#wip - the last wrath

[mysticstarlightduck]

‼️Clickbait Description Tag Game 😱😱👇👇 ‼️

Thank you for the tag, @the-golden-comet! And honestly shoutout to @the-letterbox-archives for creating this lovely tag! I love a good tag game and this one is super cool!

Rules: explain the plot/premise of your wip/s as if it were a clickbait (or just a regular one if you don't want to do clickbait) y Youtube video.

Supernova Initiative

Hot 25-year-old and his group of friends trespass on a secret government property, you will never guess what happened next! 😱😱😱😱

Scrapyard Boys

UNBELIEVABLE billionaire conspiracy scheme uncovered by HOMELESS TEENAGER - have they lied to us this whole time?

Crooked Fable

HELP, my crazy rich aunt tried to kill my boyfriend and tried to gaslight me into thinking she was right! 😓💀

Song of Thorns

Have they cracked the code to ETERNAL BEAUTY AND IMMORTALITY - follow these 10 easy, that absolutely not murderously bloody rituals, steps to do the same! (authentic advice from Royal Alchemist)

The Crystal of Ash (New)

Don't fall for those absurd lies! Top 10 reasons why you should absolutely trust the Triarchy with your life without question. Don't be ridiculous. Trust us.

+ Bonus: Young crook attempts to ASSASSINATE the reputation of BELOVED local benefactor. Are kids these days truly lost?

The Last Wrath

They invaded her home and she lost everything! You'll never believe what this 16-year-old did next! 😱😱😱

Enchanted Illusions

TEN MORE PEOPLE KILLED by mysterious killer, GOVERNMENT TURNS A BLIND EYE - what is it that they are hiding? 🙄

Tagging (gently): @sleepy-night-child, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @smol-feralgremlin, @oh-no-another-idea, @littleladymab,

@winterandwords, @eccaiia, @sarahlizziewrites, @illarian-rambling

@agirlandherquill, @anoelleart, @ray-writes-n-shit

@writernopal, @anyablackwood, @unstablewifiaccess, @forthesanityofstorytellers, @finickyfelix

@i-can-even-burn-salad, @cakeinthevoid,

@lassiesandiego, @thepeculiarbird, @clairelsonao3, @memento-morri-writes, @starlit-hopes-and-dreams and OPEN TAG

[gummybugg]

⚔️Writeblr Battle Royale Round 2: The Crispy Treatment🔥

Excited to reveal what @mysticstarlightduck and I have collaborated on for the battle scene between her oc Julyan (from The Last Wrath) and my oc Blair (from Crater City)! Thanks @writeblrbattleroyale for hosting this event! Please check out the other battles, they are quite spicy!

Are you excited for blood and gore? Well, Blair and Julyan sure aren’t :’D

warning: mention of death, gore, fire/burning, vomit, hallucinations, and panic attack

The world whirls around him, the old arena fading away as Julyan feels himself being transported, floating as if underwater. To where, that he can’t tell. 

After a mere moment, he feels the ground beneath his feet once again, and hazily blinks open his eyes. It feels like the last time he was brought here. And different all the same. 

As his vision adapts to new lighting, he feels a surge of energy pass through him, as if his body is healing from the ache of his previous opponent’s attacks, exhaustion giving place to full awareness once again, like it would after a full night’s rest. Strange, he frowns, but a welcomed feeling nonetheless. Everything is hazy around him. He can’t see the arena, it’s all, blurred, like his sight isn’t quite right. Julyan closes his eyes, rubbing them, and then opens his eyes again. It wasn’t much help, but that’s when he notices her, standing across from him. Her clothes are strange, but he quickly recognizes her garb as typical of a Fortune Teller. She looks at him, for a moment, he notices her eyes are filled with unspeakable sorrow. 

Maybe she doesn’t want to be here either. Given his recent experiences, that doesn’t seem unlikely.

Is she a new opponent? No, I don’t think so. Something doesn’t seem quite right. But if she is not my opponent, then what is she?

Before Julyan can figure out the answer to that thought, however, the Fortune Teller woman moves. And points to him. Directly. Once again, his surroundings swirl around him, and for a brief moment, Julyan feels like he is falling, fast, towards somewhere he cannot see, spinning like a kite caught in the wind. Before it stops, just as suddenly as it began, and he feels the ground beneath him again. 

Groaning from all the swirling and sudden crash, he stands up, and takes a lot around. He immediately regretted that decision. 

Looking around, at first it seems as if he is back home, in Agrannor. It’s the same snow covered streets of his city, the same stone carven walls. But there is blood upon the snow, and the wall’s ancient stone is marred by the all too familiar fires of war. Everything seems misplaced, destroyed. It’s nothing like what everything looked like when he was first whisked away to this dreadful competition. 

Something is wrong, terribly so.

A shrill scream cuts through the winter air, and Julyan feels as if his blood was frozen inside him, terror filling him. He knows this voice, he knows this voice too well. It can’t be… nonono… Julyan whirls around in the direction of the sound, heart beginning to race within his chest. 

Please no, Gods, anything but this, don’t let it be what I think it is -

The dreadfully familiar sigil of the Secret Court comes into view, as assassins march mercilessly through the ruins of the city around him. Terror follows soon after, the feeling he had wished he’d never feel, the fate he lived to avoid. Their enemies had found them. 

And worst, much worse yet. His siblings were caught in the crossfire. Julyan wanted to scream, or vomit, whatever came first. He felt as if his heart is going to punch a whole through his chest, terror and grief growing as he took in the sight that was standing in front of him. 

A red cloaked assassin smiled, rotten, standing behind his younger sister, a wickedly sharp dagger held dangerously close to her throat. Behind them, there was more blood on the snow, and Julyan wanted to curl up and die when he realized from where it was coming from. Azra, his adoptive brother, lay on top of the growing red stain, alive - but the deep gash at his side told Julyan that it would not be for long. 

Shaking, he finds his voice, looking up at the assassin placatingly. 

“Please, just… let them go, alright? There’s no need to involve them. You need a victim, don’t you? Then take me. Kill me, hurt me, do whatever you want. Just let them both live.”

The assassin tilted their head, glowing eyes a sickening reminder of what Julyan was trying to avoid. They laughed. 

“It’s too late for that, Sunscryer.” The voice echoes around him, like a ghost, sounding more like a snake’s hiss than anything human. “You ran, like a coward. You were too afraid to face your punishment, your fate. Now you pay the price of your freedom.”

The person pulled the dagger closer to Raelen’s neck, drawing a thin line of blood, and she sobbed. “Julyan, help me!”

Julyan tried to move, to take a step closer, do something. But he couldn’t, as if his feet were stuck in place. His eyes flitted between his sister and the assassin holding her at knifepoint. He wished he could comfort her, save her. But there was no time.

With renewed desperation, Julyan struggled against his inability to move, something still holding him stuck in place, as his legs were rooted to the floor. That didn’t stop him from trying - even though it was not working. 

“Stop!” Julyan commanded the assassin, though it came out as a desperate, ragged plea. “Don’t do this -  hey, I’m right here. I won’t fight you if you let them go. A-at all. Kill me now and end this madness, not them, please, leave them both alone. I’ll do whatever you want -”

The shadowy figure of the assassin laughed once more, shaking their head in sadistic glee. Julyan jumped forward, or at least he tried to, attempting to reach the assassin before it was too late. 

But he was helpless to only watch as the figure stabbed his sister in the heart. 

Time seemed to stop as crimson blood gushed out of the fresh wound, staining her robes around the twisting blade. For a moment, Julyan could not find the words to speak, or the air to breath, as he stared down his worst fear. 

Until he fell to his knees, a gut-wrenching scream leaving him and echoing mournfully around him, the realization of what he just witnessed being too much to even bear. “NO!”  Manic desperation filled him, his eyes glued to the corpses on the red snow before him, and the assassin walking away.

The wind picked up pace around him, but despite it, Julyan felt like he was being suffocated. He covered his face, nails digging into his pristine skin as he covered his eyes, unable to move. Unable to think. 

He couldn’t tell if the roaring sound that seemed to surround him was just the wind, or the blood rushing behind his ears. He couldn’t care less right now - he barely realized he was still sobbing, even though he couldn’t find the ability to stop. 

Around him, behind the roaring of the foggy wind, all other sounds seemed muffled, underwater. He didn’t open his eyes. 

But then, the wind stopped, and so did the sounds behind it. Julyan felt numb, despite the hammering of his heart within his chest and the shaking of his hands where they still rested upon his face. 

Faintly, in the back of his mind, Julyan felt a glimmer of recognition. Only slightly. Of where he’d been before all this horror came to be. Despite his mind still spiralling around him, and without caring enough to wipe away his tears, he looked up. 

And as expected his new opponent was standing right before him, a triumphant smile on their face. 

A frantic wind surrounded Blair, who removed his now-clean hands from his face to observe the arena morphing into something unrecognizable. That's right, he had survived. He made it! 

But he didn't feel free. 

Instead of the juxtaposing light and shadows of the old, reflective stadium, an even more vast and desolate field spread out before him. Through a silver mist, an old-timey fortune teller lady stepped forth, her arm outstretched. Her eyes told stories of long, forgotten tragedies. Too bad Blair’s could possibly be next.

Upon opening his eyes, Blair recognized his surroundings matching that of Elijah's apartment. Blair also found himself at gunpoint. At the end of the weapon stood what appeared to be Elijah, whose blurry face twisted in horror. 

"Get away from me, you freak!" Elijah crouched in the corner of the room, clutching his chest. His face was splotchy and his voice was ragged and worn. 

"What are you...?" Blair asked slowly. He took a step forward. 

"Get back, or I'll shoot!" Elijah said, except it didn't sound like he was convinced enough to pull the trigger. 

Shoot me? But I didn't do anything! I don't even know how I got here!

The grip Blair didn't notice he had on his knife tightened. How did that get there? He brought his hands up to his face. Sticky residue clung to his hands and dug dark, red trenches into each fold. He turned the knife over in his hand until he caught a glimpse of his blank expression. 

"I'm not going to hurt you," Blair closed the gap between them, causing Elijah to visibly shake under his shadow. He couldn't seem to release the knife, but kept his hands visible at the very least. "Tell me who did this to you," he demanded. 

"Please, just get out of my apartment!" Elijah choked, "I'll do anything you want, just--just please don't hurt me again!"

"Again...?" Blair's voice trembled. Then he followed Elijah’s gaze. 

Elijah looked down at the red spot on his chest that he had been clutching grow larger, the expression on his face melting into grotesque fear. Blair watched in a dissociative silence as his friend began hacking up blood at the sight of his wound, exacerbating his injury. 

In a blink, Blair found himself ripped away from the mini nightmare. 

This time, his setting appeared like one of the ancient worlds in an old sci-fi or fantasy movie he had seen once. But instead of a bloody man crouched before him, it was a girl Blair couldn't recognize. Behind them, another stranger. The stranger seemed to care a lot about this girl as he wailed in a similar heart-wrenching agony to Elijah's just a moment ago. 

As pitiful as the sight was, this stranger was irrelevant to Blair. In fact, the situation kind of confused him. Although his intuition told him this vision wasn't in any way connected to him, something about the man dressed in that unusually outdated attire struck him as important. But why, he wasn’t sure yet. 

But this was made clear the moment he opened his eyes from the vision: the man he had seen seconds ago in the nightmare resumed his crouched position in real life. The only thing missing was that bleeding girl. 

This was his opponent, the announcement made it clear. 

Blair has begun the battle with the upper hand, it seemed. Well, at least he had a psychological advantage, not much so a physical one...he glanced at the balisong in his hand. No more stabbing people, he promised himself. He didn't like how death felt in his hands the last round. He tried not to think about it too hard. Blair forced his vision that had tried to resurface to the back of his head. No more thoughts. Save that energy for winning the fight. 

He took a deep breath and placed his hands on his hips to steady his shaking. Psychological warfare wasn't his forte, and neither was kicking a wounded animal. But it made Blair more secure in his actions to rile his opponent up rather than kick him while he's down. 

"Hey, are you gonna keep crying or fight?"

Blair wasn't sure what happened after death but thought it couldn't nearly be as shitty as fighting for a self-absorbed, sorry excuse of a circus ringmaster. As far as he could tell, this was no circus, unless Blair and Julyan counted as the clowns. 

"Crying isn't gonna bring your friend back from death, you know." 

The last few words came out of Blair’s throat a bit more unevenly than the rest. Julyan probably already knew why, as Blair’s vision had presumably leaked into his. But it didn't seem like his taunt had much of an effect on Julyan. So he pushed harder. 

"You won't be able to save her in time if you die and M gets to her first."

Julyan glared upwards, steadying himself on the floor. The shaking didn’t seem to stop. Faintly, his mind still foggy from the panic, Julyan grasped what this new person was trying to say. 

They were urging him to fight. No, they were taunting him to fight. Julyan narrowed his eyes, seeing the knife clutched on his opponent’s hand as the man took a step closer. He shook his head, feeling at the same time numb and overwhelmed. Scrambling, Julyan tried to think of what to do. His grip on his powers was fickle as is, but right now, after what he was forced to witness, his connection to the flames felt severed. Using them right now would causing him more harm than it would to his opponent.

New plan then. His arms were still shaking too much to fight, but he had a dagger. Blair - he recalled the name given by the announcer - didn’t have to know Julyan wouldn’t live up to his threats. He just had to buy some time, and then find a way to run away. 

Julyan knew that, if he was to survive this, he needed at least some time to recover. In his current state, he would be an easy mark. 

Shakily, he gathered himself up and rose to his feet, pulling out his dagger from under his overcoat, and pointing it at Blair. 

“... Get away from me.” Julyan ordered, trying to make his words threatening. Unfortunately, they came out as more of a desperate plea than anything else, and the trembling of his hand as he pointed the dagger wasn’t helping. His eyes flitted around, and he saw an entrance to the maze, just a few feet beside him. 

If he could gain distance, and stall his opponent long enough, he could make a run for it. Once inside the maze, he could try to figure this out, to control his powers and … fight. Maybe. but only then. 

Gracelessly but slowly, like a cornered animal, Julyan started making his way towards the pathway, not once looking away from his opponent as he backed away, dagger poised to strike.

Once he was sure his opponent was far away enough, Julyan took off, stumbling as he raced through the maze, trying to find at least a few moments to clear his mind, heart hammering on his chest as the throes of panic refused to leave him. 

"That's right, run! Can't hide forever."

Blair wasn't used to having the upper hand in most, if not all, battles he had ever gotten himself into. He clutched his balisong in his left hand, both his weapon and hand clean and restored. Placing one hand along the wall of the maze and the other, ready for attack, Blair began the search for his opponent. 

It was curious how seemingly easy it was last time--and now this time--for Blair to pursue his opponent, he thought. It was almost like no one else wanted to be here either, and for a moment, the thought of reconciliation with his enemy against M crossed his mind, but was quickly interrupted by the guttural growls from behind the adjacent wall. 

Blair peered around the stone wall at a robot scorpion about the size of a large dog. In the nick of time, he dodged an electrical attack and resumed plastering against the safe side of the wall. A close call. 

There was no other way around it. Continuing straight ahead would result in a dead end. It was now or never. 

Blair recalled the safety procedures from his first day of Robotics 101. Rubber-like material acts as an insulation to electricity! He decided to run full throttle at the scorpion, which bared its claws in blue electric anticipation. Then he went in with a roundhouse kick, knocking both his croc and the claw into a side wall. 

"How do you like that, you bastard?" 

He hurried to pick up his shoe and new-found weapon. Now, Blair had no clue how to use this claw thing that doubled as a taser and a laser gun (which he endearingly called a tlaser), but aimed it at his mini-opponent, nonetheless. It must have weighed at least four babies, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. 

The scorpion from across the enclosure crawled its way closer, snapping its remaining claw at Blair, clearly looking to make things even. 

"Come on, do something!" He shook the claw, as one does when trying to get the last good piece of meat out from a crab's claw, "Piece of shit..." 

As if on command, a blinding beam fired from the disembodied claw, melting a hole straight through the scorpion's head. The recoil was enough to smack him shitless against the wall, knocking the wind out of him. That would take some getting used to. Blair’s eyes widened at the reality of owning a BFG (big fucking gun), and he clutched on to it as if his life depended on it (which, I mean, it did).

The scorpion squirmed from its last few bursts of energy for a couple more seconds, then stilled.

It wasn't like he wanted to do this. To be forced to kill more strangers, that is. He didn't take the idea of being another person's pawn--in this case, M's--too lightly. If he had it his way, no one would be killed except for that M guy. But it wasn't up to Blair what could be done. He was just as powerless as he was against the government back at home. 

Blair reasoned that since both he and Julyan were murderers since they had made it this far, that it probably wasn't worth mulling over ethics. Besides, the sooner he got to uncovering the mysterious M and his lackeys, the sooner he could get out of here and resume his mission. 

He began to wonder where the real Elijah was, since he had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination in the last round. Nothing and no one was to be trusted. 

Blair was going to proceed to the next round and the next round and however long it took until he got his ass out of this nightmare. Not just for his own sanity, but for Elijah’s, as well. Getting revenge for the person he cared for most severely outweighed the numerous bloodbaths it'd take to get there. He had somehow gotten himself into this mess and he knew there was no one helping him out of this. So, Blair proceeded deeper into the winding maze to seek out his worthy opponent. 

Julyan scrambled as he made yet another sharp turn, his boots sliding on the smooth concrete floor of the maze. He looked over his shoulder once more, at least his opponent was long behind him. Stumbling behind a particularly sturdy wall, Julyan let himself fall to his knees, back pressed against the coarse wall for support as he slid to the floor. Gasping for breath, Julyan placed one hand over his chest, clawing at the fabric of his linen shirt as if it might give him a semblance of a grasp on reality. Gods, he felt as if his heart wanted to beat out of his chest, and the screams from the illusion still echoed in his mind, haunting him. He really wanted to vomit right now, but could not find it in himself to pull away from the wall supporting his back. 

Okay, okay. Breathe. Julyan told himself, shakily as he stifled what he thought was another sob. You need to do this. Gods. Okay, what do I know right now? I am still in the arena. But it’s a maze now. That means that … what I saw it’s… not real. It’s not real, Julyan, get that? Not real. This is just like another nightmare, you had plenty of those before. Stop crying. Stop. O-okay. What else? There’s someone chasing me. Yes. He taunted me. He has a knife. Okay, not so bad, okay, I can… work with this.

Julyan thought’s were frantic, but at least he knew what to do. Somewhat. That’s a start. He tried to focus on just breathing, as his hands slowly stopped their desperate shaking.

As his mind became clearer, another thought - no a memory, he realized - resurfaced in his mind. A recent one, words spoken with a voice that was not his, but his opponent’s.

"Crying isn't gonna bring your friend back from death, you know." 

"You won't be able to save her in time if you die and M gets to her first."

The words replayed over and over in the back of his mind, and the more Julyan thought about them, the more they seemed to fill him with rage. As his mind became ever clearer, Julyan could not help the mix of disgust and fury that seemed to now fuel him, a desire to defeat his opponent rising in his chest, replacing the terror completely. This person tried to use his fears against him. Well, they messed with the wrong guy. Julyan slowly brought himself to his feet, no longer unsteady, clutching his runic dagger in one hand, as he closed the other in a fist, markings glowing bright red, like molten iron, as his grasp over his powers returned tenfold. 

As Julyan turned around, another sound echoed behind him. A howl. A strange howl. Quickly, despite how blood-chilling the sound was, Julyan waste no time in moving, trying to find the corridor where the sound came from, instead of waiting it to come to him. The howls grew louder the more he walked, closer, and Julyan followed them deeper into the maze, until, eventually, he saw it. Or well, a glimpse of it. 

It looked like some sort of bull, but had all the long six legs of a spider. As if my day could not get any worse. Julyan could feel it had noticed him, as the monster stopped in its tracks, head tilted. Listening. It’s legs clacked on the stone floor, echoing like hooves as it skittered around, despite it’s abnormal size.

Just get close enough already! Julyan wanted to scream, his nerves getting the better of him, but managed to calm down. The monster was clumsy, he could see that from the way the creature struggled to maneuver itself on the tight hallway. That gives him more advantage. He waited. 

And just when the monster managed to fully turn itself around, he striked. A beam of sunfire filled the corridor, charring the monster’s closest legs, causing it to make a terrible screech, but it did not cause it to stop. 

The monster bellowed, focusing it’s blazing eyes onto him as it’s nostrils flared, furious, like a charging ox. Julyan knew that sight all to well. 

“Uh…” He made to go back to the other corridor, but as if on cue, all the doors behind and around him slid closed with a clank. The only remaining door stood behind the furious spider-ox now aiming at him. The only way out is through. 

“Fucking hells, fine!”

The monster charged, footfalls echoing on the long hallway. Julyan stepped backwards, until his back hit the wall. The spell, I need a spell, what’s the name… Gods dammnit, yeah, Intangible Transportation. At the last moment, before the monster could smash him through its horns, Julyan cast the spell, and appeared on the other side of the corridor, the monster passing harmlessly through him and slamming its horns on the wall. 

It was momentarily disoriented, and Julyan did not waste a second to use that opportunity. Focusing, Julyan’s hands were engulfed in glowing red flames, and he cast two large bolts of fire on either side of the monster. It would take a lot to disintegrate such a large creature, so taking out both sets of legs should do the trick. It was swift, and Julyan was quick to walk around it, swiftly finishing the killing blow - plunging the dagger onto the beast’s heart, and twisting. It went blissfully limp, and Julyan pulled out the weapon, stunned as if breaking free from a trance.

For a moment, he paused, looking around in horror. At what he’d done. The walls around him were charred like coal, but that did not compare in the slightest to the mangled, charred corpse of this creature. This living creature which he had killed. With no remorse. Like an Imperial soldier would.

What did I do?!

There was so much blood, and the smell… Oh Gods the smell. It hit him like a ton of bricks, the scent of melted flesh burnt to a crisp. Julyan scrambled away, tripping in one of the beast’s severed legs and falling over it with a sickening crunch, as the charred remains dissolved into nothing but floating pieces of coal. The smell of burnt skin hit him tenfold, now that he had fallen upon it. 

Before he realized what he was doing, Julyan rolled onto his side, facing away from the sight and the godforsaken smell, bile rising to his throat. And puked. 

Chest heaving, there was little in his stomach that could be thrown up - he hadn’t eaten in a while, even before being brought here - and that absence only made this feel worse. It hurt a lot. When there was nothing more, he coughed, trying to catch his breath as he scrambled to his feet once more, walking away from the charred corpse behind him. 

Wiping away some unbidden tears, he spared the dead creature one last glance, once he was far away enough that the burnt smell wouldn’t just make him sick again. Taking in the damage he was forced to cause, Julyan felt a sense of rage overpower his sorrow, stronger than before. 

This wouldn’t have happened if he wasn’t forced to fight in this arena. This wouldn’t have happened if his opponent didn’t taunt him during a moment of panic. 

This wasn’t himself, Julyan knew it. He hoped. He would never kill another creature like this. His mind wandered to his previous opponent from the prior fight. She hadn’t meant to harm him, not truly, and yet he was forced to kill her. And now he was forced to kill again.

Julyan seethed.

His anger twisted and turned, as he headed towards the only remaining open door in this hallway, dagger held tightly in his hand, Julyan walked out of the corridor and into the next room. It looked like a small arena. Good, this means his opponent might be near, this means he can end this quickly. 

Blair wandered into a large clearing, probably another corner of the maze. It was there he caught the glance of his opponent from just a few feet away. 

"You!" Blair had gone from dragging the pincer on the rocky ground to pointing it at Julyan. 

Now that he had gotten a better look, he noticed how tall Julyan really was. He had strawberry blond hair tied up in a ponytail, a ruffled white shirt, a fancy overcoat, and boots. Honestly pretty intimidating, but Blair was used to having a taller opponent by now. 

A pirate? Blair thought. 

Well, that didn't matter. Cosplay or not, he was going to win this match. He planted both feet firmly on the ground. This will end here, once and for all. Blair smacked the side of the BFG, charging its laser up. It would only take a single shot to annihilate his opponent, but he also wasn’t exactly sure how much juice was left. This could be his final shot. 

“I’m tired of you running. Let’s finally finish this so, in a way, both of us can get out of here,” Blair chuckled. But Julyan wasn’t laughing. Blair wondered if he was good at parties. 

"You're rather insistent, aren't you? Just back off already!" Julyan told Blair, a twinge of impatience to his usually collected voice. This was his last warning. His opponent had better heed it. 

"Look, I'd like to, but then that'd mean you'd win the match. And I didn't endure that acid trip nightmare for nothing." 

Julyan dodged Blair’s poor attempt at jabbing him with the sizzling metal prongs. The metal whirred past his head, just barely scraping his shoulder. Julyan saw the strange contraption, then the meager cut it had managed to cause, which barely hurt, then looked back up at his fuming opponent. It took all he had not to burst out laughing.

"Well aren't you a brutish one?"Julyan gave a twisty smirk filled with vitriol. "Your tactics are rather senseless, don't you think? Oh yeah, of course, you don't think, at all."

"Did you just call me stupid?" 

“Maybe.” Julyan chuckled, a dangerous, victoriously angry sound, filled with hatred as seamlessly sidestepped one of Blair’s hits. “Wow, I’m honestly surprised you realized that by yourself.”

“People like you deserve no remorse.” A spark in Blair’s eyes. Was it a glint? Probably just from the claw that resumed its humming and zappy duties. 

It didn't take much to rile Blair up especially given the circumstances. He focused more intently on his target. But it was difficult when all he could see was red. It fueled him to keep going despite the hole he had dug for himself. There was no backing out now, the only way now was up. He had to win this at any cost. 

Blair tried repositioning the laser the more Julyan danced about with his attacks, to which Blair found more irritating than anything. It was no easy task to dodge while holding a large weapon. The more he used it as a shield, the more it degraded, so Blair had a single chance to get things just right before…

A wall of fire shot right past him burning the side of his arm before Blair barely had time to dodge. In front of him, Julyan stalked closer, golden eyes burning hotter than the flames at his hands. 

“Who’s running now?” Julyan questioned, rhetorically, tilting his head as he watched a beam of his fire shoot outwards towards his opponent, who dodged in the last second, leaving a pit of melted ground where he’d just been standing. Julyan scoffed, walking closer, his flames burning white hot in his hands. He laughed, bordering on hysterics, feeling manic after all he just went through - his voice was sickeningly sweet, provoking, though it slowly derailed into rage as he finished his sentence “Weren’t you the guy taunting me when I couldn’t fight back? Well now I can. Step up to the challenge, you bastard!”

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere. I said what I said,” Blair spat out a bloody tooth for no discernible reason. Maybe to assert dominance in his culture…? Not even M knew. 

Julyan shot another blast of sunfire, cornering Blair as the other tried to run back into the maze. For a moment, Julyan watched his opponent dodge flame after flame, as he made the burning spiral chase Blair no matter how far he tried to run. For a moment he wondered how on earth that man had the energy to dodge his attacks while carrying such a large scorpion claw. Until he could see his opponent becoming weary. Good, now that guy can’t taunt anyone. 

Lifting both his hands up he cast a wall of fire just as tall as him, and threw it towards Blair, who barely had time to run, rolling away - a faint singed smell seemed to permeate the maze, but Julyan forced himself to ignore it, momentarily losing focus on his flames, with shoot out haphazardly before he controlled them again. Not now, I can’t get sick again, not now. 

“You singed my hair off, you bastard!” Blair panted, hand against the wall for support. “Do you have any idea how long it took to grow that out?”

His opponent was insistent, Julyan had to give him that. It was difficult to pin down and hit this guy, he was fast, but Julyan’s anger more than compensated for that. At this point, he didn’t have to aim. Walls of fire were enough to trap Blair in every direction. And his opponent slowly realized it. Slow and steady, but with a brutality he usually found appalling, Julyan was breaking his opponent down. Now it was a matter of time. 

His power’s instability, however, seemed to grow the more angry he got. Which was, right now, a problem. Julyan was starting to feel dizzy again, like he’d been thrown into a pot of boiling water or a fiery lava field, but he forced himself to ignore the growing ache or how numb his fingers were getting. Winning was more important today.

Reality began sinking in like quick sand, Blair squirming in response. 

He dodged another attack, which grazed past his ear. In a single hit, he too, could be dead. And he could tell Julyan wasn’t going easy on him. This wasn’t like the last round at all. Burning hatred glinted in Julyan’s eyes, a look that Blair had only ever seen one other time. 

If he failed to survive this round, he would never have the chance to tell Elijah goodbye. Well, at least he wouldn’t be here to see me die, Blair thought to himself. This isn’t any of his business, and maybe it’s for the best I stay out of his hair. Maybe I deserve this. I am no better than Julyan and definitely not deserving of a happy ending. 

Blair’s vision was overcome with tears. Blinking had no effect on the oncoming of tears in remembrance of his best friend. That’s right, he never got to tell him how he felt about him. Well, that wouldn't matter. It wasn’t like anyone could love someone like Blair. His opponent was basically doing the world a service by exterminating people like him, right? 

I just hope that whatever happens…that at least Elijah gets his happy ending. 

Julyan spun around as Blair dodged yet another one of his strikes. He couldn’t feel anything, just the fire, burning inside of him, through him. And anger. He was never this angry before. Never. He hated anger. It was sick. Julyan realized, with a momentary pang, that this ‘anger’ was actually fear. Deathly fear. He shook his head, and his thoughts dissipated in the searing burn of his sunfire, his own skin aching at the overheating of the flames as he shaped it into a fiery spear, and took aim. 

And this time, he aimed to kill. 

A sudden gust of fiery wind shot through Blair’s chest– an instant kill. He fell to his knees, then collapsed to the ground with a solid thud. Through the gaping hole in his chest, the scorpion claw that had yet to fire its target shot. Abruptly, it began cooking the lifeless body with its laser, setting it aflame. Within seconds, Blair had been reduced to a pile of ash. 

Julyan watched, with growing terror, as his opponent burnt to ash, a gaping hole seared into the young man’s chest. His rage bubbled up, mixing with all the pain, terror and grief he was forced to endure today, his flames disobeying his own commands, spiralling around him in growing distress.

Julyan stared emptily at the corpse. He just killed someone again. Julyan felt his hands reaching to pull at his long hair, fire swirling around him like a searing hurricane. And he screamed, falling brokenly to the floor as the fire around him exploded outwards, flames finally stopping as he realized what he was being forced to become. 

A monster. 

As much as he wanted to go home, as much as he needed to go home and keep his siblings safe, a treasonous part of his mind asked one dangerous question. 

What if I lose myself?

Because that, oh that, was a terrible thing. And right now, it was a reality that felt far too real to ignore.

[librathefangirl]

🍃🌺🌙If you receive this you make somebody happy. Go and send this to ten of your followers who make you happy or somebody you think needs cheering up. If you get it back even better 🌙🌺🍃👉👈

AWW THANK YOU!! 💜💜 Here, as a treat you get a little something from an upcoming fic:

Elizabeth stood among the carnage of the battle, wounded allies and enemies alike surrounding her. The blood coating her clothes and skin painted a morbid picture. Blood-Stained Ellie, Hendrickson had learned the demons had once called her. The blue of her eyes had vanished. In its place was the sharp orange of a goddess. Massive white wings spread behind her, ready to take flight at a moment’s notice. Her clenched fists shook. Her gaze was locked on Meliodas’ fallen form as another wail broke past her lips; the anguish turning into wrath.

This one is called Wrath of Light, it's one of my Febuwhump fics (yep, still working on those XD). It's for Day 23: “You’ll have to go through me”. So it'll still be a while before this one's completed, but I think you'll like it.

[druckkugelschreiber]

Quick excerpt of Winter's Wrath in a belated WIP Wednesday because I like the vibe. Is Atla in trouble? Is she not? Who knows. (I do... for once... I think, I haven't written the followup conversation yet)

If you see this, take this as your sign to also do belated WIP wednsday!

Ravenna was not like I had expected her to be upon my return. She wasn’t angry. She was eerily calm. And Ravenna wasn’t one for calm anger, not like Freya. Ravenna’s anger was wild and hot, it burned you when you weren’t careful. 

But she was calm and composed and it put me on edge far more than an actual shouting match would have. She led us to her quarters, into her luxurious bathroom and told me to strip. 

Ravenna got all the mud out of my hair that had practically changed colour and even Grimr got a bath. And during all of it she didn’t say a word. 

[hairstevington]

call me when you get this

Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington

Summary: Eddie and Steve are best friends, but even the best of friends have secrets.

WC: 3K

Warnings: Story told through voicemails, mild angst, coming out to each other, secret feelings, friends to lovers, kissing, swearing, light angst very brief, references to Robin and Gareth, drunk shenangians, idiots in love, set in 1991 but it doesn't matter too much, no mention of the Upside Down stuff

A/N: I have like three other WIP's happening and zero time but this idea was given to me by the beloved @tinytalkingtina in the discord and then I couldn't get it out of my head. Ao3 link here for those interested!

Tuesday, September 24th, 1991, 12:52am

GARETH hi yes I know it’s late but HAVE YOU LISTENED TO THE ALBUM YET? I need all of your thoughts immediately. Like, all of them. Every thought. Dude, my head is spinning. Ohhh, man. Kurt is a fuckin’ legend. Woooow. Okay, I could talk about this shit for like three hours but I don’t want to run out your tape so just call me back when you get this and then talk to me about it for three hours. Can I come over a little early tomorrow? Yeah, I’m gonna come over a little early tomorrow. Maybe a lot early. Alright, catch ya then. 

Tuesday, September 24th, 1991, 3:40pm

Uhh, ha. Hey Steve. Thiiiis is Eddie, obviously. I, uh, I just realized I called you in the middle of the night last night on accident, and - uhh, sorry about that. It was just - ah, screw it. You know what I am. Byeeeeee-

Tuesday, September 24th, 1991, 7:30pm

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

Eds, how many times do I have to tell you to change your answering machine message? What if, like, the president calls? Okay, maybe not the president. But an employer or something. Or, like, what if you give the girl of your dreams your number and she calls you and hears THAT? Food for thought. Uhh, anyway, it’s fine. I wasn’t even home when you called me. Robin was, though, and so you’ll probably hear her wrath next time you come over for movie night. Good luck with that. Oh, wait. You’re at a show tonight, right? Damn. I swear I’ll make the next one. Okay, bye, dickhead. 

Wednesday, September 25th, 1991, 1:12pm

“You have reached Steve Harrington. Figured I should say that in case whoever is calling me thinks they’re calling someone else. Anyway, I’m busy right now so I’ll call you back. Bye!”

Ha, ha. You are so funny, Harrington. You ever think about being a stand-up comedian? Jesus, and you say I’M the dramatic one. Uhh, the show last night went well, by the way. Not that you were THERE. Seriously, what kind of friend even are you? I’m hurt, Steve. I’m hurt. Anyway, see you tomorrow for movie night. I get to pick. It’s only fair, right?

Thursday, September 27th, 1991, 4pm

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

You’re not picking the goddamn movie. No way. Last time you did that we got scarred for life. Also, um. I can’t tell if you’re joking or not about me and your shows. I didn’t realize you - uhh, you’re probably joking. Forget I said anything, and see you tonight. I’m at work right now, so I’m gonna rent some backup options just in case.

Sunday, September 30th, 1991, 2pm

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

Dustin says you were being a total dick last night. Good. That shrimp deserves to be humbled every once in a while. Your answering machine message still sucks, by the way, and yeah I’m gonna tell you every time. 

Monday, October 1st, 1991, 3:21pm

“Hey, this is Steve.”

“And Robin!”

“And you’ve somehow managed to call us when neither of us are here.”

“We are probably together.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Or we just don’t want to talk to you.”

“Oh, that too.”

“Either way, leave a message and we’ll get back to you later!”

“Probably.”

“Probably!”

Steve. My guy. I can’t believe you make fun of me for my bullshit message all the time and now you’ve created and advertised THAT abomination?? I’m - wow. I forgot why I even called.

Monday, October 1st, 1991, 3:23pm

“Hey, this is Steve.”

“And Robin!”

“And you’ve somehow managed to call us when neither of us are here.”

“We are probably together.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Or we just don’t want to talk to you.”

“Oh, that too.”

“Either way, leave a message and we’ll get back to you later!”

“Probably.”

“Probably!”

Okay, I remember now. I know you said you have that date tomorrow with Heidi or Melissa or Samantha or whoever is currently obsessed with you, but I really do want you at the show if you can make it. You can bring her, if you want. Actually, it might be a good test. If she hates metal, she fails. I only want the best suitors for you, Steve Harrington. Be there or I’ll be REALLY annoying about it forever. 

Tuesday, October 2nd, 1991, 11:45pm

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

Hey, it’s Steve. So, uh - I saw your show tonight. You’re probably not home yet, but I don’t know where you are. Cuz like, I tried to find you after your set but you disappeared. I hope everything’s okay. You sounded great, by the way. I mean, you all did. Remember me when you’re playing at the Garden? Oh also, I heard like three women talk about how badly they wanted you, so…I dunno, just figured you’d like to hear that. Hey, maybe you got with one of them and that’s why you’re not answering. In that case, hope you’re having fun? Okay, now it’s weird. Bye, Eds.

Wednesday, October 3rd, 12:54am

“Hey, this is Steve.”

“And Robin!”

“And you’ve somehow managed to call us when neither of us are here.”

“We are probably together.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Or we just don’t want to talk to you.”

“Oh, that too.”

“Either way, leave a message and we’ll get back to you later!”

“Probably.”

“Probably!”

Steeeeeeeeeeeve. You absolute buffoon. You beautiful, oblivious man. Why’dya think I wanted you there’so badly t’night, Steve? T’wasn’t for the girls. Ha, girls. Yeah, okay. I may have had several alcoholic beverages, Steve-o, but you’re still the dumbass. Cuz you’d have to be an absolute idiot t’think I have any interest in those women. ‘Specially yours. Your women, I mean. Sandyyyyy. Ugh, she was perfect for you, Harrington. Juuuust perfect. So perfect I didn’t wanna stick around to see any more of it. I hope you two have beautiful children. Name one after me, will you? Uhhhh I think I might puke. So, I’m gonna go, but - but do you get what I’m saying? Do you - do you get it? Tell me you get it. Steve, I - Oh, hey Gareth. Do you wanna talk to Steve? Wait why are you - Dude, I’m FINE. I’m handling it! Stop! Gareth, don’t hang up the phone, I haven’t -!

Wednesday, October 3nd, 1991, 9:05am

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

Dude, did you fucking break into our apartment last night? Robin and I came home this morning and found a broken lock and some shitty note we could barely read next to the answering machine, and - what the fuck, man? You wiped the damn thing clean. Just - call me back, okay? Jesus. 

Wednesday, October 3nd, 1991, 11:36am

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

Eddie, come on. We really need to talk. I’m not - I’m not mad, honest to God. Call me back, as soon as you get this. Got it?

Thursday, October 4th, 1991, 3:47pm

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

It’s movie night, but I’m assuming you won’t be here considering you’ve pulled your magic disappearing act. Thanks for that, by the way. You know you really piss me off sometimes? All the time, actually. I’m getting real tired of you constantly poking fun at me, and then you pull this breaking and entering shit and just take off? Just like that? We’ve been friends for years, Eds. You and me. But you never want to just be serious, not once in your goddamn life, and I’m over it. So, uh, thanks for that, I guess. I dunno what I did. 

Sunday, October 7th, 1991, 1:12pm

Hi! You have reached Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley’s home. Leave a message at the beep!

Huh. You know what? I kind of miss the old message you had. Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m impossible to please, yada yada yada, and now I’m doing the avoiding with humor thing again. Shit. Uhh, hi. Listen, I’m sorry I disappeared off the face of the earth for a while. Really, really fucking sorry, if you can believe it. I was just, like, mad embarrassed, and I didn’t wanna - uh, can we meet up soon? Alone? Like, without Robin even? I know that’s - like, unheard of these days, but I figure maybe you’d make an exception for me. Or maybe you won’t. Just let me know, yeah? 

Sunday, October 7th, 1991, 1:30pm

Hi! You have reached Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley’s home. Leave a message at the beep!

See, I would just hop on over to your place to talk but the thing is, I’m a total chickenshit and it’s not like I did super well the last time I showed up to your place unannounced, so…Uhh, while we’re on the subject, I’m sorry about your lock. If you haven’t replaced it yet, I will. I’ll at least pay you back. In my defense, that thing was like two seconds from falling off anyway. But still. Anyway, I know you always spend Sundays at home, soooo…hellooooo? Come on. At least pick up the phone and tell me to fuck off. I know you’re listening. At least - I hope you are, anyway. Just pick up, man. I - I really gotta talk to you. 

Sunday, October 7th, 1991, 1:37pm

Hi! You have reached Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley’s home. Leave a message at the beep!

So, quick update, I called Henderson. He confirmed you are at home, which means you are DEFINITELY listening, and either you’re trying to punish me or a part of you still finds my piece of shit ass charming somehow. Look, I know I fucked up, but - but I can explain. Shit. I mean, I’m not good with words or anything and I’m a total asshole but I - just, please. Pick up. Pick uuuuup. Come on. Now you’re just being a dick. Ha. Figures, I’m apologizing and calling you a dick in the same message. Dude. Seriously. Your tape is gonna run out of space and then what? You stop hearing from me? I’ll find other ways to annoy you, promise. This is a threat. Steve. Steeeeve. Pick up pick up pick up pick upppp -

“Will you just shut the hell up already?”

Eddie dropped the phone and heard it clack against the floor. He would have recognized that voice anywhere. 

He turned around and there he was. 

“Steve, what are you -?”

“You would just be yapping on that damn answering machine my whole drive here,” Steve said with his hands on his hips. “I don’t know why I expected any less. And, thanks to you, we had all the space in the world for you to take up, so -”

“H-how did you get in here?” Eddie stuttered. 

Steve rolled his eyes. “What? You think you’re the only one who’s not afraid of breaking and entering?”

They hadn’t seen each other in five days. Hadn’t even talked, aside from a few voicemails. And those never told the whole story. 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie began. 

“Yeah, you should be,” Steve replied, taking a step closer to Eddie in the kitchen. 

Eddie winced, his heart racing a million miles a minute. He just had to get all of the words out, while he still could. While Steve was listening. 

“I left you this really stupid voicemail,” Eddie explained. “That night, after the show. I was drunk off my ass, and - and Gareth told me I’d said shit I shouldn’t have said, and then I panicked, and the two of us went to your apartment and I - well, you know the rest.” He slumped down into the chair at the dining room table, putting his head in his hands. “Which is all just so dumb. And I didn’t wanna deal with the aftermath, so…”

“So you stopped talking to me?” Steve said, taking another step closer. “Because you thought that would be the straw that broke the camel’s back in our friendship?”

Eddie shook his head. “I dunno, I -”

“You’ve done some real weird shit over the years, Munson,” Steve continued. “Sneaking into my apartment doesn’t even make the top three.”

Eddie buried his face in his hair. No amount of boyish charm would get him out of this one. Jesus H. Christ. 

He sighed. “Okay, so I overreacted, what else is new?” 

“I heard the voicemail, dickhead.”

Eddie’s heart went from breakneck speeds to stopping entirely. 

“What?”

Steve sat down in the other seat at the table. “I heard the voicemail. It was 1am, again, so yeah I was at home.”

“I thought you would have been with Sandy,” Eddie muttered.

Steve shook his head. “Nah, Sandy was - she’s great and all, but she isn’t - she’s not -”

“So you heard the voicemail, but you weren’t home when I showed up,” Eddie noted.

“Right,” Steve said. “Because I was headed to your place.”

“What?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I just - I didn’t understand why you never told me you were queer. Like, you know I don’t care about that. You know about Robin…”

As Steve talked, Eddie realized that Steve only heard half of what that voicemail was trying to express. So, it was time for Eddie Munson to face the music. 

“I didn’t tell you I’m gay because I knew that once I did, you’d figure out the rest of it,” Eddie blurted out.

Steve furrowed his eyebrows. “The rest of it?”

Eddie groaned. “Oh, God. See, drunk me had the right idea saying this kind of shit over an answering machine. Christ, I’m so bad at this, but I’m just gonna say it, because if I don’t I think I’ll lose my shot with you and I - I can’t deal with that. So, here we go.” He squeezed his eyes shut and powered through. “Steve, I - ha, shit. I love you, dude. I’m - I’m IN love with you. I have been since, like, forever.” He opened his eyes, but kept them fixed on their feet against the linoleum kitchen floor. “Which is, uhh, a lot, I know. But it’s the truth. So if there’s any chance -”

“Oh, my God,” Steve interrupted. His voice wasn’t angry, or scared, or anything like that. It was soft and understanding. 

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed. “Wait, what are you thinking?” He looked up to see Steve staring off into the distance before meeting his gaze. 

“I’m thinking,” Steve replied. “That I owe Robin twenty bucks.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side and felt his heart skip back into rhythm. “You do?”

Steve nodded with a slight smile. At some point, his hand had ended up on Eddie’s knee. “Yeah, I didn’t believe her. Told her no way, not possible.”

Eddie didn’t know how to feel about this reaction. It wasn’t the worst possible response, but it certainly wasn’t Oh, Eddie! How I’ve longed for you all this time! Take me now! 

A middleground, if you will. 

“Oookay,” Eddie said. “Well, I don’t really know what to say now.”

“I’m queer too, ya know,” Steve continued.

"Wait, really?" Eddie balked. "Steve Harrington, ladies man?"

Steve chuckled. "Uh, yeah. Turns out, not so much," he said. "I feel like I’m pretty open about it. Guys, girls, whatever -”

“Yeah, but we all do that,” Eddie reasoned. “Me, you, and Robin all talking about how hot everyone is on our movie nights. It doesn’t prove anything.”

“Except that it totally does,” Steve countered. “Because, like, what do we all have in common?"

Eddie thought about it, and he didn’t have any other defenses.

“O-okay, so you’re queer too,” Eddie said. “And the other thing I said?”

Steve took a deep breath and looked Eddie directly in his frightened eyes.

“Eds, obviously I love you too,” Steve admitted at last. “Come on, seriously? After all I’ve put up with? I’ve been waiting around for like five days for you to call, like some lovesick puppy, and the moment I heard your voice I drove here instead of picking up the phone like a normal person. I’ve got it so bad for you that Robin is sick of it, and honestly, I’m sick of it too, because I hate having feelings. It blows, dude. I swear to God, if you try to bolt again when things get tough -”

Eddie lunged forward and cut Steve’s words off with a kiss. Their first kiss, even if it didn’t feel that way. Eddie had cupped Steve’s cheek in the past while he teased him. Steve had curled his fingers in Eddie’s hair in the past the night Robin taught him how to braid. Eddie and Steve had all kinds of physical contact in various ways over the years, and it was as if all of that was just practice for this. 

Eddie broke away from Steve’s lips purely out of necessity, because he needed to catch his breath. “Okay, woah,” he said.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Woah.”

Everything changed after that. But also, nothing changed at all.

-

Tuesday, October 16th, 1991, 4:12pm

“Hey, this is Eddie Munson’s phone. Leave a message and I’ll call ya back.”

Hi, Eds. Okay, I was wrong. This new message you have is, like, super boring. Anyway, I’ll see you at the show tonight, Rockstar. Love you. 

xx

I did have a taglist way back when but the tagging system is super annoying on tumblr, so please reblog this if you liked it and follow me or my Ao3 for other works! Masterlist is the pinned post on my page for those interested. Thanks for reading!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 24

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: hey hey.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Before you get too far, Bryce appears from the shadows. You don't know if he was listening or if he's only stumbled on you but it hardly matters. He offers only a sullen look, too meek to mention the tension that stands between you. He left you first to King Geralt, then Lord Vesemir; he's more their ally than your own. But what can a maid expect? 

"I am to return to the queen's service," you state matter-of-fact. 

"So I've been informed," he says grimly. "Perhaps you might quell her restlessness." 

You stop along the corridor as your surroundings grow familiar. You’re halt and sway as the soldier scuffs to a stop a few steps ahead of you. He turns to face you as you unclasp the cloak from around your shoulders. You drag it away from your form. 

“Sir, will you hold this for me,” you fold it over your arm and offer it to him, “I shouldn’t require it during my work.” 

He looks at it and takes it with a frown. He pets the soft fur around the neck as you catch a peek of the wolf’s badge sewn into the lining. You lift your head and look past him. 

“I will make sure it is not lost,” he promises. 

Your dread mounts with each step. You’re weighed down by the last day and all that’s come to light. You cannot shake the shackles newly clasped around your wrists and the links only draw tighter and tighter. For now, the danger has calmed but it will not dissipate entirely. There is only doom ahead, even if now, it remains obscure. 

You will have no safety, not even in the familiar; not even in your duty. How can you keep on in serving when you are at the same deceiving? 

Jazlene, once Lady, now Queen, has rarely been easy to calm. You've come to expect her virulent behaviour, never once forsaking her the habits inherited from her mother. Now, you fear her fiery emotions and what wrath she may rain upon you should your betrayal be discovered. It almost seems wiser to confess and be done with it all, yet your fear restrains your guilt. 

As you come upon the queen's chamber doors, you give pause, as does the soldier at your side. You share a curious look between you. There are no guards at her door.  

"Gods, I beg, do not tell me she has escaped once more," Bryce mutters. 

You step ahead of him and go to the door. You turn your ear to it and lean in, dragging your palms along the wood. You ball your hand and rap upon it, certain you hear some sound from within. There is scuffling and the queen's trite voice. She is within. 

You peer back over your shoulder at your escort as he squints. The door opens from within and you spin back. It's that orange-haired guard; Gilles. It’s odd and the noise that escapes Bryce’s throat says as much. 

“Queen having another tantrum?” The soldier behind you scoffs. 

“Eh, she is your queen too,” Gilles accuses, “it is treason to mock your liege.” 

“Mocking? No, merely the truth,” Bryce chirps, “let the maid in. She’ll do better work of serving our admirable queen, eh? Tend to her lady needs with a softer hand.” 

Gilles grabs your arm and shoves you through the door, “do not worry her--” 

“Eh!” You feel another tug and you’re turned back as Bryce tears the guard away from you, “unhand her. She is but a maid. If you need feel big, you might go squash insects in the stables, yea?” 

“Be wary of crossing me, king’s pet,” Gilles pushes away the other soldier, “I do not fear any old man, no matter his name.” 

“Young twerp like you, I’ve known many,” Bryce stands unflinching, “my name comes from tossing fools like you in the dirt. Don’t think the years have taken that much.” 

“The maid is a maid, as you say. She hardly needs a guard herself,” the carrot-headed man rebukes. 

“And you hardly need the witness, eh,” the soldier sneers and chortles, “heed your own warning, man, you dance in a pit of snakes.” 

“I am the snake,” Gilles makes himself as big as he can but pales against the taller soldier. 

Bryce pokes his tongue in his cheek and smirks. He doesn’t reply, instead looking past the younger man, “maid, attend your duty and I’ll attend my own.” 

“Sir Bryce,” you utter tremulously. 

“Don’t worry for me,” he assures as his gaze returns to the man before him. “I’ve sworn never to draw steel against a man of the crown, and I shan’t, so long as the man in question does not offer doubt to that title. We are allies,” he slaps Gilles’ arm, his other hand on his pommel, “aren’t we, loyal guard?” 

Gilles’ gauntlet flinches towards his own sword but does not finish its path. He raises his chin and backs up against the wall. 

“In the name of the king and the queen,” the guard proclaims. 

Bryce’s eyes linger on the man and he shoos you with a flick of his fingers, “go on, maid. You needn’t worry for the matters of men.” 

You quickly flit inside, your heart fraught and your veins flooding with ice. That look in the soldier’s eyes worries you. He is a man of war and the mere scent of conflict seems to enliven him. Certainly, you know, if the guard gives the merest of reasons, there will be blood. 

Jazlene is within, abed beneath layers of fur. She lays with a hand against her forehead in a constant state of dismay. The door closes behind you and she sighs. 

“I called for a bath ages ago!” She decries, “if I must be imprisoned in this horrid place, I will at least be warm!” 

The mention of a bath disarms you. You waver on your feet before you can reclaim your wits. You ignore the memories stirring in the base of your skull. The king’s heat creeps up your back as the sensation of his touch tickles in your sides. You could sob for the way your chest rents. 

“Your highness, I will fetch the water,” you acquiesce in a brittle voice. 

“Oh, and where have you been?” She bawls, “here I am, with child and miserable and cold, and you are off, a maid, without a care? Abandoning her queen, as my very husband does the same?” 

You lower your chin at the mention of the king, “my apologies, I was bid to... other duties.” 

The lie is like poison in your mouth. You could gag at your own deceit. You keep your head low. You wish she would rise and pinch or lash or kick you. 

“All I wanted was wine,” she babbles at the canopy as she throws her hands up, “and company. He will not allow my own father to see me. He chased him out like some stray dog. The only family I have close and he keeps us apart. I want to play cards and I have no one to win against.” She thumps her fists down on the mattress and kicks her foot, “how can a queen have no power?” 

She sits up, her eyes fiery as her curls puff out wildly from her head. Her eyes are sparkling from her tears and pretty features twisted. The blankets fall away from her torso. She mops her face with the sleeves of her gown; they are wrinkled and her bodice is crooked. 

“And that Lord Ves... whoever he is, he is a nasty old troll,” she blusters, “I hate him. I hate them all, these winter pests. These animals. Beasts!” She snarls, “how can they live like this? I swear, when we reach the king’s castle, this will not go on. I must have my court. I am a queen and I should be crowned!” 

She sneers and shakes her head, closing her eyes as she presses her long fingers to her nose, “why are you just standing there?” She hisses. “I want a bath!” 

She pushes the blankets off of her and like a storm, she blows out of bed and towards you. You flinch but do not shield herself. She grabs your shoulders and shakes you. She shoves you away from her and you stagger. 

“I will fetch the wat--” 

You cannot finish your words as she strikes you across the cheek. You taste blood. The punishment you longed for is not so freeing as you expect. The sear across your face cannot assuage the flames of your guilt. 

“Go before I knock your teeth from your stupid head,” she snarls.  

You retreat and pull the door inward, letting yourself out. Gilles remains and does not look or comment at you. You rush away, your mouth pooling with blood. You swallow it down as you get to the kitchens, a pair of servants in gray working in the light of the stove. 

“Water,” you murmur as you rub your jaw, “please, can I have a pot to boil?” 

A woman, slender and silent, moves to fetch the large vessel. She hands it to you and you thank her. She clings to the other handle. 

“You will need help,” she declares. 

“Yes, thank you,” you flutter your lashes as the sting sticks in your skin. 

You know her. She is the same who welcomed in the king’s party to the castle. She helps you carry the pot down a corridor. You feel cold creeping through the air and your teeth chatter. She doesn’t react to the chill and leads you out a door into the frigid outdoors. She stops at a cistern pump and angles the pot beneath it. 

She takes a small mallet from next to the spout and beats the lever until it dips, ice falling away from it. She pumps without a word as you watch. You offer to take over but she shakes her head. You linger close by, feeling useless. 

“Lift,” she orders as she stills the pump and you grab the handle as she takes the other. You carry the pot together back into the castle. 

The act reminds you of another time. The night you and Merinda carried water to the king’s chamber in Debray. The woman across from you is a stranger and as cold as the winds. You raise the vessel over the flames and leave it to boil. 

She turns to you and nods, “hard work serving strong men. Best us maids work as one.” 

Her words are kind though her tone remains as hard as iron. Your cheeks tense and your lips tremble, “yes, thank you, miss.” 

“Same as you,” she dismisses the title you give her, “let me know when it steams.” 

You agree and turn to face the pot as it sits above a brazier. You are comforted in knowing that not all is changed in the Hinterlands. That camaraderie among servants has not frozen over like everything else. 

As you carry up the first pot of steaming water, the servant offers a name. Ezme. You return your own before you reach the queen’s chamber. You make several trips up and down, between the boil, and fill the large tub nearly to the brim, adding a pot of cool water to mellow the heat. 

Ezme leaves with the empty pot as you remain to attend the queen’s bath. As Gilles pulls the door shut, you notice how his eyes search past you. You turn and go to Jazlene as she tugs at her dress. You help unlace the piece of her gown, then her corset, and lift her shift over her head.  

She lowers herself into the tub, her dark skin flawless and her figure still as sculpted and firm as ever. She must be early in her state as she has yet to show the effect of her condition. She reclines with her arms over the lip of the wooden tub. 

“And what do you suppose the king is about?” She speaks with her eyes closed, frightening you as you stand quietly by the wall. “Hm? Why does he keep my people from me? Not only my father, but those other summer nobles who have accompanied us?” 

You don’t speak or move. It’s best to act as if you aren’t there. She speaks to herself; for herself. 

“First, he forbade my mother to come. Kept her from seeing me conceive her first grandchild,” she sneers, "and now he has banned my father from my chambers. All because he thought to provide me with a bottle of wine.” 

She is back to that. The wine. She is childish in how she latches onto that one grievance and will not let it go. 

“Because he would defend his daughter,” she snivels, “well, who else will keep me company as my husband remains errant? Oh, how bound he is to his kingliness. Oh, the hero he is. He has brought his wintry misery to the summer people and cursed us all to his wretched ways.” 

You stare at the floor, scalded by the dangerous inference of her complaints. She treads close to those things even a queen should not voice. She might be unhappy but she cannot be so unwise. It is like the game with the dice; she does not think of the turns to come, only what she holds in the moment. 

“He must plot against us. It’s what we all believe,” she sits up the water swishing around her.  

You try not to react, especially as the king’s command returns to you. ‘...you will watch and you will listen...’ 

“He has baited us all into his lands, into his snare, and he means to close it on us. He must,” she puts her hands up as if what she says is only the truth. Without a doubt, she must be right, “he speaks of uniting us and yet he means to extinguish us. He will do away with the summer’s blood and invade our lands as he always meant to.” She scoffs and drags her fingertip over the water’s surface, “he gives to all the same empty vows he gave me...” 

Silence, the sort where you can hear your own heart beating. You hold your breath. She needs to stop speaking. You want to stop hearing. 

“We are not as foolish as he thinks. We will be ready,” she smirks and tilts her head, “and he would not hurt his own prince, would he?” She plunges her hand under the water and rubs her stomach. “Even he cannot deprive his people of their future.” 

She hums and the water swishes around her as she lays back again. She snickers and sighs. You tuck your chin down and clutch your hands tightly. In this war of winter and summer, of king and queen, of husband and wife, you will surely be lost. 

[49-ibr]

Writeblr Ask Game!

There are 49 kinds of magic in 49. So, here's an ask game with a question for each kind. Knowledge of 49 is not necessary to play!

1. AIR - What is your WIP's first sentence?

2. BEASTS - Who is your favourite OC?

3. BLOOD - Which of your OCs would you want to have as your child?

4. CHANGE - If you had to restart your WIP from scratch, what would you change?

5. COSTUME - How much research have you done for your WIP?

6. COURAGE - What's the last word you had to google the definition of?

7. CREATION - What was your first WIP?

8. DARKNESS - Would you rather start a WIP with no plan, or with everything planned to the exact detail?

9. DEATH - What WIP would you want to be remembered for?

10. DESIRE - Have you ever written smut?

11. DESTRUCTION - What draft are you on?

12. DISEASE - If you had to live in a setting of your creation, which would you pick?

13. DREAMS - Have you ever written fanfiction?

14. EARTH - What inspires you most?

15. ENERGY - What song inspires you most?

16. ENVY - Who is your favourite writeblr?

17. EYES - How many planning documents do you have?

18. FATE - Have you always wanted to be a writer?

19. FEAR - What is your greatest fear as a writer?

20. FIRE - What is the worst thing you've ever created?

21. FLESH - Which OC would you most like to look like?

22. FORCE - What do you use to write?

23. GLUTTONY - How many notebooks do you have?

24. GREED - If you could steal a character from any other story, who would you take?

25. GRIEF - Do you regret killing off any characters?

26. HOPE - What would be your dream come true?

27. ICE - Are you cruel to your characters?

28. ILLUSION - What is the best line of description in your WIP?

29. LIGHT - Which OC would you most want to act like?

30. LOVE - What is your best writing advice?

31. LUST - Who is your hottest OC?

32. METAL - Can you write fight scenes?

33. MIND - What book would you most want to forget so you can reread it for the first time?

34. MUNDANE - Would you survive in the shoes of your main character?

35. PAIN - Has your writing ever made you cry?

36. PAST - How much do you foreshadow a plot twist?

37. PLANTS - What is your favourite thing about the world of your WIP?

38. PRIDE - Which famous author do you think you're better than?

39. ROT - Which of your OCs is the best villain?

40. SILENCE - Do you listen to music or watch anything as you write, or do you need silence?

41. SLOTH - What kind of scene are you worst at writing?

42. SOUL - What is your favourite WIP?

43. SPACE - Do you prefer Sci-Fi or Fantasy?

44. STORMS - Do you prefer metaphors or similes?

45. STRENGTH - What kind of scene are you best at?

46. TIME - Would you rather teleport your OC far into the past or far into the future?

47. TRUTH - Do you like your writing?

48. WATER - Do you prefer urban fantasy or high fantasy?

49. WRATH - Do you prefer writing endings or beginnings?

[merakiui]

Some people change out the 7 sins. Some consider pride and vanity separate

I voted vil for pride but that’s only if there’s no vanity

aaaaa that's very true!! I've also seen sloth and acedia differentiated in some cases, so it makes sense that vanity and pride are sometimes separated. I feel like pride fits Vil just a little more than Idia, but I still wanted to learn what others thought! It's interesting to see the thoughts in both comments and votes. :D

These are my own sin assignments for the Overblots! It's for a Halloween piece I'm working on in between all of my other wips. <3 the premise is very yummy........ so maybe getting dicked down by terrible demons is an essential, carnal need!!!!! OTL

✧ Riddle - wrath

✧ Leona - sloth

✧ Azul - greed

✧ Jamil - envy

✧ Vil - pride

✧ Idia - gluttony

✧ Malleus - lust

Truthfully, I was struggling between gluttony and lust for Idia and Malleus's assignments the most. Gluttony is more commonly known for an overindulgence in food and drink, but it can also be used in reference to other things as well (i.e. the phrase "a glutton for [pain/punishment/insert non-food thing here]". I like to imagine a glutton as someone that consumes (anything) in excess. Pairing that concept with Idia, there's potential!!! >:D as for Malleus, it's possible for a person to lust after something in ways that aren't inherently sexual. I have a vague idea for what to do with this sin and Mal, but luckily he's the last on the list and so there will be plenty of time to mull it over.

[tanoraqui]

Teen and Up Audiences | Graphic [but often poetic and/or supernatural!] Depictions of Violence | Gen

Words: 8,619 | Chapters: 1/1

Relationships: Finarfin & Galadriel, Finarfin & Maedhros

Characters: Finarfin, Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor, Galadriel, Anairë, Maedhros, Eönwë, Maglor, Celebrimbor, Celeborn, Amarië, Irimë |Lalwen

Additional Tags: War of Wrath, I tagged everyone but really it's about Finarfin, kingship, and personal and collective vengeance/justice/trying to kill an unkillable dark god

“I wish you wouldn’t do this,” Lalwen complained in greeting. “Two brothers I have already lost, blindly charging that place. Must you add a third to my tally?”

“Maybe,” Finarfin said bluntly. It was still gentler than the truth on his tongue: It’s my turn.

(Or: in which Finarfin is, after all, the third son in the fairy tale.)

I worry that I’ve hyped this up too much by having it as a WIP for so long, but Here it is at last: Finarfin’s due shot at 1v1-ing Morgoth (more or less), a cornerstone of my personal elaborate tapestry of Arda headcanons! (I regularly forget that the sword isn���t a canonical legendary weapon.)

[novafire-is-thinking]

get to know 9 people ask game

tagged by: @aecho-again - Thank you! :D

last song listened to: A Forgotten Dynasty by J.T. Peterson (Spotify | YouTube) - I’ve assigned ancient Kaon vibes to this one.

currently reading: IDW’s Windblade. I finished Vol. 1 today.

sweet/spicy/savory: Savory

current obsession(s): Pharma, coming up with ideas for Kaon’s natural landscape and architecture, and volcanoes

relationship status: Single

last thing i googled: Something about Enneagram subtypes, for character building purposes

currently working on: Pharma’s and Soundwave’s backstories, Age of Wrath-era Kaon, and several fic WIPs

Tagging @lishadra @mattinthehat @withoutteamalice @seafl0wrz @prismicnexus @staijey-the-creator @eliasisasexhaver @uncreativebean @theconfusedtissue

(I’ve left a blank copy of the form in the replies to make things easy for you all.)

[itsokbbygrl]

WIP Wednesday

omg she’s posting something???? YEAH BITCH I AM. Listen, idk if this will go anywhere or not but I had a few people tag me over the last few weeks so I figured I’d cook something up. This man has given me insane brainrot this week, so here you go! Marcus Acacius, you’ve earned a place in the Google docs officially. Ty for tagging me @sawymredfox @vivian-pascal @luxurychristmaspudding

The warm tones of firelight flicker against the stone walls of your bed chamber. Cicadas’ song bleats incessantly through your windows from the streets below. The soft scuffle of his worn boots against the floor began to grate against your ears as he paced. You would look for the path he carved come morning, surely etched into permanence by now, preserve it, name it for him.

“I am bound by honor to serve Rome, but I cannot in good conscience desert her people. This endless war…its devastation. These men, these boys, sent to slaughter under the impression that their bravery, their sacrifice, will bring improvement to their country, bring it riches, see it thrive, and yet upon their return see nothing but ruin. The citizens are starving in the streets, carissima, while we sit in our high towers, bathed in milk and honey, perfumed with oils. We are fed lavish meals, sleep on silk. I will not be the face of Geta’s wrath, his greed, any longer. It cannot go on like this or there will no longer be a Rome to serve.”

His face had turned red at its highest points, evidence of his belief in his words, the truth of his feelings. You rose from your place on the edge of your bed, holding his gaze as your strode carefully towards the towering beast of him, your General, still donning the beautiful formal armor he was gifted by the Emperor, laurels of gold laid atop his lush crown of curls, the increasing prominence of streaking silver betraying his age. His eyes follow you, never breaking from your own. You cup a soft palm against his heated cheek, brushing your thumb over its apple, feeling the pressure increase as he leans into the touch, coarse hairs of his beard tickling your skin. “Meum cor, it is not for you to save this world alone. This is too great a burden to bear by one man, as strong and stubborn as he may be,” you gently tease him. “This is a game of wits, one played behind the curtain of society. My father once taught me to play such a game, you must always be thinking two steps ahead of your opponent, considering all outcomes at all times, finding their weakness and luring them to their demise.” Your eyes alight, reflecting the fire that surrounds you. “Marcus, Rome will not be won by he who is the most brave, but by he who is the most cunning.”

npt: @swiftispunk @javierpena-inatacvest @sugarcoated-lame @studioghibelli @mrsmando @beardedjoel @chronically-ghosted

[mysticstarlightduck]

for the ask game: 🧠 ?

Thank you so much for the ask, @ray-writes-n-shit!

🧠Telepathy: How much does your OC care about what other people think of them? How far would they go to make sure people had the right opinion of them?

Jack (Supernova Initiative) - Jack doesn't typically care about the opinions of strangers and people he doesn't know well. He is usually the "I do my own thing, why worry about pleasing strangers" kind of guy, and is generally really chill about it. HOWEVER, as a Team Leader and full-time older brother, Jack cares a lot about the opinion his team and his little sister have of him, mostly in an "I've gotta be strong, got to be reliable, have to set a good example and be confident. They need to think I'm okay. Everything's fine, they shouldn't have to worry about me" kind of way, as in he puts their needs so far above his own that he fears that even taking a break during stressful situations or being vulnerable would be "failing them" or something similar. The worst thing is that he is so good at hiding what he feels that his team genuinely thinks he is totally fine (when he is actually just really good at faking it), even though they would be super kind and understanding to him if he told them the truth, he doesn't allow himself to be what he considers "weak" because he thinks that would be "selfish" of him. So. Serious self-esteem and communication issues right there.

Quinn (The Last Wrath) - As a courtesan and entertainer to the high nobility of the Morosyn Empire, Quinn's life usually centers around his ability to keep up appearances and had a "social mask" if you will. Especially in a world where secrets are as deadly as weapons. So, Quinn is extremely good at upholding a certain "persona" in public, the masquerade he puts up for others so that no one ever knows what is truly underneath and so that no one can ever blackmail him. He doesn't care about what others think of him in an "I measure my self-worth according to their reactions to me" kinda way, but more in a "If I'm not careful enough and say the right thing I might end up dead" kind of way. Especially with the war and espionage going on during the story of TLW.

Kane (Song of Thorns) - Kane cares SO MUCH about what others think of him. He cares IMMENSELY. He suffers from a bad mix of perfectionism, trauma, and Impostor Syndrome, which he counters with an arrogant and cocky persona of what he considers to be the "perfect knight". He wants to be seen and respected, he wants to be admired. He wants to never, ever make a single mistake again after what a mistake cost him in the past. He is actually someone who is secretly insecure and thinks that nobody would ever like the "true him" so he creates an image of the "perfect Kane", the alter ego he thinks he needs to be. Throughout the story he grows and learns to practice more self-love and that he doesn't need to change who he is to be worthy of respect, but OH BOY does it take a while.

[weather-mood]

A Mini Rec List Medley

For this year’s meal to remember event by @iwtvfanevents, a medley of twelve themed mini rec lists ranging from ‘Car Guy Daniel’ to ‘Dyke Loumand Supremacy’

Trying to more or less stick to newer fics that I didn’t list during my last years’s meal to remember lists (loumand bingo and canon compliant recs) but there are some repetitions!

Recent Claudia

the hour of lead (M) by @dictee

The Night After (T) by @wouriqueen

Amber (M) and Forge (M) by @nlbv

Wolfkiller (M) by @iwtvdramacd18

cursed / blessed (M) by @enterprisery

I’m normal and fine about biblical references and imagery I swear

the golden calf (M) by @devotiondroid

rapture (E) by baberainbow

Leslou that had me saying ‘oh my God’ out loud

Perfect (E) by Anonymous

Exposure (E) by @iwtvdramacd18

All Things in One (E) by @nakiaslilhoodoo

Works that first sold me on a pairing and a recent gem

Danlou: nothing left to give you now (E) and i'll let you win (E) by @diasdelasombra

Loumand: dirges (E) by @dictee and Keep me Humming (T) by @meastyeyes

Lesmand: Humble Through Hunger (E) by @iwtvdramacd18 and bruise pristine (E) by @knifeeater

Nickimand: To Pluck Gently at Strings (M) by @iwtvdramacd18 and sīc. (E) by @salmoncakepls

Car Guy Daniel

rocket man (M) by @keithal

long live the car crash hearts (M) by @keepoffthetardis

Bonus: Somewhere in Portugal, September 1975 (M, chapter 32, little kidnaps) by @diasdelasombra

Fairytale and Fantasy AUs

rhododendron by @blueiight

Allude me, Pursue me, Consume me (E) by @salmoncakepls

Lunacy (E) by @iwtvdramacd18

Dyke Loumand Supremacy

Snow in the Champagne (E) by @nakiaslilhoodoo

i am amazed by peace (E) by @dictee

Lives rent free in my head

in a lonely place (M) by @devotiondroid

Yawning, Terrible Voids (M) by @iwtvdramacd18

in the delta breeze [dare to breathe] (T) by @blueiight

cleave / tie (E) @kittyldpdl

*Octavia Butler voice* symbiosis is deeply sexy

coalescence (M) by @enterprisery

Body Open as a Wound (E) by @feedingicetothedog

He's inside me, he takes out my insides, he sews me up (M) by @salmoncakepls

Alluvium (E) by @knifeeater

Fluff! Time for some fluff!

Warmth (M) by @nakiaslilhoodoo

The Indwelling-Place of Love (E) by @thelioncourts

I saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus (T) by @meastyeyes

Yellow (T) by @dlsintegration

Sexual Immorality (E) by @blacclotusss

Creative uses and mixes of formats!

Théâtre Revue (T) by @sygoflyy (Human Actor AU, magazine article format)

Design;Intricate (E) by @salmoncakepls (Android AU, hidden pages, codes, and links)

the first interview (E) by @kittyldpdl (scripts)

reply by baberainbow (emails)

Longer fic and current wips my beloved

a holy love (E, Crime Boss AU, Complete) by @shewhomustbecalledking

like a heathen clung to the homily (E, Sex Club AU, WIP) by @thelioncourts

overlords (E, Murder Mystery AU, WIP) by @diasdelasombra and @shewhomustbecalledking

before death (M, Afterlife AU, WIP) by @dwreader

Capillary (E, Phantom Thread AU, WIP) by @salmoncakepls and @kittyldpdl

Wrath of the Lamb (E, Hannibal AU, WIP) by @iwtvdramacd18 and @kittyldpdl

[queerdiazs]

wip wednesday

mm hi pals, i'm working on the christmas fics so i haven't made progress on much of anything in the last few weeks BUT i have decided i want to get the burning house fic done before 14 march and oof, i will hit that goal

anyway, have an angsty snip i've shared before but i've made minor changes so pretend it's new

“You’ve got a lot of nerve bitching at me about Natalia when you’re no better than me.” Buck sneers, an ugly thing that twists his face up crooked and mean. “Marisol, really? I had to drag you to help fix up her place, and now you’re playing house with her?”  “Fuck you, Buck. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”  Buck’s barked laugh is harsh and grating. “You don’t love her and you never will,” he says, shaking his head. “She deserves better than you.”  Red hot rage shoves up in Eddie’s throat, acidic and thick. “Get out.” He moves forward and pushes Buck’s shoulders hard, ignoring the way Buck stumbles backward into the refrigerator, knocking off the pictures and nearly toppling over. He won’t hit Buck—never—but he needs Buck gone now. Right now. “Get the fuck out of my house, Buck!”  Buck rightens himself, wide-eyed and pale in the face. He holds his hands up in surrender. “You want me to leave?” he asks, small and soft. His anger’s cooled significantly from a moment ago; he looks like a frightened child, full of regret. “Eddie?”  No. No, Eddie doesn’t want Buck to leave. How could he? The itchiness in his fingertips and the chill in the center of his chest are only soothed when Buck’s around. But that smolder of fury in the pit of his stomach’s been stoked after too long and he needs Buck to leave before the cap on his wrath loosens and he takes everyone down with him again.  “Go, Buck.” The please goes unsaid, unheard. “Get out.” 

tagged by @exhuastedpigeon, @daffi-990, @hippolotamus, and @jamespearce9-1-1

tagging @eddiebabygirldiaz, @spagheddiediaz, @jeeyuns, @disasterbuckdiaz, @devirnis, @callmenewbie, @giddyupbuck, @wikiangela, @thewolvesof1998, @theotherbuckley, @watchyourbuck, @wildlife4life, @fortheloveofbuddie, @jesuisici33, @loserdiaz, @monsterrae1, and anybody else who wants to share <3

[shatterthefragments]

hi! 💜 i'm intrigued by the Nazareth trans allegory comic [sleep token] from your wip list, if you'd like to share some thoughts about it. have a lovely day! 🌻

🫂💖💖💖💖💖 Ok ok SO!!! Nazareth Trans Allegory comic!!!

RAMBLING ON AHEAD!!!!!!!!

There’s. This is what was in my notes app so far so this is the entirety of the wip basically bc I hadn’t externalized this until I actually started to write an answer for this!!! 🫂

(Brought to you by me listening to Nazareth on repeat last week and a bit into this one so far it is number 1 on my on repeat atm and questioning if I really *have to* put off/forget about gender affirming care Despite The Horrors (bloodwork and surgery) after all I was able to get tattooed and it didn’t even put me in a dissociative tailspin.. if I get to a place I can Get Out of this house (with all my stuff))

^this is presumably from May when I started writing this out. But as of September 11 2024, Nazareth is still number 5 on my on repeat playlist as I mull this over in my head like a rotisserie chicken.

Um. I guess cw for transphobia

And also brought to you by me starting to type:

This is probably nothing but “let’s fuck her up” referring to the girl that

(They all think you are)

And then Promptly abandoning it to go NAZARETH TRANS ALLEGORY.

While I do question my ability to pull it off I am throwing myself off the cliff of “I must make perfect art” and diving into the waters of “if it brings joy or catharsis it is ALL PERFECT” and it’s better to try and to learn as I go than to worry and not create anything at all.

This would be. A short comic. Not like. Not like a book comic or anything.

Will absolutely feature calligraphy bc I’m a sucker and love it 😘(also I’m out of practice and have to reference the alphabets way more than I used to so I want to practice also anything that uses that much black gets assigned calligraphy in my head 😘)

Also unsure of how closely it follows what I’m rambling about here and what I’m actually capable of depicting but HERE WE GO (not sure how coherent I just type things)

But primarily it follows the song and its lyrics and the emotions (?)

TWINKLIEST BITS ARE BEING EQUATED TO FINDING YOUR CHOSEN FAMILY OKAY!!!!!!

And ALSO the jubilation in BECOMING in changing your life to be how you are and finding the joy in living again

So The Wrath. In this. I haven’t fully decided how many interpretations I’m giving it. But it is definitely representing transphobia, particularly from birth families and the people we’re close with.

I’ll see you when the wrath comes.

I’ll see you when you come running to your chosen family (the “I” here) being welcomed in and safe from the wrath touching you.

“Knocking on your bedroom door with money” I mean fuck. Transition related stuff is so expensive 😭 even though I have universal healthcare it’s. Expensive. Even just the binders I have from when I bound on a regular basis were pretty expensive. Makeup to do masculinizing makeup would be expensive (I don’t have or wear makeup (my obsession with dark red lipstick and other fun colours notwithstanding) let alone have the skill currently to do that)

“Building you a kingdom” finally being the king of your own world rather than a subject subjected to so many unspoken rules that just bind you to unhappiness and obligation is what comes to mind at first but honestly I’m not entirely sure what to do for the next line

“Dripping from the open mouth, I’ll show you / what you look like, from the inside” like. I have vague images floating around in my head that I’m not sure how to articulate atm.

Hollow point. You know. Like the syringe used to draw up testosterone from the vial. To a naked body/booty (look. I know that the thigh is just fine as an injection site but I did watch love lies bleeding thanks to @ongreenergrasses so it is in the mind) (yes,, even still…)

Now on one hand. The pronouns are she/her used in the lyrics.

But ALSO could be interpreted as the rest of everyone seeing him/them as her still and refusing to acknowledge their/his identity (undecided on whether anyone else knows in this comic or even how I’d storyboard that)

Also. I won’t be missing you in mirror

They won’t be missing you the pitchfork crowd

So I would be going with the transmasc version bc it’s more related to me and my experiences and how I see things

(Aside from like the one week back in high school where after so long as a boy I was a girl and I was fully like freaking out and wondering how I’d transition before like. It occurred to me. Anyway that didn’t last long and was the quickest gender switch I’ve experienced (I generally say if I am indeed gender fluid then the fluid is a slow moving lava consuming all in its path) and I hovered (and still kinda continue to hover) somewhere in the realm of nonbinary transmasc demiboy or something I’m not thinking too hard about the labels I just want to be comfortable and as happy as possible)

BUT ALSO 👀

Transfem Nazareth

Fuck her up - fuck up the woman you’re expected to be by everyone else.

Hollow point… unfortunately I can’t help but think of the disproportionate rates of violence against trans women and particularly trans women of colour.

[sungbeam]

𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑𝐒 — the full collection

nonidol!ji changmin x f!reader

your sister's dead, but apparently that's not the most shocking news. maybe she wasn't killed on accident, maybe ji changmin isn't really human, and maybe the monsters were never under the bed but all around you...

▷ general genre, warnings. supernatural creatures au/fantasy, mystery, suspense, gore/violence, swearing, romance ; includes bonus material, as well as the following installments

▷ anyone on my permanent taglist will automatically be tagged unless it's an nsfw one

a/n: not super high on my priority list rn but i wanted to explore the world some more :') if u find this, then u find it (lmao too lazy, didn't tag anyone) pls reblog tho!

NIGHT TERRORS: the fic, 47.4k words

teaser — 0.3k words

part one (chapters i – vii)

part two (chapters viii – xv)

intimacy — 18+ only, 3.0k words

▷ it's a silly thing that brings you both to intimacy, but the intimacy is never silly.

name — 1.7k words

▷ birthdays have never mattered to him—until it was yours.

creature — 4.7k words

▷ love.

(title tbd) — 18+ only,

▷ be good, sweetheart, and repent for your sins.

(title tbd) —

▷ the only problem is that everything you see when you are corrupted by essence of wrath is red.

#—BLOOD RUNS THICKER: to Hell, we descend

▷ when trouble comes knocking at yours and Changmin's door again, it's time to revisit some loose ends.

PARADISE LOST: to Heaven, we venture

coming soon.

the last thing you expected to happen was to see your ex after being promoted to a job you never wanted. but there's only one reason jacob could be back, and unfortunately, it's not you.

WOLFSBANE: of Earth, we explore

coming soon.

you're not exactly who you come off to be, and kevin can't really discern if your viciousness is horrifying or magnetic. and it doesn't really matter how it makes him feel when something is hunting wolves in their own territory, and viciousness becomes survival.

(and more!)

related tags: night terrors/when nt was a wip. paradise lost/when paradise lost was a wip.