#nile writes

[hazelderiva]

take my love and plant the seed

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

my gift for the @rt-gift-exchange ! i had the greatly immense honor to write a fic for @holylustration . i could not have asked for a higher calling.

i love you truly holy. thank you for everything, and may this fic just be a small gift for our friendship <3

[boxonthenile]

oops I wrote the Trine again

“And Ginnerak is unsalvageable.”  Neddas hums. “The data says otherwise.” They gesture to the sheets of paper scattered across their desk in the workshop.   “I've looked at that data for two hundred years. Ginnerak was leveled.”  Nullar sets his coffee mug down, and Nisha lifts her head with a quiet mrrp. “Go see your wizard,” he says. She flicks an ear. “I should replace you with a familiar.” “Don't listen to him, Nish, you are perfect,” Neddas says. “And the data has potential.” “Nothing in Trinyvale has potential,” Nullar says bitterly. He sits at the workbench and hooks his cane on the peg for it.

[nilesmoon]

my piece for day 4!! verlaine & chuuya siblingisms is very important to me so needed to write abt them :]

[hazelderiva]

wip whenever

happy sundayyyy i was tagged by the lovely @amasec , and todays wip is the next chapter of versed that im writing. i turned the yearning and craving up my 100342094204 degrees because im giving into the voices in my fucking head.

He watched her hands drop from him, feeling the loss of warmth immediately. Trying to meet her gaze was futile— his eyes kept dropping to her lips like there was some horrible, horrible magnetic pull that drew him in greedily. Instead, he just pinched the bridge of his nose, slowly dragging his fingers in slow, languid strokes. Looking at her was impossible now. Forbidden. Thank the fucking Gods this route was already clear and safe. He could embarrass himself in the safety of an abandoned street without anyone but the stray bird watching. Except Olivia was watching. Always. With her brow furrowed, the sun casting a soft shadow across her face as she takes a step forward to close the distance between them. Her black hair is nearly up to her shoulders now, he noticed. Gloved hands have to constantly bat away the bang that now nearly sweeps across half her face, almost obscuring her bright blue eye. She tucks the strands behind her ear and of course a few would escape to flutter across her face, to dance across her cheek, land on her soft, supple lips and she’d part her lips to blow out a gasp of air that— Gods. He coughed. Awkwardly. “I’m fine, really.” He couldn’t say it, couldn’t find any reason to suddenly say ‘I’m suddenly very aware of your lips right now’ and how he had an intense, nearly primal urge to reach out to her. This was a biological need, clearly. The remaining part of his humanity that desired physical contact, that worry he had for her that blossomed from seeing her as a means to an end, to an assistant, to a comrade, to a friend, and to now some horribly awkward thing that he could not fathom seeing her as— They shouldn't. They couldn’t. This was inappropriate. There’s too much at stake. He shouldn’t be thinking like this. Seeing her like this. Arthur desperately needed to control himself.

i tag YOU dear reader. or whoever else wants to post. weeeeee

[hazelderiva]

[ versed in the art of losing ] - a warframe fic

i am terribad at sharing my own stuff because I Hate Being Perceived but im getting back into writing and have been kinda proud of my warframe fic, which you can read on ao3! i just posted the third chapter so feel free to go unga bunga if you want

anyway back to your regularly scheduled uhhhhhh friend posting : )

[boxonthenile]

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

I wrote Sol having an existential crisis and getting railed about it, so uh. ✌️

[hazelderiva]

versed in the art of losing chapter 6 posted!

mom dad holy FUCK we did it. please enjoy nearly 12k words of my endless yapping.

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

[boxonthenile]

Sometimes you gotta write some really weird crossovers, like Trinyvale X BG3

Neddas has no idea how long they have been chained when they hear the prayer. A desperate, stuttering, begging prayer, preceded with a string of names Neddas does not know and ending with please, anyone, help me. Neddas grabs it with a similar desperation, the line of faith gossamer-thin, and holds. The petitioner is terrified and hopeless, sobbing for mercy, and Coin’s demiplane prison holds them so distant that Neddas cannot reach them.

They cannot reach, but they listen. They hold the prayer obsessively, even as it changes from pleading for help to pleading for death. They turn it over and over, the words of it a mantra long after the prayer ends and Neddas begins to lose their own selfhood. They chant it when Coin rips magic from them, flesh peeling from their bones and reforming as godhood does not let them die. It anchors them in agony, reminding them that there is life outside this shining silver cell. That there is someone hurting as they are.