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pigfacedbitch · 1 year ago

Note

HIIII I'm a big fan of your work and I really love it your writing is amazing , this may be a weird request and if your uncomfortable you don't have to do it , it's fine I completely understand, so it's like merlin and Arthur and the reader and they are all soulmates and it's there first time meeting each other . Thank you in advance

Modern! Reader Gets Transported to Albion

idea : modern world! reader gets transported to Albion and meets Arthur and Merlin. unbeknownst to you and the prince of Camelot, the three of you are soulmates.

type : imagines

word count : 0.7k

pairing/s involved : Arthur x Reader, Merlin x Reader

warning/s : almost drowning, panicking

here is my masterlist!

Note : MY FIRST REQUEST! Whoever you are, thank you for reading my works and I might've changed a little bit in your request. Also, I apologize that it took so long, school has been keeping me busy. I hope you like it! 😊

You've always been a fan of BBC Merlin so when you had the chance to take a trip to Europe, you did.

You went to all the locations where they filmed the series like Château de Pierrefonds and Chislehurst Caves. The last destination is where the Lake of Avalon is; Forest of Dean.

Luckily you are alone, giving you the chance to fully enjoy the beautiful sceneries and serene atmosphere.

It made you feel a deeper sense of nostalgia and melancholy— how the precious characters you loved dearly died and were 'buried' there.

With one last selfie, you were about to walk back to you car when you hear it. A faint voice, filled with sorrow and longing.

"(Y/N)... Save us."

It's coming from the lake.

Something glimmers on it's shore, a sapphire drop necklace with golden chain. When you attempt to pick it up, the world begins to spin.

Suddenly, you were underwater.

Panic builds in your chest not because you can't swim, but an unseen force seems to harshly pull you down no matter how hard you try to stay afloat.

"Help me! Please, someone—"

Air runs out from your lungs when a pair of bulky arms grabs your body and begins to swim you to safety.

"Don't worry, I got you."

I heard that voice before.

The stranger easily carries you to ground, draping a large cloak on your shivering body. Rubbing your eyes for better sight, you look up...

Bradley James?

"Are you alright?"

No. You're certain that Bradley doesn't look that young anymore, keeping up with his latest activities online.

"I told you to be careful, Arthur!"

Turning your head, you see Colin Morgan run towards the two of you with a worried expression on his face.

He looks younger too.

"Ah, Merlin. Fetch the horses, she might need medical attention. May I ask for you name, my lady?"

Arthur? Merlin? Wait... Oh my God.

Realization hits you hard when both men stare at you expectantly, waiting for your answer.

The way they speak, their clothes, their appearances... it's exactly the same in the show you binge-watch every Christmas season.

Am I in the show? That's not possible...right?

"W-Where are we?"

"Camelot."

Shit.

You expect someone to go 'You just got punked!'; that would've been better than two men (who you have a huge crush on) staring at you, confused.

You waited for a moment but nothing happens.

This is real. I'm actually in Albion.

Fear and anxiety creeps into your system, as many questions form in your head. Did I die? What's going on? What season is this? How can I ever get back?

Due to the overwhelming emotions, your breath shortens and keeled over.

Bradley, or Arthur (You have no idea anymore), quickly catches you and gently carries you to his horse.

"We must make haste!" was the last thing you heard before you blacked out.

Merlin, on the hand, knew this would happen. In fact, he dreams of you.

He sees you in vague images, like old memories— happily kissing his cheek, witnessing him use magic, encouraging him to do another trick, etc.

He already etched in his mind your pretty face, your melodious voice, your playful grin— everything about you.

Then Arthur shares the same experience, dreaming about a woman who's description mirrors yours.

Kilgharrah told him that the woman of their dreams will arrive soon from faraway land and will play significant role in the prophecy.

However, the dragon didn't specify how. He only said—

"(Y/N) is your soulmate, Emrys. She sees you and Arthur in a light no one else ever will."

Soulmates are uncommon, even for druids. Only a few were blessed, to have something so wholesome and pure.

So when he heard your cry for help, he is ecstatic. You have finally arrived. His soulmate... and Arthur's.

He wryly smiles at this. Funny how he shares, not only his destiny with the prat, but also you.

The trip to the castle was faster than they anticipated. Arthur told him to call Gaius and meet them in his bedroom.

It caught the attention of everyone. The prince carrying an unconscious woman in his private chambers will surely stir gossip.

But Arthur didn't care, and Merlin didn't know if he should be proud or worried.

The court physician said you are healthy, they only have to wait for you to wake up. He left to attend other matters; leaving the three of you alone.

"This is her." The prince laughs in disbelief, incognizant of what Merlin knows. "The girl in my dreams, I can't believe it!"

Merlin tries to hide his smirk, Arthur can be so adorable when he's clueless.

"Nor can I, sire."

#bbc merlin #emrys #arthur pendragon #bbc merlin imagines #bbc merlin headcanons #merlin x reader #merlin x reader headcanons #arthur pendragon x reader #arthur pendragon x reader headcanons #arthur pendragon imagines #bbc merlin imagine #merlin x arthur #arthur x merlin #merthur #soulmate au #colin morgan #bradley james #bbc merlin preferences

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personaje-fics · 9 months ago

Text

you keep watching my eyes

Merlin/Arthur Pendragon. 1.100 words. General Audiences. AO3.

…….

"Come on, attack me as if you mean it."

Merlin adjusts his footing into a defensive posture, expecting his taunt to rise something in Arthur. It does. Apart from his words, his eyes are heavy on Arthur’s, his lips red and smug, his hands clenching and unclenching, ready to cast.

A soft breeze ruffles his hair. Arthur swings his sword.

Their weapons clash with a piercing sound, the force of it sends a thrill down Arthur’s arms. He laughs with exhilaration and swings again.

Little are the times when they can escape from their duties. It happened more often when Merlin was his servant, but since Arthur named him court sorcerer they never seem to have time for themselves, even though they still spend most of their days together.

That's why Arthur decided to tell Merlin to go to the stables that morning, and without explanation, he threw him the reins of his horse.

Merlin didn't complain, so he took it as a win.

The travel through the forest was surprisingly swift and uneventful. The gallop of the horses blended with the singing of birds above them, and blooming flowers announced the coming of spring. In the middle of all that nature, Arthur watched Merlin admire the landscape, and longed.

They arrived at a clearing covered in daisies, ate some of the food Arthur had brought and talked about the latest court gossip they knew. Then, when the silence grew too comfortable, Arthur had the marvellous idea of duelling, him with his sword and Merlin with his magic. The idea turned out not to be so marvellous, because he is, as expected, losing.

Merlin fends off every single one of his blows with magic. Arthur has never had more fun sparring.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Merlin taunts him, and, all right, he’d have more fun if Merlin didn’t spend half of the time mocking him.

"I'm trying here," Arthur does not whine, because kings don't whine.

"What? Is this too hard for the best warrior of Albion?"

Arthur gives him a smirk,

"You think I'm a good warrior?"

Merlin rolls his eyes and attacks again with the one-handed staff he had conjured. His eyes shine golden, like a sunset but better. Arthur gets a good few hits, trying to get closer to him.

Arthur swings to his right, leaving his left open, and Merlin hits him with a beam of magic that sends him to the ground, landing on a bunch of daisies.

"You keep watching my eyes," Merlin points as he offers him a hand, "which is a good way of getting yourself killed."

Arthur takes the hand and gets up. He is closer to Merlin than he intended, but neither steps away. There, face to face, breathing the same air, Arthur pretends to be calm and with a grin says,

"What? Trying to kill me often?"

Merlin looks at him with something resembling fondness, but that might be exasperation. Then he puts his hand on Arthur's shoulder and gently pushes him, creating a distance between them Arthur never wants to be there.

"One last time?" Merlin asks. Arthur nods and grabs his sword from the ground.

He swings first, to Merlin's right, the sword bouncing off a golden magic shield. Merlin moves his hand down, and magic forms the vague shape of a sword that looks less solid than Arthur knows it is.

Merlin is not holding his weapon; it hovers in the air above his hand, and though it gives him agility and speed, it lacks firmness. Arthur strikes it, stepping towards Merlin, who steps back. Merlin swings, meeting Arthur's sword once, twice. He steps back again and slowly circles Arthur. He is careful to fully face Merlin at all times, though that is something he doesn’t need much practice on.

It’s easy to lose yourself in the slow dance that is fighting. Paying attention to every little one of your opponent's movements, and pointedly not looking at his eyes. Merlin raises his sword, and Arthur meets him there. Then, he lowers them both with a swift movement, and takes advantage of the lack of obstacles between them to tackle Merlin with his shoulder.

Because that is something Merlin has not yet learned. Your weapon is only an extension of yourself, and you must fight like you dance: with your whole body.

He lands on top of Merlin with a thud, and grinning, he says,

"I think I win."

Just after he speaks he realises how breathy his voice is, how his panting is less controlled than he thought it was. He notices how Merlin's chest moves against his own.

He rolls off him before their closeness makes him do something stupid, because this is something he has yet not learned: He can’t just tackle Merlin and expect to feel normal when they touch. He settles on his back, grass tickling his neck and forearms.

"You win," Merlin breathes. He then gets himself comfortable on the ground and closes his eyes.

Sunlight filters through the tree leaves and paints Merlin with light, and Arthur wants to trace every inch of his face with his fingertips. The curve of his lips, his nose, his cheekbones. He wishes he could have the peace to see him like this every day, forever.

"I can feel you watching me," Merlin whispers.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he whispers back.

Merlin's lips stretch into a smile. He turns his face towards Arthur and opens his eyes. Arthur does not have the strength to look away.

Merlin props himself on an elbow, and looking down at Arthur, haloed by the afternoon light, says,

"Hi."

"Hi," Arthur answers, unsure how to react and what to do as Merlin brings a hand to his cheek, and, ever so slowly, leans down.

When their lips touch, it’s like the sun meeting the horizon. Arthur never wants to let go. He wraps his arms around Merlin, who climbs onto his lap without breaking the kiss.

Arthur lets his hands travel to Merlin's neck, then lower to whatever warmth they can find. He can feel one of Merlin’s hands on his chest, where his heart threatens to escape from his ribcage.

"I think I win, now," Merlin murmurs against his lips.

Arthur can only manage a "hm?", his mind fuzzy.

"I'm on top of you. I win."

Arthur huffs.

"That's cheating."

"According to who?" He can feel Merlin's smile against his.

"Me." He runs his fingers over Merlin's cheek, his chin, his jaw. It feels better than he would have ever imagined. "Now stop talking."

#merlin #bbc merlin #merlin bbc #merlin fanfic #merthur #merthur fanfic #my writing #arthur x merlin #merlin x arthur #bbc merlin fanfic #arthur pendragon #i realized i never posted this here.... oopsies

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wingedcat13 · 1 year ago

Text

Synovus: Siren Call (2)

[Synoverse? In the year of our lord 2023? It's more likely than you think! This one is in third person, set after Villains Never Retire. No idea what I’m talking about? Check out the first of the Synovus works here! I've still yet to do it as of posting, but both episodes of Siren Call will be on Ao3 here. Happy reading!]

A week after first arriving at her parents’ house, Minerva made the journey back to her own.

It wasn’t terribly far - a half-hour drive with no traffic, maybe - from where her parents now lived, still placed near to the coast. It wasn’t actually a ‘house’ either, more of a condo built in a line to save costs. It would’ve been cheaper to live further inland, but…

She’d had enough of that.

Besides, the place wasn’t actually hers. When she’d divorced Albion and come back to the coast, she’d also quit her job. With no contacts, no friends, and no savings that weren’t tied up in litigation, she would’ve had nowhere to go in her civilian identity. She also wasn’t sure if she was going to have to deal with a super-powered ex husband knocking at all hours, which was something most renters disapproved of, as a rule.

But where Minerva had no one, Athena had a lifeline. When she and Legionnaire had done volunteer work in the past, she’d always felt it was just part of her duty. An obligation that came with having superpowers. Sometimes you put the costume on to hit something, and sometimes you put the costume on to build something. Since neither of them had been dependent on their hero identity 24/7, they’d always declined any offers of compensation.

But that didn’t mean they’d been forgotten. Shepherd Flight was a volunteer group who specialized in organizing super powered individuals for rescue and relief operations - they mostly focused on the initial crisis, but weren’t afraid of working to help rebuild things too. Minerva had gone through floodwaters and hurricanes under their direction, and also used her strength to help hold up beams for building shelters. One of her favorite memories was helping plant a garden in a refugee camp.

Shepherd Flight was also known for its discretion. Several capes worked exclusively for them, staying out of hero or villain business in the traditional sense. Some of them maintained a separation between the mask and the civilian, but others didn’t.

So Minerva had gone to them, intending to ask if she could rest on a couch in their headquarters or something while she figured out her next move. Instead, a man named ‘Sun Dog’ had checked their records, asked her a few questions, and then handed her the keys to an address. Apparently, Shepherd Flight also aided ‘capes in distress.’

Minerva had scowled, but couldn’t really argue the point.

She’d looked into it since - the space they’d given her was most frequently used for helping move displaced persons who needed to travel, or temporary housing for other members of Shepherd Flight who needed a place unaffiliated with any identity. One of the questions she’d been asked was how she felt about potentially having a house full of strange guests on little-to-no notice. Minerva had grown up dealing with the Pacific Northwest’s forest fires, and had told Sun Dog she knew exactly how fast they could go. If refugees needed a place to stay, she’d gladly vacate.

So far, that hadn’t happened, though Sun Dog had also told her that someone would stop by occasionally with groceries, to keep the place stocked. And to check in on her.

She probably should’ve told them she was fine when she was whisked off to a supervillain’s private island. She hadn’t.

So she wasn’t surprised, per se, to open the door and see a stranger in the kitchen. Startled, perhaps. But neither of them attacked each other, so that was a good start.

“Uhm.” Said the person in the kitchen, holding a spoon awkwardly poised between their mouth and a pudding cup.

“Wrong door.” Minerva said automatically, holding the keys that had unlocked the front door and the guard mechanism.

“Is it?” The stranger asked hesitantly.

Minerva sighed, “No. I… lived here for a bit. As a… guest.”

“Oh!” The stranger lit up with a smile - and a touch of phantom flame that Minerva watched cautiously. “You must be the one who went missing! Yeah, they told me you might come back - hey, I’m Wi-Fire, by the way.”

They moved forward to offer a hand, slowing their approach when Minerva instinctively leaned away. Still, it wasn’t like she needed both hands to hold her bag, and once upon a time she’d been… better, if not exactly ‘good’ at this. So she took the offered hand, clasping it rather than shaking.

“Athena.” She returned, the introduction automatic. Instead of giving herself time to think about whether that was the right name to give, she forced herself onwards, remembering there were other details she was supposed to give on greeting. “She/Her.”

Wi-Fire’s grin broadened, and they bounced a little in place. “They/them!” They returned, even more cheerfully than before. “It’s the third bedroom that’s yours, right? I haven’t touched it, since he said you might come back, but I’ve only been here for about a week. That reminds me - have you called him yet? Sun Dog? He’s super worried about you, pun unintended.”

Minerva was, abruptly, reminded of Alexandria. “… No, I haven’t called him yet. I was just here to-“

She paused. What was she here to do? Spend a few hours staring at a wall, unobserved? Get the rest of her things and go? It wasn’t exactly much, just a few extra changes of clothes, a few books. She did want to make sure the space she’d used was clean, but given how little time she’d spent here, that shouldn’t take more than an hour. Two, if she stopped to do laundry.

Minerva had paused for too long. Wi-Fire just nodded, sympathetic. “Yeah, I feel that. I’m up in the attic - the other rooms are still empty, there’s nothing wrong with them or anything, I just.” They cut off, simply ending the sentence, as though a signal had been lost between one word and the next. They shrugged.

“Yeah.” Minerva echoed, thinking of how she’d chosen the room with the best view of the ocean, even if it was just a sliver.

Wi-Fire winces, “Crap. Sorry. Forgot we’re not supposed to really, like. Fraternize. I didn’t see anything?” Their last sentence is hopeful, as though an offering they want Minerva to take.

“It’s fine.” She assures them, readjusting her grip on her bag. “If you’ve seen me, you can pass on to Sun Dog that I’m fine, right?”

For a heartbeat, she thinks she’s pulled it off, and she’ll be able to just get her things and leave. But Wi-Fire just laughs.

“I mean, sure - but you’ll have to scram if you wanna avoid him.” They scrape at the bottom of the pudding cup. “He’ll be here in like. Twenty minutes?”

—-

Minerva is not done packing in twenty minutes. Actually, she’s not done in fifteen, which is when Sun Dog actually arrives. She can hear him greeting Wi-Fire from where she’s working upstairs, meticulously folding towels to be stored in the bathroom before she leaves.

Minerva snaps the final towel free of wrinkles, places it on the pile, and goes to meet him. Better she doesn’t get cornered.

Sun Dog and Wi-Fire aren’t talking, when Minerva arrives. No, that makes it sound like they’re in a stand off, and really, it’s more that they don’t need to be. Minerva catches the end of a fistbump-into-a-shoulder check, and an exchange of smiles, before Sun Dog’s eyes flick up and see her on the stairs.

“Ah!” In civilian clothing, Sun Dog looks like a Bay Area hobbyist come north. His reaction to seeing her is surprise, but also something positive. Joy? Excitement? Delight? “M-“

“Athena!” Wi-Fire cuts in, overriding Sun Dog with their own exclamation, and avoiding accidentally learning Minerva’s real name. Not that it matters, anymore.

Minerva’s spine could be used as a flagpole. “Sun Dog.” She replies, voice cool, as though their excitement at seeing her had been an embarrassment rather than an open welcome. It isn’t on purpose. “Wi-Fire.”

She doesn’t apologize for interrupting, or claim she didn’t mean to, because there’d be no point. Instead, Minerva meets Sun Dog’s gaze, “I’m cleaning up after myself, then I’ll be out of your way.”

“You don’t have to do that-“ Sun Dog starts to assure her, then backtracks. Minerva must have looked offended. “- but we’re grateful that you’d take the time.”

He glances at Wi-Fire, who gets the hint. They give Minerva a double thumbs-up, and another near maniacal grin, and then scamper off. Minerva is distracted, briefly, by the mental image of a young Synovus, gifted with fire instead of shadows.

Terrifying.

Still, thinking of the one problem won’t rid her of the other. Minerva descends the rest of the stairs to stand even with Sun Dog, her arms folded. Her expression must’ve shown something (or maybe Sun Dog just gauged the depths of the bags under her eyes) because instead of saying anything else, Sun Dog just tilts his head towards the door.

“How about a walk?”

—-

With the ocean not far, there was plenty of beach to walk along. It was too late in the season to hope for much sun, but again, it didn’t really bother Minerva. And, with both of them in nondescript windbreakers, they seemed no more suspicious than anyone else ever did.

She wished she didn’t feel like she needed to worry about being suspicious.

They walked in silence for a while, just the sound of sand crunching beneath boots, and the ever present roar of the ocean’s movements. The wind blew in from off the coast, sharp and cold. It whipped her hair around her face, but she mostly ignored it.

Eventually, Sun Dog broke the silence. “Did you know I didn’t actually intend to go by ‘Sun Dog’?”

Minerva glanced around, as though the wind and general absence of other people wasn’t enough to ensure they weren’t overheard. Sun Dog waited.

“Then why did you?”

“Media.” He answered simply. “I wanted to name myself Parhelion. Its the… let’s call it scientific word for a Sun Dog phenomena. They thought one had a better ring to it.”

“So you’re a scientist.” Minerva kicked lightly at the sand on her next step.

“Amateur, sure. But I don’t mind admitting that the name scared the hell out of me at first.”

Minerva hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. I can understand why.”

Sun Dog. In a world still recovering from the sudden disappearance of Sunhallow, any sun imagery was suddenly circumspect. It could be viewed in a hundred different lights, none of them favorable.

“I almost gave up being a hero entirely.” Sun Dog confided. “I was too scared that one day someone would show up, and tell me I was encroaching on their brand.”

Humor, but not enough to hide that neither of them speak his name. Minerva knows he’s dead - she’s seen the grave, spoken to his killer. But there is the thought that lingers. Just in case.

“Why didn’t you?” Minerva asked, staring forward at the tree line.

“Letters. One in particular, that told me he’d never be dead so long as we let him hold that much power over something so ubiquitous as the sun. They said they knew how much it must cost me, but that the world needed people like me to rebuild it, to heal over the scars.”

“And was that one from the Dalai Lama or the President.” Her voice wasn’t bitter so much as it was… dry. Humor. She’s learning how to use it again.

Sun Dog squinted into the wind. “Could’ve been either, I suppose. It was signed, but with a moniker. Eclipse.”

He glanced at her, shrugged. “I’ve never known anyone to go by that name.”

Minerva was silent for a step. Two. Then, “No. Neither have I.”

—-

They wind up stopping at a picnic table tucked just under the tree line, out of the worst of the wind. It’s one of those weather-worn gray contraptions, the kind someone placed years ago and forgot, leaving it for hikers or curious children.

They’ve talked about a few things, here and there. Sun Dog keeps offering small bits of himself, trying to draw Minerva out again, and slowly, she becomes part of the conversation. Childhood pets. Obnoxious commercial jingles that stick even after the company and product are long gone. Nothing pressing. Nothing political.

But after they’d spent a few minutes in a comfortable silence, a natural lull in the conversation, Sun Dog has pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket.

“Hope you’re not looking for poker.” Minerva said with barely a glance. “I don’t have anything to bet.”

Sun Dog laughed, “These aren’t those kind of cards. But if you’re willing, I’d like to do a reading for you. Tarot.”

“Wait.” Minerva raised her brows, leaning back slightly. “You don’t actually believe in those, do you?”

She realized, approximately half a second too late to stop herself, how offensive that likely sounded. Luckily, Sun Dog laughed again.

“You could use a tank as a baseball bat.” He said, corners of his eyes crinkled in a smile. “And have dealt with clairvoyants, shape-shifters, literal magic users - but ‘some cards’ is where you draw the line?”

Minerva ducked her head, submitting to the teasing. “Alright, you have a point. I don’t really know how they work, though.” “You don’t need to.” Sun Dog assured her. “You just need to shuffle and draw the cards. Three of them, face down, left to right. We’ll go over what they mean one by one.”

She felt, suddenly, unaccountably nervous. She managed a murmured thanks as Sun Dog handed her the deck, no longer stiff from newness, but not quite well-worn either. For a moment, she simply spread the cards in her hands, sliding them with her thumb, and studying the backs. They were larger than she remembered most playing cards being. She hoped she remembered how to shuffle correctly.

A few cuts of the deck, and a reassurance from Sun Dog that it was alright to bend them, and Minerva fanned the cards apart, couching them back together into a bridge. Another few cuts, another bridge. And the third time, to keep them balanced.

“Three off the top?” She asked. Sun Dog shrugged, “If that’s what speaks to you.” He laughed again at Minerva’s displeased expression, but nodded encouragingly. “Go on. Three cards, face down. That’s all.”

Minerva sighed. She pulled the card from the top, one from the bottom, and - fanning the cards again - slipped one from the middle at random, laying them each face down on the table in front of her.

“Good.” Sun Dog said encouragingly, accepting the rest of the deck back. “So, this is something of a ‘past, present, future’ spread. Go ahead and flip the first card.”

Minerva rolled her eyes, and moved to place her hand on it - then paused. This trepidation was unlike her. She had no reason to be nervous, because this was a pre-generated deck of cards. It held no personalized information, and could not reveal anything about her of substance, because it was a randomized card.

That argument wasn’t holding up the way it normally would’ve. Some part of her resolve crumbled.

Well. She reasoned, If it’s in the past, I’ve already survived it once. I can do it again.

That seemed to do the trick. She flipped the card over, and was greeted with the image of someone in what she placed as quintessential peasant’s garb… carrying a bundle of sticks? The roman numeral for ten was placed above it, and the individual’s face couldn’t be seen, buried in the bundle they were carrying as they walked away from the viewer.

“The ten of wands.” Sun Dog identified. “Wands are associated with fire. They tend to be about passion, strengths, and willpower. The ten of wands in particular is a representation of burden and responsibility. It is good to be depended on - but not to be overworked.”

Minerva shifted, but said nothing. Sun Dog gave her a moment, then indicated the next card. “The next one, then?”

This one took little effort to turn - whether it was out of a desire to get it over with or simply because she’d shaken off whatever feeling she’d had earlier, Minerva didn’t know. This time, the card was upside down, and she moved to straighten it.

“No -” Sun Dog stopped her, “I mean, if you want to flip it so you can look at it, you can, but drawing them upside down actually means something. ‘Reversed’ cards invert or change the meaning.”

Minerva pursed her lips, flipping the card briefly to get a better look at it. A figure visible only from the waist up, in what appeared to be mail and plate armor. A star spangled canopy offered protection from the yellow sky, and the numeral for seven that floated just above it. The figure had a staff in one hand, and what looked like two sphinxes in front of it - the left black, the white right, each with a different expression.

“The Chariot.” She read, flicking the card back over to be upside down again.

“Another willpower card.” Sun Dog commented. “The Chariot is triumphant - you see how the sphynxes are angled in opposite directions? They should go nowhere, but the driver manages to drive the chariot onwards. Nothing that they carry is a gift. Instead, they are rewards earned.”

“But it’s reversed,” Minerva said dryly, “Meaning… that I’m currently a freeloader?”

“Or that you feel that way.” Sun Dog countered. “The cards aren’t quite so literal as we might hope, sometimes. Go ahead and flip the third card.”

“Another upside down one.” Minerva remarked, considering the angel depicted on the card. “Sorry, reversed. Temperance.” She snorted, placing the card on the table with the others, and then shoving her hands into her pockets.

“Ah, I love the Temperance card.” Sun Dog picked it up briefly, smiling at it, before he laid it back down. “It’s a card of transitions, that one. I - is something wrong?”

Minerva hadn’t been able to hide her flinch at that one. She scowled, more angry at herself than anything - but it seemed the last few days had scraped her raw, left her open and readable. And… she did trust Sun Dog. So she forced herself to clear her throat, and spoke quietly;

“I have a daughter.”

Sun Dog made a vaguely congratulatory noise, a positive sympathy for someone speaking of their loved ones. Minerva’s hands bunched in her pockets.

“I spent most of her life convinced she was my son.” She said quietly.

“Ah.” Sun Dog leaned back, head canted so he could look up for a moment, considering. Minerva knew there was a wealth of information in that, and how she’d presented it, and the connections he could even now be drawing. But she’d refused to run from this. So she sat still, and unwavering, and waited for the judgment she deserved.

“I don’t think it means that kind of transition.” Sun Dog said finally, looking back at her again. “Not in this context, though a gender transition is a common reading of the card. My congratulations to your daughter, by the way.”

Minerva let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Then it doesn’t….” She trailed off, mind unwilling to complete the sentence.

“Doesn’t what?”

“This is the future card, isn’t it?” She said quietly, rather than elaborate immediately. “And reversed, meaning an inverse of the meaning. So if it was about - her transition, and how I pertain to it, then… I would be a roadblock to it. I wouldn’t…” She trailed off again, but Sun Dog only waited.

“... get better.” She finished lamely.

“That you’re worried about it tells me how much you care,” Sun Dog said gently, placing one hand halfway across the table. He couldn’t take hers, given she still had them clenched in her pockets, but she recognized the gesture for what it was meant to be. “But no, I don’t think that’s what the card means in this context. Temperance is the balance between remaining practical, and our dreams. Grounded reality, versus the water of our dreams.”

“So I’m… losing that balance?”

Sun Dog hummed, uncertain, “You might lose that balance, that could be an outcome.” He acknowledged. “But take the cards as they’re important to you. Water is fairly important to you, right?”

Minerva only nodded.

“Then perhaps the reversal isn’t telling you that you’re going to lose your balance. Maybe it’s telling you not to worry so much about that balance - that temperance is not, in fact, what you need to do now.” Sun Dog raised his hands, “I’m no expert. But sometimes we really do need to let loose.”

Minerva stared at the card arrangement for several more minutes. Her mind picked up on patterns, even when she didn’t mean for it to, didn’t intend to read into it. The past, hiding her face from everyone in a mask, carrying a burden she thought she was obligated to take on. The present, lost, her rules turned on their head as surely as the chariot driver was. A canopy of stars, protective shadows against a sky of light… and a being that was neither male nor female, free, offering her the opportunity to move on.

“I’m not taking advice from a deck of cards.” She heard herself say.

Sun Dog shrugged. “Then take it as advice from me. You see something in the cards - that’s what they’re for. Reflecting what you need to see, to be able to face it.”

Minerva let out a long breath, forcing herself to relax the tension that had settled into her shoulders and spine. She looked up, meeting Sun Dog’s gaze with her own.

“How much do you know about Synovus?”

---

[It's funny - I posted the first of Synovus's story over a year ago. I added onto it, here and there, but the draft to post this was started in... September of 2022? Yet, every day, I get a notification, either through Tumblr or Ao3, that someone has found Synovus, and expressed joy about it somehow. It's... remarkable. I love you all, and thank you for reading!]

#synoverse #synovus #siren call

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theredneckerchief · 1 year ago

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Ok, so Arthur and Merlin stumble onto a druid camp after a hunt...

Little druid girl: *in literal awe* Emrys?

Merlin: *eyeing a confused Arthur nervously* Call me Merlin *crouches* What's your name?

Little druid girl: Ciera... are you really Emrys?

Merlin: *nods*

Arthur: What the hell is an Emrys?!!

Merlin: Well, it's kinda like a nickname thing druids have for uh...the uh servants of camelot.

Arthur: Why would druids have nicknames for the servants of camelot Merlin?!?

Merlin: Clearly, because they're a respectful people and appreciate our hard work dealing with arrogant prats.

Ciera: No. Emrys is only you.

Arthur: *raises triumphant eyebrow at Merlin* And why is that Ciera?

Ciera: Emrys is the God of magic. He has power over the high priestesses. He is magic incarnate. He is Lord of the Druids. He is the last Dragon Lord. He is protector of the Once and Future King of Albion.

Arthur: *aghast, mouth open*

Merlin: *having a coughing fit*

Ciera: Can you show me something? *looks up with puppy dog eyes and really, how's Merlin gonna refuse a request from a cute lil girl*

Merlin: *Smiles* Of course *Waves hand in a circle over the girls hair making her a tiara of red flowers and vines*

Arthur: *Still gobsmacked looking between the two of them*

Merlin: I'm sorry Arthur, really I wanted to tell yo-

Arthur: *holds up his hand, face impassive*

Merlin: Are you mad at m-

Arthur: Make me one.

Merlin: ...uh what?

Arthur: *nods at Ciera's tiara* Make me one.

Merlin: *bows* Yes Sire. *waves hand over Arthur's head creating a golden floral crown*

Arthur: *nods approval*

Ciera: Yay we match!

Merlin: *snickering*

Arthur: Oh and Merlin?

Merlin: Yes Arthur?

Arthur: Not. A. Word.

Merlin: *goofy smile* Of course not, Sire.

#bbc merlin #incorrect merlin quotes #god merlin #merlin #arthur pendragon #incorrect quotes

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mylordshesacactus · 1 year ago

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I got to do some like, legit atmospheric horror work a month or so back.

The party, after ditching the giant dragon turtle, was making their way through the forest in search of a small village they’d seen from its back--the only sign of civilization. Their unicorn friend Albion had dropped them in a region of the faewild he said contained a trusted ally--but no one had come to find them, and they need to get moving, so the village is as good a place to start as any.

Along the way they ran into a pair of charming rabbitfolk brothers named Brush and Briar, struggling on the side of the road to right a partially-smashed cart. After cautious, exact-words exchanges in which Max the bard did some serious work to make the party appear nonthreatening and avoid accidentally imposing a debt, the brothers explained that they were from the nearby village of Little Ivywood, and they’d been attacked by bandits on the road and nearly lost all their worldly possessions because the bandits accused them of “betraying their queen”. They explain that Little Ivywood surely has some pro-mortal sentiments, but that certainly neither of them have betrayed any queens!

The party, who were headed that way anyway, of course take the brothers under their wing and help them get their cart back to the village. Along the way they chat about the faewild, about the bandit problem (bandits are described as “bestial” and there are claw marks on the cart), about how about 20% of their carrots “bite back” and it’s very offputting, dontchaknow, but such eternal suffering does seem to be somethin’ of our people’s lot in life.

So they pass several pleasant hours before coming up on the village of Little Ivywood.

The............very....very. Quiet. Village of Little Ivywood.

Max and Andromeda are the first to see the bodies in the fields.

The party puts Brush and Briar behind them and--in a moment that made me the DM ache over how recently they were a ragtag bunch of misfits half of whom had never taken a life before--do a VERY professional check-and-clear sweep of the village. It’s...bad. If there are survivors, they’re nowhere near.

The wounds are grisly, and the attack was...thorough. Nimbus the ranger finds the marks of boots and cloven hooves in the dirt, but is having trouble checking trailsign--he grew up in a village just like this. While checking houses, Audie the wizard finds a cellar door thrown open with the bloody body of one rabbit dead on the floor outside it, and a rug thrown aside under the trapdoor--someone who gave his life to hide his family, only to have them die anyway.

Andromeda, the aarakocra paladin, stays in the air on overwatch. While checking the perimeter, she sees a glimmer in the treeline and drops down to check--expecting to find enemy scouts coming back for stragglers, or perhaps an injured survivor taking shelter in the hedgerow, and finds--

Snares.

Iron running snares, set in between rows of crops, paths in the hedgerows, along gaps in the underbrush. A cruel, condescending kind of joke--the kind of perimeter you set up when you intend for no one, not a single living rabbitfolk, to escape the slaughter.

With no small amount of guilt, the party takes what they can from the homes--they haven’t been looted, this wasn’t a bandit raid. And then--something moves.

The trio of liondrakes emerges all spite and fury; held at bay by the heavily-armed party but hissing insults, calling Brush and Briar traitors, demanding to know why the party would defend them, swearing to kill them all in the name of their queen or die trying. And something--doesn’t add up. The liondrakes scoff at the idea of serving the Courts--it was the Summer Court, they say, who killed these people, and their own queen, the Queen of the Wilds, who tried to save them. They say, again, that the party is harboring traitors, and...

and it’s Nim who makes the 20+ insight check.

Brush and Briar lived in Little Ivywood. They were farmers, not merchants. So, on the night their families and neighbors were slaughtered by the Summer Court...

What were they doing in the middle of the woods with all of their worldly possessions?

#d&d #suncrest #the reference name for this session in the campaign notes doc #is 'Warren Of The Shining Wires'#because I am always and forever myself #i've NEVER gotten to do the 'adorable friendly NPC you can't help but love is actually fucking evil' thing before #it was so much fun #my players were horrified

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youcantdateosmosisjones · 1 year ago

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"You were a wonderful experience"

"You were... everything"

except I'm a complete liar and that's not even remotely them, but listen anyways

Spreaver, except it's Sparrow who's in the mindset of "it physically pains me to admit how much I'm intrigued and tempted by the idea of chasing desire, but considering how I've devoted my entire life to saving Albion- and now that I've got 2 kids and a kingdom to carry the responsibility of- I could never disregard the sacrifices I've made in the name of the greater good. Especially to someone like you. As Theresa has said to me countless times, my destiny is to become something for the people. That is my burden to carry, and something that I will live by indefinitely. Me and you both understand that weight, despite how we refuse to acknowledge that. We are both heros, after all- And we are the only ones left of our little quartet. I do take such comfort in the knowledge that I am human, and that I can't always be my image- That even you, as deplorable as you are, can, too, be human (as imperfect and needlessly complicated as they come). It is something that's become unfamiliar to me as of late. I never regretted whatever it was we had, despite how little it actually meant in the moment. Typically as just another way to deal with your presence without just killing you right then and there- but nonetheless gave me the same level of emotional release. We were both equals, and knew the others limits, I suppose. How far to push- what spots were sore- and just which buttons to press. We both knew the game, and we played- and it was the most mindless, yet instinctive thing I did for quite a few years. It was one of the few things that still made me feel as though I was living a life I could've had... But that will never happen. The only way I know how to make up for the countless lives lost since that fateful day, is to repay them with my own. I still can't shake the feeling of selfishness in my actions in acknowledging you. A Hero- and especially a Monarch- should not be one to indulge, after all. For that, I could never choose a life like yours- nor you. You were never meant to be apart of this; not for long."

And Reaver, who's currently like "You have been quite possibly one of the only conquests of mine that has made me feel alive in the past 200 or so years. There was always the knowledge with us that either one could end the other, which was a feeling I had not known from any other noticeable person (except Lucien, maybe). However, you still wouldn't actively turn your back on me whenever you had the chance. Why ever you did that, I found it of the utmost excitement. Whether it was your power; status; place in society; reputation; or some other grandiose factor that made you so alluring (as many other countless material items have been to me over my life), I still feel as though you were perhaps an equal to me. I'll admit how much potential I saw in utilizing that- I am an opportunist, after all- and yet I still didn't... why I let you become such an obstacle to me, I'll never know. I upped my typical antics in the hopes you'd take an issue with them- I did love our petty banter- but your refusal to respond beyond small petty gestures just made it more of a challenge. And even despite how you so unkindly usurped me, I still made an effort to prove that it meant nothing to me; that'd I was still as glorious as ever. I was Reaver; and no matter how much of a problem it posed to your kingdom, I'd still be right here; unscathed. You were an irritating- unpredictable- and such an unlikely source of such inconvenience to my plans. Perhaps that is why I was so prepared to see you fail... Perhaps that's why I still think of you from time to time, knowing that didn't happen. Not that I'll ever admit such a fact, knowing what you know about me. Still, in the wake of your passing, I feel as though it was all for nothing. That reoccurring thought, that all my countless endeavors somehow didn't make my sacrifices worth the life I gave up so much to live for, resurfaced, just then. I mean- if I couldn't even get back at you for having such an impact on me (my reputation, my empire, my house!! Need I even go on?), why did I ever spend that much effort on you in the first place? Why on earth I let you become something in my mind, I'll never forgive myself for. No... I'd never do that. I'll never forgive you. And for that crime, you will never be a name I bring up again; Stripped of any illusion of significance. In order to completely forget such troubling revelations, I've decided to once again indulge in the short-lived highs of excitement and exploits. In fact, I'll take advantage of this new era and make a name for myself- A proper one. The only way to drive those dreadful thoughts away is to prove them wrong, after all. Meaning: I'll build a new empire for myself. A far grander one. Perhaps, reaching the status you once possessed will finally erase you from such universal importance."

They're so toxic, they've started to rot my brain

I'm a 'petty, stubborn, shallow (masking his deep intellectualism and the torment) bitch' reaver x 'unbothered, "fuck it we ball" (deeply traumatized and not coping as well as they thought they were), throws chairs indiana jones style; sparrow' preacher

#fable rambles #fable 2 #fable 3 #?#if you squint #fable reaver #fable sparrow #hero of bowerstone #Spreaver #no #theyre not in love #but i dont think #people who dont feel anything towards eachother #make such intense eye contact during consensual fun times #then again #they literally just feed off of mutual spite #who knows #maybe theyre trying to see who blinks first

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soulofamy · 6 months ago

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ive gone back and forth on what i think the outcome will be on amy and her relationship with viola and i think after spending a lot of time really dissecting soulcalibur 6 and what lines are filled in for amys story, heres what i think is going to happen.

first and foremost, yes i am going to assume that amy and viola are the same person, no one is going to shake this belief, if you are here to try and convince me amy and viola are sisters or that viola is amys clone, you are wasting your time. and yes i am also going to assume that, just like in the old timeline, amy is going to lose her memories and become viola. the only differences will be that this time we know how it happened and this transformation will have more to do with the main story. that is a discussion for another time though. anyway

i have always believed that viola is eventually going to get her memories back and remember her time as amy. but i have thought a lot about what that realization will mean for her. because while her central identity as amy is extremely important, as it is where she started and it is also raphaels main motivator (please give him something else to do alongside being amys groupie bamco i am literally on my hands and knees begging), it is also quite possible that amy has spent over half of her life as viola. we dont know when exactly viola came to be but if the difference between sc4 and sc5 is 17 years, theres literally nothing stopping us from speculating that amy has had her memory gone for that entire timespan. it could obv be shorter but my point is, amy had a very big and eventful chunk of her life go by AS viola so i can imagine there is a big clash of identities as amy wonders which one she should be embodying going forward.

i think at first, when her memories come back, she will be a LOT more distressed than she thought she would be. to remember raphael and how he took care of her to then realizing that raphael died all those years ago to then coming to realize that his body became soul edges marionette who was bent on killing her and her best friend. i imagine she would have no idea what to do with all this information. it would also depend on WHEN she got those memories back too, whether it would be before or after zwei killed graf dumas, etc.

in a world where graf dumas was able to come to his sense and be raphael for her again, i imagine that she would be furious with him for what he put himself through but she would ultimately, after a little time to process, be happy to have her father back. especially if he apologized for it all.

as for her name, i think she would continue to allow zwei and the rest of schwarzwind to call her viola but she would go back to introducing herself as amy. she chose that name for herself in the first place, she refuses to let whoever is responsible for her memory loss strip her of that.

she would go back to using albion as her primary weapon over her orb. i can totally imagine post amnesia!amy fighting against zwei with albion and him having victory lines against her along the lines of "you fight even better with a sword" or "and i thought you were good with that orb!" or smth along those lines

as for what happens to the orb, i am actually not really sure. canon suggests the orb might possibly be sentient and want to protect her, like it did when the pack of wolves cornered her in the forest. but canon also suggests that the orb is why viola couldnt access her memories before and it was keeping her from the truth so i truly dont know what to expect from her relationship with it going forward

idk if all this makes sense or not, im really curious to know what other people think

#soulcalibur #soul calibur #amy sorel #amy #viola #headcanon: amy #headcanon: viola

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the-king-and-the-druidess · 8 months ago

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AU: Lady of the Mists. Uther put up with Ygraine's death, and the Purge never happened. Lady Nimueh remained in Camelot as a Court Sorceress. She replaced Arthur's mother, and often his Father when he was losing himself in the memories of his lost love. Nimueh reared Arthur, taught him, helped him to respect the good force of magic and its immutable laws; she loved him because he had Ygraine's the most blue of eyes. But when he turned seven, she suddenly left the Castle for the first time for a long time.

"Aunt Nimueh, I missed you so much!" Arthur hugged her when she arrived, her azure cloak smelling of night dew. "Where have you been? Why did you leave me?"

Nimueh smiled gently at the boy, "There is someone else that I have to take care of, my Prince."

"What?.." Arthur was already jealous of this person.

"There is a girl that was brought on the Island of the Blessed, my old home. I help her with her magic and visions. She's very nice, her name is Morgana. You'd love her."

Little Arthur didn't like either that name or the fact that he had to share Aunt Nimueh with some slip of a girl on some unknown island. He was sure this girl must be bad.

As the years passed, Arthur grew older, Nimueh's absences became longer. But when she returned to Camelot, she always dumped Arthur with stories about that Morgana, about how beautiful, smart, brave, strong and cheerful she was. He thought his Aunt Nimueh probably seemed to be setting this stranger up as an example to him. Arthur couldn't stand, perhaps hated the very name of this Morgana. He often thought if she loves the things he loves: horses, shining swords, lute music, pranks and her father. If she has one, of course. Plus, do the priestesses girls ever have fun?.

A few more years passed, and the year of his crowning as crown prince came. His father held a great feast; all the nobility and knightdom of Albion gathered to celebrate. Arthur enjoyed the attention and love of the court, but something was missing. The only mother he knew. And suddenly Nimueh entered the grand hall, followed by a lovely young woman in mist-coloured silks.

"My dear boy, let me introduce you to my pupil, Lady Morgana, daughter of Sir Gorlois."

So this was the Morgana? The annoying bane of his childhood he never met but knew so well? Arthur was fascinated by the beauty of her green deep eyes, and decided to put aside his prejudices and be a gallant knight. Maybe he was wrong and Morgana was good after all, if Aunt Nimueh loved her. He definitely was wrong about her. He was foolish, childish. The next day at the festive tournament, Arthur handed Morgana a triumphal wreath on his spear, wanting to appoint her queen of the tournament and escorting her to the next feast and dancing but she, with an elegant and teasing smirk, arranged everything so that the wreath fell into the hands of Guinevere, her maid.

Arthur had never been rejected before. He got angry, and blushed, and was offended and head over heels. And so the battle of love and rivalry has begun. Nimueh looked at them and smiled, she just knew her brilliant children would love each other, for it has been foretold long before they were born.

#arthur x morgana #nimueh #a work of mine again

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thesparedata · 2 years ago

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A Winter's Knight

// Media: BBC's The Adventures of Merlin (2008)

Premise: Arthur revives in the modern era around Yuletide. He wakes up in a little boat on the lake and it's freezing and there's colorful fairy lights shining everywhere in the nearby town. Albion needs its king for reasons unknown to him. No one can know their destiny.

Seeking: Welcome, any and all who would meet the Once And Future King on the shore! He's been gone for centuries and speaks the English of his previous time period, the Dark/Medieval Ages. He is respectful, generally, but will need a lot of guidance.

The king took a bit to sit up, as his strength was returning to him, and he was lost and curled up as he examined his surroundings. His boat had nothing to propel him with, yet it slowly floated in the general direction of the lake's shore. Magic or simply the way the water flowed? It was clear to him that he'd died, or had been thought to have died, and set adrift. The situation analyzed like the knight he'd been, he called out his first word since he awoke. "Merlin!" He winced and cleared his throat. His voice was a bit rough from disuse. Was this water alright to drink? Best not. He was getting a little hungry too. His second attempt was stronger, a bellowing, "MERLIN!"

December in Britain. The sky was overcast, full of grey clouds that would soon make snow. Arthur Pendragon awoke to find himself staring up at them, gasping for breath after who knows how long until he got air back into his lungs. He could see his breath when he exhaled. He was still wearing his armor and cape but he could no longer feel the arms that had held him moments before. He searched for him, for Merlin, turning his head and seeing wood around him, hearing nothing yet but the sound of the wind that ruffled the fringe of his hair and stung his nose and ears with cold and the swish of water.

After a while of looking, calling greetings, yelling the names of those he knew well, crying out to anyone who could hear for help, and drifting through the deep, nearly freezing water of what had been known in his day as the Lake of Avalon with who knows what below its depths, he noticed a figure on the shore: [y/m]! Perhaps they were headed this way anyway or maybe they were attracted by his shouting or by their intuition. Either way, he tried to attract their attention to acquire their assistance, waving his arms to ensure they saw him and asking for them to do something, anything to help him dock, whether or not they could hear it or understand Dark Age English. He was growing impatient, so close to just jumping into the lake and swimming to shore himself! What does [y/m] do?

#sfw rp #open rp #open starter #open roleplay #sfw roleplay

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mafiaamongstus · 3 months ago

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Character Information: Joris

Name: Joris

Rank: Commander

Designation: Teal

Gender: Nonbinary (She/They/It)

Affiliation: The Government?

Current Status: Stationed on the Mira Colony of Olia

Personality:

Even from a young age, Joris has been obsessed with space. Born during the prime era of Space Travel, everybody knew that Joris would be among the stars during their adult life, so it came at no surprise when they shipped out to Albion Military Base. And serving with the Government did little to dampen her interests. Had their skills not been what they are, they likely would have been written up several times for dismantling the meteor blasters and reassembling them. However, each time came with improvements, and no little boost to their ego.

War is not without its marks though, and the war did change Joris. Although she still loves space, she finds it hard to be at rest. Others have noted she grows twitchy in large crowds, and some nights she can be found wandering about, staring at the stars.

Story:

Joris was born an only child to an older couple. As a child, she was introduced to the space program through a special VR field trip, and quickly fell in love with the cosmos. Every year on her birthday, her parents would take them on a trip to the Stickmin Resort and Casino, allowing them to spend a week surrounded by that which she loved most.

As she grew, studying engineering and programming, Joris easily could have become a researcher, signing on with a company to study the stars. Instead however, they decided to join the military, requesting only that they be stationed offworld.

Joris was initially stationed on Albion, developing weaponry for the soldiers to use. However, when the war started and it became all hands on deck, she was transferred to Polus. They performed constant adjustments to the blasters on-base; and they did everything she could to make sure the living quarters were as comfortable as possible.

And had things progressed as normal, perhaps in a few years when the war ended they would have retired from the military and gone into a more civilian career. Or she could have moved to the Stickmin Resort, joining its new Permanent Housing plan in exchange for helping keep the station running.

But things ever so rarely go as we want.

And one night, General Joris was caught off base during a heavy snowfall. She was injured, weak, and dying. And that is how the Imposter found her.

But there was something…different, about this Imposter. It…showed compassion for her. It tried to treat their wound, though it had definite struggles. It spoke with her, revealing that the Imposters were shifting into a new phase. One where they weren’t fighting anymore. Where they would integrate with society, hiding from them forever.

It revealed that the Imposters were a war ravaged race. Torn apart by a race called the Spiree, the Imposters (or, as it called them, the Kinlings) had only known war for generations. Even after the Spiree shifted to peacekeeping instead of warmongering, the Kinglings lived in fear. They survived by replacing other beings and taking their place. It was pure survival.

And during the war, the Kinlings had believed that the humans were just the same as the Spiree of old.

But then a miraculous thing happened. One of the Kinlings had made it to Earth. And they had revealed to the rest of the species that the humans were just as afraid as the Kinlings were. They were done fighting. They were going to stop killing and replacing, and instead, they were going to craft new forms for themselves, integrating into humanity without replacing its members. They were going to hide, for how could they inflict the same pain they had received?

And Joris, dying in the snowbank, realized that she wanted this future that the Kinling spoke of. And although the creature could have been lying, they wanted to believe. They had always loved space and the stars and everything that the galaxy held. Was it so hard to believe that the aliens might want peace too?

In her final act, Joris granted the Kinling permission to replace her. Those last few hours she spent retelling the alien every bit of her life she could think of. They gave it the passwords to her devices, the codes it would need to know. She told them about her family, her friends, and her dreams.

And when she died, the Kinling buried Joris and swore to honor her memory, to live the life that Joris would have wanted.

It was tested when it returned to base. Standard protocol for anyone who had been outside alone for an extended period of time. But thanks to the information given, she passed and was welcomed back inside. They tore themselves into Joris’s life work, studying and practicing until they could do anything Joris had once done, and beyond.

When the war ended, Joris was afraid to travel to Earth. All she had known was space and the stars and freedom. How could it go to a home where it had never known? Beside that, the real Joris’s parents had died years before it had replaced Joris, and without the structure of the military, Joris feared they might be discovered.

And so, Joris remained in the military. Although it has considered several times trying to pitch colonization to the government it now serves, fear has held it back.

Joris enjoyed the companionship of the friends of the real Joris, and was saddened to hear when several of them had died while on earth. As they were promoted to Commander, Joris decided to finally take that leap. They approached the higher ranks with their idea of colonizing Mira, the original home planet of the Kinlings (not that any of them knew that), now that the war had ended. Her request was approved, and she named the colony Olia, after the Commander that had taught her so much about humanity.

Most of the Olia colony are also Kinlings, though there is a good number of humans present. The goal is to slowly introduce humanity to the idea that the Kinlings no longer which to fight them. Though perhaps…under a different name. After all, the Kinlings are far from the only alien species to possess shapeshifting abilities, and humanity never did call the Kinlings anything but Imposter.

#among us #mafia amongst us #henry stickmin #m!au #lore #worldbuilding #oc lore #among us oc #backstory #commander joris #general joris #joris #commander olo #Kinlings #Imposters #imposters among us #kinlings m!au

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heavy-is-the-crown-if · 2 years ago

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And what if, on one of their vacations, MC came to the family home. They walks into the room where all the cousins are, and when they look at MC's face, they notice a black eye. And if cousins start asking them about it, MC say they don't have anything to worry about. What will be their reaction?

MC is about 12 years old.

"Does it hurt ?" Bo asks, his voice cracking at the end.

You smile. "Only when Isolde touches it."

Your cousin frowns and she presses her hands a little more against your cheeks. "Well excuse me for being worried. Look at the state of your eye!"

"Nothing you can do now, you know," Tristan points before he starts staring at you as well.

His eyebrow twitches as Cara's giggles continue. "Please tell me that the kid who hit you is in worse shape than yours."

Leo, sitting next to you on the couch, grabs a cushion and throws it in her face. "Missed," she says, sticking her tongue out at him. "That's not funny," Leo replies.

"Next time I'll come with you, they'll see." threatens Gawain by slamming his fist against his other palm. "Yeah, I'll come too!" adds Vivi.

"We have a mouth too, not just fists!" Caelia counters, rolling her eyes.

"Better let them take care of their own battles," argues Laudanne. "They're going to see much worse in Albion."

Leo repeats his cushion throw in her direction as Bo panic. "$name's gonna die?!"

"No !" you exclaim. "It was just a small argument, I'm fine and I'm not going to die ! Lancelot said something!"

Your eldest cousin has been strangely quiet all along, and when he turns to you, his eyes are horribly dark. he stares at you then turns to the window and whispers. "Maybe I should go to town tomorrow..."

Your mouth opens in amazement. "Absolutely not!"

#heavy is the crown #mc's cousins

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ravenlilyrose · 8 months ago

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20 Questions for Writers

Tagged by @oakashandwillow

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 100, exactly. Some of them are ridiculously short (3SF) and some are compilations (also 3SF) so not quite sure how much that number means.

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 86,252

3. What fandoms do you write for? Interesting question. I think Narnia still has the highest number of works published, but I haven't written much of that in a while. Doctor Who and Star Trek also have a lot, as do Merlin and Star Wars. I've written a couple things for Queen, Good Omens, Goncharov. Most everything else is stuff I've only written one or two fics for. I'm currently publishing my first Elementary fic and hope to do more in that fandom. My interests are pretty fickle.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Pendragons' Protector. Merlin. Royal(ish) Merlin. First in my series of the same name.

Breathe. Star Wars. Clone Wars era Obi-Wan back on Melidaan fic. Part of my The Absent Third series.

Choices. Star Wars. The Young offer the Vod'e a choice. Next in The Absent Third series.

Warm Chocolate Milk. Star Trek. A childhood friends Kirk&Spock AOS AU. First in my Separate, Not Apart series.

Introductions. Star Trek. Baby James Kirk and baby Spock meet. Next in the Separate, Not Apart series.

5. Do you respond to comments?

As much as I can. Chronic illness (fatigue, pain, etc.) mean that I sometimes take a long time, and if there are only emojis I sometimes don't know what to say (I still really appreciate those, just not sure what the correct/acceptable response is - I overthink everything), but I try to respond to everything.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't really write angsty endings. Maybe High King of All Albion, but that's more bittersweet than anything else. Goodbye, my Goncharov/Katya fic is also kinda bittersweet because it's canon-compliant and that whole relationship is tragedy. I'm probably forgetting something, but I do tend more toward healing and fluff.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I think more of my fic endings would be categorized as reflective or peaceful, than happy. Maybe Meant for the Sky, which is a Biggs Darklighter lives AU? Or Coming to Terms, which is a Merlin magic reveal story with a very experimental style? Don't really know.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I think someone once told me one of my stories wasn't realistic, but I wasn't trying to be realistic, so...

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nope. I'm the kind of aroace who is uncomfortable with sex. I skim smut that includes plot and skip smut that doesn't include plot but could never spend enough time with it to actually write it.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Yep. Most of my crazy crossovers don't actually make it all the way to a finished product. Actually, going through my AO3, I don't think any of my crazy crossovers made it there. I did a Narnia/Sandman for 3SF 2023? I have had daydreams about putting like six fandoms and three bands in a room and just kinda seeing what happenes, but those are too chaotic to write.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I've translated some of my own fic? If that counts?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope. Too anxious to work with other people. Closest I've gotten is trying to write Star Wars movies with my brother when we were little.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

I don't really ship things in the traditional sense. I focus a lot more on platonic relationships and get obsessed with the literary things about them. Parallels, etc. Also, y'know, codependence and other fascinating psychological disorders and traumas. I was pretty into Doctor/Rose for a while, otherwise platonic relationships that fascinate me include Spock & Kirk, Merlin & Arthur, Joanlock (Elementary).

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have a massively extensive Tarsus IV (Star Trek) fic that I've been sorta working on for close to a decade now. I doubt the main fic will ever get fully written but some of the outlying stories might.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I'm pretty good at worldbuilding and those kinda long reflective, expository sections. Relationships are also a strength of mine.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Pacing and plotting. I'm pretty good at character arcs but plot is not a strong point.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I've played with this a lot, though mostly with fictional languages. I think if you're writing long paragraphs of dialogue, it's not going to work too well, but a sentence or phrase here or there can be done just fine in several different ways. Unless it's just a word or two that you use repeatedly, you do need to have some kind of translation somewhere, though.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter, I think, but that was ages ago and Narnia and Doctor Who took over pretty quickly.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

I'm fairly proud of Plenty of Beds, a queerplatonic Joanlock fic, but High King of All Albion, Coming to Terms, and The Pendragons' Protector are all pretty high up there, too. (Apparently I do a lot of my best writing for Merlin. Who knew?)

Tagging @grace13star, @sharpestasp, @capybaraonabicycle, @ruinconstellation, @quillsink, @syrena-of-the-lake. Absolutely zero pressure and also tagging whoever wants to do this. Curious about other people's answers!

#writing #fanfiction #fandom #ao3 #narnia #doctor who #star trek #merlin #star wars #queen band #good omens #goncharov #elementary #joanlock #platonic joanlock #queerplatonic joanlock #the absent third #melidaan

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hallowgracie · 6 months ago

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Dancing with the Wolf

The following is an excerpt from my fairytale-inspired space opera, Crystal Magic. It's been a while since I last worked on it, but I've been feeling some recent inspiration. I really liked this scene, so I thought I'd share it with you. I hope you enjoy!

She was drawn out of her thoughts by what felt like a little pin-prick, a little nudge from some deeper part of her mind, a tingle down her spine. She turned to see a figure approaching, a man only barely taller than her, dressed entirely in black with a golden mask that resembled a wolf somewhat.

“Hello there.” She tilted her head as he slowed his approach. Something about him felt hauntingly familiar—but she could not place why. “You must be here for the party too.”

“I am.” The wolf’s voice was slow, stilting—as if he were struggling for words. “I couldn’t help but come over to you.”

Gwynn raised her eyebrows. “And why is that?”

The wolf smiled—but it was a kind smile, Gwynn decided. “I saw you standing by yourself and thought a pretty girl like yourself couldn’t be left alone like that.”

He then offered her a gloved hand. “May I?”

Gwynn could feel the heat radiating from her cheeks as she smiled all the same. “You may.”

The wolf led Gwynn onto the dance floor with all of the grace of a nobleman, or someone upper-class, anyway. Someone who would know all of the fancy dances that the people dancing with the Governor and her cohort would, at least. She’d simply have to follow his lead. After all, what would an innkeeper’s daughter from the Border Worlds know of such things?

Still, she had to admit that she was thrilled that such a thing was happening to her of all people!

The musicians paused for a little longer, as the dancers shuffled into the crowd and vice-versa. Even Kiana Albion had finally vanished into the crowd. Far fewer dancers now stood in the center of the ballroom, leaving Gwynn feeling exposed.

“Don’t be nervous,” the wolf murmured. “I’ll guide you.”

Gwynn nodded and bit her lip, not trusting herself to speak.

Then the orchestra began again. This song was slower, with more tension in the strings. A waltz, perhaps, but one with an edge that left goosebumps on Gwynn’s pale skin. Beautiful, of course, but a far cry from the previous fast-paced joyous melodies that had filled the ballroom just before.

The wolf stayed true to his word. With a gentle yet firm grip on her hand and her waist, he guided her across the ballroom in the spins and footwork of a more elaborate dance, one that Gwynn wasn’t entirely sure she knew the name of.

“Have you danced before?” The wolf asked as he guided her into a spin under his arm.

“Only when I was little,” Gwynn answered. “My sister and I took lessons at a ballet troupe’s studio not far from home.”

Madame Ciaravola, she remembered the name was. She’d been a student at the Aggripina Ballet School, one of the best in the system. With striking red hair, a more coppery color than the darker auburn-adjacent of Sorrel’s, she commanded attention on the stage. She’d originally come from Perrault, and had formed her troupe in attempt to bring more attention to the stories and culture of their tiny Border World by bringing their stories to life.

“We didn’t last long in those, though,” Gwynn assured the wolf as they came back together. “My sister, she was too impatient, she could never keep still or listen for very long.”

“And what about you?”

“Oh, well, I didn’t want to do it without my sister.” Gwynn could feel her cheeks heating up again. “We were inseparable then. I wouldn’t have thought of it.”

The wolf said nothing, merely nodding to indicate that he was listening.

“Besides, it wouldn’t have lasted long anyway,” she added. “I doubt we really had enough money to keep doing it forever.”

“I see.” The wolf had her on the back-foot, stepping back in time to the music before another spin, the two of them interlocked. “Where is your sister, then?”

“Oh, we’re not really together anymore.” Gwynn’s throat went dry. “She. . . she had her own journey to go on. One I couldn’t really follow.”

He then pulled back, and it was him moving back to the music.

“Have we met before, sir?” Gwynn could no longer push back the nagging doubts in her mind. She had thought it to be nervousness or anxiety about being in the center of the ballroom like this. But there was something else to it, too. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“I’m no sir,” he laughed. “I’d rather you never called me that again.”

“Right.” Gwynn bit her lip again.

“You shouldn’t do that,” the wolf chided. “I’d hate for a pretty girl such as yourself to get hurt.”

“You haven’t answered my question.” Her voice dropped, cold as the snows she had left behind.

“I haven’t,” he agreed, and he lifted his arm again for her to spin under. “But I had hoped to avoid the unpleasantness for at least another song.”

“The unpleasantness?” Gwynn’s mind was whirring as she faced him again, her hand in his, the other on her waist. A chill went down her spine. “Versailles!”

He pulled her into a dip, and his grin seemed all the more wolfish as he looked down at her. “I’ve been looking for you, Gwyneira.”

#enemies to lovers #dance scenes #masquerade scenes #masquerade ball #writeblr #my writing #excerpts #wip excerpt #writing excerpt #novel excerpt #crystal magic reintroduced

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