#and i still like the idea so i may just Give In and write a whole other fic with this same basic premise but with a different ending and

[jennamoran]

Hi Jenna,

Do you have any specific tips to offer for writers? I feel like I can make the vibe of a scene come through very well, but the idea of what is actually happening suffers as a result.

I guess a more specific question might be 'How do you describe how something feels without the comprehension of the scene suffering, or becoming overly verbose.'

-Thanks, Skane

As the famously concise and universally comprehensible Jenna Moran,

First, I should say that you must write for yourself. Trying to be clear to a set of notional readers will not make your writing clear. It will make your writing convoluted and afraid, and even more people will misunderstand.

This is a problem. Sadly I cannot at this time fix the world.

You can try technical exercises. You can try having as many interesting conversations as you possibly can. You can look for a writing club of some sort.

It helps to be safe. If you cannot be safe, it may help to be angry.

It helps to be valued. If you don't have that, it may help to work with slow dedication and accept things take time.

It helps to have people read bits of your drafts and work and enjoy them. If you cannot have that, let yourself read and enjoy them yourself?

I do not have more direct solutions right now.

**

As to your specific concern:

I will give a bad solution. Then I will talk about it.

You can describe how something feels. Then, describe the scene. One, then the other. Both things are now perfectly clear.

... or as clear as you can make them.

There are two reasons that's usually bad. The first is pacing. The second is language.

Why would you want to describe them at the same time? Why not one, then the other?

Usually, because they are a single event.

We experience "this happens, and I feel this" simultaneously. So separating them when you write misstates the experience(s).

They're not just accidentally simultaneous. They intertwine.

Knowing that, it becomes false to present one, then the other. In a linear present-tense narrative that does a deep dive on both mood and action, we must first present the beginning of the conjoined mood/action experience. Then the next bit. Then the next, and on to the end.

If the reader becomes impatient, they become impatient with the experience. Loosely speaking, the fault may be in your choice of which events to describe, and in how much detail ... or in them.

If the reader cannot parse something, it is your description of that portion of the experience that they cannot parse. Loosely speaking, the fault may be in your wording, or in them.

If we look at what you must present as a stream of experiences, then in at least one sense it becomes simple:

Identify whose experiential stream you want to share. Think through what they experience as a set of sentence-sized pieces. Present them one by one.

Thus for pacing.

**

You may discover at this point that you still are not conveying the scene clearly. That is because what you believe you must convey is not part of the experience. Either change the story you are telling or switch to a narrator with the perspective you want.

You cannot tell this post's story in a way that reveals that I did not eat much breakfast. Not without kind of shoehorning it in. It is not part of this story, even if it possibly should be? My cat came in earlier and drooled on my arm. Shadows only exist in the light. Oatmeal often has gluten. People are good. They should love themselves. I don't even own a shoehorn. I want you to know these things. But telling you right then was a little bit weird.

**

Let's talk about language.

Language is an issue because it likes to do its own thing. You often want the words to echo the experience. You don't want to use the same words over and over again. (At least, not by accident.) You don't want the sentences to sound awkward. You want to pause at natural places but you have to keep your punctuation navigably close to "correct."

It's like, language writhes when you try to nail it down.

It writhes. It screeches and flails. It tears off bits of its skin. It's a problem. That is before we even get to how other people are understanding your words.

If I ever have problems just telling people what happens in order then that is usually why.

I think it can help to read things aloud. Often I replace what I wrote with what I say when I read it. For me, this is only useful poetically. For the technical side---whether I'm communicating too fast or too slow for a reader to follow---it does not help. I have to guess.

I can tell you from experience that you cannot be too obvious. Just being you, when your reader is not you, will add plenty of mystery. Oodles of mystery. You don't need to add any more.

I do not have a great solution for language. I'm sorry.

I don't even know which of my own tricks and habits brought me my audience and which of my tricks and habits drive people away.

If you are riding language and it shies away from the content you have to convey to the reader, probably you have to murder it and find a new, dumber steed. I'm sorry again. The rest of the time, you can maybe just have fun with the ride?

I wonder if it would be better to explicitly state that language is a horse in that metaphor. I probably shouldn't. It goes against my own advice.

So, a scene. Suppose I am eating a banana and I am sad. I expect I would walk to the fruit with a heavy heart. I would peel it. I would look at the inner fruit sadly. I would notice the pale yellow of its color. I would notice the texture. The pores. (Looks up banana images) The long, fuzzy lines. I'd take a bite. I'd eat it. Maybe someone talks in the distance. The banana would be gone. Maybe I'd just stand there a moment. Then I'd pull the trash can out and throw out the peel.

I do not think people will gather around and point at that in shock and call it great writing. I don't even know that it's better than "so, there I was, sadly eating a banana" or "it was the first banana I'd eaten since my grandmother died" or whatever. But I do think that is the correct sequence of experiences.

If I really wanted to talk about grief I'd want to talk about stillness and feelings like rolling clouds and stuff. If I really wanted to talk about eating bananas I'd try to find words for that dull shock of sweetness on the tongue, the way you roll the lump of the bite in your mouth. I can't imagine what would force me to talk about both at once but presumably I'd have to start blending the experiences (this is how you get smoothies).

**

I think I did eat a banana not that long after my grandmother died, for clarity. It was a while ago. I think there were clouds in my chest. Or the sea? I don't know. This constant rolling, shoving motion, soft as water and hard as water both. I don't remember much about the banana, so I can't tell you about peeling it, or about what most of it tasted like. I can't include that honestly because it's not part of the experience, right? And if like the reader doesn't know how bananas work they may be like "wait, aren't bananas in some kind of squishy rubbery casing? And you're just EATING one?" but I can't do anything about that, they just have to suffer in ignorance, they just have to suffer. It's not important to the moment when I ate a banana after my grandmother died that my cat came in years later and drooled on my arm. It's not important that I don't have a shoehorn. It's not important that I'd already eaten enough bananas in my life to know my way around removing the peel. (I'm so cool.) Those things were not part of that moment.

I think my hand was on the counter, which was blue. I think the sky outside the window was grey. I don't think I looked. I just think it was grey. And if you don't know why I had to pull the trash can out, or where the banana was before I got it, or---if anybody did talk in the distance---who might have been talking, or how many bites it took---it's because the only moment there that was actually part of the experience was that first bite, dull and sweet on my tongue.

[dragonridersandhighlords]

As you have one-shot coming up, this idea could work as a long one shot or mini series.

Though I'm just halfway through Iron Flame and don't know how Xaden turns into a venin and of like rest of the fandom and Vi, as of now we don't know the cure for it too. I stumbled upon some 'venin-cure' theories and one of it inspired this idea so hear me out.

Ik Xaden turned into a venin for Violet. As per theories, if he can become one for his love, he has come into the realization and give up what he took (the direct power).

Finally the idea: the reader is actually pregnant. It's up to you if Xaden knew it earlier or not but maybe like idk they're in a war zone or whatever situation, he was going to kill somebody or whatever and at that moment reader faces Xaden. Telling him that she's not going to fight him, she let go of her dagger or sword, trying to remind him of himself, showing him his ring still on her finger. When she sees him calming down, she may take his hand and touch her barely visible (or visible) belly, begging him to let go of the power, reminding him that he's in control of himself, begging him to come to her and their baby.

So I got lost in the writing and made it an OC instead of x reader but it can still be read as a reader instert! That being said, please please please wait to read this until AFTER you've read Onyx Storm as I did use actual events in this!

⚠️MAJOR ONYX STORM SPOILERS AHEAD⚠️

What Love Left Behind | Xaden Riorson

Summary: In the wake of war and unexpected loss, Briar Veyloren–now Riorson–is left to lead Tyrrendor alone—pregnant, grieving, and haunted by the man she loves. Briar must navigate politics, power, and the whisper of hope that lingers in a mysterious letter. She learns that love may be the most dangerous weapon of all—and the only one worth wielding.

Pairing: Xaden Riorson x OC! Briar Veyloren

Notes: I included a couple theories that have been circulating. But seriously if you haven’t read Onyx Storm, you should before reading this.

Warnings: Onyx Storm spoilers, surprise pregnancy and concerns around maternal health, emotional distress and PTSD themes, implied past violence and death, mentions of planned death, war context and threat of battle, angst

Word Count: 6.5k

Masterlist | FW Masterlist

“Your Grace.” 

The words echoed in my mind like a relentless drumbeat, each utterance threatening to send me over the edge. One month had passed since he vanished, leaving behind only a marriage certificate, a noble title, and an unexpected pregnancy. The last month spent poring over maps and sending out search parties, each return bringing nothing but disappointment. The latest team would be back any day now, but every second dragged on like a lifetime.

As the Duchess of Tyrrendor, I was trapped by my responsibilities, drowning in meetings and decisions that felt foreign to me. No longer just Briar Veyloren, I was now a figurehead, a woman expected to wield authority, yet all I wanted was a moment to breathe without the suffocating weight of my new title. 

The next person who bowed low and addressed me as “Your Grace” just might find themselves on the receiving end of my very real frustration—and it's not my hormones talking.

“Briar? What are you doing?” Brennan’s voice cut through my thoughts, his brow furrowed with concern as he approached. 

“Walking? Did you not just tell me I needed to be more active?” I shot back, rolling my eyes. At barely eleven weeks pregnant and not even showing, I felt more like a burden than a mother-to-be. Brennan’s worry was sweet, but it had become suffocating since he and Imogen had found me unconscious in the courtyard of Riorson House. 

And let's be honest, my whole world feels suffocating without him.

“With someone! What if you tripped on any of the stairs between your room and here?” His voice was laced with the kind of earnestness that made me want to scream and laugh at the same time.

“Brennan,” I began, pinching the bridge of my nose, “I’m going to be honest with you for a minute, okay?” He nodded, earnestness replaced with curiosity. “I appreciate your concern, I really do. But if you lecture me again for walking through my own home, I will strangle you.” I raised an eyebrow, my expression daring him to argue.

Brennan's face shifted to one of understanding. I wasn’t just battling the challenges of my pregnancy or the burdens of my title—I was facing the reality that the one man I had trusted to stand by my side was missing, and with him, a part of my heart.

“Understood.” Brennan nods, his expression betraying a mixture of sympathy and concern, but I know this won’t be the last time I’ll have to remind him of my boundaries. “Garrick and Bodhi landed a few minutes ago; they’re in the Assembly Room waiting for you.” His words cut through my thoughts like a sharpened blade as I turn to continue my walk.

“And you waited to tell me that because?” I gasp, the weight of urgency pooling in my chest. The minute those two returned from their mission, I should have been the first to know. 

“Sorry, Bree.” Brennan’s smile emerges, almost sheepish, as a chuckle escaped his lips at my reaction. “I’ll walk you down.” I eye him suspiciously, skepticism knitting my brow, but he’s quick with a rebuttal. “Merely because I’m a part of that meeting too, not because of what I said earlier, I swear.” 

My laughter, albeit strained, breaks through the monotonous hum of everyday life in the halls, a sound that feels foreign yet welcome. It’s probably the brightest anyone has heard since his departure, a small glimpse of the woman I used to be, if only for a moment. 

As we approach the grand double doors leading into the Assembly Room, Brennan leans forward, his hand resting lightly on the polished wood, a silent invitation. He swings the door open, and I step inside, the air suddenly thick with the weight of expectation. Instantly, all eyes turn towards me, the occupants standing with a blend of respect and trepidation as I walk through the threshold.

“What did I say about that shit?” I groan, exasperation lacing my tone as I stride to the opposite end of the throne, settling into one of the more ordinary chairs that line the table. 

“Wouldn’t you prefer to sit on the throne, Your Grace?” Major Ulices Ferris’s voice cuts through the murmur of the room, sounding less like a suggestion and more like a command. I refrain from reacting, my gaze fixated on the imposing throne that looms across the table, a symbol of power that feels unlike something that's mine. 

“It is the Duke’s throne, not mine.” My reply is curt, resolute, as I remain anchored in the chair I’ve chosen, fighting the sorrows that gnawed at me.

“You are the acting leader of Tyrrendor, Your Grace. The Duke is not–” 

“If you tell me what to do in my own province again, Major, you will find that my temper is much, much shorter than his.” The words escape my lips like wildfire, a hand slamming onto the table with a resounding bang that silences the room. “If I do not wish to sit on the fucking throne, then I won’t.” Wide eyes are fixed on me, some filled with surprise, others masking concern, as I struggle against the tears that threaten to spill. “And the next person to call me ‘Your Grace’ will find their vocal cords ripped out.” I realize then, perhaps it is the hormones talking, because I never raise my voice or lash out but the frustration surging within me feels all too real.

A palpable silence envelops the Assembly Room, heavy and suffocating. The clatter of chairs scraping against the floor echoes like thunder as everyone hastily settles at the long, polished table. I take in the scene before me, trying to read the emotions etched on the faces of my advisors and comrades, but I find myself floundering. My dragon, Ríogh, had decided to block me from his power until my child arrives, severing the tether that usually grounds me in the whirlwind of feelings surrounding me. The air feels thick and stagnant, as if charged with unspoken fears and burdens, and I have no way to discern why.

The murmurs fade as the Assembly begins their weekly reports—information that should be routine yet now seems to hang like a dark cloud overhead. One by one, they share updates on the army's status, the progress of the riders’ and flyers’ classes—classes I should be attending, but the demands of governing Tyrrendor weigh heavily on my shoulders. The mention of Violet’s training under Felix pulls my attention momentarily, but I am drawn back to the map spread before me, its worn surface marked with notes and symbols that pulse with urgency.

“And the search?” My voice, low and steady, cuts through the air, my gaze still focused on the map as if the answers might leap off the parchment and reveal themselves to me. Hope is a fragile thing, and I’ve learned not to cling to it, especially during these grim reports. Two weeks of relentless despair in the beginning had left their mark, and I understood all too well the reason Ríogh had shielded me from his power.

“We arrived a day, if not a few hours, after the attack.” As Garrick's voice reaches me, a dagger suddenly plunges into the map, piercing the inked details with alarming accuracy. My hand hovers above the blade, a physical extension of my shock. “There were no signs of Venin or wyverns remaining in the area.” 

“But we did find this, Briar.” Bodhi’s voice breaks through my daze as he slides a letter towards me, its wax seal glinting ominously in the dim light. I reach for it, my heart racing as I analyze the unfamiliar seal. Yet, it is the handwriting that sends a cold shiver racing down my spine, his handwriting.

“Where?” I manage to ask, the urgency in my tone rising as I set the unopened letter back on the table, a weight growing in my chest.

“Hung on the main gates of the city,” Bodhi replies softly, his gaze downcast as he sets the blade alongside the letter. “With this stabbed through the corner.” 

My breath hitches, and I struggle to contain the emotion that threatens to spill over. One look at the familiar blade sends a sob escaping me, and I lift it trembling from the table, tracing the delicate carvings along its length—my initials, BV, just below the hilt, carved by by parents before my entry into the Rider's Quadrant. The leather wrapped around the hilt, added by him after he won the dagger from me during a challenge in my first year, brings an achingly familiar feeling. The weight of the dagger in my hand felt like a tether to a past I desperately wanted to cling to, yet the reality of its current context made my grip falter. 

I was acutely aware of the bustling energy around me as my friends hastily ushered the Assembly leaders out of the room, their murmurs becoming a distant hum, barely piercing through the fog of my thoughts. 

“He always carried this dagger,” I whispered, the words escaping in a broken whisper that was almost lost amidst the scuffle of chairs and the echo of hurried footsteps. My eyes remained fixed on the intricate carvings adorning the blade, but the simplest carving of my initials below the hilt that my parents had placed there. The worn leather, a reminder of him, that was added after he had won in a challenge.

Garrick’s voice broke through the haze, steady and firm. He spoke of the dagger’s significance, recounting tales of how it had become an extension of him. As I absently twisted the blade between my fingers, the familiar weight brought fleeting comfort, grounding me amidst the turmoil swirling around me. 

Using the dagger, I carefully pressed the tip against the wax, the sharpness gliding through it with an ease that mirrored the memories flooding my mind. As the seal broke, I felt an exhilarating rush that felt eerily like both dread and anticipation. The letter now lay before me, a promise of answers that beckoned me closer, even as it threatened to unravel everything I thought I knew.

The world around me quieted. I could sense the worried glances of my friends, the weight of their expectations heavy on my shoulders. Yet, the only thing that mattered in that moment was the letter before me, a bridge between despair and hope.

As the last remnants of the wax fell away, the air shifted, thickening with tension as if the universe itself held its breath, waiting for me to unveil the secrets hidden within the paper. My fingers tremble slightly, and I could almost hear the heartbeat of Tyrrendor in the silence, a reminder of the stakes that lay beyond my personal anguish.

“Briar,” Bodhi’s voice penetrated my concentration, laced with worry. “What does it say?” 

The question hung in the air like a charge, electrifying and daunting. I felt as though the answer would either condemn me or set me free. I inhaled deeply, my heart racing with the weight of anticipation.

Briar,

Can’t you ever listen to me? 

Against all odds, I know you’ll make the right decision.

Leave your resources where you need them most.

Look where you least expect.

Don’t take this as a clue on where to find me.

You are Tyrrendor’s only hope.

Remember the good moments.

I trust you.

-X

“What does it say?” Bodhi asks again, leaning over my shoulder, his breath a warm whisper against my neck. 

I carefully reread the letter, its words swirling in my mind like a chaotic tempest. “This makes no sense.” A heavy sigh escapes my lips, carrying the weight of despair that clings to me like a shroud. “Maybe he is too far gone.” The reality of the cryptic message settles in my chest like a stone, and I stand, tucking the letter into my pocket, the fabric of my clothes brushing against my skin, grounding me. I slide the dagger into its empty sheath, the familiar clink of metal against leather echoing in the silence around us. 

“I’m going to watch flight maneuvers.” My voice is firm, a declaration against the unease that threatens to consume me.

“Briar—” 

“Brennan, if you tell me I can’t go sit in a fucking field with my dragon and watch the cadets, I’m going to scream.” The softness in my voice belies the storm brewing within, and I don’t even turn to face him, my focus fixed on the door that leads outside.

“I was going to suggest taking a waterskin. It’s warmer today than it has been.” He sets a sturdy waterskin in my now outstretched hand, the leather cool and reassuring against my palm.

“I don’t want to be bothered while I’m out there. I just need some peace and quiet.” The words tumble out, a plea wrapped in frustration.

“Of course.” Garrick steps up beside me, his presence steady and calming. “We’ll handle everything.”

“We will?” Bodhi questions, and before I can reply, a grunt of pain escapes him, quickly followed by his reluctant agreement with Garrick.

I turn to face them, a small smile breaking through the cloud of anxiety that looms overhead. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Crash and burn?” Bodhi laughs, the lightness of his voice a balm to my frayed nerves, only to be silenced by Garrick’s elbow jabbing into his side.

I laugh at my friends' antics, the sound echoing through the Assembly Room, a momentary distraction from my turmoil. With a heart a touch lighter, I walk towards the exterior door, its wooden frame worn and familiar, leading me to the open path that winds toward the valley below. 

As I begin the trek, the anticipation of watching the cadets fills me with a  fleeting escape from the shadows that linger in my thoughts. After a bit of a walk, I finally arrive at the designated field, the vibrant hues of summer in Tyrrendor blooming around me, and there, nestled in the grass, I spot Violet curled up with Andarna, her laughter mingling with the rustle of leaves. My own dragon, Ríogh, stands sentinel beside them, an unmistakable warmth emanating from his scaled form.

“Hey Ríogh.” I smile at the sight of him, the bond we share a steady anchor amidst the storm.

“Feeling better, Little Foot?” His smirk dances through our connection, teasing and light-hearted.

“I’ve told you this before, just because your previous riders were all men does not mean I have small feet.” I pause mid-step, crossing my arms, my glare playful yet fierce, challenging him as the sun beams down on us.

“Oh, but it's so fun to rile you up. Even if the Mender had Marbh lecture me about being nice so you kept your blood pressure low.” Ríogh's voice cuts through my simmering irritation hangs heavily between us.

I release an annoyed sigh, feeling the weight of his words settle in my chest. My feet begin moving again, almost as if they’re propelled by sheer frustration. “I’m going to kill your brother,” I mutter, the declaration slipping from my lips as I pass by Violet, my stride purposeful and swift. I collapse onto the grass beside Ríogh’s massive head, leaning against his warm, scaled neck, seeking solace in his steadfast presence.

“What did he do this time?” Violet asks, laughter lacing her tone as her gaze remains glued to the pages of her book, the sunlight casting a golden glow over her hair.

“Lecturing me about walking alone, reminding me to grab a waterskin before I walked here, and apparently having his dragon lecture mine about my fucking blood pressure.” The words spill out of me, laced with exasperation. “I’m running a fucking province by myself while my husband—who I can’t even remember marrying—is fully Venin and apparently leaving cryptic letters at the cities he destroys now. My blood pressure hasn’t been normal in years.” My voice trembles with the weight of it all, each word a release of pent-up tension that has festered within me.

“Xaden left you a letter?” At the mention of his name, a sharp pang pierces my heart, each syllable feeling like a jagged blade. In the early days after his disappearance, the mere utterance of his name sent me spiraling into tears, raw grief threatening to consume me. Yet Violet never adhered to the unspoken rule her brother had set.

I pass the paper over to her when she sets her book aside, moving closer, her curiosity igniting a flicker of hope within me. She studies the words intently, her brow furrowing in concentration as she reads them over and over before finally speaking. 

“Holy shit, it's an acrostic.”

“Acrostic?” The word feels foreign on my tongue, an enigma until it clicks. “Like a poem?”

“The first letters of each line spell a word or phrase.” As she hands the letter back, I analyze the words once more, and adrenaline surges through me. With newfound clarity, I leap to my feet, urgency propelling me forward. 

“I know where they’re attacking next!” I shout, my voice echoing as I barrel through the doors of Riorson House, where Garrick, Bodhi, and Brennan still remain in the assembly room, their faces a mix of surprise and concern at my sudden arrival.

“Are you sure?” Aaric’s voice cuts through the tension, his brow furrowed with concern as he steps closer, the urgency of the moment hanging heavy in the air. I had sent for him the moment I returned, a spark of desperate hope igniting within me because if I was right, then a Prince of Navarre was urgently needed.

“Violet said it’s an acrostic,” I explain, my heart racing as I recall the words that had danced before my eyes like the flickering shadows of doubt. “Xaden has never written a poem in his life; that’s why it made no sense. He just needed to spell a word, not a whole message.” My hand trembles slightly as I hand the letter to Aaric, eager for him to see it with his own eyes. I spell it out, enunciating each letter clearly, “C-A-L-L-D-Y-R. He’s trying to tell us where to find them.” The hope in my voice feels fresh, like the first breath of spring air after a long winter, awakening a purpose within me that had been dormant.

“Briar, this is a stretch,” Garrick interjects, his skepticism evident as he pulls the paper from Aaric’s hands, the furrow in his brow deepening. 

“I trust you,” I implore, my gaze locked onto Garrick’s, willing him to see the truth within my conviction. “It’s a code we came up with before he graduated.” My eyes are pleading, a silent plea to embrace this fragile thread of hope. “Sign off with ‘I love you’ if it’s just a letter. ‘I trust you’ means there’s important info woven into the message.” The weight of my revelation hangs in the air, heavy and uncertain. 

Every pair of eyes is fixed on me, the silence thickening as I break down the implications of his words. 

Can’t you ever listen to me? He told me not to search for him in the note I was found with, but defiance had driven me to ignore his warning. 

Against all odds, I know you’ll make the right decision. The decision to seek him out? To stand and fight instead of hiding behind the wards? 

Leave your resources where you need them most. Aretia had ample defenses; between the riders and flyers we housed. The entire fleet wasn't needed here.

Look where you least expect. I’d never have imagined this—his clumsy attempt at poetry-- would be a desperate lifeline crafted in the dark. 

Don’t take this as a clue on where to find me. I had never been good at listening to him. 

You are Tyrrendor’s only hope. The echo of his words  from after he first channeled resonated within me, a haunting reminder of what he was preparing me for. 

Remember the good moments. He’d been sharing his plans during those fleeting, cherished instances, hints interwoven throughout our laughter and love, guiding me to this very moment.

“He laid it out for us.” The words hung in the air like a heavy fog, pressing down on my chest as I took in the skeptical expressions of my friends. I may not have been able to read emotions at this moment, but their faces told me everything I needed to know; doubt shadowed their brows, and disbelief flickered in their eyes. “Please, let me have this last bit of hope.” My voice cracked with desperation, and I felt as if I were grasping at threads of light in an encroaching darkness.

Bodhi, always the one with a heart so large it often outshone his doubts, was the first to break the tension that wrapped around us like a constricting serpent. “What’s the plan?” His tone was firm, a lifeline cast into turbulent waters.

“Aaric and the flyers leave today to prepare King Tauri for our arrival.” My mind raced, each word tumbling out like stones rolling down a hillside, gathering momentum. “The Dark Wielders have at least a three-day advantage on us. We leave a riot first-years along with a mix of second- and third-years and officers so Aretia is not defenseless.” My voice steadied, emboldened by purpose. “The rest of us leave for Calldyr City at dawn.”

“The rest of us? You are not going to battle in your condition.” Brennan’s protest cut through the air like a sharp blade, concern etched into his features. I could see the worry pooling in his eyes, a turbulent sea of emotions that mirrored my own.

“I’m pregnant, not dying!” My defense came out more forceful than intended, but the urgency of my plea propelled me forward. “If he’s there, then I have to see him. At a minimum, he deserves to hear the news from me.” A gentle hand rested over my stomach, a silent promise of the life that blossomed within me. I watched as my friends exchanged glances, their expressions softening ever so slightly, an understanding threading through the tension.

“If you need to, assign people to defend me, but I have to talk to him. If he’s truly gone, I’ll drive the knife in myself.” The words tasted bitter, yet they felt liberating, a catharsis of intent.

They looked between each other, silent deliberation flickering in their eyes before nodding in unison. 

“Fine,” Brennan agreed, the weight of his acceptance settling around us like a comforting cloak.

“The minute we tell you to run, you better be on Ríogh’s back and gone,” Garrick warned, his expression fierce and protective. I nodded, resolving the hardening in my chest.

“Thank you.” My heart swelled with gratitude, a flicker of hope igniting within me, illuminating the path ahead.

The flight was interminable, each beat of Ríogh's powerful wings echoing the urgency that thrummed through my veins. My back ached from the prolonged strain of clinging to his scaled form, the chill of the wind biting through my cloak.Had Aaric not successfully persuade his father to trust me, the kingdom might have been plunged into chaos with an untested ruler on the throne. 

As we soared through the sky, a heavy pall hung over us, the dragons sensing the approach of the Dark Wielders with an eerie intuition that prickled at my skin. It hadn’t been long since my arrival, yet already the atmosphere crackled with tension. Instead of convening with King Tauri to strategize, an urgent edict had been issued: protect the city at all costs. High above, with Garrick, Bodhi, Brennan, and Violet by my side, we hovered, scanning the horizon for any sign of him.

I was taken aback when we left to see Tairn willingly alongside us, his massive wings cutting through the air with a grace that belied his size. Violet had shared with me the heart-wrenching news of his bond with Sgaeyl fracturing during my lost twelve hours, and my heart ached for the dragons, their shared pain palpable even at this distance. Tairn, who had not been seen for weeks, now glided silently, his sorrow evident in every powerful stroke of his wings.

Suddenly, Ríogh’s voice broke through my reverie. “Sgaeyl nears.” The words resonated with urgency, and I turned to Violet, who nodded in understanding. 

Moments later, the majestic navy blue silhouette of Sgaeyl emerged from the clouds, a dark shadow against the sunlit sky, but there was something unsettling about her presence—she bore no rider.

“Tell her I need to speak to him,” I urged Ríogh, my heart pounding as Sgaeyl approached us with a grace that felt both regal and mournful. Ríogh scoffed at my command.

I felt the connection between Sgaeyl and Tairn, a profound sadness swirling in the air around them. Gathering my resolve, I broke tradition and shouted, “Tell the Duke his Duchess requires an audience.” 

After a tense moment, Ríogh relayed her message. Violet and I were to follow, the others had to keep their distance. 

“Tell the others, and don’t lose her, please,” I instructed, my voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside me. As Ríogh and Tairn took the lead, I felt a strange calm wash over me, a stillness amidst the chaos that enveloped Calldyr City. 

We descended into a tranquil field to the east, the sound of battle faintly echoing from the city, contrasting sharply with the peaceful serenity of our surroundings. 

“Briar,” Violet called, pointing ahead. When my feet met the earth, I looked ahead. There, standing before Sgaeyl, was him. 

“Stay here, be ready in case this goes wrong,” I instructed Violet firmly, but my heart raced with hope and trepidation. Ríogh's growl vibrated beside me as I began my approach. “He won’t hurt me,” I reassured him, though his huff conveyed his doubts.

“Quiet the venue for a meeting, Your Grace.” His voice sliced through the heavy air, resonating with authority yet laced with a fragility that echoed the distance between us. I halted mid-step, the tension thick as I stood roughly ten feet from him, yet I could feel the magnetic pull towards Ríogh, who fidgeted behind me, his wings slightly unfurling as if sensing the charged atmosphere.

“You’re a hard man to nail down, Your Grace.” I matched his tone, defiance cloaking my emotions like a shield, even as I took in the sight of him. 

My heart ached, and I fought to mask the tumult within. The man who stood before me was a shadow of the one I had known. The once-familiar onyx depths of his eyes now held a tempest of turmoil, rimmed in red, and deep red veins at his temples. The only trace of familiarity was the intricate relic winding up his left arm and creeping over his neck. But the moment he stood before me, my heart betrayed me, skipping a beat at the sheer presence of him. 

“Xaden,” I breathed, the name falling from my lips like a tender sigh.

“You shouldn’t have come, my stillpoint.” His voice was devoid of the softness that once enveloped our conversations, each word striking me like a knife to the chest. I steeled myself against the ache of familiarity that felt foreign now, a haunting reminder of the love that felt so distant.

“I had to see you—needed to see you. Considering I don’t remember our last moments together.” The words slipped out, edged with a growl that I could not suppress. “Including our wedding.” I watched him flinch, the shadow of pain flickering across his face.

“It was for the best.” His response was hollow, a sentiment that did little to assuage the storm raging within me. 

I took a step closer, determined to bridge the chasm between us. “Why’d you turn?” I demanded, the question a relentless echo in my mind since that fateful night. 

“It's what I had to do.” His voice was strained, and the weight of it hung heavy in the air.

“Why?” I pressed, the urgency in my voice flaring. 

“Briar!” Bodhi’s warning cut through the tension, but I paid it no mind. 

“Little Foot.” 

“You told me once that your love for me was strong enough to keep you from channeling,” I said, taking another step forward, my heart pounding with a mix of fear and hope. “But something else was stronger that night.” I drew nearer, driven by an inexplicable need to understand. “What drove you to channel?” 

“They were going to hurt Sgaeyl.” The admission fell from his lips, raw and broken, a lament that shattered the fragile moment. “I wasn’t going to let someone else I love get hurt for being connected to me.” 

I nodded, allowing the weight of his words to settle in. His love for me had once kept him off the ice, but in an instant, it was his love for Sgaeyl that had broken the ice below his feet. Understanding flickered like a candle in the wind, and with each heartbeat, the threads weaved together, drawing me inexorably closer. 

His love had been the driving force each time he channeled, a tempestuous tide that surged through him in moments of desperation. 

At Basgiath, because the sage had threatened me.

In my room, because he lost control when with me, leaving greyed fingerprints that still littered my hips.

Beyond the wards, because Garrick the wyvern were surrounding Garrick.

In Deverelli, when Courtlyn’s guards had turned their murderous sights on me.

When the venin were after Sgaeyl.

If his love was strong enough to drive him to channel, then could it also be the anchor that brought him back?

“The only time I will ever love someone more than you is if we get the chance to start a family.” 

Those words echoed in my mind, a haunting reminder of the future we once envisioned together. He had spoken them with a weight while he was subtly preparing me for a time when I would need to kill him, should he lose control.

“I’m a lost cause, Bree,” he laments, an air of resignation clouding his features. “Against all odds, I know you’ll make the right decision.” 

I paused, my heart pounding as realization washed over me. The ink of his letter still fresh in my mind, I understood at that moment that he had anticipated my arrival. This conversation, laden with unshed tears and unspoken goodbyes, was not a mere coincidence. It was a final chance to see me.

I will not let this be that moment.

“Can I tell you something?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper, yet laced with determination. A soft smile broke through the anguish as I drew my dagger from the sheath, its familiar weight grounding me in a chaotic storm of emotion. Recognition flickered in his eyes when he saw the blade—the one he had left for me, a symbol of our intertwined fates. 

“Anything,” he breathed, the vulnerability in his tone echoing the tempest within. 

“I know you can fight it, the venin side of you.” Though he opened his mouth to protest, I pressed on. “Everything you’ve ever done was for love. For me, for Garrick, for Sgaeyl. Your love for those close to you was enough to break the ice from under you. So let a new love be enough to make you swim.” I reached for his hand, my heart thudding in the silence that enveloped us. He flinched at my touch, but miraculously, he did not pull away.

“Briar!” Brennan’s voice pierced the haze of urgency surrounding us. I glanced down at Xaden’s hand, instinctively placing it over the almost imperceptible bump that was our future.

“Swim for the life we created, please,” I implored, my voice trembling as I saw the flicker of understanding ignite within his stormy gaze. “I know you’re still in there, deep down, Xaden.” Each word felt like a lifeline thrown into turbulent waters, hope anchoring my desperate plea. “If you can’t come back for me,” I felt the sting of tears threatening to spill, the weight of our love heavy in the air, “come back for our child, who deserves to grow up with their father.”

In an agonizing moment, he pulled his hand away, and I watched as the red veins, once pulsating with venomous fury, began to fade like mist at dawn. Xaden collapsed to his knees, fingers clawing into the earth, as if seeking refuge in the very ground beneath him.

“Back away, Little Foot.” Ríogh’s warning was accompanied by a fierce gust of wind, Sgaeyl launching into the air. But my eyes remained fixed on Xaden, his anguish palpable as the soil around his hands lost its color, wilting under the weight of his struggle. I instinctively retreated, the dagger slipping back into its sheath as I stumbled backward, my heart pounding.

Suddenly, a sturdy form blocked my path. Garrick’s arms encircled me protectively, but panic surged through me, propelling my feet forward just as the circle ceased expanding, a scream tearing through Xaden’s lips—a sound that reverberated with raw, unfiltered emotion.

“You need to go, Briar,” Garrick urged, his voice a mixture of fear and insistence as he attempted to guide me toward Ríogh. Yet, I stood firm, rooted to the spot.

“Wait.” My voice cut through the air, defiant.

“You promised—”

“Just wait!” I shouted, breaking free from his hold, my resolve solidified as I approached the very edge of the circle. Xaden’s screams morphed, a shift from frustration to fierce determination. I could see him lifting his head, and through the veil of tears, I caught a glimpse of what lay beneath—the onyx eyes now flecked with gold, igniting a spark of recognition in my chest. 

It was my Xaden staring back at me. 

As the circle began to shrink, color returned to the desaturated landscape, and instinct took over, guiding me back to him. 

“The little one says she senses no darkness in him. I’m inclined to agree,” Ríogh’s voice broke through, a beacon of hope as I drew closer.

“You’re saying my absolutely insane idea to put mine and the baby’s lives on the line by touching a venin actually worked?” I laughed, disbelief mingling with relief coursing through the bond between us.

“Sgaeyl thanks you for saving her rider,” came the response, and I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“Xay?” I called softly, my voice trembling with the rush of emotions that flooded through me. Standing at arm's length, I could see the myriad of emotions flickering across his face like shadows dancing in the twilight. His eyes met mine with a deep intensity, shining with the remnants of the man I had fought so hard to save.

“How’d you know it would work?” His voice was shaky, a fragile thread woven with uncertainty. I caught sight of his hands, trembling ever so slightly, surely because of Sgaeyl's hesitation to let him tap into her magic for fear of him slipping.

“I didn’t,” I admitted, the truth spilling from my lips like a breath of wind. My heart raced, both from the thrill of his return and the perilous gamble I had taken.

“That was insanely dangerous, Your Grace.” His chastisement cut through the tension, but the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth contradicted the gravity of his words. Thank you for saving me.

“I really hate being called that.” A laugh escaped me, light and buoyant, as I reached out to cup his face, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath my fingertips—a small, grounding detail that reminded me of who he truly was.

“Then what should I call you? Duchess? Mrs. Riorson? My savior?” His voice held a teasing lilt as he wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me closer, the warmth of his body enveloping me like a protective cocoon.

“Your wife will do just fine.” Relief coursed through me, mingling with joy I thought I had forgotten. I searched his eyes, yearning for confirmation, and finding it—an unwavering promise. “No urges?”

“None, my beautiful wife.” With that, our lips met in a passionate kiss, a moment suspended in time. As I melted into him, I prayed to the gods that he would never let me go.

But just as the world around us faded into a blissful oblivion, a throat cleared behind us, pulling us back into reality. Turning to see our friends gathered, I felt a tinge of embarrassment sweep through me.

“You’re not going to kill us, right?” Garrick asked, his voice laced with wariness as he remained a cautious distance away.

“Because I’m venin? No.” Xaden chuckled, releasing me from his embrace to pull Garrick into a hearty hug. A sense of camaraderie filled the air as he moved on to his cousin, laughter easing the tension in our group. “For bringing my pregnant wife to a battle? Definitely.” 

“Technically, the Duchess brought us into battle,” Bodhi interjected, a smirk lighting up his features. “Rank is a fickle thing in this world, especially considering she’s still a cadet yet somehow out ranks Brennan.”

“I did try to stop her regardless,” Brennan defended, his eyes revealing the weight he carried of having to contend with me but he smiled nonetheless.

Xaden's laughter rang out again, and it warmed my chest, igniting a flicker of hope amidst the chaos. 

“She’s never listened to anything I’ve ever told her.” With a playful shove, I pushed my husband away, but his hand caught my waist, pulling us back together. He pressed another kiss to my lips, sealing the moment with an electric spark that ignited my heart.

 Violet broke through the haze of our shared bliss, her voice sharp and steady amidst the charged atmosphere. “As sweet as this is, we do have an entire city under attack.”  Her words hung heavily in the air. 

Xaden muttered into the kiss, his breath warm against my lips, “Go back to Aretia.” 

The protest slipped from my mouth like a child’s plea, raw and desperate. “I won’t leave you.” My fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt, the coarse material grounding me in this moment that felt both infinite and fleeting. I felt his shadows swirling around me, a tender yet protective caress that ignited in my chest. I leaned further into him, craving the solidity of his presence, already missing everything about this moment, as if it were sand slipping through my fingers.

“I will return to you as soon as I gut the Sage like a fish.” A smirk played on his lips, a flicker of mischief that danced in his stormy eyes. “I have a new reason to end this war, and something tells me it’s going to stick.”

“Come home to me.” My voice, tinged with urgency, turned into a command, a plea wrapped in iron resolve. “Don’t make me a widow before I can experience married life.” 

“Are you saying that as my wife or as the Duchess of Tyrrendor?” he asked, his brow arching, a challenge mingled with affection.

“Both. Never different people with each other, remember?” I pulled on the words he had spoken after he received his title back.

“I love you, my wife.” 

“I love you, my husband.” 

I thought of an entire series for after this so if you would like to see more of what I'm calling The Aretian Chronicles, please let me know! I'll make a post of details and a poll if there is interest!

Everything Taglist: @lxnvmvrzx @bodhidurrans

Comment, ask, or pm to be added to a specific character or everything taglist!

Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[ammoknightsofficial]

Translating the Dev's Headcanon Spread for Kyle's Family

Alright, so, I've gotten my hands on the Monster Hunter Stories 2 Art Book! That means it's time to translate This Image, piece by piece! The text on this is quite small, and the halftones can interfere with legibility at times, but I managed, for the most part. I'll be including notes for each section, particularly anything that may seem like an odd or interesting choice, for Maximum Transparency!

Everything's Under the Cut!! Have fun!

母：優しく穏やかな女性 // The Mother of The Family. A Loving, Gentle, and Quiet Woman.

I've chosen to write this in full sentences, rather than the original format, since that feels easier to communicate. You may notice that "Gentle" is both Green and Blue, and that's because 優しく and 穏やかな both communicate a kind of Gentleness, with 優しく being more like "Tender" and 穏やかな being more like "Calm".

カイルがまだ幼い頃に病にかかりこの世を去ってしまう // She Fell Ill when Kyle was Very Young. She never Recovered, and Passed Away when he was still just a Child.

Before I Get Into Translation Notes - I Have Some Thoughts.

I'm going to be fully transparent - this part is one of the main reasons I got the book. I had my suspicions that she was terminally ill and died when he was young, but I didn't want to make any absolute statements until I could properly translate this passage. I had basically no doubts about it, though - this particular scene here is absolutely striking, and communicates what's going on extremely well even if you can't read it. Kyle's too young to understand what's going on. He thinks a flower will make her feel better. Meanwhile, you have the second youngest brother that's just barely old enough to know, and in that horrible point where he understands what's happening, but doesn't know what to do or how to handle it. Then there's the middle child, with enough emotional intelligence to know that comforting the second youngest and not dissuading Kyle's - the youngest of them all - attempts to help is the absolute best course of action here, to keep everyone strong while their mother (tries, and fails to) fight(s) her Terminal Illness. It's really amazing character work, all in one simple image.

This explains a lot about Kyle's actions during the course of the story. It's kind of difficult for a lot of people to understand why he reacts the way he does to his father getting injured, but with the context that he watched his mom die of a Terminal Illness when he was practically just a baby, and was powerless to do anything about it... It really makes sense, doesn't it? On a personal level, I mean. It also puts this post-game line into some new perspective...

"I'm not putting on a brave face" is such particular wording, and such a particular reassurance to give. He's had to before, and the way he's saying this almost implies - to me, at least - that maybe the player character is intended to, perhaps, know about that bit of history. That's all Speculation, though - I just find it an incredibly interesting string of implications.

As for Translation Notes...

The main thing that may seem out of place is the fact that "She never Recovered" is in both Red and Green. That's actually nothing special, it's just the fact that her illness and her death are being linked together in this passage. She died because of her illness - not because she got, I don't know, eaten by a dragon or something later, in some odd unrelated event. She was Terminally Ill, emphasis on Terminal.

カイル家族イメージ　―　作中には出てこない設定イマージです // Headcanons about Kyle's Family - These are Characters + Character-Establishing Headcanons that Do Not Appear in the Story.

Apologies for putting the Document Title all the way down here. I wanted to talk about Kyle's mom first, lol. I've already explained my reasoning for translating イメージ as Headcanon. I don't think anything else is all that noteworthy.

A Chart Depicting the Developers' Ideas for What the (Living Members of the) Family Looks Like. In Birth Order, we have...

長男：真面目・優等生　―　23年

First-Born: Serious + An Honor Student - 23 Y.O.

次男：自信家・明るい　―　21年

Second-Born: Self-Confident + Cheerful - 21 Y.O.

三男：優しい・賢い　―　18年

Third-Born: Kind + Wise - 18 Y.O.

四男：勝気・負けず嫌い　―　16年

Fourth-Born: Determined + Hates Losing - 16 Y.O.

Me, personally, I think the birth order sounds right, but I'm not a huge fan of how young everyone is. The Fourth-Born looks 19-21 to me, the Third-Born looks in their mid-20s, so on and so forth. But that's partially just the fact that I, myself, am currently in my 20s, and generally really prefer writing + drawing adults. Straight up, I clocked Kyle as being at least 18 when I was doing my playthrough of the game, but this image seems to imply he's about 15. Extremely weird thought to me. I will personally continue writing him as an adult, and his siblings as generally way older than the Devs are estimating. That has no bearing on this piece of Dubious-Canon, however, just something I wanted to mention as a bit of an oddity to me.

Also, the second Kanji in the Birth Orders actually specifies that they're all sons (男), but I'm using the Gender Neutral forms of the Birth Order terms just because I find that more comfortable and less clunky, personally. No other reason.

And, no, I don't really know what that bit of handwriting next to the Third-Born's head is. I also currently cannot fully decipher what this passage (originally below the Headcanon Spread) means, though that's likely just a Skill Issue.

If I figure it out, I'll likely Reblog this Post with an Update, but for now, I think I've covered what I can.

Thanks for Reading!! Hopefully you found this interesting, and maybe you found it useful!! The print on this spread was really, really small, and at times quite frustrating to decipher - hell, I just straight up gave up on the above passage - so any comments or compliments in the notes will be appreciated!!

[leo-artista]

Hey. So. About that frankenstan comic I was making. I may have turned it into a oneshot that I wrote at like 2am. It's not very well written, and it's also pretty short, but I thought it was decent enough that I could post it instead of the comic (that I will not finish because burnout is kicking my ass rn)

So enjoy some of my rare mediocre writing I guess, because I will not be doing this again anytime soon (also constructive criticism is welcome and very appreciated)

Stanley Pines had died.

He couldn't remember exactly how. Every time he tried to piece together the events that transpired, his memories would get further and further repressed into his subconscious until all he was left with were vague feelings and snippets that he couldn't be sure were memories or a dream he had once. Which, frankly, is expected. Why would his brain want to keep that in his head when it would most likely only give him night terrors? Yeah, no thanks. He already has enough of those as is.

Still, part of Stan wished he knew what had happened. He had tried asking Ford, once, about a week after he "woke up". That was a mistake. Ford didn't say anything. He just looked at him with an expression that Stan spent the next few days regretting having put in his brother's face. Afterwards, they hugged for a long time, until Ford quietly spoke against his heart: "You were murdered."

He didn't try asking again.

Sometimes, it kept him awake at night, making him recount every instance in his life where he almost died. Running from the police, freezing inside his car, getting chased by Rico, starving in the streets, chewing his way out of a trunk- there were so many ways he could have kicked the bucket. So many instances where he had thought his luck had finally ran out, and this time he wouldn't make it. In the end, he had been right about one thing- there was no way his life would end peacefully. Dreams of getting rich and growing old were something Stan had given up on long before his time was up. There was no point in seeking that out anymore, no hope of actually living a life. Only surviving.

Until Ford decided to say fuck you to God and bring him back to life, that is.

When his brother told him what had happened, Stan didn't know what to think. Not because of the whole yeah so I'm Victor Frankenstein now I guess deal- honestly, that was the least surprising part of the whole story. If there was anyone on earth who could manage to figure out a way to reverse death- something no human has succeeded at in centuries of existence- it would be Ford. His brother was just cool like that.

He was more surprised at the fact Ford had done it for Stan, of all people. The man who ruined his life. The guy who couldn't leave his childhood dream behind and grow up. The con-man and criminal who never managed to make up for his countless mistakes. The worthless one.

"Why did you do it?" Stan asked one evening. "Bring me back, I mean."

Ford looked at him with a dumbfounded expression. "What?"

Stan shrugged, "Just... seems like way too much effort just to bring someone back, y'know? I'm not sure if I'm worth all of that."

Ford's expression quickly turned sour. "What do you mean by that?"

Stan sighed. "I'm just saying, it would be one thing if I was at the hospital and you came over to help or something. But I was dead, Ford. You can't just come back from that."

Ford's eyebrows scrunched up and his mouth trembled, as if he couldn't decide whether to be angry or upset. "If that was true, you wouldn't be here right now." Instinctively, Ford's hand snatched Stan's wrist, his thumb pressing right above his pulse point. Stan could feel how much that small action calmed him.

He swallowed. "Yeah. Because for some damn reason you thought turning me into fucking Frankenstein was a better idea than just mourning me and moving on with your life."

The hand holding his wrist squeezed harder.

"You act as if it would have been easy." Ford hissed. "Like your death was something trivial, unimportant." He looked into Stan's bleak eyes. "Do you honestly think I would have spent all this time working to get you back if that were the case? What, did you think that- that I wouldn't care?" he said, offended.

"I didn't say that." Stan replied. "I just- fuck, Ford. I thought you hated me for all those years."

Ford looked like he had been slapped.

"But bringing someone back from the dead? Spending months fixing their body- replacing limbs, stiching new skin, getting new organs from God knows where? That ain't something you do for just anyone. And sure as hell not for someone you hate." He released a breath he didn't notice he was holding. "And... I don't know what to do with that."

A long moment passed where neither of them spoke. Then, Ford lunged at his brother, griping him with all the strength he had.

"You" Ford croaked, "are an idiot. Of course I would do the impossible and more to get you back. You're not allowed to leave me. I don't care how mad I was with you back then, none of that mattered. You always mattered." He leaned his head against Stan's shoulder to hide the tears pricking his eyes. "I just wish it hadn't taken you dying for me to show that."

Stan swallowed the lump forming in his throat, putting his arms around Ford and squeezing. One of his hands -the few parts that had been preserved from his original body- went to Ford's head, caressing his scalp in the same way he always did back when they were kids. He felt Ford sigh and sag against his shoulder, breath gently ghosting his collarbone.

"Thank you." Stan murmured lowly against his head.

Thank you for giving me this. For forgiving me. For still caring about me, even if I don't deserve it.

Ford didn't reply, but he squeezed back.

[rosenclaws]

Missing Piece || Leopold Mountbatten x Reader

summary: Leopold has come back from his time travel adventure heartbroken and unable to see who was right in front of him all this time.

warnings: gn!reader, leopold's uncle is a bitch lmao, Leopold gets slapped once like in the movie, angst, happy ending, very bad attempt at a Victorian accent.

wc: 2.8k

a/n: LEOPOLDDDD. Okay I've been in such a Leopold mood and I wanted to write something and I remembered this idea from a while ago and I finally sat down and wrote it. I apologize for the shitty British accent attempts I don't have the energy to try to be historically accurate. Anyways I hope u enjoy our victorian pretty boy <3 I hope it makes sort of sense I'm a little iffy about my writing rn

He's doing it again. Staring out the window with this, love sick look on his face. Ever since the party his uncle threw Leopold has been off. You knew he had been dreading it since his Uncle was practically forcing him to marry, but somehow Leopold changed his mind and he has another year until he must finally settle down. ou thought he'd be happier but he just looks sad.

That night you found him staring at the sky. You were just to bring him an evening snack but he wasn't feeling very hungry. He looked at you with those, beautiful green eyes of his and weaved the most outlandish story you had ever heard.

That he time traveled 200 years into the future. There were buildings that touched the sky and strange machines that could do the unthinkable. There was this look in his eyes. One of loss. Cautiously you stepped out of your servant role for a moment and asked. Placing your hand on his arm and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I fell in love..." He stated plainly and you had to pretend like he didn't just destroy your soul with four words. Pretend like you weren't in love with him and had been for years. You smiled as he told you about her. Kate. She sounded, amazing. She was strong and commanding. The more Leopold talked about her the more you could see in his eyes just how much he missed her.

"I loved her. I asked her to run away with me. But she said no." His lips formed a tight smile. He glanced down at your hand which was still resting on his arm and you quickly pull back.

"My apologies." You bowed as you backed away from him. He looks as if he wishes to reach out but a knock at the door interrupts. His Uncle comes barging through.

"What are you still doing in here?" He asked looking at you with narrowed eyes.

"Nothing my lord." You bowed your head.

"Go fetch me a cup of tea." He shooed you away without a second thought and you listened because you were just a servant and that's all you'd ever be.

Tears in your eyes as you headed down to the kitchen to fix Lord Mountbatten his tea. Thank goodness it's quiet as the only thing that can be heard is your sniffles.

"Are you alright my dear?" You wiped your eyes to see Otis standing at the door.

"Yes of course." He gives you a look and your shoulders sag. He walks over and takes the tea cup from your hand.

"It's silly Otis really, I'll be alright." You smile as you try and take the tea back but he doesn't let you.

"You know, I remember the day you were hired here. You were so nervous and almost tipped over a very expensive looking vase in the foyer." You winced at the memory.

The Mountbatten estate was huge and you had never seen so many expensive things all together. You had knocked back into a vase and it would have fallen and crashed to the floor if not for Leopold. He saved it and instead of scolding you he just laughed.

"You may be fooling everyone else my dear, but your eyes that day could never lie." Otis saw the lovestruck look in your eyes at once.

"Now, I will take this upstairs, you get to bed."

"Leopold treats us so well Otis, sometimes I forget that I'm nothing but a servant." You whispered, ignoring the sad look in Otis's eyes as you walk back to your bed.

You vowed that day to never forget it again. You were hopelessly in love with him and had been since the day you let. But Leopold was a Duke. He was expected to marry someone rich and bring fortune to both families. You stood by the side and served drinks.

In all your time Leopold had never shown interest in anyone. A few failed attempts at courting but nothing ever lasted. Perhaps that was the reason you let your mind dream such idiotic dreams. Leopold treated you as his equal, he was warm and kind. You thought that maybe, just maybe he could be yours. But that's nothing but a silly thought now.

You put distance between you and Leopold, choosing to take care of the chores instead to keep busy. Unfortunately tonight, you were the only one left to serve him his tea and you couldn't say no.

"My grace, I have your tea." You say softly as you place two fine china teacup by the table near his window. It was odd he asked for two but perhaps he was extra thirsty. He's standing with his hands behind his back. Watching the lights of the city.

"She had this balcony you know, we'd sit and watch her neighbors." He sighed.

Leopold missed Kate. But he also missed Charlie and Stuart too. To be introduced to that magical world and be forced to go home. It was a tough pill to swallow. You don't respond as you place down the milk and sugar next to it.

"Is there anything else my grace?" You ask quietly.

"Yes, would you care to join me?" He gestures to an empty chair. You're hesitant to sit but you could never say no to this man. You sit quietly as he sips his tea.

"My Uncle is fast asleep by now, you do not have to worry about him."

"It's not that your grace." You say quickly. The truth is you can barely stand being so close to him right now. Just seeing him hurt your heart. To see him so in love with another.

"I've told you many times to call me Leopold." He furrows his brows as you shrug him off. He sets down his tea and turns his full attention towards you.

"Have I done something wrong? I've noticed you have been avoiding me." You almost choke on your tea. You didn't think he even paid attention to that.

"No my grace." He gives" you look and you correct yourself.

"Leopold. I've simply been busy." Leopold doesn't believe you fully but he does not press.

"I think you would have liked this future world." He says, looking out the window. The view is nothing compared to New York two hundred years from now. He missed the bright lights and the city that never appeared to rest.

"Oh yes, a place where my job is replaced by unearthly contraptions." You say with the hint of a smile. He spoke of one that cleaned dishes and a tiny machine that could send your voice anywhere in the world.

"Perhaps it does, but that just means you could do something more. Something amazing."

"Leopold I do not think I am the person to do anything amazing." You dismiss him. He has big dreams and a brilliant mind. Leopold was destined to be more. You were not.

"Do not say that. You are more than what you think you are. I mean it." He places a hand on yours and you flinch. His hand is so warm. It sends shivers through your whole body. You quickly pull your hand back. Holding to close to your chest.

"May I ask you something Leopold?"

"Of course."

"Do you still love her? Kate I mean." His face turns sad as his head falls.

"She made her choice and it was not me. I respect that." Honestly he's unsure about his feelings.

Perhaps they were real, or maybe it was just the rush of emotions from being thrust into such a strange situation. There was no doubt she was a beautiful woman but in hindsight, the two of them were never meant to be.

"She was unlike anyone I have ever met. Headstrong, focused, successful." Everything you are not you think to yourself.

"To uproot her whole life, it was unfair of me to ask." He says as stares out the window. But does he still love her? The way his eyes sparkle when he speaks of her, you wish he saw you that way. For him to pick you over his suitors, to forget his duty and love you.

"Why do you ask?"

"No reason." You notice his cup is empty and you take the chance to leave. Wishing to be far away from the man you love so desperately right now.

"Thank you for the tea Leopold, but I must be going now." As you stand he reaches for your wrist, his hand curling around it firmly.

"Promise me my dear, that if I have insulted you in someway you will tell me." He whispers. Leopold has felt you pull away and it's confusing him. You were always the one he'd seek for comfort besides Otis. You were his age and understood his longing for more than just fancy parties with boring people. He never cared about status or money. He just wished for good company.

"Leopold I..." You turn to face him, he's so close. He smells like lavender and you close your eyes as the scent fills your nose. Tell him. Just tell him. Your mind screams at you to just let it all out.

"Yes?" He whispers back. His voice sending shivers down your spine.

"I love you." You confess. You wait for a response but it never comes. He lets go of you and takes a step back, eyes wide as he stares at you.

"Leopold please, say something." You beg with tears in your eyes. You reach for him but a voice stops you.

"What on Earth!" You jump back at the sound of his Uncle's voice. Eyes wide as you put as much difference between yourself and Leopold.

"Leopold!" His uncle stomps over and Leopold sees the fear in your eyes. He's still stunned by your confession but seems to act on instinct. He stands in front of you without hesitation, blocking you from his Uncle's angry gaze. You gasp as he slaps Leopold across the face.

"What have I told you about this? You are a Duke and you need to act like it." He grabs Leopold by the collar and drags him out of the room, leaving you shocked. You clean up the tea cups and hurry to your sleep quarters. Otis is sitting by his door, reading a book when you come rushing down.

"I cannot do this anymore Otis." You cry as you collapse at his feet.

"What do you mean?" Otis lets you cry on his leg as he offers you comforting words. He was always like a father to you.

"My heart, it belongs to him but he loves her." You stand to your feet as you wipe your eyes.

"And his Uncle. Forgive me for speaking ill of the man of the house but he is horrid. Only caring for wealth and nothing more." You start to pace back and forth as you vent your emotions out.

"I love him Otis, You are right I've been in love with him since the day I met him. I told him tonight and he said nothing. Not a word." You wipe your eyes as you sigh in defeat.

"Give him time dear." Otis says as he stands up, giving you comforting hug.

"He loves another Otis. It's clear as day and I could never compare." You say sadly.

"Perhaps, it's time for me to move on." You couldn't stay here anymore.

Being around Leopold, you could never move on if you worked for him. Every day you feel the ache in your heart, the longing to be with him overpowers everything else in your mind. You love him. So much. But he doesn't feel the same and therefore you must go to protect your own heart. Maybe one day you could return, but truthfully you do not think that was possible.

You cannot see another marry Leopold. You cannot see them live the life you dreamed of. So you must leave.

You spend the night packing your things and writing two letters. One of your resignation and another for Leopold. To tell him you are sorry and explain why you're leaving. You hope he understands. That next morning you handed your resignation to Millard Mountbatten and gave Otis the letter to deliver to Leopold. With one last look back you set off in search of a new home.

Given your past experience, finding another servant job does not take too long. They're a nice family and they treat you kindly but in your heart you still miss Leopold. You keep in contact with Otis, sending him letters every now and then but you never ask about Leopold. Not wanting to know if he's found another to marry. If he even misses you.

A loud knock at the door echoes through the manor of your new employers. They were out for the day meaning it was just you. You open the door, ready to shoo away the visitor. That is until you look to see who it is.

"Leopold?" You ask in disbelief. He looks, unkept. His hair is messy and there's bags under his eyes.

"You're really here, oh thank goodness." He steps inside and you close the door behind him.

"What are you doing here?" You ask as he runs his hands through his hair.

"How could you leave me?" He holds out the letter you wrote him.

It was like his world came crashing down when Otis handed him that letter. He ran to your bedroom but your things were already gone. He confronted his uncle he just shrugged and said they'd hire someone new. It filled him with rage hearing how little his uncle cared about you. Your absence, it left a bigger hole in his heart than he ever felt. Not even when he was forced to return to his time period. He missed Kate yes, but he missed the time. The life that she lived. Losing her and Charlie and Stuart were losing close friends.

But knowing you were gone, it hurt him down to his core. He searched for you, going to every neighbor to find you but nothing. Until Otis came to him one night and asked him one simple question.

Do you love them?

It took Leopold all of ten minutes to decide where his heart truly lied and it was never with Kate, it was always you. Your confession shocked him to his core. All this time how could he be so blind. He wanted to say more but his uncle ruined the moment.

"I apologize my grace..."

"Enough! Enough with the formality. I may have been born a duke but I could care less about my status." He drops the letter and slowly walks towards you. You back up until you hit the door. You're afraid to even breathe, wondering if this was some dream.

"My heart belongs to you my love. It always has."

"What about Kate? Your...adventures?" You ask. You want to give in, ignore the doubts that swirl in your head.

"I was so swept up in all that insanity that I thought I felt something for her. She's a friend yes but we would never have worked."

"It was hard to see you so heartbroken, I thought you loved her. That you could never love me." You whisper and Leopold cups your face in his hands.

"And I will spend every day of my life making it up to you." His thumb brushes over your lips. Goodness is he handsome.

"You've always been there for me and I am truly a fool for never seeing what was clearly there." He tilts your head up and kisses you. His lips are soft and his hands slide down from your face to your waist. Pulling you closer to him.

"I love you Leopold," You gasp as he pulls away. His lips finding the edge of your lips. Kissing all over your face.

"I love you too." He mumbles.

"What about your uncle?" The worry comes back but Leopold kisses you again to silence it.

"Forget him. I refuse to let him control my life anymore. If I wish to marry you then I will. I don't care what he says." Your heart flutters at the mention of marriage.

"You wish to marry me?" He smiles pulls you closer in his arms.

"Of course I do." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a gorgeous ring.

"This was my mothers. I've kept it locked away for a long time, dreading the day I had to place it on the hand of someone I never loved." He takes your hand and slides the ring onto your finger.

"Perfect." He holds it up to the sunlight and it shines.

"Now, will you come home?" You nod.

This would be hard to explain to your new employers but you could care less. Hand in hand with your new lover. The man you've been dreaming of. You finally have him and nothing was going to get in your way again. Not time travel or his uncle.

Just the two of you taking a leap of faith into the unknown.

[cauliflowercounty]

I’m strongly against AI in fan fiction and writing in general. Here is why. (I’m gonna disagree with this post whether the personal stuff in the comments is true or not.)

Yes, AI may be a useful writing tool for some who struggle getting words out, but that doesn’t just negate all of its other negatives.

In the post, it says that AI has the “ability to simulate creativity.” Whoever this person actually is just ran right into the whole point.

It is a simulation of human speech and is disingenuous. You are not actually the one being creative.

These AI tools are language models that use algorithms to guess what comes next. They are trained on works and the speech of people who have put time and effort into creating, coming up with interesting narratives, artful word choice, new ideas, complex imagery, themes, and more.

AI takes these works full of soul and spits out the least common denominator. What is thinks might come next but guessing what words might come next didn’t get the best writers where they are. They actually put thought into it and tried multiple possibilities for wording and sequence.

What AI does for you in seconds is built on the backs of writers and many others who have dedicated themselves to the craft of writing just to have their work consumed by an algorithm and used to generate something far lesser without attribution.

As an algorithm, AI models also have their own bias baked into their code. That is reflected in what it gives you. Why would you base something creative off a model with biases that limit what it produces that might not reflect you as a person?

The wonderful part of being creative and a writer is that you can use words to evoke emotion because writing is an emotional process. You can comment on the human condition, make people consider something they hadn’t before, and transport people to another world.

AI is not human. It can’t create with the level of intellect that a people have. If AI prose does manage to transport you or any of the things I’ve mentioned above, it is still not a person writing and representing it as your writing is not truthful. It is a hodge-podge of what writers have done in the past. You cannot be an ethical writer using AI to write for you. You are not coming up with the ideas.

The whole point of language is to communicate information and connect with others and AI doesn’t represent people.

The post mentions that AI could be used to summarize comments. Why can’t writers just READ THE COMMENTS without the AI filter?? If someone took the time to comment on your work the least you can do as a creative is look at the real feedback. I am OVERJOYED when people take the time to comment. Shoving their responses into an AI to summarize discounts the time and energy of the commenter and the AI might not even summarize it well.

As for editing help with ideas, there are many strategies people can learn to overcome idea blocks that can be done without AI. I like brainstorming/word vomit but that just works for me. You can look up what strategies other people employ and talk with your fellow creatives before asking an AI for ideas.

Lastly: AI takes so much energy, and it affects the environment. I’m not gonna sacrifice the planet just to use AI to make suggestions or write for me.

Overall my issue with AI is that it expedites writing in the ugliest way. It is theft. It is hollow. It is unartistic. It takes away form the point of language: interpersonal communication. Most of all, it robs you of the writer you could be.

Artificial Intelligence in Fanfiction

Artificial Intelligence (AI) is transforming the way we create, consume, and engage with stories, and nowhere is this revolution more useful and exciting than in the realm of fanfiction. Fanfiction was once a domain of niche online communities, but it has grown into a vast and diverse genre of creative writing that reimagines and extends beloved characters and universes. As AI tools become more sophisticated, they offer powerful support to fanfiction writers, enriching the storytelling process, enhancing creativity, and democratizing access to literary expression. Far from replacing human imagination, AI acts as a collaborator or a friend!

One of the most immediate benefits of AI in fanfiction writing is its ability to stimulate creativity and help writers overcome blocks. Many fanfiction writers are hobbyists, students, or part-time creators who juggle storytelling with other life commitments. AI writing assistants can help them brainstorm plot ideas, develop character arcs, or find just the right word when they’re stuck. Rather than waiting days for inspiration to strike, a writer can input a few lines about Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy being stuck in a magical snowstorm and get instant prompts or narrative suggestions that push the story forward.

The AI isn’t dictating the storyline for you, it is suggesting and nudging you into the right direction. For those daunted by blank pages or struggling to maintain momentum in long-form storytelling, AI can be the difference between abandoning a beloved fic and finishing it triumphantly. I for one have written three fics in the Harry Potter fandom using AI and they were all well received by readers and commenters. Without AI I would not have been able to articulate the words and thoughts in my head.

AI also plays a crucial editorial role. Tools like Grammarly, or more advanced AI models can correct grammar, improve sentence clarity, and suggest stylistic changes without altering the writer’s voice. For fanfiction authors whose first language isn’t English, this is a game-changer. It enables greater participation from global writers and leads to cleaner, more enjoyable stories for readers.

Furthermore, AI can be used to maintain consistency in longer works. Whether it’s remembering what pet name a character uses or maintaining internal logic across multiple chapters, AI can track patterns and flag inconsistencies that even seasoned authors might miss.

AI doesn’t just help with the technical parts of writing — it can also help fanfiction writers explore new genres and styles. Want to write your favorite Star Wars characters in a noir detective setting? Or imagine Marvel’s Avengers in a slice-of-life high school drama? AI can suggest tropes, plot arcs, and vocabulary that match the new genre. This empowers writers to experiment with bold crossovers and narrative mashups, encouraging creative risk-taking that keeps fanfiction vibrant and ever-evolving.

Moreover, AI image generators and voice simulators are adding new dimensions to fanfiction. Writers can now create character art, book covers, or even narrate chapters using AI-generated voices that match the tone of the story. This multimedia approach enhances the immersive quality of fanfiction and provides fans with new ways to experience the worlds they love. I have already heard from many fellow fic writers across fandom spaces that they find the image generators motivating, especially when experiencing a period of writer’s block.

AI could also help fanfiction communities thrive. On platforms like AO3 or Wattpad, AI-driven recommendation engines would be able to match readers with fics they’re more likely to enjoy, based on tags, themes, and writing styles. Writers receive better engagement as their work reaches the right audience. AI can even assist in summarizing long works or generating engaging blurbs that capture a reader’s interest.

Some advanced models can analyze reader comments and provide aggregated feedback to the author — highlighting what’s resonating most or what might need clarification. This turns passive readership into an active, evolving collaboration.

Therefore, AI is far from a threat to human creativity. It is a catalyst for more expansive and expressive storytelling in fanfiction. It supports writers in every stage of the process—from brainstorming to editing, from publishing to engaging with readers.

[btstrology]

The Last Gift (Preview)

✯ Genre: SUPER ANGST but with fluff to compensate the pain lol, coworkers rivalry, from haters to lovers, slice of life, romance, mature, eventual SMUT, pregnancy, single parent.

❥ Pairing : Yoongi x Reader

✉ Plot:  After years of pursuing your dream job, you've finally been transferred to Seoul to work in the marketing division of Samsung. Everything should be fantastic except for one problem: your coworker has been an ass to you nonstop since day one. Fed up with his behavior, you decide to investigate him, hoping to dig up something that could get him kicked out of the company. But what a surprise when you find out his biggest secret.

------------

“It’s always been about her…not me…” a tear streams down your face as your voice trembles. “I should’ve known nothing would ever change” your breath hitches, fingers clutching at your sleeves as if they could steady you. “And yet, I ignored it for my own sake… because that was my way of coping with the fact that, despite all these years… you still… love her.” you gasp, tears falling uncontrollably.

Yoongi stands rigid, his eyes filled with pain as he watches you break down. He reaches out–then hesitates, his arm dropping limply at his side.

“And do you know what’s the most frustrating thing?” you continue, your voice cracking in a pained laugh. His lips part to speak, but no words come. “I can’t even get mad about it. Because I knew from the very beginning that I had already lost to her.”

A single tear escapes the corner of Yoongi’s eye, but he doesn’t move. Maybe because he doesn’t know what to do, maybe because he’s too scared that you will disappear if he does. 

You stand there, waiting for him to speak, to hug you, to tell you that everything will be fine, to do something–but he doesn’t. Unable to look at him any longer, you cover your face with your hands, your body shaking with sobs. “Tell me, Yoongi… Did you ever really love me, even once? Did you see me for who I am, or was I just a reflection of your past?”

He hesitantly takes a step forward, his voice barely a whisper. “I–”

But you step back, hating for once his presence near you. Your eyes lock on his face, searching for answers that you know you will never have “Just who am I to you? Who…Who really am I?” And as if he could sense it, he instinctively stretches his arm, his hand desperately to catch you, but before he can reach for your wrist, you turn and run, leaving him behind–broken, speechless, and alone once more.

He watches as you run away from him, turning to a small dot in the distance.

He wants to chase after you–he really wants to–but he’s too shattered, too weighed down by sadness, too exhausted. Exhausted by everything–by his own feelings, by his bad decisions, by the weight of the past. 

You left him, and in the worst way possible. 

If he had known that this would be the last day he’d ever see you, he would have run after you as if his life depended on it.

But sadly, in life, sometimes you only get one chance. 

And this was it. 

-------------------------

Well… how do I start? I’ve always wanted to write, not just fanfics, but to write in general, but I lack experience and I’m such a perfectionist that I’ve never had the courage to publish anything until now. I’m still hesitating about pursuing fanfics because English is my third language, and I’m scared of making grammar mistakes. Sometimes I feel like I can’t properly express what’s in my mind because of this. Depending on how well my previews are received, I might give it a try…or not. I do have plenty of ideas and fics that I started to writing during the pandemic, but as I said, whether I publish them or not depends on how interested people might be in my stories.

For now, I’ll just publish the previews of each fic and see how this turns out.

To those who may read this, thank you for taking the time. I really appreciate it 🥺💜

PS: I'm really not happy on how this turned out so feel free to correct my grammar or anything you see is wrong~

[totallynotavampir3]

Over and Over Again

a/n: this had been cooking in my mind for a few months and i had begun to write it, then i kinda gave up lol, en-y wayz! i decided to give this a second shot and this is what i came up with! i also have a few other chapters i had been working on, so lmk if you want to see those, this has also been cross posted to Ao3 on Suki_363

Every timeline ends the same: with you loving him and losing him. You remember it all—every pun, every death, every reset. He doesn’t. Not always. Sometimes he’s Geno. Sometimes Fatal. Sometimes Error. And each time, you fight your way back—through code, through glitches, through the void—just to find the version of Sans you once called yours. Even if he’s twisted, broken, or barely holding on. Even if he forgets. Because no matter how many timelines it takes, no matter how many versions of him you meet, you’ll always find him. And you’ll always love him. Over and over. ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

It was always late when he walked you home.

The street lights flickered, the stars seemed too dim for how bright the night used to be. Beside you, Sans dragged his slippers along the cracked sidewalk, hoodie drawn up and hands tucked in. Same old grin on his face. Same old silence between the puns. But something in his eyes—the part he never talked about—made you ache.

“Another long day?” he asked.

You nodded, letting your fingers brush against his. “Better now.”

He chuckled low in his throat. “Smooth.”

The shortcut came up—his favorite one, through the alley that skipped five blocks. The one where time always felt like it hiccuped.

And tonight, like so many nights, you stopped at the gate and turned to him.

“I’ve missed you.”

Sans blinked. “I saw you yesterday, didn’t I?”

You shook your head. “Not you. Not... my you. But I always find you again.”

He went quiet. No pun. Just a slow tilt of his head, studying you.

“[Y/N],” he said, and for a second, just a second—he looked scared.

You smiled through the ache in your chest. “I’ll fall in love with you every time, Sans. Even if you don’t remember, but trust me, i will remember and continue to love you. No matter how long it takes, no matter how many timelines i have to jump…”

“I..” he started, not knowing what you were talking about or what you meant, but you just stepped through the shortcut, and he followed.

…

The first time you lost him, it was in a genocide timeline.

Frisk may have been the last to fall, but you were the second, you had come long after chara, but before the other children. You had landed in the Underground as a child, befriending monsters, learning names and stories. And you had fallen in love with Sans—your Sans. The one who told you puns as a child, you and him had been the only ones who remembered gaster, for whatever reason that may have been. He was the one who fought until his last breath when the world fell apart.

You ran through the underground looking from him when you heard of the rumor surrounding the new human. He told you he would handle it, you don't know why you believed him, he was fragile, maybe not mentally, but his hp was 1, the weakest monster in the underground hp based. 

You ran and ran until your throat swelled and your lungs and legs burned. Tears fell from your face as you saw him, his body was still there somehow, you saw code and glitches coming from him as you watched the blood pool below him. His eye was melting and you saw his dust form a glitched mass, covering the lost eye socket.

You shouldn’t have survived. But something happened—a glitch. The moment the timeline shattered, you fell through it. You woke up in a pacifist world.

You walked around aimlessly for days, not understanding why you survived, why everyone knew you, everyone who’s dust you saw litter the underground, hours, and days before.

Then, you got an idea, you remembered your alphys talking about a timeline theory, and if you were a form of proof, she may believe you.

You ran to Alphys, desperate, wild-eyed, explaining what you had been through and begging for her to believe you.

She believed.

With her help—illegal tech, corrupted files, and a pinch of desperation—you found a way back.

And when you did, he wasn’t the same. He was Geno now. Corrupted. Alive, but stuck in the after-image of a massacre.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he rasped, when you found him in the Judgement Hall.

“I had to.”

“You remember me?” he asked, disbelieving.

“I never forgot.”

He tried to push you away, but you stayed. For months. You stayed until the glitch in him consumed everything.

When the corruption peaked—when the void swallowed him whole—you were thrown out. Spit back into the pacifist timeline.

You told Alphys everything again, The corrupted code. The love. The void. the odd thing being how real time never passed where he was, you told her that too.

She warned you: “It’s dangerous to go back. He might not even be... him anymore.”

You didn’t care, and you told her such, you told her that you didn't care and how you wouldnt stop caring, not even if trying to stay with him killed you.

You found him again, deeper in the code this time. No longer Geno. Now, a Fatal Error.

He didn’t recognize you at first. Rage had twisted his voice, his form. You dodged the attacks, kept calling his name until—

“SANS!!”

He heard you

“[Y/N]?”

You saw him hesitate. Saw something flicker in his shattered eye.

“You remember me.”

He dropped his weapon.

“I... I killed everything,” he whispered. “I almost killed you.”

“You didn’t. You couldn’t.”

“I may not have done it with my own hand, but i watched it happen- i-... i let it happen!’

You stayed with him again, kept trying to reassure him. And again, the corruption and now guilt took him. Again, the timeline rejected you.

Thrown out.

Again.

And again

A Pacifist timeline. Alphys. Desperation.

You went back.

This time, it was Error.

He had unraveled almost everything. Worlds. Characters. Himself. His guilt turned to anger.

You appeared behind him as he stood at the edge of existence.

“I warned you,” he said without turning. “Every time I glitch, the timeline spits you out. You’re uncorrupted. You don’t belong there.”

“I'll come back anyway.”

He turned. Face unreadable. Eyes glowing.

“I thought I was pulling you back. Every time I remembered a piece of you, you’d show up. I thought... Maybe I was strong enough to fix it. That I brought you.”

“You didn’t,” you whispered. “Alphys did. I fought my way back.”

His jaw clenched. “Then... you’re not the same. You’re not her. Just another version.”

You stepped toward him.

“I am. I’ve always been her. Your unofficial wife. Your girlfriend. I remember every version of you. Every fall. Every change. Every time you broke and pushed me away, I came back.”

He glitched violently, like the truth physically hurt.

“I love you,” he said, voice breaking. “I understand if you don’t remember. I don’t expect you to. But I never stopped.”

You took his hand.

“I never forgot, and I never will…”

…

A Reset

You didnt want it, but you had no choice, you were being corrupted by the silence, by the loneliness, by the isolation. Error couldn't have that. He wouldnt have that. So he found a way to send you to a reset. One without frisk, one where it would be safe for you, even if he would never see you again. 

And now, in a quiet pacifist world, the sun shines down on an ordinary walk home.

And a familiar skeleton walks beside you, cracking jokes, unaware.

But when your fingers brush his, and he feels you shiver—

You smile through the ache.

“Hi again.”

He blinks. “You okay?”

You nod. “Just missed you.”

Because even if he doesn’t remember yet, you always do.

And you’ll love him again.

Over and over.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

this fic was inspired by the song "Would You Fall in Love with Me Again" from the musical epic

[javierduffy]

ch2 javi gives boaz a chili pepper leaf once as a treat (because javier himself loves chili peppers) and the capsaicin gives him a tummy ache but javi doesn’t know that capsaicin is bad for horses so he has no idea what the problem is and is freaking out a bit so he very incredibly begrudgingly drags himself to kieran, whom he knows probably will have an answer, and kieran is like “he just has a tummy ache, he’s okay :)” and javi is so unbelievably embarrassed but kieran was so nice to him that he’s also a little … charmed ?

[yarrowleef]

did anyone else know The Last Unicorn had a sequel??? i didn't know that

anyway, i want whatever tf molly grue and shmendrick have going on

[gunpowder-gemini]

Eyo finally settled on a design I like for my Rito OC Cirra! I have gotten so much practice drawing braids now lmao. She's got a dad, 4 little sisters and a dead mom I'll draw (eventually)

I got the sheikah brush pattern for the background from @/ezlo-x here

[monstermoviedean]

if you have a good vibe/kind thought to spare and could send it my way. i'd really appreciate it.

[sweetandglovelyart]

A little art/comic announcement: While Knightfall in Dream Land is still in progress and I’m still working on that I’ve also started plotting out the storylines for both the Daroach backstory comic and the Susie redemption arc comic that I want to do.

Before I started drawing Knightfall in Dream Land I did some very simple pencil sketches with dialogue written on them to get an idea for the direction the story of the comic would go in and get an estimate of how long the finished comic would likely be/how many pages it would likely have. That’s the stage I’m at right now with the Daroach comic and Susie comic. I’m planning to start posting actual pages for both of these comics in January 2025, because I want to get a little bit further into Knightfall in Dream Land first before I launch the new comics. The final length may vary a little bit depending on whether or not I decide to add more stuff or change some of the dialogue I’ve plotted out, but when Knightfall in Dream Land is finished I’m estimating that it’ll be around 34-36 pages, so I’d like to maybe get to page 20 or so before I start posting the new comics. Knowing how slowly I update I’ll probably hit page 20 around late December of this year so January is likely when I’ll be launching the new comics.

Like I’ve mentioned before I’m also still very busy with grad school stuff (I’m working very hard to finish up my PhD in the next year and hopefully get a job lined up if I can so I don’t have to live with my parents when I graduate) so comic updates might get even slower than they already are in the coming months. Thank you to everyone who’s been reading the comic even though I update it really slowly, it really means a lot to me to see people enjoying what I’ve created, and I hope you’ll enjoy the new comics too when I eventually start posting them.

[inkats]

something about making things is that its so embarrassing. pg 4 is my favourite i wrote this bf the last one and incredibly late at night w minimal editing and i think it shows. also i sneepy i will update w the tones but it may be a few weeks.

[disdaidal]

Sometimes I really kind of envy you native English speakers who make writing and posting fics seem so fucking easy. With near perfect grammar and hardly any typos. Or those of you who are capable of writing & updating your fics whenever the muse hits you just right... and not like, once in six months. Actually, try two years lol.

Whereas me, a non-native speaker, who occasionally struggles even with basic English grammar:

I'm fine. Totally.

[whysamwhy123]

You ever have those periods where you're struggling to write much, and you're really questioning why you even bother with this in the first place, and you look at your main WIP and you're just like what is the point? Nobody wants to read this anyway so why are you wasting your time with this nonsense when you could be doing literally anything else?

And then, out of nowhere, you get a comment on said fic, despite it being months after it was posted, despite it being a ridiculously rare-rarepair, despite one half of the pairing not being on TV anymore, and it's a self-indulgent AU that you figured wouldn't appeal to most folks in the slightest, and then you realise that it's gotten a few more hits lately too and the comment is really nice and actually, this fic has more comments on it than a lot of your other stuff, and all of sudden, it's like...shit, maybe you should keep doing this?? Maybe you should just write the damn thing (when you can) and just have fun with it and who cares about the rest?