#mostly to make things much angstier

[touchofhemlocktea]

Inspiration and part one here

Drown me in my sins like I deserve

The House of Mysteries has become a labyrinth, no longer answering John's commands.

You have been claimed and changed. I own you and everything that you once claimed was yours.

John loses track of time as withdrawals wreck his body.

You will not escape this punishment as you have others. You will no longer drink or take any drug recreationally. You will face what you have done.

A piece of him practically screams through the Bond to just kill him already.

You will not die without my release. You will not end save by my power.

Compulsion drags John back to the innocent looking tablet. It lights up at his touch, spiking him with pain, as he's forced to start reading through the files again.

43 children

25 ended

5-no 7 now yet to be born

Some of them have a lot of information. Images, names, their other parents, dates of birth and death, copies of the contracts that had been used to claim them, and their personal testimonials of what happened to them stab him to his very soul.

Others are distressingly empty of information, the only evidence they existed at all being the broken potential family bonds among their existing kin.

Some of his kids were enough like him to get powerful, to rise above their owners and carve out their own places of power in the realms they had been taken too and been absorbed by. He feels a bit of twisted pride in that. At least his inheritance had done some good.

A lot of them had been relegated into the care of a place of healing in the realms, still recovering from the damage that had been done to them by John's many enemies. He secretly hoped they would be given the privilege of taking their pound of flesh.

Many had simply been consumed after their owners grew bored of them. A sharp spike of rage is consumed by his stewing guilt.

You will face everything you have done. You will face each of us one by one. As for your ultimate fate Father, that decision is mine and mine alone.

[fairyhaos]

◈ endearingly // lee dokyeom

dokyeom x f!reader, 1.6k+ words

tags: pet names, fluff, angstier than i thought it would be??, established relationship, idolverse, soonhoon cameo + jeonghan cameo

notes: ib a convo i had with an irl ab pet names!! sorry nb/male carats but this only worked with f!yn :(

summary: in which you hate pet names, but your boyfriend loves them. nevertheless, the two of you manage to make it work.

“Darling?”

“No.”

“Babe.”

“Ew.”

“Honey.”

“I’m not food.”

“Sweetie?”

“I’m literally not food, Seokmin.”

“Aw, come on,” your boyfriend, Seokmin, pouts sadly at you and then promptly faceplants onto your bed in a dramatic display of his distress. “Why can't I call you a pet name? Why don’t you like any of them?”

Sitting cross-legged at the head of your bed, you watch amusedly as Seokmin begins flailing about like a fish throwing a tantrum into your sheets before you. He groans, flips onto his back and stares up at you through his eyelashes, forehead wrinkling as he strains to look at you from his upside-down position.

“Is there really nothing that you like?”

You sigh, leaning back against the headboard. “They’re all so cringy, Seokmin. It makes me feel all… icky.”

Honestly, after six months of dating, it was inevitable that a conversation about this was bound to come up eventually. You're surprised he hasn't called you any pet names until now, but he mostly sticks to saying your name in the most enamoured tone possible, and it's only after the small incident a few hours ago that it's finally happened. The talk on your dislike of such terms of endearment. 

Seokmin sits upright, scrambling around so he can face you. “It’s just because you’re not used to them, I promise,” he says earnestly. "Once you start hearing them a lot, they become really cute!”

You shake your head. “No. Trust me, I really don’t like them at all. They feel really… objectifying. And I know you never mean it like that, but it still makes me feel all bad inside.” Seokmin's face falls, and you wince apologetically. “Sorry. That was probably a really weird thing to say. I'm sorry. It just makes me feel uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s okay,” Seokmin says. “I get it. And if it makes you feel uncomfortable, I won’t use them, don't worry about it.” He smiles brightly, and you pout placatingly, patting him on the head. 

“Sorry. I shouldn't have said that so harshly.”

“No, no, it's fine, trust me,” Seokmin reassures. “And it's not harsh. It totally explains why you reached the way you did earlier, so it's all okay. For realsies. I swear.”

But even as he says so, he’s still pouting profusely, head hung like a dejected puppy, and you wonder why this is getting to him so much. 

Seokmin is big on feelings, big on emotions, but he’s also getting better at handling the negative stuff. And normally, only significant things like acts of injustice or cruel words towards his loved ones will have him upset in this way, so you’re honestly quite confused.

This whole predicament arose earlier that afternoon, when you’d popped your head into the studio that Seokmin had told you he was working in, only to find him immersed in songwriting with Jihoon and Soonyoung.

That hadn’t been a problem, and you’ve walked into studios numerous times to find your boyfriend immersed in something with the other guys, but it’s the first time that what happened next had occurred—

Seokmin’s eyes had lit up when he saw you hovering in the doorway, and he waved you over with a grin.

“Hey!” he’d said, gesturing for you to come in. “Didn’t expect to see you here so early, baby.”

And at the pet name attached to the end of that sentence, you’d cringed immensely and physically recoiled, as if the term had literally grown arms and smacked you across the face.

The change in atmosphere had been instant, both Jihoon and Soonyoung looking confused at your demeanour.

“What is it?”

You couldn’t look Soonyoung in the eye even as he voiced his question, too embarrassed by your extreme reaction. “Sorry. I just. I don’t really like being called—that.”

Too busy looking at the floor, you didn’t notice the way Seokmin’s face fell also, but you could hear it in his tone.

“Oh… I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t know.”

The conversation had ended soon after that, with Seokmin promising he’ll be done soon and urging you to just wait at home. There had been no point in hanging around, especially with how stifling the studio had suddenly become. And true to his word, Seokmin came straight over to your house some minutes later, and then the subject had come up once again, and here you were.

It can’t be because of the embarrassment of it happening in front of his bandmates, you decide. If anything, you feel more embarrassed and ashamed for reacting so harshly. 

But Seokmin looks so dejected, even as he tries to wipe away his pout and leans over to snuggle into your side, burrowing into the space between your shoulder and your neck.

“Sorry,” you say again, because you're not sure how to fix this. “If you like them, then I guess I can get used to it…?”

Seokmin's shaking his head before you can even finish. 

“No, if it makes you uncomfortable, of course I don't want to use them,” he says. He reaches over to where your hands rest in your lap, beginning to fiddle with your fingers with his own. “I'm not sad about it. It's okay.”

You pout down at the top of his head, even though he can't see you. “Yes you are, Seokmin. What's wrong?”

He doesn't say anything, continuing to play with your fingers. When you close your hands into fists, preventing him from fiddling anymore, he whines in protest, taking his head off your shoulder to look at you petulantly. 

“Please tell me what's wrong, Seokmin,” you say, instead of giving in to the puppy eyes he's making at you. “I can tolerate the pet names if it means a lot to you, really. I promise it'll be okay.”

Seokmin hesitates, and then looks away, shoulders shrinking inwards. 

“It's just. I wanna call you something special. Like, your name is so pretty, and I love it, but I wanna be able to say something cute and unique that's just for me when I wanna call you over or whatever,” Seokmin admits. 

He looks up at you, just briefly, before he looks down at the bedding again, cheeks pink. 

“Some days, I can't even believe you're dating me. I can't believe I'm this lucky. And I just… wanted to call you something that could affirm that. And pet names seemed an easy way to show how lucky I feel to be with you. Shows how much I love you, you know?”

Your eyes widen. The L-O-V-E word hasn't come up between the two of you yet, but—after a relationship of six months, and a friendship that's been going strong for many years before this, perhaps it's not so surprising. 

It's definitely not surprising that Seokmin's said it first, though. He's always been big on feelings. 

(You love him for it.) 

“Oh,” you say softly, heart melting at his shy, sincere admission. “I feel the same way,” you say, and Seokmin looks up at you, eyes wide and hopeful. 

“You like me that much? You're willing to let me call you a pet name?”

“I love you,” you correct, smile widening. “And… well, I think we can work something out.”

───────────── ‘🧴, 

“So then what happened?” Jeonghan asks after you finish recounting your story to him over the phone. His face is slathered in some clay mask and in the blurry connection of the video call, he looks like a green-skinned, peeling zombie. 

You smile, shrugging. “We worked it out,” you say, sitting down at your sofa, phone propped on your knees so you can talk to Jeonghan better. “He's not calling me anything like baby or sweetie, but we're both happy with it.”

“He'll honestly be happy with anything,” Jeonghan says dryly. “He loves everything about you. You could say you want him to call you “boulder” and he'll agree.”

That makes you laugh. “No, he wouldn't. That's silly.”

“Trust me. He'd do it.”

“Lies.”

“Why don't you ask him and find out?”

There's the distinct pattern of beeps as someone inputs the passcode to your door, and then the telltale melody of the passcode being inputted correctly. You look up as the door opens, and Seokmin steps through, making you smile. 

“Speak of the devil,” you say, in Jeonghan's direction. “Seokmin just came home.”

“Hey there, girlfriend,” Seokmin greets you with a smile, coming over to kiss you on the forehead before peering at your screen. “Oh, is that Jeonghan hyung?”

“Hey there, boyfriend,” you greet back, smiling up at him. “It is. I was telling him about our new nickname system.”

“Oh!” Seokmin's face breaks out into a wider grin. “Well. It was your idea, so I'll leave you to it, my girlfriend. I'm all sweaty, though, so I'm off to shower first. Tell him I said hi!”

“Just say hi to me yourself, ” Jeonghan says amusedly. "I can hear you."

You laugh at Jeonghan's response, pecking Seokmin on the cheek before he moves off in the direction of the bathroom. 

“Welcome home, my boyfriend.”

“That's cute,” Jeonghan comments, once Seokmin has left the room. “He calls you girlfriend.”

You smile, and you know how heart-sickeningly in-love you look right now, but it doesn't even matter. 

“He does. The whole thing with pet names was just the idea of specialness between us, and the girlfriend and boyfriend thing do it quite well. Without making it sound like he's talking to a teddy bear. It's cute, right?”

Jeonghan hums. “I dunno. Teddy bears are pretty cute.” But then he smiles, all real and genuine and cracking the edges of his clay mask as he does. “I was right, though. He just loves everything about you.”

“Yes, he does,” you say, overflowing with fondness. “Good thing I love everything about him too.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit @dokyeomkyeom @hopeless-foolery

[batsandbirdbrains]

No idea what would end up happening in this one but

The one where Thomas and Martha Wayne are magically resurrected for like idk a week

But I want it to be the season 1 yj team that stumbles across them first and has to deal with them. Let’s make it be because of Klarion. Maybe he does some spell to resurrect the team’s grandparents, but lmao Robin is the only one with any dead grandparents somehow (at least on Earth) and for whatever reason, the spell latches onto the Waynes.

And while Klarion is cackling and disappearing into the void, Robin is just staring at the Waynes going “ooooh we fucked up. We really fucked up. Fuck.”

And the others just don’t recognize them. Not even Artemis, who’s from Gotham. They died long enough ago that a younger Gothamite wouldn’t necessarily recognize them.

So Robin just rushed over to them and is like “Heeyyy so I’m gonna need to you to come with us and not say your names and please just be very cool until I get you to Batman please.”

“What is a Batman.”

And Robin is giggling so nervously, a little hysterically, and he just whispers mostly to himself, “omg he’s gonna kill me”

“Robin who are these two?”

“That’s not important!!” Robin is so stressed. “No more questions please let’s just get back to the ship let’s get out of here let’s skedaddle!”

And while they’re on the bioship, Thomas and Martha are still asking so many questions and Robin eventually, reluctantly, tells them through a nervous laugh, “haha well you see, I’m sort of uh, your grandson? In a way?”

“What does that mean?” Thomas is having none of this.

Meanwhile Martha is pleased as punch and starts doting over him so much and fixing his hair and his cape and brushing the dust and dirt off his shoulders.

“Oh you’re just darling!” She gushes. “A grandson! And how old is our son now?”

Because Dick has already explained that they’ve been dead for quite some time. They’ve come to terms with it. And they’ve also gathered the secret identity thing he not so subtly whispered to them about, so they’re being very careful to avoid names.

“Oh, you know,” Dick chuckles, “he’s dad-aged. Sort of.”

Martha thinks he’s just so charming. Thomas is suspicious.

Wally actually snorts so hard at Batman being called “dad-aged” that the Gatorade he was drinking squirts out of his nose. Robin points and laughs at him.

When the ship lands, Dick rushes out and says in a high, panicked voice, “B, we have a situation!”

Bruce almost passes out when he sees his parents walk out of the ship. They look exactly the same as they did the night they died.

“Holy shit.”

Martha scolds him for his language. Thomas narrows his eyes and glances between Batman and Robin.

“Why does he not call you dad?”

And from here it can go one of two ways:

1. They find out Dick is adopted and then they move right on to become doting loving grandparents, it’s just that Thomas was getting confused about the reluctancy of Dick to call Bruce ‘dad’ on the bioship. He’d even stuttered over the word grandson. When he realizes it’s because Dick was just nervous about using the words because he wasn’t sure how they’d react when they found out he was adopted, they reassure him there’s no problem with it and they’re very excited to meet him. Thomas was just cautious that it might have been a trap of some sort.

Or for the angstier version

2. Dick ends up fleeing back to Mount Justice shortly after they’d all left for the batcave to explain things to Thomas and Martha, because they’d blatantly called him a gypsy and a street rat when Bruce told them Dick grew up in the circus and he adopted him after his parents died. Dick gets so upset, because Martha had been so nice to him and he’d really kind of enjoyed having a grandma for the first time he could remember, and now she’s looking at him like he’s dirt beneath her shoe. And they’re insisting he’s not really family, he’s not really a Wayne, and so he runs to Mount Justice and explains as vaguely as he can that they’re Batman’s parents and since he’s not actually Batman’s biological son, they don’t want him around and he doesn’t want to be around them anyway. He leaves out the gypsy shit and the street rat shit, but Wally can read between the lines, and he does his best to distract Dick.

Bruce comes back to check on him almost immediately, and he tries to convince Dick to come home, but he refuses to while they’re there.

“I know you miss them a lot and I’m sorry I’m ruining it for you but, but-“

“You’re not ruining anything,” Bruce whispers to him, holding Dick’s shoulders tightly. “You’ve done nothing wrong. They’re way out of line. You’re my son, whether they like it or not.”

Bruce sighs, because he can see that Dick is genuinely very upset.

“You can stay up here for now, if you want,” Bruce tells him. “Zatara says the spell that’s keeping them here will last a week at the longest. But I’ll come here to see you everyday if you don’t want to be home while they’re there.”

Dick just nods his head, not wanting to speak anymore. Bruce sits with him for a long time, just holding him, until he has to go back after a worried call from Alfred.

“Il come back in the morning,” Bruce tells him. “I’ll bring breakfast.”

“Okay,” Dick whispers. “Tell Alfie I said goodnight.”

Bruce is so upset his parents have upset Dick so much, but he’s really at a loss for what to do. He can’t just have them go stay at a hotel, they’re supposed to be dead. But at least he knows Dick has somewhere safe to stay in the meantime.

[makeitworse]

MI CASA, SU CASA

mtl open to sharing their gf. 18+ ft. OT8 SKZ

a/n: angstier than i was going for oops

𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐈𝐍 (MOST LIKELY)

honestly? he doesn’t actually care as much as others might think he would.

there’s zero insecurity— he knows his place in your life, knows how good he is at everything that matters, and knows he’s the one you crawl back to afterwards.

outwardly he’s unbothered. he won’t be intimidated by something done only on his permission. (lowkey just scared of you.)

might even ask how it was, then politely show you how it’s supposed to be done.

“you good?” you call out to seungmin, sitting at the kitchen table as you tided up the mess of the lounge-room. he just sips on his tea like it’s just another tuesday. maybe it is. “yeah, don’t worry about me.” he replies, deadpan. and he means it. because he heard it all— and you didn’t even come close to how seungmin gets you.

𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗

the idea of sharing has his heart stopping— until the name “hyunjin” comes up. they’ve been close forever, trust each other with everything, and honestly? he’s thought about it.

he’s a flustered mess when he joins in. blushes like crazy. needs reassurance before, after, during.

letting hyunjin share you like this is the only scenario where he feels safe. and since it brings you happiness, how couldn’t he be willing?

very clingy afterwards. you’re still his, after all. and the three of you are closer together now.

you’re curled up with felix afterwards, movie you’d long forgotten still playing on the tv. hyunjin left you both to have a moment alone. it wasn’t weird— but soft. deep with trust, the kind that only exists for the one you love and their favourite person. felix glances at you, freckled cheeks blushing pink, eyes soft and full of adoration. “think you enjoyed that more than i did,” you say. you hear hyunjin chuckle from the other room.

𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐍

he’s the jealous type, yes. but not with felix. he trusts the guy down to the bone. he won’t offer it himself, but if you insist and it’s with felix, he’s not opposed.

he romanticises the whole thing more than he should; sees it as something sensual, artistic, maybe even intimate in a way that’s deeply personal. takes his friendship with felix and relationship with you to a higher level of trust and understanding.

needs a lot of emotional closeness after. wraps himself around you, soft and quiet, like he’s reminding you who’s always there.

once you’re all skin and soft gasps, hyunjin doesn’t look away when felix’s hand trails over your chest. he watches. touches. joins. and when it’s just the two of you again, your body curled against his and your breath warm on his neck, hyunjin presses a kiss to your temple. “i had fun.” you whisper. “i’m glad.” he smiles gently. “only this once, okay?” but he’s already lying.

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐇𝐎

possessive. he hates that word, but it’s the truth. he won’t pretend to like the idea of you with someone else.

but if it has to happen, he’s the one calling the shots. he picks the guy. sets the rules. controls the pace, the contact, the whole damn room. might even give a demonstration.

you get your one night, and then it’s over. he’ll make sure of that. but don’t expect him to forget a single second of it, either.

you’re blissed out and breathless, chest heaving as you roll over to where minho’s seated on the bed. it’s his hand that curls around your throat, a reminder of who allowed this. “had fun?” he asks, brushing his knuckles down your cheek. “mhm.” “good. don’t ask again.”

𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍

he tries to put a brave face on, act the chill boyfriend, but inside he’s freaking out a little.

feels like he’s being compared, especially if the other guy is older or more experienced. but he trusts his hyungs. and he trusts you.

he lets it happen, mostly as a testament to himself that your love is secure.

might get lost in overthinking while you’re gone, but watching you come back to him— wrapped in his hoodie, smiling just for him— eases the worry.

jeongin envelops you in a wordless hug, hands holding you tighter than usual. you said it wouldn’t change how you feel about him, and he believes you. but still, he whispers into your shoulder: “you’ll tell me if i ever stop being enough, right?” you turn, kiss his lips, and say the only thing that matters: “you never could.”

𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒

the idea weirds him out a little, especially with how much he intentionally keeps his work life and relationship seperate.

that said, if it’s someone he knows really well, someone reliable who won’t complicate things— then maybe.

he’s very logical about it. “will this bring you something valuable emotionally? are we safe? okay. i trust you.”

doesn’t want details. doesn’t want to see it. but later, when he’s holding you, he’ll quietly ask if it was worth it— just so he can tuck the answer away for good.

chris leans against the bathroom counter, watching you brush your teeth like there’s nothing out of the ordinary. he was the one you ended the night with— and he’d never seen you so turned on for him. safe to say, it was the best sex you’d had together to date. you meet his gaze in the mirror and grin. “too freaky for you?” he rolls his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck. “you tell me.”

𝐉𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆

absolutely not down… unless it’s with someone he’s super close to. and even then, he’s talking himself in and out of it in the same breath.

only makes peace with it after tons of reassurance and boundaries that it’s just physical, no emotional ties.

gets real soft once you’re home. lowkey needs to be babied. will definitely ask you if he’s better at sex in a joking way. but he’s listening.

he warned you both to respect him, don’t get weird about it. but of course he’s the one to get weird about it. while you’re spooning him, he’s quiet. thoughtful. he blurts out, “did you prefer it? with him?” you smirk, pressing a kiss below his ear as you nestle your face into his neck— then shake your head. he rolls you both over till he’s hovering over you, pressing you down. “thought so.”

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐁𝐈𝐍 (LEAST LIKELY)

nope. not happening. not ever. even the thought of it has his skin scrawling. he gets in his head, starts spiralling, wonders what you need that he doesn’t have.

you reassure him that it’s nothing about him not being “enough,” but even if he knows that, it’s just how he feels anyway. you’re his one and only, and he wants the same for you.

doesn’t want anyone else touching what’s his. would rather go above and beyond to give you anything you want himself than let someone else try.

one word. that’s it. “but—” “no.” he isn’t yelling. he’s not upset. just sure. changbin has worked too hard to build something real with you. something safe. he doesn’t want you split between two hands. he cups your face, eyes warm but firm. “i’m yours. all in. no backups. no visitors.”

✉️: @lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @ferrarifinnick @namsgyu @riddlerloveb0t @loveesiren @ttturnitup @breakmeoff @pinkpunkdynamite @hydeonysus @emmiesoverthemoon @burlesquerade

[keferon]

I saw someone say that the kids should be from Troubled Kids Camp, and I see you, but I raise the angstier alternative: Group Foster Home

Damian (14) (Damus/Glitch)- Was in a housefire with his parents, only survivor, blind in one eye and suffered severe burns on his hands. Gets in trouble a lot for "breaking" things due to his severe lack of fine motor control

Sammy (14) (skids)- insert incomprehensible Scottish. Found homeless after his father was murked while they were on vacation. No other family, shuffled into the foster system. Smart as a whip, has a smart mouth that makes people think he's vulgar and stupid

Tristain (17) trailbreaker)- Dad sold stolen cars, got put in jail, Tristain got a juvie record bc he was 14 and helping his dad sell the cars without knowing about them being stolen. Acts as a protector for the other kids, frustrated about the fact he's aging out of the system without anyone ever actually wanting him.

Wyatt (15) (Windcharger)- single mom was a thief, dad nowhere to be found. Mom taught Wyatt everything she knew, Wyatt was kinda a kleptomaniac. Sticky (magnet) fingers that he got caught more than one because of. In and out of juvie, record like a store receipt, NOT allowed to wear clothing with pockets, struggles with being unable to stop himself from doing the thing that keeps getting him in trouble

Skylar and Theo (14) (Skywarp and Thundercracker) - Two outta three triplets who were separated from their third brother Simon (Starscream) after their parents died, because Simon was picked by a foster family who didn't want the other two, leaving them stuck in the group home by themselves. Suffer from separation anxiety and self worth issues. Miss their brother a lot.

Shaun (16) (Soundwave)- Dad died in a car crash, Shaun's baby brothers Randal and Fred (Rumble and Frenzy) were adopted by a different couple who didn't want a third child who was much older than two 3 year old twins. Quiet, keeps to himself, tries to keep the peace in the group home. Mostly spends time with his Maine Coon, Ravage, who's a stray he managed to convince his social worker to get registered as his emotional support animal. Ravage, being a cat, is VERY unhappy about being surrounded by water everywhere. Only likes Shaun.

I have Thought About This for a while :)

Oooooooohhhhhhh I see your vision I see it.

Although my usual approach when it comes to converting weird names is just. Don give a fuck about a human child being named Bonecrusher for example lmao

But regardless this is such a bitter origin for them kfswdvsccsbuuueueueue

[for-those-who-wait]

I find so interesting the duality of your art, seriously. Your drawings are most of the time very cute and silly but when I started reading your fanfiction I was like, taken a back a little. Like, wow... It's filled with angsty and much complex feeling within in each character you write. When I was reading "purring and a myriad of things" I thought it would be a very cute adventure of the hexsquad but they were all scared, sad and mostly suffering. And to be honest, I love every aspect of your art. Be it the cute one or the serious one. Very nice very nice

Thank you, I'm so glad that my work is enjoyable!! I think someone else mentioned a similar thing with my written vs visual art and I do think the difference in trends is pretty funny, especially when I hear people being a little shocked about it :) I find myself being drawn to darker concepts and discovered that I just tend to write out those concepts instead of drawing them (and boy do I love writing them!!). But to be fair it's hard to draw severe angst when most of the time you like to draw like this hahaha

I'll likely make some angstier art for Rot or pincushionx's Ghoul Hunter AU whenever I get back into art more often, but at the moment I'm just kind of sitting with my everything block

Sorry for the ramble but thank you for the ask and the kind words, I'm super glad you like everything and I hope you like whatever I make in the future <3

[egcdeath]

out in the open

pairing: patrick zweig x f!reader

summary: your wedding night doesn’t go as smoothly as you expect it to. succession au - tomshiv adjacent (previous parts: part 1, part 2, part 3)

word count: 8.8k

warnings: failmarriage, fluff in the beginning, cheating, angst, jealousy, hurt/comfort, mentions of alcohol and smoking, suggestive content, insecurity, patrick is kinda the worst in this. he does get better though.

author’s note: full disclaimer things are pretty angsty and they only get angstier from here. cheating is a major plot point from this point forward. there will be a few happier moments but it’s mostly bad vibes and tension from this point on.

i say this with every fic i post in this universe but i truly could not have written this without the help of my succession anon!! weddingnightgate (WNG) is such a big moment in this au and they really helped me get my thoughts in order and helped me world build. i hope you all enjoy the upcoming pain!

When you were young, you always dreamed about your wedding. You fantasized about a huge venue somewhere halfway around the world that would easily fit all of your closest friends and family members and of celebrity guests who would give you well wishes for the marriage and smiled at you in spite of their envy at your beautiful event. You imagined a gorgeous, intricate dress with a train so long that you’d need assistance going down the aisle, a cake the size of your tallest guest, and a groom who was as handsome as he was loving, pressing the promise of True Love’s Kiss onto your lips after he read you his vows.

Maybe your enthusiasm for weddings was fueled by a few too many movies where the princess found her prince charming and lived happily ever after with him, but you still fell in love with the idea of love, and the thought that a wedding should be as beautiful as the love itself was.

You would never forget the first wedding you attended, despite being so young that you shouldn’t have really recalled it. You somehow managed to worm your way into being the flower girl at your aunt’s wedding, skipping excitedly down the aisle of the beachside venue, tossing flowers with reckless abandon. As you watched the rest of the ceremony from the safety of your mother’s hip, you couldn’t help but to imagine yourself being the one to walk down the aisle someday. 

Much like your first wedding memory, you also couldn’t forget the first time you learned about divorce. Though you were young, the memory of your best friend crying next to you during recess as she sobbed out the news that her parents were splitting forever stuck out in your mind. You’d been fed the idea that love was strong and everlasting for so long, that the very notion that there were some things that love couldn’t withstand rocked you to your core. 

From that point on, you became more grounded in your approach to love. Love was rarely a fairytale, and it was naive for you to assume that your future wedding would be one either. 

As the years went by, you grew more realistic about your expectations for the future. You found a boyfriend who you dated throughout the latter half of your undergraduate years and through your time in business school, and fully expected to settle down with him—though you knew you’d be settling in the most literal sense. While he was a stable figure in your life, he was boring, and his aspirations in life for both you and himself didn’t align at all with what you saw yourself doing. He wanted a wife, and you wanted to make a name for yourself doing the work that was meaningful to you.

When he got down on one knee in front of you, you realized that you had two options in front of you: follow your own dreams or follow his. 

Naivety be damned, you chose yourself and never looked back. 

In your pursuit of making your non-love related aspirations come true, you abandoned all hope that your pipe-dream of a fantasy wedding would ever come to fruition. It occasionally felt like your hopes were incompatible—to be a successful businesswoman meant giving up all prospects of a romantic life. It seemed like everyone you encountered was put off by your lack of work-life balance, or wanted to hunt you for sport and turn you into a trophy wife. 

You’d practically given up all hope by the time you met Patrick, fully expecting to be able to use him for a brief fling and a connection to get into his family’s company. What you weren’t expecting was to find someone whose company you genuinely enjoyed, who understood you on a level you hadn’t experienced with anyone else, and a love that occasionally left you wondering if you were a protagonist in the movies you loved watching as a girl. 

If someone told you that years after meeting Patrick, that one day you would be gazing into his eyes with tears in yours as you listened to his vows, or telling him that you do take him to be your husband, to have and to hold, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, ‘till death did you two part.

Your wedding ceremony felt straight out of your girlish dreams, with Patrick’s beautiful family castle serving as the venue, paparazzi-worthy guests, a dress that felt like a direct product of your wildest imagination, and a groom that seemed to be as close to a prince charming as reality could get. 

You were on cloud nine throughout the ceremony, basking in every single moment. You felt like you were floating by the time you got to the reception, your brain in the clouds as you and your now-husband cut your massive cake and gave toasts. 

It was all a blur in the best way possible, your elation making what you thought might be an embarrassing moment of a first dance exciting, and the subsequent socializing with guests substantially more bearable. 

What was slightly less bearable was the speed at which you were separated from your husband, the two of you occasionally catching the others eye from across the room, but otherwise being separated from surprisingly demanding guests who wanted to wish you luck on your marriage or excitedly share how amazing they found the ceremony to be. 

Occasionally, you were able to squeeze in a brief moment with your spouse, bringing him a flute of champagne and momentarily pulling him away from an exceptionally chatty shareholder, but you seemed to be frequently whisked away from each other. 

After what felt like a lifetime apart from each other, you felt the familiar, comforting warmth of Patrick’s hand on your lower back as he approached you from behind. When he announced to the extended family members standing across from you that he needed a moment alone with you, you almost leapt with joy. Nothing seemed more appealing than a private conversation with him after a long night of socializing with friends and colleagues. 

It almost felt ironic that during an event that should’ve been focused on the two of you as a pair, you were separated and kept apart by people with business pitches and opposing interests, excited to hop onto whatever opportunity your union might bring them. 

Patrick took you by surprise as he led you up the stairs and to your bedroom. It seemed a little early to begin your wedding night festivities, but if he was really that enthusiastic about it, you were certain that you could share some of his excitement. 

“Thanks for getting us out of there,” you commented as you shut the door behind you. “So much for not talking about work at the wedding. I guess it’s too much to ask for one day to celebrate you being my husband before talking about the business again.”

You walked over to the vanity, preparing to touch up your makeup. You shot a glance over at your partner, who cautiously sat himself down on your bed, fidgeting with his hands as he did so. Not paying him any mind, you began to reapply your lipstick in the mirror and looked at his reflection, catching that he seemed to be in deep thought, but not thinking too much of it. It was probably something a shareholder told him. Maybe his sister was planning yet another attempt at a hostile takeover of the business. 

“Husband. Wow, you’re my husband now. That feels so crazy to say. Husband, husband, husband,” you mused, a ball of excited energy.  “Well, husband, what did you pull me in to talk about? Is it Sherry’s dress? It’s really hideous. I can’t believe she would wear something like that to our wedding,” you continued to ramble. “Or do you want a sneak peak of what I’ve got going on under this dress?”

You were shocked to find Patrick mostly unresponsive to your rapid words. He was never one to turn down the opportunity to gossip about his social circle or flirt with you. You pulled your attention away from yourself in the mirror and turned your head back to look at your husband, only to be met with a mostly unreadable expression, apart from the hint of a sad smile on his face. 

Suddenly, things didn’t feel so fun. For some unexplained reason, you felt a small pit appear in the depths of your stomach. While you didn’t know exactly what was wrong, something obviously didn’t feel right. There was no reason for your partner to be looking as unsettled as he did on his own wedding night. 

“You’re not having second thoughts already, are you?” you stood up and began to approach him from where he was sitting on the bed, making it more apparent to you that his brows were drawn together in what could only be the beginning of a frown. 

“Of course not,” he assured you, though guilt was written all over his face. You weren’t sure how you should interpret your husband looking like a child who just broke an expensive vase on your wedding night, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. “But I need to tell you something.”

“What?” you laughed nervously, the small pit that appeared in your stomach growing into a slightly larger pit. As much as you wanted to dismiss it as nothing, the heavy tension hanging in the air warned you that the odds of his confession being nothing were growing slimmer and slimmer with each passing moment.  

“Uh,” he paused as if he was considering his next words very carefully—almost as if he didn’t want to say them at all. You desperately wanted him to speak, rather than keep you hanging. With your nerves exponentially growing with every passing second, you began to feel like if he didn’t say anything soon, you might throw up all over your reception dress.  

“Patrick, please spit it out. You’re kinda scaring me,” you could already feel yourself growing upset, despite the fact that he hadn’t said a single word to indicate what was going on with him. Your heart quickened in your chest as you anticipated his next words, despite not having a clue about what might come out of his mouth.  

“We always said that if something happened, we could handle it like adults,” the statement was vague and simple, yet Patrick seemed to be choking it out. His cryptic message rattled around in your brain as you desperately searched for meaning in them. Before you could even begin to ask him what he meant, you registered the dismissive, callous language. 

Though he didn’t say it often, he had confused you with those very words before—the verbiage alarmingly reminiscent of what he told you before your bachelorette party, or when you brought up the lack of an infidelity clause in his prenup. 

If anything ever happened with anyone else, we could both handle it. We’re adults and we can handle things like adults.

Though his words were curious, you dismissed them at the time, never expecting that to be an issue. Of all of your problems with Patrick—his difficulty expressing his emotions, his complicated relationship with his family, his lack of experience in love—you never expected infidelity to be one of those problems. 

You swallowed, your saliva feeling thick and poisonous as it slowly crept down your throat. “Honey, what do you mean?”

Patrick didn’t speak, looking down at the pristinely folded sheets in front of him rather than at you. “I’m sorry,” was all that he managed to get out. 

You looked at Patrick blankly, waiting for him to tell you that whatever you were assuming wasn’t true or that he was pulling some sort of cruel prank on you. Instead, all you were met with was the sound of blood urgently rushing through your ears and the faint bassline of whatever song the DJ was playing at your reception. 

“You know that love is complicated for me,” he looked in your direction, but couldn’t sustain eye contact with you. “Can we be adults about this?”

Once it became clear to you what exactly Patrick was trying to tell you, your knees gave out on you, the rest of your body overwhelmed with the unfathomable information that your brain was trying to process. Patrick cheated on you—and he was telling you just hours after you got married. 

The truth of the situation sucked the air right out of your lungs and the strength right out of your body. Your knees buckled under you, and you desperately seeked out anything you could sit on. You settled on the foot of the bed, across from where your husband nervously sat. 

“Fuck,” you dug the palms of your hands into your eyes, surely smudging the makeup on your eyelids as you attempted to collect your thoughts. “Who was it?”

“It didn’t mean anything to me,” he pathetically attempted to explain away. It all sounded like gibberish to you. For all you knew, your husband was speaking a totally different language to you. 

Despite your question and Patrick’s non-answer, you somehow felt like you knew exactly who he’d been with. The answer was all over his discomfort when he saw you talking to the woman without him by your side, and the way she sized you up and attempted to psych you out of marrying Patrick not even 24 hours ago. 

“Was it Tashi?” you asked, not even listening to his empty words and keeping your face frighteningly neutral. You spoke the words like you were playing a round of Guess Who, calm and even despite the budding feeling of dread in your stomach. 

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to. His deafening silence was answer enough

“Can I kick her out?” you asked with an alarmingly stable tone, still mostly unable to process this information, but knowing that it wasn’t good. 

“Yeah,” he replied quietly, head still hung and unable to make eye contact with you. 

As you took in the truly depressing sight in front of you—your husband’s hunched over posture, a shame so strong that he couldn’t even look at you, and his clipped, short answers—you couldn’t deny that you were tempted to comfort him. In any other situation, if Patrick was feeling a fraction of the negative emotion he seemed to be feeling in that moment, you would instantly be at his side, holding his hand reassuringly or holding him close in a way that told him that if no one else was there for him, you would be, but you weren’t sure you could legitimize his bad behavior with such a response. 

Instinctually, you reached out to touch him like you’d done a thousand times before, giving him a hug before a big event or spooning him after a family member said something that got under his skin, but you instantly reprimanded yourself. Despite how sad he looked, Patrick was the one who hurt you. You were the one who deserved comfort. 

You opted to pat Patrick’s back instead, a strange and impersonal action. For a moment, you felt less like his wife and more like a practically estranged family member, not sure how to greet you after meeting you for the first time three Thanksgivings ago. 

Your husband barely reacted to the stiff action, only looking at you wordlessly with glossed-over eyes. You got up from the foot of the bed and left wordlessly and neutrally, a robot whose only orders were to get out of the bedroom and shut the door behind you. 

The moment the door closed, the next goal settled into your mind—you couldn’t let Tashi spend another second in the venue, socializing with your family and drinking the wine that your parents so kindly provided to the wedding, as if she hadn’t been partaking in an affair with your husband. 

You felt half a bride and half a zombie as you left the confines of the bedroom and wandered the hallways. You were stone faced as you made your way back to the reception, trying to wrap your head and heart around devastating information that was shared with you at the most inopportune time possible. 

You made a slow march down the stairs, movement hindered by your dress, and imagined what you might say to Tashi once you saw her. You should’ve known something was off from the start. You should’ve trusted the bad feeling you had when she sized you up at the bar, smirking at you like the cat who got the cream before feeding you anecdotes about how sleazy your husband used to be for no apparent reason. You should’ve trusted that feeling when Patrick rushed over to pull you away.

You wished you paid attention when Patrick faintly smelled of feminine perfume when you surprised him by coming back from a business trip earlier than anticipated, or when you noticed a bracelet that didn’t belong to you sitting on your coffee table, one that disappeared the very next day. It was so easy to write the signs off at the time–the fragrance of your personal chef and the jewelry of one of his sisters–but it no longer felt that simple. Patrick was a lot of things, but you never expected that a cheater was one of those things.

The thought of Patrick with someone else made you nauseous, especially in your own home. You faintly wondered if they’d fucked in your bed or on the couch. If the answer was yes to either, you desperately wanted to burn the pieces of furniture. In fact, that would be the first thing you set out to do when you returned home after your honeymoon. Maybe you would even beg Patrick to move to a new place, one not haunted by the memories of him and another woman. 

That was, if your relationship even survived through the honeymoon. Let alone the night. You didn’t have a clue what your next steps would be. Would you be the fool who stays with a man who proved himself to be disloyal? Or would you be the fool who offered herself to the wrath of one of the most powerful families in the world? You would lose your husband, your job, and your livelihood in one fell swoop, surely being banished back to your family home in Minnesota, destined to be a receptionist at your father’s law firm for the rest of your life. 

The entire situation felt surreal in the worst possible way. You couldn’t believe that while you were dealing with the aftermath of this information, Tashi was waltzing around at your reception. More than that, you couldn’t believe the information itself: Patrick cheated. Your fiancé cheated. Your husband cheated on you. 

The same Patrick who became a groomzilla, laser-focused on giving you your dream wedding, cheated. The same man who confessed that he didn’t know what love felt like before he met you cheated on you. Your husband, who went out of his way to do anything to make you happy, even at the expense of his very powerful family, hadn’t been loyal to you. 

None of it made sense. Maybe you would walk back into the room and your guests would jump out from behind tables and reveal that this was all a cruel joke—a little hazing as you officially became a Zweig—their laughter filling up the room at the thought that you would ever believe something as ridiculous as Patrick cheating on you. 

You bit back bile as you walked into the room, the party continuing on the same way it had before you left and before you reentered—no prank to be found. The cacophony of loud music and the chatter of your guests filling your ears once more—what felt fun and exciting just moments before, now being far too overstimulating for someone trying to process information that could fundamentally alter the course of their relationship. You did your best to block out all of the extra noise and focus on your goal at hand. 

Find Tashi. Send her home.

You weren’t sure what you would actually do when you saw her. Would you yell at her? Slap her for being a homewrecker? Cry at the sight of her? Laugh at the absurdity of your husband telling you that he’d been having an affair with her on your wedding night?

Peripherally, you heard someone call your name excitedly, only slightly pulling you out of your trance. Still, you couldn’t find it in you to acknowledge whatever excited friend or family member as your eyes set on your target. Tashi Duncan, Patrick’s coworker and ex-girlfriend.

Where you admired her beauty and confidence just a day before, you found you now resented every positive aspect about her. As she stood by a table and talked to one of Patrick’s sisters, surely bored out of her mind by the delusional ramblings about his sister someday being the president, she nodded and smiled diplomatically. 

As you really began to think about it, you realized that she was the perfect candidate to be Patrick’s wife. She came from a background similar to his, his sisters liked her far more than they liked you—though that didn’t mean much—and physically, she seemed to be exactly your husband’s type. 

Part of you wondered if she was feeling as miserable as you were; if she’d spent the day imagining your wedding to be her own, if her own jealousy was blinding her the way that yours currently was blinding you, or if she’d begged Patrick not to marry you during their work meeting the previous night. The other part of you wondered if she thought of you as pathetic as you currently felt—a stupid woman so blinded by her own love that she overlooked every beaming, bright red flag.

Your pace quickened as you walked towards Tashi, heels clicking annoyingly as they marked your pace. As you made your way to the table, you found yourself growing more anxious, the first real feeling you’d felt since Patrick shared with you the truth about his infidelity.

“Hey,” you greeted Tashi and Patrick’s sister, voice surprisingly even for how agitated you were. “Mind if I chat with Tashi?” 

“Go ahead,” Cornelia shrugged. “Let’s stay in touch?” she asked Tashi, who politely agreed and watched the other woman walk off. 

Tashi opened her mouth to speak to you, presumably to comment on something asinine about the wedding, or to make an observation about your wedding that you’d already heard a thousand times that night. If you weren’t so upset, you would make a bet with yourself on whether she’d tell you how beautiful the wedding was, or how beautiful you and your husband looked at the altar.

“Your housing for the night fell through,” you explained in a very level tone. It wasn’t the best excuse, but it was what came out of your mouth.

“Oh?” she asked, sounding more than a little skeptical, before lifting her drink to her lips. “Do you know where else I might be able to find lodging at this hour?”

“No,” you replied quickly and with ease. “Actually, it’d probably be best if you just went home now.”

“Home like…?” she trailed off and eyed you curiously. 

“Like back to New York. I’m sure you can find a flight.”

She laughed in slight disbelief. “You realize this is a work function for me, right? I have work to do.”

“I’m sure you can do that work back home,” you dismissed, not backing down. By now, it was clear that Tashi was putting together the pieces of what you knew. In fact, you could pinpoint the exact moment when it occurred to her why the two of you were having this conversation in the first place.

Maybe it was the lack of your now-husband beside you, or the barely concealed emotion on your face. Regardless of what was your biggest tell on the situation, you continued to stare her down, resenting the way her lips shifted into a small smile, as if she still had the upper hand and knew something that you didn’t. It was almost as if she found the whole ordeal to be a little amusing, which only bothered you more. 

“No need to make a scene at your wedding. I’ll be on my way.” She lifted her glass up once again to finish the drink off, but you stopped her. 

You returned intense eye contact with her as you took the stemware right out of her hands and put it to your own lips, finishing the drink in a few large gulps. Though your action was impulsive, it felt like somewhat of a necessity. You desperately needed the liquid distraction from your less-than-ideal situation, and you didn’t want to give her an excuse to linger at your party a single moment longer than she needed to. 

She continued to stare at you, her expression somewhere in the middle of being impressed and weirded out. “Alright then. Well, congratulations on the wedding.”

“Fuck off,” you spat out, turning on your heel and walking away without bothering to see if she stayed or left. 

You made your rounds around the reception, smiling and talking to your guests with a fake smile plastered on your face. The shock of Patrick’s initial confession wore off shortly after you told Tashi off, but you still couldn’t help but feel completely numb to the situation. How else were you supposed to react when you found out the love of your life was sleeping with someone else? 

You continued to man the reception on your own, occasionally scanning the room but not catching a glimpse of your husband. You wondered if he was still in your bedroom, head in his hands as he wondered if he just opened a Pandora’s box on your relationship, or if Tashi went to go find him to discuss how poorly you reacted to the information. For all you knew, the two of them could be laughing at you or having sex in your wedding bed at the same time that you attempted to pretend that everything was perfectly fine. You grew faint at the mere thought. 

Eventually, you felt a familiar hand on the small of your back, something that typically was a welcome, comforting gesture. Instead, you wanted to flinch away from his hand like it was hot. You couldn’t believe that Patrick had the nerve to touch you like everything was fine after dropping such devastating information on you. Then again, at least he wasn’t hooking up with Tashi one last time. 

Still, even under the spell of a sadness that hadn’t quite settled in yet, you leaned into his touch instinctively. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t feel as comfortable as it did a few hours ago. 

“Such a beautiful ceremony,” a family friend of Patrick’s gushed to you. “You two have something really special.”

You felt Patrick’s eyes sear into you, desperately pleading for you to look back into them and show him that everything was going to be okay. That what you had was special enough that you’d be able to move past this. Like adults, as he said to you earlier.

You weren’t so sure that you could. 

The rest of the night moved painfully slowly. Where the two of you socialized separately before his private conversation with you, he seemed to be attached to your hip now, bringing you apology offers of champagne flutes and hor d'oeuvres.

Though he pleaded with you to handle your situation like adults, you wanted to act more like a petulant child. If you had it your way, you would reject his offerings of food by tossing them onto the floor, or throw a glass of sticky alcohol in his face as if you were a Real Housewife. 

If you had it your way, Patrick wouldn’t have cheated on you in the first place, and you’d be celebrating your wedding without the baggage of uncertainty for the future of your relationship. 

As you walked through the reception, you weren’t particularly angry or sad, you just felt numb. There was a strange concession in knowing that what happened in the past already happened, and that there was no way for you to change your husband’s behavior. For a moment, you wondered if the numbness was a symptom of the shock that was Patrick’s confession, or you would feel the dull thud of nothingness for the rest of your life. 

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding as you watched the last of your guests filtered out of the venue, relieved to finally drop the façade of being a happy newlywed and to embrace the true feeling of shock that had been biting at you all night.  

Somehow managing to break away from your suddenly very clingy spouse, you wasted no time gathering an unopened bottle of wine for yourself, along with a cigarette and a lighter, which you unceremoniously exchanged with a caterer for a Venmo payment. You then headed outside to a balcony that overlooked a beautiful sprawling garden. 

You looked out on the neatly trimmed hedges and the bench where you sat with Patrick not even twenty-four hours ago and distantly thought about how perfectly the night should’ve gone. You got married at a beautiful venue, had every detail down to the positioning of napkins meticulously planned, and most importantly, were marrying someone you genuinely loved and couldn’t see yourself living without. 

It was all rather devastating now, to see how just a few words managed to ruin what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life. 

You took a swig from the bottle, lamenting the fact that his affair partner had been drinking this very wine earlier that night. At the thought of Tashi, you took yet another hefty swig. 

Just as you reached for the lighter to light the cigarette you so desperately needed, Patrick burst through the doors of the balcony, slightly out of breath and sweat beading on his forehead. In between his heavy breaths, you swore you caught a sigh of relief. 

You couldn’t say that you were pleased to see him—after all, you’d escaped to the balcony to get a little time alone and to think through the night—but as you took in his dramatic entrance and disheveled appearance, it became abundantly clear to you that he’d been urgently looking for you. 

“Want some?” you asked, gesturing to the bottle. Your question was more than just an offer for a drink, but a peace treaty, offering Patrick to stay outside with you despite your more complicated feelings towards him. 

“Sure,” he agreed, still slightly out of breath. He collected himself as you passed him the bottle, locking eyes with you as he took a swig from the expensive drink. It felt like time moved a little slower as you watched his lips wrap around the opening of the bottle and the way his Adam's apple bobbed while the drink went down. 

You suddenly realized that complicated didn’t even begin to cover how you felt towards Patrick. You loved him more than anything, and you were sure that you needed him in your life—but beneath the thick layers of numbness was a reservoir of hurt, far deeper than you ever imagined you could harbor for the man. 

He passed the bottle back to you, his hands gently brushing over yours. Momentarily, you felt scandalized by the action, unsure if you should feel your cheeks heating up from the small touch or if you should flinch away from it. By the time the brief moment was over, you hadn’t done either, electing to set your gaze back over the rail instead of at your partner. 

Patrick stood silently beside you, not requesting anything more to drink or even attempting to make small talk. It seemed that he was just as aware as you were that he’d changed your entire dynamic with just a few words. You wondered if he realized just how much he’d fucked both of you by fucking someone else. 

You shivered in the cold night, your dress not providing you much coverage in the elements. If your wedding night had gone any differently, Patrick would’ve offered you his suit jacket, draping the item over your shoulders and kissing you sweetly. Then again, if the night had gone differently, you likely wouldn’t be shivering on the balcony in the first place. 

You squatted to set down the bottle on the ground and rediscovered the cigarette and lighter. Though you weren’t usually one to smoke, you desperately needed it after the shitshow that was your wedding night.  

Though you put the stick to your lips, you struggled to light the cigarette, the frigid breeze making everything slightly more difficult. It didn’t help that you hadn’t smoked since you were a teenager, giggling with your friends as you clumsily attempted and failed to light up the stick, the match pinched between your fingertips quickly burning down. The contrast between the silly memory and your far less silly reality felt jarring, to say the least.  

“Here, let me,” Patrick said softly, taking the lighter from you and cupping his hand around the tip of the cigarette. You tried not to look at him too closely as you listened to the soft clicking sound of the lighter. Though he should’ve focused on the action so he didn’t burn his finger tips or the palm of his hand blocking the wind, he didn’t seem to be able to look at anything but you. The light of the flame briefly illuminated both of your faces, momentarily giving you a better look at his sad eyes. 

You inhaled as the flame touched the tip, and turned your head to exhale the smoke, not wanting to blow it in the face of your partner or have to spend another second under the scrutiny of his intense eye contact.

Even as you looked away and into the garden below, you could feel Patrick’s eyes burning into you. You were sure that if you looked back over at him, you would see him looking particularly downtrodden, lips parted for words that were on the tip of his tongue that he couldn’t quite say yet, and eyebrows drawn together in a way that only seemed to highlight the sadness in his eyes. 

Unspoken questions lingered in the air like the smoke from the cigarette dangling from your lips. Though you didn’t care for the smell, you were pretty sure you preferred the smoke to the questions. 

Finally, a quiet question was spoken into the air,  “Can I?” Patrick asked, his eyes flitting from your eyes to your lips. 

“Sure,” you replied noncommittally as you pulled the cigarette away from you and passed it to your husband. Electing to watch him instead of the unchanging garden, you observed as Patrick’s lips closed over the space where yours had just been, covering the hint of a lipstick stain that you’d left on it. After a long drag, he passed the cigarette back to you, his hand brushing softly over yours once more as you did so. 

This pattern continued, a heavy silence falling between the two of you as you shared the cigarette, your hands caressing the other’s softly.

“Here,” you murmured as you approached the filter. Instead of passing it back to Patrick, you brought it up to his lips, watching him intently as he breathed in the smoke. 

For a moment, all you could see was his face, illuminated by the burning end of the cigarette, pupils blown with something you couldn’t quite place. You weren’t sure if you wanted to ravish him right there on the balcony or push him off of it.

He blew the smoke right back into your face, electing to still share the last of the cigarette with you. You wondered if that meant anything. It probably didn’t. 

The two of you stood looking at each other, staring wordlessly as you waited for the other person to move a muscle or say something—anything. For a moment, you considered telling Patrick that you wanted an annulment. But then again, that wasn’t exactly the truth. 

“I’m going to bed,” you broke the silence with your announcement. “I need to change out of this dress.”

You wished it were that simple. You desperately wanted to scrub the day off of you and to pinch yourself until you woke up. Surely, this couldn’t be your actual wedding night. Maybe you could wake up in the morning and find that this was all a bad dream—the manifestation of anxiety before your big day.

But, as Patrick trailed behind you in the hallway as if you would disappear if you left his sight, you were pretty sure that this was the reality. You wouldn’t wake up and find that your husband had been loyal to you. 

Your return to the room was a silent one. The moment you stepped foot through the door, it felt like you were back in that horrible moment; like Patrick was moments from revealing to you that Tashi was the tip of the iceberg. 

Bile rose in your throat once more. You made a beeline to the bathroom, hoping that the change of scenery might halt your thoughts altogether. 

You stepped out of the bathroom with an entirely different mindset than what you had as you entered. Sure, your wedding night wasn’t at all what you expected it to be, but it didn’t mean that you couldn’t put it back on the right track. In the bathroom, you slipped on a silky nightie, what you hoped would be a reminder to both of you that this wasn’t any old regular night, but your wedding night. Though, with the day you just had, you weren’t so sure that either of you would be up for a particularly romantic night. You guessed it couldn’t hurt. 

You left the bathroom as a woman on a mission, your eyes set on Patrick as you crossed the bedroom floor to get to him. Though he’d been laying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling like it had the secrets to the universe written on it, the sound of your entrance drew his attention over to you. You gently bit your lower lip and hoped that your face said ‘sexy’ rather than ‘so nervous you might be sick.’

His eyes stayed locked on you as you crawled into bed, and you hoped once more that the action of you moving towards him on your hands and knees didn’t appear as desperate as you felt on the inside. 

It felt like your evening consisted of one desperate plea after another: Please don’t do this to me. Please just pretend that everything’s fine. Please don’t leave me. 

He followed your lead as you trailed your hand up his arm and looked at him as seductively as you could manage before pushing him down onto the bed and straddling his lap. Distantly, you wondered how Tashi imitated things with him—if she did anything that Patrick liked more about her than you. You did your best to push that thought away, but failed miserably. 

Mechanically, you ran your hands through his hair and kissed him passionately. You tried to ignore the lump in your throat and reminded yourself that it was just Patrick. Things weren’t all that different, except for the fact that he was your husband now—and that he cheated on you.

You tried once more to push that thought out of your mind as you moved your hips against his lap, but your attempts were in vain. It certainly didn’t help that as you kissed him, you tasted the cigarette you shared earlier in his breath—an unwelcome reminder of the awkward tension that lingered between the two of you after he shared the truth about his infidelity. And surely, it was just your mind, but his lips almost tasted like the chapstick of another woman. 

Suddenly, all you could think about was Tashi with your husband. Him and Tashi in your bedroom, or in a hotel room, or on your couch. Did she do anything special that drove him crazy? What did she have that you didn’t? 

Your body said one thing, but your brain said something completely different. You did your best to power through the thoughts of your husband being with another woman, but you were beginning to realize that when it came to cheating, you weren’t all that tough. You bit down on Patrick’s lip in what you hoped would be a light nibble, but the taste of iron quickly filled your mouth. 

You slowed down your movements as your thoughts sped up before you gave up entirely. You supposed it was a classic case of mind over matter, and your mind was not nearly as strong as any of your physical urges. 

You shifted off of Patrick far later than you should’ve, feeling like a complete and utter failure. You couldn’t even do the one thing you should’ve been able to do during your wedding night. No wonder he found solace in someone else’s body. 

“I’m sorry,” you said weakly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

It took you rolling off of Patrick to realize that his face was damp, eyes glossy with a thin layer of tears threatening to fall. The pit in your stomach that had been steadily growing since Patrick pulled you aside to tell you something finally came to a head when you realized that your husband was crying.

“Why are you sorry?” he asked, his voice cracking on the last syllable of his question. 

A fresh tear rolled down his cheek, which was then followed by a few other droplets. He turned his head away from you and wiped them away quickly so you wouldn’t notice them, but the damage was already done. 

You’d never seen Patrick cry before—not when you watched sad movies that left you bawling, not when the two of you watched advertisements for puppies in shelters, not even when he thought his dad might be dying. To see him shed tears over you felt particularly unsettling. 

“Patrick?” you said his name softly, like he was delicate and going to break. 

“I should be the one who’s sorry,” he looked towards you once more, eyes now rimmed with red. “I ruined everything already. I'm so sorry.”

This was a complete wild card on top of a stack of wild cards. If someone told you that your wedding night would end with your husband telling you he cheated on you, a pathetic failed attempt at sex, then watching your partner cry for the first time in front of you, you would’ve laughed in their face. 

His crying continued, becoming slightly more intense as sorrow racked through his body. You’d never been in a situation like this before, so you were completely unsure of what to do. 

With all prior restraint to show him physical affection gone, you awkwardly slotted your arms around your husband. He automatically leaned into you, burying his face in your shoulder as he continued to shed quiet tears. Your shoulder quickly grew damp as you threaded your fingers through his curls, the repetitive petting being just as soothing for you as it was for him. 

Despite it all, you still felt a general sense of nothing at all. You were beginning to grow concerned, knowing that deep down there were certainly emotions that weren’t ready to approach the surface. You worried about what it might look like once those feelings finally came out, but that was the least of your worries when it came to your weeping husband. 

Patrick continued to cry quietly, the only sound in the room being his soft, occasional sniffles. You couldn’t even place how you felt or how long you sat there stone faced as you cradled your husband. 

Eventually, the tears on your shoulder dried and the intervals between sniffles grew further and further. Soon, the soft sounds of weeping turned into the long and deep breaths of rest. Between you playing with his hair and holding him, he must’ve fallen asleep. You couldn’t really blame him—given your eventful day, your all-nighter the previous day, and the energy it took for him to cry. 

You gently laid Patrick back down on his side of the bed, pulling a blanket over his chest and pushing back the hair on his forehead to press a kiss to him. He stirred slightly against the forehead kiss, but didn’t seem to wake up all the way. Even when your feelings were complicated towards the man, you couldn’t help being affectionate towards him. In some ways, you felt like you needed that affection just as much as he did. 

You let out a long sigh as the reality of everything truly began to set in, and you no longer had to be strong for your weeping partner. You couldn’t wrap your head around the sight of Patrick crying for the first time, or the fact that he cheated on you. You flicked off the bedside lamp, the only source of light in your otherwise darkened bedroom. 

You rolled over in bed and laid on your back, setting your hands on your stomach and staring up at the ceiling. You traced your eyes over the pattern of the ceiling, though it was dark and not all that clear. You wondered if you looked at it long enough, if you’d be able to make some sense out of it. You glanced over at Patrick and wondered the same thing. 

You just couldn’t understand why he’d cheat on you. You’d always been under the impression that he was just as happy in your relationship as you were. Despite his promiscuous past, he never seemed like the type of person to not be loyal to you.

You noticed a teardrop trail down his cheek in his sleep, and you gently thumbed it away. The small movement turned into you tracing a line down his nose and over his lips, then over his eyebrows and back down through the few freckles that dotted his face. Maybe if you watched him long enough, if you learned every detail of his face, someone would reveal to you why he’d done something so illogical and cruel. 

You worried about how the two of you could move forward from something like this. Though Patrick always approached the topic of infidelity with a dismissive attitude, cheating had always been a deal breaker for you in your past relationships. It shattered your trust in a way that was so foundational, you couldn’t fathom a world where your relationship with Patrick stayed exactly the same after this. 

Part of you knew already that moving forward, you’d constantly wonder if he was genuinely working late or if he was having an affair, or if his eye was wandering at events despite you standing by his side. And that was just trust when it came to relationships—obviously his lie was far deeper than just that. Now, you knew that Patrick had the capacity to hold a secret that massive from you, then share it at the worst possible time. 

In fact, his timing felt so terrible that you momentarily wondered if it was some sort of power play. Was Patrick trying to remind you that you weren’t equals in this partnership? Was he trying to manipulate you by only sharing this information to you after you were married to him and couldn’t easily call everything off? 

Your stomach turned at the possibility that Patrick wasn’t really who he said he was, and that you’d been baited and switched. You recalled the first time you met Patrick’s family, how he switched on a dime and became far more calculated and cruel to them than you’d ever seen him be with you. Was that the realest version of your husband, and the person he was with you just a façade? Was this some sort of long game he was playing with his family to piss a few people off? Did Patrick even love you?  

For the first time in your relationship, you felt like you didn’t know who you were sleeping next to. Surely, this couldn’t be the same Patrick who you set out to have a quick hook up with, and ended up talking to him for hours. It couldn’t be the same Patrick who held you tight at night and gave you kisses every morning in your kitchen. The same Patrick from your vows a few hours ago, whose hands shook as he read from notecards and declared his love for you.

You frowned as you looked over Patrick once more. You resented how he was able to sleep so peacefully after inflicting such hurt on you. Did he even understand how destroyed you were? You couldn’t see yourself sleeping through the night in the foreseeable future, your head too filled with questions about your relationship and questions about his relationship with her. Would they continue the affair? Would they still work together after this, leaving you to wonder for the rest of your life if they were still going behind your back?

You desperately wished the thoughts would stop, but they kept coming, punctuated by the sounds of Patrick’s soft snores behind you. 

By the time the sun began to peek through the blinds, your hand was on Patrick’s face once again. You wondered how it was possible for him to hurt someone he loved as much as he loved you, if his definition of love was so skewed by a lifetime of abuse labeled as love from his parents, and siblings who used cruelty as a form of affection. 

Maybe you should’ve listened to the warnings everyone gave you, from your parents who warned that your husband and his family may be more than you bargained for, from his sisters who never seemed to be able to fully wrap their head around Patrick committing to someone, let alone you. Maybe you should’ve even listened to Tashi’s coded warning about his inability to commit and stay loyal. It seemed like everyone saw the fate of your relationship coming except you. 

With the early morning light illuminating the room, things felt a little clearer for you. Beneath the numbness that protected you the previous night was a more painful undercurrent of hurt that was already beginning to eat away at you. 

For the past several years of your life, you hadn’t had to deal with any painful feelings on your own. Patrick was always there beside you to hold you tight and reassure you that everything would be okay. As you laid next to him, you realized that despite all the pain he’d inflicted on you, all you really wanted was to be held by him. 

Knowing that he was sleeping peacefully beside you, you opted to hold him, draping your body over his and pulling yourself as close as you could manage to him. You leaned your ear against his back, taking in the warmth he gave you and listening to his heart beat. As the two of your breaths and heartbeats began to match the other’s pace, you lamented that even now, your hearts beat as one. 

For the first time that evening, your eye prickled with the threat of tears. 

You lost track of how long you held your husband, but it was long enough to notice the pattern of his breath changing. You’d woken up beside him enough times to recognize that he was clearly awake, yet he made no other indication to you that he was awake. He wanted you to hold him. You wondered if he thought this might be the last time you ever do that for him. You wondered if it was the last time you’d ever do that for him. 

The two of you pretended to be asleep despite the fact that you were both obviously awake, but no one commented on anything. After your arms began to grow numb, you turned your back to Patrick, hoping that he would return the favor and give you what you really wanted. You were pleased to find that he just as eagerly wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight and breathing quietly in your ear. 

The two of you sat in complete silence, pretending you didn’t know what the other person was doing. Somehow, it felt like that was about to become a recurring theme in your relationship.

[11queensupreme11]

No cause why am I literally so attached to this Cu cheats storyline?! I have to know, you mentioned once that Cu would have mostly daughters and a son, how would they factor in during all this drama? 😭😭😭😭

i'm gonna mash this ask together with urs cuz they're kinda similar, hope you guys don't mind 🥺

THE SÉCY KIDS WOULD ACTUALLY CHANGE STUFF A BIT! In a good way.... in a good, more angstier way, i mean lol

but yes, i do plan on percy and cú chulainn to have a lot of daughters and one son together!

this would be a painful wake-up call to the kids, the girls especially.

for the girls, imagine growing up knowing your only duty in life is to either remain an eternal virgin via vow or being married and bearing children for your husband just like mommy did 💖 and then you find out your mother, your perfect beautiful mother, was CHEATED ON by her husband, your father. and imagine finding out your father doesn't see anything wrong with it; that what he did was okay because he's a man and men are allowed to relieve their urges on other women if he wanted to 💔

regardless of the yan, percy will always try to shield her kids from the ugly truths of the world. but cú chulainn pretty much ruined that now. those poor girls are gonna realize that this could be their future, stuck in a horrible marriage with a cheating husband and they'd be forced to deal with it for the rest of their immortal lives. it's one thing to have that realization, but for their own father to be the reason why they find out???? they'd be so heartbroken and devastated for their mother and fearful of their own future 💔

as for their son, he'd be shocked. he's the only son of cú chulainn and percy, so cú chulainn definitely spent a lot of time training him and instilling his (shitty) beliefs into him, but percy THANK GOD, was always around to correct it, so while he is a bit of a dickhead thanks to his dad, he's not HORRIBLE thanks to percy 💀 but anyway, he looked up to his dad so much, but he loves his mother and that bitch just broke her heart

these kids won't be able to look at their father the same way anymore 😭 so yes, best believe that they're on team percy for this one. the issue is that seeing his children's disgust for his actions would drive cú chulainn to the brink even faster than before and he'd get more desperate; begging for forgiveness, trying to make love to her, trying to be more affectionate, hell he'd probably snap and kill his side piece in some desperate attempt to show percy that the other woman meant nothing, but that'd just freak her out more 😭

as i mentioned before, percy needs SPACE, but in this scenario with even his kids resenting him, he's gonna smother her 1000x more. at this point, his son might even need to step in, maybe teach his father a lesson for daring to hurt his mother...........

(a certain little boy named connla would be watching the disaster between son and father brew in the background, sipping some nice juice or something lol. for those who don't know, connla is the son of cú chulainn and Aífe -- a woman cú chulainn raped in the myths. poor kid was told by his mom to find and kill his dad, but he lost and got killed by cú chulainn instead, so he is DEFINITELY enjoying this 😂😂😂😂)

[tizeline]

I really enjoy how despite being a separated au (especially one where 25% of the turtles are chronically lonely and the other 75% are genocidal) it's way more silly than it is angsty. I really enjoy how you capture the spirit and essence of Rise itself.

That being said, is there a part of the au that you find particularly angsty, or is it all shenanigans and fluff in your mind?

LMAO yeah as much as I like angst, I usually tend to default to making things silly goofy, I dunno why but I find it way easier to do when it comes to my storystelling.

That being said, I've been saving up most of the angst for the movie events. I'm not sure how dark I'll make it, compared to some stories I've seen in this fandom it'll be far from the angstiest stuff. Actually it might have a similar tone to the actual movie lol. The moment where Donnie shields Mikey from the Krang's attack is angstier mostly becuase I decided to make it more graphic than in canon........ Also uh ya'll remember that anon that brought up the possibility of that being the scene where Donnie loses his arm? Initially I didn't plan using that concept but like... man I haven't been able to stop thinking about that I honestly might implement it in the story 😭 Both Donnie and Mikey are absolutely going through it during the invasion, Mikey being trapped in the Prison Dimension is obviously not gonna be very silly happy times either. If I ever get around to showing the events of the bad future timeline then that's also gonna be angstier.

Aside from that though, it's still gonna stay mostly lighthearted. Again, I love angst but I always feel kinda kinda awkward creating more serious and darker stories myself? I do also very much enjoy creating more comedic stories, which is also a big reason why I'm doing it for the AU.

[reticenceofladyeva]

So I'm standing around canning jam and watching Zutara AMVs from a million years ago. As one does.

The last time I watched most of these, I was fifteen and watching them through embedded YouTube links on Facebook, so they wouldn't show up in my internet history. 2012 was a much simpler (but angstier) time.

I'm not going to call that time a golden age, because I'm not really certain that it was, but there was something magical about the period before we knew what LoK would be, when the comics were still finding their footing and were fairly ignorable. Stormbenders was still the greatest thing since sliced bread, no questions asked, and Dante Basco was regularly posting on Tumblr (even if it was mostly about Homestuck).

Don't get me wrong; I'm not complaining about the way things are now. We have Once Around the Sun, and the art keeps getting better. All the same, I've been shipping these characters for 14 years (outing myself as a fandom old lady), and today I'm feeling some type of way.

So if you too find yourself canning jam, or some other activity that doesn't require a lot of abstract thought, I encourage you to hit the YouTubes. Track down El Tango de Katara and that one where someone tries really hard to make the trailer for Tristan and Isolde work. Relish the fact that you won't have to wait for the videos to buffer.

Maybe even read Stormbenders. Or Dynasty of Storms. Or Gods and Monsters. Or Tempest in a Teacup. Just because I haven't seen anyone recommend any of these in ages and I love all of them.

Or don't do either of those things. It might just be really late at night and I've inhaled too much stove exhaust and nostalgia. Who's to say?

[aziraphales-library]

Hi hi hi! I’m looking for some longer hurt/comfort fics. I love angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, anything dealing with mental illness or unwellness, things like that. Preferably over 50k! Sorry if this is super specific! Doesn’t matter if it’s an AU or canon compliant. Thank you 💗

Hello. We have #angst, #hurt/comfort, #emotional hurt/comfort, and #mental health tags so check those out. Here are some 50k+ fics, at least some of which we have recommended before. Mind the tags on these!...

Sharp Objects by ElderlySardine (M)

Back in the mid-nineties, Aziraphale and Crowley had it all. They were friends, lovers, soulmates. Life was hard, but as long as they were together it didn't matter. Then in one catastrophic fight caused by Aziraphale's cruel, coercive brother Gabriel, the whole thing came crashing down. The boys parted company for good. Now it's 2021. Life has spun Crowley and Aziraphale in very different directions before throwing them back together at their lowest ebb. Can they manage to hide their history from their new friends? Can they forgive each other, and themselves? Could there possibly still be something there between them? And with Gabriel still lurking on the horizon, will they be strong enough to do anything about it?

And There Will Be Great Lamentations by TheBobblehat (M)

It has been a month since Aziraphle has become the new Archangel of Heaven, and it's worse than he can possibly imagine. Due to Gabriel's poor management while he was in charge, Azirpahle has been playing catch-up with all the paperwork that Gabriel didn't bother to do. On top of that, while Aziraphale has a shiny new title, he still can't seem to garner the respect of his fellow Angels, and now without Crowley, is feeling more lonely than ever before. Meanwhile, on Earth, Crowley isn't doing much better. Depressed, he haunts the bookshop under the lame excuse that he's "supervising" Muriel in their new position as bookseller. That old, demonic spark has long gone, and all that's left is a very depressed, very heartbroken shell of his former self.

Hold Me Until The Morning by TheLinThing (E)

Anthony Crowley is a lot of things, but mostly single and very unhappy about it. His brain is not his best friend, and that makes it hard for him to find love. Until a certain handsome blonde walks into the gaybar he frequents, and Anthony can only hope he can keep his fears in control so they won't be interfering with his plans for this angelic man.

Tiny little fractures by Wildphoenix_ofthe80s (M)

In a human AU, Aziah Fell and Anthony Crowley meet while looking for distraction on a self harm help message board. Please pay close attention to tags, they're there to protect you.

Introduction to Philosophy – an Inter-Faculty Course by Black_Bentley (E)

Everyone who participates in the Introduction to Philosophy course regrets they chose it for an "easy credit" as one of the students is taking critical thinking to an absurd level that is going nowhere (...), while the other can’t be bothered to think for himself. It would be hilarious if they weren’t so damned annoying. As for those annoying students, Crowley falls deeply in love and Aziraphale... Aziraphale is prophesied by their fellow student Anathema to break Crowley's heart Initially started as a half-silly something inspired by this post on Tumblr*, but then it got angstier and more disturbing than the first chapters would suggest. Please, mind the tags, but I promise a happy ending! *If you ever had That Student in any Philosophy course, you know what this is about.

Free by imposterssyndrome (E)

Anthony J Crowley's been living rough since he was kicked out by his parents as a kid. Somehow he's made it to the age of 40 and he's still alive, but if you asked him, he's not really sure how the hell he's managed it. It's not been pretty. Alistair Zachariah (Az) Fell runs a bookshop, but is still under the strict yoke of his parents: their eternal disappointment. 40 years old and he's desperately unhappy and hit crisis point. They meet (again?) as inpatients in an acute mental health ward. They have nothing in common. Obviously. How could they? They're practically opposites. So why are they so drawn to one another?

- Mod D

[mochiwrites]

I was reading that ask about Scar having access to plenty of good food 24/7 once he moves in with Grian, and that combined with the whole “they learn to cook together” thing really kind of cemented to me how important food must be for the two of them. Scar spent a significant amount of his life pre-Hermitcraft essentially scavenging for food in a desolate world while always on the run trying to survive, which I’m assuming Grian knows about in some detail after they’ve been married for several years. Their first date was Scar sweet talking his way into a fancy restaurant to eat with Grian, after selling him a shitty CUTTING BOARD (as hilarious as that is). Neither of them are very good at cooking and they mostly just eat takeout until they decide to start learning together, and of course Scar loves baking cookies and other sweets for Grian. I just think it’s really interesting that food is kind of a significant thing between them (especially Scar I think, but still definitely for the both of them in general)

yeah!!!! it makes me really soft. like to start with, it’s probably a few months into them living together that grian learns about where scar came from and his old server. because like, without beating around the bush and diving into some of the angstier bits of this au, scar absolutely has ptsd after all of that. there’s no way that he doesn’t. and naturally that leaves him with some trauma responses and certain behaviors that are so ingrained in him

it doesn’t take grian very long to notice it. with the way scar triple checks the front door is locked. the way he makes sure the windows are in mint condition, the way he ensures the curtains are covering them completely. and scar is always so… jumper. he’s on edge. and sometimes when he’s startled he reaches for something that isn’t there

grian has heard of anarchy servers, of hardcore worlds. he assumes that’s where scar is from, and quietly adjusts his behavior to help scar however he can

and food… food is a big part of that. I think at first on instinct, scar doesn’t eat much. he doesn’t snack. he’ll see grian walking around the apartment with a bag of snacks and he’ll look… almost uncomfortable and worried. because he’s used to food being limited. you have to preserve it and be smart with your rations

it takes scar a while to come out of his survival mindset. but grian helps him, gently coaxes him out of it. grian helps him live rather than survive. and the first step to that is food. with stable access to healthy food and warm meals comes the reassurance of a safe life.

I think cooking easily becomes one of scar’s favorite things. because it’s something that brought him and grian together. it’s something that helped scar heal and I’m just… really soft about it. you’re absolutely right, food is a very significant thing between them

(and this is exactly why I love creating because none of this was planned LMAO. if you hadn’t pointed it out I probably wouldn’t have even realized these pieces and how well they fit together <3)

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Hehehe. For the new book. How far would you say Color would go in his jealousy?

Would he drive Epic away, maybe even badmouth him to Delta? Would he grow increasingly possessive of them, insisting to do everything possible together? Or would he cry and beg, desperate to be loved, wanting to know if he did something wrong for Delta to seek out others and make new friends.

Just how far would his jealousy go?

(I was not kidding when I said that this one would be even angstier than the last. Also if I sound weird, forgive me, it is 12:30 where I live and I am very tired)

Even though there is jealousy, i think Color would more so be driven by an intense fear of abandonment and a deep sense of insecurity that breeds desperation. He doesn’t want to be abandoned—he doesn’t want to be alone, above all else.

He (and likely the souls too) would be deeply concerned and afraid of doing or saying anything that drives Delta away for good—including behaviors like badmouthing their friends. Color also deeply values his morals and beliefs, his sense of integrity and justice, and anything he says or does that seems to go against that or makes him feel like a hypocrite is felt intensely as well—to him, he is suddenly all bad, he is wrong, he is evil and a liar. A horrible person.

(Even if it was just something said impulsively, or out of anger or hurt, or even just a simple ‘human’ mistake that anyone could make. A mistake that Color himself likely wouldn’t hold against anyone else for doing or saying. If Color does it, though, he punishes himself for it—he feels like he’s failing Justice, he’s failing Integrity, and may even be failing Patience and Kindness.)

On top of that, saying something bad about Epic in the spur of the moment would probably send Color spiraling further into self hatred, especially if Delta reacts badly to that, because he doesn’t believe he should be feeling this way at all. He barely even knows the guy by this point, and Color is all too aware that what he’s feeling isn’t rational—but he can’t stop it, and that’s the problem, and it hurts.

But he can’t be alone again, and no one else is going to put up with him the way Delta has, are they? They’d all leave him and forget about him the second he became too much, too clingy and needy. The second he became too much of a burden to bother wasting time dealing with.

I think it’d be more about himself, and about Delta, at the end of the day—then it is about hating or being jealous of Epic, even if Color doesn’t always say or think kind things about him in the height of his intense emotions, and even if saying and thinking those things always make him feel even worse about himself after the fact. Perhaps even starting to think that, if Delta does actually leave or replace him with Epic, then he deserves it.

I could see both given the right conditions, but I think Color’s first instinct would be to punish himself for it—first by trying to suppress everything, every single “bad” thought or feeling about either Delta or Epic, which could trigger stress related dissociation or psychosis episodes—such as auditory hallucinations mostly, possibly surrounding the idea of Delta talking about leaving, or insulting him, or laughing with Epic about him and mocking him, or even of Papyrus.

Color might turn to the behaviors that offer him comfort but ultimately can be harmful, such as binge eating and impulsive buying and spending.

When push comes to shove, such as Delta trying to confront Color about his behaviors lately, trying to talk about it, or even somehow making Color feel trapped or like he can’t leave and cool off, perhaps it triggers Color into an explosive outburst—targeted at Delta.

Accusing him of lying to him all this time, accusing him of having never actually cared about him and seeing Color as a “burden” or “a hassle” or “boring”—in comparison to his new, more fun and funny friend, Epic. Telling him to stop “pretending” to care, etc. This may even lead to the latter, with the crying and desperation.

So basically, if doesn’t have to be one or the other—there can be elements of both, building up to eachother, with Color trying to play a balancing act between how he feels and his fear of abandonment, shame and guilt for feeling that way, and feeling like he’s failing the souls and Delta leading him to try and hide and suppress those emotions.

It’s possible he may even eventually try to distance himself from Delta, in an attempt to protect himself from feeling the pain of Delta’s abandonment (perhaps likely spending more time with others as well, such as Core!Frisk, Ink, the Abyss Team and Lust, trying to distract himself and the creeping thought that maybe he should’ve just stayed in the Void) but also periodically coming back, because Color fears being completely alone entirely and doesn’t like that thought that maybe Delta has noticed he wasn’t there and felt abandoned too, felt the same way Color has been feeling—which Delta would likely notice, and not just let happen without bringing it up.

[kiwiana-writes]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

A big ol' fuck you to @rmd-writes for the tag xoxo

1. How many works do you have an AO3? Lol. Lmao even. 289.

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 914,620 on AO3, but that includes co-writes as well as things I've podficced where the fic and pod are in the same work. My actual personally-written wordcount, per my Batshit Spreadsheet, is 771,819.

3. What fandoms do you write for? Mostly RWRB these days, though most of my back catalogue is Schitt's Creek. Also The Pairing and various other things scattered about.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Kinda think that I might be his type aka Alex and Bea fake date coming in at the top spot, which will never not bewilder me. Don't get me wrong, it's a lovely fic!! But I am always surprised that it was a few hundred more kudos than:

With so much of my heart (that none is left to protest), the Much Ado actors AU. My magnum opus, my beloved.

We were supposed to find this - baby's first soulmate AU and my first RWRB fic. The brainrot really took hold with this one lmao.

All the Lonely Starbucks Lovers, in which Henry takes 'open mouth insert foot' to a whole new level.

Warm like the glow that you feel head to toe, the age gap fic with older Senator Alex and younger Prince Henry. This is probably the only one in my top five that really surprises me, considering age gaps are... divisive.

5. Do you respond to comments? Always always always.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I mean I did write that one MCD fic in Schitt's Creek, though I maintain the other five parts in that 5+1 are in fact angstier than the MCD ending.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Uhhhhhhh, the rest? The Doylist answer is any of my fics where the HEA is literally forever rather than 'till death do us part'; so, the Schitt's Creek afterlife AU and the RWRB zombie!Alex AU. (Is that all? Am I forgetting one?)

8. Do you get hate on fics? Yeah, sometimes. Weirdly, more through tumblr anons than on the fics themselves? A lot of them I just delete, sometimes I'll give them a bit of a public scolding etc. Frankly at this point if you come into my ask box to be a cunt on anon I'm going to assume you have a public humiliation kink and will indulge you accordingly.

9. Do you write smut? Who's to say.

10. Do you write crossovers? I'm more inclined towards a fusion than a crossover (love a good media fusion) but I did write a short RWRB/The Pairing crossover for VoiceTeam.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not to my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Nope. Someone did ask recently, so we'll see!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? HEAPS. @ships-to-sail is an ongoing collaborator, but I also did a bunch of "each write a chapter" type collabs in Schitt's Creek. Currently co-writing something truly fucking incredible with @indestructibleheart.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? IDK if it's a WIP by the strictest definition, but every day the likelihood of the SC kink!verse series being completed slips further away lol.

16. What are your writing strengths? Rae, you're the worst.

Smut, I guess? Giving people new kinks, apparently. Character voice. Also a very specific type of world-building where I explain nothing because the characters already live in that world and let y'all infer how it works, which came up a LOT on one of this year's Kinktober fics in particular and led to my spouse saying "okay so you're basically the Brennan Lee Mulligan of tree fucking", which is sure not a sentence I expected to ever be directed towards me, but here we are.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Anything original, apparently. Good thing I didn't quit my job to be a writer or anything OH WAIT.

(In all seriousness, though, I am genuinely shit at, like, plotting. And action sequences.)

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? If it makes sense for the character, sure! I'm enlisting someone who speaks it for anything more complicated than, like, a pet name - I've seen what Google Translate tries to spit out for my second language and therefore don't trust it lmao.

19. First fandom you wrote for? terf queen mcgee's property.

20. Favourite fics you've written? The RWRB fic specifically based on the episode The Husbands of River Song from Doctor Who. Hands down the best thing I've ever written.

I also fucking LOVED the Much Ado actor AU. My love letter to Shakespeare and theatre and queer joy.

-

Tagging @blueeyedgrlwrites @cactusdragon517 @cricketnationrise @firenati0n @getmehighonmagic

@hgejfmw-hgejhsf @indestructibleheart @inexplicablymine @notspecialbabe @orchidscript

@piratefalls @sherryvalli @sparklepocalypse @stereopticons @whimsymanaged and, as always, anyone who wants to play! 

[kenobers]

I read "tremble and shake" and I just need to know about Jason saving reader from the green out. Was he upset? How did she get saved by him? I have so many angst questions

tw; greening out, brief mention of hypothetical vomit

Surprisingly, Jason isn't all that upset when you green out. You would think that someone as overprotective as him would be writing a lecture in his head the entire time you're wiped out on the devil's lettuce, but the thing is...he gets it. Weed is not a hard drug. Sometimes the edible doesn't hit quick enough, so you indulge in another joint...another hit off the bong or the pen...another nibble of a weed cookie. Your dad's been stressing you out lately, he's not judging. He's been there. When you're sober, he'll tell you to take it easier next time, but not as much as he'll tease you.

"I've never seen someone produce as much drool in such a short amount of time. You could've been watering crops!"

Secretly, he's mostly honored that you thought to text him when you were scared He wakes up to a series of vague and cryptic messages from you about how you're gonna die, which has him sitting bolt up right. However, once he puts it together that you're just greening out, they kind of make his heart flutter - especially the one where you ask him to come get you. He obliges in your request, of course, and awkwardly shows up at your friend's apartment. All of your friends are kind of shocked that he's real, and part like the Red Sea so he can get to where you're pancaked out on the couch and, with your friend's permission, carry you to your friend's bedroom.

He lays you down and helps you hydrate, promises you that this will only last a little longer. He puts something on the bedroom tv to help you relax. If you throw up, he'll clean you up and leave $50 on your friend's nightstand, just in case she wants to replace the sheets completely. Mostly, he talks to you. He rests your head in his lap and strokes it as he listens and responds to your babbling. It's much angstier for you than him as the feeling of being inebriated and out of control sucks. It does worry him quite a bit to see you like this, but he knows you'll be okay, that he's making this a lot less traumatic for you. However, if Jason Todd is telling you that you're gonna be fine, then even in this state, a tiny part of you knows you'll be fine.

"You were right to text me."

"I know."

It's humilating for you when you wake up the next morning. You can't believe you let yourself do that in front of your friends and then in front of Jason. You aren't an open book and you hate being vulnerable like that. However, Jason assures you that it's perfectly fine - a rite of passage for any stoner really, and people have done way more embarrassing things than ask for their boyfriend.

"Still, I'm sorry you had to come to my rescue because of fucking weed."

"Baby, I'll come to your rescue over a stubbed toe."

[tanukitsuneko-suki]

build pre-final arc review of sorts:

last seven episodes of the show and i think i’ll be fine as long as nothing happens to banjo. hilariously i do think that the Horrors happening to sento is fine and expected but if anything happens to banjo i’ll nuke everyone in this room and then myself.

dad reveal was wicked cool though it didn’t move me as much as banjo STILL suffering the after-effects of evolt’s entire existence. it’s giving me a headache. i do wonder how their actual lore works out. did evolt possess an entirely fertilized baby and just sped up the birth process?? ergo, ‘banjo’ would have still been born and living the same-ish life with the same personality even if evolt’s whole thing didn’t happen? he says banjo and him are genetically-identical, but then again it already got back its dna from him. i wonder if banjo as a child already existed in his mother’s womb, but that does not really explain how evolt treats banjo not as a target of possession but as an extension of self. maybe he is evolt. maybe he’s the part of evolt that has the conscience. that would be cool

i think kazumin has a higher chance of death over gentoku, but i’m not confident they will die either. i’m just saying. if there are deaths in the show, kazumin would die sooner than gentoku. i think misora and sawa will be fine. i can’t imagine how their deaths would pull a deeply emotional reaction even if i do like them a lot. it would be very out of left-field..? there are angstier ways to deal with their stories, i mean.

i don’t really have a good track record in guessing with late-game build. so it’s mostly fine (i’m leaving it to the writers to bring me along anywhere). not particularly attached to the alliances of the dad either, i think it’s okay even if he’s actually evil or Actually Good. like sure i do wish there’s more ryuusen rn but isn’t that asking for too much? even the writers must find it cheesy at this point to make them revolve around each other…… oh but the smashes thing are still very curious to me. why had the target for smashes been solely related to sento and banjo the moment they met?? they met as kids and sento taught evolt love or something???? lol

anyways. i’m waiting for the episode to finish downloading. i hope this doesn’t hurt me too bad