#emotional support raven series

[kulapti]

Hug (Dream & Matthew), May 2023, pencil & krita.

Another one for @themirokai's emotional support raven fic series <3 also my friend Apocynaceae is the best and gave me extremely useful feedback on the lighting.

#the sandman #my art #dream of the endless #matthew the raven #morpheus (the sandman) #here there be fandom #emotional support raven series #artists on tumblr #nightmare?dream is having a weird hair day but he's entitled to that tbh #I wonder if I should have made his claws shinier #Dream with an unsettlingly long neck? in MY fanart? it's exactly as likely as u think at this point #this is sooo much more interesting with the stained glass lighting vs the original version #at first I was like I don't have to go that hard on this? I have other illustrations to work on? but then I was like no im gonna #id in alt text can't believe I almost forgot

[lemonboyjosten]

#my emotional support gays and mafias #romance between a tiny feral blond who wields a knife better than i do my own hand and ginger runaway who’s mouth can kill reputations #found family #aftg #andreil #all for the game #andrew minyard #neil josten #the foxhole court #the raven king #the kings men #tfc #trk #tkm #nora sakavic #aftg memes #gay #lgbtq #aftg series #aftg fandom #aftg shitpost

[themirokai]

It is with very mixed emotions that I present to you

Grave

The final story in the Matthew the Emotional Support Raven series.

Matthew visits his own grave and finds himself in need of some emotional support.

Thanks to @quillsorceress for giving this a read and @aquilathefighter and @kulapti for being my go-to bird experts and answering a totally necessary and vital question about raven anatomy.

Inspiration from this picture. If you follow me you've seen a bunch of @raven-photos 's raven photos under my corvid posting tag, but you should follow them too because they post tons of lovely stuff.

You can read the whole story below the cut or over on AO3. The AO3 version includes a mushy authors note about this being the end of the series, which I won't duplicate here, but I may put some additional thoughts in a reblog later.

~~~

Matthew felt the air pressure in the cemetery change. He hung his head with a sigh. 

“Did you need something, Boss?”

“I need only to know that my Raven is well,” Lord Morpheus said from behind him. 

“Yeah, you know me,” Matthew said. “Ball of corvid sunshine.” 

“Matthew.”

“I haven’t even been gone that long,” Matthew groused. 

No response to that. Matthew sighed again and looked around at the gray headstones and dewy grass, sparkling in the morning light. 

“How did you find me? You’re not in my head.” He thought for a moment. “Lucienne ratted me out, didn’t she?” 

“Lucienne informed me that you had asked for your book. She was concerned for your mental state.” 

Matthew huffed. “Do dreams have ‘mental states’?” 

“Yes,” Lord Morpheus said simply. 

Matthew hung his head again and took a deep breath, then reflected that he wasn’t alive and probably didn’t need to breathe. Which was what had brought him to this cemetery in the first place. He gestured to the headstone in front of him with his wing. “Well, there it is. In all its glory. My grave.”

There was, in fact, no glory. It was a completely unremarkable gray headstone with a curved top. His name and the dates of his birth and death were carved on it, nothing else.

“Why have you come here, Matthew?” Lord Morpheus asked quietly. 

“You don’t know? You can’t just read my mind?” 

“Not while we are in the Waking.” 

“Inconvenient,” Matthew muttered. He ground his beak. Matthew knew that none of this was the boss’s fault. He had made perfectly clear when Matthew first met him that he hadn’t been the one to turn Matthew into a Raven. Matthew shook his head. “I died a year ago.” He turned to face Lord Morpheus. The boss was standing ramrod straight, hands shoved into the pockets of a black pea coat. 

“This is not the anniversary of your death, Matthew.”

Matthew flapped his wings. “I know that. I just… started thinking about it. And then I realized that for all the times I’ve come to the Waking, I never saw what my grave looked like.” 

“Now you see it.” 

“Yeah, and I’m dead in there!” He turned to stare at the ground in front of the headstone. “Like my body - my body that I had my whole life - is just down there. Dead and rotting.” He shivered. “It’s not like I ever took particularly good care of it, but it’s still weird! And that’s before you even get to the fact that I’m a fucking bird.” 

“I thought you enjoyed being a Raven.” 

“I do!” Matthew said quickly. “This isn’t about that. It’s just… look, one minute I’m an alive human and the next minute I’m a fucking bird and  Lucienne is telling me to go follow you and then I’m trying to get you to not throw me out on my ear and then we’re dealing with Constantine and then we’re going to Hell and then you’re fighting the asshole who had your ruby and then I’m spying on Rose and then I’m running errands and delivering messages and meeting all sorts of weird people and- and beings and then…” Matthew breathed out in a rush. “I don’t know. I guess I never really stopped to think about the fact that I’m dead. Like really properly dead. With my body rotting in the ground.” 

“Do you feel ‘really properly dead’?”

“No! I don’t feel properly anything! That’s the problem!” 

Lord Morpheus kind of folded himself up so that he was sitting cross-legged on the ground, facing Matthew. “You were not expecting to die? When you were human.” 

Matthew closed his eyes and shook his head. “I wasn’t that old. And I didn’t exactly have the greatest lifestyle… certainly not what would be considered ‘clean living’ by any stretch. I guess that’s why I had a heart attack… but no. I wasn’t sick or anything. I wasn’t expecting to die.” 

Lord Morpheus nodded solemnly. “Most of my past Ravens had been ill or injured or old when they died. Their deaths were much less surprising than yours. And they joined me during… much less chaotic times, when I… shaped the process of them becoming dreams myself.” 

Matthew snorted. “Yeah, I know. I’m the unwanted Raven. You don’t have to remind me.” 

“You mistake me, Matthew.” Lord Morpheus frowned. “Deliberately, I think.” 

“No, I just… you know what I mean.” Matthew looked away from him. 

“As I stated,” Lord Morpheus said a bit huffily, “in the Waking I cannot see your thoughts.” They were both quiet for a moment before Lord Morpheus continued. “My intent in bringing up other Ravens was to comfort you with the notion that the… discomfort you are experiencing is understandable, since your transformation to Raven occurred under less than ideal circumstances.” 

Matthew tipped his head to the side, looking up at him. “How did I become a Raven if you didn’t make me one?” 

A tiny smile on Lord Morpheus’s lips. “Another indication of the frenetic pace of your first year is that we have never talked of this.” He shifted into what Matthew considered to be his ‘storyteller voice’. It was a little deeper, more hypnotic. “I confess that I do not know for sure, though I have my suspicions.” 

Matthew would have liked to stay silent but felt an inexorable pressure to ask, “What suspicions?” Must have been the force of the narrative or something. 

He was rewarded with another tiny smile. 

“It is my suspicion that my sister, Death, selected you… for me.” 

Matthew would have frowned if he had lips. “How were your other Ravens selected?” 

“The souls of those who die in their sleep linger in the Dreaming until my sister collects them and passes them to whatever afterlife awaits them. When the time comes for me to select a new Raven, I select a soul that… feels right, and begin the transformation process.”

“What if the person doesn’t want to be a Raven?” 

It was Lord Morpheus’s turn to frown. “Do you not wish to be a Raven, Matthew?” 

Matthew clicked his tongue. “Now who’s mistaking who?” 

Lord Morpheus inclined his head. “If the person does not wish to be a Raven, then it will not last. They will move on to whatever is next for them and I will select a new Raven.” 

Matthew considered that, but quickly decided that he didn’t want to think too much about whatever was next. “So Death picked me.” 

“Yes, I believe so. It is possible that once I had returned to the Dreaming it… automatically selected a random soul and performed the process without my guidance…” 

Matthew knew there was more to that sentence. “But?” 

Lord Morpheus looked at the headstone. “But. You are too well-chosen to have been a chance selection… and.” 

“And?” 

“Even if the pain of Jessamy’s murder had not convinced me that I did not want another Raven, I think it unlikely that I would have chosen you.” 

Matthew glared at him. “I know that the next thing out of your mouth is going to make that a less shitty thing to hear.” 

Lord Morpheus rolled his eyes. “You are well aware how this story ends, Matthew. I would not have chosen you but sometimes my sister knows me better than I know myself. She collected you when I was preoccupied with the Hecate and saw what I would not have seen: that you… were exactly who I needed as my Raven. And then I suspect that she gave the Dreaming a very strong suggestion to perform your transformation.” 

Matthew had Death to thank for his current gig. Just add that to the pile of things he didn’t know how to feel about. But. There was the rest of what the boss had said. 

Matthew dragged a talon through the grass. “So… you don’t wish you had a different Raven? Someone… I dunno. Dignified or clever or something.” 

Lord Morpheus drew himself up and his eyes blackened from their normal Waking world blue to the night sky. “I am Dream of the Endless. I am older than this universe. I suspect I possess enough dignity for us both.” 

Matthew was not entirely sure that age and dignity were that closely related but kept quiet as Lord Morpheus continued. 

“As far as cleverness… you are perhaps not familiar with great works of poetry or philosophy, but I have never had a Raven who was more skilled at putting others at their ease, or soothing wounded feelings. Anything you lack in courtly manners is more than made up for in kindness and sincerity.” Lord Morpheus sighed and shook his head. “I would not have chosen you, Matthew, but I would have been a fool. You are exactly who I need as my Raven, especially after my imprisonment. My sister saw that, and I am immensely grateful to her.” He held out his hand. Matthew stepped on and was brought into his embrace. “I am sorry that your death was unexpected and jarring for you, Matthew. And I am sorry that the beginning of your tenure as my Raven has been so chaotic. But I cannot bring myself to be sorry that you died when you did, because that timing brought you to me.”

“Oh, Boss,” Matthew sighed.  

“So yes, your human body is moldering in that grave. And yes, you are a ‘fucking bird’. But I very much hope that you will remain a ‘fucking bird’ for a very long time to come.” 

Ravens, Matthew learned, were not capable of crying. He pressed his head against Lord Morpheus’s chest as Lord Morpheus began stroking his feathers. “Yeah. That sounds good.” 

#We all understand that Dream is vastly overestimating his dignity right? #I have so many feelings about ending this series y'all #but it's time #and this is the right story to end on #I really really hope you like it #matthew the emotional support raven #the sandman #the sandman netflix #matthew the raven #dream of the endless #mirokai writes #miro does sandman

[human-sweater-vest]

NOBODY TALK TO ME. NOBODY MOVE. IT’S GANGSEY TIME (in three years)

#blorbos from my emotional support book series #trc #the raven cycle #the gangsey #blue sargent #richard campbell gansey the third #adam parrish #ronan lynch #my beloveds #I’m obsessed

[athymelyreply]

“Can I keep them?” Watercolor and acrylic on paper

My commission for @themirokai from the fic Missing, part of their wonderful series Matthew the Emotional Support Raven! I had a fantastic time with this piece and I can’t recommend the fic and series enough!!! I plan to open another 2 donation commission slots soon, so if you’re interested make sure to stay tuned!

#matthew the raven #the sandman #the sandman fanart #dream of the endless #dream sandman #Matthew sandman #my art #artists on tumblr #commission #Matthew the emotional support raven #genuinely I loved this so much<333

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

On thin ice (Hockey Player! Miguel O’Hara x Figure Skater! Fem! Reader)

Omg y’all, first I know i said I’d post this on Halloween, but… I couldn’t help myself! Second, the time has come… the last chapter😭. I just wanted to thank you all for reading and for all the support! It means a lot to me. The usual, not proofread.

(Y/N)- Your name.

Alcohol usage, mentions of cannabis, cursing, no smut but a small small smaaaall make out bit. Miguel finally learning to use his words.

Word count: 1.6k

Series Masterlist

Chapter 15 [Final]: Maybe I’m too busy bein’ yours to fall for somebody new.

—

It felt like you were in the opening scene of a cheesy 80’s horror flick. Psycho Killer by The Talking Heads was blasting through the frat house you were currently at, a red solo cup with spiked punch in one hand, and the other grabbing on to Kate’s hand while she dragged you through the crowd with a laugh, your purple cape swishing behind you as you make your way through the sea of drunk college students, all dressed up in different costumes.

Eventually you found yourself in the kitchen of the frat house, it was small and despite the only people in said kitchen being you and your group, it still felt a bit crowded but what room wouldn’t feel a bit crowded when you were tipsy from alcohol, and every room had either someone in a costume, Halloween decor, or both. You took a sip of your drink as you looked over at Xavier with an amused experience as he playing around with his collapsible staff he got for his costume, letting out a small laugh when he almost knocked over a spider decoration that was hanging off one of the kitchen cabinets, before he let out an embarrassed cough and sheepishly collapsed his staff. You knew that you shouldn’t have let Kate give him an item he could use as an actual weapon when he was going to be drinking.

You were dressed as Raven, Logan was beast boy, Kate and her boyfriend were starfire and Robin and Xiaver’s roommate who you couldn’t remember the name of was cyborg. You’ve got to admit, the cape was fun, and you were thankful that Kate didn’t force you and Logan to paint yourselves gray and green respectively. You 5 have been making your way down frat row for the past 2 hours at this point, hopping from one party to another, and were planning on leaving for the next one, but wanting to raid the candy basket and take a few beers for the road (aka, the 4 minute walk).

Tonight was great, a nice way to unwind after the absolute roller coaster of emotions you’ve been on recently, school was starting back up, skating practices have only been getting more intense as you and Logan practiced for sectionals, and you still had absolutely no idea what was going on between you and Miguel, despite the good terms you two have been on recently, you two would be relatively snarky with each other, but there wasn’t any underlying malice like there was before a few months ago. Your thought were pulled pulled out of your head and your hand was tugged and you found yourself following behind Kate and the rest of your group and you all exited through the back door in the kitchen, and makes your way to the next frat house, Logan unlocking the gate that separated the front yard with the back one.

As you entered the next party, the song Goo Goo Muck was finishing up before transitioning to The Create from the Black Leather Lagoon, both from The Cramps. Despite your best efforts, and both your and Kate’s tight grip on each other’s hand, you had found yourself becoming separated from a majority of your group and you wondered deeper into the crowd, the stench of alcohol and weed filling your senses as you felt Logan’s hand tightened on your shoulder, you had officially lost the others.

You and Logan decided to make your way up to the second floor of the house, wanting to see if there was a way to get out to the balcony that you saw on your way in, knowing that you’d get a good view of the night sky. Eventually you two did make your way outside on it, Logan leaning against the railing while you were sitting down on the floor, using your cape as a makeshift blanket to keep your ass from touching the wood. Both of you sipped on your stolen beers as you both talked.

“I think I saw your ex on the way up here.” You throw out the information to him nonchalantly, causing him to choke on his beer a bit, a hand coming up and patting on his chest to try and help regain his composure.

“Um, you-you did? Where?” He stuttered as he attempted to act normally, but you noticed as he straightened up a bit from his position against the railing.

“By the bathroom-“ you didn’t get to finish before he ran back inside, a heavy sigh leaving your lips as you were left alone outside, knowing it was better to not follow him and attempt to stop him. Taking a sip of your beer, your eyes drifted back to the night sky, how you wished you could actually see the stars, but due to all the light pollution that was only a simple wish, grabbing your cape and wrapping it tightly around yourself in an attempt to help warm yourself up, mentally cursing yourself for not wearing tights as you looked up at the gray night sky.

“¿Qué estás haciendo aquí solita, princesa?” A deep voice asked you from behind you. [What are you doing here all alone princess?]

“Hey to you too, Miguel.”

A silence fell over you two, before you heard his heavy footsteps make their way over to your direction, you didn’t glance over to look at him until you saw him entering your peripheral vision. Your lips pull up to a small smirk, a hmph leaving your mouth as you glance up at him, before you finally break the silence.

“A vampire? I was expecting more from you.” You teased with a snort, causing his to scoff in response, before moving to go sit next to you, which surprised you slightly but you decided not to say anything.

“I’m the phantom of the opera, and I don’t wanna hear it from you, (Y/N). What are you supposed to be? Some sort of witch?”

“No. I'm Raven from the teen titans! Ya know, the DC character?”

“Oh, sorry. All my superhero knowledge comes from Peter and he’s more of a Marvel guy-“

“I’m more of a Marvel person too and even I know who that is!”

“Well I’m not a nerd like you are.”

“Rude! Says the one dressed as a character from a musical.” You giggled with a scoff, and it wasn’t until your giggles subsided that you realized that you’ve two gotten closer in proximity during your little back and forth. You thought, maybe it was just you and the alcohol in your system, but when you noticed the sudden shift in Miguel’s eyes, and the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallowed some saliva.

You both just sat there for a while, staring into each other’s eyes, neither one daring to move, afraid that if you did, the moment of tension between you both might disappear, so, for what felt like an eternity, you both just stared at the other. Eventually, you grained enough control over your body to open your mouth to say something, to say what? You weren’t sure, but before a single syllable could even leave your mouth, Miguel took the opportunity to lunge towards you and smash his lips into yours. Immediately, you melted into the kiss with a sigh, your hands going up and snaking around his neck before pulling him closer, causing a quiet groan to leave Miguel’s mouth. Small whimpers and moans escaping your lips as his rough hands landed on your exposed thighs, the goosebumps that were already forming on your legs became more prominent as Miguel slipped them down and onto your ass, giving your cheeks a firm squeeze, before pulling you into his lap. You let out a squeal as your hands drop down to his chest instead, your knees landing on either side of his hips, the thin cape of his phantom costume doing little to help cushion them from the hard cold wood of the balcony. Your head was swirling, both from the alcohol and the make out session, and it didn’t help that you could feel his bulge from where you were sitting straddled on top of him, he pulls away first, given you both a chance to grasp for air, before his head dips to begin peppering kisses down your jaw and neck.

God, you’ve never wanted this man more in your life then you did right now, and you know that Miguel was feeling the same way about you, but you both knew there was a better time and place for you to both succumb to those urges, so with a final kiss your neck he pulled away from you, you shift to sit on his thighs, both of your chest rising and falling rapidly in attempt to catch your breath. Miguel’s hand goes up to wipe some saliva and lipgloss from the corner of his mouth.

Once you were able to get yourself back under control, you cleared your throat before speaking.

“Look, Miguel. As much as I love making out with you on a bi-weekly basis, I don’t think I’m in a place, mentally for this to continue without at least knowing where we stand with each other. I-I don’t care if you only wanna be fuckbuddies, or make out buddies, or if you want to try for something serious-but I just want to know what you want.”

“I want you.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“I want all of you, (Y/N). I want you to be mine, and only mine, and I wanna be yours.”

—

Taglist: @tayleighuh @cowboylikeevie @coralineyouareinterribledanger @jukioku @loser-alert @miguel-ohara-eater @serpentstarr @littlexscarletxwitch @darksidescorner @sukioyakio @minimari415

#miguel o hara fanfic #miguel o'hara x reader #on thin ice fanfic #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 x reader #astv miguel #astv spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara au #figure skating au #hockey au #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 fanfic #spiderman 2099

[yomogi-mogi-mochi]

Ineffable Bloom

Pairings: Azul/Siren MC

Summary: Despite your status as siren, there are not many words that reach those around you anymore, voice now muted and marred from the surgeries you have endured to remove the carnations that once suffocated your throat. But you don't mind it, serving quietly as the gardener of Night Raven College, making do with a notepad and pen when necessary. You are pleased to find your childhood friend, Azul, now attends the school, who spontaneously hires you for the flower arrangements he decides to decorate in his lounge with. There's little hope you bear with the silent poetry you weave with each meticulously placed flower, only an ache which tumbles over you like the ceaseless seas. However, Azul is not deaf to this song you have sealed in your bouquets, having cherished the morsels of sweetness in your childhoods where you shared the silent language of each flower.

Notes: Sorry this took ages lmao. Been in a “creating anything is obsolete” phase my/spring allergies are starting so I am. Dying. Part of the twst myth series, here is the post with some basics. I just reached 1000 likes on tumblr which might not be much to some but wowwww thank you guys for your support!!

GN terms for MC

CW: Emotional abuse and toxic parenting when we get into MC’s backstory

AO3 Link Here.

Masterlist

——————————————————

“Would you like to add a ribbon to this? I’ll add it for free since I have some extra?” You placed the last slender stalk of green hydrangea into the bouquet and move your hands in practiced shapes and swerves, forming each phrase with careful deliberation.

Jack struggles a bit in forming as keen language with his hands, but you appreciate that he has taken the time to respond in your vernacular. Writing does get a little tiring after a bit. “If you wouldn’t mind. I think Trey would appreciate that.” He pauses, looking to Ruggie, who sways around the room with his hands behind his head in boredom, dipping his gaze to the lilies standing tall in a bucket on the ground. “Right, Ruggie?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever is fine.”

The wolf huffs a bit before crossing his arms. “You know, you should be grateful (Name) is doing this so last minute since you forgot to place the order a week ago like we all agreed on.”

“Ugh get of my back‒ Leona had me running around more than usual last week…” His eyebrows raise a bit when he brings his attention to the dandelions drying above him, a slight movement you take notice to when wrapping the bouquet in its final layer. “Besides, who cares about all the details of each flower, it’s not like whoever is receiving them is looking into all the deep meanings of each blade of grass.”

You finish tightening the bow around the bouquet, assuring with your trained hands that it is secured tightly onto the broom, before handing it off to Jack. “Just like you mentioned in the interview‒ green color scheme, with symbols of loyalty, prosperity, and patience. Here is a card that has all of the flower languages on them.” You sign, which the man responds with a smile, and a clumsy thank you with his hands.

Ruggie has drifted over to the dandelion heads soaking in a bowl of water, being prepared for the dandelion honey you sell at Sam’s shop while his junior admires the bouquet in reverence. “You like dandelions?” You write on a notepad, poking Ruggie with it. He looks over lazily, shrugs.

“I guess.”

“They symbolize ‘an oracle of love’, resilience, and even sorrowful goodbyes. The name Dandelion comes from the word dent-de-lion, meaning the ‘jaws of a lion’- fierce, is it not?” Ruggie hums in curiosity in response, glancing at the flowers again to imagine it with a growing smile on his face. “Flowers and plants all have their silent poetry. It’s good to tip your ears to them once in a while, they may have something to say to you.”

“You hear that Jack‒ ‘jaws of a lion’..." The hyena says with his hand on his hips, a bashful finger grazing his nose.

"Yeah, yeah. Let's get going, we have a lot of prep to do for Trey's celebration." Jack turns to you before he leaves "Oh, you should stop by if you have time‒ everyone was curious during my birthday who had arranged my broomquet. I'm sure the other students would be thrilled to see the face of our new‒ well, I guess not so new anymore‒ gardener."

You furiously shook your head, scurrying your hands across the air in a flurry. "I wouldn't want to intrude…my work is nothing worth fussing over…"

"Anyone with a pair of working eyes can see otherwise‒ your talent is unmatched, you nearly performed a miracle reviving my half dead cacti." Jack smiles, remembering fondly of the times he had come in, asking you for advice on his growing horticulture collection. "Besides, it's nice for the students and staff to get familiarized."

"And free cake." Ruggie adds.

You raised your eyebrows at that, quelling the swirling anxiety in your stomach. "…okay, I'll try to make it. Just have to finish a few things here and I should be good to head out."

"We'll see you then, (Name)."

——————————————————

You brush your apron, relieving the weariness of a day's work in the breath that swelled from the bottom of your stomach and escaped as an audible huff that loosened the tension of your shoulders. However when you glance at your phone, anxiety shot through you as you realize time had passed a lot quicker, and it was about half an hour past the time Jack had told you to come. In racing footsteps, you gathered your items, throwing your apron on the hook near the front door before slamming it.

By the time you arrive, everyone is singing happy birthday, gathering in a circle around who you assumed was Trey, who bore a bashful smile on his face with the broomquet in his hands. You catch the eye of Jack across the room, who lights up when you wave nervously at him. The room erupts in applause and bright laughter as Trey blows out the candles of his cake‒ a volume you take a mental note of to judge just how many people were at this celebration. Quite a lot, especially now as the students disperse, preparing plates and cutlery to cut the delicious looking strawberry shortcake.

"Hey~ what are you doing here?"

There’s a surge of anxiety when those words are pointed at you, which you respond with a pressed smile as you swerve your head to the voice. To your surprise, you recognize the face which greets you, though it is a bit unnatural seeing them without a bluish tint to their skin, or scales. You suppose it’s a surprise for them as well, seeing you out of the water for the first time in about eight years.

“I thought I recognized that face. Hello, (Name), it has been a while.”

You hands move automatically to the pen and paper stuffed inside your pocket. “Jade? Floyd? It’s been a while. What are you doing here?”

“Eh? What's with the notepad little siren?”

The anxiety returned with Floyd's words. Even with the Leech family’s connections and the chattiness of your hometown, it was hard for rumors to form with the eight years you had spent apart from your home‒ your friends. You were thankful a bit for the amnesty it brought you on rare occasions like this, but explaining the whole situation was difficult for you‒ making up a believable excuse even more so considering the one memorable thing your species was known for. Sirens‒ their voice famed to plunge sea farers into maddening passion, the talents of which even the great Sea Witch openly admired in historical record. Perhaps you had been an example of this once, training your throat to squeeze and burn itself to strike impossible notes, whirling an unmatched vibrancy when you perfected each lyric, each score, each tendon to stand straight, expand your lungs, smile, and sing. Even if you had such talents in the past, it was negated with every pinch and pull of your mother’s craft‒ that memory now clandestine, numbed from the surgery.

Or that’s what you told yourself, as your calloused fingers graze the satin ribbon around your neck, the scars marring it aching slightly as you adjusted the fabric in a slight nervous tick. They’re been healed from quite some time‒ or you believe they are from the years you had observed every winding crack slowly dull against time‒ but the mountainous fossils carved onto your flesh would grow tender like this, pushed then retraced piercingly like the jagged shores far from your homelands, leaving snowy, bursting seafoam prickling against your skin. You suppose all you could do is tighten a smile against your mute lips, maneuvering past it as best you could.

“I’ll explain later. What are you guys doing at NRC?”

“We’re students, see~?” Floyd flashes a crooked smile, turning to the side to show off his dorm uniform. “Jade here is even the vice dorm leader. Boring if you ask me.”

“What are you doing here, (Name)? I don’t think I’ve seen you in my classes.”

“My aunt just retired as the gardener here, she's back at her shop in the Shaftlands. So I've come to officially take her place."

"We'll have our quartet back in no time now‒ you should visit the Monstero Lounge sometime so we can catch up~" Floyd wraps an arm around your shoulder, hanging lazily off it while his twin smiles.

"I agree with Floyd. Azul would be more than happy to see you too." At Jade's words, you brighten, and quickly scribble onto your notepad.

"Azul here too? Is he here today?"

Jade nods. "He's our dorm leader, actually. And yes, I think he just went outside to get some fresh air" his smile widens "you know how he is."

You do. Surely he was tired of the noise and pleasantries of birthday celebration. "Azul the dorm leader huh."

"You won't believe how much he’s changed unless you see for yourself." Floyd switches his weight to his other foot, landing on his brother's shoulder while gesturing to the veranda doors. You swerve your head towards it, trying to make out a figure against the bright blue skies and roses reaching towards the mild sun. There's a slight silhouette, but you can barely make out its features with the glare of the glass.

"You should go to him. He talks about you sometimes, you know." Before you could turn around and question the twins, their backs are turned from you, melting back into the bustling crowd. Despite your initial excitement, your feet move in idle footsteps, weighed by the heaviness which emerges from your wrapped throat, plummeting to the soles of your feet sticking densely onto the ground. The notepad in your hand is gripped through your sweaty palm‒ there was only so much space in each sliver of parchment you could fill with your words, the rest of your language lost to the silence which cages your throat. Even if you could rasp through your disfigurement with a language people would lend an ear to, you were sure that your thoughts, refined through your mother's distant voice, would drive you back into forlorn silence‒ your hands clawing and reopening your wounds wide and fresh enough to assure not even a breath could be heard from it. Flowers always came to you with such ease in comparison, eyes turned away from your secret adoration for something far more beautiful in perfectly placed petals, inventing no hope that you could cling to that would turn your throat raw with desire.

Even if these givings were seen, spoken of , or heard‒ you armor yourself by repenting‒ these gifts were never a virtue, but a disguise for the womb of shame you kept awake in your heart. Forgive me, for there is fear that one day that life will ripen within it‒ something as grotesque as myself, a venerable mirror to my slumbering desires to be swaddled and held. You arrive at the handle of the door too fast for your liking, hovering your hand over it with a heavy heart and tongue before grasping it quietly, hoping a little that your soundless footsteps would turn you into a phantom.

But when you are faced with a familiar image‒ his weaving dusty mauve hair, and the arctic clarity of his blue eyes, you can't help but to pause your prayers for a moment, met with the blinding joy his face brings you. Dear, dear friend.

You're so used to his name springing from your throat that you nearly tear the fragile nerves of your lesions with a rasp threatening to boil over by the warmth in your stomach. But you clench that tension in your hand as you scribble his name in hurried, crude strokes across the entire page.

"Azul?" You turned the paper pad over with clumsy, shaking hands. He looks just as surprised as you, but he nods slowly.

"(Name)?"

You nod your head vigorously to your name, decorated sweetly with his voice. His entire body is facing you now, taking you in with the gulp of his gaze. You do the same, noticing that, actually, not quite a lot has changed. Sure, the soft little octopus had grown tall and slender during the eight years you didn’t see him‒ but still, there is that mole dotted prettily on his face you remember quite well, and the softness of his eyes when they meet yours is one of your fondest, most tender memories, unraveled whenever you saw the sea blue glow of freshly fallen snow, or the velvety reflection of the skies in gentle spring creeks. But now they were here, gazing back at you, there were no words that appeared in your mind, or which you could communicate with the likeness of flowers. It's so sweet again when you hear his voice.

"What's happening? Why are you writ‒ never mind that." He shakes the thought away. "How…How have you been? Last I heard from mother you had moved with your aunt somewhere on land."

Azul does not question how, or why you stood in front of him after eight years, but rather simply‒ how are you? The smile that blooms at that realization hurts your cheeks. Azul mirrors your sentiments silently, relieved that there were no comments on his appearance of how he's "changed so much". Dear, dear friend. He missed this. Missed you too.

"I'm well. Been working as a gardener here, I enjoy it. How have you been? I’m guessing busy, I heard you're a dorm leader from the twins."

"Ah, you've already met them I see. I just hope they haven’t said anything…unnecessary." His smile widens, you trace the movement of his mole which stretches against the curve of his lips. "I've been…alright. Land life has been a lot to adjust to, but I think I have the hang of it now."

"Haha. It was a lot for me when I first came on shore too. Pillows are so weird, aren't they?"

The dormhead chuckles as you approach him near the railing, situating yourself beside him to face the white roses dotting the garden. One meant mercy, purity, the breath of love; two‒ "I deserve you"; three‒ adoration; 99 white roses, and this would be an Eden of eternal love. But you're too enraptured by his laughter to count, caught in the waves of his lightness.

"They are. But I think it's nice now, might even be a hit at the reef if we sell them during spring break. You mentioned you're a gardener?"

"Yes. I just maintain the horticulture on campus, and I do bouquets from time to time like Trey's broomquet today." You write fast, wanting to answer Azul quickly, fill the time with as much of him as you could. He leans over, watching you as you scribble, relishing silently in the smell of fresh cut lilies and seaside rosemary tangled in a salty sweet ocean breeze.

"An impressive feat, considering the size of our campus. If you're willing‒ I may actually need your help with the twin's birthdays coming soon."

“I'd be happy to help! We would need to set an interview up like I do with most of my clients‒ just so I know their preferences more. But it'll be easier since I already know Jade and Floyd." Truthfully, you were already putting together the perfect bouquet for the twins, violet roses here, silver ragwort there, and a sprinkle of beauty berry should bring the composition together in a delicate balance. The meeting was just an excuse to assure another conversation with Azul again, a thought which churned a feeling of shame within you, rolling you smooth with its ragged tongue that sanded down the rough joy jutting out from you like an unfinished pearl. When Azul nods on confirmation, this sensation becomes slightly eased, but your muscles churn inside you like the dark, deep seas.

"I agree. Nonetheless, us four should meet at the mostero lounge soon to catch up. I could use a talent like yours to freshen up the look of the lounge a bit‒ perhaps we could work a contract of some sort out."

"I'm not that good, I'm not so sure I can hold up to your expectations, dormleader."

"Please‒ Jade's tastes aren't so bad but Floyd's sense of interior design is abysmal. His idea of interior design is a bunch of half finished snacks decorating the shelf beside his bed. Any help would be wonderful."

A silent laugh shakes your shoulders. "I'll think about it."

The patio door opens again‒ revealing Jack, who waves a hand towards you, and speaks with clumsy hands. "They're cutting the cake (Name)- Azul, you too‒ it's gonna be gone if you stay out here for too long."

"Be right there." You sign, lifting your body from the deck railing.

"Is that sign language? I've never seen it in person." Azul holds the door open for you, allowing you to scurry in with a bow of your head.

You nod. "Writing gets tiring at times. But I'm happy either way people speak to me." There’s a twitch in Azul’s eyes that you catch at your statement, regret tingling at your fingertips making your skin feel raw against your flesh. You squeeze the meat of your palm to ignore it.

"We saved you two some cake~" Floyd summons the two of you with a wave, gesturing to two neighboring seats across from them.

Jade smiles, scooping a part of his cake with a fork. "It's nice that we're back together like this. It seems forever ago that you left the reef (Name)."

"But eight years fly by, don't they? You're going to have to catch me up on all the embarrassing stories of each other."

"Only if you let us in on some blackmail about you (Name)." Floyd reveals his sharp teeth with a wide grin, licking the icing off his fork.

"I will." You write, hoping you can fill their heads enough with the happier moments at your aunt's flower shop and time so far as the NRC gardener, rather than deliberate the disease which flowered in your lungs, the sickness that came with it‒ the surgery, the scarring, the healing‒ your departure from your mother, from your home, from them. The ribbon feels tight on your throat, your smile grows tense on your lips. You try your best to quell the swelling waves of anxiety, eased a bit with the laughter of your friends that rang in your presence once more.

——————————————————

You meet them again at the VIP section of their lounge just a few days later, having planned a date to meet before you went home after the birthday celebration. Though conversation was a bit stiff at first, energy begins to swell in the room as you reminisce the events of your childhood, and the years of adolescence you missed in the 8 years of absence from your hometown. The conversation slowly progresses towards how the three would be able to see you more, shifting back to Azul's proposal to have you come to set up flower arrangements in the lounge.

"How about roses?" Floyd suggests. "Classic. Everyone likes them."

A shrug. "Hm. They're a nice touch‒ but a bit basic. I can add them in, but I wouldn't make them the focal point since there's just better flowers out there."

"What do you suggest?" Azul asks.

You think, flipping through the catalog of flowers in your mind. "Especially for the color scheme of your dorm, I think hydrangeas would be nice. Blue poppies, perhaps some rosemary in there as well. Maybe purple carnation‒” you scribble that last thought away as quickly and vigorously as it came, your throat tightening in remembrance at that thought.

“Those sound great‒ but I want something more elegant looking, the carnations you mentioned would be fitting‒ ah‒ remember those flowers from that story you always talked about? The one about the poetry being written on the petals?”

You were glad he moved from carnations. Besides, purple carnations signified grief and death in some cultures, far removed from the emblem of prayer they were in your culture. “Hyacinths?”

“Precisely. What do the white ones mean?” What about this one? What does this say? How about this, this, and this? You remember the way he pointed to each flower in your encyclopedia lent by your aunt, his small fingers fluttering across the page like a busy little cuttlefish at your riveting explanations. This is this, this and this. There was always a hurry to your words when you spoke to others‒ particularly your mother‒ rushing to seize the brief opportunity allowed for you to speak, but no matter how much you had stumbled over your words in clumsy delight, Azul listened with a smile on his face, making notes on paper for his experiments, words rushing to his hands like a school of fish.

“White ones mean a ‘quiet love’, or ‘love that is quelled’. If you want something with a happier meaning though, I would go with white wisteria, it means sweet nostalgic memories or drunken love; cornflowers‒ delicacy and elegance; or salvia‒ veneration and wisdom. Purple chrysanthemum would be splendid too‒ meaning your wish will come true."

You remember when your mother was kinder, tucking your small, innocent body into her soft arms‒ hushing your cries with a tender whisper. It was without that rattle in your throat she pointed towards you like a knife when you grew from that chaste form, sullied and filled with her disappointment. Your body was tall and flushed with it, but not quite tall enough, not quite curved and plump the way she liked‒ needed you to be to carve her desired image into you. A mirror within a mirror within a mirror‒ mother and child, mother and child. Her words lashing as the waves cracking against the jagged rocks, shaping you into a memorial of her pains, her aching hunger.

But you returned to that far-flung memory of her maternal care, remembering the legend she told you about purple chrysanthemums‒ placing one dearly to your hair, chirping her bright song with a story that was passed from the throat of her mother, to the her ears as a child, blood through blood. This was one of the only memories you remember of her singing not to an audience or a stage‒ but to you, flesh of her womb, skin and bones lovingly mirrored in babbling purity. You trace her unusually soft words with your hand, gliding across the page with the exact pitch of her voice swimming in your mind.

"There's a legend among our kind, of the purple chrysanthemum. We decorate our most treasured people with it, and wear it as a sign of someone watching over you to make a dream come true‒ whether it is a benevolent god, or another person." You pause your writing, the three looking over you to watch you write. "It symbolizes the victory of love‒ its power which pulls the best from you to achieve something as distant as a dream."

Your pen stills. "But‒ I should retract my suggestion. People of other cultures use it to commemorate death, I wouldn't want to offend someone."

Azul is brightened by the way you talk about flowers again, the fragrant morsels on his mind blooming, coloring him vividly in your dazzling artistry. This is this, this, and this. The way you forge lustrous, silent poetry with each careful placement of a blossom amazes him each time, finding your words lingering and echoing in the cove of his mind. "No." His mouth races somewhat brash, he tries again, clearing his throat. "No‒ I trust your initial judgment." He smiles. You trace that mole on his face. "I like it."

"Then it's decided."

Floyd yawns, draping his arms dramatically against the couch, and lulling his head upwards with a sigh. “Ugh. Enough with the flower talk‒ let’s talk about something more interesting.” He flashes a toothy smirk. “(Name), you wanna hear about the time Azul cried so hard he threw up?”

His twin clasps his hands with a similar expression. “Oh, that’s definitely a good one.”

Azul’s eyes blow wide open. “That is absolutely a violation of our contract‒”

“I don’t believe that includes (Name) actually.” Jade muses with a sly grin.

"Why was he crying so hard he threw up??"

The dormleader groans, dropping his hands into hands.

The twins exchange a look before Jade answers. "You, of course."

"Me?" You point to yourself in disbelief.

Floyd chuckles. "He sipped a little wine at the restaurant on accident. Then he starts blubbering about how 'oh I miss them', 'oh remember when they did this', and 'oh‒"

"I think they get the point, brother."

While Floyd ignores his twin in favor of continuing the story, Azul continues to hide his slowly darkening face behind his hands, while you sit, pen hovering over the paper.

“Why?”

The twins blink with a confused expression on their face, while Floyd speaks with a baffled tone. “Ha? Why? What do you mean why?” From the corner of your eye, you see Azul lift his head from his hands to look you, with what expression, you can’t tell‒ training your eyes on the paper with hardened brows, blood tinging on you tongue from the flesh drawn between your teeth.

The pen in your hand hovers above the paper with a soft tremble. Why? Why me? When you left that reef years ago, you left any notion that your presence would be something that would be worth lingering over‒ much more grieving about‒ a thought that was confirmed by the way your mother hurriedly dumped you at your aunt’s flower shop near the somber shores, her frosty gaze and distanced followed by years of inveterated silence as incurable and everlong as the one wrapped around your throat. Like the winter storms on the beach where your aunt's shop sat upon, that silence from your mother, and everyone else for that matter, was as thrashing and unforgiving to your empty ears and throat. There was nothing left for you down there, just memories that would make that scraped dryly against your throat and make you long for something your body was not mended properly for. So the proposition that Azul had felt something towards you‒ so much so that he had shed actual tears for you‒ threatened to bring the nausea deep in your darkened stomach frothing at the surface. You pushed through it, hand gliding clumsily across the paper.

“Never mind, sorry. I should get going soon‒ I’m behind on some duties in at the Botanical Gardens.”

Azul sighs in slight relief, and stands as you gather your things. "I'll see you off." You bid goodbye to the twins, who flash a pointed smile at you while Azul holds open the lounge doors to leave.

“Come back again so we can embarrass Azul more with our stories.” You smile at Jade's words.

Before you pass through the portal, Azul taps your shoulder. He lays his hand flat against his lips, sweeping it towards you. You're taken a bit by surprise, but soon your cheeks ache from the warmth squeezed into them by your curved lips, turning the nausea reaching from your stomach to your chest into something, you think, extraordinary.

You held that feeling in your chest as much as the rupturing threaded into yourself would‒ drinking in the ease of passing clouds and the clemency of rippling seawater tickling the bottom of you feet‒ much too quick, too light, too wonderful to be bound by the chthonic gods. Your heart races with the swiftness of sprightly, sun drunken waves. There was a rising ache‒ knowing your fractured body would splinter before you could swallow this feeling in its entirety, filling you body brilliantly like a blooming chrysanthemum‒ unfurling its divine petals towards all cardinal directions in a form which flared itself every which way. Victory of love. You knew it would not triumph against your fragmentation‒ but despite it all, you smiled stupidly, weaving your florid fingers against his to show him the correct placement of the word.

"Like this." You instruct‒ on his chin, near that dotted mark, then towards you in one motion. The word is practiced twice so you can linger your hands on his own. "Thank you, thank you." You mouth.

The heat of your fingers burns this motion into him, even as you let go. He practices it again, hoping to retrieve your sensation onto his skin with the repeated motion. “Thank you.”

You take your pointed and middle finger to your eye, then glide it towards the tip of your chin with a circle made with your pointer and thumb.

“See you soon.”

——————————————————

Carnations are always a favorite among your customers. The flower of love, of adoration‒ of the gods. They have been woven into hair to commemorate new beginnings, have been rumored to sprout from a devoted mother’s tears faced with her child’s death. Their name comes from carnis, or flesh, from the myth of innocent bloodshed, a shepherd who had his eyes gouged out from a goddess of the hunt, who was displeased by his flute playing which caused the animals of her hunting grounds to be spooked. From his empty flesh, carnations grew, white petals emerging, stained with blood. White carnations typically signify the mourning of lost lives, pure love, unrequited love, loyalty, faithfulness, a mother’s love.

But most of all, it whispers, my love for you is alive. It felt that way when they flourished in your lungs, choking the song in your throat in just a few months after they sowed into your meat. Alive and red and beating so vibrantly against your flesh‒ filthy with the darkened red of your aching insides. They came as impossible heaps from your mouth, emptying quietly as you could in the corner of your room so as not to bother your sleeping mother in the room over. You remember furling your body inward, praying it to become smaller, smaller, smaller‒ quieting your agony, erasing your swaying footsteps to the medicine cabinet, slicing your body up and down into manageable pieces. It was a dance in your eyes you carried everywhere with you that classified every variation of footsteps, the slightest inflection in tone, a twitch of the lungs before it even came‒ so you could shape yourself flat against the sharpened teeth of any who bothered to bite down on your brittle, bitter form, flaying and cleaving your meat carefully to its shape. Your eyes remembered these wounds, reopened and festering against your clumsy stitches to take into account next test‒ next time, next interaction, next opportunity to prove‒ I’ll be better, I’ll prove I am worthy enough to live.

‘You’re so sensitive‒ you would be good with flowers’, your aunt says. Thank you, you gulp in the ache of your disfigurement with pride‒ a medallion passed from your mother, passed from her mother, passed from her own‒ blood through blood it was gifted, and split from your strangled throat. It felt like your body rejected it, but oh, that was the best part of it all‒ more pain, more, more, more‒ something to wear on your skin as a testament to how you’ve been such a good child, to mutilate yourself against anyone’s maws. Something to show, mother, love me for all of these marks prove it, prove that I can cut open myself deep enough to mirror the perfected version of yourself.

Carnations are a symbol of that. People give them as a trophy of love that is agony, love that is alive, love which slaughters. It is a mother's love. They're popular in those early months during the spring, where the flowers devour the corpses mulled over by autumn and winter, chewing and spitting it out with a drunken splendor. As such you had many on hand during these colder months, surrounded by consecrations of this love, thrashing, bursting inside you like sea-brine churned into frothing bubbles, the waves breaking against it swelling them over the edge of the shore. You could feel the eyes of the flowers leering towards you, tightening the ribbon around your neck.

The hand in your pocket reaches towards the heads, your fingers brush against their cold petals. They are worn, withered from the days they have slept stagnant and untouched in their watery casket. You are quick to take them from their bucket, shoving in a bag to be thrown away in the compost, back into the earth to nourish the next generation.

“(Name)?”

Was it already that time already? You had promised him you would meet with him to plan the twins' broomquet after you closed, but the day had waded through you so quickly.

His name, as always, almost makes it out of your throat. But you held the silence in your mouth like your muffled heartbeat, quietly turning to him with weary eyes. He immediately drinks their lorn gaze, before he takes out a small leather bound pocketbook from his inner pocket, flipping through a few pages, returning it to his coat when he finishes reading the contents of the page. With clumsy hands, he signs. “Do you need help?”

You look him up and down, pausing your hands shoved deep inside the bag of wilted carnations. “You know sign language?”

“I learned.” He says sheepishly. “Apologies‒ clearly I haven't gotten too far with it. I don't know some words yet.”

Your eyes widen. “Why?”

He points to his head, then towards you. For. You. I learned for you.

A smile curves on his lips, but you avert your eyes from it. You’re afraid to measure that tinted color on his cheeks, the shape of his softened eyes, the length of his smile the wrong way‒ to take something without anything worthy from yourself to give in compensation, so you take his words instead, knowing you could at least repay them with something much more beautiful, whole. Flowers. You don't look at him. “I could use some help.”

He rolls his sleeves up, takes the carnations in his hands and brings them inside the bag. “What is the meaning of carnations?”

“Love, adoration, ‘my love for you is alive’.”

“Easy to capitalize on. I see why it is so popular.” He takes one between his fingers, twirls it with a sly smile. "I like it."

You return it best you could. “They’re a bit grotesque, don’t you think? The petals are quite unfinished, like they’ve been cut jagged.”

“You don’t like them?”

You remember the day after the surgery, your lungs emptied not only from the lack of carnations taking seed inside of it, but sapped from anything you had felt for your mother. You realized, that day, oh.

It was her all along.

You had searched far and wide for what the cause of your sickness was‒ you had given too much yourself to too many people to pinpoint who you had such feelings for. Your nerves felt exposed to all, to everything all the time, pricked and pinched at any abstruse movement, washing over you like a bloody crusade everytime.

There was nothing written about in the dozens of books, articles, and lyrics you dug up that had said anything about familial love specifically, so it never struck you that it was even a possibility‒ besides‒ your mother loved you, didn't she?

But of course, the carnations‒ of course. Your love for her may have been alive, but so were these flowers, once. Before they were picked from your tendons and emptied from you as rubbish.

The absence of your piteous devotion to her plummeted your heart deep into the ocean abyss, your flesh weighted as a museum of that dance, the butchering of your body, marked up and down with lines which traced the shapes of jaws with surgical precision. If you could not be loved by the flesh which founded your own, surely, it would be a ludicrous dream to wish for any other being to love you at all, to take the weeping, patchwork meat of your body and consume it.

You want to get rid of all these carnations, give them all away at once. Take them, take them all. Yes, your mother would love these‒ yes or course they're a sign of eternal love, pure love‒ anything and everything that is alive, they would be a wonderful gift. You offer them as extras to people, suggest them instead of those beautiful roses or lilacs or lilies. These gifts were never a virtue, but a disguise for the womb of shame you kept awake in your heart. Take them, take it all. Take everything from me.

You smile, squeeze your eyes to mimic candor.

"No, I hate them."

His expression is like sand, shifting in a thousand ways. You try to inspect each grain of lustrous sand to feel how they shape around your words, but always, the waves. Wait here, you tell him, to go toss the flowers back into the decomposing earth to become the blood and body their children will sprout from. 

You set some lavender tea and dandelion honey cakes on the table‒ the bareness of the table is odious to you, sways you with abhorrence. Even with it filled, you sign. "I'm sorry, I wish I had more to offer you."

"This is plenty." He signs. You avert your eyes from that soft smile, but the warmth that bubbles in your chest knows the angle of its curve, the way his mole stretches across his chin, the world in his eyes.

"So, what exactly are you looking for in the twins’ bouquet?”

He thinks, you know he folds his arms to do this. “I trust your tastes. You were always better at reading people than I was.”

“I…” You pause. Yes, the dance‒ breathing in the world raw. But part of it is remaining silent to that ripening wound. “I guess.”

“What do you suggest, then?”

“I think blue star would be great. Perhaps some ragwort, and I believe I have some dried sea lavender left from my aunt’s shop. Salvia would be great too, and some Zion, beauty berry as well.”

“What do they all mean?”

“Blue star and salvia mean trust‒ something they are bound by. Zion flowers signify that someone is thinking of you, even if they are far. And sea lavender lets someone know they are thinking of you. Beautyberry means a deep understanding. I can of course fill up the space with roses, some chrysanthemums, of course.”

Azul writes in his small pocketbook, scribbling your words across a page, then another, then another. He was always like this when you talked‒ recording the medicinal properties of plants, committing your sensitives to flowers with a fervor. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d say he was excited by your words, but you didn’t.

“Is it alright if I came and watched?”

“Watched?”

“Yes, if I came and watched you work on the twins’ bouquet.”

“It’s boring work, you would fall‒“

You feel your hands in his, your words quickly swallowed by the warmth of his palms. He speaks with softness which reaches deep within your ears, tingles the back of your neck.

“I think it’s quite brilliant, the way you work.”

You want to clasp your ears shut, squeeze your eyes until you see stars‒ knees tucked into your body, forming an embryo to protect yourself from those words. Your tongue shakes in your mouth. You want to scream at him. However to realize this rejection through your trembling fingers would be to deny him something, even if it was the mangled scraps which make your bundle of flesh. You'd keep this revolution plunged deep inside the heart of your whirling sea, a war raging at your marrow to keep the shores lush with anything he'd wish to take. Take it, take it all.

You're still for a moment. "Have it your way, then."

He smiles, but this time, you can't look away.

——————————————————

When he comes a few days later, he brings tupperwares full of food.

"What's all this? A feast?" You see various dishes from the nights your mother brought you to perform at the Ashengrotto’s restaurant‒ fragrant steamed fish that falls off the bone, crunchy seaweed salad, steaming bowls of fish-broth soup, bursting with flavor.

“My mother’s recipes. Your favorite, at least from back then.” He remembers fondly of the times you would finish performing, joining him at the seat right beside him. You’d point to the aquatic plants, bring him to the magic and wonders of their chemistry, their mythos, your sensitivities to them, the world. He's shaped his shores against the curve of your gentle waves, your words always returning to his sandy beaches to leave a million gifts from the sea. This is this, this, and this. He'd hold each sparkling grain of sand, each seashell nymph like an exquisite pearl, cupping his ears to every single one to catch the whispers of eternity bundled in each of them. No matter how you would run yourself raw against jagged beaches and the maws of dark coves‒ he would remain a mirror to your sun faced sanctuaries, hoping that in this lifetime, you would realize that it was you‒ you all along‒ that he'd chased, parodying your brilliance to finally become himself.

His words almost bring you to tears. You gulp it down with the nausea that rises on your tongue, cindering the muscle with its heat.

"Why are you‒" your hands spit out these words in a fervor. "Why are you so fucking nice to me? What is all this?"

You hate the way his expression softens, the infinite arctic blue which melts against your image, the elation in your chest upon devouring such delectable things. It’s revolting.

"Because…" He begins out loud. There’s breath that swells his shoulders, before he gathers his fingers to a shaking fist, locking it under his chin.

Precious.

You swing your head left and right mutely, wrapping a hand around your neck as if to choke any sound that could be ripped from it. Still, it comes out like dried leaves, a strangled rasp, a whimper which rattles in your tightened throat. You hate how he pulls your trembling fingers from your skin, you hate it. But you let him.

His warmth comes as a cosmic storm stirring the oceans into inescapable waves. You were a fool to even try to shelter yourself from it‒ his tenderness beat against your form so loudly it hurt. You can’t pull away, your body does not let you.

Azul sees the fear that bruises your eyes, the way your chest lurches, in heaving, shuddering, controlled breaths to mathematically contain that terror inside of you. There’s a moment where he suspects himself to be the culprit, the distaste of his form, the vile nature of his weaknesses. But you had always consumed all of him, everything‒ his unsightly body, his awful shortcomings, all of the best and worst parts of himself with what surely was heavenly grace. Everything but his adoration for you, a mirror to your givings to the world, and most of all‒ him. This was something within.

He brings you to a seat, a cup of water to your hands. He lets you take time, sipping the moment in small gulps like the drink he sets in your hands. Silence, even with the lack of words exchanged between you two, was never something which was present when you were beside him. His mind always rushed with thoughts about you‒ all the more louder in the eight years you had been absent from his side. Even then, your likeness was always carved in the back of his mind, coming and going like a haunting oceanfront.

“Do you remember the first day we met?”

You remember. “Tell me.” You sign.

“You saved me from those awful kids, remember? I still got so scared of them I got ink everywhere. You were in such wonderful garments I didn’t want you to get dirty, so I told you to back off.”

His smile makes your own. He continues. “I was such a brat back then‒ even after you fended those kids off I told you to get away from me‒ ‘don’t come crying if I spoil your garments!’” A stiff chuckle escapes your nose as you remember the expression on his face. It was much like your own‒ frightened. “But you told me‒“

“Stain them, I don’t care.” Of course you remember. The surprise on his face, the stutter of his hands as you held them.

“Yes. We spent the whole day together. You took me to the shores for the first time, facing the field of‒ what was it?”

“Memorial roses.”

“Memorial roses. You told me they meant love for the honest form." He drags his gaze from his hands, and into your eyes. "I didn't even see the sun set when you talked about flowers the way you do. All my current knowledge of horticulture comes from you, you know.”

"Surely not all of it."

He shakes his head. "No, all of it. I've inscribed every word you've said to me in my mind and I've carried you with me all those years I spent toiling away in my octopot." The hand he rests on your own warms your fingers. "I have you written all over me."

You grip the heat of your throat, hands heavy as you raise them to retaliate, again. "No. Why would you want‒ ."

"I'm not. Why do you think so?" That softness, again, his eyes. Revolting.

You threw the words from your hands in frustration. Didn't he understand? "Why would you want someone like me to‒ to poison you?"

"I could say the same for myself. Why did you defend me that day?"

You remember the look in his eyes, the way he crouched low to the ocean floor in shame. "I saw myself in you. I couldn't‒"

"You couldn't bare it." He finishes.

"Yes, but you're different. With me, I'm not‒ I wasn't‒ "

"But you aren't different." There's a growing lump in his throat, frustration, heat‒ it rises with the volume of his voice, erupting raw at the back of his tongue. "Why won't you let me show you that you're worthy of the same treatment you give to the world?"

“How could I let you?" Your legs ascend from beneath you, your hands feel hot in the air as you flare them out from yourself, hurling them for Azul to see. "Look."

"Look at me." He would see, finally.

The nail of your thumb digs on your chin as your splayed hand sharply juts from your skin. It says, "My own mother".

You slip the ribbon from your throat, unraveling yourself in front of him. Azul sucks a tense breath in‒ you revel in it, your venerable mirror‒ it breaks against your old stitches, bringing you an ineffable bloom inside your chest. You don’t know if it's pleasure or pain which tightens it, but you feel as living, as chemical, as whole as a flourishing chrysanthemum‒ blazing your florid petals every which way, splitting the bud in a thousand directions. Here is proof. You lay yourself out, to him, flay your fragmentation against his eyes. The wounds burn fresh the air. This was your wish, wasn’t it? Still, the seafoam bursting against your skin, the ache, in waves. You hold the emptiness in your hand triumphantly, or, you try to.

He looks when you tell him to, of course, but the softness in his eyes tightens your chest. He's silent for a moment, thinking. "Aright." Finally, he speaks.

"Will you make a contract with me?"

"...what?"

"A contract. Will you make one with me?"

Your knees fall from you when you lean towards the table in support, seating you in the chair across from him. You open your arms, facing your palms towards him, empty, silent.

"I don't have anything I could trade you."

He reaches towards your emptiness, filling it with his warmth. "Then give me this. If you have nothing, grant me you."

You bring his heat near your face, hoping to harbor‒ at least‒ next to it. You won't take it, you couldn't. The fear laps upon you like stormy waves, it's force tearing your fingers from his. "I don't have enough of myself to give you."

"This." He replenishes the absence in your hands again. "This is more than enough‒ it will always be enough." It's a firm grip, it quells the tremble in your body slightly.

"So, will you make a contract with me?"

Hesitantly, you nod.

He guides you towards the shop window where the flowers swill in the moonlight, violet chrysanthemums shining pearly, plump with their honeyed sap. He slips one between his fingers, holds it between the two of you. "I lied when I said I only liked these. When you tell me of promises of success, of love‒ I feel like I can crack open this world with my bare hands. I don’t just like it‒ everything that comes from from you soars my soul."

He continues, bashfully. You feel filled with his words. "You're my ocean, the waters that shape my shores. You've always been where I belong, and what comes back to me to mold me to what I am even after your physical absence." The heat of his hands feel like fire on your skin as he pulls it towards his own. "This is a contract, a promise. Will you let love victor over you?"

You trace that spot on his face as he smiles, you find the small way that it curves mirrored on your own lips. You drink in his smile, returning it with your own; you breathe his scent in, exhale with the breath in your lungs that stirs his and yours‒ you mold yourself against him like you've done so many times against gnashing teeth and jagged seaside cliffs, but this time, your rolling waves kiss warmly against his sun faced sanctuaries, melding together to refract the light in your joint tenderness. The feeling begins as a seed he implants in your chest, pressed firmly against your heart, and you feel it slowly burst open when it is showered in his gaze, his touch, all of him against all that you can muster‒ an ineffable thing, a bloom which you could never put into words, even with the language of whispering flowers and the spectacular earth. It comes in heaping waves like the tears that draw flushed lines on your face. He takes all which falls from you in his hands, staining his hands with the salty fragrance.

"Stop that. I'll get your hands all dirty."

"Stain them, I don't care."

You sob, you smile harder. The tears make it impossible to neurotically measure the twinge of his muscles, the shape of his expression. But you don't think of this, filled with the knowledge of his tenderness, the precise shape of his smile, the softness of his seaborne eyes that fossilize deep within you. "You know I'll be difficult. I always am."

"And you know this about me to, don't you? But this feeling for you comes as easy as water to me."

It's true what he says, you feel like you're floating‒ weightless in the mild seas, drinking in the sunlight which trickles from the skies. Waves upon waves of this brilliance that tilts the light a thousand ways for you to admire. The chrysanthamum petals seem to widen with his warmth, the same unraveling comes bursting, flowering forward in your chest. Victory of love. It comes not as a whisper this time, but loudly as the beat of your blood. You feel it within you, that victory. At last you hold it in your hands, and it shines and lusters like a brilliant peal seeped into each of its petals, blooming forward with all of its love. You allow yourself place the flower in his hair, decorating his face with your love, your victory.

——————————————————

Notes:

All sign language is based off of American Sign Language

Part of the reason why I wanted to use hanakotoba (Japanese flower language) rather than western meanings for flowers was not only because I was more familiar with it, but because the twins I believe are Asian coded. The Octavinelle dorm is seen as the "yakuza" one (Japanese controlled crime syndicate), since they demand those Azul signs contracts with to pay the price, whether through general intimidation, or just straight up physical violence. Tweels also unfortunately sort of fit into the 'Asian twins' stereotype seen in Disney media (Siamese cats in Artisocats), but their overall design (ie eye shape and bristle-y, straight hair) fit into a pseudo Asian look. You know, as much as the fictional land of twisted wonderland will allow. But either way, I think it would be cool to see different species of seafolk have different cultures, and I think sirens in particular would have their own beliefs, systems, and traditions connected to verbal storytelling.

Not entirely sure if this is the case in the western world, but the east is very sensitive about numerology‒ so “bad” numbers are usually avoided when picking out the number of flowers to give to someone.

Chthonic gods are gods connected to the underworld

Carnations were used in coronation garlands for the Romans

Christians believed that it was the flower that sprouted from Mary's tears after the crucifixion of Jesus

Also associated with Artemis, who gouged a shepherd's eyes out because she blamed his flute playing for the lack of game that day. Therefore, they are a symbol of innocent bloodshed

Carnis, the word which is speculated the word carnation comes from, also means flesh. The genus name Dianthus comes from Zeus, connecting it to his daughter Artemis' story

Memorial Rose (ノイバラ) : In the western world, it is often a symbol of wisdom or talent, used often on literary and musical symbolism by writers such as Goethe. But in Japan, it symbolizes "love for the raw/honest form", as it is usually a wild flower that grows in the plains. Modest, but lovely. In Japan it is also called the ノイバラ or "thorn of the plains", so this modest but definitely still packs a punch. Just like Azul lol

Also often grows in the coasts

Omg I just noticed all of the fics I have written has had a toxic maternal parental figure don’t worry I’ll even it out soon lol

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland angst #twisted wonderland fanfic #twisted wonderland fan fiction #twisted oc #twisted wonderland azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul ashengrotto #twst azul #twst azul x reader #twst azul ashengrotto #twisted wonderland scenerios #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted series #azul x reader #twisted wonderland hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #jack howl #ruggie bucchi #floyd leech #jade leech #leech twins #twst x reader #twisted wonderland analysis #trey clover #hanakotoba #hanahaki #flower language #broomquet

[scifrey]

Somehow I wrote 137k words of The Sandman fanfic in the last 5 months. Behold: the result!

This has been an incredible journey - I decided to step back into fandom while I was waiting on some publishing info and news, just as something to do to keep my creativity sharp. The community and reception I discovered, however, has been astoundingly welcoming. I feel reinvigorated and ready to tackle my revisions on my next novel!

THE HOB ADHERENT SERIES

In which Hob Gadling's Stranger returns, they start a weekly hangout, Hob becomes Morpheus' Emotional Support Human (tm), Matthew bullies Hob onto a Docudrama TV series where Hob pretends to be his own ancestor, and Morpheus is the King of Repressed Symbolism.

Status: Complete

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some fun cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse, but it’s not necessary to know to enjoy the story.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Discussions of grief and in-canon character death.

Relationships: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Eleanor | Hob Gadling’s Wife/Hob Gadling (past)

Primary Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Matthew the Raven, Lucien | Lucienne (The Sandman), Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Patrick the Bartender, All the Endless Siblings, Rose Walker, Jed Walker, Lyta Hall, Daniel Hall, Orpheus, Lucifer, (plus some cameos from other characters from the Gaiman Television-Literary Universe)

CLING FAST

Hob Gadling is a clingy bastard, and he’s not ashamed to admit it. He clings to life. He clings to hope. He clings to his love of humanity. He clings to his Stranger. He also, unfortunately, has a habit of clinging to his name.

Which means, when the BBC is looking for a new pet history expert to appear in their educational docudrama series “Elizabethan Manor,” they’re overjoyed to find a professor who (according to their meticulous research) is actually descended from the Master of the National Trust building they’re filming in - Gadlen House.

Only Hob knows how right they are.

Picks up a few hours after the end of Season 01 Episode 6.

CARPE DIEM

Hob turns six hundred and sixty-six, invites some fellow Immortals to his pub to celebrate, and receives a gift from Satan themself. Or, the Key to Hell was always going to Be a Problem(tm).

Set between the epilogue and chapter one of Cling Fast.

HOLD TIGHT

Hob is tasked with his first quest as Vassal of the Endless, Morpheus is bad at using his words, Destiny thinks he's so clever, Desire makes a confession, Rose Walker meets her Uncle's boyfriend, and Lyta Hall punches Dream of the Endless in the nose. Or, the one where Hob Gadling turns into everyone's therapist, and honestly, he ain't mad about it.

Set at the end of Cling Fast - after the premiere of “Elizabethan Manor”, but before the Epilogue.

KEEPSAKES

Short ficlets set in the Hob Adherent world, based on prompts received from readers. Includes tales of how Hob and Eleanor met and wed, Hob being a badass at a Ren Faire, some hurt/comfort and sleepy smut, and the story of how Hob met Orpheus.

TAKE ROOT

A deleted scene for a sequel I ended up scrapping.

#Late to the dreamling week posting #Dreamling Week #dreamling week 2023 #Dreamling #centennial boyfriends #centennial husbands #the sandman #sandman #hob gadling #dream of the endless #matthew the raven #losyark #cling fast adjecent #cling fast #hob adherent #the hob adherent series #j.m. frey #dreamling week reblog #I know I keep reblogging the same thing #But I only have the one thing to share #hob x dream #hob is his own ancestor #professor hob gadling #lord morpheus #fan fiction #fanfic #am writing

[xaphrin]

Out of Curiosity. What do you think Raven’s core traits are as a person? Do you dislike a particular comic version of her? If there was one thing about Raven you never wanted to see again, what would it be?

Ooo... this is a good one.

I think her core-traits are her kindness and love for those around her, no matter what that love will look like. Whether it's physical, or emotional, or something else. She wants to have a real family, and have that support structure that she desperately craves. Her empathic powers force her to keep herself at a distance, but I also think that they allow her to truly feel what other people are feeling and that can be such a good bridge to building understanding and companionship.

I don't know if there's a version of her I dislike. There are versions I don't agree with and I think Scott Lobdell is a fuckwit who shouldn't be allowed to touch any characters ever, but I think there are aspects of each version and iteration of Raven that can be really good to build on her character. I like to see her as both perfect and flawed, and there are bits and pieces from every series and run that add to that.

One thing I wish I could never see again is the brooding, anti-social, creepy goth-girl vibe. Like, anti-social because she's trying to protect people from her powers is one thing, but full goth because... reasons? I can't do that. The girl is multi-faceted, let her have that. I also wish that Raven could explore romantic relationships with other people. There was SO MUCH HOPE for StarRae in Teen Titans Earth One, and like... it never happened. We WERE THERE. WE WERE RIGHT. THERE. And you know how I feel about certain ships within Teen Titans, so... I just wish we could have a bit more variety. But, that's also the multishipper in me talking, and some people don't like that.

Ultimately I love Raven, and I will probably devour any media with her in it. I love that she can be complicated, and fun, and funny, and kind, and evil, and dark, and flawed. I love that there is so much you can make with her, and it's why she's my favorite.

#I love asks like this #it makes me think and really breakdown why I love a character

[kulapti]

Don't leave me behind!! Jan 2023, pencil & krita.

From this ficlet by @themirokai

#matthew the raven #the sandman #dream of the endless #my art #artists on tumblr #flail without smacking ur boss in the face with ur wings challenge #Matthew constantly looking for new and creative ways to somehow not get fired from his Chief Raven job #I have in fact seen a bird do this but it was out of spite and not concern #not sure if a raven's bill is sharp enough that this would hurt. I'm thinkin it might. #go read the fic series tho it's super cute! excellent Matthew content #themirokai #Hi Miro I like your writing! I made u this :D #emotional support raven Matthew knows that Dream has a tendency to get into Situations and should not be left unsupervised #here there be fandom #<- followers who only want to see original art can block this tag btw #described #ID in alt text

[gyuuberryy]

WEDNESDAY FIC RECS!!

please give your love and support to these amazing authors<3

TYLER GALPIN

defiance by @wednesdays-roommate(laurel ordered tyler not to touch her daughter. but the closer to you he gets, the less he feels inclined to listen to any of her orders. and the less you want him to) this is my favourite tyler series, it's sooo good! you guys have to read it!!

poison heart by @words-of-holly(reader who is in love with tyler finds out about his secret)

jealousy jealousy pt1 by @gyuuberryy(xavier has been blowing you off for the new girl at your school and you’re fed up  and jealous of it. somehow things lead to you making out with tyler, the barista at weathervane. oh boy, you really need to sort out your feelings) self promo hehe, 1.4k words

jealousy jealousy pt2 by @gyuuberryy(you get to choose between them, make a wise decision!)

relationship headcanons by @thegoldtype

sanctum of solace by @klineinie(tyler escapes the transport at the end of s1, and shows up on your doorstep with the only scrap of hope he has left- you)

oh, dilute me by @mindtrcks(tyler can’t have wednesday, but he might still be able to have you)

when an almost ending happens by @rilakeila(3.1k)

the great war by @maybankswhore(finding out tyler’s been the hyde all along and none of it was real)

a taste of you by @eufezco(tyler galpin x vampire!reader)

XAVIER THORPE

just you by @atpsnty(after telling him that you were asked to the dance at your school in jericho, xavier gets all butthurt) 1.2k words

enemies to lovers! by @strqbrri3s

mistaken by @envirobliss(detention from ms. thornhill leads to a devastating butterfly effect.)

those few days by @4pparecium(you’re just concerned about your boyfriend’s issues but it leads to a terrible argument between you two yet you both still long for each other)

distraction pt1 by @kaicubus(on the day of the annual poe cup, you're put against your academic rival, xavier thorpe, and you don't want to lose. however, he has other plans of  getting the upper hand with you and knows exactly how to get his way. hes knocking out two birds with one stone, if you will)3.4k words

distraction pt2 by @kaicubus(demanding answers from your rival who stole a kiss from you  unexpectedly at the poe cup to distract you, you confront him, this time  ready to catch HIM off guard)

don't make me say it again by @hs-is-loml(xavier is close to snapping when you don't realize what he has been hinting)

jealousy jealousy pt1 by @gyuuberryy(xavier has been blowing you off for the new girl at your school and you’re fed up  and jealous of it. somehow things lead to you making out with tyler, the barista at weathervane. oh boy, you really need to sort out your feelings) self promo hehe, 1.4k words

jealousy jealousy pt2 by @gyuuberryy(you get to choose between them, make a wise decision!)

getaway car ! by @1-800-olympians(reader gets upset, when xavier pays no attention to her at the raven’s, but when things get complicated, and her best friend is in the center, she lets down her grudge)

the ghost by @mortemtheraven(y/n addams has been keeping secrets to herself lately, emotional ones. when she was asked by a werewolf to a date, a certain artistic outcast found himself burning in jealousy)

old fashioned lover boy by @1-800-olympians(when the addams twins arrive at the castle, xavier thorpe doesn’t expect to be interested in one of them)

bf texts with xavier thorpe by @sevi-rous

#wednesday imagine #wednesday #tyler galpin imagines #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe x reader #tyler galpin x reader #tyler galpin masterlist #xavier thorpe masterlist

[theodora3022]

Efforts

Genre: Yandere/Dark fic/Horror

Rollo Flamm x gender neutral Reader

Summary: As much as Rollo Flamm loves a challenge, he only has so much patience towards you, the object of his endless affection/obsession. 

Author’s Note:

This one is for all of  my friends (yeah you @187-mg) that love this freaky man. What can I say, those who claim to be the pious and holy, are often secretly the most perverted and repressed. This belongs to the same series as the Malleus “steal someone else’s partner”.  Not proof read!!! Be warned for my incoherent grammar!!!

Word count: 1.7k

Content Warnings: MENTIONS of starvation(willingly on reader's part) Canon divergence, mild nsfw, overall just awful*cough yandere content, Rollo is his own warning! 

Disclaimer: This is NOT healthy love and is MEANT to make you feel uncomfortable! 

By clicking the READ MORE you are assumed to have read the content warnings above.

Hard work produces results, no matter how distant one’s goal might seem. 

Rollo Flamm likes to think of himself as a man who applies that respectable rule in his everyday life. To him, being respectable is the basic condition for him to reach his goal. Of course, there is another rule: only strike at the right moment, which Rollo used to hold himself to, but he has failed on it recently.

The prefect of Night Raven College, who for sure has enchanted him with evil magic! Worse, they dare to claim to be a magicaless person? 

What urge, what dissatisfaction! These intense, sinful emotions have been preventing him from sleeping at night, making him lose focus during lectures and meetings. The burning desire is practically eating him up from the inside, in Rollo Flamm’s every waking and sleeping moment. In his eyes, you are the culprit of his suffering. Although you appear to be none the wiser, still greeting him with a smile and kind words. 

It was only later when he found out you had promised yourself to another, way before meeting him, that Rollo Flamm stilled his maddening heart rate for a bit. 

So, it has been your natural charm all along. Dangerous individuals like you cannot possibly be permitted to roam free in this continent. Not anymore now Rollo Flamm, the one who understood the legacy of the Great Judge the most, has a say in the matter. 

All of Night Raven’s students are losing their minds over the disappearance of their dear friend. Even Grim, who often acts nonchalant about your well being, is beside himself. Rollo Flamm offered the group almost unlimited access to Nobel Bell’s campus grounds; search parties were dispatched daily, only to return with little results. They are still grateful for the Student Council President’s support, as they should. 

Almost unlimited access, which does not include private quarters of Rollo Flamm. Not that anyone would dare, or bother to look there in the first place. 

You tried screaming, pouding the door for hours, but all it ever does is make you dehydrate faster. Convinced he placed a magic barrier over his living quarters, you ceased the fruitless labor. 

Grim must be so worried! What about others? Oh, and him… you cannot imagine the sadness he must be going through right now. Although you are trapped in this windowless room behind a bookshelf, your sense of time is not yet lost, being able to realize the passing of days by counting three meals per day. Those scrumptious meals went cold, untouched, and you only drank the water from the tap in the adjacent washroom knowing it was not as clean as the water in mugs on the trays, but you are not willing to give in an inch more than necessary . 

The stubbornness was endearing at first, so were your glares of hatred. Even though he is not accustomed to feeling such a way, he labels these bizarre feelings as ordinary. Rollo has read and heard about how when you are in love, everything the other person does will be filtered through a rosy stained glass.  But Council President Flamm worries for your health after a while, and he does not wish to force food down your throat(as for other things…that’s for later). 

The bell rang six times, and Rollo snapped out of his concentrated state, his mind wandered to what those on kitchen duties have to offer today. Maybe you would finally nibble on something today. A small blot of ink dripped off his quill due to its tiled state, and he had to suppress the urge to curse out loud. Knowing you are in the next room makes Rollo’s lips curl upwards, calming him,  and he does his best to finish up the bothersome task at hand so he could spend time with you. 

He had almost finished writing that Headmaster Crowley one out of many reassuring letters, about how he is doing anything in his power to help find the lost prefect of NRC. It is amazing how far a few words of praise and sweet lies can get with that crow. Sealing it with a wax seal, he tucks it away into his outing robe, to have it sent out first thing tomorrow morning. 

There you are, in that corner cot, back against the bed frame, all defensive hugging your knees close to your upper body. You never acknowledge Rollo when he comes in, set the silver tray on the nightstand; only shooting him angry glares when the tall man pushes you to have some of those tartiflette. 

“Still not willing to touch your food? This kind of pathetic act is beneath you, my love.” Sitting down on the other edge of the bed, Rollo scoops a spoon full and brings it to your lips. “How wonderful it smells, aren’t you famished? Just open.”  

My love? How dare he refer to you like that. This crooked being has no clue what love is. For the first time since the start of your captivity, you managed to make direct eye contact with him. “No, leave me alone!” Pushing the spoon away with much force, you panic a bit after noticing it gets knocked out of rollo’s slender fingers, producing a horrifying noise on floor tiles. Previously you dealt with similar situations with dead silence, and Rollo never insists too harshly, exiting with a sigh to leave you to your own devices in this makeshift prison.

But he is right. You do need food, and you are scared how good it smells, how dangerously close you were to opening your mouth to that spoonful of tartiflette just now. 

To think you would obey him. No, you will not give him that. Despite your logic telling you to accept the nourishment, you cling to what’s left of your autonomy like a drowning individual to a small wood chip floating on open seas. 

Seeing how you turned to face the wall again, the already shaky patience of Rollo Flamm leaves him all at once. Does he mean less than nothing to you? Do you hate him this much, to the point of hurting yourself to hurt him? Did that swine who you look to so longingly taught you this? Whatever it is, Rollo does not think he can suffer to see you in this state any longer. 

Before you get a grasp of what has transpired, Rollo is standing beside your end of the cot, towering you with his large form. Perhaps the reduced senses from hunger is to blame, you fail to realize how he always has his overly decorated staff with him when he comes to see you.

Rollo is done with humoring you, and you are making your best efforts to hide your fear of what he could do to you. He has not done anything despicable to you yet, other than denying your freedom, but you had enough time to analyze all those traces of his sickening fantasies he hides behind this constructed affable facade. 

You do not want to see what is underneath, not ever. But what you want does not matter to him now. “Still thinking about him? I am your master now, and I order you to forget about that damned person. Where do you think these acts of defiance will get you? Out of here?”

He exclaims while using the metal staff to lift your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. There are unmasked flames of anger in Rollo’s eyes, where usual calmness and feigned friendliness have been. 

Coldness of the metal almost got a shiver out of you, you struggled to not let him have the satisfaction of getting your reaction. Screw you, Monsieur Flamm, you want to yell and slap the one in front of you, the selfish monster that took you away from your friends and loved one. However you are powerless against Rollo, and your senses are not as sharp as they were when you are fed and happy. 

Rollo Flamm’s heart clenches a bit when he sees tears circling in your eyes, and how much effort you are making to not let them fall. Crying, you should not be like this,you should be smiling with admiration at him. Yet you leave Rollo with no other option. You are making him act cruel with you, because you refuse to listen, to be good. 

The noise of the staff falling to the stone floor was similar to that of the spoon, it was the last thing you heard before he forced his hand on the back of your head, and covered your lips with his own. His lips are of feverish temperature, and the way he does it is too rough; practically hungrily devouring you while you are the one who went on days without food. Kissing is supposed to be a romantic gesture, shared by couples in love, in moments of intimacy. There was no romance in that kiss, at least not to you. What you do feel is Rollo Flame's strong sense of entitlement, the desire to have you all to himself, with a mixture of unknown frustration. You shut your eyes, not wanting to take in the visuals of what is happening. 

After what feels like eternity, he lets go of you. You are so focused on catching your breath…that you failed to notice how much the man is savoring the sight of you panting rapidly with flushed cheeks. 

Only he can see this sight. No one else. Thought of seeing this everyday puts Rollo in a state of frenzy, as if he is not in already when he “falls in love” with you. 

Grabbing your hand that attempts to wipe your mouth clean of traces of him, Rollo whispers threats into your ear the same way a lover whispers sweet nothings. 

“Listen now. You will open your mouth when I feed you, understand? You and I both know defiance will do you no good. If you are good, you can have anything you ever wanted. But you will have to obey.”

Pulling your frozen body into his arms, Rollo starts to plant tender pecks on your cheek, the tenderness you would expect from someone who claims to be head over heels for you. 

“I don’t wish to harm you in any way. Quit making things harder for the both of us. Accept me as your one and only, we will live happily together.” 

No, you will not. It does not matter. Your efforts are in vain, it was worthless from the start. Rollo Flamm has got the upper hand from the very beginning. As the helplessness of your situation finally dawned on you, you did not try to resist when the monster kissed your tears away. 

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere rollo flamm #rollo flamm x reader #tw: yandere #tw: dark content #tw: food

[themirokai]

I was rewatching A Hope in Hell (fast forwarding through the John Dee parts, sue me) and the thing that my Matthew-obsessed brain latched on to was the conversation about Nada.

Because Matthew asks what the deal was after they leave her, and Dream… just straight up answers him! Just freely offers this very personal, emotionally fraught, and quite unflattering information. There’s no resistance, no arrogant remarks, no “I did not bring you here to question me”. Dream just tells him!

Obviously the Doylist explanation is that they’re not doing voiceover narration so they need to explain who tf Nada is to the audience and the episode has a set run time and they have much bigger stuff to get to and didn’t want to spend time on Dream stonewalling. But BUT there’s a cut between when they leave Nada and when Matthew asks about her, so that dialogue could easily have been written to imply that Matthew spent the intervening time trying to get Dream to tell him and Dream finally gives in. It would have used the same amount of screen time and served the same purpose. And while I’m very willing to assume that the writers/show runners of most shows just didn’t think of things, I’m completely confident that *these* writers and *this* show runner thought of *everything*.

Which gets us to Watsonian explanation, my beloved.

Dream was shaken by the encounter with Nada. Even though he knows that that’s what Lucifer wanted and says as much to Matthew, it worked! And Mr. Contains All The Emotions of the Multiverse And Must Hold Them Back is actually visibly upset. (But like, micro expression visibly upset cause it’s Dream.)

And then this defiant, obnoxious raven who refuses to leave Dream alone, asks about Nada and maybe something in Dream’s mind clicks back to the eons in which he had a raven confidant and he answers. He tells Matthew the truth. A succinct version of the truth, but the truth nonetheless. It may be the first time he’s talked about Nada in ten thousand years. And he chooses to tell Matthew.

And THAT is what I’m pinpointing as the canon jumping off point for Matthew the Emotional Support Raven. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

#I do think I get perilously close to Dream being OOC affectionate and caring in the series #but I hope I’ve shown that affection growing over the series #and I do think what I’ve described here is a legit starting point in canon #matthew the raven #dream of the endless #matthew the emotional support raven #the sandman netflix #the sandman #miro does sandman #sandman meta #a hope in hell

[owlarchimedes]

To the people who don't see a problem with Kevin and Thea: a lot of you like to claim that ppl that don't ship this don't see Kevin as bi, and argue that the fandom wants to see Kevin with another guy as opposed to a girl, like the popular KevinxJean or Kevaaron ship. And while I can't speak for everyone who dislikes Kevin and Thea, let me tell you why I hate this and Nora for doing this in the first place, and it has nothing to do with Thea's gender.

Firstly, their age gap. It's said in the books that these two met when Thea joined the ravens her freshman year, and since Kevin practically grew up at the nest(because cult), they met there. During the series, Kevin is a sophomore in college and Thea is a year graduated from Edgar Allen and is playing court. This means that when Thea was 18 and a freshman and college, that Kevin was 12 or 13. He was a LITERAL CHILD when they met, and she was an adult. That's called grooming, that's called statutory, that's called fucking gross and pedophilic.

Second of all, I don't think Kevin could ever date anyone from his past in order to fully heal and get past/through his trauma, meaning Thea or Jean (for those who ship that as well). He needs someone who is going to put him before exy so Kevin can learn to do that for himself, too. He needs someone who can pull his head out of his ass. This is why some people ship him with Aaron, for the above reasons. And Thea is simply not a person who could do that for Kevin.

And third of all, throughout the entire trilogy and all the crazy traumatic shit that happens to him and to his closest friends, he doesn't contact her ONCE. We see that Nicky calls Erik about the Drake situation, but Kevin doesn't do that with Thea. He didn't talk to her since breaking his hand. If you can't rely on your girlfriend for emotional support and instead rely on a five foot emo goalie with knives over your literal life partner, maybe reevaluate some things, buddy.

And I love Kevin. I am a Kevin defender a Kevin lover and will never forgive Andrew for the choking incident(it was so out of character like literally what the fuck Nora). And because I love Kevin, I'm saying our boy deserves better. Better like Aaron.

#all for the game #the foxhole court #the foxes #this #has been sitting in my notes #for like a year #so enjoy #kevaaron #kevin day #aaron minyard #jean moreau #thea muldani #jerejean #andreil #the ravens

[the-lunar-library]

TO THE RAVENS

A stranger – an outcast – a secret plot... Could you fool them without making the whole city want to kill you?

Rejected by her clan, Akantha has few options. In the Roman lunar colonies, where people are winged and there are rumors of barbarians beyond the city walls, she knows to keep her head down and not hope for a great destiny – or anything beyond what the gods, the Romans, or her city allow a mere woman.

But then, a stranger enters her life, Alexandros the Peregrine, a mysterious golden prophet. He claims he can make the city his – and hers – with just their wits. He speaks as if the Romans can't hurt them. And as for the gods? He's about to make a god of his very own.

With humor, romance, and biting emotion, Akantha's story unfolds. Alexandros will change her life forever. Is he a savior who will bring her freedom, or is he a force far too dangerous for her to fall in love with?

Briefly:

historical fantasy

standalone (155K words), not part of a series

an adult novel, though older teens could also read it

Imperial Rome (160s CE), but set on the Moon

a young twentysomething heroine who's very much an outcast

a handsome, reckless stranger

a cult!

Warnings: Violence; non-explicit sex; issues surrounding forced, arranged, abusive, and underage marriage/sexual contact; child and infant abuse, including death; pervasive cultural misogyny; the strongest warning is that this is a book about a cult, and while sometimes I play up the humor and absurdity of their practices, there are times when I go into the various forms of abuse inherent to such a situation.

All of these warnings make the book sound very gritty and grimdark, but I don't believe it to be. None of the sexual or violent stuff is explicit, and overall I feel the message is hopeful. I consider the ending a happy one.

Is it similar to your earlier books, The Price and Prey of Magic and The Escape of Lady Aigle?

Yes: We have a female protagonist and a lot of female support characters. There's some romance, but it's not strictly a romance novel. There's a lot of questioning of characters' motives, how trustworthy they are, and how the heroine's decisions affect those around her. The characters are sometimes taken to dark and dangerous places, but emerge with hope. There are fantasy elements, but it's not a novel about quests or wizards.

No: It's set in the real world – sort of. The action is all on the Moon, but a lot of the world-building is based on historical research. It's saucier than Papom or Eola, discussing sex more overtly. I would say the tone is also funnier, though there are some heavy, more emotional moments. There's a focus on religion, both positive and negative elements.

I see bat wings, is the main character a demon?

No, not at all. She's a human with wings.

Do you have to be an expert in Greek and Roman culture to read this?

Definitely not. Anything that's vital for the reader to understand is explained within the story. Other things, like some brief references to Greek mythology, are thrown in to make it feel more immersive, but they aren't necessary to understand what's going on. There's also a glossary in the back, but you should be able to read through without needing it.

Do you agree with everything your characters say?

Absolutely not, and that includes the characters I like very much, like Akantha. The book is set in second-century Rome, so I did my best to reflect the attitudes of the times, even ugly ones. I don't want the reader to feel like they're in the twenty-first century with some Roman window-dressing. This isn't to suggest all my characters are awful people, but they're coming at some subjects from a very different cultural context than we do. Their perspectives are different and, sometimes, wrong.

Is this book pro- or anti-religion?

Because it's about a cult, and because it's set in the Roman empire, religion is examined quite a lot. In the cast, we have Greco-Roman pagans, Christians, and Jews. Characters voice a variety of opinions, but I didn't write the book to proclaim you should or shouldn't belong to any of these religions. The only religion the book says you shouldn't be part of is, well, the cult.

How much is this based on real events?

It was inspired by a real cult that existed in the second century CE as documented by the writer Lucian of Samosata. I took direct inspiration from that account as well as a number of Lucian's other essays. However, in my telling, things are much more fiction than fact; this is not a faithful attempt at historical fiction. Anyone doing a school report on this cult should not cite me as a source, as hilarious as that would be.

Is there a snake in this?

Yeah, it always seems like there's a snake somewhere in my books.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #fantasy novel #indieauthor #fantasy book #original character #to the ravens #long post #it's here!!! #this is my favorite thing i've ever written

[staysafedontdie]

Vampire Spawn Lore/Headcanons Help?

Hey friends and strangers, Long Post here.

I have noticed in my attempts at research that there is almost nothing but a stat block for Vampire Spawns. But we do know lots about Vampires themselves.

I'm going to break this down into things that are consistent in BG3 and a couple things I noted in other RPGs that could be relevant?

Please feel free to comment with things you believe are true or could be true, or things you know from actual Vampire/Vampire Spawn lore! It'll be fun to see what people in the community do, think, and use for story writing and such!!

(Also, please note that I wrote this between playing BG3, Deep cleaning my apartment, and ADHD kicking my ass, so apologies if it's a little scattered.)

What we do know, per Forgotten Realms Lore:

Spawn share their masters' weaknesses, to a lesser degree (can't enter private dwellings without permission, running water is acid damage, can't see themselves in mirrors, sunlight burns, garlic, etc)

They also can share their masters' strengths: Spawn are said to be able to turn into mist and climb on walls like a spider. They also seem to be able to charm & "Like most undead, their bite and touch caused blood drain and domination" (Aka. the spell Dominate Person)

Spawn do regenerate health, but the damage they take from running water & sunlight is higher than their regeneration, which is why they can die to these things.

Their features become more distorted/sharp/predatory when infected.

As Astarion mentioned, Spawn are less slaves and more puppets designed to do their master's bidding. Free will is non-existent, even if they're fully aware of what they're doing. Obviously it would depend on how controlling the individual Vampire is, but when given an order they cannot disobey.

Once a Spawn is freed, they can no longer be enslaved (by another Vampire. So, one master and if said master dies then the spawn is free to go on their merry way without fear.)

"When it came to a life of adventuring, vampire spawn would seek vengeance on their creators, or penance for their new damnation. If these monsters could overcome their ravenous emotions, they might seek out knowledge, glory, or power. Pride was the true driver of the vampire spawn, since they believed themselves better than others."

A point of contention: Yes a Spawn can feed from their master to become a True Vampire, but the Spawn needs permission to do so. It's a consent thing. So, yes, while it would be nice to bully Cazador into turning Astarion with a series of fun intimidation checks, that man would rather die than concede.

Besides, per the Lore True Vampires lose their humanity in the process of the change and all of their emotions twist into dark shadows of themselves. Love becomes possessiveness, etc.

Stakes do not kill Vampires, they paralyze them. Thus making it easier to kill them. Astarion's preferred death of decapitation is - from what I've seen - one of the most widely supported ways to permanently kill a Vampire in not just FR Lore, but IRL too.

Some other things that I thought were interesting: (Admittedly this could be partially due to the tadpole)

Despite the inherent nature of Vampire Spawn, Astarion doesn't seem to be evil - in fact, the more we learn about him, the kinder he seems and the more the evil act seems to be for protection. He's definitely firmly self-serving and Chaotic, and will forever be a mischievous chaos gremlin who talks shit and plays mean-spirited pranks on people for sure, but he is kind.

Astarion seems to be able to imbibe in at least drink if not food as well. He's shown drink wine at several points throughout the story.

He sweats and bleeds and salivates, indicating he does have bodily function to some degree. (I'll touch on this a bit later.)

If his features are distorted/more predatory HOW SOFT MUST HE HAVE LOOKED BEFORE WHAT THE FUCK?

ALL OF CAZADOR'S SPAWN HAVE SOULS. This is Weird for Vampires/Undead.

Notes from other (Non-FR) Lore sources:

Midgard (D&D 5e supplement from Kobold Press):

Vampire Spawn are able to have children and sometimes those children are Dhampir/Dhampyr (do with this what you will)

Honestly this system has a ton of cool lore, but that is the only different Spawn-specific thing I found by skimming. But if you want lots of Vampire/Dhampir/cool character backgrounds related to those things? Please take a look. Not associated, just found it while researching and Thought It Was Neat.

General/IRL Vampire Lore:

Originally Vampires couldn't see themselves in mirrors because they were backed with a thin layer of silver - a very pure metal said to repel vampires and werewolves. So theoretically a Vampire in the today times would be able to be seen in a mirror, as ours have aluminum backings. So you could, potentially, with a bit of work, find an exotic mirror that might work for Astarion and the horde of other Spawn you may or may not have released into the Underdark.

Running water has the same implications in that it's pure, which is why a Vampire can't touch/cross it.

Sunlight as a Vampire weakness only came about during the film Nosferatu where it then became public lexicon - prior to that, Vampires were more active at night, but not inactive during the day.

I read somewhere - probably on this hellsite - that a Vampire's fangs are technically their reproductive organs, and I hate it. Please make this joke more in fanfics.

Vampire, The Masquerade (which is now not the most up-to-date World of Darkness lore, but more widely known):

"Vampire bodies do not function like the bodies of living organisms. They are (more or less) preserved in a life-like state, but they do not age or die from illness." - pretty standard among all Vampire lore

"Vampires are also vulnerable to so-called "True Faith", that is, the strength of a person's true religious conviction (which is, fortunately for vampires, very rare). Such faith need not be religious per se — one of the rulebooks mentions a yuppie repelling a vampire with his credit card, thanks to his faith in the power of money." - lmao please this is so funny, please imagine some rich idiot in somewhere in Toril pulling a 'The power of Christ compels you!' with a sack of gold pieces. Let's be honest, it's probably some rich merchant from Amn.

"Vampires are immune to most diseases, drugs and poisons, but can be affected by some if present in the blood of their victims." - cheap and easy way to save money on wine

"Normally, a vampire looks the part of a corpse. They're pale and register no pulse. They exist at slightly below room temperature. Food and drink taste terrible, and immediately cause violent, bloody vomiting. They also cannot function sexually, or convincingly fake enjoying sex."

The Blush of Life skill! "By spending a point of Vitae, Kindred may invoke the blush of life for a scene. This makes them functionally human. They become warm to the touch, with a full, hearty pulse. They produce natural bodily fluids. They function sexually in the way a human can, becoming physically aroused, erect, and lubricated. They can keep food and drink down, ejecting it later in the night. They’ll pass medical inspection while the blush remains active."

I can't remember where this came from:

I remember reading somewhere that Vampires probably need to feed in order to continue to have regeneration properties. So they have blood/fluids but they need to feed to be able to maintain those fluid levels. So if a Vampire gets injured, they'll continue getting weaker until they feed rather than naturally recouperating like other beings. - This actually ties really well into both the lore Astarion's exhaustion and hunger when he asks to feed on the player. It's the first time he's had to fight in a long time, and he was mostly starved by Cazador, so his vitality is quite low. (Unfortunately this wouldn't be very fun mechanically if implemented that way, so it's headcanon territory.) EDIT TO ABOVE: Apparently he's only feeding to see if he can disobey Cazador per his Origin route, but leaving that up as it's a valid interpretation if the Origin is excluded, since there's no reason to think otherwise as the Player Character.

Vampires look more alive once they feed. They may be a little warmer, have a bit of color in their cheeks again, etc. Different to VtM's Blush of Life as this is specific to feeding, when the other is a skill that can be performed.

As weird as it is to think about, I love whatever the fuck this answer is on Quora: It goes into depth from the perspective of a Vampire on how the body processes nutrients and expels waste.

LORE'S OVER, HERE'S THE FUN PART!

I have questions. SO many questions. Even if it's stupid, I want to hear your answers!

ARE VAMPIRE SPAWN IMMORTAL? IF NOT, HOW LONG DO THEY LIVE FOR? A: Idfk, I assume immortal, but literally nothing confirms whether this is the case. Either way it's A Very Long Time.

CAN VAMPIRE SPAWN EAT & DRINK? IS IT A TADPOLE THING? Honestly this could go either way for me. I do like the VtM interpretation of not being able to keep it down for long if they do.

HOW DOES THE BODY WORK? DIGESTIVE SYSTEM? CIRCULATORY SYSTEM? Idk tbh. Please help. (Though I do like the non-regenerative fluids idea.)

BODY TEMPERATURE? I agree he runs cooler than normal body temperature and is probably That Asshole With The Cold Feet in bed but I also saw this cute af headcanon of him of him being cold-blooded like a lizard. So self-regulating body temperature by sun-bathing and such and I can't stop thinking about it.

OTHER QUESTIONS I FORGOT?

THANK YOU FOR READING THIS NONSENSE!!

#bg3 #dnd 5e #vampire spawn #vampire #astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #please help me i'm begging you idk what to headcanon/lore anymore it's so har d #maybe as a hive mind we can make it make sense #maybe i'll make polls out of the most popular answers if this gets enough engagement