#fic: ode to a lost wind

[lavendermin]

Hey there!! Just wanna say that ode to a lost wind is one of the MOST delicious, divine, splendid, and magnificent fanfic i've ever encountered in my years of enjoying the internet lol.

I've been re-reading that fic A LOT for the past 2 years(?), i truly hope you'll write a continuation! But if you don't, i don't mind reading it again for the 13738th time to quench my thirst!!

Thank you for posting such wonderful works <3

excuse me while I go cry in a little corner over how sweet this message is 🥺💗 I’m happy to know some of my fics are still revisited even though I’ve been a little too busy to post much

Ode to a Lost Wind is probably one of my favorite fics I’ve done. It’s definitely going to have a continuation ^^ the wip has been sitting at about 4k words for some time since I have a really bad writers block plus 3 jobs ^^; it’ll see the light of day sometime soon along with my other wips!

Just for you, anon, here’s a little snippet 💗💗

[eldrith]

Would you be willing to tell us anything about your WIPs?

sure! i have so many - like a sick amount lol. so here are just some in no particular order... with songs that have lyrics that fit the plot <3 ive been heavily discouraged as of late and can’t guarantee anything in terms of posting these

about you ; jacaerys x aunt/targ!reader [jace is betrothed to baela], request. ➺ vibes: escaping your family just to tame an untamable beast. saving your cousin's life, almost losing your own. feels like unrequited childhood longing, slow burning; like finding the cherished toy that was lost in your youth. like laughing in the face of death. sounds like 'about you' by the 1975, like the roar of an ancient beast, the buzzing of a fly in the corner of a peaceful room. tastes like herbal tinctures, root of thistle, and milk of the poppy. smells like ancient dragonsmoke and rolls of gauze.

dead men don't sing ; jacaerys x stark!reader, request. ➺ vibes: sweet, but foreboding - like the destiny woven into your bloodline long before your mother’s mother ever had a name. feels like playful love, poorly contained desire; like when the burden placed upon your back is lifted by the one you love. sounds like 'would that i' by hozier, like the northern wind snapping in your ears. tastes like snow on your tongue, remnants of wine upon lips. smells like the woods in winter; like a well-burned hearth.

a golden cage [part iv] ; jacaerys x aunt/targ!reader ➺ vibes: awkward dinner parties, the embarrassment of sprouting affection. feels like an apology in the back of your throat, like the guilt and subsequent relief of looking at someone and feeling like you're looking into a mirror. sounds like 'south' by hippo campus & ‘shake it out’ by florence & the machine; like dramatic declarations and whispered vows. tastes like wine in your cup and the salt of ocean upon lips. smells like incense burnt low and muddled sourleaf tea.

honeyed [part ii] ; jacaerys x queen's advisor!reader. ➺ vibes: flirty, sweet, - resisting something you know is inevitable. feels like the giddiness of camping with an old friend; or the first time riding a dragon; like looking up during a storm just to feel rain hit your smile. sounds like 'pools' by glass animals, like quiet whispers within canvas tents; like the chorus of full tables at Raventree Hall, celebrating royal guests. tastes like wild berries and fresh river water. smells like the leather of dragonsaddles, like wild rosemary.

miscellaneous; these may never see the light of day

untitled ; jacaerys x lady!reader, request. ➺ vibes: yearning for your best friend & knowing them better than the back of your hand. betrothal proposals, envy. feels like lounging in the hot sun, like worrying over looks sent to you across the ballroom; gossiping with your crush’s brother. like the brush of fingers upon your neck, like a gut bubbling in unspoken jealousy. sounds like ‘daydream / wetdream / nightmare’ by saint motel, like butchering the pronunciation of an ancient tongue. tastes like cucumber sandwiches, like hot tea under the summer sun. smells like old library scrolls and cologne oils upon a warm neck.

half-fleshed fic of modern jace x best friend reader ➺ vibes: almost-friends-with-benefits with your best friend - poor drunken choices, insecurities, yearning. feels like not knowing what you are, like washing off the remnants of lipstick upon your neck in the shower. sounds like 'an ode to a conversation stuck in your throat' by del water gap & ‘affection’ by BETWEEN FRIENDS; like the faint whispering when someone sleeps. tastes like guinness on tap, like cookies made at 2am. smells like empty streets after rain, like the warmth of your best friend’s hoodie.

untitled ; jacaerys x wife/betrothed!reader [undecided, v incomplete] ➺ vibes: teasing someone to see them squirm, smiling politely to hide a smirk. feels like the excitement of a chase, the warmth of desire; like tugging on curly tresses. sounds like the scraping of silver cutlery against plates, like breathless pleads against sweaty skin - like 'silvertongue' by young the giant. tastes like an eager tongue pressing against your own, sweet like blueberry pie. smells like blown out candles, scented oils on pillows.

untitled ; jacaerys x wife!reader ➺ vibes: giddiness & good news. happiness, the blossoming flower that sprouts from the seed of sorrow. feels like sand under your feet, like arms around your waist. sounds like the shaking of pride in a voice, like ‘jackie and wilson’ by hozier. tastes like salt of tears, like rosemary cakes. smells like home.

& maybe a nsfw version of the 5 love languages with jacaerys but who knows

[hazerun3]

btw for the last ask I may have a fic wip thats very similar

also pre apples swapdream

Heavy rain had always been calming to Nightmare.

He'd never admit it aloud since he knew Dream had an aversion to it, it was cute how the elders' confidence would waver at the sound of thunder. Protecting Nightmare was important to him and the younger would always play along even as it was clear Dream was trying to comfort himself with his words more than Nightmare.

The twins didn’t have a way to shield themselves from the elements the way the villagers did, there was a limit to what even their Mother was capable of protecting them from. Numbness was already seeping its way through Nightmares bones as he waited, it filled him with a sense of calm even as he felt his bones rattle uncontrollably. Time seemed to pass both faster and slower. It was a shame he couldn't read in this weather, but he didn’t mind too much. Nightmare had long since finished all the books Dream gifted him twice over, the flow of books had slowly trickled away once the villagers realised it all immediately made its way to Nightmare. It was fine though, Nightmare had more than enough to keep himself entertained and he had taken to committing his favourites to memory.

He hummed a nonsensical tune to himself, barely hearing his own melody over the deafening pattering of the rain and occasional roll of thunder. Not that he cared too much, lost in his own world as he replayed his favourite stories over and over. Lightning added to the scenes as it illuminated the darkening sky. Tales of nobles in castles too grand for them to imagine and flowery verses in awe of natural beauty, odes to great dragons and love and fantastical birds of pure fire…

Where was Dream anyway? It had been quite a while since the rain got so heavy that all the villagers retreated back under the cover of their homes. Was Dream working on the far side of the village again? That would explain why the earlier group didn't have a lookout. Nightmare touched the side of his face again, he was too numb to tell how bad the bruising was. If he was lucky it wouldn't be visible when Dream returned. If Dream returned tonight that is.

Pain blossomed from somewhere in Nightmares chest, making itself known even from under the blanket of numbness that enveloped him. Dream hated storms and lighting terrified him, one of his friends could have offered him to stay at their house. He could have taken the offer. Nightmare wished he could say he wanted him to. It would be nice to be shielded from the rain for the night with a fireplace to keep him warm. Dream worked so hard to help the village with the firewood it only made sense that he'd take the chance to enjoy the fruits of his labour.

Leaving Nightmare alone.

But that was fine. Dream wouldn't even have to worry about Nightmare’s safety. No one else was outside in this weather after all and Mother would still be there, unmovable and eternal.

Nightmare dropped his head to rest it on his arms where they hugged the top of his knees. He couldn't tell if his tremors were from the cold or if he'd started crying again.

At some point the wind shifted directions, hitting part of his side. The blanket of numbness had enveloped him again so he didn't bother moving. Dream would be upset by it, but Nightmare had already given up on the idea that he would be back before the rain ended so it didn't matter. He just wished to sleep and hopefully wake up with his brother back by his side to make the next day bearable.

dw guys swad shows up next paragraph to make it better

[sm-baby]

Counting sheep 🐑

Do I dare make the fic intractable? Yes. The answer is yes. Why? Because I rarely do Y/N fics.

Anyway, rushed, indulgent, and fluff uwu I leave you to the lovely lady.

Word count: 1,555 Words

Bye bye now, hehe ꒰⁠⑅⁠ᵕ⁠༚⁠ᵕ⁠꒱⁠˖⁠♡

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The church wasn't like any other space.

Entities have spaces that consist of their own ecosystem. The courtroom had its own place in the city, The brains' office building had its own property, and the memory schools had gates where they could enter and leave.

But not the church.

The church was in a space that was everywhere and nowhere.

A door would open, and instead of the expected room, you would be met with a portal to a void that was nothing but white.

If entered, all noise from the outside would be blocked out. The steps you take would echo to nowhere as the sound of wind came by occasionally. It's your choice whether you should head back home, or indulge in the feeling of the void.

The void is a neutral entity… it's where one goes when they are lost in thought. Most of the time it's white, the colour of blankness, as most random thoughts themselves are out of nowhere.

But the moment it gets dark? The darker the thought? Perhaps it's time to question if you're really truly alone.

The more one wanders, the emptier it feels. And it's a gamble… if you wander you could reach smaller, temporary spaces. They could span from a-- garden from the time you've considered gardening, to a car when you considered renting one. And then there are others completely out of context, such as a fish bowl on a tricycle.

You don't know what that one was about.

And then there were more permanent spaces in the void. Perhaps one that used to be a main space in the real world, now faded, and pushed back as a thought at the back of your head.

One of those spaces…

The Church

Sometimes, if one would wander far enough, they would hear the tune of a gentle organ enter their space, and in the distance, a white cathedral on its lonesome.

At first it was sort of eerie. It was incredibly quiet, and not to mention-- empty. Every word would echo, and the pitter patter of your steps would bounce louder against the walls.

Although the church was by itself, there was an area around it. A gushing waterfall leading to a river, leading to a garden. The grounds would be decorated in the religious statues of women, short with horns, as if they were cherubs.

You enter the main room of the church.

And that's when you see her.

A tall entity, blue in hue with garments od white and gold. At first she doesn't see you as her back was turned to pray at the altar of her saviour. She was alone, letting the moment with her lord be intimate and personal.

Silence.

And then she finished.

before she could even stand, she turned to you.

It was almost eerie the way she walked. The entity was elegant, beautiful, and unnaturally composed.

You couldn't help but stare at her face..

Absolutely bone chilling.

It was if it was ██████ ███ ████ ███ ████. ███ █████ ██████ ██████ ███ ████. ████████ ███ █████ ██ ████ ████████, ███ ████ ███ ██ ███ ████████.

And even still, she spoke gently.

She reached her hand out to you and you couldn't help but take it.

As hours went by, she promised to show you a special kind of love. But instead of falling in love with the lord you more so fell in love with… the people.

" The Pastor" so they called her—, seemed to be the main entity of this church, the ones working under her she referred to as " The Choir", or in a more personal sense, "The Lambs".

The followers taught you all about their activities done in the church:

The lambs scattered to help set up basins for foot washing service,

The Pastor would tell you of their tradition about bread and wine,

The smile that appeared on her face when you asked more about her faith,

They shared with you their bread and fish and…

…Apparently, you've come to learn that the Church's main source of food and water came from the altars. Since there was no ecosystem, their god would provide for them instead.

Their food seemed to be limited to bread and fish, as well as water. But when they were especially good, they would be treated to milk and honey.

The Pastor would give you her share of honey that day. She said it had been "the least she could do after you had been such lovely company"

You would leave the church that day thinking it had been a temporary lovely visit.

But you would return.

Again,

And again,

Until you became the one and only regular visitor.

Everytime you came, the lambs would scatter to take a peek at you from the windows, and the Pastor would get more and more informal with how she moved.

She would catch herself smiling, holding back her excitement to run and see you!

" My child!" She would greet you.

Come one visit, The worshippers have grown quite comfortable with you. There came a point where they would like to show you where they slept overnight.

While the choir prepared for bed, cleaning themselves in the church restrooms, The Pastor would bring you to the… ridiculous amount of stairs leading to the attic… to their bedroom.

Since the church was large, the attic was too. It consisted of multiple matts on the floor neatly arranged, while shrines of their saviour decorated a corner.

What was most notable was the Pastor's bed. Grand with white sheets, circular in shape, one could compare it to a human-sized dog bed but with a lovely canopy with white and gold curtains.

She would sit on it, hands politely on her lap as she explained how their nightly routine would go.

She mentioned that although the lambs were comfortable sleeping on their mats on the floor, she admitted that they would occasionally join her in bed, and she would be buried in a pile of wool!

She giggled.

When the lambs entered you would be treated with fun activities. Before bed, they would chat amongst each other while you spoke with the pastor. They would tell eachother secrets and write in their diaries.

Some lambs would gather around you two all restful, some laid their head on the pastor's shoulders, one laid her head on her lap, and some slept at her feet.

They listened to the both of you talk while they let themselves rest. The lambs would tell you embarrassing things about The Pastor the same way a mother would show their child's baby pictures.

" Her holiness once spilled wine on her clothes without noticing, and she would spend the rest of her day with a wine stain on her lap! "

The Pastor would cover her face, unable to look you in the eyes. " O-oh dear… " a clear look of embarrassment and her voice expressed it greatly.

You replied " Why didn't you tell her??"

" Her holiness just looked wonderful in any light… " the lambs swooned. " We did not think anything was wrong! "

" I didn't have time to change before prayer time and, well, I-I apologised so much to the lord for being so unkempt..."

" Awe.. " You replied. " I'm sure he didn't mind though, right? "

"... I do…" the Pastor said, her voice high in embarrassment. She was truly flustered, completely unable to look you in the eyes again.

The lambs laughed light heartedly as they rubbed her back, saying their sweet little "there there" s.

It would finally be time for bed. The choir slept amongst each other like a herd of sheep on a field at night. One would truly have to tip toe over them to get to the other side of the room.

You, the visitor, just sat in The Pastor's grand bed. You were able to dangle your feet from how high it was.

The Pastor would be the last to sleep as well as the last to change into her sleeping garments. Despite changing to something completely comfortable, it seems the chains stay overnight.

She entered the room:

" I'm truly sorry we kept you for so long, I did not intend to have you sleep over." The Pastor said as she lifted her dress to tiptoe over the sleeping lambs.

" Oh don't worry about it! I'm sorry for staying over, it feels like Im invading your space! " You said, then a thought came to mind. " Question though, uh… Do I sleep on the chairs or..? "

" Oh no… " she said with a chuckle, " You may sleep on my bed. It's truly the least I can do… and I only wish for you to be comfortable during your visit." She finally reached the side of the room, and later knelt on the floor with the sleeping lambs close by. " I'm able to find comfort on the flooring, And, the lambs' wool gives quite a cushiony experience. " She chuckled half jokingly.

You looked back at the bed and back at her. The bed was quite large, you could spread out all your limbs and still have plenty of space.

Looking down on the floor, it looked like the Pastor would have to sleep tightly in order to fit with the lambs… but she did insist on it.

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

The Fallen

ao3

Summary: He finds her too late.

Author's Note: AU from the other one-shots (except maybe Protector) because Leara is married to Ulfric in this fic. If last night's Stay was Rosewing at its corniest, this is Rosewing at its most tragic.

Grab a box of tissues.

#######

       He could not find her.

         Thunder crashed and lightning split the sky in quick succession. The rain was such that the world around him was obscured, shrouded in curtains of ice water. He never had trouble flying through a strun before, but this gale might be enough to ground him. It would have if he was out for any other reason. But he would not be grounded. Not even Alduin himself could have ordered him to land.

         The one Odahviing served was greater than Alduin, and it was for her sake that he weathered this strun.

         Rain slipped between his scales, stinging the skin underneath with frozen teeth. Winds howled with the cries of wolves, ripping and tearing at his wings so that Odahviing could not keep his course. A shadow loomed ahead. Beating his wings against the gale, Odahviing avoided a mountain peak by the fangs of his maw. Hissing, he beat his flight higher, above the jagged teeth of Keizaal’s many strunmah. His wings were numb from cold and wind.

         If he could not find her soon, Odahviing was certain he never would.

         Faintly on the wind, a clear note below the howling wolves, came the familiar, “OD AH—"

         Then silence. Nothing but the strun.

         But it was enough.

         Tearing against the winds, Odahviing wheeled westward. The strun raged across all of Keizaal, drowning the world in frozen waters that would soon ice over, killing the last of the summer greenery and hastening on the bitter winter. Odahviing would face a thousand bitter winters if he could find her.

         Her Thu’um rang from the far west, beyond the city on its arch and the winding range of snow burnt mountains. High above, Odahviing could not see the ground. It was lost in the strun. The fire in his belly raged against the cold. Against the entire situation.

         She should never have ridden out from the Strunkodaav’s city. Not alone. Not after the Vokuntuz.

         With a growl, Odahviing circled the ground. He was near her, he felt the echo of her Thu’um in the air, but the ground was still clouded by the rain, He dared not dive down for fear of crashing.

         The strun was no better on the earth than it was in the sky. His head tucked low to the ground, Odahviing peered through the thickening darkness. Now grounded and near to her, he found his limbs slipping through the icy mud. He crawled low to the ground, his chest and belly sliding through the sludge as he inched forward. Raging yol boiled up in his throat, but Odahviing tampered it down, his ved faas deeper than his rahgot. Where was she? Where was his Dovthurjud?

         Lifting his head into the air, Odahviing shuttered his eyes against the jagged rain, staring into the dark. All around him was the sound of the strun, crushing the gol with hammering liz. She was nearby. He was certain. Perhaps, now—

         “LAAS YAH NIIR DOV AH KIIN!”

         The raging strun drowned out his Thu’im, but – yes, he was close enough.

         Slowly, careful not to slip, Odahviing crawled across the frozen gol. She was there, long stretches of the wing away, but he could see the faint smear of red light that was her soul, shining out despite the veil of rain. Burning, brilliant . . . unmoving. The ved faas gnawing at his zii bit harder, infecting him with a cold poison that ate at his bones. She was so near yet still so far. What happened? Why did she not move?

         Like a worm struggling through the mud, Odahviing clawed his way through the strun and gol toward her, his eyes never wavering from her even as the effects of his Zii Koraav were washed away by the rain. Tiid unslaad passed in his struggle to reach her. The lok ahrk gol could wash away in the ahzid strun, but he would still inch toward her. His lokaal . . . his mid to her drove him forward. It would always drive him forward.

         There was no fanfare when he reached her, his skin stung numb and his underside caked in icy earth. Odahviing gave no thought to himself once he saw her, shining silver and supine on the stones. Heedless, Odahviing scrabbled to her side, his legs slipping and his wings, frozen and trembling, dragging beside him. Then he was at her side, his great horned head held over her small form to shield her from the biting rain.

         “Ysmir,” he said, his voice washed away by the strun.

         She was still, her hair unbound and strewn through the mud in a dark halo. Gently, Odahviing lowered his snout to her chest, flicking his tongue and tasting the air around her.

         Bein! Krent qeth ahrk mahlaan sos!

         “Ysmir, Konziiyol.”

         He bowed his head closer to hers, as closely as he could. Her skin was liz, marbled ice. But there was nothing else. Nothing more. The light that drew him to her from across the strun lok se Keizaal was . . .

         It was. Not.

         Against the heavy rain and the winds buffeting at the nearby cliff face, Odahviing coiled himself around her, a shield and a protector against the winter fury of the strun. He did not know what else to do. His zii felt . . . tempered, weak as if somehow subdued. As he settled his head beside her, his wing spread to blanket her from rain, he knew that it was. The pure firelight burning within him had been snuffed out, blown away by . . .

         Dur Vokuntuz!

         Ved yol raged in his zii in the absence of her kun, gnawing at his bones with a burning rahgot for the ruth Vokuntuz and her dur bahlok! Ruth ek!

         It was only the need to guard his Dovthurjud now that kept Odahviing from braving the strun again and hunting down the lir. But he would. He would find her in whatever hole she dug herself into and devour her as Alduin once devoured sillesejoor in Sovngarde!

         But his burning rage dampened into an ache as he stared at her still face and prone limbs. He remembered her laughing face, the graceful smile that curved across her face whenever he answered her call. He always answered her call. He—

         The rage boiled again, this time at himself. He failed her. He did not protect her as she needed and now she was gone. His Kunziiyol was gone.

         He remembered her face, bright and full of light like the yunvu whenever he saw her. When she returned from Sovngarde, limping but euphoric in her victory over Alduin’s thur. She was beautiful then. Worthy to be Judsedov. Demanding his loyalty and protection. And he gave it, even when she did not understand her significance to the dov, to him. Even when she bound herself to the mey Strunkodaav.

         A deep growl rumbled in his throat, in tune with the thunder crashing overhead. The Stunkodaav failed her. The mey joor failed the vahdin who loved him. Who chose him over the skies of Keizaal and the worship of the dov! Who trusted him! Some ahmul. Some ahmul! Odahviing was not always there to keep her from danger, but as her ahmul, the Strunkodaav’s first oath to her was one of protection. Midrot kren! Once he devoured the Vokuntuz, he would—

         He remembered her face, her joyful eyes when she first told him she was with child. When she first introduced him to Kendov and later, Kaandrem. Her kiir.

         They were without her now.

         His rage turned again. Inward once more. Their monah was gone. He could not take the mal geinn’ bormah too. His Kunziiyol would not like that.

         He flexed his claws in the frozen mud, restless. Once the storm abated, he would bear her to her family one last time. A final flight. Then he would take wing again, his hunger for the Vokuntuz’s soul driving him.

         Coiled around his Dovthurjud, Odahviing made plans. He would hunt the Vokuntuz to her own death, but he knew he could not do it alone. He needed someone with a joor slen to weed her out. The lir was a shadow walker, an assassin’s blade. She would smell him on the wind and scurry into her hold. He could claw open the face of the gol to find her, but such destructive measures would make his Dovthurjud frown. She always handled things so delicately, so carefully. Everything. . . . except this hunt, it seemed. No, he needed a lighter touch, and for that, Odahviing would need Miraak.

         The Traitor, granted mercy by the Judsedov. Others would try to understand the bahlok nahkriin burning through Odahviing, but Miraak alone would share it. After all, hadn’t he also loved and lost the Dovahkiin to the Strunkodaav?

         No heart burned hotter than a dovah’s, and Odahviing’s was an inferno that threatened to consume him. He would not allow it to do so, but he would devour the one who hurt his Kunziiyol. He would burn the Vokuntuz’s world to ash.

·•★•·

Dovahzul:

Ahmul – husband

Ahzid Strun – bitter storm

Bahlok – hunger

Bein – foul

Bormah – father

Dovah/dov – dragon/dragons

Dovahkiin – Dragonborn

Dovthurjud – High Queen Over the Dragons (lit. Dragons’ Overlord Queen)

Dur – cursed

Gol – earth

Joor – mortal

Judsedov – Queen of the Dragons

Kaandrem – Kyneiren Stormcloak (lit. Kyne’s Peace)

Keizaal – Skyrim

Kendov – Martin Stormcloak (lit. Warrior)

Kiir – children

Krent qeth – broken bone

Kun – goodness, light

Kunziiyol – Pure Fire Heart (lit. good/light fire soul)

Laas Yah Niir – Aura Whisper Shout

Lir – vermin

Liz – ice

Lok ahrk gol – Heaven and earth (an expression)

Lokaal – love (from the Legacy Dictionary)

Mahlaan sos – spilled blood (lit. fallen blood)

Mal Geinn – little ones

Mey – foolish

Mid – loyalty

Midrot kren – Oathbreaker

Monah – mother

Nahkriin – vengeance

Rahgot – anger

Ruth – damned

Ruth ek – damn her

Sillesejoor – mortal souls

Slen – body, flesh

Strun – storm

Strunkodaav – Ulfric Stormcloak (lit. Storm Bear)

Strunmah – mountains

Thu’um – Voice, Dragon Shout

Thur – tyranny

Tiid Unslaad – Time Eternal

Vahdin – woman

Ved – black

Ved Faas – Despair (lit. black fear)

Vokuntuz – Artanis Felagund (lit. Shadow Blade)

Yol – fire

Yunvu – new dawn (“yun” taken from Legacy Dictionary)

Zii – spirit

Zii Koraav – Aura Whisper (lit. Spirit Sight)

[jazzfic]

ao3 (un)wrapped

Unless I manage to finish anything else in December, I posted a total of 71,491 words in 2022. I say posted, not written, as technically the largest portion of that (thank you, one story that is Long) was scribbled in the year before.

But!

It is the most words in a single year in all the years that I have been shoving letters into the ao3 mailbox, PO Box Me.

*small party kazoo*

(Everything under the cut, unsurprisingly and predictably, Star Trek: Picard)

The Not-Always-An-Emergency Players Present A Helpful and Hospitable Production: The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy of-- The holograms put on some light amateur dramatics. This indulgence of a preamble plus five acts and intermission was all because I wanted to write a fic where the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet is performed in the most impractical place on the most impractical stage. Rios is annoyed for 32,000 words. I am very proud of this very, very silly thing.

dearest henrietta, shall space nor species divide us. The Hospitality Hologram sings a parting ode to his adoring whale shaped lover.

(hold fast and) don’t let go. Light angst. Agnes gets some hugs.

the third option. Written as season 2 began, probably naively. In summary: poor Emmet.

Emil and the Nightingale. Meanwhile, because things were horrible in canon, I returned to the bubble for this interlude in which the EMH dons some imaginary pips. (Oh, Emil.)

Twelve. Written after season 2 ended, probably crying. In summary: poor Emmet.

another ocean in which to swim. My brief attempt to work the barebones that held season 2 into a universe I could deal with.

Never had a Crew. (WIP) Unfortunately that 'dealing with' light and easy task hasn't gone too well. Probably backwards, actually. So I went back into the bubble and have stayed there. This fic was to string together short pieces that dealt with incidental La Sirena type things, mostly in the nebulous world called season 1.5. This probably should have been created as a series (a thing I am not used to doing) but nevermind. It is also majoring in silliness again. So far, contains An Enoch on the ceiling, Emil chairing a meeting with his plants, and Steward playing Say Yes to the Cardigan with Rios.

any little welcome. Rios is forced into holiday mode where he faffs about with the Troi-Riker's pizza oven and sends a non-Kestra approved bow wave over Agnes (in that order).

This is Our Get Along Glitch in the Holo-Matrix (Tee Shirt). Emil and Steward become stuck to one another and have a Wonderful Time.

say you got lost. Poor Agnes deals with some stuff. It's Whumptober, so angst, very.

Party on the Cube! (Synths, Bring a Plate). (WIP) Poorly timed, as it won't nearly or not ever be finished by actual new years, but this is just some long winded party preparations overseen by the holos, plus some other character moments lacking in plot, while La Sirena is on Coppelius in the weeks leading up to 2400. Might one day contain an actual party.

[coconutlimeverbena]

It's finally here! Here's 30 (!!) Haikyuu fics to enjoy: 10 SKTS, 10 Other, and 10 platonic. Make sure to check all tags before reading, and, if you can, leave a comment or Kudos. Enjoy!

SakuAtsu🦊😷

a thousand winds that blow: Motoya dies, Kiyoomi struggles, and a kindhearted bartender helps. I almost felt guilty the amount of times this fic made me laugh. 18K words. Rating: Teen Audiences (as the tags mention, grief and mourning are heavy themes here)

big league chew: Newbie baseball pitcher Sakusa is mentored by hothead catcher Atsumu. Featuring beautiful relationship development and Sakusa & Osamu friendship. 93K Words (9 chapters). Rating: Explicit

Call Me Baby: after recieving a gift card for a phone sex line, Sakusa reluctantly calls and ends up making a friend. 11K words. Rating: Mature

Four Years: Atsumu struggles to forgive his brother and his ex after he caught them with each other. I normally skip cheating fics but this one was so complex and handled so well, that I had to tell everyone else about it. 21K words (10 chapters). Rating: Teen Audiences  (The follow-up stories are highly recommended too)

Hell or Glory:  Atsumu meets Sakusa while trying to find Osamu during a zombie apocalypse. 12K words. Rating: Mature (minor character deaths, very little gore for a zombie fic though)

holding up the universe: When his soulmark doesn't appear on his wrist at 14 years old, Kiyoomi resigns himself to a lifetime of loneliness. Featuring background Suna/Osamu/Motoya. 50K words (2 chapters). Rating: Mature

how can I not be moved by you: within 5 seconds of meeting warlock Atsumu, apothecary owner Sakusa decides that he does not like him. Modern era magic AU. 26K words (3 chapters). Teen Audiences.

how to NOT fall in love with your flatmate's twin  Definitely a SakuAtsu fic, but it focuses heavily on the developing friendship between roommates Sakusa and Osamu as Kiyoomi denies his feelings for Atsumu. 47K words (3 chapters). Rating: Mature

Lost In Your Pull: In which Kiyoomi defines everything using the logic of physics then realizes that he can't escape Atsumu's gravitational pull. 19K words (2 chapters). Rating: Teen Audiences

lovegame: Atsumu encounters an intriguing stranger while traveling to be a contestant on Love Island. Awesome fic, featuring great friendship dynamics. 119K words (18 chapters). Rating: Mature

Haikyuu (misc)🏐🏐

After You Go, Won't You Stay?: MSBY's bus is involved in a crash, leaving everyone scrambling in the aftermath. 4K words. Rating: General Audiences (Major Character Death & grief)

and this is breathing (and seeing it go): Hinata suffers from homesickness when he joins The Black Jackals; his teammates help. 6K words. Rating: Teen Audiences

Enigma: an ode to Bokuto Koutarou. 2.5K words. Rating: General Audiences

gonna stand by you  5 times Kageyama defended his teammates and 1 time they defended him. 5K Words. Rating: General Audiences

meeting you: Kenma's low self-esteem makes him hesitant to meet his longtime online friends. 7K words (2 Chapters) Rating: Teen Audiences 

"Monster": Tendou finds acceptance at Shiratorizawa. 2K words. Rating: General Audiences

Silver Lining: Asahi gets stood up on a blind date at a festival, but ends up having the best day of his life anyway. 9K words. Rating: Teen Audiences

Something Bigger: Despite his best efforts, Tsukishima might be developing feelings for the two guys who rent surfboards from his shop every day. 8K words. Rating: Teen Audiences

Somewhere Over the Rainbow: Kuroo and Kenma meet in different lifetimes. Promised Neverland-ish reincarnation fic. Technically does contain Major Character Death. 32K Words (5 chapters) Rating: Mature (for angst)

the world will follow after: Tsukishima refuses to go to Hinata and Kageyama's wedding alone, so he puts out an ad on Craigslist to find a date. While this is a Tsukkiyama fic, I especially love how the friendships are written in this story. 120K words (11 Chapters) Rating: Explicit

Platonic

all id, no ego: Atsumu learns more about himself as his friendship with Sakusa develops. 8K words. Rating: Teen Audiences 

An Opponent is Announced: Kiyoomi's efforts to prepare for the Olympics are thwarted by the mystery of Oikawa Tooru. 13K words. Rating: General Audiences

breathe in and shout: Kageyama reluctantly attends his middle school reunion. 5K words. Rating: General Audiences

budding silence: Aone no longer sits alone on the train. 2K words. Rating: General Audiences

Losing Cakes and Counting Keys: Atsumu's cake is missing, and he, Bokuto and Sakusa struggle to remember who has keys to their apartment. 4K words. Rating: General Audiences

Mishap and coincidence make a fool's luck: Daishou accidentally sends a vent text to the wrong number and ends up with a friend. 3K worsds. Rating: Teen Audiences

Oh, Brother(s): 3 times Aran was there for the twins and 1 time they were there for him. 4K words. Rating: General Audiences

paper flowers: Ushijima's garden seems to attract other team captains. 3K words. Rating: General Audiences

Picasso's Portraits: art student Atsumu goes to an art museum to find inspiration for a project and ends up clashing with an artist there. 9K words. Rating: General Audiences

Shivers Down My Spine: Yachi's terrible day is greatly improved when she runs into some familiar faces at the library. 8K words. Rating: General Audiences

(I never ask this, but feel free to reblog this post, because the more people see the recommendations, the more they'll share with others.)

See you in a few weeks months soon with another list🥰

(Previous List)

[runnning-outof-time]

The Reckoning | Tommy Shelby x Ghost!Reader

Request: no - part of @retromafia ‘s Supernatural Celebration

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x ghost!reader

Summary: Tommy gets visited by the love of his life on multiple occasions. Each visit helps him to cope, but the last saves his life. With it, he's finally able to come to the reckoning that she's gone.

Warnings: drinking, drug use, death, suicidal ideations, angst

Word Count: 2989

A/N: this is my first attempt at a supernatural-themed fic, so I hope it’s not cringey and makes sense. Inspiration hit me while I was listening to the song titled ‘Reckoning’ by Whiskey Myers - it’s a pretty haunting song, but if you listen to it, you’ll find that I went a sort of different direction with the fic. I also used the words from a poem titled ‘Ode to the West Wind’ by Peggy Shelley. I trust that you’ll know it from somewhere else too - it seems that Tommy was into poetry long before he claimed he was haha. Anyways, I’m sorry for babbling. A BIG congrats to @retromafia for hitting this amazing milestone - I’m so honored to be able to participate in your celebration! I hope you enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR THOUGHTS & COMMENTS HELP ME WRITE!

Tommy didn't know what to do anymore. He was lost. A shell of himself. He still couldn't wrap his brain around how suddenly everything changed. One day, his wife was smiling by his side, and the next she was...gone.

She was supposed to go see her parents. They lived back in Small Heath and she liked to travel back to be in their company often. Tommy chose not to accompany her this time. He had work he had to get done; deadlines he had to meet. If only he knew at the time that that'd be the last time that she would try to coax him out of his office.

It was raining that afternoon. Tommy had gotten a driver to take (Y/N) to her parents because he didn't want her to go alone. He thought sending her with someone would be safer. But nobody could have been prepared for what happened on her way there. Visibility was limited but the driver still continued on. Due to the fog and the rain, he had little time to react to the animal that was standing in the middle of the road. In fact, the driver couldn't even identify what type of animal it was. His reaction to the roadblock was to swerve. It wasn't known at the time that they were driving close to a steep embankment. So when the driver swerved, the car rolled over the side. He managed to pull himself out of the wreckage and go off to find someone who could get help to the scene. But when he returned to the crash, he found that (Y/N) didn't make it. She was gone...just like that.

The months after her death passed by slowly for Tommy. His family tried to get him out of the house many times, but he'd turned into a recluse. When he tried to get things done, he'd just stare at the papers. It was like nothing mattered anymore. He stayed inside the confines of his home. The place, which once held so much love and life inside of it, now felt like a tomb. It served as a cruel reminder to what happened, but it was all that was left of the two of them.

Sleeping was also hard for him. He'd taken for granted the many nights where she would try to get him to come to bed with her. Of course, he wouldn't listen, and she'd go to bed upset. But that still didn't stop her from snuggling into his embrace whenever he did retire for the night. He used to love that feeling; that feeling that he'd never be able to get to experience again. No matter how hard he tried, or how tired he was, he wasn't able to get to sleep. He couldn't lay in their bed. It wasn't the same without her by his side. He wasn't able to sleep alone.

So he took to staying up all night. Him sitting in a drink and opiate induced haze was the closest thing he got to sleeping. It helped to clear his head of his misery for a moment in time; helped him to forget the fact that his wife was gone, and that she was never coming back.

It was in those early hours of the morning, sitting in a haze, that he started to notice things. Things that weren't quite natural, or explainable. At first, he thought it was from the vices he'd been using to help him cope; thought that they were making him hallucinate, but it still continued on the (few) nights he was sober.

It started with him seeing something out of the corner of his eye. Like someone was standing just out of his line of sight. Each time he tried to look and see who it might be, to see if someone was actually there, the figure would disappear. He also thought at times that he could see someone moving, but the second he'd go to focus on it, it would be gone. He tried to connect it to something rational, but could find no explanation for it.

Then smells started appearing out of nowhere. He'd be sitting at his desk in his office, trying desperately to get work done, and the scent of (Y/N)'s perfume would waft through the air. It always seemed to come at a certain time on the nights when it happened: the time of night that she used to come in and attempt to get him to come to sleep with her. The smell made him stop. It made him glance up in hopes that he'd been stuck in a dream for the last eight months and that she was coming into his office to see him, like it was any other normal night. But she wasn't there. And much like the figures he saw out of the corner of his eye, the smell would disappear as quickly as it came on.

After that came noises. The sound of footsteps echoing down the hall, the hushed whisper of what he swore was her voice. It never had any vocal tone to it, and he could never understand what she was saying, but he swore that it was her. It had to be.

One night in particular it happened to be raining really hard. Tommy was, once again, sitting in the chair behind his desk, trying to get some work done. Trying was a bit of an exaggeration. He had just been staring at a blank piece of paper for the last forty minutes. He'd glanced up at the doorway several times, each time thinking that he saw someone there, but he'd look up to see no one.

Then he heard someone walking around downstairs. He knew it to be coming from the main entry room because footsteps on the tile always echoed up the grand staircase and down the hall his office was off of. He listened to them as they continued for an unknown amount of minutes. Whoever was making them sounded like they were walking in circles.

This is where Tommy became confused. He knew for a fact that none of his staff were downstairs. He only kept a small number of workers now, and they'd gone to bed for the night...he was sure of that. So he decided to stand from his chair, downing the rest of the whisky sitting in his glass before he exited his office.

"I came back, Tommy," he heard the sweetest voice say the second he stepped into the section of the hall that overlooked the entry below. Like before, he saw something, or someone, standing below him out of the corner of his eye. But this time, when he turned to face it straight on, the person stayed. And that person was (Y/N).

Tommy's eyes widened as he realized that his wife was standing below him. "(Y/N)..." he breathed out in confusion, blinking several times after he spoke. She was still there when he stopped.

"I came all the way back here to see you, Tommy," she told him, standing as still as ever as he slowly descended the steps.

"You...you did," he stammered out. His mind was running at a million miles a minute as he tried to make sense of what was going on in front of him. Was his wife really standing in front of him?

"You never come to see me, Tommy," was the next thing that she said. She was still standing in the same spot, the only movement she was making was her whole body turning to face him as he came down the segmented staircase.

Tommy felt a pang of guilt in his heart when he heard that. He hadn't been to her grave since the funeral. He couldn't bring himself to do it. The emotions were still too raw, and he didn't want to feel them. He, instead, stayed locked up in his home, hiding from the fact that she was gone. Hiding from the truth. "I know, love. I'm so sorry," he apologized to her as he stopped on the landing of the last set of steps. He could see her more clearly now. "You...you're hurt, (Y/N)," he breathed, now noticing the scratches and bruises that adorned her face and exposed arms.

"This is what happened to me, Tommy," she told him. "It happened so fast. It was sudden. I didn't even know..."

Tears were now welling up in his eyes as he heard what she said. He wondered why she trailed off; wondered what else she was going to tell him. His mind was too jumbled at the moment to even think of what to say next. "I miss you," was all he was able to get out.

"I know," she nodded her head ever so gently.

"But you came back. You're here now," he breathed, finally taking more steps to get closer to her. He needed to feel her in his arms again. To feel the warmth she radiated.

"I have to go, Tommy," she told him just as he stepped off the final step. He was only a few feet away from her now. He could see the peaceful expression she wore. Seeing it brought him a feeling of peace like he hadn't experienced in so long.

"No...stay," he begged her, stepping closer. Just before he could stop in front of her, she dissipated into the air. He was met with nothingness before what felt like a cold wind rushed both through and around him. It encompassed him for a moment and made him fill with a sudden feeling of sadness. He couldn't hold back the tears anymore, and he dropped down to his knees as they started to fall down his cheeks. "(Y/N)..." he breathed through his sobs. She was just here a moment ago. Standing right in front of him. Seeing her made him feel peace. Now she was gone again. He was alone once more. As the feeling of cold dissipated much like the presence of her did, Tommy pulled himself back up off the ground. He then moved to the front room and got himself a drink before sitting on the couch. He fell deeper into his nightly haze and hoped that she'd visit him again...but she didn't.

It was hard to believe that an entire year had passed. That he'd lived an entire year without her. He'd seen (Y/N) several more times after that night. Each was much like the first. He'd approach her only to have her disappear the second he was in front of her. But it helped him to cope with his feelings. It helped him to hide from the fact that she was gone. Seeing her made him feel normal again; made him feel at peace. Now, he wanted to feel at peace for good.

He finally traveled to the place where her body had been laid to rest. It was a foggy day, and it couldn't have been more fitting. He was struck with sadness when he first approached her grave. This was the exact reason why he chose not to come here. It made it all too real for him. But then he remembered what he would do; that soon he would be with her. That gave him the ability to carry on. He came to a stop in front of her headstone, squinting slightly to read the inscription that was etched into the stone: (Y/N) Shelby, 1894-1924. "If winter comes, can spring be far behind?" The quote was from one of her favorite poems: 'Ode to the West Wind' by Percy Shelley. It was a rather bleak one, but she chose to focus on its last stanza, which is where this line comes from. He remembered when she first told him about it. She said that that line shows that even in the middle of the darkness of winter, you can hold onto the hope that spring would come soon. That even in the darkness that is death, you can also celebrate life.

Tommy stared at the stone for a few more minutes before he fell down beside it. On either side of his legs, he set down the two things he'd been holding. On his left sat a half-finished bottle of whisky, one of the things that helped him muster up the ability to visit her grave. On his right, a revolver. The very thing that would allow him to see her again...for good. He brought the bottle to his lips and took a drink, trying to wash away the tears with the amber liquid. It was no use. They still rolled down his cheeks when he sat the bottle back on the ground.

"I'll be with you soon, my love," he said then, speaking to the empty air around him in hopes that she was listening. He rested back against her headstone and looked up at the cloudy sky. He hated that this was the closest he was able to get to her.

He then smelt her perfume on the wind as it blew by him and it made him wonder if he was just hallucinating. If it was his mind making him think that she was there. But then he heard her voice: "you came, Tommy."

He looked straight ahead of him again, seeing a figure out of the corner of his eye. Slowly, he turned his head in hopes that it wouldn't disappear. She didn't. Several feet away to the left of him, (Y/N) was sitting on the stone bench. She was covered in the same cuts and bruises that he saw the first time she'd come to him, but she also had a peaceful expression on her face. "I came," he breathed, feeling at peace as he saw her again. The tears stopped falling as he stared at her, unable to look away, as if he was in some type of trance.

"Don't be scared," she told him then. Her sweet voice was like music to his ears. It further spurred him down the path of doing what he ultimately came here to do.

"I'm not," he shook his head, "I'm not scared. I'm just all alone," he told her, his voice shaky.

"You're not alone, Tommy. I am with you."

Hearing her say this made his heart drop. Because it wasn't true. She wasn't with him. Sure, he could feel her at times, but those moments weren't enough. He needed to be with her for good. For eternity. "I will be lying next to you soon," he told her, his right hand going to grip the handle of the revolver laying at his side.

Then he watched the look of peace leave her face. It took his feeling along with it and replaced it with sadness and a bit of fear. "You won't be. Not like that. You'll be stuck. They won't let you pass," she warned him, as if she knew what he was contemplating. "Go on, Tommy. You're not done yet. My work was finished, but you have much more to do. I'll be waiting for you when it's time but now you have to go on without me."

"What if I don't want to?" he dared to ask, his stubbornness shining through, "I can't go on without you. I can't come to terms with the truth."

"I will be with you, Tommy. I am with you. Always." The feeling of peace returned with her words. "I love you." With that, her figure disappeared, leaving Tommy alone again.

"No..." he breathed out, blinking a few times in hopes that she'd reappear. But she didn't. She was gone. "No, my love, no," he stammered out, his head dropping down. His eyes fell onto the revolver. He knew what he had to do. But he couldn't bring his hand to raise it any higher. Like it was too heavy to hold. "Please," he begged, several sobs falling from his lips then. "Please, let me."

All of a sudden, he left like was being embraced. Like two warm arms had wrapped around his body and brought him into shelter from the storm. And the feeling of peace returned. The words (Y/N) had just said echoed through his mind: "I will be with you...I am with you...always." The phrases kept repeating through his head, becoming a sort of a mantra to him. His grip on the revolver eased up. He let it fall from his hand so that he could bring both of them up to cover his face. To cover his sobs. "I will be with you...I am with you...always. Go on without me."

He came to a reckoning at that moment. The truth that he'd spent an entire year pushing away and trying to hide from was now evident. (Y/N) was gone. She wasn't coming back. But her spirit would still be with him, and he could still talk to her when he needed her comfort. He couldn't give up. Giving up would let her memory disappear, and that was the last thing he wanted. He would be her spring; would spend the rest of his life celebrating and honoring hers. So he had to continue. He had to continue for her. Until he could finally be put to rest and be beside her once more, he would go on as her memory's vessel. All of the work he would carry out would be for her. Because, in that embrace he’d just felt, she had given him the will to live.

Tagged: @alreadybroken-ts @magicalxdaydream @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @golden-hoax @elenavampire21

MASTERLIST

Read the poem, ‘Ode to the West Wind’ here

Listen to the song here:

[seakicker]

hi! i hope you're having a lovely day. what are some of your favorite character x reader fics? and who are your favorite fellow fic writers?

good evening! i'm doing just fine!

my bookmarks list on ao3 serves as an impromptu rec list so check that out if you're interested in stuff that really strikes my fancy. some specific fics i always go back to on there are:

slow strokes (vox x reader with manipulation, edging and some light mindbreak) written by anon

ode to a lost wind (dragons zhongli, childe, and thoma x reader with pregnancy kink) written by my sweet @lavandermin

win or lose (childe x reader with spanking, multiple orgasms, and overstim) by aelune

breaking the collar (primarily childe x reader but also a diluc x reader and kaeya x reader uh, subplot? its a pretty dark story so read the tags before you decide to give it a read but ia adore it) by sondepoch

i don't know if "favorite" is the right word when it comes to my mutuals and friends, everyone i'm with is talented, but i gotta give special shoutouts to @kaeyatic, @scaranya, @frogchiro, @levicide, @angelover, @bloodabi, @awlumii, and though he doesn't write much these days, @promisecarved has a stacked past masterlist. everyone is great and i'm really blessed to have a great network of friends and mutuals!

[lavendermin]

ode to a lost wind | 『1』

pairing | zhongli/reader, childe/reader, thoma/reader

word count | 3.1k

genre | nsft, soft romantic, au, self-indulgent idk what t say

warnings | notsfw! minors pls do not interact, breeding, pregnancy, this is gonna get incredibly horny real fast later on I’m so sorry, a little thriller-esque, them being your dragon lovers simultaneously is warning enough

synopsis | welcome to your dragon husband harem, enjoy your stay

Mid-week. The tavern is still packed as if the weekend was tomorrow, drunkards and bards alike celebrating another day finished.

A renowned wandering bard sits playing a tune to the lively patrons.

“Come on, play us another tale of the ancient winds and the far fallen kingdom!” one drunk is quick to exclaim as their poor colleague sits uneasily next to his raucous behavior.

The bard makes no move to answer him, simply tuning his worn, wooden lyre. The drunkard is almost ready to loudly proclaim disrespect on him for lack of a response, yet the bard smiles with a clear of his throat.

“My fair audience, I’ve told that tale several times this month. Wouldn’t you rather hear the legend of the missing damsel swallowed by thick woods in neighboring lands?” he offers with a charming wink.

A few adventurers that were drinking happily a few tables behind catch wind of his proposal. The more inexperienced of the lot seem to take a keen interest in this tale.

“A legend?” More patrons begin to gather around as the bard idly strums a delicate tune with a pondering hum. He’s quick to become a buzzing hotspot— a reputation that precedes him.

“An ‘Ode to a Lost Wind’, if you would so indulge me. This damsel was one born of Mondstadt and consumed by the never ending forest that borders a far off kingdom. They say a wicked dragon guards her in the ruins of his castle, where her cries can be heard like a sweet melody that brings the moon to tears.”

There’s hushed chatter that erupts from the audience that’s leaning on his every word at this new tale he has in store for them.

One of the newest adventurer recruits steps forward first with determination in their heart. “Tell us more, bard. We’d like to know more about this so-called ‘Lost Wind’.”

The tune picks up, a wicked grin briefly flashing across the bard’s lips. And maybe it’s the dim lighting or the alcohol that’s jittering their vision, but a few swear they see sharp teeth on his pearly grin for a moment. All it takes is a blink and then they’re back to seeing the same eager bard enjoying his carefree performance on top of one of the bar tables, generous helping of wine in hand.

“Very well, dearest listeners! Our tale begins at the edge of the vast cedar wood forest on the outskirts of the lands of Mondstadt.”

Through the tale in a delightful ode, through wine and song, the bar-goers relived the vivid tale of a damsel that was lured through the forest unto the castle of ancient ruin. The hearts of the soft-hearted drunkards were so moved and brought to the brink of mourning the loss of a lass they’d never met. So swayed were they by this compelling tale, quite a few stuck around with questions weighing heavy on their minds.

And the hunger of adventure-starved drunkards is exactly what the cunning bard preyed on.

“Bard, this ‘Ode to a Lost Wind’… is it true?” one had suspiciously asked as the tavern was dwindling down to the last few patrons of the night. As expected of the Adventurers Guild to gather intel on a prospective expedition— even if they had nothing to show for it, charting unknown forests was a call they could not resist.

Venti grins, carefree and mischievous before downing his drink in one go. “Discovery is one of the thrills of life. If you are to go to Mondstadt, there are many who will tell you of the damsel that is still missing to this day. Whether they are one and the same or still alive is not something a poet such as myself would so easily reveal.”

One of the adventurers, untrusting of this being little more than a fairytale, squints at him. It’s only natural for them to doubt— a foresight Venti has already taken into account ages ago. There’s no fun in making this easy for them, now is it?

“So you’re saying you will not tell us?”

Venti chuckles, leaning on his palm with a vague glint in his eyes that makes a few of the amateurs shudder in their tightly laced boots. “Perhaps I’m saying I don’t know either.”

—

As the sun tucks itself behind ancient mountains, the scarcity of light sets a prick of fear into the hearts of the lost. It’s like a low hum in the back of their mind, one where they lie to themselves that they aren’t lost, that they aren’t doomed. Those aren’t the thoughts of an adventurer, no.

‘A path undiscovered,’ their veteran superiors would have said with boisterous laughter between celebratory drinks.

“We’re lost.”

“We aren’t lost if there was never a sure end to find,” one tries to convince themselves as they shift a log around their small fire. Their eyes hold no hope as much as his words try to convince himself.

Every crunch, every distant sound of a forest very much alive was enough to keep them on edge.

“Save the lost damsel in distress— please, what a joke,” the first spits bitterly to no one in particular. “Jack, we might as well start trying to head back. Just mark this down as a myth and nothing more than a bard’s tale. I’ll file the paperwork with the guild of this expedition being a bust.”

His companion frowns at this, seemingly offended by the easy defeat. “Go back? Are you insane? We’d have nothing to show for a two day expedition the guild generously prepared us for!”

“And risk your goddamn life? Are you insane? If the boars don’t get us then hypothermia will.”

Jack knows this, and yet despite the cold that’s numbing his hands and chilling his spine he can’t ignore the call of the forest. “Don’t get upset so easily, Ivan. I’m just saying, I have a sure feeling we’ll find something if we wait until morning.”

“No, we’re heading back as soon as we can see ten feet ahead of us. I’m not risking my life for some made up princess that’s probably dead in a ditch somewhere,” Ivan complains. Before Jack is able to make a plea deal, his companion stands, aggressively chucking the last twigs from their pile into the dwindling fire. “I’m gonna go find some more wood nearby. If it starts dying, rip bark from the tree behind you and use that until I get back. Just— stay here. I need to think for a few minutes.”

Without so much as a second to react, Ivan was gone into the thick maze of trees. The nearby crunch of leaves and occasional crackle of the fire at his feet was all that filled the silent night. There was a certain degree of guilt that was gnawing at Jack. And rightfully so.

How could he not resist the greed of a perilous adventure?

Ivan was really sticking his neck out for him, even going so far as to sponsor the expedition himself. Perhaps an apology was in order. And with reluctance in his heart, Jack had to choose between venturing further into the forest or choosing failure.

His thoughts stopped dead in their tracks. The fire at his feet crackled once more as he flicked another piece of bark into the pile.

But that was it.

No more crunching leaves.

There was a lingering fear that dug it’s talons into his heart. Dread.

“Ivan?”

No response.

Which way had they come from originally? The panic gripped his mind and blocked rationality until he forced himself to focus. Ivan was probably just sitting on some roots cooling off before he told Jack off again. He would be back soon, surely.

He squints through the darkness desperately trying to make out the shadowy figure of his trusted companion. The night plays tricks on his eyes, and suddenly he feels the things he sees aren’t as they seem. The fatigue was setting in. This wasn’t good.

Jack strains his eyes again with dwindling hope and the crunch of a twig in the distance is loud enough for him to pick up on. His head practically snaps in its direction.

“Ivan? Did you find some wood?” he tries hopefully.

There’s a faint orange glow high beyond the trees. It’s hard to tell what it was.

There’s little relief he feels when he hears a distant, “Not yet.”

However… Ivan’s voice came from the opposite direction of where the glow was.

Somehow he hadn’t noticed he had ventured further from their little camp, lured by the strange light. The campfire was just a spec in the clutter of trees. Surely it would be okay to figure out what that light was and come back right? He wouldn’t even know Jack was gone.

His own thoughts didn’t even sound like his own anymore. No… the chilling wind was beckoning him forward.

Against the light of the moon, the outline of a fortress came closer into view. A magnificent wall that experienced eons of guarding the quaint castle now in ruins within.

The state of its structure all pointed to its abandonment, yet a few scattered windows on higher floors glowed with warm light. For a second the exhausted adventurer doubted his eyes.

The damsel in the dragon’s castle… This had to be it. Damsel or not, this ancient ruin was still a sight to behold. Surely this kind of discovery would quickly spread word of this young adventurer’s stroke of luck.

He did not look back again, wandering beyond the stone gates of the forgotten castle.

There was a certain level of dread to be felt, dropping his heart into his stomach just from the pile of rubbish near the entrance. A large pile of uprooted trees— some snapped in half, even, as if it were child’s play. A few larger chunks of tree were scattered about, stark claw marks on the wood bigger than any beast’s he had ever encountered. More alarming was the tree’s specimen, known as a rare sapling that grows to have the circumference of a chapel and towering high into gentle clouds.

This was no ordinary individual’s doing. Somehow the prospect of dragons existing was becoming less and less of a myth to the terrified adventurer.

Yet his greed was stronger. If he lived to tell the tale, his life was set to be placed in legends and he, too, would fit among the stars of the worthy.

And by this greed he spurred his legs on to continue beyond the heavy door that was left open just a crack. An eerie wind blew from within and carried a scent of fresh pine and cinnamon spice. There lingered a familiar scent of woodfire ovens hard at work to make the golden breads given in intricate baskets at dinner halls. An odd thing to encounter so deep in the woods.

The fortress was perplexing— incredible, even. From its state of erosion outside one would never guess it’s inside became more lavish and well-furnished the deeper one went. Clearly someone was residing in the castle at present time, and for who knows how long before Jack’s arrival.

The sound of distant footsteps echoing down dark corridors made for frantic hiding— from what exactly, Jack didn’t know. If this really was a beast’s lair, it would be best he didn’t find out anytime soon.

Warm light spilled from an open room far down a corner he turned, gentle music from a phonograph carrying itself down empty halls— a gadget from the far lands of Fontaine. This had to be it.

With quickening steps he finally made it to the room as if it was his saving grace. Jack stepped into the room with his breath held upon each step.

And there she was.

There upon a large bed surrounded by lavish pillows and pelts and blankets you slumbered so soundly. Lips parted with quiet breathing and a content look of peace on your expression— you were beautifully misplaced in such a far away enclosure.

And of course he would be so clumsy as to bump into the nearby decorative table, spilling a small basin of water with a rather loud clang. It stirred you from your peaceful slumber and slowly you became clearer to identify in full detail.

You wore a lavish little robe, a little too sheer for lingering eyes with elegant plumes decorating the hems. Your belly was slightly distended, swollen endearingly with the growing life of an expecting mother. The small, red blooms on your neck and chest were alarming him to the nth degree.

“What… What did they do to you?” The adventurer is at a loss for words. Maybe even a little awestruck momentarily at the delicate image of the expecting damsel he had been searching for and did not think to actually find.

You blink sleepily at the strange intruder, placing a hand protectively under your tummy to support yourself as you sit up. You seemed pretty far along, around six months.

“Who are you? Where’s Thoma?” you ask in a foggy daze, searching around the rather large bed you’re resting on. Whoever you’re looking for doesn’t seem to be present.

The adventurer is quick to drag you off the bed, beckoning you out of the room. “I’m here to save you! Quickly, we gotta go!” He’s quick to grab a lantern off the wall before he dashes down unfamiliar halls.

“Save me? How did you get in here? You can’t be here!” You groggily tried to free yourself from this disheveled man’s grip as he dragged you through candle-lit corridors.

“I’ll explain everything when we’re far from here. Who’s keeping you here?” Though his hands subtly trembled, there was adrenaline and determination in this naive adventurer’s heart.

You blink confused at him when he stops to try and remember which corridor he came through. “Keep me here? What’s going on?”

Oh, how precious. You were the spitting image of innocence. Surely whoever or whatever was keeping you here was taking advantage of you to have you in such a state. He grit his teeth the more he thought about it.

A little exasperated, he asks again, “Do you know who’s keeping you captive here?”

“That would be me.”

His blood drains from his face hearing the voice right behind him. And as human as it sounds, as human as he appears, Jack knows this man is anything but. If his towering height was anything to go by, then the intricately dark horns adorning his light auburn hair were a dead giveaway. Still, by a spur of pure idiotic courage Jack places his body in front of you protectively.

“Childe…” Your voice is a confused whimper that immediately draws the taller male’s attention. “Where’s Thoma?”

The ginger clicks his tongue, muttering annoyances under his breath. “That’s what I’d like to know. That bard couldn’t have picked worse timing.”

You gasp from behind the adventurer, your hand flying to your tummy as a kick from the baby causes you sudden discomfort.

“How could you?! You sick dragon bastard, you forced this on her! Forced her to bear the child of a monster!” He was flying into a protective fit of rage despite this man towering above him with intimidating horns and all the capability of ending him then and there.

And Childe laughs. Harder than he ever has, almost maniacally so.

“You think we forced her into being bred? Our little darling is much more refined than that. Besides, isn't she just the spitting image of perfection like this?” He makes it a point to easily sweep you away from the intruder, his hand lovingly under your belly as he holds you close. There’s a blossoming crimson that dusts your cheeks at the praise. “Besides,” Childe begins again, eyes flickering back to Jack’s with unparalleled smugness. “This baby’s not mine.”

“It’s mine,” a deep voice rumbles directly behind the adventurer. It’s enough to scare him pale at being met with intense amber eyes, glowing with festering irritation. Another pair of horns of brilliant amber stark against charcoal hair… Two dragons.

Suddenly, this adventurer feels more dread start to surface as the bard’s tale begins to unfold into something much different than intended. He’s been played like a card.

“Zhongli, where did that dumb guard dog run off to? He was supposed to be keeping watch,” Childe complains, glaring harshly at the other beast man.

Childe’s anger goes ignored by everyone but the only victim in the room.

“I sent Thoma to bring in more firewood to store by the hearth of each of our chambers— since you decided you wouldn’t bother with it after the six times I’d asked you,” Zhongli calmly explains with a stern cross of his arms. “Now,” he turns to the intruder at hand, “I’ll be leaving you with the simple task of getting rid of him. I’m sure such a task doesn’t require spoon-feeding you the details.”

Childe scoffs, picking up the intruder with one clawed hand as if he were nothing but a cloth, “Sure, leave me to do the dirty work while you go fuck her brains out and have all the fun. You’ve got some nerve, Morax.”

A threatening growl erupts from deep within Zhongli’s chest as he takes you into his arms protectively. Childe is too busy hauling away the adventurer he easily knocked unconscious, throwing him over his shoulder to ignore the daggers Zhongli is glaring at him.

“Hey, hey. It’s alright, my love. You know how Childe is,” you soothe with gentle words. The dragon’s amber gaze is burning with intensity at Childe’s efforts to rile him up, and you caress his cheek to get him to finally break his glare to look at you. “No need to be upset. We’re okay. We’re not hurt.”

You reassure him by placing his larger hand over your baby bump, his frustration easily melting until there’s nothing but a soft purr-like hum from his chest.

The view is dark, upside down as the adventurer briefly holds onto consciousness. From the candle-lit corridor the last thing he sees is Zhongli, towering in stature and holding the small pregnant damsel in protective arms. Another tall dragon male comes into view from the corridor behind them, a toddler in his arms. Blonde hair, dark horns protruding with ominous presence despite hosting kind and gentle eyes— a third dragon lover.

This was a twisted bard’s ode— one whose truth would never leave the winding forest that housed it. The Lost Wind remained lost only to time.

[mrpenguinpants-alter-ego]

Kaeya and Venti HCs: Mistletoe [Christmas Celebration 🎉]

For the Christmas Celebration Requests, please read this

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Ahh thank you for sending in the first request. Ty for your lovely comments on the frostbite fic;; This year has been a train wreck and I can’t reply to comments yet but I did see them and you bring me life 💕

My tumblr is still weird so if you sent something: try sending it again, write it in the comments, or anything. Also does anyone else have problems with tumblr?? I’m not the only one right? I heard there have been some log in issues. Great Christmas gift is finally getting my main blog back pls;; I keep getting kicked from tags. It’s actually really disheartening. 

btw I have a taglist. If you want to be added see pinned post for details.

Childe Ver: First Kiss HCs

Xiao Ver:  First Kiss HCs

Venti, Xingqiu, and Razor: Kissing HCs

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Kaeya and Venti HCs: Mistletoe [Christmas Celebration 🎉]

Kaeya

When Christmas rolls around in Mondstadt, similar to the Ludi Harpastum, everyone pitches in to decorate the walls of The City of Freedom. Even as everyone rushes around trying to get last minute gifts and preparations done, the Knights still have a responsibility to fulfill so that the citizen can have a peaceful and happy Christmas. Kaeya, being the Calvary Captain despite not having a cavalry to captain, on the surface appears to be a bit of a slacker. Somehow always disappearing when a hoard of slimes appear by the gate and never really partakes in the festivities. The most holiday fun he seems to participate are tavern discounts.

Truth be told, Kaeya doesn’t really celebrate Christmas. Not anymore at least. But should Klee or any of the children in Mondstadt ask for help he’ll participate in whatever antics they decide to throw. Despite it being Christmas, a knight’s work doesn’t stop but surprisingly, Kaeya decides to give the knights some time off to to relax and spend time with family. Everyone is a little bit suspicious about this but the prospect of being able to relax during the holiday’s doesn’t lead many to question what antics Kaeya wants to throw.

Due to his “work”, he’s always aware of where the mistletoes are being placed. Should they be placed above the stairs to a tavern or snuck in-between alley’s he always knows. It’s always fun seeing or even directing two people there to see them get flustered, even if you hit him on his shoulder and say he is the last person that should be playing match maker. He’ll just tease you back and say that he somehow managed to get you to fall for him so maybe his charm isn’t all that fake.

When he see’s you try and push him towards a doorway he’s fully aware has a mistletoe hanging above, he find it amusing. Cute even. You know that he knows, so it becomes a bit of a game to the both of you who walks in first. That is, until Diluc just push’s you both in because it’s cold outside and he does not need to see you two flirt in front of his bar. Not when it’s so close to Christmas.

When you’ve finally given up and walk up to him and raise your hand above the two of you, mistletoe in hand, and look at him expectantly he can’t help but laugh. It makes you flush red and the contrast of your red cheeks to the snowflakes falling down fills a warm space in his heart.

It’s a nice and slow kiss, as soon as it’s over he’s pulling you into another one before you can even catch your breath. Christmas is always hectic with possibilities of the Abyss Order or the Fatui deciding that they want to ruin the holiday’s but for now he can take a small break and enjoy the holidays.

Venti

Venti, despite his appreciation to the festivities and his frequent time being spent at lively places, did not know exactly what a mistletoe was and what it represented. To be fair, the information he was getting was from drunks and he had been asleep for a long time. Despite being the anemo archon and having his very own statue oversee the City of Freedom, Venti didn’t look into traditions if he couldn’t wax ballads with them. Lisa had almost electrocuted him to death when he walked in with you and thought it would be funny to scare you with a bit of anemo and ended up throw the entire library into chaos. He can still feel the static in his hair.

So when he drags you under a mistletoe and says that whoever drags the other under the mistletoe has to buy the other drinks you stare blankly at him. Is this what those drunks were telling him to try an abuse the already broke bard out of more mora? Better yet, why was he doing this to you? You carefully explain, trying to push down the growing pink that spreading through your cheeks, what a mistletoe actually means and that you’re suppose to kiss the person instead of buying them alcohol.

He nods along and even though his ticket to free drinks is lost it doesn’t seem to dampen his mood. In fact, he shines brighter than the Christmas lights over head. He playfully laughs and wraps his arms around you, smushing your cheeks together, and giving you playful kisses. If he can’t get drunk off alcohol then he’ll get drunk of kisses instead. His twin braids glow a bright cyan as the wind picks up, making him your own Christmas light.

As much as you love Venti, it’s a bit embarrassing doing this outside where others can see you so you quickly rush to cover his mouth when he dives for another. When you make up a poor excuse that mistletoe’s are a one use item, he’ll nod along but that smug smile doesn’t disappear. With a quick pluck of his lyre, his anemo powers flow through Mondstadt sending snowflakes flying to the delight of children, and collects every mistletoe the wind can find before depositing them all in front of you.

As bad as it is that Venti technically committed theft, you can’t help but feel flustered but laugh along at his childish methods. Venti is surprisingly more bold and sneaky than people give him credit for and if he has to use his archon powers to sneak a few more kisses in, he’ll do it.

If all else fails, he will Wind's Grand Ode you so you’re dragged under the mistletoe with him. He does not play around so if you ever see feather’s or a harp float by you, your best option is to hang out with a cat. Although you’ll have pouty and sneezing Archon yelling at you. Pick your poison.

[ereloycentral]

What's your Ereloy shipping story? How did you wind up shipping these two? I'm usually a crack shipper, so liking a reasonable sounding couple for me od RARE. but there is just something so loveable about erend and his himbo charm that just guts me 😭 And with forbidden west...developments... he's the one that's known Aloy the longest!

What are you planning to create? Art! I'm a digital artist 🥰 I may do a fic shot or too... but I'm not very good at writing 😂

Which prompt are you most excited for? Is all of them an option?? 😅 I think probably "I thought I lost you." There's some really great dialog that Zo says to aloy in FW after varl's loss. Aloy asks how Erend is handling it and zo says "Well for a moment there, he thought he lost both you AND varl. But he never totally gave in to despair." 😭😭😭

Check them out! Tumblr: @surikaina83 Insta: girl_with_a_dragon_tatt83

[yostresswritinggirl]

I like Venti so much. Best boy.

How would Venti feel about an S/O with synesthasia. The ability to hear color. One day she goes to him performing on the street with a sketchpap and shows him what he sounds like.

My, my, look who it is. The person who started it all, and ending it. It's amusing how this came full circle and of course you bring me such an interesting yet difficult prompt *balls fist, shakes at sky*

I had a lot of time to think about this and I feel it was still so hard to make. And there's so many variants and uniqueness to each case so this will be a wild ride. But this marks the end of this special event and on to a new one, and I thank you especially for being with me through it!

This fic made me realize I need a better Venti banner lololol

Ethereal Hues

Venti with a Reader with Synesthesia (Specifically, the ability to see sounds)

The wind-borne bard fancies audiences that sings along, that joins him in his merry tunes. He knows faces, distinguishes them, reads their responses. If it was unorthodox tales he sang, he would laugh at the predicted angry churns. If it were awesome tales of adventures, Venti would bask in the glory of awe and cheers.

And so he finds you to be the most peculiar individual he has ever audienced. You stand in the back far away from the crowd as you carry with you a notebook. Based on the way you steal glances to him whenever he performs out in public and the way your hands moved, you were definitely sketching him, yet you paid no such expression for his songs the same way the others did. And he was sure you were no deaf individual.

He had been intrigued since day one, and he had been so even at the third. When he wishes to come to you, he would always find you packing up immediately after his performances, and he would be swept aside by the task at hand: getting his share of Mora for a fantastic performance.

You were only there for his music, and your interest seem to disappear the moment the music is lost.

So slowly he would adjust his schedule, making it so his songs linger longer, his notes stretching out more just to keep you there in his vision for longer. And yet whenever he privies himself to have caught your attention, it seems as tho you were not really interested at him: even if the distance between you were great, he knows you were looking through him.

This game of cat and mouse had stretched out to seven days.

You managed to attend every tale the bard tells within the walls of Mondstadt but never have you stepped foot inside the tavern of Angel’s Share when he would perform late at night. With this discovery, he doesn’t bother to try lure you out from there, opting to skip performing in the tavern.

Much to Diluc’s surprise. It had gone so that the bartender himself asked if things were not looking great for the bard, but he was met by a smug and conniving smile, that he was quick to smack the shit out of and never bother about again.

Every time the bard wishes to approach you after the last string of his lyre is plucked, he was blocked by the crowd or pulled by a child, enough to render him unmoving, enough of a timeframe for you to disappear. You would think it was you purposely evading the bard’s advances but the way you move and act doesn’t seem like you were running away or in a hurry, more so, you look more disappointed that the festivities had to end every time.

A week of disappointments had led Venti to play his sorrows to his lyre under the tree at Windrise. It was a tune that no one in the public eye has seen him play and he was content in indulging on his own misery.

“Eyes from the fountain bench, of a longing stare had whence.

Slip between thy grasp, even as I call out through a rasp.”

“Ah, a different one this time,” he’d almost fallen out of the branch he was hanging by when a voice suddenly spoke out from beneath the tree’s shade. And there you are in all your glory, an amused expression in your face as you watch the Anemo wielder catch himself before gracefully flying down in front of you in disbelief. “Hello.”

“Hi!” He squeaked out before clearing his throat, adjusting his posture to reflect his usual composed facade with that wide grin.

“The colors brought me here, but I didn’t expect you to be the one producing them.” He watched you fumble with the familiar sketchbook in your hand, his muse in his curiousities right in front of him nonchalantly, as if fate had not been trying its best to separate them for the past week. "With the collection complete, I can finally show you the whole thing!" You practically shoved the pad to his face, forcing him to step back.

And there he saw the most ethereal painting he had seen of himself. His lone form in front of the statue where he usually plays, there in his company were streaks of light blue, reminiscent of Barbara's elemental skill. He clutches the pad for a better look as he notices more blots of complementary colors littered in ecstatic manners. Below, the words 'glee' was written in dark cursive.

Next page had warmer colors, that wrapped around him like silk and satin which would then plunge to the floor like cold white mist. This one was labelled 'Comfort.'

There were four more illustrations that depict numerous vibes of his tunes whenever he had performed, and paired with it comes different colors and patterns. Each one was more detailed than the last and with new vigor he was more than eager to see the next ones—

And then the last one was the latest, where he was once singing his odes and woes from the tree's branches. Yet this one holds a different gesture to it and he sucks in the details with a faraway gaze. Black, gray and navy blue hang like curtain as it seemingly seeps from his flesh, tangling into a weightless form before diverging into a single string of black that casts itself past the borders of the paper. It was like shadows that desperately cling to its owner, ones sadness and desperation taking form into a monster that seeks a vessel.

He looks up to you with eyes once again shining at the brilliance of the illustrations- before he clutched the pad to his chest, a toothy grin and a dangerous glint in his teal eyes, "I'm keeping this~"

To hell with that.

First he takes your sketchpad and rifts through it like there's no tomorrow, and then he lays claim on it?! The audacity of this bard!

With the only arsenal that you had, you started throwing brushes and acrylics at the floating bard until he had to crash land from getting caught by his extravagant cape. What an oversight.

That day, you'd finally sit down with the famous bard and properly got to introduce each other. While you're ecstatic to chat with the person you'd long admired from afar, Venti was more ecstatic at the idea of you and your marvelous power. It's similar to elemental sight, he imagines, and he pried with more inquiries than you had anticipated.

You thought he'd be weirded out by both your colorful sense or the fact that you had stalked him for a week to immortalize his ethereal glow in the shadows.

Yet he was so open-minded about it, wanting to accompany you more on your endeavors and jokingly using you as his marketing manager for more Mora opportunities. You find the idea not so bad.

At one point in time without your knowledge nor acknowledgement, Venti (ever so curious boy) changed his form from his bard friend to copy yours, trying to see if he were able to replicate your vision. Alas it was not as easy as that. Whatever Venti did after that, not even Celestia knows.

Your ability to see the streams of music instead of just projecting associated shapes and colors had made it easy to find Venti, and vice versa.

When he wants to find you specifically, Venti sings your name in a lilting melody as he walks through the stone streets of Mondstadt, the blazing color pouring through your window as you crane your head out and look him down from the second floor.

Venti's invisible aura brightens at the sight of you and he presents the fresh Cecilias in his hand, singing for you to accompany him to another day and you're forced to do so with his cheesiness.

He continues to sing even as you resign to your home to prepare. Unbeknownst to you the people of Mond watched with wonder and awe at the sweetness of the serenading bard that comes by every 9 AM daily to your doorstep.

Nature rarer uses yellow

Than another hue;

Saves she all of that for sunsets, —

Prodigal of blue,

Spending scarlet like a woman,

Yellow she affords

Only scantly and selectly,

Like a lover's words.

You tilt your head at Venti at his lyrics, its lines influencing the color that coats him before his lyre finally calms its strings. He does not expand on his words as the silent conversation ended with a smile. Venti had been making songs with colors incorporated in them and despite the Muse of hues, you have yet to understand what they truly mean. If they mean anything at all.

You wish you could bring about the same flowery words to describe how beautiful Venti is, your current muse, adorned with the colors of a world only you can see. But for now, as you watch him smile past the crowd and lock eyes with yours, the most you can do is immortalize his ethereal hues. Until you finally work up the courage to admit it was not the colors that had drawn you to him.

This is a blessed day as it marks the end of the 50 followers event, and start the 100 followers one! Thank you for joining us in this journey, we still have a long way to go!

[intyalote]

first lines tag game

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favourite authors!

Thank you for tagging me @i-am-just-a-kiddo! I will tag @cortue@circumference-pie @katekatharos​ (no pressure as always) and anyone else who feels like it.

I don’t have 20 stories unless I count ones from before I started posting on ao3, but I could only find 2 of them on my current google drive and not knowing the titles makes it hard to search for the others. So there are only 8 first lines here, plus one from a WIP.

In chronological order:

There is a second sun reflected in the water. - title lost, Tolkien, Andreth character study of sorts

Sheremetyevo Airport is a bustling hub of activity as Yuuri picks up his bags. - title lost, YOI, one of many canon divergence Victuuri pieces I wrote for zines and forgot about

The Lans are cursed in love. - a love to break you, MDZS, Wangxian soulmate AU based on some art

Xiao Jinghuan was very happy. - Fire and Ice, NIF, Prince Yu/MCS identity reveal AU

Edelgard was dead. - escape, into our night, FE3H, Dorothea/Edelgard in church route

Caiyun restaurant was hardly bustling when Shen Zhui entered. - Of Wisdom and Integrity, NIF, Shen Zhui-centric fix-it

Jing Beiyuan stepped into the courtyard. - if there is no moon upon the hill, Qi Ye, kill your sect brother AU

When the dust of the Archon War settled, Morax laid down his mask of stone-faced slaughter and took on the mantle of Rex Lapis, leading Liyue into an era of peace and prosperity. - speak not of odes to the wind, Genshin Impact, Xiao/Zhongli Xiao whump with a happy ending

If this is the afterlife, the least they could do is heal my burns, Sigurd thinks. - untitled WIP, FE4, Sigurd survives AU (a very provisional opening line, I haven’t even decided for sure if I want to write this in his POV yet)

Most of them are short, in contrast to my usual sentences which tend to drag on for a while. They also tend to establish the fic’s setting/premise/characters in some way. The only exceptions are the Tolkien and Genshin ones, but those two have reason to be different (written in second-person stream of consciousness and in the style of in-universe documents respectively). My NIF exchange fic for this year starts with dialogue though, which will be new for me, though I can’t post it yet.

[thepavementsings-archive]

Insane Charles/Pierre Victorian AU headcanon PLEASE

Thank you for asking I have in fact been thinking about this all evening after seeing this post . Let me preface with the fact that I have never written fic in my life nor do I plan to so you will simply find rambling with little to no plot under the cut:

This is mid 1860s/1870s (I am an economics major please don’t ask me about history) and Charles is the son of a prominent member of La Société des Bains de Mer, seventeen, and incredibly bored.

Charles is sent (read: exiled) to Normandy for the summer to live with his cousins because he may or may not have fucked the son of a foreign dignitary in the back of the Casino. Which in his opinions is an entirely unfair punishment (he wasn’t even the one who gave the guy syphilis! The timeline doesn’t even add up! Charles is clean! It isn’t his fault that he is good at taking d*ck, but his reputation precedes him. His mother is being dramatic).

So now he stick in Normandy which is somehow even more terribly boring than Monaco, except now he can’t even go out with his friends, and there is no where to go in this town except the beach. So Charles buys an excessive amount of expensive parasols and mostly ignores the men who offer to hold them for him on his daily walks, unless he decides to let them buy him a drink.

But there is someone who is always sitting in the shade on the rocks with a sketchbook and some charcoal. And Charles is convinced he must be sketching him because Charles is the most interesting person there (he reckons probably the most interesting thing in this entire town). Cue Charles starting to match the lace trim of his parasols with the cuffs of his sleeves, taking an extra long pause to watch the divers jumping off the rocks, and okay. Maybe he is preening.

(Pierre is not sketching Charles at all. He is an aspiring architecture student who finds the movement of the ocean and the jagged edges of the cliffs as his muse. He does however find the boy yelling at his companion for letting the heavy winds lose his new parasol in the ocean quite entertaining).

50k fic of Charles trying to impress Pierre, insisting he isn’t, being personally affronted when he eventually finds out Pierre’s sketchbook is not in fact an ode to his beloved lost pink silk parasol.

[kittsfics]

These Walls Surround Us

2020 was not great for my own writing, but @inexplicifics Warlord Geralt AU has kept me going, so honestly check it out if you haven't already. So here's my little ode to their series. --

Laughter echoes through the halls often now, voices raised in joy instead of pain, anger, grief. A young girl chased by her father or countless uncles that love her, desperately begging or offering bribes for her good behaviour. Music in the halls, singing alone or in a half-heartedly protesting group, the strumming of a lute, dancing, a sense of happiness from a people that previously only held onto it as a memory.

Teasing looks shared in the hot springs from a group that never would have existed here thirty years ago. Books that appeared in the library, new plants in the greenhouses, unfamiliar weapons in the armoury, spices in the kitchens from all over the land. Lovers that could share spacious, but more importantly permanent, quarters instead of stealing nights tangled together on the path whenever they met.

They shudder at the thought of another timeline, one where the walls would eventually empty, a handful of angry and grief filled witchers clinging on as long as they could. They are forever grateful that their path diverged.

Not to say that everything is always good. The trials are never going to be easy, and there are injuries, rare deaths, news from across the kingdoms that inspires rage; they started this for a reason after all, the world is full of injustice. Lovers pleading for their partner's lives, families of choice in piles to offer comfort, hands tangled together in pain filled moments, magic desperately trying to heal hurts, to right wrongs.

But it's nothing on what it was previously, what it could have been.

The number of witchers in the keep alone is unprecedented, with a new generation that will live without the shadows of siblings lost in the trials. Cats (both literal and figurative) climbing all over the keep, reaching areas that haven't seen people since their builders. Wolves that have opened their home but still prowl the halls, watching over all they can. Vipers and Manticores experimenting with poisons and blades, Cranes stealing vials of the most promising for their own toys. Bears in their heavier armour, and courtly Griffins trading blows on the training fields, throwing out powerful signs. The ringing of blades now common throughout the whole castle, they are warriors first after all, and the young better learn here where it's safe.

There are servants now, other humans too, people that have chosen to come here are work. Nobles even, that have given their hearts to witchers or their cause.

And what a cause, reshaping the lands far beyond what they can see. But it's in the discussions of the council and jokes on the training grounds, the people coming for aid, feeling safe enough to do so, and the tribute wagons that wind their way up the mountain.

The cubs of Kaer Morhen will shake the world.

-- (This is the first fic I've written from a non specific pov but I like to think its the spirits of Kaer Morhen, either because so much magic and monster blood soaked into the stones, or that the spirits of lost witchers watch over their school after they're gone.)