#was itching to share this snippet somewhere

[memethebum]

Snippet Sundayyy

Thanks for tag @silluuuu

Working on day 1 for SoMa week lol

—————————————————————————

“I have come to hear the answer to my request priestess,” Soul Eater barked, probing Maka’s harsh demeanor to show the faintest sign of breaking.

“NO MAKA DO NOT-“

“You swear to keep your word if I become your bride?” Maka spoke over Kid’s shouts while he watched her bare feet descend from the temple steps.

“I plan to keep my word…” Soul Eater chuckled as Maka finally made contact with the packed dirt below them, all while Kid wondered if he’d imagined the slight tremble of her polished sword as the demon inched closer towards her.

“And don’t ya’ worry, I don’t plan to eat you…” the monster then added, allowing an air of confusion to ring through the air before his fanged hands dug into Maka’s neck.

“After all, there’s only one thing I like better than gluttony and that’d be lust,” Soul Eater boomed, leaving Kid to still his erratic heartbeat as he barked orders at the terrified soldiers and noticed Liz fire Patty towards the abomination that held their friend’s life in the palms of his hands.

[xeeljii]

dry humping joost is peak. Shout out to dry humping joost gotta be one of my fav tropes here.

BIG SHOUT OUT TO DRY HUMPING! the dry humping community is thriving we grow each day lol (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

anyways let me share a snippet since I'm itching to post

WARNING! Explicit RPF! 

CW: 18+, f! reader, dry humping duh, alcohol.

also this is a prequel to SHE'S MY COLLAR which someone asked about some time ago ask and u shall receive <3

“Come here.” Joost grabs at your chin gently pulling you closer. He takes a long deep drag of the cigarette, lets it fill his lungs, he gently puts pressure on your jaw with his fingers so you will open your mouth and you do. He is half a breath away from your mouth, you can feels his heat, he opens his mouth slightly and pushes the smoke into yours softly, slowly, you can feel his lips ghost over yours. You inhale, so relaxed under his touch, it feels so good you want to close your eyes and melt on his hand right now but you also want to stare at his beautiful face, the way his eyes seem impossibly blue and the alluring almost white eyelashes that adorn them, all made more enticing by the small cloud of smoke that covers both of you. 

Up close you see the beauty mark right under his lip, it decorates his face perfectly, you become hyper focused on it and before you can stop yourself you are crashing lips first right into it. You place a soft peck on it, he feels his heart stop then you move upwards to actually reach his lips. He feels perfect, he tastes perfect, it is better than you could have imagined.

You chase after his touch, he moves his hand to your waist to hold you closer, you feel him breathing in an out, chests almost touching, it is addicting. Your lips move in uncoordinated harmony but it feels so good. The kiss lasts too little before you have to pull away slightly to catch your breath, you see a string of spit connecting your lips it makes you blush even deeper if that is possible, somewhere in the middle of it all you had climbed onto his lap and he had let you. You are looking down at him, stunned with how gorgeous he looks, lips slightly red from the kissings and shiny perhaps from your own lipgloss.

He puts the cigarette out on an ashtray nearby, now both his hands are at your waist, thumbs caressing softly waiting on your next move. You go back for more, feeling bolder now seeing the hunger in his eyes that you imagine matches the one in yours. His lips are soft and little chapped, they taste distantly like Bacardi and something sweet, the cigarette is there but more than anything it taste like him, you chase after it, push your tongue in his mouth desperate for it, he is just as far gone as you sucks lightly at the wet muscle and you moan in response, his hands go to the small of your back and then to your ass to pull you closer, he feels the fat there so delicious under his fingers when he kneads his hands into the soft muscle. You mewl into his mouth, this feels so fast and like time has stopped making you dizzy. 

You keep kissing, moaning into each others mouths, sucking at each others tongues in reckless abandon. Your hips started humping against his at some point, you feel heat building up in your core and keep chasing after it with soft little movements, he smiles against your kiss, feels your teeth knock together. You are so drunk,  he wonders if you would be embarrassed to know what you are up to, he is now almost lying against the side of the couch, it digs on his back uncomfortably but he can’t be bothered by it when he has such a beautiful vision losing herself on top of him.

He grabs harder at your ass and pulls you up towards his stomach so you will stop torturing him a little with your grinding right on his uncomfortably hard cock. Your little whimpers sound so delicious you are so lost on it, you keep kissing at his lips at his jaw down towards his neck, feel his pulse right under your tongue. He keeps moving your head to reach your lips, seems to be wanting to eat you alive, you open your eyes and you see his pretty face full of desire, full of need, for you. There is a hunger inside you rapidly growing and soon it has you feeling famished. He can feel you trashing against the planes of  his stomach looking for any friction, he can’t really tell if you are unaware or so unashamed in your state that you can’t stop yourself. But you are so desperate for him and he feels like a boiling pot about to explode so he uses the last of his self restrain to tell you, almost beg you.

“Have some mercy on me schat, you are driving me crazy.”

[wannabelilybriscoe]

sunday monday snippet

thank you @m00neroni <33

i'm very excited to share a bit of the upcoming chapter of asfteotw. though, as always, i need to check myself so i don't end up spoiling too much in my eagerness to share what i'm working on...here's a rough little moment of remus and sirius being together again after way too long apart.

“You got me my gun.” Sirius strokes Remus’s chest idly, the way he strums the strings of a guitar.  “I know what it means to you.” Remus swallows. Blinks back burning tears. “I lost your necklace.” “What?” “The one you gave me,” Remus says, feeling rather pathetic. “At some point I must’ve—I don’t know where it’s gone.”  A fine-boned hand slides up Remus’s chest to loosely circle the base of his neck. Grounding and gentle. More gentle than how Remus had held him earlier.  “Don’t worry about that, love. I’ll get you a new one later.” Remus makes a sound, part chuckle, part sob. “Later,” he echoes. For a while, the only sounds in the room are their breathing and the steady thud of Sirius’s heart. Warm breath gusts against the side of Remus’s face. “We’re going to go to your family’s cabin,” Sirius murmurs in his ear. “James and Lily, Pete, Mary, Marlene. We’re all going to get sloshed on the beach. You and I are going to hold hands and watch the sunset like a couple of old codgers.”  Remus closes his eyes and swallows the painful lump in his throat. Sirius has said this before, hasn’t he? A long, long time ago.  “I mean it.” Sirius kisses his temple.  In this moment that feels like limbo, Remus can almost pretend they’re outside of time, outside of this place. Not in a windowless room in Gaunt Farm but somewhere boundless, with a breeze that carries the smell of ocean salt and sweetgrass. Somewhere under a wide open sky filled with possibilities.  He covers Sirius’s hand resting on his chest and links their fingers together.  “I love you,” he says. In case he doesn’t get another chance to say it.   Sirius’s breath hitches. He squeezes Remus tighter.  “Say it again when we get out of here. So it doesn’t sound like goodbye.”

np tag: @graverobbber @moonheavens @leavesthatarebrown @r33sespieces whatchoo workin on cuties?

bonus: aaaaand because if you've been following along with my zombie story, you've been suffering for the last few months...here's another moment of pure sappy sticky mush from a later chapter...

“Write me a poem.” “I already wrote you one.” “Write me another one.” “Hm,” Remus ponders. His eyes flit back and forth across Sirius's face, tracing every finely drawn feature. “I think I knew you before I knew you.” Sirius quirks an eyebrow. Already, Remus has got him.  “I think it was your eye I drew on a foggy window pane, your mouth that rippled in the echo of a dream. I think you were a back itch that skipped out of reach. I think you were a stomach ache, a bruised rib, I think you were a sigh of relief. I think you were a word on the tip of my tongue. I think you were a curling wisp of smoke and the flame that lit the wick. I think you were the missing verse of a half-heard song. I think I knew the breaths between your words before I knew the sound of your voice.” Sirius’s lips are parted and his eyes are hungry, cutting through Remus, right down to the bone. He takes Sirius’s hand and laces their fingers together. “I think I knew the shape of the spaces between your fingers before I knew the texture of your palm. I think I felt you before I had you and having you now, I think about you and I think about you—” Sirius steals the rest right off his lips, swallowing it down whole with a kiss. And then another. “You think about me, huh?” Sirius takes the time to ask tauntingly between kisses, “You think about me?”  “Always,” Remus answers with the reverence of a prayer. “Since the first time you looked at me, you gorgeous prat.”  Sirius looks ravenous, eyes wide and lips pulled wide into a smile that reveals his canines. “And ever since?”  “Yes,” Remus says, the word turning into a gasp as Sirius bites his neck. 

[amadeusgame]

Amadeus: A Riddle for Thee ~ Episode 1 ~ Waltz May Devlog

Devlog TL;DR—

BandCamp album updated & discounted!

Embeds with art & story snippets on my website here!

Game 2 scenes away from being built*!

I played through all of it. Very confident in where it's at :)

*with placeholders, but built nonetheless.

Read on for details~

Wishlist on Steam | Follow on Itch | More Links

OST Update

First, SOMETHING FUN. To celebrate Amadeus reaching over 700 outstanding wishlists on Steam (what!!), and also to celebrate the fact that I am almost finished building the whole thing; I've updated the soundtrack album on BandCamp. It now:

Contains every track in the current demo

Preserves tracks from obsolete demos

Costs $5 (but you can listen all you want for totally free)

I have also updated the "thank you for your support" page I built with the soundtrack embed, so it has all of this music with unique track art and overall better reflects what the game is now. If you want a way to experience the music and vibes of Amadeus without playing the game, this is probably the best way to do that! Check it out here: https://arcanaxix.com/PressKit/ost.html

(Disclaimer: it probably looks terrible on super high-res screens, please zoom in if that is the case. Forgive my janky webdev. Thank you in advance)

Development Status

Now—on to progress. As with the last few before it, this past month was spent building out 3 new scenes in the game to a state of "playable." The scripts are in with some revisions, a combination of final and placeholder assets were used to flesh them out, and the scenes exist now. I spent particular attention on the music implementation and timing for these ones (...including fixing a bug with the seamless looping mechanic and how it transitions between tracks) and I think that's feeling really effective.

I'm not saying much more because this is the juiciest part of the game. I don't want to set expectations or give things away in a development update before the game is even out, so I'm really holding back here. But there's nothing quite like finally getting to make the climax of this game after working on it somewhere between 2 and 3 years. It's so exciting!!

Pulling back from last month's specific goals, I also took one day and decided to play all the way through the game that I have built so far, from start-to-finish. I was starting to feel incredibly anxious about whether my "one hour before work each workday" development slots were in fact enough time dedicated to this game to actually finish it. I am very aware of how many placeholders and not-quite-fully-implemented mechanics are in the later scenes, in stark contrast to the early scenes that are fully polished and publicly available. I have been swimming in a sea of "not quite actually there" scenes, so the fear I'm not really making very much progress at all has been eating away at me.

So I decided to play it and know for sure. What state is the game in, really? How unfinished is it still? Is the writing as rough as I feel like it is?

Ohhh, I'm so glad I did this. Playing the game pretty much destroyed these fears. This game is going to be good. It is going to be good for a very particular audience, sure; but for those who are seeking what I am giving, it is going to be really special. It already is good. It already is special.

The music is great. The writing is great. The art is great. The seeds I am sowing for things that will happen much later are delicious. I laughed a couple times. And the combination of everything, in my completely mega-biased opinion, is something of a flavor completely unlike anything else out there. It is certainly inspired by very specific things, but the way they come together here is incredibly unique. I am so excited to share this with the world!

(Playing the game also had other uses. It helped me discover some bugs I didn't catch in some early scenes from edits I made to certain menu prefabs. It gave me a couple ideas on a few thematic items I can tie together a bit neater. The experience just generally gave me a good big-picture perspective that I really needed.)

And funny enough, it is this excitement and confidence, not the anxiety from before, that actually gets me to wake up a little earlier for even more development time on occasion. I started this devlog an hour before my Amadeus Slot(TM)  technically began today because I wanted to spend more time on it. Amadeus is very important to me, and dedicating time to it is important to me. Especially since I have a difficult-but-rewarding IRL job that interfaces a lot with trauma and other shit that sucks; Amadeus gives me something meaningful to work hard on that isn't so high-stakes, but is equally rewarding. It's necessary for me to stay sane. I am devoted to seeing it through to its 5-episode completion.

June Goals

For this coming month, my to-do list is very simple. I'm going to "finish" the game. Certainly not to a ready-for-publishing state, not even quite to a ready-for-playtesting state (although that should be coming soon after); but to a "you can technically play it from the very start to the very end and it contains the full experience" state.

What that means in practice is building out one last point-and-click scene, one last VN scene, and the credits. I'm looking forward to posting a devlog at the end of June that just says "WE DID IT GAMERS."

(Short aside - this next month I will also be writing some tracks for a friend working on the Toxic Yuri VN Jam, and said friend has encouraged me to go nuts and do wild shit, so that should be really fun. I will share the fruits of our labor when that is finished too.)

For today, that about wraps things up. Thank you for your continued interest!

...

......

......

..

...Okay, one final aside. It was last June that I wrote a devlog about overcoming a massive internal hurdle by means of playing Sonic Adventure and remembering what matters to me in games, gaining a huge boost in confidence and returning to development with a vigor. This past month, I replayed Sonic Adventure again and overcame a similar hurdle. Coincidence???

[direwombat]

remember when i said that my last wip wednesday was probably going to be the last snippet of ch7 that i'll share? yeah that was a lie. have some more.

He drags her out the door and down a series of hallways. They wind their way through the dark and hauntingly vacant corridors, twisting and turning through the labyrinthine hospital. Every step the soldier takes echoes heavily down the hall, heavy thuds bouncing off the chipped plaster walls.

The whole place is eerily empty.

Her shadow stretches grotesquely in front of her, its shape flickering in time with the unsteady buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead. The sharp, lemony smell of antiseptic stings at her nose, but it's quickly overwhelmed by the heavy, metallic taste of rust and fresh blood that comes to rest on the back of her tongue and throat. Bloody claw marks mar the wall they're following, only to divert down a hall where, somewhere further down, a helpless victim begs for death.

Her stomach lurches. The hair at the back of her neck stands on end as she's hauled past the pained wails and pleas for death; away from yet another victim of the cult she couldn't save.

The man drags her through the Veterans Center until finally cutting through an empty industrial kitchen and shoving through a side door that leads to the building's dumpsters. Gingerly, he unhooks her arm from around his shoulders and leans her against one of the bins. "Wait here," he mutters. "I'll be right back.

She slumps against the dumpster as her Friend scouts ahead. In her sudden sense of stasis, the weight of her body comes crashing down on her and the haze over her mind returns. Her knees buckle and she slides down the metal siding. Her stitches prickle, the skin itchy and tight. That aching throb begins to resurface without the painkillers to dull it. She leans her head back, knocking against the hollow dumpster and producing a resonant clang.

She goes stock still. Eyes wide, breath held; her muscles coiled to push herself upright and bolt at the slightest sign of trouble. Shit that was loud.

Her teeth are bared, fingers curled, prepared to claw and bite anyone who dares come to investigate.

She waits.

But no one comes.

The fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Her heart hammers against her rib cage. Her teeth fucking itch.

This is a trap.

It has to be.

Why else would her Friend carry her so close to freedom only to abandon her? Why else would he discard her behind a dumpster like some stray animal?

It has to be some sort of sick, twisted game.

Catch and release.

Jacob and his men have to be out there, watching. Waiting. Lurking in the shadows, patiently waiting for her to run, all so they can chase her down and haul her ass back, like demons dragging a sinner's soul down to Hell.

She'll be damned if she doesn't take at least one of them down with her, first.

All she sees is the flash of red rounding the corner and she's on her feet. She lunges, one hand grappling the stranger's arm while the other wraps around their throat. With her bare feet planted firmly in the dirt, she swings the other person's weight around until she's holding them against the grimy brick exterior of the building. The webbing between her thumb and index finger notches just under their Adam's apple and she presses against their windpipe, teeth bared and snarling.

"Easy—" She chokes them harder. "—Easy! It's me."

It takes longer than it should for her to recognize the voice. The choked, frantic whispers are so different from the hurried and hushed ones she'd heard from her Friend as he was dragging her through the halls. But in those pleading, dark brown eyes, she finds a sense of familiarity. She's seen these eyes before.

Her Friend sucks in a quiet, shuddering breath. "You're in control here, Deputy" he whispers evenly. "Kill me if you want, but if you do, you'll be on your own in a den of hungry wolves."

The threat doesn't escape her, but his logic is enough to get her to release her grip around his neck.

But only barely.

"What's your game?" she growls, and she pulls him towards her only to slam him back against the wall. "The fuck're you gettin' outta helpin' me? Who are you?"

taglist (opt in/out)

@buggknife, @cloudofbutterflies92, @josephseedismyfather, @la-grosse-patate, @tommyarishikages

@florbelles, @statichvm, @fourlittleseedlings, @wrathfulrook, @harmonyowl

@ivymarquis, @carlosoliveiraa, @cassietrn, @confidentandgood, @strafethesesinners,

@trench-rot, @miyabilicious, @simplegenius042, @g0dspeeed, @inafieldofdaisies

@josephslittledeputy, @aceghosts, @adelaidedrubman, @finding-comfort-in-rain,

@socially-awkward-skeleton, @voidika, @strangefable

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

WIP Weekend

Weekly WIP update

Chapter 5 of Updraft is done! 🎉 Only two chapters to go, and only a little more than 7 weeks before posting starts on September 16th. Going to focus mainly on getting the rest finished in time for posting period.

I did manage to make a little progress on The King's Gift, because I've been itching to write the next scene. 👀

Still working on some ficlets and continuing some of my mini series on the side, and thinking of maybe expanding on one once I finish Updraft.

Send me an emoji, and I'll write and share three sentences of that project.

🏰 The King's Gift

⚙️ Updraft

✨️ Random ficlet

Snippet from 🏰

“Steve!” Eddie shouts, but before he can reach him, Steve finds himself grabbed by the arm and yanked back. He lands on his ass on the cobblestones, teeth clacking together from the impact. When he looks up, Gareth is shoving himself in front of him, flanked by his two companions.

“Stay back,” he snaps when Steve attempts to scramble to his feet. “Leave this to people who actually know-”

The rest of his sentence is lost in another blood-curdling shriek. The three guards whirl, pulling swords and spears from their belts.

“No, wait!” one of the kids shouts somewhere to the side. Erica, maybe, Steve thinks. “You can't use iron, you obnoxious oafs, it'll-”

Gareth's sword connects with the monster's chest and Steve sees how grim triumph blooms on his face, but it only lasts a second. Then, he pulls the blade free, and his expression morphs into horrified surprise. He skids backwards, knocking into the other two.

The wraith’s praying flesh begins to crawl, covering the gaping wound in thick, slimy tendrils. Within a matter of seconds, it's gone. Like it never even existed - if it wasn't for the black, tar-like blood still dripping from Gareth's sword.

The blade has turned reddish and dull, as if it's been exposed to the wind and rain for years and years. A heavy, smell settles in the air, like rust and decay. While Gareth is still watching, wide-eyed and horrified, the blade crumples in on itself, until all that's left in his hand is the hilt. The monster snarls again, its face twisting into something that looks like a horrible, gloating grin. And then that grin splits open and it pounces.

[ak-vintage]

WIP Weekend

Thanks so much for the tag, @djarins-cyare!

Sharing a little snippet of the Epilogue of Quarry today. It's very bittersweet to finally be here after working on this fic for over a year, but I'm excited to share it with you and to have more bandwidth to start taking on other projects.

The full version is coming soon - hopefully this week!

“Plenty of work to be done here,” Cara retorted. “City’s growing every day. I could always use a deputy, and I’m sure we could find a spot for your girl somewhere. Not nearly enough people with your skills around here yet,” she continued, flashing you a smile. “You could be one of the first. Open your own shop. Karga would approve your business license in a heartbeat.” You huffed a soft laugh. She was right, of course. You could do it if you wanted – start your own business, repair broken hardware, design custom mods, restore vintage ships. You could probably even build them from scratch if you found a good parts supplier. It would be a good life, a stable life. Shipbuilding was a lucrative business, and you could be your own boss, something that had felt like a pipe dream during your years of servitude on Chardaan. But one look at Din had you shaking your head and slipping your hand under the table to rest on his thigh, giving him a comforting squeeze. Your bounty hunter wasn’t ready for that kind of life just yet. You could feel it in the tightness of his muscles beneath your hand, could see it in the way he crossed his arms over his chest at the suggestion. Someday, you thought that might be something he wanted, but for now, you could feel the itch to return to his nomadic life among the stars burning under his skin as if it were your own. “That’s generous of you. But we can’t stay,” you said after a beat. “It’s not time for us to settle just yet.”

NP Tags: @yxtkiwiyxt, @shchristine, @80ssong, @mountainsandmayhem, @sunshinehaze1

[persephoneflouwers]

WIP Snippet ✨

This is a little extract from the non really traditional ABO fic I’m currently writing for the @omegaharryfest <3 (hopefully eheh)

He bursts out of the door, seeking some fresh air. He still feels his limbs burning. The hallway stretches before him, untouched by whatever happens to Louis inside his room. Sweat drips down his spine, itching with new uncontrollable chills.

At that very moment, Harry emerges from his own room, and he looks like a mess. With his disheveled hair and wrinkled clothes, Harry appears as if he had just weathered a storm. Dark circles under his bloodshot eyes hint at sleepless nights. His shoulders slump, as he shuffled through the corridor with a weary gait. The creases on his forehead seem etched in worry, betraying the deep lines of stress that mark his face.

Louis holds his breath. He really can’t smell Harry’s scent right now, or he might moan.

It’s so intense, it drives Louis insane. Panting, Louis keeps scratching subconsciously at his mark. Omega Princes claim their mates as their own with a mark. It is their ritual woven into the tapestry of their royal bloodline, heralding the beginning of a lifelong union. It is more of an initiation into the Royalty. With the mark from an omega prince, they are officially Royals too. No matter what Louis says though, with the mark still on his neck, he is still very much a Prince. Usually Omega Princes don’t get the bite, but Harry did ask for one.

As the scratching continues, Louis hopes to peel the mark away. It burns and itches and it pains how much it is making his alpha unsettled. The fucker is clawing at his chest like it wants to jump outside. Louis is losing it for real.

Harry and Louis share a knowing glance without uttering a single word. Louis breaks the silence first.

“You needed me.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks in a hurry. Every inch of him tingles with nervous energy, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He quickens his pace, as if he needs to escape the brewing storm of confrontation. His footsteps echo on the pavement, matching the rapid beat of Louis’ racing thoughts. “No, I didn’t.”

“Where have you been?”

Harry has never walked faster. He barely glances at Louis when he walks by.

“Been busy.” Louis must feel very confused even to Harry’s senses, because he rushes to complete. “Been busy. Away. For—for important duty stuff. Somewhere where you definitely weren’t needed.”

[dread-red-queen]

Chapter 4 of As The Crow Fly's is up - WARNING DARK THEMES Torture, as well as implied but not described SA - Lucanis & Spite tell there OSSUARY Story together.

Summary: Lucanis and Spite relive the Ossuary hoping if they told there story they could begin to heal, old wounds are hard to deal with but a burden shared is a burden halved, Illario finally understands the pain he caused, how his actions put Lucanis through hell all because he thought himself more disserving of the title of First Talon, Even Caterina realises the way she raised them contributed to that pain and perhaps more wounds than just the Ossuary are laid bare and start to heal

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62834083/chapters/161263228

Snippet under the cut

"I took a ship from Traviso to Minrathous, my target was somewhere in the city according to my sources." He began from the beginning, he needed to build up to the ossuary. Spite gripped his hand tightly and he smiled before continuing "The journey itself was uneventful I had plenty of time to prepare." he looked down at the floor before looking up at Rook, she nodded in encouragement and he continued "I awoke to a strange smell, we were at least a day from marathons, I went to investigate and lost my footing something was wrong." he swallowed and grit his teeth angry at himself for falling into a trap. Rook leaned forward "Miasma?" she asked curiously and he nodded bitterly.

She felt a pang of pain through the bond, he never stood a chance against Miasma "I don't understand." Dr Frances said wringing his hands "You're a mage killer no? Have you never encountered Miasma before?" Lucanis frowned "It is not that I had never encountered it before, I was caught off guard, I was overconfident I felt safe on the boat I was mistaken." He cursed in Antivan and Rook got angry "Frances." she growled he looked down. "Sorry I shouldn't have interrupted please go on." he set his lips in a tight line, and Lucanis sighed. "It's alright mi amore." He gestured for her to calm down and she took a deep breath letting it out slowly.

Flashback

The ship rocked in the waves gently the sea was calm, and they were at least a day away from Minrathous, the ship had laid anchor for the night it was eerily quiet, he had just finished sharpening all his knives, he hoped to finish the contract swiftly, he was eager to return to Traviso, he missed coffee. He felt his eyes drift close, he should get some rest while he could. An hour or so later something stirred him from sleep, a sickly sweet smell was in the air, he climbed from his cot to investigate, it was when he lost his balance and he noticed his eyes begin to itch that he realized what was going on, his eyes widened noticing a deep purple mist crawling under the door, he reached for his daggers but his head began to swim his vision blurring, his heart began to race as he desperately tried to think of anything he could do but then he was falling he reached out for something he wasn't sure but then everything went black.

End of Flashback

Illario fidgeted uncomfortably in the corner, Lucanis looked at him pointedly. "I lost consciousness in seconds the next thing I knew I was strapped to a table with several Venatori leaning over me." Spite hissed in aggravation "Frightened, confused, smells like blood and pain." Lucanis glanced at him in confusion. "Spite?" he asked, Spite had not been there at the beginning. "Was not there, but remember," Spite said his eyes wide Lucanis smiled squeezing his hand. "It's ok Spite, we confront this together." Spite smiled sadly and nodded.

"It was the first time I met Zara." Lucanis said with a small shudder of revulsion "She was so smug, said I was a gift." he looked down unable to look Rook in the eye as he continued "She. She." he covered his mouth and Spite pulled him into his arms. "Hurt him, did not ask, touched," Spite growled as Lucanis took a deep shuddering breath, Illario gasped covering his mouth quickly in shock then cursed and tried to leave. "NO!" Rook said moving to the door in an instant "You don't get to walk away from this." She crossed her arms and stood her ground blocking the door.

Illario cursed again and looked over to Lucanis he straightened up their eyes met and Illario dropped to his knees. "Im so sorry." he said hot tears stinging his eyes "Listen to me Illario." Lucanis said his hands clenched in fists "Know the consequences of your actions." Illario nodded returning to his corner. "She was excited to have a new plaything, or so she told me." He ground out. "I was gagged, restrained unable to move as they cut me." Rook gasped. "They nearly killed me the first night, I was trained to endure torture but even I could not hold out long from blood loss." He swallowed thickly.

Read Full Fic HERE

[spiritsglade]

🫘🦷 for the ask game!!

hiii birdie. i found a way to talk about among us again.

🫘 Spill the beans. What's a new project you're doing this year?

Among us OC time loop fic from the perspective of a crewmate (leaning towards Bane because they're a paranoid little freak) who needs to solve the mystery of who the impostors are but over time realizes that it changes each round. It becomes about interrogating their own flaws and biases in the process and then when they finally figure it out early and win the loop resets and they're evil this time and overall. Self indulgent slop I'm gonna have so much fun with it.

+ more fleshing out of their characters in general!! I have so many thoughts about these little guys in my brain but I haven't actually written much for them. Look at them. You love them.

🦷 Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're dreading to write (but is necessary to your plot)? Share a snippet or tell us about it!

i hate hate hate hate something shaped like brotherhood (the UtH / Nightwing comics vaguely-compliant Dick & Jason bonding fic) I want to kill it so badly. Not in the giving up way just in the stabbing it until it suffers and bleeds and explodes kind of way. Every couple of weeks I try to actively write it and I hate it and I have so many pages upon pages of disconnected scraps that I am every day growing closer to printing out just so I can put them through a paper shredder and burn them in my backyard. I like the concept the execution is being fucking rude.

Here's a snippet that has a solid 100% chance of never seeing the light of day otherwise. (I reworked this scene in my head. I haven't actually written the change but shhh.)

The man scuffed a boot on the rooftop, then abruptly said, "It's probably a bad time for me to break into the GCPD's databases, huh?" Dick tensed again, despite himself. He kept his voice level as he said, "What for?" "Nothing serious. It's pretty stupid actually, there's someone whose name I've been trying to remember. I know he has a criminal record, so he'll be on their servers somewhere. It's a place to start." "Hacking the police database is a place to start?" The domino mask studied Dick blankly. "Well. He's dead. It's not like I have a lot of options or people I can just ask." "That's a lot of trouble for a dead guy." The man's laugh was harsh and sudden, but something about it makes Dick's brain itch. "Oh, 'Wing, you won't believe how much I'm willing to do for the sake of a dead kid." Dick frowned. The way the man was talking, that casual familiarity and the ease of his posture… "Do I know you?" "No." The answer came without hesitation. "But you know me," Dick hedged. That got him a head tilt and a considering hum. "No, I don't think I do."

[fixomnia-scribble]

For @smittywing! Since we're sharing unpublished Criminal Minds snippets, here are Prentiss and Morgan, in December Season 7, getting gently toasted and trying to reconcile their friendship with Emily's undercover past. Derek interrogates, Emily rambles, Clooney snores in the corner.

December 18, 2011

They were drinking again, looking out over a slushy December night in Virginia. Morgan's place, because while Sergio was content with his box, Clooney couldn't wait. They’d taken Clue for a chilly walk, letting the dog amble at will and set the pace, while Emily told him stories about the haute doggy culture of Paris. And then, back home, Morgan had spun the cap off a half bottle of scotch and tossed it somewhere behind a desk.

“Sergio can hang tight until morning,” Morgan reminded her. In case she needed to talk and drink all night, and crash somewhere she didn’t have to keep one eye open.

"Nah, I do have to get home sometime tonight," Emily said. Lightly glowing on her second dose of two and a half fingers in a comfortably heavy glass tumbler, she stretched her toes for the mohair blanket over the arm of the couch, and pulled it towards her. "And I need to spend time with my boy. Garcia's stolen his fickle feline heart away. But this is good for now. Really good. Thanks."

She rubbed a careful palm over the top of her chest, under cover of tugging the blanket up over herself.

"You've been scratching again." Morgan told her, from his easy chair near the window. He’d never ask her to sit with her back to a window or a room, ever.

"I know I've been scratching again."

The brand was worse than the surgery site below. At least she could be careful, and scratch delicately around the tender skin, while she was awake. Even if she managed to resist the subcutaneous phantom itch of burned nerves, during the day, she still woke up some mornings with blood smears on her sheets and under her nails, and another patch of angry new scab. So much for proper aftercare. But then, getting branded on her poor left boob was hardly a body mod she would have chosen.

"Anyone touches you here, you'll think of me," he'd said, calmly and coldly, as her flesh smoldered under the iron's tip. He wasn't doing this for enjoyment. This was a means to an end. She was only a safe to be cracked. Until she cracked him, instead.

That's when he saw her clearly again, and set about killing her.

"You could get it fixed, you know, Em. Plastic surgery." Morgan reminded her.

"It would probably hurt more. Plus, I'd lose more sensation and a patch of skin from somewhere else. I think I'm going to let it stay. Bastard did a decent job, all things considered. Maybe I'll get it tattooed, make it my own. Think that'd be hot?"

"Tough girl." he returned, unfooled.

"It's mostly bullshit." she admitted. "You didn't see what a mess I was in Paris, when I had nothing to do but think and drink. But my past is part of me. I don't want to pretend anymore about who I was. Scars and all."

"You never had to."

"Yeah, I did. You would, too, if you'd been doing that kind of work. Derek, I was in deep cover. International covert ops cover. The kind you're never supposed to admit, even fifty years later. Trust - " she shook her head and lifted her scotch for a sip. "Trusting you had nothing to do with it. I trust you with my life. You held my life in your hands and wouldn't let go. I would do the same for you. God forbid it happen, but I would. But I couldn't speak about it. I still can't tell you everything we got done, how many conflicts we prevented before they had a chance to flare up. Even if it might help you understand..."

She heard Morgan sigh, and shake his head, leaning over his scotch. He was trying hard. Which spoke volumes about the respect that had grown between them in the relatively short time they'd known each other, and how deeply he'd let her into his guarded inner circle. 

Of them all, Morgan and Reid were having the hardest time adjusting to her reappearance, she knew. Morgan, because he so rarely gave his trust, and Reid, because he trusted too easily. Reid was alarmed and confused and ashamed of his reactions to the whole bleak scenario. Her death, having to admit and learn to navigate his overwhelming grief, and now her reappearance. Of all the team, Reid was the one who needed to know he had some bedrock under his feet, in order to function in the world. 

She'd try to get through to Reid soon. Probably somewhere in the open, where he could get up and walk away if he needed to, and not feel trapped or obligated to talk. Soon. Tonight was about mending fences with Morgan.

"Did Hotch know?" he asked, refilling his scotch. "There must've been some gaps in your resume."

"He knew I was undercover with the CIA, and he confirmed the dates I gave him with the Agency. He never probed farther than that." She managed a smile. "He did ask me how many languages I spoke. When I asked him if he meant idiomatically, academically, or just enough to cuss someone out, he shut me up."

"I guess being your mama's daughter had some uses after all."

"Yup." she raised her eyebrows and blew out a breath. "But you know - the more I think about it, the more I think Lauren kicked ass, and I don't mind remembering her. She stopped a terrorist from engaging in more than a few major raids, and made him think it was his decision. She never once broke cover. She kept a little boy from harm in the middle of hell, and put him in a safe place. And Dec…Derek, even in that insane world, Declan trusted us. We all kept him so safe, and gave him so much love, that it never occurred to him not to trust us. He let me..."

A small tremor started in her hands, and she set her glass on the coffee table before rolling onto her side, and tucking herself deeper under the blanket.

"He was only four, and he trusted me so much that he let me hold a gun to his head and spray pig blood all over his face and hair. All I told him was that we had to pretend he'd been in an accident, so that a really mean man wouldn't try to hurt him or his father. I told him it was like making a scary Hallowee'en movie to scare the man off. Louise was too frightened to say a word. I think she wondered if I was going to kill them both, no matter what I said."

The tremor set in deeper, creeping up her arms and through her middle, and she pulle up her knees and crossed her arms and pinned her hands in her armpits to stop it.

Morgan did not miss this. He didn’t comment upon it. "I think I just got something I needed to get," he said, leaning forward. "Prentiss, I'll tell you straight up, I was pretty shocked. Not that you'd been working at that level, but where you let it take you. Not just into Doyle's business, but - "

"Into his bed." she said flatly.

"See, I know you. I know you'll use whatever you can to fight a good fight, but I couldn't wrap my head around that part till now. It was Declan that kept you there. Not Doyle. Not really."

"It was Declan that kept me there," she agreed. "It's not a pretty business, my friend. You get that Lauren was an arms dealer too, right? That was my in. I didn't expect him to...to offer me so much access. He wasn't psychotic. He was obsessive, hypervigilant and manipulative, but he treated the people close to him like royalty. So yeah, you can say I fucked Doyle to get into his sentimental little heart, after I got into his head. I did that. I'm hardly the first to use sex, and I won't be the last, and I saved a lot of lives by putting myself there. And it wasn't all a lie. He really treated me very well. Does that make me a whore? Or just a damn good agent? Honest to God, I don't know. I could sure as hell name my price with him. Anything I asked for. He tried to give us a good life. But yeah, if there hadn't been Declan, I don't know how much longer I'd have stayed. I'd have had to fake my death sooner or later. Ian would never, ever have let me go. But with Declan there, I was almost his...Well. He thought I was…he was so little, it only made sense to him. How would he know anything else?  But there wasn't much I wouldn't have done for him. So I stayed. Most days I just lived and breathed it all in. And occasionally reported in to my operator while I was supposed to be having my hair and nails done."

"My point is," Morgan said, slowly, "It's the mom-thing you got inside you. I've seen you go there. One of your babies is in danger, you turn mama-bear and get all eaten up inside until you know they're safe. That Kira. Honest to God, I think if her aunt hadn't been found, you really would have taken her in, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, like you and Ellie? You even had the paperwork ready to bring her across the country. I saw it. Cross-jurisdictional guardianship application, signed and witnessed. And I know she still e-mails you." Emily smiled at him, a little wet about the eyes. “That mattered, you know. Ellie knew you were fighting for her. That mattered, even if she found her home.”

"I do know. That's why I get it. I gotta be honest, I've been wrestling with the whole undercover sex thing, but you're right, it happens. I know it does. But hearing you talk about that kid - maybe it's just a handle I can wrap my head around, but I get it a little better."

"It wasn't any kind of Stockholm syndrome, you know." she cautioned him. "That’s a made-up bullshit thing some shrink came up with to get interviews. I knew what I was doing."

"Yeah, but didn’t it..." he paused. "Em, didn’t it wear on your soul? Or was it really just the job?"

"Fuck, yeah, it did. But maybe less than I'd like to admit. Women have been using sex as a power tool since the very beginning." She held his gaze. “It was a game I was trained to win and I won, Derek. D’you get that?”

“Except it wasn’t a game, and you lost nearly everything. And we lost you.”

“That’s also true. And I’m sorry for that part. Again.”

"I guess I've spent my career trying to protect women from being used like that, so it's...I just never knew anyone who...you know, worked at that level."

"High class all the way, baby." She raised her glass in a mirthless toast. Morgan didn't smile. She shook her head and tried again. "I'm sorry if it changes your opinion of me," she said. "But sometimes that's how the world is. If I hadn't consented freely and knowingly to be what Doyle wanted, he'd still be alive, there would be well-armed conflicts in parts of the world you don't even want to think about getting hot, and Declan would be training to be his successor."

"He is a pretty great kid." Morgan admitted, after a moment.

"And I hope he stays that way. At least now he has a chance."

"Tell me about Declan. From the beginning."

So she did.

[ghost-of-a-dream-girl]

Last Lines

'Post the last few lines you wrote in your WIP!'

Tagged by @theannoyingurge - Thanks so much for the tag and for sharing yours! This is from one of three WIPs I have on the go at the minute, which is a Haunting of Hill House inspired post-game Durge x Astarion story (was on hiatus with the other two over the holidays but now I'm preparing some updates)

:) Snippet from Chapter 4 of Ghosts Are Real, This Much I Know: ‘Wake up, my love. Wake up!’  She rouses from her trance to Astarion’s voice, tuned in to the urgency in his tone. The fire in the hearth is all but embers now, lazily illuminating the room in its deep orange light.  Her left hand reaches out for him, but feels only the dint in his pillow and the flat of the sheets beside her. He is not where he ought to be. 

When she swings her legs out of bed her bare feet are met with the cool of the hardwood floor. She has a childish urge to recoil her legs back into the bed, half-imagining a monstrous hand creeping from beneath to grab and snatch at them and drag her under. Regardless she stands —monster beneath the bed be damned— and rushes to confront the darkness of the hallway with lit candlestick in hand. 

Expecting to be met with silence, her ears twitch at the faint whisps of a piano-composed melody that dance to her hovering and spectral from somewhere far below, that with cold fingers pluck at the lyre strings of her heart and set them to aching. She has heard this song before. Her fingertips remember how to carve it out upon ivory keys, remember the cascade of vibrations humming through her marrow. She knows this song. She wrote it into being. 

It is as if with that thought, toes hanging over the edge of memory, that the music becomes louder. If only I could catch it in my hands, she thinks, but like a fish in a pond the memory flits away, lost behind the dark. She is sure it meant something, once.  Jaw unhinged, the dark house yawns. 

‘Wake up!’ His voice, right in her ear, the soft brush of his breath against her cheek. There was a crack in the wall at Moonrise Towers. There was a crack in the wall and her hand itched to reach inside and touch that awful whispering thing. There was a crack in the wall and when she reached inside that terrible thing touched her back and for a moment —oh gods she could never admit it— but for a moment did she feel a rush of pure psionic bliss that she might reclaim herself and become whole again?

There is a crack in the wall.  Delilah’s hand reaches for it. It is in the space between blinks that the crack is no longer a crack.  It is a door.  He is insistent now, begging over and over again in her ear.        ‘I am awake!’ Eight. This room looked colder when they first looked at it. Now it is as warm and inviting as the crack in the wall at Moonrise, door swung wide open like a mother’s arms. ‘Come home to me’, it whispers. ----

No pressure tags: @shewhowas39, @shewolfofvilnius, @infernalrusalka

---

[quinnchee]

Are you okay? It's been a long while since you've uploaded.

Did you move blogs or just quit? It's okay whatever you did I was just curious and wanted to make sure you're all goods!

Feel free to ignore this if you don't want to answer but have a nice day and have some flowers for your time 💐

Hello! Thanks for checking in, I’m doing fine- kinda? My priorities have shifted and I started working on my studies and my job to pay for said studies, so I haven’t been writing very much. I’ve been itching to write more though so I hope to make a full come back during the new years if I can!

I do however have 2 long works I’ve been constantly tweaking: the Aether/Alhaitham x reader I took down to edit has a whopping 1000+ extra words and the Neuvillette x reader which im struggling with... Anyways It’s a good time to share a snippet of them now, so here ya go-

Aether/Alhaitham x reader snippet:

A week passed with Aether still occupied with Archon knows what and you continue to fill your days with lonely walks. Stumbling forward your pacing slows as you pass by the same cafe- you hate to admit this but you’ve been waking past it almost every day watching the sweet delight called padisarah pudding get eaten up. You could almost cry, wail even, pulling your eyes away you spot a familiar face. Albaitham. You’d come to realize that he’d take this path every day to go somewhere, never did you care enough to try and figure out where he went. But today was a little different. Often you two would give a small acknowledgment like a nod or a small hello as a sign of respect before continuing on, but today he stops “I noticed you’ve been distracted by the cafe every time I pass by, keeping your eyes on the road is much more important don’t you think?” A moment of silence passes by before he speaks again, “perhaps you’re interested in something?” You flinch slightly processing his words, you didn’t take Alhaitham for a man to be curious about things outside his personal life- nevertheless you answer explaining how the padisarah pudding had been seducing you these past days but the chains of your empty wallet had stopped you from indulging. You notice your dramatic wordplay causes a twitch in his face. Eyes widening you notice the small but quick wrinkle on his cheeks a small frown- or was that a smile? Before you can even speak he offers to buy you one stating it’s nothing but a small chip in his wallet and you excitingly agree. You went home with a small bag of pudding today. The glorious dessert was enjoyed alone, though you felt a little less lonely despite the empty room.

Another day another outing you’d hope to see some familiar faces maybe your Aether? Perhaps a certain scribe too? Either way, your path remains the same- wandering around Sumeru and once the sun starts to get too hot you’d walk by the same cafe and see the same face. Of course, you’d never think that you’d already see the silver-haired man waiting there small book in hand a bag in the other, even more so when he lifted the bag to your face. 

“For you.”

“For me?”

Neuvillette x reader: “Nuvillette!” You called, finally had you managed to convince him to spend the evening with you, all with a little bribing of course! Water from liyues finest untouched spring and sumerus fresh forest water you had promised before. Who knew he was such a water connoisseur? Clicking and clanking sounded your entrance, glass hitting glass as you walk up yo him “Evening Nuvillette, as promised, your fancy water.”  Carefully you hand the bottles to him, watching as he looks at the crystal clear liquid his fingers twitching slightly “he likes it!” Sighing you lead him to a small area a table you personally dragged out to create a homey area for the two of you. That evening the two of you talked the night away, and happily you soaked up his attention.

[if-confessions]

I've been in the IF fandom for almost two years now, and I don't think I've ever found a fandom I've liked as much. I like the community here, the stories, creativity, how diverse the games are compared to other media I see.

I like reading IF, but more than that I'd really to create an IF game myself. I've been creating stories since childhood and I've always wanted to tell them to other people. However, I was never able to find a suitable medium for doing so. Creating video games is a passion that met reality and died too fast, writing traditional books makes me incredibly anxious, and comic and visual novels require way too much drawing when I'm a concept artist at best. And IF... IF seems to be exactly what I was always searching for. But here's a twist.

I'm not a writer. I'm really not. The amount of writing that I've done that wasn't for my studies is... not a lot. Which makes me extremely self-conscious of my writing, and I'm a very anxious person to start with (and English not being my native language doesn't help). I just don't know where to start, I've never even written fanfiction. And then if I end up actually writing something and posting it for people to see, I'm afraid of what they'll say, of me not being good enough, or of people being uninterested in anything I create. It's dreadful really. And I know that this feeling is possibly shared by so many other people, but I just don't know what to do about it.

I had wanted to post this earlier, but Tumblr ate my essay again...

Welcome, Anon, to the wonders of IF! Have a seat, and a cookie, and enjoy the ride! It's quite the experience, you'll see...

Totes understand your worries. With so many good projects out there, it's easy to not feel... adequate (in writing or proficiency); and with many in the community having opinions, to be unsure whether to publish said work.

But here's the thing: many of us in the IF community (especially as hobbyist) have not studied writing (for a while or at all)* or are writers either, and quite a few of us are ESL (hi, hello!)**. So you are in very good company!! *sidenote: some of us consider ourselves game dev/creators before writers too. **Dear... you wrote an essay of an ask with no mistake (that I could find) - I would not have guessed you were not a native speaker, if you hadn't said it before.

To relieve those anxious feelings, here are some advice, from one ball of anxiety to another one:

You don't have to publish anything you don't want to have public. If you prefer to write for yourself and yourself only, it's more than fine. Having fun is what matters.

There are ways to "hide" your project from searches (on itch or tumblr) to have a bit more privacy, as well as disabling replies/comments/ratings...

Setting boundaries from the beginning with people interacting with your projects (whether it is in asks, or doing beta/feedback rounds/etc...) can also be quite helpful (even if some people don't follow them...).

Join writing groups and share snippets/ask for feedback. It's helpful to get some boosts of confidence and get pointers on how to improve.

Have beta/playtest rounds for longer feedback needs (like when you are ready to upload/update a demo, to catch bugs or typos and stuff).

Joining game jams with small projects can help with testing ideas/stories/gameplay, and get comments/feedback from people.

Anyway, we all start somewhere, and very often (most always) that somewhere is not good at all. But that's ok :) There's always room and time for improvement and change (until you're finally happy with it). The beauty of online games is that you can always tweak it and fix it when something doesn't feel right. Nothing is ever set in stone!

Good luck :)

[queenofbaws]

Hi!! May I ask ❄️? I hope you had a nice day!!

❄️Share a snippet from a WIP of your choosing.

heheh why thank you! i'm hangin in there - i hope you're having a lovely day, yourself! :) here's a lil' sneaky-peeky of what's coming down the line in like wringing blood from a stone...

For a long time, the only part of the day he could recall was the panic. The terror. Not just at the sight of all those bodies smoldering on the ground, and not just because it’d taken him the better part of an hour to figure out where Bobby and the kids were, but…but there’d been another kind of terror there too. A worse one. The one that’d come hand-in-hand with the realization that’d snuck up on him as the sun had risen and he’d found himself standing next to the medical examiner, wondering how on earth they were supposed to get the old witch’s body off the spike without her crumbling to bits in their hands. He didn’t care. He didn’t fucking care. A whole caravan of people had burnt to death in their sleep, and he didn’t give a single solitary shit. Hank had died, and died horribly by the looks of it, and besides a distant worry of what that would mean for his job, he hadn’t been bothered. Bobby and Caleb and Kaylee and Chris and Dad and Ma were all okay, the house was okay, the camp was okay, the woods would heal, and that was what he cared about. The rest didn’t matter in the slightest. It didn’t even register as a loss. He’d almost thrown up on the spot. The ME would’ve understood if he had, probably would’ve figured the sight of Eliza’s scorched and shish-kebabbed corpse had pushed him over the edge. And that was part of it, sure (Travis hadn��t been able to bring himself to eat ribs or chops for months after, thanks in large part to the horrible burnt-pork stink of charred human flesh), but it was mostly the other thing. The realization. The understanding. He'd long suspected something had been wired wrong in their heads, him and the rest of the family. Somewhere down the line, the gene pool had been poisoned, or curdled, or just plain gone sour. It’d been an itch in the back of his head since he was a kid—a worry that one day, one of them would do something to bring that sickness to light and there’d be no sweeping it under the rug or pretending it wasn’t there. To actually see it happen? To feel it? To stare it dead in the eye without blinking? That was what had him rattled.

[illarian-rambling]

Wing: share a snippet that you daydreamed about before writing it (or a snippet that you were really looking forward to writing.)

Oh ho, here's a little something I might have been building towards. Maybe just a little ;)

Spoilers for MG3 under the cut

There were different kinds of darkness—this Mashal knew. There was the darkness of his rune box. The darkness of being cut off entirely from the world. Such a thing could warp the mind if you let it. After all, with no connection to reality, what makes you any different from one of the dead?

That darkness was not the one he lived within now. It was… warmer here. The black was tinged with red. Mashal reached up to rub at his eyes, only to freeze as he felt something move within his chest. A rhythmic beat, pinging at the inside of his chassis. He frowned, somewhere in the black abyss. That sounded expensive.

No…. No, you idiot, that’s your heartbeat!

Mashal gasped for breath, choking as his eyes flew open. He coughed and spat, the unfamiliar sensation of air entering his body both satisfying and unsettling at once. There was a tarp beneath his fingers, and the roots of the forest floor dug into his back as the sunlight spilled down onto his face.

Everything was so bright, so warm! A thousand sensations bombarded him in a second’s time—the smokey scent on the wind, the humid taste of the air, the itch of sweat on his skin. For a while, all Mashal could do was lay there and breathe, eyes closed as his scrambled brain tried to make sense of what new tricks it was being used for.

There was a hand in his. He could feel the fine texture of the fibrous membrane and the vaguely slimy texture, like the belly of a frog. Even with his eyes squeezed shut, he knew it was Elsind by his side.

“Did it work?” came a pained voice. Even sounds seemed richer now, with less of a harsh edge.

He felt another slimy hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. “Mashal? A-Are you there?”

Slowly, Mashal opened his eyes, wincing at the fury of the sun after being stuck in darkness for what felt like an eterinity. With the delicious warmth of it dancing across his skin, seeping into his bones after months of nothing but ice, it felt like a wholly different thing than the light he encountered every day. His euphoria was only interrupted when a shadow passed in front of his face. Elsind’s headfins were spread out in concern, lending them a bird-like quality while also making them into an excellent sunshade.

“I’m alright,” Mashal murmured. The thrum of his voice in his chest felt better than the purr of any new engine. “It’s just… a lot.”