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fictober day 22! 

Bringer of Good Fortune on AO3 

prompt: black cats from this list

Bringer of Good Fortune 

Dragon Boy: (img attached)

Edward Cullen: I have no idea where you got that but you may not keep it.

Dragon Boy: watch me

Edward Cullen: These war wounds are fully your fault.

Edward Cullen: (img attached)

Edward Cullen: Get rid of it.

Dragon Boy: that means he likes u!

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je ne regrette rien

Title: je ne regrette rien

Word Count: 825

Pairing: very brief Royality, like really not at all this is just a roman fic

Warnings: death, murder, not like we haven’t done that before but, unsympathetic roman, knives, prostitutes, paris, sp00ky, no virgil

Summary: Roman Dumont is the son of a rich detective, an artist with a masterful vision. He saw the beauty in his fathers work, and wanted to create for his father, to please him. The slums of Paris, France may not be visually astounding, but the starstruck glimmer in a certain prostitute’s eye fills him with inspiration.

day 4 of 13 days of halloween

AGAIN, CONTENT WARNING: MURDER

You can also read HERE on our AO3.

December, 1891

Paris, France


Roman Dumont was born to a young detective and his wife on a cold night in December. Rain outside pelted the dimly lit streets and tapped repetitively on the glass of the window, the rustling of trees and gentle thunder were the only sounds to rival the strained yells pulled from the throat of 23-year-old Madame Dumont as she clutched her handmaiden’s wrist until her fingers turned white. When another voice began to cry as well, the sound exploding from her dissipated immediately.

Her baby was here.

She cradled her golden haired baby boy in her arms. He only fussed for a moment, but was silent the moment his mother touched him for the first time. He yawned, and what looked to be a tiny smile etched its way onto the newborn’s lips. His father, whose days revolved around death, kissed his wife’s forehead as she cradled the life that they had created together.

The doctor chuckled. “That kid is already smiling. He’s going to do great things.”

As a child, many people said the same things. About how he was a little ray of sunshine, and he was going to grow up to be just like his father: successful, loving, and adored by everyone. He wanted more than anything to please his father.

They saw something in him; they knew that he would create something that would outlive him, that his name would be remembered forever.

So it would.

The strangers that had spoken to him when he was young had been right, he did do great things. He was a scholar, and successful like his father.

So there he stood in the dark room.

The clock ticked methodically. Its metronomical clicking pounded rhythmically against his ear drums, and he eyed it with a pointed intensity. The mechanical beat was distinct, the only sound in the otherwise deathly silent house. Enough to drive a man mad. Roman pinched the offensive clock hand, feeling as it tried to move in his fingertips, but couldn’t. The cogs clicked one last time before the clock ceased all movement, perpetually halted at 03h17.

Over the years, his hair darkened to a dull brown, and he examined his features in the mirror, shadowy and grim under the dim light.

The moon hung proudly over Eiffel’s gaudy tower, which he could just make out underneath its light. The moonlight poured directly into the seedy room — directly onto him.

His body lay on the table, and a glimpse of it caught his eye as he draped the large cloth over the mirror.

He was an artist, a mortician in his own right preparing him for burial like he’d seen his father prepare his mother. But his father had been weeping. Roman wasn’t.

He examined his body. He was almost done. Closing his eyes, he breathed in the dusty air of the room and paid his respects, recounting his actions in his head. This was good for the man, just.

He knew by the upkeep of his pathetic room how he’d struggled. Just a whore looking to get by with a few coins from a desperate man. He’d been standing on the corner, hair choppy and his clothes tattered. It was sad. But he was sin, a lusty incubus. He caught wind of Roman, flattening her rumpled shirt and batting his dark eyes.

Arrogant of him, to think that he could lure him in. Didn’t he know? There were plenty of him in Paris. But only one Roman.

Roman had approached him, and his brows furrowed in thought as he studied his face.

“Monsieur… Dumont?”

Satisfaction washed over him as he watched the recognition of a rich man’s son settle in his eyes. It was egotistical, admittedly, but he was satisfied because he knew him. Everyone did. But they had no idea who he was. Not really. And this gigolo was no different.

He placed a porcelain hand on Roman’s shoulder, pleading eyes not reserved for him, but the Francs rattling joyously in the rich man’s pockets.

“Why don’t we go somewhere… quieter, mon cher…?”

“Roman. Et toi?”

“Patton.”

“Beaux.”

He pulled him close, tracing his lips over the other mans’, staring into his eyes as he dug a blade into his pretty chest. Roman watched as shock and fear destroyed the starstruck glimmer in his eyes. Satisfaction. The same feeling. No, a better feeling. More powerful. Exciting.

He exhaled the memory as he placed a singular rose into Patton’s clasped hands. He was beautiful, for once in his pitiful life. The police would find him tomorrow, maybe the next day, and see the man adorned by flowers, on display. In his prime. His father would see him, be shocked at what kind of mastermind could do such a thing. Create a masterpiece like this.

And it would be everything he’d been told it would be. Everything they told his father he would be. It would be great.

Author’s Note

day 4, and i’m sorry yall didn’t get better content today but the giants lost to the eagles so for personal reasons, i will be passing away


just kidding, love y'all


till next time,

mac

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*thought on writing* 

As an impatient person, when I open a fic or a book I just want to know:

1. who’s the POV character
2. where they are
3. what’s happening right now that’s un-usual
4. in what genre

and the best openings for me answer those questions immediately.

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Whumptober 2020, Day XXIII: Sleep Deprivation

Content Warnings: gaslighting via telepathy; abusive dynamics; mind control; erased/corrupted memories; character struggling to understand their abuse; nonconsensual touch (nonsexual); nonconsensual kiss (to forehead); sleep deprivation

Path Verse Taglist: @endless-whump , @burtlederp , @slaintetowhump , @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi , @ziptiewhump

“M'tired, I think, good night Siena,” Fern ventures. “I had fun, thank you for this, it was fun." 

It’s long since dark outside, and they were tired a while ago, but Siena pulled Battleship down from the aged stacks of board games, and Fern didn’t want to be rude, so they’ve played three rounds, and Siena won each one, so maybe she won’t be too disappointed that they need to sleep.

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Part 12 of The Moonlit Masquerade Series

The first free day they both have together after Luz proposes, Amity all but drags Luz to the market so she can buy her fiancée her own ring. Luz groans as Amity pulls her out of bed at the crack of dawn.

Though it’s less pulling and more slipping out of her grip in bed to get dressed and refusing to come back to bed when Luz moans for her to come back and snuggle with her.

“Vuelve a la cama, quiero acurrucarme,” she moaned from face down on her pillow.

Amity rolled her eyes even as she kneeled over the bed to press a kiss to the back of Luz’s head and rub a hand over her back, trying to rouse her quickly without having to toss her out of the bed as sometimes was the case.

“We can snuggle later, querida.”

“Or, and consider this…. we could snuggle now…” Her head popped up from the pillow to look at her sleepily.

“We need to do this now,” Amity said firmly even as she grinned at her. Luz groaned, head dropping back to the pillow.

“When you said we were gonna spend all day together, getting up at the crack of dawn to go to the market was not what I had in mind…,” she mumbled.

Amity sighed, rolling her eyes fondly as she crawled fully back into the bed and wrapped her arms around Luz, lips pressed against her ear.

“We have all day, Luz. I’ll take you to breakfast after and I promise, I’ll make it worth your while later.” The statement was punctuated by a kiss to her neck as Amity threaded her fingers through her hair. “…but we have to do this now.”

Luz sighed into her pillow

“…fine,” she mumbled. Amity smiled and pressed another brief kiss to her neck before rolling out of bed so Luz could push herself up only for Amity to toss a shirt and pants at her.

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Hell yeah more Avis!! I freaking love intimate whump so I hope you guys do too, because Avis is here to deliver.

Warnings: Cutting/knives, creepy/intimate whumper, dehumanization, drugging

Word Count: 1,003

Whumptober Prompt 22 – Poisoned | Drugged | Withdrawal

––––––––––––––––––

“You know what your problem is, little Emerald?” Avis had pulled me into the cold stone room and pushed me down onto the floor, but now was only sitting next to me on the ground, running her fingers through my hair. “You’re always so tense.”

I didn’t respond that I had every reason to be tense, considering the pattern of her visits. She tortured me for fun, I wasn’t going to be anything else around her. Avis reached into her pocket and pulled out a small bottle, waving it teasingly above me.

“That’s why I brought something to help this time.” She removed the lid. “Sit up now dear.”

I obeyed, not taking my eyes off the bottle. Whatever was in it, I didn’t think it was going to be pleasant for me.

Avis raised the bottle to my lips. “Don’t worry,” she said soothingly. “I’m done hurting you for now. This will feel good, I promise.”

I didn’t have much of a choice but to drink it, and to my surprise, it didn’t taste all that bad. It was warm and tingled slightly going down my throat. The warm feeling spread throughout my body, and it felt unfamiliarly comfortable. I turned my head to Avis, and it took more effort than it should have – I realized why when I tried to move my arms – I couldn’t move anything.

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“I could scratch your backs,” growls a ghoulish voice from some unknown corner of the room.  “If you don’t mind scratching mine.” There’s a mysterious, pulsing green glow coming from the shadowbox Shane had been working on before the accident.

“Sara,” he whispers, and points to it. The two of them crowd together over the work table to peer - cautious and unwillingly intrigued - into the open black frame. Inside, sprawled over the delicate wing of a verdes blue as if it’s silk sheets, is a tiny little man.

the whole being dead thing (working title) progress report: 1k

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summary: Merlin was giving Will the Eyes.  The “open your mouth the wrong way and I’ll stuff a dirty sock in there” eyes.  (aka: Daegal tries his hand at carpentry again, and Will tries to be polite about it.)

context for newcomers: last week @once-and-future-gay​ wrote a post imagining what it would have been like if Will and Daegal had both lived and gotten to interact with one another, and I loved it so much that I wrote a fic for it.

The other day she sent me the following messages, and - well, you can probably guess what happened next.

i just had this idea of daegal refusing to give up w the carpenting, and trying to make a little will statue made out of wood 

it is……. abysmal

but will just sort hides a grimace because he appreciates the hard work that went into it and thanks him for it

it sits on his bedside table but if anyone asks no it doesn't 

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Summary: After a visit to a food festival, Sam is stricken by a mysterious ailment.

* * *

Sam thanked the cashier as she handed him his salad, poking a couple of bills into the tip jar with his free hand. He and Dean were investigating some weird omens near a college in New Hampshire, and as it turned out the college’s international student union was having a food festival to raise money for their event budget.

He took a seat at an empty table and popped open the salad container to admire the brightly-colored vegetables for a moment. They were obviously farm-fresh, not from the produce section at the supermarket. The dressing was a homemade vinaigrette, too, and there was even a little box of croutons made from toasted rye bread.

“This place is awesome,” Dean announced as he settled into the seat across from Sam.

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do these tacos taste funny to you?

Prompt: drugged

Whumpee: Max Evans

Fandom: Roswell New Mexico

hi welcome to this fic! i will be honest there is not a lot of plot here like you just have to go with it. idk. hope you enjoy this!!

“You’re not working tonight, Evans,” Maria calls at him, the second he walks through the door of the Pony. 

“I know,” he returns, sinking onto a barstool. “Just came for a drink.”

Maria shakes her head. “So you come to the bar where you work. Alone. That’s a little sad, Evans.”

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Title: Stars and Stripes Forever

Fandom: MCU

Pairing: Steve/Tony, Avengers/Steve

Warnings: Explicit rape, forced captivity, slavery, bondage

Summary: Steve wakes in a very different 21st century. One where he’s owned by the man who fished him out of the sea.

First Chapter || Latest Chapter

@whumptober2020

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Agony Masterpost

@whumptober2020

When Tuvok woke, he was confused by his surroundings. Usually, he awoke in his cell, on the floor, pressed tightly against the back wall and utterly exhausted. This time, he woke handcuffed to a hard bed. The ceiling above him was white and unremarkable. The most noticeable change was that his mind felt sluggish and slow.

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