#but i'll just leave this fic here

[aranarumei]

the anomalous agate (epilogue)

for anyone who has no idea what this is about, go here for part one

for those who do, here's the ao3 link

there's a lot I want to say. the first, I guess, is that this isn't quite over—like I've mentioned many times before, I still have a bonus scene that's all hanzawa to tashiro. but this, here, is the end of the anomalous agate as it exists in seigi's pov, and as a case in the case files of jeweler richard.

out of curiosity, I found the longest case I could think of in the first two volumes of cfojr—case 2-3—and checked the word count. it totaled an approximate 21k, and with this epilogue, my case reaches the same total.

this is by far my favorite fic that I've ever written, so I could talk about it forever (I really might). but here, I won't say any more, and leave the epilogue under the cut:

case 2-x: the anomalous agate (epilogue)

Richard had always liked to read during his downtime. Rather than keep a stock of books in Jewelry Étranger, he liked to cart them back and forth from his home. Once, when I asked him if he’d ever considered purchasing e-books, we spent the next hour discussing the value of physical versus digital media. There were a lot of arguments for either side, but after analyzing the various pros and cons, Richard admitted that he just preferred the sensation of flipping pages and having the weight of a book in his hands. I tried to imagine Richard scrolling pensively through a tablet in his downtime, and the image was so jarring I almost apologized for asking about e-books in the first place.

Still, one of the cons we’d discussed about physical media was the fact that it took up way more space. Despite that fact, it felt like Richard always had a new book in his hands. I’d never seen his place, so I could only imagine that he lived in a palace with a sprawling library. Or, more realistically, a luxury apartment with a room the size of my apartment allocated for his books.

Most times, the things he read were texts about jewels that went entirely over my head, or books so thick that they were similarly impenetrable. Sometimes they were both. Today, though, Richard was flipping through the pages of a thin book with an illustrated cover. It was a deep blue color, and though Richard’s hand obscured some of the illustration, the blue of the sky was dotted with golden stars—almost like lapis lazuli.

This was enough to pique my interest, and I had downtime in spades, so I sidled up behind him.

From his relaxed position in one of the red armchairs, Richard glanced up at me. I must have successfully conveyed I’ll pace around the room unless you entertain me with my face, because the corners of his mouth quirked upwards.

It had to be an awkward angle, looking up to see me leaning against the back of his chair and unrepentantly staring, but Richard made every move with elegance. I watched the way his hair began to fall away from his face as he tilted his head, opening up his expression into something a little more unreserved.

“What book is that?” I asked. 

“Le Petit Prince.” 

Le Petit? Sheepish, I said, “My English isn’t that great yet…”

Richard raised an eyebrow. “It’s French,” he said, and though the words themselves weren’t laced with malice, I could read the obvious Surely, Seigi, by now you must have learned enough English to distinguish it from other languages in his expression. “The translated title would be The Little Prince. I was reminded of it recently, so I’ve been rereading portions.”

I peered down at the page Richard had open. Sure enough, though I recognized the letters, none of the words made any sense. “What’s it about?” 

“Many things. But there was a particular scene…” He thumbed through the pages until I saw a simple illustration of a fox and a boy dressed in green. “The novel deals with a lot of things—it has a lot to say about the world, but one of my favorite moments in the travels of our titular character is when he meets the fox. The fox asks to be tamed by the little prince—here, he explains what it means.” Without hesitation, Richard translated the French before me into Japanese. “‘But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world.’”

“…Tame?” 

“It’s an interesting word, isn’t it?” Richard said. “The fox defines it first as ‘to establish ties,’ but it’s still a peculiar way of expressing friendship. More truthful, perhaps.” He smiled. “Either way, I was reminded of the complications of your troublesome client.” 

There was only one person he could’ve been referring to—the one who’d bought blue lace agate earrings just the other day. I wondered if Richard had remembered the book because he’d seen the same bit of Tashiro’s green hoodie that I had, or because the cover had reminded him of lapis lazuli. But these musings took only a moment; I was stuck on the word tame.

It wasn’t something I’d ever heard used in the context of friendship, but the idea clicked with me. The word evoked a kind of dependency that I felt keenly. I glanced towards Richard. A tamed creature becomes unique, huh? If it was me… Richard couldn’t be anything but a prince.

“What’s on your mind?” Richard asked. 

I’d only recently put my foot in my mouth by comparing us to a married couple, so I refrained from trying to make comparisons. Instead, I chose to bring up a different curiosity of mine. “I was just thinking about how quick Hanzawa’s last visit was. I wish I could’ve heard him explain his choice a little more…” 

Richard set his book to the side. “The blue lace agate?” 

“It wasn’t even something you’d mentioned, so…” 

“I think that was Hanzawa-san’s way of showing initiative,” Richard said. “And it was a rather perfect stone for him. I was not needed for his choice in the slightest.” 

“That’s not true,” I said. “I—there’s no way what you said was unimportant.” 

Glossing past my words, Richard continued his speculation. “I’d mentioned, then, that agate is often dyed to enhance its visual appeal—judging by Hanzawa-san’s reaction to the word ‘truth,’ I’m inclined to think this is somewhat of a sore spot. But what it did tell me was that he was sincerely considering the jewel as a reflection of himself.” 

“…You really know everything,” I said. I’d run into Hanzawa twice, but Richard’s understanding of him matched mine.

“Not everything,” Richard said. “Agate is not metamorphic like lapis lazuli, but its banding pattern demonstrates a subtler uniqueness and complexity. I would think that choosing a naturally colored type of agate, which carries these qualities inherently, was a matter of pride for Hanzawa-san.” 

Pride was really the perfect word—I suddenly remembered Hanzawa’s words about needing strength to be anomalous. To be happy as you were… like Mami-san had expressed, it was certainly a hard thing to do.

“Maybe not everything,” I allowed, “but seriously, you’re spot on. I talked with Hanzawa a lot more than you did, but I didn’t make any of those connections.” 

Richard straightened up in his armchair, obscuring his face from my view. With a sigh, he said, “In this case… I have something of an unfair advantage.”

“Unfair?” I asked, leaning to get a better look at his face.

“Hanzawa-san and I… I believe the expression is, ‘cut from the same cloth?’ That’s the way we are. It makes me feel ill-suited to speak to him, and I suspect the feeling is reciprocated.”

“I don’t think you’re alike at all, though,” I said, studying the mild discomfort on Richard’s face. 

He looked back up at me, curious. “Why do you think so?” 

I wracked my brain for an explanation. If anything, I felt it was Hanzawa and I who were similar, but I couldn’t say why. I could see glimpses of Richard in Hanzawa—something about the grace they made look effortless, but it wasn’t enough for me to truly compare them. Finally, my gaze strayed to the cover of The Little Prince, and I blurted out, “You’re a prince, and he’s a fox.”

As if to prove me wrong in an instant, Richard laughed, his lips curving into a foxlike smile. But even as he did so, he looked like a beautiful, otherworldly prince who could have traveled to many planets before the two of us could meet. “It isn’t that literal,” he said. “Fox or prince; they tame each other the same.” 

Well, I thought, drinking in the visage of the beauty before me, I’m probably not smart enough to be a fox, anyways. “Maybe there’s something you haven’t noticed yet,” I said like the fool I was. “Tell me more about the book?”

After some hemming, hawing, and a promise of milk pudding from yours truly, Richard agreed. He opened the book at the beginning and translated the words before him in a smooth, beautiful tone.

My weight braced against the back of his chair, I closed my eyes, and let his words wash over me.

…If I was ever in Kyoto, maybe I’d get him some kitsune senbei.

-THE END-

#sniffles. i wish i could say more #but i'll just leave this fic here #i wish i could say more. about hanzawa about seigi about richard #but for this fic to feel right to me i can't say that within the case alone... #maybe i really will just keep posting about this for the next month. bear with me #anyways to anyone who reads the tags this far: this is actually the first fic i've finished #that's spanned multiple chapters #and part of that is because of my love for both cfojr and the ssmyverse but #a lot of that is because of my love for you all #cfojr #nakata seigi #richard ranasinghe de vulpian #the case files of jeweler richard #hanzawa masato #the anomalous agate #my writing #kiri.txt #jeweler richard

[zensations35]

Technical Difficulties (Al/astor)

OK HERE IT IS Seriously the audio took me longer than I expected but rrrghhh I think it came out SWELL YUSS? I really had to push because I don't do a lot of fan voicing and I'm nervous but >.< I promised!! Enjoy!!

 Alastor lounges over his vibrant crescent desk, his planned skit stacked on the red wood. The Radio Demon leans languidly toward his scepter--the microphone now powering the studio, with his help of course.

He flicks a few switches and curls the knobs with pointed claws until the soothing whine licks his ears, making them shiver.

Yes. The good stuff. The correct method.

“Hm~” Alastor hums as he finishes gearing up the system. 

The display lights up and--go! 

“Welcome, welcome listeners! To another radio show! Today I’ve been sent a request--which I shall graciously grant. I hope you enjoy this gift. Aren’t I generous?”

The click of a switch marks the start of the queued song and Alastor begins to bob his head along. Mmm~ Not exactly what he would have picked, but it’s nice and jaunty. He shuts off his mic so no one can hear him as he flips through the stack of papers, planning out his next few songs. He grins when he sees the lineup.

Alastor rises, hands clasped behind his back, as he observes the new gear in his studio. He had to wait so long to see all of his new toys. Well, new to him. Technically these mechanisms aren’t new. He prefers it that way.

He skates past his neatly arranged desk, shoes clicking like ice cubes on the hard floor, until he pauses next to a bookshelf. A few tomes have been moved, one leaning against another, and a not so thin layer of dust (dust!) has formed over it. 

A snarl lifts under his nostril and he can feel the bubble of anger fizzing in his chest. He reaches to swipe across the top of the book and comes away with a disgusting clump. He growls with indignant offense. 

Who in all the visible hells is responsible for--

Snf!

Oh fucks no. Fucking hells no.

Alastor’s dark eyes jerk toward the still rolling song. His snarl stutters, causing the sound to fizz. Fuck fuck fuck.

He pinches his nose with his clean hand, cinching the air in his throat, “HX-٨ـﮩZz!” 

The song flutters and Alastor has more than one reason to punish whoever cleaned--or didn’t clean--the station before he came.

Forgetting all else, he picks  up speed, heading toward the gear and holding his hands above it, as if his magic could prevent it from further disturbance.

There. It’s fine. He just n-eeds t-to…

“H˚〰gk!” 

The song crackles, jumping forward by at least half a minute, “H’ZN٨ـﮩKw!” his teeth chit together and the static buzzes with new life. 

A violent hiss seethes from the Radio Demon as he threatens his nose with a violent smush to stamp out the tickle. Enough of that. 

The song finally ends and he glides back to his seat, voice trilling once more.

“Apologies, folks! Technical difficulties. But! I shall make it up to you, dear caller. I have quite a refined ear--makes for a good host, no? Let’s find some--h٨ـﮩhhh--something with a bit more punch, hm?” he ignores the pops from the speaker and flicks on the song. 

He knows he should be gracing his listeners with more of his voice, but first he has to deal with this goddamn dust. 

After one more sweep of the station, the Radio Demon finds five more patches of grime. Five! Filthier than a hellhound’s gullet, this is! 

Even movement as simple as turning around has him bumping into a shelf of old cobwebbed shelves, spitting granules of dust into the air. The air Alastor is breathing for fuckwave’s sake!

He cups his  nose and mouth with a claw as his eyes water. Muffled hitches warm his cheeks and spackle his fingers with moisture. 

“Hih٨ـﮩh-XZ٨ـﮩST!” 

Godfuckingdammit!

The song on the station warps and a bud of rage burns Alastor’s core. His breaths are beating against his chest, hungry to get free.

“Hh-hmn KZZ٨ـﮩZZH! H٨ـﮩH-FUCK! TZ٨ـﮩZH-IY!” 

Alastor stumbles back behind the desk, flicking switches and knobs. Only the clicks and plinks of the switches signify he’s done anything. His left hand covers his face in an attempt to muffle the crackling hitches, but they whine through the janky song regardless.

“H-ih! IH!” The waves bump and leap, Alastor’s fingers wobbling as he fights with himself while trying to regain control of the show. There’s a faint sound, the hint of leftover bandwidth. Then, “HY-X٨ـﮩZZH٨ـﮩH-Y٨ـﮩH!” 

A siren pop! The station whirrs, then lets out a final gasp before it loses the last dregs of power. 

Alastor freezes in the dark, now silent tower. He gives the switches another flaccid flick. 

Nothing’s working. Everything seems to have shorted out. His fist curls, shivering with barely concealed violence. 

Alastor rips his hand from his face and whirls to wrench the rotary phone from its cradle near the wall. Thank fucks for landlines. 

He dials, eyes black and heavy as he speaks into the phone’s shell.

“I want a new cleaner. Fire the other one.”

A pause. Then, “She sounds perfect. Send her over.” This one better be good.

He scoffs at the next question, “I really do not care what you do with the old cleaner.” He hesitates for a moment, his eyes crawling over the studio, his radio show cut before it even really began. His lips curl, shadows dancing and splitting behind his back. “Actually,” his voice crackles and blares down the line, “I do.”

#aiiihhhh I will be working on getting the radio voice better in the future #but liek #man that laugh was fun af to do #guhhh all of my words and braining went into doing this so i'll just leave this here on your doorstep like a cat #other fics coming later i just wanted to pump this out today #snzfic #snz wav #snz audio #zen audio #snz #snzblr #haz/bin #haz/bin ho/tel #hazbin snz #al/astor #al/astor snz #allergies #zen fanfic #snz kink

[vorestarr]

I'd been thinking a lot about the scene where Astarion tells the player he's a vampire, after waking them in the middle of the night attempting to drink their blood.

it's such an interesting scene in terms of Astarion's character and interactions with the player character (just gonna call them Tav for simplicity here), especially in the context of a romance where Astarion later confesses he was trying to manipulate Tav in the beginning of their relationship.

but I've wondered why the scene went about the way it did, instead of Astarion trying to seduce Tav or get them drunk or any number of things he probably did while gathering people for Cazador. instead, he sneaks up to them at night and somehow fumbles it by waking them (as a rogue too... must've rolled a 1).

so anyway, tonight I decided to play the Astarion origin to see how that scene goes from his perspective, and WOW does it put things into context.

the first night in camp playing as Astarion, everyone else goes to sleep, and you have a nightmare. in the nightmare, Astarion wandering through dark, oppressing woods, and then Cazador appears. he lists the rules he has for his spawn, reminds Astarion that he belong to him, and then Astarion wakes up panicking and thinking he needs to get back or else suffer punishments again.

but then Astarion has the thought, "What will he say when he finds you can walk in the sunlight and he can't?"

and like that, Astarion stops his panicking and it dawns on him that if he's no longer harmed by sunlight (or running water, etc if you encountered that dialogue during the day), then maybe he's not restricted to Cazador's rules anymore. and he thinks of the first rule, "Thou shall not drink the blood of thinking creatures," and conveniently, there's a group of people sleeping right there for him to test this thought immediately.

and I've just been sitting here mulling this over, because i LOVE that the writers of this game thought all of this out and provided different pieces of it in different routes of the story.

playing as Tav, Astarion gives you the excuse that he's slower than usual because he hasn't fed in a while, so it's hard for him to hunt animals. maybe that's true. maybe it'd been some days since he started traveling with Tav and the others, and he hasn't had the opportunities he's needed to hunt without them noticing.

or maybe, it was his first little rebellion against Cazador, and he wasn't ready to confess all of that vulnerability to a stranger he just bit in the middle of the night, because he also just found out it's true -- he's free of Cazador's influence and commands, he can drink from thinking creatures, he can walk in the sun, he can do things he hasn't dreamt of in centuries. and he's having that realization in the midst of the rush of drinking from a thinking creature for the first time ever.

man, what a day for Astarion.

#astarion #meta #i have so many more thoughts about this but it's going to end up in a fic eventually so i'll just leave this here lol #astarion ancunin

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Six of Crows fan-written Script

Thanks to everyone who voted in the poll to see if you guys wanted to keep this going!! 🖤

Hi, so in true me style I still haven't got around to organising these posts into scene breakdowns so this is the next part of episode 1 scene 5, I'm hoping that I can get the end of scene 5 out in the next post and then from that point forwards I'll be able to post it scene by scene. I hope that makes sense.

Same reminder as usual: I'm trying to be as true to the books as possible whilst also matching Show!canon but I've also taken the occasional bit of artistic licence as to how I would imagine producing the show myself, for example inserting my personal headcanon about Anya in the opening scene of episode one. Also, I have never written a script before so the formatting is my own made-up method; if it doesn't make sense please let me know and I'll adapt it :)

Side note: Would it be helpful for me to make a masterlist with links to the parts I've already posted?

Recap since it's been a while - Kaz is with Van Eck at the Hoede house and is holding a knife to the merch's throat when Mika walks through the wall, frightening Kaz because he thinks he's hallucinating from a drug Van Eck has given him

EPISODE ONE SCENE FIVE (PART 2)

KAZ: What the hell is this?

VAN ECK: Let me go and I’ll explain

KAZ: You can explain right where you are

VAN ECK: What you’re seeing are the effects of jurda parem

KAZ: Jurda’s just a stimulant. It’s harmless

VAN ECK: Ordinary jurda, yes. Jurda parem is completely different - and most definitely not harmless

KAZ: So you did drug me?

VAN ECK: Not you, mister Brekker. Mika

[KAZ turns and looks at MIKA. The camera moves slowly up the Tidemaker’s figure; his hands are trembling, the dark circles beneath his eyes are pronounced, and his kefta is slightly ill-fitting as though he has lost a lot of weight since it was last altered]

VAN ECK: Jurda parem is a cousin to ordinary jurda - from the same plant. We aren’t sure of the production process, but a sample was sent to the Merchant Council by a scientist named Bo Yul-Bayurr

KAZ: Shu?

VAN ECK: Yes. He wished to defect, so he sent the sample to prove his claims regarding the drug’s extraordinary effects - Please, mister Brekker, this is a most uncomfortable position. If you’d like, I can give you a pistol and we can sit and discuss this in a more civilised fashion

KAZ: A pistol and my cane

[VAN ECK gestures to one of the stadwatch guards by the door, who leaves briefly and returns with KAZ’s cane]

KAZ: Pistol first. Slowly

[The guard unholsters his own gun and hands it to KAZ by the grip. KAZ grabs the gun and cocks it in one swift movement, then releases VAN ECK and throws the letter opener onto the desk before snatching his cane from the guard’s hand. He is immediately more comfortable. VAN ECK paces backwards and KAZ moves slowly towards the window]

VAN ECK: That cane is quite a piece of hardware, Mr Brekker. Is it Fabrikator made?

KAZ: None of your business. Get talking, Van Eck

VAN ECK: When Bo Yul-Bayur sent us the sample of jurda parem, we tested it on three Grisha - one from each order. 

KAZ: Happy volunteers?

VAN ECK: Indentures. The first two were a Fabrikator and a Healer indentured to Councilman Hoede,

[KAZ frowns; he recalls hearing the name recently but cannot remember why]

and Mika is a Tidemaker. He’s mine. You’ve seen what he can do using the drug.

KAZ: I don’t know what I’ve seen.

[KAZ looks back at MIKA, and the camera follows his gaze. MIKA is focused intently on VAN ECK as though he is unaware of anything else in the room, his expression one of desperation]

VAN ECK: An ordinary Tidemaker can control currents, summon water or moisture from the air, or a nearby source. They manage the tides in our harbours. But under the influence of parem, a Tidemaker can alter their own state from solid, to liquid, to gas and back again and do the same with other objects - even a wall.

[KAZ frowns. He isn’t convinced, but he has no other explanation for what he’s seen]

KAZ: How?

VAN ECK: It’s hard to say. You’re aware of the amplifiers some Grisha wear?

KAZ: I’ve seen them - animal bones, and such. I hear they’re hard to come by.

VAN ECK: Very. But they only increase a Grisha’s power. Jurda parem alters a Grisha’s perception.

KAZ: So?

VAN ECK: Grisha manipulate matter at its most fundamental metals - they call it the Small Science. Under the influence of parem, those manipulations become faster and far more precise. In theory jurda parem is just a stimulant like its ordinary cousin, but it seems to sharpen and hone a Grisha’s senses. Things become possible that simply shouldn’t be. 

KAZ: What does it do to sorry sobs like you and me?

[VAN ECK is marginally offended to be aligned with KAZ]

VAN ECK: It’s lethal. An ordinary mind cannot tolerate parem in even the lowest doses.

KAZ: You said you gave it to three Grisha. What can the others do?

VAN ECK: Here

[He begins to open one of his desk drawers and KAZ raises his pistol slightly]

KAZ: Easy

[VAN ECK opens the drawer with exaggerated slowness and pulls out a lump of gold the size of his palm]

VAC ECK: This started as lead.

KAZ: Like hell it did.

[VAN ECK shrugs]

VAN ECK: I can only tell you what I saw. The Fabrikator took a piece of lead in his hands, and moments later we had this.

KAZ: How do you even know it's real?

VAN ECK: It was the same melting point as gold, the same weight, the same malleability. If it’s not identical to gold in every way the difference has eluded us.

[He holds it out for KAZ to take]

VAN ECK: Have it tested, if you like. 

[KAZ inspects the gold for a moment, then slips it into his pocket. He’s decided that even if it's an imitation, it's convincing enough for him to find it a purpose]

KAZ: You could’ve gotten that anywhere.

VAN ECK: I would bring you Hoede’s Fabrikator here to show you himself, but he isn’t well.

[KAZ glances at MIKA again, and the camera once more notes his sickly pallor and the dark circles beneath his eyes]

KAZ: Let’s say this is all real and not cheap coin trick magic. What does it have to do with me?

VAN ECK: Perhaps you heard of the Shu paying off the entirety of their debt to Kerch with a sudden influx of gold? The assassination of the trade ambassador from Novyi Zem? The theft of documents from a military base in Ravka?

[KAZ nods. He is glad to know the secret of the Zemeni Ambassador’s death and remembers JESPER talking about the three Shu ships filled with gold. Although he has heard nothing of the Ravkan documents, he doesn’t want VAN ECK to know that and so acts as if he is more than aware]

VAN ECK: We believe that all of these occurrences are the work of Grisha under the control of the Shu government and under the influence of jurda parem. Mr Brekker, I want you to think for a moment about what I’m telling you: Men who can walk through walls. No vault or fortress will ever be safe again. People who can make gold from lead - or anything else for that matter - who can alter the very material of the world. Financial markets will be thrown into chaos, the world economy would collapse.

KAZZ: Very exciting. What is it you want from me, Van Eck? To steal a shipment? The formula?

VAN ECK: No. I want you to steal the man.

KAZ: Kidnap Bo Yul-Bayur?

VAN ECK: Save him. A month ago we received a message from Yul-Bayur begging for asylum, he was concerned about his government’s plans for jurda parem, and we agreed to help him defect. We set up a rendez-vous, but there was a skirmish at the drop point.

KAZ: With the Shu?

VAN ECK: With Fjerdans.

[KAZ raises an eyebrow - the Fjerdans must have spies deep in Shu Han or Kerch, or both]

VAN ECK: The diplomatic situation is somewhat delicate, and it is essential that our government not be tied to Yul-Bayur in any way.

KAZ: You have to know he’s probably dead. Fjerdans hate Grisha; there’s no way they’d let knowledge of this drug get out.

VAN ECK: Our sources say he’s very much alive and that he’s awaiting trial.

[VAN ECK clears his throat]

VAN ECK: At the Ice Court.

[KAZ stares at him for a moment, then bursts out laughing]

KAZ: Well, it’s been a pleasure being knocked unconscious and taken caprice by you Van Eck - you can assure your hospitality will be repaid when the time is right. Have one of your lackeys show me to the door.

VAN ECK: We’re prepared to offer you five million kruge.

[KAZ pockets the stadwatch officer’s pistol. He is no longer afraid for his life, but he’s furious to have had his time wasted so tremendously]

KAZ: This may come as a surprise to you, Van Eck, but we canal rats value our lives just as much as you do yours.

VAN ECK: Ten million.

KAZ: There’s no point to a fortune I won’t be alive to spend. Where’s my hat? Did your Tidemaker leave it behind in the alley?

[KAZ begins to walk towards the door and the camera follows behind him]

VAN ECK: Twenty.

[KAZ pauses, and slowly lifts his head - an image mimicking that of season one of Shadow and Bone when he heard the offer of one million kruge. He turns slowly to face VAN ECK]

INEJ voiceover, a reminder of what she told him in Scene Three: Greed is your god, Kaz.

KAZ: Twenty million kruge?

KAz voicover from Scene Three: Greed bows to me. 

[VAN ECK nods, but he doesn’t look happy about having raised the offer so much higher]

KAZ: I’d need to convince a team to walk into a suicide mission - that doesn’t come cheap.

VAN ECK: Twenty million kruge is hardly cheap.

KAZ: The Ice Court has never been breached. 

VAN ECK: That’s why we need you, Mr Brekker. It’s possible Bo Yul-Bayur is already dead, or that he’s given up his secrets to Fjerdans, but we think we have at least a little time to act before jurda parem is put into play. 

KAZ: If the Shu have the formula-

VAN ECK: Yul-Bayur claimed he’d managed to keep the specifics secret - we believe they’re limiting from whatever limited supply he left behind. 

[KAZ has already started thinking about the job, and who he’ll need on his team - and what he’ll be able to do with the money. He pauses, and frowns]

KAZ: Why me? Why the Dregs? There are more experienced crews out there.

[MIKA has a sudden coughing fit, and VAN ECK helps him into a chai and offers him his handkerchief. He snaps his fingers at one of the guards]

VAN ECK: Some water

[The guard exits]

#leaving off here for now because Van Eck is about to ask Kaz how old he is #and I actually have no clue how old he's supposed to be in show!canon #if i can't figure it out then for the purpose of this script I'll just age the characters back down again #six of crows #grishaverse #crooked kingdom #leigh bardugo #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #nina zenik #matthias helvar #kanej #soc #wylan hendriks #soc fic #save six of crows #save the grishaverse #save shadow and bone #shadow and bone netflix #screw you netflix #fuck netflix #wesper #helnik #six of crows script #soc spinoff #six of crows spinoff #six of crows spin off #soc script

[b4kuch1n]

pre-holiday leave crumbs

#sk8 the infinity #kyan reki #hasegawa langa #renga #hey. if I give u a bottle labeled wine with somethin else inside. would u drink it #anyways. tomorrow I Travel #The Turbulance evened out alright! so the Traveling could no longer be postponed #three days on da road babeyy (<- shaking and crying) #goin to a market! I'll try to get a new kitchen knife there. will be better than whatever the fucks goin on in our kitchen rn #anyways. post-fic haze has settled in once again I am simply no thought. this will continue for hopefully five hours #until I gotta get up for car time #kinda whittling down the 20yo reki design slowly to get to a point where it feels Correct #20yo langa is already perfect. maybe to nobody but me but I stand the fuck by it #I believe in langa looking like a guy lesbians would hit on by accident in his 20s. I hold myself to it #oh yeah if ur asking. no that was not a cigarette in the first pic. sorry Im a tightass about smoking thats a lollipop #in my head its the pickled mango flavour that alpenliebe already made a hard candy version of here #hard sour candy shell with. chili salt core. it is good (?) but it hurts my stomach (I will not stop eating them) #also if u catch the acc name going outside the panel in the comic. its bc I could NOT leave it at just 'random white girl' #it has to be the full thing I cannot do this fake fictional twitter user like that #literally the only preliminary caution I take for funny comics. nothign else makes sense I dont care. this is necessary however #anyways. it is time for baku to be horizontal and shit. so here we goooo #have a good nite lads! idk what will happen in the next 3 days! will most probably be silent! and then dip pen comms will open again #eat well sleep well! two daysborday until labor day

[loppiopio]

live izaya reaction to chapter 29 (honey python) of a cheap imitation.

#durarara #izaya orihara #a cheap imitation #shitpost #i made a thing #tumblr wouldn't let me upload more than one video in the same post so this a stray from the 🥥 post #this one might be funnier on its own though so maybe it works out #i expect the notes on this one to not exceed the single digits hsgsds #but hey it is a thing i made so i'll leave it here for posterity #unlike the others in the 🥥 post this one was specifically made for marketing #which is a thing i started doing on twitter to try and entice my book club victims to read a new chapter of the fic #at a pace i thought would be more fun #so it's supposed to be very ??? since my intended response was meant to be like “??? wtf is going on in the next chapter” #“i've gotta read it” #“oh” #“no” #and it did work for one friend lol #so mission success #anyways maybe someone here will enjoy it too who knows #the sounds btw are just michael jackson noises it was supposed to be a reference to that one voiced meme of the shit bunny crying #and then placating themselves by imagining them railing their fav #y'know #the shit bunny by @battleguitar on twitter #https://twitter.com/battleguitar/status/1622025684670631936 if you want to see the comic #i tried my best to find whoever voiced it but i think that post must be gone :( #i have it saved though as a reference so if anyone wants it i guess dm me haha #ACTUALLY HOLD UP I JUST FOUND IT NOW #https://twitter.com/coalbones/status/1622112973102669829 :000 #thank you for your service twitter user @coalbones

[dootznbootz]

You've been blocked so you won't see anything I post. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ You're safe from my fanfiction now. I literally tag my own silly shit with a different tag with #shot by odysseus so it won't go into the main stuff. You don't HAVE to see it. And AGAIN! This isn't constructive criticism!!! You're just saying you don't like it!

#You won't technically see this either but honestly if anyone following me feels the same. you can leave??? #I'm not forcing you to be here. or if you DO just like my essays. then just look for those?? and ignore my fics??? #I KNOW I take some liberties but like??? just block me. you don't have to send this shit. #my essays AND my fics are MINE and a part of me and I'll post them. #thank you to all who say nice stuff to me :'D I know most folks won't like what I write but I've got folks that I care about #who like it and that's what matters. :D Also. I'm having FUN #ask #technically??? #i don't know. #I deleted this as blocked but also if anyone feels this way?? unfollow me??? block me??? just stop :'D #anon #I really don't wanna turn off anon as I love my shy homies (have some anons I still have to answer as well! :D ) but seriously wtf? #Especially after I reblogged my fic today??? #Fuck it. Ima go write. brb

[beedreamscape]

Scenes of Iomene and Oscar in the time after.

I have no excuses for why I wrote this except [screams]. PURE SELF-INDULGENT HEADCANON. It takes place over a long, undefined length of time.

Iomene wraps her arms around Oscar's shoulders by the back and at her firm embrace, he leans into her.

His shoulders are broad so she's not able to envelop him completely. They stand at roughly the same height -either by design or some trick of the eye, he's got the impression she ought to be taller- and she's strong enough that he leans without worry of pushing her back.

She rests her chin on his shoulder and looks at the subject of his attention, the storm going outside the tall windows. Behind the curtain of rain, the thinner trees bend under the force of the wind, branches lashing against themselves and on the studier trunks, leaves sway like clothes on a line.

Their eyes cross on the faint reflection on the glass. In contrast to all that is fair in him, his eyes are like two dark marbles, a brown so deep and dark it's almost black; hers resemble her skin, an inhuman ambar like brandy on fire. Whenever she holds his stare to hers, he has the unsettling thought that she can or might be reading his thoughts.

Taking a break? He asks.

Thought I come see you.

He breathes out a laugh. You didn't have to.

The first time it happened he asked if it was her doing, the rain. It wasn't without reason, she had told him this place wasn't entirely real, the mansion -or palace if you lived in the places Oscar had- was almost a personal limbo, between veils, not outside of the Fairelands but not in it either.

Close enough it influences what happens here, she had told him.

If it rains there, it rains here?

She had shaken her head. No, fluctuations in Bleed cause this. I lived in flood and pain when war was at its highest, then in waist-deep snow as it died down.

He had also told her it reminded him of the accident and she held him steadily for what must've been hours if those had any meaning there.

Her breath has a complex rich scent, never bad but never something recognizable; a new, intriguing smell.

I don't have to do anything.

I know. He rubs the back of her hand in a resemblance of reassurance. I'm alright, I promise.

I miss having someone to care for.

He takes her upper arm, his large hand almost wrapping around it, and brings her to his side so he can look at her --- she's beautiful in a way he's not used to, though he's not quite sure what was he ever used to anymore. Her skin is bronze like copper and her hair darker than any black his eyes could register, she only looked human when she stood very close.

You already care for the whole of the Fairelands. Besides, I'm literally the last person that needs caring for.

It's different. And yes, you do. Dying is not the worst thing that can happen to a person and we both know it.

He smiles, not with teeth but broadly. Darling, I'm painfully familiar with oblivion. Though I've only skirted the edges of madness.

I've dabbled in madness a fair share over millennia.

He points lazily towards the window.

Could we walk out on it? Not in permission but in safety. Every now and then I heard of toxic rain back in Newfair, especially right after the war.

It's bleed-induced, but I don't believe it's toxic. I think we could.

And without another word, she takes his hand and leads him out.

He had asked her how far the land around them stretched on the first night he had woken up in the house --- she had kept him sleeping for about a week or maybe a month, a while to dream of death, a while to adapt her world for his presence, to be shared after hundreds of years of solitude.

For as far my legs will carry me, she told him.

Are there other buildings? Other houses?

I never felt the need for them.

You build them?

With enough will and vision, I could.

So you built this? She nods. A bit big for just one person.

One needs a variety of spaces even when living alone. I thought of rebuilding the whole of Oldfaire in the beginning, I went halfway through with it, but seeing my city with none of its people really hurt me. I did replicate the shore of Seasway, not the whole ocean, but enough that it might trick the eye into thinking it's endless.

Wow... I might need a map one day.

Yes, yes, I never thought to do so, it can be a fun project if you'd willing to tackle it. But that's for later. I reshaped some quarters and cleared space so you may shape them to your liking.

I wouldn't know where to start.

I would suggest you start with your bedroom and then the library, browse through my catalogue and pick out the ones you need to assemble your own.

Why can't I use yours?

She smiles that mischievous smile of someone who knows more, who'll always know more. You'll understand when you walk in there.

He went days without moving much further than the clearing surrounding the house, went on not exploring the library and its secrets, went on trying to ignore the grief over Cosmo, and on one of those days, returned with bloodied and torn fists.

I thought I'd hurt less in here, he told her. She gestures to the water-filled bowl in front of him and he dips his hands in, and sighs at the soothing cool of it.

That'd be easier if it was like that. I'm constantly in pain, I just learned to live with it.

I assume because of the Bleed.

Yes. They both go silent and watch the blood colouring the water red. She waits for him with a towel after five minutes. I'll put ointments and bandage it, but it'll heal regardless. It'll heal as if you had never broken your skin.

Can I even die here?

You'll have to try really hard for it and even then you'd return. The magick here... This place is electrified with both life and Bleed, its own reality and limbo combined.

Oscar went around three days without seeing Iomene before daring to enter her private quarters and look for her.

She lied pale yellow on the floor of her study, cold at the extremities, not breathing. For a second he wondered if she had succeded, but just for a second --- if she had died three days ago, her body would've begun to rot and he knew they don't have that luxury.

The bleed permeated the very air he breathed but at that moment, it flooded out of her like a broken fire hydrant, it made his skin break in goosebumps upon touch and something within him to stir.

He took her in his arms and layed her inside the gold bathtub of her bathroom, clothes and all, and ran a hot bath.

Then he sat on the floor and waited for her to return.

After a quiet period of days of studying, on her part, and reading, on his --- inside the library, he understood, rows of books that the biggest library in Newfaire would never be able to comport, knowledge so old it no longer had surviving records in the world of the living, no place traversable in search of a casual read at least not in short notice ---, she invites him for a walk.

The weather was nice, not too hot like in days of excessive magick nor cold like in days of Bleed, and Iomene wore clothes shorter than any he'd ever seen her in, considering he'd only ever seen her in long pants and gowns.

She walked with a purpose for about five minutes before reaching another clearing, not a random grass field, but a perfect cone with grass cut to perfection and familiar lines.

She walked forward towards the perfectly cut circle at the head of the field while he stood stunned.

I know this means very little without peers to play with but I thought we could think of something for two or at the very least it could bring forth fond memories.

He held back tears. Yeah, we can think of something. But we'll need-

The bats and balls are right over there, she says pointing to one of the trees where beneath is an open crate with the equipment. Needless to say, I'll need some training, I'm afraid just watching didn't make me a partner up to par.

He laughed out loud, the first time she heard it. Well, if it'll be just the two of us... He studied the contents of the crate and he picked up a ball. First of all, I think I'll need you to perfect your throws.

And shooted the baseball her way.

The rain feels both exactly like it always did, but also more real, much colder even through his dress shirt, especially through it, the intensity of the rain soaking the fabric until the clothes cling to his skin.

Yet he stands under it, proper vision of his surroundings impeded by the water except that of her, standing near, long dark hair dripping and a face that could only belong to an empress.

I haven't stood in the rain in decades, I think, she shouts. There's something jovial to her in this very moment, to her smile and the way she faces the rain as it pours over her face.

With her, there is always a dichotomy --- real or fantastic, a mother or a partner, a goddess or a woman.

He ignores every restraint and every assumption, and gives in to the feelings he's still allowed in this moment: the cold making his skin prickle, the fear brought by the intense sound of the storm hitting the trees and the house's roof, but especially the searing hot draw towards the woman who doesn't flinch as she looks at the abomination of his existence --- his only equal.

Oscar closes the distance, holds her face with the scraps of gentleness he still recalls and kisses her with the ferocity of a creature fearless of death. Iomene responds with the hunger of a prisoner fed comfort and warmth, holding onto him with nails dug deep as a captive holds onto freedom.

He pulls away with blood seeping through the cracks of his lips, blinking through wet lashes.

You taste like mints, he shouts through the rain.

She's serious when she responds, I considered your preferences.

This takes him by surprise. You knew I'd kiss you?

She smiles with her eyes.

No. But I've been hoping one day you would.

#listen they might as well be sitting in the cold dark void absorbing bleed together but i am a delusional optimist #and I didn't take that scene in normally. her tears and his willingness to agree with her shook my very core #i could have written something normal like raj/elsie but I'll leave that for the monsterfuckers who'll do a way better job than me #the house here goes with little description cause I don't know what would she build. but i just think a whole ass palace would be so lonely #bc this is what i imagine her prison. not a place limited and dark but a very very very lonely place #eventually they'll get to work but first she wanted to acclimate him. for a self indulgent amount of time. to her world #now that i'm thinking about it I guess I'm picturing that part from Inception with the couple #anyway #oscar grimm #iomene #writing #flash fic #candela obscura #candela spoilers #beezwritez

[coldshrugs]

see you in the morning

pairing: io laithe / estinien varlineau word count: 2k note: endwalker spoilers. io is not handling things well :') you'll never guess who goes to comfort her :o)

Old Sharlayan holds its breath.

Most nights, the chilly island city continues its quiet bustling straight through to morning. Scholars drift from early-evening lectures to late-night research clubs or public laboratories, babbling excitedly about the latest research, innovation, or gossip. Those with less rigid schedules wander to the nearest patch of grass or unused table at the Last Stand with a pile of books in tow. Structured or lax, their perpetual search for knowledge is the very heartbeat of the city. But tonight, the pulse has all but stopped.

The lack of bubbling chatter and foot traffic casts an eerie pall over the city. It reaches all the way down to Scholars’ Harbour, where Io sits alone, on one of the long stone piers reaching out into the sea.

Thousands of people huddle in their homes with friends and loved ones as they wait for daylight, and for the Ragnarok’s first–and only–flight.

The weight of their expectation is suffocating.

Waves murmur against the stone below, the only sound save the few foreign sailors on the next pier over, bound to their work regardless of the state of the world. Neither is loud enough to distract her racing mind.

Io pulls her knees to her chest, cursing the inability to become as small as she feels. Every soul on this star, whether they know it or not, is now her responsibility, an obligation that echoes back to a time beyond time. And she chose it. Before she even knew it was her burden to carry, she chose it. She chooses it, because who else would? Who else could bear it? Is it not enough that her loved ones must sacrifice so much due to proximity and circumstance? It has to be her, for she would not wish this on anyone else.

If only she could curl into herself completely. Tightly enough to blink out of existence, like a dark singularity.

She’d take everything else with her.

There’s no resolution in that line of thinking.

Somewhere out there, in the expanse, is the replication of a little girl with a very human soul–perhaps not fractured, as the souls of those on the Source and its shards, but something that was never allowed to be whole. Why wouldn’t annihilation be Meteion’s answer to dead world after dead world? It must seem like kindness to a being who has never experienced adversity. 

Tears, injury, death: Io has suffered through–and dealt–her fair share of them all. What pain has Meteion seen that Io has not lived?

Her hands ball into fists, nails digging into her palms. She feels manic, unable to rein in the oscillation between anger, guilt, and fear. There is the urge to scream, or cry, or drop into the frigid water below and swim and swim and swim.

But a figure moves at the edge of her vision, walking briskly in her direction.

Now another feeling begs to be acknowledged. Relief? Endearment? A mixture of both at being found, and by him, perhaps.

Still, against her threadbare senses, this feels like an ambush.

Estinien says nothing as he approaches. His steps slow as if trying not to scare a wounded animal. He offers an awkward smile. Io tries to mirror it, hoping he sees a shred of warmth in the tight purse of her lips.

He is handsome in this light, in his half-laced boots and untucked shirt billowing in the chilly coastal wind. The world is ending, and she can’t help noticing his beauty. It’s ludicrous.

“Who sent you?”

His short huff resembles a laugh. “I need a motive to check on you?” When she doesn’t answer, he sighs. “Y’shtola saw you down here from the Annex. She and Thancred thought to come, but I asked them to stay. Everyone’s turning in for the night. I thought you might appreciate the less intrusive option.”

“By all means, intrude. Once the solitude is broken, it hardly matters by whom.”

His brow knits as he studies the carved stones that make up the pier. He turns, shifting his weight. She can feel him wondering if this was unwise.

“I’m sorry, that was unkind. I’m just… overwhelmed–” Io takes a deep breath, embarrassed by the confession before she makes it– “and afraid. Please don’t go.”

Estinien sways in her periphery, stepping closer before squatting beside her. He looks out into the quiet marina, carefully avoiding her half-slumped form. False privacy, but she’ll take the small mercy.

“You needed to get away. I can understand that.”

“I couldn’t breathe in there. Everyone is watching me. They look at me like I’m dying, or like I’m killing them myself.”

“For every person placing blame at your feet, ten others believe in this asinine plan. As I do.”

“You think we can do it? Truly?” she asks, looking up into the great expanse. The stars blink against the endless blue, and for once, the sight makes her feel cold instead of curious. “What if I–”

“You have to, Io.” His tone invites no debate, but there is a melancholy that matches her own. “You will figure it out no matter the cost, because you must.”

Io nods. Her eyes sting. She closes them to keep the tears at bay as long as possible. He is right, of course. Somewhere deep in her soul, the flame of her faith–in herself, in her friends, and in those who paved this way for her–burns as brightly as ever. She has to save them.

“But you will not be alone. We are with you, of course. We’ll give our all to see it through, if that’s what it takes.”

“Gambling your lives for a promise I made, for my mistakes… I can’t bear to think about losing them.” She risks a glance in Estinien’s direction, but his eyes never leave the gently rolling sea. “Or losing you.”

The barest of smiles, one of the little ones he tries to hide with a bowed head. He rubs the back of his neck, sending a cascade of loose hair over his shoulder.

Her chest clenches.

The well of affection she holds for him is muddy these days; for years, they’ve operated with platonic, amiable ease, flitting in and out of each other’s lives but always reuniting as the closest of friends. But since her time in the First, they have been nearly inseparable.

Estinien is her family, but unlike what she feels for Thancred, Urianger, or G’raha, he is not her brother. He evokes a distinct tenderness, gives life to a long-dormant, selfish hope within her heart, and he does it without trying.

“If we don’t try, all is lost.” He falls against the stone with a quiet groan and nudges her with an elbow. “This pessimism doesn’t become you. I have seen you stand against tremendous odds time and time again. I’ve heard tales of more things than I’ve seen. You may not always get it right, I may not always agree, but you do the impossible. What makes this any different?”

Io reflects on the past year (gods, has it been that long?). The burning skies, the horrible transformations, and the aether-depleted souls who will never see another lifetime on this beautiful star, all because she fell for a madman’s power play. She condemned them to this fate. 

She reaches further into her memory, to the unsure adventurer stepping foot into the Waking Sands, and her induction into the inner circle of these secretive upstarts she’s grown to call family. She’s been nothing more than a curse upon them. Thancred’s aether, Y’shtola’s sight, Urianger’s conscience, Minfilia’s life. What might they have avoided without her?

Haurchefant would be alive if she had stayed out of his life.

Since the day she left Dalmasca, death and destruction have been her shadow. As ruinous and loyal as Dalamud, a black dog she pretends she can abandon if only it would forget her scent.

She watches Estinien again, silver in the moonlight. His hands are clasped, hanging between long legs that dangle close to the water below. Like the water, he looks relaxed on the surface. Like the water, there is an undercurrent only the experienced can see.

His thumb worries a circle into the palm of his other hand. His shoulders are tense, hidden by his slightly curved posture. If anyone could understand why this is different, it’s him. For all his courage, he has seen the black dog too.

“It’s different,” Io swallows, “because it’s everything.”

Estinien looks back. His stare is hard. “And so are you.”

Once more, he leaves no room for debate. He speaks as if stating the obvious, citing a fact she should already know.

Io blinks, so awestruck by his candor, she has to look away. Her tumultuous thoughts now spin in his direction, unable to focus on more than this sudden vulnerability. What does it mean that sharing these doubts with him is the most comfortable she’s felt in days? What does it mean that she aches to reach for his hand?

His eyes dart over her face, never lingering on one feature too long. There is something overly controlled about it. Lately, she has employed the same tactic when trying not to stare at his lips…

If she leaned over and kissed him, would he push her away? Could they still be friends?

A selfish hope indeed. But a small thing in her mind whispers, “maybe after…”

If there is an “after” to be had.

She releases her bundled limbs and stands, stretching to relieve the long-ignored ache in her back.

“Come on,” she beckons. “We should at least try to rest before we travel to the edge of space and time.”

Io’s tension deflates as they walk to the annex, pressed under the weight of her exhaustion. They go in comfortable silence, half an arm’s length apart. There is something between them she longs to touch, but doesn’t dare. She has the moonlight in his hair, his half-smile, and his steadfast faith in her. That is enough.

That is more than enough.

The Baldesion Annex is dark, like the rest of the city. The lobby is empty. Not an Annex attendant, not a Scion. Estinien does not share her surprise. How persuasive must he have been to ensure no one disturbed her return? Io watches him move across the room with deliberate steps. He holds open the door that leads to the nap rooms and gestures with his head for her to go ahead of him. The little smile is back.

She returns it, and this time it’s genuine.

They pass Estinien’s door. Io’s room is around the corner and down the next corridor, and he makes the full journey.

They pause at her door.

“Thank you for keeping my head on straight.”

“Someone must. You would not hesitate to do the same for me.” He shrugs. And then his hand is on her upper arm, giving a reassuring squeeze. He pulls her into his space.

Her arms thread under his, hands pressing into his back. She rests her cheek on his shoulder, breathes him in. The sharp edge of her anxiety sloughs away, lost in the steady pressure of his arms around her.

They have never hugged like this. They have never been this close.

Io closes her eyes, squeezes him more tightly, and smiles when she can feel his erratic heartbeat through the firm press of their chests. In this moment, with his hands resting at her neck and waist, with his chin against her neck, skin to skin, she cannot imagine his denial. Perhaps it isn't a stretch to assume he feels this too.

The corridor lights grow dim around them. Io pays them no mind, content to stand in the dark until morning, held by the man she yearns for, the man she never thought she would.

But she yawns, and he steps away, hands on her shoulders. Another squeeze. Another scan of her face before his grey eyes focus on hers, like he's making a final decision.

“Tomorrow,” Estinien says. The single word is a promise. Whatever happens, whatever they find, he will make sure Io gets it done.

“Tomorrow.” She nods, slipping into the room as the memory of his touch crystallizes in her mind. Her limbs are heavy as she climbs into the too-small bed, but the weight has lifted.

She can breathe.

#azia writes #io laithe #io/estinien #this had me in a chokehold #i could not stop thinking about them having a stress hug there at the end of endwalker #a moment where things *could've* started but didn't #because they're both scared of what's to come and scared of the other not fully reciprocating #then after... io is injured and getting over everything that happened in UT. it's not the time. the moment is gone #they are so patient!!! they could've kissed right here but they want to be sure! they mean too much to each other to get it wrong! #while estinien has been 100% in it since in from the cold i think this is the moment he's like 'okay it's not just me and i'm sure of that' #like they're not flirting they're not joking. that's his girl!! and he just needs to be there for her #io is still in her 'lmao i'm unlovable and this is probably in my head' phase #maybe i'll tackle that next lmao #i'm sorry i can't write a fic and leave it without a director's commentary in the tags dslafkjsald #anyway go listen to Lost by dermot kennedy bc that's the vibe here

[dollopheadsandclotpoles]

Should I upload my tumblr drabbles onto AO3? Do people actually read those fics which have different drabbles as each chapter on there?

#also do I make them separate by fandom #it's annoying when you see those massive drabble fics with a 100 different fandoms tagged right? #maybe i'll just leave them on here only #exclusive content for the people of tumblr lol #my writing

[thetomorrowshow]

every hand’s a winner

trust au masterlist - previous

I COME BEARING FLUFF.

also a little note: due to personal reasons, i will be stepping away from social media for an unforeseeable amount of time. because of this, fics/updates will be posted once a month on the second tuesday either until i get back or until they run out. for january expect some esh au, and the next part of hubris in february :) additionally, my queue will be posting every other day either until i get back or until my queue runs dry (unlikely, as there are close to 300 posts in it lol).

forget all that, though!!! bc i have some people being happy for you!

cw: blood and injuries

~

Scott goes home that very evening, like most of the other emperors—bar Jimmy, who is slated to stay overnight in the infirmary. They’d tried to keep Scott as well, fussing over his bloody nose and torn skin, but he’d promised to check in with the Rivendell healers at home to make sure time in the Void of the End won’t seriously affect him.

For once in his life, Scott willingly goes to the Rivendell infirmary, leaving with a couple of bandages and instructions to write down any strange symptoms.

The thing is, nobody has ever fallen into the Void before—let alone the one in the End—so there’s no way of knowing what might happen further down the road. Scott’s an anomaly of sorts, and it looks like he’s now the subject of a medical study.

He hasn’t noticed anything apart from a slight lingering dizziness, so he writes that down, feeling somewhat stupid about it being the only symptom he has to report, especially when that could be caused by a myriad of other things. It’s not like he’s never been dizzy before. He practically didn’t stop being dizzy back before he figured out how to sleep.

That night, he luckily doesn’t have to deal with his insomnia—he’s up until the sun rises meeting with various advisory groups: working out the best way to lock down Rivendell whilst still keeping trade routes open, mobilizing the layman army, and deciding how to go forward with various declarations of support for other empires. Within the night, four different ambassadors turn up to arrange an alliance, and Scott knows that his fellow emperors are awake dealing with the same things.

He doesn’t get a moment alone until well into the next day, after he has to send out a formal announcement that his and the Codfather’s betrothal is postponed until after the war (if Jimmy still wants such a relationship, of course). He can tell that many of his advisors don’t necessarily agree with this decision, but they recognize the direness of the situation (and Ilphas, Aeor bless them, defends Scott’s choice with a fervor), and allow the postponement to occur.

It’s past four in the afternoon before he finally has a moment to relax, kicking off his boots and bathing before changing from the travel clothes that he’s been wearing for almost two days straight into something clean. The sight of Jimmy’s robes in the closet next to his almost makes him cry for some reason, but he pushes past them to the back to dig out a pair of hose and a skirt, tucking an embroidered but comfortable tunic into them.

He can’t sleep.

Several months have passed since the torture of fWhip’s basement, his wounds entirely healed, but he can’t quite convince himself he’s safe to sleep alone. He really thought he’d be over it by now.

It’s no use trying, of course—after so many long hours, he doesn’t want to risk a panic attack. Instead, Scott lies in bed and just breathes, trying not to think about all the war preparations that he’s just spent hours making.

He also tries not to think about Jimmy.

That’s a whole other issue to deal with.

For a couple of minutes, he’s able to lie there in peace, shutting down any thought as soon as it breaches his mind.

Then his bedroom door opens.

Scott sits up, ready to reprimand whatever servant is entering—he’s in his private quarters, he could be without his veil—but he’s not meant to have a veil anymore, is he—

It doesn’t matter anyways, because it isn’t a servant at the door.

It’s Jimmy.

“Hey,” Jimmy waves awkwardly, slipping in and shutting the door behind him. “How—how’re you?”

Jimmy looks terrible.

Well, he looks beautiful, as per usual, but his fall through the Void has certainly taken its toll. There are bags under his eyes, his hair greasy and limp, and he walks with an unsteadiness that tells Scott he’s been experiencing the same dizziness. Most notably, his face isn’t bandaged anymore.

It had been hard to see in the End, when Jimmy’s face was pretty fairly just a mess of blood, and impossible to see when there had been bandages plastered on half his face, but it’s clear now that Jimmy’s lost almost all of the scales on his face.

They had run in patches up from his throat to the line of his jaw on both sides, some speckling across his cheeks and a handful clustered around both his mouth and eyes. Scott had always found them gorgeous, little sparkling jewels on his face that truly brought out the flecks of green in his eyes. Now there’s maybe three around his eyes, ten total over the entirety of his face. In place of all the missing scales is torn skin and scabs, blood shining on his jaw from where the scabs have split.

Scott feels a little sick looking at it. Jimmy’s throat is still wrapped in bandages, and he can see some tied around his hands, so he can only guess at how many are missing across the entirety of his body.

He’s not sure why the dressings are gone from his face, but those wounds look ripe for infection. They shouldn’t just be out in the open.

“Jimmy, where have your bandages gone?” he asks instead of replying, swinging out of bed. “You need new ones, come here.”

Jimmy follows him into the washroom that leads off from what was once their joint sitting room, fidgeting nervously with the hem of his sleeves. “They made me take them off at the door,” he explains. “To make sure it’s me, and all. It looks pretty gross, I know.”

“No, it’s not—it’s—I don’t want them getting infected, is all it is,” Scott says absentmindedly, digging through his healing chest for the proper materials. He finds a basket of bandages and a roll of gauze, which he removes and sets to the side. His hands pauses over a regen potion, glancing uncertainly at Jimmy.

Jimmy shakes his head. “No potions, doctor’s orders,” he says. “They’re afraid it won’t . . . grow back right. It’s a wait-and-see thing at the minute.”

Scott passes over the regen and the health potions, landing instead on some disinfectant ointment. He closes the chest and gestures for Jimmy to sit on it, turns away to wash his hands before twisting open the ointment.

Jimmy doesn’t sit still as he applies it, jiggling his knee and wincing and pulling back every time Scott touches him. His injuries must really hurt, then—Scott’s being as gentle as he can, barely touching his cheeks as he rubs the ointment in.

“Sorry,” he murmurs when he cleans a particularly ugly patch and Jimmy actually cries out a bit. Jimmy shakes his head, face twisted into a lopsided grimace.

“It’s fine,” he grits out. “Thanks.”

Well, it’s not as if Scott was going to let Jimmy patch himself up. He’s not sure what he’s getting thanked for.

He finishes up quickly and efficiently, hesitating at his mouth and eyes. The bandages are too blocky to work with the curves there, so he tears one up and uses the pieces to line any awkward spots.

Jimmy really doesn’t look any better once he’s done, covered in so many bits and pieces of bandages that barely any skin is showing. He forces a smile anyhow, shows Jimmy his reflection in the mirror.

Jimmy stares at himself for a long moment. “I’d laugh if I could move my mouth that much,” he comments, and the smile on Scott’s lips becomes just a bit more real. He’s making jokes. That’s got to be good.

Then Jimmy takes one of his hands, and Scott’s heart skips a beat.

“What’s this?”

Scott follows his gaze down to his hands—Scott’s knuckles have similar bandages wrapped around them.

“Same as you,” he says, flexing his wrists. “I escaped with just losing a bit of skin, fortunately.”

Jimmy nods. “Right. Scales—on a fish, perfect protection. Bit weak when you combine it with normal skin. It—it makes sense.”

“And you were in there for longer,” Scott adds. Jimmy shrugs, looking away and down. Every which way, except for back at him.

Scott leads the way back into the sitting room, gestures for Jimmy to take a seat on the sofa (it’s his favorite spot, Scott knows, the velvet of that left cushion still brushed back weird from when he’d been sitting there last). Scott almost sits in his preferred armchair, but makes a last-minute decision to sit beside Jimmy on the sofa.

They’re quiet for a moment, and it isn’t a gentle quiet, nor a comfortable one. It’s awkward, filled with tension, and Scott’s certain they keep looking at each other but never managing to catch one another’s eyes.

He’s got to say something, but all he can think about is Jimmy’s exhausted eyes, love confessions falling from bloodstained lips, impulsive kisses and a slippery grasp on his lover’s bleeding face.

He has to say something.

But Jimmy speaks first.

“I really like you,” Jimmy says, looking away, and Scott takes the moment to gaze at him, truly take in the fatigue lining his face and the droopiness of his eyelids. “I didn’t—I have for a while. Months, really. Ever since . . . I don’t know when. I just—well, I tried, that one time—” he grimaces— “I just . . . I didn’t feel worthy, I suppose, of you. You’re—Scott, you’re so perfect, always all put-together and—and rescue-y and everything, and I’m just . . . me. Gosh, I’m sorry for rambling—I really just meant to say that I like you and—and I kinda hope you like me too.”

Scott blinks.

If his heart flipped when Jimmy took his hand earlier, it’s positively doing cartwheels now.

Jimmy likes him.

And apparently, all that pining was for waste because he could’ve confessed this whole time and Jimmy would’ve reciprocated.

Scott can’t help it: he laughs. Just a little, a giggle that slips out accidentally, but it’s enough that Jimmy freezes and glances over at him, eyes terribly fearful.

Scott waves frantically, pushing closer to him. “No, no—I—I wasn’t laughing at you,” he’s quick to correct. “I was—Jimmy, I’ve liked you for ages, but I was so afraid of you rejecting me that I didn’t dare say anything. Just think what might have happened if we both actually used a bit of logic for once in our lives.”

Jimmy blinks. A surprised laugh bursts out, one that’s quickly stifled as Jimmy winces and covers his mouth. It’s really not funny—it must hurt to laugh, with his face in such a state—but Scott can’t help it. He laughs again, lightly punches Jimmy on the shoulder.

“Don’t laugh,” he reprimands, still laughing himself. “You’ll start bleeding again, and we can’t have that.”

Jimmy clearly can’t help it, his shoulders shaking as he struggles to not even smile. Scott’s smiling too, he’s gazing at Jimmy beside him as he tries not to laugh and. . . .

He’s really in love, huh? Because Jimmy’s always shone like a star, he’s always been so breathtakingly beautiful, but he’s somehow so much more so now that he’s his. Now, Scott gazes at him, wave after wave of glory hitting him like waves of heat from the sun.

He’s in love, and it’s wonderful.

“Um,” Jimmy says after a moment, and Scott realizes that not only is he staring at Jimmy, but Jimmy is staring right back.

“Sorry—” he starts to say, looking down at his hands, but Jimmy interrupts him.

“I actually—I know you’re busy, with . . . with everything going on, and I am too, but if you wanted to just have one night before all that? I’d still like to—to go stargazing with you.”

It’s wartimes. He only has the one night to offer Jimmy, and no promises for the future.

Scott smiles. “I would be honored.”

-

There’s no snow on the ground where they pick to stargaze, a stone shelf in the side of the mountain that Scott’s lain on many times past. He spreads out three blankets on top of one another and leaves a fourth bundled to the side, in case the air gets too chill.

Jimmy splays out immediately, just like how he’s always first in bed—an incredibly intimate thing for Scott to know, and something inside him seems to almost purr at the realization. Jimmy is his, and he is Jimmy’s (at least for tonight).

Scott eases himself down next to him—his lover, Jimmy’s his lover—and, in a split-second decision, shifts a bit closer so that their hips touch.

Jimmy doesn’t move away.

Scott’s heart flips a little.

Exor’s hooves, you’re acting like a teenager, he tells himself. You like him, and he likes you. Just—be normal.

He can’t be normal. There is no way he can be normal.

The world around them has been gradually growing dark the entire time they spent hiking up to here and setting up, and now it’s dark enough that Scott can barely see Jimmy’s face.

He hadn’t been able to see Jimmy’s face then, either.

He’d seen him fall.

Scott had just caught sight of it as he regained his sense of balance from the End portal. He’d looked up to find an unfamiliar island, the world surrounded by the darkness of the void, and on the other side of the island—

Even from that distance, Scott could tell that Jimmy’s fall was the most graceful he’d ever seen.

He spread his wings and took off without a second thought, abandoning the others who followed him through the portal.

He had to try. He had to.

He’d passed fWhip, who was laughing—who tried to grab him—as he went over the edge of the island.

And then, wings pulled tight to his body, nose down, he dove after Jimmy.

“Scott?”

He blinks, looks around. Jimmy’s at his side now, head propped up on his arm. Jimmy quirks an eyebrow, still barely visible. “You good? You kind of zoned out for a second there.”

Scott blinks again, looks up. The stars are starting to twinkle into vision, bright and lively, and Scott almost waves up to them.

Perhaps Jimmy doesn’t know much about elven beliefs, doesn’t know the significance of the stars. He doesn’t know that Scott could point out a dozen or two elven legends and heroes—Gelidrian, Calireth, Alinar. And others, more mundane—his parents, the nurse who had raised him, the palace guard from a mere two decades ago.

Someday, Scott knows he will join them all. Hopefully not any day soon.

“Whoa,” Jimmy whispers. Scott glances over at him, his face illuminated by the exaltation of elves. One of his hands is raised slightly. “They're so close.”

“They really are.”

They watch in silence for a while, more and more bundles of light appearing in the sky. When the entirety of the Stags is visible and bright, Scott points it out, taking Jimmy’s hand (his heart jumps, Jimmy’s his lover) to trace his fingers down the lines of stars.

“That’s the Clash of the Stags,” Scott tells him, tracing it over again. “On the left is Aeor, see His antler?”

“That’s your god, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s Aeor.” Scott smiles just a little bit—somehow, every time Jimmy knows something about elven history, it makes him ten times more attractive. “And then below Him and to the right is Exor, His brother.”

“I’ve heard you say his name before. Is he your god, too?”

Scott can’t help but snort. “No. Exor may be Aeor’s brother, but they don’t get along. Exor was cruel, controlled those under his domain, sacrificed the weak and oppressed the followers of Aeor. Aeor, meanwhile, ruled with kindness and respect, befitting of the last remaining gods.”

“What happened to the others?” Jimmy asks. “There are others, aren’t there?”

“Yes, we believe so. I’m sure you’ve heard Pix mention the Great Slumber?”

Jimmy nods, the movement scrunching up Scott’s sleeve. Jimmy’s so close to him, close enough that Scott can feel his every twitch and breath.

“Aeor and Exor were the only gods not to fall asleep. But when Exor became corrupted, jealous of his brother’s rule, Aeor knew He had to do something about it. So He gathered all His power and wielded it in a mighty battle against Exor—the Clash of the Stags. See how Aeor is kicking Exor down?”

Jimmy nods again. The nerves in Scott’s arm are tingling at his every touch, and he has to take a moment to swallow back the squeak that threatens to break his voice. “Um. Aeor used everything He had to seal Exor and his followers within a mountain forever,” he says, thankfully with no cracks. “Then He withdrew from the people, still hearing their prayers and granting small blessings, but separate from them. He lost much of His power in that fight, and has spent many thousands of years resting and caring for us—as any god should.”

Jimmy’s silent then, and when Scott looks over at him, he’s staring up at the sky, eyes flicking from point to point. Scott doesn’t look away, and while Jimmy’s eyes trace the stars, Scott’s eyes trace Jimmy’s face.

In the dark with the stars as their only light, the raw patches around his mouth and eyes that they hadn’t been able to bandage are invisible. The lines of exhaustion are impossible to see, as are the shadows Scott knows ring his eyes.

Instead, Scott sees the way his nose twitches. He sees long eyelashes that flutter gently. He sees golden hair that’s starting to curl around the gills, long in a way Scott’s never seen it. He sees lips that move soundlessly, lips that are looking more and more kissable by the second.

“There,” Jimmy says, and Scott pulls himself out of his reverie to follow Jimmy’s finger. Scott squints up at the sky as Jimmy traces a triangle shape out of the stars.

“That can be the mountain,” Jimmy says, sounding proud of himself. “The one that Aeor trapped them in. Do you guys know where that mountain is?”

Scott giggles a little—he can’t help it, it has to be a crime to be so cute—and traces along Jimmy’s triangle as well. It’s part of another constellation, he realizes after a moment—the Crystal of Rivendell, made up of stars of rulers who have passed on. “The mountain probably wasn’t real, Jimmy. Rivendell scholars have searched for it for literal ages, and they’ve not found evidence of it yet. Besides, I find it hard to believe that a mountain could entrap a god.”

“It was a magical mountain, you said so,” Jimmy says stubbornly. “Aeor sealed it. And I think it would be a great idea—some mountains are older than the ocean, you know, surely they have some sort of power.”

“Well, when you fight a god, trap him in a mountain and let me know how it goes.”

Jimmy laughs too, then cuts off abruptly as a cold gust of wind blows over them. He shivers, shifts close enough to Scott that he’s practically curled up in Scott’s side, head resting on his shoulder.

Scott’s certain that his heart actually stops.

Which is stupid, because—because they’ve done this before! Almost every morning, Scott wakes up pressed into Jimmy, and it’s fine. Well, it’s nerve-wracking and overwhelming and suffocating, but it’s been weeks since he last blushed and apologized, and much longer since he stopped pretending that Jimmy isn’t a very physically affectionate person. Romantic intentions or not (and now, in retrospect, Scott knows that most of them likely were romantic in some way and isn’t that something), Jimmy hugs him or leans on his shoulder on a near daily basis. This isn’t anything new.

Somehow, though, it’s the strangest sensation he’s ever known.

He’s been quiet for some time, he realizes suddenly, and before he even knows what to say he’s blurting out, “What’s your favorite constellation?”

Jimmy jerks a little bit. “What?”

“I—that’s how it started, isn’t it?” Scott says, and he just knows he’s paler than the stars right now. “You asked me what my favorite constellation is. Which one’s yours?”

Jimmy doesn’t answer immediately, pulling back a bit to gaze up at the stars properly. After a few moments, he takes Scott’s hand (the hairs on his arm stand up) and guides him up, much further to the left than the Stags. There, he traces out a strange shape—almost a lopsided rectangle, but with five sides.

Below it are two stars that are very familiar to Scott, he realizes with a jolt—

Staying up late every night—he’s just a child, he ought to be in bed, but instead he creeps over to the window and looks up at the stars.

His nurse had taught him to make a wish on the point of Aeor’s antler, and if the God was willing, his wish might come true. Scott can’t really remember where it is most of time, but he can always find those two bright stars to wish on—and that way, he would get two wishes!

He wishes twice for himself, or sometimes he uses one for Xornoth, or sometimes he uses one for his parents.

Most of the time, though, he wishes twice for himself—and he wishes for a friend.

Jimmy traces it again, the soft bandages on his knuckles rubbing against Scott’s matching set. “That one. That’s my favorite.”

“What is it?”

Jimmy’s hand falls to his side, almost in slow motion. “I don’t know,” he says, and there’s something wistful in his voice, something terribly sad. “But it feels like home.”

-

It gets too cold to stargaze, so Scott packs everything up and helps Jimmy back to the palace, flying in through his window so as not to get caught out by the guards.

And sure, it may be the beginning of the end of the world, war hovering over them like the executioner’s axe, but Scott can’t stop giggling. He and Jimmy are sneaking around like teenagers, trying to not be seen as they clamber in through his window. It’s so very cliche that he can’t help but enjoy it, can’t help but be entirely wrapped in the feeling of new love.

They both collapse onto Scott’s bed, both laughing, even though Jimmy’s covering his mouth and wincing like it hurts. He doesn’t stop, though, eyes sparkling as he snickers.

“The funny thing—the funniest part is, it’s not even funny,” Scott gasps out, and it isn’t—he thinks they’re more laughing because of the absurd pressure it is to sneak into a building that you belong in in the first place. It’s more stupid than anything—it would have been just fine to go in through the gates, really, but they’d decided to do it proper just for the fun of it.

Jimmy laughs harder at that, cutting himself off with a small “ouch!”. He presses his sleeve to his mouth for a moment before pulling it away, examining it for any blood. Apparently satisfied, he lets his arm fall and stretches out a bit.

“This was really good, Scott,” Jimmy says after a minute, and dear Aeor, even the way Jimmy says his name. . . .

“Can I kiss you?”

Scott blinks, sits up. Jimmy’s watching him, a blush spreading across what’s visible of his face. He almost looks just as surprised as Scott feels that those words fell from Jimmy’s mouth.

And really, props to Jimmy, because it’s not a bad idea. It’s a very good one, in Scott’s mind.

But they really need to talk about it first, don’t they?

Scott sits up, runs a hand through his hair. “I’d like to apologize, actually. For our first kiss.”

Jimmy frowns. “Yeah, I—it was sensory overload, yeah? I don’t think you need to apologize for that.”

“Wha—when did I say it was sensory overload?”

Jimmy sits up too, scoots along until he’s sitting beside Scott. “Well, I didn’t figure it out until today, actually. I sort of thought you hated me at first, but yesterday, when . . . and then again, earlier. You said—you’ve liked me this whole time, right?”

Scott nods.

“Right. Well, I figured if you did like me back then, you probably wanted to . . . do the whole kiss thing. And it’s really not like you to just run away like that. And I know you get sensory overload real bad sometimes, so. . . .”

Scott slides his hand toward Jimmy’s, loosely tangling their fingers together. It’s a conscious movement, one that sends nerves sparking up and down the very bones of his body.

It’s dangerously close to too much.

Yet it’s everything he’s wanted for so long.

“How about this,” Jimmy continues. “We—we’re . . . courting now, right? Um—that—that’s really nice to say—so how about we always ask first, before a kiss? And stuff like that. That way, neither of us is taken by surprise.”

Thrills go up and down every inch of Scott’s skin when Jimmy says that they’re courting, his breath stolen from his chest. They’re courting. They’re in a committed relationship. Jimmy is his, and he is Jimmy’s, and it’s true because Jimmy said so. It’s real.

“That—that sounds good,” he manages. He takes stock of himself—definitely on-edge, but he can handle one kiss. As long as they make sure it’s just one. And maybe if they do some pressure cuddling afterward.

“Can I kiss you?” Scott asks, his voice almost a whisper. What’s visible of Jimmy’s face under the bandages goes through a series of emotions—anxiety, enthusiasm, warmth, and then settling back on anxiety. He nods, a little uncertainly, and turns to fully face Scott, drawing his legs up criss-cross on the bed.

They’ve kissed three times before, but everything is different about this one.

There’s an awkward sort of lean-in, of course—the first and second times had been sudden, passionate, and the third filled with the thrill of survival. For this, they move slowly, telegraphing each movement carefully—akin to trying not to spook a wild stag, Scott thinks offhandedly.

And then their lips meet.

Scott’s always led kisses in past relationships, his lips slotted above his partner’s, but Jimmy takes the lead here, leaning up a bit to match Scott’s height—and Scott thinks he likes it. His lips are warm, far warmer than Scott’s, and wet, and so very very soft.

It’s not the burning fireworks of their first kisses, but it’s warm like a cozy evening by the fireplace—there are so many nerve endings, he can feel his shoulders start to raise at the overstimulation—and it’s Jimmy and he loves him so much and it’s overwhelming, it’s perfect, it’s underwhelming compared to the first time because Scott knows that Jimmy has very sharp teeth and knows how to use them—

But Jimmy pulls away after just a moment, their lips parting slowly, and offers a small smile. “Good?”

Scott can only manage a squeaky noise in the back of his throat, and Jimmy giggles. The sound is a little bit loud for his sensitive ears.

Scott stands and pulls off his cloak, muttering something about putting on softer clothes before ducking into his walk-in closet. He can hear Jimmy laughing behind him.

Normally Scott would consider himself the smooth one—why is he so uncollected? He can’t even find the words to make any sort of dirty jokes. Jimmy must think something’s wrong.

(And so many things are wrong, of course, but definitely not this.)

He changes into soft pajamas, emerging to find Jimmy having also changed—he’s in a loose shirt and shorts, hair mussed and occasional bandages wrapped around his arms and legs. Luckily—or unluckily, depending on how one looks at it—his face and hands had taken the brunt of the damage, only a couple of patches bandaged on his arms and even fewer on his legs. Jimmy smiles brightly when he sees Scott reenter.

“I sort of assumed I’d be staying the night. You looked overstimulated, do you need anything?”

Scott points to the bed. “Sleep?” he suggests, swallowing half of the word back. Jimmy nods, pulls back the covers.

“Do you want me on top of you?”

Scott can’t help it—he snorts. Jimmy goes totally red, sputtering incoherently.

“I—you know I—Scott!”

“Very forward, Jimmy, and on the first date too—”

“Oh, come off it!” Jimmy shakes his head, sighs, then adds, “We’ve been engaged for a while now; I don’t think it counts as a first date.”

Scott quirks a brow, and this is more familiar, this is how their banter is meant to be, flirtatious and comfortable and not at all awkward. “So you’re saying you’re open to it?”

“You are a menace,” Jimmy tells him, but he’s smiling, and it really does feel like before all of their issues. Except now Jimmy’s actually his, and the awkward dancing around each other in a newfound relationship hasn’t passed, but maybe they can become like this again soon enough.

Scott climbs into bed, turning down the lamp on his way in. He curls on his side, pulling the blankets up to his waist, his wings resting on the cushioned shelf built into his bed for this precise reason.

After a moment, the bed shakes as Jimmy climbs in beside him, then slowly, carefully, rests an arm around Scott’s waist.

“This okay?”

The weight of his arm is heavy and warm, the perfect amount of pressure, and Scott rolls to be fully on his stomach before pressing closer. When his head is up against Jimmy’s chest, and their knees are bumping at every readjustment, he nods.

He can be close to Jimmy. He doesn’t have to be self-conscious about wanting to touch him. He doesn’t have to restrain himself in private, pretend that the physical affection is all for show.

Scott moves one arm up, wrapped under Jimmy’s arm and up his back, and sighs. This is comfortable. This is right. This is real. Their bodies know how to fit together, weeks of practice in their sleep lending subconscious knowledge to Scott as he presses up against his lover, his Jimmy.

This is real, he tells himself, and it’s perfect.

#empires smp #esmp #empires smp fanfic #flower husbands #jimmy solidarity #scott smajor #i have to upload this one now before i start my break bc i'm handing the reins over to oasis #who has no idea how to do the images stuff #i'll be back at some point! #i don't know when but at some point #i'll probably still write while i'm taking the break #i just won't be active #idk if i'll leave the inbox open or not #maybe so if oasis feels like answering asks #ig give me opinions? #i'll be here for the rest of the week in a vague sense just to clean things up #make sure everything runs properly etc #so i'll still answer asks while im here :) #anyway fluff? in my fic?? it's more likely than you think #lmk any feedback/comments abt the chapter! #love you guys

[nateriverswife]

i feel like if i want to get back my motivation to write my dn fanfics, i should talk about them more (or i mean, start talking about them) so i can get feedback and input that feeds my creativity but i also feel very self-conscious when i do, because like why should i even do that, it's embarrassing lmao

#i still physically cringe thinking that i pointed out some fics that i wrote to some people on here #and i know - trust me i do - that i should overcome this but even though i would love to do so #i just can't #the only thing that is bearable is throwing bread crumbs here and there lmao #the funny thing is that i do not even think my fics are atrocious #i have one or two that i consider pointless for the others and i only write them only for me #but other than that i don't think they are horrible - they are average you know #like i am actually proud of a L x reader fic i wrote cuz there are some parts that leave me like 'ah this is good how the fuck did i do it' #lmao anyway i still hope that i'll wake up one day with the motivation cuz i am pretty tired of leaving things unfinished

[sonysakura]

📋 Just Leave a Comment Fest (April 2024): Totals!

Much thanks to @justleaveacommentfest for organising! No excuses just results 🔥 And I'm quite pleased with mine

Total amount of comments: 20 Total amount of works commented: 13 Total amount of words typed: 4 662 words

Fic Recommendations: All of the fics mentioned are Sonadow-centric (Sonic the Hedgehog)

💙🖤

Indica Day: Comment on an Unfinished WIP 💿 CyberGuild by IndigoGoomba (Teen, No Archive Warnings Apply, 5 209 words, 4/? chapters) — AU, Gaming/Virtual Reality

CyberGuild, a Virtual Reality MMORPG made by RoboEgg. The revolutionary class system and cyberpunk setting catch the eyes of every gamer on Mobius, including Sonic and his friends. Peace is no longer an option when a group of ex-RoboEgg employees decides to wreak havoc upon the servers, aiming to get revenge for their "unlawful termination."

Sativa Day: Hyperfocus on a Modern AU 🧣 Dance by sarcasticism (Teen, No Archive Warnings Apply, 20 097 words) — AU: High School/Modern/No Powers, Sports

Shadow hates his high school. He has one friend, Rouge, and she isn't always around to scare his bullies away. There's a blue hedgehog who occasionally talks to him too, but Shadow tries to stay away from him outside of track because he worries he'll be teased for associating with the likes of Shadow. Not that Sonic seems to care about that. At all. Okay, so Shadow has two friends, both of whom attend the first school dance of the year, Shadow and Rouge in the corner judging everyone and Sonic surrounded by friends as always. After a certain echidna asks Rogue to dance with him, Shadow is alone and, most importantly, bored. Until someone dares Shadow to ask Sonic to dance and, to his surprise, Sonic says yes. Thus begins Shadow's third year of high school. Thus begins Shadow's crush.

Dream Blunt Rotation: Read a Fic, Send a Fic! ❤️‍🩹 I don’t wanna see you smile by kty0309 (Teen, No Archive Warnings Apply, 3 627 words) — Hurt/Comfort

“I guess…” he starts, looking anywhere but at Sonic, “I can stay until the fox returns.” “You could also just take me back to the party,” Sonic grins, smiling wider when Shadow glares. “Hey, it was worth a try,” he laughs. Shadow isn’t fast enough to shut down the part of his brain that thinks it’s almost…precious, that Sonic could easily ditch Shadow and head back to the party, but here he is, letting himself be taken care of. It makes Shadow feel uncharacteristically soft as he sits on the couch. Sonic never listens to him, it’s a good feeling….being trusted.

🩸 Mercy by @applebyeye (Gen, No Archive Warnings Apply, 2 397 words) — Established Relationship, Animal Death

A little chao interrupts the boys one morning.

💌 Yours If You So Wish It by @damnitd (Teen, No Archive Warnings Apply, 939 words) — Arthadow; Fluff

After months of getting used to a new world Arthur makes the decision to confess his feelings.

Links: Individual comment counters: 4/19, 4/20, 4/21, 4/22 Tracker sheet (template by eisoj5) Contains both fics I commented on and planned to but didn't have energy for

#justleaveacommentfest #just leave a comment fest #challenge #fandom event #link #fic rec #fanfiction #Sonic series #Sonic and the Black Knight #SatBK #Sonic the Hedgehog #Shadow the Hedgehog #King Arthur Sonic #Sonadow #Shadonic #Arthadow #Modern AU #Phewww... #I wasn't going to do a rec list #But why the hell not?! #So here it is #Btw Dance is that fic I left a 1 600+ words comment on #WORTH IT #GO READ #Go read everything I rec actually #'I don't wanna see you smile' was Wowie's recommendation 😘 #We have a 'sonadow fic recs' forum post in my server for this hh #I'll get to the fics in my tracker sheet anyway... just later... #Need to recover energy 😅

[the-kipsabian]

maybe instead of a fic writing goal list i should make a fic reading goal list huh

#read more in general. potentially get into new ships and fandoms. leave more comments. the likes #i mean i try to comment on everything i reblog here and what i kudos on ao3 if its not cross-posted #i need to read more friends stuff in general. ive been really bad at that sorry #im just still trying to ease myself back into all this its been a long while before this year when i properly interacted especially with #fics. so getting back into reading more than my blorbos and shit is just rough on me #i'll do better next year. im gonna make the effort. i promise #anyways yeah just putting that energy out there idk #night is an absolute mess on main