#fic: mistakes were made

[okay-gayass]

sleepwear swap ^-^

[evilasiangenius]

For the most part they worked in silence, lost in their own thoughts.

“Prior…to running into you. I was Downstairs for some time,” Crowley said suddenly, breaking the quiet of the soft sounds of scrubbing horsetail.

“Oh? How was that?” Aziraphale asked, as a matter of course.

“Long. Bad.”

“Of course it’s bad, it’s Hell. Why wouldn’t Hell be bad?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Crowley said reflexively.

“Then why did you bring it up? You’re the one who brought it up, if you don’t want to talk about it, you shouldn’t even bring it up,” Aziraphale muttered, irritated.

“I just wanted to say…” And Crowley paused, not sure if he could say it, if Aziraphale would want to hear it or could even hear it. That he wanted to thank the angel for protecting him when he returned to Earth. That it had meant the world to him to wake up somewhere safe and warm, somewhere protected from the elements, protected from dangerous humans and predatory animals. And even though he had been alone when he woke up, that he had not been alone the entire time, because the angel had been by his side, and had not felt alone because he had been surrounded by all the signs of the angel’s care.

He touched the spoon in his hidden pocket.

“Yes?”

“I think…I think I owe you a meal. At least. Several meals. You…you’ve made me soup so many times now.”

“Well, whatever it takes so that the cat isn’t scared,” Aziraphale said lightly, as if it didn’t matter.

“Yeah, sorry about scaring the cat. I didn’t mean it.”

“No, I suppose you can’t help it.” And Aziraphale reached out, brushing his fingertips against Crowley’s curling hair.

“Angel?” Crowley’s breath caught and for a moment he didn’t know if it was because he wanted Aziraphale to touch him or if it was fear and oh no, it was fear but for a moment he didn’t know where that jolt of fear had come from–

And when he remembered why he had been afraid, it sent a pang of sharp remembered pain through him that he had forgotten about, as if his skin were still aflame with unwanted touch, as if his bones were still–

But then he realized Aziraphale was still talking and endeavored to listen, to ignore the sudden dizzying unsettled feeling that had passed through him.

“Crowley? Er…you had a curl of wood shaving in your hair,” Aziraphale said, showing Crowley the electrum-pale sliver of wood, curling and transparent, turning it this way and that. “I thought I got rid of all of that after the planing, but apparently there’s more. That’s the problem with planing and with sanding, bits of wood get everywhere.”

The angel threw the shaving of wood onto the embers, where it caught brilliantly like a bright flickering star, lasting for an instant that the demon wished would last longer, before fading away.

more

[starry-bi-sky]

you can't choose what stays and what fades away

No light, no light in your bright blue eyes I never knew daylight could be so violent A revelation in the light of day You can't choose what stays and what fades away

(and I'd do anything to make you stay)

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

Shen Yuan wakes up in a woodshed.

He's in a body that's not quite his own.

(WIP also available on ao3!)

He wakes up in a woodshed.    

No, actually— let him correct himself. Shen Yuan does, indeed, wake up in a woodshed, but it’s not the first thing he realizes upon waking. No, in fact, consciousness comes quite slowly to him; sluggish, his mind attempting to slog through calf-high bogland without exhausting itself. It’s like he’s trying to drag himself to the surface of a river with a weight tied around his ankle, the weight trying desperately to drag him just as quickly down.    

His senses come to him just as slowly, his hearing and touch and smell and taste all trying to claw its way up back into existence till they’re thrumming beneath the thin skin of his body. Yes, it’s very much like trying to wake up from a long, deep sleep where he didn’t get quite enough rest, and he wonders, not for the first time, if he had collapsed again. His mouth is dry, his lips feel crusty, and his eyes are sealed shut by congealed-whatever-mixture of disgusting bodily fluids his eyes are capable of producing.    

Much like breaking free from sleep-paralysis, the moment he’s able to register that he’s actually sensing things again, the strange, spongy film that had been dampening them suddenly crumbles and collapses. Everything rushes forth like water spilling out of an open dam, or maybe like blood from an open scab, and Shen Yuan is abruptly accosted by the world and its sounds and sensations.   

The sun is hitting his eyes in just the right way that he can see the light burning behind his eyelids – which, that can’t be right, his curtains should be drawn, -- and there’s the distinct and gentle sound of wind rustling past, of birds singing softly, and the faint trill of music floating through. Shen Yuan is abruptly imposed with the mental image of a yellow autumn leaf falling delicately onto a still pond, that is how tranquil the world around him sounds.    

It is so, so, incredibly cliche, that he can’t help but open his eyes with a deep rooting incredulity planting itself firmly in the core of his chest. What he expects to see is the ceiling of his bedroom – the ground is hard enough that, for a moment, he thinks he may have fallen asleep on the floor again, or perhaps the hospital, because then that would at least explain better the tranquil sounds in his ears and the sunlight hitting his face.   

(Except he doesn’t smell the familiar sting of septic and cleaner, nor does he hear the beeping of the heart rate monitor beside him, the bustle and soft murmur of nurses outside that are always on the move. There’s no paper thin and slightly scratchy blanket laid over him. And never, not once, has he been subjected to the sounds of an eight-hour tranquil music ASMR while in the hospital.)  

(In fact, his nose feels rather stuffy. The same way it gets when he has a runny nose that just dried or a bloody nose that just finally stopped bleeding. He smells dirt and wood, and— and… is that blood?)    

There’s still crust clinging to his lashes and the corner of his eyes when he opens them, so his vision is immediately blurred in the way only recent consciousness can create. But even then, he can see the roof clearly enough to know that this is neither his bedroom nor the hospital. Shen Yuan sits up while his heart drops right out of his chest, regretting the action immediately as an ache shoots up his arms and staunchly reminds him of a terrible soreness spread throughout his body, one that he was not previously aware of.   

The hiss he makes is involuntary, and the sound rusted and weak, irritating his sore throat while his head pounds behind his eyes like a hammer against a nail. Get your bearings, Shen Yuan, he thinks, vision swimming, sucking in his dessert-dry bottom lip between his teeth and catching it on the incisors. The air does nothing for the inside of his mouth. Where the fuck am I?  

His eyes flick around the crust poking irritably at his corneas, as he tries to soak in where exactly he is. On instinct, his hands come up to flick away the crust obscuring his sight, and when he pulls his fingers away, there’s dark, brown-red buildup crumbling against his skin.   

Wh—? Shen Yuan rubs his eyes again, and realizes there’s a flaking trail coming from his eyes down his cheeks that, when he rubs at it, peels off into what can’t be anything but dried blood. It does nothing for his rapid-beating heart and the sinking shock and horror settling between his ribs. Why has he been bleeding from his eyes?    

He looks up from his hand. That shock and horror rising as he finally, finally takes in his surroundings, while also realizing, his dry tongue running against the back of his teeth and the corner of his mouth, that he was tasting blood too. Faint and stuck against his gums, but there.   

Shen Yuan is surrounded by cut wood, and beneath him he’s sitting on an old, tattered blanket. He’s wearing robes. Robes, worn and slightly dirty, made of a pleasant-to-the-eye green and white fabric, and straight out of every single Xanxia novel, drama, and poster he’s ever read and seen. There’s a simply, if slightly tattered, white fan tucked against his thigh.   

Oh, oh no. His hands fly up to his hair and— yep. Yeah, slightly tangled but undeniably soft and smooth, black hair slips against his fingers like silk and pours over his shoulders and down his back. It’s ten times longer than it should be, ten times longer than he’s used to, and he’s sitting on the ends of it. He releases his hair only so Shen Yuan can slap his hands against his face, automatically picking at the trail of dried blood on both corners of his mouth. His fingers are chilled against his skin, and he ignores it to trace his new (he thinks—the bow of his mouth and the curve of his cheekbones feels achingly familiar) facial features.   

Whose face am I wearing? What book have I entered? Because wasn’t this transmigration one-oh-one? The last thing he remembers was becoming incensed with the ending of Proud Immortal Demon Way and, in the middle of his scathing rant, dying of food poisoning. This was totally transmigration one-oh-one. Dying after reading a book, only to wake up in a place that was not the modern world, only to realize shortly after that they were now in the book they had just read?   

Wait— if he follows that trope, then... Shen Yuan’s heart decides it’s had enough time in his stomach, and leaps right into his throat. His eyes flitter around anxiously. There are bamboo stalks rising out the window, and the music he’s hearing, Shen Yuan realizes belatedly that it’s the sweet plucking of a guqin. Oh no. Don’t tell me--   

Like an activation phrase, a too-loud notification ‘ding!’ goes right off in his ear, resulting in Shen Yuan flinching violently as a too-bright and eye-stinging blue message box seals open into existence right before his eyes.   

[ SYSTEM Successfully Activated! Welcome to the world of Pride Immortal Demon Way! You are ‘Shen Jiu’ -- otherwise known as Shen Qingqiu, thirteen-year-old Disciple of Qing Jing Peak. Currently your actions are restricted due to a frozen OOC function that will eventually be unlocked after you familiarize yourself with the world. ]  

No! Of all the people he could have been transmigrated into, did it have to be the villain? Scum Disciple Shen Qingqiu? No— no, of course it was the villain; wasn’t that also transmigration one-oh-one as well? That the transmigrator was either the hero, the villain, or an NPC related to either one?   

Was this karma? Was the world enacting karmic justice on him for all those late nights spent arguing with internet randos online when he should have been doing something productive with his life? Of all those hours spent countlessly researching mythical beasts and animals and folklore all so he could tear the author a new one for his terrible plot and even worse papapa? Did Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky inflict some kind of curse on him that resulted in him being dragged into his shitty, shitty, stallion novel to act as the same guy who later gets his limbs torn off and pickled by the main protagonist?   

It had to be. That’s exactly what this was. This was karma.   

(Oh god, he’s never going to see his family again, is he? He’d died. He’d died in his world, he knows it. That’s how this always goes. At least he hadn’t been hit by a truck, at least he’d died somewhat originally. But he died. He’d been choking and everything went dark. The fluid filling his lungs, the lack of air, the steady crawl of blackening fuzz slowly encircling his vision--)  

(Who will find his body? How long will it take? It’d only been a week prior that he’d gotten into a fight with da-ge and the others, and they usually give him space for a while when they do. It’s not like Shen Yuan had any close friends left either--)  

(Will they find him rotting? Will they blame themselves? What will they think?)   

--(...Oh god, who was going to tell Hai-ge--?)--  

Shen Yuan drops his face into his hands, ignoring the throbbing of his skull and the influx of nausea that sloshes from his chest to his stomach as he does. He groans, low and painful, ignoring the sharp sting of his throat it causes. Does it have to be Shen Qingqiu? He asks, and wonders if the SYSTEM needs an audial vocal command or if it would just--   

[ You have been chosen to play Shen Qingqiu, the Scum Villain Disciple! ]   

Annoyance burrows into his throat. That’s... not what he asked. His teeth grind against each other, the stupid message box burning into his eyes. That at least answers that question, though. He won’t have to talk aloud to communicate with the SYSTEM, so at least he won’t look insane for talking to himself in public. Why does it have to be Shen Qingqiu?   

[ Shen Qingqiu plays a vital role in Pride Immortal Demon Way! You have been chosen to take on his role as the Scum Villain Disciple. ]   

What vital role!? Shen Qingqiu, sure, had a role in the beginning of the book as the disciple who did nothing but cause a ruckus and trouble on Qing Jing Peak when the protagonist’s back was turned; trying to drag Peak Lord Luo Binghe’s precious name through the mud while inciting what was basically tyranny by clawing his way up to a Head Disciple position through being a green tea bitch. He then went and used that power to abuse and bully the younger disciples when the adults weren’t looking.  

He only got away with it for so long because Luo Binghe was so busy with important missions and night hunts and the sweeping-of-peerless-beauties off their feet off the peak, that when he was on Qing Jing, it wasn’t long enough to realize just who was behind the disruption. And Shen Qingqiu was sneaky about it, so it took even longer. 

Only coming to a head at the Immortal Cultivation Conference when demons attacked and it all came to light like a hellish volcano, resulting in Shen Qingqiu not only finding out about Luo Binghe’s status as a half-heavenly demon, but also him being pushed into the Endless Abyss. He re-emerges half a decade later, brimming with demonic cultivation and a half-crazed lust for power and vengeance — revenge that ends up failing because he’s going up against the powerful protagonist.  

He causes a handful of actual problems before Luo Binghe finally has enough, and in the end, Shen Qingqiu ends up with his non-vital limbs cut off and stuffed inside a jar like a human pickle. A horrifying and befitting ending for any villain and antagonist of the main character.  

That is to say, nothing about him is actually vital. He was, for all intents and purposes, pretty much a low-tier cannon fodder villain meant to boost up and accentuate the protagonist’s abilities in the beginning of the book. A way to introduce the audience to the might and intelligence of the main character and their problem-solving skills when there is a ‘mysterious figure’ going around besmirching his name.  

Which... may just work in his favor, actually. Shen Qingqiu ended up with the fate he got because he went against the protagonist, a big no-no in practically every trashy novel. So, solution so Shen Yuan doesn’t end up a human stick? Don’t get in the protagonist’s way.  

That annoying ‘ding!’ rings in his ear, causing yet another flinch out of Shen Yuan as a notification unapologetically forms in front of him.  

[ WARNING: OOC! Host’s refusal to stay in character will result in automatic point deductions. If Host’s point score gets too low, SYSTEM will automatically mete out punishment. ] 

Of course it wasn’t that easy. Of course not, because why would it be easy? Of course there was a point system, this was a SYSTEM after all. Of course he couldn’t just avoid the villain’s fate, because that’d be too easy. His annoyance simmers out across the plane of his chest, and he decidedly ignores the faint tremor in his arms and the pulsing beat of his heart as he picks himself up off the ground and stands.  

His legs, much like his arms, tremble, and his head swims. He pushes through it, ignoring the ill-feeling of fear making itself home in the pit of his stomach. He should ask what those punishments are; what they’ll look like. He should ask about the point system, about how to increase his point score, about all the functions in the SYSTEM and what he has available, and what he does not.  

He should ask how old he is – because he’s much smaller than his old adult self had been; probably child-sized? -- and where he is in the book. What year is it, how long until the Immortal Cultivators Conference. Just when is he? 

Shen Yuan reaches out to grip onto a particularly towering stack of firewood, careful not to knock it or himself over. It feels like physical therapy all over again. Granted, a primitive, unsupervised, cobbled-together version of physical therapy, but physical therapy, nonetheless.  

His foot kicks against the fan, he’d frankly forgotten about that, and it slides off the blanket and across the dirt. His fingers twitch to grab it, something possessive and uncomfortably vulnerable rearing in his lungs – ah, an instinctive emotion from the original goods then? He’s heard of that in other transmigration stories he’s read, the novels failed to mention the full extent of how strange it felt.  

(It felt so eerily natural to want to pick it up. Of course he’d be upset about kicking it, and the unhappiness of dirtying it slots itself against him like second nature. How strange. How creepy.)  

Instead of asking any of that though, Shen Yuan turns his bitter mind inwards to the SYSTEM and asks, perhaps, the most important question of them all; Why did you bring me here if you were just going to kill me again?   

Isn’t that unnecessarily cruel?  

[ Host has been brought to Pride Immortal Demon Way because it is our sincere hope that Host can transform this stupid work into a magnificent, high-quality, first-rate classic! As part of the welcoming package, and to help ease the transition, a few things have been left in Host’s inventory! We hope you enjoy your time in Pride Immortal Demon Way! ]  

To change-- 

To change--?  

To CHANGE--?  

Indignancy surges itself from the tips of Shen Yuan’s fingers to the crown of his head, anger not unlike every single time Airplane threw away an interesting plot point for sex fuzzes out his vision and turns his pounding headache into a full-fledged migraine. His grip on the firewood tightens, and he can feel the rough and textured bark digging into his skin. 

His mouth curls inward, the cracked skin splitting down the middle of his bottom lip as Shen Yuan threatens to snarl at the SYSTEM. How the fuck am I supposed to change the plot if I can’t even change the way my character acts!  

[ Reminder to Host: The OOC Function is frozen, but not permanent. Once Host has become properly settled in and completed the tutorial will he be able to unlock it. ]  

Fine, fine! He has half a mind to unload a string of curses at the SYSTEM, because apparently its rules were as stupid as the author who made this world. Shen Yuan refrains; he doesn’t know how sentient the thing is, and upsetting it right now when he has no idea when he is – nor does he know a thing about the point system -- would only be detrimental for him in the long run. 

Instead, he lets loose a groan from his throat that could be more accurately compared to as a growl. With his one free hand, Shen Yuan drags his palm down his face, and then loops it back up to comb it through his hair. ...His hair that is much longer than it used to be, and which is snaggled with little knots and tangles that he’ll have to get out.  

He hits the first knot and immediately withdraws his fingers, freeing up a few strands of ink black hair while he’s at it. With a quick wrist shake, the strands fall to the floor and Shen Yuan leans the rest of his weight against the log pile. Some of his anger cools down until it’s nothing more than boiled water gone cold, and he sighs out through a clogged-up nose until there’s nothing more than a quiet pressure of unease curled around his shoulders.  

There’s really not much he does know about how Shen Qingqiu acts – after all, he put up a responsible and dutiful disciple front when he was in the presence of Luo Binghe, and was only then revealed to be a scumbag later down the line. Which only got backed up with secondhand accounts of the other Qing Jing Peak disciples.  

He didn’t show up often either, since most of the time Luo Binghe was off the peak. Nobody wants to read about a powerful peak lord being a teacher after all. Many more interesting things in the world around him than his students.  

SYSTEM, how old am I? He must be pretty young if he bases it off how small he is – although, Shen Qingqiu didn’t have much of a description in the first place. He was only described as having skin as white as jade, with glossy black hair and a noble air surrounding him. Height, eyes, and finer details like that were left unmentioned. Why did I wake up in a woodshed? What time is it? 

[ Host is currently thirteen years old! Last night Shen Qingqiu experienced a severe Qi Deviation after having an altercation with the Head Disciple. It is early morning; the other disciples will be getting breakfast. ] 

That doesn’t explain why he was in a woodshed. But at this point, Shen Yuan was starting to believe that he wasn’t going to get a straight answer out of every question he asks. That does explain the blood in his mouth and crusted on his face – and the soreness and exhaustion currently wrought through his body, though.  

In a rapid set of blinks and a little bit of mental fiddling, the message notifications disappear out of his sight and the rest of his senses begin to filter back in, the SYSTEM seeming content to disappear into the back of his mind – which, wow, feels just as weird as the original goods’ instincts from earlier. 

More of his own strength had returned, enough that Shen Yuan feels comfortable with pushing himself off the firewood stack and standing on his own. Making sure that his legs won’t collapse under the weight of his own body, he takes a tentative step forward and drops his gaze down to the little white fan sitting on the ground.  

...The idea of leaving without it returns that discomforting, vulnerable feeling from earlier, as if he had walked out without a shirt on. The hairs on the back of his neck begin to stand up on its own with unease. Shen Qingqiu was mentioned to hide his face behind a fan in every appearance he made, it must be the original goods’ emotions he’s feeling then. Again.  

He leans down, his core trembling just a little, and plucks it right off the ground. The grooves of the wood fit against his fingers perfectly, hinting at weeks, if not years, of use and the oils of his hands wearing it down. He beats the side of the fan against his leg lightly, ignoring the bruising-aches it shoots up his thigh, and brushes off the dirt clinging to it.  

Without thinking, Shen Qingqiu flicks it open and flutters it about for a few quick beats. The unnerving, skin-crawling sensation marking across his spine settles down, and he snaps the fan shut before reaching for the door.  

[ OOC: Host should make himself look presentable before being seen in public. Failure to do so will result in immediate point deduction. ] 

Shen Qingqiu grits his teeth again, there’s nothing in here but dirt and wood, how am I supposed to do that? It’s not like he had the whole layout of Qing Jing Peak memorized; Luo Binghe was barely on so where everything was, wasn’t important. Is there some kind of bathhouse somewhere?  

Which, if there was, he wasn’t planning on using until it was entirely empty – the mere thought of it returned that gross, uncomfortable skin-crawling discomfort. He’ll shower at night, thank you, repressing a shudder at the horrifying idea of someone potentially walking in on him.  

[ OOC: Shen Qingqiu would never bathe with the threat of other disciples around. There is a nearby creek that Host can clean himself up at. ]  

That’s really not much better.  But, so long as he isn’t undressing in public, he can probably just... wash the dirt off and get his hair damp enough to detangle it. If Shen Qingqiu was sleeping in here, then he probably has a change of clothes somewhere around here, right? He should look around for any hidden bags before leaving.  

He finds a small qiankun pouch tucked safely between a set of wood logs near the blanket, and inside it is a clean set of robes for him to change into, which, perfect! The robes he was wearing right now weren’t terribly dirty, but there were a few dirt spots visible enough that Shen Qingqiu was sure that he’d probably get a point deduction out of it, or a scolding from senior disciples.  

(Does Shen Qingqiu sleep in the woodshed often? Shouldn’t he be in the dormitories?)  

He plucks the bag out of its little hidey-hole, giving it a place on his belt, along with his newly acquired fan, and turns towards the door. Shen Qingqiu crosses the room in the span of a few large steps, and just as he’s about to curl his hand around the handle, he... pauses.  

It’s only for a split second, a moment of hesitation, of personal confirmation that, once he opens this door, there will be no going back. Not that there was since he opened his eyes, but, it would cement it.  

Shen Qingqiu breathes in a shaky breath, and then opens the door to the rising sun.

[jammatown919]

Mistakes Were Made (Chapter One)

A Lightcannon fic I've been chipping away at for a while now.

Fic Description: Jinx unintentionally forces Lux to out herself as a mage.

Lux never would have thought so much good could come out of being kidnapped.

Sure, most people would be terrified to have a blue-haired stranger appear in a flash of light and whisk them away to some sort of pocket dimension for a death match with eight more strangers, but honestly... it had been really, really fun.

Once she'd gotten over the initial shock of it all, Lux didn't have as much of a problem playing along as one might think. The stranger, Jinx, had been more than happy to demonstrate to her that no one could really die in this place she called the Rift, via a swift gunshot to her own head. Lux had maybe screamed a little, but it was definitely comforting to have confirmation that a fallen player would simply reappear at one of two ends of the map, no worse for wear.

Really, it was a lot easier than it should have been to get Lux to play, and from there, everything just sort of spiraled.

Free of all consequences and a good amount of her usual inhibitions, Lux was able to really let loose with her magic for the first time. Jinx seemed to appreciate her raw power and how ever so slightly nuts she'd gone at possibly her only opportunity to do literally whatever she wanted with it. The two of them didn't even need their teammates to completely dominate the game, which they did with reckless abandon.

When it was over, Jinx returned Lux safely home as she'd promised, but not without a promise whispered in the seconds before she vanished again: "I am definitely keeping you, Blondie."

For about a month after that, Lux managed to convince herself it had been some crazy, fantastical dream brought on by her repressive environment. In a country like Demacia, with a family like the Crownguards, it was only natural her subconscious mind would invent a reality it preferred. One where she could use her magic freely, go off on an adventure, and buddy up to someone who represented all of her temptations in life, both physical and otherwise.

But then Jinx made good on her promise, and Lux instead convinced herself she'd simply received a gift from some god somewhere out there. The escape she longed for was real, and her new friend had come back for her.

They continued their games whenever they could, typically at one-to-two-month intervals because of how difficult it could be to get ten people from all over the world together. Lux noticed as time went on that there would often be changes to roster of other players, until at one point she and Jinx were the only two left from their first game.

"Ah, sometimes you just gotta swap 'em out for people who are more fun," Jinx said when Lux asked about it. "Not you, though, Blondie. You were always the most fun."

Eventually, after quite a few swaps and trial runs, Jinx managed to put a solid long-term team together. Her and Lux, of course, with the addition of a surprisingly friendly creature made entirely out of green slime, a pink-haired songbird type on an elaborate hoverboard, and a man in a mask with a very different hoverboard who absolutely refused to play until Jinx pulled him aside for a long private conversation.

Zac, Seraphine, and Ekko. All people Jinx claimed were from home. Or almost, in Sera's case. It was these three, particularly Ekko, who gave Lux some much needed insight into Jinx as a person.

Another area in which Lux differed from most people was that most people would probably feel betrayed or disgusted or afraid upon hearing that their friend had blown up a city-state's entire government. But Lux had heard a thing or two about Piltover's old Council, largely from some of the previous players Jinx had brought around, and to be honest, she considered blowing them up to be an act of community service. A little brutal, yes, but a genuine favor to the people suffering under their rule.

What got to her a little more were the personal blows Ekko had taken. The betrayal of his oldest friend, and her subsequent murders of several of his newer friends. Only the fact that she hadn't gone near him in years made it possible for him to look at her now. Only an old, barely surviving desire to see her be better compelled him to play her game. She needed it, he claimed, to get the crazy out somewhere it wouldn't really hurt anyone.

Jinx didn't seem to love being presented with this information later that day, but she engaged with it nonetheless. Admitted to everything. Agreed with Ekko's assessment. The game was fun, yes, but it was primarily an outlet. A form of therapy, almost. Lux had to respect her for that; for recognizing what she needed to keep herself in check and following through with it.

They played on for another year, mostly sticking with Jinx's favorite assortment of allies but consistently switching up the members of the enemy team to keep things interesting. Lux got more and more used to this recreational violence, but she still found it exciting every time.

Strangely, though, the most exciting part to her was always that Jinx had never lost her initial awe of Lux's performance in the games. She was consistently impressed, often staring, and always laying the praise on thick. This all came to a head after a particularly exciting match, in which Lux had stuck with Jinx in the bottom section of the map and completely destroyed their lane with her. That, according to Jinx, had been "super hot", and one thing led to another led to Lux pinned against a tree in the jungle area with Jinx's lips and hands roaming her body.

This quickly became a standard post-game ritual of theirs, and over the course of the next six months, they grew steadily more emotionally invested each other. Neither of them could say exactly when their relationship became "official", but it did at one point or another, and thinking about it got Lux through the time spent between matches with her mental health more or less intact.

Even at times like this, when she was cooped up in the Crowngaurd Estate, awaiting tomorrow's arrival of a suitor she'd been expected to entertain for at least a weekend, she could sit by her window and draw little pictures of her girlfriend. And once the man was gone, rejected at the end of his opportunity to court her like the three that had come before him, she could look forward to the next game.

She did wonder how many more suitors her parents would allow her to cycle through before they really began to insist that she settle down, but she felt safe for the moment. At least for now, her family seemed to perceive her rejection of each and every suitor as pickiness, and that was fine by them. No noble would want their daughter to settle for just anyone, after all. She could turn up her nose at prospective mates all she wanted, and they'd simply keep bringing in more for her consideration.

It would likely get worse as she aged and cut into more of her "childbearing years", as her mother liked to put it, but for now, she was twenty-three and tolerated in her role as the stuck-up young noblewoman who would settle for no less than the perfect husband.

Yeah, right, she chuckled to herself as she outlined the shape of Jinx's shoulders on her page. Like there's such a thing.

For her, at least, there would never be such a man. One day, when it all got to be too much, she would leave this place behind. Jinx would come for her and whisk her away, not for the day but forever. For all the love she held for her family and the better aspects of her country, Lux knew her future did not lie here. She would leave it all behind eventually, when she was ready to say goodbye.

Until then, she would draw and play pretend and dream and be satisfied with her brief escapes.

She smiled at Jinx's sketched face looking up at her, longing to see the real thing again. They were about due for another game, but Jinx tended to show up with absolutely no warning, so Lux could only give her best guess as to when they'd see each other.

Right now, apparently.

The window by Lux's desk flew open despite having definitely been locked a second before, and in climbed the very woman who occupied the majority of Lux's thoughts these days.

"Mornin', Sunshine," Jinx crowed, dropping from the window to her feet.

"It's nighttime," Lux corrected her gently. Jinx squinted out the open window, like she'd only just realized.

"Huh," she said under her breath. "Guess so."

"It's good to see you, but what's with the entrance tonight?" Lux inquired, recapturing Jinx's attention. "You usually just zap right into my room. And... how did you even get up to my window?"

"Ah, y'know, climbed, dodged some guards," Jinx said rather flippantly. "Had a pretty good time, I guess, but that's not the important part. It's game time, Blondie! Got everything all ready to go!"

"Tonight?" Lux asked.

"Yeah, for tonight." Jinx held out her hand, as she often did, to invite Lux into her teleporter's range.

"I'm sorry, Jinx, but I can't tonight." Honestly, it was kind of a miracle they'd gotten this far without ever having some kind of scheduling conflict. "I have to be up at dawn to greet a suitor."

"A what?" Jinx's brow furrow slightly.

"A suitor," Lux echoed. "A man my parents invited here to get to know me. He's going to spend the weekend trying to court me."

"Huh?" In an adorably canine fashion, Jinx tilted her head to the side.

"Trying to impress me so I might want to marry him," Lux explained. "And I won't, of course! I send all my suitors away. But I still have to entertain them for the time they're given."

"Ohhhh." Jinx let out a small chuckle, which was a better reaction than Lux had expected. Knowing her and her past, threatening to simply murder all of Lux's suitors had been a very real possibility. Instead, she said, "just skip it."

"What?" Like it would ever be that easy. It wasn't even an option, really.

"Skip it," Jinx persisted. "You don't wanna do it, right? And it's stopping you from doing something you do wanna do. So just don't do it. Come with me instead."

Lux would be lying if she said the idea wasn't tempting, but she knew better than to think she could accept. It was too easy to lose track of time on the Rift; too easy to have it interfere with the plans that had been made for her. She would never be able to come up with an acceptable excuse if someone came looking for her and she was nowhere to be found on such an important day.

"I'd like to, Jinx, but I really can't," Lux said as gently as she could. "I have to wait until after this weekend."

"Aw, c'mon, Blondie," Jinx pleaded. "Everyone else is ready to go. We need ya."

"Maybe you can find a substitute this time?" The suggestion almost physically pained her, but not as much as it seemed to offend Jinx.

"No way," she said stubbornly. "You're the best part. It won't be any fun without you."

"I'm flattered, but-" Lux stopped dead as someone knocked twice at her bedroom door. Her entire body stiffened, and she stood to grab Jinx as if she were going to shove her back out the window. "Shit. You have to go."

"Why?" There was a distinct whine to Jinx's voice that was entirely too loud for the situation.

"Luxanna? Are you talking to someone?" Garen called from the other side of the door. Lux supposed it was better than her parents, but still not good by any means.

"I can't let anyone see you," Lux hissed. "I can't explain this to my family."

"I ain't scared of 'em," Jinx protested, "and you shouldn't be either. They're just a bunch'a fancy dickheads with sticks up their asses. I don't get why you think you have to listen to them."

"Lux, are you alright?" The knocking grew louder and more insistent. "Who's in there?"

"Jinx, please." But it was too late.

The door wasn't locked. Lux never locked it, because why would she in a place like this, where she was always safe and disturbing her privacy was a punishable offense for anyone but the parents who rarely cared to visit her quarters? Except Garen had probable cause, hearing an unfamiliar voice in Lux's room.

He threw the door right open and walked on in. For a second, nothing happened. They were just three people staring at each other. Then, all Hell broke loose.

Garen quickly took notice of Jinx's weapons and reached for his sword. Why he had it on him right now, Lux didn't know and didn't have time to ask. Jinx, in response, removed the gun she called Zapper from its holster and pressed it to the side of Lux's head.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Lux glanced back at her, bewildered but not afraid. Crazy as she was, Jinx would never pull the trigger. Not on her.

"Lux!' Garen quickly drew his blade, but the gun to her head stayed his hand. Guns weren't common weapons in Demacia, but Garen knew enough to know he would never cross the room fast enough. If Jinx actually wanted to kill Lux, she could do it in an instant. "Unhand her!"

Jinx took Lux by the arm and dragged her up from her seat. "New game, Blondie."

"What?" Oh, Lux did not like the sound of that.

"If we can't play fight, we'll play keep-away instead." Jinx secured her free arm around Lux's middle and began to back them both up toward the window.

"Jinx, wait-"

Lux didn't have time to finish her objection before Jinx, dragging her along, leaped through the open window. She didn't know which was louder; Garen's horrified cry or Jinx's shriek of delight as they plummeted toward a well-kept garden three stories below.

"Do your thing, Blondie!" she called.

Her thing? What the hell was "her thing" in a situation like this?

"Break our fall!" Jinx clarified when Lux just stared at her incredulously.

Oh! She wanted a hard light barrier, like the ones Lux often used to shield herself and her allies on the Rift. It probably wouldn't work to break a fall in the traditional sense, but Lux was no stranger to getting creative with her magic. She just had to pray nobody saw.

They both collided hard with a barely visible structure that had appeared directly beneath them, then began to slide forward at a sharp decline that gradually eased up. Lux kept her eyes closed, concentrating on the next few feet, then the next, then the next, trying to keep them at a pace that would get them to the ground quickly but not injure them on impact.

It was harder than one might think to keep up with it, even with all the magic practice she got on the Rift, and Jinx hollering excitedly in her ear didn't help.

They landed in a rosebush and seemed to take every single thorn with them as they rolled out in a tangled heap. Jinx ended up on top of Lux, staring down at her with bright eyes and a joyful grin.

"You gotta do that more often!"

"Shhh!" Lux sat up, nearly smacking her forehead against Jinx's with the speed of it, spitting out leaves as she harshly shushed her. "Someone probably heard us land. You have to get out of here."

"Aww, don't worry, Blondie," Jinx replied lightly. "I'm great at keep-away!"

"No," Lux groaned, but she didn't have time to air her frustrations. She could already hear voices and footsteps swiftly approaching.

"And that's our cue." Once more, Jinx grabbed Lux by the arm and hoisted her up, then she took off running. Lux was left with no choice but to stumble after her, mind searching desperately for a way to defuse this situation.

"Jinx, there's nowhere to go!" Lux insisted.

"That's what they think." Jinx casually raised Zapper to remind Lux she still had it, even though by all logic she really should've dropped it in the fall.

"No!" Lux pushed Jinx's arm down. She didn't know what the hell she would do if Jinx shot her guards.

"What's the matter?" Finally, Jinx seemed to realize Lux wasn't having fun.

Unfortunately, it was that exact moment that the guards started to catch up with them. Everywhere Lux looked, a different pair of patrolling guards ran toward them, swords drawn. One of them recognized her in the dark and called out to her by name, spurring the others on. 

"You have to leave!" Lux insisted, yanking her arm out of Jinx's grasp. "Zap away. I-I'll do my best to clean up this mess."

"Lux..." Jinx licked her lips, her brow furrowing as she tried to put the pieces together. She had finally clocked that Lux was upset, but not why. "It's just a game, babe. You love games."

"They're not playing!" Lux gestured with one hand at the swiftly approaching guards and used the other to lightly shove at her girlfriend. 

"The Pilties were never playing either," Jinx said. "That never stopped me. C'mon, lighten up. It'll be fun."

She raised her gun again. The guards were definitely in range, and almost close enough to reach Jinx with their swords. They were out of time. 

"STOP IT!" The scream escaped Lux before she had a chance to think about it, and so did the burst of arcane energy. 

Instantly, everyone but her and Jinx froze in their tracks, caught up in a shimmering wall of mana that she frequently used to immobilize people on the Rift. It was one of her favorite things to do; laughing while her enemies raged about being rendered defenseless. Now, though, it gave her a strong urge to throw up. 

The guards were frozen physically, but they were still aware. They would still know what Lux had done to them. That she was a mage.

She'd just outed herself in probably the worst way possible. 

Part of her expected Jinx to hoot and holler and try to drag her away again, but it seemed the scream had stunned her. Lux had never screamed at her before. 

"What's wrong?" she asked, equal parts gentle and anxiety. "We're just playin', right?"

"No!" Lux snapped, tears burning her eyes. "No one else is playing, Jinx! I'm not playing!"

Jinx shrank back with something of a kicked-puppy expression and said, "ohh, fuck... shit, Blondie, I'm sorry. I'll take ya back upstairs, I-"

"No." Lux stepped away from Jinx's outstretched hand. Upstairs wouldn't help her now. Honestly, at this point, the safest option for her would probably be to just go with Jinx after all. Now that all these people had seen her magic, suitors would be the least of her concerns. The oppressive laws of her homeland would be turned on her in full force. 

And yet... she still wasn't ready to leave. 

"Go home, Jinx," she murmured. 

"B-but you're cryin'." Jinx continued to reach for her, but Lux wouldn't have it. 

"Please." Lux met Jinx's horrified eyes and held her gaze. "Please, go."

"Okay..." Jinx replied, small and sad. "I'll see ya later, yeah?"

"Yeah." Despite the emotional turmoil, the fear and uncertainty for her immediate future, Lux managed a smile. "Yeah. Love you."

"Love you too." In a flash of electric blue light, Jinx was gone, and not a moment too soon. Lux's spell probably wouldn't have lasted much longer. 

Seeing no use in stalling, she released the guards, but refused to look at any of them. She hung her head, tears of fear and grief for the life she'd certainly just lost streaming down her face, and sank to her knees to await judgement. 

------

If you enjoy my work, please consider taking a moment to reblog it! Likes do not help posts circulate on Tumblr, so the best way to share things you like is to reblog.

Alternatively, I have a Kofi functioning as a tip jar. My fics will never be paywalled, but I do put a lot of time and effort into making content for free, so here's another option to support me.

[kennimu]

Why does Twitter hate Bernard so much??? Like what the hell did he do to them?? 😭😭

They all acting as if he killed their families, I thought we were over the Bernard hate train. Like they don't understand you can still like timkon/timsteph and not pray on Bernard's downfall just for existing -

(This is from someone who loves Timber and also enjoys timkon and timsteph, they're all good pairings but holy shit why can't they accept Bernard is a good character)

[drbtinglecannon]

Hm yeah Frimmel is kinda driving me insane nowadays

[ilpanettone]

"we need more messy bad at relationships female characters!!!!" you people can't even handle her

[this-acuteneurosis]

Traditions

Leia asks some questions she hadn’t realized she needed to and gets some answers that she wasn’t sure were possible to get.

[therealvinelle]

That little drabble crackfic y'all just posted was downright hilarious. I loved the authors notes with the complicated ABO stuff and then the author's life update lol. Both a perfect parody of the usual form.

You're both so good at it I kinda want to see more "authors notes" and "parodies of silly fanfic things" from y'all! Any chance of a chapter two?

Anon is referring to Mistakes were made by @theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin and myself.

Shockingly, there is a significant chance we might. We had entirely too much fun with the first chapter, so while it's not on the agenda (so many things to write, so little time) it might very well happen.

[evilasiangenius]

When Crowley woke, the air tasted savory-crisp to his snakey tongue and it took him a moment to recognize the scent of fresh bread baking in the hearth.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley sat up on the bed.

“My apologies for being a poor host,” Aziraphale said from across the room where it seemed that he was poking about in the hot ashes with a fire-blackened stick. “I have no cheese or butter, and very little oil. Trade isn’t what it was these days. I think this city is on the verge of failure.”

“Verge?” Crowley’s mouth twisted in a squiggle of sadness. “I’d say from what I saw it’s quite beyond that verge. Why are you here at all? There are hardly any humans at all in this city anymore. We’re usually posted in more populated places.”

“You know I can’t tell you that,” Aziraphale said primly, as he pulled a big piping hot flatbread off the hearthstone still gray with ashes with his fingers and set it upon a terracotta plate. “You should eat this. The oil’s over there.”

“Do you want me to get anything? I could make us some–”

“No,” Aziraphale said decisively. “Frivolous miracle usage will get both of us in trouble, it’s best to make do with what we have at hand.”

Crowley blinked; whatever happened Upstairs must have been extremely serious for Aziraphale to talk like this. The angel had never been one to be particular about the finer points of miracle expenditure and economy. He glanced at Aziraphale, but the angel’s expression gave nothing away.

“Sounds like a change in policy?”

But Aziraphale did not answer him.

“It’s all right, angel,” Crowley said, choosing his words carefully. “No one is doing any accounting like that at Head Office, no one really tracks these things Downstairs. And besides, I have a little extra in reserve…well, a lot more than a little extra. He’d never mind what I was using it for, and even if he knew you were involved he’d probably think it was funny and would only want to know what I had made for you–”

“No. Please. You’re my guest, please just let me do this.” Aziraphale’s face was tense and unhappy and Crowley wondered where this tension had come from.

“Fine,” Crowley shrugged.

Thinking better of it, Aziraphale reached out for the jar of oil himself and poured a healthy drizzle of golden olive oil onto the bread, handing the plate up to Crowley.

“Oh,” Crowley said softly, realizing that little white wild garlic flowers floated in the oil and he wondered how Aziraphale must have gotten it so late in the season until he realized that the flowers had been preserved in the oil, probably since at least spring. “Are you not going to have some yourself?”

“No. I ate already.” But the angel eyed the bread with no small amount of longing.

“Here, it’s too much. I won’t be able to finish this.” Crowley tore the bread in two, and handed Aziraphale the larger half.

“I really shouldn’t,” the angel murmured, but his hands trembled as he took the bread.

more

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

genuine question but is there any fandom where a character is well written by the majority. im thinking about fandom culture and the spread of frustration when people dont write characters well but. honestly in all the fandoms ive been in there's only like, a Select number of authors who i trust to write Well, let alone write Well AND In Character. character analysis and writing and getting inside characters' heads are all separate skills (all of which are trained by roleplaying fyi can CONFIRM playing pretend with your friends is good for you). there's been more than once where I've disagreed with an interpretation that others agreed with, and then I turned out wrong. or i turned out right. like it doesnt matter WHO is right it just matters that differences in character analysis exist, so even if you DO write well AND write in character, your in character is still going to be someone else's out of character

there's this sort of. vibe. that to play in the sandbox you Need to be able to make a castle, and if you can't make a castle then you shouldn't bother, and it completely dismisses the idea that youre in that sandbox to PLAY in the first place. there's this Weight of disappointing someone if you can't build something that they like, but that forgets that you aren't there to build them a castle. like, be KIND. if you disagree with someone then please make an effort to do so kindly. i dont give a shit about fandom discourse but there is a reason kids get removed from sandboxes if they keep throwing sand in people's eyes. but if they don't like your misshapen sand pile, then youre not obligated to change it. even if you yourself end up hating that same sand pile later- youre not building a legacy. youre playing. and sometimes the result of that play is out of character drivel. theres a reason there are so many authors and so few who i like to consistently read and thats because everyone is Fucking Around in their hobby space. hash tag brag or whatever but i can build castles. ive built several that im v proud of. ive also dug holes in the sand for fun and then tripped on them when trying to get up. I often dug a hole and then got up and fucking- whoops, its a castle now, and i didn't realize i'd made something to be proud of until after the fact. the whole time while creating shit i was Convinced it was bullshit that didn't make sense. and then other times i was Convinced it was bullshit and then i was Right and i can look back and go. huh. ew. but it doesn't matter what the end result was, because i had fun playing in the sandbox

this wasn't meant to turn into a ramble but i have Feelings about bad art and art that's badly perceived and how public perception can screw with your head and how making art youre proud of is fucking. it's so difficult!!! it's hard!! it's really fun, which is why i try to make it, but i promise you it is Okay to not tryhard creativity. even if you CAN, it's okay not to do it all the time. or ever, even. fuck around find out have fun etc

[aster-aspera]

Fuck

[not-poignant]

!!!

palmarosa and 5, 6, 11 & 12 for the fic ask thingy pls! (If that’s too many questions for one ask then just. Any of those. Ty!)

Re: Palmarosa - okay let's gooooo

5: What part was hardest to write?

So far, the sex scenes (although see below for some of my issues re: behind the scenes researching). They honestly are often the hardest parts to write. But also, Astarion is rather more sex averse than I initially imagined him being, but as I've been writing the more 'concrete' fic, I'm finding he is very sex averse and has a lot of reasons to be, and as a result it's slowed Raphael down. It's not bad, but I already struggle with sex scenes in general just because I want to craft something decent.

6: What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics?

Mmm. Astarion's a vampire and I actually (can't believe I'm admitting this) don't really love writing vampires! Writing creatures who drink blood to live I think is a tentative first for me, lol. Otherwise there's more similarities than differences. Like, the fandom and characters/pairing are different, but a lot of the themes are the same.

I'd say this is the first world I've written in re: fandom that has this much lore to go through, and almost all of it contradictory in some fashion. So I'm having to do more research kind of like through three separate fandoms to find what I want, or to realise I have to invent something new. That side of things is challenging.

11: What do you like best about this fic?

The crunchy dynamic between a not particularly pure-of-heart vampire spawn and a definitely not pure-of-heart devil. I really enjoy their banter. They're both very theatrical and performative. They both like a good show. They both think elements of violence are fun. They're both not particularly concerned with being good people every second of every day.

I get to have Astarion say some really fun lines, and that gets to be relatively in character. I get to have Raphael say some truly unhinged purple prose bullshit, and that's also pretty in character for him! I think I also really enjoy matching the voices as much as possible. I sometimes feel like I can 'hear' them saying their lines, and that feels really good.

12: What do you like least about this fic?

Probably the lack of easy ways to research the dialogue and world etc. I was very spoiled by like... the Dragon Age: Inquisition wiki, and even the Stardew Valley wiki. They have most of the dialogue and written parts there. The BG3 Wiki is kind of terrible for almost everything I need to know and I'm surprised when it can actually help me. It's also not immediately easy to add to, which I've thought of doing in the past (I have a Wiki account, and I have edited/added to them before - but Fextralife is different). And then also, a lot of it is contradictory.

The game writes pretty significant character growth in many different directions which means you can canonically write Astarion as two completely different characters in terms of morality and it still be...canon compliant. And then on top of that, there's just typos and issues - Korilla is 'Korrilla' in almost all the correspondence and texts, and 'Korilla' in the dialogue. So which is it? Do I just get to choose for fun? (I do).

As a result I've read hundreds of raw datamined dialogue files, and that's just laborious, because 90% of that is irrelevant to what I'm doing. In general, there's not a ton to hook into for Raphael, and some of his best lines are actually written down or transcribed.

I don't think anyone will ever truly know how much behind the scenes research I've done for what is ultimately a very Id/ridiculous fic, but I've done a metric fuckton of it. And when people then go 'oh but actually Gale is an X and you got that wrong' I want to claw my own eyes out, because I've spent at least 50 solid hours researching and compiling a fairly information dense Obsidian Vault for worldbuilding, and when I get basic things wrong it makes me want to cry and then immediately quit, lmao.

(In case anyone wants to see what that looks like so far:

--

From this fanfic meme!

[silverydragonheart-blog]

yknow technically cloning works alot like artificial insemination or like fertilization treatments from what ive seen/been told by my mom so by that logic timkon clone baby absolutely couldve been more than one and has a higher chance of being say twins or triplets than not which means in a dcxdp crossover you can absolutely have dan dani and danny and it haunts me that no one else noticed this

Edit please note that I am not a doctor or anything I just had a slight fixation and tried my best to learn what I could which resulted in me knowing more about surrogates, adoption, and fertility treatments than anything else except I was very much a kid and didn't like knowing the full reasons of things so I'd learn enough and then guess the rest so on one hand I absolutely know how one thing works however I have absolutely no fucking idea how it happens its essentially like how we all treat the Talk I took one look at learning the ins and outs of these treatments and went "I know enough" and dropped it so if anythings wrong yeah that's why

[tvxcue]

canon compliant xiyao is very brain buzzy for me bc it's such a specific kind of fucked up for both of them that has to require some really inventive mental gymnastics but also that they wouldn't really be able to think abt for it to happen. like the infidelity on jgy's part has the potential to send him into a spiral but also it's different, it has to be different. and jgy playing his father's role in this dynamic and how that implicates him further in everything into his father's schemes while he was alive and godddd is he really his father's son.........literally the cruelty of it, that he become his father through all his worst qualities. that jgy fulfill what his mother wanted by re-enacting what damned her and him. betraying qin su but telling himself it's different, telling himself it's not like that, telling himself nothing at all because he can't confront it.

[thechaoticfanartist]

Poll Game:

"Tagged by" @arrthurpendragon

Alright make me work on my WIPs lol.

For every vote each fic gets, I will write a sentence.

I'm tagging anyone who wants to!