#not so anastasia au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wyvernquill · 2 months

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I'm rewatching Anastasia and this convo would really fit in your AU

Hob: look, Murphy, I'm just trying to help Murphy: do you really think I'm an Endless, Hob?

Hob: you know I do.

Murphy: then stop bossing me around

I'm sorry, this ask is already over a year old, but I finally got around to writing a scene based on it! (Plus some Murphy&Gil bits I wanted to put in somewhere, anyway.) Hope you enjoy!

[Mild warning for contemplation of one's potential death, and having once lost the will to life - I wouldn't call it suicidal ideation, it doesn't quite go there, but I figured I'd better be safe than sorry.]

Link to Anastasia AU Masterpost!

(Tag list, let me know if you want to be added or taken off: @10moonymhrivertam @martybaker @globglobglobglobob @anonymoustitans @sunshines-fabulous-legs @dreamsofapiratelife @malice-royaume @kcsandmanfan @acedragontype @okilokiwithpurpose @tharkuun @silver-dream89 @i-write-stories-not-sins-bitch)

“Hob.” Murphy interrupts, eyes flashing with frustration.

(Today’s how-to-be-a-Dream-Lord lessons are not going well - not that any of them have, but this one is a particular catastrophe. Gil has already given up on their contrary charge for the evening, and with the way Murphy’s shoulders are up and tension bristles between them, Hob is unlikely to make much more headway tonight.)

“Tell me. Do you truly believe I am him? The Prince of Stories? The Dream King?”

“Yes,” Hob lies, easily, unflinchingly, and with a smile on his face. A good lie has to be treated like the truth, and maybe, one day, it’ll actually turn into one. They’ve been trying so very hard to teach Murphy this, he should know it by now. “Of course.”

“Then, perhaps,” Murphy spits, and despite his feral arrogance, despite the way he holds his head high and squares his slender shoulders, it’s not the regal indignation of a King, but the helpless tantrum of an angry child who’s failing in class. “You ought to finally treat me with the fucking deference an Endless is owed, Hob Gadling!”

(There are tears in his pale-blueish eyes, Hob can see them, can hear the crack in Murphy’s hoarse voice.

Nobody has treated this man with respect in all the years he remembers, that much is obvious. Nobody but his birds. And he knows, they all know, that he’s no prince, that his blood runs red, not blue - runs at all, come to think of it. Endless don’t bleed.

But he wants to be. He wishes he was. Murphy is not Dream of the Endless, but he is ravenous for the spoils of such a role. Desperate to be respected, to be worshipped and revered, desperate to be owed the sort of treatment he has never received.

Hob ought to be ashamed of himself for taking advantage of that helpless hunger for kindness and decency… and he will be. For the rest of his immortal life, he’ll live with the shame of what he did to cheat Death, and still not regret it.)

Hob plasters a smile over his impatience and opens his mouth, gentle, calming words already on the tip of his tongue. Murphy is lonely and frightened and frustrated, that much is obvious. Fine. Hob knew it wouldn’t be easy, to teach their false Dream all he needs to know, and this is not an insurmountable roadblock. If Hob can only reassure him, earn his trust, be his friend, even, it will make everything much easier. Poor thing, lashing out like an injured animal. But Hob can surely coax him into-

Murphy recoils. Flinches back from the admittedly-half-faked warmth, his face, his entire bearing collapsing into itself like a heavy portcullis rattling shut.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls, pointing one of his stick-thin fingers at Hob’s face, “don’t you DARE! I have no need for your false pity, and I want no part of it! I want-” the white of his eyes is bloodshot, and in his terror, in his fury, in his desperation, awash in unshed tears “-I want out. This deal is off. Find some other poor sucker to teach how to play Endless, I won’t do it! I’ve had enough!”

And before Hob can say as much as a single word, Murphy has snatched up his coat and slipped out onto the rainy street, Matthew following - but not after awarding Hob with a colder glare than he would’ve thought a mere raven capable of.

Murphy does not manage to flee very far.

He is in an unfamiliar town, with no money, no valuables besides the clothes on his back that are now slightly finer than he used to be; and the winter is cold and deep and stifling. He gets no further than a handful of streets until he slows halfway across a bridge, shaking with cold more than anger, snowflakes dancing around him. It is a quiet, windless night - and it has always calmed him, to stand underneath the dark sky at night, and know that most of the city lies asleep around him.

Matthew settles on the bridge’s parapet, caws. Hops closer, cocks his head to one side. There is a clear question in his bearing, a what now? glinting in his eyes. Birds are open and honest - unlike humans. Liars and hypocrites all.

“...I do not know, Matthew.” Murphy admits quietly. He has taken the coat, but forgotten the scarf in his haste, so he tugs at his collar, to keep the cold air from trickling down his spine. “I truly don’t.”

He does not have the means to return to London on his own - and at the same time, does not have much desire to do so. He had nothing and no-one there, but for the birds. Pockets can be picked anywhere - he could make a new start in this nameless town.

…if only it weren’t winter.

Murphy shivers, feeling his bones rattle with it. The night is calm, but bitterly cold, and it will not end well for him, sitting in the snow until morning. In the dark of winter, he cannot afford a night without shelter, a day without a sure way to come by some food to keep his strengths up. In London, he would have known where to go. Here, he is helpless.

Damn Hob Gadling, and may Destruction take him! Murphy will have no other choice but to crawl back to him, and hope he’ll be kept on as Endless-impersonator. Hope, because Murphy’s made a right pig’s ear of it so far, slow and clumsy to learn, and outright refusing to play at nobility. He will always be a gutter rat, Murphy knows it. They can’t fashion him into a Dream King, and perhaps this flare of temper will prove to Hob once and for all that there is no point in trying.

There is no point in trying.

Murphy gives up on his collar, and rests his hands on the parapet. Matthew caws, and presses his head against his arm, a far better reassurance than Hob’s false smiles. It comforts Murphy, at least a little. He’s not alone, never alone - no matter how lonely he might feel.

Underneath them, a foreign river flows just fast enough to avoid the freeze. The water does not reflect any stars, but the snow dancing over the surface makes it almost look as if. His own reflection wavers and breaks across the waves.

(Some nights, he dreams of a darkened shore and a sea stretching far past the horizon, black waters that fold up into the night sky, indistinguishable from each other. Of a wooden pier, and galaxies swirling underneath.

Whenever he leans out too far, the reflected eyes he meets are not his own, and he wakes with a scream lodged in his throat.)

Murphy shivers again, and savours the last remnants of his pride, before it, too, will have to be cast into the dirt and abandoned.

“I believe you forgot this, young friend.”

Murphy’s head snaps up.

Dreams and nightmares approach without a whisper, perfectly silent at night if they choose to be. Gilbert is no exception; and if Murphy were to pay attention to anything but his heart racing like a startled hare, he would perhaps be a little distressed by the fact that there are no fresh footprints in the snow beside his own.

But it’s only Gilbert, kind-eyed and not-human, holding out Murphy’s scarf like a peace offering.

Murphy does not take it.

“Did Gadling send you?” he asks, wary.

“Robert informed me what had transpired between you two.” Gilbert admits. “But rest assured, I am here on nobody’s behalf but my own - and, well, yours. Frightfully nippy tonight, wouldn’t you say?”

Murphy does not say. He trusts Gil as little as Hob, perhaps even less. A dream attempting to betray the memory of his master seems hardly like a paragon of virtue, and is perhaps even more suspicious than a deceitful human.

(He does, however, take the scarf now. It’s too cold to be stubborn, and when he winds it around his neck, it smells of sunshine on a summer meadow, warm and comforting.)

“And if you truly wish to leave… dear boy, I won’t stop you.” Murphy does not like the way Gilbert looks at him, as if trying to see someone else beneath his skin. He does not meet Murphy’s eyes, if he can help it. “In fact I would send you off with well-earned compensation for your time, and travel fare. Unless…”

Gil steps up to the parapet beside him.

“...unless I can convince you to stay…?”

“Why would you?” Murphy mutters, instead of why would I, if you’re offering to pay me off? “It should be perfectly obvious that I’ll never pass muster.”

“Ironically,” Gilbert smiles, but only at the man he pretends to see whenever he looks at Murphy, “it is well known among the former denizens of the Dreaming that His Lordship was often prone to very similar bouts of pessimism. I have faith in you, Murphy - and so does Robert Gadling. Please, do not leave. I rather doubt we will succeed without you.”

"You…" Murphy struggles with the words, the sentiment behind them lodging uncomfortably in his throat. "You have great respect, even love, for Dream of the Endless' memory. So why do you pretend? Why try to fool his siblings that I am him?"

For a moment, Gilbert seems ready to insist, as always, that Murphy is, or at least might be - but, to his credit, he does not play Murphy for a fool, in the end. Not this time. Not like Hob always, always does.

"You are quite correct. I loved His Lordship deeply, in a way that could never be understood by anyone but a dream and their creator." Gilbert sighs, his soft meadow-green eyes gazing far into the distance of better days, lined by old grief. "He made me to be the Heart of the Dreaming, and he was the Dreaming, so I knew his heart and self better than any other. The loss, when he… you cannot imagine it, young friend. I thought I would wither away and die. I thought that would be a mercy. To live as a dream in a universe that does not contain Dream of the Endless seemed entirely unthinkable, and to be quite frank, I did not think I would survive longer than a year at most in the Waking."

"I understand," says Murphy, quietly, and he does. He is no stranger to the feeling of being so untethered, only floating along with the end looming over him, death - not Death, no longer, the Endless have been cast from their domains - only biding its time.

(In the first year he can remember, Murphy did not think he would see another, either.)

"And yet, the year passed. And I lived." Gilbert smiles, faintly, taking off his glasses to polish them. "I suspect it was humanity which saved me, for all that they robbed me of my home and Lord, as well. I found… such joy, in this world. In my human form, wandering among them. Calling a few select individuals friends, even. Young Robert's companionship was a particular blessing, and I owe him more than he can ever know."

He sets the glasses back on his nose.

"Lord Morpheus is dead." Says Gilbert. Says it like fact, like something too absolute for the sort of dream-creature born of hypotheticals he is, like an unshakeable truth he has resigned himself to. His voice only barely breaks over the words. "And I shall grieve him for all the rest of my days… but I must live to mourn him. Life goes on, young friend, and we must all move along with it. And, well. I cannot speak for Robert's motivations, but the true reason why I have agreed to this mad scheme…"

Gilbert takes Murphy's freezing hands in his own. His fingertips are not lined quite right, they would not leave prints that look even remotely like those of a human - but aside from that, his grip is warm, avuncular, firm, reassuring.

"I fear that his siblings will not be able to live on without him." Gilbert confesses, quietly. "They are not made to accept change and move on from a loss as monumental as what humanity has wrought upon them. To have you… not him, not entirely, but perhaps enough… it is my most solemn hope that it might give them some form of closure at long last."

"So that's what it is?" Murphy laughs, bitterly. "Charitable concern for the well-being of personifications of abstract concepts!?"

"No." Gilbert corrects mildly. "Love. For my creator's family."

Murphy scoffs. His chest aches with it.

"What you, hmm. What you must understand, about Lord Morpheus…" Gilbert seems to be choosing his words very carefully. "...is that, for all that he was often harsh and commanding, he was so very loving, always. My Lord loved with all his self, even if he would attempt to turn a cold shoulder to the world - and I think you are much like him in temperament, young Murphy.”

Murphy does not acknowledge that. He doesn't think he can.

“He loved his family, and he loved the Dreaming, and all the beings in it. I was his heart, or near as, you must recall, I knew the truth at the core of him.

Memories or not, love as he did, and you will be a credit to his name, and a comfort to all who knew him."

(Murphy does not have it in himself to love like Dream of the Endless did. He already struggles to love at all.

But perhaps, for the sake of the entity whose memory he will dishonour, he can try.)

“So. Will you come back and resume your lessons?” Gil asks, very gently. “You may leave, now or any other time, of course you may. But it would be to your benefit, as well as to that of many others, if you did not.”

“I’ll stay,” Murphy forces out. He could blame the way his hands shake on the cold. “For now.”

“Thank you, dear child. Thank you.” This time, when Gilbert smiles, it very nearly feels like it is directed at him, after all. “Now, let’s get you out of this cold, hm? And Matthew as well.”

Murphy lets Gilbert herd him back to their inn, sits through Hob Gadling’s apology and wonders if it was sincere - he can never tell, with this infuriating man - and continues to learn as much as possible about the life of Dream of the Endless.

But he’s slowly realising, if anything will convince the Endless siblings, then it certainly won’t be the trivia. He’ll have to learn to love like the Lord of Stories, for their deception to have a snowflake’s chance in hell.

(Oh, wonderful. As if this wasn’t difficult enough already…)

#WyWrites #dreamling #the sandman #anastasia dreamling au #thank you for the ask and sorry it took so long!#maybe at some point i'll go back and also write hob successfully recruiting murphy #but i was a little stuck on that so i skipped the recruitment and wrote this instead #fiddler's green's role in this au is just very interesting to dig into #deception and manipulation is not in his nature and the closest he gets to selfishness is just wanting to live a human life #so why would he agree to help hob with this scheme?#i'm quite pleased with the way i spun it - he really does it out of love and thinks it's ultimately for a good cause #and subconsciously the assurance that gil is doing it out of loyalty rather than as betrayal is very (suspiciously) important to murphy #also very light 1889 meeting parallels with hob and murphy's fight at the start!

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jingsyuans · 6 months

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Anastasia AU (with a twist of incest) where you’re jing yuan’s long lost sibling and lost your memories. while he was still a child of the realm-keeping division, jing yuan’s parents would bring the two of you to all sorts of parties for social expansion and gathering info. It was at one of these parties that there was a sudden ambush from yaoshi’s followers that caused everyone to flee, including you and jing yuan. you were fairly little then and jing yuan was fiercely protective of you, so he carried you in his very arms as everyone fled to the sky jetties at the harbor. it was while jing yuan was making a headcount in the jetty and it was rumbling and shaking for takeoff that he put you down, and as the jetty lifted in the air, a mara struck soldier had managed to jump up and grab the end of your shirt, bringing you down to the ground as the ship took off. jing yuan turned around in time just to see you disappear off the lip of the ship, reaching for him. several people had to hold him back from jumping down to his death to try and catch you.

and the next time you woke, it was in enemy territory with no memories caused by the way your head hit the ground when the mara-struck pulled you down. you didn’t know anything besides the fact these people were essentially your kidnappers. with enough time, you barely manage to flee, taking off in one of their ships and barely knowing what you’re doing before you crash land on another planet and you’re taken in by a small family who found you and pitied your tragic tale.

the only issue is that they were short lived, and you were not. you only figured that out as your little family began to age drastically while you stayed the same. it was at your last adopted family members suggestion that you finally leave the planet and try to find your family, or at least another long lived species to point you in the right direction. at least they won’t wither away.

so you hop planet to planet, trying to find anything that might trigger your memory or someone who might recognize your face, though the possibility of that happens grows dim as your body slowly ages and you transform more into a young adult and less of a child.

and meanwhile, jing yuan has been searching for you all this time. at first obsessively, and as time continued to go by, idly. jing yuan is a smart man and he isn’t the divine foresight for nothing- the young child that you were, he knows the chances of your survival are slim. but he is your older brother, and he failed to protect you, and maybe that guilt is all he has left to continue his search. he has all but almost entirely left the realm-keeping division, and his only regret is that if you to ever search for him, you may have no idea where to look. at this point, jing yuan is the only one left in the family, and he’s not at all the man he used to be in the depths of your memory. so, luofu cloudknights are all instructed to keep an eye out for any travelers who look lost and to always lend their aid. they are not told to specifically look for you, as he has no idea what you might look like now. to aid any lost travelers is the best he can do.

admittedly as the years go by, he remembers less and less of you. the threat of mara certainly doesn’t help. but jing yuan remembers little things. he remembers the color of your eyes, the certain foods you despised (he wonders if you’ve developed a taste for them now or if you still can’t stand the taste of cured meat), the way you’d curl your nose when you were thinking too hard. he remembers the song that his mother sang to him that eventually jing yuan sang to you to help you fall asleep.

and ah…. the reunion. it could go so many different ways, really. i particularly like the idea that someway, somehow, you make it on board the luofu. you grow comfortable there in a way you can’t explain, and you subconsciously recognize xianzhou culture and etiquette like the back of your hand- another one of those things that you just know, just like the song you hum under your breath at times. it has you growing hopeful that maybe this is where you’re meant to be.

i do adore how the song in Anastasia has the daughter and grandmother recognize each other, so that’s what i’m trying to cook up in my own way. one of those things that happens just by pure chance- like destiny. maybe you’re humming that song to yourself as you shop at the market, maybe… maybe it’s someone else that recognizes it. maybe yanqing or fu xuan. it strikes them as odd that they remember that harmony, stopping them in their tracks as they find you as the source of the song. they can’t help but ask, ‘that’s a lovely song. where did you learn it?’

and you’d be surprised, but you answer honestly. ‘i don’t know,’ you tell them. ‘it’s always been with me. it’s all i really remember from my childhood.’

what a troublesome answer. they can’t quite remember where they’ve heard it themselves, so they apologize for interrupting you and continue on their way. it’s only a few days later that they hear that same tune coming from jing yuan as he’s been forced into his seat at the divine foresight, signing stacks and stacks of paperwork.

‘it’s funny,’ they say, ‘i just heard someone singing that the other day.’ they say it like it’s just some coincidence, something interesting. completely unaware of how they rock jing yuan’s entire world to the side with just that one sentence, because there is only one other person in the galaxy that knows such a song.

‘really?’ he would ask, slowly lowering his pen. ‘just the other day?’

‘mm.’

‘and where was that?’ he smiles. ‘here you are binding me to my work and yet you’re admitting to frolicking outside yourself. how interesting.’

they fluster. heated at the cheeks at the accusation and a frustrated brow. ‘it was just at the market! what, am i not allowed to shop?’

‘and i wonder what you were at the market for…’ jing yuan muses knowingly, and drops the subject there, continuing his work with a smile. silently planning all the while.

it’s after that that jing yuan makes it a goal to walk around the luofu every day. he usually doesn’t have this kind of time, but with the possibility of you on board, no one is able to convince him to stay coddled at the Seat. there’s no pinning him down now. and while his posture is relaxed and his demeanor welcoming as he walks around the luofu, his eyes are scanning every wall, every corner. looking for anyone who might seem familiar. it’s hard, not knowing what you look like- but for the first time in a long time, jing yuan is genuinely hopeful, and he will not be dissuaded by a few lone weeks of not spotting you when he has been searching for hundreds of years.

when he finally does find you, perhaps it’s another chance of fate— destiny. and jing yuan realizes much sooner than you do that you’re who he’s been looking for all this time- he just can’t believe how much you’ve grown. how you’ve changed. he didn’t think that you’d grow up to be so beautiful- though you were quite the charming little child.

the knowledge that you’ve spent all this time without your memories gives him great heart ache, but jing yuan is happy to be the one to tell you exactly who he is. who you are- or at least, who you used to be. all he wants to know is who you are now- just how much has changed? what have you been through to shape you into the person standing before him today?

the attraction he feels toward you after finally finding you is an unexpected variable for jing yuan that he initially pushes to the side. it’s most likely just the star struck feeling of finally being by your side- having his beloved little sibling back safe and sound after all this time. and this urge to hold you close is undoubtedly just because of all the time spent separated- it makes complete sense to want to be closer now. but the way his body yearns for you is… perhaps not completely understandable.

anyway long post to say i want jingyuan to have a big boner for you and the two of you have spent so much time apart that while the brief familiarity of being siblings is there, you don’t have any of the memories he does. and he’d take advantage of that, unknowingly. because jing yuan is handsome and charming and it’s only a matter of time before you get a crush on him- you’re already growing dependent, realizing he’s the only family you have left. is it normal for two siblings to hold hands like this, to hover this close? to lovingly brush each others hair like this, to simply love like this, so fiercely? maybe not, but the two of you are different and making up for lost time, so it’s okay. it’s okay to get lost in it and submerge in this quiet desperation of finding the lost piece of your life you’ve been longing for for so long.

#i always sink so deep in Anastasia au I’m so sorry this post got away from me #i just i just i just #🥲 Anastasia au…… so good to imagine and so easy to be linked to incest BE HONEST #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #hsr x reader #jing yuan reader insert #hsr jing yuan #tw incest

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joyousgeekeryart · 10 months

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Finally decided to upload this unfinished Steven Universe AU comic I sketched out in 2020 that went along with the animatic I made.

The premise was that the Diamonds found out about Steven’s existence earlier than canon and stole him away as a small child. The Diamonds retrieve Spinel for Steven to have a playmate, though she initially doesn’t believe Steven isn’t just Pink playing another cruel trick on her. It takes some sort of small but scary accident to prove to Spinel that this is a human (because gems don’t bleed), and she slowly warms up to him after that. (More notes if you’re interested under the cut.)

I had the plot laid out roughly as Steven seeking answers to his cryptic repetitive dreams, then hearing the Diamonds converse about Earth. The planet name sounds familiar so he winds up chasing Peridot to Earth and to the warp hub, warping from there and finding a half built beach house (which the Crystal Gems and Greg couldn’t bring themselves to finish after Steven’s kidnapping) and knowing it seems familiar but not knowing WHY. Steven meets and befriends Connie, there’s some almost-encounters with the Crystal Gems, but ultimately Peridot catches Steven and Spinel and says she won’t report a Diamond but they know they’d all be in trouble if they get caught so everyone keeps their mouth shut and go back to Homeworld.

Steven returns in secret to see Connie, but this time the Crystal Gems warp back in time to see him, attempting to stop his escape. Steven believes himself to be in danger and Spinel warps in at the wrong time, also assuming the same. Garnet says something that sparks a memory in Steven, but before he gets answers, Spinel springs into action to get him out of the perceived harm’s way and they return to Homeworld. Pearl and Amethyst make to follow through the warp, but Garnet stops them, saying if they follow, they would be shattered, and that Steven would return.

(That’s the tldr of it but here’s my chapter plans up to where I stopped working on it. I never officially typed it up but hopefully it’s legible.)

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kiwiana-writes · 5 months

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Six(ish) Sentence Sunday

Thanks @blairwaldcrf and @ssmtskw for the tags! This is technically only five sentences, but there is also some wanton semicolon abuse, so I think it counts.

The thing about Alex is, he’s always ten steps ahead of himself. When faced with a problem, more often than not the solution will come to him fully formed and he has to pick up the thread and walk it backwards through the labyrinthine pathways of his brain’s logic until all the twists and turns fit together; until he understands the steps to take to get himself from point A to point B. He’s always been this way, to the confusion of most people around him and the dismay of more than one high school math teacher begging him to show his working. The point is, he knows that what he’s looking at is how they get June home safely. He just needs to fit all the puzzle pieces together so he understands how.

Forever feeling feral for whatever y'all are up to, so tags below the cut and, as always, anyone who wants to play! (If you take the open tag please tag me so I can see!!)

@affectionatelyrs @anincompletelist @celaestis1 @cha-melodius @clottedcreamfudge @cricketnationrise @cultofsappho @daisymae-12 @dumbpeachjuice @getmehighonmagic @happiness-of-the-pursuit @heybuddy-drabbles @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @hypnostheory @iboatedhere @indestructibleheart @indomitable-love @inexplicablymine @leaves-of-laurelin @lilythesilly @myheartalivewrites @nontoxic-writes @orchidscript @rmd-writes @roseapothecary @sherryvalli @ships-to-sail @smc-27 @sparklepocalypse @stereopticons @suseagull04 @tintagel-or-cockleshells @welcometololaland

#six sentence sunday #kiwiana-writes #wip: years of dreams just can't be wrong #calling myself out with this description of Alex's brain let's be real #and also my third form maths teacher who used to DOCK MARKS if I didn't show my working #but he was an asshole of the highest order for a multitude of reasons #also I seem to have accidentally committed to the Anastasia AU being next I guess #lowkey not loving anything I write at the moment so we'll see what happens #though tbh if the kings keep playing as well as they have I'll probably end up in the hockey bf henry sequel sooner rather than later #also this is baby's first gif lol #so if it's shit don't fucking @ me I don't care

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a-strange-inkling · 3 months

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is there anything from the anastasia au you can show us?

Yes! Just a little! ✨🎻

Murray all but throws her into him and Eddie just manages to catch her by the waist between his hands with a short grunt. The tips of his thumbs and middle fingers are almost touching. It makes him falter a little, just how small she is, makes him wonder how long she’s gone without. He can feel her sharp intake of breath at the impact between the ridges of her ribs, her palms landing firmly on his chest.

Blood rushes fast to his face the moment she lifts her gaze up to him nervously. Those ridiculously large blue eyes, fathomless and unguarded, staring straight into him. That full lower lip hanging open in wordless surprise. His mouth goes dry. “I uhh…” he looks down at his feet bashfully. “I don’t know how.” But when she instinctively moves to pull away from him, his fingers curl around her, his thumb circling soothingly over the fabric of her new dress.

Don’t go.

“Well, she needs a partner to practice,” Murray argues dismissively, winding the gramophone. An old sultry waltz began to keen across the deck. “Princess Katerina loved to dance.”

I know she did, Eddie thinks quietly to himself, a wave of sadness washing over him as Chrissy meets his gaze thoughtfully once more, remembering the little girl who filled the palace with her sweet laughter, dancing the night away when they would hold balls in the grand hall.

#hellcheer #eddie x chrissy #eddissy #munningham #chrissy x eddie #hellcheer fanfiction #hellcheer fanfic #anastasia au #he’s so torn poor guy #he’s falling for chrissy but he feels like he’s betraying his first love #she’s the same person eddie!!!!

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kaiayame · 2 years

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There was a time, not very long ago, when we lived in an enchanted world of elegant palaces and grand parties...

My youngest grandson had begged me not to return to Paris. So, I had a very special gift made for him, to make the separation easier, for both of us.

But... we would never be together in Paris.

A dark shadow had descended down upon us. So many lives were destroyed that night. What had always been was now gone forever.

And my Lancelot.... my beloved grandchild..... I never saw him again. _______________________________________

✨ my instagram // twitter

#I CAN'T HELP IT. THIS DUMB AU STILL OWNS MY HEART.#klance #klance au #anastasia #klance comic #my art #au #crossover #long post #tw #blood #tw: blood #it looks so good as a full vertical set on here adklf;jas;lfjslak;fjsdfa #i loved finally finishing this.#omg it feels so good to just have it done and out in the world #T-T #if my artistic legacy is cringey crossovers so be it.

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sokkas-first-fangirl · 8 months

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“Ay, Mira,” he said. “Some things are better as surprises, don’t you think?”

She hummed thoughtfully, leaning her head on his shoulder. Give it another year and she’d be taller than him.

“Yeah, I guess,” she said. “But Tia’s still gonna kill you.”

Yeah, maybe so. And maybe Mirabel would give him an earful in the future too. One of these days, that candle was going to transfer to her. That kid was a leader down to her core; she had enough love in her to light up the world. If you asked Bruno, she was the perfect choice.

But why spoil it?

🕯️

Los Madrigals. It's not perfect, but no one ever said it needed to be.

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izloveshorses · 11 months

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Sleep On The Floor

ao3 | playlist

“So… where are we going?”

Dmitry knew prodding her didn’t always work, but she would have to tell him eventually anyway. When he glanced over Anya shrugged. “Did I not tell you?”

“No…”

“Oh. Well, I decided to run away.”

~~~

“What if I come with you?”

~~~

Anya runs from her grief. Dmitry follows her, as he always does. Neither of them really knows what they're getting themselves into.

#dimya #anastasia broadway #anastasia #fanfiction #my writing #my gifs #my edit #do you think a depressed person could make *this*??#get ready to see this gifset a lot with every update lol #it's ur typical friends to lovers road trip running away fic but with a delicious twist: life is so damn hard when ur in ur mid 20s aslhkdfj #road trip fic #road trip au

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anna-scribbles · 1 year

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hi anna i was driving home listening to anastasia and thought idly "how could i make this a miraculous ladybug au?" and then i remembered hearing that you already have one!!! so i've gone through your whole anastasia tag and if you felt like talking any more about this au i'm DYING to hear about it, i was thinking it would be a princess adrien/conwoman marinette kinda deal but A GUARDIANSHIP AMNESIA AU???? MY heart TURNED INSIDE OUT and then grew FOUR sizes, i'm riveted and welded to my seat

hi viv it is CRAZY that you would say this to me bc my entire brain has been anastasia au lately and i am nearly done with the first chapter of my fic anyway the premise of the story in my brain is that marinette is anya (forced to renounce guardianship during the final battle with hawkmoth and loses her memory). adrien is dimitri (beautiful yet forced into deceit due to unfortunate life circumstances such as losing track of ladybug). and chat noir is grandmama (im not explaining this one).

tiiiiiiny snip from ch 1 under the cut

#not to say i’m not INCREDIBLY interested in a princess adrien/conman marinette au #look all i’m saying is that anastasia is multifaceted and so are adrien and marinette.#there’s room for a lot of anastasia aus here.#this was a very sweet message ty viv #asks #anna rambles #anastasia au

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neonganymede · 10 months

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WIP Wednesday #26

DOA Anastasia AU - Painted Wings Excerpt 2: like a memory from a dream

Excerpt 1: I never should have let them dance

Sigma paused, his feet refusing to carry him past the old, rundown church. His thin body shivered, his breath misting in front of him in crystal clouds of smoke, and hugged his arms tight to his chest. He stood in silence for a moment, listening. Waiting. Maybe I misheard. His brow knitting is disappointment, Sigma huffed another chilly sigh before he began to walk again. The ticket in his pocket was no good, and he’d never make it back to the orphanage by nightfall. If he wanted to survive the cold, then he would need to find a place to— There!

Gasping, Sigma turned toward the church again. He could hear it now, quiet over the din of the city but still loud enough for him to make out a distinct sound coming from within. Sigma stepped closer, turning his head to press his ear to the cold door.

... Music? String music, if Sigma had to guess, coming from inside the church. He took a few steps back, his chest heaving in quiet alarm at the discovery.

Was this the place that Bram had meant he should come? Somebody was inside, somebody who should be able to help him, but now that he was here, Sigma found that his feet stalled. His heart raced, a rapid thud-thud-thud that grew louder the longer he stared at that door.

Sigma couldn’t shake the feeling like he’d… been here before? He’d seen this church. He’d heard this song. But it didn’t strike him as something that he’d actually experienced. More like….

“Like a memory from a dream,” he murmured to himself, startled by the sound of his own voice. He swallowed, but the tight feeling constricting his throat didn’t abate. His mouth felt dry, his lips chapping no matter how many times he wet them in his quest to settle his nerves.

Sigma wanted to find out who he was. He had to know if he had a family, somebody out there as desperate to find him as he was to find them.

A home. A place in this world where he belonged, where he fit in, where he wasn’t just Sigma.

... Would he find that inside? If he went in, would he be taking the first step to finding out who he was?

Fear crawled up Sigma’s spine, his ever-present hopelessness already nipping at his heels again. What if he didn’t find help inside? What if Bram had been wrong? What if Sigma walked in there, drawn forward by nothing but a song his heart thought it knew, and discovered that he didn’t have a home?

No home, no family, no way to ever feel truly complete? Just an ordinary man with a name he gave himself and a train ticket to nowhere?

Sigma thought of the ticket again. Of the word Yokohama written on it. Of the reluctant frown on Bram’s face when he delivered the news that the ticket was expired.

And yet, Sigma kept it. He let it weigh in his pocket like a reminder that there must be somebody out there looking for him, too. There had to be… right? He must belong somewhere, and maybe, just maybe, he’d find a clue to that home if he walked into the church.

Standing outside would get him nowhere but frozen. Sigma gulped, the bob of his throat painful and suffocating, before he reached a trembling hand toward the door handle. A tiny amount of pressure, and the door swung open, inviting him in with nary a creak.

Even if the door had made a sound, Sigma wouldn’t have heard it. The music was louder now, welcoming him in with a familiarity that hurt. His feet moved, unbidden, toward the delicate song that sang through his veins.

The feeling was much stronger now. He knew this song. He knew this place, but the memories danced out of his reach no matter how far he strained his fingers. All things he could almost remember, but he couldn’t get a grasp on any of it. Each vision faded in and out like the flickering of a candle whose teasing light dimmed on this dream from long ago.

Sigma followed the music forward, stepping carefully across broken floorboards that left splinters in his shoes. At some point, a piece of the ceiling had caved in, and the jagged opening allowed the last rays of golden sunlight to shine down over rows of shattered pews, the dusty stained glass windows, and the man sitting on a crate where a podium must have once stood.

The man looked like an angel. He wore a long black coat with a fur collar that looked warm, his outfit underneath white and pristine. A white ushanka covered his head, but Sigma could still see the stark lengths of dark hair spilling out from beneath it. He cradled the cello like a lover, his deft fingers moving over the strings to create the wonderful sound that had so thoroughly captivated Sigma’s attention.

The stranger played without pause, the song building in a way that made Sigma’s lonely heart yearn for things that it used to know. Things he wanted so badly to remember, but his mind remained blank no matter how hard he listened to the dwindling melody. The last note echoed through the mournful chasm of his empty memory, leaving him only with a nagging thought on the tip of his tongue, a new mountain of questions, and a longing for a melody he wished he could remember.

Finally, the man looked at him. His violet eyes ignited in the day’s dying light, and his easy smile made goosebumps rise on Sigma’s arms. He smiled as though he’d been waiting for Sigma, but that couldn’t be right. Even Sigma didn’t know that he would find his way here, that his train ticket would be no good, that his only lead would be a dilapidated church and a song.

Atsushi’s warning rang briefly thorugh Sigma’s mind. You’ll have to be careful in the city. The streets are full of rats.

Then the man spoke, his voice chasing away the cryptic advice and replacing it with the sweetest phrase Sigma had ever heard uttered.

“Would you like a home?”

#wip wednesday #bsd #painted wings au #bsd sigma #bsd fyodor dostoevsky #fyosig #fyosiglai #doa anastasia au #bungou stray dogs #eventual poly doa #decay of angels #the song sigma hears is once upon a december from anastasia #this is still pretty rough so keep that in mind~#less polished than the first excerpt but i needed to get it out of my system #no nikolai in this one but he's never very far~

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wyvernquill · 2 months

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Another Dreamling Anastasia AU Snippet

So, this AU somehow gained some new traction over the past few days, and I remembered I still had this in my drafts! It's a direct continuation from the last post - the first time their paths cross, though I think I'll save their actual first conversation (already written!) for the next part. Mostly a lot of background and exposition, but I hope it'll be enjoyable nonetheless! Thanks everyone for your enthusiasm for this AU!!!

(Masterpost here!)

(I don't know why it just won't let me do the proper tag sometimes... I hope the people Tumblr refuses to let me tag will see the post anyway, I'm very sorry...)

---

There is a fight just about to break loose at the White Horse Inn.

It will happen because of a man; a pale, stick-thin skinny thing of a man, barely more than an ashen, grimy face under a mop of coal hair balanced on top of a ragged black coat, loitering close to the fireplace and trying not to be too obvious about soaking up its warmth. At his feet, half hidden beneath the torn hem-line of his coat, there is a bird, some sort of corvid, following the other guests - and their purses in particular - with its beady little eyes.

The bird’s master is watching, too, watching the inn’s staff collect coins and shove them into their pockets, watching the plates and bowls of food being carried about, hungry, starving-

And then he’s noticed watching, a barmaid muttering a word or two to the innkeep over by the beer caskets - and the moment the man’s eyes find the stranger, they narrow.

And in turn, the moment the stranger notices the hostile eyes on him, he seems to brace himself, something feral in the way his lips draw back from his teeth as the innkeep makes a beeline for him through the crowded pub.

Words are exchanged.

Words are exchanged, loudly.

An arm is grabbed - and the bird jumps up with an angry caw, beating its wings at the innkeep’s face, and the scullery boy runs over to help, as does the burliest of the barmaids.

(There’s that fight now.)

The stranger shouts and scratches and twists as he is dragged through the common room, towards the door, growling profanities in a hoarse, dark voice, while his bird squawks, wrapped in the scullery boy’s apron.

It’s a right mess, but perhaps not an unusual one - the White Horse makes quick work of unruly drunkards (and those who are here to pilfer money rather than spend it), and even as some guests are following the fight in fascination and with half a mind to join in just for the pleasure of throwing a punch, most of their clientele barely spares them a look. Soon, the stranger will be cast out into the cold and the night again, far away from the warmth of a fireplace, or the smell of food, or opportunities for thievery. Nothing special. Soon, it will be just a quiet evening, like any other…

If it weren’t for the fact that, over in the far corner, a familiar man, and a familiar something-altogether-else still managing a rather sound impression of one, have been nursing their drinks for a good hour already, trying to drown their failures in ale.

(The humans have robbed Destiny of his powers, torn his realm from him, burned his book - but destiny still shapes the lives of mortals and immortals alike; and it is that power, which makes Robert Gadling look up from the sad remains of his beer, and, for just a fraction of a second, lock eyes with the vagabond currently in the process of being removed from the premises.

That is enough.

With just one look, the wheels of fate are already set in motion, and our story can begin in earnest.)

"Hey, Gil." Hob nudges Gilbert's arm, not taking his eyes off the struggling, furious stranger. "Over there. Look."

"Hm?" Gilbert blinks owlishly, following Hob's nod to the commotion behind him. "Oh, yes, yes. Ghastly, isn't it? Disgraceful, that some hoodlums cannot conduct themselves in public houses with the appropriate decorum - in my days, I tell you, when the Endless were still-"

"No, look!" Hob cuts him off. "The hoodlum. Look at him, really look."

"Hrmmm," Gilbert makes a sound of polite displeasure, and fiddles with his circular little glasses, peering through them and across the room, where the haggard stranger is spitting abuse at the innkeep even as he is in the process of being shoved out of the door.

And then, "oh, good lord!" Gilbert gasps, and drops his glasses.

"You see it too, then?"

"I… yes. Gracious, yes. Like a ghostly apparition." Gilbert gropes for his glasses with one hand, eyes never leaving the stranger. "The physical resemblance - most uncanny. A good deal more malnourished and, ah… rather grimy, it seems… and yet, overall…"

"A dead ringer for Dream of the Endless, isn't he?" Hob finishes, nodding. “Better than any of the men that auditioned for us, certainly.”

“Heaven help,” Gilbert’s voice is weak with emotion, “even knowing it isn’t him, I feel like… ah, Robert, if he were only given a bath, some better garb… it would be as if His Lordship walked again!”

“Would be?” Hob’s grin is bright and hungry, like a hunting dog smelling his prey, as he pushes himself up from his seat. “Will be!”

“-and if I see either you or yer blasted bird thievin’ in here again," the innkeep snarls, tossing first the haggard stranger, and then a squawking bundle of black feathers, out into the snow. “I’m callin’ the coppers! Y’hear?”

The word the stranger spits back, gathering all his limbs and his dark coat around himself as he staggers to his feet and off into the night, is so filthy even Hob would blush upon saying it. A bit rough around the edges, this man, not exactly the model of a fairytale king - but such things can be taught, can’t they. Hob’s seen a production of Shaw’s Pygmalion, years ago, and if Higgins can make a fine lady out of a flower girl, then Hob and Gil can make a Dream Lord out of some vagabond.

“Begging your pardon, good man.” Hob leans against the doorframe, watching the stranger’s dark shape angrily stomp off through the snow, bird hopping along at his side. “Howsabout this, a shilling for anything you can tell me about the man you just tossed out of your establishment.”

“Whot, Murphy!?” The innkeep blinks.

Holds out his hand.

Hob dutifully deposits one of his last few shillings in it.

“Thank you kindly, sir, much obliged.” A tip of the hat, and the coin disappearing in the innkeep’s pocket. “Murphy’s one of the local beggars. A filthy thief, too, and no mistake. He’s trained that raven of his into it - heard the city even pays him some little pittance to control the birds in the area! They wouldn’t do it if they knew what he was doing with ‘em. I don’t like seein’ him around the Horse, not with the trouble he’s causing. Stealing leftover scraps from tables I can forgive, might even give him a full meal now and then in the name of charity - but if he goes for the pockets of my regulars, the regulars don’t come back, understand? Can’t have that.”

“Course not.” Hob agrees readily. “Bad for business, a pickpocket.”

“Just so, sir. He’s been in the London area for… oh, eight, nine, maybe ten years? Hasn’t got a trade, not very willing to do an honest day’s work in any case, can’t hold down a job for the life of him as a result. Still thinks himself better than the rest o’ us, anyway. I’d leave him alone, if I were you - he’s vicious as all Hell, bit the kitchen boy once and the lad needed to get his arm stitched up afterwards. And that raven - the thing’s a demon, swear to God. A familiar, like witches have. If we were livin’ in a less civilised age, they’d’ve strung old Murphy up for witchcraft and devilry years ago!”

Hob hums thoughtfully. “Do you know if he has fallen in with that crowd? Not idle hearsay, mind, but facts. There’s still some men in London who practise the Old Arts, does he meet with them?”

(Hob has heard that the old Magus of Wych Cross died perhaps a year or two after his greatest accomplishment; for all his powers that tore Endless spectres from their lofty thrones, in the end he couldn’t defend himself against his own son finally snapping, smothering him in his sleep, and running off with the gardener. Good riddance to the old goat, in Hob’s opinion - but he had a good handful of supporters in every major city, and they can’t all have died with him.)

The innkeep takes his time answering, staring out into the softly-falling snow.

“...not that I know of, sir.” He finally says, cautiously. “He doesn’t meet with anyone, really, ‘xcept the birds. Solitary type, is our Murphy, with no family, and no-one to miss him if he freezes himself to death some night. But.”

A pause.

“There’s something wrong about that man, if you ask me. He has a look in his eyes… whatever it is, it’s not natural. Might be magic. Might be madness. I really couldn’t say.”

“I see.” Gears are turning in Hob’s head, puzzle pieces slotting into place, plans unfolding.

A man sleeping rough, with nobody to miss him or know much of him, fierce and angry and constantly on the brink of starvation, looking just like Dream. A diamond in the rough, and quite possibly desperate enough to actually agree to their mad plan just for a few weeks of guaranteed food and a roof over his head.

Dear God. He’s perfect.

“One more question, about Murphy.” Hob beams, half-giddy. “Where do you think I could find him, say… tomorrow?”

The innkeep’s eyebrows rise up into his hair.

“Can’t see why you’d ever want to,” he mutters into his beard. “But very well. On your head be it.”

He names a nearby small park, where Murphy often goes to feed his birds, and is rewarded for it with another tuppence; and then Hob saunters back to his and Gil’s table, already feeling like he can almost taste the promise of eternal life on the tip of his tongue.

(“We cannot know for certain that he will agree, Robert. He sounds like a most prideful young man - he is much like His Lordship in that regard as well, I suppose.”

“Oh, he’ll agree. I’ve been where he is, Gil, and there were times I would’ve sold my own mother to the devil for a warm meal and a bed to sleep in. Not that the devil would’ve taken the old bat even if I’d paid him, of course, but it’s the principle of the thing.”

“That hardly makes it much better. We’d be taking advantage of the poor man’s unfortunate situation!”

“Everyone’s situation is unfortunate these days. And we’d be improving his, on the whole, along with ours.”

“Let it be noted, dear fellow, that I am voicing my ethical and moral quandaries.”

“I really don’t think our plan to scam the Endless is very ethical in the first place, Gil.”

“...now that I cannot possibly argue with.”

“There we are then.”

“However! You will have to be the one to suggest it. I will help you instruct him and present him to the Endless if you do convince him - but for now, I wash my hands of the matter.”

“Fair enough.”)

#WyWrites #dreamling #the sandman #anastasia dreamling au #i hope i will put the next part up with less delay instead of just forgetting it in my drafts again...#my tumblring habits truly are atrocious sometimes #but i really like the next bit so i have some motivation to share it soon!#especially because there's been so much new interest in the past 24 hours or so #thank you everyone! it made me really happy!!!#the least i can do is provide some actual hob-murphy interactions in the next bit (plus some matthew because he's lovely)

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atlabeth · 28 days

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today is my day of yearning for fictional men ig because i really miss writing for nikolai lantsov lmao

#i was hit with the lockwood anastasia au bug for 4 days and 12k words and now it has left me #after i do 2 projects in 2 days for school i should write a nikolai fic as a reward lol #the grishaverse is so fun to write about in general

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jessicas-pi · 10 months

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Behold, another fic snippet!! (It's a sequel to this one.)

———

Sabine stumbles as she rematerializes in a burst of light—it gets easier every time she does it, but she’s still terribly out of practice—slamming one hand against the wall to catch herself.

She looks around. She’d been aiming for somewhere inside the Ghost, anywhere inside the Ghost, anywhere that wasn’t right there.

She’s landed in Ezra’s room.

Of course she has.

Ezra.

Ezra, Ezra, Ezra.

That’s all anything is these days.

The one trying to get her out of her room and into daylight. The one looking worried whenever she’s spent longer than usual conferring with the holocron. The one telling her not to listen to the voices in her head. The one going out of his way to make sure she eats at least one meal a day.

The one, when it came down to it, keeping her from self-destructing.

“Did I hurt you?” his voice echoes, and she feels his phantom fingers trace over her cheek. She can feel the sticky blood from the little cut, now that she thinks about it.

He cared.

He cared if he hurt her, even if the whole point of their fight had been for them to beat each other up until she’d burned off her steam.

And Sabine?

Sabine wants to be cared about.

It’s weakness, she knows it’s weakness, but she is so—so—tired. She is tired of being strong. She is tired of digging deeper and deeper into the Darkness and she is tired of falling back into her old arts.

Did I hurt you, he had asked, sounding truly afraid that he had.

And she’d grabbed him by the arm, and impulsively brushed her lips against his wrist.

You’re dangerous, Ezra.

Sabine sighs and runs her fingers along one of her paintings on the wall as the decrepit crones haunting her speak up again, clamoring over the block she’s tried to put on them.

You’re attracted to him, aren’t you?!

You’ve never even seen his face!

He’s so young. So immature.

His idea of dealing with trauma is a fistfight!

Come home to us, sweet one, and we’ll give you a prettier boy.

One who cares enough to show you his face, hm?

Sabine blocks them out as best as she could.

It doesn’t matter if she sees his face or not. Blind people fall in love without ever seeing the other person’s face, right?

And she isn’t even in love.

She just… thinks he looked… good. In that one particular moment. That’s all.

Except that isn’t all, because it’s also the way he laughs sometimes, not a smug chuckle or a wry snort but a soft laugh that was gentle and good. It’s the way he goes out after her when her Force-hazes get the better of her and she wanders off into the Atollon desert to commune with the murder spiders, and she would come back to herself and find him guiding her by the hand or sometimes even carrying her back to their base.

It’s the way he’s gentle with her—and the way he’s downright murderous with anyone who threatens her.

I can take care of myself, she had told him once.

Not if I take care of you first, he’d said, and it sounded like a joke, but he had meant it.

Everything feels so big. It’s too much, and if she doesn’t get it out of her, she knows she will just make things worse.

Sabine needs to vent.

She needs a friend.

But other than Ezra, she has none, and she can’t tell this to any of the rest of the crew. It would mean telling—or at least hinting at—just how far she’s been dipping into the darkness.

So what can she do?

Maybe I have no friends to talk to, she realizes, inhaling quickly, but I don’t need a friend, do I? Just someone who will listen.

She casts out with her presence and finds no one in the hall, so she slips across into her new room. Ever since Malachor, she’s stopped sharing a room with Hera, and instead moved her things into Ahsoka’s room.

The holocron is right where she left it, and she sends it spinning open with a flick of her hand and a twist of Darkness.

Hello, child.

“How do I find someone?”

To the point, as always.

She ignores the commentary. “I need to track down a specific person. I don’t know where they are, but they’re a powerful Force-user who is strong with the Dark side. Can you help me find them?”

And who is this Dark acolyte? A friend?

“An acquaintance. An… enemy, but… not an enemy. I have to talk to them.”

Who is it, Sabine?

Sabine takes a breath.

She sighs.

“I need to find the Emperor’s Hand.”

#some hints at Sabine's backstory here!!#ngl her slow backstory revelation is one of the things I'm most excited for in this AU!!#well. that and the Living Waters scene. i'm also jazzed about that one. but you don't know about it yet :)#oh yeah and the part of the au where i accidentally stole the plot of anastasia! that too #and the Helmetless Scene obviously #okay okay so i guess there's several things i'm excited about lol #the scene after this one is like total crack because it's sabine pouring out her Issues while she sits in a bar and eats space m&ms #and the sith acolyte she's rambling to is just like '...that's rough buddy.'#fic snippet #fic sneak peek #twin blades and beskar au #sabezra

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