#meg writes

[scala-ask-caelum]

For all of the underclassmen, who do you think is the coolest upperclassman? (I think I already know Baldr's answer)

Today the discussion turned toward the upperclassmen. Everyone disclosed who they like the most. Eraqus and Vor think Vidar is cool, while Urd looks up to Sigrun as an inspiration. Hermod likes Vali, and Baldr said Hoder was his favorite. She is his sister, after all. When asked, I didn’t have an answer. Neither did Bragi, but he seems to be a bit of an outsider to the group, so it makes sense. That brought me a little comfort. Despite being here for almost a year, I feel like I don’t truly know anyone, especially the upperclassmen. I’m amicable with my classmates, but not really friends with any of them besides Eraqus. There’s something about Baldr that interests me, though. He seems to have the same heart-sense ability as me, but I have no idea how to approach him about it. What would I even say, “hey, can you see into people’s hearts as well”? Better to let him bring it up, if he so desires. Although, if we are as similar as I suspect, him being forthcoming about his condition is highly unlikely. Maybe I’ll just slip him a note or something.

#answered #Meg Arts #Meg Writes #sabermoonlight1616 #The Class #Xehanort #Eraqus #Bragi #Baldr #Hermod #Urd #Vor #(gee Odin how come you get to have TWO awkward magical empaths in your class?)

[recusant-s-sigil]

Braig teaching Xehanort how to play Clair de Lune while they’re apprentices. A piano somewhere in the Castle That Never Was for anyone to practice on if they so wish. Xemnas playing it on a slow night while the rest of the Organization are in the Grey Area. The warm yellow light of Kingdom Hearts illuminates the room. Gently drifting notes, a muffled melodic feast almost causing Xigbar to choke with sobs in his room when he hears the telltale opening, his chest tightening as his heart shudders. “He remembered,” he whispers.

#Moon Speaks #should I consider this writing? #Meg Writes #Braig #Xehanort #No. I #No. II #Xemnas #Xigbar #Xehabraig #xigxem

[wolffallsintodanmeihell]

// corpse au

so because I can't be normal and have to overthink logic i asked a friend (@arcturusmsc) what they thought if whether if say danny pulled his corpse's organs out through intangibility (its corpse au) but then go tangible part way through would they either cut at the source or make a hole in the bod.

while i just had him rip his stomach open instead in the end they deadass got a physicist friend to answer this so here y'all go if y'all need writing tips for intangible stuff 😭😭😭

#danny phantom #x-men too i guess??? #wolf writes #meg writes #i do too much for my fics 😭😭😭😭😭 #corpse au

[thesmallmeggles]

It is WIP Wednesday, my dudes

Hi, I wanted to join in on this. I had an idea for a post canon interaction between Macaron and Zanzo.

I placed the bit I've written so far below the cut ('Tis a little clunky but that's why it's a WIP) 👇

Macaron approached Zanzo’s workstation, where its owner sat, head resting on the desk. Most of his natural black hair had grown back in, leaving green tips. Scrawled notes and diagrams littered the desk. (Mac never knew Zanzo to be organized, but the level of disarray stood out.) Zanzo had left a modeling program open on his computer monitor, displayed an untextured model of a robot. Though on closer inspection, it didn't resemble any Vandelay Technologies product. Zanzo had crafted an illusion of passing out from work related exhaustion.

Seeing the former head of Research and Development humbled had brought catharsis— well deserved payback for years of abuse dealt to Macaron’s beloved department. But now, Mac couldn’t help feeling concern for his former enemy. Macaron addressed Zanzo by name, and when he didn’t respond, tapped him on the shoulder. 

Zanzo jolted upright, scrambling to turn up the volume of his aural implants. “Mr. Macaron! Are you here to tell me how good of a worker drone I’m being?” Zanzo smiled broadly, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

"Well, no," Macaron replied. "Not that you haven’t been performing well these past months.” Not entirely a lie. Zanzo had complied with his new position, even to a suspicious degree. Macaron pulled up a nearby stool and perched on it. “I actually wanted to ask you about the BRU-T4L, if you have a moment to talk."

A brief spark lit up in Zanzo's eyes as he straightened his posture. "By all means, ask away."

"Why does the BRU-T4L have a 'baby rocking' feature? It stands out compared to everything else."

"Why not?" Zanzo then waved dismissively. "So maybe a self indulgent thought slipped through the pipeline during my drafting. And maybe, I neglected to remove the resulting feature. It doesn't carry as much weight as you think it does."

"You like being rocked?" The image of Zanzo cradled in the long, flexible arms of a BRU-T4L popped into Macaron's mind. Odd and, as Chai would say, mildly cursed.

Zanzo's jaw dropped. "I- not necessarily."

#hi fi rush #hfr #hfr macaron #hfr zanzo #hi fi rush macaron #hi-fi rush zanzo #fanfic #wip wednesday #meg writes #post canon #hi fi rush zanzo #zanzo #added more tags for visibility #kind of #edited #because I forgot a very important part

[discordsmuse]

Things I want to know about my fellow writers!

Tagged by @bearhugsandshrugs who always is so kind to me!

I'm tagging @theemptyislost and @24hourmess and anyone else who wants to join! No pressure at all!

Last book I read: Seven Faceless Saints by M.K Lobb. Honestly it was only a 3/5. Easy to read and had an okay plot, but the twist was poorly done and frustrated me A LOT. Also, a weird romance thing was thrown in the last 30 pages and I got so confused where tf it came from.

Greatest literary inspirations: Steven King is honestly my favorite author, followed closely by Diana Wynn Jones. Totally opposite genres and styles but I take a lot of inspo from them both.

Things in my current fandom I want to read but I don't want to write: Lol I'm a degenerate and need more Ascended Raphael fics. I physically can't read my own writing/enjoy my own smut so I'm always hunting for very specific shit.

Things in my current fandoms I want to write but I think nobody would be interested in them but me: My Phantom of the Opera/BG3 crossover is my silly little passion project, but I'm also the type that loves to take 2 characters and stick them in every AU known to man. I don't think most ppl are as insane as me about that. (Consider the 'HAHA AGAIN!' TikTok audio.)

You can recognize my writing by: occasional typos (I get horny and impatient), reader inserts, no use of y/n in my x reader fics, big powerful men/power imbalances, choking, men munching (as they should)

My most controversial take (current fandom): Ascended Astarion groupies scare me. He was my first romance and my favorite romance of the lot, but I don't think my appreciation can even compare to half his fanbase. (Also some of them need to leave Neil alone.)

My top three favorite tropes: mutual pining when they both think its unrequited, enemies to lovers, ʰᵉᵃᵗ/ʳᵘᵗˢ ⁽ᵃ/ᵇ/ᵒ⁾

What’s your current writing mood (10 – super motivated and churning out words like crazy, 0 – in a complete rut):  Like a 2, honestly. I've been struggling. I have like 7 half-finished fics that I'm trying so hard to brute force but it is simply not happening. Which is insane because in November I was cranking out like a fic a week. Maybe I just need to rot in bed for awhile and contemplate lie a philosopher.

Share a random frustration: I'm juggling 2 jobs and school and social life and hobbies rn and GOD am I not doing to hot with it lmao. Pray 4 me

#writers supporting writers #writer problems #getting to know you guys #fanfiction #meg writes

[the-royalscientists]

Grillby’s bar was empty as Gaster peeked his head in. The fire elemental finished cleaning a glass and beckoned him in. He looked the skeleton over.

“That suit.”

“WHAT ABOUT IT?” Gaster asked, the summoned Hands moving almost reflexively as his attached hands tugged at the sequin-covered amethyst vest under his jet-black coat. More summoned Hands took the coat and hung it up on the rack near the jukebox.

“Is that your only suit.”

“WE HAVE BEEN OVER THIS,” Gaster chided. His elbows stung as he rested them on the table. The barstool creaked with his weight. “OF COURSE THIS IS MY ONLY SUIT. THE ONLY ONE THAT FITS YOUR RIDICULOUS PARTY DRESS CODE, ANYWAYS.”

Grillby’s flames crackled with giggles, the embers plinking on Gaster’s skull.

“The rest are supposed to arrive at any moment,” Grillby asked when his laughter subsided.

“YES,” Gaster answered. “I BELIEVE I WOULD LIKE TO ORDER NOW.”

“Pick your poison.” Grillby took down various bottles, each labeled with their contents. “I can read them to you, if you’d like,” Grillby offered once he noticed Gaster’s good eyesocket squinting.

“NO, NO, I CAN READ IT,” Gaster said, waving him off with one of the summoned Hands. “THE TEXT IS JUST... REALLY TINY, THAT IS ALL.”

Grillby tilted his head in an eye-rolling way and started listing off the drinks.

“I THINK I WILL TAKE A GIN AND TONIC, ON ‘THE ROCKS’,” Gaster said eventually, air quotes included. Grillby nodded and began preparing his drink.

Sans and Papyrus walked in, carrying gifts of various sizes, Papyrus with his hands and Sans with his blue magic. “so, here’s where the party’s at, fireman?” Sans said as he set down the gifts on one of the booth tables, sitting down next to his dad.

Grillby nodded again and handed Gaster his miraculously cold drink. He watched as Papyrus threw his stack of gifts down to drag a shivering Alphys through the doors. Her bundle of coats somehow had snow on them, despite there being no way it could have fallen on her. Undyne followed close behind.

“WHO’S READY TO PARTY?” Papyrus and Undyne shouted in unison, whooping in excitement.

Gaster ignored them and sipped his drink. The acidic flavor would’ve made him scrunch up his nose if he had one. Hopefully, the alcoholic content wouldn’t make him too tipsy.

“So, what’re your resolutions,” Grillby asked. The skeleton took another sip.

“FOR NEXT YEAR?” Huh. It might’ve just been the drink, but he couldn’t really think of anything.

“WELL,” he began, “I WANT TO WORK MORE ON THE CORE. THERE ARE STILL SOME FINISHING TOUCHES I NEED TO ADD.”

“And...” Grillby encouraged.

“AND... I WISH TO ASK ASGORE IF I CAN EXPERIMENT WITH THE HUMAN SOULS. I THINK THEY CAN PROVIDE ME WITH INFORMATION ABOUT HOW HUMANS ARE SO...”

He held a palm to his forehead; he was starting to get a headache.

“Resilient,” Grillby offered.

“YEAH. THAT WAS THE WORD I WAS LOOKING FOR.”

“Well, consider one of your resolutions checked off,” said a gruff voice behind him. He turned to see Asgore sidestepping into the bar, the hem of his robes wet with melted snow.

“I’ve decided to greenlight Project SOUL.”

Gaster only stared at him. “THANK YOU,” he signed.

“Of course,” was Asgore’s simple reply.

<<NEXT>>

<<PREVIOUS>>

<<FIRST>>

#Meg Writes #cw alcohol #Dr. Gaster #Grillby #Dr. Alphys #Dr. Sans #Papyrus #Undyne #Asgore #Holiday Special #chrono tag #and Yes this IS part of the story thank you very much// #Three of Them!AU

[amerie-wadia]

“Dating is supposed to be fun. Easy.”

There might be a million fish in the sea, but Eddie’s not a fish and they all swim circles around him as he treds water. Kicking, kicking, kicking to keep himself afloat in a body of water he never asked to be, doesn’t want to be, but there’s nowhere else to go.

“It’s not supposed to be like this.”

Eddie is tired of being lonely, and decides to finally do something about it.

#meg writes #buddie fic #i like this i hate this i like this i hate this #punts this fic like a kickball and runs the opposite direction #turns around and runs after it because it’s also my baby #i wrote this when i should’ve been studying for finals

[moonknightproductions]

Chapters: 3/30 Fandom: Mario & Luigi RPG (Video Games), ナイツ | NiGHTS (Sonic Team Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Mario (Nintendo), Luigi (Nintendo), Starlow (Mario & Luigi RPG), Yumeppu | Dreambert, Prince Dreambert (Mario & Luigi RPG), Akkumu | Antasma, Reala (NiGHTS), NiGHTS (NiGHTS), Owl (NiGHTS), Wizeman (NiGHTS), Koopa | Bowser Additional Tags: There's more but I won't add them until I get to them in the fic, NiGHTS uses they/them, Reala also uses they/them, Starts out with canon text, Starlow uses she/they/it Summary:

When a corrupted Dream Portal sends them to a different dimension, the Mario Bros. are separated and encounter the strange inhabitants of this world. With the help of NiGHTS, a friendly, fun-loving sprite who gives kids the confidence to face their problems in the real world, can Luigi save his brother and find them all a way back home?

#More of this #posting it at balls o'clock because of life shit #Meg Writes #M&L Dream Team #NiGHTS Journey of Dreams

[dusty-metaphors]

the best part of being a writer is deciding that it actually is a word. i dont care what the dictionary says if i say it's a word then its a motherfucking word

#meg writes #shut up meg #writingblr

[feyhunter78]

Think I'm Gonna Call it Off

Description: You have been Prince Aemond's secret for years now, but a certain visiting Stark opens your eyes to what could be.

Inspired by the line “think I’m gonna call it off, even if you call it love, I just wanna love someone who calls me baby.” From Good Luck, Babe by Chappell Roan

Part 2

This was ridiculous, you are a Lady of a fine house, virtuous, beautiful, intelligent, kind and your embroidery skills have been praised by Queen Alicent herself and yet here you sit waiting for Prince Aemond to return. To return and not spare you a single glance. Not until you are tucked away from the prying eyes of the court, until he is confident no one can hear your conversations.

You wonder if it is foolishness that keeps you sitting there, leaning against one of the many windows in the library, searching the skies for Vhagar’s great form set against the clouds.

You have rejected a number of suitors, worried your father and mother, made yourself seem all but undesirable in the eyes of the court, all because the prince swore that he would tell his mother. That he would announce to the whole of the realm that he loved you, and that you would be wed as soon as possible. He does not want a Valyrian wedding he said, he has no taste for it, he wants to honor you, honor his mother, and the Seven whom he worshiped.

“Lady y/n?” Lord Cregan Stark’s voice rolls through you like thunder, the deep baritone, the rouge northern brocade that made him pronounce your name just slightly different from everyone else, just enough that shamefully it makes you feel special.

You turn your head away from the towering window and give him a small smile. “Lord Stark, I did not expect to see you here.”

He returns your smile and leans against the wall; arms crossed over his chest.

Seven help you, he did have such strong looking arms, the sight of them never ceases to distract you. Even his thick tunic, and his dark-colored cloak could not hide them. Truly, everything about Lord Stark seemed strong. Queen Alicent said it is common of a Northmen, that they must be strong to survive the winters, while Lady Frey said it was the wolf’s blood in his veins. That all Starks had unnatural strength, speed, and stamina granted to them by the Old Gods. Neither woman’s explanation accounted for the man’s looks though.

Lord Stark is quite handsome, a strong jaw and sharp cheekbones with a close-cut beard, more stubble than a full beard though, and gray eyes like a winter storm. His dark hair is around Prince Aegon’s length, though often tied back and much better cared for. His lips are full and healed, having been cracked and dry from the drastic change in temperature on his trip down south. A small scar runs through the corner of them, on the right side, giving him a more roguish appearance. He said he had gotten it as a child, playing around with his father’s sword. And he was tall, so, so tall, towering over you in a way no man has before.

Then he laughs, the sound warming you to the bones, making a blush rise to your cheeks. “Do not tell me you think me a barbarian, as the others do. I thought you knew me better than that, little fox.”

The name he has graced you with never fails to make your heart stutter and disrupt any coherent thought you might have had. It is a reference to your house sigil, you know that. But the way he says it, how his accent wraps around each syllable, makes it seem far more…intimate than simply a friendly moniker given to you by a man who does not know your customs.

Aemond calls you his, or some sweet term of endearment in High Valyrian in private, sticking to Lady y/h/n in public. You wish he would use your name, you have told him time and time again, even the Queen and Princess Helaena use it. You have been at the Red Keep for nearly a decade now, been in the Princess’ inner circle of friends for almost as long, it would not seem strange to others.

“Lord Stark—”

“Cregan, or Lord Cregan if you must add the lord, as I have told you before.” He corrects you, but not unkindly, his lips curling up into a fondly exasperated smile.

“Lord Cregan, I did not mean to imply I believe that libraries were not your preferred place to spend your time, only that I thought you would be joining the other men on their hunt.”

He glances out the window towards the Kingswood. “And I would think you would be taking tea or sewing with the other ladies.”

You have been caught.

“Ah yes, well, as you know, Prince Aemond is to return today and Princess Helaena asked me to keep watch. She loves her brother very much but has to entertain the other ladies so could not watch for him herself.”

You pray Helaena will forgive you for involving her in a lie.

Cregan hums low in his throat and his eyes flicker to you, picking you apart. “Did she now?”

You nod, not trusting your own voice.

“The prince is lucky to have such a vision of beauty to return home to.” He says, running his eyes down your form, drinking in every detail with something akin to reverence? Though you know you must be seeing things. Cregan Stark would not look at you in such a way, there is no reason to.

“Princess Helaena is quite beautiful.” You agree, trying to keep an air of propriety around you even as your mind screams at you to flee for fear you will say something utterly stupid.

Cregan reaches out, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for a moment caressing your cheek. “Aye, but she is not who I speak of.”

You? He means you?

You duck your head, cheeks warming once more. “You flatter me.”

He shifts forward, invading your space, the scent of forest air and woodsmoke filling your nostrils. “Is it flattery if it is true?” He is so close, still a respectable distance but close enough that you can reach out and touch him, can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

“I believe that is a question for the maesters.” You tease lightly, your heart pounding in your chest.

“You are a smart girl, little fox, I am sure you can figure it out.” He teases back, a glimmer in his eyes that excites you.

No one teases you; no one jests or challenges you like Cregan does. You assume it is because they all know Prince Aemond has claim on you, or because you are a lady, but you are educated, and strong-willed, you enjoy a good challenge. You enjoy Cregan speaking to you like an equal.

“Truth is relative, as they say.” You offer, cocking your head innocently, barely able to keep a smile off your face.

“Aye, some say. Though your beauty is truth, relative or not. Surely you must know that.” He counters.

“Vanity is not a virtue.” You say, meeting his gaze. The storm gray of them has softened to a dove gray, mirth dancing within them.

“Neither is lying and yet…”

“Are you accusing me of lying, Lord Cregan?” You gasp in mock outrage.

“About knowing that your beauty is what every man dreams of returning home to? Yes.” He says, his tone light and blithe, but his words, and the way his eyes darken for a moment? It takes your breath away.

“Your beauty, little fox, is one that haunts men’s dreams, that keeps them fighting when they are the last standing. That they keep in their mind as they clash swords, traverse through snow and sea.” He continues, holding your gaze, voice no longer light, but heavy with intent and promise. “It is a beauty one wishes to see the moment they return home before all else, or any others. A beauty that should be admired in all lights and shadows. The setting of the sun and its rising, the summer days and winter nights, one to be cherished.”

You break away from his gaze, a twinge of sadness in your chest. Aemond has never spoken to you in such a way, he has waxed poetic about your beauty, flattered you, lavished you with sweet words, but it has never felt the same as Cregan’s did now. Guilt replaces the sadness, and you toy with the edge of your sleeves. You should not be engaging with Cregan in this way, it was not right, even if it made you feel…something. “You are too kind, My Lord.”

Cregan reaches for you, breaching what was proper, and taking your hand in his. They are so much larger than yours, so warm, so gentle. “Have I spoken out of turn?”

“No, no, I am just—I am a maiden of the South, Lord Stark, I am not used to such forwardness from a man I am not courting with.”

“Honesty, it is honesty, though I apologize for my forwardness.” Cregan says, subconsciously stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.

“Either way, I am not used to it.” You say heart calming with each stroke of his calloused thumb.

Cregan’s brows furrow. “I have heard tales of—the other noblemen, they speak highly of you. Of your beauty, your kindness, your wit, are they all struck dumb by your very being, is that why no one has praised you as you deserve?”

You feel you should say something about Aemond, but what could you truly say? There is no formal betrothal in place, he has not publicly staked his claim beyond a possessiveness that those who spent enough time in court could see. But nothing is ever outwardly stated.

You go to speak, but Cregan stops you. “My apologies, I should not have asked such a thing, how are you to know what lies within the minds of man?”

“You are correct, I do not know their minds.” You say instead and bury down any explanation involving Aemond and his invisible claim.

A dragon roar fills the air, the window vibrates with the force of the sound, and your eyes shoot back to the window. Prince Aemond is home.

“Or they fear the mind of one man and thus hold their tongues.” Cregan says, releasing your hand.

“The prince? I—he—we…it is not—” You cannot get the words out fast enough.

“I will take my leave.” He says, remaining for a moment searching your face until it seemed he had found what he is looking for, and left.

You watch him go, admiring the strength in his stride, when he turns back, a strange look in his eyes. “At the feast tonight, might I have a dance?” He asks.

“With me?” Your heart is pounding against your chest.

He nods.

Footsteps rush by the open library door, and you can hear Princess Helaena calling out to Prince Aemond.

You stand, smoothing out your skirts with shaky hands, why did he make you so nervous? Or is not nerves, but excitement? “Of course, Lord Cregan, I would be honored.”

“I will hold you to that.” Cregan smile, then he disappears down the hall, and you are left alone to hurry after the princess.

Aemond does not call for you until hours after he has returned. When you knock on the door to his chambers, dressed already for the feast, he bids you to enter in a soft voice, exhaustion tinging each word.

You hurry to his side, clasping one hand between your own. “My Prince, I cannot tell you how happy I am that you have returned safely.”

He uses his free hand to cup your cheek, that half smile, half smirk he wears so well on his well sculpted face. “I was only gone for a mere moon, and I was never in any danger, did you doubt your Prince, ñuha nūmio?”

“No, of course not, but…you would not tell me where you were going, no one would.” You say, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“That is simply because it was not information you needed.” He says, brushing the pad of his thumb across your lips.

“But if I am to be your wife, would it not be prudent if I were to know where my husband is?”

Aemond’s eye, a brilliant amethyst, hardens, then he looks away and sighs. “Lady y/h/n I have told you patience is a virtue, and your virtue is what I adore most.”

You bite your lip, internally chastising yourself. You know better than to rush him. “My apologies.”

Aemond frees your bottom lip from between your teeth and brushes his lips across your forehead. “Do not take my words so harshly, your eagerness is quite endearing, and I to wish for us to be wed, but it is not yet time.”

You lean into his touch, “I understand.”

“How have you been amusing yourself while I was away, ñuha nūmio? Did anything exciting happen?” Aemond asks, his thumb resting beside the corner of your lip.

“Not much, it seems you had taken all the excitement with you. Though as you know Lord Stark’s arrival has caused quite a stir and now two moons later still is. Many ladies are jockeying for the position of Lady of the North.” You tell him, giggling at the memory of some of your friends’ actions.

“But not you?” Aemond asked, his tone making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“No, I am yours, why would I wish to be Lady of the North?” You reassured him, brushing back a lock of silver hair from his face.

For a moment, you are struck with the feel of Cregan’s fingertips, rough and calloused but gentle against your skin. The warmth of his skin, the softness of his gaze, the earnestness of his words. What was he looking for when he stared into your eyes, when he took in every detail of your face?

“If you are too distracted, you may leave, My Lady.” Aemond says, the irritation in his voice drawing you from your thoughts.

“No, no, I am not, I am just so happy you have returned.”

Aemond hums in acknowledgement, dressed in his feast finery as well. “I have missed you.”

Your heart flutters. “I have missed you as well.”

He releases your chin to trail his fingers down the column of your neck. His cool touch causes goosebumps to follow in his wake, and he dips his head low to press his lips to your cheek, then begins to follow his fingers with his lips. “I have missed you, your voice, your smiles, your touch.”

You shiver in response, grabbing onto his doublet.

“Do not touch, you will wrinkle the fabric.” He warns, even as his hands grip your waist.

You remove your hands, clasping them behind your back.

“I will not be able to dance with you tonight, mother has brought another girl for me to try and charm.” He says, into your skin, his silver hair brushing against your exposed décolletage.

Your heart sinks. “Not even one dance?”

Aemond sighs and presses a final kiss to the hollow of your throat. “You know I detest it as much as you do, but it is my duty.”

You nod, blinking back the tears that threaten to appear on your waterline.

He smooths down your hair and turns you towards the door. “I will try to find time for one dance, but I cannot make any promises.”

His words lift your spirits, and you smile at him. “Thank you, Aemond.”

“Prince Aemond, we have guests tonight.” He reminds you, then he shuts the door, and you hurry back to your chambers.

The Great Hall is decorated beautifully, and you sit at your table with the other ladies of Helaena’s circle. A wine glass in hand as you watch Aemond dance with Cerelle Peake, her brown hair pinned up with a net of gold and sapphires, her umber gown flowing beautifully as she twirled.

“Come now, y/n, you will never be asked to dance with such a scowl.” Johanna Swyft says, poking your cheek goodnaturedly.

“No, she will never be asked to dance because the prince glares at anyone who tries.” Mina Redwyne says, clinking her glass against yours in silent sympathy.

Johanna shoots her a look. “Do keep your voice down, Mina.”

You take a long drink from your glass, emptying it, then setting it down, scanning the crowd for another servant. “Perhaps I do not wish to dance.”

“I am crushed to hear that Lady y/n.” Cregan’s presence makes every lady at your table sit up straight, and you turn to face him.

“Lord Stark.” You say, bowing your head in his direction.

He holds out a hand, and you remember how it nice felt, the phantom warmth still lingering. “I do believe you agreed to a dance, earlier today?”

“Lucky.” Mina hisses, as Johanna juts her elbow into your side to prod you up and out of your seat.

You stand, and take his hand, trying to ignore the twinge of pain in your side. “I did.”

Cregan leads you to the dance floor, and you can hear your friends giggling behind you, much to your utter embarrassment.

“Your friends seem quite encouraging.” Cregan says, barely holding back a laugh.

“When they learned I have no sisters, they decided that they would act as such, apparently that means acting in a most embarrassing way.” You say, falling into the rhythm of the dance.

“I knew you had brothers, but I did not know you were the only daughter, that must make you very precious in your father’s eyes.” Cregan ventures, his large, warm hand pressed to yours as you circle each other.

“I would like to think so.” You smile, your heart aches for a moment with homesickness. “He could not attend this feast, he is too ill to travel, my eldest brother is here on his behalf, accompanied by my second-eldest brother who is here to drink and presumably enjoy the Silk Streets.”

“I never had a taste for brothels.”

“Nor I.”

Cregan smiles and twirls you. “I thought not, for I have heard you are far too virtuous.”

You shrug. “It is more, I do not wish to spend the coin.”

Shock flashes across his face then he laughs, repeating your words quietly with a chuckle, and as you are spun back into his arms you cannot help but laugh as well.

“You are clever, little fox, I will miss you when I return home.” He says, his eyes searching you once more.

Your heart stops, and you trip over your feet. “You are leaving?”

His grip on you tightens as he helps you right yourself. “Aye, I have here for two moons, that is far too long, my people need me.”

You do not want him to leave, you will miss him dearly, his laugh, his expressions, his stories. You will miss the walks you had taken together, the discussions that ran late into the night, just outside your chambers, the men standing guard pretending they were not listening. The way he presented you with the pelts of animals he had hunted, regaling you with the tale of how he felled it. Who would challenge you now, who would make you laugh, would listen to your words, and respond as if you were an equal, as if your sex did not diminish your intelligence?

“When will you leave?” You ask, unable to keep your voice steady, so you spin away from him to give yourself a moment to smother your emotions.

Cregan pulls you back into his arms, trapping you with his steady gaze. “In a few days time.”

“Oh…” You manage to choke out, swallowing hard, your eyes on your feet.

“I have been meaning to tell you, there just never seemed to be a good time.” Cregan says sheepishly.

You nod, still staring at the floor. “Well, I will miss you.”

“I will miss you too, y/n,” he says softly, then he slips a finger under your chin and lifts it gently. “In all lights, in all seasons.”

Tears blur your vision, and you hastily blink them away, not even noticing he has said only your given name, no title attached. Cregan’s warm thumb catches any stray tears that fall, and you lean into his touch, desperate for more of that something he had made you feel before. That something you realize he was always making you feel, and that he is making you feel right now, though it is tinged with grief. “Cregan, I—”

“Lady y/h/n, I believe I promised you a dance.” Aemond’s voice is steel, ice, the frigid fear that ran through the veins of Vhagar’s victim, and you hurriedly wipe away any remaining tears plastering on a false smile, before you turn, Cregan’s other hand still on your waist.

You drop into a curtsy. “My Prince, that you did.”

Cregan’s hand lingers, and your heart lurches in your chest when the warmth of it is finally removed.

Another song has begun to play, one you love dancing with Aemond to. It allows for close movements and lingering touches that you always long for with him.

“I thought you did not wish to be the Lady of the North.” He says, his eyes picking you apart as Cregan’s did but there is a cold methodical feel to it that makes you feel utterly and horribly exposed.

“He was merely being kind, no one else had asked me to dance.” You protest, falling into the rhythm as you had before.

“No one else should, you are mine.” Aemond say, spinning you out, and then back in.

His hands burn through your gown, your skin, meeting bone, and before you would have loved it, relished the feeling, but now you feel they are too hot, your skin prickles uncomfortably.

“I like to dance; I do not get to dance when you are occupied, and you are often occupied.” You say quietly, your head bowed ever so slightly.

“I had them play your favorite song, as a reward for your patience.” He says, ignoring your words. “Do you like it?”

“I do, thank you.” You smile and raise your head, hoping to catch his eye and find it brimming with affection. That would soothe your wounded heart, would banish the grief you feel at Cregan leaving.

Instead, his eye is elsewhere, you follow its gaze to see it land on the Peake girl. You do not blame her, do not hate her, though your blood turns to fire in your veins, and you brace yourself for what you are going to say next.

“When are we going to be wed, I have been patient for many years, and you never tell me when my patience will be able to end.” You say, holding your chin high. You are not a Peake, but you still have pride.

His eye flicker back to you, his grip tightening. “Are you truly asking this now?”

“Yes. Yes, I am, because I am tired of waiting, tired of watching as you charm others, tired of being shunted to the side because even though you will not claim me, no one else is allowed to.” You can no longer keep your emotions contained. “I want to be happy Aemond, I want to be happy with you, but I am not happy.”

“Not everything is about your happiness, Lady y/h/n.” Aemond snaps.

You reel back as if you have been struck. “I did not say it was. You have been the one saying you wished to marry me, promising me you would tell the whole of the realm how deeply you care for me. I have done nothing else but dote on you and be patient.”

Guilt flashes across his face, and he reaches for you, but you push his hands away. “It is not so simple.”

“Do you see my face in your dreams, does it keep you fighting, keep you marching on, am I the first person you wish to see when you return home, do you wish to see me in all lights, in all seasons?” You throw Cregan’s words in Aemond’s face and wait for a response.

Aemond laughs, taking your hands, and bringing you back into the dance. “You have picked up a new book of poetry, I see.”

You cannot find it in yourself to be angry, the shock settling in, muffling everything until it is as if you are floating underwater. The rest of the night passes that way, you go through the motions, avoiding Cregan, your friends, shooting you concerned looks.

Then the feast ends, guards escort those too drunk to find their chambers, all others dispersing to their places for the night, or into Fleabottom for more revelry.

You try to sleep, but it will not come, Cregan and Aemond’s words echoing in your sleepless mind, until finally you throw off your blankets and wrap a robe around your nightshift.

You creep through the halls, no true direction in mind, letting your feet take you where they wished, when a flicker of umber catches your eye. Pressing yourself behind a pillar, you wait a moment then peek out.

“Lord Stark, might I be allowed to enter?” Cerelle Peake’s voice is soft, as was required for the late hours.

“Lady Peake, might I ask why you wish to enter my chambers?” Cregan asks, his words thick with sleep. His hair is loose, his night shift exposing his broad chest.

“I thought perhaps you might enjoy some company.” She says, as she takes a step towards him, moving to run a finger down his chest.

Cregan catches her hand and gently returns it to her side. “I do not wish for your company, Lady Peake. Please return to your chambers quietly, and I will not speak with your father about this.”

Cerelle scoffs and turns on her heel, storming down the hallway. You wait until Cregan’s door closed then follow her.

Halfway there, you know where she was going, you have walked these halls many times. Not wanting to further your own pain, you turn back to your own chambers, but your feet disobey you, and you find yourself in front of Cregan’s door.

You knock before you could stop yourself and the door swings open, a tired and angry Cregan standing before you. “Lady Peake, I do not need any comp—” His words die on his lips as he realizes it was you and not Cerelle. “Y/N?”

“All those things you said, about my beauty, about me, did you mean them? Truly?” Tears prick at the backs of your eyes, your chest tight, your bottom lip trembling.

Cregan rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Do not tell me you woke me only to hear more flattery.”

A sob escapes your lips. “I thought you said it was truth, not flattery.”

Cregan snaps awake, pulling you into his arms. “Little fox, I am sorry, I was half asleep, yes, yes, it is truth.”

You cling to him, gripping his night shirt, your face buried in his chest as you sob, every fear, every pain spilling out into his warm embrace. “Tell me you meant it, that you see me in your dreams, that you want me, in all lights, all seasons, that I am not destined to wait forever for someone to love me.”

“I love you, y/n, I love you, you do not need to wait, I will tell you as many times as you desire. I meant it, all of it, you haunt my dreams, you plague my waking thoughts, I want you in at any time, in any manner, or light, or moment I can have you.” He says, his voice is steady, and you can feel the vibrations of it deep in his chest, alongside his beating heart.

“I want to go with you to Winterfell, I want to be your Lady of the North, or even just your mistress if my house is not a good enough match, Cregan I do not care. I love you and all I care about is that we are not parted, that we are never parted, I do not think I will be able to breathe if we are parted.” You confess, looking up at him afraid to see what you saw in Aemond’s eye.

Cregan cups your face and kisses you, the taste of honeyed ale on his tongue, his hands warm as he keeps you close, using his foot to kick the door closed so he can press you against it.

Now in the safety of his chambers he breaks the kiss, your breaths intermingling. “You will not be a mistress, you will be my wife, none will come before you.”

“Will you tell your people, will they know?” You ask, your lips brushing against his with each word.

“I will wake the whole Red Keep to announce it now if you wish.” He says, his forehead resting against yours.

You reconnect your lips with his, his stubble brushing against your skin, but you pay it no mind, letting Cregan devour you, his hands moving into your hair, as you loop your arms around his neck, keeping him close.

He groans against you, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips, delving in when you part them and exploring every inch of you. “My little fox, my y/n, my wife, my beautiful, clever wife.” He presses the words into your skin, heated lips trailing down to your pulse point.

“Husband.” You sigh, tilting your neck further exposing yourself to him, his teeth sinking into the skin claiming you as his own.

“Say it again for me, my wife, tell me who I am.” He breaths, sucking, and nipping at your neck, returning to darken the marks between creating new ones.

“You, Cregan, my husband.” You say, eyes snapping open when he releases you and stalks over to the window.

He threw it open and stuck his head out, shouting. “Y/N Y/H/N, is to be my wife.”

You rush forward and pull him from the window with a scandalized giggle. “Cregan it is the middle of the night.”

“Then at the very least a few guards heard.” He says, pulling you close and kissing you again, in full view of the window, the moon, anyone else who might look up, and it is exactly as you want it.

I lied in the comments imma do a part two I’ve given into the peer pressure stay tuned my loves!!!

HOTD taglist: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda, @haydee5010, @partypoison00, @serrhaewin, @issshhh, @pax-2735, @malfoytargaryen, @sahanna, @dellalyra, @mxrgodsstuff, @jkhomes, @unusual-raccoon, @boofy1998, @kravitzwhore, @caribbeangel, @krispold, @issshh, @afro-hispwriter, @ryswritingrecord, @prettykinkysoul, @elissanatok, @sahvlren, @its-sam-allgood, @happinessinthbeing, @8e-h-e8, @feyres-fireheart, @just-emmaaaa, @crazylokonugget, @hedahobbit98, @devils-blackrose, @mercedesdecorazon, @snh96, @imjustboredso, @izzicle, @hiatuswhore, @aslanvez, @devils-blackrose, @yentroucnagol, @queenofshinigamis, @partyposion00, @cryptidsrcool, @jennifer0305

#meg's writing #hotd #aemond targaryen x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x y/n #aemond x reader #this one is so long omg #it hurt me to write Aemond like this I love him so much #cregan stark

[scala-ask-caelum]

Xehanort sat in the window nook, leaning against the partial wall surrounding the glass. The curtain tickled his shoulder as the slight breeze ruffled it. In front of him lay that same old game board, black and white checkered spaces crisscrossing almost mesmerizingly, pieces strewn about in a methodical placement of his design to contest with his friend’s. His play had barely gotten him out of check; Eraqus is serious today, he mused.

His friend sat across from him on the other side of the board, one of his legs dangling while the other was bent in a half crisscross. Xehanort moved himself into a similar but mirrored position, with his left mimicking Eraqus’s right. He became conscious of his left hand’s movements, fingers curling and uncurling slightly in thought.

Eraqus’s next play put him back in check. Xehanort calmly slid out of it. The pieces’ movements and position relative to each other hardly kept his attention nowadays.

Instead, there was a question on his mind. Their most recent class had an air of urgency to it, like the subject matter was of the utmost importance. Therefore, the tabletop discussion among the rest of the class consisted mostly of the lesson. But another matter pressed on Xehanort’s mind, one he wished to discuss with Eraqus alone.

Now he finally had the chance.

“Have you heard of the ancient Keyblade War?”

#not an ask #Meg Writes #Xehanort #Eraqus #(Little timeline indicator: this canonically takes place about a year before Dark Road!)

[recusant-s-sigil]

New chapter! Vanitas considers his role in all this.

Summary:

Starting now, the action picks up! The real meat of it! And by "it" I mean Vanitas being contemplative and annoyed about everything.

Notes:

The following chapters are in a similar format to Roxas's diary, where Vanitas puts down his thoughts. More of a character exploration than a narrative, though some entries are connected.

I can’t sleep. It’s not that I’m uncomfortable. The room I picked out was perfectly furnished, courtesy of the three others who live here. I barely remember their names half the time, so might as well write them down. They say writing helps to strengthen one’s memory. Their names are Terra, Aqua, and Ventus, but he prefers to be called Ven. Guess I should only use his full name for teasing him if I want them to trust me. Aqua certainly didn’t when she first saw me walk out of the portal.

She’d asked why I was here and Ven explained that he found me sitting alone in the Realm of Darkness. I stared at the ground through my helmet, glad that she couldn’t see my unfocused eyes.

I was in a daze those first few days. The abundance of light kinda shocked my system. I had to sit in a dark closet for a couple hours during the brightest part of that. The helmet helped a little, and I refused to take it off for anything. Eventually, I decided to try taking it off for little bits at a time on my own. When I was alone, I’d remove it and let the light wash over me. It helped me build up a tolerance, but I still feel like I can’t take it off for more than a few hours at a time.

Despite this supposedly being a neutral ground of sorts, it’s more biased toward light. Makes sense. For years Keyblade wielders of light protected this land from darkness, and from those like me who were born of it. Now I’m living here, balancing it out a little.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully take my helmet off. The light will always bother me, like an itchy bug bite. But I’ll adapt. Always have and always will.

That’s the thing about darkness. It’ll never be fully extinguished. No matter how much some want to believe it can be erased, it’ll always be here. I’ll always be here, in the shadows.

Hopefully writing all this will help get some weight off my chest.

#Moon Speaks #Meg Writes #Re:Formed AU #Vanitas #Wayfinder Trio #Terra #Aqua #Ven #yay more of this!

[wolffallsintodanmeihell]

// corpse au , dead dove do not eat , gore

Everytime Danny transforms, he must consume part of his corpse to return back.

Hey guys! Finished up the first chapter of my corpse au fic! Plan for ot to be three chapters, hope you guys enjoy! Though please read the tags.

#danny phantom #wolf writes #meg writes #corpse au #no one knows au #tw // gore #dddne #dead dove do not eat #darkfic

[thesmallmeggles]

This is a brief exploration of "Zanzo tests SPECTRA on himself". Maybe canon compliant, maybe not.

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

"SPECTRA is designed to work on humans. Last I checked, I'm the only one with a brain in this room!" Zanzo drops into the office chair. He opens a panel on the underside of his bicep, exposing both a USB port and the rechargeable battery housed within. "Hook me up."

The PGR-101 on standby raises a hand. "Are you sure about this?"

Their boss rolls his eyes. "What kind of follower would I be if I weren't willing to sacrifice myself for the cause?"

The PGR-101 opens their mouth only to close it again. Pointing out that Zanzo tends to put his employees on the chopping block before himself is unnecessary at this moment. "Of course, sir." The plug clicks in the port, its attached wire snaking back towards the terminal.

"TODAY, please."

With the hit of the enter key, Zanzo's body slumps forward. Then he straightens up with a jolt, seeming alert apart from dull, unfocused eyes. "I am a proud member of the Vandelay family," he recites in monotone. "The labor I provide for this company is invaluable." Zanzo rises to his feet. With near mechanical motion, he widens his stance. One hand on rests on his hip and the other on the side of his head. He speaks again. "I don't see what you're upset about. This is how we progress. Human experimentation is a necessary step. I would think a scientist should understand..."

Click, program complete. Zanzo goes limp, collapsing into the chair. If PGR-101 had skin, it'd be crawling. "Boss?"

"It works," Zanzo says flatly. He repeats the phrase with a slow nod. Chilling compared to his usual excitement regarding projects. He yanks out the plug, shuddering as it clatters against the laminate floor. "Get out. I need to write an email." Zanzo dismisses the PGR-101 with a flourish of his wrist. Back to himself, like nothing happened.

Zanzo wheels over to the monitor, pulling up the email to draft a message for Kale Vandelay. So I finished testing SPECTRA and it works exactly as it should, Zanzo typed. Ready to move into the next phase whenever you are.

Press send. Wait. Zanzo shivers in his seat. This AI changes everything. The ability to seal away another's free will, their freedom of choice. It's out of his hands now.

#hi fi rush #zanzo #hi fi rush zanzo #meg writes #rough draft #fanfic #also Full Metal Alchemist quote #from that sick monster who fused his daughter and dog #attempted Jolyne pose reference

[discordsmuse]

What’s your story on becoming a Hector fangirl? I just recently rewatched the movies and I fell in love with him. Haha

So, I've always had a thing for pirates since I was a little kid. I saw pirates when I was young, and got super into Renaissance faires and joined a pirate crew there. Then, as one does, I re-watced the movies. When the 4th and 5th movies came out I admittedly didn't enjoy them much so I clung onto the older ones.

For some reason, Geoffrey Rush's portrayal of Barbossa just ticked every box. I like the way he fights, the way he speaks, the dry wit he uses on people; its just so perfect in terms of what pirates are like in my head. I can wax poetic about how the original POTC trilogy is the best pirate media ever created in fiction, but no one needs to read that.

Also, there's a running gag that if my friends and I see a movie, Meg is gonna fall in old with the weird old guy. It's a canon event, we cannot interfere. In exsmple: Imhotep from the Mummy, Barbossa, Remus Lupin and Snape from HP, Hades in Percy Jackson, Riddick and a million others too embarrassing to admit.

I've always enjoyed characters that have complex morals and are written to be the bad guy or antihero. Plus, he's just fun to write. I'm glad you're joining out little Fandom for him, welcome to the club!

#anon #anon ask #meg writes #author #pirates of the carribean #hector barbossa #barbossa

[the-royalscientists]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Undertale (Video Game) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Grillby (Undertale), W. D. Gaster, Sans (Undertale), Papyrus (Undertale), Alphys (Undertale), Undyne (Undertale), Asgore Dreemurr Additional Tags: Three of Them!AU, Pre-Undertale, There is alcohol in the story but nobody gets super drunk, uhhhh how else do I tag this, Kingdings if you squint but Grillster's the main ship but also it's queerplatonic

Summary:

Grillby's hosting a New Year's party!

#Meg Writes #Aaaand here's the AO3 version//