#writing has commenced

[deadgirlwalking91]

WIP Preview - 'Thou Shalt Not' with @a-dose-of-comatose

“You okay?” Vaggie asked Lute in a low voice as Mandi let herself into the backseat, still chattering away about her post-mass conversation with Father. “You looked a little tense back there.”

“I’m fine,” Lute shoved her hands back in her pockets and sighed, scuffing the ground with her sneaker. “I just got a bit lightheaded, that’s all.”

“Shit, you weren’t kidding when you said you were hungry.” Vaggie opened the passenger door and took her usual place in the car next to Lute. “Hurry up Posh Spice, or Lute’s gonna pass out.”

“If I’m Posh Spice, you’re Scary Spice, Vaggie.” Layla slid into the backseat next to Mandi, who was busy texting away on her phone. “This one here’s Baby Spice, which makes—”

“Lute’s Sporty Spice,” Mandi quipped, throwing her phone onto her lap. “No-brainer.”

“I’m about to become Hangry Spice,” Lute growled, starting the ignition, “if you all don’t shut up and let me drive to the cafe so we can fucking eat.”

For a moment, as she pulled out of the church parking lot, Lute was able to finally shove all thoughts of sexy priests and golden rosaries to the back of her mind. 

Until she saw Father Adam exit the church in her rearview mirror, hands shoved in his trousers pockets and tongue poking the side of his mouth as he listened to a little old lady chatter his ear off.

Lute groaned and stepped down on the accelerator, tyres screeching and friends shrieking as she left him in the dust.

[delinquentkru]

mel refusing to leave whitaker by himself after his first patient died even though robby told them to take a break and the whole thing was triggering her 😔 my sweethearttttttttt

[xaphrin]

“Do you remember when you last slept?”

The question speared through the silence of the room, slicing through the usual calm that slipped between them. Damian's tone was pointed, as if he was trying to gauge her response before determining how angry he should be. 

“No.” Raven sighed and ran her hand through her hair, scowling at the grease that slipped through her fingers. She couldn’t remember the last time she had showered, let alone slept. “Wait. Maybe. Three nights ago?”

Taking a sip of her now-cold coffee with a double shot of espresso, she fell into her usual chair in Damian’s library, tilting her head back to stare at the fresco on the ceiling. In the warm light, fat, happy cherubs smiled down at her, unconcerned of the exhaustion coursing through her veins.

“Raven.” Damian’s voice sounded like a sultry reprimand and a promise of deep sleep all at once, teetering on the edge of being understanding and wanting to spank her. Raven forced back a laugh at that thought. The spanking probably wouldn’t punish her in the way he was hoping.  

He sighed and leveled a hard stare at her from his spot behind his massive desk, pushing his laptop to the side. “You need to rest.” 

“No.” She pulled her head upright and glared at him. He knew exactly why she was running herself ragged. “I need to solve-”

“Raven.” Damian let go of a low, echoing growl - a warning that his patience was thin. “You need to sleep. You can’t keep running yourself ragged, chasing leads that don’t go anywhere.”

“Your reputation is on the line.” She was trying to impress how important this was, but he wasn’t understanding it. 

The air in the room suddenly changed, and Damian stood up and walked over to where she sat. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at her. “You think I care about my reputation, Raven? You think that matters to me?”

“Damian.” She leveled an incredulous stare at him. “Some part of Wayne industries is implicated in whatever this illegal smuggling is. I’m trying to keep you from being implicated too.”

“I will survive this. My reputation is always on the line. It’s on the line when I wear the wrong colored suit to a summer function. It’s on the line when I make a business decision without learning all the facts. It’s part of being who I am, and I’m used to it.” He dropped down to his knees in front of her, resting a hand on her lap. “You, however, will start hallucinating in another few hours.” Damian slid his hand up to her shoulder, pushing her blazer off of her. “Now, since you went to all that trouble to sneak into my house, let's get you undressed and in bed.”

“I…” Raven felt Damian’s warm hand slide up her neck, his thumb sliding into a tense muscle and rubbing a knot free. A soft sigh escaped from between her lips and she leaned into the touch. Maybe giving in wouldn’t be so bad… “A bath. I need a bath.” 

Damian sighed and slipped his arms under her, lifting her up from the chair and pulling her close to his chest. Raven frowned at him. “I’m not some damsel in distress that needs to be babied. I’m a detective, with a gun, I might add.” 

“Humor me.” He huffed in her ear. “You can shoot at me later.” 

He walked her through the quiet dark of Wayne Manor, taking her through the master bedroom to the en suite bathroom. He set her down on the cold, marble tiles and turned on the taps to the bath, filling the room with warm, luxurious steam that smelled faintly of lavender and chamomile. It felt divine, and she hadn’t even touched the water yet. While the bath was filling, Damian stripped her of her clothes, and set her in the frothing water. She sunk deep into the bathtub, letting the bubbles tickle up around her shoulders and neck. 

“How does that feel?” Damian settled behind her outside of the tub, rolling his sleeves back. 

“Better.” She shivered and Damian began to massage shampoo into her hair, his touch lulling her into a space outside of sleep, but still not in the waking world. “I want this to end, Damian… because the sooner it does, then the sooner I feel like maybe I can be… with you. In public. As more than just a detective working on your case.” The admission made her flush, and she opened her eyes to see Damian staring down at her, his face unreadable. 

“Raven, I want that.” He slid his arms around her shoulders, pulling her close to him. “But not if your health comes as an expense. I will wait for this investigation to be completed, and having you run yourself ragged isn’t going to make that happen any sooner.” He rinsed the shampoo from her hair, and tipped her head back to look into her eyes. “So, rest.”

‘You know, that’s rich coming from a man who wanders around Gotham in a bat suit all night.” 

He rolled his eyes but didn’t respond to her dig at him. Instead he let the silence settle over them both, the soft washcloth sliding up and down her skin, lulling her into a state of relaxation. Forcing her eyes open, she stared up at Damian and reached out to grab his arm. “I think… I should get out. And go sleep.” 

A teasing, I-told-you-so smile pulled at his lips, and he kissed her forehead. “Yeah. I think you’re right.” He drained the water and wrapped her in an oversized, fluffy towel drying her off. Damian brought her back to his room, dressing her in one of his undershirts and then tucked her into his bed, pulling the covers up over her. “I’ll let Captain Grayson know that you probably won’t be in tomorrow.”

Her eyes felt heavy and every muscle in her body was fighting to give into that sweet seduction of sleep. Raven shivered and grabbed his arm, pulling him closer to her. “You’ll stay… won’t you?” She wasn’t sure why she felt like she needed him to stay, but the only thing she really knew was that she needed him here with her. She needed to know he was close. 

“Yeah.” Damian lowered himself down next to her, wrapping his arms tight around her chest. “Until you wake up, beloved.” He adjusted to get comfortable, drawing her back into his arms as he kissed her shoulders. “Now, for the love of God, go to sleep.”

Raven was trying to think of a swift, sharp response, but she was already too far gone. Tonight, she’d let him have the last word.

[johnslittlespoon]

Only You Can Cool My Desire

[WC: 6K | Gale Cleven/John Egan, Tough And Sweet AU, Summer, Heatwaves, Ice Play, Blow Jobs, Light Dom/Sub, Teasing, Orgasm Delay]

“Gale,” John gets out, wriggling where he’s trapped beneath Gale’s arms. “I’m cooled down, please, can you–”

His plea breaks off into a curse when Gale lets the ice cube in his palm slide onto John’s stomach, watching as it settles in the dip of his belly button, John’s skin so fever–hot that Gale can immediately see the smallest pool of water beginning to form.

“You’ve been whining about being hot all week,” Gale says, pressing his lips to John’s thigh, feeling the muscle twitch at his touch. “I’m just helpin’ you out.”

[AO3 LINK]

[worthyheir]

Or reverse and do it for him too.

[queenofbaws]

gonna be real with you guys, i've been doing a lot of thinking lately and i just...........

we should've had the option to make sam totally snap in-game. just absolutely, totally snap.

i think it would've made all that stiff smiling in her police interview 1000000x better/worse, and god help me, the parallels to josh would've been delectable.

[walkingstackofbooks]

welp.

My laptop died today after a week or two of random black-screening every so often, rip. And £60 for a diagnostic doesn't really feel worth it when I don't know how much repairs would be and it was a cheap laptop anyway that's managed to last a few years so I'm looking at getting a new one...

But for today I've borrowed my housemate's and THAT just blackscreened on me so now I'm feeling like it's not my laptop, it's me 😅😅

[kay-elle-cee]

what if i....worked on And The Roar Will Rise today.....?

[remindertoclick]

Here's your daily reminder to click for Palestine!!!

U.S. residents, take 5 minutes and use this link to pressure your members of Congress to stop sending weapons to the Israeli military!!

(Letter variants you can copy/paste under the cut!!)

Original letter written by Jewish Voice for Peace:

I am writing as your constituent to ask that you do everything in your power to press the Biden administration to suspend all weapons shipments to the Israeli military, and oppose all future military funding to Israel. The Israeli government has vowed to push forward with a large-scale military operation in Rafah, even though President Biden has repeatedly said such an operation would be a "red line." On May 7, the Israeli military seized the Rafah border crossing, a crucial passage for humanitarian aid, and ordered 100,000 Palestinians in eastern Rafah to evacuate. The 1.3 million displaced Palestinians sheltering in Rafah will have nowhere to flee should a full invasion commence. Millions of Palestinian lives now hang in the balance. I urge you to do everything in your power to stop this unfolding catastrophe before it's too late. Thank you.

Slight variations I created (so that emails don't get marked as spam for being identical to each other)

Variation 1:

I'm writing to you as your constituent to ask you to do everything you can to pressure the Biden administration into suspending all weapons shipments to the Israeli military and opposing any and all future military funding to Israel! The Israeli government is pushing forward with a large-scale military operation in Rafah. President Biden has repeatedly said such an operation would be a "red line," yet his administration is still supporting this operation. On May 7th 2024, the Israeli military seized the Rafah border crossing, a crucial passage for humanitarian aid, and forced 100,000 Palestinians in eastern Rafah to abandon their homes. 1.3 million Palestinians have been displaced. Those sheltering in Rafah have nowhere to flee during a full invasion. Millions of Palestinian lives now hang in the balance. Their fate lies in the hands on Congress, in your hands. I urge you to do everything in your power to stop this unfolding catastrophe before it's too late. Thank you.

Variation 2:

I'm writing you today to ask that you do everything in your power to convince the Biden administration to stop funding Israel. We have to telk them to stop all shipments of weapons to the Israeli military and oppose all future military funding to Israel. The Israeli government has vowed to push forward with a large-scale military operation in Rafah... President Biden made it clear that such an operation would be a "red line," and yet he continues to fund them. On May 7th of this year, the Israeli military seized the Rafah border crossing, a crucial passage for humanitarian aid, and forced 100,000 Palestinians to flee their own home of Eastern Rafah. Should a full invasion commence, 1.3 million displaced Palestinians sheltering in Rafah will have nowhere safe to go. Millions of Palestinian lives now hang in the balance. I am begging you now, as your constituent, to do everything in your power to stop this unfolding catastrophe before it's too late... Thank you

[yandere-wishes]

Okay idea for your Batwoman!fam

Okay so you know how Cassandra Cain was raised in the League of Assassins to essentially be the bodyguard of Ra’s Al Ghul, what if Damian’s darling was raised in the League of Assassins as well but she was raised with a different purpose, to be the future wife of the heir, aka Damian.

Just some food for thought

⋆ ˚｡⋆Damian Wayne x Superhero! Reader ⋆˚｡⋆

જ⁀➴Notes: DARLING, YOU HAVE THE BIGGEST GALAXY BRAIN OUT THERE!!!!!!!!! THE THINGS I COULD WRITE FOR THIS. I'M FROTHING AT THE MOUTH!!!!

No cause like now, I'm thinking of Talia and Ra's selecting the best assassins out of the league and making them get married. They are told that their firstborn daughter is destined to become the bride of the Demon's hair. (Kinda like Dune's breeding program)

Talia practically raises you, an aunt/older sister/second mother/mentor whatever you'd like to call her. She raises you in the ways of the League. Trains you alongside her son. She dictates everything for you. Your clothes, personality, preferences. She molds you to be perfect. And while her tactics are dictatorial at best she does truly utterly love you. You are destined to be her daughter, to be her precious Damian's wife. You will continue her legacy. Thus she must raise you to be flawless…

In many ways, Damian likes to think that he knows you better than he knows himself. He tells himself that he's memorized every alcove and aperture of your ethereal soul. That your essence is as familiar to him as the dawn orisons. Damian al Ghul likes to think he knows his future bride-to-be.

And can you blame him? Can you really blame a boy for believing so earnestly, so passionately in a beautiful tale he's been told since birth?

He watches as you tend to the newborn goats on the farm. Run your fingers through the fawn's snowy coat. "Damian!" you call out waving to him excitedly. "Come see the new billys. We must commence in naming them at once." Your face is so serious as you look up at him. Eyes sparkling brighter than any star. He dares to wonder if you'll look at him with the same expression while you cradle your firstborn. Demanding that their father pick an adequate name immediately. Damian can't help the blush that ghosts across his cheeks.

Fairy tales are real. This is the conclusion Damian has come to. Dragons do exist, and they serve their purpose of stealing away hopeless damsels in the dead of night. Only now Damian doesn't know if he's truly fit to be the prince that comes and saves you…

Weeks prior the League's fortress had the misfortune of welcoming a guest from Gotham. 'A red-haired woman with a crazed bloody smile' as some of the members had described her. He had been training with his grandfather and was ordered to remain in the training rooms and practice while Ra's went to entertain this guest. You had been with Talia at the time and had the misfortune of meeting this monster too. Or at least that's how Damian believes the story goes.

"Master Damian" you greet. He can't help but shudder at the frosty smile you offer him. Day to day he feels your soul wander away never truly present. He reaches out, desperate to feel your warm skin grace his, to cradle your cheek as if it were the whole world. But he's only met with the silky wisp of your hair as you walk away. He doesn't like the way his heart aches, doesn't like the phantoms that occupy your mind.

Damian remembers the day you disappeared in shambles. Fragments of a nightmare that haunts him all through the night. There had been an alert in the middle of the night. Someone had broken in, taken out the guards. By the time the furor settles Damian and his mother notice what the thief had taken.

Not precious gems or priceless treasures.

Not the countless documents on every important figure in the world.

Not the tomes of endless knowledge his grandfather stores in his personal study.

No…

The thief had simply taken one thing.

You.

And in the process, Damian's heart as well.

The nightmare still haunts him. Even if only a mere few days later, the League had been attacked again. He was forced to be separated from his mother and his home. Fleeing to a foreign land to live with a father he's never known. Throughout all of this, Damian's heart still longs for you. He promises he'll find you again no matter where in the world he is.

It's been a long miserable year before Damian sees you again. His father is hosting a gala. An excuse of some sort to gather all of the Wayne enterprises under one roof. Damian cares little for the reason and cares less about the people. Too preoccupied with the inconvenience of having to be here in the first place.

"Damian, you've met my cousin Kate Kane before, right?" Bruce walks over to him, and the rest of his brothers approach too. Bruce has that look in his eyes. Something important is about to be said, Damian knows it. His adrenaline spikes, hope bubbling in his throat. Has there been a breakout in Arkham? A rogue attack somewhere? He'll take just about anything right now to get out of this dull gathering.

Kate clears her throat. Mentions that about a year ago she adopted a new daughter. She makes excuses for why it's taken her so long to formally introduce this new addition to her family. Damian only half listens. Bored once more. Until he notices an all too familiar face. And that familiar ache blooms in his chest once more.

He sees you hiding behind that wretched woman. You beam at her the way you used to do to his mother. Have you replaced the woman who raised and cherished you so easily? Have you replaced him too? You greet Damian with a court nob and avert your eyes. Desperate not to look at him, not to be reminded of your past.

Damian watches as the new hero, Batwoman's new sidekick, Corvid as she's taken to calling you. Swings across the city skyline. Intercepting one of Two-Face's hists. "She was my bethrode back during our time in the league." Bruce is sitting next to him, listening in the somber way he always does."Do you miss her?" he finally asks. "More than air, should it be robbed from my lungs." Bruce laughs, a short dark noise. His large palm pats Damian's shoulder before he marches into the darkness. It takes an endless moment for Damian to understand what that means, to understand the blessing the Dark Knight has bestowed upon his blood son.

Damian watches as you hug your new "mother". Feels the betrayal slither across his throat. He suffocates on the pain, the jealousy. Suffocates as he swears he'll take you back no matter the cost. You will be his once more, you will fulfill your destiny. As it has been written.

Damian heads home, he needs to contact his mother. Needs to tell her that you are safe. It'll calm her restless heart to know her beloved little girl has been found…

Okay I am going to have total nerd moment. Cause like what if this was kinda mixed with the original assassins?

[foolishfalls]

i'll be real fellas i'm currently experiencing two adjacent category 7 autism events (decaydance bands and fate series) and if i'm being honest these two happening alongside each other are making me so, so, SO goofy

[emixion]

Full offense but everyone writing fanfics about Luigi Mangione is going straight to hell. What the actual fuck is wrong with people. No, this isn’t a “don’t like don’t read” scenerio, this is a potentially historic ongoing trial that the media has been heavily swaying towards a guilty verdict before anything can properly commence.

We are on the cusp of a mass conspiracy AND class unification during the rise of an american oligarchy and once again, the shitbag “progressives” on this website prove they have no fucking human emotions beyond their depraved fantasies. There is a man on trial for terrorism for allegedly shooting one person and all you despicable people acknowledge is your own delusions.

Genuinely go fuck yourselves. When any opportunity for meaningful systemic change knocks at your door, you’ll be too busy burying your face in your screen while mentally banging someone you will never meet. You’re sad and fucking disgusting.

[cologona]

The mistake Bruce makes in UTRH is one he’s well known for- it’s hubris. As experienced a vigilante as Batman is, as clever and strong and resourceful.. he isn’t God. Sometimes the risks he takes to win perfectly wont work out, and it’s worth asking at what point is taking the risk itself a moral wrong rather than a right?

The shock value of UTRH’s ending is very important to me. Imho not only does the finale need to be a tragedy, it needs to make the reader recoil. Judd Winick didn’t know if Jason was going to be kept around or allowed to die when he wrote the story, so in lieu of there being any consequences for Batman’s decisions in-universe (that’s just not how the comics work) the impact has to be on the reader.

And well. We’re currently 3 reboots and counting past UTRH where it’s not even canon anymore, Bruce has done plenty of other wacky shit, and yet this batarang is still a primary topic when it comes to Jason-Bruce dynamics. It’s fantastic.

The Batarang-Incident with Jason and Bruce honestly shows just how much DC writers hold shock value over proper characterization.

You mean to tell me that an experienced vigilante would choose to disarm a person with a gun by injuring them (and thus risking the chance of them pulling the trigger due to shock), instead of getting the gun away from them in the first place?

And you mean to tell me that this experienced vigilante (who has also been shown using his Batarangs to disarm gunmen by destroying their guns multiple times before) would take one look at the person who he considered a son — despite all of their recent fights — and risk a possibly fatal wound ?

Yeah, it's not adding up.

[scribblestatic]

The autosave didn't work. Thrice.

*kicks my feet and screams*

THE WORLD SHAN'T STOP ME, tho do excuse me if some of the stuff seems short. I got tired of writing some parts over again lol.

Spider Shen Yuan, aka, continued creaturfication of the twink.

--

More people ask for silk so they can use it for repairing clothes, making rope, and other necessities. It's stronger than iron and softer than a silkworm's well-treated cocoon. They use it for rope, integrate it into their utilities, everything. And it's such an iridescent color, very enchanting to look at.

Considering the thick forest and the mist that flows through it, perhaps someone could mistake them as a village visited by a god responsible for clouds, capturing rays of light and stringing them into form for their favored worshipers.

But, well, no. It was a spider.

A spider that, despite the agreement and the comfort many people came to have with him, they never quite forgot that he was a beast. Of course, that was well and good enough. Their relationship was built on mutual respect with some reverence built in.

Fan Zhenzhen's relationship with him was much closer to that of a devout follower, it seems.

That was the only way he could explain her standing in the snow of winter, bundled warmly in fur coats and thick boots, her cheeks pink from the chill as she held her infant.

"He is Ruoxing. 'Like a star.' Because of Zhizhu and your blessings, he was born safely."

(若星 - Ruò Xīng)

Shen Yuan's largest two eyes focus intently on the child, who coos and gurgles, unable to move in his warm swaddle. He smells like milk, and looking at him evokes memories of a life he perhaps had begun to forget. If he'd been a little girl...

"Zhizhu, this lowly woman has a request. As payment for today's story, please bless this little boy, that he may have a good fate."

"...Mm. Commence."

This time, Zhenzhen tells a story about her husband, the man she'd lost just a few months before. She talks about how they met in their old village, he being a known playboy and she being a stalwart visitor.

It was through communication and budding love that he decided to marry her. But his family didn't approve. While he wasn't exceedingly rich, he wasn't a commoner either. His family was relatively affluent, and his marriage to her was seen as a slight, like someone trying to pull themselves out the mud by hugging someone else's thighs (not the term she used, but it felt right to think of it that way). This disdain toward her only became stronger when she failed more than once to have a child.

But her husband loved her. Defended her for as long as he could, even after they cut him off from his wealth, sabotaging his business and saying they would only return his earnings if they divorced. He was stubborn, though, and refused. He even began doing hard labor to try to feed the family, eager to make a living.

It was during that hard labor that a bull went awry. He was gored in the stomach by its horns, and he was made bedridden. He suffered in pain, but he tried to recover for his wife. They spent his last days cuddled in his bed when she was home from work. One morning, she woke up, and he was gone.

But, he hadn't left without leaving her a gift. A little star in her stomach.

...Having gained the ability to speak more clearly, Shen Yuan murmurs his dissatisfaction with her family. Whispers little curses, that they would never know peace for what they did.

But he turns his words around upon the request for a blessing.

This isn't just a story to critique. There's a little boy here, and she wants him to bless him.

He's just a spider, however. How could he do something like bless someone? Even so, her story had been genuine, full-hearted, and overall, not yet a tragedy. If this boy lived well, she said, she would consider her life and success.

In the face of that, he must repay her for the tale she told.

"...Burn brightly, little star. Stay true to your path, young stallion. May you weave a tale that blesses those who bless you, and curses those who curse you. Be firm, and be kind."

He gives her a little woven blanket for the child, and Fan Zhenzhen, with tears in her eyes, bows as low as she can manage with the babe in her arms.

As she leaves, Shen Yuan wonders how he knew the boy was born during a Fire Horse year.

...

Winter turns to spring, and spring to summer, and so on.

The seasons change, and Shen Yuan receives many stories, from enchanting and thorough to boring and benign. Regardless, he continues to trade with them as he always has.

Little spiders that once had nothing to do with him were steadily coming under his control. After eating the insects that would try to eat his plants, it seemed their little minds connected to him, and they went out of their way to follow his will.

His own qi was also getting stronger, and his abilities more numerous. Cultivation and meditation became second nature to him. Along with his diet of qi-dense fruit and spiritual and demonic creatures, he felt like his skin was growing a tad thin on himself. For sure, it would be time to molt within the next few years.

As that time approaches, he watches as Ruoxing grows. He goes from being held in his mother's arms to holding onto her hand as he toddles beside her, to walking on his own and bowing to him when his mother does.

He also starts telling him his own stories. As a toddler, of course, it was mostly nonsense babbling, but it had been more entertaining that some of the half-assed attempts a few other villagers tried. The older he grew, the more his stories took shape, although the characters didn't always make sense and the plot could change at a moment's notice.

Shen Yuan, being himself, couldn't help but lightly critique the stories with genuine intent. After all, a child raised with too much praise and not enough guidance could quickly become a fool. He wasn't nearly as tough on the child as he was on the adults, so he was clearly just teaching him the elements of a good story.

...Apparently these critiques caused a slight shift in how Ruoxing saw him.

While Fan Zhenzhen revered him, Fan Ruoxing seemed to see him like some sort of uncle.

That was probably what explained the boy's reliance on him for decidedly human issues.

"I don't know what to get Miyun for her birthday. But I really want it to be nice. Zhizhu, what do you think I should get her?"

Ruoxing, now a young teenager, is cutting into some wood, trying to sculpt something, but clearly not trusting that whatever he made would be enough for her. He gazes up at him hopefully, as though he's a reclusive neighborhood uncle and not a giant spider that could quite literally eat him whole.

Being a spider notwithstanding, he also had never mated, not in this life or the one he feels he may have lived before. As such, he was, quite literally, the worst being to ask for romantic advice.

"...This spider cannot be sure what little Miyun likes. Xing-er would know more. However, a gift given with heart and meaningful intent often means the world to those receiving it. Perhaps Xing-er could recall something little Miyun finds of particular interest?"

"Erh...she likes clothes, I think. Not the hemp ones. I'd want to give her something fancy. She's the eldest daughter, so she works hard. She deserves something nice to wear, like A-niang has. You know, A-niang still wears the coat you made for her. She only ever wears it in the house..."

He sits up straighter, as if in realization.

"A coat! Zhizhu, if I, ah—" He clears his throat. "If this servant tells Zhizhu a story, could he make a coat for Miyun?"

"...It...would be difficult. The coat this spider made for your mother was done in her presence, where this one could see and hear her, measure her. Little Miyun does not visit this spider, so he cannot make a coat to fit her. Unless. If Xing-er describes her well, perhaps he can make one anyway."

Ruoxing hums, his fingers pausing on whatever he'd been sculpting.

"Well...she's older than me by three months, but she's a little shorter than me." He illustrates this by holding his hand horizontally, just a bit above his chin. "Her hair is dark brown, like chestnut skins. She's not pale like some ladies in the big town, but she's really pretty."

Shen Yuan had really meant for the boy to describe her size and features more, but he didn't stop Fan Ruoxing as he started waxing poetic about her personality and beauty.

The more he listened, the more he decided against anything particularly fitted. Something like...a poncho. Yeah. A poncho-like cloak that can fit over her clothes. Something that looks nice, but not so nice that she'd get robbed or accused of theft...

By the time Ruoxing finished, stuttering to a stop with a red face, Shen Yuan had finished most of it.

"Hmm... Heartfelt. Earnest. This one thinks this gift could use a personal touch."

Per his suggestion, Ruoxing carved the wood into a triangular, rounded pin with a hole through the base. Shen Yuan wove thread through the hole, making the pin into a clasp, and had a small hole on the other side of the shawl-like cloth. Pushing the pin through that hole would secure the shawl around her shoulders.

"Thanking Zhizhu for his guidance!"

"Mm. You guided yourself to this. May your gift be received well."

Fan Ruoxing grins eagerly before running off. He only just remembers to turn back and bow in respect before making his way down the hill.

Humming, satisfied with himself, Shen Yuan crawls through his webs, back to his cave for him to relax and meditate in peace.

...

And despite his efforts to accommodate their economic status, it seemed he still made Miyun's poncho shawl too nice.

A few weeks later, a demoness stands where humans usually would, surrounded by demon guards. She has her hands on her hips, glaring up at him. Her eyes are a bright yellow, hair black and skin pink-toned. She wears long, silken clothes that are, honestly, ill-fitted for trouncing around his forest, gold vambraces and necklaces denoting her status.

"This is what you said made your coat? This dumb beast?"

She sneers at her captives, one of whom is Ruoxing. He leans near a shivering girl, who, by the looks of her and the shawl on her body, is Miyun. However, she doesn't seem to be shaking completely from fear, judging from her furrowed brows and severe expression. Fan Ruoxing does his best to shield her, but with his own arms caught and held tightly, it is difficult to do so.

"It probably can't even speak. Ugh. Whatever. Human, how does Li-er make this...thing...produce the silk to make my clothes?"

"...What does the miss want?"

She turns back to him, eyes wide with clear shock. The demon guards also stiffen, becoming more wary of him. They point their swords and spears in his direction.

Miyun flinches in fear, toward him, her eyes shutting tight.

Ah, he probably understands now. Is she arachnophobic? No wonder she never visits. Quite understandable.

"Oh... So it speaks." The demoness huffs, putting her hands back on her hips. "If you understand this girl, listen well. There's no reason for a mere human to have such clothing. This benevolent one shall give you the opportunity to rectify your sin. Make her a beautiful dress, and she shall let you live."

If Shen Yuan had eyelids, he would certainly lid them.

Instead, he just crawls down a little further, staring at her intently.

"...Tell this one a story."

"Excuse me?"

"Tell this spider a story. It is payment."

"Payment? What need do you have of any sort of payment? The only payment you deserve is to keep your—"

"Guuakk!!"

A guard jumped out in front of the demoness. Despite the hard armor on the guard's body, Shen Yuan's leg pierces easily through their torso.

He smells the blood dripping from the demon's body...and can't resist.

It was like putting a prime steak drizzled with butter right in front of him, okay? Sure, he had an audience, but food was food!

So, not minding the iron armor, Shen Yuan's teeth pierce through the chest plate as the demon cries out. He screams in agony as his organs began to liquify, but Shen Yuan's venom acts quickly. Once the demon chokes on his own blood and falls still, he easily sucks up all the guard's innards and qi with a deep, hearty slurp. Not a single thing is wasted, not even the marrow in the demon's bones.

Once emptied, Shen Yuan drops the guard's body like a crumpled carton.

The demoness had stepped backwards, more guards standing in front.

Shen Yuan sighs, then settles in his web.

"Tell this one a story, and the miss may have her dress."

[moonstruckme]

Hi luv, can I request something?

I was thinking about a poly!wolfstar x fem!reader where reader is feeling down because of her period but don’t wanna tell the boys bc she’s embarrassed. But she ends up acting all sad and the boys are really worried, thinking they did something wrong, and when they finally find out the truth they try to comfort her? A little angst with fluff ending, lots of cuddles. Only if you feel comfortable writing it, of course!

I love your writing, btw

Thanks for requesting lovely!

cw: period sadness

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 971 words

“She’s moping,” Sirius whispers, arms crossed and dark brows bunched. He’s leaning back against the counter, having followed Remus into the kitchen to ‘help make the popcorn’. Two fingers tap restlessly on his bicep. 

Remus watches the movement, pensive. “She might’ve just had a rough day,” he says back. The sound of popcorn in the microwave works to cover his voice. “I think she’d tell us if we’d done something to upset her.”

He gets where Sirius is coming from. You’ve seemed a tad dimmer than usual, mumbly and perhaps a bit tired. But Sirius is quick to worry, and he has a nose for tension that occasionally sniffs it out when it’s not really there. 

“She might not.” Sirius is doing that thing where he looks and sounds angry when really he’s worried. Remus leans over to kiss his hair. 

“She’s better than us,” he reassures him, taking the popcorn from the microwave and leading the way back into the living room. 

You’re huddled up in one corner of the couch, blanket pulled tight around you and eyes looking to nowhere. You perk up a little when Remus shakes some of the popcorn into a bowl and sets it in your lap. 

“Thanks,” you say. 

“Course. Did you pick a film?” 

“I started to, but…” You shrug, passing the remote to Sirius as he sits down next to you. “You guys can pick, I don’t really care what we watch.” 

Sirius sends Remus a look. See? Remus frowns. He’s still not convinced you’re upset with them, specifically, but your upset in general is hard to deny. 

It’s unsettling to have you glum like this. He and Sirius have always been prone to their moods, but you’re…not, so much. It’s not that you never have a bad day, of course, they try to give you the environment to feel whatever you like. They’ve just not seen you like this before, obviously upset but seemingly with no cause. 

Sirius picks one of your favorite films anyway. The intro credits start, and ordinarily, this would be the part where you lean onto your other side and cozy up to him, but you don’t. You stay curled up in your corner, eyes at half-mast and pretty face impassive. 

The sweet bit of skin between Sirius’ brows is marred by a dent. 

Remus is sitting in the armchair adjacent to your side of the couch. He reaches across the space for your hand. With so overt a request, you give it to him, looking a touch bemused. He holds your gaze, sweeping his thumb over your knuckles. 

“Are you alright?” 

You blink. “Me?” When Remus doesn’t look away, you shrink slightly, shoulders pulling up towards your ears. “I’m fine, yeah. Are you?” 

“Oh, how crafty,” Sirius drawls. “Redirect the question, we’ll never see through that.” 

You smile cautiously. “Way to make me asking my boyfriend how he is seem nefarious.” 

Sirius’ answering grin is sharp, but Remus can see the anxiety beneath it. “You’re not as subtle as you think, babe. Why don’t you tell us what’s got you so twisted up, huh?” 

Just like that, you shut down again. You pull your hand from Remus’, fixing your eyes on the TV. “I’m not twisted up,” you say. 

“Dovey,” Remus says softly. When you look at him, your expression is controlled but your gaze is tentative. “Have we done something to upset you?” 

“What?” A line forms between your brows, a companion for Sirius’. “No, you’ve—you’re perfect.” 

“Well, I like to think so,” Sirius agrees breezily, “but you’re obviously not happy with us. It’d help if you’d just say what it is, so apologies and amends can commence. Unless it’s that I left the toilet paper roll empty again, in which case I can only say that you knew what you were getting into when you moved in.” 

His feeble attempt at levity doesn’t make much of a dent in your creased expression, though you do tilt up one side of your mouth as though to commend him for his effort. 

“I’m not upset with either of you,” you say slowly. Your tone carries a hue of resignation. “I promise, if I was mad I would say.” 

Now it’s Remus’ turn to look at Sirius. See? But Sirius looks even more troubled, as though he can’t fathom what could be wrong in your life if it’s not him. 

“You are upset, though,” Remus says softly. “What’s wrong?” 

You sigh, the sound heavy with that unidentified melancholy, and Sirius seems to feel secure enough now to drop a kiss on your shoulder. “Nothing’s wrong,” you reply, defeated. “I’m just in a mood because of my period, sorry. I don’t mean to be a bother.” 

Remus coos, reaching across the gap again to pet your baby hairs. 

Sirius leans into your side. “You?” he asks, kissing your shoulder again. “Never. Why didn’t you say, lovebug?” 

You shrug. You seem to be slumping deeper into the couch with every affectionate touch, your body relaxing. “It’s a bit embarrassing. I don’t want to be acting all sad just because my hormones are going funny.” 

“You’re not just acting sad if you are actually sad,” Remus points out. “Is your stomach hurting you?” 

“Not really.” You shift your weight so you’re leaning into Sirius, too. He looks about as happy as he can be when someone he loves is hurting, bottom lip pushed out as he rubs your shoulder and smooshes his cheek into the top of your head. “Just sad.” 

“D’you wanna watch something happy, sweetheart?” Sirius asks, voice dripping with a syrupy sweetness. “Or something sad, to cry it out?” 

You shrug again. “Maybe just a little sad? Like The Perks of Being a Wallflower.” 

“That’s only a little sad to you? Shit, baby, you’re tough as nails.”

[boobav]

Viktor this season has rlly inspired me. I hope you all enjoy the various drabbles :) I'll try write more here.

The first time you met Viktor, you recall, the sun was shining.

The meeting was perfectly ordinary. Not even a meeting, really, seeing as you learnt his name a week later.

With a cool breeze, you ate your lunch in silence, head held to the sun as though a flower in bloom. You closed your eyes, breathed deep. Meditative perfection.

And when you reopened them, he was there.

Half-frozen in the doorway, he gazed at you with what seemed like surprise, at the time. Later you'd learn that he was, from his own words, mesmerised.

"Professor." He'd said in polite greeting, looking away. You smiled, but he left the way he came before any conversation could commence.

The next meeting, he was the one sat outside, silently pondering something. You'd found his expression of concentration endearing beyond words. The furrow of his brows, the occasional, unconscious movement of his lips. The way his eyes lit up when they landed on you.

The weather that afternoon, when you'd strolled over to properly introduce yourself to the man, was similarly bright. A perfect blue running across the sky. A songbird somewhere unseen, and the breeze defined by its almost supernatural ability to alleviate.

You weren't superstitious, nor did you believe in signs, an elusive, irrational concept. But with his presence offering as much warmth as the sun, with the way his eyes ran nervously from yours only to return, bound by some societal principal of politeness, with the way he tested your name on his tongue that cloudless day, you thought maybe there really was something to the concept. Some sign leading you to him.

"How about we get lunch sometime?" You hadn't exactly thought the offer out. But his smile alone was quick to convince you of the idea.

"Of course," Viktor said, "are you... free now?"

"I think I had something planned, but I seem to have forgotten all about it..."

-

For a few months, then, you re-learnt what it meant to be alive.

To meet someone so perfectly in tune with your every move seemed fantastical, seemed like a sign. You spent free weekends not hunched over a desk, stressed beyond articulation, but with Viktor. You learnt of his work, learnt of the pure brilliance that bloomed at the mere touch of his hands.

And you learnt every contour of those hands. Pressed your lips into the palms, into every scar and cut. A fleeting remedy, but one he grew unable to live without. For he, too, had to re-learn what it meant to be alive.

He felt astoundingly undeserving of what you seemed so willing to provide. More than love, but adoration. Something almost approaching worship. He felt the weakness of his own body so acutely with yours pressed against it, so terribly perfect. Whatever scar or mark you seemed to mention in distaste, he loved. He thought, maybe, that you were some kind of sign. That things would get better. That the traitor he called a body would recover or, at least, stop wilting away.

But nothing changed. Not really.

Learning of his illness wasn't a shock, because it wasn't a secret. Jayce mentioned it to you often. The real shock came on slow. Like a spider taking it's time to crawl up your spine. As the months passed, the extent of its deteriorating effect showed itself. Viktor's heart, weak against your own. The bags under his eyes darkening further, his pale skin sinking pallid.

Happiness, by some twisted measure or other, seems to run from its owner more often than not.

You think you're living in a state of euphoria, a state of perfection for so long, the way we were supposed to exist. You feel as though nothing could break this film of joy over your life, that you're somehow exempt from reality.

But you're not.

Overtime, Viktor shut himself off. He spent more and more time in the lab. He had very little to say. When you broke down, the only consolation he could offer was a quiet apology, mumbled from across the room.

You dreamt of consolation. Every night, from then on. Endless fields of restorative ideas. Endless ways to make him feel better, to be there for him even if he found the idea ludicrous.

Because why would you waste your time with him? He knows you're better off somewhere else, stretched out in the warm weather without a burden as heavy as him on your back. The pillar you were in his life, crumbled by his own hand. He deemed it necessary. Convinced himself so.

But what could you do?

You could barely comprehend his struggle. How could you even begin to ease it?

This thought process kept you from physically seeking this dream of yours. A warning sign from your mind, a psychological guard rail which, in reality, only protected you from yourself. All these flowery ideas of reconciliation, bouquets of roses and trays of baked goods in your mind, and yet, you did nothing.

The attack on the council made sure that you'd never have the chance.

Jayce had been the one to tell you. Tell you that among the victims was the dream gifted to you every night, the man you viewed as an inseparable extension of yourself. And when you visited, stared up at whatever the hexcore was doing to Viktor, you felt an unparalleled hatred.

For yourself, for your failings and shortcomings. Every time a word came out wrong. Every time a day ended in silence.

Rising tensions, blood on the city streets. Soon, you had nothing left in Piltover besides a few shattered friends.

So you left.

-

Of course, you felt that you'd never see Viktor again.

Even if somehow he survived the critical condition he lay struggling in, you convinced yourself that he wouldn't want to speak to you. Perhaps out of self preservation. Perhaps out of genuine belief.

A knock at the door was already uncommon. And, certainly, a knock that specific. Gentle, apprehensive. You stumbled out of bed with an undeniable sense of neuroticism, convincing yourself of the knocks familiarity whilst simultaneously convincing yourself of your own delusion.

But, there he was.

Wrapped in a robe, which to you appeared regal, the blue sky beyond framing his pale face, was Viktor. A songbird carried the news, then another, but your words seemed inadequate compared to theirs.

He raises a hand to cup your face, the flesh replaced with something firm, something running with a strength he himself barely comprehends.

You place a kiss on his palm.