#they've been fun to write

[whichwoods]

Going crazy manifesting an update for like the stars that shine! Is there anything you can tell us about the next update?

i'm manifesting an update too 😭 here's a snippet of chap 3:

Luke swipes at his eyes as he walks up the winding, rocky path toward MAC’s dragonpit. He tries to take steadying breaths, but the sulfuric air does little to calm his nerves. 

He grimaces, pausing to spit some wretched combination of saliva and bile onto the ground. Luke has been feeling ill all week, some early-morning nausea he allowed himself to think was just related to nerves haunting him for the past week or so. Maybe the thought of returning to school was stressful, he’d foolishly thought, though that didn’t feel right even at the time. 

“Luke!” a familiar voice calls from ahead on the path. “Morning!”

He quickly rights his posture,  discreetly wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Nettles Waters is the first person Luke is seeing since returning to Dragonstone, and he doesn’t exactly want her to catch him puking. Nettles is a nice girl and probably one of his favorite classmates, but still, people talk on this campus. “Hey,” he croaks, quickly clearing his throat. 

“You off to see Arrax?” she asks with a smile, looking perfect even for just coming back from riding Sheepstealer in the wee hours in the morning, already on her way back down the hill. Luke barely managed to throw on riding pants and a sweatshirt. 

“Yep.” He keeps walking as he speaks to her, looking over his shoulder as he passes her. “Got to go give him lots of love.” 

“You alright?” she asks after him, after catching a sniffle. Luke quickens his pace. 

“Just fine! Probably caught something in King’s Landing, that cesspit. Wouldn’t want you to catch it. See you!”

He thinks he distantly hears her say goodbye, but he’s too far away to properly make it out by the time she says it. Luke makes the rest of his way up the path as quick as he can, with a burst of power he didn’t think himself capable of. It’s been an awful morning; he wants to see his dragon. 

MAC’s dragonpit is carved into the side of a cliff overhanging the rest of the campus. The flat that the mouth rests on is vast and rocky, intercut with grassy patches of tough, mountain plants here and there. When Luke reaches it, he sees that a few dragons are taking advantage of the winter sun, milling about outside without their riders. 

The area around the pit still looks tremendously empty without the massive form of Vhagar, Luke can’t help but think, even though she hasn’t stayed here since his sophomore year of undergrad. The east corner of the flat she usually laid on, littered with rough rocks she liked to scratch her hide on, sat empty for years after Aemond graduated. Now, a few of the yearlings like to sunbathe there. Luke watches two twist and chase each other low in the sky above it, a bittersweet smile crossing his face as he takes in their blue and red scales glinting in the sun. Their high-pitched shrieks and growls echo against the rock walls of the cliffs.

He spots Arrax laying in one of the grass patches by the west end of the field, pale scales looking pearl-like in the early sunlight. He raises his head as Luke approaches, great red spikes quivering in excitement as he spots his rider. Luke waves his arms around in greeting, genuine grin cracking through his foul mood, the emotions of his dragon contagious through their bond. He yells out a quick greeting in High Valyrian.

Arrax gets up on all fours, and Luke swears he feels the ground shake with it — Arrax isn’t a small beast anymore, quickly approaching the size of Daemon’s Caraxes. Still, the expression Luke has come to consider a fang-ridden smile is the same as it was when he was a hatchling, as he charges toward Luke. 

It’s a familiar song and dance. Normally, Arrax would dart toward him and throw Luke up in the air by his snout, and Luke would gleefully let him. Mindful of his new condition, he plans to call Arrax off at the last moment, tell him to settle and approach gently. However, before he opens his mouth, he sees Arrax skid to a stop himself, great talons digging into the earth to halt himself. 

“Arrax?” Luke calls, voice soft, as he walks toward him. 

His dragon still approaches him, though now he moves slowly, walking with a carefulness Luke rarely sees from the beast. He’s making inquisitive, trilling noises that have Luke frowning in confusion, as he slightly moves his great head from side to side. 

“What is it, my love?” Luke asks, at an odd humming noise Arrax makes.

Very gently, once he’s close enough, Arrax noses at his abdomen, sniffing him. Luke scratches at the scales on his dragon’s snout — by the eyes, the way he knows he likes — making his dragon trill happily. Still, knowing all too well what those behaviors mean from his dragon and what they confirm, Luke can’t help but start to sob. 

#lucemond #lsts #hmmmm what else to say abt chap 3 #we see laenor and qarl #they've been fun to write #and by fun i mean agonizing #it's really been taking forever but the end is in sight #also there's a lucemond flashback to their undergrad days together #also chap 4 spoiler - y'all will get aemond's POV #ty to everyone who still cares abt this silly fic <3 #wynch writing

[red-flagging]

💛 seb/lewis :-)

(kiss fic prompts!)

a little epilogue to rabbits are chasing :)

Lewis's flight lands at 8:02PM, which means that by 7:31PM, Seb is parked outside the airport arrivals door, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel and scanning the sky for approaching planes.

It's quite silly, getting here so early, but it's not as if there's much left to do at home. There's roast vegetables waiting in the oven, the cauliflower steaks that he started marinating earlier this morning chilling in the fridge. Mina and Ellie are safely ensconced in their duck coop with the heater turned on for the night. The sheets on the guest bed are freshly washed.

The car parked behind him starts up. Its headlights illuminate Seb's cabin. For a moment, he catches a glimpse of himself, harried and too-bright, in the rearview mirror. He scrubs his hands down his face. Christ. Get it together, Sebastian. He is a full 39 years old. Far too old to be getting the same jitters that he did the first time he invited a girl over at age 17, agonizing about what album to have playing when they came back to his room. Lewis is far too old for Seb to be doing all this. Lewis might not even be gay.

His phone buzzes. Seb nearly jumps out of his seat.

Lewis

just landed

getting my luggage now

hows it so freaking cold here

The inside of the car is already fogging up. When he'd asked Lewis to send dates he could come visit and Lewis had said just so you know the next few months are kind of crazy for me, Seb had expected late fall, maybe the holidays. Not the middle of slush season, when all the roads up the mountain have a 50/50 chance of being so muddy that they're undriveable.

Sebastian

I'm outside, in the blue Infiniti :)

He glances back up at himself in the mirror. The scab from where a wood chip caught the corner of his eyebrow while he was sanding the new planter box is almost healed over. His hair looks as good as it's ever going to. If Lewis asks whether he's been using conditioner, he's fucked.

It shouldn't feel like this. Seb beat Lewis to Senna's record, and Lewis still laughed at all his jokes the next season. Lewis watched Seb DNF twice in five races and still said in the media pen that he was waiting for the day Seb would be back up on the podium with him. When they inevitably auction off Lewis's Le Mans racesuit, it'll have to be with Seb's snot all over the front of it, because Lewis let Seb sob all over him and then laughed as he wiped sweat off of Seb's cheek with the sleeve. After all that – the fact that he's about to be in Seb's house for the next week shouldn't make Seb feel like he's standing in front of Lewis naked, without even the promise of a fast car or a good competition to distract Lewis from looking right at him.

His phone buzzes again.

Lewis

outside i think

Seb peers through the windscreen. Lewis – or rather, the blurry figure lugging a giant suitcase behind him that he assumes is Lewis – waves at him from the sidewalk. Seb flashes his lights at him twice.

The back door opens and Lewis's head, along with a burst of cold night air, pops in. "Hey," he says, a little breathlessly. "I don't think this is going to fit in the back."

It does, eventually, but not without a fight that involves Seb having to climb into the trunk alongside Lewis's suitcase and physically wrestle it into place while Lewis shoves from behind. They're both out of breath by the time they finally climb back in the front and slam the doors shut.

"You know, there are beds at the farm," Seb points out. "You didn't have to pack your own."

Lewis shakes his head, tugging off his gloves. His coat collar is turned up around his neck. He's wearing an an ear warmer headband, held in place by two butterfly pins. Every other bit of uncovered skin is pink, even with the heat in the car up at full blast. Lewis shoves his fingers in front of the vents and sighs with relief, closing his eyes. "Ugh, thank God," he says. He sounds exhausted. "Listen, you're lucky I fit everything into one." It sounds far less like a joke than Seb would hope. The fact that the fondness in Seb's chest still manages to outweigh the exasperation is probably a sign that Seb's beyond salvation.

"Next time I'll bring a trailer so you can fit your bathtub and toilet, too," he says, reaching for the keys. The engine purrs to life as he flicks the lights back on, then leans forward to scrub the worst of the fog off the windscreen. The thermometer on the dash says it's still 3 degrees outside. They might still be able to make it back before the slush freezes over. "Okay," he says, sitting back down and twisting around to reach for his seatbelt. "Ready to go?"

Lewis doesn't say anything. When Seb looks over, he's staring out the front window, playing with one of his rings.

"Lewis?" Seb asks.

Lewis's head jerks around. "Hm?" he says. "Oh. Yeah." He doesn't move to put on his seatbelt.

Seb frowns. Kills the engine so he can properly turn in his seat. "Lewis," he says. "Is everything –"

Lewis leans across the console and kisses him.

It's barely half a second. Seb still hasn't moved by the time Lewis sits back down on his side of the car.

"Uh," Lewis says, after a second. He clears his throat. "Sorry. I just – Shit. Sorry. The whole way over, all I could think about was – I had to get it over with before I chickened out."

He's fiddling with his rings again, but his eyes stay fixed on Seb's. His jaw is set. He still looks half-ready to bolt through the door behind him, out into the night.

"Well, you don't have to make it sound like taking your medicine, Christ," Seb says hoarsely, and drags Lewis back across the console to kiss him properly.

Lewis's lips are still cold. When Seb opens his mouth, Lewis sighs, pressing in closer with a soft sound that makes Seb want to go twenty years back in time and kick himself for not figuring out how to make Lewis make that noise sooner. His hands settle on Seb's wrists, holding him in place. Seb slides his own hands up, cradling the back of Lewis's head, to return the favor.

When he finally pulls away just far enough to catch his breath, Lewis follows him, close enough that their noses bump. His eyes are wide. This close up, Seb can see the dark circles under them more clearly.

He closes his eyes. Lewis is still there when he opens them.

"How long have you been awake?" he asks.

Lewis blinks. "What," he says. "Are you talking about."

"Sleep deprivation," Seb says. His heart is pounding hard enough that he feels it in his throat. "People start to get delirious when they're tired enough –"

"I was awake for 24 hours and I didn't kiss you at the end," Lewis interrupts, his eyes sharp and bright. "I'm not making the same mistake twice."

Seb opens his mouth and nothing comes out. He tries again. Still nothing.

"Fuck," he says, closing his eyes. "Okay. Okay." He drags himself back upright and reaches for the keys. "We can – tomorrow. But we should – you need to shower. And sleep." Lewis's hand settles on his leg. Seb rests his own on top of it; after a second, he squeezes Lewis's fingers gently. Lewis flips his hand over and laces their fingers together.

"Yeah," Lewis says. His thumb traces over Seb's knuckles. "That – tomorrow sounds good."

The slush crackles under the tires when Seb starts to move. Ahead of them, the headlights carve a path through the darkness. Lewis's hand is a solid, steady weight against his leg. "Okay," Seb says, to himself, to both of them, to no one. Lewis hums softly from his side of the car. He squeezes Seb's knee gently.

Seb closes his eyes for a second. "Okay," he says quietly. "Yeah. Let's go home."

#my fic #collarboen #rpf #sorry to possibly?? retcon the fade to black kiss at the end of rabbits are chasing and be like PSYCH it took 9 months after that...but in #my heart this has always* been the truth #*i came up with it ten minutes into brainstorming this prompt but now i'm attached to it and have accepted it into my heart and home #the post-retirement post-gay awakening post-journey of self acceptance slow burn slash anxiety spiral #that happened over the 9 month interlude on lewis's end is left as a thought experiment for the reader :) #thank u for giving me an excuse to write this autumn :) #i am slowly making my way through the rest of these lol ty to everyone who has sent them in they've been so fun!! #you are welcome to send in more but just be warned that the next batch will probably take. much longer lol. but i will keep doing my best 🫡

[liminalpsych]

A very, very roughly sketched, unedited scene that wouldn't leave me alone this morning and demanded to be written (....oh hey @queer-ragnelle! I accidentally made a Lusty Month of May / May Day Parade contribution!):

The week they arrive at Sorelois. Perhaps even the day. Guinevere is half-mad with rage and grief, reeling from Arthur's betrayal, the loss of her marriage, of her court. It's the usurping of her entire life.

It makes her bold. It makes her want to be cruel. It makes her want to strike back or to take what she wants or to rebel in some small or large way. It makes her want to hurt Arthur in turn, or transgress since she has already been spurned from society and convicted for something for which she's innocent.

"There is something I wish to see," Guinevere says, there in the somber quiet of the receiving room with Lancelot, Galehaut, and Lady Bloie of Malehaut. An announcement to the air, undirected.

Lancelot responds first, of course, as expected. He kneels before her, the picture of earnest devotion. "Whatever you wish, my queen, I will strive my utmost to bring it to you."

Across the room, towering nigh to the ceiling even leaned against the wall as he is, Galehaut watches her with a carefully neutral expression. Unblinking, unsmiling, and there's the barest tightening around his eyes. He is wary of her still, and senses her mood.

The Lady of Malehaut is a different kind of unreadable entirely, lounging next to her with a spot of embroidery to keep her clever hands busy. Her full mouth is always a breath away from smiling, like she carries with her a trove of private amusements at all times. She observes from beneath half-lidded eyes, her needle flashing through cloth more by touch than sight.

Guinevere lifts her loyal knight's chin with a touch of her finger. His lips part, eyes wide and wondering. She smiles. "I want to you to give Galehaut a kiss."

Ah, if only she dared to watch Galehaut's expression in that moment! Yet she must keep her focus on Lancelot. His face pales. His breath catches in his throat. His pulse thrums against her finger like a trapped and frantic bird. "M-my queen?" he stammers, gaze darting side to side as if for an escape.

Her smile sharpens, serpentine. "Do you not wish to?"

"I— I am not—" He's breathing rapid and shallow now, on the edge of panic. It's a pretty quandary she's put him in, one with no known safe answer, and he's reeling under it.

(She feels more steady by the moment, her control re-establishing in the small sphere she still possesses.)

Galehaut steps forward. There's the edge of fury in his warning, in the creak of leather and the rattle of maille. "My lady," he rumbles.

Now Guinevere looks his way, and she lifts a graceful eyebrow at the storm in his countenance. Lancelot quivers beneath her touch, unmoored by the loss of her pinning gaze. "Will you tell me truly that you don't want this, Galehaut?"

He halts. His jaw works; the stormclouds thicken. He glares, proud and silent.

Guinevere laughs. It's a free, bell-like sound—as playful as a day a-Maying. Lancelot stills and his breathing steadies, soothed by her apparent merriment. She makes a show of taking pity on him, releasing his chin to stroke his cheek. "Do you wish to kiss me?" she murmurs, leaning closer.

His breath catches again, no different than before. He nods.

She kisses him, sweet and soft; he returns it with a small desperate sound against her lips. (It tastes like power.) He's breathless when she pulls away, and she smiles down at him, indulgent. "I know Galehaut desires a kiss from you as well," she says, "and he is the one who brought us together, yes?"

Another nod, and Lancelot seems more dazed than panicked now. Swaying towards her, and glancing shyly towards his boon companion, who draws a sharp bracing breath.

"It is not as if he's a lady," she says with a wink. "So it is not being untrue to me. And it is my request, is it not?"

"Y—yes, my lady...?"

"Do you not want to kiss him?"

"I..." Those expressive eyes flicker from her lips to Galehaut's and back again. His breath quickens again, but this time it is a little less panicked. "My lady, you ask hard questions," he says at last, helplessly.

She laughs again, darkened with satisfaction. "Kiss him, then," she commands, "and then tell me if you want to do it again."

"My lady," protests Galehaut, strained—oh, and there is longing so sharp that it is agonized, bare and naked in every rigid muscle and the aching furrow of his brow. He looks at Lancelot like a man starving. He looks at Guinevere like a man betrayed.

To give Galehaut what he so desperately desires, when he knows it is something she can take away at any moment? To receive a kiss from his Lancelot, but only on the order of Lancelot's lover-queen? For Galehaut to touch his companion in the way he desires, but only so long as Guinevere allows it, never knowing truly if Lancelot would have initiated on his own, never being certain of Lancelot's desire?

It's a power like none she's ever wielded before.

Lancelot stumbles to Galehaut on unsteady legs with a last hesitant glance over his shoulder. Guinevere smiles encouragingly and nods her approval. One last nudge—and still, Galehaut could refuse Lancelot. Galehaut is sworn to neither Guinevere nor Arthur; he needs not obey her. Galehaut could save the last unconquered edges of his heart and maintain this last barrier of distance. He could still refuse himself what he wants so badly.

Galehaut tenses, and Galehaut wavers, and Galehaut's heaves great draughts of air as if he's in the thick of a melee.

Lancelot reaches out, and Galehaut surrenders.

#I guess I'm writing a Sorelois quartet fic eventually #I have so many higher priority projects right now #why brain why #this is not what I want to focus on #but there's more in a sketch of an outline already #ughhhhh #the lady of malehaut's involved too #I ship her with Guinevere so hard #they've already been kissing for a while of course #guinevere doesn't think anything of it #not sure what Lancelot's going to think when he learns it though #there's nothing healthy about any part of this dynamic #that's what makes it fun #guinevere #lancelot #galehaut #lady of malehaut #bloie #sorelois #arthuriana #arthurian fanfic #my writing #sorelois quartet #WAIT #THIS COUNTS FOR LUSTY MONTH OF MAY #lusty month of may #it absolutely counts #I was participating without even realizing #may day parade #queenly month of may

[ehlnofay]

Pax should have said no.

Damn it all, they should have said no. Should have said go to hell and fucked off back – stop contacting me, sort out your own shit – but they didn’t, fuck knows why, and now they’re stuck here.

(They know why. They know exactly why; absolutely anything would be better than fucking off back to Cyrodiil. What’s for them there?)

But there’s nothing worth staying for here either, and now she’s crammed in between strangers on a long table, everyone dressed in fabrics she’s never seen with dyes so saturated they seem almost gory, eating stuff that isn’t food and talking loud enough to make her want to hurl a glass into the wall. It’s bizarre. The woman next to her, ruddy-faced and bald, wears a headpiece that shines like the sun the Isles doesn’t have; the other side is taken up by a stranger in a bone-white porcelain mask who has not moved but to swill the wine around in their glass. There’s scarcely room for Pax’s chair. It all feels like such a baffling pantomime of aristocracy (she's known the real thing well enough – feasts and toasts and luxurious gifts she had no use for, and if she doesn’t stop thinking about it she actually will throw a glass), bright colours and rich settings and a god taking offerings at the head of the table.

At least, Pax thinks, no-one tries to talk to him; they’re too busy fawning over their lord. Which is probably to be expected; but it all feels so strange, so unsettling, the way they all lean in towards it like flowers turning to face the sun, like seaweed dragged at by the inescapable pull of the tides. They grow towards it through the cracks in the air, matter moving toward the inevitable centre, as if they can imagine nothing more than this.

(Even more unsettling is the way it responds in kind, listening attentively to anyone who speaks to it, leaning in as though to kiss them, as though to swallow them whole. All hell, why did Pax agree to this? Why did they come?)

(They should have told it to fuck off. Should have said no way, I don’t want to help you, don’t want to get involved in anything you’d need my help for. I don’t owe you anything. I don’t need anything from you. I don’t want anything to do with you. I’m done.)

(Pax is done. Pax is sick to death of all this shit; doesn’t want to deal with this, the vaguely described problems of a god that picks people apart like it’s unravelling a thick yarn shawl. Doesn’t want to deal with anything like this. He’s had his fill of gods.)

(Why is he still fucking here? Why did he agree to this? This is no better than eating in that weird fucking inn in town. This is no better than –)

(That’s a lie. It’s a bit better than Cyrodiil. Just as much a shithole, but it pulls the rug out from under him often enough that he doesn’t have time to think too much.)

“Not hungry?” says a prowling voice, coiling catlike into the plaits in their hair, and Pax jumps enough to jostle the masked bastard sitting ramrod straight next to him.

He looks up.

At the empty placemat across from him sits a figure veiled in gossamer, glittering in the glow of the lit-up lichen on the distant throne; the fabric of its endless shawls pulls apart at the ends, peeling away from itself, shedding patches like iridescent insect wings every time it shifts. If Pax squints, they can see through it to the grand marbled wall behind.

She glances back at the chair at the head of the table, where something lounges, eyes dripping gold, intricately carved cane laid across its knees; its too-many fingers are laced with the hand of a man whose gown blooms floral. Flatly, she says, “What the fuck?”

“Aren’t you hungry?” Sheogorath asks, pouting; she can hear it laughing down the other end of the table. “It’s a proper feast. We pulled out all the stops.”

Pax shifts their eyes away to peer down at their plate. “You have served me worms,” she says. She flicks the dish with a fingernail. “In jelly. With flowers.”

“Larva, actually,” Sheogorath replies. It’s still at the other end of the table. It doesn’t seem eager to explain this. When it smiles, the gossamer falls away; its whole face splits in half.

It’s all so fucking stupid. Pax takes a deep breath – in through the nose, ignore all the odd spiced smells, and out – and does not yell at it, or try to hit it, because she’s gotten herself into a situation where that’s not really an option, because she’s a fucking idiot. Why didn’t she just say no?

(She knows why.)

The Mad God’s teeth flash bright as the ornate silver cutlery. Its chair scrapes back from the table. “It melts in your mouth,” it tells her, eyes glittering, “but I won’t make you try it. Walk with me?”

The figure still sits at the head of the table, snatching something from someone’s plate, always, always laughing. Its limbs sprawl like tentacles, like the silken threads of a tapestry, to encompass the whole room. The dinner guests stare as though bewitched, bedevilled, beguiled. Not one of them is looking at Pax. If he were to drop dead with his face in the food his corpse would not be discovered until sunrise.

Pax sniffs and shoves his chair back from the table. He lets Sheogorath (the second Sheogorath – but it must be, what else could it be?) lead him through a narrow door into some winding hallway, the walls lined and rimed with ornate coloured-glass windows. (It’s so much quieter. Still as garishly bright, but Pax is getting the sense that that is inescapable, here; the clothes they wear, as crumpled and covered in travelling-grime as ever and startlingly out of place against the odd jagged finery of the dinner party, seem unimaginably dull in comparison. Everything seems unimaginably dull in comparison.) Outside the windows, they can catch glimpses of the city – its winding, lamp-lit streets, the jumbled mess of its architecture, the sky arcing above it like a child’s attempt at watercolours. Pax wants to smash it, tear it down.

There’s no sun here, but still it’s night. The sky has shifted to purple and black.

“Isn’t it nice?” says their companion; when they look back, it’s nothing more than a shifting impression in the stained-glass window, a series of hairline cracks. It still manages, somehow, to smile at them.

It’s not. The sky is a shadow and the flamboyance of the palace is scraping at their spine. “Sure,” Pax says flatly. When she flexes her fingers, the bruising staining the base knuckle of her thumb aches.

Sheogorath looks at her – an ancient man leaning on a stick, a flickering painting, a bloody corpse, a little girl in velvet-red skirts, a breath. In its mercurial shifting she catches the flowery blossom of the man at the table’s collar, an unpleasant glimpse of her own braided hair, the smell of sulphur. It tips its head. She can’t focus on it anywhere but for the eyes.

“You don’t like my dinner parties,” it announces, as though it’s a revelation, a tragedy; its body crumbles like sea cliffs slowly eroded by the ways. It’s annoying – bloody obnoxious, and incomprehensible, and kind of weird that it noticed, that it would even care. (She’s never liked dinner parties. Nobody ever commented on it before.)

I’ve had well enough of them, Pax could say, or no, I don’t like you, but it’s the fucking Mad God, Daedric Prince of – Pax doesn’t even know what, he’s never known much about this shit, only that it’s well worth avoiding. Prince of the mad and the missing and the foolish, of breaking and breaking and putting yourself back together backwards. She should have said no, but she didn’t, and who knows what would happen if she went back on that now?

It's slinking closer. All that stay static enough to make out are eyes and teeth.

“Pax, yes?” it says, soft-voiced – a hand lands on his arm, small and dry and shivering, the skin as thing as a mouldering leaf. “You have no obligations here. If you want to be on your own, be on your own. We’ve plenty of space for it.”

Pax’s eyes narrow. He does not jerk away from it.

In the light of the coloured sky, the coloured windows, its face is phantasmagorical. “If you don’t want to be here,” it continues – still so skin-pricklingly gentle – “then your hand will not be forced. I’ll speed your way home if you wish.”

They can’t help but twitch at that. It’s setting their teeth on edge. (It’s lying – has to be. After its ages of coaxing them in, meting out information, not telling them where they were until they were on its doorstep, it would not give them the chance to leave.) Rough, still covered in road-grime, Pax asks, “Why should I believe you?”

(None of them have ever given them the chance to leave.)

Sheogorath, a figure of hollow skin and bone, inclines its head. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Pax,” it says. Its eyes are wide and bulging, whites on full display like a frightened horse; it grins again. “Others might. But we’re not a monolith. We’re not even especially similar.”

Pax bites down on the flat edge of their tongue. “That doesn’t mean anything to me.”

The light coming in through the windows flickers. The Mad God turns to meet it.

“I’m the youngest,” it says, its voice glittering like mist on the air. “Did you know that? I don’t remember the world without you in it.” Its form spasms, volatile, wings and limbs and eyes like a snail’s on stalks sprouting and choking and subsiding back into its mass. “I’m closer to you than any. I understand, almost.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Pax repeats. She’s gritting her teeth, tonguing at her gums where two are missing. Are two devil-gods not enough to deal with for a lifetime? Is there really going to be more of this now, too?

Rolling through the air like smoke, the voice says, “It will.”

Pax presses purple-green knuckles to her mouth. Her teeth dig into the soft meat of her lip.

Sheogorath turns to face her, hair moving as though blown by the wind, as though tugged by the tides. It sighs. “You don’t believe me,” it says. Its tongue pokes through its teeth. “That’s perfectly fine. Clever, even. But if you want to leave, all you need to do is tell me so.” It pauses, then; the train of its strange, gnarled crown shifts over its shoulders when it moves its head. “Or just leave. The door is still open.”

“You’d be fine with me just leaving,” Pax rasps around his knuckle, “after weeks of not leaving me alone?”

(Of begging him to come, poorly-hidden agitation giving way to blatant franticness, half-swallowing the fear that choked its face in every mirror it spoke to him through. Of begging him still, after he got here, after he met it – begging in a roundabout manner, casual as anything, its every motion reeking of fear. Its abject terror when he turned to leave. You’ve come this far. Why not hear an old man out? Pax told it that it wasn’t an old man, that he didn’t give a shit either way, and it slid through a child, a monster, a sulphur-burned body coughing blood, his own shuddering form in armour he hasn’t seen in months, and it said please.)

(Regained its composure, its gentleman’s face, immediately afterward. But it – the Mad God, unknowable, inconsolable – said please. Pax still doesn’t know what to do with that.)

The Mad God, now, shrugs. Taps at the hairline cracks in the stained glass windows. “I’d prefer you didn’t,” it says, one pair of hands braiding something intricate into its beard. The hand on the glass slips down. “I told you. I do need a champion.”

“And I told you,” Pax bites, something aching and ugly surging in their gut, “not to call me that again.”

A smile, bloody-mouthed and beaming. “But we will abide,” says Sheogorath, and digs its fingers into the cracks of the stone. One brick slides loose, mortar dug up under its nails. It offers it up.

Pax licks their teeth and takes it.

The brick shivers, momentarily – crumbles, in their hand, like sand slithering through their fingers, and left in their palm is a hardy slip of bone. Spiked and sprawling, carved with intricate patterns; it arranges itself around an oval of empty space, the perfect size for four sharp-knuckled fingers.

“You can always leave,” the Mad God tells them, and for a moment it does look so very young and strangely, staggeringly hopeful. “But give it a chance. I think you could love the Isles, if you choose to.”

#for context - in my version of events sheogorath's recruitment of the HoK is a lot more active #it needs someone who can fulfill the metaphysical niche of the hero. it needs someone experienced enough that they might not even die tryin #and it needs someone desperate enough to take the deal #pax is fifteen years old has alienated everything that maybe could have been a support system and is grieving very badly. #perfect mantling material!! #so sheogorath pursued them very specifically and was very judicious about what they revealed when. which is why pax already has some kind o #relationship with it here - they've interacted before - in that for weeks pax's reflection has been constantly begging them to 'visit' #writing the interactions of these guys is a lot of fun because there is always so much sheogorath is keeping from pax. it is #extremely strategic in how it presents itself #and pax falls for it hook line and sinker. though we can't really blame them #it's hard to outsmart something that's in your head #and at this point pax is pretty much made up of their worst impulses #which sheogorath cannot and does not help with #see: this piece #“I would NEVER make you do something you don't want to do <3 if you'd like to go back to your miserable self-destructive hellscape that's #YOUR CHOICE. but wouldn't it be more fun to be regular destructive here... i made you brass knuckles... 🥺“ #im obsessed with them #the elder scrolls #tesblr #tes #my writing #fay writes #oc tag #pax #oblivion #shivering isles #the shivering isles

[air-mechanical]

The Mars colony is going strong now it's got a tame asteroid, and everyone's celebrating the first wedding on Mars. There's decorations, food, drink, speeches, a live broadcast to Earth, photo ops, a statue, a monument. It's historical.

Then someone uncovers paperwork that shows Margo and Segei were the first to get married on Mars a year ago. They just didn't want to make a big deal about it.

They pulled a Lee Jung-Gil on the happy couple.

#because of course they both escaped to mars #they've been unofficially married for decades. but they thought it would be fun to be the first to officially do so on mars #they're integral to the mars programme and help write the laws #for all mankind #margo madison #sergei nikulov #margo/sergei

[lit-in-thy-heart]

[ID: the train hitting a school bus meme. In the first panel, an empty school bus edges over train tracks and is labelled 'writing planned angst' with a train approaching. In the second panel, the train crashes into the bus and knocks it off the tracks. The train is labelled 'different angst suddenly writing itself'. End ID.]

#and you'll never guess who it's about!!! #(lancelot. it's lancelot again) #like #gwaine i set out to break #lancelot just leaks angst without me having to think too hard about it #like the main angst that was planned for this fic is a kind of fucked up dynamic but i'm 1.5k in and have not even scratched the surface #instead it's all been the implied trauma of the s3 finale #i think it's going to be another long fic lads #but i am getting quite excited to write this now #already have a substantial playlist a list of plot points to include and tags to put on ao3 #and i feel like one has quite succinctly summarised what i'm aiming for: #'what if you get into a relationship for the wrong reasons but you genuinely love the people you're with huh what then' #i don't often write actively doomed relationships mostly bc canon does it for me #mainly it's they're hoping they've got time and think that they do but it's canon compliant so the readers know they don't #but with this one they're actively making poor choices and things are just getting more fucked up #it's going to be SO much fun #lit talks #lit writes

[crescentfool]

i love ryomina

no but seriously. even when i’m thinking about other things that captivate my interest, i find myself coming back to them and feeling like i fell down three whole flights of staircases every time i do. they are one of my favorite pairs in media and are very special to me.

it’s the way that ryoji and minato’s lives are inevitably intertwined with each other due to the circumstances 10 years ago on the moonlight bridge. without no minato, there is no ryoji. minato as he is today is because of ryoji. they have irreparably affected each other’s lives that you cannot discuss one without bringing up the other one.

ryoji mochizuki, who is death, pharos, thanatos, nyx avatar, the man of many names and identities, is the perfect summation of p3′s messages and themes.

minato arisato, the wildcard and protagonist, who has boundless kindness in his actions despite the unfortunate cards handed to him.

the two of them complement each other and tell a beautiful story from start to finish.

minato’s personas capture this perfectly. he awakens to orpheus, who’s flames burns bright, is snuffed out by thanatos during the encounter against the arcana magician. a visual precursor of the idea that ryoji stole from the life that minato could have had.

it’s the way that over the course of the game as minato interacts with pharos, talking throughout the dark hour, forging a bond that cannot be broken, that allows ryoji to exist. minato humanizes death.

november. the bells toll, calling the appriser. and yet, it’s peaceful... quiet, and full of life. ryoji, who breaks free from death’s chains, refusing his role, is given the chance to live for a month. to make the most of the humanity that minato has given him over those ten years. and what a life he lived. ryoji’s life is a reflection of what minato’s life could have been like in another universe.

it is the way the two of them are reflections of each other. ryoji with his hair down is just like minato. they are both stubbornly committed to choosing to be kind, to love life, yet are chained down by the cards the narrative dealt them with. they finish each other’s sentences, knowing each other intimately in a way no one else does.

how is that, a boy who lived for only one month, profoundly changes the course of the narrative? he is simultaneously relevant and irrelevant. blink, and you miss it, the beautiful life that he led.

ryoji is horrified at the revelations of being the appriser. he who so desperately wished to forget that his existence was meant to bring the end to all life, was unable to escape the inevitability of death. in a non-human way, of course. he becomes remorseful. a shadow of his brief time as a human who was enamored by the small beautiful things that life had to offer.

he is swallowed by grief. grief knowing that his very existence will take away not only minato’s life, but everyone else’s. the very thing that ryoji loved- life, fundamentally went against the role he was born for- to be the harbinger of death. and unable to grapple with this sadness he believes that the best thing for minato to do is to kill him, so that SEES can live in bliss not knowing about their inevitable end.

SEES is left rattled, calling into question what the meaning of life is and what they do when faced against the inevitability of death.

and!!! minato chooses!! for ryoji to live!! even in spite of what ryoji is MEANT to embody, minato still stubbornly chooses to defy death itself! and if that’s not cool i don’t know what is!! minato wants everyone to have the chance to live!!

so he climbs. he ascends tartarus, to meet ryoji, again, who is now the nyx avatar. and i just think there’s something so so beautiful about being able to use messiah, minato’s ultimate persona, against nyx avatar.

messiah, being the fusion of orpheus and thanatos is peak ryomina to me. because ryoji and minato have established an unbreakable bond from having been entwined for 10 years, minato still has a piece of death with him, and by proxy!! ryoji is able to defy and rebel against nyx trying to bring the fall! and i think that’s fucking cool shit if you ask me!

even when all of the arcanas have been gone through, it’s still not enough to stop the fall. and yet. minato knows. in the way that ryoji was sealed in minato 10 years ago by aigis... minato becomes the great seal so that everyone can live. it comes full circle.

march rolls around. he fulfills his promise to SEES on graduation day. minato dies from exhaustion. but goddamn does his sacrifice make me weep- he’s had such, such a tiring journey. he’s been through so many things because he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. but at the end of it all, he’s reunited with ryoji in death.

and i think this is why ryomina continues to evoke so much emotions for me, to this day. the relationship that they have embodies so much of persona 3′s messages and themes that it makes me feel like a microwave with nothing running in it.

p3′s message is very hopeful, for me. my favorite takeaway from it is that even if death is inevitable, appreciating the life that we were given and choosing to live as best as we can with kindness (even if we can’t feasibly do everything), is just? really nice? and you see this manifest in both ryoji and minato’s personalities and what they do for the other characters.

ryomina just feels so distinct to me, the flavor that their relationship ties back to my favorite takeaways from this game and im just!!  god!! i love you minato arisato! i love you ryoji mochizuki! im so glad that i could meet them! i’m happy that they changed my life! they made me want to appreciate the connections in life even if they were fleeting! they made me!! want to pay attention to the good moments in life and cherish them!

i love ryomina so much!!! i’m so glad that these two could bring so much joy into my life! and i hope that others can have this joy too! 💛💙

#lizzy speaks #persona 3 #ryomina #ryoji mochizuki #minato arisato #meta #long post #(literally) #HI SO UM YESTERDAY I COULDN'T FUCKING SLEEP so to cope i was like 'i will talk out loud about anything and everything' #and somehow that turned into me talking about ryomina out loud and something about verbalizing my thoughts made me feel crazy about these- #two again. i mean for the record i continue to love them always very dearly but like my p3 braincells sometimes go into hibernation bc- #ive been on a really huge splatoon kick. but anyway my voice was like cracking at 3am because i was tearing up #i was like 'THE!! IM! SO NORMAL ABT WHAT ORPHEUS AND THANATOS AND MESSIAH SYMBOLIZE' etc etc etc #so i kinda just went to sleep like 'ok well you GOTTA type it out. everyone needs to know about this.' #and um i didnt mean to make 1069 words! sorry! not really! but i love them!!! even if im very quiet these days! #ohhh how lucky i am to have had the chance to experience ryomina they are such a gem. they make me so goddamn emotional #they really mean a lot to me because of well. (gestures at the entire post) but also they came at a really good point of my life and FUCK!! #im so so grateful to them!!! i love them!!!! the themes that their relationship and characters convey just !! IM SO NORMAL ABOUT IT!!! #they've affected me so profoundly and deeply and i wish i could make better art to get this across. but its ok. one day i can. one day #they make me so fucking talkative like actually but um. i had a lot of fun writing this! i dont think ive had like. a proper appreciation- #post for them that articulates why i like them so much (unless you count the essays i write in my art tags) so it was nice to make this. #admittedly theres a lot abt p3 that im rusty on since its been a goodwhile since ive interacted with the source material #and in a way you could say that like. i need to renew my p3 license LMAOOO but god some parts of p3 still have such a huge death grip on me #and what i mean by that is that the big Fucking Events have such!! clarity!! in my mind!! i recall them and i wilt on the spot!! #oh god i cant fucking shut up. the tags are probably 500 words long. enjoy my ramble. i wish every ryomina enjoyer a Good Life <3 #actually no. i hope that EVERYONE on the dash today has something that sparks joy for them the way ryomina does for me. #everyone deserves 2 have something that makes their brain do a little excited dance that makes them blow up and explode. its good for u! #BYE FOR REAL this is why i have to post my thoughts very spread out otherwise yall would have so many WORDS on ur dash pls help i have so #many emotions and i am so tiny i cannot possibly fit all the feelings i have about ryomina and other things inside my tiny little body

[desognthinking]

👀 More haunted house designer au?! 👀 I love that concept so much so would be overjoyed if you ever decided to revisit it :)

😎i love it too. i wish i could tell you there are finally actually haunted houses in this one but unfortunately the girls are still working through it 😭 also i am working through it (editing 😭)

so in this one they're on a scouting-slash-forced teambuilding trip and it's um Going. it's a few thousand k of Meet The Ava wherein Ava is frustrated + up against it + dramatic, but also Meets The Beatrice.

anyway anyway it starts like this (subject to me finding it too cringey and editing it):

Ava sees her at the end of the pier, a dark figure in the already-dark; a smudge of barely-moving ink on the line between wind and water. Barely, indeed – wavering less than the yearning swallow and swoop of the waves interrupted by pillars of wood, and, further back, stone. 

At night, after everything’s shut, this place is quiet until the fishermen get out in the early morning. In the off-season, even more so. Rain slings down frequently, and it’s not warm enough for balmy walks by the rocks. Not many come out, if any. Ava’s one.

She calls out as she walks down the planks, only thinking belatedly that perhaps she might not want to be disturbed. Out here behind the motel, unmoving under the preliminary drizzle of rain, embraced and cocooned by temperamentally warping air. It is, after all, that tremulous transitory phase between spring and summer that borrows its faces from both, and switches its masks sharply in the slit-time of blinks.

#also is it revisiting if they've always just been on my mind i'm just incredibly slow gsdufghw #truly writing is a muscle and i have not been working it out hard enough in my life #but don't worry anon even if nobody else in the world was interested i would still be putting them on rotating plinths in my head #i've some fun ideas for non chronological random snippets later i just think they need to narratively have their #The Girls Are Fightingggggg era first before it makes sense to have them where they are later?? you know?? #but yeah i'm slow enough that if you have anything beyond this you wanna see 👀 #wn haunted house au

[wedding-shemp]

In the 2014 Ms Marvel run they showed Kamala writing fanfic about superheroes presumably to make her relatable to the target audience of teen girls who also wrote fanfic about Marvel characters. But Kamala LIVES in the Marvel universe where those are just real people. So we have to imagine that Kamala got into some very tedious RPF discourse on the 616 equivalent of Tumblr

#I have been thinking about this for years #Why didn't they just come up with some in-universe fictional things for her to be writing fanfic about #There's a scene early on where she goes to a comic book store and buys some kind of high fantasy comic #So they've clearly thought about it a LITTLE #Like. What geek culture would look like in a world where superheroes aren't a fictional genre because they actually just straight up exist #Actually aren't there's superhero comics within the marvel universe? Is that still a thing? #Like there's comic books within the 616 that people write that are just. Imagining what spiderman gets up to. Or whatever #Maybe she's writing fanfic about the fictional versions of these real people #That's her angle when she gets into fights on Tumblr anyway #I'm having so much fun imagining the rich vein of tedious fandom discourse that goes on in this world #But I also understand why there was never an issue dedicated to this

[vampiricsheep]

so since I may be free this summer after all, would anyone be interested in an RP event that's a potluck? I've been wanting to do it for ages but there's never any interest compared to other themes

for a discord rp, I would make a separate server explicitly for this purpose so you don't have to be in any guilds or anything! I would also delete the server (or at least channel, if people would like an event-planning server long-term) after a week - enough time for people to read over their stuff but not preserved forever and ever.

#actually remembering to make this a week-long poll this time! #if you've never heard the term before: a potluck is an event where everyone brings a food they've made to share in a communal feast! #there is no skill floor for this - if you (your character in this case) only knows a simple cornbread recipe they follow by the book that's #-just as welcome as an elaborate roast #and I know people have brought things they bought instead of cooked (like a bakery pie) #the point isn't to show off your cooking skills as much as it is to come together as a community and share :) #its historical origins were a little more complex in function than that but I'm going with what I was raised with #but yeah. it's a theme I've wanted to do a while because it's so community #I AM upset that I won't be busy this summer (rejected from every internship I applied to and can't apply to ones that require a- #-drivers license which is uhh MOST OF THEM! #but my psych was saying it's probably good for me to have some rest and recovery time after this hell semeste #(it wasn't hell but two of my classes have really been fucking with my head) #I DID get to try out darting guns last week in my wildlife sampling/id classes though and I hit the target dead center both times! #and that was fun. but the writing assignments from those other classes are incomprehensible in rubric #OH RIGHT MY TAGS #gw2 open RP night #gw2 rp

[prismatoxic]

congrats on writing the fic that made a man text his (sort of estranged) dad. fr your portrayal of every single dynamic is so flawless and considerate. nobel prize.

THAT ACTUALLY DOES FEEL LIKE AN ACCOMPLISHMENT... i hope it goes well anon!!!

there's a lot to be said about people who did the wrong things but feel genuine remorse and want to get better, i think. i've been there (though not in a parent sense), and it's also what happened with my mom after i moved out, so i guess i kind of know how it is from both angles. on top of, you know, just writing what i know of who chilchuck is as a person (and assuming a lot of things about meijack and the others, lmao...)

#tox answers #tox.txt #fic: promises to keep #i've never known my biological father and atp my step-dad can eat lead paint for all i care #but dynamics aren't as gender-locked as people think they are anyway so my experience works fine for what i need #i think chilchuck is a very good and very flawed person (ryoko kui is super good at writing nuanced characters) #he wants to improve not only for himself but for those he cares about... but the way that manifests in canon is something of a winding road #in promises i tweaked a bunch of story elements and then asked myself how i thought that'd change his responses #if he knew from the outset why his wife left him would he then have a better understanding of what he needed to change about himself? #in a world with cellphones it was easy for him to reach out in the moment #in canon i think even if he knew where she went immediately... by the time he went looking the anger would have set in #so even if he wanted answers i'm not sure he'd have been willing to listen at that point #this is what's fun about AUs to me--putting characters in situations they've never been in canonically (or altering the ones they were in) #and then asking “how does this affect their response? how does my understanding of them piece together with this new situation” #every individual choice in the setting and to the lore of the world affects how these known dynamics will play out #whoops wrote an essay in the tags. GOMENASAI

[wereh0gz]

Idk what's going on with me rn but. Idk what to do with a bunch of my sonic ocs anymore. Specifically ruby, their parents, the cat fam, and nox. I just don't feel like I can tell their stories at all. But I don't want to retire them either. But I still feel like I'm slowly growing. Detached?

Idk what I want to do. Maybe a revamp or something? I was already considering redesigning the twins but maybe I need a complete rewrite or something. Idk when I'd get to it tho. I've been in an art rut for a bit now. Haven't felt like drawing at all and I don't feel satisfied with the one thing I tried to make recently (which, ironically, involved ruby and the twins).

Idk what to do.

#ramblings #neg #i guess #i think part of why i feel so lost with them is bc they were meant to be part of a story #whereas characters like livewire and elysium and nebby i kinda just made for funsies? #like none of them were made to be part of anything greater #but with the others. i kind of feel like i failed them #bc i couldn't tell the story they're a part of #and honestly don't know what else to do with them #not in art or writing or. anything #and they're special to me. they really are #i've had them for years. i've been trying to write their stories nearly as long as they've existed but i kept failing #and then i gave up on it. and now it's like. they've lost their purpose? #or more like they can't fulfill their purpose bc of my own pitfalls as an artist and writer #and it hurts. like a lot #and i'm not sure what to do about it #i've been feeling really detached from my work in general and just. haven't been having as much fun with it #maybe it's depression. idk #i'm tired

[byanyan]

headcanons i need to write down in more detail when i have the energy to get into it: byan not responding well to quiet anger. byan genuinely panicking when someone they care about shuts down in anger. they had at least a few experiences with foster parents who did this, but the most significant was a foster mother who would go completely silent when she got angry, who would almost completely ignore them, making the entire energy of the house uncomfortable in the process. it would make them feel nervous and guilty and unsafe because she would inevitably snap and yell at them with no warning over something completely unrelated that happened to tug at that final straw. they never knew what it was they did wrong because she would never explain the actual reason behind her anger. instead, they were always left in a state of uncertainty, walking on eggshells at all times. and, of course, it was eventually after one of these moments of quiet anger that they were removed from her care by her own request. to this day they still don't know what it was they did that resulted in her getting rid of them, but it's certainly left them with a complex as a result. there's an instinctual fear of approaching abandonment anytime someone gets quiet and/or distances themself from them while angry.

#they'll like. almost desperately almost CHILDISHLY start begging at you to just yell at them or at least tell them what they did wrong #like they'd genuinely prefer you physically attack them than not say anything to them #it kind of puts them back in that headspace they were in at that age #they feel like they're seven again and they're scared and desperate and they h a t e i t #not all the abuse they've suffered has been physical (': #they don't give a shit if ur just someone. why should they care about you being angry at them? #but if ur someone IMPORTANT to them........ that's when the fear hits. that's when the trauma kicks in. #actually u know what i might not need to write it out another time this feels pretty thorough #i guess i had the energy to get into it tonight lmao #anyway. fun stuff. #━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ headcanon ⋮ danger in the fabric of this thing i made. #ask to tag.

[fixfoxnox]

*decides to write a SoapRoachGhost reincarnation au where Roach still remembers his old life*

Me: this will probably only be like 4,000 words

*16,000 words later*

Me: Alright, now that Roach has finally met Soap and Ghost again, we can get into the meat of the story 😊

#SOMEONE HELP ME #why did I decide to do this im- #but its been a super fun write so far #and it should go quicker now that they've met #luke's wips #soap x roach #call of duty #gary roach sanderson #ghost x roach #ghostroach #soaproach #soaproachghost #ghost x soap

[sleepvines]

I love filling sketchpages with these weirdos

(also the date is supposed to say 2024 whoops)

#my art #alderhill #2024 #they've been so fun to write auuugh #this came out more saturated than intended #wanted to redo Cilly's colors at least because it was really....washed out? last time

[the-gilded]

If the MC is really friendly with someone he just met while already dating the ROs. Would they be jealous? Or at some point they would try to do something about it?

Thank you for asking! 💜 Interesting prompt...

I think Ayre probably wouldn't mind. They've been best friends with Jolenn for pretty much their whole lives, and they're used to high levels of friendliness. I don't see it being an issue for them unless the friend really gets in the way of their ability to spend time with MC, then they might want to talk about it.

Jolenn wouldn't be upset about it, they're self-aware enough to understand, but they probably would take it as a sort of challenge. Whenever that friend is around, they would really ramp up the affection and clinginess to dramatic levels, really putting on a show of just how close they are with MC.

For Nex I think it depends on how "friendly" we're talking. If they're just friends, then Nex doesn't care. If it's like touchy and maybe a little flirty friendly, Nex would probably seethe on the inside about it. In an extreme case, there could come a time when they decide it's time for that friend to... disappear...

I don't think Wren minds, either. They might try to get to know the friend, or do some digging on them, just so they're sure everything's cool. They certainly wouldn't worry as long as MC is an honest type.

#sometimes writing jealousy is a little fun #as a treat #so I can't say they would all *never* be jealous #it depends on how long they've been dating MC #and how much lying the MC does lol #asks #anon #the gilded #ayre #jolenn #nex #wren #interactive fiction