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amity206 · 1 year

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Random Elder Headcanons

Thinking about the Sky elders and what they would have been like when they were fully alive (I use he/him for Daleth and she/her for Teth based on things the devs have said when talking about them but given the elders canonically don’t have biological genders I just go with some of them decided to use gendered pronouns while others didn’t - everyone is free to their own interpretation of the lore)

Daleth / Isle Elder

Likes solving puzzles

Stargazes and knows the constellations by memory (as the guide / ferryman elder I imagine he would be skilled in navigating by stars)

Takes a really long time to make decisions but usually makes good ones

Very supportive (concept stuff compared him to a kindergarten teacher), knows how to talk to kids (though he can sometimes get overwhelmed by the noise he’s super good with children)

Actually very skilled in both combat and magic. In his old age he’s getting weaker but he can definitely still kick ass

History geek

Blames himself for the King’s corruption. He thinks he could have prevented it, that he didn’t do enough. He still loves the King like a grandchild and wants to make sure he’s okay.

Ayin / Prairie Elder

Really good at cooking, even though the Elders probably had staff to cook for them

Loves baby mantas (baby light creatures of all kinds really)

Likes to make miniature models of things. would really enjoy those several thousand piece Lego sets if spirits had legos

Vegetarian

super patient. Almost never mad. Absolutely terrifying when they do get mad

Listens to everyone’s opinions on things, very thoughtful

Gives the best hugs

Very hard worker, incredibly strong. The kind of person who does not procrastinate

its canon that they snore loudly

Very sad over how the light creatures were drained under their watch, filled with guilt about it. Wishes they could have found another way that didn’t involve trapping the King in Eden.

Teth / Forest Elder

Could be bossy or stern sometimes, but actually cares very much about the people around her

She will snap at you for annoyances like handing her a shipment of improperly prepared darkstone. Everyone around her deeply respects her though

Introvert at heart, secretly enjoys cheesy romance novels as well as like. Business / mining manuals

Originally called the shaman ancestor so probably had a deeper connection to Megabird, at least at first

Nothing scares her (at least, that’s what she says)

Inner turmoil about her role in the Fall - knowing she played an instrumental role in the Kingdom’s downfall, but also unwilling to place the blame on herself. Despises the former King

Samekh / Valley Elders

Very focused on maintaining their public image and being seen as great by the Kingdom

Sibling Banter™️ with constantly trying to out-perform each other. Despite this in the face of a threat they fight almost as if they were the same person… or used to be

Former bodyguards of the King, watched him become corrupted. As the youngest Elders they looked up to the King more and didn’t know what to do

Liked to throw massive parties/spectacles

Because of this and their playful/occasionally flirtatious streak, some regarded them as more shallow and less intelligent than the rest of the Elders. Sah and Mek were actually geniuses, though prone to making impulse decisions

they judge you by how well you perform in the races / other tests laid out by them. Very dismissive of those who don’t do well.

Because of the “maintaining public image” thing, even in a dead Kingdom they don’t want to let anything be known about the extent they had to do with the corruption

Tsadi / Wasteland Elder

Got seriously corrupted by darkstone like they did in concept art. Used to be super in control of their emotions, as the corruption took hold they became more short-tempered and angry

Long-term planner, very good at military strategy and also strategy games like the Sky version of chess. Has an amazing poker face. (Ignore that the spirits wear masks okay)

Really needs someone to talk to, finds it hard to open up but has a lot to get off their chest- loss, regret, pain, things they could have done better, people they could have saved. Before the Storm they used to talk to Ayin, but now they can’t anymore

Doesnt talk much. Enjoys the company of Teth because they’re both introverts and Teth also likes strategy games.

Wanted to be seen as a hero, not a monster. Thought they were fighting for the good of the Kingdom

Enjoys books on military history and strategy

Cares a lot about people, bad at expressing it

Feels like the King used them as a weapon, incredibly angry about that

Lamed / Vault Elder

The kind of person who will silently judge you instead of confronting you about something

Always uses inside voice

Knows so many things. Passion is searching for obscure and forgotten history

Doesnt get involved in other people’s drama, would serve as a mediator in debates between Elders. Has never needed to raise their voice because a stern look is enough to get everyone to shut up. No one wants to see them get mad.

Fluent in sign language and several ancient languages

Good friends with Daleth, they have tea and share stories

MASTER at strategy games, better in many of them than Tsadi. Sharp-witted too, good at the occasional pun and knows if you’re hiding something/lying

Feels bad for skykids. Doesn’t know how to tell them they were basically created to die, so does their best to prepare them for the storm instead

#sky cotl #sky children of the light #thatskygame #sky cotl lore #sky: cotl #sky: children of the light #sky cotl headcanons #sky cotl theories #vault elder #wasteland elder #valley elders #forest elder #prairie elder #isle elder

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writingawaymylife · 8 days

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A/N: so I read @icyblogs fic about Ghoul!Simon and I was so inspired, and suddenly, this idea had me in a chokhold. I was so tired last night I couldn't write it, but literally, the moment I got up, I was writing this out on my phone. I did a quick read through and tried to find any mistakes, so I hope it's smooth, but I did write this in a hour, lol

Synopsis: Simon has spent two years trying to survive after a rude awakening to the new world. Losing everyone close to you is an experience he never wanted to suffer through again. Navigating the world alongside that grief doesn't make it any easier. It seems, however, that the world has finally decided to give him some mercy.

Word count: 1,800+

Warnings: swears, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of a severed hand and violence, please tell me if I missed anything

Simon had been stuck in some facility when the bombs fell. Some test. It's not like he wanted to stay in there, but they were testing out something related to the effects of cryogenic stasis on the human body (especially those who had peak body performance), and the week long study "just happened" to take place a few days before the bombs dropped. He had been told that if he took part in this, that him and his partner would be safe in a vault, but now he's waking up, and it's been over 200 years and everything is destroyed. He is mourning everything. The loss of his friends, his life, and you. Sweet you.

Waking up to this world bring so much grief that he nearly loses him mind, but he pushes through. Everyone that he ever loved and who ever loved him would want that. You would never forgive him for giving up. So, he eventually just falls into a life of survival. Odd jobs here and there, traveling. He often thinks back to who he used to be and his life, but he forces himself to focus on what is in front of him. Keeping himself afloat through the continuation of everything he'd known from before the Great War.

He's at a small town in the middle of nowhere yet again. Nursing a few shit wounds and an ever shittier whiskey as he tries to shake off some of the stress of the day. Raiders had taken up in an abandoned factory near the town, and he'd been hired to clear it out. Simple job for him really, yet even being out in the wasteland for a while now, he still finds himself missing his team. The companionship and the way they all worked together like awell-oiled machine. He tries not to think about how lonely it makes him, but some things just aren't so easily forgotten.

The bar is pretty full, much to his surprise, and the knowledge that he has found himself in yet another town where half the population begins getting drunk by 5 pm is putting him on edge to a certain extent. He's seen how easily people begin to pull out their weapons at the slightest provocation. So he keeps himself in the corner of the bar with his back to the wall, his rifle leaning against the table at an immediate grabbing distance as his eyes do idle surveys of the room It's unlikely that anything will turn sour, he knows that, but the past two years out here have only further emphasized all those years in the military; and he isn't keen to just let it all go for moment of lazy relaxation.

Then he hears something. It's drowned out by the other conversations filling up the space, but it rings something in his head, a small little echo of what once was. Leaning into that feeling shouldn't be so easily humored, he knows this, but beyond the veil of gravel and radio static there's something so familiar. A melody he hasn't heard in so long, one he can't help but soak in and embrace. His eyes are trying to find the source, weaving through the crowds, before they land on the weathered, spike shouldered, leather jacket of a Ghoul. He can't see their face, but something about the curves of their body looks so intimately familiar that he finds his hand shaking as it grips the glass. Inklings of recognition fire through his synapses, forcing him to stay on their back. They're talking to a man beside them, nodding along and shrugging before they're speaking again, and Simon feels like he's going fucking insane. The knowledge of that voice, that same intonation, forcefully summoned to the forefront of his mind.

Then the ghoul turns their face.

Everything comes to such an aggressive halt he nearly wheezes. His eyes never leaving their face, scarred and worn and-

You.

You're sitting there two hundred years after the end of the world in some leather jacket and vest, a rifle strapped to your back and two pistols in your waist holster. There's a severed hand on the table between you and the person, marred and glinting with a few rings, and the man you're talking to nods approvingly at it. Giving you a swift pat on the arm before handing over a rather comfortable looking pouch of caps. Then the man says something, and you're laughing, and yes, it's different and rough and age worn, but he would know it bloody deaf.

Simon can't move. He's thinking about all the years you've been out here. The pain, suffering, the ghoulification process that he has heard stories of, the things you must have done to keep yourself from going insane. His eyes are honed in on the pouch of caps, and he knows that you've had to become strong in a way that he wasn't there to help you through. While you fought through two centuries of destroyed civilization and were shown the worst of humanity, he had been safe and tucked away in a vault. It wasn't his fault. Not entirely. That doesn't stop the mind-numbing guilt that has come back and multiplied twofold. Nor the anger he's feeling that is mixing with that nauseated realization that everything he did, all he had sacrificed, had been for nothing. He had left you for months on end while the world was falling apart, and you didn't even get the one reason behind all of that.

Every reeling thought has that flight response he hadn't had in so long flaring, but he can't move, can't look away. He keeps looking at you and the way you talk and hold yourself, the similarities shifted through years of experiences. You still gesticulate but it's more toned down, arms staying relaxed where they rest on your thigh and the bar as your fingers dance in the air with whatever you're saying. That little smile you still do is on your face, but he can see how the light in your eyes has changed. Not gone, but as if it has taken on a different filter, colours being more highlighted than the ones that once were.

There's a slightest twitch where your brows once were before your looking around the bar, and he doesn't have time to look away, to hide his face and the shame he believes it will bring before you're looking at him. Eyes snapping to his and your body freezing in place. The man beside you is continuing on, but you aren't paying attention anymore. Your head is tilting. A furrow on your lips as you scan his face while he is unable to leave your eyes. He can see the slow build of shock and pain as recognition kicks in full force. Leather and spike clad shoulders almost shaking as you grip at the room temperature beer you were drinking. He expects horror next. Hatred. You had begged him to stay with you before, your pleas ignored from his desperation to keep you safe. The man stops talking, following your gaze and landing on Simon, but whatever he says next is ignored.

You're almost stumbling out of your chair as you land your feet on the worn bar floorboards, boots planting themselves firmly for a moment like you're hesitating. Eyes scanning and rescanning his face like you don't really believe what's in front of you. Then something clicks in your eyes and you're fucking barreling towards him. For a moment he expects you to try and kill him, and he wouldnt have even tried to stop you. He would have let you press the barrel of your gun into his forehead and paint the wall and tables with his blood and brain matter. But there isn't an ounce of aggression in your eyes as you roughly push past a couple of customers in the way, only such bone deep desperation and begging, suffering hope. Other customers are looking at you with shock at the suddenness of your actons. like you've suddenly gone feral as all conversation comes to a jagged stop. But no one moves, too interested to see what they probably hope to be an entertaining fight after a rather quiet evening.

When you get to him, you are stopping so quickly you collapse to your knees in front of him. Sucking in air like you didn't run twenty feet but miles, eyes pleading and shining with tears as one of your hands rests on the rough wooden floor like it's an anchor. The few nails you have are digging into the rotting spots, most definitely shoving splinters into the thick skin of your fingertips. The other hovers in the space between you two, fingers twitching as you seem to struggle between keeping them open, or pressing them against your fist to avoid giving into the desire physical contact he can see so plainly in your features. It falls back down to your lap for a moment. Neither of you are saying a thing in the dead silent bar as you give him such a begging look, his eyes start to burn.

Such heartbreak and fear and grief should never grace your face. It shatters him, dismantling him to his base atoms and burning away at his skin and organs. You're almost struggling to breath while Simon can't even remember how to when something finally breaks down within you. Your quivering hand reaches up again, cautiously, fearfully almost, to cup his jaw as you look at him like he's some mirage of shade and water after years in the desert.

Your voice croaks, the gravel in it emphasized by your scarred and aged vocal cords as you say his name likes he's your god. Bowed before an alter and finally being graced with the presence of a deity you've spent your life worshipping. "Simon?"

It's like he's been splashed with cold water, jolting him from where he sits as he leans forwards and practically scoops you up onto his lap. The other people are ignored, their stares insignificant as he wraps his arm around your waist and dig that hand into the soft leather there, his other hand coming up to the back of your head. He's pressing your forehead into his as you settle on his lap. Its like he can finally breath, that bone crushing weight leaving his chest as he sink into so many different emotions they become static, unimportant now that he has you in his arms and can feel your body and weight. Ragged breaths match your own as your arms tangled around the other, and he can feel the solid muscle and sinew under your thinning skin as you hold him so tightly. Like you're trying to fold him into you, make him a permanent part of your worn and weary body so he never leaves.

He vows than that he'll never leave you. Never go without that touch that hasn't changed despite the stark difference in your hands. Whatever happens now doesn't matter as long as he's with you, and he'll spend the rest of his days making you know that.

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #fallout #modern warfare #this was fun but i really should get back to me other fics now lmfao

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 1 year

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I hope I’m not too late for your 100 followers celebration. Congratulations, thanks to it I’ve just found your work!

Can I get a fluff either 2 or 3? With Jake maybe falling for his roommates best friend or something along those lines?

Congrats again!!!

Hi! You were just in time to request something for my 100 follower celebration! Thanks for this request! I chose to go with Fluff Prompt 2 "You’re beautiful, you know that right?" with Jake. I did my best to fit in roommate's friend Jake as much as possible. I hope you like it!

They'll Say You're the Best Bad Idea I've Ever Had

When you’d moved to San Diego after breaking up with your ex-boyfriend, you’d moved across the country carrying nothing more than a bag of your clothes and your laptop. It’s not something you’d ever planned on happening as a part of your five, ten or fifteen year plans. But here you are, hopping between friend of friends sofas and spare rooms while you try to find your way back on your feet. That was actually how Penny had hired you as a barback at the Hard Deck. You can’t make cocktails to save your life, but you can prepare ingredients and the pay is decent. It helps too that Penny is the sweetest employer you’ve ever had. And, since the Hard Deck is predominantly a Navy Bar, you’re not that worried about creeps or the like.

It helps too, that working at the Hard Deck is how you’d met Natasha. She’s a Naval Aviator and the best roommate you’d ever expected to have. She’s sweet and kind, becoming a true friend. Having members of her squadron crash on the sofa every once in a while is a small price to pay. It also doesn’t happen very often. You’ve only ever had Rooster and Bob on your sofa before. In truth, other than the two of them, Nat hasn’t let the rest of her squadron get very close to you. You’re not sure why, per se. It could be that when she met you, you were a mess. And that’s the nicest way to describe you in those weeks after your relationship had fallen apart and when you’d uprooted your entire life for sunny San Diego.

But you’re better now. It’s been six months since you’d moved to San Diego. Things have finally settled down and you’ve mostly put your life together again. Working at the Hard Deck has helped a lot in that aspect. You’re making friends, socializing, and your wallet doesn’t ache anymore when you even think about having some fun. Your love life hasn’t improved in quite the same way. Sure, the sailors flooding the bar every night flirt, but you don’t exactly envision a relationship with any of them. Nat’s squadron is filled with the most probable candidates, but even there, you have to fight your overprotective roommate every step of the way.

The one date you’d been on since you moved to San Diego had been Rooster actually. Nat had interrogated the man for 45 minutes before you’d even been able to walk out of the door with him. While Bradley Bradshaw is a sweetheart, he’s not the right sweetheart for you. Your tastes tend to veer much more towards cocky, overly attractive blondes. There’s only one of those in San Diego at the moment. Sadly, he’s completely on Nat’s block list. And sometime between light flirting at the bar and chatting with him outside of it, you’re crushing, hard.

You had the closing shift at the Hard Deck the night before, stumbling into the apartment at 2:30 in the morning, navigating the halls in the dark after taking off your shoes so as not to wake Nat by turning on the lights. You’d collapsed into bed half clothed, and been out for the count before you could even attempt to wash off your makeup or put on your pajamas.

That’s how you wake up the next morning. The button of your jeans is digging into your stomach and your bra elastic is pinching at sensitive skin in a most uncomfortable manner. Your mouth is a sour tasting desert wasteland and you’re desperately thankful that today is your day off and you don’t have to work tonight. It takes far too long to free yourself from the allure of your bed and grab your clothes. You stink like hoppy beer and spilled liquor. A shower will be a necessity. It’s under the spray that you feel your soul tether itself to your body a bit stronger. You finally feel like yourself once you’re clean and dressed in soft shorts and a worn t-shirt.

You shuffle your way into the kitchen, intent on brewing a pot of coffee. You’re also hungry and some eggs, bacon and toast sound amazing. You’re honestly not sure you’d even eaten dinner the night before. The scent of fragrant coffee as it drips into the pot soon fills the kitchen. You’re rooting around in the fridge when a voice startles you.

“G’morning. You’re beautiful, you know that right?” The voice is gritty and deep, and you whirl around, shutting the fridge door to see none other than Jake Seresin standing on the other end of the kitchen in front of you.

“Seresin!” You can’t hide your shock as you speak to him. “What’re you doing here?”

“Phoenix handed me her keys. She went home with Bob last night. Told me I could crash here.” His voice is gentle as he stands with his hip propped against the counter in just worn Wranglers that fit him like a glove.

“Oh!” You’re having a hard time focusing your eyes on anything other than his muscles as they dip below the waistband of the jeans. “Would you, um.” You’re embarrassed to find that you have to clear your throat before you can speak to him again. Your face is flushed with heat as you finally stutter the words out, “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Yeah, pretty girl. I’d love a cup of coffee.” His voice is smug. You know he’s aware of the effect his physique has on you. You can hear the smug smile on his face with each word as you turn around and grab another mug. You fill the mug with coffee and hand it to him.

“I’m making breakfast. Would you like some?” You don’t know how to address his earlier words. There is no way he thinks you’re beautiful, right? So you deflect as hard as you possibly can.

“Sure.” You’re not expecting him to grab the ingredients from your hands and set them to the side though. One long finger presses against your bottom lip as he cages you between his frame and the counter behind you. “Why is it, pretty girl, that you can’t stand to speak to me, but can to anyone else? If I were less observant I’d think you hated me. But I think you’re just shy. Am I right?”

He’s so close that you can feel his breath against your face. You silently apologize to Nat before wrapping your arms around his neck and giving into the urge to kiss him that you’ve been feeling for a long time. His lips are soft, and slightly chapped, but Jake Seresin is automatically one of the best kisses you’ve had in a long time. You just hope you can get him into your bed and then out of the door before Nat gets back from Bob’s. This has the makings of a wonderful Saturday morning.

Want to request something for my 100 Follower Celebration? The guidelines are here! Please leave me a request in my inbox with your ask!

- XOXO Star

#star writes #100 follower celebration #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun fluff #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #hangman imagine #hangman fluff

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the-marxist-mash · 11 days

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My "I think the fallout show is bad" post spoilers included

I watched the fallout show with low hopes and mostly for the purpose of annoying my friend whom I love and I'll be honest it was bad 👎

Gonna split this into 1: issues with writing 2: lore bs that i hated cuz im a new vegas girl 3: things i will begrudgingly admit that i liked

1: bad writing

For me the show confirmed for me that it was not going to be writen for me and my tastes was in the second episode when the enclave scientist gives the vault dweller an ominous speech about how the world is too dangerous to set a fire to camp on the road side at night whichbis something very inlone with the Bethesda style of writing the falloit universe. This show really has no interest in talking about how humanity overcomes the suffering of the post apocalypse it is focused on the power fantasy of being the strongest and most competent person who is capable of navigating a wasteland overflowing with mutants raiders and robots, community doesn't save you from the wasteland only big guns and strong walls (and even then the walls dont help as much as the guns)

Then of course there is the shows general failure in world building. For a show that is allegedly not for the long time fans of the series and instead for casual fans or new comers to the franchise just looking for a new scifi series it has a lot of things brought into the show and left entirely unexplained. The enclave a major faction of the series with a lot going on gets a montage of life in their base where we learn they have scientists doing research, use an offbrand american flag, and seem to be somewhat vaguely nefarious. Then there's moldaver a prewar human leading a cult in the post post apocalypse and the only surviver of the great war in the show who is not given a clear explination for living this long. And speaking of the post post apocalypse the new california republic being introduced as already having collapsed as a result of a second nuclear attack on California which while this does get explained is a wildly unnecessary amount of information to give in the first season of a show thats allegedly for new fans.

2 lore shit i hated

So as a new vegas girly i can only describe this show as feeling like if todd howard broke your toys infront of you so nobody could play with them anymore. From the addition of vault tech nuking the ncr in a wild attempt to have the exact same plan as the enclave in both fallout 2 and 3 but with much worse execution to ghouls now having a specific anti feral drug the lore changes are bad. And plenty of people have already pointed out the way the new timeline does not just make it so the ncr is destroyed but it is destroyed before the plot of new vegas is set with fall of shady sands occurring the same year as the 1st battle of the hoover dam which just feels like this was included for the express purpose of decannonizing new vegas because it honestly only makes the story more confusing and harder for new fans to navigate by looking up information about the existing games. Then there is the way in which the enclave is seemingly retconned out of being the shadow government (where it held effective control over vault tech as a way to experiment with human subjects for various reasons) and instead vault tech goes on to start the great war for effectively the same reason the eclave had for trying to exterminate everyone living in the wasteland. And i think the worst part is that most of these issues could have been avoided if the story was just set in a different time (between 1 and 2 or even before 1) or location (literally anywhere a major faction has not already been established existing in cannon) and the story would have benefited so much from that

3: okay i liked some of it

The prewar flashbacks did actually have good bits

The writers didn't go full liberty prime and understood the anticommunism in the series was satire

They made the brotherhood look like a facist techno cult and i had fun with the explicit religious ritual stuff going on in their base

The snake oil salesman who can heal you but also might mutate you was fun and feels very much like classic fallout

The axolotl abomination that i thought had sloghtly too human hands turning out to be a vault experiment was fun for me

4 secret section where i complain more

Yeah i know its already green lit for like 2 more seasons and has way more time to explain shit i dont care i dont think they are either capanle or interested in making this any better

Anyway the show was bad thanks for reading my rambling complaints or sorry for inflicting this on you if you actually liked it? But i put a cut on this one so thats on you. Im gonna go write my own fallout stoeies for ttrpg campaigns with my friends now since todd wont give me a story i like

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fallout show #fallout show spoilers

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nonuggetshere · 5 months

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Was PK really the crybaby of his clutch? Why did everyone think PK was dead?

PS: I would love it if you ever decided to info dump on us about all your wyrm ocs and what their personalities are, because everyone sounds super fascinating!!

PSS: Since finding siblings has been common in au's anytime Flower's outside Hallownest, I should let you know that I was beset with the immediate image of one of PK's relations hauling in Ghost to Flower and PK by their scruff and going, "They were found raiding the kitchen. Why do they look like they're yours???" And PK's speechless and Flower's dissolving into tears and Ghost just starts flailing because: Hey!! Their sibling is hurt, and THAT'S THE GLOWY PERSON THAT TOOK THEM SO I BET IT'S THEIR FAULT LET ME AT 'EM!!!"

Bonus points if Ghost yanks a kitchen knife from their void to menace PK's knees with.

WAIT I NEVER POSTED MY PK FAMILY LORE(tm) ON HERE? THIS MUST BE FIXED IMMEDIATELY

Will paste all of it under the cut

And KDHDKDHDJ YEAH Ghost would be a Menace

So wyrm culture places a lot of importance on strength, kingdoms led by wyrms tend to be heavily militarised, war-mongering kingdoms,

Ebur was an outliner in that he did not care for these things, he was born a weak runt and even as his condition improved he still preferred to curl up next to their dame and watch his siblings playfight. Despite this he wasn't at all disliked by his dame or siblings, who indulged in his interests as well and whenever he played with them his siblings tried to pick games that he could play too.

The hatchlings grew and eventually started to learn how to hunt and went out with their dame to learn how to navigate and survive in the wastelands

But an unfortunate rockslide and tunnel collapse (or a flash flood? Probably would work better, there fuckers are made for digging so I dunno how Addamas couldn't just. Dig him up) separated Ebur from his family, when he was still too young to live by himself. After days of searching Adamas couldn't find him and assumed him to be dead, and young Ebur was left to fend for himself

He knew enough to survive on his own even though it was hard

I've been toying around with the idea of a mortal taking pity on him and taking care of him for a while before it pretty much became unsustainable to feed a giant log of meat, but it's just an idea for now, nothing concrete yet

So PK's family assume he's dead and he gave up looking for them a long time ago,

Also he's like the only one who fully ascended into godhood

AS FOR THE REST

Adamas: She's an old wyrm, she had many clutches in her lifetime and the clutch which Ebur belonged to was her last, having had them much later in her life she decided they'd be her last. She's a much more "typical" wyrm and a tough love kind of gal, she shows her hatchlings love through her actions but also thinks the best way for them to learn is to throw them in the deep water straight away. She values strength a lot like other wyrms, although she doesn't think physical strength is all there is to it - she saw potential in her youngest son's cleverness and regrets not being able to help him hone it. While most wyrms value their scars, seeing them as trophies of their battles, Adamas thinks it's foolish; believing instead that scars just prove that you weren't quick, smart or fast enough, they're not a bad thing to have but you shouldn't be proud of them and should learn from them instead - a sentiment a lot of her hatchlings inherited from her, including Ebur.

Another thing about her that goes against most wyrms, she is completely uninterested in leading anything or anyone. Having had her own empire back in her younger years she had now completely abandoned that type of lifestyle, preferring to wander alone.

Long after her last hatchlings left her nest, she lost a fight with a younger wyrm. Driven away from her old territory and gravely injured she travelled into the mountains, burring into the side of it and deep in the peaks where she would eventually succumb to her wounds. Being reborn, she now permanently resides in her old tunnels in the mountains, hunting small critters, travellers and picking from her own rotting corpse for sustenance. She's quite content in her new situation, preferring the peace and quiet the cold mountain peaks give her.

Fossor: The oldest of the clutch as well as the biggest and strongest of them. She can hold her own yet prefers not to fight, taking on their dame's philosophy about scars and turning it up to 11 - choosing to immediately resolve your problems with violence and fighting is a sign of cowardice and weakness. Nonetheless, she's a devastating opponent to face. Although they were originally named for their passion for digging (the damn nest had so many holes after Fossor was born), they certainly earned the second meaning to her name - gravedigger.

They were quite protective over their little siblings when they were young, especially the smallest of the clutch Ebur and partly Melpomene. After it was time for them to leave the nest Fossor was the one who stuck the longest by her siblings before finally splitting off to found her own kingdom. She chose not to be reborn into her second form, finding her wyrm form to be way more convenient, and it helps avoid her any trouble from the majority of possibly hostile neighbouring nations.

They took on a mortal as a mate, and although he is long gone by now the two of them had a child - Nivalis. Although at first her conception was only for political reasons and convenience, Fossor quickly grew to adore their daughter. Nivalis is now a beloved princess, one who helps their parent a lot in running the kingdom (the small stature loser to mortals does have its benefits) yet keeps dreaming about one day leaving the nest and getting to explore beyond the kingdom's borders.

Ossum and Adustus - The middle children, the two of them were tied at the hip from the day of their hatching. Both named for their colouring, Ossum meaning bone and Adustus singed/burned...and Ossum partly thanks to their old habit of playing with the cleaned remains of their prey. Ossum is the more reserved yet hotheaded of the two while Adustus is the levelheaded extrovert of their duo. After their last sibling, Fossor, left their side the two decided they'd stick together permanently. Life as a duo was exceptionally hard for two gigantic apex predators so they chose to be reborn, and as neither is interested in ruling anything they chose their forms to blend closer with the mortals, hoping to not be recognised for who they were. Now, they still travel together, spending a few months in any given kingdom before moving on. Occasionally they like to visit their siblings and dame.

Melpomene: (@bluethepearldiver oc, just relying info here) The second youngest and the second to split off from the group, she found a village of wyrm and casted off her old form to join them. After protesting against invading a neighbouring mortal village she was exiled and presumed dead, only to later return and kill the village leader.

Io: (Again, Blue's oc, relying info) First sibling to split off so he could found his own kingsom, which he now rules alongside his mate Careuleus (gay rights <3). He's more of a typical wyrm with his style of ruling, certainly aggressive yet still somewhat benevolent. He took on a smaller form to be with his partner

#thylacines can talk #asks #faaf au #my ocs

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cinematicnomad · 1 year

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the terror fitzier fic recs below the cut for @skylessnights

this far from heaven by 5runner5 (1/1 | 10k+ | Ex) fitzier; slow burn; missing scenes; masturbation; hurt/comfort; getting together

this man—this irritable drunk who apparently saw nothing of worth whatsoever in james—was a sad, far cry from the man he had imagined, when he’d first thrilled at reading the name crozier in dispatches.

forged in the ice by captaincrozier (28/28 | 97k+ | M) fitzier; canon divergence; fix-it (of sorts); secret relationship; canon typical violence

something was forged in that arctic ice, something crozier will carry with him always, something that gave him hope, and the strength to get home. it was love... but the moment of its existence was cruelly brief.... and what is he without it now? haunted by and faithful to its memory, he tries to carry on, but how does one continue when faced with its ghost, every day?

mirror, mirror by palpalou (2/2 | 26k+ | Ex) fitzier; canon divergence; sick fic; misunderstandings; getting together

in which francis flatters james back to health, without noticing how hard he's flirting, actually. [for the terror own language fest, english in chapter II]

sunset and evening star, and one clear call for me. by gwerfel, kt_fairy (19/19 | 85k+ | M) fitzier; past francis/sir james; canon divergence; post-canon fix it; slow burn

they came upon a furrow in the landscape, too shallow to be called anything but a scrape, and all stopped in their tracks. there were indeed men. a crowd of them, walking and talking or sprawled upon the ground, not raving or twitching or gurgling foul smelling blood. they were in appalling condition though, ross could tell even from this distance, but they were still men. a figure stepped towards ross' party, and he would recognize that damned hat and the way hands were tucked up high into greatcoat pockets anywhere. he scrambled with the harness, throwing it off and taking off in a stumbling, inelegant dash across the shingle. "ross!" he heard francis gasp just before he collided with him, holding his dear friend in an embrace that nearly sent them both crashing to the ground. OR ross arrives in time, wounds are still open, and the risky business of having survived is navigated. the arctic does not let you out of its grasp with a wave and a goodbye.

untitled (perfect lovers), 2019, mixed media, london by caravaggiosbrushes (8/8 | 70k+ | Ex) fitzier; au–modern setting; au–artists; enemies to lovers; self-inflicted wounds

sometimes there is nothing pretty in art. when francis crozier, a conceptual artist with a long and successful career, is invited to the franklin art gallery to put up a solo exhibition of his artworks, the last thing he expects is to find james fitzjames, performer artist and Instagram phenomenon, there, ready to work with him.

penumbra by crafterofwords (23/23 | 84k+ | Ex) fitzier; francis/sophia; canon divergence; period typical homophobia; angst with a happy ending

captain francis rawdon moira crozier and commander james fitzjames, of the royal navy, have survived their harrowing experience in the frozen wasteland of the arctic circle. a safe return to london has been these men's only desire through the very long nights in the arctic, so it is with confusion and discouragement that they find their homecoming has left them wanting. haunted by the memories and knowledge of horrors beyond the scope of what most men can bear, will they be able to find happiness, despite being given all they thought they'd ever wanted?

till human voices wake us by ktula (1/1 | 14k+ | Ex) fitzier; canon divergence; flatmates; repression; trauma recovery; tenderness

“thank you for last night,” james says, because it’s easier to say that than it is to say what he’s actually thinking. “i wasn’t…you’re welcome,” francis says, his gaze going to the sideboard a moment before re-focusing on james. “did it help?” “yes,” james lies. the second batch of nightmares, after all, hadn’t been francis’ fault any more than the first ones had been.

when all the world shall melt by neverfaraway (8/8 | 49k+ | Ex) fitzier; canon divergence; somebody lives/not everyone dies; fix-it; pining

i’ll not have a picture, he thinks, gazing grimly at james’ drawn, damaged face. i’ll not have a miniature to tuck inside my breast pocket, or a sketch made on a winter’s evening by the fireside. it will be my own burden to remember him, until such a time as this cursed land takes me, too. twenty five men return to england. for francis, this means making a poor job of keeping james from scuttling his career, and working out what a sea captain might do with himself in the absence of a ship.

de remedio amoris by crownlessliestheking (1/1 | 14k+ | Ex) fitzier; past/background francis/sir james; canon divergence; introspection; pining

francis has always been a grasping thing. covetous to the last, drenched in vice, and gripping tight to whoever—whatever—is closest, be it james ross or sophia or the the neck of a bottle. or all three. now, there is james fitzjames.

a moon-blanched land by wildcard_47 (10/10 | 44k+ | Ex) fitzier; canon divergence; sharing a bed; hurt/comfort; retirement; pining

almost a year after their return to england, francis crozier is tired of london society and tired of fighting an inexplicable restlessness. when given the chance to move to a seaside cottage with his former second, james fitzjames, how can he refuse?

so much spring by icicaille (1/1 | 17k+ | Ex) fitzier; canon divergence; emotional hurt/comfort; angst with a happy ending; pining

in the half-year since their return, francis had become aloof, impassive, withdrawn. there was no logic to this strange metamorphosis. at greenhithe, francis had promised to look after him. had told james: come find me. yet francis had never been further out of reach. on a cold spring day in 1849, francis drops everything and flees london for his sister's farm in ireland. james, hurt and hungry for answers, gives chase.

what ice does by what_alchemy (4/4 | 44k+ | Ex) fitzier; canon divergence; internalized homophobia; sharing a room; slow burn

captain parry’s third arctic expedition takes a year longer to prepare than planned. it leaves in 1825 with ship’s boy james fitzjames aboard HMS hecla. master's mate francis crozier takes him under his wing. this changes everything.

a pair of finches in a brass cage by fiendlikequeen (1/1 | 5k+ | M) fitzier; unrequited francis/sir james; canon divergence; POV sir james; accidental voyeurism

james clark ross brought francis crozier back from the arctic, but he finds francis a changed man—perhaps the most striking change being francis's constant companion, james fitzjames. james discovers, only partly by accident, the true nature of the relationship between francis and fitzjames.

i'll describe the way i feel, weeping wounds that never heal by velocity_owl87 (8/8 | 26k+ | T) fitzier; canon divergence; hurt/comfort; career ending injuries; recovery; introspection

by sheer blind luck ross manages to find the remaining members of the franklin expedition, many of whom are at death's door. one of these being commander fitzjames and the main concern of crozier, whom ross judges far changed in ways he can't begin to understand. he offers his friend and fitzjames a place to recover while francis faces both external conflicts and comes to realisations about his life, his ambitions...And the person he wants to have with him for the rest of his life. all the while fitzjames struggles with coming to terms with lingering injuries, the ordeal of being known, and the possibility of finally getting his heart's desire.

trafalgar, happier by fiendlikequeen (1/1 | 17k+ | Ex) fitzier; francis/sir james; canon divergence; jealousy; accidental voyeurism; angst with a happy ending

james fitzjames has decided that he is perfectly ambivalent about death— provided he may die with francis crozier by his side. but when james clark ross arrives with both a rescue party and competing affections for francis, things change.

the devils before us by masterofallimagination (6/6 | 42k+ | T) fitzier; canon divergence; somebody lives/not everyone dies; slow burn; pining

after five years in the arctic, francis and james return to england and begin the long journey home.

starcross by reinetta (1/1 | 17k+ | Ex) fitzier; au–historical; au–regency; misunderstandings; enemies to friends to lovers

“there is barely a ribbon or a feather or a scrap of silk left this side of exeter.” “no woman under thirty is left unmoved,” tom said, grinning around the stem of his pipe. “even our essie is taken up with the idea!” esther’s dark eyes were dancing in the firelight. “though she is far too young to think of marrying at present—least of all to mr. james fitzjames.”

sleeping felt like lies by the_ocean_weekender (2/2 | 41k+ | T) fitzier; canon divergence; flatmates; depression; angst with a happy ending

escaping the ice is more down to sheer dumb luck than any happenstance of sight, divine intervention, or the not-insignificant amount of skill their crews bring to the occasion, but they all get out alive (bar unfortunate souls sir john and cornelius hickey, whose deaths are viewed by many as, contrarily, rather fortunate.) now, in london, pressed by commander fitzjames to saving their navy half-pay by sharing rooms together, crozier is struggling to return to normality. it would help, he admits begrudgingly, if he could tell the difference between dreams blessed/cursed by the sight and just good old trauma-induced nightmares. and if he hadn’t started to develop feelings for the man who, even ridden with scurvy, still deserved the title ‘handsomest man in the royal navy’.

never seek him, defiantly, at night by veganthranduil (1/1 | 17k+ | M) fitzier; canon divergence; slow burn; bunkmates; recovery; pining; alcoholism

“the loss of a ship is a small price to pay for the completion of the passage, wouldn’t you say?” james said, employing his best smile. make it look easy, make it look painless, and people would gladly follow you—he’d learnt that early on. “well i’d not thought to see it,” said sir john, looking between the two of them. “if both of you are of one mind, there must be some truth to it. very well.” he clapped his hands together. “francis, james, the two of you can figure out the logistics. i’ll inform the men after david young’s funeral service. begin preparations immediately.”

to be made whole again by 5runner5 (10/10 | 29k+ | Ex) fitzier; canon divergence; eating disorder; survivor guilt; recovery; nightmares

james bit into a laden slice of toast with the undamaged side of his mouth. “i thought we agreed that thinking was very dangerous,” he said, and though his voice was light francis could feel a weight behind it. it was a weight made up of sleepless nights and crying jags; of francis punching a solid wall and of james shouting himself hoarse; of the unbearable social calls and wrenching letters and pitying looks which they could not avoid. they carried a great many heavy things with them, now. london, 1848: francis and james try to put themselves back together.

each mortal thing by jouissant (6/6 | 26k+ | M) fitzier; canon divergence; friends to lovers; gender identity; the dress

truth is a concept with which james fitzjames has been variously acquainted.

pressure ridge by alitneroon (8/8 | 18k+ | Ex) fitzier; canon divergence; missing scenes; POV alternating; happy ending

here, so far away from the world, it felt as though consequences didn’t exist. he’d already been through so much with the men, he almost imagined that they could know about this too and understand, that it wouldn’t matter. despite everything, the bleakness of the landscape and the food that was slowly killing them, francis managed to find a moment or two of happiness when he was with james.

SWIPE RIGHT (or: THE TINDER AU) by caravaggiosbrushes (2/2 | 29k+ | Ex) fitzier; au–modern setting; POV francis; falling in love; author james; fluff

francis is 51, single, almost two years sober. he has a nice job, a dog, and a tinder profile he doesn’t use that much. one night, he decides to give the app another try. the rest is, as they say, history.

between the pain and the treasure by mysleepyrambles (2/2 | 22k+ | M) fitzier; canon divergence; hopeful ending; slow burn; mutual pining; fix-it

with sir john wilfully blind to the danger they are in, francis takes matters into his own hands.

death is a sailing ship by maleann (7/7 | 27k+ | M) fitzier; canon compliant; canon-typical violence; afterlife; POV james; body horror

james had died knowing that his heart, the core of his very being that no biographer would ever know, would carry on in francis crozier. would be protected, cherished even, because francis deemed him worthy of such care. oh, how he had loved francis then. he had been at peace with this being his last living thought. it’s his only thought now. in this undead life, his love has nowhere to go. james fitzjames wakes up in the afterlife. it looks strangely similar to his cabin on erebus.

one fast move or i’m gone by cosmogram (3/3 | 25k+ | Ex) fitzier; unrequited james/dundy; POV dundy; au–modern setting; au–academia

in a lifetime of unsubtleties, the affair with crozier is james’s worst. crozier’s hand resting on james’s lower back, there for all to see. crozier’s fingers nudging gently at james’s shirtcuffs when they stood around at receptions; crozier’s pale eyes going soft and foolish when james entered the room. sometimes simply crozier’s nod, sharp and proprietary, as though to say get upstairs, get in my office, close the door—as if the rest of them were not right there. or, the one where james and dundy are bright young things (baby post-docs) in english literature, and there’s a cranky new professor in town...

let the river rush in, not wash away by kt_fairy (4/4 | 27k+ | Ex) fitzier; canon divergence; established relationship; crossdressing; internalized homophobia

“it’s not something you wish known when you look like i do, i have learnt. ‘handsomest man in the royal navy’ feeling…” he shot a look at francis before bowing his face towards his teacup. “i had enough on the line, with my parentage, without everyone guessing how...how fine i felt in that dress. how soft and light and bright i felt, playing the very opposite of all i try to be.” or most people come home, boundaries are set, james (eventually) gets a dress.

let us live now / only this by furiously, ilcardinalecheballa (5/5 | 25k+ | T) fitzier; canon divergence; slow burn; mutual pining; flatmates; friends to lovers

“i've put in for another commission.” james' voice was perfectly ordinary: so much so, in fact, that francis was sure, for the space of two blissful seconds, that he must have misheard. francis crozier and james fitzjames are alive. they are home. so are most of their men. but coming home—coming home together—is a more complicated proposition than it had at first glance appeared. then james' career comes to call.

'tis past, and so am i by glassessay (1/1 | 26k+ | T) fitzier; time travel fix-it; everyone lives/nobody dies (eventually); POV james

james fitzjames dies as francis cries above him, bleeding out of too-old wounds and thinking if only we had known. he opens his eyes in his cabin.

seen by ktula (9/9 | 97k+ | Ex) fitzier; au–modern setting; BDSM; slow burn; author francis; explicit sexual content

against his better judgement, francis crozier goes to a kink convention in canada to promote his new book. it's the dead of winter, and he has a vague suspicion he should have stayed home. then he meets james fitzjames, and confirms his suspicion is correct.

paper boats by Kt_fairy (4/4 | 25k+ | M) fitzier; pre-canon; canon divergence; gender identity; period typical attitudes; the dress

james did not feel quite like himself, dressed up like a sailor. and, strangely, feeling unlike himself was rather satisfying. he supposed it was all the change going on. in a few days he would step onto the pyramus and begin his life at sea, in the hope it was vast and varied enough that it contained a place where someone like him might be able to be honest about themselves, and still live a good life. or james fitzjames goes to sea, finds a place for himself, then finds a way to be himself.

rotten work by for_autumn_i_am (1/1 | 26k+ | Ex) fitzier; au–modern setting; coworkers; pining; misunderstandings; enemies to friends to lovers

james fitzjames, COO of erebus voyages, has a tragic crush on his straight colleague, francis crozier. (well. he thinks francis is straight.) there’s no way his tender feelings will ever be returned, is there?

don’t you (forget about me) by soft_october (1/1 | 6k+ | G) fitzier; canon divergence; POV sir james; outsider POV; misunderstandings; secret relationship

all oddities were temporary anyway! they were going home, francis would be well again, the enterprise would soon return to england, and there would be a farce of a court martial before a knighthood for francis and an easy retirement. and as for fitzjames…well, fitzjames would be reassigned, of course, continue his meteoric rise within the ranks of the navy. he would send a suitable number of letters to francis from somewhere exotic and warm before the draw of newer company turned his thoughts away from the arctic, and those who came with it. after rescuing the remnants of the franklin expedition from the ice, ross would prefer everything go back to normal. it doesn't.

some unknown tropical bird by hauntinghouses (1/1 | 4k+ | T) fitzier; canon divergence; ghosts; supernatural elements; fix-it; angst w/ a happy ending

even after returning to england, francis crozier is haunted by the past.

#skylessnights #reclist by cinematicnomad #fic rec #the terror #fitzier #francis crozier #james fitzjames #fitzier fic rec

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theimaginatrix27 · 3 months

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My Personal Approach to Fantasy AUs

I have received a number of comments on my Deep Space 9 Fairy Tale AU, Seven for a Secret, to the effect of "I love how you've kept everyone so in-character!"

I also recently sent a friend part of the first chapter of a prequel fic in the same setting, and they said they're not usually interested in AUs of this nature, because too often, they've seen characters written in ways that make them less recognisably themselves. But they did like my writing.

So I'm going to try and explain my process in a way that hopefully makes sense to everyone reading it. I'm absolutely not making this post to gatekeep fanfic, or to tell someone how to write their story, I'm just explaining what I do when writing a Fantasy AU within a fandom context.

For clarity, this post is about AUs where the characters were born into a high/epic/secondary world fantasy setting (I have heard all these terms before). It is not about charas being isekaied into fantasy settings for crossover purposes (that genre encompasses portal fantasy, doesn't have to involve the charas dying), though tbh I love those, too. Excellent fun. But the characters in those cases are still the canon ones, just being put in a situation. I actually plan on writing a series of DND campaign fics with the casts of my three favourite classic Trek series that are basically this premise, but that's not what I want to talk about today.

In a lot of cases, when someone has written a fantasy AU, the characters are changed so much that you could, theoretically, file off the serial numbers, switch out canon references and turn it into an original novel. This is also not strictly a bad thing—I've done it myself, and although that story never got finished, it paved the way for those that followed, so it's helpful in the creative process to recognise when you have enough material for an original spin on something.

However, for me especially, it is more fun to see and recognise the fandom characters, and then watch them navigate a story that is both unique and would not be the same without them.

Presenting Exhibit A: The Princess and the Dragon, a fanfiction for Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters, written by my dear friend, @kohakuhime

This was one of the first fics of this nature that I came across in my wanderings through the blighted wastelands of FFN—Kohaku's fics were very much an oasis in the desert, so refreshing and vibrant were they, but this was her big fantasy baby, centred around a ship we both loved, and rich with lore and magic and mystery. It was also peppered with canon references, and all the characters were kept breathtakingly in-character—I won't get into spoiler territory, but let's just say I could hear the voice-actors saying so many of these lines, they were so good! My bar for this type of AU was set pretty high in large part because of this fic.

To be quite fair, Kohaku has said she could probably file off the serial numbers of TPATD, change some of the components of the magic system and release it as an original novel, as the concept itself (again, avoiding spoilers by going into details out of respect for this friend and her excellent story) is a fun twist on a particular trope. But although there are many original elements, it still feels like a Yu-Gi-Oh! fic, because of all the grounding points woven throughout, and how familiar the characters are.

This fic was not the only story I found that helped shape my approach back in 2012—there were a couple other fics in the Dragon Ball Z archive on FFN that also contributed, but they were both written a long time ago and I'm not sure they'd hold up nearly so well today. One of them was a fairy tale retelling (well, a Disney film retelling, but it was really good from my perspective as a fic newbie!), and this plus some other—shall we say, less interesting adaptations in the Yu-Gi-Oh fandom inspired me to write the fic now known as Wild Swans of Domino, which I'm not linking here because I am in the process of editing it up to my current standards. Seven for a Secret is, in its way, a spiritual successor to WSoD, though I do intend to finish the latter (and the sequels I developed over the years). WSoD was my practice ground for developing the approach I wrote this post to explain, and it kinda shows in the current version, because I started out simple, and then my brain started generating lore and places for more canon references to go and the story got away from me. That—happens to me a lot.

My approach with this type of AU comes down to one major point: If I am writing a fairy tale adaptation (it's usually a fairy tale adaptation that starts this for me), or some other fantasy story in an alternate universe which these characters are, for the purposes of the fic, native to, then both they and the setting must have some familiar aspects tying them back to the source material. The characters, especially, must still feel like themselves, or you may lose readers' interest, because "Benjamin Sisko wouldn't do that!" or "Seto Kaiba wouldn't react that way in this situation! Stop making him quote the movie's dialogue, it sounds so contrived it is painful to read!"

... Ahem, moving on from bad memories of bad fics.

WSoD and Secret are both based on a fairy tale I already have an original story idea for (several, actually), so I don't need or want either of them to be unique enough to divorce them from their fandom origins. Therefore, while developing them, I have done/am doing my utmost to weave in as many threads from canon as possible within the boundaries of the setting, and have also done my best to preserve the characters' personalities. And according to those aforementioned comments, I'm doing pretty well!

To be absolutely fair, in both cases, the fandoms in question are either another form of Fantasy or as close to Fantasy as a Sci-fi setting can get (Sisko's an honest to the Prophets Chosen one, for goodness sake!). But I do believe you can do this with any character, from any setting, if you put enough thought into it.

And maybe that's part of why I don't see it around as much, because some (often younger but not always) fic authors can have a concept float into their head or sent to them by another fan, and bang out a fic in a week that hits all the points they wanted it to without too much brainstorming behind it. Whereas I, a perfectionist and possesser of an increasingly plot-tribble-infested brain, can't make a single plot decision without pondering it for several days, and fret over little logistical details until I'm purple in the face (probably. I don't have eyeballs and thence can't look in a mirror). But I still think it's doable for any character.

To do this well, you must consider what fundamentally makes this character who they are. What traits would you absolutely have to keep (aside from physical appearance in most cases) to ensure this character was familiar to the reader who clicked on the fandom tag and subsequently your fic. If you ran across Sherlock Holmes in, say, the Pokémon world, how would you know he was Sherlock Holmes? Why, he'd be solving mysteries, and doing so by analysing all sorts of details, noticing things others failed to, putting pieces together that formed a solution others wouldn't have even considered, because the majority of those puzzle pieces were overlooked! And he'd probably be skulling shuckle juice when he didn't have a mystery to solve. And obviously he'd be autistic.

Are you imagining it? I hope you are. Now imagine a character, or several, from one of your fandoms, that you love. Imagine what you love best about them, what makes them who they are, from your perspective. Now imagine a setting that's different from their source material—there are any number of AUs you could pick. Now, think carefully about how you would write them in this setting, while focusing on changing as little about them as possible.

In Secret, Ben and Julian are both princes (this is revealed in Chapter 1, I don't mind telling you). The Dax symbiont is a Fae being magically bound to Jadzia, who is a mage. Their personalities are still familiar to the reader. Miles O'Brien has barely changed at all, because he doesn't need to.

And there's the single golden rule: When writing an AU like this, only change as much or as little as you absolutely need to for your story to work. You can, of course, have fun with how you change things—just check out Innate Conditions and its companion fics by @tokidokifish for a DS9 example (Cardassians are shapeshifting dragons! How cool is that?)

I hope all this makes sense. And again, this is not an attempt to dictate how you, personally, write your stories. I do hope you at least give it a little thought, though, if you haven't already. Most importantly, have fun!

#Fanfiction #Fantasy AUs #Seven for a Secret #Family Defiant #Because it's most relevant to that AU

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seven-stars-in-his-palm · 2 months

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please accept this passionate, homosexual not so anonymous love letter. i know not who has written it but they seem very enthusiastic about you. the letter lay tucked between the pages of a well-loved book, nestled in the corner of your desk, where it could easily be overlooked but not forgotten. you dont know how long it has been there, waiting patiently for the right moment to be discovered. Perhaps it arrived under the cloak of night, slipped surreptitiously into your midst by a trembling hand afraid of rejection. Or maybe it was placed there boldly, a declaration of love that dared to defy convention and societal norms. Regardless of its origin, the letter now lies before you and you begin to read it

To the one who owns my heart,

As I let these words flow from the depths of my heart, I cannot help but be overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of my feelings for you. I could not stay silent any longer, for my love for you refuses to be contained within the confines of anonymity. I could not stay quiet about my identity, for I could not bear the thought of you loving a mere shadow of who I truly am. So forgive me for signing this with my name, for it symbolizes not just my identity, but my vulnerability and my unyielding desire to be fully known and loved by you.

From the very first glance exchanged between us, I knew that my heart had discovered its home in yours. In your eyes, I found solace, in your arms, I found sanctuary, and in your presence, I found a sense of belonging that I had long yearned for. Your love has breathed new life into my soul, igniting a flame within me that burns with a fierce intensity, growing brighter with each passing day.

My darling, I yearn to hold you close, to feel the steady rhythm of your heart echoing mine. I long to hold you in my arms, to whisper sweet nothings into your ear and to shower you with affection. I dream of a future where we walk hand in hand, navigating life's twists and turns together, bound by a love that is unbreakable.

My love, I lay my heart bare before you, trusting that you will hold it gently in your hands. I lay my heart bare before you, hoping against hope that you may feel even a fraction of the love that consumes me. For in you, I have found the missing piece of my soul, and without you, my world would be but a barren wasteland devoid of colour and meaning. For with you by my side, I am fearless, I am unstoppable, and I am whole.

Counting the seconds until I can call you mine,

Yours devotedly,

P.S. My love for you knows no bounds, and with each passing moment, it only grows stronger. I eagerly await the day when we can share every sunrise and sunset together, for every moment spent in your presence is a treasure beyond comparison. Until then, know that you are always in my thoughts, my dreams, and my heart.

i have been looking at this all dya over and over with more reverance than thelast. what the fuck. what the FUCK. you did this. the P.S??? i love passionate homosexual love betters FR!!!!!!! HEARTS FOR YOU AND KUDOS TO YOUR WRITING SKILLZ!!!!!!!!!!!! 💓💓💖💖💕💗💝💝💓💖💝💕💗💝💓💝💖💕💝💗💝💓

(thanks that one post for these beautiful results <3)

#UAGSGSHHDHDHAGSUSGSGDUEGDHDHHDBDJSJEHSHS #AHEM. UH. YDHA #the guys (with a z!)#hath are perceived #💖

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deltadescent · 5 months

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Hi! Enjoying your Sky stuff~ But I wanna know more about the siblings! What was it? Roast beef and Chicken tender?

I wrote a whole post on this that was extremely long and lost it so here we go x2.

So, yes! Their names are Chicken Tender and Roast Beef! But they aren't actually my characters.

Roast Beef is my friend Clover's sona, and Chicken Tender is my friend Prince's sona! Me and Prince have been friends for 4 years, and we both have been friends with Clover for 3 years! We got pretty close to the point where we call each other siblings all the time, so we thought it would be fun to make our sky kids literal siblings. I don't know why their names turned out the way they did, but a little funfact it actually has resulted in us referring to each other as the 'Lunchbox'.

Anyway! Since they're not my characters, I will do my best to depart what I DO know about them! (To note, it IS incomplete since they aren't my sonas and I can only recite what I know for a fact, and ofc, these things are subject to change by my sibling's will if they so desired). (I may also miss information here because I'm struggling to remember atm bc I just woke up forgive me)

For Roast Beef

I'll start simply. Roast Beef uses they/it pronouns (+ neos!), and is sort of like the middle sibling. (Lamb is the oldest, as they were born in a misplaced area of sky and returned to Orbit to walk through the gate again alongside Roast Beef and Chicken Tender, thus making them the oldest by technicality).

Roast Beef has an affinity for Golden Wasteland and lives there. It used to daydream of getting to befriend a dark dragon, which led to Lamb trekking into the Wasteland where they found a baby krill and gave it to Roast Beef. Roast Beef raised this dark dragon- named 'Puppy'- to be friendly... (or as friendly as one could make a dark dragon... Puppy at least likes Roast Beef, Seared Lamb, and Chicken Tender, but it's... Kinda a toss-up with anyone else.) (NOTE! Puppy is a COMPANION! Not a PET!)

Roast Beef has spent so long in Golden Wasteland that they learned how to communicate with Dark Dragons/Krill and learned a unique call for them. This, coupled with separation from majority of sky kids aside from their siblings, led them to lose some of their memory regarding how to communicate in languages most sky kid's can understand, so they often struggle to talk to others (in the event where they have to.)

Something notable, Roast Beef once went on a trip with Puppy to Eden- and the pull of the crystal resulted in Puppy turning on Beef and attacking it, resulting in Roast Beef being sent to Orbit, where it proceeded to get lost amongst the clouds. Puppy returned to Golden Wasteland after this, and eventually after noticing their absence, Seared Lamb made a trip to Eden to find Roast Beef in Orbit and bring them back to Sky.

I feel like it is also important to note, Roast Beef hates crabs with a passion.

For Chicken Tender

Chicken Tender uses he/they pronouns (+ neos!), and is the youngest of the siblings.

Chicken Tender lives in Hermit Valley at the peak in a hut. They have an affinity for carving things into walls and telling the story of Sky through them. They used to go around Sky putting in various wall carvings, and they used to hang around Lamb and Beef in the Wasteland and write warnings on the wall for other Sky Kids when they were close to dangerous areas. They would also write some of the things Lamb, Beef, or them would learn about sky.

Chicken Tender is very close with ancestors as well, and he learns a lot from them. He also likes to learn things about the stars in the sky and (if I remember correctly), knows how to navigate using them! He knows how to speak Butterfly as well, which I feel like is important to note.

When Roast Beef disappeared without a trace, Chicken Tender became pretty depressed, which only worsened when Lamb disappeared as well a few days later. When they didn't come back, Chicken Tender went off to find his siblings, which resulted in him getting a red crystal shard stuck in his chest, which turned half of his body to stone. (This is extremely similar to what happened to Lamb! Except Lamb's entire body turned to stone, accompanied by their autoimmune disorder which resulted in lowered ability to carry light throughout their body, resulting in the yellow-gold concentrated spots on their body!)

After that, Chicken Tender stayed in Orbit for a while, struggling with multiple things and finding it almost unbearable to return to Sky. He caught up with some spirits and ancestors there before he finally returned to Sky later.

AND I THINK THAT'S ALL I CAN DEPART AT THE MOMENT... I HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT!!! The bit I can confidently share, anyway.

Well. I guess you may also have this comic of Chicken Tender and Lamb.

Thank you if you read all this!!!!

#sky cotl #sky children of the light #sky children of the light art #sky cotl art #ocs #sonas #others ocs #others sonas #i love them so much you dont even know #art #how to destroy a 711 wiki #ask

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luminous-letters · 2 years

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Remains: A Jack Howl x Reader, TWST AU Mini-series

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"Wake up." a gruff voice shook you awake. It was Jack, you smiled. "Morning," you greeted, expecting a regular peck on the cheek from him.

"Hurry up, a horde's about to pass through this town. We've got eighteen hours to pack and move to the next city," was his cold response. The next few moments were spent in silence, the only sounds being the packing of clothes and the tic-tac sounds of plastic.

Horde? Move? You were at a loss, honestly. Where was Grim, Ace or Deuce? The ghosts? Why weren't you in Ramshackle? Your mind was scattered.

"What?"

"We don't have the time nor the luxury for this, don't play with me babe,"

"Where's Ace and Deuce? Grim?"

"Who? Did you hit your head?" Jack was confused.

Then, the memories came back in crashing waves. You weren't in Twisted Wonderland, far from it actually. You were in your city's capitol, or whatever that's left of it. You were home, with Jack.

Moss grew on the sides of abandoned buildings, as well did a few trees clung to the ruins. The scent of smoke and decay filled the air, your stomach turned. It was a wasteland.

"Hurry up, I'm not taking any chances with those things," he called, slinging a large plastic box, which you assumed contained his share of weapons, over his shoulder.

The human mind was strange, almost comedic in a sense, how much it could remember, how much it can make up and how much it could forget. You couldn't believe that you forgot about this, whatever inferno you were thrusted into. How long have you been here?

"This...this isn't a dream."

"No shit, now hurry up," Jack was agitated now, he was gripping his bag tight, taking occasional glances between you and the scene below.

"On it," you regained your composure, now reminded that it was only you and Jack, in a deadly jungle of destruction's wake with whatever creatures lurked in the shadows.

You were quick on your feet, taking three steps worth of stairs every step you came down. Somehow, the stained concrete and the ghostly silence— once foreign, became more familiar. Every step you take, you feel more at home. Home being an empty wasteland.

"We've got to stock up on supplies before we go," Jack sounded more gentle now, maybe he was guilty about earlier. "I've already marked where we can get some stuff while you were asleep," he handed you a map.

There were a few locations circled in fresh red ink, indicative of its importance. They weren't too far, most of them were a couple blocks away.

"Do we split up? We can cover more area that way."

"No," was Jack's simple reply. "We go there together, you and me," he handed you a glock, fully loaded with a silencer attached to the nozzle.

"Plus, with whatever you were going on with earlier," he started walking now, with you towing behind him. "You're definitely not mentally fit to do this alone," he finished.

The rest of the walk was quiet, save for the rustle of old flyers and signs against the wind. What stood was what was left from the panicked evacuation many years ago, overturned cars, covered in the lush of moss and rust.

Debris from fallen line towers littered the area, making it a lot more difficult to navigate through. You had to watch your step, lest you fall and attract some unwanted attention.

The sky was a sickly desaturated shade of yellow-green, covered in gray clouds, with smog blurring the rest of the city in the distance.

You inched closer to Jack, "Scared?" he asked, to which you answered with a nod of your head. "Figured. It's still a few months since all of this started..." Jack reminisced.

"That quick for the entire world to fall," you both continued walking, surveying every nook and cranny, every alley you came across. "I didn't study criminology for this shit," Jack cursed. "Good thing you took a medical course."

"I'm sorry," for what? You weren't sure. But it felt right, maybe you were sorry for forgetting. "It's fine, if I hadn't met you before shit hit the fan..." he breathed in. "I might've lost myself the moment the whole collapse started."

"I'm still lost, in all of this," you gestured around you. "Why aren't we in NRC? why aren't you in Savanaclaw?" you racked your brain for anything, but found nothing.

"Savana-what? Babe, what are you talking about? Are you on something?" he scratched his head, passing through one of the marks he put on the map. "We're in Rust City, we moved here from Cambridge after the Siege. We've been living like this for the past three months." Jack listed.

They were familiar, you remember everything that he said. The Siege, Cambridge, and many more. But what about NRC? About everyone you knew, about Jack?

"You good? Your heart's beating like crazy," he was concerned, even if his voice did nothing to show it. "Need to rest?"

"No. I'm good."

Finally, you arrived at the first stop for your resource skirmish. 'Marigold District General Store', the sign read. Its windows were shattered and there were barely anything left from the shelves, only a number of canned meatloaf and beans.

You two passed through the large window, afraid to make any noise from the door's bell chime. "Get what you can, meet me back here when you're done," he gave you an empty bag before disappearing to the tools section.

You were chucking in whatever you could find that was edible— sardines, emulsified meat, some chicken noodles and soup, and canned vegetables.

You grabbed the last few spices and salts, and threw in eight bottles of water that sat scattered and dusty. You went to the store's pharmacy, grabbing some painkillers and paracetamol, as well as antibiotics, bandages and antiseptics.

With nothing else left to take, you headed back towards the store's front.

"Still no sign from him," you sat on a store bench meant for the elderly, "No one's left to use this anyway," your cynicism showed itself.

"Back," Jack called, a toolbox in hand. "Our old one's all worn out, the quality sucked," he held up the bright, orange-colored box for you to see. "Got anything else?" you asked him.

"A machete and some whetstones, would come in handy since we're reserving ammo," he set it down, sitting beside you. "How about you? What did you get?"

"Sardines, meatloaf, sausages, noodles, soup, water...and some coffee packs, medicine," you listed all the items, earning a satisfied hum from Jack.

"This should last us a few days," he sat back, stretching his arms before wrapping them around your shoulder. "We should get going," he kissed your cheek and gave you a pat before picking up his share of supplies.

"Next is fuel," he told you once you got back. The walk back was peaceful, albeit slow from the amount of load you two were carrying. You had to rush for fuel now. "We still got a few bars of gas left, but I doubt it's enough to get us to Carvester," Jack packed all your stuff inside the old van.

Carvester, as you recalled, was a province a few kilometers away from Rust County. It had a good amount of business districts and wasn't known to be too populated, so you understand why Jack chose that place.

"Good to go?" he fastened his seatbelt, leaving the windows open instead of turning on the air conditioner to save gas. "Mhmm, good." you fastened your own.

It didn't take too long for the engine to roar to life, you flinched at how loud it was. "Damn it," Jack too was startled by the sudden noise.

The drive was just as quiet, nothing but the sound of wheels against the pavement and the hum of the engine. Soon, the image of the gas station emerged from the thick blanket of smog.

"Stay here," he told you, leaving to fill up the tank with fuel. "Jackpot," you heard him chuckle. "Babe, hand me those empty containers," you handed him three.

You watched the fuel meter go up centimeter by centimeter, until it was completely full. "Who knew there was still a good portion left here, I honestly thought they'd have run out by now," you said.

Jack closed the door, "That means only a few people went here," you thought about the implications of the fact. "Most likely, they went to the Capitol. It's at the opposite end of town so it's unlikely that they'd stumble here." Jack answered, once again starting up the engine.

The clock read 10:43. The engine roared. The rubber of the tires rolled against the asphalt.

"Next stop— Carvester."

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #jack howl #gn!mc #twst fanfic #jack howl x reader #twst au #au #zombie au #apocalypse au #gender neutral reader #twst miniseries #post apocalyptic #writing #my writing #twst remains au

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lost-girl-2021 · 1 year

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VIT

If you guys like my writing style, please check out the first chapter of my upcoming book, VIT. It's a sci-fi story I've been working on and off for the past few years and I'm hoping to have it published at the end of summer. My cousin published her first book at 21, so my goal is to do mine at 20. Anyways, I'll post the summary in italics and then the first chapter below. Thanks for reading!

Vit has a purpose, a mission. She’s devoted her life to The Collective, an intergalactic agency working to bring criminals to justice. She’s given up her old life, no longer able to remember anything from her past or even her original name. She had made peace with the gap in her mind, but when a mission goes south, she’s confronted with the reality that the agency she gave everything to might not be what she thought it was. With Fin, a fellow bounty hunter, chasing after her, she has to figure out who she is and who she wants to be before it’s too late.

Chapter One

Vit knows she should be asleep. She's been up for over twenty hours straight and her eyes are so dry that they sting with each blink. Yet, she can't manage to stop working. She knows what the alternative is; a dark haze, stretching on for what feels like forever. A cold that sticks with you for weeks after. She’d rather deal with the shakiness of not eating and the blurry vision that came with it.

Her robotic handler had given her the case the night before, when they entered the Lower Ring again. The three solar systems, High, Middle, and Low took between one and two weeks to travel between. Vit wished it took longer. It had been a long month in the Middle Ring, chasing down a band of pirates. The days of traveling were the only times Vit had any sort of break. Her feet ached and her back was all bruised from the week before, when she got knocked into a metal table during a fight. It made it hard to sleep at night, unable to focus on anything but how much everything hurt.

She had only gotten a few hours of sleep when the living machine woke her, a grin on her face as she let her know they were an hour away from their next planet. It never looked right when Ciro smiled. Vit knew it was supposed to be disarming, but all it ever did was put her further on edge. Androids were creepy like that, always finding some way to remind you they weren’t human. Stronger, smarter, with less emotion. If they weren’t so easy to hack, they’d be the ones in charge of bounty-hunting, instead of just the authority in every operation. And Ciro was definitely Vit’s keeper, the one who would take her back if she messed up, who reported every failure and flaw to the higher-ups. The non-living woman made it clear she had no trouble taking her back to the Collective base on the planet Cil, where she’d be grounded for an unknowable amount of time.

So, what was a little bit of lost sleep? When it meant she could be warm in a bed instead of frozen in a cryogenic chamber? It’s all worth it. At least, that’s what she told herself on nights like this.

The girl looked at the clock, groaning under her breath. Ciro would fully recharge within a few hours; it would be easier to just stay up, and keep working on the case. Once she brought the bounty to the planet Cil, she could catch up on her sleep. Maybe she’d even get a chance to rest before her next case. When they had a prisoner on board the ship, Vit was supposed watch them while Ciro recharged or worked on navigation. She wasn’t sure if it was a programming error or if she somehow was acting of her own volition, but the being of Artificial Intelligence seemed to order her into guard duty when she was on the verge of falling asleep.

Rubbing her forehead, Vit returned her gaze to the file before her; the map of Toi was complex and without any real patterns. Tents and rickety old homes were all crammed next to each other in makeshift towns, the gaps between them barren except for the dirt roads that blended together with the rest of the wasteland. She had covered an entire town on foot earlier that day, hoping her target was stupid enough to return to one of her old haunts during her time on the planet. Unfortunately, it seemed like the crook had a heads-up about her arrival. She hadn't gotten anything all day besides blisters and sunburn. There was a chance she had gone to Cri instead, but she seemed to have more connections on Toi. Her ship, the Ghost, had been seen a few days prior, flagging one of the Collective’s systems. The whole crew was wanted for various crimes and the ship itself was stolen, but Regan Witz was the biggest threat and needed to be taken first.

Sometimes, it was easy. She could stroll down the street and spot her mark within minutes. Drag them back to the ship and start heading towards the nearest Collective Outpost before lunch. Other times, it went like this. Days with no leads, pressure on all sides from the higher-ups and her handler.

Glancing at the messy and possibly out-of-date digital map, Vit forced herself to focus. Scrolling, she read over the notes she’d scribbled next to each of the locations she’d checked. Everyone had insisted she was in various spots around the galaxy. Some said she was in the High Ring, of all places, engaged to some Lord who was cousin to the Monarch. Or that she’d joined the Wildlings on the edge of the galaxy, living in chaotic bliss. Something was there; Vit was close, she could feel it. She wasn’t going to disappoint the Collective and she sure as stars wasn’t about to give up.

Changing tabs, she searched her security feed for the dozenth time to see if any of her bugs had picked up anything. She could put Ciro back on monitor duty as soon as she recharged, but until then it was all Vit. And the monitoring software she had picked up on planet Lio was far from high-tech. It wasn’t anywhere near as fast as the system she was used to, but there weren't many options. Her last bounty had put up quite a fight, destroying the Nav and her surveillance hard drive before Vit could stop him. She was lucky to get anything semi-compatible with the rest of her ship, given how old it was. And the mechanics on Cil said they’d have to special order new pieces, so she was stuck with tech that was probably came out during the Old Wars, twenty years prior.

Annoyed that the system hadn’t caught anything, she cracked her neck and pulled open one of her desk drawers. Popping out the fake bottom, she found the boost she needed. She tossed the small metal case onto her desktop, fingers fumbling with the small adhesive. Peeling off the clear covering, she pressed an Artificial Energy patch right above her heart, hiding the thin stimulant under her shirt. It was a mostly-translucent sticky rectangle, with AE stamped in all black.

The Collective (and therefore Ciro) disapproved of any enhancing tech or drugs on their people, so she tried to keep them hidden for the most part. It wasn’t like she was snorting crystals; she just needed a little help sometimes. And the best way for her to job her job fast and efficiently was for her to help herself. A rush of adrenaline hit her within a couple of seconds, making her hands twitch and eyes go wide. It had been a while since she’d had any sort of booster, let alone what were essentially shots of adrenaline to the heart. Her last mission left her without any privacy, so she'd suffered without any A.E. patches. It was part of the reason why she preferred to work alone. Everyone had to have their own backs; the Collective was a force of good and everyone was held to the highest standards. Failure, weakness— none of that would be tolerated. It was part of the reason why they were cycled out so frequently. Sometimes, a person just wasn’t necessary; maybe just unneeded for a specific uptic in crime, maybe just not useful in anything short of an all-out war.

Pushing back from the desk, she stared at the ceiling, slouching in the uncomfortable chair as she waited for it to kick in. Knicks and scratches formed a pattern along the metal roof, a reminder that someone had this ship before her. Probably another bounty hunter for the Collective. Someone who had been promoted, demoted, or put back in Cryo. Every mission was life or death for someone working for the Collective, but it was what she had signed up for. Everyone in the agency had sacrificed their lives and memories for a chance to bring justice to the galaxy— they were heroes to the universe.

The thought brought a small smile to Vit’s face, some of the tension draining from her shoulders. She had been conscious for nearly a year— one of the longest times for someone to be out of Cryo. She was good, and if the worst thing that happened to her was getting caught with some caffeine patches, she’d stay conscious for a long time. As long as she didn’t mess up, she’d stay Awake.

Going back to the map, she tried to look for something new. Ciro and her had spent the whole day and part of the night searching for the bounty, but it looked like he wasn't even on-planet. It had happened before; bad intel and a lack of communication had left her in similar situations more times than she cared to remember. It just meant that Vit wouldn't be resting any time soon.

Still, she couldn’t give up just yet. There was something about this planet that was messing with her head. She didn’t know where she had come from or anything about her life before, but part of her wondered if she had been to the shanty town before. The growing migraine suggested it. Or maybe it was just a side effect of the caffeine patch. Either way, she—

Suddenly, the security feed sounded, a small beep alerting her to something new. Whipping forward, she tapped on the screen, her mouth split into a grin. Her bounty— though a bit blurry —was caught barely ten minutes from her, on one of the bugs she’d planted. The audio was too shaky to make anything out besides “dangerous” and a few curses, but the message seemed clear. Her bounty was about to leave and she had to act quickly.

She grabbed her jacket off the floor, tucking her badge into her pocket and pulling her hood over her head as she hurried towards the bay doors. Hitting her palm against the release, she charged down the ramp and jumped off before it even hit the ground, pulling her duff over her mouth and nose. She didn’t know what was from the patch and what was the thrill of the chase, but Vit really didn't care. The mission was all that mattered.

The city was unfamiliar as she raced through it, despite her earlier search. Everything was a bit off-kilter, nothing quite right as she sped through the streets. For as long as she could remember, she’d always had backup. Either Ciro or another device of Collective Intelligence— someone to tell her what to do, where to go. A pang of unease crept up her spine, nearly overwhelming with the artificial adrenaline pumping through her system. She was running out of time. She needed to focus, needed to be better.

The sun was starting to rise over her side of the planet, covering all the grime in a deceiving copper glow. It almost looked nice. Vit thought it was misleading. Like most things that looked good, it was just a front. Vit had arrested enough innocent-looking people in her time that any notion of trust in her own perception was eradicated. At the end of the day, all she could do was follow orders and hope for the best. Just like the Magnate always told them; Trust in the Collective. (The only was implied.)

Nearly crashing into one of the drunks wandering through the streets after a night of waste, Vit snapped to attention. She was starting to drift now and then, exhaustion mixing badly with the fast-beating of her heart. Shaking her head, she adjusted her hood before entering the tavern before her. It was covered in the filth that all Ports held, the metal walls barely recognizable under all the filth and the half-ripped posters covering Stars know what.

Vit pulled at the buff attached to the lower part of her undercoat, covering her mouth and nose. Her face was sweaty now and it was starting to itch. While there wasn’t any set uniform for Collective members, anonymity was best when out in public, especially since she was in a bar full of Monarch loyalists. The blue patches of the jackets gave it away, along with the weapons strapped to everyone. On the planet Cil, only Collective agents are allowed weapons. It makes it easier when they need to maintain order. The entrylevel agents usually stayed planetside since it was so easy to get the upper hand. Vit was uncomfortable around the bar of criminals, knowing she didn’t have enough manpower or gunpower to take them all on if it came to it. Despite the heavy beating of her heart and the voice in her head telling her to make a move, she stayed calm. Ignored the eyes on her.

Moving towards the back of the room, she spotted her target downing the last of her drink. The man next to her seemed to nod towards the grimy-looking bathroom, moving away from the woman. The area was far too public for Vit to move in on her, but she walked calmly towards the bathrooms, reaching for the heavy knife in her vest. She wasn’t a killer, that was . . . the Collective was a force for good, so she was a force for good. While death was necessary at times, it would not bode well if she killed a man on a Monarchy-favored planet. All executions were to be held on the home planet.

Regardless, it was remarkably easy to sneak behind the man and use the blunt end of her blade to knock out the unreasonably tall man. Even if she did have to stand on her toes to reach his head. Locking the bathroom door afterward, she returned to the main room just in time to see her target leaving out the back door. Vit quickly followed, finding herself in a filthy alley between two taverns. The woman was standing across from her, seemingly casual.

“You’ve been looking for me.” She observed, leaning against the grime-covered wall. “Thought I’d make it a bit easier.”

A trap.

Vit tensed slightly upon realization, scolding herself for being so stupid. Ciro would’ve noticed, would’ve already called in back-up by now, or had some genius plan ready for Vit to use. She was the one who made the plans, Vit was just the muscle.

Still, Vit was a good bounty hunter. She had incapacitated the friend and surely she could take some criminal freak twice her age. Still, she went without any of her usual speech (surrender now and no harm will come to you, blah, blah, blah . . . ) and she charged.

The target jumped up, dodging her first punch and throwing one of her own. Vit grabbed her fist and twisted, smirking as the woman cried out. She kneed her in the gut, but the woman didn’t fall. Instead, she brought her free hand down on Vit’s forearm hard, forcing her to let go as a painful tingling spread through her arm. Both charged, tackling each other to the ground in a battle of fists. Kicking the bounty hard in the gut, Vit took the chance to stand and reach for her cuffs. Just as the tool was freed from her belt, the woman landed a punch to the side of her face, the metal restraints flying out of her hands across the alley.

With a start, Vit realized that the mask fell from around her face, causing hesitation on her target’s end. The woman seemed stunned, something not uncommon; the few people who had seen Vit’s face were all shocked by how young she looked. This time, it worked to her advantage; Vit moved quickly, sweeping the woman’s legs and knocking her to the hard ground. She reached for the fallen cuffs a few feet away, suddenly dizzy from the rush of movement. Blinking harshly, she stretched her fingers to grab the cool metal, only to be yanked backward just as she grasped them.

The bounty’s companion, who she had apparently mistaken for unconscious, yanked her up from the ground, knocking her into the side of the tavern. Vit choked on her breath, the air knocked out of her with the force of the shove. She coughed painfully, hands grasping at her chest. Standing up, her bounty pushed her into the wall once more as her friend stepped back.

“Who are you?” The woman demanded, pinning her against the rough stone with her forearm against Vit’s throat.

Still breathless and dizzy, Vit thrashed harshly, glaring up at the older girl. “Re— Reagan Witz, you are wanted by the Collective for— “

“I don’t care about that.” She snapped, pressing harder against Vit’s throat. “Who are you?”

Vit blanched, confused. Surely, it was obvious by now that she belonged to the Collective. Vit didn’t know how to answer or why the bounty hadn’t tried to do anything more than restrain her yet. She couldn’t tell if she was stupid or trying to stall as she and her friend waited for backup. Although, at this point, Vit didn’t think she could control her dizzy double-vision long enough to throw a solid punch. Still, despite her precarious position, Vit ignored her and continued on.

“Surrender now and no harm will come to your companion.” She offered, eyeing the so-far silent man staring at her. He looked to be in shock— silent and wide-eyed as he watched the exchange. His, nearly white, blond hair was spiked up with a ridiculous amount of product, except for the smooshed half from where he must’ve hit the ground. He looked unreasonably spooked for someone so tall.

The dark eyes she locked with went blurry, everything spinning slightly as she refocused on her target. Vit tensed slightly, ready to break free of the woman and arrest her. Or pass out when she tried. Either way, she wasn’t about to just give up.

“— there’s gotta be some explanation.”

Blinking, Vit realized her bounty had been speaking, though her hearing seemed to be suddenly unreliable. The world was spinning, nothing steady. Her heart was beating so loud, she felt the vibrations in her throat. She wheezed as the woman let go of her throat, hands moving to her shoulders. Her mouth was moving, but Vit couldn’t tell what she was saying.

She reared her head back and slammed forward, headbutting her with a loud crack. The world tipped off its axis and suddenly the ground was rushing toward her. She twisted, pulling the woman down with her. From her belt, she pulled out a needle, plunging it into her neck. As the sedative disappeared into her skin, Vit lunged at the man, tackling him into the ground. They both hit hard, his head bouncing off the stone. She punched him, once, twice, three times, before she was sure he was out cold. Behind them, the target was limp on the cold ground.

Vit raised her hand to her ear, breathing heavily. “Ciro? I really hope you’re charged.”

#creative writing #current wip #writers on tumblr #books #scfi #young author #VIT

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thegreenrabbit · 1 year

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Ash and Light

The blinding wash of bright white burned. From the scarlet darkness of the Forge to this wasteland of light had his eyes stinging and tearing. The next assault on his senses was the smell… he bit back the panic building in his chest, blinking, needing to see where he was.

Finally the sting mellowed into a dull ache, and Gawain could properly see. The panic that rose gently ebbed, as his vision assured him the smell of ash was not fresh. Of course it was not. There was no bite of embers, no crackle of fire, no heat. Just the smell that rested at the bottom of his throat.

He struggled to sit up. His arms shook, weakened, and he was unsteady as he grabbed the rock nearby to hoist himself to his feet. He looked over and beyond and saw a great expanse of… nothing at all. An endless sea of shifting ash, dark rocks cutting into the horizon, shattering the image. “... The Burn…” he murmured. A place he had studied, but never expected - or wanted - to see.

A trill came from above, and Gawain looked to see the star bird, watching with her beady eyes. Waiting, and expecting, as always.

“Do not look at me like that, Lapis. And do not tell your sister… I do not have the strength to keep the link closed, but she mustn’t worry. Would that you keep this private.” The star bird tilted her head, and swooped down, alighting gently on his shoulder. A touch that never hurt.

—

The dead silence is what finally woke him. He had slept first - he did not have the strength to do more than set the bag tossed in the last moment against a rock, nestled away from sight just in case, to be his pillow, never mind trying to figure out where to go. The star bird had kept watch. And faithfully she did. He could have slept for another hour - day - week - if the silence of this dead place had not dragged the little energy he had accumulated into a throbbing awareness of - well, nothing. And that was the issue. The only sound in this place was the beating of his heart, rapid and irregular.

—

It was hard to tell time. As long as the sun was over the horizon, the world was an expanse of white nothing, all bright and the same. Ash covered him, making him pale and dim. He did not care. He could not care. What cared was a moment away from Doom at a whim. So he marched on.

“This sucks.” He said out loud to no one. No, not to no one. To the star bird that flew overhead.

—

The food that was packed was too salty, too cheesy, too rich. He did not know how much to eat to get the nutrients needed - the units of food were not neatly prepared for intake, he had to guess. And so he was afraid of overeating. He took less and less, not sure of how long it would take him to find the path out. Just enough to keep him upright, but the ache in his head would not go away.

While the food situation challenged him, he was not terribly worried. Gawain had spent much time navigating many environments for his contracts, and was relatively used to these conditions. The pack had all the basics and more for the primary needs. He had been exposed to more than one mission that left him without food for days, that meager portions of fruit, cheese, and trail mix would be fine.

Then again… he thought, as his head throbbed in pain, and he stumbled as his legs trembled, he had been with Ranshin those times. Why was he so parched now?

—

Gawain crested the overlook, breathing heavily. Another cough ripped from his throat, but he remained focused, his eyes taking in… he did not know what. An obstruction on the horizon, made of sharp edges and ash… ash, ash, ash, everywhere. He settled his hands on his hips and furrowed his brow trying to make sense of it.

A dim shock hit him. Ribcage.

He looked onto the sight for a long time in awe. Only when a groan of hunger broke the silence, did he begin the long descent down the cliff.

—

It was far too late by the time he noticed this one.

He was resting - again - finding himself struggling to go more than an hour before needing to come to slow down. The taste of ash was at all times mingled with copper. His head ached and his mouth was beyond parched - absolutely every ounce of his willpower was used to not over drink water. During the night (which night? The second? Third?) he had finally oriented himself well enough to know how far it was to the nearest civilization as he knew. While there could be another on the way, he rationed for the worst case.

As he mulled over these thoughts, schooling them to stay on task and not slip into white noise, the sound of tumbling stone split through the sound of his rapid pulse. The star bird that had been scouting for him tirelessly spread her wings in surprise, as her perception faltered to the exhaustion overtaking her.

Gawain stood quickly. The world around him spun. He grabbed the pack and leapt, ashen and bloodied fingers pulling him up the rockface. He had seen the safe outcropping above that would place him above any burrowing enemies but he had been too weary to climb, trusting the silence in error. Sharp rocks dug into his hands. The world began to shake as the threat drew near. He tightened his grip, the star bird crying out. Rock and ash sprinkled from above, and his chest tightened in agony as he fought to hold in a cough.

He could not. It ripped from him, metal filling his mouth. The weakness in his arms gave in and he fell to the earth with a thud. He rolled over just in time to see it - needle like limbs covered in white crystal, pincers snipping the air. Looming above a single stinger of white crystal glinted in the overwhelming light.

He laughed. He could not help it. It tasted of bitterness, a smile like a knife breaking across his face. He had avoided the desmans. The coblyns. Even the giant worms. But it would be the scorpion he could not avoid. Of course, of course.

He thought of the linkpearl, neatly tucked into his chest pocket, shimmering red. And he knew he would be found reduced to ash before he would say Mercy.

“Lord of the Inferno. Known to this land as Ifrit. Master of Hellfire and Smoke. Pray, lend me your strength. The weight of your twisted horns will scorch the heavens, this burden I will bear.” He pressed his hand to the now open grimoire. The blood of his scraped hands mixed with the ink, that crawled up his arms in dark veins. “... J’kobi…” The word was a sigh. “Do not take the last of my strength.” The scorpion raised its stinger. “Enshin, Inferno Soul - Ifrit Cloak!” made of fire, he rushed the creature.

—

One hand forward. The other hand. Bring forward his right leg, place the knee. Draw forward the other leg, place the knee. Again. Again.

He gripped the edge of the overlook, and pulled himself up the incline, all but crawling. He gazed out and a long sigh escaped him, followed by a cough. The large blue crystal floated, spinning in a lazy circle, the small town crowded around it like a moth to a lantern. An aetheryte. He had survived.

#ffxiv rp

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gremlinmain-idk · 6 months

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This is mostly speculation.

once upon a time

lived peaceful mammals who walked on two legs. they lived on a place the other of the walking mammals didnt want to be, who'd had thought the place was too baren, too humid, and too dirty.

But these people cared for the place thought to be a desolate wasteland. They loved the little sprouts. They loved the sounds of the bugs, peaceful, musical. Perhaps there was a terrible accident, great fire burning through, or a terrible flood. They realized the human species didn't belong outside africa, that they had to care and respect and live with the land, for if they destroyed it, they would grow hungry and cold. The tectonic plates were breaking, the fall of the ice age had sea levels rising. But by the time the ocean grew, they'd long forgotten africa, too busy living.

They cultivated from scarcity, saw good in the littlest things. They loved the lilted music of the flying things, the humming of the big furry things, gentle giants, even the percussive chirp of the tiny bug things, the playful personality of the larger woodland creatures and smaller too.

This is all speculative! Sometime long before today, the last wooly mammoth of a what is now called europe laid its rest far away. Who we now call europeans were scared of the misunderstood giants, and hungry. A messenger from north ran down to convey the dismaying news to the peoples of the now-called-americas, who vowed to protect the remaining gentle giants they lived with, whilst far away the rest of them were destroyed by who knows what.

For a many many human lifetimes, the people of the americas lived peacefully, and watched as their kin played in the forests.

Speculative: People from south and west joined in celebration each year of the harvest season. The adults shared the responsibilities of their kins.

various generations had various mottos for their kin/children:

"The kin should know what is what"

"We should stay with the kin. or The kin should stay with us"

"The kin should be protected"

"the kin should know how to be careful" "we should tell them HOW to be careful" "be practically harmless"

"We and our kin should be practically harmless"

"Hello what advice do you have to raise the next generation"

"Go with them at first, so they know what is what" "Remind them not to go too far from home so as not to get lost" "kids don't listen, might as well just let them learn on their own"

"ensure they know how to be safe and navigate, then you can you let them go on their own"

"And so this way is that, and this way is that, follow that will lead to that. Now what did I say? So as not to get lost." "uh, Don't get lost"

"uh, don't get lost?"

"We prefer a more hands off approach."

"The kin should be comfortable."

Depending on what was around, depended on who was in charge of what to bring to the festivals.

Some were near rivers, saw how bears gathered fish, and did the same. Some were in woodlands, saw how squirrels planted acorns, and did the same. Some saw how the larger woodland creatures ate from smaller, and did the same. Someone, back from scavenging, told their folks about a stick that struck out and had a sharp end to eat the smaller creatures. (it was a snake or an alligator, but they heard pointy stick) They did the same to catch these. Someone saw how a spider wrapped something long and windey around its food, gathered other long and windey things and did the same. It took a long while, studying spiders, to make things like them. But the net was born after trial and error, and they cheered at it's ease.

They ate what the creatures ate, and went where they went, and gathered what they gathered.

Different folks from different places gathered at various festivals to exchange ideas, stories, and food items. The younger of the kin watched how a colorful bird danced proudly, and decided to try it. They also wanted to fly, but quickly learnt that was not possible, even after taking collecting the soft things that birds used to fly (feathers), from meals(too ticklish to eat), or if it happened to shed from a bird. Some created a heirachry of who collected the most of these soft things, tokens of experience. Sometimes feathers could be used to count the number of moons had past, and were used to celebrate.

To celebrate? Being alive that many moons, being at the same place many moons, dedication and patience to collect feathers the patient dedication of feather-collecting.

sometimes it was a long time of collecting them especially if they couldnt catch a bird, had to wait for it to drop a leaf for them. It was a blessing from above.

What had started as a blunder of inability to fly, from the ever-optimists, became a way to celebrate.

Some took a different approach. They liked the colors of the birds and thought it came from the berries they ate. They'd accidentally stepped on one and found that it made their shoe the color of the berry. They were taught it was unwise or unkind to step on the birds' food, but they took some berries to cultivate, a lesson of their elder's scarcity-mindset, then soon got enough extra berries to make dyes with. Squished these onto cloths like they had on their shoes. Then later they diluted it in rainwater or salt water or drinking water that had gone sour. The berries made the water a pretty color, and that made the cloth pretty too. They finally got to look colorful like the birds.

A friend of theirs wanted to dance like the birds and dress like the birds. So they made a cloth from the idea and copied the bird's movement, certain it would attract popularity. And it did. He became famous in the town and even other folks from near took notice too. Some folks begged him to teach the dance, and being from generous folks, he obliged, and soon many were dancing at festivals. The elders chuckled at their grandchildren, kids who were dancing instead of helping, but they agreed that they could do so at festivals so long as their grandchildren did the other important things at other times. There was great debate about the youth's trend of dancing in colorful clothes, but the agreement was it was okay so long as it was practically harmless. And for those who looked after their safety, it was nice to see children of the village sharing joy sometimes, instead of the repeating scary stories of the elder's youths.

When they grew up and had children, they encouraged this joyous behavior but associated it only with festivals. This generation also probably got into music once they were too weak to dance, and they chuckled when their kin danced to their music.

It was a joyous, peaceful time, humans who'd found many ways to communicate, create, copy. Nobody needed to make any weapons, other than sharp tools for getting stuff.

Practically harmless solutions. The occational larger creature having a bad day, such as a bear, could be diverted with the sound of loud music. Spiky or stinging vegetation could be placed to protect things.

also perhaps some had ways of being safe and practically harmless about toothy-bog-creature-monsters (alligators), who may have an appetite for mammals. but that's another story.

#storytime

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chelzone · 11 months

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figuring out my next writing queue right now, for stories i wanna make later this year featuring me own characters. looks like it'll be

Scorched Leftovers: a story focusing on Baphomet's managment of Hell, and how she intends to utilize a 3-person team (Frey, Herb, and Winona) to help tend to the wasteland and its anomalies surrounding the outer limits of the realm's cities. also for some comedic relief, we'll throw in those troublesome Chairmen of Vice at the beginning. as of writing i still need to design 2 more chairmen but they'll all be finalized well in-advance before i write this story

EXOPUFF: some folks think that if you're going to introduce a fictional team of astronauts / space explorers, you should do it proper and seriously. well, I ALREADY did that with the Cosmic Explorers in Cosmic Woof!! so for the other character universe were having a goofy and horny introduction to the Star Charters of Astral Navigations. of course i'll still do non-horny stories with these new characters later on lol

Flake-Speckled Eyes: so before i started getting serious into game development, at one point I had an idea for an rpg maker game that would've had the player controlling husbands Debonair and Riley on Loopswill Island. essentially, you would've helped them find a way to break into a closed-off building on the island that had a secret cave and some magical shit within. would've involved traveling along the island and doing a bunch of connected quests. this was too fucking ambitious so ive long-since converted those plans to a written story instead lol

#WIP plans

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blue-bird17 · 11 months

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Forest Run - Chapter 3

Jett waved at us when I went outside for the first time in three days. “Bye kids, be safe! AND DON’T KILL EACH OTHER ON YOUR GUY’S TRIP, ALRIGHT?”

“Got it!” Nevaeh yelled, “See ya, old man!” Nevaeh and Jay are going into Doylestown, which is a one hour bike ride away. Why does this weird investigation station have to be so far from the town? I’m going to die from this annoying kid and so, so tiring bike ride. Though Nevaeh was so tired—and felt like calling a cab to come and pick her up—it was Jay that had trouble keeping up, which surprised Nevaeh because it looks like both Jett and Jay were filled with muscle. I guess it’s because I have stronger wings. Oh right, our wings! “Hey, umm, I have to use the washroom, I guess I’ll have to go out in the woods, uhh, I’ll be back soon, so… See ya.” Loser! Nevaeh trailed her bike over to the woods, went a little way through the trees, and she spread her wings out to fly. She took off for the skies, using her magic to bring along her black bike. She went through the clouds laughing with thrill. This is amazing! I love it up here!

⸻

Where is that girl? Jay thought as paced back and forth, lead in hand. You know what, that’s it, I’m going without her. She knows the way, so she can navigate herself through this open wasteland. He hopped on his bike and petaled off through all the reeds sticking up high. Only if he had as much strength as Nevaeh, he wouldn’t have to stop as much to rest.

When he reached Doylestown, he went straight to the place they were supposed to be if they ever got separated from each other. It’s called Planet Smoothie and it’s on W State St. I guess that’s easy enough for both of us to follow. Nevaeh and Jay only agreed on this because they both like smoothies. They would’ve picked a pizza place, but they couldn’t agree on a pizza. Nevaeh only liked cheese while Jay only liked pepperoni pizza. Jay got inside Planet Smoothie and found Nevaeh waiting there for him.

“How the hell did you get here faster than ME!”

“I got here faster than you because I used my resources wisely.” Nevaeh said calmly.

“You did not.” Jay gasped, “I can’t believe you used your wings! Without me!”

“Well I did. What flavored smoothie do you want?”

“Is that why you went to totally use the washroom! You did that just for you to sneak away with your wings!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Now, answer my question! What flavored smoothie do you want?” Alright, now Nevaeh was practically yelling at him, he could see the anger in her eyes.

“I still can’t believe you left me! Just left, if that isn’t bad enough, you used your wings instead while I was working up a sweat on that annoying bike!” Jay couldn’t believe he was still caught up in this stupid conversation that he was having with a wall—technically Nevaeh was acting like a blank, white wall.

“Answer the damn question! What flavored smoothie do you want?!” Oh gods, now he’s done it, Nevaeh iris even turned a fiery color, and the pupil shape of it. That changed to what a cat’s pupils look like, a long rhombus reaching from the top down to the bottom of the iris.

“Orange and pineapple…” Jay said while slumping his shoulders over.

Nevaeh went up to order their drinks, then sat down with him and waited quietly—not even one peep from Jay, afraid that he might mess things up again—her name was called and they got up, got their drinks, and left—and of course saying thank you on the way out.

“Where do you want to go now?” Jay said hesitantly, afraid Nevaeh might yell at him again. But her eyes are back to normal, maybe she won’t act harshly anymore for the time being.

“To the skies.” Nevaeh looked up.

“Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?” Jay questioned.

“Just lock up our bikes to the railing over there.” Nevaeh pointed across the street to a railing that was just out in the open, not connecting to anything. “And then we take off.”

Jay obeyed not saying a word, and went back to Nevaeh. Her beautiful black wings folded out from the royal blue tunic while she was holding on to the stairway railing. Jay got the hint, he made his tiny golden wings pop out of his plain black tunic. My wings are big, but they look like an ant next to her wings! Like- what the hell? Nevaeh beat her wings once and she took off. Now Jay gets it, she wants to go up to the clouds, Jay flapped his wings; once; twice; three times, and then he shot out off the grayish sidewalk.

⸻

Nevaeh shot up into the pink clouds and looked at the golden sky. Jay came through the clouds, coughing when part of the clouds somehow got into his mouth.

“In fantasy stories,” Jay coughed, “the clouds always seemed to taste like cotton candy, I don’t see how though. These supposedly ‘cotton candy clouds’ are horribly for the taste!” Jay spat. “Woah, that’s beautiful.” He gasped.

Indeed it was, the sunset in Doylestown was the prettiest in September. The clouds were this beautiful pink color, the sky going through phases to get from blue to a golden yellow color, skipping over the colors red and orange, only going through purple; pink, and coral to get to the golden sun. With Nevaeh back to Jay, she didn’t notice when he floated over to Nevaeh.

“Hey,” Jay panted, “I don’t know what sort of magic you have, but if you could somehow—”

He wasn’t even able to finish his sentence before Nevaeh used her powers to lift him, only half a thought made him floating beside her. “Is that better for you?” Nevaeh asked a little too sweetly.

“Oh whatever.” Jay said, sass filling his words. He made to make a friendly slap on Nevaeh’s shoulder, but she pushed him away with her magic.

“Don’t be so rude, Jay.” Nevaeh scolded.

“Mhm, like you weren’t going to do something worse than just a little push.”

“Actually, I did just wanted to release my magic and let you fall.”

“Why didn’t you do it? Have you loosened up to like me yet?” Jay battered his eyes.

“Oh please. Don’t flatter yourself, and while you’re at it, don’t act like a little girl.”

“I wasn’t acting like a little girl!” Jay exclaimed.

“Mhm. Okay. Well, anyway, Jett told us not to kill each other, plus I would be put in jail if I didn’t tell the right lies.” Nevaeh explained.

“I didn’t think you’d go that far.” Jay murmured, “Maybe that’s why you don’t have any parents.”

Nevaeh knew he didn’t know anything about her life, or that she had no family, but she couldn’t help being heart-broken at the pointless joke. Nevaeh dove down after whispering, “Now you’ve gone too far.”

⸻

Nevaeh went down out of the skies, her magic leaving with her. “Now you’ve gone too far.” Her voice still whispered in Jay’s head. He was falling from the sky, but he didn’t really care, Jay was more thinking about what she had whispered right after he said those meaningless words. When he could see the birds flying around the trees, he then burst out his wings. As he glided more toward the ground, he started to flap his wings. Once he landed he started off toward the investigation center where Jett would be, Jay could just picture his father waving at Nevaeh and him when they returned. He pictured his father shooing them inside to get some cookies and cider.

Lost in his daydream, he didn’t realize that a white-winged girl stood in front of him until she slapped him. “Hey!” Jay exclaimed, “What was that for?”

A little girl stood in front of Jay, her silky blond hair flowing all around her little white wings. Her white tunic had pink embroidery around the neckline and the bottom of the tunic. She wore black leggings and white flats, her golden tan outlining her outfit. Jay caught something glinting in the setting sunlight, it was a necklace. Silver chain with a charm that looked like an eye, the gem in the middle looked like a dull black with a swirl of dark blue in it. It reminded him of the necklace that Nevaeh wore.

Then it hit him.

It looked exactly like the necklace Nevaeh always wore.

Sorry for the shorter chapter

1453 words

#fiction #adventure #story #fantasyfiction #weeklyposting #Forest #Jungle #temples #otherworlds #gods #goddesses #fyp #foryoupage

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