#open for Black Sails crossovers too!

[avastyetwats]

“SAILS, CAP’N!”

Olu’s announcement immediately grabs Stede’s attention, prompting the Captain to pull out his spyglass. They’re still at a good distance where he can’t make out faces on the vessel, but he can at least make out the sails somewhat. “Oh, ho! Appears to be a merchant ship. Wonderful!” He exclaims with a wide smile as he lowers the spyglass, eager to put his training to use. “Are you ready for some fun, everyone!?” His crew had been itching for some real action and this certainly seemed to be an opportunity for that. Perhaps they’d even find some precious cargo onboard, some supplies and materials worth taking - that was the point, after all, wasn’t it? Though, for Stede, he’d be happy to just find some books. And hopefully this ship would be curse free. “Now then, ready the canons and prepare to intercept!” He orders, chest puffed out, seemingly full of confidence. But then he deflates a little and leans over, voice dropping below a whisper. “Was that right? Did I do that correctly or…?”

[omgrachwrites]

Of Pirates and Princes - Chapter One

Pairing: Prince Caspian x Reader

Summary: You are merely a shop owner sharing a street with an insufferable mechanic. If that’s true, why do you keep dreaming of Princes and black sails? OUAT crossover

Warnings: enemies to lovers, fluff, swearing

A/N: First part wooo! Hope you guys enjoy and please let me know if you would like to be tagged! xxx

masterlist

Chapter I

The floor was hard and rocky beneath your fingers, as was the wall behind your head, you couldn’t dig your way out of this cell, that was clear enough. Boots crunched against the ground and you lifted your head, smirking when the tall man peered through the bars.

“Where’s your master, General? Was he too afraid to come and see me alone?” you snickered.

“Where are the jewels?”

You scoffed, “the lady Susan’s jewels? Why would I have them?”

“You were seen in the company of the men who did steal from the carriage down in port. They had the gold and silver but no jewels, and they let you get caught.”

Those men were idiots, your father would have skinned them alive if they weren’t bound to be executed by the Prince. They had failed to protect you.

“Hmm, what a conundrum.”

“Release her,” a different voice, a softer voice came from the shadows, the pale moonlight illuminating his handsome face.

“But, Your Highness,” the General started but he didn’t get a chance to finish as the Prince cut him off.

“We have searched her belongings and her person, we have not located the jewels or any other contraband. It is not a crime to choose poor drinking companions.”

The General muttered something as he walked off and you glanced over at the Prince, “I’ve been here for five days.”

The Prince smirked as his dark eyes beheld you from the other side of the bars, “have you? My apologies, I had no idea,” you scowled at him.

The Jolly Roger was still docked in the port and you smiled as you ran into the Captain’s open arms, “I was so worried about you, Y/N.”

“I’m fine, dad,” you smiled and he pulled out of the hug, holding you at arm’s length.

“How did you get away?”

With a smile, you pulled a dagger out of the wood of the ship and used it to cut a hole in the lining of your tunic, “either the Prince and his men are idiots, or you taught me very well,” you laughed as you pulled out the jewels you had stolen from Susan’s carriage.

-----

The bell to your jewellery shop opened, causing you to lose grip of the crystal that you were trying to set into the ring, “fuck!” you jumped and your friend laughed at you.

“Sorry, Y/N.”

You smiled and looked at the clock as you grabbed your jacket, “no, I’m sorry. I lost track of time, lunch at Granny’s?”

Regina nodded and the both of you left the shop, switching the sign to closed, “how’s Henry?” you asked.

Regina sighed, “he still thinks I’m the Evil Queen.”

“From Snow White?” Regina’s son, Henry held a strong belief that everyone in town was a fairytale character from his book, his relief was so strong that he had brought his birth mother to Storybrooke, all the way from Boston.

Regina nodded at your question causing you to laugh and quirk an eyebrow as you looked at your friend’s clothes, “well, you do have the look.”

Regina rolled her eyes, “don’t be ridiculous, Y/N.”

You laughed as you opened the door to Granny’s, your smile fell almost instantly as you quite literally ran into the man you wanted to see the least.

“Woah, I’m so sorry,” he laughed as his hands came up to steady you, as soon as he realised it was you, his smile dropped and he scowled at you, but his hands didn’t leave your waist.

You recoiled and Caspian rolled his eyes, “your hands are filthy.”

Caspian scowled, “I’m a mechanic, darlin’ kind of comes with the job.”

“Whatever,” you stormed right past him and into the diner.

Regina followed you as you sat down at your usual table, “that was the most ridiculous argument ever.”

You scoffed, “I hate him, I hate him so much and I don’t know why but there’s just something about him that irks me. I can’t put my finger on it.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Regina spoke up and you glanced at her in surprise to find that she wasn’t looking at you. She was looking past you with a faraway look on her face as if her mind was elsewhere.

“What for?” you asked.

She didn’t say anything, she just smiled wanly and placed your usual order when Ruby came around to take the order.

“I keep on having the strangest dreams.”

Regina raised an eyebrow as she looked at you warily, “what about?”

You twisted your ring round on your finger as you recalled the dream from last night, “there was a pirate ship and a Prince. There was a jail cell in the depths of a great castle, it felt very much like a fever dream,” you laughed.

“Dr Hopper may have something for dreamless sleeps.”

You shook your head; the dreams may have been weird but they were not unwelcome. Lunch was nice, Regina seemed truly happy and you didn’t speak of your dreams or Henry again.

On your way out of Granny’s you grabbed two bear claws, one for you and one for your mom, that was your tradition, every Monday you would have lunch with Regina and then you would go for coffee and a catch up with your mom. You dropped Regina off at her office before driving to your mother’s cottage on the edge of town. As soon as you pulled up to the cottage you could sense that something was different but you didn’t know what until you rang the doorbell.

“Y/N,” your mother smiled with a questioning look on her face, “what are you doing here?”

You laughed as you held up the brown paper bags, “bear claws?”

She nodded with a smile, “sorry dear, it’s been a long day. Come in.”

You smiled as you stepped over the threshold and hugged your mom, kissing her cheek before you walked through to the kitchen, your blood running cold. Twice in one day? Someone really had it out for you. There he was, looking cleaner than he had from when you last saw him a couple of hours ago. He looked up from his phone and he dropped it on the kitchen counter, the clatter making you jump.

You scowled at him as you saw the remains of a bear claw on your mother’s floral plates and a coffee cup, “what’s he doing here?” you complained to your mom as she rolled her eyes and followed you into the kitchen.

“Y/N, don’t be rude, Caspian was kindly dropping off my car after he fixed it for me.”

Caspian shot a dazzling smile at your mother that you just wanted to slap off his face as he stood from the kitchen stool, “it really was no trouble, ma’am, after all I couldn’t have you traipsing all the way into town from here.”

Your mother grinned and handed him a tupperware container which made you glare at Caspian, “you’re a lifesaver, and you won’t have to eat greasy diner food tomorrow.”

“Thank you, ma’am, I’ll see you soon,” he glanced over at you with daggers in your dark eyes, “Y/N.”

You didn’t say anything but if looks could kill he would be six feet underground, your mom walked him out and when she came back into the kitchen she had a disappointed look on her face.

“Why can’t you just be nice to him, Y/N? He’s a lovely young man.”

“Oh come on mom, he’s rude and arrogant.”

Your mom sighed as she flicked the kettle on, “oh, Y/N, you really need to grow up.”

As you were getting ready to close the shop, the little bell tinkled and you looked up with a surprised smile when Henry walked through the door. Regina worked late every Monday so Henry always came by the shop to start on his homework until Regina picked him up. You would have thought that he would have been spending time with Emma.

“Good to see you Henry,” you smiled as the boy placed his backpack on one of the tables in the shop and began to get his things out.

“Hi, Y/N,” he smiled brightly as only a child could smile as he got out a heavy leather bound book and you knew that that must be it.

“So, that’s the famous book, huh? Kind of offended that I’m not in it,” you laughed as you tidied some things away, “want a sandwich and some juice? It’ll be a while before you’ll be having dinner.”

“That would be great, thanks Y/N,” he started to scribble in his notebook as you went through to the tiny little kitchen in the back. You poured Henry some orange juice and made him a sandwich, cutting off the crusts just like you knew he liked it and came back through into the shop and placed it in front of him.

“There you go,” you spoke cheerfully and Henry took one big swig of the drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Oh, I think you actually are in the book,” he grinned and started flipping through the pages.

You laughed as you quirked an eyebrow, “oh yeah? And who am I? A princess I hope,” you sat opposite Henry.

He shook his head as he pushed the book towards you, “no something much more cool.”

You looked down at the colourful artwork splashed across the page and saw the pirate standing at the bow of a ship. The drawing of the woman did kind of look like you, she had different hair but she had the scar through her eyebrow just as you did. As you looked down at the drawing you could almost hear the call of the birds and the ocean breeze.

It reminded you of your dreams.

“So, what’s this story about?” you tore your eyes away from the book and looked at the little boy sitting opposite you.

“It’s about that pirate and the Prince of the land, sworn enemies but they fall in love one day when the pirate saves his life.”

“Why would a pirate save a Prince?” you asked flipping through the book, your eyes coming to rest on a tall man with ink black hair and even darker eyes. You closed the book with a snap and pushed it back over to Henry.

“I don’t know,” Henry shook his head, “maybe she’s good, not everyone has to be a villain.”

“How does the book end?”

“Why don’t you keep it and find out?”

You laughed considering his offer, mentally deciding against it. Regina would never forgive you if you knew you were encouraging her son’s impossible belief.

------

taglist; @notan-applepielife @intothesoul

[hello-anchan]

One Piece x SVSSS Crossover Fic

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace/Shen Jiu | Original Shen Qingqiu

Summary: In the last moments of his life at Marineford, Portgas D. Ace fell into a mysterious rift and landed in a foreign realm, far from his own world.

On an ordinary night in the secluded Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, Qing Jing Peak Lord Shen Qingqiu was caught off guard by a strange occurrence. A flash of fire appeared in his room, then faded, leaving behind a bleeding, unconscious man.

- One teaches about the cultivation world, while the other regales of the seas he once sailed. A fragile connection sparks between them. Can two broken souls inspire each other to live?

Chapter 1/15

(gonna start posting this on my tumblr too, wheee)

1. The Fire that Wouldn't Die

“You promised me!”

He could feel his brother’s clammy, bloodied arms grip him close. The sound of Luffy’s hammering heartbeat echoed into his ears as his head rested on Luffy’s shoulder. Good. That meant his little brother was alive.

“You said that you’d never die… no matter what!”

He could feel- feel? He could barely feel anything at this point. Akainu’s fist had punctured him cleanly from behind, emerging out his chest on the other side, his organs were probably burning away, and he should be in unimaginable pain right now, but his nerves were literally fried. Guess he really was going to die.

“ACE!”

His poor little brother, poor crybaby Luffy. But it’ll be okay. Luffy’s not alone anymore. Not when he’s surrounded by such reliable crewmates. He can let go now, right? He can rest in peace, right?

(Could someone with blood as dirty as his really be allowed to rest in peace?)

“For loving someone like me, who is good for nothing and who has such bad blood in his veins, thank you!”

At the exact moment Ace lost consciousness and his body went slack, a black rift opened up underneath him.

—

Smack!

Shen Jiu grumbled under his breath as he flicked away yet another terribly written essay. Bunch of incompetent fools, he admonished, what was Ming Fan doing? How could the disciples of his Qing Jing Peak dare call themselves scholars with writing this abysmal? He reached out for another essay to mark when his nostrils twitched.

Something’s burning.

He immediately turned around, robes swishing, ready to call for his trusty sword Xiu Ya. But what met his sight was a flash of fire that faded away as quickly as it appeared, leaving behind a body. Right on the floor of his living quarters. 

Questions raced through his mind - Was he under attack? Who? How did it get here without him noticing? - but before he could react, the body moved. Or rather, it attempted to move. 

As Shen Jiu stared at the man’s face, a sense of unease gripped him. The pain and defiance in his eyes - so familiar, so haunting - struck a chord deep within him, even as the man faded in and out of consciousness. The man opened his mouth, but only raspy, desperate huffs escaped. His reddened eyes locked onto Shen Jiu’s -

What? What are you asking of me?

- then his gaze faltered, eyelids fluttering shut, and his body went still once more.

Shen Jiu looked at the unmoving form, the silence in the room suddenly feeling heavier. Blood began to pool beneath the man, spreading slowly from where he laid. For a moment, Shen Jiu just stood there, paralysed, staring.

And then, without fully understanding why, Shen Jiu reached out. 

Not to hurt, but to help.

(Could someone with hands as filthy as his even have the right to try?)

He turned the unconscious man onto his back. His hands trembled as they hovered over the gaping wound in the man’s chest, the hole so deep he could see the floor beneath it. The sight of it made his stomach churn. Yet, he pressed his palms to the injury, and began the qi-transferring technique with shaky breaths.

It was simply for his own amusement, Shen Jiu reasoned with himself, for practice even. He tried to control his erratic breathing as more and more fresh blood began to coat the palms of his hands. After all…

(How could a broken, ugly thing like him ever save anyone?)

Shen Jiu suffered from a qi deficiency that made him more susceptible to qi deviations. Why was a Peak Lord like himself so privy to qi deviation, you may ask?

Well, blame that on his none-too-idyllic past, which heavily featured neglect and poor self-care. Not for lack of trying on his part, mind you.

Yet, here he was, using his pitifully thin spiritual qi reserves to help heal a complete stranger. A stranger who appeared in his abode under extremely suspicious conditions at that.

It helped that the man’s own qi didn’t fight back against Shen Jiu’s exploring qi. 

After several rounds of running his qi through the man’s meridians, ensuring that he would, at the very least, continue to breathe, Shen Jiu finally pulled away. A deep breath he didn’t know he was holding escaped him as he stood, stiff and unsettled by the proximity of the stranger’s fragile, bloodied form.

Suppressing the gnawing unease in his gut, Shen Jiu made his way to his medicine cabinet. His hands, still trembling, still covered in blood, moved mechanically as he rifled through the shelves. Thank goodness for Mu Qingfang’s annoyingly frequent check-ups on himself, he thought bitterly. As unnecessary as they had felt in the past, now his cabinets were stocked with more than enough salves and potions to patch the stranger up - just another damn thing to thank the Qian Cao Peak Lord for.

Over the course of the long night, as he cleaned, wrapped bandages, and slathered salves all over countless injuries, tendrils of fire would flicker from all over the man’s body. It surprised him at first, but he gradually learnt that the fire did not burn him, nor did it scorch the bandages. In fact, it seemed to be aiding in the stranger’s healing.

“Is it a sentient being?” The scholarly cultivator murmured, not expecting an answer as he wiped away dried tear tracks from the unconscious man’s cheeks.

Spots of dirt remained even as he swiped a damp cloth over his face - freckles, he realised, now that the stranger’s face was cleaned up. There were strange ink markings on his upper left bicep that Shen Jiu could not decipher.

It had taken several rounds of steady qi transferring and meridian cleansing to stem the blood flow from the gaping hole. There was nothing Shen Jiu could do for the damaged organs, but the fire seemed to be helping on that end.

Daylight broke. Shen Jiu had been so consumed by the stranger’s condition that he had barely made a dent in marking his disciples' essays. Ah well, he thought with a slight grimace, those fools could do with another full-day lesson of playing the guqin.

Shen Jiu had been quietly brewing some tea when he sensed movement from the side room, where he had left the man to rest. It had only been three days since the man first appeared. Had he already regained consciousness?

The man was struggling to sit up from the bedding on the floor when Shen Jiu entered. Their eyes met and the man hacked and coughed as he attempted to speak through his dry throat. Hiding his distaste behind the elegant curve of his bamboo folding fan, Shen Jiu knelt beside him and offered him a cup of tea. The man knocked it back with a single gulp, ​​not even pausing to savour it.

A waste of good tea, Shen Jiu thought snidely.

The cultivator’s gaze remained impassive as he observed the man’s appearance - still pale, but not as deathly pallid as before. Freckles, now more prominent in the daylight, dotted his cheeks and well-muscled upper body - at least the parts that weren’t covered by bandages. He seemed to be recovering well.

Thump.

Shen Jiu’s gaze dropped to the ground, where the man had placed his hand. His eyes followed the line of his arm upward, eventually resting on the man’s face as he sat up fully.

"Shiiit... You’re pretty. You an angel?" The man slurred, leaning heavily on his palm. His dazed, stormy eyes locked onto Shen Jiu’s viridian orbs. "Am I in heaven?"

Instantly losing his composure, Shen Jiu reflexively smacked his fan onto the man’s face to push him away, promptly knocking him unconscious and spilling tea all over the floor. His heart pounded wildly, though he masked the panic with a sneer, curling his lips as if the mess was beneath him.

“Fuck,” he snapped, the crass-talking former slave in him clawing its way to the surface. “Serves you right for coming so close, pervert.”

A moment passed. At the lack of response, the sneer on his face faltered as his eyes darted to the unconscious man sprawled on the bedding. He grimaced, the edge of his fan tapping nervously against his palm. “Tch, don’t die on me, idiot,” he muttered under his breath, crouching stiffly to check if the fool was still breathing.

Fortunately, his knee-jerk reaction didn’t completely kill off his patient. A quarter of an incense stick later, and the man was already beginning to stir awake once more.

(I did it.)

(Look, Qi-ge.)

(I saved someone!)

His name was Ace. 

How odd. The name felt awkward on his tongue as he tried to repeat it. “Ace?”

The man chuckled, “Yep, you got it! And who did you say you were again?”

“Shen Qingqiu, Cang Qiong Mountain Sect’s Qing Jing Peak Lord.”

“... Okay, that’s a mouthful, oh great-and-mighty lord, sir,” Ace rolled his eyes. “And what exactly should I call my dear benefactor?”

“Shen Qingqiu is my given name.”

“Chinchew, got it!”

“No, you did not ‘get it’. Qing. Qiu.” Shen Jiu stressed, frustration creeping in.

After several rounds of this, Ace had begun to mirror his expressions studiously, lips furiously pursed in concentration as he tried to get the pronunciation right. Truly, Shen Jiu was surrounded by idiots. “Forget it. You don’t have to call me anything.” 

“Ehhh…” Shen Jiu decisively turned away from Ace’s disappointed moue and focused his efforts on clearing away the plates. He had been feeding his… patient, let’s call him that, and they had come to a silent, mutual agreement to avoid the elephants in the room. Namely: what exactly had happened to Ace, why was he here, and what was going to happen now?

Based on his lacklustre response at the mention of the illustrious Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, Ace was clearly not from around here. And as much as he would have liked to interrogate his patient, the man was obviously trying to avoid it, full of overly cheerful smiles and casual banter.

But Shen Jiu could see right through his mask of faux cheerfulness. He was no stranger to wearing such a mask himself, having perfected it in front of the Qiu family all those years ago. 

A sticky-sweet voice. “Xiao Jiu.”

Damn it, he hadn’t wanted to recall those terrible memories-

“- can I have thirds?”

Shen Jiu was momentarily stunned. “What do you mean ‘thirds’? You already had ‘seconds’ and I’ve barely touched my share. And,” he shot a laser glare at Ace, who snapped his mouth shut instantly, “Need I remind you, this is my food.”

“I… eat a lot?” At Shen Jiu’s deadpan stare, Ace began to throw a mini tantrum. Well, as much as he could while he was lying unmoving on a bedspread. “Oh c’mon, I’m a guest, aren’t I?”

—

“Luo-shidi!” A female disciple in green Qing Jing peak robes eagerly dashed toward the shorter boy, nearly running him over.

“Ning-shijie?”

“Shizun just asked me to bring over more servings! More! Servings! I wonder what’s got his appetite so riled up all of a sudden? Anyway, this is your chance, shidi!” Ning Yingying’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Chance?”

“Exactly! Your chance to win over Shizun’s heart through his stomach with your cooking!”

[lynxindisguise]

20 asks for fic writers

ty for the tag @plecotusauritus and @wanderingdonut <333

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

16

2. what's your total ao3 word count?

300,242 (damn)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

hp, have considered branching into black sails and good omens

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Hot Cocoa Incident of '77

shorn and scarred and yours

A Dog in Stag's Clothing

Sarcastic Truths and Lies By Omission

exes, horcruxes, and other reasons to panic

conclusion: bitches love hogwarts fluff, slytherin sirius, and divorce!!

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! I love comments!

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

Uhhh I guess the corndog fic?? all my wolfstar fics currently end happily, though Of Monsters and Cowards has more of an open ending

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

They're all happy honestly, but The Hut of the Mistold is probably the most neatly wrapped up, all the warm and fuzzies, happily ever after ending.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Nothing directly mean, but I'll get comments that make me go, "why did you feel the need to say that?" Like ranting a little too enthusiastically about the main character's choices or commenting on how they wanted more of xyz in a chapter (especially when the fic isn't even finished!) Oh and I got one the other day from a guest on a reply I made to someone else that was clearly trying to start an argument about something that had nothing to do with the fic??? I don't respond to those comments.

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

Typically I write a little smooching that fades into a vague description, but I wrote six different versions of smut for don't cover our tracks

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

I write a lot of AU's based in other worlds, but not crossovers. (Unless @impishtubist and I make the ineffable wolfstar crossover happen!)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of. And hot take—I genuinely think a lot of cases of "fic stealing" are just coincidence. I'm not saying it doesn't happen, but I do believe we're all collectively tossing around one brain cell, and we're bound to have similar ideas.

I once read a fic that shared a lot of themes/ideas/details with one of my fics, and upon discovering this, I plotted to trick the writer into becoming my deeply beloved mutual.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I've had people ask if they could translate my fics before a few times, but I don't think anything has come of it?

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

Not currently... (refer to 10)

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Wolfstar

15. What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

... probably the ATLA AU :/

The idea possessed me back in January of last year, and I plotted out the entire thing, but I've had no motivation to actually write it. I think the problem is that it's too cinematic, and I can't translate it to prose.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Probably world-building, in the way that I can look at one world and say "how would this translate to another?" "what little details and references can I pull from and play with?" "how do I adjust my writing style to make this feel like the genre I'm replicating?"

Also unusual metaphors, zingy little commentary, and comedic timing in dialogue.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I really struggle with prose. Which sounds silly, but like, I'm not writing prose—I'm translating the screenplay in my brain to prose, which is weird. And I think it can make my writing really jarring because it's lacking that slow, immersive reflection that is just so delicious when done well.

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

Dude I put a few Welsh words in hotm and panicked that even those would be wrong. If it was ever important for the story, I'd find someone who spoke the language to help me.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

hp

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Please Don't See Me

tagging @kaaaaaaarf @spindrifters @impishtubist @soloorganaas @femme--de--lettres @fruityindividual @worldenough-and-time

[queerofthedagger]

20 Questions for Fic Writers!

Thanks so much for the tag! <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

132 which. insane.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

1,520,700 which is even more insane. anyway

3. What fandoms do you write for?

BBC Merlin, Stranger Things, The Sandman, The Raven Cycle, and Lord of the Rings, and coming soon probably also Black Sails, let's be real

4. Top 5 fics by kudos?

Old Haunts (Are For Forgotten Ghosts), A Study in Choices and Second Chances, I Wouldn't Leave You If You Let Me, Still I Surface in Morning Light, and Fate Rests Heavily On Our Shoulders. I'm never not baffled by the fact that my two most popular fics not only are for HP, but are for Regulus/Harry. Like. That tag has maybe 100 fics???

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes!! Sometimes it takes me a while but I'll tend to get around to them eventually <3

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I think that's a toss-up between my my s5 Morgwen AU With Eyes Wide Open, and the one where I made the Diamond of the Day worse, watch all my bridges burn

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

This is such a difficult question because Angst with a Happy Ending is kind of my brand. That said, esp where Merlin is concerned, one thing I think about a lot is the inevitability of tragedy and how, no matter how many fix-its I write, personally I believe that most of them, if I didn't end them before the fact, would eventually end in some kind of tragic way, actually. Like. Very rarely is Merlin not immortal, or the world not against them, or or or. So in that vein I guess one of the happiest ones would be We Can Always Run because it's such an utter rejection of destiny, an utter refusal to even pretend they're playing the game.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Very rarely, thankfully.

9. Do you write smut?

Occasionally, yeah! It's a constant process of pushing at my comfort zone tbh, but I do enjoy doing it (ha), so!!

10. Do you write crossovers?

Nope, it's just not really my thing, neither for writing nor reading. Obviously never say never but yk.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Unfortunately (don't do this).

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! Such a cool feeling, I love the thought of them existing in other languages in the world <3

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

Nope; there have been and are a few plans for that floating around though 👀

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

This is so hard but in the end it gotta be merthur, like, because I love them to pieces but also just for the sheer amount of words I've written for them. Not sure if/how that would ever get topped, especially considering it's like, on-going.

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

There's a bunch of HP WIPs I would have loved to finish, but I've fallen so utterly out of love with the fandom I don't really think it's ever going to happen at this point tbh.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Worldbuilding, plots/characterization, and prose; I think I'm solid in those and they come easily to me/bring me the most joy when writing. Editing, in a way, because I'm an obsessive bitch with a system about it.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Descriptions; I'm just not a very visual writer, which is not too huge of an issue when writing familiar characters and settings in fic, but becomes immediately and glaringly obvious whenever I 1. introduce non-canon stuff, or 2. have a go at OG. Also planning/outlining; I can make a bunch of notes but if I write an outline, I will not write the fic. I don't think it's necessarily a weakness, but it can make a bunch of additional work when it comes to the plottier stuff.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language?

Not the biggest fan tbh, which I know is probably controversial but odds that your audience will understand it are low if it's more than a bunch of words you can guess from the context? I prefer the ""dialogue," he said in Latin" approach. It's subjective though I get it.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Bandom RPF at like, 12 (not telling you which band peace and love). I took a long fandom hiatus until a couple of years ago though, and under this fandom alias it'd be HP/Tomarrymort.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Still There Are Many Names In History, I think. I love a lot of stuff I've written, but that story has my entire heart in it, and the response to it has left me sobbing like. a ridiculous number of times which, like, is not something that I usually have to deal with lmao.

No Pressure-tagging: @prattery @emryses @glaftwlet @snapshotmaestro @merlinemrys @atlantablack @insane-ohwhyfandoms @hazelands @aeonthedimensionalgirl @slantedknitting and anyone else who'd like to, just say I tagged you <3

[the-al-chemist]

Fic Writer’s 20 Questions!

Thank you so much @whatwouldvalerydo for tagging me in this game - the original post was getting very long so I thought I would post separately.

How many works do you have on A03?

18!

What’s your total A03 word count?

789,856

What fandoms do you write for?

Harry Potter, including spin offs

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The first five Hexley Saga stories, though not in order. In descending order it goes: Mystery, Portrait, Figures, Forest, Staircase.

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do, because I appreciate every comment I receive. I am slow to respond, because I don’t always see them when it’s convenient to reply, and then I forget what I have or haven’t replied to. I’m very disorganised.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I’m not sure if any have truly angsty endings, I tend to like my angst mixed with happiness and humour for something bittersweet. In that vein, maybe Into the Light of the Dark Black Night. However, The Wilderness Years ends on an open and not overly optimistic note.

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

Again, not many have a wholly happy ending… Probably the Hexley Saga, though there is a touch of sadness even to that.

Do you get hate on fics?

I haven’t done, no. I’ve had readers (understandably) drop out after one specific character death, but no actual hate for it. I guess there’s a first time for everything.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I have done, once or twice. I’m not good at it. As for what type… Bad smut? Awkward smut? Idk, I’m just too British for this.

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

… I’m not even 100% sure what this is so I’m going to say no.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

A touchy subject. No, I haven’t, but I have had and occasionally continue to have issues with aspects of my stories being taken and put into others’ works in ways that have made it obvious that it isn’t a coincidence, but not in ways that I have felt justified in reporting plagiarism on any publishing sites. I have, however, learnt how the Tumblr block button can come in handy.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No. When in France this spring I considered translating the Hexley Saga into French to help me get my language skills back up but I quickly realised how much work this would be and decided against it.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes - When Stars Ignite was (and still is) a collaboration between me and @lifeofkaze. It was (and still is) an amazing experience and massive learning curve.

What’s your all time favorite ship?

Forever Gomez and Morticia Addams.

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

Whichever one I’m currently writing - I get to the point in every long form story that I think I’ll never finish it. So far, I’ve proved myself wrong.

What are your writing strengths?

Generally: I’m dedicated and very deliberate in my approach. For every single choice I make in my writing, I have a rationality behind it. There is a lot of method in my madness. Also, when I get the wind in my sails, I’m speedy.

Technically: characterisation, humour, emotionality, dialogue.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Generally: good old impostor syndrome and being an incredibly disorganised person.

Technically: action scenes, angst, smut.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Ahh, this is awkward. I actually… am not a massive fan of this. Before you call me a hypocrite (which is a fair criticism here), I think foreign language dialogue is great when it works, but when it’s not done right, it’s completely alienating for a reader and can ruin the story. And it’s hard to get right. So, although I do use it, I don’t enjoy using it, because involves so much work and causes so much anxiety.

My rule when I do use it is that it has to add an extra layer of meaning and enjoyment for people who do understand it or want to look up the translation without taking away from the meaning and enjoyment of people who don’t. I have broken this rule once, because sometimes it’s fun to break the rules, and because I wanted to alienate my readers. I’m actually really proud of the effect it created, so here is a link to this rule-breaking.

First fandom you wrote for?

Jill Murphy’s The Worst Witch, circa 2001.

Favorite fic you’ve written?

That’s a mean question. The answer is probably On This Wild Night, but that one isn’t published yet, so I’m going to choose a few. Figures in the Shadows, because it was the first one where I first felt like my style came naturally to me, Eggshells because it was the first one created in a moment of inspiration, When Stars Ignite because of the friendship that was strengthened in the writing process, Learning to Fly because Charlie Weasley, and Return to the Riddles, because finishing the Hexley Saga was such an achievement and the culmination of two years of hard work that I really hope paid off.

Tagging: @katherinewilliams221b @liiilyevans @turanga4

[nexusnox]

// Hi! I'm Jack. This is the pinned post for nexusnox, and has my rules, a link to Alex's bios and verses, and a taglist. It also has a list of potential triggers you may find here.

"Here's to the ones to let shine through the rain; The ones who stood for something more, we won't forget your names. The tide is high, say goodbye, we're setting sail; And all those midnight secrets told, we'll take 'em to the graves."

-

RULES

Communicate!! My #1 rule for rp is communication. If you're upset, want to change something, just having fun- please tell me!

My memory is worse than a goldfish's. Literally. Please don't hesitate to remind me of things! In fact, please remind me of things. Help. What day is it.

Godmodding: don't do it. If you absolutely need something to happen, see rule #1. Also, please tell me if I accidentally do this!

My muses are fickle, stubborn, and uncooperative. I can only do so much to wrangle them. As such, my replies can be sporadic and unpredictable- but I will do my best to reply asap!

I have anxiety. So much anxiety. Please be patient with me.

I tend to write very stream-of-consciousness, with many asides and tangents, which often results in long, multi-paragraph replies. Don't feel pressured to match me, although too many one line replies tend to sap my motivation.

Assume my muses come from a different canon than yours. By which I mean; relationships, motivations, circumstances and even experiences may be different than you expect.

On shipping; it's great! It's fun! Talk to me first. As long as it fits my muse, odds are I'll be happy to ship, but I prefer to talk it out first. Also, as a multishipper, I rarely do 'exclusive' ships.

On NSFW; I don't mind it, but I'll probably do a fade to black to keep anything too spicy off this blog. However, I'm fine with something more explicit in dms.

Check the potential triggers, and if you need something tagged, let me know. Also tell me if I tagged something incorrectly!

Last but not least, be kind and have fun!

-

BIOS: [X] VERSES: [X]

Potential Triggers; Violence, death, discussions of death and trauma, possible descriptions of panic attacks, occasional unreality.

PLEASE NOTE; Alex's backstory means he is incredibly apathetic to the concept of dying, as it doesn't stick for him, and he will end his own life if he finds it more convenient to do so. While he- and I (as someone who has been suicidal)- don't see this as suicide, more like turning a computer off and on again, it may be triggering to you. Please take care of yourselves!

TAGLIST;

threads : spinner weave a tale for me end thread : spinner rest your weary hands starter call : the crows are circling open starter : ravens on a fence closed starter : raven at the window prompts : spinner's needles ask : are you not entertained? anonymous : a murder of crows OOC : glance behind reality's curtain guests : the raven lies blog maintenance : molting season crossover : reality is a tapestry made to be rewoven musings/headcanons : seven for a secret ne'er told aesthetics : one for sorrow two for joy wardrobe/gear : spoils of the magpie music : they do not call songbirds a parlaiment silly things : this isn't a crow this is a pigeon verse : the promise is in the point of the blade verse : nothing has ever lived that will not die verse : the flightless blind venturing out into the dark verse : names mean nothing to the dead verse : there must be blood and this I knew (I believe there must be wonders too)

[little-diable]

Prey or Predator - Preacher Holland x reader AU!

Listen, this is a crossover I've never written before. This is a Tom Holland preacher!AU mixed with Lee Bodecker. Sounds crazy, but I think it worked out really well. Would love to hear your thoughts on this. It could turn into a two part series, depending on your guys feedback. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader is crushing on young preacher Holland, a secret she thought she had kept safe, but Lee Bodecker has his eyes and ears everywhere she goes. Will she allow him to blackmail her into keeping her secret safe, or will she simply give into her desires for the preacher?

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, forced blowjob, power play, blackmail, sex with a preacher, innocence talks, losing virginity, abusive father, religious connotations, sex in a church

Pairing: Preacher Holland x fem!reader, Lee Bodecker x fem!reader (4k words)

(Y/n) could barely see her hands as she ran down the street, holding onto her dress, scared that she would tumble over her feet. The icy wind was stroking her cheeks, making her heat freeze in her veins. She had almost forgotten that it was winter, the thick blanket of snow that covered the ground.

No jacket had been near for her to grasp, no fabric - thin or thick - to protect her from the cold. But with how fast her feet were carrying her, making her turn left and right, she didn’t need a jacket. Sweat was dripping down her neck, hairs clung to her skin like snow falling onto a window, making itself known with its touch of frostbites.

Her father’s angry words still rang in her ears, he had been furious with her, cursing her for her absence at the weekly mass, hiding from the preacher that left her heart roaring. It had taken her a few weeks, till she had finally decided to stay away from him, reminding herself of the all too pure way of life she had been forced to take. And the thoughts that crept into her mind whenever she would cross paths with preacher Holland were anything but pure.

They were intoxicating, dark, pushing hot streams of lava through her fleshcage, seeping into the holes of her skin, burning itself into her system. Even though (y/n) had never taken any drugs, she was sure that the effect they’d have on her body would feel like this, sweet, encouraging her to hold onto them. A false promise.

Preacher Holland was young, his features were flawless, skin smooth like a piece of silk, eyes deep like the black sea, swallowing her body with its soaring waves. Cumbersomely she had tried to sail away from him, wanting to stick to herself, hoping that the father above would forgive her for her sinful thoughts.

But even though she had been hiding away from him like little red riding hood had tried to stay away from the big bad wolf, she was currently running towards the church - silently hoping that he’d be there. Snow was falling from the dark sky as she rounded yet another corner, freezing for a second as the comforting scent of burning wood engulfed her.

(Y/n) swapped into a memory of the yearly bonfire she had visited with her friends, friends she had lost over the years, letting go of their strong bond to take another path. Her heart twisted as the sound of laughter rang in her ears, a smile threatened to tug on her lips - life had been good back then, easy, without any worries to pull her along the dark stream.

The wooden church towered over the other surrounding houses, standing proud and tall, built by calloused hands. From afar she could see his frame through one of the windows, sitting at his desk, just like she hoped he would. What (y/n) didn’t see was that the preacher had his trousers unbuttoned, hand wrapped around his painfully hard cock, chasing his release like the ghost riders were hunting their prey.

His moans echoed through the church, filling the empty halls, dancing around the cross that graced the altar. Tom wasn’t suspecting any visitors to come by this late, he didn’t even hear the heavy door being pushed open, lost in his sinful thoughts. It wouldn’t take him much longer to tumble over the edge, with pearls of sweat pooling on his forehead, with his toes curled in his shoes, holding onto the feeling.

“Preacher?” The sweet voice reverberated through the church, making Tom freeze. Panic swapped over him as he clumsily rose from his chair, tugging away his cock, trying to make himself look somewhat presentable.

It had been a while since he had last heard her voice, he had almost forgotten how he’d feel whenever she’d speak to him. Of course Tom had noticed her absence from the Sunday mass, no longer there to receive her absolution, with a guiding hand placed on her shoulders. He had missed her - though not in the way a preacher would miss one of his lambs, part of the herd he was guiding for the lord.

The way he missed her could only be described as flagitious, something he’d never confess to, like no sane man ever would. His heart had always been pure, relying on the father’s silent whispers of comfort, guiding him through the thicket of confusion life had pushed him into. Not once had he doubted the path he was taking, at least not till he had first laid his eyes upon her.

Sweeter than the devil’s touch, than the apple Adam and Eve had feasted from. She was his very own temptation, brought into his life by God, wondering how strong Tom was, if he could stay away from her. But from the moment he had first met her, Tom had known that he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands to himself.

“(Y/n)? What are you doing here,” his eyes found the black watch on his left wrist. “It’s getting late, are you alright?” Just now he focused on her glassy eyes, her shivering frame and her nearly soaked through dress. Snowflakes were laying on her hair, staying comfortable in the cold church.

“I,” she stammered, not knowing how to explain the pull in her chest she had felt as she had darted out of the house, guiding her straight to him. “I needed to get away.”

(Y/n) didn’t need to explain herself, Tom knew about the way her father was prone to getting angry with her, leaving marks on her skin. Marks he had wanted to ask her about as he had entered the community. Perhaps he shouldn’t have kept silent, perhaps he should have bugged her about the words her father would scream at her in the depth of the night.

“Come on, let’s warm you up.” Tom reached for her hand, biting down the gasp that threatened to claw through him. Electricity bolted through his veins, making his insides churn, hoping that he would give into her.

Warmth instantly wrapped itself around her as she stepped into his office, the scent of candles got mixed up with the tea he had brewed a few minutes ago - before he had sat down in his chair with his hard on pressing against his trousers. He tried his best to hide the painful bulge, hoping that her innocent mind wouldn’t realize why he was suffering.

Without asking he poured her a cup of tea, (y/n) didn’t dare to move, scared that she would wet his chairs or the all too comfortable looking sofa of his. Her hands rubbed up and down her arms, trying to create some kind of friction, heating up her trembling body.

“Let me grab you some clothes. Please, sit.” Tom pointed towards his sofa before he disappeared into another room. Soon he returned with a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, hoping that she could warm herself up. Neither of them spoke a word as he pushed the clothes into her hands, waiting for her to undress, not understanding that she was waiting for him to leave.

“Uhm, can you turn around?” Her voice wavered, eyes not wanting to meet his. Tom’s breath got stuck in his throat, leaving him to choke on his air as he turned away from her with blushing cheeks. Once again he found himself wondering what she’d look like without any clothes near to hide her body from him, thoughts that left his cock twitching, leaking drops of precum.

The small ‘okay’ she whispered allowed him to make his way back to her, sitting down next to (y/n) as he studied her frame. His clothes didn’t fit her, but neither Tom nor (y/n) addressed it. Silence hung in the air, both were struggling to come up with anything to say, not knowing how to fall back into the comfortable atmosphere they once had found themselves in.

“I missed you those past Sundays,” (y/n) had her eyes averted as he desperately tried to catch her gaze. She didn’t know how to reply, how would she explain that she couldn’t endure being around him, hating herself for the twisted thoughts that have found comfort in her mind.

“I’m sorry, preacher.” The feeling of Tom placing his hand on top of hers left them both frozen, knowing that the ice inside their bodies was slowly melting. Once an arctic island, now turning into a desert, full of light and heat, rippled sand dunes that clung to their organs.

“There’s something I need to confess,” (y/n) cringed as the words left her mouth, pushing herself into a tricky situation she wouldn’t get away from. At least not if she would stick around, placed near the man that left her cunt pulsing, walls fluttering and arousal gushing down her thighs. She had lost count of the amount of times she had orgasmed to the thought of preacher Holland fucking her from behind, pushing his cock into her tightness over and over again.

He was waiting for her to pick up the sentence, explaining what he had done to leave her fidgeting like that. But she didn’t talk, tried to row back, pushing herself off the sofa, picking her wet clothes off from the ground. Tom tried to reach for her, but she was already gone by the time he understood that she was about to run away from him.

“(Y/n), wait!” She was already out of the church, back in the snow, with his clothes still clinging to her body. Tom could only watch her disappear into the dark, hoping that she would return tomorrow morning, to clear the air between them.

She managed to make it through two streets before headlights turned up in the distance, shining into her direction, leaving her frozen in her step. (Y/n) could instantly tell who was making his way towards her, she knew the car better than most people in this godforsaken town, knew the feeling of the leather seats pressed against her thighs, the smell of smoked cigarettes that clung to the car.

Sheriff Bodecker was about to step out of the car as she took another breath, knowing that there was no way out of this situation, she couldn’t run from him, felt as trapped as an animal kept in a cage. With a smile tugging on his lips he watched her open the car door, falling into the leather seat with a sigh rolling off her tongue.

“Evening, Sheriff.” (Y/n)’s eyes met his dark ones, a forebringer of the upcoming minutes, maybe even hours. There was no chance for her to escape the man, he was obsessed with her, wanting to taste her purity on his tongue as she would whimper his name - a simple dream he wanted to live through. Her innocence kept his dick hard and his heart racing, saliva pooled in his mouth whenever she would find herself back in his car.

“What were you doing out that late, babydoll? Whose clothes are you wearing?” Jealousy dripped from his words, eyes dark as the night herself. (Y/n) didn’t reply, knowing that he would give into his anger if he’d know where she had been, who she had been with, the preacher Sheriff Bodecker hated with all his might.

He gave her another moment of silence before his hand grabbed her chin, forcing her head towards his direction, thumb running along her lower lip. She made the mistake of trying to rip her head away from him - without any luck - only managing to anger him. His breath clashed against her cold cheeks, disgust swapped over her as he chuckled.

“I asked you a question, didn’t I?” His words were anything but sweet, a warning spoken into the night, without anybody near to rescue her from the sick and twisted Sheriff. (Y/n)’s mind was racing, trying to come up with any lie to feed him, but just the thought of preacher Holland pushed all rational thoughts away from her.

“You don’t want to talk to me? That’s fine, darlin’. Guess we’ll have to find another way to get you to talk.” The Sheriff let go of her, hands moving towards his belt, unclasping it without looking away from her once. This felt like a déja-vu, a situation she had been in a few times before, mouth wrapped around his cock to satisfy him, to stop his anger from clashing against her front.

Nevertheless, (y/n) couldn’t help but pray for a miracle, hoping that somebody - anybody would page him, pulling him away from her and the innocence he was robbing with every single word he was speaking.

It no longer surprised her that he was hard, tip red as the anger that flooded through his veins. His hand found the back of her head, pushing her towards his length, forcing her lips apart for her tongue to wipe his tip clean. (Y/n) tried to imagine preacher Holland instead of the Sheriff, greedily taking his cock as the young man would praise her behind closed doors. But no matter how hard she’d tried to imagine him, Bodecker’s moans would always rip her out of her headspace, making reality settle in.

“Atta girl, see, why can’t you always be such a good girl for me. Life would be so much easier if you’d do what I tell you to.” His lust drunken words didn’t have the effect on her he’d hoped they would. She didn’t even reply, kept silent as she sucked his cock, choking around his length every now and then.

Lucky for her, he was already close to his orgasm, wouldn’t torment her much longer, though long enough for her to curse herself for running away from the preacher. If she would have given into her desire she could have wrapped her lips around his cock. A foolish mistake that wouldn’t let go of her for days.

With her mind focused on preacher Holland she ran her tongue up the Sheriff’s length, hiding her disgust as he moaned her name, cock twitching, about to release himself down her throat. Her hands found his balls, squeezing them just like he had asked her to the first time she had done this.

She had always been scared of him, the man she had known for most of her life. Lee Bodecker had always been right there, like a scarecrow placed on her father’s farm, shying away the ones that dared to come close to the young girl. A selfish man that wanted to fill her cunt with his cum, to breed her, to make her into the wife he wanted her to be.

“Fuck, baby.” He came in her mouth, head thrown back against his worn down headrest. His cum kept on filling her cheeks, sticking to her tongue, not daring to move away before he wasn’t done. Only as his hand let go of her head, (y/n) rose from her position, letting him wipe her lips clean with his thumb, watching him tug himself back in.

“Bet daddy’s wondering where his little girl went, tell me, does he know that you’re fucking the preacher?” She choked on her breath, eyes wide as he placed a cigarette between his lips. His smirk was wide, knowing that he had her where he wanted her, finally having something in his hands to blackmail her with.

“I,” (y/n) searched for the right words, she was walking on eggshells, threatening to break through the ice that was keeping her from the icy ocean of lies. “I am not doing anything with preacher Holland, I would never.”

Her words hung in the air as Lee started the car, driving towards her home. Only as he finished his cigarette he spoke again, voice full of excitement, head already picturing her naked body as he would get his fill. He wouldn’t let her go without forcing her to give into his deal, that much both knew.

“I will see you tomorrow eveing at my house, wear those sweet, white panties of yours.” Lee didn’t even need to tell her what would happen if she wouldn’t turn up, he’d tell the whole town about her nonexistent antics with the young preacher. With the nod of her head she left the car, walking towards her door with trembling limbs, full of fear, not even caring about the fuming father that was waiting for her.

But the house was dark and silent as she stepped into it, not looking back once. Her father was stretched out on their sofa, fast asleep, surrounded by bottles of beer he had bought this very morning. Carefully she made it up the stairs, towards her room where she allowed her tears to run down her cheeks, dripping onto the dark hoodie she was still wearing.

Tomorrow would come way too fast and with the reminder of Lee’s hands on her skin, (y/n) gave into her exhaustion.

----

Her feet carried her through the town as the sun was just about to set. With every step she took her heart picked up its beat, threatening to jump right out of her chest. Fear was clinging to every fibre of her body, to the cells that shrunk in fright. Tonight she would end with a broken heart and her skin littered with bruises, (y/n) was sure of it.

The sound of her steps echoed through the church, making it straight to preacher Holland’s office. Her knuckles met the wooden door, silently praying that he was there, able to listen to her confession, cleaning her mind and body before she would make it towards the devil’s home.

“I brought you your clothes,” (y/n) whispered as he opened the door, silently asking her to step in. “I shouldn’t have run, I got scared. I’m sorry.”

Tom only shook his head, not understanding why she was apologizing. He hated the expression of fear and sadness that tugged on her features, making him think that she was scared of him, not daring to anger the preacher. But Tom was anything but angry, he was confused - that he was - but he could never be angry at a girl as sweet as her.

“Do you have a moment to take my confession? I don’t have much time.” Wordlessly he guided her towards the sofa she had sat on hours ago, waiting for her to find the words that were burning on her tongue. “I have feelings, feelings I know I shouldn’t have. I haven’t told anyone, but the Sheriff,” she paused, studying his confused expression. “He knows and he is making me do things to keep my secret safe with him.”

His insides churned as he took her hand, placing it in his lap, rubbing his thumb along the back of it. Her soft skin perfectly pressed against his, like silk running along his body, silk Tom wanted to bury himself in.

“What kind of feelings, (y/n)?” He had to ask, couldn’t stay silent, and had to interrupt her speech.

“Feelings for my preacher. Feelings the lord would punish me for.” Both froze, no longer able to breathe calmly. The words he had always wanted to hear her speak were finally engulfing him, robbing him of any rational thoughts, urging him on to push himself closer.

Tom’s hands cupped her cheeks, not giving her a chance to turn away again, she couldn’t run, no longer able to flee from the unholy thoughts she was plagued by. Her breath hitched in her chest as the feeling of Tom’s lips meeting hers hurled against (y/n) like a train crashing into a wall, ripping it to the ground with its force.

“I have waited so long for you to say those words,” he murmured against her lips. Their bodies moved on their own, she found herself back in his lap, lips chasing his, tongues tangled, just like their limbs. They were moving fast, probably too fast, not daring to think about the sin they were just pulling themselves into.

His bulge pressed against her core, against the white, cotton panties she was wearing. The friction both began to create left them panting, desperately wanting to feel one another in the most intimate way possible. With her hands tangled in his hair, (y/n) began to grind herself against his cock, hoping that he would allow his hands to wander along her sides.

Tom toyed with the zipper of her dress, shamelessly teasing her, waiting for her to moan his name once again. The way he undressed her felt strangely comforting, appreciating every inch of her skin, brushing his fingers along her sides like a whisper of the wind, making hairs rise on her arms.

“Tell me to stop, otherwise I will break all promises I’ve ever made.” He didn’t have the strength to fight against the temptation, he was no holy man, was no saint. Just a sinner. But (y/n) didn’t give into his begging, her hands wandered to his black shirt, unbuttoning it with shaking hands, hips still rubbing against his.

“Don’t stop, oh please, preacher.” Tom ripped her away, placed her on the sofa with him settled between her thighs. They didn’t have the time for any foreplay, all they wanted was to brush their skins against one another, just like they had dreamt of.

Tom freed his cock from the confines of his trousers, spitting into his palm as she stared at him with doe eyes. Seconds before he pushed into her he brought his hand to her core, pulling her panties aside, brushing through her arousal covered folds. She was dripping, wanting to feel him just as desperately as he wanted her.

The feeling of his cock entering her tightness had her crying in pain and relief. For all too long she had wondered what he’d feel like buried inside of her and now as he was finally fucking her she was thanking the devil below for pushing her into this sin.

“You feel so tight, I wish I could stay like this for eternity,” Tom murmured against her lips, hips clashing against hers with every pound. No longer did she feel the pain stretching itself through her body, but the heavenly feeling she had read about in the books you’d only find in the far back of the library.

“Preacher, please,” the words flooded from her lips, lips she pressed against his with every passing second, walls clamping down on his cock. He was fucking her like the devil would fuck his woreshippers, making them crumble as he would fuck them till he was satisfied. But neither Tom nor (y/n) would ever be satisfied enough to let go of one another.

They didn’t acknowledge the mess they were making, fluids gushing down between her thighs, dripping onto his sofa. The stain they were leaving behind would stay there for days, perhaps even weeks, a constant reminder of all the laws they were currently breaking.

“Say my name,” Tom’s voice crashed against her front, she followed his command, blindly, not knowing what was awaiting her. As she moaned his name, the church door fell open, boots followed the sound of her gasps and cries, coming to a halt in front of the office. With a hand grasping his gun, the Sheriff stepped into the office, leaning against the doorframe as he broke the lovers apart.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here? The preacher fucking my girl? I warned you, doll, you just had to test my patience, didn’t you?” Bodecker cocked his gun with a grim expression on his face, ready to pull the woman he had claimed out of the young man’s grasp.

Follow my sideblog @little-diableswriting for taglist reblogs

[izzyeffinhands]

Muse and Rules Post!

Hi, I’m Tori, or Castor, as I answer to both, and I’m non-binary/transmasc and my pronouns atm are he/him and they/them. I’m neurodivergent, so I don’t mean to come off annoying, but it happens.

This blog is a RP blog for Izzy Hands from Our Flag Means Death. I’m semi-selective, and it’s an indie blog. This is an independent blog, I welcome all the characters and writers I can muster. I am no way related to the show in any means, this is the interpretation of the character. I am not associated with the actor of Izzy Hands either, though Con is an amazing man.

This blog is 21+. Mun is nearing 40! It will be featuring some very dark themes and have NSFW. Mun will not be writing any sort of NSFW material for those who are not of appropriate age. This is about piracy despite the rom-com aspect, and my interpreted background of Izzy holds some dark themes. That’s not to say I don’t love to indulge in the silliness of a rom-com.

I reserve the right to drop threads. It just happens sometimes, I think all of us writers go through it. I love asks, but I’ll respond to the ones I can and really feel. Also, I’m not a stickler about replies and I’ll never harass you for one so please don’t do that to me! However mun is very nice and ND, and likes to check in on his lovely writing partners. Sometimes this has been misconstrued. Really, I’m a friendly person. ^^<3 I like getting to know those I write with.

I am not a stickler about post length but I write semi-para, multi-para myself. Sometimes I’ll answer asks with an icon and a few lines. I like to play Izzy at all ages and have lots of headcanons I will be sharing with the hashtag. If you’re interested in shipping or plotting, feel free to message me! I like shipping chemistry. But I love writing angst, pain, sadness, all sorts of things. Not everything has to be ships, I love platonic stuff too.

This blog is NSFW, plenty of violence and plenty to be imagined. Really sexy things go under a cut. Everything else is in the open; violence, manipulation, torture, blood, pain. If you are triggered by something specific please let me know so I can avoid it.

My character can be quite mean at times and say cruel things but that is the character I’m portraying and not myself. Please try to remember that. Mun is a nice person that likes a grumpy gremlin!

Favorite ships: blackhands, steddyhands, gentlehands/stizzy, ouizzy, spriggshands. .. okay so it’s hard not to ship him with EVERY CREW. However I ship chemistry and not all writing has to be shipping! Just giving ya my likes. Friends and angst always loved. Crew members are always loved and wanted!!

I adore Stizzy, I’ll accept any Stizzy, but my main Stede is portrayed by @avastyetwats . This is an independent blog, and I accept and love any Stede that wishes to write, but avast mun and I have created something beautiful and exceptional. It’s definitely my favorite threads, when you get a great writing partner you vibe with it’s addicting.

Please do not reblog my role-play posts unless you are responding to them. I blog plenty of things and lots of art that is OFMD based. Feel free to enjoy those things and reblog. OCs and crossovers are most welcome.

Just a note, if I’m kind enough to share a promo of your blog, be kind enough to share mine.

And with that me hearties! Flood my inbox! Sounds a bit dirty, doesn’t it? :x I’ll post plenty of sentence starters and a variety of prompts so don’t be shy. Feel free to message me if you have an interest or would like to plot! But I am fine with turning memes sent to me and sent away into threads! Also note, my main blog is @bxnnxrxd , so if you follow me, I’ll end up following back from that most likely!

I do have a nice little vampire AU verse for pirate Israel for those who are interested as well as a western verse and many variations of modern verses. No, I’m not making a Carrd.

You can find my Black Sails multimuse at @fornassau

[fanficwritingcentral]

This is a little scene that came to me while I was thinking about my pjo/jb crossover and a game I've played called Echo of Starsong.

I've rebloged a separate post from my main to talk about the game so I don't fill this up with a game outline, all you need to know is in game a girl sings a song called a Starsong that resonates with asteroids with a certain resources and uses that resonance to find said asteroids.

So, all I could think is what if, since I've made Q a star in this story, Q sang a literal Star Song to momentarily distract some monsters James and the other demigods are fighting but it works too well because everything is made of stardust and so everyone gets caught up in it. Also I just say monsters because I haven't decided who/what they're fighting yet.

I hope that makes sense, not sure if I will end up using this scene because I've been going back and forth between deciding if Q should join up as well but I'm leaning more towards that he should.

Hope you enjoy what I wrote anyway ✌️.

James was nearly overwhelmed with the monsters currently attacking him, as were the rest of his young demigod brethren. But, just before one of the monsters got a lucky shot, Q, who James could see standing on the top deck after somehow managing to avoid getting attacked, opened his mouth and Sang.

And. Everything. Stopped.

The monsters dropped their weapons and stood, turning only to face Q as did him and the other demigods. No breeze blew through the sails and no waves crashed below.

The song Q sang was old and overpowering, James could feel it resonate deep within himself. It made him long for the vacuum of space, the vibrancy and power. Ancient memories started to fly through his mind, things he shouldn't know, things he shouldn't remember. Images of the expanse of darkness only broken through far emitting light, stars and galaxies colliding with themselves and the outcome. The powerful force of a black hole as it destroyed everything stuck in its pull.

But, a stray thought managed to break through the flood of memories filling James mind and made sense of what was happening. From stardust they came and stardust they remain.

[decks-writing-blog]

Mute Buddies

This is a Dead Cells and Hollow Knight Crossover fic.

All the crossover art, especially the two pieces I drew, got me thinking about Ghost and Beheaded interacting and how they would be friends. And then I started thinking about ways they might've met and this fic is a result of those thoughts.

Also, because this is pre-game for Ghost they don't go by 'Ghost' since they're dubbed that by Hornet. They don't actually have a name at all in this fic because I wasn't sure what they would think of themself as.

~

By the time they spotted the island it was almost too late despite how close it was. Their sailboat, not ever meant to be out in the open ocean for so long, wasn’t faring well in the seemingly ceaseless storm. It had been battered and tossed around by the waves and wind until it had sprung a leak. And while dealing with that might’ve been easy under different circumstances the flood of rain pouring down complicated things quite a bit. Their one single bucket, despite being almost half their size was barely enough to bail out the water fast enough to keep the boat afloat. It was a losing battle though, they were only one little bug after all. So the island was a blessed sight indeed. All they had to do was get the boat to it, easier said than done of course but there was hope now at least and they had a goal.

As they drew closer it became ever more apparent that their vessel wasn’t the only one to suffer in these waters. Seems it was actually pretty common if the wrecked ships littering the bay were anything to go by. Only intermittently visible between flashes of lighting and waves pulling back to reveal bits and pieces of them, how many there were was impossible to guess. Not that it mattered beyond steering the sailboat through as safely as possible.

It was tough work; they couldn’t bail and hold the rudder at the same time and thus just had to hope that the boat would be able to reach shore before it sunk. Luckily there seemed to be a current pulling them towards the island. And the water filling the bottom of the boat now served to weigh it down, stopping the waves from pushing it around as much; another blessing even if initially it hadn’t been.

And thus after only a few minor collisions, the hull was grinding up onto the rocky shore with a scraping sound that couldn’t mean good things. Hopefully it wasn’t as bad as it sounded. Not that they actually cared a whole lot right now regardless because they were on land. No getting tossed around helplessly in the ocean for them today.

Putting one hand on the boat’s railing, they vaulted over the edge and onto firm land for the first time in fartoo long. The world seemed to sway and rock around them as if they were still aboard the boat and being pushed around by waves. They’d been stuck on it for a very, very long time indeed. Far longer than they’d thought would be the case. Word around the port town they’d acquired it at was that there was nothing out here, just lots and lots of ocean before the edge of the world. They’d wanted to see that supposed edge of the world but instead they’d found this island. Given how sick and tired they’d grown of sitting in the boat with nothing to see or do, that was perfectly fine. The edge of the world probably wasn’t all that exciting anyway, certainly not worth such a voyage to get to it.

Now even with the rain still pouring down on them they could’ve easily just laid down and fallen asleep right then and there. But it wouldn’t be wise and… They turned back towards their vessel. Its sail was old and tattered, held to the mast with a fraying rope that doubtless wouldn’t last much longer and its creaky hull had a minimum of at least one hole in it. Overall, in even worse shape than they’d acquired it in. But it should be repairable, right? And thus they grabbed hold of its edge and pulled it up further up onto the rocky shore. The thought of getting back onto it and heading out into the ocean once more was thoroughly unpleasant but there was no way they’d want to stay forever on this island so preserving their most likely way off was a must. As soon as it was well out of even the highest waves’ reach, they turned away. Leaving it there, they went in search of a place to rest.

The shore was wide and rocky. Off to one side was a large building, visible in between flashes of lightning. Closer by was a large cliff face. It wasn’t sheer though. There were many holes of various sized cut into its face and further up what look like whole caves. It didn’t take them long to find a little nook not too high up that would serve as a good enough hiding spot. They wouldn’t be completely hidden within it, anyone really looking would probably be able to spot them. Not ideal but they were too tired to search for something better. And it would get them out of the rain and that’s what mattered most right now. Though how much did that really matter when their cloak was so thoroughly soaked through already?

They pulled themself up into it and curled up, pressing back against the rear wall. … They ought to be more wary and should probably patrol the area for potential danger before letting themself rest. It would be the smart thing to do but… they were far too tired to bother, especially since they’d already laid down. It’d probably be fine though, few bugs would care to be out in such weather regardless.

***

Beheaded started for the beached sailboat as soon as they spotted it shortly after reaching the bottom of the Undying Shore’s cliff. While the island seemed to be in constant flux – something to do with the time loop probably – rare was the day something that different popped up.

Off to the side and just out of the ocean’s reach, getting to it was easy. After a quick glance around to ensure no monsters were around, they leaned in to examine it.

A small sailboat, nothing all that exciting really other than the fact that despite its visibly battered state it was still the most intact vessel they’d seen anywhere on the island. Left out in the rain without a tarp its hull overflowed with rainwater. Barely seaworthy for sure. Where had it come from though? Had someone dragged it out here thinking to escape the island in it? … No. Even as small as it was, there was no way anyone carried it out here, down the cliff, over the rocky terrain and past all the blood thirsty monsters even if they had had help. And given the way its bow was pointed away from the ocean – if even Beheaded knew what the front of a boat looked like then surely anyone experienced enough with traversing the sea to even consider risking such a voyage would’ve pointed the boat towards the water – it seemed to have come from the ocean. Hmmm… curious.

Well, most often where there was one interesting thing to examine there were more. So, turning away for now, Beheaded set to looking for other clues.

It didn’t take long to determined that there wasn’t much of anything within the sailboat’s immediate vicinity so they expanded their search along the shore a bit. Still nothing but the usual bit of boat rubble that occasionally made its way to shore before being pulled back into the sea. Quite lame but… still just the sailboat alone was an interesting find. So oh well, they had monsters to get back to killing. Perhaps they’d find something more about the boat and its occupant later.

They paused halfway in their turn back towards the way they’d being going before. There was something in one of the cliffside’s crevices. Tucked up deep inside only a small flap of dark fabric was visible poking out and flapping in the wind. Ever wary of all the different hidey holes those dang exploding bats liked to nest in, Beheaded crept closer for a better look.

It wasn’t a bat, exploding or otherwise – thank all that was still good in this world – but instead a… creature? No, a doll. Its head looked like it might’ve been made of porcelain and was clearly hollow. Or at least, whatever was inside was tucked in far enough that it couldn’t be seen through its large eye-like holes from this angle. And it had to be a trick of the light, or lack thereof, but underneath a tattered blue-gray cloak was the darkest black material Beheaded had ever seen. So yeah, no way was it a living creature but instead a large weird doll. It wasn’t even breathing.

They put a hand into the crevice to poke it. The instant their finger made contact with its body through its cloak, it moved. Its head snapped to look directly at them with its empty eyes.

Beheaded sprang back, scrambling to draw their dagger. They fumbled and almost dropped it but had a firm grasp on it by the time the creature had finished sliding out of the crevice silent grace. It had a weapon drawn now too. Pointed at Beheaded and vaguely swordlike it was visibly dull, nicked and scratched, showing signs of frequent and hard use. Given that, the fact that it was dull meant little; Beheaded was no stranger to being utterly destroyed by unsharpened blades. Same with small things; the fact that it was only half their size if one was counting its horns didn’t mean it wasn’t dangerous and couldn’t ‘kill’ them in an instant.

Despite all that it didn’t attack immediately, implying that whatever it was, it wasn’t animated by the Malaise. It would’ve attacked mindlessly and without hesitation otherwise. That didn’t mean it was friendly though even if it seemed to be waiting for them to make the first move. Which they weren’t going to do against something they’d never seen before; they’d made that mistake far too many times already and their pride still bore the resulting scars. So for once they were going to be patient and let it make the dumb impulsive move for them to take advantage of. The perfect plan!

Except it wasn’t moving, not even to breathe. Which was just plain creepy. Despite that it was kind of cute even if its eyes did look like big gaping black holes in its face. Assuming that was its face, could be a helmet. …. Beheaded was starting to get reallybored of this waiting for it to attack first thing.

They relaxed their battle-ready pose, though they didn’t sheath their dagger and remained alert as they took a step closer. It lowered its weapon but otherwise didn’t move, only titling its head a little further to keep looking at them as they stepped right up in front of it. Still didn’t attack though so they sheathed their dagger and crouched down in front of it, remaining poised to leap back in an instant if need be. This was similar to how they’d befriended Mushroom Boi though so it’d probably be fine.

But unlike Mushroom Boi when they reached out a hand to poke it on the top of its indeed quite hard head, it didn’t make a sound. Instead it lifted its own little pitch black hand to poke back, first their hand and then forearm and then, stepping closer further up their arm. Its hand was cold and somehow seemingly without texture or so little texture Beheaded couldn’t feel it through the rain. A very odd being indeed but seemingly not dangerous for now even as it stepped close enough to allow it to lift its hand up and put it into the magic fog that took the place of where the Beheaded’s head would’ve been if their body still had one. No one had ever done that to them before so it was hard to say if the resulting cold and unpleasant tingly sensation it created was just what it felt like to be touched in that way or specifically because of the strange being.

Regardless they quickly pulled away, straightening. The being didn’t seem to mind though. It continued staring up at them with its large expressionless eyes. It didn’t have a mouth and still didn’t look like it was breathing but there was what felt like intelligence in its… no, their gaze. … Or perhaps Beheaded was just so lonely they wanted to read this creature as another being similar to themself in that they both lacked a voice and ability to communicate via facial expressions like every other sapient creature Beheaded knew. So this was either a neat find or a depressing wakeup call about how lonely they’d become. … They were going to believe the former until given reason to do otherwise.

They stepped to the side to point back towards the battered sailboat. Then, looking back down at their horned being, they pointed at them before lifting their arms in as shrug, making it a question. Had they come on the boat?

The being looked over and then back up at Beheaded before nodding. Just a single small nod but still undoubtedly a confirmation that not only were they from the boat but also that they intelligent. That also meant they were from off the island!

Beheaded hadn’t ever stopped to consider what might be beyond the seas surrounding this place but if they had they certainly wouldn’t have ever thought something or someone from out there would ever end up here. Oh, the things they would’ve asked if either of them were capable of speech.

Though this was probably bad for the being, huh? With the whole Malaise being such a prevalent thing. If they weren’t already infected then they would probably be soon. … Unless they were immune like Collector and some of the others seemed to be and Beheaded for sure was. That wasn’t super likely though, was it? So… what an unlucky fellow to end up on this island of all places. But, alas, there was nothing that could be done about it now.

The being turned their gaze away to glance around. They looked up at the cliff for a bit and then over at the Mausoleum before looking back up at the Beheaded again. Only for a few seconds though before with a slight shrug in started in the direction of the Mausoleum.

Well, with no way to talk to each other and nothing else to do, they might as well move on. And since Beheaded had already been heading in that direction anyway, they followed. They could hang out with their new mute buddy for a while. Even if said buddy was unfortunately not likely to last long on the island.

[avastyetwats]

I finished watching season 2 of Black Sails with Castor last night AND EPISODE 9 DESTROYED ME. I was so upset and still am. I’m not saying on here because I know at least one of my mutuals is currently watching for the first time but UGH MY HEART. I can’t wait to start season 3. Replies will be rare until this weekend when I’m off because my work nights currently are Black Sails and/or 1 reply so I apologize. Feel free to come plot though. I REALLY want more plots and I’m open to Black Sails stuff, too. I want to write as Anne, Flint, Jack, Thomas, and Billy so far, as well as doing crossovers!

[listentothelittlebird]

So I wrote Airbender Dick Grayson and that was fun, but before that I had a draft of a... different take of “Dick can sort of manipulate the air”

(...Ok, so this was the backdrop for a shameless crossover with my OCs and my own original work, but this part of it is Bats only)

Word count: 1011

Enjoy! XD

Nightwing had always loved to fly.

He loved the wind in his hair, the weightlessness in his chest, the jerk of his arm as he swerved back towards the night sky, and he will never get tired of the thrill. 

He loved the wind that carried him, and there were times when the wind seemed to love him, too.

Moments when he nearly tripped over his own two feet in the early days, when a flip had him easily righting himself, the wind picking up as if to help him land on his feet; times when he was chasing after criminals, when one leap took him further than was strictly normal; when Tim’s line failed, and he dived after him, and he seemed to fall faster, the wind pushing him nearer to his brother.

Most of the time, he could dismiss it as nothing. Small, miniscule irregularities could be easily ignored in the grand scheme of things.

Sometimes, though, he did wonder.

When he can almost feel the sailing of bullets piercing through the air. When in a dark room and he can feel the movements of allies and enemies, the air pushing and pulling around them. During the destruction of bludhaven, when he dived into the gas cloud of chemicals, and the wind seemed to form a barrier around him, shielding him on top of his rebreather.

Those instances are hard to ignore.

He had already tested himself for the metagene, more than once. Each time came back negative. He had asked Zatanna to check him for magic, something, anything that would explain what was happening. It was not magic, either.

He and his brothers were patrolling, that night. One thing led to another, and Nightwing found himself on a rooftop, grappling gun dropping down the side of the building, the black-clothed figure edging him closer to the edge. 

A sharp thunk let him know that the grappling gun had landed on a ledge, not too far below. He would have been fine for fighting, or stalling at least, if not for the broken arm he was cradling to his chest, and what he was fairly sure to be a sprained ankle. Oracle’s voice in his comm stated that Red Hood was moving quickly towards him, but he was still far away. 

The wind was particularly strong on the rooftop. Lately he had grown used to embracing the sixth sense - the way that the air bent around other forms, how he could hone in on his grappling gun’s position below him. He shuffled again, just shy of the fall. 

With a spring, he leapt off the edge. 

He contorted himself as the small knives cut through the air, dodging them even as Oracle yelled his name through the comm, as Red Hood swore viciously. He stretched out his good arm, and the grappling gun seemed to fly into his hand. He counted his blessings as he aimed and launched, hauling himself away from the building and into the shadows. 

“You idiot,” Oracle and Red Hood hissed at the same time, but Nightwing chose not to comment. “I knew what I was doing,” he protested lamely, but he knew when his siblings and ex-girlfriend were scoffing.

The next time it happened, he was not the one in a pinch.

Had there been time, Nightwing would have stopped to consider that this was one of the few times Red Robin needed anyone’s help. He was always handling himself, even when he was just Robin.

This time he was in over his head.

Red Hood mumbled a curse. “It’s a gas-based bomb,” he stated, “We hav’ta separate ‘em before the timer runs down, else the spark will cause it to blow.”

Nightwing stopped listening at the word “gas”. His hand was splayed open at his side, drawing out the gases through their canister openings and spreading them thinly throughout the warehouse. Red Hood, so focused on the bomb, paid no attention when the wind picked up around him, the gases carried away and into the night air. Red Robin stirred from where the remains of the bomb was strapped to his chest. “How much time?” he slurred.

“Not enough,” Red Hood gritted out. Tim frowned and turned to look at Nightwing, noting his relaxed stance immediately. 

The bomb ticked down, and to keep up the pretense, Nightwing followed Red Hood silently as he jerked them both away, out of the warehouse. His brother was counting under his breath, visibly bracing himself as the timer reached zero. Nothing happened.

“What…” Red Hood bolted back in, just in time to see the Red Robin stumbling to his feet with a giddy smile, the kind one had when escaping from a life-threatening situation. Jason barked a laugh, his shoulders relaxing as he quickly marched forward, preoccupied with finding a way to remove the wiring. Too preoccupied to see Nightwing releasing a small breath, Tim shooting him a raised eyebrow that demanded an explanation. The gaze he shot back promised him, later.

Later found Tim shuffling into Dick’s room, eyes tired but still alert. It took longer than he thought it would to get out the secret.

“I’ve always loved flying,” Dick settled on, splaying his hands in front of him, “I just… there’s more to it than acrobatics. I’ve ignored it for a while, but it’s there, and I know it.”

At Tim’s confused gaze, Dick made a wide sweep with his hand, and the blanket laid around his brother’s shoulders blew up into the air, drifting back down to the floor. “I’ve tested myself for the metagene,” he went on, “But it doesn’t show up. It’s there, though. It definitely is.”

Tim sat silently. After a long moment, he nodded quietly. 

“You’re not telling anyone? Bruce?” he questioned. Dick paused. “I haven’t spoken a word about it to anyone,” he admitted, “Nobody but you knows.”

They fell into easy silence, then. It was not long before he pulled his little brother into his side, squeezing him and mumbling a quiet “thank you” under his breath.

[roleplayfinder]

27F looking for historical RPs

Hello! I am a multimuse roleplay blog with muses from several period dramas who just caught up with replies and is now looking for new threads. I'm 27 so I'll only interact with people 18 or older. Nsfw content is possible but not mandatory. Tumblr is my preferred platform, but discord is also available. I exclusively write female muses as I don't enjoy writing from a male perspective. Open to fxm or fxf ships. No ooc drama, lots of it IC tho!

My current fandoms are: Greek Mythology, Black Sails, Versailles, Downton Abbey, The Musketeers, Harlots, Peaky Blinders, The Alienist and Mad Men, soon to bring muses from Vikings and The Last Kindgom too.

I accept AUs and crossovers. I'd love to write those specific ships below, but I'm accepting new partners in general so it doesn't requite that you write as one of those characters if you'd prefer to play as someone else.

*From Greek Myth: Helen/Paris (from the Illiad's perspective rather than modern media), Zeus/Leda *From Black Sails: Eleanor/Vane *From Downton Abbey: Sybil/Branson, Sybil/Matthew *From Harlots: Charlotte (played by me)/Lady Isabella *From Peaky Blinders: Ada/Freddie *From Versailles: Henriette/Louis *From Mad Men: Betty/Don

If you want to know more, you can get more information from each particular muse by clicking their name on my muse page. 

If you're interested, you can interact with this post or message me directly.

[brave-heroes-of-light]

"# BD/BS and BD2 crossover when???"

Bold of you to assume the games were never connected (I know what the creators said. It's a lie. I don't care).

First up, it's obvious the regions of Excillant mimic the regions of Luxendarc - Caldisla/Halcyonia, Harena/Savalon, Florem/Wiswald, Eternia/Rimedhal, Eisenberg/Holograd. But most importantly: Norende/Musa. Norende and Musa in particular are in the same location, are both wiped out, and, in the Isle of Nothingness, Musa is replaced by a giant chasm with a suspiciously familiar ledge... So yes, right from the start I concluded Excillant is Luxendarc's "Pangea". They're the same world, but thousands of years apart. (Although Pangea took millions of years to separate, this world has magic and it's entirely possible a BD2 sequel could include a literal earth-shattering event).

The Airship Adam had built? No one had ever seen an airship before - it was a completely new thing. A prototype even. A prototype to Grandship. The oldest surviving airship in Luxendarc - so old they even forgot it was an airship. An airship powered by a crystal (in the process of being discovered in Excillant).

The crystals are tiny here in Excillant. We know they grow over time. This place is a world without Crystalism. A world without Vestals watching over the crystals. A world without individual temples for the crystals. But we've seen the sealing chamber in Musa looks identical to the temples of Luxendarc. A precursor. This world doesn't even know it's possible to power the crystals without dying! They don't know how to find vestals who are able to safely work with the crystals.

Gloria's earrings? The original state of Agnès's pendant. Gloria's brooch? A precursor to the brooch Airy had.

Fairies made the Asterisks? You know who else made them? Sage Yulyana. A sage so old he's (supposedly) forgotten his own true name. A sage who existed before Crystalism. A sage who existed back when the land Norende was built on was a huge mountain. Ah, I forgot to mention my theory that Ringabel, Magnolia, Yulyana and Deneb are all fairies too (the hair, the connections to Florem, the connections to the moon, the connections to big secrets they seem to have in common, the knowledge of other worlds and ancient relics - see here for more).

Speaking of Yulyana. He also said there was a reason the great chasm opened up where it did. Where Norende was. Where Musa was. The place where the barrier between their world and the Celestial Realm was weakest. The place where the crystals were originally kept. The place where the original temple was built. The place where the 'angel' fell. The place the Nexus chose to inhabit - in fact, the place the Nexus grew up... I have no clue what exactly caused that weakness, but it's no coincidence all these things happened in essentially the same place.

The blind man in Holograd says he was the first to use the term "Heroes of Light" which people of Excillant seem quite familiar with. Meanwhile, when Yulyana used the term, he said it was very old - what people used to call heroes like Tiz, Agnès, Edea and Ringabel a long long time ago.

Wasn't Yew's ancestor a sailor? Doesn't Seth look a little like him? like a cross between Seth and Gloria? huh... "Beware the eye of Foundar" a mysterious figure in the Geneolgia crypt said. Foundar, Yew's sailing ancestor. Seth, the sailor surrounded by eyes. Everywhere. (another theory for another time, but BD2 is full of eyes).

And if you really want to know, ever since the trailer, I wondered if Adelle was connected to Deneb (the hair, the secrets, the black bird aesthetics, good with animals, borrows Elvis's blue scarf, very old without looking like it - plus Deneb knows how to use the Hourglass relic which could potentially be a fairy relic (again, fairy theories here)).

And now Airy's name turns up in Lady Emma's book. Perhaps it's just an easter egg. Perhaps it's meant to reflect the player's memories being saved in that book. Or perhaps it's more evidence for me to use to ignore BD2 supposedly being a completely different world.

In any case, the existence of parallel/alternate worlds are canon in both Bravely Default and Bravely Default II so at the very least they could co-exist via the Outer Oceans (along with any headcanons or AUs you want tbh)

[fragiledewdrop]

R and W, when you can! 😊

Hey there! Thank you for the question.

R: A pairing you ship that you don’t think anyone else ships.

Well, I don't think there are many. I got really into Bela/Anna from Supernatural after reading a single fic that opened my eyes to it, and I have never seen anyone else except the author ship it, but it's such an interesting dinamic that it stuck with me for years. I have also always loved to imagine fairytale crossovers, and that led to shipping, for example, Snow White and Sleeping Beauty, because of the similar theme of being condemned to an enchanted sleep, I suppose. I even wrote a story about it. It's called "The apple and the rose" and it's somewhere on this blog.

W: 5 favorite characters from 5 different fandoms.

So:

Tolkien: I love so many characters from all of his books, but I have a soft spot for Elrond, his tragic story and his kind heart.

Supernatural: Castiel. Dean, too, sometimes even more than Cas. It depends on the day, really.

Black Sails: Max. She is amazing.

Good Omens: Crowley. I see much of myself in his relationship with God.

Anne with an E (or Anne of Green Gables) : Anne Shirley Cuthbert. I fell in love with her as a child, and here we are.

There it is! I hope you have a good day.