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orbdotexe · 18 days

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Under pressure and request from both Osiris and Shin Malphur, Drifter seeks out the Young Wolf early in their exile. He's not sure he'd say it went well, but it certainly could've gone much, much worse. And hey; Shin was right, new friends are new friends. Alternatively: Two rogue Guardians play horse plinko with each other before agreeing to an exchange of favors.

I finally did it- A Questionably Fortunate Encounter's rewrite. I have no idea how I got the motivation to finish this, it wasn't even half done when I picked it back up, but here it is in time for TFE's (concept's) 2nd birthday! I am significantly happier with this than the original, you have no idea. It wasn't even a thousand words and now it's like 20 words from being 2k, and overall? Everything just has more character + an extra page of interaction and the end note being from Ghost instead of Drifter. and being accurate to more story details! I kept a lot of the parts i thought were funny tho, if moved them around-

[old ver. ao3] --- [new ver. ao3]

The Sundial. A ballsy idea from a mad warlock.

Knocking a few times on the side, he can’t help the chills down his spine at the whispers ringing in his ears. “If you short-circuit the universe, you’re on your own.” He snips, his already uneasy grin wavering.

“If I make a mistake here, you might cease to exist,” the old Warlock says simply, though there’s a questioning edge to it.

Drifter only shrugs. “Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.”

Osiris squints at him as Drifter moves around the machine, checking the stability. “We haven’t talked about payment.”

Drifter’s grin smooths out some, sly now. “If you live through this little experiment, you can be sure I’ll be back to collect.”

A simple ‘hm’ is the only response he gets for a few seconds, before Osiris starts again.

“There’s a Guardian you should meet.”

“Yeah, yeah, so I’ve heard. Some bigshot—Can’t wait.”

"Drifter."

—

The Warlock and that old Hunter had their points—The Young Wolf needed people on their side, and it's not like Drifter couldn't use the opportunity. He figured, if worst comes to worst, just say Osiris sent him. It seemed the best bet; he heard the two of them had been on good terms, and Osiris wouldn’t have sent him without reason.

This was, regardless, a horrible idea.

Which was very quickly weighing him down as he waited just inside their most recent hideout; a willing, sitting duck in the path of a hellhound. Then again, Shin would be waiting for him, just the same, to see if he really went through with it. A rock and a hard place, if both were unmovable walls.

—

Eventually, the Kingbreaker did show up—and they looked pissed—but they didn't seem to quite notice him, yet.

Their Ghost, on the other hand, had stopped at the door, and was switching between glaring at him, and watching its Guardian. It was a bare hope, but he almost prayed for the Little Light to let the Guardian notice him by themself—for what good it would do.

Drifter had to admit, though, they looked like Hell—In both the shit way and the eternal punishment way—And he'd quite like to keep them from being his punishment, thanks.

They were never in the same place for long, constantly tapping their fingers or wringing their hands. He'd almost call it a nervous habit; if the jerky, almost corpse-twitching movements didn't make him feel like they'd pounce on him at any given moment. It gave the distinct impression of a Taken, a fact he took no comfort in. He had told Shin they would be unpredictable, but recordings didn’t capture just how much.

The Guardian’s posture was rather slumped, in spite of their twitchiness, but he was rather certain he was a pinch taller than them; though it could be their hunch. That dead-eyed and bone-deep tiredness that seeped off of them… The Guardian stumbled whenever they walked, off-balance. Injured, maybe.

They looked as unstable on their feet as he imagined they were mentally.

He rapped his fingers on the tabletop he was leaning against, a slight knot in his stomach building on the question of ‘How to get their attention without getting pinned as a threat?’

Questionably fortunate enough, and probably should’ve been expected; the tapping made them pause, and he'd almost compare the frozen movement to their namesake freezing to listen. They nearly looked like they'd been caught doing something they shouldn't be, or as if a sudden red dot (or dozen) had appeared on their chest.

The Young Wolf then snapped to look at him, eyes narrowed and hand beginning to raise to their sword. Their Ghost noticed, and took it as a sign to speak up; "What do you think you’re doing here? Who are you?" For being the Ghost of an exile, its voice was strikingly uptight. Drifter had expected an edge to the voice, but not for it to be pedant.

"Mind your business, Ghost," he drawled. Their head jolted up a fraction. "Just want a talk with your Guardian, is all-"

Their Ghost flicked back a bit, only to be replaced by its Guardian stepping up close to him. Well… he got their attention, at least.

His gut twisted in knots as the seconds passed like that—far, far too close for comfort. "How about we just… back up for a moment, yeah? Think this all through?" Like he hadn’t. He should have told that Warlock and Shin to shove their requests back down their throats.

The Guardian tilted their head, the action more unnerving than anything else, reminding Drifter of a certain other Hunter, and he was unsure if it was an acknowledgement or a threat. They refused to look anywhere but his eyes, and he swore they leaned a bit closer.

He raises his hands to push them back a bit, but thinks better of touching them. He opts to just slide back a bit, instead– except they match his step. He does not take another one. That definitely wasn't good.

"I'll ask again: Who are you?" The Ghost hovers over its Guardian’s shoulder as they tilt their head to allow it to take the center of Drifter’s vision. Their dynamic is clear, but he tries to focus on them.

"Your old man Osiris didn't mention me?” Drifter tries to say, “I’m hurt–”

"You will be hurt–" the Ghost starts, just as the Guardian grips his collar. There’s a moment the Drifter is almost certain they were going to slam him into the wall.

"Alright, alright—” he tries to interrupt, “Just back up.”

It takes them a moment, and a couple glances between him and the Ghost, but they do back up, if not letting go of his collar. He tries to quietly let out the breath he’d been holding, nerves a bit strung. Their emotions are as on-a-dime as he thought. Damn this plan. The Ghost eyes him expectantly.

"You can call me Drifter; I run a little… operation outta the Tower." Their face somehow pulls even further in a grimace. “Now, I know how that sounds, but I’m not working with the Vanguard—Trust. Wouldn’t be here if I was: Heard about your… dislike of ‘em.”

He gives them a grin when they don’t make another move, though not optimistic. Watching every little change in their expression doesn’t give him much hope, either, given the hard line in their brow now.

"That old Phoenix of yours pointed me your way, and I figured we both could make use of the others'... skills. I've got the connections, and you've guts enough to attack your own–”

The Drifter hardly has time to blink before his back is against the wall again, this time with a knife to his throat, sharp eyes glaring down at him—So it's like that. Osiris might've downplayed the sore spot; Drifter can’t even get away with a tease. He’s good at pushing buttons, but their reservations broke immediately.

He counts by the seconds as the Young Wolf silently dares him to say it again.

While he decidedly opts not to and tries to think of a way to de-escalate his mistake, he has… an inane thought: They’re taller than him… Not by too much, but the thought gives him an idea potentially worse than even the meeting itself was; something mischievous glinting in his eye and, as an added bonus, giving the Guardian pause.

"...Kinky." Feeling their hold loosen somewhat and seeing their brow twitch, Drifter pushes the joke with a sly grin and a cant to the side. “I didn’t realize you swung like that, Killer…”

Drifter’s eyes flick towards the Ghost at the undoubtably horrified, near-static chiming it makes as it rapidly recoils. “Are you… trying to flirt your way out of this–”

The Guardian’s expression seems of someone entirely bewildered by a puzzle in front of them. As they loosened their hold in what he could only assume was disbelief, Drifter had to stop himself from laughing—in relief, at the absurdity, or at their reaction.

“Nahh… Just seizing an opportunity, you’d understand,” he says, as nonchalantly as he can manage. There’s a moment of silence, the Guardian and their Ghost both searching his face, and it's everything he can do not to break—Either into a sweat or into a fit of laughter.

"...what the hell is wrong with you?" is the only response he got from the Ghost, the top fold of its shell covering half its eye. Drifter can only assume it's meant to be a mimicry of a dead-stare.

"Many things!” He gives a toothy grin that splits his face as he chuckles, “Next question."

The Ghost makes a show of rolling its eye, while the Guardian still looks like their mind has shattered, eyes seeming to search the wall through him for answers. The Ghost seems to take notice of its Guardian’s… inoperable state, and pipes up again, terse, “So what do you want?”

He’s really going to have to cut a deal with the Ghost, instead, isn’t he? As Drifter slowly tugs the Guardian’s hand from his collar—which they thankfully do not resist—he gives the Ghost the greasiest side-eye he can manage. “Well, as I was saying before your Guardian interrupted me,” it mimics narrowing its eye as he speaks. “I hear you two need friends, and, well, I’m always looking for more of those.”

“Just get to the point,” the Ghost pushes, tone flat. The Guardian seems to only vaguely be paying attention.

“Them and I could both use the support, so I suggest an… exchange.”

“An exchange? What is that– You mean, glimmer?” The Ghost interrupts itself with flicking its shell around itself and letting out a short chirr. “Information? We have nothing you’d want in that.”

“Nah, I don’t want any of that. If anything, I’m offering—You two just gotta do some favors for me in return. How’s that sound?” At the mention of favors, the Guardian refocuses; eyes widening some before narrowing and scanning him in search of some catch. “Just a job or two; you scratch my back, I scratch yours, yeah? Nothing you wouldn’t already do, of course.”

At the skeptical, almost blank looks from both of them, Drifter’s grin tightens some. “Favor for favor make sense to you?” He’s tempted to ask if they’ve got cotton in their ears. The pair take a long glance at each other, and he can only see the slight twitching in both’s expressions.

“...And how do we know we can trust you?” Finally comes an answer, again from the Ghost, but one that’s more assuring than it probably should be.

“Your old man asked me here, didn’t I say? I wouldn't risk this without a good word.” That, or without Shin over his shoulder. He turns his eye back to its Guardian and offers them a hand, “So, whaddya say? Give it a shot, hotshot?”

The Ghost trills in some semblance of worry as the Guardian cautiously eyes him and his hand, body canted away from him, before hesitantly taking his hand. Their hold is slight and feels like they would rather writhe away from him, but they hold just long enough to shake his hand.

“Heyy, don’t be like that, now. Friends take care of friends, yeah? Trust.” The Guardian grimaces at his words. Maybe that odd adage of insects had a bit more truth to it than he realized.

They’re more scared of you than you are of them?

—

Hours later, the Drifter far gone, and his Guardian was still kind of distracted. Honestly, Ghost would be lying if he said he wasn’t mind-broke by that as well. Who, in any sane state of mind, would do any of that? Sneak into an ill exile’s hideout, startle and piss them off, and then try to make a deal?

And why did it… actually work?

Ghost must be losing it.

#idk the pacing might be slightly off still in some places but i like it!#i could hardly stand to read the old version anymore so being able to compare them side by side? im not very easy on myself about these #things but. DAMN ive gotten a lot better huh #i would probably delete the old ver but. idk people might like something in there that i didnt put in this ver so itll stay up #the forsaken exile #destiny 2 #anyway yeah im very asleep as this is being posted bc i scheduled it for the minute discord says that message was originally sent #so like. 5:54am. and i dont have to get up at that time tomorrow so im... just not lmao #god. ive been brainrotting about an exile timeline for Destiny for two years...#i am actually ill i think. NOT sane behavior #but hey! i wouldve never gotten back into writing after not touching it since like. early middle school or smth (?? honestly dont remember)#if not for this AU. beloved #im not sure words can describe how important this thing is to me. aaaaaaaaaaaaa #eepy and getting sappy now. time to shut up!!!#anyway yeah Shin knew (or. thought he knew. its *Shin*) Drifter would get attached. the old snake fell for #the oldest trick in the book (forced exposure -> eventually friendly)#(Shin did not consider that thats not really how that works but thats okay)#i feel i should clarify. bc there isnt really much of a way to tell-- Osiris talks to Drifter first. and THEN Shin talks to him.#we be havin canon lore problems now huh...

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birchbow · 7 months

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You've said a couple of times that you can't really find an "in" or a particularly compelling dynamic for ashen relationships, and I also have a hard time coming up with an interesting way to frame a set of clubs so that the emotions are sufficiently intense to hold attention. The only thing I can come up with is basically a poly platonic BDSM relationship: a pair of bratty subs constantly getting into the troll-equivalent of slap-fights with each other, who both deeply respect/fear the central leaf and platonically get off on submitting to that authority. And the third troll gets a kick out of demanding and immediately receiving their obedience - like calming a moirail but more of a disdainful, stern, "You are going to sit down and behave. NOW." I dunno, maybe the two brats also enjoy seeing the other one humbled by the authority figure? I can almost wrap my head around this as a sort of kismesissitude where the respect is externalized to another troll (who is maybe older and/or stronger) and hatred is replaced with petty dislike. But it's still such a difficult dynamic to conceptualize.

This is all so true bestie lol. I'm not ashamed to admit that being like "it would have to be at least a LITTLE D/s, right?" has increased my interest from like a 2% up to more like 15% haha. Couples counselling but it's D/s and also the point is that you're not allowed to be a couple... wild.

Honestly, more than any of the other quadrants, ashen relationships seem prone to be like...temporary? If two trolls were constantly clashing and needed intervention, and then one of them was transferred somewhere else or whatever and situations no longer forced the two side leafs together, it seems like the relationship is now over--I wonder if that's a big trope in troll media? Followed up with either the middle leaf then pouncing on any pitch inclination their remaining partner finds in an attempt to rekindle a relationship, OR an ash/pale swing... or ash to something else! Ash->pitch? Either because one leaf left or because the third leaf couldn't maintain control and got sucked in. Hmm.

It's also a very tricky quadrant to like. Get set up, a lot of the time--there are trolls in my fics I could imagine having ill-advised pitch interest in each other, but finding them people who 1. know both parties/would be aware of their liaisons, 2. would know they're not good for each other, 3. have the inclination to step in, and 4. are not already quadranted to one or the other party.... tricky lol.

#ask time!#it's funny to imagine that in this particular way trolls are a lot more community-minded and attentive to each other than we are #it's chill to just like murder each other but also you should always keep an eye out and if somebody is having hate-sex they shouldn't then #like. get in there! romantically????? but like in a slightly baleful way also lmao #I like to write moiraillegiance with very biological in-built troll instincts and physiology and the concept of auspisticism being the same #-is honestly so weird but it IS fascinating. the biological urge to find yourself a mediatior. or to mediate. it becomes kind of like...#those AUs where everybody has like a secondary gender of dom/sub lmao. Assigned middle leaf at birth.#hey there you seem bossy wanna settle an argument WINK WINK.

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whysamwhy123 · 3 months

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HALLEJUAH!! I REMEMBERED HOW TO ACTUALLY FINISH WRITING SOMETHING FOR A CHANGE!!

Of course, it's not any of the fics I wanted to finish. I went back to what is essentially my bread-and-butter now and wrote a short-ish, random OrangeHook fluff. But considering how much writing's been a struggle as of late, I'm just glad that I successfully finished something. I was back in one of those stretches where I couldn't seem to write much of anything. And this fic isn't about their age difference or Hook being a cuddlebug, so...progress?

Unless I decide I completely hate it (which is always a possibility) expect something to drop on Valentine's Day, tis the season, after all.

#What is wrong with you Sam you should not be allowed to write #Small victories you know?#Will I ever get sick of OrangeHook?? Apparently not #Can't even remember the last time they interacted on screen but that ain't stopping my brain LOL #On a more serious note - I really do hope that I can get back into the swing of things and make some real progress #On the bigger fics I want to work on #I want to finish the messy angst OrangeHook fic at some point even if it's unlikely to appeal to anyone #Annnnnd deep down in my cold dead heart I still wanna make an honest attempt at that DG Dead Dove fic #Even though that would be even more unappealing + a huge undertaking because that bitch would be loooooooooong #Also I had a slightly less angsty OrangeHook idea recently about them having their first fight and I wanna write that too for some reason #And there's still a part of me that really wants to continue Business/Pleasure because I have soooo many ideas for that AU #But that would require me to get over my inability to write smut #And I don't know how to do that (would appreciate any advice on that if you've got some...)#But at the same time I don't wanna beat myself up for not being able to write much - if anything - most days #This is a hobby after all - it's supposed to be fun #There ain't no deadline and it's not like I'm letting anybody down #Just gotta do at my own place #And write whatever absolute trash I want to write 😈#My tags are always so obsessive like SHUT THE FUCK UP SAM #But if you've actually read all these - hey. Thanks. Love ya 😘

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carewyncromwell · 9 months

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"I ain't afraid of no ghosts."

x~x~x~x

...Okay, while all of you have been obsessing over Barbenheimer, Tory here has been obsessing over the new Haunted Mansion movie that Disney released because the parks' Haunted Mansion rides are one of my favorite Disney-related things ever and the film actually does the concept pretty damn good justice, in my opinion...so after seeing the movie multiple times (one and a half of those times at the official preview for the film, which I was fortunate enough to work), I had to draw some content for that HPHM Haunted Mansion AU I wrote a long while back, starring our favorite no-longer-ghost boy Duncan Ashe as a early-2000's paranormal investigator sent to explore the haunted Cromwell Manor in upstate New York. Surrounding him are five of the most central ghosts in his story -- from left to right, "the Ghost Host," A.K.A. Bill Weasley; "the Wanderer," A.K.A. Orion Amari; "Madame Olivia" Green (in the crystal ball); "the Headless Man," (currently with his head) A.K.A. Jacob Cromwell; and "the Beating Heart Bride," A.K.A. Carewyn Cromwell! Be on the look out for more content for this AU soon, especially as the "spooky season" properly approaches...it's been so fun to revisit this idea again, even with how differently it adapted the Haunted Mansion premise compared to the new movie! ^.^

Have a magical day, everyone! 🖤🖤🖤

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #haunted mansion #my art #duncan ashe #jacob cromwell #carewyn cromwell #orion amari #bill weasley #also no LOL the phantom doesn't get a cameo bc hey I wanted to feature the protagonists this time ;)#I'll actually be recoloring this slightly for a full masterpost I want to do for this AU later on #I want to really color the ghosts beyond just their ghostly forms while still making them look vaguely incorporeal #but I want to experiment a bit #olivia will always been green though because hey madame leota also her name is literally green hahaha

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honeydots · 9 months

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If I can ask another one ‘you’re not alone. i’m staying right here.’ and Xanlow

"You're not alone. I'm staying right here." 1.4k, xanlow from this ask game

Xander had a business trip that was taking him across the country, way up by the northern sea and among the black rocks, freezing winds, and terrible storms. It’s meant to last months, and Inigo’s bendable when it comes to location, so—he decided to go along with.

This afternoon, Inigo’s sitting on one of the rocky beaches, solidly far from the cold ocean. The air is nice and salty, he’s got a thick blanket to sit on, and he’s only been rained on a tiny bit. He has a much wider view of the sea from the apartment they’re renting, but he was getting lonely inside. So now he’s lonely outside.

Xander’s at work right now, much deeper into the still-unfamiliar city that’s strikingly more gray than Windmire’s black. And Inigo, just a short while ago, got back from a dance class he found nearby. He’d like to say he’s going to a rehearsal tonight, but… Well, he’s between jobs.

He doesn’t really have connections in this part of Nohr. It was a struggle to get them for a while in Windmire, and he made the poor assumption that because he already went through that once, he wouldn’t again. Inigo’s been beating himself up for not asking around more to see if there were any friends-of-friends around here when he had the chance. Anxiety and freelancing unfortunately do not go hand-in-hand.

He hasn’t been completely jobless, but he’s certainly not busy at the moment. It’s harder to get a shoe in for contracts and auditions when he’s relatively unknown. And even if he’s been socializing in his classes to try and make some meaningful connections, so is everyone else, and Inigo is really great at flubbing things up.

Xander keeps telling him not to feel guilty—it’s always a possibility to be without work for a while with a job like this, and Xander makes more than enough to keep them afloat. But it’s hard to help it. Inigo was hoping he’d have gotten into a groove by now, yet he very much hasn’t, and it’s hard not to feel guilty using Xander’s money for his own things.

Not that moping by the sea is improving his situation whatsoever. But it’s pretty, it smells nice. And if nothing else is lovely in this gray city, at least the gray ocean has a charm. He doesn’t get to see it often.

Inigo’s outside longer than he realizes, because he gets a text from Xander asking where he is. He’s probably home, then—whoops. He tells him he’s by the ocean side, and asks if he should come back, but Xander doesn’t reply. So Inigo stays put, sitting quietly on his blanket, until he hears footsteps from behind.

Expectedly, it’s Xander. “You found me,” Inigo says lightly, scooting over a bit to make room. Xander sits down next to him, still in his stuffy work clothes, and he kisses Inigo’s temple lightly.

“You weren’t too hard to spot.” Which is fair, since Inigo’s like, the only person out here. It’s cold today—and Xander’s nice and warm, so Inigo certainly doesn’t mind the company. He leans into him, eyes still on the ocean, loneliness drifting away for a while.

“How was work?” Inigo asks. He’s still surprised it’s gotten so late. He’s not usually the sit-still-and -close-your-mouth type, but he’s feeling awfully sluggish today. So perhaps that’s why.

Xander sighs. “Fine,” he says. “Work.”

“Ah, yeah. At least you’re done now.” Xander’s work clothes are also gray, sometimes black, and sometimes Inigo gets him to wear a colorful tie. But he’ll always have a shock of blond that keeps him standing out. Inigo’s just the opposite, hair gray and dull, but he likes to wear blues and greens and whites. Sometimes purple, too, because his mother likes it most.

Xander puts his arm not quite around Inigo, but sets it down behind him so it crosses over his back. “How did your class go?”

Inigo shrugs. “Good, it was good. Pretty fun today, we worked on new stuff.” He inhales, then slumps. “I, uh. I’m kind of sort of making some friends?” It’s hard to be a socialite when the one tactic he had is completely off the board, now. Getting married kind of kills the flirting game. Not that he always got the best results with that, anyway.

Xander hums. He leans into Laslow, too. “I’m glad it’s coming along.”

“Ah, that’s a good term for it.”

A cold and slightly wet wind comes by, and they both shiver. Even if you can’t see the sun in Nohr, the nights are still colder than the days, and the evening is rolling in without a second thought. It was already chilly, but it’s getting chilly chilly.

“What are you doing out here?” Xander asks, and Inigo chews on his cheek. There’s why is he out here, and why has been out here for so long, which are two different questions with two different answers.

And despite what he asked, Xander’s probably looking for the latter. “I… Just got lost thinking, for a while,” he says. He looks down at his knees, covered by soft blue sweats and not doing a great job at keeping the cold out. “Wishing I’d get a call back, or something.”

Xander does put his arm around Inigo now, rubbing his arm gently. It warms him up a bit, and Inigo goes on. “There's this terrible feel of… Isolation, that I've got. Like—if you and I weren’t doing this together, what would I be doing? Living in a hovel and eating stale bread, workless as I’ve been?” He huffs, and cuddles into himself. “I hate having nothing to do.”

Xander scowls, in a very cute way that involves his lips scrunching a bit as his eyebrows lower. “You aren’t alone, there’s no point in giving what-ifs attention,” he says. “I’m here, I don’t mind. Take your time.”

“I know, I know,” Inigo says with a pout. “And I’d rather you here than not. It’s just—boring. And depressing. And you work for entirely too long, I get lonely.” That being, Xander works a respectable nine-to-five which he’ll only sometimes come back late from, since Inigo pesters him immensely otherwise.

Xander gives a small and considerate looking grin. "Maybe I'll try harder to beat the traffic next time," he says, which is nice. “Do you have plans for tomorrow yet?”

Inigo’s classes are every other day with a three-day weekend, so when a fraction of his time isn’t taken up by that, he’s sort of left open ended. Not that Xander doesn't work tomorrow, though, so he can't count on his company until later.

“I might go to the gym?” Inigo says, since he’d much rather be ready than not if he does end up getting a proper contract. “And, uh—if we need anything, I could go shopping, too.” Xander thinks for a moment, and so does Inigo—and then he completely hangs his head. “I feel like—like, I’m all washed up. Don’t I sound washed up? Am I still young enough to say I’m not old enough for this? ”

And Xander does not seem to appreciate the comment. “You aren’t washed up,” he says firmly, then frowns. “You were doing fine in Windmire.”

“But I feel like I am, and that makes all the difference.” Inigo throws out an arm, like he’s presenting himself. “Look at me. Sitting dramatically by an ocean, on a dark cloudy day, getting rained on—”

“Is it raining?” Xander says, interrupting Inigo’s self-deprecating rant and glancing up to the sky.

Inigo lets it go pretty seamlessly. “Oh, it has been. Only a little.”

Xander looks similarly unamused. “We’re going back inside,” he decides, and starts standing, leaving Inigo quite cold and alone.

“What? Nooo,” he says, since he was slightly enjoying the miserable feel. “I shouldn’t have mentioned that.”

Xander extends a hand to Inigo. “You’ll get yourself sick.”

Inigo just looks at his hand for a moment. And then he frowns, and takes it, and as he’s pulled to his feet he grumbles, “I won’t get sick.”

“You will,” Xander says, meaning Laslow didn’t mumble his grumble enough. “And then you’ll sulk around the apartment feeling useless all day.”

Laslow snatches up his blanket from the rocks. “I do that anyway.”

They start walking back together. Xander looks pretty cold in just his button up, so maybe it’s better they do. It’ll only be getting colder, after all.

And Inigo guesses—even if he’s feeling guilty and washed up, and even if he’s antsy all day and anxious all night—

It’s pretty nice to have somebody who’ll take care of you, too.

#WOOO THANKS FOR THE REQUEST #changed up prompt again slightly but i got into the groove of this idea and well. wording. whateva #i rly like modern xanlow i need to write them more.....#i also like casually in an established relationship xanlow. hey i might just like xanlow you guys--#fjdkfjksdjf #sorry it's slightly late!! i indeed was too tired to properly finish posting this yesterday after classes #but i had a lot of fun writing it regardless~#freelancing is one of my fave occupations for laslow as a dancer in modern aus this has come up before and it will come up again #it's just. good. its good!!#hehehe #anyway thank you again!!!! i had so much fun ;w;w;w;#dots writing games #dots answers asks #antivanwine14

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poltergeist-coffee · 7 months

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have you considered a racing/nascar au where q!pac is a race car driver and q!etoiles is an announcer/commentator

#💬 one new message #pacmanduo #pactoiles #<- consider a nascar au in general but i am biased and think of this with a ship in mind #pac has a crush on etoiles he is literally leaning on his expensive racing car like “✨hey✨ do u think im cool and want to go on a date w/me #consider etoiles getting slightly flustered interviewing pac after he finishes a race/gets off the track!! the slight fondness in his voice #when he’s talkign abiut pacs skills!!! have you considered it yet!!!!#i know nothign about racing but given enough time i will start researching just to think about this au more #because the concept delights me

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annaraebananawriter · 1 year

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2. Don't you just hate it when you somehow time travel to the past and meet your brother before he went all crazy and killed your mother and everyone else in the village?

(For a part 2 to this, which takes place a few months after this one, go here)

Dream held his legs close to his chest as he thought over his current predicament.

The last thing he remembers before getting here was running away from Nightmare. He had been running low on positive energy the past weeks, and in seeing this, his brother had amped up the attacks, using more force than usual in an effort to finally kill him once and for all. By some miracle, he was still alive and had enough energy in him to run--not much for anything else, unfortunately.

And then he tripped, knew he was about to be stabbed, and frantically teleported out of there without a direct destination. Something crashed, static buzzing in his head, and he was yanked backward through something, colours flying by him and smearing together before he was surrounded by coldness. He ended up crashing into a river, and now here he sat beside it, cape and crown off to the side as he waited for the sun to warm him, thinking about the past few moments.

He should probably find some dry clothes. It wouldn't do to get a cold now, of all times. However, he cannot tell what AU he was in. Whenever he tried, pain laced through his head and so he soon gave up on it. He would just have to wander around and hope he ran into civilization soon enough. Or Ink and Blue found him. One of the two.

"Um...are you okay?"

Dream stilled at the voice. Not possible, must've been in his head.

At the very, very familiar voice.

He slowly looked up.

Ah. That was real. Fuck.

Nightmare--but not murderous, goopy Nightmare. Small, white-boned with purple clothing and a crown opposite of his own Nightmare. His Nightmare. The one he fought for and strived to get back. The one he thought was long gone and as good as dead. Standing right in front of him, concerned, holding a basket full of herbs and a book, looking like nothing had ever happened.

Under his stare, Nightmare shifted, looking away. "I-I'm sorry if I'm bothering you, but...I just...I don't usually see people. Here, at least. Especially not a skeleton..." With each word, he shrunk in on himself.

Dream slowly blinked.

This is a dream or a trap or something, he shouldn't trust it, he really, really shouldn't trust it--

He smiled. "Ah, no." He stood, wiping off some of the dirt that stuck to him. "I fell into the river. I'm new to the area, actually." With each word out of his mouth, the screaming voice in his head grew louder and louder until the words mushed together into a single stream of intelligible noise.

Nightmare blinked back at him, glancing at his clothes. "Right. There's..." Something dark crossed his face. "There's a village not too far from here. They'd be happy to help you. Probably, anyway."

Village.

Village meant the villagers that used him and abused Nighty.

Village also meant Mother and himself and the apples.

"Oh. You're bleeding."

"Hm?" Dream looks down, and sure enough. Huh. Blood is slowly soaking through his tights near his ankle. Must've been from when he tripped. He hadn't felt it until now. It comes to his attention that he had also been shoving his fingers into his arm and has left small wounds there too.

"Ah. It seems I am." He smiles at Nightmare again, who looks more concerned. "Rest assured. I am a healer, though I usually don't heal myself. These injuries are nothing."

Nightmare still looks concerned, but his shoulders loosen and he tilts his head, curious. "You're a healer."

"I am."

Something seems to click for Nightmare and his eyes widen. He hesitates, glancing over his shoulder as if he'd be caught doing something bad, then leans forward. "My brother, Dream, is a healer too. The village adores him, but ...I think they mostly just use him for their own needs than any real affection. And Dream tries his best, but he's so tired all the time, and he's the only healer here."

Dream only tilts his head forward. He can see where this was going and he had to stop himself from jumping the gun and agreeing.

"If you're also a healer, would you be able to...I don't know...maybe help the village too? Or maybe give Dream pointers so that he doesn't stretch himself out as much. If you're able to, of course."

Dream thought it over.

He really had no idea if he was somehow in an AU that was a copy of his (which should be impossible, Ink had said so himself) or if he somehow time-traveled to the past or heck, if he was somehow in another multiverse. Cause why the heck not? That might as well be a reason.

All his instincts told him to run away as far as he can and not interfere at all. But...This was Nightmare. He could care less about a past version of himself and whether he was overworking himself or not, but if he could help Nightmare stay away from those bullies? Then how could he pass up that opportunity?

He just can't.

"I might be able to stick around some." He'd need a new name, though. There can't be two Dreams' going around.

Nightmare grins. "Awesome! Now, follow me. I'll show you to Mother and we can wait for Dream to return for lunch and introduce you." He starts walking away before he pauses. "Oh, I forgot to ask your name?"

Dream took this moment to get rid of his gloves and any other reminder of who he really is, setting it with the rest under some bushes. e mulled over a new name in his mind before setting on one.

"Call me...Anon." Anonymous in full, but Nighty didn't need to know that.

Let's see if he can make things better.

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lit-in-thy-heart · 9 months

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what's your favourite fic that you've written? (Or, I suppose a scene from a fic that you're particularly proud of?) (although saying that so much of your fic is top tier 🩵🩵🩵)

hello anon!! this ask made me 🥺🥺, thank you so much for dropping it in my inbox <3

my favourite fic that i've written... this is actually more difficult than i thought, as there are some that were hell to write but i'm really pleased with how it turned out, and some that are not absolute masterpieces but i had so much fun writing them. and the one that's a mix of all of the above (as contradictory as it may seem) hasn't even been finished and posted yet lmao. i think, overall, my favourite that i've posted is we left the book of love signed in blood on every page, which looks at the breakdown of gwaine and merlin following lancelot's death. i enjoy writing angst like that and i also had fun with the sustained imagery

but in terms of a scene that i'm particularly proud of, the moment in bitter is the antidote where gwaine begins to relax around lancelot and both of them are pressed close to each other and reaching out to merlin is one that i'm quite proud of. the full scene is below the cut and i enjoyed trying to depict the hesitancy on both gwaine's and lancelot's parts. also i really like the line 'so he let his tea go cold and his shoulder grow numb' but i couldn't tell you exactly why

thanks for the ask anon, hope you have a wonderful day! 💜

Lancelot had one hand buried in Merlin’s hair again, twisting the short strands between his fingers, knees pressed against the bed. Hesitantly, Gwaine hovered on Lancelot’s left side before sinking down to the floor, one leg strewn out beneath the bed. His hand reached for the one Merlin had draped over the edge of the bed, taking it between his fingers and, upon receiving murmured permission, gingerly leaned against Lancelot’s leg. He was aware of the bone pressing into his shoulder, just as he was aware of Merlin’s grip tightening around him, but it didn’t scare him half as much as it should have done.

Never, never had Gwaine thought that he would be so close to two others when all three of them were conscious. Never had he thought he would be confronted with the knowledge of his best friend having magic, either, and Gwaine couldn’t help but wonder what other unexpected things fate had in store for him. He didn’t dare move, in case it all proved to be an illusion and the slightest twitch dispelled it. So he let his tea go cold and his shoulder grow numb, let his abdominal muscles ache with the effort of not allowing all of his weight to fall on Lancelot’s leg and his hand be manipulated by Merlin’s touch.

Merlin, assured by their physical presence, had closed his eyes and Gwaine took the opportunity to use his gaze to sketch out the angles of Merlin’s body in his mind, safe in the knowledge that Lancelot couldn’t see his face. Before, he’d been convinced that he’d successfully memorised each dip in Merlin’s form in the same way that he’d memorised the placement of his own gaping traps in woods over the years. He’d thought that he’d be able to sculpt Merlin flawlessly from ribbons of clouds and wind. But, as Merlin shifted and the tip of what looked like an old scar peered over the neck of his shirt, Gwaine realised just how wrong he’d been. It was a blessing that the hand not holding Merlin’s was engaged with a cold cup of tea because Gwaine could feel temptation running its fingers along his arm, leaving a trail that ended at Merlin’s chest.

The skin looked leathery, much like Merlin’s burned leg, and, if it had been fire… Just how many times had Merlin narrowly escaped the flames? How much of himself had he kept protected from Gwaine with a clumsy cut of material tied around his throat? Dropping his gaze to his right hand, Gwaine pushed one side of it into the bed, careful not to squash Merlin’s hand. He was one to talk.

Faintly aware of a subtle movement behind him, Gwaine rotated his head by several degrees, glancing over his shoulder and through his hair. Lancelot was no longer holding the cup in one hand – if Gwaine shifted his hip, he’d knock against it on the ground – and the hand was now hovering above Gwaine’s shoulder. Gwaine began to phrase a silent question but cut himself off as he reached an answer; it seemed that Lancelot was reluctant to place his hand in his own lap for fear of elbowing Gwaine in the head.

Returning to look straight ahead, Gwaine raised his left hand and took his little finger away from the cup, hooking it around the tip of Lancelot’s middle finger. Careful not to spill his drink, Gwaine slowly lowered his hand, taking Lancelot’s with him, until Lancelot’s palm met his shoulder. As Gwaine rested his own hand on his thigh, Lancelot made port with his thumb at the muscle between Gwaine’s shoulder and neck. It was then that Gwaine registered that, in leaning against Lancelot, his jacket had slipped a little off his shoulders and had dragged the neck of his shirt down with it.

Most of Lancelot’s hand was planted firmly over Gwaine’s shirt, his wrist grazing the collar of the jacket, but his thumb was on that muscle – a muscle bearing layers of tension that Gwaine hadn’t even been aware of – and his index finger was dangling over Gwaine’s collarbone. And then Lancelot began to sweep his thumb back and forth along that single muscle, collecting the tension in Gwaine’s shoulder like a bee picking up pollen, and Gwaine couldn’t hold himself up any longer.

#hey nonny nonny asks #honestly i was not expecting this ask and it was such a lovely surprise when i checked tumblr last night #(i was in the middle of a rewatch of go2 at half 11 at night so decided to save it for this morning)#for the record i am also proud of much of mortality clings to butterfly wings but i'm trying to appreciate my recent writing #as my brain has been telling me it's not as good as my writing from 2021 and yeah it's slightly different but that doesn't mean it's worse #i am very excited for the day when i finish a fic i started last year and post it bc it is frankly hilarious if i do say so myself #it's the first fic that actually feels like a comedy and it's just. silly.#it's a merwaincelot fairytale au based on a tale called the bear that was collected by andrew lang in the grey fairy book #but with some changes and more comedic value #anyway i'm aiming to get it done for au day for merwaincelot week 2023 #currently have 6 active wips and 4 of them are merwaincelot whoops #thanks again for the ask anon and for enabling me to ramble!!#lit talks #lit writes

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