#mostly because runes are hard to draw and there were a lot on her box

[popculture-hag-shit]

I made a lil servitor based off Elly :3 I'll prolly put up a how to for her eventually, but for now I just wanna show her off lol

#pop culture magic #pop culture witchcraft #puella magi madoka magica #servitor #thoughtforms #took me like a week to make her #mostly because runes are hard to draw and there were a lot on her box

[embretheworld]

I was bored so here’s some hc’s

I have a lot surprisingly so a lot of these are coming off the top of my head

-Laxus does not have good eyesight in the eye with a scar because that's where the lacrima was implanted. But he can still see out of it, it just gets blurry sometimes.

-If you had a lacrima implanted in you, there's gonna be a scar where it was implanted, and depending on what type of magic it is determine's the shape.

-Laxus's mother was born without magic and had the same thing happen to her but she was 16 when she had it implanted in her hand, she also had asked to have one and Laxus didn't.

-Laxus was born without magic thanks to his mother being born without magic too.

-When you get a lacrima implanted in you, depending on what type and how strong it is, depends on how sick you get. It's a counterbalance so people won't always get lacrima's implanted in them. The day it was implanted you get very sick as the body's reaction to an overwhelming influx of magic in your system, it happens every year in the same day it was implanted but the first time is the worst.

-"This is what I get for being emotionally slutty," Loke probably looking back on some kind of event.

-Loke with freckles!

-Loke sleeps when he's bored.

-Lucy suffers the worst writer's block ever and can't seem to ever get out of it no matter how hard she tries(I feel you girl).

-Plue really likes candy.

-Happy got Lucy a little frame that said "Life is better with cats" for her Birthday and despite how much Happy annoys her sometimes she keeps it on the desk she writes on and treasures it dearly.

-Do not let Erza play whack a mole or the games where you have to throw balls at clowns or vases you have to knock down to win a prize.

-Or let the dragon slayers play any driving game in general.

-Horror movies do not scare Aries, a lot of things do, but not horror movies.

-Mira really likes candles, but always gets them when they're on sale.

- Gray once got banned from a strip club after being mistaken for one of the strippers.

-Juvia could literally kill someone if she wanted to since our bodies are made of 60% of water but has no idea. She desires to learn more about blood magic if she so desires but hasn't.

-Levy wants to study rune magic but procrastination is her worst enemy, also people trying to attack the guild interrupting her every time she tries to cracks open a book to try and learn it. She's stopped trying to learn it in fear that if she tries someone will start attacking the guild again.

-Gajeel & Juvia and Gray & Loke are very underrated friendships that need more attention.

-Natsu chugged hot sauce and didn't even flinch. (A friend of mine did that and they scare me.)

-Lucy carries around a box of matches just in case Natsu wants a snack whenever they go on missions.( which is a lot of the time, a lot of her money has went into buying matches, she's had to go to plenty different stores to buy some because she's scared the clerk will think she's up to something and explaining it will only make her seem more suspicious.)

-Technically demon slayers are just exorcists but with more violence.

-In a human au Gray was an exorcist once.

But in normal Fairy Tail he takes side jobs on getting rid of demons from ordinary houses or other places which pays a lot.

-The wool Aries can make, can make really nice jackets. She's made jackets using it, but Loke stole it cause he likes comfy things in general.

-Loke actually needs his glasses, his glasses double as both sunglasses and normal glasses(someone I know someone who has the same type of glasses, I also wear glasses so.) due to being in Earthland too long, certain things started deteriorating like important sense's thankfully it wasn't on a major scale but on a longer one but it can't be fixed.

-Due to his eyesight deteriorating he has better hearing.

-Loke and Evergreen are nearsighted, Levy is farsighted.

-Ivan named Laxus because Laxus looked so much like his mother it only seemed fair.

-Laxus has an aunt who's his mom's sister. He talks to her through letters because she lives across the sea.

-"My little dragon," was a nickname that Laxus's mom gave him after he had gotten the dragon lacrima implanted in him against her wishes since if they were to do it, she wanted to do it when he was 16 like her but Ivan thought 8 was a much more appropriate age. (It was not). The only one who knows of this nickname for him is Makarov, his mom, his aunt, and his dad.

-His dad once used the name in a fight against him and he wanted to punch him so bad.

-If Mira were to swear she'd put sailors to shame.

-Erza has horrible road rage.

-I refuse to believe that Loke has two sets of ears, he does not have human ears and lion(cat ears?) ears at the same time just lion ears while in his celestial form and humans ones in his human form. He wears the piercing he used to wear on his human ears on his cat ears when in said celestial form, or outfit or whatever.

-The car ears(I'm calling them that now) are actual ears, you'd be surprised how many people try to pull on them in thinking that they aren't only to be pleasantly surprised that they in fact are. He likes to be pet behind them whenever they are there and he doesn't have regular human ears.

-He also despises chokers/collars with the very soul of his being. He might hiss at you if you bring one even close to him that's how much he hates them.

He doesn't even have a reason to he just hates them.

-Erza sometimes refers to her guildmates as "Feral children".

-Dragonslayers cannot whistle if their life depended on it.

-Loke knows French because most of his masters were in the French Court meaning it was mandatory for him to learn it. (I refuse to believe anyone with common sense would date him with that haircut he had in the human world, looked like something a 5-year-old would draw on a stick figure in an attempt to draw hair).

-Levy knows French, Arabic, and a few other languages.

-She fucks with people by talking to Loke in French and making them think that they're talking about that person why they aren't.

-Mira tried to learn French, she failed very badly since she kept forgetting the parts before the word and kept messing it up.

-The dragon slayers can purr when happy, growl when mad, and whimper when sad.

-The same thing applies to Loke but mostly because he's an overgrown cat.

-In order to date someone at the guild if you aren't in it you have to get Erza's blessing/asking her if it's alright since she's kinda the older sister and also the first one you wanna tell.

-Loke does not blow-dry his hair after he washes it because it just poof's up and there's no way to fix it other than to wash his hair again and look like a drowned cat for an hour or two. Though his hair is very soft after he washes it and it properly drys and isn't wet.

-Celestial spirits can dream, but their dreams consist of looking back on old memories from an outside viewpoint.

-Freed says "Let's have another round tonight" very unenthusiastically when drunk, just that sentence, no other sentence, just that one, only when he's drunk.

-Loke's good with finances along with fashion because one of his previous master, Valeria, pushed her financial work on him as a 'learning experience'.

-Loke was also offered a modeling job before and Lucy is super pissed since he of all people can get one but not her. (In the human au, he actual does modeling)

-If Mira and Loke were to team up it'd most like to be to help people in the guild get together.

-They would succeed.

-They both also like wine.

-Loke and Erza are bi, Mira is pan.

-Upon learning about this, Juvia considered Loke a love rival, be assured her that he was none and that he'd give her some advice to trying to date Gray because Gray and romance don't go well if she kept quiet about it.

-Gray ended up figuring it out and still holds it against him.

-Loke does not like being compared to a cat, he despises it so Gray as the best friend he is does exactly that.

-The two of them have blackmail on each other, and Gray often drags Loke into watching horror movies knowing he absolutely despises him with the very core of his being.

-Gajeel will fight anyone who hurts his best friend, Juvia.

Or anyone who hurts his guild but Juvia is different since she's been with him since they joined Fairy Tail.

Natsu once grabbed a pan straight out of the oven and horrified everyone in the room.

#fairy tail #fairy tail headcanons #headcanons #fairy tail laxus dreayer #fairy tail freed #fairy tail mirajane #fairy tail lucy heartfilia #fairy tail natsu dragneel #fairy tail gray fullbuster #fairy tail gajeel redfox #fairy tail juvia lockster #fairy tail aries #fairy tail loke #fairy tail evergreen

[saintjosaphime]

Wishful Thinking|| Morgan and Josephine

Just your average run to the witch supply store.

After being in White Crest for so long, one would naturally develop a curiosity for things that weren’t quite within their realm. And although Josephine understood that her abilities were gifted through magic and used powerful magicks, she found herself quite interested in the more...mortal versions of it. There were so many kinds! Alchemy, elemental, summoning, healing! It was absolutely fascinating. And it was with this mindset that Josephine found herself at one of the local magic shops-- a real magic shop, not the magic shop downtown that sold “energized crystals” that were just painted quartz-- perusing the shelves for anything that caught her eye. But halfway through her shopping, something else caught her eye, something much more interesting. A someone, technically. 

She’d walked into the shop with a bit of a sulk, but it wasn’t her saunter that gave her away-- no, it was the waves and waves of sadness and angst rolling off of her. Buried deep underneath it all, an anger. One that Josephine felt herself all too eager for. It was a familiar anger. The kind she dealt in. Someone close to this woman had wronged her, and by the way her curls sagged on her head, it was someone she had cared for very much. Josephine put on a grin. She sidled around the corner, pretending to be occupied with something or other, before reaching out as if to grab the same thing this woman was reaching for. “Oh! I’m sorry, you go ahead,” she said, giving a pleasant smile.

Morgan was just going to pick up some good basics for her supply box--now that she and Cece were out in the open about the whole magic thing, she could grab more than just what she could hide under the bed or in her thermos. Just a run, like going to the supermarket, and maybe if she’d managed to go right after classes it would have been, but now it was past five. The sun was already quitting on the world for the day and the working witches were strolling the aisles with their families. It was stupid--everyone had a family, even if it wasn’t alays a good one--but something about Mom, Dad, and Screaming Baby made the boards that held up her soul threaten to give. And maybe it was creepy, following the sound of stroller wheels over an aisle and becoming super fascinated with some mugwort she did not need, but Morgan couldn’t help herself. The kid was in a princess elsa onesie, kicking her little feet and grasping clumsily for rune stones she couldn’t reach. She was crying. Aren’t you going to do anything? It’s not that hard, just fix it. Fix it. And in came the dad, some ritual urn on his hip, scooped up his little bundle of hope and gave her a good rock. Enjoy it while it lasts, kid, she thought. The girl looked up from her Dad’s shoulder and flashed a toothless smile.

Morgan turned away and reached for the glass phials she's actually come for. Too much. Way too much. Time to get home, grade papers, and find out whether it was going to be a cuddle and fuck the pain away kind of night or the stare into the dark and pray for sleep kind. 

There was a woman’s hand next to hers, brushing close. Morgan jumped back. “Sorry!” she said. “No, I didn’t see you. You can, um, go ahead. I should’ve been paying attention. Really.” Her smile was big, even pleasant, as she insisted, but her arms locked tight around her chest, holding herself up until the exchange could be over. 

Oh, this was much worse off than Josephine had originally thought. The way the other woman held herself, the jerk when they’re hands touched, that look on her face that said ‘Please just let this be over’. It bothered Josephine. Whoever had done this to this poor woman, they deserved to suffer. A frown furrowed Josephine’s face, unable to stop the involuntary motion. “I don’t mean to pry,” she found herself saying, pulling a phial off and holding it out to her, “but you seem a bit...down for the wear.” Hmm, was that saying still a current one? Sometimes her age showed, but perhaps this woman, so distracted by her pain, wouldn’t care nor notice. She tilted her head. “Everything alright?”

Morgan tried to keep the horror of being recognized out of her eyes as best she could. “What?” She said, laughing incredulously. “No, I’m--I was just distracted. Thinking too much, you know?” She did not want to take the phial from the lady, it seemed charged somehow, like admitting she needed pity, or wanted it. Here she was, flying into regular panics over balancing her life so everyone stayed at an even distance, and the Universe, her parents, who the hell ever had tripped the curse back when, hadn’t given her even half that consideration. “I’m okay,” she managed, smiling again as best she could. “T-thank you though.” She checked her view of the cash register-- the family had just taken their spot in line. Baby girl was sucking on the rim of the urn like it belonged to her. Fuck the universe. “It’s nothing serious,” she said quietly. “You’re kind to ask, but I’ve got it.” She plucked the vial up quickly and shifted her gaze around the store, looking for somewhere else to be. 

Josephine tilted her head in concern. Someone in denial was always harder to get through, but she literally couldn’t walk away at this point. The pull of her burden was too strong. She followed her line of sight. The family standing at the register. So it was likely her parents that had dug this deep pit inside of her. Josephine could relate, and it made her angry, a brief flash of it crossing her face. “Must be nice, right?” she said, knowing that she, too, used to look longingly at happy families, talking in public, eating together, doing simple things like walking through a park or getting groceries. “I hope she realizes how good she’s got it.”

“Oh god, right?” Morgan said back. It was just so true, it slipped out of her like air. “If she’s real lucky she’ll never have to figure it out.” And that hurt. Morgan didn’t know who she’d be at all if this hadn’t happened to her, if she’d never been given a reason to even think something was off with her life. But that wasn’t going to get her anywhere to be and she shouldn’t be dumping this out loud on random strangers. She turned back to the woman, looking her over carefully for the first time. “I’m sorry--who are you, exactly? I mean--do you always strike up conversations with sad people?”

“Oh, sorry,” Josephine said, giving a slight smile. She couldn’t make it go any bigger, both for the ache inside of her and the ache coming from the other woman’s heart. “My name’s Josephine. And no, not usually, but…” she glanced around, then back to Morgan, “it’s hard to watch someone suffer without at least trying to help. I didn’t mean to drag stuff out...but I’d be lying if I said I couldn’t relate.” She set the offered phial down into Morgan’s basket before reaching up to grab her own. “But we can talk about something else, or pretend this never happened, if that’s what you want.” Turned to look back at her, putting the phials in her own basket. 

“Josephine,” Morgan repeated. That sounded like something. “Guidance counselor Josephine?” Oh, no. Not another one. Between Remmy, Cassie, Blanche, and whoever else she was forgetting, Morgan had all the absurdly kind people near her that she could bear. If she was really as kind as all that she would just run, maybe even be rude, and let Josephine get on with her life. And what was the point of convincing her about her sad story anyway? She was normal, wasn’t she? “I spoke with you online! Briefly. I meant to show and see that the community part of White Crest was all about, but Valentine’s Day turned out to be pretty rough, mostly. I’m Morgan, by the way. I um-didn’t think I’d be running into you here. Color me at least a little surprised.” This wasn’t really the muggle-type place to shop now that she thought about it. She scrutinized Josephine a little more carefully. Was she somehow...not normal? 

“Morgan!” Josephine said, a little brighter. So she’d been right. And she liked being right. “You can just call me Josphine, though, Guidance counselor Josephine was my mom.” Her face soured at the mention, though, because her mother was anything but a counselor. Her mother was a scourge on Earth. The only good thing she’d done was give birth to Josephine and MJ. She snapped back from the thought. “Why? Because I seem so normal?” she gave a flashing grin, before shrugging, “I guess I’m a little too good at it now, but I’d rather not lose my job because someone called me a witch on main.”

Morgan sputtered. This was a lot, and Josephine’s being a witch didn’t really mitigate her concerns over her being too upsettingly nice to be around for long. “--Okay, kind of, yes. Not that I don’t understand! Hunters are real and humans, normal ones, can be really horrible with things they don’t understand. I get flack sometimes for naming my crystal shop a witchery, but I just can’t bear to be completely closeted about everything. But it’s a balancing act, you know?”

“You have your own shop?” Josephine asked, genuinely curious. She supposed she could understand that. Josephine hated it as well, but growing up black and queer in the 60’s didn’t exactly allow for an leeway in not hiding. “I can get that. I do. But perhaps it was my experience that showed me that hiding, while sometimes unbearable, was safer than being out.  In any sense.” Gave her a glance. “I’m almost jealous of you. It’d be nice to just be out about...what I am, but secrets have kept me alive and so...I’ll keep them.” She gave Morgan a tight lipped look. It would be hard to pry into her in a public place like this, but she couldn’t seem to pull herself away. The draw of Morgan’s resent was too strong and too familiar. “Hey, looks like the counter is open,” she pointed, as the family with the little girl made their leave. “Ladies first,” she offered, smiling somberly at Morgan.

“Etsy shop,” Morgan clarified, bracing herself for whatever kind of way Josephine wanted to feel about it. She held Josephine’s glance and felt immediately abashed. Oh, so not a witch. Something with a lot more risk involved. Fae? Wolf? Zombie? Morgan wasn’t sure if it was her place to ask. “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “About whatever...happened, or came after you. You’re a really kind person and you didn’t deserve that.” She smiled back, plucked up a bushel of dried herbs from another shelf and made for the check out line with a mumbled thank you.

“Esty shop? That’s admirable. It’s hard to make a living off small businesses like that,” Josephine commented truthfully. She did admire small business owners and operators. It took much more gusto and determination to do something like that. “Oh, nothing came after me, except life, I guess. It came after me and my sister and it took things from me that I can never get back.” She stuffed one more thing into her basket. “Being queer didn’t help.” She followed Morgan up to the counter. She was itching to ask her, itching to tell her, that she could probably solve all her problems, if only Morgan would let her. But it was still too early and they were still in too public a place. “I’m sorry, too. For whatever’s making you...hurt right now.” A subtle hint, maybe Morgan would take it.

Morgan laughed dryly, “Oh, I don’t. I also work for two departments in the College of Arts and Sciences at UMAC, adjuncting. And then, after taxes, I kinda get by.” She laid all her things out in neat stacks and took out her very real card to pay with fresh, real, deposited funds. “No, it definitely wouldn’t have,” she said quietly. “We’re about the same age--” Unless she was some 200 year old fae. “--Maybe. And it was hard even for me.” Josephine would’ve grown up alongside the same broadcasts and speeches as she had. Read the same headlines. Seen the same arrests. The same bodies. She leaned in between making small talk with the cashier and asked, “Was I really that obvious?”

Josephine gave a small chuckle. “Typical. I wouldn’t say I make a killing, either, but I’ve learned how to manage my money better because of it.” She watched the stuff Morgan was buying with curiosity, but didn’t say anything. She doubted Morgan was close to her age, unless she was really good at illusions, and by the ingredients in her basket, that seemed unlikely. “Hmmm,” was all she said to that, giving a nod. They weren’t fond memories or fond times, but they were events that had led to the world being the way it was now. When Morgan whispered her question, Josephine softened her expression. “No, not really,” she said back, just as quietly, giving a bit of a rougher bite to her voice, “I’m just really good at telling these things.”

Morgan knew by now when someone was trying to supernatural code at her, but she was not especially gifted at deciphering it. She wanted to ask Jospehine to just tell her before she made some weird gaffe about the wrong species, to say whatever she wanted to ask of her in return. Because Josephine did seem to think she knew something. She lingered after she paid for her things, her canvas shopping bag held close over her with leftover nerves. When Joephine finished, she walked out the store with her, checking there was no one else within hearing. “I’m really bad at the guessing game,” she said. “I’ve learned about at least five new supernatural species in the last month so I may not even know what you’re trying to say, so can you just...say?”

Morgan was forward, Josephine couldn’t deny that, but she imagined the wear of her sadness was making things harder to give an effort for. Sighing, Josephine shrugged. “It’s a big world out there, isn’t it?” she said, holding her bag loosely. “I’m sure it can get daunting at times.” But Morgan was trying to be genuine, and Josephine was sure, by her own description, that it was unlikely she’d know what species Josephine was. “I’m going to tell you this because you seem trustworthy, but also because I believe that I can help you.” She paused. “But, I’m going to ask for discretion in return, of course. You understand, right?” she asked, looking over at her as they shuffled along. She waited for confirmation before continuing on. If Morgan did end up telling someone, it wouldn’t matter too much. But getting on the bad side of an Erinyes wasn’t the brightest idea. “I’m something called an Erinyes. I’m...magical in nature. But I promise you, this isn’t any sort of “baby’s first illusion” magic. I use my magic to...help people. To grant them the opportunity to stand up to someone-- or something-- that’s wronged them.”

Morgan kept her eyes focused on the dimming sky ahead of them in case they actually were trying to bug out of her face. Erinyes were real now? As in furies? What did she smell or taste like to Josephine that made her want to talk? “Make that six new species,” Morgan said, swallowing for composure. “I uh...I should probably tell you now that just about everyone I might have any feelings that strong about are dead.” She slid her gaze sidelong at Josephine, as if the new revelation between them might change how they were seen. “This is normally where I insist you don’t want to hear my sad little story, partly because I hate telling it sometimes, but since that’s the only reason you talked to me, you should know there’s nothing to be done about it. I’m a dead end.” 

Josephine didn’t like that answer. “I think you massively underestimate my power, Morgan,” she said flatly, but kept her same demeanour, same composure. “No one with feelings as powerful as yours could be a dead end.” She turned her head enough to look at the woman walking beside her. “But I won’t pry. Your story is yours. And your narrative is yours. But I’m guessing if you’ve ended up in a place like this, you’re at your grasp’s end. So what harm could trying, do?” She turned her gaze back to watch the sidewalk in front them. “For what it’s worth, though, that wasn’t the only reason I talked to you. It might’ve been the initial draw, but...I talked to you because I know how you feel. That pain inside of you....” she was quiet for a moment. This wasn’t something she’d shared with anyone in a while. “I know that pain first hand. It’s why I do the things I do, now. So that one will have to feel this way, if I can help it.”

Morgan took her time down the street as she tried to take all this in. She didn’t know much about furies and now was a terrible time to be finding out. She was afraid, damnit, but only because she didn’t know what she was up against. And because she had been seen, really and horribly seen, out of nowhere. Without saying anything. She listened, forcing her breath to steady as she walked. Oh. Oh no. She stopped, not quite able to face her. “I am really sorry, if you actually felt like this. If someone—if the people who were supposed to take care of you didn’t do that. But what’s happening to me is magic power, and…” How to put this? She didn’t share this with strangers. But hasn’t she been saying she wished for help a little less personally invested? But Josephine was kind. She chose to work with high school kids. She was one more absurdly kind person Morgan couldn’t shake her awareness of. “I just need a minute!” she said, and plopped herself onto the nearest bench. 

Josephine stopped when Morgan did. She didn’t sit on the bench with her right away, but stood by her, contemplating her next move. The power inside her told her to push and pry and make Morgan take a deal. She deserved it, after all. To be free of this pain. But the person in Josephine told her it wasn’t going to be so easy. Morgan’s problems were dead, which meant Josephine couldn’t wrap her own hands around their necks to watch their life drain, but souls in the ether were still prone to punishment, even if it meant reaching through planes to rip their back down to suffer for all eternity. She could do that. But only if Morgan let her. Only if Morgan accepted her help. Finally, she sat. “Take your time,” she said quietly. She turned enough to look Morgan square in the eyes, burning with something that she didn’t often let to the surface. “But whatever magic has cursed you, it’s nothing compared to what I can do.”

Morgan tapped her fingers over her chest. She’d just been saying it would be easy if she didn’t know the person willing to help, if she didn’t have to care or worry. If she could see them more like her piles of sand and glass, objects to be weighed, negotiated, exchanged. Not wronged, not used, exactly, but balanced. So why was she scared? Why not seize this right now?

Because it was easy. 

Too easy for someone like her.

How many times did her freshman students bemoan the idiot heroes who said yes to the first spirit who offered everything they ever wanted? Why is he so dumb? They’d ask. You don’t get things free. So how long before it bites him in the ass? 

And Morgan would explain, kindly, ideas beyond common sense and consequence. Why is a good question. What would make you do something like that? How bad would you need it, what’s worth the denial it takes to say yes to something like that? But those were ideas. This was her.

“I--think there’s more I need to understand right now,” she stammered. “What do you get out of this? Hypothetically, you fix my life, or you make it worth dying with a curse on my shoulders, but what’s the cost?”

As Josephine waited, she took the time to look Morgan over properly. She was a smaller woman, cozy in her dressings today. She had curls which probably sagged more today than most, and little creases around her eyes were forced smiles had worn away at her. Josephine looked down. Age wasn’t a thing that she’d ever have to worry about wearing on her, and sometimes she felt pity for the people who were already being dragged down with it. Morgan didn’t look too old, but she had mentioned going through some of the same times Josephine had. It was a stab in the dark, but she couldn’t be any younger than 35. What could have wearied someone like this by only their 30s? So early in life, even for a mortal. “Must there be a cost?” she said evenly, leaning back and tilting her head to look up at the sky. “Must there be some ulterior motive on my end?” It was a fair question. And while there technically was, it didn’t change the situation. She glanced sideways to look at Morgan, head still leaned back. “If you must know, granting these...opportunities is what fuels my power. It’s how I feed, I suppose you could say. But I choose to believe it’s because this is my duty to the world. And while I can take in return for those who ask a lot, I don’t have to. Duty is more important than material gains.” She looked back at Morgan. “But do not misunderstand me, Morgan-- I can not fix your life. That’s up to you. What I can do is grant you a wish that can change your circumstance. Rid you of something that looms over you, or destroy someone who has wronged your heart. That’s what I can do. And I can do it all with a snap.”

Morgan sagged back on the bench. “I’m a cosmically screwed alchemist,” she sighed, rubbing away at the worry wrinkle on her forehead. “I know about cost.” And then Josephine went on. Not about kindness, but duty. Stars above, did every supernatural femme in town have a secret pledge to something? Was that what she was missing from her life? Morgan smirked and held herself a little more loosely, turned to look at Josephine, smiling in her small, soft way, her first and last line of defense with the world. “Sorry. You just reminded me of someone. In a good way, mostly. And I do appreciate you not proposing the sun and stars and a fresh start or an insta-happy-ever-after. But I can’t be any more of a game for the universe than I already am. Can you magic promise me to disclose the fine print or something?”

“Sure,” Josephine said, “there’s usually a cost for everything. On a human level. But that’s not exactly what we’re dealing with, now is it?” She gave her a look, noting the small smile, the wall, the lock, the key all in one. She leaned forward again, turning on the bench to face Morgan more. “I hope it’s a good reminder. I can’t promise bind like fae can, but you can look at me here and now, in the eyes, and I can tell you that I will disclose anything you want me to. I’m not malicious, my powers aren’t evil-- they’re a gift. Divine, if those such things truly existed. I was born into obscurity and found my way into becoming something that truly has the power to right wrongs and change the world. I’m not out to hurt you, Morgan. Just the opposite. I help. I help those who can not help themselves, not for lack of trying, but lack of circumstance.” She held out her hand-- a symbolic gesture this time. There were no deals behind this handshake. “Promise.”

Morgan looked, tapping her fingers still, breathing deep and silent. She didn’t have any duty or grand principles. Once it had been her family and what they needed, what was best for them. Then it was just her. She tried to make fair bargains with the universe, but the universe always held back, and she always kept a half useless card up her sleeve, just in case she lost her hand.  But at least this was magic. Magic, for all its mystery, was bound by rules. Magic couldn’t play dirty, just the ones who used it. And this was just for full disclosure, right? If she could spot the trap, if there was one, she wouldn’t have to fall in. If she really wanted, she could stay at her safe remove between all options at once. Cassie, the Vurals, Blanche, and Remmy to one side; this to another. Just a little longer. Slowly, Morgan took Josephine’s hand. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. We--don’t have to do this right now. Or right here, at least.” The dark was closing in, and the shadows were stretching on the ground like monsters. “I don’t know how, uh, hungry you are in any sense, but we could always...do something less horror movie than sit on a bench in the dark. Unless that’s your thing! In which case, there are at least more picturesque choices.”

“I keep well fed here,” Josephine said simply, as Morgan took her hand. “So you can take your time. I didn’t come to you out of desperation, I came to you because your pain touched something familiar in me.” Josephine smiled sweetly at her, withdrawing her hand. “We can go wherever you want. I don’t mind the dark, but sitting on a bench at night isn’t technically my favorite thing to do, no.” A tease, to help lighten the mood a bit. “You can take your time.This is a big decision, and it should be made right. We can go somewhere else. Or we can get a drink and go for a walk. The ball is in your court, and I like to think I’m a pretty open gal.” She stood, held her hand out to Morgan again, this time in a gesture to help her up from the bench, a kind smile on her face and in her eyes. “Or we can go our separate ways while you think. Like I said, there’s no rush. I’m good at other things, too. Of the not talking variety.”

Morgan gave a breathless, flustered laugh. Was Josephine--? She hadn’t even been flirting. She had, in fact, been costing through a spectacular variety of anxieties this whole time. She fussed with the ends of her hair and smiled a little wider. She had a preference for how she spent her nights, of course, but there was plenty of room around Deirdre for a little fun. Fun, and maybe even a way out of her mess of a life. “I’ll...keep that in mind,” she said. Waited a moment, still breathing. “Where do you like to drink anyways?”

Josephine just smiled. “Just an offer. Not too many older queer women around here,” she answered. “Not that we’re old, of course. My favorite bar is Dell’s, but that’s mainly because it’s close to home and work. The Magic Circle and the Seven Selkies are nice for when you’re too tired to pretend to be normal anymore. They’re more our kind of scene than Mary from accountings kind,” she said simply. 

“Oh, I know,” Morgan said, getting up with Josephine’s help at last. “Until you, I was starting to think I was the oldest queer woman in town.” She held herself against the night air and began to walk beside her. “I’m kind of surprised I’ve been able to meet anyone here who I can really connect with. The world is so big and somehow so small at the same time. But, anyway,” She was getting off the beaten path with that way of thinking, and no one liked a date distracted by someone else. She drew herself up and mustered some cheer, “Put a cocktail in my hand and I’ll give you my story.”

“The world is smaller than we think,” Josephine answered. “Oh, I doubt that. I’m sure there are even some older than me. But unless you remember President Eisenhauer, I think I’ve got a couple decades on you.” She flashed another grin. “This town is special like that. It draws in a certain type of person.” She lead them down the sidewalk, feeling the brisk air cool her skin as the sun dipped ever lower. “Well, we’re right nearby the magic circle, and it seems rather fitting, considering,” she said, “Drinks on me.” She moved to open the door, giving a bit of more playful smirk this time, “I’ll even pay, too.” 

Wow, that was old. “Nope, Reagan baby,” Morgan admitted. “You wear it amazingly. “ She curtsied with appreciation as Josephine opened the door. “You’re too kind, Josephine.” But not so much that Morgan wouldn’t happily let her. She went and found them a booth tucked away in the back and let the stuffed backing swallow her a little. Maybe don’t think too hard about it, she thought. Maybe just...see what’s possible. She reached up to help Josephine set the drinks down when she appeared and took a good gulp. “Thank you for this,” she said.

“Ah..that asshole,” Josephine said with a knowing nod. “And thank you. I think so, too.” Immortality helped, as well. She followed Morgan in and watched which booth she tucked herself into before going up to the counter to order them both an old fashioned. They needed something strong for this, and Josephine’s tolerance was higher, anyway. She took the drinks back and set Morgan’s down. “Hope you’ve got a high tolerance,” she said, sliding into the booth opposite. Held a hand. “No need to thank me. I don’t do it for the thanks,” she said, a smile brimming on her face. She couldn’t help but get excited about granting a wish for someone like Morgan. Her pain and resent would fill Josephine up for weeks. That was thanks enough.

Morgan shrugged. “Moderate enough. So--” And Morgan worked her way through the bones of the story. She went down the list of so-called accidents and sudden losses. She explained about her mother, how she’d had to be asked, point blank, after the funeral, because Morgan was sure she had done this just by existing. And how she had died hiding something else: that she had come here before. That she had a whole life that would never be known now. She explained about Agnes, and Sean. When she was done, she rewarded herself with another gulp of her drink and steadied her breath. “So, I’m carrying some shit someone did however many hundred years ago on my shoulders, but I didn’t ask for any of it. All I ever wanted was a nice life. So what, hypothetically, could your magic do for that?”

It was quite the explanation. And quite the curse. But Josephine was positive, if spun in the right way, she could easily rewrite a few chapters of history here and there to get rid of the curse. If that’s what Morgan wanted. It would change her entire life, after all, and that was a big thing to swallow. If not that, then perhaps a different spin on her current situation. She could give Morgan the power to dispell the curse herself, or maybe give her the chance to take revenge on the one who cast it in the first place. Drag their soul up from the ether or whatever new form it had taken, and smash it into a rotting corpse for her to pummel. “Well...it depends on what you want my magic to do for you. The caveat, I should say, is that my magic works by...fulfilling retribution. I can not simply wave away your curse because that’s where your pain lies. But I can reach into the ether and find the soul of whoever cursed you and send them to eternal suffering. Or rewrite their history so that the inciting event never happens. The list goes on.” 

Sometime after Josephine made it clear she couldn’t wipe the pain off Morgan’s shoulders, her brain went quiet. Of course she couldn’t. Not even an old fury could save her that neatly. There was no cash-in system for all the suffering credit she’d accumulated. It couldn’t carry its own weight to buy her some simplicity and peace of mind. No, instead they had to break the world, or steal a soul just for the catharsis of the thing. And what would she have to give up for that? Her own humanity? Her life? For something that fundamentally screwed, would she have to Marty McFly herself out of existence? Or lose all the kind people she was trying to balance? How was this cost going to be any better than what she was doing already? Morgan stared into her drink, and even that wasn’t much for comfort. “I can’t do this right now,” she murmured sadly. “I thought I could, at least understand the basics, but--” she breathed, sniffled, and raised her eyes to the ceiling to keep them focused and dry. “I think I need to get home. I’m sorry.”

This didn’t bode well. Morgan’s silence was deafening to Josephine. She recalled the dozens of times she’d sat across from her sister in their room, or at the table, or hiding in their closet. And they’d just been quiet. Drowning in their own silence. Looking at each other wondering if it would ever end. Her heart burned with an anger unlike most at the thought and Josephine had to hide it behind a large gulp of her drink. “I understand,” she said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her card, the same one she’d given Dot a few nights ago. “If you change your mind,” slid the card across the table, “or just want someone to talk to, give me a call.” Then sat back and took another drink. Morgan wasn’t a loss, though. No, this wasn’t the end of this. Josephine would get her deal from Morgan, because she knew what kind of person Morgan was. And she knew what kind of person anger like that made people into. 

#chatzy #chatzy: morgan #morgan #wishful thinking #wickedswriting

[djinn-and-djuice]

(Travis said that Fjord used to be a sailor, and he has the sailor background, and. Well. There was the whole thing with his falchion. I am a huge maritime history/sailing nerd, so this felt like an extremely personal callout, and here we are. This is all wild speculation, and likely to be disproved, and god damn it was fun to write. Much love and credit to @cobaltpilot​ for being my cheering section! also on ao3)

[no spoilers, but draws on details from campaign 2 episode 3, “The Midnight Chase”]

the call of the running tide

~*~

This is how it starts.

Two men walk into a bar. One of them is more well-dressed than the other, but neither of them are by any means ‘fancy.’ Fancy folk come from the capital, and they don’t waste their time in a dockside sailor’s dive. From his perch in the corner, Fjord watches them scan the crowd with half an eye.

His interest is piqued when Fjord sees one of them point to him and ask his companion something, he already knows what’s being said. Port Damali isn’t so big that one can be ignorant of their reputation.

The rundown is likely very brief. His name is Fjord, he’s a half-orc who likes a bit of whiskey and a bit of dice. He’s spent five years before the mast, but he could be a bosun or a navigator if he got the chance. Maybe even a captain, if that kind of money weren’t so damn hard to come by. He’s a steady hand and a reliable one too, he’ll work for whoever pays fairly, and that’s all that anyone knows about him. To be fair, that’s all they need to know, and this isn’t a town where people ask a whole lot of unnecessary questions.

“I hear you’re a good sailor,” the man says by way of introduction. “May I sit?”

His momma didn’t raise him to be rude, so he nods. “I’m Shane Corrigan, first mate on the Sylph,” he goes on, setting down across from Fjord. “We’re making a voyage to Marquet in a fortnight, and we’re looking for crew.”

The rest of his spiel is boilerplate, all stuff Fjord’s heard a dozen times before. They’re shipping goods; timber and furs and stuff that Fjord can’t imagine has much appeal in the desert, but somehow sells anyway. The pay is good, better than he was expecting, likely because the trip’ll be so damn long.

In the end, that’s not why he holds his hand out to Shane and says “you got yourself a deal.” He can feel the sea calling in his veins, and the thought of four month’s voyage is a good one.

 ~~~

 Fjord’s love of the sea is a long one, begun when he was a child. The tide called to him, and as soon as he was old enough to sail his own skiff he would spend countless hours cruising around. He learned how to read the stars and the wind, how to set course and canvas and one’s feet in a gale. 

So when the Sylph sets out from Port Damali on a bright morning, Fjord hangs a little longer in the shrouds to look out at the dark water and breathe.

The crew quickly settles into rhythm and the first two weeks pass by without much interest. There are a couple greenhorns on the crew, and they take a little while to find their feet, and Fjord spends much of his free time helping them.

Halfway to Marquet, Captain Moore switches up the watch rotations and Fjord is tasked with going belowdecks and making sure everything is fine with the cargo. It’s a necessary job, if tedious, mostly involving killing any rats that made it aboard and making sure nothing’s been disturbed. No one’s reported anything so far, so when he notices a bear pelt that’s been dragged out of one of the crates and set high up, it gives him more than a little pause. He doesn’t make a sound, climbs up quickly and quietly as anything, and pulls the knife out of his boot.

Curled up on the pelt asleep is a young woman with dark skin and fire-red hair. Well. A stowaway isn’t what he was expecting, but it’s not the worst thing he could have found. He shoves the knife back in its sheath and shakes her awake. 

“I don’t recognize you from the crew roster,” he quips.

Bright gold eyes flicker open, and focus on him. In an instant she is up and pressed against the hull, eyes darting around. There’s nowhere to run on a ship, and she seems keenly aware of that.

“What’s your name?”

“Sallah,” she replies, still tense.

“My name’s Fjord. I’m not gonna hurt you, Sallah,” he says, “but you understand we’re not too keen on stowaways here.”

“Please don’t turn me in,” she begs. “I can’t go back to Wildemount, I have to get out of there.”

Before he can even ask why, she’s launching into a hurried, frightened explanation that he honestly has a hard time following. It’s a long, somewhat rambling tale of misunderstandings and scapegoating and the gist of it, as far as Fjord understands, is that Sallah was in the wrong place at the wrong time, in a town of people who were all too willing to shove blame on an outsider.

Anywhere else Fjord would consider it a sob story used to con someone out of a favor or some coin. But he can see the fear in her eyes, and he knows that people don’t become stowaways on a lark. And hells, he knows as well as anyone that he’s got a soft spot as wide as the Wuyun Gorge. So he holds out a placating hand, even as the other is rubbing at his temple.

“Alright, alright, you can stay. The rest of the crew might not be so understanding, and if you get caught I don’t know you. But I won’t turn you in.”

“Thank you Fjord, thank you so much. You won’t even know I’m here.”

 ~~~

 The next few days, Sallah is as good as her word. If he hadn’t seen her himself, Fjord wouldn’t have believed there were any extra souls on board at all. The pelt she had been napping on got stowed away, and he hasn’t seen it out of its crate since they met. Still, he takes some of the hardtack from his meal and saves it, bringing it down to the hold when he does a patrol.

“Sallah?” He calls quietly. “It’s Fjord. I brought you some food.”

A tiny mouse skitters up on top of a box in front of Fjord, and in an instant, shifts into Sallah. He’s so taken aback that he completely forgets about what he was doing in favor of staring blankly at her. He’s heard of shapeshifters, obviously, mages that can change their appearance at will, but there is a wide gulf between the experience of hearing about it and seeing it firsthand.

“That’s how I’ve been staying hidden,” she smiles, hopping off the box to stand in front of him.

“That’s damn impressive,” he replies, handing the chunks of tough biscuit over. “How do you do that?”

“I learned when I was little,” she explains. “My people are very inclined to magic, natural magic especially.” With a flourish of her fingers, a small flame dances in her hand.

“My family didn’t have a whole lot of formal traditions, but I was taught how to focus energy and make it do what I want. I taught myself pretty much everything else.” She shrugs, extinguishes the flame, and digs into the hardtack.

“Can you teach me?” He doesn’t know what drives him to ask. Magic has never been a prominent part of his life-never more than bits of bone scrimshawed with runes and shells hung to ask the Wildmother’s favor for a safe voyage-but he has always been fascinated by the idea of it. To see someone command such power with so much ease is compelling.

“I don’t know how much I’ll be able to teach you in a week and a half, but I’ll try.”

He goes about his patrol while she finishes eating. When he comes back, she’s sitting with her chin on her hand in thought.

“Can I ask a favor?” She asks after a long moment.

“Sure,” he shrugs.

“Would you help me get up top? I’ll make myself small, into a mouse or something, something you can carry. I’ve been belowdecks this whole voyage and some fresh air would be nice.”

“’Course I can,” he says, standing up and holding his hand out. A blink, and she turns into a tiny grey mouse and skitters up his arm.

The sun is almost set when they come up top, and Fjord takes a moment to enjoy the scene. The setting sun paints the deck orange and red, and with the ocean lit up as well it’s one of the most beautiful things Fjord has ever seen. The two moons are barely visible on the eastern horizon, slivers of bone in a lavender sky.

There is a sudden flash of light, and the whole crew looks up to see a bright flash of light at the end of each mast and spar, burning blue-white flames that are gone as soon as they come.

Fjord had seen them once before, on a voyage to Tal’Dorei, one of his first long-distance journeys. One of the older hands called it “The Wildmother’s Beacon”, but he’s heard it referred to by any number of names since then. It’s all anyone can talk about as the crew gets the ship ready for the night shift, so no one notices the companion tucked under the collar of his coat.

 ~~~

 “It’s not hard, you just have to learn to listen.”

Sallah coaches him for an hour or so every day when Fjord comes down to the hold, and this has been a common theme. Listening to the natural world around him, the ebb and flow of the tide, the push of the breeze, he needs to listen to everything. And he tries, he really does, but by the time they make port in Marquet, Fjord feels like he’s made no progress whatsoever.

“I just feel like I oughta be better than this.”

“It’s only been a week,” Sallah rolls her eyes. “And we barely have an hour a day to work. I’ve been practicing magic since I was little more than a babe.”

“Sometimes books help,” she goes on, more gently, “If you can get to the Dwendalian Empire, I’ve heard that Zadash has some great libraries, and if you can’t find something there then you’ll definitely find it in Rexxentrum. There are a lot of different paths to magic, and if one doesn’t work you shouldn’t be afraid to try another.”

 ~~~

 The Bay of Gifts is chaotic and colorful and decadent, and as much as Fjord wants to enjoy it he won’t be able to until he’s sure that Sallah has made it off the boat without incident. He drinks a couple rounds in the tavern with some other members of the crew before taking a meandering walk down the lamplit streets.

He hears rapid footsteps coming up behind him, and turns to see Sallah running up to him.

“Fjord!” She calls. “I’m glad I found you, I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.”

“I’m glad too. Any idea what you’re going to do?”

She shrugs, smiling. “None whatsoever. But I’ll figure something out. I’ve always had a knack with growing things, maybe that’s where I’ll start.”

“You’ll do just fine.”

“That’s very kind of you, my friend.” She hugs him, and Fjord can feel the slight shake in her shoulders as he hugs her back.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

The moment passes, and she steps back. “I’ll stay here for a while, but if this doesn’t work out I’ll go to Ank’Harel. Don’t be a stranger,” she says, and walks off into the warm night.

 ~~~

 The voyage back begins much like the trip there. Clear skies and fair winds, and given how much lighter the ship is that means they make very good time.

On the fifth day, the lookout spots a storm building behind them, and it quickly becomes apparent that they’re not going to be able to outrun it. Captain Moore hollers for all hands to take in sail and two dozen of them are in the shrouds, climbing as quickly as they dare, scuttling across beams and hauling canvas hand over hand.

Back on the deck, the only thing left to do is heave to, tie down, and hope. The sky blackens, lightning forks, and Fjord mutters words of comfort to the young hands as they move belowdecks.

“This ain’t my first storm,” he says, with more confidence in his voice than he really feels. “Keep your head and you’ll be fine.”

The rain beats down on the deck, trickling through the battens and down into the bilge. The flashes of lightning get brighter and brighter, the crashes of thunder grow deafening. The ship lists from starboard to port and then hard to starboard again, and the only warning they get that something has gone terribly wrong is the hull creaking loudly before the sound of splintering wood comes from above on the deck.

Fjord goes up top just in time to watch the main-mast, struck by lightning, come crashing down across the deck in a mess of wood and metal. Captain Moore was at the helm when the storm began, but Fjord has no idea if he’s still there. Or still alive.

The ship begins to tilt under the unbalanced weight, and there’s precious little time before she’s on her beam ends and capsizes. Fjord yells for the rest of the crew and they leap into action, moving everything they can to the other side of the ship to buy themselves a bit of time to get rid of the broken mast.

It’s no use, though, because before they can finish the deck is pitched at such a steep angle no one can stand anymore, and Fjord is in the water. Lashed by the rain and the wind, he struggles to stay above the surface. One piece of the mast is still floating, and he swims over to cling to it. It’s all he can do to hold on as massive waves pitch and roll him.

Finally, the storm moves on, revealing the night sky. Fjord looks around, but he can’t see the rest of the crew anywhere, and the gods only know where he’s been blown. He recognizes the stars, and which way he’s probably heading, but that’s all meaningless if he can’t figure out where he is.

It would still be meaningless even if he knew where he was, since he has no way to get home.

Exhausted, he closes his eyes. The waves lap around him, and now that the winds have calmed it’s the only thing he can hear. Remembering Sallah’s words he listens, hoping that if these are his last moments, he at least hears something. But nothing comes. The last ounce of strength in his arms slowly fades, and he loses grip on the mast, sinking beneath the waves.

“Is that it? Are you giving up?”

It’s little more than a whisper, sourceless in the dark. Fjord almost thinks he imagines it, until it keeps going.

“All those storms you’ve weathered and you just give up? You’re stronger than that. Open your eyes.”

Somehow, he finds the will to creak his eyes open. He sees a glow in the water, a faint shimmer of phosphoresence that draws his attention. He’s seen glow like that before, in much warmer waters. He pulls the strength from somewhere within him and twists around towards it.

“There it is. You could bring the tides themselves to heel with that will.”

There’s no way to tell which way is up, but he swims toward the light. His limbs carve long, slow strokes through the black brine, and his lungs begin to burn.

“If only you had the power to match it.”

His face breaks the surface of the water and he gasps.

“I can help you with that.”

“Fuckin’ prove it.” Fjord replies because hell, what has he got to lose?

He hears a distant, whispery laugh, and darkness takes him.

 ~~~

 He dreams about a forge. The steady, ringing beat of a hammer against hot metal. He dreams of black sails and smoke. He dreams of blue-white fire and the beasts that sleep beneath the waves. He dreams of a blade.

He wakes up.

That’s the first surprising thing. The second, and rather more surprising thing, is that he wakes up on a beach. His clothes are tattered but still keep most of the chill away, so once he picks the kelp off he slowly gets to his feet and walks inland. The people he finds in the nearest village are surprised to see him walking out of the sea, but they take it with good enough grace.

Turns out he’s washed up on the southern end of the Menagerie Coast, and when he tells the folk in town his story they find him someone willing to help him get passage north.

The first leg of his journey back to Port Damali is in the back of a hay cart, and his thoughts are consumed by the odd voice he heard the night the Sylph went down. There’s something in the back of his head, it feels like an itch on the inside of his skull and the more he focuses on it the clearer it gets. His hands move on their own, and before he really knows what he’s doing a spectral hand appears in front of him.

“Oh shit.”

 ~~~

 The trip northward is long and slow, but this new revelation gives Fjord something to focus on. He thinks about that itch in the back of his head, of the way his hands shifted and the feeling of pulling invisible rigging. For three days’ travel he sits in silence and meditates, and on the fourth day he finally feels like he’s done something right. He sees a shimmer across his arms and with a thought his skin turns from green to royal purple. He focuses again, and it turns paper white. He can’t contain the giddy grin on his face as he shifts colors, and it only grows wider as he learns how to tug in a different way and the taper of his fingers change, his nails grow and shrink and his arms gain and lose muscle.

That night, he has another dream. Of a rocky, wind whipped beach sheltered by bleak cliffs. He recognizes it from stories; the Shearing Channel, a stretch of water so treacherous that no ship can sail through it. Distantly, like a rising wind, he hears the voice again, for the first time since the wreck.

“Come find me. We have much to discuss.”

 ~~~

 By the time he arrives in Port Damali, he has a small amount of gold that he earned doing odd jobs along the trip. He thanks his traveling companions for their aid and parts ways, heading to the nearest general store to buy a few road provisions and a bedroll. He doesn’t seek out further passage northward, he just walks out of the city and follows the stars.

When he makes his way through the woods, he can tell that he’s close to the channel from the smell of salt and the whistling of the wind. The cliffs on the edge of the channel are tall, but not solid, more akin to shorn-off hills now that he’s seeing them from this side. He picks his way between them, and makes his way down to the waterline.

On a clear day, you can see Tal’Dorei across the channel, the white rise of the Alabaster Sierras on the edge of the horizon like a dragon’s spine. Days like that are few and far between; today the sky is leaden, and fog hangs low and oppressive over the rough water.

This. This is the place. He knows that what he’s been called to is here, as sure as he was born. He wades into the surf.

The water is frigid, tossed as it is by the constant winds. But that tug, that inexorable, tidal pull, is drawing him deeper and deeper beneath the waves. He feels his lungs begin to ache but still he dives down, looking for something, anything.

To his right there is a flash of blue light, like the fey light he saw coming off the spars of the Sylph. He looks over and sees the hilt of a sword, stuck between stones. A faint blue glow wafts off of it, and he reaches out.

Once, when he was young, he made the mistake of wrapping a line around his wrist, so when a brisk wind caught his sail it pulled his arm out of its socket. He never made the mistake again, just like he never forgot the feeling of his shoulder being shoved back into place. A hard pop, and then everything was where it needed to be.

The feeling of pulling the sword out of the crevice is exactly like that, only without knowing that anything had ever been out of joint to begin with. The grip fits in Fjord’s hand like it was carved exactly for him.

He swims back to the shore and examines the blade. It’s a falchion, long and broad and positively wicked looking. The hand guard is crusted with barnacles, but the blade itself is completely clear of rust. And even though the seawater has finished running off of Fjord, there’s still rivulets running off the blade and pouring onto the stones.

“Hello there,” he says.

“Hello yourself,” the blade replies.

This is how it starts. Fjord stands on the rocky shores of the Shearing Channel, dripping seawater and holding a barnacle-encrusted sword in his hands. The waves pound the beach in time with his heart, rising past his knees and it should be pulling him back under but it’s not. He holds the blade up to his ear, and he listens.

#critical role #fjord #this is my prose tag #this is my critical role tag

[drosera-sundews]

A word on gambling

Hey all, I found the Elsewhere University page like two days ago but man, I was so inspired right away. Please allow me to add to this marvellous universe. 

Some words in advance: 

This story ties into a few others. Nothing but quick mentions, though; @fruedtrollism and @comerunwildwithme you two may catch brief glances of you characters :) It also features the weird humanoid/horseoid skeleton beast from this post. 

For those who haven’t seen the EU blog yet: Al you need to know is that the setting is a prestigious university set on top of a fairy hill. Have fun reading!

 A word on gambling 

Not all who come to the Elsewhere University come to study. Most have a vague idea of what they’re getting into, whether from stories told by old, withered family members or odd advertisements, folders or websites filled with cryptic warnings. An unfortunate few go in unprepared, and either catch up quickly or pay the price.

Some come to bet, to bargain or to gamble.

While some of them are just plain greedy, it’s mostly just the lost causes. The ones who’ve heard ‘no’ a few times to often by many different doctors. The other students treat them with poorly concealed pity and resigned respect. After all, who wouldn’t turn to desperate measures when in their shoes? The world hasn’t been fair to them. The gentry are, at the very least. Cruel and merciless, true, but fair and honest at their cores.

Yet, the gamblers come in many different forms. A girl who’s lungs once belonged to another, the second son of a rich businessman, a young dancer who trained and fought for years to reach her dream and now found that her achilles tendon, both literally and figuratively, was just a few millimetres too short.  

Oh yes, you can wait for favours, but each and every person in this school with half a brain to them will do anything to help the gentry, if only not to get on their bad side. And without an agreement they may repay you in any way they see fit. The gifts will be valuable, but not what you need. You’ll need to show initiative, you’ll need to gamble with all that you have.

The problem with gambling with the fair folk is the currency. They are not interested in money, and there are very little precious goods they cannot acquire. Promises and debts are an option, but are risky when not very, very carefully defined. Some might have weird preferences (like that odd horse-like skeleton that will go to great lengths for shiny plastic beads). Most however don’t.  

They are called the Exchange Student, with capitals, because that’s what they do. They are a student, everyone is certain about that. They sit in math class, biology, sometimes in history. They hang out with the programmers and the art majors. They wear their iron, carry their salt, and seem perfectly normal, even from the corner of your eye. Unsuspecting, until you deliberately come to them.

Please leave your iron and salt at the door. Don’t worry, as long as we’re discussing business no one will disturb us. It is merely a show of faith.  

They’re called the Exchange Student because that’s what they do. Exchange of currencies. Exchange of valuta.

Don’t worry, I am a professional. The procedure will be quick and painless. I cannot promise a lack of scars, but damage will be minimal, I have done this many times before.”

“I hope you have brought a trinket?”

When the Exchange Student invites you to ‘discuss business’ you take two things with you. A trinket and an offering. The offering is something small. Some food, a nice rock, a coin. Some art majors perform their favourite song, or offer a drawing or a statue, anything goes. It’s but a small fee.

The trinket can also be anything, though of course there are rules. ‘It needs to last,’ says one of the engineers, ‘something sturdy, something that doesn’t break easily.’

‘Something small which is easily concealed. Something you can carry with you. You’ll want to.’

‘and for the love of everything, don’t take something living! Not even a plant! Well... unless you’re absolutely sure what you are doing.’

The Exchange Student will make a circle around them and their customer. Most often made of candles, rocks, or sometimes even coins. Mostly they will take you somewhere silent, somewhere not easily disturbed. Though there are tales of that one time they sat someone down in the middle of the southern canteen, their circle made out of various plastic cups and mugs. No one dared disturb them.

The procedure is painless. A few incantations, some mental exercises, guided meditation, long scaled talons grasping at the edges of your soul, carefully picking you apart.

You’ll come back to yourself, Trinket carefully clasped in your hands. Looking exactly the same as you went in. The item in your hands will have a word on it. A single word, usually golden letters and in the exact handwriting of the person holding it.

Courage, Willpower, Kindness, Insight, Patience, Optimism, Strength.

Anything goes. And that’s how the students of Elsewhere University were made to carefully reconsider their unspoken rule of ‘bet nothing you cannot lose.’

Turns out that those who take to gambling can lose more than they’d ever imagined.

It’s said that it’s a very jarring experience to have an integral part of your being cut away from you. It’s said that, although not painful, students who’ve undergone the procedure spend the first few days in a haze of discomfort, fully aware that something is wrong, something is not as it should be, and they will grab their Trinket and will press it to their skin and refuse to part with it. Their body and spirit knowing where it belongs, but just not being able to get it there.

Quite a few of these Trinkets are being kept on the campus. Most are surrounded in mystery. A few students are suspected of having made a deal with the Exchange Student, like the photographer, the one with the lip ring, who owns this small umbrella that jingles when it rains. Or the student who always wears pearls. Many have cast a glance to spy for golden letters. 

Some are more open about their deals with the Exchange Student. It’s a tradition among programming majors to bind their Insight to a rubber duck, the sillier the better. It’s ridiculed a lot, but the tradition stands strong across the years. And it’s said that sometimes when one of the programmers is really stuck in one of their endless webs of codes the others will aid them by placing their rubber ducks in a circle around the computer. The ones willing to share their Insight are said to be nigh unstoppable.

The Trinkets are like casino tokens. The gentry find them irresistible, and will go to great lengths to acquire them. They never steal them, instead opting to either win or trade them, playing by their own odd rules.

Good gamblers can get anything from the gentry. Magical weapons, exotic skills and other gifts. Sometimes in the form of small objects engraved with gold.

Just remember not to let them catch you cheating.

Another good thing to remember: even though the gentry will not steal a Trinket as by their rules, the same cannot be said of the human students. Guard your virtues well.

Losing a part of yourself is highly unadvisable, always.

Some try to cheat the system. Cutting of pieces they think they can do without. The second son who came specifically to gamble for glory decided he could do without his fears, especially if he was to join the fae for poker night. He had the Exchange Student cut away his Fear. Covered it in salt, put it in a box of rowan wood and gave the key to a friend, to safeguard. He then shamelessly stepped into the queens quarters, asking her what it was worth, what she was willing to give him.

Most were pretty sure the noise drifting through the windows that night didn’t come from rugby practice.

The defected dancer did not wish to gamble. She knew what she had, what she wanted and what she wished to sacrifice for that.

“I offer you my Preservance. I have trained and trained for years on uncertain odds. It is finely honed and very strong and I hope to not need it anymore after today. In return I would like a better body. Suited for a dancer. So that I will not get injured and that stupid things like too short tendons or too weak joints will no longer hold me back. That is my bargain.”

Ḏ̤͕̜̄E̶̱̭A̖̙͞L̮͔̙͖͖ͧ͢

No one is quite sure she got what she wished for. Her body is certainly suited to dancing. Waving and mesmerizing, hypnotizing even. All students on campus know to avert their eyes. Things like that are dangerous, they know.

Few have tried to peek at her face, to see if they could find any trace of their former classmate back. To see if she was happy.

It’s hard to tell emotions from a face that has no eyes.

She’s rarely seen anymore, these days. Apparently she dances for the queen now. An honour, truly.

Legends tell of one gambler that made it out with both her Trinket and her desired price. The girl with the lungs that did not belong to her. The girl who came to the university with only two years left to live, and nothing left to lose. She sought out the Exchange Student in her second week, bringing two large, copper coins she’d saved to put on her eyelids when all went wrong.

She did not cheat and she did not bargain. She gambled. She went to that one odd place in the library, stepped into the shadows, and was not seen for two whole months.

A single game of cards may take that long. Especially with such high stakes. Especially with the fae.

They appreciate warriors. She had come to their table, faced with the entire court. She was given cards that had no numbers, but unfamiliar runes. She was not told the rules. Yet she played. Mimicking the others, she held her own for days and days and days.

Of course she lost. The fae are rarely beaten at their own games.

When she came back, stumbling, disoriented, underfed and horribly dehydrated, she remembered barely anything. Not the faces of her opponents, not the hand of cards she was dealt or what the other players had put on the table alongside her Trinket. She only remembered losing, the cold dread as she stared down at the horrid combination of cards her weak hand could not possibly compare with. And the queens cold crackling as she reached across the table for the small copper coin. And the horrid sensation of ice flooding her chest as her Kindness was taken from her.    

A very powerful Trinket indeed.

She’d woken up laying on a table in the library. Gasping for breath through her dry, dry throat. A copper coin on a very thin chain wrapped around her neck. On one side the golden letters, on the other a complex pattern, a rune in an unknown language, (though a few very bright history student managed to decipher an ancient runic symbol for Air among the twining lines).  

They brought her to the medics, and it was only after thorough examination that the girl discovered that despite her sore throat, her breath came easier than it had in years.

She never left Elsewhere University, afraid that whatever enchantment had been cast on her would falter when away from the queen. Instead she chose to finish the study she’d randomly signed up for in her mad gamble. She ended up a teacher, a permanent part of the staff. The others understood that sending her away would not be an option. Most other teachers had been students as well, after all. They understood the ways this place can change you.

She still wears the amulet up to this day. Some say that this is not a choice born from the instinctive desire to keep a Trinket close, but that every time she removes it from her skin her breath will come short and her lungs will burn. Some even say that it cannot be removed, whether by choice or force. They say the queen enchanted it (too much, too powerful. Let it stay with the human. Where no fae can get their hands on it.)

Some come to her still, for advice and tips on gambling. She’ll send them all away, discourage them. Even though deep inside she knows she’s made the right choice.

‘It needs to last’ one of the engineers had told her. She grasps her amulet, the copper strong as ever, infused with unfamiliar magic keeping her alive. She knows her Kindness will outlast her and wonders where it will end up. 

However much the memory haunts her, she hopes that maybe one day it will make its way back into the hands of the queen. Out of anyone, she certainly needs it the most.  

#fae #faerie #story #writing #elsewhere university #my art #the fair folk

[convenientalias]

A Summary of My Fics in 2018

I found this post lying around and apparently I forgot to post it two weeks ago at the New Year’s when I first made it, so. Here’s a list of the fics I wrote in 2018, with some musings etc.

** = Personal favorite.

# = I wish it had more comments.

Animorphs

on a night like this one (1952 words)--A Cassie/Rachel fic written for the Smut Exchange in April, so not a whole lot of plot! I was inspired by a prompt asking for Cassie as the gentle dom, which seemed like such an interesting concept.

falcon falcon, burning bright (2264 words)--Written for Bad Things Happen Bingo in June, a fic about Visser Three capturing Jake. The square I wrote it for was “The Collector”.

Whales and Dolphins and Humans and Yeerks (1416 words)--A Cassie/Aftran fic. Written on one of those probably-too-frequent occasions I opened for femslash prompts. I’d kind of always wanted to write some Caftran? But never got around to it bc I have too many damn fandoms. (...fandamns.)

Avatar: The Last Airbender

...wow, I wrote six fics for this fandom this year. Guess it was more of an ATLA year than I thought.

Largely bc of keircatenation, btw, who sent me a couple very nice prompts.

Kyoshi Wood (This Bird Has Flown) (1726 words)--Dysfunctional Tyzula fic, the first ATLA fic I have ever posted on AO3 (...though I have in the past posted a number on ff.net). Written because I listened to the song “Norwegian Wood” and instantly thought, “Welp, that’s a Tyzula vibe.” The first ATLA fic I wrote this year and it was already July...guess my ATLA content has been all in the past five months.

** every feudal lord needs a loyal handmaiden (13883 words)--Moooore Tyzula! This fic was for the Femslash After Dark Exchange in July which should make it more smutty than it is! But I figure the mature rating is justified by the various dark goings-on. Anyways, this is basically me writing the political intrigue Tyzula fic of my dreams, which is how it got so damn long. I’m quite happy with it.

a snow fight (1660 words)--...and I’m not happy with this one! I was prompted “No holds barred beatdown” for Zuko in Bad Things Happen Bingo and I tried my best but I think I just wasn’t in the right headspace. Came out kind of eh.

changing, losing, staying (3906 words)--Written when I opened for femslash prompts and received the prompt  "'I can't afford to lose you too' + Suki/Ty Lee". Postcanon, pretty chill, longer than I expected it to be by the time I was done.

** because it would be a waste (1891 words)--Brief Azutara fic for the prompt of  "Azula/Katara, set in a Bad Future AU where Azula is Fire Lord and Katara is her Favorite Prisoner." Written in November.

A Diplomatic Mission and Its Results (2483 words)--I was prompted diplomacy and Suki/Sokka/Toph for some poly event and I did my best! Never really thought about this ship before.

Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)

** Mhaacta Made Them Do It (3631 words)--Amy/Rosa treat for the Femslash After Dark Exchange, featuring ritual sex and an ELDRITCH ABOMINATION. ...technically a case fic.

Caper Court - Caro Fraser

the pupil of dover court (1543 words)-- I found this book series thru the Yuletide Exchange but only had time (...well, access, really) to read the first book. But I quite liked it and wrote a treat for the person requesting it for the exchange.

Catherine (Web Series)

there's something about catherine (1299 words)-- Another fandom I found through the Yuletide Exchange! This requester wanted some Lynchian Normcore femslash so I did my best to provide. Very easy fandom to get into, btw, webseries is less than an hour long. 

Disney

** Amor Vincit Omnia (3231 words)--Maleficent/Philip Stockholm Syndrome fic, written as a treat for the Chocolate Box Exchange. 

No one will hurt you (1166 words)--Inspired by a short comic by @disneyfemslashcomics​, a Mulan/Jasmine fic featuring hurt/comfort and a nonbinary Mulan.

** #  Old and stolen texts (2635 words)--A Belleficent fic I wrote bc idk I like Maleficent and I like Belle and the two seemed like a good ship for Stockholm Syndrome and, obviously, beauty and the beast scenarios. Quite proud of this one :)

Dollhouse

I wrote five fics for this fandom this year but I still think I kind of cooled on it. For one thing, two of those fics were assigned for exchanges--for another, last year, with little to no incentive of that kind, I wrote seven. Still had a good time this year tho.

Also, all of them were pretty dark! We’re not surprised.

** i'll take your mind (to kick around as a toy) (3095 words)--Adelle/Echo fic written for the Trope Bingo Challenge, for a square of “in another man’s shoes”. Longer than I had remembered!

Orientation (3881 words)--Possibly my darkest fic of the year, but I’m sure it’s debatable. Blatant rape/non-con between Bennett Halverson and Caroline Farrell, written for the Nonconathon Exchange.

taking turns (2008 words)--Lighter in the sense that it’s melancholy rather than dark as hell. A Claire and Topher fic written for the Remix Revival event, remixing a fic I greatly enjoyed.

# january to december, do you want to be a member? (1338 words)--Adelle/Echo fic where Adelle uses Echo as a doll. Kind of a filler fic, I’d always wanted to play with the idea but couldn’t get super into it. Ehh.

# someone to watch over me (1217 words)--Claire-centered fic with not a whole ton of plot. Again, kind of a filler fic. This is one reason I have to say I was not so into this fandom this year--2/5 fics being filler isn’t a great ratio.

Egil Saga - Faun (Music Video)

No man shall scratch runes. (1273 words)--Written as a treat for the Yuletide Exchange. H/C and some very basic worldbuilding for a weird, surreal music video. Not much else to say. Debatably femslash. 

Flesh and Bone (TV)

Danseuse and Partner (1172 words)-- I got paired with someone for the Chocolate Box Exchange who requested soft and fluffy fic for Cassie/Jake, but at that time I had no fluffy Animorph feelings so I binge-watched this miniseries so I could fill their other request, which was domestic, relatively functional incest fic. Idk if I succeeded, it was an interesting prompt but I didn’t ship it. I was more vibing with the series’ femslash potential. But I never got around to writing for that.

Gattaca (1997)

Gattaca fandom, I swear I still love you! I’m just less depressed this year! Which, to be honest, IS A GOOD THING! but not very conducive to the kind of Gattaca fic I used to write lols.

** Peppermint and Vanilla (1492 words)--H/C Eugne & Vincent fic written when @trifoyle prompted me the title. I’m quite happy with it.

Of Physicists and Janitors (35780 words)-- I only wrote like a chapter of this in 2018. God. I really need to finish this. Also AO3 thinks I wrote the whole thing this year which just is not true.

Allergies (2374 words)-- Fic I started like two years ago and only finished now. Mostly Vincent-centric. Again, inspired by conversation with @trifoyle 

Gravity Falls

The Pink Streak (1644 words)-- Wendy/Pacifica fic written as a treat for the Chocolate Box Exchange.

Grease (1978)

beauty queen, my best girl (1018 words)-- Frenchy/Sandy fic, written as a treat for the Chocolate Box Exchange.

Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald

** A Mistress's Mistress (2178 words)-- Jordan/Myrtle fic written as a treat for the Chocolate Box Exchange. Because Myrtle deserves better, okay?

** Santa Barbara (2691 words)-- Pre-canon Jordan/Daisy fic written for a prompt of  "Jordan manipulating Daisy (and Daisy kind of going along with it)." Probably my favorite Jordaisy fic I’ve written to date.

Careless Wanderers (2380 words)-- Post-canon Jordan/Daisy fic written for Trope Bingo for the “Road Trip” square.

White Lies of a Colored Past (1820 words)-- About two years ago I wrote down the idea of Gatsby incorporating Nick into his shady, multiple-choice backstory. And then this year I finally wrote it. ...probably would have been better two years ago but I don’t not like it.

** for children's consumption (3143 words)-- Someone prompted me Nick Carraway and abuse/neglect for Bad Things Happen Bingo, and I wrote this odd little gen fic drawing parallels between his past and Pammy’s present. I’m quite pleased with it.

the dawn of another summer (443 words)-- Fic found in a deleted text file. Jordaisy.

the kind of choices you make at midnight (436 words)-- Fic found in a deleted text file. Jordaisy.

Greek and Roman Mythology

Messenger of the Atreides (2035 words)-- I wrote this as a pinch hit for the Chocolate Box Exchange. Shipping Odysseus/Achilles from the Iliad. The vaguest smut I ever did write.

Hannibal (TV)

** # A similar confusion (4036 words)--Weird Gideon & Will fic bc having watched Hannibal, I really just wanted someone to be nice to Will who wasn’t Hannibal bc oh geez.

Harlots (TV)

girl in black and white (451 words)-- Short little ficlet I wrote for fuckthegods for the TV Exchange. Fuckthegods left tumblr... I’m really sad.

There is no one higher (2300 words)-- Caroline/Charlotte fic, would be PWP if I went harder on the actual smut.

Heathers

Right Answers (1667 words)-- Chansaw fic for the Femslash Exchange. Probably should have been longer but I overbooked myself this season and for once didn’t have the time.

doing an old friend a favor (2080 words)-- Someone requested Veronica/McNamara with a JESSICA JONES NOIR AU for Yuletide so of course I had to treat that shit.

How to Get Away with Murder

I wrote six whole fics for this fandom and still never wrote shippy stuff for my OTP. I NEED TO GET AROUND TO THAT. Also all my fics were relatively short and I should get on that. But this fandom doesn’t comment a whole lot and none of my friends are in it so it’s hard to motivate...

** your sweetheart psychopathic crush (2148 words)-- My first fic in this fandom, darkish Lilabecca bc of course I had to start with dark femslash.

five ways of looking at a homicide (1950 words)-- Asher POV finding out about all the shit that went down with the original Keating murder.

exam grade (1174 words)-- Annalise being concerned about Wes.

stuck in the corner (1089 words)-- Annalise/Michaela and Annalise/Bonnie in one brief smutty moment. Written for the Annual Femslash Kinkmeme.

# warm water (1353 words)-- Angsty Bonnalise bath sex. Written for the Annual Femslash Kinkmeme.

this is nice but also that is a murder bed (1062 words)-- And a random Connor/Wes fic appears. 

Hungry Daughters of Starving Mothers - Alyssa Wong

# the street's a liar (2411 words)--Honestly this fic (written for Dark Femslash Week) is pretty good and I would write more fic for this fandom if it wasn’t two ppl and a shoelace. 

I reincarnated into an otome game as a villainess with only destruction flags

Villainesses Must Stick Together (2950 words)-- Written as a treat for the Yuletide Exchange. The rare diary format fic! Multiple realities interacting and some very mild selfcest!

Inception (2010)

** Fortifier (3512 words)-- Saito/Cobb fic written as a treat for the Chocolate Box exchange, with Saito as Cobb’s employer but also veering close to sugar daddy. I’m actually pretty happy with this.

Jessica Jones (TV)

Nothing Neat or Nice (2484 words)-- Hogarth/Jessica, plotless infidelity. 

Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV)

gentleman's homecoming (1543 words)-- Lazy Grant/Jonathan fic mostly written to get my feet wet in the fandom.

** the husband in the tower (3787 words)--Arabella rescues Jonathan! Basically the fic I wanted to be the canon ending! But also written for my assignment for Yuletide! So we know other ppl wanted it too.

** Empty Houses Need to Be Filled (3804 words)-- Written as a Yuletide treat, an Emma/Arabella post-canon recovery fic.

A Strange Pact (1374 words)-- Going to be multichapter AU gen fic about Jonathan and the Gentleman. I’m working on it!

Lady of the Shard (Webcomic)

nix the new age morality (1537 words)--Noncon of the “Old God made them do it with mind control” sort, treat for the Nonconathon Exchange. 

Les Misérables

you should probably arrest me (751 words)-- Enjolras/Javert ficlet, prompted.

shivering under the stars (2277 words)-- Enjolras/Javert, prompted for the  “shaking and shivering” square for Bad Things Happen Bingo.

Marco Polo (TV)

Eleven fics for this fandom this year! Why, that’s quite a few! This is entirely bc of fuckthegods who a) sent me a lot of prompts for femslash and one for gen and b) just in general is my Marco Polo muse, inspires me to write fics I wouldn’t otherwise write. And now she’s gone off to Dreamwidth and I am honestly so sad but anyways.

Also, I’m not gonna tag any of these as “could use more comments” bc Marco Polo is such a damn small fandom but. That is true for basically all of these.

And I would walk five hundred miles (2514 words)-- Jing Fei/Mei Lin fic where Jing Fei survives and the two are reunited.

** Make me feel missed (2157 words)--Sequel to above, this time THERE’S SMUT.

truth in the cups (489 words)-- Written for fuckthegods in an exchange, Chabit/Mei Lin fic.

i will wait for you (1060 words)-- Jing Fei/Mei Lin episode related.

** do princes bleed blue (1643 words)-- Jingim whump for Bad Things Happen Bingo, “bleeding through bandages”.

stages of reflection (2229 words)-- Mei Lin + mirrors. For Bad Things Happen Bingo “rage against the reflection”.

an empress' softness (1558 words)-- Mei Lin/Chabi, smutty and angsty episode tag to “Measure Against the Linchpin.”

running from a savior (1459 words)-- Mei Lin & Marco, related to “Hug.”

Harmless (1158 words)-- Mei Lin/Chabi smut set in Season One, playing with power dynamics.

dance of mourning (695 words)-- Mei Lin mourning Jing Fei.

a whore's return to cambulac (2075 words)--  My last gift to fuckthegods before she left tumblr, a Mei Lin/Chabi reunion fic postcanon.

Miraculous Ladybug

Bound to Be There For You (2908 words)-- Chlonette fic written for the “tied together” square of Trope Bingo.

Original Work

** In the Private Seating (3384 words)-- Theatre smut. Femslash. Written as a treat for the Smut Exchange.

Perilous Gard - Elizabeth Marie Pope

** # The Training of a Human (5019 words)-- Dark Lady/Kate fic for Yuletide treat.

** Bangles (2485 words)-- Aaaand another dark Lady/Kate fic for Yuletide treat. 

Phantom of the Opera

Me: I feel like I’ve been less active in the POTO fandom this year.

Also me: Wrote 28 POTO fics this year.

Got a lot of prompts, especially from generalsleepy, ponderinfrustration, a couple others I can’t think of off the top of my head. Thanks to all you guys for the inspiration.

Perfectionist (1617 words)-- Soft early relationship Carlottastine ficlet. Prompted.

Mind Beating Wild (1544 words)-- Carlottastine remix of the cemetery scene. Also prompted.

** Buttercup Boys and Goldenrod Girls (2990 words)-- Queerplatonic Raoul & Christine fic with aro Christine and demisexual Raoul. Kind of a wandering, collage-y fic.

** Cinnamon and Tobacco (5441 words)-- My first ever Daraoulga fic! A lot of H/C.

Nowhere, Nobody Else (1450 words)-- Cherik/Philippe fic. Prompted.

** in my heart i belong in a house by the sea (1797 words)-- Angsty as heck R/C fic. In Sweden! Prompted.

** free city for the enterprising (1746 words)-- Vaaaampires with R/C and E/R, I think it was prompted?

the more persistent spirit (3279 words)-- More generic Daraoulga fic, me still trying to figure out how Daraoulga would work.

** half-sick of shadows (3320 words)-- I just felt like “The Lady of Shalott” had strong Christine vibes, so I mixed it into a Carlottastine fic.

two divas one bed (1332 words)-- I mean what does it sound like. Modern AU Carlottastine.

** kiss me hard before you go (2489 words)-- Carlottastine but Carlotta is leaving Paris to live in the country so they’re BREAKING UP OH NO. Prompted.

hello, i want to kiss you (1009 words)-- Cherik/Philippe fic. Prompted.

Confusion of a Night (1987 words)-- Carlotta & Raoul fic, written for the “sensory overload” square of Bad Things Happen Bingo.

** two-thirty phone calls are never a good sign (1671 words)-- Daraoulga modern AU fic written for the humiliation square of Bad Things Happen Bingo.

** could you maybe act like you don't hate me (3433 words)-- Carlottastine smut mostly.

eliminate the competition (437 words)-- Carlotta ficlet. Prompted.

gala (654 words)-- A softer follow-up on “two-thirty phone calls are never a good sign.” ...I think it was prompted?

spiteful (796 words)-- Erik/Carlotta spiteful kiss ficlet, prompted.

take notes, sweetheart (466 words)-- Carlottastine antagonistic UST ficlet, prompted.

good morning erik (443 words)-- Fluffy Cherik/Philippe ficlet, prompted.

** she loves a pretty face (3966 words)-- Prompted “Raoul, scar to remember” for Bad Things Happen Bingo. Some R/C and E/R. I like this one.

lonely with you (1583 words)-- Prompted Raoul and touch-starved for Bad Things Happen Bingo. R/C, Sweden fic.

** Dolls and Goblins (5175 words)-- Prompted E/R and forced crossdressing, not somewhere I would usually go! But I think it came out well.

don't you trust me? (921 words)-- Angsty Daraoulga ficlet. Prompted.

nothing more than a minnow (1019 words)-- Quiet ghost!E/R fic written for the Darkest Night Exchange. This prompt definitely deserved better than I gave it! Idk why I wasn’t vibing with it just then.

cause you might not get tomorrow (1619 words)-- Carlotta carpe diem fic! Including Carlottastine.

long-term issues (2679 words)--Not another E/R kidnapping fic, I can’t believe it. I think this was prompted but I fucked with the prompt.

i wanna run away with you (2464 words)--Daroga joins with the R & C gang for the Sweden elopement.

Tell me the truth. (1941 words)-- Angsty Daraoulga, prompted.

...why does it feel like I didn’t write that much POTO fic? Maybe bc proportionally it’s less than in other years. But this year I wrote more fic in general, so of course the proportions have shifted.

Riverdale (TV 2017)

** the long elasticity of forgiveness (4321 words)-- FP is in jail, Jughead is being very patient.

** # My Secret Brother (7614 words)-- Technically Chic would have been Jughead’s brother too, so.

# spill some blossom blood (2049 words)-- Written for Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt, “Cheryl, take me instead”.

Sense8 (TV)

Six fics this year :) That’s about as many as I thought. Fandom deserves more tbh.

You, Painted Pink and Blue (2652 words)-- Sun/Riley kind of smut without plot, written for the Trope Bingo square of “Romance novel AU.”

Secret Garden (999 words)-- Sun/Soo-jin ficlet.

** Such Things Are Possible (12867 words)-- Rajan’s POV of that CRAZY FINALE, possibly my most popular fic this year. I had a lot of feelings.

smart talker (1385 words)-- Capheus and Whispers and creepiness. Prompted.

** Lovely in Starlight (5080 words)-- Fucked up Lila/Kala fic bc sometimes you gotta do all the work for yourself. I like this one.

** first meetings (2294 words)-- Some Jonas what-ifs. 

Shades of Magic - V. E. Schwab

Missive From Halfway Through "Seeing It" (1176 words)-- My first fic of the year, a NYR treat, epistolary fic with Kell and Rhy.

Qivuak (2635 words)-- Kell/Holland sex pollen fic for Chocolate Box treat.

** Interlude at the Hot Springs (3457 words)-- Also for Chocolate Box treat, a KELL/HOLLAND HOT SPRINGS FIC. Quite possibly my favorite dumbass premise of the year.

Lily London (2083 words)-- Quiet Kell and Holland fic.

Cat on the Bed (1980 words)-- Kell/Holland smut but they’re cat boys, assigned fic for the Smut Exchange. 

Stranger Things (TV 2016)

Think I Know Where You Belong (2004 words)-- Elmax fic, prompted.

** # An Errand in the City (3833 words)-- Kali meets Nancy and visits Hawkins to see El. Kali/Mick fic.

** Long Trek to a New Home (6476 words)-- Kalancy APOCALYPSE FIC, written for the apocalypse square of Trope Bingo.

we live in cities you'll never see onscreen (1321 words)-- Kali/Mick origin story, precanon.

** # hands that stitch (3187 words)-- Kali murders a dude at Nancy’s college, Kalancy.

The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner

tell me about the mede (655 words)-- I didn’t even write this this year, I just found it in a deleted text document. My QT writing is way down. 

The Sting (1973)

a smaller con (1373 words)-- Look I know y’all talk about Hooker/Gondorff but the real ship here is Hooker/Lonnegan k? 

イキガミ | Ikigami - All Media Types

it's galling how much i want to be good (3655 words)-- I started this fic like three years ago but only finished and posted this year. Whump. 

亜人 - 三浦追儺 & 桜井画門 | Ajin - Miura Tsuina & Sakurai Gamon those who drown together stay together (1352 words)-- Kou and Kei wash up on the shore. 

#statistics