#man i am a fic writer and a multishipper too and i love these sorts of things dont worry anon

[sunshine-in-a-bottle]

SUDSPOTS RECOMMENDS DREAM-CENTRIC FICS: PART ONE MAYBE

Sorted by shipping because I'm a multishipper.

Its about the PASSION its about the INTRICACIES its about the EMOTIONAL DEVASTATION.

If a fic you like isn't on here I demand you make your own recommendations post so I can reblog it and then we ALL must go insane. You Understand? You understand. Lets fucking go, lets LOVE THE PEOPLE IN THIS COMMUNITY RIGHT NOW AND TELL THEM WHAT GOOD FUCKING WRITERS THEY ARE

DESCEND INTO MADNESS. ITS FOR THE GREATER GOOD.

DRUNZ WORKS BELOW

-non-explicit fics section-

our eternal love by janies_not_here. (Rated T)

Punz and Dream being in love and their last few moments together before the destruction of the server.

Personal thoughts: I love them. I would die for them. I care them so much.

Suffering by Airrec (Raichett). (Rated T)

“I,” Punz repeats, “am doing this one. You did lung removal, I’ll do heart.” They look at Dream squarely, determined, though their eyes are tight around the edges. No one likes dying, but they both know how important it is to know.

Personal thoughts: how to murder me emotionally. Its about the Intricacies its about the Unethical Science Murder Experiments.

science for sweethearts by silversandstone. (Rated T)

“His name is Punz?” “Yeah.” “I know him!” Sapnap exclaims, and he sounds entirely too excited for Dream’s liking. “He’s on the basketball team with me. Tall, blonde hair, blue eyes? Looks a little bit like he got thrown in the laundry by accident?” “He’s pretty,” Dream agrees miserably.

Personal thoughts: I am always a slut for modern AUs. I am bapping them with my little paws. Please kiss.

with arms unfolding by silversandstone. (Rated T) (series)

but here i am with arms unfolding i guess it isn't quite the end old partner in crime i'm going to try to fall in love with you again

Personal thoughts: PUNZ FINDING OUT ABOUT THE TORTURE. YESGOODPERFECT. THEM CARING ABOUT EACH OTHER. AAAAA

c!drunz living happily ever after by theendpoem. (Rated T) (series)

c!drunz headcanon written into short stories that follow them running away from the smp together and living happily ever after in a cabin

Personal thoughts: exactly what it says on the tin. I am a feral cat biting it biting it biting it

deadlines and commitments by sunnyscribe. (Rated G)

Dream doesn't know what he's looking for, but he finds it in Punz.

Personal thoughts: please imagine that gif of kermit spinning in a water fountain. They're taking a little nap together. They are in love.

i hope i don’t murder me, i hope i don’t burden you by nightdaydream. (Rated T)

Dream is dangerous, an enigma of a man. “So, what do you say?” Roses bloom in Punz’s lungs. They take a breath, choke them down, and return the grin that they’re sure Dream wears beneath his mask. “I’m in.” aka. punz suffers through hanahaki. it gets a lot worse before it gets better.

Personal notes: FUCK OFFFFFFFFF<=== is personally very emotional. Don't perceive me.

by his side where he belongs by ammizukii. (Rated T)

c!Dream shyfully proposes to c!Punz.

Personal notes: oh.

Just A Dip by Icechild. (Rated G)

It was meant to be just be a bath. It was supposed to be refreshing, healing, calming. It wasn't supposed to be Punz watching Dream pant and groan in pain. It wasn't supposed to end up with them realizing a blade was poisoned after it was too late. OR Punz and Dream have a bath time after a fight with the SMP and take care of each other and things go a little south.

Personal notes: I am eating concrete. I am throwing things. ITS ABOUT THE TRUST AND LOVE AND FEAR AND

love, like death, hath all destroyed by dumbgirlfriend (thelightwoods). (Rated T)

Punz and Dream have a quiet last meal before the end of the world, and Punz wants him.

Personal notes: dies a death (x40) hahahaha I love them what the fuck...

Steam by Airrec (Raichett). (Rated T)

There’s something almost ritualistic in the way Punz lathers soap onto Dream’s skin, their touch gentle but firm as they thumb at his flesh, their clipped nails dragging a little across his too-thin skin, careful not to worry at scabs or sores, but touching them anyway, keeping them clean. --- Or: post-Pandora, Dream's physical state is a bit too fragile for him to be able to bathe alone. Enter, stage left, Punz.

Personal notes: you think I'm normal right now but I'm actually clawing at the bars of my cage. Let me out I won't bite.

red slush and citrus shampoo by shamefulfroggos. (Rated T)

“Okay.” The two sit in silence for a few more beats before Punz drops his hand down to twist the keys and coax the engine back to life. It rumbles, faintly, and Dream watches from the corner of his eye as Punz puts the car in reverse and brings his arm up, his hand gripping the shoulder of Dream’s seat. His head turns so he can look through the back window as he pulls the car out of the parking space he turned into mere minutes ago. Dream tries not to stare. He doesn’t try very hard. -------------- or Dream has been in love with Punz for too long, Sapnap and George are tired of his shit, and Punz is a cinnamon roll who is trying to convey his feelings but failing

Personal notes: hnnnnnnn I'm gonna be honest with you I reread these fics before I put them on this post and this is making me go insane. They're so fucking in love shut the fuck upp

Not to Me, Not If It’s You by ranababamboo. (Rated T)

“Stop fussing over me.” “I will when your fever breaks,” they replied. They gestured to the stew, untouched aside from the near-spill. “Should eat that before it goes cold.” Dream rolled his eyes at the nagging. “What, gonna sit here and watch me until I do?” Punz merely raised an eyebrow. “...you’re the worst.” ——— Stubborn refusal of injury won’t slide in this household.

Personal notes: I hate them (I love them so much I am actively dying)

even when it’s raining by navyhurricane. (Rated T)

“You want to dance—” “In the rain,” Punz finishes for him, almost in a rush as though the idea has him breathless already. “C’mon, you can’t say that you have never in your life thought of it before.” Dream shakes his head softly. “Can’t say it’s high on my bucket list.”

For ruined plans and an opportunity saved, Dream has never known a love as soft as this; he knows that while he needs Punz, the other wants him in all the same ways.

Personal notes: hey do you ever feel like the chemicals in your brain just fucking change and shit while you read something because its good.

i wish to reclaim the rising by Airrec (Raichett). (Rated T)

Dream is quite happy with his life, despite his lack of memories, the scars and frailties of his body, and the numerous questions both raise. Then Punz, one of the gods of this world, saves his life, and it becomes clear that there is more to this - to them - than what can be seen on the surface. --- Or: it's a whole new world, and everyone deserves a chance to move on and make the most of the future. Punz has been waiting for theirs for... a long time.

Personal notes: I really wish I could just post memes and images instead of typing because I don't know how to communicate to you the level of Feral I am rn.

i miss the way you made me feel by WinterEnchantress. (Rated G)

Technoblade broke them up because duty always comes first, and he knows that the pain will never lessen, but at least he had the certainty that Dream was also...suffering. Because he's a selfish and petty man, deep inside, and he doesn't want to be lonely in his pain. Up until Dream found someone else. Up until Dream starts to heal, and all Techno can do is watch from the sidelines as Punz carefully puts broken pieces back together. All he has left is regret. or sad techno and broken up dnb + punz/dream being sweet as techno pines and suffers (:

Personal notes: !!!!!!! well thats fucked up and sad. fuck yeah lets go !!!!!!!

starshine after the longest night by voidofthestars. (Rated T)

They say almost, because there's so much missing from him, from weight loss from starvation to blatant mutilation, ears slashed and even tagged. And gods knew what else lies beneath his torn and ragged clothes. The moment Dream collapses into their arms and they close around him he keens, low and hurt like a dying animal in a cage. It's all Punz can do to keep them both upright even as Dream shakes in his arms, damaged hands scrabbling across his back and shoulders like he was afraid Punz wasn't actually there. "Holy shit, starshine, I've got you, you can't drop on me yet we're not safe yet." "Punz! Punz you're actually here! Haha, oh my god, I can't believe it!" Dream's voice cracks from emotion and disuse. It's painful to listen to, in more ways than one.

Personal notes: Don't fucking look at me don't perceive me I don't want to talk about it.

last cup of coffee by Luciddreaming_ (LucidDreamLight). (Rated T)

Local barista crushing on the cute college boy.

Personal notes: I don't have braincells anymore. Only them.

or should i walk by again? by Anonymous. (Rated T)

After Sapnap accidentally triple-books himself, he leaves his friends Dream and Punz to entertain each other at a boardwalk. This quickly spirals into a bet: Can you fall in love in one day?

Personal notes: what if... they kissed<=== absolutely deranged

green strings of magic by nightdaydream. (Rated M)

“You just work with him for money,” Quackity states, looking at Punz, and they want to laugh at how wrong the statement is. At first, sure; Dream was their client, and they were a mercenary. But as time passed, and they got closer, they came to trust Dream. And eventually, the golden ring on their finger and the matching one on the chain around Dream’s neck, hidden below his hoodie, came into play. “So, if he’s dead, which everyone else here wants anyways, you have no reason to carry out what he wants.” aka. Dream gets killed. Punz brings him back, because they’re a good partner like that.

Personal notes: they're MARRIED they have RINGS what if I shed my skin and became a skeleton.

Keep it Together by orphan_account (Rated T)

/Don’t react. Don’t react. Stay calm. Stick to the plan./ They spent hours, standing on a grassy hill, staring at the prison. /Keep it together./

Personal notes: His One Attachment his Most Important Attachment Shut The FUck

sunlight through my window by oopsie_daisyy (Rated G)

Dream and Punz are comfortable enough together to just walk into each other’s room and be. But when Dream asks him an unfinished question, Punz can’t get the implications of it off of his mind.

Personal notes: biting my own arm. Themb!!!!!! Them,,,,,

Bunker Pasta by dyinginlava (probablyaceok). (Rated T)

When Punz meets Dream after he escapes from Pandora’s Vault he notices how bad Dream looks and makes a decision.

Personal notes: They love each other did you know that. did you know. they love each other so much

Ground Zero by Oceanbreeze7. (Unrated)

Canon Divergence- what if the entire confrontation went a little faster- and they all had time to leave before the nuke impacted?

Personal notes: its barely there, but Its There and its important To Me.

Even Now by TastesLikeBakingSoda (Rated G)

Punz tries to coax Dream to bed, post-prison.

Personal notes:..........

lets take a rest by TastesLikeBakingSoda (Rated G)

Dream comes home after fighting the slime clone army and Punz gives him tickles and kisses

Personal notes: I'm being persecuted, held at gunpoint even.

-EXPLICIT FICS-

forever and always by applpudding

Dream slips his hands from Punz’s grasp and slides one around the cradle the back of his head. “Punz. Look at me.” The softness of his voice coaxes Punz’s eyes open and oh. He’d forgotten how stunning Dream’s eyes are in the daylight, brilliant viridian irises shining bright and honest, settled between soft golden eyelashes. “I don’t know if I can say it back yet,” Dream says, and for a moment Punz feels his heart sink. “But,” Dream continues, “that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. I do, I really do, I promise you that.” Punz leans forwards and knocks their foreheads together. “I’ll wait,” he whispers. “However long you need, I’ll wait."

Personal notes: they need to be happy its so fucking important to me

radio lust by navyhurricane

A messy turn of events leaves Dream without a car in the middle of a rainstorm. He knows Punz is made of nicotine and bad ideas, but Dream's curiosity over Punz’s passenger seat is addicting.

Personal notes: hi they are absolutely infatuated with each other. they told me so themselves.

losing the bet by Anonymous

“Oh, I see. You wanted to lose,” Punz said in a low voice, dropping in volume, and Dream’s breath hitched in his throat. “You made that bet assuming you’d lose, huh? You wanna be my bitch that badly?” “Fuck no,” Dream spat back even as his eyes locked onto Punz’s lips. They looked surprisingly soft, pink. Dream swallowed hard. “I’m just a man of my word. I promised you, you win, you use me as you want.” “Just seems like an odd thing to offer to someone you’re not attracted to at all.” Punz stepped closed again, practically chest to chest, and he grabbed Dream by the jaw. His grip was tight, practically bruising, and he pushed Dream’s head back against the lockers. “Deny it all you want, but I think you wanted to end up here. You liked the thought of mean ol’ Punz shoving you into the lockers, huh? You want me to fuck you right here?” Dream whined, unable to speak with the hand clamping his jaw shut, and Punz huffed a snort of amusement. “You’re cute when you’re pathetic, princess,” Punz purred.

Personal notes: shaking them. they are stupid and full of kink. I cherish them deeply.

Observant by Toasted_Poison

Dream and Punz are roommates and Dream is very observant of Punz's recent behavior.

Personal notes: the comment I left on this fic probably shows how insane I am more than any words I could type here.

if you’re the reason why it’s empty, spin the fucking bottle by oopsie_daisyy

"I was about to leave when you asked me to play spin the bottle, actually,” Dream explains with a knowing smile, one that Punz reciprocates easily. “But yeah, it’s fine. Just a regular boring party, nothing too special.” “I could make it special.” Dream rolls his eyes. “I know you can. Why else do you think I would stay at some shitty party?"

Personal notes: RAAAAA WHY ARE THEY SO DUMB I CANT FUCKING STAND THEM (is holding them so very closely)

Shatter you by Anonymous

The payment is given. The plan should start any minute now. Punz wouldn't say he'd changed his mind. He never truly agreed with this plan anyway. It's good that Dream is in a good spot for listening. Alternatively: Punz is an Ender Dragon hybrid who likes gold but likes his shiny employer better so he decides to keep him. Dream's a brat and needs to be taught his place.

Personal notes: go away leave me be. I have to be really abnormal about Ender Dragon Punz. (you hear the sound of someone eating paper)

A Goat & A Coyote by ConscientiousMonster, Melpomene_Muse_of_Tragedy

A coyote pack leader finds a goat spellcaster that's been tied up in ribbons and left for death by vultures. This is furry-flavoured Drunz porn.

Personal notes: I'm not a furry but five dollars is five dollars<===this is a reference. I'm actually probably a furry.

Without End by JanetBaby99

“We’re equals aren’t we? You and me no matter what,” Punz assures. “You don’t control me and I don’t control you.” Dream lets his words wash over him, taking them in and analyzing each one. … Even after all of this, seeing how weak Dream has become, seeing how he’s fallen, Punz still sees him as an equal on this godforsaken server. ___________________ After Dream escapes Pandora's Vault, he goes to Punz who helps him through the worst of his injuries, and assures Dream that he would love him no matter what.

Personal notes: HNNNNNNNNNNNNNN THEY ARE IN LOVE,,,, THE ANGST CAN'T DEFEAT THEM,,,

all your ivory glory by eleostomercy

“You’re a cockslut.” Dream’s eyes flick up. He’s sure he makes quite the sight, knelt at Punz’s feet, knelt over a baby blue dildo, and dripping between his thighs with a hand on Punz’s cock. “What about it?” or, where dream has an idea and a need to be between punz's legs.

Personal notes: clapping and cheering and blowing the building up because its what they deserve.

twisted on my tongue by eleostomercy

I know what a sex machine is,” Punz mutters, unsteady on his feet as he rights himself by the refrigerator; the revelation is surprising, sure, but his own astonishment at Dream’s hidden possession is nearly gone. “I just didn’t think that—” “What?” Dream’s embarrassment has melted away by now, and it leaves in its place a sharp grin and gleaming eyes. “Didn’t think I would own one?” or, where dream reveals a well-kept secret and punz decides to give it his own gleaming review.

Personal notes: hey did you know that they're in love. Did you know that I'm throwing shit and maiming because they are in love.

their hungry thirsty roots by consumptive_sphinx

Punz, somewhere above him, sighs, and then there’s a flowering vine in his face and he can’t fucking breathe. His knees hit the ground again and this time Punz wraps an arm around his chest and doesn’t let go, combs through his hair with their fingers while he coughs until his eyes water. “Sorry, man,” they say, and “I know,” and “it’s alright.” Something’s fucking happening while he coughs and Dream doesn’t like drugs under the best of circumstances— they make him slow, they make him stupid, they make him off his game and he can’t be off his game— but the alarm is leeching away. It’s like trying to cling to water. By the time he can breathe again his legs feel too weak to move on.

Personal notes: hnnnn Egg fics.... my one (1) weakness....

pleasure in death by bugginmate

“Here’s how this is gonna work, sweetheart,” he murmurs, brushing Dream’s too long hair out of his face. “You’re going to do what I say. I’m gonna get you all worked up and begging for me. Then when- or if- I decide to let you feel good, I am going to kill you. Do you understand?” Dream and Punz are brainstorming ways to die for their limbo research.

Personal notes: two bros, chilling in their lab, fucking around against OSHA regulations.

Scour and Scorch by FraustiButBad (FraustiNoSnowman)

“Is everything about numbers to you?” He retorts. It’s a weak one, at that, not because it doesn’t mean anything to Punz, but because both of them know that it’s almost a hundred percent true, and Punz is proud of that fact. “Yes,” the lighter blonde admits. His thumb rests on the front of Dream’s chin, and he pulls Dream’s head down to eye level; Dream has to grip the table for him to not punch Punz in the face, or throw on his jacket and leave. “It’s all numbers to me. And where does that take me, sweetheart?” Punz does everything for numbers. • Dream and Punz, musicians, classmates, enemies, friends with benefits, are everything that could be set fire to.

Personal notes: the unreliable narrator that is Dream. also kink. peoples two favorite things.

Red Sweater by Typical_Kiwi

Punz really has to go to work and Dream's making it exceedingly difficult. (Punz isn't blameless.)

Personal notes: THEY CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER. SO MUCH. SHUT UPPPPPPP

Home for the Holidays by Toasted_Poison

"So, where am I sleeping?” Dream asked, looking around the large room, the couch did look quite comfortable. Punz shook his head, opening his suitcase to unpack, “Are you playing dumb? In bed with me.” “Oh! Are we going to explore each other's bodies?” Dream teased. The dirty blond kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his jacket, placing it on the couch before his gloves joined it. He didn’t expect an answer from Punz, who was staring down at a blue shirt in his hands before looking up and smiling at Dream with a cock of his eyebrow. “If you’d like."

Personal notes: (you see an image of goofy floating in a fountain)

Play To Win by angeIofsmalldeath

He likes his roommate, he really does. All things aside, they’re relatively close and spend a decent amount of time together. Punz keeps his space neat, they split dish duty, and his rent is always on time. He’s not a bad roommate in the slightest. That does not change the fact that this is not the first time Dream has found himself incredibly annoyed on behalf of Punz and his stupid video game. Dream is sick of his roommate playing video games loudly all night long. So, they make a bet.

Personal notes: Listen. Listen. Listen. Actually Don't listen. Have you considered the benefits of shedding your skin and becoming a skeleton

i'll be unclean, i'll be obscene (you be the rest) by staged

“I wanna choke you.” Punz leans down to say in Dream’s ear, dragging his teeth against the lobe and pressing a wet kiss to his jaw. “Do it.” Dream pleads, rocking back on a harsh thrust. His eyes flutter, meeting Punz’s gaze with a forest of vulnerability, thick with desperate want. “What if I kill you?” Punz mouths down Dream’s neck, licking around the space between his fingers. It’s spoken like a suggestion, a sadistic fantasy that they want to play out. “Then bring me back.”

Personal notes: Theyre so wonderfully fucked up I would Die for them.

I miss ya, and our rendezvous by froghatter

Five times Punz and Dream made bets together and only once does Dream lose.

Personal notes: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Transactional Satisfaction by TastesLikeBakingSoda

Punz takes his payment.

Personal notes: Don't look at me go away.

candy games by Royal_Stars

Dream wants to play a game. Punz obliges. Why wouldn't they, when they get kisses out of it? It leads to a bit more than the two of them bargained for, but hey, neither of them are really complaining.

Personal notes: I am slowly sliding them both together. then they kiss. then they kiss. then they

but the damage has been done by Anonymous

After weeks upon weeks of exhaustive experimentation on the nature of life, death, and revival, Punz and Dream are both tired. One of them was bound to break. But Punz is not going to let it be Dream.

Personal notes: they are full of mental illness and so am I.

Sublime by cosmicskies

Punz will make him food. He knows what Dream needs right now. Soft touches and to be showered in attention even though he scowls and tries to send the other away every time. During the moments where Dream can think without being shouted at by his own mind, he’ll tell Punz about the things he wishes he didn’t think. How sometimes, asking to be held is the scariest thing of them all. But they’re both touchy people.

Personal notes: (you hear explosions in the distance)

[letstrywritingmaybe]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let's spread the self-love🫶🏻

I’m curious to know your personal favorites! I’ll treat it as a fic-rec hehe

You are so cute! I love you! 🩵

Hm… this is a tough question cause I guess it depends on the day and what I’m feeling. I mean all my stories are honestly the same in terms of my ship being together and it ending happily, but the journey and the way I choose to tell it can differ. What exactly are quintessential lots of love fics? I guess currently I will go with these (I’m only doing Det Co ones cause I know you’re in this fandom, plus I don’t write enough for my actual otps in other fandoms)

In no particular order cause I don’t really have a true top five:

I Can Make Your Heart Race: They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, so then what’s the way to a woman’s? Obviously you have to get her heart racing. In which scare tactics does little to impress a scientist, instead it backfires on the detective. Well, maybe not completely. Rated G (ShinShi)

It’s really short, but I find myself thinking about this fic some days. Maybe cause it is a fix it fic of sorts since my heart will never keep the canon ship in tact, and it’s fluffy with the potential for more. They’re my most slowburn ship and it kills me

I Hate Accidents, Except When We Went From Friends To This: Post Black Org and Permanent Antidote. A month-long look into the relationship of Shiho and Shinichi. Written with prompts from flufftober on tumblr. Rated T (ShinShi)

I was actually proud of how I was able to follow not one, not two, but 31 whole prompts! Even though every chapter is super short, but still. I’m the worst at following prompts, so I got excited I was able to get through this and keep my brand of fluff

Lo Lo Love Me: The change from fighting to be Shinichi again, to being her Edogawa. Or the fic where Shiho becomes a little delusional.

“You’re not him.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not Edogawa Conan. You’re Kudo Shinichi.”

Rated T (CoAi but technically it’s ShinShi)

Truthfully my ending for this verse is just the first chapter, this idea wouldn’t die and I still find myself thinking about it some days. I think I ended it too soon but also don’t think I should’ve added to it beyond the first chapter. So yes I still think about revisiting it all the time

You Belong With Me?: It’s a matter of principle. She was here first and they grew up together for goodness sake! Of course people can change their minds, but she waited patiently for two years with the title as his girlfriend, so how can it be over just like that? It’s not fair. Rated T (ShinShi told from Ran’s pov)

Who would I be if I didn’t include a song fic? And yes while I love that this love affair with this fandom began with Folklore Twist, but I really do have some strong feelings for Ran. And it’s all because of projection, so yes I want better for her and I want her to be her own knight in shining armor and let my queen be the one who gets the romance story book ending for once

A Day Out With The Kids: An impromptu date holds no weight against an already established play date with the Detective Boys. It doesn’t stop Kaito from wooing Shiho anyway, even with the children’s attempts at sabotage. Converting these CoAi shippers to board the kaishi ship may not be as difficult as one might think. It’s a good thing Kaito’s great with kids. Rated G (KaiShi)

I couldn’t resist okay, yes I know my most popular fic is probably one that’s rated E or even my fuck the childhood friends to lover fic. And yeah I do sometimes go back to those verses, but some days kaishi owns my entire heart. So yeah, I had to include one even though I know it’s a crack ship

(A bonus/ honorable mention would be the Fleeting Feelings verse. I would be unstoppable as a multishipper, but alas I’m not.)

[eliamatrell]

hi i came from Narkik and I would love!!! some tomione/gin’n’tonic fic recs hahaha

hi anon!!!!!! gosh, i don’t get to talk about t/h very often, so i got really excited when i saw your ask. but firstly - i am afraid that i don’t really know of any t/g fics i could recommend, since i read about them very seldom. i am just too attached to t/h i guess? i try to be a multishipper, but alas, i am a little bit too biased ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  however, i’m pretty sure that amanda @narkik has some quality t/g recs, so i’m calling for her aid! 

***

but! back to tomione. as i mentioned under amanda’s post, i have a very specific vision of tom and hermione as a couple. this is a ship with almost no canon basis, so many fics tend to be very ooc (which i despise and avoid at all cost). granted, it is hard to write them in-character (& since we don’t know almost anything about young tom riddle, we have to work with absolute scraps) but not impossible. and they have a lot of potential if you’re into villain/heroine ships. i could write my entire doctoral thesis about them, but i don’t want this post to be too long and overwhelming, so i’ll just link my favourite tomione manifestos (which provide a quite complex answer as to why and how):

one, two, three, four + bonus (which is basically 4k words of me rambling why i love t/h, both generally and specifically in this one perfect fic. so, spoilers if you haven’t read nothing like the sun!)

***

and as for fics:

ad infinitum by speechwriter

As he forges inexorably toward the end of time, he may come to wonder if this is a world worth ruling. Science fantasy.

gosh, even thinking about ad infinitum makes me emotional - it was the very fic that made me fall for tomione. and believe me, i fell hard. it is very broad in scope and fantastic in execution. also, riley is one of the legends of t/h fandom and an incredible writer. very slow burn, believable character development, great prose, high stakes danger, two brilliant and stubborn people forced by the fate to work together and actually negotiate and discuss their messed up relationship…. god i love. please, do read ad infinitum, you won’t regret it. oh, also, magic in space. 

nothing like the sun by [redacted, since it’s orphaned now and as much it saddens me (and it REALLY saddens me, good god), i respect the author’s decision]

Hermione had never had much patience for Tom Riddle.

Riddle was a model student, ostensibly, and most everyone could vouch for him being the nicest Slytherin that they knew, but Hermione had always felt that his polite demeanor was rather insincere. How nice could he be, really, if he cornered his friends in dodgy alleys and caused them inexplicable pain?

(Or, Hermione follows the Muggle admonition that she keep her enemies closer a little too strictly to the letter.)

oh my god oh my god oh my god. i adore this fic with all my heart and i really mean it. it got everything right. every single thing about them. it’s one of the most well-written fics i have ever read (and ao3 has been my most frequently visited site for years now), the characterization is incredible and just. very caring? they’re all so human, complicated and passionate, and tangled up in something messy and terrible (hermione is so hermionish that i just want to hug her. and never let go, honestly. also - ron and harry aren’t sidelined, which happens in so many tomione and/or dramione fics. also, lavender and parvati! they are the most amusing supporting characters.), it’s clever, and heartwarming, and complex, and everything i had hoped for, and then some. and sadly - unfinished. please don’t let it discourage you, it’s still worth it. really really worth it. and i still have hope that the author will write another tomione story one day. oh, dear anon, that would be the most wonderful. 

unsinkable by speechwriter

He: a young man long since raised from poverty, now on the verge of inheriting a magnate’s business in the 1910s. She: an impoverished young woman on her way to start a new life in America. In short: Tom Marvolo Riddle, Hermione Jean Granger, and one voyage on the RMS Titanic - and how it would change their lives forever.

do i usually like no magic aus? not really, no. do i love this fic? more than you can imagine. but then again, as i mentioned above - riley just /gets/ tom and hermione. 

blood and gold by obsidianpen 

The true time-turner was slammed savagely into Hermione’s throat. It shattered against her neck, bits of glass and gold piercing into her skin. The last thing she saw before blackness consumed her was a plume of metallic dust and vitreous fragments, tiny prisms dancing behind her eyelids.

(In which Hermione accidentally ends up in 1950, pitted against an ascending Dark Lord in his prime, caught in the entanglement of pureblood politics, dark magic, and Tom Riddle’s interest)

the last chapter emotionally destroyed me lmao. they are! so much! also, i love world-building in this one and how carefully and slowly their story unfolds. it will definitely keep you on the edge of your seat. also, the prose is simply splendid.

the night watchman by unrefinedtales

#i had a dream about this#house of labyrinths and mirrors and illusions#that you can only escape if you cease all deception forever#and are 100% honest#but the house has been sitting dormant for centuries#and it’s hungry#it doesn’t want you to get out#and i was thinking what sort of place this would be#for two people to fall in love 

it it still a work in progess - there are four published chapters in the moment i’m writing this reply. house of leaves-esque afterlife, haunting visuals, lingering creepiness, tom and hermione trying to figure out what this place wants from them and learning to trust each other - goodness, i love it so far. 

i still haven’t started unsphere the stars by cocoartist (i have little to no free time these days), but it looks very promising!

When you can’t change time, but you can’t go forward, what is left? Hermione learns how to be the protagonist of her own story. [EWE] [Tomione*] [*mostly]

***

that’d be all for now! and dear anon, if you finish any of these fics and want to talk about them, write to me again - i love discussing tomione but alas, i don’t get an opportunity to do it very often. enjoy! ♡♡♡

[quandongcrumble]

Writer meme thingy

tagged by @starlanellwrites

What is your total posted word count on AO3? (Go to your Works, then click Statistics.)

63,403 -- however I’d have probably near 100k of abandoned or unfinished fic sitting on my Evernote, iphone notes, & google docs.

How often do you write?

Very sporadically. Sometimes I get a good streak up and I’ll write daily for a while, and then I won’t even look at my writing for 6 months.

Do you have a routine for writing?

Nope. I should, because I’ve seen how productive people with routines are, but I’m terrified that I’ll just sit and stare at a blank page and then my anxiety will get the better of me, and writing won’t be fun because I’ll be all panicky about it and then... yeah... despite some brilliant antidepressants / anti anxiety meds I still have issues about putting pressure on myself.

What’s your favorite kinks/tropes/pairing?

Wow... that’s difficult.

I’m a multishipper and adore all sorts of pairings, however my favourites are Rhodey/Tony and Fenders. My thing is I’ll fixate on a character more than a ship, and then I’ll read every ship with that character involved. Current fixations are Tony Stark (Marvel) & Anders (Dragon Age). I also fixate on original characters within a fandom universe, but @s-hylor and my fiance are pretty much the only people who gets to read those.

Kinks -- I’m a major sucker for BDSM, especially the masochism and submission parts. I live vicariously through fic because I’m kinky as all get out, but my fiance is about as vanilla as it gets. I guess that was TMI but really, the question was about kinks :P

Tropes -- Oh gawd, all of them. Fake relationship with mutual pining is a huge favourite. Enemies to friends to lovers. Fuck-buddies to lovers. Found family. But then I also love the friends to lovers trope where they’re just so in love with each other and everyone knows it, but it takes them a while to realise.

Do you have a favorite fic of yours?

I like almost everything I’ve posted, but there’s three that I am excessively proud of.

Promises [x] -- Rhodey/Tony gentle established relationship smutfic I wrote for the glorious @notfknapplicable after we’d known each other on here for a while. Due to our long tumblr relationship and my obsession with her fics, I managed to hit just about every one of her kinks for that relationship with it... pretty proud of that.

It goes like this (just like heroin) [x] -- on again off again Rhodey/Tony that explores Tony’s trouble with addiction through Rhodey’s eyes from the early years through to the end of Iron Man 2. I fucking love this fic. It’s the only one I have insisted on sharing with people outside of fandom. I just... it’s in an experimental style and I actually wrote it all in one glorious evening, in probably just a couple of hours. It’s probably the one I re-read the most.

Beyond Recourse [x] -- Greg/Tony omgdirtybadwrong twincest fic. Is it weird to be proud of a twincest fic? Doesn’t matter, I am. I feel like I captured a heck of a lot of feelings in this one, as well as some hot love/hate sex.

Your fic with the most kudos?

Promises (linked above) has the most. Coming in second is Lazy Light of Morning [x] which is a morning sex smut fic I wrote for @s-hylor.

I don’t have that many smut fics in comparison to non-smut, but the smut seems to be popular.

Anything you don’t like about your writing?

My fickle muse? I don’t know. I think I go mildly out of character a lot, but that doesn’t bother me as much as it should. I feel like a lot of my stuff is a bit same-y, like I can’t get an individual voice for characters that other people manage to do... I don’t know. I think I probably put too much of myself into the character I identify most with.

Now something you do like?

When things are flowing, I can get some serious writing done. I’ve knocked out 10k words in a couple of days before (unfortunately, muse for that fic died so it’s a 10k beginning languishing in my drafts). I feel like I have a poetic way with words that can evoke a lot of imagery. I like when I succeed at hinting what the non-POV character is feeling without the POV character explicitly noticing or accepting it.

Tagging.... @dovabunny, @s-hylor, ummmmm @bonzai-bunny, & @phoenixfalls and anyone else who wants to do it. Please tag me so I can read your answers :)

[thefudge]

not here to convert you or anything but i'm kinda surprised u hate j*nsa as much as you do - or at least find it bland as hell - do u hate all aspects of it or would you ship it at a certain angle, if approached a certain way? again, not tryina convert you lmaoo ship & let ship, it's not monogamy in this trash world. I just thought the incest would be up your ally? Also a lot of the fic can be so...missionary so idk, I thought that's why it holds no appeal? words not working rn. just confused

(same j*nsa anon here) alternatively do you ship robb x sansa? sorry, but you’re pretty much the incest lady to me. LOOK - is it because you’re too diehard petyr x sansa to fuck with the rest? Because I’m petyr x sansa trash as well, I contain multitudes. I JUST WANNA HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS, BECAUSE AGAIN, YOU’RE THE INCEST LADY SO I JUST WANNA KNOW IF IT’S THE SHIP THAT BORES YOU OR FANDOM. UR THOUGHTS ARE ALWAYS FASCINATING. I JUST LIKE READING WHATEVER IT IS YOU COME UP WITH. IF YOU DON’T MIND

“you’re the incest lady” ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 

haha friend, that’s why subjectivity is so wonderful (love that walt whitman quote), but let me break it down for you

you’re absolutely right that j*onsa should be up my alley. but there are several reasons why it hasn’t had that impact on me

1. petyr/sansa is the first ship that got me into asoiaf/got and it has stuck with me throughout the ages. it really is my kind of dynamic, no doubt about it, especially due to aidan gillen’s really strong work and the fact that petyr baelish is, without exaggeration, one of the best literary characters of the last 30 years (imo). and he brings out the best in sansa. by “best” i don’t mean moral rectitude lol. sansa really comes into her own around him. is he taking advantage of her ? absolutely. is she taking advantage of him? she’s learning how to. it’s a smart, riveting duo that doesn’t even have to be romantic for me to love it. in fact, i prefer it when it is cerebral and manipulative with a small dash of genuine emotions. 

but i AM a big multishipper who likes aaall kinds of things so why can’t i get behind this? 

2. my big gripe is with the show, where j*onsa has been introduced as a dynamic (i DO see book signs that they will be reunited but it’s not a Thing there yet).  basically, GoT has done a very poor job with them. sansa stark has stopped being a legitimate and full-rounded character since season 4. and her characterization really took a nosedive in the past two seasons, which - you guessed it - is when she reconnects with her brother, jon. FIRST of all, they had sansa apologize to him as if she had taunted him all his life, as if she had been the big bully of his youth. MASSIVE EYE-ROLL. it’s as if the writers didn’t know how to make them bond after such a long time. ohhh i don’t know, how about jon remembering those times in their childhood when sansa taught him how to talk to ladies which is a CANONIC event??? they could’ve shared a drink and laughed about his poor manners and sansa could’ve said that he had certainly “improved”. and maybe she could’ve added “i wish i had known you better”, to which he could’ve said “so do i.” SEE. see how easy that was without devaluing the characters!!! Secondly, they don’t show them talking about legitimate, important, intimate things. for fuck’s sake, i’m sure jon would like to know what happened in king’s landing and the eyrie etc. their lack of communication is why he doesn’t really listen to her advice, no? most of their show!conversations are about jon’s shallow man-pain or the glories of house stark. sansa is suddenly consumed with legacy and house-rights. and jon isn’t. and instead of talking about it, instead of asking sansa why she’s hellbent on this mission and maybe having a heart-to-heart about family and trauma…instead of ALL that, they just sort of mumble at each other and become increasingly frustrated with each other’s actions…AND OK, you’re gonna say, maybe that was the point, for them to butt heads and clash BUT

3.the show is afraid to explore their actual feelings/frustrations. sansa will sometimes be angry at him and jon will retaliate, and just when you think things are going somewhere…they both sort of shut up and fold back. the same pattern is obvious during their “affectionate” moments. it’s like they’re both holding back, either due to poor direction or poor writing, or both. the best scene so far still remains their initial hug. 

4. jon snow has also become a sham of a character on the show, and it’s hard to enjoy him with sansa when i can’t stand the way he’s written. it feels like he has been stripped of nuance and personality. so in one scene he chokes littlefinger because he’s being “protective” (possessive) of sansa….then that…just gets dropped. he receives information arya and bran are alive and is…stone-faced about it. like he’s super chill, not really affected by anything. the real jon would’ve fucking flipped, he would’ve tried to see them. and don’t tell me all of this is gonna be picked up in the 6 episodes of the last season…because i have lost all faith in d&d. 

5. i do understand why ppl ship it and i do see book-evidence for it possibly being a stealth endgame but the books haven’t butchered the characters and will surely get there more organically? the show had EVERY opportunity to convince me this dynamic was gold and wasted so much of it, imo. . i’m sure fanfics do a better job with it, but i just…every time they’re on screen it’s so wooden, and i’m certain it’s because they’re being directed by idiots. i’m sure sophie and kit want to show more feelings and act like actual human beings but i assume they’re not allowed. just like sophie and maisie were not allowed to act like sisters. 

6. their partnership ends up devaluing sansa. which annoys me. real jon would absolutely never. hell, real jon would spit on show!jon IM SORRY IT’S TRUE. that’s what’s actually really annoying about it. it could’ve been done so well but….for me it ended up being a bland mess. i’m sure that fics and fandoms elevate it, tho. 

7. even my beloved petyr/sansa has been cheapened by the show to some degree, so you can see why other ships take even harder falls

OKAY BUT robb/sansa u’ve got my attention!!! that would be so fraught! because they’re both tully kids, deep down. aaah. 

and honestly, i could be for book!j*onsa too, if it were written well. but show!j*onsa is a goddamn mess. the show is a goddamn mess. 

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine one-shot - “The Life You Think You Deserve” (Rated PG13)

Blaine is making a huge change in his life. He’s starting by going to Kurt, a man with a specific talent that will help him move on. (5274 words)

Notes (or, in this case, petty commentary. Read if you want, or skip to the warnings down below): This is the re-write that I was actually the most excited about because it's kind of a huge f-u to everyone in the K*urtbastian fandom who's ever sh*t on my work. When I wrote this, it was a character study. But it actually got torn apart by two fandom writers - one K*urtbastian and one multishipper. One of them even made a post on tumblr about how I don't write Sebastian, I write badboy Blaine and pass him off as Sebastian, and this fic was the focus of that. Well, I thought this one was touching and brilliant, and hopefully, now that I've changed it, it will get the love I think it deserves! (See what I did there? I ... well, never mind.)

Warnings for mention of self-harm scars, mention of blood, and mention of Blaine being married to Quinn.

Skank Kurt. Closeted Blaine.

Read on AO3.

Blaine paces outside the run-down, red-bricked, residential loft that he had to bribe a taxi cab driver to take him to. He can honestly say that he has never feared for his life before tonight, so he can chalk this up as a first on his list of life experiences. He runs his hands up and down his arms while he tries to decide whether he will push the buzzer for the door or not. No matter what happens, he came here willingly, so he has no one to blame but himself.

The loft is located on a filthy side street in Bushwick – a neighborhood in Brooklyn that Blaine didn’t even know existed until a few months ago. He looks around at the stacks upon stacks of black trash bags, some brittle and disintegrating in the cold, piled up along the curbs, left to degrade as the garbage trucks seem to have forgotten that Bushwick exists. Blaine side-eyes a multitude of young men in black jackets with their faces covered, all shooting him curious looks. He had tried his best to dress down in an effort to blend in, but in his khaki pants and Burberry peacoat, he sticks out like a sore thumb. Blaine is neither too proud nor ashamed to admit that this is definitely not his element. Yes, Blaine could have probably lived happily the rest of his life having never come here, but now that he’s here, he’d feel like a coward if he backed out.

Blaine hears footsteps race down a staircase beyond the metal door in front of him, and he pauses in his tracks to see who comes out. Maybe he can slip through the door quietly when whoever on the other side leaves and continue his pacing inside.

But the door only opens a crack, big enough for a man’s face to peek out – an unnaturally pale face with a shock of teal hair sticking up from his forehead, and piercings on almost every conceivable piece of skin. His lipstick is dark purple, nearly black, though it’s difficult to tell the subtle differences beneath the orange glow of the arc sodium street lights. He stares at Blaine – icy blue eyes ringed in black liner – not blinking for nearly a full minute, which Blaine finds alarming.

“Are you coming upstairs?” those dark lips say in a high-pitched voice that Blaine did not initially expect, but which fits the face. “Or are you going to pace back and forth out here all night? You’re making my neighbors nervous.” His eyes look past Blaine to the group of young men in the black jackets that Blaine had been wary of. With a nod and a smile, he says, “Don’t worry, guys. This one’s with me.”

“Cool.”

“Alright.”

“Later, dude.”

The men wave their way, giving Blaine one last judgmental once over before turning down the street and disappearing around the corner.

“Why?” Blaine asks with a twist to his lips. “Did they think I was casing the joint?”

The pale man’s right eyebrow shoots almost as far up as his teal hair, the smirk on his lips mirroring Blaine’s.

“Sort of.” He opens the door wider and steps aside to let Blaine in. “You look like a fucking narc.” Blaine walks through the door, shivering the moment the heat of the hallway hits him, and catches the pale man shaking his head. “Casing the joint.” He chuckles as he closes the door, throwing about fifteen bolts to lock it tight. “Who the hell are you? Columbo?”

“I’m Blaine, actually,” Blaine replies lamely, following the man as he leads him up the stairs.

“I know that,” the man says, throwing a look over his shoulder. “I was keeping an eye out for you. You’re not the kind of man who usually comes all the way out to Bushwick looking for my particular services.”

“Really?” Blaine asks, intrigued. “And what kind of man am I?”

“Privileged,” the man answers quickly. “Private school boy. Artsy type, but you can afford to be. You have more money than you deserve.”

“Wow,” Blaine says with a dry, unamused chuckle. “You definitely don’t pull punches.”

“Don’t need to.” The man turns a corner and starts up another long staircase. “You’re paying to be here, and your credit card’s already cleared.”

“Wait” - Blaine finally catches on to something the man said before - “you were watching me for the last half hour while I was outside, freezing my butt off?”

“Yup,” the man says unapologetically. “From my fire escape.”

“Why didn’t you let me in earlier?” A latent chill runs up Blaine’s spine to remind him how cold it is outside.

“Because I wanted to see what you’d do.” The man turns another corner to yet another staircase. “Besides, our appointment is for eight, and it’s eight right now.”

Blaine looks up past the man at the remaining stairs and groans internally. Who the hell lives in an apartment with this many stairs and no elevator?

“Do you know who I am?” the man asks when Blaine goes quiet.

“Your name’s Kurt, right?” Blaine hopes he’s right. He has the feeling that this man - who he’s about to become very intimate with in the next few minutes - will be extremely offended if he’s not.

“Very good,” Kurt says with a smile that the devil himself might wear on Sundays. It makes Blaine nervous.

It almost makes him miss the time he spent waiting outside.

“Are … are you allowed to be doing this out of your loft?” Blaine scans the staircase around them, the awkwardly long steps and the antique scrolled wood railing an odd contrast to the otherwise industrial feel of the building.

“These are working lofts,” Kurt explains. “The people who live here are artists who conduct their business out of their homes. And since what I do qualifies as an art, so do I.”

“You think so?” The words slip out before Blaine can stop them, and he mentally slaps himself.

Kurt walks up to the next landing in silence and leads Blaine down a hall to one of the only two doors on the floor. Blaine waits for the fall-out from his arrogant remark, but Kurt smiles wider and winks at him.

“I know so.”

He grabs the handle and slides the immense door open. He gestures for Blaine to enter, following behind to secure the door.

Blaine turns a circle as he walks, looking the loft over. It’s a dark space – oppressively dark, a reflection of the unsafe atmosphere of the street outside. The walls are brick, but painted in abstract swirling patterns that fluoresce under the numerous black lights hanging from tracks installed along the beams of the ceiling. Art prints hang everywhere, alongside mirrors that make this enormous space seem even bigger. Kurt owns a whole lot of nothing furniture-wise. Blaine sees a kitchen with no table, a living room with no sofa. The only furniture in the whole loft, it seems, are two chairs over by the window, and a king-sized bed off to the far end.

It’s the bed that has Blaine captivated. It looks pristinely made, with a designer comforter tucked in above crisp, white sheets, and a mass of pillows in all sizes stacked neatly along the headboard.

Kurt snaps his fingers in Blaine’s face as he passes in front of him, drawing his attention to the two chairs by the window – one a regular rolling stool, and the other a large, vintage barber’s chair. Kurt settles down in the rolling stool and pulls up to a black counter, which had been obscured from view originally by the shadows in the room. Kurt flips on a few lamps, and bright white light floods that corner of the loft.

Blaine approaches the barber’s chair, peeling off his peacoat and swallowing hard. He has sudden flashbacks of an old CSI episode he once saw where some mob guy would castrate men in a chair just like this one. As he gets closer, he notices that it looks impeccably clean. Castration would probably leave a lot of blood stains – stains that even a really thorough person might miss - so the fact that this chair looks brand new has to count for something.

Blaine drapes his coat over the back of the chair and sits down, the thick, red vinyl cushions sucking him in, squeaking loudly as it accommodates his weight. It’s the kind of chair you have to recline in, and the moment his back touches it, he feels himself relax, even though his mind is still a whirlwind of alarms.

It’s the same reaction he gets when going to the dentist – knots in his stomach as he checks himself in, a momentary façade of calm as he sits in the chair and makes himself comfortable …

… then the dentist walks in, the drill comes out, and all he wants to do is scream and run.

Blaine watches Kurt set up his station – laying out inks and making adjustments to his tattoo gun – feeling less inclined to scream or run than he thought he would. Kurt steps on a pedal and listens to his machine buzz, then shuts it off and makes more adjustments.

Blaine’s brain aches with a need to interrogate this man on everything from his stark apartment to the color of his hair, but only one question burns to be asked.

“Are you really psychic?”

“I have a reputation for having certain abilities.” Kurt steps on the pedal again. “But no answer I give you will matter if you don’t think I am.”

Kurt glances at Blaine, his brief stare a challenge.

“I don’t believe in psychics.” Blaine folds his hands in his lap and looks up at the ceiling, where a row of black bulbs glow a metallic purple, lending color to Kurt’s skin when he rolls in and out of their light.

“Then why are you here? There are tons of tattoo artists in this city. I’m sure you could find one closer to you or, at least, in a safer neighborhood.”

“Because, like you said, my credit card already cleared,” Blaine replies, being as evasive as possible. If Kurt really is psychic, then he should know why Blaine is there, waiting to be tortured.

“Why are you here?” Kurt repeats, paying no mind to Blaine’s snarky remark. Blaine frowns. He was trying to prove a point, which he may have well proven, but he’ll feel like an ass making an issue of it.

“You came highly recommended,” Blaine says, which is as close to the truth as anything else.

“By Andy, right?” Kurt puts his gun down and pulls out a box of latex gloves. “The chick with the circular rainbow on her shoulder?”

“Yeah.” Blaine nods, not wanting to sound impressed that this man seemed to know off the top of his head who Blaine had mentioned recommending him when he made this appointment over six months ago. “She said you gave it to her for good luck.”

Kurt looks up at the note of derision in Blaine’s voice. “What? You don’t think the poor woman deserves a little luck?”

Blaine agrees in his mind that she does. After three failed marriages and two miscarriages, the woman deserves all the luck she can get, but Blaine doesn’t see how a tattoo is supposed to give that to her. Blaine stays tight-lipped about it as he watches Kurt prepare. Kurt sees the determined set of Blaine’s mouth and rolls his eyes.

“What were you thinking about getting?” Kurt turns in his stool to face Blaine, giving him his complete attention.

“Aren’t you supposed to tell me what I want? Isn’t that your shtick? My body is your canvas or something like that?”

Kurt chuckles. He sits with his back resting against his counter and looks at Blaine again, this time taking particular interest in Blaine’s eyes. Kurt stares until Blaine feels uneasy with this man’s eyes on him, staring like he knows too much – staring like he knows everything. Kurt licks his lips, reaching to his counter and grabbing a bottle of water.

“You don’t really want to get a tattoo,” Kurt starts, taking a drink from the bottle before he continues. “That’s why you’re so willing to put the decision into my hands. Not because you think I have any real psychic talent. And you’re right. I don’t.”

“So, what am I …?”

“You’re paying for the benefit of my expertise.” Kurt stands from his stool and walks over to Blaine. Placing one knee between Blaine’s legs and leaning in close, he grabs Blaine by the jaw and tilts his head down so he can look deeper into Blaine’s eyes. Again he stares, the blacks of his pupils wider now, pushing the blue of his irises aside, making his eyes look very much like an owl’s – dangerous and unreadable. “You’re changing lives,” Kurt whispers, his breath ghosting over Blaine’s lips at this close distance, “job, address, the whole shebang. And you’re here because you need to cover up some … scars …” Kurt’s eyes drift down to the long sleeves of Blaine’s dress shirt, pulled down to his wrists and buttoned tight at the cuffs.

Kurt looks back up to Blaine’s face, but instead of inscrutable and cold, his eyes are sympathetic.

It’s a sympathy that borders on pity, and Blaine doesn’t want pity.

“So, you’re a good guesser.” Blaine darts his eyes away, feeling exposed and violated that this man figured him out so easily when his closest friends and family haven’t even tried. “Besides, everybody’s got scars. That doesn’t make me any different.” Kurt pulls away slowly, standing up straighter, his fingers trailing down Blaine’s arm, brushing his wrist before they disappear. Kurt stares again, and Blaine feels as if another layer of his soul is being stripped bare. He’s about to give up, stand from the chair and leave, a thousand dollars be damned, but Kurt’s eyes drop back to Blaine’s cuff and, with swift fingers, he starts to undo the buttons.

“This one’s the worst,” Kurt mumbles as he works the buttons open. “Your left wrist, because you’re right-handed.”

Blaine’s rational mind thinks he should pull his wrist away before Kurt sees, but his heart – which has been screaming out for weeks for someone to notice that nothing is okay in his life, that he’s in unbearable pain – wants Kurt to see.

He wants someone to share the burden of his secret.

Kurt undoes the last button, but the marks had been visible after the first, and Kurt looks at the silvery shadows of these violent, angry scars with regret in his eyes.

He doesn’t like uncovering people’s secrets – he just happens to be good at it.

“I … I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” Blaine says, his hand trembling slightly beneath Kurt’s fingers.

“I know,” Kurt says softly. “I can help you with this.” The caress of Kurt’s eyes on Blaine’s skin is soft, but his fingertips are softer. “What did your wife say when she found out?”

Kurt doesn’t look at Blaine’s face when he asks his question, working now on the buttons of his right cuff to see the matching marks. He doesn’t need to look at Blaine to see his wide eyes and his jaw hanging open.

“How did you …?”

“The tan line on your left ring finger.” Kurt undoes the last button and runs his fingers delicately over the scars he uncovers there. “It’s narrow, part of a matching set, but not something a man would normally choose for himself unless he had small hands, and you …” Kurt lets a smile slip as he opens Blaine’s curled fingers “… definitely do not have small hands.”

Blaine’s return smile wobbles at the corners.

“She hasn’t yet,” Blaine admits. “I left her. I didn’t give her a reason.”

“But the reason is you don’t love her. You never did,” Kurt declares boldly, and even though it’s true, Blaine flinches. “You had to marry her” - Kurt laces their fingers together - “but your heart never beat that way.”

Kurt looks even deeper into Blaine’s eyes (and how that’s possible, Blaine doesn’t know), trying to unearth more, but Blaine can’t imagine there’s anything more there for Kurt to see. It’s true, all of it, but it doesn’t feel like truth because Blaine hasn’t confessed it.

He needs to start speaking for himself.

“I married her because I was expected to.”

Kurt unlaces their fingers, stepping away to take his seat. He rolls Blaine’s sleeve up to his elbow and grabs his tattoo gun. He turns the machine on and dips the needles in a cup of ink. The machine buzzes like an angry wasp in Kurt’s hands, but he holds it still, the needles barely an inch above Blaine’s skin.

“Keep talking,” Kurt commands, waiting patiently for Blaine to continue.

“My father …” the words come out, then a hiss as Kurt touches the machine and their driving needles into the sensitive skin of Blaine’s wrist.

“Yes,” Kurt says, concentrating on the mark he’s made, blending the red ink with a silver scar.

“My father is new money, so to speak, so he’s always afraid of losing it,” Blaine grinds out between his teeth, scolding himself in his head for being a wuss. “He’s also an asshole, a misogynist … a homophobe …”

“A Republican?” Kurt gives Blaine only a moment to breathe while he switches inks.

“My dad makes Republicans look compassionate.” Blaine bites his tongue to keep from embarrassing himself by whimpering.

Kurt whistles low. “Jesus. That sucks.” Blaine makes a fist and Kurt looks at his face - squinting into the darkness, his jaw locked, his face tense, his breathing coming a little too fast. “Try to relax, sweetheart,” Kurt says in a soothing voice, “or you’re going to pass out before we’re even halfway done.”

Blaine takes in a huge lungful of air and lets it out slowly.

“That’s better,” Kurt says, assaulting Blaine’s skin with the gun again. “So, tell me more about this asshole father of yours.”

“Well …” Blaine searches for a good place in his story to start. If he starts at the very beginning, then he’ll have to mention the constant badgering he got to strive for good grades and the threats if he didn’t succeed, if he didn’t become the captain of his school’s nationally ranked show choir or the head of the debate team, and the emotional manipulation that led him to Harvard instead of NYU. So he decides to start with his wife, Quinn. “My dad wants Anderson money to stay in the family – to be passed down from generation to generation. For that to happen, he needed his sons to get married and have kids. My older brother, Cooper, did his part, but he’s not exactly responsible in my father’s eyes. He dropped out of college after two years, married his first girlfriend, has more kids than he can handle. So my dad put more pressure on me to fulfill his wishes. ”

“Did you ever tell him the truth?”

Blaine looks at Kurt, hoping to see those icy eyes trained on him, but Kurt’s total focus is narrowed to the image erupting beneath his gun.

“No,” Blaine admits, scowling at his own weak voice. “He started pressing me to find a wife since the day I started college – which was about when I had finally become comfortable with the idea of …” Blaine stops mid-sentence, not yet comfortable with speaking his own truth out loud. Even now, as he is beginning to realize what is right for him, it still sounds wrong to say.

The gun stops biting into his flesh, and Kurt does look up, tilting his head as he reads Blaine’s eyes.

“The idea of exploring your sexuality?” Kurt asks.

“Yeah.” Blaine looks away. “Exactly.”

“Did you ever?” Kurt’s voice is strangely shy when he asks, though it could be the buzzing from the tattoo gun, Blaine thinks, distorting the timbre of Kurt’s voice.

“A few times. But you know, I felt so Goddamned guilty that I didn’t even enjoy it.” Blaine laughs out of anger, then hisses when the needles find another sensitive area of skin.

“That’s a shame.” Kurt stops to grab a paper towel. He wets it, then wipes down the image so far. The soothing sensation lasts only a second before Blaine’s skin ignites beneath the tattoo gun again. “Did you meet your wife in college?”

“No, she’s a … friend of the family.” Blaine’s description is vague, and Kurt leaves it. “She was kind of chosen for me, so to speak.”

“Was it an arranged marriage?” Kurt asks incredulously without lifting his eyes from Blaine’s arm.

“No, not arranged.” Blaine laughs. “It was greatly encouraged.” Blaine sighs. “It might have well been arranged. By the time I asked her to marry me, I couldn’t care less either way. I had been hounded and threatened with everything from being disowned to being locked away. She was as good as anyone else.” Blaine shakes his head. “The worst part is she’s such a lovely woman. She deserves so much better.”

“You both do.” Kurt sighs, wiping the tattoo down again. He returns to his work, and the studio goes silent, the buzz of the machine filling the air with its constant drone. Blaine keeps his eyes fixed to the ceiling, intent on not peeking at the image until Kurt is done with it. He feels Kurt finish with his left arm – over three hours’ worth of work – and spin the barber’s chair around so he can move on to the right.

“Where were you thinking of running?” Kurt pipes up halfway through the right arm.

“Hmmm?” Blaine asks. His mind had started wandering – going over all the details, all the moments that had led up to this point. Was there ever a time where 5-, 10-, 16-year-old Blaine could have stood up to his father? In retrospect, there were times where he might have been able to confront his father and act braver than he felt, but the reality is no. His father is a man that most grown adults don’t like to talk to – not because he’s so intimidating, but because there isn’t any point in it. His father doesn’t listen to anyone.

Blaine let himself think about those boys he experimented with in college.

Sebastian – Blaine’s first, and by far the most sexually aggressive of the bunch. He was handsome, exciting, and inventive, to say the least, but not what you would call a one-man man.

He’s the one who broke Blaine’s heart.

Elliott –poli sci major. Energetic. Dreamer. Determined to make a difference in the world, both politically and with the help of his punk rock band. Blaine was certain that Elliott, with his glam leather outfits and glitter rock vamp make-up, was the edgiest man he had ever met, but he’s sure that Kurt could give him a run for his money.

Hunter – the only one of the bunch who had any chance of understanding what Blaine was going through. He had a strict, conservative upbringing; a father he could never make proud; and a trust fund whose existence hedged on his constant obedience. But unlike Blaine, Hunter had the balls to spit in his father’s face and split – and the business-minded brilliance to siphon away his trust fund from underneath his dad’s nose without the man being any the wiser.

Could any of those men have been the love of Blaine’s life? If he had sacrificed a little here, compromised a little there, would any one of them have made him happy enough to bid his family and his inheritance farewell?

He even let his mind drift to another universe where he and Kurt could have met a long time ago, maybe even gone to the same school together. Kurt is so easy to talk to. Maybe it’s an occupational hazard, spending so much time with people, listening to their life stories. Tattoos are very personal, or so he’d always been told by the few people he knew who had them. In order to dish out a thousand dollars for a custom tattoo, sight unseen, from a man with “psychic abilities”, you have to have one hell of a story to tell. Kurt must have heard them all. Blaine would think he’d get tired of listening after a while, but Kurt doesn’t seem to. He’s worked hard to reveal Blaine’s story, though he probably doesn’t have to do that with everyone.

The one thing that Blaine has noticed the entire time he’s been in that barber’s chair is that Kurt hasn’t revealed a single tidbit from his own life, not a morsel of his backstory. Blaine is dying to get to know him better.

What would it take to get Kurt to reveal his secrets?

“You’re running away,” Kurt says, his comment bringing Blaine back to the present. “Do you have an idea which direction you’re headed?”

“No, not really,” Blaine admits, which is one of the flaws in his plan. He took back his freedom, took control of his life. Now he needs to figure out what to do with it. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“Well” - Kurt rolls back to his counter to change inks - “I think I would just travel America. Don’t look for any one particular destination. Make the whole country your destination, but,” Kurt says pointedly, returning to Blaine’s arm, “I would definitely start in California.”

“California?” Blaine asks.

“Yeah,” Kurt says, finishing up the shading on Blaine’s tattoo. “Start off in San Francisco and start your own sexual revolution.” Kurt gives Blaine a wink before he continues. “Then hit the beach, get some sun. Head out to the desert. Glory in the big blue sky and all the quiet. Sleep in your car. Make friends with the locals. Eat some peyote. Find some enlightenment.”

“It sounds like you’ve done it once or twice.”

“Loads. As often as I can get away.” Kurt turns off his gun and sets it down carefully. He wets another paper towel and pats down Blaine’s tattoo. He pulls Blaine’s arms together to get a look at the images side by side, giving them a final review. “There.” Kurt gets up and turns on a few more lights. “Take a look.”

Blaine looks down, absorbing the image now permanently etched on his arms. The colors are vibrant – that’s the first thing that hits him – more vibrant than he would have chosen if given the option. On his right arm, Kurt has tattooed a rose in black and white. It looks hyper-real, like it was printed from an old photograph, but the rose itself is withering, curling at the petals, drawing back toward itself as it begins to die. The stem of the rose goes from brown to green and seems to weave through his skin, breaking in and out of his arm, leaving drops of blood in its wake – drops that look suspiciously like musical notes. The stem becomes a vine, and the vine grows thorns – horrible, sharp thorns. The vine continues on to the next arm and becomes wire – razor wire, that curls and coils. It spirals at his forearm around a heart – an anatomically correct, extraordinarily authentic looking human heart. Blaine stares at it, and the more he does, the more it looks like it’s pulsing, thrumming on his skin, trying to break free from its metal cage. The heart bleeds, but it still beats in protest, and in the very center where the heart bleeds most, Blaine can see the razor wire starting to break.

But most importantly, the stem and the vines and the notes and the wires perfectly cover the scars that ran down Blaine’s skin. Nothing of them remains.

“It’s … it’s perfect.” Blaine turns his arms to catch the way the colors light up his skin. “How did you …?”

Kurt taps his finger against his forehead.

“Intuition,” Kurt says. “That’s all.”

“Well, you’re an amazing artist.” Blaine can’t stop smiling at the art on his skin, but he’s still a bit unsure. “It’s just …”

“Just, what?” Kurt asks as he starts putting his inks away.

“It’s so personal. What do I tell people when they ask me what it means?”

Kurt lifts his eyes to meet Blaine’s, his gaze unforgiving.

“You got that tattoo for you, Blaine.” Kurt walks up to him and puts his hands on his upper arms, pinning him to the chair with the intensity of his stare. “You don’t owe anyone an explanation.” Kurt’s lips crinkle sideways as he goes back to his counter. “Besides,” he says, not meeting Blaine’s eyes again, “the guy you’re going to be thinking about your entire trip, the one that you’ll come back to when you decide that New York will always be your home, he’ll understand what it means.” Kurt returns with a handful of black pads and surgical tape. He spreads a light layer of clear ointment over Blaine’s tattoo, then covers it with the pads, layering them so that the tape doesn’t touch the healing skin. He pulls Blaine’s sleeves down to cover those areas, and does the buttons up again.

The entire time Kurt stands in front of him, dressing him, Blaine holds his breath, trying to decipher what man? Who could Kurt mean? Could he possibly be referring to …?

“Now, if you go to my website,” Kurt says, giving Blaine a hand up, “I have all the information you’ll need for taking care of that tattoo.” He reaches past Blaine to grab his coat, opens it up, and helps him into it.

“How can I repay you?” Blaine asks, at a loss for how to express his gratitude, but he’s also hoping he can parlay this into a roundabout way of asking Kurt out to dinner.

“Technically, you already paid me.” Kurt takes Blaine’s hand and leads him from the loft. With every step toward the exit, Blaine feels his chance with this man slip away, and he realizes that regardless of his “taking charge of his life” and his painful tattoo to the contrary, he’s still a coward.

Otherwise, he would just open his mouth and ask Kurt out to dinner.

But he doesn’t.

He steps outside, and the cold air hits him hard. He turns to face Kurt, and the man with the icy blue eyes smiles.

“Thanks again,” Blaine says, stalling for time.

“You’re welcome,” Kurt replies, the door creaking slowly shut. Then it stops. “Actually, there is one more thing.” He walks out the door and into Blaine’s space, quickly threading his fingers into his hair and fitting their mouths together.

It’s not a long kiss, but it’s a powerful one. It warms Blaine straight to his feet in his shoes and to the roots of his hair where Kurt tugs lightly. Blaine’s arms come up to hold him, winding around his narrow waist, hands crawling up his back, begging for something more. But suddenly Kurt steps away, leaving Blaine to chase his lips.

Blaine opens his eyes and looks into Kurt’s smiling face. “Why … why did you do that?”

Kurt shrugs.

“Because I wanted to. Because you needed me to.” Kurt backs away toward his loft door and slips through. “Call me when you get back. You can take me out to dinner.” He closes the door for good this time, leaving Blaine out in a cold he no longer feels.