#clearing out the wips

[miraculosus]

Letting go of this old thing for good…

[teafairywithabook]

The Letter

Another little WIP since I'm cleaning out docs I'll never do anything with. This time based on the monthly character letters sent out. Avior wrote one to Starlight during their first time in the trap. What happened to it? Takes place just before their escape in the end

The letter survived. Their bed, their sky of stars, the small luxuries that Avior had conjured for Starlight all dissolved in an instant when he went crashing over the cliff inside the trap. It wasn’t dramatic, not like Aviors fall had been. Not like the blue lightning flash that was all of Avior’s magic, all of Avior, arcing across the space between himself and his Starlight to set them free had been. No. With the magic that held all the things summoned in existence gone, they simply disappeared. 

But not the letter. 

That one thing took such little effort but it was important to Avior. So important that the part of him that made the letter held it close to his heart, and it survived with him.

It nearly hadn’t. Avior was finally healed enough that he could return to the empty room, the letter was all that was in there. Avior was nearly broken again when he found it. He sat on the floor with the letter in his hands and wailed. Avior debated on whether to let it evaporate, but in the end he didn’t destroy it. He couldn’t bring himself to. Instead he took it to the fourth circle and threw it into the gusts of wind that never seemed to subside. 

And Avior forgot about the letter.

Years later - from Avior's perspective at least - he had tried to argue Starlight out of their foolhardy plan to merge with the Meridian. Avior had been sitting cross-legged by the campfire. The last of the dry twigs Avior was using for kindling had been used up in the flames. He turned to grab another handful and found the letter he’d thrown had been floating around, somehow jammed in the pile.  Worse for wear but indestructible as long as he’d willed it’s existence. Avior held it in his shaking fingers. 

Reading it again after so long, he remembered the love and optimism he’d felt. That Starlight had felt. How they’d smiled when they had read the letter, thrown their arms around him and kissed him sweetly and gently. How they’d planned to write one in return when they’d escaped.

Avior dropped the letter and stood. He needed to walk. Anywhere would do. The wave of hopelessness was threatening to wash him away and he needed to find new shores for a brief time. Starlight may not remember this letter, but they held his heart just the same whether or not they knew it.

A few minutes later, Starlight arrived at the empty campfire to convince Avior to take him to a rift. They sighed and turned to leave, they’d come back later. Avior obviously didn’t want to talk. As they left, a piece of paper caught their eye…

[sorchathered]

Might give you guys another fic today for shits and giggles. Who am I?!

[moonphotos0]

scrapped orv art from january 2025 that I forgot about lol

[startraced]

Doodling while watching Fantasy High for the first time

EDIT: I cleaned this up & coloured it

[agentravensong]

characters who see themselves as more of a Force or an abstract concept acting in the world than as a person. characters who prioritize their role as a cog in some greater mechanism over their own personhood. characters who get their hands dirty, who run themselves ragged, who take on an unbearable weight, who hurt or neglect or give up or straight-up betray the people and things they once held close, because they believe in doing so they are fulfilling their Purpose, the thing they exist in this world to do (and no one else will do it, *can* do it, so it has to be them). characters who've determined that they are constructs bound to preprogrammed code, to a script already written for them by someone/something else, and have been operating under that mindset for so long that they don't know how to live on their own terms. characters who uphold the fate that is smothering them. can anyone hear me

[starmocha]

Doctor's Note [Zayne + Son ★ 1289 words ★ Masterlist ★ Snowdrop Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] Zayne calls home during lunchtime. A/N: orz this was supposed to have been written and posted in December… orz Tag list: @lavlynyan @miudle @alfredosaws @solifloris @nezuswritingdesk @valkyyriia @natimiles @yourlocalcatscammer @callilypso @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @qyuin 【 request to be added 】

The meeting was finally over.

Thankfully, it was just a little bit past noon by the time Zayne had returned to his office. As he settled into his seat, he started a video call, waiting patiently until a face completely identical to his popped up on the screen.

“Daddy!”

He chuckled at the sight of his three-year-old son’s bright grinning face. The boy immediately turned away, yelling for his mother. “Mommy, it’s Daddy on your phone!”

“Did Mommy let you answer this call for her?” Zayne asked teasingly, smiling when his son looked bashful and nodded. “Good, I don’t want you answering any phone calls without our permission, remember?”

The boy nodded solemnly. “I remember, Daddy!”

“Good boy,” he responded. He quirked a brow, noticing a rice grain on his son’s mouth. “Are you eating lunch without me?”

“Mommy made me…” the toddler said with a pout. “I told you Daddy would call, Mommy!”

“Zayne, are you turning our son against me again?” You immediately entered the screen with a playful glare. You bent lower and rubbed the rice grain off your son’s face, adding, “We just started eating.”

“Daddy, do you have your lunch?” the boy asked, wriggling his way back into the screen to look at his father hopefully. “Mommy and I made it just for you!”

“Yeah, Zaynie, our darling boy and I made it just for you,” you added with a mischievous smile.

“What did you do?” Zayne responded with a raise of his brow, matching your smile with his own. He set a bento box down in front of him, noticing a folded note attached on top. He opened the note, chuckling softly when he saw the crude handwriting written with green and yellow crayons.

“Is this my little doctor’s note?” he asked playfully, turning the paper with the scribbles to face his phone.

“That’s my note for Daddy!” his son yelled out excitedly.

“Wow, Zayne, our son’s handwriting looks so much nicer than yours,” you teased him again, making his eyes rolled.

“Very funny,” he answered, tone flat. He sighed exaggeratedly. “I’m afraid I have misplaced my reading glasses. Can you read it for me, son?”

The boy nodded. “It says, ‘Daddy should have a good day! I love him very, very, very much and miss him very, very, very much.’”

Both you and Zayne smiled, touched by the little boy’s earnest message. Zayne’s smile seemed to widen as he watched you pulled the boy into your lap to snuggle, his son’s giggles always managing to relieve him from his daily stress. He responded, his voice tender, “I miss you, too. I’ll be home this evening with a surprise.”

“Macarons?” the boy asked hopefully as he wriggled excitedly on your lap, making you giggled as you tried to keep the toddler still. You kissed his cheek sweetly and said in a lower voice:

“Darling, it could be a carrot cake, too, right, Zaynie?”

Zayne’s smile instantly dropped while his son’s excitement grew, as did your teasing smile. The little boy was squirming excitedly on your lap and clapping his hands. “Carrot cake!”

“Oh, but Mommy said we shouldn’t be eating too many sweets,” Zayne added, his eyes darting to meet yours in warning. He smiled stiffly, faltering when you responded cooly:

“Occasionally is fine.”

The boy peered up curiously before turning to look at his father. “Daddy, are you going to eat your lunch?”

Zayne felt grateful for the sudden topic change. He nodded and opened the lid of his bento box, his voice taking on an exaggerated tone as he asked playfully, “Now what do we have here?”

“Rice!” the boy answered brightly, continuing, “And…and…Mommy, what did you say this was called?”

You giggled, your hand smoothing over his hair. You glanced at where Zayne pointed with his chopsticks, seeing the bite-sized fried chicken pieces. “Karaage, my darling.”

“Karaage!” the boy repeatedly loudly, “And…and…”

Zayne smiled as he watched his little carbon-copy son struggled to remember the name of the dishes.

“Rolled omelet, darling.”

“…and omelet, Daddy!”

Zayne laughed at the boy’s earnest declaration. “Sounds nutritious,” he said, adding with a gentle smile, “And they look delicious.”

“Daddy, don’t forget to eat your carrots!”

Immediately, Zayne’s smile disappeared. He managed to compose himself before his son noticed his mood change. Patiently, he asked, “What carrots?”

“The hearts, Daddy!”

He peered down at his lunch again, noticing the heart-shaped carrots and the rounds they were cut from neatly and strategically placed throughout the bento box for a cute design. He looked up, feigning confusion. “I thought these are just decorations?”

“You can eat them!” the little boy insisted happily with a wide grin. “They’re yummy and good for you!”

“You hear that, Zaynie?” you interjected with a mischievous grin, delighting in how your normally calm and collected husband was struggling to maintain his composure, his lips subtly twitching with disgust at the sight of his least favorite food and even worse at the prospect of having to eat them. You continued, chirping happily, “Your personal doctor has just told you they’re yummy and good for you.”

Just as quickly, Zayne directed a sharp glare to you, but you didn’t care, continuing with delight at his misery, ���My hubby is so lucky to have such a dedicated doctor who cares about his patient’s health.”

“You put him up to this, didn’t you?” he accused.

“This was his idea!” you protested with a smug smile. “He said—and I quote—‘Mommy, can we cut out hearts for Daddy’s lunch?’”

You leaned down and kissed the top of your son’s head soundly. “Didn’t you, my little darling?”

The boy nodded innocently, his sweet little smile still shining brightly as he waited for his father to take his first bite of his lunch.

“Now Zaynie,” you said teasingly, struggling to stifle your giggles as your husband continued to pierce you with his glares, “Won’t you be a good boy and eat your carrots, per doctor’s order?”

Zayne sighed helplessly when his carbon-copy son stared at him with bright, hopeful eyes. He picked up his chopsticks again, his eyes peering down at his lunch as he quickly tried to gauged which piece of carrot appeared the smallest. He started to reach for one of the rounds with a heart-shaped holes, but you immediately tutted disapprovingly. “A real piece of carrot, sir.”

“They’re all still carrots,” he insisted practically through clenched teeth.

“Daddy, do you not like my lunch for you?” the boy asked with quivering lips.

Damn it.

Zayne smiled reassuringly, speaking gently to the little toddler, “Of course not, son, Daddy was just trying to pick the most delicious piece for his first bite.”

Mentally, he sighed. He unwittingly chose the largest heart-shaped carrot piece and plopped it into his mouth. He struggled to smile as he chewed on the vegetable, his tastebuds screaming in disgust. Eventually, he swallowed, his smile stiff.

“De-delicious,” he fibbed, consciously trying to maintain his smile for his son’s sake. The smile, however, fell completely at the little boy’s innocent declaration:

“Mommy, we should give Daddy more hearts tomorrow!”

“We should,” you agreed with both glee and mischievousness, adding playfully, “Because we love Daddy so much, right, my darling boy?”

“Yeah!”

Through clenched teeth, Zayne’s hand tightened around his chopsticks, and he responded with a forced smile to you, “I love you all, too…so I wouldn’t want you to trouble yourself on my behalf.”

“It’s no trouble, Daddy!” the boy said happily, seemingly unaware of his father’s internal struggles. He continued cheerfully, “I want you to have lots of hearts tomorrow!”

“Because we love you so much, Zaynie,” you added smugly, seeing the light in his eyes fading.

“…I love you, too…”

[angelsdean]

s16 ep1: The Rescue

[just-some-user-hunny]

UUGGGGHGHHHH Nikto needing to be needed has me so soft

he would brush your teeth for you if you let him, buckle your seat belt (no matter who's driving, or would be the seat belt himself if necessary), open every jar, every can with that can opener you always struggle with (if you ever got an automatic can opener he would be SO upset, I can hear the huffy gruff would-be-pout already), he would do so many things for his llubov without even thinking about it but you're just out here,,, doing it yourself? :((( but he's right there :((( why can't he do it?? do you not love him??? let him make the bed with your million pillows exactly where they know you get most comfortable, squished between him and the wall so he can always, always guard their llubov

Bonus points if there's a little learning curve for the reader, who's usually quite independent with taking care of themselves.

Initially it appears as if he's dominant and nurturing, doing little acts of service to express himself to you. But then gradually it becomes more apparent he's seeking your approval and happiness. Every plate of food he places before you at the table, he looks at you quietly. Unblinking. Settling down on his knees to rearrange your cutlery so as to not loom over you. He's not going to his seat until he knows you're happy with him. His eyes glaze over with a sappy soft haze whenever you pet his face and praise him. Feline eyes following you, bristling for approval from his favourite person. It becomes more and more apparent that he's not a dominant person with you- quite the opposite, actually. His attempts at service are clumsy and unpractised, but genuine and eager all the same.

Or maybe a thick arm corded with muscle reaches over you to do up your seatbelt for you- and there's no batting it away. You may lightly squeeze at his bicep, your fingers barely unable to wrap around it as you light-heartedly assure him you're fine, but he'll just look at you apprehensively and frown. Do you not like it when he does this?

His expression pointed and stern, yet flickering with something vulnerable that only you can pinpoint by the crease in his eyes and furrowed brows. Assure him by pressing a kiss to his face and patting his bicep. Thank you honey. Remember your seatbelt too, my love.

No other words are needed for him. He'll nod obediently and get to work on his order, strapping himself in and relaxing back in the seat, assured and content.

Or how you don't even bother attempting to get your toothbrush yourself anymore, knowing he'll grab it before you can and hold it high above your head till you settle down and accept his help. He'll stand there otherwise, blank faced and stubborn as he holds it higher whenever you try to reach for it. No amount of scolding will go through that skull of his when it comes to things like this. Might as well indulge him in his little silent requests. But you insist on doing his skincare, and he grumbles but sees it as fair enough. He enjoys it, really. He's just stubborn.

[rohans-daughter]

oh also look what my husband built for me

any guesses??

a yarn shelf!!! I suggested adding dowels on the sides for skeins, but he designed the rest, building it out of birch plywood, premade trim, and some oak scraps leftover from a job renovating a church.

I think this is my favorite thing that I own now.

[acommonanomaly]

Realized I needed Essek Thelyss with a messy man bun in my life so here we are.

[teafairywithabook]

Little Warden WIP

Continuing with my theme of posting unfinished WIPs, this is part of a longer fic set after Warden and Vega meet Hush that I won't finish. Unfinished mostly because it's kind of close to what ended up happening! This section is really just Warden.

It stands on it's own, the rest doesn't but if anyone's curious I could try to pull it together into something readable when I have time. I hope you enjoy it.

I miss my Sadism demon almost as much as I miss my snarky Inchoate.

Vega’s death replayed itself in Warden’s head over and over again. They didn’t remember running, or where they went. All they could hear was the sound he made as he died. All they could see was his magic spilling out of him, and evaporating into the air around them in the Closeknit headquarters as the stranger simply ripped everything he was out of him. Warden ran, paying no mind to where they were.

Moving with demonic speed, zipping between buildings and up streets until streets gave way to dirt tracks and they judged themselves to be a safe enough distance from the building that until recently had housed the cult. Although, if this being could cut down Vega where he stood without a second thought, was Warden really safe? Warden stopped and looked back in the direction of Dahlia, and blinked. Then, they sat down heavily in the dirt right where they were, and sobbed. The little sobs gave way to heaving wails as the enormity of everything weighed down on them. Everything from the breakout, their injuries, finding out about the gods being real and even the possibility of Vega having his reasons for what he’d done. Thoughts of the Department not being everything Warden had hoped - their entire life becoming upended. Vega moving from prisoner in their mind to carer, to cared for. And now gone. Brutally ripped from them in a second.

 Warden may have only had a facsimile of a heart, built on their command to simulate the fantasy of being human. Breathing only to complete the illusion of lungs and life but ultimately it wasn’t real. But the feelings were real. And the grief was real. As the human body summoned the tears from Warden’s eyes, seemingly without their input or desire, Warden experienced something else new. That heartbreak is named so because it feels very much as though the heart truly is breaking into shards, stabbing into the lungs and stealing the ability to form breath or even the next thought. And even demons with only a pretend heart and pretend lungs can suffer.

Their feelings were complicated just then. If you’d have asked all those weeks ago how they felt about Vega, they’d have been much more detached. They’d have told you he was another case. Another patient. Another inmate. Now, he was something else entirely. Was, they reminded themselves. Now what he was, was gone. 

Warden finally collected their thoughts, and wiped their eyes, smearing dirt across their face. They didn't care. What did it matter? They’d failed in every way. Recapturing Vega? Fail. Helping Vega in any meaningful way? Fail. Even existing as a demon? Big fat fail. Vega had been right, Warden had given up so much of themselves to masquerade as a human, that their first thought had been "run" when it should have been "rift". The only reason they hadn’t rifted in the first place weeks ago was to prevent either the Solitares or the department getting a lock onto their location. It was rather redundant now. Feeling bereft, stupid and lost, Warden rifted home without even getting up.

Back home, it was as though nothing had changed. How dare things be this mundane? How could things look and smell the same when so much had irrevocably altered in Warden’s life? This much normalcy when things wouldn’t ever be normal again. The teacup on the side, still with the teabag in from the morning of the breakout. Washing still in the washing machine. Warden knew they didn’t have to do such human things, but they liked to fit in, even in private. Vega had seen the demon under the human facade and Warden doubted they’d bother with these things again. They’d decided to embrace who they really were, and walking back in was almost like seeing parts of somebody else's life. A demon had replaced the imposter who used to live here. Someone had hit pause here while Warden’s life had spiraled into fast forward and - 

“Hello, Inchoate.”

Warden screamed.

[taxinealkaloids]

while i'm clearing out my miscellaneous art files, here's babs' corpse w/ ianthe in the driver's seat

[demaparbat-hp]

Want to know what I believe? It's right here

Dig a little deeper and it's crystal clear

.

(WIP)

[angelapleasant]

MIX & MATCH BALLET SEPARATES & ACCESSORIES FOR S1-S5

info + dl

[swordhound]

NOVENA