#the angst is plentiful with this one

[kierancaz]

“And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like I love you,” and suddenly I’m thinking about Malleus Draconia and Yuu.

[clumsycapitolunicorn]

"Will you please stay?" | "I need you."

TED LASSO | GOOD OMENS

[throwaway-yandere]

Considering to the current 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐬 poll results, this is the first fic to be uploaded...

𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙃𝙖𝙨 𝙉𝙤 𝘿𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙮 (Yandere!Neuvillette/Reader)

Unreliable Synopsis: "Your Honor, I would like to challenge Champion Duelist Clorinde to clear my charges." (The plot happens a month before the Fontaine AQ.)

Content Warnings: Hurt/No Comfort

Upload Date: December 7, 2023 (8PM Thursday, UTC+8)

Reply to this post if you wish to be in the 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐬 taglist!

[mochiwrites]

HII MOCHIII!!I hope you're having a good dayy!!

I have three questions about the secret husbands au!

*ahem*

how did scar feel about grian and mumbo having a robo child? will they have their own children? and what's their biggest argument? (gotta feed me some angst author) Thank youuu!! love your AUs very muchhh!!

henlo!!

I think scar found grumbot very cute !!! he heard grian needed diamonds for him and happily offered some of his own. I don’t think scar is quite the type to get jealous of their friends (now total strangers are a different story), so he’s ??? pretty chill about grian and mumbo having grumbot

they probably won’t have their own kids? I’m not too into fan kids and let’s be honest. scar and grian as parents would be a Disaster

biggest argument… to be honest I can’t really think of anything? I’m purposefully avoiding angst with this au outside of their backstories — I don’t really want to do angst here. if anything there’ll be things that fall into hurt/comfort territory. but scar and grian getting into a argument? ehhhhh that’s not smth I want to focus on

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

3l!grian is frequently depicted as a tragic figure and sometimes i wonder if we even watched the same series

[goddammiteverythingstaken]

does anyone have any good fic recs where 14 and Donna have some qpr shit going on PLEASE

[jamiethebee]

Ya know what I haven't seen discussed in the phantom? Especially with the "are the Fenton good or bad as written in the series" and all those takes? The fact that the Fentons believe that ghosts aren't really alive, aren't sentient. To them, ripping a ghost apart "molecule by molecule" would be like taking a toaster apart to see the wiring. Or a robot to see it's internal configuration. Sure a ghost may move and mimic but it's not really alive. And as soon as it's proven that, yes, they are "alive" (dead person or monster the interpretations up to you), and in fact, Danny, their very much teenager son, is one, well yes - they immediately accept him. Because it's not that they inherently hate and want to kill ghosts - how do you kill something that's not alive in the first place? They just wanted to see how they work and function. If you found out that a robot actually could have real, original thoughts and feelings that weren't programmed - well, you'd no longer treat it like an object either.

[rockingrobin69]

Tiny snippet from imperfection, sad and a little sweet.

When Draco was twenty-one years old, he went to buy new towels.

Harry had his eye set on this purple monstrosity, extremely fluffy and very soft and terribly, horribly over-priced. Draco’s allowance hadn’t come through that month (or the one before), but more important was the uncontrollable urge to give Harry everything: anything he could want, ice-lollies and royal-blue pyjamas and another jumper, why the hell not. To spoil Harry rotten, the way he was always meant to be, to surround him with so much love he’d forget for a moment he was ever without it.

Draco wasn’t new to loving someone. Not, even, to doing so obsessively, inexorably. What was new was the look in Harry’s eyes, was being able to hold his hand in public (in—most places in the city). Was the way Harry said his name, the way his courage was stupidly infectious and his heart so big it didn’t fit in his chest, kept coming out in his smiles and in his hands, warm and soft and always generously offered.

Harry was only visiting. He didn’t, technically, live in Draco’s flat, but he didn’t, technically, have to return to Glasgow for another three weeks.

They made do with the time.

And Draco insisted that Harry must have his own things: his own bathrobe, his own pyjamas, his own toothbrush (fucking—gross, Harry!) and his own towel. Bringing them here, to the shopping centre with the terrible, tacky shop with the terrible, tacky things Harry wanted that terrible, tacky Draco would give his life to get for him.

Not in a dramatic way. In a—subdued, quiet way. In an utterly devoted, hopeless way that shouldn’t have felt nice, that still did. Everything felt nice about Harry. Everything but—

No, that wasn’t Harry’s fault, not even a little. Draco being disgusting and horrible was always meant to be kept secret. And it worked, when Harry lived in Glasgow and Draco in Oxford, it worked when they didn’t spend all their time together, but summer was long and tight and close and… and… and Draco didn’t know how to do this. To bare himself without fleeing, to give what he previously thought wasn’t in him, what couldn’t have been.

(Such as: his heart. Strange, no, that it actually belonged to him, when it never felt like it before. When it was wrapped so tight in strings upon strings, tying it to—other places, other people).

And Harry gave back. Everything Draco wanted to hand him, Harry insisted to return. To hold with care all of Draco’s sharp edges. And Draco was worried that he’d keep holding, even after Draco started to crack, and end up with hands full of shards of cutting Draco, end up—hurt.

Harry held the towel very close to his body. A bit like he worried someone might try to snatch it from him. Draco hated the people who raised him (a familiar, anchoring anger) and, out of spite, took his hand.

“Hey,” soft, like the towel. Harry looked up, his smile focusing, turning un-lost.

“Hi. Sorry. Fuck, you’re cold! C’mere.” Wrapping himself around Draco (uncaring for sharp, sharp edges). “It’s a bit expensive, though. There’s another set at half the price in—”

“Harry,” Draco said, “shut up. It’s from me.”

Meaning: it’s not enough for what I want to give you, for what I wish I could. (And Draco’s sad bank statement would be a worry for another day. He could do more hours at the book shop, if Father didn’t… if he stayed in Beijing for a little bit longer).

Harry squeezed him tighter. “You’re so sweet,” he said, and when Draco scoffed, “no, really,” and when Draco scoffed louder, “you are. You’re so—shut up, you’re maybe the sweetest person I’ve ever met, and—”

“Have you? met me, I mean. There’s not a single thing about me that’s sweet.”

“Your lips are sweet,” Harry said slyly. Draco refused to blush.

“Your hand is sweet,” Harry said, and brought it to his mouth for a chaste kiss.

“Your—”

“We’re in public, you fiend,” Draco said breathlessly, when Harry did no more than kiss the inside of his palm. Harry, being a fiend, laughed.

“God. I’m so fucking into you. It’s—come here,” drawing his face up to be kissed, not letting him shy away. Kissed the tip of his nose and his cheek and his left eyebrow. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Draco couldn’t even attempt coherency. Outmatched, overwhelmed with the constant onslaught, Harry-Harry-Harry all the time, and so warm and so sweet and so there, for a whole week now he was there, staying for the month. What… how could Draco defend against him?

So he pushed away, rolled his eyes, hid his red-red cheeks in Harry’s shoulder and didn’t cry. Didn’t even wish to. It was very bright in the shop and the centre was overcrowded and too noisy, and inside it they were huddled together, a bubble of fluffy, purple towel, and them.

It had to be enough. This month, this—whatever Harry would give him, it had to be enough. Draco would be grateful and suffice with it, and not beg for more. And not be greedy, because greed was a punishable offence and terribly gauche and Draco was better than that, was a Malfoy, was a—yes, all that.

So they bought the fucking towel. Then went home, and watched a film, and ate ramen, and sat very close to each other, sharp edges and all.

[llitchilitchi]

(warning for blood and unintentional self harm)

[scarecrow-in-a-hatake]

[olive-riggzey]

Listen, I am 100% on board with the concept of Link and Zelda living together. The thing is, I headcanon Link as an ace neurodivergent gremlin running around with a sword (because it just feels right to me) and Zelda as having a similar brand of brain soup as him—so my concept of them living together is kind of uhhhhhh specific?

I mean, I like to imagine it starts with Zelda just coming over to Link’s house to work on research while he’s learning new cooking techniques or something so they can body-double each other. Then it gets late and Zelda crashes for the night because she knows Link feels safe around her and she feels safe around him, and anyway they just like being in each other’s presence. And in the morning Zelda wakes up and Link’s already outside climbing trees or fishing or something. (He was going to make breakfast for her but remembered that Zelda mentioned at some point that she dislikes eating too early in the morning, but he made her a snack just in case.)

Then Link says he’s going out to the nearby forest later to gather some mushrooms (because some lady in town said wanted them for inspiration but was too busy to make the trip herself) and asks if Zelda wants to come with him. He says maybe they’ll find some frogs because he knows Zelda really likes frogs. Link does these sorts of odd jobs a lot and Zelda almost always tags along, except sometimes he’ll say he’s going to visit the dragons or go check up on the goddess statues or visit Oaki out in Korok Forest. He just needs to stretch his legs, maybe scale a mountain. He’d love it if she came with, but he gives her the option since he might be gone for a few days (and he offers to get one of their friends to stay with her for her safety). He tells Zelda that she’s welcome to use the house while he’s out. Whenever Zelda opts to stay at the house, Link brings back something random he found because he thought it was neat and wanted to share it with her. 

This goes on for a while, and then one day Zelda realizes that the sign says “Zelda’s House” instead of “Link’s House.” She asks Link about it, and he tells her that he just thought it would be funny since she spends more time at the house than he does. (He actually changed it several weeks ago and Zelda just hadn’t noticed.) 

Some time later, someone happens to ask them about it. 

They both look at each other, and Zelda goes, “I completely forgot you did that.”

[all54321]

Poppies Mean Death and Remembrance

For no particular reason, I decided to revisit the thing I wrote with the flower meanings thing. It originally came from thinking about them making flower crowns for each other during a date (on Hermitcraft), and then I wove in meanings and made it more painful. After some time, Scar stopped giving bouquets to Grian and instead just wove some into his hair.

—————

Grian trails after Scar, heart hurting. They really had to do this, didn’t they? He didn’t want to, but with the ghosts shouting in their ears, they don’t have much a choice.

He’s startled out of his thoughts as they cross through a field of flowers. While many were there, two specific flowers catches his attention. “Lilacs and poppies,” he murmurs.

Scar looks over his shoulder, turning slightly, just silently giving him a sad smile. Grian’s pain being mirrored in it.

Grian reaches up and touches the stem of the poppy still in his hair. Scar had woven one of each into his hair before the final battle started. After all the fighting and his respawn, they’re in a terrible state, but still hold strong.

Poppies mean death

The irony isn’t lost on him. He starts walking again, he can’t afford thinking on this more, it will make this all the more harder. Scar seems to agree as he continues walking as well.*

~

Grian looks down at the perilous drop down the cliff. Everything hurt, both physically and emotional. His tears haven’t stopped coming, but he’s no longer violently sobbing like before.

He reaches up and touches the poppy again, he wants to take it out to look at it, but he can’t bear to undo what Scar did. Not anymore.

“Poppies represent death,” he murmurs. He glances back at Scar’s body, unable to resist, “and remembrance.”

The irony cuts through his grief, maybe it was spelled out from the start.

Grian steps off the cliff before he can think on it too hard. The ground comes up fast and hard, but hurting a lot less then killing Scar did.

Poppies means remembrance.

~[Scar POV]~

Scar isn’t aware of the path his feet take him on, too lost in thought, until he sees the flowers. He unintentionally led them to where he collected the poppies and lilacs that he gifted to Grian.

“Lilacs and poppies,” Grian murmurs, realizing.

Scar turns around to give him a sad smile, realizing he never show Grian this place before. It hurts for Grian to see it now.

Grian reaches up and touches one of the steams in his hair, a sad look on his face. The flowers themselves are slightly wilted and missing a few petals. They still look beautiful, Grian still looks beautiful.

After a moment, Grian start walking again, Scar following a moment later. There isn’t anything for them to say. Not anymore. Not anything that won’t cause them more pain.

~

“Gri,” Scar chokes out, hovering next to Grian as he stands on a cliff. He knows what his lover is planning to do and he can’t stop it. Tears are still flowing down his guilt and grief stricken face.

Grian touches the poppy again, before murmuring, “poppies represent death.”

Scar winces at the irony, he never thought about their meaning before.

“And remembrance,” he murmurs, glancing over his shoulder.

An emotion flashes across his face, but before Scar can read it, Grian steps off the cliff. Scar reaches out, as if he can catch Grian, but misses and is forced to watch him fall to his death.

[howthesleeplesswander]

@magnifiico liked this post for a starter!

((these two are so excited to get at each other asfdjlsd our hearts could never have been ready T~T))

"Mi rey?" Amaya's voice, soft as it was, still echoed in the king's cavernous office, joined by the muted thud of the ornate door as she closed it behind her. Immediately, her gaze found Magnifico ever-poised at his work station across the room; and immediately, the stern expression she'd worn on her way up the stairs softened with affection. A sigh fluttered down to her shoes: mostly fond, but with a whisper of exasperation in its final notes.

"I understand why you have such...rigorous qualifications for your apprentice," she began as she crossed the room, "but it really creates quite a spectacle when the candidates you've rejected are seen fleeing the castle in tears."

Admittedly, the childishly dramatic crocodile-tears of the young lady whom Amaya had just escorted off the castle grounds were proof of being an ill fit for the position. Still, a delicate grimace sullied the curve of the queen's lips by the time she stood beside her king.

"What happened this time?" she asked, gently expectant.

[whumpacabra]

3. out out out

Escape, angst, blood, referenced starvation, implied torture, implied past noncon

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

Harrison almost cried as the door finally had enough of its own momentum to turn on its hinges. The Wolf’s panting groans likewise dissolved into a sob as the pair threw themselves from the Box, lying on the floor under dim, red emergency lights.

Since when did a terrorist torture bunker have a need for emergency lights?

Harrison’s tearful gasps evened as he lay on his back, staring at the red above. Since when had the Box been locked with electricity? He had always assumed the door was just too heavy, manually locked - something less high tech.

His vision was spotty, head still spinning for far too long after he hit the ground. He was so tired - so cold, so hungry - how long had it been since he had food or water? Too long, judging by the way his arms shook as he tried to sit up.

Harrison flinched upright as his hazy vision cleared. The Wolf was lying on the opposite side of the aisle, curled tightly against the holding cell bars. The wounds he had felt in the Dark were as bad as they had seemed, if not worse. Flesh had been rent under human hands, cold blades, and hot irons, bloodied and bruised. His left shoulder was swollen and crooked - dislocated, if Harrison had to guess.

He tried not to let his eyes linger below the Wolf’s scratched and bruised back. Violet handprints, black under the red light, were still holding his hips and wrapped around his legs. Harrison shuddered at the sight.

He hated the Wolf - he wanted him to suffer, he wanted to visit every violence imaginable upon him for what he had done to Elias, to Merrick - to Harrison himself.

But Harrison’s definition of ‘every violence imaginable’ was clearly different from whoever had brutalized the man before him. Part of him wanted to laugh, the mighty Wolf laid low - and part of him ached, resentful that someone had hurt this monster enough that he had a shred of pity for him.

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

(An AU of my Freelancers series)

[jaggedpeak]

69 Gposefeather lawl thank u for chance

if you were anyone else, i wouldn't see you in myself

[gladumfdoodles]

Working on my next fic, it's grian centric and I'm beginning to realize that I just like putting this poor block man into the most miserable situations