#wip: a plague of shadows

[noveldivergence]

Ottilie Khan

28 • United Coalition of Planets

Role in Story: Main protagonist; Ottilie is a human junior diplomat, unaffected by the plague and accomplished in her own right,  who is selected by the well-known Talomar diplomat Ka’lan Tern to accompany the team on a mission to the Nyari Imperium. She is expected to aid Ka’lan in brokering both peace and help to find a cure for the plague; however, she eventually begins to discover that not all is as it seems both with the Imperium and with what she knows about the Coalition and the Talomar.

Goal: Her initial goal is to help broker peace with the Nyari Imperium; this goal persists throughout the story, but is eventually superseded in focus by other goals. The next goal she faces is discovering and dealing with a sedition plot in the Imperium court, and her goal shifts to preventing another Nyari civil war, in order to persist in upholding her first goal. These goals are based in altruism, self preservation, and personal ambition simultaneously.

Physical Description: Ottilie is a cisgender woman of South Asian descent, who is shorter than the average human at this point in humanity’s development, standing at roughly 5 '4". She has darker skin, a prominent Roman nose, dark brown eyes, and black hair, which is long, but almost constantly tied up in a low hanging bun. She is thin and petite, with a flattish chest and few curves. She is not very muscular or athletic either. She has no distinctive scars or tattoos, and only stands out amongst humans for having pierced ears, which is rare and not particularly in fashion at this point in humanity’s development. Ottilie has a very practical fashion sense, and almost never wears makeup or styles her hair. She has a very clipped and precise way of speaking, with little room for misinterpretation but some room for offense to be taken from bluntness. Ottilie is trying to work on this though, particularly in studying the different ways cultures within and outside of the Coalition live their lives and formulate their ethics and morals.

Personality: Ottilie is defined by her hard work, persistence, and ambition. She is generally a decent person morally, letting her work speak for itself, but in past encounters (particularly at the Academy), she has not been above benefiting from the failures and missteps of others to help her succeed in her goals. Despite this, she isn’t one to intentionally sabotage anyone in order to reach what she wants. She is very stubborn in her beliefs and opinions, which she realizes is something she needs to negotiate within herself to succeed more in foreign diplomacy.  She often lacks empathy, can be selfish, is very opinionated, and has a prickly demeanor in casual encounters; these flaws make it difficult to make and keep friends. Ottilie doesn’t seem to mind this much. Gradually, and before the story takes place, Ottilie has been attempting to test and renegotiate her perceived boundaries, in order to strengthen her abilities as a diplomacy broker for the Coalition. While some admire this, and it has caught the attention of those in charge, her divisive personality has not earned her a great deal of friends from the Academy. It has earned her respect in the halls of the Coalition, though, which, at least outwardly, Ottilie seems to value more.

Occupation: Ottilie is a junior diplomat, earning her respect and experience in her field within the Coalition. She is not quite where she’d hoped in her career yet, despite being further along than most of her peers of similar age. While she has surpassed everyone’s expectations for her, Ottilie has yet to meet her own expectations for herself. This fuels her to go above and beyond.

Habits/Mannerisms: Ottilie has several nervous tics that are almost unnoticeable, namely flexing her hand, clenching her jaw, and blinking quickly when annoyed or perturbed. Occasionally, her hands will flutter unconsciously when she is flustered, but when she catches herself, her attempts to suppress it are almost more noticeable than when she just allows it to happen. She does not have any notable vices such as synthetic alcohol or drug use, nor any “bad” habits such as nail biting or hair chewing. Her mother and some of her friends view her love of traditional non-replicated foods as a bit odd, but harmless as far as “habits” go, and it isn’t looked down on as more than a quirk or curiosity.

Background: Ottilie came from a rather typical home for a human from the Coalition. She grew up not on Earth, but on a colonized M-class planet closer to Talome known as Caliban. Her father is an aquaponics engineer, and her mother is an agricultural genetic engineer. While both always had high expectations of Ottilie as their only child, they were very loving and supportive, never herding her towards one field of study or another. When Ottilie became fascinated with Talomar culture and cultural sociology/anthropology in general, they encouraged her to pursue that as a field of study; however, Ottilie soon found her desires went far beyond the scholarly. In her studies about Coalition history in interacting with new worlds, she kindled her own desire to do the same. Human diplomats were of course accepted to the Coalition programs for foreign relations, but few had yet to make names for themselves. Ambitious Ottilie determined she would be the first (or at least the first most notable). While she wasn’t as cutthroat as some of her classmates at the Academy, never choosing to purposefully undercut any of them, she also wasn’t particularly friendly with her classmates, causing her to miss some networking opportunities. However, her impressive work and research led to her catching the attention of several higher ups in the Coalition, who were specifically interested in her research into cultural immersion as diplomacy, as this method is non-standard amongst the majority of Coalition cultures. This is chalked up to her humanity and humans being more physically and mentally adaptable, but Ottilie’s ambition certainly stands out amongst her peers for her willingness to go beyond the standard expectations. When the plague begins, Ottilie is studying at a graduate school on Talome. She is front and center for the damage of the Talomar plague, feeling suddenly helpless to do anything to aid her friends, peers, and compatriots. When Ka’lan Tern, a Talomar diplomat of great note whom she admires, comes up with the idea to contact the Nyari Imperium, Ottilie is shortlisted and eventually selected for the mission to the Imperium. She is suddenly thrust into the spotlight of Coalition foreign affairs, with millions of lives on the line; part of her though can’t help but be excited about the thought of succeeding and all that might mean for her. A much bigger part is terrified of the weight of responsibility in her potential loss.

[justanerdy-gal]

"Do You Resent Me?" (Astarion x Tav)

-> pairing: Astarion x Tav -> content: fluff/angst -> summary: In which Tav wonders whether Astarion resents her for convincing him to choose to reject the Black Mass ritual and not Ascend. Full of angsty fluff.

-> notes: The finished version of the WIP I posted yesterday. Astarion & Tav draws all the angst and cheesy fluff out of me 🥹

——————

“Do you resent me?”

Astarion looks up, wearily, from the corner of the Elfsong Tavern room that they had been staying in for some time now.

“Darling….what would I have to resent you for…?”

You slowly walk over to his corner of the room, and sit beside him on the edge of the bed. You observe him as he turns his gaze over to the hands in his lap.

“It…just feels like…you may have made your choice because of…me.”

Astarion turns his head to look back at you, betraying nothing in those crimson eyes at the moment, but listening.

“If I wasn’t around….you would have been free to make the choice you always wanted,” you continued, your eyes glassing over as you ponder the thoughts that have been plaguing you since the moment Astarion made his choice in the Szarr palace.

“The freedom that you always craved… did I take that away from you?”

Astarion’s eyes widened as you made your declaration.

“You… think it wasn’t the right choice?”

“Not that,” you tried to clarify. “Maybe… maybe I don’t know what the right choice is. But what mattered is… your choice.”

“You trusted me. You trusted me with a choice that, in the end, goes back centuries…” your voice starts to shake. “A choice with consequences you must live with for…eternity.” You look up at him as tears finally threaten to pour from your eyes. “What right did I have, to ask you to sacrifice yourself to the shadows?”

Astarion stares at you as he ponders your statement. He looks away from you as he stares at the cracked, drying paint on the wall of the old room.

“I think about it every minute, every moment.” Astarion speaks slowly, softly. “I think about the colours of the city. The warmth of the rays at dawn, beckoning me towards the next day. I think about the sanguine hunger I have suffered for over 200 years, and how I could be free from that pain. Free from all limitations. And how that will never be now… once the parasite is destroyed.”

You look up at him in despair as your body threatens to let out a sob.

“And I think about… how it would never be enough.”

It was your turn for your eyes to widen. His gaze had softened as his fingers move to entwine in your own.

“I see the colours through your eyes, through the stories that you tell me of your adventures. I feel the warmth through your skin as you lay beside me every night.”

“And your blood can sate me better than any power can.” You giggle as he smirks, softly wiping the tears from your eyes.

“Before you, before this nautiloid fiasco … I had no reason to want anything else but freedom and power. I only lived to escape what I was. I had everything to gain. And nothing to lose. So ofcourse, this Ascension seemed like an obvious choice.”

“But everything changed,” Astarion said breathily. “From the moment you wormed your way into my heart…you became a complication that I never expected. Suddenly, I had everything to lose.”

“I would have stayed,” you say thickly.

“I know you would,” Astarion says sadly, “but would you have been happy?”

“I probably would have been happy…happier than I was, for sure.” Astarion stares distantly at the wall as he speaks. “But where would that happiness end? What would sate me, if my happiness was dependent on power? I would have to take more, control more, be more…it is surely the fate that befell Cazador, that befalls all with power…more power than they know what to do with.” Astarion winces as he utters his late master’s name. “The need for power, for control, can never be sated. It would never be enough. Nothing would ever be enough.”

“But you, with me, here? That is enough. You are enough. We are enough.”

You pause as you ponder his words for a moment.

“Am I?” you whisper weakly as you stare at your entwined hands.

You feel the chill of his hands as they move up to hold your face tightly, and tilts your head up to look at him. The intensity in his eyes at that moment was like nothing you’ve ever seen on him before.

“Listen to me,” he says firmly, staring fiercely into your eyes, as if he was speaking through to your soul. “There is nothing in the world that I wouldn’t sacrifice to remain here by your side. You are my eternity. My mad love. Besides,” Astarion smiles as he stares into your eyes. “I still think it was the right choice, regardless. If I could go back and do it all over again, I’d make the same choice. Every time.”

Astarion’s words cause the tears that you were holding back to creep up to the surface, as your body begins to wrack with heavy sobs, as you let out the doubt and fear that you have been holding since you both learned that the Ascension was a thing – since you have contemplated that potential decision every minute of every day, since the moment Astarion asked you to help him, and you convinced him to give away that power, to save those souls, to save himself. Astarion pulls your head to his chest and holds you tightly as you shake against him.

“My darling, why do you weep? Don’t sell yourself so short. No one else has a heart like you. You’re the only one,” Astarion whispers into your ear.

“I love you,” you declare into his shirt, tears still staining the soft, white material.

“I love you too,” Astarion says, leaning backward, pulling you down with him until he was laying on his back, with your head resting on his chest, hands softly caressing your hair. “I can’t imagine another way I would want to spend the rest of my days, my love. I’m not afraid – not anymore. And especially not of our future.”

And that is how you both fell asleep, with the two of you in eachother’s arms and your dreams of the future in eachother’s hearts.

——————

My AO3 and Twitter 🙂

MASTERLIST

[dereliction-if]

DERELICTION - One empire. Three kingdoms. Four races. A fate so fragile, and yet the celestial spirits decided to put it in the hands of their own potential deicide.

In a fractured realm plagued by ancient animosities, where empires clash and races vie for their own goal, their own dominance, a haunting destiny hangs over an unlikely figure. A pariah, an outcast, and perhaps the only hope - You.

You bear the weight of a dark lineage and the remnants of a once-powerful origin - now shunned by all races. While shadows of your tragic past loom large, a seemingly chance encounter thrusts you into a perilous journey. The path ahead is cloaked in uncertainty, an abyss that beckons you to confront your deepest fears, your deepest desires - a choice that may tip the scales toward salvation or everlasting despair.

It’s upon you to decide: Can you outrun your fate, or will you succumb to the very darkness you seek to defy?

/// FEATURES:

Customize the Main Character (MC) and hereby influence your path in the world:

• Name (including Nickname & Alias)

• Pronouns (choose preset or set your own)

• Gender (male, female & non-binary options)

• Appearance (hair, eye colour, size, body type, scars & more)

• Race: Thao‘Raq

• Personality (influencing events, attitudes & behaviour towards you)

• Vices (choose your poison)

• An inner power yet to identify What else? Different POVs (incl. your ROs POVs)

/// HOW IT ALL BEGAN - YOUR STORY:

/// THE WORLD (MAP WIP)

/// CHARACTERS:

For thy company makes thy destiny:

Several characters that highly influence your path, depending on your relationship and choices. Some of them you‘ll encounter just once, whilst others will be your companions for a long while. But relationships might change, due to events in the past, decisions you made. Beware, character deaths are happening and some consequences will only show in the long run.

Important characters to be announced soon

/// ROMANTIC OPTIONS:

Overall there will be 5 ROs and plenty of short term encounters - see below (Spoiler alert)

RO#1: The royal heir

Princess Sonea - she/her, 1,76m (5'9") Prince Solas - he/him, 1,94m (6'4") - 22yo, straight or gay; race: Human

Appearance: tba

Personality: tba

The first time your eyes locked, both your fates were decided. Yet, nobody could have known what consequence just one destined moment would mean for both of you and, further, the whole realm. Will you be each other’s key or knife?

RO#2: The sovereign

Amara Dougal - she/her, 1,81m (5'11") - 31yo, straight or gay, race: Human x Thao‘Raq

Appearance: tba

Personality: tba

You were never meant to be more than a tool for them - an interchangeable toy to kill boredom, play a little game of strength, willpower and dominance. Then you managed to surprise them. Was that your plan all along?

Mood Board: here

RO#3: The mage

Jia - she/her, 1,65m (5'5"); he/him, 1,79m (5'10"); they/them, 1,73m (5'8") - 21yo, demi, race: Eirdimon

Appearance: tba

Personality: tba

You stumbled into their life, being the first light in a long while. They are grateful for the new perspectives you bring into their life, even though you turn their whole world upside down. Still, they decided to never let you go again.

RO#4: The mercenary

Havu Guillame - she/her, 1,73m (5'8"); he/him 1,87m (6'2") - 26yo, pan, race: Sertynan

Appearance: tba

Personality: tba

A rusty knife, straight between their shoulder blades sounded like a much more enjoyable scenario than having to spend time with you. Not because you are exceptionally annoying, which you can be, but because bearing anybody else’s burden is nothing more than a waste of time to them.

RO#5: The knight

Daria Baran - she/her, 1,97m (6'6") Darius Baran - he/him, 2,03m (6'8") - 38yo, straight (?), race: Human

Appearance: tba

Personality: tba

Their oath is the reason why they are stuck with you. If it were possible, they would‘ve avoided it as a whole, but it seems carrying your ass around, reminding you of your manners, duties and cleaning the mess you leave behind you, is their painful responsibility now.

/// RACES: Click on each race to find out more

Sertynan (Original purpose: Diplomacy & Peace)

Eirdimon (Original purpose: Creation & Wisdom)

Human soon

Thao‘Raq (Original purpose: Protection & Defense)

>>> physical appearances - race specific: here

/// FLORA & FAUNA:

Buorshik (Lizard)

/// CONTENT WARNING: 🔞 Dark adult fiction

contains mentions of violence, bullying, racism, body horror, torture, gore, medical procedures, death, alcohol, drugs, addiction, abuse, self harm, optional sexual content incl. prostitution.

Full content warning here.

/// LAST UPDATE: 08.04.2024

In early development. DEMO: t.b.a.

Note: Each chapter will be published once it is finished.

[turnwheelofthetwelve-if]

Back when the world was whole, it was presided over by the Celestial Twelve. Each held a Relic that bestowed abilities onto it's chosen Warden and provided life and magic through the land and for a while, there was peace. But greed and jealousy corrupted the people and wars broke out over the Relics. Then the Great Fracturing occurred, ripping the world into twelve shards, extinguishing the powers of the Twelve from the world completely, and the Relics were lost to time. Without the powers of the Twelve, the world was plunged into a centuries long Dark Age, suffering from famines, plagues, and wars. Until 500 years after the Fracturing, when all across the world, new Wardens began emerging from the shadows. But without their Relics, their abilities were useless. Enter the Guardians, people born with a connection to the Wardens who were tasked with protecting them as they searched the world for their Relics. For centuries, Wardens and Guardians worked in tandem to search for the Relics, but as they kept returning unsuccessful and the disasters got worse, tensions rose and bubbled over and the powers of the Twelve were once again lost. Now, 1000 years after the Fracturing, Wardens and their Guardians have started to appear again just in time as worse disasters have started to ravage the world. But with the world rife with danger and in such disarray, truly restoring the Twelve seems more like an impossible goal than reality.

The Turnwheel of the Twelve Saga is a WIP collection of 13 interactive CYOA stories all taking place in the fictional world of Astelle, a world that was once lush with life and magic, now relegated to dry empty deserts and dense industrial pollution. Each of the books follow different characters on their journeys to recover the respective Relic.

Note: Because this is still a WIP, some names of characters or places may change during development. Also, this blog serves mostly as a hub to reach all of the other planned books, so there won't be much original content added here and just reblogs.

Genre: Adventure, Romance, Fantasy Post-Apocalyptic

Rating: 18+

Tracked Tag: #turnwheel of the twelve

Current Book: Chalice of the Scales

Status: Writing Book 1

Current Book Demo || FAQ || Ask Guidelines || Tag Navigation || World Lore || Dev's Main Blog ||

Book 1: Chalice of the Scales ( @chaliceofthescales-if )

Book 2: Ballad of the Maiden ( @balladofthemaiden-if )

Book 3: Sword of the Lion ( @swordofthelion-if )

Book 4: Tome of the Moon ( @tomeofthemoon-if )

Book 5: Fruit of the Twins ( @fruitofthetwins-if )

Book 6: Ring of the Heavens ( @ringoftheheavens-if )

Book 7: Horn of the Ram ( @hornoftheram-if )

Book 8: Mirror of the Sea ( @mirrorofthesea-if )

Book 9: Vessel of the Waterbearer ( @vesselofthewaterbearer-if )

Book 10: Sickle of the Harvest ( @sickleoftheharvest-if )

Book 11: Key of the Archer ( @keyofthearcher-if )

Book 12: Crown of the Dark ( @crownofthedark-if )

Book 13: Return of the Twelve ( @returnofthetwelve-if )

[theboarsbride]

WIP Re-Intro - GHOSTS PLAGUE THESE HALLS

Title: Ghosts Plague These Halls

Comp: CRIMSON PEAK x Cocteau's LA BELLE ET LA BÊTE

Whitechapel, London 1894.

Sophie Wickes and her family struggle to survive in the underbelly that is London's East End. Melancholia eats away at her ailing father, her work as a flower seller brings no income, and her efforts to sell her hair in an act of desperation prove to be fruitless. After a series of strange encounters in London's streets, and the gift of a mysterious white rose from her pickpocket nephew, she is called upon by the reclusive Lord Edgar Cushing to tend to the gardens of his countryside estate of Rosenthorne Hall. Faced with destitution in a workhouse and the threat of her young nephew being sent to find industrial work, Sophie agrees to play the facade of gardener.

However, the estate, its gardens, and their master is nothing like what Sophie expected.

The house? Rotting, dilapidated, hideous.

The staff? Unfeeling, cold, strange.

The gardens? A graveyard of floral corpses guarded by an army of statues.

The master? A voice from the shadows that refuses to show himself.

With her heart tested by the thorns of anger and fear, Sophie tries to make herself of use in Rosenthorne Hall. Something resembling friendship begins to blossom between her and her mysterious employer. She finally has a chance to rescue her family from the East End's grime, and perhaps allow old scars to, at last, heal.

But with a lord who speaks kind words from the house's darkened corners whilst refusing to make himself known, an unfriendly coachman, and the sudden emergence of eerie butterflies, loneliness becomes maddening.

The delirium only threatens to worsen once she starts to receive nightly visitations from a crooked-jawed ghost and moths that whisper of a bloody past, and a plea to rid Rosenthorne Hall of the misery, grief, and love that continue to plague its halls.

-----

Rough updated synopsis (i'm terrible at writing them hhhhsbhbshsbhbs sorry if it be sloppy-) and WIP intro for GHOSTS PLAGUE THESE HALLS! My Victorian gothic horror-romance ghost story baby... with yet another pathetic wet-cat-of-a-man love interest.🥰

[gothcsz]

📹 ── 𝙒𝙀𝙇𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙀 𝙏𝙊 𝙈𝙔 𝙇𝙄𝙏𝙏𝙇𝙀 𝘾𝙊𝙍𝙉𝙀𝙍 𝙊𝙁 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙄𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙉𝙀𝙏! hola cariños, it’s ya girl,  𝙠𝙖𝙩, and my hobbies include thirsting over javier peña and daydreaming. i also read and write too much smut, oops.

explicit content will be found on this blog. pls don’t interact unless you’re 18+.

certified yapper™

my ask is always open

english isn’t my first language. proud morenita mexicana over here!

i’m a flirt, okay, i call everyone a variety of pet names but if you’re uncomfortable with it please let me know 🖤

this is a sideblog. my main @fridays13th and so is my discord

divider credit / graphic credit

📺 ──  asks.   writing tag.   drabbles.   me speaking into the void. pinterest. spotify. ao3. wips. fic recs. detailed masterlist under the cut.

i’m always taking prompts / suggestions / ideas. thanks to everyone who reads my stories, it really means a lot to me 🖤 remember to support your fave authors  🖤 what isn’t listed in the masterlist is in my general writing tag.

⚠️ all of my reader inserts are able bodied and afab! ⚠️ all fics include smut! ⚠️ i currently only write for javier peña! ⚠️

🎞️ ── thoroughfare. javier peña x original female character [ ongoing ]

religious horror!au. crime thriller!au.   after being reassigned from colombia to a small town in rural texas, former DEA agent javier peña takes on the role of deputy sheriff to tackle a series of mysterious murders plaguing the community. as rumors swirl about a sacrilegious group lurking in the shadows, tension mounts among the townsfolk. amidst the chaos, javier finds himself drawn to paloma, the sheriff’s daughter, who captivates him not only with her beauty but also with her enchanting performances at a local bar. as javier delves deeper into the investigation, he becomes increasingly entangled in the complexities of the case and his relationship with her. inspired by ethel cain’s album ‘preacher’s daughter,’ javier navigates a web of deceit and intrigue, uncovering shocking truths about the town and its inhabitants. ── longfic.

masterlist

ao3

🎞️ ── fantasize. javier peña x f!reader [ ongoing ]

set during s3 of narcos. arriving in colombia for work, you didn’t expect to find the man of your dreams there, and you definitely didn’t expect to prowl after him like some horny vigilante. ── mini series.

masterlist

ao3

🎞️ ── unscripted desire. pornstar!javier peña x f!reader [ ongoing ]

you’re a camerawoman that shoots pornos. javier peña is the pornstar you can’t stand. so why is it that you’re always so affected by him? ── series.

masterlist

🎞️ ── to be titled. onlyfans creator!javier peña x f!reader [ ongoing ]

your best friend sends you a link to a very interesting onlyfans page that quite literally turns your world upside down. ── short ‘n sweet two parter.

part one

part two

🎞️ ── worst behavior. secret service!javier peña x f!reader [ complete ]

tired of living in the confines of being the president's daughter— you sneak out, only to be caught by the head of your security, javier peña. ── oneshot.

read here

🎞️ ── dusk. chief park ranger!joel miller x f!reader [ complete ]

you become a park ranger at a national park in california after breaking up with your ex. you meet joel miller, the chief ranger there, and find yourself absolutely smitten over him. ── oneshot.

read here

[ghuleh-recs]

It was our beloved Bee's (@da-rulah) birthday yesterday! To celebrate I've made us all a mixtape of some of her greatest hits... which ended up being almost everything she's written. Whoops. The only reason I left anything out was to save some for next year! Bee is such a kind, lovely, generous, TALENTED soul and I'm so very lucky to have befriended her. So go forth and read some top tier papa (and Mary!) smut. Leave Bee some comments while you're at it—as a lil' bday gift. ♡

recs under the cut.

Rituale Septem - Terzo (and everyone else) x Reader - 74k

Your faith is shaking; 16 years at the Ministry, and what did you have to show for it? You'd never even heard the Dark One's voice like your Siblings… But what could you do? Well, you could ask the advice of the one person chosen to guide his flock through adversity; Papa Emeritus III. And he has an idea that might work…

Rubenesque - Secondo x Plus Size!Reader - 7.8k

Retirement had its perks. For Secondo, one of those was being able to spend much more time on the things he enjoyed. And there were only two things he truly enjoyed these days; art, and you. Although if you asked him, he’d insist that they were one and the same. So how would he react when he learns that your peers are mocking your sinfully gorgeous body, and you're struggling to love yourself?

A Personal Ritual - Copia x Reader - 2.1k

"With an expert flick of his wrist, it unfolded, a glinting silver blade unsheathing itself from the brilliant red of the marbled handle. When he leaned forward, he stretched his neck with a lean to one side, lining the blade up against his skin and in one quick, clean motion he’d swiped a stripe up to the sharp edge of his jawline. The blade was wiped off on a cloth draped over the sink, then brought to do the same thing again next to the already created strip of clean, smooth skin.   You'd never seen him do this before, but you were enraptured – privileged, even… It was you and you alone that had the honour bestowed upon them to watch the man you loved in his most humble and domestic of moments, to see the parts of him that nobody else in the world got to see just because they were usually saved for him, and him alone. While you’d spent many an intimate night in his bed, sharing your bodies and souls in every way a lover can, these were the moments that felt truly intimate."

The Mayor's Daughter - Mary Goore x Reader - 72k (WIP)

Mary knew the entire town hated him; the metalhead with the freaky make up and fake blood dripping down his face. He was the local menace, the town vandal, the cliché trouble maker. He played up to that image, enjoyed the havoc and the chaos, revelled in it. He loved pissing people off. And so, what better revenge to get on his beloved town, than to fuck around with the Mayor's daughter…

In Cold Blood - Terzo x Reader - 19.4k

Solitude had always appealed. Perhaps that’s why you took on this project… The thought of transforming a dilapidated old Victorian farmhouse into a sanctuary of your own, to live in peace and the romanticisms of a gothic home you fell in love with. After the structural integrity of the house is replenished, you fill your days with DIY and decorating, bringing to life a house that had been frozen in time and left to rot for decades. You could enjoy the solitude of the land already, a few miles outside of a town plagued by disappearances and a fear of the dark. But you couldn’t escape the news of more missing people, nor the strange occurrences happening around your new home. Were you imagining things? Or was there indeed a shadow haunting your sanctuary?

Confessional - Cardinal Copia x Reader - 22k

As a sister of sin, it was your duty to confess at least once a month, to have your sins praised by a higher up member of the clergy. But you only ever chose Thursday nights, when you knew he was on duty. And tonight, you were working up the courage to confess your darkest sin - the dreams you had been having…

Learn the Ropes - Secondo x Reader - 2.4k

Secondo likes to be in charge. He likes to be in control. But you'd always wondered what he might do if one day, you decided to flip the script, and take charge for him…

Copia gets Bullied - Copia x Reader - 2.2k

"I know this trope for Cardinal Copia is over done but I would love, love your take on it. I would like a sister of sin who Copia have had a crush on, come and comfort him after witnessing him getting bullied and embarrassed. But the poor Cardinal is an emotional crying wreck that the sister decide the only way to comfort him is by being sexual with him for the first time🙈"

𖤐 you know the drill--bookmark, read, and leave kudos/comments!

Did I forget your favorite? You've got a standing invitation from me to add your own rec and reblog ♡

[laurenkmyers]

i was gonna ask for some fic recs for hyunchan fanfics :'(. but ao3 is down.

AO3 IS BACK, BABY! And boy do I have some fic rec's for you:

Starting off with my absolute FAVE (it's currently a 91k word WIP, the author is SO GOOD and I'm having so much fun with this fic- but just bare in mind its *very dark.* Please please please read the tags.

But if the tags don't scare you, then you're in for a real treat.

Nothing But An Echo by sshhad0w (WIP)

“Getting rusty, hyung.” Hyunjin smirked as he flicked the knife between his fingers, tilting his head with a pout. He couldn’t snap the switchblade back to its open position before Chan had his hand around his neck. Hyunjin’s head slammed into the door and Chan’s fingers tightened as he stepped into the space, his chest rising and falling with calculated calm. Hyunjin just laughed, rolling his shoulders against the restraint. Finally. OR: SKZ are mercs-for-hire and Hyunjin loves the fact he dances so intimately with death for his day job.

we hide the fact that we want to touch by totoroism

Hwang Hyunjin was unshakable. He knew that some friendships were meant to stay as friendships, no matter how badly one party wanted to grab the other and kiss him and confess his love of several years. He was fine. He'd come to terms with it a long time ago that him and Bang Chan were never going to be the couple he wanted them to be, and he was fine. Until he wasn't. - OR: The one where Hyunjin has been pining over Chan This Entire Time, but maybe it's not as hopeless as he's thought. (This is one of my absolute faves)

a song of salt and goldwater (the series) by pacw0man

Hyunjin, the son of a noble, escapes from his home in order to fulfill his dream and promise to his late mother: to draw a map of all the seas. In his haste, however, he lands on the Levanter, the ship for the famous pirate crew the Strays, whose captain, Chan Bang "Silver Eye" he undeniably feels an attraction to, and who deeply intrigues him. (I fucking *adore* this pirates!au, holy shit.)

invisible by endlesswaltz8

Chan has been on alpha hormonal suppressants since he was twelve. None of the members had ever caught so much as a whiff of his alpha scent until a global medication shortage occurs. Hyunjin's reaction isn't quite what he had expected. (This omegaverse!hyunchan slaps.)

bluebird, bluebird by straycty

Hyunjin is a courier from Meridia, the wealthiest city in the RES. His mission is simple: deliver classified documents to the Medical Institute of Concord, then return for new orders. Shit doesn't exactly go as planned. (fucking loved this fic)

i can't cast shadows like you by sshhad0w (same author as the top fic)

Hyunjin tapped his ash onto the patio and tilted his head as he squinted. “Do I know you?” “Not yet,” Chan said, and this time his smile dropped on one side into a smirk. “Are you hitting on me?” Chan let out a huge laugh, the type that made his eyes crinkle in on themselves and almost split his face in two with how wide his grin was, and he threw his head back so that the chains around his neck moved and rippled across his throat. Hyunjin squinted even harder. “Not yet,” he repeated. OR: Hyunjin is an artist fuelled by self-hatred who can't pick up on social cues, and Chan is obsessed with his voice. (this fic is sooooo fucking good)

I Want You To, I Want you Too by sevenbyseven

But of all the scenarios that had plagued him for hours, nothing prepared him for the words that come out of Hyujin's mouth. Chan slowly swivels around in his chair to blink at him. The sleep deprivation must be getting to him; he couldn't have possibly heard right. "What?" Hyunjin licks his lips and repeats, "I want you to choke me."

with mercy you cradle my throat by littleredchain

It’s not the first time Hyunjin has gotten a bit of an erection while being choked. It’s not even the first time it’s happened while being choked by Channi-hyung specifically. It is the first time that the other boy has gotten a bit of one as well. OR The author's obligatory Red Lights fic

red looks like love on you by raethye

Hyunjin’s sexual appetites wax and wane with the lunar cycle, and Chan knows—these days around the full moon? Hyunjin is practically in heat, desperate for dick. According to him, he always wants sex. It’s simply his nature. But on these days, Hyunjin needs it.

make me feel your love by frostednapkin

Hyunjin has been holding a candle for Chan since Red Lights. And then, they start writing Taste.

tear the petals off of you by hynchns

“Am I?” Hyunjin’s voice cuts through the darkness, something much more fragile than the teasing tone he had before. “What?” Chan feels him leave his space just enough to prop himself up on one hand, staring right down at him. He can’t make out much in the darkness besides Hyunjin’s silhouette and the faint lines of his face; even that much he finds stunning. “Am I yours?” (i think about this ficlet a lot.)

drip feed by sentimental_halos

Hyunjin. Bang Chan. Figuring out each other, themselves, and everything else along the way. (this fic is a WIP, but i'm fucking obsessed with it)

run the table by orphan acount

Contrary to Chan’s belief, his thing for Hyunjin doesn’t go unnoticed. Non-famous AU.

until the moon falls asleep by inkin_brushes

“Everything okay?” Changbin asked, voice rough with sleep but still concerned, rather than angry. “Uhm, I— yeah? I uh.” Chan licked his lips, nervous and feeling silly, stupid. “There’s a vampire in my closet.” There were a few beats of silence, on the other end of the line, nothing but the faint staticky crackle of the connection. “There’s a what in your where?” Changbin finally asked. vampire/werewolf au.

a night at your belonging by mecala

Hyunjin should be used to it at this point. It’s been almost a week of looking through his window and finding the guy there, in his apartment, naked. Always naked. Okay, not always, but enough times that Hyunjin should be used to it already. He isn’t. And he knows he shouldn’t be looking, but he doesn’t even feel guilty about any of it. It’s just such a nice distraction to fantasize about the hot guy during work, then look at him–just for a bit–when he’s home.

the creation of bang chan by seathehorizon

Hyunjin is an art student who is holding an exhibition of dick paintings dedicated to his hook-ups, but as he's preparing for it, there's one painting that just doesn't look right. So, for the first time, he asks a hook-up out for a second time so he can fix it - and doesn't exactly regret it in the end.

focus on me by stray_lilly

Chan is Minho's regular client. But when Minho isn't there, Hyunjin takes full advantage of the situation and sets out to replace him. stripper!au

addicted to your touch by goopeculiar

As flattered as Chan is to be propositioned like this, there are just two major problems: one, having sex with Hyunjin in front of a live audience seems kind of daunting. Two, having sex with Hyunjin at all seems kind of daunting on account of the planet-sized fucking crush Chan has on him.

[aralezinspace]

Send Me to Sleep

Requested by anonymous: fluff with insomniac reader and the prompt "why are you still up?"

A/N: Here have some tooth rotting fluff, I am not responsible for your dental bills xD fun fact, the thing Dream does to help reader sleep is the same thing I do to get my tiny humans to go to sleep, made this slightly bittersweet to write b/c after next Friday I won't be working with tiny kids anymore i'll be working with college age kids ANYWAY hope you enjoy!! 💖💖

~~Requests are open!~~ ~~Current WIPs~~

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

It was almost as if the ticking of your antique alarm clock was mocking you, loudly reminding you of every passing second you spent awake when you should be dead to the world.

Your insomnia was nothing new, it had plagued you since college. It was conditional on your stress levels, which was somewhat ironic: the more stressed you were, the less you slept. The less you slept, the more stressed you became.

Since figuring out that pattern your senior year, you had done everything you could to keep your daily life stress free enough for you to sleep, and it had been working out for the most part, aside from busy times of the year when work, family, and friends all collided in a few hectic weeks. Times of the year like Christmas, the height of summer, and for some reason, the entire month of April.  

This week was not supposed to be one of them.

You stuffed your face into your pillow to muffle your frustrated scream. It was now going on 3:30am, and you had to be up and getting in the shower at 6. You sat up with a heavy sigh and ran your fingers through your hair. Sleep was obviously not coming tonight, so you decided to get some chores done around your apartment.

Under the hot spray of the shower two and a half hours later, you groaned as you felt the heaviness behind your eyes that indicated your body was ready for sleep. Of course it had to happen when you were getting ready for yet another busy day at work… which would probably stress you out to the point where you wouldn’t be able to sleep, or your body would just shut down out of sheer desperation.

“Ugh, Dream’s gonna kill me,” you grumbled into your towel. “Well it’s not like there’s anything I can do about it.”

If anyone else had been this invested in your sleep schedule, it would have been extremely weird. But the fact that it was your partner, the ruler of the Dreaming and Nightmare realms. Sleeping was kind of his thing, and once again the irony was not lost on you: a conditional insomniac, in love with the literal sandman.

~~

Your day was just one thing after another, mostly phone calls. More than the usual volume at work, then a call from your dad, then another one from your aunt for some reason, then one from your brother that you sent straight to voicemail just to have a break. Future you thanked past you for that, turns out he just wanted to once again complain about his boyfriend.

When you got home, your mind was fuzzy with exhaustion, and your body jittered and shook from the after effects of the four cups of coffee required just to get through it all. You felt like crap, and probably looked like crap too.

You shambled through changing into your pajamas and making dinner, barely tasting the food as you chewed. You barely registered what episode you were on, thankfully it was a show you had seen before. Your “bedtime” wasn’t for another two hours; you were ready to drop, but fucking up your sleep schedule even more was a recipe for disaster.

You dragged your hands down your face and groused, “Ugh fuck me.”

“With pleasure.”

The rumbling chortle came from the shadows by your front door, making you spring to your feet. The rush of adrenaline rendered you wide awake, at least long enough to process who was currently standing in your apartment.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as Dream of the Endless strode into the light of your living room, hands in the pockets of his signature coat. It slowly dropped from his face as he took in more of your appearance: the blue, almost black bags under your eyes, the pallor of your skin, the slump of your body as if the immense burden of his responsibilities rested on your shoulders.

“My love,” he pressed, almost like a parent trying to get the truth of some mischief out of a child, “It has been some days since I have felt you in the Dreaming for longer than a few moments. Have you not been sleeping again?”

The way your entire body sagged in defeat was all the answer he needed.

He stepped closer to you, gently resting his hands on your shoulders. “Darling, when was the last time you had a good night’s rest?” You shrugged, your brain struggling to come up with an answer that you were allowed to give. Once again, your body language gave him the answer.

“Then why are you still up?” He didn’t sound angry, only deeply concerned. “Why did you not call for me?”

You swallowed hard before mumbling, “I didn’t want to bother you.” A heavy sigh pushed itself out of Dream’s chest and his hands moved to hold your face in his hands, taking the weight of your head off your shoulders. “Beloved, you are never a bother to me. “I would not be a worthy monarch of the Dreaming if I could not even ease my own partner to rest.”

You couldn’t help your chuckle; it was the closest you had ever heard Morpheus come to humility. Your smile brought a tiny mirror of the gesture to Dream’s face as he rubbed his thumb over your cheekbone, trying not to focus on the deep shadows beneath your eyes. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, letting his lips lingered as he inhaled deeply through his nose, taking in your essence. It stuck in his nose, tainted by your exhaustion. He breathed his words into your skin, “Let’s get you into bed.”

Swift like quicksilver, he scooped you into his arms, drawing a startled squeak out of you, closely followed by a bashful giggle. Dream carried you to your bedroom, staring lovingly at you the entire time. Your bed was still unmade from this morning, and he gently deposited you in it before pulling the blankets over you.

You snuggled into the covers, drawing them up to your chin. You smiled at Dream as he sat next to you on top of the covers. Cool fingers brushed your hair out of your face. You murmured, “Gonna use your sand to send me off?”

Dream chuckled, soft and low and slightly smug. “No, I will not need it to get you to sleep. I need only do this.” His forefinger settled between your eyebrows (some would say over your third eye) and gently rubbed the skin there. You hummed softly, wiggling deeper into the comfort of your bed. Dream’s eyes practically glowed in the darkness of your room, distant, even though he was sitting right beside you.

You were more than bone tired, and sank easily into his soothing touch. Your eyes flickered and fluttered for a moment before finally falling shut. Dream’s touch on your forehead was the only thing that existed in the blackness behind your eyelids, safe and comforting. You could practically feel the stress leaking out of you and into the mattress.

In your last moment of lucidity before you drifted off, you heard Dream murmur, “Sleep well, beloved. I will see you soon.”

[jtl-fics]

Happy WIP Wednesday! May u request some math nerd? 🧮

7/10/24 WIP Wednesday (Closed) | Math Nerd AU

Things return to something resembling normal after those questions. Neil no longer shadows him like he did in the time right before Thanksgiving Break but Neil also doesn’t avoid him like the plague like he did in the time right after Thanksgiving Break. Neil doesn’t wear his contacts anymore seemingly the only reason he had worn them before had been to stop Andrew from recognizing him.

Andrew still has no idea how in the world he hadn’t recognized Neil before. Has no idea how that flash of blue after he’d taken out his contacts could rock his entire world.

But it had and now Andrew needs to continue to make sense of the new world he’s living in.

[noveldivergence]

Ocean and Sea for the ask game!!

Oh boy, I'm excited about Ocean. The oceans in Nyari are freshwater but go far deeper down than even the Mariana Trench on earth! There are enormous creatures the further down you go, and collectively, a good deal of the Imperium just smiles about it and goes "huh, neat, just gonna ignore that!"

This is not that the Nyari aren't scientifically curious, or that their relgion has anything forbidding it--the level of danger is just so much and the level of terror is just so great of some of these creatures that the Nyari--who have faced war, all sorts of collapse, and various Horrors--are still like "we're fine! we simply do not need to know!"

There's a sort of fringe belief amongst some of the faithful that the deeper you go the more likely you are to wake their planet's god, which would be Quite Bad for Everyone.

For Sea, the Imperium actually does fear many more things than what lives in the depths of the oceans. Primarily, they fear a return to war. They only exited a very bloody civil war recently, and their history has generally been filled with wars. While some glorify this, the majority realize it's time to change the nature of the game in order to thrive outside their corner of their galaxy.

[ballorawan740]

SCP Scenarios Masterlist Part 2

SCP Scenarios Masterlist/PT 3 | SCP Scenarios WIP | My Works Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Rules | My Original Post | Request | Socials

SCP 682 x Scared!Abused!Child!Reader | Oneshot (REQUESTED)

When you’re pregnant and you accidentally hurt yourself (REQUESTED)

SCP x Hitman!Fem!Reader - Dr Clef, Dr Glass, Dr Bright (REQUESTED)

Dr Alto Clef x Reader Headcanon (New Character//REQUESTED)

Dr Benjamin Kondraki x Reader Headcanons (New Character)

Their bad habits (SCP 049, Dr. Glass, Dr. Clef, Dr. Bright - REQUESTED)

SCP 106 x Chaotic!Fem!Reader Headcanon (REQUESTED)

SCP x Scientist!Reader (SCP 073, Dr. Glass, Dr. Bright, Dr. Clef || REQUESTED)

SCP x Hybrid!Child!Reader (REQUESTED)

When they accidentally kill you (+ Mikell Bright and Agent Strelnikov - REQUESTED)

Yandere!SCP x Evil!Reader (REQUESTED)

SCP x Immortal!Winged!Fem!Reader - ft. 035, 049, 682 (REQUESTED)

SCP x Reader - McDonald's Sprite (REQUESTED)

When their kids swear (REQUESTED)

When they get scared by the reader (REQUESTED)

When the reader can Pole Dance/Aerial Silk dance

Hugs - SCP 035 x Reader (REQUESTED)

SCP x Pregnant!Reader (REQUESTED)

When the reader is suicidal (REQUESTED)

Our Shadow Child - Dr Clef x Child!Reader x Dr Bright | Oneshot (REQUESTED)

When you're easily flustered/hopelessly romantic - Ft. Dr Bright, Dr Glass, Dr Clef, Dr Kondraki (REQUESTED)

When you do the TikTok dance - ft SCP 076-2, Dr Clef and Dr Kondraki (REQUESTED)

When the reader is similar to the Plague Doctor - SCP 049 x Male!SCP!Reader (REQUESTED)

SCP 1678 x reader (New Character | REQUESTED)

SCP 079 x Reader | New Character

[justanerdy-gal]

~ “Do you resent me?” ~

In my Baldurs Gate 3 Astarion fanfic writing phase. Here’s a little WIP - I’ve always wondered about what would happen if Tav and Astarion had a conversation about whether Astarion resented Tav for the decision to not go through with Ascension. 🥺

“Do you resent me?”

Astarion looks up, wearily, from the corner of the Elfsong Tavern room that they had been staying in for some time now.

“Darling….what would I have to resent you for…?”

You slowly walk over to his corner of the room, and sit beside him on the edge of the bed. You observe him as he turns his gaze over to the hands in his lap.

“It…just feels like…you may have made your choice because of…me.”

Astarion turns his head to look back at you, betraying nothing in those crimson eyes at the moment, but listening.

“If I wasn’t around….you would have been free to make the choice you always wanted,” you continued, your eyes glassing over as you ponder the thoughts that have been plaguing you since the moment Astarion made his choice in the Szarr palace.

“The freedom that you always craved… did I take that away from you?”

Astarion’s eyes widened as you made your declaration.

“You… think it wasn’t the right choice?”

“Not that,” you tried to clarify. “Maybe… maybe I don’t know what the right choice is. But what mattered is… your choice.”

“You trusted me. You trusted me with a choice that, in the end, goes back centuries…” your voice starts to shake. “A choice with consequences you must live with for…eternity.” You look up at him as tears finally threaten to pour from your eyes. “What right did I have, to ask you to sacrifice yourself to the shadows?”

[tabswrites]

The Tomb of Light

Summary: In a country where magic has been outlawed, four strangers are sent on a quest to find the last source and destroy it—but something or someone has other plans for them.

Genre: NA Fantasy

WIP Intro

Chapter One: The Pledge

CW: Violent imagery, mentions of death

 WC: 3,507

The bell’s resounding chime summoned him to his retribution.

Adrin’s eyes slid over to the dust-covered window and his mouth pressed into a thin line. He dipped a finger into the jar of flaxseed oil his mother had boiled down for him the night before and brushed some into his hair with more urgency.  The reflective glass that hung on his bedroom wall hung slightly crooked, but instead of setting it straight he simply tilted his head to the right. For a guard in training, it would have been more convenient for him to keep a shorter hairstyle, but it would have been yet another thing that made him look like everyone else, and he was already a stranger to himself. If someone had told him long ago that he was to be sworn into the High Guard, he would have thrown his head back and laughed. His father had tried in vain to encourage even a flicker of enthusiasm for the job, but a guard was not who he was meant to be. It was who he needed to become.

With his blonde hair slicked back against his head, he secured a heavy white cape around his shoulders. The city’s crest, a large tree with bare branches, was embroidered on the back with black thread. The roots dangling beneath the tree were in the shape of lightning. Rothar was proud of their violent history, and he would be in defense of it for the rest of his life. He stared back at the downcast face in the foggy glass and bid farewell to the boy who once wished to escape it. The floorboards creaked beneath his weight as he slouched down the narrow hallway into the kitchen. He slipped through the front door just as his mother’s groggy voice called his name.

Once he was certain she hadn’t followed him outside, he paused at the end of the dirt path, turning to look at the massive oak tree that embraced his house in its shadow. A high-pitched ringing in his ears replaced the sound of the morning breeze. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. His sister’s smiling face appeared to him, but was quickly replaced by a look of sheer terror. Her pale skin turned sickly gray and her yellow hair dripped with blood.

He opened his eyes and found himself on his knees at the base of the tree and pressed his ear to the rough bark as if he could hear a heartbeat. His eyes drifted down to the long grass that dampened the knees of his trousers with the morning dew. It was almost impossible to tell someone had been buried there now. With a hand almost as white as the cape he wore, he plucked a meadow violet from the ground and tucked it safely into the cloth bag tied to his waist. He had doomed her the day he joined the High Guard, and in doing so had doomed himself. It seemed only fitting he carried a reminder of where his heart belonged–in the weeds, decaying alongside the only person who truly understood him. 

Rothar was struggling to wake, much like himself. Shuttered windows and quiet streets greeted him as he continued further into the city center. The baker, as always, was well into her workday, and as she waved to him from behind her long counter she created a snowstorm over her head. He brought a hand to his left temple and gave her a half-hearted salute. Freshly kneaded loaves rested beneath a damp cloth on the table beside her and he inhaled their comforting scent, letting memories of family dinners and his mother’s exemplary cooking skills quiet the anxious thoughts that plagued him. 

“Valic! Hey, Valic!” A gruff but friendly voice snapped him out of his melancholic reminiscence. 

He spotted the other novice guards lining up just ahead, identical crests emblazoned on the backs of their billowing capes. A short, sandy-haired man with a round belly waved at him. He bit the inside of his cheek and plastered a smile on his face.

“Alright, Milvar?” He quickened his pace to catch up to him. “I thought I was the early one.”

“No one else had to stop and grease their hair, pretty boy.” Milvar landed a solid punch on his arm and grinned at him with crooked teeth. “Maybe give the rest of us a fighting chance with the birds, yeah?”

Adrin gave him a half-smirk. “You strut around here in that uniform and tell anyone who will listen about your pink roses and I assure you, the ladies will find you–but in order to keep that uniform, you might want to actually make it to your pledge.” 

He ushered him through the iron gates that lead to the Veritas Compound, a small cluster of buildings that comprised the guard barracks, watchtower, council chambers and school. The barracks, a round tower of pale limestone, was closest to them. A large group had spread out in front, a  ring of iron torches placed into the ground around them to stave off the haze of dawn.

The High Guard consisted of nearly a hundred men and women, excluding the novices to be sworn in. They stood together in five neat rows, the highest ranked among them front and center. Each of them wore the same uniform of gray trousers, a long sleeved linen tunic and a black leather breastplate with matching bracers. The sea of white cloaks was bathed in a pale orange glow as the sun rose lazily in the sky. Adrin and his comrades formed their own line facing the others, and he held back a groan as he recognized another familiar face. 

If parents were allowed to pick and choose their children based on desirable traits, Lieutenant Rothe would be his father’s pride and joy. The young prodigy had enrolled in guard training at 19, two years before Adrin had finally caved. It had been a year since Adrin and Milvar’s first attempt to join the guard, and they had returned to a version of Rothe even more grating than the last.  

The lieutenant’s delicate facial features and dashing smile stole hearts, but his sharp intelligence and natural gift for swordsmanship had seemingly earned him the respect of everyone who knew him. Adrin saw what they ignored. The young lieutenant was gifted, sure, but he was also a vortex of apathy that left destruction in its wake. When he wasn’t barking orders or having his ego stroked by the captain, he lounged around his family’s sizable cabin spending his inheritance on all the spirits and opium he could find. The council turned a blind eye to their cherished guard as he led naive women into his home night after night. They ignored the scent of alcohol that always lingered on his breath and the dilated pupils that swallowed the icy blue irises everyone loved to admire. It was for these reasons, among others, that made it difficult for Adrin to embrace his new role. It sickened him to think of swearing loyalty to such hypocrites. The ceremony was just another sacrifice for the sake of his parent’s happiness and his penance. For Sophie. 

A dark-skinned woman wearing a black cape and a blank expression stood beside Rothe. Her impossibly shiny hair was secured in a long braid that wrapped around her head and was pinned in place, highlighting her prominent cheekbones. Her gaze was inscrutable as it swept over the rows and rows of guards, but her voice was welcoming when she spoke.

“Lieutenant Rothe will be swearing you in,” her sickly sweet voice rang out, and the hissing whispers of the eager recruits fell silent at once. 

The ebony-haired man straightened at the sound of his name and immediately, the novices stood at attention, hands clasped behind their backs. He sauntered forward, the golden sheath at his hip swaying with each motion. A short young woman with mousy brown hair and a timid demeanor hovered near his elbow, a small wooden chest tucked under her arm. Adrin stared at it with a sense of dread, tasting blood as he chewed the inside of his cheek for the second time that morning. 

“Thank you, Captain Hollowar.” Rothe turned to give her a polite nod before addressing them. “Today, you will dedicate yourselves to the protection of Rothar.”

Adrin was surprised that his voice did not waver, and instead echoed with righteous authority.

“You will dedicate yourselves to your fellow guardsmen and the Veritas Council, the guardians of Caledon.” The lieutenant looked out at the novices and a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. 

 He let his words linger for a moment, testing their patience further. At last, he nodded to the brown-haired guard. “The chest, please, Havoc.”

Her face flushed, perhaps at the notion that he had remembered her name. She unhooked the latch and opened the lid before holding it out to him. Inside appeared to be thin silver bands of  polished metal. The bands were left partially open with a half inch of space between each end. Rothe lifted one with a single finger and held it aloft, letting it catch the light of the rising sun.

“These bracelets will be permanently closed around your wrist after you have been sworn in. It will serve as a reminder to you all that you cannot simply turn your backs on responsibility. This is a role you will have for life.”

It took every ounce of self control that Adrin possessed for him to hold his tongue from unleashing a biting insult. For most of his childhood he had seen his father brandish his own bracelet with great pride, but for Adrin, it was a shackle.

“Guardsman Valic.” His name must have been funny, for Rothe had turned to address him with a sneer. “Is there a problem?” 

Adrin swallowed. “No problem, sir.” He straightened his shoulders and focused his eyes on a point somewhere to the left of Rothe’s amused face.

“Good. Let’s move on, then.” He snapped his fingers and Havoc placed a large book bound in black leather into his outstretched hand. “You can start us off. Repeat after me:

I pledge myself to the good of mankind and its quest for advancement.

I pledge myself to the Council and vow to uphold their ways.

I pledge myself to a world without magic and vow to protect the citizens of my city and my country from its corruption for all time.

I pledge myself to Caledon, from now until I die.”

Adrin received his bracelet from Havoc and shuffled resignedly to the blacksmith, who stood by a torch with a pair of tongs. The old man was silent as he snatched the bracelet and held it in the center of the flame. A small line began to form behind him as he watched the metal change from red to orange.

At last it emerged from the fire and the blacksmith snapped his fingers at him. Adrin held out his left wrist and sought out the shredded flesh of his cheek with his tongue as the heated metal came closer. His flesh sizzled and steamed as the iron slid into place. A gloved hand pinched the metal closed, ensuring it wouldn’t budge. He tried to ignore the smell of his own bubbling, burning skin and gave the blacksmith a courteous nod before stepping aside for the next novice. 

The sun shone brightly above them now as the newly minted guards flashed their matching bracelets at each other, not one of them seeming to take issue with the permanence of their duty, though there were more than a few stifled yells and carefully disguised tears. Adrin stood apart from the others and waited for Milvar as he examined the red skin and puffy welts on his wrist. He welcomed the pain. It kept him focused.

The novices were granted recreational time to run back home and share their excitement with their families before reporting for their first official day of duty. Adrin slumped back to his house with a gently weeping Milvar, who had invited himself along to partake in breakfast.

“Why didn’t they warn us?” He moaned with a pathetic pout on his bearded face. “Can you die from burns?”

He gave his friend a sympathetic smile. As the son of a cobbler and a teacher, his family lived in South Rothar with the other tradesmen, saving him from the high expectations of the north. Unfortunately, as someone who was also desperate to be one of them, he saw Adrin as the model for an ideal lifestyle. If Adrin had left Rothar years ago as he had planned to, Milvar would have been right there by his side. Instead, his sweet, simple friend went against his own nature and followed him into danger. It seemed that Adrin was destined to destroy lives, not save them. 

  “Have my mum look at it, you twit. She’ll have something for the pain.” He pushed Milvar to the other side of the path with a low chuckle. “Come on, now.”

The city center was more than awake now, with delectable aromas of smoked meats and warm bread assaulting their noses the moment they stepped through the compound gates. He had to drag Milvar away from the baker, who had moved on from bread to fruit tarts since Adrin had last seen her. Golden brown triangles filled with spiced pears, apples, vibrant cherries and plums had been lined up in eye-catching concentric circles on a large silver tray. The baker sprinkled a handful of sugar into a large mortar and pestle and set to work grinding it into a fine powder. Milvar leaned across the counter towards her.

“You make the whole world sweet, you beautiful lass. Never stop,” he murmured as Adrin grabbed his arm and tugged him away.

Indeed, as Adrin smacked his lips together he could taste the sugar and for a moment the throbbing pain in his wrist vanished–but only for a moment. He kept a firm grip on Milvar as they passed the other shops and released him only when they had turned down the northwest road. Sophie’s tree waved to them with wide hands covered in green leaves that were starting to show spots of yellow. Beneath its outstretched arm was his house, a modest but well-kept cottage of cobblestone with a bright red door and matching shutters. On either side of the dirt path were patches of purple clovers that sprouted through sparse green grass. Milvar picked up the pace, jogging towards the door with purpose.

Inside, his parents were waiting for them at their kitchen table, a faded and cracked squaretop surrounded by mismatched chairs. Plates of fat link sausages shining with grease, slices of malt loaf speckled with dried plums and a half dozen fried eggs covered the table. His stomach grumbled its approval, but his attempts to reach the food were foiled by his father’s large, broad-shouldered body rushing towards him.

 “Let me see that!” He grabbed at his left wrist, avoiding the seared skin but still sending a fresh wave of throbbing pain up his arm. “Now you’re just like your old man!” He slapped a thick hand across his back, his own bracelet still encircling his right wrist.

Adrin forced a painful smile on his face. “I would have preferred a necklace, I think.”

“Well I think you look very official.” His mother called over her shoulder as she stirred a large pot of porridge over the fire. She slid the spoon through the pot’s handle and wiped her hands on the patchwork apron tied around her waist. “Both of you. Let me take a look at those wrists, boys.” She swatted his father on the back and he made way for her.

Milvar stepped further into the cramped room and held out his right arm, his watery blue eyes refusing to look.

She clicked her tongue and held each of their hands up to her face. “Such a brutish ceremony. Sit,” she commanded them, then dashed to the shelves on the far wall. Glass jars containing flowers, herbs and salves stood in rows of six. She tied her silvery hair back with a scrap of fabric from within the pocket of her apron and examined the jars with interest before selecting one filled with what looked like wood shavings.

“Hush, woman,” his father chided, but his expression was soft. “I survived, didn’t I?”

“After days of ceaseless whining.” She retrieved the kettle from the fireplace and brought it to the table. “Adrin, join us please, and stop hovering like a stranger in your own home.” 

He pulled out the creaking wooden chair next to Milvar and seated himself in front of a large platter of sausages, lifting one to his mouth with a trembling hand. He tore off a large piece with his front teeth and swallowed it whole, wanting the meal to pass by as quickly as possible. His mother’s pale grey eyes studied him with interest as she sprinkled a few pieces of the shavings in two clay mugs. Steam from the boiling water flushed her cheeks, and she fanned herself with her free hand as she set one down in front of him and Milvar in turn. Milvar leaned forward and sniffed his with narrow eyes.

“Willow bark, for the pain,” she informed them. She claimed the last chair for herself–Sophie’s chair, with painted daisies and sunflowers along the back. 

As the men tucked in, she turned her attention to Adrin. He shoveled bite after bite into his mouth, pretending that it was hunger that caused him to ignore her. Heedless of Milvar’s sharp eyes, she tucked a loose strand of Adrin’s hair behind his ear and continued to watch him, only taking a few nibbles from her slice of bread every now and then.

“I’ll put some honey on that burn for you tonight after your shift,” she said, and pushed his tea towards him. “Make sure you stop by too, Milton.”

“Please eat something, Mum,” Adrin urged her, cutting off Milvar’s cry of outrage in response to being addressed by his first name. “There’s no need to worry, I promise.”

“I always worry,” she murmured into her lap.

 “Enough of the fussing, Laurel. This is a day to celebrate,” his father mumbled around a mouthful of sausage and egg. He swallowed before adding, “I’m proud of you.” There was another, longer pause. “I know Sophie would be too.”

The negativity that had been eating away at Adrin all morning suddenly burst out. His fork clattered against the table as it slipped from his fingers.

“You know that’s not true,” he hissed.

Milvar, sensing that the time for pleasantries was running short, began to eat at a much faster pace.

“Adrin–” His parents shared a look of concern.

“I apologize, but I’ve had about all that I can stomach.” He pushed away from the table and rose to his feet. “I will meet you at the barracks, Milvar.” He left his tea untouched, letting his anger and guilt drown out the burning bite of metal against skin. The front door closed with a loud bang, sending clouds of dust into the air. 

Adrin was surprised to find himself among the last to return to the barracks. He glanced behind him, wondering if Milvar would be willing to sacrifice his rank for another helping of sausages. He did his best to exchange pleasantries with the others while his head fought a futile battle against the dark thoughts raging within. He had never completely meshed with the other novices, or the guards for that matter. Everyone, save for Milvar, looked at him differently in the year since Sophie’s death.

No one had anticipated a death during what was meant to be an innocent night of camaraderie in the woods, and no one could have predicted that their most boisterous recruit would become so somber.  He was permitted time to grieve, of course, and Milvar the loyal had waited to pledge with him–but time would never make things right, make him right.  The loud clanging of the watchtower bell interrupted his mournful introspection and heads whipped around as if the source of the commotion was right in front of them.  

Captain Hollowar exited the barracks alongside the lieutenant. The two of them stalked across the plush green lawn with closed expressions. Their black and white capes whipped back and forth in the wind, and slowed to a flutter as they stopped in front of the group. Hollowar gave them a moment to fall in. 

“One of our gatekeepers received a warning today from a traveling merchant.” She brandished a crisp piece of beige parchment. “An old enemy of Rothar has been spotted making arrangements to enter the city.” She cleared her throat. “The woman has been identified as none other than Mara Wilkes.”

All eyes flashed to Lieutenant Rothe.

[transthadymacdermot]

Left image my art of Thompsons; right image a detail from "The Prince of Orange landing at Torbay" by Jan Hoynck van Papendrecht

Wip intro: Fire, Famine, & Slaughter

Genre: steampunk? kind of? but make it 17th century instead. also kind of similar to asoiaf in that it's spec fic but based heavily on a real historical event. oh and they have ice age fauna in this world too also

Progress: 1st draft

Content warnings: it's a story abt religious wars and all that implies. lots of death and gore and people being horrible to each other over pointless doctrinal disputes. etc

Ten years ago the citizens of the Commonwealth, a world power in a a seventeenth century-inspired steampunk (ish) alternate universe, rose up under the leadership of a rogue politician to kill their king. What followed was over half a decade of brutal military dictatorship, civil war, famine, plague, and general unhappiness for the population. Now the king has been secure in his restoration -- a move which has proved more popular in some sectors than others -- for four years, but lies on his deathbed, and his only successor is a cousin who worships an outlawed god and seems, to many, on the verge of plunging the country back into the chaos it fought so hard to escape.

When a former regicide hellbent on toppling the current regime accuses one of this new king's most controversial advisors of murdering a well-liked lord, war seems closer than ever. Republicans in the shadows, royalists ready to go to war, the aristocracy pulling knives over land, but the Commonwealth's parliament consoles itself with the fact that, after all, this tyrannical heretic of a king and his horrible advisors are but an anomaly -- the crown prince, who is a bit odd but who they all know and love, is nothing like that. Right?

Will shamelessly admit that this story is an attempt to write something which is to the glorious revolution as asoiaf is to the wars of the roses 👍 narrators under the cut; complete character list yet to come. title a placeholder I pilfered from a Coleridge poem ☝️

Marcus "Marc" Waring, Earl of Talbott -- (he/him) a dispossessed and very angry aristocrat from the Commonwealth's colony-member of Hieburne, who quite literally lost an arm and a leg in the civil war. A master swordsman and known manipulator.

John Thompsons -- (he/him) a regicide, pamphleteer, and vicious sectarian only alive for his intimate knowledge of and groundbreaking research on the mysterious ancient tech which keeps the Commonwealth's capital running. #1 hobby is destablising the monarchy; #2 hobby is psychologically tormenting Talbott.

Elizabeth Knox-Clifford, Duchess of Danforth -- (she/her) one of the most powerful aristocrats in the Commonwealth, first woman to be a member of the King's Closet (group of his closest advisors), dedicated to the stability of the country no matter what that requires.

Eleanor "Ellie" Foxe -- (she/her) a mildly unwilling member of a plot to systemically kill the entirety of Parliament in order to restore the absolute monarchy of the Commonwealth's past. Fanatically devoted to her cause and rather cutthroat, but more willing to negotiate than other members of the plot.

Joffre van Andrey -- (he/him) a visitor from the Commonwealth's ally the Risckan Confederacy, and advisor to the the king there, who just so happens to be the brother-in-law of the Commonwealth's own king. A very serious man who tries to do the right thing but usually has his schemes blow up in his face </3

[dr-demi-bee]

You Sleep, I'll Watch

Another short snippet from my Tav x Gale WIP that probably won't fit into the full story. My Tav (Miri) is a Lythari ranger. But this could work for a druid, too. :) Gale x Nature Magic User is *chef's kiss*

----- It had been a selfish act the first time Tav inserted herself into Gale's bedtime routine.

From the moment she recognized the depth of her affections she had become even more protective of him. Brushed against him to mark him with her scent after each bath, tended to his needs by carefully monitoring his heart and his scent, watched his back, protected him from all angles.

But it became difficult to trance on the other side of camp. After he defied Mystra's command deep under Moonrise, after Tav noted the subtle pushes and nudges the feckless goddess wielded to pull him toward Her whims... it became impossible.

Tav had been plagued by a constant fear in the shadow cursed lands. Worried She would do something drastic. Show up to punish him, rebuke him, steal him away.

The thought of it made Tav all too eager to test her fangs in divine flesh. She will fight tooth and nail if need be. Let the little goddess learn how the forces of nature train for any foe.

That fear was what drove Tav to end each day in wolven form, laying in front of his tent, hardly trancing. She watched the cloth entrance and the edges of camp - ears on a swivel attending to the sounds of the shadow curse around them.

This close, it did not take long to notice the quirks of Gale's sleeping habits.

The talking is endearing. Usually whatever he has been reading or working on bleeds into his dreaming - and often she is treated to a sleepy, mumbled lecture on some theory or other.

But the nightmares that plague him worry her. When he sweats and thrashes in his sleep, soft frightful sounds of pain or anguish spilling into the night air, the mark on his chest will glow.

Tav learns quickly that her presence can help to soothe the fears. When she is closer, he is less restless.

She started by just poking her head into his tent. First to check on him, then to watch over him. Slowly, each night she wound up further inside. Eventually she would enter the tent at the first sign of distress and lay down to press against his side.

Then she discovers he sleeps better with weight on top of him - something about it keeps the nightmares at bay. She wonders if perhaps Tara would sleep atop his chest at home in their tower those many months of isolation. Or even as he grew up, facing the tribulations of a young scholar of considerable expectations.

So when he falls asleep, she enters his tent, and lays her lupine head on his chest or back, watching his eyes for signs of distress behind closed lids. And instead she catches mostly snores and soft smiles. And sometimes, the sleepy babbling - about spells, or recipes, or nothing at all. Occasionally confessions of love or romantic verbiage. All of it delights her, and she much prefers it to the gasping shock of his frightful visions.

It is not something Gale ever asked for, and he might not even realize she does it every night. But Tav takes a smug satisfaction in being able to protect her wizard, her heart, from danger both awake and asleep. She quite delights in the way he wraps himself around her legs or muzzle in his sleepy movements that curl toward her warmth.

Many mornings she wakes to find she has shifted back - opening her eyes to find she is laying curled up in Gale's arms with her head still pillowed on his chest. Before their confessions she would carefully extract herself from his arms and tent before he woke.

But after?

After, she luxuriates in every soft moment.