#ls.rtf

[demon-xuan]

I don't do art very often and definitely post it even less, but I'm also pretty proud of these, so.

Sagiverse Shieldsworth 7YG full references. Atticus on the left, Ray on the right. ;O;

[demon-xuan]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Mitsurugi Shin | Gregory Edgeworth/Shigaraki Tateyuki | Raymond Shields Additional Tags: Sagiverse, Gregory Edgeworth's POV, Dragon!Ray, Hardcore Lemon, heavy heavy Alternate Universe, mild dubcon, Draconic Heat, fuck idk local attorney gets railed by dragon in heat, no beta we die like mia fey, Gregory Edgeworth Week 2023 Summary: [Sagiverse; Gregworth Week '23] Day 1, heat: warmth, passion, intensity. In which Atticus and Raymond enjoy some quality time together in their retirement.

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Hello, Ace Attorney fandom. I’m Pale, one of the two authors of a very batshit AU. Saint Seiya fandom is very familiar with us. I haven’t been assed to post any of the 200+k written so far, but we’re publicly posting some of this AU now for Gregworth week, starting with [checks notes] ...dragonfucker porn.

Nice. Anyway, I swear to gods this has context, which you’ll be getting on day 5 or by asking me nicely to explain. Mind the tags + have fun!

[demon-xuan]

For the first sentence ask thing: "No, we can't keep another animal; we don't even have enough space for the other 20 we've adopted!!" Have fun!

"No, we can't keep another animal; we don't even have enough space for the other 20 we've adopted!!"

Luco had to yell to be heard over the cawing of four increasingly-loud birds, and he was thinking this was just going to be his life now. Ilias was across the room where his very presence was calming the animals into silence and sleep and generally being cute. 

This was the absolute worst idea, and he wanted to be angry, but he still made it far enough across the threshold to just pull open the bag of food, reach up, grab a vine, and pull himself up and out of the way before the horde descended on it. He looked over at his husband, always tranquil despite the current chaos of the household, and found himself a little more in love and a lot more infuriated. Ilias’ smile was radiant and peaceful, arms full of critters, and Luco’s heart found itself stumbling into a race.

(As part of the ‘send me the first line of a fic and I’ll write the next five’ prompt! My askbox is here. :D )

[demon-xuan]

"Please, persuade him to come meet me" is your starting line for the ask! Starring at least a specter and a Goldie ;) Thanks!

"Please, persuade him to come meet me.”

Manigoldo looked at Minos. Minos looked back at Manigoldo, eyes wide and pleading, filled with all the desperation of a life spent entirely underground and a single memory of the sun. 

“He’s not the sort of person who enjoys people,” he answers, slowly, unsure how to say it properly. “But I’m sure I can set something up that piques his curiousity enough that he’ll entertain the idea of not immediately getting the shovel.”

Minos’ smile was brighter than a solar eclipse, and equally insufferable.

(As part of the ‘send me the first line of a fic and I’ll write the next five’ prompt! My askbox is here. :D )

[demon-xuan]

Okay okay okay, Minos/Albafica for any prompts you want. Go wild

Just remember one thing: YOU ASKED FOR THIS.

29. one headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart

“They’re coming,” he said, and he said it quietly, said it like he knew the world was listening, because it was. Minos knelt beside him, hair pulled into a tight almost-braid with rose-stems he conjured up for him, dirt smudged against his nose and fear in his eyes. Albafica reached forward, wiping the dirt off with his thumb. Minos shifted forward, leaning into his touch, closing his eyes for the slightest bit of comfort at the contact.

Hells, he had never once thought that it might end like this, but now that he actually thought about how it could have ended, it was obvious, and he felt so stupid. What kind of Saint even did this? What kind would willingly walk into the arms of a black angel, whose only aspiration in the story was to tempt him away from his path?

Why the hell did he allow it to work? And so well? 

“We can still get out,” Minos said, quietly, timidly, like he was sure Albafica would shoot down the thought. “We can still get away. Up into the clouds and disappear to my father’s kingdom.”

“I can’t fly.”

“I can. I know I can fly faster than he can, and yes, even carrying you I know I can.” Minos looked up at him, hesitant, pale violet eyes brimming with terror and a thin ribbon of defiance. This was his Minos, of course, and he knew better: when would he ever want to go down any way but swinging? Minos was brave, braver than he was, and he hated himself a little for being the weaker one, the more reserved of the two.

He did the only thing he could think to do, to keep himself together, to keep himself from falling apart at the seams. He leaned forward, and pressed his lips to Minos’, open and wet and needing the contact. Minos leaned right back into him, tilting his head, his own lips parted but never pushing too far. It was Albafica who pulled him close, fingertips tracing his spine, feeling Minos’ skin set itself aflame at the contact. The slight gasp when Albafica’s tongue slipped into his mouth, when Minos’ answered him.

They clung to each other, just for the moment, a moment they both knew might be their last. Albafica kissed him like he was drowning, and he was; Minos kissed him back like he knew he had already drowned them both. He was too absorbed in the kiss, his hands finding the nape of Albafica’s neck and clinging to it, almost suckling on his tongue, and he would’ve disliked it if it weren’t right now. 

He felt the slight tremble of the ground before he could hear them, but it was enough to break the illusion. Enough to know their time was ending. Albafica broke the kiss, opening his eyes to see Minos’ wide, a thin trail of saliva still connecting them, Minos’ cheeks red and warm and still, somehow, handsome. 

He didn’t think he’d ever be able to forgive himself, but he didn’t have to. His hand drifted from the base of his spine to the ground, reaching for one last piece of broken stained glass, ignoring the way it sliced through the softer parts of his hand. He slipped his free hand around Minos’ neck, as if to kiss him again. Minos leaned forward, his wings still resting on the ground like he had not a thought of flight.

Albafica grabbed the braid, tangled with roses, tilted him slightly back, and sliced his hair short, two feet of silver locks released from him. Minos turned to stare at his hands, eyes somehow wider, horror drawing over him like dawn over an unending night.

“Go,” Albafica murmured, dropping the glass shard, pushing him away. “You can fly. I’ll buy you time.” 

He turned, rising from his knees as he did, staining his cape with blood as he drew it around him like a shroud. It was going to be, in just a moment. He kept his back to his lover as he heard him stifle a sniffle and take off into the night. It could always have been worse. It was only hair, only Minos’ silver locks that he’d always taken such pride in. It wasn’t his throat, like he’d been instructed.

He stepped out from the shadows, clearing his throat, just loud enough only he could hear. “These secrets die with me,” he called, unsurprised to find his voice steady. Dignity would always be the last thing to go, and he would cling to it even facing mortality. “He’s gone. You can do as you will… but I warn you, it is as much as loss for you as it is for me.”

They stood frozen, stood still. Then they laughed, but it didn’t hurt to hear the sound, cruel and brutal and entirely for him. His heart was already gone, sent on with a black angel under the cover of night, and Albafica didn’t have a care in the world for a damn thing else, and he thought he might just prefer it that way. 

[demon-xuan]

English prompt #2 - “Peer pressure affects one’s ability to make good decisions.”

She specified it had to be first person this time. Next time I’ll bet she specifies a word limit because this is 2.5 pages long.

Change the world. That’s all we set out to do: change the world. I mean, okay, we didn’t actively decide to walk out and change the world. But we wanted to do something with our lives and by the Gods of the Gardens themselves, who were we to complain when the world had no choice but to acknowledge our presence and what that could mean?

There were the Dark Lands. That’s what they’ve been called for a long, long time now. Ever since the Dark Lady decided to overthrow the king of the Water Wastes. Currently, our job was to stop her.

We rode on through the lands, our surroundings blurring as the world adjusted distance for all of us. It’s a funny thing, distance, once magic is placed into the equation; to have all that distance and not have to account for any of it, to go so much farther than we should have at our speed. But there were four of us and one Dark Lady, and really, how much experience could she have?

The castle towered above us, as it rightly should have, but it was no longer the castle of the king of the Water Wastes. Arathe shrank back a little - not hard, with his dwarf blood - but the rest of us sat straighter on our horses. This was the castle of the Dark Lady now. But I knew the floorplan, and she wouldn’t have changed it all that much. Learning it herself would have been difficult enough.

We returned our horses to the pouches used to summon them, and marched inside, weapons held aloft and at the ready.

If the skeletal guards noticed us, they didn’t show it. We managed to get all the way to the receiving hall just before the throne room before we saw anyone living, and even then, it was a cowering servant girl with fresh cuts on her face. I looked a little closer, and saw the blue around her face, the intricate markings like water sigils. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Arathe’s eyes widen a little. Of course. She’d deserted her king to serve the new one: not surprising, for a servant, but still pitiable.

I drew myself up to my full height, and pointed my saber in her direction. Not with any actual intent to harm her further, but it was nice if she listened. “Take us to the Dark Lady,” I told her, my voice echoing through the silent halls. “And tell her we are here to talk.”

A few moments later, we stood in the throne room. We consented to placing our weapons in their sheaths and then on a table within view, more for her comfort than for ours. If it came to a fight, we’d be a little worse off, but it wasn’t like she’d asked for the removal of the scimitar strapped to my leg under my trousers. Or the daggers hidden in Arathe’s beard.

“So,” she said, and she leaned forward with her hand supporting her chin. “Four famous warriors, and you just want to talk. Somehow, I don’t believe that.”

“It is not a question of whether or not you believe us,” came the deep, smooth reply of Tritan, our elven healer and mage. “It is a question of whether you shall hear us out.”

She raised an eyebrow at that, and sat back, her back a little straighter. “You’re here now, so I suppose I might as well.”

Tritan looked at me with a meaningful expression. I knew that expression, and I grinned slightly, pushing hair as blue as the markings on the people of the Water Wastes out of my eyes. I stepped forward, and started to pace.

“Let’s recount the situation, before I tell you why we’re here,” I said, staring out of the large window at the side of the throne room. Below me was the ruined Water Wastes - the Dark Lady’s kingdom, now. A wasteland, and the water no longer ran blue. “You waltz into the Wastes and destroy everything in your path and you ruin the one export they have, you kill the king and steal his throne. But what have you really gained here, Dark Lady? Fear of the people? You ruined any chance you had at making money from this place, nobody wants the land. Only valuable thing here was the water and that’s obviously not going to help you any more.”

She gave me a very strange, confused look. I did, however, know what I was doing. I’d done it before, even if the true version of any similar event never really got to the public. They rather preferred heroic fights.

“But when people are scared, they don’t just put their heads down and work. Sure, some of them might. But most of them will either leave or just make your life really inconvenient until some idiot hero comes along and can stir up a proper revolution. And yet you have to waste all your forces keeping them in line, and it won’t really work, because you’re not getting anything out of this.”

“And just what are you-”

I turned to face her, arms folded. “You didn’t really think this through, did you? You were so focused on conquering the Wastes that now that you’ve got ‘em, you don’t know what to do. So you’re just going to focus on the next kingdom and conquer that, and keep conquering places until someone has the sense to defeat you. There’s no winning from your side!” I tossed my arms to either side to emphasize the point.

She looked pained, but didn’t argue, apparently having decided to shut up and hear me out.

“If you spend all your time and resources constantly trying to fight people, you will eventually lose, and you won’t have a stable base to come back to. There’s no getting the Wastes back from you now, the king didn’t have any relatives. And it’s not like we’re going to be fixing the water anytime soon unless you hire a few heroes.”

“Then what do you propose I do?” she said, annoyance laced into every word. Not that I really cared. She was listening, and my companions were doing their job of staring innocently and increasing the pressure on her.

“Be nice to your people. Stop killing them. Learn how economy works and make it work. Find something this place can produce and make a profit out of, then start trading. Make alliances. Actually work as a kingdom and not some sort of irritating plague that makes heroes want to wipe you out. People tend to work better and start less revolutions if there’s a benefit to working for you that they wouldn’t get somewhere else.”

I paused for breath. “What you’d benefit from is actually planning things out. Not just the conquering, but what you’re doing when you’re not conquering. If you want to rule the world, cool, but what’re you gonna do when you’ve conquered the world and there’s nothing left to conquer? Because let me tell you, not having a plan for something like that would lead to a very boring existence.”

I picked up my weapon and left, the servant girl smiling under the wounds. My companions followed me, leaving the Dark Lady on her throne, confused but thinking.

A month later, the kingdom of Plica was offered an alliance by the kingdom of the Drowned Land, as they’d started to call it. They were calling her the Drowned Lady, now, and she’d used some impressive magic to drag her kingdom into a great canyon, and filled it with water. They were offering some of the best trade deals on fish and quality water plants fit for the king. Fish and plants that could be grown nowhere else, and would surely bring her kingdom riches.

We rode past the border on our way to Arra, and it looked much better than the Water Wastes ever had. Tritan laughed, and Arathe cheered, and Kliska and me shared a look of delight. Of course, everyone would say I duelled with the Lady, proved to her through force that her ways were wrong.

But I knew better, and so did she. You’d be amazed what a little peer pressure and lecturing can do, if you know what you’re doing.

[demon-xuan]

English prompt #1 - “Where you got into the most trouble as a kid.”

We’re doing narrative prompts every English class in preparation for the English 12 provincial, and I’m known to do urban fantasy for every narrative I do in my English tests, so I’m keeping up the trend. This one was last class.

It had to be done. You couldn’t have said why, years later, why you’d decided that it had to be done. But clearly, it had to be, because you’d went off and done the stupid thing, and now we had this great big mess we needed to clean up.

You were only seven, too- the magic number. Your father had left for the war and you decided you really wanted to follow in his footsteps. If it had been a kitchen knife, or maybe even a knife from that newfangled musket that your cousin bought. But no. You couldn’t possibly have picked any of those. You had to somehow cast spells difficult for those twice your age and melt the lock off the chest and steal the prophesied, cursed blade from the basement.

The blade was twice your size. You shouldn’t have been able to pick it up at all, let alone wave it around and shatter a window. The spells that blade let loose still ring in my ears. Yet there you were, swinging it around without a care in the world and screaming your head off about how you were going to save your father from that blasted curse and make the prophecy come true.

You were seven. I don’t know who told you about any of that, because I sure didn’t. I wasn’t going to tell you until you were sixteen. Whose idea of a joke was this?

I burnt a hand getting the blade back into the chest and making a new lock. It still stings and I fear that the curse will kill me, too, like your father. But it didn’t affect you. Seven years old and the blade didn’t mind your existence at all.

I’ll admit, I’m a little scared. But shouldn’t I be glad? You are really the prophecy child, then, and it was never your father. But will anyone really let you be a child?

[demon-xuan]

title: lol idfk it’s moonright what more do you want.

rating / tws: PG13, seth making a gorey comment (not really descriptive)

fandom: evillious chronicles, original sin story

author’s notes: happy birthday @twiriqht I wrote some queer shit 4 u. 1400 words.

“I told you, we don’t need to have an entire forest in this stupid key.” Seth raised his arms and gestured to virtually everything around him on the word ‘entire’, his expression as grumpy as a child pretending to be upset over the wrong type of dinner.

“And I didn’t say an entire forest. Just some forest,” Adam attempted to clarify. Seth ignored him, but he continued anyway. “You might enjoy spending all your time in your weird lab making more children that try to mutilate me but I need to spend at least some time outside a building.”

Seth rolled his eyes. “You’re not leaving this key,” he said; then paused. “No, more like I doubt you could.” He tapped at nothing in particular, but a small blue light pulsed from the invisible spot he touched. “You just had to raise them like fools.”

“Were your ghoul children any better?” Adam countered, a scar on his hand tingling in almost a reply.

“Shut it.” Seth turned on his heel and stalked off, the wall in front of him melting into a doorway, returning to a wall once he had exited through it.

Adam stared at the wall. Buildings didn’t do that. At least, they shouldn’t do that.

“I live. In a key. Because I am dead.” Saying the words didn’t make his situation seem any more real or less like some strange hallucination. He focused on the wall again, wondering if he was actually capable of making it adapt to his will like it did for Seth. The wall pulsed the same bright radioactive blue, then shifted into a window with a bit of a wobble.

On the other side of the wall appeared to be a small living space. Seth lay there facedown on a leather couch, silently screaming into the armrest.

Adam huffed in annoyance at his roommate’s utter drama, and released his grip on the window. It melted back into a wall.

It had been two days since they’d gotten stuck in the key. His foster children, who he was no longer certain if they were human at all, had already stuck the key in someone’s mailbox, deep into Apocalypse territory. How they had gotten there was a mystery - the key did not always let them see into the material world - but it had not yet been found by anyone.

For a split second, he wondered if it was possible to get hungry. He hadn’t actually eaten anything since before his death, and truth be told, he wasn’t exactly sure if they even had a kitchen.

Adam scrunched up his face, trying to turn the wall into a door. A splatter-shaped, ever-changing hole seemed to be the best he could do, so he stepped through it and hoped he didn’t get stuck.

He opened his mouth to ask Seth if they had a kitchen, but the moment he was in earshot, all he could hear was muffled screeching. He waited a few moments. The screeching didn’t stop.

“Seth.”

Screeching.

“Seth.”

The aforementioned man lifted his head, all the grace of a pouty child on his face. He didn’t stop screeching, but it was now less muffled. Adam didn’t exactly know how to deal with that, but there was an armchair beside him, so he took the small pillow, aimed, and tossed it in Seth’s direction. As planned, Seth suddenly had a mouth full of pillow, and momentarily stopped screaming.

“Do we have a kitchen.” It was not a question.

Seth removed the pillow. “Go make one.”

“I’m going to go make a forest,” Adam announced, “and I am going to hunt wildlife and cook it over a fire and roast some s’mores-”

Seth cut him off. “What are s’mores?”

Adam stopped dead, horror filling his body to almost the same degree from when he had seen the Leviantan Senate for the first time. Seth stared at him. Adam choked out, “You don’t know what s’mores are?”

“Uhhh… No?” Seth looked puzzled, and slowly the horror went away. Adam huffed and stepped over to him, lifting him up over his shoulder effortlessly and willing the walls to take him outside.

“We are having a campfire. You are going to enjoy it.” Seth let out a plaintive whine of vague distaste. Adam ignored him.

  A few hours later, when Seth had been persuaded to make it look like nighttime in the key and had graciously sat somewhat still on a rock long enough for Adam to chop some wood and make a fire, Adam managed to will into existence some forks and hot dogs.

Overall, he was pleased with his progress. Seth gave him a dirty look, but his eyes had never left Adam for about four hours. When would Adam notice that? Not for a couple hundred years, probably. But neither was to know that.

Seth sat on the rock, legs planted firmly on the ground with the campfire fork in his hands. He stared into the fire, not even bothering to fix it when his hot dog caught fire.

“Seth, no, that’s not how you cook-” Adam protested, reaching over from his own rock to pull Seth’s meal out of the fire and attempt to stop the flames.

He was left with a very burnt hot dog, and a Seth whose last fuck had flown away several hours ago.

“Do you know how to cook with a fire?” Adam gave a moment’s wish that the answer would be yes. The wish was useless.

“Do I look like someone who functions without proper research technology?” came the answer, and Adam wasn’t sure if he even had the right to be surprised.

“You’re going to learn,” he declared, and forced Seth’s rock to elongate itself so there was room for two. Seth stared at him in vague distaste. Adam at least tried to be oblivious of that.

  A full half hour and three more burnt hot dogs later, Seth had finally gotten the hang of cooking. Once Adam had compared it to heating some chemical substance or other, his roommate had done a decent job. And then immediately tried to grab the end of the fork and swore - quite loudly - at the heat.

Adam tried not to laugh, and got the fork swung at him in response. He ducked, and it missed him by inches.

“Now you get to eat it. See, isn’t that a good reward?” He smiled, trying to be friendly. Seth pointed at the hot dog.

“This is your dick.” Adam watched, suddenly aware of Seth’s nature as an HER and not sure what to expect. Seth made a very lewd face, put half the hot dog in his mouth, and bit down, ripping it in two in one motion.

And then he smiled ever so smugly at the horrified expression on Adam’s face.

  Once they had finished eating the hot dogs - Adam had returned to a rock on the other side of the fire - he pulled out a bag of marshmallows. “So, s’mores. You roast the marshmallow like with the hot dog until it’s golden brown all the way around. Then you take some graham crackers and put a piece of chocolate on one. Then you put your marshmallow on the other cracker, and make a sandwich. There you go. S’mores.”

“That does not sound in the least bit healthy,” Seth answered somewhat flatly.

“Neither was the thing you did to that hot dog.”

“Your face made it worth it.”

“The taste will make it worth it.” Adam tossed the bag of marshmallows towards his roommate, hitting him square in the chest. “Go roast your marshmallow. And please don’t set it on fire this time.”

Surprisingly, Seth made a proper s’more on his first try, despite shaking half the marshmallow into the woods in surprise at how liquid it was under its skin. Adam watched his face carefully to try and see his reaction to the taste.

Seth looked like he just swallowed lava, but forced himself to keep a neutral face. Adam mirrored it. “Is it good?”

“It’s food.” Seth gave him a very careful neutral expression, almost as if hesitant to have any sort of emotion that wasn’t some form of Malice-driven arrogance.

Adam attempted to make a pouting face. Seth sighed. “Pass the marshmallows, woodcutter boy,” he said.

It was Adam’s turn to wear a smug face, and he offered the one he just cooked from his fork. Seth didn’t hesitate before taking it.