solacium
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They asked "do you love her to death?"
I said "speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life."
-- Mahmoud DarwishThe most discreet way to kill someone is with a broken heart. Or lungs full of flowers. Aventurine is good at what he does-- astute, beautiful, and cold as ice. He's never failed a mission, never fallen in love-- until one Veritas Ratio.
Written for Ratiorine Bang 2024
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Kuroo is an overwhelmingly devoted person.
- Language:
- English
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Bookmarked by solacium
29 Oct 2024
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When Navia receives the invitation from Wriothesley and Neuvillette instead of the Administrator of the Fortress of Meropide and the Iudex of Fontaine, she knows something’s up. They have no reason to invite her over for dinner unless they want something.
Somewhere between appetizers and the main course, she wonders if this isn’t some weird sex thing, but this is Monsieur Neuvillette, who might be the most sexless man she’s ever met. It can’t be that.
Except when Wriothesley brings out dessert, he says, “So, we have a proposition for you, and you’re welcome to say no to it,” and she knows.
“Oh,” she says. “This is a sex thing, isn’t it?”
When Neuvillette decides he'd like to explore sex with a woman, he and Wriothesley invite Navia to join them.
Bookmarked by solacium
08 Sep 2024
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Years. It has been years, yet it could’ve been yesterday they were sitting side by side, thigh to thigh, eye to eye, filled with a contentment that their future selves have lost. Maybe it would be enough to have that again. Maybe correctness has no place here—has never been the ultimate goal between them—and Alhaitham finds himself asking a very different question than intended.
“How would you like to come home?”
✥
Alhaitham loathes interruptions. (All except one).
Bookmarked by solacium
05 Sep 2024
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Want to write a post-phalloplasty transmasculine person, but don't know where to start? The guide is here to help!
Bookmarked by solacium
29 Aug 2024
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“What is wrong with you?” Rover’s eyes are brilliant in the cell’s subtle lighting as he angles his head back to gaze down at him, and something twists in his chest—not like a heartbeat, more like a blade, driven neat and clean beneath the ribs. “You beat me into the ground. Nobody finds these games funny other than you. Nothing you say has any substance to it.”
“Mm, ouch,” Scar murmurs, drawing far too close. Rover should move. He should duck beneath the chain, and get himself out of reach. Let him stay shackled to that damn bed alone. “If I pinky swear that I feel guilty about it, will you forgive me?”
or, rover confronts scar in his prison cell.
Bookmarked by solacium
03 Jun 2024