#Rise of the Mage WIP

[monbons]

WIP Wednesday

Posting actual WIPS on a Wednesday? Imagine that.

As long as we are all baring our hearts on tumblr, I have to admit that I have been struggling to write anything since I wrapped up Eternal Life (back in the first week of April). At first I figured I was simply burnt out since I wrote all 42k words of that fic in just about a month, but given that I've started three separate WIPS since then and made zero progress on any of them, I'm wondering if I am just out of stories. I hate all my words--even though I really love some of these concepts. So, as you may have noticed, I've been distracting myself with sewing projects because good progress is so clearly visible there...

Anywho, to motivate myself, I decided to post a snip of each today and hope that having bits out in the world will motivate me to finish at least ONE of them! All untitled. Set up and snips below the cut.

Very creatively titled "Party Robot," this WIP is a silly/fluffy one-shot inspired by an article I read a while ago about a growing trend in American weddings. This one is the furthest along and will likely see the light of day eventually...

A nervous bounce.  From a robot. I recognize that bounce. “I thought you said Shepard was working tonight.” My voice is tight. “He is.” Bunce replies, similarly strained. “What did you say he does again?” Panic rises in my chest.  “He’s in entertain–”  Whether Bunce trails off or I simply don’t hear the rest is irrelevant because the music has changed from easy dinner instrumentals to much-too-loud techno and the show is clearly starting. As the synths build, driving towards a crescendo, my brain reels with the growing realisation that Simon would never just abandon me at the last minute, would never send me anywhere alone, certainly not my cousin’s gay wedding, which is every kind of milestone given his Old Families lineage and Pitch blood specifically and– “PARTY PEOPLE!” The DJ booms into the mic. “Have the grooms got a treat for you!”

A multi-chapter AU I have lovingly nicknamed "Baz in a Bubble." It is sad and angsty and is proving significantly more difficult to execute (despite having a complete outline) than I once thought it would be. Who could have guessed having one home-bound character would make me too sad to write? Thanks to @thewholelemon and @hushed-chorus who've listened to more than their fair share of my griping about this one. Anyway, here's the first bit of BAZ POV:

There are exactly 297 stars in the sky above me. I count them while lying in my bed every night. They do not twinkle or flicker hello like real stars. Instead, they glow a constant yellowish-green that reminds me of the colour artists always make toxic sludge in the cartoons I grew up watching. It's the colour of superhuman villains and their evil plots. Of poison. Of danger. It's the colour of the plastic star stickers Fiona put up on my ceiling when I was 10 and spent the whole year crying and begging her to go outside. Just once. Just for a minute. Because I was starting to forget what fresh air smelled like or how it felt to have grass prickle against your bare feet or how the stars lit up the night sky in Hampshire. There are no stars in the middle of London. Not outside my window. Not in this room.

And then the WIP I have the least progress on (literally almost nothing) but I so desperately want to write and could really use a thought partner to help me brainstorm/plot/figure out what the hell I'm doing--- a canon divergence where Simon successfully exposes Baz as a vamp and Malcolm steps the fuck up as a father. Here's a bit of Simon POV:

It didn't matter anyway. Pitch Manor was empty. While [the Mage] ranted and raved, I wandered into Baz’s living room. The TV was still on. Peppa the Pig was playing. A half-dressed Barbie was splayed on the couch next to a small bowl of grapes, all cut in half. I picked up the doll and brushed her tangled hair out of her face.  Why didn’t I know Baz had a sister? A family that ate snacks together in front of the TV? Parents who loved him so dearly they fled their whole lives under cover of night? In the days that followed, I sat in meeting after meeting with the Coven, listening to The Mage. He demanded the casting of tracking spells, pushed through more dark creature reforms, and rambled about the miscarriage of justice and the dangers of harbouring monsters.  But Baz wasn’t a monster.  He was just a boy.  A scared boy.  A boy who ran because he wanted to live. 

Anyway...here's to accountability via tumblr. Maybe once I've slept for several weeks and feel more refreshed I won't be so frustrated by every word I know, or more precisely, all the beautiful ones I can’t seem to find…

Thanks for the tag @bookish-bogwitch. Cannot wait to devour the new chapter of BPD!

Hellos and high-fives to all. May your words (and art) be faring better than mine: @raenestee, @cutestkilla, @roomwithanopenfire, @facewithoutheart

@emeryhall, @artsyunderstudy, @aristocratic-otter, @larkral, @rimeswithpurple

@drowninginships, @valeffelees, @shrekgogurt, @blackberrysummerblog, @iamamythologicalcreature

@run-for-chamo-miles, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @arthurkko, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @youarenevertooold

@beastmonstertitan, @supercutedinosaurs, @rbkzz, @fiend-for-culture, @theearlgreymage

@brilla-brilla-estrellita, @skeedelvee, @ic3-que3n, @talentpiper11, @ivelovedhimthroughworse

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tags @mysticstarlightduck @theink-stainedfolk and probably many more!

Wip Aesthetic Tag

Rules: Make a moodboard for your WIP, a playlist (3+ songs/music will suffice but it can be as long as you want) and describe the Vibe of your WIP.

Oh god, I'm really bad at aesthetic stuff. No clue why, I just feel like it's never cohesive. That said, here's my best stab at Mystery of the Mortal God.

⚙️Moodboard🌿

🎵Music🎶

Instrumental (pulled from my character playlists):

Flight of the Silverbird

Ponyo's Sisters

HUNGRY!

Exclusive Coupé

A Murder of Crows

Wings (Aether 2)

The Quiet Earth

Vocal:

I Want to Conquer the World - Bad Religion

Supersonic - Bad Religion

Harlan Road - NewTown

Black Lipstick - Chicano Batman

The Reckoning - Dom Fera

Norwegian Wood - Buddy Rich Big Band

Call me Call me - Steve Conte

🩸Vibes🏵

A walking, steam-powered vardo lurches over a yellow-flowered marsh and under a sky of curious stars. Red, sparkling smoke rises from its chimney. Muddy footsteps are left in its wake like the trail of a mechanical dragon. It seems like a place of magic, which is fair, as it's the home of a witch. She sits with a lit pipe and a tabby cat purring on her lap, quietly contemplating a distant, stolen song. Even in the peace of the moment, her mind is alight with grand schemes and dreams of adventure.

In the capital of a thousand peoples, there stands a detective office lit by golden lamps. It's busy - goblins, elves, and lizardfolk rushing every which way in hopes of managing the many crimes wrought by rogue mages. At its heart resides a beat of calm in the eye of the storm - an opulent office out of place for its cushy decorations and color coding fit for a palace. This is also fair, as working at its desk is a prince of sorts. The prodigal heir to divine contracts and a deadly curse. He shudders at the knowledge of his bloody fate, yet pursues it nonetheless.

On the side of a lonely road, in a lonely land, under stars that are not curious, but disappointed, lays a wreck of bronze and steel. It bleeds black on green. It is confused by this. Where is the red? Where is the pain? It remembers another place - gray and icy and riveted. It remembers two eyes surrounded by shadows and a grin hanging in the dark like a half-moon. Hate closes in like a frigid wind, piercing through any amount of heart or compassion. It will have revenge.

Tropes include slow burn romance, revenge quests, magic as a science, and mad scientists. Genre is fantasy steampunk.

Snappier character descriptions include a braggadocious redneck mage with a chip on her shoulder the size of a mountain, a prissy, gossip-loving detective with a deadly curse, and a sweetheart of a maybe-robot with some terrifying instincts hidden behind a fog of amnesia. All of them, due to personal quests, will end up banding together to defeat a would-be demigod, facing cunning traps, summoning ritual shenanigans, and their own conflicting personalities. Will they survive? Will they join the villain? Who's to say? All I can assure is that if they fail, it'll at least be in a blaze of glory.

Heavily inspired by the Foundryside Trilogy and Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood.

I'll tag @spideronthesun @kaylinalexanderbooks @ominous-feychild @galactic-mystics-writes and anyone else who wants to play!

[ironheartwriter]

A very late WIP Wednesday...

Being back on the school schedule is fucking brutal after the summer, lemme tell you.

Thanks to @emsprovisions, @whatsintheboxmh, @carlos-in-glasses @paperstorm, @chicgeekgirl89

@lemonlyman-dotcom, @strandnreyes, @nisbanisba for tagging me for WIP Wednesday. I don't feel like I have anything new to share because I'm so fucking braindead, but I'll share something from the previous chapter of Even in the Dark for y'all to enjoy as a Work Is Published Wednesday:

“Why are you so insistent on healing me?” TK asks with a groan, his brow furrowing as he once again tries in vain to pull his hand out of her grip. He truly did not like realizing how strong she apparently was, “You’re a mage, not a healer.” “Because the prince asked me to,” Iris answers simply, and TK’s irritation begins to rise again. “And, just because I’m not a healer, doesn’t mean I can’t heal someone. I just have different methods. A healer heals with their hands, I heal with potions and salves. And, considering I know exactly who the prince is, having a salve for burns is kind of standard for me.” “Fine,” TK finally relents with a roll of his eyes. At the end of the day, what was the point of arguing with Iris anyway? “Just heal me and get it over with already. Has Carlos ever burned you before?” “Twice,” Iris answers with a nod as she gets to her feet and retrieves the jar of salve from the tray she had carried into the room before she returns to her chair beside TK. When she holds out her hand, this time he holds his arm out without complaint. “But it’s been a long time since it happened. He has better control now.” TK opens his mouth to ask another question, but before he can, Iris spreads the salve onto his wrist, and instantly the pain eases up, the salve cooling against his skin, the pain evaporating all at once. A damn near sinful moan escapes his lips at the relief, his eyes fluttering shut as Iris laughs softly. “Easy, empath,” Iris comments with a shake of her head. “From what I understand, the prince may enjoy hearing those sounds from you, but I do not.” TK’s eyes snap open again as Iris’s words instantly process in his mind, his heart jumping to his throat, “He told you?” “He didn’t have to,” Iris answers as she continues to apply the salve to his wrist, making sure to cover the burn completely. “I asked him what happened and his face gave him away. He doesn’t really keep secrets from me anyway.”

Not tagging anyone since this is so late in the day. Hope to be back to regular brain power soon.

[everlastingday]

wip wednesday

i am sending all my love to all my american friends, especially my queer and bipoc friends. i have no words for how truly awful this all is, and my heart goes out to everyone who is affected by this in any way, shape, or form. please be kind to yourselves, and stay safe 💜

i wasn't sure if it was appropriate to share anything today, but @heartstringsduet's post inspired me, and i hope that this can at least distract you from everything else for even just a minute, so here is a snippet from the prologue to my tarlos dark academia au.

--

Carlos remembered the day that he first stepped off the bus and onto the grounds of the Valentia Institute as if it were yesterday. The crisp autumn air, the sun peeking through the foliage, the smell of fresh-cut grass — it was as if he'd stepped off the one-way bus and into a different dimension. One that was trapped in time, and never seemed to age along with the rest of the world. No matter what happened over the next few years, he could never bring himself to hate the place. It was truly magical, both figuratively and literally.

The Valentia Institute was a place where mages were created. Anyone could attend, in theory, as long as they had enough magic running through their veins. That was the deal — give the Institute three years sequestered away from the rest of the world, and the world would be your oyster. It wouldn't matter what your socioeconomic status was before you entered the Institute; once you were an Institute graduate, it unlocked almost every door in society for you. 

Carlos never wanted to learn magic. He had the affinity, sure, and sometimes it came in handy when he needed to light the fireplace quickly, but he never yearned for it the way that others did. He liked his life —he had a steady job working in the city as a social worker, and while it wasn't the most prestigious job, he liked it a lot. He liked feeling like he could make a difference in other people's lives. His life was simple. Uncomplicated. Perfectly fine.

His life irreversibly changed four years ago when his best friend, Iris Blake, got accepted into the Valentia Institute. He was happy for her, truly. They grew up together, and even studied to become social workers together, but while he was content with working directly with the people on an individual level, he knew she always wanted more. She wanted to be the one making laws, changing policy, and making widespread changes. 

The Institute's rules were public knowledge. Three years without any contact with the outside world, and after that, its students entered back into the world as fully-formed mages, instantly rising to the upper echelons of society. Magic played a strange role in society. It was ultimately still secondary to the curse of capitalism, but if you weren't born wealthy, it was the fastest way to climb up the social ladder. There was, of course, also just the inherent prestige that comes with wielding magic; its powers are undeniable, and a mastery of any magical affinity automatically made you a valuable member of society. 

Three years passed, and Iris never came back out, and Carlos just knew in his bones that something wasn't right. In the initial months, he tried to investigate what happened to her on his own. He'd filed a missing persons report, but the police weren't doing anything about it. His friends and family told him that she probably just found a better opportunity somewhere else, and that three years was a long time. Maybe she just moved on in her life, and forgot to look back. 

But Carlos never believed that for a second. He knew Iris. She wasn't the type of person to just leave without a word, and when applications for the Valentia Institute opened up, he knew he needed to take matters into his own hands. The Institute was notoriously secretive. Sure, everyone knew it existed, but beyond the most basic knowledge? It was a locked vault. Nobody even really knew where it was located, though it was widely speculated that it was likely somewhere in New England. Carlos had a lot of questions, and he knew that the only way he was going to get some answers was to find them from within the Institute itself.

--

open tag for anyone who feels up to it, and please feel free to tag me as well 💜

[trevelyawn]

WIP: cullen visits the prisoner.

Cullen moves through the hastily assembled camp. Soldiers stand with straight backs and tense muscles, fists clenched over their chests, waiting for their superior to pass before they continue about their business. The Commander reaches the prison as Solas, the mysterious elven apostate that had approached their encampment and offered help, strolls from the building. Hands behind his back, he acknowledges Cullen's presence with a nod and steps aside to allow him to pass. “Any change?” Cullen asks. He is uncomfortable around the apostate but given what he has heard from Leliana, knowledge of the Fade and its machinations is an expertise they cannot afford to dismiss right now. Best not to make him feel too uncomfortable. Solas shakes his head. “She is stable, as is the Mark. I cannot say when or if she will wake.” Head held high, he moves to pass Cullen. He stops. “She is a Mage.” When Cullen doesn't respond, Solas continues, “I know of your past with the Order.” It sounds like an accusation; judgement. That life was gone. Cullen was unlearning prejudices and hatred, and he vowed that things would be different.

Squaring his shoulders, he makes no reply. Old hinges creak when he pushes the door open and enters. He follows lit torches to the isolated chamber. A lone guard sits bored in a chair, the two front legs hovering precariously as he leans back against a stone pillar. At the sight of the Commander, he startles, chair clattering as he jumps to his feet to stand at attention. Cullen acknowledges him with a nod and moves towards the only occupied cell in the dank room. It takes a moment for Cullen's eyes to adjust to the dark as he looks into the cell. He can make out the shape of a woman laying on a bedroll. Her chest rises and falls with even breaths and Cullen listens to her soft exhales. It's surprising how calm she is in slumber, as though she hadn't just fallen from a Fade rift at the site of an explosion that had killed hundreds and left a gaping hole in the sky. He lifts his gaze to her face. Her features are soft, lit by the orange glow of torchlight, and cuts and grazes mark pale skin. Her hair looks almost black; short, loose waves resting on a straw pillow. Realisation washes over him in a wave and his stomach lurches, heart skips a beat. He knows her. Shaking hands reach out to grip the cold bars separating them. “The Seeker and Spymaster. Retrieve them,” he manages to say. When the guard hesitates and doesn't move, Cullen fixes him with a furious glare. With waning patience, he barks an order. “Now!” Red in the face, the guard sputters a panicked yessir! before tripping over clumsy feet in his haste to depart. Hurried footsteps quieten and Cullen waits for the creak and loud thud of the door to let him know that he's alone. He thinks back to when he had last seen her. Kirkwall crumbling, the Circle ablaze, and mages, apostate and Circle alike, forced to flee at the risk of their lives. She didn't want to leave, didn't want to run and have to start anew, but Cullen had forced her to go. Meredith may have been lyrium-mad and consumed by her fear of mages but she had amassed a desperate following teeming with those that believed that the threat of blood magic was too great and that all mages needed to be put to the sword. He had come to terms with never seeing her again.

[decafdino]

Wip Wednesday!! Shoutout to the tarlos haven discord for helping me keep on top of my writing with sprints. Here's a little preview from my most recent sprint:

And TK had had some trust issues after that, but he worked hard to get over them. It was easy to push his uneasiness around strangers away when his dad came back a few months later, badly wounded and left changed by something very few people could understand. TK had wanted to be strong for his father, to show him that while something inside of Owen's mind had shifted, his son would always be the same, strong young man he could one day pass the crown onto. It didn't matter if his parents stopped talking to each other for days on end. It didn't matter that he began to drink himself to sleep every night, just to quell the voices in his mind telling him of all the horrors on the other side of the castle wall. It didn't matter that he started feeling more like a statue on a pedestal than a person, that he was always more admired than seen. As long as his parents had hope in something, had hope in him, all would eventually go back to being right.

Then, he had met Alex, and he had finally felt seen. Alex told him he was beautiful and impressive, and it validated everything TK had strived for so long to achieve. He told TK he was strong and brave and special. It was everything he had ever wanted to hear, especially when his mother and father had been too busy to say it to him themselves.

And then one day, Alex had changed. He met Mitchell, and it turned out TK wasn't so special after all. Suddenly, it was abundantly clear to TK that the image he had strived for so long and so hard to cultivate of a strong leader was nothing more than exactly that: an image.

And when those emotions had taken over all his rational thought, when he was useless and broken and half-dead from drink somewhere in the middle of the Western Woods, TK had given up. He decided then that he would never be a good king, much less a good mage or even a good person. He would never trust his heart to anyone else again, if only to spare himself the pain.

But that's not all there is to the story, is there? the little voice of hope pushes. It isn't over. Something changed.

"I got brave again," he says to himself. He spits at the floor when too much bile rises in his mouth. "Which means I got stupid. Thinking I could go anywhere in this kingdom, as long as I had someone who cared for me so much always by my side."

He can picture Carlos' wounded look in his mind. His small frown and wrinkled forehead. Do you hate me for giving you that? The ability to live freely? he says.

TK rubs the small few tears he has left to give on his shoulder. "Of course not, my love," he answers truthfully. He doubts he ever would have been brave enough to leave home in the first place without Carlos stepping into his life.

Then live a little longer. He imagines Carlos' warm breath on his cheek, the small, loving pressure of a kiss to his lips. I am coming for you. I swear it.

thanks to @whatsintheboxmh @heartstringsduet @lemonlyman-dotcom and @emsprovisions for the tags!

[new-royston-cursebreakers]

Call for Readers!

Are you a fantasy reader? Like YA? Queer or enjoy queer themes? Want to help someone's 49,000-word manuscript be the best it can be? Want somebody with 3 years of workshop experience to help you with your similar-sized manuscript in return, or even help you with short stories, poems, or just bouncing off ideas? Any or all of the above?

As you gleaned, I'm looking for alpha/beta readers for my 49,000-word YA queer high fantasy novel, which is as of yet unnamed! I say alpha/beta because I've seen conflicting definitions floating around, but here's what I'd ask for:

Comments on style and descriptions

Feedback on pacing and length

Help with strengthening character arcs and stakes

Any other comments that you might want to include!

More information about my WIP can be found on my blog and pinned post, but here's the synopsis:

Neor, a young woman talented in the magical arts, is sent across the continent to apprentice at the Mages’ Guild. Soon disillusioned with the Guild’s strict teachings, she jumps at the opportunity to follow Sacha, one of the greatest mages in the world, and learn from her. However, a time-travel spell gone wrong—or right—leaves Neor in a distant, bleak, unknown time with no idea what role the spell wants her to fulfill. She finds herself stranded with Vultarne, a violent tyrant who wields Sacha’s staff and rules the land that once was or will be her home. The more Neor explores this distant time, the more she uncovers the hidden truths of her own time. Eventually, she finds she must rise up to do what’s right for the sake of a brighter future.

It's got fae. It's got weird magic. It's got a character with face-blindness. It's got a spoiler that prevents me from talking a lot about it on this blog. And by gosh, it's got a fleshed-out world.

If you want to help me make it shine, then follow this link here and do be aware of the content warnings in the form! Thank you!

[confused-bi-queer]

2023 Lee's Fics Recap

Thank you @forabeatofadrum and @ic3-que3n

There’s no Six Sentence Sunday today, but I do have a recap:

This year, I wrote several things, so I decided to self promote everything that went out this year in AO3 as a recap as well. Thank you for this amazing year!

FINISHED

ponerte a dormir (T, 1.8k)

Simon agessively makes a stressed Baz go to sleep

Bacterial Infection (T, 1.9k)

Simon has an infection, Baz takes care of him

repetition makes perfection (M, 2.1k)

After a nightmare, Simon makes sure to remind Baz he loves him

Family Line (M, 18.1k)

What if Simon knew the Mage was his dad and nothing changed?

Thrown Away And Left Out (E, 3.5k +)

Drunk Sex & Getting Back Together

every inch of you (E, 2.1k) From Erotic Grope Fest 2023

Simon forcing Baz to love himself during sex

The Sixth Chain (E, 3.6k) From Carry On Countdown 2023

Simon explores his “being marked” kink and Baz his silver one

WIPs I take to 2024

Diving Right Into (E, 2 chaps in of 4, 14.4k +)

What if Baz did have a tail instead of Simon during 8th year?

The Rise and Fall Of Us (M, 13 chaps in, 80,2k +)

A Ballet AU in which Baz and Simon star in the first gay ballet ever, about the Chosen One and his enemy-turned-lover vampire. A lot of trauma and very slow burn

ABANDONED

Protecting you like a Pitch (M, 18 chaps in, 85.2k)

Simon reports the Mage’s abuse and with Baz’s new help, they might do some changes at Watford

MALMAGE

burnt logs and ashes (T, 1.3k) From Carry On Countdown 2023

The Mage visits Malcolm during 2018 Christmas and leaves for good

[myreia]

wip wednesday

oops I guess it's not Wednesday anymore, but!! ty for the tags, @thevikingwoman & @hylfystt! 💖 tagging @gatheredfates @anneapocalypse @fourteenthz @tsunael @bearlytolerant @roguelioness @ardberts @lilas @galadae @coldshrugs a bit from the divergence of the heart sequel I am picking away at. Just very 🥺 about Aureia and Hilda's friendship.

The frozen air rings with the sound of a single shot.

Aureia frowns and lowers her rifle, squinting at the target. It smolders in the distance, a plume of black smoke rising from the side she struck, looking for all it’s worth like some animal bit a chunk out of it. She huffs, blowing hair out of her face with a puff of breath. After all this practice she should have hit the bullseye, and every time, without fail, her rounds go off course.

“Hmm.” Several paces away, Hilda leans against the wall, shaded by the overhang. She scuffs her boots against the snow, oblivious to the melting icicles above. “You’re sure you loaded that right, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure you held your stance the way I showed you?”

“Yes.”

Hilda chews her lower lip and makes a face, dark brows drawing together. “Well, somethin’ is wrong. Could be the rifle. Could be you.” She sniffs and rubs her hands together, tugging at the worn wool fingerless globes. “Why don’t you try again?”

“Again? You think I haven’t been trying?”

“Oh, I’ve been watching you try. That’s for certain. Sometimes these things take practice.”

“Practice? You think I haven’t been practicing—”

“You’re no markswoman, that’s for sure.”

“Never said I was.”

Hilda smirks. “I thought as a mage you’d have better aim.”

Aureia rolls her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. “Magic covers a far greater area,” she says, gripping the rifle with unfamiliar hands. “I can afford to be a little imprecise because I know it will hit. Marksmanship is another story, I gather.”

“You ever shot a bow?”

“Yes. No. Sort of.” She blows out an irritated puff of air. “I fell down a hole once and it was the only weapon I could find.”

“You… fell.”

“Yes.”

“Down a hole.”

“Yes.”

Hilda’s lips twitch. “Gods above, don’t make me ask what kind of hole.”

Aureia turns around, snow half-melted snow flying around her feet, and rams the butt of her rifle into the ground. “Get me a drink tonight and I might just tell you,” she says, deadpan.

Hilda throws her head back and howls with laughter. She leans over, clutching her stomach, ruby eyes glimmering with glee. Aureia grins, chuckling to herself, and lets her laugh it out. Truth be told, the story of the Palace of the Dead and what she found down there is not the kind of story for casual conversation. At least not one without multiple drinks.

[cat-esper]

I thought I'd redo my intro post and this time make it ✨pretty✨

I'm Cat [she/her | aroace] and I write sci-fi and fantasy with a dose of cosmic horror. I love mixing genres and general experimentation. Whether my work is marketable or not is less important than having fun. My absolute favorite things are found family, robots, and time travel, and I am a firm believer that platonic relationships can be just as fierce and important as romantic ones. Most of my novels are set within a shared universe I call the Starfish Saga and that's my main focus, though I do have quite a few exciting projects outside that.

I am quite shy but love making new writer friends and am open to tag games and ask games and other sorts of writerly socialization.

I have...a lot of projects. A worrying amount I try not to think about. But! Below the cut, you'll find the ones I'm focusing on for the time being, now with new and improved titles.

Books of the Starfish Saga

The Last Paladin | YA science fantasy | 12 part series

When Chelsea Seaver's parents are abducted by aliens, she embarks on a grand adventure across the galaxy--making friends and learning magic on the way--to bring them home.

Status: books 1-3 drafted

Intro | WIP tag

Incantations of the Mad Mage | YA epic fantasy | 6 part series

In order to honor her dead mentor, battle mage Arna Vaughn races against the Sforia Empire to locate six legendary magic spells that have the power to end a bloody war; whoever finds them first will change the course of their world forever.

Status: books 1-4 drafted, editing book 1

Intro | WIP tag

Records of the Spiral | YA portal fantasy | 4 part series

Three misfits stumble into a surreal world inhabited by strange creatures and watched over by the eldritch Enochians; it's a place they belong to more than Earth and if they don't want to see it destroyed, they'll need to stop the very beings who created it in the first place.

Status: drafting book 1

Intro | WIP tag

Music of the Spheres | YA science fantasy | standalone

Shay Finnegan leaves everything behind when he decides to become a light-wielding Paladin, a protector of the galaxy, in order to find a higher purpose and avoid the fate that haunts him with the words you will bring everything to ruin.

Status: rewriting for the millionth time

Intro | WIP tag

Red Ghost | YA contemporary fantasy | novella

Mel Black joins a ghost-killing organization in order to free the spirit of her dead friend from a fate worse than death, but saving him might just mean the end of humanity.

Status: pending edits

Intro | WIP tag

Nightland Nexus | epic fantasy | 5 part series

As tensions rise across the worlds, a group of characters seek to satisfy their own ambitions, but they'll need to team up and unite the worlds to prevent a long-dormant Darkness from awakening.

Status: world-building

Intro | WIP tag

Sundial Fates | YA sci-fi western | 10 part series

A time machine crashes on the edge of town, launching three reluctant teens into the biggest adventure of their lives. They may be able to face down alien invaders, mad scientists, and unfathomable entities, but can they face the truth about themselves?

Status: overhauling the plot/updating the lore

Intro | WIP tag

Other Projects

The Zodiac Circuit | post-apocalyptic sci-fi | duology

Rhys Valencya reluctantly teams up with an android in order to stop her own family from resurrecting the lich that almost wiped out humanity centuries ago.

Status: drafting book 1

Intro | WIP tag

Androids Don't Rust | time travel | standalone

With human extinction inevitable, four androids are sent into the past to retrieve data for the Archive that will outlast humanity.

Status: very early planning stages

Intro | WIP tag

Robbery on the Hell Express | weird western | novella

Occasional partners and oftentimes enemies, Harlan Nye and John Callahan team up to rob a ghost train--betrayal, deadly wraiths, and a lethal race against the clock mean they may not make it out of this alive.

Status: planning

Intro | WIP tag

The Chronicles of Josephine Mercer | dark pirate fantasy | ongoing series

In a darker version of the 18th century Caribbean, mutineer and newly self-appointed Captain Josephine Mercer escaped the navy with a ship and ambitions that would see her become the bane of the British Empire.

Status: research/world-building

Intro | WIP tag

Liminal Spaces | urban fantasy | 5 part series

Caffeine fueled video game artist, Ref Sanderson, comes home one day to find his daughter is missing. Turns out, she's been making new realities in her free time. Now she's trapped in one and he'll need to learn how to enter and fabricate realities himself in order to save her.

Status: plotting

WIP intro coming soon

Other Starfish WIPs I'm technically working on, in the background, that I probably won't talk about unless someone wants me to:

The Siege of Coracaltone: a space opera about cinnamon roll wizard Flynn on a quest but gets sidetracked by space pirates (waiting for a rewrite)

Pirates vs Dinosaurs: cosmic horror about, you guessed it, pirates and dinosaurs and the slow dissolving of their sanity (drafted and just waiting for editing time)

Dreams of the Spiral: a prelude to Records of the Spiral about the band Red Tape Rocket and the summer things got really weird (still being planned)

If any of them pique your interest and you'd like to be added to a taglist, let me know!

[keldjinfae]

WIP Whenever

I was tagged by @dear-massacre... um... a week ago? More? Less? The point is, I was tagged to share a snippet from a WIP, and for the first time this year, I actually have something to share. This is from the first part of what is going to be a stupidly long series that fuses Teen Wolf with Skyrim, Life in a Northern Town. Even just posting this, I'm already reformating parts of it in my head, so that should give an idea of how very much "in-progress" it is:

The village of Falkreath was known for its graveyard. Rather than an actual Hall of the Dead where the deceased citizens of Falkreath Hold were entombed, as was the custom in most parts of Skyrim, they instead joined the ranks of a large, sprawling cemetery. The resident priest of Arkay oversaw their burials and otherwise kept to his nearby home, where he held rites for the god of life and death, and led mourners in services for their departed loved ones.

Outside of the small hold capitol, the cemetery was nearly <i>all</i> that Falkreath was known for. The Pine Forest had legends of its own, and the old magic of the woods was often enough to spur wary travelers past the unassuming road leading to the village in their haste to break through the trees before nightfall. Those who were brave (or avaricious) enough to shrug off superstition and remain found that the villagers had long embraced its reputation, and that death had inevitably settled into their way of life.

From the innkeeper at Dead Man’s Drink to the alchemists selling poultices and poisons at Grave Concoctions, Falkreath’s citizens were well-practiced in attracting the business of the morbidly curious. Just like they were similarly adept at drawing their attention <i>away</i> from the mages who placed the wards on the graves that made sure the dead remained restful, or the men who dug the graves in the first place. Death may have been the village’s tourist trap, but the actual trappings of death were bad for business.

Which meant having to slip out of the house just before dawn and stumbling down to the cemetery, still half-asleep, if Stiles wanted to catch up to Isaac before he was finished. The sounds of his trek across one side of town to the other were exaggerated by the slumbering stillness of the early morning, from the sharp crack of the door's creaking hinges as it closed behind him, to the crunching of grass and dirt beneath his feet, made crisp by the frost that had settled overnight. In less than an hour’s time, the sun would warm the earth just enough to clear away the frost, but a thick fog would rise up in its place, looming over most of the hold like a burial shroud until nearly nightfall.

Stiles moved quickly through the dark without a need for carrying a torch or casting Candlelight, able to find his way as the stars were gradually washed out of the sky. He’d only made it about halfway to his destination before he started to regret not throwing on more clothes despite his haste to leave without waking his father, curling his hands together and blowing into already-stinging fingers to warm them before tucking them under his armpits. He kept his arms folded tightly over his chest as he passed by the beginning of the long, stone wall dividing the cemetery from the rest of the village, and it wasn’t much longer after that he was able to make out the faint, flickering glow of a lantern in the distance.

Isaac Lahey was tall even for a Nord, his head and arms still popping up above the ground every few seconds while he drove a shovel into the frozen earth.

[thana-topsy]

WIP Wednesday!

Thank you to @mareenavee for the tag! I tag @expended-sleeper @viss-and-pinegar @anxious--ace @kookaburra1701 and @moriche

WELL this is a WIP that may never see the light of day, honestly. It takes place during [vague hand gesture] but sometime after Halfway to the Sky ends. Honestly, I just kind of wanted to write Aiden and Harukar talking and getting to know each other outside of everything that had happened on their journey. So, I've cut out the bits that spoil how HttS ends, but have a Giant Nerd and a Vampire basically going on a date:

Word count: 1267

---

"But indulge me, if you will: what would you be doing had Sarel never come to you?”

Aiden raised an eyebrow. “You say that as if you don’t know the truth of his arrival.” 

“It’s neither here nor there. He’s in your life regardless. So, tell me about yourself. What are your interests? What drives you, outside of parenthood?”

“Is this a date, now?” 

Harukar gave another small shrug, and Aiden felt heat rise in his cheeks. Implications of their non-date aside, it was a good question. Aiden was slightly terrified at the fact that he didn’t have an answer readily available. 

“I’ve always wanted to prove myself as a scholar. I’m no great mage, but I know the theory behind most schools of magic backwards and forwards. It makes me a good enough teacher, but teaching isn’t really my passion.”

“So, what is?”

Aiden thought for a long moment, letting the question roll through his mind. “Research, I suppose. History. I feel most at home surrounded by books and manuscripts. Piecing together clues from the past, finding parallels between different theories, drawing new conclusions. It’s thrilling to prove an old theorem wrong.” He groaned. “That sounds so pathetic, I know.”

“Not at all. The life of an academic is attractive to many people.”

“I just wanted to do something that had never been done before—ask questions other scholars were too afraid to ask. I just wanted to find the thing that would change the history books, something attributed to me. People would hear the name ‘Aiden’ and their first thought would be of me, and not the damn Direnni Prince!” 

“How many siblings did you have?” Harukar asked. 

The question caught Aiden off guard. “Er, four. I was the…” And then it dawned on him. “Middle child.” He sighed and covered his eyes with his hands. “I’m pathetic, aren’t I?”

“You speak terribly of yourself so often. It frustrates me. And, if I’m honest, it makes me rather angry with whoever it was that put these thoughts into your head.”

“Would it be better if I spoke too highly of myself? Thought myself Auri-El’s gift to Mundus?”

“There’s a third option, you know.”

Aiden smiled and took a sip of wine. “What about you? What would you be doing now had you never become a vampire?”

“Well, I’d most likely be dead, considering I’m about two hundred years past my expiration.”

 Aiden snorted into his cup. “Fair point.” He chuckled and wiped droplets of wine from his cheek. 

Harukar appeared to think for a moment. “I probably would have died a warrior with the Ash’abah. We aren’t known for our long lifespans. So, in many ways, my affliction afforded me the ability to do much more than I might have otherwise been able to. And, despite everything, I feel that I’ve been able to do a lot of good. So I’m thankful, in the end.”

“Do you ever get tired of trying to constantly see the good in life?”

Harukar smiled. “No. Nor do I tire of trying to see the good in people.”

Aiden flushed with unwanted heat once more. “So, you said that you’ve had children, adopted or otherwise. I assume they’re all grown up?” 

“Or dead, now, yes.” 

“Dead?” 

It was Harukar who averted his eyes now. “The unfortunate aspect of having a long life. I pity elves who take human partners.”

“Ah, yes. I worried about that with Collette. Briefly, that is. Our relationship—” Aiden bit his tongue. The wine was loosening his lips already. “Well, that is to say, if you could call what we had a relationship, it didn’t last very long. So it’s less of a worry, now.”

“Collette?” Harukar tilted his head curiously. 

“She was basically a mother to Sarel. We’d… attempted a relationship before I began my research into the Falmer, but of course it ended in disaster. As all my relationships do.”

“And how many have you had?” 

What a shameful question with an equally shameful answer. “Three, I suppose. If you count a teenage fling that lasted less than a month. And then the second one was with a fellow student when I was at the College of Sapiarchs. They all end the same way: her being the first to call it off. I just—I never seem to know what they want from me!”

“Pardon?”  

“Women. They confuse and elude me,” Aiden confessed, taking another long sip of wine. “I think I’m better off alone.”

Harukar wore a strange look, seeming to take a long moment to study Aiden. “Forgive me, this may be too forward, but… I had assumed you preferred men.”

Aiden snapped to sit up straight, letting out a too-loud laugh. “What? Why?” 

Harukar gave another one of his infuriating little shrugs. “Just a feeling, I suppose.”

“Well, I’m not. I don’t.” He hesitated. “At least, I don’t think I am… or do. I’ve never—”

Don’t lie to his face, Aiden. 

Ah, of course, it had been too long since his little Daedroth had interjected. 

We both know the fantasies that occupy your mind, alone, with only your hand to keep you company.

Aiden cleared his throat. “Even if a man showed interest in me, I’m not sure I’d even know what to do.” This conversation was getting out of hand. 

“I find it’s very much the same, regardless of sex or gender. The mechanics vary slightly, is all.”

“You mean, you’ve—” Aiden tried not to gape. “You’re—?”

“I’ve had many partners in my life so far. Men and women, and a few that fell somewhere in-between. I don’t really have a preference. It all depends on the person.”

“Oh… So, then—er—what do you find attractive in a partner?” 

Harukar hummed thoughtfully, looking off and to the right. “I like those with a quick wit. I rarely hold back my own sarcasm, so someone who doesn’t feel put off by that kind of humor. I also tend to be drawn towards more…bookish types. I think, being raised a warrior, I seek my opposite in a lot of ways.” 

“You can’t be serious.” 

“I very much am.” There was a playful glint in Harukar’s glowing eyes. “I’m also attracted to passionate people. Those who have a spark for life, one might say.”

“Is that—” Aiden did manage to catch himself that time and clamped his mouth shut. 

“Is that what?”

“Sorry, no. That… I feel like that would have come out wrong. It would have been rude.” 

Aiden might as well live with his foot in his mouth, he could hear his sister saying. Anything he thinks, he says. (It had been many, many years since she’d made that observation, and Aiden had thought that he’d improved since then.)

“Now I’m curious.” 

“I was going to ask if the attraction to… that ‘spark for life’, as you said, was because you were…” Aiden gestured vaguely in his direction. 

“Ahh, because I’m undead.”

Aiden smiled, though it was more of a grimace. 

To his relief, Harukar laughed. “You should have just said it. It would have been funny. It’s one of the things I like about you.” 

“That I have the chronic ability to fit my entire foot in my mouth?”

“Mmm, I understand it’s a quality that’s probably unbecoming of an Altmer.” Harukar leaned on the table, propping his chin in his hand. “But I find it charming… most of the time, at least.”

He finds you charming. He’s attracted to men, he likes bookish types, and he finds you charming.

Most of the time…

Aiden cleared his throat before refilling his tankard with another heavy pour of wine. 

--- These fucking guys...

[fractured-shield]

WIP Wednesday

not doing this as a tag game this week, but maybe if I post more actual excerpts it’ll keep me moving forward…here’s a bit from early on in chapter 8

Maybe Malin’s still grieving the ruined kingdoms too, he just doesn’t show it the same—

A shuddering bellow ripped through the silence. Then, the sound of wings. Before they could move, a dragon crested the row of houses opposite them, coming to rest on the top of a low wall. Its claws tightened around the stone, sending cracks down the already-brittle structure.

The rider held a torch—no, a lantern, lit with an unnaturally red glow, the same as Therien had seen the night before. Even in the warm light it cast, the dragon’s scales reflected a cold, glittering gold.

“The new Aureate,” Malin said under his breath, his sword already drawn in one fluid motion. He didn’t seem particularly afraid, and his horse stepped calmly forward a few lengths as the golden dragon shrieked, its needle-like frills rising around its neck.

“Vaefre.” The rider dismounted, speaking in a whisper that carried eerily far through the darkened street. His shaven head bore mage-tattoos, and more of the same marks traced down ashen-grey arms in swooping arcs like the ones Therien had seen in books. “I name this creature Vaefre. She is descendent of the Fifth god’s paradigm, and I name myself fated as the blessed dragon’s keeper.”

Another pair alighted on the roof next to them. This dragon was larger, with a plate of steel armor on its head and another on each forearm, scales purple-grey with a spiny protrusion on its chin. Its rider moved to stand next to the first, removing her deer-horned helmet as she did. She held a spear loosely in one hand. A fine chain wrapped between it and her wrist. At its end hung a heavy gemstone, its facets reflecting the light’s artificial fireglow as it swayed.

Therien watched unmoving, as if she could hide in the too-big cloak still wrapped around her. Outside of the cloak her hands were cold, near numb from the chill wind, and her white-knuckled grip on the reins felt clumsy and thick.

Her papa moved his horse in front of hers, holding his spear ready but waiting for Malin’s lead.

Ngelorim’s Golden Swordsman addressed the mages after a moment, his deep voice splitting the tense silence in two, the strength behind it easing her fear a little. “What is your business here? The people of the village, of Rhorn—what have they done to attract your attention?”

“Done?” The woman repeated, like it was some kind of joke but beneath the glint of mirth her voice was icy cold. “Nothing, of course. We aren’t here to hurt them. There are treaties in place, you know.”

Now her papa urged his horse forward a step. Instead of the usual high-strung sidestepping, the black horse stood squarely alongside Malin’s white one, unmoving before the dragon. “If you name yourself as the Aureate’s keeper, you claim the authority of the Lochieru sovereignty. Do you allow yourself to be recognized by the Allied Council, despite the implications of such a claim on those same treaties?”

For a moment, in the dim light, her papa seemed less withdrawn and forlorn—just as much a soldier as the Golden Swordsman. Before her was a grim, tall figure in plain armor, unassuming yet resolute, someone who served on Maithyr’s famed war-court and kept a precarious peace in a room of heroes and kings.

She’d never seen her papa in a real fight, outside of sparring or Tarnuvin’s festival games. She’d always had a hard time imagining it, gentle and placid as he seemed. But, no—this made sense, too. She felt safe, behind him.

“My brother’s been chosen by our god as keeper of an Aureate Standard-bearer. Both of us have claimed sovereignty together.” The woman paused, giving a thin smile as the lantern illuminated her face and her spear.

“What better place to make it known than here? At the crumbling ruins of your forsaken history—a city your Hyse allies won’t touch, a relic of a history they detest,” she mused teasingly. “You really think you have enough in common with each other to maintain your frail alliance once it’s tested?”

tag list: @just-emis-blog @orions-quill @honeybewrites @leahnardo-da-veggie @robin-the-blind-sniper-rifle

[rhikasa]

Introduction & Navigation

last updated 05.11.2024

about me

Hello, and welcome to my blog! My name is Erin, I use he/they pronouns, and this is my writeblr. I’m an occasional writer at the moment due to burnout, so posts containing snippets of my writing will remain elusive for now. Despite being rather sporadic when it comes to posting writing from my own wips, I do still love being given opportunities to ramble about them.

A few things to know about me:

I’m 23 years old, and my birthday is on April 4.

I’m a queer (nonbinary & ace), neurodivergent adult.

I have a BA in English Literature, but I initially attempted a degree in Creative Writing (a horrible decision really).

For those interested, I’m an Aries (sun) / Virgo (moon) / Leo (rising), and my personality type is INTJ.

I love animals; my family currently has three cats, a dog, three tortoises, a snake, and several fish.

My favorite genres to read and write are fantasy and science fiction.

I’m tag game and ask friendly! You’re welcome to tag me in writing related games, or anything else you’d like me to see, and don’t be afraid to stop by my inbox to ask questions or simply wave hello. Do be aware that I might be slow to respond most days because of social anxiety and/or lack of spoons.

navigation

my writing • answered asks • brain dumps tag

taglist masterpost • wip masterpost

tag games • wbw • sts

my wips

World of Skies Universe

The old guardians have vanished, slain by the warrior of darkness long ago. Memory of them has all but faded from the minds of mortals who have not lived under their divine protection and thus they have fallen to legend, but there are those who hold the hope that someday angels will return when the need arises.

Children of the Maar

summary in progress...

Elysian

Stolen from her former life, Saeth is taken to a world beyond hers; a hidden moon known as Elysium, where she learns about a secret society isolated far away from the hostile planet below. Very few in her position ever choose to resist their new life of luxury, but for Saeth, she would rather be up there with her wife or not at all.

Kinder

Generations ago, the last of humanity was forced to flee into caves far below the land they had once called home. Although the first few years were full of struggle to adapt, the magnificent city of Eldoris was built. Few alive today remember the feeling of sunlight on their skin, and fewer still are aware of the atrocities committed in the darkness that has kept a fragile peace for the residents within.

The Huntress & The Wolf

The small town of Aerilon is left shaken after the discovery of a brutal murder by the river’s edge. Disturbing markings upon the victim leave some of the towns folk to speculate this was not the work of another human being, but a nefarious creature hidden in plain sight, only revealing its true existence beneath the light of a full moon.

The Lost Generation

The last generation of mages has been decimated, their magic stolen from them by outsiders. When a young girl named Julia inherits powers that were not intended for her to receive, she is hidden away on Earth until she learns how to utilize her gift.

Witness

summary in progress...

[snowfolly]

Writing Patterns

I was tagged by @ollysoxisfree and @icybluepenguin thank you both so much!!

No pressure tagging @yurissweettooth @tragedybunny @tallymonster @queen-scribbles @brabblesblog & anyone who wants to do the thing!

Rules: list the first line(s) of your last 10 posted fics and see if there's a pattern!

I’ve not got a lot of work out since I started writing again later last year, but this is what I’ve got! A few of these lines are about hunger and longing, but otherwise I don’t think that I see much of a pattern (other than that they all revolve around Astarion lolol.)

(All of these works are one shots aside from Endlessly)

-

A Time Before: There was a time before blood, gods… a time before the incessant gnawing in his stomach, his palate ravenous for blood and blood and BLOOD and gods please MORE BLOOD and…

A Simple Life: “Imagine though, if we had stayed back in Evereska we could have had a simple life. Well… at least compared to the ones we’ve lived. Perhaps my bitch of a mother would have sold me off to your family to wed you — for a handsome dowry of course,” Tali mused, staring up at the night sky and the thumbnail of a moon that bled the faintest silver light upon the land, “can you even imagine? We would have been absolutely miserable.”

Nothing Can Make Up For That: For a time Astarion had screamed ceaselessly in the perpetual darkness, scratching his fingers to tatters, to the bones. They healed in a short time, as they always did, but he would run them ragged again and again.

Devoured: It seemed to Astarion that all he had ever known was hunger. Before his death he had only been peckish though; he had gathered a taste for riches and glamour rising through the ranks of Baldurian society.

Endlessly: Astarion glared at the fire from his makeshift excuse for a tent as he assessed the bizarre situation that he had found himself thrown into. He felt like a stone tossed across water, careening wildly and destined to sink.

(WIP) Night Blooming Flowers: “Keep em’ closed, love,” Tali breathed into his ear and Astarion grinned from the side of his mouth, exposing a coy glint of fang in the golden candlelight. He entertained his songbird’s little game by holding one pale hand over his eyes, though he desperately longed to behold his lover, whose lips now lingered so very close to his skin.

(WIP) untitled: Astarion eyed the ring under the glass, dazzling in the pale mage light set above the display. It was a pretty thing for the most part, a patterned gold band with two fine peridots surrounding an intricate enamel death head. The hollows of the eyes were set with small black diamonds, and it was the skull itself that he didn’t much care for. A memento mori.

[the-cryptographer]

Hello! For the WIP game -- may I ask about "everything i did i did on purpose"? Or "viscount and pet," if someone else has already asked about that one?

Answered for viscount and pet here.

Think I refined the title since I first made the doc to 'Things Fenris Did On Purpose'. In the most technical sense it's a prequel to the Merr becomes Falon'Din Kirkwall Polycule fic. But if that fic was about everyone dealing with Anders being uncomfortably manic, this fic is about everyone dealing with Anders being uncomfortably depressive.

It takes place in the immediate aftermath of The Last Straw and is about Fenris and Merrill and Hawke setting up suicide watch for catatonically depressed Anders who... gets much worse before he gets better. All while dealing with the very immediate issues of mass panic and rising crime and Kirkwall's collapsing infrastructure in the aftermath of the boom and the attempted annulment. I guess the points I'm trying to balance are 'the injustice and violence of confining Anders for involuntary treatment' vs 'him being a danger to himself and others, and in danger of being targeted for mob violence if left to wander about a very volatile Kirkwall' vs 'Fenris has so so many reasons to be absolutely pissed at Anders about the chantry boom and doubly pissed about playing caretaker for (another) mage while he's so angry' vs 'it's absolutely an act of love (and still no less an act of violence) that he's doing so anyhow'. (And Merrill compared to Fenris is far less conflicted about the Chantry Boom itself having been a good thing, but she is also drawn increasingly thin given the circumstances and is rapidly losing patience for tending to anyone's emotions but her own.)

Excerpt under the cut:

“Please, my friend,” Sebastian begged, “the abomination must answer for his crimes! You must see that!”

Must he?

Perhaps in a more fair world, Anders would have to answer for them. In a more fair world, perhaps Sebastian would not have lost every single member of his family. Perhaps Fenris would not have either. In a more fair world, perhaps there would be no justice or injustice, and no slavery or bloodshed. Mages and non-mages would all live together in shitting harmony, like one of the abomination’s shitting fever dreams, and none of this would have happened at all.

As it was, Fenris was living in a rather horribly unfair world, and he didn’t see how it was going to get any fairer by anything Sebastian was suggesting.

It was a shame that Sebastian’s adoptive mother had been killed. But executing Anders wasn’t about to bring her back, and Fenris didn’t think it was very fair at all that he was somehow being singled out to pay penance. That he should have to give up the ham and cheese sandwiches and lukewarm tea that Anders made him, the backrubs that Anders gave him, or the warm lazy mornings in bed with Anders’s soppy wet mouth around him. When Fenris had lost nearly as much as Sebastian had, and only less for the fact that it was never his lot in life to have more to lose to begin with.

Sebastian was angry again. Fenris had not been swayed by his pleading, so now he had returned to fiery burning rage.

“If I had been in that Chantry tonight, would you be waffling?!” Sebastian snapped.

“I do not know,” Fenris said, because it was true. Fenris had no idea what he’d be doing right now if Anders had murdered his friend, instead of someone else’s mother.

This did not seem to be the right answer. Sebastian looked rather hurt.

“I considered you a friend,” he told Fenris, more sadly this time.

Fenris felt his own bottomless sadness, the limitations of his person. “I still consider you a friend,” he admitted.

Sebastian, it seemed, was beyond the reach of Fenris’s words. “I considered you a friend, and believed you came to Kirkwall to seek freedom from the Magisters of Tevinter. But now I see it is by your own design that you still wear their shackles.”

Fenris had to fight the anger knotting up his brow.

Sebastian stood up straight, considerably taller than Fenris at his full height, and spoke in his most superior voice. “I see now, you still struggle to overcome that which your former Master taught you. You still struggle not to simper at the heels of Mage Anarchism, this Legacy of Tevinter.”

“You,” Fenris hissed, “know nothing of Tevinter’s Legacy. You know nothing of my struggles! Your entire life has been lived in the shade and safety of the Chantry and its Circles! You cannot even comprehend the horrors of the Magisters! Things I knowingly risk!”

“You are lost, my friend,” Sebastian said. “May the Maker’s light yet shepherd you from the Voi-”

“This was never about me!” Fenris snarled. “This is about you and the Grand Cleric and the mage!”

“If you are not under the dark influence of the apostate Anders, then help me bring him to justice,” Sebastian demanded.

“Leave!” Fenris shouted. “Leave now, Sebastian! Return to Starkhaven!”

Sebastian’s expression was resolute. As resolute as Fenris was sure his own was. It seemed there was nothing more to discuss between them.

Fenris turned away. “If I see you again tonight, I will not be extending the same mercy twice,” he spat one last threat, before returning to where the others were gathered in the disused passage beneath the docks.

Fenris felt equal parts guilty and enraged as he made his retreat. He hadn’t meant to be so short with Sebastian, who was distraught in the direct aftermath of the Grand Cleric’s death and Hawke’s and Fenris’s inability to condemn her killer. But thinking about this – this impulse of Fenris’s to empathise with Sebastian’s position – was only serving to infuriate Fenris more.

Because Sebastian certainly hadn’t seen fit to return the favour. To consider how Fenris might feel as a warrior and murderer, as a Tevinter expat, as a former slave and a lover.

Sebastian knew in full detail the circumstances of Fenris’s departure from Seheron. Sebastian knew that Danarius had demanded Fenris kill the Fog Warriors, no matter how Fenris cared for them. And Sebastian knew that the fallout had been both traumatic in its own right, and the destruction of whatever relationship existed between Danarius and Fenris.

Sebastian had known all that, and he had still tried to command Fenris to kill Anders on his behalf. And while Fenris hoped that, in better circumstances, Sebastian would have had the presence of mind to realise his request was both horrifically unfair in general, and personally insulting for Fenris specifically, it ultimately made little difference. Competing interests had divided them regardless. This was as effective an annulment of their relationship as any.

Although, as Fenris made his way down the ladder and back through the dingy underground, he couldn’t help but think that there was one person in particular who’d forced this conflict of interests to a head.

The mage was the one who had used dark magicks to destroy the Chantry, assassinate the Grand Cleric, and rile half the city to violence. And as someone who’d comparatively had a minimal role in inciting the night’s events, Fenris didn’t think it was very fair at all that he was the one being singled out to pay penance. Made to give up one of his closest friends, when he could count the total number of them on a single hand.