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pengychan · 10 days ago

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[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Epilogue

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: E Status: Complete

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** WELL. It took an embarrassing amount of words and an embarrassing amount of time but this is it. This is the end. Who likes happy endings? I like happy endings. For the record, I had this in my ears while writing most of this chapter. The talent of some people, I swear. Speaking of talent, the art at the end of the chapter is by @raphaels-little-beast! ***

“I have nothing to wear.”

“I fail to recall any instance where that was ever a problem.”

“It's a problem now because you said I should wear a proper outfit at a wedding.”

“You have quite literally my entire wardrobe at your disposal to pick from. Certainly you’ll be able to find something to your taste within the next three days.”

“I did, and you said no. Like I don't look fetching in a leather coll--”

“The entire wardrobe with the exception of that drawer,” Raphael cut Haarlep off before they could speak entirely too much. “I'm certain you can manage.”

Haarlep huffed. “It's more than one drawer,” they muttered, but had enough sense not to press further. They only sighed, rather dramatically. “So many limits. This was not in my contract,” they lamented, but still leaned over to kiss Raphael’s temple, a hand braced against the throne’s armrest. When they spoke again, it was in a whisper against his hair. “You’ll make it up to me tonight, won’t you, my pet?”

Barely looking up from the treatise he was reading - it was time, he suspected, to revise some of the agreements in place with the Fourth; Lady Fierna would probably be more receptive to it than Lord Belial - Raphael let out a hum.

“That can be arranged,” he replied, in the thoughtful tone of a ruler promising to give proper consideration to an official petition. He felt Haarlep smile before they pulled back.

“Oh, I’ll hold you to that,” they said, sultry as they could be, and off they went to rifle through Raphael’s wardrobe. He watched them leave the throne room, a faint smile still on his lips, until a voice rang out.

“More wine, my lord?”

Raphael had almost forgotten the servant’s presence. He turned and held out his cup with a nod. “That would be appreciated.”

There was much to be garnered from observing how steady - or unsteady - a servant's hand was while pouring wine. In the first days and weeks of his reign, when few knew what to expect - eternal debtors least of all - their hands had shaken badly enough it was a wonder there had been no spillages.

It was nothing new to Raphael; his own eternal debtors back in the House of Hope had been for the most part terrified of him, at least those with some sanity left. It had pleased him, then. He'd savored their fear like a fine vintage; it was only right that they feared their master. To them, he was a lord. Their lord, to be feared and obeyed, admired as he'd always known he deserved. Until he could make other fiends bow to him, until he could strike terror and awe into every single one of them, those wretched souls would do.

Yet now that he was indeed one of the lords of the Nine Hells, he seemed to have lost the taste for it. Not for having others bow to him or fear him - that he'd never quite tire of, he suspected - but he found that striking terror into beings who could be no threat to him had lost its appeal. Terror served him well to prove a point and nip a potential revolt in the bud; a fearsome reputation was useful to keep other archdevils at bay. But with eternal debtors, he would rather take in the awe. And that was so very easy to obtain.

The hand pouring his wine did not tremble. Raphael nodded before pulling back the cup. He did not drink right away; he glanced at the wine, settling back against the backrest of the throne. “Do remind me, what wine is this?”

“Exeltis Ice Wine, my lord. It is-- was -- from the late Justiciar’s private stash.”

“Hmm. He had taste, that much I do owe him to concede.” Raphael gave the wine more time to air out before he drank, gaze shifting back to the treatise. “Do give word to the kitchens I’ll be dining in my quarters. The master of wardrobe and a guest will be there as well - my consort as well, perhaps. If their search for an outfit doesn’t take them all evening.”

“Of course, my lord.” The debtor - a half-orc with half his scalp burned off - bowed his head. “Anything else they should know?”

“Don’t skimp on the seasonings on the wereboar roast. Yesterday’s axebeak fillets could have used more flavor,” Raphael replied, but he was already focusing on his reading once again. Now that he was whole, food was once more an indulgence rather than a necessity. He did not miss hunger, per se, but he had to admit eating was not quite as satisfying as it was when it had a need to fulfill. “As for the wine, I want two bottles of Utterdark.”

“I’ll let them know, my lo--”

The door leading to the throne room was pushed open before he could finish, the bang followed by heavy steps. The servant recoiled, turning to look towards the entrance. Still drinking from his cup, Raphael lifted an eyebrow.

Whenever any fiend was summoned by the Lord of the Eighth, there generally was a protocol to follow. Particularly important guests would be escorted and announced by the chamberlain or the steward; that was not the case now but even still, some decorum was expected. Bowing before the throne - how deeply depended on the rank - and greeting him as ‘my lord’ was considered the bare minimum from anyone except other archduke.

None of that seemed to have crossed Yurgir’s mind in any way, shape or form.

“All right, I’ll bite. What sort of game are you playing?”

Raphael sighed, and gestured for the servant to leave. He did, quite hurriedly, giving Yurgir as wide a berth as he could while Raphael looked back at the orthon.

“And a good afternoon to you as well, commander. As I'm in a fine mood and no member of my court was here to witness your atrocious lapse in etiquette, I'll do you the favor to pretend you have addressed me with the respect that befits my station. Only this once. But you may further test my patience at your peril, if you're so inclined.”

Yurgir’s glare made it rather clear he had a few choice words for him, but he was clever enough not to test his patience after all. When they had last met, Raphael had defeated him, if barely, in his weakened human form. Now he was whole again, more powerful than he’d ever been, and they stood in his kingdom. He remained silent, and Raphael smiled.

“Good. Now, what seems to be the matter? You were paid in full for your services in the Fugue Plane, were you not? And you have much enjoyed the hospitality this citadel has to offer in the past days.”

A grunt. “Yes. And I thought that was the end of it, but then you sent this note-- ”

“A perfectly reasonable offer, I think. Is it not? I could use someone with your expertise to guard my private quarters.”

“You could have a gelugon to do it, or a pit fiend--”

“I could, yes.” Raphael finished the wine, vanished both the empty cup and the treatise in a burst of flames, and stood from the throne. “But I’d rather have someone with no connection to other court members, or to my late sire, taking on that duty.”

Yurgir snorted. “Last time you had me under contract, I turned on you in your own house.”

Raphael chuckled, walking down the steps from the throne. “Not very wise of you to remind me of that specific mishap.”

“Didn’t think for a second you needed reminding. So, why would you think I wouldn’t turn on you again if given the chance?”

“I do have a couple of reasons. The first being, of course, the much more generous contract, which you are free to sign or reject without consequences. And the second…” Raphael smiled, and stepped closer. The brief flare-up of fire, and he stood before Yurgir in his human form, head tilted back to look him in the eye. “Back then I had not yet bested you in combat as a mere human, had I?”

This time, Yurgir laughed. “Hah! You have my respect for that, yes. As much as it pisses me off.”

“How very flattering.”

A snort. “I don’t do flattery.”

“You obviously don’t do irony either.”

“Are you looking for a guard or for a jester?”

“As amusing as watching you dance was, I find this court has enough jesters as is. Am I to take it that you’re accepting the offer?”

“You’re to take it that I’ll think about it.”

“Very well. I’ll expect your answer in a tenday’s time,” Raphael replied, but he was already rather certain he knew the answer, and that he’d get it much earlier than that. Orthons were not known to spend days on end mulling over the ramifications of their choices, after all.

Yurgir did not bow or say anything before he turned to leave; once he signed the contract, of course, he’d need to get into the habit - but they could discuss such fine details at a later date. With a sigh, Raphael turned back to his throne, and changed out of his human form once more.

He had some work yet to do before he could dine… and he didn’t have to wait long before Adonides stood at the doors, clearing his throat. He’d barely had time to sit back on the throne, really.

“Lord Raphael,” he called, bowing his head. If using that title for him left a bitter taste in his mouth, he did not let it show. “The Steward of Avernus is here to see you.”

Raphael smiled. “Do let her in,” he ordered. Much like with Yurgir, he knew he had that contract in hand; the agreement with Bel may be informal - formally, only Mizora could ultimately relinquish ownership of her warlock - but the Lord of the First would not jeopardize such a fruitful cooperation over a single mortal soul, however gifted.

As many things in the Hells and outside them it was, in the end, all a matter of price; that meeting was indeed pure formality. Mizora would make a demand, they’d bargain, and he’d make a fitting concession.

Frankly, he’d have been disappointed if she hadn’t come to bargain. He knew her to be shrewd and relentless; he fully expected her to make him work for that victory.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

***

“... Anyway, the Shadow Thieves had been trying to get to this Mrel Alkam for years. As Durge and I do have some experience killing vampire lords among other things, we offered our assistance in exchange for-- well. Calling off their assassins. Which was a bit of an overreaction in the first place, the Cloakmaster was not going to miss some coin..”

“Heh! You’ve certainly made a habit out of destroying master vampires. What of the spawn?”

“We killed the ones who fought, directed those who didn’t towards the Underdark. Quite a few of them - seeing a spawn with no master gives them this funny idea that they could be the same, too. We told the Shades they got away despite us giving chase, and they bought that. Suckers.”

“And that is why they gifted you that beautiful vest you showed us?”

Astarion shook his head, laughing. That was by far the most pleasant track to Baldur’s Gate yet, he thought, in the sun and without a tadpole in his brain, no fate of the world resting on him, no prospect of going to the Hells, no Cazador awaiting at the end of the road. “Oh, no. I stole that, actually,” he said. “They did not like it, predictably enough.”

Isobel blinked. “Why did you…?”

“Didn’t think they’d notice.”

“Ah.”

“But they did, so they sent assassins after us. Again. Awfully touchy. Don’t worry though, they were not very good assassins. We got rid of them quickly, didn’t we, love?”

Walking a few paces ahead alongside Halsin, Durge chuckled and replied without turning. “Heh. They would not have made the cut for Bhaal’s cult, that is for certain.”

“Of course not. Didn’t make a cut on us either, but they made excellent meals. I mean, chasing a vampire and a dragonborn in a place called the Wood of Sharp Teeth? Not terribly clever.”

Dame Aylin laughed, loud and suddenly enough it caused a couple of terrified birds to take flight. “Hah! As if some assassins could hold a candle to you - challengers of gods, slayers of archfiends!”

“And of vampire lords, don’t forget!”

There was some laughter, and the conversation turned to the upcoming wedding, and to the others they were going to meet at Baldur’s Gate. Dame Aylin seemed to be looking far too much into Shadowheart’s decision to follow Lae’zel in her war against Vlaakith.

“She may not realize it just yet, but she is drawn to the Moonmaiden, as her parents were,” she declared. “She now wanders through the Tears of Selûne, closer than most can ever be to the Lady of Silver - she who guides, wielder of silver light!”

Astarion raised an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure the lady she meant to follow wields a silver sword, and is liable to use it on whomever calls her a maiden,” he pointed out. His comment was met with a laugh.

“See, Selûne even guided her to rejoin her love! Those close to the Moonmaiden have a weakness for mighty warriors, that is obvious,” she added, and seemed very pleased with herself when Isobel chuckled and grasped her arm, leaning against her shoulder as they walked.

“That we do. Although who I truly fell for is--”

“The passionate lover? The stunning looks?”

“I was about to say the noble heart, but…”

There was more laughter, and time seemed to fly by as quickly as the road beneath their feet, leading them back to the Gate.

***

There were many things Dalah had not thought nor dreamed she could experience again.

Her husband by her side, for one, as solid against her as he’d felt back when they still had mortal bodies; his voice against her ear, the rumbling laughter, the earnest look on his face while listening intently to her every word. She remembered cherishing their evenings most of all: sitting before the hearth after the meal and just talking for hours on end. Sometimes he’d settle to listen as she read aloud from her newest book, or practiced playing her lyre.

Sometimes they’d just sit in peaceful silence, while she kept herself busy with embroidery and he only moved to throw some more wood into the fire. Such peaceful evenings had felt like a dream she’d had once and that, she was sure, she could never have again.

Obviously clairvoyance was never her calling, because never in her life or death she’d thought she could see such a scene playing out before her eyes - her husband and son playing a game of lanceboard before a fireplace, while she sat on an armchair to put the finishing touches to her latest work, occasionally glancing at the incessant snowfall outside.

With Israfel in his human form, someone stepping in from outside might have almost thought they had gone through the wrong door, and somehow into a portal to the Material Plane. Dalah smiled faintly, and turned her attention back to the jacket she was intent on finishing that evening… but she kept listening as they talked.

“While I feel this should go without saying, I ought to tell you that surrendering your soul to any devil is not advisable,” Israfel was saying. “Particularly if you plan on doing so for free.”

“But it wouldn’t be any devil. It would be you.” Rahirek picked up a piece and advanced it on the board. “You hold Dalah’s soul. May as well hold mine and bind me to this place too. I am never going anywhere the two of you are not.”

Israfel did not look up from the board, but as she glanced up Dalah could see him work his jaw a moment before he spoke, moving his Mystra.

“... Very well. I shall take ownership of your soul as well. But my offer stands, to both of you. Giving you bodies in your likeness to inhabit as well as riches would be a simple enough matter, should you wish to return to the Material Plane. For any length of time, if not permanently,” he added, before Dalah could speak out to tell him once again she did not intend to leave. “A vacation from the Hells, if you will. I could come see you and bring you back at any time. Promise me you’ll at least consider it.”

That, Dalah supposed, she could consider; seeing the sun, grass, trees once again, the summer breeze and the smells of autumn - anything that was not eternal winter. Maybe… yes, maybe a few brief stays would do them good. She smiled. “All right. We’ll consider it.”

Rahirek chuckled. “Tiring of us already?” he asked, and Israfel smiled.

“Hardly. I don’t think I’ll tire of this anytime soon,” he said, and moved his turret to knock down Rahirek’s Cyric. His smile widened. “Checkmate.”

Rahirek blinked, staring at the board for a few moments, and finally laughed. “Ah, that was a fine trap you laid out for me. And I fell for it. Either I lost my skills in the Fugue Plane, or you greatly improved.”

“I do like to think I have picked up a trick or two since we last played.”

“Good thing I have time to catch up.”

Yes. All the time we could possibly want, Dalah thought, and smiled before she set down thread and needle. There were a few more details to add - she wanted it to be perfect - but there would be time for it later. She stood. “It’s done, or almost,” she called. “Come try it on.”

The jacket fit him perfectly, but of course that was thanks to the finest tailor in Cania and perhaps all of the Lower Planes. Her own handiwork was the gold embroidery up the cuffs and along them hems, with the outline of foxes across the chest and the back of his shoulders. Dalah watched as Israfel smoothed the front, fingers brushing over the embroidery, and looked in the mirror. He smiled, and so did she.

“Well, look at that. My masterpiece,” she said, causing Rahirek to chuckle. She felt him step by her side, the warm touch of his arm around her shoulders. He hardly missed a chance to touch her, as though to make sure she was real.

“Indeed,” he said. “And the outfit looks good, too.”

“Wh--” Israfel seemed to stumble on his words for a moment before he cleared his throat and turned, acting as though he hadn’t heard the comment. “This is by far the finest outfit I have ever owned. Thank you, moth--”

“Oh, look at you! It’s almost the best you’ve ever looked.”

Haarlep was in the form of a handsome tiefling with storm-gray skin, and was wearing a magnificent doublet of blue and silver as they strode in. Israfel glanced over as he took the jacket off, arching an eyebrow.

“That one? It is… a good choice. I am impressed.”

“Do you doubt my taste?”

“I question its existence.”

“Ah, I cannot blame you. I did decide to become your consort after all,” Haarlep sing-sang, and leaned over to kiss the bridge of his nose. “You did leave some wine for me, didn’t you, my pe-- dear?”

“Mph. There is still some left, I suppose.”

“Aww, you did think of me.” Haarlep grinned, greatly amused by the somewhat flustered look that crossed Israfel’s features, before they turned to greet them as well. Rahirek returned the greeting a little awkwardly, which Dalah honestly could not blame him for.

Haarlep was no longer as inclined to share details that were best kept private - something about a clause in a contract, if she’d understood Israfel’s mumble right - but they did take… some time to get used. But that was all right, she thought. Rahirek was right when he said time was something they certainly did not lack, an entire eternity stretching before them.

Until not too long ago, that was something she’d avoided thinking of, for the sake of her sanity; an eternity of servitude, unless destroyed by a devil with a flick of a hand and barely a glance.

It was not overly rare for debtors to fail a task on purpose, sometimes - to try and end it all that way, even if one never knew whether a mistake would be met with destruction or with torment, an even worse punishment for the rest of that eternity.

Most still clung to existence one way or another, and so did she. Other than that stubborn desire to keep existing, time was all she’d had. But now there was so much more. Centuries upon centuries, millennia of this: her husband by her side, the yoke of servitude gone, the freedom to come and go from the Material Plane if so they wished.

And her son - the new Archduke of Cania. She was by no means an expert of infernal politics, but he seemed to be handling things well… and most of all, she thought as she watched him discuss something with Haarlep in Infernal, he seemed content.

Dalah felt Rahirek’s arm around her shoulders again, and leaned into the touch. She glanced up at her husband and reached to stroke his cheek, causing him to smile back. A stubborn soul who’d refused to let go of her for almost two millennia, until the impossible had happened. Until Israfel had made it happen.

There was no expectation whatsoever for anyone, let alone a mortal soul, to know happiness in the Hells. It simply was not supposed to happen… and yet Dalah knew no other name for what she felt now.

But then again neither was a cambion supposed to kill an archdevil, and rule in his stead. Israfel was supposed to die in Mephisto’s maw, or fall under his sheer power… but he had not. Once the dust had settled, he was the one still standing.

“It must have been a battle to behold,” Rahirek had muttered once she’d finished telling him the full story. It had taken most of his first night there, a night they’d spent awake and talking ceaselessly in one another’s arms, part of them terrified the other would disappear if they let go too long. “He was always powerful. I saw him use hellfire, once. He was only a boy, but he killed a peryton that ten armed men struggled to keep at bay.”

“Mephistopheles was powerful almost beyond comprehension,” Dalah had whispered in turn against his shoulder. “I… I barely dared to hope Israfel could come out victorious, even with help.”

She’d felt him chuckle more than he’d heard it, his hand pausing mid-stroke in her hair. “If anyone could pull it off, I’m not surprised it was him.”

“... Heh. He does have a habit of defying expectations.”

“Of course he does,” he’d said, kissing her forehead. “He is yours.”

Ours. He is ours.

His words echoed in her mind now, watching Israfel chuckle in his cup of wine over something his consort had said. She took in the scene, leaning against Rahirek’s side, a smile playing on her lips.

This too I claim as mine.

***

There had been few occasions - none, truth be told - when Wyll had been glad to see Mizora. Wyll could not imagine any situation where that would be different. If there was, one thing was certain: his wedding day was not it.

“Ah, look at you, pet. All grown up and about to enter another devious pact. You’ve come so far and still learned nothing.” Mizora’s voice reached him almost at the same time as the crackle of fire, the smell of sulfur. Wyll ground his teeth, and stopped buttoning his vest.

At the other end of the room where they’d been preparing for the ceremony, Karlach growled. “What the fuck do you want?”

Mizora barely tilted her head towards her, but her eyes remained on Wyll. She looked the same as always, but for more jewels adorning her horns and neck, ruby earrings at her ears. Steward of Avernus, now, as she was keen to let everyone know. Her lips curled in a half-smile. “Don’t you look dashing! I’m not certain the same could be said of your bride - even the finest outfit cannot salvage that… ”

Wyll scowled, turning from the mirror. She had made herself scarce in the previous months; he supposed she was busy in her new role, and she’d had few, if any, orders for him. He’d started to breathe easy again, and now - of all days, did she have to show up now?

“What do you want?” he asked, and didn’t react at the sigh and shake of the head, at the mutters about how the son of a Grand Duke should be more polite. Her presence was never welcomed and she knew it very well; obviously, she delighted in getting a rise out of both of them. Wyll would try his best not to give her that.

“I’m here to offer my congratulations, of course. And, well, my condolences, considering who you’re binding yourself to.” A brief glance towards Karlach, and then back to Wyll. Another long-suffering sigh. “And to say goodbye, I suppose. Oh, don’t look so surprised. You’ve known all along that there would be bids for your soul, and you know precisely from who. You’re still my favorite pet, Wyll, but surely you understand - everything has a price and your soul, delightful as it is, is not so valuable it cannot be traded.” Mizora cleared her throat.

“Clause Z, Section Nine - the soul-binder may relinquish the contract binding the soul-bearer to a new pact-holder, provided that her liege lord consents and a suitable price is paid to the soul-binder. For the barbarian in the room, this means our sweet Wyll has a new mast--”

“I do believe I can take it from here, Steward of Avernus. If that’s all the same to you.”

Wyll had no idea when Raphael had materialized in the room but ah, seeing him there - standing by the doorway in his human form, dressed in one of the finest attires he had ever seen - was a relief. For him and for Karlach as well, if they yell that left her the next was anything to go by. “You did it? You did it! You son of a bitch, you did it!”

Her outburst caused Raphael to chuckle. “Unwarranted as that last statement is--”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I meant your dad. Just to be clear,” she added, and Raphael’s lips curled.

“Of course. But yes, I am Wyll’s new pact holder.” He turned to Mizora, nodding his head only slightly. “Now, I do have a few things to discuss with my new warlock.”

A light scoff. “As if it isn’t obvious, what you plan on doing. A waste, if you ask--”

“I did not ask. And I believe there is a Lord Raphael missing from the end of your sentence.”

For a moment, Mizora looked as though she might scoff at that too… but in the end, she thought better of it and simply bowed her head - as little and as quickly as Wyll supposed infernal etiquette allowed her to. “A lapse, Lord of the Eighth, of which I am so very contrite,” she said, her tone light, and turned back to Wyll. “Well. This is where we part ways, I suppose. I’d love to witness the celebrations as you make the worst mistake of your life, but my duties call me back to Avernus. You may not believe me, but I shall miss you dearly.”

Wyll held back a scoff. Would she now? Perhaps. If there was something he’d learned was that devils were complicated; even Karlach’s history with Florenta the Garroter was proof that sometimes, devils truly may take a liking to a mortal… and it very rarely was good news for said mortal.

He recalled all too well how she wore the same smile when she gifted him the Infernal rapier for a job well done and when she’d forced him to make an impossible choice between his father’s life and his own soul, before he could even taste freedom again.

There was so much she’d put him through, and so much he could scream about for days on end… but now, on the cusp of the happiest moment of his life so far, the chains around him already starting to slip away, he found he only wanted one thing: to never see her face again. “I cannot say that’s mutual,” was all he said in the end.

Mizora only smiled. “Ungrateful as always, mortals. I look forward to getting word of whatever it is you get into next, pet. You cannot be accused of being too boring, at least.” One last nod, and flames flared up briefly before disappearing, taking her back to the Hells.

As the sense of dread faded, Wyll breathed out before turning to Raphael. It felt as though a weight on his shoulders had been lightened but not yet lifted. When he spoke, it was with the gnawing dread in the pit of his stomach that freedom may be snatched away from him yet again, as it had happened before.

“Do you really-- my contract, is it…?” he hesitated. Raphael smiled, lifting a hand.

“Ah, this contract?” A snap of his fingers, and the contact appeared before him. It exuded malevolence, the Infernal runes on it glowing faintly. “I do apologize for bursting in your quarters before the ceremony, but I figured you wouldn’t complain if you received this specific wedding gift early. Unless you wish me to hold onto it until--”

“No, no!” Karlach blurted out, waving her hands. “Now is good! Now is great, actually. I just-- gods, that’s really it?”

A chuckle. “Oh, it is. Quite the well thought-out contract - Mizora does know her business. And it is the only copy in existence.” He looked over at Wyll, and met his gaze. “A debt repaid, and my gift to you both. Wyll’s soul his own again, to keep or sell all over again however he may desire. Do you wish to do the honors, Wyll Ravengard, or shall I?”

Wyll looked at the runes; for a moment their red glow seemed to fill his vision, as it did on the night he’d first signed it, a boy of seven-and-ten desperate to protect his city. He breathed in and knew he could not bring himself to touch it. “Burn it to ashes,” he finally said.

“Believe me, no ashes will be left.” Raphael’s lifted hand clenched into a fist, and the hovering contract burned with white-hot flames.

Hellfire destroyed everything it touched and it destroyed his contract too, wrapping around it like hungry fingers and reducing it to nothing, just as Raphael had said. The runes glowed one last time, and were no more; and Wyll could feel it at last, the binds on his soul shattering with one last mighty yank.

He breathed in, deep, and even the weight on his chest was gone; in his eye socket, the quiet humming magic of the sending stone came to a stop - the matching stone gone, too. Never again would Mizora be able to track him down, or spy on him. But still…

“Well? Feel any different?” Karlach asked while grabbing both his hands, so quickly her tongue almost stumbled over the words. Wyll turned to her, and smiled. Did he feel different? Of course he did. He was free - he was finally free. “Yes. Gods, yes - the bounds are gone.”

Raphael chuckled. “Well then, I hope you enjoy your gift. Do forgive the intrusion; I see you have yet to finish preparing for the day. I shall see you at the ceremony shortly, I suppo--”

“Wait,” Wyll called out, turning back to him. “I can feel I am no longer pacted, but my powers are still… here. Are they not supposed to drain away, too?”

“Ah, yes. I am now the source of your power. With the contract binding you to me gone, I am to take that back. But I am a busy devil, you understand,” Raphael replied, and snapped his fingers. His words echoed in the room even after he’d disappeared from sight; Wyll could almost hear the smirk. “I shall make time to take them back in a couple of centuries’ time.”

***

“I hope they reserved front seats for us. And by that I mean, I definitely expect that they did.”

“Tch. The ceremony won’t be long, I’m told. Have you grown so lazy you cannot stand for a short while?”

“Oh, I certainly can stand,” Astarion replied. “For hours on end, too. But I don’t want to. This place is more packed than Durge’s bag of holding and I never enjoyed the press of a crowd.”

Astarion wasn’t wrong: the central square of the Sun District - a brand new district, built entirely by the surviving refugees from Elturel - was definitely full, both of its inhabitants and others yet who had come from everywhere in the city. It was not every day that one got to watch two of the heroes who had saved their city tie the knot.

They did, as a matter of fact, have front row seats - but they had to go through quite the sea of people first, in great part familiar faces. A very welcomed sight for the most part - seeing Zevlor talking to Grand Duke Ravengard had been a surprise, but not unwelcome; the fact Bex and Danis already had a child on the way, on the other hand, was no surprise whatsoever.

However, one smiling face in the crowd left a bitter taste of bile in Durge’s mouth; it brought back the wet sound of rendered flesh, the cracking of bones, the slickness of blood. Lakrissa seemed happy with the life she’d built for herself, but she still did not know - none but their companions knew - what had become of Alfira.

I should tell her, one day, and hope she can forgive me.

“Stop.” Lae’zel voice was sharp, and it caused Durge to blink and look back. Set met his gaze, head tilted back. Intense as always, wasn’t she? “I see you’re getting that look again. The regretful one. This is not the day for it; this is the day to celebrate.”

Durge chuckled, faintly. “I have missed you,” they admitted, gaining themself a scoff.

“... Well. I don’t find your company unwelcome, eith--”

“Are you two coming or not?” Shadowheart groaned, and grasped Lae’zel hand to pull her through the crowd, towards the small shrine that had been built for the occasion. It caused her to grumble, but she did not resist. It got another chuckle out of Durge before they followed, and sure enough there was a row of seats at the front; Jaheira and Minsc were already there, and Gale had clearly just arrived, with Tara comfortably perched across his shoulders.

It was good to see them again - although Astarion did trade places with Halsin so that he wouldn’t sit next to Minsc, as he often said that listening to him for too long made him wish the tadpole had eaten his brain.

“Yours, or Minsc’s?” Durge had asked once, laughing, and Astarion had made a face.

“Mine. Minsc’s was already long gone before the parasite nested in it, I think.”

By the time the greetings were done and they were all seated, with Shadowheart setting about to explain the finer details of a wedding ceremony to Lae’zel, Durge couldn’t help but notice that there were still two empty seats right next to them… and they had an inkling over who they may be for. The inkling was correct; the occupants didn’t take long to arrive.

“My, my. What manner of wedding is this?”

In his human form and clad in what was likely the most intricately detailed outfit Durge had ever seen - and there they thought they’d made an effort - Raphael was a sight for sore eyes. He was attracting numerous glances; Durge wondered how many more would be looking over, or running as quickly as possible, if they knew just who stood in their midst.

By his side was a tall tiefling clad in silver and blue, and Durge recognized that glamor as well. They grinned. “And here I thought the two of you would show up fashionably late.”

“I never found anything fashionable about lateness. It is quite frowned upon in the Hells,” Raphael informed them with a chuckle, and looked over at the rest of their companions. It was a little amusing, really, to see the difference between the reaction of those who had been through the Hells with them and those who had… not.

“Oh, um… hello? No hard feelings, I trust?”

“Ah, there’s my favorite incubus! I’ve been told you’ve kept up with the target practice!”

“... Raphael. And… Haarlep, is it?”

“I’m glad you two could make it.”

“Tch. Death did not hold you for long, and you slew your tyrant. I can admire that, devil.”

“Boo and I are watching you!”

Raphael bowed his head. “You may watch to your heart’s content. I do not intend to cause trouble,” he said, taking the seat next to Durge. “After all, it would put a damper on this marvellous wedding. Even the delightful Dame Aylin could see that, and stayed her sword. Not that it would truly kill either of us, of course, not on this Plane. We’d only return home.”

“Almost a shame she didn’t try. I’m actually pretty curious to find out what dying on this Plane feels like,” Haarlep muttered, taking their seat. “But then we’d have missed this.”

Durge smiled. “We did tell her you’re here as a friend, and that if she took her sword to your feeble neck - her words, not mine - you may be less inclined to return Wyll ownership of his soul.”

Raphael laughed. “Hah! She did seem to back down more easily than expected. How fortunate, then, that she does not know Wyll Ravengard’s soul has already been returned.”

“What!” Several heads turned to him, in various stages of surprise and delight. Raphael bowed his head, a smile playing on his lips.

“I am a devil of my word - that much you must concede me. I acquired the contract for his soul, and asked young Ravengard himself what ought to be done with it. He said I should burn it, and I duly obliged. The contract is no more, and he is no longer bound to the Hells.”

The relief felt almost physical, like something being lifted from the pit of their stomach; Durge hadn’t even realized it was there, had always been there from the moment they’d watched Wyll make the decision to give his soul away, all over again, for his father’s life. They smiled.

“Thank you, Raphael.”

“You owe me no thanks. I merely kept my word. Although I certainly do hope he is aware that I do not intend to retrieve it once more should he decide to give it away all over again for his city, his father, or whatever he feels the greater good is.”

“I do believe he has learned the lesson,” Halsin said, in the tone of someone who understood that sort of lesson better than anyone. “Karlach would never stand for it - she made it clear back in Avernus. None should take on such heavy burdens on their own.”

“Mhh. He is a slow learner, but if you did learn, druid, then there’s hope even for him,” Raphael conceded, smiling, and sat back.

Just on time, too: a hush fell as Isobel stepped to the altar before turning to face all of them and then past them, and smile. “Shall we begin?”

There was chattering, a few gasps, the sound of people moving. Durge turned to see that the crowd which could not be seated had parted and there they stood, walking hand in hand towards the altar. Karlach was striking in red and gold, and Wyll looked every inch some kind of fairy-tale prince in silver and purple - horns and all.

“Ooooh, I want that,” Haarlep whispered, although it was unclear whether they were referring to Karlach, Wyll, either of their outfits, or the entire package. Durge could not blame them: both looked stunning and, of course, deliriously happy. They turned in their direction to flash a grin as they stepped past, and Durge grinned back. Yes, they decided - Lae’zel was right. Whatever may come, they’d face it when it did come. That day, they’d celebrate.

The gods knew they’d earned it.

***

Karlach wasn’t sure how the ceremony seemed to go on for hours and come to a close way too fast at the same time, but somehow it did. Weird, but weirder things had happened; she’d hugged a devil, for fuck’s sake, and it didn’t get a lot more unlikely than that.

She was vaguely aware of Isobel talking about vows, and love, and overcoming unspeakable hardships to find solace in one another, plus more things she did not quite catch.

All great things, she was sure - but how was she supposed to focus on anything but Wyll’s face, looking up at her with a smile as bright as the midday sun? She just stared back, not really caring if her face was split by the biggest and most idiotic grin--

“--anything you’d like to say?”

Bwuh?

Karlach blinked, and looked away from Wyll just an instant to realize that Isobel was waiting for a reply, and her brain was blank. Well, she had tried to prepare a little speech and she’d memorized it, even… but now she couldn’t recall a single word.

Thank the gods, Wyll was more prepared.

“Karlach,” he spoke, holding her hands in his a little tighter, and she looked back at him. Was it her or he got more handsome in all the five and a half seconds she wasn’t looking? “You are the red of the sunrise, the yellow of high noon, and the orange of sundown. If you were a song, I’d never stop singing; if you were a psalm, I’d never stop praying. I love you. Will you be mine - today, and tomorrow, and reaching into eternity?"

There were some murmurs from the crowd - definitely more than a few sighs - and Karlach could only stare for a moment-- is it the engine or it’s really hot here? -- before she got a grip on herself.

“I LOVE YOU TOO!” she blurted out. Maybe not that great a grip on herself, and now she could hear laughs and a few cheers - but Wyll was beaming and fuck, it was all that she could look at. “Oh my gods, I've been dying to say that.” If I smile any bigger, my face is going to crack. “I love you. And I’m getting to live a life with you, and I’m gonna love it, and you, every second of it.”

A chuckle, and Isobel reached to place her hands on their joined ones. "Karlach, Wyll. Through hardship and across Planes, you have endured together - and here you stand in your day of joy. From this moment forth, you are no longer two, but one. One path, one heart, one story yet to be told. Your spirits entwine as the roots of ancient trees, unshaken by storm or time. Your blood sings the same song, a melody only you shall know.”

There was something now, a surge of power washing over her, causing Karlach’s breath to catch a moment. It wasn’t just happiness - it was something else, too, a cleric’s spell. All of a sudden, she felt as though she could take on a horde of werebears, and come out of it without a scratch.

“Let the moon above and the ground beneath bear witness,” Isobel was saying. “Your lives are bound, your fates are woven in the same tapestry. What has been joined this day shall stand for all seasons to come, as strong as the mountains, as endless as the sky. By the will of your hearts, you are bound in soul, in body, for all the days to come.” A pause and she pulled her hands away, smiling. “Go forth as one, and may your love be legend.”

The last words were already lost to Karlach. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against Wyll’s. The infernal machine droned in her chest; it sounded nothing like a thumping heart, but Wyll still said he loved falling asleep to it. She smiled, a little breathless. “So, we did it. What’s next, husband?”

Wyll chuckled. “I can’t wait to find out, wife,” he said, and leaned in to kiss her.

***

“So, you're proper consorts now?”

“Oh, yes. I mean, he’d been calling me such for a while--”

“Durge did mention that.”

“But you know, words are lost in the wind. A contract stays - that’s the way in Baator.”

“Ah, the Material Plane is not that different. That's about the same reason for… you know, all this. Vows before witnesses, with the cleric’s spell and all.”

“I see.” A pause, and Haarlep tilted their head, still in their tiefling disguise. They had a cup of wine in their hand, a pastry in the other. With the rather stringent order not to take anyone’s body that night - much less devour their soul - they seemed intent on indulging in everything else available. “So, are you and Durge doing all this?”

Astarion laughed. “Oh gods, it’s not my style.” Maybe. If they ask, I might. If they ask, I might do anything. Damn it, they got me good. “But ah, if there’s one thing I learned is that you should never say never. We have time, after all.”

Sitting on a crate with his back against a wall, Astarion took a generous swig from his bottle. Most guests were eating the frankly stunning amount of food served - Raphael had probably had three servings of almond cakes before disappearing from sight alongside Durge - but Astarion couldn’t have any of that, good as the smell was.

No great loss, however. His companions as well as a few guests had been happy to donate to the Astarion Blood Bank fund. All he had to do was pretend, for the sake of the few guests from Wyll’s side who may not be aware of his nature, that he was drinking wine. Not difficult, with most people’s attention taken by the celebrations and the fireworks - neither the Ironhand Gnomes nor Rolan had, disappointingly, caused fires.

And then, of course, there was the dancing. That had been going on for a while. With very few exceptions - he could see Shadowheart and Lae’zel sitting together some distance away, talking over drinks and probably judging everyone in sight as true soul mates should - nearly everyone had at least a go at that.

Karlach had learned the courtly dance well enough, as it turned out, and stumbled around less than most other guests did while trying to match the movements of the bride and groom. Durge had somehow managed not to step over his feet, too. Astarion hadn’t been too surprised to notice that Raphael was an excellent dancer because of course he was. A small wonder he hadn’t tried to step in the bard’s place, too, to show off a little more.

But then the dancing had changed to… well, whatever Karlach considered dancing, and Raphael had promptly left the dance floor to avoid making a fool of himself. So had Astarion, who was rather content to drink some fresh blood and watch the general flailing; Halsin, he suspected, would dance more gracefully as a bear, and Gale kept having to dodge his elbows. He chuckled at the sight before he spoke again.

“... You know, if we do decide to go through with something like this, I don’t know whether we should invite you. I’m a little wounded, I must say. Surely we should have qualified for an invite when you and Raphael made it official.”

Haarlep laughed at the notion, drinking some more wine. The kind of wine mortals produced did not have the same effect on a fiend as Infernal wine would, but they did seem to enjoy the taste.

“Had there been a ceremony, you would have been, I assure you. But this,” they added, gesturing towards the ongoing party, “is not how such things work in Baator. A signature on a contract is about it. But I suppose my time with you did rub off me, because I went and got him a ring after all, as mortals do.”

Astarion raised an eyebrow. “You did? He was wearing no ring.”

Haarlep grinned. “Oh,” they said. “He is wearing it.”

***

“... Well. This is a surprise.”

Durge’s grip around his cock was maddening on its own - something about the scaly texture of their palms hit just the right spot - but when the fingers ran over the ring which sat tightly around the base, Infernal runes etched in the metal, Raphael almost cried out.

The chuckle rumbled in Durge’s chest, against his back, a puff of cold air on the nape of his neck. “Haarlep’s gift?”

“Who else, ” he groaned against the wooden crate he was bent over. A wooden crate in a back alley - what a change of scenery from his chambers in the House of Hope or at the Starspire… and it was half the thrill, really. There was another chuckle, Durge’s breath against his ear.

“Did you wear it, last time he had you in my form? When I felt you inside?”

Raphael smiled through clenched teeth. “I might have.”

“That was impressive.”

“If you dare credit the ring only--” Raphael bristled, only to trail off when Durge’s hand wrapped around the back of his neck to keep him pinned down. He huffed, trying to turn and glare. The ring had merely helped, of course. It simply made him last longer, without keeping him from reaching orgasm… unless Haarlep spoke a very specific word, in which case he’d be entirely unable to come until they muttered the counterspell.

Which they usually did. Eventually. If he pleaded his case convincingly enough. Or, as Haarlep put it with their rather inelegant lack of subtlety, if he pleaded long and hard.

“Apologies. You were impressive,” Durge said, and Raphal really hoped they hadn’t noticed how it made his cock twitch.

“Thank you kindly,” he replied instead, his voice just slightly strained. “Do feel free to return to favor at your earliest--”

An oiled finger pressed in with no warning, and Raphael’s attempt at a dignified response faded into a whine in the back of his throat. His head fell back on the crate with a thunk.

“I plan to. As long as you promise there will be more of that. Through Haarlep, or in person.”

“I-- I suppose I could invite you to my court, in the near future--” A sharp gasp, a groan, as another finger joined the first. “If your performance proves satisfying, that is.”

“Oh, it will be.”

To Raphael’s bliss and annoyance, it was. He did not say as much aloud, but the noises he barely muffled against the crook of his arm, and the way he arched into it, probably told Durge everything they needed to know.

He didn’t speak again until they were done and dressed, trying to erase all signs of their little tryst before returning to the celebrations… but what he had to say was not about their performance at all. “Have you given thought,” he asked, smoothing his jacket before brushing back his hair with his fingers, “as to whether you wish to know your old name?”

The question caused Durge to pause and glance over, still buttoning up their vest. They had thought about it, Raphael could tell; they remained firm in rejecting any and all ties to Bhaal, including the name he’d called them… but surely, the question was there.

They were a funny thing, names. Raphael had tried so long to escape his mortal name, and yet now he could not imagine his mother calling him any other way. It was what everyone now called the citadel which had once been named after his sire; it was as close as he could get to reclaiming it without turning his back on everything he had been in the centuries since Mephistopheles had him taken to the Hells. Raphael had been his name far too long.

He wondered if that was how the former Sharran had felt when she’d decided to hold onto the name she’d taken upon herself in Shar’s darkness, even after turning her back to the goddess herself. But it was a choice she’d made after knowing her old name.

Raphael did not voice his thoughts, and just watched as Durge went to finish buttoning up their vest. There were a few more moments of silence before they spoke.

“I do not wish to use it.”

“That was not the question. I would not even speak it, or speak of it, ever again.”

Another pause and then, slowly, Durge nodded. “... Then, yes. I would like to know.”

Raphael nodded, and snapped his fingers. A piece of parchment appeared in a burst of flames, hovering before Durge’s eyes; those eyes moved across the letters written on it, took it in… and then, finally, Durge breathed out.

“Thank you,” was all they said, and that was that. Raphael nodded back; a gesture, and the parchment burned away to nothing like Wyll Ravengard’s contract had only hours earlier.

Raphael smoothed down his clothes one more time, and smiled. “Well then,” he said, as though nothing at all had happened. “Shall we rejoin the celebrations?”

They did.

***

By the time the party ended, it was almost dawn.

Most guests retired to their homes to catch some sleep - no work for anyone until the next day, that was for sure - and Jaheira had to wildshape into a panther to drag a very drunk Minsc away; Durge could have sworn the growl around the mouthful of his jacket sounded a lot like ‘typical’, although it was barely audible through his slurred singing.

Shadowheart and Lae’zel were next to take their leave to return to the Astral Sea - or at least try to, because Karlach had pulled them both in a ‘girls’ hug’ and had yet to release them. Lae’zel wasn’t even complaining that much, Durge thought, and turned to comment on that with Astarion - but their eye caught sight of Raphael and Haarlep instead.

They were on the other side of the square, and seemed to be discussing something. Odd to see them still there: Raphael had taken his leave several minutes earlier, and they’d assumed them to be back in Cania by then. Durge blinked, and walked up to them.

“Is something the matter?”

Haarlep sighed, glancing over. “He is no fun, is the matter,” they declared.

Raphael returned the accusation with a withering look. “What I am saying is that jumping off the highest point in the city is the most moronic an idea you’ve ever been able to conceive--”

“Worse than coming between you and a balor in Baator?”

“The second most moronic--”

“And between you and a bunch of barbazus--”

“The third-- ”

“We’re not in Baator, and nothing would happen! I die on this Plane, and wake up right back in your chambers. A quick way home.”

“I can take you back just as easily. There is no good reason--”

“I’ve always wondered what dying on another Plane feels like.”

“Unpleasant, I’d wager. You may ask Yurgir, if you’re that--”

Raphael’s attempt at being reasonable was commendable, of course, but Haarlep was clearly beyond listening; with a quick look at Durge and a grin, they promptly changed their appearance to that of a cambion, and took flight towards the newly reconstructed Wyrm's Rock fortress.

“See you home!”

“Wha-- come back-- nngh.” Raphael groaned, and reached up to rub his face. “I truly can’t take them anywhere,” he muttered.

“I suppose they’ll soon have a new story to tell back at court.”

“Yes. The tale of how I sought to dissolve our union on the grounds they were never sound of mind,” Raphael muttered, and Durge laughed.

“You don’t mean a word of that.”

“... Regrettably, you are correct.” Raphael sighed. “Well. I suppose it is time I return to Cania as well, through less gruesome means. It has been a pleasure to take part in this event.” ‘And to get bent on a crate in a back alley’ went unsaid. “I do hope you enjoy the rest of this little reunion.”

Durge turned, glancing back to see that Gale and Astarion were taking turns trying to stir awake Halsin, now in bear form in the middle of the square and quite obviously in a drunken stupor, while the others watched with clear amusement. They grinned.

“I think I will, yes,” they said, and turned back. “Don’t be a stranger,” they added on a whim.

Raphael bowed, a half-smile on his lips.

“A stranger? Ah, but I could never,” he chuckled, just as flames flared up to take him back home to the Hells, back to Cania, back home. His next words rang out through the crackle of flames, the faint sound of ice scraping against ice, the distant notes of a lyre.

“Am I or am I not the devil you know?”

***

Aaaand it's over at last! Man. I knew this was going to be a long one, but I had no idea just HOW long. Good thing I didn't, 'cause I might not have even tried.

I had SO MUCH fun writing this fic, and I hope you enjoyed the read. Thank you to everyone who ever commented/liked this, hope the epilogue didn't disappoint!

*** [Back to Chapter 42]

[Back to Start]

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #the dark urge #raphael bg3 #halsin bg3 #haarlep #raphlep #wyll ravengard #gale bg3 #karlach bg3 #haarlep bg3 #bg3 raphael #raphael the cambion #bg3 astarion #mizora bg3 #durgestarion #wyllach #hell to pay

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steddieunderdogfics · 1 year ago

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This week’s writer spotlight feature is: Pricklywhicket/@messessentialist ! Prickleywhicket has four fics published to AO3 -- All in the Steddie tag!

Our anonymous nominator recommends the following works by pricklywhicket:

so let's sneak in from the cheap seats, honey

it's supposed to be fun (turning twenty-one)

start by pulling him out of the fire

"Sadie is so super talented in the way she describes literally everything. She is so good at writing and it's a shame that she's flown under the radar because she's not the quickest at putting things out there." -- Anonymous

Below the cut, Pricklywhicket answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

Why do any of us write anything? Because we want the story to exist in the world, and it doesn’t yet, so we gotta hike up our pants and do it ourselves!

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

Hurt/Comfort. I’m always a sucker for the blorbos taking care of one another, in whatever form that takes. This has always been true, across a truly astronomical number of fandoms I’ve found myself dabbling in over the years.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

…actually, probably hurt/comfort! I just need to get those little dudes some validation and unconditional positive regard, okay?

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

I’m sure I won’t be the first one to say this, but: I HAVE TO PICK ONE????? Okay, alright. I can do this. I’m gonna say…Sanctuary by SpicedSage.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

I’ve only written canon or canon-adjacent fic so far, so I’m eager to work on something that’s completely AU. I think there’s a unique challenge to keeping characters recognizable as themselves in a world that might not have all the same contexts that made them into that person.

What is your writing process like?

I would love to say it’s super organized and well-planned, but the truth is it’s mostly about routine and responsibility. I set aside time to do it every day, even if I can only tap out a few sentences. I’m not very strict about writing in a straight line - I can stop a scene if it’s giving me trouble, write a note about what I think happens in some [brackets], and move on to something that I have more fully fleshed-out ideas for. Sometimes writing the next scene helps you know more about what needs to happen in the current one.

Do you have any writing quirks?

I'm sure my betas would say yes 🙃 I tend to write a lot of dialogue - a lot of my revision process is going back through and realizing I have two pages of a conversation with no indication of what’s physically happening in the world around the speakers.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

Definitely when I’m finished. Prior to my ‘23 bang fic, I had never written anything chaptered. I knew going in that I could NOT start posting if it wasn’t finished, because I’ve been burned too many times by abandoned works. I didn’t want to do that to people reading my fic, and the best way to avoid it is to finish before you post.

Which fic are you most proud of?

Easily start by pulling him out of the fire. The biggest, most ambitious thing I’ve ever attempted - I still kind of can’t believe I wrote 85k.

How did you get the idea for start by pulling him out of the fire?

Like most terrible ideas, it was spawned in a fandom discord chat. We were discussing the tendency of Steddie fics to centralize the party at Steve’s house, because his parents are never there anyway. And then someone mentioned what if the parents came home and found their house occupied, and someone else mentioned Wayne being there, and it just sort of…spiraled out from there.

When writing start by pulling him out of the fire, what was something you didn’t expect?

I had no idea, going in, that I was going to write a comprehensive history of the Wayne and Eddie Munson relationship. I started writing it where I did to give some background on Wayne’s existing distaste for the elder Harrington, and then I just…kept writing. Over the course of a month or two I wrote 20k of WayneAndEddie that I had no idea was in me - it just kept coming.

What inspired it's supposed to be fun (turning twenty-one)?

@wynnyfryd. It was a gift for her birthday. We were talking about our mutual love of Letterkenny, and she mentioned that the episode was her favorite and wouldn’t it be funny if someone wrote… and the rest is history.

What was your favorite part to write from it's supposed to be fun (turning twenty-one)?

I had an unreasonable amount of fun with that one in general. But I think my favorite part was Eddie polling the party about what Steve means to them all. It was fun to sort of put myself in each character’s shoes and think about how they would answer. Plus y’know, any excuse to unironically love on Steve Harrington.

How do/did you feel writing so let's sneak in from the cheap seats, honey?

I believe my exact words upon deciding to write it were “jingles miserably to a blank google doc.” This was a classic case of saying “god I wish there was a fic where—” and having friends tell me that it was now my responsibility to write it. I’m glad I did, though. I love that story, and it proved to me that I could write sex and publish it and not burst into flames. I also just really, really love summer storms. And Wayne’s use of the singular ‘herpe.’

What was the most difficult part of writing so let's sneak in from the cheap seats honey?

Getting over the fear of publishing something E-rated. It was just something I hadn’t done, and I had a lot of anxiety that people were not going to respond well to it. I made three people individually review the sex scenes before I even asked anyone to beta the full fic. Of course I was worried for nothing, the reception for that fic was super lovely and gave me the confidence boost I needed to attempt start by pulling him out of the fire!

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

This is like asking me to pick a favorite child. I’ll say this: most of my favorite lines in start by pulling him out of the fire were taken directly from conversations @wormdebut and I had about the fic. She’s my number one cheerleader and sounding board, and sometimes she’s so goddamn funny that I just have to include it. You have her to thank, for instance, for Steve quite literally dropping his croissant when he first sees Eddie in glasses.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I have a couple of irons in the fire, but nothing I’m ready to share just yet! I’ve been taking a breather from writing (blame baldur’s gate 3, okay) but my WIPs are still very much IP. Stay tuned!

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Not that I can think of!

Thank you to our author, Pricklywhicket, and our anonymous nominator! See more of pricklywhicket's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

#writer's wednesday #writers on tumblr #steddie writers #steddie #steddie fic recs #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things

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tsukimefuku · 1 year ago

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❅ Sand and Snow | Full Chapter List and other Notes

In the past few weeks, there have been multiple deaths in the city of Odate. Nanami Kento, a first-grade sorcerer, is dispatched to investigate the snowy city, unaware that this would be his final mission as a Jujutsu High’s student.

Why Nanami left Jujutsu High to become a 9/5 corporate slave.

Tags: Murder/mystery, canon typical violence, POV Nanami, Post Star-plasma Vessel Arc, Canon compliant, Angst but I'm not Gege

On AO3 here

Chapters (Tumblr)

I will be listing here every chapter already published on Tumblr under the #sandandsnowchapter tag.

✦ Chapter 1

✦ Chapter 2

✦ Chapter 3

✦ Chapter 4

✦ Chapter 5

✦ Chapter 6

Updates and fun facts

They are in dd/mm/yy

12/04/24: Well, we'll be on hiatus until May. Nonetheless, more silly fun — here's Shiro's song pick. "Akatsuki no Kodou" by "Unchain" for the simple reason it sounds like him.

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28/02/24: The fanfic will probably hit hiatus by chapter 7. Or not. I hit a slump and I'm having a hard time getting out of it.

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22/02/24: Finally, chapter 4 is up. This one was a hard one, because I'm not in the greatest headspace right now. Just hope I'll be feeling better when posting chapter 5.

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12/02/24: I really need to define a day every week to post, heh. The next chapter will probably be posted on the 22th, but maybe earlier if I get around revising it before that!

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09/02/24: Some silly fun, I saw Akutami's song picks for his characters, and I thought I'd make such a list for my own original characters. Starting with Shiori, I chose the song "Setsuna" by Sunny Day Service for her. Felt like a good fit. Hope you like it.

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My author's notes about this fanfic

I’m currently working on a sole mid-long fanfic called Sand and Snow, with a dear and beloved character Kento Nanami as a teenager coming into adulthood.

It takes place around 2 years after the star-plasma vessel fiasco, and it’s about Nanami’s last mission before leaving Jujutsu High after graduation. I wanted to delve into his psyche and motivations for doing so, because I feel we didn’t get to see enough of that before he became the absolute beefcake we know and love. Goddamn you, Gege.

This is my copium after the end of the Shibuya arc, and I wanted to explore more about the character. Of course, the absolute icon Satoru Gojo will be arriving at Odate to help Nanami, because I love some classic Gojo and Nanami Shenanigans.

Thank you for reading this wall of text, and hope you like it! Xoxo

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tunemyart · 2 years ago

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whoa, ao3 goes up and suddenly new kudos on the wide orbit in quick succession? whoever y'all are, if you even see this, you're making my day <33

also bc I think about this fic a lot more than my posting here probably indicates, and bc I found a few things I'd cut when I went diving into my source files the other day, here's a bit of fluff I ended up cutting from the fic for flow purposes:

---

The call comes at 3:30 in the morning. Alex stirs next to her when Olivia fumbles for her phone and answers it.

“Bad news?” she mumbles after Olivia hangs up and closes her eyes again in a futile attempt to hang on to the stillness for just another minute.

“Is there any other kind?”

Alex hmmms and doesn’t open her eyes. “Need me yet?”

There’s another two hours before Alex usually starts waking up, and Olivia’s unexpectedly overcome at the sight of her bare face in the intimate liminal hours all over again.

“No,” she says. “Sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep.”

Alex does without much encouragement, and Olivia does her best to move as silently as possible around the bedroom and bathroom and the first of Alex’s things that have begun to accumulate in both. It’s only the second time that Alex has spent the night, but between the twice Olivia’s also slept over at Alex’s, it still feels routine enough that it doesn’t occur to Olivia until she’s got her toothbrush in her mouth and phone in hand that Alex doesn’t have a key to her place and is due in court long before Olivia will be able to make it back.

Olivia revises her ETA in a quick text to Rollins and rummages around for her spare key where she’s tucked it away in her home office. Olivia writes a quick note and leaves it with the key on Alex’s nightstand next to her phone. 3:46. Olivia resists the sentimental urge to run a hand across Alex’s back before she leaves, knowing it would only startle Alex awake again, fearing that either one of them might too easily read intention into it. Alex sleeps on. Olivia leaves, locking the door behind her.

#like i also can't tell you how many different different versions of the next ten years from the ending live in my head #need to find me? some part of my brain is usually here #the wide orbit #cabenson #my fic #i guess

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invadernurse · 1 year ago

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Catching Flies (Revised) Ch. 13

Chapter 13: Dark Revelations

Overall rating: Teen

Summary: You catch more flies with honey than vinegar. That’s what they say anyway.

Teacher!Reader makes the mistake of trying to help the two most troubled kids in your class. This leads to forming a science club, learning some childhood psychology, adopting an alien older than you, and somehow catching Professor Membrane’s interest.

Afab Non-binary Reader;

The reader does have a last name: Nemo– which means no-name.

Chapter One |Master post |Ao3

You had agreed to meet up with the Professor the next day at his lab. Which meant a few bus rides --more than usual since there were only a handful of buses working for the whole city-- and being filled with anxiety the whole time. After all, this was Membrane Laboratories. You had always wanted to visit and take one of their infamous tours, but never had the time (or money) to indulge yourself.

And now you actually were. To meet up with Professor Membrane himself and get a new phone.

Soon you found yourself staring at the gleaming building of Membrane labs; it was so much larger than you had anticipated, even though you had seen plenty of pictures and advertisements featuring it.

You tried to bolster your courage and calm your anxieties as you looked up at the gleaming building, but after a short moment of mental rallying it was obviously not going to happen. You ended up forcing your body to cooperate despite the hurricane currently raging in your stomach and walked up the marble stairs towards the doors.

The glass doors slid open soundlessly as you approached, revealing the pristine lobby. Everything was state of the art, beautiful, and rather blinding. Nothing at all like the Membrane home.

You felt tiny and insignificant in the wide-open lobby, watching in wonder as the vid-screens covering the walls showed many of the products or upcoming projects of the lab that were bound to revolutionize the world once more. Despite the size, only a few others milled about, usually in pairs deep in discussion and all dressed in white long lab coats.

“Can I help you?” A tart voice called, bringing your attention back down to earth and over to the receptionist desk where a man and woman (in matching lab coats) sat. The man seemed preoccupied with the computer in front of him, but the woman was glaring at you from behind her glasses, making you feel even more out of place.

"Hi…" you started quietly as you hurried over, feeling like it was taboo to break the imposing silence. "Um, I’m here to talk with Professor Membrane?”

Her scowl only deepened more as she scoffed; "And you are?" You gave her your full name, and she barely glanced at the computer screen before replying shortly: "You don't seem to have an appointment."

"Oh, well…” Shit. You hadn’t even thought of that. You had expected… well, you weren’t sure what you expected. Maybe for him to leave a note that you would be by? “I-I think he’s still expecting me," you continued, knowing full well how weak your excuse sounded. “I'm a, er, friend?" It wasn't quite the truth, and apparently your lie was blatant in your face judging by the sneer on her face.

"I'm afraid that unless you have an appointment, I can't help you."

They probably had hundreds of people that came in from the street every day, claiming the same thing.

But you weren’t just some crazy fan. Granted you were a fan, and sure you were a little crazy to even be doing this, but that's besides the point. "Please, just call him and tell him I’m here."

She scoffed, "I am not interrupting the professor's hard work for another fangirl."

The man interrupted his coworker and placed a sleek phone on the counter near you, a smirk on his face. "Call him yourself, if you dare to bear the consequences."

His look made you pause, but you boldly stepped towards him. He dialed a number and placed you on speakerphone.

"I don't hear the alarms," Membrane growled annoyedly as soon as he answered. "I told you not to disturb me when I'm working."

"I'm sorry, Professor. But, um..." Maybe you had been mistaken? Maybe he meant later in the evening?

Before you could doubt yourself anymore he interrupted you, his tone changing completely. "Mx. Nemo, my apologies. I’m glad you came, I'll be up shortly!"

The line went dead, and you realized both receptionists were looking at you with a mixed expression of confusion and shock. You pushed the phone back towards then, your doubt gone and replaced with confidence and a smidge of smugness. "Thank you!"

--+--

You only had to wait a few minutes before you heard heavy bootsteps against the marble floor, making you look up from the magazine you had found. Despite literally waiting for him, your heart still did a little odd skip when you saw Professor Membrane hurrying towards you, something clutched in one of his hands.

"I'm sorry it took so long," he amended as he drew closer, holding out what looked like a simple white phone. "Here is our latest phone, set to go on the market later this year. I was going to give you the newest prototype but it's still prone to blowing up on occasion. This one, however, only rarely blows up and emits very faint gamma radiation,"

You paused for a second, caught off guard before remembering his odd sense of humor. You studied what little of his face you could see and caught the signs of a smile around his goggles, making you grin while a warm pleasant feeling fluttered in your chest. "I won't turn into the she hulk?" You couldn't help but quip back.

You swore his smile had grown, despite not being able to see it. "Theoretically, no. However, I wouldn’t be completely surprised."

There was no stopping the giggles that escaped even as you focused your attention on the phone-- it was nothing like your beat-up flip phone. This was sleek, shiny, and obviously one of the top-of-the-line products. "I really can't accept it though," you protested as your smile fell. "It's probably worth more than I make in a year…"

"Nonsense," he interrupted, pushing it into your hands. "Your current phone is an antique as well as nonfunctional thanks in part to my son. As, I assume, are most of your electronics."

You paused, internally admitting he was right. Everything was fried. The only other choice you had was to go without, and that really wasn’t a choice at all.

So you pushed your guilt aside and smiled back up at him as you accepted it. "Thank you, Professor. You're extremely generous."

There was a pause, and you think his eyebrows raised in surprise; though the faint pink on his pale skin was probably just your imagination. He coughed suddenly, as if catching himself. "Right. Let me show you how the Meme-phone 5000 works."

You could faintly hear the receptionists whispering as Professor Membrane led you to a nearby bench, which at best meant to hold two petite people and Membrane himself was no longer the bean-pole as he had been a few years ago and you were...well, you. Yet if he was bothered by your proximity, he didn't show it as you settled next to him, pressed between his side and the armrest.

He rather proudly went through a demonstration of what the phone could do-- including but not limited to: projecting a holographic screen that you could use in lieu of a computer, download probably every song and podcast known to man and still have room, and free access to the Meme-cloud that had enough free storage for everything you could ever possibly need. Yet despite being amazed at the major upgrade that was now yours, you would find yourself stuck on studying the man beside you with equal awe and interest.

You could easily see Dib in him. The excitement in his voice and how prone he was for going off on tangents into technical terms that went far above your understanding was just like his son. Honestly, it was to the point you had little doubt that behind his goggles he had the same look in his eyes as Dib had when you allowed him to explain what exactly a vampire-bee or Squid-squash was.

“And, of course, it can make calls; video or otherwise,” Professor Membrane finally paused for a moment, looking almost...nervous as he swept through the options before pulling up the contact list. “I hope you don’t mind, but I preemptively added both my home number, lab extension, and cell number. In case you need to reach me. Dib’s and Zim’s numbers have been added as well. You won't believe how many times Zim’s little brother Gir has prank-called me,” he added hastily before adding: “I understand if that’s too far, now that I think about it. I apologize…”

“No!” you interrupted, grabbing his hand without thinking to reassure him. “That-that’s perfect, really. I, um, have taken them under my wing a bit, and told both of them they could call me for help if need be.” You hardly wanted to explain the details of covering for Zim’s lack of parent (which was a whole other can of worms).

However, you weren’t a hundred percent sure getting caught in an awkward moment again with him was that much better. Silence hung between you and you caught sight of his eyes behind the thick glass (plastic?) of his goggles. In the light you were sure they were the same color as Dib’s, but perhaps a little darker. "You remind me so much of Dib," you blurted as soon as the thought crossed your mind, mainly just to end the awkwardness.

You could see him blink in surprise before he continued with a hint of uncertainty to his voice. "I'm not sure how to take that."

"It's not bad!" You quickly amended, realizing how strange and weird most people saw his son. "I mean that you both have that passion for your interests. When Dib starts talking about his paranormal I don't understand half of what he is saying, but I enjoy listening nonetheless because I can tell how much love and dedication he's poured into his research. And I can tell you're the same. And, well, I think it's… really cool." You finished lamely. "You're both so unabashedly passionate. I like it."

To your surprise, you could see the bridge of his nose and ears turn pink as he looked away. "I,um," he cleared his throat as you realized he was embarrassed. "There's never a shortage of praise or compliments regarding my work, but that… those words mean a lot to me. Thank you, Mx. Nemo."

"Not a problem," you returned, feeling rather flushed yourself. You were still holding his hand, but he was holding it so tight that it dispelled any thoughts of pulling away.

You were holding the Professor's hand in public.

"I admit, I have difficulties relating to Dib,” he spoke after a moment with a softness to his tone as if admitting a deep secret. “Despite the genetic similarities, it's hard finding any common topics with the boy. This paranormal nonsense of his is very hard to understand, to say the least."

"He's twelve," you reassured, squeezing his hand softly. Were you really here giving parental advice to Professor Membrane? "I've studied their age group in college, but it's still hard to understand them. Their brains are still developing, so it's hard for us to relate. But you can still see the adults they’re becoming. Dib and Zim… I would be honestly surprised if they don't carry on your legacy. Their future's so bright it's blinding, so it's our job to help them grow and develop. That paranormal stuff may be nonsense, but he has developed amazing research skills because of it."

Professor Membrane was quiet for a moment, making you internally scream at yourself for your awkward rambling. Of course he knew all of that! He was a leading scientist! He probably understood the whole childhood-mental-development thing far better than you did!

"While not technically scientifically correct,” he stated slowly. “I agree with your thesis. Those two have amazing potential."

He agreed with you. Well, you had kind of assumed he always had, considering the fact he had been helping you. But after the pushback and sneering you received from your peers, it felt nice to have it stated plainly.

A shrill beeping from his coat pocket interrupted the moment, making both of you jump. You barely caught your new phone as he fumbled for the one ringing in his pocket. “Yes Jones?” he answered in a short but professional command. It was odd to be able to see him switch from the Professor Membrane you had come to know to the one you had seen on television and U-tune as he stood, commanding authority once more. “Again? No, I’ll be there shortly. Make sure to keep track of them this time. I told you the government isn’t happy that we already lost two of them.”

He ended the call before looking back down to you, “I’m sorry, but I have to return to the lab. If you have any difficulties, please let me know."

You could only nod at watch as he strode purposefully towards the elevators before pausing just a few steps later and turning back towards you. "I always enjoy our conversations, Mx. Nemo. Perhaps we could… get together sometime just to talk some more?"

"I-I would love that," you stuttered, sure your face was on fire from how hot it felt. "Just let me know whatever or whenever works for you."

"I will," he nodded before he continued to the elevators.

Once the doors slid shut behind him the silence was broken once more. "Who are you?" The female receptionist asked with a mix of disgust, confusion, and curiosity.

"No one," you said after a moment. "I'm no one." And yet here you were anyway. A friend of two child geniuses, and one of the most brilliant minds in the history of the earth. Who wanted to get to know you better.

--+--

When Professor Membrane returned home that evening, things seemed relatively normal. Gaz was playing one of her video games while Dib was sitting at the kitchen table with a new issue of his Swollen Eyeball magazine. A typical quiet evening, which was actually quite atypical in itself.

Usually, once assuring his children didn’t need anything, the professor would retreat down to his own personal lab to work on his personal projects. Yet tonight your words from earlier had stayed with him, and guided him to take a seat across from his boy. "What's the creature this month?"

He would usually never ask such a question. Usually he would silently despair at his son's insanity, or maybe comment how he wished his son would forget such nonsense. But he had to admit, Dib had proven quite competent at research because of it.

"New evidence of half-fish mutants living in the mariana trench. Possibly an advanced civilization that moved Atlantis there so they could…" Dib trailed off, realizing what he was saying and to who. The boy looked up at his father skeptically, waiting for his typical rejection and scorn.

Instead, Professor Membrane sat quietly, waiting for him to continue. Dib narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Aren't you going to criticize and tell me that's crazy or not scientific?"

Membrane sighed, unused to the small jab of guilt at the accusation. "I had an enlightening conversation with Mx. Nemo today," he explained, "and I have decided to try a new approach."

If anything, Dib became more suspicious. "And that is…?"

"To allow you your nonsensical passions, but see if I can assist you approach it from a scientific angle rather than dismissing them outright."

Dib was sure this was too good to be true, but scooted over after a moment so his father could see the magazine and started to info-dump on him. There was still obvious disbelief but Professor Membrane wasn't outright dismissing him, which meant a lot to Dib. Instead, Professor Membrane held his tongue at the more ridiculous aspects, and asked questions prodding at the facts that seemed more based on science, leading into a rather decent discussion.

And, maybe he could see a little bit of himself in his son. Granted, the boy was the exact replica of him genetically, but he was finally able to see the similar thought processes and cognitive abilities.

"So Mx Nemo got a new phone?" Dib started innocently as he flipped through the various advertising that filled most of the magazine.

"Yes, I gave them the Memphone 5000. I believe that was a suitable upgrade from their old…phone." If one could call that a phone, he was pretty sure he could have upgraded that when he was still a child himself.

"You two get along pretty well, don’t you?"

Professor Membrane completely missed the sly look on Dib's face as he reflected on his relationship with you. "I believe so. While their studies have not been focused on the sciences, they are fascinating to talk to.” You actively listened without your eyes glazing over with confusion despite the fact he could tell you didn’t quite grasp all of the concepts. You provided helpful insight, which was a rarity in itself that he found himself excited for. “I still need to review my schedule to see when an appropriate time would be to meet with them for further discussions."

Dib frowned, not quite believing what he just heard, while Gaz popped her head in. "Wait, is that dad-talk for he has a date? With your teacher?"

"It is not a date, Gazleen. It's simply a meeting to continue our conversation." Yet despite his words, Membrane could see both of his children start to smile, looking completely impish.

"Sure it is, dad," Dib tried not to snicker. "Purely professional?"

Membrane opened his mouth to answer before pausing as the realization hit him. "Well, not exactly..." It was more personal than a professional, but not an intimate thing like his children were implying. "But that doesn't mean-"

"First dates are usually just to get to know each other better," Gaz said, slipping into the chair beside her brother. His children had twin devilish grins on their faces, which didn't bode well for the Professor when paired with the fact that they were working together. He could feel the foreboding deep in his bones, causing him to be deeply unsettled but trying to hide it from the two.

"I think you're too young to truly understand…" The differences between romantic and platonic affections? The complexity of interpersonal relationships between adults? The fact their father wasn’t an expert on the subject anyways?

"Maybe, but she's right." Dib interjected after his father trailed off. "You said it yourself, you like them and you find them 'aesthetically pleasing'. And it's super obvious Mx. Nemo likes you too."

Professor Membrane groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried not to think that maybe his progeny was right. Could this be construed as a date? Did you think it was a date?

Did he want it to be a date?

It was extremely rare that a person interested him enough to distract him from the self-admitted obsession with science, yet you had. And he could even admit that his fascination with you couldn’t be strictly considered professional or scientific. He doubted he was experienced enough with personal relationships to understand the complex and subtle differences between platonic and romantic feelings, but he knew that he at least wanted to be friends with you.

But as far as romantic…

Professor Membrane could remember holding your hand. Even with his prosthetics and gloves, he had been able to feel how warm and soft they were. Small compared to his own. And thanks to those same prosthetics he could detect your pulse quicken when you met his gaze. It was very unscientific, but he had found your eyes beautiful and had done a mental catalog of the dozens of different hues in your irises. He had unconsciously tried to memorize every aspect of your face from the shape of your eyes, the angle of your nose, and your lips….

Without prompting, he suddenly found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss you. The mere thought caused his own heart rate to quicken as he found the idea…pleasurable.

"Oh," he muttered as the realization hit him like a solution to a particularly difficult equation. His feelings were very unscientific and unprofessional. He did like you, in a way that was quite different than platonic.

In fact, his feelings were rather similar to how he had theorized romantic and sexual attraction to feel like.

"Oh dear."

#invader zim #professor membrane #enter the florpus #dib membrane #catching flies #invaderzim #invader zim zadf #professor membrane x reader #invader zim fic #catching flies fic

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whattraintracks · 8 months ago

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Sorry if you've already answered any of these, but!

32.) What was the first thing you've made for TMNT?

36.) Which character do you have the hardest time writing/drawing?

4.) When did you become a fan of TMNT?

11.) Which version of Raphael is your favorite?

Ooh! I have not!

32.) Probably technically a Rise doodle that has since been lost to a landfill somewhere XD I'm pretty sure the first thing I wrote was a conversation between Rise Leo and Donnie post-movie I typed up on a slow work day that hasn't ever left my notes app. Maybe I'll revise and post it one day; maybe it'll stay on my phone to be pulled out every few years for a fond read-through. Who knows.

36.) Drawing: all of them lol. When I was watching Rise, I liked to doodle their faces. Mikey was the trickiest for me. Writing: hmmm, I have a hard time with all the '87 voices. Michelangelos, too. Honestly, I rarely write anyone but the turtles, so the other mutants and humans are hard, too.

4.) When I watched 2012 as a kid. I really enjoyed it when my family watched '07 or one of the '90s movies together, too, and even when I wasn't watching something, I was fond of the franchise. When I finally watched Rise last year, I had tumblr and ao3 and began participating in the fandom!

11) Currently, the '90s era Raphs. The movies, the stage tour, The Next Mutation. He's such a gruff sweetheart who loves his family so much I can't.

#thanks!! <3 #my asks #whattrainofthought #tmnt

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a-dauntless-daffodil · 2 years ago

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glimmadora patched-up WIP, since i spent all night in a haze gluing an ending on it. AO3 link

rated G. fluff. more fluff. stressed out glimmer. paperwork. fluff

Opening the door to Glimmer's room, the first thing Adora does- like usual these days- is worry.

“…Glimmer?”

No answer. Easing inside, Adora shuts the door and scans the field of battle.

It doesn’t look good. Papers cover the desk, dripping down to the floor and spreading out across just about every flat surface. All personal items and furniture have already been overwhelmed by sheer numbers, soft hues blanketed with the endless ranks of blank white sheets and harsh black ink.

Frowning, Adora feels a deep crease cut between her eyes. The single document in her hands suddenly seems both very inadequate and also like far, far too much.

At least she doesn’t see any person-sized lump lying on the floor this time.

Lifting her voice a little, she calls again. “Uh- Glimmer?”

“Rrgh.” Comes a groan from above. Paper whispers and cascades over the edge of the hanging bed in a fluttering waterfall.

“I’m not here. Come back when the Horde attacks or someone accidentally sets fire to the royal solicitor’s office...”

Adora watches the last drifting papers settle on Glimmer’s floor. “I finished the draft report on best methods for quickly disseminating counter-Horde tactics to the general Rebellion public.” She lifts her document helpfully. “Do you still want to go over it first before I file it with the General?”

Another groan. Then a hand pops into sight, waving limply from the hanging bed. “Up.” Glimmer calls.

The floating steps are mostly in place today, only a few repurposed as midair shelf space, and Adora knows them well enough to read over her report one last time as she climbs.

At the top she finds a young woman in fine clothes and a state of clear disheveled disheartenment. Glimmer is staring blankly up at the ceiling. Her eyes, pupil-less pink and iridescent where they catch the light, look somehow dull and empty. There are papers blanketing her bed, more papers lying on her chest. An smudge of ink stains one cheek like a bruise. Little bandages in colors white, pink, and pale blue cover half Glimmer’s hands, hinting at papercuts and threatening to turn her fingerless gloves into full ones.

She looks exhausted. “Report.” She also sounds exhausted.

Standing on the last step next to the bed, Adora hesitates. “I could revise it again. Come back in another hour or so.”

“Report.” Glimmer repeats lifting a hand an waving it vaguely in Adora’s direction. “It’s important. And knowing you, you’ve probably already rewritten three times.”

“Five times.” Adora shuffles the document, double checks the spelling in the sentence-long header.

A head of fluffy pink hair, extra fluffy and with fewer sparkles in it than normal, lifts from the bed. “Five times? But I only asked you to start writing it this morning! That was only three hours-”

“Ten.” The stain glass windows of Glimmer’s room glow softly with evening light.

“-ten hours- What?” Paper crackles as Glimmer jerks upright, twisting wildly to get a view of her main window.

Outside the second evening moon is starting to rise over the mountains. Glimmer looks down at the shadows stretching across her floor, painting the scattered papers warm fuchsia pink and cool periwinkle blue. It’s beautiful, but Glimmer’s expression is horrified.

Adora feels the crease between eyes deepen. “You didn’t come to lunch. The kitchen staff said they’d bring you something here.”

Shoulders drooping Glimmer sighs. “Someone might have knocked at some point. I think I told them the same thing I told you, only maybe with more yelling. Possible also some cursing…” Another sigh, this one deeper and frustrated as Glimmer turns forward again, burying a hand in her short hair. “Great. Now I need to fit apologizing into my non-existent schedule.” Her free hand curls into a fist, crumpling an unlucky page of what looks like finances.

Seeing Glimmer like this sinks a lead weight in Adora’s chest. “Oh.” She sits on the edge of the hanging bed and clasps her hands on top of the report in her lap, hiding as much of it as she can. “Can I help?”

“It’s fine.” Yank, a few sparks wink out as Glimmer tugs at her hair. “Or no it’s not fine but it’s not like I was actually doing anything anyway- Not doing anything all afternoon apparently- so it barely even counts as a missed meal!” Glimmer glances up through spiky bangs, anxious. “Don’t tell my mom? Or Bow?”

“I won’t.” Adora says firmly. “But Queen Angella might already know.”

A snort. “If she did she’d be banging down my door and passing a law that not having lunch is punishable with a month of being grounded.”

Blonde ponytail slips over on shoulder as Adora tilts her head. “I thought you’d have immunity now.”

“Hm?” Glimmer grunts. “Immunity to what, my own mom?”

“No the, uh.” The strange word stumbles on Adora’s tongue. “The grounding. And having to take orders from the Queen of Bightmoon. If you don’t have independence already then we need to bring that up at the next meeting.”

A look of confusion, then understanding. “Oh, you mean because of the whole ‘got voted new leader of the new Princess Alliance’!” Glimmer laughs. “That thing!” Her laugh is sharp and not at all happy. “The thing slowly driving me insane and that I’m almost Definity messing up right now as we speak!”

Adora nods, stops. Frowns instead. “You’re not ruining the Alliance.”

Up comes the fist with its crumpled paper victim. “Well I’m sure not doing a good job running it.” Glimmer waves the paper as an example. “Ten hours reading, sorting, trying to figure out what ideas are most important and who needs to talk to who about getting what done when, and do you know what I have to show for it?” Releasing her hair Glimmer uses both hands to ball the paper up, crushing it furiously. “A mess!”

Hauling back she throws. Adora’s head swivels, following the paper ball as it smacks into one of the many posters on Glimmer’s walls, striking a crudely drawn Hordak square in the mouth.

“Good shot.” Adora turns back as Glimmer buries her face in her hands. “Those decisions have too much to do with the Kingdoms and non-military governing for me to help with, but I could organize a little if you want.”

“Organize?” Glimmer’s voice comes out muffled. “Adora, my room looks like someone set off a bomb in a printing press.”

Unclasping her hands Adora scoops up the nearest mess of papers. “You’ve been laying things out so you can reference them easily. All that needs is a system. Maybe some color coding. Bow brought me ‘the whole rainbow in sticky notes’ after he saw my Princess Prom workshop, so we have the materials already. We can get started right after dinner.”

Slowly Glimmer lifts her head. “You’re serious.” Her eyes are wide, disbelieving.

Adora nods. “It’ll help. Probably.” Scraps together a tentative smile. “At least it’ll look good.”

“Like organization, like organizer.” Glimmer shakes her head at Adora’s confused look. “Nevermind. Don’t you have other reports to make? Other peoples’ reports to look over?” She points accusingly at the report lying abandoned in Adora’s lap. “You spent a whole day doing just one of those, you don’t have time to clean my room on top of all that! You need stuff like food- and sleep!”

“So do you.”

Glimmer pouts. “I get half my energy from a magical shiny rock. One missed dinner won’t kill me.”

Adora mimics her pout. “But it’ll make me sad.”

“Oh hush.” The corner of Glimmer’s mouth quirks up even as she said it, Adora notices. “Still. Five hours on ONE report. Not good! You need rest.”

“Actually I spent one hour working on a different report, took a lunch break, and did some five minute sword exercises whenever my hand started cramping up.” Setting down the now neatly stacked papers, Adora meet and holds Glimmer’s gaze. “This would help me too.” She promises. “With the reports. I won’t have to rewrite them so many times if I can get a better idea of how things work in and between the Kingdoms. Which is basically your job, now.”

Glimmer’s hand falls. “Right… You do know my mom was running the Alliance for years and I only got started yesterday. If you have questions, ask her not me.”

“She isn’t the one who’ll be setting new policies going forward. Also.” Adora gives Glimmer a look as the princess opens her mouth to interrupt. “This isn’t the same Alliance your parents founded. It can’t be. The war has changed, your way of fighting it has to change too.”

“Our.” Glimmer corrects instantly, frowning. “Our way of fighting.”

The papers scattered around Adora are suddenly very interesting. She picks another sheaf up and looks it over, a vaguely agreeable sound rising in her chest. “Mm.”

There’s quiet in the room. No fountains or water features here, just the faint whisper as Adora turns over a page, still reading.

Then the bed shifts and Glimmer carefully moves the newly stacked papers to the side, making room for herself. Legs dangling next to Adora’s she hunches forward, arms braced on her knees, hands tangled tight together, still frowning.

“I hate that stupid vote.”

Papers settle on Adora’s lap, instantly forgotten. “You don’t want to lead the rebellion?”

“I guess I do?” Glimmer worries at her gloves, tugging the fingers, picking at the band aids. “I just never pictured it happening this way. Or being like this.”

Adora leans forward too, hands clasped between her knees, mirroring her.

“I don’t know what ‘this’ is…” She confesses as she watches Glimmer slowly peel off a strip of adhesive, ducking her head a little to see every line pinching between Glimmer’s eyes. “…unless you mean the paperwork.”

A hollow laugh as Glimmer flicks the band aid away to fall into the mess below. “No, I about knew that part. It’s more the sitting around for hours thing. Doing nothing. Alone.”

The light in the room is fading but instead of standing out brighter the sparks in Glimmer’s hair seem like they’re dimming along with it, like the darkening room is squeezing the life out of them.

The thought squeezes something in Adora’s chest.

“You don’t have to.”

Adora’s fingers creak as she clenches them together, staring down at them, wishing for her sword and a problem simple enough to cut through.

“You have Bow and your mom.” She says instead, as if Glimmer could’ve somehow forgotten that. “Perfuma, Mermista, Entrapta, Frosta- and Swift Wind would stay for an afternoon, if you asked. Castaspella always wants you to visit. Spinnetta and Nettossa have the most field experience of anyone…”

Out of the corner of her eye she can see Glimmer looking at her. Listening. Waiting.

Adora takes a deep breath. “…and me.” She tacks on softly, “I’m here, too.” Clearing her throat she decides she will never not have her attention on her own white-knuckled hands. “I can organize papers. If you want.”

The room is full of shadows. The last light of the bight moons has drained away-

-but a there’s a faint glow besides her, Adora realizes suddenly, painting her own shadow faintly on the far wall, lighting the room with soft and shimmering sparks.

A bandaged hand reaches over and brushes her tight knuckles.

“I’d like that.” Glimmer says, already smiling as Adora glances over at her. “You sure though? I mean. It’s paperwork.”

“I’m sure.”

Adora confirms, the lead weight in her chest melting away along with the lines of tension in Glimmer’s shoulders.

“Anyway.” The words slips out too fast for her to review them. “The only thing I like being around more than paperwork, is you.”

“Oh?”

Heat burns Adora’s face. She tries to at least keep her expression straight as Glimmer’s smile breaks into an enormous grin.

That gets a lot harder as Glimmer pries one of her hands free and takes it gently in hers.

“Well in THAT case!” With a hop and a twirl Glimmer lands on the first of the floating steps, still holding Adora’s hand, still smiling in way that makes Adora’s neck prickle and her stomach swoop with vertigo even though she is very clearly not falling at the moment.

Then Glimmer bows, sweeping her cape aside with her free hand, silly and graceful- and now Adora is grinning too.

“Join me for dinner, your highness?” Glimmer asks with a playful wink.

Still grinning, Adora snorts. “Yes. And I’m not royalty. Maybe a bureaucratic officer.”

“Madam secretary, then.”

Adora looks pointedly around at the paper-strewn room. “Does the Rebellion even have those?”

“We do.” Glimmer un-bows herself and tugs, and Adora lets herself be pulled to her feet. “They’re just busy with non-top-secret stuff. But I’d make them a thing, if we didn’t have them already. For you.”

Her eyes really do shine don’t they? It isn’t just reflected light- there’s dream-like moon glow to them that Adora always somehow forgets about until she’s face to face with Glimmer again and staring down at her like this.

…maybe she should stop staring.

“Maybe you still could.” Adora muses aloud, still staring. “Make them a thing. The bur- the secretaries. Maybe I could be your top-secret secretary.”

A squeeze on her hand, a laugh from Glimmer, bursting and bright as she teleports them.

“Alas!” Glimmer sighs dramatically even as the sparks clear, “that’d probably be some really big work code violation. You’ll have to do volunteer work, I’m afraid, at least until after the war and someone else gets voted in as head of the Rebellion.”

Adora settles back on her heels on the solid floor and blinks. “After the war? Someone else?”

“Sure.”

Glimmer says it as easily as breathing as she steers them both towards the door.

“We’ll need to renamed it. Something less rebellion-y, more unity-y, but- You can help Mermista or whoever with paperwork during the day, since you like it so much. And I’ll take you out to dinner each night!”

Dinner each night? Ah, then that would be- “Sounds like on of those ‘date’ things Bow was telling me about.”

Glimmer freezes, free hand on the door handle.

“Um. A- a date, yeah.” Tentatively she glances back up at Adora. “If you, if you want?”

Adora smiles and nods. “After the war, we’ll have dinner together every night.” After. Huh. What a weird thought. “It’s a date.”

What a strange light that suddenly flares in Glimmer’s face.

“Right. One sec.”

A flash and Glimmer is back on her bed, frantically grabbing up handfuls of papers and stuffing them into her arms.

Still smiling, Adora shakes her head and calls up. “Remember dinner? I'm filing it under "critical resource management priorities". You said you’d eat first.”

“I will!” Glimmer says from the rising flurry of papers. “I will I will, I’m coming, just-”

Flashing back down she grins sheepishly over her pile of haphazard documents.

“Don’t wanna fall behind on the war-winning.” She laughs, then coughs as Adora beams back at her, and finally awkwardly holds out her elbow- the only part of her arms not already occupied. “A-anyway. Shall we?”

“Sure.” Adora eyes the offered elbow for a second before carefully tucking her hand into its crook, the way Glimmer did with hers sometimes. “Like this?”

“Ye-p." Glimmer pops the 'p' with giggle. "Exactly like that.”

All that paper gathering has left Glimmer a bit red in the face. The flush doesn’t go away as Adora opens the door for her and they slip out into the hall, falling in step side-by-side.

In fact Glimmer’s face is still a little pink as she coughs again and asks.

“So uh. Not to pry but- WHEN was Bow talking to you about dates? No, wait- why. WHY was Bow talking with you about dates.”

“I don’t know why.” Adora admits, making a mental note to check Glimmer for fever if she’s still flushed an hour from now. “It was right after the three of us went on that wilderness training exercise. The one where everything was fine because Bow had the map, only then suddenly we didn’t have Bow, and then it was night.”

“Oh.” Gimmer winces. “That.”

“Yes. We had to cuddle up together for warmth, remember? And then Bow found us the next morning-”

“I remember I remember!”

“Well.” Adora nods, happy to be on the same page. “It was right after we came back from that.”

“Okay good. Great." Glimmer mutters. "Very normal.” Mumbles to herself. "Noooo ulterior motives there." Growls softly. "Jerk." Sighs. "I hate it when he's right.."

Listening vaguely, Adora watches how rather than fading, the redness in Glimmer’s face only gets worse. She shortens her steps a little- Glimmer might still be winded from paper gathering, she might need the extra breath to get oxygen into her blood and finish recovering. Basic aerobics. Something she understood.

But since Adora herself does not need to recover and there are other things she doesn't understand, she continues cheerfully.

“Bow was also talking about vehicle stability versus streamlined design, I think." She's been wondering why ever since. Maybe Glimmer understands? "Specifically the redundancy of a third wheel, for some reason.”

"He was WHAT!?"

Glimmer's yelp sends an avalanche of paper cascading from her arms and all over the floor. It is another ten minutes before they finish gathering, and re-stacking, and can start walking towards dinner again. It takes that long for the renewed flush in Glimmer's cheeks to fade away.

Adora is smiling the whole time.

And, despite her earlier alarming sound of distress, Glimmer is smiling too.

Dates are nice, Adora decides, linking arms with Glimmer again as the head off, especially if they help Glimmer relax.

Hmm....maybe we should have a few more, before the end of the war? She considers the thought carefully. As a moral booster. Or a maintenance procedure. For strategic purposes...

Glancing down at Glimmer's bright eyes and easy grin, Adora feels her stomach forget where the floor is again.

... and not because I feel better looking at her.

Glimmer catches her staring and winks.

Adora grins back weakly. Well. Keeping my own moral up is important too, probably...

...

I'd better put that in a separate folder though.

Somewhere a safe distance away, Bow sneezes.

“Gay,” he blesses himself, and smirks. “Speaking of- I bet they’re finding excuses to snuggle up with each other right now. I bet Adora went to make sure she had dinner, and Glimmer didn't throw a hairbrush at her," he rubs ruefully at the oddly overly neat spot in his hair, "and then she got all clingy, and- Ahh.”

Bow sighs, leaning back on his chair with his arms tucked behind his head. "I love peace and quiet. And I love being right~"

He was and they were, but he wouldn’t know that for sure.

Not until two hours later, anyway, when Glimmer exploded into his workshop and imploded into excited sparkles about it.

#spop #glimmadora #fanfic #oneshot #glimadora #my eyes are burning #tired #why the hell did i suddenly remember this wip and these two idiots #argh #i am NOT proof reading this #NO

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mr-peptobismol · 11 months ago

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Anon that bullied you about Sukuna. You can call me whatever. Think of me as something that may or may not exist.

“The clouds overshadowed everything, yet light still managed to escape them, illuminating the one good thing he had at the moment.”

What time of year is it? And what time of day is it? Certain animals make certain noises depending on the time. Since it appears to be the evening the Evening Cicada would be a good pick. It’s associated wuth melancholy and tragedy.

“Megumi pulls Yuji in for a kiss, guiding the knife he had hidden into Yuji’s back.”

Aggresive mimicry is when a hunting strategy involves luring prey with mimicry. Sometimes this results as a predator pretending to be a potential mate. You might do good with an animal metaphor here. And expanding on how being the predator makes Megumi feel worse.

“A few seconds left of life, and all Yuji can do is cling to Megumi. “Fushiguro- I don’t want to die… I don’t wanna die…!” He cries, clinging on tighter as he cried. The next moments were a blur.”

This would be a good time to compare the wails to a dying prey animal. Megumi canonically likes documentaries and animals. He’ll probably call a particularly brutal scene from one.

““Wake up.” He gently shakes the corpse, only then realizing the blood that stained his clothes and his hands.”

Megumi might compare himself to a dog that has caught the car and doesn’t know what to do. Might even get angry that Yuji didn’t fight back more.

“Megumi, doing whatever he could to protect Yuji, would lay down his life, here and now. “With this treasure I summon-”

Running with the dog metaphor this would be more like food aggression. Yuji is his kill and no one else is allowed to have it. He might not even summon Mahoraga because that would mean it would eat Yuji too. You could do something where he summons the Divine Dogs and he looks more beast-like than they do.

“The curse that had consumed Yuji’s body was approached slowly. It wasn’t stupid, it knew this wasn’t a fight that would be easily won. However, the escape it planned was cut short, the curse known as Itadori Yuji, had grabbed a hold of it. It didn’t even give it a second thought before consuming the curse whole. Just as it had done to his body.”

This would be a great time to remark on how Megumi turned his prey into an apex predator, almost like a manifestation of his carnal hunger.

“Fushiguro Megumi couldn’t come to terms with his death, and in the end, cursed him. The guilt he carried from his actions would keep him alive. All because loving in the world they were forced to live in was a cruel act.”

Can expand on how nature is cruel and operates on brutal cycles of consumption. Also ties it more into Buddhist stuff this series is based on.

I guess my notes are mostly. Be the insufferable gothic lit writer you’ve always wanted to be! (I’m making bold assumptions here but it’s ok to be weird with it.)

Recovered enough from surgery to respond 🙏🙏 truly living the life of an AO3 author now.

You are my savior, anon that bullies me every chapter leak. I’ll do some revisions when I find my google doc of this fic, then I’ll post it on AO3 and never update it.

Big fan of parallels but I forget to add them unless it’s a Big thing I’m emphasizing (typically seen in the RPs I do rather than fics 💔💔)

Also thank you for helping me develop my writing in general 🫶🫶 I’m using it to make children cry over fictional characters I’ve created, as you intended

#anonymous #asks

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d1nnerd0g · 1 year ago

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Hey it's that anon again. y'know that one from like a day ago. or a few days ago I don't have a good sense of time. it could be 2030 for all I know

I think my most major like, post-canon take is that I'd probably sorta hate it if I were treating it as a real completely serious canon continuation of Homestuck. Instead I read it more like fanfic than anything, just slightly more Creator Approved than most fics.

Not to say I lack standards of quality for fanfic, but I am more open to certain character alterations and interpretations (there are still more than a handful I don't like in post-canon) because I am more cool with seeing it as someone else's vision of a character rather than them being "utterly ruined" in canon or whatever.

I think it also helps that I read all of Homestuck a couple years after HS^2 paused so I wasn't in the active fandom during all of that (I almost was! I originally tried reading back in 2011 but I fell off of it within 500 pages because I had bad taste) so I didn't actually have my opinion particularly swayed by outside influences and was just more willing to give it a fair reading.

My next most major post-canon take is that, as an epilogues and HS^2 liker, the most recent upd8 is quite literally the best I've actually felt about the writing in ANY post-canon content. I think even if I DISLIKED HS^2, I'd still be interested in seeing where it goes from here, after that.

Hi! I waited til I read all of HS2 to reply so I actually know what I’m talking about. I get you on the benefits of backreading, reading this thing in one go I cannot imagine waiting month-long pauses in between scenes, boy can you really feel them in the text (in a way that wasn’t true in the original comic.)

I don’t find that either the AH-lessness or the divisiveness of the postcanon stuff changes the fact that this is the de facto continuation of the canon storyline - it is the reason any of us are reading it. Them framing the epilogues as an AO3 fic doesn’t make them any less on homestuck.com, rejecting this continuation is an active choice you have to make as a HS reader.

Anyway reading HS2 I was surprised both by how little plot occurred (except in Candy, ironically -- oh my GOD I cannot believe Meat decided to do 3 more years of The Yard/Meteorstuck) and how overall unobjectionable it was? This comic’s just been a lot of really nice art and decently written character banter, and that’s essentially it. Then both took a shocking nosedive in ch15/16, the worst writing I’ve seen in all of HS/postcanon, which was so egregious that I think… if the New Team honestly cares about this project shouldn’t they at the very least go back and revise some of that? At least fix the numerous typos?? Instead we get Terezi offering wry meta commentary that this time she’ll “do it right”, which already communicates a dismissive attitude I’m not impressed by. But hey all we've seen so far is two new conversations, everybody loves Sollux, let’s see if JR can fanfic his way into a compelling story.

…Seriously tho anon, thanks for sharing your thoughts and I absolutely just used your ask as an excuse to bitch some opinions out. It remains true there’s nothing in HS2 that I like that hasn’t already been done or done better in fanworks, except drawing Jane looking extremely bangin I guess, but I haven’t sought that out, as a fan, so it’s like the gift I didn’t even know I wanted, and didn't want

#ask #hs

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aewinning · 2 years ago

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@bittermachine sent the deep fic writer asks list to me in Discord and asked a whole bunch of them. I figured I'd go ahead and post my answers on tumblr in case anyone else was interested! And of course anyone is free to ask more from the list as well.

6. what's the hardest part of the writing process for you?

Getting out a first draft. Once that's there the revision and editing process is a breeze, even if involved. But actually getting words down is sometimes an extremely painful task.

7. how does receiving or not receiving feedback/support impact you?

If I don't receive feedback or support I'll drift along from project to project when my brain decides it's ready to write something. If people vocally support something I've written and say they want more, that tends to get me thinking about what 'more' would look like and sort of guide my interest that way for my next projects.

9. what's your writing process like?

Sit at computer, open Scrivener (which I have customized to look like the AO3 theme I read in, Reversi), open a cherry Bing energy drink, and start writing. From there I tend to have two modes: distracted, where I can't focus for shit and end up tabbing out often to scroll tumblr or twitter so I don't feel like exploding when the words won't come, or hyperfocused, where I'll sit down and write literally all night or until the fic draft is finished. There is no in-between for me.

10. how has writing positively impacted your mental health or overall mood?

I've used it to vent heavy feelings before back when I was writing for the Homestuck fandom, but it's also helped me find a fair few friends I wouldn't have found otherwise. It's a good hobby for connecting with people.

12. What’s your perfect environment to create/write?

Cool but not cold, quiet or with instrumental music that fits the vibe and doesn't distract me, no strong smells unless they're sweet (I'm very sensitive to smells), a dim or dark room, a second screen for research, an ergonomic keyboard and a comfy chair, nobody else around, and an endless supply of Bing energy drinks.

Yes, it specifically has to be Bings. I hate the taste of most energy drinks and tea and coffee but the original cherry Bings are a delightful way to perk me up and help me focus. They're also just part of the routine at this point - I think I pavlov'd myself into only being able to write with them or something, back in my Homestuck days. Something else cold and carbonated can at least help me focus in a pinch if I don't have Bings though - it's really the cold bite and the carbonation that help me more than the caffeine.

13. Do you take pride in your writing, or does it embarrass you? Why?

Pride, of course. Not in the sense that I think I'm better than anybody else, but why would I spend the time creating and sharing something I wasn't happy with? Also I have no shame. Live life free of cringe and judgment.

14. Do you compare yourself to other writers? In a positive or negative way?

Sometimes, and usually in what I guess would be a negative way. Either "wow they write so much, how do they do that?" or "wow, this is so good, I wish I could be that good/write like this." But then at other times I'll come across fic that's wildly ooc or has terrible grammar/spelling/formatting and I'll be like "but at least I'm not *this* bad" and click back out lmao. So it probably balances out.

Occasionally I'll see a fic that's just terrible or has a concept I don't vibe with that has more views/kudos/whatever than mine but in that scenario I tend to just lament for the state of fandom nowadays (old man shakes fist at cloud meme: "so this dreck is what's popular nowadays!?") But I'm aware comparing yourself to others is a bad habit so I try not to do it in either direction, it just manages to sneak through sometimes anyways.

17. What’s the best engagement/interaction/feedback you’ve received from someone who’s read your work?

Hard question but probably the fact that a few of the people that subscribed to me back during my Homestuck years read my Genshin fic even if they don't play Genshin. I personally don't tend to read fic without the context of the series because the interest just isn't there for me, so it's a huge compliment to me that someone would like my writing enough to stick with me through a fandom change.

18. Do you only write when you’re inspired, or do you try and sit down at specific times and write no matter what?

I usually only write when inspired because it's like pulling teeth otherwise, and not worth the time and frustration. It's a hobby, not an obligation. But by 'inspired' I really mean 'focused' because there are plenty of times where I have inspiration but I'm running up against a mental wall when I try to write.

I've been having this issue recently trying to write Foul Eggacy 3 - the whole thing is plotted and outlined, I have 2.5 scenes written, but for the past few weeks every time I sit down to try to write I only get a few paragraphs written even if I sit all night because I just can't focus and the words won't come easily. I'm trying to push myself more than I usually would on this one because I'd like to release it before Baizhu's release in 3.6, but I won't force it. I'm only going to release it before then if it's done and I'm satisfied with it. I want to get it right the first time.

19. If you could write an ideal fic, what would it include?

I don't really think there's such a thing as an 'ideal' fic but. I guess the dream would be to someday be able to write a longfic of people falling for each other convincingly, with good pacing, a believable scenario, and the hottest fucknasty sex as a payoff for sticking with it. It doesn't have to have much in the way of 'plot' as long as the character and relationship development is good.

I'm just not great at longfic because of my focus and memory issues; I often have to reread what I've already written even in a one-shot fic if it gets too long, to make sure dialogue and tone stays similar throughout a fic and I didn't forget anything. Something like the Foul Eggacy series is already pushing my boundaries since I have an entire AU constructed for it, so I've had to reread the first two fics multiple times while outlining/writing 3 to remind myself what I've already revealed to readers, catch the foreshadowing I dropped, etc. And of course lots of note-checking! But the bigger the work or series, the harder it gets. I have massive respect for people that write good longfic because of my own difficulties with it.

20. What’s the greatest gift you’ve gotten from your writing?

Friends and a degree of confidence! I've met a *lot* of people over the years through my writing, people that came to follow me on tumblr after reading my fic or talking to me in comments, some of who ended up being good enough friends that we talk regularly on Discord.

As for the confidence, I certainly can't say writing fic has 'fixed' my confidence issues, but getting even a kudos, much less a nice comment or a reblog/retweet/rec of my work, really boosts my mood. And it's nice to feel like putting fic out there is giving back to fandoms that pull me through tough times. Like yeah, I'm sure there are plenty of writers I'll never be as good as - but that's fine. As long as I'm putting a net positive into the world with my fics, helping someone get through a bad day by reading about their fave being wrung dry, that's enough for me.

#aewinblabs #aewinanswers #/#//#///#writing

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chuuyasnumber1fan · 16 days ago

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First Chapter is here!

The smell, the taste, the sight—he was drowning in it. Thick as iron, it coated the ground in dark, glistening pools. Bodies fell like broken dolls, their faces frozen in shock, their gasps lost to the chaos. And at the centre of it all, sword in hand, stood the one who had betrayed them.

A brother. Watching as his very own kin became corpses. "Oh, don’t worry, you’re not worth killing, my foolish little brother." Itachi.

“Itachi!”

Sasuke burst out of bed in a cold sweat, panting as he wiped his forehead. The sheets tangled around him like chains. It was just a nightmare, Sasuke told himself. But that nightmare had happened. He’d experienced it 518,400 times already. Was that not enough? How many more times would the agony of that moment haunt him and would it ever stop, or would this torment persist endlessly until the day he could finally claim vengeance? Here's my opening. Okay, so over the recent holidays (when I probably should be revising for my college exams...) I got obsessed with Naruto again and rewatched the entirety of OG Naruto and most of shippuden all over again. I rewatched and re-read a bunch of old fan comics, fanfictions, fan animations, and I just got a burst of creativity that I haven't had since I was a 12 year old on wattpad! But, now with my much better literary skills, I present to you the title of my new work on AO3! "Snowdrop With a Bleeding Heart" by Itz_cidiyumJen.

It follows the canon episode from 3-5 of the OG anime, and you'll probably notice that immediately. That's just the starting point and the next chapters after that will be much more original but I do suggest you read my first chapter anyway. I added a few extra details and my own observations and perspective of those episodes. I am using it as a foundation to spur the fanfic into it's own realm of fanon but I want to stay true to the characters the entire time.

Also, if the title wasn't obvious enough, I'm a sucker for natural imagery. You won't be seeing it in the first chapter but be prepared for there to by some recurring motifs.

Another thing. I'm not a huge fan of smut or even drawn out making out scenes. I want the love in this fanfic to be of the purest form. In my opinion, Naruto and Sasuke at heart are just traumatised kids who need to be on a path of healing together and have a bond deeper than physicality. Physical touch will be a no-brainer but sexual themes will not be present (I also have no clue on how to write them in the first place...) If anyone else has returned to their Naruto phase (or never left) I do hope you check it out! Any feedback is much appreciated. And most of all, I just want to hear your thoughts. I love writing and ever since my courses have been all science-y, math-y based, I want to hold onto it.

#sasunaru #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #naruto #sasuke uchiha #sakura #og naruto #kakashi hatake #ino yamanaka #hinata hyuga #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 writer #naruto uzumaki #canon divergence #canon divergence au

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empyrean-thrones · 1 year ago

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Chapter 4

"The sparring ring is where riders are made or broken. After all, no respectable dragon would choose a rider who cannot defend themselves.” — Major Afendra’s “Guide to the Rider’s Quadrant” (Revised Edition)

Ao3 Link

The humid sparring ring reeks of sweat as Rhiannon and I stand on the sidelines of the giant foam mat. I try not to gag at the scent as I watch Ridoc and a girl named Aurelie circle each other through gritted teeth. My feet are killing me. The very center throbs and flares at irregular periods. If I’d have known sooner, I’d take one of my pain relieving potions — especially since we apparently do sparring in the mornings after Battle Brief. Mira should’ve at least warned me about this. Ridoc takes up a defensive pose as the woman prepares to strike. She’s an inch or two shorter than me but almost built like Mira. Her muscles are mostly honed around her legs but her biceps have enough strength to make up for the lack of power in her fists. I try not to stare too long at her pecs and look around for something to distract myself from my screaming feet. The wall behind me is entirely made up of windows and doors. If I turn my head, I can catch a glimpse of the garden Mother likes to tend in her free time. Despite the breeze coming in, I’m still sweating buckets which doesn’t help me in any capacity. Women are dressed in dark gray shorts and tank tops while most of the guys are shirtless because they think shirts give their opponents “something to grab onto” because that totally makes sense. Well, at least it gives me something to focus on besides my feet. The only ones who aren’t shirtless are Dain, Xaden, and Coach Emetterio.

There are three squads from each wing here, including two section leaders. Across our mat, the coach frowns, muttering to himself when Ridoc fails to block a punch. Dain watches next to him with folded arms. Aurelie’s fist comes up sharply from under Ridoc’s jaw, causing him to stumble back for a second before he decides to tackle her. The insides of my stomach flutters nervously and I spare Rhiannon a glance. She’s doing warm-up stretches with her arms but I can tell from the look in her eyes that she’s worried about something, probably Battle Brief. “You okay?” I ask, shifting my weight onto my right side in the hopes that it might alleviate some pain. She scans me for a few seconds.

“Are you?” I try to hide my grimace with a smile as the pain in my feet flare up again. I should probably sit down on one of the nearby benches but I haven’t even fought anyone yet. All I’ve been doing this whole morning is sit in a chair. If anyone sees me like this — if Dain ever notices — the wing will view me as a liability.

“I’m fine. Are you still thinking about what Professor Markham said?” She pauses. “Poromiel’s not going to give in. They’re stubborn bastards who don’t know how to take a hint — they’re all like that.”

“How do you know?”

“My mom did interrogation duty for a while. She says they all refuse to spill their secrets, even while on the cusps of death.” I shrug. “Makes you wonder what shit they’re plotting in those rice fields of theirs.”

“So we’re just going to have to keep killing them until we retire?”

“I hope not. I really want to travel to Shizuyaka one day.” That place looks like paradise on earth. Just staring at the cherry blossoms painted in the Archives’ books never fails to send shivers down my spine. If I could bring Mother and Mira to one of those hot springs, it’d be a dream come true. They at least deserve a two week vacation for their contribution to Navarre. But since the war started, the island nations’ trade routes have been blocked and visitors from the homeland aren’t exactly welcomed there.

“It’s just–” A tooth goes flying and there’s a streak of blood. I flinch when Aurelie stumbles off the mat, clutching her left cheek.

“Okay, that’s enough!” Emetterio orders. He sighs, clearly unimpressed, and looks at Rhiannon. “You and you.” He nods to her and some other guy in our wing. They take their positions on opposite sides of the mat as someone leads Aurelie away to the healers. “Begin!” Rhiannon moves first, striking her opponent square in the chest. She moves fast, knocking him to his knees before he can even land a hit on her.

“Damn!” I whisper. For a moment, I forget about my aching feet. My fingers itch with the urge to write down notes for later. I don’t have anything on me, though, so I just have to rely on my memory to hold onto those moves.

When she has him on his back, she asks, “Do you yield?” The guy squirms, trying his best to remove her foot from his chest.

“No!” he bites back. His legs try to wrap around hers in a way I could probably achieve under different circumstances, but he doesn’t quite reach the right angles and Rhiannon manages to sweep them back with little effort.

“He yields,” Dain says.

“I do not!”

“Yes, you do,” Emetterio says with little room for argument. He points a finger at me as Rhiannon helps the guy up. “You,” he turns to Imogen now, “and you.”

“Huh? Wait, she’s…” I start, but he silences me with a hard stare.

“No powers today. We’re just assessing.” Imogen just grunts in response as she takes her place. Dain shifts his feet anxiously but nods for me to move. Swallowing, I take my place, praying to Dunne for strength. The Marked One narrows her pale green eyes at me with nothing but contempt.

“Sorrengail, huh?” she murmurs, licking her upper lip. I resist the urge to shudder and ball my hands into fists. Show no weakness. “Let’s see if you’re as good as that sister of yours.”

“I’m more than capable of holding my own,” I can’t help but retort. The coach orders us to begin and my instincts immediately tell me to flee. I dodge a pale fist flying towards my face and step back a few paces.

“Keep as much distance as you can when it comes to larger enemies.” I try to recall most of Dad’s teachings from when he trained me in the sparring room at home. “Their hits may be slower but they have a lot more impact.” Unfortunately for me, Imogen is not a hulking beast made of stone and moss: she’s a foot taller than me and her arms are jacked. She’s not as fast as Rhiannon but that doesn’t really matter here. She lunges and nearly catches my shirt. I leap out of the way just in time. We do this a few times. Attack and dodge, attack, dodge, swipe. I get lucky and manage to land a hit on her ribs a few times.

Her foot flies at my head but I duck just in time. Right as I lift my head, her other knee rams into my chest, sending me backwards. I gasp for air as I hit the mat and scramble to get onto my feet. Pain stabs through my legs as Imogen’s body barrels into me. This time, I’m knocked to the floor. For a split second, I catch Dain’s alarmed gaze. No, no. Don’t worry about me. I can’t prove him right. Not here, not on my first fucking day. I can’t go down this easily.

I try to shove her off, digging my nails into her skin. Get off. Get off, get off, get off! Her hands reach for my throat but I twist away just fast enough. My teeth sink into her shoulder, earning an enraged snarl, and grab onto two pairs of stumps — wing bones — just between her shoulders. I can feel the remains of wings twitch beneath the fabric but my mind isn’t on that right now. A fist slams into my eye and for a moment I let go. Just as she’s about to reach for my throat, I shove it away and bite down hard on her arm. Soon, there’s a taste of metal on my tongue and fist knocks my head back. Imogen reels back, fury burning in her eyes. I roll away just quick enough to avoid the punch directed at me but her hand yanks my right arm and my face slammed into the mat. “Yield,” she hisses poisonously, as if she can order me around like a dog. Her grip tightens and my arm is being pulled back.

“Violet, yield!” Dain commands, panic edging his voice.

“Fuck off!” I snarl but pain flares as my arm is pulled back further. The ligaments stretch and I let out a guttural cry of agony. Pain. So much pain.

“Yield!” three voices order above me as the muscles in my arm are pulled apart.

There’s the familiar sound of snapping bones, my bones, and a shocked gasp.

The weight on my back is quickly lifted, I’m scooped up into Dain’s arms, and the world around me blurs. He’s murmuring something, the usual words of comfort, but I’m too focused on the agony coursing through my body. I clench my jaw, inhaling through my nose, trying my best not to break into tears. I will not cry. I am an adult, I’ve been surrounded by pain my whole life. I won’t lose my shit over a dislocated arm. He picks up his pace into a trot, and we’re crossing the shorter bridge. I crack open my eyes as the door bursts open.

“Violet?” Winnifred’s voice raises an octave, her large brown eyes wide with worry.

“Hi,” I manage to say over the pain. She doesn’t waste time with pleasantries and ushers us into the infirmary, her grayish-brown curls bouncing with each step she takes. I catch a glimpse of Aurelie who gives me an awkward smile as we breeze by. We stop at a bed closer to Nolon’s office which Dain gently lowers me onto. The contact causes the pain in my arm to pulse once more, threatening to drag me into unconsciousness. All I can focus on is the agony.

“Tell me what happened to her.”

“She dislocated her arm during sparring,” Dain sighs, pulling the hanging curtain to shield us from any onlookers and takes a seat next to me. Winnifred sighs through her nose as she gingerly lifts my injured arm. An involuntary gasp of pain escapes my lips, forcing her to set it back down. “Is it bad?”

“It’s broken. Go fetch Nolon for me while you’re still here. He should be in the back.” Dain hesitates, probably because he knows it’s against the Codex for a rider to enter secluded areas in this quadrant without explicit permission. The old healer gives him an annoyed side eye. “What? Do you need a permission slip? Go on!” She lightly smacks him on the shoulder and he scrambles to the back rooms. I moan weakly as Winnifred rolls back the green sleeves of her robe and takes out an amber liquid in a spherical vial. “Here, take a sip.” I open my mouth just a bit as thick drops fall onto my tongue. I swallow, squeezing my eyes shut at the bitter aftertaste. It’s not long before a pleasant hum courses through my body, placing enough distance between me and the pain to think clearer.

A minute later, a weary looking old man with dark skin pulls the curtain back with one hand. He leans heavily on a cane as he smiles softly at us then turns an accusatory look at Dain. “I take it you had something to do with this?” he inquires.

“I- no, sir. She was doing a hand-to-hand assessment with another cadet,” the brunette explains, looking me up and down with worried brown eyes. Gods, when he is never fretting over someone? No wonder Amber dumped him.

“Imogen,” I say slowly. My tongue’s starting to feel numb from the medicine. “Marked One… she’s a faerie.”

“The Cardulo girl,” Winnifred mutters. “Honestly, what was Lilith thinking, sending her daughter to the Rider’s Quadrant with those people running around? It’s like she sent her to die–”

“She’d never do that,” I cut in defensively. Nolon rolls his eyes but steps forward, unsheathing a knife from its scabbard. Despite being a healer like his wife next to me, he insists on wearing all black and carries his weapons everywhere. I suppose he likes the thrill of being in a high position and getting to boss people around.

“Wait.” Dain reaches for the old man’s arm. We all meet his gaze as he says softly, “You can’t mend her just yet.”

“I’m sorry?” Nolon asks, voicing my bafflement.

“Just… just let the medicine take care of things. No magic.”

“Why on earth would I do that?”

“Because it’s her only way of getting back to the Scribes!” My eyes widen slightly. Dain Aetos trying to smuggle me over to the Scribe’s Quadrant? It’s honestly shocking. “The riders aren’t going to keep her if they find out she’s got contortionist’s disease. You know how they are about picking the right candidates.” His full of such earnestness, it makes my heart hurt. “If she goes out there, she’ll die!”

“Everyone dies, Dain. Why do you think I’m here? Sneaking her in there isn’t going to help anyone in the long run.” Nolon’s right. The window period was last night. If they take me there now, Markham will never let me in no matter how much he wants to. I haven’t taken the entrance exam and sorting me into a squad would derail a whole day’s worth of lessons.

“Mother will find out,” I slur slightly. “Besides, I‘m a rider now.”

“No, you’re a cadet . You’re only a rider if a dragon chooses you,” Dain retorts. I shake my head vigorously. I’m not backing out of this. I’m not going home to see Mother’s disappointed face again after a long day.

“Sorrengails don’t hide, they fly.” It’s a saying my mom always used to say whenever I tried to chicken out of some training exercise that would usually leave me in a cast for weeks. If she’d backed out of becoming a rider at my age, I wouldn’t be here today. I turn my head to the other side, successfully avoiding his gaze

“Vi–”

“No.”

“You’re not going to be the same after this.”

“I don’t care. I’m already twenty, I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Just mend her already,” Winnifred sighs, placing her hands on her hips. He opens his mouth to protest but she silences him with a hand. “If you want to argue, do it somewhere else. This is a place of healing, not confrontation.” He hesitates before sighing in frustration and heads back outside, making sure to close the curtain behind him as he does so.

I nod to Nolon for him to ready his signet’s blessing and Winnifred runs to fetch a leather belt. He presses his cold fingers against the skin of my shoulder once his wife returns with a thick folded belt and places it between my teeth. I readily clamp down it as hard as I can when Nolon makes a twisting motion with both hands, causing the torn muscles and dislocation to right itself. White hot agony explodes past the barrier of Winnifred’s potion and I scream through the leather before darkness consumes my vision.

#first flight #fourth wing #empyrean thrones

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