#wip: a quest of her own

[veshialles]

planning out Kieshara's "party composition" for this fic and cannot for the life of me decide who the 3rd rogue should be

[cream-and-tea]

oh man the judge/calliope and pallas&agnes thoughts are really eating holes in my brain tonight,,,,,,

[bloodcursecycle-if]

When a person commits a rather horrendous act against others, a karmic-like phenomenon called a Blood Curse is placed upon them and their bloodline. Terrible events occur every generation until someone is able to right the wrong committed. Your twin sister was the most recent victim of the Curse, being poisoned at her own coronation celebration ball. Now it's up to you to figure out how to break this curse before it claims you as well.

The Blood Curse Cycle is a WIP and new interactive CYOA novel. The focus will mostly be on the plotline, characters, and relationships. It's inspired by many JRPGs/RPGs. It's being written in ChoiceScript. While it will have a more story-based focus, there will be stat-based mechanics as well.

This is the revamped version of my first interactive fiction project, Under the Eyes of Themis. The premise is similar, but a few changes have been made.

You play as the youngest member of the Grasslands' royal family. Your family suffers from something called a Blood Curse, a supernatural karmic-like phenomenon placed onto people and their bloodlines for committing horrendous crimes against others. Sufferers from the curse will experience tragedy after tragedy until the Curse is broken or the bloodline ceases to exist.

Your sister is the most recent victim of the curse, dying from poisoning at her coronation celebration ball. Deciding you would like to not die a tragic and/or painful death, you set out on a journey to figure out exactly what your family did and how to break the curse.

Note: Because this is still a WIP, some names of characters or places may change during development.

Genre: Fantasy Adventure, Romance, Mystery

Rating: 18+

Tracked Tag: #blood curse cycle

Status: On Hiatus

Demo || Romance Options || Side Characters || FAQ || Ask Guidelines || Tag Navigation || World Lore || Dev's Main Blog ||

Create and customize your main character. Select their gender, pronouns, appearance, and personality.

Explore the continent of Runnet and its 8 nations, each with different views, cultures, and hidden secrets.

Join and lead a group of other Blood Curse sufferers to find out how to break your curses.

Romance any of your 5 companions: the Prince from the Woodlands, the Knight from the Dustlands, the Scholar from the Palmlands, the Healer from the Fieldlands, or the Assassin from the Floelands.

Choose to help or hinder your companions in their own quests to break their Curses.

Discover leads, find clues, and dig deep to figure out why your bloodline was cursed and how to break it before time runs out.

Alceste Claudius d'Emeraude (he/him) - The Prince of the Woodlands Kingdom. Flirty and laid-back, he tends to not take anything too seriously... including his Curse.

Larisilla Cornaline (she/her) - The Knight from the Dustlands. Serious and blunt, it takes a bit for her to warm up to people. She is the most vocal about getting rid of her Curse.

Dionys Topaze (he/him) - The Scholar from the Palmlands. Kind and intelligent, his main area of study are Blood Curses, the types and how to break them. He is the closest to breaking his Curse.

Somnia Disthene (she/her) - The Healer from the Fieldlands. Shy and helpful, she specializes in treatments that neutralize a Curse's affects. Just don't ask about her Curse.

Enyo Perle (he/him) OR (she/her) - The Assassin from the Floelands. Loud and outgoing, they are eager to help out the group. Although, it's a bit strange that they've never brought up their Curse.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 19

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: Have a good day.

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. 💖

The queen rises, restless as her skirts sweep around her, streaked from the hem with the filth of the road. Her insistence on finery has proven fruitless. Her once prized gown will likely never be free of stains. She has many more, you only hope they survive the journey. 

She struts back and forth, scowling as she faces the wall and drops her shoulders. 

“Why is there no mirror?” She pouts, “this place is drab. How am I supposed to keep from going blind with dullness.” She flops back onto the bed, “ugh,” she rolls over, “maid, I need wine.” 

“Your highness,” you say sheepishly. 

“Do not,” she raises her hand in a harsh point, “I don’t care about the king’s orders. I have been on the road for weeks, I am sore, I am filthy, and I am tired!” She snaps her fingers, “if I want wine I will have it.” She puts her hand over her middle, “it is for the king’s child. He is thirsty.” 

You avert your eyes. You can’t deny her. Even if the king ordered that she be deprived, you cannot look her in the face and tell her no. If they king never knows, it mightn’t matter. You turn, your disobedience nipping at your ears. 

You emerge into the corridor. The orange-haired guard remains, along with the shadow standing across from him. Bryce looms, picking his nails with a small dagger.  

“Has the queen retired so early?” He asks. 

“She requires wine,” you return, “I won’t be long, sir. Might you point me towards the kitchen?” 

“I will accompany you,” he insists as he stand straight. 

“Do not trouble, sir, I am faster alone. I only need direction.” 

You see the disappointment tick in his cheek. You’re not so mad as you were, only cautious. The king will always come first, his will shall always circumvent your own. It is a reality you knew before but now it gleams in a much different light. 

“Down to the east, on the lower floors behind the statue of the knight in black armor,” he explains, “do take care not to lose yourself.” 

“I will, sir,” you nod and glance over at the other soldier. The man with carroty hair eyes you up and down. 

You flit off, hurrying upon your quest for a bottle. You’re not certain you’ll find bounty in your mission. This is not the king’s castle and you are not a thief. 

You descend and come around the bottom of the wide stone railings. The great hall is empty and only a few lanterns remain lit to guide you. You go east and find your way, coming upon the knight in black armour that at first appears as a real sentinel in the dark. You stop to look upon the suit, admiring the ripples in its forging. 

You go into the kitchen and find the haze of the stove lighting the empty space. You peer around at the dark alcoves as the air glows amber, pulsing with the heat of the embers. You tiptoe inside, narrowing your eyes to see through the dim. 

“Are ya lost?” A growl rises from the darkness. 

You spin and face the black silhouette of a large man stood on the other side of the thick wooden table at the center of the kitchens. You gulp and sway on your feet. He must be the cook or perhaps the cellarer. He likely thought you a rat scurrying around looking for crumbs. 

“No, sir, I... would there be a bottle of wine? For the queen?” You ask, your voice catching in your throat as he looms like some great husky bear. He reminds you of the white beast in the corridor as he comes around the table, the light catching the white of his thick locks. 

His body is as thick as a barrel and his shoulders broader. The flickering hue reveals the scar above his left brow and his pocked cheeks. You wonder at the tint of his hair as you try to tell if it’s the age the lines his face or if it is the same effect as the king. 

“Wine? For the queen?” He echoes sonorously, “hmmm.” 

“Yes, sir, if there would be any to spare?”  

“Mm, suppose a bottle might go missing,” he backs up and turns. He doesn’t beckon you onward but you follow anyway. Something about him bids you without a word. 

He takes you to the far end of the kitchens and grunts as he squats and reaches to his belt, jangling a ring of iron keys. He shoves one in the thick lock in the clasp of the hatch and unhooks it. He lifts the heavy door, thick cedar bolstered with steel and throws it back to hit the floor. 

“Ah, hold,” he signals you with a palm as he stands and retreats. 

He strides across the kitchens and without a word, shuffles in a cupboard. He mutters as he takes a tallow and lights its wick from the embers, setting it into a brass holder. He offers it to you and you take it without a word, curious at the grumbly cook. 

He descends the steep stairs first and you follow, balancing the candle carefully. He takes you by the elbow to help you to the beaten floor and you raise the candle to light the expanse of the cellar. It extends well past the limits of the flame’s eye. 

He goes to a shelf and slides a bottle free of its cubby. He tuts and puts it back. He pulls out several bottles before he makes a decision. He comes closer to examine the glass by the flame. 

“Summer wine,” he says and flicks his pale eyes up to you. They remind you of the king’s though they are paler in the candlelight. “And you, serve the summer queen?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“You are a summerer?” He asks. 

“Sir,” you bow your head, “you can tell?” 

“Aye, no winter’s blood wears a cloak with walls to hold them over,” he chuckles and looks around. 

You glance down at the cloak. You hadn’t thought to remove it as the cold radiates from the stone. Even without the wind, a shiver creeps through your flesh. 

He frightens you as he reaches for you, only to touch the fur collar of the cloak, rubbing a tuft between his fingertips, “it is well made.” He lets his hand trail along the front and turns out the interior of the trim. You look down your nose as he reveals a patch you didn’t notice before; a wolf’s head. 

“Yes, sir, it is warm,” you agree and he withdraws his hand. 

“Suppose a summer’s maid needs it more than a winter’s king,” he says. 

You’re quiet. You have nothing to say to that. How many others took note of you in the king’s cloak? Do they whisper about it? 

“Your queen may take the wine,” he holds out the bottle, “and the king, might have a cask of ale should he require. Only one,” he lets go of the bottle as you accept it and holds up a finger, “he does not have leave to drink this cellar dry. Crown or no crown.” 

“Yes, sir. Many thanks.” 

He snorts and shakes his head, peering down at you, “a dove like you is out of place in this nest of vultures,” he muses and gently takes the candle from your hand, “better fly back to your queen, bird.” 

“Sir,” you turn towards the stairs as the candle illuminates your shadow against the shelves. You turn to climb and peer back at the man. He watches you, his eyes flickering with the flame. 

“Gentle creatures don’t fare well in the cold,” he clucks, “best keep that cloak close.” 

You ascend and cradle the bottle at the top, keeping it close as the liquid sloshes heavily inside. You pad over the kitchen floor and into the corridor. The great hall is even colder as the shadows ripple over you. As you come up the stairs, a shiver quakes through you. 

Something about that man, about his words, clings to you. His way of speaking is ominous, like those card readers who would visit Lady Rezlyn. Or perhaps it is only that you are waiting for the inevitable. 

As you near the queen’s chambers, you hear distant footsteps from the other direction. You come in sight of the grey soldier, spinning his knife as he whistles, the redhead guard sending him an irritated glower. You slow, preparing for the guard to repel you or at least seize the bottle from your arms. 

He does not. Even as he turns his scowl on you, he only reaches for the door to let you in. Before he can push inward, a throat clears. You all pause and turn to face the new figure. The king looks between you all; from the guard, to you, to Bryce. Your nerves flutter wildly. You haven’t been this close since the night on the pass. 

“I hope that wine is meant for you, Sir Bryce,” King Geralt booms, “as my queen is not permitted to indulge. She has a vile reaction to the stuff.” 

“Your highness,” the guard swallows audibly, “I... the queen--” 

“The queen is my wife and a wife must bend to the will of her husband,” the king insists hotly. The guard’s expression draws and he mutters an apology. 

“I was unaware of the ban,” Bryce intones, “but I’ll gladly claim the bottle for my own.” 

“Gilles,” King Geralt ignores the quip and points to the redhead guard, “you will inform the queen that she needs retire for the night. In her condition, it is necessary that she rests. If she requires sustenance, she may have bread and cheese and a bit of goat’s milk.” 

“Your highness,” the guard, Gilles, nods diligently. 

“And you will fetch it yourself,” the king insists, “I trust you might find your way around a tray.” 

Gilles stares at the king then slowly pushes into the queen’s chamber. The king nears and takes the bottle from your hand. You let him and back up as Bryce steps closer. 

“Your highness,” the soldier begins, “if I’d been aware--” 

“Hardly matters now,” the king shrugs and steps close to his man. He leans in and whispers something you cannot hear, “as you were,” he slaps his shoulder then continues on. You watch after him, perplexed but relieved at his indifference. Perhaps he has rethought his intent. 

Bryce is quiet until the king’s footfalls fade off. He lowers his chin, rubbing his thick beard. He touches your cloak, a small tug on it, “this way, maid. Let us find you a place to lay your head.” 

The promise of a bed is nice and reminds you of your weariness. Your legs ache as you follow Bryce along the corridor. Your shoulders rack and the remnants of the road begin to lace through your muscles. It is only as you think of laying down that you feel the effect of those last months. 

You yawn and stifle it in your hand. Bryce glances over and lets out a willowy breath. He is certain of his path despite the twists and turns. He directs you to a door at the base of one of the castle’s towers, opening it to a spiraling staircase. 

“Would be at the top.” 

You look up at the winding ascent. The walls are mounted with lanterns over every fifth step. You frown and pull back, turning to the soldier. Your stomach churns. 

“Up there? May I not rest in the servant’s quarters?” 

“You must be closer to the queen,” his lip trembles. He raises his chin and looks away. When his eyes meet yours again, he puts his hands on your shoulders, “rest your head, mouse, you’ve come very far. You’ve earned it.” 

You look at him. You know he isn’t saying all he could. He can’t. You put your hands on his arms and squeeze.  

“I’ll try,” you affirm, “thank you, sir. I am very tired.” 

“Yes, mouse, sleep,” he pulls away. 

“Good night, sir.” 

He hesitates, “good night.” 

He turns stiffly and marches off. You step into the staircase as his shadow disappears and you pull the door shut. You look up, climbing step by step, legs shaking as you get higher and higher. You reach the top step and another door. 

You push the handle down and the lever rises on the other side. You enter the chamber to find it empty. You stand at the threshold and turn, searching for any shadow, any shimmer in the low light of the fireplace. It’s only you. 

You breathe and turn to look down the staircase. You listen. Nothing but the winds battering the walls without. You close the door and slowly wade into the warmth of the room. The windows are hung in heavy curtains and there is a tray waiting on the table. An ewer, cups, a plate heaping with delights. You aren’t hungry for any of it, you’re too uneasy. 

You unbuckle the cloak and drag it from your shoulders. You turn it over your arm and feel the patch sewn into the lining, examining the wolf’s yellow eyes. He’d marked you and you never even knew it. You fold the heavy length over a chair and back away. 

You untie your cap and unveil the short shanks of hair jutting out from your scalp. You haven’t had a chance to shear your unruly locks before they could get too long. You fold the cap and put it on the bed. You remove your apron then your dress and leave them with your cap. 

You take a pillow and a blanket from the mattress and bring them down to the bench at the end of the bed. You fit yourself onto the hardwood and watch the fire’s light pulse on the stone wall. Your eyes glimmer with tears, turning your vision to speckled hues. 

It’s all so nice, too nice for you, and knowing why you’ve come upon it, turns it sour. It is not kindness, there is expectation attached to such generosity. You should’ve known. You did. You were just too stupid to see it, just as the queen always said. 

You twit. 

You close your eyes and pull the blanket to your chin. You embrace the warmth, your one comfort left. There’s a long road that awaits you still. Not only through the Hinterlands but another, more treacherous path. One you never meant to stumble upon. 

Your body weakens, succumbing to your fatigue, overtaking your wrought mind. Your eyes roll back behind their lids and your breath peters out. Sleep enshrines you as blackness eclipses the orange haze of the chamber. 

[purple-eyesgreydragon]

Rockpocalypse Part 1 Poster (Tease Version), my upcoming AU fanfiction.

By popular demand, I'm happy to say this au fanfiction is finally in the works. I'm sorry its taken so long. Other things kept getting in the way and occupying my time. But now I can say I have the time to finally put it together. Give you guys that to look forward too at last.

What if Queen Barb had won? She succeeded in her quest for world domination, the troll leaders, including Poppy turned into rock zombies. But enough of each tribe escaped with the help of sympathetic rock trolls, start a resistance. Floyd never got captured, but BroZone still gets back together to save Branch. With the help of the Snack Pack, Prince D, and other friends along the way. Perhaps the bros can finally achieve the Perfect Family Harmony? The only thing in the world that can possibly overcome the Ultimate Power Chord. Of course it was already high pressure the first time they tried to hit the family harmony. Now the fate of the world hangs in the balance, but BroZone may just be the only ones who can hit it and save the world. Barb however has an entire empire of hard rock behind her, and a few tricks up her sleeve.

No pressure.

This is Part 1's poster. The other parts will have posters of their own. For those who wonder where Clay is, he comes in Part 2 along with VIva as well. I would've included the Snack Pack and others in this first poster. But it would've taken me forever to include them all. It already took longer then I liked it to make this the way it is. Besides, for the family harmony the bros are the most essential key players in this fanfic. There's gonna be a lot of drama between them and Rock Branch, let me tell you. This is my first time doing JD, Floyd, and Spruce. I think they turned out well!

The shadowed figures will be revealed in time. Long time followers of mine may already know who they are. For those who don't know, it would be a spoiler so lets keep that on the downlow.

Rockpocalypse Part 1: Coming Soon.

Rockpocalypse Part 2: WIP.

Rockpocalypse Part 3: WIP.

@chipmunkfanno1love @asmerlotus, @argo-smith, @lilacspider, @oohlips123, @maya-custodios-dionach @kanadedivinia263 @glacial-tide @subpar-celestial @alleycatchitchat @tantei-chan01 @annoyingheartenthusiast @blue-spider-official @gamegem92 @spooky-pop, @terrifictoons-art @suedoodle @jaguardorado16 @mochi-and-trolls

[rhosyn-du]

The Case of the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Dates, chapter 1

Dead Boy Detectives/The Sandman crossover | Jenny Green/Johanna Constantine | Explicit | WIP

Tags for this chapter: Case Fic, Strangers to Lovers, Casual Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Panic Attacks

Link on AO3

For the @sandman-rarepair-fest prompts Strangers to Lovers, AU/Crossover, and Femslash

Summary:

Jenny didn't leave her flat planning to have a semi-public anonymous hookup. She was supposed to be having drinks—and hopefully sex—with a woman she met through a dating app Crystal talked her into downloading—"I'm not saying you should go out looking for your soulmate; I'm just saying maybe you'd feel better if you got laid. Have you even relaxed for five minutes since you got off the plane?"—but Natalya hadn't shown up at the pub she suggested they meet at. But there there was a pretty brunette at the bar with a cocky smirk and a foul mouth who turned out to be every bit as hot as she was annoying and also extremely down for a quick fuck in the restroom and absolutely nothing more than that. Which is probably for the best, Jenny figures. Someone who isn't interested enough to take her home or even ask her name is far less likely to turn out to be a grifter or a control freak or a stalker with homicidal tendencies.

The last thing Jenny wants or needs is to get dragged into another one of the Dead Boy Detective Agency’s cases. Unfortunately, the universe has it out for her. At least the sex is good?

Public restrooms are nicer in London than in Port Townsend. Jenny's been told with a startling amount of vehemence by multiple people that they're nicer all over the UK than anywhere in the States, but she hasn't exactly done a personal survey of the country. Even with her limited experience of public restrooms—toilets, she thinks inanely; they're called toilets here—she can definitely say she's never been tempted to have sex in the toilet of a sketchy pub before.

"Your jeans are too damned tight," the woman whose name Jenny didn't bother asking complains between heated kisses.

"You seemed plenty happy with them when you were checking out my ass," Jenny points out, pausing in her quest to unfasten the truly stupid number of tiny buttons on the woman's shirt to help unfasten her own jeans.

Jenny didn't leave her flat planning to have a semi-public anonymous hookup. She was supposed to be having drinks—and hopefully sex—with a woman she met through a dating app Crystal talked her into downloading—"I'm not saying you should go out looking for your soulmate; I'm just saying maybe you'd feel better if you got laid. Have you even relaxed for five minutes since you got off the plane?"—but Natalya hadn't shown up at the pub she suggested they meet at. But there there was a pretty brunette at the bar with a cocky smirk and a foul mouth who turned out to be every bit as hot as she was annoying and also extremely down for a quick fuck in the restroom and absolutely nothing more than that. Which is probably for the best, Jenny figures. Someone who isn't interested enough to take her home or even ask her name is far less likely to turn out to be a grifter or a control freak or a stalker with homicidal tendencies.

And it's extremely unlikely Natalya would have been this talented with her fingers, holy fuck. Jenny makes a noise she's not at all proud of, head falling back against the wall of the toilet stall as the woman works her clit with deft fingers that don't seem at all hindered by the tightness of her jeans.

"Knew you'd be loud once I got you going," the woman says smugly, urging one of Jenny's legs up over her hip to give her better access.

Jenny wants to argue, but she's really not in any position for it, so she settles for unceremoniously pulling open the last of the buttons on the woman's shirt and finally getting her hands on her tits while doing her best to bite back the sounds she wants to be making.

The woman pushes into Jenny's touch with a pleased hum. "That wasn't a complaint, to be clear." She leans in, their difference in height being just enough to put her lips against Jenny's throat, over the racing beat of her pulse, as she says, "Let me hear you."

"Are you trying to get us kicked out?" Jenny asks even as she shifts her weight so that her own thigh is pressed firmly between the other woman's, and her thumbs brush over stiff nipples.

"Not gonna happen," the woman gasps, rolling her hips eagerly against Jenny's thigh. "The owner owes me."

Any attempt Jenny might have made to ask what exactly the owner owes is completely derailed by the woman sliding two of those clever fingers inside Jenny's cunt as she scrapes her teeth along Jenny's neck in sharp counterpoint. There's no hope of keeping quiet then, not with the woman's fingers inside her while her thumb works her clit, alternating sloppy kisses and sharp nips and sharper curses against Jenny's throat while she rides Jenny's thigh like it's her fucking job.

It's quick and it's frenzied and it's nothing at all like most of the sex Jenny has had in her life. It's also kind of amazing. She tilts her head down so she can capture that filthy mouth with her own, and then lets herself get lost in the slick slide of fingers and tongues, in the frantic rutting and the desperate, grasping pleasure that rises in her like a tidal wave: inevitable and devastating.

Jenny screams when she comes, not even caring anymore who might hear, especially with the woman gasping a litany of fuck, fuck, fuck as she works Jenny through the aftershocks, her own hips starting to stutter. Jenny has just enough piece of mind to grab the woman by the hips, pulling her tight against her thigh as she shudders through her own orgasm moments later.

They stay like that for a few moments as they catch their breath. Just as Jenny is starting to feel the faintest twinges of awkwardness—Do you kiss after a toilet stall hookup? Is that a thing? Should she say thank you? What's the etiquette here?—the woman pulls back with a soft laugh.

"Fuck, I needed that."

Jenny's agreement turns into a gasp as the woman pulls her fingers from Jenny's cunt, seeming to consider for half a second before popping them into her mouth and sucking them clean.

Jenny realizes she's staring and quickly looks away, busying herself with the process of refastening her jeans and making some vague attempt and straightening her clothes so she doesn't look quite so much like she just got extremely well-fucked by a complete stranger.

When she looks up again, the woman is fastening the last of the buttons on her shirt, looking far less flustered than Jenny feels.

"Right," Jenny says. "I'm gonna—" She gestures toward the exit. "Thanks," she adds, and then she leaves before she can find out if that was entirely the wrong thing to say.

She feels a brief moment of relief when she heads back out into the pub and the woman behind the bar doesn't give her a second glance—maybe she hadn't been quite so loud as she thought?—but then she sees how the three women at the table closest to the restroom are looking at her, and she ducks her head and hightails it out into the comforting blanket of fog that feels almost like home if she doesn't look or listen too closely.

She's halfway back to her flat before she realizes that she really does feel better, and much less tense than she has been since she arrived in London four months ago. Maybe even less tense than she's felt since before she watched the woman trying to kill her die a gruesome death in front of her and got possessed by a literal demon and watched her livelihood go up in flames and, oh yeah, started seeing ghosts.

Dammit.

Crystal is going to be so fucking smug when she finds out she was right.

~~~

"I take it the date went well?”

Briana is usually Jenny's favorite coworker, partly because she mixes a better drink than any other bartender Jenny's met, and partly because she doesn't usually ask about Jenny's personal life.

"It wasn't a date," Jenny says, reaching for her apron. "And anyway, she didn't show."

Briana studies her. "But you did have a good time last night." It's not a question.

"A better time than I'm having right now," Jenny tells her, pulling on her hair net.

Jenny is extremely grateful when Briana's questioning is interrupted by the arrival of their boss, who greets them with his ever-friendly smile.

"Ah, Jenny, do you have a minute before you start? I wanted to talk some scheduling with you."

"Sure thing," Jenny says, happily abandoning Briana and her prying in favor of following Rob back to the office.

When the insurance rep told Jenny exactly how long it was likely to take before she saw any money from the destruction of her butcher shop, she'd been livid. That lasted about an hour, until she realized she was in an unfamiliar city—an unfamiliar country—with no money to start fresh like she planned and exactly no experience working for anyone other than herself and before that her parents, at which point it turned to mild panic. When Edwin mentioned that the agency's landlord also owned a pub and had mentioned something about needing to hire new back of house staff, Jenny was extremely dubious. Not only was working a kitchen very different from running a butcher shop, but she was more than a little wary about working for the kind of guy who rented office space to a couple of teenage ghosts.

But Rob turned out to be a decent guy, and almost freakishly normal from everything Jenny's seen. He inherited the New Inn along with the building Charles and Edwin—and now Crystal—work out of and a few other properties from his favorite uncle, but that's the most remarkable thing about him other than the whole seeing and talking to ghosts thing, and she's hardly going to hold nearly drowning as a child against him. The man is a part-time history lecturer at City University and wears loafers, so Jenny figures he's pretty low on the list of people likely to drag her into more supernatural weirdness or attempted homicide, and he pays her better than she's probably worth given her lack of experience.

All in all, it's a pretty good deal, especially since Rob knows she'll be gone as soon as her insurance money comes through and she can find a decent shop space to rent.

Jenny stops dead in her tracks when she sees the two people already waiting in Rob's office.

"No," she says flatly, addressing the two ghosts—one leaning against the office wall and the other perched on the edge of Rob's desk—before turning on her boss. "What the hell, Rob? You said you wanted to talk about scheduling."

It's not that she has anything against Charles and Edwin, but Crystal's two ghost friends are private detectives who take jobs for other ghosts, and the fact that they're ambushing her at work suggests this isn't a social call. The last thing she wants is to get caught up in one of their cases. Again.

"This is about scheduling," Edwin says, "in part."

"We need an assist on our latest case and Robbie's got a friend with the right kind of skills," Charles adds.

"I figure it'll be safer for everyone involved if I make the introduction at the Inn." Rob's tone is apologetic. "You're the only one on staff unlikely to get freaked out if anyone gets shouty about things, so I was wondering if you'd mind closing up tonight so I can invite her over and make the introduction after close. I know you're only scheduled until ten, but I'm happy to pay you double for the extra hours."

"I don't mind closing," Jenny says, "but what's the catch?"

"No catch, I swear," Rob says, holding up his hands. "I wouldn't even ask, but I've got an early lecture tomorrow and would rather not be up prepping the kitchen by myself after I introduce the boys to my friend."

Despite the revelation that Rob apparently has a friend with skills to help Charles and Edwin on one of their cases, Jenny doesn't get the sense that he's trying to deceive her in any way.

She looks at Edwin. "You said 'in part.' So what's the catch."

"Ah," Edwin says, sliding off the desk. "It's not a catch, per se."

"Eds," Charles chides softly. "What he means is, we've got a message for you. From our client."

Jenny feels the bottom of her stomach drop out. "Your client?" she repeats. Their client can only mean another ghost. Someone who died.

"Natalya Mesi," Edwin says. "She wants you to know that she's very sorry for missing your appointment last night, but she was quite dead by then."

~~~

Rob is nice enough to give Jenny some privacy and a very stiff drink—on the house—after Charles and Edwin leave. She goes through the remainder of her shift in a daze, glad that the dinner rush doesn't prove to be too much for her distracted mind to handle and that Eoin doesn't comment on her much more frequent than usual minor fuckups. Jenny decides he's her new favorite coworker.

Crystal arrives just before closing, slipping back to the kitchen to give Jenny a quick, fierce hug.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, and Jenny knows she's apologizing as much for pushing Jenny to download the dating app in the first place as expressing condolences for the death of a non-quite-acquaintance.

"I didn't even know her," Jenny says when Crystal releases her. "Not really."

"I'm still sorry," Crystal insists. "You didn't want to be involved in any of our cases, and I got you involved, sort of, so I'm sorry."

"If I were that worried about it, I would have stayed in Port Townsend," Jenny points out, as if staying in Port Townsend with the memories of Niko and Maxine and her parents and her shop and every person and every dream she's ever lost wouldn't have been a complete nightmare. But. She didn't have to come to London.

Crystal squeezes her arms and offers her a weak smile. "I'm glad you're here."

It's a slow enough night that there are no stragglers by the time closing rolls around, and Eoin is out the door in time for Rob to lock up behind him. Rob says something about his friend running late, and Jenny tries to ignore the two living humans and two ghosts talking quietly at a table in the corner while she cleans the grill and wipes down the counters and refills the condiment bottles, but her eyes keep drifting over to the only people who know the answer to the question that's been plaguing her since that afternoon. The question she didn't have the courage to ask at the time.

She makes it halfway through refilling the salt shakers before stalking over to the table and demanding, "How did Natalya die?"

The four at the table look up at her and then exchange uneasy glances with each other.

"We aren't exactly sure about that yet," Charles says. "That's sort of what we're investigating."

"But you know something," Jenny presses. "That's why you're here to meet Rob's friend, right? Because you found something you need help with?"

"We could be wrong, though," Crystal says. "And it's not anything you need to worry about—"

"All signs point to demonic activity," Rob interrupts, and Jenny is grateful to him for saying it even as the room starts to go fuzzy around the edges.

"The woman I was supposed to meet for drinks was murdered by a demon?" Jenny hardly recognizes her own voice, high-pitched and squeaky as it is.

"We don't know that a demon did the actual killing," Edwin explains, "but we're fairly certain a demon was involved. Your friend is actually quite lucky. A demon could have done far worse than kill her."

"She wasn't my friend," Jenny says faintly, grabbing for a nearby chair to keep herself upright before her knees give out completely.

She misses, and only Rob's quick reflexes save her from falling on her ass.

"I got you," he says as he hoists her with surprising strength into the chair she'd failed to grab onto. "Just breathe. You're safe. No demons here, I promise."

Jenny does her best to follow his instruction to breathe, trying to force her lungs to expand and contract in some sort of regular rhythm. It's not the first panic attack she's had in the past six months. It's not the tenth. But every one is as awful as the last.

She has no idea how long she spends struggling to calm her heart, her lungs, her mind, only that she's only just managed to start feeling like an actual person again when she's startled by the sound of the bells over the tavern's entrance. Which makes no sense, because didn't Rob lock the door?

Dazedly, Jenny looks up only to find the very last person she's expecting to see. She blinks her eyes several times, but the image doesn't change.

"Damn exorcism ran long," the woman says, shrugging out of her pale coat.

This time, Jenny notes a little hysterically, the shirt underneath doesn't have any of those absurd tiny buttons.

"Demons are not terribly respectful of your time, are they?" Rob says wryly. "These are the tenants I was telling you about. Charles, Edwin, and Crystal of the Dead Boy Detective Agency. And this is Jenny, who's on staff here at the New Inn.

“Everyone, this is Johanna Constantine. If you've a demon problem, she's the best person I can think of to help you solve it."

[mysticstarlightduck]

Late Writeblr Intro!

Hello, friends!

I figured it was about time I made an actual blog intro of my own since I forgot to make one when I started this blog last year. Better late than never, lmao!

Pls, reblog, like, and/or reply to help boost the blog! 💕

Let's get started:

Personal Stuff! 💜🩶🖤

My name is Anna/Anya but you can call me Mystic, Ducky, or just Anya on this blog! My personal nickname is Ani and I adore it (:

I am an Asexual woman (my pronouns are she/her!) and I'm also personally an atheist who puts my faith in the spirits of Mother Nature, though I respect all other religions equally!

I'm Gen Z and Latina (Brazilian). I was raised bilingual (Brazilian Portuguese + English) and I love learning languages - currently, I'm working on learning French and Spanish! Career-wise I am studying in college to become a character designer and hopefully animator, as I want to pursue a career as an artist and writer! I also wish to have my WIPs published in the near future (:

Some fun facts about me!

My favorite shows are Critical Role, Game of Thrones, Castlevania, The Legend of Vox Machina (animated series), Star Wars, Voltron, The Dragon Prince, Avatar the Last Airbender, Legend of Korra, and DC Comics content, as well as many more lmao. I love watching movies and series!

My favorite Vox Machina characters are Vax'ildan and Percy (:

I am a younger sister 💖

My hair is short and curly (pixie style, similar to the haircut Rapunzel has at the end of the Tangled movie!)

I adore listening to music, especially songs that can inspire me to write my WIPs! Playlists are a huge part of my writing process and something I really enjoy making.

I'm currently rereading Shadow and Bone (+ Six of Crows) and I am always looking for more good dark fantasy/historical fantasy books to read so book recs are always welcome! I also am a huge fan of the Percy Jackson series and Trials of Apollo (by Rick Riordan), though I'm usually more of a gritty/dark fantasy fan (like Game of Thrones)!

I have three dogs and two cats!😺🐶

I know how to play the piano, though I haven't done that in a while because things have been chaotic for me, but I'd like to start playing regularly again in my winter vacation.

I have worn glasses since I was 5 years old and have terrible eyesight without them (and some days with them, lol, so bear with me).

My friends and I are doing a DnD campaign every Sunday, where I play as a half-elf rogue named Aeryn (he/him). I'm adoring this adventure so far, it's so fun!!!

I love to bake and am rather good at it, but am a painfully average cook lmao (some specific recipes I make are actually rlly good, but it depends a lot on my mood and the 'alignment of the stars' lol)

I want to learn how to knit/crochet! 🧶

I'm a theater nerd and love musicals (:

About my Writing!🏹⌛

I write fictional works mostly in the genre of fantasy (high fantasy/epic fantasy/dark fantasy/historical fantasy/urban fantasy, etc. You name it!) and science fiction (space opera/cyberpunk/superhero, etc).

My works usually revolve around themes such as epic quests, secrets, adventure, rebels fighting an oppressive system, sibling bonds, acceptance/respect, outcasts, and much, much more! I love fluff and whump equally, and though my stories tend to focus on serious topics (or at least darker/heavier themes) within a fantasy/sci-fi setting, I like to have a good bit of humor, lighthearted fun, and comedy to my stories to lighten up the mood!

My main WIPs:

Song of Thorns

🌹WIP Intro: (here)🌹

Genre: dark fantasy, medieval fantasy, adventure/mystery, dark fairytale, eldritch horror (mild)

Style: Standalone (possible Trilogy)

Tags: #wip song of thorns #song of thorns

Short Summary/About: "A peasant girl moves with her siblings from her struggling seaside village to the kingdom's glittering floating capital, but after her older brother is kidnapped, she ends up discovering the dark, bloody secrets hiding behind the long-lasting royal family of the town and must team up with a young dhampir thief, the exiled prince, and a lonely druid girl to save the dying kingdom from this web of lies".

Supernova Initiative

🎇WIP Intro: (here) 🎇

Genre: space opera, adventure, exploration, laboratory whump, heist, thriller/mystery

Style: Episodic book series with an overarching plot (each chapter/group of chapters equivalent to an episode in a TV series)

Tags: #wip supernova initiative #supernova initiative

Short Summary/About: "A young intergalactic thief and his crew are captured after a heist gone wrong and forced to accept a strange deal - complete a mission for the Junction, retrieve important missing files, and get their freedom back. All the while that is happening, Jack Tithus, the protagonist, finds himself trapped as a test subject to an immoral, and elusive, man known as the Director."

Enchanted Illusions

💀 WIP Intro: (here)💀

Genre: Victorian fantasy, adventure, mystery, gothic fantasy, dark fantasy, crime-solving

Style: Possibly a trilogy

Tags: #wip enchanted illusions, #enchanted illusions

Short Summary/About: "On a magical setting inspired by Victorian times, a group of strangers and outcasts must work together to thwart a powerful secret organization and stop a murder spree that could lead to another civil war between myths and humans."

Of Starlight and Beasts

✨⚔️WIP Intro: (here)⚔️✨

Genre: medieval fantasy, epic fantasy, adventure/quest, dark fairytale, sword and sorcery, prophecies

Style: Book Series

Tags: #wip of starlight and beasts, #enchanted illusions

Short Summary/About: "A young knight in training and an amnesiac star mage embark on a quest to prevent an ancient prophecy from coming to fruition as a vengeful sorceress queen's army marches relentlessly onto their land with the intent to destroy all their kingdom has built."

The Last Wrath

🔥⚔️WIP Intro: to be made...⚔️🔥

Genre: dark fantasy, warfare, political intrigue, espionage, adventure/quest, medieval fantasy, whump

Style: Book Series (currently on hiatus)

Tags: #wip the last wrath, #the last wrath

Short Summary/About: "In a land torn by an ancient war between two sides of a continent, a mageborn girl finds herself trapped amid the bloodshed after her past comes back to haunt her and her family. Now, stopping the war may be the only chance she still has to survive."

Tales of Wilted Flowers

🥀WIP Intro: to be made...🪻

Genre: RPG-inspired fantasy, high fantasy, adventure, fairytale, epic quest, heist story, whump, light fantasy

Style: Trilogy (currently on hiatus)

Tags: #wip tales of wilted flowers #tales of wilted flowers

Short Summary/About - "A group of youths rejected and betrayed by society in many different ways come together due to unexpected circumstances and must rely on each other to prevent the kingdom's corrupt Head Sorcerer and the King from reviving an ancient evil."

Realms of Loss

🍂WIP Intro: (here)🍂

Genre: dark fantasy, warfare, medieval fantasy, high fantasy, ancient times fantasy, Viking-inspired, prophecies & curses

Style: Book Series (currently on hiatus)

Tags: #wip realms of loss #realms of loss

Short Summary/About - "In a continent destroyed by the fall of the Old Gods, and trapped in an endless toil for survival, a cocky young prince discovers his role in an ancient prophecy after his brother, the King, is murdered and assassins come for him too. Running away into the forsaken land beyond the walls of his kingdom, he'll have to learn to be a leader and save his people as a dead, murderous God awakens."

Mutant Inquiries/Open Secret Files

🤖 WIP Intro: to be made..🤖

Genre: superhero, cyberpunk, futuristic, dystopian, science fiction, urban fantasy

Style: Episodic Series, still in development

Tags: #wip mutant inquiries #wip open secret files #mutant inquiries #open secret files

Short Summary/About: "In a dystopian, high-tech future, a group of mutant teenagers become vigilantes and crime fighters to rebel against the oppressive government regime and survive their crime-ridden city."

I have a few other smaller-scale WIPs I occasionally, less frequently work on, such as Lies Untold and Jade Ruins, but those up above are the main ones that I wish to publish. I've also got a big, secret extra WIP I'm working on for fun and will share it with you guys soon!

[a-strange-inkling]

i have nothing to offer for hellcheer anniversary week except tiny snippets of my too many wips 🙈

here is a bit of the mechanic au for the ‘coworkers prompt’:

“Hey, Jonathan,” Eddie beckons quietly through the side of his mouth, still feeling Wayne’s warning scuff burning beneath the waves of his hair. “Jonathan…Jon…Jon… Jonny… Jonny Quest…Jon Bon Jovi.” His half brother finally gives in, rolling his eyes in heavy agitation before glancing up from the other side of the car.

“What?”

“Hey uh…” Eddie peaks over at Chrissy on the other side of the garage, working dutifully on the Prius, her headphones still in her ears. In her own little world. He’s not really bothering her if he’s asking someone else about her. Right? He cups his mouth with one hand as he whispers. “What’s the deal with Tinker Bell?”

Jonathan’s dark eyes jump over to Chrissy instantly, then back to Eddie, his face turning pink before he clears his throat loudly and gets back to work. Oh, so he’s not the only one who’s taken a fancy, apparently. “What about her? You have a problem working with a girl or something?”

“No,” Eddie feels himself bristle defensively. “Course not… just wondering how someone like her ended up in this dump…I mean, c’mon, look at her.”

The girl is beautiful and polished and tiny like she should be wearing pearls and cashmere while being courted by some frat boy at an Ivy League campus that drives the same car she’s currently tuning up. And yet here she is instead, in children’s sized coveralls with an allen wrench in her hand and a smudges of motor oil on her face.

He can tell Jonathan doesn’t appreciate the jab toward the ‘family business’, but he doesn’t care enough to argue about it. He just shrugs his shoulders dismissively as he reaches over for something from the tool box. “Why don’t you just ask her yourself?”

“Because she doesn’t talk to me,” Eddie mumbles, trying not to sound as deflated as he feels about her single syllable greetings and guarded nods of acknowledgement when she punches in. “I think she’s scared of me.”

“She’s just shy,” Jonathan replies, turning his gaze her way again empathetically. “Took her a while to warm up to the rest of us too.”

“Well you two must get along then,” Eddie mutters, rolling his own eyes now, a little sting of irrational jealousy swelling in his chest area.

“We do.” Jonathan answers flatly, keeping his eyes on the stubborn, rusted bolt he’s having trouble loosening.

“Oh yeah, are you guys an item or something?” Eddie grins, mean and pestering. It’s admittedly fun to get under Jon’s skin.

“He wishes,” Will says quietly from where he’s reading his comic book on the old leather couch by the office. Eddie didn’t even realize he was there. Jonathan gives his little brother the side eye, but ultimately ignores him.

“No, she’s got a boyfriend,” Jonathan informs him.

“Total jerk.” Will adds, turning a page.

“Ahh,” Eddie muses, smiling in amusement at young William’s side commentary. “…Serious?”

“I guess,” Jonathan answers, trying for indifference and failing. “Five years.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie chuckles away the sinking feeling in his gut. “Five years… Jesus… I’ve never been with anyone longer than five days.”

Jonathan makes an annoyed face that says I’ve never been with anyone period, asshole.

Eddie decides to steer his irritation in a mutually beneficial direction. “…So he’s a jerk?”

Jonathan meets his gaze, on the cusp of a rueful smile. “Yuppie douchebag.”

“Awful lot of chatting going on over there,” Wayne calls over from beneath the Ford. “The chief is expecting that Blazer ready by the end of the day, boys.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie waves his hand in the old man’s direction dismissively, not remotely concerned about Hopper.

Jonathan gets back to work, while Eddie lets his gaze slide back to Chrissy, who’s right where he left her, that pretty little enigma. She’s gently bobbing her head along to the music, completely focused on her work, her button nose all scrunched.

Damn, she’s cute.

“Why’d you ask?” Jonathan says under his breath, and Eddie realizes that he had asked the question at least twice now.

“I dunno, curious,” he supplies easily. “Not a lot going on around here.”

Jonathan nods his head, brows furrowing in a ‘yeah, sure, bullshit’ sort of way.

“Don’t worry,” Eddie tells him a little bitterly, finally getting back to work. “Wayne’s forbade me from bothering her.”

Jonathan just snorts softly in reply and the garage quiets back into a companionable silence.

[gruvu]

All the heartless want my blood All of the gods wanna spit me out as cud If I don't make it out alive At least I'll see my undead wife

So this has been decaying as a wip in my folder for awhile and I decided to finish it. I had to wonder if the wolf queen quest in skyrim could have been better. I think she would have made a great powerful enemy for a long plot and it would have been curious how the rest of the world of Tamiel would have reacted to her return because she would have a legit claim for the throne. Anyway... Baron is currently being put through the ringer cause I wanna write this lil quest in my own way.

[tanoraqui]

queenship under siege and there's a WHAT in this mountain?! (LotR)

[re: badly described WIPs fics I almost certainly will never actually write - in the lead with 17.5% of the vote as of midnight 3/3/24]

I know I’ve said this before, because I do love it so, but:

The only reason, the ONLY reason, I would ever want the Arkenstone to be a Silmaril is this: the day after Aragorn leaves Rivendell with the Fellowship, Elrond summons Arwen to his study and bids her to go to Erebor.

"What?" she demands. "Surely I am needed here, or out in the wilds, marshaling the Rangers - "

"Your brothers will manage that, after they escort you," her father insists. "You must go to Erebor, and ask Dain to let you open Thorin's tomb, that you may look upon the Arkenstone. Gloin will help you - I spoke with him ere he left. Don't let anyone else know your purpose - as far as the world is concerned, I am sending my only daughter to a safe stronghold until Mordor is defeated."

"Are you not?" she cries. But he will explain no more than, "I think the jewel may be important to our oncoming war, but I wish you to assess it unbiased" - and he gives her two letters to read only once she's made her own judgement of the jewel.

So Arwen goes. The Misty Mountains are crawling with orcs, but in cloaks woven by their grandmother, she and her brothers slip through with only a few close calls. Elrohir and Elladan don't know why she's going even a little, save that their father bade it and (he said) their grandmother supported it. The problem with having Elrond for a father and Galadriel for a grandmother is that, while technically they may each be wrong at times (allegedly), in agreement they never are.

It's nice to have what may be one last journey with her brothers, at least. All three of them know that Elladan and Elrohir will soon be in battle alongside their cousins the Dúnedain, and for all Erebor's strength, it will soon be under attack. Rivendell might soon be under attack. Lothlórien might soon be under attack.

The twins leave almost as soon as the three of them arrive; they have other work to do. Dain barely protests letting Arwen mildly exhume his cousin in order to assess the famous jewel - he doesn't quite like letting an elf(ish person) near the Heart of the Mountain, but he is very worried about the black-armored army lurking across the River Carnen, and respects the wisdom of Elrond and his immediate kin.

Arwen sees the Arkenstone sitting calmly in the hands of of the fallen king, and she sees it clutched in the burning hand of a no-longer-king, fallen free from a twisted iron crown, stolen over a king's bloody body, hallowed by a Queen, forged in a fire like the world never saw again... It glows softly; its light matches that of the small crystal that hangs around her neck now, one of a set of three.

[Here me out: Galadriel made three: one for Celebrian and Elrond as a wedding gift, jointly from herself and Eärendil; one for thw twins upon their birth, and one for Arwen upon hers. Celebrian left hers behind when she Sailed; Galadriel gives it to Frodo.]

The letters are from Elrond and Galadriel, respectively. They say much the same thing:

I'm so sorry to spring this on you, and to make you a guardian of this secret

If the Ringbearer's quest fails and the Enemy regains his full power, please take the jewel (as freely giving by the dwarves if at all possible) and use it however you can to save everyone and everything that you can. (Elrond's says, "My parents will help as much as they can. Do not hesitate to ask for their or any other aid." Galadriel's says, "If you seek Undying Shores with mortals in tow, for succor or for more active aid, hold the Jewel high and beseech first Ulmo and his spirits, and then every single kin-relation you have, no matter the connection. Once you rouse the general populace, then approach the Valar - though don't appear to delay.)

Galadriel's says, "Círdan knows to potentially expect you." Elrond wrote, "If you see your mother before I do", stopped there and blotted it out.

Neither of them needs to say, We will hold the line, to buy you as much time as we can. Both say "I love you", "I'm sorry", and variations on, "I know you can do this."

Arwen made the Choice of Elros several decades ago: to live among Men as a Man, to take up queenship of a people at the start of a new Age of the World and rule until most of those she loved most had passed and it was time to follow as a Man. Now she faces the Choice of Elwing: to leave most of those she loved the most for dead and flee with Silmaril in hand and only the hope of the impossible to save a doomed continent.

(Or, if she was optimistic, the Choice of Lúthien: to face down the Lord of Death and demand back one single most beloved [for Aragorn could not live while Sauron triumphed], and steal him away for many peaceful decades ere doom fell entirely, their own best efforts done. But Lúthien had been, in her glorious way, very selfish, and Arwen was not.)

The reason I haven't started writing this fic and probably never will is that I have a perfect sense of what I believe kids call the vibes - the mood, the tone, themes, the visual and emotional aesthetic - and none of actual, like, events of the story.

It's about Arwen's final trial of leadership and diplomacy, before she (hopefully) takes up a throne of Gondor, being living with Dwarves for three months under threat and then fact of war. Helping in the infirmary. Participating in strategy discussions, because war isn't her area of expertise but she has participated a few times, in her nearly 3,000 years of life. Mediating as a neutral party on inevitable conflicts between Dwarves the Men, especially in the last week and a half when they're under high stress while besieged together with two kings dead in the field.

Carrying a torch in the deep corridors of the Mountain because she's Mannish enough not to see naturally in the dark. Standing extra watches because she's Elvish enough to see well in starlight, especially if the Star in question is her grandfather; and getting scouting reports from the local thrushes, because they're talkative and Melian's heirs have always had a knack for the speech of birds.

Busying herself with sewing a banner for Aragorn, with jewel-stars and a crown of mithril and gold - for her elders have appointed her as their last hope, and she shall hold it for them and for all the people she can save if in the end she must; but her Estel fights in the field. The night the armies of Mordor cross the river to strike at Dale, she stands on the summit of the Lonely Mountain and calls a friend among the Eagles, who takes the finished banner in her talons and bears it south to where Arwen's brothers and cousins ride to Aragorn's side.

(She shares dreams with him sometimes - but she must keep secret a thought that beats in her like a heartbeat, and he must devote all his thought to the quest and the war. So they don't speak much.)

It's about the crushing weight of history and legacy and the very practical matters of running a kingdom in duress. It's about multicultural exchange. It's about love and hope and a hundred different OCs, most of whom will never be recorded in history books even if they die heroically or steal siege-stores to sell on the black market, or simply live and thus deserve to do so. It's about hard work and mortality.

It's about how 77 years after the Battle of Five Armies, Dain II Ironfoot swings his axe until he falls defending the body of Brand King of Dale, son of Baird son of Bard the Dragonslayer, and their people all take refuge in the Mountain together; and Arwen tends the wounded with the Songs she learned from her father and the neat stitches her mother taught her for first cloth, then skin; and she walks among the frightened people - none of them remotely her people; Dwarves and entirely common Men, mostly descended from easterners migrating slowly west - and knows that if these are all she can save, she will gladly die or live as she must in order to do so; and the people hearken a little to see her pass by with starlight in her eyes and on her breast.

And then - after an eternity of painful anticipation, after what feels like no time at all - the Shadow passes, and the wait and tension abruptly lift.

They very much do still have to go defeat that army before the gates, though.

[veshialles]

thinking about Kieshara reuniting with Anders/Justice makes me insane actually

like the angst of "you were my friend and you left me" x2, combined with the ''you finally got what you always wanted, was it worth it?'' and also the ''you've become someone i don't even recognize but I will still be here for you'' not to mention that ''also you stole my maps when you left and i need them back for my personal quest wait wdym you lent them to a friend WHO HAS MY MAPS ANDERS??''

[inaconstantstateofchange]

don't come crying - a young!Raphael fic

An incredible rendition of young!Raphael by @shahs1221, here: please go check her out and give her some well-deserved adoration for it!

A/N: I'm gonna be so honest, I have no idea how to tag this in a comprehensible way, relationship-wise. Suffice to say, the Mephisto-lovers are... probably going to appreciate this more than I wish you would, and if you too are fifty leagues down the Niche Forgotten Realms Characters™ rabbit hole, you may also be enticed by the Baalphegor inclusion. 18+, please and thank you.

Summary:

Raphael blinks, attempting to reason past the howling fury within him. He has never before felt so truly attuned to his more fiendish instincts, working in concert with his mortal ones in a truly dangerous storm. He swore when he first came to this wretched plane that he would be its master one day, and he’ll be damned – well and truly – if he fails here. Or: Centuries prior to the events of the game, Raphael's return from a routine fetch quest on Mephistopheles's orders is interrupted by a summons to the throne room. His father has a lesson to impart to him, and he's going to ensure it sticks.

This is part of an ongoing story I've had in the back of my mind for several weeks now. Rather than another WIP longfic, I'll be posting additional segments from this 'verse in a series if/when I add more. If @sky-kiss has any say in it, I'm sure I will.

The only background info you really need is:

All characters are drawn from actual Forgotten Realms lore.

Raphael has recently been plucked from the Material Plane to join his father's court on Cania, in the Nine Hells.

Due to Raphael's stunted development, and an unwillingness to be shamed by his spawn's weakness, Mephistopheles has placed Raphael under the purview of his consort, Baalphegor.

Baalphegor's body is able to produce an empowering draught, too weak to hold much significance to true fiends, but sufficient to bolster Raphael's growth.

Finally, it is a pet headcanon I've incorporated into this 'verse that Baalphegor is the same individual later know as Haarlep, but you are welcome to use your own interpretation.

Raphael stumbles through the extravagant entrance doors to Mephistar, the flesh-shearing winds of Cania grabbing after him as he ducks behind the solid, enchanted stone. He’s done his best to cover all exposed skin, but there is always some that escapes his notice, leaving him bleeding out strength he can ill afford to lose. He loathes these “errands” his father sends him on, tasks purported to test his skill, devotion, and cunning. In reality, it feels more like busywork designed to keep him weak and subservient, reminding him of his contentious existence in the hierarchy and reinforcing his dependence on his father’s dubious goodwill.

The desiccated parchment that proved the focus of this most recent quest crinkles slightly, as he shifts his gaze up, the slight sound echoing across the cavernous hall as he looks with certainty for the being he knows to be waiting for his return, just as always. But — they’re not there.

He furrows his brow, an agitated and disquieting anger growing within his gut. He strides across the marble floor on frostbitten feet he can barely feel, shoving the parchment at the lone figure of Mephistopheles’s chamberlain Barbas, standing at attention at his post, and wearing his habitual sneer as he looks down at Raphael. Raphael ignores it for now, as ever, but files the snub away with all the other insults he will one day be strong enough to return tenfold.

“Where is m—the Lady Baalphegor?” He demands imperiously. They are almost always waiting for him upon his return to bestow his reward. That is the deal, the entire reason he engages in these banal fetch quests even though they are entirely beneath his rank and status. He pushes sharply at the errant thought of the pretty fiction it makes, knowing all the while that his true choice is to bow to his father’s whims or perish. True or not, it does no good to dwell on such matters, not when he will be changing them just as soon as he can manage.

Barbas’s sneer gouges even deeper into his face, growing a biting and nearly gleeful edge as he answers Raphael, “Well, young lord, as your august presence must surely have ascertained, the Lady is certainly not here.”

Raphael can feel his face going blotchy and red, and curses his mortal heritage once again for its constant betrayals. The ice-blue crystals in the eye sockets of the chamberlain harden and glint with glee at the sight. Raphael spins on his heel, marching furiously away, the parchment crumpling further within his fist. Barbas’s mocking voice rings out behind him, “Don’t forget to report to His Grace, little lord! He insisted it be done immediately upon your return.”

Raphael almost turns again to berate him, but manages to stop himself at the last moment, lest he lose even more face from the encounter. He’ll make his report as quickly as possible, then hunt down his wayward… Baalphegor, and claim his rightful recompense. The brilliant halls of Mephistar blur around him as he storms through them, focusing only on making his way to his father’s great hall with haste.

He doesn’t wait to be announced, merely pushes firmly on the doors, both with his physical form and, in a manner only recently attained, with the lashings of his own metaphysical aspect. They creak open, the sound like distant screams even on the well-kept mechanisms, and he steps through without hesitation, words of complaint already springing to his lips, when he stops dead in his tracks.

He’s found Baalphegor.

The succubus – and they are in full succubus form in this moment – is perched indolently on his father’s lap, where he sits on his ostentatious throne. But not just perched, no — impaled, as he finds when, with stricken eyes, he watches them move their body in a smooth, undulating motion up, degree by degree, before dropping back down, brilliant hair falling around them and catching the flickering hellfire-light as it glints off their red-brown skin. Soft, melodious moans are driven from their throat with each movement, as if pushed out by the — by the member within them. Their round breasts shift with the motion, the revitalizing milk within them welling up and dripping down their chest, squandered and disregarded.

He swallows, throat dry, his eyes and chest burning in stark opposition with one another.

His father casts an apathetic glance across the hall, and his eyes alight on Raphael, a cruel smirk curling at his lips. “Ah, the returning triumphant! What have you brought me this time?” His voice is nothing but mocking, no attempt made to couch his disregard for his unwanted and unloved spawn.

Raphael blinks, attempting to reason past the howling fury within him. He has never before felt so truly attuned to his more fiendish instincts, working in concert with his mortal ones in a truly dangerous storm. Everything within him is raging at the broken contract, even as it boils with jealousy at the manhandling of something that is his, and it is only the barest dregs of his staunch self-preservation that manage to keep him from attempting something truly foolish. He swore when he first came to this wretched plane that he would be its master one day, and he’ll be damned – well and truly – if he fails here.

He holds the parchment, now looking rather worse for wear, out before him on a finely trembling hand. He searches for the words he needs in a mind nearly whited out by rage.

“I… your cult in Waterdeep sends their obeisance, y–your Grace.” He curses his tongue for its fumbling, driving home further how well his father’s ploy is working to discomfit him.

“Oh,” Mephistopheles waves a careless hand. “That collection of rabble. You will leave it with my steward.”

Raphael ducks his head a bare inch, keeping his eyes away from Baalphegor as much as he can, and turns to leave.

His father’s voice rings out after him before he has completed even half his turn, sharpening with the first warning edges of his infamous temper. “Where do you think you are going, whelp? You have not yet been dismissed.”

Raphael turns back to face him, slow and careful, as the true danger of the situation sets in. He has rarely found himself in the presence of his father when these moods strike, and never without at least the tenuous support of Baalphegor behind him. And yet… he meets their gaze now, searching, and the barest fraction desperate, but there is nothing. Their red eyes meet his without flinching, cold as Cania’s glaciers. Trickles of the subtly shimmering draught spilling from their breasts have reached down to their hips now, soaking into the thatch of hair between their legs.

He tears his eyes away and forces his attention back to the far greater threat, scrambling for an answer that will satisfy his father.

“My apologies, your Grace.” The epithet comes easier this time, its passage eased by his awareness of his own precarious position. “I misunderstood your direction, and wished only to carry out your will with utmost alacrity.”

Mephistopheles rests his chin insouciantly on his hand, elbow propped against the arm of his throne. His voice, when he speaks, is sardonic and shows no signs of the ongoing actions of the succubus on his lap. “Oh very nicely salvaged, whelp. My wishes, however, are for you to remain just where you are, and appreciate the lesson I’ve prepared for you.”

Raphael swallows, the boiling heat within him growing fiercer, rage intertwined with other, less-savory feelings.

With little warning, Mephistopheles moves his hand to entangle within Baalphegor’s tresses, pulling the succubus fiercely down onto him as he wrenches their head back against his shoulder. A tremulous cry breaks from their throat, and Raphael only barely keeps himself from starting forward at the sound.

Mephistopheles brings his free hand forward and toys with Baalphegor’s breasts, pushed forward into the air from their current position. He twists pitilessly at them, prompting yet more cries as the liquid inside spills out in greater quantities, splashing, wasted, against the smooth skin of Baalphegor’s stomach. It runs in rivulets onto the throne, and down, to collect into puddles on the floor of the grand hall.

Raphael feels his stomach turn even as his mouth, well-trained by association, waters, unhindered by every other horrible aspect of this waking nightmare.

Mephistopheles wipes his hand dismissively on Baalphegor’s hair, leaving behind silvery streaks, then draws them up by their hair and hip, beginning to move within them in earnest as he continues his reproach. Raphael wants to close his eyes, his ears, every one of his senses, but knows such an admission of weakness would be worse than his undoing.

“You’ve prevailed enough upon my largess, and I am no longer willing to indulge your weakness.” Mephistopheles sneers. “You’ve proven more fortunate than any other cambion within the Hells, but from now on you will make your own way, or fail. Such is the way of Baator.”

The fires around the hall burn fiercer in alignment with their lord as he looks down at his unloved progeny. “Should you find yourself desperate for one last taste to stay your appetites, however, you may lap it from the floor like the whelp you are, and thank me for the concession.”

Raphael feels like he is become hellfire himself, the hatred he knew within him for his progenitor stoked to dizzyingly fierce new heights. Jaw aching with the effort of withholding the flood of vitriol within him, he grits out, “My thanks for your… beneficence. I would not dream of prevailing upon it further.”

Mephistopheles snorts, dismissive, then turns his attentions back to Baalphegor, by all accounts having forgotten Raphael’s entire existence.

Raphael stands, Baalphegor’s unfeeling eyes burning into his, until he is finally – finally – dismissed. All the while, the ambitions within him, already cast in carbon, are pressurized further and further, until they are as fearsome diamond, reflecting the blood and fire around him.

He will not remain his father’s lesser for long. He will see him deposed, and make him suffer for these indignities heaped upon his person.

By Asmodeus, he swears it.

[yeetus-feetus]

tangled au (WIP)

Inspired by this ↓ post

Created by this ↓ account

@dragonpyre (I hope this is okay, you just really inspired me is all)

So here:

Jason, second heir to the throne of Gotham, was a happy little boy with a very loud personality. A former street kid, he was adopted into royalty at the age of 3 following his mother’s death, much like his older brother Richard, by the current King of Darkness. Make no mistake by the title he holds, Bruce Wayne is a very Just king though he cloaks himself in the fine fabrics of midnight and gold emblems that glitter like the stars.

But the young prince Jason was a ball of energy with a smart mouth and a baby as he were, often got on the wrong people's nerves. There was one man in particular, the Jester of the court– who was perhaps something more than a simple Jester to the King, maybe even a friend– had joined the Royal staff after a terrible accident that disfigured him many moons before Jason himself was even born.

On this day, Jason was only five when he trod on the odd man’s toes. He can’t remember what he’s said to the man, but it was something with loud youthful ignorance behind it, maybe something about his permanent smile and moon-pale skin. It wasn’t anything nice, to say the least, but who can blame a child of such brutal, unthinking honesty without the better knowledge on how such things were hurtful.

Maybe a man with a soft heart, and the belief he could give everyone in his Kingdom a better life and a second chance, should be blamed on keeping criminals and the insane in his company. Maybe a toddler in bright mocking colours shouldn’t have been left unattended to in the palace halls after a silly disagreement regarding his mother.

The wicked Jester did not return to the King’s court after that night.

Nor did the young Prince Jason. The boy was found in a puddle of his own bastard blood in a storeroom downstairs by the cellar, in teeny tiny shackles with his small bones shattered, tear streaks still wet on his cheeks as he lay limp on the cold cement floor.

The King had wept, cradling his broken body close to him, wailed and begged for the boy to come back to him, pleading for forgiveness from a child who was no more. The King of Darkness caressed the soft face of a lifeless shell, and that was when the shadows spoke.

A deep eerie voice had filled his ears from all directions, reminding him of a tale he had believed to be only myth. The story of the moon when she wept for her own son once very long ago …

A single tear of moonlight had fallen from the heavens, and from this small drop of sorrow bloomed a magic, glowing flower. It had the ability to heal the sick and injured– and in extremely rare cases, even raise the dead if the moon wished it so.

“However, the Flower of Lazarus is protected by a Demon whom hoards it for its youth restoring power”, the low voice warned. “And you have only until the fourth day, beginning when the sun breaks over your Kingdom at dawn, to retrieve it. For when the sun sets on that day, the boy will remain in a tomb forever.”

Bruce, because he is no King down here with a dead son in his arms, remains speechless and confused. Before he could gather his thoughts and interrogate the validity of this supernatural voice, a flock of bats screeched and swarmed and then the voice was gone.

And a man was left in a cold empty room with his beaten bloody son, fear and determination filling his heavy heart. A hope that in four days time, his son will be returned to the earth and fill the Palace with his laughter once more.

⧫

The quest carried out by the King’s Guard had proved successful, and the magic of the Lazarus Flower, brewed into a glowing green liquid potion heals the dead Prince’s body on the morning of the fourth day. A new tale of rebirth bringing the kingdom together as the King launched a floating lantern into the darkness of the night sky, a symbol of prevailing hope and new life, to celebrate the return of his beloved young son.

For that one moment, everything was perfect.

And then that moment ended.

A cloaked woman had entered young Jason’s room that very night by way of the balcony, silently creeping towards the boy’s bed where he slept soundly, unknowing to the threat of her presence. The woman pulls back her hood and strokes a deadly gentle hand up over his face until she reaches his soft baby curls as she sings in hushed tones.

“Flower gleam and glow”

And glow the child’s hair did, a bright green hue filling the room. She pulled a long lock of the glowing hair taught between calloused fingers, reaching into the deep green of her garments for the jewelled hilt of a small sharp knife as she continued.

“Let your powers shine”

The blade glinted in the unnatural light as the woman’s tan hand brought the sharpened knife up…

“Make the clock re–”

But as the knife sliced through the strands of hair it turned lifeless and lost its colour, turning moon-white and powerless. The shock and confusion was clear on the woman’s face, a frown carving its way into her beautiful features as she realised what she must do in order to fulfil her father’s wishes.

Just like that, Jason was stolen. Gone.

The Kingdom searched and searched, but their attempts at recovering the small boy proved nothing but futile and the King lost all his hope. They could not find the Prince of Gotham.

For deep within the forest, in a tall hidden tower, far away from his home, the woman– Talia Al Ghul– raised the child as her own.

[huntingrays]

Jason revival fic ideas poll (starring valgrace)

i have several revival ideas but don’t know which to work on after my current long wip. i saw someone else doing it with their wips so i decided to do it for all the revival fic ideas i have, to see if there’s one ppl rlly like. so… i suppose vote for which one you all like best! no promises but wanna hear people’s thoughts

oh also if you wanna snatch any of these ideas, go ahead! well, you can take any except for the first, that one is my baby, i’m attached to it. but all others are free game. i just ask to be credited for such a cool idea 😌 cause i’m so cool and awesome /j

(some of them might be kinda nonsense… but it’s about the vibe yknow)

1. Flames of Fate.

one of two that’s currently a wip (but hasn’t been touched for so long). basically, leo is staying with piper cause his mental health tanked after jason’s death. he’s having a good time until they run into rachel who gives them a prophecy. leo, piper, and thalia are part of the prophecy so they all go together. during it, leo gets a power where he basically becomes a jack of all trades. basically, if he knows the name and godly parent of any living demigod, he can borrow their power. there are drawbacks since using the powers of someone else drains him (think shadow travel level draining) and the powers don’t always listen to him (since he isn’t a kid of that god). also, he can’t use his powers during until he swaps back to his own. during the end of the quest, he panics and summons the power of jason, the last person who made him feel safe and loved. to his surprise, the powers come, are as easy to use as his own, and his own powers stay. while recovering at chb, he summons the powers again and they come. as he watches the sparks and lighting dance up and down his arm, he realizes this means jason is alive (since he can only summon the powers of living demigods). on the quest, they went to get a dangerous box left by the fates, one that would kill the person who opens it. leo opens it and finds a string aside, one that attaches to his pinky finger the moment he touches it. he realizes he has to follow this string and he sets off on his own, not wanting to put his friends in any danger. basically, in this au it’s a thing where like jason was never supposed to die and the fates intended for leo to use the cure. originally, jason and leo’s lives got connected after his death, and they were supposed to die at the same time. however, their fates were messed up due to apollo and the whole mess he made, so jason died when he wasn’t supposed to. their solution was the string and sending three people who would be desperate to get him on a quest (his ex and best friend, his sister, and his best friend who loves him). however, the string doesn’t lead him to jason but instead to increasingly dangerous situations. eventually, he winds up in tartarus and dies. suddenly, jason is revived bc like this wasn’t their fate. and he panics bc dead leo and becomes a human defibrillator. and yay! leo is revived! emotional reunion! but… they’re still in tartarus and now have to escape together. not much plans for that, but after they escape leo is slowly dying (he can’t catch a break) so he uses his last remaining strength to shadow travel them somewhere… which isn’t the best idea since he’s shit at it. last time he did it was on the quest where, in a dangerous situation, he shadow traveled them out of it. he meant to go back to piper’s new cali home (apollo helped them out a bit) but instead brought them to percy’s closet at his college dorm (coming out jokes ensue). so, he only things that he needs to get them somewhere safe… which winds up being sally jackson’s apartment. poor sally, she just wants to celebrate the holidays with her family and her son’s gf when suddenly a boy who’s supposed to be dead comes stumbling out of her bedroom with a boy who looks like he’s dying. and basically after that jason iris messages will cause he’s the only doctor he knows. yeah, this one is like… the most thought out. i think it’s the only one that’s been seriously plotted out. so, that’s why it’s so in depth. I took rick’s habit of tossing couples into tartarus and applied it to valgrace (this may become a theme).

2. Red string of fate (that kills you)

basically, in this one the fates go to the seven (plus nico and reyna) and tell them there’s been a situation. jason’s soul never went to the underworld. his soul is missing and they have no idea where it is or how to get it back. they made a way to track him but they need a demigod to take on the job. basically, it’s a red string that will lead the demigod to his soul, attaching the two. however, there’s a draw back. it’s incredibly dangerous to attach two souls. if they die while on the quest, both of their souls will be destroyed. basically, permanent death, no after life or second chance at life. despite loving jason, everyone is hesitant, not willing to take on the risk of destroying not only their own soul but jason’s as well. no one… except leo. he volunteers for the job. in his eyes, an afterlife isn’t worth it if he has to spend eternity without jason. he’d rather cease to exist than to never see him again. he won’t abandon jason, to leave his soul to wander wherever it is lost and alone

3. Werewolf Jason

jason comes back but like… comes back wrong. he’s a werewolf now awoooo. he hides it from leo bc he doesn’t want him to think he’s a monster. however, leo finds out and doesn’t care bc he adores jason. wolf shenanigans ensue.

4. Nyx fucks around

basically, in this one if nyx takes a life due to a broken promise in the styx, she gets their soul. so, she gets jason’s soul. she remembers the prophecy about one of zues’s sons overthrowing him so she decides to revive jason and train him. she wants to have fun, to fuck around and find out. also, everyone hates zues anyway. it’s a win-win. she won’t allow jason to visit his friends until she decides that he’s done. however, she does allow him to have dreams about them. meanwhile, leo is going on a quest with his friends on a rebuilt ship. it’s not as cool as the argo II but still p cool. while he’s talking to percy on the deck, percy gets possessed by eidolons. they force him to fight leo. leo is fucked since he isn’t a great fighter, they’re right next to the ocean, and he doesn’t want to hurt percy. percy tries to fight them off but there’s two of them and every time he fights one off, another takes its place. eventually, the fight results in percy being forced to kill leo. oh also he gets like stabbed through the back like jason :) possessed percy pushes leo into the water to drown him, ensuring he dies. while underwater, with hands around his throats, leo mouths “i’m sorry” to percy since he knows his friend will blame himself. before leo dies, his last thought is that he will get to see jason again. also, percy is suddenly knocked out somehow. when poor percy wakes up, he ofc asks “where’s leo?” bc that’s the classic heartbreaking question. poor percy get escape guilt. nyx is watching and she kinda needed an alive leo for her plans (since jason went on long, love sick rants to her) so she uses her powers to just pluck his body to her place (which is why his friends couldn’t find his body). jason wakes up from having a dream about that and rushes to nyx and finds leo’s dead body lying there’s. he’s ofc devastated and breaks down into tears, holding leo’s dead body and sobbing his heart out. jason’s grief results in his powers going wild and nyx thinks he’s strong enough. she says that she can’t revive leo, but that there’s somewhere jason can go and ask for a favor from the gods. perhaps, one of them will make a deal with him and bring him back. she places a spell on leo so his soul will stay in his body and his body won’t decompose. so, jason sets off on a journey while carrying dead leo’s body and he’s very emotional. when he appears at the place, eros shows up cause he wants to have some fun. he says he’ll revive leo is jason makes a deal with him. i have like… two thoughts for the deal. one is that he admired achilles and how crazy he went after the death of his lover. the deal would be that if leo gets hurt, he’ll be filled with the ‘rage of achilles’. the other idea is that he wants to punish jason for how his father is, not wanting him to follow in his steps. that deal is that jason has to be loyal to leo, even if they aren’t dating. if he dates or is romantically with anyone who isn’t leo, he’ll slowly die. jason doesn’t care and would be willing to agree to anything to get leo back. (if achilles curse he sees at as a better way ti protect leo. if loyalty curse, he would rather remain single than live in a world without leo. also, if he and lie ever dated, he’d NEVER cheat on him). whoo leo is revived and they’re happy! but also they have to track down their friends and finish the quest (there was a line in the prophecy about seven demigods and reuniting the seven. he now realizes it means the og seven). shenanigans and gayness ensue

5. Valhalla

i died and ended up in the afterlife of an entirely different pantheon?! yeah jason in valhalla. basically, his soul is kinda just… around after his death, no afterlife. sam finds it and brings jason back. confusion comes when he says that he’s the son of jupiter. now, they have to find out how a roman ended up in the nordic afterlife. also jason befriends the gang and copes with his death. they go on a quest and at the end of it, magnus asks his reward to be jason getting revived, getting a second chance at life. magnus also decides to help his pining ass by calling annabeth and asking where her friend leo lives. he tells jason and jason goes there the moment he gets his life back and has an emotional reunion with leo

6. Monster Jason

basically, hera decides to sneak around. she takes jason’s soul and makes a new body for him. however, around fall time, jason’s soul gets restless and she’s worried about the gods finding out. she goes to echidna, wanting help to make a new body and hide him. she can’t make exactly make humans so she makes him a human body with monstrous qualities (my idea is just like… very tall and crazy strength with wings, claws, and a like feathered mask around his eyes). hera asks where they can keep him while she works on finishing his human form (so he can switch between the two forms). echidna’s solution is to just… throw him into tartarus. so they do. and he’s down there… for MONTHS. so he’s very changed by his time there. he’s more ruthless. one day, leo falls in while on a quest. when jason hears about a human, he investigates and is shocked to see leo. he hides from him but secretly watches and takes care of him (by giving him food and protecting him). he doesn’t want leo to see him and think of him as a monster. even if leo sees him and doesn’t think so, he’s been with his thoughts. he knows he’s lost some of his humanity. it’s easier for him to hurt, to kill. eventually, leo sees him when jason protects him from a sudden monster attack. he is just happy to see his best friend again. by now, the time hera needed to make jason a new body is up so they escape tartarus together. jason gets a new body and leo gets a tall, strong bird bf.

7. Psyche and Eros

current has a short wip. same as last one, but they decide to rebuild the eros’s palace. basically, nobody can see his face or say jason’s name. if they do, he won’t be hidden and the gods will know what hera did. also, he wears like a skull to hide his face. however, he has like a mirror that shows him his friends. he sees leo in danger and goes to save him. he… goes a bit crazy and takes leo back to his palace (while he’s unconscious) to heal him. however, he decides that leo will be safer there and decides to keep him there. when leo wakes up, he’s ofc very angry about being kidnapped by some weird bird man. he’s even angrier when the guy won’t let him leave and instead gives him a mirror so he can still see his friends. jason hates leo being upset with him (and that he can tell him the truth) so he says that leo can ask for whatever he wants and he’ll make it for him. he also makes a whole room in the palace where leo can invent it his heart’s content. eventually, leo warms up to this nice bird man who gets him what he wants and is more than happy to hear him ramble about his inventions. eventually, against his better judgement, he confesses his feelings and he and jason get together. despite jason’s warnings, he’s curious about the bird man. so, when jason is sleep, he lights a flame in his hand to see and takes off the skull mask. he’s shocked when he sees jason. his flames accidentally go out of control due to his emotions and he accidentally burns jason. jason wakes up and is upset that leo didn’t listen to his warning bc now his life is in danger. so, the palace crumbles and leo is left with his regret while jason flies off to go hide. what happens after this? idk haven’t planned that far

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tags @mysticstarlightduck @theink-stainedfolk and probably many more!

Wip Aesthetic Tag

Rules: Make a moodboard for your WIP, a playlist (3+ songs/music will suffice but it can be as long as you want) and describe the Vibe of your WIP.

Oh god, I'm really bad at aesthetic stuff. No clue why, I just feel like it's never cohesive. That said, here's my best stab at Mystery of the Mortal God.

⚙️Moodboard🌿

🎵Music🎶

Instrumental (pulled from my character playlists):

Flight of the Silverbird

Ponyo's Sisters

HUNGRY!

Exclusive Coupé

A Murder of Crows

Wings (Aether 2)

The Quiet Earth

Vocal:

I Want to Conquer the World - Bad Religion

Supersonic - Bad Religion

Harlan Road - NewTown

Black Lipstick - Chicano Batman

The Reckoning - Dom Fera

Norwegian Wood - Buddy Rich Big Band

Call me Call me - Steve Conte

🩸Vibes🏵

A walking, steam-powered vardo lurches over a yellow-flowered marsh and under a sky of curious stars. Red, sparkling smoke rises from its chimney. Muddy footsteps are left in its wake like the trail of a mechanical dragon. It seems like a place of magic, which is fair, as it's the home of a witch. She sits with a lit pipe and a tabby cat purring on her lap, quietly contemplating a distant, stolen song. Even in the peace of the moment, her mind is alight with grand schemes and dreams of adventure.

In the capital of a thousand peoples, there stands a detective office lit by golden lamps. It's busy - goblins, elves, and lizardfolk rushing every which way in hopes of managing the many crimes wrought by rogue mages. At its heart resides a beat of calm in the eye of the storm - an opulent office out of place for its cushy decorations and color coding fit for a palace. This is also fair, as working at its desk is a prince of sorts. The prodigal heir to divine contracts and a deadly curse. He shudders at the knowledge of his bloody fate, yet pursues it nonetheless.

On the side of a lonely road, in a lonely land, under stars that are not curious, but disappointed, lays a wreck of bronze and steel. It bleeds black on green. It is confused by this. Where is the red? Where is the pain? It remembers another place - gray and icy and riveted. It remembers two eyes surrounded by shadows and a grin hanging in the dark like a half-moon. Hate closes in like a frigid wind, piercing through any amount of heart or compassion. It will have revenge.

Tropes include slow burn romance, revenge quests, magic as a science, and mad scientists. Genre is fantasy steampunk.

Snappier character descriptions include a braggadocious redneck mage with a chip on her shoulder the size of a mountain, a prissy, gossip-loving detective with a deadly curse, and a sweetheart of a maybe-robot with some terrifying instincts hidden behind a fog of amnesia. All of them, due to personal quests, will end up banding together to defeat a would-be demigod, facing cunning traps, summoning ritual shenanigans, and their own conflicting personalities. Will they survive? Will they join the villain? Who's to say? All I can assure is that if they fail, it'll at least be in a blaze of glory.

Heavily inspired by the Foundryside Trilogy and Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood.

I'll tag @spideronthesun @kaylinalexanderbooks @ominous-feychild @galactic-mystics-writes and anyone else who wants to play!

[distinguisheddwarffriend]

My brain is FULL of TH fic ideas but I've already got 3 WIP and most of them are just "what if"s with no plot so I'll just post them here I guess and maybe some writing god hears me/ reads them and someone else actually uses them.

Here's Nr. 1:

Frerin did in fact NOT die at Azanulbizar but was transported into our modern world, sometime in the second half of the 19th century.

After some adjusting (industrialization is in full force but it's still not as 'bad' as it would be rn) he builds a life, him being a dwarf meaning that he ages extremely slowly compared to us lowly humans so he has to move after a while and again and again.

He lives in the UK, US, France, Germany, Italy, Finland.....

He fights in both world wars depending on where he lives during that time (WW1 on the German side, WW2 on the UK's), other than that he goes to university and works all kinds of jobs like policeman, fireman, soldier, teacher, carpenter,smith, weaver, factory worker, violinist etc etc etc

Around 1900 he meets this fella J R R Tolkien and befriends him, and after a time finds out that his friend is writing books about middle Earth, not only that, but one about his very own brother. Tolkien apparently is a seer of some kind because it's still almost a century until "The Hobbit" would happen (he does the math).

Frerin helps Tolkien with authenticity for his books, because the dude is smart and found out about Frerin after he corrected his Khuzdul one time too many.

Anyhow, after reading what will happen to his family, he becomes a mite bit obsessed with returning to Middle Earth and having ammased quite some wealth and with the help of some friends in high places starts founding various research projects into things like teleportation, multiverse, magic, alchemy, you name it. He also becomes a member of the Freemasons due to his occult knowledge.

In around 80 years there's almost no progress towards Frerin's goal of returning home, he does still have a research company but only a small group of mostly students works on the multiverse hypothesis, the rest does all kinds of stuff, technology, energy, whatever.

He has for the time being settled somewhere in Scandinavia, is a College Professor for Sociology and Political Science and volunteers as a social worker for troubled children.

He is fostering 2 or 3 children himself (ages 6 - 16) and has two grown up adopted children that still live & work with him (they found out about him), a guy & a lass ( both early twenties).

Somehow (don't ask I don't know) the whole household (meaning Frerin, his two young adult children, the foster children, his south American householder, her tiny dog and their personal Butler (more of a live-in family friend by now, think Niles from "The Nanny")) all get sucked into a portal or whatever end get spit out into Middle Earth.

Not at Ered Luin of course, that would be easy, no, but somewhere extremely inconvenient. The Lone lands, the Brown lands, Moria, something along the lines of "we are so fucked".

So now it is a few years (1-3, or the characters have too much time to become Mary-Sues), before the quest to Erebor, and they have to reach Thorin before then and somehow survive a world filled with orcs (and elves!) while juggling a 6 year old, a tiny & barky dog, a cliché Mamacita, a British butler, and Frerin's realisation that he has gotten much too used to modern convenience.

(my weak ass would probably include some romance between one/more than one of the original characters and the canon characters, I'm a sucker for Fili or Kili x OFC and rare pairings like KilixBifur or ThorinxNori and I want Frerin to date an elf or Bard I think.)

.... Does this sound like something you would read/write? I'd maybe try to write this with someone else, alone I don't dare to. What do y'all think?