#i have no idea if i'll post it because brain go AAAAAA but its good writing practice

[legitimatesatanspawn]

I don't even know Dragon Age well yet here I am with a 1k wordcount wip so far, all centered around a dream in the Fade so I can smuggle in as much symbolism and wordplay as I feel up to.

One part i really really like?

"The boy is not your son." Did the child project his mother on the demon? Or... Her borrowed green eyes - the same as the boy's - burn like flame and promise death with two words. "He is." Perhaps the entity was originally the mother's friend Perseverance. But now it is now Vengeance and it will burn whoever touches the child with cruel intent.

... on a related note? The three games are $10. So... I'm gonna lose time trying to play these.

[bookwyrminspiration]

well if it's linh asks you want, then i've been thinking more about the dark!linh au instead of actually writing it and im still having brainrot about it bc i just. adore the concept.

and okay so i Think i have a basic idea and i have a possible start and a possible end (that doesnt wrap nearly everything up but IS a conclusion i can end a fic on and then possibly write a sequel but then just never do it) so thats??? better??? i just. need help with. everything else.

oh and?? have a quote?? from both linh and tam pov since i cant help myself.

Linh unfroze herself from her position, joints aching at the effort it took to stand up. She waited, watching to see whether or not Rhys would move on. He wasn’t. Fine. She was doing this, then.

and

He’ll pass by her portrait, sometimes, hanging in the hallway his mother and father don’t dare to walk through anymore, and for a second not be able to tell the difference either. She’s the smiling one, though. She’d always been.

so?? enjoy??? even though i havent,,, actually been writing it ive been thinking about this au for SO LONG and i am just. AAAAAA

- pyro

it is Linh asks I want! always! she's excellent and i love her so much

oo the dark!linh au!! I still have my own idea for one of those that you inspired, I just haven't worked on it because, you know, the wings au. I learned a fun fact about the wings au earlier today and it broke my brain but this post isn't about that so I'll move on. I'm very curious to hear about your ideas for it. I also adore the concept, so I am !! right now

a basic idea is how you start a fic! so you're already doing great. all stories start with an idea and go from there. And then the start and end are an excellent next step. Figuring out the framework makes it so much easier to do everything else in the story! I've already written a post about my planning process so I won't repeat all that hear, but if you want help or feedback on anything I'd be more than happy to help! I don't know how helpful I would actually be, but at the very least I think I could be a good listener. Or maybe I'd just be good at asking questions, but that's also a cool part of the process.

The planning stage of a story is infuriating but so much fun, because towards the beginning its a lot looser. That means that there's a million opportunities to pick from and ruminate on. And you can throw a bunch of things together without it needing to be "right" because things don't need to fit together right now. So you can include notes and details for plans that completely contradict each other and not worry about it! But all that freedom can be a lot sometimes, like opening a new document. Because how do you narrow it down? How do you get from point A to point B and make it make sense and sound good? I start a new document every two weeks and it's always a slap in the face like ah. What words should go there?

:000!! quotes?! oh this is so cool

"to see whether of not Rhys would move on." Who?? is Rhys?? it kind sounds like Linh is gonna fight him for some reason. I have already constructed an entire scenario and image in my mind around this so I'm going to narrate this so you can be amused by how incorrect this is. They're at a bar. Linh is in the shadows, but watching. Rhys is some self-entitled bitch of a human she's been trailing for days for some reason i haven't figured out yet. Wait. the plot thickens. Linh is serving as a bodyguard for someone the Neverseen needs protected, and Rhys is overestimated his security at the bar, getting to close and too pushy and insistent and trying to make a deal with the person she's protecting. Maybe they're in the middle of negotiations with papers all spread in front on them and a glass of whiskey in hand. And Rhy is refusing to take no for an answer. Linh's been watching the entire time from the rafters or something, crouching, which is why her joints ache. And now that she's been called to action she's going to use the part of the whiskey that's water (like how they dilute it?) to choke him while he takes his next drink. And come up behind him while it happens, feigning concern but really its so no one tries to come up and actually save him. I'm 100% sure this isn't going to happen in the au but damn was it cool to imagine. But whatever this scene turns out to be will be even cooler. I'm positive of it!

and then that tam quote?? oh my?? I'm trying to imagine how he would've turned out if he continued living at home and seeing his parents regularly and it isn't ending well in my mind. I feel like his parents would pretend to be really loving at first now that they've gotten their ideal one child and don't have to acknowledge the twins but it fades after a while.

"and for a second not be able to tell the difference either." Oh?? is someone mistaking him for his sister? I'd assume it's his parents. I feel like they wouldn't have been able to tell them apart a lot and do that stereotypical "oh but you just look so similar" thing even when they...didn't. I was friends with a pair of twins and hung out with them a lot a few years ago and the number of times people did this was so infuriating and I wasn't even the one it was happening to. Because?? if you took a single second to look a little closer you could tell exactly which twin was which based on facial features. Headcanon that the Song parents couldn't tell apart their kids and didn't even try to. I'm getting distracted now oops.

"She's the smiling one, though. She'd always been." hey just throw me off a cliff next time, okay? (/j /lh). Oh that one hurts. There's so much pain in one sentence, but so much nostalgia. I don't know the context for it but knowing you it's probably angst. And knowing that linh is now dark, the way she's been preserved as sweet and smiling in Tam's memory hurts but I love it.

i did! I did enjoy! I hope my responses to it made sense, but I love hearing other people's ideas. also don't feel pressured to write anything, please. if you want to then go for it, but you aren't letting anyone down by having ideas but no writing. I'm happy to hear about either and I'd be just as excited about this au as i am right now even if it was never written! the concept as a whole is so cool and I'm very interested to hear everything about it you're willing to share.

and thinking about aus forever is honestly a great way to start. it was like nine months I spent just thinking about the wings au before I wrote a single word, and several months after that to write it regularly. don't know where i'm going with this but I'm trying to be comforting/encouraging.

if you do want to write it, I wish you luck! writing isn't always easy but it can be very rewarding. if you do want to publish it, then I'm curious to read it. if you want to keep talking about it, then i'm excited to hear more. if you don't do any of that, it's also fine and I'm glad you enjoy it so much. I think everyone should have a story just for themselves, and if this is yours than i'm happy for you!

[headoverjojo]

Asdfgkfkdl I'm so hyped the ask box is open that I don't know where to start! How about a post vento aureo au scenario? Prosci tries to go unnoticed so gangsters won't pick on him, now that he is less intimidating because of his injuries. But one day, a smart gangster girl guesses his identity. He is wary and agressive at first, but then he realizes she is hitting on him! It doesn't has to be nsfw, but if you feel like adding some, then why not. (I'll come back with more later!!!)

Aaaaaa hiiiii 🧡🧡🧡 As always, it’s a great prompt!! And as always I went wild with 5 google docs pages. Hope you like it!~

Prosciutto has to go unnoticed but a smart gangster girl guesses his identity

(Under the cut for length!)

Prosciutto, even after so much time, couldn’t explain how the hell he managed to survive. Maybe it was his renown stubbornness what it kept him alive. Maybe fate simply decided so.

He needed months to recover. His right eye was lost, as his left leg, crushed under the train’s wheels. His right arm still gave him problems, but, at least, he managed not to lose that limb too. He was… broken. He felt useless. Even more when he heard about the Boss’ defeat and the complete destruction of his old team. He couldn’t go back to Passione, not when he and his team had fought against the actual Don. Even if it wasn’t anything personal against him and, in the end, both the Squadra Esecuzioni and Bucciarati’s team wanted to reach the same goal -oh, the utter irony of it-, he just couldn’t knock at the new Don’s door and ask a place in Passione. This wasn’t how mafia worked.

And so, as soon as he could leave the little clinic he was hidden in, Prosciutto went rogue. It was way more difficult, now that he was blocked in a wheelchair and half blind. He couldn’t fight anymore like he used to, he couldn’t move around as swiftly as before… he felt powerless. Yes, his Grateful Dead was always with him, meaning that he could still be the scaring assassin he was, but… it wasn’t the same. Now, without Pesci, Risotto, all his team… he would have faced better this pain, with them. But facing it all alone, with the knowledge that no one of them had had a proper burial… it was hard. There were days when Prosciutto seriously thought to give up. But then thoughts about what Pesci, Risotto, Sorbetto would have said to him prevented him to do it for real. He was the last member of the Squadra Esecuzioni, their legacy: he couldn’t give up. He had to live for them too.

Still, he couldn’t just go around and hoping nothing would happen to him. He had been an elite member of Passione: even if his identity, as such, was a top secret information, his name and his power were known in the streets. Every gang had at least one member killed by his Grateful Dead. A lot of people would have gladly wanted him dead, both for revenge, both to have the privilege to say they have killed one of the infamous Squadra Esecuzioni. And so, Prosciutto changed name, lived in the shadows, taking every job he could. Small, ridiculous murders, if compared to the ones he was used to execute. In any case, it was better than nothing.

He often changed city, hopping from North to South Italy. Florence, Turin, Milan, Rome, Palermo, Naples, again. He never stayed enough in a city to get accustomed, to become recognizable. He rented small flats which he left totally anonymous, without a trace of customization. Those were just empty shells.

And, right when he came back to Naples, more or less one year after the start of Don Giovanna’s reign, you stumbled in his life. You worked for Squadra Informazioni, so you had access to the most secret informations, such as the ones about the ex Squadra Esecuzioni. You were fascinated by those people and their abilities. They had faced the Don’s team… just in the end they had found out that also the Squadra wanted to kill the Boss. On Don Giovanna’s face was clear the regret and the stupor. If only they had known it…

The only one whose state was unknown was Prosciutto. You didn’t know if it was his real name: in his file there was just his name -or nickname-, the name of his stand, a brief description of its power -implemented thanks to the witnesses of the Don’s team- and a blurred photography of him. You could just see he had blond hair and wore an elegant suit, but not much more. They were top elite assassins not for anything, all in all. They were ghosts even for the same Passione.

Your curiosity won over you and you decided to search for him. As you entered home, sighing, you noticed that the flat near yours, empty ‘till the day before, wasn’t now so empty. Even if no sound escaped the one room flat, the lights on were the clear sign that someone was inside. And, as the good neighbor you were, you decided to pay a visit.

You rang the bell, waiting, humming. After a little, a low rummaging came from behind the door and, finally, it was open. Your eyes widened slightly, when you found in front of you a man on a wheelchair. His left leg wasn’t here anymore and his right eye was covered by an eyepatch. His other eye, a stunning light blue, pierced you, intense as a hawk’s one.

“Who are you?” you snapped back, hearing his voice, and you smiled, embarrassed for staring.

“I’m your neighbor, I came to say hello and welcome here! I’m Y/N. It’s a pleasure, signor…?” you trailed off, tending your hand to him. He didn’t take it, still staring at you, his only eye shadowed by golden locks -no, not golden, it was a lighter blond-.

“Rossi. Thank you. Have a good evening.” he said, briefly, before withdrawing and closing the door on your face. You blinked, surprised, before shaking your head and going back to your flat. Woah, rude…

You didn’t see your neighbor for few days. He wasn’t here, during the day -and you knew thanks to your stand- and sometimes he was out for good part of the night. He wasn’t a drunkard, or you would have heard noise from his flat, which, instead, was always silent as a grave. He almost seemed… a ghost.

This thought was what made you start to connect the dots. A ghost… he was wary and always watched his back, as a trained soldier -or as a mafioso-. He knew how to escape even from your stand’s patrol, choosing carefully the points where it couldn’t see -and this meant he was a stand user, if he could see where your stand did its patrol. Blond hair… and those injuries were strange. You had, however, to reread the whole report about the train’s fight. You couldn’t go around accusing people to be assassins without any proof.

But, when you did, your face grew paler, as you read about the injuries sustained by Prosciutto. His right eyes was lost and Bucciarati managed to crush his left leg under the train’s rails. His right arm too, but he wasn’t sure. The team left here him and his teammate, Pesci, to escape also from Passione’s cleaning squad, which always entered the game when a member of the organization was involved in a murder -both in case they were the victim or the executioner-.

The cleaning squad never found Prosciutto’s body.

Could you possibly were living next to one of the most powerful and feared assassins of all Italy?

You couldn’t live with the doubt.

And so, gaining all your courage, that evening you went to knock again at his door. You knew he was at home, after seeing the lights on. As the first time, after a little rummaging, the door opened and the blonde’s eye darkened, seeing you. Before he could even speak, however, you started.

“I know who you are.” you declared, staring at him. The man quirked his only visible brow, unimpressed, even if, inside, he was tense. How could that girl discovered him?! But maybe she was bluffing. Calm down, Prosciutto. You have the upper hand.

“I told you the first day. I’m Rossi.” he replied, with a plain tone. You frowned, not giving up. You couldn’t, not now. Meanwhile, you analyzed the man in front of you, his injuries, his face, still really pleasant despite the missing eye… you tried to imagine him with the rail of small man buns Bucciarati said he had, instead of this short hair.

“You’re Prosciutto, the last of the Squadra d’Esecuzione. You lost your limbs against Bucciarati. And your stand-” you stopped, gulping, when you saw that stand behind the man. It was even scarier of what you had imagined.

“Choose carefully your last words, little girl.” he said, in a low and dangerous voice, as the fog slowly neared you. You knew that, if he would have wanted, he could have killed you in a matter of minutes, almost as fast as Purple Haze, the Don’s Consigliere’s stand. You had to act, even if you were paralyzed by fear.

“I- I don’t want to hurt you.” you stuttered, making him bitterly laugh, as The Grateful Dead came nearer and nearer.

“Hurt me? Don’t make me laugh, little girl.” he barked, slowly nearing the wheelchair to your frozen figure. You swallowed hard, as fear clenched your stomach. You… you never found yourself in a situation like this. You always were on the backstage, thanks to your smart and quick brain you managed to enter the Squadra Informazioni… but this was totally different. Being on field was utterly terrifying.

“I’m not going to denounce you! I- I just want to know!” those words stopped him on his track. You wanted to know? What-

“Know what?” he looked around, his healthy eye darting from right to left, cautious and wary. He retired in the flat, leaving you space to enter, and you did so, following him and closing the door behind you. He didn’t fear to have you so near; on the contrary, the more you were near, the more it would have been easy to kill you in few seconds.

“About you and the Squadra. There’s so little about you all… “ you said, deciding that lying wouldn’t have brought anything good. Lying to an assassin was always a bad idea.

“More about me and the Squadra, uh? Such a strange girl…” he muttered, studying your movements, wary. You noticed that, even if he was blocked on a wheelchair, even if he seemed broken and weak, he was far from this. His body was tense, ready to attack. You suspected that he hid a knife, somewhere near his good hand.

He wasn’t someone to underestimate. Under that broken shell, he was still the assassin who hunted the nightmares of many other gangs.

“I work for Passione. But- I have no intention to reveal your location. I just want to know, for real. Nothing more.” you said, staring in his bright azure eye. He stared at you for few moments, serious and wary.

“Try to tell this to someone, and I’ll hunt you until you’ll be dust.” he said, deadly serious. You swallowed, quickly nodding: you knew he would have absolutely done it. He wasn’t one of empty promises.

“I’m not stupid.” you replied, with an annoyed tone to hide the fear that had clenched your guts. Prosciutto’s cold eye studied you for a little, before slowly nodding.

“Come here tomorrow at the same hour. We’ll talk.” he ordered, before weaving you off. You almost didn’t even register what was happening if not when you were already in the landing, his door again closed on your face. You huffed, marching back to your flat, trembling a bit from tension. It had been an… an interesting encounter…

But you went, the day after. And the one after, and so on, so on. Prosciutto was wary and suspicious, in the beginning. Of course, you thought: he was always on the run, he couldn’t be different. Still, he seemed also curious. He didn’t understand your utterly interest towards him and his team, without any double goal. You just wanted to know for the sake of knowledge.

Talking about his comrades was hard. Guilt still gripped his heart, an obvious grief was still all on him and it showed when he talked about them, even if his tone was mostly plain and neutral. Still, you weren’t stupid. You saw the pain in his traits.

Slowly, as days, weeks, months passed by, Prosciutto started to relax, around you. Maybe he was starting to trust you, after so much time. Maybe his loneliness was becoming too overwhelming and, as human, he needed some company. No man was made to live alone, all in all.

But, as he started to open up to you, he finally noticed how you acted. Because you weren’t immune to his innate charisma and charm. He emanated an incredible energy, even if his body was broken. His experience was incredible, his stories amazing. Gruesome, gory, but amazing. He was smart, intelligent. Almost without noticing, you started to flirt with him, brushing your fingers on his, softly staring at his face, using a sweeter tone, winking at him. Just when he felt safer around you he started to notice these gestures and, oh, they made him feel so flustered.

He wasn’t used to it anymore, even if, a life ago, he was the most coveted in all the city. Everyone seemed to want to have a certain dance with him and he didn’t deny it, with his usual charming smirk. But, after the accident… people watched him with pity. Oh, poor man, they thought. What a terrible accident. He didn’t want their pity, he hated it. He just wanted to be considered normal, as before the fight. And you did so.

He never saw pity in your eyes, just sincere interest. Even admiration. You didn’t see the broken man on a wheelchair, without an eye… you saw him for who he was. And, slowly, when he felt more comfortable with you around, he started to flirt back.

What were just barely brushes became touches. Flirts grew heavier and heavier, to the point that, one night, after the usual couple of hours of stories and heavy flirts, you found yourself on his lap, your hands sunk in his short blond hair and your lips on his. His hands were gripping your hips, keeping you in place, as his teeth and mouth and tongue reclaimed you, after so much time of patient waiting and hunger.

You hissed, as his teeth grazed your neck and jaw, nibbling and sucking, while his hands made their way under your shirt. You didn’t want him to stop. You wanted him to go on. And so you kept him near, your nails scratched his back and nape, tearing soft moans that went to fuel the hot pool that was growing in your low abdomen. His lips made their way to your collarbone, biting and licking, before going back to your lips, assaulting them with a deep and almost bruising kiss. You opened a little your eyes, seeing your reflection in that marine azure, feeling… good. For once you didn’t fear judgment or guilt.

Now there were just him and you in his little flat and all the world was closed behind the door.