The Yugioh AUs Quill and I Play Around In: A Brief Summary of Each
Carvingsverse/Magic AU: Imagine an original magical world with a mythos revolving around Duel Monsters as gods and powerful magicians who have crafted all laws and magics of the world through artisanal crafts, but these powerful magicians fought over how their gifts to humanity have been used, so now their ways are somewhat lost... Yugi is a woodcarver who suddenly gains magic when fate bids him meet both an amnesiac Apprentice who was once the prince of a lost kingdom (Atem) and a lonely Apprentice of a forbidden magic who lives alone in a dilapidated manor on a lake (Ryou). Atem and Thief King grow up together Prince of Egypt-style in this one, the dragons from the DOMA Arc appear (kind of), there are endless cameos of beloved Duel Monsters, and the Ishtars show up in a later side story.
Shadows/Ghost Hunter AU: Ryou and Yugi hunt ghosts, Buzzfeed Unsolved style: Ryou is the lovingly self-titled "ghost magnet" and writes entries for his blog as a full-time freelancer. Yugi is the Tech Guy; between his part-time work as a programmer at Industrial Illusions, he creates their ghost hunting gear and vlogs about their experiences. They take on a haunting case at the Hawkins House and come across some cursed artifacts, which contain malevolent spirits that end up possessing them. The four of them end up uncovering an awful truth about the place-- a truth that ends up threatening their lives.
.hack//YGO, Kaiba's POV: You are Seto Kaiba, the heir to Kaiba Corp, which is mass producing a strange MMORPG that Pegasus J. Crawford created called The World. Lately this game has caused an alarming amount of people to fall into comas, and your adoptive father and his executive team have been covering up the scandal by pinning the blame on the hackers and silencing users who have expressed concerns. While these incidents are none of your concern, your brother has begun to investigate these incidents, and when Mokuba becomes unable to log out of the game (and also falls into a coma irl) you are spurred into action and must figure out how to eliminate the virus that's infected the game - even if it means stooping to the level of a hacker yourself.
.hack//YGO, Yugi's POV: You are Yugi Muto, an average player of The World, and you play with your friends all the time. You enter a dungeon and encounter both a mysterious woman and a strange enemy. As you hear another player telling you to log off, this enemy data drains one of your friends, and they fall into a coma irl. When you next log in you receive a message from a user named Amane, who invites you to Δ Hidden Forbidden Holy Ground, where they explain that their friends have also fallen into comas because of this virus. You work together with this user, unaware that they are your classmate Ryou Bakura, whom you've really wanted to get closer to since he transferred into your class...
Ancient Egypt AU: An AU retelling of the Millennium World Arc… Malik is a newly initiated "tattooed" priest among the Tombkeepers in the Valley of Kings, who are devoted to bearing the sins of the previous kings on their bodies so that they may enter The Duat free of sin (think tattooed priestesses à la Fatal Frame III). He bears the weight of the previous pharaoh’s greatest sin (the Kul Elna Massacre) and pledges his loyalty to the current pharaoh, until an unfortunate run-in while on guard duty with a deeply haunted and corrupted Thief King sets in motion a series of events that calls his loyalty into question and threatens to destroy his own sanity in the process.
Summary: Philip is acting weird and you are struggling to keep a secret
Pairing: Philip x reader
Warnings: Probably some cursing, I don’t know, mention of blood, unedited
Word count: 2,547 words
A/N: I’m so sorry. I got the worst case of writer’s block but I think I finally got over it. Thank you all for being so patient with me. (This story probably has two or three parts left)
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
You knew something was wrong when Philip came stomping home, slamming the front door closed and stomping straight to his father’s office.
It was the middle of November, the autumn wind cold as it blew all the leaves from the trees, red and orange swirling in the fall air. It was just beginning to get cold out, the chill of winter chasing away the last remnants of autumn.
You were confused; Philip wasn’t supposed to be home for another two hours. He must have gotten out of class early or maybe abandoned his studies, something that almost never happened. Something was definitely wrong; a week ago he stopped distracting you, as the two of you called it, and instead held you as tight as he could, burying his nose into your hair like it was the last time he would ever be near you. His once bright golden green eyes now were dull with lack of sleep, his tan skin seeming pale and dark circles were visible under his eyes. It was obvious he was stressed.
And so were you.
You’d found out two weeks ago, when you did the math of how long you had been in 1801. You had been staying with the Hamiltons for three months, and had yet to have a period. You were due two months ago, and you could only chalk up the vomiting and weight gain to one thing.
You were pregnant.
You had no idea how you were going to tell Philip. The two of you weren’t married. Hell, the two of you weren’t even technically courting. You didn’t know how he’d react, and you were terrified to tell him. Your mind kept creating situations in which you would tell Philip you were pregnant with his child and instead of being happy, he was furious. He threw you out into the street with nothing but the clothes on your back. Sometimes it was Alexander throwing you out, yelling about how you had ruined his family. Once, it was Eliza, the image of the woman you loved like a mother looking at you with hatred and disappointment breaking you more than you ever thought it would. So, like a true coward, instead of telling the man you loved that you were pregnant with his child, you lied to him, told him your throwing up must have been something you ate. Your weight gain was slow enough that he didn’t notice, but at some point he would.
Philip left his father’s office five minutes later with a wooden box, carrying it to his room and closing the door behind him. You knew he had locked the door, something he had been doing much too often lately. Philip wasn’t acting like himself, and it worried you, but there was nothing you could do about it. So instead of going upstairs and knocking on his door like you wanted to, you walked the familiar path to the drawing room and picked up Philip’s copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. You tucked the book under your arm and went outside to the garden to read, sitting among the flowers before they all died.
The garden was absolutely beautiful, the surviving flowers painting the landscape varying shades of purple and white. You walked to the back of the garden, sitting at your favorite bench, the smell of the flowers calming you and the cold air clearing your mind. The wall behind you was covered in beautyberries and iberius, the bright purple berries mingling with the round white flowers. The curved marble bench was surrounded by goldenrod, the uncontrollable yellow flower taking over the nearby pansies and colchicums.
You sat down on the cold bench and opened the book, hoping it would make more sense to you now than when you started it two days ago. For some reason Philip suggested it one night and so far you were not following the story at all. You were hopelessly lost somewhere in the third act when Philip came outside carrying a lantern and a woolen blanket.
“I thought you might be cold,” he said as he draped the blanket around your shoulders, setting the lantern on the ground near your feet as he sat next to you. His arm found its way around your waist and pulled you closer. You closed your book and leaned your head on Philip’s shoulder, cuddling into his side. You didn’t even realize you were cold before he came outside, and part of you wondered if it was bad for the baby.
“Are you okay?” you asked, finally giving in to your worry. It was obvious that something was bothering Philip, but you never felt like it was your place to ask him. However, you had a sinking feeling that something bad was going to happen, and the wooden box he had earlier didn’t help.
“I will be. There’s just something I need to take care of tomorrow and then it will all be alright. I promise.” Your heart dropped. Suddenly, you knew what the box was, why Philip came stomping home earlier that day. He had just challenged George Eacker to a duel. The duel that would kill him.
“Philip, what did you do?” you asked, doing your best to keep your voice level. You knew what would happen, but maybe if you talked him out of it, he’d reconsider. He’d live.
“Nothing, I just have to do something tomorrow morning and then I’ll come home and we can spend all day together, how does that sound?” Philip said, pressing his forehead against yours. You sighed. You knew he was lying to you and it was probably the first time he had ever done so, but you couldn’t say anything without giving away the fact that you were from the future.
All you could bring yourself to say was a halfhearted, “that sounds perfect.”
You woke up early the next morning to find Philip’s side of the bed cold and an envelope sitting on his pillow. You sat up, frantically searching the room to find both Philip and the wooden box gone.
The box that contained Alexander’s pistols.
You threw the blankets off of you as you got up, your anxiety causing your entire body to shake. You raced to Philip’s armoire, throwing the doors open so fast they almost came back and hit you. You grabbed the first pair of breeches you saw and a random jacket, not caring about the impropriety of going outside in men’s clothes. You had to save Philip.
You paused just long enough to put some shoes on and shove the envelope into your pocket before you were out the door, running as fast as your feet could take you. You knew you had to find a boat to cross the river to Weehawken, but when you got to the docks by the river, you knew you were too late. Someone was being rowed back.
You recognized that hair anywhere.
Philip laid there, bleeding. You could see the blood even before they got to the docks. It stained his entire lower body red, along with his right forearm. Your knees buckled and you dropped to the ground. Your entire body was shaking and you couldn’t breathe. You were having an anxiety attack for the first time in nearly three months. You could only watch as two men picked up Philip’s bloody body and carried him down the street and into a seemingly random building, your lover’s curly hair disappearing through the doorway.
You couldn’t seem to catch your breath. Everything was happening so fast, but it felt as if the seconds were dragging by. Tears stained your cheeks as they ran down your face in fat streams. Your heart was beating in your ears and you wished it would just stop. You froze. The thought was fleeting at best and you knew you would never act on it. You had a reason to live. You had a child growing in you. Philip’s child. Your breath hitched.
Philip.
You had spent twenty minutes sobbing on the ground and you had no idea how long he had left. You had so much you had to say to him; hell, you still had to tell him about the baby.
You stood up, brushing the dirt off of your pants, and made your way to the place the men had taken Philip. You didn’t want to call it a doctor’s office, but it was the only way you could really describe it. Various chairs were placed in the main room and there were two doors that led to different sides of the building. You glanced between them and picked the door on the right, hoping it was the right one. When you opened the door, you froze, your heart shattering.
Philip was laying on an old bed, his waist wrapped tight in bloodstained bandages. His right arm seemed to be bleeding less, but it still wasn’t good. The doctor had stripped him of his jacket and shirt to clean the wound and must have given him an old shirt to wear. It was nothing special, loose dark fabric clinging where there was blood and there was no doubt in your mind that the dark fabric was soaked with it. Philip was still breathing, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath he took. He was clearly in pain, his face scrunched up and his jaw clenched.
“Philip?” was all you managed to say, but his eyes blinked open as soon as he heard your voice.
“[Y/N]?” Philip asked, his raspy voice flooding over you like rain in a desert. He tried to sit up and you rushed over, placing a hand on his shoulder and gently guiding him back down. Philip was nearly panting with exhaustion when he looked back up at you, concern filling his green eyes. “What are you doing here? What—”
“I came to try and stop you, but I guess was too late, huh?” you said as you took Philip’s hand in yours, his skin being cooler than yours for once. “Philip, what happened?”
“He was disrespecting my father. Said that my Pa would overthrow Jefferson’s presidency by force; use the army to make him do whatever he wants. He called him a scoundrel, [Y/N]. I couldn’t let him do that.” Philip squeezed your hand as best he could and winced. “I got mad. I tracked Eacker down and challenged him to a duel. In front of an entire theater of people, might I add.” You laughed at Philip’s poor attempt to lighten the situation, tears pooling in your eyes. “I went and asked my Pa for help, I didn’t really ever learn how to duel in school. He told me to fire my pistol in the air and then gave me his guns.”
“That’s what that wooden box was.” Philip nods, confirming what you already suspected.
“When I arrived at the dueling grounds, I was terrified. We counted our paces and took aim, but I didn’t want to fire first, and neither, it seemed, did he. We just stood and stared for a minute or two. For a second I actually thought that it was going to be a draw. That we would forget any of this ever happened; that I could go home to you. Just as I thought that, Eacker raised his pistol. I barely had any time to fire mine in the air before he shot.” Philip paused for a second, anger spreading across his face. “You should have seen him. He was happy. Laughing at the ‘dumb kid who challenged him.’ I wish I would have shot him when I had the chance.”
“Philip,” you said, smoothing back his hair, “we both know that you wouldn’t hurt a soul. You’re too good. Eacker couldn’t take that away from you.”
“I’m scared,” was all Philip could say and looking into his eyes, you saw the pure terror in them. In that moment, he was just a man facing the unknown, and you could do nothing to save him.
“I’ll protect you,” you said, pressing your forehead against his and closing your eyes.
“Tell me something,” Philip said, reaching up to cup your cheek. You nibbled on your bottom lip for a second, debating on whether or not you should tell him. “You tell me something and I’ll tell you something.”
“I’m pregnant.” Philip froze. You dropped your gaze, pulling away from him because how stupid could you be, thinking that Philip might be happy with this. He was going to tell you to leave. He was going to tell you that he hated you. He was going to—kiss you?
“Are you serious? Are you sure?” Philip asked, excitement evident through the pain.
“Yes, Philip. I’m pregnant.” Philip’s gaze dropped to your stomach and you felt a couple of tears slip out when you saw how truly happy he was. How much he already loved his child.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was afraid,” you said, dropping your gaze and lazily resting one of your hands on your stomach. “We weren’t even courting, Philip. I didn’t know how you’d react.”
“How long?” he asked, his golden green eyes shining with tears.
“About two months along. I found out two weeks ago. Philip, I’m sorry.”
“Hey, there’s no need to apologize. I understand.” Philip lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “Now I have to tell you something. I’ve been planning to ask for your hand for a while now, but I never got enough courage to do it.” You could only stare as Philip reached under his shirt and pulled out a leather cord, a delicate gold ring hanging on it. It had a single row of leaves etched into the metal and as the ring turned, you caught a glimpse of a single rose nestled in the middle. “I’ve carried this with me for the past month, just in case I finally got the courage to ask you.”
“Philip, of course I’ll marry you,” you manage to say through your tears. Philip reaches behind his neck to untie the leather cord, pulling the ring off before placing it on your finger. Somehow he managed to get it just the right size and you smiled when he took your hand and pressed a kiss to the finger that now held your engagement ring.
“I only wish I could see our wedding day.” Philip rested his head back on the pillows behind him, closing his eyes against the pain.
“You can,” you said as an idea came to you. “Here.” You reached up and took the black ribbon out of your hair, letting it out of the ponytail you put it in that morning. You grabbed Philip’s hand and tied the ribbon around his ring finger. “I pronounce us husband and wife.”
You kissed and talked until you felt your eyes drifting closed, your body exhausted from everything that had happened that day. You tried to keep your eyes open until Philip pressed a kiss to your hand and mumbled a simple “go to sleep.”
And you did just that, surrendering to sleep with Philip next to you one last time.
WIP sharing time, because my partner has been writing and copy/pasting RP posts for the first chapter of our upcoming paranormal investigation au fic, while I’ve been on and off writing scenes that I’m excited for (like this one, hehe)
The dim, sickly yellow fluorescent bulbs hummed to life overhead and illuminated the room: a large space that once was white and sterile, but had since become dingy and gray with dust and filth streaked across the walls and the floor. The tiles beneath their feet were grungy with dirt thickly packed into the grout lines. Two gurneys and old wheeled trays of surgical tools were still positioned in the center of the room. Against the far left side stood a wall with rusty hinges on metal cabinets, each one large enough to hold a human body.
The morgue.
The smell hit them next - an astringent odor of embalming fluid and formaldehyde that mingled together in the poorly ventilated cellar. Yugi coughed, trying not to gag as he pulled the collar of his shirt up over his nose. He remained right behind Ryou as they came down off of the stairs and stepped fully into the room. Aside from the odor, the air down here was different from the rest of the house upstairs, almost… heavier.
Yugi glanced down at the EMF meter secured in his belt holster. Two green lights remained steadily lit, and the first yellow light began to flicker cautiously. The thermal camera in his hand continued to give no strong readings as he scanned over the center of the room.
“I’m picking up some light electromagnetic readings,” he said quietly, his own eyes searching the shadows. “Let’s stay close.”
He turned his attention back to the thermal camera as he carefully made his way over toward the mortuary cabinets. The readings had been neutral since they stepped down into the cellar, slightly dipping into the colder side. As he scanned the area, he noticed the heat signature drop. It seemed logical to Yugi at first - mortuary cabinets were naturally refrigerated to slow decomposition. But the morgue had been abandoned for decades, so there was no chance they would have been functional…
His thoughts halted when he felt something brush against his arm.
Yugi nearly jumped out of his skin. He looked back, only to see Ryou startle beside him.
“Easy - it’s just me,” he murmured.
Yugi took a deep breath as he tried to calm his nerves - then his heart - as Ryou placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him.
The white noise of the thermal camera peaked, picking up a massive cold signature visible on the screen. He wanded the sensor over the cabinets to uncover a gradient of blues and purples shifting the way a shadow would in the light.
“There,” Yugi said, indicating the area in front of them.
As if on cue, the wailing began again - the haunting, inconsolable sobs of a child.
Yugi shivered, his breath visible before his eyes. He heard Ryou’s shuddering breath just behind him. He looked down at the EVP device to make sure it was still recording, its steady red light contrasting sharply against the rapidly blinking colors of the EMP meter next to it.
Swallowing back the fear beginning to dry his throat, he reached into his bag and pulled out the Spirit Vox - small and black - and turned it on. White noise abruptly churned out of the speaker, chugging at a rhythmic frequency.
“If there are any spirits here who would like to speak with us,” Ryou called out, “make your presence known.”
For a moment, there was an eerie silence, save for the feedback in the Spirit Vox. Murmurs could be heard deep within the noise.
Then they heard the same thin, small voice from last night’s recording, repeating the same question as before:
The First Magics. It is said that with threads of golden-silver hope woven into a dream and the forged chains of the many bonds of love, one may be able to rise up and change the carvings of fate.
Magicians dwell within the woods. A stronghold in the mountains holds an ancient secret. A tragedy remains buried, forgotten in the desert. And at the center of it all, a woodcarver by the sea is pulled toward an amnesiac magician’s apprentice and a mysterious lone mage by the hidden magics within names, wishes, and bonds unbreakable. (A Yu-Gi-Oh! Magicians AU)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Glad I was able to publish this before the end of Puzzlejune...
Here are the first two chapters of what will be an ongoing multichapter fic, in collaboration with @themadcaptain based on an RP we had going from October 2022 - April 2023. I hope you enjoy this little Ghibli/Fairy Tale world we put these guys into as much as we enjoyed RPing it! :)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
FANDOM: Hetalia
RATING: M
CHARACTERS: Nyo!Lietpol
SUMMARY: On addressing sex and intimacy, and slowly healing together. Post-USSR, Lithuania moves back in with Poland to recuperate and start over, only to unpack some unresolved body-related trauma.
They remember when the two of them were first united, how young and shy they were of each other, only daring to hold hands when they were finally sure of each other’s intentions. Even then, Lithuania had struggled with their image of Poland: at once, pious and almost untouchable in her radiance, yet also impish and persistent in her persuasions.
By the time of their Commonwealth, the two were magnetized to each other – first with chaste kisses, then with legs entwined under the covers of their marriage bed. The pressing of limbs, the exploration of tongues and hands came later. They had centuries to discover the subtle bends and curves of their bodies, and thankfully time had been so deliciously slow.
War and the bitter years between had unlearned them of each other.
Hey, y'all! What a crazy couple years it's been...
Hope everyone is doing well! <3
Just wanted to give some mutuals an update, now that I'm in a much better headspace/living condition to be writing in...
First of all, some goals for next year:
HWS: Finish all multi-chapter fics I have been working on: (Your Horizon [10/??], Seal Lord [2/??], Shape of the Beast [1/3])
HWS: Begin writing Nyo!Lietpol Utena AU <3 <3
HWS: Begin writing LietBel Ghost Hunter AU
HWS: Finish ChuLiet fic
HWS: Begin writing Chocolatier AU
YGO: Start publishing multi-chapter Puzzleshipping Utena AU (YES I AM WRITING TWO OF THESE AUs??? I MIGHT BE INSANE)
YGO: Collaborative AUs with my partner (they're writing an angsty Heartshipping Ghost Hunter AU, and we have another one we maaaay just have to collaborate on in the future :3c)
YGO: In general, it's been like TWENTY YEARS since I last wrote fanfic for Yu-Gi-Oh! DM, but clearly Quite A Lot has happened in my life since I was, idk twelve?? so I'm gonna try some character study drabbles and see where I end up!
Cosplay wise, I'm not sure if I will ever get back into Hetalia... I do still have most of my Nyotalia cosplay lineup, and I hope to maybe have some legit photoshoots with them in the future...
I definitely have a YGO cosplay lineup (see: new icon) and honestly I'm ... kind of excited to get working on them??? (Considering how daunting YGO hair is, I'm surprised????)
But anyway, that is... what I'm up to, and where I'm at!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
FANDOM: Hetalia
RATING: G
CHARACTERS: Ireland/Poland, England
SUMMARY: Fantasy AU. A foreign lord has a chance meeting with a creature thought only to exist in songs and legends, only to find that such a legend is rooted in greed, betrayal, and a long-held family secret.
And soon, without thinking much on it at all, the two had a most pleasant conversation. Feliks asked questions. He answered the questions Arthur had for him. They made light jokes and expressed hope for mutual alliance over a midday lunch. It had been going swimmingly.
At least, until Feliks felt a particular flutter at his feet.
He looked down and noticed a small strip of parchment on the floor. The moment Arthur turned his attentions away while carrying on, Feliks bent down to pick it up. On the parchment was scrawled a simple, yet ominous message:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
FANDOM: Hetalia
RATING: G (might be a little suggestive)
PAIRING: Ireland/Poland
SUMMARY: Fantasy AU. A foreign lord has a chance meeting with a creature thought only to exist in songs and legends, only to find that such a legend is rooted in greed, betrayal, and a long-held family secret. Written for @felicja-j.
It was hard to say how much time had passed, or how many tears he’d wept. Get it together, he told himself, slapping his cheeks until his senses returned. Feliks breathed in the salty air, filled his lungs with the chill so deep it almost hurt. While he had the time, he listened to the hush of the waves against the shore, the cry of the gulls overhead…
The airy sound of a tin whistle playing close by…
Feliks turned toward the sound. In the haze of sundown, he saw him: a tall man with copper red hair bent over a stone, his feet buried in the sand. He was soaked to the bone, dressed in nothing but what appeared to be a large fur skin, glossy from the salt water. As he played, his thin fingers fluttered over the sound holes, trilling every other note. It was a song Feliks did not recognize, yet felt drawn to all the same.
As he approached, the sand shuffled noisily beneath his shoes. The strange man drew away from the flute and looked over his shoulder at Feliks, a boyish smile curled on his lips.
