#Gil thinks hm...what would they like

[softquietsteadylove]

Hello beautiful! ✨🖤

I have an idea for a new AU with Thena and Gilgamesh. Gilgamesh starts at an elite culinary school where the food in each lesson is judged by strict critics.

The students in the higher classes warn the new ones that one specific critic (Thena) can never be satisfied and never gives a good review. Many students have dropped out of school because of this. But Gilgamesh wants to see for himself.

🖤✨ Hgs and Love! ✨🖤

"I heard she made everyone in her class cry in their first lesson."

"I heard that she subs in for real food critics sometimes."

"I heard that the dean himself gave her a full-ride scholarship she's so good."

Gil rolls his eyes at the classmates of his whispering - loudly - about their expected panel of judges. He doesn't think this critic can possibly be as frightening as people are making her out to be. She's just a student, like them, right?

"Can't they just put us out of our misery?" Druig grumbles next to him, shifting nervously on his feet as he looks down at his dish.

"Hey," Gil nudges his shorter, more nervous friend, "don't look so freaked out. "It's a great dish."

Druig sighs, "thanks, man. But it's not you I gotta impress, is it? It's 'em."

The door opens and three senior students step into the room.

Sersi is the top student in the Molecular Gastronomy course. She makes creations that seem transmuted right down to the atomic level, it seems sometimes. They look stunning, they're always delicious, and the way she can make one thing taste entirely different from how it looks is always a showstopper.

Phastos all but wrote the bible by which the school acts. He doesn't cook, but his knowledge of biology, chemistry, physics--is so all-encompassing that there's basically nothing he doesn't know. It is just a rumour, but supposedly he has written all the recipes the courses use for instructing students since he arrived.

Thena is last, and by far the scariest. She looks like she's never seen the sun or eaten a morsel of food, at that. Her reputation precedes her, and her perfect palette is as terrifying as it is rare. She doesn't cook either, but if there is any sort of flaw in any way, she will detect it. And she won't have the smile on her face that Sersi does when she breaks the news.

Thena stands between the other two, eyeing the class with an expression that already screams that she's not looking forward to this. "Please present your dishes."

The first two come up, their trays rattling from their nerves.

Gil watches from his table a little further in the back. Sersi and Phastos try first, giving their praise as well as gentle critiques and advice. Once Thena is done sniffing it, she takes a bite.

"You lack identity."

The whole class practically keels over. It may seem small, and maybe even nitpicky. But to hear that you - as a chef - have no identity in your food?--it's devastating.

"I would say you lack creativity, but that is not what this is," she states and sets her spoon down after the one bite. "You have replicated a family recipe in the hopes that it would convey an emotion. But the balance has been put off by your muddled intentions. It's over-seasoned, and the flavours battling for dominance has overpowered what would actually make it shine if you weren't so clumsy."

The class is practically crying for their fallen comrade. And this is round one!

Druig blows out a breath as they watch their fellow student shuffle back to his table in shame (borderline in tears). "And the Ice Queen strikes again."

Gil stares straight ahead. He shrugs, "she did give him advice, though."

Druig looks at him with wide eyes. "If I shove you into a lion's den and tell you not to die, that's advice, I s'pose."

Gil chuckles just a little, still watching eagerly, "shut up."

The critique goes on, many falling to the Ice Queen's sharp words along the way. It's not that she has nothing nice to say at all, it's just that the bad seems to always outweigh the good for her.

Sersi and Phastos offer sympathetic smiles and waves; obviously they're used to this.

"Next."

Gil and Druig approach with their trays, a plate for each judge. Druig goes first.

He clears his throat, "I-I've made a confit salmon with swiss chard gelee and potato mousseline."

Sersi smiles brightly at them, showing off what's made her such a darling of the culinary world already. "That's very impressive, Druig!"

"A lot of technique," Phastos murmurs as he takes a bite. "The textures are right, although it's maybe a little soft overall."

Druig nods, taking the criticism at face value, "thank you."

"You have too much to prove."

Gil keeps a careful eye on his tablemate. Druig is stubborn, and younger than the rest of them. She's right, she just doesn't have to say it like that.

Druig stands tall against it, though. He looks the Ice Queen in the eye as he says, "and?"

Thena raises her eyes to him. Gil sees that they're green for the first time. "You've selected the most advanced techniques you've mastered thus far, but as Phastos said, there is no cohesion to the presentation of all of them in one dish. You didn't have to make a mousse of the potatoes--in fact, potatoes are not what I would have served with salmon in the first place."

Druig crosses his arms.

"The salmon is cooked perfectly," Thena says just as cut and dry as the negative stuff. She places her fork down, again, needing only one bite of each element to make her assessment. "It only brings out that, had you leaned into your strengths instead of showcasing your weaknesses, this could be perfect."

Druig has his arguing face on, and Gil almost wonders if he should drag him back from the judging table to cool off. He rolls his eyes, though, going back into his dismissive and pouty shell for the time being. He huffs, "I'll take it."

Gil is left alone as Druig moves back to the table.

Sersi smiles, "and what have you made today?"

"Chicken and dumplings!"

A poor man's dish. Chicken stew with dumplings in it: something that needs no technique to put forth. The whole room is silent, not even trying to hide the overall horror that has descended over them.

Even Sersi strains a little to smile at him as they pull their bowls closer. "How...interesting."

"I know, I know," Gil laughs, watching as Thena draws her spoon up to smell everything. "Just hear me out."

"I made a really quick chicken stock and let it simmer while I was preparing everything else. I made it more ramen style than country chicken soup style, but I also added some cinnamon and star anise to kind of have an element of what makes pho so comforting."

"Then while that was simmering I was roasting some veg with the other half of the carcass. I mashed up and then pan fried some potatoes and there's actually a little something in those dumplings."

"Well, that certainly sounds..." Sersi trails off, looking to her left as she holds a dumpling in hand, "impressive."

Thena is smiling.

She licks her lips as she puts her spoon down, still smiling at the shimmering bowl of broth. She picks up a dumpling and her eyes spark.

"You already know, don't you?" Gil smiles sheepishly. She looks at him as she takes a bite, pulling out the cheese he put in the centre. He snickers at the look on her face. "I made a simple mash and then turned it in to a dough with some flour and a little duck egg for some bite to it. Then I added a little more potato with some butter and the little piece of cheese curd for some chew. Like a-"

"Pierogi."

Phastos pushes his glasses up his nose as Thena utters something that isn't a direct review of the food.

Gil beams, his whole chest swelling with warmth from the inside out. "You order them for lunch all the time, right? You must have made them when you were little."

Thena smiles, taking a second bite of the fried mashed potatoes and their filling. "I did."

Gil celebrates to himself a little, clenching his fist. He looks over his shoulder and gives Druig a big thumb's up.

Thena takes another bite of the soup, too, her lashes fluttering as she savours the small but deliberate spoonful. "Hm."

Gil inches forward.

"It's not...perfect."

The class lets out a collective sigh.

"But," Thena is still smiling, taking a third bite. "I think it's about as close as I've ever had."

#Thenamesh AU #okay I love this prompt though #Gil hears about this terrifying student and her critiques #and thinks bring it on #either she's gonna love it or she'll hate it #but he's gonna make a dish he's proud of #they hear that they're getting the scary critics this time around #and they all pull out all the stops #Druig is all technique #Gil thinks hm...what would they like #and probably he's thinking about the hardest critic to please #he thinks about the solitary student who keeps to herself all the time #he thinks he's seen her getting pierogies for lunch on the odd time she eats in public #maybe her family is slavic or Polish or something #funfact pierogi origins are untraceable but they think they might be something from the old days of Kievan Rus #anyway he makes a stew that will feel warm and comforting #and he thinks about making just a flour dumpling and sticking them in the broth to steam #then he thinks about the beautiful Ice Queen and her pierogi #and goes...potato dumplings #I must #also this is very food wars #and if you don't know what this already #I am begging on my hands and knees don't look it up #I saw it with a friend who legitimately likes cooking I swear

[indiefilmfatale]

watch you want me

gif by gil-rizzo ^ plot: you want to watch steve get his rocks up without touching him at all content warnings: graphic language, masturbation, voyeurism (reader watches ooh), dirty talk, all the good things word count: a/n: had a visceral dream about this and could not stop thinking about it all day send smutty steve asks pleeeease!

“You don’t wanna, like, touch me or anything? You just want to watch?”

You bite your lip, almost too horny to be embarrassed. “Yeah. I think it’d be hot.”

It’s mid-morning. A rare moment where both of your schedules result on a day off for the two of you, but you were basking in it. Laying in bed all morning, falling in and out and back into sleep, adjusting into different cuddling positions until you finally decided to wake up. And even when you did, you just spent the time talking and laughing with your head resting on his bare chest. Eventually the conversation drifted into bored fantasies, drawing your finger over his chest and twirling the small hairs ever-so-softly. “Well are you at least gonna touch yourself?” Steve’s eyes dot down your body for just a second. You’re wearing a white tank top and a pair of his boxers that hug your curves perfectly. It’s his favorite outfit on you.

“Mm-mm,” You hum as you shake your head, fluttering your eyelashes at him.

Steve sighs, “Okay, I mean, it couldn’t hurt, right?”

You chuckle at his awkwardness, then peel yourself off of him to rest your head in your hand, elbow propped up on the pillow next to him. He adjusts his stature, relaxing himself into place.

“Do- Do I just,” He waves his hand around, as if he’s never jerked off before. You grip his wrist and guide it down under the sheets, where his bare cock rests flaccid. He often slept naked, swears by its comfortability but given how many times you two have fucked in the morning, you assumed it was for accessibility reasons. Less fabric to get out of the way.

When you see him grip himself, you let go, arm resting on your side. He starts slow, just sort of rubbing himself until he’s half hard. You grow impatient, gripping his wrist again until his hand rests below your chin.

Your eyes stare back at him as he watches you drop a wad of spit into his palm. He’s instantly erect, licking his lips and clenching his thighs. “That’s all the help you’re getting from me, Harrington.” You say as you wipe your lip.

He swallows, lowering his hand once more. The new slick of his fingers does wonders, moving his hand up and down his cock with a steady pace. “What’re you thinking about?” You casually bring the hem of his bed sheet down to his mid-thighs, giving yourself the full view of his strokes.

“Mm, your tits.” He’s already panting.

You anchor your fingers around the neckline of your tank top, lowering the shirt so just enough cleavage protrudes. “Oh, you mean these?” You lightly rub one of your nipples through the fabric.

“Mm hm, yeah.” He’s so incoherent, which makes you only want to get more words out of him. You want to know what dirty thoughts find their way into his brain when he’s at his most vulnerable.

“What would you do with them? If you could touch me…”

“Put them in my mouth, your perfect fucking tits. I’d— I’d suck on your nipple, put my hands all over you. Fuck.” His strokes are a little faster now. You can see a spurt of pre-cum drip down his cock, and you have to hold back your own hunger to suck on the mushroom tip until it turns red. You can practically taste him.

“What if I fucked you with them, hm?” Your voice has gone soft and seductive. “Put your fat cock between my tits and let you fuck them until you came all over my face?”

“Yea…” He whispers, eyes darting between your own eyes and the nipple that you’re pinching between your fingers. These lovely hums keep coming from his throat.

“Will you come for me, Steve? Will you let me watch you cum over that perfect torso of yours?” Your fulling massaging your tits now, feeling a warmth in your core that aches to be filled for him.

“I wanna cum for you so bad, fuck.” His strokes are even faster. “Are you wet?”

“God, I’m soaking, Harrington. I want you to fuck me so bad.” You can’t help but bring your hand down to where his boxers meet your vulva, pushing against the fabric until you feel the cotton against your clit. You lean forward, your lips against his ear. You can see his adam’s apple bobbing as he gulps, breathing shallow and desperate.

“Imagine how it feels to fuck me, Steve. Imagine my cunt is squeezing and throbbing against your cock as you fuck me into oblivion. Legs shaking around your hips, cumming and cumming and cumming as you keep fucking me. Whining and moaning into your ear.” You lick his lobe, and he grunts sweetly as his brows curve upward in pleasure.

Your speech blurs into moans, almost pornographically spelling it out for him as if he’s fucking you right now. “Mm, you feel so good inside, Stevie. Fuck, it hurts. Cumming over and over again as you pump your big fucking cock inside of me. But don’t stop, baby, please don’t stop. I wanna cry over how good your cock feels, mm-hm,”

His mouth is agape, eyes squeezed shut as his orgasm approaches. “I-I’m gonna cum, oh god, I’m cumming.” His voice reaches an octave only reserved in these visceral moments of pleasure.

“Cum for me, baby. I wanna see you cum.” You whisper one last time. He groans as his cock spills cum down his hand and onto his happy trail. His shoulders tense and twitch, his neck tense with veins protruding. “God, fuck…” He moans, keeping his hand tight around the tip until the last drip gushes out.

You rub his chest firmly, a proud smile plastered onto your face as his body relaxes next to you. “That was so good, Stevie.”

He sighs, hand falling onto his hip and head tilting lazily toward you. Your nipples are still hard under your shirt. “Can we do you now?”

#re: unproofed #guys i need him so bad #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington blurb #stranger things smut #stranger things blurb

[drabblesandimagines]

Cidolfus x fem reader fluff with either sick day or opposites attract 👻🐕

Also just wanted to say your fics are amazing and I'm basically stalking your account almost every day now. With you being one of the only ones making fluffy content for my favourite boys, please keep going. Lots of love, and you deserve all the followers ❤️.

Thank you, lovely! I hope you enjoy <3 Petal Cidolfus Telamon x female (Branded) reader

You’re too hot – a particularly odd sensation as you struggle to recall the last time when you’d felt anything but cold. Spending so many nights sleeping in a drafty chocobo barn had left a permanent chill in your bones.

There’d been a heavy storm a day or so ago when you were on the road to the market – your master took shelter in the carriage and had left you shivering outside on the saturated ground, shackled to one of the large wheels for good measure.

You had made it to Northreach somehow, but hardly the picture of a healthy Bearer who would make good coin. A chesty cough, pale skin, unable to keep focus. Your master was in a foul mood – there hadn’t been an ounce of interest in you at the auction and he was loathed to drag you all the way back without anything to show for it. The market had shut for the evening and so he had moved to the outskirts the opposite side of the town – the mothercrystal of Orinflamme shining in the distance, your arms shackled above your head once more on the carriage’s great wheel in the hopes of flogging you to traders making their way in and out of the town in the early evening.

You no longer had the strength to keep your head held up, your mind fuzzy, so it’s not a surprise that you don’t hear the approaching footsteps until a new, deep voice booms from a few metres away.

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

“You look like a man who appreciates a good deal.” Your master chuckles. “Got a Bearer for sale.”

There’s a gloriously cool, gloved hand placed upon your forehead for what turns out to be too short a moment before it is removed.

“Oh, petal.” A velvety voice tuts sympathetically at you in a murmur – too low for your master’s ears. “She’s burning up with a fever.”

“These Branded always run hot,” is his scoffed response. “She’s good stock, mind. Only a little bit of stiffness about her.” He grabs a fistful of your hair in a harsh grip and yanks your head up, and you blearily take in the stranger who is crouched in front of you.

He reminds you of a lord the way he is dressed - his shirt somewhat open with a large collar, two sword hilts jutting out from his hip, clean shaven and looking remarkably unimpressed at the sight before him. “And you really think you’re going to be able to sell her in this condition?”

“If you’re not interested, I kindly ask you to fuck off.” He shoves your head forward to emphasise his point as he relinquishes the grip on your hair.

“Now, now, no need to be rude - I didn’t say I wasn’t interested.” The stranger gets back up to his feet. “Why are you selling her?”

“Honestly, I could buy a new Branded that won’t give me any lip for farming work. I’m too old for that.”

“Oh, she’s spirited, is she?”

“That’s a word for it. So, are you interested?”

“Hm.” The man reaches for the gil pouch by his side, as if to check its weight. “What’s the price?”

“10,000 gil.”

He whistles. “For a sick, stubborn Bearer?”

“She’s not sick. And I’m sure a young gentleman like yourself would be able to knock the stubbornness out of her. I paid 15,000 for her originally – it’s a bargain.”

If your head wasn’t pounding, your mouth completely dry, you would’ve had something to say about being described as a bargain… but all your energy is focused on breathing.

“Fine.” The mysterious man agrees, pulling off one of his leather gloves and offering his hand.

Your master grabs hold of it eagerly, beaming. “Pleasure doing busi…” But the sentence is cut off as sparks of lightning crackle in the air, blue bolts shooting from the stranger’s hand and up your master’s arm before sparking all over his body.

Your master grunts, drops to the ground, twitching, eyes wide open in your direction.

He’s alive, breathing, but he won’t be getting up again anytime soon.

The mysterious man puts his glove back on and, using his leather boot, gently rolls your master over. He bends down and grabs a bundle of keys that had been attached to his belt before crouching down in front of you once more. You wonder if you’re next.

You tense as a gentle hand cups your cheek, bracing yourself for pain, but it only tilts your head up to meet his eyes. He smiles – sympathetic and kind. “Hello, petal. Name’s Cid. I’d ask you yours, but something tells me you’re not up for much talking right now. I’m going to get you out of these shackles and we’ll find somewhere comfy to rest up for the night. You’re safe with me – you have my word.”

He removes his hand and you manage to keep your head upright, a little in disbelief as he places the key in the lock of one of the shackles and undoes the mechanism, careful to lay your arm down in your lap before repeating the action with the other.

“There we go. I’m going to pick you up now, petal. You just rest.”

He places an arm around your back, another under your knees and gets to his feet with a slight grunt, mumbling about his own knees. The upward motion seems too much to bear, however, and unconsciousness takes over.

--

Isabelle raises an eyebrow at the sight of Cid at her door, you cradled against his chest. She puts her hands on her hips and tuts.

“Cid, it’s not bring your own.”

“Not what it looks like.” He lifts you up, causing your head to lull back and reveal the Brand on your cheek. “Petal’s not well. Any chance of a bed for the evening and we’ll be out of your hair after dawn?”

“Of course.” Isabelle steps back, widening the door to permit Cid entry. “What happened?”

“Some git trying to sell her on the outskirts. He’s taking a little nap. Poor thing’s absolutely frozen.”

“Did anyone see?”

Cid shakes his head. “No. I’d be surprised if he even remembers.”

“Girls,” the Dame calls to a couple of the women hanging by the door – Cid isn’t a stranger to partaking in the delights the Veil has to offer, after all. “Prepare a fire in Cid’s usual room. Extra blankets.”

Cid nods in thanks, heading towards the staircase to a room he knows well.

--

You don’t know what’s real or what is a dream over the next few hours. Fleeting moments of consciousness - a cold compress against your forehead, a rough voice coaxing you to drink something that feels soothing on your throat and warming in your stomach.

You wake up feeling… comfortable? It’s an odd sensation. What would you be on that’s so soft? You open your eyes, confused at the fact that you’re covered in a soft knitted blanket. The room is strange – a bed, a chair and a man standing over the fireplace, rousing the flames higher with a fire poker.

He turns and his eyes widen as he sees you awake and you panic and begin fumbling with the blanket, stuttering out an apology as you try to get up. How did you end up in a bed of all things?

“Easy now,” he holds up his hands in surrender as he takes a cautious step forward. “I meant what I said – you’re safe with me.”

You’ve just managed to disentangle yourself from the blankets, getting up on legs that just about to collapse underneath you. The man is quick to your side, a hand on the small of your back and another around your shoulder, guiding you back down upon the bed.

“Master, I-”

“None of that, petal.” He cuts off your protest. “I am not your master, and, from this day forward, you will never have one again. Pop your legs back up.”

You do so, automatically – an order is an order, no matter how confusing it may be – and he tucks the discarded blanket around you with a satisfied smirk.

“Allow me to introduce myself. Name’s Cid,” he grins, bowing with mock flourish. “May I have the pleasure of yours?”

“I don’t… Where are we?” You ignore his question.

“We’re at The Veil, in Northreach.” The Veil rings a bell in your head and the colour must drain from your cheeks as Cid is quick to try and set your mind at ease. “Not like that - the Dame is a friend of mine, just set us up for the night. You were too ill to travel.”

“Travel?”

Cid nods, sitting down heavily in the chair by your bedside. “Mm-hm. You see, I have a place that’s safe for people like you, where we can live on own own terms…”

Your eyes flicker to his Brandless cheek. “We?”

He smiles.

-------

“Here we go, petal.” Cid smiles as he enters the solar, holding the bottle aloft in triumph. “Tarja thinks you’re over the worst of it, but she’d rather you keep up with the tonics for another few days.”

You shuffle upright, aided by the multitude of pillows Cid had set up at the headboard of the bed, and frown at the prospect – the tonics are horribly bitter due to one of the plants that make up its components. “Really? But I’m feeling so much better…” Your protest falls flat at how hoarse your voice remains.

“Ah-ah,” he chides as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed and proceeds to pop the cork out of the bottle, holding it out in offering. “Good girls take their medicine.”

It is a battle you know you won’t win. With a sigh, you take it from his hand, closing your eyes tightly and down the tonic with a grimace. It’s silly, but sometimes you think you’d rather go through having the Brand removed again that drinking another one of these foul things. “Thank you.” Cid plucks the now empty bottle from your hand and places it down on the side, smiling wistfully at you – it still makes your scalp tingle, even after all these years.  

“What’s that smile for?”

“Just a bit of déjà vu, love.” He wraps his fingers around your hand, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles. “This reminds me of that first wonderful night we spent together.” “How?” Your brow furrows in confusion, thinking back to the night he'd first kissed you in the solar after a successful mission and a glass or two of wine. He laughs. “Not that one.”

“If you’re thinking of the one at The Veil, we have a very different opinion of what counts as wonderful.”

“How can it not have been wonderful, the night you came into this old man’s life? Only difference is, now I can do this,” he leans in to meet your lips in a chaste kiss, withdrawing quickly with a wink at your pout. “There’ll be more when you’re better.”

“But I am be-”

There’s a frantic knock upon the solar door and Cid turns, keeping your hand held in his.

“Come in.”

The door is flung open by an out of breath Gav, face red with exertion. “It’s… time.” He wheezes, leaning on her knees. “Shiva’s on the… field, like.”

“Right…” Cid nods, and you don’t miss the subtle frown as his eyes flick from Gav to you in thought. You squeeze his fingers in unspoken affirmation. “Are you sure?”

“Go. You don’t know when you’ll get another chance.”

He doesn’t need to hear it again. “Gav, tell Goetz to get ready. We’re heading out.”

“On it!” Gav turns and sprints back down the hall towards the staircase, and you squeeze Cid’s fingers once more to gain his attention.

“You’ll be careful, won’t you?” You ask, timidly. His forearms are mottled with petrification now, no matter how much he tries to hide his discomfort from you.

He smirks, patting your thigh through the blanket. “Don’t you worry about me, love. You just concentrate on making sure you’re fully recovered when I return, hm?”

You nod as he gets to his feet with a final squeeze of your hand. He double-checks the belts that sit ever present at his hip and adjusts his gloves ever so slightly – a nervous habit, but not one he’d ever confess. Once satisfied, Cid leans down and presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Behave. I don’t need to tell you that both Charon and Tarja will have no qualms in dragging you back to bed if they see you wandering around.”

You roll your eyes and nod, knowing it’s true - you had remained spirited - and watch as he walks over to the door. He hesitates a moment, leaning his head against the doorframe as he takes one final look.

“I love you, petal.”

You smile, gripping the blankets in absence of his hand. “I love you too, Cid.” --

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

#ghostdogwrites #cid telamon x reader #cidolfus telamon x you #cidolfus telamon x reader #cid x reader #ff16 x reader

[wyvernquill]

Finally some more Dreamling Anastasia AU!

(Obligatory link to the masterpost with all the other posts in this AU - it's also pinned at the top of my blog!)

So, it's been... a while... but I've recently finally got some motivation to write a bit more of this. Apologies to everyone really looking forward to the finale/resolution - I've decided to go all the way back to the start of the story, instead. I hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless!

(Tag list: @10moonymhrivertam @martybaker @globglobglobglobob @anonymoustitans @sunshines-fabulous-legs @dreamsofapiratelife @malice-kingdom - since it's been a, uh, really long time, please let me know if you're no longer interested in this AU/fandom and don't want to be tagged anymore, I won't mind! On the other hand, if someone else would like to be tagged in future updates, please let me know!)

---

“Sister… it’s me.”

The man on the dilapidated theatre’s stage shrugs a heavy, moth-eaten velvet coat off his narrow shoulders. It crumples into a dark semi-circle around him, releasing a dramatic cloud of dust.

“Dream… of the Endless~”

.

“Ah. Hm.” A somewhat fussy older gentleman in the empty space usually reserved for the audience adjusts the small circular glasses on his nose, grimacing in a polite and distinctly English way - which he has, once, after first coming to this realm and taking this form, spent hours practising in the mirror - while checking a long list in front of him. “Mr… Carter, was it…?”

“Oh, please.” The man on stage flicks back his white-streaked bangs. “Call me Hal.”

“Yes. Of course, Mr. Hal.” The gentleman purses his lips. “That was… not, er. Not terrible, I suppose. And we’re pleased to note that you appear to have… brought your own cloak.”

“Don’t get used to it. Zelda and Chantal only let me borrow it for the audition.”

“Well, it is a lovely cloak. Only, ah, while Dream of the Endless was known to have quite striking eyes, I do think that, perhaps a little less eyeliner…”

“I could tone it down, I suppose, but I really think the performance would lose something without the makeup.” Hal sighs melodramatically. “I can sing and dance too, if you need it for your… what is this audition for, actually? Play? Music hall show? Ooo, one of those moving pictures?”

“Er.” The gentleman fidgets with his cane, grass-green eyes flickering around the empty theatre. “Well-”

“Thank you, Hal.” The younger man beside him interrupts with a winning smile that only barely covers the boredom and frustration lining a rather ruggedly handsome face. “We’ll let you know.”

“Hm.” Hal, clearly enough of an old hand in the acting business to know a polite “you’re not getting the role, piss off” when he hears one, frowns, and bends down to gather up the borrowed cloak, stalking off towards stage exit right with his head held high, not deigning either of the two men with even one more look.

“...I really do not think this will work, young Robert.” The older man mutters, decisively striking through Hal Carter’s name on his list. It is the last. “None of them look even remotely like him. And the voice-”

“I know, Gil. I know.” The younger man, Hob - only Gilbert is proper and precise enough to call him Robert - rubs at his temples, as if to stave off a headache. “They never manage to get the voice right, do they.”

“Ah, if it were only that…” Gilbert sighs, setting the list down. His eyes are soft and unfocused, seeing far into a past that has long since been razed to the ground. “His Lordship, he… he had a certain air about him, you understand. An otherworldly strangeness. He was the dream-maker, and dream-made, and to look at him was to gaze upon infinity.”

A soft scoff.

“Even if we claim that he has been greatly reduced by being turned into a meagre human - no offence, dear friend - as long as he does not have some spark of endlessness about him, nobody who has ever met him would fall for the ruse. And we are attempting to con his family. I simply cannot see any viable path to success.”

Hob does not respond, for a moment, picking up one of the flyers on their table.

It reads:

.

SEEKING Actor, slender, pale, tall, dark-haired, in the 20-40 age range to play the role of Dream of the Endless (method actors preferred). Generous pay and further benefits await. Auditions each weekday at 6pm at the Old Whickber Street Theatre, Soho. Ask for Hob and Gil.

.

“We’ll find him.” Hob insists. “The perfect pretender. He’s out there, I just know it.”

“We are not the first fools who have attempted a, a caper of this sort.” Gil points out, almost gently. “None of the others ever succeeded.”

“Yes. Well. None of the others managed to find and correctly identify the late Dream’s own pouch of genuine dream-sand on sale at the black market.” Hob shoots back, gesturing at the cord just barely peeking out from under Gil’s collar. (They’ve decided it would be safer if Hob comes into contact with the sand as little as possible, and Gilbert has taken to carrying it as closely to his heart as he can manage.) “It’s hard evidence, Gil, it’s a sign, it’s our chance - and it might just be enough. The trick with a good con is really making it look like you’re giving the mark exactly what they desperately want… and there’s nothing in the world Death of the Endless wants more than to have her brother back.”

.

(She wants it so desperately, in fact, that she’s offering immortality to any sentient being who manages to procure Dream for her.

And, well.

There’s nothing in the world Hob wants more than to live forever…)

.

“Your word in- or, well, kept out of Destiny’s ears, young friend.” Gil sighs, collecting his lists and notes and the remaining flyers, tucking them into his coat and reaching for his cane. “In the meantime, how about we go down to the public house and have a bit of a snifter to wash away the memories of all those atrocious performances, eh, my lad?”

“Best idea you had all day, Gil.” Hob grins, clapping a hand on Gilbert’s shoulder. “Are you buying?”

Gilbert raises one grey brow. “At the risk of provoking a joke regarding my non-human status: in your dreams, Robert.”

Hob laughs; and, together, they step out into the winter night, old snow crunching under their shoes and new flakes beginning to drift, gradually, down from the sky.

.

.

.

It has been a decade since the end of the Endless’ reign.

Ten years since humanity tore Destiny’s book from his hands and burned it.

Ten years since Destruction abandoned his siblings, hiding away in his own, separate exile. 

Ten years since Despair’s first aspect was killed, and another took her place.

Ten years since Delight went mad with grief and became Delirium…

.

And ten years since Dream of the Endless was captured, bound, turned human, and killed.

.

People still whisper about it. Still speculate, trade gossip and hearsay back and forth. Some insist that the Dream King yet lives, hidden away, turned human, just biding his time, waiting for an opportunity to return to his siblings.

It’s a lovely legend, Hob supposes. A fitting end and non-end, for the Lord of Stories, to live on in one… but that’s all it is. A pretty tale, which will breathe new life into a myth only for as long as it’s being told. It isn’t true…

…but now, ten years later, Hob and Gil will damn well make it so.

.

.

.

Ten years is also, coincidentally, all that a man a few streets down from the old theatre can remember of his life.

Ten years since he was found, naked and emaciated and bleeding, in a ditch next to some countryside road in East Sussex.

Ten years of fighting his way through a life in poverty, with no family, no friends, no-one to care for him, except perhaps the birds.

Ten years of strange and haunting dreams, blurred faces calling out to him with names he can never remember later but knows are his; ten years of waking every morning with tears on his face and a longing for someplace - and someones - he wishes he could remember; ten years of a woman’s voice begging him night after night to come home to her, to them.

.

Ten years of being much too busy starving and freezing and barely surviving to spare even a single thought to the dying legends of the Endless.

.

This man turns his face up to the sky, snowflakes catching in his dark hair and on his coat like stars glinting in the night; and he shivers, his breath clouding mist-white in the air, curling thin arms around a narrow torso.

(For a moment, just a moment, his eyes glow dark and infinite, a mirror to the night sky and the endless universe beyond.)

And then, he ducks his head down into his scarf, shivers again, and continues on through the snow.

Ten hard years have taught this man better than to waste his time standing about and daydreaming.

#WyWrites #dreamling #the sandman #anastasia dreamling au #it's been 84 years...... #i've got a rough draft of a scene or two after this too #endlessly busy with uni of course #and getting back into Good Omens my old love #but i've been feeling like dabbling with this au again lately so why not #and i just HAD to give you Hal doing the iconic coat drop scene #he would have been iconic as drag Dream of the Endless just saying #Hob and Gil are missing out #and the first glimpse of Murphy... I can see it in my mind's eye so clearly #him looking up at the sky with the stars in his eyes and the snow in his hair #and Death forever calling out to him in her sleep #gosh have i missed this au #can't guarantee too much more #but a few more bits are definitely in the works!

[clavissionary-position]

Gilbert vs. Azel

(crack but also contains some main story and sequel route spoilers)

Azel: (standing saint-like and unbothered at the end of Gilbert’s pointed cane)

Azel: And now that you’ve learned that little factoid, feel free to donate this—(skewers a receipt onto the cane)—exact amount to me. You know my contact information, right?

Azel: [email protected]. I’m telling you that free of charge, of course. It’s common knowledge, but it’s okay to be embarrassed if you didn’t know.

Gilbert: Hehe. As it happens, all of your other contact information is also common knowledge. (Retracts his cane to glance at the receipt) To me, anyway.

Azel: I’m happy for you. That means there’s no need to send any more rando princes to my country. It must be gratifying for a mortal to be so creepy, I mean knowledgeable.

Gilbert: Oh no! I’m not the one mystically window-watching into every bedroom ever, am I, Mister [email protected]?

Azel: May I ask why you seem so envious about that? Your current god complex isn’t lacking by any means.

Gilbert: Well, as you know, you can never know too much. Hehe.

Azel: You’d be surprised. By the way I also charge interest on any pledged donations that aren’t paid off in a timely manner. You will find my rates are completely reasonable.

Gilbert: For a prince.

Azel: For a man with eclectic means.

Gilbert: Ah. (smile deepens) While I’m not Silvio, it’s not a bad idea to attack me through my investments. But unfortunately for you, I don’t pay any bills I can’t read.

Azel: Tsk, tsk. It’s not a good look to lie to an omniscient character.

Gilbert: (pouts) I’m not lying. I mean, this handwriting is pen vomit. It looks like a tiny animal tried to imitate what it thinks a human being writes like.

Azel: (maintains his generous smile even though his eye is twitching) I wrote the receipt out in front of you not even ten seconds ago. Had I known you suffered from such catastrophic lapses in memory, I’d have gone to Prince Chevalier first.

Gilbert: Ahaha! Maybe you should have. He’d have ended this conversation much earlier. With much more blood.

Azel: (grimace) I’m happy we can agree on that much, at least. So in the interest of parting ways as soon as possible… (points at the receipt)

Gilbert: How shameless. So you think you get to order an Obsidianite prince around? I almost admire your foolhardy levels of courage. But I think there’s something that needs to be made clear.

Gilbert: Tigers, you see, are at the top of the food chain. They answer to no man. No god.

Gilbert: Sometimes to bunnies, but that’s the exception, not the rule.

Azel: I don’t contest that. But unicorns, you see…

Azel: (appears to glow under the mid-day sun) …are not even on the food chain.

Azel: (eyes sparkling) They prance-fly in their own pastel dimension, unfettered by this world’s foolish ways and uncivilized biologies.

Gilbert: Hehe, that’s a creative way of saying you’ve noped out of reality.

Azel: (under his breath) Your face is a creative way of saying ‘punch me’.

Gilbert: Hm? What was that?

Azel: (saintly smile) Nothing, nothing. Just praying for you.

Azel: (scribbles an extra surcharge to the receipt) You’re learning so many new things today, Gil. I’m sure you’ll achieve a grown-up’s level of knowledge long before you reach a grown-up’s level of physical stature.

Gilbert: You know, you shouldn’t directly plagiarize insults from whatever is popular at the moment. If it’s too mainstream, it loses its bite.

Gilbert: (dramatic shrug) I really thought a living god would be much more inspired than that, but I guess I was wrong.

Azel: I have better things to do with my time than murder normies, stalk bunnies, and brainstorm funnies.

Gilbert: Are you sure about that? That second point, I mean. A little bunny told me about some very interesting dreams she’s been having as of late.

Azel: (serious expression) I’m glad you brought that up. Can you tell your pet to quit stalking me? I’m a very busy man and I have no interest in starting a harem.

Gilbert: (tilts his head with an evil smile) Tell her yourself.

Azel: …..?

That night in the rosy dream world…

Azel: Oh, goddammit, not this goddamn stupid dream again! (kicks one of the columns) Urgh, that hurts!

Emma: Um, A….zel? Oh hey, I remembered your name this time! Azel, are you here today?

Azel: Of course I’m here. If I’m here, you’re here. If you’re here, I’m here. If you have a cure, I’m all ears.

Emma: Aw, that’s a cute poem.

Azel: Shut-up.

Emma: Right, anyway, I’m sorry about this. (points a gun at him)

Azel: …

Azel: …….

Azel: (watches the crystalized rose on the table begin to rot)

Azel: (sighs)

Azel: Does he want a discount on the bill, is that what this is about?

Emma: (realizes what she’s pointing and scampers to put the gun away) Oh shi… I’m sorry!

Crystalized Rose: (goes back to being uwu)

Emma: I meant to hold out my hand in a truce!

Azel: Truce? I don’t remember being at war with you.

Emma: Apparently we are? Stuff gets twisted around in Gil’s head all the time. Although usually there’s at least a grain of truth to it. But basically I’ll stop stalking your dreams if you stop stalking mine. I don’t know how, but I figure this is a good start.

Emma: (looks up at the dreamy clouds) See, Gil? We’re talking it out. Stop strapping your gun to my thigh while I sleep, please? It tickles and it makes me want to pee!

Azel: This is our dream. He can’t hear you.

Emma: I know, but I heard that if you shout stuff in your dreams, it's more likely you'll remember it when you wake up.

Emma: AZEL IS DEFINITELY THE GUY WE'RE TRYING TO TAKE DOWN IN THE CURRENT STORY ARC!

Emma: I NEED TO STOP CASUALLY TELLING HIM NATIONAL SECRETS!

Azel: (covering his ears) You're the reason I wake up with seven hundred bags under my eyes.

Emma: So... truce?

Azel: Yeah, sure, truce, whatever. (goes to shake her hand)

Emma: (points gun at him again) I'm sorry, I can't let you actually physically touch my hand or Gil will literally kill you.

Azel: THIS IS A DREAM WORLD

Azel: I’m not even going to tell you that your love is cursed. Your entire man is cursed.

#ikemen prince #ikepri spoilers #ikepri gilbert spoilers #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri azel #incorrect quote folder

[lwh-writing]

Girl Genius Reaction #2

Hi, hey, been a hot second since I've done one of these but here we go!

I love that the Heterodyne boys have been elevated to this almost folklore-like state where everyone's got a story about them that ranges from "mostly true" to "entirely made up"

Also, Gil's Dad was adventure buddies with the Heterodynes???? I know Theo said he made the story up, but considering it was shown to us like a flashback, I assume there is at least a few kernels of truth to it all

I think I clocked the possible Von Pinn connection. As all the students claim Von Pinn is modeled off of and/or secretly Lucrezia Mongfish (whoever the hell that is), and Lucrezia was name-dropped in Theo's story/flashback and on the receiving end of one of the Heterodyne's love confessions, I'm assuming Von Pinn is thus modeled off of and/or secretly Agatha's mother or aunt. I wonder if that'll ever come up later. Either way, it's nice to know I'm not crazy for thinking Von Pinn and Agatha looked way too similar

Also, I know Agatha probably took the chance to change out of the pants and into a more comfortable skirt while Theo had everyone distracted, but I kind of like the idea that she can just randomly and inexpensively modify her clothes at will with no one noticing

The Baron being concerned about the hive engine being "eighteen years old or brand new?" really caught my attention. Larger scope villain entering the chat? 👀

Theo & co. running into Gil and there's an obvious disconnect about whom hasn't kept in touch with whom, re: Gil saying they'd only ever come to him if they need something vs. Theo saying Gil hasn't answered any of their letters. Betting money that the Baron has been withholding Gil's mail and trying to isolate him for whatever reason.

Whomst is Othar Tryggvassen? Hello? Random man just suspended over the void, every limb chained, giant green globe on his head? WTF???

I do love Agatha's reaction though. "Is it right to leave a fellow sentient strung up like this?" "Well, that depends upon the nature of the experiment..." I love this mad scientist so much

I'm also really loving the Jaegers (Jaegerkin? Jaegermonsters?). They're all so full of personality. And the tension with the Lackya is very delicious

Love the Jaegerkin generals inviting Agatha to supper, saying "It's good, no bugs!" only for another general to say in the most dejected voice "...no bugs?" 🥺

Also, it looks like the Jaegers are officially figuring out that Agatha's a Heterodyne! Gil may believe/know Agatha is a Spark (has the Spark?), but the Jaegers are the only ones connecting the dots to the Heterodyne question. Wonder if they'll tell someone or keep it to themselves.

Also, Jaegers playing matchmaker? "What do you think of the young master?" "What kind of question is that?" "Well it would make things really simple if--" What's their angle there? Hm....

Speaking of ships, I am sending Andre the Jaegermonster to horny jail. I'm with Agatha; Von Pinn doesn't sound interested

Flashback with Uncle Barry was very cute. He obviously didn't want to repress Agatha's powers, but it was probably a matter of safety

Agatha sleep-inventing is very cool, but why's her little sentient robot(s) hiding from her?

Von Zinzer is giving some insight on the larger world. Apparently, there's a series of wars going on? I know the Baron is a ruler and is keeping the school kids as hostages, but I didn't know it's a continuous conquest of what seems to be Europe.

Also, side note, do we ever see the rest of the world? Africa, Asia, Australia, North & South America? I know deep in my bones that this world's version of China would fuck severely.

Dr. Dim and his bears are also very cute. Loved the moment between him and Agatha

The fight between Von Zinzer & Agatha was very fun. As was Gil hiring Agatha on the spot. The friendship is growing!

And finally, the talking cat! My oh my, how will this go from here? It's very obviously sentient, and based on the website's banner, a main character to boot. But what is it? A chimera? A rogue experiment? Someone trapped in a cat's body? Guess I'll find out

Overall: Still really liking the story! It's got me hooked so far and it's building really well on the premise. The story is still obviously finding its footing, but it's still good!

Continued 7.5/10

#girl genius #first read through

[kicktwine]

again. AGAIN!!! This time everyone worries quite a lot

••

Nothing of note had happened. 

Or at least, Alisaie didn’t think anything of note had or was currently happening, she mostly thought things like “I’m glad I don’t have to deal with whatever this Hancock fellow is talking about now” and “How much Gil would it take to ship this back to Sharlyan?” and “By the Twelve, there is no way dignitaries can talk for this long” and things of the sort.

Until, of course, she notices that her brother is not among the long-chattering crowd currently taking up most of the East Aldenaard Trading Company office, like she thought. In fact, he hasn’t spoken in minutes, which is firstly unusual. He instead grasps her hand to arrest her attention and tugs, eyes straight forward. 

“Alisaie,” Alphinaud says tightly, “We need to go outside.”

“What? Why?”

“Please.”

Alisaie frowns. Her brother does not say “please” to her that way. “Alright. Should I leave the bags here or take them?”

“Leave. Or — i-it doesn’t matter. Either.” 

He keeps a tight hand on his, so copying the notion Alisaie brings the goods she’s procured from the Ruby Bazaar as a useful excuse for why they leave so quickly. She throws a quick “Be right back!” at Tataru, and allows her brother to escape the office and take, instead of leaving the area entirely — which probably rules out an attack or something, seeing as he also didn’t try to get Tataru to come with? Or anyone else — take a sharp right at the stairs and nearly collapse directly on the damp grass underneath the porch and out of sight. 

Alisaie’s ears flatten against her head as a sudden spike of fear hits her right in the chest and sinks there. She drops her bags and darts under the porch to press her hand against his forehead. “Are you alright?! What’s wrong? Alphinaud?”

“Fine! Fine,” he says, righting himself — then leaning against the foundation, trying to find something even slightly comfortable. He pulls his knees in. “Just need— I,” he sucks in a tight breath. 

“Should— should I send for someone?”

Alphinaud shakes his head violently. He’s given up on speaking, wholly focused on taking heavy, short breaths curled up against the rock. Something is wrong, though, not fine, he’s acting like he’s sick or injured or, something, or,

Alisaie wants to call for someone anyways. Ch’ari is not here, off doing errands on completely different continents. Maybe Tataru would know what to do — she’s always been resourceful, and she’d peel away from the conversation in an instant if she told her. Stubbornness is a family trait, he could be hurt. But should she leave him? What if — she almost hits her head on the underside of the porch — what if something happens? She should have kept her linkpearl, Garlean intercession be damned—

Alphinaud grasps at her, vaguely, arm still tight to his side. She abandons her train of thought and darts in next to him, as if they were children under a blanket after lights had gone out, huddling under a porch. 

“Five minutes,” Alphinaud whispers, with no less than all the voice he can muster. 

Alisaie doesn’t like this. “Okay. If you do not recover in five minutes, I’m getting Tataru.”

A tiny nod, and he puts his hands atop his head and becomes a tight ball. Alisaie really doesn’t like this. 

Waiting, that is. Waiting around for something to stop. Or get better. Waiting is for people with no plan, with no solution, and she needs a plan. It is not a good five minutes, listening to her brother wheeze through his teeth as if strangled and trying not to skip seconds on her watch and feeling as if maybe there are ants on this grass (there are none).

But true to his word, as he always is, Alphinaud’s breathing slows, and calms, slowly, and he pulls his head off of his knees and leans backwards to take in the cool night air of Kugane. 

“…Are you alright?” Alisaie asks, once she has studied him for a reaction. 

“Mm-hm.”

“What was that?”

Her brother chances a thin look in her direction, his expression doing a funny jolt between relieved and worried at her own, and then seemingly getting too worked up and looking away again to breathe correctly. She must look like a timid mouse. And it’s only in the shelter of the porch that she admits she feels like one. 

“I’m sorry,” Alphinaud starts. “I didn’t… mean to scare you.”

“You would have scared me less had I known you weren’t dying. …Right? You’re not, right?”

“No, no, I promise. No dying. Just…” He takes breaks to make sure he’s still breathing. “Sick. For a moment.”

“How?”

Alphinaud takes his head off the rocky foundation and begins to fiddle with his gloves. At least this is a sign of normalcy, something that makes Alisaie adjust her own position — she hadn’t realized how tense she was — to listen. 

“I’m… sure there’s another word for it. But Ari calls it memory sickness.”

Alisaie’s eyebrows furrow, but she lets him continue. “He explained… how did he say it. That if something bad happens, sometimes the memory that contains that event — or, an object from the event, or something of that nature, can become tainted. And it can fester, if it isn’t paid attention to, so when the memory resurfaces, it can… You can get sick.”

“From a memory? How?” Then, “…Has something happened?”

Alphinaud shifts uncomfortably. He hasn’t — Alisaie realizes, he has only told her an abridged version of whatever he was up to in Ishgard, whatever explained his drastic shift in personality. It hadn’t bothered her before, quite the opposite actually she was very pleased and a bit smug and a bit proud and a bit worried, because her own shift from flat anger to full purpose was… riddled with events she would rather not recall, but now she’s more than a bit worried. 

“Nothing I am able to discern fully,” he lies. She frowns, and almost chases it, but she can still feel his breathing against the side of her chest, so… she will let it go until she’s certain he’s no longer ill. And if it comes from a memory, further prodding may hurt more than help. She will remember it, though. “What is it like, then?”

His head tilts into his hand. “Ari says for him it is more like he thinks he’s inside it, and he can’t get it to stop. The memory is so strong he feels sensations that are not real. But, um— he’s figured out how to feel the memory hit him. So he knows to leave before it makes him sick and he can recover in private. That is why he disappears with no explanation, at times. For me… I don’t know. I cannot tell what is causing it, nor can I think of any specific memory that has fouled. Mayhap I need to pay more attention. But I just become ill like this, as if I were in battle. And then it passes. Eventually.”

Alisaie buries her own chin in hand, sorting through this. “Does it happen immediately?”

“I don’t think so? It builds. That is probably why I can’t pin down what causes it. It has only occurred twice,” Alphinaud admits, quietly. 

“Well. What happened today? Mayhap you can narrow it down. We’ve been gathering souvenirs and repairs for the past hours,” Alisaie begins, stronger now that there’s something solid to puzzle out. 

“Dinner was par for the course, Ch’ari took the entire teapot for himself yet again and the food was wonderful. Those dignitaries inside were quite dismissive, and rather crowded in there. The Bazaar was busy as well — there was that man who tried to sell you a necklace thinking you were me. He was altogether too handsy and I should have kicked him for it. Should I have kicked him for it?”

“No,” Alphinaud says, a weak laugh behind the words. “No, violence is disallowed, remember? I value my sister over petty revenge.”

“We have evaded capture once, we could do it again,” Alisaie sniffs. “But that is not what bothered you?”

Alphinaud drops his chin onto his knees again. “Any number of things could have caused it. Maybe all.”

��Oh.” Her ears lower. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure how to help.”

“You are helping. Very much. And I greatly appreciate you being here with me, even if I pulled us out of the office without explaining.”

Alisaie leans herself against him, short and forceful. “If you think I’d abandon my dying brother, you’ve lost it entirely.”

“I am not dying,” Alphinaud snorts. “I am, however… a bit damp, now. And not bereft of embarrassment.”

Alisaie notices, finally, that the wet grass has soaked through her coattails and into her skirt somewhat. “Ah.” Alphinaud, too, must have a damp patch down his back and legs from his position against the ground. “Well, there is no shame in staying out a bit longer. Tataru won’t come for us for at least twenty minutes.” 

She stands, brushing dew and grass off of herself. “Come on, then.”

Alphinaud takes her hand and heaves himself up, nearly hitting his head on the porch. “We can walk a moment.”

••

“Ch’ari.”

The Miqo’te tilts his head in her direction, indicating that he’s listening. Alisaie tries not to let her breath in shudder. 

“When you spoke to Alphinaud about his memory sickness, what did you tell him?”

Ch’ari, ever perceptive, gets to the point she was trying not to dodge around with a concerned tail twitch. “Do you feel sick?”

“No.” 

He tilts his head the other way and studies her. She folds her arms and looks up at him, normally as possible, the Doman morning just cold enough to seep through the bones. 

Ch’ari knows, he knows she’s overly worried, and he’s not good at hiding how much he wants to do something about it. But how could you not be? And how is Hien so calm? If your brother went wholly missing not only in Garlean territory but in the middle of a wasteland of nothingness, with no one but himself and maybe — she doesn’t fully trust Maxima, they don’t know him — maybe one ally, maybe none, hunted down by the crown prince who doesn’t stop even without an Ascian in his skin Zenos doesn’t stop hunting until his quarry is dead or — she needs to stop thinking in front of Ch’ari. 

Said cat folds his arms and hums. “Your brother has about as much courage as he does fear of simple things. When I explained it to him, he mentioned that it was not entirely fear that caused him to fall apart, it was mostly a sense of wrongness.” He gestures with one claw. “It happens without your consent. It isn’t a sign of weakness to be beset upon by illness such as this.”

“I never said it was,” Alisaie says, becoming very interested in her sleeve. “I just… Want to know how he got rid of it so quickly. My brother is on my mind, if you were unaware.”

At least the attempt at humor causes Ch’ari‘s shoulders to relax, a half-smile causing a fang to poke out from under his lip. “I couldn’t tell.”  

He considers his words for but a moment. “Nali taught me a sequence. Firstly, you must recognize what your soul wants to do. Run and hide? Fight? Then, you must let it, but not let it at your objective. Give it a false target to exhaust itself on. For example — I often think I must either fight or hide. And so I have a terribly battered training dummy in my apartment that I allow myself to hurt.” He stops, and waits. For her. 

Alisaie plays along, at least for now. The walkthrough is more important than her posturing, and so she considers it. And after considering, she concludes that it is decidedly not that specific. She feels antsy, like moving, like yelling for someone to fix it. Like stealing a falcon and searching herself. As if her soul is beginning to shiver. “I… I don’t know. I just want to go after him before something happens.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to try running.”

“Right. Doma is big enough.”

“I’ll accompany you, then.” Ch’ari straightens, casting his lance into the impossibly deep fist-sized pocket bag he carries around his waist. Where he got the thing, Alisaie never figured out. “But, before— before we go, another word of advice. Sometimes, despite preventing it, you will get sick anyways.” He gently pokes her in the shoulder. “Like anything else. No matter the medicine, if you have the stomach flu, you might still vomit.”

“Gross.”

“Very. If you do get sick, all you need do is sit and wait. Breathe slowly. Do not focus on anything else. And it will pass soon enough.”

“Hmm.” More waiting. Taking laps sounds like a better option by the second. Alisaie remembers sitting with Alphinaud, however - the way his chest heaved in place and his shivers that passed him in waves. There is likely wisdom in staying still, at that point. She hopes she never experiences it. She hopes he’s not sick. Anything could have happened. Maxima could not possibly know all of this, could he? 

Like reading her mind, Ch’ari pulls out a pair of daggers and closes his bag. “I am proud of you for holding it together,” he mentions, affixing them to his belt. “With Alphinaud’s temperament and your rather knightly tendencies, I half feared you’d be gone already.”

She exhales, focusing instead on lacing her boots. “Yes, well. I have always been less prone to illness than he is.”

“Full glass am I for that. Not that I dislike caring for — well. I’m just glad you’re alright. If we keep our heads on, we will find him soon enough. Shall we race?”

“Where?”

“Mmm. How about that tree?” He points — they have not explored much of the Doman enclave’s surroundings as of yet, and the tree in question rests on a high hill far in the distance. Plenty far to wear herself out. 

“Deal.” She takes off. 

(“Are you feeling any better?”

“No. But… less antsy, I suppose.”

“Good! Good.”)

•• authors note i suppose?? — Ari is conflating a number of mental illnesses, including PTSD and anxiety, all of which share the vague symptom “freak out and shut down due to a trigger of some kind”. I can’t imagine a nomadic tribe or a band of pirates has devoted the resources to mental health, and while I’m sure Sharlyan has picked the topic apart in full, I’m less sure they have a robust and considerate education program about it. Nanali, at least, comes from a large family with chronicled history, and taught Ari the term “memory sickness”. 

I also don’t headcanon Alphy as having anxiety — you can have a panic attack or something similar without having a panic disorder, hence the nomenclature, and when you do, it’s probably a good idea to take the advice of the ones who have them often. He had a bad one early-hw, which scared him half to death and prompted Ari to open up about it. This time it was, like, almost random, but a few too many things happened too fast, and he should have sat down twenty minutes ago but didn’t recognize the warning bells. Alisaie either! She just needs to recognize when she’s starting to get overwhelmed, and already has the “go fast” coping method, but can apply in the short term too in maybe a slightly healthier way. They’re such worried little raccoons and I can’t blame them, not when they’re 16 and they hang out with Me, but auough. Help the

#my writing #ffxiv #yes… YES! the writers block is being defeated #And I only have fluffy comfort nonsense coming out. ah well it’s cute to me #alphinaud leveilleur #alisaie leveilleur #wol oc #ch’ari #it’s not like I get excessively protective of younger siblings or anything. In media. Its not like this happens to me #oH #stormblood spoilers #or patch 4.3-4 spoilers #This one is about the vague notion of panic

[cositapreciosa]

Five yards

Gilbert 'Gilly' Lopez x ex-army!reader, (just cute and fluff, strong language, this one is a female reader (being called Aunty, mention of female anatomy)) the usual for the show, 1243 words

a/n : sorry to every request in my inbox, it's Gillito hour all day every day. Can be read as a second part to this fic but it is not necessary to read it to enjoy this one ! Part 2 of You & Me can be read here

Hi babes it's me again 🙃 please continue to make me go Gilly crazy ily @narcolini @drabbles-mc

‘’ I don’t think this is a good idea, Gil. ‘’

The helmet doesn’t even fit you properly, and he had tried to tighten the straps, but the fibreglass still feels loose on your head. Jacob had been begging you to try Gil’s motorcycle the whole day after he had finally taken him around the block for a small ride. Please, please, please, Aunty! It’s so fun, you have to do it! And how could you say no to him, with his big brown eyes, his curly hair, pouting lips. He’s standing at the end of the driveway, jumping up and down as he waits for you to start the bike. Gil’s hands are still working on the left strap, warm fingers brushing under your chin.

‘’ Come on, ‘’ he says, ‘’ It’s only the driveway, that’s like, what, five yards? ‘’

Five yards too many in your opinion.

‘’ I think I’m gonna have a panic attack and die. I’m serious. ‘’

He burst out laughing at that, unstoppable, like this is the joke of the century, and he has to take a step back and put his hands on his knees to recover.

‘’ It’s not funny, Gilbert. This kid is too damn cute for his own good. I can’t say no to him. ‘’

He hms, pulling you closer by the belt to loop the helmet’s straps a final time.

‘’ Now you know what it’s like to have you around. ‘’

You tsk at that, stabbing his rib with your finger for good measure. You weren’t that bad, right? Of course he liked to have you around, told you every morning when he would put a hot coffee mug in your hand. Today again? He would ask. Today again, you would respond. Every night before bed, when he would warm up the small of your back with his fingers, breathing the words into your mouth. Tomorrow? He would ask. Just for tonight, you would answer.

‘’ Well I can always steal your bike and leave, I bet that would change your mind real quick- Why are you looking at me like that? ‘’

Longing, soft. You know what you could mistake it for, and you don’t want the idea to even cross your mind. You hate that it makes your insides vibrate, your chest pulling with a feeling you can’t quite put a finger on. You know you are already in too deep, but you can’t seem to leave, you don’t want to. He shakes his head.

‘’ Stop whining, you’re using the bike. ‘’

‘’ I’m gonna fall and you’re gonna be mad at me for scratching the paint. ‘’

One of his hand press underneath your rib, pushing you towards the motorcycle. You’ll have to think twice next time when you tell Jacob that everyone can ride something with two wheels.

‘’ Which is why you won’t fall. You’re telling me fully armed tanks are easy-peasy, but a small bike is the end of the world? ‘’

‘’ Don’t be mean. ‘’ You press a finger to his chest, deciding to slide it slowly down his sternum, ‘’ Beside, if you show me mercy, maybe I could… ‘’

‘’ What is taking so long ! ‘’

You groan, the suggestion dying with the sound. Jacob runs up the entryway, squeezing between the two of you so he could talk to you face to face.

‘’ You don’t have to be scared, I’ll catch you at the end if you fall. ‘’

‘’ That’s… Very thoughtful, champ, thank you. ‘’

He is easily convinced by your answer, quickly running back to his post next to the mailbox. Gil is standing tall in front of you, stepping forward once more until there are only inches between you.

‘’ You’re shaking your leg again. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. ‘’

Easier said than done, even if you stopped the movement to please him, you can still feel your toes wiggling in your shoe. He is so close you can smell his cologne, see the sunburn that paints the bridge of his nose, his cheeks.

‘’ Fuck off, you won’t let me see the end of it if I don’t do it. ‘’

He rolls his eyes and laughs, weaving an arm behind your back to pull you even closer.

‘’ Beside… ‘’ He begins, mocking your previous words, ‘’ If you do it, it’d be super hot. ‘’

‘’ Fucking hell, Gil. You know what, maybe I should do it then. ‘’

‘’ Really? ‘’

‘’ Not at all. I’ll just bite the bullet and let Jacob call me a pussy or something. ‘’

Jacob calls for you again, both arms waving, jumping up and down. You had enjoyed learning how to live with them, a weird makeshift family for the time being. You gladly dropped and picked him up for school while his mom went to work, starting dinner and helping with homework before Gil would come home. It could get lonely at times, in the middle of the day, with no work and no responsibilities, but you had learned to enjoy it still, soaking in the calmness of it all, heart bursting when Gil would come home for lunch so you could have it together. Your hand raises up to his shoulder, playing with the collar of his shirt, anything to keep your fingers busy.

‘’ Could I just roll down instead? I don’t really need to start up the thing, do I? ‘’

He coughs in his hand, failing to mask his smile, ‘’ Pussy. ‘’

‘’ Well you won’t be getting any, that’s for sure. ‘’

He rolls his eyes in response. You are straddling the bike as Jacob cheers for you from the distance. Gil’s foot comes under your heel, pushing the metal leg up. He keeps the motorcycle balanced as he shows you where to put your feet, where to press the break when you arrive at the bottom, how to steer if needed, and to ‘for the love of God’ not go front wheel first in the neighbour’s car.

‘’ You want a good-luck kiss? ‘’ He says as he ends the lesson.

‘’ Oh come on, I think I’ll be fine. ‘’

His thumb raises up to smooth the frown line between your brows, trying to whisk away that attitude of yours, the rebellious streak that even the army hadn’t been able to straighten out. He is still laughing though, completely unbothered by your childlike behaviour. He gives you one nonetheless. A warm, soft kiss that makes you thankful that he's the one balancing the bike. You can barely hear the calls of ew’s and disgusting’s coming from the street over the sound of your beating heart. He lets go after a few seconds, his hand wrapped around your bicep to keep you steady as the metal creaks back. He smiles, wide, cheek dimples showing.

You love it when he does it, it suits him, a ray of sunshine in the clouds that is your mind. Just today, just today, just- He brings you out of it as he pecks your lips one more time, bringing your focus back to him, to here, with them. Panic washes out of you in a way it has never before, quickly and forgotten, as fast as it had taken its hold on you. He takes a step back.

‘’ Come on, ‘’ He smiles, ‘’ Go get it, baby. ‘’

Baby.

#gilly lopez x you #gilly x reader #gilly lopez x reader #mayans mc imagine #mayans imagines #mayans fanfic #mayans imagine #gilly lopez

[sweetteaanddragons]

Rings of Power Thoughts

Not particularly spoilery, but under a cut, just in case. Highly disorganized.

Visuals are beautiful.

The Elves

"We had no word for death." Highly poetic Galadriel, but your step-grandmother is rolling in her grave. And your uncle is presumably about ready to rise from his and fight you about it.

So Sauron's history is going to be really different, huh. And so is Finrod's.

. . . Not sure I like that. Give me Beren and Finrod's heroic shenanigans, people.

But we did get cool First Age flashbacks, which was nice.

(Oath flashback! YES!)

"You will not be permitted to attend the meeting. Elf Lords only."

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry, what?

If Elrond - heir to just about every elvish house they've got left - isn't elf lord enough for this meeting, then I assume Gil-Galad is just. Talking into the mirror, because if Elrond isn't lord enough for this meeting, then no one short of the high king is going to be.

I do love that Elrond's Gil-Galad's speechwriter, though.

"You're my friend, Galadriel!"

Cousin. The word you are looking for is cousin.

(I am aware that with the rights situation, how much of this they can reference is up in the air, but I do not actually care.)

"Are you familiar with the works of Lord Celebrimbor?"

His cousin, Celebrimbor? Last heir to the house that was, uh. Instrumental to shaping his childhood? That Celebrimbor?

Yeah, I think Elrond's familiar.

I do like this Celebrimbor's ambition, though. Even if he does talk about Feanor like it's not his grandfather he's talking about.

That is not how sailing West works. Not even a little.

(Galadriel: The only thing keeping me from sailing West is my duty.)

(The Valar: Uh. Sure. Also that ban we put on you, but we can call it your duty if you like.)

(Gil-Galad: I'm giving you an unparalleled honor: you're sailing West!)

(The Valar: Like we explicitly asked everyone but the leaders of the rebellion to do?)

(Elrond: I can't imagine the honor of being called to go!)

(Elrond. Elrond, darling. Everyone in the west would have loved it if you sailed at the end of the First Age. You stayed quite deliberately. Elrond. Elrond, please.)

Galadriel, I support your desire to stay, but I think abandoning ship that far out is actually just a great way to get to Aman the hard way.

The Harfoots

I love the Harfoots so far, especially Nori and Poppy!

If meteor man is Gandalf, I think that's a great introduction to the hobbits. If meteor man is Sauron, then I desperately need Bilbo to somehow find out about the wheelbarrow scene and immortalize it in song.

Easily my favorite part of the show so far.

The Dwarves

Durin's children are adorable.

I - hm. Durin himself is complicated. I like the character as a dwarvish prince, but I'm not sure I like him as Durin.

Also, his whole thing with Elrond is . . . kind of weird. I like the emphasis on the elves' different perceptions of time, but it feels weird to do that with ELROND of all people. Half-elven Elrond. Brother chose to be mortal Elrond.

Speaking of which, given Elrond's canonical brother and what canonically happened to him, I feel like "practically a brother to me" is a phrase Elrond wouldn't throw around lightly.

(And speaking of weird phrasing, Celebrimbor's metaphor about aging parents feels weird from an elf. Not impossible, given he's met mortals, but jarring.)

And going back to Durin . . . it feels very odd that if he wanted Elrond at his wedding or to meet his children, that he wouldn't have, like. Sent a letter? And if he did, it seems like Elrond would have had a much clearer idea going in what Durin was upset about. Communication seems to have broken down on both sides there.

Although given the ending of the episode, maybe there's more to it than that?

Arondir and Bronwyn

I like Arondir a lot, and I'm very intrigued by that storyline in general. Except . . .

I'm concerned about Bronwyn's son. I hate corruption/possession arcs.

Conclusion:

I am definitely intrigued enough to keep watching, but their treatment of the lore occasionally had me screaming into a pillow. I almost want to write a scene where book!elves pull some of that dialogue on each other so that the other person in that conversation can have the appropriate reaction.

In general with the elves I get the feeling that I would like it a lot a more if I knew a lot less about the Silmarillion. The dynamics between the Finweans aren't bad, they're just . . . hard to justify with the lore as I know it.

#rings of power #first thoughts #tentatively positive thoughts but with a whole lot of indignant criticism about their handling of the lore

[nyarumi-nyan]

How far is your OC willing to go to get what they want?

Hewwo @ooc-miqojak ⸜( ´ ꒳ ` )⸝ ♡

Apologies for the slow replies! As usual I will answer for both my my Miqo'te! Let's start with Satien...

I personally think that it really depends on what the context is, for Satien it's even more apparent because he is a very determined and sticking to his own ideals kind of person. He can be incredibly selfless and puts the people who he loves and cares deeply about before himself. He so far had a few moments in which showed just how far he is willing to go to get what he wanted...

So as I mentioned a few times before, Satien grew up in the Shroud alone, with the Sylphs to be precise and he made a lot of bad experiences with other people. Till the day he met his first ever friend, whom shared her meal with him as they sat at a warming fireplace. They slowly befriended each other, despite not speaking the same language and in the end he made a promise to her.

To protect her and work towards a better future, which would mean for them to split paths for the time being and him - at mere 12 years old - traveling to Limsa Lominsa alone and joining the Rogue's guild. Which he managed, with the heavy price of his own health. As he worked pretty much every moment of the clock ticking.

Now some years later they met again and their friendship bloomed up once more, but protecting her as a rogue wasn't easy and in the end she did get hurt - not badly luckily. But Satien was very upset at himself and chose to accept an offer which he had gotten a few months prior - to become a gunbreaker. Despite his body not being made for a physical job like this.

Due to him growing up alone and mostly living on vegatables and roots till he managed to go to Limsa and earn some gil, Satien is quite frail. (He is 159cm an weights 44kg) So him picking up a job like this would have it's drawbacks for him. The training at first was quite hard and he needed to be creative to work around his limitations, which means chose lighter weapons and armor.

So he went far, beyond his own limits to keep this friend save.

Another situation which made him change profession was that a person he cared about got hurt, almost dying on him and Satien was only able to watch as he didn't know any healing magic at the time. Which ended up being the moment in which he was finally ready to step into the footprints of his mother.

Becoming a White Mage.

Now let's talk about Reah!

He is a bit less 'noble' with his intentions and uhm-.. let's say you don't wanna stand between him and what he wants. But then again, it's all about the context!

So there were a few situations where he will do A LOT to get to where he wants to be. A good example is when his future husband was getting abducted and a person involved dared to challenge him - let's say that person learned to not mess with the medic very quickly. Reah will use his knowledge in alchemy to make someone speak, may it be through potions of truth, or little mind games.

And I mean: Oh look if you don't talk you might die and oh.. your nose started bleeding. How are you feeling? Dizzy? Hm, well you time is ticking, but if you speak.. I might consider giving you this antidote.

But to go this far he WILL need a valid reason, he won't do that otherwise but if there is a reason his morals can be a bit... questionable at times. Ahem.

Thank you for the ask @ooc-miqojak

#character ask meme #ffxiv #miqo'te #wol #satien #keeper of the moon #v'reeah #seeker of the sun #ff14

[asukaskerian]

Is the meme still open? If so I'd love to know about Tarvek!

it is!

1: sexuality headcanon: depraved bisexual. a tad genderfluid at the edges. hardcore romantic under his hard-grown cynicism.

2: otp: ot3333 and its constituents but after that, Tarvek/Jorgi. It was hilarious okay? Tarvek is at his most interesting when he's being harrassed by someone and can't get his prissy footing back, ok.

3: brotp: violetta ;^; bestest cousins who hate each other and have each other's back against ANYONE ELSE.

4: notp: hm idk. what even is shipped regularly enough to form an opinion on?

5: first headcanon that pops into my head: if Anevka had been a boy and thus the rightful heir he would have been so relieved. her being a girl means she has to get him out of the way of her plots if she wants to rule and he can't help wistfully thinking that she might have loved and trusted him more. ok he's ambitious but not to the point he'd rather kill her and take the throne, he'd have been just fine being her advisor. :( (anevka also really regrets she wasn't born a boy, because while she is absolutely not a little bit genderfluid she DOES feel alright killing her way to the throne, and it's a bit of a waste.)

6: favorite line from this character: "we could have kept him safe." T^T

7: one way in which I relate to this character: likes.. pretty things...? :/

8: thing that gives me second hand embarrassment about this character: just kiss gil already, you KNOW he's too distracted to notice otherwise.

9: cinnamon roll or problematic fave? : lmao what's a little spot of self-interest between friends.

#girl genius #character meme #tarvek sturmvoraus

[bone-evidence]

*pops out like a mole out of your floorboards* Bones!

❄️ ⇢ what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best?

🍦 ⇢ name three good things about a character you hate

☁️ ⇢ what made you choose your username? 🦴🦴🦴🦴👀

TALKING BEET IN MY FLOOR AAAAH- Oh, oh thank god. Whew! Okay answers time 😂

Dream theme or plot for a fic, huh.... Hm. Well I know for a fact I would want @doomspiral to write it, and knowing me it would probably be some big huge fantasy au. Dragons, Gil and Tolys up to their usual bullshit, some tender moments between all the horrible, yeah!

Three good things about a character I hate. Oh god. Okay, Doom's interpretation of Ivan is a character I hate with all my heart, so here goes! 1. He's um... Uh.... Tall? Which is a good thing because he can reach things on the top shelves I guess???? 2. Okay this isn't a good thing necessarily but the way he thinks is fascinating to me. His lines of thought confound and amaze me on the regular, thus bringing me entertainment! 3. He looks very fun to whack with a chair. Next question!

I chose my name because of a Markiplier video actually! He and friends were playing phasmophobia and I just liked the way one of them said Bone Evidence lmao

#thanks for the ask <3

[clavissionary-position]

House-hunting with Gilbert

modern/domestic au, crack, sexual content MDNI

He wears a v-neck sweater for this. Not because he likes it (he does), or because it's weather-appropriate (it's not), but because he enjoys the thought of you going through the entire day wondering why he chose to wear it. You learn sometime around sunset that he just really likes v-neck sweaters.

And khaki pants. It's the early 2000s. You have khaki pants too. You're twinning in the worst way. Unless you're a fan of khaki pants. Then you're twinning in the best way.

The neighborhood in question is a quiet, established suburb with some of the houses veering into three stories. Like a tale told in three acts, you say, in pursuit of some deeper meaning to the droll task of house-hunting. Gilbert laughs, and it sounds like drops of rain bouncing off a tin bucket someone left under a leaky roof. Interpret that however you wish. He enjoys your adorable insights. This he makes known to astounding effect by back-hugging you and whispering into your ear in the most not-rated-G way while you're in the middle of maintaining flustered, steely-eyed, serious-adult eye-contact with the balding real estate agent.

Tiles are important. Bathroom tiles, tilework on the porch. Gilbert has something saucy to say about every little thing, and you start to wonder if he's just not committed to this whole new-house thing. You'd assumed you were both on the same page considering how animated he was about what married life for you two would look like in the confines of suburbia. He, being Gilbert von Obsidian, did verily use the word 'confines'. You appreciated the double-meaning in the context of his statement, while only appreciating one of those double-meanings. "Gilbert," you said, using his full-name to let him know you're serious. "That makes you sound like a serial-killer." Prompting him to leaky-roof-bucket-laugh sweetly and say: "Hm. That's a good idea. I'll think about it."

Turns out he doesn't actually hate all the tile-work. He's just concerned about what he believes you two can reasonably renovate or replace on your modest budget, especially after factoring in other aspects of the house-buying process. It's not that you don't have the same concerns, but jeez, Gilbert. Cut those tiles a break. They're non-sentient, and that's the worst thing for a tile to be.

For the houses that have pretty rose hedges separating their yard from the neighbors, Gilbert makes every attempt to "magic" some of the roses into their beautiful dark counterparts. You don't notice him doing this for the first several houses. Around mid-afternoon, he seems a little bummed that you haven't noticed his mischief, so he finds a bathroom with okay-tiles to sequester you and bite all his feels out. Weirdly it is some of the hottest sex you guys have had in months. You're having some weird thoughts about that v-neck sweater now.

The poor, balding real-estate agent, who absolutely knows what prospective homeowners do when they slip into a bathroom for a closer look, asks if maybe you two have taken a liking to this house. Gilbert smiles with the wattage of a premium light-bulb and says no. You know Gil well enough by this point to fail to correctly ascertain several things because you're blinded by your own love for him (don't worry, this goes both ways), but you know for a fact that he feels bad for toting the agent around the neighborhood like this, even if Gil is going full-force on the Difficult Customer persona. It's adorably awkward of him in the most elegant way. He's been taken advantage of in the past by salespeople who've tricked him into ridiculous cable packages and horrendous multi-level-marketing schemes. No more, he told himself.

This is before he met you and fell back in love with his own kindness. So even though he tells the real-estate agent "no" in regards to this house. He follows it up with "I'm tired. We're using the bedroom for a nap." And he takes you by the wrist and sweeps you away past a row of windows with a suspiciously clear view of a hedge of roses that have been altered to reflect Gilbert colours, British spelling.

And then you guys have sex in that room too. So I guess you gotta buy the house now

#ikepri gilbert #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri #ikemen prince #gilbert von obsidian x reader #ikepri gilbert x reader

[curiouselleth]

Would you do 1, 9, and 11 for the fanfic author ask game, please?

Sure, thanks for the ask @general-illyrin!

What's your favorite trope to write?

Maybe crossover? I have myRaistlin is Eru fic idea, Last Trial musical (dragonlance), and Silmarillion crossover, and then there's my personal writing white whale that I've been chasing for like 2 years, and in the long term it would hit everyyyy fandom I like or want lol. Focused on the Silmarillion and Tolkien.

9. Biggest pet peeve when writing?

Hm it's pretty frustrating when I know what I need to write, and I want to, but not how to write it. Like; character A needs to get from the docks to meet with character b. Very short, barely need a few sentences... and I've been sitting on it for like 2 hours. In hindsight I should've taken a break and moved on to what happens after... oops lol

11. Do you prefer writing angst, crack, or fluff?

Angst with crack coming in very close for second place, because I think half of my ideas are angsty crack treated seriously 😂 (see: my Raistlin is Eru idea and my Elured is Gil-galad fic, Veil of Starlight, which has now hit almost 7.5k words)

#ask #asks #writing asks #about my writing #fanfic ask #fanfic asks

[amaurotine-daydreaming]

XVI. Jerk

“Question.” Istra flipped the card up and read the text scrawled on it. “Are voidsent ‘jerks’?” She looked at Veles. “This sounds like one you wrote.”

Veles folded his arms and nodded, trying to look as serious as possible.

“I…do not understand the question,” Zero said.

“All right, here’s the thing,” said Veles. “Istra and I, we share a small estate–”

“–and we’ve both sworn compacts with voidsent,” Istra finished. 

“Hm,” said Zero, taking a sip of steaming Thavnairian chai–payment for agreeing to a game of cards. Cards with questions written on them, which Zero did not expect; but neither did she know what to expect, she supposed. Either way, it was a strange way to pass the time. 

“We call them Willow and Sheila,” said Veles, with a note of pride that seemed rather unfounded to Zero.

“The people of this world seem very…peculiarly drawn to giving things names, even when they have no need of such,” she commented.

“But…lots of voidsent have names,” Veles pointed out. “Barbariccia, Scarmiglione, Ciabatta…”

“Ciriatto,” Istra corrected him. 

“Right.”

“Ciabatta is a kind of bread, Veles.”

“Aye.”

“You’ve been baking inordinate amounts again, hm?” 

“Maybe.”

“To the question,” Zero said, staring into her cup. “I do not understand it, therefore I cannot answer it.”

“Let me try,” Istra said, watching as Veles put his foot on the leg of the table and began to tilt his chair back and forth.

“What Veles is trying to get across is that each of the voidsent we now host are under the same roof, and they tend to have rows. They’re at it like angry coeurls, especially at all hours of the night when we can’t keep an eye on ’em. Or would rather not be, at any rate.” 

Veles wobbled dangerously. Istra caught the back of his chair, pushing it upright so that all four of his chair legs were back on the ground. “Makes it a damn sight difficult to get some sleep.”

“Rows… As in fights?” The two adventurers nodded.

“Then it makes sense,” Zero murmured. “Voidsent are by their nature highly territorial beings. They will often not suffer another to trespass on their domain. In a world starved of aether, it is a necessity of survival.” 

“But they’re in our world now,” Veles said. “We have plenty of aether to go around. What’s the problem?”

Zero shrugged. “Old habits are not easily broken. Ingrained in them is a fear of eventual starvation.”

Istra nodded to Zero’s chai and the plate of the Meyhane’s spiciest Thavnairian prawns. “I imagine we could feed them.”

“The form matters not. Aether is aether, and we make use of it any way we can.”

“So…” Veles’s tail swished, hitting the sides of the chair he sat in. His face was one of serious concentration. “Maybe our voidsent are just…hangry?”

“Hangry,” Zero repeated, blankly.

“Aye. Hungry. Angry. Hangry.” 

“It’s when you’re so starved you want to commit unspeakable violence,” Istra supplied, serenely taking her own sip of chai.

“I see…” Zero said, slowly. “I may be…familiar, with this feeling.” 

Zero picked up another prawn, popped it into her mouth shell and all, and chewed on it carefully. She swallowed. “Have I answered the question to your satisfaction,” she asked Veles, who was back to disassembling the fully shelled steamed crab on his plate.

“I think so,” Veles replied, before sticking another crab leg into his mouth and loudly sucking the juices out of it.

Istra slung an elbow over the back of her chair and called to a nearby table, “Oi, Lemures! Are voidsent jerks?”

“You bet your last gil they are,” Drusilla replied. She threw down a Triple Triad card with a triumphant flourish, the board’s colors flipping entirely in her favor. Thancred, sitting opposite, put his head in his hands and groaned.

#ffxivwrite2023 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv #ffxiv zero #a roegadyn gal and her xaela pal #when they're teamed up are they doofuses? yes

[taran-chan]

I don't know what AU you made fits to have some spicy prompt but I think the "on a wednesday in a cafe" would be def good. So they had a vacation on a beach right? And Gil planned a surprised dinner and yeah after that?????? I refused to believe that nothing happened after that, so please make it happen...THANK YOU! Btw, you decide what you'd like to use on the list...but one thing I know for sure your work would be damn good!!!!!

[Cafe AU]

Set right after chapter 28. Because of course they fucked. OF COURSE.

29. “Touch me there. Right there.”

“As much as I want to take you right here,” his breath tickles her neck, “We should probably get inside before the resort staff show up to clean our dinner.”

“Hm?” She sighs, too wrapped up in her ecstasy to register anything but his “take you right here”, and his fingers are still under her dress, rubbing her clit in languid circles over her panties. He just made her come once but now her body is screaming for another. She whimpers when he brings his fingers to his lips and sucks her arousal off them.

“You taste so good.”

His words barely leave his mouth when she pulls him down for another bruising kiss. He indulgently lets her explore him with her lips and her hands. After all, he’s all hers. She bites his lips slightly when he stands up suddenly and carries her along. He starts walking along the moonlit beach, stopping every once in a while to share long kisses with the lady in his arms, resisting the urge to throw her over his shoulder and run like a caveman.

They finally reach their villa and as he carries her through the threshold, he tries not to dwell on the meaning of this act to prevent himself from collapsing; sometimes making love to her is enough to make him weak in the knees. Thena keeps kissing him, using one of her hands to push them away from the walls and toward their darkened bedroom.

Her back touches the mattress, her dress is quickly but gently removed by him before she feels him cup her breasts briefly, then trace down her body. She grabs his wrists to pause him and sits up to flip the light switch. She kneels on the bed in front of him. When did he get all naked? She runs her hands down his body like he did with hers a few seconds ago, tracing his lines and muscles.

“I want to see you,” she says and kisses him, swiftly changing their positions and in a blink of an eye, he’s on his back. She reaches back to tease his angry red cock, swirling the white dot leaking out of the head with her thumb to hear that sexy sound of his, mixing between a moan and a growl. There it is.

“You’re so…” His praise is cut short as she takes him in all at once. She presses her hands on his chest, her eyes roll back and she starts riding him almost immediately, so wet that she doesn’t have to wait. Seeing her in that state of pleasure, knowing he is the cause, something primal takes over him and he grits his teeth to keep it in check. The moment she slows down to kiss him, he takes hold of her hips and pulls her pink folds apart to look at where they’re joined.

“Fuck me,” he croaks, and thrusts up.

“Yes, yes,” she responds in earnest, taking his hands to press them against her breasts, swiveling her hips on every down stroke. He squeezes her nipples and she throws her head back, shaking and writhing. Her neck is exposed to his mouth and he latches on it, licking and sucking while she rides out her orgasm. Somehow he manages to stall his release, falling back on the pillows with her slick body drapes atop him, he keeps thrusting with that same speed.

“Again, come again,” his fingers dig into her hips and she arches back, urging him on. Her moans are so close to his ear, her scent fills his nose and his mouth tastes of her. He wishes he had more hands and another mouth. Thena, Thena, Thena.

He spreads her globes wider, his fingers accidentally brush her asshole and she nearly shrieks. She bears down on him, “Again. Touch me there.”

It takes him a second to realize what she’s saying. He presses his middle finger against her rectum once more, “Here?”

“Right there,” her voice comes out like a sob. Her mind goes blank, her body takes over. He thrusts and presses and squeezes until his vision blurs. They swallow each other’s moans, moving in tandem and folding into each other like two pieces of a puzzle.

Eventually, there’s only the sound of waves seeping through their room and their little satisfied sounds, murmuring sweet nothings to each other.

“You’re so full of surprises,” he finishes his sentence.

“I know,” she smiles against his lips.

“And maybe,” he lifts his head to kiss her shoulder, “I’m thinking about you trying that with me as well.”

“Really?” She cups his face to stop him from turning away. He’s blushing furiously when he nods.

“Now you’re full of surprises.”

She allows him to shut her up with another kiss. Her precious, darling Gilgamesh.

#i'm so tired i can barely see the screen #but when i say they're going to fUCK #I WILL MAKE THEM FUCK #GOOD NIGHT #thenamesh #thenamesh fanfic #thena x gilgamesh #thena #gilgamesh #eternals #funny how the main fic is mostly soft and sweet and fluffy #while they're fucking like animals here #help