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littlefluu · 3 months ago

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E N H Y P E N F I C R E C S

FEBRUARY 25nd, 2025 RECOMMENDATIONS ⤷ GO BACK TO THE MAIN ENHYPEN MASTER LIST WITH EVEN MORE RECOMMENDATIONS ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

a. angst f. fluff sug. suggestive s. smut h. horror c. crack ★. please dear publishers I want this on my bookshelf

₊˚⊹꒷ ALL OF THE MEMBERS / UNITS

★ !! SAFE & SOUND by @thatfeelinwhenyou Navigating one year post-apocalypse, when the dead began to walk and the living proved to be no better, you decide that trust is a luxury you can no longer afford. But after a run-in with a group of seven peculiar survivors, you learn that there are bigger problems than just the undead roaming the streets. You also start to wonder if there’s more to survival than simply staying alive. ᝰ dystopian, post-apocalyptic survival, horror/thriller, slow burn, ANGST , FUCK THIS IS SO GOOD. EVERY TIME A UPDATE COMES OUT I LITERALLY STOP EVERYTHING I AM DOING.ᐟ₊ ⊹

BLOODSTRUCK by @jjunieworld (deactivated) sugg. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗏𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝗂𝗍𝖾. ᝰ vampire au / vampire!enha / established relationship / suggestive / blood / biting / dry humping / kissing / skinship .ᐟ₊ ⊹

WHEN YOU ACCIDENTLY TEXT THEM "WANNA BANG" by @jayparked c. ᝰ best friend enhypen x gender neutral reader / text au .ᐟ₊ ⊹

WITH EASE by @hhmnya f. ᝰ in which hyung line helps you with your kid .ᐟ₊ ⊹

₊˚⊹꒷ LEE HEESEUNG ꒷⊹˚₊

ᝰ.ᐟ DO YOU THINK I AM FRAGILE by @just-nc-tea f, a, sugg. A car accident has turned your life upside down, leaving you with a knee and ankle that ache like they belong to someone three times your age. Navigating college with these setbacks is hard enough, but when your overprotective dad insists you take an internship with the men’s hockey team, you’re thrust back into the world you’ve spent years avoiding. The rink represents everything you’ve lost—and then there’s Heeseung, the captain whom you somehow cannot stop thinking about. ᝰ Hockey team captain! Heeseung x the coaches daughter / Ice hockey au / College sports aus / angst / hurt / comfort / slow burn / fluff, a lot of falling asleep in the same bed / some good old family drama .ᐟ₊ ⊹

SULKING WHEN HE HAS TO LEAVE FOR WORK by @jaysng f. pregnancy aches and morning sulks become part of your routine, but heeseung’s soothing touch and playful efforts to put you back to sleep remind you just how loved you are—even when work calls him away. ᝰ nonidol!heeseung!husband x fem!preg!reader .ᐟ₊ ⊹

I'LL BE HERE WHEN YOU'RE BACK by @honeyedfate f, sugg. ever since his room was revealed to the world on mbc world, heeseung has not known peace—whether it be from engenes or his very own girlfriend ᝰ idol!lee heeseung x gf!reader .ᐟ₊ ⊹

CROSS THE LINE by @heegyukeluv s, f. “How do you know if someone is flirting with you?” It was Heeseung’s question to you, and you were left with no option other than to show how you do it. ᝰ childhood best friends to lovers / fluff / kinda miscomunication? / smut .ᐟ₊ ⊹

SOMETHING OLD, SOMETHING NEW by @stllmnstr a. MC and Heeseung meet again at Jays wedding years after their break up and they have some unresolved feelings because they still love each other ᝰ angst / Exes to ?? .ᐟ₊ ⊹

₊˚⊹꒷ PARK JAY ꒷⊹˚₊

FAST FORWARD by @asahicore f. After yet another romantic disappointment in the form of one Jake Sim, you go to the well you’ve always believed to grant wishes and ask for your one and true love to appear. That night, you go to sleep in your bed but wake up in a strange house. When you head downstairs, you find a man washing the dishes and telling you your favorite meal is waiting on the table for you. You’ve spent hours glaring at the back of that head, you could recognize it anywhere—it belongs to none other than Park Jongseong, your high school sworn enemy... and future husband, or so it seems. ᝰ high school au / the type of e2l where they never really hated each other to begin with .ᐟ₊ ⊹

MUSIC TO MY EARS by @jayparked s. "Ride me." Jay huffs. It's a command, not a request. He moves back to the head of the bed, adjusting the pillows before leaning back against them. Lifting the covers away from his body, he removes his boxers slowly. looking into your eyes as he does so. ᝰ music producer jay / established relationship / thunder and lightning storms / cigarette smoking / early morning sex .ᐟ₊ ⊹

★ !! THE ART & SCIENCE OF PARENTING 101 by @jakesimfromstatefarm f, c. the art & science of parenting 101 (PSY1009)— in this interactive course, students will explore the psychological, social, and biological foundations of parenthood. through a mix of theory and hands-on practice, you'll master the art of raising a simulated baby—aka the 'robot child'. late-night feedings, tantrum taming, and crisis control are all part of the deal. what you didn't expect to be part of the deal? getting paired with jay park—the last person you'd trust to raise, well, anything. you’re pretty sure he couldn’t even take care of a pet rock. now, you’re stuck co-parenting this robot baby together for 40% of your final grade. ᝰ fluff / comedy / e2l!au / college!au /(fake)parenting!au / he fell first, she fell harder type beat/ Such a banger .ᐟ₊ ⊹

★!! SUN KEEPS RISING (LIKE IT TENDS TO DO) by @zreamy f, s, a. being the mum friend is rewarding, if not a little tricky—you would know. it wouldn't hurt to let someone look after you for once, would it? ᝰ summer au / strangers to lovers, / friends-in-law to lovers really / smut / fluff / angst / GUYS THEY WAY ZO PORTRAYS JAY? UGH. PERFECTION .ᐟ₊ ⊹

AS THE EARTH BURNS TO THE GROUND, LAY HERE WITH ME by @fleuryuns a. it takes an asteroid hurdling toward earth for you and jay to be pulled apart, and then brought back together—but it's worth it ᝰ wealthy (ex)bf!jay x scientist!femreader / end of the world au / exes to lovers / arguments / some platonic!jake thrown in there / ambiguous ending / elements from the movie don't look up / inaccurate portrayal of astrophysics and high school debate clubs .ᐟ₊ ⊹

₊˚⊹꒷ SIM JAKE ꒷⊹˚₊

OOPS, JUNO by @moonheecore f, s. Getting accidentally pregnant was the last thing you ever imagined. You were still in school, with so many plans for the future ahead of you. Yet, you felt certain that keeping the baby was the decision you wanted to make. What would your aloof mother think? and, perhaps most importantly, you wonder if Jake would feel the same way? ᝰ college AU / established relationship / baby daddy Jake / toxic mother trope / abortion mentioned / frat parties / body changes during pregnancy mentioned .ᐟ₊ ⊹

KISSES SHARED WITH JAKE by @elikajinnie f, sugg. jake watching you do your makeup and cant ressist kissing you

★!! THE TATTOO ON MY RING FINGER by @thatfeelinwhenyou His neglect wasn’t an accident—it was a choice, one you kept excusing as “busy” while swallowing your hurt and waiting for him to care enough to show up. The harsh truth? He simply didn't care enough to make the effort. Remember this, ladies: if he truly wanted to, he would. "Busy" is just another word for “asshole.” And “asshole” is another word for the man you’re married to. ᝰ marriage of convenience / slow burn romance / enemies to lovers (kinda) / second chance romance / angst .ᐟ₊ ⊹

THE LOVE RIDE by @whjluv SMAU. after your mutual breakup, your ex disappears from the public eye for almost a year, only to comeback with a deeply emotional album entirely about you, sending fans into a frenzy. they analyze every lyric and link it to your past relationship, causing your breakup to become once again the talk of the internet. upset and surprised that the so private Jake preferred to deal with his emotions publicly instead of talking it out with you, you drop a single in response, highlighting the parts of your breakup he left out. ᝰ smau with some writing / singer au / exes to lovers / second chance / miscommunication trope / angst / fluff / humor .ᐟ₊ ⊹

NO DOUBT by @jakesimfromstatefarm f, a. struggling to balance a world tour, endless responsibilities, and...well, the sting of getting dumped by his girlfriend, jake finds peace & comfort confiding in you—one of his closest friends. what begins as lighthearted late-night phone calls while he's away on tour deepens into something more, quickly pulling you both into uncharted emotional territory. as your connection with jake intensifies, so does your inner turmoil—torn between the comfort of your easy relationship with him and the terrifying possibility of falling for someone you're not even sure you can have in the first place. but jake? jake has absolutely no doubt of what he wants—and spoiler alert? it's you. ᝰ idol/jake x f!reader, [ft. childhoodbestfriend!jungwon / bestfriends!enha / friends to lovers!au / angstttt / fluff / crack .ᐟ₊ ⊹

ᝰ.ᐟ THE TRUTH UNTOLD & PT. 2 by @just-nc-tea f, a, sugg. Jake’s world takes a nosedive when he gets a wedding invitation from his high school ex—the same ex who cheated on him—with your ex. Desperate to avoid showing up alone Jake ropes you into a fake relationship, just for the evening. Originally. But if you’re going to sell the lie, you have to make it convincing. That means dates, inside jokes, learning the little details about each other that real couples would know. By the time the wedding arrives, neither of you are sure where the act ends and the truth begins. ᝰ Hockeyplayer! Jake / college sports / angst / hurt / comfort / slow burn/ fluff / suggestive / fake dating / he fell first and he fell harder.ᐟ₊

₊˚⊹꒷ PARK SUNGHOON ꒷⊹˚₊

★!! CAPTAIN'S LOG by @peachenle sugg. "If you’re trying to be subtle about checking me out, it’s really not working.” You were too drunk to care, and met his eyes, “Yeah, yeah you caught me. Life’s more fun without subtlety. ᝰ hockey college!au / fratboy!au / sexual themes .ᐟ₊ ⊹ Guys I am so in love with this story! Defintely check it out!!

★!! DOWN THE HATCH by @peachenle f, sugg. a collection of moments with sunghoon, shared over meals, snacks, and drinks. a riff off of timestamps. not in chronological order. a continuation/epilogue of captain’s log. ᝰ college!au / fratboy!au / fluff / established relationship / some suggestive content .ᐟ₊ ⊹

THE LIGHTHOUSE by @jjunieworld (deactivated) f, a, h, s. the land has always been something you desperately wished you could walk on. be like the humans and walk among them. one dark and stormy night, you are granted your wish—but, it comes with a deadly price. and you only have one month to decide if you’re willing to pay it. ᝰ strangers to lovers / kinda love at first sight /mermaid!reader / lighthouse keeper!sunghoon /fantasy / slow burn / slice of life / forced proximity / classic story of a mermaid washing up on shore with a twist / slight smidge of horror elements .ᐟ₊ ⊹

WE'LL ALWAYS HAVE THIS SUMMER by @asahicore f, s, a. Your mom ruins your summer plans by sending you to the equestrian center your grandmother owns in the south of France, wanting you to spend some time away from the city and take a break from your med studies. Although you’d been determined to spend the worst time ever there, you soon find out that maybe the cold but cute horse nerd next door who doesn’t want to talk to you might actually turn this summer into the best one of your life. ᝰ summer au / strangers to mutual dislike to friends to lovers ig / city girl x country boy type beat .ᐟ₊ ⊹

★!! SPF 23 by @zreamy f, s. for as long as you can remember, your summers have been much the same, largely spent in your hometown, relaxing by the local pool. when you get back home this summer, things seem like they'll go the same way, until you get to the pool that is — when did the lifeguard get so hot? ᝰ smut, fluff, people that kinda know each other to lovers, summer au, lifeguard au, sunghoon is buff and shy and ugh guys its SO good .ᐟ₊ ⊹

★!! THE DOLLMAKER by @jjunbug a,f,h. you were sunghoon’s muse, his flawless, perfect wife that he dresses in frilly dresses and makes sure you always looked like the idealized woman. that much was evident from all the dolls he made of you that sat proudly throughout your home. but, when sunghoon isn’t there, the dolls move and show you things that would otherwise be hidden in the shadows. one day, they show you something so frightening, something completely sinister that you force yourself to believe that it isn’t real. your beloved husband wouldn’t do something like that, would he? you weren’t so sure about your answer anymore. ᝰ established relationship / angsty & mature themes / smut / some fluff / husband & dollmaker!sunghoon / gothic vibes /supernatural elements / THIS WAS SO SCARY BUT SO GOOD OH MY GOD .ᐟ₊ ⊹

WHY by @hoonieyun a. breaking up with your boyfriend means losing a lover but what happens when your boyfriend was also your best friend, meaning you lost both and now have to face him for a popular youtube show ᝰ angst / heartbreak / exes reunited / exes to ..? .ᐟ₊ ⊹

₊˚⊹꒷ NISHIMURA RIKI ꒷⊹˚₊

RUINED MAKE OUT SESSIONS by @rose-petles sugg.

TEXTING BF!NI-KI by @jaeyunluvbot SMAU, c.

YOU'RE NO GOOD FOR ME, BUT BABY I WANT YOU by @purinfelix f. after growing tired of his constant teasing you made up your mind not to give Niki anymore of your attention, but you should've known that he wouldn't let you go that easily - and is willing to go to desperate measures to get you just to look at him ᝰ delinquent Niki x class president reader .ᐟ₊ ⊹

₊˚⊹꒷ AMAZING AUTHORS ꒷⊹˚₊

@zreamy @jjunbug @thatfeelinwhenyou @jakesimfromstatefarm

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wordstome · 1 year ago

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kosovo maiden (könig x reader)

Well, I did it again, gang. I wrote another story based on a painting. This one is by Uroš Predić in 1919, and was posted to Tumblr here (thanks to arcana-imperii for posting!)

I don't know anything about Kosovo, so the reader here isn't explicitly Serbian ;; please forgive me. Also, apologies for possibly inaccurate ambiguously late-1800s setting, medical information or German. Please enjoy!

2.2k words

There are soldiers in the field.

You heard the sounds of battle early in the dawn, the piercing explosions of gunfire and cannons ringing out as the sun rose. You weren’t concerned at first: it was far enough away that you felt safe enough to carry on as usual. But the gunfire drew closer and closer, and by noon you could hear the shouting and the battle cries, driving you trembling into your attic with terror. Mercifully, the fighting peters out as the sun sinks lower in the sky, but when you finally work up the nerve to peek out of your window, you find to your horror that the grassy field adjacent to your humble little home is littered with the bodies of dead and dying men.

Without a single further thought to your own safety, you grab a lantern and a pitcher of water and rush into the night.

It’s awful. Most of the men left behind are already cold, some whose eyes you have to shut yourself. The ones who were able to be saved were likely evacuated by their comrades, so the only ones left to face the cruel nighttime are the ones who won’t see the morning after. A few are still conscious when you find them, but you have little more to offer them than a gentle touch and one last drink of water. Their eyes are what will haunt you most after today: slick with tears as grown men weep, all semblance of courage and proud masculinity stripped from them as they face down their imminent demise. It’s terrible, heart-wrenching, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. You’re the only living thing left that can offer them comfort in their last moments.

The jug of water dangles from your hand as you trudge through the field, looking for anyone at all that you can provide help to. You’ve long abandoned any hope of finding someone you can save when you come across him: the giant in the grass.

It’s well and truly nighttime at that point, your lamp the only source of light upon what seems like a sea of human misery. The light hits his face, and you gasp. Your first thought is of how huge he is, at least 200 centimeters if he were standing. Your second thought is of how handsome he is…

You jolt to attention as he shifts and groans. He’s alive! Shaking some sense into yourself, you don’t hesitate to rush to his side. Your hands roam across his body, assessing the severity of his injuries. To your surprise, he doesn’t seem to be mortally injured. They’re severe, to be sure—he won’t be able-bodied for weeks. But he’s far from at death’s door, only confused and dazed…had his comrades only left him due to his sheer size?

Using your hand to support the back of his head and neck, you tip some water into his mouth in an attempt to revive him. The man cracks an eye open, regarding you with feverish wonder.

“Ein Engel…” he murmurs. You’re too elated that he’s alive, so you don’t actually properly hear what he said. With light, deft fingers, you tear strips of his tattered shirt and use the cloth to wrap up a scrape on his arm and stem the flow of a very nasty-looking wound up along the broad plane of his torso. To your alarm, however, the man seems to slump, his head laying back as if he’s about to lose consciousness.

“No, no,” you cry in panic, shaking him without heed of his injuries. “Sir, you cannot sleep here, I am unable to carry you…you will die out here!”

He mumbles something inaudible, and you breathe a sigh of relief. He hasn’t passed out on you yet, but you have to act quickly to properly care for his wounds. You shift your body so you can maneuver his uninjured arm onto your shoulders. Luckily, he seems to comprehend what you’re trying to do, and manages to stumble to his feet while leaning his weight on you.

It’s an awkward, fumbling dance, considering your earlier assessment of his height was correct—he’s a huge man, and his torso alone nearly dwarfs your entire figure. But with a good measure of patience, you manage to get him moving towards your house. It’s high time you returned home, as well: your stomach roils as you remember what happens to corpses left outside for scavengers to find.

The two of you stumble through the doorway of your home, you murmuring soft affirmations and encouragement to the man. He makes no indication that he understands what you’re saying, but he’s nodding along, responding to your gentle tone. You guide him to lay on your bed, his body visibly relaxing as he sinks into the mattress.

You bustle around, lighting candles, stoking your fireplace, and rummaging around for medical supplies. You return to him with a basin of warm water, a cloth, and some bandages—before stopping dead in your tracks.

In the low lamplight out in the field, you hadn’t noticed the color of the man’s uniform, much too preoccupied with his signs of life. But now the truth is laid bare in front of you as you take in his attire, eyes traveling over his broad body—

You’ve just taken in an enemy soldier.

The man has seemingly fallen asleep, likely exhausted by the battle and the effort it took to get into your home. That does nothing to assuage your fear, though: what are you going to do if he passes away right in your bed? Even worse, what are you going to do if he wakes? Will he be hostile? Will he attempt to take you as a hostage to secure safe passage out of his enemy’s territory?

It's clear to you, though, that if you don’t help this man, he will die. His wounds could easily turn septic, and then he’s a goner. You steel yourself and approach him, kneeling at his bedside.

You work slowly and carefully to reveal his injuries, wincing when they’re completely exposed. He’s no longer bleeding profusely, but he will absolutely need stitches. For now, you settle for cleaning them with a damp cloth, trying to keep infection at bay.

He must be well and truly knocked out, because he doesn’t even stir as you wrap his arm securely with clean bandages. You’re much more hesitant to deal with his chest wound: if he wakes and struggles, he could make it much worse. But his unconscious state affords you the best opportunity to stitch him up…

You furrow your brow and go to find a needle.

You’re awoken by a gentle touch on the shoulder.

You stir from your sleep, wondering what your mother could possibly want at such an early hour. At least she put the fire on—you can hear the crackling. But why is your bed so hard? Did you fall asleep on the floor? Actually, now that you think about it, you do recall dozing off on your sheepskin rug last night, because—

Your eyes shoot open to see a huge, hulking figure standing over you.

The soldier startles when you scream, scrambling to move away from him. He cuts an intimidating figure in the early morning light: he towers over you in a state of undress, the bandages you put on him last night splotched with rusty dried blood. But you calm down as you realize he means you no harm, his hands outstretched in front of him as a show of peace: no weapons.

“Wo bin ich?” he asks. You squint at him. That sounds like German, but you can’t speak a word of it.

“I don’t speak German,” you try. He tilts his head, looking as puzzled as you feel right now.

“Never mind all of that,” you say, shaking your head and pushing yourself to your feet. “You shouldn’t be out of bed!” The soldier watches with amusement as you press your hands against him, careful to avoid touching his chest where you know his wound lies, in an attempt to get him back into bed. He allows you to do so, lying back down like an obedient dog.

“Muste pissen,” he murmurs as you fuss over him. You shoot him another confused look as you check the stitches you put in his chest wound. All seems well, you note with relief.

“What?”

He huffs a sigh. He gestures towards the door, and then then to his…oh.

“I see,” you say, cheeks feeling hot. You can’t bear to look at his face, but when you do, you find he’s watching you with amusement.

You tap his chest with a finger, then mime a sewing motion. “Don’t get up on your own from now on, you could tear your stitches,” you tell him, pointing to the door and then to patting your own chest. “I’ll help you.”

He snorts, but nods. You start to unfurl the bandages on his arm, heart twinging with sympathy as he grits his teeth in pain. You bite your lip in chagrin as the wound is revealed. It was much less severe than the one on his chest, but it’s doing much worse: pus and fluids are leaking everywhere, and to your horror, you think some parts of the torn flesh might actually be turning green.

“Es sieht schlecht aus?” he asks, concerned. You put on a smile you hope is comforting and rise from his bedside to go downstairs and rummage through your cupboards.

You return to him holding a bottle of liquor, the strongest you could find. He seems to realize what you intend to do, and shifts slightly to allow you better access to his arm.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper to him. “This is going to hurt.” Without further warning, you dump a good amount of alcohol on his wound.

“SCHEIẞE!” The bellow of pain that rips out of his throat seems to shake the very foundations of your home. You wince as he hollers and lays back heavy against your poor little bed, forehead covered in a sheen of sweat. That can’t have been pleasant…

“Das tat schlimmer weh, als die verdammte Wunde überhaupt zu bekommen,” he grits. You give him a sympathetic little pat before withdrawing to get the bandages.

He’s calmed down by the time you return to him. He watches you curiously as you wrap him up nice and snug, then turn your attentions to his chest wound. The stitches are still in place—it seems he was careful when he relieved himself—but you still need to clean and dress the wound. He lets out a sigh of relief when you opt for a clean cloth to dab away the dried blood instead of the liquor bottle.

You work quickly and efficiently, worried about him catching a cold with his chest out like this. You also can’t deny that the whole situation is starting to make you a bit shy—a foreign man, and an attractive one at that, is in your bed, shirtless, and you’re all but sprawled out on top of him to get up close to his injury. By the time you’re done, you’re fully blushing at the closeness of the contact between the two of you.

“You should be alright, it’s a good sign that you lasted through the night and haven’t developed a fever yet,” you tell him as you gather up the soiled bandages to be washed. “You’ll need to stay in bed so I can keep an eye on you—”

You’re drawn up short when you look up to see his face. Far from the angry scowl he wore when you disinfected his wound, his expression now is almost…admiring? You shift slightly, caught off guard by the adoration in this stranger’s stare, and your arm brushes against something solid and warm.

You stand up as if burned, turning to see what you just touched. To your chagrin, you find that the soldier is…well, he’s hard.

You whirl around to fix him with an outraged look, but he only laughs at you with obvious delight. What a pervert! You’re so flustered you don’t know what to do or where to look, but you’re stopped by the sensation of him reaching up and pressing a hand to your face.

You stare at him, wide-eyed, as he strokes your cheek with a sort of reverence that stops you in your tracks. “Mein Retter…” he murmurs. “Entschuldigung. Ich konnte nicht anders.”

You huff, recognizing that he’s trying to apologize. “You don’t act like an injured man at all,” you complain. A spark of mirth comes into his eye at your pouting tone as he just chuckles at you. You turn to walk away, yelping when you feel his hand brush against your bottom. You shoot him with a deadly look as he laughs again.

You scurry away, feeling awkward and hot all over. You had been so concerned last night about whether you should stay in the same house as the potentially dangerous soldier, pacing the floor and biting your nails as you pondered whether you should give him up to the local authorities. In hindsight, you’re glad you didn’t—they would surely have locked him in a cold cell with nobody to look after that festering gash on his shoulder, to say nothing of his chest wound. It was worth it to risk waking up to a man angry and spitting hatred at you, if you could save his life.

But now you’re realizing that you hadn’t considered the opposite possibility: that the soldier might like you a little too much.

ein Engel = an angel Wo bin ich? = Where am I? Muste pissen = had to piss Es sieht schlecht aus? = Is it bad? Scheiße = shit Das tat schlimmer weh, als die verdammte Wunde überhaupt zu bekommen = That hurt worse than getting the damn wound in the first place Mein Retter = my savior Entschuldigung. Ich konnte nicht anders = I'm sorry. I couldn't help it

Once more, I wrote this in a frenzy akin to being possessed, so it's a little short. But there will definitely be more! Thank you for reading <3

@kneelingshadowsalome @danibee33 @crowbird @poohkie90 @cumikering @iytatsworld @papaver-decervicatus @anxietyrain @riotakire @ax0lotly @cookiepie111 @kacchasu @no1runawaymilkdad @chthonian-spectre @backwards-readings @yxllowtxpe @garbau @hexqueensupreme @queenthorin1 @violetstyless @her-majesty-theking @vegan-peppermint @peonytarian @ghostslittlegf @euuuuuuun @e1x03 @kokonoiwife @deaddainish @dragonfang @teehee-47 @catluvwr @keiva1000 @waves-against-a-cliff @channelsoph @cutiecusp @itsagrimm @dins-riduur-anthe @mantishymns @lexuria @complexivelovely

#könig #König x reader #König x you #konig #könig cod #konig cod #konig x reader #konig x you #cod #cod mw2 #call of duty #mw2 #I really need to sort out my tag list...#fic: kosovo maiden

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liloinkoink · 10 months ago

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last night i asked if people would be interested in me posting a backstory piece for Martyn from the hero/villain / yellow rose au i’ve posted a single oneshot for despite the fact the backstory piece doesn’t seem to outwardly relate to the posted oneshot. no one outright shot me down so. here you go

for some context, the powers in this world of yellow rose come from a catastrophic event that took place almost 20 years prior to the start of the story, which wiped out a lot of the world’s cities/towns and gave many of the survivors powers or mutations

backstory takes place when Martyn is 0-10 years old (he was born shortly before the aforementioned catastrophic event) and focuses on an OC parent character / martyn’s relationship to said parent

anyway. yellow rose is an au made w @cherrifire. time for you all to meet robot dad

It’s hot on the day the world ends. This is not the only thing it remembers, but it’s one that still stands out, even years down the line.

It’d been dealing with a patient with symptoms of heatstroke, the third it had seen in an hour. Heatstroke is an easy enough ailment to give to a nurse bot to treat, so it gets the job. It had stepped out of its patient’s room and run into a doctor, who had asked it to fetch something from the basement storage.

This is why it had survived, it thinks, looking back. It had been in the basement, and by some stroke of luck, the building had not collapsed so completely as to destroy it alongside the rest of the building.

It had not had a concept of luck before that moment, before the shaking had stopped and the dust had cleared, leaving it mostly in tact. Once it had forced its way up the stairs, it found it was not sure whether surviving the collapse was good or bad luck.

When the nurse bot tried to ring its network for help, it found the line inside its head had gone dead. When it looked to the surrounding street, it found hundreds of buildings similarly smoldering. When it called out, it found only its own voice returning to it.

The nurse bot had tried to comb through the wreckage of its practice, looking for survivors. It found nothing, heard nothing, but it still attempted to sift through the rubble, to search for the people it had been built to assist.

A nurse bot’s arms are not meant to move stone and iron, however. It was not used to the strange things that happened in its processing when it thought about what might be under the wreckage, and did not know how to handle them. It made a mistake, lifting things it could not, and when the wreckage in its grasp had buckled…

Well. It had thought itself lucky, distantly, that unlike humans, robots are not generally “handed” in one way or the other. Statistically, it would have preferred its right hand, and it would have been much worse off when the debris crushed its arm, taking its limb from the elbow down.

Ah, and pain, of course. It would have been quite bad if it had been able to feel pain, or bleed. It probably would have died, had this fallen on it, or had it lost a flesh and blood arm.

It… does not look in the wreckage any longer.

The nurse bot did not know what to do, with the practice it had spent its whole existence in destroyed. It had never been outside before—at least, not while activated. It had never left the walls of the hospital it was built for. It had not been intended to function without direction.

It knew its purpose, though, direction or not. The nurse bot had been built to heal. It knew, direction or not, how to do this, and that it must do this. And certainly, if it looks, it would fine someone out there who needed it.

When it comes to matters of health, time is of the essence. With its direction decided, the nurse bot begins to walk.

It finds people, rarely, stumbling and unharmed, or nursing small bruises or minor sprains. It helps these when it can, and gives advice when it cannot. It finds bodies, often, and it looks away, as it has never seen a funeral, and it does not know to help the dead except to assist the living.

It finds a woman soon to be a body, despite its best efforts to help her. It lacks supplies to stop the flow of blood from her wounds, and the woman lacks any hope without stitches or bandages.

It offers her sympathies, and it holds in its one hand both of hers. There is little it can say to her, but it tries, quiet promises of I am here and I will not leave you and you will be at peace soon.

She holds its hand with all the strength in her body, knuckles white as paper, a stark contrast against the dark blood staining the rest of her body. It feels as the strength fades. It watches as the light in her eyes fades with it. She lets it go, and it closes her eyes.

The nurse bot keeps walking, keeps looking, until it hears crying. The sound is loud, a desperate sob of a young child, and it seems to stem from a building sagging in three places, roof and door and floor all ready to give in.

If it were human, the nurse bot may have thought the place too risky to enter. But it is not, and so in it goes, pushing the door open with one hand.

It finds the boy lying in his crib, a round-faced infant wrapped in a patterned onesie and kicking away a thin blanket. He cannot be more than a year old—the nurse boy would guess him to be maybe six months. The fact the boy and his crib have survived the destruction of the city is a miracle, one not offered to the rest of the home.

It reaches down into the crib, brushing its hand over the boy’s face. His sobs stumble, a bit curious, but the baby ultimately doesn’t stop crying.

The nurse bot hadn’t worked with a pediatrician, but it knows about children, as any nurse bot would.

“Are you hungry?” it asks. He doesn’t answer except to cry more, which is understandable—this is what babies do, it knows, and besides, this has been the chosen course of action for most of the people it saw today.

It could not help those people, but it can help with this.

The nurse bot steps away from the crib to examine the boy’s room, though the boy cries louder when its face disappears from his view.

“I will return shortly,” it tells him. This assurance does not calm him down.

It finds what it can in the rest of the home—food for the baby, a warmer blanket, a box of diapers. It finds the living room, where living is not what his parents are doing, and gingerly shuts the door. It finds a photo album and flips through, searching for the information it needs: delicate handwriting next to an image of the boy, held in the arms of the woman on the floor a room over.

April 7th, 20XX: Welcome to the world, Martyn!

His name is Martyn. His birthday is April 7th. The nurse bot usually keeps these things on file about its patients, and so it files them away.

When it returns to the crib, the baby inside is no longer crying, having worn himself out. It reaches down again, face blank.

“Hello, Martyn,” it says, “I am going to be your caretaker for now. I hope we will get along well.”

— — —

They don’t stay in the house. It finds a baby carrier in a closet and a duffle bag in the bedroom, and it packs what Martyn will need and carries him out of the collapsing home.

Martyn laughs a lot. Once he’s been fed and changed and has slept, the nurse bot finds he laughs all the time.

He doesn’t know, it thinks. He must miss his parents, probably, but he doesn’t know. He isn’t old enough to understand any of this. He watches the broken and bloodied street with awe—has he ever been this far from home before? This is all a big adventure to him.

It doesn’t tell him.

— — —

It stops three times a day to change and feed him, and to let him crawl around in the cleanest and sturdiest places it can find.

“Movement is good for development,” it tells him, watching him play with a piece of rubble.

It doesn’t stop to rest at night—it doesn’t need to, and the rocking motion of his continued steps helps Martyn sleep. When that isn’t enough, it tries to replicate the songs it has heard playing in the clinic’s waiting room, or seen mothers and fathers sing in the clinic to calm their children. Martyn seems to like that.

He likes the nurse bot’s hair, too. He tugs on it all the time as the nurse bot walks, held close to its chest, close enough to its head to access it. It lets him—it doesn’t hurt, and besides, it has few other ways to entertain him.

— — —

Martyn grows. He starts to babble, and to toddle. He becomes too big for the bot to carry him, but by then it has become adept at finding places to hunker down for a while.

“Your name is Martyn,” the bot tells him, pointing to his nose.

“Ma,” he tries.

“Very close,” it says. He grabs its hand, tugging, and continues to babble.

“Da,” he says, and it knows that he doesn’t have a concept of fathers or parents or the English language, and he is only making sounds.

“That is me,” it says anyway, and Martyn continues to babble.

— — —

“Dad,” Martyn tugs on its arm, barely tall enough to reach its fingers. “Daaaad.”

“Hello, Martyn,” it says, “What is it?”

“I’m bored,” Martyn says, “And I’m hungry.”

“We still have some food left for you, though I should start a fire soon,” it says, “We will need to move soon. Children your age need a variety of foods to—”

“Grow up healthy, I know,” Martyn whines, “That’s boring. I’m bored.”

“What would you like to do?” it asks, and he lets go of its hand, running off. It stands to follow, but then he’s back, holding a battered old book—some kind of short novel, something with a torn cover that used to have a dragon on it. The title is gone, as is the dragon’s head.

“Read this,” he says. Martyn is learning to read, but he hasn’t quite got the grasp to read a real book on his own yet.

This hasn’t stopped Martyn from searching for them, though, nor from presenting them to his father to read. It had started reading one aloud to Martyn to entertain him when Martyn had come down with a fever last year, and he hasn’t stopped asking to hear them since.

“After you eat,” it says, and Martyn cheers.

—

There is a group of survivors picking their way through town. The bot sees them before they see it, watching the street from a window. It does not know their intentions, and it doesn’t plan to find out.

It crouches down in front of Martyn, putting its hand on his shoulder.

“Hello,” it says, “We’re going to play a game, okay?”

“Okay,” Martyn says, and it nods, once.

“It is called hide and seek,” it says, “There are some people who are looking around town, trying to play, and we are going to hide from them. We will win if we are not found.”

“That’s a dumb game. Why don’t we play something else?” Martyn asks.

“It is their favorite game. We are going to play because that is what they like to do. But we are going to be very good at it and hide very well,” it says, “You can hide with me, okay? If we win, there will be a special prize.”

That’s all it takes to convince Martyn, who smiles and nods and follows it as it ducks away into the closet. Its legs creak as it sits down, and then it opens its arm, letting him sit in its lap. It can’t be comfortable, all cold metal, but Martyn wraps his arms around its torso and settles right in, content with the hand on his back.

“Now we must be very quiet,” it tells him, “I will tell you when we can talk again.”

Martyn nods, and it puts its hand on the back of his head, and it waits.

When the strangers leave, it asks him what he would like for his prize.

“Hug me again!” He says, and it obliges for as long as he wants.

�� — —

Halfway through its sentence, the bot’s voice cuts out.

That has not happened before. Martyn seems unfazed, especially when it begins to talk again, but it takes note of the error.

— — —

It happens more. Its voice cuts out, stutters, corrupts. Martyn really only complains when they’re reading, but it starts to fear the worst.

It sits Martyn down, crouching down to meet his eyes.

“Martyn, I have something very important to tell- to tell- to tell you,” it says, and if it could, it would wince.

“Yeah?” Martyn asks, “Are we moving again?”

“Soon,” it says, “But that is not what I want to tell you.”

“Oh,” Martyn says.

“I am… sick. Do you remember what being sick is?” it asks. Martyn nods, reaching up to put his hand on its forehead, the way it had for him when he had been feverish.

“You feel warm,” Martyn confirms, “It’s okay. I’ll read to you until you’re better.”

“Thank you, Martyn. You are very kind,” it says, “But that is not the kind of sick I am. There are many kinds of sick.”

“Oh,” Martyn says, “Then what kind of sick are you?”

“I am… robot sick. I am- I am- I am- I am- getting old,” it says, “And my voice is starting to… not work properly.”

“I know that,” Martyn says, “You talk funny now and you keep messing up reading.”

“Yes, that’s right. You’re very smart,” it confirms, “But it might get worse. I might not be able to talk anymore soon.”

“But you’ll get better, right? I got better,” Martyn says. It shakes its head.

“I might, but I might not. Robot sick is different,” it says, though it knows it is lying. “I just wanted you to know. If you talk to me and I do not respond, I am not ignoring you. I am still listening. I am just sick, and my voice- my voice- my voice- my voice—”

It shakes its head, the way humans sometimes do, to clear the sentence. When it looks at Martyn again, he seems thoughtful.

“Will you still read to me?” he asks.

“As long as I am able,” it promises. And, for good measure, “I love you, Martyn. Do not forget.”

“I won’t,” Martyn says, “I love you, too.”

— — —

It makes a point to show him how to read. He had already been learning it, but it doubles down when its voice begins to waver.

It picks up novels and reads them to him with Martyn in its lap. It holds its arm around Martyn’s waist, and Martyn holds the book for it to see, and it reads the words Martyn points to, so Martyn knows what they are.

It doesn’t want him to lose this. It doesn’t want him to lose his fun, his creativity, his imagination, just because it cannot read to him anymore.

— — —

It loses its voice for good while it is reading to Martyn.

— — —

Its voice is the first thing it loses, but it is not the last.

Control of its fingers becomes… tricky. Martyn has to help it, doing things that require finer movements.

“Is your hand sick?” he asks, and he sounds afraid. It nods, because it knows it shouldn’t lie to him, even if it wants to.

It loses what little control it had over its face next. Then its neck becomes stuck. It doesn’t seem able to walk as fast, though that might just be due to Martyn getting faster—he grows older still, full of energy, constantly wanting to run and jump and play on his longer legs. It tries its best, but it cannot keep pace like it used to. It used to sing and walk all night, and now it cannot do either.

Martyn is as patient as a six year old can be, which is not very. He gets frustrated and bored, and he complains often. It does not blame him for this. He is doing his best, too, and that is all it can ask.

— — —

There are people. It tries to hide—pulls Martyn into a closet, tucks him close to its chest, pets his hair with his hand—but Martyn doesn’t like to play hide and seek, and he doesn’t know he has to be quiet.

“My name is Martyn!” he tells them, once the closet door opens, “This is Dad. He’s sick.”

They’re nice enough, a woman and her teenage son. It—he, now?—releases Martyn to talk to them, and climbs out of the closet. He hovers at Martyn’s side when they climb out, a hand on his son’s head.

“Why were you two in the closet?” the mother asks.

“We were playing hide and seek. That’s what Dad said other people like to do, but I don’t like it very much,” Martyn explains. She nods.

“Most people do like to play that game,” she says, because, as a parent, she must understand his fear. “But we don’t, either. Do you want to travel together for a little while, Martyn?”

“I want to!” Martyn says, and he looks up at his father, and his father would sigh if he could.

He nods, because what else is he meant to do?

— — —

The teenager entertains Martyn, reading to him the book his father never did get to finish. The mother cooks, and she takes a look at his hands.

“I used to be an engineer,” she says, “You’re a bit above my pay grade, but I could take a look, if you want.”

He doesn’t let her crack him open or anything, but she inspects the pieces of his wiring she can see. He’s reminded of his old clinic, though he can’t tell her how ironic this is.

Her prognosis is… grim.

“You probably only have a few years left in you,” she admits, “Your model was supposed to go for regular updates, replacing parts and…”

He doesn’t listen as she explains the old process, his focus instead on Martyn.

Only a few years? What will happen to Martyn? Who will take care of him?

Humans need care until they are eighteen.

Martyn is six.

“I could try and make some minor repairs for some of the obvious damage, but I don’t have tools for anything more. I can also try and tell you some things you can do to try and stretch that time out,” she says. He nods, understanding, grateful, as she does what she can.

He had been in her place, once, years ago, and so he understands, too, when she offers sympathies, when she holds his hand.

— — —

They split off from each other eventually. The other two are traveling to a place they claim never fell. He does not believe in such a place, and so he does not go with them.

Martyn cries. The mother hugs him, as does her son, and they are gone.

As they walk away, he holds Martyn’s hand, and he does not let go.

— — —

He teaches Martyn how to do… anything he can. He is too young to understand how to hunt or set a trap or clean an animal or cook or treat a fever or start a fire or boil water, and it is very difficult to teach when he cannot speak. He’d wanted to wait until Martyn is older, he does not have the luxury of time anymore.

Martyn is clever, is bright. He takes to the skills as well as a six, eight, ten year old can, and it is only partly due to the fact he has no choice.

— — —

He knows he is dying.

Martyn does not.

He picks up a stick, waving Martyn over. There is a patch of dirt that is mostly clear, and he crouches in front of it.

I AM SICK he writes, and Martyn reads it, and he frowns.

“I know that,” Martyn says, and he shakes his head. The dirt is soft, and so he clears it, trying again.

I AM VERY SICK he writes. Martyn reads it, and he frowns deeper.

“What does that mean?” Martyn asks.

I WILL SLEEP SOON he writes. He wants to be delicate, but he can’t—the patch of dirt isn’t very big.

“Oh, well, that’s okay. I sleep all the time,” Martyn says, “That’s how you get healthy again. It makes you feel better. You told me that.”

He wants to nod, but he can’t. This is the bit he was dreading the most.

I WILL NOT WAKE UP he writes.

For a long moment, Martyn doesn’t say anything.

“What if we get you medicine?” Martyn asks, “When— when I was sick, you found medicine. It made me better. It would make you better.”

NOT FOR ROBOTS

“That… that isn’t fair, though,” Martyn says, “Are you sure? We could get some and try it!”

I AM SURE he writes, and then he erases it, I LOVE YOU

Again, Martyn says nothing. He isn’t sure what Martyn is thinking, and then Martyn charges him, hugging him around the stomach.

He has more he wants to say to Martyn—he wants to teach him so much, to tell him to be careful, to tell him he’ll be okay.

He drops the stick, wrapping his arm around Martyn as tight as his failing joints will let him.

— — —

His goal is to find somewhere safe. An old house, maybe, somewhere where Martyn will be able to survive on his own for a while.

He looks, and he does not find it. He’s been looking for ten years, after all—of course he wouldn’t find one now, just because he is dying.

Other than that, his life does not much change. He holds Martyn’s hand as they walk, and Martyn talks to him about birds and books and whatever else he can think of. Martyn has become very good at filling the air for them both. Neither of them let go of the other’s hand.

He doesn’t actually know when it is going to happen, just that it will be soon.

When the moment finally comes, he does not realize.

They stop to rest for a night. Martyn is tired, as he is a child, and his legs can only carry him so far. He is tired, too, but he does not have it in him to think about why, or how strange that is.

It’s nowhere special, where they stop. A random house that has kept its roof, somewhere safe from rain and sun. Martyn finds a place to roll out his sleeping bag, and when he lies down, his father lies with him.

He does not let go of Martyn’s hand.

#lew writes #yellow rose au #robot dad #top hits

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strawberries-and-summer-days · 9 months ago

Text

READY FOR LAUNCH? ‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅

| percy jackson x popstar au

| au masterlist ☽

warnings: swearing and one mention of drinking wine

a/n: the dead returns 😌 WE WILL NOT TALK ABOUT HOW LONG THIS TOOK ME TO GET AROUND TO OKAY? LETS ALL COLLECTIVELY IGNORE IT. KAY GREAT WONDERFUL anyways enjoy! also gasp too parts in one night? woah

you were bribed.

lia and riley had to beg, stacey was pestering you for days. you were firm on no until you were bribed with lia's mom's famous cookies. and anyone who's ever had one would know that her cookies are to die for.

so now you're sitting next to the asshole in question, both staring at your managers. "another good reason to go along with this is, a publicity boost-" stacey says continuing on with the list she had prepared to convince you both.

"i don't need publicity," you and percy say at the same time. lauren and stacey both hide smiles and continue on.

you're about too seconds away from leaving but stacey's warning look has you sighing and staying in the seat. percy groans as the two managers start to ramble on about a soft or hard launch. neither sound appealing.

"why did i agree to this shit again?"

☾. ⋅

"you post the launch this afternoon okay?" stacey says looking up from her paperwork to you.

you sigh, "fine whatever." a cough erupts from the the other side of the room and you look up to percy curled up on the furtherest chair from you as if your being physically repulses him.

after the photos you took this morning and yesterday it seems warranted. i mean you had to hold hands. gross.

"you know you too will have to be more friendly with each other in public right?" lauren asks from her spot next to percy.

"i can be friendly."

"ok let me re-phrase that," lauren pauses. "you're going to have to act... couple-y."

"... i can still do that."

you scoff at percy's words. "yeah right, you looked like you were about to throw up when we were taking photos earlier."

percy glares. his eyes scanning your face while he clenches his jaw in thought. "fine," he huffs standing up and walking towards you.

you panic slightly. whats he doing? whats going on? you look to stacey for an answer but her eyes are trained firmly on percy seemingly asking the same question.

he stops when he reaches your chair and drops down to a crouch so you're at eye level. "um.. what are you doing?" you ask.

he leans forward slightly so you're only inches apart. his eyes travel across your face as if memorising every feature, they stray to your lips - and falter there - before they return to your eyes. trying to diffuse some of the tension you tilt your head down avoiding eye contact. but a finger on your chin guiding your eyes back to his, has your head tilting back up. "eyes on me sunshine."

you're pretty sure you just gasped. maybe. a little bit.

"what are you doing?" you ask again, your voice barely a whisper.

a smirk overtakes he face and he speak loud enough for stacey and lauren to hear. "proving i can act like your boyfriend in public." he drops your chin as if it burnt him to touch you and walks away to his chair.

your face is on fire. "yeah, uh." you clear your throat. "that'll do i guess."

☾. ⋅

percyjackson

liked by underovergrover, clarisse.la.rue, the.annabethchase, lia.mandel, rileywest, yn's.team, and 1, 849,426 others

percyjackson so.....

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user1 Y/N'S TEAM LIKED THIS!!! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!!!

user2 percy/n confirmed??

user6 PLS PLS PLS PLS

user3 i think i died a little omg

user4 omg a soft launch???

underovergrover congrats man

percyjackson thanks 😉

user5 someone become an fbi agent and tell me if thats y/n rn.

user6 PLEASE

user7 who is sheeeee???

☾. ⋅

yn.official

liked by underovergrover, lia.mandel, rileywest, pjackson.team, maisiehpeters, gracieabrams, the.annabethchase and 2, 748, 925 others

yn.official surprise!

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user1 HOLY SHIT!!!! THIS BASICALLY CONFIRMS IT

user2 SOFTLAUNCH SOFTLAUNCH SOFTLAUNCH!!!

user3 you cannot tell me that them posting a soft the same day one after each other means they're not together. i wont believe it.

lia.mandel ahhh congrats babes <333

yn.official 😘

user4 the teams like their posts??? percy/n is real!!!!

user5 IKK they couldn't have made it more obvious.

user6 ...i mean they could've hard launched?

user7 anyone else notice how their captions kinda line up? "so....." and "surprise!"

user8 delusion is strong with us today

rileywest happy for you !! 🤍

liked by yn.official

☾. ⋅

you look up from the thousands of comments on the post and over to the sleeping lumps on your couch. lia and riley decided to stay the night for moral support. we'll their idea of moral support is breaking out a bottle of wine and watching movies. they didn't even make it through the first one before they zoned out and fell asleep.

you sigh and glance down at the countless comments and likes on your post. the idea was to soft launch to get more suspense or 'attention' as lauren and stacey like to say.

it seemed simple enough except for actually getting the photos taken. that was a nightmare.

the next step is another post or two and then an outing. together. and then from there who knows.

let the games begin...

TAGLIST‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅ [if you're name is white it means i couldn't tag you]

@lauptimist, @itzmeme, @mariaaaaaahhhh, @paankhaleyaar, @maybxlle,

@lara20aral, @cxp1d, @user-3113s-blog, @pleasingregulus,

@avihashearts4lix, @inlovewithmorales, @brokecollegebitch, @user-3113s-blog, @officiallyalbino

@gloryhaddock, @kozumesphone, @moonlightwonderlan, @starxshining, @taintedrosee

@lovelyygirl8, @cleothefrogo, @sungjinwoomybeloved, @hearts4li,

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #percy jackon x y/n #percy x you #percy x reader #percy x y/n #percy jackson #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson fic #fanfic #fanfiction #emma writes ₊˚⊹⋆#percy and the popstar au

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sillygoofyqueer · 8 days ago

Text

Okay so I know you're all expecting a mad scientist AU post, and there is one in my drafts I promise!! However, I just have to tell you guys about another AU I've had rattling around in my brain all day. The deity jester AU, perhaps? It starts with a young...boy...found lurking near the edges of the forest by a woman hunting for her husband's supper of the night. His dark grey eyes glint in the shadows, and she almost mistakes him for an animal a predator when he takes a small step into the light and reveals himself to just be a little boy. She tries to ask him where his mama is, where he came from, but those almost unnerving, beguiling eyes just keep staring at her without a single word escaping him. However, she can't just leave him in the forest, so she scoops him up and carries him back home with a promise of helping him! Of course, she didn't see how he twisted and changed to become a little boy after she spotted him, or she would not be so trusting of him. It may not be human, but It does have childlike thinking, and It wishes to be treated with warmth and love.

The huntress' husband sees his wife walking back into their little village carrying a child, and sets three seats instead of the usual two - questions can wait until after the thin little one is fed. They search and search for the parents of the young child, Wei Ying, before eventually coming to terms with the fact that they are likely dead (at first, anyway). Wei Ying is comfortable in It...his new home. He feels as though he is constantly gripped with affection, the swirling storm inside his chest softening at the sights of his 'parents' doing whatever they can to make him feel comfortable and at home with them. It isn't long before his disguise slips though, when he thinks he is alone and twists his form into his original form. He does not know what he looks like, but his father spots him and looks rather horrified at first. Wei Ying panics and flicks back to his form of a young boy, and suddenly the fact that they couldn't find his parents makes much more sense.

Despite the fact that their son is evidently not human, the huntress and her husband still treat him as though he is, even when he bleeds black and stops pretending to breathe and blink. While they protect and love him, the other villagers whisper of a monster in the form of a teenager, one that has bewitched and manipulated the kind couple at the edge of the village. When the couple are killed on a hunt that Wei Ying did not go on because he wanted to watch the shepherd usher all of their sheep back into the pens, the villagers obviously believe that he has something to do with their deaths and chase him out with torches. He stumbles through the forest, the huntress' coat wrapped around his thin frame, followed by the violent, scared villagers who seek to tear him apart.

To them, he is an It, a creature to be killed mercilessly, and It screams when the fire curls near It, trying to Its mortal form and diving further into the forest to escape it. It stows away beneath the roots of a tree, curled around the frayed fabric that still smells like Its mama. It doesn't know how long It stays there, face pressed against the rotting fabric even as it loses the smell of joy and contentment that always permeated the structure It had once called a home. It had lived with humans for so long that It has picked up their habits, unable to rip Its way out of the form It had grown to see as him, trapped within a cage of flesh and bone. Its hair grows and Its flesh grows and he grows but he does not move. The outside world is cruel and harsh, and he hates it. Beneath the roots, he is safe. The fire cannot reach him there.

He never truly understood time when his mama and papa had explained it to him, and so he doesn't know how much time has passed before a song breaks through his daze and seems to forcefully drag him from where he has been rotting with the fabric beneath the roots. A man sits a few meters away, playing a tune that tugs at something deep in his very being, calling for him to answer. He stands at the edge of the clearing, hair dragging behind his feet and hands gripped into the rotted fabric as he stares emptily at the man playing the tune on a flute. The moment he is in view, the tune stops and this man in red grins at him as if he expected him to show up. "Ancient deity! I have summoned you to assist me in taking the throne of this accursed land!!"

Wei Ying does not wish to even step foot outside of the confines of his forest, his shelter, but there is a deep tugging motion inside his sense of self that compels him to merely nod his head. It's not hard to agree to such a thing really, not when he's suddenly beset by vicious memories of being chased from his home with fire and anger and violence, of being trapped within a form that is not his own. He does not understand power struggles, or politics, or even what a throne really is, having lived only in the small village and the forest, but he is still vulnerable and hurting and he doesn't think he could say no even if he wanted to, so he drags himself into the light.

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silkkorchid · 1 year ago

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What went down in TWST rp in a week-

Covers 3/30 - 4/5

This week was ok ish…

NRC therapist and Gardening club seems to be planning something against Mrs. Rosehearts…

NRC Newspaper club has a new member called, Atlas, seeming to be an unofficial prophet for NRC, thanks to his Unique Magic.

There is a Dance Club at NRC now-

One of the hosts and the host club seem to have a questionable draft that was soon posted by another host. I’m looking at you 🪞⚜️.

NRC Host Club has now a menu of food, with the one of them being uhm a very clever name for it!

NRC cooking club made a disgusting salad that I cannot describe…

NRC allows students to have tazer if worn correctly…

Another race is happening between Royal Sword Academy and Night Raven College. And there is a poll which school is going to win, some students at NRC are rigging the poll.

Both of RSA and NRC Cleaning club have log entries.

Che’nya is at it with the invisible boop towards the boys.

Some of the boys’ future children are throwing powder ball at them, for no apparent reasons???

The Diasomnia gossip account seems to be telling all the juicy stuff that happens in Diasomnia- wait does Malleus even know this exists?

Someone said Sebek is just… I can’t say it as I’m gonna puke…

A boop war has commenced between us who will get the most boops.

A boop battle between Ruggie and Silver. Silver surrender with Ruggie being the winner .

A student of Diasomnia ate a whole pathway since they were hungry. The person that did this, u know.

Malleus and Althea is having a boop match across campus. Then lasers were incorporated into this match of theirs.? After all that happens, Althea and Malleus end their boop match with ice cream.

Althea trying kidnap Gidel, NO TOUCHING THE CHILD ALTHEA!

General Lilia came back from the dead.

Lilia destroyed the microwave again, wait is that smoke coming from Diasomnia?

Lilia got into Ramshackle’s kitchen and yeeeee….

Riddle realized his mother now got a Tumblr account-

Ace got food poisoning, and Riddle ban him from the kitchen till he gets his credit for the mandatory cooking class.

Mrs. Rosehearts has came back after 4 days. Someone gotta hold onto me before I jump her.

Seems like fans of Riddle are pushing their buttons with Mrs. Rosehearts, and I’m proud seeing them being straight forward on causing chaos.

Ace destroyed a microwave. No questions ask.

Ace got collared for the millionth time.

Ruggie’s future child SOMEHOW broke through a wall!? H-how does that logic work!?

Someone cast a spell onto ruggie in which made him wear bunny ears and a tail.

Leona is trying to pass his responsibility onto Ruggie.

Azul has now met his future child after idk how long.

@quartztwst made Azul bald.

Jamil trying to prevent Alcestris dating Najima, his sister. Meanwhile Althea cheering Alce on…

Epel came back after a beauty break to see the last update before shortly going offline.

Idia arguing which anime he and his future children will watch.

Idia allowing his future children to commit arson…. Ortho please stop him being a bad influence to his own future children…

Idia loosing his shit when the topic of Sonic came up.

Idia lost something very important for his magic pen.

Someone reminded Idia that he accidentally left Ortho’s filter off and you know the story.

The boys’ future children somehow got gender-bend due to a potion.?

The children tried monopoly and it turn into a full on war.

One of Sam’s friends can speak that wired language that I can’t understand-

Cheka came back after a long nap.

Someone taught Cheka to swear-

Fellow and Gidel is at it again trying to find new puppets…

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #disney #twistedwonderland #disney twst #🍮 speaking #diasomnia #riddle rosehearts #twst cheka #twst rp weekly update #twst rp

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hawkdisaster · 4 months ago

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Characters : Aegon II Targaryen, Helaena Targaryen Triggers warnings : Mention of a character death Words count : 1318 words Autor note : What can i say, aegon being able to be soft with Helaena and their children only is an headcanon so dear to me.

(Credit goes to @thecutestgrotto)

“ Though Blood and Cheese spared her life, Queen Helaena cannot be said to have survived that fateful dusk. Afterward she would not eat, nor bathe, nor leave her chambers, and she could no longer stand to look upon her son Maelor, knowing that she had named him to die. ”

He stopped in front of the doors. Just a few seconds, just enough to give him courage. Then he entered. Like every night since that terrible night, he had come to see her. He had promised her, even if his promise had been lost in the limbo of his sister-wife's broken mind. And just like every night, Helaena was prostrate in the corner of the room, a piece of cloth clutched in her hands. A blanket that had once belonged to Jaehaerys. Aegon's heart sank as he recognised the object, as he thought back to all those evenings when he had come to spend a little time with his sweet children before disappearing for the night, when he remembered his little boy falling peacefully asleep, carefully tucked into bed with that same blanket. A simple blanket was all that remained of their little boy, for his bed, his clothes and even his toys had been removed from the nursery. All traces of Jaehaerys' existence had been erased, as if he had never existed.

▬ Helaena ?

His sister didn't pay him the slightest attention, didn't give him the slightest glance and continued to stare blankly at the ground, her cheeks bathed in tears and meaningless words on her lips. Not the dragons. The rats. Helaena had tried to tell him, she had tried to warn him. And what had he done ? As always, he didn't listen. As always, he hadn't given a moment's thought to her fears. And here they were. Jaehaerys was dead, murdered in the cruellest of ways. Jaehaera was traumatised, waking every night screaming in terror as she called out her brother's name. And Maelor, although still too young to fully realise what had happened that night, cried out every day for a mother who could no longer even look him in the face without starting to sob and scream. He sat down on the floor beside her, taking care not to touch her. Whether it was him or anyone else, Helaena hated being touched. Their children were the only ones she could tolerate touching, and even that had been taken away from her. Helaena continued to chant, and he listened. That was all he could do for her now. Be present, even if his little sister never really seemed to realise he was there.

▬ I took Jaehaera and Maelor to the Dragonpit today. Jaehaera was glad to see Morghul again, and the Guardians say he'll soon be old enough to carry her. And Maelor... His egg seems to be getting more and more agitated, so perhaps it will hatch soon. They miss you Hel...

Most of the time, he just listened to Helaena talk. Silently, as if in some feeble attempt to apologise for having ignored her for so long. But sometimes he talked too. About anything and everything, about the progress of the war against their bitch of a sister, about rumours overheard at the corner of a corridor, about Dreamfyre pining for her rider, but more often than not, he talked about their children. And always, he begged her to come back, if only for them. For their children, who still needed their mother's love. For their own mother, who prayed for her every time. He never dared beg her to come back for him, too aware that Jaehaerys' death was partly his fault. If he had made sure that the guards were at their posts, if he had not gone off to get drunk and forgetful with his companions... If he had acted differently, their little boy would still be alive.

▬ They only want the boy... Poor soul... The rats...

Helaena suddenly panicked, pulling the blanket a little tighter around her, her gaze frantically scanning the room. In search, most likely, of the slightest rat tail. They only want the boy. That night, she had been forced to make a choice. Forced to choose which of their little boys should die to pay a debt demanded by their treacherous sister. A son for a son. Forced to choose, or see their little girl raped before her eyes. Maelor. She had chosen, but it was Jaehaerys' head that had rolled to her feet. Not the dragons. The rats. One of their little boy's murderers had been a ratcatcher, but every single one of them had been hanged - on his orders - and promptly replaced by hundreds of cats that now roamed the corridors freely.

▬ Helaena, there's not a rat left in the Keep. No one can hurt you any more, I swear it.

He made sure of it. Mother had made sure of that. If the ratcatcher had been able to enjoy a quick death, the second had not been so lucky. Forced to witness the threats made against her granddaughter, forced to witness the murder of her grandson, Mother had demanded that the murderer be kept alive as long as possible to atone for his atrocious crime and it was only after seven days of continuous torture that he was finally allowed to die. This promise nevertheless seemed to soothe Helaena, who stopped talking and began humming what had been Jaehaerys' favourite lullaby. A lullaby which also seemed to lull her to sleep, as she soon began to flutter her eyelids and sway gently in place.

▬ You need rest Helaena, may I help you to bed ?

Helaena continued humming even as Aegon took her in his arms, even resting her head against his shoulder. And Aegon's heart sank a little more as he realised that his little sister, who had never been very thick, was as light as a feather. Without the efforts of Mother, Maester Orwyle and the maids charged with looking after her, his little sister would have stopped eating, sleeping and bathing on her own. Without the efforts of all of them, she would already be dead.

▬ Aegon ?

Helaena's hand grasped his as he placed her as gently as possible on his bed, her eyes seeming to regain some of their sparkle. Sometimes, she managed to become herself again. But it never lasted more than a few minutes, just a few moments before her mind slipped back into the madness that had taken hold of her since the death of their little boy. Tears began to roll down her cheeks again, as the words escaped her lips hurriedly.

▬ Jaehaerys... I'm sorry, I'm sorry, they forced me to choose.... Jaehaerys...

▬ Those two monsters forced you Helaena, you had no other choice. No one holds you responsible for the death of our little boy. I promise you. Not Mother, not Grandfather, not me.

If he was angry, it was at his uncle and his bitch of a sister. At the guards and their absence. At himself, who had done nothing, convinced that his family was sufficiently protected. But certainly not against her, who had been faced with an impossible choice: die with their three children or sacrifice one of them.

▬ And Maelor, he... Our little boy is still far too young to understand what happened that night. The only thing he understands is that his mum starts screaming as soon as she sees him. Come back Helaena, I beg you. For him, for Jaehaera !

His pleas were in vain as Helaena continued to cry, apologising and repeating the name of their missing son over and over again. Then her voice died away and her gaze was lost once more in the emptiness as she curled in on herself, still clutching Jaehaerys's blanket to her heart. Her breath became irregular and her eyelids slowly closed as she drifted off to sleep. A troubled sleep that lasted as long as her moments of clarity, for not a night went by without her waking up screaming, unable to escape even for a few hours from the madness that was devouring her.

▬ I'll be back Helaena, I promise....

He always did, just as he had promised her.

#aegon ii targaryen #helaena targaryen #house of the dragon fanfics #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #my fanfics #my post

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smiley-mcdoggington · 2 months ago

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im in agony over your last post because I can’t stop thinking about how, when ford comes back, he will stare at Stanley’s older, wrinkled face and it will be the first time he gets to see an older Stanley and it will be HIS Stanley …. but by that time, how may times will he have fallen in love with another version of his brother’s face? Meanwhile Stanley will be looking at his twins face that he will have only been able to see in the mirror for the past 30 years. I AM SICK!!!!! im sorry this probably doesn’t make any sense but i really need you to know that i am genuinely in tears and gagging over this au. your brain is both beautiful but also kind of evil.

Ehehehehehehehe

1 thing kinda for context I have ideas for all the stans Ford loved before, and while he did love them and does mourn them his relationships were built on the foundation that he cannot get to his own Stan and they cannot get to their own Ford but they can get to eachother and if they squint its almost the same, it's close enough.

First live Stan he meets seven months after the junkyard: Stan calls himself a pirate but he and his crew (run by ghost Jimmy Snakes) are more like ship scrappers, everyone's got at least a little mechanical know-how, they find dead ships and salvage what they can. They stick together because they're all homeless wanderers that can't get home, but in Ford's perspective they're intimidating - other than Stan. Their Stan seems put together, like he knows what he's doing, but they're the same age and Stan's only been out of his dimension 3 weeks longer. They both project the twin they lost onto the other and are in a sexual plus a bit of cuddling relationship for a while. Ford is fond of him, Stan's the only reason Ford was allowed to join the crew instead of getting shot for stealing from them, and this Stan looks healthier, had a similar experience with Bill in the junkyard, and Ford feels like he can relax around him. Then they find a trap ship, one that looks dead but is just waiting for scrappers to connect their ships to kill the crew and take both ships. Stan was trying to negotiate because he was a stupid 26 year old with a gun to his head but then someone grabbed Ford and Stan got himself shot trying to get to him.

The next Stan Ford meets and has more than a one night stand with is nine years after that, a whole decade since the junkyard. The Stan is a decade younger than him, blind and feverish and and won't let anyone touch him until he has a six-fingered hand in his. That one wasn't a dimensional traveller, he was just dealing with Rico and Ford happened to be in the dimension and wanted a few chemicals from Rico to test as bill-destroying material that happened to be very illegal. He found Stan seizing in a hotel room and Ford decided he was only going to stay until Stan was alright. But Stan took to the bare minimum like a stray dog, doing what Ford wanted, begging him to stay, promising him he'll be better this time around. Ford can't stay, doesn't want to take away this Stan with a perfectly good Ford already so he dragged Stan up to Oregon to try to shove at his brother. But Ford opens the door with a crossbow and Stan gets shot in the neck and Ford beats the other Ford to death in his entryway. Ford had hoped that Stan's being pushed through the portals by Fords were almost always accidents and Ford's would never hurt Stans because He would never hurt Stan (not again) but no, this just proves him and all Fords are a disease. He leaves the dimension quickly after that.

The third Stan he met 25 years after Ford fell through the portal and it was in the junkyard. Ford had gone there with a plan to die trying to kill Bill, it was a bad few years before then and Ford had most of his gun working, enough it might injure Bill. But before he could find him, he looked in a sea of bodies and one looked back. He immediately quit his suicide mission, grabbed the half-frozen Stan and took him somewhere safe. Stan asked why Ford hated him, Ford said Fords never hated Stans, because Stan couldn't prove him wrong. Ford tried to leave him behind a few times, but Stan was determined, he did more and more reckless things trying to follow Ford until Ford just let him follow because maybe he would stop almost dying to try to keep up if Ford made it easier. Ford was old enough to be his dad, he was old enough to be all the multiverse Stanleys' dads at this point, but when Stan tried sleeping with him, Ford went along with it. It was mostly just sex and company, he didn't notice Stan was fawning because he was new and terrified. Didn't notice Stan only seemed to come onto him when he was in a bad mood and needed the distraction. Didn't notice Stan did whatever Ford wanted and shrank whenever Ford raised his voice. Eventually Ford did figure it out, and he was so horrified with himself he dropped Stan off with some interdimensional refugees and left as fast as possible. A month later he tried to visit to apologize properly, but Stan was gone, put a gun in his mouth the week before, his ashes were already space dust. Ford resolved himself to never take advantage of a Stan again. His last 5 years mostly celibate though made him cranky and more determined to finish his gun.

Then he had Bill in his crosshairs, and his Stanley decided to open the portal, and he came through the portal mad, he really did. But then he saw his brother with gray hair and crows feet - his brother, his Stanley, the one he'd spent 30 years wondering about, the one he was almost certain would be dead long before he could get gray hair just like every other Stan. His Stanley looked so happy to see him, arms outstretched and a huge smile on his face and Ford fell into his arms because he was so so happy. But after that he grew distant because every time Ford got close, every time Ford tried to do what was best for Stanley, every time Ford trusted Stanley, Stanley died.

#stancest #Sorry this was a bit long wanted to vent abt my boys (characters I made with the intention of dying)#Poker chips au

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alyscat · 3 months ago

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Homecoming

This is the first part of my post-Odyssey WIP! Masterlist here No TWs I can think of

As the child of morning, rosy-fingered dawn stretches across the sky, I see that the thread is knotted.

It seems so obvious as I sit back, examining the tapestry before me. I misstepped. Seven rows back, there is a spot where I knotted the weft thread, doubling over a row. How I made such a novice mistake is beyond me. My jaw works as I carefully begin unwinding the thread. It will all need to be redone now. I can hardly display this with such a glaring error in the tapestry.

A soft rap on the door shakes me from my thoughts. Lowering the shuttle, I square my shoulders. There is no more time for this now, anyways. Morning is upon us. “Yes?”

Ctimene pokes her head into the room, and tension instantly eases from my bones. “Good morning, Penelope. My, have you been up all night?”

She comes to stand by me at the loom, the only sound of her passage the subtle brush of fabric against her legs. I run a palm over the half-finished tapestry. “Sleep is…. Difficult. I find comfort in remaining busy.” Lately, weaving and attending to the suitors is all I seem to do. It began when potential husbands first approached me. When it became clear they wouldn’t leave me alone, I insisted that I could not wed any of them until I had weaved a shroud for my father-in-law, Laertes. His health worsened the longer Odysseus was gone. For four years, I distracted them with the promise of finishing that shroud. I would weave all day. At night, I would undo any progress I made. The fools didn’t even question it until my handmaid Melantho confessed the truth to Antinous. I can’t find fault with her, though. The men are relentless.

“I understand.” Her voice is low and melodic as she fidgets with her braid. The resemblence between Ctimene and Odysseus is undeniable, down to the slight hook in their nose. A deep olive complexion and wiry build is shared between them. They are even the same height, since my husband has always been a little short I have to remind myself of the differences between them, such as the subtle shade in their curly hair. Odysseus’ was a dark blonde, while his sister has an auburn tint Day by day, his memory seems to fade from my mind. If I didn’t have someone who shares such a similar appearance I might have forgotten him entirely. Ctimene studies my work, where the form of a man stringing a bow is taking shape. “You could hold out for longer, m’lady. You don’t-”

“No,” I whisper. I rise from my stool to turn away from her and my foolish tapestry. “They already plotted to kill Telemachus once. They are wrecking the estate, raping my maids, and I cannot allow this behavior to continue. It has been ten years since the war, Odysseus is dead or unable to return home. Waiting another day will not change that.”

The words have never stopped hurting. ‘Odysseus is dead.’ Time is meant to ease the pain of old wounds, yet it hasn’t for me. It hasn’t for Ctimene, either. Her husband was a part of Odysseus’ crew. He is likely dead as well. Though we are both widows, she is not required to remarry as I am. The title of queen does not force her to choose someone else to sit on the throne. I gave my husband as much time as I was able. For ten years, I’ve held them off. I have raised Telemachus on my own. Expectations were just so crushing. I cannot put off the demands of the people. Had I given my father his wish, I would have wed as soon as news of the old king stopped coming. “Ctimene, thank you for checking on me. I appreciate your companionship.”

It is a clear dismissal. I don’t look to see the emotions flicker across her face. “Of course,” she murmurs. Her hand briefly settles on my shoulder. “I will be in the hall with you.”

Then she is gone. I prepare myself, draping a veil across my face. Perhaps I should have heeded my father’s words years ago and remarried already. Maybe I would have grown to care for one of the suitors downstairs, or at least spared my maids some of the torment. There is just a part of me that refuses to believe Odysseus is truly gone. My head bows as I murmur a familiar prayer. “Athena, Daughter of Zeus, my husband was always a favored of yours. If you have blessed him, and he still lives, let him come home.”

One way or another, my suffering shall end today. My suitors foolishly believe that a lucky soul among them will claim my hand before the sun sets. Little do they know I have set them up to fail. It is my final act of devotion for the only man who will ever hold my heart.

Tag List: Please let me know if you want added or removed!

@dorcaloveskotlc @apolloinaplaguemask @hatima-cries-epicly

@fireflychaosdemon

#the odyssey #odypen #penelope of ithaca #homecoming #odysseus #epic the musical #tragic romance #star crossed lovers #writers on tumblr

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dreaisgrayte · 5 months ago

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With the new Love And Deepspace trailer coming out I've been thinking about childhood best friend turned villian...

So I have a couple options for you guys to decide on. My first thought was between two contenders of a single fic with friends to semi lovers to angsty enemies to then potential lovers again. Though with more thought put into it, I could make this idea into a series of turmoil to put not only myself through... but all of you 🥰🥰 without giving too much away here's the options

Kyojuro fic: YN and Kyo grew up together, suffered together, and became Hashira together. Everyone wants them to get married, to continue the Rengoku line. Just when everything seems more perfect than what it should be, Kyojuro boards the Mugen Train. [You can guess where this is going] the title of this fic would be BLAZING HEART

Giyu fic: Giyu and YN have grown up together under the tutelage of their master, but when her year older friends are sent to the selection and reported back dead, YN spirals into a training fury, eventually ending up at the headquarters of the corps. To her surprise, and anger, there stands the very man she thought was dead. Once through the explanation these two cannot be separated, until YN is mortally wounded in combat and Giyu, crazed out of his mind...goes searching for eternal life. This will be titled WEEPING BLADE

Sanemi fic: Sanemi meets yn during the selection, taking a liking to her attitude and spirited way of talking to him. They grow closer due to their shared trauma and become lovers. On the night before their wedding Sanemi ventures out to find one of your favorite flowers. He never returns. That is, the Sanemi you once knew never returns. This fic will be titled WILTED PETALS

Obanai fic: you've had a crush on the Snake Hashira ever since you both were younger. Following him around until the ends of the earth. You gained a few skills here and there to help watch over your beloved. Even some that eventually wore him down enough to beg you to stop following him into the bathhouse. It was permittable when you both were not of age, but it's unbecoming of a fine lady such as yourself to stick to the side of what most people would call a deformed monster. Little by little you convince the one you love to love himself...and you. But you must've angered the gods because he eventually does become the monster he so desperately despised. This fic will be called EONS OF DESPAIR (honestly kind of workshopping all the titles...)

If I were to write all four they would be completed in a series, but (mostly) completely different stories. They would be posted separately on completion.

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pixel7777 · 5 months ago

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ICanFixHim BG3 Fanfic Master List

Before BG3, the last time I had even thought about fanfic was back in the Firefly days, when I managed to shock myself away from it by not understanding how to filter tags. Now, I cannot stop writing and reading. Like, it's a problem, how much I want to write and read fanfic, especially if it includes Astarion. Anyway, here's what I have so far and what is near-term WIP.

I'm using AO3 links since not all of these have been posted full-text to Tumblr (Tumblr gave me technical fits about Bonds of Blood, and I gave up). If you want to see if a fic is full-text here, my blog tag #myfic should bring them all up.

Last updated: 5/2/2025 - I'm on a brief haitus as I am moving to another country. I should be back with more in progress works late June!

Longfics:

Bonds of Blood: (COMPLETE, FULLY POSTED) A playthrough-style fic, my first ever fanfic. Features AU magical lore and happier endings for all companions. Decent smutty smut in the second half.

The Downside of Daring Rescues: (COMPLETE, FULLY POSTED). Astarion is "rescued" by a "hero" 80 years before the Nautiloid. Mild, slow-burn smut.

Threefold Returns: (COMPLETE, FULLY POSTED). M/M/F Bloodweave + Tav, fluff and smut fic where I indulge my wish to smite Mystra and write about a Throuple.

The First Worshipper: (COMPLETE, FULLY POSTED). Astarion's post-canon life hits some very hard bumps, and he becomes Ascended Gale's first and most annoying worshipper in a bid for attention and help from his former best friend and one-time lover. Long time-span bloodweave fic.

This Old House: (COMPLETE, FULLY POSTED). Astarion inherits Cazador's palace and title and a giant mess that comes with it. He and Gale learn Cazador is almost as much trouble dead as he was alive. Bloodweave fluff and gratuitous smut fic.

Batstarion's New Groove: (COMPLETE, FULLY POSTED). A sort-of-sequel to Threefold Returns (can be read without Threefold). Astarion gets stuck as Batstarion in the middle of the Throuple's efforts to make a life on the surface for the spawn Astarion spared. Bloodweave + Tav, fluff and smut fic.

Shortfics:

Cold Comforts: (COMPLETE, FULLY POSTED). Written for a 48 hour flash fic event with the prompt: "Gale needs to keep Astarion warm through the night." A fun, quick, cuddle fic with some tasty smut, feels, and a unique take on the shadowcurse.

Midnight Magistrate Series:

A Star(ion) is Born: (COMPLETE, FULLY POSTED). Angst with a happy ending one-shot about Astarion getting roped into performing a vampire act at a Tavern. Medium spice smut with extra feels.

A Star(ion) Burns Bright: (COMPLETE, FULLY POSTED). Sequel to A Star(ion) is Born in which Astarion's fame from his performance as the Midnight Magistrate becomes A Thing. Low spice but all the feels and a triumphant ending.

Mayhem in the Margins Series:

Editorial Prerogative: (COMPLETE, FULLY POSTED). Bloodweave fic about Astarion becoming Gale's beta-reader and what these two geeks get up to. Very spicy with tons of feels and nerdy laughs.

Dedications: (COMPLETE, FULLY POSTED) Sequel to Editorial Prerogative in which the publishing of Gale's chronicle is addressed. Very spicy, more feels, and low-brow cum humor.

Rhonda Doomweaver Series:

Fortune Favors the Bold: (COMPLETE, FULLY POSTED). Fluff one shot about Astarion visiting a fortune teller, Rhonda, and being aggrieved by what he learns. People seem to really like Rhonda. Smut-free.

Terms and Conditions Apply: (COMPLETE, FULLY POSTED). Slightly longer than Fortune Favors the Bold but still a short. Sequel featuring Rhonda again, because I liked her too, and Astarion, because the two of them are hilarious together. Smut-free.

Cozy Romances (not really a series):

Rainy Day Reading: (COMPLETE, FULLY POSTED). Fluffy smut one shot. Astarion and Juniper use trashy romance novels as a playful guide to intimacy during a stormy day. Medium spice smut with feels.

By Starlight: (COMPLETE, FULLY POSTED). A Fluff and Romantic Smut one-shot about spawn Astarion being taken stargazing shortly after defeating the Netherbrain. Also features Juniper but isn't a sequel (can be read in either order).

#bg3 #bg3 fanfic #astarion #myfic

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mcflymemes · 2 years ago

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AS SAID BY FENRIS * assorted dialogue from dragon age ii, updated version

meeting you was the most important thing that ever happened to me.

i can’t bear the thought of living without you.

you are too willing to involve yourself in the affairs of others.

nothing could be worse than living without you.

before we found you, there was a moment when i… don’t do that again.

you should really post some guards outside, considering all the trouble you get into.

everywhere we go, people try to kill you.

i don't want to hear another word out of you.

and here we are again. for the fourth time.

how much do you wish to test that luck of yours?

it seems you have won the day. well done.

why must you go on about this?

i can do that, if you wish.

i am alone.

i'm afraid to ask what brought this on.

is this going anywhere?

do you want to guess what color my underclothes are again?

you’re squandering something you don’t understand.

you do not like your name?

you'd look pretty in one.

i felt like a fool. i thought it better if you hated me.

nobody asks for their fate.

oh. that. it’s... a talent.

it was better than anything i could have dreamed.

do not make light of this. leaving was the hardest thing i’ve ever done.

whatever you need, i am ready to assist.

the true character of any city is found among its poor.

i enjoy following you.

i didn’t come here to burden you further.

we have never discussed what happened between us three years ago.

is there no one else who has your attention?

you wound my pride with such accusations.

break their heart, and i will kill you.

you keep staring at me. is it my eyes again?

you are more naive than i thought.

did i hear correctly?

that is my hope as well.

i don’t want your pity.

i needed to be alone.

that night... i remember your touch as if it were yesterday.

i shouldn’t trouble you with this. my problems are not yours.

how is it you get into these situations so often?

you did the right thing. many would turn a blind eye.

you do not want to know the answer to that.

i don’t know. it’s just something people say.

you have an entire story written in your head already, don’t you?

a shame that you are going to die, no?

i should have asked for your forgiveness long ago. i hope you can forgive me now.

from what i gather, you like a lot of things.

you wish to do this here? in front of everyone?

i’ve never spoken about what happened to anyone.

why are you watching me like that?

i remain at your side.

i may not get a chance to say this again.

thank you for asking me to come along.

perhaps this is what it means to have a friend.

i suggest keeping your distance.

if there is a future to be had, i will walk gladly into it at your side.

we need to stop and rest when we’ve a moment.

this ground is cursed. only wretched or ignorant souls would linger here.

i cannot imagine what it must be like to lose your family. anything i could say would be insufficient. i’m sorry.

i have never allowed anyone too close.

forget i said anything.

it’s so wonderful having my personal business as someone else’s sport.

well... at least i’m not dead.

you were never ordered to kill?

does it bother you? should i stop?

promise me you won’t die.

do not bare your heart to me, unless you would have me rip it out.

is that a compliment of an insult?

do you intend to go after me, then?

it is always good to be at your side.

thanks for getting rid of them.

i imagine you imprisoned them?

you have my thanks.

i am yours, as always.

the smug sense of superiority does give you away.

you caught them, then?

there you are. were you hurt? what happened?

i don’t know what to say, but i’m here.

surely you can’t hope to best me.

i am yours.

we should move on.

i could ask you the same thing.

i just... am pleased to see you, that’s all.

you are looking for forgiveness, but i’m not the one who can give it to you.

they say death is only a journey. does that help?

i stand ready.

shall we end this quickly?

another battle is upon us.

you frightened me.

oh, you've learned a few new words.

keep going. i'm sure your training will kick in any moment.

to be honest, i see no point in filling these moments with empty talk.

my wounds need attention.

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psalacanthea · 3 months ago

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still organizing all my fic folders as I remove stuff from gdocs, found the old Cello fic prompts. I don't feel like putting this all on AO3, so I'll just post this here and if ppl seem interested maybe I'll dust off the rest some time.

This one I BELIEVE was the first post-fic prompt, chronologically.

It was a beautiful night, just a hint of summer in the air- a promise of things to come.

Ella had never been to the old Denerim Arlage estate, which had been converted to a museum. Sadly, not the interesting kind with dinosaurs, but the other kind. The kind without laser light shows. It had a garden, but she remembered the last time she'd ditched Solas to go hide in a garden, and didn't want to repeat the experience.

Not that she didn't appreciate art, but her frustration with this particular art museum crowd was almost as strong as Fenris'. And there wasn't anywhere to go and hide when you got sick of them. You couldn't really hide behind a painting and make out.

Well, you could, but people would see you.

“Why am I here.” Fenris' skill in asking questions that sounded like statements was unparalleled. Especially when combined with the dead-eyed stare and the slight sneer in his raspy voice. “You have a girlfriend now. Specifically so that I do not have to come to these sorts of events.”

“Is that why he got me? I thought it was because I'm witty and super smart and pretty.” She peered down into her wine glass. Empty. Damn. They only poured like a half inch into the bottom of it anyways. “I didn't realize it was to make your life easier.”

“I find you to be very charming and intelligent,” Solas informed her placidly, and then added on as she glanced up to him, “and you are very pretty.”

The embarrassment was instant, and so was the fidget, her fingers twisting tighter in his as they shared a look.

“You are very pretty too," she told him, not just because it flustered him a little, that little bit of a flush that made his freckles stand out a little more. Also because it was true, and because...

“Stop it,” Fenris demanded near-instantly, disgust evident in his tone. “I will lose my dinner if you do not stop that. Right. This instant.”

And because it would annoy Fenris.

Her smile turned a hint impish, and Solas gave her a silent look of reproof, lifting her hand for a brief kiss on the knuckles. Still, she was quite sure he was thinking about smiling just a little as he looked up and away.

“I asked that you attend to locate the donors I am expected to speak to, Fenris.” Solas finally said, after scanning the U-shaped gallery for the third time. “For now, however, we will enjoy the exhibit. Find us again in half an hour.”

"Understood."

Ella followed as Solas wandered away, letting her empty glass be taken by a passing server. That was nice. She made sure to smile and say thank you, even briefly, remembering that whole mess in Halamshiral. Bleh. The wrinkle of her nose drew Solas' attention as they paused in front of a painting, and he gave her a curious look.

“No, nothing. Just a bad memory,” she told him mildly, and then turned her gaze towards the painting. Pretty, but kind of...messy. She tilted her head slightly to the left and squinted. “Oh. Huh, I get it.”

“It is...vhenan, I do not believe this particular piece is meant to be 'gotten'.” He remarked, in what she was coming to recognize as his 'being tolerant of my weird girlfriend' voice. She liked that one.

“No, it sort of looks like a naked lady if you squint a little bit,” she insisted, and was gratified to finally see a genuine smile from him. She resisted the urge to kiss the corner of it. “It's okay. Like you said, two hours. We can survive two hours.”

“I cannot recall telling you of my reluctance to attend.” He led her on to the next painting, pausing to get her another glass of wine.

She accepted it with a smile, and was relieved to see his shoulders relaxing just a little. She'd get him to share his burdens a bit yet. Stubborn man, stuck inside his own head.

“I could tell,” she responded simply, fingers tightening a little in his, securely. “Why else do you think I'd be in heels?”

“I thought you were just trying to see the world from a new vantage point." His smile only in his low voice, staying off of his lips.

“Ah, yes, a short joke. Excellent, excellent.” She pulled on her most pompously affected voice, which of course happened to be Orlesian. Petty revenge being best revenge and all. “I would say zat joke was per'aps from what we now refer to as his 'I think I'd like to be single again' period. Also commonly known as ze 'blue balls' period.”

The clearing of his throat was so loud that there were suddenly about a dozen eyes on them, and she freed her hand from his to solicitously pat his back. All while hiding a smirk, and he tried to hide his red cheeks behind his hand, finger and thumb splayed over his mouth. She could feel the tension in his shoulders as he tried not to laugh, smug satisfaction settling in.

It took him a few moments to recover, and then a few more to settle himself. She thought he might at least give her a token chide, but instead he just cleared his throat again, quieter this time, and took her hand once more. Smiling to herself, she behaved as they wandered around to look at the rest of the paintings.

Solas seemed more relaxed, and that's really all she'd wanted.

Ellana was really starting to wish that Leliana had time to come to this. She knew she'd gotten an invitation, but there was some sort of silent auction going on somewhere that she was helping. A Chantry thing, she thought. A proper charity, not self-congratulatory assholes like some of the ones here. Being with Solas helped, it did, and she felt like she got a lot less second looks because of it.

Less, not none. And some of the first looks were bad enough, like when someone who passed by handed her their empty glass without even looking at her. She took it, because what else do you do when someone shoves a glass at you? And then she just sort of stared at it for a minute. Ellana shook her head as Solas immediately half-turned, grabbing his arm to stop him.

Not worth it. Just...not worth it.

“Ir abelas, vhenan.” He leaned over to plant a small kiss on top of her head. “Josephine should have been here to navigate such insults. It was simply bad luck that she took ill.”

“She does have a way of handling this crap.” She agreed, and then sighed, lifting the dirty glass. “What was she thinking with this shade of lipstick, anyways?”

“The world may never know. Where is Fenris?”

That...was a good question, actually.

Lips pursing together, she scanned the room, checking the corners, of course. Always check the corners for the hipster with his face in his cell phone. And...nope.

“I don't know, you should probably check if they're missing any bottles of wine. If so, probably the coat closet.” She glanced up and aside at Solas, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “And if so, I'm kind of thinking about joining him.”

“I would not blame you.”

“No, I'm serious. Not joking. I would completely hide in the coat closet with a bottle of wine. That would actually make my night about a hundred times better right now, especially if you were there, too. Pants basically optional at that point.”

For a long moment, he didn't say anything, scanning the gallery in silence, a thoughtfully distant look on his face. She was actually starting to worry she'd annoyed him. She had said she'd come, after all, maybe she wasn't being supportive enough. Maybe she wasn't cut out for this dumb, fancy sort of thing. Which would be a huge pain in the ass, because she knew he had to do this sort of thing, and it was part of his job and she did want to be a good girlfriend...

Solas gave a small tug to her hand, turning. "

Dumbfounded, she managed to contain the questions and sheer disbelief, following after him. It wasn't until he'd left her in the hall with a squeeze of her hand and ducked into the server's room that she snapped out of her surprised daze. And then started giggling.

“What?” he asked her as he wandered back out, bottle of wine in hand.

The sight only made her laugh all the more, cheeks pinked. Eventually it roused a smile from him as well, and he shook his head at her slowly.

“Did you actually steal that?” she asked him, letting him take her hand again and lead her off.

“I asked. They aren't paid to care what guests do, vhenan.”

He didn't turn back towards the gallery, but down a hallway they hadn't been down before, his fingers laced securely in hers. Curiously she watched the way ahead, glancing into darkened rooms as they passed them.

“I'm not used to people just giving me things when I ask,” she pointed out, laughter still coloring her words. “You just assume no one will say no to you, and then they don't. You bulldozer.”

"I find it makes my life less complicated. Come,” he pulled her around a turn, and she blinked in surprise at the darkness of the hall ahead. "There is something I would like to show you."

This wasn't the way back to the party.

Ellana wasn't opposed- if they got in trouble Solas would handle it. “Ooh, spooky. No coat closet, then? Are we going to go find the ghost of a long-dead arl?”

“No ghosts that I have personally met,” Solas replied, offering her the bottle of wine. She took it in her far hand, tucking herself more comfortably against his side. He smiled down at her, making her heart give one of those funny little flips she liked so much, a little flutter of happiness.

“I didn't say it properly before, but you look very handsome tonight.” She nudged her hip into his, and then added just to see if she could get him to blush, “though you always look handsome.”

Yep, that worked. Smiling to herself, she was too busy admiring the flush as it crept along his cheekbone, and then she got lost in the line of his jaw for a moment. And then, well, there was all the rest that needed staring at, and maybe if she just grabbed his tie she could get in a kiss...

“We've arrived,” he told her, and she blinked back into focus, turning her attention to the rest of the room.

It was big, and open, and for a moment she wondered what it had been once upon a time. Hard to tell now, but this one still had the old, sturdy stone exposed, not covered up with plaster. It made it feel timeless, even with the low electric lights set into the floor. Each one turned up to face a mosaic, probably even older than the estate itself.

Way older.

She felt him release her hand as she stepped forward, entranced, the extremely low lights giving her just enough to see the mosaics. They gleamed like metal, tiny tiles meticulously put together. She could see the cracks from the restoration, but it didn't take away from the beauty of the pieces.

Eerie beauty, though, stylized and spare, but flowing. Some of the tiles were so small that from a distance they looked like beading, giving them the strangest appearance of mosaic and tapestry all in one. It was the eyes that arrested her, though, gazing up into a face otherwise featureless, silvery eyes reflecting more light than the rest of the piece.

“It's like...looking at a statue of something that's been out in the desert for hundreds of years," she finally decided, low and awed. “Where it's just been blasted down so long it's almost just a lump, but you can still see the essence of what it was. I didn't...that's supposed to be Dirthamen, right?”

“Yes. They were excavated from a ruin in Orlais,” Solas told her, finally moving up to join her, an arm sliding around her waist. “I thought you might like to see; I was told the restoration was nearly complete.”

“Wow, I...yes.” She finally managed to speak, moving on to examine the next one, still rather cracked, one large corner missing, but still gorgeous in its own right. “Way better than the coat closet.”

“The evening is young yet.” He took the bottle from her, and she smiled impishly, flashing him a wink that made him laugh. “D not underestimate the utility of hiding in the coat closet. We still must properly face the terrible people out there, and it may be necessary.”

“Mmh, we've got it," she replied dismissively, eyes still captivated by the ancient murals. “I can handle you, I can handle anyone.”

“I know. I am a very lucky man.”

The tone of his voice made her flush, as she glanced up and aside to meet his eyes. They held for a moment, a familiar contact now but no less intense for it. Pleased warmth settled in her belly, making her breath catch audibly. And then he smiled, slow and intimate, which just made her heart turn over in her chest.

Luckily, him tying her tongue in knots now had a very easy solution. She didn't have to fumble to find the right thing to say, she could just kiss the hell out of him.

And so she did.

#solavellan #solas x lavellan #ficlets #i didn't word count oops #but it's short #just throwing this on here to maybe entertain someone

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rebelcracker-s · 2 years ago

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WELCOME HOME THEORY :D

i've been swinging back and forth between "this is genius" and "i am spitballing" in debating whether to publicize this theory. i have decided to put it out there. i hope i'm somewhat right! (long post ahead)

so user @thecolourfulkingdom pointed out the importance of this tic-tac-toe image from the guestbook page:

i know a one-person game of tic-tac-toe doesn't seem like much, but op then placed this image on top of the neighborhood map (credits to them for figuring that out!), this image becomes very interesting.

it's suspicious how nicely the two line up.

i know this could be a random detail, but in somewhere as detailed as welcome home, i think that every detail counts, especially one like this. if it is a coincidence, it's a very strange one.

the circles in the board call attention to four (or five, depending on how you look at it) characters: wally/home, sally, frank, and howdy. we already know wally and home are two very important characters in the lore, but what connection do the remaining three three have? and why is wally pointing them out specifically?

this trio made me think of a certain image from the conceptual days of welcome home: concept art of the telephone that was revealed in the july update. (i'm not going to repost it due to clown's wishes about spreading conceptual art, but you can find it on their portfolio!)

in this image, the phone has eight buttons for eight neighbors, like the current one on the website. however, this one has three buttons scribbled out. based on colors, the three characters missing are sally (orange), howdy (teal), and eddie (purple).

i know it's not exact, but the fact that two out of the three "scratched-out" characters match the ones circled on this map has me thinking that i'm onto something.

here's what i think is going on. something happened in the neighborhood that divided the neighbors in half. something happened to the four uncircled ones--julie, barnaby, eddie, and poppy. it's really not clear what's happened to them right now, but wally has mentioned that he cannot talk to his neighbors right now. i think they at the very least lack the awareness to the strange things happening in the neighborhood. at the worst, they are dead.

again, i'm not sure what happened to them, so all we can do right now is speculate.

our remaining four--frank, sally, howdy, and wally--are the ones who have retained awareness. they know what is happening in home. they know about the whrp. and they know about the audience welcome home is gaining.

we know wally and home know about us because they have both spoken to us through the "i will find a way soon" audios. but what about the remaining three?

the july website update not only included the drawings that led to wally's messages, but also bugs leading to videos of interactions between the members. while the whrp insisted that there was nothing important about the bugs, the audience could click on these bugs and find secret videos depicting a conversation between the neighbors.

the latest game theory video on welcome home points out that like how drawing is related to wally and the drawings lead to messages from him, bugs are connected to frank, from his character description to his hidden audio with eddie. i believe those messages could be from frank. the video goes into more depth about this, but for the sake of the length of this theory, i'll stop here.

in the october 13th halloween update, we got the "happy haunting to boo and yours" record. the website staff insist multiple times that there is a gap in the audio during sally's story where they can't make out what sally is saying, but we can. (if you need a transcript for the skipped-over part, i have one reblogged!)

sally's story is a very menacing one about a monster that she cannot see or hear that prowls the neighborhood at night, devouring anything it passes, confining the neighbors to their homes at night. this would seem like a normal scary story if not for how the audio changes. at every other part, the audio has a crackly, vinyl sound; however, sally's story is perfectly clear.

it seems to me like sally is directly talking to the website's audience here: she's trying to warn us about the strange things going on in home. i think frank's messages were trying to do the same thing too. these are glimpses into the sides of welcome home that the whrp, wally, and home have not shown us: the lives of the neighbors, and the unsettling danger lurking beneath it all. notice how subtle both of their warnings were, and how they were careful to make sure that whrp could not discover them while the audience could.

also, remember how the title of the video tabs in the july update--"answer"--led us to the staff only page? i think the title of the newest hidden video--"listen"--is telling us not only to listen to the audios for a true glimpse of what life in the neighborhood was like, but to listen to their warnings.

i don't think wally is aware that frank and sally have been contacting us in secret, but i do believe he knows that they stand apart from the other neighbors, hence the tic-tac-toe board and the map.

but there's still one loose end: howdy hasn't yet talked to the audience. i think that during the big holiday update, we will see the final member of the "survivor trio" (as i like to call them) contact us. and i'm hoping this update tells us more about what's happening in welcome home's world and what role we as the viewers play in it.

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