#this is a snippet from the chapter i was supposed to post like 2 days ago

[flightlessfinch]

jealous james, my beloved

[alessiasfreckles]

amnesia - part 6 (ona batlle x reader, alexia putellas x reader, ona batlle x alexia putellas)

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

a/n: this is a short one, sorry! but the next chapter is coming and will be a lot longer x

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“We can’t tell her,” Alexia said after a moment of silence. “She’s only just started getting her memories back, I don’t want to overwhelm her. She’s already had to deal with so much in the past few weeks.���

“Fuck,” Ona repeated. “I should never have come here. I just got her to forgive me, to trust me again, and now this, fuck!”

“It’s okay,” Alexia said, trying to soothe the younger player. “It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out.”

“How? I promised her, no more lying! She’ll never forgive us.”

“It’s not… lying, necessarily. It’s just not telling her something,” Alexia said, sounding like she was trying to convince herself of that fact just as much as she was trying to convince Ona. “Not telling isn’t the same as lying.”

“Mierda,” the brunette dragged her hands down her face. “This can’t happen again.”

---

You hadn’t heard anything from Alexia or Ona all day, which was a little odd, but you supposed that they were at training and it was to be expected that they couldn’t be on their phones 24/7. Still, you found yourself missing them, both of them. 

Plus, you were bored, and started to feel frustrated about all of the hazy spots in your memory. So, you did what anyone in your position would do and googled yourself. First you read through your wikipedia page, which, to be fair, you’d already done a couple of times since waking up. Nothing really stood out there, except for some lines under ‘Personal life’ that detailed your involvement in the LGBTQ+ community. 

Where else could you find out more about yourself? You deliberated for a minute before going on Twitter and searching your name - you had a hunch that you’d been told not to look yourself up on social media before, that it was something most players tried to avoid. Still, you figured that social media would probably give you some more information, even if it was just about what people thought of you.

Once the search loaded, your laptop was flooded with posts about your accident, people theorising about what had happened, how you were doing. Scrolling back a little, you found posts with pictures of you and Alexia at the café you’d gone to together, with captions talking about the two of you. Some of them speculated what you were doing, if you were dating - you had gathered that your relationship with Ona wasn’t public knowledge, although a lot of people liked to talk about whether or not you were together.

As you kept scrolling, you realised that there was a fairly large amount of people who were convinced that it was Alexia you were dating, not Ona. You looked at photos posted of the two of you, people gushing over the way you were looking at each other, the way Alexia would touch you, her hand on your shoulder, your arm. You saw countless edits of the two of you, snippets of videos where you were deep in conversation or laughing together, Alexia’s smile always directed at you.

For a brief moment you wondered why the two of you weren’t dating, why it was you and Ona, and then felt guilty for even having that thought. You loved Ona, you knew that, you could feel it throughout your body, permeating your bones. Still, the thought remained at the back of your mind, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

By the time 4pm rolled around and Ona finally rang your doorbell, you were so bored and sick of your own thoughts you could scream. 

“Thank god you’re here,” you said as she came in. “I’m so bored I’m going to rip my hair out.”

“Oh, so you just want me around to keep you entertained?” Ona asked, a mischievous grin on her face. “I see how it is.”

“Yep,” you shrugged. “Gotta keep things interesting somehow, you know?”

Ona swallowed down the guilt rising in her throat as she thought about that morning. She couldn’t let you know anything had happened. It wasn’t going to happen again. It was a one-off, a mistake. “What have you been up to today?” she asked brightly.

Your stomach twisted as you thought about the videos of you and Alexia. “Not much,” you quickly said. “I looked myself up online a bit, but there’s only so many times I can read my own wikipedia page before I start to feel like a narcissist.”

Ona laughed, not questioning your day’s activities any further, and the wave of relief you felt was tinged with shame.

[imagine-darksiders]

Mobsiders, chapter 1.

Timeless Unrest.

So, I'm trying something different here, this is a mafia au in which the Horsemen are mob bosses, and they take an interest in the Reader. This story will be set in the Universe of Darksiders, 2 years post-resurrection.

You are a self-proclaimed reporter, tasking yourself with hunting down a rumour that humans are being sold off-realm as slaves to a certain Demon Prince. At the centre of those rumours is one, particular family who control Haven City, and the Earth at large. You've been found out, and now you're going to have to meet the very beings you've been trying to expose.

--------

You’ve heard it said that a good journalist will face down threats every day in search of the truth, but a great journalist has already skirted so close to the truth that they’ve been privy to the inside of a burlap sack.

‘If there’s one thing to take out of this,’ you muse, panting for breath inside the coarse, stinking bag slung around your head as you’re dragged forwards down an unseen path, ‘At least I can finally say I’ve made it.’

Jesus… You’d only gone out to pick up your ration of milk for the week…

The passage of time seeps by at a disjointed rhythm when you can’t see. It seems only minutes ago you were trekking through the murky fog from your tiny, jerry-built apartment to the community centre near Fifth to collect your weekly rations. A small slip of card had been clutched protectively against your chest. On it, in little black writing was a short, unimaginative list.

'Bacon.'

'Milk.'

'Cheese.'

'Eggs.'

'Water.'

Two years since the Great Waking has seen Humanity still struggling to cobble their lives back together, and although supplies aren't nearly as sparse as they were in those first few months of chaos and disorder, people are still being careful with what little they have.

You'd been fantasising about how soon you'd see the word 'chocolate' appear on the list when, from out of nowhere, there was a loud squeal of tyres on tarmac, and something came careening to a halt behind you.

Strangely, it took you a moment to register what you were hearing.

When it eventually clicked, the first thought that sprang to mind was, ‘Who the Hell has a working car?’ Your second thought came moments later when you wheeled around just in time to see two, suited men plunge a sack down over your head and heave you bodily into an old, rusty car.

In the struggle you dropped your precious ration card.

The jolt of panic that shot up your spine was so potent, you almost managed to lurch right out of their grasp.

They weren’t expecting you to put up a fight, you suppose.

But how could they not? One of the cruellest aspects of the Great Waking was that humanity didn’t come back as new-born souls who had no recollection of their past lives. Instead, in a sick twist of fate, everyone, yourself included, can still recall how they died.

It sure as Hell made you want to avoid meeting a similar fate ever again.

Which is partly why you’d all but exploded into action when you were grabbed, thrashing your limbs, kicking, lurching sideways, gnashing your teeth to try and catch the burlap between them and tear your way out from the inside if you had to.

With all the ceremony of tossing out a bag of rubbish, you were flung, yowling like a terrified bearcat, and the hands left you for all of a blessed second before your back hit a stiff, leathery surface that punched the wind right out of you.

You can still remember the morbid satisfaction of kicking out and striking something solid that went ‘crunch!’ when it connected with the heel of your shoe.

It wasn’t as satisfying moments later when you were slugged so hard in the cheek, your head snapped back and your vision exploded into colourful speckles of light.

An engine had rumbled to life underneath you as car doors slammed shut, and through the ringing in your ears and swimming head, you caught snippets of conversation, mostly revolving around a broken nose and a call for tissues.

You have no idea how long you were in that car for. All you remember is just how peculiar it was to be in one again. Even more peculiar to realise it had been over a century since you sat on a leather seat with an engine purring against your spine.

You still fought, of course.

Borrowing strength from your fear, you struggled furiously against a weight settled on your legs and a pair of hands that kept your flailing wrists in their vice-like grip.

In hindsight, you regret fighting so hard in the car.

Now that you’re on your feet again, stumbling blindly through an unknowable building with half a chance at running away, you’re exhausted, mouth hoarse and dry from shrieking and limbs that tremble with terror and fatigue.

Your throat aches now, thick with emotions, and your cheek isn’t faring any better either, throbbing like it has its own heartbeat.

Even without the tears clinging to your lashes and muddying your view, the path ahead is still obscured from sight by your scratchy, unconventional headgear.

You’re inside a building. You can deduce that much.

And from the sounds of dress shoes clacking hurriedly on the floor below you, it’s either somewhere that’s been newly built, or a place that had remained miraculously untouched during the stretch of time between Humanity’s extinction and their resurrection.

The surface below you is perfectly and unusually smooth from what you can tell as you’re dragged along by two unknown thugs, neither of whom seem hindered by your stubborn efforts to dig the heels of your plimsolls into the floor, hoping to trip on a notch or bump.

It’s only been two years since the Great Waking, and all the buildings in Haven City have one thing in common that this place doesn’t.

Structurally, every single one of them is as rickety and unstable as a two-legged horse.

Yet this place has no creaky floorboards, no potholes left over from where the ground was blasted apart by a falling meteorite, no dip, sag, scoop or pocket to trip yourself up on and shake your kidnappers loose.

You try to focus on the pounding of footsteps, not your heart, nor the abject terror that tries to sink its teeth into you every time those bruising hands clench all the tighter around your arms and heave you upright again when your legs yield underneath you.

Eyes pinched shut, you force a kerosene-drenched breath in through your mouth and choke it out again, blowing droplets of sweat and tears off your upper lip.

You nearly bite your damn tongue off when ahead of you, something unlatches – ‘a door?’ – and you’re readjusted in the men’s grasp, two hands on each arm, keeping you marching forwards.

The toes of your plimsolls squeak against the hard floor as you’re dragged over a small bump and onto a different surface entirely.

Softer. More giving. The footfalls are quieter…

Carpet, you surmise.

“Ah, finally!”

Your hammering heart seizes up at the sound of a booming, unexpected voice that filters in through the fibrous gaps in your burlap prison. You’d almost grown used to the grunts and curses of the men hauling you along, it’s odd to hear actual words for a change.

“Boss,” one of the men at your side speaks up, his clear, nasally tone confirming he isn’t the one you’d kicked in the face, “Got ‘er right here, Boss! Just like you said.”

The breath hitches in your chest and you wrack your brains to place the first voice as it speaks again.

“Oh for- C’mon, guys. The sack? Really?” a distinctly male voice complains.

Your ears catch the sound of metal clinking, heavy footsteps on the carpet as their wearer draws closer to you… He sounds big, weighty, far more so than either of the two who lugged you in here.

‘Shit…’ you think, breathing hard. And when nothing more helpful springs to mind…‘Fuck!’

Stealing an iota of adrenaline from somewhere deep inside your guts, you start to struggle in earnest again, lips stuffed together to stop yourself from letting out any pitiable whimpers of distress. You have an awful, awful suspicion about whose turf you’re on, and it has everything to do with the little, red notebook currently locked in the top drawer of your bedside table.

“Sorry, Boss,” the nasally man to your left responds, shifting on his feet, “Gave us a little more trouble than we was expectin’. Look what she did to poor Dimitri.”

There’s a pause, in which you assume he must finally see the extent of your efforts to escape the car.

“Yeah,” the stranger eventually says, “I noticed that… S’it bad?”

The man to your right – Dimitri, you infer – huffs out an acidic hiss through his teeth and starts to dig blunted fingernails into your sleeve, upping the pressure until you wince beneath the sack.

“Broke my fucken’ nose,” he sneers in a voice that’s thick and wet, as if he’s bunged up with a bad cold, “F’she knocked any teeth out, this little bitch’d be-“

“-HEY.”

It’s alarming how one simple word can crack across the room like a bolt of lightning, raising the hairs on the nape of your neck and causing Dimitri to choke on his tongue in his haste to fall silent. Instinctively, you flinch away from the shout, as far as the hands will allow, though you can’t help but notice that the men on either side of you do the same thing, each taking a quick, aborted step back before they seem to remember themselves and stop in their tracks.

Nobody says a word. You don’t because you’re loathe to draw that kind of wrath down on your own head, and the men don’t for much the same reason.

Another heavy boot falls to the carpet with a dull, metallic ‘clunk,’ far closer to you than it was before, and when its wearer draws in a breath, you can hear the creak and stretch of leather as it expands to compensate a prodigious chest.

… He’s standing directly in front of you…

“… I catch you usin’ that kind of language about this lady again,” the stranger growls, his once casual tone now deep and dark as a mineshaft, likely just as dangerous, “And I might just forget that you humans aren’t bulletproof.”

‘Humans…? Oh, God…’ Gulping audibly, you try to keep your breaths shallow and quiet; a difficult feat when the air around you is disturbed by the terribly familiar ‘click’ of a gun’s hammer locking into position.

From within the muffled pocket of your hood, the sound is almost deafening.

Throat closed around several, trapped sobs, you hold your breath and clench your eyes shut, expecting that at any moment, you’re going to hear a man die.

But then…

“Understood…” Dimitri says, hesitating for a second before he quickly adds, “Sir.”

How he managed to speak without his voice quaking, you’ll never know.

With bated breath, you wait for his Boss’s verdict.

When it comes, the stranger’s voice bounces back to its jocular lilt in a turnaround violent enough to leave you with whiplash.

“Good!” he announces promptly, “Can’t have her thinkin’ we’re a bunch of monsters.”

His tone shifts again as he aims it at you.

“Now then...”

Gentle, amicable, friendliness wrapped in a cloak of deception. You know how loud his voice can be, so this unexpected softness means nothing to you.

“Let’s get you outta there, n’ see that pretty face up close…”

Oh, if only you could will yourself to dematerialise and sink through the floorboards like you’ve seen so many demons do on a whim.

Finding your voice, you shake your head, eyes wild behind the sack as they flit from side to side. “Please,” you croak, fruitlessly trying to peel your arms away from the hands rooting you to the spot, “I-I haven’t seen your face, I don’t know who you are, just-!”

Enormous, unnaturally cool fingers brush against the bottom of the sack, wriggling under the twine and tugging the knot loose. In an instant, you reel backwards, throwing your head as far away from the touch as you can, chest heaving hysterically when the man simply follows your motions.

“Just let me go home!” you sob, realising that maybe you aren’t cut out for this, after all.

A reporter. You could spit at the idea now. What the Hell were you thinking? You could have taken up with the group who left to build farmlands outside the city. You could be relaxing on a maker-built porch right now after a hard day of planting those precious seeds an angel found in Svalbard.

You could have picked up a hammer and set to work patching the holes in a shelter's roof, or jumped in a wagon that trundles around the city, distributing supplies and medical aid.

There are no jobs anymore. People are too busy focusing on the rebuilding effort, trying to restore an entire world and its civilisation to something functional once again. Nearly everyone wants to help, in their own way.

And what did you decide to do, to help? You thought it would be a grand idea to pick up a pen and a notebook and chase down information, scribbling out newsletters from the rickety desk in your apartment and distributing them around the city by hand.

And that foolish decision has led you here, to your doom. You'd grown too cocky, thought nobody would pay attention to one, little human trying to track down the sources of rumours that people are being sold off-world as slaves.

A mellow chuckle rolls from a throat high above your head and resonates inside your ribcage. “Easy, sweetheart,” the stranger coos, gripping the sack and raising it carefully up over your face, adjusting easily to the way you twist your neck from side to side, “You’re all right.”

When the burlap finally pulls free of your eyes, you can’t keep yourself from squinting against the sudden intrusion of light, blinking rapidly to clear your vision.

“There you are,” the voice says, quiet with barely contained wonder.

Keeping your head locked straight ahead of you, you finally manage to peel your eyelids apart and free the tears that were trapped behind them. Little tracks roll down the curves of your cheeks and gather on your chin as the body in front of you comes into focus.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck. Fuck. And shit.

You’ve been flying too close to the sun, haven’t you, Icarus? Now you’re going to die, and what came of it? What was it all for? Exposing a corrupt family to the world. A world who could do nothing to fight back even if you armed them with knowledge?

There’s nowhere you can look that isn’t absolutely covered by armour. You can't even see the room beyond it.

A vast torso stretches across your field of view, protected entirely by segments of silver armour. Each interlocking part connects with another seamlessly to fit over the swollen muscles of a body built solely for destruction.

Every inch of it is marred with a constellation of scratches, welts, and age-old scorch marks tarnishing the silver black in places, and from waist to chest span three, distinct gouges that have torn through the armour entirely, leaving thin lines through the metal and giving you an uninterrupted glimpse of black, skin-tight leather beneath.

Something big had left those marks, and still he'd come out the victor.

Everything your bulging eyes take in attests to a life lived in battle, and a survivor of all that have made an attempt on his life.

You don’t want to look up. You’ve heard a rumour that to meet his eyes is akin to slapping a hungry bear on its snout. Your eyes can’t see high enough to glimpse the mask you suspect is tilted down at you anyway.

You know what you’ll see if you do. You know the man standing in front of you, perhaps not personally, perhaps more than you should, perhaps not at all. His name is scribbled on almost every page in your notebook.

Gritting your teeth, you swallow thickly and instead, allow your gaze to creep lower, away from the eyes burning a hole into the top of your head.

You regret looking down almost immediately when your stare lands on the butt of an enormous, silver revolver jutting from a holster strapped to his hips, so large that it would make any ordinary man who wields it look like a toddler trying to play with a cannon.

An audible whimper falls through your teeth as you flick your gaze sideways and see the second gun you already knew was there.

You swear you can feel several pints of blood drain from your face.

These guns are about as infamous as their wielder. And you’re standing within spitting distance of all three.

“O-oh, shit,” you stutter through buzzing teeth. And really, what else is there to say?

You’re in the den of one of the most dangerous beings in the Universe. One of four, in fact.

You’ve heard so many names accredited to him.

Endless Spirit of Timeless Unrest is your personal favourite for nothing else but the sheer pageantry of it.

He’s a killer, a monster, spreading desolation and terror everywhere he goes…

Worse still, before the End War and Earth’s downfall, you and everyone else assumed he was nothing more than a fairy-tale written into the pages of an old, allegorical book.

After all, a Horseman of the Apocalypse? It was always such an outlandish idea.

Until it wasn’t. Until he wasn’t.

“Hah…”

You give a start at the soft chuckle rumbling above your head.

“Not the reaction I was hopin’ for, but beggars can’t be choosers…”

You try to keep your tear-blurred vision on the armoured torso in front of you, but the decision to of inaction is stolen from you seconds later when a gargantuan, metal gauntlet rises up in front of your face.

Startling, you buck against the goons pinning you in place as he extends a finger and slips it underneath your chin.

You cram your lips together, fighting to stop that impossibly strong hand from tilting your head back.

Eyes rolling with fright, your face crumples and you let out a wheezing sob that catches in your throat as your gaze is forced up past a monstrous, armoured chest, then over a thick neck until finally, when you can hardly muster up the courage to draw in a rattling breath… there he is, staring down at you with eyes that exude all the qualities of a predator. Bright and yellow like melted gold, illuminating the silver helm that conceals every other feature from view.

Thick spikes of hair jut from the back of it, and you're reminded more of sharp, ebony horns belonging to that of a demon, rather than anything human.

Above you looms the man who holds Haven City and all the world in the palm of his unforgiving hand.

Of their own accord, your quivering lips peel apart and release his name into the air like a curse, uttered in terrified reverence.

“Strife.”

[wolfjackle-creates]

Answer My Call Chapter 2 Part 3

The second of the posts compiling all my snippets from the ask game. I'll try and get another out later today, but it might be tomorrow for the rest.

Story Summary: Jazz, Sam, and Tucker manage to help Danny escape the GIW, but they can't follow him and are under too much surveillance to communicate with each other. Sam snuck Danny a phone as he ran and Jazz sends him a text every day, hoping to hear he is all right. But he's not the one getting the texts.

Jason was away for several months on a mission with the Outlaws. When he finally returns home, he is surprised to find dozens of messages from an unknown number begging a Danny to tell her he's okay. Looks like there's not going to be a break between missions this time around.

Chapter 1: AO3, Tumblr

Chapter 2: First, Previous

Word Count: 1.3k

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“Five months ago, he disappeared. I’d already started college, so I wasn’t home. But Sam and Tucker reached out and the three of us began searching. It… It took three weeks to find him. And another week to get him out. In that time… What we found… It wasn’t pretty. The guys in white—” Jazz cut herself off. That day would forever be branded into her memory and featured in far too many nightmares.

Todd made an encouraging noise, but didn’t interrupt.

Jazz took a steadying breath and forced herself to continue. “It wasn’t easy breaking in. And even harder breaking out. Danny was hurt and the agents were chasing us. We had on masks, but they knew who we were. We managed to cause some chaos, though. Released all the ghosts they had prisoner to mess up their scanners. Send them running in every direction.

“It was almost enough. We all got out of the building. But they’d figured out our path and were waiting for us. Sam, Tucker, and I managed to hold them back. Sending Danny ahead alone with the go bag we’d prepared him. He was supposed to either get back to Amity and cross the portal into the Infinite Realms or run north to meet up with the other Dani.”

“But he didn’t make it,” said Todd. A statement rather than a question.

“We don’t know. He never made it to Dani. And due to the breakout, the guys in white placed the town on high alert. There’s checks for everyone entering or leaving the town. If you’re suspected of pro-ghost sentiment, you’ll be brought in for questioning. Ghost shields are everywhere. Sam’s parents withdrew her from school because they didn’t trust her to follow the new rules.” She gave a watery laugh. “They were probably right. Then Tucker was offered a scholarship for a tech school in California. I was escorted back to Boston. Only time I went back was for his funeral.”

Todd nodded. “And they’re in your phones and computers so you can’t talk to each other.”

Jazz smiled wryly. “Yep. Tucker could’ve, probably has, developed something. A messaging program or whatever. But without being able to meet up with us to download it to our devices—” she shrugged “—we’ve no way to get it.”

“Okay, so we’ll start there. Restoring contact should be fairly easy if you all want it—”

“We do!”

“But I’m also worried about your safety. What will happen to you after you ditched your guard today?”

Jazz shrugged. “They’ll bring me in for questioning. Probably make me miss a quiz or something important for school to make it extra inconvenient.”

“What will the questioning entail?”

Jazz bit her lip and shrugged. “Before? Sitting me in an uncomfortable metal chair in an interrogation room like you might see on TV and keeping me there for… oh, up to twenty-four hours? Whenever my parents would find out and barge in yelling at them about how ‘No Fenton would support a ghost!’ or whatever. Now? I don’t know.”

“Do you think they’ll hurt you?” asked Todd. He was frowning. “After your brother, it sounds like they are capable of it.”

Jazz held out her hands. “Depends on if they know I’m liminal or not. I’m not as bad as you are. And especially no where near Danny’s level. I don’t think they’ve been able to detect it yet. But if they have their instruments that close and me captive for that long? I… I don’t know.”

Todd nodded. “That’s what I was afraid of. Look, they don’t know where we are right now and don’t have the means to find us at the moment. I can get you out of here. To a safe house in Gotham or Metropolis or, hell, anywhere you want. And we can reach out to Red Robin, see how things are going with your friend Tucker. Maybe extract him as well.”

Jazz’s mouth fell open. They could… get away? For good? To a Justice League level safe house? She burst into tears.

She might be able to see her friends again soon.

Todd moved so he was sitting next to her. Hesitantly, he put a hand on her shoulder. “So I take it you want to do that?”

Jazz nodded, then shook her head. “I don’t—I don’t know.”

“What don’t you know?”

Jazz sniffed. “I just—It’ll make it easier to find Danny. If we’re together. If we have to go somewhere.” She shook her head. “God, I’m going to sound like such a bitch. I love Danny. If it’s what we have to do to get him back, yes. Absolutely. But… It’s just… My degree. If I disappear halfway through the year for who-knows-how-long? I’ve been working to get into Harvard since I was ten years old. Since long before Danny had his accident.” She scrubbed at her eyes. “God, I’m such a bitch. My brother needs me. And if I go back, I’ll probably be detained long enough it’ll impact my grades anyway. And that’s if the Guys in White don’t just lock me up indefinitely.”

“You’re not a bitch,” said Todd, voice filled with some emotion she couldn’t put a name to. “Like you said, this has been your dream for practically half your life. But I think we can help you with that.”

She looked up at him in surprise. “How?”

Todd grinned. “I doubt your school would be able to complain or hold it against you if I had Kori—Starfire—tell them that you were needed for an urgent Titans mission. That you helped save the lives of countless people. Way I see it, they’d have to forgive your abandoned classes and allow you to retake them.” He hummed and looked up. “In fact, I’m pretty sure we could find a Justice League fund to pay for at least one semester of classes for you. Probably more. To make up for the money lost on this one.”

Jazz’s mouth fell open. “You’d do that? For me?”

“And your brother and sister and friends. It’s kinda what we do.”

Jazz nodded. “Yes, please. If you can do that, I’ll go with zero hesitation. I’d have given it all up for Danny, of course. But we’d both… not regret it. But he’d feel guilty he forced me to give up my degree and I’d always be a little resentful I had to. Not towards him, never towards him, but the Guys in White and Vlad and my parents.”

“Great. I’m going to call Arsenal and Starfire. I need one of them to get my car anyway. Left it parked back near our meeting place and I don’t think we should be going back anywhere near there if we can avoid it.”

“Then what?”

“Then I’ll reach out to Red Robin, see what happened when he went to meet up with your friend Tucker out in San Francisco. See if they’re up for an extraction as well. If I gave you a phone, would you be able to reach out to Dani-with-an-I?” He grimaced. “Do you have any other way to differentiate them?”

Jazz chuckled wetly. “Nope. Dani-with-an-I refuses to change her name. Says it’s her name and she’s not going to change it just because someone else had it first. And Danny-with-a-y hates going by Daniel or Dan. When they’re together, they drive us crazy with it.”

Todd grumbled something under his breath. “Fine, whatever. Just, do you have a way to contact her?”

Jazz nodded. “We’ve been too scared to, but if you can get me something with an internet connection, I can contact her and have her meet us somewhere.”

“Easy. I’ll have Arsenal bring us something that you can have to yourself rather than relying on borrowing our phones or computers.”

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do this, but thanks.”

Todd shrugged and stood. “I wasn’t going to just ignore you after seeing those messages. Now, try and get some sleep. It’ll be a few hours before my friends can get here.”

-----

And that brings us to the end of Chapter 2!

Hope you enjoy. We've got the beginnings of a plan set up.

Check out the subscription post if you want notifications when I update!

[tavsianus]

WIP Tagging Game!!!

Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Tag as many people as you have wips. People send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

Thank you for tagging me, @allmightskitten ! But, because I'm into 19 other fandoms with almost a 100 WIP, I'm not gonna write them all here. Since I'm also more into One Piece these days, I'll share some of them instead!

☆☆☆

This world is a wasteland (where nothing can grow) - DQ Brothers & Law

I've been working on this since this poll, and the first chapter is almost finished! This is a DQ Brothers fic that focuses on Law and his new life with the Donquixote Family who happens to be the mafia. He gets adopted by Doflamingo (not because of the goodness of his heart, mind you!) and gets closer to Rosinante as they try to survive. I've planned to make it 9 chapters (and already drafted what'll happen at each one), too.

2. Fools & Clowns - Buggy/Mihawk

What the hell is Buggy supposed to do when he suddenly encounters the infamous Marine Killer - Dracule Mihawk - who also seems to decide to mess with a lowly pirate like him for some reason? (Or, Mihawk tries to flirt but Buggy thinks he is getting threatened, which causes a lot of frustrations to the swordsman.)

This is going to be a fun, silly little fic with lots of misunderstandings.

3. I love you anyway - DQ Brothers

Rosinante is a freeloader who lives off of his brother's back because of his inability to keep a job (he really tries but they keep firing him for some reason!) but Doflamingo loves him regardless. (Or, Doflamingo has attachment issues and makes it Rosinante's problem, even if he doesn't know it.)

4. Flesh, blood and all that other nonsense - DQ Brothers

When Doflamingo came to them with Homing's head, the Celestial Dragons decide to humor him and say that they would let only one of the brothers back in; the choice was his. What would Doflamingo do now?

5. Lovesick - Buggy/Shanks

For the first time in his life, which wasn't that long, mind you, Shanks had gotten to see an actual prince. He had blue hair that he had never seen before with a red nose to match. He was the cutest boy that he had ever seen! He knew then and there that he had to be friends with the other. (Or, a pirate boy and a young prince meet and fall in love, and decide to run away together. Roger and his crew was not included in the making of this plan, tho.)

6. Outrunning Fate - Buggy-centric

What if Buggy had been a slave before being rescued by Gol D. Roger and his crew?

7. Sickly Sweet - DQ Family (focusing on Homing's Wife)

The love of a mother is unconditional, which meant she would do anything to make sure that her boys were happy and safe, even if it meant giving herself up little by little. (Cakeverse AU)

8. No better version of me - Buggy & Shanks (Maybe even Crocodile??)

"What the hell?" Shanks mumbled in confusion. "What is wrong with your wanted poster, Buggy?" The other boy's bounty had been substantially increased to 1,000,000 Belli after their visit to an unkown little island had ended with them fighting with a marine ship and the writing had changed from 'Dead or Alive' to 'Only Alive' as well. Which was strange, considering that for the Marines any pirate was the best if they were dead. Even Roger and the others were flabbergasted with this sudden change! Buggy took the poster out of his hands, almost causing it to tear along the way and stared at it, looking just as pale. "….Oh shit." (Or, Buggy has a secret that he is dead set on to keep it hidden but life doesn't seem to follow his wishes as he is dragged back to a place that he hadn't thought that he would ever return.)

9. Just a bite, that's all - DQ Brothers & Law

I'm not going to spoil too much but this'll be a Zombie Apocalypse AU where DQ Brothers find a lost Law when trying to survive together (Rosinante is happy to see the kid but Doffy, well, not quite. He doesn't like to share.)

10. and now you'll see (that there's not much left of me)- DQ Brothers, Law

This is a Medical horror AU where Doflamingo forces Corazon to go under a *procedure* after his betrayal. He's angry at his brother but he'll be damned if he lets him go away from his side.

11. No idea who you are meant to be - Buggy-centric, Roger, Xebec

There's a rumour going around that Xebec is still alive and planning an attack. Roger and Garp meet once more to talk about this threat. Everyone in Oro Jackson is nerveous and all serious, but neither Buggy nor Shanks have any idea why or what is going on.

(You guys probably know the theories about Xebec, tho I was SHOCKED that there were no fics about it or with him and Buggy. That needs to change real soon!)

☆☆☆

These are some of the WIP's I'm planning to finish first! See any you're intrigued by?

Again, thank you for tagging me, this was fun! I'll tag @veroinfaciem @viviancurtis @acescorazon @peaceshire @portagas-chan @drheartstealer @the-bar-sinister @aimbutmiss @lumiolivier @pointycorgiears @emma-cowboylikeme . I thought you guys might like this! I hope you won't mind the tagging.

[dollfaced-erin]

𝔻𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕠𝕟'𝕤 ℂ𝕣𝕒𝕕𝕝𝕖 (Blade x F!Reader x Jing Yuan)

PART 7

PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6

Taglist : -

@rebeccawinters , @nayukiyukihira , @pix-stuff , @fluffy-koalala , @swivy123 , @starxao , @kaoyamamegami , @kimura-uzuri , @rsvye , @seikouryuu , @just-here-reading , @matsulovesyou, @sincerely-aaronette , @prettyliliy, @chibiduck

To anon who posted about reader being injured from battle, i'm sorry but you'll have to wait a little longer until i find out what the heck is going on with my tumblr.

Authour's note :

And i'm really sorry for being gone for quite a long time. I was feeling under the weather and i had a lot of things on my plate recently ! But now that i'm okay now, i'm bringing you a new chapter !! I MEAN, HAVE YALL SEEN THE NEW KAFKA COMPANION QUEST ?!?!? ITS SO GOOD AND I ONLY SAW SNIPPETS OF IT HELPPPPP (Obviously there will be a chapter dedicated to the companion mission hheheheheh)

"You are a star that fled home, aren't you...? An outworlder, some would say." a tender feminine voice voiced out.

A masculine hum resounded from behind the female. "Yes. That's right." he said, his coarse and calloused hands caressing her beautiful soft hair with a resin comb in his hands.

"Do you suppose I would've had a different name should I be born in your homeland ?" the innocent female voice asked back, the horned lady turned around to meet tender red eyes.

"I suppose that may be the case. But why change your name ? Dan Jia is a perfectly beautiful name." the male asked back, his hands stopping from running them through those beautiful locks.

"But I suppose...if you want another name, your name would be..."

"(Y/n)..." the tender voice whispered.

And everything warped from her eyes, as if someone had wiped away the drawing of a beautiful scenery before her. And in its place, was a storming day, where left and right was surrounded by lifeless bodies of knights and Mara-struck soldiers.

She ran and ran and ran, gripping a crystal fan tight in her hold. (Y/n) didn't know where she was headed. Her heart was thumping, her head was pounding, but she never stopped running.

She just followed her heart, letting it bring her to wherever she was heading in this dream. It seems that she knew she was supposed to run somewhere, but where...?

No matter...keep running.

And in the distance, was a puff of smoke. It was puffing up in the sky, contaminating the air with its burnt smell, accompanied by the musty smell of rain.

The rain was hindering her sight, but she kept pushing on.

Snippets of pictures came to her mind. Everything was just...happening too fast. She barely remembered anything. It was...so blurry. But she could feel everything.

A body of a man lied lifeless on the ground, being held by another man tenderly in his arms, his back facing her.

Even her current self knew who that was, lying in the embrace of the Imbibator Lunae.

The dragon's fangs bared in her heart the moment she saw the limp body of the one she loved. The one she was about to tie herself to. The one she promised that no matter what, they would be together, for as long as his short life promised them.

The claws dug into her heart, as it teared at her inside out with fury and pain. She had never felt such powerful emotion running through her veins. She had never been this overwhelmed.

She remembered she saw herself swinging her fan. With fury running through her veins, she kept attacking, enemies were being frozen, then broken to the ground like broken glass and sharp icicles.

She couldn't remember much after that. And before long, she was holding the body of her fallen beloved in her arms. And as she still felt the pain in her lower back, it was nothing compared to the searing rage that was bubbling from her chest as it formed tears in her eyes.

"The elixir....it failed, sister." the Imbibator Lunae woefully whispered out. And despite the heavy rain that showered, his voice was as clear as day.

Memories resurfaced in her mind. Dan Jia was looking through the archives with the fallen, and stumbled across a scroll. A scroll of forbidden knowledge. That scroll had indeed gone missing a few days later, and she was heavily penalized for it.

And it all made sense to her.

They had taken it, now knowing its position when the young lady had accidentally pulled it.

"Please Dan Feng ! You must do it. We cant leave him to die ! Not like this ! Please, take my bone marrow !" a familiar female voice sobbed, holding the body close to herself.

"We cant leave him to die. Not when it was our fault to begin with !"

Right. They were both held accountable for what has transpired. This all happened because she showed her lover where it was, although he was forbidden from ever stepping into the archives.

She should've protected the scroll with her life should she known what were the two planning to do today.

The guilt of Dan Jia was so strong, even (Y/n) could feel it, herself crumbling to her knees and sobbing at the memory.

"I..." he whispered. He looked sorrowfully at the body of the man before them, growing lifeless as they spoke. Then he nodded.

"I understand. For you, I shall endure all punishments." Dan Feng replied, daring not to look at his sister who was weeping over the loss of her lover. For it was partially his fault for lending the man two hours to scour through the archives, to search for the remedy of death.

"Please...when I reincarnate, give me this jade pendant. It shall remind me of who I was and who to find..." she said, taking off a single jade pendant from her belt, and handing it to him.

Her memory began to blur even more, static filling her ears, and it was as if she was looking at an old screen...

Dan Feng took the pendant from her. And all she remembered then...was the teal eyes of her brother, the smell of the rain, the grey skies...

And the burning pain that ripped through her back without warning.

And the searing sensation that tore through her chest.

Her body fell, eyes beginning to blur even more.

Dan Feng stood above her, those teal eyes...colder than the ice she could ever dream of conjuring. And in his hand...was a chunk of white bone and a beating heart.

Though she had no power left, no energy left, no will left...

Those sweet words from her brother...wasn't meant for her. But for the lover that rest in between them.

(Y/n) screamed as loudly as she could, though nothing came from her lips.

"(Y/n) !"

(Y/n)'s eyes snapped open, her heart beating like crazy. Her forehead was sweating as her chest heaved up and down.

Warm and concerned honey colored eyes gazed into her own, worry swimming in them as the bearer leaned over her laying body, hands holding her down by her shoulders. Then one of the hands moved and cupped her cheek, taking in how cold she was at the moment.

"J-Jing Yuan..."

"Are you alright...?" the lion quickly interrupted, as he slowly pulled (Y/n)'s hand, letting her sit upright, trying to let her get more oxygen to calm down.

(Y/n)'s head was swimming with horror and realization. What she had just witnessed...was too vivid to be a dream. Too familiar to be a gore fantasia.

Those were her memories. Memories of her past. Before she called herself (Y/n).

"You were screaming in your sleep. I tried to wake you up, and you finally opened your eyes, (Y/n)..." Jing Yuan softly whispered, his hand holding her dainty own as another hand rubbed her back.

"(Y/n)..." the warm voice of her memories called out before the nightmare begun. That deep voice. The voice of the beloved swordsmith.

Her eyes filled themselves with uncontrollable tears, biting down her lip as she relived those horrible...horrible memories.

The man in the alley...and her beloved in her dreams...

Were the same person, had she not realized sooner.

Was that why she had a strong sense of longing...?

(Y/n) bent down, putting her face in her hands as she began to sob. Everything was beginning to feel too much for her. Everything was coming back too fast to her, and she couldn't do anything to stop it.

Jing Yuan was a little surprised at her sudden breakdown. But who was he to complain...? Who was he to say anything when he didn't understand what was going on ? He could only rub her back soothingly as he put his lips close to her ear.

"(Y/n)...what happened...? What did you see...?" he spoke, as (Y/n) nodded, wiping away her tears.

"I saw...everything. Snippets of my past...my death..." (Y/n) said, looking up at Jing Yuan.

"It hurts...it hurts so much...how could...how could he pull out my heart ?"

Her back hurt, but her chest even more. It was as if what she had just seen in her dreams, had just relived that moment.

"(Y/n)...princess..." Jing Yuan softly said, as (Y/n) looked at him with those pained and traumatized (e/c) eyes. With only that description, he knew exactly what she saw.

He raised a hand, and caressed her silky (h/c) hair. He was conflicted, unknowing what to do in this situation, for what he had hoped to avoid for the most came back to her in times where she wasn't ready.

"I...I thought I was punished...?" (Y/n) asked, her hoarse voice scratching through her throat as she talked. Jing Yuan moved his hand to cup her cheek, wiping away those broken crystal tears that ran down (Y/n)'s face without her controlling them.

Jing Yuan didn't know how to explain this. But he thought that it was only right she knew bits and bits of herself. When the time was right, he was sure that he would tell her everything. But now...? The dragon girl before him was bawling her eyes out, having seeing horrific things, feeling them.

"Your punishment...was your unlimited sleep and losing your privilege as a former High Elder for losing the heart. You were gravelly injured when I found you. Even after we returned you to the shell...you never woke up. It was odd, really." Jing Yuan said, his voice soft as to comfort her.

"Honestly we didn't know when you would wake up, since it seems that your power was abruptly taken away from you. Your body couldn't handle it, and you fell into a deep sleep. Even when you hatched after years of resting here, you...were still this size. Though you no longer had the injuries you once sustained, and it seemed that the egg just...healed you." Jing Yuan replied.

"That's enough for now, princess. It's all in the past now. We can talk later in the morning. Can you sleep ?" Jing Yuan kindly asked with a smile.

(Y/n) shook her head, as she gripped the sheets that covered her lower body. She looked like a little child, really. With how she was pouting, trying to recollect herself that everything that happened was just in the past.

Jing Yuan couldn't help but chuckle as he saw (Y/n) like that. He lifted his hand, and pet her hair soothingly. "I know just the thing that might help you."

The general walked down the hallways of his large estate, tenderly holding (Y/n)'s hand. He was still a little tired, and the darkness of the hallway was more than enough to rouse his sleepiness. He was called the dozing general for nothing.

Turning around a corner, he brought her to a room. And as he opened it, it was a large and spacious bedroom. It was tidy, minus the disheveled sheets, the clothes strewn across the ground, and the number of scrolls that littered one small table in the corner of the room. A glaive was set high on the wall, his personal choice of weapon for years he passed through.

It was his personal bedroom.

"Come in, princess." Jing Yuan said, comfortingly, pulling her hand in. As he shut the doors behind him, (Y/n) was standing there, admiring the deco of his room.

"A-are you sure it's alright for me to be here...? Wouldn't anyone be...suspicious...?" (Y/n) timidly asked, her hands together as she looked at her long-time friend behind her.

She regretted, as a furious blush crept up her cheeks by the sight behind her.

She had never realized this before since she was in a state of shock and trauma, but she never really took in the appearance of her friend. He was wearing a loose silk robe with a simple red belt around his waist, tied loosely with a bow by his side. Though it was beautiful, fitting his muscular form perfectly, running over his toned muscles like water, the fact that it was just a loose robe with such little security, meant that his chest was wide open for her to see.

He stood there, with a knowing smirk on his face as (Y/n) was watching him stand there in all his half-naked glory. There wasn't anything for him to hide, rather there was much for him to show. That toned six pack he usually hid behind his attire was there right open for her precious innocent eyes to feast on.

"J-Jing Yuan ! Have some decency !" (Y/n) exclaimed, facing front immediately, a hand over her eyes to cover her from the quite revealing sight she was just exposed to.

Jing Yuan merely let out a hearty laugh, as he got closer to her petite form. His large hand went to her hair, admiring the silky strands that hung from his calloused fingers with a soft gaze in his golden eyes before he leaned in to her ear.

"Not to worry, princess. You shouldn't be ashamed to see something I wasn't meaning to hide~" he purred deeply into her ear, laughing again as he saw her face grow redder by the minute, up to the point where the tips of her ears had turned red.

"No no, I didn't mean to do that." he said, walking away from his flustered companion and walked to the corner of his room, where there were clear sliding doors.

Jing Yuan opened the door, revealing the view of a beautiful and spacious oriental garden, enclosed by the other walls of the estate. It was hard to see, but with the light provided by the moonlight, she could see all the plants and pathways that were manicured and shaped to form this traditional art. Small lion statues were placed around, along with little bridges that crossed over small streams.

"Mimi~!" Jing Yuan called out from his door. (Y/n) was on the floor, seated on the matted floorings of Jing Yuan's room, admiring the garden before her. That was before her (e/c) eyes were met with shining sapphire eyes with slits.

"A...lion...?" (Y/n) asked, eyes blown wide by the majestic creature that appeared before her. Jing Yuan laughed as the beast came to the wood platform, moving aside to let her in.

The lion, of Mimi as Jing Yuan called, pranced right in, as it was a norm for her to appear in her master's room. She looked curiously at the woman who sat close to her master's feet, slowly approaching the woman in a curious way.

"Hold your hand out to her like you would a kitten, (Y/n). Don't worry, Mimi never bites." Jing Yuan said, smiling warmly at the interaction between his companion and the beautiful dragon lady.

So (Y/n) did as she was told, holding her hand out to the majestic creature. Mimi tilted her head slightly as she approached the woman that had no fear towards her, her muzzled close to the small hand. It was so small, it was smaller than Mimi's face.

Mimi took one sniff with her black nose before she pounced on the dragon lady. (Y/n) yelped loudly as the lion leapt on her, her tail whipping in the air affectionately as she pushed (Y/n) to the ground, purring like a cat.

"It seems that she likes you !" Jing Yuan said heartily, sitting on the ground next to (Y/n) who was laughing and running her hands through Mimi's majestic snow mane. Mimi loved (Y/n) so, rubbing her large face against (Y/n)'s face, like a companion that had long last seen their master.

"I brought you here to play with her, if you couldn't sleep. So, spend the night here. I'm sure no one would mind, knowing who you are." Jing Yuan said, as he stroked Mimi's back.

"Are you sure ?" (Y/n) asked, looking at Jing Yuan from the floor, her beautiful strands of (h/c) hair, disheveled on the floor, shining silver beneath the moonlight like the most precious silks. He picked up a few strands from those beautiful locks gently in his hands, leaning down to kiss them.

"I'm sure. You have nothing to worry about. When your on these grounds, you shall be safe from all harm." Jing Yuan whispered, as (Y/n) began to get distracted when Mimi demanded more attention from her by resting her entire bodyweight on (Y/n).

"I promise you, my princess. So do not worry, and play and laugh to your hearts content. Sleep so soundly and sing so cheerfully, as if you have no other care in this world."

Jing Yuan smiled as he watched his princess laugh so melodiously as she played so carefreely with his feline. He had never seen her smile so freely, so enchantingly as she bathed beneath the pale moonlight.

He would do anything to protect that smile on (Y/n)'s face.

"You look troubled, Bladie. Are you sure seeing her once is enough...?" the voice of a beautiful woman rang through the deserted docks.

The man who was previously looking at the moon turned to look at his companion, who had unexpectedly awakened from her slumber as he stayed up.

"Being able to hug her once...was more than enough for me, Kafka." Blade quietly responded, surprisingly calm even after seeing someone so closely related to his past.

"Are you alright ? No feeling of the Mara stirring up in you ?" the woman asked, as she sat next to her companion who held something in his hands in his lap as he sat crossed legged on the ground.

"Surprisingly, no. Seeing her makes me calm. Honestly, I never thought I'd be able to see her, ever again. Not after how I saw her..." he responded quietly, trailing off as he refused to say it. Then, he unfolded his fingers from their tight grasp. And there, was a pair of beautiful glass earrings.

"If its stirring up again, what are the chances of it calming down once you see her ?" Kafka asked, taking a simple guess as she glanced at her partner in crime.

"She has always been...calm. Jia. In the native language of Xianzhou, it means home." Blade said, looking down at the earrings he once made for a beloved once. He turned up, looking at the moon, the same moon he knew she was sleeping peacefully under.

"And that's what she has always been. My home."

[gege-wondering-around]

Snippet (i just wanted to share something)

Eastern winter was cold, sure, but even more was Noah’s body laying on the red-dotted snow.

Silent was the night that took away Stiles’ father, only enriched by occasional guns firing nearby; they were just walking back home from an evening out, but fate had another idea that the lonely, freezing boy didn’t agree with.

A bullet between eyes and one through the heart, execution style; he couldn’t bring himself to think of the name of those who belong to such doings, how could he anyway? He wasn’t a man of such ways.

His father’s frozen body laid on the moon’s snowflakes, white just like they were supposed to be, enlightening the innocence of the man; yet the pool of warm, visceral blood wasn’t going to retrain itself from staining Stiles’ mind with the portrait Death had commissioned to it.

Over the dead, the boy curved and begged, coughing with sorrow and disbelief at the loss of a beloved; his father was a good man, a policeman, he didn’t deserve to die without being looked in the eye. However, much to everyone’s experience, the pleas of the boy were unheard in the indifferent county of gunpowder and vast ice land.

Fingertips got soaked in scarlet liquid, Stiles tried to pay it no mind but the task wasn’t so manageable; how could he ever move away from the father who had raised him to seek the languid warmth through the biting attitude of the cold?

Yet sobs froze on his cheeks, in those eyes of his ever so slightly alive, causing pain when pulling skin into views of cries; his father slept in the depth of the winter, no sign of wiping away his beloved son’s tears from the pale innocence of his skin.

Cold and alone, that was what Stiles turned out to be.

The mobsters had taken the last of his possession, so he was poor; and the poor had nothing to lose.

Road empty, people nowhere to be seen, his family left to scrambles occupied the street, however those irises of his weren’t as blind as his weeping being; a woman stood a few feet into an alley right across them, purplish rings as eyes while being nothing more than a dark silhouette of the night.

The gun wrapped in her fingers still reflected the shine of the moon though, giving away the reason of her presence during such a fateful night; Stiles knew who he had to seek payment from.

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

ahhh, i really wanted to share a little piece of this work - 4 chapters and this is from the prologue just so yk this is not done to itself - to brighten the foggy day im experiencing - stess - (and btw, this was option 2 from the poll of a while ago, @patolemus you offered me kids for this 🤣🫂); either way i just wanted to let you know im still alive!

i haven't been so active lately - let's blame school - and i wanted to post something on ao3 but i have nothing ready to go out in the wild to be read, so i thought - hopefully - well to share a snippet without much solicitation; hope you might enjoy while waiting for the whole thing

and @dontcallpanic @jadezdominion as per usual, i love tagging you both to send the little updates on the writing im doing; thanks to both of you for being such wonderful people🩷 (and as always, if you'd like I'd love to know what you think)

p.s. if you see any errors, you didn’t see them

[aristocratic-otter]

Ok, I'm determined to post today, even though I'm way behind on responding to y'all's posts. I'll get to them, I promise! I'm about to return to work, and I'm far more productive on work days than I am on vacation (weird as that sounds). So I'll catch up soon.

This week may not have been the most productive, but it was amazing nonetheless. I got to meet Rainbow! and seven lovely fandom friends! It's been a wild weekend, just in time to have to go back to work :(

Here are six-ish sentences from some of my WIPs!

First, thank you to : @hushed-chorus, @wellbelesbian, @martsonmars, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @ic3-que3n, \

@thewholelemon, @artsyunderstudy, @bookish-bogwitch, @monbons, @rimeswithpurple,

@skeedelvee, @larkral, @noblecorgi, @roomwithanopenfire, @prettygoododds,

@whatevertheweather, @youarenevertooold, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @messofthejess, @blackberrysummerblog,

@nausikaaa, and @emeryhall for tagging me over the last few weeks!

Here’s one snippet from 5 of my WIPs. Cupid’s Shield and Stars, Flowers, and Children are both currently on extremely smutty parts, so there was nothing safe to share. (That probably sounds a little weird, given the most recent posted chapter in Stars has the boys at 12 years old, but don’t worry, the boys are 18+ in the chapter I’m working on, chapter 13) (chapter 10 of Stars should go up this week).

From Saving Simon Snow (also has a chapter that just needs editing and will probably go up this week) (why do I seem to finish chapters in all my WIPs at around the same time???): 

“This is not what I—I don’t—Fuck!” He stops, and closes his eyes tightly, lifting his chin towards the ceiling. 

“Simon, I—” I reach out to him. It’s a mistake. His eyes snap open, and their blue is electric. He puts up both hands as a block to mine and I snatch my hand back. 

“No,” he says, then repeats it. “Nononononono—I can’t—” He’s tearing at his hair worse than before and I want to untangle his fingers from his curls and kiss his each digit to soothe him. But he doesn’t want me. 

From Snow Fox: 

I’d say the man across from me is a snake, but that wouldn’t be fair to serpents. 

I dig my fingertips into the brocade of the armchair. Tarleton can’t see my hands beneath the folds of my dress, so I’ll allow myself that much of a reaction. My face, which he can see, is perfectly smooth and placid, like my mother’s. She’s sitting to the right of me in the other armchair from my parent’s sitting room. Tarleton has turned around one of the plain wood kitchen chairs and is sitting on it backwards with his arms folded over the wooden back of the chair. He’s smiling at us with all his teeth. And none of his eyes. 

From TikTok Dancer: 

This is not good.

I watch as Snow dips and spins, and I worry. 

He told us that he wanted to dance alone today. I didn’t question it at the time…Snow has days like that, where the dance is everything and he needs the solitude to focus on nothing but dance. I think those are the days that he mourns what he’s lost. At least, his dance always seems a little sad, on those days. We still film him, of course. The work he does on those solo days is some of his most brilliant and gets the most hits and likes on YouTube and TikTok. 

But this dance…it scares me. 

From The Rat and the River (Chapter 2 just posted! Here’s a teaser from chapter 4)

I hope that the need for haste doesn’t make them careless. I suppose it hasn’t yet. 

I try to stay as unobtrusive as I can while I watch the team prepare. I can feel the bite of worry in my gut. Snow’s done this dozens of times without the slightest problem, and I try to comfort myself with that, but my peripheral nervous system is not listening to me. My fingers feel cold and faint shivers pass over my skin in waves. 

It’s minor enough that I can hide it, fortunately. I don’t need to put the burden of my fear on him. 

And from my new project, untitled as yet, the following (forgive me…): 

Penny

Simon looks like he’s seen a ghost. Well, I guess he has, actually, seen a ghost.

I know I speculated that Basilton might be dead, but I don’t think I actually believed it. There’s no denying it now, though. Basilton is quite clearly a visitor. I wonder who he’s here to visit? His cousin maybe? Or his best friend?

But no. The whole room watches in shocked silence as he paces unerringly towards my best friend. 

Tags and zen hugs to: @chen-chen-chen-again-chen, @bazzybelle, @dragoneggos, @erzbethluna, @palimpsessed,

 @frjsti, @fatalfangirl, @melodysmash, @moments-au-crayon22, @moodandmist,

 @mostlymaudlin, @onepintobean, @raenestee, @tea-brigade, @upuntil6am, 

@whogaveyoupermission, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @krisrix, @shemakesmeforget, @confused-bi-queer, 

@nightimedreamersghost,  @thewholelemon, @angelsfalling16, @mooncello, @shrekgogurt, @cosmicalart,  

@cutestkilla, @theearlgreymage, @alexalexinii, @Iamamythologicalcreature, @ileadacharmedlife, 

@thehoneyedhufflepuff, @best--dress, @j-nipper-95, @letraspal, and @facewithoutheart

[oskidontle]

Heya just discovered your AU recently and I'm really enjoying it I have some questions though 1. how did this start off? Like how did the hunger start manifesting and what were the very first signs? 2. is Mr boss evil? 3. what do the others think of the fact that pim starves himself of flesh? Do they encourage him to eat Orr? 4. Can they still eat normal food? And if so do they have like a strong adversion to it orr? 5. Who did the hunger take the biggest toll on mentally 6. Are you planning on making some sorta comic or some other to tell your story I'm pretty sure there's a story here but mabye I'm wrong idk 7. How'd you come up with the designs for their hunger forms and the AU in general?

OG AU Post for the confused

1. The very first signs are subtle enough no one notices, not even themselves. The only evidence something is off is animals start to steer clear. Maybe they sense something more instinctual, feral, about their aura? Scent maybe? However it is, animals with their superior senses know something is wrong.

They didn't start noticing anything themselves until they started to see things in the mirror for just slight glimpses. Glimpses of something but they could never make out what.

It's only days from there when the cravings start. But many times someone can crave something and not know what it is they crave until they find it. As you can imagine, because of this, each of their first hunts were unexpected. As such, people can get caught in the crossfire. Important people.

It was unlucky that Pim had to learn what he was craving when he did.

2. Mr. Boss is not evil. But he has a job to do, one that he has been tending to for many years. 18 years to be precise. He hopes to complete his job soon enough.

3. Allan and Glep care but they don't try to stop him. Instead they just check up on him often, bring some drinks, normal food. They don't really know how to approach him in a way they perceive as meaningful.

Charlie despite his desperation for a way to fix all of it still encourages Pim to eat. He reasons with him that there is no point in Pim or any of them starving themselves. After all it always ends the same way, a loss of control and an inevitable rampage. Why loose control and possibly hurt someone you don't want to hurt, when at the very least the hunt let's you know the victim ahead of time.

It's not much of a compensation. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't. Unfortunately it's his own choice at the end of the day.

4. They can eat normal food, in fact they still have to. The Hunger has just added another part to their diet that their body perceives as crucial for survival.

5. That's hard to answer, depends on what you put value on in this toll. In my opinion I'd say it's either Glep or Pim.

6. Maybe, maybe not. If I'm honest I don't know yet. I might make occasional snippets of moments I imagine happening. They wouldn't be in chronological order, just whenever I feel like making them. If I don't make a master post later on then I would leave the chronological order left for any interested to piece together using context clues I leave throughout different posts.

Like I said, this is a big maybe. Ideally I would make a fic but I have never been able to finish a single chapter of a fic in my life. I loose focus too easy.

I have a story to tell but I suppose I haven't decided how I want to tell it

7. If you want me to be truly honest, I didn't think that much. I built lore after designs. I wanted them each to have a sort of gimmick going on while being kinda cohesive simultaneously. I also knew I didn't want to go with a hyper detailed or overly realistic look.

In-universe they probably look terrifying but to you or I, they look just kinda uncanny. A little gross.

After making the initial designs I started to come up with lore and adjusted details accordingly.

As for why I came up with it?

Two words: For fun! :)

[iamamythologicalcreature]

Six Sentence Sunday/Creative Proof of Life

Thanks for the tags, @alexalexinii, @shrekgogurt, and @that-disabled-princess!

This WIP post is basically a proof of life statement. I can't believe it's been over a month since I posted Chapter 1 of the Haunting of Simon Snow. I'm so overdue for chapter 2, BUT... instead I finished writing the rough draft. I've been attempting to outline, because when I rough a draft, I really rough it up. Ahem.

So I have been working on it, even if there is zero evidence on AO3 as of yet.

How about some sentences? I haven't sliced up chapters yet, so not sure if this is from chapter two or three, but here's a snippet of Simon on the phone with Penny expressing some smooshy sentiments:

I curl up on the couch a bit more, maneuvering myself so my wings aren’t crushed. “I went flying last night,” I confess then, in quiet tones. Like someone might hear me. “You— Oh, but… You can’t! What if someone sees you?” I can actually hear her biting her lip. She wants to spell my problems away, and she can’t. “But I can,” I say, smiling a bit more. “There’s no one around for acres. No one will even willingly drive here on account of the house being haunted. It’s empty. And I’m flying at night.” I say flying in the present tense and realize I fully intend to fly again tonight.

Penny huffs. Her specialty. “I don’t like it.” “I do,” I say easily, warming up to explaining, hoping she’ll understand. “It’s so freeing, Pen. Like the weight of the world can’t hold me down, anymore. I feel… It’s like… It’s like I’m closer to the stars. Like I’m close to stirring up the milky way.” I let out a sigh, my eyes closing as I drop my head back, indulging in that recent memory. “I don’t hate it as much, when I’m up there. You know?” There’s a few seconds of silence, and I open my eyes again. “Pen?” “Hate what?” she asks quietly.

(just in case you were worried I wouldn't be including angst...)

Bit more info on my progress (maybe some whinging) and tags and hellos below the cut!

Fun facts about my ineffecient writing process:

I spent more than one or two hours clearing asterisks from my rough draft this morning. (Because discord has trained me to do *this* when I write instead of this.) Because I'm trying to listen to my draft via screen readers, but it keeps sounding like "asterisk-impossible-star-fuck me" (that's my favorite one honestly, it's supposed to read "Impossible. Fuck me.") which is really annoying (more often than amusing). ANYWAY… what this has revealed to me is that I use "Fuck" a lot, as well as "So good." Ahem. Take from that what you will.

BTW, I'm sure there's an easier way to do that than manually. Please don't tell me for at least a few days, or I might lose it. I am but a mortal being, with a tattered heart and patience worn thin. (Or something.)

OKAY. It's been awhile since I did one of these posts. Time really flies. Gonna give this list my best shot, but as always, open to any who want to participate! (Also adding some new names in for the new year so this is sort of my "Gee I hope this is cool with you" super long tag list. If you'd rather not be tagged, just drop me a missive to that effect!)

@leithillustration @prettygoododds @rimeswithpurple @artsyunderstudy @blackberrysummerblog @hushed-chorus @nightimedreamersworld @best--dress @whatevertheweather @ileadacharmedlife @scribble-tier @imagineacoolusername @brilla-brilla-estrellita @alleycat0306 @angelsfalling16 @fatalfangirl @erzbethluna @tender-ministrations @anxious-m3ss @ebbpettier @bubble-gumhead @facewithoutheart @bazzybelle @theimpossibledemon @aristocratic-otter @mooncello @cutestkilla @annabellelux @ic3-que3n @j-nipper-95 @letraspal @messofthejess @onepintobean @palimpsessed @raenestee @supercutedinosaurs @theearlgreymage @thewholelemon @wellbelesbian @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @youarenevertooold @bookish-bogwitch @martsonmars @orange-peony @mostlymaudlin @stardustasincocaine @confused-bi-queer

Lastly, quick note/question. Tumblr seems to be remiss in informing me when I've been tagged in other posts. Is this a common issue?

[sgiandubh]

Anon rebelde

Como bien señalas en la cena hay matrimonios entonces, que impide que Cait acuda a la misma con el que dice que es su esposo? O ese *esposo solo le sirve de vez en cuando para para calentar los ánimos en un fandom fácilmente caldeable? Ya sabemos que Sam está en Londres así que Cait no puede estar allí y en Glasgow tampoco, esas obras no acaban nunca 🤣

Dear (returning) Anon Rebelde,

Y muy reactiva, hoy. 😉 Como se dice en Chile: 'a ver, a ver/por qué llora esta mujer'?

'As you very well observed, there were couples invited to that dinner. So, why would Cait not be there with the one she says it's her husband? Or would that be that the *husband* is only useful once in a while, to fire up tempers in a fandom that's easily heated? We know that Sam is in London, so Cait cannot be there or in Glasgow, so it never ends. 🤣'

You know I agree with everything you wrote, spare one detail: S was apparently not in LHR in October, when the Belfast dinner took place. I had to go look at my archives and make some sense of the context. And although I am not Marple, I couldn't help but notice last October was a very active networking/promo/shit show month for both of them, as the SAG-AFTRA strike was still not over yet.

Just a short summing up:

October 4, 2023 - C's 44th birthday and another mysterious donation to Project CaiTreena/One Tree Planted. S in NYC for drinks and Departures interview with Sophie Mancini. Fandom gets ballistic speculating - an empty 💩, of course.

October 5, 2023 - S in NYC for the Keepers of the Quaich US Chapter gala, with Norouzi (as I predicted) and Mancini. C's whereabouts unknown - not the US, I suppose. Maybe in LHR, re-enacting that Prophet Song excerpt, on behalf of the Booker Prize?

October 8, 2023 - C spotted in LHR for Harrods Iconic Dining Hall Relaunch hosted by Stanley Tucci, with McIdiot (the only time, that month!). Hullaballo ensues for something very close to a nothing burger. S supposedly in GLA, as shown by FaceTime snippet convo with Amanda Tutschek, Venice Beach topless artist extraordinaire. Date of above FaceTime snippet - unknown.

October 10, 2023 - S confirmed in GLA, likely latergram (IG SS gin pics taken on own driveway). C confirmed in LHR, first by Gareth Bromell, then by Getty Image pics at Loewe Foundation's Studio Voltaire Award. Sans McIdiot.

October 17, 2023 - S signs APUK's Palestine letter, whereabouts unknown (my bet is on NYC/Nevis). C confirmed in LHR at the Portia Coughlan play Press Night/After Party, Almeida Theatre. Sans McIdiot, but with Tobias. LOL.

October 19, 2023 - S on Jimmy Fallon's Tonight Show, in NYC. Ring ding ding proves to be a very effective lookie here, not there prop. C's whereabouts unknown, as S's in the October 10-17 interval (Nevis? both? That would be my best bet, and yeah, go ahead and screech. I DGAF).

October 25, 2023 - S confirmed in GLA, despite posting 'from Nevis' the same day and shirtless thirst trap the next day. C's whereabouts unknown? Not really, I should say.

Back to the Northern Irish dinner - bear with me, Anon Rebelde, I am trying to pinpoint a date, here. Begin Again, Jeffers' book that prompted it, was out in the US on October 2 and in UK/Canada and Ireland on October 10:

October was a dementedly busy month for the author, as shown by the excruciating dates of his North American and UK book launch tours (https://www.oliverjeffers.com/begin-again-book-tour):

One of the events surrounding this launch was held at Belfast's Crescent Arts Centre in partnership with No Alibis Bookstore, on October 24. Best thing? He is dressed exactly like in the NYT article pics.

My best bet is that dinner took place in Belfast on October 24, Anon Rebelde or at the latest on October 25 (next to 0 chance, given the identical attire, but let's allow some margin of error to our estimate).

As for Jeffers' position on the Israel-Hamas Gaza War (which, may I remind you, started on October 7), I think this is a very clear statement:

You draw your own conclusions, Anon Rebelde. I am here to try and bring some clarity in a shitstorm, not brainwash you.

Always waiting for your input, which is much appreciated! Hasta luego, hija de la rebeldía!

PS: The timeline game was fucking exhausting. I am not the Securitate, so you won't see me play at that any time soon :)

[mojo-bro-tho]

A Paean of Old and Present Days

Edit to include word count for AO3: 11,902 (I know)

I finally committed to posting the first 2 chapters of my emmrook fic with a Warden Rook! Still undecided on how I'll want to post the formatting for cross platform and since this first chapter is long as hell, (I'm so sorry) I'll be adding only a snippet below the cut in case it doesn't pique interest. I hope any who chose to read the full thing like it though! Warning can be found in ao3 tags and will be updated as needed.

A Warden In Name

Warden life wasn’t for most people. To be fair, most people don’t become Wardens with the reservations afforded to consider that fact. Sure, Recruits were common enough outside of a Blight but most wouldn’t take the first sip once the smell crushed their resolve. Lenore was never a traditional Warden though. 

She was chalk full of technicalities, hypocrisy, and at certain times unbridled foolishness. But if you asked the charges entrusted to her, a group of 7 Recruits, what they thought of their young leader? The answers were usually nothing short of praise, even though some of the praise could be seen as backhanded. 

Lenore was never the ‘leadership’ type, she did just fine with following orders and being led so long as the reasons made sense. Unfortunately for her and those aforementioned Recruits, tonight was shaping up to be one of those fateful exceptions. Even worse for the Recruits, Lenore was more accustomed to the taste of festering responsibility and would be more than willing to drink the chalice empty. 

She stood at the top of a building at the edge of town, watching the horde swirl below. She thought back to the moment that led her here. Orders from her Commander that a large stream of darkspawn was making an advance in the Deep Roads. Every Warden stationed under him was being deployed, Recruits included. While the majority of the experienced fighters would be sent out towards the nearest entrance, where they assumed the was legion heading, some smaller teams were deployed to secure neighboring settlements on the off chance of a breach or any splinter groups who may sneak past the vanguard. There shouldn’t have been any real danger, they were here as a precaution. But then the ground started to split open.

Lenore had sensed a shift in their movements, a cluster had veered off course into some sort of unmapped pocket of the Deep Roads. Or one that had been made recently. Her tendency to lean to the paranoid did her well in this case. She and the Recruits evacuated and barricaded the area she had sensed them congregating towards. That didn’t go over well with some of the more curmudgeon villagers, but Lenore could be persuasive for her age. Those who were smart enough to heed a Warden’s warning did well to help her charges with the barricade.

Still, having less than an hour to prepare meant it left plenty to be desired. A hodgepodge of commandeered doors, building materials, broken wagons, the more easily broken down structure of some farming buildings and sheds. If she had known the ground would split on its own, she would’ve had entire buildings broken down for parts. She was initially just worried about people interfering with the area. But this was as good as it was going to get, she supposed. A breath rushed in deep through her nose, hearing in her mind the hum of the blight getting louder and louder as they descended. Those barricades weren’t going to last much longer. 

The plan in place wasn’t too complicated, it just definitely wasn’t going to work as things stood. One Recruit, the best rider, would take off to the nearest outpost with the one horse afforded to her unit to send for reinforcements. The other’s would be divided up into rotating shifts. One group to watch the area and one to guard the amassed civillains. 

One archer and a mage wouldn’t be enough to take out a frenzy that big. They’d run out of arrows and lyrium before even making a good enough dent, Cecile’s quiver was already looking light. And going into the pit as infantry was a death sentence, no matter how good of a fighter one was. It didn’t help that the only shield bearers present were herself and another Recruit. The pit was too saturated with Blight and there wouldn’t be enough room to properly swing a sword. If they wanted a chance to actually slay the horde, they’d have to break part of the wall back down and hope the trickle that came through would be slow enough for them to pick off. Mass casualties were more likely.

The good news was that darkspawn weren’t incredibly smart. They all flooded in on the south facing wall, trying with all their claws and teeth to find a way up to gnaw at the archers with their backs to the villagers guarded by their fellow Recruits in the distance. All full of life and untainted blood. She could use that to her advantage. 

Cecile, Valwyn, and Hager held varying expressions. Staring into a cesspool of disgust and carnage would do that to anyone but they still stood firm. Lenore knew that if they all lived through this, those three at least would get a taste of what her dreams were like as a Warden. That taste might be enough to empty their stomachs of the whole thing. She would not blame them. Drawing her sword from her heightened position on the Town Hall, she called out to the three below.

“Hear me, soldiers! I’m calling for a retreat! Return to the village with the others and hold your ground.”

....

Link again in case this caught your fancy!

[dalgursbate]

Snippet Sunday Thursday Friday

tagged by the exquisite @lyzelky over on my main account (@molgars)

I've got a few irons in the fire right now, so I'll post two of them.

This first one is from chapter 2 of Hymnals, Major and Minor, an Aylin/Isobel/Shadowheart post-canon fic about them dating the wrong way 'round:

The next day, Isobel is sitting on the loveseat knitting when Shadowheart approaches, plopping down gracelessly on the couch beside her. “So, when are you taking me out, darling angel mine?” “Technically, Aylin is the angel.” A sly smile plays at the corner of the other woman’s lips, though she doesn’t look up from her work.  Shadowheart hums. “Is that so? I must have been confused on account of how radiant your beauty is.” Isobel snorts and casts a sideways glance at her. “Those sorts of lines work often for you, do they?” “These days? All the time.” Shadowheart grins broadly. “Blessedly, my girlfriends don’t seem to mind my lack of taste.” “Oh, I wouldn’t say you lack taste,” Isobel muses, her gaze returning to the busy movements of her clever hands. “Personally, I think your taste is exquisite.” Despite all the time they’ve spent together, Shadowheart still finds herself flushing at the insinuation. “You didn’t answer the question,” she says. “Well-spotted.” The corner of Isobel’s mouth twitches again, and Shadowheart knows that she’s taking great joy in her coyness.  “How much free time do you have this coming tenday?” “All of my time is free time right now, dearest.” “Excellent,” her partner says, as though she didn’t already know. “Then we shall prepare to leave for our journey tomorrow.” “Journey?” Shadowheart arches an eyebrow. “Are you taking me on a honeymoon for our first date?” “Darling, don’t tell me you underestimated my propensity for grand gestures,” Isobel places a hand atop her heart in mock offense. “It would wound me so very deeply.” Shadowheart rolls her eyes affectionately. “You’re so dramatic.” “You love that about me,” Isobel says confidently, because she’s correct. “But we’re not going on a honeymoon; we’re going on a journey.” “And what does that mean, precisely?” “I suppose you’ll simply have to find out,” she responds, tone ominous.   Shadowheart just laughs fondly and wraps an arm around her, pulling her in by the waist. There is no hesitation in the way that Isobel abandons her knitting to come to her, and Shadowheart marvels at how intoxicating it is that she’s allowed to do this. That she’s allowed to kiss this revelation of a woman, softly and soundly, afforded the privilege of tracing the familiar contours of her mouth at an unhurried pace. She doubts she will ever tire of it.

I will tag @again-please @shewhowas39 @renyerokami @moonlesbianlover and @capriclonus, as well as anyone who wants to do it! and under the cut will be a QUITE EXPLICIT teaser of the next chapter of to forgive is human and failure is divine

The next day ends like this: Shadowheart face-down on a stranger’s bare mattress, her ass in the air as she’s pounded over and over again by a shapely piece of silicon. Her fingers arch like talons, scrambling for purchase on the box spring, while pitiful cries spill from her throat in some kind of obscene hymnal. A firm hand traces the knobbly, underfed length of her spine—reminiscent of how she used to run her fingers over prayer beads, so many lifetimes ago—and a low, gravelly voice coos and murmurs encouragement about how much more she can take, how much further she can be pushed. It ends with her stretched to bursting, begging for mercy, half-crazed and desperate for a release she keeps being denied. But it begins with Shadowheart waking up to her phone alarm at 10 a.m., groggy and disoriented by the dizzy-bright sunlight streaming in through her apartment’s only window. Before she can return to The Grove, before she can make herself a fool once more for a shitty gith with an attitude problem, she has to get herself through another day where she struggles to accomplish anything worthwhile. She sighs, rubbing the heels of her palms so hard into her eyes that little starbursts of red dance behind her lids. The only way out is through, she reminds herself wearily. And Gods, do I want to get out.

[andthekitchensinkao3]

WIP Wedn--THURSday

Thank you @loki-is-my-kink-awakening for the tag! I can't pass up sharing more of my WiPs :D

So, because I posted quite a chunk from Chapter 3 (Loopholes Part 1) yesterday, why not post a teaser from Loopholes Part 2 tonight?

So, Part 1 is all Mobius' POV, while Part 2 takes place over the course of the same day/night, but from Loki's POV. Here's a snippet from a chat at the start of the chapter, between Loki and Frigga.

---

Outside Mobius’ rooms, Loki settled into a leisurely pace beside his adoptive mother. Frigga slipped her hands around his elbow, bending her head to his shoulder in a sideways hug. For a while they walked side by side and arm in arm, while he said nothing, and she was bursting with questions. He could tell.

But instead of questions, Frigga knew she would get more answers by stating facts as she saw them. It was a game they’d played since he was little, and never could give a straight answer to any given question.

“You’re different,” she said, starting in a place that felt safer than others. A starting point as much about his physical appearance, as his demeanour. This way, he could choose how to answer.

“I am,” he said, angling a small smile her way. Her eyes were keen, but full of fondness for his particulars.

“Settled in your own skin,” she elaborated. “I haven’t heard you laugh like that since you were a little boy!”

“Well…” What could he possibly say to that, but agree? “No. I suppose not. It…feels good.” 

She nodded, encouraging. “He seems nice.”

“He is.” 

“Polite, but not meak.”

“Mhmm.” He turned his head again, lips pressed into a cheeky smile that somehow made him feel all of twelve years old.

“He makes you laugh. Clearly.”

“All the time.”

“Ah,” said Frigga, scrunching her nose at him, playful and mock-irked by his startling lack of verbosity. “He’s a good friend.”

“The best.”

“Then that’s all I care about,” she told him, squeezing his elbow. “Let him be from any realm, he’ll always be welcome at my table, as your companion.”

[varlaisvea]

Va garlas agea...

TES Summerfest Day 1: Forbidden

a/n: I have been working on this fic for two years, not exactly knowing whether and how to start publishing it. So I decided I'd use @tes-summer-fest (the first one I've participated in) to force myself to start! No presh! Before this, I've posted snippets that are unlikely to make the final edit, so this is it... welcome to the first TWO official chapters of Palimpsest!

If people enjoy it, I will have a spicie little treat ready for the last day :)

Palimpsest takes place in both the Second and Fourth Eras. Skyrim in the streets, ESO in the sheets ;)

Chapters 1 and 2 are Gen, G-rated. This will change as the story continues. 4.2k words total.

On AO3: Chapter 1 Chapter 2

-------

The moment I enter the Arcanaeum, Urag slams shut the book he was reading. “I need to speak with you,” he says.

“Good morning to you too, Urag.”

“If it were a good morning, I’d have all my books accounted for,” he says gruffly, shaking his head as he reviews a book registry, “and I certainly wouldn’t have extra titles floating around that I can’t find in any of the catalogs.”

“You mean, some books are missing, and new ones have appeared in their places?”

“No,” he says, not looking up from the pile of lists in front of him, “that would be more straightforward. Some books are missing, and others have appeared in, uh, other places. I think I’m seeing a pattern, finally. Maybe.”

This does not feel like a matter for the Arch-Mage, but… actually, I am not certain what the Arch-Mage’s duties should be. At any rate, I’m intrigued. “Is this what you needed to speak with me about?”

“Obviously,” Urag says with a sigh. “The thing is, all of the titles in question seem to concern…” He finally meets my eyes, looking uncertain. “Have you ever been to Artaeum?”

“Artaeum? The Psijic Order’s pocket-dimension-island? No; how would I have gotten there? Why would I go there?”

Urag looks at me with some exasperation. “The Greybeards called your name from High Hrothgar. You’ve been to Apocrypha and the Shivering Isles. You’ve been to Sovngarde, and you’re not even a Nord… or dead. And the Psijic Order showed up to anoint you Arch-Mage of this place despite your having arrived here that same week. Excuse me for imagining you might have gone to the pocket-dimension-island.”

“All right, sorry, I understand,” I say, resisting the urge to defend my worthiness as a mage. “The books missing are about Artaeum?”

He looks at me again, like he doesn’t know whether to tell me the truth, but then sighs. “All of the missing and newly-discovered books mention the Psijic Order. Since the whole business with the Eye of Magnus… I don’t know how to say this, but I’ve begun to wonder whether the Order… er, curates the library according to their own agenda.”

“What interest would they have in our library?”

“I think they’re mostly interested in the Order’s image… I think there are things about the Order they want to keep hidden. Most of the library stays unchanged unless one of the librarians or scriveners move things. But the section about the Psijic Order seems to have a mind of its own, and now we’re discovering other titles that mention the Order going missing, or… appearing. Or reappearing, maybe.”

“Hm. I certainly don’t like that they’d change our library like that, but they are charged with watching all of Tamriel and beyond, apparently. I imagine such a weighty responsibility means some knowledge must remain forbidden. I suppose that's their prerogative?”

Urag meets my eyes again, this time with fire, looking almost threatening. “You are Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold,” he says curtly. “Your prerogative is to ensure no one interferes unduly with the study of magic. Even them. Your duty is to us.”

Yes, and to the Blades, and the Dark Brotherhood, and the Greybeards, and the Thieves Guild. And Meridia, and the Dawnguard. Plus I’m Thane of every hold in Skyrim. But, I simply nod, and say, “I agree. What do you need me to do?”

He sighs. “J’zargo found a few of the books that seem to have appeared. He said he was ‘led’ to them, but he wouldn’t tell me how. He’s somewhere around here; go find him, see what he knows.”

“Ugh, isn’t there a way to help the College that involves fighting undead in an ancient Nord barrow, or killing a dragon by myself? Something less distasteful than trying to get a straight answer out of that cat?”

Urag looks at me for a moment, then looks back down at his pile of lists. “Don’t think so,” is all he says.

I resign myself to dealing with J’zargo, and head for the Arcane Societies section of the library. Before I get there, though, I notice something in a secluded corner of the Ancient Peoples section seems to be… glowing? Getting closer, I see that it’s a book; it looks like a ray of sunlight is shining directly onto it, and only it. But as I walk toward it, the glow fades—maybe I imagined it?

“Hm, must have been nothing,” I say to myself.

But as I walk away, the book starts to glow again. This time I take the book from the shelf—The Psijic Elves of Sunhold. I flip through a few pages. It mentions the Psijic Order a few times, but it’s largely about a small subculture of non-Aedra-worshipping Altmer who did not leave Summerset with the Order.

“You saw the glowing books too, hm?” I turn to see J’zargo has appeared. At least I don’t have to keep searching for him. “Of course you did,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“You saw the… uh, glowing books? Why you?”

J’zargo regards me for several moments, trying to muster politeness, no doubt. “J’zargo has found some heretofore unknown books that mention the Psijic Order. Truthfully, J’zargo has been curious about the Order, recently.” He looks at me, with a similar trepidation as Urag had shown.

I ignore whatever he’s implying. “This book was glowing,” I say, and hand it to him, hoping we can get this problem solved as quickly as possible.

J’zargo takes the book and looks at it, but almost immediately looks back to me. “J’zargo regrets questioning the Arch-Mage’s authority…” His tone makes it clear that he loves questioning the Arch-Mage’s authority. “But this situation is a bit tidy, no? A Psijic monk shows up, tells us the Eye of Magnus has power beyond our understanding, and then takes it—and makes you Arch-Mage.”

I try not to show my delight that he’s seemingly incapable of saying my title without contempt seeping into his tone. We need to be talking about the books, but I can’t resist: “Hm, jealous, are you, J’zargo?”

“Yes,” J’zargo says, with an unfriendly smile. “But this is not relevant to the question of why we should trust someone just because he can project himself through time and planes. Arch-Mage.”

“I…” That’s actually a good point. “I’m not surprised that you haven’t heard of the Psijic Order, J’zargo, but they are ancient Altmeri mages of incredible power. They have advised powerful people—such as the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold—throughout history.”

“Yes, J’zargo heard Tolfdir and Aren informing you of that a week or two ago,” he says, unimpressed.

I am beginning to lose my patience. “Do you have a point, J’zargo?”

He scoffs. “Just like an Elf, to trust power and authority implicitly. J’zargo’s point is: does the new Arch-Mage know how, exactly, the Psijic Order has protected the College from the supposed danger that only the time-traveling Elf-monks know about?“

“The Eye of Magnus was more powerful than…” I trail off. “Stop pestering me, cat, I don’t answer to you.”

J’zargo sighs wearily. “You may call J’zargo a cat; after all, J’zargo is a cat. And J’zargo is a gracious cat—for example, J’zargo will graciously assume that you are not being racist directly to his handsome face, and are simply ignorant of the… substantial… difference between calling Khajiit a cat, and addressing Khajiit as cat. But, J’zargo will not make such a gracious assumption in the future, no matter what Elf-title someone has appeared out of nowhere to confer on you.” He waves his fingers to accentuate his claws. “Yes?”

Ugh. “Yet you could address me as mer.”

“Who says that?” J’zargo says, laughing.

“Well, you’d be allowed to address me as Elf.”

“Just so,” he laughs harder, and claps me on the back as if I’ve just made a joke. “You must tell J’zargo the next time someone calls you Elf while spitting on you and kicking you out of their city and into the cold wilderness—because you are Altmer. Arch-Mage.”

I roll my eyes, but I say, “I understand.” He’s an ass, but I don’t want to be racist, I suppose. “So the other books you found—”

Before I can finish my sentence, someone I want to talk to even less than J’zargo appears. “What do you want?” I ask.

Quaranir’s projection holds up one hand. “I mean no interference—“

“That is what you said last time,” J’zargo says, cradling a small mote of flame in his hand.

“It seems you are beginning to question the Psijic Order, Arch-Mage,” Quaranir says.

I adopt a very Altmeri tone of voice. “I trust the Order implicitly, of course. I am only trying to learn about—“

“You misunderstand.” He puts both hands in front of him, as if to show he means no harm. “The Order does not know I am contacting you, this time. I must be brief.”

J’zargo and I look at each other.

Quaranir speaks quietly. “I could not impede the seizure of the Eye of Magnus, but I could try to ensure you investigated and asked questions after the fact.” He gestures to the book in J’zargo’s hand. “It may be too late for the College of Winterhold, but much larger things are at stake.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. “Too late for the College? Was I supposed to find—”

“It will take both of you,” Quaranir says, looking at J’zargo.

“Both of us? Him too?” I point at J’zargo.

“There is still time to protect the study of magic in Tamriel,” Quaranir says, as his projection begins to fade.

“The books will tell us how?” J’zargo asks, gesturing to the book in his hand.

“By any means necessary,” Quaranir says, and his projection is gone.

J’zargo and I look at each other in stunned silence for a few moments.

“It seems we should read these books, perhaps,” J’zargo says.

For the second time this morning, I sigh and resign myself to dealing with J'zargo. We both sit down at a nearby study table, and I crack open The Psijic Elves of Sunhold.

-------

The Psijic Elves of Sunhold by Eymei Gwylanwe, 2E 58[the last number of the date is illegible]

The way Tamriel learns Altmeri history is roughly thus: before the Merethic Era, Aldmeri elites began to solidify their worship among their favored ancestors, and they compelled the rest of Aldmeri society to adopt their new paradigm of worship. This caused many Aldmer to flee Summerset for mainland Tamriel, eventually to become Chimer, Ayleids, and Bosmer. Those who remained in Summerset became the Altmer, and Altmer who opposed the shift toward Aedra worship became the Psijic Order, removing themselves from Summerset’s society to Artaeum, in order to preserve the Old Ways as best they could.

Here is what you were not taught: a few clans of the Old Ways remained on Summerset, refusing to yield their homes and hearths. These Elves—the first Altmeri hearth Elves—believed it was pointless to lock away magic that was meant to enable communal connection and healing, and considered it vital to maintain ties to their ancestral lands, the wisteria plants they tended to honor the Ehlnofey, and the sacred oyster farms where they cultivated their Varla pearls. As followers of the Old Ways, those Elves still called themselves (lower-case-P) psijics—this term simply means “enlightened.” To this day, many hearth Elves still call ourselves psijics and psijic mages, as we have since before the Psijic Order existed.

As the elite of Summerset society began to take more exclusive control of worship and arcane culture, laborers and farmers rapidly found themselves not only assigned to a lower class, but considered nebarra in their own land unless they adopted the gods of the upper crust. As a result, many of the newly-designated lower classes fled for mainland Tamriel around the same time the Psijic Order left Summerset. Those psijics who remained feared that the Psijic Order’s solution—relinquishing their rightful ancestral homes to a rapidly-stratifying Altmeri society—would leave the newly-formed lower classes to be preyed upon. They saw the potential for the values of the Old Ways to be erased completely from Altmeri life, and worried that worship of the ancestor-gods of the elites would quickly become entwined with justice and culture. History has proven that their fears were not only justified, but prescient.

The new Altmeri society characterized psijic Elf culture as simplistic and backward. The term ‘hearth Elf’ itself was originally a derogatory term—a way of calling us primitive, because we still performed all of our rituals at the hearth, instead of just the ones which had not been replaced with Aedric customs. ‘Proper’ remove from the hearth became a marker of sophistication, which coincides neatly with markers of the lower classes—denizens of the hearth; the servants, cooks, and nannies of the world. But such an association was not exactly an insult to the first hearth Elves: through the memories of their ancestors, they still remembered that not long ago we had been a society where this type of labor was respected. In fact, they considered it an apt name—the hearth, after all, is a symbol of mortal connection to the Ehlnofey, and an enduring part of all cultures. It is a reminder of the relationship of people to time; barely changed from our primitive origins—a center of life no matter how nomadic the peoples; a site of ancient rituals no matter how sophisticated the society.

The hearth was an apt metaphor for our magic, as well—“nature magic brought indoors,” in the words of an archmage who believed herself to be snidely insulting it. But this is exactly what hearth magic was and remains: ancestral earth magic, adapted to a cosmopolitan Altmeri way of life. Unsurprisingly, after the psijic schism, our magic was almost immediately derided as witchcraft, and has been deemed such for centuries. Many hearth mages embraced this epithet as well—though intended as an insult, it was an acknowledgment of our uncommon power; then as now the word witch belies a fear of those who can call upon the most ancient, wild, and potent arcane forces in Nirn. To this day, many of us still call ourselves ‘hearth witches’, ‘witches of the Old Ways’, and (the term I prefer for myself): ‘psijic witches.’

With the formation of the Mages Guild—founded on the psijic ideal that magic should be accessible to anyone who wishes to wield it responsibly—the Psijic Order left Nirn entirely. This made it clear to the Summerset Elves that the Order considered the Guild threat: in order to avoid whatever danger they believed the Mages Guild represented, the Order was willing to leave behind the very Earthbones on which their immense power depends, and willing to commit permanently to relying on more precarious (and infinitely more wasteful) methods of obtaining Ehlnofeic magic. Hearth Elves as a group had been vocal proponents of the Guild, believing it to be a much-needed equalizer that honored the Old Ways—but by this time, most of Summerset held the Old Ways synonymous with the Psijic Order. Hearth mages, who still practiced the true psijic magic of the Old Ways as they had since before history began, were suddenly considered a radical separatist cult—one which was advocating a revolutionary force, in the Mages Guild, at a time when the Guild was too young and embattled to advocate for hearth magic.

So, for almost all of the Second Era, our magic has been practiced quietly, taught quietly, spoken of quietly. What remains of Altmeri hearth culture in the public consciousness is largely mysticism and herbal magic—while Altmeri Praxes severely restricted our ability to practice these openly, there was some cultural tolerance afforded to what was undeniably an ancestral tradition. In fact, despite Praxes, it is still commonplace to consult a hearth witch to have your fortunes read, your hangover cured, or for mystic guidance about romance, sex, and marriage. But since the rise of the Divine Prosecution, even fortune-tellers and herbalists are actively watched with suspicion, so today our magic is largely practiced in secret—and under tacit threat of violence. It is the culmination of centuries of effort to relegate hearth culture to dark magic and quaint folk superstition: our Old Ways are an uncomfortable reminder that a vastly more equal society is in the blood-memory of every Altmer alive today, from kinsfolk to common folk.

We of the hearth remember. The psijic schism was not just a disagreement about mystic and religious philosophy—in addition to those, the Old Ways also represented a more egalitarian society in which those who work the fields and the seas had the same place in society as scholars and mages. I come from a privileged family, and my father is a mage of the hearth who can trace his family’s tradition back for generations. Father tells stories from when our family worked in vineyards, moving with the seasons to harvest and process grapes—and my family’s tradition goes back even further than those stories.

Altmeri readers may be shocked that I’d say so: for non-Altmeri readers, to admit that my family were ever common laborers is to weaken the argument that superiority to others is genetically inherent to Altmeri society’s upper crust—a notion that is, unsurprisingly, dearly sacred to Altmeri society’s upper crust. That I, a relatively upper-class Altmer, practice hearth magic means that at some point my family were disposable folk, and now we are not.

Though our beliefs have had the same core principles since time began, hearth Elves are ever more an inconvenience to the pillars on which Altmer have chosen to construct our modern identity: to hold the sway that they do, Altmeri social classes must be seen as eternal and unchanging. Hearth culture is older than modern Altmeri social classes; older even than the modern notion of class itself. Very inconvenient, if one is invested in preserving one’s class status.

I write this from occupied Sunhold, the traditional ancestral home of psijic Elves of the Old Ways—some hearth Elf families can trace their ancestry here to before the Psijic Order left Summerset. According to our tradition, Sunhold is a sacred place where the Earthbones meet, and in such places is psijic magic the strongest. This is why the first hearth Elves refused to leave with the Psijic Order, and why Sunhold’s healers are renowned throughout Tamriel. It is also why the city’s central ruins are adorned with ancient wisteria—hearth Elves have historically cultivated these trees (which are the ancestors of most of the wisteria in Summerset) to honor and protect this place. Some of the wisteria in Sunhold are as old as the ruined ancient seawalls upon which the Wisteria District homes and streets are constructed. In fact, many of the oldest trees grew in our communal courtyards—psijic Elves’ traditional homes are built encircling a small central plot of land, which is tended to, but left intentionally undeveloped to enable communion with the Elhnofey. Several such courtyards remained untouched for the entirety of Sunhold’s recorded history.

I note also that as Summerset’s major trading port and naval hub, Sunhold has historically been a diverse and working-class city compared to the rest of Summerset—prior to Queen Ayrenn’s decree and the Maormer occupation, it was home to more immigrants than the rest of the island combined. Considering the demographics of its population—nebarra foreign and Altmeri alike—it is perhaps not shocking that the Divine Prosecution immediately abandoned Sunhold when Maormer ships appeared on the horizon a few years ago, nor that the Aldmeri Dominion left a city of civilians, the home of its own navy, to defend itself. Some of the heaviest destruction in Sunhold has been in the former enclaves of the psijic Elves. Many hearth families have lost loved ones as the resistance drags on, and most of us have lost our ancestral hearths and communal yards in the destruction. Already-embattled hearth Elf culture may be destroyed for good, scattered across Summerset and mainland Tamriel after millennia of barely hanging on. Whether these circumstances were intentional or simply unfortunate, it must be said that they are unavoidably positive for Altmeri hegemony in Summerset and all of Tamriel, and for the complete erasure of the Old Ways from Altmeri culture.

The Psijic Order believe they exist to serve "lesser men," yet we are all lesser men in the grander sense—in the sense that we are all mortals, all of us deriving from the Ehlnofey, who rejected immortality and omnipotence so that we could exist at all. We are all lesser than gods, and that is the beauty of our existence—we are allowed to discover, to become, to learn, to grow, to change, and what is holier than change?

Yet, we Altmer live longer by far than the other races of Tamriel. We will always have the advantage of steering history, simply because we live longer. We are not gods, or god-like, or even more godly—we are mortals, the same as the others. But we have the honor of being the keepers of the story of this world, by no other blessing than the randomness of our birth. We have made our gods everyone else’s gods, and we have made it so Tamriel aspires to our languages and our culture and our view of magic. At very least is our duty to care for what we have built, and to ensure that the world we live in belongs to everyone equally.

This is not the world we Altmer are building. I write this because I want history to know that there were Altmer who heeded the lessons of the bones of the earth, who believed that we are here for one another. I want future generations to know that there were always Altmer who rejected the toxic lie of Altmeri supremacy over the other races—many of us, and certainly not only hearth Elves.

This text is meant to be informative, but it also represents the selfish desires of a mortal who wishes her people not to be forgotten or remembered falsely as Daedra worshippers or cultists. I cannot apologize for such desires; I am a mortal. Although I understand that countless injustices of this sort exist in history, I still cannot stomach the thought of psijic Elves being lumped in with the Psijic Order that abandoned the bones of the earth, or the Altmeri society that eroded us to nothing over the centuries, while making ever more brazen attempts to do the same with the other races of Tamriel. To be sure, we are Altmer; we still benefit from—and thus, bear some responsibility for—the actions of the Altmer as a race. We must commit ourselves to counterbalancing oegnithr (bad change) including and especially that which is perpetrated by our kin. But I fear this is truly the end of my people, and if it is, I want Tamriel to know who we were—and who we were not.

I want future people to know that we psijics understood the onus of power; the duty to care for the earth and one another, placed upon us by our ability to wield the unmitigated might of the Ehlnofey. Remember us, not only for our sake, but so that no one may ever forget: no matter how powerful, hegemonies are not truths, they are illusions preserved by violence. They always topple under their own weight eventually; absolute power corrupts absolutely. But no matter how silenced or ineffectual, for every hegemony that rises, there are always people who oppose it. There always will be—let no one ever, for a moment, believe otherwise, no matter how bleak the outlook.

Let the psijic Elves of Sunhold be a reminder: no matter how many subcultures, how many neighborhoods, how many people are erased, there are others who live and believe in the life you know in your bones to be right, even within seemingly-monolithic cultures. Keep your Oghma, and you cannot really be erased—a book may be burned, a person may be killed, but spiritually, keeping your Oghma inscribes your existence into the long memory of the Earthbones. As such, recording a mortal existence is close to life-energy itself in terms of power, and such power lives on in the magicka produced by the bones of the earth. Therefore, to keep your Oghma is to remember that you matter—to understand the onus of your life mattering—and to know that your power can never be destroyed. We of the hearth and the Old Ways keep our Oghma so that people may know: those who know the Ehlnofey and live by the laws of love have always been here, and we always will be; we are in the bones of the earth, and they are in us.

[beep-beep-sunny]

Reddie week- Day 2- Occupation swap!

My daddy likes boys. I don't know why that's such a big deal. I'm not a dummy. I understand that they don't mean he likes boys just as friends like me and Hank from my class. Otherwise, mommy and daddy wouldn't have broked up. I get it. It's about in love. Like Aladdin and Jasmine. They aren't both boys, but that's okay. I'm sure there are other examples of boys I'm just not thinking of. 

Mommy already sees other boys. Daddy comes to watch me when she goes on her "dates" and we watch Bluey on TV or play hungry hungry hippos. Daddy is great at games, but I'm better because I always win. Still, daddy deserves to play games with someone he can beat. Someone he can go on "dates" with. Maybe on a magic carpet. Daddy likes cars, and that's a very cool and special kinda car. I wanna ride on one. Maybe if daddy's boyfriend has a magic carpet I can ride in the backseat and fly up high. That would be cool. That would be super cool.

I started kindergarten in the Fall. I'm in Mr. Tozier's class. He wears funny, colorful shirts and does voices that make me laugh a lot. When we learned about animals he made all the sounds. My favorite was when he made the goose sound. Mr. Tozier is the coolest.

And a boy.

And daddy likes boys.

Then I had an idea. My daddy and Mr. Tozier could be in love! That's a great perfect idea. I just needed to find a way to get daddy and Mr. Tozier to talk. When they talked they would obviously instantly fall in love because they are both awesome and fun and they both love me. It would be the greatest thing to have two daddies!! 

I started small. Daddy tells me every day that I'm brave and I decided to prove it. I made sure Mr. Tozier was close and I climbed up higher in the jungle gym than I had ever climbed. The other kids watched and some waved and giggled. By the time Mr. Tozier noticed how high I climbed and started running towards me, it was too late. I bent my knees like a frog. Mr. Tozier saying ribbit ribbit popping into my head as I hopped off the roof (where I definitely wasn't supposed to be) and fell hard onto the ground. 

Plop

I yelled and yelled and yelled some more. How was I supposed to know it would hurt THAT much. Mr. Tozier reached me quickly with his kind blue eyes twisted up in worry. "Frankie!" He yelped. "How'd you even get up there?" He was concerned, but I couldn't help but notice he also sounded impressed. This was going perfectly according to plan even though my arm hurt a whole lot. 

Mr. Tozier carried me to the nurse's office. "I'm gonna call your parents, okay? Just sit tight buddy." I made a froggy sound and his worry melted away just long enough to do an, admittedly much better, froggy sound. 

He rushed out the door. Oh no. "Call my daddy!" I shouted after him, hoping it was loud enough. My voice was usually louder, but my arm hurt too much! I waited to let my tears fall down my cheeks for after Mr. Tozier left. He probably thought I was very brave. Mr. Tozier and daddy will talk about how brave I am all day long until they fall in love. 

Daddy didn't come. Mr. Tozier must not have heard me. When I saw mommy come through the door with her arms stretched out like she was ready to clean my dirty cheek with her spit, I cringed a bit and then started crying. This time it wasn't from the pain. Well, it wasn't just from the pain. This was going to be harder than I thought. 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/47678521/chapters/120180805

This is just the first chapter. I'm posting snippets for reddie week, so I am mentally able to finish them all. Whichever snippets people like, I'll finish! Happy reddie week and pride month!!