#wip is still in its earliest days still

[mykingdomforasong]

10, 11, 19, 20 for the wip game!

[wip ask game]

10. How do you usually keep yourself motivated?

My constant need for validation forces me to write when kudos and comments get low.

But really, comments help a lot. And prompts on tumblr. Mostly, though, I annoy Cap with my ideas until I actually feel like making one of them exist.

11. What is your favorite way to procrastinate?

I will do literally anything to procrastinate, but dumb youtube videos is always a good option. Also, going down research rabbit holes I know are useless, but are connected to the wip just enough to justify it.

19. What is a favorite line of dialogue so far?

My current wip is literally a DinLuke au where the concept is"Din is Shakespeare, Luke is the Earl of Southampton." It's set during the plague year of 1593 when the theaters were closed. This is some dialogue from their first meeting (for context, Luke is still an amputee in the au)

 “Titus Andronicus! ...The action, the blood … it’s your most thrilling work to date.” He sank onto his back, before kicking a leg up in the air to amuse himself or glance at his shoes. “Of course, it’s not the only work I have something of a personal connection to. Comedy of Errors was also great fun. I have a twin myself, you know.” 

“I do.” 

“A sister. We hardly look alike. That would never make a good stage play, brother and sister twins town apart. We'd never recognize each other again if we were separated so young.” 

20. What is a favorite description so far?

It's a bit of a long, exposition-heavy passage, but I had fun writing it. It's not dripping with Shakespeare in-jokes as well, so that's an accomplishment.

He read some Ovid out loud to Grogu as the child fell asleep. His Latin vowels were tinged with a Spanish lilt that his old school masters used to chastise him for. When he was sure the child was asleep, he knelt by the small bed, watching over the gentle rise and fall of his son’s belly, and whispered a Latin Hail Mary. The prayer dripped with the same Spanish tone he’d read the Ovid in. 

His family had traveled to England in pursuit of work, following some cousin or uncle who had long since died, during Mary’s reign, back when things seemed safer for Catholics than Protestants. But some strange cancer had taken Mary and her Catholic rule the year before Din came into the world. His family did their duty, affirmed their loyalty to the Church of England and their new queen, and had Din baptized in the church in Stratford. Paz remembered the mass, he told Din. The white walls of the church still looked freshly painted. HE asked their father how thick the paint needed to be in order to cover up the mural of doomsday that lingered behind it like a malignant spirit. His father had smacked him, and it was the last anyone heard the Djarin family so much as whisper about their old Papal loyalties. 

But his mother was not so easily swayed, and, though he would deny it, neither was his father. She had an old rosary, red wooden beads strung together, with the metal replication of the crucified Christ at the end. She kept it buried in the feathers of her pillow, retrieving it only on the holiest of days or in times of sickness. 

Din had never been a religious man one way or the other. He only showed up to weekly mass for fear of what people might say or do if he didn’t. He never knew what to ask for, or what mattered about the small doctrinal differences between the Anglicans and the Catholics. From his perspective, it was nothing more than a matter of loyalty. And as long as Her Majesty paid for his theater company and the Pope did not, his loyalty was to her. 

But on Grogu’s first night in his family’s home, his mother had sent him to the church to arrange for a proper baptism. “Whether or not you intend to keep that child with us, I will not have the poor soul going his death without --” 

Din cut her off, already afeared for the child’s life enough as it was. When he returned, the arrangements made for the day after tomorrow, he found his mother in her bedroom, the child resting on the bed, as she prayed the rosary over him. He sat in his father’s chair and watched as Hail Mary after Hail Mary tumbled out of her lips in Latin. 

It remained the only prayer he ever felt compelled to say, in any language or denomination. And besides, as far as finding the boy a suitable mother was concerned, it was the best Din could do.

[dindjarindiaries]

Clouded

summary: One year after Eriadu, you and Hunter unknowingly seek one another for comfort, achieving a new kind of vulnerability that could change everything.

pairing: hunter (the bad batch) x reader

tags: mentions of character death (tech), angst & fluff, grief, hurt/comfort

rating: T

note: This story is being done in collaboration with @p-aulinart, whose “Hunter's mental health runs” WIP completely inspired this. The drawing will be available on her blog soon!

word count: 3.101k

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

Even Pabu seemed to hold the weight of this day within the dark clouds that hid the sun from view. It cast a gloomful shadow across the island, swallowing up all its life in the same way grief often did. For you and the rest of the Batch, that feeling was all too familiar—especially today.

Today marked one full year since Eriadu.

You exhaled and held the mug of tea even tighter between your hands. The stone underneath your elbows was rough, but it was more welcome than the sharp ache that tore across your chest each time you let your thoughts and memories linger. The fast pace of the last year had helped to distract you all from the inevitability of this day arriving, no matter how painful those events were.

It wasn’t lost on you, any of you, that you only had the peace you had now because of him. His sacrifice had meant something, and while it should have made it better, it still didn’t erase any of the pain.

Everyone was dealing with it in their own ways today. Wrecker had already embarked on a fishing trip with some of the other islanders. Omega was with Lyana, who was no doubt acting as her perfect distraction. Crosshair didn’t want to see another soul, which meant you wouldn’t be seeing him again until tomorrow at the earliest. You were seeking reassurance in nature, letting the painful memories wash over you like the waves lapping at Pabu’s shore.

Hunter was harder to figure out. It was ironic, considering he was the one you knew the best of all. But he had grown less and less communicative as this day lurked closer, and hiding his emotions was a skill he had mastered as greatly as those he used in battle. It was the reason why you still had yet to make a breakthrough in your relationship that had certainly crossed all the necessary lines.

Your lips pulled tight as you blew another worried exhale through your nostrils. Your worry for him swallowed you up almost as much as your grief did.

It was still early in the morning on the island. Even without the dark clouds overhead, the sun would only just be starting to shine. It was quiet, and while that would usually give you peace, today it was unsettling. It gave you too much freedom to think, to remember.

And the sky looked too much like the clouds did when you were up that high on Eriadu, the ones that had ultimately hidden him from view as he…

You stopped that thought by focusing on lifting your mug to your lips and drawing a long sip of your tea. Blinking back the tears, you lowered your drink and closed your eyes, hanging your head and steadying yourself with a few breaths.

You forced your thoughts to go to Echo, and you hoped he was surrounded by enough support from Rex and the others to get through this day without the rest of you. Even though this wasn’t the first time Echo had to grieve someone on an anniversary like this, no loss was easier than another. You made a mental note to try to comm him later if you could.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps crunching over the landscape. You opened your eyes and lifted your head, looking down from where you still stood just a few levels above the shore. A distant figure was getting closer as they jogged along, and it easily became apparent who it was.

Even just seeing Hunter caused the worried knot in your chest to loosen, but he quickly tied a new one deeper within you. The humidity on Pabu had led him to forego a shirt, and as he slowed to a stop right in front of you, it became easier to see the glistening beads of sweat that clung to his toned muscles. His chest heaved as he set one hand on his hip and raised the other to push some of the curling strands of hair away from his face.

Damn. It was like the galaxy had heard your silent plea for a sweet distraction from the tumultuous turmoil of this day and delivered in the best way possible.

It was impossible not to stare, even if he hadn’t noticed you yet. That alone was still concerning; his senses should have been able to pick up on you quite easily at this distance. Your brow furrowed as you forced yourself to focus on his expression. His brown eyes, normally golden when the Pabu sun decided to shine, were even darker than usual before he shut them tight.

You clutched your cup of tea when you noticed his set jaw and quivering lips. It wasn’t exhaustion that had stopped his run. That wasn’t even what was causing his chest to heave.

Hunter reopened his eyes and looked down at his waist, reaching to the side you couldn’t see at this angle and taking something from it. When he held it in both his hands, treating it with all the care in the galaxy, your fractured heart shattered within your withering chest.

He had taken Tech’s broken goggles from Shep’s collection, where Omega had left them for safekeeping.

You lifted a hand to cup your mouth as you continued to monitor Hunter. His left thumb had only just traced the indicator light when he closed his eyes again. Hunter lowered his forehead to the goggles at the same time his body lowered into a crouch, as if he was folding in on himself entirely. Then, his shoulders started to heave again.

You couldn’t stand by any longer. You left your tea where it was for now and hopped over and across the stone that separated you from him and the shore. Taking extra care not to alarm him, especially in such a fragile, vulnerable state, you kept your footsteps steady. By the time you reached him, he had sat fully on the shore, the goggles pressed between his head and his propped-up knees.

As badly as you wanted to touch him for reassurance, you kept your hands to yourself, instead giving him a worried once-over as you spoke in a soft voice. “Hunter…”

If you were going to say something else, it was completely lost on you, especially the moment he raised his head and revealed his misty eyes to you. The air was knocked from your lungs as if someone had shoved you against the ground. You had been with this squad long enough to share in their lowest moments, but never before had Hunter let you see him with tears in his eyes.

And here he was, not only sharing that vulnerability for a moment, but also freeing a hand from the tight grasp he had on Tech’s goggles to wrap around your arm. The gentle tug he gave it was the only invitation, or desperate plea, you needed to act.

You took your place beside him, and you were ready for him when he all but crashed against you. The hand that had been on your arm wrapped across your back, his fist catching the material of your tunic as his face buried itself against the inside of your shoulder. You secured one arm around him and lifted the other to the back of his head to keep him there.

If this, your embrace, was where he needed to be right now, then you were going to make him feel as safe as possible within it.

You didn’t say anything, because there was nothing you could offer that would dull the pain. Hunter’s hand that still clutched the broken goggles to his chest made that sentiment even more true. You just rested your head against his and looked out upon the cloudy Pabu horizon.

The light in such a moment of darkness was that Hunter had ended up in exactly the right place at the right time, which brought warmth to your chest. The place he had run to was the same place you were planning on spending this morning. It was a spot you had shown him a while ago, on a night where you were hoping to make a breakthrough with him.

If you had only known then that he just needed a little more time, even if this wasn’t the way you planned on earning such vulnerability from him.

You sat with him until he was ready. Hunter lifted his head from your shoulder, and you loosened your grasp on him. His hand slid over your back until it found your hand, which he gently interweaved with his own—as if the movement was as natural as breathing. The corners of your mouths pulled up in a small smile, though it faltered when you caught sight of his bloodshot eyes.

Hunter’s gaze couldn’t meet yours, and he kept his focus on the goggles again as he spoke. “He should be here.” His voice was so genuinely distraught that it was almost unrecognizable, even lower and hoarser than usual.

Your free hand cupped his cheek to brush a fallen tear away from his eye. You still didn’t say anything, instead giving him another once-over as you waited to see if he had more to offer.

“He deserved to see what he gave us.” Hunter looked up, his gaze scanning the Pabu civilization behind you. “This life. I was supposed to keep him safe so that he could.”

You clicked your tongue and shook your head at him. The hand you kept against the tattooed side of his face had started to run soothing strokes with your thumb across his damp skin. “It was his own sacrifice. His own decision.” You offered him a reassuring nod, though his eyes still couldn’t meet yours. “He chose to let us get away safely.”

Hunter’s grasp on the goggles tightened, but not nearly enough to further fracture the broken glass. “And who put him in that position?” It was then that his stare found yours, void of any of its usual sparkle. His voice faltered when he answered his own question. “I did.”

You frowned. “You all knew the risks with every single mission you did. You think those guys were ever too scared to tell you no?” The light tease at least earned you a small sparkle in Hunter’s eyes. That was a major win in your book. “If Tech didn’t agree with your directive, he would’ve said as much. I mean, it was Tech. He wouldn’t have been able to help himself.”

Hunter huffed, and the small smile that tugged at the corners of his lips overwhelmed you with a wave of relieved warmth. He looked down at the goggles again, but this time, his brow was lifted in fondness. “True.”

You traced the outline of the tattoo on his cheekbone. “And he wouldn’t have wanted you to spend the life he gave you carrying a burden of guilt that isn’t yours to bear.”

Hunter looked at you again. His gaze was searching, and you never once looked away as you went on.

“‘Adapt and move on.’ Isn’t that what he used to say?”

Hunter held his breath before he responded with a single nod. As he exhaled, his entire body began to relax, including the tight grasp he had taken on both your hand and Tech’s goggles.

“That’s obviously much more easily said than done, but…” you paused, raising your gaze to the cloudy sky for a moment as you thought, “try to think of what he would have wanted you to do rather than what you think you were supposed to do.”

Hunter blinked a few times as he processed your words. He looked down, but this time, his focus was on your entwined hands. Another small smile appeared on his lips as he let out a soft chuckle. “I know what he would’ve wanted me to do.”

You brightened. “Yeah?”

Hunter nodded. “Yeah.”

He didn’t say anything else. Your brow started to rise. “What is it?”

Hunter kept looking at your hands, his thumb circling yours before he spoke. “Like you said before, Tech could never help himself. If he noticed or knew something that no one else was acknowledging, he just had to point it out himself.”

You hummed when he paused. Hunter’s stare rose to yours.

“One of the last things he ever approached me about in private was…” his chest inflated with an uncertain breath, “us.”

Your brow shot up in disbelief. Hunter set down Tech’s goggles in his lap and raised his hand to your wrist, gently lowering yours from his face to set it between his own and yours that were still entwined.

Hunter let out a soft huff. “I don’t know if it was what he was experiencing with Phee or what.” You smiled at that, even if it reminded you of another fracture in your heart. You would have to comm her later too to make sure she was holding up okay. “But Tech told me what he saw between us, and it didn’t make sense to him that I wasn’t acting upon it.”

You were beaming, ready to fold entirely for him, but you still held on to your resolve and quirked up an eyebrow. “And why didn’t he tell me the same thing?”

Hunter was trying to fight a guilty smile as his gaze found Tech’s goggles again. “Because he knew I was the only one standing in our way.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Well, he’s not the only one who knew that.”

Hunter looked back up at you. His brow was furrowed in severity, but before you could rush to reassure him that you were joking, he spoke in a firm yet achingly soft voice. “Then it’s time for me to get out of our way.”

Your lips parted at the genuine weight of his words. Hunter’s gaze flickered between them and your eyes, a silent invitation that wasn’t necessary—because you were already closing the gap.

The moment your mouth met his, an unprecedented warmth washed over you, as if the clouds had parted to finally let the bright sun shine once again. You parted from Hunter to realize that’s exactly what had happened. Overhead, the gray clouds hovering over Pabu began to split, allowing the bright sun and blue sky to take over.

Real subtle, Tech. Of course he was still within the clouds. In your mind, he had never left them, even when they had hidden him from sight that day.

Hunter’s gentle hand wrapped around the back of your neck to bring you back to him. Your smile melted against his as you lifted your free hand to his chest, running it along the warmth of his skin until you reached the back of his head. Your fingers caught the curling strands of hair and held on to them, minding the sensitivity he would have to the feeling as you kept him in place.

But Hunter was the one who wanted you closer. He eased the goggles into a safer position before inviting you to take their previous place, all while he continued to meet each passionate, desperate stroke you offered. It fueled your shared fire of longing even more, causing your entwined hands to unravel as you kept one in his hair and let the other explore.

No one would see. That’s why you had picked this spot. But even if they did, you didn’t care. Not when you had finally gotten the breakthrough you’d been waiting too long for.

You parted only when your lungs demanded it, though you rested your forehead against his. Lazy yet pleased smiles were exchanged between you as you gently panted in time with one another. Now that the Pabu sun had emerged, your back was to it, and its golden glow was catching the flecks in Hunter’s gaze.

Breathtaking, even more so than his kiss had been.

The beautiful sight of them was taken from you when he closed his eyes and let out a soft chuckle. He reopened them and looked down at the goggles that sat on a rock nearby. “Thanks, Tech.”

You laughed, closing your own eyes as your nose brushed his. “Is this what you planned on doing today?”

“No, but… I’m not surprised.” You reopened your eyes when you sensed Hunter’s stare on you. He was beaming. “Tech was always the best problem solver.”

You smiled, leaning away from him only to make your observation of him even more obvious. “Well, you certainly dressed for the part.”

Hunter gave himself a quick once-over, as if he had only just realized what he was—or wasn’t—wearing. A blush crept up his neck, and he tried to shrug it off while you laughed. “It’s too warm here to go on runs with a shirt.”

You raised your brow. “Really?” You drummed your fingers against his bare chest. “Or were you just hoping I’d notice?”

Hunter’s blush intensified, but he still managed to let a charming smile shine. “Maybe a little bit of both.”

You hummed and wrapped your arms around his neck, this time letting yourself fall into his embrace rather than vice versa. Hunter held you close, his warm skin muffling your words as you spoke. “At least you can have a workout partner, now.”

Hunter was surprisingly quick with his cheeky response. “What kind of workout?”

You burst out laughing and shook your head. “You’re really wasting no time, are you?”

You caught the sight of Tech’s goggles nearby. The heavy weight of what you’d been feeling all morning threatened to return, but you leaned further into Hunter in a silent plea for him to take some of it for you. He did.

“Let’s just get through this day first.”

Hunter’s agreement came in the form of his comfort, which was his head resting against yours. This grief wouldn’t disappear, but at least now, you had someone to share it with—and so did he. Everything else would fall into place soon enough.

All thanks to Tech.

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

hunter tag list: @zenrobbins0021 @cw80831 @yunggoblin @maddiedrmr @Molmcb @jellybeanstacey0519 @violetlilly2020

[and-come-to-dust]

Rings of Power WIP

This is a piece of a longer fic I have planned out where Elrond visits Númenor post-season 1 as an emissary from Gil-Galad. In this scene, Elrond is on Elendil's ship, just arriving in Númenor's harbor. The dialogue between them (and the whole fic, really) grew up out of my desperate desire for someone in the show to acknowledge that Elendil is Elrond's great great great (great great great great great...) nephew, which for some reason is both hilarious to me and holds enormous potential for angst.

Enjoy!

“Beautiful, isn’t it?" Elendil said. "I’ve lived here all my life and the view still takes my breath away.”

“I have never seen it before,” Elrond said, nodding towards the statue of Eärendil. The statue of his father, Elendil realized with another one of those strange jolts he still felt every time he remembered that he was standing beside a figure from his childhood storybooks come to life.

“I thought you had visited Númenor in the past?”

“I have,” Elrond agreed. “But the last time I was here, construction had only just begun on the sculpture.”

Elendil said nothing, reminded yet again that this elf who looked barely older than Isildur had already lived many human lifetimes by the time this ancient kingdom was founded. 

“I promised, at the time, that I would return to see it finished,” Elrond went on. “But time moves so differently for my people than it does for yours, and it seems to be a particular fault of mine to forget that. By the time I thought to return, my promise was already long past due and I found that the way back to Númenor was closed to me. My kind were no longer welcome in what was once my brother’s kingdom, and I lost contact with his descendants. That is why I am so pleased to have met you, Captain. I am glad to know that I still have kin.”

“Kin in Númenor, you mean?”

“Kin anywhere.”

Elendil paused, thinking of all the lofty tales he’d heard told about the house of Eärendil. There were grandparents and great grandparents, aunts and uncles, many distant cousins, all dead before the beginning of the Second Age. There was a father who set sail, never to return, and a mother who cast herself into the sea in his wake. There was one brother who had chosen mortality and death, and another who had chosen otherwise. It occurred to him then, sudden and startling in its obviousness, that for all the greatness of Elrond’s family he was very much alone in this world.

Finding himself at a loss to articulate his sorrow for the terrible loneliness that must bring, Elendil looked back to the statue. “Is it a good likeness?” he asked, the change of subject sounding clumsy in his own ears, but Elrond seemed to take it in stride.

“I believe the sculptors have captured his features well,” he replied slowly. “But it is not as I remember him.”

“In what way?”

“In my memory, he smiles.”

Elrond wasn’t looking at him anymore, and was instead staring up at the monument with an expression of such naked wistfulness on his face that Elendil felt compelled to look away. He turned instead to the statue and tried, for a moment, to imagine that it was an image of his own father; that the great stone face high above was the same one that had laughed as they splashed in the waves together in Elendil’s earliest memories and looked at him with such pride the day Elendil passed his sea trial; that the outstretched carven hand was the same one that had held him as a baby and guided him as he learned his letters. The thought was such an absurd one that Elendil almost laughed. But he mastered the urge, and said instead:

“It must be very strange, seeing your father like that.”

“I suppose I’ve grown accustomed to it,” Elrond said, smiling faintly. “Everywhere I go, I am known first for my father’s accomplishments, and second for my brother’s. My own come in a rather unimpressive third.”

“You have time enough to match them. You’re young still,” Elendil said, and immediately felt like a fool. It was something he might have said to Isildur or Eärien when they spoke with ambition untempered by patience, and it had slipped out now with the deep-ingrained habits of fatherhood. But speaking like that to an elf hundreds of times his own age – the high king’s emissary, no less – was ridiculous to the point of insult. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Elrond was already laughing.

“I suppose I am,” he said. “As are you, captain, if we measure by elvish standards. Perhaps the both of us still have our greatest deeds ahead of us.”

“Perhaps,” Elendil said dubiously. The future he expected for himself was a simple one: to live and die as a captain of the sea guard and a loyal servant of Númenor. Honorable, perhaps, but unremarkable in the long view of history. It was not the kind of life that would result in monuments being built in his honor, and Elendil was quite content to be forgotten. 

He opened his mouth to say as much to Elrond, but was interrupted by the approach of his lieutenant. 

“Sir,” the young man said. “We’ll be dropping anchor soon.”

Elendil nodded, then said to Elrond: “Excuse me. Duty calls.”

“Of course.”

Elendil turned away and followed the lieutenant, pulling his attention away from thoughts of ancient heroes and back to the work of the present. He glanced back once, though, and saw Elrond still waiting at the prow, standing in the shadow of his father’s outstretched hand.

[trixierosewrites]

one more sts one more hi i'd love to hear more about your conlangs :]

have a good day!

writblr: @vsnotresponding

Happy STS, and HIIII!! I love talking about my conlangs so Morkan here we come >:3

The kingdom of Morkus rests on top of the mountain that Akraus resides at the base of, and was once the sister kingdom to Pinia before they, uh, rolled boulders onto it and destroyed it. For some definitely completely unrelated reason, Akraus and Morkus have been at war for... a while. They fight over a lot, including what they call the colonies, or the unhabitable spaces taken over by latent magic.

Morkus speaks Morkan (huge surprise there) and some of their texts are in what is inventively named Old Morkan. This is also where they get the names of their months, and so forth.

The language of Morkan itself went in the opposite direction to Akrausian's simplicity and practicality. It's the most complicated conlang I have and there are no simplifications. In its earliest form, it had 3500 conjugations. It now has more. There is a reason this conlang is forever a WIP, because I do not have! the time!

Morkus has possibly the most obnoxious system of pronouns in the world, and it's that pronouns serve to show:

gender

age

relationship to the person in question

relationship to Morkus

sometimes there are other additions like (affectionate) or (derogatory) or religious stuff

So. There's a pronoun for so many things. But the problem is the variation is very small because they like things to be neat, so you better learn minute spoken differences like di, dit, dee, diz, ditz, and dil, or you might accidentally say "let's fuck" when you meant us (coworkers). Imagine trying to teach this to someone, like, what.

"Okay, so, the word you're looking for here is di - no, not dit, that means "us", yeah, but that's for unhappily married couples in their fifties without a child, di means unmarried couple thinking about marriage in the future in their twenties without a child and one half of the couple is foreign, no, you just said dee, we're not thinking about kids and you're not from Akraus--"

(For the record, dil is the same as di but extra affectionate; it's like saying "me and my beloved" instead of just us. For "you (my beloved)" it would be lil.)

Imagine trying to introduce your "friend" to the family and you accidentally say "unmarried couple thinking about getting engaged because one of us is pregnant" when you use the wrong you. Awful. Terrible language.

I'm going to share my favourite set of pronouns, which are, in their you and us forms, liz, diz, litz, and ditz. Liz and diz mean, essentially, "Hey, there, older man, wanna fuck?" (Technically it's "you (older man (thirties)), I'm interested in you)", and the same for the us format, but this is a way funnier way of saying it.) Litz and ditz are the same but less polite, so more like saying "you look like a slut and I'm interested". For someone younger than you in their thirties, it'd be lizi, dizi, litzi, and ditzi! For twenties it'd be lize, dize, litze, and ditze; for twenties and younger than the person, it'd be lizie, dizie, litzie, and ditzie. These are all masculine singular, also, because I have not finished this conlang. For the same reason I don't have them for above the thirties yet. It is a task for many years.

One letter variations, my beloved <3

Location based is usually "Morkan, foreigner, Akrausian" because in their eyes it's Morkan (beloved), foreigner (neutral), and Akrausian (DIE BY MY BLADE), which I think is very funny. But then there's also variations based on "Morkan from birth, still Morkan" or "moved to Morkus before they were ten" or so forth. Sometimes I try and add more to the conlang and I go "okay, this will never be finished" and I just have to live with that.

There's also separate pronouns (and thus conjugations, yes, I am in conjugation hell) for people who're dead, and then there's, like, variation on how long they've been dead (recently dead, semi-recently dead (last few years), died a while ago, old dead (100+ years), ancient dead (1000+ years)), and then what the relationship the speaker is to the dead, and then what relationship the person the speaker is speaking to had with the dead, and so forth.

Additionally, because Morkan is the language of poets (self-described, I may add, the Morkan people said that about their own language), they have a secondary set of tenses for writing than they do for speaking. They have even more pronouns, because they have pronouns for "this is how you, the reader, should feel about this person" and so forth, and then vaguer ones for when they don't want to convey that, and there's all sorts of poetic nuance I have mostly separated out. Mostly.

Word order is used for inflection, so you can say "the green frog" and you're stressing frog, or "the frog green" and you're stressing that the frog is green. However, you can also then say "it" and put all the nuance on that (living being, unusual, dangerous) and you mean THE BASTARD ATTACKED ME BUT THERE'S SOMETHING COOL ABOUT IT???

There's a poetic tendency to us "it" throughout a poem in its variations and only reveal what the thing in question is at the end, or switch to a pronoun like he or she and reveal you were talking about a person the whole time, or reveal you're talking about a person and not change the pronoun (big win for it/its users), or just never real the thing you're talking about because between the poem and the specifics of the pronouns have you not deduced it by now?

Pretentious ass language. Thanks for letting me talk about it!

[emerald-onion]

Three Birds On A Wire - Chapter 2 (WIP)

Once again, a little snippet for the next chapter!

"After the assassination of his parents, His Majesty, XGaster the Emperor, was declared the youngest ruler in our Empire's history." In the silence of the palace's classroom, no sound can be heard but the steady scratching of chalk against blackboard and a middle-aged woman's droning lecture. "At the current time, many high-ranking nobles had protested against the decision, claiming that His Majesty was too inexperienced to take over the crown, but our Emperor proved them wrong with his many achievements merely one year later, including the co-invention of the portable magic scrolls, the complete eradication of the Temper of Destruction, and the treaty he drafted with Lady Nim, Highest Order of the Faery Court."

Marchioness Galett's voice is as gentle as gossamer threads, and yet they draw you in just as effortlessly. It is one of the many qualities Frisk admires about her, the way she so easily makes others dance to her silk-woven words, gliding across the political world with the graceful steps of a silent predator. Despite being the female head of a noble household, she has accumulated enough power and influence to make everyone think twice before they dare to become her enemy.

His teacher is absolutely terrifying, and Frisk thinks she is the coolest person he has ever met.

However, while the Prince would normally gladly let himself be led by spider strings, right now, the thoughts inside his head are simply too heavy for the threads to hold onto.

Today is the weekend. The day Chara, Cross, and he agreed to sneak out of the castle.

Still, hesitation is a turbulent ocean inside of him, drowning out any courage or determination in its deathly cold grip. What if something goes wrong? What if they stumble upon yet another group of child traffickers? What if one of the servants notices their disappearance? What if Father finds out and oh All Creator he will be so disappointed this is a terrible idea-

"His Highness?"

The soft chide pulls Frisk from the endless depth of his thoughts. He sucks in a sharp breath, hoping to calm his raging anxiety, and drags up a strained grin from the bottom of his stomach. "Yes, Madame?"

"I've been calling your name for the past ten minutes now." The Marchioness says, and although there is no anger behind her words, Frisk still finds himself shrinking, swallowing a mouthful of shame. "Is there anything troubling you, little Prince?"

A part of him wants to tell her everything, to spill out all the doubt and worry and terror before he can choke on them.

The other part remembers the hope unfurling across his twin brother's face, weak and fragile, yet blooming so beautifully, so vibrantly.

And Frisk will do anything to keep that hope alive.

So, instead of the reassurances he desperately seeks, the Prick plucks the first thing that across his head and lets it tumble out. "Can you tell me more about the Witch of Fables?"

Lady Galett, clever as she is, sees his question as the deflection it is. But because she is his favorite teacher, and he, her favorite student, she does not push him any further, instead electing to hum deliberately.

"I see you've met Ink."

Surprise overtakes his nervousness. "You know them?"

"Of course. As rare as their visits may be, Ink is the Emperor's closest friend. It would be quite idiotic had I not known about them." It's important to watch out for important players on the board, little Prince. One of her earliest lessons echoes. "They've been around for a long, long time. Before you were born. Before I married the Marquess myself."

Frisk's curiosity rears its head. "What do you think about them?"

The Marchioness's many eyes peer right through him, and he unconsciously straightens beneath that considering gaze. "What do you think about them?"

"Well..." He meticulously picks apart his memories, unwilling to disappoint his teacher. "Chara made them to be this fearsome and powerful figure, but from what I've seen, they seem like a... Pardon my language, but they seem like a bumbling idiot."

"Is that all?" She asks, her lips curling into a secretive smile. "Haven't you noticed anything else?"

Frisk scrambles to find a correct answer, but they keep slipping away from his grasp. "Are you suggesting that their foolish act is a pretense?"

"Oh, little Prince, Ink's personality is in no way false." She tuts. "And it's what makes them so horrifying."

He frowns, struggling to see the complete puzzle. But with every piece that slots into place, the picture keeps on shifting, twisting, changing in front of his very eyes, a bucket overflowing with colorful paints until you cannot figure out which is which.

"I'm not sure I understand..."

"Think about it, little Prince, in the short period of time you've known them, have you ever managed to predict their actions? Have you ever truly understood their drive? Their goal? Their weaknesses?"

Realization slowly trickles in, watering a thing full of thorns. "No. No, I haven't."

"Exactly." Lady Galett's expression is as composed as ever, but having known her ever since he was a child, Frisk can see the irritation seeping through her clenched teeth. She has always hated what she cannot control. "Ink is powerful, that, you can deal with. However, they're also unpredictable. They don't follow the same morals and social standards that we follow. They don't have the same greed and pride that we have. What motivates them? What angers them? What is the reason for their interest in us? We have no clue."

She heaves out a sigh, one heavy with the weight of trepidation.

"With someone like that, how can we be so sure that they won't turn their back on us for no reason other than their own entertainment?"

Frisk does not answer. Cannot, really. Silence settles over them, a Damocles's blade ominously swaying back and forth.

With someone like that, how can we be so sure that they won't turn their back on us for no reason other than their own entertainment?

Even after class has long ended, Lady Galett's words still linger inside his mind.

[jisokai]

Would love to hear about "???" And "As a friend" for the wip asks 👀👀👀 super happy to see you on my dash ✨️

OMG!!! Someone from the old MysMes days! Wow, what a throwback—I assumed all my followers from then were inactive now LOL. How are you?? I hope you are well! Super happy to see you in my feed!! I got curious and looked through my followers and you were one of my earliest ones! So cool that you're still around and remember me 🥹

Anyways, sorry for the sentimental blubbering! I find it funny that those are the two you chose, since neither of them have explicit fandoms attached to them yet—they're mostly concepts I like that I haven't been able to decide on a character for.

??? is an Alice and Wonderland AU. That's it that's the fic. LOL. I was imagining reader who falls into a magical world where I would assign fandom characters as their Wonderland counterparts. My initial thought was BNHA, since that's primarily what I write for (and I couldn't stop imagining Sero as Cheshire Cat—they have the same smile), or possibly One Piece since it fits the vibe. I honestly think this idea is getting its moment in my main WIP, a circus AU for BNHA. But something I would really still like to explore with an Alice in Wonderland AU is the language. Carroll's prose in the books is so funny. And so clever. I think it would be a productive challenge to attempt his sort of writing—like whimsical and lighthearted but tackling pretty intense topics at times.

As a friend is a hanahaki fic, but instead of romantic love, the character [still TBD] develops the illness over unreturned platonic love. I think this one is more for me to project and complain and be sad about relationship hierarchy, and how common it is for people to stop spending as much time with their (really close!) friends once they find a romantic partner. I want to explore unrequited love and especially the self-loathing that comes with hanahaki, but in a platonic relationship, since I don't think I've seen that before. My thoughts were a reader & Sanji fic, or maybe Sero & Kaminari since I've hinted at a dynamic like that in a previous fic.

wip game!

[veneritia]

does your world have magic? if so, what is it like?

Congratulations anon! You somehow managed to do the impossible: make me worldbuild WCTD's magic system

I need you to know that this one ask consumed me for a day and a half and ended up spawning a near 1k word page in my wip notion.

Genuinely glad you asked this. No I am not ok

Anyway, here's the highlights of that doc

-

While there are various theories and schools of thought about the subject depending on where you grew up and who you ask, there are a few universal characteristics about magic that everyone considers to be true (with exceptions).

All human beings are born with a mystical energy that gives them life***

Imbuing this energy into a target allows it to be controlled; this act is called THAUMATURGY (i.e. magic)

***The notable exception to this are deadbornes, which are humans that are born without this mystical energy (ichor). Though considering that almost all infants with these condition die during or shortly after delivery, it can be said that existence of deadbornes is the exception that proves the rule. As of yet, the etiology of this condition is unknown.

The earliest and oldest demonstrations of thaumaturgy centered around elemental magic: earth, wind, water, fire. The elements are considered to be the rawest form of energy manipulations. As these elements are present in abundance everywhere, they are the easiest to become ‘in-tuned’ to.

There is, however, no universally agreed upon origin of this energy or understanding of how it works. In the Raian continent alone, many scholars have spent lifetimes studying how this mystical energy works and experimenting its limits. A great amount of the current treatises on magic are based around the works of the long destroyed Il’Saharin House of Wisdom. The House of Wisdom referred to a guild of libraries and scholars during the second Saharin Dynasty in central Raia. These scholars amassed and translated a large collection of books and scrolls from all parts of the globe, with a particular focus on magic. This centralized hub of information is what contributed to the Saharin Kingdom’s golden age of arcanum, as the works its scholars produced would greatly influence Raia’s understanding of magic.

One of the most prevailing theories that caught on is that this mystical energy was divinely wrought. According to Trinitarian lore, the goddess of creation Meidther used her own blood (and in some versions, cuts out her own heart) when imbuing life into humans. Among cultures that prayed to this pantheon, this myth is what influenced the idea that this mystical energy is similar to, or flows parallel to, blood. And so they called this energy ICHOR.

Maybe right about now you're thinking "okay you've said all this, but you still haven't explained how magic actually works." This is because I still don't know. Not fully, anyway.

The basic concept of thaumaturgy is that a successful spellwork is done by enacting the right set of commands (spells) imbued with sufficient enough energy (ichor). Though these concepts are non-quantifiable, many teachers like to simplify this idea for new students with the equi ation W = C+E (or if you are in Aetier, W=S+I).

Beyond that, the use of thaumaturgy is further divided into three schools of learning: Exoturgy, Somaturgy, and Lexiturgy.

EXOTURGY is the command and manipulation of objects in the environment. It is the oldest of the three as well as what comes to mind when people think of the word magic. The largest field of study centers around elemental manipulation.

SOMATURGY is the manipulation of the cells, flesh, and energies of the human body. Much of somaturgy lies within the context of healing sickness and wounds, though there have been some recent interest in its application toward body augmentation (e.g, temporarily strengthening bones and muscles, and inhibiting pain receptors).

LEXITURGY is the use of physical script inscribed on an object to host a particular series of commands (i.e. enchantment). It is the youngest out of the three schools, having only existed within the past couple of centuries, and has revolutionized the way magic is thought. It is highly experimental but its potential applications promises to not only make magic more accessible to the untrained, but to expand the limits of how and what kind of magic can be performed.

--

And that's a wrap! (for now). Trust me when I say there was more but most of it is extraneous stuff that probably won't feature much in WCTD

Special thanks to Nicole for opening my eyes to the unfortunate thing that is magic academia. Please let me out of this hell

[romaine2424]

20 questions for fic writers!

Thanks for the retro-tag @phdmama and because I'm friends with @sassy-cissa!

It's all under the cut! Note: Assume all fics are Drarry unless otherwise noted.

How many works do you have on AO3? 60 including 1 under Anon.

What's your total AO3 Word Count? ~1.6M (552K of that is one fic. LOL)

What fandoms do you write for? Harry Potter and only Harry Potter

What are your top 5 fics by Kudos? Survival of the Species (47K) Jolene (21.5K) Double Edged Sword (552K) This Ain't the Garden of Eden (131K) Jolene Deux (5K)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Yes, though I missed quite a few when I was on hiatus. I love engaging with readers and seeing what in my stories struck their fancy. I've made some great friends over the years through comments on my fic.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? There are No Innocent Vampires (31K). This is a Scarry fic (both are adults). I do have a few others.

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Uh, most of them. But if forced to choose, Silver and Gold (70.6K) with Wolf!Draco!

Do you get hate on fics? OMG Yes. My first fic, Double Edged Sword in its earliest chapters was sporked on Deleterius. It’s a wonder I ever wrote again, but I was so pissed off at the Drarry writer who did it, I carried on. Thankfully the site went bye bye. And I also learned from that fic never ever have either Harry or Draco have an affair with Charlie Weasley. LOL. More currently, I just had to lock my current WIP this week because of a troll. ☹

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I write both slash and het but it's not my fav thing to do. I only put it in when it fits a scene and it can take me days and days to write that scene.

Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? No

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Yes, twice. Doubled Edged Sword was brought over to FFN and Survival of the Species brought over to adultfanfiction. The latter was quite funny because someone opened an account using my name to post it.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes but now I'm sad. Almost all of my translated fics are gone. *sobs* The sites they were posted on no longer exist. However, my fav translations were done by Pescadora and her team at Intruders Slashzine. They translated the following in Spanish. And they're beautiful. *happy sigh* Jolene Jolene Deux Silver and Gold

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes, me and 9 of my friends…I think we’re still friends. *just kidding* We each wrote a chapter for this story. If you like Case Fic and haven’t read it, give it a shot. Level Two: Series One

What’s your all-time favourite ship? Drarry but I do write for other ships both slash and het and also Gen. I mainly read Drarry but also the others mentioned. I just really enjoy good plotty HP stories.

What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? After I finish my current WIP, The Azkaban Letters, (Drarry and Haphne) that I started in 2007, and finish another one I also started in 2007 at Christmas, I’ll be done with all WIPs I’ve posted on AO3.  I do have a few in my personal files. One, which I have 30K written for and it’s Scarry. It's the Scarry one I have my doubts about.

What are your writing strengths? Plot and world building. Some folks like my dialogue.  I try. 

What are your writing weaknesses? Well besides the smut already mentioned, character analysis and slow burn. Definitely more of action/adventure writer.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? No no no.  Did it once for Double Edged Sword. It was in Russian for which I had a translator or 3 write out the text for me and give me final approval. To this day I still get Russian readers disagreeing with the text.

First fandom you wrote for? Harry Potter and still here.

Favourite fic you’ve written? This is hard, but for personal reasons, I’d have to say This Ain’t the Garden of Eden. It was the first story I wrote after an almost ten-year break. I had to shut down my muse back then almost overnight, and I wasn’t sure it could be revived. I'm tagging any other writer who wants to join the fun! Free Tag!

[trancetales]

Find The Word - Tag Game

@zestymimblo has tagged me for my first ever tag game! 👀 You can find their post here!

Rules: Find the provided words in your current WIP(s), and tag others with words that they have to find.

My words to find were: Rumour, Target, Place, and Oval There are all from different WIPs because my writing is all over the place.

Rumour

Now though, she was "that irascible and bitchy Lahaban blacksmith" - nobody had cared where she was from before her downfall, but these days she was the victim of the usual prejudices. Whether she was a criminal with syndicate connections back in The Golden City, or if she was a money-hungry swindler who would scam a child for their pocket change, that all depended on what spiteful rumour was circulating that day.

WIP: "Brittle Steel"

Target

"It's a world of difference from when you worked for the Enforcers directly. Seeing you so positive now is worth the extra worry around vigilantism, I think", he paused for a moment. "Not that Enforcer work is safe at all. At least now you don't have superiors analysing you to find excuses to dispose of you." Lin sighed in relief at the notion. "It's bad for a person's mental health too, so by going freelance I've cut the dangers by two thirds! Plus I can make my own decisions on who to bring in, and actually target guilty people instead of..."

WIP: "Dhu Wajhin" (working title)

Place

Agonising moments passed. The cultists in the circle held their palms over their eyes, and the hooded man stepped towards the sarcophagus with his hands still held high. As he reached it, he stretched his arms forward to place his bare hands on its surface. The moment his hands made contact, the unnaturally cold metal began to burn his skin, but his devotion pushed him to endure. Finally, all their work, research and sacrifice would pay off.

WIP: "Aikaterini" (working title)

Oval

The earliest distinctive sign that has been identified, beyond seemingly irrational paranoia, appears to be recurrent nightmares. Normal dreams at first, invaded by an oppressive presence. In some early cases, the only distinction is their piercing gaze. Unnatural oval eyes, unblinking and inexorable, locked on you, no matter where you hide. The moment you have such a nightmare, you should consider yourself marked by their malice.

WIP: "The Dangers of Reftis: A Lexicon"

I will tag, if they're up for it: @namesarehard123, @hallwriteblr and @arctic-oceans

Your words to find will be: Pride, Sun, and Home.

Hopefully I did all this right??

[sanversandfriends]

Sanvers fans know her from her amazing contributions of art and fic to the Big Bang, but @morganastorm24 is also a multi-talented writer and artist for multiple ships in the DC universe. She also has love of everything Lois Lane. In honor of the Planet's star reporter, we've asked her to share a glimpse into her writing process. Thanks, Morgana!

Tell us a little about yourself. How did you get started writing fic? Have you written for other fandoms? What are your favorite tropes?  

I've been writing for as long as I can remember - even longer according to my mum. I've always loved creating stories and would sit with my teddies and toy horses, reading them stories (even before I could read, because that's what pictures are for, right? Telling a thousand words and all that). For my 6th or 7th birthday, I apparently asked for a "really nice writing set and an even nicer book to write in". I was given a ring binder with plastic pockets, a notebook and a pencil case full of stationery. I still have that ring binder to this day, though it's not filled with all my random childish scribbles like it once was. 

I started writing fanfiction not long after Star Wars: Attack of the Clones came out. That's the earliest fanfic I can remember writing, anyway. I wrote Anakin and Padme's adventures after they got married, and then when rumours started flying about what was going to happen in Episode 3, I wrote my very first "fix it fic" by finding a way to keep Padme alive (as I couldn't bear the thought of my favourite character dying). Most of those very early fics never left the pages of the notebooks they were scrawled in and nobody else ever saw them (thank god!), but it wasn't until I started reading fanfiction online that I realised I could actually do that too - share my ideas with the world. I dabbled a little in fanfic for the tv show Casualty (a British medical drama), had more success with Doctor Who, wrote some more Star Wars, then Merlin and eventually (and most recently) Supergirl (with a dash of other DC). 

What were your inspirations for this particular story? What was it about this/these ships that grabbed you?

This fic was born of a single image - namely Chyler first revealing that she was going to wear a black and blue super suit and become Supergirl for one episode. That image alone was enough to get my mind racing with possibilities and ideas of how it might come to pass. I have to be honest and say I stopped watching the show after the Crisis stuff, so I've never actually seen her episode as Supergirl, but maybe that's a good thing? At least this way I know that my version of her is different and unique.

I am and always will be a huge Sanvers stan, but there's something so appealing about AgentCorp as well, and the show really dropped the ball when they wouldn't let Alex and Lena be together. They're an interesting and dynamic pairing - they share interests, are both huge science nerds and yet so completely different that its great fun writing them both together.

As for Lois and Kara - that one literally came out of nowhere and took me by surprise. I'd never intended for it to happen, and yet now that it has, I'm wondering why I never thought of it sooner!

Has the time spent away from your story changed your outlook or approach to any of the storylines or themes? Have you had any new inspirations or breakthroughs/revelations in the meantime? 

Absolutely. I got to a point with the fic where it had grown stale, and I was constantly hitting up against a wall with no idea how to get around it, or to power through it. So, I walked away from the fic and decided to focus on other WIPs and new creations instead. Coming back to it now, I've been able to see everything with fresh eyes, and I can see not only where I was going wrong before, but also a way to fix it. Changing the villain, adding characters, getting rid of redundant plot threads and adding more relevant pieces has really helped to get this work to a place where finally, I can see the finish line and I know I'm going to make it. That's a huge relief, considering where I was 2 years ago when I first started writing it.

Any advice for new or aspiring fic writers?

Never give up. No matter how hard it might be, just put words on a page. It doesn't matter how rubbish they are, as my BFF always says, "You can't edit a blank page." Let yourself suck, let yourself write horrendously. It's all good practice. Even if those words never leave your notebook or the document on your computer, they've taught you something, they've helped you to improve, so be proud of them.

Writing is also a bit like a painting. Not even Da Vinci or Van Gogh sat at his easel and created a masterpiece on his first try. There's the initial sketches to plan out the idea. That's your plot or summary. Then you add basic blocks of colours. That's your first draft. From then on, you work away slowly, adding details, shading, contouring...those are your second, third, fourth drafts. Keep revising and editing as much as you need - there's no right or wrong number of times you should be doing it. Because each time you do, you're adding more detail to your masterpiece. And what you end up with is a work of art.

One final piece of advice... writing is not a solo event. All those times a writer is depicted sitting along, tapping away at a keyboard or scribbling in a notebook, it's so misleading. Get yourself a writing buddy. DKGwrites and I are best friends, we met through fanfiction (and I'm eternally grateful for that everyday). We have regular writing sessions together, and ok it's 90% messing around, distracting one another, talking utter nonsense or throwing random videos and links to each other, but that 10% when we do actually behave and get down to the task at hand, it's so much more fun writing together than it ever is when we try to write alone. Silliness aside, we help one another, bounce ideas off one another, motivate and encourage one another, and it's the best thing ever. So find yourself a writing buddy, and have a blast!

If you were going to promote this fic with a single line, what would it be? 

What if Supergirl was a badass redhead called Alex Danvers?

We'll have more about her artwork in the coming weeks, but in the meantime, check out her work on A03!

[penwrythe]

Blacktober Week 1- Medusa and Eshu (actually done, but here's one more wip buffer post lol)

Even though most of my characters were loosely inspired by figures from different cultures/myths, it's important to be careful in how I represent them. Even if loosely or referenced from their source inspirations.

Originally for this character, I had no idea what name I wanted for him. I was bouncing between either Greek or Biblical names, then had thought of using "Merlin" for this character, etc. This character in his earliest variations was just a magic user who, at the end of the world, befriended Medusa after she appeared in his village one day.

But later on, as my thoughts around the setting of The Mundane Realm, and World of Relics as a whole developed, I wanted this character to be more than a mere wizard but a guide, sharing the responsibility of humanity's fate with Medusa. One lives, and the other follows. One dies, and the other follows. Through it all, Medusa and Eshu lay down the paths for humanity to survive in a world dominated by ichoridic monsters.

With this little tidbit in mind, I settled on Eshu from the Yoruba religion. I'm still researching more about Eshu. In Yoruba belief, Eshu is the mediator between the Earth and the Heavens. He is a messenger, trickster, guide, and teacher.

To be brief and without spoiling much, Eshu guides Medusa in TMR. Both as her aid (she's blind thanks to a certain [WOR's big fucking spolier]) and as her trusted companion. No matter what incarnations Eshu goes through as a living object, Medusa always trusts him to rediscover his heart to help lead humanity alongside her. With his memories of each past life, Eshu knows much of the world of mimickind: its kingdoms, societies, histories, and cultures.

Anyway, back to the two images above. I was going to have Eshu be a blue cloak, but considering his source inspiration, I decided to use his symbolic colors red and black (sometimes white? Not sure, but it pops up occasionally, tho).

[sokovianfortune]

wip wednesday

and yall know what that means

more Them :)

Vision’s fingers stroke softly against her cheek, brushing away the tears still streaming down them in earnest. His clumsy, hesitant touch reminds her now of their earliest days, long before he’d begun to pick up on the human subtleties of affection. But, what it lacks in nuance, it makes up for in its tenderness. Wanda welcomes it all the same, reaching up a hand to hold him in place as she leans into his pal — and, just like that, she’s found her home again.

It’s a reminder of sorts, that touch — a reminder that he has spent just as much time alone in the world as she has. And while Wanda has her doubts regarding whether or not she deserves the future rapidly unfolding before them, she cannot deny that small, hopeful part of her that yearns to begin making up for lost time.

“Wanda, darling—“ The word cuts itself off on his lips just a moment too soon, prompting Wanda to pull back slightly from their embrace, her concern writing itself into the lines of her expression. It’s only when she meets Vision’s gaze and catches the fearful uncertainty flickering behind his eyes that realization strikes her with all the force of a gunshot. 

He’s waiting for rebuke, for horror — for rejection.

Black, corrosive anger rises sharply in the back of her throat, burning there like bile as her fingernails dig themselves into the soft alloy of her husband’s skin. In that long, awful moment, there is nothing Wanda wants more than to hunt down Hayward and every last one of his men, to tear them all apart, atom by atom, and reconstruct them anew, just so they could have a taste of the suffering they’d inflicted upon the man she loved.

Chthon’s Scarlet Witch would have sought her bloody revenge without a second’s thought. But, even through the seething storm of her own rage, Wanda Maximoff knows that she would rather die before seeing herself become what the Darkhold had made her again. This anger is her own — all the more reason why she cannot allow it to poison her.

Vision wouldn’t be so ashamed, she thinks, if he’d know just how high his slip of the tongue had caused her heart to soar. No act of violence on his behalf could ever provide the comfort housed within the words she might, in the very near future, use to tell him.

[worldofgoo]

yayayay yippee (≧◡≦) i love how vibrant & lively your art is, i think my fav pieces are Horse Surgery & hanyuu (even tho i have no idea who that is) but that one wip with the rainbow is also v ery special 2me because it reminds me of my fav kind of weather ^_^ generic Which Program Do You Use question & also which programs have you tried so far? which one would you recommend for someone whose only experience so far wiht digital art has been scribbling in ms paint -_-? on topic, what do you draw with (mouse, phone, drawing tablet, ??) & was it easy for you to get used to digital art? i always get overwhelmed by the amound of different functions available so im not sure where to even start, any advice? which physical art forms do you like / would you like to learn (anything at all, i personally have been getting into air dry clay... well actually ive been using my sisters playdoh but maybe ill purchase smthn fancier :3) & final question how do you come up with poses to draw? your characters (+creatures) seem very animated and i really like that :)

HI okay i guess ill answer these in a list. actually will put it under the cut since i ended up saying a lot (and dw i enjoy being able to talk a lot so thank you!)

-THANK YOU im glad some of my more recent works (in my more current style) are appealing 2 people! like i wanna draw my own way even though i think it gets less notes... the higurashi fanarts (hanyuu and shion) r very memorable pieces to me because its when i started doing the loose sketches with the thin lines and block colors and thats the direction i reallyreally wanted to take my style in. also the rainbow is rian my friend rian

-i draw in paint tool sai! the only program i used before that was sketchbook pro, which i didnt like because the brushes were kind of... blurry/smudgy? sai allows you to zoom in and draw pixel by pixel which is something i like, and i like the way it does its blending. its also just easier for me to understand. i didnt pay for it i think i found some deviantart page that had the link, id have to find it again

-i draw with a wacom intuos tablet! its lasted me... almost 10 years now. ive heard newer ones are poorer quality in terms of at least the nibs needing to be replaced constantly, so idk what the most recommended tablet these days is. ive drawn with my mouse and tbh it caused awful hand pain so i would not recommend this. i draw on my phone with my finger sometimes but i find doing it on my laptop easier, however it is doable once you get used to it

-the way i got into digital art... well. i still have an archive of my earliest art if you wanna see! i was 14 n just drew random shit, often lining over doodles i did on paper and coloring them in. i think esp if youre overwhelmed start with making like throwaway experimental pieces, scribble around, doodle stupid things and color them in with different brushes and see what you enjoy. and then you can just keep the files to yourself if they dont look too good or maybe itll look interesting, it depends i guess haha. the other thing that ive always found helped me was telling myself id draw every day even if it was a little scribble or the tiniest amount of work on a wip bc getting a habit going helped my art a Lot beause it helped me spend more time thinking n focusing on it

more specific advice for sai that i found useful- using clipping groups & the preserve opacity functions are both lifesavers in terms of not spending so much time trying to color in the lines. if you color in a base layer you can just put everything above it as a clipping group and just not worry about it anymore. i also really like using the filters (like multiply) to mess around with the colors a drawing has, though sometimes its more effective to just select a layer/individual color and fuck with the hue/saturation/etc until it looks good. when i color, esp when its not turning out how i wanted to, i rely on shifting colors A LOT. n also mixing colors together using a blending brush and then colorpicking the intermediate color. very useful

-for the most part i stick to uncolored pencil doodles on like, notebook paper (even though i have some fancy supplies X[ one day) but i LOVE making things with clay, wish it was more accessible to do at home. i have a handful of clay animal statues and stuff that i made in my ceramics class in high school. would looove to do more

-because my poses tend to be very pushed/cartoony using references of real people isnt always useful (though obv knowing the basics of anatomy always helps) so in those cases ill use other cartoony art i like as inspiration, i try to see what i like about their poses nd emulate that with my own. sometimes when im struggling ill just do a bunch of studies where i copy art i like to try to get a feel for what im missing. mostly ive realized i like when the pose conveys some level of like, volume and taking up a 3D space (which im still definitely not a master of but bullshitting it can be fun). and i also like to have a balance of curved and angular shapes. sometimes i try to just do a pose that conveys a specific emotion or i just make shit up lol

alsooooo i cant reccomend aimless doodling enough! just random shapes, turning the random shapes into creatures, trying and trying and trying different ways to draw something until you like it, i feel like the things my hand makes when i shut my brain off and just scribble can inspire me as well, and i try to emulate whatever i made by chance while doodling. and if your doodles turn out better in traditional i tend to consider using a photo of a drawing as a way to skip the "preliminary sketch" phase nd drawing a rough sketch over that which i then use for my drawing (or just directly color since i draw very fast/lazy...)

[on-noon]

Double asks!! Because I thought I did asks last time and I didn’t (sometimes I do things in my head and not real life. Maladaptive daydreaming at its finest)

29

35

🖊️-Abora

🖊️-Horatio

I feel like I might’ve spelled their names wrong. If so I’m sorry!

29. What is the latest you’ve stayed up/earliest you’ve gotten up to write?

For Countdown to Magic, stayed up till 10:30, maybe eleven thirty (I can't really write after that too tired.)

Earliest I've gotten up to write: well, I wake up at 5:30 most days, and sometimes get writing by like 6. (I don't wake up specifically to write though)

35. What are some of the themes of your WIP?

I don't know! I don't know what the ending of the story is, much less the themes. There might end up being something about family?

Since I've already talked about both Abora & Horatio (and you got their names right!), I'll talk about them together.

So, Horatio still is puzzling over the first things Abora said to him, first "I’m not here to get the magic. Just to get a favor" which at first he thought weird because who wouldn't at least welcome the magic? And then once he figured that she was against magic he kept wondering what the favor would be.

The second thing she said was "They haven’t tried their magic yet" which she clarified to mean that whoever got the magic hadn't tried it. But she said it with such conviction, as if she was certain so now Horatio is left wondering how Abora could have known?

Abora, remembers much less of Horatio from their first meeting. Mostly that he talked weird and stole her hat before she used magic (doesn't he know you're supposed to steal the clothes after the person first uses their magic? otherwise people would try to steal a piece of everyone's clothes before the countdown even went off to get clothes). She also remembers him following her home, and just being there outside the door.

I don't think Abora wants to become friends with Horatio because of his involvement (voluntarily) with the Mage Society. And then she says it's because he's an annoying little nerd. (he's taller than her)

words written for this ask: 101

total words for motivation experiment: 11,117

project worked on: Countdown to Magic

[love-and-monsters]

thorn

cat

tree

coin

hastily

melt

strike

tentatively

brief

Word WIP Game

Ooh gosh, that's a lot! Let's see...

Thorn- No match

Cat- “It’s okay,” you whispered, the same tone you used to coax the church cats out of hiding places. “We need to go, though.” (I didn't actually think I had mentioned any cats in here. Huh. Guess I can't stop myself!)

Tree- Nope!

Coin- Not in this one.

Hastily- Not here

Melt- For a moment, the stillness was like a frightened dog, expecting a strike, then it melted into a gentle contentedness.

Strike- But sometimes, more frequently these days, the song strikes you with such profound sadness, that you find yourself on your knees, face wet with tears. (Technically the last one is a twofer, but this is the earliest instance the word appears in the story, so here you go!)

Tentatively- The angel blinked once, twice, then tentatively opened its mouth and allowed you to place the food inside.

Brief- Not in the story.

Thanks for the ask, this was fun! I hope you like the snippets you've gotten.

[danceswithdarkspawn]

First Ten Lines

@axolotlsupremacyowo tagged me for this interesting game I haven't seen yet. Big Heckin' Open Tag because it's still way too early and I need more sleep.

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway!

Bear with me because a lot of these are sitting in my drafts waiting to be edited. >.>;

The Queen of Swords (WIP)

It started with a proposition.

It was on a day she couldn’t quite remember, maybe a week or better after returning from Adamant. Elisabeth sat in Skyhold’s gardens, reading and rereading over the same three paragraphs of a letter. It arrived early the previous day, sat in squalor upon the Inquisitor’s desk, before she finally snatched it. And how she dreaded it, because it was filled with pretty words from pissed off nobles, dancing around displeasure over the Inquisition’s actions at Adamant.

So when the sun cast a long shadow over and beyond her, she looked up, squinting harshly, and found the Iron Bull, all greyskin and muscle, towering over her. His good eye peered at her from over his crossed arms, but his face remained otherwise neutral.

“Hey, boss.”

“You’re blocking my light,” she said, and looked back to her papers.

Two of Swords

To say that the events at Adamant were demoralizing would be…insufficient.

True, Elisabeth Trevelyan gave Inquisition forces and the remaining Wardens a rallying speech once she emerged from the Fade. She made an appeal to the Wardens to unite under the Inquisition’s banner, to fight the common enemy that brazenly showed its face there. And to her credit, it worked. Even her companions who opposed the idea acquiesced to the prospect, however unsavory.

But the fragile quiet could only last for so long. The adrenaline that carried the Inquisitor through the siege, the Fade, through that impassioned speech for change…By the time the Inquisition made its way back to their outpost at Griffon Wing Keep, Elisabeth wanted nothing more than to collapse in her tent.

A Small Victory

One of my earliest memories is the first day Eran taught me to pick up a sword.

It was just after my sixth nameday in the waning days of summer. Eran woke me in the small hours of the morning, way too early for any of my small-self sensibilities. I remember him dressing me in the dark and taking me by the hand, leading me out into the dirt path street and to the quietest corner of the alienage that he could. I remember the smell of the final gasp of the season’s wildflowers, remember feeling the heaviness of the air. A promise of a sweltering day.

Stricken Canticles (M, NSFW if clicking through)

The glittering tiles of the Grand Cathedral are immaculate, but they cannot compare to the stars in her eyes.

She leads me away from all the fuss and flurry, navigating rooms and corridors known only to the privy. The walls are gilded but so is she, resplendent in the moonlight that reaches through stained glass windows.

A Letter to Swallow (WIP)

The days meld into one another, as they have every day for what feels like Ages on end.

19th of August. 9:41 Dragon. I keep track in a journal if only to remind me of the passage of time. Of how many days, weeks—years have gone by since I saw her. A reminder, also, of the time I have left. 

Mourning Dove (WIP)

“I came here seeking Grey Warden recruits,” that shem had said. What was his name—Duncan? “It seems it may have found what I seek. Someone who can show restraint is a valuable asset to the Wardens, especially in times like these.”

I wonder if Duncan thought the same when I delivered my sister and the others from Arl Kendell’s estate. Bathed in blood, wild-eyed and furious doesn’t strike me as the image of restraint.

Remove The Mask (WIP)

Everything was too much.  The grandeur of it all made her teeth ache.

The lights were too bright. The heat was too stifling. The string quartet sounded like dying darkspawn, regardless of the melody it played. Innumerable voices speaking in hushed whispers, low like the thrum of insects, grated against the inside of her skull.

For the Love of Nugs

"Nug breeding, eh?" 

Leliana looked over her shoulder at Ariel as they walked through the gardens back to the villa. "You sound like that's unexpected."

Ariel shrugged. "I'm just wondering what kind of monster I made wrangling Schmooples all those years ago."

Broken Bird, Chapter 1

We clash together in the predawn grey, as we always do after the events of Ostagar.

Eran moves with all the calculation of an eagle, shoulders squared, as he lunges towards me. His sword comes down from his shoulder in an arc, exacting where I will be when it crashes. I catch it in time between the cross of my swords; it was a light-hearted swing and he knows I know this. I shove him away with a frustrated grunt.

Griffonheart, Chapter 1

"Leliana,

Situation at ritual site in the Approach was as bad as it sounded. There was blood magic. They were using Wardens to summon and bind demons. That's where the demon army I was told about in Redcliffe will come from.

We neutralized the Wardens and demons at the site but the person behind this bullshit got away. Hawke has a lead on Adamant Fortress.

Corypheus planted false Callings in their heads. They were terrified. Attached are some notes from affected Wardens, courtesy of Stroud.

I don't know what else to say except it's fucked.

-R. Lavellan"