#wip: a break from solitude

[bardic-tales]

FF: Sneak Peak of Fossel

Fossel is the home to Mirne and Wulfric. I have been researching Skyrim homes, as well as castles from the Middle Ages to see what rooms I want them to have.

Manor House The quality of the furniture reveals the status of Frossel’s owner. The manor has many rooms, including but not limited to the following: a alchemy laboratory, bathroom, bed chambers, a boudoir, an enchanting laboratory, a great hall, a kitchen with a larder and pantry, a library, an oratory to Shor (and later Dibella), and several Solars. The top floor features several vases featuring several Skyrim flora, such as snowberries. The great hall is the first room that anyone entered. The door on the east wall leads to the living room quarters. The door on the west wall leads to the master bedroom. This is where the boudoir and the other solars are located. The second floor has a set of shelves, a low table with chairs, and a stool and leads to the entrance of the porch area. The kitchen, larder, and pantry are directly off this room with is laden with food and mead. The enchanting laboratory, bathroom, library, and oratory to Shor (and later Dibella) are located on this floor. The basement has stacks of crates and rugs. At the bottom is an alcove on the right. This is filled with small mead and wine barrels. The next room contains two practice dummies, an archery target. This is where the alchemy laboratory is located.

[777heavengirl]

lines divined

remus lupin x reader one-shot ! warnings: not rlly pinning but like ig? mention of having kids, fluff i think, i don't think there's any pronouns but lmk if there r word count: 1,820 masterlist a/n: shoutout to the anon that asked me abt my remus wips sorry this is so late and shoutout to my beta reader for putting up w me and this goddamned fic

Remus's fingers traced the lines of the palm of your hand, muttering to himself as he tried to read the lines into coherence. Divination wasn't his best subject, it was based on loose interpretations and it honestly just made his head hurt and his eyes ache like they might pop out of his head as he stared deeply into tea leaves or the palm of your hand. You were quite the opposite, somehow just knowing, divination came easy to you.

"Remus-"

"Hush, I reckon I've got it now-" you stifled a giggle as he referenced the book, his brows furrowing in frustration. "You will live a long life-"

"Yes"

"You will have one chil- no two children" He huffed in frustration as his eyes flickered back and forth between your hand and the book, and you pulled your hand back.

"It's one-" His eyes lifted to lock with yours, his aggravated stare letting you know he wasn't ready to give up but you didn't pay any mind. "Here- give me yours-" You opened your hand towards him and he huffed "Remus give me your hand please" he rolled his eyes, a small smirk playing on his lips but he placed his hand on top of yours regardless. The lines were clear to you, you knew where to look, what they meant. It was like second nature. 

"You'll live a long life, Remus," his breath caught at his throat, your finger traced the line on his hand softly. "But these breaks along it," your voice lowered as you spoke, he knew what those meant, it was possibly the only thing about palm reading he knew. You took a deep shaky breath, "The breaks in your life line indicate serious illnesses or accidents-" You looked at his face now, a flinty stare hardening his features. "It doesn't have to mean-" that you were meant to be bitten from the start, you bit your tongue "It could just be a change in life too... you know these things aren't precise"

He stayed quiet, but you could see the sadness swimming in his eyes. "Well- see now, this one," you tried smiling, hoping it would shift the mood. You could always read him so well. Not just his palms, but his thoughts. It was a connection the two of you shared, knowing looks and silent conversations. Even from opposite sides of the classrooms. "This is your heart line, see how its long?" he nodded, his lower lip caught between his teeth "It means you will have a long harmonious love-"

Remus scoffed, but there wasn't any malice behind it. You tried to repress your giggles as you continued to trace the lines in his hand, line after line, mound after mound. From Venus to Mars to Jupiter, your finger moved along the lines and curves of his palm, dipping and rising with the bumps and ridges. You told him all you could tell, the best things at least, because you knew the moon was getting fuller and he got more exhausted and the mere thought of the transformation haunted him. So you did your best, told him of the personality traits that shined through, and ignored the fact that yes, his palm screamed at you that he was always destined to live a life haunted by another self.

"So, to summarize, I was destined to be ill from the womb-" you pushed his arm with a teasing noo, shaking your head furiously as the both of you laughed, “I have great vitality, but will only have one child,"

"Yes to those" You were awfully conscious of the fact that even though you had finished reading his palm, his hand remained on top of yours, warm. You fought the press a kiss on the middle of it, the thought brief but no less tempting.

"And I will find little success in solitude-" His lips maintained a smirk as he spoke, so many people thought he didn't fit in with the Marauders, ever quiet ever innocent. But you knew better, the smirks, the teasing, Remus was a marauder through and through. You knew he was the one to come up with most of the logistics of the pranks anyway. 

"Don't forget the long harmonious love-"

"Ah yes, quite important that one-"

"Indeed I reckon it is," you could feel the heat of a blush start crawling its way up as Remus flipped his hand, the two of you now palm to palm. "Possibly the most important one on the list-" You could tell just from his look, the words floating around that head of his. 

"Oh? you think?" As much as he maintained his lazy smile, enjoying the touch of your hand against his and the way you tried, and failed, to not look flustered, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't feeling much of the same. He wanted to scream at the mere fact that you were divination partners, not even mentioning the delicate touch of your fingers over his palm. He doesn't know what possessed him, but facing his palm with yours made his breath rush out of his lungs.

"no, I know it is," you fought, and lost, to suppress the smile tugging at your lips, his thumb caressing the skin of your hand. 

It was an unspoken thing really. Whatever you had with Remus. You stuck by his side and he by yours, Sirius and James often said you guys were quite scary together, speaking in looks and blinks. Like morse code. He understood you, down to the core, and you understood him. He'd just take a look at you and you'd know the exact words in his mind. 

It was often something silly, the glint in his eyes when James said something idiotic, a small smirk pulling at his lips "what an ass". Or the look he gave you from across the room when Slughorn nitpicked at the contents of your cauldron, "he cant be serious..."

So you knew, when he looked up at you from his palm, the two of you grinning like idiots at each other, exactly what he was thinking. That the light behind his eyes meant he hoped, no he knew, that it was meant to be you. Your smile grew wider.

"Come on losers, time to go-" James stood in front of your table now, class had ended with you being none the wiser. Remus gave you a look, just as Sirius approached as well. "What are the two of you smiling about?"

Remus's grin now matched your own.

He didn't have to say it, you just knew what he meant-

"Idiots"

-

Your relationship, if that's what you'd call it, with Remus was frustrating to everyone but the two of you. You'd do everything together, your friends joked that if they saw Remus they knew you wouldn't be far behind. Somehow you always ended up as partners in class, whether by your choice or not, and if you weren't in the same class, he'd walk you all the way to the door, a small smile gracing his features every time he did. Safe to say your friends were going insane, 

"What do you mean you haven't done anything?" Mary looked like she was about to pull her hair out, fingers threaded around the dark curls. 

"I don't know what you want from me Mary" you were amused at her reaction, the corner of your lips twitching their way into a smile. "We are not even together-"

"But you love each other, it is obvious to everyone you're disgustingly in love!" Mary threw herself on the foot of your bed, a giggle bouncing from your lips at your best friend's frustration.

"I do love him yea," Mary groaned, rubbing her eyes with the pads of her fingers. "And not to be self-centered but I feel like he loves me too"

"Then what's the issue? You don't even hold hands"

"There's no issue Mary-" she groaned again, a small you're impossible slipping past her lips. "Remus and I are just..." you thought about it briefly, you didn't have a physical relationship quite the opposite. But you still felt together. You did everything together, walking to class, doing homework in the common room or in the library, your weekends by the Black Lake, reading under the shade of the trees. You were seldom without the other, often in silence merely basking in the other's presence. It made your chest feel warm and a smile break into your face. "We're just us..."

And that was the truth. You thought about it even after the conversation flowed into something else, even as you made your way down to dinner and, naturally, sat next to Remus. You could tell he loved you, you could tell he was happy. There wasn't a doubt in your mind. Whether it was by his gaze, the light that shone through his hazel eyes, or by the lines in his hands that seemed to match yours but still hesitated to assume. It's difficult to read your own palm after all. But you knew, from the cloudy crystal ball two weeks ago, one that Remus could not see anything through the fog of it. But you could. Clear as day. 

Remus and his light brown hair, the rays of the sun caught in it, an easy smile on his lips, a small child pressed against his chest, his arms hugging the baby close. James and Sirius talked lively with him, hazy in your vision but you were sure it was them. You didn't know what they were talking about, but it wasn't much different from the way they spoke now, full of life, animated and bursting with excitement. And he looked at you, through the haze of the orb, the mist you could see his eyes. Older but happier, a knowing smile.

I love you.

"What's wrong love?" his words were low, but came through even as his friends spoke loudly around you, "you haven't said a word since you sat down-"

His lips had a soft smile, concern swimming in his eyes and for the millionth time in your life, you felt like kissing him. But you didn't. It would come at its own pace. But you returned a smile, an honest one that reached your eyes.

"I'm brilliant Rem," your hand slid over his under the table, clutching it with purpose, with meaning. With care. "Delighted actually" He squeezes your hand now, cheeks warm and red. His hold on yours isn't a hesitant one like the one you shared in divination, it is not the ghost of his palm against yours. No, this one is sure, like you were holding the whole universe between the palms of your hands, between your interwoven fingers. He can't help but smile brightly at you now.

Yes, you were sure he did love you. Much like you loved him.

[fuctacles]

<< 13 | 0 | 15 >>

Going on a lil break from wips as I'll be balancing christmasy, event, and personal shit. (Single dad Steve should still go out on Wed, tho.) Check out my events: @stevieweek @genderthings @stmonstercalendar And I'd like to thank you again for supporting me on ko-fi. I'm less scared of the upcoming months <3

Eddie feels the need to take his thoughts away from the public eye. Even if nobody can actually see them, he'd feel safer marinating in them in solitude. 

The inside of the house is chiller than the outdoors, which reminds Eddie of the financial gap between him and Steve. Whoever was in charge of building this place, must have known his shit. The Munson trailer is impossible to sit in without melting in the summer days. 

From his safe perch on the kitchen island, Eddie looks over the party outside. Everyone is having fun and none of them has any idea about his perverted, subconscious scheme. He's kind of disgusted with himself, but on the other side, he wonders what his brain has been trying to accomplish. He wonders if Steve was freaked out last night when he started undressing in front of him and if swinging his dick out this morning was an act of revenge. 

On one hand, Steve looks innocent and lovely in the afternoon sun, laughing at whatever joke someone has said. On another, he's a bat-biting lunatic with a mean streak known through the whole Hawkins High. He absolutely could flaunt his ass out of spite.

When the glass door opens, Eddie almost jumps out of his skin.

"Sorry." Will smiles apologetically.

"You're fine, Byers. Just drifted off a bit. What's up?" he asks with a tilt of his brow. The kid had an imagination that could match his own, and he'd grown fond of him even in the short period of time he'd known him. 

"I volunteered to grab sodas for everyone." Will points his thumb to their friends sitting outside. "Figured you wouldn't want Dustin bothering you if you need some space." 

Eddie can't help but smile. 

"That's very thoughtful of you, Will the Wise."

Will shrugs. 

"I try." He walks up to the fridge, but he seems to hesitate there. Eddie gives him time to think, sipping on his soda. "Do you need space? Or do you want to talk?" he eventually asks. 

The older boy hums. 

"I think it's too soon to talk about it. I'm not even sure what it is," he admits, heels kicking against the cupboards below him. 

He startles again when Will appears at his side.

"For fuck's sake, get a bell or something!" he hisses, clutching at his chest. But Will ignores his joke, looking thoughtfully somewhere else. 

"You've been spending a lot of time with Steve."

Eddie forces his shoulders to relax. There's no way he was that obvious, right? He himself has just figured it out. 

"Well, we can't spend all our time with you twerps," he defends. He risks looking towards the party and finds Steve looking back, frowning at the two of them talking inside. But he sends Eddie a small smile and turns back to the grill.

"No, of course. We're too young to chat about wills and taxes," Will shoots back with a serious nod. 

Eddie slaps his shoulder.

"Watch it, youngster, or there won't be any Will in my will." 

Byers presses his lips together, but Eddie knows it is a good joke, the kid just doesn't want to admit it. They're all buttheads like that.

"You know I'm gay, right?"

He blinks at the boy. 

"That's not going to take you off my will," he reassures, but Will's expression turns only more pained. "No, seriously, I don't care. As long as you're not diddling kids, or animals, or, or corpses—"

"You know what?" Will pushes away from the counter to gather the sodas he's been sent for. "Forget about it. Figure it out yourself. And please never use that word again."

"Which one? Diddling?"

"Yes. That."

Will is halfway through the living room when Eddie suddenly realizes what just happened. Little Byers was trying to give him The Gay Talk.

Little Byers. 

Who must have barely figured it out himself. 

Eddie shoots up from the counter, almost falling on his face in the process. 

"Byers, wait!" He sprints the small distance to stop him from getting to the door. Will looks unimpressed but he's more focused on balancing the cans in his arms so he stands still and waits. 

"Am I really that obvious?" Eddie asks in a whisper, sparing a worried glance over his shoulder. Thankfully none of their friends' attention was on them.

"You both are," Will informs him with a roll of his eyes. "It almost hurts to watch." 

It stuns Eddie enough that Will pushes through him towards the door. 

"Both? What do you mean both?"

"Figure it out!" Without looking at him, Will opens the glass door and leaves him alone with his thoughts again. And that's a dangerous company on a good day.

Because, both?

Could Steve Harrington, high school heartthrob, and Mister Hair, be into guys? Into Eddie, of all of them?

He looks up to search for him again, but it's not hard, as their eyes meet again. Steve raises his eyebrow and makes a little sideway nod as if asking him if he's coming back. Eddie nods wildly, makes a "T" with his hands, then points one finger up. In a minute. Steve smiles, visibly relieved, and holds up two plates of deliciously looking food.

Eddie's stomach somersaults as he realizes he has saved food for him. He quickly runs away to the kitchen to collect himself and grab something to share as well. 

On his way back, he passes by the stairs and suddenly freezes as the memory of last night hits him. 

Maybe Steve wasn't looking at his crotch because he was grossed out by Eddie's actions. 

Maybe they both should be sprayed with cold water like horny dogs. 

ko-fi (the smallest amount counts as the PLN to USD exchange rates are in my favor)

tags: @noodle-shenaniganery @jaytriesstrangerthings @imaginary-maggie-waggie @samsoble @croatoan-like-its-hot

@dragonmama76 @storyranger @scoops-aboy86 @ollyxar @estrellami-1

@stevesworldxx @ajeff855 @live-laugh-love-dietrich @thelittleclare @wheneverfeasible

@bumblebeecuttlefishes @blasvemous @n33dlew0rk @manliest-of-muppets

@ravenfrog @dreamercec @tartarusknight

[runninriot]

Rockstar Eddie/ Manager Steve WIP

It’s degrading – not even an hour ago Eddie was standing in the centre of a stage, overlooking a sea of people cheering for him, screaming his name, hanging on his lips, drinking up his words, his songs. Worshipping him like the star he is.

Now, he’s looking up at Steve like he is the one worth being idolized, unable to speak, silenced by his own greedy mouth.

It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, this role reversal, this power exchange. Being in this position should make him realise what a fucking fool he is. But he can’t help it, can’t stop.

He wants this, wants Steve to take it all from him. The fortune and fame, the high of being on top of the world. He wants him to break him down, to pull his head back out of the clouds and send him to hell where he belongs for risking it all. For being so stupid, so reckless, so ready to give everything for this man’s attention. Not love. That’s not what this is. It can’t be. Love would ruin everything, not just his career.

Eddie’s heart doesn’t have a say in this, can wallow in solitude for all he cares.

This can’t be his priority right now.

Not when Steve pulls away to unzip his pants. Not when he offers what Eddie’s so desperate for. Not when – just for a while – Steve lets him forget who he is.

-----

edit: complete fic is now on ao3

[route-to-eutopia-if]

Route to Eutopia - New WIP IF

DEMO(28K) I CHARACTER DOSSIERS I PLAYLIST (TBA)

You have one year left to live.

But are you afraid of dying? Probably not. Since you don’t even know how to live your life. You have been hidden away from public eye since young. And the only friend you have is an Alter, humanoid species born to only serve other people and nothing else. Alters live so ‘people like you’ could live.

That makes the two of you. Alive. But never here. Never lived.

If opportunities arise, would you take a chance to change it? Only you can answer.

In a world where feeling nothing at all is better than letting your emotions rule over you, your choice to break those rules and make a change will paint a new shade of history that no one ever could. 

Hidden behind shut doors to live your quiet life as a secret child of Bastien Palmer, Sole Leader of Eutopia paradise, you never experience anything except for repeating the same old routine your entire life. You are the existence which should not be known, not just for the reason that you are the byproduct of your father and his secret lover. But also because of your frightening ‘Alter-like’ eye color, most of it is silver like any Stargaze–but nevertheless… tinted shamefully by crimson streaks.

You are told to stay away from public eyes for the sake of Palmer’s reputation in which you feel obliged to. However, your life of peaceful solitude will never be the same again after tonight…

Route to Eutopia is a violent dystopian loosely-conceptual interactive story where you are a bystander surrounded by The Chosen One of your own choice. You are to designate whether this story will head towards the direction of mutual peace between Alters– a human-like species believed to be plagued by uncured disease since birth– and Stargazers —a group of survivors whose ancestors once lived on a faraway planet before an inevitable disaster occurred and forced them to flee into another dimension, or towards a doom fate that cannot be reversible.

To be noted; RtE is a heavily-relationship based game (not necessarily in platonic/romantic sense) each of your interactions with any character will determine the tone and purpose of their motivation. Any choice you have chosen, make sure to embrace the consequences of your action at your own expense.

With that being said, it is also worth mentioning that you don’t need to engage into a romance or specific relationship with any character to complete the story.

RtE also rated 18+ for strong language, suggestive contents, disturbing topics such as racism, sexism, discrimination against queer people, explicit descriptions of violence, murders, drug use and sexual behaviors of certain characters with optional intercourse scenes.

Setting

RtE takes place in a post-apocalypse society where the concept of time is lost and any history known was only speculations at best and rumour at worst. Trying to maintain their sense of utopia, Stargazers built and operated their space colony as a temporary base for self-preservation (in which only fews know details about) called ‘Eutopia’. 

In this dystopian paradise people’s sole purpose of living was fixated on surviving. And in order to do that, the whole population creates a solid ground rule not to let themselves ‘feel’ about other emotions that do not serve for public favors. Hence, you will be challenged to adapt to several situations and handpick the best flavor of your actions based on the emotions you have learnt or developed from your surroundings.

Who do you play as?

For now, you will be playing as a secret child of Bastien Palmer, the leader of Stargazers who already has a wife and two other perfect children, your younger sister and brother. Ones you have never interacted with nor you ever get the chance to.

MCs subjectively considered a white sheet which you can paint anything on by your preferences. Explore the world full of colorful emotions or bottomless pit of numbness by your own choices. 

But remember, Eutopia is a place where everything goes according to one simple rule ‘To survive’ hence the marriage between a man and woman will be set as the norm and only truth, and someone who will state otherwise must face and suffer the ugliness of social standards accordingly. However, I do not encourage any transphobic/homophobic behavior of the characters in this story. Please kindly be assured of that.

There might be a chance where you can start off as other characters, that is, however, still a subject-to-change matter as of now.

Introduction to the Chosen Ones [ ROs]

**Please be aware of mild spoilers below**

Vegaris (M/F) 19 Star-crossed lovers or Nemesis route, The Rebel.

They would do anything to survive, even if it means to betray the only person who trusts them deeply… like you.

Vegaris is an Alter who has so many sides hidden behind closed doors. Unpredictable, cunning, hot and cold are the words that describe them best. Due to their traumatic childhood (much like other Alters on Eutopia), they have a deep-root hatred for Stargazers. Although they were brought in by your family and treated almost the same as one of your father’s own kids. They still witness the unfairness of being an Alter in society and never afraid to point the wrong in other people’s doings. 

Their usual mask, however, is one where you cannot crack open that easily. They always remain calm and composed in front of you, and only show their fangs when circumstances arise.

Dana/Darren Regency (M/F) 22 Childhood friends, Forbidden route, The Face.

For a person who seems to be easy to read as much as an open-book, they sure talk with silence better than with their own voice.

A poster girl/boy for Regency Academy. Your former childhood friend (for some unknown reason, they're trying their hardest to avoid you) and an only child to the Head of Deans at Regency, Sandalphon. They are the precise image of how one should raise a Stargazer. Being a honor student. A model citizen. And a perfect ideal partner. They are assigned to be married with the most capable genetic-wise fiancé. As popular as they appear to be to the public, their private life (as private as it can be) is still a gigantic loophole for most imprudent reporters trying to catch even just a glimpse.

It seems like what they are trying to avoid is not just you, but the entirety of Eutopia.

Sandalphon Regency (M/F) 40 Age-difference, Single-parent route, The Pacifist.

Do you believe in something just because it's true, or it becomes the truth only when you believe in it?

Sandalphon is the most powerful influence among the deans of Regency. A group of people that has control over governing matters even beyond that of Bastien Palmer, the President. For Sandal, they are anything and everything people could ever ask for in a Regency. Kind, generous, well-versed with every branch of knowledge in the universe. Never wrong in anything. And never judge anyone based on their bias.

If only people knew the truth, they’d probably beg to differ.

Maybe they are just good at hiding beneath that gentle facade, maybe a calculated mind with strings to pull works best with neutral suggestions... who knows?

One more hidden character will be revealed in the demo, Into the Madness route, The Savior.

[ Classified info. ]

**There will be two sub ROs and flings to be introduced later in the story.**

More info will be announced.

Demo 1st update : 24/01/2024 Chapter 1 (28k codes excluded)

Datalog is completed roughly til the end of the story. Coding and polishing will certainly take time. Any more updates will be announced solely on this blog.

Reblogging is appreciated. Thank you!

[whydotheycallitanoven]

little wip i’ve been working on since gem’s hardcore ep dropped! basically wl angst lol

Gem wasn’t sure why she ended up back on her hardcore world. maybe it was something about the quiet. there was a calming nature to the solitude, no screaming, no need to look out for traps. only the quiet gossip of her villagers as they went about their days. 

she’d missed her villagers, she realized. back on Hermitcraft and other SMPs she’d lived on, the player consensus was that they were too much trouble - their pathing and career choice were too much for all but the most dedicated players to work with. she’d had several conversations with Impulse about his woes whilst working with them over the past two seasons.

she hated to think about what he was doing now.

but if there’s anything Gem had learned from her travels, it was that there was something comforting in predictability. with her villagers, the conversations were easy - “you’d never believe what x said while you were gone” - and their trust was similarly easily won. she would do anything to make sure she kept it.

above all though, she decided, it was the privacy that she valued the most. the villagers didn’t come up to her out of the blue, and when she was in the mines she could pretend there was nothing more important than the deepslate she was collecting.

she tried not to think about what happened after secret life. the way she remembered it all, recurring nightmares of a chase waking her every night. the way she wanted so bad to just move on like everyone else — moving to the new season, basing at magic mountain. she couldn’t help the way she tried to distance herself from a certain pair of blue eyes, asking her what was wrong. the way she could see them turn red whenever the light glinted just the right way. the confused glances sent her way whenever she brought up songwriting or the mounders or god forbid the camel. she couldn’t help but confront Scar one night, hoping someone remembered. the tears that formed in her eyes before she could even get the words out. the silence was definitely better.

the wind bit through her clothes as she climbed back up the long staircase. It was the kind of wind that took your breath away, and Gem welcomed the numbing effect. the scars of six deaths had made their home on her body in the past few days, but the cold had helped take the edge off. it dulled the burn of lava, the aching left by explosions. only the wounds left by the vex’s knives continued to bother her — she should’ve expected it, last deaths always stuck around longer — but she suspected it had something to do with how their icy blades were the last to break in her torso. 

“kill the vex or you’ll be down a teammate”. she’d yelled a few moments before the hit that would take her out. she’d forgiven Joel for overlooking the little furies almost instantly - it hadn’t suited her to hold grudges after all. she was almost glad she hadn’t made it to the final moments this time. she heard he’d won a few days after she’d left the arena. she couldn’t bear staying to watch the final battle. she just hoped that Joel’s memories wouldn’t treat him like they had Scar. 

she’d head back eventually. she always did. she’d say her congratulations and go on with collaborations and build her base up once more. eventually. for now though, she’d lose herself in the biggest project of this world yet and listen to her villagers heap praise on her walls and dog for keeping them safe while she was gone.

she wasn’t quite sure why she couldn’t look them in the eyes.

Pearl wasn’t sure why she ended up back on Hermitcraft. maybe it was something to do with the fact she couldn’t stand being left alone.

[tgmsunmontue]

What to write weekend? 17-19th Jan 2025

I have a busy weekend ahead of me, however my down time will be spent writing. So that I spend time actually writing rather than just day-dreaming about writing, please reply to this post, send me an ask (anon is on), or a DM. You can choose up to three letters/numbers from the PINNED POST which I just updated (I've copy/pasted below the ones I'm most interested in working on). I will write 150-200 words per letter/number.

Tracking is here for those of you that like spreadsheets.

GIF by trapstrblog

(Hopefully removed the tags from the people so they don't get MORE notifications!)

1) Sagas of Solitude 17/21 - IceMav with side Hangster AU - angsty Nepo!Baby Bradley Bradshaw who has to keep his relationship with Mav and Ice a secret when he starts at the USNA. Featuring married Ice and Mav (but not to each other). Prologue He Remembers and Lonely Nights are both set in this verse. (Last updated 2nd Jan)

2) Season to Taste 36/42 Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world. (Last updated 9th January)

WIP STATUS (+ FIC IDEAS CURRENTLY GERMINATING)

FYI - everyone is welcome to take any of the ideas and do their own spin. Don't plagiarise obviously, but definitely feel free to take it and add your own twist.

A) Upon which our souls touch - 8/? - Hangster Fantasy AU (Last updated 1st January 2025)

B) Never knew I was missing you - 7/9 - Hangster AU with Jake a naval aviator and Bradley and A-list Hollywood star. They meet on a dating app. Famous and cat fishing that isn't cat fishing because online relationships are rife but...? (Tumblr idea) (Last updated 9th January 2025)

D) IceMav with unknown about children because the US Navy is evil and produced offspring because of genetics being a THING. (Tumblr ramblings)

E) Cyclone/Maverick - Cyclone is struggling to deal with being attracted to the most annoying person he's ever met. Why does he like him so much?

H) From the top 4/? - an Ice/Mav epistolary fic where Jake and Bradley matchmake them, not realising exactly who it is they've matched together. AU divergent ish. (Last updated 4th January 2025)

K) Caring, Keeping and Collecting Transformers - A Guide - 12/?Transformers cross-over for help me yeagrave is 110% to blame for me adding this... (related to this post) (Last updated 1st January 2025)

L) Hangster Sports Team AU with Hangster being ex-es (like stood up at the alter type exes) and the trade deadline coming in hot and Bradley being traded in and all hell is about to break loose... Ramblings and more here.

S) Jake is a blacksmith and artist and Bradley is a high school history teacher.

T) Jake and Bradley becoming friends on Instagram through competitive thirst traps. (Tumblr post)

U) Jake vs Bradley kissing competition with no touching (tumblr post from iprefervillains)

V) Actual fleshed out "wrong number" AU from caystar13star

W) The amnesia fic if the-ace-with-spades doesn't mind me absconding with another of their ideas.

[feraltragedy]

Here's a Simon "Ghost" Riley drabble I wrote instead of working on my other WIPs.

CW: none, just pure fluff

Title: Coyote and the Crow

Characters: Ghost, Soap, Gaz, f!oc

She's been a member of the 141 nearly a year now. An odd little thing, really. Likes flowers and dancing, always has ridiculous dialog. Yet, fierce and stealthy on the battlefield.

It isn't uncommon for her to openly seek comfort from her team members or intrude their personal space. Holding onto Gaz whenever the opportunity arises. Barging into offices without knocking to sit quietly in the floor curled up with a book, back against the drawers of the desk.

Simon pretends to be neutral to the idea of all the physical touch and her seemingly constant presence. The freespirited little soldier came into their lives like a tidal wave. Crashing into their routines and solitude. He won't tell a soul, but he warmed up to her almost immediately, finding her rollercoaster of personalities to be amusing and sometimes comforting to even himself.

One particular night, he sits in his office doing late paperwork while the rest of the team should be soundly sleeping. Or so he thought, until she barges in. He doesn't spare a glance away from the papers in front of him, he already knows who it is.

He expected her to round his desk and curl up in the floor like she's done many times before. Not speaking or touching, just seeking comfort of his presence. But this time she doesn't do that.

She stands against his leg and weakly tries to roll his chair back, but failing. He looks up at her to decipher the unusual act to see her eyes full of exhaustion and tear stained. Nightmares must have plagued her dreams.

Without a word exchanged, he rolls his chair back and watches in awe as she slips between his legs and kneels to the floor. A ziploc baggie of markers in assorted colors catches his eye.

Before he can question what in the world she is doing, her soft hands gently grasp his bare forearm. One of her hands rests on his leg, supporting his arm. The other takes a brightly colored maker and begins coloring his tattooed skin.

He makes a mental note to wear a short sleeve tshirt more often. As she silently switches marker to marker, gently coloring his pale skin, he continues his paperwork with his free hand. Her movements eventually slow to a complete stop and he feels the weight of her head meet the thigh of his other leg.

Looking down at the sight, his heart warms and breaks. She's finally fallen asleep. Marker still in her hand, the lid resting between her parted lips as she snores softly. His free hand comes down to lightly stroke her hair.

Two rapid knocks at his door breaks his focus. Before he can say anything, the door swings open. He's quick to shush the voices filling the silent room, pointing down to where they can't see.

Curious foot steps round his desk to see what has the lieutenant so urgently shushing them. Their eyes land on a form, softly snoring, practically curled up in his lap.

Soap gently takes the marker from her loose hand, then the lid from her lips. Understanding Ghost's deathstare as a warning to not wake her. They watch her carefully, relieved when she doesn't so much as twitch.

"Want me to carry her to my room?" Her bestfriend Gaz whispers. She would often slip into his quarters when sleep would evade her. Everyone understands their platonic relationship.

Ghost ponders the question for a few moments. He doesn't want to disturb her but knows this position will leave her aching tomorrow if she stays like that any longer. He wants to say no and take her back to his quarters instead so he can comfort and protect her through the night while she rests, but that would raise question if anyone else were to find out.

Begrudgingly, he sighs and gives a curt nod. He rolls his chair back slightly to give Gaz more room to gently pick her up. The now lack of contact leaves him feeling empty.

"Careful now, watch her head on the doorways. And Gaz, hold her tight tonight." He receives a nod in response. There is an unspoken understanding between all of them, an understanding about the profound bond between the coyote and the little crow.

[alectoperdita]

WIP Wednesday

Wrote this several days ago but might as well share bits now. A treat hopefully for those looking for one. Things are starting to get real in the Leverage AU between hitter!Jou and hacker!Seto.

---

"Fuck me," he ordered, already climbing over the middle console into Jounouchi's lap.

"Here?" the man screeched. "Now?"

Seto grabbed the hitter's chin and forced him to look him in the eye. "You owe me. I almost drowned. I nearly die—"

A savage kiss cut off him, putting end to the hysterical tirade pouring out of his mouth, burning worse than the chlorinated water he vomited after clawing out of the pool. It was everything Seto could've asked for and more. They kissed, nipping at lips and sliding their tongues together, without breaking for air. Simply trying to mold together into one being. Soon, Seto's head swam. He couldn't breathe. For a second, he was thrown back into the pool, fighting the darkness edging in around his vision. Lungs burning, burning. But there was no air, no—

They surfaced, gasping for air. Clinging to one another as if they were each other's life raft and only chance of survival.

"You're alive. I won't let anything happen to you," Jounouchi swore against his mouth.

Seto wanted to believe him so much that it ached. Yesterday, he would've believed him without question. Which only went to show what a fool Seto had become. Betrayal was the only constant in his life; his parents who died and abandoned him, his relatives who dumped him and his brother at an orphanage after they stole what little inheritance they had, the orphanage administrators who forcibly separated him from Mokuba for their own profit.

Did he really think Jounouchi could be the exception?

It shouldn't be a surprise. But for the first time, a rage rampaged through his hollow chest. His throat tightened around an uncomfortable lump. A terrible pressure crushed his heart in a vise. He wanted to rail against the injustice of it. Against the violent nature of the solitude imposed on him.

"You let him handcuff me, dump me into the pool," he hissed, even his eyes stung, "and you left me there."

For the first time, Jounouchi failed to leap to his defense. He'd taken hits and stabbings for Seto, but this time? He left Seto to his fate of a lonely watery grave.

Thick brows knitted together. Jounouchi's expression was so guilt-ridden that it made Seto nauseous. "I know. I know. I'm sorry. If I thought it would've helped, I would've dove in right after ya. But Daimon would've had us both shot right there if I did that."

Seto knew that. He wasn't an idiot. If Daimon suspected either of them of lying, that was the end for them. They wouldn't be here arguing about it. Yet knowing so didn't make it any better, because he realized he had hoped against hope Jounouchi would put him first, even if it might've doomed them.

[mothermara]

whatever it's wip wtuesday now and my wrist has died so I should take a break on this one anyway

Saints and Seducers rewrite ↓

The roads to Haafingar were bright and sunlit, though Syrabane noticed frost lingering in shaded areas throughout the day. It was curious to her that even when Skyrim’s skies were clear and the land was green, there remained an icy chill. Of course, she had been well-aware of Skyrim’s climate upon applying for the College of Winterhold, three years prior. Skyrim was cold, frigid, freezing, desolate, and inhospitable to decent folk—before she left Alinor, her mother made a point to remind her of that as often as she could. She pulled the woven shawl under her cloak a bit tighter. A more sheltered carriage would be a good investment.

Syrabane thought back to something Weedum had expressed during one of their first evaluations. Weedum was an argonian warlock she made the acquaintance of at the college, who had been training their whole life to take up the prestigious cultural role of treeminder. A treeminder communicated directly with the Hist through drinking its sap, which could impart centuries of wisdom on its chosen. It was a position of importance, but also of complete responsibility. They told her with that in mind, they’d rather be freezing their scales off in Winterhold than live the rest of their life shackled to a tree.

She knew all too well that expectations were a difficult thing to bear. During her first year at the College of Sapiarchs, she wrote to her parents that a fellow student had taken his own life. His poor parents, her father replied. They must be terribly ashamed. Ashamed, that is, to have raised a son that buckled under despair, which was itself a product of the overwhelming fear of failure that saturated Alinor’s youth from the moment of birth.

It was from that thought Syrabane carved a field of study to pursue. She would analyze the very psyche of the people of Tamriel, the interpersonal bonds that shaped them and the roots of madness itself.

“What kinda daedra do you think we’re gonna be dealing with? ‘Cause I don't think the payout for this one will cover stopping a second Oblivion Crisis.” Badbr stretched.

The city of Solitude’s walls were now visible over the horizon. There was no smoke, at the very least.

Syrabane replied, “I'm not sure… I suppose we can assess the situation when we’re there to see if we’ve bitten off more than we can chew.”

Weedum lifted their head and sniffed the air intently. A croak rumbled in their throat as they contemplated.

“I sense no rupture in the liminal barrier. There is thinning. Oblivion presses into Nirn; a realm sweet and bitter in equal measure.”

Badbr took a sniff of her own, “It just smells like pine to me.”

Esoteric matters seemed to mean little to Badbr. She was an orsimer warrior—heavy armour with a warhammer to match. Syrabane had come to appreciate her pragmatism, regardless. She spoke freely of her past as an orphan child in the Cyrodiilic city of Bruma, then her life as a young woman in an Orcish stronghold, northward in the mountains of Skyrim. Her thoughts and feelings were often given forth without having to ask. Rindolin, however, was a different case entirely.

“You can’t smell Oblivion. It's something you taste in the back of the throat.” the bosmer interjected while steering the carriage towards the stable.

He had a sort of paranoid disposition that required patience and the slow building of trust. It was clear to her that he possessed a unique and well-defined set of beliefs and fears, each with their own internal framework of logicality, though the circumstances through which they developed remained enigmatic to her.

From what she could parse of Rindolin’s life, he was originally born in Valenwood in a settlement that was soon after razed to the ground, at which point he was relocated to an island kingdom, eventually coming to serve as a personal valet to the royal family. Based on his apparent distrust of Altmer, she suspected the destruction of his home had a correlation to Thalmor activities in Valenwood during the Great War. This could mean the ‘isles’ he commonly referred to were none other than the Summerset Isles, or the province of Alinor as she knew it—though, that was simply speculation.

“What does Oblivion taste like to you, Rindolin?” Syrabane asked.

“As Weedum said: sweet and bitter in equal measure.”

At the gates of Solitude, two guardsmen bickered. One wore a cuirass of gleaming gold, the other wore armor the colour of cast iron.

“Kinthal, don’t speak of such blasphemy! Our Lady will return to us, in due time.”

“I’m just having trouble understanding how leaving the Isles in such disarray was part of her plan.”

“Oh, please-” The dark armored guard paused and continued in a hushed tone, “Civilians are approaching. Act natural.”

The four adventurers stopped a short distance from the gate.

“Halt! No one shall pass this gate, in or out, until Lady Sheogorath has returned.” the gold armored guard, Kinthal, stated.

Sheogorath? Before Syrabane could speak, Rindolin stepped forward.

“Rindolin of Port Sheoth,” The bosmer took a deep breath, “Accompanying individuals: Weedum of Blackmarsh, Syrabane 'len Andralia Rumil-Lovilian 'ata Caemaire Phynastasia Vanyea 'cal Curinwe-Silinbinder and Badbr gro-Largashbur. On behalf of the Heir of Maddening Truth, I request entrance to the city.”

Syrabane paused. The usage of her full family title was an unnecessary and puzzling flourish, which nearly called her attention away from the rest of his words. A realization struck her. The isles he had spoken of in his personal recollections were not of Summerset at all, but rather the Daedric realm of Madness: the Shivering Isles.

[cruise-in-your-glow-bus]

Intro Post

Hey everyone. I'm Cruise. I write fic. Mostly for Ghost (the band) but it ain't my first fandom rodeo. My blog and writing are intended for adults. Minors, I love you, and I lied about my age too.

My Writing (so far)

As the Bridegroom to His Chosen (WIP | 8/10 chapters)

He's ascended to the highest peak of his career, reigned over the stage and screen as Papa Emeritus IV. Now, settling into his role as Frater Imperator (and all the duties that go along with it) will take some adjustment. Papa V is here. The Ghost project is running smoothly, more or less. Seeking solace and guidance for his new path, Frater Imperator intends to muse in prayerful solitude about his next instruction to please The Old One. Luckily enough, The Old One offers many gifts to His beloved servants, and although it might not initially compare to wobbling thousands of asses across the globe, our newly-ordained Frater gets one very special ass to wobble, all for himself. (Or, alternatively: You meet a stranger in the woods when your car breaks down during a sudden storm. Your life changes forever.)

A post-RHRN Prime Mover AU

Ghost Kinktober 2024 Scripture Memory Verse Award Winner (WIP | 26/?? chapters)

A tasteful charcuterie board of sinful temptations, including (but not limited to):

I Will Spit You Out of My Mouth aka Seminary Student Copia’s Heathen Bisexual Awakening (Copia/OMC; Wax Play; Temperature Play)

Being with a man is, as they say, a whole new world of undiscovered desire, and he’s not sure if he’s ready for that. He wants it, sure, but the way he wakes up flustered and achingly hard with the thought of just a look from the librarian.

Dwell Richly Within You aka a mid-concert quickie (Copia/OFC; Creampie)

“Inside,” he growls, and you feel the tension when you wrap your hands around his neck, the palpable need. 

Hatred Stirs Up Strife... aka Terzomega CNC Hate Sex

“I know you love me… But… what if you didn’t?”

Bless the House of Your Servant aka the one with the Suburban Dilf / Realtor roleplay, for Satanic reasons (Copia/OFC)

He glances up to the Live, Laugh, Love sign over the headboard, then back to me. “I’m just not sure it suits all of my needs.” My face heats; he has to know what this is doing to me, talking about his needs.  

And They Shall Be One Flesh aka the Historical Arranged Marriage First Night one (Secondo/OFC) and its follow up chapter, A Helper Comparable

“Who has struck you?” His voice was calm. “You cower before me like a whipped dog…” “Please,” I started to say, desperation evident in my voice. I didn’t even care that he’d called me a dog. “Please, I’ll… I’ll do whatever—“ “Who. Hurt. You?” “Don’t make me say it.” I shook my head, fear tightening in my chest. “Please don’t send me back.”

Suffer A Witch aka the Witch Hunt one where a difficult woman finally gets a good reward from all of the Papas

She was on the wrong side of thirty, and her chin had a stubborn set to it that screamed of her defiance.  She was loud. She was untamed. She was difficult. She had no man to give her headship. In short: She was a witch.

The Word at the Beginning aka the one where Copia is a Camp Director at a Christian youth camp, and wears short-shorts. (Copia/OFC; loss of virginity; purity culture)

God, I pray, please. I don’t want to feel like this. It’s wrong to feel like this. If this is Your will, then give me the strength to pass this test, all for Your glory.  ...why would God make me this way, so full of desire and need, for someone I know I can’t have?  Or is this God at all? Is this Satan, tempting me to sin?  And if it is Satan, then why is God so silent? With a bitter laugh I feel grateful, at least, that God hasn’t decided to kill my whole family just to prove a point about my faithfulness, like He did to Job.  Kind of a dick move, really.  Instantly, I amend that thought with another prayer: Forgive me, I trust in you, I’m sorry…

And other one-shots. I will be finishing this when Bridegroom is complete.

I also take fic prompts/requests!

Okay bye!

[romanxeisdeadbutimnot]

Redfang Zosan // I walk into your dagger for the last time

Wip of the fanfic im making for this au

The anger you are born with is your own, and yet foreign. You were never who you were supposed to be – that degrading voice that speaks so loudly in your head everytime you do as so much as breath grips at your core, reminding you that you are nothing.

He clenched his jaw, the silence of the room making everything seem so much louder.

Sanji sat on the corner of his bed, the loose clothes that wrapped his body feeling uncomfortable and filthy no matter how many times he had washed them. This moment of solitude was nothing new, but for once nobody would walk in and berate him. He wouldn’t have to deal with the reprucussions of being bothered.

He was finally alone, but only because he made it so. Their nagging voices seemed to cling to his mind rather than their screams, their bouts of anger that every single one of them felt.

Sanji wasn’t special – he was supposed to be the one who made their family big, to be anybody else than who he was right now.

Cold and empty wasn’t something new, and Sanji had lost that gnawing feeling inside of his gut that should fuel his survival. It felt deserved, for his hunger was fueled only by selflessness.

Kindness for himself was not known, and it may be too late to teach him.

The temptation to drain that damn pest he allowed to live only to help him find a way out of this hellhole. Sanji had known the outside world very rarely, and even though he was limited, the yearing for the idea of a life away from his family was strong enough to keep him going most days.

Self destruction wasn’t limited to one’s suicidal demise – it was for not knowing how to deal with the hurt, and the wanting for any sort of control. It was an excuse in his mind for him to dig himself a deeper grave, and bringing down anyone else he could. An unlovable creature, a vampire born to suck away any sort of life no matter the meaning.

On days like this, Sanji came closer to lashing out than normal. Of course, that stranger that had only given him a meal a day or two ago would know nothing of this. He was meerly a tool to get what Sanji wanted, even if it meant tearing out his own throat with a dagger.

The coldness of the undead was nothing in comparison to the horrors of the mind.

A sudden crash – Sanji jumped, his thoughts flying out window. Irratiional fear of the worst made Sanji feel sick, but that didn’t stop him from dashing out of the room.

The mansion was big, but Sanji never really knew anything else. It was easy for him to nagivate, and he quickly found the stranger on the first floor hasiltly trying to collect the broken pieces of a pot.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

A hiss, followed by an angry lunge at the green haired freak.

“Do you plan on breaking everything?!”

“It’s not my fault everything here is ancient!”

[smaller-comfort]

It is WIP Wednesday, my dudes!

I need to work on necron stuff, but instead I've been kicking away at actually fluffy SoS things. Palate cleansers, now that Save Scumming is done.

A little bit of Outshine the Sun, Etudes, and Modern AU.

Untitled Aephorul/Resh'an, the extremely silly, porny sequel to Save Scumming.

--

“Let me look at you,” Resh'an said at last.

“Hmph.” He didn't want to. It didn't matter what Resh'an said; there was always that moment when he could see the pity in Resh'an's eyes. And then the disgust. Resh'an was good at hiding it- but he'd always been an open book to Aephorul.

Still. They were trying something new. He let go of Resh'an. “I'll show you mine if you show me yours.”

For a moment Resh'an just stared at him with narrowed eyes, but then he shrugged. “On three?” Resh'an tucked his fingers under the edge of his mask.

“One.” Aephorul rearranged the flesh beneath his hood into something vaguely face-like.

“Two.” Resh'an's eyes glowed a little brighter.

“Three.” In unison, Aephorul pulled back his hood and Resh'an pulled down his mask, and they both dispelled the illusions that hid their faces.

He hissed again, this time in sympathy; when they'd last met, Resh'an hadn't looked good, but he'd at least been relatively whole. Now, half his face was missing, the skin torn away to reveal the skull beneath. The lower mandibular angle was crazed with hairline fractures.

----

Etudes: Beginnings (B'st/Resh'an). I'm still going to finish Glass Harp first, but now this series has over 15k words and at least five separate stories in it and I've clearly lost control of my life. Resh'an is such an unmitigated disaster in this series, but he's trying so hard.

----

He rarely used his bedroom in the tower; on the rare occasions that he actually slept, he usually just put his head down at his desk. The actual bedroom and living quarters had become a secondary storage space for his research notes. The first time B'st had found an entrance to the Archives, Resh'an had thrown him into a time loop in a mild state of panic, and then hucked everything in the bedroom into an extradimensional storage closet. 

He'd gotten so used to solitude- but that was no excuse for poor hospitality. When he released B'st from the time loop (hopefully none the wiser, but he wasn't going to ask) the bedroom was sparsely furnished, but clean. In the end, it didn't matter; they hadn't spent any time there that first visit. He gave B'st the tour of the tower, such as it was- the library and the reading room at the heart of the Archives, the laboratory, the living quarters- and then they'd spent the rest of their time on the observation deck.

It took considerable effort to unmoor his tower from its physical anchorage, but he did it anyway. It let him relocate the observation deck anywhere he liked, so they could look at the stars from new vantages. Resh'an had, quite frankly, been showing off.

And it had been worth it, to see B'st's eyes- already so bright- light up when Resh'an transported them into the center of a meteor shower.

----

Alternative Sleeping Arrangements (working title), Aephorul/Resh'an, college students au. Aephorul goes home with Resh'an over spring break; he meets Resh'an's aunt; a pillow fort gets built. I'm not sure if this one will ever really get finished, but I like fleshing out some of the background for this AU.

This is a non-magical AU; it literally takes place in New Jersey. But Anais and her partner Estelle are still also Guardian Gods, despite that.

--

He was surprised by how much she looked like Resh'an; she was nearly as tall as Aephorul, with the same long-limbed, willowy silhouette. But on her it looked graceful, where Resh'an always looked like he was surprised he had elbows. Her hair was a frizzy cloud of strawberry blonde to Resh'an's dead straight auburn, but they had the same eyes and the same smile. 

She drifted in on a cloud of sandalwood, peasant skirts swirling above her bare feet and silver bracelets jangling down her arms. “Darling boy!”

Resh'an looked slightly pained at his aunt's endearment. “Hi auntie. This is Aephorul.”

She kissed Resh'an on both cheeks despite the way he rolled his eyes, and then she turned to Aephorul.

He understood what Resh'an had meant when he said his aunt was a lot, now. Anais looked at him like he was a bug caught under a glass. For a moment, her face was as still and cold as a marble statue, unsmiling and distant. Then she smiled at him, the same radiantly beautiful smile that Resh'an used when he was genuinely happy. 

It took considerable effort not to flinch when she offered her hand to shake. Her grip was surprisingly firm. “It's nice to finally meet you,” she said warmly. “Resh'an can show you around the place- Essie's out getting groceries, but when she gets back we'll start on dinner.”

Resh'an rescued Aephorul from his aunt's handshake and tugged him away, down the hallway. “Come on, my room's this way.”

[captain-danwilds]

WIP Wednesday: 10/9/24

Happy Wednesday!

Please provide me external motivation to write by sending me asks. I'm hoping to have a couple chapters of Not all ghosts are buried to post in November for the fic's birthday. Options on offer:

NAGAB Neil (Raven!Neil)

NAGAB Noah (Vixens, Palmetto State Shenanigans and Hatfords)

The foxes RA (unposted, but I think self-explanatory)

My WIP Wednesday rules that may differ from others: Send as many asks as you want. I can post this and get 0 asks (AKA what happened last week), so if there's something you want to see, you'll have to ask for it. You can include a specific thing you're interested in seeing in the fic or just the work's name in your ask.

You don't need to be caught up on what I've written but previous Snippets linked here.

NAGAB Neil below the cut. Jumping back in time from last week's snippet.

Nathaniel doesn't know how he feels about Jean yet. It's like holding a heavy racket after playing for years with a light one. Sure he knows this is probably good for him, that he can't keep existing as he has been - talking to the voice in his head and stealing occasional moments when Kevin is slightly less of a dick than he could be. But he's also grown used to the solitude. It feels uncomfortable to look out for someone else again

Especially someone who can't get their new situation through their thick skulls.

"How do you expect to learn the drills if you don't even try?"

Jean glared at him. "I do not need to try. I will be leaving soon."

This isn't some vacation.

"That is obvious. No one finds Exy restful." Jean drawled, swinging the stick back and forth along the ground but refusing to hit the ball.

If you don't start bending, they will break you.

Jean eyes focused on Nathaniel's bruises and the splint on one of his fingers. "They will do that anyway."

[ohmypawsandwhiskers]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by @topaz-carbuncle to share something for WIP Wednesday! So, I figured I share a part of the next chapter for 'Of Devils and Monsters' (which has been written mostly but needs to be typed up and this provided me with some incentive to do so XD) and I just also love these two dorks and need their story to progress, and this just helps to reignite that fire for me!

“Fuck!” A knock at the door startled Lozen from her beading, the needle pricking her finger with more force than was needed to go through the cloth, drawing a small pinprick of crimson. Her already foul mood became worse at the intrusion[[ Expand more with description of this rather than stating it.]]. “I’m still here, you can piss off now and tell Shadis to relax or else his face will end up with a permanent scowl.”

“I would be willing to bet it’s too late for such a prevention,” Erwin’s voice came from the other side of the door, “but I will be sure to pass along the message all the same.”

Dread pooled in her stomach at the thought of having to be at the receiving end of the lecture she’d somehow avoided up until this point. She was tense enough as it was, hands as shaky as her hold onto the present as the past lapped at her heels, threatening to pull her under as it had done at the top of that tree. She set down the cloth she was working on and rose from her desk, feet heavy as she crossed over to crack open the door. “Look, Sir, I know I was-“

“Right now, I’m not here as a superior officer, but rather as a concerned friend,” he interrupted with a smile that made her heart break at how it brought to mind a younger, more open version of him. “You were absent at dinner.”

“I didn’t feel much like eating,” she muttered, her eyes glancing down to her feet for a moment before shrugging and meeting his gaze again. “Still feeling that way to be honest, in case you’re here to convince me otherwise.”

“I would hardly force you to do something that you did not wish to do,” he offered. “It would be foolish of me to attempt to achieve such a loft aspiration,” his smile reassured her, stifling the little voice in the back of her had that called for her to wrap the conversation up quickly.

“Yeah, it would. So what is it? As you can see clearly, I’m fine. If that’s all, I’d really like to get back to beading.”

“I wanted to invite you to join me in my office. I have some paperwork that will take a while. I’m willing to bet you’ll be up late as well, so why suffer late nights in solitude? I’ll put on a kettle-“

“No reprimanding lectures?”

“I will grant you a pass for tonight,” Erwin offered up a hand as though he was swearing into a court of law, only lowering his hand as the corners of his lips drew upwards. “The kitchen sent up a dessert platter as a thank you- oh, my apologies. You wouldn’t be interested in that, I suppose.”

She pursed her lips, scrunching up her nose and crossing her arms over her chest. “Nobody likes a smart ass.”

“You’re right. That was very uncouth. My apologies. I’ll drop it, say no more.” He turned as though to leave, mostly hiding the growing smile of success as he made his final play, and was stopped by her firm grip on his arm.

“I said no one likes a smart ass, not that I wasn’t going to relieve you of at least half of those sweets.” Lozen poked him in the chest with her forefinger as a smile fought to break through the schooled scowl she wore while she returned to her room to grab her beading supplies. In the few moments that gained her, she had gained victory in maintaining the cross look, but he could still see the way the light danced in her eyes with a bit of hope as she said, “Lead the way.”

They're dorks, your honor, and I am obsessed with them.

No pressure tags: @askweisswolf @sleepy-sham @littlerequiem @atruewarrior @musings-and-fandoms

@aurumni-writes @liveforlevi and anyone else that would like to do this! (I get anxious about tagging people, so let me know if you want to be included!)

[firefly-factory]

WIP Wednesday :D

Tagged by @skyrim-forever - my WIP this week happens to involve our beloved Ondolemar, so I hope you like this snippet <3

Tagging @weirdisme @changelingsandothernonsense and @snowy-weather if y'all have anything you're working on right now (but as always, no pressure <3)

And now for the WIP - takes place in the Thalmor Headquarters, the first night after they arrived in Solitude.

~

Astra reached the top of the stairs and paused. Someone else was awake.

She peered out from the stairwell, hesitant about being seen. The room was dimly lit by a single lantern, resting on the table. Ondolemar sat alone, a hand propping his chin up. In the flickering firelight his golden skin seemed even warmer, and his light hair practically glowed. His expression, however, was far from radiant. In fact he seemed . . .

She wasn’t sure how to describe it. She hadn’t known him long enough to differentiate between the finest details of his expressions, and so was unsure how to categorize his expression. Not sad, exactly. But the furrow of his brow and the slight purse of his lips was more than just tiredness. Perhaps melancholy? He held a glass in one hand and kept twisting it to catch the light, sending shards of light sparkling across the room. The bottle at his elbow was still corked, though there certainly could have been other bottles before her arrival.

He hadn’t noticed her, despite the fact that he sat nearly opposite her. In fact, if he simply looked up from the glass, he would have been staring right at her. Astra watched for a few minutes, half hoping he would notice her and break the strange stalemate, half content to linger. He was . . . startlingly pretty. And in his night-clothes—a dark blue tunic and loose grey pants—he lost much of the aura of intimidation that she associated with his uniform. Not that he looked bad in his uniform. Quite the opposite, in fact . . .

She pushed the thought away, unwilling to follow that train of thought any further. Her feelings about the Thalmor uniform were complicated enough without having to bring that into it.

But she was here. Now.

Without the trappings of the Dominion, it was very easy to admire him from a distance. And that melancholy expression on his face left her with a weird twisting in her chest that she couldn’t quite identify. Sympathy? Pity?  Azura help me. It was one thing to be muddled by his emotions, but my own?

She wanted to blame it on her lack of sleep, but knew that wasn't the real reason.