#the staircase fic

[trashquisitor-shirozora]

For your Author's Commentary, I've finally go the time to read through Gravity Well (and loving it!!!) and this section made me giggle :P

In all that despair, the Mandalorian still has hope. That spark draws Luke in; he wants to reach for it, cup it in his hands and hold it aloft so that it could take flight. He wants to—he realizes he’s reaching for the palace guard’s shoulder and drops his arm immediately. Luke presses his palm flat against his thigh and hopes the Mandalorian didn’t notice. What is he doing? “You could… tell the Mand’alor what you think, can’t you?” he asks nervously. “Or challenge him for the throne. Take this hope out of the palace and bring it to the rest of Sundari.” The palace guard chokes on whatever response is on his mind and coughs while looking away. “I only work here.” “Are you so different from him? He was a bounty hunter, wasn’t he? And you were… you lived in the Outer Rim, too. You-” Luke snaps his mouth shut. Leia will kill him if she finds out he talked a palace guard into challenging the Mand’alor in the middle of negotiations. “You could always make suggestions. I heard he’s a great listener. Your voice might be what he needs to push through with whatever changes he wants to bring to Mandalore.” The palace guard huffs, not quite believing Luke. “Perhaps. He always has a lot on his mind.”

Ooooooh I'm loving this already.

In all that despair, the Mandalorian still has hope. That spark draws Luke in; he wants to reach for it, cup it in his hands and hold it aloft so that it could take flight. He wants to—he realizes he’s reaching for the palace guard’s shoulder and drops his arm immediately. Luke presses his palm flat against his thigh and hopes the Mandalorian didn’t notice. What is he doing?

I truly believe that Star Wars is about love and hope (and wrecking fascists) and that's how I want to write Luke. In this AU where the Jedi Order was never destroyed, the Republic never fell, and Palps got defenestrated, I thought of Luke as someone who'd see that spark of hope and change in others and encourage them to strive for something better.

“You could… tell the Mand’alor what you think, can’t you?” he asks nervously. “Or challenge him for the throne. Take this hope out of the palace and bring it to the rest of Sundari.” The palace guard chokes on whatever response is on his mind and coughs while looking away. “I only work here.”

I can't do secret/mistaken identity tropes without humor. I just thought it was really funny writing Luke suggesting that Din challenge himself for the throne. Just imagining Din's face under the helmet cracks me up. I also wanted to emphasize the idea of Luke being the one who encourages others to be brave and step forward.

“Are you so different from him? He was a bounty hunter, wasn’t he? And you were… you lived in the Outer Rim, too. You-” Luke snaps his mouth shut. Leia will kill him if she finds out he talked a palace guard into challenging the Mand’alor in the middle of negotiations. “You could always make suggestions. I heard he’s a great listener. Your voice might be what he needs to push through with whatever changes he wants to bring to Mandalore.”

It's just funny for Luke to assume and accept that both Mando and the Mand'alor lived in the Outer Rim because there must be a lot of Mandalorians who lived in the Outer Rim, right? It just so happens that they both returned to Mandalore and took up their posts in Sundari in the same palace, right? it's all just coincidence, right? Right????

I also think it's funny that Luke was accidentally recommending dethroning the current leader of Mandalore while in the middle of some important negotiations with the New Republic. Also think it's funny how he's praising Din without knowing he's talking to Din.

The palace guard huffs, not quite believing Luke. “Perhaps. He always has a lot on his mind.”

Poor Din listening to Luke make these recommendations to a version of himself and not being able to reveal the lie, because Luke will never talk to him so freely again. Being a ruler is really hard for someone who wasn't exactly prepared for the responsibility. Why else did he continue the lie until he lost control of it?

Play ask games, win ask prizes!

[shirozora-draws]

... anyway, I got given ideas. Guess this is what happens when I go several months without drawing anything.

First art of 2023, first art post of 2023, and full of the energy I hope to carry into the year. This is the way, and all that.

[atalante241]

Hear me out, you take both Maribat and the DPxDC (batfam) fanfics. Go through the whole omg bio kids thing, but as for how they came into existence I propose:

That time Bruce was just surfing through time with amnesia while his kids thought he was dead, he meets these two pairs of couples and they all decide to have threesomes on separate occasions bc why not. And when he gets back to the present he doesn’t rly think about it but somewhere a teenage boy will or has turned into a half-ghost-half-not-ghost and a young-teen girl will or has become a magical girl.

[crescentfool]

so-called free thinkers when they see art highlighting ryoji and minato being mirror images...

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: The last thing Chuuya expects while overseeing a routine shipment is for his sixteen year old self to appear out of thin air.

Author: rutu14

[oflights]

wip snip 4.3

yeah i think about the roman empire:

Harry finds himself caught up in staring, in taking in every familiar detail of Draco, and some newer ones, too. He’s dressed as many of his colleagues are, but it doesn’t look like a costume on him: he looks as though he gets out of bed every morning and dresses like an ancient Roman, like every piece of the ensemble was made especially for him. “Close your mouth, Potter,” Smith says in a snide undertone. Harry doesn’t listen. Draco’s white tunic is short, falling in gentle, rippling folds above his knees. Heavy golden cords keep it fitted and tight to his waist and his chest, the tasseled ends dangling where a belt would be. Over the tunic drapes a heavy scarlet red toga, pinned to the chest with what looks like a solid gold fibula stamped with the image of a swan. A golden crown hugs the back of his head, nestled in his tousled hair with the ends at his temples. The gold is delicate and bright, molded into the shapes of grass, leaves and stalks of wheat, and when the candlelight hits it, the brightness warms up the color of his hair until it looks like a sun has risen just above his head. “He is such a fucking git,” comes Smith’s voice again, but when Harry finally manages to glance over—never mind that his mouth is still open—he’s staring, too, his face lit up in genuine, undeniable pleasure. “Scarlet red, the bloody—and he’s paying tribute to Apollo, the absolute nuisance he is. Jack is going to shit himself.”

[alastair-1205]

context is for nerds @ieatkids66

[biscuitrule]

I love that in canon George is a comic book nerd, Lucy likes to draw and then we have Lockwood who likes to read gossip.

[missmeasured]

THE LAST CHAPTER OF THE STARS AND THE STAIRCASE IS NOW OUT!!!!

Hi! It took a while, but it’s here. It’s finally here! My story is complete!

Read the ending on A03 or Wattpad

If you haven’t read it, ITS TIME!

[artheresy]

Just read an utterly emotionally devastating entry in the "One or both of teen!Skk gets sent to the future and adult!Skk has to deal with it" kind of ficsUGH

I've read very few, but I want to read more it's such a good trope I need more

The way people use that trope either to get teen!Skk or (imo the better choice) Adult!Skk to reflect on their dynamic LIKE A H it's genius

[goldeneyedgirl]

Do you have any more of deaf alice you’d be willing to share? That fic lives rent free in my mind

Deaf Mary-Alice is currently just a collection of Jasper's thoughts as he simps for her and wonders if she truly understands how much he loves her since they made up all the signs when he was emotionally stunted and Too Battle Hardened by Life to Care, and can't find the right words to explain.

The Cullens aren’t at all prepared for Mary-Alice, and it’s kind of fun to watch.  There are still three weeks until graduation, and he’s already negotiated a deal with Carlisle in exchange for completing high school once again (“Five years, Carlisle, of no high school.”) But it means that he has to leave her behind every morning, moping on the couch.  Except, every day they get home, Esme looks vaguely confused and flustered, and Mary-Alice is up to… something. One day, she’s climbing the railings of the first and second-floor landings, like some kind of bizarre parkouring gymnast - and not the kind of behaviour that Jasper’s sure Esme or any of the Cullens have witnessed or partaken in. But it's no different than her playing in the few trees around Monterrey or swinging from the beams in the roof of the barn. Bouncing off the roof of the mansion, laughing. (She lands on his back, kissing his cheek, telling him he was gone for far too long, her cheek nuzzling against him as she speaks.) Another day, she’s swiped some paint from Esme’s studio and spent the day painting the glass wall in his study with flowers (some of them have bleeding eyes in the centre, and others have tiny bones making up their stems, a casual reminder that she is not as soft and girlish as she might appear). The light through the window throws coloured light around his study. Esme is horrified but trying to cover it up, and Jasper mentally tells Edward that he’ll take care of it, just not to mention it. It’s easy enough to get her a canvas and a pile of sketchbooks that light her face with happiness.  (One sketchbook is hidden under the cushions of his couch; quick sketches of visions intermingled with drawings of him and her - some of them are positively indecent, so the sketchbook stays hidden.)  There's the deer she manages to herd into the Cullens' garden, even manages to get a flower crown on the poor beast. Deciding to precariously perch herself on the very top of the library bookshelves, a pile of books next to her swinging leg as she pages through any coffee table book with coloured pictures, other book piles scattered around the room much to Carlisle's consternation. There's the fact she's caught touching the piano, sitting on the very top and bending over to press the keys to try and 'hear' it better. (He owed Edward for not pitching a fit of enormous magnitude over that; his brother had had the foresight to simply walk out and let someone else deal with Mary-Alice's investigation. And it had been easy to explain that the piano was Edward's, was special to him. By the time night falls, the piano is freshly polished and set to rights, with a wild daisy left on the seat as an apology.) There’s the day that Esme somehow manages to teach her the basics of sewing, and he comes home to Mary-Alice cutting up some of the clothing she’s been given to Frankenstein new items together. By then, Esme looks rather exhausted and frustrated - communication is still terribly stilted, and the mess of hacked-apart dresses probably looks like more work for her.  Instead, Mary-Alice sits there, laser-focused as she puts all her clothing back together, somehow more her than they were when she started.  (If she surreptitiously stitches a black gingham star to the pocket of his jeans at some point, it makes him smile.)

[violetsiren90]

Was on a walk today and passed by the ledge that inspired What the Moon Saw. 🥹💕

[shirozora-draws]

Part 1 of "dinluke + kisses ruined my workflow". Part 2 is in the far future because I am writing two fics, I don't have the time to map out and draw a 1-page silent comic. I am also still rusty as hell so maybe work on drawing a bit more before attempting another comic? Maybe????

Inspired by me losing my mind over an ask for an ask game. Huge shoutout to @violets-and-mints-reblogs for derailing the last hours of my workday. I really needed that break from writing.

[hourcat]

mister librarian <3

Charles clocks Pierre the moment he steps through the front doors of the library—not that he’s looking for him or anything, because that would be absurd, but more because the only people that come in here are students from the local university, young and disgruntled with their classes and, more often than not, cramming for something. Not men. Certainly not men that look like Pierre.

Again. Not that he’s looking.

In fact, he’s so pointedly not looking that he, in the process of stamping books to hand off to the students requesting them, actually stamps Pierre’s hand in the process. Charles looks up, swallowing his noise of protest in order to maintain the peace and quiet inside the main room, but Pierre’s twisting grin is loud enough for the both of them.

He is infuriating.

“What do you want,” Charles grits, pushing his glasses further up onto his face as he redirects his attention to his returned book pile. There’s plenty to do before close today, especially because one of the younger students had come through and rearranged the classics shelf entirely—

“You,” Pierre answers, arms folded on the reserve desk like he’s sitting at a bar with a look on his face that can only be described as cocky. And, really, Charles should’ve known better than to expect any other answer than that: he’s never met a traveling salesman that’s so insistent on talking to him in all his life. All he has is the library! Nobody has ever held any interest before, aside from the select few with scholarly intentions, and Charles has greatly enjoyed that small circle of company since he’d taken up the position of head librarian. Sure, he’d fantasized about being in love when he was younger, but that was before he’d learned just what kind of men live in this town.

For all intents and purposes, Pierre’s persistence in wooing him is proving that lesson time and again.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he replies, turning his gaze down to the encyclopedia volume that needs a new book card. He fiddles under his desk and continues to not look at the salesman still standing put. His cologne is a warm, faint scent that cuts through the usual smell of old books and dust that Charles is so used to, and it’s driving him up a wall because he likes it. He never likes cologne, has spent half his life talking about how the greatest smell in the world is nestled in the pages of an old, well-loved novel, but this particular smell is creeping up his list and he hates it.

“Cherie,” Pierre begins, voice sultry, and that does it. Charles slams the book shut, winces only a little at the chorus of shushing he gets in return, and then looks right into Pierre’s stupid, smarmy, handsome face.

“Will you please make your selection and leave?” The fact that he even has to ask is just more proof that Pierre is exactly like every other story about traveling salesman Charles has heard. Thick-headed, insistent, observant in a very specific and very annoying way—

“I have,” he replies coolly, chin now nestled in the palm of his hand. He’s still smiling that damned smile. Charles bites his tongue to keep from snapping.

“Really? What do you want to take out?” He’ll keep his expectations low for whatever crude excuse for a book he’ll ask for. Really, what time does he even have to read with all his ridiculous, scam-heavy adventures.

Pierre’s expression lights up even more. “The librarian!” He exclaims it, reaches across to tap his finger against the bridge of Charles’ glasses and everything, and even despite who it’s coming from, Charles feels a flicker of amusement and affection at the sound of it. He’s so confident Charles is going to say yes that he’s bristling with it.

As if.

A chorus of students shush his outburst, which pleases Charles immensely. He goes along with it, pressing a finger to his lips and everything. “Quiet, please.” Shouldn’t Pierre know better than to pester him at work? Especially here—aren’t all libraries the same across the world? Charles hasn’t been to many others that aren’t here, but he has to believe that they’re all built on solitude and focus, which Pierre seems to be abjectly averse to.

Pierre, whose cat-like smile seems to only grow at the chastising. “The librarian,” he repeats, voice at a whisper, and reaches across the desk to lay a gentle hand against Charles’ wrist. “Come on, Charlie, what do you say? I’m only in town for a short while, and I…” he trails off, fingers gently tapping at Charles’ pulse. Charles isn’t sure why he hasn’t yanked away from him yet. “Well, I’d like to spend some of that time with you.”

[mozzarella-stix]

Dead Silence

Lockwood & Co- Johnathan Stroud

Lucy Carlyle x Anthony Lockwood

Summary: The tragic incident at Wythburn Mill has left 3rd Grade Agent Lucy Carlyle with more damage than originally thought. Ostracized by any agencies who need her incredible talent, a company of misfits might be her perfect match. Will Lucy rise to the challenge of her new circumstance? Or will her misfortune follow her into the heart of London?

An exploration into the events of "The Screaming Staircase" if Lucy had suffered a bit more than just emotional scarring on her last job with Jacobs and Co.

Content/Warnings: Graphic Description of Injury, Graphic Description of Corpses, Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Slight Gore, Hearing Loss AU, American Pretending to be British

Thanks @maarigolds for being super supportive and my beta reader! Tags for people who liked the original post at the end

The ringing came first. The doctors called it tinnitus. I called it the only thing I could hear properly.

The blast knocked me backwards, and Norrie into me. Hot blood spilled like lava down my cheeks and into my hair. Horrifying screeches, like a chorus of demons overtook the buzzing in my ears. I rolled away from Norries limp frame, and grasped my throbbing head.

No position or pressure stopped the wailing from raking across my soul. I blinked my eyes free of tears, refocused on the entity beyond the darkness. Pale faces emerged from the black fog, distorted and disfigured in unspeakable ways, each screaming a terrible scream.

Lucy

A soft hiss penetrated the screams.

Save yourselves

Hardly above a whisper, yet familiar enough to pick from the noise.

The door

Just as quickly as the presence entered, it departed, and the screeching returned.

Keep reading on AO3

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[trashquisitor-shirozora]

I can finally see the finish line for Gravity Well, the Dinluke Positivity Week 2022 fill that took entirely way too long to write and is also way longer than I ever anticipated. What do you fucking mean this goddamn fic is gonna crash through the 100k word barrier with the final update? What the fuck happened???

Anyway, I'm sleeping on this draft and doing some heavy duty editing, and then maybe I'll have a Sunday or Monday post. Who knows. I just need this fic to stop haunting my ass and finish telling its tale because I got an absolute monster of a fic waiting for me to pick back up again.