#red mage im still workshopping

[waffliesinyoface]

who wants to see some of my current glamours for Stormblood?

trick question, here they are

Dark Knight, Viper, Summoner, and Monk

yes the monk glamour is the closest thing i can get to sakura's shippuden outfit, thank you for noticing

[angelesca]

𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚'𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠! 17/12/24

!hints for my hsr winter fic, come take a peek at my genshin drafts!

my winter celebration is in the works! ngl i have no faith that i will finifhs by cheriistmas btw why is my house in the sims burning down rn smh im busy here

here's a preview of my work! (stc) ☆⌒(ゝ。∂)

a melodic bell chimes as the door of serval’s workshop bursts open. “emergency! emergency!”  you look up from the counter, pausing your tidying of the toolbox. a blonde child is waving her arms at you enthusiastically. “what’s up, hook?”  “christmas! christmas!” perched on a stool, serval stops strumming her guitar, curious. “christmas? what’s wrong with christmas?” hook points an accusing finger at you. “it’s almost christmas but you’re~ still~ single~!” your mouth gapes open.

hook as your matchmaker ftw. basically it's going on wintry dates w/ belobog guys, so expect more shennanigans! all stc tho! given the timeframe i have, i think it'll be a shorter piece probably.

after this, i have ideas on what i wanna try next. these are for genshin since my childe fic is lonely huhu (个_个)

1. fantasy rpg au! :a guild of wonderful, and wacky, whimisical warriors (stc)

characters will have different rpg roles! e.g. warrior, mage, bard etc. and the reader recruits random characters. imagine healer qiqi who keeps forgetting who her allies are so she heals her enemies, or mage neuvillette and his apprentice furina and its giving mob psycho where furina is reigan and neuvillette is mob

2. private investigators au! :teyvat sleuth operatives (stc)

this is a rotting draft so i thought why not pick it up again. i have some stuff for alhaitham and wriothesley so here's some of what i wrote cuz tis' the season for joy☆⌒(ゝ。∂):

alhaitham - i was thinking estranged childhood friends. so. angst and arguing maybe. idk why alhaitham fits the childhood friend trope so good.

you turn towards the window overlooking the dark cityscape. endless cars swim along the slippery roads, dreaming of a warmer destination. shoals of blinking lights ferry up the current of the black night sea. the mechanical clicking of keyboards clogs your ears. the office is fairly empty, except for you and one other occupant. worse, it's the one person you never want to be alone with.  and, as luck would have it, it just so happens that that very same person is here.

wriothesley - why is wriothesley british coded anyways im thinking friendly coworker with lots of action pewpewpewp! spoilers: he rides a motorbike bc i say so

wriothesley crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow. “it's a guy i’ve been tailing recently. turns out, he frequents this area.” “i see. what does he look like?” “if i recall: male, estimated to be in his 30’s, balding, green eyes, last seen in a grey hoodie, about 168cm.” you gaze at the desolate street behind wriothesley, concentrating. male, balding, green eyes, grey hoodie… about 168cm, and...? “uuh, wasnt that just him?” you point at the man slugging behind wriothesley, lazily jogging by the two of you. the bald crater makes his head look like a nest. wriothesley follows your gesture of direction and his mouth droops open. his eyes chase the suspect, leaning over, but forgets to move his body. wriothesley almost falls off his stool. no way.

the other characters i have are: childe as your rival(he works at a rival agency), and ayato(?) as your boss. totally not an excuse to imagine uniforms, harnesses, and rolled up sleeves hahacbhwfcuqwdjuia this is all stc ofc! maybe i'll sketch some art too reeehhehehe

3. or. i could just write more smut lol (will only be posted on my ao3) here are some short prompts from my ideas list:

☆ they are dying but they want you so bad (im insane) ☆ fairytale retellings where characters, or reader, are the villain. so like red riding hood and a big bad wolf (what am i yapping about) ☆ characters being your "star-crossed" lover so lots of angst (good for the soul and mind)

also if anyone want to suggests further ideas, or even requests, feel free! my inbox is open 24/7!!! (ILL BE WAITING(ʘ ͜ʖ ʘ))

hopefully these updates are a good way to communicate with everyone. i feel bad for disappearing bc a) im busy b) i have no motivation to write c) i simply forgot i also write fanfic lol

anw im gonna play infinity nikki now bc my sims died

(i can hear mariah carey's high note) (see you in another 100 years!)

𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐚𝐠𝐞¬!

[dapandapod]

Dead I live pt 5

SO I COULDN’T HOLD ON TO THE NEXT CHAPTER FOR LONGER OK IM SORRY? Im just so excited about being in the writing zone!  Introducing the ladies of the Lodge, our wonderful sorceresses! And keep your eyes peeled, because the plot is starting to happen!  Please remember this story is rated M for gore (none in this chapter tho) and there is a lot of angst going around. Take care <3

On Ao3 here!

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3    Part 4

Long nails tap against the wood. Tap, tap, tap. Rhythmically, a steady beat. Yennefer lifts an eyebrow, looking at the woman across from her. She has long, dark brown hair. Her knuckles are pale, her skin a shade the color of old bones, but smooth and flawless. The finger that is currently tap, tap, tapping against the table has a thin thread tied around it. Her nails are perfect, painted dark red. Her eyes are as deep and rich in color as her hair. Her nose is small and her cheeks are hollowed out, three freckles in a small triangle below her left eye. Tap, tap, tap. It’s getting annoying, like one of the magical clocks in the kingdom of Aedirn, always entering her mind and making her thoughts tick-tock.Yennefer can’t stand her dramatics. But this is not her show. Triss, Philippa and Sabrina stand with her around the table, all watching the pale woman with tight focus. “This is not negotiable.” Triss says, her features schooled into a careful mask. “No.” Philippa looks angry, mouth thinning out even more when she presses her lips together. “Too bad.” Says the woman. “I had hoped that at least one of you,” the woman makes a deliberate pause, giving Philippa a look. Interesting. “-would not mind what I have to offer. But I can see when I have worn out my welcome.”

She stands up, the wood scraping against the stone floor. Yennefer notices the woman's finger twitching, an even rhythm again. Odd. Almost as if she is compelled to do it. The woman nods to each of them in farewell, turns her back to them and reaches for the door. The nerve. The arrogance. Yennefer fights the scowl that threatens to break out. The show is not over yet. When the door is open, the woman stops at the threshold without turning. “If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me, Philippa.” And with a click of the door, she is gone. The room seems to exhale, the tap-tap-tapping tension gone and the three mages turn to each other.

“She sure seems to know you.” Sabrina comments, and all attention is on Philippa, who sighs and shakes her head. “Basia and I have a past.” Is all she offers, walking around the table and with a wave of her hands seals the door with magic. It glimmers, ripples, like rain upon the surface of a pond. “I don’t like that she is here. We need to find out what she’s been up to. That woman tends to leave a lot of dead bodies in her wake.” Triss folds her arms across her chest and looks troubled. “And the fact that she is in these parts makes it our problem.” She says, looking around the table. “I don’t like it. She is a loose cannon.” “I agree. Triss, look into any disappearances or anything out of the ordinary. Yennefer, Sabrina, I need you to go find her workshop. I have some people to talk to.” Philippa throws around authority in a way Yennefer has never cared for, but for once she is willing to agree.

~~

Jaskier carefully rises from the dirt into a sitting position. Slowly getting control over his limbs again, regaining feeling. He is stiff, sore, his mouth tastes like ash. He’s not sure where he is, only that it’s quickly getting dark. The trees around him are old and there is the distinct smell of disturbed earth. He notices his feet are bare and he is wearing the same clothes he took a nap in. His pinkie throbs as badly as the day they cut it off. This can’t be good. He looks down, examining the soles of his feet. They are pale, small cuts here and there, pine needles and leaves sticking to his skin. But no blood. There is a sinking sensation in his gut. His throat is tightening and his eyes are prickling. It looks wrong. Feels wrong. Fuck, why is this happening? Jaskier rubs at his feet, trying to regain some feeling. It takes a moment, but a small prickling sensation starts in his toes, traveling along his nerves. It’s not a very good feeling, but it gives him hope. He swallows around the lump in his throat, trying to ignore the pain of the tugging, trying to control his breathing. His heart is trying to pull him with it, trying to get him to move. The feeling is urgent, but no. He is back, he has control of himself again. He is not going there. The fear is like icy spears, keeping him sane. Maybe he can retrace his steps? It doesn’t look like he was careful while getting here. But no. He is no tracker, he would only get more lost. Jaskier curls into a ball against a tree trunk and hugs his legs. Hopes Geralt finds him before any scavengers do.

The sound of shuffling and battle wakes Jaskier. The stars are up by now, and there is a deep darkness among the trees. There is a yelp from what sounds like a dog or a wolf, and a grunt. A very familiar grunt. A heavy thud of a body falling to the ground, heavy breathing, and then shuffling steps. “Jaskier?!” Geralt calls. Relief. The relief is so strong air rushes from his lungs and he scrambles to stand up. “Geralt!” He rasps out, and then Geralt rushes towards him, arms open. That’s all it takes for Jaskier to break. A sob tears from him, and he throws himself stiffly into Geralt's chest. Arms wrap tightly around him, holding him close. Geralt is so warm, and Jaskier finally feels safe. Whatever is tugging him somewhere won’t get to him when Geralt is here. “What happened?” Geralt asks into his hair, squeezing him tighter. “I don’t know. It’s all blank.” Jaskiers ear is pressed over Geralt's chest. Geralt’s heartbeat is normally slow. Right now it’s beating hard, faster than he ever heard it before. “The door was open. Your shoes were still there. I couldn’t scent you, at all! I almost thought-... but then I saw your tracks. How can I not smell you?” Then Geralt took a sniff of his hair. Which a year ago would make him laugh and his heart flutter. Now, it scares him. What if he smells like death? “You have no smell. They took your smell.” Geralt whispers. And then again “What happened?” Jaskier doesn't know what to say. “I don’t know. I went to bed for a nap, and then I woke up here. I have no idea how I got here.” “Can you walk?” “I think so.” Reluctantly Jaskier lets go and follows Geralt back towards the inn. They pass the bodies of three wolves, and another spike of fear pierces him. It’s a long walk. It takes them the better part of an hour to see the shape of the town through the trees. They walk in silence and instead of knocking to be let in, they settle in the stable with Roach. It’s dark in there too, but Geralt moves around without hesitation and sits Jaskier down on a footstool in a corner. He fetches a blanket used for the horses and wraps it around Jaskier’s shoulders. It’s slightly scratchy and hairy, and smells strongly of horse. Geralt kneels in front of him and touches Jaskier’s bare feet. “You are freezing.” Geralt says softly. “May I?” Jaskier nods and Geralt lifts one foot up on his leg and tries to rub warmth into them. Jaskier’s shoulders are tense, his eyes downcast. Geralt looks up at him with a frown. “It’s alright.” He murmurs. “I had blackouts in the beginning too. They will pass. I'm here for you.”

Jaskier nods again, but he knows that wasn’t it. This was the string calling him. And he was helpless to it.