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mithrilhearts · 2 months ago

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Maeve's 4k Follower Event

Battle of the Plot Bunnies

2024 has been a great year of finishing up fics for me, so it's time to unveil some new ones! I'm so excited to be able to do this, and have you guys help me essentially decide which fic gets tossed into the actual WIP pile next! Which is to say, THANK YOU for your continued support!

There are eight plot bunnies I've plucked from my Ideas list that I'm interested in developing further. Some of them have drabbles already, some have a little outlining attached, and some have barely even a working title.

Each fic will have a small summary and some bullets of information attached to it so you get an idea of what the plot/concept is!

✨ Feel free to ask me about any of those fic ideas for more information if you like! I will provide what I can!

First Round

Battle of the "Modern" ideas

Battle of the "Erebor Never Fell" ideas

Battle of the "Based on another story" ideas

Battle of the "Maeve's Choice" ideas

Semifinals

Battle of the "Cottagecore vs Dragons" Themes

Battle of the "Soulmate vs Time Travel" Tropes

Finals

Battle of the "Cottagecore vs Time Travel" Ideas

‼️Fic Summaries/Information below!‼️ All information below is subject to change as the fics develop

Modern AUs

Courtesy Call - Rated Explicit

While trying to make a most courteous call to pull his RSVP from his cousin's birthday party versus not showing at all, a misdial directs him to a particularly spicy line that's all about receiving a good time with oneself. The man on the other end is both baffled and challenged by a sudden new caller to his private line, but takes the challenge with everything his voice can provide. - Outdated Ficlet

Sweeter Than Honey - Rated Teen+

Bilbo Baggins runs a successful honey farm on the west side of the Brandywine River. His peaceful days of honey handicraft grow tense as a new logging company, owned by one Thror Oakes, draws closer to his land. It’s how he meets Thorin, a lumberjack living under the thumb of his grandfather, the owner. They should have been adversaries - the two are on opposite sides of nature, but as it is so often said: opposites attract. - Outdated Ficlet - Basic Information/Ideas via ask game

Based On Another Story

No Place Like Home - Rated Teen+

Smaug the Terrible was destined to be slain by a hero in king's armor. To prevent such a fate to pass, Smaug, an enchanter of great power, invaded the kingdoms of Erebor, Dale, and the Greenwood, stripping its citizens of their memories, and taking the throne. Banishing the three kings in an attempt to secure his safety, Smaug took the best part of each king, making them more vulnerable than ever. No one was smart enough, nor brave enough, or had enough heart to stand in his way. Until a most unlikely creature tumbles in. - Influenced by Alice in Wonderland & The Wizard of Oz - Basic Information/Ideas via ask game

Forged in Dragonfire - Rated Teen+

Durin the Deathless is a legend to every dwarf that knows the tale. A king, a dragonslayer, and one who possessed great power to do so. The blood of the dragonslayer was to pass from firstborn to firstborn, but as the war calmed, such rumors fell to myth, and those myths became lost with time, even as Smaug sought retaliation some generations later. A retaliation that was deadly, just as it was successful. Erebor had finally fallen. After many years of hardship, a wizard shows himself in Ered Luin, seeking the only dwarf who might be able to rekindle a little dragonfire in his blood to take down one of the world's deadliest creatures. One who is hellbent on claiming every kingdom in Middle Earth beneath his claws. - Influenced by Skyrim - Basic Information/Ideas via ask game

Erebor Never Fell

Heartstones - Rated Teen+

It’s believed that dwarves are blessed in one of two ways: by their heartstone, or their heartcraft, both a calling of the soul. When Thorin is convinced he has neither, a quest for his happiness takes him far beyond the Misty Mountains to the West. It’s in the West that Frerin is convinced they’ll find Thorin’s calling. Be that a happiness of the heart or the craft. - Outdated Ficlet - Basic Information/Ideas via ask game

Thief of Hearts - Rated Mature

Bilbo retired from his life of gentle burglary years ago to care for his ailing mother. With Belladonna's illness getting worse, he seeks out the aid of an enchanter, who is said to give people anything they want in exchange for a little task. Bilbo's task is to burgle one little stone from one lonely mountain under the nose of its king. Lucky for him, Erebor is preparing to host a grand party in hopes of finding a spouse for the oldest prince. It's the perfect distraction, and no one will see him coming.

Maeve's Choice

Twice In A Lifetime - Rated Mature

Just days before the siege on the Dimrill Gate, Thorin voices his guilt about his inability to keep his people safe when Smaug took the mountain. In the middle of an angry prayer to Mahal himself, the ringing of an anvil is the last thing Thorin remembers before waking up within the rolling green hills of the Shire. It’s there he’s greeted by a set of hazels he’d never forget. Not in this lifetime. - Outdated Ficlet

Wretched & Divine - Rated Explicit

After the battle, Bilbo continued to keep the Arkenstone close to his chest to protect those around him. He suspects that there’s more to this ‘Dragon Sickness’ than just the gold, and must figure out how he can save Thorin from his madness. All of this while trying to deal with the dwarf’s fascination with him with an intensity that rivals the obsession of finding the Arkenstone. Or: What if Bilbo had never given away the Arkenstone to Bard and Thranduil, and Thorin never kicked the gold sickness. - Outdated Ficlet

#bagginshield #thilbo #bagginshield fic #thorin oakenshield #bilbo baggins #maeve writes #maeve wips

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whumpsday · 5 months ago

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Whumpmas in July #25

Share a sneak peek of something you're working on

all my WIJ stuff is being completed like the day before since i fell super off-schedule, so here's some other WIPs that are less "on the burner"!

there's a bunch of em, so i'll put them under a read more. this will primarily consist of Kane & Jim and BG3 fanfic things. at the very bottom is something with major Kane & Jim spoilers, but i'll give ample warning.

excerpt from a segment of a Kane & Jim AU RP i intend to edit into its own little thing. still have to put it in past tense and polish it up lol

But he has another problem: how is he to possibly stop this from happening again? He can't stay awake forever. Jack's things he can protect by sleeping in the middle of the floor with nothing, but he can't stop himself from screaming. Can't he? Kane eyes the little scissors that came with the sewing kit, then takes them into the bathroom. This is worth it to not lose access to food, he tells himself. And if nothing else, it will prove to Jack he's serious about trying to be good. He'll do anything to please his rescuer. Using the mirror as reference, he makes an incision into his throat. With all he's been through, he knows where to aim by now. He snips into his vocal chords until the whimpering stops, making sure not to interfere with his ability to breathe. Blood and tears mix in the sink, mostly blood. He presses his hand over his throat until the bleeding stops. It's quicker than usual: faster healing due to the blood, he supposes. It looks nasty, but he can't make noise now, at least until it heals.

this excerpt is from a Kane & Jim-related oneshot. by "related", i mean it takes place tens of thousands of years before K&J's story, when the first vampires were created.

Alukah sliced the man's throat with her sickle, watching the fear die in his eyes as the life left him. The life that would soon belong to her, for an eternity to come. She held him just so, letting his blood drain into the earth where she had prepared the spell, before tossing him in a pile with the rest to be buried later. The farmers said they could be used to nourish crops, an extra bounty on top of their main purpose. The tedium it would require would no longer be a concern, at least: they'd all have nothing but time if this went as planned. The message-girl bounded up to her, undisturbed by the mountain of dead.

this is another Kane & Jim AU, actually a fanfic (not sure if that's the right term to use) of a K&J x MMSS crossover i have with @not-a-space-alien. in the RP we did, Lex was Kane's victim and the hunters handed him over to her instead of Jim. i'm writing an AU of that where things go pretty badly and he gets sent back. i've been working on this for like a year and it's almost done, but i get nervous writing other people's ocs lol i'm always worried i'll write them ooc...

Kane hissed, loud like a feral cat, a sound he hasn’t made since his early days with the hunters. Eyes wild with fear, he tried to exude STAY AWAY FROM ME with every fiber of his being. “Did you just hiss at me?” Ari asked, incredulous. It only made her stop for a moment before she reached for his hair, to drag him away, to drag him out into the sun- Kane had no options left. It was eternal torture, or anything at all he could put between it and himself. It dawned on him that he had absolutely nothing to lose. There was no worse fate he could be punished with. And he’d said he would do anything to avoid it, hadn’t he? He lunged forward, swiping at her neck with bound hands. Ari was quick, but she wasn’t quick enough. Kane missed her throat, but as she turned her head away, his nails clawed at the side of her neck, delicious blood spewing from it. If Kane had been thinking clearly, he would have taken the opportunity to find something to end his life with. But he wasn’t thinking clearly: the only thing occupying his mind was the enticing scent of blood. Ari shouted something, but he wasn’t listening, focused solely on trying to get at the food he needed more than anything. A hard kick to the chest sent him flying back into the wall, further splintering already-broken ribs from yesterday’s beating. He tried to get up again, but promptly collapsed: he had no energy left in his burnt, beaten, starved body for another attack. He’d barely had enough for one. He wheezed, trying to catch his breath around fractured bone.

extremely tiny bit from a Catharsis chapter i have planned, during Luan's captivity

Cyrus’s shoe pressed against the back of Luan’s head, grinding his face into the floor. “This is where you fucking belong. You and every other nobody who thinks they’re hot shit.”

this excerpt is for chapter 2 of Lost at Sea, a miniseries i started a long time ago and never finished.

It had been several days since the monster had taken Digory to her cave, and by some miracle, he was still alive. He was alone much of the time. Each day, she brought him fish- more than he could eat in a day- and a large shell filled with freshwater. Blessedly, he was out of the sun. His skin, though still angry and red, was beginning to heal a bit from more than a week of nonstop exposure. It was miles better than the boat. Digory had been sure he would die there. Of course, he was still in dire straits. His mangled legs weren’t getting better anytime soon, though by this point he’d gotten somewhat used to the throbbing pain of them. He was pretty sure that his feet turning purple was a bad sign, but at least he couldn’t feel them. That was probably worse. And of course, he wasn’t always alone. The mermaid was terrifyingly enormous. She liked to stare at him with unblinking eyes almost as big as he was, her claws as sharp and menacing as her teeth. She could kill him with no effort at all, if she wanted to. She probably would. Digory pretty much figured that was why he was being kept. After starving on that wrecked ship so long, there was little meat on his bones. Every bite of fish he took to sate his hunger was bringing him closer to his own death.

here's an excerpt from chapter 2 of my BG3 fanfic Astarion and the Cleric (remember that?) that if i'm being honest i probably won't ever finish

That gave Astarion pause. “A vow of celibacy.” “It means I don’t–” “Yes, I know what it is, darling.” Astarion’s hand retreated as he attempted to think quickly of a way to salvage the situation. Had a mark said that, he would have normally given up and gone for someone easier. But Gentle was not a mark. Gentle was a reliable source of food, and by some twist of fate the gods surely found hilarious, currently his best means of protection from Cazador. He was an irreplaceable resource, and things were too shaky as they currently stood what with their… moral differences. He had to make sure– “I’d still love to spend the night together.” Gentle spoke in a manner evoking his namesake, stepping ever-closer. “It would simply be less… lustful. Though I understand if you’d prefer to seek elsewhere for your night of passion instead. I overheard Lae’zel expressing similar wishes?” “Ha.” The githyanki was perhaps the one least likely in all the camp to allow him to indulge in her blood. This could work, however. “What exactly do you have in mind?” Gentle’s smile turned playful, his turn to be coy. “You’ll have to wait and see.” “Cheeky. Wait and see I will, then,” he settled on. As Gentle skipped off to enjoy the party, Astarion tried his best to push down the part of him that ended up relieved.

despite only ever posting 1 chapter of Astarion and the Cleric and not even getting to the whumpy part, i went off the rails and started writing an AU of it in which Gentle, the titular cleric, is also turned into a vampire spawn by Cazador.

here's an excerpt of Gentle sealed in a tomb long-term as punishment, something i do intend to post probably next month for augusnippets after i put it in past tense:

Gentle prays. He is unsure by what interval he prays, unable to track the passage of time, sealed in the tomb as he is. He prays whenever it feels right. Sometimes he prays for hours on end without ceasing, sometimes he goes what might be days without, like a child throwing a tantrum. But never longer than that. More often, he prays what might be once every hour or so while he lays awake. For there is nothing for him to do here but pray, and there is no one else to listen but Ilmater.

something else from the same Astarion and the Cleric AU, Gentle helping Astarion get acclimated after he's first turned (i had Gentle be the older spawn)

Gentle’s heart sank when he saw that Master had brought a new spawn along with him into the dormitory. He’d hoped he would be the last. He and Violet already took home plenty of innocents– as much as it tormented him, he could not disobey. But a new spawn? It was a fate worse than his unfortunate victims would get. A fate worse than death. The dormitory did have six beds, in addition to Violet’s seventh in the favoured spawn room. Gentle didn’t like to dwell on the implications. The new spawn looked to be an elf. Master seemed to have a preference for them, himself being the only non-elven member of the ‘family’. An obvious newborn, he was covered in fresh dirt and clearly trying very hard to keep himself from shaking with terror. Gentle could just barely make out wounds beneath the later of filth.

this next except is from an entirely separate BG3 fanfic called Answered Prayer. the premise is that Bhaal hears Astarion's desperate prayers during his phase of "trying" every god in hopes someone will help him. Bhaal sends The Dark Urge (my durge oc Perran) to slaughter Cazador and everyone else there. Perran then takes Astarion for himself and becomes his carewhumper.

Bhaal. Oh, how he’d prayed to the Lord of Murder. To have a sliver of opportunity, a stake steady in his hands. Or for some brave hero to come do the deed themself, vanquishing Cazador for him. For Astarion was a well-suited devotee, was he not? Had he not ended enough lives himself to earn his salvation? As he was made to fight the cultists at Cazador’s word, his master’s will overriding his own, he supposed the answer was yes, not that he’d live long enough to see it. He was weak with hunger, and the hooded figure he’d been ordered to distract overpowered him easily, pinning him to the palace floor despite his struggles. “Not that one,” their leader barked, jabbing a confident finger toward Astarion before running a dagger through Aurelia’s throat. His ‘sister’ gurgled, the terror fading from her eyes as she lost her life for the second time, joining the rest of his downed siblings. The Bhaalist sighed with the same satisfaction one might feel after a full meal, turning his attention toward Cazador. Despite his own dire straits, Astarion paused his efforts at wriggling away to watch. If it were possible, Cazador’s death would make a fine appetizer to his own– or whatever the Bhaalist had planned for him. He’d never thought he would see Cazador overpowered, but the Bhaalist was a force to be reckoned with. Deliciously, he had a front-row view to the slaughter. The Bhaalist made quick work of incapacitating him and slow work of killing him, dragging screams from his throat just as Cazador had done so many times to him. If only the victory were not tainted by knowing he was next. Just like that, Cazador laid dead and bloody on the ground. Astarion could feel it as soon as the gory mess the Bhaalist had made of him transformed from an undead swath of agony to a truly-dead mangled corpse: the thread tying him to his master snapped. He was free, all too late.

the following contains major spoilers for Kane & Jim canon. it's a bit for a future present arc scene i had to write early because it wouldn't leave my head.

Stab the little bitch and make it hurt. The thought pushed its way into Jim’s mind, much louder than his own quiet, dulled thoughts. So much more important. Anton was telling him to stab Kane. Jim walked over to the cupboard drawers and took out one of the silver forks. That should work. Just as Kane got the upper hand and tackled Anton to the floor, Jim plunged the fork into his back. His task completed, he stood idly by as Kane shrieked in pain, the sound and smell of burning flesh permeating the room. Something nagged at the back of his mind- like something was wrong? No, nothing was wrong. How could anything be wrong when he felt this peaceful?

that's all i've got! literally almost every WIP i have in my folders.

@whumpmasinjuly

#whumpmasinjuly2024 #wij24day25 #my writing

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ihaveatheoryonthat · 1 year ago

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At one point, I mentioned that I was torn as to which silly crossover to let myself write for my birthday. Friends in Low Places ultimately won out, but the second option was a Psychonauts crossover. This isn't the same as Power Trick, even though it draws from what I'd put together for that story-- it's an entirely different take on the concept.

If you're unfamiliar with Psychonauts 2 and don't want it spoiled via an incomplete WIP, you probably shouldn't read this one. It even starts with a spoiler, so the whole thing's going under a cut.

---

It wasn’t that the mission to retrieve Helmut’s body was going badly. It wasn’t.

It was just that his body… didn’t stay as trapped as anyone thought it would, and had been roaming, brainless, throughout the Grulovian countryside. But, hey! They didn’t need to chip through nearly as much ice as they’d expected, and Raz was getting a good clairvoyant workout in trying to track him down! There were more pros than cons, in his opinion.

He had yet to decide what category the giant ice mountain fell into. Raz had been tiny when his parents moved the family out of the country, so he would have assumed it had been there for millennia, but the locals insisted it was a new feature. That seemed relevant, somehow. A giant lake gets frozen solid, and then a couple decades later, a big chunk of ice appears? It couldn’t be coincidence. None of the nearby townspeople seemed to know how it got there, though-- just that a couple of years ago, everyone had gone to bed and found it looming over them the next morning.

Now, Razputin may have been a master of neither geometry nor geology, but he was pretty sure that was abnormal mountain behavior, and definitely worth investigation. As luck would have it, Helmut’s body had already moved on from the town, and the mountain was the next stop on it’s predetermined path, which gave Raz a perfect excuse to poke around without ignoring his mission.

When he went to leave the town, an older woman tucked [?] into his hands and told him to carry it with him as payment for safe passage.

Ominous!

He was still going.

The toughest part of the trip was the distance itself-- outside of more developed areas, the snow piled up and was difficult to traverse, though there were numerous grooves worn into the powder, suggesting he wasn’t the first to travel this direction. Not all of them went the same way, and some were deeper than others, which made Raz wonder why the locals would trek all the way out here-- if it was curiosity, tradition or psychic interference drawing them in.

One of the funny things about distance was that it minimized the destination. Slowly, the mountain grew in scale, the opaque ice glittering in the midday sun from a mile away, until it dwarfed everything else. Even at a distance, the dark tunnels leading inward were an immediate contrast against the shining, pristine surface, and in and of itself, that could so easily lure passerby.

Someone who lacked a brain in a very literal sense would stride right on in.

Fortunately, Raz was no mere passerby. He was a mildly trained psychic with a mission, and he kind of knew what he was getting himself into. He made an effort to remember the turns he was taking and thought he was doing a pretty good job… if one were to ignore the fact that he hadn’t actually found anything. Every offshoot led deeper into the tunnel system, and while it made sense that there wouldn’t be much open space inside the mountain, the halls were unnaturally consistent. There came a point where Raz found he could predict what the next set would look like because they all followed the same pattern-- all of them identical.

He was probably caught in some kind of illusion.

Raz wasn’t one to give up, but he could also recognize a lost cause, and right now, he wasn’t making any progress. He had to figure out where the [illusion] was coming from and neutralize it before continuing down this path, so he turned his back on the next fork and began retracing his steps.

To his surprise, it didn’t lead him directly out of the mountain, like a single loop would have. He had to count each repetition down, inverting the turns he’d taken, which made him realize just how far he’d wandered before the pattern registered. He wasn’t worried yet, because he knew where he was going, but it made him reconsider what was going on; maybe not an illusion or a psychic construct, but something focused on disorientation? It didn’t feel like he’d taken this much time on the way in…

He heard footsteps. He whirled around to face the branch off of the tunnel, one hand raised to his temple just in case, and crept closer, hoping he might get the drop on whatever had caused the sound. The silhouette that turned the corner was strange-- tall and disproportionate, wider as it [got lower down].

It was the tale end of a muttered, “--V?” that clued Raz in on its exact nature. He relaxed and-- since there was no point in calling out to a brainless body-- trotted over to start corralling Helmut. The upper half of the silhouette moved, distinct from the body and, now that Raz was looking, rose well above the horned hat. He would have gone on the defensive again, if not for:

“Ah, are you lost as well? Come with me, please; I’ll see you both to your destination.”

He didn’t move, but Helmut’s body did. The second person gripped its shoulder to still it for the moment and raised their free hand. Gradually, light filtered in through the ice-- crystal clear now, instead of opaque with frost, keeping the tunnels dim-- which allowed them to observe one another.

The first thing Raz noticed was that the person looked like he’d lost a fight with a psychic bear; his clothes were ratty and thin in places, but in spite of the [lacking] winter wear, he seemed largely unbothered by the cold. The second thing was that he was incredibly pale-- pale hair, pallid skin, and eyes light enough to reflect back at whoever was looking. He hesitated on the last point, because something was wrong there; while this person was looking at him straight-on, it seemed like he wasn’t seeing Raz properly. Not in the sense that he had bad eyesight, but that he just… wasn’t seeing the same reality Raz saw.

That probably had something to do with the third point of interest: the impractically thick hunk of psilirium that encircled the person’s wrist. It wasn’t the worst Raz had seen by a long shot, but it was still enough to make his eyes water when he looked directly at it. From the corner of his vision, he watched the light play off of it as the man dropped his arm; he wondered how in the world that could have happened, and how this person was going about their daily life wearing the world’s worst mood bracelet.

“Please,” The man said, his clouded eyes sweeping over Raz, “It’s not safe to travel down these tracks. I know the route well, and can lead you back to safety.”

That final word struck a chord, and Raz inclined his head. Was this who the woman in town was talking about? The [?] was meant for him, in return for guiding people out of the mountain?

The man’s shoulders relaxed and the angle of his eyes shifted. He waved Raz over with his psitanium-cuffed hand and waited for him to fall into step after him, adjusting his grip on Helmut’s shoulder to prompt the brainless body onward with them.

“You don’t dress like the locals. Did you come here to investigate Korona? If so, I would highly advise against such a course of action; the paths here are treacherous, almost like they have a mind of their own.” The person said, voice low, but still bouncing off of the icy walls and echoing into the tunnels.

Raz shook his head, and then tilted it toward Helmut’s body, “Actually, I was looking for him.”

He heard a relieved laugh, “Ah, good! Perhaps you’ll succeed where I’ve failed; no matter how I try to impress the danger upon him, he always returns here. It’s… nice to see a familiar face, but I don’t want him to put himself at risk.”

“Do you know him? Who are you?” […]

There was a long pause. “Warden. I’m the warden of this territory. It’s my duty to ensure that none come to harm under my watch.”

[…] “You’re the warden of the mountain?”

He nodded, and didn’t look back.

“Then do you know how it got here?” […]

Warden’s head turned to fix him with a blank stare. “I’m unsure what you mean by that; Mount Korona has been here as long as I can remember.”

Raz felt his brow wrinkle as he considered the impossibility of that, and then realized how it could be true. “How long have you been here?”

The look turned vaguely helpless, and the warden repeated, “As long as I can remember.”

...yeah, the psilirium definitely wasn’t doing him any favors. Raz didn’t think he could take his eyes off of Helmut’s body long enough to do anything about that-- not without running the risk of losing it to the countryside yet again-- but maybe he could come back after this mission was over... or, if not, then at least make sure he reported the person wandering around with an active psychohazard on his wrist. As they walked, he prodded gently at the man’s mind, but wasn’t surprised to find himself repelled; while the psilirium was taking a toll, Warden was in direct contact with it and still functional, which meant his psychic defenses wouldn’t be anything to sneeze at.

For just a second, Raz considered lobbing a confusion grenade, just in case that might increase the man’s lucidity, but he was pretty sure he’d get in a load of trouble for it if anyone found out.

They made it to the mouth of the cave without incident, and Warden inclined his head to Raz, gesturing for him to take over in guiding Helmut’s body. He reached over and took him by a sleeve, and then hesitated. The man was outside of the cave system for now; if he could get him to the base camp somehow, that would make removing the psilirium orders easier. Not only would it save everyone the trouble of hunting him back down, but they would have numbers on their side, and maybe even tools that would help.

Before the stranger could bid them goodbye, Raz hastily said, “You think you could help me get him-- ah-- home? He… keeps getting away from me.”

Warden blinked at him, and then shifted to consider Helmut’s body.

“I can.” He decided, tucking the psilirium-laden arm behind his back and moving the opposite hand to rest upon Helmut’s shoulder. “Lead the way; I’ll ensure that he follows the route you set.”

The trip back to the base camp wasn’t going to be an easy one; it was definitely more direct than the path Raz had picked out, hopping from town to town as he tracked Helmut’s meandering body, but even walking in a straight line, it was a substantial distance. One unexpected silver lining was that, instead of behaving as snow usually did, it parted for them as they passed through, the powdery ice freezing into place on their either side.

Raz reached out with one gloved hand and found that there was no give; it was like it had thawed and refrozen, creating a smooth, glassy texture. He didn’t know cryokinesis, and without a brain, Helmut’s body couldn’t have done that, so he looked to the last off the potential culprits; the warden stared dispassionately out at the horizon line, giving no indication that he noticed the scrutiny he’d been put under. He wasn’t actively moving the snow, but the ambient energy around him-- a psychic aura-- absently pushed outward, and was definitely the reason they could travel unhindered.

He didn’t try to make small talk as they went-- though, occasionally, Helmut’s body chimed in with one-word commentary-- and that seemed to suit the warden just as well. Every now and then, the man would glance over at him, as if to gauge where they were headed and ensure that everyone was where he’d last seen them, but he never offered any of his thoughts, either.

[…]

Belatedly, he realized that they were missing one body, and frantically scanned the area. He found who he was looking for in a matter of seconds, back turned and already on his return trip to the mountain.

“Hey! Warden!” He hollered, and didn’t even need to make up any excuses this time, “Wait up! I’m s’posed to give you something for helping us!”

The man hesitated and only half-turned to respond. While his answer was clearly audible, it barely seemed like he was even raising his voice, “That’s unnecessary. I don’t require a reward simply for doing my job.”

Raz was vaguely aware of the startled breath that sounded behind him, but figured it was just because Hollis realized that the psychohazard was all but wandering away; he decided to stall for time and ran to catch up. “That’s how they said it works in town-- it’s not payment, it’s just, you know, gratitude for helping people out.”

Warden watched as he skidded to a halt, and then sighed. “I appreciate their kindness, but they don’t need to do any such thing.”

“Yeah, and they appreciate your kindness. See? It all equals out.” He tried, insistently offering the [?].

Finally, Warden accepted it, extending his psilirium-laden hand in order to move the cloth back look at what lay beneath. As he did so, a pained hiss sounded from behind Raz-- more than one, in fact-- and the man’s head shot up. His eyes were no clearer than ever, but there was an awareness in them-- the recognition of danger. Panic. Rapidly, he raised his cuffed hand to a temple and… vanished.

So it turned out that he knew how to teleport. That made this a lot harder.

“Razputin,” Hollis said, sounding hoarse, though that could have been a byproduct of the psilirium exposure, “Do you know who that was?”

“Yeah, that was the warden; he helps out whenever people get lost inside the mountain.” […]

“Maybe that’s how he was introduced to you,” [Otto], “But before that, he was one of ours-- an agent who went missing years ago.”

Shaking her head to dispel the lingering effects, Hollis looked from Raz to where the warden once stood.

“Agent Aquato, you just found the lost Agent Motif.”

(Pardon me while I perpetuate the joke about Raz being the best at finding missing persons, be they bodies, brains or something in between.)

---

Raz was pretty sure he recognized the name Motif. The most likely explanation was that he’d read it in a comic somewhere, but that didn’t help narrow it down; he’d gone through a lot of comics in his time, and couldn’t exactly go back and revisit all of them, since his mom family had little to no regard for the preservation of literature.

It must have been the name of a supporting agent, he thought-- either that, or maybe it had been in an advertisement for another issue that he hadn’t ever gotten his hands on. The specifics didn’t really matter right now; it was way more important to find Agent Motif again, and for good this time. It seemed like a pretty good bet that he went back to the mountain-- to Korona-- but it wasn’t as simple as going there and wandering through the tunnels until someone ran into him. Even if they went to the trouble of tracking him down, there was nothing stopping him from teleporting away for a second time.

It sounded like everyone had different ideas how to tackle that problem. Hollis had gone to talk to someone back at HQ hours ago, and Otto was tinkering in his field laboratory, trying to set up something that would inhibit Agent Motif’s powers without relying on psilirium to do the job. Lizzie hadn’t been there to meet him, but when brought into the fold, she’d scoffed and muttered something about lectures under her breath. That seemed a little extreme; it had just been a basic rundown of the facts, not [a lecture].

Raz was on his way to check in with Bob and Helmut again when a new voice caught his attention and-- without thinking-- he found himself wandering toward it.

“Hollis.” The speaker said, steely and without emotion, “What is going on here?”

He stopped just shy of getting a visual, and belatedly realized that this was definitely eavesdropping, but stayed put, too curious to walk away yet.

“We’re on a mission to retrieve a lost agent. You already knew that-- you had no interest in participating.” Hollis said back, utterly unmoved.

“Correct. I had no place in the effort to retrieve Helmut’s body.” The other person somehow both agreed and argued, “We both know that is not why I’m here now.”

“Then why don’t you do us both a favor, Emmet? Explain to me why you are here, just so we know we’re on the same page.” […]

There was a dull thud, only resonating for a split second, “My brother, Hollis. You explain to me why I found out about this through office gossip.”

“At a guess, I would say it was because you were listening in on communications channels again.” Hollis [said] dryly. After a second, she sighed, “This is why I didn’t contact you immediately; we have to get a handle on the situation first. I don’t have any doubt that was Ingo, but he’s not acting like himself, and we need to understand why before diving in.”

“You don’t think it’s the giant piece of psilirium on his wrist?” The man asked, flat but disbelieving.

“After your stint at Charlie Psycho Delta? No, there has to be something else.”

“Our defenses are best when we’re together. He won’t withstand it as well by himself.”

[something gives Raz away]

Both of them went silent, and, after a moment, Hollis called out to him. “Would you care to join us, Agent Aquato?”

Guiltily, he slunk around the corner and through the door. He made apologetic eye contact with Hollis, and then looked to the other person. All at once, the pieces fell together: the surname and given names, the long, worn coat he’d seen Agent Motif wearing, now that he could compare it to an undamaged version, the teleportation out of and into the base--

“You’re the Countertype Conductors,” He said, already raking his mind for everything he knew about the pair of sibling Psychonauts. Since their job was to get agents to and from their destinations, they usually only got passing mentions and cameos, but one of his guesses had been right on the money: Issue 57 of True Psychic Tales had teased a story about psitanium smugglers, and the splash page featured two identical men pressed back to back, channeling psychic energy between their own pointing hands and between one another. He hadn’t ever been able to read that [issue], but any mention of them he had seen was as a pair-- as the Agents Motif or, when a book was getting dramatic, the Countertype Conductors.

Agent Motif-- Emmet-- curled his lip into a grimace at the declaration, and then looked back to Hollis. “This does not get you off the hook. I want to be a part of this mission.”

“There is no mission yet.” Hollis told him, nodding briefly to Raz, “It was just today that Agent Aquato brought his findings to us; we’re in the process of gathering intelligence, not acting on it.”

Agent Motif looked at him again, considering. “Then our business has concluded, Agent Forsythe. Agent Aquato. I want to hear what you saw.”

“Emmet,” Hollis said, low and warning, “Is that really how you want to conduct yourself in front of a junior agent?”

He turned to look her dead in the eye and then, bluntly, declared, “I don’t care, Hollis. It’s been two and a half years. I am beyond caring what anyone else thinks of me.”

They stared at one another for a handful of seconds, neither backing down.

Eventually, Hollis narrowed her eyes. “Actually, I do have a mission for you, Motif. I want you to go speak with Agent Zanotto.”

“He has nothing worth saying. Not to me.” Emmet scoffed.

“No?” / “You don’t think the man who lost his partner has any insight into your situation?”

“No. I don’t. He lost another person. I lost part of myself. It is not the same.” He said, expression twisting in offense, “I am done with this conversation. If you have any useful information, tell me. Otherwise, I will handle the matter myself.”

A stony silence settled over them. Agent Motif shrugged and turned his back.

“You’re not leaving this base.” Hollis warned as he crossed the room’s threshold.

“You can’t stop me.” He said simply, which… was true. They were kind of hung up on how to prevent teleportation right now, without any of the tools from HQ.

Hollis grimaced as he walked away, and her eyes fell on Raz.

“I’m sorry about him, Razputin. It’s… too complicated to explain in full right now.” She pursed her lips in thought, and seemed to [give in], “Could I ask you to keep an eye on him for the evening? You don’t have to approach him again-- I’d actually avoid it, if you can. I just need to know that he’s not doing anything stupid while we figure out what to do about Ingo.”

[…]

“Ah.” He said, sounding less than enthusiastic-- and yet, what actually followed was, “Good. Aquato, I still need information from you.”

Yeah… Raz wasn’t exactly inclined to share, between what he’d seen earlier and the instructions to keep an eye on Motif.

“I don’t think I can tell you anything else. Hollis is probably your best bet.” He tried, thinking that might be enough of a deterrent for the time being, but Emmet just rolled his eyes.

“You do not have to tell me anything.” The man said, tilting his head to the side and closing his eyes, brows furrowed in concentration. For a second, it seemed like he would try to read Raz’s mind, but there was no pressure on the edges of his psyche.

“I don’t think that loophole works when everyone involved is psychic.” […]

Emmet snorted, but didn’t open his eyes. “You don’t have to think anything either.”

He was definitely manipulating some sort of psychic energy. Raz… thought he recognized it as Mental Connection, actually, but the application was completely different from the examples Hollis had used while teaching. It was a little closer to the functionality he got out of it, but there were still more differences than there were similarities.

“That works.” Agent Motif declared after a moment, and made an abrupt turn without opening his eyes. When he did tune back in to the real world, it was to shoot a glance Raz’s way, “I am sorry if this gets you in trouble with Hollis. Tell her I could not be reasoned with. It’s true. I will not tolerate any further delays.”

And, with that, he vanished from the premises.

Well, shoot.

---

The technique Agent Motif had used was, in fact, a branch of Mental Connection-- crossed with clairvoyance in this case. Hollis had given a very general explanation when Raz reported to her, but as fascinating as it sounded, there wasn’t time to delve into that right now. The combination of skills could be used to follow a trail, and there was little wondering where Emmet intended to go.

Raz had been the first to note that he must not have known about Mount Korona, otherwise he wouldn’t have needed to do anything but look out the window. With the confirmation that he was working with a dangerously small amount of information, Hollis decided they had to act immediately.

[…]

It was dim, but the light that did filter through suggested that it wasn’t always the case-- the cavern was dark right now because it was night, and during the daytime, visibility would have been much better. Because of the scant lighting, a number of features were visible: a vaguely circular [platform] in the room’s center, extending seamlessly from the floor, shelves of ice that were two inches thick and still crystal clear, putting their contents on full display, a frozen basin that somehow contained water, albeit with a thin sheet of ice forming on its top and, on the far side of the room, an uneven, knee-height platform.

It was the last [feature] that they gravitated toward, largely due to the fact that there was a person resting on it.

Agent Motif knelt down-- biting back a hiss at the cold that immediately seeped through his pants-- rested a hand on their shoulder, and gently shook it. There was a [startled] inhalation as the other man startled awake, and automatically raised a hand to rub at his eyes.

“Lady O--”

He stopped as soon as the sight registered; even though he’d only cracked one eye open, he somehow narrowed it as he tried to understand what he was looking at, and pushed himself into sitting up. The former Agent Motif looked one way, and then the other-- attention only barely flickering to Raz-- and even up before letting himself settle on the man in front of him. Haltingly, he raised an arm, dropped it, and then frowned at the result.

“You’re… not a reflection.” He said numbly.

Emmet visibly stopped himself from saying something, substituting a slow shake of his head.

The warden hesitated, the silence a blanket of snow obscuring his racing thoughts, and eventually added, “I know you.”

“I know you.” / “I missed you.”

His brother almost reached out, and then snatched his hand back, thinking better of it. It would have been confusing, if not for the way he tucked it into the coat he’d been wearing even in sleep, hiding the chunk of psilirium from immediate view.

Emmet let the hand braced on a shoulder drop, trying to coax it back out by tugging at a sleeve, “It’s okay. It won’t hurt me if we’re together. You’re safe with me.”

While its owner wasn’t convinced, he didn’t put up a fight. The arm slowly eased out, mirrored by a hand that reached over to press their palms together. Raz caught a hint of a wince-- the same expression that had crossed Emmet’s face when he’d first realized how cold the floor was-- but it didn’t stop the man from lacing their fingers together and leaning in until their foreheads touched.

Something must have passed between them, unspoken, because the warden flinched and Emmet raised his opposite hand to the back of his brother’s head-- not forcing him to stay, but steadying him and encouraging him to linger.

“It’s okay.” He repeated, forcing his voice into gentle tones, “I will not let anything else happen to you.”

---

Also, misc notes:

#submas #ihaveatheoryonthat pkmn #ihaveatheoryonthat psychonauts #writing scraps

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kookaburra1701 · 1 year ago

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WIP Wednesday - Wives of Shor II: Kaidan Peregrine

❤️❤️❤️tagged by @mareenavee and @archangelsunited ❤️❤️❤️ tagging @gilgamish @dirty-bosmer @thana-topsy @expended-sleeper @greyborn2

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: T (entire fic is E) Category: M/M Pairing: Kaidan/Lucien Flavius Genre(s): Romance (bodice-rippers my beloveds), bildungsroman Other main characters: Inigo the Brave, she/her Breton LDB

Summary: Instead of actually working on the first fic in the series, I wrote the opening scene in the second fic bc I needed to do some snuggles. Lucien Flavius is by Joseph Russell, Kaidan is by Liv Templeton, and Inigo the Brave is by SmartBlueCat.

3rd First Seed, 4E 203 Kaidan tucked his toes around Fledge’s barrel, attempting in vain to shield them from the bitter cold. This far north there were no trees or even particularly tall shrubs to blunt the edge of the wind, and it found every gap in his fur cloak and hood, no matter how tightly Kaidan wrapped them around himself. Fledge’s head was bowed, following closely in Frost’s tracks as Inigo’s horse broke the trail in front of them. Kaidan still had no idea where on Nirn Inigo had found that horse, but Frost was well-named and seemed almost impervious to ice and snow, breaking a trail as easily as if they were on a pleasure hack in Riften.

The troll’s head behind Kaidan’s saddle was bleeding through the burlap sack, staining the white patches on Fledge’s flank and leaving a broken pink trail behind them. However, if the dark, towering clouds looming over the Sea of Ghosts was any indication it would be buried under snow in a few short hours.

Frost halted, and Fledge nearly ran into his haunches before Kaidan managed to pull him up short. He gave the horse an apologetic pat as he guided Fledge up next to Frost and leaned close to Inigo.

“This next stretch is not so deep, I think,” Inigo said, practically yelling to be heard over the howling wind and through the layers muffling both himself and Kaidan. “Take point to give Frost a rest and then we will push the rest of the way.”

Kaidan nodded in acknowledgment. He could feel Fledge heave a deep sigh as Kaidan urged him in front of Frost. Inigo was correct; for a few miles at least the road was partially protected by a finger of rock jutting out from the Anthor Range. To the North, the Statue of Azura loomed over the road, a constant landmark since midday yesterday.

Deep in his belt-pouch, Kaidan felt an insistent vibration.

Just a little longer, he thought. Lucien’s Dwemer sphere had been resonating at increasingly narrow intervals for the last few days, indicating Lucien was checking on their progress. Kaidan smiled to himself, and picked up his pace. After a weeks’ travel to Dawnstar and a week’s travel back (with a stop to take care of a particularly troublesome ice troll that had taken up residence in Wayward Pass) he was eager to be back in Winterhold.

Never thought I’d be yearning for a wizard’s town. Then again, Kaidan was not yearning for the town or mages in general - rather, a particular mage.

The dwemer sphere buzzed again, this time in three short bursts. A warmth that the cold could not touch swelled in Kaidan’s chest. Lucien was waiting and eager. Fledge snorted in protest as Kaidan pressed his heels into Fledge’s side, urging the horse into the wind, onwards to Winterhold.

Night had truly fallen by the time the College of Winterhold came into view, the queer blue light illuminating the Archmage’s tower piercing the darkness, seeming to float in mid-air over the sea, connected to land only by the string of mage lights illuminating the college bridge. Snowflakes were starting to fall, gathering on Kaidan’s eyelashes and Fledge’s mane.

The snow was cleared from the road, more likely from the howling wind driving it to pile up against the craggy faces of the mountains than by the order of Jarl Korir, but Kaidan would take it either way. He urged Fledge into an easy trot and behind him the chiming of Frost’s hoofbeats on the stone pavers told him Inigo was doing the same. Now that Fledge knew they were well and truly turned for a familiar stable, Kaidan had to hold him steady rather than let him take the bit and bolt towards a bucket of oats.

The large bulk of Masser was hidden from view by the clouds that were stooping over Winterhold when Kaidan and Inigo finally passed under what was left of the Winterhold gatehouse. A guard, unrecognizable with her face and head wrapped in furs, raised a torch to examine them, but waved them on before asking their business. Kaidan supposed he and Inigo, mounted on Fledge and Frost, bedraggled and weary from the road, were familiar to the guards by now. Despite the permission to proceed, Kaidan pulled Fledge up short. Fledge snorted in protest as Frost continued on without him.

He tugged the fur cowl away from his mouth and leaned down to where the guard was waiting expectantly, her own furs held away from her ear to hear him over the howling wind.

“I have the troll Steward Seloth put out that bounty on!” Kaidan gestured to the back of his saddle.

The guard looked at the bloody pack and nodded. “I can take that for you, sir!” She jerked her chin out to the east, into the wind. “Get you inside so you don’t have to deal with the messy thing, and mark you down for the bounty.”

Kaidan shook his head. “The college asked me to bring them as many parts as possible when I set out. Will just a hand do?”

The guard waved him off. “I’ll mark you and Inigo down for the bounty, no need for a trophy for proof. You’re known here.”

“Many thanks!” Kaidan touched his hood in a sketchy salute before turning Fledge towards the Frozen Hearth.

“We’re going to have snow taller than a spear by mid morning, mark my words!” she called after him.

Kaidan dismounted and stashed the pieces of troll in the ice shed behind the byre that was pressed up against the wall of the Frozen Hearth. If the guard’s prediction was correct, the snow would keep them well until he could bring them to Collette Marence.

The tiny stable was blessedly warm, though lit by only a small lantern. Kaidan could hear the sounds of the inn’s cows chewing their cud and grunting in the darkness. Inigo and Frost were illuminated by the small pool of light, and Inigo was just removing Frost’s saddle.

“Well?”

“The guard said she’d put us down for the bounty without any proof - that our word was good enough.”

Inigo grinned, his white teeth and yellow eyes seeming to glow in the shadows. “That is wonderful to hear, my friend! Look at us, making honorable names for ourselves!”

“It’s not something I’m quite used to,” Kaidan said as he tied Fledge to the stable wall in his usual spot. “but I think I could do.”

As he rubbed down Fledge, Kaidan tried to figure out how he felt about having stayed in one place for so long the guards accepted his word as bond when he reported fulfilling a bounty. When was the last time he’d stayed in any place long enough for the guards to know his name? It had to have been with Brynjar.

Kaidan braced himself for the twinge of pain deep in his chest whenever he thought of Brynjar, but he had to admit that the grief had been…fading. It had been all consuming when he had returned to Skyrim, everything reminding him of the stubborn old Nord. But gradually, as new memories replaced the old, a sense of peace had replaced the pain where Brynjar had been in his heart.

Inigo finished first, and brought fresh hay and water for the horses, along with their measure of oats from the feed bin, and he and Kaidan left them happily eating and snorting to themselves.

As soon as the door to the outside opened, the wind hit Kaidan like a giant’s club. It took his breath away as it blew past his face. The snow was so thick he could barely see in front of his face - the storm had well and truly arrived. Inigo placed a hand on his shoulder and they forced the byre door closed and shut the bolt fast. They exchanged no words as they made their way by feel around the outer wall of the inn, until Kaidan felt the familiar steps in front of his boots and he climbed up, finally finding the door.

A drift of snow and blast of cold air accompanied them inside, and Inigo shut the door firmly against the weather. Kaidan could tell it was warm, the central hearth was well-stoked, but his fingers and toes ached and burned with cold at the same time.

Haran looked up from where she was banking some embers around an iron cauldron.

“Welcome back, gentlemen, help yourself to the stew - Kraldar and Dagur went out and got a horker yesterday.”

“Thank you, Haran,” Inigo said, “May we trouble you for a drink as well? Today was long and cold.”

“Of course, of course - when we heard we should be expecting you Dagur pulled a bottle of that spiced wine you like. And there’s ale for you of course, Kaidan.”

“Many thanks,” Kaidan accepted the tankard a little clumsily with his gloves and bracers still on.

“How did you know we were due back today?” Inigo asked as Haran filled their bowls.

“Oh, your lad from the college stopped by. Got here with his arms full of books just before the wind really kicked up. He said you’d be arriving late tonight.”

Inigo elbowed Kaidan in the ribs and grinned impishly. Kaidan cuffed him on the shoulder.

“Ow!” Inigo rubbed his arm in mock pain. “I hope for Lucien’s sake you take your gauntlets off before-”

“And that,” Kaidan said, draining the last dregs of the stew from the bowl and handing it back to Haran, “is my cue to say goodnight.”

“Aye,” Haran had a glimmer in her eye and the corner of her mouth quirked up in a half smile. “Goodnight. I’m sure you’ll keep warm.”

Inigo sniggered, but Kaidan chose to ignore him and lit a rushlight from one of the embers in the hearth before grabbing his pack and making his way down to the cellar.

The cellar of the Frozen Hearth was almost as spacious as the ground level. In addition to a small common area, giant brewing vats, and the living area for the family, one section had been subdivided into smaller rooms meant for the servants, mercenaries, and others that often accompanied visitors to the college. Inigo and Kaidan were now semi-permanent residents of two.

Kaidan gently lifted the latch to his door - it was unlocked, and the door swung open.

In the dim glow from the rushlight Kaidan could just barely make out the hump of furs on the bed which he assumed to be Lucien. As quietly as he could he set the light on the small table, and positioned his body between it and Lucien, and tried to remove his armor as quietly as possible.

A wind gust howled outside the sturdy walls of the Frozen Hearth Inn; he and Inigo had outpaced the coming gale by mere minutes. The melting snow on his wolfskin mantle and hood lent it a faint canine smell. Kaidan cursed to himself as his numb fingers worked at the knots on the lacings of his cuirass; the Akaviri tradition of laces and knots instead of straps and buckles meant that he could fit his armor, heavy as it was, like a second skin. But now ice and snow had seized the careful knots along with his joints. It was only through sheer force of will and desire to not wake Lucien that Kaidan was able to grit his teeth and prevent them from chattering. He winced at how loud his clumsy footfalls sounded in the quiet of the room.

Finally, after seemingly endless patient work, Kaidan was able to release the hide laces and slip his armor over his head. Kaidan was aching with cold and weariness, and wanted nothing more than to slip under the furs Lucien had been warming, but he’d been a soldier for too long to neglect his gear. He carefully spread his armor out over the table and chair to drip dry, and wiped away as much of the melting snow as he could with a corner of his cloak. He could oil it in the morning: the storm that had nipped at his and Inigo’s heels all the way from Whistling Mine and would likely make travel impossible for a day or more, if he knew anything about Skyrim’s weather.

Kaidan shivered, finally removing his tunic, trews, and smallclothes - they were soaked through and icy cold.

At last Kaidan approached Lucien’s slumbering form; all that was visible above the fur coverlet was a mop of golden hair and a small sliver of forehead resting on the homespun linen of the bolster.

Holding himself back from diving into the warmth of the bed and disturbing Lucien, Kaidan extinguished the rushlight, carefully lifted up a corner of the nest Lucien had made, and slid under the furs. He meticulously avoided touching Lucien, and tried to keep his shaking under control as his fingers and toes slowly began to burn and prickle as blood returned to his extremities.

“Kaidan?” The sleepy mumble was muffled further by the layers of bedding it had to travel through, and Kaidan cursed to himself again.

“Go back to sleep, Lucien,” Kaidan answered in a whisper. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Mmm.”

Kaidan thought that was going to be Lucien’s only response before returning to sleep, but then -Mara bless him!- Lucien deliberately tangled his legs with Kaidan’s, placing his feet next to Kaidan’s and pushing back to press against what must have felt like the frost atronach that had just crawled into his bed.

Lucien’s body felt like it was burning him where skin touched skin, but Kaidan pressed eagerly into that warmth, now feeling as if there was a chance he might not be doomed to eternal chill.

As Kaidan wrapped his arms around Lucien, he could feel Lucien’s skin quiver at the shock of his cold touches, but instead of pulling away like any sensible person would do, Lucien held his arms and hands over Kaidan’s, gently guiding them to slip up under the hem of his tunic, and finally holding Kaidan’s hands close against the skin of his chest and stomach.

Kaidan tightened his embrace, burying his face into the back of Lucien’s neck and breathing deep - he could smell ink and cloves under the earthy, animal notes of the furs and woolen blankets covering them - the scent indelibly labeled Lucien in his mind.

As he placed a soft kiss into the hollow behind Lucien’s ear, the only response was an indistinct mutter and Lucien’s breathing returning to the deep, regular rhythm of sleep. Kaidan followed Lucien into slumber moments later.

#skyrim #skyrim fanfiction #tes v skyrim #kaidan 2 #kaidan skyrim #wip wednesday #fic: the wives of shor #kb writes #lucien flavius #tesblr #inigo the brave

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adhdavinci · 3 months ago

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WIP WEDNESDAY: Oedipus (& GJ2)

for 7/31 and the entire month of August lol. 10 prompts, 3 as a twofer for Gregnant Jak 2: holy fuck theres 2 of them

thanks to: @1attheedge , @auburnlaughter , @aparticularbandit , @wizisbored , @eriquin x2 , @whimsicalmeerkat , @kallisto-k , @anachronismstellar

welcome to: @creative-girl :D

Jak huffs with a little smile. It's damn adorable, and Sig can't hold back his own chuckle. He looks back at their visitor. “I've got him. Now, not to rush, but I've got a mountain to run,” he gestures to the pile of parchment next to him. “Let's get down to business.” “Right.” Ashelin's gaze flicks between Jak and Sig, her face as impassable as ever. She's got a small pile of ribbons in front of her already. “I wanted to extend a formal hand in friendship, from Haven to Spargus. Full disclosure, we're still reeling from the war, but I'm certain there's much to gain from an exchange between us.” “I assumed as much,” Sig says. “Spargus receives Havenite refugees on the daily. Actually,” he shuffles through the parchment pile, “it's straining our resources. We can only throw so many of ‘em in the barracks before their trial, and our houses are full up. That ain't even going into food supply.” Locating the right papers, he passes them to her for perusal. “If that hand could include a little iron fist, too… it would be real helpful.” “I see,” Ashelin glances over the numbers. Somehow, her fingers are still working on another ribbon. “We're already offering our people all the incentive we can to stick around and help with cleanup - better homes, the best food rations we can manage, job security… I'm not going to scare anyone into staying. I'm not my father.” Another few ribbons go in the pile. “But perhaps we can work out a trade. We have resources - technology, mainly. The Death Bot factory has come in handy. We can offer a few that we've retrofitted for construction.” Sig's brows raise. “Interesting choice. You trust those bolt-boys after they wrecked your city?” “Most of them aren't programmed with sentience,” Ashelin shrugs, “and the ones that are have all long since disappeared. Just another mess to clean up. Huh, and I was going to send Jak on that job.” She looks thoughtfully at her nimble hands.

#wip wednesday #jnd #oedipus tag #my fic #mine #1attheedge #auburnlaughter #aparticularbandit #wizisbored #eriquin #whimsicalmeerkat #kallisto-k #anachronismstellar #creative girl

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domjaehyun · 6 months ago

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hiiii lovely!! thank you soooooo much for the kind message 💖💖💖💖💖 i’m actually not gonna publish it bc i don’t want to risk offending the author BUT IVE ALWAYS WANTED TO DO SMTH LIKE THAT. i will consider and potentially add to my mountain of wips but like . in a more accessible location. u know that episode of spongebob w the lightbulb mountain?

that’s my pile of wips. i’m gonna put it in the box :3 close to me

#answered #anon #patrick climbing that mountain to get the lightbulb is me writing #making it complicated asf for no reason

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djpain619 · 1 year ago

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WIP WEDNESDAY

So I haven't been able to do much this week. I got started on the Apothecaries and Refs today

I also dug through my Gray Pile Of Shame for the next project to add to the Que, and its...

The Aleniheim Angel Shares

My Blood Bowl Dwarf Team. They also are built to double as a Fumbbl Secret Leage Dwarven Engineer Team

They started out as an Anehiem Angels themed AOS Kharadron Overlords team... and kinda still are... but I've since changed their lore to be set in Blood Bowl and The Old World.

Around the time of Magnus the Pious and his War on Chaos, during The Old World, Anker Brüggards and Clan Lägrmëäd established first the Aleniheim Brewery, and later the Grogstout Arsenal in the Dwarf Quarter of Totengrad. This was in response to the Baron of Totengrad's blanket invitation welcoming all Dwarven Engineers that were fed up with the lack of vision of the Engineering Guild to come to Totengrad and be free to experiment to their hearts content. Totengrad is also conveniently located relatively close to Zhufbar, the Mecca of Dwarven Engineers. Zhufbar is notorious for allowing young and innovative Dwarven Engineers a freedom to experiment that would make the Engineering Guilds of most Dwarf holds projectile vomit and tear out their beards. Dwarven Engineers too Radical for Zhufbar find a warm welcome in Totengrad. Thus Totengrad has a robust and thriving Dwarven Community as well as a close Friendship, Trade Partnership, and Alliance with Zhufbar.

(Zhufbar is actually happy that Totengrad poaches their Engineers, cause as far as they're concerned they're a bunch of Madmen that they're happy to be rid of, they do all their R&D in Totengrad, meaning they don't have to deal with the fallout, and if they come up with something useful, Zhufbar is gonna be the first one the Totengraders are gonna sell it to due to proximity alone. As far as Zhufbar is concerned there's literally NO Downsides, the Dwarves of Zhufbar have no Grudges with Totengrad. Totengrad for their part wouldn't DREAM of offending Zhufbar intentionally, Zhufbar is Literally the only group in the neighborhood that doesn't want to destroy them. The rest are Undead, Ghouls, Greenskins, Skaven, Beastmen, and the Occasional Chaos Cultists)

A cornerstone of this community, as well as Greater Totengrad at large is the Aleniheim Brewery and the Grogstout Arsenal.

The Aleniheim Brewery is widely renowned among the Dwarf Holds, if not for the quality of its Brews, then for the innovation and quality of its brewing equipment. Their Original brews being rather "mid" by dwarf standards, its nonetheless beloved by any humans that try it... though it obviously pales in comparison to Bugmans Brews. Nonetheless Dwarven Brewers and Alchemists (Dwarven. Human, or otherwise) alike, across the world's edge mountains and the Empire would be willing to wage bloody wars to get a chance to aquire one of their Stills or Fermentation Vats. Infact, one of Aleniheim's most lucrative long term contracts is with Josef Bugman Himself to provide Brewing Equipment to many of his Numerous Breweries.

The Grogstout Arsenal is a subsidiary of the Aleniheim Brewery that started as their in-house Security Division. It has since grown to be the largest employer of Dwarven Engineers in Totengrad. They are Totengrad's Primary Weapons Manufacturer as well as Private Military Contractor and Private Security Provider.

Anyway here's the team. All the Linemen, Blitzers, Fire Slayers, Runners, Kickers, Ballzooka, Bombardier, CHAINSAW, and DEATHCOPTER

DEATHCOPTER

Here we have the Aleniheim Angel (Team Mascot) and the team Cheerleaders.

In the Middle is a Jakob Bugmansson model wich is supposed to be the team Coach/Owner Jörgan Brüggardson. Then the one on the right is the Kharadron Overlord from Cursed City. He's Supposed to be Brüggardson's Buisness Partner and CEO of the Grogstout Arsenal, Boris Bagger. I'm thinking of Rebaseing both to Square Bases so I can use them as Thanes to lead my Dwarf Gyrocopter fleet for The Old World (not yet acquired but on my wishlist)

The pile of Junk on the Left is supposed to be my Akhorne Proxy. Instead of a rabid Squirrel its a malfunctioning Robot Bird that slaughters anything that touches its Hoard of Shinies.

#art wip #wip wednesday #warhammer #warhammer fantasy #age of sigmar #warhammer aos #blood bowl #miniature painting #warhammer the old world #the old world #the Aleniheim Angel Shares

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klcthebookworm · 1 year ago

Text

WIP Wednesday

I enjoyed tweaking this call out to take place in Jeneora's Rock.

Vash pulled himself out of the grave next to his coat. He was in his body armor layer and still had his gun in its holster on his leg. Meryl sighed in relief and slowed down but her head throbbed. He picked up a canteen from under his coat, drank, dropped it recapped into the hole, and then pulled on a rope into the ground. He raised up a bucket of dirt and dumped on a pile on the other side of the string that was merging with the piles from the other graves on the row.

A huge man walked from the wasteland end of the row, ignoring all the other holes being dug, and stopped in front of Vash’s. His skin was a gray shade that Meryl had never seen before. She picked up her pace.

Vash straightened and considered the tall man wearing a mustard-colored tank top, black pants, and a maroon bandanna tied around his head. His chest and shoulders tripled Vash’s span. “Need something, friend?” Vash asked.

The stranger’s thick lips under his thin mustache parted. “Au… au… aug… Augusta.”

Vash looked at the stranger steadily.

“I’ll be waiting for you at Augusta, Vash the Stampede. You will acknowledge my request immediately. If you do not meet my request, this is a sample of what will happen.” The stranger raised a handgun to his temple.

“Don’t!” Vash shouted as he lunged forward.

The stranger pulled the trigger and fell to the ground. Everyone stopped working with the gunshot. Meryl dodge around the now still workers.

Vash is bent over over the suicide corpse. “There’s no blood.”

“Vash, did you get shot?” Milly yelled as she jumped to see out of the grave she was in.

Meryl skidded to a stop next to Vash and the corpse. No blood was oozing or gushing from the ragged, star-shaped bullet hole on his temple. The other workers gathered around but she looked up at Vash’s hard expression. “He talked to you but he was already dead?”

“It must be him,” Vash said more to himself than to anyone else. “He’s the only one capable of doing this. Legato.”

Meryl couldn’t stop herself from shivering. How could Bluesummers make a dead man walk and talk?

The worker who knelt next to the corpse looked up at Vash. “Huh? Do you actually know this guy? You know him?”

“What has happened!” Milly yelled. “Somebody help me out of here!”

Vash blinked and returned to the present before turning and reaching a hand down to Milly. “I just got called out by Bluesummers.” He lifted Milly out with one arm.

“Through a corpse!” Meryl thrust her hand down to point to it.

Vash blinked again and focused on her. “Meryl, what are you doing here?”

“We were worried! Chuck’s head started hurting again—”

His blue-green eyes widened. “Chuck? Where are the kids?”

“Back at the hotel—” Vash broke into a run before she even finished speaking. She looked back at Milly.

“You better follow him. I’ll stay with our stuff.”

Meryl nodded and jogged after him, waiting to put on a full-out run when she was around the windmill mountain. Vash must have slowed down when he reached the buildings because she caught up with him at the street door of the hotel. They went up the stairs nearly in sync and Vash went through their hotel room first.

Through the open connection doors, Hannah whirled around and slammed her finger against her lips. Vash froze in response, but left enough room for Meryl to ease into the room. Hannah entered their hotel room. “What the hell?” she asked in a low voice.

“Chuck?” Vash craned his neck trying to look into the room.

“Willingly taking a nap.” Hannah’s green eyes pinched. “Do we need to evacuate?”

“No, no no no,” Vash repeated quickly. “I was afraid that Bluesummers headed this way.”

“So it was him? Who made Chuck’s head hurt?”

“He targeted Vash,” Meryl said. “Chuck felt him doing that.”

Hannah focused on Vash. “Are you okay? Did he steal your coat?”

“No, I left it with Milly. I need to get back. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“My head never hurt, not like Meryl-ma’am and Chuck. And Chuck woke up okay this morning.” Hannah shrugged. “Don’t pick up trouble?”

“Bluesummers talked to you?” Vash looked down at Meryl.

She shook her head. “I just felt pressure, like a storm rolling in. Maybe Bluesummers was concentrating on reaching you? I couldn’t.”

“Sorry, I was compartmentalizing.” His face fell. “I wasn’t trying to shut you out.”

“I’m not upset.” Meryl smiled up at him, even though she was still so worried.

Hannah crossed her arms. “What did Bluesummers do to you, bro?”

“Just called me out. I’ve lost count of how many people have done that. Don’t worry about it.”

“I should warn you that I find that practically impossible. Do we need to pack?”

“No, Bluesummers did it from far away.” Vash took a deep breath. “I better get back out there before Milly yells at me for skipping work.” He looked down at Meryl. “Walk down with me?” Meryl nodded, but it was down in the lobby before Vash exhaled and continued talking. “He wants me there so bad, he would kill the innocent to get me.”

“You have to go after him.” Her stomach clenched around the idea.

“We have to keep the kids away. This is the third time Bluesummers has attacked Chuck. I can’t face him on his home ground and be afraid for them.”

#trigun 98 #my fic #three of a kind #wip #wip wednesday #biker mice from mars

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