#help i've started another fic

[thetragicallynerdy]

work in progress tuesday - de-aged jim style

Oluwande knelt down and peered under the bed, then sighed in relief. He pushed himself back up and stuck his head out the door. "Found them!"

Lucius' face appeared down the corridor. "Oh thank fuck. Want me to -"

"Nah, I got it. Keep looking for Stede."

Ed, thankfully, had went up, climbing to the crow's nest. Last Oluwande had heard, the Swede was up there, trying to convince him to come down.

He went back and laid down beside the bed, peering underneath it again. Folded his arms underneath his head, so it was obvious he wasn't trying to reach for them.

"Hey," he said softly, smiling at the kid underneath the bed. They couldn't have been more than nine or ten. Big black eyes, long skinny braids, and the most serious face he'd ever seen on a kid that age. He wondered if they still called themself Bonifacia. "You alright?"

Jim - he was going to keep calling them that until asked otherwise - stared at him. They were curled up in a ball, knees drawn to their chest, wedged into the smallest space beside a trunk Oluwande had shoved under there for storage.

Time for a different strategy.

"¿Estás bien?"

That got a reaction, Jim starting a little.

"Me llamo Oluwande," he said, still smiling. "¿Me recuerdas?"

Jim frowned. But still didn't respond.

There was a noise behind him. Oluwande looked at the door, saw Frenchie slide in and take a seat in the sitting nook. When he looked back at Jim, their eyes had narrowed, hand shifting towards their waist.

"Es solo nuestro amigo Frenchie," he hastened to say. "Él no te hará daño."

They didn't relax, but they were still listening.

"¿Habla usted Inglés?"

Jim gave a slow, hesitant nod. Oluwande smiled. Good. That would at least make life a little bit easier.

"Cool. I'm going to speak in English so Frenchie can understand us, alright?"

"Why am I here?" Jim asked, by way of answer. Their eyes darted past him, towards where Frenchie sat, then back to his face. "Where are you taking me?"

Oluwande shook his head. "We're not taking you anywhere, mate. You live on this ship. With me, and Frenchie, and the rest of the crew."

A fierce scowl appeared on their face, brows furrowing and mouth turning pointedly downward. It maybe would have been scary if they were older, but instead it was just remarkably cute. "I live with Nana."

"Not anymore," he said gently. "You're - you live with us. For now."

Another long moment of Jim staring hard at his face. If he wasn't used to them watching him, it might have been more unnerving. The main thing that was unnerving about it, he supposed, was how fucking close their mannerisms were to the Jim that he had first met. Like a tiny, somber adult. Given what he knew about their life, he supposed it made sense. But god, it sucked to see.

"This is a test, then," they said flatly. "For me to get home." They pulled out a knife and pointed it at him. "Take me home."

Oluwande sighed. "Mate, you're not gonna stab me."

The tip of their knife wavered. "I could."

"Sure, but you won't." He tried to smile again. "I know you don't remember, but you and I - we're friends."

Their frown wavered too. "I don't have friends."

His chest twisted at the same time he heard Frenchie bite back a noise. There was a scuffle, both him and Jim tensing, and then Frenchie lay down on the floor beside him.

"You do," Frenchie said softly. "I'm your friend. Olu is too. Promise. We aren't gonna hurt you."

Slowly the knife drew back. Jim clutched it to their chest, eyes blinking rapidly. "If you are my friends - then why won't you take me home?"

[onyxsboxes]

Sometimes you think you're doing fine. Then you look at how you've behaved over the past weeks/months. And well, you were wrong.

[dustdeepsea]

WIP Wednesday

Edit: The story has been completed and posted here on AO3 :)

It's Wednesday here in the future :)

Working Title: Nine Lives (sequel to aqua vitae) Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Rating: Teen (non-explicit excerpt) Relationships: Rugan/Tav (Baldur’s Gate)

This is set post-game, so possible spoilers for the end of act 3.

Note: This is a work in progress and is subject to major changes in the final published version. It is not proof-read or edited; all typos are mine.

Falling feels like flying. Tumbling through the sky, you feel like a rag doll cast out of an angry child’s pram.

One final tantrum from the Netherbrain in its death throes.

So this is how I go, you think. You feel strangely at peace, watching the water below rush towards you, smooth and serene as glass from up high. You look around at your friends, your eyes watering as the wind streams past your face. 

One last image to hold in your mind.

Gale reaches out, his hands moving in desperate patterns, even though you know that by now he’s burnt through every scrap of his reserves. At the same time, Astarion breaks the wax seal on a scroll with both hands. His catlike grace makes him appear seated in mid-air, suspended. He was always the better rogue.

You feel the gentle tug of transmutation magic, as you are lifted up by the scruff of your neck. Featherfall sparkles around you in the sunlight. You are still descending rapidly, but floating upright now. Spread out before you is the ruined cityscape, the harbour, the grey ships and their sails. Everything and everyone you’ve fought so hard for. 

You draw your arms and legs in, and shut your eyes.

The spell gives out three metres above the water, and you splash into the river. The cold water is a shock to your aching, battle-worn body. Your limbs seize up. You feel bubbles rush over and around you.

It takes a moment before your survival instincts kick in and your lungs begin to scream.

I want to live. 

The thought animates your leaden legs, forces them to flutter and kick. Thrashing your way upwards, you break the surface and gasp for air.

The end of the world has come and gone. You’ve survived.

The doors to the Elfsong are thrown wide open, and everyone in the city seems to be either passing through the bar, or spilling out into the streets with their drinks and singing loudly. The cellars have been emptied, and every bard in town seems to be playing on the same stage tonight. Commerce is the lifeblood of Baldur’s Gate, you recall Wyll saying. There’s nothing better for business than a near brush with death.

At some point, someone cast Prestidigitation on you, and pressed a hot drink into your hand. You clutch it numbly, the cup long grown cold.

Tomorrow, there will be a reckoning. You think about your remaining companions, your time together already coming to an end. So many goodbyes were already said that afternoon on the pier—you shake your head to interrupt the dismal thoughts. For now, you’re alive and that’s all that matters.

You can’t fault the people of Baldur’s Gate for celebrating. You would do the same if you were in their shoes.

The noise and press of the people around you is driving you mad. You put down your cup and push your way to the doors. All around you, the cheer goes up, red faces saluting you with their drinks. They hoot and holler, and shout your name.

“Tav! Tav! Tav!”

You smile and wave to your adoring crowd, as you edge your way to the exit. The roar of the tavern crowd fades as you leave their field of vision and they turn back to their revelry. You slip away from the crowd milling near the entrance and out into the night.

Most of the buildings in the Lower City are still standing, minus a few spires. Further away, folks stand around scattered bonfires, drinking and speaking more quietly.

You take in a deep breath and wrinkle your nose. The air is crisp but smells of acrid woodsmoke and ozone. Piles of illithid bodies are being burnt and tossed into collapsed doorways. Still, it’s better than being trapped indoors.

You exhale, and lean against a nearby facade that's intact. It feels like you’ve been holding your breath since you landed in the river.

“Now, that doesn’t sound very festive.” A gently chiding voice drifts over from the street.

You lift your head and watch its owner approach you, open bottle in hand. Of course he would be here, sauntering up to you, after half the city had been destroyed. This man clearly has nine lives.

“Rugan,” you say, and a smile breaks over his face. Exhausted as you are, you feel your lips quirk upwards in response.

“Tav.” He’s standing right in front of you now, and your body remembers a different night in a small room, lit by dim lamplight. You hope it’s not written all across your face.

“I like the hair piece,” he says, gesturing with the bottle.

Puzzled, you reach up towards your head and your hands close around a braided flower crown. Someone must have placed it on you in the tavern without you noticing. You pull it off, slowly, the wildflowers scattering tiny yellow and white petals as they catch in your hair. 

It hangs from your hands, loosely, as you glance between it and his amused face. “It’s been a very long day,” you say, finally, and he laughs.

“Long is an understatement, lass.” He offers you the bottle and you readily accept.

“Word on the street is that we have you and your crew to thank for all of us still being alive,” he says, as you take a sip. It tastes green and medicinal on your tongue. “Let me buy you a proper drink inside.”

Highsun liqueur. You lick your lips and sigh. 

“I shouldn’t.” You rub at your face and suppress a shudder at the thought of the roiling crowd in the Elfsong. “Sorry—I haven’t dared to have a drink all evening. If I accept one, I will have to drink them all, and then I'll wake up passed out in the Chionthar.”

He nods sagely, like it’s a dilemma that he’s encountered many times before. “Well, what would you like to do instead?” he asks, placidly. There’s no hint of leering or suggestion in his voice.

You’re stunned for a moment. No one’s asked you that question in a kindly manner, for a very long while. Gods and devils and their emissaries have hounded you relentlessly for what feels like forever, spurring you from one wild task to the next, the tadpole in your head all the while a ticking time-bomb.

“What should we do, Tav?” used to mean—which awful choice do we make now? Who gets to live? Who dies next?

For the first time in a long time, you can answer without despairing.

“I have an idea. Come with me.” Impulsively, you drop the flower crown on the ground, and take his hand. It’s large and warm against yours. 

He looks surprised, but doesn’t protest as you tug him towards the side of the tavern building, where fewer people are about. You hand the bottle back to him, and let go of his hand to rummage around in your satchel. With a flourish, you pull out the scroll of Dimension Door. You’ve earned this, all hundred gold pieces worth of it. No more scrimping and saving for the next fight. 

Linking your arms, you look at Rugan and flash him a perfectly ordinary, non-crazed grin. “Hold onto me,” you say, and crack the seal, teleporting you both to the rooftop of the Elfsong.

[jichanxo]

sunday six!

thanks for the tag @four-white-trees :D poking @skysquid22 and @passthroughtime if you've got anything!

the last thing i wrote is in first draft territory and in desperate need of revision so i'm a bit self conscious, but i'll post the most presentable snippet from it. this is from the same fic as this post (my canon divergence fic with arakawa, sawashiro and ichiban). this one implies a bit more about Sawashiro's background that's discussed in IW but there are no major spoilers, so read at your own discretion, I suppose?

“Do you know for sure?” 

“Totally abandoned by his parents, and left to grow up in a brothel. It’s not exactly a common story.” 

“I suppose not.” Arakawa conceded. “How long have you known about the boy?” 

Arakawa held his eyes, and Sawashiro’s tongue grew heavy in his mouth. He’d known too much, for too long. “…A while.” 

Something passed in Arakawa’s gaze, something harsh. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was judgment. “I don’t need the exact day, Sawashiro, but when I ask when, I expect a better answer than that.” 

He opened his mouth, feeling for better words. “Years. A short while after joining the family. When he was a younger boy.” 

Arakawa holds the stare a moment longer, then sighs and puts his head in his hands, stubs out what little remains of this cigarette. “And now it’s a problem.” 

His brows furrow. “Now it’s a problem.” 

[violetsareblue-selfships]

good morning!! <33

[ereborne]

Song of the Day: March 18

"Break Down Here" by Julie Roberts

[blessedpictures]

There, finally caught up on all the banners. Jesus.

[sister-cna-reader]

How's your writing going?

[weregreatatcrime]

Maybe someone will try cloning him at some point?

I'm sorry I'm confused hsgdjhf do you mean?? Xever??? Bcz ho boi I think changeling Karai would find the thing she hates almost as much as harming children

I'm not TOO upset about killing him off, just mildly sad it was via changeling Karai, who wouldn't even get in an epic sass off or dramatic fight in the process, she just bam he gone. No time for cool confrontations a g h

[nomazee]

what ppl don't tell you about writing is that it's half having zero ideas whatsoever and not knowing what to write & half having too many ideas and not knowing which ones to pick

[oveliagirlhaditright]

LOL. In the Buffy tie-in book I read ("Unnatural Selection"), Buffy had to come up with the cover story that she and Angel were married and had two daughters: Ginger and Joy. And she came up with those names because ginger (the spice) was right in front of her, and the brand of the dishwasher she owned was "Joy"?

But an AU--or better yet, a continuation of this--where they have daughters and actually name them that. Pfft.

Also, interestingly enough, in these tie-in books, Buffy dreams of having kids with Angel quite a few times (like in moments where she gets to see her perfect life).

Not that that's what this was, but it's still definitely interesting.

[meliohy]

Manifesting becoming obsessed again with tog because the webtoon is coming back and I miss this fandom 🙏😔

[idledreams4]

I kinda forgot how fun it was to write Lila and Jerome's fights ngl

Its kinda painful too but hey this whole fic is supposed to be emotional. I already put in a bit of fluff, buuut we're at the point now where Miah left the circus so Jer is all alone and soon he's going to lose hope in his brother ever coming back for him. And then he snaps and kills Lila and throws his future out the window! ^w^

[rolandkaros]

if i asked y'all for writing prompts/requests would u give them to me orrr.........i want to write something new but idk what

[alteredphoenix]

Maybe these kinds of fics are rare in DCxDP, but I would love to see how it handles Danny and friends thrown/mixed into the world of the DC Black Label Batman, where Bruce is either so relentless in cleansing crime from Gotham's streets that almost everybody turns on him (The White Knight saga) or so angry and ruthlessly fucked up from his parents being murdered that no one wants to associate with him (The Imposter).

[thevalleyisjolly]

I am not immune from the urge to write Doctor Who fic.