#wip: sky of shards

[taegularities]

ruin you: reflections | kth

Summary: Sometimes, you really refuse to truly leave, don't you?

⋙ pairing: Taehyung x female reader ⋙ rating: 18+ ⋙ genre: exes? au; angst, bit of fluff ⋙ warnings: rain and sadness, nostalgia, a phone call, the L-word, memories, sleeping jungkook cameo lol, this is original ry!oc and a!oc isn't in the picture yet – so basically a prequel to ruined and sequel to the ry finale hehe ⋙ word count: 4.3k ⋙ a/n: i know it's been years and we're possibly over this series now bc so much happened on taegularities dot com after it finished, buuuut.. i was listening to only love by pvris the other day and i ALWAYS think of ry!tae when the song comes on lmao. anyway, enjoy this little thing that i totally did not ever expect to drop in 2k25 :') come talk to me about it <3

⁂ part of the ruin you series 

⁂ playlist 🎶

MASTERLIST | WIPS

This is barely what a promising spring Thursday is supposed to be.

The relentless winter lasted for ages already, and now it’s unseasonably cold, too. Not that Taehyung minds a harmless sprinkle, drizzling onto him as though to kiss his skin. But the coat is a little too thin and his umbrella nowhere near.

He could rush home and dive into some woollen blanket. Could fetch himself his favourite tea, sweetened with some honey, waiting for the last day of the week to break in. But the weekend is around the corner anyway, and he doesn’t leave on them much at all these days.

After work, at least, just like right now, he has an excuse to hide from his apartment for a while. It’s easier to walk around when already active; much more facile to carry himself back to this tiny park than when he’s at home, cosy and alone, tired and bitter.

Not everything is bad, though: Jungkook’s attitude towards Taehyung has long returned to what it used to be; albeit somehow, Taehyung can’t shake the feeling that in some sense, unspoken tension still lingers that neither of them will ever full be able to erase.

Taehyung smirks. Of course not.

You were in the absolute middle with them at far ends of the scale. Only, in truth, it wasn’t the perfect middle at all — you were leaning towards one decision so clearly. Turned left and right, but then chose the obvious direction.

For your sake, you settled on happiness, pure, unfiltered love that you knew and still know to be true. Taehyung wanted this for you.

But it’s ironic how you’re seemingly so whole, but left him stranded here in little shards that he glued together as if reuniting estranged puzzle pieces. And the ones he still hasn’t found, you took with you.

He wonders.

What do you do with them? Store them in your memory, reliving moments, or are they hidden somewhere in the back of your thoughts, not enjoying the relevance that you still so obviously do in his head?

Taehyung doesn’t move just yet. It’ll get colder once it’s dark, and the early April spring weather will do whatever it wants to. It won’t be gentle to him today, he reckons.

But he still stays seated here, just to take in the world, breathe in the breeze. His apartment is warm but stuffy. A blissful sanctuary that’s surrounded by invisible bars sometimes. He doesn’t know how to feel about this.

It’s hard to figure out emotions anyway.

He’s over a ton, but not quite all of it. A number of all that occurred still wreaks havoc in his brain, still a burning chaos and source of damned ruination. He doesn’t understand how to feel about most of his days.

And the wind, the dense grey clouds. The rain.

Or the feeling of the drops landing on his hand, running down his thumb when he turns his palm to the sky and it catches the rain. With each second, the pace picks up a bit more, and more and more raindrops touch his skin.

His long digits curl in; strands of his hair stick to his forehead and water drips off his nose and chin. Eyes close. He knew it’d be pouring, but he forgot how intense the universe can actually get. This is quite dramatic.

It’s been a while since it rained like this, too. It did a lot in his apartment, too.

He breathes in, lifting his head for a second, up to the sky and to the falling shower. The colours are far from vibrant and optimistic, but they don’t feel as hopeless as they could be. Maybe nature doesn’t mean to feel sad to others.

Or maybe because there are worse places to be. Right? Wait, why?

Because they hurt less? No, probably not. The pain sits in the middle of his chest, not just at a particular location. Or maybe…

Maybe this is a moment that he can somewhat learn to cherish because of the fingers slowly opening his own. Suddenly but carefully touching his palm. That’s strange, isn’t it?

Would it be weirder if it was a stranger? Or is it crazier that it’s somebody entirely else when he lifts his eyelids again, staring down to his hand and to what grazes him. To who grazes him.

He could swear you weren’t here before. Your smiling, soaking wet self, head tilting when he comes to look at you. The silver shines into his eyes, and he remembers. Remembers the earrings you’d always wear, sporting them when the three of you found a pleasant café or spent your evening bickering over ludo.

Taehyung looks at you. Looks at you carefully, just to ensure it’s you. You’re timid at first; this is your expression, alright. So distinctively you. How your eyes drift down when he gulps; and how you blink, your smile a tiny bit unsure.

Taehyung remains as mute as he hates to be, and eventually, you start with, “Hi.”

It takes another second of embarrassing shock. Then, “Hey… hey.”

He uprights himself, shifting on his spot, his coat stuck beneath him. Staring at the hand, he never closes his fingers around your warm skin; no matter how tempting, it’d be wrong, wouldn’t it?

So what are you doing? Why are you doing it; where did you appear from? It has been a while since he basked in your presence at all… so what’s going on?

“I, uh… I was,” you start, dampening your already glistening lips; he misses them like a bitch, “out and saw you here.” You look around; the area is blurred to Taehyung. “What are you doing?”

“…What are you doing?” Taehyung doesn’t mean to blurt it out like this, but his tongue doesn’t practice restraint at all. He snaps back into the moment, feet firm on the ground. Clearing his throat, he tells you, “It’s pouring.”

“So it is. But I’m not made of sugar.”

“You will get a cold.”

You roll your eyes. The audacity; the corner of his lips twitches up. “You’re not immune to these things either, you know, Tae? Being sick will hurt you, too.”

Now he surrenders; snickers a bit. Slick trait of yours, being this charming without realising it. Guess that has always made you desirable to others; you make people feel comfortable.

And it’s torture, how you’re still you. When he knew you better, you’d blabber such things, too. How sickness aches, how the cold leads to heat. You’d be surprised if you knew just how sick he’s been, and just how much the million passed seconds hurt.

God, if the flicker of guilt didn’t spark in him, he’d probably tread through this moment easier, too, relish the rush of hormones speeding through him. This is odd. Not what he expected from your first conversation after so long.

Breathing out an unsuspicious sigh, he finally pulls his hand back a little, just for the sake of appearing natural, and then asks, “How have you been?”

You give yourself a moment to ponder. A strange expression, as if you’re somewhat bewildered. As if your body isn’t yours and as if you’ve beamed in from another reality, differing from whatever you’re experiencing now.

Somehow, you look just slightly like a stranger now, and skilled, you dodge the question like one, too, when you blurt without a notice, “If… I told you that I was sorry… and that I wanted this to be forever—”

What?

He’s gone miles with you; way too far to ever justify. You were the one to pull away. So why is it that you’re this brave now? As if having come to a realisation that you’re attempting to share; that he is gradually trying to duck from.

“Don’t.”

The word leaves him in a whisper, cost him the day’s leftover energy. But you shake your head, gripping his hand again, and insist, “Please let me say it.”

He thinks you’re about to break, water collecting; and a moment later, strangely, your eyebrows kiss. Match his assumption. You utter, just quietly, “I wanted it to be forever… It’s dumb to say that because I can’t have two of these.” You wait again. Bring up a hand, cup his cheek until he meets your damp eyes. “And I’m sorry.”

Sorry… you’re sorry. He is, too. He doesn’t know what for. Or maybe he does — but he has apologised. He has made peace with his mistakes, even if not with the goddamn distance.

So this is… excruciating.

And for a moment, the emotions heighten, as if he’s hyper aware of what you’re feeling. A weird sadness floods him, mixed with his own. He’s on the opposite side of this misery, trapped in something entirely different than you.

But.

He still sees your heart so clearly, as if he was holding it, reading inscriptions. Scars. And he can almost touch, almost imagine the affection you house for him so vividly. What did you? Objectify your feelings and hand them to him?

Maybe something occurred; something celestial, a change in the world. Because he could swear he can read your mind — because you seem to cooperate with each of his thoughts. With how you touch his chin next, eyes glassy. Or how you inhale, as if tormented by something.

He can foresee it all before you do it. Maybe he’s come to know you this well. But the realisation that comes to him next is far more daunting.

Because, in these seconds of confusion, the surroundings changed and the moments changed, far too long but too short, too. Time feels nonlinear and nonexistent. How does he know what’s going to happen?

It’s easy to figure out, isn’t it? He should know. But how could he… even as a human being, a brain has the ability to trick him.

He knows because he’s telling his mind himself, isn’t he? Bending reality, deep in his unconsciousness. He isn’t here, and you aren’t here, and in truth, you’re just a figment of his imagination, a piece of what he conjures.

Just as you have been for the past months.

As the moment lingers and stretches, and then vanishes, Taehyung finds himself slowly pulling out of this fake memory. Wakes in the bed he’s probably already slept a dent into. And as clarity arrives, he realises that it isn’t Thursday, but Friday fading into Saturday morning.

He recalls thinking of little somethings before going to bed. How Thursdays were your favourite day of the week because they nearly introduced the weekend, and that Friday itself was never actually as relaxing as one might think due to all the traffic and the weekend chaos.

It was random yapping and it barely made any sense to Taehyung. But you had seemed to have it thought through, and you spoke about it confidently. Even when sometimes, you struggled to make your thoughts transparent effectively; but that was rare, really.

If anything, he was the one worse at this. You, as the experienced teacher in your trio, knew to win their hearts by a couple of thought out words only.

Honestly, today he thinks you liked Thursdays just because they were the shortest, most effortless days at school.

Taehyung sits up, half a smile at his face as he imagines your excitement about leaving the institution. You’d use many Thursday afternoons to indulge in hobbies or to ask Taehyung to join you for a round of chess because you both liked the game.

He was never competitive, but you were. But you both knew to entertain each other. Sometimes, you did feel like a mirror to him, as if he was staring at his reflection.

Both of you knew what to say; when to say it.

Taehyung ruffles through his messy hair. It’s gotten longer; changed along with the world. But why is this feeling in his stomach still the same? Why is he still trying to relive what was? He should probably set his priorities straight; his brain is a mischievous traitor.

As he clicks his tongue, light breaks through the dark night. The phone on his nightstand beams when a random notification chimes. He grabs it, sighs at the G-Mail thing leading to some Reddit post. Then, checks the time.

Or, passes some time. He doesn’t know yet; he won’t fall asleep right away. Might scroll for a bit.

Cruel, how he’s here thinking of you, all weird and still nostalgic, and you’re probably sound asleep. Dreaming about anything but him. 

At least that’s what he’d suppose now. You don’t ever message him, never call. He’s aware that you still have his number, and that he hasn’t deleted yours, either. Both of you still follow each other on social media, too.

Just today, you posted a picture of a cat, nestled in some woman’s arms as your hand petted it. The stranger was mentioned in a corner; probably a coworker. Taehyung didn’t check. He feels creepy enough as it is.

But you still see his rare stories as well; when he decides to upload an orange sunset or reposts his friends’ stuff. These days barely ever occur anymore, but whenever they do, you see them.

Yet, no comment. No reaction. Just looking quietly, just like he does.

He wonders. If it was him who called or said hi, would you respond? You have turned into a fleeting and transient ghost of the past — but would you become a temporary presence if he reached out?

If he… if he scrolled down to your name and pressed the call button right now, would you…

No.

If he gave in now, you’d probably not even notice, and he’d interpret it as you ignoring him. And he’d overthink. It’d backfire. And…

But…

Fuck.

Damn the human mind. Taehyung questions — is it a common problem? A painfully humane one, wanting ideas to be realised once they emerge? Stupid compulsive urge. Why? So he can sleep?

No, probably not. It’s because Taehyung knows he has nothing to lose. Nothing to regret. What more could still happen?

You aren’t his and you never will be.

So his thumb slides across the bright screen, scouring his contacts until he finds you there, collecting dust but never forgotten.

Don’t do it.

The reasonable voice of sanity isn’t wrong, of course, but when has he ever been sane anyway? Didn’t the two of you meet because he was as unhinged as could be? In hindsight, he wishes he could have made a different first impression, and not what he did.

What did you see in him at that moment? When you stepped in, into a room that barely seemed normal. What kind of person was he to you?

Was, is, could and would and should have,

If and when and might.

Nothing to lose now.

Fuck it.

He pushes his thumb onto your name and then the call symbol, phone pressing to his ear with shut eyes and teeth worrying his full lower lip. He’s an idiot, he knows. Still hung up on something like this, as if he never learned at all.

You were a lesson enough, so why is he…

Shit…

The call is going through. He might be waking you. Or you might not notice. And perhaps Jungkoo—

Shit, shit. Jungkook.

Why didn’t he think of the main damn reason you left at all? If this doesn’t disturb your nightly peace, Jungkook might register it. Is Taehyung screwing up again?

He brings his phone to his lap, ogling at the screen, thumb already floating over the button to hang up again. Because he can’t do this to you and himself and his best friend, so he should—

“Hey?”

The ringing stops; your voice nearly gives him a heart attack. A shiver inundates his entire body, the hammering beneath his chest aggressive and loud. And the dense fog… it’s shrouding his mind.

He listens in closely, wondering whether he hallucinated your voice, whether it was as unreal as his dream. But a moment later, he hears you again, his name penetrating the silence like a knife, “Tae?”

You sound groggy. He’s heard this very tone so many times before. He musters up whatever courage’s left in him and responds, “Hi.”

“…Is something wrong?” you immediately ask. “Are you okay?”

Of course that’d be your initial reaction. The first conversation after all this time, in the dead of the night. Why would he call if not for a favour or when in absolute need? But it’s neither, is it? This is something entirely else and there is no proper word for it.

Well, stupidity, perhaps.

“No,” he answers, “I just—” His mind is befuddled, no clear thought. He isn’t quite sure what he wants to say; maybe he should’ve prepared a script, something with reason and justification. Instead, he babbles, “I never got to tell you.”

Silence again.

He hears some shifting on the other end and a slight groan, still yours and not Jungkook’s. There are quiet steps, as if you’re distancing yourself from your sleeping boyfriend, to be able to listen to Taehyung’s thoughts properly.

Knowing something is up. Taehyung knows anyone would, but he can’t help but think of the mirror again.

A door opens, and then, a door closes. You whisper, “Wait,” before you let out a breath, probably, surely plumping onto the couch he still knows. “Taehyung…”

“Yes.”

“What’s wrong?”

“…Where’s Jungkook.”

You clear your throat; the sofa shifts, and you sound more relaxed, as if you leaned back. You tell him, “In the bedroom. I stepped out for a sec.” Pause; and then again, “What’s wrong?”

“I was thinking of you and,” he lowers his head, the stillness between you a burning pain, “and I wanted to say hi.”

You laugh a little, followed by a hearty yawn. But you’re not bored, just exhausted. Still here, still jesting when you ask, “At,” another break in speech, “half past three, huh?”

“Hey, I don’t choose what my brain chooses to dream of.”

You stop laughing. The recurring silence fills your conversation; both of you seem to be arranging your thoughts, necessarily so after this long. Then, you state rather than ask, “You dreamed of me.”

“Yeah…”

“Was it…” you start, but then exhale, trying again, “What was it? A memory?”

“No… not really.”

“Something familiar?” He hears you shifting, your voice clearer. Sweet and tender. “I reckoned that’s what you… never got to tell me?”

“No… no, it was nothing,” Taehyung lies. “There was just rain. Us talking.” And then, some truth, “We apologised.”

You wait, voicing a sound of interruption and uncertainty, before you inquire, “Why would you apologise?”

“Because… it’s not like the time we had was so stress-free.” Taehyung stares up to the ceiling, leaning forward with a hand rubbing his forehead. “Maybe that’s what I needed to tell you. Apologise for what I did to you.”

“You… you didn’t do anything to me. I had fun, Tae,” you assure, your voice defeated. He can imagine what you look like; fallen face, droopy eyes, beautiful lips suggesting grief. “I don’t blame you for anything, you know? Just… not everything lasts. And it’s not your fault.”

“Maybe not everything is supposed to last.”

You don’t say anything, and he takes a deep breath. He knows you’d agree if you weren’t so cautious still, cherry picking your responses. And as you think it through, he imagines you looking out of the window; so he does, too.

His eyelids are heavy with sleep, and he’s so incredibly sorry that he’s robbing you of the sleep you love so much as well. But it’s not just him drowning in this moment, he thinks. Because you keep the words flowing, eventually ask, “How have you been?”

“I… I’m fine.” Closest to what’s true. At least in the grand picture, physically and all. He’s not dying, doesn’t feel like he is anymore. “Living.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s been alright,” he fiddles with his blanket, a stray thread, plays with his thoughts. “And you?”

“I’m good, too.”

“Good. I’d be mad if you weren’t,” he adds quietly, painfully uncontrolled, “I didn’t let you go for nothing.”

He squints his eyes shut, trapping his lip between his teeth. Maybe he should be more careful. He resists the urge to groan over his idiocy when you respond, “Yeah…”

But it doesn’t end here, does it? Taehyung might already be a fool for saying all these words in this constellation at all; but the dumb courage won’t falter yet. He reminds himself… nothing to regret anymore…

“Can I ask you something?” he lets out. “I might not want to hear the answer, but I think I will hate not doing it, too.”

You sound more unsure by the minute. Perhaps he’s putting you in a situation you’re not too fond of — but you’re an honest soul. If you wanted to leave, he knows you would. Instead, you say, “…Yeah.”

Now or never. One, two, three. Three, two, one.

Taehyung gulps and then—

“Did you ever love me?”

Your answer is, as expected, not immediate. In fact, you don’t say much at all, leaving the conversation wordless for a moment. It takes patience and sucking in some more oxygen until you finally mutter—

“Maybe.”

The sting is sharp and fiery, and he curls the hand on his forehead into a fist. It remains there, eyes still closed, as if to press against the hot head and calm the overwhelmed brain behind it. It’s so fiercely hurting over what could have been.

And the guilt pricking steps in immediately, too, thinking of the man in the other room at your place; how Taehyung never wishes him ill and how he is still selfish enough right now to wish you had ended up being his.

“Maybe, yeah?” he then asks.

“I wasn’t sure back then,” you tell him, still nearly whispering. “A ton was going on and now…”

“You’ve forgotten what it felt like.”

“No. I don’t think that’s it. And I don’t think I’ll ever forget you.” Taehyung sighs in defeat, hardening his jaw. Fuck. “You don’t seem to understand what you meant to me. But. I’m not at that spot anymore, so I can’t tell you without feeling like I’m… possibly distorting what it truly was.”

“Whatever it was,” Taehyung says, “he was bigger anyway. And I understand, you know? I do.”

“I… If he wasn’t,” you start, slowly, as if you’re not actually keen on saying what you have to say. But as Taehyung already deducted once more — honest soul. “I would’ve chosen differently.”

Yet another pause. Taehyung only nods, though you can’t see any of his movements, any of his expressions. You continue, “Maybe I’ll always feel some of what I used to for you, but— leaving him will never feel right. Jungkook is what I’ve always known.”

“I know,” Taehyung immediately chimes in; how much more can he hear? He asked for it, so when will he learn? “I know he is. It shouldn’t be any other way.”

And he means it. Wishing otherwise doesn’t erase his respect for him, does it? You mumble another, “Yeah,” before Taehyung adds, “It was nice hearing from you again.”

“You too, Tae.”

“Take care of yourself. I’m sorry for waking you up so late.”

“It’s okay.” You sniffle, but you’re not crying as you were in his dream. Just a habit, or an emotional toll. But you’re so achingly kind; how does one forget about you when you say things like, “It was important to you. So it’s okay.”

“Thank you.” Taehyung lets go of the jogger’s loose thread, fist opening as he says, “And hey. Do tell Jungkook about this.”

“Oh… yeah. Somehow I thought you’d tell me not to.”

“Really?”

Taehyung smiles. There was a time when he was in love and evil enough to make the wrong decision. But he knows that at his core, he’s good, and that you wouldn’t have fallen for him if he wasn’t. He needs to live by this very goodness.

He asks, “So, would you’ve kept this from him?”

You think. Only for a short second before you admit, “No. Because he should know. And because this isn’t anything wrong. Him not knowing would feel wrong, though.”

“Exactly. I’m no different, you know? I’m offended you wouldn’t think a bit better of me.”

You laugh again, a lovely sound. Just the right thing to end the day by. And as your snicker ebbs down, you find your voice again, gentle though it breaks his heart, “Good night, Tae.”

That’s it, then. Time to truly end the story.

“Good night.”

Another whisper from the other side, “Night.”

And then, you’re gone.

As soon as your voice disappears, the wild beating of his heart does, too. But not because the nervousness passes; rather, because it gives way to a void. The farewell in your last word opened it immediately, quickly.

One damn word, so many messages. Wishing him the best, as if permitting him a better future. Maybe you’re hopeful for him. For something lying ahead that he’s unaware of still. He doesn’t know.

For now, all he understands is that he’s alone, and that the moment the connection cut, the vacant space in his chest grew to stay for a bit. But…

Another Saturday has arrived, sunrise not too far.

After all the pain, he’s still gotten here. And he’ll remain to witness many more of these warm weekends, time speeding up once the wounds disappear. Maybe someday.

Maybe someday, his days will stop resembling survival and give way to sweetness, a remedy once more.

this was unedited; i'll do so tmrw. so if there were words missing and stuff, let me know :') i hope you read and liked it, especially if you were around for the ride that ry was back then. if not, then thank you still for being here <3 i just needed to get this out of my system either way, even if nobody read it at all lol. i still cherish them a lot sigh

come and chat with me about literally anything, i'll be thrilled <3

[wangxianficrecs]

Rewind 2024 - Follower Recs

WangxianFicRecs - Rewind 2024

For our Rewind 2024, our dear followers were also able to submit Follower Recs of their favourite stories published in 2024 for you to enjoy! Thank you to everyone who shared their recs and make sure to give the authors some love!

~*~

Hey! Im submitting for the rewind 2024! Nominating because its the perfect mix of hilarious and heart-wrenching, theres sword lore AND blue haired Lan Wangji! Plus @hellinglaozu art! @mdzsrewind

🔒 Help!!! I’m a Broke College Student How Did I End Up With a (Hot) Amnesiac Sword Spirit For a Sugar Baby??!??

by spookykingdomstarlight

M, 43k, Wangxian

Summary: Wei Ying is a normal first-year college student. He lives with his parents. He gets good grades. He has friends. Or a friend, at least. Everything is going well, at least until a stunning man in hanfu with white hair manifests right in front of his eyes on a field trip. Suddenly he’s stuck introducing a sword spirit to the modern world, dealing with a mystery involving metal shards appearing all over Jiangsu province, and grappling with the possibility that Siri from his old phone might be sentient. What’s a normal first-year college student supposed to do under these circumstances? He dives right in, of course. A collaboration with the amazing HellingLaozu!

~*~

This story is modern, sexy missing WWX times and proactive LWJ doing what he can to cope (robot). @petirrojo57

Starry Sky

by auberjing (@wrecklwj) & lamusadelils

E, 8k, Wangxian

Summary: In the absence of Wei Ying, Lan Zhan deals with his grief by trying to replicate him. It's not the same, but the replica brings him some comfort. And maybe more.

~*~

Just pick any Scrippio work, really, but modern actor WWX works! @petirrojo57

Falling for You

by Scrippio

T, 8k, Wangxian

Summary: In which Lan Zhan's new stunt double decides that they're BFFs...and Lan Zhan finds that he agrees. Or: Five movies Lan Zhan makes with Wei Ying and One he makes alone.

~*~

I'm sure many other people have recommended this story for the Rewind 2024 event but I'll throw my vote in too for this incredibly well-written, amazing take on how things could've gone if Lotus Pier didn't fall and Wei Ying realized he loved Lan Zhan earlier. It features genius Wei Ying, supportive Lan Qiren, learning-to-be-less-naive Lan Xichen, and lazy but talented Nie Huaisang. The world-building is gorgeous and the storytelling phenomenal. @doctorbunsenhoneydew

Dispersing Clouds

by dreamingofcake

E, 283k, Wangxian

Summary: While the Wen Clan is embroiled in subduing internal conflicts within Qishan, the Jiang Clan hosts the annual discussion conference. It has been one year since the disastrous archery competition where Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji last met but Wei Wuxian remains as optimistic as ever. An unlikely friendship begins to blossom and without the looming spectres of conquest and war to strengthen his ties to the Jiang family, the trajectory of Wei Wuxian’s life changes.

~*~

A Qin Sue fic! I enjoyed this where she survives and lives in Lotus Pier. - Anon

now you’re tearing through the pages and the ink

by Stratisphyre

M, 70k, Jiang Cheng/Qin Su & Wangxian

Summary: “I can’t stay here. Please don’t make me!” The words dragged themselves out of Qin Su's chest, feral and half-bloodied by her grief and fear. “A-Cheng is leaving tomorrow,” Jiang Yanli said. “You could go with him.” Or, Qin Su in Lotus Pier.

~*~

This story is a fairly recent WIP. No first siege of bm, yilingwei sect, wei yuan, wwx takes in a bunch of street kids as disciples, some guidao cultivation world building, jzx and jyl live, wwx semi isolates in bm for 13yrs and founds a sect, sect politics - Anon

Our Beautiful Homes

by Randomness_is_my_order

M, WIP, 21k, Wangxian

Summary: I, Jin Guangyao, a senior disciple of the Lanling Jin Clan write to you regarding a matter of grave importance. Kindly pardon the abrupt correspondence but I hope the situation will warrant such measures and the offence incurred will be minimal.  Wei Wuxian’s day had really become so interesting, hadn’t it? The Lianfang-zun writing to him–this lowly practitioner of the heretic path? My, my, his life was always filled with surprises, wasn’t it?  Sometimes, it takes a hundred sacrifices and a dozen heroes to change fate. Other times, it takes a rock and a sentient corpse tripping on it mid-fight to avoid a lifetime of tragedies and send destiny into a tailspin. In which Wen Ning misses his attack, Jin Zixuan lives and Wei Wuxian builds a sect for all those who don’t have a home. It is only thirteen years later that the cultivation world bothers to acknowledge him and his people, and only when they’re desperate for a favour. Never let it be said that Wei Wuxian would allow himself to be used.

~*~

Really awesome fic for what if LWJ became sect leader after the Wen attack on Cloud Recesses. There are some really good wangxian moments and I really like how the fic showcases sect administration and how the sect works now with LWJ as the leader. - Anon

🔒 The Straightest Path

by meyari

T, 30k, Wangxian, Nielan, JYL/NMJ, Sangcheng

Summary: The moment of Xiongzhang’s death would live forever in Lan Zhan’s mind. He’d turned towards Lan Zhan, qiankun pouch holding the library in his hands. Then he’d gasped as arrows flew towards them both in a hail no one could survive.

~*~

I would like to rec this story. It is currently a WIP started this year and every update is amazing. There’s so many details and I love that Wangxian are dragons and that WWX gets all the love and support and he fights really well too. - Anon

With This Shadowed Blade

by Anonymous

M, 145k, WIP, Wangxixian, Nielan, Wangxian, Sangxian, Mingxian, Nielanxian, Wangsang, Xixian

Summary: Wei Ying needs to find his soulmates before the madness turns him into a horrific monster. There's just the slight problem of Madam Yu shipping him off to the stuffy Lans in a contract bonding. Oh, and she didn't tell them he's on the verge of losing it. So they just think that he's, well, there must be something wrong with him after all...

~*~

I would like to recommend this story, because it is so unique and vividly written, one of the best fics I have ever read. @aerouinde

🔒💙 Building it back, stone by stone and seal by seal

by KizuKatana (@kizukatana)

M, 134k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: It had been over 200 years since the war between cultivators left more than half the land ravaged and uninhabitable and the practice of cultivation punishable by death. Despite the risks of being caught as a practicing cultivator, Wei Wuxian took on the hunt of a dangerous yao that had destroyed a small village and killed all of the civilians. While searching for the demon, he encountered a mysterious cultivator dressed all in white. Wei Wuxian was excited to finally meet another cultivator, but instead of greeting him or making pretty much any conversation at all, the man attacked Wei Wuxian on sight. - - - - - - There is NO WAR in this fic. This takes place two centuries after the war happened, and it has a sort of post apocalyptic vibe. This is a story of rebuilding and finding safety. It's about found family and forming a new society away from the old one that persecuted them.

~*~

I want to recommend this story, because it was a very unique story with so much atmosphere, the settings were wonderful, and it was well paced. @aerouinde

grimoire

by WithLoweredVoices

M, 95k, Wangxian

Summary: ‘Alright, fine,’ huffs Wei Ying, blowing out his cheeks. He adjusts his grip on the smooth hilt of the sword, as cold as wet stone beneath his palm. ‘How do I give this back to you?’ ‘I must trade with you something of equal worth,’ says the strange man. ‘Uh. Okay.’ Wei Ying rubs his forehead with his free hand. ‘How about your name? Your real name.’ In case he needs to file a police report or stalk this beautiful, scary man on google or something. The man looks even more angry. He pulls his shoulders back and draws himself to his full height, which is rather impressive and forces Wei Ying to tip his chin up slightly. ‘My name is Lan Zhan,’ the man says. ~ (The one where it’s a dark academia AU - only it’s not.)

~*~

I want to recommend this story, because it was an immensely exciting story, one of the best Kaiju/Archon stories I have read. @aerouinde

Axiom –A Mo Dao Zu Shi Mecha AU

by Hinu (@imnotacleverman)

E, 331k, Wangxian

Summary: “I’ve always known it’s my destiny to be coupled with a cute girl and fall in love in the archon!” Wuxian winked at the nearest girl, who just so happened to be Mianmian, the prettiest girl in their class. Lan Wangji’s eye-roll was loud. “What?” Wuxian had noticed the boy’s reaction. “You never striked me as a romantic, Lan Wangji, but you know studies have shown that a notable percent of alters end up married, right?” “Oi!” Someone exclaimed. Everyone shot their eyes back on the screens, onto which text had appeared: Their coupling results. Everyone was too busy looking up their own name on the list to pay attention to the fact that the stickler-to-the-rules nephew of major general Lan Qiren had been coupled with Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji had been coupled with Wei Wuxian! *** In a world threatened by monsters, giant robots known as archons are piloted by "alters", a neuropsychologically coupled pair, to protect humanity. As Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji begin their piloting career as unlikely alters, they have to contend not only with the fame and idolization that comes with being a pilot, but also the conflicts that rise from within as their psyches are connected within the archon.

~*~

I want to recommend this story, it was a very exciting, clever and well paced story. @aerouinde

Chronicles of Sect Leader Wei Wuxian

by Muggle_Diary (@kshithi-and-stories)

E, 114k, Wangxian

Summary: Wei Wuxian is ten years old when he joins the Jiang sect. Fed up with his treatment at Yunmeng Jiang, Wei Wuxian leaves the Jiang sect. Wei Wuxian is ambitious and wants to open a sect based on merits alone. Years later he stands at the top of cultivation world.

~*~

I want to recommend this story, because it is one of the best ballet fics I have read, loved it. @aerouinde

Ugly Duckling

by Witch_Nova221 (@witchnova221)

T, 57k, Wangxian

Part of the MDZS Big Bang 2024

Summary: When talented but untrained ballet dancer, Wei Ying, is offered a scholarship by Lan Huan at the prestigious Gusu Ballet Academy he knows he will have to work hard to prove himself especially to his stern teacher, Lan Qiren. At a school that values tradition, Wei Ying struggles to find his place, constantly criticised and compared to his talented classmate, Lan Zhan. Whilst negotiating the trials of training under Lan Qiren, Wei Ying struggles to remember why he loves to dance until costumier, Nie Huaisang, gifts him a very special pair of shoes that open up a whole new world of ballet.

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for these hard-working authors if you like – or think others might like – these stories.)

[freakyfrye]

ᝰ. perfect stranger

requested: stolas x gn! swan reader, what if stolas never met blitzø at the ‘not divorce’ party

type: oneshot

content: no mention of pronouns (just “you”), slow burn, wholesome & vulnerable fluff, love at first sight (for Stolas maybe, up to interpretation), flustered & subtlety turned on stolas (not too much tho stolas), down to earth reader

note: for the record, I don’t hate stella (i actually like her character, villains have a soft place in my heart always), y’all idk about this—this is trash 🚮 I hate how I wrote it, imposter syndrome is heavy with this one but I don’t want to rewrite it and make you wait longer! I know I said I’ll wait until I wrote all my wips but I need this out my drafts neow!

Anyone who could be considered important, on some level but no more than she, knew that Stella Goetia just adored throwing parties once in a blood moon. In her fancy mansion, she’s the face, the main character, and she plays her role as host so well that people tend to overlook every other bad quality she has among the very few pros. Or perhaps, they would rather not have bad blood with someone of her caliber.

You, on the other hand, couldn't care less—about the parties, the fancy mansion, or Stella herself, frankly. Parties were never your first choice for outings; they were the most energy-draining events, with all the overcrowding and having to pretend to enjoy the company of ill-minded individuals.

But alas, you begrudgingly attend this one, and many others, as a representative of your family name. You're not silent in your disagreement, always voicing how they couldn't have picked a worse member for the job—if your frown, ever present since entering the oh-so-lovely and homey residency of the royal family, was anything to go by.

Doing your due diligence, you converse with a few guests as you make your way through the herd of people, keeping it curt and unseasoned. Finally, you reach the woman of the hour. Locating her wasn’t difficult; her boisterous, obnoxious laughter, reminiscent of a terribly played violin, rang through the room.

Exactly what you’d expect from her. Respectfully but quickly, you greet her, say a few false words of endearment about living a long life, and then scurry off back into the sea of snobby kiss asses. To her and anyone around her, it might look like you were scared, tucking your tail between your legs. In truth, you were trying to keep your big mouth shut in case she couldn’t keep her nasty comments to herself.

The party continues uneventfully. The music, more like a lullaby, would have lured you to sleep if you hadn’t downed a few cocktails to prevent it. The partygoers, annoying as they are, fail to read the room and approach you regardless of your many excuses to avoid meaningless conversation. They just want insight on why a (surname) is at a party alone, much less why you of all people are here.

By evening, you were running out of excuses until you grow hungry—using the lack of vegetarian options as a way to escape their gossip. Now standing beside a gigantic window, you contentedly munch on some leafy greens, finding interest in staring outside. The view is much more impressive than the building itself—isolated enough from Imp City yet overlooking it enough to make a grand statement. It is truly beautiful at night, the lights like little twinkling stars rivaling the sky.

Your head snaps in the direction of a crash, eyebrows raised in disbelief at the sight of wine dribbling down the glass of the window beside the one you stand near, shards scattered on the ground. To your surprise, or perhaps not, the vandal is Stella, who now leaves the scene in a fit of laughter, two idiots in tow beside her.

Why in hell would she do that to her own home? The thought Interest you some. She should know the potential damage that could have caused, let alone to one of her guests who could have been injured. Stella looked back, a sinister grin spreading across her face as she shot a rude remark past you towards someone. It made you realize she didn’t really care—neither about the mansion nor how it made her look.

Your lips form a tight line when you realize her comment was directed at her husband, who retorts with a low, irritated chirp. It seems this wasn’t much of a homey residence after all. Sighing, you place your drink onto the tray of a passing imp, heading over to the stained glass, each step revealing more of the prince hiding behind a column.

There wasn’t a memory with him that you could recall as you took out a handkerchief, wiping the window clean. You knew he attended all parties, cursed with the duty of family, but you never interacted with him. As you bent down, picking up the shards piece by piece, you considered whether you should approach him.

There were plenty of reasons why you didn’t want to or shouldn’t, like the vibe he was giving off as he shamelessly gulping down a bottle of absinthe. But it was your duty to greet all hosts, and even though he wasn’t mingling like his wife, he still counted. It was better to get it over with.

Hurriedly, you call over a wait staff, dropping the shards on their tray with a fleeting explanation, “Have that area swept thoroughly,” while gesturing towards it before brushing past them towards the prince. Stolas grew in size as the distance closed, standing a few feet taller than you. It would be only slightly intimidating if not for him choking on his drink after you suddenly appeared before him.

Sending him an apologetic smile, you bow, “Evening, Your Highness. Hope I didn’t frighten you.”

He managed to squeeze out, “I’m fine,” in the middle of coughing before fixing his posture and smoothing down his vest, handing the bottle to a imp beside him. “It’s quite alright. I just wasn’t expecting company…” he trails off, eyes flickering up and down, clearly confused as to who you are or why you were talking to him of all people in the room.

“I’m glad. I would hate to be the reason the prince falls ill. That would not bode well for my family,” you admit, half-jokingly, before addressing the second half of his statement. “You’re in a room full of like-minded people; surely someone besides me has come to talk with you.”

Right? Because that makes sense. He is the prince.

He blinks owlishly at you before stuttering, “Well—” He clears his throat, placing a hand on his abdomen before continuing, feigning nonchalance, “Why, of course. It’s only appropriate in this setting. I presume that’s your current agenda?”

“Yes,” you answer truthfully, finally glancing up and pausing. A giant banner hangs loosely above his head that reads “NOT DIVORCED!” in bold lettering. Usually the observant type, how in the world did you miss this? “However, if I’m honest, that’s part of the reason,” you add, curiously. You didn't realize it was that kind of party. Maybe you should start paying more attention to the invitations.

“Oh?” Stolas tilts his head slightly, eyes widening. He leans in closer, his voice a mix of confusion and genuine interest, “And what, pray tell, is the other half of the reason?”

You open your mouth, ready to speak what’s on your mind. You've never been one to hide how you feel—superior or not—otherwise, it would consume you. But then you close it, pursing your lips in thought. Perhaps that would be too rude, too personal off the jump, too far outside your jurisdiction to ask him about his marriage at his “not divorced” party, which his wicked wife obviously threw just to spite him.

Damn, you wish more than anything that you could have continued the party without ever seeing that sign or witnessing Stella’s public display. You didn’t care for gossip, but you were a curious individual by nature. He’s standing there, waiting on you to say something—anything, or you’ll risk looking like a fool.

“Do you want to get out of here?” you blurt out after a pregnant pause, cursing yourself inwardly for what you were getting yourself into. Anything would be better than what had came out of your lips.

His body recoils in apparent disgust at what you dare ask him, a prince. You can’t say you blame him; you’d be creeped out if a random nobody asked that too. “Wait, what?” he replies, dumbfounded at your boldness. Was this a joke? He scans around the room, as if searching for something but finds nothing before returning his gaze to you, a faint blush dusting his face. “Could you repeat that?”

You've made your bed, might as well lie in it. Besides, you never wanted to be at this party in the first place, and it's becoming painfully dull. Ideally, you'd slip away alone after greeting him—but this could work out—satisfying your curiosity before the night is over, it could potentially end badly but who knows when you'll cross paths again. Probably at another miserable gathering, actually.

"Ditch the party with me?" You casually rephrase, keeping your head high, silently hoping you don't come off as too much of an idiot. “Or not. Either way, I’m bored stiff here, and it doesn’t look like you’re having a blast either.”

Stolas blinks a few times, processing your proposition. “You’re suggesting leaving the party together?” he repeats, confirming what you’ve just asked, though you’d already clarified it. His lips curl into a hesitant smile, betraying a hint of nervousness at the unexpected proposal.

“And where would we go?” There’s a playful gleam in his eyes, signaling his curiosity and a willingness to entertain the idea of breaking away from the formalities of the event.

You hum in thought, not having planned that far ahead, before shrugging and tilting your head with a genuine smile. "What about the garden? There seem to be a lot of plants around the palace. Someone must really care for them. I bet it’s beautiful," you suggest, recalling the impressive variety of plants, including the carnivorous ones, on the way to the ballroom.

His feathers ruffle as he lets out a low, excited squeal, his smile growing more confident as he leans down to your height. "You have an interest in plants?" he asks, almost unable to believe it, his hands clasped together. Everyone he's ever come across has called his interests boring. He never had a friend who was.

You nod, your posture relaxing after seeing his genuine reaction. "It's a bonding activity between my mother and me that started in childhood. I take it by your reaction that you handle their care?" Perhaps he could be good company after all.

His comical blush returns when he remembers that your suggestion came with a compliment. “Yes, I do. I’m surprised you noticed. Not everyone cares for botany…” He gestures toward the exit, silently saying ‘after you’ before adding, “I would be delighted to accompany you to the garden. I can show you the new species of carnivorous plant I acquired...if you’d like?”

Chuckling at his enthusiasm, you nod and reply, “I’d love that.” You head toward the door, with Stolas quickly falling into step beside you, his hands interlocking behind his back. There’s a respectable distance between you both, ensuring you don’t draw unnecessary attention as you discreetly leave together.

Stolas takes the lead after exiting the ballroom, and a comfortable silence settles between you, broken only by the sound of your footsteps. You notice how he occasionally glances at you, curiosity and excitement in his eyes, as the distance between you subtly closes. You don't voice your observation, letting him assume he's being sneaky when he's not.

"You know," he begins softly, eyes now trained forward, "I never caught your name." A stifled snicker escapes you, causing him to snap his eyes towards you, filled with confusion and a tad bit of worry. "Did I say something amusing?" he asks, tilting his head slightly.

Shaking your head, you respond, "No, it's just... It's a silly thought to think that you might know who I am." you tease.

A flustered noise escapes him, his shoulders stiffening as his mouth drops open and then snaps shut. He stops abruptly, turning his whole body toward you as he stutters, “That’s not... well, the reason...” He struggles to find his words before speaking honestly, “I don’t have a real reason, but if I had met you before, I wouldn’t forget you.” As if he could, you were the first creature in a long while to spark his interest so effortlessly.

Sighing softly, you gesture for him to continue walking. "Actually, it's refreshing not to be noticed immediately upon entering a room," you admit with a slight smile.

Finally reaching the garden, he opens the door and holds it for you, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “I understand how you might feel,” he sympathizes softly, closing the door behind him as he follows you inside. He watches with pride as your eyes widen in awe at the lush, vibrant space filled with an array of plants.

Taking your hand lightly, he guides you to a particular section of the garden where an unusual, striking plant catches your eye. “This is it,” he says, reluctantly letting go of your hand. “My newest addition. Isn’t it fascinating?”

You glance between him and the plant, chuckling in disbelief. "You’re kidding, right?" Your eyebrows shoot up at his confused expression. "Satan, I don’t know what I was expecting, but this—this wasn’t it. How in hell did you get an earth plant to thrive?"

He hums, glancing at the plant lovingly. "A bit of nurturing, a touch of magic, and voilà—a thriving earth plant."

"That simple, huh?" you ask, stepping up to touch the plant. It's soft under your touch and bends with ease—it's real. He wasn’t joking, but then again, why would he with all these other live plants around? It’s just a little hard to believe, is all. “Simple but significant.” you add, remember an affirmation your mother used to say.

Smiling, you let go of the leaf, your eyes following a path that leads deeper into the garden. You start walking, momentarily forgetting your original agenda: why throw a 'not divorce party'? Why not a normal party like normal couples do? But then again, was anything ever normal when you’re raised in the royal family?

Chances are they were arranged before they could even walk. Everyone who grew up in the scene knew that love wasn’t always part of those kinds of marriages. But you thought that wasn’t the case with those two. They hid it so well.

You become so engrossed in the scenery that you jump slightly when Stolas starts to speak, forgetting that you are in his home and not a museum. “Earlier… you said greeting me was only part of your agenda.” He raises his arms in a gesture of harmlessness noticing your jitteriness before continuing, “I’m purely curious… inviting me to escape with you wasn’t the other half, was it?”

"You’re more observant than I gave you credit for," you tease lightly. "You’re right. I still think it’s a touchy subject for you, but I can’t help myself. It’s like an itch in my brain that needs to be satisfied."

“There’s a lot you’d come to find out about me. I’m quite attentive toward things or people who interest me. Plants, my darling Octavia…” Stolas trails off, leaving his lost words hanging tensely in the air, but his gentle eyes on you have you forcing your brain to stop misinterpreting him. He shakes his head, as if to dismiss his own thoughts, "You can ask, as long as I get to ask you one in return. A fair exchange, yes?"

“Fair enough,” you agree, still hesitant and unsure of how he would take it but blurting out your question anyway. “It’s not hard to see that there’s some tension between you and your wife… almost painfully obvious.” You sigh, recalling the earlier events. “So my question is, why are you together, throwing a ‘not divorce’ party when it so clearly should be the opposite?”

There’s a long, pregnant pause between you two. Stolas stares at you, blinking as he processes your question, truly not expecting that to be what was on your mind. You were right—it was a rather personal question, one that really wasn’t any of your business. The nerve of you to be so crass as to ask him that of all questions, and yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to dismiss you.

Instead, he thought of all the reasons why he should answer—someone cares, someone’s listening… the list goes on and he checks them all off. The results are in and it’s still unclear if he should, even though his heart wants him to. Eventually, he expresses himself candidly, laying himself bare for a stranger who unexpectedly stepped inside his world.

Stolas sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair as he looks down at the ground. For a moment, he seems lost in thought, grappling with the complexity of his situation.

"It's... complicated. Stella and I, we've grown apart, to say the least. Our marriage was never really based on love or mutual respect, but more on the idea of strengthening our family's influence and securing alliances."

He lifts his gaze to meet yours, his eyes haunted by a deep sadness.

"But to leave her... it's not that simple. Divorce is rare and scandalous in Goetia. It would be a massive blow to my reputation, and I'm not sure I'm ready to face that kind of backlash just yet."

He shrugs, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as exhaustion settles on his face. The facade he’s been building crumbles in the wake of vulnerability. Now you feel slightly guilty for asking, but you know you had to—not because you were nosy anymore, but partly because he needs to know that there is an alternate ending, one where he could be happy. That it was possible, you were proof.

“I understand the expectations of royals as much as you do. However, I refused to give up that part of my life to my duties. I saw how taxing it could be from the outside looking in. Sometimes it works, other times it doesn’t. I couldn’t leave that up to chance, and I believe you shouldn’t have to either. So what if the royal family judges you? They’re going to do that regardless. If they are, why not live for yourself? You don’t have much to gain from the marriage anymore. Your daughter’s nearing adulthood, right?”

Stolas numbly nods, hanging onto every word. “Then set yourself free before you drive yourself mad trying to keep up with appearances.”

Stolas is at a loss for words. No one has ever cared enough about him to offer such kind words of support. Not his father, not his wife, not even those with whom he sought intimacy. Yet here you are, a stranger, offering him hope. He feels himself choking up with emotion, but he expertly covers it with a cough and a polite smile behind his hand.

However, you can see just how much your words have affected him when you look into his glossed-over eyes. It's like looking at freshly polished rubies. You fear if you confess that the tears he hasn’t shed will flow. Heavens when did you become so soft…

His hand moves from his lips to rest over his heart, which beats so aggressively against his ribcage that he might be concerned if he weren't immortal. You are dangerous for his health, he thinks, when you tilt your head cutely, causing his heart to flutter momentarily before finding its appropriate rhythm again. His throat tightens as he tries to swallow with a dry mouth.

“That might be the kindest and most genuine advice anyone has given me… thank you,” he mutters, afraid to speak louder than a whisper for this conversation. Stolas's face grows hot as he confesses his next words, a hint of longing in his voice, “I wish I had stood up for myself then. Maybe things would have been different…”

“It’s never too late to do what’s right by you.” you reply without a beat, nodding in all seriousness.

“You’re right!” Stolas steps closer to you, moving his hand closer to yours. “It’s time to live for myself. I think I deserve that much. You’ve given me much to think about.” His hand hesitantly brushes against yours. “But I do believe it’s my turn for a question.”

You perk a brow at his change in tone, noticing it drop an octave but it doesn’t match the coy smile he sends you. “I said it before: it’s only fair after the little discomfort I caused you,” you remind him, side-eyeing him, standing rigid and unsure of the sudden change in atmosphere.

He chuckles softly, finally taking your hand in his, “The only discomfort I felt was at that stuffy party, which was soothed by your presence,” he replies, before dipping down to place a gentle kiss on the back of your hand. “Can we do this again? Going out, I mean.” Rising back up but not letting go of your hand, he continues, “I enjoy your company, and your honesty is a breath of fresh air compared to everyone sugar-coating. You’re the first person I’ve met who shares my interests too. It would be a shame, on my part, to leave it at this.”

Your purse your lips, brows furrowed. Since attending this party, nothing has gone right. Instead of leaving alone, you ended up escaping with the prince, and now he wants to see you again. It wouldn’t be an issue if it weren’t for the subtle hints he been giving since you’ve met. Let’s not forget that he is still married.

Despite how shitty a marriage it may be, he was taken. Not that it was your intention to steal him away in the first place. This could only end badly if people were to take your sudden friendship the wrong way. Now getting out of an arranged marriage with someone else was one thing, but having a situationship with the prince of Hell was another.

How were you going to spin this? You avert your eyes from his, filled with anticipation and hope, ignoring the gentle squeeze of his hand in yours. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, your highness.”

Stolas coaxingly coos gently, drawing your attention to your hands, which he interlocks. "Oh, please? We could have it at your place this time if it'll make you more comfortable."

"Oh fuck me," you groan, closing your eyes and rubbing the back of your neck with your free hand, missing the way Stolas bites his lip as a shiver slithers through his body. You reluctantly agree, opening your eyes, "Alright... You have to give me time to get everything up to par for a prince."

"Not need! For company like yours, I’m fine anywhere."

rules, masterlist

[dceasesd]

my top batman fics of 2024

ah, for you my friends........ i have a gift.

i saw all sorts of people doing this so i thought i'd jump on the train! i've read so many great fics that i'd love to share :D

these fics were either updated/posted in 2024 or were ones i read for the first time in 2024 and loved!! my "summaries" are gonna be shit but please check these fics out! they are listed in no particular order.

these are mostly jason&dick centric. and can you tell i like the time loop trope?

how to dive the conquest of thy sight by streetlight_skeletons

jason&dick, dick pov, dick whump + protective jason

cast on/cast off by hellsreluctantheir

jason&dick, dick pov, timeloop angst

Family Crisis by librarylexicon

stephanie&bruce&others, alternating pov, case fic, angst, questionable dad bruce (WIP)

A Calculated Risk by AlexaAffect

jason&dick, jason pov, angst (please read the tags)

door, opening by cowboysorceror

jason&dick, jason pov, angst+character study+case fic (WIP)

eye in the sky by TheResurrectionist

duke&bruce, duke pov, injustice au

The Penny Drops, The Penny Dreads by Batbirdies

jason&bruce, jason pov, jaybin era, angst (WIP)

AGAIN & AGAIN. by orpheusaki

dick pov, angst, time loop, dick kills the joker

wolf-king of rome by Whiskey

jason&dick, jason pov, character study, angst

through the valley of the shadow by Goldmonger

jason pov, jason whump, stream of consciousness

back to back by Geeves

dick&jason, jason pov, dick&jason whump

Ad Infinitum; Modified by familiarities (twistsandturns)

tim pov, jason whump, time loop, fun narrative structure

something in the static series by BoneRot19

jason&stephanie, jason&bruce, jason pov, alternate first meeting/au (~WIP)

memento mori by Anonymous

jason angst, ambiguous ending

dancing on glass shards by connorswhisk

dick pov, character study

Hope is the Thing with Feathers by TheSilencer

jason&dick, jason pov, dick whump, time travel

ON THE OUTSIDE ALWAYS LOOKING IN. series by orpheusaki

jason-focused, outsider pov, angst (~WIP)

please go check these out! i hope that at least one person gets value out of this list. also, if anyone wants to chat about any of these, i'd LOVE to. happy new year guys! :))

[hypnoticmoth]

Thank you so much @pennedinblood for tagging me !!!!

Changing from showing up a drawing WIP to a fanfic one ! Yes, i finally started to write After the tower fell !!! So here is the beginning of it ~

'The red sky was bloated with black smoke. A gaping hole of golden light piercing through the smog, the gate to Heaven mocking the lowly Sinners of the Pride ring, puking a seemingly endless cruel mass of Exorcists descending on the Pentagram.

The war with Heaven had started.

Amongst the rubbles of what was once the powerful V tower, a weak blue light appeared, followed by a raspy cough. Vox was laying in a pile of debris, one of his arm trapped under the remnants of a wall. Dark blood and mechanical fluids pooled slowly under the fallen Overlord, seeping into his dusty tailcoat. He coughed again, louder this time. All that dust and all these fluids were clogging the demon's vents, making it hard to take a full breath without choking. He brought his free hand to his screen, metallic claws delicately dragging over the shattered glass. He cringed at the pain and sensation of the shards moving against each others under the soft pressure. He swallowed a panicked sob and forced his remaining eye open.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.'

Apologies if there are any mistakes in there, again, english isn't my first language <3 As for who i'm tagging, let's say @mystery--mist @lalalalalalakakakak @grimfeywizard and anyone who sees this and wanna participate !!

[lady-iizsil]

Wip Wednesday

I shall tag some of my beloved mutuals and follows: @average-crazy-fangirl @vanilleeistee @skyrim-forever @arnaerr @c4your-blog @blackmetalsnake @lucien-lachance @ctrl-altmer-del

This is my first Wip Wednesday! I've been viewing and enjoying a lot of others' and I thought it was about time I tried to join.

I'm on a string of doing redraws of my old pieces from 2018-2021, when I was primarily drawing on ibisPaint X on my phone, and posting for Amino. This time my sights were on my Priestess of Azura/Champion, Vermotha Ossa.

I have so much fun drawing her, like she's a shard of the night sky itself. I'm liking the setup of this piece so far and trying to expand a *tiny bit* past simple portraits and include more body. I could probably dump more about her on another post but for now, I'll leave it there and try to be proud of my progress.

Ty for your time everyone 💜

[queenie-ofthe-void]

No Context WIP snippet

I was tagged by @sleepy-steve 🖤🖤🖤 Thanks for the invite!

~~~

This time she does wrap her arms around him. Steve tucks his head into her neck like he always does. Robin smells like the cheap lavender perfume from Melvald’s he bought her for Christmas, and it makes him so happy he cries. His body sags into hers, wrung out with exhaustion. Hugging Robin feels like coming home, like he’s only whole when she’s pressed against his chest. 

She’s seen him, the best and now the worst of him, and she’s still here. So of course Steve cries. His soft tears stain the collar of her sweater. Robin runs her hands through his hair, shushing him as he gasps for breath, fighting against the tears. 

They stand there in the kitchen, floor covered in shards of glass, wrapped up in each other for eons. When Steve finally pulls back, wiping the snot from his nose and scrubbing at his eyes, the sun’s barely moved. The twilight sky outside of his small kitchen window is a burst of pinks and oranges. It can’t have been more than a few minutes even though it feels like a lifetime.

The setting sun reflects in Robin’s eyes and catches the blonde strands in her hair like the sun itself has woven into her whole being. She’s beautiful. Even more so when she smiles at him, still so full of love that he can’t stand to look at her. Steve closes his eyes, kissing her on the forehead, cherishing the fact that she’s still here.

He repeats it over and over like the mantra of a man who's almost lost everything. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, she is everything to him. And she’s still here.

She said she'd never leave him. And now he finally believes her.

~~~

no pressure tags: @ataliagold @steviewashere @runninriot @lavenderstobins

[wolfjackle-creates]

Bring Me Home Arc 2 Part 6

It's Wednesday! (I'm ignoring the clock that says it's 2 AM. It's totally still Wednesday. I haven't gone to bed yet which means it can't be Thursday.)

So, since it's obviously still Wednesday, it's time for another WIP Wednesday. We're getting into the real meat of the plot of this arc with this update! And now you'll maybe start to see where I'm gonna take this.

Story Summary: Tim and Danny are both neglected by parents who care more about their work than their families. They deal with this by spending too much time online and find each other playing MMORPGs. They keep up their friendship as Tim becomes Robin and Danny becomes Phantom and don't bother keeping secrets from each other.

First, Previous

Word Count: 1.2k

-----

And that was when a large, swirling-green gash opened up in the night sky and dozens of ghosts started pouring through.

“Oh man!” exclaimed Sam as they watched the ghosts wreak havoc on the street. “I’ve never seen this many ghosts attack at once!”

Danny held out his thermos as he stared. “I’m gonna need a bigger thermos.”

The ghosts all appeared to be wearing uniforms and held batons as they attacked civilians and police indiscriminately.

“Uh, Danny?” asked Tim. “Should we call in back up?”

“No!” One of the ghosts got close to their group and Danny quickly sucked it into the thermos, dropping Jazz’s milkshake in the process. “Dammit. Absolutely not. It’s bad enough with three metas here. No more.”

Across the street, they saw a couple running from three of the invaders. One of the ghosts turned invisible and entered the body of the man who went stiff before sprinting to catch up to his partner and grabbing her to hold her still.

Then one of the other ghosts turned a garbage can over the both of them. The one overshadowing the man left his body, leaving the humans crying and covered in garbage as the ghosts laughed.

“I see,” said Tim. “How do we protect Bart, Cassie, and Conner?”

“You’re metas?” asked Sam.

Cassie nodded. “Yeah, nothing special, but… I don’t want to see what a ghost could do with my powers.”

“Let’s get back to my place. My parents might be crazy, but the ghost shield works. And then we can make a plan.”

Tim nodded. “I’ll lead. Kon, Bart, Cassie, you three need to stay in the middle. Sam, Tucker, you watch our sides and Danny, take up the rear. Capture any ghosts that try to approach us.”

Amity, even during a ghost invasion, was much easier to navigate than Gotham and Tim was able to lead them back to Danny’s house without getting lost. Every scream made him want to stop and help, though. He hated being useless.

Behind him, he could hear muttered curses from his teammates and knew they felt the same. But they needed weapons. Ones that could actually hit a ghost. And they needed to make sure they could fight off any overshadowing.

A TV was thrown out of a house through a window next to them sending shards of glass raining on the ground. Sam let out a string of curses.

“Sam!” called Danny. “Are you okay?”

“I think so. Just a slice to my arm.”

“We’re almost there,” said Tim. “We’ll check it out.”

He was flat out running now, could hear the others just behind them. They turned a corner and he could see the glowing FentonWorks sign. He grit his teeth and continued to run away from the mayhem, fighting every instinct he had. He wouldn’t be able to help if he stayed. He repeated it as a mantra with every step.

And finally they were there, he grabbed the door handle and pulled it open, ushering his friends in first.

Once inside, Danny flipped a few switches and metal slammed down over the windows, though no guns or lasers came out of the walls.

“Okay. No ghosts can get in now.”

“Danny!” Jazz came running down the stairs. “You’re all okay! Mom and Dad rushed out as soon as the attack started. What’s going on?”

“Jazz! Sorry, I dropped your milkshake on the way here. And not much, just, you know, a ghost invasion.” Danny’s laugh was bordering on hysterical.

“But you’re all safe?”

“Sam?” asked Danny. “How’s your arm?”

“I think it’s all right.” Sam grimaced as she held some tissues to the injury.

Jazz joined and led her to the kitchen. “Come on, let me clean that up for you. What happened?”

“A ghost threw a TV through a window. A piece of glass got me as we ran by.”

Tucker turned on the Fenton’s TV and switched to the news channel.

“I’m Shelly Makamoto and this is Ghost Watch,” an Asian woman said in a cheerful voice. “Ghosts, can you believe it, real ghosts are invading Amity Park right now. Emergency vehicles are struggling to get through the invasion, so if you are injured and in an area of high ghost concentration, help may be delayed. It is recommended you remain put and wait until first responders are able to get to your area. Currently, the ghosts are most focused on the downtown area, so the hospital is spared at this time. We can only hope this doesn’t change. Now, our weatherman Lance Thunder is out right now, so lets switch to him to get an on-the-scene report.”

They all watched in silence as a male reporter cowered behind an overturned car as he gave his report.

Sam and Jazz returned just a moment later. Sam had a large bandaid over her arm but shook her head when Danny shot her a questioning look.

“It’s fine. Clean cut.”

Tim relaxed as well. “Glad to hear it,” he said.

Jazz nodded. “Nothing to be concerned about at all. Thanks for getting the ghost shield up, Danny. I always forget which switch is the weapons and which is the shield.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed. She was lying. Why was she lying?

“Yeah, no problem. We’re gonna go to the lab. Tim and his friends have self defense training, Gotham, you know? So I want to see if we have any weapons in the vault that they’d be comfortable with.”

“Great. I’m gonna be in my room. As class president, I want to try and make sure everyone is safe so I’ll be on the phone with my door shut. Knock before you enter!” Then she was running back up the stairs and slamming the door to her room.

Tim exchanged a glance with Cassie. That was weird.

But next to him, Danny let out a breath. “Okay, so she’s out of the way. Sam, you sure you’re okay?

Sam grimaced. “It stings a bit, but it’s fine. Jazz put disinfectant and antibiotic cream on it.”

“Great. Well, not great.” Danny grimaced and Sam punched him on the arm.

Tim cleared his throat. “You said something about weapons?”

Conner nodded. “Yeah, did you say you have a weapons vault?”

Danny laughed. “You saw the home defense system. Are you really surprised?”

Cassie shook her head. “Your parents are evil scientists, aren’t they?”

Danny led them down a set of stairs. “I wouldn’t call them evil. They’re just… a bit single minded.”

And then Tim was standing in their lab for the first time. It was all silver chrome and neon green accents. But worse, it was messy. Half assembled inventions were scattered haphazardly over every surface. And was that a half eaten sandwich on the bench? Ectoplasm dripped off one of the counters onto a puddle on the floor.

Sam, Tucker, and Danny walked in without concern, but Tim and his team held back.

Danny realized they weren’t following and looked back in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“No offense,” said Bart as his eyes darted around, “But, uh, is it safe?”

“What do you mean?” asked Danny, but then he looked around and noticed the mess. “Ah. Hang on a sec. I’ll get you rubber gloves and boots you can slide on over your shoes. That’ll keep you safe enough.”

Sam helped and soon enough they were passing the protective gear over. Meanwhile, Tucker sat down at a computer and pulled up the news report so they could keep tabs on what was going on.

“Can we get eye protection as well?” asked Tim once he had everything on.

“Sure. Mom and Dad have plenty of goggles.” Danny grabbed a few of those as well.

Still not entirely comfortable, Tim finally stepped into the lab. On the far wall, behind yellow and black doors was the portal he’d heard so much about.

Danny followed his gaze and put a hand on his arm. “Come on, Tim. The weapons vault is over here.”

-----

Next

This should be enough to figure out which episode I'm using as the base for this arc! It's not quite the Ghost Fight people were hoping for in the comments of the last update, but I think this is gonna be better.

Tag List Part 1

@gremlin-bot, @bonebrokebuddy, @britcision, @lady-time-lord-, @welcometosasakiworld, @akikkobara, @phoenixdemonqueen, @dolfay, @skulld3mort-1fan, @we-ezer, @markus209, @sjrose1216, @onyxlightdragon, @dragonsrequiem, @jesus-camp-the-sequel, @spidey29phangirl, @kyrianclawraith, @evilminji, @introvert-even-on-the-internet, @emergentpanda-blog, @lexdamo, @v-inari, @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit, @longlivethefallen, @undead-essence, @xye-chan, @liandrin, @seraphinedemort, @kisatamao, @schalensitzbucket, @caelestisdreamer, @runfromthemedic, @nutcase8691, @channajen, @tonicmii, @ambiguouslyominous, @vythika96, @addie-lover-of-stories, @ironicvixen, @violetfox2, @pickleking8, @mysticalcomputerdetective, @ark12, @mygood-bitch99, @squirrel-wolf, @satisfactionbroughtmeback, @sometimesthingsfallapart, @automaticsoulharmony, @d4ydr34min9, @revnantdpxdclover, @midigeria, @raginblastocyst, @feral-bunny31, @lunaria618, @ghostreblogging, @ace-aro-as-shit

[pinessydr]

Thank @illumiera and @madam-whim for the almost simultaneous wip-wednesday tagging :3 I'm so excited! Here is a piece of writing about my Morokei. TW: violence

The flame comes predictably but abruptly. And there is nothing more: no sky, no earth, no wind on his cheeks, no cold in his bones, no world around him. Only pain, crimson and flaming, piercing and tedious, so much that he wants to run away, hide, beg or die, just to stop it. But not to give up, oh, no, not to give up. The taste of his own teeth fills his mouth, simultaneously with the smell of the burned hair touching his nose. It seems a little longer, and his eyelashes will burn, then his eyelids, and finally, his eyes will crack and run down his face. Crows like to take them, right? As from somebody far away, he hears his own scream and feels the staff drop out of his palms, destroyed by the other's power. But he does not resist it. Accepts it all as deeply as possible.

And then rips out what Ruvaak did not want to give away. After the heat comes ice and disappears, leaving only pure energy. Morokei drinks it greedily, as he once did with the water in the desert, devouring all without a shred of doubt, sip after sip until his head drives with euphoria. Ruvaak realizes what is happening too late: a whip of fluid flame slams into Morokei with a howl, just to disappear, consumed by hunger.

The air around him rumbles, unable to contain the raging power. Ruvaak doesn't have much left, and after emptying him to the bottom, Morokei takes up the life energy with a bit of disappointment. It doesn't taste like human flesh but nourishes his own: slowly but surely, he gets back to his feet. For the first time in a while, none of them hurt, and he can take a confident step. One.

“Fus!” a shout that could break down bastions comes at him with all the force of hidden despair. At the distance between them, even the weakest Voice could turn a body into a bloody pulp, but Morokei doesn't care. “Ro,” he answers with the Word of Balance, feeling it within. With a disgusting crackle, the night crumbles into shards of obsidian.

Now, @asianbutnotjapanese @pelinalblancserpent @starrythroat @darling-leech @bougainvillea-and-saltwater, would you like to share something? Of course, you are welcome to bring a piece of art into this world, too!

[dptarotzine]

💫 Contrib Spotlight💫 Keeping the plot bunnies in check is no easy feat as @kinglazrus demonstrates through the effort they are putting into our project as a writer!

Alt text below:

A graphic with a black background and green accents. A white hexagon icon containing the contributor's avatar image is surrounded by planetary rings and stars. Underneath the icon is the credit name Laz who is credited as a writer.

The remaining left side of the graphic lists further information about the writer.

About Sometimes when you have a pile of wips waiting, the only logical course of action is to join a really cool zine instead. I love the idea behind this project, and I can't wait to see it come to life through both the art and writing.

Favorite DP Character Valerie

Favorite Tarot Card The Hermit, the Hanged Man

In the lower left is the social handle for tumblr credited as kinglazrus and ao3 credited as UnluckyAlis

The right side of the graphic contains the following excerpt:

The sky cracks as the universe shifts. With it, Danny Fenton’s chest is carved open. His vision shatters into light and shadow as the space around him splits, filling him with spiders, and hornets, and the deep below, and oh so many things that push against his skin from the inside but still cannot break through.

As the tear closes and the acidic light leaking from it disappears, Danny plummets. Lightning crackles around him, arcing off his skin in blinding waves, and sinks into the earth when he hits the ground. He lands on something that isn’t hard but isn’t soft, just enough to keep his skull from cracking like the sky. Slowly, the shards of his vision start to mend, darkness expanding, light shrinking into twinkling points.

Eventually, the world settles around him. The pressure in his body remains, making his ribs creak as something pushes from the inside, but the burden on his mind lessens. The static fades, taking with it the sound of fluttering wings, shifting earth, and crackling fire, until Danny can hear his thoughts again.

There is nothing quite like pain to make him feel human again.

[teafairywithabook]

Little Avior thought

Found this in my wips. I won't do anything with it, so I thought I'd just pop it here anyway. I was writing short romantic scenarios for the bois and this one...well. Enjoy?

Avior wasn't a great artist to begin with. After losing his Starlight and his world went dark, he learned.

As Starlight contemplates their demon’s words following his confession, they walk. While wandering, they come across a large rock face, set far back in the third circle where they never usually go. They find etchings scratched into the rock, and blunted obsidian shards littering the ground. This time, it’s not tally marks. Starlights’ fingers trace the curved markings as they look around. The lines scratched into the rock are small and shaky at first, improving in realism and size the further back they go, until Starlight finds they’re looking back at themselves, smiling in a way they haven’t for a while. 

Starlight won’t ever say anything about it. Or the constellation carved above their likeness’ head that can only be found in a Southern sky.

[myreia]

wip wednesday

tag back for @lilas and tagging @thevikingwoman @tsunael @galadae @impossible-rat-babies @anneapocalypse @lilbittymonster Working on a few different projects this week, here's a bit from my march one shot (which is no longer a one shot 😔). Ryne x Gaia, set during Endwalker, an exploration of how the Final Days affect the First.

"...what if something happened to them?”

“And what if something didn’t? From what you’ve told me, there’s no way to know how much or how little time has passed on the other side. What’s hours or days to them could be several weeks for us.”

“I know that.” She swallows hard. She’s not expert, but the time dilation between the Source and its shards is a topic that never quite leaves her mind. The First drifts, sometimes faster, sometimes slower, but never in sync. Though she does not feel the effects herself, it is something Aureia has remarked on once—when she returned during their quest to restore the Empty, not long after their friends said goodbye for good. She looked older than the last time she saw her, she said. Timed moved on for Ryne while it stood still for Aureia and Thancred. “Believe me, I know. And I’m trying to be patient, I am, it’s just… I don’t think I’m very good at waiting when their lives are in danger.”

Gaia’s expression softens. “Have you seen it again? The sky burning?”

Ryne shakes her head. “No. It was only one time. You?”

“I haven’t.” She pauses. Idle fingers pick up her spoon, tapping it absent-mindedly against the rim of her bowl. Clink, clink, clink. “I could… I could awaken the memory, I think. If I wanted to. So you wouldn’t have to remember it alone.”

A flush warms Ryne’s cheeks. “Gaia…”

“But I…” Clink, clink, clink. “I don’t think I can. Or I don’t think I want to. I am me, not the person who witnessed it. If I am to see the Final Days again, I will do so with new eyes and on my terms, not lost remembrances branded on my soul.” She looks up, meeting Ryne’s gaze. “Is that all right? Does it make sense?”

Ryne reaches across the table and nudges the half-finished bowl out of the way, taking both of Gaia’s hands in hers. “Of course it is,” she says gently. “Thank you.”

[ignalina-c0re]

Last line/WIP Wednesday on Thursday tag

tagged by @polifandom :3 <3

I bring thee a bit of Graveyard Spiral (Losing Altitude), the middle bit of Stall Recovery Procedures, written purely because I like torturing poor Buck <3

"Gale Cleven is dead," he repeats, voice thick, "he went down in Germany two years ago." Fly like an angel, don't die like one. Did Gale die like an angel? His wings a tattered white nylon, never opening; his halo a crown of thorns that tore his cheek as he fell into the cold embrace of the ground, still looking into the turbulent sky for an absent god. Or did he die like a man? Screaming for help that would never come as the fort buckled and tore around him like a mortal wound, its wings twin blazes of orange-white, leading edges like lace and engines sputtering and sobbing, its halo a million shards of glass and flak that tore his cheek as he fell in the hellish embrace of thirty tons of molten metal and burning oxygen, still looking into the the vacant remaining eye of Lt. David Friedkin; the radio warbling quietly to itself in a hissing static-language about death.

The radio on the windowsill of Bucky's living room is warbling quietly to itself about heartbreak, a million miles from Gale Cleven's grave. Buck takes a long drag of his cigarette, and does not look at the hurt in Bucky's eyes. This you will be the one worth knowing. Gale doesn't lie, but Gale is lying dead in a field in Germany where he belongs. Buck lies, to himself, to John. Buck is less. Nothing worth knowing.

I HAVE NO IDEA WHO TO TAG because everybody's been tagged five hundred times already, so take this as a free tag if you wanna share :3

[kuintito]

here’s one of the small sections/shorts I made with my yellowjackets OC. let me know if yall are interested in me posting more about him :)

this does contain spoilers for the show if you haven’t seen it just fyi

Masterlist

Post Explosion WIP

The sky was too clear.

The stars hung above the trees like shards of broken glass, cold and precise, scattered across a velvet black too peaceful for what had happened just hours before.

Kasey sat against the back wall of the cabin, his knees drawn up, arms loosely looped around them. The pine needles and dirt beneath him felt more real than the stew that had boiled over the fire or the hushed voices still murmuring on the other side of the wall. The sound of grief muffled through wooden slats—Van’s sharp laugh that turned into a cough, someone clinking a spoon against metal, Lottie’s silence like a pressure wave—but out here, it all felt far away.

Laura Lee was gone.

She’d taken off like she believed the sky would open for her, and it hadn’t.

Kasey had watched the smoke curl into the sky and hadn’t said a word. Not to Natalie, who had cried beside him. Not to Lottie, whose screams he hadn’t stopped. Not even to Travis, who had stood quietly at his side like they were waiting for something else to fall from the sky.

Now, there were only the stars.

Dinner was over. If it could be called that. The thin stew Mari and Melissa had scraped together tasted like boiled moss and leftover anxiety. No one had mentioned Laura Lee directly, but her name hung in the air like smoke. Still burning.

Kasey hadn’t come in at all.

Mari found him at the back of the cabin, tucked against the outer wall like he was trying to disappear into the timber itself. The stars above were clearer than any night since they crashed. The lake was quiet now. The trees whispered, not a single birdcall left. He sat with his knees drawn up, arms folded across them, staring upward like the sky owed him something.

He didn’t look when footsteps approached, soft and careful—less like someone trying to sneak up on him and more like someone trying not to scare a wild animal.

She held a dented tin bowl in her hands, still warm. Not hot. Just warm enough to sting a little in the cold. She offered it without pressing

“I brought you some,” she said quietly, not expecting a reply.

He didn’t look at her.

She stood there awkwardly for a beat longer than necessary before sighing and sitting down next to him. Not too close, not quite touching. Her side brushed the wall instead. She placed the bowl between them, careful not to seem like she was offering it again.

Kasey didn’t move.

“I made sure Melissa didn’t burn it this time,” she said, trying for something light. It didn’t land. “You should eat.”

Kasey didn’t move. His arms stayed looped around his knees, chin resting in the hollow made between them. The stars reflected faintly in his pale eyes.

Mari sighed, sitting down beside him, cross-legged. She set the bowl between them.

“You’ve been out here for hours.”

His voice, when it came, was rough. Distant. “I know.”

“I don’t think anyone blames her.”

“I don’t either.” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “She really thought it would work.”

Mari hesitated, biting the inside of her cheek. “You did too.”

He gave the faintest shake of his head. “No. I didn’t.” He finally turned to glance at her, pale eyes hollow. “But I wanted to.”

That hurt more than she expected. That silence came back again, deeper now. Kasey didn’t answer. Mari didn’t push.

Mari looked away, brushing her thumb against a patch of dried mud on her pant leg. “You and Laura Lee used to argue all the time. Britt thought you hated each other.”

“We didn’t.” His voice cracked slightly. “She believed in something so hard it made me feel… like maybe it was possible to believe in anything at all.”

Mari didn’t answer. She didn’t know how to.

She watched him. His curls were stiff with lake mist and sweat, his face pale and drawn under the starlight. He looked older than he had a week ago. A month. A year. She wondered if he’d ever look like a teenager again.

The back door creaked open a few minutes later, just enough to let a sliver of warm firelight spill out. A shape hesitated in the doorway—taller, broader.

“Hey,” Travis said, voice low, unsure. “You okay?”

Kasey didn’t look up. “Fine.”

He hovered a few feet away, hands shoved deep into his jacket.

“She’d want you inside, man,” he said, voice low. “You don’t have to eat, but—just come in.”

Kasey didn’t reply. Just looked at the sky again.

Travis hovered, waiting. Then glanced at Mari and gave her a helpless shrug. She nodded, silent, and he turned back inside. The door clicked closed again. The darkness returned.

Mari leaned her shoulder into Kasey’s lightly. Not hard. Not clingy. Just there.

“I hated her sometimes,” she admitted. “She made me feel stupid. But I’m gonna miss her.”

Kasey’s head tilted toward her just a fraction. “You’re not stupid.”

Mari didn’t answer right away. Then she nodded. “Neither are you.”

Mari reached down and pushed the bowl closer to Kasey. “I don’t care if you eat it.”

Still no answer. But he didn’t push the bowl away either.

She pulled her jacket tighter around herself, shivering a little, and leaned against the cabin wall again. “Remember that time you and Laura Lee got into a screaming match in the church parking lot because she said your shirt was sacrilegious?”

Kasey snorted. It was barely audible, but it was real.

“You told her Kurt Cobain was closer to God than the pastor.”

“She threw her Bible at me.”

Mari smiled faintly. “And then came over to my house later to ask if Tía Viv would pray for your soul.”

They were both quiet again.

Finally, Kasey spoke, just barely. “I didn’t even say goodbye.”

Mari didn’t touch him. She didn’t reach for his hand. But she leaned slightly closer, shoulder brushing his this time.

“I think she knew.”

Silence again. The stars blinked above. Somewhere in the woods, a branch cracked.

Kasey finally turned his head. The faint starlight catching on the freckles across his cheekbones, the pink around his eyes. His eyes met hers—not with surprise, not with embarrassment. Just the kind of quiet ache only family recognizes.

“I didn’t want her to die thinking I hated her.”

“She didn’t,” Mari said. “She didn’t.”

Mari reached out, brushing her fingers gently against his hand. “Come inside when you’re ready. I’ll save your bowl.”

She stood, but didn’t leave right away. She hesitated, then leaned down and pressed a brief kiss to the top of his head, something she hadn’t done since they were kids—something too familiar for a stranger, too quiet to be dramatic. Family, maybe, even if no one knew it but them.

She didn’t say anything else, just picked up the tin bowl and walked inside, the firelight catching on the back of her hair before the door shut again.

Kasey stayed where he was, alone with the stars, and let himself feel it for the first time.

[nofootprintsinsand]

Some stuff I’ve written that I’m proud of

HP

Hinterland (Hermione/Tom, Hermione/Snape, WIP, explicit)

“A time traveller, are you? I rather think I will keep you."

He strokes her cheek, and she bites down on a whimper. She is tired now. Exhausted.

“There is a kind of winsome audacity about you, isn't there? And you are as brave as a fool.” He shakes his head. “It’s quite interesting. And sometimes, I get bored.” A smile. Too wide, too many teeth. There are no borders drawn in his gaze, no cartography at all. “This will be tremendous fun.”

Dimmuborgir (Hermione/Tom, complete, explicit, 93,262 words)

He steps straight out of the shadows one late autumn evening, but she is not afraid.

At least not at first.

A Crown of Dying Stars (Hermione/Tom, complete, explicit, 16,486 words)

The setting moon is but a shard in the sky, and it looks sharp and deadly. She wants to pluck it from its place in the heavens and run him through with it for making her feel like this.

For making her yearn.

another year, broken apart into memories (Hermione/Snape, complete, explicit, 12,706 words)

“Ready?” she asks, and with the question finally turns around to face him.

He is stiff, and angry. Hates being made vulnerable like this. She can tell; the way he grinds his teeth, straightens his back. His words, when they come, are chewed up and spat out, sharp little pieces of flint.

“Fucking… Just get on with it.”

She nods once, and points her wand at him.

“Obliviate.”

Hannibal

Typhoid and Swans (Hannibal/Will/Clarice, complete, explicit, 82,119 words)

The first time Clarice sees the stag, she is walking in the woods surrounding Will Graham’s old Wolf Trap home.

With her mentor and friend Jack Crawford dead, and her once-promising career in shambles, Clarice Starling decides to find out what really happened to Dr. Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham.

Far Cry 5

we live in the dreams you had (female deputy/Joseph Seed, female deputy/John Seed, explicit, complete, 56,451 words)

“Freedom of choice is a wonderful thing. Until it’s not anymore. I fear I can no longer allow you that luxury. I fear I must avail myself of a more...hands-on approach.”

Joseph takes a different route to the end

his vows pulled out all her sinews (crossover: Far Cry 5/Sicario, Kate Macer/John Seed, complete, explicit, 40,757 words)

“...what do I want to know about you?” asks this man who eats confessions like amuse bouches, and she can tell, she can tell how violence is only a wrong word or a right word away. She can’t possibly predict or read him accurately, and this coiled recklessness living inside her makes the situation heady.

Terrifying.

Fine, she’ll give him something. He has worked hard for it, earned it, look, that is sweat on his brow!

She smiles, but there are tears in her eyes.

“A man put a gun under my chin and told me I that reminds him of his daughter when I am afraid.”

The Boys

you know, I still wait at the edge of town (Butcher/Starlight, complete, explicit, 28,152 words)

He hates her and she hates him, kiss kiss.

[mama-qwerty]

WIP Wednesday

Yes, I forgot, AGAIN.

Today's wip isn't necessarily a wip as in I'm actively working on it now, but something I wrote a while back that I'll likely never finish. It was my first time playing with Scarlett and Dread and I hadn't ironed out all the details on them yet. (Scarlett's species in this one is left to the reader's imagination, as I'd not quite hammered it down yet, and they'd shared a *ahem* romantic relationship. Referenced but not shown.)

Mostly I wanted to make Dread a jerk.

Rated T, I guess? I dunno.

~~~~~

Dread smiled at her, but the smile was sharp and mean, like the look in his eyes. It wasn’t a look she was used to seeing directed at her.

“I’m afraid I’ve grown bored with you, Scarlett,” he said with a shrug, turning away to stand with his arms crossed. “It was fun, but it’s over.”

Scarlett stood, her brows furrowed. “Bored with me? What are you talking about?”

He chuckled. “I just can’t keep up with the charade any longer.” He turned back, that insufferable smirk on his lips. “Pretending to care about you is so exhausting. It no longer interests me to keep it up.”

Icy shards stabbed into her heart, and Scarlett worked very, very hard to keep the tears that threatened from appearing. Dread loved seeing weakness in others, and she did not want to give him that satisfaction. “Pretending to care.”

“Oh, you were a good lay, one of the better whores I’ve had, but the upkeep is so tedious.”

That word was like a knife to her heart. Scarlett had never laid with a man for money, and she prided herself on being better than that. Dread knew that, which was probably why he used that word to begin with. “I am NO whore.”

He laughed a little harder, shaking his head. “Of course you are. Only instead of coin, your pay is pretty little words whispered in your ear.” Dread stepped closer, a look of pure malevolence on his face. “You’re beautiful, Scarlett. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, Scarlett. I would be nothing without you, Scarlett.” He stopped close to her and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “I love you, Scarlett.” He pulled back and laughed again. “Had I known how easy it was to bed you I would have done it a long time ago!”

Hurt and anger were sparring it out within Scarlett, and she let anger win. A deep, fiery rage built within her. How dare he. How dare this echidna stand here and laugh at her, betray her trust, and call her a whore. She wanted to scream at him, attack him, hurt him like he had hurt her.

But she stayed calm. Her face stayed stony neutral, betraying none of these feelings. She stared at him, her ocean blue eyes boring into his violet. The ones she used to love so much, but now wanted to gouge out of his sockets with her own hands.

She and Dread had been lovers for the better part of a year. It had taken time to build to that, as she had trouble trusting and lowering the defensive walls around her heart. But he had been persistent, and finally won her over.

And now it would seem it had all been a game to him.

The walls went back up. And Scarlett shut down.

“It’s a pity, really,” Dread said as he reached forward and caressed her head. “I always loved running my fingers through your hair.”

Without thinking, Scarlett pulled her little dagger from her belt. Dread drew back, his hand going for his cutlass, but before he could draw it, she grabbed her long braid and sliced off the last four inches. Her eyes never left his.

“Knock yourself out,” she said, her voice flat as she slapped the cut braid into Dread’s palm. “I have duties to attend to.”

And with that, Scarlett turned on her heel and stalked out of the captain’s study, back straight and head held high.

Dread watched her go, an honest look of pure shock on his face.

~X~X~X~

A week later, and Dread sat at the helm of the Angel’s Voyage, looking out over the sea. A soft breeze blew over the water, and the sun touched the horizon, turning the sky and ocean lovely shades of pinks and oranges and purples.

The crew lounged on the main deck below him, a rare night when all chores were done, and there were no pressing matters to attend to. The lot sat near the bow, chatting and sharing a bottle of rum between them.

His eyes kept wandering back to Scarlett. His first mate.

And the ache that had appeared in his chest a week ago gave a squeeze.

He was the great, legendary Captain Dread. Most feared pirate on the seven seas. Ruthless and cutthroat. He would kill without a second thought.

But the idea of being in love scared the piss out of him.

Which is why he had said those things to Scarlett. Those awful, terrible things. Things he knew had to have hurt her. She may not have shown it, but he knew. Every word was calculated, chosen to deliver the maximum amount of pain.

Because he was afraid of his feelings for her. Afraid they made him weak.

So he had to cut them out. Cut her out.

He thought it would be easy. Push her away from him and these weak feelings would go away. He’d feel like himself again. Be the fierce captain everyone feared and respected again.

But that’s not the way it worked.

When she’d walked out of his study that night, a pit had appeared in his chest. It was hollow, and empty, and felt like a wound that refused to heal.

And every time he looked at her, it got worse.

He contemplated kicking her off the ship entirely. Letting her go the next time they made port somewhere. But the thought, the mere idea that she would be completely out of his life made that pit in his chest feel like a gaping hole. His heart had hammered like a war drum, his chest tightening, and he felt for all the world as though he were dying.

Just at the thought of Scarlett leaving.

He didn’t like this. Didn’t like feeling like this. He had ended things with her to keep himself from feeling like this. But everything had gone wrong and now he felt as though part of him were missing.

Dread watched from his vantage point as the crew chatted. As they laughed. As she laughed. Her shorter hair barely brushed her shoulders now, and she pulled it back in a simple ponytail to keep it out of her way as she worked. It bobbed and swung with every movement of her head, and that ache in his chest flared.

He missed the long braid. It had hung down to the middle of her back, and she would sometimes pull it over her shoulder to squeeze if she was feeling particularly stressed. But it was gone, sliced off that night a week ago. He still couldn’t believe she’d done that. Just chopped it without a second thought, and slapped it into his hand. A parting gift, he supposed. A physical representation of how she cut him out of her life.

He’d kept it. After the shock wore off, he’d sat and stared at that length of hair for a long time. Then he carefully brushed and re-braided it, tying the loose end with a little strip of leather from his own quills. It now sat in the drawer of his night stand, carefully wrapped in a silk scarf.

Truth be told, it was soothing. The soft texture, the lingering scent of her skin and soap. He sometimes found himself just sitting and holding it, stroking it with a thumb. Thinking of her.

She was beautiful. She was fierce. She was stubborn and kind and infuriating and smart and insecure and clever and funny and brave and . . .

And now, she sat on the deck, patches of color burning high on her cheeks as she drank and laughed, and a soft smile spread on Dread’s lips as he watched her.

Memories surfaced. The two of them sitting on the deck, late at night, talking about nothing in particular and watching the stars move overhead. The look in her eyes as she gave him all of her attention and made him feel like the center of her world. The sound of her laugh as she let loose one that was loud and free and completely unhindered by any feelings of self-consciousness.

The feel of her hands on his muzzle, caressing him as she spoke softly into his ear. Her softness when she hugged him, her scent filling his nostrils. And when they made love, and the rest of the world melted away the moment he was in her arms.

He loved her.

He shouldn’t.

But he did.

And it scared him.

Her laugh broke him from his thoughts, and he flicked his eyes down to her. She leaned against their navigator, Liam Parker, as her laughter filled the air. Her eyes were closed tightly, and the patches of color on her cheeks turned darker as she blushed.

A flash of jealousy flared through Dread, and he swallowed. She used to laugh like that with him. Used to lean on him like that.

Now she shook her head, pointing at Batten Rouge. The bat snickered and waved a hand toward Scarlett, and Dread listened hard to pick out their conversation.

“. . . not how that happened, and you know it, Batten!” Scarlett said, her voice like the sweetest bell in Dread’s ear. “I did not start a war between ships!”

“I said ALMOST, sweetie!” Batten responded, a little laugh in her voice. “That was before Sails joined the crew, and I’m sure he’d love to hear it.”

Sails was the little two-tailed fox who’d come aboard a few months ago. Ironically, that was Scarlett’s doing. She had a ‘good feeling’ about the boy, even though he couldn’t have been more than 12 years old.

Now the fox turned with a smile to Scarlett, seemingly interested in the tale.

“Ugh, fine!” Scarlett groaned, before turning to the boy. “This was about four or five years ago, when we were at the port at West Island. Some big guy offered me a drink and, you know, free booze, so I accepted. We chatted a bit, before he started to get, shall we say, handsy, and I, being the polite lady I am, asked him to remove said hand from my leg. He refused, so I decked him.”

Laughter erupted at this revelation, and Dread smiled. He remembered that. Scarlett was usually good with people—she could read them like no other he’s ever known—and her wit usually kept her out of trouble. But when her ire was up, when she let her temper out, she was a force to be reckoned with.

Batten leaned forward. “Only it turns out Mr. Handsy was the first mate of the Black Pearl! Their whole crew surrounded us and wanted Scar’s head on a pike for ‘disrespecting’ him. Cap’n Dread had to get involved to keep them from tying her to their anchor and dragging her along the bottom!”

He remembered that, too. It wasn’t unusual for crews of rival ships to get into skirmishes, and in most cases he liked to let them handle it amongst themselves. But that night, he’d raced down to the pub and positioned himself between the rival crew and Scarlett. That was before they entered a romantic relationship, but even then, he felt unusually protective of her.

Dread watched as Scarlett’s laugh died at Batten’s retelling. The color was still high on her cheeks, and she flicked her eyes up toward him. His heart nearly stopped as their gaze locked.

The smile dropped from his lips, and he forgot how to breathe for a moment.

Scarlett blinked first, tearing her eyes away as she turned her head. She said something he couldn’t quite catch to the rest of them, and pushed herself up to hurry down to the crew cabins.

Dread’s heart clenched.

He turned to look out over the water again.

~X~X~X~

Scarlett stood in the captain’s study, her hands clasped behind her back. She was struck with a feeling of deja vu of that night a month ago, when he had ended their relationship.

Shattered her heart.

She’d done a good job of keeping herself under control while on the job. Staying professional when she had to deal with him, and never allowing her personal feelings to interfere. It was as if nothing had changed, as far as the crew knew.

But at night, it was a different story.

She cried herself to sleep most nights. His words—those hurtful, painful words—echoed in her head in the dark, and they still stung. They still cut through her and tore at her heart, ripping it to shreds as she lay there. And then she would fall asleep to carry through the next day, pretending she was okay.

The walls were back up now, and she regarded him as her captain. Nothing more.

“The crew would like to know when we plan to make port next,” she said, her voice even and polite. “Supplies are running low.”

Dread stood in a similar pose, his hands clasped behind him with his back to her, looking out the large window that faced out the back of the ship. He didn’t respond for a long moment, and Scarlett was going to repeat her question when he finally spoke.

“I hear you’re thinking of leaving.”

She wasn’t expecting the sudden lurch her heart gave.

“I have been considering it, yes.”

Another moment of silence.

“You’d abandon your ship? Your crew?”

“Neither are mine, Captain,” she said, and she almost slipped and let some snark into her voice. She pulled it back, and returned to the neutral tone. “I’m just the first mate. A ship can function without one.”

The echidna nodded, his back still to her. “That’s true, I suppose.”

Silence feel upon them again, and Scarlett’s heart began to race. She wasn’t sure what she felt so anxious about. They were done. He’d made that very clear. The things he’d said had very effectively killed any feelings she had for him.

But every time she looked at him, her heart twisted. She couldn’t stop thinking of the times they’d shared together. The long talks at night. The laughs. The love. He had made her feel like there was nothing else in this world he wanted but her.

And then he had crushed her heart beneath his boot.

She couldn’t stay here.

“Captain?” she called. “The supplies?”

Dread lowered his head, as if thinking. He still would not turn to her.

“I will take that under consideration.”

Scarlett’s brow furrowed. What was there to consider? Their supplies were running low. They needed to restock so they wouldn’t starve. He would have immediately charted the closest port at this news in the past.

There was only one reason he was stalling now.

“You’re not going to let me go.”

It wasn’t a question. Captain Dread was a man who kept what he wanted close. Almost obsessively so. And now, he still seemed to be possessive of her. Even though he didn’t want her anymore.

“Dismissed.”

For some reason, that single word answer squeezed her heart even tighter.

“Understood.”

Scarlett turned and walked out the door.

~X~X~X~

A month later.

Dread eventually did make port, but refused to allow Scarlett off the ship. He made up ‘important matters’ to discuss with her, and keep her occupied while the rest of the crew went to restock their supplies.

He was terrified if she left while in port, she’d never come back.

Their working relationship had devolved into nothing more than flat, toneless discussions, with none of the fire and energy they’d had before. There was no banter, no snarky back-and-forths. No joking. No life.

He was miserable. And despite her attempts to hide the fact, Scarlett was miserable, too.

Dread was barely sleeping. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her. Heard her. Felt her. His dreams were filled with her. In some they were still together, and the warmth of her against him made him cry in his sleep. In other dreams they were like now, strangers, avoiding each other and hurting all the while.

He often sat in his quarters, holding her cut braid for hours. Her scent was fading from it, and it hurt his heart to know that soon he would forget what she smelled like.

Agony. He was in agony.

But he couldn’t do anything to fix it. He’d hurt her too badly, too effectively. She hated him now, he could read her well enough to know that. And even if he decided that loving her was worth the risk, worth the pain and fear, there was no way she would agree to take him back. Not after what he had said. She wouldn’t trust him, and honestly, he wouldn’t blame her.

So Dread moved through life, feeling like a hollow shell. His heart was broken, and he had no one to blame but himself.

Now the echidna stood at the helm, watching as a storm rolled toward them. Thunder echoed over the increasingly rougher water, and lightning flashed in the distance. He could alter course, but it was a big storm, dominating the entire sky, and there wasn’t much he could do to avoid it. They’d just have to weather what they could.

Scarlett was on deck, readying the ship for the oncoming storm. Securing barrels and other supplies, checking the anchor, and keeping an eye on the dark clouds before them. But there was something about the look on her face Dread didn’t like.

She had an intuition about her, sometimes getting a bad feeling before trouble started. She had that look now.

“What do you feel, Scarlett?”

It was the first time he’d used her name since that night. It felt both foreign and like home on his tongue. She moved to the bow of the ship, looking out over the water, toward the storm. She shook her head, looking back at him.

“Something’s coming,” she said, her brow furrowed. “And it’s not the storm.”

Dread’s brow furrowed in response, and he stood taller, his senses on high alert. If Scarlett said something was coming, then they’d be ready.

“All hands on deck! Stay alert, crew. We won’t be surprised.”

Another five minutes passed, and nothing happened. Scarlett paced the deck like a caged lion, clenching and unclenching her hands in her agitation. Whatever was setting off her intuition, it must have been bad.

Dread wanted to go to her, to take her hands into his and calm her. But he resisted. She would not accept his comfort now.

Suddenly, she stopped in mid-pace, and hurried to the bow once again. She leaned over the rail, and for a split second Dread thought she was going to go tumbling over. Then she pulled herself back and turned to yell,

“KRAKEN!”

~X~X~X~

The ship rocked under the weight of the kraken’s tentacles. It reached from below, curling its long appendages over the railing of the Angel’s Voyage, searching for anything to drag down to its snapping beak.

The crew fought tirelessly. Krakens were unpredictable, but could sometimes be scared off if they received too much injury to their tentacles. So every available crew member hacked and slashed and bludgeoned the leathery hide of any they could get close to.

The storm hit as they continued to attack the monster currently trying to drag their ship to the bottom of the ocean. Thunder boomed overhead, and lightning flickered almost constantly. The Angel’s Voyage was under attack from both sky and sea.

Dread swung his cutlass in wide arcs, slicing at the closest tentacle of the undersea foe. A loud, low rumble of a growl reverberated all around the ship as the kraken gave voice to its displeasure at this reception. The massive tentacles smashed and splintered wood as they fell upon the ship.

Scarlett moved like a whirlwind, fighting the monster that threatened her ship, and working hard to keep the rest of the crew out of danger, especially Sails. She’d taken the boy under her care, watching over him as she taught him life on the open sea.

The beast thrashed, the crew fought, and the storm raged.

Finally, after an eternity of fifteen minutes, the kraken began to withdraw. One by one its giant tentacles slipped back over the side, into the churning water below. Only two remained on the deck, and the crew stood back to watch them vanish over the side.

That’s when a bolt of lightning struck the water nearby, and the kraken panicked.

One tentacle jerked at the sudden jolt, slamming across the deck and catching Scarlett in its path. It smashed her against the wall of the wheelhouse, knocking the air from her lungs and bringing stars to her vision as her head smacked against the wood.

“Scarlett!” Dread cried, and started working his way toward her when the tentacle curled around her legs, dragging her toward the rail as the beast descended into the ocean depths. “NO!”

She was hauled over the rail in a heartbeat.

Dread tossed his hat aside, clamped his cutlass between his teeth, and dove into the water a split second later.

~X~X~X~

Scarlett tried hard not to panic.

She hadn’t had a chance to get a good lungful of air before being hauled underwater. The kraken retreated deeper, away from the storm and pain it suffered on the water’s surface.

The light quickly faded the further down it dragged her, and she was soon plunged into complete darkness.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, fast and terrified. Her lungs burned. The cold water was making her numb. The tentacle wrapped around her legs squeezed tight.

She was going to die. Soon. There was no way she could get herself out of this. She had no weapon on her, and her muscles were not listening to her commands.

With one last prayer for her soul, sent up to whatever deity was listening, Scarlett closed her eyes, and exhaled what little air was left within her. Seawater rushed in to replace it.

Her body protested. It jerked and convulsed. And then was still.

~X~X~X~

Dread swam like a man possessed. His eyes reflected what low light there was underwater, and he watched as the kraken continued to dive deeper. Scarlett hung from its tentacle, her arms raised above her head as she trailed the beast.

Closer. He had to get closer. He swam faster.

He was going to save her. He had to. Had to. He would snatch her from this beast’s clutches and haul her back to the ship. She’ll be okay, and he’ll apologize, he’ll get down on his goddamn knees if he had to and beg her forgiveness. He can’t lose her, he just can’t, he couldn’t survive without her.

As he watched, Scarlett’s body jerked and convulsed.

No.

She went still. Limp.

NO.

With a burst of strength, Dread closed the distance in a heartbeat. He grabbed onto the tentacle holding the redhead, and pulled his cutlass from his teeth. With one mighty swing, he sliced the tip of the tentacle clean through, releasing black ichor into the water around them. The severed tentacle clenched for a brief second, before relaxing completely.

Dread yanked her free from the dead flesh, and turned to swim for the surface. She hung in his arms like dead weight, and he fought back the panic that threatened to overtake him.

It was too late. He was too late. She was gone, he’d failed her, he’d lost her, she was dea—

The echidna pushed those thoughts away. He refused to believe it. He just needed to get her to the ship. That was what he focused on.

Dread pushed himself harder than he’d ever done before, and after a few more agonizing seconds, he breached the surface and gasped in a breath.

“She’s not breathing!” he called up to the rest of the crew. “Pull us up, NOW!”

Sails and Batten flew down immediately to haul their captain and first mate back on board. Dread tossed his sword to the side as he gently lay Scarlett flat on the deck. He leaned in to listen to her chest, and his brow furrowed when he didn’t hear anything.

“Catfish,” he called as he rolled her over and grabbed her from behind. “Bring blankets. Lots of them. Move!”

The large cat hurried off, as Dread clasped his hands together beneath her ribs. He gave a few sharp squeezes, in a desperate attempt to bring up the water she’d inhaled.

He fought his panic back. If he wasn’t focused, if he wasn’t careful, he could snap her ribs like toothpicks with his strength as he tried to save her.

The rest of the crew stood back, watching with wide, fearful eyes as Dread tried to revive Scarlett.

Precious seconds ticked by. Dread kept his jerky, sharp movements. Scarlett didn’t respond.

“C’mon, luv,” he hissed, and the icy tendrils of panic began to wrap their way into his mind. The longer this went on, the less likely she was to come back. His squeezes became more hurried. “C’mon. Bring it up. C’mon, luv. Please. Scar, please.”

Still nothing. She hung in his arms like a rag doll, her hair plastered to her face, her skin cold.

Dread’s lip pulled up in a pained grimace. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t lose her. Not like this. Not like—

Her body jerked suddenly, a gurgling sound coming from her throat. She opened her mouth and vomited seawater out, splashing the deck with a horrible retching sound. Dread lowered her to her hands and knees, resting a hand on her back as she continued to hack and cough and spit out the water from her lungs and stomach.

“There ya go,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “Get it all up. C’mon, luv. Breathe.”

She did. She pushed herself up, sitting back on her ankles and drew in a long, gasping breath as she opened her eyes. Another few coughs and she pulled in another breath, her chest heaving hard as her body shivered from the cold and shock.

Catfish had returned, his arms full of warm, wool blankets. Batten grabbed the first and draped it around Scarlett in a hurry.

“Let’s get you warmed up, sweetie,” she said, and grabbed another blanket to wrap around the shivering redhead. “We need to get her out of this storm.”

Dread moved in before anyone could say a word. “I’ll take her.” He scooped Scarlett into his arms in a bridal carry, looking over at Catfish. “Bring those to my cabin. The rest of you start getting the ship secured so we can weather the storm. I’ll be back quick as I can.”

The echidna carried the woman into his cabin, quickly laying her on his bed. Catfish dropped the pile of blankets on the edge of the bed before hurrying back to the deck to help the others. Dread pulled every blanket up and covered Scarlett with each one.

“Just rest, luv,” he said, his voice soft. He gently brushed her wet hair off her face, and resisted kissing her by sheer willpower. “You’re safe now.”

He didn’t want to leave her. He had barely avoided losing her just a few moments ago, and the thought of leaving her alone now made his heart clench.

But he was the captain, and he still needed to make sure the ship made it through this storm.

Without another word, Dread rushed back out to the deck.

~~~

And that's where I petered out. Mostly I just had these few scenes in my head and didn't know where to take it after that.