#WIP: Broken Thrones

[tavyliasin]

BG3 2025 Creative Challenge!

Baldur's Gate 3 Fandom Artists, Writers, and Creatives!

I would like to invite you to a year of prompts to create whatever you would like! SFW, NSFW, whatever medium you would like to create in, the choice is yours! The idea is that we have on prompt per month so it should be easier to follow along without becoming overloaded. You don't have to create something specifically for the event either - if you have a WIP or other work you're publishing that month that fits the description you are more than welcome to add that in! I'll make a new post at the start of each month with the details of that month's challenge prompt, but this will be our masterpost to start the year off with a bang. Details below the cut!

The Year Of Prompts

January - New Year New You Pick a new character, trope, or pairing. Something you haven’t tried before. Make it a challenge to do something new and different! February - Romance Novels Go for something romantic, or if romance isn’t your cup of tea try something around the Necromancy of Thay instead! March - Marching Forwards March to your goal to finish a WIP or LongFic, or March into a new world by making something in an AU! April - Fools Rush In Make something humorous, something fun, whether it’s based on a meme or a joke pairing or just something with a bit more whimsy and some laughs~ May - Maybe? What If? Reverse a trope or reimagine a part of the canon - what if things were different? 

June - June Bugs Create something centred around a game glitch or exploit, past or present! July - Why Would July To Me? A piece around lies, deceptions, and other ways the truth can be twisted or obscured. August - When In Rome… A piece themed around the customs of specific races, backgrounds, regions, or Guilds. Are they followed or broken? That’s up to you! September - Seven Deadly Sins Pick one, or more, of the classic “seven deadly sins” and see how that can relate to one or more characters or tropes. October - Days of the Dead Create something around a character death, a memorial, a lingering ghost, or find a way a character might cheat their death or be brought back from it~ 

November - Gnomevember Either create something centred on Gnome characters from the game, or the other story points around them (Steel Watch, Iron Throne, Runepowder, etc) December - Season of Giving Create a surprise gift for someone in fandom, or write a piece around a gift being given by or to a character or characters!

Rules

The rules are very simple!

Create your piece in 2025, preferably within the prompt month but if you post a little early or late that's fine too!

All pieces must be your creations or a collaboration - No AI or chatbot content

You are free to work in whatever medium you like for each and every prompt!

Set your own goal - you can do a short 100-500 word minific, some simple sketches, or write a whole 10k word one shot epic, or draw a full page comic. What matters is that it's a goal YOU want to achieve!

There will be options to submit prompts and fill prompts in the AO3 collections - this is entirely your choice! You can take a prompt if you like, work on something you had already started, or create something entirely new!

Have fun!

The Goal

The aim really is simple - to set some targets, and work on at least 12 things this year so at this time next year you can look back on your progress and celebrate your achievements. If you miss a month or turn in late, that's fine! Do what works for you!

AO3 Collections

For those of you that would like to, there will be a parent collection for the year event as a whole and some sub-collections for each month to allow us to keep everything nice and organised. It's completely optional if you would like to put your work on AO3 or not - you're more than welcome to just keep it on Tumblr or wherever you usually share your works!

This event is for you to use however you feel best, to inspire creativity, working towards manageable goals, and trying something different.

Social Media Tags

Use the tag #BG32025 if you would like to! I don't know if anyone else is using this one but I'll cross my fingers that we're the only ones~ Feel free to share the event and please do support each other through our creativity! A character or pairing or kink or trope might not be your cup of tea, but let's celebrate how it is there for someone else who might really enjoy it, and keep a positive and passionate view whilst respecting boundaries by tagging works appropriately as always <3

Thank you for reading this far and I hope to see you all through they year adding your works and creativity to our fandom <3 we have so much amazing talent here, I'm delighted to have the privilege of seeing it all~

[arcielee]

My body was bruised and I was set alight

Summary: You decide to pay your husband a visit. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader Word Count: 3.6+ Warnings: AFAB Reader, mentions of Targcest, infidelities, kissing, oral (f receiving), p in v, creampie, overstimulation. Author's Note: Thank you my beloved @zaldritzosrose for beta reading and helping me decide how this arc should end! 💜 This is part 3 of my Only If For A Night, my accidental short-series. I would advise you to read part 1 and part 2, but do what you want. I finished this WIP base on the poll created to celebrate hitting 2k followers! (Thank you, my loves! 💜) This is the final part for the Aemond arc. Title comes from Florence + The Machine. Valyrian translations: ābrazȳrys is wife and dōna ābrazȳrys is sweet wife

You were standing out on the terrace with an iron grip on your chalice, half-drunk, watching the slow rise of the moon and its silver spill streaking out over the dark blanket settling over the horizon. Below, you could hear the swell of the night life for Flea Bottom, the amber glow of manmade lights lining the streets, but your focus remained on the broken surface of Blackwater Bay, the salt air licking your face. 

Another somber sigh was followed by another swallow of bitter wine. Favor, you were learning, was something that could change as quick as the currents that now propelled the waters to crash white against the cliffside beneath you. 

It was an almost poetic view from your gilded cage, a place where your confinement began eight days prior after a misdiagnosis from the maester. Worry thrummed of your delicate condition, but you knew the only reason you fainted was caused by the constricting corset you happened to be wearing when your husband made his gallant return to the throne room. 

You had not seen him, much less spoken to Aemond since that night. It was something of a sinful replay in your mind, and it left you with an ache that the king could no longer sate. 

That did not matter since whatever was between the two of you, you knew that you did not love Aegon nor did he love you. It started as something more primal, more insatiable, but it also allowed you a new freedom within the castle grounds. 

It was a freedom you wished to keep, and the coupling was pleasant enough. It was why you cinched your waist on that day, another means to entice the king, to hold his attention while the lords of the realm paraded new skirts to try and sway his grace. 

You were lovely, but it restricted the air from your lungs, and what little you had was wrenched away with your audible gasp at your husband’s grandiose entrance.  

The doors swung heavy when his arrival was announced. Aemond was poised, as always, and his eye searched for you. You felt your blood searing to the surface and your vision narrowing to a pinpoint. The world pitched and you last saw his long gate crossing to catch you, the warmth of his palms moving to lift you into his arms. You felt the rumble of his chest as he called for the maester. 

As Aemond carried you back to your quarters, your head lulled against him, eyes fluttering, enveloped by his scent of dragonback and sweat, a woodsy musk that held onto his riding leathers. Your cheeks warmed from his intense proximity, from the steady beating of his heart, and the elder master–who struggled to keep with the prince’s pace–voiced his concerns of a possible fever. 

You felt your husband smirk, and you kept your eyes forward. 

The handmaidens were stunned to the stone when you entered, watching as Aemond moved to place you on the bed. He seemed well aware of the eyes on you both, and he reached to take your hand, bringing it to his lips, so close you felt his exhale, this ghost of a kiss. He then moved away to allow them to fret and your eyes followed after him, taking in his stilted posture, his hands crossed and rested on his lower back. 

The heat of his gaze was melting you into the linen. 

“You must rest.” The elder maester was flustering, mistaking the close scrutiny of the one-eyed prince. His skin was blotched with reds as he called crow that you were clearly with child; he was insistent on bedrest. 

The blood drained away from your blank expression, a scalding pour into your heart that was slamming against your ribs. You felt sick from his words, muted as the maester turned to offer his congratulations to your husband. 

Aemond kept his gaze fixated on you. His jaw steeled with a tension that spread to hold him in place. “You must do as he says,” his tone was leveled, tight, “ābrazȳrys.” 

You were commanded to remain in bed, left with a searing panic that stricken your bones and left you pinned to the mattress, a fear that throttled your throat of your paternal doubt for the babe you carried. There was ill-comfort in the memory, a silver haired child all the same–it only churned your insides. 

You were isolated as neither your husband, nor Aegon, visited you. Only once did the Lord Hand come by to express his pleasure at the prospect of another princess or princeling to be added to the growing lineage. 

No one else came. 

But you did not flourish with life. Instead your cycle came with a vengeance, and it was the same damn maester who returned with his sheepish admittance that he may have been wrong. “You can always try again, princess,” his eyes crinkled with his well-intentioned words while your insides curdled with its white-hot pain. 

Rest, he insisted once again, along with a cup of wine to help soothe your nerves. 

Alone again, the silence was near deafening until you decided to embrace the reprieve from the courts. Your days were spent abed while warmed stones were rotated from the hearth and pressed against your lower abdomen. You had a cup of Arbor Red for breakfast and supper, listening to your handmaidens' gossip about the latest skirts sent to the Red Keep to ensnare the king. 

You were not bothered by this, as you felt certain you could reclaim his affection again. And when your moon cycle finished, you requested a hot bath with oils from Essos and rose petals that floated on the milky surface. You asked for your silk finery, adding touches of exotic scents dabbed behind your neck and on your wrists. 

After you dismissed them for the night, you slipped on your robe and slippers, moving to the passageway Aegon had shown you. 

The torches were lit and low, a soft amber light to guide you. Your hand pressed to the cobblestones and cobwebs, your mind flitting to when Aegon first showed you this secret, how he pressed you against the very same wall, the heat of his body pinning you and his mouth capturing your own–

You blinked when you saw a Cargyll knight posted. 

“Forgive me princess,” he said with a pity that shimmered in his eyes. “The king has company tonight. I have been told he will not be interrupted, under any circumstance.”

The White Cloak then returned you to your room, leaving you to pour your sorrow in the chalice you now held. In truth, you were not mourning the inevitable end, but more so the freedom it had allowed you within King’s Landing. You would not fault Aegon–you knew firsthand that his passion was insatiable, notorious throughout the kingdoms. You also knew that the lords were desperate to catch his violet gaze, anything to align their house within the growing Targaryen dynasty. 

Your second cup soured your blood and you felt your vexation pouring into your heart, smoldering. You blamed Aemond. It was his fault that his infidelities pushed you to find your own pleasure, and his unjust jealousy kept you isolated–your own handmaidens had been shy to admit your lord husband guarded every entrance during your bedrest.

A dragon hoarding, you fumed. 

And for what purpose? He still had not even visited you since the day you were bedridden. 

This curiosity burned alongside your ire, something overwhelming that mixed with the wine that flushed your skin. You finished the last bit, grabbing your silk robe once more and throwing open your door to find the other Cargyll knight posted. 

He paled. “Princess.” 

“I wish to see my husband,” your tone was curt and left no room for negotiation. 

The soft clinks of his armor shadowed your steps, stopping once you arrived at Aemond’s door. It was unguarded and you recalled that fateful night. You were frozen, your muscles tensing and ticking before you regained enough control to give a sharp look over your shoulder. 

“You are no longer needed.” Your words felt thick on your tongue. The White Cloak was quick to leave and your skirt billowed with your final steps to move and open the door. 

Aemond was seated in a leather armchair placed in front of a large, oak desk. He was hunched over with his same studious furrow of his silver brow, a collection of parchment and ink, old books and tomes sprawled across. The glow from the hearth poured golden over him, touching the hard planes of his chest that peeked through his unbuttoned cotton nightshirt, and a yellow hue to his silver hair worn in a single braid, slung over his shoulder. 

He stopped and looked up to you, his bicolored gaze focused–one lavender and one sapphire–as though he had been expecting you.

You felt unnerved, the thought of returning to your room fluttering through your wine-addled mind. Instead, you closed the heavy doors behind you. “Lord husband.” It spilled thick from your stained lips, your liquid courage coaxing your steps closer towards him. 

He turned to face you, wood scratching the stone floor, his svelte slouch back in the chair that allowed you to see how far undone his shirt truly was. Your eyes trailed, your blood warming. 

He smirked. “Good evening, ābrazȳrys.”

It cut through you with the same acidity as the last night he sought you out. Now you were the one unforced in his chambers–pristine and dark and decorated with his ancestry–watching the cruel curl of his lips as he continued. “Perhaps you are lost? I know that the king handles your affairs these nights.” 

Your face twisted, blood rising and tears threatening with his chosen words. You managed to hold your tone. “I do not wish for the king,” your voice was soft, “but I wish for my husband.” 

He scoffed but it only emboldened you, burning hot through your veins and spilling from your lips. “I come to fulfill what is expected of us, but also for you to finish what you teased the last night we shared together.” 

Aemond looked at you, stunned by your boldness, a rose dusting across his sharp features and his lips pursed. 

You could not stop. The dam was bursting. “You dared give me a taste of something I did not think even possible within this marriage, and now I want it, I crave it.” Your tone rose. “I want that passion that you tormented me with. I want that same passion that you poured into the queen–!” 

You made a soft noise, your fingers flying to touch your lips, to scoop up what was said and swallow it again. The wine betrayed you and all you could do was watch, wide eyed, for how your husband would respond. 

Aemond held still, carved marble poised. His fingers touched his chin while his one eye flitted to you and then away. “You have no idea what you are saying–” 

It was your turn to scoff. You moved closer, your fingers touching the edge of the desk and following around, forcing yourself in his line of sight. “I saw you.” Your voice cracked with emotion, with a betrayal that ran so hot and so deep, surfacing again in the privacy of his quarters. “I saw you with her.”

You stopped yourself to gather the sorrow that threatened to release, pulling your anger back by the fistfuls and holding it tight behind your ribs; it burned. “I just…” you swallowed. “Well, it does not matter now. But know your actions are why I sought out my own comfort. I admit my sins, but I also know yours, husband.”

Silence settled thick, punctuated with the sounds of the embers, of the drawers opening and paper rustling, the clink of the top of the inkwell placed back. Your eyes were drawn to his slender fingers that fidgeted to straighten up the desk. When he finished, only then did Aemond look back to you, reconsidering you, his severity set beneath the red that now stained his cheeks. 

“What is it that you want?” He was not angry, but almost curious. 

You had not been asked this before. It was a torrid rush of sequential memories that poured over, pulling you to this moment–your initial optimism when you first came to King’s Landing, carrying your girlish idylls and romanticism that came knitted with the announcement of your betrothal to a Targaryen prince. You mistook his dutiful acts and his diligence for acts of devotion.

How you had wished, how you had hoped that it would become more–!

His touch grounded you, those same slender fingers wrapping around your wrist of the hand resting on the desk. You tilted your chin to look at him, a forceful rhythm of your heart trying to burst from your chest. 

You swallowed again. “I am your wife,” you moved closer, closer with your velvet tone. “I am yours, Aemond. 

You dared touch him, your hand breaking his hold and your fingers pressing to his chin, following the unmarred side. His lips parted, a moment to understand the affection shown and he surrendered to it. His face turned to your open palm, his breath tickling your wrist. You felt a heat that began to curl at the base of your spine, gooseflesh prickling your skin. 

His breath hitched as you leaned forward, allowing your neckline to dip, showing a hint of what was prepared beneath your silk. Your lips touched his ear. “I want you to show me what it is that you truly desire.” 

It erupted and he pushed from the desk, his composure cracking and his chest heaving, caging you to the edge with his hands pressed on either side until his knuckles showed white. You remained rooted, unflinching, unafraid to watch as the fire seared throughout, his nostrils flaring with whatever he battled within his mind. 

A decision was made with a kiss. Aemond crashed against you with a passion that you were quick to reciprocate. His arms moved to wrap around and pull you into his chest, his heat burning through the cotton, a clash of teeth and lips and his tongue–the same that carved into your cunt with a precision that allowed you a glimpse of the heavens, now curled to pull a moan from the back of your throat. 

His mouth moved, hot and demanding, open-mouth kisses that trailed your jaw and nipping on the curve of your neck. You were panting, you were alight. “What I desire,” his voice husked against your skin, in-between the assault of his lips, “I desire your taste on my tongue.”

You mewled, your fingers carving into his shoulder blades to hold yourself upright. His large hands roamed to the softness of your backside, lifting you enough to set you on top of his desk. You were breathless as his fingers dimpled into your plush thighs, splitting them apart to knit his slender waist between, claiming your mouth once again. 

Aemond settled into the cradle of your hips, pressing at his seams with a hardness that rubbed against your core. You moaned again, louder, your legs lifting to wrap around him and pull him closer, but he pulled back, kneeling in front of you. “Aemond–?”

His hands tore the silk so your legs would spread further, and you leaned back, propping yourself on your elbows. Your chin tucked to your chest, rapt to watch the black that swallowed the lavender of his eye, the slow rise and fall of his chest, his hummed satisfaction to see that you were bare beneath; the night air was cool against your cunt, your arousal surely glistening in the candlelight. 

You pushed up again, one handful of his shirt to pull him closer for another kiss, slower, softer, searching until he groaned against your mouth. You broke away, your lips swollen. “Who am I to deny my husband what he desires?”

His lips curled as he lowered himself, his hands slipping underneath your thighs to hold, moving close enough to lick up your slit. It jolted through you and you shuddered with his kiss to the bloom of nerves above. 

“Relax,” he breathed against your sensitive skin, and you rested back onto your elbows.

You watched the shimmer of his hair as his head tucked between, his tongue pressing to split your folds and curling upwards. You moaned, your back arching, and his fingers bit into your thighs, holding as he pressed closer, until his nose rubbed against you in a way that elicited a reborn passion that seared through your veins.

You lifted your legs to press the soles of your feet onto his broad shoulders, and he moved one hand, pressing to the inside of your thighs and trailing closer towards your heat. He suckled his fingers before they pushed into you, a new intensity that curled your toes into his skin. 

“Aemond–!” Your hands grasped to hold yourself closer, your fingernails combing through his hair with a light scratch against his scalp. 

He hummed against your cunt, pressing his fingers deeper with a delicious stretch, with a familiarity that made you whine. He touched something within you that reborn the very passion haunting you for weeks, something your core craved ever since that night… 

Aemond pushed you towards that precipice and your lungs ached with your bated breath, allowing enough for his name to spill like a fevered prayer, begging with your unabandon want. “Please, please–”

It was a delicious tandem of his mouth and tongue and his slender fingers splitting you open, a blossoming release that sparked at the base of your spine, a euphoria ripping through you and pulling you from your body. 

Your legs were still shaking as Aemond moved to drape them over the edge of the desk. He towered over you, his sharp chin gleaming from your release. He looked at you. “I believed I married a shy and demure girl from a noble house,” his tone was dark, but teasing. He leaned over you, his eye glittering like the sapphire stone in his scarred socket. “I tried to be careful and courteous, as though you would break.” 

You reached for him, your fingers carding through his hair and curling into the nape of his neck, pulling him close for another consuming kiss. Passion rumbled your bones with the taste of yourself on his lips, heating the marrow and pouring into your core once again. 

“Break me, Aemond,” you breathed against his lips. 

His drawstrings were loosened enough, shifting to press himself to your silken folds, his length spearing you through to the desk. Your body was pliant, wanting, but you still stretched to mold around him. Aemond groaned, another powerful thrust to sheath himself fully into your heat. 

You shuddered, your nipples pebbling, and you clenched. 

Aemond paused, his jaw tight as he looked you over. His silver hair spilled from the braid, cascading over his shoulders, and he leaned forward to kiss you again, his tresses tickling your skin. 

You sighed, you shifted, wrapping your legs around his narrow waist, and he pressed forward, pressed deeper. “Gods,” his head tucked into the curve of your neck, his words rumbling through you, “you were made for me.” 

You could only mewl in reply, overwhelmed with the powerful pace he set, sparking bright in front of your eyes as his hip bones bruised against you. It pulled something deeper and you swore it was too much. “Please, Aemond, I cannot–”

“You can and you will, until I am finished with you.” You felt his smile curving against your neck, prickling your skin with the pleasure that thrummed beneath. “But I promise, dōna ābrazȳrys, I will never let you go now–”

He pulled back, his hands grabbing into your hips to hold as he snapped against you. Your cunt suctioned to bring him closer and he complied, a brutal pace that sparked a new euphoria that simmered to the surface. You felt drunk on the pleasure threatening, a slickness that was spilling between your thighs. 

“I can feel you,” he taunted, breathless and flushed. His hand pressed to your lower abdomen, his fingers spreading lower until his thumb slipped between your folds, slow circles to your bundle of nerves that increased with his thrusts. “Have you been so deprived, dōna ābrazȳrys–” 

You could not hear him, not with how your blood roared in your ears as that passion imploded with a white-hot rapture. You shattered beneath him, a pleasure trilling through your nerves and your veins, spreading to every fiber of your being, a thousand pieces strewn across the oak desk. 

Aemond groaned above you, spilling hot, his cock throbbing in rhythm with his heartbeat. You blinked to focus, your lashes wet from your tears. He looked down at you, bending over until his face pressed to your chest, his lips littering you with careful kisses as he softened and slipped from your cunt. 

You felt the spill, sticky between your thighs, your skin aflame with every press of his lips. Aemond pushed up, but not before slipping his arm under the arch of your back, pulling you up with him. His hands moved to cradle your face, another kiss to draw your breath. 

“Stay,” he whispered, “but only if you want.” 

You nodded in a daze, watching as he moved around you: a damp cloth that wiped away his spend, his fingers curling beneath your chin as he placed another kiss on your forehead. He pulled away the last of your silk, and you nestled under his sheets, your body bare and molding to your husband, enjoying the heat that permeated from him and the rhythm of his heart against his skin. 

It was a new beginning with the same characters, that which included the damn maester who would later announce that you were, in fact, pregnant.

Only this time, you would hold no paternal doubt for the silver haired babe you were surely carrying. 

Only If For A Night masterlist arcie's navi | HotD masterlist

[sunshinemorningstar]

Trials of Apollo animatic wip

Edit: Just realized that things would probably make a lot more sense with the script, so here it is :)

(Keep in mind, this is something I made for a drama project, so a lot of this is whittled down to be comprehensible to people who haven't read ToA- also the reason for the stage directions in the script)

(Music passage 1)

Meg: So, a god again, huh?

Apollo: Indeed, but I will not continue like before. I've learnt from my mortality, and Olympus is… 

Meg: Messed up?

Apollo: Yes, that. 

Meg: Hah, no surprises there. So, what'll you do about, y'know, your dad?

Apollo: I… don't know yet, but what he did… does to me, it isn't right, and neither is what he does to demigods, or… the rest of Olympus, and he cannot be allowed to continue

I broke free on a Saturday morning

I put the pedal to the floor

Headed north on Mills Avenue

And listened to the engine roar

(Music Passage 2)

Meg: So, you've been hanging out with your relatives, huh?

Apollo: My godly siblings, yes. We've not always been kind to one another, but I hope we can be, in the future. You understand.

Meg: Yeah, it's nice to get to know some of my siblings without Nero breathing down our necks

My broken house behind me and good things ahead

A girl named Cathy wants a little of my time

Six cylinders underneath the hood crashing and kicking

Aha! Listen to the engine whine

I am gonna make it through this year if it kills me

I am gonna make it through this year if it kills me

(Music Passage 3)

Meg: So, a revolution?

Apollo: He cannot be allowed to act without recompense, I cannot chance that he will hurt my family again, not you, or my children, or Artemis or any of my divine siblings

Meg: (sits down) …Or you

Apollo: Or me. 

I played video games in a drunken haze

I was 17 years young

Hurt my knuckles punching the machines

The taste of Scotch rich on my tongue

(Music Passage 4)

Meg: (getting up, begin slowly walking off) So, what's it you wanted to talk about?

Apollo: …I got Athena on board

Meg: (stops) Oh

Apollo: We're confronting him tomorrow

Meg: Okay… Don't die, dummy

And then Cathy showed up and we hung out

Trading swigs from a bottle all bitter and clean

Locking eyes, holding hands

Twin high maintenance machines

I am gonna make it through this year if it kills me

I am gonna make it through this year if it kills me

I drove home in the California dusk (Come on stage; take quiver)

I could feel the alcohol inside of me hum (Pause and emotionally prepare)

Pictured the look on my stepfather's face (Open door)

Ready for the bad things to come (Draw arrow; Zeus turns; Fire)

I downshifted as I pulled into the driveway (Lightning thrown; Dodge + Explosion; Another shot)

The motor screaming out stuck in second gear (Shot lands; Lighting thrown; Lightning blocked with arms)

The scene ends badly as you might imagine (Lightning; Lightning)

In a cavalcade of anger and fear (Reach for arrow; Realize the strike is coming, and fall to the ground at “fear”)

There will be feasting (sparks in the corner) and dancing (sparks in the corner) in Jerusalem next year (Tableau as Apollo has his anime power of friendship flashback)

I am gonna make it through this year if it kills me (Get up with great difficulty; Stumble)

I am gonna make it through this year if it kills me (Take arrow, step to strong beat— make + through, stab at “kills me”)

(Music Passage 5)

The aftermath; reeling from his bittersweet victory in the first half

Apollo: I… I did it… We won… (relieved, scared, tired smile)

Olympian throne room bg swirls and fades as if teleportation; Aeisthales

Apollo: (~Eye contact of understanding~) …hey Meg…

Meg: (~Pause of processing~) …You did it, you killed him

Apollo: Yeah…

Meg: So, what's next?

Apollo: I… don't know, but… there's time to find out 

[of-sinners-and-seas]

A Song of Spirits

OF SINNERS AND SEAS - BOOK ONE

A WIP INTRO

From the minds of @isabellebissonrouthier and @lady-grace-pens !

GENRE: adult. high fantasy. dark fantasy. dark romance.

POV: third person limited. past tense.

STATUS: writing.

CW: gore. strong language. explicit sexual content.

VIBES: ruby hearts and obsidian eyes. crashing waves and thundering skies. the bile of regret. the seduction of sin. tired eyes. heavy sighs. old photographs. tarot cards whose edges are worn by love. a broken body in a black room. clashing swords. a dusty throne. secrets exchanged in a back alley where the only judges are the street lamps that blind the stars above. pearls. jazz. rusted bars of a once-gilded cage. self-proclaimed godhood. bruises from lips that used to berate you. fresh ink from a letter scrawled in the dead of night. hidden longings. confessions. voices in the wind uttering words of destiny.

clotted emotions. a journal in tatters. flashes of light in the corner of your gaze. a pair of stilettos echoing down a rain-slick street. the stench of death. creaking wood. weapons that belong in your hands. the ache of nostalgia. the weight of the present. the sharp cracking of autumn leaves. milking blood from a wound that won’t heal.

THEMES: fate vs dreams. loyalty vs betrayal. history. secrets. self-worth. loneliness. mysticism and fortune telling. power and control. what do you want and how far will you go to get it? where will chasing it land you? In a better or worse position? Could you even handle it? How can you be sure?

SYNOPSIS:

Seven pirates. Seven thrones. Seven deadly sins.

All vie for dominance over their fantastical world, thinking themselves to be as close to immortal as could be. But the question of what, exactly, they are remains elusive, as is the reason why they crave a seat atop the world’s throne, battling to be the most dangerous sin of them all.

Some long for power. Some lust for a sense of identity. Others simply chase the thrill of the war they’ve locked themselves into.

Is not the root of all clashing swords a wretched cry for one’s own purpose?

It is for Katty, mistress of Envy. Her interest in the eternal war has been waning, and the figures roaming the streets of Eiffel have captured her attention more and more.

Families. Friends. Couples unscathed by the tests of time.

Her presence on her own pirate ship has become a rarity. Her lover, Delvan of Greed, has waxed on about his disapproval of her flippant desires, stressing the importance of what truly matters in their lives.

Fortune. Power. Status.

Katty knows this. And yet, she aches for more.

When the cards of fate unfold for her a passionate affair with the prince of Pride, Braven, behind the backs of their allies, Katty remembers the spark that being Envy once carried for her.

It’s only natural she chose him to accompany her on a secret mission to infiltrate the ship of Gluttony, also known as Flint. While Braven seeks information regarding Flint’s relentless search for who they are, Katty seeks a chest of personal valuables he’d stolen from her. More than either of them bargained for, Braven is captured and Katty is filled with regret. Sooner than she could even think to fall back on her own allies for aid, Flint captures them, too.

Katty must rescue them. And she must rely on Braven’s twin sister, wretched Morannah of Lust, in order to stand a chance against that giant, hulking man.

When the girls invade, cruel revelations are sparked: one calls into question the sins’ immortality, and the other permanently alters the nature of their war.

After all, what is an ally worth when all ends in betrayal?

•••

Pinterest Board | YouTube Playlist

INTRO TO THE SERIES

MEET THE SINS:

Envy | Pride | Lust | Greed | Wrath | Gluttony | Sloth

EXPLORE THE WORLDS:

Eiffel | Polarys & Lorallyn | Geldour | Valoma | Guisse | The Desolate

MEET THE FIRST MATES:

Gigi | Mikael | Désirée | Alusia | Marigold

•••

TAGLIST: @the-inkwell-variable @fifis-corner

[nessataleweaver]

FIC: By right of blood (Game of Thrones)

RATING: PG

FANDOM/PAIRING: Game of Thrones; Jon/Sansa (implied)

SUMMARY:  Robb Stark’s return to Winterfell has been a long time coming.  But to his dismay, his homecoming is not the welcome he expects.

NOTE: show!verse, but the Red Wedding went slightly differently. It also diverts Sansa’s canon storyline at the same point it’s still currently stuck at in the books, with her in the Vale posing as Alayne Stone. I actually expanded this from a WIP I never got around to finishing back in 2020, so the jonsa is only implied here; let me assure you it’s quite real though.

PROMPT: for jonsa-halloween for their 2024 event, using the October 29th prompt  ‘Came back wrong!’ In this story, that can be taken several ways...

This story can also be read on AO3

Robb Stark, King in the North, couldn’t hold back a sigh as the imposing view of Winterfell broke over the horizon.

He’d been away too long.

“Is that Winterfell?” Talisa asked quietly, from her seat in the carriage that rolled beside Robb’s horse.

“Yes,” Robb nodded happily.  “I have to warn you, I don’t know what shape it’ll be in.  I haven’t been back since before the Ironborn attacked.  Roose Bolton recommended his bastard as castellan, but given that we now know he was behind what happened at Uncle Edmure’s wedding...”

Robb bit his lip to hold back un-Kingly tears.  The only reason Robb, Talisa, and the child that swelled her belly like a full moon were alive was because of his mother’s suspicions - and her sacrifice.  Along with many of Robb’s bannermen, she’d died during what was already being called ‘the Red Wedding’.  Robb had managed to bring home most of the bannermen’s bodies, but he’d left his mother’s remains in a burning boat in the Trident, like her Tully ancestors before her.  Robb and Talisa had already agreed that their first daughter would be named in tribute.

Robb’s first hint that perhaps he wasn’t as well-informed on the state of affairs as he should have been came when he saw Winterfell up close. 

It was... perfect.  There was no sign that the seat of the Starks had ever been attacked, except for a few fading scorch marks here and there on the walls.  It was better than perfect – the Broken Tower had even been repaired.

The second hint was when Beth Cassel came to meet him, wearing a Yi Ti-styled tabard bearing the Stark crest. She swept a graceful, exquisitely correct curtsey.

“As the steward of Winterfell, I greet you, King in the North.” With a respectful nod to Talisa, she added, “and his Queen Consort.”

His third hint came when she offered them bread and salt.

* - * - * - *

Robb was furious, and only barely hiding it.  This was only tempered by an ever-increasing sadness, accompanied by an also-ever-increasing feeling of trepidation.

Talisa had been ensconced in a set of beautifully furnished rooms that Beth had told them had been designated for them whenever they cared to visit, and would be called the Royal Suite in their honour.

It was in the guest quarters.  Not the family wing. Alongside those offered to the few bannermen who’d accompanied him to Winterfell, the rest who’d survived the war peeling off from his entourage to return to their own homes, eager to put matters into place for the approaching of winter.

Robb didn’t recognise a single person in the halls besides Beth.  Every enquiry he made about a member of staff he remembered from before he left received one of two responses:

“He/she died fighting the Iron-Born.”

Or the even more popular “He/she was killed by the Bolton bastard.”

The only exception was Mikken; when Robb had glimpsed a tall, strong youth who oddly reminded him of Robert Baratheon in the smithy, Beth had remarked to Robb’s joy that Gendry had made his way to Winterfell on Arya’s recommendation.

“We don’t know where she is currently, but we’re sure she’s alive.”

This had been followed by a dismal variation on a depressingly familiar refrain.

“Mikken was crippled by the Bolton bastard, so he’s instructing Gendry further while he supervises the smithy, now that the rebuilding is done.  We still have a lot of preparation to do for winter, including expanding the glass houses both here and at Weeping Water castle.”

“Wait - Weeping Water Castle?” Robb knew the Weeping Water river, of course, but wasn’t that right next to-

“The former Dreadfort, your grace.  With Roose dead at your hand for his betrayal, and his Frey wife and last remaining legitimate child slaughtered by his bastard, everyone thought that it was only fitting that the bastard’s wife be awarded the Bolton holdings as recompense for her suffering, and to keep anyone who might have supported the Bolton’s out of the seat.  Even Lady Dustin agreed.” 

“But who is she?”

“The former Jeyne Poole.  The Bolton bastard married her, claiming she was Lady Arya, in order to strengthen his claim on Winterfell.  We’ll need you to confirm her in the position before you leave, as well as confirm that she can hold it under her maiden name.  Given that she’s highly likely to die childless, Lady Jeyne will probably ask you to designate one of your children as the heir.”

With that surprising comment, Beth opened the side door to the Great Hall.  “Please excuse me not announcing you with due heraldry, your grace, but Lady Sansa is in the middle of the Day of Judgment and Appeals.  We prefer not to interrupt the hearings.  I’ll announce you as soon as the current hearing is done.”

Robb stood and watched as Sansa, in an elaborately carved rosewood chair placed on the bare dais where the family tables sat during feasts, presided over the people of Winterfell as if she were a queen. A very good one.  Beth had cleverly avoided answering any questions about what Sansa was doing in Winterfell instead of King’s Landing, and Robb found his curiosity burning almost as hotly as his anger.

Less than ten minutes later, Robb Stark, heir to Winterfell and King in the North found himself standing before his younger sister feeling like a supplicant, trying not to puke at the detailed list of what Roose Bolton’s bastard had done to his people.  Trying to digest the news that his silly little sister, who spoke of nothing but songs, sewing, and suitors, had stolen his rightful place from under him while he’d been avenging their father’s murder.

"I am Lord of Winterfell, and King in the North!" Robb thundered, his voice echoing off the stone walls of their ancestors.

"Yes, you are King in the North, by right of acclamation," Sansa agreed.  "You were chosen as such by your bannermen." Then her expression turned to mirror-blank ice, and her voice became harsh as the depths of winter.  "But you are no longer Lord of Winterfell.  You lost Winterfell to the Ironborn.  You lost it because you trusted Theon, and he betrayed us all. He murdered our brothers, leaving me as the rightful heir.  Then you gave permission for the Boltons to take it.  You approved of that monster coming to Winterfell. You allowed that monster to torture and slaughter it's people.

"So I did what you were too busy elsewhere to do.  I took back our home.  I made an alliance with our cousin Robin Arryn; I brought warriors from the Vale and I freed the people here from death and terror.  Winterfell is mine, by right of conquest.  It's people support my right of blood.  I am the Stark in Winterfell now, and so I shall remain.  After all, I'm the only other candidate. And I have the support of our only remaining family."

Robb looked at her incredulously.  "Wait - Jon?  You went to the Night's Watch?"

A shadow moved from behind Sansa's chair, and Robb nearly jumped out of his skin.  It took several heartbeats for him to recognise the black curls and pallid face.

"Jon? What are you doing here? Why aren't you at the Wall?"

Jon reached for the neck of his black leather jerkin, and slowly unfastened it.  He wore no shirt underneath, and Robb stared in utter shock - not at his scandalously bare chest, but the several livid, still blood-red scars.

How could any man have taken a blade to the heart and live?

"My Watch has ended," Jon told him solemnly, as he re-fastened his clothing.  "I serve the Lady of Winterfell, now."

He laid his hand on Sansa’s shoulder... and something dark in the back of Robb’s mind recognised it as a touch of possession rather than simple support. The Sansa that Robb knew would have shrugged off any physical contact from Jon with a scandalised look.  This Sansa leaned into it.  Jon had always been pale, but now the skin of his hand looked downright ghostly in contrast to the deep blue of Sansa’s gown, the sparkling wolf emblazoned across her chest seemed to dance as she reached up to place her hand on top of his.

"Unfortunately, Winterfell is still being repaired from being sacked twice in as many years, so the King in the North will have to make his royal seat elsewhere, I'm afraid.  Might I suggest Moat Cailin?  It's location is highly strategic, and it's one of the few holdfasts where you won't have to rob a noble family of their home in order to take it for yourself.”

Robb looked around the assorted people in the Great Hall, and realised that he was surrounded not simply by Winterfell’s people, but Sansa’s congregation.  Judging by some of the glares, if he raised a single word of objection or insult to Sansa, he might not make it back to the Royal suite alive.

He would be able to do nothing to regain Winterfell until he left it.

Sansa continued, her voice cool and soft as snow, “I negotiated with the Iron Bank for the funds to rebuild and make the needed improvements, but if you wish to do the same, you’ll have to send your own representative.  I’m happy to provide a letter of introduction to ease their way.  I’m sure you can ask our Tully relatives to help, or leverage your wife’s dowry as security.  After all, you had all the same teachings about marrying to the benefit of House Stark that I did; I’m sure you knew better than to spend one of your most important political assets on a bride who could bring nothing of benefit to our House.”

“And what of your own husband?” Robb snarled.  “I hardly think the sons and daughters of the North will enjoy being ruled by the Lannister Dwarf.”

Sansa’s eyes glittered like icicles.  “You refer to the marriage made under the Seven in a Sept, not by a weirwood by blessing of the Old Gods?  A marriage I was forced into by threat of a sword through the back, before my courses were regular enough for me to be deemed fertile?  That marriage was without my permission, or the permission of my parents or guardian, and unconsummated.  I have already applied for it to be set aside by the Church of the Seven.  Given that my husband is currently under sentence of death for kin-slaying and regicide, I don't think there will be much objection, even if I do not become a virgin widow by the time my application is judged.  Though since half the northern nobility have died in a war you lost by not keeping your breeches fastened, the available candidates for my husband are limited.”

Sansa gave a long look at Jon, standing devotedly by her side.  “Who knows?  The Lady of House Mormont states all her daughters were fathered by a bear, and they are acknowledged by all as her heirs.  Perhaps mine will be fathered by a wolf?

“I suggest you act quickly, my King.  Winter is coming... and very soon.”

AFTERWORD: Robb quickly realised that most of his own support literally died off in the War of the Five Kings.  He never got around to doing anything about Moat Cailin; Robb lost heart after Talisa died in the aftermath of childbirth, followed very swiftly by needing to present a united front for Daenerys Targaryen, deciding that the War for Dawn was more important. He did at least manage joyful reunions with Arya, Bran and Rickon. While Jon got to kill the Night King (otherwise what was that stupid prophecy even for?) Robb still managed to die as a legendary hero, becoming the only Stark to die by dragonfire after shoving a sword through Daenerys to save Jon from kin-slaying. There was just enough left to bury in the crypts at Winterfell, complete with crown. 

Sansa was formally crowned as his successor, the first Queen in the North, with the support of all her siblings. She orchestrated a new golden age for the Kingdom of the North, becoming known as ‘Sansa the Glorious’. Jon finally gained the Stark name as her Prince Consort, choosing to forego the title ‘King’ so no one would get any ideas about Sansa not being the one in charge.

Robb’s daughter Catelyn grew up in Winterfell surrounded by loving family, including lots of cousins always ready to fight anyone who insulted her foreign heritage. As a young teen, Catelyn volunteered to give up any right to the throne in what she saw as atonement for Robb’s mistakes that gave the Boltons the opportunity to cause so much harm. Jeyne Poole instantly demanded to adopt Catelyn as her heiress.  Catelyn became so highly regarded in the North that she ended up holding a tournament to decide her husband out of a dozen worthy suitors from the North, the Vale, the Riverlands and even one of the Tarly’s, becoming ruling matriarch of the Starks of Weeping Water. She later started what was to become the first school in the North devoted solely to the healing arts, open to anyone regardless of birth or gender.  Now called The Talisa Stark School of Medicine, it still operates today.

[gyutopia]

ᯓ★ please read my rules before anything, some questions you have may already be answered there!

ᯓ★ these are all my original works. all works are purely fiction and most contain mature content (18+), therefor it should not be viewed by minors. please do not repost or translate my work!

┆彡 any titles missing links are wips and have yet to be posted !

┆彡 f fluff a angst m mature s slice of life su suggestive ♡ personal fav

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ lee heeseung

coming soon

⟿ temptation: having just completed your graduate work in psychotherapy, you’re eager to begin a career as a marriage counselor. you land a job as a counselor at a matchmaking firm for millionaires and meet heeseung, a charismatic client who makes no effort to hide his attraction to you. the only catch is…he’s engaged. ┊. ➶ ˚ a m nsfw

⠀ ⠀ ʚɞྀི part one can be found here, and part two can be found here

coming soon

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ park jongseong

coming soon

⟿ dried flowers: it’s always been jay, even all those years ago when you were fresh out of a relationship with your first love hueningkai. it was jay who was always there, the man who helped you find yourself again and showed you your worth, the man you could clearly picture a future with, the father of your twins. so why are you now having doubts about your marriage? it’s always been jay…hasn’t it? ┊. ➶ ˚ a f nsfw

⟿ situationship!jay texts: jay wants more but you like what you have going on. ┊. ➶ ˚ su

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ sim jaeyun

⟿ world of sinners: your parents are the head of one of the nation’s most lucrative syndicates and your older brother is heir to the throne which leaves you free to leave this world of evil behind. you’ve been waiting for this day for twenty years of your life, you can practically taste the freedom. what will you do, however, when your parents arrange a marriage for you to bind together their empire with the lee’s to stop a full on gang war? ┊. ➶ ˚ a m nsfw f

⟿ overpass graffiti: “they say we fall in love three times in our lifetime: our first love is the one that breaks us, leaves us hopeless and lost, this then brings us to our second love, the one which picks up the broken pieces of our heart and mends it back together; heals us from the heartache the first left and lastly, our third and final love⏤the love that’s supposed to last. for you, your best friend sim jaeyun happens to be two out of three.” ┊. ➶ ˚ a m nsfw f s

↳ bad habits: Sim Jaeyun will always have a part of your heart; he was the first man you ever loved and the first man to ever break your heart. Yang Jungwon however, was the first man to ever sacrifice for you and your happiness. Now that you have Jake, you can’t help but wonder if you’ve made a catastrophic mistake. ┊. ➶ ˚ a m nsfw

coming soon

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ park sunghoon

coming soon

coming soon

coming soon

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ kim sunoo

coming soon

coming soon

coming soon

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ yang jungwon

coming soon

⟿ bad habits: Sim Jaeyun will always have a part of your heart; he was the first man you ever loved and the first man to ever break your heart. Yang Jungwon however, was the first man to ever sacrifice for you and your happiness. Now that you have Jake, you can’t help but wonder if you’ve made a catastrophic mistake. ┊. ➶ ˚ a m nsfw

coming soon

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ nishimura riki

coming soon

coming soon

coming soon

© gyutopia- all work is owned by me. do not copy, translate or transfer my work to any other blogs or sites and do not claim as your own.

banners are thanks to @cafekitsune

[vesanal]

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊The 17th Day of Writemas₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Sup guys! How y’all doing on this fine day? I know for one, I am doing amazing. If y’all don’t know about this writing challenge yet then look here at the invite post for all the info!! Today’s prompts are right here! I cannot believe this is almost over, wow. It feels like I just started this.

Prompts used:

Feeling: The sparkle of stars armor

Dialogue: "Take that look off your face. Take your pity and drown in it."

Setting: Nothingness

I had a lot of fun showing a lot of Idalia’s strict tough-on-crime(despite running an ““ex”” crime ring) attitude today! Sure hope this doesn’t come as a response from any past experience wink wink... Have as much fun reading it as I did making it! <3

Read about the WIP here!!

Enjoy!!

------------------------------

“What’s this one’s deal?” Idalia spoke, carefully fitting her gauntlet over her fingers, and looking down from her desk to stare directly at the Countress, the defendant of Milev, and the offender, a cuffed young girl, by her side, “Countress, please present the Watch’s case for the criminal.'“

A young girl screamed aloud suddenly, her voice cracking as it filled with as much confusion as it did fear, “Criminal? But I haven’t even had a trial yet! Please, lady, find some compassion within your soul—”

A smack to the girl’s mouth came from the Countress using the back of her armored hand, “Quiet you! Don’t you dare plead with the Sovereign Mistress now when you yourself were the one to have committed an unlawful offense against the people of Milev. We know what we saw. You are very lucky to not already be dead”, she muttered.

The Countress went on, “Lady of the people, ma’am, I hereby declare to you that this criminal sent here today has broken the natural law and brought disorder to Milev. The Watch has given me all the details that I have outlined for you on the parchment before you. Including, but not limited to, theft, destruction of property, resisting arrest, and threatening a Watch member, which is an act of terrorism, as discussed. I suggest skimming the stack of papers over and making a decision accordingly.”

Atop the tall desk standing overhead of the two, Idalia adjusted herself in her tall throne-like seat, leaning back onto her chair and kicking up one of her heavy boots to sit atop the desk. She glanced at a few of the pages and nodded to herself, making a verdict in her head. 

Idalia folded her hands together, “Hm. Well, the cleaners are free today. So, I guess that means this strong-willed young lady will be dealt with by them now. Guards, you are relieved of your Watch duties for right now, take her off right away, please. Everyone else is dismissed.”

“Please reconsider the punishment! Please!” The girl yelled through the commotion again.

The girl pleaded on her knees and up to Idalia. From all the way at the top of the desk, not much could she pick out from her oppressor. Though small tendrils of striking red hair and sparkles of her pristine armor could be partially seen peeking out of the dark nothingness that presented itself before the girl, it was like she was trapped in a black void as something came to swallow her up whole. Dread hit her hard, nothing then at the moment could humanize the women sending her to her death. It was torturous.

"Take that look off your face. Take your pity and drown in it." Idalia decisively stated, her face revealing itself from the darkness.

Grabbing the girl by the chains and yanking her out of the Sentencing Chamber, the Watch members guarding the room dragged her to another room across the hall. Echoed screams tried to escape back into the room to Idalia for mercy. But, with one swift move, the Countress of the closed case shut the doors, silencing the room. 

The Countress wrapped her flowing white hair up into a loose bun on top of her head. She hid her angular face by putting back on her silver helmet that she kept on the table beside her. Masking her pale blue skin, she snapped the heavy metal helmet back into place. In a voice concealed by her helmet she spoke to Idalia again, but a bit more casual this time.

“Last one down, my liege.” She smirked up to Idalia.

Idalia sighed, rubbing her tired eyes with her charcoal hands, as she got up her chair and off the desk she watched over the trial on, “It’s such a shame to have crime on the loose. And here I thought I had eradicated all danger from Milev by now. But no, it feels like more than ever rogues have come into town and broken all the laws I set to protect our own.”

“Mistress, do not worry any further. If more ever do show their faces, fear will work well to keep them in line. Just as well as it does with the Milev citizens. Which is just what we need to prosper.”

“It’s not about prosperity, Countress Aisik. It’s about survival. And agreeing to complete order and passivity for those who are to be protected by us, so we have a reason to die for their safety.”

“Yes. What you wish, my lady.” Aisik held in her tongue as she faithfully bowed her head to her leader.

------------------------------

(PLEASE tell me if you wanna get added to a tag list here because I genuinely don't know who to tag lol. I'll edit this and add you in!! <3 )

TAGLIST SO FAR: @sunflowerrosy @seastarblue

@thebookishkiwi @viridis-icithus @corinneglass

Our wonderful host <3 → @agirlandherquill Have a lovely day everyone!!

[cappulcino]

Navigation post / Masterlist

Hello, everyone! My name is Ash (though you can also call me Samael), and I am a storyteller in the making. I have always been reluctant to share my work, but in the spirit of self-improvement and because I actually love writing so much, I recently decided to take the leap.

All of my works will be posted here, as well as on AO3.

Requests now open!

My requests are currently open for ficlet prompts. It would really help me get back in the mood for writing and then maybe I can also finish my WIPs (see list below).

What I will write:

Character x character

Character x OC

Character x reader

Almost all genres

Adult content I feel comfortable with

What I will not write (unless maybe you pay me? 👀):

Any pairing including a real person (no actor x reader or shipping real celebrities together)

Adult x minor interactions other than parent/child or hurt/comfort settings

Pairings with two characters played by the same actor (I personally don't like it)

Non-con tropes

(List to be completed later)

You can check the fandoms I currently write for on my profile in my bio. They are in "order", meaning they go from most to least interested in as of today and/or from most to least "knowledgeable". If the fandom you're looking for is not in my profile, it's no use asking; I either don't want to write for it or don't know anything about it.

Fanfictions will be under #cappulcino writes. Answered asks will be under #cappulcino replies. Fanfic recommendations will be under #cappulcino recommends (For lack of a better free tag)

Masterlist

The Sandman

Seven Days Til Fall (Lucifer Morningstar x Angel!Reader) Posted, complete

The Eveningstar (Dreamingstar / Dream of the Endless x Lucifer Morningstar) Unpublished WIP, preparation phase

The Devil Wears Prada

Broken Souls and Apple Pies (Mirandy / Miranda Priestly x Andrea Sachs) Unpublished WIP, 45% completed

Wednesday

The Shape of Us (Larissa Weems x Wife!Reader) Posted, one-shot

Animi Metamorphosis (Larissa Weems x Shapeshifter!Teacher!OC) Unpublished WIP, preparation phase

Game of Thrones

Where The Wild Things Rest (Brienne of Tarth x Fem!Reader) Posted, one-shot

You'll also find short summaries of my current WIPs and ideas here.

Don't hesitate to check them out and show your support for the fic(s) you would like me to finish and publish!

My edits

Good Omens X Hayloft II

Sandman crack vid

Fanart

Larissa Weems

Taglist

Comment under this post to be added to the taglist.

And while you're here...

Please consider signing this silly petition to try to get Gwendoline Christie back on Wednesday as Larissa Weems!

Note: the line dividers I use in my fics are by @strangergraphics-archive

[queenaeducan-writes]

2024 writing round up

i saw it on my dash and wanted to do it! tagging: @blackjackkent, @theshirallen, @dreadfutures, @theluckywizard, @ anyone else who would care to do this!

words posted: Not counting Tumblr RP or I'd be here forever, 76,581. 35,245 of those were Var Shiral'vhen.

additional words written: 21,585 on VS, plus some other WIPs means I have typed about 33,109 words. There are more in my notebook (but probably not a significant amount).

grand total of words: About 109,690 words! <3

fandoms: Dragon Age, HotD, BG3

highest kudos: 187 on The Queen's Pleasure, making it the first fic I ever posted to break 100 kudos.

highest hit oneshot: 2667 on The Queen's Pleasure.

new things I tried:

New fandoms! BG3 got me back into writing for fun before DA reassumed its throne, and I published HotD for the first time, too!

Smut! I published five smut fics on AO3, one on Tumblr, and another that will probably not make it out of the docs I'm gonna be real.

Long fic! Technically I've tried before, but writing Var Shiral'vhen with @theshirallen has been a pretty new experience as someone who mostly writes oneshots. It's been fun, though!

fic I spent the most time on: Var Shiral'vhen on the basis of it being a long fic. For one shots, probably The means by which art is made due it being my first attempt at Solian smut and that ship being very dear to me (and it was originally started back in like 2022).

fic I spent the least time on: I wrote Stronger Where it Breaks (Veilguard spoilers) after I beat DA4 in a short space of time. They will learn was also written similarly quickly.

favorite thing I wrote: I'm going to list multiple answers bc I deserve it.

I think it might be the unpublished Var Shiral'vhen chapter "Rift test take 2" just because I adore the Solas/Ian conversation in that chapter. It really encapsulates what I find fascinating about their dynamic, put them in a room together and they will start vibing even when I wasn't planning on it.

(Veilguard spoilers in the link) They will learn, a fic I mostly wrote for Joly but ended up getting more attention than I expected on Tumblr! I really enjoyed working with Elvhenan worldbuilding and I'm looking forward to doing more with the OCs I started crafting for the purposes of the fic.

(Veilguard spoilers in the link) The shape of you, a really abstract fic that's sex but also isn't sex. It was more a picture than words in my head so writing it down was difficult, but I enjoyed how it turned out esp since I didn't spend too long on it (it was like two sessions of writing).

favorite thing(s) I read:

(Veilguard spoilers in the link) keep my body from the fire (Solas x Felassan) by Almalexiasgf. I loved the depiction of Solas's [redacted] and Felassan's handling of it. It captured everything I love about the new lore surrounding the elves in DA4.

deus proditus (dame aylin & ketheric thorm) by @darethshirl. Such a neat exploration of these characters and their hostile relationship to each other, their love of Isobel, divinity/mortality. Highly recommended!

The History in our Skin (nb!lavellan & keeper deshanna) by @theshirallen. You were a fool if you thought I wouldn't include Joly in this. I love the pain and the peace in this, the impossible choice Deshanna saddles Ian (still a child but in choosing becomes grown) with. "There is no right answer" but only because the world is hostile to everything they are.

it ends, or it doesn't (felassan & an ensemble cast) by @dreadfutures I'm still making my way through this one (VG put a huge dent in my reading habit I carefully built over 2024 lmao) but I love Blue's Felassan POV and the worldbuilding they do for the Dalish/ancient elves. It's so inspiring, and the mystery is so good.

Mien'Harel (solas/felassan, solas & ensemble) by @bodysnatch3r Again, making my way through it, but Matty has such a great use of language and the worldbuilding is so good. I'm going to have my heart broken (more) when I continue I'm sure, but I'd highly recommend checking this one out.

these violent delights (Zevran x f!Tabris, Lucanis & Zev/Warden - Rated T) by @inquisimer. I love love love the Zev/Tabris pairing in this, and the playing off Lucanis is also excellent. I'd highly recommend it for its intrigue and character dynamics!!!

writing goals for 2025:

Continue Var Shiral'vhen

Not burn myself out on exchanges

Try to satisfy the need for engagement w/ more realistic means

Stop comparing myself/my headcanons/my divergences to others

new works: It was only after listing them that I realised I was supposed to just say how many, but I wrote it so it's here now. Anyway. 13!

Var Shiral'vhen (Solas x Nonbinary!Lavellan - Rated M) An adaptation of Solas and Ian's love story as well as Thora's journey as Inquisitor. About finding love in impossible places, undoing the damage the world has done to you, building trust from the ashes of other people's fires.

They will learn (Solas & Original Elvhen Character- Rated G) Veilguard spoilers. The world is new, and so are the people. Solas meets a new invention and sees the beauty and horror of creation.

The shape of you (Solas x Nonbinary!Lavellan- Rated E) Veilguard spoilers. Solas asks Ian a difficult question that Ian has no trouble answering.

Five, Seven, Five (Solas & F!Cadash - Rated G) Veilguard spoilers. Set in Inquisition. After a visit to Cadash thaig, Thora is inspired to write poetry after a lifetime of reading it. She shares it with Solas, as she shares everything with Solas.

Stronger Where it Breaks ( Solas x Nonbinary!Lavellan- Rated G) Veilguard spoilers. On Ian's suggestions, Solas takes up journaling to deal with some of his issues.

Pawn Takes King ( Solas x Nonbinary!Lavellan - Rated E) Technically Veilguard spoilers for the game's hub/home location. After a game of chess results in a rare victory, Ian claims his spoils.

The means by which art is made ( Solas x Nonbinary Lavellan! - Rated E) After Solas discloses his preference for bottoming, Ian tops him for the first time. It is not a night without its setbacks.

In Defense of Spirits (N/A - Rated G) A meta about the spirits of DA:O and how they can be read more sympathetically with the future game's lore taken into account.

The Art of Reading Aloud (Gale x F!Tav - Rated E) Ophelia (Tav) gives Gale a blowjob while he explains the history of the Moonshae Isles to her.

A Study of Hands (Gale x F!Tav - Rated T) An exploration of Gale's mental state throughout act I of BG3 as well as his developing feelings for Ophelia (Tav).

Chip Butty (Gale x F!Tav - Rated E) The morning after the party with her Tiefling kin, Ophelia wakes up with two headaches. One, from wine. Two, everyone expects she bedded Gale the night before.

The Queen's Pleasaure (Alicent x Rhaenyra - Rated E) When the King calls, Alicent does not linger longer than she is wanted. Her return is interrupted by a wayward princess, fresh from a foray into Flea Bottom, and hungry for companionship. Or: What if Rhaenyra had found Alicent before she found Ser Criston?

A Little Light (Jowan & Connor - Rated G) After years of young apprentices giving him a wide berth, lest they catch his talent for mediocrity, Jowan finds himself in the position of tutor to the young Connor.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Time Locked: Snippet #1

Did you lot think I only had one WIP? Nah, I got more. And again, its shipping angst. Well its not nearly as bad as the other, and this one has a happier ending, but nonetheless, its a kinda sorta angsty thing.

Enjoy. Ratchet has been the muse as of late and I have no intention of stopping it.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

Arrogance was his downfall. He saw himself as above his fellows. He thought nothing could stop him. For vorns he studied, dragging himself from the bottom rungs of society up to the lofty position of CMO. He was on top of the world, known around the planet and respected for his unparalleled skill in medicine. He hardly ever lost a patient, and when he did, it was because of the incompetence of others and a lack of additional servos.

He had no doubts about his abilities. Why would he? 

Of course his fellows were not fond of him, but what did their opinions matter? His achievements spoke for themselves. He needed no aid, nor did he need to adhere to their thoughts on the happenings in his hospitals. He was the greatest Doctor on the planet, and he had his rank to prove it. Even the Quintessons acknowledged his skill, to which Ratchet always tended to scoff.

He knew he was the best in his field. He had all but killed himself in an effort to study to reach his place. Forging friendships was useless, a waste of time. Being delicate and soft with patients was ridiculous. He had better things to do, more cases to look over. Patience was not something he could afford, and pride kept him firmly above the criticism thrown his way. He was young, but he was no fool. He knew his worth and he would flaunt it. He had long ago earned the right to be a little arrogant after all the work he put in.

When the Council called him to assist in what they called ‘Project Regen’, Ratchet had no concerns. They were testing a new type of portal and wanted him there to scan the unlucky fool being sent through. He got in his gear, stood behind the protective glass, and waited for the project to activate. 

Something went wrong with the controls and the portal wasn’t activating. The original tester stepped away to figure out what was wrong and Ratchet sighed. He had better things to do than stand around. There was work to be done. Thus, he didn’t think twice about stepping out from his protective vantage point so that he could march across the lab and leave.

That was the biggest mistake of his entire functioning.

Just as he stepped into the open, the portal bloomed to life. The stabilizers promptly failed, and Ratchet, along with a few assorted items, were dragged into the portal. He only had time to scream before his world began a mess of color and the portal exploded around him. Darkness surrounded him, and within that void, he heard a chorus of voices speak in perfect synchronization.

“You who sit yourself upon your throne of pride, the will of the world condemns you.”

The voice echoed all around him, digging into his very core like frigid ice. He wanted to scream as invisible blades cut into him, marking his very essence with a brand he instinctively sensed as it burned itself into place.

“There is a part you still must play, but no longer shall you wander freely. Arrogance has corrupted your spark and disdain for your fellow children of Primus has broken your purity.”

Chains dug into him, binding him on a fundamental level in ways he failed to comprehend. 

“No longer shall this world be yours to command. Only those who seek you shall find your domain. Time shall be your tormentor and eventually, your savior.”

Ratchet tried to cry out, but as the voice deafened and dug into him, he was met with blinding light instead of any sort of relief. When he came to himself again, he was within the ruins of a devastated building, long since burned to ash. 

“What in the Allspark…” He wheezed as he stood. It took a moment, but it was clear he was within the remains of the facility. Distortion in the portal evidently caused some sort of long scale warp, perhaps redirecting him and leaving him in the void for a time. He was no expert on portals and their workings, but that was the most logical assumption he could come to. He was going to sue the Council to the pits and back for this mess. 

Something had gone wrong, and now left in the middle of nowhere, he needed to get back to civilization and make sure everything was as he left it. The facility had been located about a cycle out from Iacon, a safe distance from any civilians who could be caught up in a blast if things went south. It wouldn’t be a far walk. Ratchet had endured worse coming out of Polyhex and traversing the wilds during the early cycles of the Quintessons occupation of Cybertron. 

He wrote off the voice that spoke to him in the void as he gathered his bearings, and marched toward the edge of the burned remains of the facility. Most of the structure had already fallen to pieces, with only a few pillars and pieces of wall jutting out from where nature had already begun its reclamation. Ratchet cursed as he noted at least a vorn’s worth of crystal growth from the sprouting spires. The Council was never going to hear the end of this. He wouldn’t let them walk off scott free after such a horrific accident. Being absent from his position for a whole vorn had likely had him written off as dead. 

“Those absolute fraggers! I better receive the best compensation the planet has to offer after all this!” He growled as he quickened his stride, moving without regard for everything else as he contemplated how to get back at the Council. However, the closer he came to the edge of the fallout zone, the heavier his limbs began to feel. He tried to write it off, but every single step grew harder to handle. His vision began to falter, and before he knew it, just as he reached the edge of where the last crystal had begun to grow, he fell to his knees in unnatural exhaustion. 

“This… isn’t right…” He managed to choke out as he looked down at his shaking servos through blurred optics. His servos never shook. Why was he shaking? Everything felt so fuzzy, his limbs so heavy they were impossible to ignore. He could only withstand it for a moment longer before he fell face down on the ground, recharge pulling at his very spark.

Darkness again claimed him, and in what felt like a mere nanoklik, he found himself again back in the center of the ruins, surrounded by crystals and other flora that had grown an exceptional amount. Panic grew within him as he frantically tried to access his comms only to be met with static. His internal chronometer was a mess of ever changing numbers and all of his system alerts were just a string of errors. Whatever the portal did was far worse than he anticipated. 

He got up and tried to run out of the ruins once more, but again the exhaustion forced him to fall and recharge consumed him. He woke again in the center of the ruins, once more finding the flora around him to have grown dramatically larger and more prolific. It had to be a dream, a horrible and fragged up dream. And yet as he looked up at the sky, desperate for some sort of reference for time, he could only shake in pure shock.

Luna 1 had turned three degrees, and Luna 2 was already through its fifth rotation. Three vorns, it had been three whole vorns. The moons did not lie in that regard and Ratchet was sure his optics weren’t lying. He grew up in the middle of nowhere, he knew how to tell time from the moons. Somehow, be it due to the portal or whatever that voice was, Ratchet was stuck within the ruins.

He tried again and again to leave the ruins. Every attempt ended in failure. But through his efforts, he learned the rules of his newfound confinement. 

He could not step beyond the bounds of the farthest crystal spire without being pulled into the void that was recharge. He tested the limits, edging closer to the border and calculating how long it took him until he fell through marks on his armor. Those marks always vanished when he woke, along with any other injuries he obtained during his tests. At one point, he stabbed himself with a piece of the nearest crystal spire just to confirm his theories. When recharge took him, he awoke good as new once more.

He attempted calling for aid several times, but nothing he did proved successful. His internal systems were totally useless. All he had was his medical coding and the basics needed to keep going. Anything that gave him range was offline, and when he tried to get attention from anyone by building a haphazard SOS sign, he found out about yet another rule regarding his situation.

He spent the whole cycle building his sign, hopeful that all would go well now that he knew he could not leave without causing time to pass around him. He was wrong. As soon as darkness set in, that same pull that overcame him when he went too close to the border dragged him into recharge. And just like every time he went to the border, when he woke, the moons had turned and another vorn had passed. His sign was destroyed by time and plant life. He could not escape, nor did he find himself able to live out more than a full cycle without the void recalling him.

The words that he heard played in his mind more frequently as his surroundings changed and he remained all but completely static. He only had a single cycle each vorn to do what he could, and so he used that singular cycle to build what he hoped would one day become something permanent enough to aid him. He did his best with what limited time he had to guide the crystal spires so that a few would grow into more platformed shapes, giving him a decent vantage point from which to observe the cities in the distance. His SOS sign had proved fruitless, and while he tried to write it off as a byproduct of his location, in the end he couldn’t help but partially blame his fate on the words spoken to him when the portal consumed him.

His domain could only be found by those who sought him out. He wanted to curse as the words spoken to him became more and more apparent as being true in some form. He caught sight of shuttles flying over his garden more than once, but even when he finally guided the plants around him to grow into a vaguely organized shape to hopefully draw attention to his situation, not a spark paused to come see what was happening. 

 Perhaps due to the phenomenon that kept him bound to his location, a garden had flourished in his prison. Spires rose high into the sky, wiry vines pulsing with energon crawled along them, solarium bushes with leaves reaching up toward the sky like blooming stars, and so much more all grew around him. Most notable, a techtite tree grew around where Ratchet always woke up. Its roots ran deep and developed in an almost protective manner around Ratchet’s resting place, shielding him from wind and rain with mighty branches and long hanging branches that glowed when the skies grew dark.

He was no gardener, but by Primus he threw everything he had into trying to learn if only so that someone, anyone, would come to save him from his living torment. He could see the cities growing, he could see the world changing, and yet he was locked in his little pocket. He could not leave, nor could he age significantly. He had his garden, his anger, and enough determination to burn a world to keep him company. Despite the growth all around him, no creatures wandered his garden. He was alone.

Somehow, that was more frightening and spark breaking than the idea of dying.

He did everything to try and find a way out, but the borders never grew and he never had nearly enough time to build anything of use. Time was his enemy and his jailer. And as the world passed him by, he could only wait beneath the cover of his garden and pray that someone would come to get him out since obviously, he was unable to do so himself.

He waited.

And waited.

Vorns were counted with marks on the crystal spires, records being kept in the only way he knew how as he bitterly endured his torment. A few passed by his gardens, some drawing near enough to see him before moving on in a hurry. Nothing was ever enough to free him from his prison. All he had was himself, his garden, and his thoughts.

There was no escape, and as much as it hurt him to accept that, it was the truth. He was trapped, and the most he could hope for was to hear another mech’s voice. If Ratchet, the best doctor on Cybertron, was unable to find a way out of his situation, Primus knew if any other could. His expectations were lowered, and with every vorn that passed, he stopped wishing for freedom and more so for someone to talk to. He wanted to know about the world and hear about the changes outside.

He just wanted to hear the voice of another…

Eventually, after what he counted to be six hundred and seventy two waking cycles trapped in his prison, someone finally found his domain. The sheer joy he felt was beyond description when a mech of red and blue curiously wandered his garden.

━━━━━

“Hello? Is this your property? If I have intruded, I apologize.” Ratchet stood up from where he was seated below his techtite tree. His optics were wide and coolant threatened to gather there before he scrubbed his face and schooled himself. There was a real mech in front of him, an actual person.

“Your garden is quite lovely. You take excellent care of it.” The mech, a tall red and blue civilian, smiled slightly awkwardly as he stepped further into the garden. Ratchet reset his audials and optics a few times before he smiled and gestured for the mech to continue forward.

“Thank you. I have had little else to occupy myself with over the vorns. My domain… requires constant attention.” Ratchet settled on commenting as the mech drew near enough that he stood underneath the tree alongside Ratchet. The mech’s optics were wide, but not overly so as he curiously examined the space. Ratchet all but shook with excitement as he tried to keep himself in line long enough to not scare the mech off.

He had so many questions, so much he wished to know. How much had the world changed in his absence? Surely he had long been written off as dead, but he had to have left a legacy.

“My designation is Ratchet, formerly one of the greatest Doctors on Cybertron. I received my education in Iacon central and my caste designation is MID-MEDICAL-298.” Ratchet blurted out as he held out his servo in what he hoped was a friendly manner. He never was good with socializing, and while he tried to smile, he most likely held a slightly less aggressive frown than usual. 

“I am Orion Pax of Iacon, a data clerk in the Hall of Records and serving under Alpha Trion. Your caste designation is… unique.” Orion Pax’s helm tilted ever so slightly and his finials twitched as he shook Ratchet’s servo. An archivist was in Ratchet’s garden. There could have been no better mech to give him information.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve left this place. You are the first mech who I have spoken to in vorns.” Ratchet quipped somewhat sharply before internally kicking himself. He needed this mech, he couldn’t afford to drive him off now. 

“That would explain your attitude.” Pax noted as if he were observing the weather. Ratchet frowned at the tone but did not comment as he settled down on the ground against the trunk of the tree, gesturing for Orion to do the same. 

“Good that you understand. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to know about all that has happened within the last few dozen vorns back in Iacon. A data clerk would have access to such information, am I correct?” Ratchet tried to hide the desperation in his tone, but he was unsure if he succeeded. Orion observed him in silence for a long klik before slowly settling down onto the ground beside him, the archivist’s long legs brought up close to his chassis in order to not get caught on the roots.

“You are not particularly polite, but I will adhere to your request. The garden is pleasant enough.” Ratchet scoffed as Orion’s words reached him. Data caste mechs were usually soft creatures. But it seemed this one had some spine. Out of all the things that had likely changed, Ratchet could find it within himself to be fond of this particular shift in trends.

“There is plenty to cover, but luckily for the both of us, today is my cycle off.” A certain light entered Orion’s optics as he dove into the most recent changes in Iacon. Most of it was so strange that Ratchet had no idea what was being said. Cultural differences he no longer knew and government officials he was totally unaware of were apparently huge players in the new world. Still, he listened with rapt attention as Orion spoke and quickly found himself wrapped in the mech’s voice.

Orion, despite the hint of snark that laced his tone off and on, had a pleasant voice. It was almost too easy to lose track of time. It was only as shadows began to creep that Ratchet interrupted the archivist to put forward what he hoped did not sound too much like a desperate plea.

“My time here is almost up. However, I wish to know more. If you have the time, please, come here again on this cycle one vorn from now. That is the only time I will be able to interact with you as I am now.” Ratchet’s voice took on a pleading undertone despite his best efforts. The archivist looked at him strangely but ultimately nodded as he stood. Ratchet sagged in relief as Orion flipped open some sort of device on his forearm and imputed what Ratchet hoped was a reminder.

“Odd as you are, I have enjoyed this interaction. I shall see you next vorn Ratchet. Perhaps you will elaborate more on your inability to converse at other times during our next meeting.” As it was, Ratchet was willing to give an arm and a leg for Orion to come back to speak to him. He nodded and bid Orion farewell quietly as he watched the light of the nearest star fade. Exhaustion that he knew all too well began to overcome his will, but as it did, he found himself hopeful.

Someone had found him in his prison. If Orion kept his promise, then Ratchet would at least have no information to mull over in his ever static environment.

[ruanbaijie]

🍑 art

[x] hualian by @mmagurro

[x] mo xuanyu by @kkarmin

[x] nightless city by @ann-mauriii

[x] betrayed...? by @bxbxbx0

[x] it hurts by @juicedpeachy

[x] xianle trio in battle wip by @mooncakebun

[x] hua cheng new sketching style. by @mooncakebun

[x] jjk 251 panel by @innaillus

[x] jjk season 2 by @sonialiao

[x] shi wudu by @mariauri

[x] wangji-xiong. wangji. lan wangji. lan zhan! by @apothecaresa

[x] to die for you in battle is my greatest honour by @roremy

[x] one of my favourite panels from another angle by @obliviani

[x] hua cheng by @kuropii6

[x] when our eyes meet by @kuropii6

[x] a commissioned illustration for "no water is enough" by boomchick by @auchrauch

[x] start and end of a blue spring by @xo-romiiarts

[x] oh, starboy by @mochipong

[x] hualian by @ghironda7

[x] the boy who swallowed a star by @tamberella

[x] "... and broken dreams" by @blackwhitefeatherart

[x] shuangxuan by @cruelnemothesis

🍑 edits

[x] a tribute to mork methas pankhamdee, the last spark of hope in a world gone dark by @morkofday

[x] pov: you just asked your friend who's still on tumblr about... the untamed by @itstrikesback

[x] jabami yumeko by @izuku

🍑 gifsets

[x] the days are coming that she'll never forget by @buzzcutseascn

[x] nam seonho + first light by hozier by @pondsphuwin

[x] game of thrones characters as taylor swift songs by @reputayswift

[x] percy jackson by @jakeyp

[x] seasons by @jakeyp

[x] good omens by @maines

[x] regina george by @gloriapritchetts

[x] in turning divine we tangle endlessly like lovers entwined by @tommykinrd

[x] itadori yuuji by @cal-kestis

[x] this is jujutsu kaisen by @cal-kestis

[x] jujutsu kaisen by @queenrojpag

[x] the han joo won 'seasons 계절' collection: out now! by @khaotunqs

[x] i ought to stick to another man, a man that surely deserves me…but i think you do by @khaotunqs

[x] "run boy run! this world is not made for you." by @black-dread

[x] omg it's blorbo bleebus by @chinzhilla

[x] an eight word story by @eddiediaaz

[x] I owe her a love worth sixty thousand years by @baifengxis

[x] lilacs by the sea by @kimtaegis

[x] you wanna know how I know your daddy, don't you? by @speakviolence

[yeetus-feetus]

tangled au (WIP)

Inspired by this ↓ post

Created by this ↓ account

@dragonpyre (I hope this is okay, you just really inspired me is all)

So here:

Jason, second heir to the throne of Gotham, was a happy little boy with a very loud personality. A former street kid, he was adopted into royalty at the age of 3 following his mother’s death, much like his older brother Richard, by the current King of Darkness. Make no mistake by the title he holds, Bruce Wayne is a very Just king though he cloaks himself in the fine fabrics of midnight and gold emblems that glitter like the stars.

But the young prince Jason was a ball of energy with a smart mouth and a baby as he were, often got on the wrong people's nerves. There was one man in particular, the Jester of the court– who was perhaps something more than a simple Jester to the King, maybe even a friend– had joined the Royal staff after a terrible accident that disfigured him many moons before Jason himself was even born.

On this day, Jason was only five when he trod on the odd man’s toes. He can’t remember what he’s said to the man, but it was something with loud youthful ignorance behind it, maybe something about his permanent smile and moon-pale skin. It wasn’t anything nice, to say the least, but who can blame a child of such brutal, unthinking honesty without the better knowledge on how such things were hurtful.

Maybe a man with a soft heart, and the belief he could give everyone in his Kingdom a better life and a second chance, should be blamed on keeping criminals and the insane in his company. Maybe a toddler in bright mocking colours shouldn’t have been left unattended to in the palace halls after a silly disagreement regarding his mother.

The wicked Jester did not return to the King’s court after that night.

Nor did the young Prince Jason. The boy was found in a puddle of his own bastard blood in a storeroom downstairs by the cellar, in teeny tiny shackles with his small bones shattered, tear streaks still wet on his cheeks as he lay limp on the cold cement floor.

The King had wept, cradling his broken body close to him, wailed and begged for the boy to come back to him, pleading for forgiveness from a child who was no more. The King of Darkness caressed the soft face of a lifeless shell, and that was when the shadows spoke.

A deep eerie voice had filled his ears from all directions, reminding him of a tale he had believed to be only myth. The story of the moon when she wept for her own son once very long ago …

A single tear of moonlight had fallen from the heavens, and from this small drop of sorrow bloomed a magic, glowing flower. It had the ability to heal the sick and injured– and in extremely rare cases, even raise the dead if the moon wished it so.

“However, the Flower of Lazarus is protected by a Demon whom hoards it for its youth restoring power”, the low voice warned. “And you have only until the fourth day, beginning when the sun breaks over your Kingdom at dawn, to retrieve it. For when the sun sets on that day, the boy will remain in a tomb forever.”

Bruce, because he is no King down here with a dead son in his arms, remains speechless and confused. Before he could gather his thoughts and interrogate the validity of this supernatural voice, a flock of bats screeched and swarmed and then the voice was gone.

And a man was left in a cold empty room with his beaten bloody son, fear and determination filling his heavy heart. A hope that in four days time, his son will be returned to the earth and fill the Palace with his laughter once more.

⧫

The quest carried out by the King’s Guard had proved successful, and the magic of the Lazarus Flower, brewed into a glowing green liquid potion heals the dead Prince’s body on the morning of the fourth day. A new tale of rebirth bringing the kingdom together as the King launched a floating lantern into the darkness of the night sky, a symbol of prevailing hope and new life, to celebrate the return of his beloved young son.

For that one moment, everything was perfect.

And then that moment ended.

A cloaked woman had entered young Jason’s room that very night by way of the balcony, silently creeping towards the boy’s bed where he slept soundly, unknowing to the threat of her presence. The woman pulls back her hood and strokes a deadly gentle hand up over his face until she reaches his soft baby curls as she sings in hushed tones.

“Flower gleam and glow”

And glow the child’s hair did, a bright green hue filling the room. She pulled a long lock of the glowing hair taught between calloused fingers, reaching into the deep green of her garments for the jewelled hilt of a small sharp knife as she continued.

“Let your powers shine”

The blade glinted in the unnatural light as the woman’s tan hand brought the sharpened knife up…

“Make the clock re–”

But as the knife sliced through the strands of hair it turned lifeless and lost its colour, turning moon-white and powerless. The shock and confusion was clear on the woman’s face, a frown carving its way into her beautiful features as she realised what she must do in order to fulfil her father’s wishes.

Just like that, Jason was stolen. Gone.

The Kingdom searched and searched, but their attempts at recovering the small boy proved nothing but futile and the King lost all his hope. They could not find the Prince of Gotham.

For deep within the forest, in a tall hidden tower, far away from his home, the woman– Talia Al Ghul– raised the child as her own.

[umbracirrus]

I'm making eyes at "Elyse Balgruuf throneee*" tell me about it hehe

Ohhhh, that's a little smutty WIP with my idiots!! I'll put the details about it under the read more just in case.

The WIP name is honestly rather self-explanatory, it's Elyse and Balgruuf getting it on on the throne in Dragonsreach. Elyse finds Balgruuf on the Dragonsreach throne quite late at night when she realises he isn't in bed any longer, he hasn't been able to sleep because his mind isn't quieting down but he can think and focus there. And with a bit of 'gentle persuasion', aka a blow job, she helps him to unwind and persuades him to come back to bed. But not until he returns the favour. :3

I honestly don't know whether I'll post if/when it's done (mostly because I certainly like imagining these scenarios, but I am not as confident in putting it into words without sounding too... cringy? But I know it's probably not cringy, it's just my brain being stupid and overly critical because it's what I have written and if anyone else had written it I'd be going "hell yes"??? If that makes sense??). And the reason I say if/when is because it's only 158 words, and I started it almost a year ago-!!! It's something where I'll occasionally come back and add or remove a sentence.

As I said, I've not actually written much of this, it's broken up into scattered sentences, but I do have a coherent paragraph in the middle of it all!

His throat bobbed at the sight of her getting down onto her knees before him. “Must I beg for you to come back to bed?” His fingers then dug into the arms of his seat as her hands came to rest on his knees. “Or must I take more drastic measures?”

[silentxsymphony]

Seven Sentence Sunday

It’s Sunday, so I am once more bringing a small offering from my Loki/Don variant WIP that I'm still chipping away at. Loki healing from the trauma of captivity following a different unfolding of events after the Battle of New York. Slowly learning to experience comfort in his own skin again. And maybe even accept affection from others.

aka a remix/elaboration of trauma!Loki from @dreamycloud’s stunning “i bet on losing dogs.”

This week’s snippet features Loki learning about the realities of American product placement. Also, it's more than seven sentences, but rules are made to be broken!

Don laughed when he noticed Loki’s eyes narrow as they locked on the soap bottle’s label featuring Captain America and bold text proclaiming the scent Red, White, and Blueberry Mint! “Usually I don’t fall prey to product placement, but the boys really did behave all week and were a big help at the grocery store.” He let out another little self-effacing chuckle. “What can I say? Capitalism won today.” He shrugged before adding, “At least it smells good.” Loki began to wash his hands and took a closer look at the label, Steve Rogers’ sanctimonious smile beaming up at him with a tagline of “Germs don’t stand a chance! Be an Avenger of health!” underneath. He noticed his brother featured in miniature in the background, as blond and perfect as ever, along with the rest of his tedious troupe of do-gooders. He felt an irritating pang in his chest at the sight and realized how badly a part of himself wanted to reconnect with Thor one day without trappings of the throne or their father or the effects of the Mind Stone between them. He wasn’t sure if Thor would ever have any desire to do so, but the thought warmed him just slightly regardless.  He dried his hands with the towel hanging by the sink and went to start preparing the green beans at the kitchen table. As he sat down, he gave his hands a cursory sniff. Begrudgingly, he realized Don was right.  It didn’t smell terrible. 

Tagged by @elodiah @lokimobius @thosegayoldmen @impulsemuppet @kcscribbler <3

No pressure tagging @dreamycloud @mirilyawrites @in-my-loki-feels @doomed-spectacles @whiteleander @atimefeeler @loki-is-my-kink-awakening @ilaytrapsfortroubadours @natendo-art

[sneakyxthexclown]

TELL US ABOUT AND BABY MAKES SIX RN 👹👹👹

(Love all the wip titles <33)

okay okay geez you don't have to yell at me

(love you <3)

another fic related to my Secretary!Stolas series, and this one is actually the next to come out—I have plans to write it today!

Synopsis: Millie and Stolas grow closer after Stolas confesses that he knows Millie is pregnant. Later, Blitzø and Stolas find themselves caught in the middle of Millie and Moxxie's relationship.  

There's a lot that happens in this fic, so I'll try to keep my ramblings to a minimum.

This fic is broken into two parts: Part I features a growing friendship between Millie and Stolas while Part II features a comparison between Millie/Moxxie and Stolas/Blitz.

The first part is mostly just a conversation between Millie and Stolas. He knows she's pregnant, yet she hasn't told anyone in the office yet. Stolas asks her about it, and it leads to the two of them having a conversation about parenthood, specifically about the uncertainty and hesitation towards having a child. Obviously, Stolas LOVES Octavia more than anything in the universe, and he is so, so happy that she exists...NOW. But I am sure there was a time when he was really not thrilled about being forced to have a child with a woman he didn't love. On top of that, he was probably 18-19 when Via was born, and no doubt there are wonderful, amazing parents who are younger, but I get the sense that Stolas would have been a fucking hot mess as a young adult gay man who was just forced to sleep with his abuser in order to produce an heir to the throne. Because of all this, I think Stolas could really relate and empathize with the hesitation we saw Millie express at the end of Sinsmas. He comforts her, and the two bond over the fears and unknowns of unexpected parenthood.

The second part happens later that same day after Millie tells Moxxie she's pregnant. I don't want to say too much about this part, but I will say that Millie turns up at Blitz's door that night after a fight she had with Moxxie. Blitz and Stolas do what they can to help M&M while also learning more about their own unspoken relationship.

It's a cute fic that features Stolas/Millie friendship and, for once, practically zero Stolas/Blitz angst.

Thank you for asking!!! :)

[jtavington]

Gelphie WIP: Father

On the day they reunite Glinda tells Elphie about the Wizard.

“—castle?”

Glinda blinked. Elphaba was looking at her questioningly. “Sorry, caught up in you. Could you repeat that?”

“I asked if you had seen my mother’s bottle. It was at Kiama Ko and I thought since you recovered everything else—”

Oh, Oz. Oz, Oz, Oz. Glinda collapsed onto the edge of the bed. Of course, she should have known better than to think she would have one perfect evening. No, that was selfish. The bottle was nothing to her. It had been everything to Elphie. She thought it was just a moment of her mother. Telling her what she knew would ruin it. How could it not, That man being her father? But how could Glinda not tell her?

Elphie sank beside her. “Glinda?”

She would not cry again. It wasn’t her pain, and she had been so selfish already. “I have the bottle, yes. But I—I don’t know how to tell you this…”

“Tell me what?” She sounded so young, so much like the girl who was convinced that she would meet the Wizard and it would solve all her problems. “Is it broken? Glinda, don’t beat yourself up. You were lucky to get as much as you did.”

“No, it isn’t broken.” She forced herself to her feet and wobbled to the desk drawer that held the greatest secret in Oz. “Elphie, did you ever wonder how I became Throne Minister so quickly? The Wizard left the day after you did.”

“I didn’t realize it was that fast. I assumed you blackmailed or threatened him. But now that you mention it, how did you get rid of the Wizard.”

“I showed him this and told him that it was the same drink he had brought from his world.” She turned around. Elphaba’s face was unreadable. “He had given it to a woman many years ago to seduce her.”

“But that would mean—” Elphaba went perfectly still. Her voice was thick with the effort of keeping it steady. “Glinda, just to be clear, are you trying to tell me that the Wizard is my biological father?”

Glinda nodded.

Nothing happened for a long moment but then Elphaba nodded and grabbed the vial. Her knuckles went a paler green. “Well, it doesn’t matter. He was never a father to me and he’s gone now anyway.”

“Elphie—”

“He would have been a terrible father. Can you imagine? He would have just used it to manipulate me. That’s all. It’s not like he would have loved me. So it doesn’t matter.” It doesn’t—”

A noise halfway between a scream and a sob ripped from her throat. The hat soared from the bed to the ceiling and the electric lights flickered. Elphaba through the glass against the wall. It shattered into half a dozen pieces. “Why does it matter?”

Glinda enveloped Elphaba in a hug. She murmured soothing noises against her skin, hoping that being there mattered more than the actual words. She had thought it was impossible to hate the Wizard more than she already did. She’d been wrong. He’d talked so much about wanting to be a father to Oz, but he’d done everything he could to grind his actual daughter under his heel, first by attacking her spirit and then her body. And curse Frexspar too for denying his daughter the love she deserved and making her best hope for it the Wizard. Elphaba let Glinda dry her tears. “Does anyone else know? Good, I don’t want to be more of a spectacle than I am.” She shuddered, her body demanding more sobs even though her eyes were out of tears. “I have to go.”