#wip: the waters of life flow

[simplegenius042]

Music Monday, WIP Word Train, Top 5 songs on repeat & OC Picrew

Tagged by @direwombat @inafieldofdaisies @josephseedismyfather and @noodlecupcakes

Tagging @imogenkol @socially-awkward-skeleton @adelaidedrubman @josephslittledeputy @raresvtm @cassietrn @g0dspeeed @aceghosts @voidika @cloudofbutterflies92 @derelictheretic @icecutioner @shallow-gravy @strangefable @statichvm @carlosoliveiraa @wrathfulrook @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @alypink @shellibisshe @skoll-sun-eater @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @florbelles @minilev @justasmolbard @yokobai and @seedsplease + anyone else who'd like to join.

Music for The Silver Chronicles, Life, Despair & Monsters and an Original Work. WIP Train for The UnTitledverse and A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore and a Picrew for my The Silver Chronicles OCs in addition to my top 5 most repeated songs on the music app I use. Listen below the cut:

"Some Nights" is a song I can associate with Alexander Khaos, especially post the events of my Ain't It A Joy? WIP, perhaps Alexander's being reflective in Hope County at St. Francis or even in New Eden post-Collapse. Alexander, much like Jacob, knows how your worst, most dehumanizing moments can fundamentally change a person. One thing is clear; although Alexander is a little homesick for his family, he does not miss Wellington Wells at all. Listen below:

"Some nights, I stay up cashing in my bad luck Some nights, I call it a draw Some nights, I wish that my lips could build a castle Some nights, I wish they'd just fall off But I still wake up, I still see your ghost Oh, Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for, oh ("Oh whoa, oh whoa, oh!") What do I stand for? What do I stand for? Most nights, I don't know anymore

Oh-oh, oh whoa, oh whoa, oh-oh Oh-oh, oh whoa, oh whoa, oh-oh

This is it, boys ("Oh-oh, oh whoa, oh whoa, oh-oh!") This is war What are we waiting for? Why don't we break the rules already? I was never one to believe the hype ("Oh-oh, oh whoa, oh whoa, oh-oh!") Save that for the black and white Try twice as hard and I'm half as liked But here they come again to jack my style

That's alright ("That's alright!") I found a martyr in my bed tonight She stops my bones from wondering just who I am, who I am, who I am Oh, who am I?

Well, some nights, I wish that this all would end 'Cause I could use some friends for a change And some nights, I'm scared you'll forget me again Some nights, I always win ("I always win!") But I still wake up, I still see your ghost Oh, Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for, oh ("Oh whoa, oh whoa, oh!") What do I stand for? What do I stand for? Most nights, I don't know ("Oh, come on!")

So this is it? I sold my soul for this Washed my hands of that for this? I miss my mom and dad for this? ("Oh, come on!") No, when I see stars, when I see stars, that's all they are ("Oh, come on!") When I hear songs, they sound like a swan, so come on Oh, come on, oh, come on, oh, come on

Well, that is it guys ("Oh-oh, oh whoa, oh whoa, oh-oh!") That is all Five minutes in and I'm bored again Ten years of this, I'm not sure if anybody understands This one is not for the folks at home ("Oh-oh, oh whoa, oh whoa, oh-oh!") Sorry to leave, mom, I had to go Who the fuck wants to die alone All dried up in the desert sun?

My heart is breaking for my sister and the con that she called love And then I look into my nephew's eyes Man, you wouldn't believe The most amazing things That can come from Some terrible nights!"

Life, Despair & Monsters is a series that explores morally grey/dark grey characters and how these morals change as pressure and time force them to adapt. The protagonists begin with fairly selfish goals; whether it be individually personal or collectively out for revenge against Malvolio and his meddling into their lives (especially with a few like Sonya, Jennifer, Hatter, Guenevere and Haoyu, plus some others), while the antagonists often have a benevolent goal (Sir Enigma Malvolio & the Ruins of the Midnight Rise) or even believe what they're doing is for the best (the Court King and Ion), even if their methods and/or understanding is severely flawed, amoral and sometimes even depraved. None of the protagonists want to be present there, but they are put into a circumstance that pushes them to make some capacity to change for the betterment of others, even if it doesn't entirely benefit themselves. All of them have done at least one wrong or another, or are even outright wrong in some one way or another, but they are still people in some way, just broken by circumstances beyond their control, even if some of them had inflicted this on themselves:

"Welcome to the room of people Who have rooms of people that they loved one day, docked away Just because we check the guns at the door Doesn't mean our brains will change from hand grenades

You'll never know the psychopath sitting next to you You'll never know the murderer sitting next to you You think, "How'd I get here, sitting next to you?" But after all I've said, please don't forget

All my friends are heathens, take it slow Wait for them to ask you who you know Please, don't make any sudden moves You don't know the half of the abuse

We don't deal with outsiders very well They say newcomers have a certain smell Yeah, trust issues, not to mention They sayin'' they can smell your intentions

You'll never know the freak show sitting next to you You'll have some weird people sitting next to you You'll think, "How did I get here, sitting next to you?" But after all I've said, please don't forget ("Watch it!") Watch it!"

Lastly a ship song for the main couple of An Old Ballad of Chance and Ember Hearts Original Trilogy; Jade Smith and Jasmine Rafiq. For the first story, it's mostly the two (a) exploring beautiful multiverse, and (b) reconciling with the fact that, despite their soulmate marks fading away (after the system was abolished in Wing And Horns), they still love each other and don't require those marks to define that fact for them, renewing their declaration of love to each other. The second story has them come across strife in the form of Rouske; while Jade and Jasmine explore the multiverse and see nothing but beauty and wonder, Rouske explores it and can only see the pain and suffering, believing it's better off gone altogether. Which leads to an altercation with Rouske that causes Jasmine's death, leading Jade to becoming devastated and the rest of her journey is basically the five stages of grief. In the third and final work, the plot is basically Jade dies and is making her journey through the afterlife, searching to reunite with Jasmine so they both can make their way to the Wheel of Reincarnation together. "Waiting For Love" I think encapsulates that journey quite well I think. Enjoy listening:

"Where there's a will, there's a way, kind of beautiful And every night has its day, so magical And if there's love in this life, there's no obstacle That can't be defeated

For every tyrant, a tear for the vulnerable In every lost soul, the bones of a miracle For every dreamer, a dream we're unstoppable With something to believe in

Monday left me broken Tuesday, I was through with hoping Wednesday, my empty arms were open Thursday, waiting for love, waiting for love

Thank the stars it's Friday I'm burning like a fire gone wild on Saturday Guess I won't be coming to church on Sunday I'll be waiting for love, waiting for love To come around

We are one of a kind, irreplaceable How did I get so blind and so cynical? If there's love in this life, we're unstoppable No, we can't be defeated

Monday left me broken Tuesday, I was through with hoping Wednesday, my empty arms were open Thursday, waiting for love, waiting for love

Thank the stars it's Friday I'm burning like a fire gone wild on Saturday Guess I won't be coming to church on Sunday I'll be waiting for love, waiting for love To come around!"

A little late to the party, but here's my participation in the WIP Train Word game.

rules: for each letter of the word you're given, share an excerpt from a wip that starts with that letter.

Words I was given: FEAR and FIRE. Word I'm gonna give y'all (should you choose to accept): HOPE.

Gonna do FEAR for WIPs from The UnTitledverse series (Mario: Mother's Boy, The Tale of Mario Emmet, the Classroom of the Elite segment of my little What If? series and Chapter 2 of my Jurassic World: Before The Storm fic) and FIRE for the A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore series (The Waters Of Life Flow).

F - Further as the kitchen, the dishes, the books and everything that was once Molly’s was swallowed with her.

Abigail wailed as she fell. Wailed for her to return. Wailed out into the darkness that consumed everything that made the kitchen Molly’s.

And then the fall stopped.

E - Everyone else were more afraid than anything else. Except for Mario, who seemed apologetic rather than enthusiastic.

A - As Ayanokoji began to depart from his desk, he paused. Horikita heard him let out a sigh, and much to her confusion, dropped his bag on top of his desk.

"What are you-?" Horikita wanted to question, but Ayanokoji soon interrupted her.

"Accepting my fate," he disclosed, not with much emotion, but certainly not his regular monotone.

Horikita blinked at him, shaking her head in confusion, "Huh?"

R - Regret.

That is what overcame me when I followed Lisa off the ramp of the ferry.

Once I stood on sturdier ground, the unforgiving heat swept over me quickly.

F - Fear grasped Alph and Amata, the latter of whom hugged Alph closely to her as he weakly tried to push her away, eyes wet from the thought of his failure to protect Amata and find his dad, all the while surrounded by dirty and vile vultures of human beings, who grinned with eager anticipation to reach satisfaction.

I - "I-I think this is it!" she stated aloud, relief and joy flowing out of the laugh she let out. Alph focused forward, really missing his glasses, but through his blurry vision, he could see a mass of metal welded together to form a gate. There was also a robot out the front of it, the corpse of a giant insect full of charred holes only a few feet away from it.

R - Ress' resting spot just happened to be where she needed to get said fresh air.

Ress didn't immediately acknowledge Amata, though the younger of the two wasn't foolish to believe she just didn't hear the vaultie.

Amata exhaled into the cold air as she pretended to admire the morning sky, although a morning sky was better than no sky in her opinion.

"Rough sleep?" Ress inquired from where she laid on the table, head tilted towards Amata's direction.

E - "Ergo," the Arcane Urias narrowed his blazing orange-red eyes on the shaking, frail human before him, "Your usefulness as a follower can no longer considered acceptable, Blackhall."

Without hearing any further excuses from the failure before him, the Arcane Urias gave his apprentice a nod; approved permission to end their acolyte's life.

Some picrews for my holy trinity of Seedfuckers Far Cry 5 OCs (Deputy Silva Omar, Nadi Sinclair, Alexander Khaos) from The Silver Chronicles in addition to Paul Yellowjack.

SILVA OMAR (SILVA'S HOPE, LA ÚLTIMA EN PIE & OLD DUSK [FC5 & FCND])

NADI SINCLAIR (SILVA'S HOPE, OLD DUSK & CALL TO ARMS [FC5, FCND & COD: MW])

ALEXANDER KHAOS (SILVA'S HOPE, OLD DUSK & AIN'T IT A JOY? [FC5, FCND & WE HAPPY FEW])

PAUL YELLOWJACK (LA ÚLTIMA EN PIE & OLD DUSK [FCND])

And lastly my top 5 most repeated song from the music app I use. I don't have the ability to share it through the app, so I'll just use YouTube links of the songs so you can listen to them yourself. Listen below:

"Genghis Khan" - Miike Snow

"This Comes From Inside" - The Living Tombstone

"Love Me Like You Do" - Ellie Goulding

"Stargazing" - Myles Smith

"Ten Thousand Times Before" - Twelve Titans Music

[quiet-onset]

seeking refuge

pairing: carmen berzatto x reader

wc: 1.5k

summary: carmy is having a day, and you want him to get lost in you.

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact!!!, unprotected sex, overstimulation (character and reader)

a/n: is this realistic? probably not. but that's why it's fanfiction! i truly do not remember writing most of this, but i was looking through my wips to find something work on and came across this already finished fic from last year lol. enjoy!

He had the look in his eye. That look had him curling in on himself, shoulders slumped as his mind ran wild. Every once in a while, he’d get lost in his own thoughts, a complete mashup of all the anxiety-inducing shit he’d ever encountered. Money, renovations, Michael, don’t miss NA meeting, walk-in door handle, Ma, menu, run menu ideas by Sydney, Sugar, and oh shit, Sugar’s baby, right, I’m an uncle—

“Carm?”

Like some sort of psuedo-siren, your voice called him back to stable ground, away from troubled waters. Still, he was merely wading when his eyes focused on you. His lips pulled up in an anxious smile, the best he could give you at the moment. “Hey, sorry, hey. I’m here.” He said, nodding his head. Then, his brow furrowed, and he shook away the confusion. “Wait, what are you doin’ here?”

“Richie called, said you might need the rest of the day off.”

Carm rolled his eyes and stood from the office chair, stepping past you to yell at Richie from the doorway. “Cousin!”

“Uh-uh, you are not fuckin’ up my flow today, cousin. I’m in the zone. Take that anxiety bullshit elsewhere, heard?” Richie dismissed him before he could make his defense.

“Hey, fuck you.”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you, too. See ya tomorrow.” Richie replied. “I need hands, chefs!”

You chuckled behind Carm, wrapping your arms around his waist. You pressed your cheek against his back and immediately felt some of the tension there roll away. “That training did a number on him.” You commented.

“Too smart for his own good now.” Carmen added.

You leaned up to press a soft kiss against his ear. “Come home, bear.”

It was only a matter of time after that. He’d explained the issue on the way home, or at least tried to. “I dunno, there’s just too many thoughts and not enough time or space. Feel like my brain’s gonna fuckin’ explode, just get lost in my goddamn mind.”

He almost pulled over and dragged you into the backseat at your reply. “Get lost in me instead.”

And he did. He managed to keep himself contained long enough to get home, but once there, he wasted no time. A mere fifteen minutes later, and he had you on your back, legs spread about his waist as his thick, hard cock stretched you open. You held on for dear life as your pussy clenched around him, wet and sticky with your arousal.

“Fuck, you feel good, baby. ‘S exactly what I needed.” He panted. “So fuckin’ wet.”

You could barely form the words to respond, hips canting up with each thrust, chasing the pleasure. Not that it mattered to Carmen, he was content with the sweet moans and whimpers that fell without pause from your lips. He adored the sounds you made and strove to pull them out of you as he pounded you into the mattress. He stopped for a brief moment when he felt your walls tighten, groaning deep in his chest. One hand gripped at the back of your thigh and pushed, spreading you wider. The other slid forward until his elbow was pressed against the mattress next to your head, and he buried his face in your neck.

“Gonna make me come ‘f you keep squeezin’ like that, baby.” His lips brushed against your ear as he spoke, his breath hot and wet against your skin.

“Can’t he-help it.” You whined prettily. “Feels good. Please don’t stop, gonna come.”

“Yeah? Gonna come on this dick?” His hand reached down to toy with your clit, eyes rolling to the back of his head when you cried out his name.

All you could do is nod, your moans getting louder as your orgasm approached. And then, pleasure so good, tears pricked at your eyes. Your back arched, your breasts pressed into his chest, you moaned his name. That white-hot bliss pulsed in every part of you, almost like it was being torn from you. Your cunt clamped around him, and you’re sure if you looked down, a ring of your arousal would coat the base of his cock.

Like all he needed was your pleasure, his finish hit him like a truck seconds later. An unending string of fuck, fuck, fuck as he pumped his come into you, the white, warm streams of him coating your walls. His balls pulsed hard as he gave you long, slow strokes, the head of his cock nearly kissing your cervix with one particularly deep thrust.

And even though his pace had slowed, his hips didn’t stop. The overstimulation was starting to set in, your stomach flipping deliciously at the continuous pleasure. Still, he was strangely quiet, so you wanted to make sure he was okay.

“C-Carmy,” You whimpered out. “You still with me, bear?”

You expected a pause, a wait, but the answer was immediate. “‘F course I am. Nowhere else I’d rather be. Goddamnit.”

“Carmen?”

“Gotta have you again.”

You didn’t have time to process his words before he was pulling out of you and flipping you over. He hastily grabbed a pillow and lifted your hips to slide it under. Even in the orgasmic-haze that fogged his brain, he wanted to make sure you were comfortable. Still-hard cock in hand, he stroked himself firmly as he kneeled behind you. His free hand gripped at the fullness of your ass, pulling lightly until he could see the mess he’d made of your pussy, a mixture of yours and his come dripping out of you. It might've drenched the pillowcase, but the thought hadn’t even passed Carmen’s mind. He just leaned over you until his nose was buried in your hair, pressing himself into your sweet cunt once more. You let out a loud moan of his name, your tight walls still fluttering post-orgasm.

“Didn’t want your legs to get sore.” He mumbled as he started fucking you again, slow and deep. “Shit, I need to keep goin'. Need to fill you up again.”

“‘S too good, oh my god.” You cried out. At this angle, the tip of his cock brushed against your g-spot with every thrust.

“Gonna let me keep goin’, right? Let me keep fuckin’ my cock into you, fillin’ your sweet little cunt with my come? Gonna let me get lost in you, pretty girl?”

On one hand, you weren’t sure where this Carmen came from. It wasn’t like he was silent during sex, but he never talked this much. Never this filthy. It was like his pleasure controlled him, the overstimulation working double-time to control his body and mind at once. With every word, his pace got faster, his thrusts deeper, inhibiting your ability to speak. 

It wasn’t made better when Carmen wrapped his arm around your neck, his bicep pressing lightly against your throat. A ragged gasp passed through your lips as he gave an experimental squeeze, timed perfectly with a deep thrust of his cock. He pressed his cheek against yours as you nodded eagerly, hoping the response would suffice.

“That’s it, baby, that’s fuckin’ it. So good to me all the goddamn time.” He groaned, hips bouncing off your ass with every thrust. “Pullin’ me out my head, makin’ me feel good. Perfect girl for me. Perfect girl with a perfect fuckin’ cunt, shit.”

He kept going and going and going, only relishing in a short rest each time. A setting sun and four orgasms later — five, for him — he was still burying his overstimulated cock in your overstimulated pussy. You were on your side now, facing him with your leg thrown over his hip. Each slow thrust of his dick and every pulse of your puffy cunt was laced with pain, but the pleasure was still there, too, making it hard to think. But for Carm, his mind was clear, the only thing left a vision of your sweaty face contorted with mind-numbing pleasure-pain.

One hand pulled you closer by your ass, the other brushing your hair off your sweaty forehead. “So pretty like this, baby. Could do this all fuckin’ day.”

“Carm, ‘s too much.” You gasped, eyes wide as you looked up at him. “Feels too good.”

He wiped a tear from your cheek, feeling his balls throb hard, almost painfully, as he plunged his cock deeper into you. “I know, I know. Just need another one, need to keep going till I’m fuckin’ empty. You can do that, right? You can take it.”

And sure, the overstimulation may have been clouding your judgment. But one look at his blue eyes, glazed over and needy, and you wanted to keep going. You wanted to lay there and let him take what he needed until he was spent, till all the anxious thoughts he ever had faded from memory. Your pussy tightened at the thought as you wondered how long it would take before he fucked his mind completely empty.

And just like that, he was coming again. Your sticky walls coaxed it out of him, pulsing around him until his hips stuttered. With the number of loads he’d already pumped into you, you couldn’t even feel the new warmth of his come. You only knew it was there when his cock pushed back inside, and come dribbled out of you and down your thigh.

And not a moment later, you were on your back again, and he was fucking you headfirst into your sixth orgasm. You and Carmen had a long night ahead of you. 

[heartfullofleeches]

All I could picture was Brie having never smoked before meeting Stoner Darling. So you just get

Viewer: Wait you smoke!?

Brie: *High off his ass* I do now!

Plus Brie only ever getting stoned after he met up with Darling again, so it just becomes their thing. He gives them cum laced food, they give him weed.

Brie's probably tried it once or twice at parties, but never thought about it outside of those occasions. After accidentally serving someone a pizza topped with his "secret sauce" poor boy is in need of a little medicinal relaxation.

-

"So you're a virgin, huh-"

Brie chokes on his spit.

"M-me?!"

"First time smoking? Least with another person. You used that blunt I gave you the other night, didn’t you? Lucky for you, you're in the hands of a professional. If you green out at any point I got some milk in the fridge. Does better for you than water."

A blessing. What Brie had written the worst night of his life turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to him. Who could've guessed a wrong address would lead to him to doorstep of someone like you. He's never felt this was about a crush before and he hasn't even known you long- Brie almost couldn't belive the promise of bringing more free food was all it took for an invitation into your humble abode.

On today's menu was a basket of wings and fries coupled with some ranch to dip them in. You had already cleared three of small cups in between rolling a blunt for the two of you to share. At some point, you skipped the chicken entirely in favor of scrapping your fingers around the rim of the plastic. Brie's heart nearly stopped in his chest when you asked him to bring a full container of the stuff the next time he stopped by.

Doing that kind of work for his fans had always been a hassle, but he'd do anything to see you again.

Wipping your mouth with a napkin and taking a few swigs of the water bottle on the table, you seal the roll before offering it to Brie along with a lighter. His shorts shrunk a little watching your skilled tongue flow across the paper.

"You want the first hit?"

Brie's eyes remain glued to your lips. With all he's done by now an indirect kiss shouldn't mean that much to him... Still...

"Uh... I don't mind waiting. It's your weed afterall."

"Aren't you sweet. Suit yourself."

Easing back against the couch, you place the thinner of the blunt to your lips - lighting the end as you inhale. You take a few puffs before passing it off to him. Brie breathes deep as he holds it to his mouth, though there's a different type of high he's chasing as he closes his eyes.

Looks like his fans are in for another surprise stream soon as he gets home-

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Quiet Ones 11

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

The morning comes but not relief. Despite the breeze wafting in from the open balcony, you swelter until the sun rises. Even then, you’re not free. Lloyd remains, snoring, latched on. 

When he stirs, it’s only the promise of what’s to come. This is the day. A day you never dreamed of. A day you never longed for. A day he will make sure happens exactly as he wills. Just as he has forced on you every single other desire in his twisted brain. 

You let the hours past, hoping deep down he sleeps through it all. The sun continues its lazy ascent, shifting through shades of coral, gold, and yellow. The smell of the ocean flows through with the noise of the waves. 

His hand slides up from your stomach to your chest. He squeezes and growls, rolling his hips as he nibbles your ear. You stare at the blurry coastline through the large glass doors across the balcony. You hold back a sigh. 

“Morning, bean,” he rasps. “Mm, it’s our special day.” 

He kneads your chest. It takes everything in you not to stop him. His palm against your naked flesh, the pebble of your nipple pressing into his hand, the goosebumps across your skin. The sensations are enough to have you paralysed. 

“If I could marry you right here in this bed, I would,” he hums. “Straight from the vows to the... well.” He snickers and wiggles his hips again. “Ah, jelly bean. I’m so happy.” 

You stay still and silent. He kisses your hair and pushes himself away from you. You let a sliver of tension loose as the bed bounces under him. The empty bed would be paradise if not for him. 

“Alright, well, we still got some time to go,” he struts to the coffee bar, his ass out shamelessly. He pops a pod in the machine and snaps the lid down. “Stylist will be here later and your dress is on its way. I’ll call down for some breakfast first. Oh, my suit.” He taps the button and turns to face you. You pull the blanket over your face so you can’t see his erection. “You take your time though. Need to rest up for tonight.” 

He pushes off the coffee bar, his feet slapping the floor as he strides across the suite. There’s a brief pause before the trickle of his piss hits the toilet water. It gets louder as he lets the stream free. You grimace beneath the blanket. 

If someone asked you at any point in life what hell is, you couldn’t think of anything worse than this. 

He comes back out. The cup clinks on the tray and he slurps loudly. He goes to the balcony and pushes the glass door all the way open. He steps out, naked, and sighs up at the sky. 

“Bean, you gotta come see this.” 

You don’t move. You touch the mattress and close your eyes. Please, just make me a part of the bed. Turn me to spring and cushion. I would much rather be a gel top cooling pad. 

He calls you again. You cringe and push yourself up. You slump and slide off the bed. You grab the robe and wrap it around yourself. 

You drag your feet to the doors. You stare out in dread. He leans on the railing and drinks his coffee. You shuffle up beside him. It is beautiful. You can’t deny that. 

Your old life was dull and boring. You never even bothered of dreaming of a place like this. You wouldn’t ever be able to afford it. 

“I’m gonna fuck you out here. Tonight,” he slips his hand along your lower back. “In the tub. On the bed. Against the wall.” His finger swirls against the robe. “But I think out here will be my favourite.” 

You grip the railing as stare at the sun. Your eyes water until you’re forced to look away. It burns but not as much as your fate. You can’t stop him as much as you can’t stop time. Lloyd Hansen is as inevitable as a ticking clock. 

🩷

You don’t feel like yourself. It’s for more than your circumstance. It isn’t just that Lloyd ripped you out of every familiarity in your life. It’s the dress, the hair, the makeup, the shoes... 

The woman responsible for it all leaves. She never gave a name. She didn’t say more than she needed to. You respect that. You’re less than equipped to pretend. You’ve never been very good at that and you need to save your energy. 

You stand by the balcony doors and stare out at the azure waves. The sleek ivory satin sheath tickles your skin. It’s simple. Thin enough for you to bear the Hawaiian sun. There’s a ribbon around your wrist with a corsage of orange hibiscus. 

The door opens and closes. You don’t react as your eyes stick into the distance. You think of walking into the tides and just not stopping. 

“Jelly bean?” Lloyd’s voice brings your vision into focus. 

You face him. His expression shifts. His blue eyes dilate and his jaw ticks. His lips part. 

“Wow,” he wisps and touches his chest. 

He wears a pair of powder blue slacks. His shirt is satin, a silvery blue with a pattern of garish chains printed into the fabric. It’s tacky. There’s a peak of a real chain around his neck, shining gold, matching the buckles on his ivory loafers. The same orange hibiscus is pinned by his left lapel. 

“My oh my, jelly bean. My favourite candy,” he crosses the room and extends his arms to you, “the sweetest I know.” 

You clasp your hand around your other wrist. Your body locks up as he grazes his palms along your arms. He pulls you to him and hums. 

“I don’t wanna ruin all this,” he drags his touch up your shoulder and along your neck. “Not yet.” 

You gulp. The hopelessness swells over. That anger that kept you awake, that kept you from cracking the day before, it dissipates into tepid acceptance. Your lip quivers and you force it still as you bite the inside of your cheeks. 

“Come on. Can’t be late to true love.” he grabs your hand and turns. He struts to the door and tugs you through. 

The shoes are wedges, not too high. You’re thankful for nothing but that. As you come out in the hall, he re-arranges himself next to you and loops his arm through yours. 

It’s a death march. The type you’ve only read about or seen on TV. The accused queen walking on the spite of her maddened husband; the rival cousin swept up in fears of treason; the unfortunate captive of a lost battle facing the noose. All you can do is put one foot in front of the last. 

Outside, the warmth stuns you. It is a scalding contrast to the ice in your veins. Lloyd doesn’t relent, doesn’t hesitate. You could plant your feet and fold in on yourself. Yet, you keep going. 

Days of desolation, a night of smoke, a flurry of chaos... all of it melds in your mind, stirring to a disorienting cacophony. Even ground turns to pebble and softens to silt and sand. 

You look around as if only just awaking. He leads you around a jutted cliff and down a winding path. The salt of the ocean laces the air, the lapping of waves rolls softly. You come in sight of the sun as your chunked wedges sink into the grains below. 

The water sparkles, the sky softens but does not dim, and the horizon ripples like golden thread. It’s immaculate. 

You have no choice but to lean into Lloyd as he guides you. It’s like wading through quicksand but that’s more than just the terrain. Your limps are stiff and stubborn. Go back, go back, go back. 

There’s a man and a woman. He’s in a white shirt and white pants. There’s a scarf or something around his shoulders. There’s silver crosses sewn into it, another hung from his neck with beads. You’re not religious. Once you thought you were. There’s a reason that changed. 

The woman is the same that came to the room to arrange your hair and paint your face. She is patiently silent as she stands to the side. You never thought of being married but this is far from anything you would imagine. 

He smiles expectantly as he watches you approach. Lloyd stops you across from the man and greets him, “father.” 

The man opens the book in his hands. “Shall we begin?” 

“Yes,” Lloyd turns to face you and takes your hands in his. “I’ve never been more ready.” 

You’ve never been less. 

You stare at his upper lip. That bristly line of hair. That questionable choice. It explains all you could ever wonder about the man. It’s tacky, defiant, and odd. 

Lloyd squeezes your hands as the priest clears his throat. You shiver despite the balmy heat. Your feet sink deeper in the sand. 

“Do you stand her and vow yourself before the Lord with no reason 

"Miss, repeat after me. ‘I, solemnly swear, to take this man in holy matrimony. As my husband to keep, to cherish, and love.’” 

The waves crash into the shore. It’s deafening. Your forehead trickles with sweat and the nape of your neck is on fire. Your hands shake in Lloyds’s. 

You squeak. 

“She’s nervous,” Lloyd chuckles. “Go slow.” 

The priest repeats himself; just the first few words. You eke out an echo. He continues until you get to that last word. ‘Love’. 

Then it’s Lloyd’s turn. He says it easily. As if he knows it already. His thumbs rub your knuckles. Your legs quake. 

“Before the Lord, and your witness, I declare you, husband and wife. Through sickness and health, until death do you part.” The priest declares. “You may kiss your bride.” 

Lloyd obeys before the pact is sealed. His lips are on yours, his hand on the back of your head, his other on small of your back. You’re breathless as he devours you. Your audience is unaffected by his hunger. It’s all very surreal. 

He draws back, keeping you in his arms. He grins and winks at you. “All mine, jelly bean.” 

“Sir,” The priest approaches, “the papers.” 

“Ah, almost forgot,” Lloyd lets you go. “Pen.” 

The priest reaches in his front pocket and slides out a black pen. He gives it to Lloyd. Under the bible cover, there’s a slip of paper. There’s a golden seal in the corner. The priest shows him wear to sign then you get the pen. You scribble on the paper, your hand numb, then the woman takes the pen and signs the third space. 

“Well, father,” Lloyd leans in to look at the paper, his hand under the priests as he cradles the bible. “Looks like we’re all set.” 

He closes his hand around the bible and the priest’s fingers. The holy man flinches as Lloyd reaches behind himself. He slides something free of his belt. 

You step back as a twinge plucks in your chest. Something’s wrong! 

The silver pistol flashes in the setting sunlight. The host is silent. A dark hole appears in the priest’s forehead as the gun recoils in Lloyd’s grip. He’s quick. He aims it at the woman. The bullet pierces above her cheekbone. She falls as quickly as the priest. 

You raise your hands in shock and step back. You trip as your skirt flutters in the breeze wafting in off the waves. You blink as Lloyd lowers the barrel. 

Calmly, he tucks the gun away. He slides the paper free of the book and drops the bible beside the dead man. Your lashes flick furiously and your heart hammers. 

You lunge forward. You stagger in the dirt as you pump your arms. You want to scream but you can’t. You just run, lungs burning, head spinning. You race away from the smell of blood and gun powder. You don’t know where you’re going, you just need to get away. 

You hit the waves as a force throws you off your feet. Lloyd lands atop you with a grunt and you thrash in the ebb and flow. He hushes you as you flail and whine. 

“Lloyd!” You shriek at last, your fear boiling over. 

“Jelly bean, you don’t get it,” he wrestles with you in the wet sand. “I’m a dangerous man.” He pins you on your back beneath him. “I can’t have anyone knowing about you. Didn’t I make a promise just now? To always protect you?” 

“You- you—you--” you sputter. 

“I know, baby, I know,” he pets your face with his wet hand. “I fucking love you.” 

[whumptober]

FAQ

Please read this post before you send an ask!

TIMELINE

July: Trope voting form released. Late August: Prompt list is released for at least four weeks of preparation time. Prompts cannot be posted earlier than August 25th because of Moderator obligations in real life. (But, you know, go ahead and start writing/drawing, and add the themes in later, if you want!) September: Do as much or as little on your works as you want. You can prepare everything in advance or let September go by with vibes and start working in October. It’s up to you. October 1st: Challenge begins! A storm of whump breaks upon us all! During this time, some posts will be reblogged to the whumptober archive blog. We open the yearly AO3 collection for posting (optional). November 1st: The challenge is officially over! Completionist form opens for those who want to be included in the hall-of-fame. Early November: We release completionist and participant badges, solicit feedback, and post a hall-of-fame list of completionists by the 10th.

PARTICIPATION AND COMPLETION

Q: What counts as participation? Create or continue at least one work inspired by one of this year’s prompts. Q: What counts as completion? Creating work(s) inspired by at least one prompt from each day (or alts), for a total of 31 unique prompts. Q: Do I need to create 31 works? No. You can, if you want. Or you can create one work that you add to every day with a new prompt. Or several works that combine prompts. You can also update an existing work by adding new material with the current prompts. Q: Do I need to post my works somewhere to be a completionist or a participant? No. Q: How do you know I actually completed the challenge? We’ll take your word for it! Q: Do I have to finish my work(s) to be a completionist? No, you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish them in October, but if you want it to count towards being a completionist, you must have completed 31 prompts by the end of the month. So for example, if you’re writing a long fic and you fit 31 different prompts into the writing you did in October, it’s okay if that fic isn’t finished by the time October ends, you’ll still be a completionist. Q: Is co-writing/illustrating allowed? Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you. Q: Is there a min/max limit on word count for written works? No. Q: Is there a min/max limit of quality for art? No. Q: Do I have to do something each day to be a completionist? No. You can skip days whenever you want, and as long as 31 daily prompts (or alts) are in your works done in October, you can be a completionist. For example, if you wrote a 1000-word ficlet that covers prompts in days 2, 3, and 17, you can check all three days off your list even though it’s only one work. Q: Is this challenge just for fics? No! Artworks, GIFsets, headcannons, rec lists, poetry, moodboards, or any other creative work is encouraged. Q: Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges? Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.

PROMPTS

Q: How do the prompts work? There are FOUR prompts per day: a theme and three ideas. You can use one, two, three, or all four prompts for each day. If you don’t like any of the daily prompts, you can substitute one of the ALT prompts instead. Q: How strictly/literally should we interpret the prompts? As literally or as figuratively as you want. For example, if the theme is WATER, that could mean drowning, waterboarding, raining, swimming, take place underwater, be lost at sea, construct a metaphor about a character’s mood that changes like a flowing river, crying, or whatever else you can think of that fits that theme. Q: Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many? No limit and combine as many as you’d like. If you create a work that checks off multiple prompts, that work will count for a fill of multiple prompts. You need to address 31 different prompts to be an official completionist, but you don’t have to produce 31 separate works.

WORKS

Q: What’s whump? Hurting a character, whether that’s physically, emotionally, intellectually, psychologically, or any other way you can think of. Comfort afterwards is optional. Angst is emotional whump, so it counts. Q: How do I know if it’s whumpy enough? If your character is just mildly inconvenienced, it probably needs more whump. However, no participant has to prove whumpiness to the mods. Whatever you write is up to you. Q: What kind of characters can I create for? Anything. Generic “whumpee,” OC, PC, NPC, major characters, minor characters, or whatever you want. There are no limits. Q: Does it have to take place in a specific fandom? No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want. Q: Can I create AI-created works? No. We will not reblog or promote any works we know to be generative AI-created. Q: Is there anything we’re not allowed to write? As long as it contains whump and is based on our prompts, it’s fine. Please courtesy tag your works if you post them so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences. Q: What about sex, minor characters, and potentially disturbing content? You can create whatever works are legal in your country and post them accordingly. Please courtesy tag anything you think might be objectionable if you post to Tumblr so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences.

POSTING

Q: Where can I post my work? Post where and how you want. You don’t even have to (cross)post it to Tumblr. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive. There is an AO3 archive for Whumptober 2024, as well as the parent collection for works completed outside of the event. Q: Can I start posting early? You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? We won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st. Q: Can I post late? Yes. For the sake of our hardworking Post Fairies, only a day’s themes will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive each day of October. But you can post whenever. Some of us are still working on and posting Whumptober fics from years ago. Q: Do I have to use your tags? Only on Tumblr and only if you want us to reblog your work on @whumptober-archive. Q: How do I have my works reblogged to the archive? Properly tagged posts will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive. If you want the official archive blog to reblog you, post on Tumblr and tag correctly (see this FAQ link for more info on tagging). Please note not all posts will be reblogged each day. Q: Can we @ you? For questions and comments, of course. We’ll be getting a flood of notifications, so if you really want us to see something send an ask. Q: Can I cross post on other blogs? Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable, as long as they allow cross-posting (to us). You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once. If you post some works under your main and others under an alt blog, that’s fine for completionist purposes. Q: Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms? Of course! We’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there, which can be found here. The blog is the official archive, so please respect the personal boundaries of any whumpers in your social circle (don’t out anyone as a participant who would prefer not to be outed).

[theshadowslove-if]

The Shadows' Love

DEMO TBA | Description of the ROs

Synopsis:

Welcome to The Shadows' Love, a game full of magic and romance!

Step into the world of Iriecester which has no light, only shadows and darkness. Every being in the realm has a curse, a condition placed on them to balance out the magic flowing beneath their veins. And yet, they still have the joy of being alive, their realm thriving like never before.

Play as a Yonuthia (a shadow being) and pick whether you have advanced powers or basic powers and what curse you were born with. Enjoy the rich history of Iriecester and its culture, dance with the shadows and feel their kind touch.

Features:

Play as a man, woman, or a nonbinary person. Choose your appearance in terms of hair, height, body type, and more.

Choose what type of magic you have and your curse. Navigate the world with the curse at your heels and keep the curse sated (if you can sate it) to keep your powers.

Romance six characters and get cute and emotional snippets of their personalities with the choices you pick!

Experience the realm's culture by dancing with the shadows and eating native food. You can even visit the city where the non-humanoid beings live!

Possibly communicate with the omniscient void which provides you with the powers you enjoy?

This WIP is 18+ due to content such as: (optional) sex scenes, drowning, death, grief, bestiality, and more that will be added as the game goes on.

Romance Options:

>The King, Orinothicor (M):

Orinothicor has the burden of the entire realm of his shoulders, coronated as king as soon as he was birthed from The Neximor. He's terrifying and yet breathtaking at the same time, a man who does not relax—not even for his adult children. Can he relax or is he just meant to be a stern king?

>The Princess, Lerdadicor (F):

Lerdadicor is not only one of Orinothicor's children and princess of the realm, but she is also the general of the realm's army. She can be kind but also temperamental, easily switching to anger if she sees injustice, or if someone is just plain rude for no reason. There's a longing to her, a hole that was once filled but now is empty.

>The Monster of Iriecester, Sashithia (M):

Sashithia is the only Yonuthia hybrid to be born from a humanoid Yonuthia and a non-humanoid Yonuthia. For this reason, he is ostracized, vilified simply for the circumstances of his birth. But are appearances all that matter?

>The Thief, Aesalrith (M):

Aesalrith is the leader of the Dravivors, a band of convicted thieves who turned bounty hunters for the king in order to escape prison time. He is bold and he is loud, loving to test the limits of his king and those around him. Is he as carefree as he seems or is there something deeper under the surface?

>The Forgotten One, Bredadith (M):

Bredadith is the Hexiltor's bodyguard and he is the only Yonuthia to ever survive a dip in Iriecester's only source of water, the river Grithior. Circumstances of his life before the dip in the river are unknown and he seems to only live now to protect the Hexiltor, even with his blindness. Perhaps he can be shown how joyful life is when someone is finally looking at him.

>The Second-in-Command, Erakithia (F):

Erakithia is Aesalrith's right-hand woman and while she's a ray of sunshine in a realm full of darkness, she's more soft-spoken than her boss. She knows when to quiet down and let peace wash over her, a trait many like in her. There's a wistful presence to her, a faraway look in her eyes when she talks of her adventures.

[dirty-bosmer]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by: @skyrim-forever @thequeenofthewinter @lillxart @theoneandonlysemla

Tagging: @elavoria @justafoxhound @sylvienerevarine @chennnington @ladytanithia @pocket-vvardvark @nuwanders @unironicallytes @saltymaplesyrup @darcxaosit @zomboidatomic

I don't have much writing to share that isn't pure filth, so have another lil unsettling snip from my Lucien/Sheo!HoK crackfic. As usual he is having a bad time, but don't feel too bad for him bc he probably deserved it :)

The world goes hazy, everything muffled and far away. Beneath him, his knees turn to water. He sees himself falling both behind his eyes and from outside them, cascading languidly as his body pools upon the ground. Rush of river in his ears. Water flowing. Fountain. His first urge is to laugh even though all he feels inside is rage. Despite the sudden discomposure, he recognizes the mark of poison, and when Nimileth peers down from above him, he knows at once what she's done. “You poisoned me.” He hears his own voice before he realizes that he’s spoken. Gravelly and hoarse, he seethes, a note of panic bleeding in at the edges.  “Don’t be silly,” she tells him sweetly. “I’ve brought you back to life.” “You—” But his voice croaks, and a burst of laughter rents the air. It’s his, though he can scarcely recognize it.

Nimileth kneels down, pats his head. "You'll feel better in a moment. Trust me." And the grin that unfurls along her lips is an unnatural, unearthly thing. Pearlescent in the shadow, she smiles like her whole face is a mouth. Lucien's stomach churns. He licks his lips, tastes the wine and something sweeter.

[rhodophoria]

🩸Sanguinary🩸(WIP)

I've been working on this little beauty in (somewhat) secret for a while now and I'm so excited to finally share some of it. Here's an excerpt from the first chapter, "Hallowed". 1,319 words.

CW - Dub-Con Themes (alcohol consumption, impairment, implied compulsion, fear/danger kink)

Merriment is not what drove you to this seedy tavern by the riverside. 

Your life would be much easier if it was. Unfortunately for you, it was recklessness. A dreadful mix of apathy and despair.

The sun has long since settled below the horizon, giving way to a waxing gibbous moon. The run-down buildings of the Riverwalk District cast crooked shadows over empty, winding streets. A little darkness does wonders to mask the grime caked onto the old cobblestones. The entire city is like this, in one way or another. Struggling against the encroaching decay. Some areas are just better at hiding it than others.

This is the environment you seek escape from, ducking inside out of the light drizzling rain. The interior of this tavern isn't much better than the outside… but it’s warm and dry. At this point, you can't ask for much more than that. 

Street mud slops away from your boots as you wipe them on the filthy entry mat. Useless. Just like every other attempt at normalcy you've made lately. You pull your cap from your head with a heavy sigh, carelessly stuffing it into the pocket of your coat. The promise of liquid oblivion draws you towards an open barstool, sobriety a concept you don’t care for at present. Signaling for a drink, you grit your teeth against the urge to cry. You can feel yourself teetering on the verge of a breakdown. So many things have gone wrong for you… today really was just the last straw. 

So here you are, intent on making decisions you'll regret come morning. The shifty bartender is more than happy to oblige you on your mission of self-destruction.

So long as the coin flows, of course.

You have just enough time to get a nice buzz going before your mood takes another nose-dive. Without anyone to talk to, boredom is quick to overtake you. Loneliness feeds the very misery you were trying to escape from in the first place. Drinking alone doesn't feel nearly as good as you'd hoped, and the alcohol in your belly doesn't even begin to chase away that horrible, itchy restlessness—!

Enough.

Your eyes flick desperately around the room, casting about for something—or someone—to distract you from your thoughts. Several figures manage to stand out amongst the crowd, and you throw yourself into studying each in turn. 

A group of muscular, scruffy-looking bunny monsters have claimed a table several feet away, absorbed in an intense game of cards. The smallest one wears a smile so wide it could crack their face in two, making some sort of gesture with a paw. The other two growl, reaching into their coats, and—you move on before you can get caught up in whatever that is. 

Who knew Lepan monsters could make those kinds of sounds? 

To your left, an incredibly drenched human sits unmoving, their head face-down on the bar. You can actually hear the drip-drip of water onto the floor beneath their stool. They look like they've had a worse day than you—and that's saying something. You don't think they would appreciate conversation at the moment. 

Near the back door, a hooded figure throws knucklebone dice. A harpy monster sits across from them, feathers askew as it watches on with hopeful eyes. Busy— Asleep— Uninterested— Too interested— Too creepy—

And then… there's him. 

Through the smoke and faint lamplight, an unnatural void draws your gaze.

The skeleton sits alone in the far corner of the room, stretched out over a plush chair like he was poured onto it. One leg propped over an armrest, with the other braced on the floor. He might have been smartly dressed earlier in the evening. But that ship, it seems, has long-since sailed. 

The top two buttons on his crimson dress shirt have been popped, baring an off-white, scarred collarbone. An embroidered black vest hangs open over his midsection, mirroring the strip of ribbon hanging limp around his neck. Impressive, to be sure… but clearly out of place in an environment like this. It stokes your curiosity. You sit up straighter for a better look.

Your eyes slide down the shining satin of his sleeves—rolled up to expose his forearms—and stick on the black leather gloves covering his hands. Even from here, you can see that the reinforced material hides a set of sharpened claws. You pause on that detail, your heart taking up a fluttering rhythm within your chest. The implication of danger carried in those hands… is incredibly appealing to you. 

Unbidden, you start to imagine how those gloves might feel, sweeping over your skin. Your mind flashes with images of scratch marks on your hips, a picture so clear and visceral you could almost believe it's real. Could almost see those fingers hooking into the seat of your underwear, slowly dragging the fabric to the side. Leaving you exposed and deliciously vulnerable and ready for… for his… A bolt of heat races down the back of your neck. You manage to break away from the grip of your fantasy, glancing back at his face—only to suck in a surprised breath.

The stranger is eyeing you in return. 

Even without visible pupils, you can tell he's watching. Curiosity shows in the slight tilt of his skull. Amusement in the lopsided pull of his grin. His empty sockets remain fixed on you, even as his head turns to sip from the glass in his hand—a deeply crimson liquid you can only guess is wine. 

Swallowing thickly, you reign in the last of your thoughts and turn back to your drink. To be caught watching him while your mind was so deep in the gutter… Embarrassment draws your shoulders up to your ears. Hopefully your desires weren’t plastered all over your face. 

From the way he was looking at you? You know you aren't that lucky.

Maybe you should talk to him? And what, explain in graphic detail what you were picturing while staring at those gloves?? You scoff at yourself, tossing the idea as quickly as it forms. The last thing you need right now is an embarrassing rejection on top of everything else. You don't know anything about this skeleton monster. He could be eyeing you because of your obvious, open-mouthed ogling. Stars, that’s definitely why. You'll just save him the trouble and resign yourself to your misery. 

That's that, you think… until you feel goosebumps break out over the skin of your arms.

Your voice is stolen before you can even fully register the presence at your back. Those black-clad claws are now spread out in front of you—their owner's hand braced on the bartop next to your arm. You blink, caught off guard by the bold gesture.

“you look like you need something.” 

His voice is husky, with an attractive vocal fry to it that practically buzzes against your spine. The words cut easily through the din of the other patrons’ chatter, crystal clear and enthralling. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, you forget every other person in this room. 

“...want to find out what it is?”

Warm breath puffs against the shell of your ear, the sensation close enough to a physical caress. A smokey scent wafts over you, your eyelids fluttering as you breathe in deeply. It's rich—like incense and spiced wine—with an undercurrent of something metallic and sharp. It's intoxicating.

He walks a perfect line, this monster. Crowding your space without getting too close. Dancing right along the boundary of your comfort. Your body is tense, locked up in a deep, instinctual reaction to his presence. Your hands tremble around your cup. Your heart races, and it's not… entirely from excitement alone. But the alcohol in your system gives you courage, as does the thrill of this mysterious stranger's apparent interest in you.

His open palm hangs in the air between your bodies. An offering. 

Your hand reaches out to take it.

[doctorgirlsblog]

Ghost From The Past (MV x OC!)

Chapter 3: If You're Under Him..

''What do you say to your girlfriend and mother of your newborn child when she asks why are you not in a mood? Oh sorry, just thinking about how I slept with my ex ten years ago and made her think it meant nothing when it meant the world?''

Max groaned under the shower head, the scalding water a futile attempt to cleanse the guilt that clung to him like a second skin. He leaned his forehead against the cold, slick tiles, the chill a temporary distraction from the burning shame that Beatrice awakened.

He was home, the familiar scent of baby powder and Kelly's lavender shampoo indulged his senses when he inhaled a sharp breath, turning the shower off.

Just a few streets away, was a building where his first ever apartment had been. Two small, but cozy rooms, simply decorated. His early karting trophies lined on the shelves, and nestled betweeen them, small trinkets: a small, blue and orange plushy heart she'd given him after his first junior win: a chipped mug that read ''Love you, future World Champ''; and one framed photo of a smiling young girl looking up at him with an adoration, like he was the Sun itself. He winced, the phantom grip of his father's hand on his shoulder years ago, as he hissed in his ear.

''Get rid of that poor girl, Max. She is a distraction. One that doesn't belong in your world anymore.''

So he had. Chasing his father's love and approval for once in his young life, he lost something way more precious.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Adrenaline left her body as she rode the elevator to her penthouse. As the doors slid open, she saw Chloe sitting on her sofa, tablet in hand, obviously waiting for her.

''B? Everything alright?'' It was all it took for the carefully held-back tears to start falling, hot and heavy, tracing paths down her face. A pained sob escaped her throat, raw and ragged, and she lunged forwards, collapsing onto the sofa and hugging Chloe like her life depended on it.

Chloe, initially taken aback by the sudden outburst, wrapped her arms around her best friend. Confusion flickered across her features, but years of shared history between them, knew that this had something to do with the only person who could bring these emotions out in her. Max.

She pulled Beatrice closer, stroking her hair soothingly.

''It will be okay, B,'' Chloe murmured softly, her voice calm. ''Just let it out, love.''

The tears continued to flow as she kept sobbing, fragments of words escaping her lips. ''He..he..knows.''

Chloe's brows furrowed. She tightened her embrace, waiting for Beatrice to gather herself enough to explain.

''I...I thought I could do it Chloe...'' Beatrice finally gasped, pulling back slightly to look at her friend, her eyes red and swollen. ''But I can't..it hurts..''

Chloe took hold of her hands, looking deep into her eyes as she spoke carefully.

''B, do you think, that you might still love him?''

Beatrice took a shuddering breath, her chest heaving. ''The..the anger..it felt so..consuming. For so long, it was the only thing that kept me going. The thought of making him..understand..of making him pay..it was my fuel.'' She squeezed Chloe's hand tightly. ''But then...when I saw him..when I finally said those things..it just..all I felt was my heart breaking again.''

More tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. She pressed a hand to her chest, right over her heart. ''It's like..reopening a wound I thought had finally scarred over. And it hurts, Chloe. It hurts more than I thought it could again.''

She looked at her, all her emotions finally laid bare. ''I thought I was strong enough to do this. I thought I could face him and not feel anything. But I did. I felt it all again. The hurt..the..the humilation..and..and a part of me...a stupid, stupid part of me..still remembers..how it felt before, when he still...'' Her voice trailed off, the unspoken forbidden word hanging heavy in the air between them. Suddenly, she pulled back, wipping her tears away as she let out a shaky breath. ''Forget it. He has family. A baby. He didn't care back then, he doesn't care now.''

Before Chloe had a chance to open her mouth, the other girl stood up, taking a bottle of Whiskey from the side table and left up the stairs to her room.

Chloe sighed, pulling out her phone, her fingers hovering over Max's contact. It felt surreal to be reaching out to the man who had caused her best friend so much heartache, but Chloe knew Beatrice needed closure, help, even if she wasn't ready to admit it. She knew that if she let's her distance herself now, it will be late for redemption later. Poor soul had already suffered enough.

''Mr. Verstappen, this is Chloe, Beatrice's assistant. We need to meet. Privately. It's important.''

She pressed send and waited, sighing as she took a sip from her now cold coffee.

Her phone buzzed surprisingly fast. ''Chloe? What is this about?''

Chloe typed back quickly. ''It concerns Beatrice. I believe it would be best if we discussed it in person. I will text you the details when we land back in Monaco.''

''Okay.'' Was all she got in return.

She knew Beatrice wouldn't approve of this. But for her best friend's own sake, she had to do it.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

The cafe Chloe chose was tucked away on a quiet side street in Monaco, a place mostly reserved for locals. The morning sun streamed through the large windows, accompanying the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Chloe was already seated at a small corner table, sipping a black coffee, when Max arrived, looking more tired than ever.

He nodded a curt greeting as he sat down, his eyes flicking around the cafe before settling on Chloe. ''So,'' he began, his voice low, ''What exactly is so important that couldn't be said over the phone?''

Chloe met his gaze steadily. ''It's about Bea, Max. About what happened between you two. I've known B for a long time now. She's strong, resilient..but what happened with you years ago left a deep scar. And now, it's about to happen again. I refuse to let it.''

Max leaned back in his chair, a flicker of something akin to pain crossing his features. ''She told you?''

Chloe nodded. ''Not in detail, not for a long time. It was clearly something she buried. But the raw emotion I saw from her..it was unlike anything I've witnessed. And last night..she broke down. She's hurting, Max. More than you probably realise.''

Max ran a hand through his hair, his gaze dropping down to the table. ''I..I was young. Stupid. My dad..he wasn't exactly supportive of..distractions.'' He finally looked up, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. ''That doesn't excuse what I did. I know that. But at the time..I thought I was doing what was expected of me. I didn't know any better. She was..special. Even then. But I was too focused on my career, on trying to please my father.'' The words felt clumsy, like he was that teenage boy again. Chloe listened intently, her expression softening lightly. She could sense the genuine remorse beneath his words. ''She loved you, Max. Deeply. And the way it ended...it shaped her. It made her guarded, tough. That ice persona she projects? It's a shield.''

Max nodded slowly, absorbing her words. ''She still carries a part of that love, Max. That's why it hurts so much. The anger is a mask for the deeper wound. And yet, here you are, happy with a family you built for yourself, with Kelly, with your baby. You think it doesn't hurts her, seeing how easily you moved on when she's still stuck where she was ten years ago?''

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Later that night, ''Velvet Rose VIP''

Max was swirling his G&T in one hand, sat alone in a secluded booth, music beat drowning his loud thoughts. He kept replaying Chloe's words, Beatrice's tears, the raw pain in her voice..

Across the crowded dance floor, among the moving sweaty bodies, was she. Several vodka shots had dulled the sharp edges of her pain, replacing it with numbness and a dangerous impulsiveness. Lando, ever the affable and flirtatious, had approched her earlier, offering a dance. Now, fueled by alcohol and a desperate need to feel something other than the pain, Beatrice was grinding against him with a provocative intensity that slowly started to draw attention.

Max's eyes, bleary from the alcohol, caught sight of the familiar blond hair. A jolt of possessiveness shot through him. He kept watching, his jaw tightening, as she laughed, her head thrown back, Lando's arm wrapped around her waist.

Another shot burned down his throat, further clouding his judgement. He was drunk, emotionally raw, and seeing Beatrice with Lando ignited a spark of irrational anger. He stumbled out of his booth, pushing his way through the sweaty bodies, his eyes fixed on her back.

By the time he reached them, his words were slurred, his tone accusatory.

''Beatrice? What the hell do you think you're doing?''

Beatrice, still laughing, turned, her eyes unfocused for a moment before recognition flickered. A deviant smirk played on her lips. ''Having fun, Max. Something you clearly forgot how to do.''

Lando, sensing the tension pulled himself away, stepping back and dissapearing in the mass. Max grabbed her arm, pulling her to the booth where he previously sat alone and showed her down onto the plush velvet cushions beside him.

''Why Lando?'' he asked, his voice coming out bitter.

She laughed, a harsh sound that held no amusement.

''Why Lando? Because I wanted to remind myself how it feels to fuck and flee. Why Kelly, Max? Hm?'' Her words were a direct hit.

He didn't know what to answer, the alcohol leaving him speechless. They were both drunk off their asses, and he had a feeling that whatever he said or did next, he will regret it first thing in the morning. But when he saw her begin to rise up again, adjusting the strap of her dress, a determined glint in her eyes as she muttered something about finding Lando, he forgot the morning regret. He reached out, his hand snaking around her waist, pulling her back against him and kissing her fiercely. Her breath hitched and she moaned into his mouth, and he swore he could finish right then and there just from that damn moan.

Her fingers tightened into fists around the pristine white fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, which he gladly welcomed. He slid his lips down the curve of her throat, inhaling deeply, the sweet, somewhat familiar perfume that reminded him of sun-ripened strawberries. God, she had now ruined fucking strawberries for him; the innocent sweetness forever tainted with the memory of this. Of her. His hands roamed lower, settling on the small of her back, pressing his hips against hers, making them both moan at the contact.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

The first hint of dawn painted the Monaco sky a pale grey. Beatrice stirred from her sleep, feeling a warmth of body beside her, and her stomach dropped. The faint scent of his perfume clang to the ruined sheets. The events of the previous night crashed down on her in a rush: angry words, Lando, Max kissing her, and then..this.

She turned her head slowly, the movement stiff and uncomfortable. Max lay beside her, deeply asleep, his face relaxed in slumber. Seeing him now, so vulnerable and unguarded, only amplified her sense of shame.

What had she done? Sleeping with him again, after everything, felt like a betrayal of herself, a step backwards. A wave of self-disgust washed over her. Quietly, carefully, she slipped out of the bed, her movements stiff and deliberate. She gathered her discarded clothes, dressing quickly and silently, when her gaze fell upon his lit up phone. A picture of Max and Kelly, holding little baby starred back at her. Above, she saw, two new messages from Kelly. She took her purse and left, not turning back once more.

[ggghoulish]

WIP Whenever !!

Thank you to those who tagged me, it’s no longer Wednesday here but I still have a wip to share. I’ve shared a couple paragraphs from this one but this is a bigger chunk. Not actually sure where I’m taking this one really, but it keeps coming !

Moments Silence (working title, may change)

Abnur Tharn x The Vestige (Lumriel)

The waters of the small seaside cove flowed in and out soothingly, rays of sunlight poured in through the ceiling, alighting the pink fluttering leaves of the Auridon Heartwood trees growing inexplicably through the sand. It would have been a nice resting place had it not been for its occupants, Abnur thought with disdain as the attention of the conversation shifted away from himself and his loyalties.

Halfway through the conversation with Lyris Titanborn and Varen Aquilarios (or the Prophet, so he was calling himself now), the fledgling hero– a tall, thin, and tanned Altmer by the name of Lumriel– had stopped wringing his hands and gone frighteningly still. The young Altmer was of a shockingly timid countenance for his job description. Usually the new warriors were head strong or egotistical, unable to see past their own swords. Abnur never liked having dealings with young heroes, as attracted to trouble as they were, but admittedly their thirst for power, their inflated ego, and naivete was the perfect recipe for him to manipulate to his benefit. This one was proving to be a much more complex book to read.

Even despite his lack of desire for power, Tharn could see the strings of his heart, pulled back and forth by all the things he cared about. He was already showing signs of…weakness. Back in Coldharbour, after Abnur had re-emerged from Mannimarco’s (admittedly painful) banishment and they had worked together to take down the visage of him, the Vestige had gripped him by the shoulders with a terrified look in his eyes. It was almost like he cared whether or not Abnur had died, which was certainly a new development.

Now the hero stood, news of the Prophet’s true identity as Varen Aquilarios, bringer of all their looming troubles, finally setting in. The adrenaline from the fight lingered and seemed to leave his limbs with a tremble that he couldn’t shake out. The lines of his face grew tighter with every passing word from the Companions.

“You have my solemn promise, Vestige. When this is over, if you still judge me harshly, you can end my life. I will offer no resistance. But we must find Sai Sahan, everything depends on that.”

The Vestige looked at Varen with a withered expression, “I… am not going to do that. But you’re right. We have no choice.” He looked sparingly at Lyris, who took his gaze head on, and said nothing. “I am going to check your injuries and then… and just… I need to think.”

Varen nodded his head once, sagely and sat back down at the rickety makeshift desk underneath the Heartwood trees. Lumriel looked briefly over Lyris’s injuries, making sure nothing would be left to heal wrong or fester and gave her a small health potion. They spoke quietly for a moment, seeming to come to a reluctant understanding.

Even despite Tharn��s standoffish posture and attempts to conceal his discomfort, Lumriel turned to the battle mage, eyes wandering over his tired but still haughty frame. Though he had been through worse bouts before, the banishment spell from Mannimarco, ensuing fight, the spiritual drain that came from lingering too long in Coldharbour, and then that final blow from Lyris had left him wary. Still, he straightened his back under the scrutiny. The young high elf stepped forward, examining him. Warm, clammy fingers came up to whisper across his face, tracing the damages. Abnur flinched back, shying away from the touch he didn’t expect. The fingers grabbed his chin, gently guiding his face to the side to get a better look at a cut that Lyris’s bracer had carved into his face. Lumriel’s brow knit together as he focused.

“This shouldn’t need any magic but let me apply a salve. Auri-El forbid you get an infection. I don’t trust the air in Coldharbour, let alone the waters,” he said quietly, almost as if he was talking to himself. Maybe he was. He still looked shaky and off-kilter, Abnur noted.

Normally, Tharn would decline and take care of it himself but their new companion was such an intriguing character, he hadn’t yet pieced him together. He was obviously upset, but not one to lose his temper. The elf reached into his bag and pulled out a small wooden box, opening it to a translucent yellow gel, flecks of small green leaves throughout. Dipping his finger in, he brought a bit of it up to Abnur’s face, spreading it gently over the cut. It stung for only a moment, a cooling sensation soothing the angry skin.

Lumriel inspected him still, seeming stressed. “Maybe I should have cleaned it first, anything could have stuck from that gods forsaken place. It’s not bleeding anymore but I should have— Do you hurt anywhere else? Manni— that mer hit you with a lot of magicka so I should check for any burns, espe—“

Abnur grabbed Lumriel’s wrist, pulling it away from where he had rested it on his face, cutting off the nervous spill of words. “I’m alright, Vestige. I have survived much, much worse.” And it wasn’t a lie, even if he was aching bone deep across most of his body. Lumriel closed his eyes and grounded himself. Tharn noted how his hands trembled. “Are you alright?”

Lumriel looked away, pressing his lips together. “I-I— I’m sorry, I just need some time—“ he pulled his hands away from Tharn and turned, quickly wading through the cove (that he was now understanding was the Harborage— seriously, Varen couldn’t have chosen somewhere less wet?) and out of the entrance, where he could hear the telltale call of seagulls and push and pull of the ocean. Lyris watched him leave with a vaguely guilty look on her face and sighed, sitting down in the sand by their sad little campfire. She began methodically taking off her armor.

Varen shuffled a few things around on his desk idly and seemed to come to a decision in his head. He turned to Tharn, “You are, of course, welcome to stay with us here in the Harborage, should you need it. Though, it’s not the luxury you’re used to,” he said quietly, both of them ignoring Lyris going stiff.

“Thank you, Varen, but I believe I’ll have to decline,” the name fell off his lips clumsily, muscle memory still wanting to call him sire, from all those years ago. “I still have some funds and remaining connections that I should be able to find lodging in the city. We are in Auridon, aren’t we? It has been too long since I’ve last visited.”

Varen nodded once and he could see Lyris settle down again in his peripheral vision. “Yes and I believe the Vestige has a long term residence here as well, despite the inordinate amount of travel he’s been through. You might ask him about it.”

Tharn hummed. “I will. Though I don’t believe he’s in any mood to talk real estate right now,” he muttered. “I might just give him until morning lest he go catatonic.”

Narrowing his eyes in a chastising manner, Varen picked up a book and ran his hand along the pages, words glowing in a white-blue. Tharn assumed this was how he read now. “You don’t have to wait. In fact, I believe the Vestige— Lumriel, would benefit from your conversation right now.” He paused, thoughtfully. “Yes, company would be good for him right now.”

Well, looks like I don’t have a choice then. Tharn thought, wryly.

[wheresarizona]

Arizona’s End of the Year Roundup

Hey, besties! This has been a fucking year, let me tell you, and life really decided to throw me some curve balls over this last month just to keep me on my toes.

2024 was a year of new journeys—I started my new life of official singledom, I cut off all of my hair, I quit the best job I’ve ever had to start a new one with better opportunities, I got healthier both mentally and physically, and lost 50 lbs, I got many new piercings and tattoos, I made new friends, and for the first time in probably my entire life, I got to be happy and focus on myself. Things weren’t always smooth; there were definitely hiccups along the way, but you know what? I made it, and you did, too.

I just wanna thank everyone for their love and support. All of the comments and asks I got this past year, really kept me going, and you have no idea what they meant to me. I LOVE YOU AND THANK YOU!!! ❤️❤️❤️

I thought I’d do a little writing roundup, in case you’re interested:

Total words on posted fics and WIPs: 205,993

- Total words written for Learning to Live: 142,852

Most amount of words posted: Learning to Live Chapter 34 - 24,017

Least amount of words posted: Brunettes - 798

My favorite thing I wrote: Javi’s bit about grief in chapter 32 of LTL. I was battling my own grief at the time, and it was very cathartic to go on a similar journey as Cielito, and for her to have someone so loving and supportive.

My least favorite thing I wrote: It’s only because it’s fighting me and the words aren’t coming as easy as usual, but chapter 35 of LTL. Love the content, hate the difficulty.

The thing I’m most surprised I wrote: Columba. I saw one preview for Gladiator 2, heard his voice, and I was done for.

My guilty pleasure that I wrote with me in mind: but he’s the one I want. DBF!Joel has me in a chokehold right now and I maybe, possibly might be writing a follow up…

4 things I watched on repeat while writing:

- The Emperor’s New Groove (2000)

- Rodger’s and Hammerstein’s Cinderella (1997)

- Chicago (2002)

- Les Misérables (2012)

(As you can tell, I love musicals)

Most listened to playlists while writing: Hadestown (Original Broadway Cast Recording) and my Taylor Swift playlist

My go-to writing drinks: Iced soy chai (Starbucks, preferred), Diet Dr. Pepper, or water

My go-to writing snack: Candy (type depends on the mood I’m in. Lately it’s been Hi-Chews)

My favorite place to write: My comfy chair in the corner of my room I got specifically for writing.

My least favorite place to write: Work—too many distractions at this new one.

The wildest places I wrote smut: Outback Steakhouse parking lot while I waited for my food, and sitting at a table at Outback Steakhouse while celebrating my sister’s birthday. (Don’t know what it is about Outback Steakhouse that gets the words flowing)

That’s all I could think to include, but if you have more you wanna know, just let me know!

There are so many people I wanna thank, and I’m gonna try and tag as many as my exhausted brain can remember right now: @juletheghoul @theorganasolo @littlemisspascal @katareyoudrilling @devineconjuring @kilamonster @iamskyereads @theetherealbloom @agg5041 @heareball @artsy-girl-76 @toomanystoriessolittletime @thevoiceinyourheadx and 🌱

Happy New Year, everyone!

[simplegenius042]

Music Monday & WIP Wednesday

Tagging @imogenkol @josephseedismyfather @direwombat @noodlecupcakes @socially-awkward-skeleton @adelaidedrubman @hollywood-is-bleeding @derelictheretic @inafieldofdaisies @voidika @cassietrn @aceghosts @icecutioner @shallow-gravy @strangefable @statichvm @cloudofbutterflies92 @carlosoliveiraa @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @alypink @shellibisshe @josephslittledeputy @skoll-sun-eater @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @florbelles @minilev @justasmolbard @softtidesworld @yokobai and @seedsplease + anyone else who want to join.

Music Monday for two The UnTitledverse WIPs and one from A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore and a WIP Wednesday for the The Silver Chronicles. For the next three-and-a-half weeks I'll be posting on Music Monday's songs traditionally about Five Nights At Freddy's and how I try to justify how they fit into my wacky little worlds (even the non-FNAF ones). Enjoy listening and reading below the cut:

Can't have a Five Nights at Freddy's WIP without The Living Tombstone's original "Five Nights At Freddy's Song" in the playlist. More Than Bargained For? is a FNAF WIP where my OC Lillian "Lena" Elliot becomes the Night Guard of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza after Fazbear Entertainment opens up the restaurant back up eleven years after 1994 (the events of the first game and when Mike is fired), because they find there are people who view the pizzeria as a "cult classic" type thing and are still fans since childhood of the place (Lena being amongst them), and Fazbear Entertainment will make a profit on that. The original animatronics (Freddy, Bonnie, Chica and Foxy, along with Golden Freddy but he's in the Parts/Service room) are brought back to the stage. There's a... stranger animatronic in the kitchen but he doesn't bother leaving there so Lena won't have much trouble from him. Follow Lena as she discovers how many skeletons are actually in the Fazbear Entertainment's closet (Like seriously, the amount of children and employees who have died under this company's watch is ridiculous and the fact they managed to come back many years later after their reputation was tarnished beyond repair). Listen below:

"We're waiting every night To finally roam and invite Newcomers to play with us For many years we've been all alone

We're forced to be still and play The same songs we've known since that day An imposter took our life away Now we're stuck here to decay

Please let us get in Don't lock us away We're not what you're thinking

We're poor little souls Who have lost all control And we're forced here to take that role We've been all alone Stuck in our little zone Since 1987

Join us, be our friend Or just be stuck and defend After all, you only got

Five nights at Freddy's Is this where you wanna be? I just don't get it Why do you want to stay?

Five nights at Freddy's Is there you wanna be? I just don't get it Why do you want to stay? Five nights at Freddy's, oh

We're really quite surprised We get to see you another night You should have looked for another job You should have said to this place goodbye It's like there's so much more Maybe you've been in this place before We remember a face like yours You seem acquainted with those doors

Please let us get in Don't lock us away We're not what you're thinking

We're poor little souls Who have lost all control And we're forced here to take that role We've been all alone Stuck in our little zone Since 1987

Join us, be our friend Or just be stuck and defend After all, you only got

Five nights at Freddy's Is this where you wanna be? I just don't get it Why do you want to stay?

Five nights at Freddy's Is there you wanna be? I just don't get it Why do you want to stay? Five nights at Freddy's, oh!"

"Replay Your Nightmares", although a song usually meant for FNAF: Ultimate Custom Night or at some stages, FNAF 3, is a song I closely associate to my The UnTitledverse Original Work, the sequel to A Blast In The Past, known as The Dark Awakening. Pretty much near the conclusion to when Calvin escapes the clutches of his captor's purgatory and re-enters the physical human realm several decades after his death/imprisonment, though he is being severely gaslighted worst than he has before while on his way to finally escape. He manages to make a little comeback at his captor near the final verse of the lyrics though. Listen below:

"In a loop inside the screen Your own prison in a dream Try to run and try to scream Even death can't save you

We replay your nightmare Replay, play, play your nightmare Replay your nightmare Replay, play, play your nightmare

Get in a cage While we rattle it While we rattle it Our eternal revenge We know what you did We know what you did." "IT'S ME", "It's Me", "it's me..." "We're all here just for you Get in a cage While we rattle it While we rattle it Forever!"

"Torture, torture, don't you know How your seeds of evil grow?

Replay your nightmare Cause he won't stop Replay your nightmare Come, it's your time to hurt."

"Get in a cage While we rattle it While we rattle it Our eternal revenge We know what you did We know what you did." "IT'S ME", "It's Me", "it's me..." "We're all here just for you Get in a cage While we rattle it While we rattle it Forever!

Over and over and over again Replay your nightmare Over and over and over again Replay your nightmare."

"We are remnants of your sins It's a game you'll never win When it's done it just begins Again and again, and again, and again You will pay for what you did Forever!"

Last song is "It's Me", and while not entirely connected to the Fallout world (especially my A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore), I do believe it does fit in one specific section of The Waters Of Life Flow; after Alph (my Lone Wanderer OC) and Ore (Ortega Brantley, Ress' older half-brother) rediscover Blackhall as a corpse (without the Krivbeknih) in his manor, plus reconvening with Amata before they go look for Ress, both humans inform Ore of what they discovered down in the Dunwich Building's basement, Ore takes investigation there. When he finds the Obelisk, he discovers a recently failed ritual, and puts the evidence together to figure out who was behind the recent emergence of this "Occult"; his and Ress' father, Arcane Urias, the exact man he's been hunting down. Although he should go out and warn the others, he regrettably finds out he was, in fact, not alone in the office building. Listen below:

"Welcome to your office, settle down and take a seat Please pay no attention to the terrifying screams You should head the warnings of the voice that's on the phone Tonight, you might be by yourself, but you are not alone

The masks that we wear Pretend they aren't there But you can only hide for so long

Why don't you Spend the night Then you'll find There's evil that waits inside Spend the night Then you'll find There's evil that waits inside Spend the night Then you'll find There's evil that waits inside Spend the night Then you'll find There's evil that waits inside

It's me Me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me Me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me

There's evil that waits inside It's me!"

Now it's time for another WIP of my FC5 Bloodborne AU from my The Silver Chronicles series. Here the Seed Brothers (along with some disgruntled Hunters aka this version of the GFH and certain OCs) have stormed the Convent in the Henbane and confronted Vicar Faith on her betrayal and wanting answers for what Paul has planned for the "Hunt of the Long Night" that has made the scourge beasts ten-times worst. I haven't shown it (for reasons) but Faith calls Joseph specifically out for, quite frankly, abandoning and disregarding her (after all, he did hand her alone to Paul and his monastery as an inside-woman but neglected to actually keep in touch for about six long years) as some kind of tool instead of the "sister" he once claimed her to be. In the snippet below, the Voice shows it's ugly head and urges Joseph to dispose of Faith, something that John and Jacob are already advocating for, with some varying reactions from the Hunters. They're interrupted by... someone not affiliated with any of them. Will probably fix this up in the final product. Now introduced in her first debut... may I officially have you acquainted with my new-ish OC, Priestess Lillith; and she's also probably a witch. Read below:

Joseph stepped back from the Vicar and her vicious words; shocked by the accusations of the woman in front of him, once a sister he had brought into his family, by choice and virtue. The girl healed of her vices, given new life, a new purpose.

"Enough of this," John said with vehement venom, his blue eyes fueled with rage towards the cretin kneeling in the middle of the Convent's hall, "She won't tell us anything, if she even knows anything. We should vanquish this sinner while we have the chance brother, given she's chosen who she stands by."

Joseph saw that Jacob nodded in agreement, scowling at Faith's small form. He noticed the other Hunters made no dissuading moves, apparently in silent agreement. Before the Father could make any response to his eager brothers, he heard the Voice

John is right, He told him, tone even and still, the humming warmth pressed to the edges of his mind, She is a vile, treacherous locust strayed too far from the Path, Joseph. Unable to be saved from the doubt she drowned in.

Joseph's breath hitched at His words, the panicked, yet still sneering wrath in her green eyes only proving Him correct, followed by, She is no longer your family Joseph. This wretch has forsaken My light. She is nothing more than a rival. And she must be eliminated as such.

Joseph hesitated, took a moment to glance at Faith's form, as she lowered her head, holding the Vicar's pendant to her chest as she whispered. Maybe a prayer? Maybe a silent confession, apology, or vow? He didn't know, but what he did know was that the Voice spoke truth; she could no longer be considered the young woman he selected to hold the honor of being his sister.

It pained him to admit, considering all she gave to them in her devotion, but she was no longer family, like the previous two before her.

She was no longer his Faith, instead, she was Yellowjack's Siren, twisted and stained with the false shepherd's sinful ideals to spread false hope to the scholars of his Monastery, to turn their devotees against the Project.

He gave a disappointed sigh as he watched the woman below him refuse to lift her head up, shaking as the consequences of her betrayal was upon her, and nodded in agreement to his brother's words.

They couldn't let her warn Yellowjack, nor let her lead the Church Hunter's after them. This was God's Will.

"You... were once so precious to me, sister," Joseph tells her, and saw how she only curled into herself more, the fear she let dominate her heart sting his own, "I had thought you would be with us when we crossed the Gates of Eden... I now recognize my own blindness and... my own fault, for leaving you alone surrounded by those vipers and their venomous lies."

John tried to step forward, perhaps to refute Joseph's words, but Jacob stopped him, holding him back with a stern shake of his head. To allow Joseph this final moment with someone he put his faith in, even if they didn't necessarily understand it.

"But now, with the responsibility as your Father, I shall free you of their lies... of the burdening weight of your sin, my wayward child," Joseph heard how she sobbed, and had to breathe to not falter now, "The gates may be shut to you Vicar, but know, even now, that I pray God will have mercy upon your soul."

Joseph removed the revolver from his holster, clenching it as he left it to his side for just a moment.

His hand caressed her small, frail head, fingers pinching close the tube connected into her nose.

He cocked the hammer back with his thumb, and with an exhale, aimed it to her head.

He remembered how her small legs kicked as the monitor increased in its beeping, his resolve weakening, for only a second, before gripped tighter. God's repeating words ringing in his head.

"Shall you find peace amongst the angels, Vicar," he whispered softly, that he was unsure if she even heard him.

"Join the angels, my sweet Faith," he had murmured into what little hair she had, lips grazing softly as his tears slipped onto his little girl.

His finger curled around the trigger, coiling it back as he once more took responsibility-

Di-di-ding ding!

Joseph found himself thrown back by a harsh force that knocked the air out of him, grip on the revolver lost as it was flung elsewhere.

He felt hands on him, one tattooed and the other scarred. He recognized he was in his brothers' arms, lungs forcing him to heave for air from floor he laid back on.

But... hadn't I been standing before?

He leaned up, and saw he was a few feet away from the Vicar, who now had her head up, confused green eyes glancing around the Convent's room.

Joseph's eyes caught a glimpse of something on one of the upper balconies on the right side of the room, and saw a slim figure, cloaked from head to toe in dark shawls. She wore a mask, a pale one that's appearance was ghastly, jagged tear lines going down past the mask's edges, with a small mouth shaped in a "O".

He saw they held a silver hand bell in one hand, some sort of symbol carved in its waist. They shook it once more, the ringing echoing in the small chamber. The symbol glowed a bluish hue, and he felt his hairs prick up.

"Foul brethren," the smooth, matured voice of a woman reverberated through the Convent, the person unseen.

Another cloaked figure stood upon the left balcony, their mask depicting a false eye of a cyclops, with two slits for them to see through, the mouth carved with gnashing sharp teeth. They, too, held a hand bell, with a different symbol carved into the silver.

Their bell shook, the clapper tinging against the rim of the waist.

The Hunters with them placed their hands on the handles of their weapons, alert and cautious at these newest intruders.

Joseph was lifted to his feet, Jacob pushing him into John's embrace as he took to protecting their front.

"Fickle in your promises. Deceptive in your loyalties," the unknown woman's voice returned, a scathing tone behind it all, "Are you always shirking responsibility over your sisters?"

Through the middle balcony came the owner of the voice; another cloaked woman, but her embroidery seemed more intricate, the jewelry she adorned was more in quantity than her companions, like the Vicar who looked above at them.

The woman was taller too, her mask similar to that of a demon, an angry one at that, hairless brows furrowed, the mask's mouth full of sharp teeth, but two prominent tusks projecting from the lower jaw. It also had two horns protruding from the head, and through the eyes Joseph could see burning orange eyes glaring down at them.

"Why are the lives of your sistren worth less than that of your brothers?" she asked from atop the balcony, her eyes boring down at Joseph, "You are the one to bring them in. You are the one to feed them, to guide them. Ultimately, you are the only one to claim care over them, in spite of your brothers' vile envy and appalling apathy."

She gave scathing glances to both John and Jacob respectively, before her full focus stayed on Joseph, "And yet, when your charges' displease you... their lives are forfeit by your own hands. A more permanent punishment than what your brothers earn. I wonder..."

Her head tilts, the jewelry shifting as she ponders, "Is it because they are not of your blood that makes it so easy, even when it is your hands that molded their clay bodies?"

Joseph watched with an uneasiness when the nose of her mask held up while looking down at him, "Or do the opposite sex simply hold no value in your eyes, and the eye of your Lord, unless their role is nothing but flawless?"

Her words earned Joseph and his brothers some raised brows from some of the Hunters, though it did not last long as they focused on the unaligned women.

Joseph was shocked by the accusatory words, and he went to speak up, to defend him and his brothers, and the word of his Lord.

However, he was stopped by the lead women's scoff, "Regardless the reason, your hypocrisy is clear. But your familial responsibilities are not the only oaths you have attempted to break."

She brought out one of her hands, the gauntlets fingertips sharpened not unlike claws, holding a hand bell of her own.

However, it was not like that of her accomplices; it was bigger, and rusted in an ugly maroon, matted with the dripping red of the flesh stuck to the metal, with the bloodied fur of beasts clinging to the small clumps of flesh.

There was a sinister aura emanating from the ugly carving of the symbol etched into the rusted metal.

She rung the bell, and the atmosphere of the room shifted. A darkness flowed down from the bell, like a small waterfall plummeting out a mountain's mouth.

Down the balcony, the darkness encompassed the corpse of a Church Hunter, just as it consumed the surroundings.

The women were also covered by the dark mist, gone from Joseph's eyes.

Alarmed, Jacob aimed his rifle in search of their new enemies, while the Hunters twisted their weapons to enter the second forms. The darkness spread across the room, including blocking the only in and out of the Convent.

The Vicar remained where she was, staring at the silhouette of the corpse from behind the dark mist.

The lead woman's voice stated unperturbed, "I enforce upon my coven my unspoken vow. The protection for that which is precious to one of our own, against the iniquitous efforts of these men's greed. I call upon your essence from the past to the present, my kin. Stir from your desolate slumber, from your sleepless dream."

The bells rung once more, and the silhouette of the Church Hunter's corpse soon arose from within the mist, not unlike their smaller more angelic counterparts, the shape shifting and smoothing into something leaner, smaller than the alterations made by Saint Matilda. It soon began to walk through the darkness towards them.

"Through this corporeal form shall you defend your heart."

Emerging from the mist was a familiar face. The tawny brown complexion, small healed cuts littered across her face from fights long ago, though fewer in quantity unlike from last he saw her. The dark blue of her formal leather-layered coat covered the dark vest and white frilled blouse, adorned with a cravat.

Joseph noticed how young she looked, the expression on her face without the calm neutrality he had been accustomed to before she fell into a dreadful coma, instead replaced with an emotion he recognized within John.

Wrath. Directed at us.

He realized that her irises held no shine of silver, the indication of someone who had become enlightened, who become an other to everyone... no, they were a dull grey. She looked human.

The brothers soon realized they were not the only ones who recognized who this was, as the Hunter's froze; in fear? Shock? He couldn't tell.

He did see how his former sister stared at the woman. There was a longing there, a pang in her heart as the other approached past the Vicar.

She expertly spun her twin blade around, dragging one blade across the ground between herself and the Vicar, the same darkness she emerged from summoned once more to cover a veil of it on to Faith.

No one could see the Vicar anymore, but the more pressing matter was the scowling and sneering ghost enraged by their very presence.

"Through this corporeal form, shall you vanquish these fiendish intruders."

She pointed her the end of her blade at Joseph himself, glare calling for his blood.

"Welcome back from beyond the great consciousness, Elite Hunter."

She split her twin blade in two, twirled her weapons in both hands, and in a few blinks, Joseph saw her in the air, blades crossing as they cut down on their target.

"Silva Omar."

Joseph could only recall a great pain across his chest and the shouts of his brothers before he fell unconscious.

[the-pen-pot]

Merthur Fic Ideas & WiPs

So I have a Merlin fic ideas page over on Patreon but obviously I can't link direct to that from AO3. So I'm popping one on here so you all know what's incoming/in the works/rattling around in my brain.

Coming to AO3 September 29th 2024

The Water and the Wilds:

'Magic is as much part of nature as the earth, sea and sky. Other sorcerers who sought out the circle found that their power developed certain affinities. Their abilities became tied to the cycle of the year. There would be one season at which their power was at its peak and another where it lay almost dormant. They became more closely connected to the natural ebb and flow of the world.'

'But?'

'But they were not Emrys. His strength is beyond anything in living memory, and the heights he could reach are, as yet, unknown.' Aglain spread his hands, his shoulders rolling in a graceful shrug. 'I can only tell you that the Tir Na Lei means no harm. Three is the number: the ritual is set. The circle will not call on Emrys again.'

______

In a Camelot where Arthur is king and magic is permitted once more, Merlin's power begins to change. Can he and Arthur overcome the challenges thrown their way, or will their relationship be forever changed by the ordeal?

(Approx 50 k in length, rated E)

If you want to read what else is in-progress, check out below!

Works In Progress

(All drafts are currently available over on Patreon - first chapter free to read. The rest are available to patrons in the $5 tier and up. They WILL become available on AO3 eventually. See bio or pinned post for link if you're interested ♥)

King and Court - 24 chapters currently drafted and available on Patreon - this one will begin updating on AO3 next as it's the one I've written most of.

Summary: Loneliness is an insidious thing. When Merlin looks at Arthur, he sees not just a prince waiting for his time to rule, but a young man struggling to find his place in the world, with little help from anyone else.

The truth is, Arthur needs more than the friendship Merlin can offer. He needs people he can trust: men and women who will become his court and his confidants, and if he is going to survive to take the throne and lead Camelot into its golden age, he needs them sooner rather than later.

Finding loopholes in Uther’s laws is no easy feat. Court life is a dangerous game, but it’s one Merlin has every intention of winning so that Arthur can have knights of his choosing by his side.

And then there is the matter of his magic…

(In my head this is basically entitled *~shenanigans, love and a golden age~*. Canon divergent AU)

Love Is Never Lost - 11 chapters currently drafted and available on Patreon.

Summary: Uther Pendragon has never approved of Arthur’s friendship with Merlin. There had been disappointed sighs and whispered warnings, but Arthur had never thought it would come to this: scars on Merlin’s back and a manservant made hollow and thin by cruelty.

Yet Uther’s efforts to drive a wedge between them instead bring Merlin’s greatest secret to light, and once the wound of secrecy has been purged, their healing brings them closer together than ever before.

Much to Uther Pendragon’s horror.

When Merlin disappears, Arthur is left questioning the true honour of the crown and the value of a kingdom forever stained by his father’s tyranny. Will he answer the call of duty, or will he sacrifice everything to chase the cries of his heart?

Tags will include: magic reveal, corporal punishment, slavery themes (and all that may imply), missing presumed dead, good Morgana, Arthur's POV, slow burn, dreamwalking, happily ever after eventually plus whatever else shows up as I write these!

Sigh No More - 7 chapters drafted on Patreon. This fic is my beloved. My baby. I'm obsessed. Fantasy Age-Of-Sail AU

Summary: Prince Arthur Pendragon, Captain of the Llamrei, would far rather spend his days patrolling Camelot's Waters than assume his place on the throne. Yet when he finds the wreckage of a vast ship and one lone survivor on board, nothing can prepare him for the path his life will lead.

Nor the demands his heart will make.

Hiraeth Ideas

Additions to the Hiraeth universe ideas : Just some little bulletpoints to remind me about things I would love to add to the Hiraeth verse once it's actually done.

Gwaine vs. a lemon

Merlin gets flu (my biologist heart wants to explore Merlin's immune system vs. Camelot germs plus no modern drugs. Excellent hurt/comfort opportunity - not that Hiraeth really needs more of that.)

Merlin "tormenting" Arthur via the bond (Explicit,  definitely)

Merlin shows Arthur (and others?) modern London.

The knights of Camelot at the zoo (sort of)

Maps/globes/celestial bodies knowledge

💀 Agravaine 💀

The one with the eclipse (some king and his sorcerer are trying to show off said sorcerer's power. There just so happens to be an eclipse.They know what it is so Merlin cannot claim credit, but he totally fucks with them anyway.)

Non-Hiraeth ideas

Magic Reveal Via Time-Travel  (Added June 2024)

Merlin and the knights get themselves into some kind of dire situation. Merlin, in a panic and realising he's not strong or knowledgable enough to save them, pretty much demands that the universe in general sends someone who can help.

What actually happens is he gets flung five years into the future, and his future self (who is more capable, among other things) takes his place. He sorts out the dire situation, whatever it may be, and that leaves Arthur and the others with future!Merlin, who is not only very magically capable but 100% their Merlin with lots more confidence, as irreverent as ever, and unmistakably thrumming with magic. They can all feel it, because Merlin makes no effort to hide.

More to the point future!Merlin remembers this from the other side, when he was younger and the same thing happened. He knows this is when the others find out about his magic, and he is able to answer their questions and emotional responses calmly and rationally, because he already knows Arthur isn't going to kill him or hate him or anything.

(Quite the opposite, in fact, since he's having to hide the fact that Arthur's ring is currently gleaming on his finger. He is grateful, at least, that he wasn't a. Pulled naked out of the bath for this magical meeting or b. wearing his crown, which would have been hard to explain without breaking Arthur's tiny brain.)

Meanwhile, young!Merlin is in Camelot, five years in the future, and Arthur and the others are a bit older, a (very little bit) wiser, and are also doing a brilliant job of calming him down and letting him know everything will be all right. And actually showing him the golden age they achieve -- that it's not impossible and out of reach.

Possibly a long four parter from young!Merlin, young!Arthur, older!Merlin and older!Arthur's points of view. Assuming I can write it without being confusing 🤣

Merlin's Voice - possibly a bit dark

My desire to put Merlin inhurt/comfort situations knows no bounds, but this one actually stems from the fact that Merlin doesn't remember the hug after he's been missing in Servant of Two masters and I'm weak for Arthur being a worried angsty little lamb about his missing manservant.

I'd probably go AU and make Morgana good, with Merlin's magic being known, and just have Morgause basically taking Morgana's place, except she and Agravaine are trying to get information about Camelot's weaknesses, and who better to lean on than Arthur's idiot manservant.

Cue Merlin being missing for days, Arthur panicking, Agravaine being dismissive as usual, and Morgause growing increasingly frustrated at the fact that she cannot get anything of note out of Merlin.

In the end, she tries a spell to force him to speak, except that Merlin is so fiercely determined not to betray Camelot and Arthur that his own magic takes the spell and twists it, forging it into a spell of silence instead.

Morgause gets cruel in her frustration, but eventually, Merlin manages to escape and head back for Camelot. It's no easy journey, and more to the point, the spell silencing him will not come off. No matter how hard he tries. He was so determined not to say anything that his magic went overboard in an effort to meet his intent.

I want to write that hug so Merlin remembers it. I want to have Arthur initially teasing about the silence but getting increasinlgy distressed by it. I want the realisation that Merlin is so incredibly expressive that the others rarely need him to write what he wants to say, they can get the gist of it from just a look.

It's one of those ones with ~vibes~  I want to explore, but I have no idea how it ends.

The "Back To The Start" One

So I made this post on Tumblr and it did numbers (I was thinking 4 people would "hell yes" me, not 2000 +)

"Not me sitting here thinking about writing a fic where we start with Arthur dying in Merlin's arms after Camlaan and it's all tragedy and then the magic rises and they both end up back at that first day, in the marketplace, Merlin with "How long have you been training to be a prat, my lord?" dying on his lips as they stare at each other, fascinated, horrified, so fucking relieved because they both remember ALL of it and none of it's happened yet and this time they can maybe make it to a different, better ending.

And they can do it together."

BUT TO EXPAND

I want to explore how Arthur and Merlin would interact with each other having lived in one another's pockets for ten years, only to be sent right back to the beginning, while retaining everything they are to each other. Merlin's magic newly revealed from the confession by the lakeside. The two of them standing there with every mistake in their future rather than their past and realising that maybe "two sides of the same coin" means "you need to work together, dumbass".

I want the two of them shocked by how young the other is. How different Camelot seems from what they're used to. How harsh Uther looks now that they know it can be different (though not as different as it should be, Arthur realises.) I want them correcting their mistakes (and each other's mistakes) and taking all that they know of each other and rebuilding their relationship (all their relationships, actually) on that honesty.

And the others don't remember. Morgana is still Morgana, still struggling, but still hoping to be saved. Mordred's just a boy.  Lancelot never sacrificed himself and it's so clear in Arthur's eyes that Gwen loved them both but that she loved Lancelot first and in a different way.

The knights end up at Camelot earlier simply because Arthur and Merlin set out to find them earlier. 

("We need Gwaine." "Do we? Really?" "Yes, you great prat. Come on.")

And so much more.

The "Fake Favourite" One 

This is basically me having a desperate urge to write all the political whatevers of Arthur taking Merlin as a favourite, smashed together with a fake dating AU.

Basic premise is simple: in an effort to avoid the latest princess eyeing up his hand for marriage (and with Uther's blessing, because it suits him for now to put off marrying Arthur to someone) Arthur decides that he will pretend Merlin is his lover and favourite. They spend all their time together anyway, and half the court rumour already appears to think they sleep together, so it will hardly be any change to either of them.

Except all Arthur has to do is say the words to make it happen, but there's a lot more to being a favourite than that. Merlin can't continue to serve him, and then there's the whole situation of a new wardrobe (which Merlin and his magic both fight against) the political wheeling and dealing that comes with a servant being elevated in status, not to mention the subtle ways in which the court first tries to manipulate Merlin, and then is manipulated by him in turn (for the good of Camelot)

What starts out as Arthur aggressively but jokingly courting Merlin (because Merlin said he was bad at it) ends up much closer to *actual* courting.

And no, Merlin cannot sleep in the antechamber, because the chambermaids will notice they're not sharing a bed.

(This basically would end up being a story about Merlin no longer being a servant but becoming a valued member of the court almost by accident (but being very good at it) and the two fools falling helplessly in love with each other while they pretend to be lovers.)

Morgana, Gwen and the knights would be placing ridiculous bets and generally watching it all with disbelieving horror and delight because only these two idiots could make falling in love so complicated.

The "Stuck In Close Quarters" One 

Merlin and Arthur trapped underground in VERY close proximity (like lying on top of each other) and running out of air and Merlin’s magic is too weak (thanks to a battle maybe) to get them out but he can replenish the air but there is no way Arthur won’t notice.

Cue a magic reveal in close quarters and love confessions.

The Horn of Cathbad one

Merlin dies and due to some glitchiness with his magic, he doesn’t immediately come back. Instead, Arthur, in the freshness of his grief, reaches for magic.

He uses the Horn of Cathbhad to see Merlin again, knowing that if he summons Merlin’s ghost and looks back, then Merlin will stay. (Maybe Gaius warns him - but he doesn’t take it as a warning, but a blessing.)

And Merlin answers, and Arthur doesn’t dismiss his ghost. There are ghostly shenanigans and while it’s not the same as having his friend back, it helps. He doesn’t really have to grieve.

Except that Merlin’s spirit starts to become restless and angry, and it reaches the point where Merlin is *begging* Arthur to let him go. He doesn’t know about his immortality but something is pulling at him.

And Arthur finds the strength to let him go and it’s like losing him all over again.

And then, of course, Merlin comes back ❤️

Blind Merlin One

Arthur and co. suspect Merlin has magic but haven't spoken of it to him yet. While out on patrol, Merlin takes a curse meant for Arthur, one that effectively blinds him until "you see the truth". Arthur thinks it's about the magic and it dredges all that out into the open, but the curse doesn't leave. Merlin quickly adapts to using magic to "see" (in a manner of speaking) and keeps his eyes covered to hide their glow.

Of course, Arthur's threatened about Merlin's vulnerability and baffled about the curse etc. It turns out that the truth they need to see is how they feel for each other. Angst/hurt/comfort/fluff because I can.

Omegaverse One (Maybe a series? Sort of tempted to try out some MPreg)

Well off my normal beaten path, but I keep what-iffing it so I'm writing it down here (and will totally draw on some of the mechanics and plot points of Gilded Cage)

Not all magic users are Omegas, but all Omegas have magic, which means Merlin has more than one secret to keep, and he keeps it well. It "helps" that when he presented in Ealdor, one of the Alphas in the village attacked and bit him, forming enough of a bond to stabilise his biochemistry before he managed to escape. It was that incident that pushed him and Hunith into making him go to Camelot.

Merlin successfully hides what he is for years, thinking he's safe, but the Alpha who bit him never stops looking for him. The Alpha eventually tracks him down, threatens Merlin etc., but gets killed in a tavern brawl before he can make good on his threats. That, in turn, breaks the bond that's been keeping Merlin stable and able to pass, in general, as a beta.

Cue it all going a little bit to hell because Arthur thought he knew everything about Merlin and it turns out he really didn't, and now his irritating and attractive beta manservant who always smelled good is an irritating, attractive, sorcerous omega manservant who smells amazing... etc.

(and maybe this one sounded a lot better in my head? There's a whole heap of nuance I'm not putting down - but it's a possible future Merlin fic.)

Different curse fic

A sorcerer curses Arthur with magic in order to make the Pendragon heir everything that the king hates. He wants to see if he is a hypocrite who will spare his sorcerous son, or a tyrant who will damn the ties of blood and execute him.

Cue Arthur frantically trying to hide the fact that he has magic from everyone, including Merlin, except that's fantastically unsuccessful because Merlin has magic, knows magic, *is* magic.

Then you've got Merlin desperately trying to hide the fact that Arthur had magic from the court while concealing that *he* has magic from Arthur. He very small and tired and stressed about it.

But the upshot is that Arthur has a better understanding of magic - how it is not, in itself, bad or corrupt - and because his magic has no chill and absolutely adores Merlin it acts as the pivotal point that brings out all their secrets (and desire)

The Lancelot and a dead body one -probably shortish.

This is more a scene that anything, but I keep thinking of how to expand it a bit better (I did a text chat thing on tumblr about this plot bunny I need to write it one day)

Arthur and all the knights are in an antechamber off the armoury after an evening training session. The door is ajar. They hear Lancelot come in and Gwaine's about to call out to him when Merlin stumbles through the door.

'I need your help burying a body!'

And Lancelot doesn't squawk or demand answers but just says, in a "so done with this shit" voice: 'Again?'

Meanwhile Arthur and the others are like "What the hell?" and follow Merlin and Lancelot out towards the border of the Darkling Woods where there is a huge and very dead monster just.... lying there.

Then we have Merlin making desperate and really bad excuses, which Arthur would be more willing to pretend he believed if Merlin wasn't bloodied and swaying where he stood and also had flowers blooming around his feet, because Merlin used a lot of magic to take this thing down and it's kind of leaking a bit.

And then we go on from there with the knights spending all night trying to dig a big enough hole and asking questions and all that, and Merlin being too tired and beaten up to really put them off - and then I end it somehow. (I did say this was just a scene!)

[slytherinlives]

First Line Tag Game!

Thank you to @holdmymallowsweet for the tag! (Sorry it took me so long to join in.)

The rules are to post the first lines of 10 of your fics/wips. (Or however many you have) - (I have nearly 40 so I think I'll stick to 10 haha)

(All fics will be color coded: Explicit, Mature, Teen, Gen)

⫘⫘⫘ˎˊ˗ ·˖✶ ☽ ☼ ☾ ✶˖· ˗ˏˋ⫘⫘⫘

I Hold You Close (But I Want More) - (Sebinis)

"Romance. It was something Ominis often wondered about, especially now that he had come of age."

Growing Pains - (Sebinis)

"Sebastian always thought his life would turn out differently than this. He used to have plans for the future and his life and where he would be. But just like the seasons, things can change."

Tell Myself I Wouldn't Feel Things (If I Labeled Us Whatever) - (Sebinis)

"Sebastian Sallow was tucked away in his favorite corner of the library with the hood of his jacket pulled over his head, trying to take a small nap before his next class."

Open Yourself Up To Me And Surrender - (Sebinis)

"He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment the realization hit him. Maybe it was when he was running around the yard with his niece and nephew and having to stop and catch his breath more often than before."

Summer In Feldcroft - (baby Sebinis)

"His first year at Hogwarts went better than expected for Ominis. Being sorted into Slytherin house wasn't a surprise, the talking hat making the decision with a grumbled, 'ah, another Gaunt. I know just where to put you' before declaring his new home to the entire school."

You're The Air That I Breathe (It Burns Way Down Deep) - (Sebinis)

"Sebastian walked into the three broomsticks with an extra weight in his pocket and overwhelming excitement. He had big plans this evening."

Under The Mistletoe - (Sebinis)

"The cottage was quiet. Nothing but the crackling of wood in the fireplace to fill the silence. Ominis woke up a while ago, not really sure he truly fell asleep at all."

The Greatest 'What If' - (Weaslow)

"It was cold, loud and worst of all, snowing. Sebastian didn't know why he was here to begin with. He found watching Quidditch to be a bit boring and would much rather be inside, curled next to a warm fire reading a book."

Side Effects - (Sebastian x MC)

" "Come on we're going to be late! Wouldn't want to set a bad example to the first years as prefect now would you?"  Kathryn grinned at Poppy Sweeting's tease as she continued to button up her checkered vest before reaching to grab the golden shield pin from her vanity to securely place it on the collar of her robe."

I Feel Nothing For You - (Sebastian x whoever/ breakup fic)

"The water pouring from the tap was cold enough to cut off Sebastian's blood flow. His breaths coming in heaving gasps as he diligently scrubbed his skin, desperate to remove the lingering touches and their scent. As if he could get underneath and wash away their memory."

⫘⫘⫘ˎˊ˗ ·˖✶ ☽ ☼ ☾ ✶˖· ˗ˏˋ⫘⫘⫘

This was a fun game, and it was a little hard trying to choose which fics to use. I decided to choose from already published/mostly complete fics instead of wips since idk when I'll get any of those out.

But this definitely reminded me to focus more on trying to complete more stories and maybe focus more on one's I've neglected for far too long.

Thank you again to Mallow for the tag!

(I can't think of anyone to tag, since I think everyone I know has already been tagged and anyone else I can think of aren't active much anymore. So if you see this and would like to play, consider yourself tagged!)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

compos mentis 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, chronic health issues, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a long court case, your mother stays attached to her lawyer, bringing even more contention into your life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: ookay here we go with this guy.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The restaurant is buzzing with voices. It adds the disorienting ripple in your head. It feels like there’s something crawling over your scalp as you try to blink away the haziness. It’s just fatigue. That never goes away, only ebbs and flows. 

You sit on the leather cushion of the curled bench. The booth is lit by a small chandelier hanging above and the plucking of strings strums under the drone of patrons. The sconces against the wall are blurry and bright and the people all around are merely shadows. 

The server appears and doles out the food. You got the butternut squash soup with a French bread roll. With the weather turning chill, it sounded delicious. Besides, you don’t have the stomach for anything heavy. 

You glance over at Andy’s thick sirloin and your mother’s glazed chicken. Your hunger roars in your stomach. You shakily unwrap the cutlery from the cloth napkin and thank the server as your mother taps her glass. The man, in his pressed white shirt, smiles and pours her some more. Andy clicks his tongue but says nothing. 

“Anyone else?” The server offers. 

“We’re good,” Andy answers for both of you. 

You could laugh, if you had the energy. Anyone would look at you and know you shouldn’t be indulging. No, you have your lemon water and that’s good enough. 

“This looks delicious,” your mother chirps and takes a gulp of chardonnay, a hum at the flavour. “Oh, that is divine too.” 

“I hope you enjoy. Both of you,” Andy says. “I know you had a busy day.” 

His elbow touches yours, almost as if it’s intentionally. You look at his shoulder but no higher. You steady the spoon over the bowl and dip it into the soup. You lean forward to taste as your mouth jabs into one of the slices of grilled chicken. 

“Mm, the maple is nice but a bit much,” she complains after a sampling. 

Andy exhales slowly, measuring his breath as if to conceal his sigh. It’s strange. He seems annoyed by your mother more often than not and yet he takes her out for dinner and got her that fancy ring. You don’t understand relationships. Not past the shallow ones written onto the screen. You probably won’t ever know the real thing. 

You rest your spoon on the wide brim and take a piece of the bread. It’s still warm and it smells wonderful. You pinch off a morsel and dip it into the creamy broth. You nibble on it, resisting the urge to shovel it down. 

“You sure the soup’s enough?” Andy asks. Again. He questioned you when you ordered an appetizer over and entree. He even offered to get an appetizer for the table instead. 

“Oh, sweetie,” your mother swallows around her words. “You know she doesn’t eat very much. Her stomach is so sensitive. And look, that’s such a lot of soup. She probably won’t even finish the bread.” 

You nod. You could gobble it all down but you know better. You’ve been sick before from letting your appetite deceive your mind. She’s right. You’ll be full soon enough. Your stomach always starts to ache after a few bites. 

“Ah, sorry. I don’t mean to pester. I just want to make sure you have everything you like. If you wanted a piece of my steak, I think there’s a lot more than I need here,” he chuckles and cuts into the sirloin. 

“Oh, she can’t have red meat. Too heavy for her,” your mother tuts. “Really, Andrew, you are so sweet to offer though.” 

“Yes, thanks,” you murmur as you squish bread between your fingers. You’re suddenly very conscious of every bite you take. 

“So, any more doctor’s appointments?” He asks. “I could come along next time? Since we’re gonna be one big family. I’d like to help out if I can. All this work shouldn’t be on you, Danica.” 

“Oh, my,” your mother slurps more wine. “You really are a dream,” she touches his sleeve. “That would be wonderful. Nothing this week though. Just next month but she does need her script filled. If you don’t mind getting that, it would be a great help.” 

You want to shrink into a speck of dust. You hate it. You’re rarely ever included in conversation. Not for real. You’re only ever the topic of discussion, like you’re not even there. 

“Mom, I told you,” you insist and wipe soup from your oxygen tube. “I can go get it. It isn’t very far.” 

“No, no, no. I told you before. You cannot take the bus. It’s absolutely out of the question. You could get caught on something or worse, you could fall.” 

“Hm, that’s... she’s an adult, Danica, if she wanted to--” 

“Andrew, you don’t know the risks. I do.” 

He opens his mouth then shuts it. His lips thin as he holds back his retort. He saws into the steak. 

“Well,” he looks at you, “if you’d like to come along, I can always drive you.” 

“I can just do it myself,” your mom insists sharply. 

“Relax,” he warns. “She wants to do it herself, she can. She’s not entirely helpless, is she?” 

You chew your lip. Your mother has that look. The dangerous one. Andy’s never seen what it can truly lead to. 

“Whatever is less trouble,” you utter and focus on your soup. “Sorry.” 

“Sorry for what?” Andy challenges, “you did nothing.” 

You nod and take another spoonful. It’s really good but you can’t truly enjoy it. You just want to go home. Away from these strangers. Home where you can be alone. Where you can put some walls between you and your mom. You know you’ve already ruined her night just by being there. 

🩷

Your mother almost finishes the bottle. That’s not unusual but since she met Andy, it’s less frequent. As you leave the restaurant, she’s leaning heavily on him, her heels click unevenly as one shoe keeps slipping loose. You follow, clutching tight the handle of your tank. 

You stop by the SUV as your mother purrs and wraps her arm around Andy. She squeezes his butt and you look away, slowing as you try not to intrude. He flinches and pushes her away, clearing his throat. 

“Danica,” he girds quietly, “please, not here. You’re drunk.” 

“I’m not, I feel good,” she slurs. 

Embarrassment scalds across your chest and down your spine. You never wanted anyone else to see her like this. You know it’s not her fault. It’s yours. She’s stressed from taking care of you and gets a little carried away trying to unwind. 

“You’re all over,” Andy gets her to the passenger door as she staggers clumsily, “come on.” 

He angles her around with one arm around her back and opens the door. He gets her into the seat as she giggles and her hand flutters down his shirt. He pulls away as he catches her hand before she can get any lower. You linger by the back of the car and act like you’re not watching. 

He mutters but you can’t make out his words. He clicks the seat belt around your mom and slams the door. You wince and the wheel of your tank squeaks. He sighs and his shadow turns to you. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he opens the backdoor, “come on. I’ll get you two home.” 

You nod and come forward, head and shoulders down. “Thanks,” you drag your tank with you, “sorry.” 

“Sorry, for?” He wonders. 

You sniff and shake your head. You don’t know how to answer. How do you explain the truth to him?

“Here,” he reaches for your tank as you say nothing. “Let me help.” 

You have to keep from crying out and reach to shove him away. You’re overly protective. You have to be. That’s what keeps you going and you’re just not used to other people touching it. He lifts it as he nudges you gently. 

You grab the side of the door and haul yourself up. You heave as you fall into the seat, light-head and he fits the tank in in front of you. He reluctantly lets it go and tickles your knee. 

“You okay?” He asks. 

You watch his hand. You nod and grab the seat belt, “fine.” 

“Hmm, I should probably look into some more accessible, huh?” 

“No, no,” you protest weakly. “I manage.” 

“Well, sweetheart, you shouldn’t have to just manage. You should be comfortable. That’s why I took your case.” He brings his hand up and surprises you as he brushes your cheek. You twitch. “You like dinner?” 

“Yes, sir,” you answer and flatten yourself to the seat. “Thank you.” 

He hums and tickles your skin before he recoils. He draws back and grabs the door. He gently shuts it as his eyes cling to you. Your heart is racing. You’re breathless yet that isn’t so unusual. 

He gets in the front seat and your mother babbles and reaches for him again. He swats her back and starts the car. She mutters and slumps into the door. 

“Danica,” he says. She doesn’t respond. He repeats it louder. She snorts. He curses under his breath. You’re happy she passed out, it’s worse when she doesn’t. 

You sit in silence as Andy backs out of the space. He looms rigidly as you shrink as small as you can. Usually, he’s nice. He has this way about him that you assume comes from being a lawyer. He makes himself approachable. But not right now. He’s agitated. You can feel it fuming off of him. 

“I’m sorry,” you eke out as the tension strangles you. 

“You don’t need to apologise for her,” he insists with another sigh. 

“But... she drinks because of me. I know.” You say. “Because I’m sick.” 

He clucks and squeezes the wheel tighter. “No, that’s a bad excuse. She’s an adult.” 

You don’t argue. There’s no reason too. For once, someone isn’t blaming you. Besides, how far did it ever get you. 

He drives on and you turn to watch the dark buildings pass outside the window. The moon is a sliver above and the stars a speckle around the wisps of clouds. You stare up into the expanse, admiring the streaks of dark blue, black, and grey. 

As the car slows, you tear your eyes from the sky. You blink in confusion. You’re not at your house, but Andy’s. You’ve been there once before.  

He shuts the engine off then sits back and spreads his hand across his forehead, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I just realised I’m at the wrong house.” 

You stay silent. You thought your mom was asleep. He turns to look at you as he flicks on the compartment light. You squint at the sudden brightness. He means you. 

“Do you need anything at your house?” He asks. “Medicine or...” 

“It’s... in my pack,” you touch the belt bag across your stomach. “Tank’s mostly full.” 

He nods and looks you over, “I’m sorry. It’s been a long night. You don’t mind the guest room?” 

You shake your head. You don’t want to make his life any harder. And he should apologise to you. No one does that. They don’t owe you that. 

“Alright, again, I know it’s not easy for you. Probably a lot cozier at home,” he turns straight and shuts off the light. “Let me get your mom inside.” 

He unbuckles his seat belt and his keys jingle as he opens his door. You click the button on your belt and pull the handle. You push outward and the door is pulled from the other side. Andy appears in front of you. He helps get your tank to the ground and offers his hand. 

You don’t want to be rude so you let him help you down. You wheel around your tank as he shuts the door, the opens the passenger side. He ducks into the car and drags your mom out. He stands straight and shuts the door with his elbow. 

“Sorry to ask but could you unlock the door? Code is...” he gives you the numbers and you blink as you try to keep track of them. 

“Okay,” you nod and shuffle past him as he waits. You go up the walk and lift your tank up the low stone steps. You’re overly aware of him behind you. 

You get to the door and stare at the keypad. As you enter the numbers, you realise they’re familiar. It must be a coincidence. In a certain format, they would denote your birthday. The pad flashes green and the door clicks. 

You push down the lever and step back out of the way. 

“Go on,” he nods. 

“No, it’s okay,” you say. “Mom needs to lay down.” 

He looks down at the woman in his arms then at you. Even in the dark, you see his disappointment. Again, you can’t help but wonder why he puts up with her. You have no choice, as she has no choice in taking care of you, but he does. 

“You’re a good daughter,” he says as he slowly steps past you. 

You trail after him, your tank bouncing through the door, and you shut it behind you. You stand on the mat and roll your wheels back and forth, trying to get the excess dirty from them. Then you sit to take off your shoes. 

“You can turn on a light,” Andy chuckles as his shadow looms over you.  

You stare up at his silhouette. He’s close. He must not realise it in the dark. You turn and flip the switch.  

He smiles as he keeps a hold of your mom, “I’ll put her on the couch for now,” he says, “then I’ll get you settled.” 

You nod and bend to move your shoes onto the rack. You don’t look up again. You’re hot. Very hot, even though cool air flows from the vent just across from you. It’s just because you’re used to being at home. That’s it. 

[adrift-in-thyme]

I've got so many wips rn and what do I do? Start something new. I'm hopeless. But how am I supposed to resist the chance to write more fairy Time? ;)

CW for blood and injury

----------------------------------------------------------------

He drags himself to the fountain.

The battle would have been difficult for nine heroes. For one — even one as experienced as himself — it had been nearly impossible. A fight hardly even worthy of being called a battle. 

No, Time thinks, grim and dizzy, as he digs his fingers into the dirt and attempts to sit up, it had been a pathetic struggle at best. He had barely escaped with his life. 

The Shadow, it seems, has a vendetta against him. Not that he doesn’t have one toward all of the Links, but…

Time’s efforts land him back on the ground, shuddering as wet coughs tear through him. 

…but it had felt like something beyond his usual distaste for the Heroes of Hyrule. As he had poured monster after monster through those cursed portals, as he had attacked with a sneer on his lips and a glint in his eyes, it had felt personal.

Perhaps, that is not so surprising. 

Wavering, Time grits his teeth. Blood trails down his chin. Its warmth is in stark contrast with the icy chill that has taken root in his bones. 

The Shadow’s sentiments hardly matter right now. It is not as though he could decipher them correctly if he wanted to. 

His thoughts are scattered and panicked, his body failing, his vision going gray. He is mere inches away from salvation, from safety, and his time is running out. 

Another stab of pain imprisons him in its steely grip. A muffled cry breaks through his tightly closed lips. His vision whites out for a moment, before returning fuzzy and distorted. 

Desperately, he reaches out. Trembling fingers slip, slick with blood and monster gore. He collapses with a small splash. 

The effect of the sacred water is instant. A ripple of magic runs through him, warm like a blanket and sweet like the sugar water he offers in hopes of regaining his fairy. In the next second, wings unfold from his back, his body shrinking to fit them.  

He slips fully into the embrace of the shallow waters. 

Time ends up on his side, liquid seeping in through the chinks in his armor and beading upon his wings. He blinks, slow and agonizing, trying to drag himself back to some semblance of awareness. But whatever delirious strength had born him here has fled and taken everything with it.

The water flows around him, glittering and cool. Gently, it soothes his injuries, carefully, it numbs them. But it’s not enough. He knows that now.

This fountain has been weakened. This fountain has no fairies left — save for himself — to imbue it with blessed strength.

No doubt, the monsters have driven them away. He can feel their distress, can imagine their flight, away from here and the encroaching darkness of evil and night.

Time gazes at the surrounding trees. They are mere shadows now, hazy and grayish. Twilight is long gone, bringing with it its brilliant purples and pinks and oranges. Storm clouds cloak the usual speckling of stars and block out the dismal light of the moon.

Not that Time minds that. Without its depressive glare, he feels calmer. 

If he has to fade away, he would rather do so beneath an angry sky, curled in the fountains that have always been his haven, in the form he feels most comfortable in. The form he cannot comprehend, yet treasures all the same. 

The waters turn black with his blood, feathery wisps of it floating out and away from him. He watches it with disinterest. Everything feels far away now. Even his need to survive, to return to Malon. 

He tries to grasp for it, to bring it back to the forefront of his mind. But his efforts are for naught. And what good would it do him anyway? He is too weak to move. He spent his remaining energy on the desperate gamble of stumbling here. Hoping, praying that the magic he felt calling him was still active. Was still alive.

Something rustles in the bushes. A creature, most likely, scampering about, unperturbed by his wavering presence. He is so small now he would be surprised if anyone could see him. Or hear him.  

His blood, however, is another matter altogether. Who knows what beasts have tracked the scent? 

He shifts slightly and a groan slips out before he can stop it. It doesn’t matter though. Whatever horrors seek him cannot measure up to the pain he is already enduring. The Shadow has the power to turn one’s own body against them. No wolf or bear has that ability.  

Something large and dark emerges from the shadowy foliage. Piercing blue eyes glare into his. Time tries to focus on them, tries to decipher their strange familiarity. But the world seems off-kilter, pain turns everything distant. 

I’m sorry, Malon. He thinks as the form moves toward him, looking to his fading eye almost like the clouds that hover above them. I’m sorry that I broke my promise.

And pup…I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.

“Time?” He hears the voice from very, very far away, growled more than spoken, a rumble like thunder before a downpour of rain. It cracks at the end, splintering like his bones when the Shadow had swung his sword too high, too fast for him to evade.

Time wants to drag himself up, wants to comfort this being he is certain he knows. But he lacks the strength to so much as raise a finger. 

And when he is lifted with a gentleness he cannot comprehend, when something soft and warm envelopes him, something that murmurs, “safe” in tones he knows — he doesn’t even attempt to break free.

If this is death, it is wonderful. ---------------------------------

He must lose himself soon after that. Because when he opens his eye it is an act of awakening, surfacing from the unfeeling deep. 

Time stirs, sighing as that same warmth of before embraces him. The pain that had torn him apart has dulled greatly, leaving behind only a ghost of what it once was. And though he isn’t certain why it’s gone — or even if that is a good omen or bad one — he can’t truly bring himself to care. 

He is comfortable here, drifting in this haze of dark, and he doesn’t want to disturb it. It has been so long since he felt like this (perhaps, since the start of the heroes’ journey). It has been so long since he slept, actually slept. 

“Old man?”

Something damp and cool nudges at him. His bed of plush fur (fur? His mind questions blearily) quivers at the movement. 

“Hey, old man. Can you hear me?” 

Time hums, a low sound that grates on his abused throat. 

A sigh of relief. His sanctuary shifts again. 

“Thank Hylia. I thought we’d…I thought…”

Time frowns. There it is again — that voice he knows, usually so strong and joyful, not shattered like broken panes of glass. The voice that ignites something in him, a protective instinct as strong as he feels toward Malon. The voice that reminds him of their love and the miracle that will come of it.

Reluctantly, he drags his eye open. 

At first, he can make out very little. But a few blinks and his vision clears enough that he can see the thick gray fur that surrounds him. He is nestled on Twilight’s back, he realizes, sluggishly, situated so his pup can keep an eye on him, even reach him if he cranes his neck. 

Those crystal blue orbs meet his and there is something broken in them. Time has never seen such emotion in a wolf’s eyes before.

“I thought I’d lost you.” 

He shouldn’t be able to understand that sorrowful growl, and yet, Time can hear the words as clear as day. 

That…is a mystery he will decipher later.

“‘M sorry, pup,” he croaks. His wings flutter gently. “‘M sorry.”

Twilight must have found him lying there in his own blood, hardly clinging to life. To have come upon such a sight…

Guilt wells within him. Time swallows against it.

Twilight shakes his proud head. 

“You can’t scare me like that. I can’t even scold ya like you can me.” He narrows his eyes. “Not that that’s gonna stop me from trying.”

Time huffs an attempt at a laugh. “I don’t…don’t doubt that.” He grows somber once more. He feels unconsciousness tugging at him again. But before he falls, he must at least say this. “You saved me. You shouldn’t-shouldn’t have had to. But I thank you for it.”

Twilight gazes at him for a long moment. “Of course. I love you, old man. Malon loves you. I never would’ve left you there. I never even entertained the thought. So, no thanks are necessary.” He cocks his head. “Although, gotta admit I’m a little sore about the fairy secret.”

Time resists the urge to roll his eyes. “You keep your own transformation a secret. Why…why should I not keep mine?”

“Oh, you can keep it from everyone else if you want. Just not from me.”

“What makes you s-so special?”

“I’m your descendant,” Twilight answers drily. “So, how do you do it? This isn’t an after-effect of what they…what happened to you…is it?”

Time shakes his head. “No,” he murmurs, struggling to stay alert. “I’ve always been able to do this.”

Twilight is silent for a moment. Then, “I came across a stray fairy when I was trying to get you back to camp. She was the one who healed you. She called you a child of the fairies. Not ‘brother’ like Hyrule. Their child.”

Time stares dazedly at the shrubbery surrounding them. They have always called him that. Even Tatl had. But hearing it now, from Twilight, raises new questions. Questions he supposes have always been there, hovering in the back of his mind. But that he has never bothered to ponder. 

The quiet stretches and Time can’t decide how to break it. So, he merely lets it be and snuggles deeper into Twilight’s fur, suddenly immeasurably grateful that his descendant’s secondary form is a wolf.

Powerful and gentle in equal parts. It fits his pup well. 

“But never mind that now,” Twilight says, as though sensing Time’s exhaustion. He sighs. “You need your rest. You comfortable up there, old man?”

Time nods. “Soft,” he mumbles, drowsily. 

Twilight nuzzles him again and humor is in the movement.  

“Good. Go to sleep then. I’ll watch over you.” His tone grows serious, unyielding. “Nothing will touch you while I’m here.”

A slight smile lifts the edges of Time’s mouth, even as a voice cries out within him, protesting this display of weakness, this terrible burden he has put on his descendant. But he is so, so tired. Too tired to rise and be the stalwart leader he knows he should be. 

His wings spread flat upon his back, like a shield. Darkness crowds his vision, numbing his thoughts and weighing down his still-sore limbs. 

“Thank you, pup,” he whispers, with what little strength he has left. 

He is gone before he can hear Twilight’s reply.