#WIP: garden gate

[tru-makes-quilts]

entirely hand pieced 🪡🧵

[simplegenius042]

oooh i know i'm late, but if you haven't already talked about it (or have more to share on it), can I please hear more about No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden (FC5)? (--direwombat)

You know funny thing! I had completely forgotten I had this WIP up until last week.

So, from what I could guess from my earliest notes and what I wrote so far then, No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden was a FC5 fic that focused on Silva, Joseph, Faith, the Sheriffs Department, Eden's Gate, Adam Omar and his Congregation in Silva's past, an in-depth look at/possible deconstruction and reconstruction of the religious Adam and Eve themes (your original sin, shame, curiosity, ignorance and knowledge, (unfair) punishment, the acknowledgement of pain and death, mistrust and disobedience towards God and other deities or figures of worship, etc) and possibly set in a time pre-Reaping or where the Collapse just doesn't (or rather can't) occur at all. It would flashback more between Silva's past and present, focused on her relationship with her father Adam, her first love Irene and her adoptive father Paul and the Tumultite community. The focus of the past would be less Persephone and the Apostles and more her time spent on the Archipelagoes from what I could gather.

I had no idea where to even continue on from this, so I decided since past me wasn't going to travel forward in time and tell me what she was thinking, I decided to add on this story with another divergence from the canon of Silva's Hope and Far Cry The Silver Chronicles... and made Silva a coroner instead of a deputy (with a unique interest and perspective on corpses), because I like to make the Voice cry in a cosmic corner.

The Voice attempts to retaliate by telling Joseph that Silva is perfect to be "the Mother of Eden's Gate" but fortunately Faith's already got her hands on this strange cryptic coroner version of Silva and she isn't willing to share. John & Jacob, Alexander & Nadi, the Sheriff's Department, the GFH/FFH, Hope County residents, the rest of Eden's Gate, Kamski and Azriel just try and live regular-ish lives while this all goes on. This is the closest thing to a "no Collapse" AU that I have so... enjoy?

That's what I've got so far and what I've recently added (because I forgot to write notes last time, silly me).

[seongwars]

Marry Me, Your Highness!

Pairing: non-MC x Prince-in-Disguise!Rafayel, non-MC x Prince!Sylus, Word Count: 2.5K (is it really a drabble at this point?) Warnings: None, slight OOC for some characters, mentions of violence Summary: Rafayel arrives demanding compensation, while you plot to escape your engagement to Sylus at any cost.

Note: I guess I'm starting a "Your Highness" drabble series. I need to stop tho because I have too many wips/drafts and I'm supposed to be on a semi-hiatus right now

Part 1: Absolutely Not, Your Highness!

You quietly scale the side of the garden wall leading to your estate, fingers aching from the climb and your skirts snagged on every thorn bush in the vicinity. With a grunt, you land in the courtyard, the moon casting long silver shadows across the stone path. For a blissful moment, it seems like you’ve made it undetected.

You tiptoe across the courtyard, praying that under the still hush of night, no one will catch you. 

No such luck.

“Nice landing,” comes a voice from the shadows. “I’m usually the one sneaking back into the house in the middle of the night. You're stealing my thing.”

“You can have it back,” you mutter, brushing dust off your sleeves. “I was only trying to get away from the imperial guards.”

Your brother, Xavier steps into the moonlight, one brow lifted. “What did you do exactly?”

“I turned down a proposal from the crown prince.”

He stares at you. Then blinks. “You… said no. To the crown prince of Linkon.”

“Yes, Xavier. I didn’t stutter.”

He lets out a low whistle. “You really did it.”

“I really did it.”

He drags a hand down his face, then laughs—like this is the best thing that’s happened to him all week. “You absolute menace. I mean… I’m proud. Deeply horrified, but proud.”

“I’m glad someone is enjoying this,” you snap. “Because Aunt Elizabeth’s guards are probably about to storm the mansion on account of me punching the crown prince in the throat.”

The laughter dies instantly. Xavier goes completely still. 

“You what!?”

“He startled me! I was already being chased by the guards, I ran into Sylus, and my reflexes kicked in. I punched him in the throat!”

“You assaulted the future king!”

“I didn’t even hit him that hard!”

Your brother exhales through his teeth, thinking. “If they come for you, we can fend them off.”

“We!? And what army?”

“Fair point. Instead, we redirect the narrative. You can’t accept Sylus because your heart belongs to another.”

You stare at him. “Another who, exactly?”

“I don’t know yet! Someone useful. Charming. Disposable, if it goes wrong.”

“Xavier.”

“You need to be married,” he says, snapping his fingers. “Or at least engaged. That way it’ll get mother and Aunt Elizabeth off your back.”

“I’m not marrying someone just to avoid prison!”

“You might not have a choice! They’ll be at the gates by morning!”

You both fall silent, racking your brain for options. Xavier’s wife had a few eligible acquaintances: the devastatingly attractive doctor, the charismatic colonel…

But none of them feel like a real solution.

“...I did fall on a man earlier,” you say slowly.

Xavier gives you a slow, skeptical look. “You want to track down the mysterious stranger you fell on and ask him to marry you.”

“I may have given him a hairpin…”

“And?”

“…And I may have told him to seek you out for compensation.”

Xavier lets out a long, pained breath and turns back into the house. 

“I’m going to bed.”

“I’m sure your wife will be thrilled,” you call sweetly after him. “I would like to be an aunt some day!”

He doesn’t even look back. You wait until he disappears inside, then glance up at the stars. 

“Gods, help me,” you whisper, hoping that this time your fate would take a different turn. 

⟡ ݁₊ .

Rafayel rubs his ribs where you landed on him. One moment he’s wandering the streets outside the imperial palace, the next, a woman quite literally falls from the heavens, vaulting over the palace wall and crashing directly on top of him.

Now, cold, tired, and entirely out of patience, he fiddles with the hairpin you left behind, its silver length delicately wrought with tiny moons and stars. Rafayel scowls down at it. 

“Compensation,” he scoffs. “I could buy her entire household if I wanted!”

His stomach growls. Loudly.

“I thought someone wanted to blend in with the common folk,” Thomas reminds him dryly.

“That was before I was crushed by a madwoman,” the prince pouts.

Another grumble from Rafayel’s stomach. He frowns at it like it’s personally betrayed him.

“Did you at least bring your coin purse?”

Rafayel stiffens. “...No.”

Thomas exhales slowly through his nose. “Of course not.”

Then Rafayel’s eyes light up.

“She said I could get compensation from her brother! Xavier! She said that! I could find him. Demand...food. And repayment. For emotional damages.”

Thomas blinks. “You’re going to track down a nobleman you’ve never met, in a country you snuck off to and ask him to buy you dinner because his sister fell on you?”

“Yes,” Rafayel says. “This is diplomacy, Thomas.”

“This is blackmail.”

Rafayel lifts his chin, regal even in suffering. “This is for emotional distress. And bruised ribs. And because I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

Thomas sighs. “You could’ve just said you were hungry.”

“I am hungry. And injured. And slighted. Wandering the streets at night is no way for me to live!”

By the time Rafayel finds the mansion, his feet are caked in dust and his patience is worn. Navigating Linkon with just Thomas and a map had proven...challenging.  

He rounds a corner and slows, eyes narrowing at the iron gates ahead. Ornate stars curl in elegant arcs across the gates. He glances down at the hairpin in his hand. 

Moons and stars, silver and delicate. 

“Found you.”

He steps up to the guards stationed at the gate and thrusts the pin forward. “Your lady of the house gave this to me,” he announces. “And I am here to collect my compensation.”

The guard blinks. “The only lady of this house is married to Lord Xavier.”

Rafayel frowns. “No. Not her. The other one. She fell on me. From the palace wall.”

Thomas makes a small sound, halfway between a groan and a wheeze.

“She was rather dramatic,” Rafayel insists. “She said her name was… actually, she didn’t say her name. But she did say I could come here for compensation!”

“She fell from the palace wall and landed on you?” a guard asks, deeply skeptical.

“Yes! And left me with this!” Rafayel exclaims, waving the hairpin around. 

The guards exchange looks, clearly questioning their sanity. Then they whisper to each other and one sets off to find Jeremiah, the head butler. 

You’re on your way to breakfast after having dreamt of it all night, particularly the egg souffle with scallion pancakes. But you barely make it to the end of the hall before you overhear a scuffle at the gates. 

“Unhand me! I’m Rafayel Qi, prince–”

“Please forgive my master, he is delirious having gone without food!” Thomas interjected, placing himself between Rafayel and the guards. 

Why do I recognize that voice?

You rack your brain. Where have you—?

Then it hits you. The man from yesterday.

You bolt for the gates, still in your sleeping robes. You’re halfway there when you see him, disheveled, waving your hairpin around.

Beneath the tilt of his ridiculous straw hat, with his tunic wrinkled and dirt clinging to his sandals, he’s...annoyingly handsome. All sharp cheekbones and charm, mauve eyes glinting with fire. The kind of face sculpted by the gods that could topple an empire.

The kind of man any mother would take one look at and declare perfect marriage material.

You shake your head quickly as he spots you. Before he can say anything else, you grab his arm, plastering on a bright smile for the guards.

“There you are!” you exclaim, slipping your arm around his like you’ve done it a hundred times.

The guards blink, visibly confused.

You lean in, hissing under your breath, “Play along.”

His eyes flick between your expression and the guards. Then, to your surprise, he smirks. 

“Of course, darling,” he says, a little too loudly, wrapping his arm around your waist with dramatic flair. “Missed me already?”

The guards exchange bewildered glances, clearly unsure of what to make of this display. One of them even flushes. 

“A-Apologies, my lady,” he stammers, bowing slightly. 

“We didn’t realize—”

“That he was mine?”

Rafayel snorts under his breath, thoroughly enjoying himself as you hauled him into the mansion. 

“I didn’t think you’d actually show up!”

“Well, I’m emotionally damaged from being body slammed out of nowhere, starving, and slightly winded, so yes, I showed up!”

“Great,” you mutter, giving him a once-over and imagining what he’d look like after a proper bath and a set of robes. 

As much of a disaster as this stranger…what was his name? Rafayel was it? This disaster might be your ticket out of marrying Sylus. And if nothing else, he’ll certainly make things interesting.

“You’re perfect.”

“Obviously!” 

You ignore him, turning the corner and calling down the hall, “Charlie! Have the maids bring me my breakfast to my quarters. I’m not feeling particularly well.”

Charlie appears in seconds, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Miss Y/N is everything alright?”

Y/N? So that’s her name, Rafayel thinks, casually running his gaze over you, though it lingers a little longer than it should. You were no princess, but there was a certain wildness about you. A feral, untamed charm that made him want to learn more. You’re not bad on the eyes, though you’re certainly not up to Lemurian standards when it comes to beauty.  

“Shall I call for the doctor?”

“No! Just…food. Double my portions, please!”

You don’t wait for Charlie to respond before yanking Rafayel into the closest room. You slam the door shut behind you, then whirl around to face him with your arms crossed.

“Here’s the deal,” you say, voice firm. “You can eat…under one condition.”

Rafayel blinks. Once. Twice. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Marry me.”

“Marry you?”

You shrug. “Aren’t you a starving artist seeking inspiration with no coin to your name? Consider it a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“This is exploitation.”

“It’s practical,” you reply, unbothered by his disbelief. “You get to eat and I get to avoid a life trapped in a loveless, political marriage. Everyone wins.”

Rafayel eyes you for a moment, processing the logic or lack thereof. “What’s so awful about the crown prince?”

“He’s a selfish, pompous ass who puts his own ambitions above everyone else! It’s all about what he wants, without caring for anyone else in the process. He doesn’t deserve to be king, let alone have me as his wife!”

He falls silent, your tirade stirring something uncomfortable within him. Was this how his people saw him too? A selfish ruler unfit for the crown? His expression falters for a fleeting moment, but he masks it quickly, avoiding your gaze.

You, however, are too busy thinking about the practicality of your agreement to notice his inner turmoil. 

“Do you want your payment up front?”

Rafayel’s mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Am I just a whore to you? I’ll have you know that I’m the prince—”

“Yes! Yes, we will accept the payment up front! Forgive us, my lady!” Thomas bursts into the room and slaps a hand over Rafayel’s mouth. 

“Please excuse us,” he says, quickly bowing. He drags Rafayel into the hall, muttering apologies as the door slams shut behind them.

“Have you lost your mind?” Thomas hisses, releasing Rafayel and pacing the length of the hallway. 

“We’re in Linkon, your Highness. Yes, relations with Lemuria are friendly, but you’ve vanished without a word! If anyone here finds out who you really are—”

“They won’t.”

“Someone will recognize you eventually,” Thomas lowers his voice even further, casting a nervous glance at the door. 

“The palace must be in chaos. The guard is probably searching every port. And Solana…gods, Solana is going to kill me.”

“Your wife says that all the time.”

“I’m sure she means it this time.”

Rafayel raises both hands lazily. “What’s wrong with pretending to be someone else for a few weeks? There’s food, a warm bed, no council meetings, and zero talk of arranged marriages. Sounds like a vacation to me.”

Thomas stares at him. “You’re still the prince of Lemuria.”

“Not if no one here knows it,” Rafayel shrugs. “Let me live a little. When this fake marriage falls apart, I’ll disappear.”

Still mulling over his decision, he turns and heads back to your quarters. As he pushes the door open, he comes to an abrupt halt. Before him a feast is laid out in the center of the room–steamed meat buns, slices of crispy duck, and root vegetables. 

He pauses, taking in the sight, the corner of his mouth lifting into a slow, lazy smile. It’s as if the universe itself had conspired to tempt him further into this bizarre arrangement.

“Alright, Miss Y/N. I’ll marry you.”

⟡ ݁₊ .

Sylus hadn’t expected to be punched in the throat yesterday.

He’d faced assassination attempts, ambushes, and battlefield skirmishes, but none of them had made his heart race quite like the woman who glared at him with righteous fury.

It was, against all odds, love at first punch.

He replays the moment a dozen times in his mind. The fire in your eyes. The absolute, scorching contempt. The way you vault over the garden wall without a second glance.

He sighs, running a hand through his perfectly tousled hair. “She hates me,” he murmurs aloud, almost in awe.

He rehearsed what he planned to say, a thousand times over, upon hearing that you had been chosen by his father to be his bride, the next princess consort.

“Do you remember me?” No, it was too direct.

“I missed you.” True. But useless.

Because the last time he’d seen you, you were dying in his arms. 

He hadn’t wanted to marry the Northern Princess.

It had been a match for power, nothing more. No love. No affection. When you’d found out, you hadn’t argued. Hadn’t cried. You had simply bowed, offered a polite farewell and disappeared into your chambers.

He hadn’t realized how the new concubine had overstepped, encroaching on your position as princess consort. From the outside, it seemed as though he favored her, ignoring the life you had built together.

In truth, Sylus wasn’t indifferent. He was quietly scheming to end the marriage to the concubine without risking you or triggering political fallout. But by the morning of the ceremony, you were gone, having left for your brother’s estate while the imperial palace drowned itself in festivities.

It was Charlie who came staggering into the great hall hours later, bloodied, trembling and barely alive.

“Bandits. She stayed behind. Fought them off.”

Sylus left the ceremony mid-vow and rode until his horse collapsed.

By the time he found you, it was too late. You lay on your side, unmoving. Blood pooled beneath your ribs as your sword lay just out of reach.

Sylus dropped to his knees and pulled you into his arms. He begged you to wake, promised you anything. Everything. That he’d fix it. That he didn’t forget about you and that he’d tell you everything.

But you were already gone.

He lit your funeral pyre himself. And when the flames rose high, he didn’t wait for the ashes to settle. He walked into the fire, praying quietly, desperately, to the gods that he’d find you again.

“Your Highness.”

A voice broke through the memory. Sylus didn’t look up from the scrolls on his desk.

“Speak.”

The advisor steps inside, shifting awkwardly.

“I’ve come to inform you…that Miss Shen is engaged.”

taglist: @animegamerfox @beaconsxd @browneyedgirl22 @crimsonmarabou @whosthought @zoezhive @cupid-gene

[tadc-harlequin-au]

Harlequin AU - "Stalemate" (canon, fic)

This is a wip art! It will be updated in the future.

══════☸☸☸════════════☸☸☸══════

One step.

Leather shoes made their way on uneven grounds.

The crinkling of glass underneath the soles made their way prominent to the stepper’s ears, but she couldn’t care less.

This was the last known location of the man she’d been tracking for a while now. And this is the moment of truth. Did she still got it? Or will she fall as a trophy on a mantle?

Time to find out.

Squeaks of a rusty metal gate aired out into the open, gathering the attention of a few unwanted pests. But in quick succession, they were no more, swiftly falling prey to the sharp blade of the Puppet. There was not even a chance for them to strike.

Satisfied with her work, she straddles into the grounds of the mansion. First, the gardens.

One could say it was a serene scene, but for her it was a mere distraction. Unimportant. Simply delaying the inevitable.

She steps out into the lush open grass of the area. A huge empty space filled with nothing but prickly green underneath the blue hues of the night. She found amusement in the fact that there’s a chance she can ruin this place once she meets her opponent.

A lone, mossy fountain sat on the front. Not interesting.

She makes her way onto the stairs of the mansion entrance. Each step fills her with more vigor, excitement coursing through her being. The giant, elegant oak door groaned in protest as she pushed it open.

Empty.

No matter, there were many rooms.

She quickly hears the puttering sound of rotor blades spinning, and she looks to her right, finding a mini-blimp with a literal sharp smile, and a vacant expression on it’s glossy eyes.

“Hellloooooo,” it said, dragging the last syllable playfully, “Can I help you with anything?” The blimp asked with not a care in the world.

“I’m looking for someone.” The Puppet claims, pulling out a parchment of a wanted poster. It was useless to waste her energy on this… creature. So she will entertain it’s questions for now.

“Oh! You’re looking for the boss! I’ll lead you to him!” The blimp confirms her suspicions.

He was in this place, and she’d successfully tracked her target down. Now all that was needed was proof of her soon-to-be victory. It was only by a few rooms that she’d found him.

But the sight wasn’t as grand as she envisioned.

She expected a confident, prideful, and powerful fighter….

NOT whatever this mess who’s currently laying on the ground and leaning deactivated against an office desk was. WHAT THE FUCK.

Did she seriously come all this way for nothing?! She felt a little furious, and she redirected her burning gaze onto the blimp, grasping tightly onto the sword and pointing it’s sharp end with malice. The Blimp did not seem to react at her wordless threat at all, still flashing a sharp smile as it slowly turned to face her.

“EXPLAIN.” She demanded. “HE CAN’T BE ALREADY DEACTIVATED.”

“Oh, this is just something that happens allllll the time. Give him a little time.” The Blimp answered, and turned it’s attention back to 'the boss'. She kicked a leg, no response.

“Let me try!” The Blimp says, and with a clearing of it’s throat, it shouts. “BOSS! Someone’s here to see you!”

And in an instant, the exposed chest of the man lit up in two separate hues, and he sits up straight as if plunged underwater for long.

“GAH! WHA- WHO IS IT!” He yelps in surprise, holding a glass bottle by it’s neck as if ready to throw. His shocked gaze soon falls on…. To the Harlequin, who unveils her tattered covers protecting her from outside elements, and reveals her face.

“Puppetmaster. I’ve come to challenge you.”

He blinks a couple of times with wide eyes, and his stare keeps shifting from the blimp, to her, and then repeat. After a while, his gaze falters and an unimpressed groan escapes the strange Puppet across from her. “Not again…” He mutters under his breath. "Bubble, what did I tell you about letting people you don't know in?"

...Not again?

“Wh- What do you mean “not again”- This is the FIRST time I’ve come here!” She replied, and the Puppetmaster only crosses his arms as soon as he manages to get up on two feet.

“And it certainly won’t be the LAST, I see.” He shuffles away, the metal cane tapping to the marble ground with each step he took, and the Harlequin is left utterly confused. She grumpily follows him to the main lounge, ready to demand once more.

“Are you fucking deaf or what? I said I’ve come to challenge you!”

“Not interested.” He feels around in a bookshelf, pulling out a rather large tome. He opens it and retrieves a bottle full of liquid.

He was really testing her patience, huh?

As soon as he turns around, The Harlequin makes quick work of slicing the bottle in half just to show how serious she is. The glass quickly detaches, and the liquid spills onto the floor, leaving the Puppetmaster with an unamused, disappointed stare.

“.... That was the last of it’s kind, by the way. You just killed off one of my favorite drinks” He replies with a hint of unserious humor, and it makes her teeth grit in frustration.

“I AM NOT LEAVING THIS PLACE UNTIL I GET WHAT I FUCKING CAME FOR!” She angrily responds. “So you either stop with your shit and fight me, OR ELSE.” She points the sword straight at his core, and the pair of dentures simply rolls his eye to the side, and pushes the blade away.

“Hmm. You know, for a moment, I really thought you were different.” He drops to the floor and detaches a tile after tapping at a seemingly hollow tile with the cane, revealing yet another hidden compartment full of unknown bottles. He sticks his tongue out a little as he reaches for them, but as soon as one was retrieved, The Harlequin repeats the same action as before, as well as shattering the other bottles within.

He blinks once, then twice. “Can you stop wasting the only thing that’s keeping me from jumping off of the deep end, pretty please?” He pleads, but it’s completely devoid of sincerity.

She growls, and grabs his collar. He is slightly surprised, but quickly goes back to his uncaring attitude while staring at her grip. “Umm… Normally I would not mind the touch, but you’re wrinkling my shirt.” His carefree attitude was picking at her nerves, and she bares her sharp teeth at him. His eyes widen a little, but it’s clearly not from fear.

He shakes it off, and squints at her humorlessly, unfazed by the threat.

“I am not repeating myself again, Puppetmaster. FIGHT. ME.” There’s a surprising yet subtle hint of desperation in her tone, but it was heavily masked by her aggressive tone and he finds himself disgruntled at his own thoughts.

He sighs.

“I don’t see a point in accepting that offer from a rookie like you, who doesn’t seem to know what fights they wanna pick… But fine.” He relents, “I’ll entertain you a little. I’d rather not cause more mess than usual for my little helper, though. All I ask is that we pick a different location.”

She was a little insulted at the term he had called her. But she swallowed her pride down in favor of the fact that he was finally agreeing to the duel. “Very well then.” She lets go of the collar. “I’m fine with any location of your choosing.”

“Much appreciated, dear. I know an abandoned circus arena that is ideal for this.” He taps his cane to the ground, in contemplation.

“In fact… I think you might like it as much as I do.”

══════☸☸☸════════════☸☸☸══════

It wasn’t the walk towards this “arena” that was agonizing.

But rather the wait she had to comply with if she wanted his participation. Nonetheless, he parts the curtains that cover the entrance, but she only crosses her arms and taps her foot. She was antsy, and his stare was questioning.

“You… won’t go first?”

“Why would I? You’re leading the way.” She replies in clear annoyance.

His gaze shifts to the entrance, trying not to be bothered about this as he makes his way inside. As soon as the Harlequin makes her way inside, spotlights let out a loud click as they all simultaneously turn on, all shining at the sand-filled arena slightly damaged by time… or something else entirely.

There’s a little prickling feeling that settles in her chest, and she can sense her core thrum in dissonance. But she doesn’t understand it, so naturally, she shrugs it off as if it never existed.

The Puppetmaster has had his back turned against her all this time. His head hung low, as if staring into the very ground. But she simply clutches at her sword with her left arm, the grip making a loud metallic clunk. He taps his cane to the ground, and it echoes throughout the tent despite the consistency of the very plane they stand on.

“Are you ready?” His voice, despite them being meters apart, is loud, bold and clear.

She grips her sword harder, unsheathing a little. Her right feet drags across the ground, an obvious stance of preparation before the action.

His eyes are hidden, depriving her of reading his full intent once he turns to face his opponent. Nonetheless, she squints, wordlessly giving him her answer.

The cane taps onto the ground yet again, and she rushes like a cobra. There’s a faint hum of voices in the background but she can’t decipher it.

Distractions.

That was all it is.

And a fighter does NOT get distracted.

She unsheathes the sword fully, ready to lunge as soon as she was close enough. A battle cry escapes her as she swings at the sudden cloud of dust that appeared in front of her.

“Slow.”

He easily avoids the swing, and she barely has a second to react at the speed of his movements, finding herself stumbling. Utterly confused, she quickly turns around to face where he had gone. He was now in the middle of the arena, side-eyeing her with interest that she interprets as complete mockery. 

She clutches the sword with both hands and another battle scream erupts from her. He grips at his cane harder, eyes once more hidden as his jaws snap shut in focus. She leaps into the air to bring down a hard slash, but his cane blocks her attempt, and it results in sparks flying from the exertion of force between both parties.

The Puppetmaster quickly ends this standstill by pushing her back, making her feet drag across the ground from the force by a mile.

“...Yet adept form.” He comments, squinting his eyes at her.

She wipes away at her face, just in case. Her posture straightens in confusion, but it is quickly taken over by anger. “YOU ASSHAT, STOP OBSERVING ME AND FIGHT!” a complain, but her expression changes to confusion once more as he disappears in a cloud of dust from her sight.

Where the FUCK did he go NOW?!

His form appears out of nowhere. Looming over. His eyes are devoid of pupils, and for a moment, she finds herself stuttering.

“H-HOLD ON W-WA-WAIT JUST A SECOND!”

There was no time for waiting in a duel of course, but it slipped from her mouth before she could even think about it fully. She could only assume that he was disorienting her, and it was working effectively.

His cane twirls on his hand, and he uses the other end of the metal rod to push her to bend backwards, just to avoid the flaring poke of electricity surging through the cane. There was no time for the Harlequin to get back up, and she cursed herself for making rookie mistakes, and proving his words right.

What was wrong with her today, of all days?

He sweeps her legs, knocking her off-balance down to the ground, but her athletic build allowed for a very quick recovery, and she was back to steadying her stance again.

“Fascinating. What an impressive reflex. You have a fast recovery.” 

The Puppetmaster seems to be taking notes of her actions, and it was then that she realizes he was simply toying with her.

“Maybe this could work… Hm.”

Her sword drops to the ground a loud clank, which forces his gaze to look up at her. But it was too late.

A very hard kick met his face and he barely had the reaction time for it. He could feel the blow produce a gust of wind as he flew to the old safety bleachers (much to it’s destruction), and a loud crack permeated the air as one of his teeth flew off and broke in half.

A heavy cloud of yellow dust hid him from the view of the fuming Harlequin.

He rises up, seemingly unaffected until he reaches to check at the loss of a denticle. A black substance covered his gloves’ fingertips. His gaze once more lands on the Harlequin, who is now emitting visible hot steam from her body, breathing heavily as her eyes shone brightly with the intent of murder.

“I’ve HAD it up to HERE, with your STUPID ANTICS!” She stepped a foot onto the ground, and the cement underneath the sand crumbled. The lights slowly flickered in response, and his eyes widens in alert.

Uh oh. This was not good. The fight needs to be ended as fast as possible now.

“I suppose I should’ve been paying more attention to a duel.” He clutches at his cane for support as he stands up undamaged (besides the lost tooth), but lets go of it as soon as it’s job is complete.

If she won’t possess a weapon, then it wouldn’t be right for him to possess his either.

Both of them rushed at each other in high feats of speed, and a small crater was created as a proof of the intensity of the hit. When the Harlequin would deliver a punch, a dense gust of wind would be produced as the Puppetmaster blocked each time.

There was now more steam emitting from her body, and the clock was ticking. He had no choice.

With a revenge kick to her torso that she blocks with both arms, he sends her flying to where she had previously dropped her sword, as he rushes to his own “weapon” of choice too. 

She grabbed at the sword and rushed.

He grabbed his cane and did the same.

The speed executed between both parties was unmatched, and a heavy cloud was produced for the last time in the middle of the arena as both fighters collided their weapons.

Their gazes were intense, the Harlequin smiling when she pointed her sword directly at his core. But the blue light emitting from the Puppetmaster’s cane made her look down to where it was pointed.

It was also at her core.

Satisfied with the way the Harlequin stopped fighting out of slight confusion, he opts to explain the current situation.

“Now, you can pry open my core and deactivate me just as easily,” he starts. “... But if you so much as move the required centimeter to do so, the tip of my cane will touch your core which will shock your heart with the amount of electricity that can power 5 large cities.”

Her eyes widened.

“We’re both made of metal. How the fuck are you going to defend yourself from this?!”

“I won’t.”

It was a simple statement that made the Harlequin realize what he’s doing. “Do you have a shitty death wish or something? That’s crazy! There’s no way you can produce that much charge either, you’re just fucking bluffing!”

“Am I, now?” There was not a hint of humor nor sarcasm in his tone. He was dead serious.

She couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t fucking believe it.

“We’re at a stalemate, dear.” She gripped the handle of her sword with much intensity, baring her teeth in frustration and denial.

“This fight is over.” He proclaims no winners, and the Harlequin begins to kick the remaining sand in the arena all around, throwing a temper tantrum.

“NO!” She shouted while gripping at her head, uncaring of the noise. “NO, NO, NO! THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO END THIS WAY! YOU CHEATED YOUR WAY OUT OF THIS, YOU-” Her joints stopped responding to her actions, and she finds herself kneeling onto the ground. Horror filled her entire system as she tried to decipher what’s happening, but before she knew it, All she could see now was the tattered, faded yellow-red stripes of the tent ceiling.

And then the view of his stupid dentures face came into her sight, and he was back to observing her again.

“You’re still functional, are you?”

“UNFORTUNATELY.” She grit her teeth.

“Hm.” An acknowledgement.

She could hear the way he takes a seat onto the ground beside her.

“You’re quite an odd one.”

“CAN YOU STOP TALKING.”

“Hm….” He contemplates. “No, I don’t think I will~.” There’s a smug pitch in his tone (that would’ve made a vein pop somewhere in her head if she was organic). “You’re the first sane Puppet I’ve talked to in a long while.”

… Was this somehow some kind of cruel punishment?

“Just let your body cool down and re-adjust for now. You really pushed yourself back there.” She couldn’t exactly tell what he was doing, but if the slightly muffled way of speaking was any indication, she could only assume he was checking his now missing tooth.

But that wasn’t what grabbed the Harlequin’s attention. Rather, she was slightly intrigued about how he knows what’s happened to her, when she didn’t.

“What are you even talking about? What’s happened to me?” She asked, temper slowly subsiding, although irritation was still present.

“What’s happened is that you accidentally began to overcharge yourself.” He was more than glad to explain. “Your body couldn’t keep up with the amount of energy spent, and now here you are, lying down on the ground.” He taps at the sand above her head with the golden sphere of his cane. “You also nearly overheated that you could’ve exploded your core. But you can’t feel that, can you?”

She sighs. “Of course I fucking don’t. I’m a Puppet. I don’t feel things, I just do things. At least that’s what I think I should be doing.”

There was a moment of silence between them, one that the Harlequin was more than glad to have. But almost as if being mocked by timing, this quiet was broken by the voice of Puppetmaster once more.

“What’s your directive.”

“Fight SOMETHING, I guess.”

“No.”

“What?”

“Tell me your FULL directive. I don’t want a summarized version.”

She sighs again. “FIND— FIGHT— PROTECT—- CITY—- FROM HARM.” There was a slight pause and a bit of glitching in her voice when she recited the blanks.

“…Well, I must say, this is quite the predicament.”

“Can you stop being so fucking cryptic and just tell me?!”

“... You’re broken.”

“EXCUSE ME?”

“An incomplete line of command. It’s making you act on your own." He explains. "For shorter terms, you’re a loose cannon.” He mutters something else under his breath that the Harlequin couldn’t hear, and for a moment, there’s an unreadable tone with his delivery that she can’t decipher.

“Wha… what the hell does any of that mumbo jumbo even mean…” She would drag her hand across her face if she could right about now.

“Say, how would you feel about an alliance?”

“I feel like punching another one of your teeth out, that’s for sure.”

“I’m flattered, but also serious. You and I are quite possibly the only Puppets left sane here in this world. And I have an idea that I can only really do with YOUR help.”

“I’m not fucking interested in your passion project.”

“Your purpose seems to say otherwise.”

Her brow creases. “What, are you gonna say it involves fighting something?”

“Not just that. It’s also to protect this city from further harm.” Now that got her attention. She’s cautious, but in all honesty, also intrigued.

“We can discuss this even further once you’re all good to go. But for now…” He trails off as he stands up, and she can finally move a little bit of her joints on her fingers. Her body was seemingly cooling down to allow slight movements again.

“My name is Caine. Do you have a name?” For a moment, she senses a foreign bit of deja vu.

“... Just the code on my shoulder.”

“What is it?”

“P-1210.”

“Well, I can’t be calling you that. How about a proper one?”

“Whatever knocks your socks off, I guess.”

“ ‘Pomni’. What about ‘Pomni’. ”

There’s a response at her core that she couldn’t fully understand. But it seems that it wants her to agree.

“... Sure, I-I…I guess.”

“Pomni it is.”

══════☸☸☸════════════☸☸☸══════

[kometqh]

𝐖𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮

Captain Rex x f!reader

Word count: 702

Warmings: None. Just a little angst.

A/N: this was eating at my brain all day after seeing a YouTube short. Might write a tiny part 2 might not as I wait for my brain juice to allow me to continue with my other WIP’s (smoot) :) this is also very much unedited, it’s just my brain unicorn farts at 1am.

The night was overwhelmingly bleak. Clouds gathered in clumps, blocking out the millions of stars in the sky. Rex felt anxiety tugging at his heartstrings, playing them cruelly with cold, nimble fingers. He hadn’t seen her in years. He’d put on weight, developed more frown lines, more grey hairs. Gregor had always made fun of him, laughing about Rex needing to start skincare. Would she even recognise him?

A harsh, cold wind pushed past him. Icicles pricked at his skin, ushering him to turn around and never look back. He was too old for this, what if she'd moved on? Started a family?

No. She promised that she would wait.

She was a woman of her word. As loyal as his late brothers. Deep down he knew that she would wait, whether it be days or months or years.

As his shadow fell upon the front door, the clouds parted and a glint of moonlight shone on his back. Finally, some light.

Raising his fist, he hesitated. Did she still live here? What if Gregors intel was outdated?

Kriff it. He had nothing to lose.

He knocked three times, the sound hollow against the wooden door.

He waited, observing his surroundings. The roses had wilted. Her roses were never wilted. She was sharp and precise. Observant. Blood pumped faster through his veins, anxiety boiling over in the pit of his stomach.

Minutes passed and there was still no answer. A cold breeze sent goosebumps down his spine.

He knocked again, to no avail.

“What’s going on?” Rex muttered to nobody in particular, his brows furrowing. Where was she?

His legs moved before he was aware of what he was doing.

The back gate had been taken over by wild vines. The wooden gate tore through the plants, snapping and ripping them in the process. Groaning, the hinges protested against the sudden oncoming force, as though they hadn't been moved in years.

‘I’ll have to fix that later.’ He thought with a small smile.

The garden looked worse than Rex could've imagined. Wild brush and prickly weeds had covered the previous vegetable garden, and more ivory vines twisted and grasped at the structure of the house.

One foot after the other, he trudged through the mess left behind by Mother Nature. When did this happen?

The moonlight had now disappeared behind yet another herd of thick, heavy clouds. Rex cursed as he struggled to see anything. It seemed that the vines and the brush were doing everything in their power to hold him back, grasping and pulling with all their might.

Questions ran rampant, clouding his mind in tandem with his feelings of fear and uncertainty.

What happened? Where was she? Why hadn’t she come to the door?

She couldn't have left. This place meant the galaxy to her.

Rex promised her that they’d grow old together, watching the sunset on the porch, or relaxing in front of the fire pit. He promised her they’d start a farm, buy their own chicken coop and build a barn for some small goats. Did she grow tired of waiting for her soldier to return?

He stumbled upon his answer shortly after.

Hidden deep within the confines of nature was his answer.

A single stone tablet.

Deep down he knew, yet he found himself unable to rip his eyesight away from the engravements on the stone.

‘A beautiful soul rests, a kind and bright life that had been taken too soon.’

His mouth was left agape as his stare bore into the stone, reading the words over and over again, his mind running with all the different possibilities and outcomes. That stone hadn’t been there when he left. That grave hadn’t been made.

And as his sight landed on the neat, faded lettering of your name, he felt his soul shatter into a thousand little pieces.

A cold breeze tugged past him, whispering unheard promises, confessings of love and sincerest apologies that would go unnoticed under the tears streaming from his eyes and the desperate sobs as he grasped at your grave.

Cold, ghostly arms embraced his warm form in the middle of the night, transparent tears mixing with his until the early hours of dawn.

[violetteshoneybee]

WIP. (remus lupin x reader)

remus lupin x reader

In which the marauders and their girls are on summer holiday in South of France and Remus realises he wants you.

Warnings: fluff (maybe smut, we’ll see); not proofread!!

Remus had no idea when he agreed to go to the Potter’s summer house in south of France that the summer holidays would go like this. He thought it would be just the four of them boys in a little house. But he did underestimate the Potters wealth a bit.

The taxi stopped in front of the iron gates of a three-story house. The path to the front door was lined by pine trees. Remus could hear some repetitive melody coming from the trees. He attributed that to some kind of grasshopper. The scorching sun, although filtered by the branches, was making the boy’s head ache and sweat. And the noise from what he had gathered to be a cigale was worsening it. Still, he was pleased to discover the house with its walls made of put-together stone, its shutters needing fresh paint, and the small fountain beside the floral arrangement that would go all around the building. James had pushed its faucet to bathe his head in cold water, but Remus was focused on something else now. He had seen someone in the window. Someone he didn’t know would be here.

The door opened in a hurry, and all he could think was, when did he miss that information?

“We were starting to worry, what took you so long?”

“James had forgotten his pacifier, that’s what took us so long. You know how he is when he doesn’t have it.” Sirius climbed the stairs, his sunglasses in his hair and his bag on the shoulder. “Insufferable!” He muttered loud enough for the four girls to hear.

Remus combed his fingers through his hair and took a long breath before opening his mouth

“Well! Hello-”

“What are you doing here? I thought it was just us four!” Peter asked joining Sirius and the others inside.

You stayed in the corner of the door looking at the two boys left.

“Had a nice trip?”

Remus nodded. You looked ethereal in your blue and white sundress, your hair braided together.

“And you? You didn’t wait too long? Lils is not mad right?”

“Don’t start, Prongs.” Remus lifted his luggage. “I like the dress”

“You’ll get burned if you don’t put sunscreen on, Potter.”

“It’s alright, Evans. He’s a big guy.”

“I have some sunscreen if you'd like.”

James shook his head no, not glancing at them, his arm covering his eyes to cover himself. He had decided he was done with Lily Evans. Too much running around, not enough results, he said. And, too busy becoming a better guy, he was not seeing how Lily’s attention toward him had changed. That’s what everyone understood, though.

Remus’s gaze turned from his three friends to the girl getting in the water. You chuckled a bit listening to Lily’s attempt at catching James attention.

“Not too cold?”

You immersed yourself fully in the pool and let yourself float around.

“It’s parfait!”

Remus smiled at your French pronunciation. You and Sirius had been going around throwing random French words in conversation since the first day of the holidays.

“Is it? Should I join you?” You shook your head.

“Don’t ruin it. It feels good like this.” You hummed plunging your head underneath the surface.

Remus looked at how your body moved expertly under the water. The way your hair floated above your shoulders and how sunshine seemed to rain on your back as you swam. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. Away from your legs moving so delicately under the water like a dance he did not know of.

He watched you like this the whole time you were enjoying the nice and cool pool in the back garden of the house. He was sitting on a lounging chair in the shadow of a pine tree. He had kept his shirt on despite the warm weather, too embarrassed to show his scarred body. Remus’s face was already reddened by the sun, and some freckles had started to appear on his nose and cheeks. You had found them quite adorable on him. It betrayed his soft personality that you loved so much.

You had been in love with Remus for two years now. Stealing glances at him when you could, but keeping your feelings for yourself. You were worried you might ruin your bond and your friend group dynamic. As if getting serious with Remus would stop you from enjoying time with the others. Particularly if Remus were to reject you. You couldn’t even think of how your friendship would go after that without being embarrassed to death. Still, from time to time, when you were brave enough, you would attempt to flirt with Remus. Just to see if you had a chance, or if he really was too good for you. You were wondering at that moment, fully aware of the attention on your body, if you could say something to him. Your face was red just at the thought of it.

“My eyes are higher, Rem.” You managed to say without stuttering too much. You had swum to him and were now looking up at him through your lashes.

Remus was speechless. You looked so innocent, so beautiful at that moment. He wanted to take a picture of you, just to keep you in his wallet, and maybe, just maybe, sometimes say to strangers, “That’s my girlfriend, isn’t she beautiful?” He dreamed of that, of saying you were his.

Dividers credit to @cafekitsune

Tag list : @innerloverpainter

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Let me know if you want more. Didn't get too much on Part 1 but I have ideas so...

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your third week begins in the same place. Before the iron gate, the code unlocking the green maze within. You’re still just as impressed as your first day there. To you, it’s like a fantasy. Entirely unattainable but it’s right there. You can look, but you can’t touch… not beyond cleaning.

You linger outside, not thinking. You admire the tall tulips and the hedge trimmed to resemble some landmark you can’t quite place. You could see a place like this in an Austenian film or perhaps something Victorian. You don’t have an eye for the difference.

You key in the code for the backdoor and continue on. You put covers on your shoes and grab a fresh set of gloves. You’re getting into a pattern, though each client differs slightly. You put your things away and bring your water bottle with you. You bought a cool strap that keeps it against your hip, a small splurge with your first paycheck. The rest went to bills.

As you start on your usual journey through the many rooms of the airy house, you wonder how its sole resident isn’t lonely. Or perhaps he is. He doesn’t seem the type to admit to it. You turn your thoughts back to your work. You try not to think of him, truly, you don’t know much of him.

You take a candlestick and polish it. You move on the small globe; an ivory orb on a silver axes, the outlines of the continent carved into the surface. As you put it back, you notice something. An item you can’t recall being there before. You reach for it but stop as you realise it’s a camera.

You retract your hand and move on to dust the shelf itself. Does he not trust you or was it there before? Of course, somewhere like this would need security. There was a story just the other day about a break-in, but that was closer to your father’s where those culprits dwell.

The second floor is always easier. It seems even less lived-in than below. All but the study and the main bedroom. You flit in and out, checking points off the list until you’re content. You can only hope he will be too.

As you descend, the epiphany tickles your brain. It’s the first shift he hasn’t appeared. It’s easy to assume he’s busy. You don’t expect him to hang around. As if he would supervise you. Besides, that’s probably what the cameras are for.

You pack up and get your single refill of water. You leave the way you came, as you have twice before. The keypad flashes red to signal the lock is in place. You haul your kit higher on your shoulder and tread slowly along the little path along the side of the house.

You look at the gazebo trimmed in hanging ivy. It’s beautiful. You’d like to venture up and sit on that bench. Just sit and watch and smell and feel. You force the thought away and turn back along the stonework.

You’re going home. Not to pollen but tobacco smoke. Not to lush gardens but wilting strands in soggy mud. Not to immaculate floors and pristine decor but to stained walls and broken springs in your mattress. 

Home, to another man that makes you nervous.

🧹

Your father is as he always is, smoking on the couch. You say hi as you come in with a bag of groceries, the prize for what was left of your check. He grumbles and flicks through the channels. You go to the kitchen to put away the food.

You’re almost at the end of your first month, a third of the way through your probationary period. Hopefully after that, you can pick up more clients. You shut the cupboard and go back to the living room. Your father coughs into a crumpled tissue. He sounds horrible. You can’t say so, he doesn’t seem to care.

“I got some fresh produce,” you announce proudly, “I’ll steam some veggies with the chops.”

“You get fries?” He growls.

“Uh, no,” you admit, “I thought we could eat something healthier–”

“I don’t like steamed veggies,” he drops the remote and grabs his pack of smokes.

“Oh, sorry, I was only thinking–”

“Don’t lie and say you were,” he snorts as he pulls out a cigarette and taps the end of the pack. “Go on, I’m tryna watch this.”

He nods at the television and you follow his gaze to the rerun of All in the Family. He’s seen them all before. You take the dismissal and retreat up to your room. Like you always do.

It’s always been like this. You don’t hate your father but sometimes it feels like he hates you. You put your kit and your water bottle on your dress and change into clean clothes. You lay in bed and close your eyes, trying to let go of the tension in your muscles.

You don’t remember your mom but he does. You assume that’s why he’s like this. It’s not you, it’s what happened. Tragic. A loss he won’t talk about.

You rub your forehead and let your arms fall to bend on either side of your head. You only ever saw one picture of your mother. You don’t think you look like her. She was pretty. And young. You were always too afraid to ask about her but you could tell she was younger than him. No one could’ve expected her to go so soon.

You close your eyes. It’s a strange sort of grief to miss someone who is only a shadow in your mind. Not even a voice, just this ghost you know by name. Mommy…

You blow out a deep breath in an effort to bid away the sadness. That was so long ago. This is now and you have a lot to worry about.

🧹

The Laufeyson house greets you once more with its elaborate brickwork. It’s starting to feel familiar, like a habit to put in the new code and walk along the winding path around to the back door. Six more numbers and you’re inside; shoe covers, gloves, bottle, and the list.

You always check the new email sent by the agency. There’s always something small and new squeezed into the bullet points. This week, you notice the first task is laundry. 

‘Retrieve hamper from hallway. When hamper is left outside door, it means clothes must be washed.’

Easy enough. You go upstairs first and take the tall hamper from beside the door frame. It’s heavy and there’s no wheels to aid in your struggle. The laundry room is downstairs. Your descent is treacherous, one step at a time as you haul the basket down step by step. If Mr. Laufeyson is there, he can’t happy with the noise.

You finally get to the machine and follow the instructions about cycle type and separating colours from whites. However, there is only the bedding to be cleaned. You load the linens in and take a moment to figure out the touchscreen. Your father’s machine has a dial that only works on one setting and gives off a dingy stench.

You leave the basket in front of the washer and retreat to start your usual progression through the urban manse. Mop, sweep, dust, vacuum, polish; hallway, kitchen, dining room, sitting room… Nothing unusual or unexpected.

As you cross the narrow foyer to the den, the sunshine glows a warm orange through the slender windows on either side of the front door. The patterning of the glass reflects prettily on the floor. Despite your best efforts, you can’t help but imagine residing somewhere so brilliant.

You sigh and carry on. You’re sure to open the long drapes to let in the late spring sunshine. It’s not so bad working in the light and you can see where the rare spec of dust is hiding. You go to the tall shelf beside the record player and pull out the albums to wipe beneath them. Music would be jarring in a place always so silent.

You slip the albums back into place, pulling out one to admire the cover; Ane Brun. You’ve never heard of them. You read the track list curiously. You know you shouldn’t be wasting time.

“I don’t believe I’d have anything to your taste on my shelf,” the mocking slither has you pushing the album in line with the rest.

You almost apologise but you remember. You don’t speak. You just clean. So clean.

You glance over at Mr. Laufeyson as he struts in, a book held in one hand as his other is tucked in his pocket. He wears his usual pressed attire; a dark button-up and even darker slacks. You note that he has no tie that day. A single curl dangles by his temple as the rest of his black hair is precisely combed back.

You return to your tasks, gently wiping the cover of the record player and along the stand. You  hear the book drop onto the low table before the sofa before his footsteps continue on; closer. He approaches as you get to the next shelf, a collection of EPs in unmarked sleeves.

You wince as he stops near you, flipping up the cover of the sleek record player before stepping back to peruse his selection. You do your best to keep on as he looms. The air is thick and suffocating. Should you go to the next room and come back?

He slips a record free of its sleeve and places it carefully on the players. He moves the needle over and flips the switch, a crackle before the sound drones from the tall standing speakers. Acoustic guitar with a gritty feel to it. The sudden addition of a woman’s voice jolts you; her tone is peculiar but not unpleasant.

When I woke I took the backdoor to my mind And then I spoke I counted all of the good things you are

He backs away without a word. Not an explanation. You finish cleaning the second shelf and dare to glance over. He reads his book on the couch, unbothered by your existence. That isn’t too unfamiliar.

You finish the space but leave the vacuuming for later. You wouldn’t want to ruin the music. You go into what you can only call a sunroom. The french doors peek out onto the garden and a patio set with a large dining set in white iron and glass.

The music drifts in and keeps you company. It almost makes the work easier. You make quick work and go to check the washer to switch over the load. Once you have the dryer figured out, you begin on the second floor.

It’s only as you come out of one of the guestrooms that you notice the silence is returned. You turn down the hallway and near the next door. You enter the study with your usual reverence. Something about the space is intimidating. 

The large leather chair with its dimpled back and the even bigger desk; slabs of marble set into polished ebony. Shelves of a similar material, decked out with numerous volumes and the occasional ornament. Some appear even to be genuine artifacts. The rug at the centre is patterned in Persian style.

Behind the desk are a set of doors that open onto a balcony. The drapes are drawn shut. You find that is often the case. It’s a sombre and dark space hidden from the bright gardens without. Your tasks here are minimal. You use the hand vacuum and dust the shelves. You aren’t to touch the desk at all.

A shadow startles you as you drag the cloth along the edge of the bookshelf. Your eyes round and you look over as Mr. Laufeyson enters. You blanch but he doesn’t acknowledge you. He sighs and goes to the desk, sitting in the chair and wheeling it closer. You narrow your sights on the shelves; focus.

You feel a tremble but quickly shake it away. This is his home, he must be able to exist within it, but this feels strange, almost deliberate. Is he trying to make some point? To scare you? You remember the mention of those who came before you. Did they quit or did he dismiss them? Regardless, you can’t afford either.

It isn’t that difficult to follow the rules. Don’t speak? You haven’t much to say. You get closer as you advance along the shelves to the back of the office. He lets out another long exhale. His chair creaks, once, twice, and again.

“Hm,” he rolls back and swivels, an action you observe from the corner of your eye. He tuts and wheels back to the desk, resuming tapping on the keys of his slender laptop. The glow limns his silhouette sinisterly.

You rustle the drapes as you pass them and cross to the opposite shelves. As you brush over the spines of the books, you nearly drop the cloth. His low hum frightens you as he mimics the same melody that played from the speakers below. His tone is deep and sonorous, even delightful.

You squeeze the cloth and pause before regaining your composure. This cannot be a coincidence. The camera and now he’s following you. Or so it seems. Does he distrust you? What reason have you given him?

You are mindful to wipe down the bronze statue of what you assume is a viking warrior. You place it back staunchly, making sure your work is entirely visible to him. You are honest and you like to think you do your work well. Or at least, you try to. Perhaps if he sees that effort, he won’t be so suspicious.

As you head for the door, he quits his humming. His chair squeaks again.

“You are rather more thorough than the last,” he muses.

You stop and turn your head. You nod. He’s baiting you to break his number one rule.

“And you take orders well,” he adds blithely, “that is rare these days.” He taps a key again, “as you were.”

You take the dismissal in stride and flit off to your next task. It isn’t much, maybe only a statement of fact, but it’s something. He isn’t unhappy with your work. So far, neither are you.

[enviedear]

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[shivunin]

WIP Wednesday

Eyy I'm gonna start us off this week c: Throwing the taglist at the end for formatting reasons. Here's a bit of my "meet the family" fic (things are going super well, going great, no problems) ft. Lenore and Illario. This fic just keeps getting longer (I think we're up to like 20k at this point? I keep adding flashbacks of baby lucanis and lenore) so since I won't be sharing it anytime soon...

(645 Words | CW: Brief discussion of death/corpses/bodies in water)

“After you,” Illario said, gesturing grandly. 

Lenore sighed and walked before him, grateful that this dreadful trip back to the city was about to end. In her irritation at him, at this evening, at the entire Dellamorte line, she took her eyes away from the path for only a moment. The unfamiliar slippers, nearly treadless, slipped on the slick stone and her right foot met empty air instead of the street. She hardly had breath to yell before her body slapped the canal water, and it swept her into its depths with all the delight of a long-lost loved one. 

Neve had told her once that she had a talent for sinking; most people, she’d said, instinctually kicked themselves toward the surface. Not Rook. Something about her (your hard head, Neve had laughed) wanted very badly to sink. Now, the silk of her gown wrapped around her like a web; she couldn’t even kick herself to the surface. All she could do was hold her breath and reach, reach, at the wavering torchlight already receding from view. 

What a stupid, stupid way to die after everything else that’d happened. 

You might sink at first, a clinical voice in her mind reminded her, but corpses eventually float. They would haul her out of their byways within hours, and surely Lucanis would see her returned to the Necropolis. But—if she did stay in the water, caught under some boat or dock, the bloat would set in very quickly. Fish and insects would devour her exposed flesh first. Perhaps they would not even recognize her in a few days, save for the borrowed gown. Perhaps—

A warm hand seized hers and pulled, dragging her free of the grasping water and into clear air. Rook gasped and choked and barely managed to help drag her shaking body onto the narrow bridge. 

Illario was laughing. He didn’t stop when she dragged herself back to the edge and vomited canal water back into the depths. 

“A child knows better than to fall into the canals,” he laughed. Lenore coughed up another lungful of water. “I swam these when I was five.”

“Thank you,” she said, though she did not feel very grateful, and let herself collapse against the cold stone for a moment. The rough edges dug into the underside of her biceps, ground against her exposed knees. Her hair had tangled over her cheeks, clinging damply to her frigid skin. 

“How anyone believes you killed a god, I will never understand,” he went on, and the scrape of his feet on the stone told her he’d stood, though she wasn’t ready to open her eyes yet. “Ridiculous.”

“I didn’t kill a god,” she said, and dragged the clinging dress out of her way so she could rock back onto her scraped knees. Something warm dripped down her forehead; always a great sign. “Neither did you, for that matter.” 

He sneered at her and didn’t offer a hand while she struggled to her feet. One of the dainty shoes had been lost to the canals. Ah, well. She tossed the second after the first and considered it an offering to the hungry water. Her forehead stung. When she wiped at it, her hand came back red. Yes, that was rather as she’d expected. 

“You dropped this,” Illario said, and shoved her violin at her. Rook took it, catching the handle with hands made slippery by water and blood. 

“Why did you pull me out?” she asked him, slogging after him as he made for a nearby metal gate. 

“Why? Because no matter what my cousin says, I am not an idiot,” he unclasped the lock and stepped into what looked like a private garden. “If I was the last one seen with you and they dragged your body from the canals, who do you think Lucanis would strangle over it?”

Tagging @exhausted-archivist, @layalu, @inquisimer, @bumblewarden, @pickelda, @bitchesofostwick, @dreadfutures, @pinayelf, @star--nymph, @greypetrel, @ndostairlyrium, @jtownnn, @idolsgf, @elfroot-and-laurels I would love to see what you're working on if you'd like to share c:

[tru-makes-quilts]

Three pieces, meaning two long lines of sewing left!!

[simplegenius042]

🌹🌹🌹

Oh, three sentences? Even better!

Here's a snippet of three sentences from a FC5 WIP called No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden. Where the twisted theme and use of "Adam and Eve" is more focused on than it is in the main story.

Here's a snippet of my Deputy Silva Omar's POV briefly thinking about that story below:

This cautionary tale was propagandised, showing what happens when one betrays the Lord’s teachings, like Eve had done when she accepted the temptation of the Snake.

The visual image of the Garden of Eden annihilated by the flames with Adam caught in its midst was effective enough for the children of the Overcity to not disobey their parents, nor the Prophet of the same namesake who they followed. After all, his word was true, and it was law.

But to Silva, that story was one of endearment instead of dissuasion. And it still was, to this day, even after escaping Father once she learned the connotation he had interpretated the tale as, and both their roles in what was supposedly apart of "God's Divine Plan".

[acciomjolnir]

Hey friends.

I'm out of steam.

Whatever energy I might have had for the HP fandom is gone. Between Baldur's Gate 3 eating my brain and Dragon Age: The Veilguard coming on Halloween, my OG fandoms are popping off. I can't muster up any writing mojo for anything Potterversey, and honestly, I've been having a very hard time continuing on in the Potterverse as a whole while JKR has been making international headlines oppressing trans people with her money in the UK and casting aspersions on successful Olympians because she's scared of brown people just as much as she's scared of trans people. The "I don't give her my money" angle doesn't really work when she has more money than God and uses it to perpetuate oppression and hate.

So I've hidden my WIPs, and I'm leaving my completed works locked to AO3 users only, and I'm going ahead and calling the game for now. AccioMjolnir is inherently tied to this universe. The jargon is in the handle. But I don't want my other fandom works attached to it.

Is this a retirement or just a hiatus? I can't tell you.

What I CAN tell you is that I have 500 little Dragon Age plot bunnies and another 500 Baldur's Gate plot bunnies, multiple playthroughs in each, and a barrelful of hype for what's about to drop on me.

(and none for Harry Potter, byeeeeee)

Anyway, I know I can't control what fandom does, but I can at least state my wishes for my works while I toddle back to Bag End and assume a new, non-wizarding ao3 handle for non-HP works. I'll start from scratch, sure. But I don't mind. It's kind of freeing.

Do not pick up where I left off on an unfinished work. Whether I come back to it in a week, a month, a year, or never, I do not give permission for continuations/completions. These are my stories. Write your own.

Do not involve my works in anything that involves exchanging money, and do not silo it off into walled gardens. Fandom should be free. My work is on AO3. There is no need for petty tyrants to hoard the epub in their facebook groups. There is no need for you to hold a hardbound copy in your hands. I wrote it because there was a story I wanted to read that I didn't see out there yet. And then I shared it because I thought maybe someone else would want to see it. That's really all.

Register for AO3. Get yourself a login if you don't have one. People out there have invites. Fanfiction authors do all of this for free. Hours of writing, editing, planning, shooting from the hip, writing half drunk or high, whatever we do, we're doing it in our own time for the joy of it. We're sharing our love of this fandom with you. Please, please drop us a thank you now and then. We give stories because we love them, and we love to share them.

Last but not least, love each other, be kind to each other. We're all humans at our computers, and most of us are trying our best. Ask yourself if it's really worth it to get into a beef with some other human at some other computer. Usually the answer is no.

See y'all in Faerûn. Or maybe in Thedas. And I'll still be around on Discord, so if you see me, say hello.

[createserenity]

Master List of My Fics and WIPs

All titles link through to the fics on AO3.

The Painted Veil (E, 90k - complete)

Written for the Silver Screen Bang for @do-it-with-style-events. With beautiful art by @mirjam-writes

When circumstances force them into an ill-advised marriage Crowley finds himself undertaking the journey of a lifetime, first to Shanghai and then beyond into the heart of China, where he faces challenges he never expected and is forced to confront not only outside dangers, but also his beliefs about himself, Aziraphale and what their marriage could be.

Sometimes the greatest journey is the distance between two people.

Why Are We In A Box (E, 7k - complete)

Smutty fun when the two ineffables accidently get stuck in a box. Featuring one disaster demon and one bastard angel.

It's You (M, 3k - complete)

He doesn't like Crowley and Crowley doesn't like him. Right? Azirpahale can't possibly have got that one wrong. (Human AU)

Sunlight In Your Smile (M, 49k - wip)

Aziraphale has to attend a family wedding and he may have told a bit of a white lie. Of course he doesn't actually have a boyfriend. So now he needs to find one and in despair he turns to an escort agency for help. (Human AU)

Waking Up With You (G, 1.6k - complete)

After six thousand years together and free from Heaven and Hell, Azirpahale realises they need to take the next step in their relationship. Fluffiness all round!

All The Pieces of You (E, 80k - wip)

Canon compliant mixture of angst, smut, fluff and ridiculous historical adventures.

In The Beginning (E, 8.9k - complete)

In the beginning there was a garden and the Angel of the Eastern Gate and the Serpent of Eden decided that there are better things to do than stand around in the rain getting wet.

Better Than Today (E, 4k - complete)

Whenever they fucked, Crowley said, "I love you."

Smut with a fluffy ending.

Give In To Desire (E, 4.4k - complete)

Just another fic speculating on what happened in the basement during the Job minisode, because you can never have too many of those, right?

A Day For Magic (T, 3.4k - complete)

In which there is a bench, a park and a coin, which leads to silliness and fluffiness all round.

Fic inspired by these kisses.

A Time of Wanting (T, <1k - complete)

Short ficlet that's fluffy and happy, despite how the summary makes it seem. Also inspired by the kiss picture linked above.

Goodnight Angel (E, 14.4k - wip but also works as it is)

Post lockdown-phone-call fic.

Aziraphale had told him not to come over, but he was a demon and obviously he wasn't going to listen. Besides he was going out of his mind with boredom and going to see the angel was a much better idea than a long nap.

WIPs

Apart from my main wip All The Pieces of You I've also got a follow up to In The Beginning in the works and eventually I'll go back to Goodnight Angel as well. Apart from that I'm going to list my wips here and try to keep track of them with tags and get a bit better at posting about them.

After The Swap

Blind date

Dance for Me

End Times

Entertain Me

Here's to the End Times (yep different to the above fic despite the similar working title)

Books, books and more books

Birthday present

Lockdown Lifted

So You Can Take It Off (Desperately want to finish this because it's different to anything else I've written)

South Downs

University

Run Away Together (very much a working title!)

This Land of Ours (fits in the Pieces of You universe)

1200s fic for the Pieces of You universe

Golden Age of Piracy fic for the Pieces of You universe

[pushing500]

✨Gracie's Rimworld Modlist✨

(For the Mechanitor's Message run)

Here are all my current mods in order. Once again it’s all hand-typed because I am a bit rubbish at computer stuff and don’t know how to export modlists. Enjoy!! xoxo

Prepatcher (required for one or more of the other mods to work)

Harmony (I think this is just for performance)

Vanilla Backgrounds Expanded (this is just cool for loading screens etc.)

[CAT] Show Hair With Hats or Hide All Hats (so my colonists can show off their beautiful hair)

HugsLib (I think this is just for performance)

Camera + (better for taking screenshots)

Character Editor (so I can start with customised colonists)

Vanilla Expanded Framework (so all the Vanilla Expanded mods work)

Vanilla Furniture Expanded - Props and Decor (adds fancy props and decor)

Geological Landforms (for fun map generation)

Pathfinding Framework (a framework for pathfinding)

ANDH - Animal Nuzzling Detects Horrors (animals can detect metalhorrors when they nuzzle your colonists)

[GMT] Trading Spot (those darn traders always track dirt on my floors)

[KV] Impassable Map Maker (in case I feel like settling on an impassable tile)

[NL] Facial Animation - WIP (they look so cute with their lil’ faces!!)

[SBV] Recreational Drum Use (drum go bang boom, brain get happy)

[T] Moor Floors 1.4 (more floors)

[XND] Proper Shotguns (Continued) (makes shotguns work better so Security Chief Ratchet and Deputy Rocket the militors can be extra kickass)

Llama's Proper Shotgun Patches (some patches for the previous mod)

Adjustable Archonexus Quest Continued (no way Mechi is losing all his research!)

A Dog Said… Animal Prosthetics (animal bionics wooo)

Dubs Bad Hygiene (bathrooms cool)

Allow Tool (makes life so much easier)

[ATW] House Decor (more decorations for the house)

Biomes! Core (framework for Biomes! mods)

Biomes! Fossils (dinosaur museum go brrrr)

Biomes! Islands (tropical paradise, here we come!)

Allies are Helpful (so that our friends, few as they may be, will actually be useful)

Alpha Biomes (adds cool new biomes)

Alpha Memes (new ideology memes)

Alpha Mythology (adds cool new mythological animals)

Alpha Prefabs (cool prefabricated buildings)

Alpha Props - Parks and Gardens (adds props for parks and gardens)

Anima Animals Combined (Continued) (cool anima animals)

Animal Controls (animals can have food restrictions, etc.)

Better Mods Mismatch Window (to see which of my mods is fucked up THIS time 🙄)

Ebbbs (cute black blobby creatures)

Horse Breeds - Skin Variations (in case we feel the need to become cowboys with a varied herd of horses)

Biome Transitions (so your biomes transition)

Childhood Backstories (so your children can have backstories)

Clocks (every house needs a grandfather clock)

Colors (personally I prefer “colours”, but we can’t all be right)

Det’s Xenotypes - Avaloi (colourful drunk coral-people!!)

Det’s Xenotypes - Bogleg (alien mafia)

Doors Expanded (expands on the doors)

Dormitories (Not Barracks) (they shouldn’t be that upset about sharing a room)

Dress Patients (Continued) (put clothes on the patients)

Enhanced Beliefs (expands on the ideology system a bit)

Erin’s Baldur’s Gate 3 Hairs (need more hair)

Erin’s Cottage Collection (cutesy furniture)

Erin’s Decorations (cute decorations)

Erin’s Hairstyles - Redux (mmmmmore hair!!)

Extra Alerts (handy-dandy extra popups)

Floordrawings (those kids are so artistic)

GloomyFurniture (cutsey furniture)

Gloomy Furniture Fix (fixes something idk)

Gradient Hair (gradient hair)

Hard Times: Hair and Beards (more hair and beard styles)

Haul to Stack (you think they could figure that out themselves, but no. They need a mod)

Hospitality (warcrime-themed hotel chain let’s goooo)

Human Butchery 2.0 (just in case)

Human Leather Floor (👀)

Interaction Bubbles (to see what dey sayin’)

Kinky Bodystrap (I will not elaborate)

Lights Out (conserve electricity, save the planet)

Megafauna (biiiig pets)

Minify Everything (if I wanna carry a whole wall I damn well will)

More Descriptive Words and Names (exactly what it says on the tin)

More Faction Interaction (Continued) (more faction interaction)

More Persona Traits (to make Persona Weapons more interesting)

More Religious Origins (adds some more religious origins for ideology)

More Thrumbos (Continued) (mmmmore thrumbos)

More Thrumbos (Retextured) (just makes them look a bit better)

More Vanilla Biomes (more vanilla biomes)

negative traits (they can’t all be good)

Non-Binary Gender (adds a non-binary option)

Offworlders - The Biliog (swamp people)

Optimization: Meats - C# Edition (all meat is raw meat)

Pawn Name Variety (variety in pawn names)

Pick Up and Haul (pick it up and haul it)

Prisoners Don’t Have Keys (why would they??)

Random Research (it looked amusing)

Reel’s Facial Animation Textures (face stuff)

Replace Stuff (to build walls on top of other walls etc.)

RimPy Mod Manager Database (just for insurance)

Rimsenal - Hair pack (hair)

Rimsenal Hair Retextured (more hair stuff)

RimTraits - General Traits (more traits)

River’s Tribal Shoes (tribal shoes)

Romance on the Rim (awww, so romantic <3)

Roo’s HD Dreadlock Hairstyles (dreads)

Roo’s HD Glasses Hairstyles (glasses)

Roo’s HD Hairstyles (hairy)

Roo’s HD Royalty Hairstyles (fancy hair)

RPG Style Inventory Revamped (inventory is easier to use)

RT Fuse (I don’t like zzzt events)

Sand Castles (for funsies)

Simple sidearms (always be prepared!)

Smutty Fanfiction (👀)

Snap Out! (for mental breaks)

Standalone Hot Spring (why have geothermal power when you can have a nice hot bath instead?)

Stylized Slave Collars and Headgear (to fit the theme)

The Vanity Project - Beards (more beards)

The Vanity Project - Female Hair (for the gals)

The Vanity Project - Male Hair (for the guys)

Trait and Backstory Icons (icons for traits and backstories)

Toddlers (smol bean people)

Upscaled - Won hair_men (hair)

Upscaled - Won hair_women (hair)

Vanilla Achievements Expanded (makes me feel successful)

Vanilla Animals Expanded (adds fun new animals)

Vanilla Animals Expanded - Endangered (adds endangered animals)

Vanilla Animals Expanded - Royal Animals (adds fancy animals)

Vanilla Animals Expanded - Waste Animals (edgy dystopian animals)

Vanilla Apparel Expanded (new clothes)

Vanilla Apparel Expanded - Accessories (new accessories)

Vanilla Armour Expanded (more armour)

Vanilla Backstories Expanded (more backstories)

Vanilla Brewing Expanded (alcohol woooo)

Vanilla Base Generation Expanded (generates cool bases)

Vanilla Brewing Expanded - Coffee and Tea (to feed our caffeine addiction)

Vanilla Cooking Expanded (fun food)

Vanilla Cooking Expanded - Stews (everybody loves a good stew)

Vanilla Fishing Expanded (such a relaxing pastime)

Vanilla Fishing Expanded - Fishing Treasures AddOn (you can fish up cool stuff, like wood)

Vanilla Cooking Expanded - Sushi (we have to do something with all those fish)

Vanilla Events Expanded (can never have too many events)

Vanilla Factions Expanded - Ancients (scary ancient people)

Vanilla Factions Expanded - Empire (makes the empire more interesting)

Vanilla Factions Expanded - Mechanoids (we couldn’t have a mechanitor run without them)

Vanilla Factions Expanded - Settlers (yeehaw)

Vanilla Factions Expanded - Tribal (I like having tribal friends)

Vanilla Furniture Expanded (more furniture)

Vanilla Furniture Expanded - Architect Module (new structure stuff)

Vanilla Furniture Expanded - Art Module (fancy art and decorations to make)

Vanilla Furniture Expanded - Farming (we love growing food)

Vanilla Furniture Expanded - Medical Module (to make the most kickass hospital)

Vanilla Furniture Expanded - Power (mechanitor has to power their mechs somehow)

Vanilla Furniture Expanded - Production (cool manufacturing stuff)

Vanilla Furniture Expanded - Security (you can never be too careful)

Vanilla Furniture Expanded - Spacer Module (a mechanitor’s dream)

Vanilla Hair Expanded (always need more hair)

Vanilla Hair Retextured (make it look snazzy)

Vanilla Ideology Expanded - Dryads (for sprucing up gauranlen tree stuff)

Vanilla Ideology Expanded - Hats and Rags (to dress properly)

Vanilla Ideology Expanded - Icons and Symbols (to customise ideologies as much as possible)

Vanilla Ideology Expanded - Relics and Artifacts (cube…?)

Vanilla Ideology Expanded - Sophian Style (fancy~)

Vanilla Ideology Expanded - Splits and Schisms (reminds me of Wookshys)

Vanilla Nutrient Paste Expanded (hell yeah nutrient paste)

Vanilla Outposts Expanded (we can form outposts if we like)

Vanilla Races Expanded - Android (it would be cool to have androids hanging out with our mechanitor…)

ReGrowth: Core (I like the retextures)

ReGrowth: Tropical (more fun stuff)

ReGrowth: Aspen (new biomes)

ReGrowth: Boiling (new biomes again)

Vanilla Plants Expanded (yummy foodstuffs)

Tilled Soil (heehoo farm)

Vanilla Persona Weapons Expanded (make the persona weapons more personable)

Vanilla Plants Expanded - More Plants (even MORE farm)

Vanilla Plants Expanded - Mushrooms (I should do a dirtmole colony someday)

Vanilla Plants Expanded - Succulents (they’re cute)

Vanilla Psycasts Expanded (I love ‘em)

Alpha Animals (one of my favourite mods)

Vanilla Genetics Expanded (genetics stuff)

Vanilla Genetics Expanded - More Lab Stuff (more lab stuff)

Vanilla Ideology Expanded - Memes and Structures (more customisation)

Alpha Genes (Makes for fun people to draw)

Alpha Mechs (Mechs for the Mechanitor!! Skulls for the- oh, wait, no)

Vanilla Races Expanded - Archon (basically githyanki)

Vanilla Races Expanded - Custom Icons (to make your own xenotypes that much more distinct)

Vanilla Races Expanded - Fungoid (zombies go brrrr)

Vanilla Races Expanded - Genie (how many wishes do I get?)

Vanilla Races Expanded - Highmate (the perfect partner!)

Vanilla Races Expanded - Hussar (nobody will ever be as good as Henry…)

Vanilla Races Expanded - Lycanthrope (do we need a werewolf boyfriend?🍍)

Vanilla Races Expanded - Phytokin (tree people my beloved)

Vanilla Races Expanded - Pigskin (is there a teacup pig variant?)

Vanilla Races Expanded - Sanguophage (vampires go brrrr)

Vanilla Races Expanded - Saurid (lizard people to control the government)

Vanilla Factions Expanded - Waster (pollution people)

Facial Animations Xenotype Compatibility (to help smooth out the face stuff)

Vanilla Skills Expanded (makes learning more interesting)

Vanilla Skin Tone Genes (inheritable skin tones)

Vanilla Social Interactions Expanded (more interactions to draw)

Vanilla Textures Expanded (expands the vanilla textures)

Vanilla Textures Expanded - [NL] Facial Animation (makes the facial animation more vanilla and less anime)

Vanilla Textures Expanded - Variations (so things don’t look too same-y)

Vanilla Ideology Expanded - Anima Theme (for funsies)

Vanilla Trading Expanded (expands the trading)

Vanilla Traits Expanded (more traits!)

[DN] Bundle of Traits (one of my favourite trait mods <3)

Vehicle Framework (a framework for vehicles)

Vanilla Vehicles Expanded (more vehicles)

Vanilla Vehicles Expanded - Tier 3 (even MORE vehicles)

Vanilla Weapons Expanded (to spice up the combat)

Vanilla Weapons Expanded - Coilguns (adds coilguns)

Vanilla Weapons Expanded - Grenades (expands on grenades)

Vanilla Weapons Expanded - Heavy Weapons (more heavy weapons)

Vanilla Weapons Expanded - Laser (laser weapons)

Vanilla Weapons Expanded - Makeshift (for when you gotta make do)

Vanilla Weapons Expanded - Non-Lethal (for interrogations and organ harvesting)

Vanilla Weapons Expanded - Quickdraw (to draw quickly)

Vanilla Weapons Expanded - Frontier (yeehaw)

Vanilla Weapons Expanded - Tribal (they deserve some variety too)

Vanilla Factions Expanded - Pirates (arrr me hearties!)

VPG Garden Resources (if I wanna grow uranium I will)

Vanilla Psycasts Expanded - Puppeteer (mind control, oooh!)

VVE - Deconstructable Vehicle Junk (so we can make old cars new!)

War Crimes Expanded 2 Core (Updated) (just in case)

What's That Mod (so I know what the mod is)

While You’re Up (PUAH) (more hauling revamps)

Won Hair Men Retextured (hairy hairy)

Won Hair Women Retextured (more hairy hairy)

Xeva’s Rimhair (hair)

Xeva’s Rimhair Retextured (hair)

Yet Another Hair Mod (I don't have too many, shhhh!)

ATH ‘s Retexture Female Apparel (looks like fun to draw!)

ATH’s Style Female Dresses (fun to draw)

HousekeeperAssistanceCat (the best mod)

Facial Animations Xenotype Compatibility (to make the cute faces more compatible with different xenotypes)

[FSF] Complex Jobs (Legacy Version) (makes job prioritizing easier)

Nice Short Female Hairs (okay maybe I have a problem with hair mods 😅)

Pointless Surgeries (it looked funny)

Rational Romance 2 (Continued) (I don't think Mechi is the romantic type but just in case)

Rim of Madness - Bones (it seems to fit the void-studying aspect)

ReGrowth: Retextures (fixes ReGrowth textures or something idk)

Urn Retexture and Variation (we needed different urns in case)

[LYN] HD Corporate and Hedonist Apparel (makes some of the Vanilla Expanded clothes HD)

Alpha Vehicles - Early Cars (Mechi should have cool vintage cars)

Det's Xenotypes - Venators (if I can't have T'au I'll have a different ranged xenotype)

Det's Xenotypes - Stoneborn (dwarf go brrrrr)

ReGrowth: Wastelands (biomes~)

ReGrowth: Tundra (bioomes~)

ReGrowth: Swamp (biooomes~)

ReGrowth: Temperate (bioooomes~)

ReGrowth: Boreal (biooooomes~)

Do Recreation When Idle (makes pawns do recreational activities when they're not doing anything else)

Ponpeco Furnitures : Kids' Room (cute furniture in case we, I don't know, acquire a little girl along the way)

Roo's HD Accessory Hairstyles (I JUST NEED MORE HAIR TO DRAW)

Roo's Minotaur Xenotype (we have pig people and dog people and lizard people and I WANT COW PEOPLE DAMMIT)

Roo's Minotaur Xenotype Expanded (just a lil' extra somethin'-somethin' for flavour)

Roo's Birthmarks and Blemishes (fun 👏 to 👏 draw 👏)

Roo's Faun Xenotype (I can live out my Narnia dreams...)

Roo's Satyr Xenotype (need more xenotypes)

Roo's Satyr and Faun Xenotypes Expanded (just a lil' extra somethin'-somethin' for flavour)

Roo's Tattoos - Starter Pack (mmmmmore tattoos!!!)

Use Resurrector Mech Serum On Rotten or Skeleton People (on the off chance we have a sibling who's been buried for too long to be resurrected with a serum otherwise 👀)

Share Rooms [LWM] (on the off chance we have royal twins who don't want to share a room, but I want them to share a room. A mod explicitly written for this run, and I could not be more delighted ❤️❤️❤️)

[atsadi-shenanigans]

WIP Wednesday

Got tagged by @nerdallwriteyallwritey! Thank you!

Guess I'll post the opening of the smutfic? Don't know when I'll post it (haven't finished drafting it), but here it is.

Night has fallen. Apprentice spellworkers dart through the streets to light the lanterns as the pale wash of sunset fades into purple, and then black. Astarion stands near the window overlooking the front street and the small, rather overgrown garden his love has been somewhat tending to. She’s late. She’s actually two days late, but he’s inclined to blame the wizard for that. No, she should have been here thirty minutes ago, right as the last curve of the sun sank behind the distant buildings and released the creatures of the night to their nefarious doings. To which he would happily add his own misdeeds. Except that she’s late. Something happened. They were waylaid by pirates. A kraken rose from the deep to smash Waterdeep and pulled that wizard tower down on top of them, and her body is so human and so, so mortal. He needs to go. Needs to check— Magic stirs below. The scent of cinnamon and licorice he always associates with Gale’s spells. A glimmer of purple flickers in the space right before their front gate—she painted it teal and seemed quite pleased with herself—before a shimmering, purple cloud unfurls taller and taller and… His breath sighs out of him. She emerges. Eleanor. His former leader, his friend, his love. She’s back. She’s home. He lets the curtain fall back into place.

Woop! I've gotta set the scene and the time and the motivations for all the characters before I can write the smut, obviously. We can't just have wanton fucking. (Someday I'll manage to write simple, wanton fucking, but today is not that day.)

Tagging: @lyzelky @mutualcombat @olivedrop @sasseffects and @amoremagnificentbastard

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 33

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: The man has no chill.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

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I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You hover before the door, each step sending a searing ripple through your bottom. You wring your hands as you walk in circles. You're not even sure Mr. Laufeyson is still within but you don't dare open to check.

Time slogs by in your cowardice. You retreat to the sofa and pull your feet up, hugging your knees as you hang your head. You just want him to forgive you and tell you you're good.

You close your eyes as your head begins to thrum. You're mind wanders ahead of you and the list of everything you'll need to pack. You don't even have a bag of your own, what will you put your stuff in? How long will you be gone? You'll have to rescheduled Ronan's next visit, and forward the gate codes to the gardeners...

You slip into a doze as your mind skews with the endless rote of tasks. You slump down until the world goes black, your body sinking into itself. You only stir again as you feel a shift around you.

You grunt and lift your hand as you're lifted from the sofa. You look up at Mr. Laufeyson's chin as he carries you across the room. You wiggle and brace his chest as you float precariously in his arms.

"Come to bed," he coaxes as he takes you into the hall.

You don't move. You don't dare. Fearful that he might suddenly hate you again. He brings you to the bedroom and lays you on the bed. You stay curled up as he shuts the door.

He moves around quietly and approaches with a swish of fabric. He holds a satin nightgown by its straps. You pout up at him as he tilts his head.

"Sleep, we have much to do tomorrow," he girds.

You nod and sit up. You sidle to the edge of the bed and he places the nightie beside you. He unbuttons your blouse before you can. You sit there and let him. He swiftly pulls the sleeves down your arms and disposes your bra in quick succession. He grabs your arms and makes you stand, unzipping your skirt before he shimmies it down to your ankles. You step out of it, then your panties as he tugs them down too.

You raise your arms as he opens the nightgown above you and he sweeps it down your figure. The cool fabric makes you shiver. Still groggy, you teeter on your feet and turn to stare at the bed, waiting for his order.

"A moment," he extends a single finger before striding away.

You stay as you are, folding your arms as you face the wall. The satin makes your bum sting each time you move. You hear him behind you.

"Get on the bed," he orders, "on your stomach."

You obey, so quickly you nearly flop onto your face. You move your head onto the pillow, bending your arms beneath. He nears and pinches the fabric just along the curve of your thigh. He peels it up and reveals your tortured flesh.

"It might hurt," he warns and touches a cool swab to your skin. You hiss between your teeth and swallow down a whimper. He works diligently, almost dotingly at cleaning the lashes, bruises tender at his touch. "We can't have an infection, can we?"

"No, Mr. Laufeyson," you agree as he covers your bottom with the nightie.

"Mmm," he hums and leaves you again.

You wait, unmoving, for his return. When he comes back, he undresses near the closet and pulls on only a pair of twill pajama pants to sleep in. He climbs onto the bed from the other side and grabs your shoulder, rolling you onto your back. Your face contorts in pain as your weight rests on your rear.

"Better," he says. You frown. "You are doing better," he specifies, "pet, if you are to accompany me to my mother's celebration, you must be on your best behaviour."

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you utter.

He traces the strap of your nightie with his fingertips and you shudder. As much as you fear his touch, you long for it. It means he's not upset. His hand wanders as he trails over the swell of your chest, your nipples going pert beneath the fabric.

"And you are excited to come?" He asks.

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you answer.

"Truly?" 

"Yes, I... I've never gone anywhere before."

"Not anywhere?" He prompts doubtfully.

"No," you lower your eyes shamefully, "we couldn't afford--"

"Not to worry," he lifts his hand and taps the tip of your nose, "let me worry for the expense. I only need you on your best and to have everything ready. Can you do that?"

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you gulp, "I promises--"

"Shhhh," he presses his finger to your lips, "it is late."

You nod as he drags his fingertip over your lips and circles your mouth. He fixates on the move, his eyes glittering. He lets out a sigh.

"One more thing," he adds as he frames your chin, "you will avoid my brother."

You swallow and whisper, "yes, Mr. Laufeyson."

"Very good, pet," he bends to kiss your forehead, "rest, you will surely need it."

✨

Exhaustion shrouds the night. You wake little by little, sore and weak as your fatigue weighs you down. You languish in the bed next to Mr. Laufeyson, his breath rising and falling softly in his chest. You’re uncertain what to do.

Should you wait for him to rouse before you set about the day?

You don’t dare wake him up. The very thought sends a flow of terror through you. Whenever you disturbed your father’s sleep, he was never happy. Those days were the worst. Men are safer when they’re asleep.

Restless, you relent to the morning and sit up carefully. You glance over at Mr. Laufeyson. Gone is the anger that creased his forehead and curled his lip. He is peaceful and placid, all tension drained from his features. Conscious, his cheeks are always drawn taut with disapproval and brow set in an imperious line. He looks almost harmless.

As the night tugs against your bottom, you’re reminded that he is not. You turn your back to him and slip off the side of the bed. You peek at him again, slowly tiptoeing to the door. He doesn’t stir.

You ease the door just enough to pass into the hall and scurry onward. You take the stairs quickly and charge into the kitchen. He can’t be mad if you bring him tea. If you’re just doing your job, there’s no reason for disappointment.

You boil the kettle and pluck out cups and the tea pot. You do the task without thinking, arranging the tray just so before lifting it up. You are careful not to rattle the contents as you climb the staircase. 

You shoulder through the bedroom door and find Mr. Laufeyson as you left him. You try not to notice what you didn’t before. The twitching movement over his pelvis, just beneath the blanket. You gulp and set down the tray on foot of the bed. The smell of tea wafts from the spout of the pot.

It’s good he’s asleep, the tea still needs time to steep. You step back and pull on your finger, watching him, waiting. Would he be even more upset if you let him sleep too late? He said today would be busy.

“Pet,” he frightens you as he speaks without moving, “do you plot against me?”

You wince and shake your head, pressing your hands to either side of your neck, “no, Mr. Laufeyson, I wouldn’t–”

“Be calm,” he opens his eyes and his head lolls to face you, “I am being facetious.”

You stare at him and blink.

“Sarcasm,” he declares and bends his arms around his head, stretching his long back with an arch. His arms bulge as the muscles in his chest strain against his skin. “What has you awake so early?”

“Tea,” you bounce on your feet, “I wanted to surprise you–”

“Mmm,” he rumbles and scratches his chest, “you can be so precious.”

You nearly wiggle at the praise. He doesn’t hate you anymore. You’re being good.

“Have you made your list?” He asks, groaning as he sits up.

“My list?” You echo in confusion.

“For our journey,” he leans against the headboard and smooth his hair, though a curl stubborn stands at an angle.

“I will,” you step forward and pour a cup of tea. You bring it around to him and place it on the night table, “no milk.”

“Ah, good,” he hooks a finger through the handle. His lifts his other hand flicks his index towards you, “take this off,”

“Mr. Laufeuson?” You flinch.

He arches a brow, overriding further argument. You bunch up the satin in your hands and pull the nightgown above your waist. You shimmy it up over your head and slip the straps down your arms. You put it in a heap on the side of the bed, just by his legs.

“Turn,” he twirls his finger.

You obey and put your back to him. The bed creaks as the cool morning air pricks your skin. You jump as he touches the hot flesh along your ass. You hiss and ball your fists up as the bruises thrum.

“Mmm, it should heal,” he retracts his hand, the headboard knocking against the wall again. You hang your head and let out a shaky breath. “Well, pet, you may sit and have your tea before we begin the day.”

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you reach for the nightie and he tisks.

“Ah, leave it,” he demands, “I prefer you like this.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you acquiesce and stiffly march forward, curling around to the other side of the bed. You pour yourself a cup as you feel him watching you.

“And you are still excited?” He prompts.

You bat your lashes at him as you cradle your cup.

“About the trip?”

“Oh, yes,” you nod and blow over the steaming tea.

“But you are nervous,” he states, his gaze boring down on you.

“Yes,” you lower your cup over your lap. “Trying not to be.”

“No, it is good, you are well to be cautious,” he girds, “you’ve met most of my family, being confined with them is another task.”

You nod and stare down into the amber breakfast tea. He sips and lets out a deep breath, a rumble rising from his chest. You glance over as he traces his finger along the rim.

“Stay close to me and all should be fine,” he sighs, a strand of anxiety in his timbre, “yes, I do think it is our best plan.”

You bring the cup to your lips and taste the stringent tea. It’s too strong for you but you drink anyway. Your mind isn’t on the tea, it’s on that word he keeps using. ‘Our’? No, it’s his and yours; what he has and what he allows you. One moment, you are adversaries, the next, he speaks as if you’re allies.

You don’t understand him and his moods, you just know you must appease them.

✨

Mr. Laufeyson picks your outfit. A black miniskirt and a white camisole, along with a pair of sheer stockings. You note that it’s rather similar to the maid costume he’d liked so much before. You don’t linger on the thought long before you begin the day.

You have your list of to do’s; the first being, make your own list. You don’t know the first thing about packing. Before, Mr. Laufeyson gave you a carefully curated inventory, but now you have to figure out what you need. That’s a question you rarely consider.

You type out two things before you feel lost; clothes and soap. Well, that’s not very helpful. Which clothes? How do you dress for Wimplesnatch or whatever that thing is? You still don’t know what exactly this celebration is. Is it like Christmas? Or Halloween? Do you need a costume?

You type into the search bar and find a website that generates packing lists. You’re slightly amazed by its existence. It reassures you that you’re not the most clueless person on the planet. You don’t know how many days you’re going to be away so you put in a week and hope for the best.

That looks better. You copy down the list by hand and set it aside. You start a second, one you don’t need help with.

‘Electric, rent, Leslie, groceries…’

You tally up the new deposit in your account into your debts. You login in to your online account and click around. You usually just go to the bank but when you went to get your direct deposit information for the agency, the bank offered a virtual sign in. You’re confused by all the different numbers and buttons.

You go to the FAQ and scroll. You finally figure out how to pay a bill and search in your email for the digital bills you let stack up unread. You add the payees one by one before you attempt payment. You check and recheck each amount before sending it off. When you’re done, your heart lurches at the amount leftover. It’s almost all gone.

You exhale in relief. You can’t go off not knowing your dad’s taken care of. You didn’t part on good terms but he’s still your dad and he’s still very sick. Maybe you should go say goodbye…

“Pet,” Mr. Laufeyson startles you as he struts in through the open door, “ah, I’ve found you.”

You turn in the seat and watch him roll in a large suitcase behind him. He drags it towards the desk and wheels it to face you. It is the colour of lilacs with rose gold zippers. It’s so pretty.

“There you are. It should suffice,” he slaps the top before letting it go.

Your eyes round as you admire the bag. It’s yours? You reach tentatively to touch it before recoiling.

“Thank you, it’s so nice,” you smile. “Erm, I was thinking…” you reach back and grab the first list, an asterisk next to one of the items, “gas money? Do you–”

He interrupts you with a laugh, “pet, don’t bother with all that. You only need to bring yourself. Besides, you should save your money. My mother does love to spend and she will surely have some special plans.”

“Oh,” you seal your lips and twist in the seat. You reach to exit out of the window but before you can, the screen is spun away from you.

Mr. Laufeyson angles the laptop towards him and bends to scan the screen. His eyebrow furrows and he looks at you in alarm.

“Did your stipend not go through? I will call the bank–”

You gulp, “it did, I just–”

He clicks and you grip the edge of the desk to keep from grabbing him. What is he doing? His eyes flit down the screen.

“You… you’re still paying for the fetid old beast?” He snarls.

“Mr. Laufeyson, he’s my dad–”

“A father who never once took you on a holiday? Or a simple road trip? Yes, he is a prize. If I knew my money would be siphoned into his ungrateful hands–”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Laufeyson,” you pout and rock in the chair, “I wasn’t trying to be bad.”

He huffs and stands, his hands going to his hips. He looks down at you and you wilt. He rolls his shoulders and drops his arms.

“I know you meant well,” he sighs and feels around his back, sliding his wallet from his pants pocket, “you will take the gold card for the trip.”

“Mr. Laufeyson, I can’t–”

“You will,” he picks out the gold plastic and places it on the open laptop, “I cannot have my family thinking I pay you pennies."