#ofinscriptions

[allezartificier]

2026;

I had the idea of Altaïr staring down someone from across a busy market and HAD to try it!!

[arialerendeair]

JayVik Big Bang 🦋 Posting! (@jayvikbigbang.bsky.social)

Jayce whispers to Viktor in the Mage’s flashback. @ofinscriptions.bsky.social and writer @arialerendeair.bsky.social help show us that maybe

A fic preview of another Jayvik fic written for the @jayvikbigbang with art by the INCREDIBLE @ofinscriptions!!!

Title: Pygmalion Ain't Got Nothing On Me

Chapters: 7/7

Word Count: 26k

After all of the equations are solved... what is left?

[elieasal]

Artfight 2023 Drawings 5-8

5. @exerjack's Esther

6. @tiney-tadpole's Fade

7. @ofinscriptions' Jezha Maghr-Sal

8. Illidan's Hawke

[ofinscriptions]

prompt; “a god among men”

                             aboard the ISS Ulysses; constellatory gods unknown                                               astra inclinant, sed non obligant  

Niklas pushed back the long top of his hair — it was starting to get unruly; they had kept up the undercut of it (the peach fuzz of dark hair being shaved every three weeks with clockwork efficiency), but hadn’t bothered to even trim the singed ends off the just-past-collarbone length top. He knot it together at the back of his head.

Get it out of the way, his thoughts said, then turned to scolding, get going, Nik. The captain isn’t going to be kind about slacking again.

Now, the captain of the ISS Ulysses was a hard woman. She didn’t like slacking. She didn’t like things out of place even a millimetre. It showed in her immaculate uniform — in the dazzling gleam of the silver buttons on her uniform, and the high shine of her polished boots. She had a pleasant enough voice — at least as far as Niklas thought — it was at once gravel-like and soothing.

Kind of like brandy, he thought; it making a smile worm onto his face. She probably burns like it too.

Niklas opened one of the many smooth panels that lined the corridors of the ISS Ulysses and reached into the belly of the wiring. His knowledge making him avoid a rather nasty electric shock as he pulled and prodded at the mess of wires looking for the frayed on.

The captain was striking, in Niklas’ opinion. She had a wide face and sharp, silver eyes; a cloud of umber hair circled her head like a halo — she looked how Niklas figured an angel of Venus might look.

Though many people didn’t care for her on a personal level (on a professional level she was the best captain in the imperial fleet), many people didn’t know her. She was intensely private, much to Niklas’ chagrin. He wanted to know his superiors. He wanted to have a chance to bump elbows with those that got to look out at the vastness of the galaxy each day.

But, instead, he was ushered away whenever he tried to speak with her. Either by her second in commands — a pair of reed-like siblings with pink albino eyes and stardust for skin — or by another in the engineering sector.

“Hey Nik!” The bright voice threw Niklas out of his thoughts. The source of it — one of his coworkers — came from too close to reasonably deny that Niklas wasn’t lost in thought again. But it made him jump, and it made him jostle the wires.

A jolt screamed through his fingertips and seared down his arm — a strangled yelp popped out of Niklas. “Fuck, Tycho! Jesus!”

“Oh lantana, sorry,” Tycho said, before biting on one of the fingers of his thick grey-green glove to pull it off, and reaching his clean liquid gold-skinned hand into one of the many pockets of his belt. Pulling a roll of gauze out, a pitiful amount still clinging to the cardboard core, Tycho offered it to Niklas. “You shouldn’t be reaching into those panels without gloves on, you know,” the glove in his mouth muffled the words but they were said often enough that Niklas could figure it out.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Niklas took the gauze. He started to unwrap it — winding it around his raw, sticky palm — but it ran out after barely one wind. Letting out a heavy sigh, Niklas looked up at Tycho, his clear black eyes meeting Tycho’s green and gold ones, and he scrunched his face — opening his mouth and closing it once, letting out a puff of a breath, before sound came out of his throat. “Why,” the word was flat, not at all the question it should have been. Niklas threw the spent gauze core at Tycho, still looking a lopsided blend of confused and annoyed. “Why would you even keep this? Just get a new roll from the medics centre when you get that low.” Unsticking the loose gauze from his burnt hand and letting it fall to the floor, Niklas continued, “Like? That was so useless.”

Tycho shook his head, soil-dark waves bouncing and catching on his silver glasses. He took the glove out of his mouth. “It would have been fine on a smaller injury.” He picked up the discarded gauze from the floor with his bare hand; thin glittering fingers delicately grabbing a clean edge of the gauze. “You could have told me you were going to try and wrap your whole damn hand.” He shook his head, and muttered under his breath, “what a waste.”

A bark of a laugh popped out of Niklas. “Oh fuck off, there’s plenty of that in the med bay. They’d even give it to you if you asked.”

Tycho had a concerned expression slide onto his face. “No, Nik, what if they need it for something?”

“They aren’t going to run out of medical supplies just because you ask for a small roll of gauze, man.”

“It’s still a limited resource,” Tycho mumbled.

“They can just get more the next time we dock. It’s not even that long ’til we do. Or they can get some delivered.” A mocking puff of a laugh shot out of Niklas. “Not like these fuckers are poor.”

Green eyes looked to the floor; sepia mouth pressed to a line; head bowed; glasses glinting in the artificial sunlight of the corridor. “It’s wasteful.” He flicked his eyes up from the floor for a split second before returning them to the smooth white tile. “It’s not good for—”

Niklas rolled his eyes. “For what? The environment? Hate to break the news but we’ve been on this hunk of metal for months, Tycho. We don’t have a natural environment to destroy here.”

A measured breath blew out of Tycho’s nose, his eyes still trained to the floor. “Unlike you,” he said, slow and measured, “I’ve lived long enough to see you humans destroy everything beautiful about your planet, and I’m not about to let you do the same to anything I care about.”

“I’m twenty-fucking-three, what do you think I know about my supposed planet? It was dead long before I came out screaming.” His face was in a snarl. “You talk like you’re some god among men.”

Tycho’s gaze shot up from the floor — horrified expression painted across his sharp, gilded features. “No— not ever a god. Perhaps an angel among you humans, but simply an angel. Nothing more than an angel.”

The snarl dropped in an instant, replaced by confusion. “What? No, dude, I wasn’t actually calling you a god.”

“Good.” He shook his head. “Don’t.”

“What—”

“Don’t ask, either.” Tycho swallowed, his throat jumping as if there were something squeezing it. Pure fear playing out plain on his features. “I’m going back to work. Go to the medical centre for your burn. I’m sorry, Niklas.” He left quickly.

Niklas’ mouth hung open — all the questions he wanted to ask dying on his tongue. He just stood there, dumbstruck.

What had spooked Tycho so much about the god comment?

Niklas had no answers, and he wanted them desperately. This wasn’t going to be the end of it. He was going to dig until he came out from the moondust with an answer. He shook his head, filing the determination away for a later date. Right now he needed to get his burn dealt with.

[juls-writes-archive]

PROMPT: Tentative kisses given in the dark. (;

The wine was getting to him. Or had gotten to him. The band had stopped playing, but he was sure he could still hear the soft guitar ringing out into the streets. Julian’s hand was in his, and they laughed their way down otherwise quiet streets and alleyways, ducking away from the occasional shout or yell to “be fucking quiet out there, it’s 3 in the morning!”

He hadn’t laughed like that in so long, but he stopped promptly when they reached the old district, and he spotted his house. Candlelight was flickering through his bedroom window. Home.

“I can’t go in there,” Julian laughed weakly, pulling Seb back towards the shadows. Their eyes met, and realisation washed over the both of them. A long day, and a longer evening, was coming to its end; there was nothing to do now but say goodnight.

“Remember when-” Julian’s words were slurred, and he looked quite focused as he tried to piece the rest of his sentence together - “you didn’t like me?”

“I still don’t,” Sebastien replied, finding a sudden moment of clarity as he remembered who he was with. He tried to pull his hand away, but Julian’s fingers clasped tighter around his. There was blush on his cheeks, and seeing so made Seb’s own face heat up suddenly. 

“You should go.”

“You should-” Julian cut himself short, and suddenly stood up straight, his eyes glancing noticeably down to Seb’s lips.

“No,” he said, even as Julian closed the distance between them, “we can’t-”

Julian’s lips brushed against his, just barely a touch, and Seb shut his eyes tight, relaxing when he felt the other man pull away. Without thinking, he leaned forward instinctively, and their lips met again; his eyes flew open and he saw Julian looking back at him in surprise. 

It was a brief moment of decision, but then Julian’s eyes fell shut, and he pushed back, and Seb’s mouth fell open and all he could taste was the hot booze-y breath that hung in the air between their lips, sweet and warm. Fire lit in his chest, inescapable and searing.

Fuck. 

[lettersandinkstains]

📝+ "WINE DARK" ily friend

I LOVE YOU TOO DAVID YOU WONDERFUL PERSON

Sometimes, life is easier when there is a glass of red wine and music playing in the background. Sometimes, life is easier when you can play pretend that nothing has happened, nothing is happening, and nothing will happen.

Yet, the longer Ezra stares at the glass of red wine, the more it looks like blood. It’s not as thick, of course not, but his brain feels as though it’s glitching and all he sees is the blood of...of...

He rubs his eyes. Maybe he’s had too much to drink and he can hear Bryce make a comment about how much of a lightweight he is. Ezra can’t even touch the glass now, thirst and appetite gone. He closes his eyes and draws in a deep breath.

It happened. It happened, and I can’t make it unhappen.

His eyes trail up at the television, and of course, what’s playing is some true crime show. Ezra wonders if there will ever be an episode of them, all of them, and about what they did. And if they got away with it.

He certainly hopes not -- but which he’s hoping for, he doesn’t know.

[celebrate?] [EX NIHILO NIHIL FIT - david’s blog, check it out!!]

[thel3tterm]

for the dialogue prompt meme - “You’re not alone.” <3

Send me a dialogue prompt!

Tariku’s fists clenched, eyes wide open and full of some deep current of pain, rage, and despair. I felt every jab of it with him, the memories passing through me and filling my head one after another without relent.“Tariku, it’s okay!” I shouted. “We need to get out of here, just-”I was met with an onslaught of sensations, memories, and emotions, each like a jab to the skull, and I involuntarily doubled over.“They lied to me.” He said quietly, eyes straight through to some middle distance. “Everything they ever told me was a lie. I was being used the entire time, just some part of this game I had nothing to do with.”“I know what that’s like.” I managed, grinning bitterly. He shifted his eyes, peering down at me without moving his head. “Can you really?” He mused, almost with a smirk. “You have no idea what I have been through.”“You’re right. I don’t, but I know what its like to be lied to and used. Trust me, I’ve been there. You’re in pain, and… you aren’t alone in that.”

[dreamwishing]

Find The Word Tag!

I was tagged by @ofinscriptions, and given the words spark, knowing, greasy, and lover. I don’t know how many of those I’ll have, but for this I’m using the second draft of TLC (I’d use my current draft but I’m still on the very beginning of that, oops).

spark

So I cheated for this and used “sparkle” because apparently I never used the word spark? With a villain loosely based around a fiery aesthetic?

There was a sort of sparkle in his eyes that made me feel uneasy, and yet...he made perfect sense. It was only logical--he had the most control, why shouldn’t he be here? 

knowing

I had multiple instances of this one, so I just picked my favorite.

My thoughts drifted to late, after-hours nights in the kitchen, knowing I could be caught at any moment, staring at the small, pink box of recipe cards.

Unfortunately I don’t have anything for greasy or lover. But thanks for the tag!

Tagging @incandescent-creativity and @ratracechronicler to find burn, feather, float, and/or grisly. (No pressure, of course!)