#Other Fic
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Two sides of an ever flipping coin.
Heads. You’d always felt like you’d been missing something. Another half. The impulse to your control.
Tails. You’d always felt like you’d been missing something. Another half. The control to your impulse.
Until one day, the flipping stopped, and the coin landed.
Exactly on its side.
@pillowspace
#my art#frankenfate au#HEHEHEHE IVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT ALL DAY LONG#I HAVE SO MANY IDWAS AND SO MANY THOUGHTS#I COULD WRITE A WHOLE#OTHER FIC#fwiends#y/ngineer#csd#so(u)l#celestial sundown#y/n
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even if the world collapses, i will be alright
pairing: shadowheart/karlach
wordcount: 3,388
content warnings: spoilers for shadowheart's act iii quest, don't worry they get together after this
other tags: canon compliant, character study, introspection, pre-relationship, shadowheart is bad at feelings, c.unnilingus, v.aginal fingering
note: i don't normally write pairings outside of astarion/tav. i'm sorry if things seem ooc or not quite accurate enough. i usually only write for a.starion/t.av so i'm nervous as to how this reads !!
archiveofourown: here.
summary: Karlach knows the truth Shadowheart wants to show her.
‘Karlach?’
Shadowheart barely understands what has brought her here. Perhaps it was the loss of a mother’s love or the emptiness of divinity flooding her bones. She shivers. She will never confess to crying, to cutting her hair off in a fit of rage. That is not her image. She was a Sharran beauty, a devout worshiper, and now…
She looks at her silver braid and tries not to feel sick. I am nothing but a confused girl, she thinks spitefully. Bile rises in her belly, and she tears her hair down before she feels weak. It hardly helps.
Karlach’s tent is large and looming, enough space for herself and all their companions if they felt like getting together. It’s warm and inviting. It’s… A safe place. Shadowheart isn’t ready for the jeers of their peers when they see what she’s done to her hair. She climbs in to hide.
Karlach is inside because of course she is. The tiefling woman is too busy singing and using a whetstone to sharpen her blade to really notice her intruder. Shadowheart almost feels grateful she can pass by as a ghost unannounced. She crams herself into the corner and wraps her arms around her knees, pressing her mouth against her leather pants, fingers clenching to avoid feeling empty. The swelling ennui is a familiar emotion — She could not remember the last time she had not fought against despair, not since the illithid ship, not since the Moonrise Towers.
Seeing Dame Aylin everyday was almost a vicious mockery. That the child of Selûne could stand so tall without a fear in the world but Shadowheart could not. The wound on her hand refuses to throb. If she is lost, why is the Goddess of Loss not guiding her? It was not a true betrayal. Anyone would have refused… Shadowheart still loves her or so she supposes she does. She has not known a life that did not include Shar’s teachings and her cruelty. She feels as though she’s falling into an ocean made of pitch. There is a faint part of her that is assured she will die. Her goddess wills it so.
Karlach doesn’t turn around for a minute or two. She’s busy humming a song that Shadowheart doesn’t recognize, and Shadowheart stares miserably at her spine. It makes her feel somewhat frustrated. Here a woman who had lost almost everything and is still as happy as can be while Shadowheart…
Shadowheart is indecisive of how she feels.
She clenches her fist.
‘Just a moment,’ Karlach calls over her shoulder.
‘Take your time,’ Shadowheart replies. She’s been seen after all. She begins touching the skin around her nails, delicately squeezing and prodding them. They’re sore after her evening at the river washing sins from her hair. ‘I hope you don’t mind. The others were…loud.’
Karlach does not take her time. She sets her weapon aside and turns around almost immediately. In her haste, she seems to forget. Shadowheart watches as a thousand gorgeous sparks shine throughout her body. Her amber gaze comes to life, fragmented like stars in the sky. Karlach focuses on Shadowheart first and then her hair, grinning from ear to ear.
Shadowheart doesn’t have the time to flinch before Karlach is reaching across the distance, grabbing a strand of her hair and pulling it closer to her for inspection. She navigates the closeness of the tent on her knees, and like she’s parched, she inhales Shadowheart’s scent. It’s a communion of sorts. Her flesh is the flesh of Shar, and her blood the holy ichor. The sincerity of Karlach’s interest floods every part of Shadowheart’s body. Like Dame Aylin to Isobel, Karlch can’t seem to get enough.
‘Shadowheart, your hair — ’ Karlach breathes. She holds Shadowheart’s freshly dyed tresses against her nose. ‘It’s like moonlight! It’s fucking amazing.’
A compliment? Shadowheart’s throat seizes up. She wants to look away or to disappear entirely. There is nothing left that she can do besides tolerate Karlach’s awe of her. But it warms her frosty skin, and she meets Karlach’s gaze bravely.
‘So you like it?’ she asks faintly.
‘Of course I do!’ Karlach replies. ‘You look incredible, really. Like you’re the moon — ’
Shadowheart knows what expression contorts her face. Karlach immediately looks apologetic, eyebrows pulling together. She begins to apologize, but something overcomes Shadowheart. She doesn’t want apologies. She doesn’t want anything akin to pity. She wants release. Shadowheart leans forward and kisses her, mashing their noses together uncomfortably. It’s unchaste. It’s hostile, almost. But whatever she might feel about it, Karlach kisses her back, both hands coming to cradle the side of Shadowheart’s face.
It’s exhilarating.
Karlach is everything Shadowheart is not. Not repressed, not devout, not weak. She is larger than life and above it all. Her skin smells like warm fire and her hair always smells of chestnut and honey no matter how many she’s killed. It must be some sort of talent.
Shadowheart wants more and more. She pushes Karlach harder than she means to and while it doesn’t do much, it does cause Karlach to grab her wrists roughly. She kicks her greatsword haphazardly out of the tent flap.
‘Let’s not get hasty, Shadowheart,’ Karlach warns her.
‘Shut up.’
‘This isn’t a fight,’ she says. ‘Don’t make it one.’
‘What do you know?’ Shadowheart asks bitterly. ‘Perhaps I want it to be a fight. What good has being pious done for me? It’s all nonsense and you know it. So I say, let’s fight, Karlach. Let’s fight the way we know how.’
Karlach doesn’t say anything at first. It’s like she’s thinking of what to do next, but Shadowheart knows better. It is careful restraint to keep her infernal engine from overheating. Karlach likes the idea of a challenge, and what is a greater challenge than this? Shadowheart wants to be cruel. It might work better if it were Lae’zel she sought out, but it isn’t. Instead, she raises her chin and struggles against Karlach’s hands around her wrists playfully. Karlach knows the truth Shadowheart wants to show her.
No matter how hard she tries, Shadowheart will always be the lost girl in the woods who trembles at wolves. No goddess will cure her malady. The same could not be said about mortals whose hearts are prone to rupturing. Shadowheart wants to ignite the flame. She raises her arms above her head. She submits to Karlach’s will and watches her lights turn blue.
‘I can sit here and I can talk about my feelings,’ Shadowheart says, tone blasé, ‘or we could fuck the stress away, you and I.’
Karlach’s lips press into a firm line. ‘I — I want to make sure you’re feeling alright.’
‘I’m feeling about as well as anyone would,’ Shadowheart snorts. She shakes her head. ‘Do this with me or don’t, but don’t mistake me for someone who wants to lament her feelings. I’m not that kind of girl.’
‘Just for tonight then,’ Karlach says, and that’s good enough. She’s a romantic after all. A dreamer. A wish-upon-the-stars kind of woman. Shadowheart is almost jealous. ‘Tomorrow,’ she warns, ‘we talk about it.’
‘Fine,’ she says with a shrug.
Shadowheart tries not to frown. In its entirety, it is probably the best offer that she would get from anyone else. A night of careless and raunchy sex. With Karlach, too. Shadowheart struggles with the weight of it, the complexity of the offering. But it’s what she wants. It’s all she wants. She closes her eyes. Shar would have made her forsake this. Karlach’s hands are tight around her wrists, and the sound of her infernal heart beating is better than any opera. She leans forward and devours Karlach’s lips.
If Shadowheart is going to hell, she may as well enjoy it.
There’s something fascinating about being pinned down by someone who wants to be good. No whippings, no torturings, just a wholeheartedly good time. Karlach pulls her around like she hardly weighs a thing, and when Shadowheart’s back is pressed into a bedroll that smells of ash and honey, she can’t help but shiver. Karlach doesn’t command her to stay put, but she does. She’s a good listener and always has been. She waits patiently as Karlach makes quick work of her camp clothes and tries not to preen at the way Karlach swallows thickly as her nightshirt opens up and her breasts spill free. She smiles.
Karlach leans forward and mouths at her breast, sharp teeth over sensitive skin, and her hands move to focus on the task at hand at Shadowheart’s hips. She’s lifted by the curve of her ass so that Karlach can fuss with her leggings, pulling them down her legs as quickly as she can amd tossing them aside without breaking contact with her nipple. It’s too delicate. It’s too dainty. Shadowheart closes her eyes.
Karlach does not ask her ‘if she’s ready.’
For once, she isn’t treated as though she is willing to be broken or that she craves it. It’s almost a silent vow, a secret prayer. You will be ready for me. You will take it. It’s a much nicer situation than the reverse. Shadowheart has wept and wailed since they left the Shadowfell. She is done with tears. She is done being lost. Karlach sweeps her hands down her body like she’s never touched someone before — and, well, she hasn’t, at least not in a while. That’s a kind of hunger that can never be contained.
‘Stop being so gentle,’ Shadowheart says.
‘No,’ Karlach replies. ‘You’ll take what I give you tonight. Kindness and all.’
Shadowheart grinds her teeth. ‘I don’t deserve it. I don’t want it.’
‘We all deserve things we don’t want,’ Karlach says patiently. ‘Now shut it. You came to me, remember.’
Shadowheart tosses her head in despair. She’s almost certain she will cave into this emotion, this serenity that pours over her in waves. She is going to fade away tonight. Her hair is no longer as dark as the night. For all her talk of grandiose kindness, Karlach is rough. She pulls and digs her nails into Shadowheart’s supple flesh as if determined to take her apart and put her back together. Instead of a Sharran teaching guiding her every move, it’s instinct. The instinct to be a hero that pollutes Karlach and causes her to become something unrecognizable in the heat of battle. A howling beast. She presses her burning mouth to Shadowheart’s navel and sets fire to her skin.
Karlach begins her relentless assault. She starts by hooking her arms around Shadowheart’s thighs and lifting her hips up so that she can slot her mouth against Shadowheart’s cunt to begin feasting. It’s unprompted, it’s unscripted, and it’s so much more than Shadowheart could have ever imagined that she can’t stop the startled moan that slips between her lips. She’s lifted as though she weighs nothing. Her heart stutters.
It’s messy and frenzied. Karlach lets out an equally shocked noise, and Shadowheart searching for her eyes does more damage than good. She doesn’t know what she was expecting to see, but the hunger is better than she imagined. Shadowheart was a ripe fruit begging to be plucked, and for an adventurer, it was the finest feast of them all. Karlach’s fingers dig into her back sharply as she tries to control herself. Shadowheart hisses. The pain is welcomed.
She didn’t want to think. She didn’t want to control anything. Shadowheart leans into the touch and quivers. This goodwill threatens to eat her whole. Karlach licks and sucks at her insistently. It’s almost as though she’s afraid the taste will be gone if she doesn’t indulge now. But it will be there. It will always be there. Even Shadowheart can’t tamper the flames of jealousy. And she is jealous. It buds in her chest every time Karlach smiles at someone who isn’t her.
‘You’re so wet,’ Karlach murmurs against her thigh. ‘You taste so good.’
Shadowheart squeezes her eyes shut and tries to ignore the shiver that races down her spine. She isn’t sure what it is about what Karlach said that drives her crazy. Or she does, and she just didn’t want to admit it. Despite being an astute pupil, she was never perceived as good. Karlach makes her want to be.
‘That’s what you want to be, isn’t it?’ Karlach murmurs. Her eyes flicker and Shadowbeart burns. ‘You want to be a good girl — ’
I don’t know who I am anymore, but the sound of Karlach’s voice rumbling to tell her how well behaved she’s being is enough to stop the torment for now. She isn’t sure how she’s going to survive the night. Her thoughts turn to dust the moment Karlach presses her tongue flat against her clit and tortures her so well that even the Mother Superior would be jealous.
Shadowheart lets out an unrefined whine and reaches for the first thing she can. She drags Karlach’s pillow and places it under her hips to relieve pressure, and then whatever little self-disciple Karlach has snaps. She devours like she never has before, and Shadowheart’s back arches so far off the bedroll she’ll feel it in the morning.
It isn’t enough for Karlach to indulge. It would be so easy to make Shadowheart come by using her tongue alone, but Karlach presses the broad of her palm against Shadowheart’s hip and slides a single finger inside as if to test the limits. Then she slides in another, and Shadowheart is already so full she doesn’t know if she can take anymore.
It’s the size difference, Shadowheart thinks. She’s always been svelte and lanky, but Karlach is muscular enough that her mind begins to wonder nastily. Karlach is able to support her weight while feasting on her flesh and doesn’t even seem to mind. It’s too much. Shadowheart thinks she might fall.
Shadowheart’s stoic disposition crumbles beautifully beneath Karlach’s hands and tongue. The frigidity dissipates as Karlach adds a final third finger, bundling so tight inside of Shadowheart that she can hardly stand it, and when Karlach sucks and twists her fingers, Shadowheart cries out so loudly she’s convinced she’s woken the entire camp. She digs her fingers into Karlach’s hair and tries to keep her hips still, but she can’t help the way her legs shake on either one of Karlach’s shoulders. So tight, she feels dizzier than she ever has.
‘Karlach — ’ Shadowheart says weakly.
Karlach shakes her head and doesn’t say a thing, not even as Shadowheart comes so hard she loses her vision. She slips and falls lax against the pillow and Karlach chases her down, unwilling to let her escape too far. Shadowheart presses a hand against her chest to stop her racing heart but it isn’t enough.
Karlach over-stimulates her and giggles wickedly against her cunt, squeezing her thigh with her freehand. She doesn’t stop until Shadowheart has come again with a hoarse wail, curling on her side as if that will help her escape the never ending building pleasure in the pit of her stomach. Only once Shadowheart has come thrice is Karlach satisfied to release her in a boneless puddle on the bedroll.
Shadowheart’s body still twitches with the memory of Karlach’s fingers twisting deep. She squeezes her thighs together and tries to even her breathing by pressing her fingers against her belly. It doesn’t help. The only thing that lends any aid is Karlach’s chest pressing against back. She’s acutely aware of the differences of their stature — Karlach engulfs her entirely like a wildfire. She is a forest. She is the roots beneath the willows and the silence of the night. A wolf that howls at the moon.
The moon. Shadowheart pushes her sweaty bangs out of her face. She is content to rest and catch her breath as long as Karlach will allow it. It’s hard to feel kicked out of the tent when Karlach presses a tender kiss to the back of her head.
Shadowheart’s eyes open frantically. She is forced to admit what she’s always been afraid of. There is something not right with her past. She’s never chased the shadows before, but the Noblestalk had reminded her of things she never wanted to know.
‘I changed my hair,’ she says numbly. She stares at the flap of Karlach’s tent in muted horror.
‘It suits you,’ Karlach murmurs.
‘I don’t want to be in pain anymore,’ she says. She stares at her hand.
‘Is there anything I can do?’
Yes. ‘No,’ Shadowheart says. ‘Is it alright if I rest here?’
Karlach is silent for a moment. Finally she says, ‘You can stay the entire night if you want.’
Shadowheart turns to face her. It’s hard to confront the things that she’s afraid of. She looks Karlach right in the eyes and tries to relax, biting the inside of her bottom lip to keep from frowning. Every day since the illithid ship has been lived in fear. She doesn’t want to be afraid anymore. She doesn’t want Karlach to be afraid either.
‘Well, shall I?’ she asks. She reaches between Karlach’s thighs.
‘Ah, no need,’ Karlach says with a shameless laugh. She’s blushing, and the only proof is the flame that flickers against her skin. ‘I, uh, already did.’
‘Oh,’ Shadowheart hums. It hits her. ‘Oh.’
Karlach doesn’t even seem the least bit embarrassed about it, and why should she? It’s flattering, to say the least. Shadowheart folds her hands back between them both and watches as Karlach settles for the night, dragging over a fur cloak to be used as a pillow. Shadowheart doesn’t have the heart to ask what happened to the other one. She’s fine enough knowing that their rendezvous was the culprit. But as Karlach’s eyes flutter shut to rest, Shadowheart’s stay open. She realizes she doesn’t know how to sleep next to another person.
It isn’t the same as sleeping in a camp surrounded by companions. There’s no idle chit chat or laughter to distract from the fact that her only companion was Karlach. There was no flickering fire to drown out the sound of her misery. Only Karlach’s quiet breathing and the smell of the dye in her hair, the thought of starlight replacing the twilight, the memory of Dame Aylin knowing who she was. Shadowheart reaches her hand across the distance.
Her fingers bump against Karlach’s. She has the audacity to be surprised when Karlach takes her hand and smooths her fingers across Shadowheart’s skin. She braces for pain that never comes. Lady Shar really has left her. Shadowheart doesn’t know why, but it makes her throat close.
Would she ever stop feeling like a child who knew nothing? Anger burns hot in the bottom of her throat as she tries to relax, but then the fury and fear and abandonment are washing over her in waves and she sobs.
Shadowheart doesn’t sleep, and Karlach respects her wishes to leave it alone for the night. That doesn’t stop her from imagining what it would be like. Shadowheart has spent her entire life running away from the brightness of the moon, but Karlach is so beautiful beneath the pale light. It’s strange. Shadowheart has never allowed herself to want before.
It has always been about Lady Shar’s will. It has always been about following Mother Superior’s creed. This was another taste of rebellion that would have had her palms caned until they bled. It feels like this will be the only chance for freedom now that the goddess has closed her eyes to Shadowheart.
Karlach’s face is soft and slack as she sleeps. She snores too. It’s an undelightful sound. It fills the entire tent until there’s no ignoring it. Yet Shadowheart doesn’t mind. She doesn’t care even the slightest bit. She would listen to it willingly if it meant happiness.
This is one of the easiest decisions Shadowheart has ever made. In the morning when Karlach wakes up, Shadowheart goes with her. They break their fast together by a stream and take time scrubbing their bodies clean of filth. When Karlach touches the small of her back, Shadowheart smiles for the first time since the Shadowfell.
‘A smile suits you,’ Karlach tells her earnestly.
Shadowheart stares at the water. ‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘I think the moonlight does too.’
#shadowheart#shadowheart hallowleaf#shadowheart bg3#karlach#karlach cliffgate#karlach bg3#shadowheart x karlach#karlach x shadowheart#shadowheart smut#karlach smut#bg3 smut#from ，carcosa .#other fic#HAHA WHY AM I SO NERVOUS ABOUT THIS WAHHHH#anyway they get married the end
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Hi I love your writing and LOVE the recent scarab/orbo fic you posted. I know with "shadow of the luminary" you said that it was cool for people to write sequels for it... I was just curious if that applied to "darkness drives the beetle to the bulb" too? But if so... would writing about the intern that appears in the middle of the fic (and then pairing them with Scarab) be okay? If not, that's totally okay (it is your work after all)!!! Thank you for writing such great fics and posting them!
thank you so much for this lovely message! you're too kind!! 🥰
and thank you for asking!! :D please, feel free! the blanket permission i gave for sequels extends to all my fic, really, but most emphatically to my completed fionna & cake works, including:
come out of your shell (prismo/scarab)
in the shadow of the luminary (nightmo/scarab)
the past is perpetual youth to the heart (wizmo/scarab, midquel to luminary)
when darkness drives the beetle to the bulb (orbo/scarab, sequel to luminary)
in fact, a wonderful sequel to "darkness drives the beetle to the bulb" was just published tonight: Growing Pains and Coffee Stains by mouseyblue! i got a sneak peak before it was published and CAN CONFIRM, it's VERY good!!! <33333333
anyway! as it happens, i spared the details on the intern in "bulb" SPECIFICALLY so people could imagine their OCs or self-inserts there, if they wanted. :3c so i'm delighted to hear that possibility piqued your interest! bonus points for understanding the "assignment", hehehe <3 if you check the "inspired by" box and add a link to my fic, I'll approve the association so they can link to each other <3
honestly, I'm really enjoying doing fic this way lately? that is, not making formal sequels with the AO3 series function, but using the "inspired by" function for my own fic too, so that both my fic and others' can share equal "legitimacy" as follow-up reading experiences from the fic they were inspired by! none of us owns these properties anyway, so why not have fun with it??? i love to construct a beautiful sandbox for everyone to play in together <3
i should get an email notification immediately if a fic is posted that's "inspired" by one of mine (unless it's posted to an anonymous AO3 account, for whatever reason...), but please feel free to let me know you've posted it here, or on any of my other socials, too!
thank you again for your lovely message, and happy writing!
#as always#mind the tags#prohibitedwish#prohibited wish#scorbo#scarorb#scarab the god auditor#prismo the wishmaster#orbo fionna and cake#fionna and cake fanfic#my fic#other fic#LOVELY fic#in the shadow of the luminary#orbo x scarab#scarab x orbo#scarab x oc#u can also write for the gumscarab fic if u rly want!#but im still cooking that one so i just dont get many requests of that nature
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(not sure how far I'm going to go with this one)
"The Secret History of Nan Elmoth" was a short pamphlet which purported to relate the history of Eöl the Dark Elf from his arrival in Beleriand until his disappearance pursuing Aredhel Fingolfiniel and their son. It was anonymously authored and never publicly distributed, with hand-scribed copies circulating discreetly in Doriath from approximately First Age 425 until the kingdom's fall.
Accounts vary on whether the lords of Doriath were kept ignorant of its existence, pretended not to know of it, or actively sought to suppress it. Whichever the case it was not considered to have much value beyond scurrilous entertainment and satisfaction of morbid curiosity. (Such a low-prestige tale would not ordinarily have been committed to writing, but perhaps possessing a pamphlet provided more plausible deniability than telling a story.) There is no record of any copies being carried out of Doriath.
Reconstruction of the pamphlet has been difficult. Most surviving Iathrim this scholar was able to interview either said they had never heard of the pamphlet or said they had heard rumors but never read it. Of those who would admit to reading it, none would claim in-depth recollection of the complete contents. (This scholar personally read the last page over an elder sibling's shoulder and then read the first page before the elder sibling realized they had picked it up and confiscated it.) As an additional complication, it appears not all copies were identical in text.
One might fairly ask why a scholar would wish to reconstruct a scurrilous low scandalmongering tale, but: On the last page, the pamphlet correctly gave the name of Eöl's son as Maeglin. While it was generally known that the son existed, the name was not so known. This suggests the author of the pamphlet really did have some unusual knowledge of Eöl. Therefore, the rest of the pamphlet is worth considering as at least potentially meaningful.
In all described copies, the first section was a short introduction, describing Eöl as the Dark Elf, and his land a place of dark secrets, before saying this history will reveal them.
The next four sections appeared in various orders and were sometimes omitted or drastically altered.
The "origins" section discusses Eöl's history prior to arrival in Beleriand. It was usually included. Versions agree that he came from Nen Echui but was not unbegotten. Some versions also made statements about his social status there (inconsistent), his ancestry (usually Nelyar), or why he left (seeking somewhere he could have lordship).
The "enchantments" section discusses the nature and origins of his uncanny powers. It was usually included. However, there were two disagreeing variations, one which attributed his powers to the Enemy and one which attributed them to ancient traditions of Nen Echui which Eöl turned to ill purpose.
The "smithcraft" section discusses smithcraft and also Eöl's relations with the dwarves. It is sometimes omitted. While the material on smithcraft is fairly consistent when the section is included (he learned from the dwarves but expanded on his own; he was by far the foremost elvensmith in Beleriand before the Golodhrim came and still rivaled them afterwards), there were at least three variations of the material on dwarves. One emphasizes his kinship and similarity with the dwarves; one emphasizes his misunderstandings with the dwarves; one brushes over the subject.
The "Elu" section is the section most often omitted entirely. It discusses Eöl's respect for Elu, the history of Eöl and Elu at Nen Echui, and their dealings in Beleriand. The gist of it is that while Eöl felt disdain, contempt, or hatred for Elu's brothers, wife, and other friends (particularly Finu of the Golodhrim), for Elu he felt true respect and friendship, and Elu returned it.
The "servants" section discusses the other inhabitants of Nan Elmoth: how they came to be there, how they lived, and why they did not leave. It is always included in some form but has several variations with different levels of focus on specific individuals, explicitly assigned culpability or innocence, and details of Eöl's enchantments. It is often the longest section.
The "Aredhel" section discusses Lady Aredhel's arrival in Nan Elmoth, Eöl's interest in her, and their marriage and life together. It is always included in some form but has several dramatic variations: two incompatible versions of events, one of them given in multiple levels of detail. The more detailed version is agreed to have been very disturbing and possibly obscene. Discussion of Maeglin is usually included in this section.
The final section discusses how Eöl came to abandon Nan Elmoth. It is always included but has several variations, disagreeing mainly in level of detail.
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thank you so much for linking never what you were before. i was itching for something to read while following borderline (a fic so good i run to ao3 the second i get an email, it's so COOL)
You’re welcome! It’s such a great fic, I think I read it all in one sitting and had to take a break afterward to consider my life choices.
Also thank you! I’m trying to get about one chapter out a week, but it’s been hard as the story gets more complicated and the word count gets longer!
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Title: Black Sea Wine
Prompt(s): Day 6, Pirate AU & Poison
Warnings: canon-typical violence, descriptions of drowning
Summary: Betrayed, lost to the depths, Shisui doesn't expect to ever see the sun rise over the sea again.
@shisakuweek
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ich hab mich die ganze Zeit nicht getraut aber weil heute die neue Spatort Folge rauskommt möchte ich gerne mit dir teilen, dass ich die Idee zu der fic zwar nach der Kälte der Erde hatte, aber der einzige Grund, dass ich durchgezogen hab war, dass ich wusste das immerhin eine (1) Person auf Dreamling und Spatort steht
vielen Dank dafür!
https://archiveofourown.org/works/48284773
Ich bin so kurz davor zu heulen omg
Dreamling x Spatort x Castle ????
Ist das maßgeschneidert??? können wir bffs sein????
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I couldn't help myself and had to get the last of my thoughts onto digital paper. 21 pages later and here we are. Hopefully I can leave Zork alone after this.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/52332604
Oohhh! Oh I shall go read it immediately!
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"The Old Gods are dead."
This is what Xal'atath, Harbinger of the Void, claimed as she faced the Champions of Azeroth upon their arrival within the realm of Azj-kahet.
After retreating to the nerubian's city to keep working on the plan that will see the Void victorious, she meets with someone who took offense to her statement.
N'zoth isn't as dead as the world believes.
So yeah... That Blizzcon was good for us, Void enjoyers.
Here's a one-shot where I ramble about what could be a meeting between Xal'atath and N'zoth if he had survived. (I still believe he did, in a way, but I'm not keeping my hopes high in the regard of canon...)
Anyway, yeah! N'zoth's alive in this!
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itadei is like. recognition of the self in the other (derogatory) (homoerotic)
#its about the gifted kid trauma.#anyway read homemade dynamite#text/itachi#text/deidara#the trashcan speaks#other fic
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•Normalize Fanart for Fanfics Again You Fools•
It's not cringe anymore (it SHOULDN'T be cringe anymore), just do it. You're doing something you enjoy, who cares what anybody else says! So spread the words my fellow internet brethren.
Spread the Word :)
#fanfic#fanfiction#fanart#normalizefanartforfanfics#normalize fanart for fanfics#wattpad#archive of our own#ao3#fanfiction.net#quotev#crossover#crossovers#fandom#fandoms#readerinsert#reader insert#xreader#x reader#oc#oc's#au#alternate universe#podfic#pod fic#fic rec#fanart for fanfic#fanartforfanfic#fanart for others#fan fiction#fan fic writing
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"youve already written that trope" yesss. i like it a lots. i will be writing it again. 1000 stories of the same trope over and over again for ten million years
#'enemies to lovers' BANGER#'one is bridal carrying the other while theyre injured' BANGER#'sacrifice of something important' BANGER#'drunken chapter that results in at least one fist fight' BANGER#theres more but only me and readers who have read all of my fics througout fandoms will help me find the patterns#sara shush
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warm light
pairing: astarion/wyll
wordcount: 575
content warnings: a very brief non-descriptive mention of astarion's past
other tags: mutual pining, idiots in love, fluff
archiveofourown: here.
summary: wyll wants to dance with astarion. a surprise gift for @miragesbian
𝐈. ﹕previous fic 𝐈𝐈. ﹕next fic
‘Come on, Astarion!’ Wyll says, positively radiant. ‘You don’t want to share a dance with me?’
‘No,’ he lies easily. ‘I am not particularly interested in dancing today. I do appreciate the offer.’
‘If we don’t celebrate the little victories, this road will be rather long,’ Wyll says as if to argue. The corners of his mouth drop. ‘But if you do not wish to dance, I shan’t make you.’
Shan’t, Astarion thinks bitterly. How quaint.
Astarion grimaces and turns his chin the other way. He’d rather watch as Wyll entertains their other companions this afternoon. Karlach had twirled inelegantly. Lae’zel had tried to teach him a cultural step, but was unabashedly rather impatient. Shadowheart had declined on behalf of further conversing with the Nightsong and Isobel. Halsin lifted Wyll as though he were nothing, and Gale was rather gangly and ungracious though Wyll had been intent on making him spin. Jaheira had politely declined as well though she watched as she stirred their evening stew.
Astarion closes his eyes and tries to bask in the sun, tries to remember the last time he’d ever felt so warm. A brief memory comes to mind of a few days ago. Astarion had slipped in the Shadow-Cursed lands on some aberration of a root, and Wyll had caught him, fingers assured around Astarion’s wrist. A promise, almost, to never let him fall again. His eyes open immediately.
It’s hard not to remember the sound of rats scuttling about the dark cells of Cazador’s offensively elegant manse, to recall with despair how their little feet did hardly anything to drown out the sound of balls and other festivities that happened upstairs. Even Tav’s lyre was not enough to drown out the worst of the memories. The closer they drew to Baldur’s Gate, the darker Astarion’s mood became.
But Wyll is still watching him. Sweat glistens on his skin like dew on a flower. And even though he’s clearly disappointed in Astarion’s response, eyebrows pulled taut and slouching as if forced to carry an impossible weight, he does his best to take the festivities elsewhere.
A pang of guilt hits Astarion right in the undead heart. He doesn’t allow Wyll to go very far.
He slides from his chair to his feet almost impossibly fast. Astarion preens on purpose, touching his curls and fluffing them, coyly walking over to where Wyll stands in the middle of the camp by the fire. He ignores the way his stomach seems to tingle with nerves. As if Astarion would ever admit to being nervous, to being anxious, to being . . . shy.
‘Alright, you’ve convinced me, darling,’ Astarion says with a practiced sigh. ‘I would like to dance after all, though I must warn you, all I know is a Luskan waltz and, the hells forbid, a single Neverwinter trot.’
‘Really?’ Wyll asks.
He smiles, and it’s somehow brighter than the sun itself or Blood of Lathander. Astarion forces himself to not look away. Wyll holds out his hand. It is a bit of a moral dilemma, and Astarion does struggle with reaching out to take it but finally, he does. He slides his fingers across Wyll’s palm perhaps a touch too tender and steps forward.
‘I can work with a Luskan waltz,’ Wyll says without missing a beat. ‘Though I’ve never seen a Neverwinter trot. You’ll have to teach me.’
‘Why, it would be my pleasure,’ Astarion says. He thinks he smiles back.
#wyll ravengard#astarion#wyll bg3#astarion bg3#wyllstarion#astarion x wyll#from ，carcosa .#other fic
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Ao3 is actually massively culturally important and very very good at being what it is. I’m so serious when I say that ao3 needs to be protected as the anti censorship, by fans for fans, nonprofit, volunteer run, expertly designed archival site that it is. You don’t have to read or like fanfiction to understand that on principle, ao3 is a site that should be defended.
#personal#ao3#archive of our own#fanfiction#fandom#anti censorship#not to suck ao3 off but I’m sucking ao3 off bc I’ve lived through other fic sites and no one does it like they do
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are we still doing this because i have a late submission
#🐉#this is less about fan content and more about that awful lazy one size fits all#'10 years later theyre happily married with a cute little nuclear family' trope#because ive read some genuinely incredible fics about characters who would Not fucking have kids#ending up with accidental pregnancy scares or child acquisitions that get treated with all the nuance#and thoughtful handling they deserve#but also. i reread one of my favourite fics yesterday and when one character jokingly brought up the idea of children#and the other reacted with genuine visceral disgust and said what hideously awful parents theyd be#i lit up like a fucking christmas tree
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Thinking about a mechanic!AU where the 141 boys run a garage and need a new receptionist. They hire you because you’re just so cute (great tits) and have a decent resume but it becomes a slight problem when they realize you’re a bit… dense.
Total ditz to be precise.
But they can’t really get mad when you get the keys for clients mixed up and look at them with those big eyes all teary and a little pout pushing out your lower lip.
Price is the most patient, perfectly content to walk you through how to file paperwork and fill out forms. Instructing you in a low voice while his breath brushes the shell of your ear. It’s really their fault for having such a terrible system, you know? Don’t worry about it too much, dove. He’ll settle his big hands on your shoulders and gently trace up and down your arms. See? You’re getting it. Just needed some more practice, hm?
Johnny is more than happy to show you around the garage, rattling off everything he knows about all those nitty gritty details that go right over your pretty little head. He’ll pop open the hood of some sports car and point to the engine to show it off. No, bonnie, you’ve got tae get in close. Closer.
Until you’re bent entirely over in one of those too-short skirts you wear everyday. It takes all his willpower not to yank you into the supply closet.
Gaz is just so sweet to you. Always bringing you little treats and candies to suck on. To help you concentrate, of course. Always greeting you with a soft ‘baby girl’ at the beginning of your shift. Whenever you’re standing around be it at the printer or counter - wherever really - he’ll slip a hand on your waist. It always trails a little lower, his pinky just edging on the hem of your too tight jeans.
Ghost gets frustrated with you to the point of causing tears to well up in the corners of your eyes. He’s feels guilty, sure, but bloody hell just print the damn receipt. He avoids you for the most part. Until one evening when it’s pouring down. You forgot your rain coat of course, silly girl. He offers you a ride which you take happily.
After that he can’t get rid of you. You bring him coffees (how you remember his order word for word but not where you last left your own cup is beyond him) and giggle at his jokes. When a client gets too snappy or too loud he’s the first to step in - standing behind you glaring at them with his huge arms crossed over his chest until they back down.
#will I turn this into a full fic?#idk don’t tempt me#just trying to get this out of my system so I can work on my other ongoing fics#call of duty#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#ghost cod#john price#john price x reader#cod x reader#ghost x reader#john soap mctavish x reader#kyle gaz garrick#kyle gaz x reader#cod#soap x reader#simon riley x reader#john mactavish x reader#john price x you#mechanic au#drabble#holly writes#poly 141 x reader#poly 141
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