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duachai · 3 months

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MR. CORAZÓN - L.TM

I need you to hold it 'til you can't, I'll reward you

PAIRNG : Lee Taemin X Male Reader

SYNOPSIS : M/n, a BPM trainee gets handpicked personally by his idol to be his backup dancer for an upcoming tour. As the two get closer, M/n learns the importance of taking care of his body, and so does Taemin.

CONTENT WARNING : This is just an excerpt of my writings just to get the fingers typing. The full thing will be posted on my Wattpad, but look out for some full writings over here too !

AUTHOR'S NOTE : I'm a part-time college student and writing is my complete life. I will be taking requests here and there, but it is so totally appreciated if you were able to donate to my Kofi and help support me. If you can't that's totally fine and supporting me here and Wattpad is just as appreciated, cheers!

LINKS : Wattpad | Kofi

Training under BPM Entertainment wasn’t the easiest career M/n could have chosen. There were so many other options for him. His parents wanted him to be a doctor or lawyer, his school friends were working at restaurants and fast food chains around the city, and others his age aimed for content creators or influencers. But M/n wanted to dance.

Dancing was his calling. His life’s purpose, he would say.

For him, dancing was his stress reliever, something that would make him happy no matter what. That’s why when he found out his biggest inspiration and honestly, his celebrity crush, Lee Taemin, would be signing with his company, he nearly fell out.

“Dude, you know Taemin is coming in today? He’s going to lead our dance class, and oh my God, do you think it’s lame if I ask him to make a TikTok with me?”

M/n chuckled, “You’re so easily impressed, Chanwoo. He’s not even here yet.”

Today, was Taemin’s first day he had free with the new company, and he chose to specifically work with the trainees. And on top of that, it was a rumor some trainees would get promoted to work with him for his re-debut EP.

M/n leaned against the mirror after putting his dance bag off to the side. Nest to him, Chanwoo stretched his arms to prepare himself for class. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime, M/n. We could get closer to our favs even faster than it would take for us to debut!”

“It’s just the fast route if you ask me. And it’s probably not permanent,” M/n whined, but even though his words came out nonchalant, he still had a bit of hope in the back of his mind. Maybe this was his break, a chance to get his face out there.

The next hour, the normal dance teacher began proper stretch instruction. For the next half an hour, the talk of Taemin coming dwindled as the end of the class came near.

“I can’t believe he didn’t come. I put my blood, sweat, and tears into that choreo.” Chanwoo whined, stomping his feet and he dragged his body in defeat.

M/n followed behind dragging his feet as he rolled his neck and worked the kinks out of his neck. He wasn’t as nearly disappointed as his friend, but a part of him wished that maybe Taemin would come and check him out, as selfish as it sounded.

“Anyways, where should we go eat today? My mom brought some kimchi this morning, but I’m sick of it.”

“You should be thankful you have a mom to bring you kimchi, Woo.” M/n sulked, head still draped down as he kicked his feet.

“Uh, you might want to pause those lunch plans,” A voice said. M/n looked up and another trainee awkwardly tugged at his hair, “M/n, you’re being summoned.”

Being summoned was one of the nerve-racking things any trainee went through. It only meant a few things. Best case scenario, you were being picked to debut early. Worst was… you were going home.

M/n was in limbo about the reason for his summon as he stood in the elevator alone. Everything he did over the last few weeks was analyzed in his mind. Did he mess up a choreo? Does his body need to be more fit? Was he lagging behind?

His whole head spun and he started to get dizzy. How was he supposed to go back to his parents and explain he got dropped from what they called, “A silly dream.” At the sound of the elevator’s ding, it was time to face his worst fear. Or so he thought.

The hallway to the director’s office seemed longer than any other hallway in the building. M/n rubbed his moist hands on his sweatpants, adjusting his hoodie to seem more neat.

As he stepped to the director’s door, he could see in the glass panel door there were multiple people inside. Then he realized, this wasn’t a demotion party, this was a meeting of some sort.

“M/n?” His name was called out by a familiar voice. His dance teacher.

“Oh, uh, hi,” M/n bowed respectfully, still so very confused.

“What are you doing standing out here, go in!” The teacher rushed a smile on his lips. Either this was a super encouraging way to tell someone they were getting sent home or something bigger was around the corner for M/n.

M/n pushed the door to the room open, now he could see a clear view of the people inside. The director of course at the head of the table, then his wife who was his co-director, a few managers M/n had never met, the dance teacher taking a seat closest to the door, the trainee advisor, and well… Taemin.

M/n froze up, are all these people here to see him? This meeting seemed way too elite for him to even step foot inside.

“Shin M/n, right? Go ahead and sit down,” the director pointed at a seat down the front of the table. A seat right across from the star legend.

M/n spent a few minutes staring at the wooden glossed-over table, a few papers passing down his way. A couple of times he looked up, locked eyes with Taemin then looked away like a startled puppy.

“Okay, so before we get started, how about I let our trainee introduce himself. M/n, go ahead and stand so everyone can see you.”

M/n reluctantly stood up, feeling so small in a room where everyone was looking intently. “Um, Hi, my name is Shin M/n. I’m from the US. And I’ve been a train for about a year and a half now.”

“Ok and, tell us why you want to be a K-pop idol, M/n.”

Hearing this question M/n drew in a sharp breath. He’d answered this question about a hundred times, but now it was all something cringe and mush in his head in a room full of people where it mattered.

But then he realized, he mattered too.

—

“Okay! Run the song back, M/n.”

Hustling toward the Bluetooth speaker to restart the song the fifth time that night, M/n quickly reset the song and then ran back to his starting point. The song started, Taemin’s voice coming in smooth and sultry as the sensual and iconic beat, “Move” filled M/n and his partner’s ears.

They had been practicing the duo choreography for hours now, but the more they attempted the more frustrated his partner, Misun, got at him.

“Fuck it!” Misun let go of M/n and stomped towards the practice room door with his bag, “I don’t care if you don’t get it right, I’ll switch partners. You won’t embarrass me in front of the whole world.”

M/n took in a deep breath, as he pulled his hair. He was frustrated too. Misun had quit on him a thousand times during their time together. But now, their deadline was coming in close and the tour was not far away. The whole thing was just stressful.

Just as he was about to pack up, he heard a knock at the door. Taemin popped his head around the door frame with a smile, “Knock knock.”

“O-Oh, I didn’t know you were here!” M/n said, startled and embarrassed.

Taemin stepped closer to the dancer, “I saw Misun storm out while I was passing by, and wanted to check on you. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything is fine.” M/n lied, thinking that knew that one of his dancers was lacking this skill and was dancing with two left feet after being picked solely for his dancing, he would be upset.

“No, no, you’re lying.” Taemin said with a pout, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

M/n sighed as he took a seat on the floor next to his bags against the mirror, Taemin sitting right next to him.

“Misun and I… just don’t seem like good partners. I know we’re meant to get what we get and don’t throw a fit like the director said, but working with her is like working with an untrained house cat. One day she’s encouraging, the next she’s clawing at me and everything I do.”

Taemin chuckled, “It’s like that. Working with others can be a lottery. But it’s nothing a little resilience can’t handle,” Taemin reached over and covered his hand with M/n’s resting on his knee, “You're a great performer, you hold yourself up better than most. You just have to believe in yourself. Because I already know I do.”

—

Taemin’s words rang in M/n’s head every second. It made him smile maniacally in the middle of conversations. After their talk, Taemin started monitoring M/n and Misun’s practices, making notes, and helping fix some mistakes. After Misun would leave, Taemin and M/n would go out and get food or drinks.

Their relationship grew closer and closer to the point where M/n had to ask himself, was he falling in love with his idol?

The deadline was due. It was the day everyone learned if they were going on tour with Taemin or being left behind. It was yet another nerve-racking day at the studio where everyone gathered to hear the results.

But when the director came in, everyone’s heart was crushed into tiny little pieces.

“Unfortunately, the tour has been canceled,” He announced, everyone’s shoulders slumping as questions started to form in everyone’s mouths. “I know, I know. But it’s impossible to continue on. Taemin was in an accident that sprained his ankle, so he’ll be taking a rest for a few weeks. He might even need a month to get back to his healthy self.”

As everyone whined about the loss of their gig, M/n’s lips pursed at the thought of Taemin being in an accident to cause him this much pain. The whole rest of the day M/n was anxious about Taemin, thinking of ways he could make sure he was alright.

But as he was sulking outside, a manager approached him. “M/n, M/n! Hey, I’ve got a super emergency, but I need to get this food and meds to Taemin. Could you possibly take it to someone else to give it to him?”

It was more like a request because before M/n could respond the bags were in his hand and the manger was off to his car. M/n stood there stumped for a second before smiling, this was his opportunity to go see Taemin.

It took about an hour to convince a staff to let him go see Taemin personally, he made up some bullshit about him being asked specifically to do this task, and if they didn’t help they’d have to answer to the director. It was stupid, but it worked.

M/n’s legs felt like complete jelly as he walked to Taemin’s apartment door. Traveling in Korea was nothing like the US, and even though he spent so much time there already it never felt to humble him as he got winded every time.

While catching his breath he might have accidentally walked into the door because a few moments later, Taemin opened the door slightly to see a hunched-over M/n clutching his chest.

“M/n? Are you okay?”

“Huh?” M/n said instantly lifting and straightening himself up, “What, oh yeah, I’m totally fine! H-Here… medicine.” M/n exclaimed, awkwardly handing Taeming the bags of convenience store foods and painkillers.

Confused, but concerned about M/n, Taemin opened the door more and stepped to the side, “Come in, you look like you could use some AC and water.”

Resting on the couch together, M/n watched as Taemin devoured his meal as if he hadn’t eaten for days. M/n giggled at the food filling in Taemin’s mouth, stuffing his cheeks like a tiny squirrel.

“You’ve got something there,” M/n chuckled, extending his arm over to Taemin’s face as a bit of rice stuck to the corner of his mouth. M/n’s thumb swiped over Taemin’s lips to catch the rice. Stunned, Taemin froze as M/n lifted his hand to his own mouth, parted his lips, and sucked the flavor off it.

There was something so sensual about that movement, in Taemin’s mind everything was in slo-mo, M/n eyes gazing right into his almost like a seductive taunt. An invite.

Tempted, Taemin’s arm snaked up to M/n’s wrist and he pushed himself atop of M/n, hands now above him, “Is this what you want?” A shiver ran down M/n’s spine, his question burning his skin up. Is cozying up close with your idol really the move? But at this point, Taemin was more than just a celebrity. He was a muse, a sexy muse. But was this a mistake?

“I want to, I do. I just-”

“Thinking about if people will find out?” Taemin said, cutting out M/n’s concerns for display like he was inside his brain. But Taemin reassured M/n with a kiss on the forehead and a sentence that would change their relationship forever.

“Follow your body, it knows you want my touch.”

It didn’t take long for the two to be stumbling into the bedroom in each other’s arms, sloppy kisses and clothes parting with skin onto the floor.

As Taemin sat M/n down on the bed, his tongue worked around in his mouth as one of his hands lightly tilted the dancer’s chin up, the other wrapped around his neck gently squeezing.

“Look at me, baby,” Taemin sang pulling back away from M/n who whined slightly at the loss of the heat on his lips.

“I got you tonight.”

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saffron-words · 1 month

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Introduction and UtsuKare Translations Master Post

Some of you might recognize me as that Russian translator of Utsukushii Kare books from Wattpad. I decided to revive my tumblr to compile all the links and explanations here for those of you, MBM fans, who can't wait for official English releases of the books.

I could never keep a blog, so for now here I'll just tell how it all came about, and you can find links to all my MBM translations at the end (feel free to just skip the wall of text). So a couple of years ago I finally bowed down and decided to read Utsukushii Kare series in Japanese for language practice, even though I found the summary unappealing and I'm generally suspicious of overhyped media (as far as BL novels go, these books seemed to be The most hyped-up series in Japan). Much to my surprise, I loved it so much it was hard to move on. And while I waited for a chance to buy book 3 and Interlude, I gobbled up everything else related to the series that I could. The manga was only just starting, I didn't like dramaCDs (but I'm in the minority), and the drama somehow revived my love for watching Jdramas, even though I thought that this part of my fandom life has been over for years. When the second season started airing, I made a new friend in the Russian-speaking parts of the Internet who was even more obsessed with MBM than I am, and we fangirled to our hearts' content. At some point I promised her to translate the big sex scene from the end of book 3 as a gift for all the talks. I did, and since back then there was nothing for book 3 in any European language, as far as I know, I decided to post it online and give a link to English-speaking UtsuKare fans too. And since Wattpad doesn't allow copying text, and the browser translator feature from Google Translate was really inadequate, I also put up a link to the translation made with Deepl. As far as machine translators go, it is noticeably more comprehensible, and I didn't have the time (or skills to do the book justice, really) to translate it to English myself. Anyway, after this excerpt I thought I could manage one more important scene from book 3, then one more, and then I finally gave up and started translating it properly from the beginning. I also started correcting mistranslations in Deepl-versions that I kept doing for English readers, so some parts of the book are now much more readable than others. Now the third book is done and I started to work on book 2, Nikurashii Kare. I also translated several stories from Interlude and plan to do at least one more, but that is put on the backburner for now since I want to do as much of the book 2 as I can before book 4 in the main series comes out. Yes, we're getting a new Hira and Kiyoi book! This year too, probably. And unless it completely disappoints me or something terrible happens IRL, I plan to translate it as well.

So here are the links to everything I've translated from My Beautiful Man book series:

Book 3 "Nayamashii Kare" which continues the story past the movie (completed). The text is in Russian, but there are links to decent machine translations to English at the beginning of each part (I've also run through most of them and corrected the mistranslations). Or you can use the in-browser translation feature, but the results would be less readable.

Book 2 "Nikurashii Kare" which was technically turned into season 2 of the drama and the movie, but the script has deviated so much from the book, at times it's like a completely different story (in progress; about 1/4 of the book will be done with the next update which I plan on posting soon). I don't make Deepl translations for this since the official English release will be out in a couple of months.

Stories from other books in the series. The first part is a short scene from Nikurashii Kare, and the rest are stand-alone stories from Interlude. One of them had also been translated to English by Mauli before, but I didn't use her version when working on mine. The rest of the stories have never been translated by anyone else, as far as I know. These, too, have links to Deepl-versions at the beginning.

Disclaimer: my Japanese is not yet really on a level good enough to translate fiction, and there are bound to be mistranslations even if you read the original Russian versions. But I'm cross-checking myself on everything to try and keep those mistakes to minor things. I also know how to translate so I made sure that the text flows well, doesn't feel choppy and retains the same vibe that I get from reading the original.

#utsukushii kare #my beautiful man #utsukare #japanese bl #美しい彼

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dragonagefanevents · 2 months

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What are Tag Games/Daily Events?

The Tumblr Dragon Age community is active every day of the week! We love to share what we're working on and support each other's creative endeavors. In order to make sure we see those posts--and to encourage our friends to share their own work--we tag each other.

Every day has a different theme. Some work for both art and writing, and some are more geared for writing.

Last Line Monday (Writing)

Tidbit/Teaser Tuesday (Art & Writing)

WIP Wednesday (Art & Writing)

Throwback Thursday (Art & Writing)

Fan Work Friday (Art & Writing)

Friday Writing Circle (Writing)

Soundtrack Saturday (Any)

Six Sentence Sunday (Writing)

Read on for more information about what each daily theme is about, and how to get involved!

Tumblr Etiquette

These are the unspoken rules of Tumblr Tag Games:

If you are tagged by someone in their own post, reblog it with a note of support in the tags or replies!

If you were tagged by someone, tag them when you make your own post so they can see it!

If you tag someone and they make their own post, reblog it with a note of support in the tags or replies!

If someone asks not to be tagged, please do not tag them.

What does participation in the event look like?

▸ Make your post.

Maybe someone tagged you, or maybe you want to get the ball rolling! Choose the piece of your work you want to share and make a tumblr post.

▸ Ping the person who tagged you (if applicable).

If you were tagged by someone, begin with "I was tagged by @tumblr". Tagging them lets them have a chance to see what you're working on and cheer for you!

▸State what the tag event is.

Regardless, copy/paste or summarize the rules of the specific tag game, such as the ones listed at the end of this post for Last Line Monday, WIP Wednesday, etc.

▸Show us the work you wanted to share!

It's polite to put long, wordy WIPS under a "read more" cut to avoid clogging the dashboards. :)

▸End by tagging forward.

Some people choose not to tag anyone, if it's very late in the day, or if you're shy. You can always say "I tag whoever is reading this post to share their work next! Tag me so I can reblog it too :)" or something similar.

What are the tag games/daily events?

▸Last Line Monday (Writing)

Post the last line you wrote on your WIP with no context and tag forward!

▸Tidbit/Teaser Tuesday (Art & Writing)

Post a small piece of your WIP (a few sentences at most, or a cropped piece of an image) without any context, for your followers and friends to make guesses about. Tag at least one person to post their own.

▸WIP Wednesday (Art & Writing)

Share something you're proud of from a WIP, new or old, and tag forward!

▸Throwback Thursday (Art & Writing)

Share a short excerpt or a glimpse of an old work. If it's posted somewhere, put a link so we can appreciate it there, too! Don't forget to tag forward.

▸Fan Work Friday (Art & Writing)

If you’re tagged, MAKE A NEW POST to showcase one fanartist and/or fanfic for any fandom you recommend (with links), and tag someone to give their recs next!

Don’t forget to reblog the rec you were tagged in, and include these rules! :)

Bonus: Choose works by people you aren’t super tight with, or choose older works that maybe haven’t gotten some love in a while. :)

▸Friday Writing Circle (Writing)

DA Drunk Writing Circle is a casual Friday evening event for all Dragon Age writers, focused on writing small pieces based on prompts. This is NOT a tag game, but a community writing circle you can sign up for and participate WHENEVER you feel like it, with very low stakes!

▸Soundtrack Saturday

Share a song (or a few) about a canon character, an OC, a fic, or something else that you think it goes with, and tag forward!

▸Six Sentence Sunday (Writing)

Post six sentences from your WIP and tag forward!

#about games #education #games #others

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katieaki · 5 months

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My ✨ post-apocalyptic Lesbian Cowgirl Mailman choose-your-own adventure✨ has just updated! Read it here for free on my Patreon and vote in the poll! There is a summary of the first part, here, the second part, here, and the third part, here. They have everything you need to know about Lou, her requited-but-complicated love, the religious assassin who just beat the tar out of her, the worst person she's ever met, and the ill-advised journey she is on! There is also now a discord where Pony Express readers from all across god's green internet can gather, here! Lou really flexes her incredible acting skills in this one. I guarantee you'll be impressed. We also get some teen content, if only just a little. Close readers who've also read my other work may also be rewarded with an accent-related detail that says something about another irritable country dyke in my lineup.

Read the update for free on my patreon & vote on what happens next! Excerpt below the cut.

“Are you from like, Travertine, Devil’s Elbow, Cloverleaf way?” Artie asked, gesturing with three fingers to indicate the cluster of towns. They were barely towns, really, more like loosely grouped homes, farms, and rural industry that were large enough to each have their own shrine, pantry, schoolhouses, and Pony Express stations, but not much more.

“Yeah,” Lou said, surprised into letting the ‘curse’ talk lie. “How did you know?”

“Your accent,” she said.

“I don’t have an accent,” Lou said. She involuntarily covered her mouth with her hand. “Y’all have accents.”

“Wait, don’t tell me which one. Let me guess,” Artie said, excited. She pushed her hair out of her face and thought hard for a moment. “Okay. What does a bird lay?”

“An egg?” Lou said.

“‘Aig’,” Artie repeated.

“That’s— that's not what I sound like,” Lou protested.

Artie ignored her and continued. “The feeling when you wanna go to sleep?”

“Sleepy,” Lou said. She knew what Artie was trying to get her to say, but she didn’t want to play along anymore. Artie was having too much fun with it and Lou was beginning to feel cross-grained.

“Come on,” Artie said, looking over the top of her new, cursed sunglasses at her.

“Tired,” Lou said, begrudgingly.

“‘Tarred,’” Artie repeated.

“Okay, stop making fun of me,” Lou said. “I get it. I’m country as a turnip green.”

“I’m not making fun. I’m investigating,” she said. “Besides, I like it. Your accent. And I like turnip greens.”

Lou didn’t say anything, just lifted her hat, smoothed her sweaty hair back, and put it back on her head. They were quiet for a while and Lou hoped Artie had decided not to pursue the question any further.

“The thing you write with? The ink one?” Artie said finally, with a little smile.

Lou heaved a heavy sigh and glared at her. She just smiled back, looking at her with those huge, dark eyes. “Pen,” she said, finally.

“‘Pin’,” Artie repeated, visibly delighted that Lou was still playing along. “Cloverleaf?”

Lou’s eyebrows raised involuntarily. How did she know that? “You had a one in three chance,” Lou huffed.

Artie leaned back with a big grin. Lou instinctively looked away from her teeth. “Anyway, don’t be embarrassed about being a country girl. Johnny Knives is inaka, too.”

“How did you know?” Lou asked.

“About you? I don’t know. I’ve been all over the place and I like hearing people talk. And my dad is from near Travertine,” Artie said. “I guess, me too, but. It’s complicated. Anyway, you got a stronger accent than her. So it was easy. I feel like the pin-pen thing is so Cloverleaf. Oh, and how you say golly like that all the time. ‘Gol-lee’. Very Cloverleafian.”

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aliasrocket · 1 year

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tdlr : quill/rocket love triangle qna + excerpts!!

Since the quill/rocket love triangle poll one by 0.01% (literally) I’m trying to make it happen! Definitely will have at LEAST one chapter out by the end of august, maybe even two, but allow me to answer some frequently asked questions.

Quill and Rocket are in love with the reader. (Because of this, I would prefer to call it a love angle but its a lesser known term, so.)

I don’t wanna spoil the plot too much but I saw a post of James Gunn on twitter confirming Quill is on space tinder. That’s the only clue I can give you (no, it’s not a chat fic.)

It’s not poly. Sorry for those who wanted it that way.

And last but not least, here’s two excerpts—it’s not much but that’s because I just started, but hopefully you get the feel of the fic from this HAHA

so the first one’s to give you some insight on Quill, second’s on Rocket ;

Books sound so much better when you recommend them to me

Peter

It’s books

There’s so many good ones out there that I haven’t read

I can take you to a bookstore if you want

Alright, if you insist

But I haven’t finished a book since

Since I last saw my mother

And you changed that

The bubble that held these words was the face of Peter—it was his face. The flat device on your phone was supposed to make up for the fact that you weren’t next to him.

Reading that through was like looking at a sunset and speculating its feelings. Obviously it’s a pretty sight. A lot of things happen when pink meets red meets orange meets yellow. But the sun doesn’t have a face. Neither do the colors. But your shoulders sink and your bones unwind at the very thought of letting your hair brush through the mellow sunset wind.

There was something there. Obviously, there was something there.

But Peter Quill was a chat screen with feelings.

I’m glad you liked Ready Player One Peter

I feel like a damn child again

With all the sci-fi you’ve recommended me

But in the good way

I can let loose

With you

Yk?

“Hey uh,” you swallowed, the slick noises from your throat somehow bouncing off the walls. “The ship’s on autopilot, right?”

“No, we’re crashing any second now,” Rocket answered dryly.

You whipped around to face the window. More clanging sounds ensued, but the stars were still sticking to the sky, fixed, not moving, not dropping to shaking about—and there was no quake in the ship, no floating feeling of your body falling and yet your heart hiccuped.

Rocket snickered. Your heart drummed somewhat distantly in your chest, but as drums are, it was loud, and it ran a careless finger down your ribs.

“Of course we’re on autopilot, princess,” he clarified a little kinder, despite the gesture being anything but kind. It was considered kinder because whatever he had done previously had made this an improvement.

He loaded his hands into his pockets, leaning against the box with a foot crossed over the other.

You groaned as your head hit the mattress, and you did this instead of offering a response, an option you actually had to weigh.

“Never got the proper meeting, by the way,” Rocket said, his boots giving away each heavy step towards you. “I’m—”

“Rocket. I know who you are,” you finish for him so he doesn’t have the chance to say anything else that would scare you.

You reluctantly sat up only to find he was closer than you had expected him to be. Your feet suddenly gravitated towards the floor in an attempt to regain some modesty.

“This usually goes both ways, you know.”

You press your lips into a thin line, your eyelids drooping to form an unamused look. You utter your name but the syllables clung to your lips when they barely left you. Rocket held out his hand, and you take note of his black nails protruding from its slender but unmarred form. You take his hand in your own, shaking it torpidly and very, very slimly moving it for a better view.

It was unmarred in a very human way—it held prominent knuckles at the beginning of each finger, and it looked so unnaturally natural; his hands were active, always on the move, always touching very hot and dangerous things—how could it possibly be unmarred?

“Now you say ‘nice to meet you, Rocket,’” he quipped.

You hit his hand away and scoffed. “Yeah yeah, okay.”

“Nice to meet you too,” he said along with your name, leaving him like a cardboard box labeled ‘fragile.’ It’s an open box but it’s handled with care, something he steadily unpacked.

#rocket raccoon #guardians of the galaxy #gotg #rocket gotg #gotg vol 3 #gotg fanfiction #rocket raccoon x you #rocket raccoon x reader #.alias.ao3.updates.

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sincerely-sofie · 5 months

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In light of people being way too kind to me about the excerpts from that Hollow Knight fic I posted a bit ago: I have some more snippets of various old Hollow Knight fics that I want to get out into the world because they've been buzzing around in my head like angry yellow jackets at a summertime picnic 🥲

Hollow Knight Fanfic Speed-Dating, GO!!!!!

(From a fic shipping Hollow and the Collector:)

The Malfunctioning Kingsmold made it a point to try and drag the Hollow Knight into imperfection along with him (often quite literally, as he would hook a finger into the anchors on its pauldrons to lead it on his misadventures). Not that it would ever stoop to such things— the preservation of Hallownest rested in its hands, and it could not safely bolster up the kingdom into eternity if it dirtied its fingers with indulgence— but the Malfunctioning Kingsmold was persistently getting on its nerves and looking to make it crack. A mountain could not bow to the wind, but that did not make its howling any less insufferable.

(From a fic where Ghost checks in on the Hunter a while after the Embrace the Void ending:)

The “cave” lying in the center of the chamber stirred. Six eyes opened in its yawning mouth, and the mound rose, revealing the head of the bug she’d come to visit. The Hunter growled, “You carry the scent of the hunt, little wanderer. I take it prey has been numerous.”

Hornet would have just complained that she stunk. Thankfully, the Hunter didn’t turn up his nose over such things. Ghost shook her head— she hadn’t slain many bugs since the Infection was uprooted, and that vengefly wasn’t even all that close when she slashed it. She didn’t know what he was talking about.

The Hunter dug most of this cavern himself, yet his head still brushed the ceiling when he rose to his full height. “The pestilence has gone to dust. My own quarry has adapted accordingly, and I find that I might hunt them anew. You’ve not taken the chance to pursue the beasts of this kingdom?”

She shook her head, stopped, then shrugged.

“Curious.” He reached out a large hand that she clambered onto. He held her level with his eyes. “I thought you one to continue the hunt even after finishing your journal.”

Ah, right, that. She pulled the journal out from her cloak and fanned through its pages, stopping on a leaf that she’d inserted herself. She set it on his palm. She squatted and pointed to the page, waiting as he looked it over.

He blinked. “You hunted gods.” There was a long pause, then a rumbling laugh filled the cavern. “And to think I once called you squib! What an insult to those haughty fools, being brought low by one so tiny. But a hunter’s strength lies in deception, doesn’t it, in lulling prey into a sense of safety— of course you, so small and so plain, would bring gods to their knees.”

Behind her mask, she snickered, though it came out sounding more like a rattling cough than anything else. She didn’t mind being thought of as small when it made her seem all the mightier.

(From a fic where Hornet encounters Quirrel outside of Dirtmouth:)

Hornet took a chance and leapt down one branch further. The bug was close enough now that she could tell it was a pillbug— he wore a bandana around his head and carried a remarkably crafted nail. She hissed, “I’ll ask again. What do you want, traveler? Why are you in these woods?”

“I’m here to visit someone in Dirtmouth and to do good where I can. Nothing sinister, I assure you.”

She gripped her needle beneath her cloak. “I am a stewardess of Dirtmouth. Tell me who you’re looking for and why. Answer well and I’ll help you find who you’re looking for.”

“Ah, well… I’m afraid I don’t know their name. They didn’t talk much about themselves— or anything at all, really. They’ve helped me more times than I can count, but I haven’t heard from them since… since they saved my life. They’re rather small, about yea high? To be frank, they also carry a very unfortunate scent about them.”

Hornet blinked.

“They knew how to wield a nail with frightening skill, if that helps.”

Hornet pinched her brow.

“Do you know who they might be, or—?”

“Gods. You’re talking about Ghost. Follow me.”

(From the same fic as above, when Quirrel and Ghost reunite and catch up on what happened while they were separated:)

Quirrel’s eyes widened. “He had a beard and an odd horn, yes. Do you know Lemm?”

She nodded and held out her handful of Geo.

“You did business with him!” He laughed. “Then you must have been the customer who he loved to complain so much about.”

Ghost nodded and scuffed her foot on the sidewalk, proudly showing off the muddy print she left.

“He doesn’t like dirt, does he? He also said that you came into his shop one day smelling like you spent a week in the sewers. Did you really take a trip through them?”

She opened her map again and pointed to where she’d jumped down an open grate, then fallen into the Royal Waterways.

Quirrel tilted his head, face screwed up with disgust. “Well, at least it was sewers that once belonged to the nobility.”

She shrugged. That sort of thing didn’t mean much to her. Dung was dung, though Ogrim might argue otherwise.

(From a fic where Hollow finds the Pale King hiding in the Dream Realm version of the White Palace, and he hugs her when he realizes how badly he messed up with the Vessels:)

He could hear the quiet whines coming from their throat, now— tiny, pitiful, weepy sounds that were strangled by a spell to prevent any word from escaping a vessel's mouth. He'd woven that spell. He'd done that to them. And here the child was, now taller than him almost twice over, coming to him for forgiveness, when he could feel the openings in the shell of their back that he had carved into them.

He felt sick.

The Hollow Knight's side was sunken in.

He shifted his hand along their shoulder, confused, and eventually pulled back to better examine them. The Hollow Knight did not move as he took hold of their cloak, nor did they so much as twitch as he moved it to the side. They only hunched inward, ashamed, when he cursed under his breath at the sight their gnarled shoulder that ended in bandages instead of an arm, how pockmarked and sunken-in all of their shell was— not an inch of it spared from the mercilessly generous scarring. Even Herrah, the warrior queen famed for her countless scars, would blanch at the severity of it all.

He held them closer and fought back tears of his own.

(Later passage from the same fic as the above--- TPK has left the Dream Realm and is given temporary housing in Ghost's home while Mato is visiting.)

"My apologies, I forgot my manners." The Nailmaster smiled brightly. "My name is Mato. I studied under the Great Nailsage, and I am this little warrior's father. By choice, not by blood, though it makes little difference." He reached up to pat the arm of the little vessel sat astride his shoulders.

The vessel squeezed their arms tighter around his horns, pouting.

Ah. The Pale King took a sip of his tea. It was poorly steeped and the flavor was far too strong as a result, but the opportunity to ground himself in the face of that revelation was welcome.

(This child had grown up with darkness above them and dried out husks underfoot. They had managed to escape the Abyss. They had found someone to provide the care and concern for them that no one else had. He had no right to feel as pained by the fact as he did.)

(That fact did nothing to change the guilt spearing him.)

"How noble, to take in a wandering grub," he finally said.

(More dialogue happens--- Ghost storms off to her bedroom in the middle of Mato and TPK's conversation, and Hollow follows shortly after to comfort her.)

"Is…" The Pale King struggled to summon both the words and the resolve to ask his question. "Is this a frequent occurrence?" He tapped his claws against the mug. "That the H— that Holly is required to reassure Ghost?"

"There are good days and bad. Their brother is also typically here to bolster the child before she begins struggling too much, so it doesn't often get to the point where Holly is needed." There was a long moment of dead air. He sighed. "I shouldn't be bothering you with all this. It's her business, not mine." He smiled again, resuming his jovial demeanor. "I interrupted you before. How are you related to Ghost and her siblings?"

"I am their—" He paused. "I am their father. Theirs by birth, at least."

Mato blinked several times, kind expression flickering between many emotions before settling on a carefully neutral look. "Ah. Ghost has…" He glanced away, brow furrowed. "… mentioned you on a few occasions, I believe."

#we're queuing this again boys #i'm pranking my future self so hard with these posts she won't know what hit her #oh hey what if I include a secret message for Future Sofie?#Hi dork! :) Hope you're having a good day! If not there's probably still some of those cheapo cookies you love so much. Treat yourself.#If there aren't any of the cheapo cookies then I dunno. I'm really enjoying a bag of jerky rn. Maybe have some of that if you feel like it #love you self! :)))))#please go to bed at a reasonable time tonight! <33333 #EDIT: the bag of jerky is nothing more than crumbs now. the cookies stores are depleted. my battery is low and it is getting dark #hollow knight #hk #hollow knight fanfic #hollow knight fic #hk fanfic #hk fic #stuff by sofie

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sanderssidesthehouse · 2 months

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Casual observer of your gradual slip into obsession with Anxceit so I'm wondering if we could get your shipinions? (For the ask meme.)

I would love to give my shipinions!

I actually wasn't that into them until I started making those playlists (master post, anxceit link), but now I can't stop myself. There's just so much, so many possibilities, and no answers to be had (yet).

They are currently exes to me. It could be healthy, it could be toxic, it could be left in the past. Something I've said before that I think it sums it up well: "Maybe it's about what was. Maybe it's about what could have been. Maybe it's about what is. Maybe it's about what could never be."

All I know is that it's devastating and tragic but also has the potential to be the most beautiful love story you've ever seen. And if not, I'm a fan of toxic yaoi, too. I literally can't lose.

Another quote from me: "I absolutely need to know what Virgil’s deal with Janus is and if it’s anything like my theories bc there are so many ways that could go, all of which being angsty and fun. Like did Virgil assume something and spiral? Could Janus not manage to tell the truth when it was important? Was it a single incident or many? I am unwell about them."

I think it would be amazingly angsty if after all this time they still knew each other best. Like maybe they don't know each others current favorite foods or movies, but they know each others deepest fears and how to calm each other down and what each others most formative moments were. I like the idea of them having deeply entrenched history.

They are prime for 'bad thing happens and suddenly you're the person I turn to and it's different now but I never stopped loving you and we'll have to work through that all later, but for now please just hold me' or 'we still have a lot to unpack but I trust you with this thing that is important to me bc I know you can and will do it'.

Them both having protecting roles is very interesting and it would make so much sense if that's why they had a falling out in the first place. I explored one possibility of what that would look like in Why Do I, excerpt here: "The thing about Deceit- Janus- Self Preservation, whatever you wanted to call him, was that he had one singular agenda: Make sure Thomas gets what he needs and then what he wants, regardless of who he has to cut through to do it. And so, once upon a time, Virgil ended up with a knife in his back."

A second excerpt: "And whenever something happening to Thomas would make Virgil freak out, Janus would have Thomas lie it away." I wrote while thinking about how lying can affect anxiety and Anxiety. When you lie, there's always the chance of getting caught, which can potentially be more stressful than the thing you lied about, and if you get caught too many times, it's the boy who cried wolf which would also be a very anxiety inducing situation bc what if you really need someone to believe you?

There's also the fact that this would increase avoidant behavior. Janus CANNOT defer to Virgil if he wants to keep c!Thomas safe bc long term that would be disastrous to his health. Sometimes things that are good for you are scary. But this in particular is related mostly to their jobs so they shouldn't be taking it personally, especially since 'dark' sides know better than anyone that they can't help what their jobs are, they just have to do them.

I feel like I'm just going to end up talking a really long time only to end up no where, so I'll end this here, but absolutely ask me specific questions if you want to know what I think bc I have so many thoughts.

#anxceit #siding ask #rllybadfanfic ship bingo #sanders sides #virgil sanders #janus sanders

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electrozeistyking · 7 months

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I just realized what "The Amalgamation" reminds me of. The Slayer form in Baldur's Gate 3

Funny that it somewhat resembles it given I had the idea for two particular DDs I made to fuse into one being that was a giant version of a similar form. Just less surgical and more "magical".

While I'm here I wanted to say the design for it is sick. Body horror is my jam so this "little" guy was quite cool to see. Curious if you're gonna do a fic with them, would absolutely be down to read it if you did. A lot of the fics I read don't really incorporate the body horror elements of MD and it makes me a little sad since it's one of the things that drew me to the show. But I imagine you're quite busy with the Ghost Drone AU so I don't really expect it.

Also I might take a crack at drawing The Amalgamation but don't expect it to be too good. I may be able to draw horrors beyond human comprehension but limbs STILL get me. Like, how does the hand attach to arm, why are fingers so round...WHO DECIDED NECKS SHOULD BE LIKE THAT?!

I also considered drawing Beanie with one of my OCs but...almost all of them should NOT be within 500 miles of her. Two of them are literally The Boogeyman (even if Erik wasn't at one point) and the other two are loyal DDs. Yen would be sweet though, so maybe some art with them would work but I think they'd be too distracted by N's hot single dad vibes.

idk I just love your art and I want to pay tribute to it in some way because it's so awesome and super well made. Love what you're doing and hope you do well because of it!

(also sorry for the long ask I just started thinking stuff I wanted to say and putting it down)

Pal. Buddy. I absolutely LOVE writing nightmarish/horror sequences, I just don't often get a chance to flex that ability. You better believe that I'm planning on writing something about the Amalgamation! I even have a co-writer to help me with it... heheheh.

Don't worry, nothing's actually written yet. Those "excerpts" I posted were literally just me writing short little stories on the concept, seeing as I wanted to get them out of my brain... though, I may actively include them when I actually write about the Amalgamation? Too soon to say....

Also hey, don't worry if your art looks "bad" or "good!" So long as you make it, I'll love it either way! And don't worry, I love the lengthy ask! It was a delight reading all of your thoughts. :3

#Zeisty's Askbox #meanwhile n's either used to people being ''distracted by his hot single dad vibes'' because of the ghost drones #or he's too busy trying not to break down and act like he's fine to notice #ghost drone au #amalgamation au #don't forget about the body horror present in the n's a monster au... you don't think it was a peaceful transformation do you? :)

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bhaalble · 1 year

Text

God Love Me Like a Fawn- A Dark Urge/Enver Gortash fic

I finally finish something for BG3 and its for the guy I didn't give a FUCK about my first playthrough. This is also posted on my AO3 (Skeletorific) if you prefer the formatting there. Anyways. A snapshot of pre-Crown of Karsus heist. Enver does his level best to make sure his alliance with Murder Incarnate doesn't wind up how this kind of union typically should go. Alternatively, the author's barely disguised fetish for men putting jewelry on other men

TW for Canon typical violence descriptions, disassociation, memory loss, and generally toxic dynamics. Dark Urge Tav is an oc, Melkior, who uses he/they pronouns. Nothing explicitly sexual. 3.5k words.

Excerpt:

Still studying, then?”

He’d had to repeat the question before Melkior’s eyes finally lifted from the page in front of him. Fiery yellow set deep in black. Not the most uncommon color for tieflings, but the effect of them piercing through shaggy dark hair was always a touch startling. He always held them a little too wide, blinked too little.

“......You’re back already?”

Gortash can’t help but smile, whisking the door to his office shut behind him. Melkior had been holed up for hours, carpeting his office in books and papers. Everything that had ever been written on Mephistopheles' vaults, accounts from the exceedingly factual to the patently deranged. Most of those hours had been silent, by necessity: the Chosen of Bhaal, prodigiously talented in all arts bloodthirsty, was an almost charmingly slow reader.

Silence was unbearable to Enver. He’d had more than enough of it for twenty lifetimes. It had been better, almost, when they were beating him because when they weren’t he was left below for hours, days, weeks. Not a voice to be heard or a person to see. He made his excuses to busy himself below, lose himself in the tangled noise of his machines and his lackeys.

“Already? The sun’s nearly set, you’ve been in here all day.”

Another slow blink. A scowl crosses the Bhaalspawn’s face, probably a startling visage for most. The grey-white death mask tattooed into his purple skin would twist, rippling over a nasty burn scar on his right cheek. The effect was entirely demonic.

Not for him. He knew better. Knew better of demons, and knew better of Melkior. This wasn’t a threat, but a sulk.

“I was busy.”

“Clearly.” He tilts his head, meaningfully regarding the rest of his office. “Not a drop of viscera to be seen, either. I commend the focus you’ve shown for this task.”

It’s hard to read blushes behind the tattoos, but the way his tail flicks nervously behind him is as good as any coloring. “Why am I the only one focusing? It’s your plan, Baneite.”

“Enver.” He says cheerfully. In two strides he’s crossed the room, taking a seat on the worn chaise he slept in more than his own bed. It was the only surface not entirely littered in paper. “I am focusing. But there are wheels in motion, my friend. Someone needs to make sure they don’t fly off before we’ve had the chance to make our play.”

“I have better-”

“The compliment was sincere, Melkior.”

He didn’t need words to know that was worse, leagues worse. Melkior snaps the book shut, rolling cat-like to his feet. Enver watches him tilt his chin, drawing himself up to his full height to look down at him on the couch. Blazing eyes, stony expressions, claws ever so slightly parted. Like in a twitch they might rend a throat. Divine wrath made manifest.

“I’m returning to the Temple. The flock needs tending. The cattle need culling.” He stalks past him, feet padding silently. “Call me when you have a more productive use for my time.”

Enver says nothing, yet. Waits for him to get nearer the door.

“Then I suppose you don’t want your present.”

Stillness, silence. So thick over his left shoulder it was nearly tangible. A lesser man, a man less practiced in his art, might’ve thought the tiefling had left.

Enver was not a lesser man. And Bhaal’s favorite bludgeon was more a child at heart than they realized.

“....Present.” Melkior’s tone is flat and heavy, trying to smother the curiosity out of his voice.

Without turning, he lifts his hand, holding the palm flat to reveal two delicate gold chains, bookended by clips set with rubies. “You have a penchant for jewelry, don’t you?” The carelessness rolls effortlessly off his tongue, the benevolent disinterest weaving the lie into the truthful statement. “I’ve noticed many of the tieflings in the city have taken to horn decorations of late.” Finally, a turn, a graceful smile sliding on. “A life in service to the Murder Lord doesn’t offer much exposure to the latest trends, I imagine.”

Melkior seems to have frozen mid-stride. He’s frozen in general. Among the more monkish of his habits: the ability to appear carved right from the rock. Even still, the argument clearly taking place in the theater of his mind is all but broadcasted. “...Why do you care?”

He shrugs, closing his hand over the trinkets and lowering it ever so slowly. “You don’t need to take it if you don’t wish. I’m sure I have a few other colleagues who would be interested. “

“I don’t-” His hand jerks. Enver feels the point slide towards him. He watches Melkior feel it slip away. A paroxysm of irritation passes over him, making his lip curl to bare fangs. An animal kind of frustration.

His palm opens beckoning.

“....You waste a lot of time on gestures, Baneite.” Melkior’s heels sink to the ground, pivoting towards him. Seconds before his claws can close on the proffered chains, though, Gortash’s hand snaps shut again.

“Enver.”

An annoyed twitch of the tail. Golden eyes are locked on his hand with a greedy gleam.

“You waste a lot of time on gestures....Enver.”

“Not so difficult, is it?” He smiles, gesturing in front of him. “Come here, I’ll put them on.”

“I can do it myself.” He follows the gesture where it leads, though, tugged a few steps around the edge of the chaise.

“You haven’t seen how they’re attached. I’d like my gifts worn properly.” He tilts his head up to look him in the eye. The bland smile never wavers. “Though, I can’t exactly reach from here.”

“Then...stand?”

“Ah, my friend, this seat is comfortable, and I’ve had such a long morning.”

This, actually, is where it becomes most dangerous. Not lightly do the Children of Bhaal open their space. Even less lightly should they be invited into yours. Gortash doesn’t break eye contact. Almost doesn’t dare to. The long ebony claws now mere inches from his face occupy the whole of his awareness regardless.

Melkior glances again at the hand holding his prize.

He takes a seat on the couch, settling awkwardly at the very edge of the worn green velvet. His gaze flickers towards him again.

“Better?”

The faintest knot of tension that had begun tying itself in his chest is swept cleanly aside. His smile deepens, sharpens as he sits up properly. “Better...but you are blessed with some very imposing horns, Melkior.” He glances at them, near vertical and spiraling like a goat’s. They add nearly half a foot to his height. It’s when the tiefling’s eyes dart up towards the same appendage, however, that he moves. In one blink, he plants a hand on his shoulder, sweeping him off the couch entirely.

In the span of a heartbeat, Melkior is kneeling before him.

Another heartbeat. Gortash half expects to feel a draft over his innards the next second. So, he doesn’t let himself pause. With deft hands, he plucks one of the chains from his palm and begins carefully clipping the first end near the base of his horn.

Melkior’s body goes tight. From this level, he has to look up at him. From the edges of his vision, he can feel those eyes held wide, burning into him. No doubt imagining a thousand ways to split him down the middle for the insult.

“Will this satisfy you, then.”

......

Enver’s been too well trained to let his surprise show. He doesn’t break his gaze from his work, even, carefully lining the clips along the ridges spirals of the horn, assessing placement to see if the chains will lay properly.

“For now.” He says softly.

Melkior rolls his eyes, arranging his legs to fold more comfortably underneath him. His hands clasp politely in his lap, for all the world looking like a penitent at his prayers. The visual has its appeals. Much more so the fact that he’s clearly trying to avoid eye contact at the moment.

Up close, it’s surprising how clean he smells. The undercurrent is there, of course, old blood and fluids of more unmentionable varieties. The reeking incense of Bhaal. Something antiseptic, a rubbing alcohol perhaps. But there’s linen too, notes of a soapy kind of a lavender smell. He wonders if it’s intentional, a way of hiding his nature. Or perhaps this was simply a clean outfit, yet unspoiled by the usual grisly tasks on Melkior’s to-do list.

The tiefling continues to sit quietly. An outside perspective might presume him to be meditating. Certainly his gaze seems far enough away for that to be the case. Gortash looks closer, though, and sees the barely restrained shiver every time he traces the edges of his horns.

Hears the slightly staccato rhythm of his breath.

“If I had known all it took were a few baubles to get you to behave, I would’ve sent earrings ahead of my first few envoys.” The spirals of the horns pose an inviting challenge, drawing the chains taut where they should instead drape. He recalculates the placement some. “Are all Bhaalists so materialist?”

“I don’t care about finery. I take trophies.”

“My favorite assassin, this is a trophy.” Slowly, ever so slowly, his free hand slides into his hair, threading through dark tangled strands to sweep them from his face. This is almost a bridge too far. Melkior’s shoulders snap to attention and his lip curls. Enver only presses firmly on the top of his skull, tilting his head back gently until his eyes meet his own. “We’ve secured our means into the hells.” Not quite a murmur, not quite a whisper, but something velvet and soft and prayerful in his voice all the same. With his hair pushed off his forehead, he can see glints of amber and red swimming in the molten gold of Melkior’s eyes. “Our victory is within our grasp, and I’d say that merits a reward.”

Melkior’s chest rises and falls in sharp movements. The dark purple of his lips peeks through, the usual white paint scraped away by his teeth. “We haven’t won yet.”

“True. But it’s as simple as closing our fist.” He presses his thumb pointedly to the center of the tiefling’s forehead, biting back a laugh when his eyes briefly cross in their attempt to track the movement. “Not comfortable being touched?”

“I’m not frightened of you.”

“I didn’t ask if you were frightened.”

“People who touch me don’t find it ends happily for them.” He still hasn’t moved. The pressure he’s placing on his head is tight, not easily breakable, but Melkior hasn’t so much as tested it.

“I didn’t ask how I’d end up either. Even if I did.” He tilts his head, lifting free hand to show the mark matching the one blazoned on the Bhaalspawn’s shoulder. “We have certain oaths to prevent exactly this. Your Urge isn’t complicating that?”

Melkior huffs, darting his eyes to the side. “No. Father made...allowances.”

“Then you’ll forgive me if I continue to place my trust at your feet. So far as I can see it, then, the only reason for me to not touch you is if you prefer not to be touched.” He’s still looking away. It won’t do, it needles him where he needs to remain placid. He taps his chin, drawing his gaze back where it should stay. “Do you prefer that?”

The office isn’t silent. A draft beckoned in by the open window carries the din of the city below, the echoes of small lives and ways. The floor buzzes with his machines, the clanks and crashes so familiar they felt like music.

Just as familiar is the sensation he feels. A leash, tied around Melkior’s neck. The end lays in front, his for the grabbing. He could layer his voice with such powers as Bane made available to him, let the sensation of his touch seep into that too addled mind neatly cupped in his hands. A final completion of his art, dominating that which was by its nature untameable. Violence incarnate in his palm. Perhaps impossible, but the temptation was there all the same. Nearly overwhelming, even.

He doesn’t reach for it. It means nothing if taken now.

Melkior blinks. Blinks. Blinks. Blinks.

“.....You’ll touch me unless I say no?”

“Correct.”

“........For how-....” His brow knits together. For once not in anger, but confusion. “Continuously? Or just now? Or-”

He can’t hold it back anymore. He laughs, for once not the boisterous, controlled thing he saved for meetings. He might even go so far as to call it genuine. It seems to worsen the confusion, but Enver only ruffles his hair before getting to his feet.

“We can work that out later, then. For now, I think it may be time to speak with our diabolist.”

Melkior scrambles to his feet, the new chains jingling slightly in the motion. He seems wholly taken aback. “I didn’t give my answer.”

“Later.” You did . He claps his shoulder, smiling brightly. “Duty calls”

Enver slips out the door before he can say another word. He glances back only once, when the expected footfalls don’t hit his ears.

A gift of his own. Who else in the last century can claim to see a Bhaalspawn smiling without a hint of bloodlust?

------

Some Months. Years. Decades. Eons. Time Later

The patriars are all speaking at once, their chattering so loud as to nearly drown out the whirr and clank of the Steel Watch. The metal monstrosities tower around his party, flatly beckoning him into the fray. All of it fails to overpower the sound of Melkior’s own heartbeat.

The tiefling’s feet strain against the boots Shadowheart had wrestled him into. Without his calloused heels touching the earth he feels untethered. So many people, their reek hit him like a fist to the face. Unbidden a frenzy of gore-spattered images swim past his eyes, made sharper and angrier by all his unrestful heart. The duchess, her legs discarded as bloodied stumps on either side of her. One of the country lords to his immediate left, gagging on Melkior’s staff as it punched through the back of his skull. A sizzling smell of cooking meat as he imagined the Steel Watch chassis stuffed full of lordlings to get acquainted with the infernal iron buried within.

He didn’t even bother to breathe right now, to try grounding himself. There were simply too many things to distract himself from. Easier to let it swim by. His hand twitches instinctively towards Gale’s, but can he trust himself then to leave the limb intact?

The wizard notices the motion. Gale knows enough not to touch him, but he does favor him with a kind smile nonetheless, reassurance dripping from that soft voice of his. “Not far now, my love. We won’t let you lose control.”

“Right. Or if you’ve got to, I’ve got just the dickhead in this room for you to aim it at...” Karlach grumbles just behind him. Gale looks at her disapprovingly, though the regret seems to hit her even faster. “Sorry, that’s not funny.”

“He’ll be with my father.” Wyll says. Urgent, so urgent, his eyes scanning the throng. Those eyes aren’t meant for anything but Ulder Ravengard at the moment, they can’t be spared for the fearless leader. “Likely near the front-...BLAST these crowds, can you see him?”

“We’ll find him, Wyll.” Melkior says faintly, voice so small it immediately becomes lost in the pandemonium. “And the others...” Though what he’s meant to do about it in here he couldn’t say. This hall. He’s never been in it before, he can’t have been, not with the way everyone’s eyes seem to slide right off him. But something lingers in the hall, a miasma that claws into the aching gapes in his brain.

The machine had known him. He eyes the mechanical soldier like it might echo with that voice again.

Karlach hisses. It’s joined by a flare of heat just at his back. Lucky they were on the edge of the carpet, or it might’ve started smoking. “Got him. Just at the end there.”

“With my father.” Wyll says, relief palpable in his voice. He starts forward reflexively, but hesitates, glancing back at Melkior. “.....How do you want to do this?”

Melkior sees a flicker of strain behind his eyes. The compulsion to move towards his father. Or not, that strain had been flickering ever since Last Light. Since the cler- “It’s your father, Wyll.” He says, strangling the thought in its synapse. A shaky smile forces its way on his face, like it might make them all friends again.

Wyll smiles back, like he might be able to accept it. “And the Steel Watch let you in, my friend. I’ll follow your lead.”

“ Fuck strategy, we should just rush the bastard. Letting him even speak is a bad move.” Karlach says, glaring daggers at the room at large. “Fuck, hang on, he’s on the move. Can’t see him from here.”

“He can’t have gone far” He rocks up onto the balls of his feet, craning his neck above the cross to try to find where Wyll and Karlach’s gazes point. “Is it-"

“ There you are.”

A headache splits his skull, so sharp and profound that the word ceremorphosis floats to the front of his consciousness. It's not me , rumbles the Emperor, but he’s momentarily insensate to it. His heels crash to the ground and he staggers. The cobblestone and the rich carpets swim in front of his eyes. The voice, the voice from just behind him, the whole universe in a voice.

Vaguely, he’s aware of the voice of Gale, concerned, and a yelp from Karlach. All he can do is lurch forwards, dragging a head that seems ten pounds heavier up to meet the origin of the voice.

Black and emerald leathers, set deep with gold. Are all Bhaalists such materialists ? Above them swims a face, the features refusing to resolve themselves. It's like it's being blocked. His face won’t render them into anything human, just swirls them into a sickly whorl of flesh. All that pierces through are two dark eyes, deep and shadowed and taunting.

He nearly doubles over to vomit. The eyes narrow, tilting to the side. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

The voice again, deep and smooth as spider’s web, I’d tear the voicebox out to keep it on my pillow, but I can’t, but I can’t, it won’t sound if it's not where it should be

“Melkior, can you hear me?” Gale’s touch on his shoulder, pulling him upright, and Karlach’s big arms hauling him to his feet at the waist. All feel wrong, itching, pulling.

“What the hells did you do to him?” Karlach growls. Time was he’d love to wrap himself in that protection, in the ferocity of love it signified. Now he shoved hard at her arm, scratching like a caught stray.

“While I appreciate the faith in my abilities, Karlach, I think you overestimate them a hair. When would I have had time to do a thing to him?” There’s a laugh in his voice, and it makes a mouth sprout in the skin spiral. Smiling, always smiling, dark stubble dotting the jaw. The nose follows, and dark brows. “I think he can stand for himself, now, can’t you, Melkior?”

The face is just a face. He shoves hard until Karlach drops him, lurching forward the last few steps. The last thing he feels is Gale’s hand sliding off his shoulder, the kind touch evaporating like a dream.

He stops a hair short of the dark-haired man. The Chosen, the Absolute, Gortash, Baneite, but he’s missing a name, isn’t he? Treasure locked behind that name, prizes, secrets.

Trophies.

On the last step he pulls himself up. Melkior sinks his claws deep into the fabric of his trousers, planting his feet squarely apart. There’s barely a meter between him and the stranger now, a meter that seems to draw his breath out from him entirely. This is not the Urge, not his father, and yet he fights for control all the same.

“Who....who are you?” His voice rings out impossibly loud. The crowd of nobles immediately near him look around in stunned surprise, creating a ripple of silence.

Gortash scarcely seems to notice. He tilts his head, regarding him with a detached sort of warmth. The look Gale gives to his books that used to claw at him so, the look Astarion gives a willing neck before his teeth sinks in.

The headache is worse. He won’t let himself react, even as his vision whites out-

There is a gentle warmth on his forehead, edged in something sharp and metallic. It brushes the hair on his head back, sweeping the overgrown tangles back between his horns. He blinks hard. He’s touching my head like I'm a sick child , comes the realization like thunder.

“My favorite assassin, what have they done to your eyes?”

His entire face feels hot, the stone set in his left socket itching self consciously. “What are you-”

“Don’t fucking touch him!” Karlach barks.

“No need to be like that, Karlach. He may not remember it, but...”

Enver tilts his head. He smiles. For just a second, Melkior’s head feels just fine.

“I do have permission.”

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #durgetash #enver gortash #the dark urge #dark urge spoilers #enver gortash x dark urge #dark urge x gortash #oc tag: melkior #long post #apologies to my followers on mobile #goretash

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mi6-cafe · 11 months

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It's Newspaper November!

Specifically, it's Agony Aunt Column November. From November 1-5, we encourage you to submit an in-character letter to our inbox, where it will reach MI6's very own agony aunt, Grievances Goodnight!

Submit your ask (it can be anonymous) and begin it with Dear Grievances Goodnight.

Maybe your letter will be signed Quintessentially Quirky and it will wonder about the best kind of nerd-wear to buy a gentleman used to something more traditional. Or maybe you'll write in as I Have Top-Notch Range Scores Honestly and have a question about working with a coworker you killed injured with an Olympic Arms K2B3 rifle.

From November 6-12, we'll post the letters and ask you to take on the character of Grievances Goodnight and write a reply to someone else's query!

In case you miss out the first time, we'll also run the agony aunt event in the second half of the month as well.

Last Drabble Writer Standing Entries

Thank you to everyone who participated in last month's LDWS competition! It was a pleasure to have people writing for the prompts and reading, giving feedback, and voting on all the entries.

You can read all of the drabbles now with the author’s names in the original docs here. (week 1, week 2, week 3, week 4)

Many of the stories are now on AO3 in our LDWS collection. Even if you’ve already read them, we encourage you to go leave lovely comments and kudos to the authors there, too!

Saturday Cafe: Every Saturday in November

To help those who are doing NaNoWriMo, our Saturday Cafe is every week this month! Come join us in the fandom Slack as we write, draw, sprint, plot, brainstorm, cheerlead, and generally have a good time trying to get things done together. If you’d like an invite to the Slack, go ahead and message @castillon02 or @spiritofcamelot!

Long Fic Readalong (new fic starting this week!), Saturdays at 9pm ET

Join us in the Discord while we read a fic together. This is a chance to enjoy the fun of reading a chaptered work in weekly installments with all the laughter and shared suspense that that involves. The group is starting a new fic this week, so it's a great time to jump in and join!

We’d love to see you there. You are welcome to listen if you don’t or can’t read aloud!

When: Saturday, October 1st at 9pm eastern/6pm Pacific (your local time here)

Where: We’ll be reading on discord in the readalongs channel. (Invite to discord here)

Please join us to read, to just hang out and listen, and to generally enjoy a good story together!

Weekly events:

WIP Wednesday: You can post an excerpt of your WIP on our post or make your own post and mention the @mi6-cafe. Either way it’s a fun way to show people what you’re working on, Bond fandom or otherwise.

Weekly Bond movies: Hosted by womble every Sunday at 8am Pacific time, join us in Discord to watch one of the Bond movies. Keep an eye on the watch party calendar linked below for updates.

Want to host your own event in the Discord or elsewhere? Let us know about it so we can add it to the calendars!

Calendars

Watch Party Calendar MI6 Cafe Calendar If you need help adding these calendars to your personal one, check out this post.

#mi6cafe monthly post #mi6cafe community

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spnbangbang · 1 year

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Title: A Funny Thing Called Fate

Author: S1nging_Y0u_S0ftly (@king4aday)

Artist: PetraAmia

Primary Ship: Dean Winchester/Castiel

Other Ships: Sam Winchester/Jessica Moore

Length: 20000

Warnings: Implied Child Abuse/Neglect, Brief mention of illegal sex ring

Tags: Modern AU, A/B/O universe, Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha Castiel, Soulmates, Two-person Love triangle, Light angst, Fluff and smut, Dom/Sub undertones

Posting Date: September 17, 2023

Summary:

When newly jobless Omega Dean Winchester finds himself without a place to live, a chance meeting with Alpha Castiel looking for a roommate seems like a tempting offer. Sure, he’s into him, but Dean’s already got his own Casanova. The only problem? Dean really doesn’t know much about Casanova, aside from what they’ve shared on the online teaching forum where they met, and Cas is tempting to say the least. Despite that, Dean finds himself pushing away from Cas because he does not believe in friggin’ soulmates. It’s all bullshit to him. But when the idea that Cas and Casanova are one in the same is a little too hard to ignore, Dean’s not all that sure he knows what he wants or what he believes in anymore.

Excerpt:

A strikingly familiar man stands behind Gabe, slightly imposing in his demeanour but Dean feels his body thrum, tingles crackling from his fingertips all the way down to his feet. Dean looks into the man's eyes, a blue depth to them that is unmistakable and familiar indeed. His Omega longs to unearth the adoration and lust he’d seen behind those eyes back at the bar, desperate to bring them out to the forefront again. Dean realises a little too late that he’s scenting the room like crazy and the Alphas in front of him are very much aware.

What a dumbass mistake. Letting himself get worked up in front of two Alphas and no fucking escape plan. Dean starts to panic when the Alpha behind Gabe gets a glint of red in his eyes, and Dean gets fucking excited. His dad would have killed him for something like this, he always thought Dean was too fucking soft to survive as an omega and now he’s proving his point.

“Cassie, maybe you should leave for a second huh?”

Cassie?

So that's his name then? Dean supposed he shouldn't judge, or maybe it's a nickname. Either way, he kicks himself for feeling comforted at finally getting an inch closer to knowing the man more personally. He’s never reacted like this before, it's starting to scare him how out of control this seems to be getting as they continue to stare.

“Y–you’re here,” Cassie seems to ignore Gabe’s request, fixated on Dean. “I didn't realise you were going to end up looking here after all, if i'd known you’d be here I–”

“Wait hold on, you know Deano here?”

The Alpha seems startled when Gabe intervenes, an inexplicable shock encompassing his face as he stares right through Dean, and then Dean has a genius idea among the haze of his hormone intoxicated brain.

“He’s my mate!”

#spn bang bang #spn bang bang 2023 #spn fanfic #spn bang #spn fic #spn art #spn fanworks #supernatural #spn

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topguncortez · 1 year

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i just also wanna say this…

it’s okay to feel some resentment, jealousy, anger, sadness when you see certain posts about “omg were expecting” or talking about pregnancy and trying.

trust me, i get it. i feel it too.

but what’s not okay, is berating and hating on another woman.

you don’t know what’s going on behind the scenes. you don’t know what they struggled with.

you know the small glimpse of what they want to show you. most people are not going to show you that sad stuff. our world is full of that shit. they are going to show you the good. the ultrasound pictures. the gender colored balloons. those sweet labor moments in the hospital.

you don’t get the posts about how it feels being told you have a less than 10% chance of conceiving on your own and even less than that of carrying to term. you don’t see the posts about how it feels to be told your child doesn’t have a heartbeat. you don’t see the tears, the anger, the ugly side.

every persons story is different. and we cannot judge each other by the excerpts we choose to share.

#tw: pregnancy #tw: miscarriage

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ehlnofay · 1 year

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I wanted to post something for summerfest free day this year but I wasn't sure what to do... so here is an excerpt from something I wrote ages ago to flesh out how efri spends her time at the college. full thing is posted to my ao3 :)

Because she is sensible, Efri does not jump down through the hole in the landing built for the blue-light fountain to go through. Even though she very much wants to. (She reckons she could land well enough not to snap her ankles – but she’s been told the light is magic and raw and would burn all her skin off, and there’s not really any way to avoid that.) She walks downstairs, sedately, at least until she gets to the last few steps and jumps. She jars her knee a bit when she hits the ground. (Leaping down stairs is better in the snow, she thinks.)

She hits the ground running all the same, and half-jogs, half-stumbles to J’zargo’s door, choosing to thud against it like a wind-drunk seagull instead of knocking. She can hear talking inside that cuts off when she announces her presence.

There’s a brief pause, and then, “Efri?”

She turns the knob and lets herself in. “How did you know it was me?”

“J’zargo knows many things,” J’zargo proclaims from where he lounges on the floor, Kazari sitting comfortably on all his blankets; his put-on air of grandiose mystique is immediately destroyed when he grins hard enough his eyes squinch and adds, “Who else would come knocking that way? His other friends are much too polite. Except,” he waves a hand theatrically in Kazari’s direction, accidentally whacking them in the leg, “that one, but she hardly has other options. And she is politer about it besides.”

“Fair enough,” Efri says. She has to step over his wriggling body to get to the bedframe (he’s a bit like her, that way; never stops moving.)

Kazari makes a scoffing noise and lashes her tail in one of those weird wobbly motions that must mean something Efri can’t parse. (She has to lift her tail pretty high so J’zargo can see her do it from the floor.) J’zargo laughs and says something back, words throaty and rapid, spilling out of him like a waterfall. He likes the chance to talk in Ta’agra, Efri thinks. There are few Khajiit here. And of course Kazari can’t talk any other way. It’s lucky that they get along, in the swaggering (on his side) and pseudo-aggrieved (on hers) way that either of them get along with anyone.

They often talk in Ta’agra when Efri’s there. They know she’ll interrupt if she wants to join in the conversation, and most of the time she’s perfectly content to watch.

So she sits curled up on the hard slats of the bedframe, leaning on the wooden footboard, stick laid across the slats, watching. She can’t catch a word of what J’zargo says – he talks too quick for her to find the patterns – but she thinks she’s getting better at catching the miniscule twitches on both of their faces, the shifts in posture. J’zargo seems to talk with his tail just as much as Kazari does. (Efri wonders if he could have two different conversations at once – saying one thing with his words and another with everything else.)

There’s a splinter peeling off of one of the wooden boards in the bedframe; Efri helpfully picks it off. Kazari says something that makes J’zargo crumple in laughter. “Good joke,” Efri says, though she has no idea what was said; she slings an encouraging arm around Kazari’s neck.

Kazari leans into it – then tilts their head away, making a low noise. A twitch of the nose, ears briefly flattened, tail curling in a way Efri’s definitely seen before.

The noise, she’s not sure about, but the rest of it clicks.

“I forgot to wash my hands,” she says, drawing her arm back. “Sorry. I was making cheese in the kitchen. That’s probably why they smell funny.”

She hopes she didn’t get the vinegary smell of curdling pot-cheese on Errion’s clothes; he probably would have mentioned it if she did, though.

Kazari is looking at her now, instead of at J’zargo. They’re both looking at her.

Efri asks, “Can I have the water to rinse them?”

Something shifts in Kazari’s eyes. They signal something; Efri latches on to a twitch of one ear, a dip of the chin. (It’s a familiar motion.)

“I’m not sure what – um.” Efri shifts, pillowing her face on the harsh wooden footboard; it digs into her cheek as she says, “Am I not understanding? Are you understanding? Who’s understanding what?”

From the floor, J’zargo starts to cackle. He reaches for the bowl of water and holds it up, dripping it carefully into Efri’s hands when she holds them out. There’s no soap, but it will do, hopefully. She knows they can both smell better than she can and it would be rude to spread spoiled milk smells all over her friend’s room.

Kazari is blinking. Efri doesn’t know if that’s talking or not.

There’s no confusion as to whether J’zargo speaks. He says something – still Ta’agra, but slowed down almost comically, like each sound is forced out through a mouthful of treacle. He’s also grinning ear to ear and looking Efri right in the face. She’s not sure what to take from this.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she tells him.

He hoists himself ungracefully up to sit on the bedframe. (It would have been easier if he just stood up and sat down again.) “This one said that you are sly!” he declares, and elbows her in the ribs. He looks delighted. “You have been eavesdropping on us!”

Efri gapes. “I have not!”

He flaps a hand and says something. She thinks he’s calling her something. She’s not sure what the something is. “Rascal,” he adds, as an afterthought. He still looks entirely too pleased.

“I wasn’t,” Efri insists. “Urag said that immersion is the most important thing for learning a language.” He hadn’t said that, actually – the book she’d badgered him into reading a few pages of for her had – but what does the difference matter?

Kazari motions something; J’zargo snorts. “And how is immersion going for you?” he asks, nudging her again. She can’t tell if he’s translating or not.

“Slowly,” she complains instead of asking. She’d thought it would be a lot quicker. “I only know about five words, and I can’t even say them because I don’t have the right ears.”

“Kazari says they’re sure you know more than five,” J’zargo tells her. “And J’zargo says, if you wanted to learn you could have asked him!”

Efri wrinkles her nose. “I didn’t want to do lessons,” she says; J’zargo nods as though this is a weighty point. “I just wanted to figure it out.”

“You will,” he says with great confidence. He taps a finger to her forehead. “In no time. And J’zargo can tell you how to say things without ears. You could learn both the – eh – sound-talk and sight-talk if you learned it in the Ohmes way.”

All the words Efri’s learned to understand are body-words. Sight-talk, she guesses; she wonders if that’s a proper translation or just one he made up on the fly. “It’s like two different languages in one,” she says.

J’zargo scoffs at that. “Oh, many more,” he says, which Efri has to acknowledge must be true – if there’s so many different Khajiit with so many different types of bodies the language must be splintered impossibly to incorporate them all. It’s so complicated.

“Kazari is very happy that you are learning, by the way,” J’zargo adds after several seconds of silence. “Dearly appreciative. Moments away from crying ecstatic tears.”

Efri looks up. Kazari is glaring at J’zargo, and Efri can’t read all of her motions, but she knows the head-tip of no and the jagged gesture of bad.

“I don’t think that is what they’re saying,” Efri says. Kazari signals yes with their chin.

“No, they are,” J’zargo assures her placidly. “Just wait. The sobbing – ow!” and when Kazari headbutts him hard in the chest he manages to grab onto Efri’s shoulder and drag her down with him.

It doesn’t help him – he pulls her on top of him, so all he gets for his trouble is her bony shoulder in his ribs. Efri is perfectly cushioned. He’s the only one with cause to complain.

And complain he does. “Ow,” he whines again. “Don’t be mean, you need this one to translate.”

Kazari frowns down at him. It’s not no, but it’s close. Don’t, maybe. I don’t?

“Well, he needs to translate so he doesn’t lose his mind watching you play charades every time you have to ask a question.” J’zargo helpfully tips Efri off of him before he sits up himself. “It is hard to do this if he is frightened for his life.”

“You’re doing that project with Mister Neloren, though, right?” Efri asks. (She can never remember his first name – Sissel never calls him by it. It’s supposed to be master, she thinks, not mister, but she doesn’t like that title. It sounds so self-congratulatory.) (Maybe she’ll use it when Sissel is one. But not before.) “So once that’s done, you won’t need to translate anymore.”

Kazari’s eyes crinkle; J’zargo nods very seriously. “You’re right, Efri. She will have no use for J’zargo after it is over. His days are numbered.”

“No-one’s going to kill you,” Efri tells him; she’s pretty sure Kazari is signalling the same thing. (If they are, she likes the kill motion – a flick of the tail, curl of the paw, flash of the teeth.)

“You never know,” J’zargo says. He grins again. “J’zargo will die at the hands of a jealous rival – like that one – or J’zargo will never die.”

Kazari says something, face flat and unimpressed, that makes J’zargo laugh so hard he almost tips himself back onto the wooden slats again. Efri watches him, giggling a bit herself. It’s contagious.

She doesn’t get the joke yet, but she will.

(full piece here)

#tesfest23 #oc tag #efri #kazari #j'zargo #my writing #fay writes

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