#throwaway thursday

[perpetualmaladaptivedaydream]

Throwaway Thursday Tuesday

@tociminna tagged me ages ago in this (sorry it took so long and thank you!! 😘💜) and I'm just now getting around to dusting off some of my old stuff I've been ignoring. It was originally going to be this, but when I opened it back up I started back at it again so I guess it no longer counted. However, I had this one that I really only had dialogue to and never did anything with, but it's part of Ellie's story that makes her ending mean more, so I thought I'd use it instead.

“...What’s it like? To pray. To…have someone listening, I mean.”

“It depends on what you believe. Who you believe in. I don’t think it always takes the form of supplication on bended knee. Magic has always felt like it’s own prayer, for me.”

“And she listens?”

“That’s…a rather complicated answer at present.” He quickly pivoted from the answer. “Have you never…?”

“Once. I was eight. Maybe nine. One of the girls at the orphanage got chosen. Proper family. Nice clothes, warm food, the whole thing. She was the only one I actually liked, so…” 

She paused in the memory. “I remember being annoyed. Not at her. Just…in general. She’d always pray before bed, so I figured I’d try my luck at a temple a few streets over. It was large. Didn’t feel like the sort of place meant for kids like us. But I went in anyway. Stood for a while, pretending I knew what I was doing.”

She huffed a laugh. “Took me a good ten minutes to work up the nerve to actually say anything.”

“And what did you ask for?”

“A family.” She leaned back in the grass, staring at nothing in particular but the memory in her mind. “Figured I’d hedge my bets, though. So I added in a very nice stray dog.” She glanced at him with a shrug. “Thought that might have been easier to manage.”

“And?”

She looked back to the sky. “Got neither. Seemed like enough information to go on, so I didn’t bother trying again.”

He followed her gaze upward, quiet for a long moment before breaking the silence. “Answers rarely arrive when we expect them to, you know.”

“I think I gave it a fair enough window.”

“Faith – if one might call it that– is seldom so transactional. It isn’t a matter of asking and receiving in equal measure.”

She gave a quiet snort. “Convenient system.”

“Frustrating, certainly.”

“Mm. Well, if there was an answer, it took its time getting lost.”

Tagging everyone because I just know we all have a ton of throwaways lying around: @babydinosaur930 @toomanyfamiliars @tociminna (uno reverse) @asorceresswrites @saylofwaterdeep @dr4gonwriter @missfortunetherogue @bhaal-battle-beer-bard @optimisticgrey @faeriiefire and everyone else (bc I don't want to be a weirdo/bother LOL)

[nukavoids]

This one is basically done. Idk what my deal is other than debating if I wanted another character or not.

Styx left the raiders and was kind of instantly enamored with soft things. Not that she'd ever show that side of her self.

It started with her hiding a crack in the wall with a sheet and then she kinda just went nuts and started painting on them.

"you can sleep there I guess ..."

*Points to pile of sheets on the floor*

[in-arlathan]

Throwaway Thursday

Since I missed WIP Wednesday, I decided to do something different this week and actually share a bit of writing I tossed into the garbage.

But first: Thank you @noire-pandora, @sinsbymanka, @johaeryslavellan and @mogwaei for the tags. I loved seeing your WIPs on my dash! They were all so good! T_T

Leaving more tags for next week for @elveny, @barbex, @serial-chillr, @faerieavalon, @musetta3, @juliafied, @dreadfutures, @hollyand-writes, @starsandskies, @emerald-amidst-gold.

But on to the material I threw away!

____

So, there are quite a few scenes that didn't make it into the final version of "The Rebel's Ascension". Most of them were written out of order while I was still in the first draft because I couldn't wait to get to them. More often than not, though, these scenes no longer fit within the story once I actually got around to writing the previous chapter. It broke my heart but I cut those scenes and stored them elsewhere for safekeeping.

There is one scene, however, that I really liked and that would have fit into the story. I cut it because I felt like it would blow up an already insanely long chapter and take away from the impact the previous scene had. And since it was part of a flashback, I saw no reason to stuff it into another chapter. It was supposed to go into Chapter 11, "Bloody Blessings", right after the first battle with the dwarves. Solas had been wounded during the fight and I wanted to show his recovery afterwards.

I'm going to share this one scene now. And I will leave in all my weird typos and the brackets in which I summarize descriptive paragraphs (when I can't be bothered to write them) for everyone's enjoyment, hehe. My process is so messy sometimes!

The sunlight stung in Solas’s eyes when he finally woke. Its brightness sent a white-hot pain that threatened to spill his skulking two. He squinted and tried to cover his face with his hands, only to realize that one of them was missing.

So it wasn’t a dream, he thought bitterly.

He tried to sift through what little he remembered. He had been in the midst of battle, despair and fear of death clawing at his guts. There had been light and a loud roar and then… nothing. No sound, no sensations. Just darkness whispering to him.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” Anaris said.

Geldauran’s brother sat on a stool beside Solas’s bed, regarding him intently. The simple robes of the elvhen were covered with bloodstains that stood in stark contrast to his jade green eyes. His auburn hair tied back in braids to keep it from falling into his eyes while he worked.

“Anaris!” Solas breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s so good to see you.”

The other man’s brows furrowed in surprise.

(SOLAS LOOKS AROUND; DESCRIPTION, OTHER ELVHEN IN NEED)

“Am I–?”

“In the Halls of Healing, yes.” Anaris turned to the bedside table and picked up a bowl he’d placed there. He took the pestle within and began stirring vigorously. “The All-Mother herself delivered you here once the battle was over.”

“Did we win?”

Anaris huffed, mildly amused. “Of course we won,” he said. “You think you’d still be here if it were otherwise?”

Solas breathed another sigh of relief. Not only had they fought back the tide of enemies that had come to wipe the People from the face of the Earth, the Halls of Healing were still intact. Which meant that Arlathan itself was still intact, still safe.

“You should thank Falon’Din,” Anaris said. “His spell captured part of you in a pre-stage of uthenera. You’d be dead without him.”

“I will,” Solas muttered and tried to push up into a sitting position.

“Woah!” Anaris exclaimed and rushed to help him. “Take it easy.”

Solas nodded faintly, the world spinning around him for a moment. He closed his eyes and waited for the feeling to fade again. When he opened them again, his gaze fell upon his wounded arm. Or what was left of it. The axe had cut through bone and flesh right above his elbow, leaving only a stump behind.

“Looks ugly, I know,” Anaris said. “It will take a lot of time and effort to grow it back. But first, you must recover your strength. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

[hollyand-writes]

Throwaway Thursday! 

I was tagged in this in early December 2020 by the lovely @fandomn00blr (back at you! 😄 and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to reply to this!) to post something I liked but wasn’t working/coalescing/fitting into whatever I wanted it to! ❤️ 

Here is a long deleted scene (813 words) from my Regency AU Carver/Merrill fanfic “A Chance Engagement” (although I re-worked some of it in Chapter 20–21): 

---

Lady Leandra descended the grand staircase to greet Mr Tethras before he went, and ordered her son to go back to entertain their other guests, so Carver was forced to go back to the drawing room while the Hawke women had the privilege of walking with Varric out of the front entrance to linger in the street, and talk a little longer. Carver grumbled to himself, but inwardly he was torn: on the one hand he had no desire to spend any time with Babette or Fifi de Launcet; but on the other, Miss Merrill Alerion was with them – and surely he would not need to be so much on his guard around the pretty elf girl while his mother and sisters were temporarily out of sight.

He strode back into the drawing room, where Babette and Fifi were all smiles of delight at his re-entrance, and made space for him on the sofa so that he could sit between them. Carver hesitated; he did not want to sit anywhere near them if he could help it; and in the end he seated himself between their sofa and Miss Merrill’s chair, the better to look at her lovely face.

‘My mother ordered me to rejoin you,’ he said, unconsciously addressing himself more to Miss Alerion than the de Launcets. ‘I hope I’m not interrupting any intimate conversation.’

‘Oh! not at all!’ cried Miss Babette, somewhat shrilly, ‘we were just about to enquire what elven marriages were like. Are they similar to human marriages, Miss Merrill? Elven culture is so different from humans that elven gentry have very different standards of marriageability than human gentry, I am sure.’  

‘Um,’ Merrill started; she looked uncomfortable in the de Launcets’ presence, Carver noted, although he honestly could not blame her. ‘Well, like humans, we’re expected to make a desirable match if we can; but elven marriages are far more about love marriages than social advancement. I’m sure the latter does happen sometimes – but generally, affection for your spouse-to-be is important.’

To her further annoyance, the Orlesians scoffed at this. ‘Oh, how quaint!’ Fifi tittered, in a voice that indicated she thought anything but. ‘How naïve! No wonder it is so easy for human noblemen to seduce their elven servants, if something as fickle and unquantifiable as love is what you value above all else!’

‘Miss de Launcet,’ Sir Carver cut in, sharply, and both women stopped giggling at a red-faced Merrill, ‘I would advise you not to insult a fellow guest in my house.’  

‘Oh! of course!’ Babette simpered, anxious not to upset the man on whom she and her sister had such designs, ‘we were not trying to be rude – we apologise profusely to Miss Alerion if she believed us capable of such a thing! But Miss Merrill, as a friend: let me caution you not to give credit to such a notion. You know not the ways of the world, especially the human one; and we are only too happy to assist you. We would not want to see you taken advantage of by an unscrupulous human nobleman – would we, Sir Carver?’

‘Certainly not.’

‘You know,’ Merrill said, even more desirous of getting away than she was already, ‘I really should go back to Mahariel – I have deserted her too long. The Hawke Estate is so huge, though! – I fear I shall get lost before I find her room again, if there is not a servant who can guide me.’

‘No need,’ Sir Carver said, standing up, ‘I shall accompany you there.’

‘Oh, I really don’t think that will be necessary,’ Merrill said, backing away towards the door, while a glance showed her that both de Launcets were regarding her with hostile eyes – presumably they were angry that she was forcing Carver to spend time away from them, and she had no desire of coming between the silliness of all the human nobles in this room, ‘I am sure one of the servants will be sufficient!’

But it was to no avail: Sir Carver loomed over her, tall and broad and strapping, blue eyes peeking at her from under his dark hair so intently that Merrill felt she had no choice but to follow him.

For Carver, it was a welcome opportunity to get out of the drawing room, away from the de Launcets, and spend even a few extra moments on his own with Merrill. They did not speak as he led her through the halls to Mahariel’s chamber, but Carver’s mind was so full he was not sure he was able to speak. Merrill’s pronouncements on marriage captivated him even more than he was already, and as pleasing as she was to look at and listen to, he could not help wondering how in Thedas he would be able to keep any of this to himself for the duration of her stay. 

---

I tag the following people (no pressure!): @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold, @elveny, @kunstpause, @uchidachi, @charlatron, @wardenari, @goblin-tea, @visceralcoma, @veorlian, @hawkeish, @midnightprelude, @nug-juggler, @ayantiel, @stitchcasual, @natsora, @lauraemoriarty, @andrew-blackthorn, @wickedwitchofthewilds, @asaara-writes, @ocean-in-my-rebel-soul, @in-arlathan, @jentrevellan, @luzial and anyone else who wants to do this! ❤️

[refinedstorage]

Was tagged by wonderful @fadedjacket for Throwaway Thursday, but since I already post practically all my unfinished scraps anyway, and a Mucha piece on my dash brought me way back… I wanna share this one! My bff and i used to draw Mucha girls all the time when we were in middle school and i have such fond memories <3

[minilev]

Throwaway Thursday Tuesday

Tagged by @starsandskies, thank you, Lua!

I thought I have no wips to throwaway (like, what if someday I’ll want to finish it), but I’ve found these - definitely gonna delete it:

my attempt to concept in 2017 (wtf is this)

Cyberpunk 2077 AU Charles Smith (ridiculous hands but leather pants are not bad) ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

Tagging @spicevalleys​ @mr-arainai​ @oliviawildesjawline​ @mooreaux​ @teamhawkeye​ @sagarvo​ @b-lake​ @xbaebsae​ @joeyhxdson​ @red-nightskies​ @hanasaysurgay​ @satanetra​ @theknifegame​ @veinereastath​ @deputy-rice-pudding​ and y’all

[lostinfantasies38]

This is a response to tags from @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold​ @fandomn00blr​ @dalish-rogue​ @kittimau​ @charlatron​ and @jacklyn-flynn​ (whew, I think I got everyone!) Tagging @bigfan-fanfic​ @darlingrutherford​ @scharoux​ @schoute​ and anyone else who wants to play!

So....a while ago I tried my hand with a M!Warden/Alistair one shot, but I wasn’t feeling it enough to complete it. But I did keep it, in case I changed my mind and came back to it. Here is a small snippet - as a treat.

A sheet of night, glimmering star-like in the flickering glow of the fire. He’d never paid attention before to how long it was, but when pulled from the bun at the nape of his neck, his hair cascaded to the top of his shoulders in silky tendrils. 

Like ink running across a sheet of vellum, Alistair mused idly. 

It suited him. The Warden’s olive complexion and angular features were more prominent against the dark backdrop. Of course, the shadows cast by the flames only enhanced his chiseled jawline and noble nose. 

He shared a laugh with Leliana, his rich laughter booming around the clearing, and Alistair’s stomach somersaulted. From his vantage point he couldn’t see the man’s eyes, but he didn’t need to. Hazel green with flecks of gold, at once intense yet sincere. He’d been immediately captivated by them upon meeting him and over the last few weeks that feeling in his gut loomed large in the other man’s presence. 

The son of a Teryn, Zane Cousland had a noble lineage rivaling his own. Not that it did him much good, at the moment, with his brother missing and his ancestral lands usurped. And as a Warden, Zane was incapable of holding a title, which meant the teyrnir was in danger of passing to another line. 

Yet, as much as Zane worried for his brother, Fergus, he didn’t seem concerned about the rest. Which was part of his appeal. A man from one of the most powerful families in Ferelden who wasn’t power mad? It seemed so novel. But there he was. 

Zane glanced across the fire at him and Alistair shot him a weak smile before lowering his gaze. It wouldn’t be possible for the other man to feel the same. They shared a rapport, certainly. Borne of war and desperation after Ostagar rattled them both to the core. 

Flashes of the battle played through his mind. Zane’s daggers whistling through the air, onyx droplets spinning in the torchlight, following the momentum of his blades. The man’s wicked taunts shouted across a chamber to distract their mindless foes from swarming Alistair. 

They’d fought in the Wilds before the fateful battle and in countless skirmishes since, but in the warrior’s mind the memories of that night were coated in a patina of nostalgia. It was the night they fought as a team, boosting strengths and bolstering weaknesses, taking hits meant for each other as they clawed their way through the tower overrun with darkspawn.

[sinsbymanka]

Scrap Heap/Throwaway Thursday

OKAY LISTEN PEOPLE. 

Sooooo many people have tagged me in this, which I guess means you people actually don’t include every single thing you write in your WIPs. This shines a spotlight on my INCREDIBLY wordy fics I didn’t need. 

HOWEVER. I do love seeing your throwaways even if I am a word hoarder. And as I was thinking - I realized “oh shit - I do have one thing I didn’t use.” 

This is from the Viscount’s Mistress, the Maria/Varric do Trespasser and hate every single minute of it story. Before you even attempt to read this, it is the angstiest thing I have ever written. 

This piece comes from a chapter I ultimately decided to write from Varric’s POV, but was originally started as Maria’s. I kept this piece in case I needed another moment like this somewhere else in the story, but I didn’t end up using it. I’m putting it under a cut because TW: implied miscarriage, Maria is dying here, pain, angst (god the angst). 

I’m going to tag all the people who have tagged me so you can see I was paying attention: @fandomn00blr, @lostinfantasies38, @jennserr, @lostinfantasies38, @kittimau, @lauraemoriarty, and @eranehn

“Stay with me.” 

Every beat of Maria’s heart made the room waver around the edges, blackness creeping ever closer, the entirety of her world focused on the man holding her to his chest. It could have been any moment. It could have been every moment. Every stolen kiss in Skyhold, every night listening to the rain fall on oiled canvas above their heads, every dance in every court, it all seemed to happen at once. 

It all seemed to be ending at once. 

“Just hang tight, Princess. We’ll come up with a plan. Just don’t go bolting off on me this time, okay?” 

She lifted her fuzzy gaze from his chest, tracing the line of his strong jaw, noting in a distant way the way it trembled with suppressed emotion. His voice cracked around her name, for once unable to remain smooth and collected. She drug her eyes to his just in time to watch tears roll down his ruddy complexion. “Maria, please. You’ve gotta stay with me, Princess.” 

Maria Cadash, cursed as she was, broke everything eventually. She always swore, though, that she wouldn’t break Varric. This was the one thing the world couldn’t have, Varric’s whisky eyes awash with emotion, his arms around her. 

The mark in her arm pulsed and she whimpered despite herself, trying at once to curl into Varric’s arms and pull away, terrified of her control slipping like she knew it was. 

Everything was slipping through her fingers. The Inquisition. The baby. Varric. Varric. 

The whimpers turned into pants as her lover held her through it, like he’d held her through so many other things. 

“Promise me, Princess.” Varric begged, his rough jaw scraping the lobe of her ear. “Promise you’ll stay with me. Lie if you have to, but promise me.”  

“I promise.” The lie came easily, her eyes drifting closed as cold sweat bathed her in the aftermath of the pulse. “I’ll never leave you.”