#kips writing

[subjectsix]

He looks back over to Tim, then follows his intent gaze to the table in front of him. A smile pricks at the edge of his mouth as he watches him take a wooden spoon and stir something in a small ceramic pot, perched precariously on a hot plate. It has a quaint little painted pattern on it, with a matching kettle next to it. He can see the steam coming from the pot, watching as he stirs at… something. It smells amazing. “Oh, thanks,” Tim glances up at him and smiles. Alan hadn’t realized he said that out loud. “It’s not the bes— oh wow, are you okay?” His expression shifts suddenly, dropping the wooden spoon against the wall of the pot.

[messerkampf]

Eiger rests her hand on the top of the fridge with a measured sigh.

"Which one of you is putting back empty jars?" She holds out a jar at the eye level of her human team. Hide glances up from the table, watching gnarled chunks of forgotten imitation olives swirl around in the purple brine.

"Oh, my fault, sorry," Blitz says, sliding over in his desk chair. "I'll take it."

"Thank you," Eiger deadpans, turning back to the fridge. She scans the meager shelves, until--

"Oh, God, Blitz," Hide cringes.

Eiger turns toward Hide, then cranes back around to try and get an eye on Blitz. She regrets even looking once her gaze lands on him at his desk, drinking the olive juice straight from the jar. She shuts the fridge suddenly, with enough force to rock back a little.

"Suddenly I have no appetite."

[technowunderkind]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ♥️

waaaah thank you!!! ;o; <3

i wish i had more finished deus ex fics to share, but so far all I have is this one, and I'm very proud of it still :]

From A to Ž Deus Ex: Mankind Divided Adam Jensen & Vaclav Koller Would it be the wrong time to ask, considering that he's know him for three months now? (Or because he's actively working on the mechanisms of his augmented hand?) Or would it be worse to keep this feeling of not knowing when he could just get clarification now, instead of risking getting it wrong after all this time? Finally, after annoying himself with his own internal debate, Jensen asks, “Koller, have I been saying your name wrong?”

Finally, after annoying himself with his own internal debate, Jensen asks, “Koller, have I been saying your name wrong

as for four others...

I've always liked the atmosphere I built here:

House of Microcosms Control (2019) Mentions of all main characters MICROCOSM ; a community, place, or situation regarded as encapsulating in miniature the characteristic qualities or features of something much larger. People with more experience under their belt at the Bureau would always talk about how it felt like a second home. Others would say it felt like an entirely different world— like crossing the threshold to work was really crossing a threshold into something entirely new. The agreement was simply this: inside the house, it feels almost like another world or life. The House is a wilderness you are stranded in, and it may kill you before the life rafts get here. It is not so much an enemy like the Hiss is— an invader here to consume you— simply an ecosystem that you must learn to survive in.

I think this might be one of my best short works I've done:

The Bends Alan Wake, Control (2019) Emil Hartman “It’s called Decompression Sickness,” the weathered instructor had said. “But most people just call it the Bends. It can ruin your entire life, so it’s not worth the quick ascension.” Hartman hadn’t even been planning on using a diving license. But the research into the Lake, and Zane’s passion for it, made him seek out lessons. He stood in a humid, indoor pool, in a gaggle of other random learners, all donning wetsuits. “To make sure you all really get why, I’m going to break down each way the sickness can affect you, so you never let your ego get ahead of you when you dive.” Hartman was stretched.

This just felt necessary in some ways, for myself and the character of 47:

A Grave Decision Hitman Agent 47 & Lucas Grey There is no body to bury. Yet his mind keeps wandering back to the idea. A marker, of some kind. An untraditional gravestone. Or traditional. Oddly sentimental. But what better way to acknowledge to Providence, to the world, I was human, I was here.

This was really fun to explore and get into and is more recent!:

Hope, as Necessity Dishonored Corvo Attano & Samuel Beechworth Your eyes search the muck and algae with a fervor you didn't know you still had. You watch for shapes that bob and sway in the wake you leave as your boat carves through the murky waters. The water thuds up against the sides and bow, echoing softly in the thick, silent air. The ache clutching your heart is a mix of hope and inevitability. (The guilt sticks to your ribs like the harbor fog clings and wicks onto the fabric of your jacket.) You poisoned Corvo Attano. No getting around that fact.

[shittyutmv]

can squeeze nightmare? He look like he feel like a stressball.

i drew this as a rough draft but it scared me so bad i quit

i'm planning on posting something later but this was in our drafts forever and i think in retrospect its hilarious as it is so here nightmare by jokublog

[farolero-posting]

To me Silver is very interesting as a... "project" because she's both a show of great effort and care in terms of technology, but the idea that she was built to Not follow her own programming and be "tamed" is also an act of... carelessness, maybe?

Like, would Silver feel like she was the result of people not wanting to get the time to let HER become her own person? And why? Because it makes her useful? Because nobody has tried before? Because being a robot wasn't good enough?

And yet...

With all that said, I do think there had to be a lot of care put into making her, into giving her... all the tools that makes us human. I tend to headcanon her body as pretty expressive, sensitive and durable as well (but not quite like a person because she should do more than that). Like. Kip tried as hard as she could to give Silver everything that would make you FEEL like a person, but... you need your own story to make sense of yourself and your place in the world. You need to learn to be someone to know where you want to go and actually choose a path for yourself

And Silver's place was that of a breakthrough, an enigma, a one-of-a-kind being, but built with the expectation, from the start, to act like a person (and thus better than a machine). And worst of all, the way to achieve this is to literally go against what she recognizes as herself.

[the-kipsabian]

please just send me asks i feel like i havent talked to anyone in ages i crave social interactions today ough

[basil-the-middleground]

Very short drabble of sorts...

Kip had a schedule ahead of time when it comes to his streams, almost always on two days of Mondays and Fridays. He would just be gaming with friends, or goofing around with whatever was around him. Kip's voice sometimes would be shot at the end, and there would be lemon tea on the counter in the kitchen prepared to where all he had to do was pour the water.

Orange's stream is whenever, which doesn't surprise Kip one bit. He had some kind of a theme of watching retro shows and music videos, and the mood was calming. Sometimes he had snacks, and he would bring them with him to the streams. A lot of them would be new ones Kip wanted to try or did try and hated them.

It was rare that they both stream at the same time. When they do, it was usually enough chaos for both of their chats to really start going off. Sending raids over to each other channels, leaving comments that they don't pick up sometimes until they see the reactions to it. Orange's messages range from very sweet, throwing hearts and 'I love you's' to out of context words that leave the chat confused until they see Kip a stuttering mess. Kip's messages are just plain there to mess with Orange. He rarely gets him, but the few times he did was clipped to infinity.

These last few weeks in particular were interesting to say the least. The new terror of the Undisputed Kingdom has been wreaking havoc on all the champions, including the Intercontinental championship. This meant all of Orange’s focus has been going onto defending it more, and also meant more days of Kip nursing him as best as he could. 

Orange told him he was getting tired, and it felt different from the first time, more accepting of if he doesn’t come out as champion he was going to be ok with it. It was still gonna be painful to lose, but it wouldn’t hurt as much as the first time.  Either way, Kip still cursed Roderick Strong for being the so-called ‘Back Messiah”.  

Now it’s 4 days after Revolution, and a day where both of them were at home at the same time for the first time in forever.  Kip wasn’t really expecting a double stream today, but he also wasn’t expected a certain former champion to come around the corner 5 minutes into streaming with the blanket from the couch wrapped around him. So now Kip is streaming with a still exhausted yet clingy Orange on his shoulder. 

He definitely couldn’t game now. But honestly, he didn’t really mind.

[caldegas-silly-doodles]

small sketchy s4 comic C:

crossposted on me artfight teehee

[theflyingkipper]

A common trope I see in TTTE fanfiction is that engines are discouraged from crying, and its usually for respectability reasons. I'm not throwing shade to this trope, I eat it up when I read it. mmm delicious pain

With the discussion of engine eye-drops being oil based, and it being generally accepted that engine tears are water from their boiler... I think there could be a mechanical reason why engines are discouraged from crying. Water makes them rust, oil prevents it. I would assume engines' faces aren't painted (I like to think its metal animated by the power of personification) especially if they're not organic.

I think the faces being metal is somewhat supported in the RWS (they are smokebox doors, after all) Maybe the one on the right's face has been totally rusted, rather than removed as I've seen some people suggest. The one on the left has rust streaks on their face, too.

Idk where im going, food for thought if anyone wants to expand on it

[pasdecoeur]

Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: DCU Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Past Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Post-Divorce, Angst, my god there should be a warning for so much angst

Summary:

First I thought, what if I wrote a fic about Bruce and Clark and Jon and Damian having a day out at the beach. And Clark will find out the reason Bruce secretly hates the beach is because he burns in the sun too easily. And I'll call it Blush.

And then I thought, if Jon is here, where's Lois? And if Bruce and Clark are falling in love now, why did she and Clark split up?

And then I thought, maybe I'll invite Lois to the beach house and she can tell me why.

And then she told me why.

[thehighlordofspring]

May I request 22 for Tamcien?

In a Rush of Adrenaline (Send me a 💋 prompt) (ft. Tamcien)

Tamlin didn’t mean to do it, but sometimes his day long exploits into the wild became week long excursions. He found solace in the woods and being separated from the rest of the population for a while relieved some of the burden which he carried from being their High Lord. Often, he left on these journeys on a whim.

He took with him nothing but the clothes on his back and the knives in his belt. He could hunt for food, find a cave for shelter, and trade with other travelers for anything else he needed. If the worst came to the worst, he could use his conjuration magic to create small things. Amarantha hadn’t taken this power from him. She didn’t know it existed.

Tamlin rarely left a note at the manor, or even word of mouth. Why should he? He nearly always planned to be back by the following morning.

His latest retreat into solitude led him far into the wilderness of Spring on paths that only he knew. Seven days passed before he sat up lazily in a cave by a creek, transforming himself from a house cat and back to a High Fae. A nap in the sun had been lovely. The pack of wild felines around were nonchalant over his presence.

Suddenly, he wondered what day it was — time passed by slowly to fae unless they kept careful track.

Three days — at most. He grumbled under his breath. It was going to take the rest of this one to get back to the manor. Lucien was going to be pissed off. The last time he’d disappeared for forty-eight hours without telling the fox, Lucien hadn’t spoken to him for an entire nine days afterwards. Sulking was Tamlin’s thing. What was with that? Tamlin shrugged and continued following his own footsteps home.

It was dusk by the time he reached the manicured grounds of spring court. He snapped his fingers, using his magic to run a brush through his hair and change into clean clothes. He may hate the formality, but it wasn’t right to return to court looking like a wild man.

He spied Lucien pacing the checkered tile from the corner of his eye. He did not look happy. Tamlin rolled his eyes. It appeared someone else had taken up the job of relentlessly pacing while he was gone. Although he could have easily walked up, the High Lord found some mischief in winnowing to Lucien’s back. When the redhead turned around — he stopped short.

Anger flitted through his familiar eyes. His lips were forced into a stubborn line. His pointy ears pointed backwards.

Tamlin sighed. I’m either about to get punched or hugged. I’d rather take the punch.

“You. Bastard.” Lucien jabbed his finger into Tamlin’s chest. “Six days? Are you insane?”

Six days? Tamlin swallowed. Oof —

He was about to mumble an apology when Lucien’s long arms swallowed him in the tightest hug that he’d ever gotten.

Tamlin froze, but the realization came over him slowly. He thought I was dead. He cares that I’m not.

He slowly lifted his arms and returned the hug. He would never be fond of them; but he owed one this time. If Lucien had disappeared for six days straight, Tamlin had no idea what he’d do, but he wouldn’t have stayed calm.

“Sorry…” Tamlin muttered. He wasn’t good at words, but the way he looked at the ground when Lucien released him was proof enough that he understood what he’d done.

Lucien placed his hand on Tamlin’s shoulder and looked firmly into his eyes. “If you ever do that again, I am going to use that time to paint this entire manor in foxes and the words ‘Lucien rules, Tamlin sucks.’ You got it?”

Tamlin’s eyes brightened and genuine laughter peeled from his lungs. He bent over, genuinely tickled. Lucien was one of the only ones who could make him truly laugh. “You’ll be scrubbing it off when I get back!”

“Your manor, your scrubbing!” Lucien shot back.

Tamlin growled and punched the redhead in his shoulder sort-of gently.

Lucien rubbed his shoulder and wrapped his arm around Tamlin’s neck, giving him a tighter-than-necessary squeeze.

They sat on the giant steps watching the sunrise, until Lucien finally spoke again. “Hey, Tam?”

Tamlin looked up.

“I’m really glad you’re home.” Lucien pressed a kiss to his temple and rested his head on his muscular shoulder.

Tamlin sighed quietly. “Me too.”

[subjectsix]

kill your darlings moment (cut the line in the fic about tim breaker bending and ripping his pizza boxes into various polyhedrons and then leaving them in his trash pile in the corner)

[messerkampf]

"Now, we want a good clean fight!" Gobbet announces. She's perched on the edge of her shelf, one foot balanced on the edge, the other propped up on a stack of personal pizza boxes. Madness and Folly scurry below her on the floor, running in and out of her pile of laundry.

"How is any of this fight fair?" Duncan asks with a confused smirk. He's leaning against her doorframe, arms crossed across his chest, trying and failing to appear disinterested. Gaichu is next to him, crouched low near the wall.

"Au contraire, fair and clean are not one in the same, Gunshow. Basically I don't want either of them to draw blood. Who are you betting on?"

"My nuyen's on Folly," Gaichu nods. "She's getting good at grappling. She's learned from last time." Gobbet's rats blast out of a rumpled shirt sleeve and past an unplugged kettle.

"Why no blood? I don't think you'd notice if they added to the mess in here."

"Har har, thank you. If they're fighting hard enough to draw blood, that means they're actually pissed, and not just goofing off. This is all in good fun! Like you and Seattle."

Madness suddenly appears atop a stack of pillows and leaps, soaring through the air and landing on Folly in a flurry of squeaks. The two become a blurry, beeping mess of claws, feet, and tails.

"This is goofing off?" Duncan asks incredulously.

"Yeah! I think so. I uh. I hope so."

The motion suddenly stops as Madness pins Folly down, jamming her nose up against her neck and laying across her. Folly squeaks in protest before finally lying still.

Duncan holds his hand out with a smirk as Gaichu sighs, wordlessly passing him his winning bet.

[ray-gt]

Rules of the Party: Luck of the Draw

The party play a game of Potion Roulette. What could possibly go wrong?

(Had to split this one into two parts because it was getting too long. Hope to post Part 2 soon!)

_______________________________________________________________________

There was a lull over the party that afternoon when they sat around camp in the deep woods just outside of the great alpine market of Halambad. Situated in a deep, wooded valley between the three tallest peaks of the East Continent, Halambad was the capital of magic users from all across the land. Sorcerers, witches, wizards, tieflings, clerics, drakes, druids - all and more traveled to Halambad to practice, to trade, to learn. The air in the valley smelled of it, the ground thrummed with its energy, the woods were alive, calling out to it. 

A traveller, on first visit to Halambad, may find this sensation euphoric, transcendent even. However, many of the company had journeyed to the market before and knew that, behind the mystical spells, pretty trinkets, and winking faces, was just another city filled with people doing what people usual do at market: trade and scam. 

 They’d arrived in Halambad more than three days prior with two primary goals in mind: to stock up on supplies, and to scout out a job. By the afternoon in question, even Quinn, who found every aspect of the East Continent new and wonderful, was beginning to tire. 

 Two more days. 

They’d found a merchant in town that would pay handsomely for an armed escort through the mountains and down to Lile, the human city of The Flats. It was an easy job for good money so they’d accepted eagerly. The only issue was that they had to wait until the merchant closed up shop in Halambad and was ready to move on. 

Two days. 

Around the fire, Kip sat with Heron on his shoulder. He was plucking aimlessly at a fiddle. Jade had made Oberon buy him a new one at the market on account of him throwing the last one overboard. It needed to be tuned, but he didn’t seemed bothered. 

Oberon and Almara were paying cards, though neither seemed particularly invested in the game. They stared at their cards with blank expressions. 

Jade was restringing her bow and sharpening her arrows even though she’d done both the day before, and Gallon was snoring with his back against a tree and his arms crossed. 

Quinn looked around at them. It’d been weeks since he’d run off with them and journeyed East on the Burnt Sienna, and for the most part, he’d enjoyed the journey and the company. However, on afternoons like this, a twist in his gut couldn’t help but make him think he’d made a huge mistake. 

“I’m bored.” He said at last, resting his chin in his palm. 

The rest of the party looked up at him, shaken out of their stupor by his voice. He found he had that effect on them - he was, for better or worse, impossible to ignore. 

“It’s like traveling with a pygmy wolf.” Kip muttered. 

Almara rolled her neck on her shoulders. “Sometimes, Quinn, my love, that’s the life. Flashes of excitement, punctuated by a whole lot of terrible boredom.” She said. She plucked a card from her hand and placed it on top of the stack between her and Oberon. “Vantinyulf. I win.” 

Oberon rolled his eyes and huffed. “Well done.” He conceded with a grumble. “That was the last round. There are only so many hits to my pride I can take.” 

“You have pride?” Kip asked from the other side of the fire. “I learn something knew about you, Oberon, every day. What a marvel.” 

“I can teach you something now if you’d like, Elf.” Oberon retorted. 

Kip grinned, “Is that a promise?” 

A sound, halfway between a growl and a groan, emanated from Jade’s throat. “Enough.” She said. “Can we go 5 minutes without bickering?” 

“Unlikely.” Kip said, and it was unhelpful. Then Quinn watched as an idea bloomed across the bard’s expression. “I know how we can pass the time.” 

“If you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, for the last time, no.” Oberon said, but Kip waved him off. 

“Oh, you wish.” He laughed. “But no, not what I was hinting at this time.” His bright eyes landed on Almara who met them and, after a few moments, grinned in turn. 

“Oh, that’s such a bad idea.” She said, already onboard. She looked around at the rest of the group. “Anyone up for a round of Potion Roulette?” 

Jade pinched the bridge of her nose. “No. I hate Potion Roulette.” 

Oberon laughed, “That’s because you’re bad at it.” 

Jade sent him a quizzical look. “You can’t be bad at it. It’s a game of chance. It’s not even a game - it’s just suffering.” She paused and shook her head. “And I always get the worst one.” 

“That’s the spirit!” Almara said, a conspiratorial air overtook her. “So, are we all in?” 

“No,” Heron said, floating off of Kip’s shoulder. Quinn didn’t his best to not stare and failed. Her bright orange wings and amber hair shone amongst all the greens of the forest. She’d kept her distance ever since they’d met, and while he respected it, Quinn couldn’t help but be drawn in by her presence. “It would probably kill me. And I don’t want to be around for whatever chaos you land yourselves in. I will go stay with some local Fey. But you all enjoy.” 

“Alright, Heron.” Kip said with a smile. “You have fun now.” 

She blew him a kissed and flew off into the woods, leaving a train of copper dust floating behind her. 

“I’m in.” Oberon said, returning to conversation. 

“In.” Gallon grunted without opening an eye, making the rest of the party jump. 

“I’m always in.” Kip smirked. 

Almara looked at Quinn. “Quinn, darling?” 

Quinn looked around, they all had a fey look on their faces. However, he’d take that over being bored. 

“I don’t know the game.” He started. 

“All the better.” Kip winked up at him and made his stomach somersault. “That just leaves our lovely Jade?” 

Jade squinted but eventually let out a long breath. 

“Fine.” She said. “But I have a couple of rules. Remember, we have a job and a long journey in a couple of days.” 

“Always a killer of fun.” Kip muttered. “Fine. Let’s have them.” 

“First, non-permanent modifications only. I don’t want to have to go through what happened last time again.” 

“For the record,” Almara purred. “I think Oberon looked rather fetching with a drake tail.” 

“You and every drake hide trader on the Continent.” Oberon grumbled. “I had to trade a pure-bred Lillian horse to get it removed. I support the rule.” 

“Second.” Jade said. “24 hours only. I don’t want anything lingering by the time we start the job.” 

“Makes sense.” Kip conceded. “Third?” 

“We’re adding a blank.” 

There was so much outcry in response to this final rule that you would have thought she was rationing their food, or banning them from drink. 

Quinn, beginning to tire of constantly being confused, sighed. “What’s a blank?” 

“Just the best way to ruin a good time.” Kip muttered, plucking angrily at a string of his fiddle as if to emphasise his point. 

“No blank.” Gallon agreed. 

“Thank you, Gallon. Ever the voice of reason.” 

“Come on, my love.” Almara whined. “Don’t spoil the fun.” 

Quinn watched as Jade’s expression morphed through confusion, exasperation, frustration, back to mild annoyance in a matter of moments. “Have you all forgotten that we’re running hot right now? We need someone with full control of their senses. Lindesse would do anything to catch us unawares.” She said and Quinn felt his cheeks redden. 

“We haven’t heard anything from the Thelebar’s since we crossed the Isle.” Oberon countered. 

“And when have you ever trusted perfect silence?” Jade rebuked and Oberon bowed his head in submission. 

“Ok,” Kip said, standing up and holding his hands in a placating gesture. “Ok. Jade, of course we will agree to the your terms - even if they are cowardly.” 

“Thank you, Kip.” Jade said, flatly. 

“Now that that’s settled.” Quinn spoke up. “Can someone please explain to me what in all realms I’ve agreed to?” 

 *** 

Potion Roulette was a rather simple game. It was popular across the East Continent and most alchemists, brewers, and apothecaries were familiar with it. Though the more professionally-aligned of the craft looked down upon the game, they couldn’t deny it was profitable. It was a good way to shift potions that were close to expiry (or, in the case of ‘Spiked Potion Roulette’, actually expired), to sell off more expensive merchandise, or, as was often the case, to test out something a little more experimental. 

The rules are as such. The players approach a potion seller with a sack of gold and any conditions, rules, or exceptions (in this case, all those listed by Jade) and the seller will, in their turn, provide potions respective to the number of players and value of gold. 

It was commonly understood that a good game of Potion Roulette required at least 5 gold per player - 10 if you were really looking for fun. As the party were including a blank - that is a potion with no effects - they settled on 7 gold per potion. At that range, they could get good quality, mid-range varieties without the usual risks associated with the cheap stuff. 

After acquiring the potions, the players - each blindfolded - take turns choosing a potion. Then, when all have been chosen, the players drink their potions at once and then...well, who knows after that. 

Thankfully, in Halambad, there was no shortage of brewers, though they ranged across a spectrum of reputation. Despite their protests, Kip and Almara eventually agreed to purchase from guild-aligned sellers only. Though that didn’t stop them from seeking out the most interesting of them. 

Ti-afren was a Bog Elf. The Bog Elves are, in Kip’s opinion, strange and unsettling. Though they have a natural gift for brewery and “tapping into the essence of things”, which makes them powerful brewmasters. As such, ‘Ti-afren’s House of Drink, Slink, and Stink’ was known amongst those in the know as the place to go for all things odd. And not long after entering, Kip and Almara left with a crate of six identical opaque silver bottles, shining in the afternoon sun. 

They had no idea what they contained, or what they would do, only that one did absolutely nothing. 

 *** 

They all gathered around, empty potion bottles were strewn about the campfire, silver flickering white in the firelight. To Quinn, it almost felt like ceremony. 

Kip pinched a small piece of parchment from the crate and unfolded it with delicate fingers. Though he couldn’t make out what it said, Quinn could see that scrawled across the page in a jagged, pointed script were Ti-afren’s notes. 

“Ok.” Kip said, Quinn watched the half-elf’s sparkling eyes squint as they quickly scanned across the page. When he came to the end of it, he closed his eyes briefly and hummed. It was like whatever he’d read was honey on his tongue and he was savouring the taste. “This will be interesting.” 

“Enough jest,” Oberon rolled his eyes. “Out with it, Elf.” 

Kip tutted. “No theatre with you, Oberon. Oh well, I suppose you are right - enjoy it, it doesn’t come often.” Before Gallon could demonstrate his dislike for that remark, Kip continued, occasionally glancing back at the parchment for reference. “It says here that the potions should take 10 minutes after ingestion to take effect.” 

“Love that.” Almara nodded appreciatively. “Ti-afren knows what he’s doing. I do enjoy a bit of suspense.” 

“I don’t.” Jade muttered. She’d been nervous ever since Kip and Almara had returned with the order. She’d been the most hesitant to down her potion. “I don’t like any of this.” 

Almara draped a long arm over Jade and held her close. “I know, love. But I think a bit of uncertainty is good for you.” 

Jade just crossed her arms. 

Quinn had a similar twisted feeling in his gut and he was yet to determine if it was nerves, excitement, or the potion not sitting well in his system. Maybe it was all three, or another option he hadn’t considered. He wasn’t sure. 

Regardless, the energy around the group was intoxicating, made even more electrifying by the natural magic that thrummed through the glade. He imagined what his mother would think of him in that moment - playing a dangerous potion drinking game with armed mercenaries, unsure of what would happen. The image of her expression caused him to grin. She’d always kept him so close, under the strictest supervision. No unvetted friendships, no journeys on his own, nothing that would present any risk to him. The only night he’d been granted any space at all was his betrothal. And maybe she was right to be cautious, because look what he’d done with it. 

His smile broadened and a heat bloomed from his centre. He’d taken action. He’d made the decision. There was no way he was going back West. And so with that commitment in his heart, he said. 

“What’s so interesting, Kip? What are the potions?” 

Kip looked up, and seemed momentarily caught of guard by his smile, his forwardness. After a second’s recovery, Kip’s expression was conspiratorial, he rested a gentle hand on Quinn’s thigh and laughed. Quinn hoped the night would hide the heat in his cheeks. 

“I knew you’d have fun, my Prince.” Kip said in a voice that flowed like liquid gold. “We have a good mix of things it seems.” With his free hand, he re-read the list of potions. As he did, Quinn felt his whole body buzz. “Ok, first up, we have Jade’s nasty little blank.” 

Jade’s dour face twisted into a scowl. It was the angriest he’d ever seen her. From Quinn’s observations over the last few weeks, she’d always been the voice of reason. The party respected her as their leader, they accepted her judgement and followed her call, she broke up the fights, and usually put up with Kip’s hyperactive tongue. But here, stripped of surety, she was a lot less tolerant. 

 Kip seemed to notice too and quickly moved onto the rest of the list. “Ok, looks like we have a set of twin potions - at least that’s what I gather from their names.” He frowned. “One is The Upgrade and the other is The Downgrade.” 

“That last one makes me nervous.” Oberon chuckled. He elbowed Gallon in the ribs. “Bet you get that one, brother.” 

Gallon huffed and elbowed him back - hard enough that Oberon lost his footing and landed on his arse. They both laughed. 

“Did the brewer include a list of effects?” Jade asked through a tense jaw. 

“It doesn’t look like it.” Kip said, scouring the page as if that information were hidden somewhere and he just couldn’t find it. “Ti-afren just provided the names, I’m afraid.” He even looked it - just a little. “We’ll find out effects soon enough.” 

Jade paled again and her arms tightened around her chest. Almara crooned and ran her long fingers through Jade’s short hair. In the dark, Quinn could see the tips of her fingers glowing. He wondered if that was just something she did, or if she were using magic to calm Jade’s nerves. 

“What about the rest?” He found himself asking. Kip looked gratefully up at him. 

“We have The Heart Trap - I’ve been the victim of enough of these to have a good idea of what it is.” Kip shook his head as if recalling a memory - or many. He continued. “The Truth Sleuth - not quite sure what that is, maybe a truth serum? And, finally, The Delusion Illusion Solution - Ti-afren does love a triplet rhyme. I can’t say I blame him, I’m guilty myself.” 

He folded the parchment again and put it in his coat pocket. That was that. The potions were known, they’d been drunk. All they had to do was wait. 

Around the group, eyes scanned, trying to guess who’d drunk what, and when they’d take effect. 

Turns out, when you’re waiting, 10 minutes is a long time. 

 *** 

Oberon was first. 

One moment, he was standing among them, a wicked grin on his face and eyes flashing. The next, his whole face went slack, his dark eyes glazed over, and he began to twirl in place, like a village girl during midsummer festival. 

“Dance with me!” He pleaded no one in particular as he laughed and flung his hands around. 

The look on Kip’s face was nothing but unbridled delight. He tapped Quinn on his thigh. 

“I’m guessing that’s The Delusion Solution. Quick, Quinn.” He said. “Remember all of this. Exactly what he says, how he moves, what he does. This is too good for only us to witness - we will turn it into a song.” 

“Hey!” Almara tutted, her arm still slung around Jade who watched Oberon with fear. “Potion Roulette is a safe space, Kip. We agreed to that years ago.” 

Kip sighed. “But -“ 

At that moment, Gallon perked up. However, instead of lumbering over to Kip to punish the bard for mocking his brother, he just stared at Kip, turned, and then dashed into the woods. They all looked on after him a while, puzzled. 

“We’ll see what eventuates of that.” Kip mused. Then he turned back to Almara. “My darling, I’m a poet surrounded by muses! I can’t help when inspiration strikes!” 

Quinn hadn’t been listening. He was focussing in on his own body, wondering when he would know the potion was taking effect. A cold thought hit him and he groaned internally at the possibility that he’d been given the blank. That would be just his luck wouldn’t it? He blamed his mother. It wasn’t logical and it wasn’t fair, but he did it anyway. 

“I don’t care about your inspir-“ Almara stopped. Her face blanched and she looked like she was going to be sick. 

Behind her, Oberon continued to sing and frolic around the fire. 

Kip’s face was awash with concern. It was one of the most genuine masks Quinn had yet to see him don. He took a step towards her, but Almara stuck out an arm telling him to stay back. With a swift movement, she push Jade to the side before collapsing on her hands and knees. 

“What-“ she began but the rest just came out as a long string of pain and curses in a language Quinn didn’t recognise. 

Then Quinn had to blink a couple of times to make sure he was seeing clearly because she began to grow. Every second that passed saw her shoot up bigger and faster until at last it stopped. 

Still bent on all fours, she panted, her periwinkle skin coated a film of sweat that shone like glitter in the flickering firelight. 

Kip and Jade looked up at her - Kip in wonder, Jade in horror. 

Quinn was stunned. She was still shorter than him - that much he could already tell - but on sight only he guess she’d come up to his chest if they were both standing, which would make her about 12-13 feet tall. It was odd, seeing her like this. He could make out the details of her face, the intricacies of the jewellery that decorated her horns. He could see her as he’d been able to see his own people back West. 

When the pain had past and the shock of the transition wore away, she let out a long breath and laughed, running her fingers through her long hair. 

“This is…” She paused, pressing back up onto her knees and examining herself. “Incredible! Ok, stand-up, Quinn. Let’s see!” 

Quinn grinned and got to his feet. 

He was right. He still stood over a head taller than her, but that didn’t seem to dampen her spirits. She looked up at him beaming. 

 “Definitely The Upgrade.” 

Quinn nodded, “I’m biased, but I’d say so.” 

She laughed. Then her gaze turned down to Kip and Jade, who stood with their necks craned. “What do you think?” She asked. 

“It’s fantastic.” Kip appreciated. “You really are a force of nature, love.” 

Almara winked down at him before turning to Jade. Their leader was looking worse for wear. With each new effect, she became more and more skittish. It struck Quinn that maybe for her getting either a potion or a blank was undesirable. They meant she had to either give up control or try to maintain it amongst chaos. The way she looked at Almara though was a whole different emotion.

“Jade?” Almara crooned down at the ranger. “What are you thinking right now?” 

“I’m afraid and confused!” Jade exclaimed. The remaining group stared at her. Her eyes bulged and she frowned, seemingly thrown by her own words. “I don’t know why I said that.” 

Kip squinted his eyes at her and hummed. 

“Interesting.” He purred. “Jade, who do you like more, Gallon or Oberon?” 

“Gallon.” Jade replied without hesitation. She blushed. “Wait, what? I-“ 

Kip laughed, “I was right! It is a truth serum.” 

Jade put her head in her hands, “I hate this game!” 

And she’d never said anything truer. 

Quinn looked at Almara who was studying Jade. There was a fey gleam in her eyes. “That’s fun.” Was all she said, but before she could do anything more, Kip crossed his arms and tutted. 

“You are such a hypocrite!” 

Almara feigned innocence, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“I know for a fact that you do.” 

“Whatever.” Almara grumbled. She looked between Kip and Quinn. “Only two left.” 

Kip considered this. “Well, we don’t really know what drove Gallon out into the woods.” He said, running a thoughtful hand through his sea-green hair. His bright eyes met Quinn’s and at that moment, the giant was glad he wasn’t in Jade’s position. “Do you feel anything?” 

Quinn shook his head. “No. Though I don’t really know what to look for.” 

Kip nodded, “I don’t feel anything either. There’s just the blank, The Heart Trap, and The Downgrade left. Based on Almara, I guess we can assumed what The Downgrade would be.” 

His gaze became unfocused and his eyes wide, as if he’d only just realised what that would look like in practice. 

“Well,” Quinn intervened before the thought could spiral. “Maybe that’s why Gallon ran off?” 

Kip came back to himself. “That would make sense, we should probably find him.” When no one made any move to act on that, Kip continued. “Well then. Quinn? Are you desperately in love with me?” 

The bard’s question was so blunt Quinn choked on his own breath. 

“What?” He stammered out, his neck grew hot. He winced when he felt Almara’s knowing eyes bore into him. “No! Why would you even ask that?” 

Kip shrugged, “The Heart Trap sounds like a standard love potion. Not the most original of Ti-afren, but they are fun because they’re always messy.” He paused, contemplating. “My feelings for you remain the same.” 

At that moment, Quinn desperately wished Kip had been the one to get the truth serum. Then he could ask what those feelings were. It was impossible to know what the bard really thought. 

“Well then -“ Quinn began but he stopped. 

His skin grew impossibly cold and his lungs were sucked of oxygen. In that moment, regret flooded him. 

Why had he agreed to this stupid game? 

What was happening to him? 

His stomach churned and twisted, like a wild animal trapped in a snare. His vision continually shifted in and out of focus as he stumbled on his footing. Almara grabbed his shoulders to steady him. 

Huh, strange. 

She must have grown taller, because now they were eye to eye. 

A ringing grew in his ears and his brain felt like it was sizzling in a cast iron skillet. He couldn’t focus, he heard a distant voice call out before the world fell away. 

“Quinn?” 

 *** 

“Quinn!” 

He was being shaken, and none too carefully. The owner of the voice was close, face not too far from his own. Quinn was sitting upright, resting against a tree. 

 No. None of the trees in Halambad are this thick. 

The owner of the voice he’d heard returned to both metaphorically and literally shake him out of his thoughts. 

“Wake up, you annoying little - Gallon, please, a little personal space? Ugh, Quinn!” 

Quinn finally had it in him to open his eyes. What he saw made him desperately want to close them again. There, in front of him, was Kip. The half-elf's beautiful, golden face, painted with freckles, was the same size as his own. The bard’s hands cupped either side of Quinn’s face as his cerulean eyes searched him for some sign that he was ok. 

Quinn reached out with his own hand and brought it to rest on Kip’s shoulder. It fit. It wasn’t too big, it didn’t crush him. Quinn didn’t have to think about how much pressure to apply. There was his hand on the shoulder of the bard, his thumb resting perfectly in the curve of his collarbone. 

It took another moment for Quinn to panic. 

“What’s going on?” He asked, heaving through lungs desperate for air. “I don’t understand.” 

“The Downgrade.” Came a voice from above him. 

Quinn’s eyes scanned upwards to find Almara looming above him, a frown plastered on her much larger face. 

Whatever Kip may say after the fact, Quinn definitely didn’t scream. He didn’t. 

He didn’t. 

“Yes,” Kip grumbled once Quinn had recovered. He used gentle hands to move Quinn’s face around, still scanning for damages. Quinn could feel the calluses on the half-elf’s fingertips, caused no doubt from years of fiddle playing and sailing. “Looks like you lucked out. I think you might be alright now. How do you feel?” 

“I don’t know.” Was all he managed to reply. 

 It turned out that Quinn had only been out for about an hour. However, in that time, quite a few things had progressed. 

Oberon was no longer dancing. Apparently his hallucinations had changed and he was going around knighting anything and everything. While he was unconscious, Quinn had been knighted three different times in three different kingdoms. Kip had at least been smart enough to wrestle Oberon’s sword from him as soon as he’d noticed the change. Now, the knightings were all done with the bow of Kip’s fiddle - something the bard was less than thrilled by. 

Gallon had also returned. Instead of running away due to the effects of The Downgrade as they’d all assumed, he’d run off to “collect things” as Kip put it. He’d returned to camp with arms full of fine clothes and jewellery, bottles of expensive wine and perfumes and had placed them lovingly at Kip’s feet. 

“Where’d he-“ 

Kip pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“He stole them from the market.” He turned to the orc, who’d been standing very closely behind Kip throughout the whole conversation. Upon turning, Kip found himself surrounded by a wall of thick, green muscle, eye-level with Gallon’s chest. He paused a moment to appreciate the view before he met the orc’s big doe eyes. “I’m flattered, but you will return it all in the morning. I don’t fancy another trip to the Halambad jail. You aren’t ready for what you’d have to do to get out.” 

“Ok.” Gallon grinned and brought his face down towards Kip’s, but Kip pushed it aside with a frown. 

“Not when you’re like this, Gallon. It’s no fun.” Then he placed his delicate hands on the orc’s chest and gave him an encouraging push. “Go on. Go gather more fire wood, we’ll need it tonight.” 

Without any rebuttal, Gallon was off again into the woods. Gallon, whose main interaction with Kip was calling him stupid or threatening to kill him, put up no fight whatsoever to the order. 

“That was,” Quinn began but didn’t know how to finish. 

He’d been struck silent by how large Gallon was. At 9 feet, the orc had always been bigger than the rest of the party, but never anything remarkable to Quinn. Now, he was a force to be reckoned with - an immovable object. Living rock. He understood now why they all got so tense when he was upset. 

“The Heart Trap.” Kip groaned. 

In the background, Oberon knighted Jade as she sat around the last remnants of the fire. She told him she thought he was being ridiculous and that exiled princes can’t knight anyone. He knighted her again for her frankness. 

As he went through all the potions and the members of their party, Quinn eyed Kip. 

 “You drank the blank.” 

Kip clicked his tongue, “I knew that this would happen. I knew as soon as Jade pushed for it that I’d be the one to drink it. She had some part in it, I swear.” 

“No, I didn’t.” She called. 

“She’s telling the truth.” Almara said from above them. 

“Why does that matter?” Kip scowled. 

At that moment, there was a loud dragging sound coming from the edge of the forest and Gallon emerged, pulling an entire uprooted tree behind him. 

“No, you big dumb orc!” Kip yelled, stomping over to him, much to Gallon’s delight. “That’s not what I meant!” 

By midnight, Kip had had enough. And while it wasn’t in the spirit of the game, he’d asked Almara to put Oberon, Gallon, and Jade to sleep. She did and assured him that she’d keep watch through the night. 

As he lay on Almara’s bedroll, her shadow looming over him in a way that still caused his heart to panic, Quinn looked up at the trees, standing so much higher above him and the stars that felt so much further away. 

His stomach writhed. 

“Relax.” Kip said from behind him. He’d set up his bedroll next to Quinn’s. Quinn still hadn’t gotten used to how close - how real - Kip was to him at this size. It made his heart dance. “Remember, it’s temporary. But if I go mad in the interim, you have my permission to kill everyone when you’re back to being huge and brutish.”

_______________________________________________________________________

(More shenanigans to come! I’m aiming to post part two within the next week. Hope you like it! - ray xx)

[farolero-posting]

i dont know how to explain it but Kip Silverpoint OneShot and Papyrus Undertale would be friends

[the-kipsabian]

debating on uploading a fic