#i dropped my other wip to draw this. i would not do that for anyone. i just want you to know. ok thats all. i miss him.

[bitterpngs]

[ID: two drawings of yuuji itadori from jujutsu kaisen. he is holding a bunny in his arms and has it placed next to his face. he is grinning happily with one eye closed. he is wearing his school uniform and he has acne all over his face. he also has an ear piercing. he also has two scars. a diagonal one between his eyes and another on the corner of his mouth. there are sparkles surrounding him. the background is purple and the figures are a soft white with a pink gradient. in the second picture, purple bunnies are in the background as a pattern. end ID] 

🐇 🐇 🐇 ❗❗❗

#jjk #yuuji itadori #yuji itadori #my art #jujutsu kaisen #the colors were so hard for some reason you have no idea oh my god. im not even happy with the colors. i tried different values and hated #them all #whatever #jjk fanart #i forgot how much i fucking love this guy. look at him. hes everything he deserves the world look at his SMILE #today i was reminded. of how much love i have for this guy. technically yesterday at the time of posting this. #thanks to mothcryptids. i saw their recent dailyitadori post and was filled with an affection so profound i had to take a moment #i dropped my other wip to draw this. i would not do that for anyone. i just want you to know. ok thats all. i miss him. #im wrapping him in a blanket and playing a movie for him #giving him a huge hug #this is like referencing megumi's technique but honestly. he deserves a pet bunny. ive latched on to this idea. he has a bunny in my heart. #in some au #ok now im done im done #bye

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 22

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: So Tuesday was a mess.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

Dr. Kemp leans forward, elbows on his knees as he watches you. Patient, intent, he listens without distraction to every word you say. His attention is almost eerie but only because you’re not used to it. He hangs off of every word.

“I don’t hate Amber,” you frown and hug your legs, only then realising how small you’ve made yourself in the chair, “I love her… I just don’t know if she ever loved me.”

He nods and sits up, dragging his fingers down his chin as he props an elbow on the armrest. He presses his finger against his mouth as he hums thoughtfully. He drops his hand and smiles.

“Are you worried about if she loves you or… are you afraid that you don’t deserve her love? Or anyone’s?” He prompts gently.

You bit down on your tongue. You lower your chin as you think. Your heart plummets deep as your skin tingles hotly.

“Both,” you admit.

“It’s like I said, sweetheart, you have to love yourself first. Then you will see how others can love you,” he drapes one leg over the other, “but we should unpack your relationship with your sister a bit further. We can’t do all that today, but we can start.”

You nod and cup your chin. You make yourself sit up and look at him. You push your feet over the edge and straighten your back.

“Codependency. It’s very toxic. Amber has her flaws, as we all do. What you’ve pointed out about her isn’t out of the question but I don’t know her, I can’t diagnose her. But I can help you draw boundaries and make sense of things,” he explains, “you feel that you were a burden, that you were entirely helpless without her. Did you ever consider she felt the same way? That she attached herself to you because otherwise, she felt useless.”

You look above him and examine the curtain. That’s easier than looking him in the face. You put your hands in your lap and wring them tightly. No, you never thought of it that way because that can’t be true.

“Why… why would she feel like that? I give her nothing. I’m…”

“Now, let’s stop right there,” he raises a thick finger, “what did I say about talking about yourself? Be kind.”

“Yes, Doctor,” you murmur, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t owe me an apology, you owe yourself one.”

You bow your head guiltily. The more you talk to him, the more aware you are of all your bad habits. Isn’t this supposed to help you feel better? Not feel worse?

“It’s work, it hurts and then it feels good,” he says, “but the important thing is that you keep going. You keep the progress up, even if some days we don’t take a step forward, he have to keep looking ahead.” He lowers his hand over the end of the armrest, “I think this week you should write about Amber, try to get your thoughts out. Along with your other homework which is…”

You blink at him and give a dumb look. He smiles, “be nice to you. I want you to write down everything you do all week to that end. Baths, moisturising, reading a book, sketching something, anything that makes you happy.”

“Okay,” you grip your knees, slowly trailing your hands up to tug down the pleats of your skirt. You’re not used to it, you almost forgot you were wearing the thing, “I’ll try.”

“You’ll do great,” he encourages, “you already have done so much.”

🕊️

You're exhausted after the session. Almost despondent on the drive to Andy's as everything Steve said swirls in your mind. A thousand thoughts to add to your already overcrowded head. 

"Honey," Andy's voice cuts through your trance, "are you okay?"

"Uh, I'm sorry," you say, stunned to find the car parked in front of his house, his eyes boring into you with concern, "yeah, I'm fine."

"Oh, you haven't said a word," he slides the keys free of the ignition, "and you weren't responding."

"No, no, it's... I was thinking."

"Ah," he nods, hesitating to get out of the car as he hovers his hand against the door, "about... did Steve say something?"

"Um, just about stuff," you reply evasively, "nothing big."

"Well, you now I'm always here for you, right? That you can talk to me too?"

You nod and fake a smile. He's nice and all but you can't tell him everything. You can't even tell Steve everything you put in your journal. Somethings are meant just for you.

"I know," you murmur, "is it alright if I lay down for a bit. I'm really tired out."

"Sure you can, dove," he reaches over you caress the crease of your skirt, "just for a little. You don't want to waste the day."

"I won't," you promise and pull the handle on your door.

You turn and hide your face from him. He's right but it still irks you. Sometimes he can be so bossy. You've done what he wants. You're doing the therapy, so why can't you have one day to just burrow away.

🕊️

You spend your time alone staring at the ceiling, all tied up with Andy’s suggestion. Don’t sleep the day away. Sigh, now you can’t even close your eyes. You’re too worried about doing just that.

After a few hours, you give up, hoping to find some solace in a cup of tea. You can pop out and assure Andy that you’re awake. Maybe you should work on the painting. He must be getting impatient for that as well.

You pull on a loose wooly cardigan, the one with the patch sewn into it, and hide your clingy t-shirt beneath it.  You come downstairs and pass the archway of the living room. The TV is lit up with the menu but Andy’s nowhere to be found.

You hear him. You go further down and peek into the kitchen. Something tinkles against porcelain as you watch him pour the contents of a bag into a bowl. There are several set out already, on a neat wooden tray with two glass bottles of soda.

“Um…” you step into the doorway. “I… was going to put the kettle on.”

He looks over at you and smiles. It’s only then you notice his clothing. A pair of thin plaid pajamas and a navy blue sweatshirt. He looks cozy. You’re not used to that. He’s all buttoned-up and tidy.

“Oh, sure,” he says, “I can get some tea out… but er,” he sets the bowl with the rest, “you kinda walked in on my surprise.”

“Surprise?” You wonder.

“Yeah, uh, I was thinking we could do a movie night. Your choice,” he presses closed the seal of the M&Ms bag and puts it at the back of the counter. “I got all these snacks and some soda if you like, but if you want tea instead–”

“Oh,” you bat your lashes.

“Oh?” He sounds nervous as he echoes your syllable.

“I… I wasn’t expecting this. I…” you fold your arms over your stomach, “you really… did all this?”

You tiptoe forward and raise your chin to see onto the tray. He grins proudly as you near and see the assortment of snacks; trail mix, chips, gummies, chocolate…

“Pretty simple but I figured maybe it would be fun.”

You suck your lower lip in and look up at him. His eyes are shining, almost hopeful. He did all this for you. He actually wants to spend time with you. He was even excited about it.

“It’s wonderful,” you say, “I hope… I hope you don’t think I’m ungrateful. Only surprised.”

“Of course, honey,” he slides the tray off the counter, “let me get this.”

He carries the spread across the kitchen and you trail him into the front room. You linger at the threshold as he sets down the snacks on the low coffee table. The room smells of raspberry. You hum at the scent and notice the candle already lit on the table. The lights are dim as the flame lends a flicker to the space.

“Like it?” Andy looks up at your audible sniff. 

“Smells nice,” you assure him.

“Well? You gonna just stand there or find something to watch?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” you scurry over as he holds out the remote.

You sit on the couch and he drops down beside you. As you sit forward, he leans back, his arm stretched out behind you carelessly. You flick through the title cards of all the movies, intimidated by the endless selection.

“What kind of movies do you like?” You ask, almost embarrassed to choose one yourself.

“Whatever you like, dove,” he says.

It feels like the back of your shirt is moving, just along the bottom. The sensation is so light and you’re too nervous to look at Andy. You put your elbow on your knee and cup your chin. You guess it doesn’t really matter. You choose a title your recognise, not recalling what the movie is about.

“Don’t forget to dig in,” Andy sits up.

“Er, okay,” you put the remote down and take the bottle of soda. You read the label in the low light. It looks fancy. You try to twist the metal cap off but it threatens to cut into your hand. “Ow.”

“Here,” Andy reaches over, “let me.”

He grips the neck and pops off the metal lid with ease. He hands it back to you and takes his own. You thank him under your breath and hover your mouth over the top. You take a sip, the bubbles tickling your nose.

“Mmm,” you hide a cough at the carbonation, “ooh, pretzels.”

You reach for one of the twisted treats. He chuckles as the credits play and he takes a rippled chip. You bite into a pretzel and focus on the screen. He’s sitting so close. You glance over, there’s lots of couch free.

You nibble nervously as the opening scene plays. You focus on the dialogue, not quite picking up on everything. The movie’s much more serious than you expected. You finish a handful of the dry food and wash it down with soda before flopping back.

You squint at the screen and try to untangle the furling plot. It’s kind of boring. You hide a yawn in your cuff and keep your hand to your mouth. The scene shifts and suddenly a bed frame rocks, knocking against the wall as the camera pans down to reveal the two bodies writhing on the mattress.

Oh my! There’s always one of these scenes.

You fight not to close your eyes. You’re mortified as you stare wide-eyed, the room hotly silent except for the activity on screen. You can hear Andy’s breaths and your own. His foot moves as he adjusts his leg and you flinch, almost expecting him to move closer. No, why would he do that?

The scene finally ends. That was torture. Amber always lets you fast forward through those ones. You lean forward to hide your discomfort with another swig of soda. Andy clears his throat but doesn’t comment.

You munch on a mixture of sweet and salty, your stomach squirming. You’re just going to make yourself sick. You recline again, eyes burning and itchy as they threaten to close. No, you don’t want to upset Andy. You can’t fall asleep.

The man and woman argue in the street. You don’t know who would ever do that. Those sorts of conversations are better behind closed doors. You don’t really get relationships; they seem confusing and stressful.

You arch your back, stretching out a kink in your side and a snort from beside you makes you flinch. You don’t look over, not until it comes again. Andy’s shadow sits with its head back, nose to the ceiling as he snores. Oh no, he fell asleep first!

You’re almost happy it’s him. You were so afraid of doing so, fearing at how he might react. You just think it’s funny. This movie really is boring.

You giggle and call his name. He doesn’t react. You call again, “wake up.”

Still nothing. You chew your lip and raise a shaky hand. You touch his arm, poking him with two fingers. You repeat his name. He’s now waking up. You nudge him hard and he slips, first one way then back towards you. Before you can react, he folds over onto your lap.

His weight hits your legs and you squeak. You don’t think as you grab onto his shoulder and try to shake him. He’s so heavy! And big. The difference between you is obvious but even more in that moment. He is immovable, like a boulder crushing you.

“Andy,” you say, “please, wake up.”

He bends his arm and grips your knee, nestling in as he snorts deeper. He must be exhausted. He drove you all the way to therapy and then got all these snacks together for movie night. And now, he can’t even enjoy it. All for you. All his effort spoiled because of you.

You deflate and sink back into the cushions. You kick your legs and try to wiggle free of him. You can’t seem to get out. You surrender and look at the screen. You guess you’ll finish this darn movie.

#fic #don't speak #andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #dark fic #dark!fic #au #library au #defending jacob #series

[that-nerd-who-writes-fanfiction]

Mercelot WIP - My Dearest, Merlin,

This has been sat in my drafts for a while. I’ll probably finish it if enough people want to read more

—

Merlin gets a letter from Lancelot, it’s addressed “My dearest, Merlin,” instead of “My dearest Merlin,” and so Merlin frets about his own feelings possibly being returned but more likely that the comma was just a mistake and Lancelot couldn’t possibly feet the same.

Just before this, Merlin is looking through Arthur’s desk for ink when Arthur walks in. Merlin is accused of stealing letters but that’s quickly cleared up when Arthur checks the address on the letter, they get into talking about it, Arthur teases a little until he realises how much the letter means to Merlin, then when Merlin doubts Lancelot having feelings for him, Arthur tells Merlin he’s got no reason to doubt. (He’s a little jealous, but caring too)

Just a snippet of a conversation between two friends talking about feelings.

—

Arthur may have been his destiny, running parallel to Merlin for years. Lancelot and Merlin ran perpendicular, they had met and loved but they had lost and were now marching forward and further apart, both constantly looking back to that one moment where they had both fit together. Where, just for one night, both men could feel whole as they curled into each others soft embrace.

Why would Lancelot choose this when he could have anyone?

Lancelot, who knew Merlin’s love did not fit what he had been told it should, who knew Merlin’s heart and still gifted him his soul regardless.

Arthur sighed, breaking him from his thoughts, “Do you love him?” He asked softly.

Merlin looked down, “that’s ridiculous, what difference would it make if I did?” He said, fingers tracing over the words on the letter, ‘with all my heart,’

Arthur was quiet.

And the foolish thing was, “Yes,” he whispered, screwing his eyes shut as though waiting for ridicule. Because the truth was, he loved Lancelot with all his heart. So painfully and irreparably in love with the man who could read his soul, who knew his heart, and who still held him like he was something precious.

Lancelot, the man who promised to guard his secrets like a dragon would it’s hoard, who offered to risk death when Merlin told him of every love and loss to simply hold him close so his mourning could be witnessed and realised. Who had promised him that his life was worth living for himself because he believed there to be a gift in each breath that Merlin gave to the world.

Arthur didn’t say anything, he moved around to the other side of the desk, reaching into the middle draw on the other side, the side Merlin hadn’t looked in, and produced a half used ink pot and a quill, then he took a piece of parchment from the draw above and set them all on the dark oak surface. Merlin blinked his eyes open when he felt a hand drop onto his shoulder, guiding him towards the chair. Merlin looked up confused as Arthur stared at him in earnest.

“So love him.” He said, both hands on Merlin’s shoulders and glancing towards the desk, then meeting Merlin’s eyes with a sad and weary expression.

#bbc merlin #fic preview #merlin emrys #merlin #lancelot #sir lancelot #mercelot #arthur pendragon #jealousy #merthur #one sided crush

[thequeenofthewinter]

Work-in-Progress Wednesday

I continue to chip at this chapter, and I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. I am hoping that this is the last snippet of this particular one for WIP Wednesday. I need to set this out into the world soon.

Anyway, I was tagged by the lovely and talented: @bostoniangirl21 @bougainvillea-and-saltwater @umbracirrus and @arisenlicious

I am passing the tag to: @oblivions-dawn @dirty-bosmer @sheirukitriesfandom @changelingsandothernonsense @skyrim-forever @vivifriend and anyone else who wants to play along. As always, no pressure. <3

Oh, this passage is also accompanied by a picrew. I was tagged by two of you to do this, so I'll throw that after the writing.

“We are in desperate need of assistance, my King. As the thaws continue, the run off from the melt has been raising the rivers, and they threaten to overflow their banks. This has been the hottest Summer I can remember in…”

Ulfric lifts a hand, silencing the man in front of him, before moving to scratch his cheek. “We are well aware as this happens every year.” He sighs, “While I know the situation appears to be particularly dire this year, some of the volume should have been relieved when the canal was dug out to help move supplies into Helgen. So, are you speaking the truth or—”

“Is there anyone else here who can attest to the situation?” Dahila’s voice interrupts her husband’s as she takes his hand and squeezes it lightly.

A few voices mumble in the crowd, yet none move forward, and she sighs. It’s going to be another one of those painful mornings where they try to pluck the truth from their mouths like rotten teeth.

“No one?” Her eyes flick through the petitioners in the crowd. “Surely, at least one of you has been down to the Docks lately, or do I need to go out there myself?”

Ulfric’s fingers rub against hers, a move equally as much out of affection as it is of impatience. “It would seem so.” He turns to her with a knowing look in his eyes. They will end up there themselves sometime in the next week. “We’ll check into the matter and see what what might need to be done.” His other hand waves in the direction of his steward. “Jorleif, see to it that some sandbags are made. It would be good to have provisions just in case.”

“Yes, sir. It will be done.”

“And while we are on the subject, perhaps—”

A great clatter draws their attention to the front of the room as the doors to the Palace swing open. Ulfric furrows his brow as he drops Dahlia’s hand and stands. No one is allowed entrance after the days’ petitioners are accepted. What could possibly be the meaning of this?

“I am afraid I am going to have to ask you to leave. We are no longer taking new petitions for the day.” He yells, his voice carrying through the hall with authority.

“Not even for an old friend?” 

^Have a Dahlia. <3

#skyrim #skyrim fanfiction #ulfric stormcloak #ulfric x dragonborn #dahlia wintersnow #winter writes #wip wednesday

[eridanidreams]

WIP Wednesday

I'm late today, and missed Sunday; sorry, all, it's been a long week for me.

Tagging: @bearlytolerant, @silurisanguine, @aro-pancake, @fangbangerghoul, @atonalginger, @aislingdmdt, @fshenkoescape, @ninjaofnaps, @lisa-and-shadow, @a-cosmic-elf, @thatsgoodsquishy0, @hockeydemon42, @fomagranfalloon, @violenceandviolets, @therealgchu, @staticpallour and @artemis-crimson

She jerked her head up, barely missing his chin, and stared at him; a single tear escaped to draw a bright trail down her cheek. He wiped it away with his thumb, then cupped her face in his palm. "I've talked to you about things that no one—I mean no one else knows about. You know everything that's important to know about me, good and bad, and if there's something I forgot, I'll tell you. Because I trust you. And because I want you to know." He wrapped his arms around her a little more securely; not so tightly that she couldn't escape if she wanted to, but enough to emphasize how much he loved her, loved having her close. Pressed his head against hers, breathing in the faint scent of roses from her hair; he just wanted to take a quiet moment to appreciate something that mere hours ago had been a distant dream.

Slowly, he felt her relax in his arms—not all the way, but enough that he thought they'd gotten past that particular worry. "I never thought of it that way," she murmured. "I just—you didn't have any choice in it. Wouldn't have blamed you for getting mad about it."

Sam took a deep breath, deciding to just face that problem head-on. "My temper scare you?"

"No." Cait sounded pretty definite about that. "I mean, I know you have one, but you seem to have good coping mechanisms for it. And the few times I've picked up on it getting loose—well, I figure Lillian would drive even the most controlled person to fits, so…" She shrugged, and he chuckled at her apt description.

"I was angry at the world in my younger days," he admitted, "but when Cora was born, I knew I had to get a handle on it. Ended up talking to someone about it for a couple years; got rid of some of it and better tools to deal with the rest." Now it was her turn to reach up and lay a comforting hand against his cheek, and he made a soft hum of enjoyment. "Mmm. Did me a lot of good." He turned his head to look her in the eye. "Regarding this—connection, I don't see any reason why I should be upset with you. Not like you did it on purpose, right?" She shook her head. "And it's not hurting either of us—" a sharp spike of worry jolted through him "—it's not hurting you, is it?"

He felt her tense right back up. "I don't… think so…" she faltered. "It's always seemed… right. Like—like that's how I'm supposed to be." She let out a bitter-half laugh. "Should I be scared that it doesn't scare me? And it's—it's all tangled up with the way I feel about you. Loving you." She ducked her head, half-burying her face in his shoulder, a note of shame entering her voice. "I've—I've never felt like this. About anyone." Her voice dropped to a bare whisper. "Love, desire, any of it—I never even dreamed it was possible. Not for me." He could hear the tears fogging up her voice. "Never thought I could be this—happy."

Sam just held her, rubbing his hand comfortingly up and down her arm and back, and letting his feelings do the communicating while he considered what she'd said. Since their first visit to Neon, he'd been keeping an ear out for things that might indicate one of her mental landmines. The most glaring sign was when she hadn't thought about something, which meant her comment about love and desire was waving all the red flags. It didn't surprise him—he already knew home and family were on the list—so he chose his words carefully. "Then I guess it's a good thing we both want the whole package, isn't it?" He smoothed her hair out of her face, relishing both the silken feel of it on his fingers and the soft sound of happiness she let out at his touch. "Gives us time to court each other right and proper." And time to work through the things someone didn't want you to know.

"Are you sure?" Cait whispered. "You couldn’t have expected me to be so… high-maintenance.” But Sam was also paying attention to how she was almost buried against him, like she was trying to soak in as much of him as she could. He wrapped his arm a little more tightly around her, reassuringly.

"Not gonna lie," he admitted, "if you were to say, 'Make love to me right now, you sexy beast,' I'd happily oblige you." She made a choked little noise that he thought was a laugh. "But Cat—I love you as you are. If all this is new to you, you should have the opportunity to enjoy it, figure out what appeals to you. I don't mind if we take some extra time to make you comfortable; it'll be time well-spent." He smiled down at her. "And even if this is all you ever want, then it's still more than I ever expected to find."

"I, um, don't think that'll be a problem…" she said, more than a little hesitantly.

"Dare I ask?" The question of whether he desired her, of course, had been answered for quite some time; his libido perked right up at even the hint that she returned his interest, but he shoved it right back down. Time enough for that later. "You've piqued my curiosity," he added.

Cait tilted her head up to meet his gaze. "I've had some… interesting… dreams lately." She grimaced a little—he was prepared to deal with her embarrassment, but she didn't seem embarrassed so much as uncertain. "It—took me a while to figure out why."

Sam waited a few moments. "You gonna finish that thought, darlin', or just leave me danglin'?" he teased her gently.

"Because I love you," she said softly. "And because… you see a person when you look at me." She closed her mouth tightly, as if afraid she'd said too much, the specter of what she hadn't said hanging in the air between them.

"Yeah," he said, keeping his eyes level on hers. "I do. A person who managed the epic feat of getting me to fall in love with her. A person who deserves every bit of happiness I can give her. A woman who loves me right back." He felt himself smile again at the thought of it. "Truth be told, I've had a few interesting dreams about you, too." That brought a blush to her cheeks, and she ducked her head back into his shoulder. "Hell," he let out a sigh. "Too much too soon?"

She shook her head quickly and muttered something that sounded like youdidnthavetotellmethat.

"Cait," he said softly. "Just say it."

"I already knew," she blurted out. "You've been having them since Denebola." When—oh, hell. When he'd realized that he loved her. When he'd pulled away from her, terrified of how far and how fast he'd fallen. When she'd retreated to the Eye, claiming nightmares.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, his voice gone rough and tight with contrition. "I should've told you. I was…" he let out a sigh. "I was just afraid, because happened so fast. It was like I turned around and you were… so much more than I ever dreamed possible." He smoothed his thumb across her cheek again. "Why the blush?"

"Felt like I was eavesdropping," she muttered. "I mean, the inside of your head's supposed to be private. Surface emotions are one thing, but dreams… they're harder to keep out when I'm also asleep."

"Mmm. I can see that," he replied. Funny, though, how it didn't bother him one bit. "I meant what I said, love. Not going to blame you for what you can't help." And he couldn't help but tease her a little bit, try and lighten the mood. "And since you've already shared mine, we could always discuss your dreams." He grinned. "A little more of that turnabout and fair play business."

"You jerk," Cait started laughing, and he watched the faint hues in her eyes shift back to a good-humored blue-green. "You would, too, wouldn't you?"

"'Course I would," Sam said easily. "I have standards, you know. If dream-me isn't doing the job properly, well," he gave her a smirk. "Someone's got to rise to that challenge."

Her laughs turned into fierce little giggles—the double entendre clearly wasn't lost on her—and it purely warmed his heart to see her unreservedly happy for once. Her giggles faded into a bright smile and an intent gaze; her hand stole up to touch his face again, tracing the line of his cheek and caressing down the line of his jaw. He let out a little sigh of pleasure at the touch. "So soft," she said, in a voice of wonder. Her fingers trailed down toward his lips, and then paused—he could feel them tremble. "Sam… can I—" She breathed in unsteadily. "I'd really like to kiss you," she whispered.

#starfield #sam coe #fanfic #starfield fanfiction #eridani writes #caitlyn lynch #coemancer #wip wednesday #stars through my fingers like grains of sand

[wraith-caller]

WIP Wednesday

@tallmatcha kindly tagged me. @no-braincells-inc @nullcanary @fenharael @scrawnytreedemon and anyone else on here who may have a WIP they wanna share :)

here is something from my singular attempt at a more light hearted fic.

“Would you like to tell me why you felt the need to break Head Preceptor Callium’s nose just outside my class where all of my students could see it?” Rogier was truly at a loss. D had been many things, but rash wasn’t typically one of them. Perhaps he could stand to be a bit more thoughtful or nuanced sometimes, but he’d never been prone to such violent outbursts before.

Maybe things had changed in the years they’d been apart. Well, of course they’d changed. Change was the only constant, after all. Evidence of that was glowering at him from behind a featureless golden mask made to appear as if it were peering out from the gaping maw of a lion. Silver and gold replaced by the red and gold of the New Order. “I found him disagreeable,” D answered.

Rogier waited for elaboration. None came. He pressed his lips together and kept his face passive enough, even if he wanted to shout at this idiot for the scene he’d caused. Half a lecture wasted quelling the wounded pride (and face) of one ex-lover, wrangling the stoic fury of the other. He almost wished Radahn had never given up his stranglehold on the stars so that fate would stop fucking with him. Of all the preceptors for D to run into in the hour or two he was here!

Maybe it was a tad self-involved to assume that he had been the reason for D punching the other man in the face, but with so little data, Rogier could hardly begin to extrapolate. The only point of commonality between the two was himself, but how likely was it that they’d spoken of him in such a brief space of time?

He changed tactics, hoping to put D at ease and draw something approaching an explanation out. He’d have to give it to the provost before long anyway. Callium would surely twist this into being his fault somehow, after all, and he would need to be prepared with a defense.

With his most condescending smile, he eyed the red feathery thing on D’s helm. “Nice plume, by the by.”

D was still rigid, and had not taken more than two steps into the room. “So I have been told.”

Rogier let the smile soften up, something more friendly. “The students have been tracking your company’s progress since you left Leyndell. They’re thrilled to see Knights of the Order in person. You could be very popular here, you know.”

Nothing for a moment. Then, “We don’t need to speak.”

Why be precise when you can just obliterate everything at once? Such was D, Hunter of Tact, quarry ever out of reach. Rogier kept the smile but what had he been expecting? That D would see him and change his mind about everything? Sit down for a friendly chat over tea? Maybe even sweep him in close and touch his cheek tenderly like he used to? By every star in the sky, he was delusional. It’d been five years! Why couldn’t he let this damned thing die? “That makes for a very boring wait, and you’re the one who disrupted my class and caused me to have to endure it. So, you will have to deal with some discomfort of your own.” Rogier dropped into his chair and sank low, legs splayed like a child having a minor fit. The toes of his boots were peeking out the other side of the desk.

D said nothing still, and stood at attention like a soldier waiting for an order from his superior. He looked imbalanced and strange without the bust at his chest. Rogier tilted his head and let his eyes wander around his office. This was becoming painful. Had been painful for years, really. He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, and tried again. “How do you find Leyndell?” he asked, eyes on the ceiling.

“Pleasant.”

Had he ever had a single conversation with this man? Ever?

But that was just it, he supposed. He’d had far too many. The well was dry but he kept stubbornly sending a bucket down expecting to get anything back but bones and dust. Knowing this, he threw the bucket again anyway, because he had never been good at knowing when to quit. “How is Devin?”

“Why do you continue to speak?” D asked before Rogier even finished the question.

“It is entirely normal to make conversation-”

“I don’t want to talk with you,” D reiterated.

“You punched. The Head Preceptor. Of my house. In the face,” Rogier said like he was speaking to an idiot. Because he was! What’d D think would happen if he did something like that in Raya Lucaria? That he’d just continue on his merry way without having a little talk about it first? Rogier shoved himself to his feet and closed most of the distance between them, leaving D at arms’ length. From here he could see the pale eyes behind the mask and they were as angry as they had always looked. He could imaginethe scowl that was permanently carved on D’s mouth, as if everything he beheld was an affront to him, personally. “Do you have so little to say for yourself, Knight of the New Order, for surely this conduct does not reflect highly on your station?”

“Do you so enjoy lecturing you do it in your leisure time, too?” D muttered.

“Oh, leisure, you say? You think I enjoy this?”

“The way cats enjoy mice.”

“I had no intention of making this any more difficult than it needed to be-”

“Stop bloody lying for half a second of your miserable life,” D snapped.

Rogier clenched his teeth. “I am not lying. You aren’t worth the effort it takes.”

D’s eyes were furious. But he spat, “He’s sullying your name to strangers.”

The dizzying pace of their conversation suddenly ground to a halt. Rogier’s mind was reeling from the whiplash and he squinted at D in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“The man I punched,” D said. “He implied-” D stopped and shifted his weight but kept his shoulders squared and his head high. “Unsavory behavior. On your part. To get where you are.”

Rogier stared at him, and was it suddenly quite warm in here? Was the world on fire, actually? Why was his face so hot? And oh but he was a wretch, truly pathetic, that someone defending him set his heart aflutter like a dying autumn leaf tossed to the uncaring breeze. It wasn’t that he was so incapable and helpless. He was born to nobility, of course he was used to politicking. And of course an academic life must be drenched in those politics he so despised. And of course he managed to tangle himself in them in the most foolhardy manner possible by spurning the head of his department. The idea of the faculty knowing anything about his personal life had mortified him to begin with, but he should have considered that before sleeping with and then violently severing all ties with his bloody boss.

But impulse control was something D had always had an iron grip on and Rogier could never grasp. So when he surged forward and shoved up that golden mask to capture the mouth behind it with his own, D was likely too startled to know what to do. And it was terribly immature, and brash, and stupid, and everything that Rogier did wrong on a regular basis yet somehow never learned from. D’s mouth was soft and warm and responsive, even if the rest of him was less so, still too stunned to react. This was senseless, a dog chasing its tail, a child babbling incoherently, moths chasing flames instead of moonlight, it was-

A knock at the door and the provost announced his arrival. Rogier drew away sharply and D was staring at him in shock, expression not unlike those of his students who panicked when called upon precisely because Rogier knew they had not been listening. It didn’t matter in the end. D would leave on his assignment, and Rogier would remain here at the Academy, and they could go back to studiously forgetting that the other one even existed. With that in mind, he allowed himself to admit, “I did lie.” He pulled D’s mask back down over his stunned face and held it by the chin. “I hate your plume.”

He turned to the door and set his features back to something pleasant and agreeable, but also adequately chastened and humbled, since the provost was bound to be terribly irritated that he even needed to have this meeting. Rogier greeted him with utmost professionalism as he opened the door to allow the venerable old man inside. His expression was distinctly displeased and he nodded a curt greeting as he swept in.

“I’ll make this brief,” the provost said, not even deigning to take a seat. D stood rigid and tense. “Your conduct with Head Preceptor Callium was most unbecoming, and it is only the seal of the Elden Lord upon your missive which has kept me from having you thrown from the Academy gates by a pair of knights.”

D bit out a quick apology, perfunctory and meaningless.

The old man sighed dismissively. “Fortunately, Callium’s nose will mend, but I am afraid lost trust takes a bit more time, which is not anything you have the luxury of since he was to set out for Leyndell with the others in a week’s time. I am sure your superiors will be thrilled to learn that, and so I’ll leave the reprimands to their capable hands, as my time is too precious for that. Our arrangement called for ten spellblades, and you have, whether knowingly or not, eliminated one of them from service by your own hand and so I have had to call for another.”

Oh. That certainly complicated this situation. D was going to have this unlucky sod as a living reminder of his brash and uncharacteristic behavior, which was likely to result in a black mark on his record upon his return to the Capital. Rogier pitied whatever fool they’d send in Callium’s place.

“Preceptor Rogier, I’m sending you in Callium’s place. Your courses will be divided among the faculty, so don’t worry over that.” Oh yes. That’s what he was worried about, wasn’t it? The lectures and poorly written essays he’d miss out on grading, not the dragon-sized elephant in the room that his miraculously stupid mouth kissed back into being. “You may wish to consult with each other about what preparations you ought to be making for this assignment. But do remember you are a representative of an esteemed Academy...not some ruffian out for a game of fisticuffs.” The last was aimed at D, who was undoubtedly as blindsided as Rogier and so totally oblivious.

Rogier smiled and graciously accepted the provost’s decision, all the while screaming internally and damning the stars for drawing the path of greatest resistance through the heavens the day he was born.

#1.8k words #idk how much you are supposed to share so sorry if that is too much #d/rogier #sorcerer rogier #d hunter of the dead #elden ring fic

[gracehosborn]

WIP Questions Tag

Thank you so much @sunset-a-story for the tag!

Going to answer for The American Icarus: Volume I for this one. May do another for Ink of Destruction later, we’ll see.

What was the first part of your WIP that you created?

I had originally written the first part of a prologue on a whim set the night before Hamilton’s duel with Burr (back when I thought having this story be in one novel was a feasible idea). But a few minutes later I scrapped this because I thought a prologue was stupid. Years later I have gone back and added a prologue, but now it’s in the form of a fictional letter to the reader wherein Alexander explains why he’s sitting down to write his “memoirs”.

If your story was a TV show, what would the intro song be?

I would actually love to have an original piece be composed. I just think that would be more fitting. In an ideal world, I’d love for the task to go to Lindsey Sterling.

Who are your favourite character(s) and why?

As most everyone in Volume I of TAI (and the rest of the series for that matter) are based off of real people, I’ll just be super predictable and say here that I of course find Hamilton super interesting. The man was complex, and getting to explore these complexities through a first-person narrative has been super fun. I get to be in his head and play around with all the gritty details in crafting motivations and stringing real events together into narrative form through his actions.

What other pieces of media could share a fan base with your WIP?

TURN: Washington’s Spies, Hamilton, potentially 1776, though I could see this being wide reaching.

What has been your biggest struggle while writing your WIP?

Oh God. The research, for starters (due in large part to my spite compelling me to go above and beyond what’s necessary), but being a history major who wants to specialize in early American history as it is, I find the struggle here to be more overwhelming than actually difficult. In terms of an actual difficulty, that would be the writing itself. As ironic as that sounds. Having TAI be framed as Hamilton sitting down 200 odd years after his death to write his memoirs means that I have to emulate Hamilton’s actual writing style and oof that’s hard. Also, Alexander Hamilton was very extroverted and I am simply Not That so dialogue is a pain in my ass. 😭

Are there any animals in your story?

Yep! Lots of horses will feature in TAI Volume I. And eventually some dogs (owned by generals Washington, Lee, Howe, and the Baron von Steuben).

How do your characters get around?

This is the 18th century. Everyone’s only options are: ride a horse, get a carriage or coach, procure a boat if on water, or walk. Lots of walking and riding feature here.

What part of your WIP are you working on right now?

I’ve been stuck on this one chapter for months that closes out Alexander’s time studying at King’s College as he decides to drop out to put all his focus towards the artillery company he has been granted command of. I’m super excited to get into Alexander’s time as an artillery captain but man this chapter. It’s the dialogue that’s holding me hostage I fear.

What aspects of your WIP do you think will draw people in?

Oh definitely the premise. If that doesn’t draw people’s attention, I’ll be super shocked. Another aspect I can think of would be the time that the novel spends on the American Revolution in a way that’s vivid and detailed. Beyond that, I’ll just say that name recognition is a powerful thing.

Tagging with no pressure: @kaylinalexanderbooks @meerawrites @thestarsfightagainstusmyfriend @almaprincess66 @rwwinton and anyone else who wants to jump on in.

#tag games #the american icarus #TAI #alexander hamilton #writers on tumblr #writing community #historical fiction #amwriting #amrev

[psalacanthea]

WiP Wednesday

its tabletop night, so here, have this. I need to stop looking at it tho, must purge the durgetash brainrot for the night so I can try to murder my players effectively.

A little bit of my Durge Belladonna being a weird freak at Gortash, more of which can be found here on my AO3!

"Is she still alive, my dear Belladonna?”

Belladonna blinked, tilting her head to stare down at Enver.  He took the wine back from her hand, their fingers brushing.  Reflexively her hand withdrew the instant they touched.  Her attention drifted back to Lady Janneth, still lying sprawled on the bed, under the blanket.  Oh, he thought she’d–

“Why would I kill your toys?” she asked, attention drawn back to him as he sipped the wine.  Ugh, the hair.  Her eyes kept being drawn back, obsessively.  “It’s only a sleep spell.”

“Why would you follow me to my lover’s home, watch me bed her, and then sneak into the still-occupied bed to read her diary?  Every conclusion a sane man would draw from your actions would offend you deeply.”

“Then don’t say it,” she said blandly.

“Why did you follow me?” Enver was staring at her with the intensity of a man who expected eye contact.

What a pointless question.  “To see where you were going.”

“Why did you enter the room?”

“Again, to see where you were going.  And then I was eavesdropping.  While I was doing that, the door was closed, thus trapping me within. To answer your next three very pointed questions.”

“You can’t convince me that you don’t have a dozen ways you could have escaped, Belladonna.”

She shifted her weight, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs, table pressing into the back of her thigh. “You only use the name you made up for me this often when you’re truly annoyed.  I didn’t know you would care.  You’ve seen me have sex several times.”

“Depending on the definition of the word, that may not be entirely true.  In my mind, sex involves at least two willing participants.”

“Yes, the con man and the dupe.”

Enver laughed quietly, giving up the facade of being angry with her.  Yes, he was irritated, but she’d noticed he very rarely was angry.  At least not with her.  He reached for the other wine-stained glass, poured from a pitcher of water into it, swirled it until the wine had all turned the water pink.  Then he dumped it out on the floor.  “Your standards of behavior are not at all normal, my dear Bhaalspawn, did you know that?”

“What exactly is wrong with wanting to know where people are going?”  she inquired, wondering why he thought it was all right to pour water on the floor.  Was that what he meant by behavior standards?

He poured her clean water into the glass and offered it over, stem tucked between his fingers.  She accepted it, dipping her finger into the liquid and wiping off the rim.  It still didn’t feel clean even despite the lack of smudges, so she just held it.

He leaned forward in his chair, staring up at her with a critical air and a relaxed posture. “Anyone else would have stopped me in the street, said hello, and asked where I was off to.”

“That would be a waste of the man I’d killed three alleys over,” she said, glancing down as he leaned a little closer, chin on his hand.  And then she immediately averted her eyes before she was upset again. 

“Do you do this often?”

“Yes?  I must practice what I preach, after all, or I would not be much of a leader.  Much like yourself.  Following and watching people is an important part of being a successful killer.”  

“I meant to me, not– why won’t you look at me?”

“Your hair is a mess and it makes me want to scalp you,” she admitted without even a moment’s pause to consider if she’d offend him.  By now she knew he wouldn’t be.  

“Thank you for your self-control.  I’ll fix it right away.  Hold this for me.”

Puzzled, she extended her hand by rote, and he dropped something into it as he rose.  Heavy and still warm from his finger, the massive diamond ring he’d handed her was the one she’d watched Wisteria slide onto his finger.  It was shiny and all, she supposed.

“Why give this to me?”

“I wanted to see your reaction to it,” he replied with another chuckle, crossing the floor to what seemed to be a dressing table and a desk in one.  “You don’t care about such things, do you?”

“I’ve seen larger and shinier stones.  I usually give them to Orin to play with if they’re not worthy of the coffers. Children like toys." Though Orin was always terribly ungrateful for it; but that was a youngest child for you. Always yelling about not being your sibling and trying to stab you.  "I don’t handle money, that’s beneath me.  You seemed quite enamored of it.”

“Not of it, my dearest Belladonna.  Of what it is.  That ring is worth more than this entire house!”  He sounded quite satisfied.  Gloating was one of Enver’s biggest vices, she’d learned.  It didn’t bother her to be his audience for a bit of smugness, as she was quite often when he was feeling self-important.

And he was always feeling self-important.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #wip wednesday #durgetash #durge x gortash #durge: Belladonna #weirdest little freak ever stands over you invisible while you fuck #and yet you still want her #who's the freak here gort

[ultfreakme]

Romance snippet game!!!

Tagged by @sixseisliu (thank you!) and tagging @lizardlicks @geometricalien @fae-morrigan and anyone else who sees this and is interested because I am awful and forgot who writes fics and who doesn’t ;_;

rules: share a few lines or a snippet that sums up the main relationship(s) in your wip

Okay my main WIP rn is Zukka Blue Spirit x Kyoshi Warrior Sokka(if you know me you’re probably fucking tired of seeing me constantly drawing it and talking about it) two snippets, one from Zuko and one from Sokka’s POV!

Sokka:

Any time he wonders if it’s a lucid dream, he reminds himself that he knows what it’s like for a tongue to caress into his mouth, and for eager lips to clash against his own till he can feel teeth and want to keep searching for more. The memory of Maskie’s[it’s Zuko] lips stained with red and the crooked grin he sports, and spirits, how could he ever doubt that? What use is a name when he knows his loyalties, what makes him laugh and the things he would do for his people?

Zuko:

But there is no one to see him right now. No need to pretend for anyone. Princes in stories smiled down at their subjects. Small, gentle, other-worldly and true. 

He revisits the weightless fantasy of the warrior[it’s Sokka] teaching him something new, tries to forget the daunting nightmare that awaits him. Imagines all the aimless rambles and interruptions in the middle of his instructions, talking about his own difficulties when he teaches him whatever he learned, and Zuko would listen intently, wait for the moment the pretense of a higher pitch drops and it goes back to the still-high tenor with occasional cracks.

Mother always liked to make him laugh. 

He lets himself smile in secret, even if it looks dumb. After all, they are defined by them.

Hope this was fun to read(?) even if it’s out of context, I do need to edit some though. Thank you for tagging me!! Hope everyone has fun~

#writing tag #zukka #blue spirit x kyoshi warrior sokka #I am currently laughing at Sokka's POV 'what use is a name?' oh buddy you have no fucking idea #now you may think it's ooc for him to be THIS careless.....the shit I had to build up to make him actually give this a chance y'all.... #make the most suspicious person in the gaang fall for a guy whose face voice or name he doesn't know was WORK #zuko x sokka

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

Ooh, all your WIPs sound so fascinating! Can I ask about Runaway Jaskier? <3

Runaway Jaskier is a very goofy modern with magic AU that I only came up with yesterday and stayed up far too late last night writing. Basically, Geralt saves his upstairs neighbor, Jaskier, from getting murdered by a one-night-stand, who turns out to be a bruxa. This is a modern setting where magic and witchers have been forgotten, so Geralt fully intends to Axii Jaskier into forgetting about him and the bruxa once he patches him up. Only, he lets this fact slip. Jaskier, who has no intention of forgetting the coolest thing that's ever happened to him, escapes out the window and into a waiting rideshare.

The fic is basically Jaskier leading Geralt on a wild goose chase around modern-day Novigrad as he tries to avoid being brainwashed into forgetting Geralt and the bruxa, leading to lots of shenanigans, late-night conversations, and probably some minor peril.

Snippet under the cut because it's long:

“Look.” Geralt takes a step towards him, looking far more menacing than someone covered in glow-in-the-dark paint and body glitter should. "The Axii won't hurt you. It'll just be like you had too much to drink and can't remember what happened."

“I already told you, I won’t tell anyone.”

“And I already told you, I can’t risk that.” Geralt’s voice gentles. “The world forgot about witchers centuries ago and those of us who are left want it to stay like that.” 

Jaskier looks around desperately, but no one is paying them a lick of attention. The food truck is surrounded by drunk, hungry clubgoers hankering for a late-night taco; none of them care about anything but staving off tomorrow’s hangover with carbs and grease. No one will notice if Geralt Axiis Jaskier and walks away.

Not unless Jaskier draws their attention.

“First, can I ask you a question?” Jaskier pins Geralt with his best puppy dog eyes.

Geralt sighs. “Fine. One question.”

Jaskier slips one of the many rings off his fingers and drops to one knee.

“What are you doing?” Geralt’s eyes go wide.

“Geralt.” Jaskier projects his voice like he would onstage, drawing the attention of a group of U Novigrad students standing nearby. One of the girls squeals. “From the moment I met you, I knew there was no one else on the Continent quite like you.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt hisses.

“While I admit, we’ve had our ups and downs, you are unforgettable, my love. Even after all this time, our love is as new and exciting as if we just met yesterday. I love you, Geralt, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

There’s a flash as someone takes a picture. Everyone around them is staring now; there’s no way Geralt can Axxi Jaskier without people noticing something is wrong.

“Will you make me the happiest man in the world and be my husband?”

Geralt looks from Jaskier to the U Novigrad students to the people in line for tacos. He turns back to Jaskier and bares his teeth in a smile. “Yes.”

As the onlookers cheer, Jaskier realizes he has no easy way to extract himself from this situation. He expected Geralt to tell him to fuck off, giving Jaskier an excuse to burst into tears and hopefully be comforted by a sympathetic onlooker, or perhaps just run away. But Geralt has said yes and by all rights, Jaskier should be over the moon. Which the witcher was counting on, judging by the gleam in his eye.

There’s really one thing to do. Jaskier slips his ring on Geralt’s finger and leaps to his feet, fisting his hands in the front of Geralt’s shirt and kissing him with every ounce of passion he can muster. It’s…not what he was expecting. For one, Geralt’s lips are warm and soft. For another, Geralt kisses back, one hand sliding around to cup the back of his neck while the other settles on his lower back. Jaskier forgets the bruxa and the onlookers and the threat of Axii. All the matters is Geralt pressed against him, kissing him within an inch of his life.

Geralt pulls away. His pupils are wide, nearly swallowing up the yellow of his irises, and his breathing is shallow.

Jaskier wants to kiss him again, then remembers why he really shouldn’t. With a laugh, he presses a quick peck to the tip of Geralt’s nose. “Oh, I’m so happy! I need to go call my parents!”

And then he runs.

Ask me about my WIPs!

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #ask games #ghost's writing

[atonalginger]

WIP Wednesday

Howdy y'all! @fangbangerghoul reminded me it was Wednesday and also tagged me in a wonderful fic rec list for Delgado content that you can find HERE with lots of of great recs as well as a peek of her latest Delgado fic, Heavy Metal Lover. If you like great action and fight sequences and have a hankering for quiet, snarky assassins and grumpy Delgado, give their ao3 a look. They also write for My Time At Sandrock and Baldur's Gate 3!

As far as tagging others, today I'm openly tagging anyone who sees this and feels they have something to share. I know a lot of us are going through it atm and so no pressure.

For my WIP sneak peek I have some more from a currently unnamed fic that follows Rokov through the back half of Work-Life Balance and afterward, giving a glimpse at what was going on with Della's other half during the chaos. The WIP is a little slower paced with lots of hurt and comfort going on and a better look into Del and Rokov's dynamic in their little triad.

Del sat with Rokov near the pool, failing to keep the icepack on his swollen left eye as they waited for word. He refused to be looked at by any of their trained medics despite looking like he’d been through hell himself. Every time someone approached he ordered them to make themselves useful for Samina.

“At least lay down,” Rokov motioned at the rest of Del’s chair, “so they think you’re taken care of?”

“I don’t need to lay down,” Del snapped, looking back at the medbay as the ice pack slipped out of his hand, “I need to know that she’s alright.”

“Da,” Rokov reached down and picked up the pack. He carefully dragged his chair closer and gently placed the ice on Del’s face, causing the man to jump and curse at him in Spanish.

Delgado raised his hand to backhand Rokov’s hand away but stopped himself, shuddering as he stifled a sob. He relaxed his shoulders as he fought to keep himself together, “I thought I could keep Naeva’s focus. I thought we had it covered. If I’d hidden we might have…”

“It could have been a lot worse too,” Rokov said softly as he leaned in, “the whole thing was a gamble from the start.”

“I thought I knew her,” Delgado let the words fall out of his mouth in a whisper as a tear escaped his uncovered eye, “I used to count on her to have my back. I trusted her. But when she walked in…it was like looking at a stranger.”

“She’s been on this path for a while,” Rokov said while studying Del’s bloodied lip. It was split down the center of his lower lip, swollen enough to create a slight lisp when he spoke. Rokov wiped the drop of dried blood from above the patch of hair on Del’s chin, drawing his leaders focus away from the medbay and to him.

“I didn’t think she’d go this far,” Delgado admitted, “I knew she was intense, I knew she didn’t like Bella, but I thought I things under control. Sure, she pushed back but I was always able to…no that’s a lie I’ve been telling myself. That’s clear now.”

“She had a way of getting in people’s heads,” Rokov pulled the icepack back to look over the bruise, “and under people’s skin. She knew what to say and do to gain favor and how far she could push back without losing standing. After the shit with Rake happened she lost face with a lot of people around the Key, including you.

“Then she brought in this unknown to her rook only to learn the blonde nobody is actually very well known and skilled. That would be embarrassing on its own but then you took a shine to the beautiful blonde. Bella got more and more of your time and attention and had better ideas with less mess than anything Naeva could come up with. She felt threatened and did everything she could think of to threaten and discredit Bella and failed every time, likely pissing her off further. You were looking at a stranger because she took the mask off she’d worn around you for so long; she could no longer control the narrative so she no longer had a need to be whatever passed as nice with her.”

Delgado sighed, his shoulders and back slumping as he leaned forward to rest his face in his hands, elbows on his thighs, “we talked about it so many times. How Bella wasn’t interested in that sort of position, she was content as a rook and then later as a captain. Naeva’s position was never at risk. Bella would have gladly buried the hatchet with her if the dumb bitch would have given her a chance.”

“Naeva was a survivor,” Rokov leaned in and rested the side of his temple against Del’s.

“So is Bella, so are you,” Del leaned into him, one hand dropping to reach over and touch Rokov’s arm, “same as me.”

“And you know how easy self-doubt and paranoia can worm its way in if you aren’t careful,” Rokov whispered, “it didn’t matter how many times you told her she was safe when Bella continually made her look inept in front of you and the crew in command. What would normally be playful jabs turned into venom tipped fangs.”

“I could have ended this weeks ago,” Del mumbled.

“You had no reason to think it was going to get this bad,” Rokov looked in and nuzzled Delgado’s cheek, “Bella will pull through and we’ll be back to taking what’s ours in no time.”

Delgado snorted, “That’s if her friend doesn’t kill me first.”

#atonalginger writes #wip wednesday #the coemancer crew #starfield fanfiction #crimson fleet #starfield #Starfield Delgado #Evgeny Rokov #Dellarov #Bella Cherise

[tracingpatternswrites]

Wednesday WIP

A little something from my Wolfstar falling in love in their 30s fic set in Edinburgh. I honestly cannot wait to start sharing this with you properly, I just need to get a bit more written first.

“It won’t take long,” James promised, giving Sirius’ shoulder a pat before walking off.

Sirius was happy that he didn’t have to follow, satisfied he could find the bar instead. He ventured inside, weaving his way through the crowd until he found the bar that had been set up in the State Drawing Room. It wasn’t very crowded yet, only a few people that Sirius didn’t recognise standing around talking. There was a waiter there though, his back against the room as he wiped down the bar with forceful movements.

Sirius did a double take as the man registered with him, his gaze trailing from the dark curls that rested against the collar of his shirt. He was wearing a bloody kilt, and Sirius swallowed back the sound that was threatening to escape him. Since he had moved to Edinburgh he had seen people wearing kilts every now and then but he still hadn’t got used to it.

Even though Sirius could only see the back of the man he knew he was immediately hooked, and he took another moment to enjoy the view, his eyes snagging on the little flash of skin between the kilt and the socks that were pulled up to his knees. He was wearing a black jacket that hugged his body in a way that made a little thrill run down Sirius’ spine.

He straightened his back automatically, running a hand carefully through his hair to make sure it was messy in the right kind of way. He glanced down at his own outfit, snug black jeans and a midnight blue shirt, and after a brief hesitation he opened another button in his shirt before he made his way over.

He cleared his throat as he was right behind the man, dropping his voice slightly, “So is it true that you’re not wearing anything underneath those things, or is that just a cruel rumour?”

The waiter whipped around, brown eyes wide in shock and Sirius took a step back in surprise as two things registered at once. The first one was that it was the second time in only a few days that he found himself eye-to-eye with Remus Lupin and the second one was that it was surprising how quickly a kilt could change the way you saw a person.

“Oh,” he said, weakly, feeling like an idiot as he let out an embarrassed laugh, “Remus! I didn’t realise it was you.”

Remus stared at him for a moment before something closed off behind his eyes as he took a step back, his face schooling into something neutral.

“Clearly,” he said, a quirk of his lips that wasn’t a smile as he turned away from Sirius to step behind the bar.

Sirius thought about the last time he’d seen Remus, in Lily’s office at the centre, the realisation of why he was there. Of who he was. Sirius wanted to say something about it but he didn’t know what or how, not here where they could be overheard. He wanted to assure him that his secret was safe, that Sirius would never tell anyone, but he wasn’t sure how to do that.

Sirius looked at Remus as the other man refilled the container with straws, and he could feel his heart pounding harshly in his chest, partly from the lingering embarrassment and partly from the fact that Remus Lupin or not, kilts were still really damn attractive.

“You, er, you work here?” Sirius tried, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at himself, instead leaning against the bar in an attempt to look casual.

Remus raised a brow at him, looking pointedly from Sirius down at his own hands that had moved on to rearranging the clean glasses and then up again, “It sure seems like it, dinnea it?”

Sirius felt his face flush, Remus' dry tone made him feel like even more of an idiot and there was a flare of anger in his chest. It wasn’t fair, he had done nothing but tried to be nice to Remus and yet he got nothing but snarky replies. Remus said nothing more as he continued to shift things around behind the bar, not paying Sirius any attention.

#wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #EE #my writing #wip wednesday

[locksylight]

That one piece drawing was so cute!!! Do you have any other headcanons about them?

IM SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG TO GET TO THIS T-T I've been trying to put together my thoughts coherently on them but I absolutely can't get past the "No thoughts just rotating them in my mind barrier" that's been on my mind. But I can give a couple! I'm only on episode 112 currently just for an idea of how much I know about all the characters -Just as a general note for how I see them, I think they all regress but just it varies with each of them. Like Zoro regresses the least (at least visibly, he regresses more in private separate from the crew) and generally will be more of a caregiver and Usopp does regress but like Zoro he takes the role of caregiver. Sanji is a good mix of both, Nami regresses more but will help take care of anyone if they regress but will sort of guide them towards someone else to take care of them, and Luffy kind of just floats around like you can't really tell a major difference between when he's regressed and when he's not but over time the crew learns to see some of the big tells for when he's regressed. -Nonverbal Zoro while regressed! And just like,, in general lol, I headcanon him as autistic so he's def been at the forefront of my mind -Nami and Usopp friendship is something I absolutely live for, I think Usopp's the one Nami will go to first when she regresses. She'll just sort of hang around him if he's in the middle of something but he'll keep her entertained with small games and stories. -Usopp telling stories actually! Like all the ones he would make up for Kaya he'll make up for whoever's regressed cause they're just fun! Sorry that I really don't have much but I'll drop my current WIPs under the cut to make up for it!

#one piece agere #fandom agere #age regression #safe agere #lockspiels #headlocks

[telemna-hyelle]

Since it is WIP Wednesday I think I'll post a little bit of one of my current projects.

So some of you may have heard of The Saga of Hilda, aka my lorulian history focusing on the lorulian counterparts to the Chain?

This is about them! It's showing why Ravio was in Legend's house in Hoarder of Legend, and what was going on behind the scenes.

Explanation for the AU here X X

“Did… anyone hear a door close?”

It was Realm who said it. Not surprisingly, as in his world he had to always be on guard, listening for the sound of Miharu tech spying on him.

They all froze.

Sol scowled, orange eyes narrowing sharply. “Of course we have to be here on the one day that some idiot decides to break into the hero’s house.”

Magic cleared his throat, lifting one finger. “Technically,” he said, drawing out the word, “aren’t we breaking into the Hero’s House?”

“Of course not!” Myth said, perhaps a bit more breezily than he had the right to. “I have partial rights over this house.”

Ages turned to glance at Myth, carefully arching an eyebrow. “You tricked him into signing something, didn’t you.”

Myth’s gaze shifted to one side. “…Why are we standing around here when Mr. Hero’s house is being invaded?”

“Windows, everybody,” Sea said, picking up the Sovereign Blade from where he had leaned it against the wall. Swords was already moving in that direction, anticipating Sea’s order, and a moment later he let out a gasp.

“…Link?”

Myth changed directions from the original window he was headed towards, running over to where Swords stood. “Are you sure? You’ve never met—” He looked out the window, and a gusty sigh of relief whooshed out. “That’s not Link, that’s some other guy.”

“So it is a burglar?” Flame asked with a faint quaver in his voice.

Ages leaned forward to look, smiling and setting a firm hand on Flame’s shoulder as he did. “Even if it is, we have surprise, skill, and numbers. We can handle it.”

He then looked out the window, blinked, and frowned. “…doesn’t he look like you, Swords?”

“That’s what I was trying to say!” Swords’ voice was somewhat strangled with surprise. “He’s my Link. From the war!”

“Wait, really?” Sol leaned forward, once again taking advantage of the fact that he was the tallest. “…you’re kidding me, it is him.”

“What’s he doing here?” Myth yelped, his Sheerow leaping in surprise. “This is nowhere near his timeline!”

“Do you think this could be from the war?” Sea asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“…Maybe.” Swords said slowly. “But he looks… a little different than I remember. Almost… older?”

“Hey,” Lorule said quietly, “The little guy next to him looks a lot like One.”

Everyone’s gaze swung down to stare at their smallest member.

Their stomachs dropped when they saw the near-painful lack of a smirk on his face.

“That’s him.” One said quietly, glancing away to one side. “That’s the Hero of Four.”

Myth’s gaze bounced from Swords, to the Hero of Warriors, to the Hero of Four, and back to One.

Then he threw his hands into the air. “Just what in the love of silver rupees is going on here?”

Sea leaned on the Sovereign Blade, eyes sharp. “Maybe… if we’re going on an adventure across time and space… who’s to say our counterparts aren’t, either?”

There were a few brief moments of silence as the Ravios soaked this in. Some of them were awestruck, their eyes glittering with excitement at the thought of getting the chance to met their counterparts. A couple (Sea and Magic) were looking at One in concern. Ages and Swords, on the other hand, were giving Sol very careful looks.

Sol grinned, though the expression was sharp and not very pleasant at all. “So would you say the hero of Twilight is here?”

#the saga of hilda #linked universe #linked universe au #lu ravio #tellie writes stuff #my fanfics #wip wednesday

[m-to-the-6th-power]

Gonna start doing WIP Wednesday, I'll either share snippets I've written that ive got planned for later in the fic. Based on an idea from this tumblr post that put the plot bunny up for adoption.

Gideon stared down at the paper for a long tense moment. A commission, not only that but an officer's commission. 1st lieutenant in the cohort. Sponsored by Aiglaminaie and marked with the seal of the Ninth. Signed by both the Revenant, no Reverend Mother and Father. She looked up at her teacher. "Why?" She asked plainly and openly, sensing a deeper current just waiting to pull her under. 

"You need freedom. The house needs from you. I convinced our lady to let you go with this commission if you swear by The Tomb and The Rock that you will keep your tongue in your head, return after your commission is up for at least five years, and if you will keep an ear to the ground for any who have no love for their house," Aiglaminaie gave a stern look to Gideon. "Any new blood would be a blessing. And I'm sure if anyone can draw a crowd, it will be you Nav." 

Gideon felt a surge in her chest at that, not quite pride but close. "And what? Convince them to come and live here? I hate it here, how will they feel?" 

Aiglaminaie looked at Gideon for a long moment, peeling her layers away slowly. "There are many who tire of war, of fighting. There are chances for silent contemplation and art here. It is mysterious, and it is holy. Those will be your selling points." 

Gideon nodded, "Freaks and geeks, got it," Gideon said, holding up a hand to forestall Aiglaminaie, "I'll try to get anyone i can, maybe I'll even find a nice older swordsperson for you. To take over training of course. Any preference?" 

Aiglaminaie stared at Gideon for a long moment before her mouth quirked up into what for anyone else would be a smile. "As long as they are sufficiently deft with a blade, theirs or others, I'm sure they'll do just fine." 

Gideon gave an honest smile and a hug to the only person who had ever loved her on the Ninth. "When do I leave?" 

"The shuttle arrives in 2 hours. Pack your bags and be ready. Lady Harrowhark wants to see you before you leave, she'll probably just run over everything I've already covered. But until you're on that shuttle you're still a member of this house first, don't make her regret sending you."

Gideon grasped Aiglaminaie by the shoulders. "I will make you proud," She said before turning and starting to gather items around her cell. 

Aiglaminaie gave a soft, "You already have Nav," before leaving the cell. 

------ 

Gideon arrived at cohort headquarters five hours later, her shades firmly in place and head spinning with the press of humanity all around her. It should've only taken 4 from the time Aiglaminaie had first given her the commission, but as usual Harrowhark Nonagesimus had to waylay Gideon for an hour being spooky and all around weird. The first item in her itinerary was to get her picture taken, then the physical testing, and finally getting her room assignment and new wardrobe.

As Gideon waited in line, the person behind her tapped her shoulder. When Gideon looked, she saw a girl about her age, tan with a necromantic build, with brown hair the color of Drearburh dirt and eyes the color of ink. "Yes?" Gideon asked, attempting politeness. 

The girl blushed immediately, looking down at her hands now clasped in front of her. "I'm sorry to bother you. I just wanted to say that I think your hair is gorgeous, and I really like your glasses."

Gideon felt her mouth drop open, shocked at the compliment. "Thanks," Gideon said, feeling her chest puff slightly as she felt the warmth spreading up from her stomach. "I really like your eyes. It's like looking into space." 

The girl thrust out a hand, "Eleanor Chatur. Necromancer of the Fourth House. Commissioned Second Lieutenant. Available." 

Gideon felt shock roll through her at the forwardness and took the hand carefully, she didn't want to get in trouble before her picture was even taken for breaking another soldiers hand. "Gideon Nav. Two hander swordswoman of the Ninth. Commissioned First Lieutenant. Also available for a late lunch after all this."

"It's a date," Eleanor said, grinning. "But just a warning ninth, don't forget. The Fourth is all about fidelity." She said, imbuing the last word with such import that Gideon felt a shiver go down her spine. 

Gideon was searching for an appropriate quip as a head popped out of the door next to her, "Next picture."

Gideon turned to Eleanor, "They'll have to lock me up to keep me away," Gideon said before turning back to the man standing at the door looking peeved. "Let's meet in the cafeteria around 3."

As Gideon sat for her picture, lenses tucked safely in her pocket and appropriately solemn look on her face, she felt her head spinning. The first day of the rest of her life was starting off well. She was joining the cohort, away from Nonagesimus, and she had a date. Nothing was going to bring her down today. 

That is right up until the terminal began to beep incessantly and everyone in the room trained their weapons on her. "Place your weapon on the ground and place your hands on your head. Slowly."

Gideon did as instructed, staring down the barrel of the gun pointed at her face, the interior like the yawning void of space. "What's this about?" She asked, feeling cold bands begin to wrap around her ribs. 

"Your picture triggered quite a few warnings in our system," One of the men inside said, reading off the terminal. "What's your mother's name?"

"What's yours asshole?" Gideon responded before her verbal filter could fully catch up. "I don't know, okay?" Gideon said plainly after only a moment. "She landed on the Ninth in a haz suit with me, I survived, she didn't. Couldn't get anything from her but my name."

The man nodded slowly. "Fine, fine. You'll be held in the brig pending communications with the first house," The man gestured to the one standing closest to Gideon, "I'm sure we'll get this all figured out with no issue lieutenant, and you'll be able to get back to your duty in no time."

As Gideon was lead away the bands tightened around her chest. 'I'm not making it to that lunch date am I?'

-----

The first day was the hardest. She was free of the Ninth house. She was at the cohort to become a soldier, and she was already back in a cell. The cuff on her ankle was disturbingly familiar in a way that made her skin crawl and the spot between her shoulders itch. She didn't even have her sword.

The floor felt odd against her hands. It was slightly soft and had give. It made her pushups harder to do, but star jumps and sit ups felt better overall. She felt herself slipping, like her recent height had been built on a dune made of Drearburh silt and it was starting to slip away faster and faster, skeletons from Nonagesimus forming from the silt to strike her down for her hubris of believing she could escape a cell. 

After her training and a meal, a double helping of spiced ground beef covered with a vibrant yellow cheese that did not look safe and strips of potato with the skin still on in parts covered with salt, she felt better. She stopped and thought about her options as she lay down to sleep. They had said once everything was cleared up she could return to duty. She would find Eleanor and explain that they actually had locked her up and hopefully get that date. She would take the field, first on the ground, hopefully in a battalion with Eleanor as her Necromancer. As she began to imagine what it would be like in the field, Eleanor and her in the officers berth together, sitting together and chatting after a long difficult battle. Eleanor removing Gideon's leathers, running her delicate hands over her shoulders from behind her, reverential like she was something precious and holy. Eleanor resting her head between Gideon's shoulder blades just beneath the knob of her spine and saying, "That was truly exceptional. Your skill with a sword is unparalleled." The hands run down her sides, nails dragging softly along her ribs and abdominal muscles, coming to rest at the hem of her cohort undershirt, skin just barely brushing skin. "Color me impressed Griddle,"  Was the last she imagined before sleep took her under. 

When Gideon first awoke the next day, she had a moment of extreme disorientation. Had everything, being freed from the ninth, coming to the cohort, meeting Eleanor, been a dream? Grief welled up in her chest, cold as a night spent outside in a Drearburh winter. She began to spiral downwards faster and faster like a shuttle caught in the gravitational well of Dominicus until finally she looked down at herself and noticed the stark white of the cohort undershirt and briefs she wore. The image of those instead of loose, flowing, black, Ninth house sleeping gowns immediately snapped her back to reality and released gravity. 

Gideon took a long moment to appreciate that at least one part of her freedom was still fully intact before levering herself up in the bed, tucking one foot under her thigh, the other ankle under her calf and deciding on a next course of action. She was going to fall behind in her physical fitness and classes sitting in here, the first could be mitigated by training, the second she would have to try to train herself in that area too. With that acknowledgement, Gideon stood and went to the door of her cell, three hard knocks bringing a cohort sergeant to the other side. 

"Chow is still an hour out Nav," The sergeant said with the faintest familiar accent and a glance at his watch. "I've known a few fresh Niners, was one myself 20 years ago. All of us were one step away from scurvy when we first showed up. I think I put on as much weight in my first two weeks from proper nutrition as I did the training."

At the mention of food Gideon realized that she was ravenous. "That's great Sergeant but not what I was gonna ask about," Gideon said shortly, "Can I get books in here? Something to pass the time and all that?" 

The sergeant nodded, "Oh yeah, you can get textbooks, comics, fiction and nonfiction from the library, just about anything they put on flimsy except skin mags. You can get skin mags from the store. Get them from the PX too, older issues are cheaper but they're fully digitized. Got stuff going back almost to the resurrection itself," He stopped and studied Gideon's face slowly, "Don't worry too much, most soldiers throughout their career will spend at least a few days in the brig, normally it doesn't result in a loss of station or anything, just a slap on the wrist really."

Gideon gave the man a grin, his reassurance surprisingly effective with that sight Niner lilt to his voice. "Thanks sergeant... I never caught your name," Gideon realized with a sheepish grin. 

"Anastas Nav," The man replied easily, spreading his hands. "I guess that almost makes us family huh?"

Gideon blinked, remembering the question from yesterday. She'd never had a family. The feeling was... nice was a good word for it, if a bit vague. It'd give Ortus conniptions to hear her be so lazy in descriptions. "I'll take any family I can get here," Gideon responded. "Any chance you could get me some books on tactics, strategy, anything that might be useful for a commissioned officer? And, if I promise to get you back for the cost, a skin mag?"

Anastas laughed, "The learning style books, sure, sure. No problems there. Unfortunately the skin mags are technically contraband, sorry cousin," He shrugged with a rueful look as if to say 'My hands are tied,' "It's a real pain when you're in here a week for a simple pub brawl and you got a copy of Fidelity of the Fourth and Naughty Nuns of the Ninth that you've barely creased waiting in your berth."  

Gideon's mind ground to a screeching halt at that. She felt her ears warming as she blushed, remembering Eleanor's comment and something fuzzy from her dreams the night before. "I'm sorry, what were those titles?" 

"Oh, I forgot you're fresh from the Ninth. You don't get those all the way out there. You've only got Mithraeum and Playadept right?" He asked as a bell began to ring, sounding the time. "And that's the chow bell. I'll see about getting you an extra helping of food like last night, and after my relief shows up, I'll see about getting you some light reading material."

Gideon's stomach took that moment to growl, low and sustained. "Thanks, if there's anything I can do for you once I'm out, just let me know."

Anastas nodded thoughtfully. "My old sergeant, man by the name of Ajax, always said the better the officer the sooner they end up in the brig," As he started walking away he called back, "When you're running this place, just remember your dear cousin Anastas."

Gideon found herself grinning when she started her workout, even in a cell with no clue of when she would be released, even with her fate fully uncertain, she had family. Someone with her name, someone who would claim her. She got entirely through her sit ups and push ups, standard and clapping, before the scrape of metal on plex sounded, a tray of food slid into the room. Just behind it was two truly massive cups of a black liquid with small wisps of steam coming off of them, with a bowl of white powder and a red and white carton following soon after. 

"Took me a while to get there," Anastas said from the other side of the door. "They were getting ready to clear down to begin lunch prep, so I got as much as I could grab. I need to take the sugar bowl, that's the white stuff, back PDQ, so go ahead and make up your bari how you like it and slide that back on through so I don't get busted down to cleaning the pissers, again."

Gideon moved the tray, watching it bow slightly in the middle as she lifted it and sat it to the side. She took 3 heaping spoonfuls of the sugar for each cup and slid the bowl back through. She opened the white and red carton, taking the hint and adding a small pour to each cup, suddenly entranced by the way the color shifted to tan as it spread through the drink. When she took her first sip, she found it sweet and smooth, feeling energy flow into her. When she turned to her tray she found a tray so loaded with food a necromancer would have been hard pressed to lift it. Slices of bread piled 5 high on one side, a pile of crusty looking almost bread on the other covered with a light glaze of some brown liquid, between them a massive pile of something a much milder yellow  with chunks of the dangerous yellow in it with three different kinds of meat, a patty that looked similar to her meal last night, something more tubular, and almost flat strips of meat dark red and white, all of this overtop of finely shredded potatoes, somehow clumped together and deep fried. 

Gideon Nav ate, no Gideon Nav feasted. She took a bite of everything before digging in with wild abandon. For the first time in nineteen years, she was sated, she was full. She found herself with a half piece of bread, pensively sopping up the last remnants of grease from the tray and thinking. While she ate Anastas had dropped off her books and she had started leafing through them. The books on tactics was fairly dense, and supremely dry, but Gideon had lived within hearing range of Ortus Neigenard for years. She could soldier, or well prisoner, through this. 

Through the day, Gideon studied, Gideon ate, Anastas dropped by after his shift had ended and chatted with her for a while. It was a bit strange when she stopped to think about it. She was in prison, back in a cell, but her needs were being met more strongly now than ever before. At least she wasn't in the dark any longer. 

After a few hours of reading Gideon felt an itch begin to crawl up her spine like she imagined a necromancer drawing her fingers slowly up her back would feel, barely there and ghostly. It made her squirm as she imagined Nonagesimus drawing those bony fingers along each knob of her spine. The feeling made her want, no need, to move. She did star jumps and push ups until the feelings abated. When she felt like herself again, Gideon settled back on her bed and studied more. The fingers came back faster the next time. Gideon forced herself to buckle down and focus solely on studying even with the distractions. She didn't notice how fast time was moving until the clatter of metal on plex sounded, a tray of food being pushed through the door towards her. She ate less ravenously this time, slowly working her way through the tray of food, still studying between bites. 

When sleep finally came for Gideon Nav, she fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of all the tactics she had absorbed through the day. She dreamed of working next to a necromancer that she never got a good look at who despite the action still found time to take hold of Gideon's hand at the end of the fighting, turning her palm inwards and pressing her lips softly to her palm, leaving a smudge of alabaster and charcoal paint behind. 

It was 2 weeks later when Gideon awoke to the sound of a tray sliding through the door. When she saw Anastas standing on the far side, a grin split her face. Anastas had been a great friend so far, even though he'd come from the Ninth, he might be willing to return. As she took the tray she leaned against the door. "You came from the Ninth, right?" Gideon asked, trying to figure out how to broach the topic. "How'd you like it back then?"

Anastas shrugged, "It was okay. I still have my prayer bones, and I still sometimes send off letters. The only one to consistently reply has been Orty," Here Gideon gave a mighty snort, "but that's not too surprising. Most Niner kids don't need to learn their letters, and he adds replies for most everyone still kicking. I know that almost all the other Nav kids died in that bad vent flu that went around. I'm glad at least one of us survived. How... How many others made it?"

Gideon felt a hot flush of shame as she thought back to the Ninth. "I'm not a true Nav kid, Anastas," Gideon admitted in a small voice, suddenly finding her fingernails incredibly interesting. "My mom crashed down the drill shaft in a haz suit with me in a bio container. She wouldn't give the necromancers anything when they pulled her spirit back, just my name, Gideon. They named me after what she said and gave me the last name Nav. I don't have any family, not really."

Anastas laughed, causing Gideon's head to snap up to meet his eyes so fast her neck gave a frightening pop. "My dad was like that," Anastas said by way of explanation. "Most of the Nav kids, you just have to go back 1 or 2 generations and you'll find the beginning of the line. You just don't have any tracing to do. But you're a Nav all the same. You're one of us Gideon Nav. Gideon of the Ninth; cousin." 

Gideon felt warmth pooling in her chest at his words. They didn't need blood, they didn't need a traceable link, they were family. "Thanks Anastas, that means, well, that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me." Gideon said, finally meeting his eyes. "As for the flu, only I survived. Nonagesimus wasn't quite born yet, and everyone else got taken," Gideon said. 

Anastas had the look of a man doing numbers in his head before opening his mouth. "Wait a minute, when you say Nonagesimus, do you mean Harrowhark Nonagesimus? The Reverend Daughter, future leader of the Ninth?" Anastas asked, the shock doing strange things to his voice. "That's the girl you left behind that you've been dreaming about?"

Gideon felt her face flushing in rage at the implication, anger causing her jaw to drop just before a call from the guard post interrupted. "Nav, Gideon, you have a visitor, prepare yourself."

Gideon jumped at the voice, shoving her tray out of the way of the door and running her fingers through her hair quickly, trying to make herself presentable before pulling her aviators over her eyes. After another long moment, Anastas opened the door to a truly massive man with dark red hair cropped short. His biceps put Gideon's to shame, and his green eyes looked out of place on his face. "Um, hi?" Gideon ventured, "Can I help you?"

He looked her up and down once, focusing on her hair. "My name is Gideon Pyrrha, I'm the Third Saint to serve the King Undying, one of his Fists and Gestures, an Immortal, and your father," Gideon Nav felt bands tightening around her chest at his name, growing tighter with every word spoken, the last word knocking her back against her cot with shock. "I'm here to take you home."

#the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #wip wednesday #i don't know if i got the tone quite right with her voice #this is chapter 1 #I've started on chapter 2 #prince gideon au

[that-one-sketch]

Undyne and Alphys (Can't be Sans/Monstrum)

Sorry, I will be honest. I got no time, and little drive to draw a whole sketch page for the lesbians. Also, this all just a copy paste from my DA account. I do plan on making a page for 'Can't be Sans'. However, I haven't the slightest clue on on Tumbler works. So, slow progress.

Lore block! Here we go!

Undyne and Alphys are a heavy ship in the Monstrum AU! Just a heads up, they are the mega gay. u//w//u Undyne hasn't changed all that much, still an angry sushi that will suplex people. Her goal is to make sure crime in New Home is low. Undyne works two jobs, Captain of the Royal Guard, and New Homes sorta police chief. Undyne rarely interacts with Frisk, but is more offend hanging out and training Chara's aggression to become a Royal Guard, since Chara is not a fan of the duties of the Royal princess/prince. Undyne acts more like the devil on Chara's shoulder, while Flowey is a lot more of the angel. Making Chara more militaristic and tomboyish.

Alphys is still very much a geek, and is very shy. Very rarely leaves labs. Although she does have a lot more confidence than the OG Alphys as this Alphys did not interact with the disease 'Fall down'. As a quick note, both Alphys and Frisk have a huge crush on anime, and science/make-up of SOULS. Alphys has been kind of teaching Frisk her field of studies. Robotics, Magic, SOULS, DT, and some small touches of Quantum theory/universal study. As Frisk lived on the surface, Alphys has been able to sorta recreate stars, and a mini galaxy on the ceiling of waterfall. Giving the Wishing room a real feeling of seeing the night sky as Frisk remembers it. Chara also pitched in there, but mainly because Chara brought a space book with them. Though Alphys has no idea where Frisks theories on Quantum theory are coming from. This and a few other hits dropped from Chara, as well as Monstrum, makes Alphys very observant as well as quietly questioning of the only two humans in the underground. As she would like to ask, she chooses to say quiet. Waiting for a day to ask. If anyone got some questions, feel free to ask! This story is still WIP, but I will answer to best of my abilities!

#undertale #undertale undyne #undertale alphys #undertale au #undyne #alphys #monster #beast #digital art #digital aritst #digital drawing #digital painting #digital #video games #undertale fanart #undertale fan au #fandom #lore