internship days, you close the folder for a few seconds to recover, and you look Batman in the eye with a frown, he didn't even warn you how grotesque the case could be. 

Batman looks back at you completely seriously, he looks immutable and silent. You open the folder again and are greeted by the same disturbing images "Wow, it's something " you comment uneasily.

You see the evidence, black and white photos of the murders stapled to the autopsy reports, it is amazing how this man can have such information. the more time you spend reading the events and the evidence the more disturbed you become. 

Mayor Don Mitchell Jr, mayor of Gotham for several years, you saw him once at a social event done by Gotham University, he was happy and smiling maybe because of the excess alcohol in his veins. but now you look at the crime scene, his face completely wrapped in duct tape.

"No more lies..." you whisper reading the message on the corpse of the mayor, then that was with an already established motive, to give a statement.

On the other hand, Commissioner Savage's body is barely recognizable, the cage on his head says it all.

This is no ordinary killer.

What have you gotten yourself into, batman?

"why are you showing me this?" you manage to ask him even with the murders fresh in your mind, you don't think you will sleep tonight.

The already-seated masked man repeats to you "I need to know your perspective".

"As a patient or as a psychologist?" technically you can no longer practice your career since they took away your degree, but he doesn't correct you, you peruse everything that was offered, the riddles, the pictures of all the letters he has left for Batman, descriptions of the crime scene, write-ups of the witnesses who found the bodies.

"Both" he declares.

The handcuffs on your wrists do not give you much freedom to move your arms but do not prevent you from handling the documents in the folder, if Batman thought this might interest you he was right, for better or worse you did not stop seeing file after file.

"How extravagant," you say your first impressions "Brusque with his victims, he really is angry" You turn the page to see the pictures of his riddles "But he is also ingenious, this is not prepared from one day to another, he has been planning this for a long time, I would say years".

"Angry at who?" the man in front of you asks but you don't answer him instantly, you take your time carefully reading all the research, it's a lot for only one killer and few victims, but it's nothing that can be used to find him.

"With the world" you turn the page to see Commissioner Savage's crime scene photo "The pattern is evident, the mayor...the commissioner...does not kill ordinary civilians." 

"Do you think it's political?".

You barely smile at the mere idea that this is just politics "No, this is too intimate for him, riddles are an essential part of his life that he knows how to use to his advantage...and I only come to one conclusion..." you shut up and rearrange the documents to close the folder. 

"What is it?" batman questions you with intrigue in his voice.

You see him again, he must be desperate somehow to find this Riddler who asks for the opinions of third parties, of "crazy" people like you, something he dislikes, he prefers to work alone, that's his emblem. Deep down it angers you to no end, he hasn't caught your living nightmare and he's already looking for another asshole.

"That" you passed him the folder through the crack in the partition between rooms, and he retrieves it in his hands "Is revenge, Batman, and a very wicked one."

"Give me a diagnosis" he speaks faster, and the anger starts to seep into his face and it satisfies you to sometimes see him like this, frustrated Batman...yeah that's a first.

you smile and relax in your stiff metal seat "You should ask Dr. Crane for that, he's more prepared than I am, don't you think?".

"He refused" You'd know he'd turn it down, he's not like Batman or you, he doesn't even like to play Clue.

"yeah, he doesn't have the hobby of playing detective" you shrug your shoulders "I can't give you a diagnosis because it's little, he has left only what he wants us to know, maybe he includes you in this because he admires you or because he wants to kill you, who knows" you blurt out everything you think without any shame, in your mind you are already putting together a criminal profile with only what he gave you, but you won't tell him that, he doesn't deserve your help.

The masked man's posture tenses and he begins to clench his fists, your smile grows. 

"all that, all those little clues he leaves you make me think this is all a big riddle on his part" You pointed to the folder held by one of his gloved hands.

"I don't think he's going to stop until he sees everyone on his list dead."

What you told him seemed to affect him, because he suddenly gets up and goes to the door without looking at you, and he found no news "I can't waste time" he whispers with disdain, he leaves the room and you stand watching the door where he left.

So it's a riddle against the clock, huh? you think.

The sky in Gotham looks like a landscape worthy to take a picture of, from here you can see the buildings of different heights, the traffic between highways, and the bridges, even if you force your sight you can see people walking.

"Do you like the view?".

You continue to look through the window reinforced with bars and tempered glass, the bars cover part of the landscape but you can still admire the beautiful gray sky full of clouds ready to rain.

"yes..." you say putting your hands between the bars without stopping to think how happy you would be just to be out of this abyss. you didn't appreciate the beauty of the freedom you had before you were here.

"What do you like most about the view?".

You take a few seconds to respond, the handcuffs on your wrists started to itch on your skin, that itch so normalized on your skin that you don't do much to get rid of that itch, you didn't look away from the window, this simple reinforced window brought you comfort for all these months.

"Everything."

"You hear the voice of your therapist repeat your answer and nod, will your cafeteria still be open? The Gotham Library will have finally added new books? the university will have already changed that horrible lamp in one of your favorite classrooms? 

Batman already caught the Riddler?

"What a good answer actually, but I need you to sit down for a further conversation, soon the session will be over" The doctor's professional tone makes you tense up, you feel like you are not talking to a human but to a fucking robot, that's how you have thought them since you were imposed to this therapist.

You listen to what you say and sit in the other chair where you are supposed to be for the whole session, however, Mr. M has let you have the sessions while you watch from the only window, you are grateful for that, even if you didn't like him at all.

"I have been informed about your good behavior this week, if you continue like this you can be given more access through the hospital" Mr.M speaks calmly looking through several documents held by a wooden board.

Fuck you, you thought but didn't tell him, you don't have the luxury of being rude to him. you'll never get the same freedom you got when you were still an average citizen of Gotham and it saddens you, it makes your blood boil to remember every moment of your existence that you're here unjustly.

"Thank you" You speak as little as possible because you know you would break down in tears just remembering that you are another day of your life wasted locked up among so many criminals.

"But" Mr.M stops looking at his documents to turn to look at you "I was also told that you refuse to take your medication, why is that?".

"Why don't I need them" you speak cuttingly again, the itch in your wrists grows and you scratch with your fingernails without realizing it.

"you have to take his medicine...it will make your recovery process more enjoyable" he grabs his tablet with documents and writes again, Mr.M does not scold you but you perceive it like this, you want to go back to your cell, you feel so ashamed that your skin gets hot, how did you come to this? How did you fall so low that you are the one they have to medicate? 

"Fine" you lie to him, you dislike the taste of the medicine they force you to take, you know perfectly well what they prescribe you, you studied for it after all.

But everyone seems to forget that.

Only Batman can recognize your abilities, but he does not help you at all in your case.

And well, you paranoidly believe that Jonathan is only talking to you out of unconscious guilt.

"Okey" Mr. M gives a soft smile "Just one last question before our time is up" he checks the time on his wrist watch "Have you made a new friend? Have you managed to get along with anyone?".

You avoid the gaze of your therapist "No" you denied, another issue you don't want to address, your notorious loneliness in this hospital. If it weren't for your unique best friend who works here, you would be all alone.

"Why?."

You don't answer him, you also question the same thing, you haven't had an interest to socialize with the other patients since you arrived, and there are still things that are not clear to you.

Mr. M sighs dropping his papers in a file cabinet near him "Well, I'll leave it as homework for you to start seeing new people, making a friend sounds excellent."

"I'll try" You don't lie to him.

"Perfect."

It's been a day since Batman visited you and you had your weekly session with Mr.M, you haven't been able to sleep due to the tremendous curiosity of the new assassin the bat is looking for.

Just when you thought nothing could surprise you in this city since your accident, along comes a man with a question mark and puts the whole city in check, that's the city to him, a colossal chessboard, the DPGC, the Gotham elite, the citizens, they are all pieces in the game, and Batman and he are the only players.

Batman said he didn't have time, Does that mean that he has to catch him these days? how curious, with the Joker, it took months to find him, you were only intercepted in a couple of hours, and the Scarecrow...

no, you don't want to think about him.

You get distracted thinking about the Riddler again, you do your daily service arranging books in the small library of Arkham, your safe place where few or no people stop around these parts, here it is not necessary to use your wrist and neck cuffs, but your uniform is still on, and the plastic bracelet with your information identify you as a patient.

You yawn as you place a couple of worn-out books on the shelf, you felt like a bookstore worker, sometimes you usually fantasize that you are one to take away your boredom, but others usually burst your dreamy bubble.

Today, one of the guards decided to turn on the old-fashioned TV set in one of the upper corners of the library, you stand near a bookcase to see what channel they put on this time, usually they only put on the sports channel to watch the game of the moment.

But on this occasion, the guard put on the news channel, and you immediately put down the books you have to accommodate to concentrate on what is shown on TV.

The guard is still standing and so are you, both watching a live breaking news broadcast. The news anchor reports a new Riddler attack.

He bombed a prosecutor at the mayor's funeral.

The guard's face looked more and more frightened, you watched the news with morbid curiosity. Batman's new opponent seems more sadistic than you thought, that detailed report confirmed it.

But seeing their repeated acts on TV was shocking, you even heard the guard who put on the news say in a low voice " We are doomed. "

You silently agree with him, for the first time you are relieved to be locked away from all the chaos going on right now.

You saw how the explosion managed to reach Batman, surprising you as the guard, the man takes off his distinctive security guard hat when he sees the video, on the other hand, you are still stunned, not believing it, somehow you forgot that this man dressed in black and wearing a cape is still a human of flesh and blood, he simply can't die like that, not when he has things to save, people to capture.

He hasn't found your living nightmare yet.

Before you pull your hair out in frustration the news anchor states that Batman is still alive, the guard satisfied by the information puts his cap back on and returns to his guard position which is the entrance to the library.

You are still looking at the report, and suddenly the image of the man who calls himself the Riddler appears. You hadn't seen him in such detail until this moment, the photos in the Batman report were extremely blurry images, but this time he is in HD, he is completely wrapped in green clothes, and the only thing you can see of him, is his eyes. 

His voice is altered but you can notice that venomous tone of his he asked prosecutor Gil Colson some riddles, but in the end, he couldn't answer what Riddler wanted.

You sigh while grab another couple of books and start arranging them one by one. If Batman is still alive it means this isn't over.

"I knew I would find you here".

"It's not like I can go many places" You smile slightly turning to look at the man who spoke to you. 

Jonathan Crane, the living legend of the hospital, with tailored suits, no wrinkles in his coat, and a well-made tie that matches the sweater he wears under his coat. There isn't a single time you haven't seen Jonathan without his perfect appearance but maybe it's just you idealizing as usual. 

Jonathan gives you a polite smile "Right" Just by hearing that you know he won't stay to chat for long, he tends to contradict you most of the time just to annoy you and agree with you when he's busy.

"Are you coming to get a book?" you ask him the first thing that comes to mind.

"No, I wanted to talk to you before I left," he says adjusting his glasses "I'm going away for a couple of weeks to blüdhaven University to give lectures, it will be a simple thing" Your smile doesn't falter, you are touched that he lets you know when he won't be able to see you, and how he manages to keep the conversation so casual. 

As if they were still colleagues.

"Is that so? What will you talk about?".

"Childhood traumas" he reveals looking at you without any shyness, he has a barely perceptible smile but you notice it. 

"why am I not surprised?" you resume your work in arranging books "Although you know how to pick interesting topics, I wish I could attend" You recognize that Jonathan has been too devoted to his work and student life, he is that kind of strict professor who gives his students nightmares from the assignments and exams he gives. His lectures are fascinating, to say the least, you attended many.

"I'll tell you about it when I get back, in the meantime" From inside his suit he pulls out a  flyer in half "It's something extremely summarized but it'll do" You take the piece of paper and stuff it in one of your pockets. It's not the first time Jonathan smuggles things to you, god, you can even be sure he gives you something every time you see each other. 

"Thank you" you thanked looking at his face, he also remains silent looking at you, the eye contact between you is not something out of another world either, on your part, it's a habit that started when you were still studying, you can't help but want to observe everyone around you, analyze them somehow, see their behavior.

Jonathan does the same, but more rigorous and practical, he is direct and not afraid to say it, you see his hair combed to his liking, his glasses clean without any smudge, his eyes examining you. 

You leave your admiring mode when you diverted your gaze a little to the old TV that is still on, the news keeps showing the latest events of the hours, repeating the most recent crime of Riddler.

Your smile dims as you recall the video of the explosion, the prosecutor begging for mercy and the bomb stuck in his chest.

"Did you see what happened at the mayor's funeral?" you whisper to him in a low voice trying not to let anyone hear them, you look with your eyes for the guard on duty but you can't find him, Jonathan must have asked him for some privacy time, at times you forget the influence that the man in front of you has generated with years and effort.

He turns his head for a few seconds watching the news on TV and turns to look at you again with a sensible and neutral face. 

"yes, I saw it, I was there when it happened".

"What?" you utter with surprise "You were there?" there was no sign of a lie on his face to make you think he wasn't telling you the truth.

"Some teachers from the university we went to give condolences when the show happened" Jonathan clarifies simply, you approach him to talk closer, he doesn't seem upset "So it's true? Riddler attacked that prosecutor?".

"He killed him."

You shut up for a moment because of his statement, it's true, Riddler killed him, and almost Batman too.

"And Batman? Did you see him in action?" at this point you sound like first-rate gossip, but still Jonathan answers your questions, but is no longer as pleased doing so, the moment you mention Batman. 

"He arrived when most of the people had already been evacuated."

"Wow" you blurt out surprised, if you didn't know him better you would have been uneasy with his calmness when talking about the experience, he says it without any fear because that's exactly what's so special about Jonathan in your eyes, he's not afraid of anything.   

"Batman looked you up, didn't he?" Jonathan changes the subject quickly and you nod your head, you move away from his side to reach for a cart full of books to be arranged "He wanted my opinion on the riddler, can you believe it?" you laugh "I told him to look you up better, but you turned him down."

"That's right" he assures leaning on one of the bookcases for comfort, he looks at you picking up a book and you place it among several other books on another bookcase "I don't lend myself to that sort of thing".

"I know, killjoy Crane" you scoff boldly.

"Whatever you say" he sighs "I have to go, there will be a meeting at the university" Before you could say goodbye properly, he approaches you to give you an extremely momentary hug, it was so fast that you couldn't return the hug because he had already separated from you. You swore you could smell some of his cologne.

"uh yeah, see ya" You are barely able to utter the words without getting over the small contact they made, he has said goodbye to you like this, but you are still not used to it.

Jonathan smiles at you picking up his briefcase that you didn't see in the first place, walks to one of the tables where the TV control is, picks it up, and turns off the TV "I don't like you watching that" he tells you already heading for the exit where the guard re-enters the library.

You wrinkle your forehead due to irritation. Sometimes you don't understand Jonathan.

You genuinely thought your head was going to explode from the pain. 

Being in Arkham meant being cut off from the outside, you had no idea of the chaos that erupted overnight, the perverse game of Batman and Riddler was so forceful, that Arkham unexpectedly came into the spotlight when the green-masked man was captured. An alert in your head went off when you heard from a very nervous guard. You thought it was almost impossible for Batman to catch Riddler, and that he's here being processed to this hospital gives a lot to suspect.

The report Batman showed you are not wrong, the madman of riddles is too elusive to be caught in such a short time.

Why? You ask yourself, why did he let himself be defeated?

The hospital was in chaos with the arrival of the new patient in the middle of the night, nurses running around, and security guards moving patients to different cells temporarily, you were taken out of your small cell to another one just as small and almost the same.

Even with suspicion in your being, you don't understand what all the fuss was about, not even when they paraded the Joker through the main hall in a straitjacket as if he were a villain from some movie did they get as upset as they are now with Riddler.  

You sat on your new bed just as hard as the one in your previous cell, not wanting to catch the social panic you try to meditate, Mr. M advised you to do so and since then you put it into practice.

Maintaining a state of relaxation is difficult but you have practiced it for months, you started the breathing exercises, and as you slowly inhale and exhale your thoughts begin to melt one after the other, calming you down, and making your anxiety about all the fuss disappear.

You exhale again and inhale hard again, you could be doing this all day, you have nothing to worry about, you're in your world, locked away from society, and must be recovering from whatever Riddler did as his closing snap.

You open your eyes and stop doing your breathing exercises, you hear a laugh. But not just any laughter, but a loud and annoying laughter, you instantly get up from your bed and run towards the door with a small glass window. The laughter was not your imagination, and you can recognize it now that you are closer to the door.

You don't see any guards guarding this section of cells, how strange. The laughter continues unabated. It must be some neighbor of your cell because of the proximity of the noise and you have an idea of who it might be but you ignore it for only a few minutes, you can't take it anymore and yell "Can you shut up for once?".

Your cell neighbor stops laughing and you can finally feel at peace, but instead starts a conversation.

"Scarecrow?" you close your eyes just hearing that horrible nickname he gave you at some point during his hospital stay. relatively the two have been in Arkham for a similar amount of time, both trapped by Batman and calling them the dark knight's worst enemies. 

But you could never compare yourself to someone like him Joker. 

You had a chance to get to know each other when you let him participate in common activities, you don't want to remember the first time you spoke to each other, it ended badly, period.

"Don't call me that, asshole" you insult him and he sounds pleased with your response.

"Ah! Are we sensitive today? It's a holiday! Let's celebrate!" 

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"our guest of honor has arrived, only his final trick is missing!" he continues to speak in that animated voice that irritates you.

When you talk to the Joker you get that feeling that he is speaking in another language, but he is not, you understand what you are saying but at the same time, you don't. You also realized that he knows too much to be just an Arkham patient. 

But everyone at the hospital can assure you that your neighbor is not an ordinary patient at all.

This time you managed to understand his words, Riddler still has an ace up his sleeve, how could the Joker find out about that?

"Did Batman interrogate you too?".

"Of course he did...I'm his favorite!" he replies in the same arrogant manner as always "but I don't forgive him for being so crude on our anniversary."

"So you saw it, huh? I don't think this is a coincidence" You suppose the Joker must have seen it too, of course, he may be reciprocally insupportable but he's not stupid.

The clown laughs, but you don't, you didn't say anything funny in your opinion.

"Poor little Riddler, he thinks he can be just like him."

You ponder what he says, returning to your bed as you sit up again, the sky begins to clear and you can see it through the tiny barred window.

What if this assassin wanted to imitate Batman in some way? 

"What a bizarre introjection you've made, Riddler" you whisper.

First, there was an explosion.

You felt the whole cell rumble, you woke up instantly and got up from your bed to run to the door even with your eyes swollen from sleep, naively you thought it was some kind of earthquake. You stuck your face to the glass of the door in search of a guard or nurse, whatever it is that will help you get out of this cell, you don't want to die here.

However, the section was still empty, there was no one in the guards' small surveillance cubicle, and you could only perceive the monitors on, showing the news. 

You heard a completely strident noise, there was no earthquake. You turned slowly to the window, the color was changing from gray to orange.

It can't be.

you rush to see what's going on, you grab a piece of your bed to climb on it and reach the high window of the cell, you level yourself by holding your hands on the rusty metal bars, and you catch a glimpse of what caused such a noise. 

You saw the light of an explosion, the combination of yellow and red colors coloring the sky, the smoke, the fire. The explosion happened far away from Arkham, but you can still see it in detail, then the noise became present, and you grimace at the impact on the walls, but it was not over yet.

Explosion after explosion went off all over the city, from bridges to seawalls, a scene so hard to believe if you weren't watching it right now.

The sight takes your breath away, you are so stunned that you almost fall to the floor witnessing such an act, this is what the Joker is referring to? the Riddler's final trick?

not even the scarecrow did so much damage to this city, you underestimated the man with the riddles.

You could not take your eyes off the explosions, there were too many and well-armed to generate so much destruction. The second thing was the water, the waves and drains getting out of control and flooding several streets.

You grip the metal bars tighter, not believing this is real, but it is. Not just bombs but a flood, was that what he had under his mask? Is Gotham drowning with innocent people? 

It makes sense now, his cooperation when caught, the guards' restless attitude, and Batman's uneasiness.

All.

Suddenly you focus on the bustle of what seems to be your cell neighbors, you didn't notice when they put the other patient in the cell next to yours. The noises came together to form a horrifying atmosphere. The laughter of the Joker, the excited laughter of your other neighbor, and the explosions that went on and on. Even with your breathing exercises, you could not relax in the face of this horrifying event.

Slowly you let go of the bars and stop looking in the window, slowly you understand one thing.

Someone beat Batman.

Thank you very much for reading! And sorry for the mistakes!*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧.

[osunism]

Muse's Fanfic Masterpost

⚠️ Please read before following/interacting. ⚠️

A rebloggable version of this.

I reserve the right to set and maintain boundaries with my blog and my writing. As a rule, I block ageless/blank/minor-run blogs. This blog is run by a real adult and so I only want to interact with other actual adults because my content lends itself to being adult-oriented.

Every original female protagonist I write unless otherwise stated is a dark-skinned Black woman. Sometimes I will include art or a model for closest approximation, but for the most part I make this explicitly clear in the narration.

I usually only write OC/Canon ships. That is central to all of my writing. I know a lot of people are weirdly hostile about OCs being shipped with their favorite characters but I promise you it’s not and never will it ever be that serious. If you’re a dick to me about what I choose to write, at best the only attention you’ll get is a block.

That being said let’s just get this out of the way: I write characters who like to fuck. Sex is going to happen in my work so if that gives you the ick well…you’ve been warned.

I do not take requests. Writing is already very taxing for me given my health issues and schedule, and I want to focus on writing things that I personally enjoy, this includes prompts I choose to participate in.

For my roleplayers and those who like to ship one another’s OCs and do collaborative worldbuilding and headcanons: please ask me first before taking things from my personal sandbox. I’m very protective of my little corner and would rather do things like that with those whom I’ve established a close rapport.

Do not ask me about BioWare [Dragon Age and Mass Effect] content. Yes, my work is still available to read. But I no longer have any interest in creating content for that fandom, so don’t ask me about it.

My purpose and goal in my fanfiction is not to be strictly canon-compliant, and my interpretation of canon events and characters may and likely will differ from yours. Canon is not sacrosanct to me. If you find my work disagreeable because of this, feel free to go read something else suited to your tastes!

If you like my work, pleasepleaseplease share it. Liking my posts or giving kudos on AO3 doesn’t do much if you don’t share it for others to read. Comments are highly encouraged and appreciated as well. It’s always good to see feedback on how people interpret my work. It also helps me refine my writing in order to get my stories across more clearly.

Due to the frequent racist hostility and unpleasantness in other fandoms I inhabit, my comments on AO3 are moderated as a rule. Act like someone raised you right before you interact with me. This includes checking your racial biases at the door.

Below is a list of all my current works. Since I’m currently only active in the JJK fandom, those are the works that’ll be listed! Once other fandoms get active, this list will be sorted and updated!

⛩️ AO3 𑁍 FFN 𑁍 Parallax OCs 𑁍 Sonder OCs 𑁍 Headcanons & Meta ⛩️

Fic Status Key

[♡] - AO3 version.

[⭑] - Tumblr version.

[♤] - Fanfiction(dot)net version.

[🚩] - Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

[🔏] - Commissioned Fic

[∞] - In Progress

[☥] - Rewriting

[☯] - Complete

[📿] - Parallax

[🔮] - Sonder

[🪄] - Lost Worlds & Endless Nights

Relationship Key

🧿👹 - Satoru/Sundari

⛩️⚔️ - Sukuna/Nadja

🧿🧜🏾‍♀️ - Satoru/Asabé

⛓️👸🏾 - Toji/Akasha

⛓️👩🏿‍🦱 - Toji/blackfem!Reader

Relevant Tags

#muse writes

#fic rec

#jjk x oc

#jjk x black oc

#jjk fanfic

#jjk fanart

#fic: [ficname]

#series: [seriesname]

#ch: [charname]

#oc: [ocname]

#otp: [shipname]

noun [📿] par·​al·​lax ˈper-ə-ˌlaks ˈpa-rə- 1. the apparent displacement or the difference in apparent direction of an object as seen from two different points not on a straight line with the object. especially: the angular difference in direction of a celestial body as measured from two points on the earth's orbit.

Nadja Hikmat, an immortal warrior tasked by Heaven itself to hunt Ryōmen Sukuna, falls in love with the sorcerer instead. From that fateful meeting, a ripple of unforeseen changes echos across the sea of time.

Beast of No Nation [♡] [⭑] [♤] – One night, the King of Curses took an over-curious fugitive of heaven to task. Over the course that night, and the many that followed, she found herself continuously drawn to the jujutsu world. [☯] [📿] ⛩️⚔️ || 🧿👹

If [♡] [⭑] [♤] – One night, Satoru meets a woman with strange tattoos who sears a place on his mind and memory. Who is she? [☯] [📿] 🧿👹

Crystalline [⭑]– The night Itadori Yuji takes in Sukuna’s Finger, Satoru sees Sukuna’s cursed energy erupt in Roppongi and finds a familiar face at its epicenter. [🔏] [☯] [📿] 🧿👹

We Might Even Be Fallin' In Love [♡] [⭑] [♤] – The miracle of existence bridges the infinity between them. [☯] [📿] 🧿👹

Daughter of Disgrace [♡] [⭑] [♤] – In the aftermath of Satoru Gojo’s sealing, Sundari must choose rebellion in order to free him. Lucky for them both, rebellion has always been her preferred modus operandi. [☯] [📿] ⛩️⚔️ || 🧿👹

The Godslayer Project [♡] [⭑] [♤] - Coming soon...

The universe conspires to keep one pair's love kept safe. Nadja and Sukuna walk Samsāra, no matter the form, recognizing one another's souls everywhere they meet. Here is how their meeting ripples across the multiverse. [Or: I am in love with these two and here are some AUs I'm cooking up.]

Highball [♡] [⭑] [♤] - The price of peace has a cost. The scales must balance eventually. [Yakuza/Found Family AU]

noun [🔮] 1. the feeling one has on realizing that every other individual one sees has a life as full and real as one’s own, in which they are the central character and others, including oneself, have secondary or insignificant roles: In a state of sonder, each of us is at once a hero, a supporting cast member, and an extra in overlapping stories.

A collection of fics in my sprawling JJK multiverse featuring various protagonists, including the Reader!

The Unforgiving Roads That Lead to You [♡] [♤] – Roxanne Abaza, the only foreign-born special grade sorcerer in existence, is called to assist with the wrangling and exorcism of Ryōmen Sukuna. What ensues is more than she bargained for. [☥]

Halfsleeper [♡] [⭑] [♤] – A young widowed sorceress seeks protection under the aegis of the Honored One, but he has a better idea for keeping her out of the clutches of her dangerous clan. [∞] 🧿🧜🏾‍♀️

Unsanctioned [♡] [⭑] [♤] – Bodyguard/Yakuza AU. Toji Fushiguro, who is in disgrace after having an affair with his boss’ now ex-wife, is now tasked with protecting her as the mercurial grounds of Tokyo’s Underworld begin to shift into uncertainty, putting the entire syndicate and anyone associated with them in peril. [∞] ⛓️👸🏾

Before It's Gone [♡] [⭑] – Toji’s been darkening your doorway for a while and is only now realizing what you already knew. [☯] [🔮] ⛓️👩🏿‍🦱

These are playlists for the fics and characters within my JJK ‘verse. It cannot be overstated how much music plays an integral role in my creative process, and it makes me happy to share it with you all to expand the picture I paint with my stories. A ☮︎ indicates a link to the Spotify version of the playlist. Keep in mind that due to licensing issues [yuck], my personal music library tracks can’t be played on some services so there might be more or less songs, different versions of songs, etc. Still bangers, tho. Enjoy.

🎧 [ fugitive of heaven ] [☮︎]– Nadja Hikmat's playlist. Like her immortal life, this playlist has been curated across decades, evoking imagery of a wild, twisting sojourn through many eras. 🐍

🎧 [ godslayer principle ] [☮︎] – Sundari Hikmat's playlist. Expect atmospheric haunting, psytrance, hard techno, some house, R&B, trap, and strange chanting. 🔱

🎧 [ ritual + bone ] [☮︎] – Roxanne Abaza’s playlist. Witchy, just like our girl likes it.

🎧 [ highball ] [☮︎] – The soundtrack for my Parallax AU: Highball.

© 2024 Hajara Asiri. Do NOT copy, translate, plagiarize, repost anywhere without permission [reblogging posts is okay]. This includes feeding any of my writing to an AI as well as copying my masterlist format. I only upload on Tumblr, AO3, and FFN. All general banners and dividers by @cafekitsune.

☕️ Member of the @pixelcafe-network.

🇵🇸 Palestinian Resources - A guide to Palestine as well as resources in order to help with relief efforts for individuals and families. You can also check my main blog for fundraisers I boost as well.

[ao3-shenanigans]

Okay wait here me out!

I never truly understood Hanahaki AUs where once character A confesses, B's all like "Actually, I liked you too for a while now!" because isn't it a sickness about unrequited love?

Don't get me wrong, I don't mind when characters finally confess and they get the sickness cured but what about literally SO MANY OTHER POSSIBILITIES!! I have a couple ideas in my head but don't have the chance to write them atm, but I was wondering about your thoughts on them!

So the first idea is what if you still want that happy ending but don't want the instant gratification? Like, A confesses to B and B is like "I'm sorry, I don't love you, but I want to take care of you to make this process go smoother for you." (And maybe add some guilt for some ✨spice✨) And eventually, B SLOWLY falls for A as they take care of them, but are unaware of said feelings until A's final dying breath and their final request is at least a kiss, even if B didn't love them. B desperately follows through trying to save A after realizing that they finally got feelings for them and BOOM! Happy ending!

Another idea is where character A is Aromantic so they literally cannot love B, and they know that. After realizing that B has gotten Hanahaki, A stays silent about it, not wanting to assume that B got it over them and wants to take care of them. B then says in a feverish state just how much they like A and let's just say the angst can get pretty heavy with this...

Now I like this one idea I have cause it mixes Hanahaki and the Red String of Fate! This one actually involves many characters and is a little more complex so my there are still some wrinkles in this idea, but what if A got Hanahaki for B, and B has Hanahaki for C, who's interested in someone else and C even gets with that person later. Eventually A confesses to B and B gets with A, curing A's Hanahaki, but B still dies because they couldn't let go of their feelings for C. That's when character D comes along, able to see the Red String! D can see other people's string, but doesn't have one for themselves for whatever reason (idk yet) and can see A's broken string and C actually even has a broken string because of their deep friendship to B. D then tries to figure out what the broken strings mean because they never seen it before, eventually falling for A, who (maybe) falls for them back. Again, still working on this idea! Just thought it'd be interesting to combine 2 AUs together!

This is all I have for now, but if you want more for me to share, I can gladly do so! If you could rate the Hanahaki trope in general out of 10 what would you pick? Feel free to even rate my ideas if you want! I won't take it personally if you don't like them, haha! Have a lovely week!

Friend I’m listening 👀

I did read a fic where the love interest couldn’t love back, not right away and it scared him because how are his feelings responsible for the life of his friend? How do you fall in love with someone on demand? It was really good

(I’ll link it below for anyone interested)

Ive read maybe 6 or 7 hanahaki fics? Its not one I frequent often, but I do enjoy the ones with a fun little twist in them :D

If you continue the AU please! Send updates and ideas! I’d love to hear them!

Fic mentioned:

Full, riotous bloom by BigTed on ao3