#Changeling Excerpt

[author-a-holmes]

Find the Vibe Tag

Rules: find an excerpt from your WIP that fits a vibe.

My vibe is "I think I will cause problems on purpose"

Thank you for the tag @talesofsorrowandofruin <3

As soon as I saw this 'vibe' I knw exactly the scene I needed to share. I planned to do something from Darkling, but there's just this one moment in Changeling that's absolutly perfect.

"It's Mimi right?" Booker asked, turning around fully in his seat, and Lizzy felt her heart raise to settle in her throat anxiously.

She recognised his tone. The one that said he was irritated, but was refusing to show it. The overly friendly voice Booker liked to use when he wanted someone to let their guard down long enough for him to get revenge.

"Booker..." she warned quietly, but he ignored her.

"It's Mia."

"Ah, of course. My apologies. That privilege was only bestowed on Hunter Roche. I remember now."

"Booker," Lizzy hissed, trying to split her attention between Andric, who was shifting uncomfortably, and Mia, whose eyes were flashing with anger, her lips pressed tight, but Booker still didn't stop.

"So far this morning, Blake Allbrook and Kelsey Garrick have both approached us about sitting with you. May I suggest if you are that desperate for more friends, that you be a little more approachable?" he taunted. "Perhaps be a touch more open to people using your adorable little nickname?"

Tagging forward to; @minamoroz @faelanvance @ashen-crest @ettawritesnstudies @sleepyowlwrites and anyone else who see's this and wants to play (tag me so I see it!)

Your vibes are "I should not have said that".

[author-a-holmes]

One of my favourite scenes in Changeling involves lying, and it shows the teasing friendship between Lizzy and Booker beautifully...

Lizzy hesitated, glancing around as she tried to find something she recognised, but each direction looked the same. Rows of buildings stretched out into the night, further than she could see.

Their doors were sealed, their windows dark, and Lizzy felt her fingers tighten on the strap of her bag, as a wave of doubt crashed over her.

"You have no idea which way to go, do you?" Booker groaned, and the threat of his imminent teasing banished her hesitation. Booker wouldn't let her live it down if she admitted to being lost, so she did the first thing she could think of. She lied.

"Of course I do," she answered, clearing her throat and pointing towards the nearest row of orange lights, "it's this way."

Without looking at Booker to see if he'd bought her bravado, Lizzy started across the green, hoping they would stumble over something she recognised before he called her on her bluff.

"And what makes you so sure?" he asked, scattering her hopes to the winds, even as he fell into step beside her. Lizzy forced herself to roll her eyes like she wasn't making everything up on the spot.

"There are lights," she told him, "and where there are lights, there are people. If there are people, Booker, then there's going to be an inn—"

"A hotel."

"—a hotel, and then we can stay there for the night, and figure out where to go next in the morning."

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[starry-bi-sky]

DPxDC Masterpost

Almost all of my DPDC posts have the #Danny Fenton is Not the Ghost King tags, barring perhaps my earliest aus like my Thomas Wayne Au (which will be included in the post). This tag includes art i've made, asks i've answered, and non-fic au posts I've created. This is my main tag!

DPxDC posts under the main tag that don't have their own tag: Danny's Life-Changing Cross-Dimensional Roadtrip with A De-Aged Batman Danny is also Bruce Wayne (Starry goes back to their middle school roots) Danny being the first batkid (if i can get the creative juices flowing I will expand on this. mark my words) There is a Damian clone LOOSE in Amity Park. Oh wait, Danny's got him.

My Biggest DPxDC Aus #Danny Fenton is a Clone: all my posts talking about clone!Danny.

Clone Danny Masterpost: previously my pinned post. A no-powers au where Danny is also a clone of Bruce Wayne, also includes some clone^2

#Clone^2: Clone Damian + Clone Danny au combined, explores themes like identity, found family, and growing into your own as a person. Starting post Here.

#Childhood Friends Au or #Cfau: A childhood friends dead on main au that explores grief, how it may change a person, and how growing up in Crime Alley changed Danny. Contains heavier themes like smoking and mild violence.

#Danyal Al Ghul Au: Mostly contains my au where Danny is not Damian's twin, but his older brother! An excuse for me to delve into the psychological effects that growing up in the League would have on Danny that I don't really see in other DAG aus. Putting the 'assassin' in 'raised by assassins'.

My Minor DPxDC Aus Danny Fenton is Thomas Wayne: an oldie but a goodie! An reveal gone wrong au where Danny decides to go by his middle name 'Thomas' shortly after the events of TUE, and leaves Amity Park two years later. He finds out that Vlad cloned him again and finds an infant in the lab. Danny takes the baby, names him Bruce, and ends up adopted by the Waynes.

#Danny Fenton is Jason Todd au: An au where Danny is Jason Todd! He was adopted by the Fentons shortly after the events of the carjacking.

#Older Brother Danny: contains all of my aus where Danny is an Older Brother. This currently includes only my DAG posts but it's not limited to Danyal Al Ghul.

#Changeling Danny: a half-ghost? oh, wait, no. that's a changeling. even worse! Danny's got latent fey blood from a Fenton getting freaky with a faerie some dozen generations ago, and it reactivated with a fervor when he had his accident! Instead of a halfa, he became one of the Fair Folk.

#Blood blossom au: currently the name for the time being. A Nightingale/First Batkid au where Vlad poisons Danny with blood blossom extract, and it results in Danny running to Batman! Currently only one post, but it has a lot of branching pathways in the reblogs. Batdad centered! Now comes with its own fanfic!

#tales of the passerine: the official au name for my "Danny being the first batkid" post! This au is what inspired changeling Danny. It's the idea that Danny was the first to be adopted by Bruce, and features me favoring batdad over "lmfao Danny goes fuck you bruce and adopts the other kids" au. Because I want batdad.

(Nightingale is, so far, the official vigilante name for the Eldest Batkid Danny concept on my blog.)

#mother of monsters danny: specifically its mother of monsters dan but i digress. I was messing around with my fem!Danyal au and boom! Her evil timeline self is Layal, the terrifying Mother of Monsters who raises any manner of monstrous beasts. I love her <3

#martha knight au same song, different dance! This is a fem danny version of my aforementioned "Danny is Thomas Wayne" au. Except this time around, Danny is Martha! Arguably my favorite between the two, I feel like I'm able to do more with her than Thomas. Her au's vibe is After All by Christine Ebersole

Bonus Excerpt: a ficlet I made in response to a DPxDC Dead on Main prompt! It's not under the main tag as I didn't make the post, however it can be found if you search #fem danny fenton on my blog. I actually really love this idea so I may make it its own tag in the future.

[sentientsky]

words by @actual-changeling

get yourself a best friend who kills you on the daily with their wip excerpts </3

[rainbowchaox]

Continuing on Fairytale Au (Primarily involving Knight Missa and Fae Phil)

1) Chayanne doesn’t have a mother. The plot twist will be that he is a changeling child Missa decided was his son. Missa knows this but let rumors spread that the mother left him or he had Chayanne out of wed lock. He loves Chayanne so much. Even if as a Fae child he is very much mischievous.

2) Tallulah meanwhile is the fae child Phil took under his wing as she is way too curious about humans for her own good. She eventually grows to love Missa as her father. She is sorta like a nature spirit for the poppy flower.

3) Not connected to the main story but I like to imagine Cellbit and Roier have a similar story to like the crane wife. Excerpt Roier was just a spider that asked BadBoyHalo (he is pretty much a more cute version of rumplestilkin) to be human to be with Cellbit. Roier is the best seamster in the land. Missa is good friends with Roier but also doesn’t know he is a spider.

4) Fitpac on the other hand I like to imagine it’s a parody on a princess being trapped in a castle guarded by a dragon. Pac is said unwanted prince who DOESNT want to be saved (ESPECIALLY if in this au the evil king is his dad). And Fit in the OG kingdom best knight that have been secretly working on a rebellion after Missa was sent away on a death mission. And he comes to save Pac. Mike is the half dragon guard. And both run away from the castle once all realize what is going on.

5) Bad is fully the rumpleskilskin of the AU. He is mischievous and a bit mean. He is a demon that makes heroes and heroines do impossible tasks. Example he tasked Missa to empty out a lake with just a spoon (luckily Phil helped him). Phil made a smaller lake (practially a puddle) to empty because bad didn’t say what lake just to empty a lake. Bad can only appreciate the loophole abuse. Fae are best at words never forget. From my friends: He wakes up to a little crow chirping at him, so he follows it to a clearing with a little pool in it labeled "A Lake", a lake that he easily clears out with the spoon nearby

6) Bagina is fully just gay little mermaid. Tina is a mermaid that wants to be human. And Bagina is an adventurer mapping out new lands. (This is a happy ending though)

[horse-cdc]

Welcome to the Horse Center for Disease Control and Prevention, Equestria's leading group of infectiologists, pathologists, and curse researchers. Please find enclosed below an excerpt of our extensive case files on various infectious diseases that can be found around the country.

GENERAL ADMISSIONS

Rainbow Factory Infection

Moondust

Sleepwalker Infection

Chaos Infection

Chronic Wasting Disease

Variant Chronic Wasting Disease

Ruinous Vine Epidemic

Chronic Wasting Files

Everfree Infection

Magic Fever

Rainbow Rabies

Equinedemic

Uncanny Valley

my little paranoia

my little toothache

my little apocalypse

my little corruption

stuck-in-ponyville

mlpgr0undzer0

yumkandie

kingzombear

eggmilky

pinkarmadillodesigns

phoenixdoesartstuff

sundaebite

ruusukultakruunu

lagoartzs-blog

firbolgfriend

rubykingua

pina-repsi

shado-cant-sleep

shyface1004

bunnyrebzx

windywhistler

azaani-art

wyyrmwood

cosmic-nopedog

BIOLOGICAL INFECTIONS

Bubblegum Virus

Olden Virus

Dream Fever

Polychanging Virus

Blood Loss

Dreadbite Syndrome

Inanis Folliculi Syndrome

Everfree Fever

Mutated Rabies

Summer Night Mare

my little fortress

dabbingintoart

decrepitdeer

finnstati0n

mxnt-ie

PARASITES

Smile Worms

Pinkie's Senses

Banyan Parasite

Head Loss

My Little Worms

lilgoatgal

BOTANY

Rigor Root Rot

Chaos Virus

Florial Infection

Blue Flu

Rainbow Blossoms

Marrow Bloom Infection

Condren Contagion

Toxic Joke

Wandering Tree Swamp Fever

Divine Swamp Fever

Audle Posk

Variant Swamp Fever

Swamp Fever

mouschiii

ruttama-art

scarlet-wish-draws

lily-iguess

vitiligorakebaby

afishwithmanylegs

MYCOLOGY

Rainbow Cordyceps

eclipsedoodler

hardlylaced

vultureart

flitterjitters

lonelyponee

MAGIC AND CURSES

Mutant Imposter Infection

Nightmare Virus

Infection Of More

Enantiodromia

Ultionem Lunae

Night's Curse

Parabite Virus

Magic Rot

Changeling Virus

Doll Virus

Nopony Curse

Rot

Voidmatter Virus

cubecrow

CUTIE MARK DISORDERS

Mystic Corruption

Cutie Mark Contagion

Cutie Pox

Variant Cutie Pox

Cutie Fade

bootoon

CRYSTALLOLOGY

Geode Disorder

Cockatrice Disease

Crystal Contagion

Crystallovirus

swiggyswoon00

[jtargaryen18]

Hounds of Hell MC 4: Ryder ~ Available today!

I’m not the settling type, but she’s in my heart. I’ll protect her from the Mafia or die trying…

Margot -- I've loved Ryder since we were kids, but he's never been the type to stick with anyone for long. Being a deputy sheriff means I see the world differently--by the law. He’s the opposite. The Mafia took my father from me. When they return to threaten everything I care about, including Ryder, I realize the line between right and wrong isn’t so clear. If we’re going to survive this, I’ll need Ryder’s strength. Maybe this time, we’ll face danger together.

Ryder -- Margot’s been right in front of me for years, but I’m the guy who never sticks around. Commitment? Not for me. Now she’s all I see. When the Mafia comes after the Hounds, everything is at stake. Margot’s not just a deputy sheriff -- she’s the woman I’ve always needed. The woman I love. I’ll die before I let anything happen to her.

Buy it @ Changeling Press

You'll also find pre-order links for Amazon, Apple, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Smashwords & Vivlio where it will be available on 10/31!

Enter my October Giveaway! (If you select 'fanfics' you'll get a newsletter with all my published titles but you'll also get updates on my fanfics and you'll get the chapters before they post here or anywhere else. Also, planning to do some extras like deleted scenes, extra scenes, and more!)

Excerpt

With the efficiency of a SWAT team, she ordered lunch, paid for it, and had them tucked away at a small table in the corner, enjoying burgers and fries.

“What’s that?” Ryder pointed at the tall, covered cup.

“Strawberry shake. They’ve always had the best shakes here. You want one?”

“Nah,” Ryder said. “Just a little concerned, is all. You’re starting with milkshakes. Milkshakes lead to donuts. Next thing you know, you’re going to lose your girlish figure and you’ll be stuck running radar out by the interstate.”

Margot laughed, a high, lovely sound. “Don’t worry about my girlish figure.”

“I like your girlish figure,” Ryder said, grinning.

“Since when?” A little of the humor faded from her expression at that. “I’m probably the only non-relative female you haven’t slept with in a hundred-mile radius.”

“More like a 50-mile radius,” Ryder said.

But he hadn’t been lying when he said he liked her figure. Margot was just about perfect. Nice rack. Great ass. A killer smile made all the more adorable for her dark eyes and the freckles across the bridge of her nose.

Margot had a good head on her shoulders, too. He enjoyed talking to her, their playful banter. He couldn’t imagine a world where he couldn’t have these light-hearted conversations with Mercy’s newest deputy sheriff.

“It doesn’t bother you to be having lunch with a biker?” He couldn’t resist asking.

“It doesn’t bother you that you’re having lunch with a cop?” Margo eyed him. “How did you get to town?”

“Rode my bike,” Ryder said. “Might not have been my best idea. I mean, I was okay getting here. Not sure how getting back is going to go.”

“How long are you going to stay?” Margot’s dark-eyed gaze stayed on him.

Shrugging a shoulder, Ryder finished off a French fry. “I’d like to finish the day out,” he admitted. “But now that I’m sitting here, I’m feeling pretty fucking tired.”

It was the truth and he’d never been good at keeping that from her. His friend’s gaze was knowing.

“Why don’t we take you home after lunch? I’d be glad to drive you back.”

Ryder knew she would. But he would disappoint himself if he left after lunch to go home and climb back into bed in that lonely, quiet house. Shaking his head, he ate another fry, thought it over.

“I’m tired. Just not sure I’m tired enough to go back to the house and hang out by myself.”

More concern bled into her expression. “At least take a nap in the lounge or something. No one’s going to give you shit for it. You almost died.”

He had. Axel and Hero both cut him worried looks the entire time he’d been there, working on that engine. Margot had a point.

“Well, with me getting back on my feet, let me know if you need help with anything at the house.” He meant it. “Clyde was as bad as you about never wanting to bother anyone. If you need help with anything, I’m right here.”

Margot nodded, eating her burger. After a moment, her gaze met his. Her dark eyes were glossy.

“I still can’t believe he’s gone, Ryder,” she said quietly. “No warning. Just gone.”

Reaching across the table, he covered her hand with his. Some emotion flashed in her eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“He loved you more than anything,” he said. “Clyde was so proud of you.”

A tear spilled down her cheek at the words. “I know he was. It’s just… I worked so hard to find a job back over here in Mercy so I could be with him, help him as he got older. And now he’s gone. Shot by some mafia asshole like he was nothing.”

Swiping at her tears with her free hand, Margot tried to regain her composure.

“Clyde didn’t deserve that. And I wish my brother had been able to take that asshole out. Slow. But Sawyer was there and now the bastard’s in jail.”

That stopped her cold. Carefully, she moved her hand out from under his, shaking her head. “Don’t say that. He’ll pay for what he did in the system. Spend a long time in jail. He’ll think about what he did.”

“Will he?” Ryder asked. “He’s part of a criminal organization, Margot. They have a lot of resources. Maybe he’ll go to jail, but he won’t think a second about your father. He won’t be sitting up in some jail cell regretting his crimes either.”

He didn’t like the way her confidence waned, but he had to say it. “He’ll be trying to find a way out of there. And when he does, he’ll be looking for some payback and he’ll have his entire crime family at his back.”

Margot’s spine straightened where she sat, meeting his gaze squarely. “I have faith in the system. That man will pay for what he’s done.”

Ryder wasn’t so sure about that. He didn’t give a shit about the system. “He will pay,” Ryder said, hoping that he’d be the one to mete out that retribution. What he wouldn’t give to have a shot at the sons-of-bitches who killed Clyde Donner and Morgan Davis. Who tried to kill him.

He had faith in Margot. She’d been through the training, worked in the next county over. Margot knew what she was doing. But she was new enough that she still thought the criminal justice system infallible. Had she ever had dealings with big crime families? Did she understand what she was getting into?

Worse, he worried that the loss of her father would cause her to make a decision that would put her in harm’s way.

“Okay,” she said, her dark-eyed gaze on him. “If you won’t let me drive you back home and you insist on trying to stay at the garage, I’ll make you an offer. If you’re too tired to ride back to the country, you can crash at the house. I don’t have a spare key on me. But I have one. I’ll leave it under that old stone squirrel my dad loved.”

Always looking after him. What would he have done all those long weeks after he’d gotten out of the hospital without her? Axel had been the one to help him change his bandages, got him in the shower. Margot took care of most everything else from changing his bedding and keeping up the house, to bringing him groceries and leaving him meals he could warm up and eat. She’d taken care of him, her daily visits something he looked forward to.

What he’d done to deserve her, he didn’t know. Maybe she needed to stay busy to deal with her own loss.

“Sounds good,” Ryder said after a moment. “In case I haven’t told you, thank you. For everything. I’m not sure why you took it upon yourself to take care of my dumb ass but I’m grateful.”

Soft pink darkened her face. “You’re welcome.”

Something occurred to him. “Wait. You’re working the day shift,” he pointed out. “Where are you going to be later that you need to leave me a key?”

“Tonight’s my first class,” Margot reminded him.

“That’s right,” he said. “Your self-defense class.” She’d been so excited about it, telling him about what she had planned over the last few weeks. “I think Sadie signed up for it.”

“She did,” Margot said, smiling. “I think it will be good for her after everything she’d been through. And I was surprised. The day we got you back into the hospital, she came with Axel. We had a minute in the hall, and she was just… apologizing to me for my dad. She was blaming herself because it was her ex that killed him. But it wasn’t her fault.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Ryder said. “I think your class will help her.”

Something about the smile she cut him had his heart skipping a beat. Margot was a pretty woman. He’d always thought so. Unlike most of the girls he went around with, Margot didn’t do a lot to emphasize her natural beauty. Her nails were unpainted and short, and she wore only a hint of makeup most days. Her hair was put up in a precise bun, glossy and neat. Her uniform always pressed.

Yeah, sure. He’d seen Margot many times in her street clothes. She always favored jeans and simple tops. Her hair was usually pulled back into a ponytail and those days she didn’t wear any makeup. Not that she needed it. She was clearly comfortable in her own skin without all the paint and other enhancements women used to boost their femininity.

Her confidence was sexy as hell. Funny, considering Margot didn’t see herself that way. She didn’t realize she had the cutest ass, and her confident stride showed it off. What would Margot look like in a bikini, stretched out on a towel on the beach?

Shaking his head to clear it, he grinned. “Thanks for the offer of a place to stay,” he said. “Might take you up on it.”

Margot smiled. “Please do.”

The flirty little way she said that had him thinking thoughts he had no business thinking about his best friend.

[peppermint-shamrock]

Fey

Fey - adjective:

Strange, otherworldly, whimsical

Pertaining to the fair folk, fairylike

Able to see the future, clairvoyant

(archaic) Fated to die; doomed

Or, the intersection between isekai and changeling folklore.

Written for Fandom Empire Prompt Tables 2024 - Prompt: "Faerie"

Read on AO3

Excerpt:

And yet that was not what happened. New rumors began to circulate, with open incredulity rather than the trappings of pity. Duke and Duchess Claes, it was said, absolutely refused to entertain the idea that their beloved daughter was a changeling. Her behavior was chalked up to the mundane boisterousness of youth, and though the Duchess was clearly embarrassed by it, she did not tolerate even the implication of fairy handiwork. A handful of servants were dismissed, without recommendation – driven away with much prejudice by the Duchess, the rumors said, after they had attempted to ward against or reveal the changeling in their midst. Not that those efforts had amounted to much. By all accounts, little Katarina Claes was completely unaware of the rumors circulating about her, unconcerned with the usual affairs or behavior of one of her class. Every new thing people learned about her seemed to reinforce the knowledge that the girl was a fairy child, far more at home in the trees and the dirt than in civilized society, and possessed of odd habits, strange words, and a ceaseless appetite.

[talesofthedm]

Shopping Trip (Pt. 1)

I want to write that one ballroom scene we never got because it's on my mind and that starts with a shopping trip, because we need fancy outfits before pissing off Gortash at his own event.

Not finished (hence part 1)

Contains spoilers for Act 3, and some references to Act 1 and 2

No i have not proofread this (or edited it)

Summary: Figaro the facemaker has had a very eventful past five minutes and he does not handle it well.

Word count: 1.6k (its short)

CW: Blood. Much blood. No combat, but it's the aftermath of one. Mentions of murder, cults, Astarion being a flirt for like 1 line.

Excerpt:

“No, that— just let me.” Astarion slung off his pack. “Gale, hold this.” The elf began rummaging through it, shoving bits and bobs in the wizard’s direction before he could even respond. Random blades, a balled-up piece of cloth that was more rag than shirt at this point, a sack of something inexplicably squishy, a severed head— “I think we forgot to deliver Nere.” There was a certain disinterest in Shadowheart’s voice that left Figaro somehow more concerned. “We can just mail him.” He tossed the severed head towards Karlach, taking pity on the poor wizard before the mountain of books and bits and useless knickknacks toppled over onto the floor. “That courier service owes us for getting rid of his cat problem.”

Freya dragged herself up from the floor, a deep gash along her side that certainly cut through deep muscles if not straight to the bone. The fire of her hair was nothing more than a ruddy brown with how much blood was caked through it. She pulled a large purse from her pack and slammed it onto the polished counter, leaving bloody handprints and a dripping trail. “How much for a rush job?”

Under normal circumstances, Figaro would scream at her and her friends for ruining his nice countertops, toss them out onto the street, and threaten to call the guards if they ever stepped foot in his shop again.

The twisted bodies lying on his polished hardwood floors reminded him that these were not, in fact, normal circumstances. He was trying not to stare at them, their bat-like faces and needle-like fangs lying beside the now charred corpse of a dwarf. If he hadn’t sipped the wine himself, if he hadn’t been forced to watch helplessly as the red dwarf unfurled his supply of saws and scalpels, if he hadn’t watched as the elf in front threw her body between Figaro and his would-be murderer with his own eyes, he would have never recognized the body as anything but an over-the-top decoration meant to scare children.

His extremities were still cold, buzzing in that sort of way it did when he would lean on his hand for too long while drawing new designs. No matter how he shook or massaged them, it would take years to get feeling back in the tips of his fingers.

But the elf woman in front of him only confirmed what he initially thought about her when she have blindly dived between him and the scalpel with her one question: this woman was mad. Completely, utterly, mad. Bleeding out on his floor, surrounded by a pile of bodies. He wasn’t sure what blood was hers or its or his or the dwarf’s or her companion’s.

To be honest, he wasn’t even sure if he still had a shopfront. What wasn’t burned to cinders was frozen solid, what wasn’t frozen solid was water and blood-logged, what wasn’t water and blood-logged was charred beyond repair. They were all mad, slinging spells left right and center as if this was some kind of fighting pit and not his entire livelihood.

What was strangest to him, though, was the woman kneeling in prayer. It was natural, he supposed, to try to find solace after such a harrowing event. But she wore armor the same as the rest of them, she brandished weapons more fearsome than that of the giant red tiefling beside her. She had flung around one of the changelings between her and her green companion with no more effort than one would play ping-pong! What could she be praying for?!

And then came the wash of light that emanated from her, cool and soothing both in color and feel. There was nothing on him to physically heal, but he watched as Freya stood straighter, her side stitching itself together as if nothing was ever wrong in the first place.

Astarion wiped his blades on the sides of hid armor, the bright red of the cloth doing absolutely nothing to hide it. He stepped over to Freya, taking her chin in his hand and pulling her to him before licking the layers of blood from her cheek. “You need a bath,” he responded to the non-question. She wasn’t even phased, accepting it with no more attention that an owner would give a pet.

They were all mad.

Freya reached up and removed a glove so she could tap the counter with the edge of her nail, directing the tailor back to the coin pouch. “Tonight. Archduke’s celebratory-coronation-whatever-it-is ball. How much?” He must have been paralyzed again. Yes, that was it. Someone had shoved a bottle of paralytic in his mouth and he couldn’t remember it. Why else would he be standing there, mouth gaping as pathetically as a caught fish. She reached up and closed it for him.

“I think we broke him,” Wyll whispered.

The simple statement was enough to snap him out of it, however. “There’s seven of you!” They all looked around, as if counting to confirm the statement, before nodding as if he was the fool. “You’re all insane!”

Freya’s response was to place another equally fat pouch beside the first. Figaro stared, dumbstruck. “I—I’ll see what I have on hand that can be fitted… Do you all know your measurements?” They all just stared blankly. Even Wyll, who had had almost monthly trips to this very shop as a youth, no longer knew the answer. Between his years banished and how unfamiliar his new body was, it was a mystery to him.

“Seriously?” Astarion threw his head back, groaning. “How do you all not know something so basic?!”

“I am one and a half blade’s long.”

“That’s not a measurement!”

“It is among the Gith. I can also provide it in arrows, if that is any easier.”

“No, that— just let me.” Astarion slung off his pack. “Gale, hold this.” The elf began rummaging through it, shoving bits and bobs in the wizard’s direction before he could even respond. Random blades, a balled-up piece of cloth that was more rag than shirt at this point, a sack of something inexplicably squishy, a severed head—

“I think we forgot to deliver Nere.” There was a certain disinterest in Shadowheart’s voice that left Figaro somehow more concerned.

“We can just mail him.” He tossed the severed head towards Karlach, taking pity on the poor wizard before the mountain of books and bits and useless knickknacks toppled over onto the floor. “That courier service owes us for getting rid of his cat problem.”

“Tressym. And her name is Tara!”

“She is cute, has a general air about her that says ‘I’m better than you’, and eats pigeons. That’s a cat.”

“So, you’re a cat?” Freya poked.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, dear, but we have more pressing matters at hand— hold this.” Astarion pulled a rather strange dagger from his pack, the blade like blown sea glass and the unmistakable iconography of Baahl expertly crafted into the ferrule. He placed it directly into Gale’s open hand.

“Is that the dagger? I told you I wasn’t touching the damn murder weapon!”

“I would never make sure your fingerprints are all over a weapon used to kill one of the most beloved priests in the city.” Next came out of the bag were the torn-up letters, the strands of delicate strands of beads, and the shining rings. A single one of them could buy out Figaro’s entire shop—no wonder the woman had thrown down bags of coin like nothing.

Finally, the white-haired elf gave a silent cheer. “Gale, buddy, put that stuff away for me, will you?” He stacked the now empty pack atop the giant pile in Gale’s arms and reached over the counter and handed a folded-up piece of paper to Figaro. “You’re going to want to double check the breast—”

“Why in the nine hells do you have everyone’s measurements?!” Wyll yelled.

“What do you mean breast?!” Shadowheart yelled at the same time.

“I’m not sure if I should be impressed or holding you at knifepoint,” Lae’zel added.

Astarion threw up his hands in defense. “We were in the Shadowlands, you all sleep like rocks, there was nothing to hunt, and I was bored. What did you expect me to do?”

“Read a book!” Wyll called to the heavens. “Like a normal person!”

“Not touch me in my sleep?!”

“You saw my collection,” Astarion waved to the now shrinking pile of books in Gale’s hands, each one meticulously being stowed away with the ghostly blue mage hand he had summoned. “I finished those in, like, one night. And I would never do that!”

“Without permission,” Freya added.

“Without permission!” he agreed. “Plus, it makes it easier to patch everyone’s clothes if I know what it is I am supposed to be patching.”

Figaro continued to stand, watching the odd collection of people bicker over something he considered so mundane.  His sister (the golden child) was a tailor, his father (the bastard) was a tailor, and he (the rightful heir) was a tailor. He'd guess inseams and shoulder width at a glance when he was bored, and he assumed the elf in front of him could do the same.

“So, what, you were just randomly guessing at the size of my thighs while we were killing Myrkul?”

Figaro waved in their general direction, the last of his sanity snapping at the way it was said so bluntly, before pointing at each one individually. You’re all insane! You’re insane,” Freya. “You’re insane,” Karlach. “You’re insane,” Gale. “You’re especially insane—”

“I’m a vampire.” Astarion smiled, flashing the poor tailor his blood-stained fangs in the process. Figaro crumpled under his own weight, eyes rolling back in his head as he hit the ground with a thunk.

“Now look what you did,” Shadowheart scolded. “Now we have to wait.”

“We could always try his sister.”

“You,” she jabbed a finger in his chest. “Nearly tried to kill a man in there. I doubt she’d want us anywhere near that place again.”

“He was annoying me! It is not my fault Freya kept talking to him!”

“He was funny,” Freya retorted. “Mostly because he annoyed you.” Astarion just stood, pointing at Freya like a child placing blame.

“Annoying someone is not a reason to try to stab them.”

“Then what the hell have we been doing for the past month?!”

“I agree with the elf. That man would have been killed day one of training for simply speaking.”

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @kaylinalexanderbooks!

ROYGBIV Tag Game

Rules: find excerpts in your WIP with the colors of the rainbow listed

Let's see what I can find in MG3!

Red: Once inside, the Montane compound was just as depressing as she remembered. The impression of a fancy hotel was impossible to shake. Red carpets and dark wood paneling, endless doors and uninspired chandeliers - all extended in a web of hallways like some plush labyrinth.

Orange: The Seer grinned for a long, silent minute as the supplicant remained kneeling. As he did, Elsind examined his face. It was beautiful, but then again, all faces were beautiful to the changeling. A braided beard reached his mid-chest, hair the color of tilled soil. His eyes were orange and wild and surprisingly youthful. Elsind would've guessed he was somewhere in his first century, though he wasn't sure how elven aging compared to dwarven.

Yellow: The caravan master narrowed his big yellow eyes. This close, Elsind could see the intricate pattern of his scales, the scraggly down in place of the vibrant feathers lizardfolk women carried, and an old scar running up his snout. It was a good face. It felt... swashbuckling, like it belonged to a pirate with a lover's heart.

Green: "It's... complicated." Astra chewed her lip as she tried to think of a way to explain. "Think a' sorcerous magic like water. Every sorcerer has their own cup a' water that they dye by holdin'. If ya pour dye water into a trough, it'll stay distinct for a while - a little swirl a' blue there, a splash a' green here. But eventually, it's all gonna mix together into a muddy brown."

Blue: In the darkness, she couldn't make out the towering trunk of a neck or matted mane of white hair she knew were present. She couldn't see the slick blue skin or the mask of a woman's face it wore, with its old smile lines and painted lips. All she could feel was the hot breath of the gaping maw that split its sternum. Her ears were flooded with the sound of gnashing teeth and pained growls.

Indigo: Instead of words, however, all he heard in response was the hiss of wind, dull as it was filtered through the trappings of architecture. Only a low whistle accompanied it as it escaped out through a window into the indigo night - bound for the horizon, Mashal supposed. Bound for the home of the gods.

Purple: The skin of the changeling's headfins, which they'd fanned out in an effort to keep themself cool, had burnt an unflattering purple, matched by an angry red across Avymere's face and hands. Their arm ached under the tightly wound bandages, as well as their feet from all the walking. With every second step, their body shuddered with the need for food that wasn't hardtack or more water than a cautious swallow.

Thank you, Elsind, for gazing soulfully into so many people's eyes. Really gave me a lot of colors to work with. Also, Kaylin, I thought you should know that my mention of the color blue decreased from 60 to 14 words from book 1 to 3. Just a, uh, fun little fact there.

I'll tag @harleyacoincidence @ink-flavored @aestatismors @mosscreeper-ao3 and anyone else who wants in :)

[theskeletonprior]

Write Time: Day Two

At it again! This month, my goal is a cool 30 000 words written. I'll be carrying on with more RAVENOT. If you’re curious, you can take a look at my WIP intro right here. And if you’re really keen, you can read the first chapter (sort of a pilot as I toil) right here! Now onto the daily ramble.

I haven't too much time for an update, but here I am anyway right quick. I was thinking today about how I've never really consciously invested the kind of time that I am about to invest in my work because I did not value it the same as I did more traditional avenues of employment. From a capitalistic standpoint (yuck), what I'm doing doesn't profit, and thus, has no value. And this is the mindset which is impressed upon us daily. But I've finally reached a place of patience with the lack of 'profitability' and find myself able to acknowledge that my writing is valuable, and worth pursuing with the same self-shattering determination that my more traditional jobs have demanded. It also makes me think of something that Mads Mikkelsen said once. And though I don't particularly like to cling to things said by celebrities, I think there is some wisdom in this particular soundbite. He said:

"My approach to what I do in my job — and it might even be the approach to my life — is that everything I do is the most important thing I do. Whether it’s a play or the next film. It is the most important thing. I know it’s not going to be the most important thing, and it might not be close to being the best, but I have to make it the most important thing. That means I will be ambitious with my job and not with my career. That’s a very big difference, because if I’m ambitious with my career, everything I do now is just stepping-stones leading to something — a goal I might never reach, and so everything will be disappointing. But if I make everything important, then eventually it will become a career. Big or small, we don’t know. But at least everything was important."

So this month, I'm trying to treat what I'm doing with the importance that it deserves. And that will mean when I get home from work at nearly midnight, I will still sit down and transcribe the things I scribbled into my notebook on the train this morning. So here's to making everything important. I have another excerpt, though it's not fresh today! Please behold.

Now that Ravenot looked upon her directly, he could see her resemblance to her mother. The same wide nose, the same square jaw, but her eyes lacked Yarrowling's flinty resolve. There was something fragile there, that begged delicate handling. "You said what I found was the changeling?" A hopefulness, too, to her countenance, despite her weariness. And though this town had seen few Risen, she did not seem afraid of him. Perhaps the sight of the cradle had steeled her, had exhausted, for now, her ability to fear, having seen something so terrible. "Aye, one of the fey hath Risen, and might have stol'n away with thy son, leaving their own behind," Ravenot told her. "How can you be sure?" She looked more like Yarrowling when she was suspicious, but Ravenot answered without hesitation. Certainty would, they hoped, soothe away the wariness. "I've not known human children to have sap in their veins. 'Twas not blood. What perished there was none of thine. Mourn not, and when thou'rt ready, go to thy child who needs thee." Tanabel's shoulders squared, and she lifted her head then to look at him directly. "And what would you know about what a child needs?" "I had a mother once," he said, "though it was long ago." And they could not remember her, though as every absent memory, it awaited at the end of this long path. "I'll disturb you no further. The Risen ought not come again; the smoke from my censer will repel it." Ravenot did not waste another word, leaving that little house, and closing the door softly behind him.

Until next time!

Taglist: @alexanderflowerbird @void-botanist @carmillasboywife @ceph-the-ghost-writer @wintherlywords

As always, let me know if you’d like to join or leave the taglist, and I’ll act accordingly.

[author-a-holmes]

Find The Word Tag Game

Thank you @ashen-crest for the tag!

I've been putting off these tag games for a while in the leadup to Changeling's release, but since it's due out in a couple of days I figure now's a good moment to share some more snippets <3

Tagging forward to; @minamoroz @queen-kass-the-writer @faelanvance @ettawritesnstudies @sleepyowlwrites @blind-the-winds @afoolandathief @artbyeloquent and anyone else who wants to play! (Tag me so I see it! <3)

Your words will be; Pale, Quiet, Grey/Gray, and Shiver.

Anger

Every time the vampire spoke, something about what he said, or how he said it, sparked Lizzy's temper.

Even now, with nothing more than a soft hum that should have required nothing of her other than the ability to ignore it, the dismissive sound lit up her anger once more.

Cool

She leant her arms against the wall, and pressed her forehead against the cool stone. Struggling to catch her breath, Lizzy fought back the prickling tears stinging her eyes.

When Andric had seconded the headmaster's opinion, it had hurt. It had been a disappointment. But it hadn't been a surprise.

What had been, was Booker.

Steam

A mug of coffee settled into position in front of her, and Lizzy blinked at it slowly. The rich scent drifted up on thin streams of steam and she drew in a slow, deep breath.

It was only as Booker slung an arm around her shoulders and claimed the empty spot on the bench seat to her left, that Lizzy started to come around properly.

Smile

"We should go to dinner," Cara said, and Lizzy smiled at the peace offering, accepting it for what it was. "But you'll need to get dressed," Cara added, "unless you want to give Mia more fuel for the school's rumour mill."

In an instant, Lizzy's smile had vanished, and she rolled her eyes even as she slid off her bed and stomped across the room to the wardrobe, "Well we can't give her even more gossip. She's overworking herself as it is," Lizzy muttered

[fey-touched-trilogy]

"White"...

Ash, birch, oak and hawthorn, all acting as portals between the two realms. Powered by the fairy circles growing in a wide ring around the base of each tree.

The stems of inactive, white-capped, glowshrooms were aligned with the trees' deep roots beneath the soil, even as their twisting limbs stretched up, tall and dark, against the night sky.

Lizzy felt a surge of relief and gratitude well up in her chest that she had Booker's reassuring figure at her side.

"Ready?" he asked, keeping his voice low as he leaned closer to her, and Lizzy braced herself before nodding.

Share an excerpt that includes the words white, black, or gray

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[surroundedbypearls]

‘CLOSET PUN’ - Excerpt #16

Juniper: The Witch Draft 1

[Excerpt below the cut!]

“Are you guys ready?” Junie asked. Running her hand along Sarah’s stone casket, feeling the ridges of the floral design, was maybe a little much, a little macabre for even a situation like this. But the others insisted they set up the circle for her, while she prepared mentally. She didn't have much preparation to do. Just thinking about the meaning of life, nothing more. “We’re ready,” Hazel said. The mausoleum smelled of sage as the candles burned, the crystals set up in the centre. It should be easier to call to her, now that they knew her name, now that Junie felt she knew her better than she’d like. She understood her. She understood the desperation she must have felt, though she didn’t like to admit it. “Are you ready?” Richie asked her. He was already seated before the circle of candles, the light flickering off the round lenses of his glasses, lighting the curls of his hair. She shouldn’t look at him like that. What good would it do her? “Yeah, Yeah. i’m ready.” No point waiting any longer. She approached the circle and sat down beside the others, taking Hazel’s hand. She squeezed back immediately, sending a flood of warmth though her. She was just good at that kind of thing. She wasn’t sure if it was a changeling thing, or if it was just Hazel. But she was glad for it either way. On her other side, she took Jet’s hand, and he gave her a grim smile. It was the best he could do. She smiled back. No point beating about the bush. “I wish May was here,” Jet said. She was surprised to see Toby sitting next to him, holding his hand. Though he wasn’t really looking at him, Junie could tell he wanted to. She wished he’d just swallow his pride and admit he was over it. What a ridiculous fight. Imagine arguing over how caring too much? Life was too short. “Me too,” she replied, and she meant it. But this was the way it had to be. “But we’ll be fine without her. Time?” Richie checked his cellphone. “11:59.”

More on Closet Pun here! Leave an ask or a comment to be added to the taglist.

[sentientsky]

here’s a quick lil sketch thing i made for @actual-changeling instead of going to bed at a reasonable time (based on their achingly beautiful msr wip!!!! go read the excerpt it is so fucking good i promise)

[autumnalwalker]

ROYGBIV Tag

Thank you for the tag, @sarahlizziewrites.

Rules: Search your your writing for the colours of the rainbow and post the excerpt.

Passing the (optional) tag to @ieppiq, @theimperiumchronicles, @void-botanist, @rickie-the-storyteller, @olivescales3, @sam-glade, @winterandwords, and the usual open tag to anyone else who wants to try to find pieces of a rainbow in their writing.

Red: Witch's Testament: The Fighter

One last painting for you then.

One tower within a city of towers has been taken and those at the top, literally and figuratively, have met the fate decided for them by those they meant to keep below.  Down on the ground floor lobby, a witch sits on a bench as the building's lights flicker back to life, takes off his pointed hat, and uncoils his mind from his familiar’s.  He’s prepared a poem for the occasion, one that he never thought he’d get the opportunity to read aloud.  He just needs a minute or three to collect himself first.  

He’s about to ask one of his fellow witches - a woman in plain clothes with a red backpack that her arachnoid familiar is beginning to crawl out of now that the need for secrecy has passed - to patch him into the building’s intercom system when one of their co-conspirators upstairs alerts them to a situation breaking out between the protestors - no, revolutionaries now - and the office workers.  

He stands up - more out of habit than anything - and repeats his request to be patched in.  There had always been a danger that this might happen and he’s prepared a whole different poetic speech to give as timely intervention to prevent anyone else needlessly coming to blows.  It’s a shame he won’t get to recite the other one today after all, and he probably won’t get another opportunity, but such is life.

And so, as his voice echoes throughout the building once more, he speaks of love.

Orange: The Melts

Mil’s trip to the restroom to straighten up in front of the mirror was a perfunctory one.  They might have arrived late to work, but no way were they going to be late to feed the weavers on schedule.  Elam - in early and still in nir fall look of leaf-like orange hair and skin covered in gray keratin growths mimicking tree bark - gave a marginally less brusque than usual greeting when Mil pushed aside the heavy curtain separating the dim tailoring room from the shop, even going so far as to offer nir sympathies for Mil’s melts.  Mil’s more solid hand glorped over one of the nutrient slurry canisters on the shelf as they insisted that they were fine.  Just a minor case of the melts that would clear up by the afternoon.

Yellow: Empty Names - 20 - Changeling Child

“What I’m still hung up on,” Lacuna says, “is what triggered your change.  Normally it’s the death of whichever parent made the deal, but…” She trails off as her eyes alight on one of the pins adorning Tam’s denim jacket.  A heart of four stripes.  Yellow, white, purple, and black.  “How long ago did you start calling yourself Tam?” she asks.

Green: Kindly Basilisk

You’ll take two things with you.  Two things worth mentioning anyway.  The first will be a symbiotic gel suit designed for long-term all-environment life support.  You will set its default texture to a shiny green the same hue as the broadleafed water plants you grew up around and always loved.  Your exit interview will be the last time in a very long time that anyone - including you - will see your impossibly beautiful face with its perfect artisanally sculpted shape crossed with enthusiastically amateur self-modifications.  From then on, everyone you meet and spend any time with will come to think of the mannequin blankness of the symbiote fully encasing your body as your face.  It will be neither pride nor shame that causes you to present yourself as such, nor will you think of it as hiding your “real” face. 

The second thing you’ll take with you when you leave the campus forever will be me.

Blue: The Archivist's Journal, Day 313

As we guided the boat into that cove it became apparent that there were once docks here as well, although now all that remained were scattered wooden pylons sticking up above the water and crumbling stumps of boardwalk on the shore.  It had all gone unused long enough that a reef had grown among the submerged ruins.  Ostensibly we slowed down at that point for safety, but just as much, we were taking our time to look around and beneath us.  While the fish we saw darting in and out of our lamplight were not as colorful as their diurnal counterparts, the undulating polyps of the corals themselves (extended for nocturnal feeding I presume) had a fluorescence to them, subtle under the moonlight, but set off more dramatically under the light of our crystals.  Once we reached a spot where we seemed unlikely to drift into anything, Lin told me to cover my lantern as she covered hers.  After a moment of letting my eyes adjust to the dark I realized that since passing over the reef our rowing had stirred up a trail of soft blue bioluminesce behind us.

Indigo Dark Blue: Empty Names - 15 - Matters of Technique

Lacuna hands Ashan her phone, face blushing and not making eye contact.  On the screen is a manga cover with the title Crystal Witch Arya.  There, floating in the center of the screen with white staff pointed dramatically and a wry smile on her face is Ashan’s mentor.  The face is artistically stylized and the real Aliana was never so well-endowed as this fictional “Arya” character, but otherwise the resemblance is uncanny.  The midnight blue hair, the robe Ashan’s own was patterned after, the broad-brimmed white hat he had never incorporated into his own style, even the patterns carved into the staff; all of it certainly drawn by someone who met her.

Ashan thinks back to all the cases of mistaken cosplay identity this past convention season and groans.

Violet: Empty Names - 20 - Changeling Child

Ashan’s eyes flick back to the individual standing in front of the door, locking gazes.

“What was that?” he asks.

“I was hoping you could tell me.  Now please, you gotta let me in.  Before it -” 

They double over groaning in pain.  With effort they crane their neck up to reveal a face flickering between two forms.  One of an unremarkably average brown-eyed human with two or three days of unshaven stubble, and the other violet-eyed with smooth, waxy leaf-green skin.  Violet eyes or brown, the look of desperate fear and confusion is the same.  It strikes Ashan how young they are.  No more than late teens.

“Help me,” they gasp.