#like who else works with them or how is this linked to his other ventures because

[l8tof1]

??

[ronwestbreeze]

you're gonna go far | 10

pairing: jake sully x neytiri x tsu'tey x fem!human! reader summary: a scientist arrives on pandora (unwillingly) a year after the exile of the rda. now she must deal with the likes of a clan leader, a great warrior, and a thanator rider. word count: 3.9k

read on AO3

You eventually decided to forget your body for now and leave it to Norm to take care of it. All you were focusing on was burying yourself further into work.

Which included going back to tending to your garden by planting and replanting a few seeds and veggies. Then there was checking up on the baby who was bound to be due soon, you’d spend the last few hours of the day with her until eventually, you forced yourself to sleep in the Avatar Compound.

That was your schedule throughout the next couple of days. Along with that, you took on more work to distract yourself such as restocking more link shacks and taking care of the land along with the other avatars. It was one of the many deals the humans made with the People in exchange for letting them stay instead of going into exile. It kept you busy whenever you didn’t need to tend to your garden. Any free time that you happened to have would’ve been filled up with something else to keep you busy.

The only peace you got was at the end of the day when you were in the tank room.

“I’m sorry I’ve been gone, little one.” You said to her the first night you returned to Hell’s Gate. “I was unfortunately a bit distracted. But now I’m here and I’m never leaving you that long again. That is, until you’re born of course.”

There was a subtle shift in the stomach, bringing you a slight sense of comfort that she still remembered your voice. You didn’t know why it was comforting though. You wouldn’t be the one to hold her in the end. You probably wouldn’t be able to see her much once she was with her rightful parents…

Stop—stop.

Then there was foraging.

You enjoyed wandering around the forest to both discover new things and become well acquainted with the familiar routes. Going to your mother’s grave, finding the shack you had been trapped in, and even venturing further out just to see what was out there. Things you’ve missed.

It would’ve been nice if there was some comfort to all of it. But it made you forget. Made you think less. That was enough for now.

Until you eventually had to return to the clan’s base for Mo’at’s checkups. And not wanting to anger the Tsahik, you went anyway despite your reservations about it. All you could do was pray you didn’t run into Jake during the short visit.

So when you saw Tsu’tey with his brother inside her hut, you were strangely relieved which quickly made your stomach churn at the very thought.

His brother, Arvok, noticed you first as Mo’at was working on his abdomen. Surprisingly, he offered a white yet tired smile your way, “Ah, my savior the dreamwalker! I thought I was dreaming before.”

He ended up sitting up a bit as he spoke but Mo’at forced him to lie back down, “Hold still.”

“No need to thank me. It was nothing.” You mumbled, face impenetrably impassive.

“Nothing?! I heard you died because you saved me. How is that nothing?” Arvok sat up a little again only for his head to be forced back down by an irritated Tsahik.

You tried not to acknowledge the younger male’s words. Tsu’tey watched you for a beat before nudging Arvok’s shoulder gently, “Mawey, tsmukan.”

Not bothering to try and understand what he had said, you muttered again, this time sternly, “As I said, it was nothing—frankly, you should be more worried about yourself and the person who stabbed you.” Finding the new topic, you quickly steered the conversation in that direction. “By the way, who injured you in the first place—”

“That is none of your concern,” Tsu’tey said simply with his face somewhat screwed into his usual scowl.

You nodded expectantly, “Yeah, I thought so.”

Arvok then nudged his arm, hissing at him in  Na’vi. Tsu’tey didn’t appear happy but spoke again, “It is clan business. Something that you should not concern yourself with. You have been too involved enough as it is.”

“Ha!” Mo’at huffed earning a glare from the Olo’eyktan. She did not offer more and continued tending to Arvok.

“Well,” You frowned, clenching and unclenching your hands. By then you realized you were still standing while the other three were much closer to the ground. “I did get poisoned by this clan business but you’re right. I suppose it is none of my concern.”

At this, Mo’at finally stood and scowled at the two of you—more specifically Tsu’tey, “If this is how your interactions will be during this time, then I must ask you to leave and come back when you are ready to speak with her correctly.” She gestured for Arvok to sit up—albeit slowly—and dismissed him, “You must continue resting. It will be a long while before you can hunt again.”

“Yes, Tsahik.” With a grumble, Arvok slowly pushed to his feet, the wince clear on his youthful features. But he looked better. Better than you had expected someone to have been stabbed to look. Then again, Mo’at must’ve been working on him while you had been unconscious—dead—so he had time to get better.

He held his abdomen gingerly as he walked past you, sending you a quick nod before he finally left. “You!” At that, your attention turned back to Mo’at who was now pointing at the spot Arvok had been, “Sit. Now.”

Obediently you sunk to the floor and allowed Mo’at to start her work on you. Tsu’tey surprisingly didn’t leave and just lingered in the background much to your dismay. But your body wasn’t tense because of his presence. You were constantly glaring at the doorway, waiting for him to show up at that point, waiting with your guard up, waiting for yet another fight with that damned asshole.

“You shouldn’t be putting so much strain on this arm. You should be resting as well, let yourself get adjusted to your new body.” Mo’at instructed sternly as she applied new green mush to your arm.

You winced, both at the subtle sting in your arm and the easy way she mentioned your transference. As if it was another day. You couldn’t tell whether that pissed you off or made you quite relieved that at least someone was making a huge deal out of it. You’d already cried everything out of your system. Now you just wanted to allow yourself to feel numb.

Just until everything came back up again. If it ever would.

In the corner of your eye, Tsu’tey shifted onto the mat further behind you.

Mo’at pressed her hand against your arm, “Have you buried your former body yet?”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, “Why are you asking me that now?”

“Some questions will be hard to answer. It is the way of life.” She replied easily as she began unwrapping the bandage on your shoulder. “But it is okay to not be ready. Are you not read, dreamwalker?”

“Sure.” It was all you offered.

You left the body to Norm now. You made him swear not to tell you where he planned on putting it. And you were okay with that.

You were fine—you were fine—you were fine—

Eventually, after enduring a long silence—which you were quite comfortable with—Mo’at finished and stood. You moved to get up as well but she pressed her hand down on your shoulder and shook her head, “You speak with Olo’eyktan first. Then you leave.”

With that, she stepped out of the hut and you, after great reluctance, looked over your shoulder at Tsu’tey to find him slightly sitting hunched over on the ground, playing with something in his fingers.

You weren’t going to speak first. He wanted to speak with you. You would wait for him.

And eventually he did, “When Mo’at brought up the potential—that you could be our fourth mate—what did you think?”

The question startled you. It was the last thing you ever thought he’d ask. And the fact that it was Tsu’tey himself asking you this and not Neytiri or hell, even Jake.

But you remained on guard anyway, “Do you care?”

At that, he raised his gaze from whatever was in his hands to look at you, “Many people have made their opinions known about the matter. All but you. It’s as if your voice is drowned out by an unforgiving storm. I am asking you, dreamwalker. What do you think of it?”

For a moment you considered your words carefully. The conversation wasn’t adversary so you lowered your defense, only by a little bit. And as you thought about your answer, you realized you hadn’t even had the chance to think about what you truly thought about the idea of being their fourth mate. Neytiri had mentioned them looking for one long ago but you never imagined it would be you. You never imagined—

You never imagined you’d be loved.

And because of that, it was simply never in the cards for you. Even if there were moments where you—

“Why does it matter anyway?” You glared down at your fingers, watching as your nails dug into your palms. “Can you honestly imagine us as mates? I mean have you thought about it yourself? Can you even imagine Jake and I as mates? After the other night? Tsu’tey, I think the answer’s pretty clear.” You faced him, jaw tight and your voice quiet despite your steeled spine, “I’m too broken. And it would be cruel—I am not cruel and I’m not selfish enough to allow you three to drag yourselves to the bottom because of me. And that’s what I think. It’s quite simple actually—”

“To your human mind, yes.” Tsu’tey shook his head and stood, turning his back to you. He paced for a moment, eyes searching the room until he finally spoke. “But it is about duty. If Eywa has favored you then I must do my job as Olo’eyktan and honor that. If you are our fourth—”

“You don’t know that.”

“You are right, I do not!” He hissed but stopped, almost as if he were restraining himself.

You clenched your hands together again, glaring down at the matted floor. For a moment, the two of you were silent. This had to be the longest conversation you and Tsu’tey had ever had. And of course, it was about something heavy, something complicated, something difficult to even comprehend. Why couldn’t it have been something simple? Why couldn’t things be simple?

“I have failed my people.”

A beat went by and you looked up, wondering if that was all he had to say only to find his gaze on you. Intense and yellow. Unreadable yet uncomfortable to receive, nonetheless.

But his face was gentle as he spoke. His voice was quieter, “And in some ways, I feel I have failed our Great Mother. I feel I have failed my mates. My son. My unborn children. My mother. My brother. My father. Perhaps you do not understand it, dreamwalker, but it is my sworn duty to do what I must for my clan. To be the leader that they deserve. And I am not.” He stepped forward until he was standing in front of you and dropped something into your hands.

It was pretty. A handwoven string of beads and gems, almost too gorgeous to belong to someone like you. You held it limply in your hands, not wanting to touch it any further.

“I am not a good mate.” He continued, now his face unreadable. You weren’t really sure what yours looked like at the moment but you hoped it didn’t convey what you felt at the moment as he spoke.

Utter dread. Shock. And pity.

“If I had proposed to you, I would have thought that I had done right by the Great Mother.”

He said it so simply. Proposed? Tsu’tey? To you? How come he didn’t appear affected when he said these words? Why was it you that was struck frozen by this revelation?

Perhaps he was good at hiding it. Perhaps you were too.

Tsu’tey knelt in front of you and looked down at the string, his face still a mask. “I would take care of you, just as I do with my other mates. I would treat your children as my own, I would be okay with not being in love with you for the sake of duty.” Unconsciously, your fingers wrapped around the string as you took in his words. Very deliberate, very careful, very real. “But you would have said no. And I would be okay with that too. Because I cannot commit to my duty. Because I am a bad Olo’eyktan. And…” The words seemed difficult to spill out from his mouth but he forced it out anyway. “And I am not cruel enough either, dreamwalker.”

For a moment, you did not say a thing. For a moment, you wondered if you were dreaming. For a moment, you wondered if there could be a world where you and Tsu’tey weren’t hostile to each other like now. You wondered if there could be a world where you’d look at him as something more.

Because in the end, you appreciated his honesty. Frankly, that was one of the best things you liked about the Na’vi. They weren’t like humans. They didn’t hold anything back because they didn’t see a reason to.

And it made your next words clear and firm, “Your search for worthiness isn’t on me, Tsu’tey. And a proposal definitely wouldn’t have been able to fix that.” You frowned and glanced down at the string and then back at him, “That wasn’t a proposal, right?”

Tsu’tey stood then, his tail swishing behind him. “I suppose it was. In a way.” He looked at you expectantly, “And your answer, dreamwalker?”

He held a look that told you he already knew your answer. You stood as well and handed him back the beaded string with yet another impassive mask, “No. That is my answer. But you knew that.”

Wordlessly, he took the beads back, his gaze never leaving it. You stood there for a moment, feeling exhausted once more. And again, Tsu’tey allowed himself to appear the same.

Too tired for this world. Too tired to carry on.

You steeled yourself away and stood straighter, “So you agree. This isn’t what Eywa wanted.”

At that, his ears twitched, “We do not know what she wants. It has always been that way. And it will remain so.”

Nodding, you moved past him and toward the entrance, only to stop short. Your brain was muddled, your emotions were tangled, and yet you spoke clearly. “If your deity is as great as you all say she is, then I’m sure she wouldn’t want you to suffer.”

Without waiting for a response, you left. Not daring to look back. Not daring to ponder questions you’ve never thought about until now.

Enough. Enough of all of it.

“Any day now.” You mumbled, staring bleakly down at the table as Norm was checking the ultrasound. It was weird being several inches taller than him now when in human form he had quite the height over you, “We just have to watch her closely now.”

Norm nodded, “Good, good. That’s great news. I’ll let the parents know. You good staying here for a bit?”

“Always.” You watched over the tank as Norm left the room. Tucking the tablet under your arm, you placed your hand against the class, “Can’t wait to meet you, finally. I wonder if you’re gonna be as quiet when you’re born.”

The silence was suffocating, and So were the tears. They had finally come.

God, you were so angry.

Was this really all you were worth? An obligation? Something so worthless that you needed empty protection? Was that all they saw in you? Was that all you’ll ever be to them?

You sank into a nearby chair, allowing the silent tears to fall.

It wasn’t what you wanted. You didn’t want to be the outsider—the intruder. All you wanted was to save a bunch of trees and now you’re here. A stain. An inconvenience. Blood red on a perfect white canvas.

This baby girl didn’t deserve someone as shattered as you. She deserved the loving parents that claimed her from the beginning. Protected and kept away from your storm.

“I hope this world doesn’t hurt you, little one.” You wiped at your eyes, beaten and bruised already.

Norm eventually came back moments later. You hadn’t gotten up from the chair. He saw your dried tears and cleared his throat, “Jake said he’s already on his way, um,” He appeared careful and gentle as he spoke, “I’ll take over if you need a break.”

“You don’t have to.” Was your attempt at a protest.

But he shook his head adamantly, “No, I will. You’ve—it’s been pretty rough for you. It’s the least I can do for…”

You frowned as he avoided your gaze.

“I could’ve done better—more to save you—”

“Spellman, you're fine,” You shook your head and stood. “I don’t blame you—couldn’t if I wanted to. You’re the only one that has my back here. Well, maybe besides Neytiri.”

“Are you going then?” He asked as you walked passed him.

“Yeah, I’m gonna try to cool off. Maybe go on a walk.”

“You sure? Don’t get another chunk of your skin bitten off again. Or poisoned.”

“Ha-ha.” You responded dryly.

Deciding you wanted fresh air, you left out of Hell’s Gate and went into the forest.

You had marked the places you passed with small white strips in the past, tying them to smaller branches. It allowed you to venture further away from the base this time. And by the time the sun began to set, you found yourself at the waterfall, the same one you were at with Tsu’tey before.

And you stayed there. This time you went toward the waterfalls’ mist surrounding you the closer you got to the waterfall itself. The water moved up toward your waist until you were practically floating above water.

For a while, you stayed like this. Until night came. You stayed like this until your hair stuck to the back of your neck.

Eventually, you passed through the waterfall. Breathing out a long and delicate sigh.

These waters relaxed you. These waters made you forget.

Once you reached the other side of the waterfall, there was a rock large enough for you to hoist yourself on. And sit there. You didn’t know how long you’d stay there and you didn’t care. The world outside of this place didn’t matter to you. For a while, you just wanted to forget. To become stone.

Half alive and half buried in the ground.

That is until the world called for you to come back. Until the world wrapped its grip on you and yanked you back into reality.

Until something whizzed past your face, cutting some of the strands from your unbraided hair.

And now across from you was a spear lodged into the stone. Whoever had thrown it had great strength. Whoever had thrown had meant to kill you.

Instantly, you froze. Heart pounding against your chest, blood rushing to your ears.

“Demon!” AN unfamiliar voice shouted further away—possibly on land away from the waterfall. Quickly, you lowered yourself on the rock. Most of the water from the mountain and mist hid you, so there was a chance that the attacker couldn’t see you. “Come out and I kill you!”

You didn’t move from the rock. From what little you could hear, the voice spoke in Na’vi as if he was giving orders to someone. Which meant this guy wasn’t alone. The many splashes coming toward you only confirmed that.

As quietly as possible, you slid off the rock and toward the spear, yanking it out of the wall with what little strength you had left. A shadow then passed you as you ducked behind the rock just as a figure stepped through the waterfall. He was wearing strange armor and his war paint was different from what you had seen the Omatikaya wear. Which also told you that these warriors that surrounded you were from a different clan. A clan you were sure that weren’t reluctant in having to kill the likes of you for being human.

 The warrior had an arrow pointed and ready. Fortunately, he hadn’t seen you yet.

But before you could take your chance at escape, a quicker shadow to the right dived through the falls, aiming another spear at you.

It was so quick, you hadn’t heard the other warrior coming and barely dodged the sharp end of her spear as you slid off the rock and into the deep waters.

The spear didn’t slow and sunk into the water with you. You swam away from the two, going deeper underwater until you weren’t able to be spotted. You continued swimming away from the small enclave and made it to the other side of the waterfalls.

Praying that the mist continued to cover you up, you came up for air and climbed onto a nearby rock. You still had the discarded spear and gripped it in your hands as you hopped onto another rock—not even stopping when you heard a bunch more splashes and shouts in Na’vi coming toward you.

Once you were sure they were far enough away from you, you continued hopping on the rocks until you finally reached land. But you didn’t run, knowing that it would make too much noise. Instead, you clutched the spear to your chest and slinked into the forest, just as how Neytiri had done it when the two of you would travel through the forest together.

Be one with the forest and all that shit.

God, you couldn’t catch one break. First Jake, then Tsu’tey, and now this? It was like the universe hated you for some reason.

As quickly and as quietly as possible, you put some distance between you and the waterfall. When you got far enough, you ducked behind a thick tree, pressing your back against it while taking in shaky breaths. You kept the spear close to your chest as if it were a shield while praying that you had been quiet enough to escape.

Something sharp pressed against the side of your neck, instantly squashing any hope you had left.

“You are loud, demon.” She spoke in Na’vi. It was one of the only sentences you recognized since Neytiri used to say it to you all the time in the beginning.

You remained still, staring at the warrior in the corner of your eye.

She took the spear from your hands and tossed it to the ground, not lowering hers.

“Where is your clan, sawtute?”

Okay, she spoke a little English. Which meant this clan had lived around humans at some point,.

“I don’t have a clan.” You gritted out shakily, “And I’m not trespassing—”

“Demon! All of you!” She hissed, the tip pressing further into your skin. “I kill you and bring your head back to my clan. The rest of you demons will follow!”

You glanced toward the spear on the ground, trying to figure out how fast you’d have to move to get it and escape.

But you nor the warrior didn’t get a chance to do anything as an arrow flew through the trees and hit the warrior in her shoulder.

She stumbled back, you took the chance and grabbed the spear from the ground.

As the warrior fell to her knees, your savior stood further away behind her. Bow raised with another arrow pointed at her.

You breathed out shakily, “It’s you.”

(i'm not adding any more people anymore!)

taglist: @doggyteam2028 @bigbootahjudy @innercreationflower @n7cje @celi-xxmoon @readerofallthingss @sillyblues @saturnhas82moons @1mawh0re @aprosiacperson @loserwithnofriends @garfieldsladybird @slutforsmut4ever @lik0

[foreverrandomwritings]

Congratulations again, babe! 🎉

For romantic Hangman, how about i’m not jealous, who said i’m jealous? and [ LINKED ]  for one muse to hold the other’s hand in public to stake claim (both from the jealousy prompts).

Fuck Darlin'

Summary: Jakey boy gets jealous at the hard deck and confirms he's the only one for you.

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x afab!Reader

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI. Starts out fluffy and sweet and ends up hot and filthy. Swearing, drinking, public sex and unprotected sex. I don't even know how that happened. It literally just flowed out of me.

Word count: 1706

Masterlist M's Hundred Celly Masterlist

It was a typical Friday night at the hard deck. The sun was starting to set and the people were starting to flow in. You had only been there around an hour with your boyfriend Jake, his squad and some of their significant others. You had noticed the pitchers of beer and margaritas depleting so you ventured up to the bar to grab some for the rowdy bunch. 

Sat at the bar you patiently waited for Penny to have a break in arriving customers to notice you. You scrolled through the tumblr app open on your phone to pass the time. You had just found a post about one of your favorite shows when you felt someone come up next to you. Looking up from your phone you were taken back at the semi attractive man standing next to you. 

“Are you here all alone gorgeous?” His voice rasped out the trimmed beard on his face moving with every word. His eyes were a deep green like pine. His short hair was dark brown and styled nicely. He oozed confidence and charisma. 

“I’m actually here with my boyfriend.” You replied to him as your eyes flicked to said aviator over the guy’s shoulder. The man’s eyes in front of you might’ve been green but they weren’t as pretty as Jake’s were. The same eyes that had already found yours. You gave him a sweet smile that he returned sending a wink your way as well. 

“This boyfriend of yours treat you right? Cause I’m sure I could treat you better.” The man spoke a smirk working onto his lips. Your eyes dragged back towards him at his words. 

“He treats me quite alright.” You assured him now getting a little fed up in the conversation. You turned your eyes back toward your phone hoping he’d find someone else to talk to. But he piped up again. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asked with a playful look in his eyes. The look was obviously meant to hook you. But it didn’t hold up to the way that Jake looked at you. His eyes wracking over your body as he licked his lips thinking about everything he wanted to do to you. All the ways he was going to have you coming undone for him. That look from the blonde headed aviator had you weak in the knees everytime. 

“I’m okay thank you for the offer though.” You replied to him just as Penny came up to you. You were thankful that she already had a pitcher of beer and a pitcher of margaritas ready for you. You gave her a thankful smile as you grabbed them and walked away from the bar quickly. You weaved in and out of the groups of people making sure to hold the pitchers steady. 

As you neared your group you could see a pout on your boyfriend's face. You cocked your head at him, giving him a questioning look as you walked towards the table to set the pitchers down. He sat in a tall chair and reached for your hand as soon as it was free. Holding your hand he pulled you towards him, slotting you between his legs. 

“Who was that you were talkin’ to darlin’?” He asked you as his eyes glared over your shoulder towards the bar. His accent came out in the words as jealousy took over his body. His other hand came down to grab at your hip. 

“Are you jealous?” You asked him as you put the hand he wasn’t holding against his chest fluttering your eyelashes at him. 

“I'm not jealous, who said I'm jealous?” He scoffed out a blush rising onto his cheeks. 

“You know you’re the only one for me handsome. I wouldn’t want anyone else in the world.” You told him before leaning forward giving him a quick kiss. 

“Plus he wasn’t nearly as good looking as you are.” You said stroking your finger along his chest. He shuddered as you came to whisper into his ear. 

“There’s no way he could have me coming undone like you do. His beard would’ve scratched me up and his hair wasn’t even long enough for me to hold onto as I passed into the void of ecstasy.” You felt his chest rumble as he let out a growl. The thought of another man touching you making his skin crawl. 

“Better watch what you say or I’ll be taking you out to the truck and having you in the backseat.” He said as you pulled away your face in front of his. Both of your eyes clouded in lust. 

“Go ahead and have me lieutenant.” You squeezed his hand in yours, sending him a wink. He gave you a wide grin before he was standing up and dragging you to the parking lot. He threw a half assed excuse over his shoulder as you exited. 

You quickly walked to his truck, excitement working through you in anticipation of what was going to happen. He opened the back door to his truck before picking you up and setting you inside. He was quick to climb over you and shut the door behind you. He was happy he had decided to add a dark tint to his windows. You were happy you had decided to wear a dress. 

“I’m gonna fucking fill you up so the only thing you can think of the rest of the night is my cum dripping down your legs.” He said as he slid your dress up your legs over your hips so it was bunched around your middle. You moaned as he slipped your underwear off your legs and put them in the pocket of his jeans. 

He let out a deep groan as he spread your legs seeing you already dripping onto the seat beneath you. Slipping his fingers between your folds you let out a stuttering breath. You attempted to squeeze your legs together but he held them open. Your eyes met his and he shook his head. 

“Already so wet and I’ve barely even touched you.” He said playfully. 

“All for you Jake. Always for you.” You moaned as he brushed a finger over your clit. 

“You gotta stay quiet darlin. Don’t want no one to find us, do ya?” His Texan accent thick as he slipped a finger inside you. He slowly worked it in and out. Then he added another one scissoring them skillfully. 

“I n-n-need you inside me.” You whined out grabbing at his shirt dragging him towards you. You crashed your lips onto his needily. He slipped his fingers out as he pulled back from you and slipped them into your mouth. He grunted as you sucked yourself off his digits. Your eyes connected with each other as you swirled your tongue around his fingers. You slid your hands down to his pants clumsily fumbling with his button and zipper. 

Once you finally got them undone you slipped your hand inside his pants rubbing over his clothes cock. He jerked his hips as you gripped him, running your hand over him. Growing impatient he ripped his fingers from your mouth and pulled his cock out of his pants as you pulled your hand away. 

Sliding the aching head between your folds he coated himself in your slick. Then he was pushing inside in one quick thrust. Your back arched as you felt him bottom out. Opening your mouth you were going to let out a loud moan but his fingers slipped back inside. His thumb and pinky rubbed against your cheeks as the middle three once again met your tongue. 

“Told you to stay fucking quiet.” He punctuated the sentence by pulling out and thrusting back in quickly. His other hand was resting on the door beside your head. Your eyes watered as his fingers hit the back of your throat. You gagged around them but that only spurred him on. His thrusts were slow and precise now unlike the quick ones from before. 

You brought your hand up to your breast thankful that you hadn’t worn a bra. You rolled your fabric covered nipple between your fingers. Your other hand came to grasp at his bicep. His hips started to stutter as you clenched around him. You wrapped your legs around his hips. Grinding your up to meet his thrusts, your clit slid across his skin. 

Your climax was fast approaching with every brush of his skin over your clit. You bit down on the three fingers in your mouth. He groaned loudly, his thrusts speeding up a little before stilling inside you. As he came his head buried into your neck. Biting down harshly he sucked a bruise into your skin. Your hand dug into his hair holding him against you as your climax followed his. You both stayed like that for a moment before he was pulling back. 

“Fuck darlin’.” He let out as his chest heaved. He stared at you beneath him with a blissed out smile on your face as he slipped his fingers from your mouth. He very slowly pulled out of you before sitting back on his feet, your legs falling away from him. He slipped your dress down your body again. Then he tucked himself back in his pants and buttoned them. 

“I love you Jakey.” You told him as you bit your bottom lip. 

“I love you too darlin’.” He said as he ran a hand through his hair. He opened the door before sliding out of the truck. He helped you out as you moved across the seats. 

“Can I have my underwear back?” You asked him as you stood before him. He looked around quickly, not seeing anyone. He pulled them out of his pocket. Bending down he looked at you expectantly. You quickly stepped into them and he pulled them up your legs and under your dress. 

Then you were walking back into the bar. As you passed the guy from earlier Jake sent him a wink. The guy looked at you then back at him dumbfounded. Jake’s thoughts went to the mixed cum dripping out of you and he knew you’d never be anyone else’s but his.

A/N: Thank you Taylor for this request, sorry it took me so long and that the other ones you requested are taking even longer.

Tags(Open): @sylviebell

[ettawritesnstudies]

Hi Etta! Sorry if you already mentioned this, but where/how did you find your editors? (If you don't mind sharing)

Don't mind at all!

I know there are companies like Reedsy and the Writers Digest which have databases of editors, but that seemed really overwhelming. At the end of the day, the best way to get resources is to network (make friends, and hope their mutuals like you too).

Last year, I did an interview for Amanda Auler on Instagram and she boosted my account, so months later I ended up doing an interview for Addison Horner. He does editing for indie authors, so I asked him for a sample edit and liked it, but I wanted to get other points of comparison first, so I asked around and came up with a short list of editors. I contacted them, and when I had enough to compare, I ended up deciding I liked Addison best and drew up a contract with him. God moment that I found him so quickly.

But if I had to give this advice to someone else I'd recommend following these steps:

Read books in your genre. Read INDIE AUTHORS in your genre. Review their books. Follow them on social media. Be a friendly fan but don't make it weird.

Indie authors are one person publishing teams desperate for engagement and positive attention. They will thank you for your help and be willing to pay it forward when the time comes.

Once you have a handful of books you like that have similar vibes to your book, flip to the acknowledgements and find the editors name.

Google the editor, find their site, submit your inquiry, email works better than a form.

If you can't find the editor online, DM the indie author and ask "hey I really liked your book and it's a good comp title for my WIP. Who's your editor and what was your experience with them like? Do you mind pointing me their way?" Follow the author's advice. Repeat as needed.

(I've only ever received nice responses to this, don't be anxious. If they don't reply they're probably just busy, not annoyed).

When you contact editors, ask about their availability, rates, and be specific about what type of editing you need. Ask for a free sample edit. Mine were 250-2500 words.

Supply details about your WIP. Mine looked like this:

Title: Runaways

Genre: Middle Grade Portal Fantasy. I'm not labeling it as "Christian Fiction" as religion isn't a focus point of the story, but there are significant underlying Catholic themes.

Premise: When Cecelia goes missing one stormy Halloween night, her older sister, Hannah, must venture into the faerie courts to learn the truth about their past and bring her home. (Linked WIP Page with additional information)

Length: About 86,000 words, 180 pages (Times New Roman, 12pt, double spaced, standard 1in margins formatting). 21 chapters with an epilogue

Style: 3rd person limited, present tense. 3 POV characters: primarily Hannah at first, and then Cecelia and the third added later, alternating.

Status/Timeline/Availability: Currently with a 2nd round of beta readers, and I'll be getting feedback by March 31st. After editing the draft to reflect their feedback and doing my own line edits, I'll be looking for a line/copy edit around April/May or early summer.

Types of edits needed: As I understand, every editor uses "line" and "copy" edit slightly differently, but I'm looking for a combination of both styles if possible: checking for internal consistency, logical choreography, adequate descriptions, minor plot or worldbuilding errors, as well as language concerns like cutting crutch words, making sentence structure more dynamic, choosing the right verbs, etc. Developmental editing not needed. Waiting to do proofreading at the moment

When perusing at the editors site, look for credentials/certifications, their backlog of works, and testimonials

If you don't have enough options following this method, join some discord servers! I'm in a local NaNoWriMo group and a Catholic Writers Guild called Inkwells and Anvils which were both useful. I think there might be some writeblr ones as well. Find the critiques channel and send the same information there^^

Compare sample edits. Who respects your voice? Who supplied the most insightful comments? Do you vibe over email? Are they willing to do a stylesheet? Do they like your book? Can you set up a 15 minute zoom call to see if you vibe and discuss details?

Look at prices. My rate is $.015 a word but that's pretty cheap for the industry. Most of the rates I saw publicly were between $.02-.03/word for line editing.

Pray/sleep on it

Once you pick your best option, set a date to send them the manuscript, sign contracts, and make payment.

Send a polite email to the other editors and say "I regret to say you're not quite the right fit for this book, but I appreciate all your time, help, and advice! I hope to work with you in the future" or something along those lines. Don't burn your bridges.

Celebrate!

This whole process took me a couple weeks, everyone was very punctual and professional and friendly. I ended up going with Addison not only because he was the cheapest but also because he made 3X the number of comments as any other writer, and his comments were specific and useful. He understood my characters immediately, I think in part because his writing style is similar to mine, based on his debut novel, Marrow and Soul. We're both Christians who like YA dark fantasy. It's a good match. He's still taking clients for later in the year if that's your vibes. I also worked with Amber Burdett and Sariah Solomon, who were both lovely.

I wish you the best of luck finding an editor who fits your story! I hope this was helpful and not overly long.

[lazyveran]

I HEARD YOU HAVE ONE MILLION PAGES OF LORE FOR THE SUN GOD AU??

*sitting here kicking my feet holding a bowl*

HIII HIIII yes. my very beloved sun god au which i loveee.

azula is the god of the eastern rising sun, zuko is the god of the western setting sun. they're the twin gods that share the sky for it's different phases. now, they're both human, divine, and kind of... spirits too. it's a lot of intersectioning going on with them, they exist in a bunch of different ways and realms and all of that. they both essentially make up the concept of agni, and so are worshipped by the entire FN as the literal manifestations of their bending, their power and so on.

their origin is Shrouded In Mystery, and only the siblings know how they became agni himself during the split between heaven and earth. however it is mythologised as something to do with a father, two dragons, and a betrayal of the highest order. mysterious...

so these two are ANCIENT ancient, like spirit world and human world harmony ancient. as such, they're extremely not used to all things modern, hip and human. they speak like they only know an ancient language, and they dont exactly concern themselves with the changing of times unless it threatens the sanctity of fire bending (their gift to mortals), the dragons (their children, their masters, and the holders of the flame mortals use to bend), or agni himself. it helps too that they have their own island, temples, legions of servants, sages and so on. they're more than royalty, and they act like it. if azula or zuko venture from their volcano to dabble in mortal affairs, you damn well know fire and blood is coming to fire nation.

there are other gods in this au! yue is the divine manifestation of the moon, and has her own massive insane temple of worship ect like the siblings in the northern water tribe. she presides over the spirit oasis as her kind of garden, though yue's mortal shell is very rarely seen. katara has mantled the divine manifestation of the ocean --> this is a godhood that change it's chosen person-turned-god very frequently compared to sun and moon, which has been and will always be yue and the siblings. they work together to bring humans water bending, and balance the humours of the mortal world in constant ebb and flow. katara is a more hands on presence in mortal affairs compared to yue. toph is also a god! she's the divine manifestation of the earth. she's got a big name, the blind-god of creation, but she doesnt have a temple. really, the entire WORLD is her temple, but her mortal shell manifestation dwells beneath the great life-tree of the swamp. sometimes she'll wander the earth, and there's many myths about a sightless stranger and her strange powers. she chills with badgermoles and annoys the other gods

aang is the bridge between worlds! he acts as the avatar in that he is the emmissary for all these various gods and enactor of their will, being the only one blessed by heaven enough to commune with the divines. He-of-One-Thousand-Faces is the important (and basically only) reliable link between these gods and the humans who worship them. hes rushed off his feet the poor man. the avatar is also the only marker of time to the divines, since a change of his face (a new avatar) marks the pass of one era into the next

now. there's a big importance on names in this au. no one but azula and zuko know each other's names, because names are the expression of one's soul, essentially. it's the last remnants of who they were before they became the expressions of Agni himself (apart from their physical mortal bodies, which are more like shells used to communicate with humanity, really.) exchanging names is basically placing your entire being into someone elses hands - soooo, to someone not bound by blood, its like a marriage >:)

[meetinginsamarra]

My Fave Sherlock BBC AUs - Magical Realism

Around mid-month I’ll do a fic rec list with my fave AU genres or tropes. Summaries are taken from OP on AO3.

Not always tagged with “Magical Realism”, these fics feature supernatural beings and/or circumstances. No vampires, demons and merfolk here, they already have their own lists. No ghosts as well, they’ll get a rec list of their own later.

“The Horse and his Doctor” by khorazir @khorazir

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3591864

Invalided after a run in with a poacher in Siberia, veterinary surgeon John Watson finds it difficult to acclimatise to the mundanity of London life. Things change when a friend invites him along to a local animal shelter and he meets their latest acquisition, a trouble-making Frisian with the strangest eyes and even stranger quirks John has ever encountered in a horse.

“The Summer Boys” by khorazir

https://archiveofourown.org/works/8460733

About half a year after the fateful events at Appledore, Sherlock and John embark on a private case in Sussex. For Sherlock, it’s a journey into his past, bringing up memories both happy and sad that he has locked away for almost thirty years. For John, it means coming to terms with the present – and a potential future with Sherlock.

“Rise and Fall” by All_I_need @the-reading-lemon​

https://archiveofourown.org/works/5968354

Sherlock Holmes is a Fallen looking for a distraction. John Watson is an invalided soldier looking for a flatshare. When they meet, both get more than they bargained for. But while Sherlock keeps John in the dark, someone else is patiently making sinister plans for the two of them.

“The destruction of ice” by All_I_need

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18898750

The year is 2081 and Sherlock Holmes never expected to encounter a threat to his Silence, the conditioning that keeps him sane and unfeeling. John Watson, on the other hand, never thought he'd find a flat in London. He certainly didn't expect to find one that comes with a Psy flatmate: brilliant, emotionless and more intriguing than John would like. When a series of brutal, random murders shakes London to its core, it is up to them to stop a vicious psychopath - preferably before Sherlock's latest experiment gets them both killed.

“The Wicked Path of Destiny” by hogwartswitch

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3531719

To save the man he loves, Sherlock sacrifices his life to become the God of Death for eternity. He walks the earth in a new, monstrous form, but a part of him has always remained human. John Watson has been touched by tragedy from his first breath. After losing all of his loved ones, he finds himself at the wrong end of a bullet. A prophecy, an act of sacrifice, and an epic quest for redemption link their destinies irrevocably.

“Darkling, I listen” by You_Light_The_Sky @youlighttheskyfanfiction​

https://archiveofourown.org/works/396130

No one who enters old London ever comes out. They say that the beast devours them. When his sister disappears, John ventures into the dead zone beyond the wall, and finds a brilliant madman under a terrible curse...

“Not the hands that kill” by You_Light_The_Sky

https://archiveofourown.org/works/388864

Having wings does not make Sherlock Holmes a guardian angel, not in the way that John Watson is his.

“A study in strays” by philalethia

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1397611

John Watson moves to 221B Baker Street. Unfortunately, the flat's already occupied.

“Left” by lifeonmars​

https://archiveofourown.org/works/639976

John Watson is left-handed. He’s tried not to let it affect his life, but as any Lefty knows, that’s almost impossible.

“How to sell your soul and get it back” by WhatIfIAmInsane @whatifiaminsane​

https://archiveofourown.org/works/9811478

Sadly unfinished but still so good!

Sherlock made a deal with the devil, quite literally. After years of drug abuse and neglect his body wouldn’t let him go on. Obviously, it happened right when he had finally found something to make his life interesting. The logical response was to offer his soul in exchange for a working transport. That had happened when he was 27. Now, at 34, he gets an unexpected visitor. The devil needs a favour and is offering Sherlock’s soul as payment.

“Hell Sent, Heaven Bound” by ConsultingHound

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15915207

Ex-War healer and current angelic guard John Watson is not having the best day. He overslept, he’s underpaid, and now there’s someone tagging the Council’s building walls. However things may be about to get interesting: there’s an unusual stranger hanging around (the definition of tall, dark, and handsome), a literal underground cult is brewing, and rumblings are coming from hell. Can he keep his neighbourhood safe, how and why is he being connected to all this, and who the hell is Sherlock Holmes?

“Chaos Theory” by entanglednow @entanglednow​

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1718366

"You want me to let him go, of course," Mycroft says, before John even opens his mouth to speak.

“Mineralogy in slow motion” by entanglednow

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1248079

All John wants is somewhere to spend the next few months, while he's blind as a bat. Just the next few months. The doctors were optimistic.

“Genius of the bottle” by GoldenUsagi @fancybedelia​

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1718333

The last thing John expected to find in the desert was a bottle containing a genie named Sherlock.

“An impermanent destination” by GoldenUsagi 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2229504

Out of all the species on the planet, dragons were the only ones that had a human level of intelligence. And that’s why they were the most dangerous.

“Anachronisms” by GoldenUsagi 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1248034

“Do you ever wonder if there’s something wrong with us?” “We’re gods created by an age that had no use for them. I would be surprised if something weren’t. We were never welcomed by the others, nor adored by humanity. We should have withered long ago.”

“Secrets of the mind” by kryptaria  @kryptaria​

https://archiveofourown.org/works/445564

In a world where almost a tenth of the population are born gifted, psychics and nulls live side-by-side, without fear or prejudice. Children are tested in their late teens. Those who are gifted are trained in the safe use of their gifts. After training, they are tattooed with the mark of their gift, proudly displayed for all to see. Throughout history, the most feared serial killers and mass murderers have been multis: psychics born with multiple gifts. To be a multi is to be fated for a lifetime of incarceration for the good of society. There is no way to hide a psychic gift — no way to escape detection.Unless you’re Sherlock Holmes.

“Trenchcoats and Capes” by jomochi (Jominerva)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6087484

He’s twirling a strand of hair around the finger of his other hand. His coat, which honestly looks more like a cape than anything, is spread out beneath him. His chest rises and falls slowly with calm breaths, the tight black material of his suit stretching to accommodate the movement. John has seen many pictures of him but not one did him any justice. The sight before John is breath-taking. It isn’t right. Evil shouldn’t look this good.

“Curse of the Were-Tuna” by WhoGroovesOn

https://archiveofourown.org/works/4607241

John couldn’t help but feel as though the large tuna beyond the glass was staring at him, which was weird because it’s not like fish had eyelids, they always seemed to be staring at things.

“Stranger at the gate” by bendingsignpost

https://archiveofourown.org/works/334825

As far as initiation rites go, kidnapping a human doctor from a defended town ought to seem extreme. When James Moriarty offers him the challenge, Sherlock never considers saying no. (Fantasy vampire AU)

“Man and Beast” by Jupiter_Ash

https://archiveofourown.org/works/496440

Sherlock is a werewolf who is captured by a facility which wants to experiment on him.  When John is placed into his cage they expect Sherlock to attack him, but instead, he tries to mate with John.

[hyperesthesias]

Aphelion

Notes: Honestly, this is more of a self-insert because I feel horrible & I want Viktor to take care of me and make me coffee. :') If you'd like listening material while you read, Once Upon a December by Emile Pandolfi is what I wrote this to. (I am looking forward to writing the next part, where they attend the ball. I already have the music planned.💖)

Context: Anya is Viktor's childhood friend, and a wealthy potential donor to the Academy. She is a mage and a theoretical physicist. She has been using her knowledge of magic to help with HexTech. Viktor has been put in charge of being her Academy liaison throughout her donation process, and they have been spending time reconnecting while he 'courts' her on behalf of the Academy. She is a different humanoid species.

potential warnings: poverty.

AO3 link.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

It was the beginning of July and the soft warmth of Spring had melded into the torridness of Summer. The Sun was high in the sky, and despite it being the weekend, Viktor was nearly finished running his list of errands for Heimerdinger, though he did not venture either home or to the laboratory when he checked the last item off of his list. Instead, he had one more errand to run, this time one of a semi-personal nature. He was tasked with formally inviting Anya to an Academy Philharmonic event that was to take place three weeks from that day. While it was technically still Academy business, Viktor derived personal pleasure from speaking with Anya, and thus he saved this errand for last, hoping to spend the most of his time talking with her or enjoying her company. 

They had been reconnected for nearly two months, and it felt as though that time had passed as both years and merely days. He knew enough about her to answer any question any stranger might pose to him, and still he knew not enough about her to satisfy his own want to understand her most inner workings. He was grateful for any moments he could spend with her, especially privately. 

He went to her home to greet her with the invitation – he had driven her home once before, and remembered where it was and how to find it. It was a large mansion, secluded in the forests on the outskirts of Piltover, where the treelines and the soft hills seemed to line the edge of her property, right up to the verandas and balconies around the perimeter of the home itself. Woodland animals sometimes came to peer into the windows and came to eat the flora and vegetation she had planted, she said. Anya cared little for symbols of wealth, but the one and only thing she had afforded herself in excess was a large home, she told him. She had grown up in a tiny home – nearly a hut; from it, her mother had healed ill clients, and provided them with charms and spell bags, making all of her tinctures and oils right there in their family kitchen. There was little space for her to exist outside of the small corners of her parents’ workshop, and what constituted their home. Viktor did not disparage her for her desire for more space, especially when she could purchase it without debt and without harm to anyone else.

He arrived and stepped onto the marble porch, tapping on a bronze knocker three times. There was a delay in any response, and for a moment he feared he had come at an inopportune time, and that he had missed her. But as he debated whether or not to leave, a small voice came from an intercom just at the side of the large double doors of the entrance.

“Hello?” it called, staticky and rough.

Viktor hesitated, uncertain who was on the other end. “I am Viktor, calling for Anya,” he said.

“Viktor, come in, and take the elevator to your right.” He knew the voice to be Anya’s – it spoke in their shared language – but it sounded different and laden with fatigue.

A harsh buzzing sound came from the door, and the lock was released. Viktor opened the door and wandered into the foyer; though he had driven her home once, he had not been inside the mansion itself. It was spacious, made almost completely of marble, with tall windows along the back edge – the light of the midday Sun bounced off every surface and created a vibrant environment inside the home. It seemed to be only two floors, though each floor was twice as tall as a normal home’s structure, making the entire building feel cavernous and empty. It was deathly quiet, and he could hear no other sound from any other living thing inside. He turned right from the foyer, and stepped down a short hall, where he saw the entrance to an elevator. It had three buttons: one for a floor above, one for the floor he was on, and one for a floor below. 

“I’m up here,” the voice called from above him.

Viktor rode the elevator to the second floor and followed a stream of light nearby to an open door. He peered inside and found it was a bedroom, with a figure lying curled into a nebulous ball in the middle of the bed. “Anya?” he whispered, worry striking him as he tempted the threshold. 

The amorphous figure lifted its head and greeted him with a smile. “Viktor,” Anya murmured and tried to sit up; she had little strength to do so, and instead laid back down.

Quickly, Viktor hurried to her side and stood watching the weakness in her face; the honey of her skin was now pale, and the vibrant, rosy color of her lips was gone. “Anya – I will call for a doctor,” he said. He pressed the back of his hand against her forehead, but she had no fever; she was warmer than he, though her elevated temperature was normal for her species, and the nerve damage throughout his body accounted for his own chill.

“No,” she shook her head. “I am okay. I need sleep.”

“If you are ill, you must not wait to be treated.” There was urgency and fear in his voice.

Her eyes settled on him, and the memory of when he was a child, stricken with polio, lying helpless in her mother’s care passed quickly over her mind. “I am not ill,” she reassured him, doing her best to allay whatever memories of his own that plagued him. She reached for his hand, and held it, taking his fingers gently and stroking his knuckles languidly with her thumb. “What day is it?” she asked.

He was taken aback by the oddity of the question, and he needed a moment to recollect the calendar. “It is the second of July.”

“It is nearly aphelion,” she said. 

There was an astronomical clock at the Academy, but Viktor had only ever paid it little mind throughout his years there; though with his recent work with the crystal, and with runes and magic, he had briefly stopped to study it on occasion. The Sun and the Earth would be farthest from each other in two days, according to the calendar, marking the day of aphelion. “This makes you ill?” he asked, in ignorance and in worry.

She breathed with agreement. “Tired. And hungry. We take our energy from the Sun. When it is farthest, we are weakest.”

“What can I do?” he asked, his hand moving to caress her face; her skin was dry and thirsty, yet still soft and pliant. 

Anya nestled into his touch, and her eyes fluttered as the callouses of his hands traced the features of her visage. He was gentle with her, despite the roughness of his hands, there was not an ounce of pressure in his fingers, but he touched her like porcelain. “Stay,” she whispered. She had no one to keep her company, no one with whom to commiserate. All of her kinfolk were huddled in their own homes far away from her, with their own families and their parents and their children; after the deaths of her parents, she had no siblings, nor any cousins, and no other adopted kin. She had only Viktor. 

Viktor sat on the edge of the bed, caressing her arm as she began to fall back into slumber. He recalled the Summers they had spent together as children, and he found it difficult to remark the absence of something: the absence of his friend at a specific point in time, especially when he had no concept of its meaning at the time. He and Anya did not see each other regularly anyway, that to recall a specific week where she was not with him was almost impossible. He wished he had known then. 

Her long, dark hair was spread across the rest of the bed, and he was careful not to touch it as he fixed the blanket over her. 

There was a sitting area at the far end of the bedroom – and it was less a bedroom than it was a suite – there was a couch and two cushioned chairs, and a small library filled with books that were of most importance to her: books on her people, their cultures and their needs, their magic; there were books on physics and astronomy, astrological maps and charts rolled into scrolls at the top of each book shelf; there were books solely of art and photographs of statues from distant lands; books of poetry and mythologies from all cultures, not only her own. Each book had frayed edges and worn pages. He took the liberty of pulling a few from her shelf, hoping to ask for forgiveness in place of permission. He read them carefully and in her voice, reading each poem as though she were reciting it herself; reading each fact of her culture and of her species as if she were detailing it to him. He stayed and read and thumbed through books as she slept, and as the Sun moved from midday to late afternoon, as the shadows elongated and cast themselves as spectres throughout her bedroom.

Anya woke with a start and a gasp – Viktor immediately stood and made his way to her side, he leaned on furniture to aid his steps. 

“What is it?” he asked.

Fear gripped her eyes and she fought for her own breath. 

His hand caressed her face again – she was hotter this time. “A nightmare, myš’a?” 

Her breath shuddered in and out of her lungs and she managed a nod. The terror inside of her began to quell itself at the presence of her friend. His hand was cool, and it staved off the heat of adrenaline. 

“What should I get you?” he offered, a thought out loud for himself, trying to remember what kindnesses had been offered to him by his mother when he was a boy, when nightmares had crept and stolen from him sleep and peace. 

“Coffee,” she said. “I would like a cup of coffee.”

He nodded. “Alright. I will be back with coffee.” He pulled the blanket over her shoulder as he began to leave, taking his cane with him. 

“The water is clean,” she made a point to say to him as he disappeared from the doorway.

Its significance was not lost on him. He had a paranoia of unclean water – a phobia developed in young childhood after his disastrous encounter with polio. As a growing child and adolescent, he could not consume water that had not been boiled before his eyes; and as a young man in Piltover, once his fortunes and his means of income changed, he had deliveries of purified water brought to his apartment at the Academy twice a month. It was an additional expense he was not willing to relinquish.

The kitchen was broad and well organized, a pour-over coffee maker and a stained mug sat beneath a cabinet next to the stove, upon which rested a well-used kettle. He opened the faucet and hesitantly filled the kettle with water from the tap, the stream of water was perfectly clear and it gave no foul odour or pungent taste as he tested it: there was no tinge of metal, neither any grit left on his tongue. The water was crisp and almost cold, despite the Summer heat outside; it tasted like pure, soft minerals. As a child he could never have imagined a place to live where water was safe to drink from the tap itself, he doubted it, even still; his apprehensions about it were only allayed in that the water needed to be boiled anyway. He set the kettle to flame, and searched the cabinet above the pour-over, where he found various grounds of coffees organized alphabetically. 

He returned to the bedroom with a freshly brewed cup of coffee in the mug that had been set aside on the counter. He found Anya sitting upright in the bed, surrounded by a pile of blankets and pillows, all pliable and cleanly – none of them were torn or patched. It was impossible to not notice the absence of things that were constant in their daily lives before, and he wondered how foreign it all must have felt to her.

He sat beside her on the bed again as he handed her the hot mug and rested his cane against his side. “Are you hungry?”

She breathed in the bitter scent as she took a sip. “I am. I am famished.” She took another sip and gave her companion a glance. “No, I should not say that. We both know what it is to starve. Never should I compare myself to it again. Not without honesty.”

“May it never be so,” he said. 

“Forgive me, Viktor. I have not asked why you came to see me.”

He shook his head, insisting she needed no forgiveness. “It was nothing urgent. It can wait until you feel better.”

“Give me something else to think about,” she beseeched him.

He looked at her again and saw the clutches of whatever nightmare that had invaded her, still holding their talons inside of her psyche. He nodded, devotedly, and made from his vest pocket an envelope. “I was instructed to give this to you,” he said.

She took it, gracefully, and opened it as her mug rested in her lap. “What is it?”

“It is an invitation to the Academy Symphony Ball. It will be hosted three weeks from now, hopefully you will feel more yourself then. It is a charity event for the Music Department, to raise funds for instruments and scholarships.” 

Anya smiled as she read it. “I always wanted to learn to play violin. We could never afford it.”

“I only learned to play piano after I moved to Piltover – to the Academy. I would practice in the music room at times when I could not concentrate on my studies.”

She looked at him and chuckled. “In that case, I would be happy to donate. Will you be attending?”

He drew a breath and looked away as he thought. “I have not received a formal invitation.”

“Are you not my liaison? You must attend, then,” she coaxed.

“It is white-tie, Anya, I have nothing to wear.”

“That is an easy remedy. I won’t go without you.”

He breathed out sharply, staring at her with a flatly amused expression – he was recalling now her sweet stubbornness. She had a way of pulling him out of his hermit’s shell, and the cramped spaces in which he felt most sedentary, if not comfortable. “And I suppose I cannot refuse you?”

Her expression softened, not wanting her friend to feel forced neither taken for granted. “You are free to do whatever you would like, Viktor. Free.” Her hand caressed his face, feeling the coarse patches of skin along his jaw, left behind from when he had shaved the day before. “But know that I enjoy your company, more than as my liaison. I had hoped to attend as your friend and companion.”

Viktor felt himself stuttered with surprise and uncertainty that she had spoken such feelings of friendship aloud. He had known, of course, the boundaries of their professional relationship had been obscured by their accord as childhood playfellows – and encouraged to be so by Heimerdinger – but he had not known if his desire for casual conversation and company had been reciprocated. He found his internal balance to be askew and stunned that she would want to associate with him further.

“Very well,” he said with a stiff nod.

She smiled, happily. “I will contact a tailor for your tuxedo.”

“No, Anya – that is too much.”

“I told you it was easy to remedy.”

He sighed again at her stubbornness.

“Besides, what if you accompany me to some other function? You will need something to wear then, as well. Consider it an investment,” she teased.

He managed a scoffed chuckle and he shook his head.

A lull of silence hung between them for a brief moment, and Anya watched as many thoughts passed over her friend’s face; he looked into the distance, she saw him trace every carving in the marble of her home, she saw him read the titles of books on the other end of her room, she watched as he stared at nothing in particular. She was not the only with nightmares, nor ghosts that haunted her – even in waking. Her wealth had cured her of many ails, it had ceased the bleeding of many wounds, but still, scars remained. She knew it to be the same for Viktor.

“Thank you for staying,” she said.

Viktor turned to his friend with a wordless agreement. 

She reached for his hand, and took his fingers. “You are the only one who understands what it is like, to be here.”

“I do.” He took her fingers and graced her nails. “And I am happy to be here.” He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. 

Viktor stood and gathered himself to leave, not wanting to outlast his welcome as a guest, but more so feeling a quickened desire to flee – that if he stayed any longer, he would be consumed with the want for her companionship, for the longing in the affection and knowledge of her soul and her mind.

“You are welcome to stay in a guest room, if you would like,” Anya offered. “It is getting dark, the roads can be unsettling at night. I would not mind the company.”

Neither would he have minded. But Viktor refused her. “I will check on you tomorrow.” He saw a color of disappointment in her eyes as he stood in the doorway of her bedroom. He wanted to stay, and sit at her side, to ask about her thoughts and her theories, he wanted to expound upon himself, he wanted to learn of her. But it would be purposeless. He cherished her friendship – he always had, even as a young boy – and he had resigned himself to a spouseless life; but he intuited himself well enough to know he would desire more than friendship from her. Theirs was a professional relationship, he reminded himself; and he reminded himself what he had read and understood again earlier that evening: she would long outlive him. Friendship was far more suiting for them both; playfellows was all they had been, and all they would be.

“Goodbye, Anya.”

Anya knew her friend well enough to know sadness on the lines of his face. She wondered what nightmares haunted him, what fears wound themselves like rope around his neck. She wished to cut it and set him free. But it was his rope to share, and she did not take it from him; only that she wanted to share it. She wanted to share everything with him, no matter how unwise it might have been. 

“Goodbye, Viktor.”

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Don't Go Blindly Into the Dark

Summary:

To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?

Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?

Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus

If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know :)

Content warnings for this chapter: death, descriptions dead bodies, blood and wounds, gore, violence, murder, implied sa references, trafficking references

AO3 link

Note: I only freaking went and did it again *facepalm* Sorry, I once again updated on ao3 and left the tumblr post completely written and open on my laptop without actually posting it - but at least this time it's only been a few hours instead of an entire day haha. Love to y'all, thanks so much for reading <3

Chapter 31 - Kaz

“Kaz-”

Kaz looked up from his office door, his gloved hand half closed over the handle, to see Jesper working his way across the room towards him. He sighed and shifted his weight against his cane, leaning heavily against it as he waited for Jesper. The weather had begun to clear up after the storm but the air was still damp and clingy, and his leg never liked the wet or the cold. Convenient, for Ketterdam. 

“I just spoke to Layla,” said Jesper, as he reached him, “About that girl from the Sweet Shoppe-”

“Inside,” Kaz nodded to his office door.

Jesper faltered slightly, but followed him in and pushed the door shut as Kaz sat down behind his desk. He stretched his bad leg out in front of him. 

“I’ve seen her,”

“Layla?” asked Jesper, frowning, “I thought she said-”

“Amethyst,” said Kaz, “I saw her,”

It hadn’t been pretty. Jesper grimaced, leaning back ever so slightly in the chair he’d taken up.

“You mean…” he gestured vaguely up and down his own face, as though miming the place Amethyst had been cut through.

Kaz nodded. 

He’d been to the Exchange just before their job this evening was supposed to start, only there to remind someone what he knew so that they’d agree to update him on which guards would be working over the coming nights. It wasn’t for a while that he’d be needing the information, but they might get ideas of lying to him and if they did then he needed to make sure they knew what would happen to them. He also couldn't afford for the night they chose to be the night he needed to know, so the work would have to begin in advance. Finding Amethyst spilling her innards down the steps had been unexpected - and unwelcome. Kaz hadn’t been prepared. 

“Perfectly,” he added, watching the grim look on Jesper’s face deepen, “Straight in half,”

“Some Grisha can do that, can’t they? They say the Darkling could,”

Kaz shook his head. 

“A weapon specific to very powerful Etherealki, I believe. No frightened runaway in the middle of Ketterdam could have done that, or at least not anyone who’s been flying under the radar for long - and anyway, I don’t think the Cut’s precise enough for two equal halves. I’ve heard some stories,”

Nina had an unnerving habit of dropping such things, things she’d witnessed as a child during the Ravkan Civil War, into casual conversation and being surprised when people were taken aback, but Kaz had heard of it from a couple of others as well. As far as he could tell, the Cut would have been even messier than what he’d seen today. 

“So then, what?”

“I have no idea,”

There was a brief pause, before Jesper ventured. 

“Do you think it’s the same person? Tara - she’s the girl from the Menagerie - Tara and Amethyst, do you think-?”

“I don’t think,” Kaz sighed, “I’m certain. The patterns are far too similar, the murders far too close together, the mode of operation is exactly the same - except the death itself,”

And was there to that? Everyone, Kaz included, had thought that the Leopard, Tara, had been strangled; the bruises around her neck were heavy, inkblots on her too pale skin, and her body was otherwise unmaimed but for scars and the remnants of old injuries. But bruises could have been placed there, couldn’t they, by a Corporalnik? Though Kaz couldn’t imagine any possible motivation for that. None of this seemed to quite make sense. 

“The question is whether they have real motive or if this is just mindless killing - and the answer is that mindless killing, even in the Barrel, is much rarer than people think. In any case it doesn’t get this much attention. Mindless killing is messy, its random - mindless killing is corpses with no connection to each other, usually lower effort, sometimes a more fleeting motivation fulfilled and the victim killed in the aftermath. Mindless killing isn’t premeditated, it doesn’t involve such long-term kidnappings - remember both had been missing for at least a week, Tara for two, but those bodies were fresh. When Tara was first found, maybe we could have struck that up to mindless. The seeming randomness of it, the returning her to the Menagerie, even the method; all of it could have just been Tara’s very bad luck. But looking at it all together…” Kaz shook his head, “You know a girl from West Stave died in a similar pattern last month? From a smaller house, didn’t get much notice; I didn’t start to connect the dots until Tara, but when Amethyst went missing I knew. Something’s happening here, and if something’s happening then someone’s making it happen with intention and with motive. These are setups, and there’s somebody pulling the strings behind them,”

Jesper fidgeted a little, and Kaz saw his hands drift towards his gun belt. He’d swapped his prize revolvers, still sitting in Kaz’s safe, for two sad little lumps of pistols and apparently they weren’t giving him the comfort that his own guns usually did. He always laid hands on them when he was antsy, like a child seeking the comfort of a favoured doll, and now his fingers were dancing over the replacements like they couldn’t quite decide where to land. 

Kaz flexed his gloved fingers and gripped his cane tighter. He could have given Jesper his revolvers back, the safe was right behind him, but he didn’t move. Jesper hadn’t asked for them, he knew the deal was incomplete, and Kaz could admit to himself that part of him wanted to punish Jesper a little. He owed the sharpshooter nothing, and if Jesper hadn’t left her behind then maybe the Wraith wouldn’t have been injured. Kaz may not have lost money on the proposed deal with Wylan, but Jesper’s proposition had cost Inej something more. And it was costing Kaz the loss of her skills these past few weeks, leaving him in the dark on details she could have gathered for him. He was well within his rights to keep the guns, by the deal they’d made at least, but he knew that if Jesper asked for them he would hand them over. But Jesper hadn’t asked, so they continued to gather dust in Kaz’s locked office. 

“Who died last month?” asked Jesper, a little quieter than before.

Kaz shrugged.

“I don’t have a name, but the point is that whatever’s happening here is building up. The first didn’t get attention, the second wasn’t atypical of West Stave it was just showier. But Amethyst? This is new,”

Kaz suppressed a shudder at the thought - he’d never seen a body like that before. Amethyst had been splayed over the steps outside the Exchange, stripped bare, leaking blood onto the stones. Her entire body had been sliced in two, from head to foot, and the open flap of her chest cavity spilled structures Kaz probably couldn’t even name free from the cage of her ribs and flesh and skin. His eyes skirted quickly to her face. It was impressive they’d managed to identify her, he thought, and then a minute later realised that they hadn’t needed to. Her face was smashed and blood-soaked and split into two equal halves, but the dismemberment had left her arms untouched. The Sweet Shoppe tattoo, dancing on her skin in time with the mist. 

Kaz swallowed tightly, stiffening his hand on his cane and readjusting his bad leg. There were more stadwatch on their way, in fact it was surprising the entire place wasn’t crawling with them yet, and Kaz didn’t fancy being the only person around the corpse when they arrived. He didn’t want to look at it any longer, everything in him was screaming to turn and run, but Kaz’s feet would not move. Amethyst’s bulging eyes stared up at him from their unnatural distance apart, and even standing there he could feel the cold skin, taut over bloating flesh, wet beneath his palms. 

“Kaz?”

Kaz snapped back to the present, gaze fixing on Jesper and forcibly anchoring him in the room. He felt an unfair rage fizzing straight through him, crackling down his arms and all the way into his fingertips. 

“This is new,” Jesper prompted, “What…?”

“I don’t know what kind of weapon could do that to a person,” Kaz shook his head, “And I don’t know why someone wanted to kill Amethyst, or the others. But I know they had a reason,”

It probably wasn’t anything to do with the girls themselves. At the end of the day they were easy targets, weren’t they? Heleen and Pekka may even have had some money slipped to them under the table, Kaz wasn’t sure he’d be surprised. Though maybe not, or they might have done a better job of keeping the original disappearances under wraps. It didn’t matter. Kaz didn’t think that Tara and Amethyst, or the other girl, had been chosen individually for who they were. They’d been chosen because they would get no more attention than Barrel gossip, and because no-one was going to expect the stadwatch to solve the murder of an indenture from West Stave. Kaz doubted the first victim had even been reported to them. Who would have said anything? He just didn’t understand what they’d been chosen for. If they’d all been killed like Amethyst was, he’d assume someone was testing some kind of new weapon. But something didn’t add up here, and it was putting Kaz on edge. 

“They’ll do it again,”

It wasn’t a question but Kaz nodded anyway, and Jesper leaned back as he drummed his fingers against his knees. Again Kaz thought he might ask to have his revolvers back, but he said nothing. 

“They’re getting braver,” Kaz mused, “Who says this only started last month?”

And what comes next? 

There was a long silence.

“You were late,”

“I was setting up a sling for Inej,” said Jesper, readjusting on his seat, “And I had to wait for Anika so there was someone to stay with her,”

“How is she?”

“Restless. In pain. Improving,” Jesper shrugged, “You might know better for yourself if you spoke to her,”

Kaz didn’t bother to dignify that with a response. He hadn’t spoken to Inej since she woke up in his office a few days ago. Her sudden panic at waking up in a room she only had hazy memories of dragging herself to through the clouds of pain that were clinging to her, lying on the floor, wearing someone else’s clothes, had been palpable in the air even before she’d scrambled away from him across the boards. As soon as she moved her face contorted in pain and she shuddered to a halt, pulling her arms into herself and pressing into the cupboards behind her as she shook herself properly awake and her dark eyes found Kaz’s. 

“Don’t try to walk until you’re ready,” he told her, “Nina’s outside, she’ll take you back to the Slat,”

Inej watched him for a moment, shaky breaths filling the air between them. Kaz stood slowly and began to walk towards the door, wary of Inej’s eyes on him. 

“The body’s been moved,” he said, feeling something soften in his voice whether he wanted it to or not, “If you’d rather swap to a different room maybe I can-”

“It’s okay,” she whispered, and he couldn’t help but turn to see her, “Thank you,”

Kaz’s heart was in his throat and Inej’s eyes were wide and dark enough to drown in. 

“I’ll get Nina,”

It was all he could bring himself to say. 

[chickenkupo]

Hello, everyone! Welcome to the Coop! I'm Girl_In_The_Chicken_Suit on AO3, welcome to my journey of venturing into the world of writing as well as other hobbies like never before. I'm your typical weeb that's a little obsessed with husbandos and wants to write them in silly, fun, dramatic, adventurous stories that hopefully you all will enjoy as well. I'm an avid anime watcher, manga reader and gamer. I'm mainly starting out writing for Genshin Impact but I hope to expand that one day!

I'm hoping to get a little bit more experience with writing through this platform, provide teasers/updates on in progress works, and eventually meet my goal of writing my first novel! I'm currently in the very early stages of that, but fingers crossed, one day I will get there!

This post I will keep pinned with links to all of my written works on AO3, as well as little scribble works I may post here with some summaries and all that good stuff. I'll probably end up reworking this post a million times over, so no, you're not crazy if you come here and see one template for this, come again and it's a whole new situation.

Thank you for paying me a visit, and I hope I can provide you with some entertainment during all of your doom scrolling!

Funnily enough, I just recently picked up writing and oh my gosh, I honestly did not expect you all to like my writing style of my chaotic little stories. I actually started out on social media mainly to promote my cosplays! I've been a cosplayer for about 10 years now and have wanted to go more in depth with it, so a majority of my socials are heavily invested in that. If you're interested (and want to witness my chaotic self even more), check out the links below!

Socials:

Instagram: HolySoulA

TikTok: Britasin

Twitter: ChckenKupo

Twitch: britasin

AO3: Girl_in_the_Chicken_Suit

Cosplay Tumblr: Britasin

FanFiction Works:

AO3 Works:

Coming Home: Neuvillette/Wriothesley

The world is going through hell, literally. Vampires are roaming the villages and cities under the cover of night, taking humans left and right as livestock, or worse. Humanity has grown to have minuscule hope, but some have decided to rise and defend what little they have left. Enduring intense training since the moment they could hold a weapon firmly, the Vitae Linea have fought against the vampires for years, an ancient organization that wields more power than your average human.

Even with them on humanity’s side, hope is still nearly nonexistent.

Wriothesley, having worked his way through the ranks of organization, has become one of the most coveted members. Through his unique fighting style, sheer strength, and knowledge of the arcane, he has become somewhat of a legend between the two races.

As his battle against the creatures of the night continues, he catches the attention of a certain Vampire Lord who wishes to put his skills to the ultimate test.

Just how does this Vampire Lord know details of himself that he has never shared with anyone else, ones he has hidden even from everyone? Why, also, does this man seem so familiar to him, where even his body recognizes him with ease?

I Promise: Neuvillette/Wriothesley (Part 1 of Judgement & Punishment)

Wriothesley is known for being organized, calculating and strategic when it comes to being the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide. However, when it comes to his own safety and personal well-being, he is severely lacking, and this doesn’t go unnoticed at all. Many of his colleagues, comrades and even the love of his life are witnesses of this dynamic every day.

Especially that certain hydro dragon lover of his that’s completely smitten and obsessed with him.

Unfortunately, all it takes is one near-fatal encounter for Neuvillette to give into his anxieties and instincts, making a rash decision that will prevent Wriothesley from ever coming close to another dire situation like this again.

A rash decision that may be as fatal with consequences as the one fateful encounter did.

Now for the Next Act: Neuvillette/Wriothesley (Part 2 of Judgement & Punishment)

Fontaine has successfully dodged a catastrophic crisis, though not without a great deal of loss. Many citizens have gathered around in support of each other, relying on the previous roles of leadership to give them hope that things will return to how they were before. Hope is abundant, spirits are now high, and the future seems so bright.

Neuvillette has faced many challenges within his long life, and helping to rebuild a nation that has had so much instability in the past will not prove to be easy. Not only does he have the weight of a nation on his shoulders, but he also has a newly claimed mate that consumes his every waking thought, worry and love.

Wriothesley notices that his lover isn’t quite the same since the day Fontaine was saved from imminent destruction, but the frantic activities within the Fortress of Meropide have kept him completely distant from his mate.

Both men are working hard for the nation that they love, to keep justice and order together in harmony once more. However, the whispers of the former archon keep echoing through Neuvillette’s mind, and the longer he ponders, the more he realizes that what he and Wriothesley have is something to be proud of.

Teaser at the end...

The Worthy Treasure: Zhongli/Reader

To steal from a dragon is unacceptable. To try to escape one, is even worse.

When a certain dragon sees you in the crowd, he simply can't get enough. Everything about you, he wants to keep for himself.

If only you had trusted your instincts.

You Listened, Now Stay: Venti/Reader

The time for Weinlesefest is upon Mondstadt! The people are merry, bright, and full of cheer as they celebrate all that which brings them together in the form of favored alcoholic beverages! It’s certainly a time to enjoy, and enjoy they do! This time of year, the Anemo Archon truly delights as he takes the bountiful offerings made out to him.

Especially the offering he ends up taking for himself.

You were just trying to do the right thing for everyone, including yourself.

Boy, Do I Hate You: Scaramouche/Reader

You just wanted your life to go back to normal, before the Vision Hunt Decree.

You wanted your friends back, safe and sound.

You definitely didn't want this vision and a Fatui Harbinger after you.

Tumblr Exclusives:

Comfort Care: Neuvillette/Wriothesley

After handling the incident with the Beret Society, Wriothesley begins to doubt his self-worth. His lovely partner offers him a moment of reprieve to remind him of his true value.

Happy Birthday, Duke!: Neuvillette/Wriothesley

Wriothesley was never the one to celebrate his birthday, opting instead to keep it hush-hush, and devote himself to his work. Maybe he gets a fine dinner from the Coupon Cafeteria, or makes one extra cup of tea for himself, but that's normally it. Just a nice, calm day is all he wanted.

However, a certain hydro dragon has different plans for his mate this year, and he's not about to let Wriothesley escape or avoid enjoying it.

I Just Want My Tea: Neuvillette/Wriothesley

*Tumblr early access, will be posted to AO3 as well*

Wriothesley, the busy man that he is, doesn’t notice that his tea stash is getting rather low, no thanks to Sigewinne taking her share since she considers it payback for what Neuvillette and him put her through once he was claimed. It wasn’t until after a shift at the Fortress of Meropide, however, that he noticed this. After going to the home that he and his mate, Neuvillette, share, he vows that the next morning he will run to the nearest grocery market to take note of their goods, and purchase some more that suit his tastes perfectly. He drools just thinking about it. 

However, Neuvillette is starting to feel a sort of odd heat beneath his skin recently, and it only gets worse as the days go by. He constantly finds himself staring at his love when they are together, and when they are apart, he can only think of having his man back in his embrace, littering him with possessive affection and a viscous need. He’s finding it hard to let Wriothesley go anywhere without him, now, this heat feeling like it is reaching its peak. 

But, the man desperately wants his tea, and the dragon wants his man. The compromise? Why, of course the dragon sovereign is going to turn into a little noodle version of his full dragon form, and go with him! Why, you ask, would he do this?

Well, how else is he going to pleasure the both of them while out in public?

TLDR: Horny noodle dragon is in his heat and tries to get freaky with his mate while he just wants to do some simple grocery shopping. Chaos ensues.

Just My Luck: Neuvillette/ Wriothesley

(I caved and also shared this on AO3, because it was so damn long)

The lands are ruled by ruthless gods of various levels of power. Humanity is only a means to an end for their endless desires, if they happen to gain their attention. Many lay low, do what they can to appease the gods and try to live their lives out, as best they can, given the circumstances. Wriothesley is one such mortal. Having committed a great crime as a young boy, he’s constantly fleeing from his past. Little did he know; however, his constant misfortunes lead to his destiny, and it is most certainly not what he was expecting.

Just My Luck Chapter 2: Neuvillette/Wriothesley

As Wriothesley and Neuvillette continue their sensual activities, more starts to develop about his current situation and steps moving forward. What's this about the claim law? Why is he having to meet with other people? One final return to his land? A single wish?

Wait, he didn't ask for this choker!

Not Expected: Neuvillette/Wriothesley

Happy Birthday, Neuvillette! Sorry I was so late to posting it D:

Fontaine continues to see better days ahead, as many friends and families have come together to help one another prepare for a happy season for them all. The Neuvillette's birthday and the Fontainalia Film Festival are finally almost here, the laughter of children and others alike are finally returning to the streets once again with creative celebration and games. Those within the creative arts have come together to perform for the crowds, engaging them to have their Fontain sparks return to their souls as the nation begins anew, and a celebration of the infamous Iudex was never one to miss. All is well for most citizens…

Except for a certain hydro dragon.

Shouldn’t Wriothesley be wanting to spend some time with him, leading up to the Fontainalia Film Festival? Especially Neuvillette’s birthday, since that’s also right before the event? Why then, is Wriothesley suddenly out during all times of the night? Coming back with a scent of another, and avoiding any sort of confrontation that concerns his whereabouts?

Neuvillette loves his soulmate dearly, but he has questions that must be answered, and he can be a rather demanding dragon when the need arises…

Treasure Hoard: Neuvillette/Wriothesley

As Neuvillette returns from his spontaneous trip from Liyue and delivers some gifts to Wriothesley, the duke starts to notice odd things happening around their shared living space. More objects keep appearing in their bedroom, treasures that don't make sense to Wriothesley such as shells, trinkets, gemstones and even various different type of tea cups. He swears up and down he hasn't been the one to purchase any of these goods, and when questioning Sigewinne about it, she's just as lost as he is.

What exactly is going on, and why does Neuvillette seem so pleased with himself?

Story Eggs

These are short stories that I have had stuck in my mind for a while that have the potential to become full works. I've decided to finally start writing them all out, and if it garners enough want and I feel like I'm ready to write more, it will become a full work, either a single chapter or multi-chapter release on AO3. This gives me the opportunity to share more writings with you all, while also testing the waters on my ideas and you not having to wait a million years. It's a win, win! In my opinion, at least. If the eggs get enough love from both myself wanting to write more, and you commenting or kudo'ing a decent amount, it will 'hatch' into a full work! Get it? I thought it was clever, at least!

Domestic Days: Neuvillette/Wriothesley

Summary: Modern AU. Just your normal average every day domestic life with the two husbands and their adoptive daughter. Only, not so very normal, but so very adorable in the end.

Warnings: Mention of violence, death, and emergency medical situations.

Thank you for all of your support, it means the absolute world to me! ♥

[novantinuum]

Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom Rating: G Words: 1.4K~ Summary: A dozen days past, Aryll still remembers exactly where she stood at the precise moment of the Upheaval’s rising… at the precise moment she realized something terrible must have happened to her brother and Zelda. (Minor spoilers for TotK initiating events. Set in the future of a slight canon divergent AU where both Link and his younger sister Aryll wake up on the Great Plateau.)

First TotK fic! This is ridiculously self indulgent and basically written just for my entertainment, lol. If anyone else happens to enjoy this, then cool! That’s simply a bonus.

This fic is a sneak peak at a young adult Aryll. She’s around eighteen or so here.

Also a big F you to tumblr formatting, which no longer allows me to underline text, or even copy underlined text in. Ughh. Y'all just gonna get bolded text where it's supposed to be underlined, sorry.

______

Unspoken Upheavals

A dozen days past, Aryll still remembers exactly where she stood at the precise moment of the Upheaval’s rising.

Everyone does, really. How could one blame them? The mortal psyche does love internalizing such damning, horrifying moments of dread, after all. And over time, with enough traumatic exposure, it simply becomes easier to remember the tragedies and the hardships over life’s gifts and delights.

In those early years of reconstruction after the Calamity’s end, Hyrule’s joy was swiftly undercut by this crushing aura of… unease. Of disbelief. This lingering hunch that their burdens had not truly ceased, not forever. So when people started mysteriously falling ill after venturing near Castle Town’s ruins and the ancient tech excavation sites… when Purah and her new young protégé began looking into that troublesome ‘gloom’ they detected wafting up from the newly unearthed catacombs… when— mere days after her brother and Zelda ventured underground to investigate— the whole castle itself rose up upon a monstrous plume of malice and chunks of ruins began plummeting from the sky… it was hard for people not to fixate on the worst possibilities… to allow this singular, terrifying, historic occurrence to sear itself into their memories forever.

She was in Kakariko at the time, visiting Paya and all the others for a little while before her upcoming trip to the Gerudo region to see her girlfriend. A few hours had passed since Zelda’s last communication, but she wasn’t worried then. After all, Link retrieved the sword from its pedestal under the Great Deku Tree before their departure on this quest. The Blade of Evil’s Bane at the zenith of its power and wielded by the most talented swordsman in all Hyrule simply shouldn’t fail.

Yet fail they did.

Aryll doesn’t have any way to prove her hunch yet, but she fears the Master Sword was destroyed that morning.

As she rushed out from Impa’s home where she was having tea and caught her first glimpse of the massive stone rings careening down towards the village like comets vying to collide with the very skin of the earth— pulsating tails of green energy tracing their calamitous journey towards the surface as her friends and neighbors screamed at their approach— her first instinct as one talented with sight beyond was to tune her mind towards the ancient spirit who dwells within Link’s weapon.

She felt nothing. Nothing but silence, when on any other day she could at minimum pick up on her warm, quiet hum. 

As reliable as ever, Kakariko’s citizens spun into a charitable frenzy after the ruins’ landing, immediately rushing to aid anyone who might’ve been injured by this unexpected upheaval, or to console and assist those whose homes had been destroyed. No fatalities were discovered, thank goodness— not even a wayward cucco’s— but as the hours ticked ever onwards… Aryll simply couldn’t ignore that sinking, grief-stricken feeling that something terrible had happened to her brother. To Zelda, too.

Because if that blade were to be broken, the very spirit within silenced, then— 

__

“Aryll!” the voice before her prompts with a snap of her fingers. “Focus! Stay with me, here.”

She inhales sharply, shaking away all thoughts of the recent past. “Sorry, sorry— what were you saying again?”

Purah huffs, clearly just as stressed and frazzled as she feels right now.

“I was trying to tell you that— based on our current lack of intel— I think it’s time that we officially declare Link and Zelda missing.”

Aryll freezes in her tracks, the very words echoing within her mind unchecked. It takes all of her strength to even halfway retain her composure, to not break down right here and now. 

“Wha— y’mean, this soon?” she says, voice catching a little in her throat.

“Come on, now. Be realistic. It’s been twelve days since the Upheaval. Twelve days with zero contact and zero clues!”

“But— the chasms, if you’d just let me go, let me search down there, I could—“

“Could what?” she returns, tapping her pen against her opposing hand. “Almost die from gloom sickness, like everyone else who’s walked even a few minutes in that pitch black hellscape? I’m telling you the exact same thing I’m telling Josha, and that’s no. You’re too damn valuable to us to go galavanting off into the dark with nothing but your own recklessness to guide you!“

She crosses her arms, reluctantly resigning to this command. 

(For now, at least. She’s sure she’ll find a moment to sneak off sooner than later.)

“What would you have me do, then?”

“First, we’re gonna circulate these missing posters all over Hyrule,” Purah says, slapping her hand upon the thick stack of papers resting on the table beside her. “Every town, every stable… I want every single soul on this gods-forsaken continent to be on the lookout for our princess and your brother. Then, once you’re back, I’m assigning you to Captain Hoz, and the rest of his search party.” She gestures towards the troop in the middle of their drills at the other side of Lookout Landing. “Since you’ve got a real talent with spirits the others don’t have, I’m kinda hoping you might be able to like, y’know… pick up on the subtler details.”

Aryll sighs, knowing exactly what she’s alluding towards. “I’ve already told you— I can’t feel the Master Sword at all. It’s like… that day, a string was cut, and then- poof! Its spirit gone, entirely void from my awareness. I haven’t felt it since.”

“Well, I still haven’t lost hope that it’ll resurface. So let me know the second you feel any differently, will ‘ya?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she nods, and strides forwards to pick up a pile of flyers, as well as a carton of nails and a mallet. “I’ll start my journey at dawn.”

Purah’s expression bends into a faint scowl, that well known glimmer in her eyes betraying a woman deep in thought. “Y’know, it’s a shame ol’ Linky and Zel had our best Purah Pad prototype. Otherwise, I could fit you up with a paraglider and send you on your way in style,” she says, gesturing towards the recently completed Skyview Tower shading the deck from behind. She hums, pressing a lone finger against her chin. “Although… we do have that old spare hanging about in the Hateno lab… it would certainly take a few days, but if I installed all the appropriate driver updates, it should still be able to interface with the terminal…”

Her stomach lurches at the very notion of being launched Din knows how high just for one of Purah’s experiments. “I think I’ll take my horse, thank you.”

“Pah,” the scientist rolls her eyes. “Where’s your spirit of adventure? If Link were here, he’d try it in a heartbeat!”

“Yeah, well… unlike my brother… I don’t actually have a death wish,” she retorts, slipping all the missing poster supplies into her satchel and slinging it over her shoulder. “I’ll take all the stables and villages on the west side of Hyrule, okay?”

“Sounds great! And, hey…”

Aryll pauses right at the edge of the stairs, her hand brushing against the wooden rail.

While it’s simply a fact that her and Purah have never been particularly close, there’s nevertheless a spark of fondness evident in her tone that injects a bit of much needed warmth into her troubled, forlorn heart.

“Be careful out there, will you?”

The faintest echo of a smile whispers across her lips. “You too, Doc.”

__

A dozen days past, Aryll doubts she’ll forget the exact crossroads she passed through when she finally resigned herself to the reality that her brother is missing, possibly dead.

She’s trembling so hard when this belated wave of despair hits that she has to dismount on the side of the path. As patient as ever, her beloved Makk remains still as she leans against his side, sobbing sloppy tears into the thick, soft fabric of his saddle pad. The satchel upon her back grows heavier and heavier, its contents damning proof of the future she was dreading:

A future without Link. Without Zelda. Without the swordsman and and goddess-blooded princess Hyrule relies on to remain intact, in such times of struggle. But moreover… a future without the people she dearly loves.

“Promise me, you stubborn idiots,” she prays aloud, her voice cracking amidst the rawness of her grief. “Promise you’ll come back to us alive…” 

[calciumdeficientt]

Only a few more days till I get paid and I’m devouring that Kofi link! Mind some tad Spencer and Lovette headcanons of you please my liege! Thank you for your hard work!!!! Your amazing!!!

LOVE THOSE LADS, proving how late i am to answering asks that comm is paid for and on the way!

TAD SPENCER AND LOVETTE JACKSON HCS

When she and Derby were still fraternising, he wasn’t all that jazzed about her. She didn’t seem to come from any money and therefore didn’t serve any real importance to him as a young prep looking to fit in a little better with his old money friends. Over time, after a few stuffy conversations over dinner, he got to know Lovette a little better, and she took an interest in knowing him. This was a very new phenomenon for young Tad who had been chomping at the bit to get attention ever since he was a tot.

Lovette came to tears about his piece of shit dad, his ambitions to be clique leader and by proxy the plans with which he planned to take the helm. A mutiny, if things did not come to him in the naturally way. Some other preps knew what he wanted, and how he wanted it but Lovette was the only person to ever ask him WHY he felt such an insane pressure to be their leader. Wasn’t simply being in the clique enough? From that came the revelation that Tad didn’t want this, at least not fully anyway, his father wanted it for him. He wanted greatness out of his son to justify having him, he was just another business venture. If he could battle with a competetors’ son and win, it would surely put the spencers on top as a family to be reckoned with.

Eventually they made the leap from acquaintances to friends, this was likely towards the tail end of her relationship with Derby. They’d go out to lunch, Tad would do the chivalrous thing and pay for both of them and then do and sit on the docks. Tad did consider inviting her over for dinner once or twice but he feared that both his parents and Derby would get entirely the wrong idea. Derby’s ladies were firmly of limits, broach of this one rule would surely lead to expulsion from the clique. Tad couldn’t afford that or else his plan (while still technically on the back burner) was kaput.

Then came the split, Tad’s resentment of all things Derby Harrington skyrocketed again. Once derby was done with someone, everyone in the clique was done with someone. It was their moral duty to him and to the click to show their allegiance and sever all ties with the enemy. Still, he kept Lovette very much in his good graces. He couldn’t outright hang out with her anymore but he would steal her away when she was on duty, patrolling for any stragglers out past curfew to share a ridiculously expensive cigarette and talk all kind of shit about Derby. Honestly he was more bitter about the breakup than him because it meant he had lost a damn good friend. The plan, as far as tad was concerned, was back on and Lovette, is his mind, was set to be a prep any minute now, if that tyrant Hopkins keeps Derby on his toes, unsuspecting.

[ladyswillmart]

New Fic: "Dead End” Ultima VII; 6424 words, Gen (AO3 link)

One can't help but feel sorry for Sethys, an acolyte of a lost philosophy who accidentally got himself folded into a Time Breach while the rest of his civilization collapsed around him during a hideously violent war. There he stands in the prime of neither life nor death, imprisoned alone in a freezing basement, his very existence lobbed far beyond the agency of time, going mad with unaddressed trauma, immortality, boredom and a complete inability to tell one second, hour, day, year, from the one before or after.

And perhaps worst of all, the very first person he has to interact with after roughly 8500 years of all that, is one miserable G.D. mudsill by the name of Batlin...

(Prelude to The Meadowtron, a loosely connected series of humorous stories about The Avatar's "B-Team" on Serpent Isle.)

---⏳---

Bonus Snippet for the Kids at Home:

“Ahem. Yes. It struck me as a load of applesauce at the time as well, some meaningless mumbo-jumbo from a half-crazed laundress about dark magic and ritual sacrifice and communion with this realm’s rubbish snake gods—”

“—rubbish?” Sethys’s eyes flared wide open. “I beg thy pardon!”

“No? We aren’t Ophidians, are we? After all, your people all killed themselves centuries ago,” Batlin went on, coldly. “Therefore you can’t hardly expect us to give a single toss about you or your failed society, only the immense power you evidently wielded at the height of it.”

“What power?”

“I speak of the Wall of Lights, ancient.”

Sethys took one wary step backwards, out of reach from any more wandering hands. “That thou wouldst dare to speak of such things with so little regard for purpose or meaning,” he countered. “Thou wouldst insult our ways, but plumb our tombs, steal our secrets just the same.”

Batlin nodded. “True, but I was hardly the first to do so. Have a look at this,” he said as he began to root through the dowdy leather kit bag hanging off Palos’s shoulder. “The people who colonized this accursed place in the wake of your destruction have been stealing your relics since they first broke ground, passing them around the place like party favors. You have no secrets anymore, child. See?”

He unearthed his prize from the bag and displayed it—a chunk of yellowed bone, hefty and imposing, such that even a large man like Batlin needed both hands to hold it.

Although Sethys had only see this particular relic once or twice, he recognized it instantly by shape alone: “A serpent’s jawbone,” he said, quietly noticing that Batlin had even managed to install a few of its teeth. “Where didst thou find that?”

“Where? Why, some other man who would insult your ways and steal your secrets, who else?” said Batlin. “Now perhaps you might think me in the wrong to perpetuate the extraordinarily brazen chain of thefts that saw this treasure moving from one grotty pair of hands to the next. But I would challenge you to answer, does it even matter anymore? Does it truly? Because I would venture that the only thing that matters now is that I own it, which means that I am free to wield all the power it holds.”

Brunt burst into a loud and bitter peal at his leader’s stumping. “Hear hear! Look at Lord Batlin, wielding all that ancient power! Or at least he will be, soon as he works out how to actually use the blasted thing…”

Batlin’s mouth became a tight, thin line, stretching from cheek to cheek in his desperate attempt to remain unfazed. He considered his own brand of villainy to be a cut above the churlish clowning of his hired hands. He always regretted hiring them, always, though they did serve a purpose in that they made him look much more sophisticated than he actually was.

He sighed through clenched teeth. The likes of Brunt was enough to make him wish for the likes of Hook and Forskis, and that was saying something.

[floripire]

SEASON 4 (DIVERGENT) AND BEYOND THROUGH THE EYES OF FLORIBETH DALISAY

season four centers not only around graduation and passing the torch but also around death of the self, the promise of new life and a life full of promise as well as change and destiny and how much these two forces are linked together when the fate of the world is at stake.

hope has become the tribrid and has since turned off her humanity. no one is getting through to her. neither the anti squad nor the super squad. but that doesn't mean they'll stop trying. josie, especially, will not stop trying. this causes friction with lizzie.

the timing sucks, though, because there's a shockwave going through the preternatural world: everyone can feel it. hope is a tribrid. a magical loophole. her very birth shook the preternatural world. so of course the answer to the activation of a tribrid would be the rise of the old powers.

alaric wakes up from his coma. unfortunately, he can't really enjoy his second chance at life, because hope beats the crap out of him and kills him shortly afterwards. because she wanted to, for one, and to send a message to the saltzman twins.

(speaking of which: both of the saltzmans become heretics, thereby solving the merge for real.)

for flori, this season is about growing up and growing into yourself. she’s in touch with her family members, she’s fully immersed herself in the night world, and is helping them to find the wild powers after malivore gets stopped for once and for all.

cecil barnes now knows what happened to his aunt heather; he's fully in the know about the preternatural world as well. he confessed to flori but she gently shot him down. they remain friends to this day, though.

after graduation, she helps jed find his sisters too. but it wasn't an easy road. even so, they managed, despite the old powers rising, despite the fact that the hunter trio (doug carson, joe flowers and tami bryce) are out there, working with derek machado as well as burr - since released from his stone form - and veronica greasley, who cannot seem to let go of her family's legacy.

derek machado intends to kill as many people as it takes to get to hope mikaelson, and he'll start with his progeny, which is fine by the aforementioned hunter trio because they won't rest until sue - and everyone else - gets avenged.

more and more humans are wising up to the fact that they're sharing the world with preternaturals, and have been for ages. the hunter trio uses that to their advantage too, getting their hands on liquid sunlight and weapons containing ultraviolet ammunition.

doctor emmanuel zetes (a/lexander s/iddig) enters the field shortly thereafter. he's the owner of the zetes institute, which has ties to triad and augustine as well. wade rivers was one of his charges until floribeth got him out. he is something akin to a collector. collects people like trinkets. and what better trinket is there to collect than a tribrid?

(it takes a long time for the final battle to come and even longer for it to come to an end; it takes longer, still, for the old powers to settle down again. years, even. ages. there are casualties on both sides. hope personally kills derek; the hunter trio loses their lives, too. but their deaths inspire other hunters. such is the cycle.)

eventually, flori settles down and starts working for salvatore as their resident tech expert, making sure that all footage gets scrubbed accordingly and nothing gets out to the general public each time the young preternaturals of the world venture beyond the gates.

[sometimesrosy]

Hey Rosy! It’s NaNoWriMo’s Eve! I have been super busy this year and unmotivated for everything, including writing. However, I’ve been itching to write, just don’t know how to start. Everytime I think of my projects I get overwhelmed, and thinking of doing them for NaNo makes me more anxious than anything. My simplest story ended up becoming somewhat complex, so I scratched even the idea of participating this year.

Except… there’s this video game called League of Legends, you probably heard about it, that most years created a virtual music group with characters from the game featuring real artists and they’re always super successful. There are two characters of the game that are demons or demonic in essence, and the idea of a fanfic formed in my mind.

I’m not used to writing fanfic, and I’m just used to writing full fledged fantasy stories. So, two demonic entities that are famous singers while hiding their identities in a world kinda like ours but that start out as rivals and may end up romantically linked, or that simply get closer and closer for sharing their ventures into the real world and bond over a feeling of belonging or something. Done many times, but it sounds good in my head.

Now here’s my question (and I’m sorry for the super long ask just to ask this), I have the characters and have some sort of sense where I want this story to go, but I don’t know what else to do. I don’t have a villain, I’m not used to not having a villain. I don’t have a quest, or a chosen one, or… do I even have a plot? I don’t know how to develop the story from here. A crime doesn’t seem to fit. But I didn’t want to complicate it with, I don’t know, an important task or quest for an item or whatever. Most of my stories are character-driven, but I can pinpoint all of the other elements in them. In here, I’m kind of lost. How do I find my voice?

Thank you <3

Oh hi! I am so sorry to be late on this ask. I suppose I have not been paying attention to my tumblr. (my internet is so slow that only text loads sometimes so that makes it worse.)

But we're only three days into nano so I hope I haven't screwed you up without an answer. In case you're still struggling or anyone else is.

Lets talk about it. You have multiple questions here so I'll answer the last first.

How do you find your voice?

Your voice is you. It's what you like, what you don't like, how you speak, the tone in your writing, the things that are important to you, the themes you choose, the people who influence you. Everything about you, so finding your voice is discovering who you are and also believing in yourself enough to think that's good enough and not be pushed by what other people say you should be.

How do you find that? By writing. By telling the stories that are inside of you and taking them all the way to the end so you can gain experience and discover your writing process and how it all works out.

Now about your story. You have characters and setting and, frankly, a romance story. Or a romance secondary plot. Perfectly valid as the main plot but if you want to have different plot, here's how you do it for character based stories.

Figure out what your characters want more than anything. Choose an external goal, like, they are competing for WORLDS GREATEST POP STAR or whatever, and that seems to be the goal.

But ALSO choose and internal goal, like 'to find acceptance and love,' or 'self esteem and peace' or 'to break away from their demonic family' or whatever.

NOW how do you get a plot or villain out of that?

By planting an obstacle in the way of their goals, both internal and external. For instance, there could be another contestant in the worlds greatest pop star contest who is getting ready to beat them both. Or maybe they're devious and betray them. Or maybe the obstacle is they are eachother's biggest competition and obstacle. But as they fight against each other they are falling in love-- now suddenly the external goal to win the contest is the obstacle to the internal goal to find love. There's your romance plot.

But if you want that as a secondary plot, you can just stick in any obstacle that you think will interfere with their goals. It's best if overcoming that obstacle actually helps them grow and develop their character, so facing a fear or a demon of their past (metaphorically in most cases but possibly literally in this case) maybe their demonic natures are about to be outed on live television and they have to stop it. Stories don't have to have villains. Sometimes it's 'mc against nature' or 'mc against god' or whatever. Sometimes they've set up a cascading set of factors that will ulitmately lead to their downfall and they have to try and stop what they started.

The possibilities really are endless and that's sometimes why it's so hard to pick one. But the wonderful thing about writing stories is that you can make it whatever makes you excited and happy or terrified and thrilled, depending on what floats your boat.

Good luck and happy nanowrimo!

[kharonion]

So, I've been Marinating about Gail and Charon's venture into Fallout 4 timeline. I have yet to figure out if this is more AU versus canon sequence of events... but it works either way, I guess? Kind of a continuation of this post.

Now y'all can be subjected to this hodgepodge of thoughts. Beware, it's long.

This particular path trajectory starts (roughly) about midway through Broken Steel, when Gail starts to really show signs of their worsening condition. They and Charon are still servicing the Brotherhood of Steel at this time, and of course, the Citadel's doctors demand to examine Gail. Though they don't know really how to describe what's happening, it's essentially Gail's insides ghoulifying... without the telltale physical signs (i.e. peeling skin, lost hair).

After the loss of both of the Lyons and countless insufficient leaders in their stead, we come to Arthur Maxson's taking of the Elder role. Gail knows things will quickly go awry when the Outcasts are brought back into the order—they've not forgotten the events at VSS—and the order starts to exhibit a much more bigoted way of thinking, derogatory towards any-and-all who are even remotely inhuman (or believed to be such).

Charon most certainly is in the crossfire—and so is Gail, a "filthy ghoul" in all but appearance. Before the Prydwen is ready to take flight, the two are ostracized from the faction they've diligently served for countless years.

And, much like they had before the Battle of Project Purity, they wander the wasteland with nothing but each other.

Eventually, they wind up venturing into the Commonwealth. (Yes, this does mean they wander through the Glowing Sea, entering via Southern Boston.) For the most part, they keep to themselves, not really settling down anywhere in particular.

So. In the post I linked prior, I mention Gail and Arthur meeting yet again, and that it deserved its own lil' segment.

Strap in. This is going to get gnarly.

Maxson's got eyes and ears in numerous places; both Gail and Charon stick out like sore thumbs, so he recognizes their descriptions. Calls them up to meet him in the Prydwen. Of course, Charon hates the idea, but Gail reasons that maybe things had changed, considering the offer is given in the first place.

Gail hopes to talk. To make the young man who they'd once looked after and educated see the errors of the order's new ways. He tells them of the Institute, the technology that's gone too far, how those not the work of nature are bombs ready to lay waste to the world all over.

He makes it a point to mention not only Gail's own condition, but also the nature of their relationship with Charon. This angers them beyond words, but before they can do anything, Arthur fires a single laser shot. And Charon collapses beside them.

Cue Arthur continuously spouting about non-humans, the surrounding Paladins snickering as Gail holds Charon close and packs his wound.

This is when Gail—ever composed, ever the soft-spoken voice of reason—finally snaps. Because this order, this fucking order, has taken so much from them and countless others. Betrayed the ideals of the man who readily took they and Charon in.

Through rivers of tears, they take Charon's shotgun in their hands and open fire. Not a single bullet strays from their fatal trajectory, and no one is left standing. Gail helps themselves to one of the fallen Paladin's power armor as to be able to lift Charon... as well as take a running leap out of the airship.

Gail tends to Charon enough to stabilize him before booking it back to the Glowing Sea, where they hide out until it's safe to return home—to the Capital. Because where else would they go?

[tiodolma]

@tundratoad

Merlin's/Emrys's politics, his whole idealogy, what he was working, was based on camelot and arthur succeeding with his help/assistance and guidance. I've always counted all the invasion/usurpation attempts of the antagonists as successes tbh. The only reason they failed at the end is because they did not know he was there protecting Camelot all by himself/fixing problems on his own vigilante-style defense.

Merlin was Camelot's impenetrable wall against magic rebels. Now that's not a good thing, no matter how much the show painted it to be "heroic." Merlin styling himself as Camelot's strongest defender also makes him the weakest link. If you find out the truth about him, he's toast. He's really really useless once someone else figures out that they only have to remove him from the castle. Merlin made Camelot weak, especially in defense. His secrecy destabilized the government, making them ignorant of the actual problems that they were facing. Incapacitating Merlin for just a short while was always a sure sign that Camelot and any of its rulers will fall. They were very ill-prepared defensively, politically and diplomatically because of the decisions Kilgharrah, Gaius and Merlin chose to undertake in secrecy. All in all... their secret radical kingmaking scheme weakened Camelot from within under the guise of "secret strength"

So most fans would assume that keeping Merlin a state secret would have been the best thing, right?

I disagree wholeheartedly. Thing is. Someone as powerful as Merlin should have been out there in the open, showing people that messing with Camelot would come at a heavy price. Merlin's immortality and invinciblity should have been a deterrent against magic rebels. He should have been the diplomatic bargaining chip to show the other magic-kin the other magic sects THAT HE WAS THE OTHER WAY. Knowing that they were facing against an undefeatable entity like Merlin would have made them think twice from attacking Camelot directly. They would have had the chance to consider more properly that his insane radical idea of putting their oppressor on the throne to rule them all was another option from Morgana or some other leader. Him openly backing up his chosen tyrannical dynasty would have given magic-kin a clear option to choose between him or Morgana (or some other leader).

Moreover... Morgana is a trained noble, okay. She grew up in court, was educated in nobility as a future princess and a queen. She knew how to make allies, she knew how to take advantage of opportunities, most of all, she knew how to negotiate. If we think about it from a political perspective, if post s3 or post s4 Morgana had a chance to parley, to negotiate with this Emrys, then they could have at least not needed to come to open and all out war, because Morgana would have realized that she was outmatched in a lot of ways.

Most fans would then think, "then Morgana would have found out his weakness early!" that's not a bad thing for Merlin in the long run actually. That would have forced him to study and learn more about his own world, the land he lives in and the capabilities of his powers to better fortify himself and the people he choose to prioritize and protect (Camelot and non magic folk). Because, you see in the show, Merlin, for all his dream of wanting to become some kind of royal advisor to Arthur, his magical and tactical education was so horribly terribly inadequate in all aspects that a royal advisor should be good at.

How I can say this? in s4-s5

He still relied on Gaius for most vital and important information

He doesn't know the geography of Camelot

He was too afraid to venture outside the citadel even to the place where his powers would have been strongest

Still did not know much about the very magical land that he frkn lived in.

He was even bad at planning wars, only relying on Arthur and the Knights

Still does not know how to talk diplomatically with the important high ranking magic sects who don't share the same beliefs as him

His relationship with economics and proper compensation (just the fact that he is still overworked and underpaid) makes him unfit for bigger administrative advisory roles

Compare that with s4-s5 Morgana who has gained so much knowledge and techniques that Merlin himself didn't even have. Merlin just didn't have the capability to guide Arthur because his education was just so closed off from what the reality of their world needed.

Forcing Merlin to live in his truth, to learn and study more (especially knowledge that were not availaible within Camelot archives) would also have made Arthur and Camelot wake up to the reality that they needed to have trump cards other than Merlin, especially against Morgana who have the better leverage, better alliances, better experience and just better political machinery all around.

Being a manservant is not a decent excuse to be totally wasted as a pollitical agent and entity tbh. "Arthur would have killed him!" -> people say. but so what if arthur decides that he's a traitor and a criminal too? wouldn't Merlin facing up to his own crimes would have been better especially for future legislation and kingdom building?

If Merlin had understood himself earlier in the show, if he stopped being in denial, if he was more open to

living in truth with other people like him;

having more dialogue and negotiations among the affected sects and practitioners of different disciplines (yes including those who practiced black magic);

proving himself worthy to these guys, magic-kin and camelotians who would have branded him a traitor;

demanding reparations especially from uther and arthur pendragon;

fighting for justice especially for his own people who were actual victims of decades of genocide by kings he chosen to serve;

understanding the idea that sometimes people do bad things for the right reasons...

then the show would have been more about healing, accountability, and effort to mend the present for a better future.

Morgana wouldn't have had to die.

.......

Merlin underperformed and focused on the wrong things because of the ways he was mentored. Ths show is tragedy because bbc merlin was never able to become THE MERLIN that he should have been: powerful, a show-off, flamboyant, unapologetic and most of all feared and respected by kings and peasants alike as the ambassador serving the king of camelot.

....

Also look.. merlin and morgana didnt need to have become enemies. At the very least they could have either (1) worked together seamlessly once they've found a common ground or (2) just have clashed in idealogies while ruling different kingdoms. There were many ways that they wouldnt have needed to be both extremists in open war (as we see in the show). The answer is them acknowledging truth, accountability, reparations and compensation. Please never ever underestimate the power of negotiation and diplomacy.

........

Morevoer the whole destiny and doom thing is up for so much interpretation. Like seriously a lot of destiny and doom dynamics in popular fiction are usually (1) tragic lovers or (2) tragic friendships/rivalries. They don't have to be sworn enemies destined to kill each other, so don't listen to kilgharrah pls.

Thank you very much for the question.

me in despair because bbc merlin and bbc morgana are both terrible assholes

yet i am more in despair

coz bbc morgana only ever seriously plotted against bbc merlin properly in s5