#fanfic spoilers beyond this one

[andromeda-galaxy2877]

New oneshot just posted!!

I love Bug Busters its one of my favorite episodes, so I had to write a little something about the aftermath. That whole scenario HAD to have hit Raph pretty hard.

[rainyfey]

I loved your momokarun fic art! Do you have any other fic recommendations?

Hello anon!! Sorry to make you wait so long and thank you for the ask!! 💖 I have read several fics that I really, really loved and want to draw fanart for :3 but time and inspiration were not on my side until now!

Here is some Fanart of Chapter 3 of Mitsu Boshi! I will never get tired of fanfics where we get a whole scene of Okarun infodumping about aliens and conspiracies to a Momo who has just met him and is quickly becoming convinced that he's crazy XD

I ramble and recommend another fic under the cut as well:

The one living rent free in my head right now is Mitsu Boshi, which I recommended recently in this reblog. Friendly to Anime-Onlys at the moment due to it being an AU and not set in a specific place in canon :3 it's soooosososo well done and an absolute joy to read (and reread lol). Def give it a look if you have time! Also listen to the spotify playlist the author linked in Ch.6 (I've had it on on repeat while I draw, it's awesome and every song is such a great fit for the fic!!)

Another very fun one that I am determined to draw for in the future (for one of the action-oriented scenes that is verrryyy beyond my current skillset so it's taking...time lol) is Chapter One of a fic called "Momo Ayase vs the World" by GoodEveningClarice and is a part of a series called "What's inside Turbo Okarun's Mouth?" (Can y'all guess why it caught my attention?? LOL) Chapter 1 is very cool and feels like a chapter right out of the Manga!! Chapter 2 is more fluffy and just as fun to read 💕 Be warned, though, it's written at a point in canon not covered by the anime. So i suggest catching up on the manga first to avoid spoilers and to get some context for what's going on~

Thank you again, I'm so honored you guys are enjoying the art I post and sending me asks 💖 it's been so much fun getting to love on the DanDaDan series with all the other fans here!!

[the-rebel-archivist]

Finally finished Veilguard a few days ago and took some time to process and put my thoughts in order. In brief: 8/10 game as a whole, a really fantastic gaming experience, but 5 or even 4/10 as a dragon age game since it does no meaningful exploration of any nuance or moral complexity and seems to have forgotten what made Thedas distinct. My thoughts, critical and positive, coming from a place of love for the series with little to no spoilers:

Thedas has always been special to me because it was a nuanced world. Different groups had different opinions based on their pasts. City elves and the dalish had divergent histories. Injustice against magic was common, but you could understand the justification for it even when you didn’t agree. Now, the worldbuilding is flattened. A mageocracy is fine, it’s only bad apples. Slavery is never addressed. City and dalish elves are basically the same but one lives in the forest. There’s no conflict about what’s best from each individuals’ perception, all groups are monoliths.

“Elves won’t follow the gods just because they’re elves,” yes they would, in past lore. Perhaps not all but some would - these are their Creators. The game refuses to deal with religious belief in any meaningful way, to the point that I don't know if its impact is fully understood. Dalish religion is as much about cultural preservation as religion and it would be CRUSHING to lose that connection to the past when it had been all you could cling to for thousands of years.

And no, seeking out relics of Arlathan would not make up for the foundation of your society shattering and what that would mean to the dalish. Bellara being guilty that her gods are evil is not the takeaway I expected when I thought the dalish would explore that everything they believed was a lie. I'd also like to briefly comment on how an elf can comment that they weren’t raised dalish but adopted their tattoos. Their closed practice tattoos. Closed even to city elves unless they fully joined a clan. Removing cultural boundaries didn’t make the material less 'problematic', it just created a new blind spot.

“They’d never sanitize the Crows” I said before release. Assassins who walked the line between murderer and hero depending on perspective. But in this game they give you absolute truth: they’re freedom fighters. Responsible government who, the mob is benevolent and that is never subverted. They see themselves as the 'good guys' and so they are.

“They wouldn’t put powerful mages in charge of the shadow dragons” I said. “Surely they will explore the nuance of Neve having the privilege of magic in a mageocracy even when she comes from a lower class beyond ‘everyone is welcome in the shadow dragons’.” “Surely if Maevaris is connected her intersectionality as a magister and altus and trans woman will come up - not what Tevinter expects, helping with change, but still privileged and upper class. Surely low class non mages and slaves would be leading the Shadow Dragons, not the powerful being benevolent.”

But no. All factions in the game are black and white, good and evil, no moral complexity. The bad people want power and collect bad people who want power and only bad people do bad things. The antagonists I liked most were the ones with a motivation beyond simply power and they were few.

And that’s setting aside the fact that all of the mystery and fantasy was removed from the setting by the end. The things that mattered before, the religious conflicts, the approaches to history? All false or meaningless now that we know absolute truth. Everything that set Dragon Age apart from generic fantasy was flattened. All of the lore for the world that I had spent hours, days, years in and creating fanfic for became simple groups of good and bad, subjectivity replaced by objective truth. It’s not a world I want to unravel and explore anymore.

That hurts more than the slap in the face that was every cameo and past reference. If they wanted a soft reboot, why include them at all? Every time I saw or heard about a past character or event I felt hurt and angry and it actively harmed my experience of the game. When the choices are pared down to only do something "meaningful" with them and then that meaningful thing is a codex that had been so disdained in dev comments? I do feel pretty let down. Especially when that codex isn’t even personalized.

They never use Rook or the inquisitor’s first name in text once. Vocal I get, but no codex? The Inquisitor, a person depersonalized into a symbol, signing off “Yrs. The Inquisitor” when we input their name in CC was a twist of the knife I didn’t expect. It’s like every time I lower my expectations to grant grace they need to be lowered yet again.

Similarly, the romances in the “most romantic game yet” are paper thin throughout the game depending on your choice, with few chances to truly connect on an emotional level and have deep conversations in some routes. It’s not all about kissing but having the chance to say how you feel, or try to.

But that’s part of a larger problem, that this is a “found family” but Rook is the outsider in it. Rook isn’t asked how they’re handling things or about who they are or what they want except by Solas. The team needs them to fix problems but has little interest in giving back. The companions are lovely, but I can’t help wishing they were friends with me and not just each other. Or wanted to romance me and not just each other, as they begin to flirt before I can and have more banter comments than the player romance. At least if no one got me I know Davrin got me.

These last comments are the reason it’s 8/10 as a game rather than 10/10 for me - the lore I care about but others won’t. The lack of connection is a genuine issue, along with how unbalanced it is depending on romance. I just feel sad at the lost potential to reflect and gain support from companions.

On a positive note, this is the most fun Dragon Age game I’ve ever played. The gameplay is top notch and combat is so fluid and fun. I felt excited to fight rather than dreading the next battle. Really getting into the roleplay of a slippery rogue

The environments are so gorgeous. Lighting, animation, level design, sound design, all spectacular. I’m bad with maps and yet I never got lost and always managed to find my way around. Secret passages to treasure were just the right length to be satisfying. The puzzles were exactly the right amount of investment for the reward. I never felt frustrated by them but also not disappointed by the simple ones, there was a good balance. I had a lot of fun uncovering them. So many areas looked like a perfect representation of thedosian places I had never been to and wanted to visit.

Every time I was in the necropolis it felt like coming home. Maybe it’s because the lore was the most similar to past lore, maybe it’s just because it was cool, but I loved being there. I loved the wisps most of all. And I loved Emmrich’s journey and sympathetic exploration of death. The Hossberg Wetlands were also a standout area. Absolutely horrible (complimentary). Evka and Antoine my beloveds and the environment storytelling was fantastic. Like a hideous combination of the Fallow Mire and Chateau d’Onterre and I was so there for it. Davrin’s story broke my last flight loving heart.

The set pieces and narrative flow in the major battles and main story missions is really wonderful. I also did enjoy the faction reactivity, even if there were few chances to explore the intersectionality of being a particular lineage with a particular faction. I’ll make our House proud Viago!

It’s such a fun game that when I play I can almost forget all of the things that I dislike until a codex or cameo punches me in the face. It has such great gameplay that I can finally discuss DA with my partner who refused to play the other games in the series. But what a monkey’s paw. I know from their previous work that they can foster nuance. From the art book that their instincts were there from the beginning. But somewhere after multiple reboots they made a world with contradiction and complexity removed, more reactive to fan discourse than to telling a complex narrative.

It kills me because if the nuance and subjectivity and moral complexity had been there, I would have considered this the best Dragon Age game ever made. It will always be the most fun. But it is legitimately more fun for people who don’t know lore than people who do, and that is soul-crushing. It's the most beautiful Thedas has ever been, and the least like Thedas it has ever felt.

I’ve played it once. I already started a replay. I enjoy the game a lot when I am playing it, overall. But I miss Thedas, and I miss that the “world worth saving” that I cared for is a slate wiped clean and this new world is a more simplistic place.

[longagoitwastuesday]

Actually, if I think about it, it kinda feels like Nobara was going to be it since the beginning. Gojo makes that very shady comment about how she has a very interesting technique in one of the very first chapters. It had me wondering and rewatching a few times, looking for what I was missing, but I couldn't think of anything and left it be

Inside me there are two wolves (I love Nobara and Gojo, I'm not sure at all I want them alive)

[the-monkeies-girl]

um hi first time requester here i hope im doing it right. can you give us more noa x reader hedcanons please i'm so happy to find someone writing for him

Noa x Human ! Reader Imagines - Part Two.

Let's go babey round TWO. We are eating good today. This ended up being like 3 fanfics rolled into one. 5K+ Words haha. Likes, comments, reblogs always appreciated! Enjoy reading. Fandom: ( Kingdom of the ) Planet of the Apes. Pairing: Noa x Human ! Reader. Rating: T. ( Just for safe measure. Some mentions of aggression, mating. That good stuff. ) Read Part One Here.

Slow Burn Series: Customary. Gone Hunting.

**Does contain spoilers for Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes.

Noa singing to the Eagles. He felt like he never had the talent. At least, not in the way that his father did. What happened with Proximus Caesar months ago… Noa reflected on that and rested his hand down on the tightly knit together wooden branches that served as a platform high above the whole of the Eagle Clan. It had to have been a fluke of nature, maybe stupid luck that he was able to preserve and get his Eagle to cooperate instead of scratching his arm to unrecognition. Shuffling a bit to the right and out of the council's den, Noa noted that there were still some items that were out of place from the raid of his village. Some small jars tipped over, out of view to anyone who wasn’t looking for a mess. Bird feathers were fallen on the ground, flocking it beyond knowledge that there was even wood there. Noa, being so familiar here, knew otherwise but others would make the unsafe assumption that they were simply being held in animation by a structure made from bird feathers. Small bits of ash here and there from the fire, but the structure itself was able to be repaired to be used again. He was grateful for that.

It was… Where he last was with his father, where he had been crowned shortly after, blue feathers now adorning the band that encased his right bicep, where he felt he had time to reflect and dwindle into nothingness, to not be important because to himself, he rarely ever was and it seemed the feeling was only enhanced now that he was responsible for the wellbeing of everyone in his Clan. They came first, Noa came last. Protect them at the sacrifice of himself. Noa nodded at that, self-assured. He had just disbanded with his council, nothing of interest picking up through the muddled nature of his thoughts. Just talk about the repairs to the village, about the next round of young Apes who were going to be bonded with their own feathery friend… Most days, Noa felt inclined to participate, he was their leader now. But today, there was not a possibility that he could even engage in regular conversation.

He grumbled under his breath, and a few of the birds reacted purely to the sound, not necessarily to Noa himself; that was what he tried to convince his mind to believe as his own Eagle, which used to be his own fathers, landed on his shoulder. There was minimal effort put into the sounds as he began circling the room slowly, looking at each of the Eagles that rested there, so delicate and fierce on their perches. He wished to be that… Strong, unafraid, and confident. Puffing his chest out, Noa feigned fake confidence before ultimately blowing the air out of his lungs, shoulders falling in some mild defeat. He seemed to shrink in on himself before returning to his rotation of the room.

For every round he made with his feet, his vocals grew ever so gently in intensity, his mouth now making an obvious ‘O’. Apes were not known to be great at singing ( at least Chimpanzees ), but they were known to make communication with sounds. Singing was the only way to describe it, and it took Noa nearly a month to explain to you what the sound actually was because he was unsure of the word. He was too self-aware to actually demonstrate. A lot of back and forth ensued. It was not a hoot, it was not a holler. It was…. Humming. Almost, crying in sound. Screeching if he were loud enough. He wasn’t though. He kept it hushed, intimate and private between himself and his birds.

And you didn't have it in your heart to say anything or move, almost splayed completely on your stomach, trying to ignore the jabbing pain in your ribs from resting on the hard wood that served as a ramp upwards towards the Ape you had come to see. He had to have been at least two meters above you at this point, maybe more. It was a stupid decision, you knew that. He’d kick you out from being in such a sacred place to his people. Why you felt drawn here, why you wanted to see him… All rational thought disappeared when you heard him. Noa had told you that this is how bonding went. You sang to your bird in the same way the egg sang to you to be chosen. You hadn’t seen it in practice, until now. Glancing up, you could see the shape of his feet through some of the thickets of wood, a few feathers falling through the cracks and gracefully landing either on you, or nearby. Would he stop if he knew you were there? You wondered and clenched your jaw.

Most likely he’d stop, you figured. Noa wasn’t one to do this in front of others out of fear or embarrassment. The only time he did it was to save his Clan. He’d do it again, sure, but to sing for them ceremoniously was a terrifying thought that was inevitably going to come to fruition some day. He told you time and time again though, the customs, the crown that had been metaphorically passed down to him from his father, the burden, the great angst he felt knowing that it all rested on him. He never flat out expressed that’s how it was, how he was feeling with his inner turmoil, but it became more frequently observed the longer you were in the care of the Eagle Clan. You so desperately wanted to help him.

Grasping a feather in front of you between your fingertips, you propped yourself up to sit and then to stand. Giving one more glance up at Noa, you turned to leave, deciding that you had no reason to be there; you couldn’t come up with one if he put you on the spot. He’d tell you the same, you were so sure of that. But… There was one irrefutable fact in all of this regardless.

Noa knew you were there the entire time.

Noa offering you an animal pelt. ‘They get… cold.’ Raka’s words echoed for a long time in Noa’s mind as he peered over at you, observing the nature of your smaller frame sitting so intently near the communal fire of the Clan. Some chatter off to the side from some Apes also enjoying the fire, but they were out of sight, out of mind for Noa. You were so close that the roar of the flames pushed back the hair from your face, giving the male Ape an exceptionally good view of your expression, even from the distance he was at.

You even had your eyelids shut, he noted before turning his head back towards his hands, only momentarily before he was looking right back at you. You were truly soaking in as much warmth as you possibly could. The waves of light encapsulated in some elegant dance as the blaze flickered across your body. Noa was left feeling slightly mesmerized by that like he would float over to you if you beckoned him. You were covered, shoulders and below, draped in unfamiliar clothing.

Today was the first time Noa had seen you wearing a long sleeve shirt and pants that swept you up, almost consuming due to the large nature of them. You had tied a loose knot around the waist to keep the bottom piece from falling, but he did notice you picking them up here and there as you moved throughout the day. It was obvious that they weren’t tailored to your body, but when you had stumbled upon them and snagged them for yourself, you didn't want to complain. Any sort of clothing was valuable, especially as the winter was coming. There wasn’t much else to that, Noa thought to himself and rested what he was tinkering with down on the bench in front of him.

You seemed content enough, Noa dubbed and gave himself a small smile. It faded just as quickly as it came, the knowledge that someone could see him absolutely enamored like a fool begging for attention from his most desired… Was not very leader-like. Noa felt like he’d snap at someone if they were to bring it up, bring you up as if they had a right to talk freely about you. Well… The joke was on Noa. They absolutely had the right but that didn't stop him from thinking of ways to deter people from doing that. He cherished the jealousy and harnessed it into a protective shield. He cherished you and the feelings that subsided in both his mind and body.

Those seemingly unrequited feelings were what spurred him from his perched seat and setting a small pace towards his nest. You’d be okay for just a minute or two, he figured and scattered a bit more quickly. Shuffling in your spot, you had only taken your eyes off of him here and there as your eyelids rested shut from the tiredness that swept over you in waves. That’s what the heat did to you; made you tired beyond comprehension. Maybe, you muttered inside of your head, you’d just tip right over and fall asleep on the ground rather than making the needed transverse back to your nest of twigs, feathers and smaller animal pelts. You must have dozed off regardless of your train of thought because when you looked up at where Noa had been sitting previously, it was vacant.

You blinked. Something hung on your shoulders. You blinked again, hearing a small bit of heavier breathing coming from your left side. Just a few soft hooing notions to let you know that he was near, not a threat. Submissive, if that’s what you wanted. For a lingering moment, it almost felt like there was a hand, delicately moving against your left shoulder blade, pressing in and out as if probing you to make sure you were still alive, but with sleep on your horizon of your body, it was hard to determine if that happened or if it was what you wanted to happen. Wanted Noa to do.

With your eyes shut at the pleasant sensation of the animal pelt, you drew a deep breath in and relished in the added feeling of your lungs expanding so lazily; like you were being smothered and taken down into a dark but very warm point of interest. “Hmmm.” You murmured out loud. It smelled remarkably rich once you were able to process that along the teetering line of slumber. Like a conifer tree, vines draping themselves delicately over building ruins, grainy like the Earth. There was one more note there, something incredibly fragrant. Familiar and it caused you to grasp at the item around your shoulders to dig your nose closer to it. It was a smell you savored more than you cared to admit, but in your sleepy stupor, it was happily acknowledged verbally.

“Noa.”

He was rock silent next to you, green eyes wide with surprise at the surmise of his name falling from your lips. So… so nice, Noa thought to himself, head tilting to the side in a subconscious bid to get closer to you. There was an intense and increased magnitude of his stare when you pulled the animal pelt he placed around you closer. Closer, Noa seethed softly at that, so close to you, on you… On… His thoughts came to a slow pause as he just viewed you again. You were clutching at the pelt, holding it closed against your chest.

Tameless thoughts hit the young Ape like a wave coming from the absolute silence his mind had previously been in. What it must feel like to have you hold him, what it must feel like to have Echo hand in his fur, pulling him closer, closer. He would beg you, scratch you, bite you if you pleased. If that’s what you wanted of him. Noa had no idea where this surge of ideology, of aggression came from but he did nothing to dampen it. Not when it felt so viciously good to indulge in. His lips parted, sharp canines glistening so delicately in the firelight as he hooted again, not loud enough to wake, but loud enough for him to selfishly remind you that he was there. Yes, yes yes… He chittered, moving side to side on all fours for a second before taking a sharp pace to the right and then back to the left before sitting properly next to you, solaced and draped deliciously as he stared at you. The absolute desire he had to perform such acts, such… Such vulgarity…

He couldn’t stop, he-he… Didn't want to.

Noa welled at that, revered it and felt a sense of accomplishment. You liked it! No, no, he hooted to himself so quietly, taking time to observe you again to confirm his thoughts. You were loving it. He had seen you in various states before. Embarrassed, angry, flustered, minorly injured, reminiscent, but this… Was beyond anything he had seen before. Something stirred inside of him as he sat back, now resting his body against a log for support so he didn't need to put in active thought into keeping himself up-right. He’d wait until you were awake enough, the decision was made, and let you know it was time to go back to your nest for the night. Just a few more minutes, Noa bargained with the most introspective parts of his mind, almost beaming with primal pride that he was able to keep you satisfied. You were vulnerable.

Seeing his nest for the first time. Your lips parted, slightly dry from the air that rolled around the quiet village. You couldn’t bring yourself to do anything as you stared at Noa who unwaveringly stared right back, waiting silently for an answer to a question just asked. But oddly, it felt like there was no question. Shock rocketed through you like you were being electrocuted. It started in your feet, feeling slightly numb before completely overtaking the rest of your senses. You felt blind, almost half tempted to put your hand out to touch something, you felt mute, a hard lump now sitting at the back of your esophagus and it felt like you would throw up if you tried to swallow it down, you couldn’t hear anything outside of your own breathing which made you feel even more isolated. It was hard and rigid, you were nervous and trying to hold it in but it was untimely and bursting at the seams. You knew that Noa noticed and he either didn't put much thought into your reaction to his six signed words. Had you just seen his signing right? Maybe he said something different and your eyes were playing tricks on you! In broad daylight.

Do. You. Want. To. Come. In.

Mentally, you slapped your forehead out of meager frustration. Why did you have to follow him all the way up the platformed structure? Why didn't you stop yourself like you always did? It was not a permission you gave yourself; to be anywhere near his personal space. You’d meet in communal spaces, or out in the field Noa favored. Never personal, never too close… You must not have noticed your feet transition from grass to dirt to wood. You were so transfixed on Noa who sauntered back to his nest to grab something he had forgotten, that you followed blindly. Physically, you raised your hands before dropping them in favor of actually talking. It was quiet and reserved, Noa noticed and he found himself pacing forward just a bit as he had a harder time hearing it, wood creaking as it settled under his weight.

“You want me to come in?” Your voice came to a tapering squeak but you tried your damndest to keep it under wraps. You should have signed, you dummy… Deep down, you knew that Noa had observed that but what you didn't know with any sort of confidence was that he was forcing himself to ignore that heat-skipping a beat feeling he’s been getting more frequently around you. “I don’t know Noa, that’s your home, I would…”

“I…” He started slowly before raising one hand to sign reassuringly, ‘I… would like you to.’ It was your turn for your heart to do that infamous skip a beat. Swallowing hard, you dug your heels into the wood platform below your feet to keep you from floating off at the idea. No! You snapped, it wasn’t just an idea… It was an opportunity that was now given to you, Noa metaphorically holding his hand out to see if you would reciprocate in any form. He was offering you inside, to see Noa’s nest. Where he slept, bided his time, enjoyed solitude when his Mother wasn’t around, when Anaya was getting on his nerves, when Soona was pestering him in her typical sisterly fashion… You figured the question begged was just Noa being accommodating. You figured him telling you that he would like you to was just his way of being polite. Figuring you would not be comfortable to wait outside for him, knowing more about you that you cared to admit in the moment.

If all things went according to how you wanted them to be, you’d jump on that chance. But, you found yourself pensively contemplating if you wanted to step over that metaphorical threshold, this one in the shape of an entryway. The one that landed right in the palm of Noa’s hand. You’d be a bald faced liar if you tried to convince yourself that you weren’t curious. Curling your fingers into your palms, you noticed that they were profusely sweaty. Would it be deemed rude if you denied him? If you said no, convince him you were fine waiting outside? You had no idea how he would perceive that, “Okay.”

Wait. What did you just say? Wait!

Your feet once again began moving without permission, gliding yourself right along Noa’s right side as he offered you to go on first, his hand gesturing repeatedly to the room. Quick in succession. There was no way he was excited, was there? The idea tickled your brain but you shoved it back and drew a deep breath in. From his perspective, Noa watched your rib cage expanding under the soft fabric of your shirt and then regressing back inwards slowly. Meditative breathing, he figured, to keep you calm.

There was nothing calm about this though. Your stomach felt like it was beyond the floor, now sinking deep underground, your ears pricked with anticipation. The fur on his bicep tickled at the bare skin of your arm, caressing and smoothing itself there as you were now shoulder to shoulder with him and you swore you felt his breathing against your neck when he glanced at you, counteractive to your own self soothing breaths. Hard, heavy and fast. Noa didn't know how to cover that up which was ironic because you were so convinced you managed to stave your nerves off.

You step over that threshold, you step over a line that was there for good reason. The rational part of your brain was so annoying.

You pushed yourself forward and with the blink of an eye you were inside. It was… Unremarkably remarkable. Nothing really popped at you, eyes processing through a darkened mess. Nothing in particular you noticed right off the bat, it was a dim lighting, the only two sources being a small fire pit that was begging to be put out, the pieces of wood small and frail, giving just enough energy to hold a mild orange hue and that of an opening to the right, reminiscent of a window of sorts lightly covered by a cloth. Sun peeped in and illuminated only enough to navigate and not pick apart any details. You smiled to yourself at that detail you were able to see. So, he did believe in privacy, why else have what you would consider a curtain? It wasn’t just an Echo thing like he so often pinned.

You shifted to the left and allowed Noa to enter right behind you. He was fast, hunching his body in on all fours, the pattering of his hands and feet entrapping you for a few seconds. He swept to the right, wanting to observe you in vague silence. In his space, green eyes narrowed as you stepped further in, your fingers coming up to touch a leather strap that was hanging against the wall. That was his hunting sheath, holding his spear against his back when out.

You were incredibly grateful as you felt your eyes adjusting to the lighting, able to see more details as you trailed along the left wall, almost as if you were afraid to actually dive further in. It smelt like Noa - Rich in flavors that teased your tongue. Trees surely, but trees bathed in sunlight in the late summer afternoons, smoke from the ashes of fires that burned endlessly, the absolute deepest part of the Earth that you could beckon… Shutting your eyes at that, you tried to document it somewhere in your mind. You needed to remember it, needed to recall this when you were alone later. Noa’s smell became so familiar, but being so near now, it was suffocating you and it threw an absolute chill down your spine.

Noa observed your fingers then raising, causing the Ape to perk up in baited anticipation of you saying something. Nothing came to fruition, but your fingertips were now held in animation against the feathers of his ceremony cloak, lightly placed on what appeared to be a small bench. It was splattered artistically with the blue feathers of the Eagles, the Falcons he had grown up with, admired. Friendly, you thought, with what appeared to be necklaces sitting right next to it, some with adjacent feathers to match the cloak, one holding a large engraved wooden pendant. It was so intricate and you felt the urge to run your fingers along the carved channels. All had been his fathers, tracing back several generations until it landed in Noa’s hands. Some of his most prized possessions. Hooting at that as if he were scolding you, fingers stopped touching around the feathers and you looked over at him, almost whipping yourself around, heart now jumping itself into your throat. He didn't mean to startle, but he just wanted to make you rightfully aware that what you were touching was a delicate garment. Your eyes told him you were sorry and so he allowed you to continue on.

You had turned your attention now to the tinker items he had stored. A few spear heads, some more dull than others, a few more tools that Noa frequented when something needed to be fixed. Against the wall next to his bench was an iron pipe, rusted from years of being exposed to nature. Fleetingly, you wondered why he kept it but didn't want to give off the impression you were judging him by asking why he did. Unbeknownst to you, he wondered so morbidly what you were thinking. Good or bad? Did you like it? Did you… Not…? Like his things? Noa couldn’t see your face, only your shoulders as you were turned away from him now, moving further into the room. Bad choice of sitting so far away from you, he thought to himself, scolding the immature mistake. He should have followed you around. Closer he was, the easier it was to see. He felt his fingers twitch as you came around and looked at his nest, queering it to be the next thing to inspect. Yes, please! Admire it. Say something about it! He yelled inside of his head. He wanted to ask you if you liked it, if you cared to share. If it was suitable.

Inappropriate to ask, Noa berated himself and sat back, realizing he had set himself in almost a pounce-like position.

Branches were spewed all over in a circular motion that tightly knitted itself as it got closer to the center, feathers from the eagles nestled deeply between thickets of animal pelts, some bigger than others. Rabbits, you noticed, maybe a fox as your eyes scored over a red hued pelt. One that was remarkably bigger than the rest; it had to have been a bear. Had he hunted it himself? You tilted your head and moved forward to get a better glance at it. It was a messy assortment and that felt strangely… Endearing. Noa was often quiet and reserved, not much to talk about himself he had told you, only answering your questions when he felt they garnered answers. You were getting more answers from this simple analysis of his nest than you had gotten with words before.

Noa remained silent, your body turning to face him as you were admiring, at least he hoped you were, his nest. His choice of pelts, his choice of comfort and security. You crouched down into a squatting position to get a better view at the nature of his nest. Taking in the smaller details that were resting there. Were you… repoaching him? He wondered with a tilt of his head. You had not said one word to him, did not raise your hand to sign. Did… Nothing. He did not know. He did not know what you were thinking. Frustration rose in him for a split second. He’d tear your head open just to know what you were thinking. Noa’s mouth popped into an open ‘O’ shape when he watched you place a hand on one of his animal pelts. He knew the outcome of that alone; it would smell like you and he was going to obsess about it when alone. He had something now, something personal, that held your scent.

You finally broke the silence and Noa felt a sheer force of relief hit him in waves, one after the other at each of your words, “Very Noa.”

Hm… His mouth fell, agape ever so slightly and you could see the glimmer of his canines as he caught the sun peeking through his make-shift curtain. His green eyes burned desolate holes into your own, Noa noting that you weren’t moving to break said eye contact. Carefully, he did so himself, afraid of some repercussions if he continued to look at you the way he was. Wrought with feral need. He forced himself back into the moment, back into what you said. Were your words an approval? It had to be, the tone of your voice was not aggressive, mean, passive… It was as gentle as he had heard it in a while, only recollecting once or twice that tone being used. Often, in conversations that were more affectionate than others. Rare, but Noa was familiar enough.

“Someday,” He rumbled, the sound of his voice pitching every which way as he was now scrambling to get his bearings. “Will share. With mate.” It had to have been your imagination to see him vaguely gesture to you at the word ‘mate’. Yup, just your imagination which was still running outlandishly wild at the prospect of where you were.. “With family. It is the way of the Eagle Clan.” You nodded, understanding that from previous conversations where he had opened up a bit more about his culture. The mere thought of him someday having a mate, a family, was a bit of a sting, but it wasn’t outside of the realms of reality. For the sake of the Eagle Clan, he eventually needed to provide an heir. And in order to do that, it required a mate. You'd lose him one way or another...

Noa looked over at you, enjoying the tentative feature that found your face. Noa crept a bit closer to you, trying to be as smooth as possible. Gliding is how he wanted to appear. Not to startle, not to intimidate but he wondered if you were by nature. After all, he was an Ape, you were human, together in a room with not any other creatures around. The absolute dissolution he could put you in, not knowing that you had the same power over him.

It was like he was stalking prey, you thought to yourself, Noa finally rounded the circular nest that you were still admiring. Or at least, pretending to admire as he placed his brooding body next to yours, crouching to the same level as to be face to face with him. His apparent scent only got stronger at that motion putting you into some brief tizzy. From the distance you found yourselves at, you could see the striking nature of his eyes in full force. Pupils were blown beyond comprehension, darkening only when he felt you tracing the features of his face. Around said pupils were a thin line of his regular green eyes, maybe a few specks of gold floating around. He was still child-like in some aspects, youthful was a better word. His brow ridge was strong, hereditary as he was always destined to be the leader of his Clan. Always destined to be the alpha. The swooping wrinkles under his eyes always gave the impression that he was tired, but being so close to him now, you saw them under hood eyes. He was begging silently.

His skin was varied in color; darker patches hitting his brow line, starting from his nose, upwards into his fur. There was a spot of normally colored skin on his nose, dipping in color when it met the fur on the sides of his face and around his chin. Very much like a human sporting a beard, you thought to yourself. The fur on his face was not completely shelled in darkness. It was remarkably lighter compared to that of his body and it accented his features perfectly in your mind. You lingered on his nose for a split second - never realizing it was shaped like a cartoon heart that you had seen in some children's books. Snapping your gaze up, you met his eyes again. Darker than they were before.

He was wearing an expression you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Not intimidation. You had seen your fair share of intimidated Apes. Not angry. Also have seen your fair share. It was almost… Like he was languishing. You wanted to know what his features felt like under your grasp… You wanted to hold his face closer to yours and consume… An animalistic bearing hit your chest. Without remark, you lifted your hand up, breaking no eye contact. Noa let it happen, seeing the movement out of his periphery. You were going to touch him, he prepared himself for that, all nerves standing on end. The fur lining his shoulders rose in eagerness, his mouth still agape was mumbling something wordless, soundlessly. You were going to touch him. He was certain his heart was going to climb out of his chest. He was sure he wouldn’t be able to hold onto his sanity. Noa preemptively shut his eyes.

Relief…

Never came.

Just as quickly as you decided to move forward, you were pulling back. Two steps, maybe even three. Noa squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before letting them open. You were gone, leaving nothing for him other than a pelt that smelt like you.

[leighsartworks216]

Flight of the Crows

dragon/fiend!Sylus x gn!dragon/fiend!Reader

Might fuck around and make this a short little series cuz like 👀 This definitely taps into my early fanfic days of "What if they're a monster like him but DIFFERENT??!!" and it slaps idc Written with my Raven character in mind, but can be read separately from that

No spoilers for his myth please!!! I'm only gonna be basing this off what little I know but that is really not a lot so please just hush lol

Title from "Flight of the Crows" by Jhariah

Warnings: slow burn, dragon/fiend Sylus, dragon/fiend Reader, implied/referenced torture, blood, injury, near death experiences

Word Count: 647 (this is mostly a teaser/proof of concept tbh)

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

The Raven Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form (fill this out to be tagged in future fics)

Your lungs heave painfully as you clutch at loose gravel in the fight to catch your breath. Half of the battle comes from the burning pain that rockets through your veins, begs you to collapse, to lay down and die. The other half comes from crawling on hands and knees up the rocky side of the mountain.

Your fingers are bleeding. All of you is bleeding. Where the blood stops and your skin begins is a mystery.

Grime sticks to your bloody hand as you turn it over. Your nails have been filed to nothing; down to the quick and beyond. The plate scales that once trailed up your arm were removed by any means necessary. Knives, brute force - whatever it took. Tossed into the crowd of onlookers like souvenirs to your suffering.

The plating on your face hurt the most. Exposed muscle as it was imprecisely removed. It would most likely get infected from the dust and rock. You'd much rather die up here than in front of those monsters.

"Well, well, well."

You jolt back to rest on your knees, glaring up at the imposing figure before you even as your vision swims with the motion. His armor and red eyes give him away: he's a fiend.

Just like you.

"This is my territory," he bites. If cruelty had a voice, he is not the owner, but he mimics it well enough. He smirks dangerously. "I don't like to share."

Your legs shake with effort as you shove yourself to your feet. Fire ignites along every nerve in your body. Your back is a raging inferno. Spots prick at the edges of your sight.

He tsks. "You're brave, aren't you? Standing up to me in that state."

Blood drips to the ground. It is already stained where you were hunched over before, but now it puddles on top of the saturated dirt, beading up like delicate gems. You can't tell where it's coming from any more.

Your fingers are cold. Your toes are cold. It's blazing hot up here, in the fiend's territory, but you're so cold.

The world tilts on its axis. You don't catch yourself. Your exposed jaw skids into the little pebbles and rocks. They stick into the sinewy muscle, jabbing through, down to the bone. You paw weakly at the ground. You have to get up.

"They've really done a number on you." You can hear his boots as they scrape along the dirt, but it's distant, echoey. You have to close your eyes to hear it better, too distracted by your swirling vision to focus. Your palm scrapes the dirt again as you try to push yourself up. "And yet you still fight. Are you that desperate to live?"

A shadow covers your face. You blink your eyes open, but they don't focus. They can't focus.

The silhouette of the fiend kneels down beside you. His head tilts. Sun bolts into your eye. You hiss and turn into the remaining shadows.

"You want to live so badly, but you haven't even asked to make a deal," he hums. "I could save you, you know. But what would you give me in return?"

Gods, it hurts.

It hurts.

He grabs one of your horns, what little is left of it, and lifts your head harshly from the dirt. "Do you speak?" he growls, patience wearing thin.

You're dying.

You're dying, you're dying, you're dying and-

And you can't.

Gods, you can't die.

Not at their hands.

Not of their doing.

Dirt clings to your dry lips. "Help..." It's barely a whimper. Barely coherent. You see the shadow of his head lean forward to listen even closer. "I'll..... I'm......"

He lowers your head back to the ground, softer this time. "We'll discuss payment when you wake up."

What feels like streams of cool sand glide up your body as unconsciousness claims you.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy

[skribbledarker]

Expansion upon my last post about a Zosan Vampire AU. I've had a specific scene in my head for a couple of days, but i know i'm never actually gonna write it lol.

__

My thinking is that sometime within the three weeks where Sanji is essentially starving himself, the crew docks at an island to stock up on groceries and repair damages done to the Sunny during a run-in with the marines.

This, of course, gives Zoro the perfect chance to find the sleaziest bar around and get as drunk as he can manage with the allowance Nami gave him.

Sanji decides to tag along, his reasoning being that the alcohol in his system will dull his senses and hopefully make the stabbing pain in his intestines go away.

Spoiler alert: It doesn't. All the booze actually does is make Sanji dizzy beyond comprehension, which is not a good combo with him being overstimulated and also feeling like his organs are being ripped out of him at any given moment. So, Zoro has to drag him back to the ship. Like literally drag him, because Sanji is a mess and can barely see straight, let alone stand up.

Sanji is slung over Zoro's back, head in the crook of the swordsman's shoulder, and he knows Zoro is probably scolding him for drinking so much but Sanji is putting all his attention into not sinking his teeth into the flesh there. It only makes the hunger worse.

It's literal torture for him, and by the time Zoro sets him up in the bathroom (presumably because he thinks Sanji is going to puke his guts out), Sanji is on his last straw. "It hurts," Sanji pleads to no one, cheek pressed against the cold porcelain. He feels like someone is stabbing him in the stomach repeatedly. "I can't do this anymore."

Zoro crouches down beside him, understandably very confused. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Sanji doesn't respond, too busy squirming and sweating all over the tile, trying not to pay too much attention to the fact that he can hear Zoro's heartbeat. "Cook, what's wrong?" Zoro tries again, placing a hand on Sanji's forehead to see if he has a fever.

It would be so easy, so incredibly easy for Sanji to grab him by the shoulders and drink to his heart's content.

I want to eat you.

Guilt and shame immediately wash over him. Sanji retches into the bowl.

____

skribble actually write the fanfic instead of coming up with a bajillion scenes for this AU level IMPOSSIBLE! also i do have an AO3 with a whopping 1 (ONE) fic posted so if you wanna go check that out feel free!!!

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: Big Name Feelings

FANDOM AU! • Crowley is a BNF fic writer, and Aziraphale is a lurking artist who might be just a little parasocially in love with him. How they ever became friends is beyond him, but here they are: One month out from Prophet Con, and Crowley is asking him to be his boyfriend. Just for the weekend, of course.

Length: 103,997 words

AO3 Rating: Explicit / Spice Level 🔥🔥🔥

Best for: Safe in Public, Human AU, Slow Burn, Fake Relationship, Pick-me-up

Triggers: None

Read it here, fic by ghostrat

*Minor Spoilers* It's here! The finale of one of the most entertaining and immersive fanworks that I have ever experienced is finally upon us! I feel like most of you who follow me here are aware of this fanfic or have read it. However, for those who haven't or might come across this post later: I'm begging you to read this one. Buckle up; it's a long post today.

So, if you're not aware, this fanfic involves writer Crowley and fan artist Aziraphale. Crowley, being ace, seeks a boyfriend to shield him from unwanted attention during an upcoming convention. Aziraphale, smitten, agrees to be the fake boyfriend. This Arrangement is sure to work out exactly as planned!

Every one of the author's stories feels cinematic to me. The worlds are always so real and immersive, but this one, in particular, will have you feeling like you're actually watching the story unfold in real life. Some of that is achieved through embedded media like chats, artwork, and Tumblr posts, bringing a sense of reality to these conversations. The rest comes from really rich prose. You'll flow through it very easily, yet deeply.

The use of fandom and a convention as the backdrop for this fic was, to be honest, genius. I've seen attempts before, but none captured the spirit quite like this one. The fandom lore for The Nice and Accurate Prophecy (the in-universe fandom they're in) was rich enough for us to fully grasp the shape and feel of why they loved it so much, yet it never impedes the ongoing story. This story perfectly captured what it's like to be a fan: how friendships develop, how ideas and fan theories are freely discussed, the passion for a shared topic. The con, in particular, will fill anyone who has ever attended a fan convention with a strong dose of nostalgia and love. Oh, and having them in their 50s? Thank you! There is no age limit to fandom!

Having Aziraphale as the artist and Crowley the writer was not the most obvious choice, but it's one that worked amazingly well for the story! Crowley struggles with words and expressing his feelings in real life. However, in stories, he can build his own world and express whatever emotions are on his mind. Aziraphale, who does not wish to draw attention to himself in real life, expresses himself through his bold and beautiful artwork. His specialization in traditional, physical artwork is so fitting for him, though he's not unwilling to try new tech. There is a scene where they stumble upon some street art that Aziraphale had done. I teared up at that scene, and it's not even angsty! Just the casualness of it, how it's not Aziraphale but Crowley who boldly leads them to it, how Aziraphale doesn't sing his own praises. He's not self-deprecating, but he doesn't celebrate his work. He's still learning that he has value that's worth celebrating. At least now he has Crowley to teach him to be proud of himself.

They are both beautifully written characters. It's a real testament to the skill of the author to bring these characters into such a different reality and have them be unmistakably Aziraphale and Crowley. Sure, they're updated for the time and setting, but their souls are still the angel and demon we know and love. This setting is an amazing way to explore the different sides of their personalities. Crowley's asexuality, in particular, was one of the best depictions I've ever read. It brought a new level of understanding to me, and I'm sure many of you will feel a kinship with him. Really pay attention to what's being said here, there's some really deep and insightful passages that are worth analyzing. Like this moment, which may have been a subconscious thought, but again speaks to how deeply the author understands the characters.

This was such an amazing experience as a fan. I've never had a fic feel like this much of an event before. Every chapter drop was so exciting; I never knew what exactly to expect. And now, with the end being over 100k words?? Where did that word count come from! That's insane! I'm sad to leave this iteration, but I'm so excited for what's to come next. So please, if you haven't read this, give it a try. It's such a impressive work, so much time and effort was put into this and you can tell. It's not only a love letter to Good Omens, but one to fandom and fanspaces as well. Thank you, thank you, thank you for this journey

There are some explicit scenes towards the end, but they are all marked and skippable, so I'd say you're perfectly fine reading this in public.

Edit from after actually seeing the finale: no I’m not tearing up it’s just really dusty in this room. I’m being so normal rn 🥹🥹🥹

Read it here, fic by ghostrat

[cioud-berries]

Mutual Benefit || Chapter 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hello all! This is my first ever time posting a fanfic on tumblr so I apologize if things are not formatted correctly! If you have any questions or thoughts feel free to reach out to me!!

Summery:

Posts season 2: Spoiler warning!! Being forced into an arranged marriage, [Name] tried her hardest with her unreceptive husband Salo. After his death, she was forced to replace his council position, trying to figure out who she was as a person. Sevika never expected to get anywhere close to the council, let alone join them. As the stigma around people from Zaun still stood, she struggled to gain the respect from her new fellow councillors. With so many differences how could the two really help one another?

Category:

Sevika x Female Reader || 18+ themes

Chapter Warnings:

Season 2 Spoilers, Toxic relationship (with salo), Mostly a Salo x reader but that ends after this chapter

Word count: 2,411

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mutual Benefit Master List || Next Chapter ->

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arranged marriage. Such a depressing concept. Being sold for the benefit of others. The best outcome, you find love and are content with your life. Worst case scenario: you spend the rest of your life with someone you absolutely despise.

[Name] was sadly subjected to such a fate. After the civil war in her country ended, she was immediately shipped off to an unfamiliar country. Being the only female to survive, it was her ‘duty’. This would allow her country to obtain the resources needed to rebuild. 

She was to marry Councillor member Salo in Piltover. To both her happiness and dismay, he too did not want this kind of arrangement. He was the head of his own clan in Piltover. His many advisors pushed him to agree to this.

Next thing they both knew, they were shoved in a room alone, left to get to know each other in such awkward circumstances. Things were silent between the two for a long time as Salo downed one glass of wine after another. 

Finally, Salo was the first to speak. Asking the random question “Do you like the theatre?” He was only met with a hesitant nod. He chuckled with a small smile. “Things might work out.”

She walked down the aisle to marry the man she had only spoken a few words to. They both made it very clear how unhappy they were in the situation. Thankfully, they weren’t forced to engage with one another after the ceremony, separating from one another immediately.

They spend most of their time together watching performances, whispering back and forth their thoughts. After a few months, their relationship had turned into a friendship of some sort. Respecting one another while acknowledging that neither one of them wanted to be there.

For the most part he was bearable. Taking care of any finances she needed. He bought her a separate apartment, so she could live separately. Invited her to any party that was being held. Allowed her to have her own separate life if she wished. 

She quickly fit into the higher society in Piltover, making friends with his fellow council members, often confiding to them about her current marital status. They didn’t have much to say, not having been in that situation.

He too had his own life. Finding love and physical intimacy outside of their marriage. She could care less. What she did care about is that he wouldn’t allow her the same freedom. “Something like that could ruin my reputation.” He lazily told her. She was beyond furious, yet couldn’t bring herself to defy his demand. 

It didn’t take too long for Salo’s clan advisors to question the lack of heir. She of course agreed to it, but hated every second of it. She knew she was more attracted to women than men, but that moment had completely confirmed that she had no attraction to men. 

He left her right after, not wanting to do anything else. She laid in her bed alone, crying and she hated the feeling of being left alone after having to be so vulnerable. She could only hope that it did the job and they would never have to interact in such a way again.

Thankfully, nine months later, she gave birth to their daughter Sasha. Salo seemed different with Sasha. She thought that Salo wouldn’t be a caring father, but to her surprise, he was for the beginning.

Sasha for the most part lived at [Name]’s apartment. Salo visited often until she was about three years old. [Name] realized their daughter needed to have both parents in one household to be raised properly. 

Salo complained a lot about it, not wanting to live there. But the second he saw his daughter, his demeanor completely changed. In Sasha’s eye’s, they were a happy loving family. But things were so far from that. Salo often spent his nights elsewhere, always being back before breakfast.

There were sometimes happy moments in the home, making [Name] almost believing that this life was a happy one. Listening to music, they would sometimes dance in the living room, their daughter joining in, turning into them both dancing with her. 

Most of the time, they fought, yelling back and forth about meaningless things. This made them realize that the only reason their relationship had worked for the past few years was because they were apart and there was no relationship. 

Salo started coming to the house less and less, preferring the comfort of his theater and other women. He was completely moved out by the time that Sasha was six. [Name] had to start searching him out with their child in her arms, just so she didn’t have to explain why her father didn’t want to be around. 

Her daughter was everything to her. Truthfully, the only good thing in her life. She despised Salo for making Sasha cry for his absence. When he did spend time with his daughter, everything was perfect. But those moments were fleeting. 

At some point, [Name] began praying that something would happen to Salo. Some real excuse for why he couldn’t be around more often. When the explosion racked through Piltover, she ran over to the window, seeing the council room collapsing to the ground. 

She hated to admit that her heart clenched in excitement. The only way she could get out of the marriage was if he died, and she wished that it was true. Dropping Sasha off at a neighbors, she ran as fast as she could to the building in nothing but her nightgown and robes, not even a shoe on her feet.

Arriving at the building, the guards immediately let her through, knowing who she was. Ambess, the mother of councilor Mel, led her to the victims. There were a few bodies covered with a white cloth. 

Walking up to the dead bodies, she prayed to the Gods above to be free. Before she could view any of the dead, she heard her name be called out. She turned to see her husband laying in a cot, reaching out to her as he sobbed.

“My wife.” He called in a cry. “My legs-”

When she approached, he grabbed her by the hips, pulling her close enough to wrap his arms around her upper thighs and cry into them. He grieved over the loss of his mobility. It reminded her of the way her daughter would cry over the loss of her father that wasn’t even dead. The father that was merely down the street that could take an hour out of his day to play with his daughter.

[Name] felt no sympathy and wished the ruble had landed on his head instead. Yet she said nothing, she did nothing, letting him sob into her nightgown. 

He finally moved back into her house. But not because he wanted to, but because he needed to. Being his wife, [Name] had to take care of him. ‘In sickness and in health’ was really testing her patience. 

He was harder to take care of than Sasha, a literal child. Sasha was excited to have her father back, often jumping on him without realizing it hurt him. He would yell at her, pushing her off the wheelchair. Feeling rejected by her father, she would cry. [Name] was stuck with having to come up with a good excuse for his actions to make her feel better. 

He was demanding. He was rude. He was hateful. But worst of all he was ungrateful. The only joy in her days was when Ambessa would come to take him to the council meetings and [Name] finally got to have alone time with her daughter. 

Salo would come back from these meetings talking about war. Thankfully Sasha would already be in bed by this point so she could let her facade down. He wanted to wage a full fledged attack on the people of Zaun. She disagreed with him deeply, knowing the outcomes of the civil war.

“What do you know about war?” He spat at her without thinking.

She dropped the plate she was cleaning from dinner it shattered on impact with the ground. Snapping around at him she gave the most hateful look. He was stunned, never seeing that kind of expression on her before. “Ask my dead sister and brother.” 

Stepping over the glass, she walked past Salo in his wheelchair, heading to her room. He called out to her, demanding she came back and at least helped him into bed. She was beyond thankful that her daughter was such a heavy sleeper and wouldn’t wake up to his pathetic cries. 

After a while he stopped, and when she woke up, he was gone, living back at the theater. She was determined to never see him again. But after too many days off Sasha crying over her missing father, she finally caved. 

Out front of his door, she told Sasha to wait there for a moment before entering into his private suite without knocking. He laid on the couch as a woman painted purple liquid onto his legs. They both jumped, startled at her entrance. 

She didn’t even flinch at the sight. “Get dressed. Your daughter wants to see you.” Her tone was harsh and left no room for defiance from him. The woman swiftly packed her things, which Salo clearly didn’t agree with, grabbing her arm and forcing her to stay. 

“She can come see me later, I’m in the middle of something.” He harshly replied back to his wife.

“No she can’t.” [Name] Said with finality, looking at the woman in hopes that she could convince Salo.

The woman ripped her wrist out of his grasp, hiding her face into her scarf. “I was done anyways.” She told Salo, before walking around the couch. 

Y/N followed her out, going to grab Sasha and give him time to get dressed. She whispered a quiet “Thank you.” To the woman for helping her. The woman only gave a slight nod before walking off. 

Sasha ran to her father, excited to see him. She rambled on about what happened the past few months that he was absent. He barely paid attention to her, replying vaguely while looking at the ceiling.

It didn’t take her long before she got tired from all of her excitement and fell asleep on the couch beside him. [Name] was quick to pick her up and head for the door. Before reaching the exit, Salo called out to her again. 

She hesitated, stopping to listen to what he had to say. Deep down she wished it would be an apology. “I am going to get my legs fixed. Lest told me about a miracle worker in the undercity. I want you to take me.” He told.

“You can find your own way down there.” She mumbled, leaving him alone in his apartment. 

Those were the last words she ever spoke to her husband. He had disappeared without a trace. Sasha was devastated to hear about her missing father. With her new found hope, [Name] comforted her daughter. 

It wasn’t until Jayce came to her, confirming her prayers, admitting that he had murdered Salo. She had always liked Jayce, thinking that he was a bright mind and the personification of Piltover. He was distraught, not knowing how to tell a wife and child that he was the reason that their family was broken.

[Name] had cried, but not out of sadness, out of relief. Hugging him, she told him “Thank you.” He was shocked and didn’t understand why she would be thanking him for everything. Not knowing how to react, he only awkwardly mumbled “Your welcome?”

With the confirmation of Salo’s death, the next course of action was getting out of Piltover as quickly as possible, not wanting to experience another civil war. Boarding an airship with Sasha she went home. 

Leaning off the edge of the airship, she played with her wedding ring. After everything that had happened with Salo, she still kept it on. With a deep, happy sigh, she took the ring off, and with as much power as she could muster, she threw it off the side of the airship watching it fall towards the ocean. 

She smiled brightly. Finally free. [Name] looked down next to her to see Sasha sitting at her feet. She was sad of course, she had lost her father, but [Name] wanted to celebrate. Picking Sasha up, she twirled around, kissing Sasha all over her face. After putting Sasha back down, she cupped Sasha’s face, looking her in the eyes she promised. “Everything will be okay. I love you so much, you are my world, never forget that.”

Sasha nodded in response, smiling for the first time in weeks, hugging her mother.

The two spent time in her home nation for a few months. It was good for Sasha to be with her cousins that were around her age. And it was good for [Name] to be around a caring family. 

She celebrated Salo’s death with her brother and sister in law many nights. They would crack open a bottle of wine and throw insults at him as they slowly emptied the bottle. By the end of the night they’d be screaming at the top of their lungs “Good riddance!”

While she thought she escaped Piltover, she was berated by letter after letter from Salo’s clan. They demanded she return to Piltover with their heir. They often brought up the contract that was created in their marriage pact, saying it was her ‘duty’.

They told her how she needed to be the stand in for Salo until Sasha came of age to take over. She couldn’t understand why they couldn’t just choose some other clan member to be head. Plus, she could never see her daughter becoming the head of a clan she knew nothing about. Salo taught her nothing, nor prepared her for the position.

After about a hundred letters, she caved. The clan didn’t want to lose the position of power they had in the council. Learning about the new government that has been formed, she was pushed to become a council member.

Sasha was devastated to leave her family that she grew so close to in the short amount of time that she was there. All [Name] could do was promise that she was going to build Sasha a better future in the new position. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mutual Benefit Master List || Next Chapter ->

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Overall Masterlist

Discord link

[andromeda-galaxy2877]

Okay this has been driving me CRAZY since I watched the movie almost two years ago so I gotta talk about this. I haven’t personally seen anyone make a post about it but I did see this in a fanfic once (I unfortunately forget the name) which just fueled the fire for how crazy this drives me, so here you go!

I know people love the idea that Leo was in the Prison Dimension longer, that maybe the dimension’s time works differently than it does on Earth. That is insanely creative and really cool to see, the Prison Dimension has so much potential to be explored but…what if it was even more plausible that Leo was in there longer? But it had nothing to do with the dimension itself or its properties?

So at the beginning of the movie, we see Future Mikey make a time gateway into the past to the day the Key got stolen, right? He stretches out his arms, and rips that hole in the fabric of time and space, and sends Casey to the past. And then, y’know, explodes, but that's besides the point.

What does Mikey do to save Leo from the Prison Dimension?

He does the exact same pose, the exact same technique. Of course this was probably just done for the parallel, but…what if Mikey can’t open regular portals?

What if that was another time gateway?

Obviously it couldn’t have been as much time as Future Mikey did, since Leo didn’t look any older. So what if he was in there for just a few extra minutes? A few extra hours? Maybe a few extra weeks, or even a few extra months?

None of them would have any idea. Only Leo would. If it were just a few extra minutes, no one would have any way of knowing. If it were a couple days or weeks, maybe Leo thought it took them awhile to actually get him out and didn’t realize it was the same day. (Sure he could’ve figured it out from the scenery after getting out, but like. He got beat up pretty bad, he could’ve been too out of it to realize)

It doesn’t really make sense to me either to have Mikey be able to make portals like Leo does. I adore Mikey, he is INSANELY powerful and I love all his crazy abilities, but Leo’s like. One thing is that he can make portals and teleport. It feels strange to me to have Mikey also have that. Like it’s cool, but at the same time it would be the EXACT same power then. 

So, in other words for all of this, oh my god I cannot wait till I’m done writing my current fanfic and can move on to the next one. 

[randomyuu]

the way it follows you home, the stories i never told

My guy Vox once again graced us with lovely Goyuu fanfics, and the way it follows you home, the stories i never told, made me go FERAL.

Time travel? Two Gojou Satorus? Double affection for our sunshine Yuuji? Yuuji sandwich? What feels like possible continuation of (you'll whisper, serpent tongue) what you fear you have become???

FUCK.

I need to stop indulging my imagination too much. I should’ve been content with writing long-ass comments but noooooo, my brain goes “you gotta draw it”. DAMMIT VOX, YOU AND YOUR DELICIOUS WRITINGS HHHHHH

So… usually I should’ve picked a favourite scene that is within my drawing capability, but I just… love all three chapters??? So I made a questionable time investment? I can’t stop??? Help???

This is probably the most ambitious fanart project I’ve ever done so far. Fair enough, considering I might combust if I keep these welled-up emotions inside from reading Vox’s Goyuu fics. Fuck.

Fic info:

Title: the way it follows you home, the stories i never told

Author: @voxofthevoid

Pairing: YuuGoGo. Future!Yuuji, Future!Gojou, Teen!Gojou

(idk why I laugh writing YuuGoGo. I’m beyond help)

Currently, it is 3 chapters out of 8. And it’s gonna be NSFW chapter 4 onwards, so don’t forget to read the tags first, folks!

The drawings are under Read More, because I have lots of thoughts surrounding each chapter and drawings. It’ll be hella long if I didn’t hide it here. It was a mess down there. A combination of hours before, during, and after I read said fic. I’d say good luck finding the art among the sea of jumbled words but… you’ll find them easily. Don’t worry about it haha

SPOILERS FOR ALL 3 CHAPTERS! I highly recommend reading those first before diving into these drawings!

Also for the comics, read from right to left please!

From here on, I will be referring to the Future!Gojou as Gojou and the teenage one as Satoru.

Overall, drawing all these is fun! Really fun! This project pushed me quite hard, forcing me to test my limit (because I rarely draw this much back to back). Since this is a combination of drawings and comics, the coloring style will not be consistent. In a way, I want to try some brushes I never get to use, as well as try out my new graphic tablet. Drawing these got me giggling because I was finally able to let loose during line art. It's much easier to do so, and sometimes I just get to reread the fic and giggle to myself for the nth time.

CHAPTER 1:

Whooo. Whooooooooo—

Ok, ok, the premise is just that good. It intrigued me, fascinated me, and I just… oomph. I cannot refuse a Time Travel Yuuji Sandwich. Sign me up.

Honestly, there are two scenes that are just… a bit too clear in my mind when reading this chapter. That would be the one I drew above, and the other is when Yaga called Gojou to come outside of the class. I love, loooove how Vox wrote Satoru’s POV. And when Yuuji fucking giggles?

I lost it.

Can you imagine, drawing Yuuji grins, with shiny stuff, maybe some sunlight, just purely happy and indulging Gojou?

Help me, for I am drowning in my love and adoration for Yuuji.

Page 2 is an experiment on using harsh black as shading (kind of?). I really enjoyed colouring Yuuji, and drawing those buffalo skulls! I wish I can grasp the concept of contrast a bit better tho :v

CHAPTER 2:

This is probably the only chapter where I picture still images instead of comic panels. A bit like those cool chapter covers in mangas. The one I really, really want to draw is the scene with Satoru on the table. Can’t pass the opportunity to highlight Satoru being a brat, albeit a really cool brat.

Cool idea drawing always proves to be a challenge, because of course my artistic skill just so happens to be below the requirement. Thank you, Sketchfab, for the chair and desk’s perspective otherwise I’m screwed lmao

The second scene that I want to draw the most is this:

Gojou is one step away from climbing Yuuji. Also, I have a bit of a problem picturing a man pouting that makes him look crazy instead, so please have Gojou pouting adorably instead. Because, as Yuuji said (with love), Gojou is (also) a brat.

This is possibly my favorite art in this project, after Yuuji's in Chapter 1 page 2. It's clean because I don't have to draw background, and I was having a fun time drawing Yuuji. And Gojou's squishy cheek as well.

Oh, actually, there is a “manga” scene in this chapter. It’s when Yuuji said, “I love Satoru.”

I just—

AAAAAHHHHH YUUJIIIIIII YOU AND VOX ARE GONNA BE THE DEATH OF ME. That secure relationship between Yuuji and Gojou? Satoru’s description of how Yuuji’s smile could blot out the sun??? Not me screaming 💀 I also see bits of hints of possible co-dependency, though I could be reading those wrong, but either way I’m good. Secure and possessive relationships are fun to consume hhhhhh

But yeah. There are too many wholesome Yuuji smiles in this fic, and I… I am not confident enough to draw genuine happiness. It’s too much for me ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

For this chapter, another reason why I chose these two scenes is just because I want to try and draw cover-worthy pictures of Yuuji and Satoru, and Yuuji and Gojou (cough)

CHAPTER 3:

We start the chapter with Nanamin. Ah, Nanamin. I forgot what his teen self looked like and was surprised to see his design again lmao

I want to draw Yuuji and Nanami scene because… I just want to, I guess. I have never drawn him before (Yaga as well) so that's an interesting challenge. I got two ideas on how I want to draw it. One is a bit painting-esque, and the other one is like another chapter cover. In the end, I chose the cover one because I want to emphasise the difference between teen!Nanami and the Nanami from Yuuji’s original timeline, and how the watch feels like a connection between the same (yet not) person. It’s a bittersweet feeling? In a way?

I’m not really good at explaining my intention ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

I love Yuuji’s answer to Nanami's question.

AND FINALLY.

A Yuuji SandwichTM scene.

And oh B O I do I love it. Have I told you I like every chapter? I probably have. But this one? Satoru’s curiosity, Yuuji’s on-brand self-deprecation, and Gojou come strolling down to show more of Yuuji to his mini-self. I want to draw this whole scene, from Gojou finding them, feeding Yuuji snacks, bitch-slapping Satoru into the backroom, to Yuuji growling. Them trying to hide a boner from Yuuji’s growl got me cackling so hard I LOVE IT 😭

I love it all. Please love Yuuji in my stead, Satoru and Satonyan :3

Oh! Also! 40-finger Yuuji sounds really, really cool! I’ll be happy with whatever Vox will give us in future chapters, but 40-finger Yuuji… possible scene with this timeline’s Sukuna… my god. The action! The drama! The bloodshed! One can only hope.

However, as much as I love that whole scene, it’s still too much for me :”) I’m still not yet confident in delivering the humour and action. Also my already-long drawing plan had my brain groaning in protest so I can’t push my luck :'D

When Gojou said "He looks sweet, but he's a bit of a beast", I kept picturing Yuuji staring innocently, but there was an edge to his look. As if the moment Satoru looks away, he will pounce. But in the end I just stick with innocent-looking Yuuji because I accidentally drew his eyes that way and I want to keep it in lol

Since Satoru points out how soft and cuddly Yuuji is, I also want to draw soft Yuuji :v

And the last one… is the last scene. For some reason, I read that both Gojou and Satoru share Yuuji’s lap and was having a frustrating yet fun time figuring out how it’s… physically possible, without having their butts on the ground because they both are not small at all. As I lined the art, I reread it again and… perhaps I read it wrong? Satoru is beside Yuuji, and not on his lap? So yeah, this one might be the least accurate, but hey, at least you can view it as a crack drawing or something :v

AAAANNNDDD I HAVE EXCEEDED TODAY’S BRAIN CAPACITY OF FORMING WORDS

Have I told you I love this fic?

…I probably have.

Have an amazing week (❁´▽`❁)*✲ﾟ*

[rookinthecrownest]

Bedtime Stories For a Demon: The Day The World Disappeared, Part II (Lucanis x Rook Fanfic)

Rook is trapped in the Fade, and is determined to get out. But Solas' Prison has more than one trick up its sleeve.

Word count: ~ 4200

Veilguard endgame spoilers ahead

“You died”

A simple truth leaves her lips, as Madeleina Mercar looks upon the body of her fallen friend. And now that it has been spoken, it cannot be hidden behind a memory or become unknown so as to ease a troubled conscience. It is a truth, as much as the sky is blue and snow falls in winter.

In shifting hues of grey the scene at the ritual site is recreated in a tableau of death and despair. Two old friends, in their own right.

Solas stabbing Varric with his Lyrium dagger. Varric’s choked gasp as the blade pierces his chest, and blood fills his lungs. Bianca drops from his grip and slides down the steps, followed by her owner shortly after. She watches herself stand over his body. His dead body. Hears him call her name one last time, before his eyes close forever.

Madeleina’s lips quiver as her vision grows blurry with tears, threatening to spill like a waterfall. She clutches her chest, as if it could keep her heart from sinking any lower. This crushing loss she tried so desperately to ignore so she could keep going, could not be ignored anymore. Would not be relegated to the tricks of the mind any longer.

Varric comes to stand next to Madeleina and regards his lifeless body with her. He gives her a small, sad smile.

“Yeah. Sorry about that, kid”

She clutches the fabric of her overcoat tightly, and a strangled sob escapes her lips. Madeleina quickly wipes the tears away with the back of a gloved hand and stifles a sniffle.

“I … I’m so sorry Varric” Madeleina whispers.

Varric does not seem confused by her apology.

“For what” Varric says. He pointedly asks her for clarification, because he already knows what she’s trying to do, and he won’t have it.

“For not saving you” Madeleina answers, her voice shaky and uneven and struggling to even form the words.

Varric clicks his tongue and shakes his head. She watches carefully as the dwarf walks a few paces, then slowly turns to face her again.

“Shit, didn’t you learn anything from this place?” He sounds more surprised, or exasperated, than disappointed. As if the lesson was beating her over the head with a stick and she had kept her eyes and ears closed the entire time. He points to his chest with his thumb to emphasis the point, “I made the choice. To try to talk to him. To try to reach him, even knowing the risks. Because he was my friend. My decision. My sacrifice. And you don’t get to take that from me”

“But – “

“You know better than anyone, Rook, that every story has an ending” Varric quickly interjects. He gives her a knowing smile. “This one just came a little earlier than I’d planned. Come on. Walk with me, kid”

Varric jerks his head to the side and begins walking through the remnants of the ritual site. Madeleina can do nothing but follow silently, her thoughts and feelings twisting around each other to become some Gordian knot – impossible to parse out, and just as confusing.

She follows him through the main path and beyond the statues of the Evanuris, rising towards the sky, ascending like the Gods they were. Or, pretended to be, at least.

“How am I supposed to lead this team without you, Varric? I can’t do this alone. It feels like all I do is make things worse” Madeleina says. Visions of Minrathous drowned in Blight, Venatori taking control of the Magisterium, and a Dragon decimating the city replay in her mind. She’ll never know if saving Treviso was the right call in the long run. What the world might have looked like if she chose differently. And that terrifies her still.

“I can’t do this alone” She adds, her voice hitching. She’s afraid. She’s so very afraid of facing the world out there without him. Without his wisdom, his guidance, and the levity he effortlessly brings into even the shittiest of situations.

Varric shakes his head, almost in disbelief they’re still having this conversation. He gives her a pointed look and gestures towards her, “What do you think you’ve been doing all this time?”

Madeleina doesn’t have a good rebuttal, so, she merely stands with her arms limp at her side and looks at the ground because she can’t bear to face him right now. She feels like a dog without a sense of smell, a horse that can’t gallop.

A pawn without a purpose.

“Look at me, kid” Varric says, ducking his head low so he forces himself into her line of sight.

Madeleina’s eyes slowly drift upward. She’s biting on her lip to keep more tears from falling.

Varric gives her a gentle, reassuring grin, “You’re the leader they need, Rook. And you’re not alone. You never were”

The dwarf continues walking down the path in front of them. He pauses when the cobblestones drop down into the void of nothingness below them, their path momentarily cut off. Grass and dirt form below their feet, giving them new ground to tread on. The ritual site crumbles to pieces behind them, like a wetted sand castle crushed under someone’s hand.

Great sycamore trees spring to life, growing and maturing a hundred years over the course of seconds. A mountain range stretches along the border of the forest, opening like the maw of a great beast.

They’re surrounded by tiny wooden houses with thatched roofs. The small Chantry near the town square. The butcher’s shop, the Blacksmith’s forge, the apothecarist’s lab. All there, as she remembered them.

Arvanitum, frozen in time, stretches out before her.

“W-what …?” She whimpers, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. Madeleina’s head swivels desperately, so fast she’s giving herself whiplash. But all she sees is her old home. “Varric …” Madeleina swallows the bile threatening to rise in her throat, “What is this?” She turns to him, confusion and hurt and fear writhing across her delicate features, vying for dominance.

Varric puts a spectral hand on her shoulder and looks out over a perfectly preserved Arvanitum with her. Although she can’t feel solid touch, there is still the same warmth and comfort she knew in his presence when he lived.

“The final lock in a prison meant to cage Gods” He smiles gently, and lets his hand slide off her shoulder.

Madeleina takes a hesitant step on familiar roads she trod a thousand times in her youth. She half-expects to see her footprints lingering in the dirt, up the winding path behind the Chantry that would take her to the lone house on a small hill. The town bakery. Her home.

“It’s time to finish this story, Rook. Your story” Varric takes a step back. “Sometimes, we need to go back to the beginning, to get our ending”

Madeleina whips her head around, so quickly the tears fly off her cheeks.

“Varric – wait!” She calls out after him, her arm outstretched, grasping for empty space. She wants to run after him, but her feet stay planted in place as if roots have grown over them.

Varric already has his back turned to her as he walks away.

“Good luck, kid” He gives her a small wave, and a confident smirk over his shoulder.

“I just know your ending’s going to be killer”

And with that, he was gone. Disappeared into the thick foliage of the forest.

Madeleina doesn’t know how long she was left standing there, alone in the town square.

It was empty. There were no villagers milling about their daily lives. No clerics in their vestments standing outside the Chantry soliciting donations and reading out verses from the Chant of Light. No children making trouble in the street. No clanking from the Blacksmith’s hammer. No raucous laughter from the tavern down the road. No stray animals lingering by the food stalls, waiting for their chance to scavenge the scraps of the day.

Empty.

No people, no animals, just her.

She turns again to the winding path behind the Chantry. There is a pull towards her childhood home she can’t explain. Something deep in her chest grasps for it, yearns to go there like a flower turning towards the sun.

Before Madeleina is even aware, her feet are moving. One step at a time, she begins walking that familiar path back home.

Anxiety winds itself into knots in her chest. She is terrified of what she might find there.

Will the prison make her relive the day she found her parents dead? Relive the moment she was nearly possessed by Despair? Madeleina doesn’t know if she can handle that. It was enough to go through it once. To see it again might very well destroy her, she thinks.

Then again, she would expect nothing less from a prison designed to trap a God. And she is no God – she’s just a person. Back in this village, she’s just a little girl.

Her feet continue moving of their own accord, carrying her home.

She sees it soon enough, that house on the hill.

The same thatched roof in desperate need of repair. The same flowers in the window box – daffodils, snowdrops, and hyacinths. A warm, orange glow from the windows on the second floor. Her mother has lit her favourite candles, most likely. The ones she buys from the Orlesian merchant who comes once a month. Scented like lavender. Familiar and comforting, just like her.

Madeleina lingers at the door, frozen in place. She wants to move. To reach out, push the door open and step inside. But she can’t bring herself to do it. Her chest tightens, so much so that she feels like she’s going to implode on the spot.

Venhedis, I can’t do this.

Her palms start to feel sweaty. She flexes her fingers back and forth in an effort to relieve some of the tension.

“Darling, is that you?” A familiar voice calls from inside the house.

Her mother’s voice.

Oh.

There’s movement from inside the house. She has time to run. She wants to run. And yet, she remains as still as a statue. Her heart thuds quickly in her chest, so loud she can hear its rhythmic thrum in her eardrums.

The door swings open, and she’s greeted by the sight of Eurydice Arcturion. Her mother is exactly how Madeleina remembered her in her dreams and memories. Warm, whiskey-brown eyes, long auburn hair tied over her left shoulder, and the same upturned nose as her own. Her crow’s feet are more prominent – signs of a life filled with laughter and smiling. She’s wearing a familiar light blue linen dress. Her white baker’s apron is powdered with flour and spices. The same dress and apron she was wearing on that day. The only noticeable difference is that Eurydice is somewhat shorter than Madeleina remembers.

Her stomach forms an endless pit. She swallows thickly, as words try and fail desperately to form on her tongue but end up unwinding like a ball of yarn dropped to the floor.

Mother.

I missed you so much.

I saw you … I saw your …

You’re here.

How?

Eurydice smiles sweetly at the sight of her daughter, “There you are, love. Did you have fun picking the elderberries in the forest?” She ushers Madeleina inside, and before she can think, her feet are moving on their own again.

Elderberries?

Madeleina looks down, and in her hands, her bare hands, is an old wicker basket full of purple berries. Her armour is gone. She’s traded it for a simple beige tunic and pants. Eurydice is taller than her now. Just a moment ago, Madeleina was practically towering over her.

When did that happen?

“Love?” Her mother touches her shoulder with a calloused hand. Despite her hands being worn from the day’s work, Eurydice’s touch is as soft as silk, and warmer than wool. She smells like flour and cinnamon and lavender.

“Hmm?” Madeleina looks up at her mother with a blank stare. “Oh … yeah, it was fun” She answers, as a small, mischievous grin creeps onto her features when she remembers her adventures in the forest, “I chased a few rabbits. Ended up finding some babies in a burrow!”

“Did you now?” Eurydice smiles and quirks a brow, “Did I not teach you better manners than to terrorize new parents?”

Madeleina pouts and stares down at the floor, embarrassed, “I just wanted to see the babies …”

“Rascal” Her mother pinches her cheek and gets her moving again with a hand on the small of her back. They maneuver to the back of the shop and walk past large bags of flour, the woodfire oven, and clay pots. Up the familiar creaking stairs, and through the door at the top, is the small den of their home.

A sweet aroma drifts from the adjoining kitchen. Familiar. Something she hasn’t had in a long time. Had almost forgotten about entirely, until she’s practically salivating with anticipation.

“I made Dolmades, your favourite” Eurydice grins as she takes the basket of Elderberries from Madeleina’s small hands. “Go wash up for dinner”

Madeleina and her empty stomach don’t have to be told twice. She hurries to the restroom and takes a bar of soap from the counter, then uses it to hurriedly scrub the dirt from her hands and fingernails in the wash basin.

She catches her reflection in the mirror. The young Madeleina, about twelve year’s younger, all wiry limbs and wild curls, stares back at her. Scrawnier. Covered in cuts and scrapes reflective of the recklessness of youth.

There’s a smear of dirt on her left cheek, and after wetting her fingers in the wash basin, she rubs it off quickly. Mother doesn’t mind her getting dirty, so long as none of it makes it to her dinner table. Satisfied, Madeleina gives herself a small smile.

After walking back into the kitchen, she spies her father lounging on a cushion by the fireplace. Judging by the way his salt-and-pepper curls seem extra curly, he must have just woken up. He’s usually asleep during the day, as he plays at the tavern in the evenings. Her mother busies herself with setting the table while she makes her way towards her father.

“Ahhh, there she is” His kind face splits into a wide grin at the sight of Madeleina. She wraps her arms around her father’s neck. He places a gentle kiss to her cheek, and ruffles her hair, mussing her own curls.  “Hello, little love”

“More like little terror” Her mother chimes in, as the sound of pots and pans clinking fill the kitchen. “If the forest animals are to be believed”

Orpheus grins, and hugs Madeleina tightly against him, “Humm, wherever did she get that tendency from”

“Father…” Madeleina mumbles, trying to pry her way out of his grasp. It only makes his grip tighter.

He chuckles, “Now, now, I’m sure you had a perfectly good reason for making trouble in the forest, hmm?”

“I wanted to see the baby rabbits…” The young girl answers sheepishly, avoiding his bright green eyes. Sharp, keen, intelligent – like a hawk’s. She can never look at him when she’s trying to lie, so she doesn’t bother lying anymore. He picks them out like weeds in a garden.

“Oh, and did you?”

“Orpheus” Her mother’s voice is stern. “Don’t encourage her. One of these days she’s going to get herself in trouble, running around the wilds like that”

“But I didn’t!” Madeleina protests quickly. Her father’s grip has loosened somewhat and she’s able to pry herself out of his grasp. “Get in trouble, I mean. I found the path again – I dropped berries so I could find my way back in case I got lost…”

Eurydice sets the Dolmades on the table, along with three plates. There’s a spread of other grilled vegetables beside them. A small bowl of Tzatziki sauce with a spoon sticking out of it is the last thing to be put on the table.

“Alright, alright – enough of that for now, come and eat dinner” She wipes her hands on her apron, before untying it and placing it on the back of her chair.

Her father pinches her cheek and guides her towards the dinner table.

Eggplant. Augh.

She makes a sour face when she spies the offending purple vegetable next to the carrots. Madeleina knows her Mother won’t like her being picky, so she’ll settle for pretending to nibble on the slices slowly, while subtly reaching for the carrots that are furthest away from the eggplant.

Madeleina grins and piles the stuffed grape leaves onto her plate.

“Whoa, slow down there, where’s the fire?” Orpheus chuckles, as he loads his own plate.

“Picking berries is hard work” She pouts, before dipping a Dolma into the Tzatziki and shoving it in her mouth. A content sigh escapes her lips as the sweet and savoury flavours mix on her tongue. “I was at it for hours” she adds, speaking around the stuffed grape leaves.

“Oh, my apologies” He places a hand on his chest with dramatic flourish. “I’ll be more mindful of your laborious duties from now on, my darling”

“Good” Madeleina grins and continues eating her dinner, picking from Dolmas and vegetables alike.

Eurydice smiles and shakes her head, pointing to Orpheus with her fork, “She gets her attitude from you”

“And all her best qualities from you, Amatus” Her father blows her a kiss from across the table, and Madeleina makes a sour face as her mother’s cheeks flush.

Ew.

As much as she may pretend to be disgusted by her parent’s displays of affection, she’s always loved seeing them… in love. Since she was a young girl, Madeleina dreamed of finding someone who would cherish her the way Orpheus cherished Eurydice. A love like something out of a fairytale.

Something familiar tugs in the back of her mind.

Bitter and sweet, like a kiss goodbye.

Where has she heard that before?

The scent of chocolate and coffee curiously fills her nostrils, but there is none on the table.

Strange.

“Darling?” Her mother’s voice snaps her out of it. The thought is forgotten as quickly as it came, and the smell of chocolate and coffee fades away. Her head quickly whips to attention.

“Hmm?”

“Is everything alright?” Her mother raises a concerned brow, “You’re unusually… pensive today”

A very polite way of saying you keep spacing out. But it was just like her mother to put a polite spin on everything.

Madeleina nods, and picks at her vegetables, “Yes mother, I’m fine, I promise. I … I guess I’m just tired, is all”

Her father sees it for the lie it is, but mercifully doesn’t call her out on it.

Orpheus gives her a warm smile and leans in closer, “Not too tired for a story, I hope”

Madeleina rolls her eyes but can’t stop the grin from spreading across her lips. “Aren’t you going to be late for work?”

He sticks a thumb to his chest and laughs, “I’m the only bard for miles around, what are they going to do? Fire me? Half the patrons only come to hear me play”

She goes to take another Dolma on her plate before her mother’s hand gently slaps her own away, “Ah-ah, finish your vegetables first. All of them” She eyes the unfinished eggplant on her plate.

Madeleine frowns, withdrawing her hand. She folds her arms over her chest, “Actually, I’m not hungry anymore. I’ll take that story, father”

“No, you’re going to sit there and finish your – “

Orpheus lifts a hand to stop his wife mid-sentence, “Amatus, she’s had a long day. Picking berries is such tiresome work after all”

Eurydice looks like she wants to protest, but realizes she is effectively outnumbered on the matter, and resigns to finish her own dinner. “Unbelievable, these two” She murmurs around mouthfuls of Dolma.

Her father pushes his chair out and leaves the room for a moment. Madeleina knows exactly what he’s gone to do, and bounces eagerly in her chair, vibrating with anticipation.

She quickly stuffs one last Dolma down her throat before her mother can get a word in edgewise and runs away from the table. She takes her usual seat on the cushion closest to the fireplace. Her mother sighs, finishes her own dinner, and then begins clearing the plates.

Her father returns a moment later, scratching his beard.

“That’s odd” He says thoughtfully, putting a hand on his hip. “Amatus – have you seen my journal?”

Her mother is by the kitchen sink now, washing the emptied plates from dinner. “No, dear. I haven’t. Isn’t it on the bedside table?” She calls over her shoulder, above the gritting noise of the sponge tearing grease from the dish.

Orpheus looks about the den – he checks the fireplace mantle, under the cushions, between the couch cushions, the bookshelf. And yet, he doesn’t seem to find what he’s looking for.

Faded red leather. Yellowed pages. Black ink spots. No, dried bloodstains. The acrid smell of must and mothballs.

Her father’s journal doesn’t look like that. Doesn’t smell like that. It never has.

Stranger still.

Madeleina shakes her head and gets up from her spot, first inspecting under the coffee table, and then under the cushions once more to make sure her father didn’t miss anything.

“Darling, can you check your bedroom? I might have left it there last night” Orpheus calls, as he ducks beneath the dinner table to ensure it didn’t fall there from his pocket.

Right. He had been reading Swan Lake to her last night. Madeleina wastes no time jogging to her small bedroom.

Nothing looks out of place. She sees the same stuffed rabbit and teddy bear lying on her bed, well-worn and well-loved with age. Hand-me-downs from one of the older girls in the village.

Octavia. That’s right - she married a soldier from Ventus. She’s gone now, and the tailor’s hours were reduced since their only daughter wasn’t around to help anymore.

She checks her little writing desk and moves the clothes she’d left on the chair to the floor. Madeleina can already hear her mother chastising her for that.

Still, there’s no journal to be found. Not on the desk, under the desk, nor under her bed.

Madeleina sits cross-legged in the middle of her room and releases a soft breath. Well, if the journal was somewhere in this house, it wasn’t in here.

As her thoughts drifted towards her father’s journal, there was a strange feeling that took root in her chest. Like she was attached to a string being tugged at from some far away place. A marionette being pulled towards its puppeteer.  

She looks through the window to see the setting sun, washing the mountains and forest in pinks, oranges and golds.

The tugging sensation in her chest grows stronger. Enough to no longer be considered a trick of the mind. It turns sharp, almost painful. Madeleina winces and grasps her chest where she feels the sensation.

“Ahh …” She hisses, closing her eyes, her brows drawing tight. Madeleina looks down at her chest, and where her heart should be, she sees a faint, blue light flickering in and out.

“What the -…?”

“Darling?” Her father calls from the den.

Madeleina’s head snaps towards the sound of his voice. She looks back down at her chest. The blue light is gone, no longer flickering like a candle in the wind. There’s no more tugging in her chest.

I must have been more tired than I thought. She thinks, before standing up and rejoining her family in the living room.

Her father is sitting on one of the cushions on the floor, next to the fireplace.

“Did you find it?” Madeleina asks, as she comes to sit next to him.

Orpheus shakes his head, and black-and-grey ringlets fly about him as he does. “No – I must have left it at the tavern, I’ll check later tonight.”

Madeleina’s face falls, too tired to hide her disappointment, “Oh. So… no story tonight?”

Her father chuckles and pats her softly on the back, “Of course there’ll be a story tonight. The journal is just for show,” He leans in closer and turns his index finger against his temple, like one might turn a key into a lock, “Everything’s stored right here, anyway”

Orpheus pulls his daughter in closely, and she settles against his side, leaning her head on his broad shoulder.

“Which one are you going to tell me tonight?” She asks quietly, her eyelids growing heavy.

“Which one do you want to hear?”

Madeleina thinks hard for a moment. There’s so many to choose from. She’s heard them all at least a dozen times. Thinks she’s even memorized a good chunk of them.

She can’t explain her choice, only that she feels it’s an important one. There’s a distant feeling of familiarity with that story, one that goes deeper than all the times it’s been retold to her by her father.

“The Sleeping Princess, please”

“Ahhh, an excellent choice, little love” Orpheus smiles widely, and collects his weary daughter into his lap.

Madeleina rests against his chest and lets herself feel the exhaustion she’s been ignoring until now. Her breathing slows, and her eyelids grow heavier.

Her father begins gently stroking her hair, and it lulls her towards sleep even more.

“Once upon a time, in a land far, far, away, there was a small kingdom. And in that kingdom, there lived a King and Queen, much beloved by their people…”

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

Yay, another chapter done. This time I'd like to thank @hawkeish for giving me some angst fodder by playing around with the idea that something in the fade prison from Rook's past would make her more resistant to leave! >:)

As usual, do enjoy the story!

Thank you in advance for your comments and reblogs, I appreciate everyone who takes the time to do so and I do read all of them <3

[tin-wufborf]

Tin's Favorite Sterek Fics (Part 19)

Hello, and welcome to part fucking 19 of Tin's Favorite Sterek Fics. Good lord, how the hell have I gotten to 19 of these?? I cannot believe!!!

As always, thank you all so much for all of the love you continue to show this little series of mine. I never really expected any of these posts to get more than a passing notice from anyone, so to see that so many of you have liked and shared this series is honestly kind of mind boggling but also pretty cool. Because I just want everyone to read these stories, ya know? Like, I really love all of these fics that I'm recommending. I wasn't lying or exaggerating when I said that I re-read these fics all the time. I love these stories, and I want others to love them too.

I won't go on some of the crazy tangents that I do IRL, but I fucking love fan fiction. I truly believe that a good chunk of the world's more trivial issues could be solved by people simply getting into the right kind of fanfic for them. Because there's really something out there for everyone so long as you're willing to look for it, and I just think that is the coolest thing, you guys. It's just the bees knees. So to be able to share these lists of my favorite Sterek fics has been such a fun and fulfilling endeavor, and I am glad to have been able to share it with you all.

Okay, enough sap from me! I have admittedly imbibed a bit before writing this up, so I am a little bit in my head right now as well as in my feelings.

I hope you're all having as good a day as you can, if not a great one.

Smoochies and squeezies!

List and links to previous/next part(s) below the cut.

************************************************************************

DISCLAIMER: This is me warning you all that some of the fics I've included in this list may cover explicit, dark, and/or "taboo" subject matters. I cannot express enough how little I care what anyone thinks about any of that; all I want is for you to use caution when reading anything I've listed here and to please review and heed whatever tags the authors have provided in order to keep yourselves safe. Your experience from this point on is your own responsibility, not mine and not the authors'.

************************************************************************

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20

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

Family Day by klutzy_girl (T | 1/1 | 2,447)

Derek and Stiles spend the day with Stiles' (and Scott's) younger sister and come to a few realizations.

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

You aren't broken by GreyHaven (G | 1/1 | 4,339)

Derek doesn’t understand sex. Well, no, that makes him sound innocent and sheltered and he isn’t either of those things.

But he doesn’t understand the appeal of sex.

The one in which Derek thinks he's broken and tries to break up with Stiles. Stiles doesn't let him and insists on an open conversation which leads to Derek realising he's not broken, he's asexual. But can Stiles accept that?

(Spoiler alert: of course he can.)

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

and the wild things roared their terrible roar by hoars (E | 1/1 | 4,905)

Derek as Khal Drogo (but set in snow beyond the wall) and Stiles as Daenerys Stormborn (although he's a greenseer of the Children rather than a dragon).

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

Show Me Your Igloo and I'll Show You Mine by DiscontentedWinter (E | 1/1 | 4,943)

Stiles is finally going to meet the online friend he's had for years.

Instead, the hottest guy in the world walks in.

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

that boy is a monster series by hoars (3 works | NR-M | 6,840)

1. monsters steal me away (M | 1/1 | 1,720) There’s a monster in the forest that has taught Stiles to lie and to love. 2. no secret stays secret (NR | 1/1 | 2,558) John follows Stiles into the woods one night. 3. my ghosts approve (NR | 1/1 | 2,562) (optional) Derek loves all his past loves because they all taught him how to love Stiles best.

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

Run Wild and Free by greenleaf (T | 1/1 | 6,991)

Derek is a police officer, just recently moved to Beacon Hills, and possibly nursing a crush on the really hot, really powerful doctor with the twin sons.

(Or a story that was almost titled, 'I'm Quite Fawn'd of You, My Deer' but I stopped myself and I don't know why.)

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

Do It For The Vine by crossroadswrite (G | 1/1 | 7,108)

“Tammy,” he calls her to attention and his baby daughter turns her sweet hazel eyes to him. “Do you want to go to the skate park tomorrow?”

Autumn gasps and twists until her bony knees are digging into his thighs.

“Daddy,” she says very seriously, placing both hands on his cheeks and looking him in the eye. “Don’t play with my emotions, daddy.” . (OR: in which Derek's daughter gets a skateboard and a cute guy teaching her tricks and Derek just gets the cute guy.)

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

The Jackass in the Camaro by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) (G | 1/1 | 7,237)

To the guy I splashed with water on First and Crown on Thursday, February 27th around seven at night: I am an a**hole. I’m sorry. I was being an impatient driver, and I just wanted to get home, and I cut off the bus to get there faster. I didn’t mean to soak you with rainwater, and I am truly sorry for doing so. That was a total d*ck move of me. With regrets, The Jackass in the Camaro.

Stiles had to re-read the notice four times before he honestly believed he was seeing it with his own two eyes. He’d gotten splashed by rainwater on First and Crown on Thursday around seven while waiting at a bus stop because of an impatient Camaro driver cutting off a bus.

Like, that was actually a thing that had happened. This was a real thing.

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

The Plan for Healthy Eating in the Stilinski-Hale Household by inhystereks (G | 1/1 | 8,100)

Melanie burst into tears, screaming about how she didn’t want their daddy to die while Greg tried to comfort her, sending his own anxious glances Stiles’ way. Elena grilled Addie and Clary about whether they knew for sure. The twins started listing examples from their textbook. Ian turned to Derek asking if food could really hurt humans while Kevin turned to Stiles and begged him not to kill himself by eating too many curly fries.

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

children of the bad revolution by hoars (NR | 1/1 | 9,506)

Far away and long ago, the only companion Derek has, the only friend and enemy he's known since he was young, is the chain.

Then Stiles happens.

Then the crows.

Then the end of the world.

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

to build a home by elisela (T | 1/1 | 13,021)

“You realize you’re at least ten grand over budget on Stiles’ house, don’t you,” Allison says, and he’s not entirely sure if it’s a question or not. “You better hope this works out because we can’t afford to build an entire house for everyone you want to date.”

He doesn’t bother denying it. “I’m going to do a lot of the demo and installation myself,” he says, leaning over her to cross off some of the numbers she’d written down. “It’ll work out.”

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

A Crooked Way to Fly by andavs (G | 1/1 | 14,980)

“We can’t just leave him here to die.”

“He’s an emissary, Scott.” Derek tried to make his tone empathetic, but Scott’s tendency to fight back on everything always grated on his nerves. “His pack is gone, he won’t survive more than a day or two either way.”

“Then we should stay with him.”

Derek sighed as he studied the man for a moment; he was too pale against the fur rim of his hood, almost grey from lying out in the snow, and his cloak was stained with dark dried blood around a protruding arrow shaft. It was unlikely he would even last the night. They would probably be able to carry on in the morning with little time lost, if any.

It wasn’t a horrible idea, Derek decided reluctantly. They hadn’t been able to set up a real camp for a few weeks in the open foothills, and they were all on edge from sleeping in exposed areas. A defensible place to sleep would be good for them, even if they were surrounded by death. They would be able to give the pack proper burials, at the very least.

“Fine. One night,” Derek relented, already moving away to check on Isaac. “He’s your responsibility.”

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

This Kind of Luxe by sugarybowl, weathervaanes, wishingonalightningbolt (E | 1/1 | 15,113)

As they have for almost every US President since the 1910s, the Prime Minister and the royal head of their country pay a visit to the United States after inauguration. Which is why, when President Jonathan Stilinski is elected into office, Queen Talia Hale of Norland plans their trip.

-0-

Prince Derek and First Son Stiles. Gooey, ridiculous romance ensues.

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

Good for you by lilysaid (E | 1/1 | 16,768)

Completely by chance, I saw a "human boyfriend for werewolf roleplay" ASMR video on YouTube and thought 1. Stiles would totally do something as reckless as making an ASMR channel for werewolves 2. He would be really good at it and 3. It would definitely blow up in his face.

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

No Other Love by Idday (T | 1/1 | 18,745)

And maybe it’s irony, or the universe at work, or maybe it’s just Derek Hale’s shitty luck, but that’s when, at that exact moment (as Stiles will swear later), there’s a knock on the door. “Laura?” Derek breathes in disbelief, and Stiles feels his own face fall into confused slackness. Because the girl standing in the doorway? The last time Stiles had seen her—or, well, half of her—she’d been very naked, and very, very dead. “Hey, baby bro,” she says with a grin. ... OR: The one where Laura comes back from the dead, and it turns out to be bad for Stiles, because he’s suddenly spending a lot of quality time with one of the coolest people he’s ever met, and her brother. The guy that he might be just a little in love with. He's not okay.

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

Nothing Short Of Perfect by GotTheSilver (E | 1/1 | 27,019)

In which Derek and Stiles are made aware of their potential and have to make a choice about what their relationship will be.

“Let me get this straight,” his dad says. “You’re telling me a witch told Derek and yourself that you could be destined to be together and now Derek will be going to college with you?”

Stiles shrugs, resting his hands on his legs to stop himself from fidgeting. “That’s about it, yep.”

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

The Weight of an Enchanted Heart by PalenDrome (nerdherderette), 1jet2unknown (E | 1/1 | 31,590)

Marriage to the shape-shifting Alpha King of Lunansholt wasn't on Stiles' bingo card. His magic had other plans.

[excerpt]: Stiles entered Derek’s chambers, slamming the door behind him. “What did you do with my things?”

“These things?” Derek asked, waving his hand with an arched brow.

Stiles gaped when he saw his books lined neatly on Derek’s shelves. His trunk was in the corner, many of his clothes were visible in the partly open wardrobe, and the cloak he’d brought from home hung neatly on a hook.

“It would have been nice if you asked first.” A quick sweep around the room found only one bed. “Where am I supposed to sleep?” he asked, frowning.

“We are married now, Stiles,” Derek said after a moment. “We sleep together.”

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

No Mercy by Gia279 (M | 24/24 | 24,743)

The story of the Boy King was this: when he was sixteen, the Stilinski kingdom was at war with the Novak kingdom. King John was on the front lines with his soldiers when his teenage heir came to check in with him. The king was struck down in a nighttime attack, in front of the boy. The boy took up the king’s dropped sword, mounted his war steed, and slaughtered the enemy forces.

When the remaining soldiers surrendered, he cut them down with his father’s sword and returned home a boy king with a bloodstained reputation.

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

Salty Sweet by secondstar (E | 11/11 | 46,478)

Derek works at a porn store. One day, Stiles comes in asking all sorts of TMI questions about different toys. That's where it all starts.

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

Call Me (Cliché) by orphan_account (M | 18/18 | 84,649)

When the sheriff's sister ends up in a wheelchair for the duration of summer, Stiles' dreams of three months full of pack bonding, late-night video games and bro-time with Scott come crashing down. He's temporarily relocated to Redford, a three hour drive away, and he can already tell he won't be getting many visitors.

Sure the pack will forget about him while he's gone, Stiles is determined to make the most of his summer of isolation, training his body and mind - and his magic - so he can come back with a bang, and maybe catch a certain Sourwolf's eye.

Then Derek shows up at his window one night with a flimsy excuse about needing research done. Suddenly, his summer away is looking a whole lot more interesting.

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

************************************************************************

[duxbelisarius]

The Velaryon Blockade or, How Not to Fight a War at Sea

Greetings and Salutations! After many months since completing the Military Analysis series, and having watched Season 2 of House of the Dragon (surely one of the shows of all time), I've returned to do some further analysis of the war of the Dance. I may end up including this entry in a subsequent re-write of the original analysis series, but I'm currently in the middle of working on a Daeron fanfic and wanted to write this to get my juices flowing. Without further ado, onto the main event: The Blockade of the Gullet (WARNING: Spoilers for HOTD and F&B; this is gonna be a long one!)

Analyzing the blockade of the Gullet or the Velaryon Blockade, as portrayed in Fire and Blood and House of the Dragon, requires tackling the subjects of how King's Landing is fed and whether such a blockade is feasible given the technology available to the setting. I'll start with the provisioning of King's Landing since the show made a big deal out of it, and it has implications for Fire and Blood's portrayal of the Dance.

The idea of a blockade of the Gullet leading to food shortages and near-starvation in King's Landing is a non-starter, since it is supported neither by the ASOIAF books or the show Game of Thrones. In the former case, we know that House Tyrells support for Renly leads to the Roseroad being closed and near famine conditions in KL, as noted by Tyrion in A Storm of Swords:

The mob loved Margaery so much they were even willing to love Joffrey again. She had belonged to Renly, the handsome young prince who had loved them so well he had come back from beyond the grave to save them. And the bounty of Highgarden had come with her, flowing up the roseroad from the south. The fools didn't seem to remember that it had been Mace Tyrell who closed the roseroad to begin with, and made the bloody famine. (ASOS, Tyrion VIII)

GoT retained this thread in Season 2 and returned to the subject of the Reach supplying KL with the 'Loot Train Battle' in Season 7.

Looked at more broadly, there are three sources of food that KL can access which render the Gullet completely redundant: Firstly, there is the Crownlands themselves, which should be accessible to KL by road or by boat via Blackwater Bay; there's the Reach, which is the most agriculturally abundant of all the Seven Kingdoms, although the main artery of this supply really should be the Mander river and not the Roseroad; and finally we have the Riverlands, which ought to be more important of a source for food since goods could reach KL from there entirely by boat or barge thanks to the Blackwater Rush and the God's Eye lake. Regardless, access to these areas means that little if any food provisions should be required to pass through the Gullet to support the capital, and this creates problems for the show and the books.

Leaving aside how the Blockade in the show is rendered useless, there is a massive plot hole for the Dance created by acknowledging this information. Prior to Criston Cole's Crownlands Campaign, most of that region, most of the Reach and all of the Riverlands have sworn fealty to Rhaenyra. Even if rationing was introduced and every source of food in the city were exploited, KL is still cut off from it's main food providers and this fact should have been addressed by the councils of either faction. Rhaenyra's allies were capable of cutting off the city's food supply and their armies could have come together to lay siege to the city. The only real obstacles they would face are Vhagar and Sunfyre, since Borros Baratheon and the Stormlands vanish from the narrative following Luke's death.

On the other hand, Aegon should have seized upon this threat to push for immediate action given his impatience with Otto's letter writing, the only payoff for which is the Triarchy's attack on the Gullet at the start of the next year. Aemond already secured the Baratheons, Tyland guarantees the Westerlands' support, and Ormund is effectively alone in supporting Aegon's cause in the Reach. As it turns out, neither faction is cognizant of this specific vulnerability of the capital at this time or later on in the Dance. When living conditions deteriorate under Rhaenyra, her tax policy is blamed rather than the fact that Cole's campaign should have negatively affected Crownlands agriculture; the Reach is rapidly switching sides thanks to Daeron; Daemon left the Riverlands in the hands of his army and those of the Lannisters, Aemond and Cole, with devastating consequences for the land and people; and finally, that the onset of winter should be having a negative effect on the food supply of the the Kingdoms.

It also needs to be stressed that for KL to rely on overseas shipments for the majority if not entirety of it's food supply, it would require the Targaryen monarchy to possess far greater governmental and military resources than they are given by George. Looking at Rome from the Middle Republic onwards and the Eastern Roman Empire prior to the Arab invasions, we can see that grain shipments helped to sustain far greater cities than King's Landing in Rome and Constantinople. In both cases though, they could rely on a hinterland for local food markets (Italy for Rome, Thrace/modern day Bulgaria for Constantinople) and possessed almost overwhelming naval supremacy which ensured the security of the seas. Rome could reliably access Sicily, North Africa, and Egypt for its grain needs, and Constantinople could do likewise with Anatolia, Egypt, the Black Sea basin and later Sicily and North Africa as well.

Ships bound for KL from the Reach would have to sail the treacherous waters and barren coast of southern Dorne, brave storms and pirates in the Stepstones, and risk further storms off the coast of the Stormlands, and this is without considering how dangerous the transit would be during years long autumns and winters. Essosi shipments have the same problem but with the added wrinkle that the crown would have to pay for them, whereas Roman grain shipments were often provided by collecting taxes in kind rather than cash from farmers in Egypt and North Africa. This alone would automatically elevate House Lannister above the Targaryens as the foremost house in the Seven Kingdoms, given their access to nigh-infinite gold deposits. This is all to say that the premise of the Gullet Blockade starving out KL is utterly preposterous, which makes it completely unsurprising that Ryan Condal and Sara Hess chose to run with it!

By contrast, the blockade attempted in F&B was meant to put pressure on the Greens by cutting off all trade to the capital, preventing merchants from reaching the city or leaving it. The foreign and domestic merchants trapped in Blackwater Bay are among the loudest voices criticizing Aegon and his leadership, which was seemingly the aim of Corlys Velaryon. Unfortunately for George's plot, close examination of the development of naval warfare in the Medieval and Early Modern Periods (c.500-1500 and c.1500-1800 respectively), the very periods George has derived his naval technology and ship designs from, indicate that the blockade of the Gullet makes no sense militarily. I arrived at my conclusion about the Blockade after consulting John H. Pryor and Elizabeth M. Jeffries excellent book The Age of the Dromon: The Byzantine Navy c.500-1204, with further insight provided by X users SzablaObr2023 and the "Orc Logistics Guy" himself, Professor Bret Devereaux.

The most fundamental problem with the Gullet Blockade is that it's the wrong kind of blockade to attempt within the setting; historically, there have been two types of blockade attempted in war: Close and Distant. Close blockades were the most common in pre-modern times, and involved cutting off naval traffic from a region or area (typically a port) with ships posted within sight of the coastline. Distant blockades aim to cut off traffic to a much larger area by posting ships at sea far from the coastline of the intended target. The Velaryons are attempting the latter kind by controlling the waters between Dragonstone and Massey's Hook, to prevent any ships from entering or leaving Blackwater Bay and thereby isolating King's Landing.

The forces available to Corlys Velaryon are not insignificant: we know that Alyn Velaryon sailed against the Stepstones in 133 AC with 60 war galleys, 30 longships, and over 100 cogs and great cogs, to which we can add the 7 warships that escorted the Gay Abandon in 129-130 AC. Increasing this fleet by a third and rounding up to account for the losses suffered in the Battle of the Gullet gives the Velaryon Fleet at least 270 ships at the outset of the Dance, potentially as high as 300. By comparison, the Redwyne Fleet in 300 AC possesses 200 warships, about equal to the Carthaginian fleet at the outset of the First Punic War and larger than any fleet used by Athens against Sparta during the Peloponnesian War (see this video from 15:27 onward).

Based on Alyn's order of battle, it appears that the Velaryon Fleet was evenly split between oared warships and pure sailing vessels, which presents a problem for the Gullet Blockade. While oared and sailing vessels could maintain a close blockade, the former are completely unsuited for a distant blockade due to their logistical requirements and seaworthiness. Close blockades were often used to cut off a port or narrow stretch of water in support of a siege by land forces; an excellent historical example is the Battle of Actium in 31 BC, when the army and fleet of Gaius Octavian trapped Mark Antony's forces in the Ambracian Gulf. Closeness to the coast and the friendly armies stationed there ensured that oared ships had access to food supplies and more importantly, fresh water. Pryor and Jeffries estimate that each member of a Byzantine rowing crew required a minimum of 8 liters of fresh water per day; a Dromon with 108 rowers would thus need 864 liters per day and 1000 liters or one tonne if the marines and officers are included (adding a second crew of rowers would almost double that amount). Mediterranean war galleys of the Medieval and Early Modern Periods had storage for only 4-8 tonnes of fresh water on board, making accessible fresh water sources a sine qua non for operations of any length.

The other factor rendering oared warships unsuitable for distant blockade duties is their seaworthiness, which Pryor and Jeffries discuss at length:

if the wind rose to Beaufort Scale Four-Five (16-17 knots) ... That would raise waves of around 4.75 feet, 1.45 metres. All galleys at all times were designed to cut through the water rather than to ride the waves and such a wind, which is just a “moderate” to “fresh” breeze on the Beaufort Scale, nothing out of the ordinary, would send waves washing over the deck of any dromon. Even if the wind were astern, she would still be forced to run for the coast. If the wind were ahead, it would be worse because that would mean that the ship was attempting to beat to windward and therefore would be heeling over with one gunwale continuously under water." ... Scale Seven winds would raise seas up to 13.5 feet (4.115 metres) and no dromon would stand a chance of continuing its voyage in such conditions. The authors of the Olympias project have concluded that a trieres [Trireme] would be swamped in waves above 0.85 metres, and we believe that in all probability a dromon would have been also. ... However, galleys were simply not designed to be sailed and throughout history they were always notoriously poor sailers. Because their lack of deep keels meant that they made excessive leeway when beating into the wind, because their shallow draft and low freeboard meant that they could not heel under sail very much, because their narrow beam and low depth in hold meant that their hulls did not have the structural strength to carry a large press of sail, and because their extreme length:beam ratio and lateen sails meant that they carried pronounced weather helm, constantly griping, the bows coming up into the wind, galleys were always notorious for poor upwind performance under sail. That is nothing to be wondered at for they were not designed to do that ... Moreover, a heel under sail of a mere ten degrees or so would put the lower rims of the lower oar ports at the flat water line and at that point it is highly questionable whether the oar sleeves would have prevented water from entering the hull, even if they were tied off. (Age of the Dromon, pg. 336-338)

Velaryon war galleys and longships would need to stay close to Cracklaw Point, Massey's Hook, Driftmark and Dragonstone to be of any assistance to the Blockade, although with the rough seas and weather of autumn and winter even this would be a doubtful prospect. Corlys would have to rely upon the cogs and great cogs of the Velaryon Fleet to conduct the blockade; Devereaux and Szabla noted that sailing vessels are capable of conducting distant blockades, as demonstrated by Britain's Royal Navy during the Napoleonic Wars. They also note that conducting such a blockade entailed problems all its own:

A distant blockade with sailing vessels still required significant logistical support, a well developed naval command structure and bureaucracy, and only began to be attempted centuries after the High and Late Middle Ages when the Cog was widely used.

Even if we leave these issues aside, the Gullet Blockade still has another serious problem: Communications. Based on a distance map of Westeros, the distance between Crackclaw Point and Sharp Point appears to be c.125 miles while the length of the Gullet proper from Dragonstone to Sharp Point may be 100 miles or less. Meleys is the only dragon known to have supported the Blockade and seems not to have been replaced after her death at Rook's Rest. Over 100 cogs and 1 dragon at best would be the only forces capable of patrolling the Gullet to any effect, while the need for ships to resupply the blockade and to act as reserves to relieve ships from the Blockade line drastically reduces the amount of ships that could patrol the Gullet. Pryor and Jeffries' assessment of Byzantine visual signaling suggests that communications within the Blockade would be almost impossible:

The masthead height of the foremast of a standard dromon as we have reconstructed it was only around 10.65 metres above sea level. There were, admittedly, larger dromons; however, for what follows a couple of metres more of masthead height would make no difference to the conclusions reached. With a foremast height of 10.65 metres above sea level, the theoretical horizon of a lookout at the masthead would have been only around 11.8 kilometres. Theoretically, the peak of a lateen sail 21 metres above sea level could be seen a further 51.7 kilometres away but, of course, no man could see 63.5 kilometres with unaided sight. In all probability, around 15-20 kilometres would have been the limit of visibility from the masthead of a dromon. Scout ships could not, therefore, patrol a space more than 30-40 kilometres in advance of a fleet and probably no more than 30, since they were always said to have been smaller than standard dromons and would have had lower mastheads. In fact, in order to be able to actually read signals with unaided eyesight and communicate them back to the fleet, distances must have been even less than this. Syrianos Magistros advised that a fleet should always proceed with scout ships out ahead, up to six milia or so. Two scout ships should be 6 milia ahead and another two should be between them and the fleet to relay any messages. Six milia was only around 8 kilometres. If the forward scout ships then had a range of visibility of another 8-16 kilometres, then the real maritime space that could be observed was only around 25 kilometres at best. (Age of the Dromon, pg. 388-389).

Compared to the Gullet, the Strait of Otranto is 100 km wide (c.69 miles) while the distance between Crete and Rhodes is 180 km (c.112 miles) with the island of Karpathos in the middle; neither the Byzantines nor contemporary Mediterranean powers could control entry and exit through such space.

It might be argued that spyglasses, known in ASOIAF as Myrish Lenses or a Myrish Eye, could offer a solution to such long distances; unfortunately these devices are only produced in Myr, and of the three mentioned in the main books only one is used onboard a ship. The lenses used by Maesters Luwin and Aemon are large enough to require a tripod; the only one mentioned aboard a ship is a collapsible Eye carried by a Myrish captain whose ship is taken by Victarion en route to Slavers Bay. Even if Myrish lenses were available to some degree, it's unlikely they could overcome the problems of distance and the conditions at sea.

Writing about the War of 1812, Frederick Leiner states that a lookout "perched on the masthead, 80 or 100 feet above the main deck, and equipped with a spyglass, with the horizon perhaps 20 miles off ... might be able to discern a larger warship-like frigate perhaps as far as 15 miles distant, if the weather were clear and sea conditions allowed." 15 miles or 24 km is impressive compared to the 8-16 km of the Byzantine scout ships mentioned by Pryor and Jeffries, but the heights of Leiner's masts are more than double that of a Dromon and taller still than a cogs. Even a spyglass from two centuries after they were first introduced would not greatly enhance the vision of a Velaryon lookout, and the notoriously poor weather and seas of the Westerosi autumn and winter would certainly counteract it. With ships being kept off station to ferry supplies and act as reserves, the area needing to be patrolled would make visual signaling highly impractical.

To quote Pryor and Jeffries once more, "Expeditionary objectives could frequently be achieved best by preserving one’s forces intact and actually avoiding battle since naval warfare was essentially amphibious warfare whose purpose was to secure control of terrestrial objectives rather than to attempt to control maritime space (Age of the Dromon, 388)." Using the Velaryon Fleet to support the Black armies rather than attempting an exercise in futility by blockading the Gullet, would have applied pressure to Aegon and the Greens more effectively while being consistent with the setting that George created and its inspirations.

The most obvious way for the Velaryon Fleet to support the Blacks would be through transporting Northern and Vale troops south of the Neck and the Mountains of the Moon, to take the fight to Aegon rather than sitting back passively once Daemon rallied the Riverlords and the Blacks in the Reach marched on Oldtown. Considering how swiftly both of those armies were raised, it makes no sense why the Vale could not at least send troops to assist Rhaenyra in the Crownlands. Another option and one which I proposed in part 12 and the conclusion of my military analysis series, would be to send the Velaryon Fleet south against the Stormlords.

Otto Hightower believed that Tarth would support Rhaenyra's cause, and Lord Buckler and Lady Fel were both executed by Aegon for refusing to swear fealty to him instead of Rhaenyra. The bulk of the Crownlands supports Rhaenyra prior to Criston Cole's campaign, and Felwood and Bronzegate are located south of the Crownlands astride the Kingsroad to Storm's End. The Wendwater flows through the Stormlands and Crownlands before emptying into Blackwater Bay; assuming the river is even partially navigable, this could allow shallow drafted boats to move troops and supplies into the lower Kingswood and prevent Aegon and Borros from aiding one another. Naval operations along the coast would be risky given the arrival of autumn, but the weather rarely affects the plot of the Dance if the author doesn't want it to. Tarth would serve as a base for the Velaryon ships to resupply and further raid the coast or land troops and the Blacks in the Reach could threaten the border, with the Cockleswhent and Blueburn rivers potentially serving as supply arteries for an invasion from the west.

There are also compelling political reasons for the Blacks and particularly the Velaryons to attack the Stormlands: It would punish Borros Baratheon for breaking his father's oath to Rhaenyra, esp. since his father supported Rhaenys and Laenor in 101 and Rhaenys is currently part of the Black council; it could be portrayed as vengeance for the death of Lucerys Velaryon over Shipbreaker Bay; and it could potentially force the Greens out of King's Landing. Aemond's betrothal to Floris Baratheon would give him some obligation to support his ally and future good-father against their common foe, and failure to give aid would endanger the Baratheon alliance. Aegon's only other allies are in the Westerlands and the Honeywine valley of the southern Reach, and without the Baratheons he is completely surrounded by his enemies. Whether Aegon, Aemond or both set out with an army to aid Borros, King's Landing's garrison and perhaps one dragonrider are all that would be left to defend against an attack by Daemon and the Riverlords and/or the Black houses of the Reach.

These scenarios offer a more effective employment for the Velaryon Fleet, but there is a way to retain the blockade while ensuring that the ending of the Dance remains relatively the same (Rhaenyra and Aegon are dead, Aegon III and Jaehaera marry, most of the dragons are dead, etc.) by acknowledging that the blockade is a poor strategy. It could start by allowing Mysaria's spies to discover the fate of the Royal Treasury, with ships carrying 75% of the treasury out of Blackwater Bay without the awareness of the Velaryon Fleet. It can even be implied that Larys Strong leaked this information to play both sides and drive a wedge between Rhaenyra and her Hand; this pays off as Rhaenyra blames Corlys and the Velaryons for this embarassment and imposes the Blockade against Corlys' judgement. The blockade serves as a way for her to get back at Aegon while asserting her royal authority after her claim was usurped.

The Velaryon Fleet is thus forced to commit the entirety of its forces to a task that Corlys, his vassals, and his captains and crews know is beyond their means to carry out successfully. Many galleys could be lost to the stormy seas and their crews drowned, while the cogs must endure the same weather and miserable conditions in pursuit of a pointless task. Morale declines steadily as many ships desert completely, turning to piracy or becoming merchantmen and sellsails in Essos, which further undermines the blockade. Tensions between Rhaenyra and Corlys would already be high before Rhaenys' death and could reach a crisis point after the Battle of the Gullet. The way the battle plays out in F&B could likewise be retained if the mistakes made by the Blacks are acknowledged, being the failure of naval or dragon patrols to detect the approach of the Triarchy Fleet. Gyldan could point out that both Prince Jacaerys and Lord Corlys are at fault for the disaster, but that Rhaenyra solely blames the Velaryons. I would even go a step further: Medieval and Early Modern naval combat relied heavily on boarding actions, excluding cannons since they're not present in George's setting. With many galleys and ships being entangled in these close-quarters bouts, it would not be surprising if the dragonriders set fire to Velaryon ships by mistake and further contributed to the deterioration of Velaryon support.

With many officers and crews having lost their families and homes in the Triarchy attack, this would present a perfect opportunity for Vaemond Velaryon's sons, Daeron and Daemion, and his nephews the 'Silent Five' to take action if they were not already involved in the events of the Dance. With Larys possibly assisting them, they could begin organizing a fleet-wide mutiny against Rhaenyra and the Black Council, which would take place after Corlys is arrested. Addam and Alyn would flee to Dragonstone and Driftmark, the former to seek Baela and Moondancer's help and the latter to rally ships and crews to help his father. The mutineers capture Alyn while Addam finds Moondancer dead, Baela imprisoned, and Dragonstone in the hands of Aegon II, with a battle ensuing between Sunfyre and Seasmoke which leads to Aegon's injuries and Addam fleeing the bay worse for wear. Heading to Maidenpool and finding that Nettles has fled and Daemon and Aemond are fallen in battle, Addam could then rally what forces he can for a suicide mission against Tumbleton with the aim of killing Daeron and the Betrayers and mauling their army before it can join Aegon at King's Landing.

This sets up how I would fix Second Tumbleton, by Addam showing up to find Daeron already battling with the Betrayers and the army divided. Knowing that neither Aegon and Alicent nor Alyn, Baela and Corlys will survive if the Betrayers take the capital, Addam and Daeron join forces and rout the Betrayers army, with all four dragonriders being killed in the battle. This change is important if Jaehaera's death is retained, since there needs to be strong foundations for reconciling the Greens and Blacks. Addam and Daeron the Daring's sacrifice gives both factions heroes that they can memorialize and honour together; Daenaera's marriage to Aegon III is also helped by her father and uncle having been actively involved in Rhaenyra's downfall in support of Aegon II. A final touch I would add would be for Alyn to lead a counter-mutiny following Aegon II's death which leads to deaths of Daeron Velaryon and three of the 'Silent Five'; Alyn could swear an oath to the dying Daeron to look after his daughter Daenaera now that both her parents will be dead. This magnanimous act by Alyn and the respect the Velaryon Fleet has for him could inform Daemion's decision to break with the remaining 'Silent Five' and support Alyn's claim as Corlys' heir.

If you've made it to the end of this wall of text, I commend you! For those that want a TL;DR: The Show's blockade is nonsense; the Book blockade is unworkable as a strategy; nonetheless, the blockade and the Velaryon Fleet can still play an important role in the story if the aforementioned flaws are acknowledged. Thanks for reading, and I'll catch you on the flip side!

[riewritten]

34 DUSK IN THE BRIGHTEST (BONUS)

DUSK IN THE BRIGHTEST | chapter directory

erwin smith/fem!reader, erwin smith/you | slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff & smut, mutual pining, canon AU, college/univ AU, professor erwin smith, commander erwin smith, non-linear narrative, manga spoilers

Plot: It was always the nightmares, really. Entrapped with walls, human-eating giants, fighting through metal strings and swords – utterly violent, dreary, recurrent. But behind the blurry faces was a man with menacing blue eyes and vivid features; eventually appearing before you as your new reputable professor, Erwin Smith. Since then, the disaster had slipped beyond your subconscious. AO3

Author's note: Happy new year! Here's the long-standing bonus chapter of this dear fanfic, events set post-epilogue and based upon the lovely requests my readers had back when this story was still ongoing.

In your little brother’s dream, you and he were still mere kids of convicted serial killers. A military police officer took you both in good faith—at least until the chaos that changed your lives for good.

As you two waddled your little feet amid the dreary daybreak of Mitras, your little brother did his best to hold onto you despite the frostbite lurking on his skin like a plague. You gripped his hand just the same, desperate to feel his skin and not the other that tormented you, to be reminded that despite what had just transpired, you still had something to calm you down from the turmoil of your wrath.

“I’m hungry,” your poor brother whispered; it wasn't until he heard your stomach grumble after his remark that he retracted. “No, never mind.” Then his voice tipped into a tiny, meek apology. “I’m sorry.” Albeit the remorse in his voice was louder than ever. 

“No worries! We’ll find food soon. Don’t worry.”

He explains your assuring smile and buoyant voice as something extremely out of place. In the narration he had given to Erwin, he described it as something immensely worrying—horrifying, even. He also said that a normal person might perceive you as one trying to be strong despite what just happened to you, but your brother could, in fact, see the sheer emptiness in your eyes that day; he could see the wrath that’s been trying to hold itself all thanks to the warmth of his frostbitten hand. 

But then again, with a shaky voice and eyes down the ground, he told Erwin that despite the shivers running down his spine, he opted to hold your hand tighter instead. He had chosen to gulp his lamentations and fury down his throat. This is, after all, the first time in his life that he has felt scared of you.

The soft hiss of the kettle fills his office along with your exasperated sigh. That's when Erwin notices that you’ve finished reading your brother’s narrative, which Erwin helped to write.

“What a strange thing this is,” Erwin muses. “Unlike us two—who only got to have a vivid recollection of the most important events in that world—your brother seems to have been reliving his day-to-day life back there, as if sleeping here means waking up on his bed at Paradis.”

The scent of chamomile then wraps the whole room, his old books, and ink-stained papers included, which almost triggers a nostalgic bliss on your end. After all, a session like this in Erwin’s office brings you back to the days when he helped you deal with your nightmares in this same manner. 

It’s just that you can’t seem to be giddy right now, not when you two are dealing with your brother’s nightmares this time around.

A boy merely the age of seven who can barely go to school because of how dreadful it is to cope with the memories of another world all the while dealing with this new one you had made—nothing but his tiny body and naivety at hand. How poor. This is not the life you had promised him the first time you met each other in this world. 

“Is this approach working?” You inquire in worry. “Aren’t we just putting a strain on him by making him write all this?"

“Too early to judge, if I’d be honest,” Erwin replies. But his voice, resembling the Commander ruminating about his strategies, becomes none when he holds your hand. “Don’t worry too much. We’re doing all that we can for him. And he seems to be responding to the psychologist you referred to just well.” And just like that, he's back to being your fiance, helping you get through the hurdles of the burden you carry in this world, just as he always does and will.

You let out another sigh, but more of relief than exasperation. Just a few minutes ago, the sound of the brewing tea felt out of place; the clock ticked in an offbeat rhythm that irked you so much; and amid the supposed calm of the chamomile is a breath held too long in a paper where your brother's worries have festered.

How calming it is when you finally look up at this man, your beloved Erwin, with his gentle blue eyes staring at you with devotion and reverence? 

Your hands cup his cheeks; his eyes soften further. Your thumb glides on the expanse of his cheeks, soft and familiar to your loving touch.

“What's on your mind?”

“I need to tell you something. But I would like to apologize first. I thought keeping it to myself would be for the better.”

“Then that's on me,” Erwin returns the gesture. He cups your cheeks, squeezes them with his broad hands, and then he adds, “What have I done wrong that you start keeping things from me, huh?” And yet his tone is still light, non-accusatory, almost teaseful even.

It makes you more guilty.

“I told you before that... his school doesn't like his continued absences, right?”

“Hm, and?”

“And, uh, I went to meet the principal personally a few months ago... to personally talk to him and settle stuff..." Oh god, how can you even start this talk?

“Is the principal someone we know from the other world...?" ”

“It's that man.”

Quickly, Erwin's face falters. Still, he tries to recon, “By that man, you mean...”

"M-Murdoch... that damned-in-the-head soldier who took us in back in that world—the same old man you helped me kill.”

Erwin's face darkens. One blink and you'd perceive him as the dreadful Commander again. But when he asks, “How did that make you feel?”With his thumb gliding ever so softly to your cheek, you almost have the urge to cry.

How easy it is for Erwin to just melt your mask away, indeed?

“Oh, oh no,” Erwin's worried face as he starts wiping your tears away has made you crumble even more. “Tell me how you feel, darling.”

“I feel disgusted,” you sob. "I-I'm starting to think that even in worlds beyond, the mark he had imprinted on me and my brother persists just the same. That I'm meant to be tormented by him because I chose to exist, and... And..."

“And that's not true,” Erwin cuts you off, the talk of whether or not you deserve to exist still a non-negotiable matter on his end. “I refuse to have that man define your existence. You know the lengths I have gone in Paradis to ensure that.”

Oh, yes. Yes, you do. 

No need to fret too much; this man will do everything in his power for you, for your loved ones, and for your very existence to persist the way it deserves to be—to not be once again held by the shackles of specific people who had made you feel horrible, in this world and beyond.

“You know it, right?”

You let out your last sniffle before sternly adding, “Don't kill him.”

And there, Erwin's serious face swiftly turns light again. He laughs and shakes his head, suddenly endeared by your command.

“That solely depends on him, if I'd be honest.”

“Erwin.”

“Shh, I won't, I won't.” He kisses your forehead, marking his assurance. “Now, be a dear and tell me everything that had happened the day you two talked.”

Since that confession, the three of you followed a nightmare protocol that takes place every breakfast—a time when dreams are still fresh and you have to debrief otherwise it ruins the day.

The routine is grounding yourselves first thing as soon as you wake up (faster if someone’s already awake to help). Once rational enough, the three of you can have two options: write it all down on your designated notebooks located at the bedside table or talk it out during breakfast—which in this case, the listener would be the one to jot it down on your behalf.

There are key points to be answered during the debriefing: the sensory descriptions of the nightmare, your thoughts, your feelings, and most important of all:

How is it different that dream was from the world you're living in right now?

Because then, once the three of you discern that very aspect, you'd be able to face the day with relief regardless of how bad the nightmare is.

It's not linear, though. Take, for example…

"Eight-meter class… mhm…" you mumble, "...from the east."

"Eight-meter class of what?"

You frown at the questioning Commander. "Y-you piece of—” to ask such a question during a crisis is just— “you should've just killed me… ugh, kill me now."

Then suddenly, a futon pops out of thin air. How comical, even more so when you snuggle into it just quick. You hear Erwin's weak chuckle from behind.

"Are you the Commander she's talking about?" your brother asks from behind—a child version of him, rather. "She's always saying 'Commander' every sleep talk beside me."

"Really? What more does she say?"

"Many things. She sounds like a mother berating a reckless child."

You stand confused at the conversation unfolding before you. Note that there's still an eight-meter class titan running towards you as the three of you speak.

Erwin then asks your brother, "Is it causing you disturbance?"

"Yeah, she's quite noisy and always frowning," the kid sighed. "Sleep is supposed to relax you but it does the opposite to her. Not that I don't understand, though…”

“Yeah, you behave the same and your sister's the one to calm you down, no?” Erwin then dearly ruffles the kid's hair.

Oh, okay.

This is all a dream. The eight-meter class titan soon dissipates and your vision turns black. Slowly but surely, you gather the needed reflex to barely open your eyes. Your boys continue to talk, not noticing you at all.

Erwin interposes, "But then again, if you're that bothered then bring her back to me already. She's been sleeping in your room for a month now."

"Are you jealous?"

"You're just pretending to be afraid of the dark.”

"I am afraid of the dark!”

"Oh? Then the only way to rule fear is by confronting it, don't you think so?”

"You don't say that to my sister regarding utensils!”

"And don't dare tell her that,” Erwin cuts the young boy off as if he just uttered a cuss word. “She's an exception to the rule and yet still doing so well.” 

When Erwin's loving gaze lays upon you again, you quickly close your eyes and feign asleep. You love moments like this, after all. Catching these two talking about you while you're out of it makes you feel adored. Absolutely adored.

"See? You're spoiling her! Why would I give my sister to someone who's spoiling her?"

Erwin, in a small retaliation, flicks the kid's forehead. "You can't give something you don't own," then his broad hands land on the crown of your head. He caresses it out of habit. "She's the one supposed to own things in this world—the one who owns us. She’s the reason we exist in this world."

Much to how genuinely endeared Erwin is in that remark, it does more than draw you in. It doesn't take long for the uninvited memories to kick in and blur your senses. Your eyebrows crease, your breathing deepens as you hear your mother's words.

“But I hate this world. I loathe it. And having to see those conversations, picking up the clues, and realizing you're the reason this happened—just right after I tried to get along with you again."

You try to open your eyes but to no avail, confused why when you were just pretending to be asleep a few minutes ago. The confusion then turns to annoyance. It annoys you, really, because regardless of how random the exchange is, if your brain decides that it reminds you of that day, it really will make you relieve every single thing.

"Is that why my brother never got to be born?” The realization daunted you. You’re the reason he’s gone again. “Is there a way I could change it?"

Your pained expression is what snapped the two from their daily bantering. Apparently, you whispered some of your mother's words weakly. Just as if you’re there again, just as if your mother is holding a knife at you again.

"She hadn't done that in two months," your brother's breath hitches, "and now that I think of it, her sleep talking became more frequent during the past weeks. I wonder if something is stressing her out."

Erwin attempts to rationalize it inside his head. He wouldn’t have known that; you’re always sleeping with your brother. But why? Why would your nightmares about that day recur again?

It is until the lightbulb in Erwin’s head finally lights up. Of course. How could he brush that off?

Amid the struggle with your little brother, the two of you have also been trying to find leads on that tree only to no avail. In hindsight, Erwin has taken that as an opportunity to rest and savor the peaceful time in its wake.

And if he'd be more honest? Despite a very unlikely attitude for someone as earnest as him, his desire to give you every possible peace in this world led him to actually avoid the matter at hand.

He might've done it the wrong way, he realizes just now in guilt.

"Well, this calls for my dibs then. She's staying in my room tonight." Erwin wraps you up with the futon and then carries you in his arms; your brother sighs in defeat.

"Just so you know, I still don't favor you for my sister."

Erwin stays still; his back facing your brother—unreadable for the sulking boy.

“That I know.”

"She's too good for you."

"I know,” his voice is weaker this time around.

Erwin knows—he knows it too well, he fears. Your brother might've been so fond of him way back in Paradis, but unlike you, who thought he was too naive, the Commander had discerned how sharp he actually was. Your brother was smart enough to separate his admiration for him from the want to protect you with all his heart; he was smart enough to recognize that if there's someone who can take care of his sister and vice versa, that would and must never be the ruthless Commander.

"Your sister's happiness happens to be divided into two. Perhaps we could ally instead."

Now riddled with guilt at Erwin's sudden poignancy after his sulking, your brother then stays silent.

"Don't worry," Erwin faces him briefly, "I know how undeserving I am for the role, more than anyone could.”

All set and wrapped, he buries your head in his neck then starts walking to the room without a word.

The heat of the futon and Erwin’s soft scent on the mattress eventually eases the nightmare away.

You are awoken with his fingers gliding over your cheeks, a learned habit and perhaps a gesture for you to be aware that you've been crying and groaning while asleep. Despite the lack of a smile, the solace of his touches dissipated the dread of whatever you've been dreaming about.

"What's up?" you groggily hum, cup his cheeks, and give him a short kiss—or supposed to.

Because Erwin immediately draws you further to deepen the kiss. He glides his lips alongside yours, tongue eventually in, all for fitful sake to tip the intensity and feel you more.

"Sleep with me tonight," he implores as soon as he's out of your mouth.

"But my brother—"

"He agreed," despite the subtlety, you can see that he's desperate for it. "Sleep with me."

His arm lay draped over your waist, a quiet assurance on his end despite the dread.

After a while of staying silent, you whisper to Erwin. “As long as you want, my love.”

Erwin's face stays unchanged, but you can see it. In his half-closed eyes, you can see the dread dissipating just a tiny bit.

And so you try more, "You'll feel better soon enough, though. It's Sunday tomorrow, we can go to the library you talked about yesterday, and we can eat at the restaurant downtown with—"

His chuckles cut you off, “Bold of you to comfort me when it's you who just had a nightmare.”

“Oh, come on. Indulge me!”

“Okay…” He raises his brows, then, not long when he dips in character. "What if I don't feel better even then?"

"Then we try it again the day after. And the day after that,” you kiss his cheeks. “In fact, we just say it again and again until it really does become better.”

“Ah… my pretty soldier, such a smart problem solver,” he teases.

You giggle in return, “Your love has softened me.”

Days pass, and it really does become better. The nightmare protocol persisted until it bore fruits. The fruits of your labor eventually pave the way to preparing your actual wedding.

It's just that Hange and the others want to meet you before indulging in the wedding preparations.

You've met them in Paradis, why are you shuddering at the thought of it? You're lucky Erwin knows you head to toe, your jitters included, hence he stayed with you all throughout the flight. And after ringing Hange's doorbell, he squeezes your hand assuringly and kisses your cheek. 

You thought what would daunt you upon opening the door was the dreary Scout barracks. But when Hange's grin flashes behind the door, you're suddenly stunned to speak. They all look too… normal? Happy? 

Erwin takes your silence as a chance to introduce you to them, “She’s the one I'm talking about.”

Erwin is about to say more but Hange engulfs you in a hug, “So she’s the pretty girl that made Erwin a mawkish smiling bastard? Oh dear!” When they withdraw from the hug, they hold onto your shoulders. “You’re way cuter in person! Levi was such a bad picture taker and we only managed to get stolen shots from you, usually with Erwin smiling creepily beside!”

You then glare at Levi who's already inside the door, "Hey, you take pictures of me without asking permission?"

Instead of answering, Levi pushes Hange away from you and places a cold beer can on their forehead, “You forgot the baseline human decency of introducing yourself first by muttering your name and shaking hands with her.”

“Oh!” Hange sheepishly chuckles. “Sorry, I was just too thrilled seeing you! I’m—“

“Hange, yes. I know.” You then shake their hand. 

“They told you about me?”

No, actually not. Erwin never explicitly mentioned their name to you, at least in this world.

Still, you lie. “Yeah, Levi told me how you annoy him every single time.”

Levi shoots you a glare, Erwin lets out an almost inaudible snort, and Hange believes it just well.

Oh, only if you knew you'd enjoy their company so much to the point of inebriation. Levi's almost horrified, and Erwin never thought you could be more adorable than he already thought you were.

"You better produce a commendable result at your science experiment this time, Hange!" your voice cracks midway, "I'm not sweating blood and tears kissing nobilities' asses only for you to slack off!"

"Thank you, thank you! Gosh, I don't know what to do without you!"

Hange has no idea what you're talking about, but the alcohol helps in believing whatever you're on.

They engulf you in a hug and add, "But oh, you silly goof, asses are dirty. Do you wash your mouth afterward?"

"I don't. The Commander gives me a lot of tasks that I can't even fix my hair anymore," you chug another bottle out of resentment.

"Commander who?"

"Where is he…" you dart your eyes all over the place and when you see the man in question at the kitchen counter—a hand on his forehead and holding a laugh, you beam. "There you go! Having fun at my suffering again, I see!"

Levi, who's standing just beside him, empties his glass then grabs his phone. "I must have another material to plaster on this woman's hall of shame."

"Hey, Commander Erwin!" Hange shouts along with you. "She's too pretty to be treated like this! What an asshole!"

"She is. I apologize."

Your head plops down the floor carpet. After wiggling your head a bit to settle yourself, you tap Hange. "You won't believe me when I say the Commander called me the most beautiful then kissed my forehead—god I can't believe he only went for my forehead—then slept next to me. We didn't do anything, though. Heh." You let out weak giggles before adding, "I got to sleep with the Commander. How's that."

"Okay, that's it," Erwin quickly rescues you from saying more. "I didn't know you were that disappointed with the forehead kiss. Let's put you to bed now."

Hange's inebriated mind has a completely different scene playing in mind, though. "You seem to have lots of fling during college, Erwin. Do you only kiss them on the forehead when sleeping on the same bed?"

Both of your eyes widen—yours with utter shock and his with confusion.

"I don't sleep on the bed with them. And I don't think they're a lot."

"How many?" you press on Hange.

"Uh, lemme count… One, two, uh…" Every finger Hange raises just subjects you to further shock, "I don't know. It's a common college joke that 'if you haven't got a crush on Erwin yet then are you even a student here?' or something."

"He slept with everyone?!”

Hange looks like nodding, really, until Erwin accidentally nudges the bottle beside him and spills it all over the carpet.

Hange screams in despair, "I just got this from the laundry!"

"Sorry, sorry," Erwin finally managed to make you stand. "I'll clean that up later. This lady is having her head drift to another dimension already. Gotta get her back here."

Indeed, it says a lot about how your eyes were fluttering already.

"You're not sorry, Erwin! You nudged on it intentionally! You should've just told me the talk about your flaming romances must be kept confidential!"

Levi settles on the couch before hitting Hange with a pillow. "Look around you. You had everyone waste themselves out in the living room. I'm quite surprised your big head didn't see carpet stains coming."

As Hange continues their loud blabbering with Levi barely keeping up with it, Erwin settles you on the balcony chair.

He crouches down so you'd be on the same level, then he taps your cheeks, "Still here?"

"Commander, you didn't tell me you slept with everyone." Okay, not here yet. "Clarifying that to the girl you claimed to fancy for years should be the baseline human decency before fucking her."

"I barely slept with anyone, love."

"Bullshit," you let your flailing head land on his shoulder before adding, "you look so good to not do that."

You can feel the heave of his chuckle as well as the vibration of his voice; there, you realize that you can sleep with this alone.

"Are you jealous?" You don't answer, which makes it a yes so Erwin laughs again.

He trails his hand to your fingers and taps on the ring you're wearing as if to make a point.

Your breath hitches at the realization.

"Still jealous, hm?" then he clasps your hands together.

"Holy shit.”

Erwin almost thinks you're back with that. Until you add, "When I told you to live with me inside the walls, I didn't know we'd have it this quick." Okay, still not back. "I don't want children yet, okay?"

And so, he just decides to play along. "But you look good carrying Marie's child. How about ours?"

You shoot your eyes open and exclaim, "That was so hot.” That's what will take you back?! "Say that again. I'll say no but still—say it again."

He had already established that you're the only one to decide on that matter, hence he'd never coax you. Also, the predicament of those people tied to both of you by blood due to your power isn't something to take lightly. What surprises Erwin is that you actually have a hidden pleasure in playing around with the matter at hand.

"So you find it hot to have me begging you for a child?"

"Sort of," you cup his face and grinned. "Want me to bear your children, hm?"

He hitches a breath then, albeit you're unsure if it's out of surprise or just a strained cackle, "Don't say that here."

"Here? Then what about other places?" you feigned surprise. "What if as soon as we get home, I—"

For some reason, he's having a hard time holding back the laughs. Maybe because he realized something as well.

"Okay, you can stop that one. Let's pretend on it once we get home."

"Oooh, I see, you find it hot to have me begging you for a child?" you repeat his question with a mock.

"Having too much fun, huh?”

"Yeah, too much." You land a chaste peck on his lips before wrapping your arms around him. You nuzzle your nose to his neck, a deep sigh out as he holds onto your waist. "I'm not afraid of disappearing after this life. Not anymore. I never thought I'd be this happy."

"Well, I'm still as greedy," he raises your head by cupping your cheeks. "See, if you're not drunk, we'll be making love right now."

"I'm not drunk. Let's do it."

"No."

"I'm feeling hot right now." You attempt to remove your clothes and he stops you amusingly.

"We're not doing it in someone's house."

“Yeah, please don’t do it inside anybody else’s home,” Levi interjects blankly.

“Indeed, Levi interrupting a good talk at the balcony, how familiar,” you scorn. If not for the alcohol you'd be a flustered mess right now.

“Are you drunk?”

"Mhm… no I'm not!” You are. “Are you, Levi? That'd be a waste. I was planning to talk to you about something important tonight.”

"No, not yet," he ponders. "But intoxicated enough to believe whatever bullshit you're about to spur right now as long as you two get your asses inside. The night's getting colder. I don't want you both spreading cold during your wedding.”

"Perfect." You laugh and sigh. Not long after, the smile on your face disappears. You intended to tell Levi the possibility as well. 

Levi asks you two to usher those who have passed out to Hange's bedroom. He forces Erwin to clean the carpet he intentionally sullied. And when the living room is back to its original state, Levi finally lets you talk.

The three of you sit beside each other, with your backs on the edge of the sofa and Hange's glass wall paving for moonlight to pass through. Thanks to that, Levi can register the dreadful revelation about your existence while taking in the gloom in your face. After all, this is something you cannot fathom to tell Isabel, Furlan, and Historia. You trust Levi to be the only one who'd take it stoically.

However, much to your surprise, Levi’s grip on the glass tightens while you talk. The faintest crack eventually spiders across its surface. He has to set it down carefully before turning to face you, his gray eyes unreadable.

“Levi…”

“So that’s it?” His voice is quiet, and yet it carries a weight that successfully presses against your chest. “You just… disappear?”

You nod, not trusting your throat to form words. The confession hangs heavily in the air between the three of you. You expect Levi to take it as usual, so when he presses his lips into a thin line and exhales sharply, you almost get the urge to cry like a guilty girl caught redhanded.

“All this time,” he says, almost to himself. “You know how this will end, and you didn’t say a damn thing? To me, no less?” His tone however, lacks disdain. You don't even see this as him scolding you. You can't even put it into words.

But sure enough, is the first time in a while you've seen him speak this way.

“I didn’t want to burden you,” you whisper faintly, a lack of confidence evident in your voice.

“Burden me? Of all people?” he blankly retorts, but the way he ran a hand through his hair says otherwise. Levi is frustrated. “Do you really think any of this would mean a damn thing without you?”

“I know… I've seen a world like this but without me. I know how sad it's gonna end up. That's why I'm grateful, you see! But then…” you bite your lip. “Erwin and I have been trying for ages, but we still can't find leads on the tree. Worse comes to worst, the tree might not even exist in this world anymore.”

And there, the whole room is wrapped into silence.

"Thank you," is what Levi manages to say after a long while. 

Levi rarely says thank you.

You remove the arm atop your eyes and look at him. His eyes are not on you but on the nightscape by the glass wall, and you can see the subtle but sheer lament on his face. "No one could thank you enough for doing that for us."

"Ever since I got conscious enough in this world, I knew I would do everything for you," you chuckle, thankful at the alcohol before having this talk; if not for that, you'd cringe at how sappy the mood is. “I wouldn’t be alive had Kuchel minded her own business and stayed away from my mother’s affairs.”

On Levi's end, had it not been for the alcohol, he wouldn’t realize he actually misses the days when all of you were still young—the childish sleepovers where Isabel would ask Levi to sit on the carpet so both of you could lay your heads on his lap. Isabel would make your nightmares as the reason. And Levi, albeit repulsed at the favor, would end up agreeing. He would caress your and Isabel’s heads until you sleep. Hell, sometimes he even ends up sleeping the night away with you two along the way.

Levi refills his glass, hoping to fill his tongue with the taste of the wine instead of the bittersweet memory.

"I don't mind if I cease to exist. I couldn't wish for anything more," you absentmindedly whisper at the two when you feel like you’re minutes away from drifting to sleep.

"Told you, Levi, she tends to say that."

"You will not disappear on us, though. Not anytime soon. Not in any world."

"Not like you will remember me in another world, Levi. Don't mind it too much."

Levi flicked your forehead, which earned a frustrated ow from you.

The venue was alive with a soft hum of anticipation, the warm light from the stained-glass windows bathing everyone in vibrant hues. On the other side of the room, there goes Isabel crying with a handkerchief that's not hers. Surprisingly, it is Historia’s gentle hand on her shoulder, offering a consolation that the two are yet to get used to.

“I didn’t think you’d cry this much."

“Shut up,” Isabel sniffles, half-laughing through her tears. “I didn’t think you’d… you know, be here.”

That Historia understands way too well. “We’ve been through too much to let things stay as they were. I’m glad we’re here now.” She hesitates before adding, “She... she said you like going outdoors now. Would you join me on a hike next week? It’s been a while since I’ve had company.”

Isabel nods quickly, much to her surprise. The rekindling bond brings a fresh wave of tears to spill. “Only if I can bring cookies.”

Historia laughs. How childish, she thinks. Only if it wasn't too adorable on her end. “Deal. Mind if I bring my girlfriend?”

On the other side of the room, there's you and a crying Furlan, whom all this time had always seemed so composed. He dabs at his eyes with a trembling hand before pulling you into a tight hug.

“You’ve come so far,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so proud of you.”

You giggle lightly, then eyes dart to Levi who lingers in the corner; his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the room. You approach him tentatively, steps hesitant until his eyes meet yours.

Without a word, he reaches out to deftly smoothen a crease in your dress.

“Your hair is all tousled, Levi. Did you not have enough time to fix yourself?”

“Dunno. Maybe I'll behave the same way once Isabel gets married.” He only shrugs then flatly looks at you before adding, “Let me do what I can do and stop asking for more.”

His words, uncharacteristic yet brimming with sincerity, have wrapped around your heart like a protective shield.

It gave you the needed courage to walk down the aisle without crying, especially when you finally see Erwin waiting at you in front with a smile so soft it makes you want to crumble then and there. His hair is parted on the side, cheeks slightly pink but eyes brimming with adoration.

His face no longer resembles a commander who carries thousands of corpses on his back. This day is the brightest he has ever been. Today, he's just the love of your life whom you crossed the world for. The way he's looking at you right now shows how aware he is of it, of how he will do the same for you if given the chance.

You both know a lot of things are still yet to happen after this momentous event in your lives. Once your brother is able to cope with his fair share of nightmares, you will proceed to embark on the mission to have your existence persist in all universes.

More, and more, and more.

You are perhaps way too aware that this will never be a linear happily ever after.

But you will not waver, not when the love of your life who shined like a morning sun amid the dusk is here with you.

previous chapter (explicit ver) OR (clean ver) | afterword

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed, Episode 40 part two

(Masterpost) (Pinboard)  (whole thing on AO3)

Warning! Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

What a Relief

After spending a few weeks in Gusu doing...stuff, our trio comes to Jinlintai for the discussion conference. Unusually for a CQL stair-climbing scene, nobody is planning to murder anyone once they get to the top.

Our crew walks up the stairs past 3 massive sculpted reliefs featuring Jin Guangyao.

First and most important, I have to point out that the sculpture version of Lan Xichen [edit: Nie Mingjue actually, whoops] is wearing a sash that looks like this:

*cough*

Meanwhile, for the picture with the sword and flames, qhanzi.com tells me that the written characters are 伏殺, fú shā; Google translate tells me this means "ambush." Specifically Fu=conceal, Sha=kill. Ballsy to have a monumental artwork on your front steps announcing that you're a backstabbing turncoat, Jin Guangyao.

Speaking of balls, Jiang Cheng jumps at the opportunity to bust some when the Lan bros arrive with Wei Wuxian in tow. He pretends not to know who Wei Wuxian is, but obviously does know something, given how bitchily he asks to be introduced. Lan Wangji continues his 13-year-long silent treatment of JC while Lan Xichen tries to figure out which bland smile he's meant to be deploying in this situation.

(more after the cut!)

They're all rescued by the appearance of Jin Guangyao 3.0, who has discarded his Nie braids and his Wen hotness in favor of Jin ostentatiousness.

He's no longer wearing the v-neck robe and topknot crown that we associate with the cultivation sects. Instead he's wearing a hat and a round-necked robe with a big embroidered design on the chest, that resembles the clothing style of a court official.

Some people see JGY's bureaucratic wardrobe as signaling that he's an unassuming administrator, someone who is not threatening to the power structure or is not ambitious. I see it more as conveying that his ambition reaches beyond the cultivation sects into the realm of dynastic/imperial politics.

Anyway, Jiang Cheng turns his ire towards his nephew, and Lan Xichen relaxes again. Possibly he is a little too relaxed, judging by how he's ogling Jiang Cheng.

I'm high as a kite, I just might stop to check you out

Party Monster

Fanfics are often accused of giving us an out-of-character (OOC) Wei Wuxian, but no fanfic Wei Wuxian is as OOC as the Wei Wuxian who attends this banquet. Normally Wei Wuxian is a mildly annoying flirt, but as soon as soon as he arrives in Koi tower he is (presumably) possessed by the spirit of Jin Guangshan, and becomes a gross sex pest.

He goes out of his way to hit on the wife of the clan leader and make googly eyes at all of the maids, whose social status doesn't allow them to be rude to him. And he does it in front of his date! What the hell, possessed Wei Wuxian.

While oblivious to Lan Wangji's jealousy, Wei Wuxian does check in with him to make sure it's ok to put on his "crazy Mo Xuanyu" act. LWJ replies with a certain amount of salt, but once Wei Wuxian makes it clear he's thinking about Lan Wangji's public face, LWJ chills out and answers him normally.

Side note: in no universe would this cute lil maid be making eyes at heavily-masked Mo Xuanyu when unmasked, radiant, filthy-rich Lan Wangji is right there to be smiled at.

Jin Guangyao greets everyone and some dancers start doing their thing; mercifully, possessed Wei Wuxian refrains from hitting on the dancers. As soon as Jin Guangyao starts to circulate through the room, Nie Huaisang has an epic nervous breakdown all over him, which is even better entertainment than the dancers.

This gives Wei Wuxian the cover he needs to slip out of the hall unnoticed. Well, as long as nobody notices Lan Wangji's obvious pining.

Fight Club

The prophecy foretells that into each generation of Jins will be born one douchebag cousin. Jin Chan is the douchebag cousin of his generation.

Jin Chan accuses "Mo Xuanyu" of being a sex pest, and Wei Wuxian suddenly understands why the plot made him act so OOC at the party. Mo Xuanyu wasn't really a sex pest; he was a regular pest, trying to get information out of Qin Su, not trying to seduce her. But he doesn't know that yet. In other adaptations Mo Xuanyu is gay, but CQL exists in a strange censorship-created realm in which gayness is pervasive but never mentioned, and therefore there is no homophobia. So nobody would care if Mo Xuanyu was gay.

When Wei Wuxian realizes what Mo Xuanyu did, he thinks "Mo Xuanyu, do you want to die?"

Nice choice of idiom, Wei Wuxian. I believe we have firmly established that yes, Mo Xuanyu absolutely did want to die.

The show is kind of vague, verbally, about whether Wei Wuxian 2.0 has a golden core. But there are a lot of moments that strongly suggest he does, at this point, have a functioning core.

This rock attack is, I hope, one of those moments, or else Jin Chan is a total pussy, getting knocked back by landscape gravel.

Next, Wei Wuxian shows Jin Ling the super-secret move known as "arm twisting," which Jin Ling, as an only child, has never encountered before.

Anyone with siblings is very familiar with this move.

Because this is The Untamed, this move should be executed with extra spinning whenever possible.

Jin Ling learns the move right away, and uses it to win the scuffle.

Avuncular

After the fight, Wei Wuxian sits with Jin Ling for a chat, and gives him the classic uncle advice "have as many fights as possible while you're young, because when you're older you'll have to be mature and get along with people."

I love Wei Wuxian so much.

For contrast, Jin Ling says that Jin Guangyao tells him not to get in fights. This makes Wei Wuxian seem like the cooler elder, but it also has a more sinister element, of Jin Guangyao holding Jin Ling back. Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian grew up constantly fighting with each other--sparring as well as informal fights, presumably. And their cultivation was super strong, partly as a result of that.

Wei Wuxian takes the opportunity to tell Jin Ling that he's not in love with Qin Su any more, because he's transferred his affections to someone else. Obviously Hanguang-Jun is the someone else, given that they've been inseparable for weeks. To keep Jin Ling from yelling while he explains, he clamps his hand over Jin Ling's mouth.

The thing is, in order to effectively clamp your hand over someone's mouth, there has to be something behind them--a wall, the mattress, your own torso, or something else solid. Otherwise they can just jerk their head backwards to get away from your hand. Or they can stand up and walk away, even.

Jin Ling, hilariously, does not realize this, and spends a ridiculously long time sitting still and making angry faces while Wei Wuxian rests his hand on his face.

Spy Game

Later that night, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji get ready for some shenanigans.

Not the sexy kind, alas, just some paperman snooping.

Wei Wuxian, because he's facing serious danger, is feeling extra playful and cute, and he takes time to goof around with Lan Wangji before getting down to business.

In paperman form, he's able to do some things that the censors overlook, including tugging on Lan Wangji's headband and apparently blowing him a kiss. In the book and the donghua, he catches onto Lan Wangji's lip on his way down his face, too.

One thing that's kind of muted in the live action as compared to the novel is how much Lan Wangji enjoys Wei Wuxian's childish and playful behavior. Lan Wangji never got to be playful as a child, but with Wei Wuxian he can cut loose--which he does mostly in the sack or when they're drinking together. But even when he stays in control of himself, he likes Wei Wuxian's silliness.

He tells Paper-Xian, tenderly, to be very careful, before he sends him on his way.

The Adventures of Paperman

The CGI department outdoes itself with paperman, making an animated character so adorable I'd be happy to watch a whole episode of him.

Paper-Xian sneaks into JGY's study and pokes around, finding an empty envelope. Then he listens and watches while Qin Su stumbles in, retching.

She's followed closely by Jin Guangyao; they proceed to have an absolutely fucking endless argument in which the words "sister," "brother," "incest" "rapist dad" are never said, instead using vagueburger phrasing like "this matter."

Jin Guangyao does freely admit to killing their kid, though, and wants to know who told Qin Su about it so he can kill them, too. She won't tell him, shockingly.

Jin Guangyao ends the fight by putting a paralysis spell on his wife and then making her go to sleep with another spell, which is the cultivator equivalent of saying "I've said what I had to say and I need some space."

He takes her into a secret room where he is also keeping a bunch of talisman-protected stuff and a shockingly small number of books.

Seriously, as a person who has way too many books, I am personally offended by the way Jin Guangyao wastes shelf space in his secret room.

As Paper-Xian sneaks around the room, Jin Guangyao helpfully pulls aside the curtain covering the shelf with Nie Mingjue's head on it, so he can grouse at NMJ for (figuratively) haunting him. Seriously? Dude, you keep a guy's head on your bookshelf, he gonna haunt ya.

The episode ends with Paper-Xian bowing (adorably) to Nie Mingjue, and then sitting laying on his face, which would make BOTH Lan brothers jealous if they found out.

Soundtrack: Ring the Alarm, by Beyonce; Blister in the Sun, by the Violent Femmes