#malfunctionwhump

His head’s a confusing place to be, right now. It’s doing all sorts of strange things.

Marlow can still feel hands on him, throwing him about, making him hurt. It shouldn’t haunt him, he’s had worse before, but… he got so used to the word safe. Staying with Valerie, learning how to cope with his new freedom, being given things and treated like a person… a couple beatings and he’s back to hiding away. Just a passing moment with Sir and he can’t think anymore.

He’s asked for space, not with words but with silence. With leaving the room, or failing to smile, or not being able to meet his friend’s eyes. But he doesn’t want space, he doesn’t - he needs something else, and he doesn’t know what. His skin feels all wrong and he feels like he’s been bad and he needs… oh, he doesn’t know.

finding unreality

unreality, part one

unreality, part two

unreality, part three

unreality, lost

unreality, broken (by @whump-sprite)

unreality, shattered (by @whump-sprite)

reality found

other links:

((SCOTT KNOWS WHAT HE DID)) (by @malfunction-whump) (non-canon)

this is the cohesive willow and grackle story on ao3 by @malfunction-whump, a gorgeous well-paced story that i highly recommend, it will absolutely wring your heart with angst and then soothe it

this is @wildfaewhump‘s masterpost of the drabbles on iesin and talvos, who are kind of an obsession of mine - the writing in these works is just beyond excellent, it’s art - there is a real arc here from raw, ragged terror and agony to thoughtful, gentle recovery and found trust

i’m going through my fucc tag to find the really good stuff - that’s where all my top tier recs go - and here’s a really good drabble by @whump-sprite with anders draped over the hunter’s lap, being punished for thinking - gives me whumperflies every time.

Little, delicate glass sculptures. Usually, they’re made by fire, but Nadeem doesn’t have to do that, he can mold them with his magic. He can flick his fingers in small movements and make the glass twirl in the air, morphing and bending as bid. He adds colors as easily as he thinks of them, and little ends on the bottom of the finished sculptures so they can stand on their own, each the size of a finger, or just big enough to be nestled in his palm.

A little flower, pale pink glass petals splayed out and almost swaying. They could move, if he added a little magic. But he likes the ageless, preserved image, calm and still.

A tiny sky-blue drop of water, linked to another by a thin strand of glass, splashing into a little glass puddle that fits in his hand. It looks like a blink-of-the-eye movement caught and frozen.

A small, clear-gold crystal star, a sun, the points rounded enough not to be sharp, some kind of magic light glowing inside to make the deep amber glass glow a sunny yellow, not warm but smooth, and lovely.

“These are wonderful, Nadeem!” Phoebe says cheerfully, taking each creation carefully in her hands to inspect it as he invited her to. “Was it difficult to use your magic for such little things? It must’ve taken focus at least.”

“It was easy with my magic, to bend the glass, but yes, it took focus. And time.”

Phoebe sets down the last one she admired, and notices how many more there are. “There’s a lot of them - you didn’t make them all, did you? When did you have time?”

“At night, when -” He realizes what he’s said, too late. He may as well finish his sentence. “...when I can’t sleep.”

None of them are out of place.

The Hunter has the thief by the wrists, looking down as him in intrigue. The struggling young man didn't take a gem, didn't swipe an amulet, didn't pilfer a thing from his collections. All he had tried to take was an apple. A single, simple apple. Poor boy was hungry.

How cute.