#my wips pile is an actual mountain

[inkykeiji]

clariiii we need a modern!au sukuna-nii fic 😩😩😩 with sukuna being a complete troublemaker

i’m working on one, i promise!!! and it’s a rly fun twist on a classic AU/trope!!!

[thirteenemeraldcats]

RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

tagged by the phenomenally talented and FAR TOO HUMBLE @jamietarttsnorthernattitude

because he had no say in it (no say in it at all)

i said, maybe

strays

migraine

panic attack

i'll be the one with my heart in my lap

(i also have a masterdoc of 40+ fics in various stages [some are paragraphs, one is literally a sentence followed by 'it's the vibes girl'] if anyone wants a peak into the 'mountainous pile of non-active development' fics just shoot me a number between 1-40 [and hope you don't land on 'it's the vibes girl' 🙄])

not sure who has and hasn't been booped but tagging with no pressure @kvetchinglyneurotic @sighonaraa @abubblingcandle @fanficfanattic @jamietxrtt @jamiesfootball

[whumpsday]

Whumpmas in July #25

Share a sneak peek of something you're working on

all my WIJ stuff is being completed like the day before since i fell super off-schedule, so here's some other WIPs that are less "on the burner"!

there's a bunch of em, so i'll put them under a read more. this will primarily consist of Kane & Jim and BG3 fanfic things. at the very bottom is something with major Kane & Jim spoilers, but i'll give ample warning.

excerpt from a segment of a Kane & Jim AU RP i intend to edit into its own little thing. still have to put it in past tense and polish it up lol

But he has another problem: how is he to possibly stop this from happening again? He can't stay awake forever. Jack's things he can protect by sleeping in the middle of the floor with nothing, but he can't stop himself from screaming. Can't he? Kane eyes the little scissors that came with the sewing kit, then takes them into the bathroom. This is worth it to not lose access to food, he tells himself. And if nothing else, it will prove to Jack he's serious about trying to be good. He'll do anything to please his rescuer. Using the mirror as reference, he makes an incision into his throat. With all he's been through, he knows where to aim by now. He snips into his vocal chords until the whimpering stops, making sure not to interfere with his ability to breathe. Blood and tears mix in the sink, mostly blood. He presses his hand over his throat until the bleeding stops. It's quicker than usual: faster healing due to the blood, he supposes. It looks nasty, but he can't make noise now, at least until it heals.

this excerpt is from a Kane & Jim-related oneshot. by "related", i mean it takes place tens of thousands of years before K&J's story, when the first vampires were created.

Alukah sliced the man's throat with her sickle, watching the fear die in his eyes as the life left him. The life that would soon belong to her, for an eternity to come. She held him just so, letting his blood drain into the earth where she had prepared the spell, before tossing him in a pile with the rest to be buried later. The farmers said they could be used to nourish crops, an extra bounty on top of their main purpose. The tedium it would require would no longer be a concern, at least: they'd all have nothing but time if this went as planned. The message-girl bounded up to her, undisturbed by the mountain of dead.

this is another Kane & Jim AU, actually a fanfic (not sure if that's the right term to use) of a K&J x MMSS crossover i have with @not-a-space-alien. in the RP we did, Lex was Kane's victim and the hunters handed him over to her instead of Jim. i'm writing an AU of that where things go pretty badly and he gets sent back. i've been working on this for like a year and it's almost done, but i get nervous writing other people's ocs lol i'm always worried i'll write them ooc...

Kane hissed, loud like a feral cat, a sound he hasn’t made since his early days with the hunters. Eyes wild with fear, he tried to exude STAY AWAY FROM ME with every fiber of his being. “Did you just hiss at me?” Ari asked, incredulous. It only made her stop for a moment before she reached for his hair, to drag him away, to drag him out into the sun- Kane had no options left. It was eternal torture, or anything at all he could put between it and himself. It dawned on him that he had absolutely nothing to lose. There was no worse fate he could be punished with. And he’d said he would do anything to avoid it, hadn’t he? He lunged forward, swiping at her neck with bound hands. Ari was quick, but she wasn’t quick enough. Kane missed her throat, but as she turned her head away, his nails clawed at the side of her neck, delicious blood spewing from it. If Kane had been thinking clearly, he would have taken the opportunity to find something to end his life with. But he wasn’t thinking clearly: the only thing occupying his mind was the enticing scent of blood. Ari shouted something, but he wasn’t listening, focused solely on trying to get at the food he needed more than anything. A hard kick to the chest sent him flying back into the wall, further splintering already-broken ribs from yesterday’s beating. He tried to get up again, but promptly collapsed: he had no energy left in his burnt, beaten, starved body for another attack. He’d barely had enough for one. He wheezed, trying to catch his breath around fractured bone.

extremely tiny bit from a Catharsis chapter i have planned, during Luan's captivity

Cyrus’s shoe pressed against the back of Luan’s head, grinding his face into the floor. “This is where you fucking belong. You and every other nobody who thinks they’re hot shit.”

this excerpt is for chapter 2 of Lost at Sea, a miniseries i started a long time ago and never finished.

It had been several days since the monster had taken Digory to her cave, and by some miracle, he was still alive. He was alone much of the time. Each day, she brought him fish- more than he could eat in a day- and a large shell filled with freshwater. Blessedly, he was out of the sun. His skin, though still angry and red, was beginning to heal a bit from more than a week of nonstop exposure. It was miles better than the boat. Digory had been sure he would die there. Of course, he was still in dire straits. His mangled legs weren’t getting better anytime soon, though by this point he’d gotten somewhat used to the throbbing pain of them. He was pretty sure that his feet turning purple was a bad sign, but at least he couldn’t feel them. That was probably worse. And of course, he wasn’t always alone. The mermaid was terrifyingly enormous. She liked to stare at him with unblinking eyes almost as big as he was, her claws as sharp and menacing as her teeth. She could kill him with no effort at all, if she wanted to. She probably would. Digory pretty much figured that was why he was being kept. After starving on that wrecked ship so long, there was little meat on his bones. Every bite of fish he took to sate his hunger was bringing him closer to his own death.

here's an excerpt from chapter 2 of my BG3 fanfic Astarion and the Cleric (remember that?) that if i'm being honest i probably won't ever finish

That gave Astarion pause. “A vow of celibacy.” “It means I don’t–” “Yes, I know what it is, darling.” Astarion’s hand retreated as he attempted to think quickly of a way to salvage the situation. Had a mark said that, he would have normally given up and gone for someone easier. But Gentle was not a mark. Gentle was a reliable source of food, and by some twist of fate the gods surely found hilarious, currently his best means of protection from Cazador. He was an irreplaceable resource, and things were too shaky as they currently stood what with their… moral differences. He had to make sure– “I’d still love to spend the night together.” Gentle spoke in a manner evoking his namesake, stepping ever-closer. “It would simply be less… lustful. Though I understand if you’d prefer to seek elsewhere for your night of passion instead. I overheard Lae’zel expressing similar wishes?” “Ha.” The githyanki was perhaps the one least likely in all the camp to allow him to indulge in her blood. This could work, however. “What exactly do you have in mind?” Gentle’s smile turned playful, his turn to be coy. “You’ll have to wait and see.” “Cheeky. Wait and see I will, then,” he settled on. As Gentle skipped off to enjoy the party, Astarion tried his best to push down the part of him that ended up relieved.

despite only ever posting 1 chapter of Astarion and the Cleric and not even getting to the whumpy part, i went off the rails and started writing an AU of it in which Gentle, the titular cleric, is also turned into a vampire spawn by Cazador.

here's an excerpt of Gentle sealed in a tomb long-term as punishment, something i do intend to post probably next month for augusnippets after i put it in past tense:

Gentle prays. He is unsure by what interval he prays, unable to track the passage of time, sealed in the tomb as he is. He prays whenever it feels right. Sometimes he prays for hours on end without ceasing, sometimes he goes what might be days without, like a child throwing a tantrum. But never longer than that. More often, he prays what might be once every hour or so while he lays awake. For there is nothing for him to do here but pray, and there is no one else to listen but Ilmater.

something else from the same Astarion and the Cleric AU, Gentle helping Astarion get acclimated after he's first turned (i had Gentle be the older spawn)

Gentle’s heart sank when he saw that Master had brought a new spawn along with him into the dormitory. He’d hoped he would be the last. He and Violet already took home plenty of innocents– as much as it tormented him, he could not disobey. But a new spawn? It was a fate worse than his unfortunate victims would get. A fate worse than death. The dormitory did have six beds, in addition to Violet’s seventh in the favoured spawn room. Gentle didn’t like to dwell on the implications. The new spawn looked to be an elf. Master seemed to have a preference for them, himself being the only non-elven member of the ‘family’. An obvious newborn, he was covered in fresh dirt and clearly trying very hard to keep himself from shaking with terror. Gentle could just barely make out wounds beneath the later of filth.

this next except is from an entirely separate BG3 fanfic called Answered Prayer. the premise is that Bhaal hears Astarion's desperate prayers during his phase of "trying" every god in hopes someone will help him. Bhaal sends The Dark Urge (my durge oc Perran) to slaughter Cazador and everyone else there. Perran then takes Astarion for himself and becomes his carewhumper.

Bhaal. Oh, how he’d prayed to the Lord of Murder. To have a sliver of opportunity, a stake steady in his hands. Or for some brave hero to come do the deed themself, vanquishing Cazador for him. For Astarion was a well-suited devotee, was he not? Had he not ended enough lives himself to earn his salvation? As he was made to fight the cultists at Cazador’s word, his master’s will overriding his own, he supposed the answer was yes, not that he’d live long enough to see it. He was weak with hunger, and the hooded figure he’d been ordered to distract overpowered him easily, pinning him to the palace floor despite his struggles. “Not that one,” their leader barked, jabbing a confident finger toward Astarion before running a dagger through Aurelia’s throat. His ‘sister’ gurgled, the terror fading from her eyes as she lost her life for the second time, joining the rest of his downed siblings. The Bhaalist sighed with the same satisfaction one might feel after a full meal, turning his attention toward Cazador. Despite his own dire straits, Astarion paused his efforts at wriggling away to watch. If it were possible, Cazador’s death would make a fine appetizer to his own– or whatever the Bhaalist had planned for him. He’d never thought he would see Cazador overpowered, but the Bhaalist was a force to be reckoned with. Deliciously, he had a front-row view to the slaughter. The Bhaalist made quick work of incapacitating him and slow work of killing him, dragging screams from his throat just as Cazador had done so many times to him. If only the victory were not tainted by knowing he was next. Just like that, Cazador laid dead and bloody on the ground. Astarion could feel it as soon as the gory mess the Bhaalist had made of him transformed from an undead swath of agony to a truly-dead mangled corpse: the thread tying him to his master snapped. He was free, all too late.

the following contains major spoilers for Kane & Jim canon. it's a bit for a future present arc scene i had to write early because it wouldn't leave my head.

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Stab the little bitch and make it hurt. The thought pushed its way into Jim’s mind, much louder than his own quiet, dulled thoughts. So much more important. Anton was telling him to stab Kane. Jim walked over to the cupboard drawers and took out one of the silver forks. That should work. Just as Kane got the upper hand and tackled Anton to the floor, Jim plunged the fork into his back. His task completed, he stood idly by as Kane shrieked in pain, the sound and smell of burning flesh permeating the room. Something nagged at the back of his mind- like something was wrong? No, nothing was wrong. How could anything be wrong when he felt this peaceful?

that's all i've got! literally almost every WIP i have in my folders.

@whumpmasinjuly

[ihaveatheoryonthat]

At one point, I mentioned that I was torn as to which silly crossover to let myself write for my birthday. Friends in Low Places ultimately won out, but the second option was a Psychonauts crossover. This isn't the same as Power Trick, even though it draws from what I'd put together for that story-- it's an entirely different take on the concept.

If you're unfamiliar with Psychonauts 2 and don't want it spoiled via an incomplete WIP, you probably shouldn't read this one. It even starts with a spoiler, so the whole thing's going under a cut.

---

It wasn’t that the mission to retrieve Helmut’s body was going badly. It wasn’t.

It was just that his body… didn’t stay as trapped as anyone thought it would, and had been roaming, brainless, throughout the Grulovian countryside. But, hey! They didn’t need to chip through nearly as much ice as they’d expected, and Raz was getting a good clairvoyant workout in trying to track him down! There were more pros than cons, in his opinion.

He had yet to decide what category the giant ice mountain fell into. Raz had been tiny when his parents moved the family out of the country, so he would have assumed it had been there for millennia, but the locals insisted it was a new feature. That seemed relevant, somehow. A giant lake gets frozen solid, and then a couple decades later, a big chunk of ice appears? It couldn’t be coincidence. None of the nearby townspeople seemed to know how it got there, though-- just that a couple of years ago, everyone had gone to bed and found it looming over them the next morning.

Now, Razputin may have been a master of neither geometry nor geology, but he was pretty sure that was abnormal mountain behavior, and definitely worth investigation. As luck would have it, Helmut’s body had already moved on from the town, and the mountain was the next stop on it’s predetermined path, which gave Raz a perfect excuse to poke around without ignoring his mission.

When he went to leave the town, an older woman tucked [?] into his hands and told him to carry it with him as payment for safe passage.

Ominous!

He was still going.

The toughest part of the trip was the distance itself-- outside of more developed areas, the snow piled up and was difficult to traverse, though there were numerous grooves worn into the powder, suggesting he wasn’t the first to travel this direction. Not all of them went the same way, and some were deeper than others, which made Raz wonder why the locals would trek all the way out here-- if it was curiosity, tradition or psychic interference drawing them in.

One of the funny things about distance was that it minimized the destination. Slowly, the mountain grew in scale, the opaque ice glittering in the midday sun from a mile away, until it dwarfed everything else. Even at a distance, the dark tunnels leading inward were an immediate contrast against the shining, pristine surface, and in and of itself, that could so easily lure passerby.

Someone who lacked a brain in a very literal sense would stride right on in.

Fortunately, Raz was no mere passerby. He was a mildly trained psychic with a mission, and he kind of knew what he was getting himself into. He made an effort to remember the turns he was taking and thought he was doing a pretty good job… if one were to ignore the fact that he hadn’t actually found anything. Every offshoot led deeper into the tunnel system, and while it made sense that there wouldn’t be much open space inside the mountain, the halls were unnaturally consistent. There came a point where Raz found he could predict what the next set would look like because they all followed the same pattern-- all of them identical.

He was probably caught in some kind of illusion.

Raz wasn’t one to give up, but he could also recognize a lost cause, and right now, he wasn’t making any progress. He had to figure out where the [illusion] was coming from and neutralize it before continuing down this path, so he turned his back on the next fork and began retracing his steps.

To his surprise, it didn’t lead him directly out of the mountain, like a single loop would have. He had to count each repetition down, inverting the turns he’d taken, which made him realize just how far he’d wandered before the pattern registered. He wasn’t worried yet, because he knew where he was going, but it made him reconsider what was going on; maybe not an illusion or a psychic construct, but something focused on disorientation? It didn’t feel like he’d taken this much time on the way in…

He heard footsteps. He whirled around to face the branch off of the tunnel, one hand raised to his temple just in case, and crept closer, hoping he might get the drop on whatever had caused the sound. The silhouette that turned the corner was strange-- tall and disproportionate, wider as it [got lower down].

It was the tale end of a muttered, “--V?” that clued Raz in on its exact nature. He relaxed and-- since there was no point in calling out to a brainless body-- trotted over to start corralling Helmut. The upper half of the silhouette moved, distinct from the body and, now that Raz was looking, rose well above the horned hat. He would have gone on the defensive again, if not for:

“Ah, are you lost as well? Come with me, please; I’ll see you both to your destination.”

He didn’t move, but Helmut’s body did. The second person gripped its shoulder to still it for the moment and raised their free hand. Gradually, light filtered in through the ice-- crystal clear now, instead of opaque with frost, keeping the tunnels dim-- which allowed them to observe one another.

The first thing Raz noticed was that the person looked like he’d lost a fight with a psychic bear; his clothes were ratty and thin in places, but in spite of the [lacking] winter wear, he seemed largely unbothered by the cold. The second thing was that he was incredibly pale-- pale hair, pallid skin, and eyes light enough to reflect back at whoever was looking. He hesitated on the last point, because something was wrong there; while this person was looking at him straight-on, it seemed like he wasn’t seeing Raz properly. Not in the sense that he had bad eyesight, but that he just… wasn’t seeing the same reality Raz saw.

That probably had something to do with the third point of interest: the impractically thick hunk of psilirium that encircled the person’s wrist. It wasn’t the worst Raz had seen by a long shot, but it was still enough to make his eyes water when he looked directly at it. From the corner of his vision, he watched the light play off of it as the man dropped his arm; he wondered how in the world that could have happened, and how this person was going about their daily life wearing the world’s worst mood bracelet.

“Please,” The man said, his clouded eyes sweeping over Raz, “It’s not safe to travel down these tracks. I know the route well, and can lead you back to safety.”

That final word struck a chord, and Raz inclined his head. Was this who the woman in town was talking about? The [?] was meant for him, in return for guiding people out of the mountain?

The man’s shoulders relaxed and the angle of his eyes shifted. He waved Raz over with his psitanium-cuffed hand and waited for him to fall into step after him, adjusting his grip on Helmut’s shoulder to prompt the brainless body onward with them.

“You don’t dress like the locals. Did you come here to investigate Korona? If so, I would highly advise against such a course of action; the paths here are treacherous, almost like they have a mind of their own.” The person said, voice low, but still bouncing off of the icy walls and echoing into the tunnels.

Raz shook his head, and then tilted it toward Helmut’s body, “Actually, I was looking for him.”

He heard a relieved laugh, “Ah, good! Perhaps you’ll succeed where I’ve failed; no matter how I try to impress the danger upon him, he always returns here. It’s… nice to see a familiar face, but I don’t want him to put himself at risk.”

“Do you know him? Who are you?” […]

There was a long pause. “Warden. I’m the warden of this territory. It’s my duty to ensure that none come to harm under my watch.”

[…] “You’re the warden of the mountain?”

He nodded, and didn’t look back.

“Then do you know how it got here?” […]

Warden’s head turned to fix him with a blank stare. “I’m unsure what you mean by that; Mount Korona has been here as long as I can remember.”

Raz felt his brow wrinkle as he considered the impossibility of that, and then realized how it could be true. “How long have you been here?”

The look turned vaguely helpless, and the warden repeated, “As long as I can remember.”

...yeah, the psilirium definitely wasn’t doing him any favors. Raz didn’t think he could take his eyes off of Helmut’s body long enough to do anything about that-- not without running the risk of losing it to the countryside yet again-- but maybe he could come back after this mission was over... or, if not, then at least make sure he reported the person wandering around with an active psychohazard on his wrist. As they walked, he prodded gently at the man’s mind, but wasn’t surprised to find himself repelled; while the psilirium was taking a toll, Warden was in direct contact with it and still functional, which meant his psychic defenses wouldn’t be anything to sneeze at.

For just a second, Raz considered lobbing a confusion grenade, just in case that might increase the man’s lucidity, but he was pretty sure he’d get in a load of trouble for it if anyone found out.

They made it to the mouth of the cave without incident, and Warden inclined his head to Raz, gesturing for him to take over in guiding Helmut’s body. He reached over and took him by a sleeve, and then hesitated. The man was outside of the cave system for now; if he could get him to the base camp somehow, that would make removing the psilirium orders easier. Not only would it save everyone the trouble of hunting him back down, but they would have numbers on their side, and maybe even tools that would help.

Before the stranger could bid them goodbye, Raz hastily said, “You think you could help me get him-- ah-- home? He… keeps getting away from me.”

Warden blinked at him, and then shifted to consider Helmut’s body.

“I can.” He decided, tucking the psilirium-laden arm behind his back and moving the opposite hand to rest upon Helmut’s shoulder. “Lead the way; I’ll ensure that he follows the route you set.”

The trip back to the base camp wasn’t going to be an easy one; it was definitely more direct than the path Raz had picked out, hopping from town to town as he tracked Helmut’s meandering body, but even walking in a straight line, it was a substantial distance. One unexpected silver lining was that, instead of behaving as snow usually did, it parted for them as they passed through, the powdery ice freezing into place on their either side.

Raz reached out with one gloved hand and found that there was no give; it was like it had thawed and refrozen, creating a smooth, glassy texture. He didn’t know cryokinesis, and without a brain, Helmut’s body couldn’t have done that, so he looked to the last off the potential culprits; the warden stared dispassionately out at the horizon line, giving no indication that he noticed the scrutiny he’d been put under. He wasn’t actively moving the snow, but the ambient energy around him-- a psychic aura-- absently pushed outward, and was definitely the reason they could travel unhindered.

He didn’t try to make small talk as they went-- though, occasionally, Helmut’s body chimed in with one-word commentary-- and that seemed to suit the warden just as well. Every now and then, the man would glance over at him, as if to gauge where they were headed and ensure that everyone was where he’d last seen them, but he never offered any of his thoughts, either.

[…]

Belatedly, he realized that they were missing one body, and frantically scanned the area. He found who he was looking for in a matter of seconds, back turned and already on his return trip to the mountain.

“Hey! Warden!” He hollered, and didn’t even need to make up any excuses this time, “Wait up! I’m s’posed to give you something for helping us!”

The man hesitated and only half-turned to respond. While his answer was clearly audible, it barely seemed like he was even raising his voice, “That’s unnecessary. I don’t require a reward simply for doing my job.”

Raz was vaguely aware of the startled breath that sounded behind him, but figured it was just because Hollis realized that the psychohazard was all but wandering away; he decided to stall for time and ran to catch up. “That’s how they said it works in town-- it’s not payment, it’s just, you know, gratitude for helping people out.”

Warden watched as he skidded to a halt, and then sighed. “I appreciate their kindness, but they don’t need to do any such thing.”

“Yeah, and they appreciate your kindness. See? It all equals out.” He tried, insistently offering the [?].

Finally, Warden accepted it, extending his psilirium-laden hand in order to move the cloth back look at what lay beneath. As he did so, a pained hiss sounded from behind Raz-- more than one, in fact-- and the man’s head shot up. His eyes were no clearer than ever, but there was an awareness in them-- the recognition of danger. Panic. Rapidly, he raised his cuffed hand to a temple and… vanished.

So it turned out that he knew how to teleport. That made this a lot harder.

“Razputin,” Hollis said, sounding hoarse, though that could have been a byproduct of the psilirium exposure, “Do you know who that was?”

“Yeah, that was the warden; he helps out whenever people get lost inside the mountain.” […]

“Maybe that’s how he was introduced to you,” [Otto], “But before that, he was one of ours-- an agent who went missing years ago.”

Shaking her head to dispel the lingering effects, Hollis looked from Raz to where the warden once stood.

“Agent Aquato, you just found the lost Agent Motif.”

(Pardon me while I perpetuate the joke about Raz being the best at finding missing persons, be they bodies, brains or something in between.)

---

Raz was pretty sure he recognized the name Motif. The most likely explanation was that he’d read it in a comic somewhere, but that didn’t help narrow it down; he’d gone through a lot of comics in his time, and couldn’t exactly go back and revisit all of them, since his mom family had little to no regard for the preservation of literature.

It must have been the name of a supporting agent, he thought-- either that, or maybe it had been in an advertisement for another issue that he hadn’t ever gotten his hands on. The specifics didn’t really matter right now; it was way more important to find Agent Motif again, and for good this time. It seemed like a pretty good bet that he went back to the mountain-- to Korona-- but it wasn’t as simple as going there and wandering through the tunnels until someone ran into him. Even if they went to the trouble of tracking him down, there was nothing stopping him from teleporting away for a second time.

It sounded like everyone had different ideas how to tackle that problem. Hollis had gone to talk to someone back at HQ hours ago, and Otto was tinkering in his field laboratory, trying to set up something that would inhibit Agent Motif’s powers without relying on psilirium to do the job. Lizzie hadn’t been there to meet him, but when brought into the fold, she’d scoffed and muttered something about lectures under her breath. That seemed a little extreme; it had just been a basic rundown of the facts, not [a lecture].

Raz was on his way to check in with Bob and Helmut again when a new voice caught his attention and-- without thinking-- he found himself wandering toward it.

“Hollis.” The speaker said, steely and without emotion, “What is going on here?”

He stopped just shy of getting a visual, and belatedly realized that this was definitely eavesdropping, but stayed put, too curious to walk away yet.

“We’re on a mission to retrieve a lost agent. You already knew that-- you had no interest in participating.” Hollis said back, utterly unmoved.

“Correct. I had no place in the effort to retrieve Helmut’s body.” The other person somehow both agreed and argued, “We both know that is not why I’m here now.”

“Then why don’t you do us both a favor, Emmet? Explain to me why you are here, just so we know we’re on the same page.” […]

There was a dull thud, only resonating for a split second, “My brother, Hollis. You explain to me why I found out about this through office gossip.”

“At a guess, I would say it was because you were listening in on communications channels again.” Hollis [said] dryly. After a second, she sighed, “This is why I didn’t contact you immediately; we have to get a handle on the situation first. I don’t have any doubt that was Ingo, but he’s not acting like himself, and we need to understand why before diving in.”

“You don’t think it’s the giant piece of psilirium on his wrist?” The man asked, flat but disbelieving.

“After your stint at Charlie Psycho Delta? No, there has to be something else.”

“Our defenses are best when we’re together. He won’t withstand it as well by himself.”

[something gives Raz away]

Both of them went silent, and, after a moment, Hollis called out to him. “Would you care to join us, Agent Aquato?”

Guiltily, he slunk around the corner and through the door. He made apologetic eye contact with Hollis, and then looked to the other person. All at once, the pieces fell together: the surname and given names, the long, worn coat he’d seen Agent Motif wearing, now that he could compare it to an undamaged version, the teleportation out of and into the base--

“You’re the Countertype Conductors,” He said, already raking his mind for everything he knew about the pair of sibling Psychonauts. Since their job was to get agents to and from their destinations, they usually only got passing mentions and cameos, but one of his guesses had been right on the money: Issue 57 of True Psychic Tales had teased a story about psitanium smugglers, and the splash page featured two identical men pressed back to back, channeling psychic energy between their own pointing hands and between one another. He hadn’t ever been able to read that [issue], but any mention of them he had seen was as a pair-- as the Agents Motif or, when a book was getting dramatic, the Countertype Conductors.

Agent Motif-- Emmet-- curled his lip into a grimace at the declaration, and then looked back to Hollis. “This does not get you off the hook. I want to be a part of this mission.”

“There is no mission yet.” Hollis told him, nodding briefly to Raz, “It was just today that Agent Aquato brought his findings to us; we’re in the process of gathering intelligence, not acting on it.”

Agent Motif looked at him again, considering. “Then our business has concluded, Agent Forsythe. Agent Aquato. I want to hear what you saw.”

“Emmet,” Hollis said, low and warning, “Is that really how you want to conduct yourself in front of a junior agent?”

He turned to look her dead in the eye and then, bluntly, declared, “I don’t care, Hollis. It’s been two and a half years. I am beyond caring what anyone else thinks of me.”

They stared at one another for a handful of seconds, neither backing down.

Eventually, Hollis narrowed her eyes. “Actually, I do have a mission for you, Motif. I want you to go speak with Agent Zanotto.”

“He has nothing worth saying. Not to me.” Emmet scoffed.

“No?” / “You don’t think the man who lost his partner has any insight into your situation?”

“No. I don’t. He lost another person. I lost part of myself. It is not the same.” He said, expression twisting in offense, “I am done with this conversation. If you have any useful information, tell me. Otherwise, I will handle the matter myself.”

A stony silence settled over them. Agent Motif shrugged and turned his back.

“You’re not leaving this base.” Hollis warned as he crossed the room’s threshold.

“You can’t stop me.” He said simply, which… was true. They were kind of hung up on how to prevent teleportation right now, without any of the tools from HQ.

Hollis grimaced as he walked away, and her eyes fell on Raz.

“I’m sorry about him, Razputin. It’s… too complicated to explain in full right now.” She pursed her lips in thought, and seemed to [give in], “Could I ask you to keep an eye on him for the evening? You don’t have to approach him again-- I’d actually avoid it, if you can. I just need to know that he’s not doing anything stupid while we figure out what to do about Ingo.”

[…]

“Ah.” He said, sounding less than enthusiastic-- and yet, what actually followed was, “Good. Aquato, I still need information from you.”

Yeah… Raz wasn’t exactly inclined to share, between what he’d seen earlier and the instructions to keep an eye on Motif.

“I don’t think I can tell you anything else. Hollis is probably your best bet.” He tried, thinking that might be enough of a deterrent for the time being, but Emmet just rolled his eyes.

“You do not have to tell me anything.” The man said, tilting his head to the side and closing his eyes, brows furrowed in concentration. For a second, it seemed like he would try to read Raz’s mind, but there was no pressure on the edges of his psyche.

“I don’t think that loophole works when everyone involved is psychic.” […]

Emmet snorted, but didn’t open his eyes. “You don’t have to think anything either.”

He was definitely manipulating some sort of psychic energy. Raz… thought he recognized it as Mental Connection, actually, but the application was completely different from the examples Hollis had used while teaching. It was a little closer to the functionality he got out of it, but there were still more differences than there were similarities.

“That works.” Agent Motif declared after a moment, and made an abrupt turn without opening his eyes. When he did tune back in to the real world, it was to shoot a glance Raz’s way, “I am sorry if this gets you in trouble with Hollis. Tell her I could not be reasoned with. It’s true. I will not tolerate any further delays.”

And, with that, he vanished from the premises.

Well, shoot.

---

The technique Agent Motif had used was, in fact, a branch of Mental Connection-- crossed with clairvoyance in this case. Hollis had given a very general explanation when Raz reported to her, but as fascinating as it sounded, there wasn’t time to delve into that right now. The combination of skills could be used to follow a trail, and there was little wondering where Emmet intended to go.

Raz had been the first to note that he must not have known about Mount Korona, otherwise he wouldn’t have needed to do anything but look out the window. With the confirmation that he was working with a dangerously small amount of information, Hollis decided they had to act immediately.

[…]

It was dim, but the light that did filter through suggested that it wasn’t always the case-- the cavern was dark right now because it was night, and during the daytime, visibility would have been much better. Because of the scant lighting, a number of features were visible: a vaguely circular [platform] in the room’s center, extending seamlessly from the floor, shelves of ice that were two inches thick and still crystal clear, putting their contents on full display, a frozen basin that somehow contained water, albeit with a thin sheet of ice forming on its top and, on the far side of the room, an uneven, knee-height platform.

It was the last [feature] that they gravitated toward, largely due to the fact that there was a person resting on it.

Agent Motif knelt down-- biting back a hiss at the cold that immediately seeped through his pants-- rested a hand on their shoulder, and gently shook it. There was a [startled] inhalation as the other man startled awake, and automatically raised a hand to rub at his eyes.

“Lady O--”

He stopped as soon as the sight registered; even though he’d only cracked one eye open, he somehow narrowed it as he tried to understand what he was looking at, and pushed himself into sitting up. The former Agent Motif looked one way, and then the other-- attention only barely flickering to Raz-- and even up before letting himself settle on the man in front of him. Haltingly, he raised an arm, dropped it, and then frowned at the result.

“You’re… not a reflection.” He said numbly.

Emmet visibly stopped himself from saying something, substituting a slow shake of his head.

The warden hesitated, the silence a blanket of snow obscuring his racing thoughts, and eventually added, “I know you.”

“I know you.” / “I missed you.”

His brother almost reached out, and then snatched his hand back, thinking better of it. It would have been confusing, if not for the way he tucked it into the coat he’d been wearing even in sleep, hiding the chunk of psilirium from immediate view.

Emmet let the hand braced on a shoulder drop, trying to coax it back out by tugging at a sleeve, “It’s okay. It won’t hurt me if we’re together. You’re safe with me.”

While its owner wasn’t convinced, he didn’t put up a fight. The arm slowly eased out, mirrored by a hand that reached over to press their palms together. Raz caught a hint of a wince-- the same expression that had crossed Emmet’s face when he’d first realized how cold the floor was-- but it didn’t stop the man from lacing their fingers together and leaning in until their foreheads touched.

Something must have passed between them, unspoken, because the warden flinched and Emmet raised his opposite hand to the back of his brother’s head-- not forcing him to stay, but steadying him and encouraging him to linger.

“It’s okay.” He repeated, forcing his voice into gentle tones, “I will not let anything else happen to you.”

---

Also, misc notes:

[kookaburra1701]

WIP Wednesday - Wives of Shor II: Kaidan Peregrine

❤️❤️❤️tagged by @mareenavee and @archangelsunited ❤️❤️❤️ tagging @gilgamish @dirty-bosmer @thana-topsy @expended-sleeper @greyborn2

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: T (entire fic is E) Category: M/M Pairing: Kaidan/Lucien Flavius Genre(s): Romance (bodice-rippers my beloveds), bildungsroman Other main characters: Inigo the Brave, she/her Breton LDB

Summary: Instead of actually working on the first fic in the series, I wrote the opening scene in the second fic bc I needed to do some snuggles. Lucien Flavius is by Joseph Russell, Kaidan is by Liv Templeton, and Inigo the Brave is by SmartBlueCat.

3rd First Seed, 4E 203 Kaidan tucked his toes around Fledge’s barrel, attempting in vain to shield them from the bitter cold. This far north there were no trees or even particularly tall shrubs to blunt the edge of the wind, and it found every gap in his fur cloak and hood, no matter how tightly Kaidan wrapped them around himself. Fledge’s head was bowed, following closely in Frost’s tracks as Inigo’s horse broke the trail in front of them. Kaidan still had no idea where on Nirn Inigo had found that horse, but Frost was well-named and seemed almost impervious to ice and snow, breaking a trail as easily as if they were on a pleasure hack in Riften.

The troll’s head behind Kaidan’s saddle was bleeding through the burlap sack, staining the white patches on Fledge’s flank and leaving a broken pink trail behind them. However, if the dark, towering clouds looming over the Sea of Ghosts was any indication it would be buried under snow in a few short hours.

Frost halted, and Fledge nearly ran into his haunches before Kaidan managed to pull him up short. He gave the horse an apologetic pat as he guided Fledge up next to Frost and leaned close to Inigo.

“This next stretch is not so deep, I think,” Inigo said, practically yelling to be heard over the howling wind and through the layers muffling both himself and Kaidan. “Take point to give Frost a rest and then we will push the rest of the way.”

Kaidan nodded in acknowledgment. He could feel Fledge heave a deep sigh as Kaidan urged him in front of Frost. Inigo was correct; for a few miles at least the road was partially protected by a finger of rock jutting out from the Anthor Range. To the North, the Statue of Azura loomed over the road, a constant landmark since midday yesterday.

Deep in his belt-pouch, Kaidan felt an insistent vibration.

Just a little longer, he thought. Lucien’s Dwemer sphere had been resonating at increasingly narrow intervals for the last few days, indicating Lucien was checking on their progress. Kaidan smiled to himself, and picked up his pace. After a weeks’ travel to Dawnstar and a week’s travel back (with a stop to take care of a particularly troublesome ice troll that had taken up residence in Wayward Pass) he was eager to be back in Winterhold.

Never thought I’d be yearning for a wizard’s town. Then again, Kaidan was not yearning for the town or mages in general - rather, a particular mage.

The dwemer sphere buzzed again, this time in three short bursts. A warmth that the cold could not touch swelled in Kaidan’s chest. Lucien was waiting and eager. Fledge snorted in protest as Kaidan pressed his heels into Fledge’s side, urging the horse into the wind, onwards to Winterhold.

Night had truly fallen by the time the College of Winterhold came into view, the queer blue light illuminating the Archmage’s tower piercing the darkness, seeming to float in mid-air over the sea, connected to land only by the string of mage lights illuminating the college bridge. Snowflakes were starting to fall, gathering on Kaidan’s eyelashes and Fledge’s mane.

The snow was cleared from the road, more likely from the howling wind driving it to pile up against the craggy faces of the mountains than by the order of Jarl Korir, but Kaidan would take it either way. He urged Fledge into an easy trot and behind him the chiming of Frost’s hoofbeats on the stone pavers told him Inigo was doing the same. Now that Fledge knew they were well and truly turned for a familiar stable, Kaidan had to hold him steady rather than let him take the bit and bolt towards a bucket of oats.

The large bulk of Masser was hidden from view by the clouds that were stooping over Winterhold when Kaidan and Inigo finally passed under what was left of the Winterhold gatehouse. A guard, unrecognizable with her face and head wrapped in furs, raised a torch to examine them, but waved them on before asking their business. Kaidan supposed he and Inigo, mounted on Fledge and Frost, bedraggled and weary from the road, were familiar to the guards by now. Despite the permission to proceed, Kaidan pulled Fledge up short. Fledge snorted in protest as Frost continued on without him.

He tugged the fur cowl away from his mouth and leaned down to where the guard was waiting expectantly, her own furs held away from her ear to hear him over the howling wind.

“I have the troll Steward Seloth put out that bounty on!” Kaidan gestured to the back of his saddle.

The guard looked at the bloody pack and nodded. “I can take that for you, sir!” She jerked her chin out to the east, into the wind. “Get you inside so you don’t have to deal with the messy thing, and mark you down for the bounty.”

Kaidan shook his head. “The college asked me to bring them as many parts as possible when I set out. Will just a hand do?”

The guard waved him off. “I’ll mark you and Inigo down for the bounty, no need for a trophy for proof. You’re known here.”

“Many thanks!” Kaidan touched his hood in a sketchy salute before turning Fledge towards the Frozen Hearth.

“We’re going to have snow taller than a spear by mid morning, mark my words!” she called after him.

Kaidan dismounted and stashed the pieces of troll in the ice shed behind the byre that was pressed up against the wall of the Frozen Hearth. If the guard’s prediction was correct, the snow would keep them well until he could bring them to Collette Marence.

The tiny stable was blessedly warm, though lit by only a small lantern. Kaidan could hear the sounds of the inn’s cows chewing their cud and grunting in the darkness. Inigo and Frost were illuminated by the small pool of light, and Inigo was just removing Frost’s saddle.

“Well?”

“The guard said she’d put us down for the bounty without any proof - that our word was good enough.”

Inigo grinned, his white teeth and yellow eyes seeming to glow in the shadows. “That is wonderful to hear, my friend! Look at us, making honorable names for ourselves!”

“It’s not something I’m quite used to,” Kaidan said as he tied Fledge to the stable wall in his usual spot. “but I think I could do.”

As he rubbed down Fledge, Kaidan tried to figure out how he felt about having stayed in one place for so long the guards accepted his word as bond when he reported fulfilling a bounty. When was the last time he’d stayed in any place long enough for the guards to know his name? It had to have been with Brynjar.

Kaidan braced himself for the twinge of pain deep in his chest whenever he thought of Brynjar, but he had to admit that the grief had been…fading. It had been all consuming when he had returned to Skyrim, everything reminding him of the stubborn old Nord. But gradually, as new memories replaced the old, a sense of peace had replaced the pain where Brynjar had been in his heart.

Inigo finished first, and brought fresh hay and water for the horses, along with their measure of oats from the feed bin, and he and Kaidan left them happily eating and snorting to themselves.

As soon as the door to the outside opened, the wind hit Kaidan like a giant’s club. It took his breath away as it blew past his face. The snow was so thick he could barely see in front of his face - the storm had well and truly arrived. Inigo placed a hand on his shoulder and they forced the byre door closed and shut the bolt fast. They exchanged no words as they made their way by feel around the outer wall of the inn, until Kaidan felt the familiar steps in front of his boots and he climbed up, finally finding the door.

A drift of snow and blast of cold air accompanied them inside, and Inigo shut the door firmly against the weather. Kaidan could tell it was warm, the central hearth was well-stoked, but his fingers and toes ached and burned with cold at the same time.

Haran looked up from where she was banking some embers around an iron cauldron.

“Welcome back, gentlemen, help yourself to the stew - Kraldar and Dagur went out and got a horker yesterday.”

“Thank you, Haran,” Inigo said, “May we trouble you for a drink as well? Today was long and cold.”

“Of course, of course - when we heard we should be expecting you Dagur pulled a bottle of that spiced wine you like. And there’s ale for you of course, Kaidan.”

“Many thanks,” Kaidan accepted the tankard a little clumsily with his gloves and bracers still on.

“How did you know we were due back today?” Inigo asked as Haran filled their bowls.

“Oh, your lad from the college stopped by. Got here with his arms full of books just before the wind really kicked up. He said you’d be arriving late tonight.”

Inigo elbowed Kaidan in the ribs and grinned impishly. Kaidan cuffed him on the shoulder.

“Ow!” Inigo rubbed his arm in mock pain. “I hope for Lucien’s sake you take your gauntlets off before-”

“And that,” Kaidan said, draining the last dregs of the stew from the bowl and handing it back to Haran, “is my cue to say goodnight.”

“Aye,” Haran had a glimmer in her eye and the corner of her mouth quirked up in a half smile. “Goodnight. I’m sure you’ll keep warm.”

Inigo sniggered, but Kaidan chose to ignore him and lit a rushlight from one of the embers in the hearth before grabbing his pack and making his way down to the cellar.

The cellar of the Frozen Hearth was almost as spacious as the ground level. In addition to a small common area, giant brewing vats, and the living area for the family, one section had been subdivided into smaller rooms meant for the servants, mercenaries, and others that often accompanied visitors to the college. Inigo and Kaidan were now semi-permanent residents of two.

Kaidan gently lifted the latch to his door - it was unlocked, and the door swung open.

In the dim glow from the rushlight Kaidan could just barely make out the hump of furs on the bed which he assumed to be Lucien. As quietly as he could he set the light on the small table, and positioned his body between it and Lucien, and tried to remove his armor as quietly as possible.

A wind gust howled outside the sturdy walls of the Frozen Hearth Inn; he and Inigo had outpaced the coming gale by mere minutes. The melting snow on his wolfskin mantle and hood lent it a faint canine smell. Kaidan cursed to himself as his numb fingers worked at the knots on the lacings of his cuirass; the Akaviri tradition of laces and knots instead of straps and buckles meant that he could fit his armor, heavy as it was, like a second skin. But now ice and snow had seized the careful knots along with his joints. It was only through sheer force of will and desire to not wake Lucien that Kaidan was able to grit his teeth and prevent them from chattering. He winced at how loud his clumsy footfalls sounded in the quiet of the room.

Finally, after seemingly endless patient work, Kaidan was able to release the hide laces and slip his armor over his head. Kaidan was aching with cold and weariness, and wanted nothing more than to slip under the furs Lucien had been warming, but he’d been a soldier for too long to neglect his gear. He carefully spread his armor out over the table and chair to drip dry, and wiped away as much of the melting snow as he could with a corner of his cloak. He could oil it in the morning: the storm that had nipped at his and Inigo’s heels all the way from Whistling Mine and would likely make travel impossible for a day or more, if he knew anything about Skyrim’s weather.

Kaidan shivered, finally removing his tunic, trews, and smallclothes - they were soaked through and icy cold.

At last Kaidan approached Lucien’s slumbering form; all that was visible above the fur coverlet was a mop of golden hair and a small sliver of forehead resting on the homespun linen of the bolster.

Holding himself back from diving into the warmth of the bed and disturbing Lucien, Kaidan extinguished the rushlight, carefully lifted up a corner of the nest Lucien had made, and slid under the furs. He meticulously avoided touching Lucien, and tried to keep his shaking under control as his fingers and toes slowly began to burn and prickle as blood returned to his extremities.

“Kaidan?” The sleepy mumble was muffled further by the layers of bedding it had to travel through, and Kaidan cursed to himself again.

“Go back to sleep, Lucien,” Kaidan answered in a whisper. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Mmm.”

Kaidan thought that was going to be Lucien’s only response before returning to sleep, but then -Mara bless him!- Lucien deliberately tangled his legs with Kaidan’s, placing his feet next to Kaidan’s and pushing back to press against what must have felt like the frost atronach that had just crawled into his bed.

Lucien’s body felt like it was burning him where skin touched skin, but Kaidan pressed eagerly into that warmth, now feeling as if there was a chance he might not be doomed to eternal chill.

As Kaidan wrapped his arms around Lucien, he could feel Lucien’s skin quiver at the shock of his cold touches, but instead of pulling away like any sensible person would do, Lucien held his arms and hands over Kaidan’s, gently guiding them to slip up under the hem of his tunic, and finally holding Kaidan’s hands close against the skin of his chest and stomach.

Kaidan tightened his embrace, burying his face into the back of Lucien’s neck and breathing deep - he could smell ink and cloves under the earthy, animal notes of the furs and woolen blankets covering them - the scent indelibly labeled Lucien in his mind.

As he placed a soft kiss into the hollow behind Lucien’s ear, the only response was an indistinct mutter and Lucien’s breathing returning to the deep, regular rhythm of sleep. Kaidan followed Lucien into slumber moments later.

[domjaehyun]

hiiii lovely!! thank you soooooo much for the kind message 💖💖💖💖💖 i’m actually not gonna publish it bc i don’t want to risk offending the author BUT IVE ALWAYS WANTED TO DO SMTH LIKE THAT. i will consider and potentially add to my mountain of wips but like . in a more accessible location. u know that episode of spongebob w the lightbulb mountain?

that’s my pile of wips. i’m gonna put it in the box :3 close to me

[djpain619]

WIP WEDNESDAY

So I haven't been able to do much this week. I got started on the Apothecaries and Refs today

I also dug through my Gray Pile Of Shame for the next project to add to the Que, and its...

The Aleniheim Angel Shares

My Blood Bowl Dwarf Team. They also are built to double as a Fumbbl Secret Leage Dwarven Engineer Team

They started out as an Anehiem Angels themed AOS Kharadron Overlords team... and kinda still are... but I've since changed their lore to be set in Blood Bowl and The Old World.

Around the time of Magnus the Pious and his War on Chaos, during The Old World, Anker Brüggards and Clan Lägrmëäd established first the Aleniheim Brewery, and later the Grogstout Arsenal in the Dwarf Quarter of Totengrad. This was in response to the Baron of Totengrad's blanket invitation welcoming all Dwarven Engineers that were fed up with the lack of vision of the Engineering Guild to come to Totengrad and be free to experiment to their hearts content. Totengrad is also conveniently located relatively close to Zhufbar, the Mecca of Dwarven Engineers. Zhufbar is notorious for allowing young and innovative Dwarven Engineers a freedom to experiment that would make the Engineering Guilds of most Dwarf holds projectile vomit and tear out their beards. Dwarven Engineers too Radical for Zhufbar find a warm welcome in Totengrad. Thus Totengrad has a robust and thriving Dwarven Community as well as a close Friendship, Trade Partnership, and Alliance with Zhufbar.

(Zhufbar is actually happy that Totengrad poaches their Engineers, cause as far as they're concerned they're a bunch of Madmen that they're happy to be rid of, they do all their R&D in Totengrad, meaning they don't have to deal with the fallout, and if they come up with something useful, Zhufbar is gonna be the first one the Totengraders are gonna sell it to due to proximity alone. As far as Zhufbar is concerned there's literally NO Downsides, the Dwarves of Zhufbar have no Grudges with Totengrad. Totengrad for their part wouldn't DREAM of offending Zhufbar intentionally, Zhufbar is Literally the only group in the neighborhood that doesn't want to destroy them. The rest are Undead, Ghouls, Greenskins, Skaven, Beastmen, and the Occasional Chaos Cultists)

A cornerstone of this community, as well as Greater Totengrad at large is the Aleniheim Brewery and the Grogstout Arsenal.

The Aleniheim Brewery is widely renowned among the Dwarf Holds, if not for the quality of its Brews, then for the innovation and quality of its brewing equipment. Their Original brews being rather "mid" by dwarf standards, its nonetheless beloved by any humans that try it... though it obviously pales in comparison to Bugmans Brews. Nonetheless Dwarven Brewers and Alchemists (Dwarven. Human, or otherwise) alike, across the world's edge mountains and the Empire would be willing to wage bloody wars to get a chance to aquire one of their Stills or Fermentation Vats. Infact, one of Aleniheim's most lucrative long term contracts is with Josef Bugman Himself to provide Brewing Equipment to many of his Numerous Breweries.

The Grogstout Arsenal is a subsidiary of the Aleniheim Brewery that started as their in-house Security Division. It has since grown to be the largest employer of Dwarven Engineers in Totengrad. They are Totengrad's Primary Weapons Manufacturer as well as Private Military Contractor and Private Security Provider.

Anyway here's the team. All the Linemen, Blitzers, Fire Slayers, Runners, Kickers, Ballzooka, Bombardier, CHAINSAW, and DEATHCOPTER

DEATHCOPTER

Here we have the Aleniheim Angel (Team Mascot) and the team Cheerleaders.

In the Middle is a Jakob Bugmansson model wich is supposed to be the team Coach/Owner Jörgan Brüggardson. Then the one on the right is the Kharadron Overlord from Cursed City. He's Supposed to be Brüggardson's Buisness Partner and CEO of the Grogstout Arsenal, Boris Bagger. I'm thinking of Rebaseing both to Square Bases so I can use them as Thanes to lead my Dwarf Gyrocopter fleet for The Old World (not yet acquired but on my wishlist)

The pile of Junk on the Left is supposed to be my Akhorne Proxy. Instead of a rabid Squirrel its a malfunctioning Robot Bird that slaughters anything that touches its Hoard of Shinies.

[eoieopda]

Bestie, what exactly is on the WIP pile and why is that pile actually a mountain?? 💜

asdfghjkl you come into my good christian minecraft server and call me out like this?? unbelievable 😫

please keep in mind that there are approximately one thousand more ideas flitting around in my worm brain that are even less formed than the ones below, lmao. trying to clamp down on all of them is like trying to catch cash in one of those game show machines?

you know, one of these:

* indicates priority

bts:

jimin

*menace (parts v and vi) + *2k drabblepalooza request fill (backwards relationship — title tbd)

hobi

*2k drabblepalooza fill (lust at first sight — title tbd) + i want to do a spin-off of “the one where hoseok plays with fire”, i just don’t know what i want to do yet 🤪

namjoon

*2k drabblepalooza fill (one bed — title tbd)

seokjin

*epilogue drabble (meet me at the bar au)

jungkook

triple dog dare (best friend’s younger brother au / unsure if i wanna do a series or one big one-shot) + there is a very feral part of my brain that wants to do a raider!jk / fallout au 😵‍💫 but i have no earthly idea if anyone here plays the games or would want to read it even if they didn’t??

yoongi

interlude: sundown (darksided au / smut drabble) + hindsight (darksided au / epilogue)

taehyung

piledriver waltz (the bad thing au / smut sequel to reckless serenade) + maybe expanding on the au from “the one with taehyung and the rook”.

—

svt:

wonwoo

*contact high (university au starring oui’d dealer!wonwoo, semi-strangers to lovers, lol / mini-series)

i don’t know if y’all have caught on yet, but i’m doing introductory smut drabbles for everyone 😵‍💫

—

skz:

chan

idk yet but it’s gonna be a smut one-shot, so y’all can thank today’s anon for that, lol.

hyunjin

still brainstorming, but it’s horny, i can tell ya that much 😌

[klcthebookworm]

WIP Wednesday

I enjoyed tweaking this call out to take place in Jeneora's Rock.

Vash pulled himself out of the grave next to his coat. He was in his body armor layer and still had his gun in its holster on his leg. Meryl sighed in relief and slowed down but her head throbbed. He picked up a canteen from under his coat, drank, dropped it recapped into the hole, and then pulled on a rope into the ground. He raised up a bucket of dirt and dumped on a pile on the other side of the string that was merging with the piles from the other graves on the row.

A huge man walked from the wasteland end of the row, ignoring all the other holes being dug, and stopped in front of Vash’s. His skin was a gray shade that Meryl had never seen before. She picked up her pace.

Vash straightened and considered the tall man wearing a mustard-colored tank top, black pants, and a maroon bandanna tied around his head. His chest and shoulders tripled Vash’s span. “Need something, friend?” Vash asked.

The stranger’s thick lips under his thin mustache parted. “Au… au… aug… Augusta.”

Vash looked at the stranger steadily.

“I’ll be waiting for you at Augusta, Vash the Stampede. You will acknowledge my request immediately. If you do not meet my request, this is a sample of what will happen.” The stranger raised a handgun to his temple.

“Don’t!” Vash shouted as he lunged forward.

The stranger pulled the trigger and fell to the ground. Everyone stopped working with the gunshot. Meryl dodge around the now still workers.

Vash is bent over over the suicide corpse. “There’s no blood.”

“Vash, did you get shot?” Milly yelled as she jumped to see out of the grave she was in.

Meryl skidded to a stop next to Vash and the corpse. No blood was oozing or gushing from the ragged, star-shaped bullet hole on his temple. The other workers gathered around but she looked up at Vash’s hard expression. “He talked to you but he was already dead?”

“It must be him,” Vash said more to himself than to anyone else. “He’s the only one capable of doing this. Legato.”

Meryl couldn’t stop herself from shivering. How could Bluesummers make a dead man walk and talk?

The worker who knelt next to the corpse looked up at Vash. “Huh? Do you actually know this guy? You know him?”

“What has happened!” Milly yelled. “Somebody help me out of here!”

Vash blinked and returned to the present before turning and reaching a hand down to Milly. “I just got called out by Bluesummers.” He lifted Milly out with one arm.

“Through a corpse!” Meryl thrust her hand down to point to it.

Vash blinked again and focused on her. “Meryl, what are you doing here?”

“We were worried! Chuck’s head started hurting again—”

His blue-green eyes widened. “Chuck? Where are the kids?”

“Back at the hotel—” Vash broke into a run before she even finished speaking. She looked back at Milly.

“You better follow him. I’ll stay with our stuff.”

Meryl nodded and jogged after him, waiting to put on a full-out run when she was around the windmill mountain. Vash must have slowed down when he reached the buildings because she caught up with him at the street door of the hotel. They went up the stairs nearly in sync and Vash went through their hotel room first.

Through the open connection doors, Hannah whirled around and slammed her finger against her lips. Vash froze in response, but left enough room for Meryl to ease into the room. Hannah entered their hotel room. “What the hell?” she asked in a low voice.

“Chuck?” Vash craned his neck trying to look into the room.

“Willingly taking a nap.” Hannah’s green eyes pinched. “Do we need to evacuate?”

“No, no no no,” Vash repeated quickly. “I was afraid that Bluesummers headed this way.”

“So it was him? Who made Chuck’s head hurt?”

“He targeted Vash,” Meryl said. “Chuck felt him doing that.”

Hannah focused on Vash. “Are you okay? Did he steal your coat?”

“No, I left it with Milly. I need to get back. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“My head never hurt, not like Meryl-ma’am and Chuck. And Chuck woke up okay this morning.” Hannah shrugged. “Don’t pick up trouble?”

“Bluesummers talked to you?” Vash looked down at Meryl.

She shook her head. “I just felt pressure, like a storm rolling in. Maybe Bluesummers was concentrating on reaching you? I couldn’t.”

“Sorry, I was compartmentalizing.” His face fell. “I wasn’t trying to shut you out.”

“I’m not upset.” Meryl smiled up at him, even though she was still so worried.

Hannah crossed her arms. “What did Bluesummers do to you, bro?”

“Just called me out. I’ve lost count of how many people have done that. Don’t worry about it.”

“I should warn you that I find that practically impossible. Do we need to pack?”

“No, Bluesummers did it from far away.” Vash took a deep breath. “I better get back out there before Milly yells at me for skipping work.” He looked down at Meryl. “Walk down with me?” Meryl nodded, but it was down in the lobby before Vash exhaled and continued talking. “He wants me there so bad, he would kill the innocent to get me.”

“You have to go after him.” Her stomach clenched around the idea.

“We have to keep the kids away. This is the third time Bluesummers has attacked Chuck. I can’t face him on his home ground and be afraid for them.”

[thirteenemeraldcats]

Answer the questions and tag five fanfiction authors you know!

tagged by the terrifyingly talented @kvetchinglyneurotic and the impossibly incredible @sighonaraa

1. How many fandoms have you written in?

One! Uno! Eins! All of the ridiculously emotionally evocative writers in the Ted Lasso fandom completely broke my brain and launched me into the undiscovered country (fic writing).

2. How many years have you been writing fanfiction?

Since January, so about .3 years 🤗

3. Do you read or write more fanfiction?

Definitely read. I am perpetually mentally exhausted in my free time and usually can't concentrate enough to write. That being said I also haven't had much time to READ fic lately. So. Help???

4. What is one way you've improved as a writer?

Hmmmm. I'd say embracing the draft process? When I started writing fic (OH SO LONG AGO I KNOW) I was very 'this needs to be good' and now I'm appreciating the 'this needs to be FUNCTIONAL' mindset more.

5. What's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

Definitely not weird BUT I did accidentally fall down a research spiral for ONE WORD in 'i learned to walk while he was away'. For context: I am not Jewish, but I head-canon Roy as Jewish and there is ONE LINE that references this in that fic. I wanted to double check if there was any significance to the different spellings of Hanukkah, lest I accidentally step on a cultural landmine. Cut to a day later where I'd fallen deep, deep down an equally enjoyable and educational rabbit hole about Jewish holidays, (fostered my ongoing vendetta against the English language,) and found a Jewish bakery that's local to me because I wanted to try Challah very badly. (It was great.) (There is not a large Jewish population where I live [in case that wasn't obvious] I'm blaming my now-semi-remedied culture blindness on that. But Em, you took an elective on world religion in University? SHUT UP I KNOW.)

6. What's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

ANY COMMENT. I made an ao3 account last year because I wanted to not lurk quite so much, stop being a 'consumer' of fan-creations, and LEAVE SOME COMMENTS. And I'd seen authors talk about how great getting them was but holy guacamole nothing could have prepared me for the feeling of people liking something I wrote enough to leave a comment or a heart or an 'ah'.

7. What's the most fringe trope/topic you write about?

Errrrrrrr. I guess just gen-fic? Looking at the numbers of ship-fic in the archive, it certainly feels fringe-esque to write gen.

8. What is the hardest type of story for you to write?

I was going to say 'short' because things just keep happening when I try to write succinct outlines (somehow NONE OF THOSE 'THINGS' ARE PLOT), but after applying a bit more scrutiny to anything I've ever written; it's action. Fast-paced action. I don't know her.

9. What is the easiest type?

Assorted emotional whacks! When I was writing original fiction a solid decade ago as a teen-bean I favoured physical-whump, me now has found it a lot easier to write emotional-whump. Not sure why??? But here we are. (Either way someone's suffering.)

10. Where do you do your writing? What platform? When?

Okay this is actually a very involved story that I might tell later, but I just changed what platform I was using. SO! As of about a week ago I've been writing on google docs. Beyond that, it's a laptop/couch combo whenever I have the brain power (which is almost never 😭).

11. What is something you've been too nervous/intimidated to write, but would love to write one day?

OOOF. There are a few wips in the assorted-mountainous-pile of non-active development that are. Heavy. Heavier than the various fics/wips I've published/am actively poking at. I'd like to write them one day but I am also very 'hmm' when I look at them.

12. What made you choose your username?

So 'Em' is a real-life nickname, smash that together with my love of the colour green and tada! You get 'emerald'. 'Cats' is about... cats. I am obsessed with the little creatures, despite never owning one. (Initially I spelt it as 'kat'- no idea why??? I think I just like the letter 'k'???? Potassium?????????? B A N A N A???????????????) And 'thirteen' is my favourite number, just because I find the concept of a number being considered 'unlucky' hysterical and the idea that some airlines genuinely leave out a row thirteen because of superstition always makes me grin like an idiot. The order is purely because I like the image of a bunch of green cats running around together.

I have done a quick investigation and everyone I know has either already done this or already been tagged. (I have once again shown up two days late with iced-coffee to a tag-game. [At least I showed up, I forgot to do like three of these things despite loving them, I'M SORRY 😭])

If anyone sees this and they HAVEN'T been tagged, consider this your green-for-go flag and feel free to tag me as your tagger.

[moondal514]

All of His Sorrow Won’t Fit in His Chest?? O:

WIP Game

Thanks for the ask <3

So this is a WIP that until recently I was calling the WenZhou Hadestown au but now it has a title! Perhaps I’ll manage to actually post it this year 😂. It’s primarily based on SHL canon cuz that was the only canon I knew at the time I started writing it, but I’ve since then read both Qi Ye and TYK so I think it���s now a weird franken-canon.

It’s not really a Hadestown au but I call it that because I got inspired to write it after I saw my 2nd performance of Hadestown. That and I’ve been listening to the Hadestown soundtrack as I write it. “All of his sorrow won’t fit in his chest” is a lyric from the song How Long (yes that’s the one where the earth gets compared to a rotisserie chicken 😂).

The basic gist of the au is Qin Huaizhang takes Wen Kexing and his parents back with him to Four Seasons Manor, so Wen Kexing (Wen Yan at this point) and Zhou Zishu grow up and train together. Like in canon, Qin Huaizhang dies and 16 year old Zhou Zishu takes over as sect leader. Also like canon, he moves Four Seasons Pavilion Sect to the capital to support Helian Yi and form Tian Chuang. However for Reasons™️ (I won’t say here cuz that’s a spoiler for the fic), Wen Yan is not able to make the move with the rest of the sect, so Zhou Zishu leaves him and his parents behind at Four Seasons Manor. The plan is for them to join the rest of the sect at the capital later.

…That doesn’t happen. Four Seasons Manor is attacked and burned down. By the time Zhou Zishu gets news of this and rushes there, all he finds are the dead bodies of Wen Yan’s parents. Wen Yan himself is missing and presumed dead.

And that’s the beginning.

Here’s a snippet:

The cold violence of falling snow brought with it the sharp scent of winter, a smooth white sheet interrupted by a figure sprinting through the snow. Zhou Zishu’s feet sunk into the ground as he dashed to the stables, a letter clutched in his fist. Ice bit at his cheeks but he could hardly feel anything but the loud percussion of his heartbeat.

He rounded into the stables, mounted a horse, and took off into the night, dread he had no time to examine building in the pit of his stomach. He rode fast and hard, uncaring of the exhaustion of his horse, his tight grip on the reins a wordless plea.

He reached the town at daybreak.

It was razed to the ground, nothing but ash and broken wooden slats. He rode through the ruins, heart hammering with every burnt corpse and trampled piece of fabric he saw. The smell of blood and rot was thick, perfuming the air in a horrible mist. He urged his horse to ride faster, heading up the mountain into the familiar trees he had known since his childhood.

Please.

He followed the path up the mountain, his horse reaching the limits of its exhaustion. He forced it onwards with a kick. The trees whose fragrance once brought the comforting scent of home were framed with the scent of smoke. The thousands of peach blossoms that famously bloomed year-round bore an obstructive gloom.

Please!

Reaching the edge of the trees, he slid off his horse. He sprinted forward, propelling himself up and over the gates of the manor.

Devastation greeted him. The charred remains of a once majestic plum tree. Orange osmanthus trampled into dust. Sand and rocks scattered among ashes. Creeping ivy wilted and rotten.

And there in the center of the courtyard: two corpses piled on top of each other, skewered down the middle of their backs by a spear.

Too Late.

Zhou Zishu collapsed to his knees.

The Sacred Hand was dead. Gu-daifu was dead.

If both of them were dead, if their corpses were here, abandoned, then where was—

“Wen Yan!” he shouted.

He rose to his feet and sprinted through the ruins of what once housed his beloved sect. His shifu’s pride and joy wrought to its destroyed foundations.

“Wen Yan!” he shouted again. His fear grew with the silence that greeted him. “Wen Yan!”

The sound of his calls echoed and warped into mournful desperation, a solitary bird song seeking a response that would never come. He shouted again and again, but the answering cry of a voice he hoped for never came.

He was there alone on the devastated grounds of Four Seasons Manor, alone at the scene of the destruction he had most feared come to fruition, that he had left the jianghu to prevent.

He had failed.

Too late, the wind whispered. Much too late.

[perotovar]

What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?

oh man, that's a good question

this is something i've actively been struggling with, actually. i don't get very many ideas for fics tbh. the reason i've only been talking about/messing around with itbotn, biwy, and metal!pero & ezra is because those are literally the only stories in my head right now.

i see a lot of writers with like, mountainous wip piles and i just can't relate. my brain doesn't operate that way. i never considered myself a writer until itbotn came into my room at night and strangled me in my sleep, so i don't really think like a writer, if that makes sense. i also deeply struggle with imposter syndrome because of it. i doubt my skills a lot because it feels like i'm telling rather than showing and i have a hard time writing what i'm seeing in my head. i know that'll come with practice/continuing to write, but it's a struggle rn lol

i'm also not very sexually driven (this is hilarious because i'm writing a porn au) so i can't just like... make little pwp oneshots on the fly like a lot of people.

i know this is unnecessary information, but basically i don't really have one rn? there are couple characters i'd love to write for, but i haven't come up with anything.

there's a pearl jam song that gives me heavy joel vibes but idk how i'd translate it rn. i'm also looking at jack a lot lately, but again, nothing has stuck out quite yet.

thank you for asking, adi!!

send me one of these ♥

[sleepyowlwrites]

find the word tag CCCXXXXI

it's been like, actual weeks since I've done one of my beloved tags. it's also been actual weeks since I've added anything to my wips thanks to this prolonged exhaustion but I've decided 'tis time to do one anyway. I have a lot piled up in the stash, after all. @spacetimewraithwrites

easy (the illusion, 2011)

I knew they were there. There was a definitive weight attached to my ankles that surely hit the damp earth repetitively as I ran. I just couldn't feel them. Slint had said this would happen. I'd tried to warn myself against it, to remember that lies flowed out of his mouth easy as blood from a wound. Then he'd forced my chin up and I looked into his eyes. They were all wrong; sometimes Slint told the truth. After all, I couldn't feel my feet.

Sharp sunlight on the river water hit my vision like a spear. I flinched, lost my balance and tumbled down the bank. A hand grabbed my arm as my legs dangled over a great tree root. Torash hauled me back up the bank and forced me forward.

"We can't cross here, the water's too fast." Even while hurried, his voice contained a trace of humor. "They'll be on us before we reach the other side. I know your feet hurt, but keep running!"

early (29 days of october, 2011)

Only a trick, just a trick, and his sword flew from his hands, leaving him panting before me on his knees, my sword point held wavering at his throat. Another five long seconds stretched out, but I couldn't move. I had not fought with someone who didn't want to kill me in a long time. Finally my arms dropped; I blinked as exhaustion seemed to overcome me. Strange, I could go on for hours before needing rest in a fight, but here my knees were buckling, my sword falling from my shaking hands.

In another moment Morren and the other ranger had their arms on mine, helping me over to lay nearer the fire. "Why can't I stand?" I asked groggily.

"Because Alfdan put something in the wine you drank this morning. You didn't sleep last night, and you hadn't slept a whole day before that. You were supposed to wake sooner after exiting the portal, then start sleeping in the early evening. But he was right, you have a strong body. You keep fighting." Morren's voice held a note of admiration, but I was too confused to acknowledge the compliment. My head fell onto his arms as sleep claimed me.

enter (the forest deep, 2011)

Enter, stranger, into the forest deep Be wary on your journey From here to mountain steep Lurking, quiet, in the shadows of the trees Sits many an unearthly beast Could give you cause to flee Softly, stranger, treading on the moss In this forbidden hollow Where you dare to cross Moving, silent, stirring on the wind Echoes of some voices gone Perhaps they are your kin

exist (the illusion, 2011)

Now Torash came from the opposite side of the fire. "Aline! Verain, why haven't you taken care of her?"

Verain shifted her eyes to meet his. "What are you talking about?" She moved my hands. "It's incredible. There's not a mark on them. I didn't know you were so tough. Is this a spell?"

I couldn't think of what to say. Yes, it's a spell, Slint did something to my feet! I can barely see them, I can't feel them, and you say that they're perfectly whole! But nothing came out of my mouth. Torash's face was incredulous in the firelight.

"Look at her feet. How can you say there's not marked? There're blisters all over them, and--, I can see her bone on this one!" Torash reached as if to touch my left foot, but I scooted away from him, pulling myself to a standing position by scrabbling up the tree at my back. As soon as I let go I fell over, though, and tried to ignore the strange knowledge of sticky liquid running from where my feet should've been, up my legs, almost to my knees. Was it blood? Can something bleed if it doesn't really exist?

effort (white, creased, 12. times new roman, 2021)

opinions are easy to have and easier to give, but poke quite a bit upon receiving, so in an effort to save my skin and my sanity, I maintain my right to have and not share everything, to present to you that wrinkled bit of sentiment and let you divine what you will from it; if you believe something false about me in the end I still won’t mind, for I never lied to you, I never was a wall.

empty (words for a poem, 2011)

It's hard to find the picture Of what you want to say When the words that you're looking for Just seem to fade away Right when you set your hands Upon the empty page Your fingers want to roll with feelings But instead there you sit And stare And age

behind, before, below, between. BONUS: believe, beware. @blind-the-winds @athenswrites @zmwrites @zoya-writes @did-i-do-this-write @spacetimewraithwrites OR ANYBODY

[swaps55]

WIP Wednesday

From the next chapter of Cantata, which should be ready this weekend:

~ 

Still, for all the hardsuit’s efforts to distill Nodacrux into sensor readings and safety procedures, the shock of green ground cover rolling away from the science lab they’re decommissioning, the mountains rearing in the distance, the roil of clouds gathering around them, the low, sustained grumble of thunder loud enough to hear nearly fifty kilometers away…this place is a hell of a sight. Even if they’re stuck in a sheltered corner doing a lot of heavy lifting. Whoever moved these scientists in a few years back hadn’t given much thought to the Alliance team who’d be tasked with moving them out.

“Fuck this planet,” Shepard yelps, dropping a crate of probably very expensive equipment to swipe at his shoulder in a panic. One of Nodacrux’s locals, a wasp-like creature with a wingspan twice the size of Kaidan’s palm, takes flight and buzzes away. Shepard gives it a venomous look as it retreats, still wiping the armor plating with agitated fingers. “Why the hell does anyone live in a motherfucking gravity well? Fuck.”

“It’s just a bug.” Pendergrass holds up another one that’s made a nest in her outstretched palms, and Shepard actually reaches for his sidearm.

“That is not a bug,” he insists. “That is an abomination of space and time forged in the fires of hell.”

“Pretty sure it’s just a big bug.” She pokes at it for good measure. It flutters away in annoyance. “Kind of cute, I think.”

“You’re all lunatics,” Shepard mutters, stooping to retrieve the battered crate. “Bugs the size of my goddamned face. Pollen that will literally kill me if I take off this helmet. This place is a Lovecraftian nightmare and people choose to live here.”

“Not for much longer,” Kaidan observes. “And I think the point of the science team was to prove that it’s not a good idea to live here. They succeeded.”

“I don’t need fucking science to tell me that,” Shepard gripes.  

“Aren’t you N6?” Aslany asks, exiting the prefab science station pushing an antigrav cart stacked with another load of crates, plus Beaudoin, who leans back with arms folded behind his head.

Round two of the packing is nearly complete. Once the shuttle is full, they’ll get to put their feet up for a bit to wait for it to deliver its payload to the Madrid and return empty. So they can fill it up again. At least three more times. Kaidan rolls his shoulders.

“Last time I checked, yeah, I’m pretty sure I earned N6,” Shepard retorts, adding his crate to the top of her pile.

“But too chickenshit for a bug, huh?”

“I will leave your ass here, Aslany.”

“Yeah, but I can handle it.”

Beaudoin snickers, but moves to the opposite side of the cart first.  

[mtreebeardiles]

WIP game - anyone asked about Restoration yet? :)

!!! This one is technically...technically a sequel to my first Clone fic, Intangible Things, but actually spans events from ME3 to Post-War, so there is some level of overlap -- kinda filling in some of the gaps from that first fic and extending beyond it. The chapters alternate between Then and Now, with the Then chapters focusing on ME3 events for the Shepard Clone post-Citadel DLC and for Major Coats during the Reaper Invasion and eventual Occupation of London. The Now chapters are the two men figuring out their What's Next in the aftermath of London's restoration, dealing with PTSD and survivor's guilt on Coats's part and the Clone (Shawn) coming into his own. Here's a snippet from the next chapter (part 8):

Shepard had invited him to stay at the apartment, but the idea of being surrounded by all of his friends -- by the very same people he'd ordered attacks on a mere two days ago -- didn't sit well with the Clone. Staying in the ship felt much the same. Some finagling and creative movement of funds scored him a cramped hotel room in one of the lower wards, and he fled there with something akin to relief. A bed, a bathroom, and what else could he possibly need?

It wasn't like he owned anything.

Still, Shepard stopped by and gave him things anyway -- clothes, mostly, but a mountain of datapads, too, dropping them on the bed with little ceremony and the Clone still felt the weight of them. Paperwork, Shepard had warned him the day before, everything the Clone would need to establish an actual identity for himself.

He'd shoved the pile aside as soon as Shepard had left; it remained untouched still, a haphazard jumble mocking him from the corner of the room.

Who are you?

How the fuck should he know?

[in-arlathan]

WIP Whenever

Hello dears, how are you?

I finally have a bit of time to do catch up with WIP Wednesday. I've been MIA for a couple of weeks and I'm still close to losing my mind due to the tight schedule I'm operating under at the moment. But: I somehow found a tiny bit of time to write and I have something new to share. How's that?

A lot of love to @noire-pandora, @midnightprelude (2x), @starsandskies, @faerieavalon, @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold, @juliafied and @luzial for tagging me over the last two weeks for so. Thanks for thinking of me. It means more to me than you know. Please consider yourself tagged for next WIP Wednesday.

Also forwarding a few tags to @johaeryslavellan, @serial-chillr, @solas-disapproves, @musetta3, @ellie-effie and anyone else who likes to join.

After putting off revising the next chapter for "The Rebel's Ascension", I finally found the self-discipline to examine what was wrong with said chapter and create an action plan to tackle it. I was planing on keep as much of the old text as possible but soon found that it was just easier to rewrite entire sections. So the vibe is still the same, but the actual writing will be all-new.

To honor this major rewrite, the chapter will get a new title as well: "Down in the Deep". Here's an excerpt since I don't want to give away too much. Spoilers and all.

The morning gave way to a darkened day. Solas looked up to the sky where thin layers of clouds all but obscured the sun and thought of the black dragon he’d seen two days before. After he had found the Black Dread’s trail and Andruil’s hunters, he had lost sight of the creature. Maybe it had lost his trace or had flown back home, deeming this hunt unworthy of its time, although he doubted it. Most likely, the dragon had made camp somewhere to the north and waited for its moment to strike. In any case, Solas was grateful that he was rid of the creature for now. However it was – one of the Evanuris or merely one of the Divine coming to their aid – he would deal with it later.

‘This way,’ the wolf said and brought Solas’s attention back to the here and now.

This chapter will be 90% description which makes it a hell of a challenge to write for me. Usually, I break up the chapter with dialogue to improve the pacing but that's not an option this time. Ah, well...

For the readers of the fic, would you like a short recap at the beginning of the chapter when I post? It's been a while and I've been jumping around timelines a lot in the previous chapters so I felt like it might be necessary. Please let me know.

Have an awesome week. I'll be chipping away at the mountain of freelance projects piling up on my desk and hope I can preserve my sanity. Got to admit, working on the fic again was *so* good after being away so many weeks. I miss writing so damn much sometimes!

Until next time. Stay safe!