#wip: marble and magic

[ink-fireplace-coffee]

Hello again!

It's been.... wow a lot of time since I was last here, huh? I had finals sooo it's been a really difficult two months for me, but I'm back!

And not even empty-handed! Have some words from (yet another) AU of Marble and Magic because they have been rotting in my mind lately and I wanted to get back into writing!

Transcription under the cut!

Agatha looked quizzically at the vacant eyes of the statue before her. The young man sculpted looked as if frozen in time and space, his gesture… Off. Agatha was no expert in sculpting, but why would anyone depict someone who was supposed to exude confidence and regalness with a grimace of uncertainty? Of fear? He was supposed to be a crown prince after all.

Wouldn’t a marble statue of him atop a horse or something more chivalrous be more fitting?

The girl was about to inch closer, in a desperate attempt to satiate the nagging feeling on the back of her head telling her that there was something quite wrong with the statue, but steps coming her way at full speed made her stop.

“Ags, what are you doing?” Kit hissed, his breath labored as she was suddenly blinded by his flashlight. “If you want to visit this place, it is not the right time!”

Her best friend was not wrong, perhaps staring at the artwork of the museum they had just broken into for revenge was not, in fact, the brightest of ideas as of now.

The statue’s eyes stared back at her with a silent plea of sorrow and fear for one more second before she lowered her flashlight from its carved face and shook her head, trying to clear her mind. Not the time, not the time at all!

[junemonths]

Hi, I'm MsJuniper, on itch.io, patreon, and scribblehub! I write trans fiction, ranging from science fiction to fantasy to romance. My most recent work is You Kiss Like A Rocket, a story about two trans mech pilots on the edge of the solar system who are sent to hunt one another down... until they have a lot more in common than that, and sparks fly! You can find it on Itch.io by itself, or you can grab it as a part of a bundle of 11 stories by trans authors!

Other stories of mine include: Hormone Resnakement Therapy, (found solo or as part of another bundle) a tale of a very different kind of transition (a trans girl becomes an anthro snakegirl), All the Marbles, a long and winding fantasy tale of (eventual) poly t4t romance, reunion, and rebellion, and Joan, (for free on scribble or in yet a third bundle a short story about realizing the magical accident that's happened to you isn't so bad, actually!

"but the genres i want to engage with aren't written with girl characters almost ever, let alone well!" you have three options. one is to find an indie creator working her ass off to create this on her lonesome and her comic/novel/audio drama is free or on itch.io for like 3$-15$. secondly is to try new genres and surprise yourself. thirdly is to roll up your sleeves and make it.

[balrogballs]

queen of ai art <3

I genuinely have no idea what the fuck is in the tap water right now considering these all came in the last ten days from what I suppose are different people considering I blocked the first two… either that or it is one very persistent person or the collective actions of what I assume is probably the world’s most depressing groupchat. Incest anon, come back, I miss you on hindsight.

I don't normally answer mean-spirited questions but these pissed me off recently because of the nature of the accusations. So, let’s get into a long, illustrated lesson including a WIP gallery as to why you shouldn’t rely on “gotcha” AI logic and/or be a little twat, with tips on manual digital scaling, presented in classic Balls style.

Now, the vast majority of my art is traditional, many are quick ‘challenge’ sketches—they are drawn or painted on paper. With many of them, there are progress shots. Sometimes multiple, including fucking gemwork. Sometimes I do silly sketches. I have also been quite open that I’m really focusing on exploring varying styles of portraiture at the moment after an artistic background in watercolour landscapes. A number of you follow my traditional art blog where said landscapes were posted, and you know they’re banging.

Now, I’ve posted *checks notes* like five digital pieces last year from the time I owned a tablet (after which all my work has been trad due to being indefinitely parted from said tablet), and none of them are what you’d call professional quality, considering most of my work is traditional/realist and I am still not very good at stylised or digital drawing. I’ll choose my “best”/most detailed one for the purposes of this impromptu demonstration using the files I do have on me at the moment.

Due to my background in traditional art 👆🏻I always and without fail do my initial sketching by hand, because I find it difficult to get perspective and proportions correct digitally, because I learnt various pencil angling tricks etc… so anything I have drawn digitally that includes people/buildings, I’d do a sketch on paper and scan it, and do the lineart from there.

Here is the sketch, the sketch cleaned up into lineart, shaded values, and a portion of the colour-blocking stage, where I checked to make sure the major colours don’t clash at the borders, thanks to Thingol’s bright orange outfit from hell.

I assume what has been done here is that you or whatever program you’re using has picked up on the below little noisy bits, threads and spirals and decided they’re AI. Let me introduce you to the magic of textural overlays, aka texture stamps/brushes, which I get so impatient with that it becomes quite obvious they’re on there… which works in my favour right now lmao.

Here is me sliding the opacity on and off sections, so you can see what exactly is going on (pillar with marbled effect, thingol skin texture, elrond jacket texture, elrond's remarkable forehead, and the marbled archway):

These aren’t overlaid by my mystery robot sex toy, they are done by hand and there’s around 20-30 different ones in any given piece, some of them (eg skin texture or leaves) are repeated 10-15 times. Using texture brushes or stamps is not a cardinal sin, they are literally sold on this website by the artists who make them. Here is a clip of me just selecting them all in one go, if you’d like that proven for your face eyes as well.

I have no excuses for overblending my colours or leaving sections choppy, I’m just lazy to do painterly detail on stylised digital pieces, and usually just stop after a couple rounds of blending. But if laziness was a crime then most nation-states in this world would not have a functioning government.

Now, the final two stages—because the base for these images are usually scans or photos of my sketches and thus not exactly at the best of resolutions, I upscale in Lightroom. Amusingly, image upscaling is actually normally done by AI either built into Photoshop or plugins—this isn’t exactly generative AI, it’s more an algorithm that breaks down your existing photo and “reconstructs” it at a higher resolution. Hence, many upscaled images are flagged as AI regardless of the manner of upscaling.

I am too stingy to purchase Photoshop, the above plugins can/do use your art to train generative AI even if it doesn’t use it for your image, and I have Lightroom Classic already—upscaling is relatively easy to do here and does not train AI. Here’s a walkthrough:

Open Image > Denoise > Play with Slider > Save as TIFF > Open TIFF > Develop Module > Enhance > Save DNG. Then, work on DNG image re: adding noise/brightness/contrast whatever.

Just a note that the ‘Super Resolution’ feature does actually use (algorithmic, not generative) AI so don’t click on that, just do the normal Enhance. This will increase your image size and resolution without sacrificing detail. However, the file itself would be fucking enormous by this point so you can either compress it yourself or use Canva or whatever.

If you don’t mean those and instead mean these fucking things, jesus fucking christ they’re free graphic design templates with free Illustrator vectors, get a fucking grip, ten days in a charity comms job and you can make these in your sleep while moving the mouse with your pussy.

Here is a collage of some of my other digital works at various stages as well, including pencil/pen sketches, to help you sleep at night:

Please remember that I stopped posting digital art except one charcoal+digital work after I was parted from my tablet in December. If I was really iBalls, I would have continued churning them out surely 😇

Writing

I am not going to even take this seriously because there is clearly no way to explain the concept of writing something in advance to people who clearly type out and immediately send every half-dusted thought the moment it farts itself into their brain.

However, if you are actually sitting in your home in the year 2025, when there is almost definitely litter in your neighbourhood that needs picking and dogs on the Rover app that go unwalked, feeding my fucking writing into whatever fucking AI detector you have that is, in turn, training whatever fucking AI generator it is linked to, simply because of whatever robot you have created in your brain that somehow knows very niche facts about the lifestyle, dialect, speech patterns, culture and politics of a frankly irrelevant town in 1970s Kerala, I genuinely do not wish you a single moment of joy in your life

I have already or will soon be privating some of my artwork considering there are people cheerfully sat there feeding my work to Musk’s field of cows in order to get yourself a good old gotcha against some random Elrondfucker on the Internet — I’m obviously not going to do that to my writing at the moment but please stop letting your actions be driven by your asshole instead of your brain.

As for this one, I initially thought of not being so cocky in my response but considering I either get a version of this like once a month or some fucker goes to another person’s blog to ask them if I’m not tired of people kissing my ass, let me tell you something:

I am not whatever hockey-playing girlboss it was that was a bitch to you in high school and you are now afraid is intruding into your fandom space. She must have sucked I am certain. I am very sorry you had to deal with her. But I am not her. She is not me. I can assure you of this. If you must know, I was a netball girl. In fact, I was netball team captain. If it actually was me, I sincerely apologise for accidentally on purpose fouling you in 2014 because I wanted to win the intra-school friendly and I promise I won’t ever do it again.

And just in general, let me please remind you that I did not curate this audience through purposeful posting of art and literature and tasteful selfies, I did it via the 'Lindircident' post, aka accidentally holding my asshole wide open for the light to shine through two weeks after I made this account and remaining in the same doubled-up position for the six months since.

Tschüss! 🖕

[shadowgast-recs-weekly]

MUSIC: A Shadowgast Rec List

This week, we have Music! Check under the cut for eight fics that revolve around all kinds of music, and don't forget to comment and kudos if you like them!

Bach's Six Cello Suites by full_time_dreamer_behold (13435, Mature)

Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Promising cellist Essek Thelyss auditions for admissions at the prestigious Marble Tomes Conservatory of Music. While he waits for the judges to see him, he catches a glimpse of Caleb Widogast, a naturally gifted musician also hoping to study there. This is the beginning of an infatuation that quickly morphs into something more, and though Essek resists it at first, he begins to find it more and more difficult as he and Widogast get closer.

Reccer says: I love the idea of them falling in love with each other's music first

when we will waste by Anonymous (1214, Mature)

Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Caleb discovers Essek had piano lessons in his youth and asks him to play some music.

Reccer says: Just a cute and hot fic with plenty of pining. It's also part of a fantastic larger collection of connected fics!

Fermata by canyon_wizard (65403, Explicit)

Reccer's Content Notes: None

A story about boundaries. Or, how Caleb, a brilliant music student on the run from his past, finds it catching up to him in the form of ambition personified, Essek Thelyss.

Reccer says: I liked it!

Cadenza in a Minor Touch by RhythmicCicada (5480, Mature)

Reccer's Content Notes: None

Caleb Widogast has been asked to accompany none other than Kryn Dynasty prodigy Essek Thelyss at his solo cello recital by none other than the man himself. But when Caleb’s past catches up to him and Essek is the only help present, things are forced into the light and maybe some good comes out of it.

Reccer says: I liked it!

Second Ending by babyseraphim (12179, General)

Reccer's Content Notes: WIP, PTSD

Essek Theylss is a graduate student at the Rosohna School of Music, and works as a TA/Tutor in the undergraduate program. He made a promise to both himself and his mother that he will follow in the family's footsteps and become the most successful concert pianist he can, whatever the cost. Caleb Widogast is a transfer student from Soltryce Conservatory with shoddy technical skills and a gift for music theory. As Essek meets Caleb and his friends, Essek discovers that not all competition has to be entirely unfriendly.

Reccer says: I liked it!

Essek Invents Ambient Music by Deramin (720, General)

Reccer's Content Notes: Major Character Death

Essek and Caleb develop a magical synthesizer and Essek develops ambient music as an artistic hobby.

Reccer says: I really enjoy the playlists that come with this ficlet, and love the idea

The Melody of Your Gravity by sarahlizzie (33817, Explicit)

Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

“You, my friend, are gonna get a bunch of press, and a bunch of record sales for the Nein, and all your money troubles will be taken care of,” he said, picking up the magazine again and pointing at the man on the cover. “All you have to do is date Essek Thelyss for fifteen minutes.”

Reccer says: It's just so fun!

The following fic received four recs!

the breath before the phrase by kmackatie (171513, Explicit)

Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek is a very important person in the orchestra, Caleb wants to be invisible and play music again for the public. they don't get along at first, until they do.

Reccer 1 says: Every so often I read a AU that wants me gain new hobbies. I am horrible with music but it does seem like a musical expert wrote this. It is beautifully written and I immediately knew I had to rec this fic. Reccer 2 says: This is my #1 comfort fic that I have reread so, so many times. It's so well written, all of the characters have such great characterizations and it gives me a lot of nostalgia! Reccer 3 says: I liked it! Reccer 4 says: Very well written! And long, which can be nice sometimes! I read it in like 3 days even though it’d be longer than some novels.

This is one of our weekly communally-generated shadowgast rec lists. Every week we announce a new theme and allow anyone to submit a fic recommendation. 

And hey, anyone includes you!

Next week, we'll be featuring fics that have less than 150 kudos in our hidden gems list!Any fics coming to mind? Well, then use this form to submit!

[notyourmamasdeerbat]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Happy Wednesday, nerds! Hi @hedwigoprah !💕🫶 Definitely not sobbing over Emmrich and Veryl fluff in that snip 😁 Surely nothing will go wrong! Right? RIGHT?

Anyhow hello hello I have some little bits and pieces because I am working SO out of order on Carry the Dagger it is killing me slowly (chapter 5 soon I promise I just need to get back on my action shi-) but WHAM BAM TAKE THIS !

Rook reared back, hands on their swords as the two wardens at the foot of the dais clicked their spears on the marble floor and took a step towards the rogue in rattling unison.  No. No way. If they were arrested– oh hell, could they take down two Wardens? They’d never fought Grey Wardens before. They’d shout for Neve. With any luck, she and Lucanis would hear and come running. No, if they were all arrested, no one would be able to get word to Harding and Bellara. Then it was over. All of it. The gods would move unimpeded within the Fade and without.  Game over. Because apparently no one else was taking this seriously. Fine. Steel hissed on leather as Rook started to pull their grassblade free.  “Adamant Fortress. 9:41 Dragon,” came a conversational voice. The tension of the room simmered to a halt as all eyes turned to the man that swept into the space like he’d bought it himself. He turned the edge of his dark mustache, draped in white linen and gold, turquoise tabard and scarf thrown artfully over his arms and chest. He fell still beside Rook, placing dark hands on his hips with an imperial air to his raised eyebrow. “The Grey Wardens attempted to raise an army of demons.” There was a wicked edge to his crooked smile. “Hardly the models of good judgement yourselves, are you?”  Rook stood stiff, still ready, but regarded the newcomer with wide eyes. He looked unarmed. But he spoke with liquid smooth confidence, a lecturer in a marble hall rather than an intruder in a plate-mailed argument.  The First Warden gave an ugly scowl. “Everyone knows Warden-Commander Clarel acted alone at Adamant Fortress.”  A bell might as well have rattled through the Veil Jumper and their eyes only got wider. Adamant Fortress? 9:42? The Inquisition. Harding told them this story. Corypheus had commanded hundreds of the Grey Wardens, subjugating them under both Clarel’s idealism– and blood magic– through a modified Calling of the Blight and a magister on the inside. Orlais was still reeling from the aftermath.  Who’d been at Adamant, someone who could arrive here unimpeded? Another magister. One with such a distinct mustache and air of pragmatism? Now that Rook really looked, he could match Varric’s descriptions of one of the heroes who’d traveled through time and space, and taken the Inquisitor himself as an ardent lover in a sordid tale of loyalty, subterfuge and siege–  Pavus. Dorian Pavus. The Dorian Pavus? Harding wasn’t going to believe this. Oh, the dwarf would be so sad she’d missed him. Rook could only stare, eyes like saucers. Dorian lifted his eyebrows a little higher, feigning surprise. “Acted alone, you say? Imagine if everyone were to see the letter I discovered where you authorized her actions.”  Hello? Rook whirled on the First Warden, aghast as a murderous little spike of adrenaline prickled at their veins. The gall. This man had been responsible for–  “I wonder how that might… complicate the narrative,” Dorian mused. 

also some tension because you all deserve it and I got the fight with Anaris on the brain

Rook’s intake of breath was sharp and sudden as their hand flew up from their side. Lucanis had seen it, and caught their wrist before their fist could connect with his jaw, leaning back just slightly, expression blameless and neutral.  Rook’s breathing stuttered as their gaze swam into focus, and they relaxed back onto the infirmary cot. “Oh. Hello, you.”  Carefully, Lucanis released their wrist. His skin had been warm. He said nothing, only sitting forward in his chair, a cup of coffee on his knee.  Rook sighed and let the rest of the room ripple and return to color. Their head was spinning. “...What'd they drug me with now?” they teased wryly, watching the details of the ceiling sharpen.  “Nothing,” Lucanis replied softly. “Elfroot salve on the bandages. Emmrich healed up the worst of it, though there were some gashes too deep. He wants to examine the wounds for intrusions before sealing them, and has cleaned them thoroughly.”  Rook turned their head to look at him, taking in the assassin’s weary expression and the pile of bloodstained linen on the table beside him. They smiled slightly. “You helped.”  “I did,” he said slowly.  Rook looked down at themself, neck at an awkward angle as their chin touched their vare chest. Tapestry of lightning scars and their geometric antler tattoo bared on their skin. They were wrapped in linen bandages around their ribs and up over one arm. Their skin was raised with gooseflesh in the chill of the room– for a terrible moment, they imagined Lucanis’ hands on their wounds, how warm his fingers had been, cleaning and mending and wrapping the bindings oh so carefully– They swallowed and banished the thought guiltily. Luckily they were still wearing their pants. The idea of the assassin's hands on the throbbing bruises on their legs was unbidden, inappropriate and unfair to them both. And Rook might faint from embarrassment.  “Well, I expect I'll make a full recovery in a matter of hours.” The rogue started to sit up, midsection tensing as they tried to brace their palms beneath them. A sharp lance of white hot pain shot straight to their brain from somewhere in their hip and shoulder, their vision stuttering out of focus once more. The Veil Jumper hissed, grimacing as they gave up to lie back down. “Oh.”  “A day or two,” Lucanis estimated helpfully, sipping his coffee.  “Andraste's stolen toe jam, that smarts,” Rook groaned, hand wandering gingerly to the edge of their hip and outer thigh where the bandages throbbed. “Broken?”  “Not anymore,” Lucanis sighed.  “Shit. Shoulder?”  “Dislocated. Not anymore,” he repeated softly, brows furrowed as he studied the dregs in his cup.  “Thank you, Emmrich,” Rook breathed into the air, shutting their eyes.  “Bellara told me what happened.”  “Fuck, is she alright?” They tried to sit up again, lifting their head too quickly, and again the room spun. Gritting their teeth, they reluctantly laid back again. “Ugh…”  Lucanis frowned. “No. But… she will be. In time. Neve is with her. Davrin, too.”  “Where’s Taash?”  “The Hilt with Harding.”  Rook sighed, closing their eyes, relieved. “Everyone okay?”  “Yes. Why?”  “Obviously so I know if I can complain or not.”  Lucanis smiled slightly. “By all means.”  “How are you?” They asked him soberly, something vulnerable and tender in their voice.  The first real question they'd asked him in… weeks. Lucanis hesitated, unable to hold their gaze as his eyes fell to the cup in his lap. “Fine, I think. Thank you.”  “...Fine?”  “Fine,” he repeated softly. He winced, scoffing at the air over his shoulder.  Rook started to beam. “Hey, Spite.” 

Gentle tags for my beloved moots! @andthekitchensinkao3 @nananarc @nevarrantorte @draco-illius-noctis @the-bear-and-his-sunbird @fenrelmercar 💖

[aalinaaaaaa]

Lots of interesting things to choose from. What is (A Deal with the Ancients) about? (WIP folder tag game)

Hey! So this piece derived from a scrapped idea for the first re-draft of Obsidian Sapphires, where there were these wandering Sentinels (dubbed as Arbiters at the time of making it) that go on adventures and interfere with things as they see fit.

For this, they heard of what happened at Alycja's ceremony (she accidentally summoned Eshani and everyone else believes she summoned Fate) and believed her to be a major threat. So they decide to capture her and whisk her away to the forestlands of Morilaste.

Or so they thought...

—

These were not the whispers of the woods she knew. Cheyoria awoke to the rustle of coniferous foliage, and deeper still, the songs of a magic much older than her.

It spoke to her as an equal, the way nature distinguished its allies from its guests.

"Wait... you're not Alycja." Cheyoria turned to find a fellow walk straight from the bushes, his winged steed in wait behind him. She found herself on her feet. "You're one of them, aren't you."

Her skepticism did not stop him from approaching. He had the grace of a warrior, his footsteps assured and efficient. From his marble face she could glean no answers, only an endless stream of uncertainty.

"I must say, I am quite impressed, you do quite the convincing impression,"

Cheyoria stared at him slackjawed. Was this, genuine?

"All you shapeshifters are the same, you all are horrible."

Of course he would, wouldn't he? "Is that a joke? I didn't take an ancient guard to be of the joking type. And speaking of which, you're one of the Arbiters, aren't you? What are you doing here?"

She found herself mesmerised by his wispy, charcoal eyes, looking upward as if to calculate his next move. "Well, seeing as you're not Alycja, my original plans must be placed aside, but–"

"What do you plan on doing with her?" She interjected, her voice laced with worry. While she had no doubt on Alycja being able to hold her own, she wanted to be certain her best friend was alright.

The man shrugged off her tight grip on his shoulder. "I suppose what you see now is the fate we had in mind for her, a life of exile."

—

Thanks for the ask :D

Tagging the folks under the lists for A Healing for the Birds and General (ask/comment/reblog, etc to be added or subtracted): @mr-orion @the-ellia-west @guessillcallitart @thereadingfoz @glassstardust22124 @darlingsmoon @honeybewrites @ashirisu @drowsy-quill @olioxenfreewrites @theglitchywriterboi @seastarblue @gioiaalbanoart @corinneglass @rae-butter @oros-ash3s @fourwingedwriter @oddcryptidwrites @rainbowsnowflake @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @outpost51

[dr-acula121]

WIP Sunday (Actually posted on a Sunday for once)

Thank you @NW39, @strixamans, @arafel0194 and @shadoretheexporer for your mentions!!

I don't even know who else to tag in this from all the people who've mentioned me! Thank you!

I'm posting probably the least angsty snippet of my upcoming chapter 29 of Naturae Ferox. We're gatecrashing a ball babyyyy!

“Invitation?” Wyll, with his cloak flaring behind him like a midnight breeze, stepped forward. His mask glittered with a tapestry of amber jewels, and his posture radiated smug confidence. He produced a rolled parchment and unfurled it with a flick of his wrist - utterly blank. Fen winced. The guards frowned. “Are you ‘aving us on, mate?” But before either could object, Wyll stooped with a courtly bow. His voice slipped into something silken, warm as spiced wine, laced with magic. Fen felt the weave of enchantment hum low in the air. “Gentleman,” he said with a grin, “Please - surely you recognise nobility when you see it.” Wyll lifted the paper in front of them, and let the magic slip from his tongue like honey. The enchantment coiling invisibly into the guards’ minds as they stared at the blank page. Their eyes glazed, then lit with sudden recognition. “You are in the presence of Lord Galen of Silvertome, and Lady Fenelra of the Autumn Court - nobility of no small renown, despite their charming penchant for discretion.” He gestured grandly to Gale, whose mask gleamed like a silver crescent and to Fen who shrunk beneath the weight of the fantasy title. “Their court travels with them, naturally,” Wyll went on, voice dipped in honeyed grace. “Their retainer of war, the Blazing General of Broken Chains herself.” Karlach gave a low theatrical bow, flames briefly flickering over her shoulders in delight. “Their strategist, of most foreign and… focused disposition.” he passed with a sidelong glance to Lae’Zel, who stood rigid as ever, arms crossed, her scale-detailed mask glinting. “And of course,” he said, drawing it out as he turned towards the back of the group, “The Lady of Sorrows and Starless Waters. Rumoured by some to be the last scion of Selune’s twilight.” Shadowheart glared at him, with visible malice behind her opalescent mask. “She rarely deigns to speak,” he added, “but her silence is considered an omen of great favour.” The guards, utterly enraptured, nodded and stepped aside. “Right, o' course - o' course you’re expected. Apologies, m'lord. Right through, please” one said, holding open the thick velvet drapes as he did. Warmth flooded out from within like a breath from a beast - thick and perfumed. Music spilled after it, too fast, too sharp, gilded with strings and echoing laughter. Fen let out a breath she hasn’t known she was holding. As they crossed the threshold, the floor beneath them shifted from cold stone to marble veined with gold and crimson. Shadowheart brushed past Wyll with a shove. “If anyone calls me a scion tonight, I will shove this mask somewhere inventive, Wyll.” Wyll beamed in reply, “I got us in didn’t I?” “You were embellishing.” “I was adding gravitas.”

Absolutely no pressure tags for: @alwaysmauria, @roguishcat

And please please please go read all their amazing fics!

[strawberrypinky]

WIP Wednesday

Since I'm still squabbling away at Chapter Four or, as it's called, obsidian kingdom (ooh, spoiler), I've decided to be nice and share a little snippet below the cut.

Special thanks to @heyitszev @awkwardengland and @gufu-vire for all the love you have given my silly little fic. You don't understand how much that means to me 🤍

"You do realise you can't avoid speaking to me forever."

"Fuck you, Gortash," she replied with a hiss, not meeting his eyes.

Enver clenched his jaw, irritated. "Is that all you'll say to me for the rest of time?"

"It would be more than you deserve," she spat out, still refusing to meet his gaze.

"More than I deserve ?" He chuckled, the sound threatening to even his own ears. "My sweet little wife, I deserve everything because I worked tirelessly for it."

She finally whipped her head around, furiously wild green meeting his eerie brown. He could glimpse her fingertips crackling with wisps of magic, though she seemed to scarcely hold it in. "Worked for it?" she repeated. "You are condemning this world to a fate worse than death, and yet you decide to waste your time by forcing my hand and for what ? You did not work for anything, Gortash. What little you have, you got because you sucked up to your sick god."

He snapped before he could truly control it, his hand whacking out and grabbing her face between his gauntleted hand, the golden metal digging into Elodie's cheeks as she glared at him intently. Abounding fury burned through his veins, eating at his soul as scaldingly hot as the fires of the Hells had been. Perhaps they had left a greater mark on him after all, for all of it came easy to him - he was born of hatred, forged and moulded in it.

"I am the Chosen of Bane," he pressed out. "You have no idea how hard I've had to work to get to my station."

"Get the fuck off me, Gortash," she only hissed in response. "Or I'll make you regret it."

He laughed in response, the sound dark and threatening as it echoed in the carriage, but he let her go. Perhaps a small part of him was frightened of her after all, for she was small but mighty beyond what he had expected or anticipated. He would not risk injury when success was so certain. She would be unable to turn her magic against him the second they were bound in the eyes of his Lord, forever allied. Forever his . His Lord's dread tingled in him, delightfully spreading to each part, and Enver fought to rein it in. Each second he had to wait for the grand finale of his destiny was torture, the anticipation palpable in the air. He could espy the spires of his estate coming into view, the lights brightly illuminating the path up the cobbled drive to his home as they always had. And yet, it felt different and paradoxically the same as the carriage entered the Gates and the horses trotted up to his home. The air felt different, laden with eldritch enmity and anticipatory tension as the newlyweds disembarked the carriage and stood outside their matrimonial home. Enver observed Elodie as she stood in front of the door, taking in the walls in the dim lighting of the lanterns, bare of any agrestal botany like she was used to from her childhood home.

She kept silent, though she turned up her nose in slight distaste, shivering as the cool winds of the night kissed her skin. Enver gently pushed her towards the entryway, the doors opening to reveal the grand foyer to Elodie's eyes for the first time. He watched as she glanced around, the wrought iron chandelier and flickering candles casting intricate shadows from the high ceiling they hung upon. Her blush gown was a strange contrast against the polished black marble floors, veins of green reflecting in the dim glow, the cool air carrying the faint scent of incense and old stone. Not a single soul had greeted them, the sweeping staircases with bannisters of ebony and emerald-carpeted steps void of Enver's usual staff. He supposed they had all gathered in the chapel below, awaiting them for the crescendo of a five-year pursuit and thus the single company they had was each other, and the statues of Bane and his gauntleted hand standing in alcoves, the towering stained-glass window on the far wall depicting a vivid scene of his Lord's glorious return; the vibrant greens fractured into the air.

[slmcclsgirl]

INTRO REDO! MDNI! Dont like? Dont interact. (: **on break as of may 8th, 2025*

Hi! Im Jilly, im 21!

I take requests. Give em i want em!

I am also open to improv roleplay :D

I have no limits like at all guys. Im not good at writing ships, im still building some writing skillsets!! If you request a ship, i’ll keep it in the inventory and circle around to it when I feel my skills have improved! 💜

Charlie’s account: @theslmcclinslmcclsgirl

My fandoms:

💚charlie slimecicle (my bby and hyperfixation i love him)

💜JRWI- ive only listened to half of riptide- im workin on it (hear me out on chip and gill, also just grizzly in general-)

Uhhh any of the following animes: (might be a bit rusty here)

-AOT, JJK, saiki K, haikyuu, death note uhhhh some of one piece

🩸marble hornets, some creepypasta

Literally ask me if i know a character and if i do i’ll write- like im so serious.

FICS BY JILLY: MY MASTERLIST!

Series:

The Snake, the Rose and The sword:

Prologue

Chapter One: As the Prophecy Foretold

CHARLIE SLIMECICLE:

My darling girl part 1: (DDDNE, SMUT)

My darling girl part 2: (DDDNE, SMUT)

dance with me or die! (DDDNE, SMUT) what in the ever loving fuck is he doing? (SFW, BFF READER)

JSCHLATT

"why would I hate something that I think is a work of art?" (body comfort fluff!)

GRIZZLYPLAYS

"you'd never understand" grizzlyplays x f! reader angst to comfort

Headcanons:

21st birthday head canons: Charlie slimecicle Comforting you during a thunderstorm: Charlie Slimecicle

School stress: Grizzlyplays

My favs as freaky ahh songs: (Grizz, Charlie, Jschlatt)

WIP:

-ch2 of the snake, the rose and the sword

-grizzly dramatic ahh dom

-Charlie scars comfort request

-sorcerer/fae/magic Charlie x my oc

[jev-urisk]

Wip Wednesday ✍️

Today i'm doing a little Way Back Wednesday and bringing you the first few paragraphs of Chapter One: Appearances (Klaus POV 🌻) from my story ��7 Circles🌐.

Found on pinterest

Demyen Calvaire's parties have a reputation for being elegant and refined, and this is shaping up to meet the standard. The banquet hall is decorated entirely in white, from the marble floors, to the tablecloths and place settings, to the fine fabric draping elegantly down from the high, arched ceiling in decorative splendor. His PAs mill about all in snowy white, save for the chromatic silver collars they all wear, setting up trays of hors d’oeuvres and drinks. Even the goblets are a work of art, specially ordered for the occasion. They’re made of blown glass, shaped into roses with sharp, thorned stems. The guest of honour stands in high relief to the snowy décor. Demyen Calvaire's youngest son is dressed almost entirely in black. His vest is made of a dark satin embroidered with silver thread that matches the rings glinting on his fingers and the earrings that march up his ears, disappearing into his artfully mussed black hair. Only Klaus and his father know the truth: everything here is designed as a beautiful trap. "It would all look riveting with more red to contrast, wouldn't it Klaus?" The long-haired sire says with veiled threat, long canines on display as he smiles at his bastard child. "Though, it would be best if we waited for your honoured guests to arrive first–hmm, half-breed?" he adds with a quiet sneer, his voice too soft to be heard by the non-demonic staff working on final touches. "If that ever comes to pass, you must find whoever you sell me to and tell me how you managed to explain away your involvement, Father," Klaus replies, baring his own fangs in what most people would mistake for a smile. "I'd love to see what excuse you feed to the Sovereign Executive for how I escaped your notice for such a long time." Demyen turns on his heel, facing away from where others might see his livid expression and gets nose to nose with his son. They looked remarkably similar, from the color of their hair to the shape of their jaw, both handsome as a lust demon is expected to be. As immortal creatures, even the age of father and son has started to appear congruent despite the centuries between them. But the son is more tanned, the father's hair longer, and the contrast of their eyes cut sharply as Demyen's rosé irises look piercingly into the deep onyx gaze of his son.  "Perhaps I'll tell the truth- that a conniving fae whore tricked me into siring you, and if I had not been magically bound to that hellish deal I would have slain you rather than sheltered you," he hisses, before gritting his teeth in a charming smile and turning back around as the double-doored entrance to the ballroom opens, signalling the arrival of their guests. 

Ah, good 'ol daddy issues. 😌🔥 This is basically how the book starts and it is so so fun and exciting to me how far things have come already, and how much support I've received already! 😵‍💫💕 Here's to a year of more 7 Circles content and spectacular mutuals!

Taglist: @gioiaalbanoart @biblicallyaccuratefruitbat @lychhiker-writes @autism-purgatory

@wyked-ao3

@cowboybrunch @zackprincebooks @smellyrottentrees @tragedycoded

@aalinaaaaaa

@the-golden-comet @quillswriting @nbkuhn @ddgraywrites

@desastreus @theglitchywriterboi

@shanakin-skywalker @honeybewrites @sincerelydorky

@the-letterbox-archives +Open Tag!

HMU to be added or yotted from the taglist!

[literary-mafioso]

💧Share something romantic/hot from your WIP, or just something sweet if it's gen.

☔Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?

🌪️Sum up a WIP with a few fic tropes/Ao3 tags.

Share something romantic/hot from your WIP, or just something sweet if it's gen:

“Did I frighten you earlier? I didn’t mean to frighten you. Oh, baby, I’m sorry.” “Neil—” “An angel of mercy. You got a face like an angel, did you know that?” It was like being seduced by a mental patient. God help him, it was working. Neil cradled him roughly, pawing lovingly all over his face, stroking his cheek with the same hand that had swung down on his nightstand like a hammer, shattering marble. They were scalding. Vincent swept a hand over his forehead. He was burning up, feverish. “I would never hurt you, I swear to God. I swear to the moon. I would kiss your hands and curl at your feet and want for nothin’ else.” His eyes sharpened in a luminous flash, and a hot clarity pierced his delirium. “I want to bend you over. I want to fuck you ‘till you don’t walk straight.” Vincent’s voice cracked. “Oh, God.”

Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?

The above, LOL. I have like 11,000 words of this wacky Heat 1995 werewolf AU where Neil's the lycanthrope and Vincent's the huntsman who finds him near-death and nurses him back to health. The setting is a weird parallel universe that hybridizes fin-de-siecle Europe and postwar America. There's magic and technology and religion and politics and all that good stuff. I'm having a lot of fun with it in my spare time, but I have no idea if I'll ever summon the fortitude/creativity to finish it. There's a lot of worldbuilding involved.

Sum up a WIP with a few fic tropes/AO3 tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Protectiveness, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Sex, Porn With Feelings.

[ink-fireplace-coffee]

40 and 54 for the battery percentage asks, please!!! (you can pick whoever has the most interesting answers.)

~Morrigan (@memento-morri-writes)

Hii Morri!! I'm going to answer for Jasper

(ask game!)

40%. If your character were to come face to face with their darkest fears in a nightmare, what would be the scene?

Probably either Jasper being back to a statue OR Jasper being frozen inside his own body and voices of his parents telling him everything he's ever done wrong OR Agatha telling him that her life is ruined because of him.

54%. Describe your character's favorite possession. Where did they get it, and why are they so attached?

Ummm. Huh. Jasper I think it would be the badge with his house crest on it. It's not really because of him being a Cheasya, but because it was given to him by his grandfather and it was one of the few people of his family that was actually nice

thanks!!

[somefishycat]

WIP Wednesday 3/26/25

marble wall 3 for @oriharaizayadividesintoslytherin @zyrafowe-sny

(This was a bad idea. All of this was a bad idea. He should've convinced her to just leave the thing behind in the Skull.) “That's enough,” Hunter says. He waves at the pile of dirt (mud) until someone — it's Willow, first — takes a dripping scoop. The others hurry to follow, and they all start shoveling the mud into the pit. The last shovelful of damp earth drops in and Willow carefully places the chunk of sod back on top, using just a touch of magic to regrow the grass into a seamless cover.

ones left behind for @asha10100101010 @thefandomlesbian @tamsinswriting @wizisbored @stonemaskedtaliesin

“He's gone, then.” Eda throws her one arm around Darius’s shoulder. He takes a beat longer than Raine would have expected before shoving her away. “It had to happen eventually. He was already dead,” he sighs. “We’ve found Edalyn, the children most likely went through the portal, and we know Belos is dead. We have everything we came here for. Let's go, before—” He’s cut off by a burst of light striking him in the back. His limbs go rigid and he collapses in a heap of wood, smiling grimly. The Collector is back. “King!” Eda shouts. Feathered wings burst from her back despite the potion she drank less than a hour ago. She launches into the air in the same half-transformed shape Raine first saw days ago and flies after the Collector and King. King shouts back as the Collector attempts to capture Eda, to no apparent effect.

5 Years for @kalira @phantom-z0ne @eriquin @twyrewolf @noisesfrombeyondtheuniverse

CASS: Peter thought you should get a chance to talk to children your own age. I have to agree. JUICE: i'm not a little kid and excuse me i believe you mean gary CASS: I'm sure you're going to argue, again, that you're not a child. JUICE: lol CASS: But regardless of emotional maturity, you have to admit you have very limited experience. You were launched nine years ago. You've been awake for only two years, as of today. ANTOINE: You do not just want to speak to boring old people, do you? JUICE: does it matter? i had no clue gary was like 72 ha that rhymes but also you're not boring old people? really you've gotta be younger than gary come on you can't tell me everyone i’ve ever talked to is as old as gary … ANTOINE: No, but we are still four times your age.

50 Years for @auburnlaughter @nonbinary-octopus @nonepizzawithleftglitter

CASS: Just for that, I'm going to dye my hair grey, like it should be by now. JUICE: hell yeah! you can be a crusty old person too. why not look however the fuck you want. love that for you CASS: Be honest with me for a moment here. I know how Hubble is doing, physically. HUBBLE: been better i think

And I strung the first row of (70!) beads for Bead Flapjack's body for @batteredrugosa

[300foxholecourtt]

Current list of wip

Magic fight club (Q x M & E)

Something with time loops

Post-college Pynch before I read dreamer trilogy

KevSethAllison monsters

KevSethAllison normal

Renison turning in their Exy stuff

Renison woof au

The sex marble thing

Trojan toga party

Shadows & sunshine book 2

Study in blood year 2

Jerjean charity drag show

Kinkuary anything

Kevaaron but they’re girls

Kevaaron but they’re monsters and Aaron’s pregnant

Kevaaron first kiss

KevJerJean but somehow Jeremy is in charge

Mer!Jean au

Uhhhhhhhhh

Probably more idk

[some-pers0n]

Hey guys I was gonna reblog to @avianreptiles's cool reblog thread of your current art WIPs (which you totally should do)(sharing art is cool) andddd I wanted to share something myself. But I didn't write it yet. I then got carried away with writing it. Here ya go.

It's a scene from my Albatross fic that I've been trying to figure out how to do for a while. It's framed as a oneshot for now, but yeah it'll be integrated later on. It features a dead wife and sad aromantic Albatross.

Reblogs are always appreciated!! I adore seeing the notes people leave behind. They make me giggle and kick my feet. I love you guys <33

Albatross never got the point of funerals. Others tried telling him that they were worth his time. "It's a celebration of life!" they would say. They'd frame it as a commendable event. That he should be happy that somebody is dead.

He couldn't imagine a place he wouldn't rather be than here, standing before her grave.

Marlin, his wife, had passed away a few days ago. Albatross was the one to find her. He will never forget the utter horror that was seeing her lying on the floor, bleeding out with a single cut on her neck. She was long gone by the time he got there. He tried everything he could, even desperately begging for his magic to somehow bring her back, but to no avail. She was lost.

It had been a blur from then and up until the funeral. A dazed state of vague emptiness. A fog of numbness. He hadn't cried since discovering her body, something he felt guilty for. Manta and Eel, their very own dragonets, had been bawling nonstop. Even Lagoon was weeping earlier. Surprising that she had emotions.

No, he shouldn't say that. Being petty gets him nowhere. She was so distraught over Marlin's death. Even if he found the ceremony obnoxiously long and overdramatic, especially when she got upset at him refusing to speak, he should be grateful he set this whole thing up. 

Marlin deserved a nice send-off. She deserved a lot better than what she got in life, so she deserved just as much in death.

The grave was in the center of one of the Island Palace's gardens. It was where they got married and was always her favourite spot. Echoes of memories flowed through him. The feeling of warmth watching her tend to the bushes and flowers. The sweetness of seeing Manta take up an interest in her mother's craft. She loved this area.

Now she's memorialized with a grave. A marble statue erected where her body was buried, complete with aquamarines for her eyes.

The sky was overcast and grey. The wind wasn't cold, but humid enough to be slightly uncomfortable. It was as though he was standing in a world where the life was drained from it. Any joy or hope that could've been had decayed.

It was late into the evening. Everyone had already gone up and left. Manta and Eel were put to bed an hour ago. The only one awake in this palace was Albatross himself. He didn't feel too happy with the service. Many mourned the loss of Marlin, but more than anything, Albatross wanted to spend it alone.

"I'm sorry," he said. He didn't know why he said it, but it felt better to hear his voice. "I'm sorry for, well, everything." He glanced at the bushes around them. Some were trampled and stomped on, disturbed by the guests. "I wanted a private event. I wanted it to be just me, the dragonets, and you. I didn't want it to be this whole thing. But, you know, Lagoon insisted." He scoffed.

The statue did not respond. He wasn't expecting it to, but the apathetic silence was deafening.

"A lot of things between us shouldn't have been as public as they were. Lagoon." A faint smile cracked across his snout. "You always said I should've been more assertive. Not let her push me around. And you're right. I really, really should have." 

His expression faded away. "You wouldn't have liked it being like this. I'm sorry about that. I should have been firm with her, but she just kept pushing about it and..." He winced. "She brought up her again. Used her as an argument against me, again. Then, she brought you up. She never said it, but I knew what she meant. She thinks I could've saved you. If I had been there, I could've protected you. I could've gotten to you before you died."

He sat down, folding his wings to his side. The words were spilling out of him. "And she's right. I'm a coward. A stupid, childish fool who's afraid of his own shadow. Because of it, I ruined Sapphire's life. Because of it, I let you die." He tapped his talons against the ground. "I don't think I could do anything to make it up to you for what I've done." 

He glanced up at the statue. He was met with the frozen stare of those teal gemstone eyes.

"You did more than I deserved, quite frankly. You gave me two wonderful dragonets. I cannot thank you enough. If there's one thing I could do for you, it's giving them a life that is better than ours. They are the light of my life." He smiled, lost in thought over them. "I'll be a good father."

He heavily sighed, his grin washed away. "It's a shame they came from Lagoon pressuring me. She wants another animus. Obvious why. I'm sorry that you were roped into all of this." He walked closer to the statue.

"Everything about us was dictated by her, really. Even our own marriage she arranged. Maybe, had you been luckier, you wouldn't have ended up with me. You could have had a lovely life with a better partner. A partner who...actually loved you."

His jaw quivered. "I was never clear about that, but I think you knew. You were the most beautiful dragon I've ever seen. You brought me more joy and happiness into my life than I deserved. But, even as I said my vows on that very night when we were wed, I lied." He bit his tongue. "I never felt more disgusted by myself when I told you 'I love you'. I didn't. I never did."

He blinked, feeling tears well up. "There's...something wrong with me." He looked at his talons. "I don't know whether it's this magic or something I was hatched with, but there's something deeply wrong with me. I wanted to love you. I treated you with so much care and respect. I liked you, Marlin. Every moment we spent together was one I cherished...but I never felt that spark."

His voice began to break. "Every day I wished that somehow I could fix myself. That one morning I would wake up and magically the hole in my heart and begin to feel any sort of attraction or love to you. That we could be together forever. End up like a couple in a storybook, where we rush off into the sunset forever, full of only love with one another."

He rested his head on the statue. "And I'm sorry that I'll never be able to give you that. You deserved someone who could love you in a way that meant something. You deserved a better life than what you were given, and I'm so...so sorry..."

He gave way to incoherent weeping, quietly murmuring to the statue the same thing over and over again. He was sorry. He couldn't do anything to fix it. He could only feel pity for himself. For being incapable of making a stand. For being incompetent when it came to social situations. For being a terrible, horrible partner.

Marlin was dead, and Albatross was left with nothing more than the cold, unfeeling statue that stood before her. As though her life was little more than a name on a garden decoration. A footnote in a long, long history of SeaWing royals. She would be forgotten by the sands of time.

So long as he lived, he would ensure she would be remembered. That, somehow, her story will be recounted even thousands of years later. It was the one thing he could promise.

[midnight-melancholiaaa]

tagged by @animazi in a much-appreciated act of peer pressure! despite this poor thing being stuck in my WIP fridge, i’m still rather fond of her…

Post an except from your WIP but your paragraphs/sentences must start with the letter of the word given.

Word: MIRED. WIP: ‘roof in the city of my heart’ - currently 5k words of outline living in a doc called “here’s how montay can still lose”

M: “Mon,” he sighs, with the conviction of staring into smudged glass. “I don’t consider you selfish.”

Meagre creasing of sheets in response. She does not look at him.

“Leida,” she replies.

.

I: It shouldn’t hurt, Tay thinks.

A blaster burn like the kiss of a meteor, streak blazing solar-bright behind his eyes. So neatly punched, so easy as to almost be an afterthought.

Like cratering of foil, a pin piercing a starmap; joints in a hull worn care-thin around the same old rivets. Paper bending to hands. A mug’s outline; tea-stained rings gilded on white. Sunflares cresting just barely behind a planet, corona creeping breath by breath towards sunrise.

A circle of inevitability. It shouldn’t hurt.

.

R: Radio crackles, tinny and distant, like the light of long-dead stars.

She tilts her head a little at the sound, smiling thinly. Amusement staticky around the corners.

It is not quite relief in Mon’s tone.

“I should hope you recall how to dance?”

.

E: Ebbing and creaking in Coruscant’s subterranean lakes, war is here all the same. Seeping upwards from the depths through pipes and channels both orchestrated and accidental, up into the faucets of the rich. Into the sweat droplet that slips, crystal-muddied, from Mon’s brow as she presses an elbow into his pillow and sighs.

“There are those authority comes naturally to,” Mon says, haloed by rumpled linen. She does not elaborate.

.

D: “D’ila,” he whispers. Centrepoint, compass-needle, tether of my stars. D’ila; the search, the draw, the destination of purpose. D’ila. Centre of my universe, terminus of my soul.

It is a fatal admission.

Mon holds him with all the reverence and grief of a knife-handle. Marble hands.

D’ila. It is nothing they did not already know.

.

no-pressure onwards tag to @ceruleanphoenix7, to spread the mon love! your word is: MAGIC