#s3au
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apology dance
#good omens#good omens fanart#ineffable husbands#aziracrow#aziraphale x crowley#aziraphale#crowley#golswia art#golswia#s3au
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I was hoping to finish my story before my vacation, but life has gotten in the way. I only have a couple thousand words left and I look forward to finishing and posting when I return. So, here’s a couple of Seven Sentence Sundays that I’ve missed. Should be under 35k when I’m done. :) Tagged by @mellaithwen @homerforsure @shortsighted-owl and @spotsandsocks Thank you!
Snippet from S3AU of doom.
..
Buck had never seen such deep denial in his life, but then again, he’d been staring at himself in the mirror a lot lately, wondering who the stranger was in the reflection.
“Sometimes we think we’re in control of something when in fact...it controls us.” A fact that had smacked Buck in the face a little too late. But he could take what he’d learned and do something positive with it. “You’re a first responder. You see people on their worst days. Sometimes their last. Then you have to shake it all off and go home and pretend everything is fine. That’s hard.”
“Do you know how many first responders there are?”
“And do you know how many of them have mental health problems?” Buck countered. He’d read the statistics and they were staggering.
“I went to therapy,” Eddie insisted.
God. This was all so freaking familiar, the irony of being on this side of the conversation not lost on him. Guilt wormed its way into his chest at how many times Maddie had tried this talk with him. “Did it help?”
“I did the mandatory number of sessions.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Do you think I enjoy being like this?” Eddie challenged. “I hate how I feel. Like I’m always balancing on the edge of a cliff, struggling to hang on. Like there’s ants crawling inside my brain making sure I never relax. Never have a moment where it doesn't feel like something bad’s going to happen. And it’s every fucking day.”
His shoulders slumped and his whole body sort of just caved in on itself. “I’m just so tired, Buck.”
“I know you are,” Buck whispered, desperate to fix things.
..
Tagging @ajunerose @renecdote @jacksadventuresinwriting and anyone else who wants to play.
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abstracty makes a return in s3au btw
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swanfire appreciation week || day 3: no curse (our world) au / season 3 au
Henry darted forwards to hug his dad and Neal pulled Emma into the group embrace. After a moment, one of them began to pull away – Emma wasn’t sure who – and now Neal was clearly crying. Not taking his eyes off Henry, he said, “Hey, this isn’t over. I’ll see both of you again.”
“You don’t have to,” Regina interrupted, appearing next to Henry.
Emma stared at her. “I’m sorry?”
Regina put one hand on Henry’s shoulder and addressed Neal. “You weren’t a part of the curse. You can leave with them.”
inspired by There But for the Grace of God by Shepherd23
#ouatedit#swanfireedit#sfweek2021#swanthiefedit#emmaswanedit#nealcassidyedit#nealfireedit#filmandtv#dailyfilmtvgifs#tvandfilm#userdailyonce#oncedaily#dailyonceuponatime#dailyonce#swanfire#mine#emma swan#neal cassidy#ouat s3#ouat s3au#neal lives au#neal lives#fics#100
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The union is complete, the realms are safe and Sabrina is a 16-year-old, half mortal, queen of hell. Oh yeah, let her not forget married. Her gaze drifts to the prince in question - now king. Lilith and Lucifer are still in Hell - her double has gone back to Greendale and she’s here - ready to start her new life as Queen of Hell.
She knows they need to talk - need to set up ground rules and come to terms for their next steps in ruling Hell. But she’s not sure how to start.
Sabrina clears her throat and steps over to where he sits offering him something of a smile. “Caliban,” she says in greeting, “I thought maybe it was time for us to talk. Have a discussion about where we go from here.” She explains while sitting in the large chair across from him
► @clcyprince Plotted Starter
#мy naмe ιѕ ѕaвrιna ѕpellмen and ι wιll noт ѕιgn ιт away│Sabrina Interactions#v; an υnнoly υnιon│S3AU#clcyprince
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‘ it’s all been a lie, hasn’t it? ’ | From Isabella :o
( * ? — SOFT ANGST STARTERS — ? * ) (accepting)
@handsovdeath ✦ Isabella
❝What?❞ Don’t be paranoid. It’s alright, you can fix this.He tries to tell himself the moment he heard her, but he feels the panic and paranoia washing over him.❝No. No.❞ he shakes his head and walks to her, grabbing her wrist. She can’t just leave, he can’t lose her. ❝I love you.❞ (She is just like the other one, isn’t she? Which only means…)No. Shut up! Isabella is not like Miss Kringle. She’s different.(Maybe, but…are you?) the voice in his head laughsTake a breath, calm down. Edward closes his eyes and lets her go. Then he clenches his jaw and opens them again — he is in control. ❝Tell me what happened.❞
#handsovdeath#handsovdeath (isabella)#v: s3au#this could end very badly#or in a nice kiss to make up xD
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Can I request another 3 sentence prompt?:D Trevilieu, Spanish prison AU or alive!Armand S3AU(Regent Treville and First Minister Richelieu) I'm possessed with the desire to read your version of those AU!
Oh Hello Naggie!
I filled your prompt at last !This one was complicated to me. Really. I felt lost in front of all the absurdity I had to deal with, blending my history nerd standards with REGENT TREVILLE, mostly because nothing can make me watch Musketeers S3, not even thatn but also because.
First, the Regency starts in 1643. That makes Richelieu hella old, but well, let’s say he’s not.
Second. it makes Treville and Richelieu face the Fronde instead of Anne and it changes EVERYTHING. It feels wrong. I am lost.
Third. NO MAZARINI (>__
BUT ! It’s you, so I had to do it, because I love you.
So l took The Circle of Traitors as canon, except that Treville rescues Richelieu while he’s already Regent, because if Richelieu was alive, and a Regent had to be named (and it’s not THE FUCKING QUEEN BECAUSE OF FUCKS), it would have been Armand 10/10.
It may not be my highest piece, really. I did my best.
-« Cardinal,Vendôme is a nuisance.”
-“That’swhy I told you to have him executed!”
-“Murder doesn’t solve everything!”
He slammedhis fist upon his desk. Again.
His lipsnow turn to a thin white line of sheer anger, and I lift my chin, defiant.
Outside, athick curtain of rain is hiding the skyline of Paris from the windows of theLouvres. Lost servants and frowning clerks run through the courtyard, hopingtheir cloak will shield them from the Flood. Night will fall soon enough, withno promise of any clearer skies. Inside, candelabras are shining high, and thehearth gives a delicate warmth to the wide rooms. Firelight is turningeverything into faint gold, and Regent Treville is pale with fury.
Again.
It happensevery week. It happens every day.
May it beabout war to the Hapsburgs, may it be for the Royal Guard’s new uniform. May itbe for the number of guests at a ball, the hiring of a cook.
May it befor a Kingdom or a fork.
This ishim. This is me.
This time,anger wears the crest of De Bourbon-Vendôme, duke of Beaufort. Five years ago,he led a small, ridiculous rebellion against the Crown, judging thefreshly-named Regent too weak to stand the dangers of his position, no doubt.His plot, botched and plain, limping with a ridiculous lack of wits andpreparation, failed miserably, and all Vendôme’s accomplices were discovered bymy informants in less than one day.
But as Imade my report to His Highness Regent, rightfully asking for death sentence to allof them, he declared he’d show mercy and choose exile.
Ha! Exile.
I walked incircles, I spoke for hours. The Regency had just been declared and plots weregoing to bloom like daisies in springtime if an example wasn’t made quickly. Allthose men were nobodies, expendables, they were a prefect occasion to make astatement of force, to nip any other rebellion in the bud. Kingdoms weren’tbuilt upon mercy.
‘Maybe it’stime to start’, he told me, unmoved, and he smiled.
Regent ornot, His Highness or not, for all I care, I shouted.
I shouted,because this is me. This is him.
But if theRegency was quite new, so was the glorious, reckless and magnificent rescueplan Treville devised to snatch me out of the dungeon cell I was rotting in.The second of wonder when that cursed door opened for his pale, worried facewas still glued to my skin. The minute he knelt next to me holding me into hisarms, encircling me with safety and warmth, was still engraved in every dream Ihad since I walked back into the Louvres.
Though Isnapped back into my old habits just as quickly as I put back my red robes,there was still, at this time, a lingering feeling of devotion to him in mybones. I owed him my life. I owed him everything.
I shouted,he cupped my face. I cursed, he kissed my neck.
Regent ornot, for all I care. But this is him.He breathed my name against my mouth, and I wrote the letters of exile myself.
The onlyvictory I could claim mine, still dizzy with warmth, still crazed with love, hasbeen a prison sentence for Vendôme, ten years in Vincennes.
If angerwears his name tonight, it’s because he escaped after five.
And thismorning, of course, I have received a note informing me that Vendôme has beenseen in Chenonceau with a few members of the Fronde. He didn’t lose time,idiotic fool.
He keepshis jaw clenched tight, but his grip on those letters he picked up isn’t steadyenough to confirm. He knows he has made a mistake.
I keep myhead held high, but I take a few steps back, retreating to the nearest chairand slumping into it. Triumph does taste sweet, but not today. Not on him.
Silencefalls, just like the rain. Heavy, invasive, almost brutal.
I watchwith a bitter smile the way salt and snow has covered his hair and beard thosedays. The way his eyes, sometimes, seem too tired to speak. They used to shout,once.
They usedto scream.
I have beenso sure, up there in that prison, that all I had to do was sit down and letmyself die. It was just like all agonies are. It was torture, but it wassimple. He opened that door, and sunlight came in. He ran towards me, and life returnedto my veins. He brought me home, he never once let go of my hand.
“Thank you,Captain” I whispered to his neck once, as the carriage he hid me in passedthrough the gate I thought I wouldn’t see again.
“I am not aCaptain anymore” he said with a faint smile, and I didn’t understand.
Then heopened the carriage door and they all rushed to him. Guards, servants,courtiers.They called him “Your Highness”, and I didn’t understand.
Agony wasgone, sure as daylight, but nothing, nothingwas simple anymore.
I snappedback into my old habits just as quickly as I put back my red robes, our arguingand fighting simply unable to end, no matter the titles, no matter the place.
This is stillhim, and this is still me.
Regent ornot, for all I care.
But as soonas anyone else is watching, he is the embodiment of Royalty, and I have to bow,I have to look down, nod my assent and yield.
The sight,I know, makes us both cringe all the same. I have lost an equal, and so did he.
At the endof it all, he is “His Highness”, now.
Jean ismy King.
I let out asmall, disbelieving huff, and he reads my though as clear as day. He frowns,tired, a bit lost, maybe, in the absurdity of all odds.
-“Whatshould we do?” he breathes, circling around his desk to walk close to me.
I shrug, I suppose,gesturing towards the outside with a vagueness that doesn’t look like me.
-“We sendMusketeers to search and arrest him.” I sigh. “If we find him, you’ll do me thepleasure of cutting his neck. If we don’t, well, the Fronde is likely to raisean army and march on Paris soon enough, so let’s hope he gets a bullet in theface and solve our small issue with that.”
He pondersfor a while, tense and worried. Then nods.
-“I’ll signhis execution order.” He concedes. “When he’s found, he’ll be -
-“Not onlyhis” I cut in. “All of them.”
He rollshis eyes, mouthing “not again” in furious hisses.
-“Cardinal.”He growls, menacing.
-“Yourhighness” I hiss all the same.
And Ibreathe in for another argument.
But if Iend up not speaking at all, if I end up looking down.
If I end upin confused warmth and dizzy need, bowing slightly, nodding my assent.
This is notbecause they decided to place this burden of a title on his shoulders. This isnot for his position, his name, the golden rims around his coat.
If I remainsilent, once more, it is because of his rugged hand into my hair. if I submit to him, I swear, this has nothing to do with “His Highness”.
It isbecause of the corner of his lips, breathing my name against my mouth.
This is me,after all. This is us.
Regent ornot, for all I care.
Jean has always been my King.
#cardinal richelieu#team trevilieu#regent treville#prompt fill#3 sentences my ass#i will never write 3 sentences#let it be clear
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I got a question about your season 2 au thing. What did "the death of the forresters bleeds my blood and their deeds breed scars " mean? And what did Talia getting the scar's meant? Is there a seaoson 3 of your au coming out soon? Just a little confused.
“Death of the Forresters”: the person that ends House Forrester.
“Bleeds my blood”: The aforementioned person is related to the speaker (if you remember, Elsera gave Talia that piece of paper. She heard the prophecy when the Spirit of the North Grove, Gerhard Forrester, took over her warriors. This means the Spirit is the one who is speaking here.)
“Their deeds breed scars”: This one’s really simple - they just have a scar.
So in total, the prophecy is “the person who destroys House Forrester has the blood of Gerhard Forrester and has scars.” Talia thinks it’s her because she got those burn scars while fighting Torrhen, but there are many other candidates:
Rodrik - his facial scars and missing hand.
Ryon - scarred from where he cracked his head open after falling from that cliff.
Elsera - scarred palm from blood magic.
Josera - scarred eyebrow.
Not to mention the Whitehills share Gerhard’s blood as they’re descended from his brother. This means that Torrhen, Gryff and Roslin are all candidates too.
But then, the whole point is... is it even a truthful prophecy? Can we trust the Spirit of Gerhard Forrester? Is he telling the truth? Why would he warn them? Is he just trying to keep them on edge for generations to come?
The reason the end is so open is because I wanted to leave it up to the reader as I don’t intend to make a S3AU. This means they can draw their own conclusion and headcanon from the ending.
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Hello fox! We hope you are having a wonderful day! We were wondering if we can get a shout out? We are a new appless shadowhunters rp s3au set to take place 2 weeks after the season finale of s2. Tensions are slowly rising within the shadow world and stakes are higher than ever! This will also heavily feature City of Fallen Angels book elements/events so we have lots of events planned out! Please and thank you!
shoutout !
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divorcee meetup
#good omens#good omens fanart#aziracrow#ineffable husbands#aziraphale x crowley#aziraphale#crowley#golswia#golswia art#s3au#messing with conceptsss and designss#archangel aziraphale#my best santa beard-man#crowley loosing colors and becoming divorced icon with femme fatale vibes#yes.#if i would do draw their s3 looks how i REALLY think...#crowley would be bald and have long merlin beard#cuz he is drama he is life#smooch that egg#make a scraf with that beard#u go#ohh#and protect the egg with beanie
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WIP Wednesday
Thank you to @ajunerose and @shortsighted-owl for the tag :)
I’m 23k words into the S3AU of doom. I might see the light at the end of the tunnel :)
...
After the third concussion check, Buck just crawled under the covers beside Eddie, content to listen to him breathe, relishing their shared body heat. He watched Eddie’s chest rise and fall, the way his fingers twitched, his brow furrowed even at rest.
Buck wanted to smooth away all the worry and hold Eddie until his body relaxed into a peaceful sleep. A cynical part of Buck reminded him that he and Eddie had just meet, that they were both one step away from a complete break-down. But it didn’t have to be like that. People were allowed to make mistakes, to hit rough patches and still be given a chance to rebuild.
A few weeks ago Buck was drinking cheap booze and watching bad porn, his brain fraught with everything awful in life. It consumed him, the self-loathing, the need to be angry all the fucking time. To blame everyone around him.
Now all he wanted was to feel better, to make the person beside him whole again, the two of them finding their way back together.
...
tagging @megslovesbooks, @renecdote @princessfbi @spotsandsocks @mellaithwen @homerforsure @fleurdebeton @jacksadventuresinwriting
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These Seasons Three
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2Q6mSki
by bathtimefunduck
Join the continued adventures of Lucy Lane as she explores what it means to become her own hero. She has her girls, her supersuit, and Vasquez to back her up, but something is creeping out from the shadows. The suit is acting weird, her father is acting weirder, there's at least one mole in the DEO, and some weirdo just showed up wanting to shrink National City.
Plus, Vasquez keeps tattling when she has a bad day.
If there's one thing she's sure of, Lucy will get to the bottom of it.
These Seasons Three, aka S3au if Lucy stuck around
Words: 5993, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English
Series: Part 1 of Life and Times of Lucy Lane
Fandoms: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: F/F, Multi
Characters: Alex Danvers, Sam Lane, Lucy Lane (DCU), Maggie Sawyer, Agent Vasquez (Supergirl TV 2015)
Relationships: Alex Danvers/Lucy Lane/Maggie Sawyer
Additional Tags: nb!vasquez
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2Q6mSki
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Hello! We hope you are having a wonderful day! We were wondering if we can get a shout out? We are a new appless shadowhunters rp s3au set to take place 2 weeks after the season finale of s2. Tensions are slowly rising within the shadow world and stakes are higher than ever! This will also heavily feature City of Fallen Angels book elements/events so we have lots of events planned out! Please and thank you!
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Season 3 AU: In this verse Sabrina takes Caliban's offer to rule hell together. They find the silver together, he helps beat back the Pagans - the coven beseeches Hecate who restores their power and Sabrina claims the throne with Lilith as her adviser and Caliban as her king. As part of the union agreement - Hell stays in hell and away from the mortal realm and they reorganize hell together. [ Their marriage is business not romance - though that can change with Caliban's who want to plot things out ] In this verse Sabrina spends 6 months of the year in Hell and 6 months of the year in the mortal realm.
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