#so like. au for improvement? AU FOR IMPROVEMENT!

[grandline-fics]

Immune To Your Charms

DESCRIPTION: Soulmates are incapable of harming the other in any way. Normally that would be a good thing but not when you're meant to be enemies.

WARNINGS: It's Doflamingo so that's it's own warning if you don't like reading fics featuring him. Soulmate! AU, Enemies to Lovers. Some descriptions of illness and death

CHARACTERS: Doflamingo

WORDS: 3,518

A/N: Hope you all like how this chapter turned out. I'm not too keen on it personally, feeling like it wasn't my best but that's just me. We've got more denial as feelings are developing but with Doffy these things take time.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve(here) | Chapter Thirteen (coming soon)

——————

For the first couple of weeks of taking medication for your illness you spent most of your time sleeping, the rest of the time you were awake long enough to eat the light meals planned for you and very little else. You were exhausted and sluggish, barely able to manage out a few sarcastic comments but even they lacked your usual tone or maintain your focus long enough for it to be considered fun for either you. Doflamingo had expected to see some sort of change by now and in his eyes this lack of results was bordering on unforgivable. As he ate his breakfast his face was like thunder and everyone could feel the heavily brewing storm under the surface. 

His grin was gone and the vein against his head throbbed at the slightest sign of annoyance. Even his family and elite members felt at risk of facing the brunt of his anger when he would eventually snap. Doflamingo’s gaze sharpened on the clock and realised he’d spent too long in the dining room. It was already time for the doctor’s to conduct their morning check. Sharply he stood, ignoring how everyone in the room flinched at his sudden movement and left the room, heading straight to your quarters. With every step he took his fingers flexed and cracked, ready to lash out if he didn’t get any sort of satisfactory news. 

Throwing open the doors he set his glare heavily on the two doctors who paled and froze at the sight of their leader. Against your propped up pillows you blinked tiredly and followed their stare to watch Doflamingo let the door close behind him. Now that you were regularly taking medication you no longer needed his constant presence to avoid being in pain but you felt constantly drained and your body aching but it was bearable. With a sigh you looked to the doctors. “You two can go.” The doctors quickly looked to you, visibly relieved to be given permission to avoid Doflamingo when he was clearly close to committing murder. They hesitated slightly and you let out an annoyed sigh, forcing yourself to glare at them. “Leave him to me. Go and do what you said you would.”

At your instruction the doctors warily moved towards the door, glancing at Doflamingo with increasing nervousness the closer they got. Doflamingo said and did nothing to stop them and waited until they left and heard their hurried steps echoing down the corridor before he glared at you as you slowly sipped at the herbal tea the servant had left along with your untouched breakfast. “Explain yourself.”

“Morning to you too.” You muttered with another tired sigh. Doflamingo could’t help but notice that your breathing seemed improved, was he imagining that the rattle in your chest had lessened? “I’m not in the mood for guessing. Explain what?”

“A few things. Explain why you’re telling the doctors to leave. Why you’re not eating your breakfast and explain why there isn’t any medication for you to take.”

“I told the doctors to leave so they can go and make a start on the next course of medication and also so you didn’t get a chance to kill them needlessly.”

“Why change the medication?” Doflamingo asked, approaching the bed to stare at you intently. You didn’t seem worse . Were they trying something stronger to get the results he wanted? Or was there something they were withholding from him? Was that why you told them to leave?

“According to them I’m no longer ‘critical’ and now they need to make something less intensive. It’ll continue to fight the infection but it won’t leave me feeling like I’m in a coma all the time.”

“I suppose I can allow that explanation.” Doflamingo muttered, still not happy that his doctors didn’t tell him themselves before fleeing, though with the mood he was in there was a big chance he would have killed one of them before they could have told him everything. Still his mind fell to the one question you hadn’t answered. “And your food? What’s your excuse for not eating?”

“They were fussing over me so much with their tests and checks I didn’t get the chance.” You explained before taking another slow sip of the tea. You eyed the bowl of untouched food and pulled a face. “The sooner I’m recovered the better, the repetition is driving me insane.”

“You’re not really in a position to be picky.” Doflamingo chuckled, perching himself on the edge of your bed. “Strict diet until the doctors say otherwise.”

“Oh so now you want to listen to them?” You asked dryly, watching him get comfortable and start to relax. “They’ve been terrified for the last few days, some wanting to draw straws to see who will be treating me when you’re awake.”

“Fear’s a good motivator in my experience.” Doflamingo shrugged unapologetically and uncaring about the visible panic he brought out in his servants and subordinates. His methods always yielded results, at least most of the time it did. You were the anomaly that he chose not to count. 

Out of habit at this point he pulled the tray closer and lifted the bowl into his hand, offering the spoonful of uninteresting purée towards you. Thankfully after that first time you never insisted he say ‘please’ to comply. Today though you regarded him silently for a moment before allowing him to feed you. You ate in silence before finally speaking what was on your mind. “Why doesn’t it bother you? Feeding me?”

“Should it?” 

“I know I can’t get you infected but the whole sick person thing seems like something you’d avoid where possible.” You explained. You recalled Doflamingo’s initial declarations that he was ensuring you recovered because he wasn’t letting an illness kill you instead of him but still some things didn’t add up. “In the beginning you could have used your strings to feed me and when I stopped being in constant pain you could have ordered a servant to take over. Doesn’t seem in line with your kingly reputation.”

“Probably not but no one would breathe a word about it so my reputation is safe.” Doflamingo conceded before grinning broadly at you. “Besides who would even believe them I’d do something so kind?”

“That’s them though, this is me asking.” You pressed. “Strangely it feels like you’ve done this before.”

“A little. There wasn’t much food and they didn’t live long after getting ill.” Doflamingo’s answer was low, oddly soft. It was a tone you’d never heard from him before and one you’d really never expected to experience from him. Whoever it was he was talking about, you could tell it was a heavy loss for him to speak of. 

You could only guess it was a relative, as much as he claimed those in his inner circle were part of his family, you knew they were a chosen family and not connected to him by sharing the same blood. The man was still very much a mystery to you and as curious as you were, to want to get to know him more would be only a complication down the line. Instead you decided to change the conversation after you took the last spoonful of food. “So strict diet aside, when can I leave this room?”

“Not until you’re better.” Doflamingo’s answer was simple as to be expected but not what you wanted to hear and you didn’t hide your disappointment or annoyance. You had been confined to your room the entire time you were ill and you only got to the bathroom and bathed with the help of a servant because your body was so weak to move. It was a relief that the doctors knew what they were doing because if they hadn’t given you the medication to lessen your pain you would have relied on Doflamingo for that aspect and neither of you were in anyway wanting to broach that level of reliance or intimacy with each other. Needing to sleep in his arms had been more than enough for you both. “Stop pulling that face, can’t risk you managing to hurt yourself and you know it.”

“I’m bored. Y’know for a moment I actually missed Diamanté and Trebol?” You grumbled, narrowing your eyes when Doflamingo began to laugh just as the door opened and the third doctor of the day cautiously entered. You watched as their eyes flickered from you to Doflamingo, nervously trying to assess the mood in the room and prepare for what they expected to happen. They seemed to relax slightly and came closer, your gaze falling to the vial of new medication in his hand. “So what can I expect with this one?”

“You’ll have to take it three times a day. You won’t be as lethargic but it will take a lot of time for your previous energy levels to return. We’re hopeful that after another week we can begin to reduce the treatment again. You’ve been responding so well, it’s a good sign.”

You weren’t exactly in the mood to share their overall optimism. You hadn’t lied when you told Doflamingo that you were bored. You hated being sick at the best of times but to suffer through an infection like this, stuck in your room and only able to sleep or eat, it was irritating and now that you were changing your medication that meant less sleeping and more time just being stuck in your bed. Already you weren’t looking forward to the next few days. With a click of your tongue you took the opened vial offered to you and threw it back in one go, pulling a face at the strange taste. Seeing you take the medicine seemed to release the final thread of tension in Doflamingo’s body and his grin spread into place. As you shifted to get comfy against the pillows you scowled out of the corner of your eye. At least one of you was happy.

————

Doflamingo had allowed his work to pile up while you were ill. Calls from the different corrupt leaders he was supplying weapons to had gone unreturned, shipping manifests from the different warehouses and docks notifying him of his share of profits and resources had piled up and gone unchecked. He was sure there were some Marine calls he’d missed but he couldn’t bring himself to care about whatever it was they wanted. He’d done his part by showing up to their nonsense meeting. Sitting back in his office chair he put down a profit report from one of the many businesses he’d placed an investment in and kicked his feet up onto the desk, feeling his eyes grow heavy under his glasses. 

It had been a long time since he’d dreamt of the horrid little shack but he knew it instantly. Looking around at the sound of tiny but devastated sobs he tensed to see his little brother clinging to his younger self in the next room, both aspects of his memory and imagination unaware of his presence. Not that he was even paying them much attention, every part of his attention was solely on the bed in the middle of the room. 

As much as he wanted to turn away and leave the sorry excuse of a home, as much as he wanted to force himself to wake, it wasn’t in his power. Instead his heavy limbs brought him into the room and he felt slight relief that his subconscious didn’t show his father in this version. His relief didn’t last long though because already he was at the bedside, staring down at the outline of the body completely hidden by the dirty, frayed sheet. Roughly he grabbed a fistful of the fabric and ripped it away, freezing to see it wasn’t his mother under the covering but you. 

With a jolt Doflamingo woke, staring at the ceiling and working on keeping his breathing even and forcing himself to ignore the tremor in his hands. Pushing away from the desk he rose and made his way to your room. For yet another instance since you fell ill he found himself seeking you out in the middle of the night, at least this time he was fully conscious of it. His plan was simple, go in check on you, leave. 

Doflamingo opened the door only to stop to see you already sitting up in the bed with your gun pointed at him. When you saw who it was you sighed and put the weapon back into the drawer of your bedside table. At least this helped shake him of the dream he had but now he was more confused than ever about what you were doing. Your fever had broken already so you no longer had any moments of delirium and even when you did, you’d never tried to reach for your weapon. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“I’ve slept enough, don’t you think?” You asked staring at him carefully. “What’s wrong?”

“What makes you think something’s wrong?” 

“Deflecting question for one thing.” You stated with a frown. “You haven’t stayed to help me sleep since the medicine first started taking effect so it can’t be for that. You look tense…your hand’s twitching.”

“You know part of me liked it better when you were too ill to notice things.” Doflamingo muttered, staying close to the wall. “I’m fine, nothing to worry about. Now are you going to tell me about the gun?”

“I thought you were the doctors and I’ve reached my limit of their fussing and increased checks for one day.” You explained in frustration. You weren’t really going to shoot them but you had been so frustrated that the temptation to threaten them had reached the point you’d gotten to. Now that you’d had the moment to reflect on it thanks to Doflamingo’s arrival you let out a sigh. “I know they’re doing their job but enough is enough at least until tomorrow.”

“Any reason for the increased fussing?”

“They claim they’re ensuring the new medication isn’t bringing a risk of unforeseen side effects but the real reason is you. They’re checking for the smallest improvement so you don’t kill them.” You said only to glare when he smirked at that. “Don’t get smug, it doesn’t suit you. So are you staying or going?”

“Oh? If that’s your way of asking nicely you can do better than that.” He teased, grin returning in full force when you let out a huff and rolled your eyes. “You do like to cling to me, it’s adorable.”

“Not as adorable as you oh so sweetly saying ‘please’ Doffy.” Your retort was quick but still not as sharp as you usually could muster. You were glad you could see the results of the treatment but it still hadn’t brought you back to your full strength. 

“You’ve been calling me that more often, did you notice?” Doflamingo observed, watching your eyes narrow slightly.

“Because I’ve been too drained to waste energy on your needlessly long name, Doflamingo.” You explained with a sweet smile before deciding that it was time to get back into the old routine of going against him, illness be damned. Pulling back the covers you rose out of bed, still feeling the heaviness in your limbs but you were determined and defiant now. By the time you’d walked the length of the bed Doflamingo was already in front of you, leaning against the bedpost and stopping you from stepping any further. Adopting your most casual expression you looked up at him. “Yes?”

“Get back into bed.”

“I don’t want to.” 

“I don’t care what you want.” Doflamingo told you evenly. “Either get back into bed or I’ll put you back.”

“Do it and I’ll get back out. Like I told you earlier, I’m bored and tired of staying in bed.” You ground out in annoyance. “I don’t care where I go I just need to get out of here for a little while. A little bit of walking isn’t going to kill me.”

“We’ll talk about it in the morning with the doctors. Get back in bed.”

“No we won’t because your doctors will be too scared and just go along with whatever you want. I’ll go back to bed when I’m ready.” You argued and stepped around him with your sights set firmly on your door. Even if you got as far as the hall it would have been enough to count as a change of scenery and proof you still had some control over your actions now that you were feeling somewhat better.

“You’re so fucking difficult.” You rolled your eyes at the Warlord’s comment from behind you only for a yelp to break from your lips when you were abruptly lifted off of your feet when you were about to grab the doorhandles and thrown over Doflamingo’s shoulder. “You have five minutes but you aren’t walking, pick where to go.”

“Kitchen.” Your answer came without hesitation. Secretly you were relieved to be lifted, the shake in your limbs becoming hard to ignore but you weren’t going to let the moment of Doflamingo letting you leave the room go to waste. You said nothing as you were carried through the corridors and into the darkened kitchens. 

After the lights flicked on you were set on the counter you let out a long satisfied smile, stretching out your arms and legs. Reaching over you lifted the domed lid covering what remained of one of the many cakes and desserts prepared for the family’s dinner that night and pulled it closer. You looked up when Doflamingo stopped beside you, offering a fork for you to take while he used the second in his hand to take a forkful of the cake you’d decided on. Wordlessly you took it and helped yourself to some for yourself, savouring the sweet and rich taste that flooded your mouth. The cooks in the palace were talented and make everything taste amazing. It was thanks to their skills that made being on the limited menu while ill bearable but this? Getting to eat something new again and eat it while you weren’t meant to make it taste even better, like it was something forbidden but so satisfying.  

“Happy now?” Doflamingo asked after a few minutes of calm silence, setting his own fork aside and leaving the last few bites of cake for you to help yourself to.

“Yes, actually I am.” You smiled at him, your mood lifting for the first time in a long time. Taking the last bite you let out a content sigh and looked to Doflamingo. “So happy I could dance, but sadly I’m not allowed to walk.”

“Now you’ve got my attention, maybe save the dancing for when you’re fully recovered.” Doflamingo grinned, turning slightly to watch you smirk at him. “Now back to bed.”

“Fine, killjoy.” You grumbled, knowing you’d already had longer than the initial five minutes he’d promised you. Resigned to your fate you held out your arms to let him lift you only to scowl further when he stood in front of you and chuckled, lightly tapping your lower lip with his finger. 

“Stop the pouting, you got what you wanted.” He reminded you with a grin, lifting you off the counter and taking you to your room. 

When you neared your room you looked at Doflamingo. In spite of being annoyed you weren’t able to be out of your room for long you still appreciated the time you did get out. “Listen…Thank you, I mean it.” You began and thought back to how he’d unexpectedly came to your room that night. Something had been on his mind and given the earlier conversation you had a small inkling what it was. You don’t know why but you wanted to say something to help him. “I know it doesn’t need to be said but, whoever it was you lost. I’m not them.”

“Of course you’re not.” Doflamingo tensed slightly, his stride not breaking even as the image of you lying in place of his mother on her deathbed from his dream came back.

“I’ll get better and then you’ll get right back to finding a way to kill me, right?” You tried to stay casual about everything but the longer you stayed in Dressrosa and around Doflamingo, and now with how he was taking care of you from your infection it got harder to convince yourself that things were going to stay the same as they had when you first crossed paths with the man setting you down onto your bed.

“That’s the plan.” Doflamingo answered and it took everything in you to ignore how his hold on you tightened lightly while he also sounded like he was trying to convince himself of the same thing too. Saying nothing more you watched him turn and leave the room. When the door clicked shut you lay back with a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. Why did you have to open your mouth?

——————————————-

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[burnforyou]

oh I feel like a millennial typing this but my ass needs Luigi in Harry Potter AU type of smut fic

!SUMMARY! you approach professor mangione about your exam grade and it goes further than you were expecting. this is a Harry Potter AU but it can be read normally as well.

!WARNINGS! smut, age gap, kinda cum too quick, quickie, cunnilingus, this is a student/teacher relationship (everyone portrayed is 18+. reader is a 7th year student so she'd be 18.)

anon I will never judge you.... Harry Potter is the reason I began writing and reading fanfiction back in my day. I feel seen.

the knock on professor mangione's office door echoed down the silent hallway of Hogwarts.

"office hours are..." he swung his door open with a scowl, beginning his spiel. until he saw you standing in front of him in your tight button up, short Gryffindor skirt, stockings pulled up to your mid thigh.

"oh! come in Ms. y/l/n," you smile up at him and brush past him, making your way into his office. the cold, but comforting wood smell of his office encapsulates you.

"muffliato," luigi whispered on the door, quiet enough so you couldn't hear him. he closed his eyes and controlled his breathing, before opening them and approaching you casually.

"how can I help you, ms. y/l/n?" he shoved his hands in his pockets to try and hide his hardening cock in his slacks.

"I want to discuss my exam grade." you sit perfectly straight in his chair, your thighs pressed together.

"what about it? If I remember correctly, you had the top score." he tilts his head to the side and looks down at you.

"I don't think that my grade is accurate. it doesn't reflect the effort I put into your class."

"how so?"

"I think I deserve a better grade."

"no, no, the grade you got is exactly what you deserve. you did very well y/n," his praise sends tingles down your spine "and I'm not truly grasping on to what you're implying."

"is there something I can do to improve the grade? I'll do any extra credit I can get. please, sir." you beg him, looking up at him with the sweetest doe eyes you can do.

his eyes flicker between your face and the valley of your breasts appearing through your unbuttoned blouse.

"with the way you've been acting all semester, I don't think I'm going to grant you that privilege."

"I don't know what you're talking about?"

"I think you do know." he said with persistence.

"as head girl I think I should-"

he cuts you off with a sharp tone.

"as head girl I don't think you should be talking to me like this. As head girl I don't think you should be in my office after hours, whining because you missed three points on my exam."

"and you know what else? I don't think a proper head girl should be altering her school-issued skirts to make them impossibly shorter. just to tease her professor." he smacks your bare upper thigh and the sound echoes through his cold office.

he grabs you under the arms and lifts you up onto his desk smoothly. he brings himself in between your legs and leaves soft kisses down your neck, starting to unbutton your top teasingly slow.

"please," you whisper, arching your back into him and burying your fingers in his curls. he presses the growing tent in his pants onto your heat, expecting to feel the fabric of your panties. he pulls his head out of your neck and stares at you, his eyes darkening, his chest heaving.

"no panties, really?"

you shake your head and smile up at him.

"mm, naughty girl." you flush under his gaze, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "yeah, look at me like that. look at me how you do during my classes."

he forcefully pulls apart the rest of your blouse and the buttons fly everywhere. he lowers himself down onto his knees, his face directly in front of your bare pussy.

"fuck, I've been dreaming about this." he groans before leaving a soft kiss on your clit, testing you. your hips buck in response.

he licks down one of your lips and up the other, tasting the juices on your outer edges. he groans into your pussy and the vibrations make you moan.

"have you ever been with a real man before baby?" he peers up at you, pushing his tongue into you.

you shake your head erratically and move your hips on his face.

"mm, I'm gonna show you how good you can feel." he holds your thighs down hard to keep you still while he laps at your juices. his hips buck in the air, looking for any friction he can get. you lean back on your elbows and let yourself dissolve in pleasure.

he comes up to you again with swollen and glistening lips. he kisses you feverishly and grinds his hips on your thigh.

"you'll be punished for this later." he rubs his 2 fingers up and down your wet slit "but I'm gonna take care of you now, okay?"

you nod against his forehead and he flashes you his charming smile. you squirm when he cautiously slips a finger in and out of you, trying to prepare you for his already very hard cock.

"what if somebody hears?" you hook an arm around his neck and whisper.

"don't worry about it." he replies and slips another finger in you. he feels all around your gummy walls, curling his fingers just right inside you.

"please fuck me," you whimper and grasp onto his wrist.

"you think you're ready now?"

"yes, sir, please!" you grind into him and feel his knuckles against your skin.

you let out a breath when he backed away from you completely, losing all of his warmth.

"tsk, the head girl wants her professors dick. that's not very appropriate, is it?" he shook his head at you, undoing his belt without breaking eye contact.

"I know," you whine, reaching your arms out for him again. he slips his maroon sweater over his head and stands bare in front of you.

he stalks up to you, but doesn't touch you.

"are you sure you want this?"

"yes, yes sir," you tremble weakly, your hands running all over his bare skin. he finally puts his rough hands on you again, feeling down the shape of your body. he leaves one hand on your hip and the other goes to stroking his throbbing cock.

"call me luigi." he says before lining his tip up to your entrance.

he slips the tip in, eyes dark looking into yours. you suck a breath in.

"oh, luigi," you test the waters. at the sound of your sweet voice saying his name, his hips jerk uncontrollably into you.

his cock goes all the way into you, his hips completely flush against yours. he stretches you out so well, your pussy pulsing around him as you adjust to his length.

"you've never had a dick this big before, hm?" he groans, feeling you gripping onto him like a vice. he can barely control himself, trying not to pound into you too hard, or cum too quick.

but you make it nearly impossible for him to not cum prematurely.

he picks up his pace, bringing himself completely in and out with every thrust.

"fuck, you feel incredible baby," he groans, his head falling into your neck, where he plants soft kisses. "I'm not gonna last long."

"you've worked so hard to please me. mmm, my head girl, my good girl." he growls the last part, feeling your pussy flutter when he praises you. he wraps both of his arms around your waist and thrusts into you erratically.

his dominant demeanor was gone now, dissolved into complete bliss. he whispered your name repeatedly like a spell.

"oh, luigi," you whine, whole body bouncing with each thrust. with each thrust, his lower abdomen hits your clit, making your brain even more fuzzy.

"Luigi, oh my god!" you nearly scream as your orgasm shocks you, making you cream unexpectedly on his cock. you arch into him and wrap your legs tight around him. you tremble as he keeps fucking into you.

"cum on your professor's cock. atta girl." he groans into your skin, also nearing his orgasm. he can barely keep his dick inside you as you grip him impossibly tighter. your liquids drip down on his cold wooden desk.

"I'm gonna cum," he whimpers, screwing his eyes shut.

"I want your cum luigi. cum on me, cum on your students uniform." you gasp.

"oh fuck," he pulls out and sputters of his cum land on your uniform skirt, pussy, and thighs. "shit." he shakes his head, looking down at you in disbelief, panting and covered in his cum. he kisses you again, more delicate this time.

"I've never cum that fast in my life." he says against your lips. you giggle in response, in awe of him.

MASTERLIST - PREV. WORK

!TAGS!

@legendaryclancy @strawbrriess @bellobambino @f4nfic-lover @btcowboy @chmpgneprblem @soggysouppp @hereandqueer6540 @poohkie90 @miarosalie11 @v1rtualsalvat10n @hypnotizedbyhood @webanglikethat @croucify @cumdnmp @ga33y3 @zeervzn @marzipanlvr @seesaw-it @raekensluver @ddlydevotion @hujirose @darleneslane @babydollfacedangel @withloveforlu @mxdnvghts @strawbxrryaxolotyl @bricapellan16

[corviiids]

"i suck at summaries": a dubiously helpful list of tips for how to do a summaries

by no means am i an expert. but in the hopes that this is helpful.

fic summaries have two main purposes:

tell a reader what the premise of your fic is in one glance, and

provide a 'hook' that convinces them to click on it.

based on those two purposes, here's what you should aim to do:

pack the key information into something that can be read while scrolling, and

make your fic stand out.

how do you do that. there are many different ways. ymmv. here are some starting points which may help if you are really, truly stuck.

details under the cut. in summary:

know your premise

keep it short and sharp

demonstrate your style

1: can you describe your premise in maximum three lines?

fewer is better. im not saying your summary has to BE fewer than three lines, you just need to be able to describe the premise as concisely as possible. not the whole fic. not everything that happens. just your premise.

being able to condense your ideas this way will improve your understanding of the work and make it easier to summarise.

sometimes it's a bit hard to isolate what exactly your premise is, especially if you were just writing into the void. so here are some questions you can ask yourself to figure it out:

what was the idea that spurred you to write the fic?

what is the climactic action in the fic?

if the fic is an au, canon divergence, what if, etc - what is the point of difference between this and canon?

if the fic is based around a trope, a genre, a particular device - how did you apply it, what makes the work familiar, and what makes it different?

this is important, because:

2: brevity is the soul of wit

now that you know your premise, it's time to jazz it up. turn it into a one-liner or similarly catchy pitch. give it a makeover.

it doesn't have to be literally one line. however, do not make your summary super long. do not make either your summary or your tags a massive block of text. the reader is scrolling. they have not yet decided to invest time in your fic.

the ideal summary is stylish and concise. your reader should be able to take it in without pausing for too long. it gives them a good impression of you: you know how to be economical with your sentences, which means your writing is probably easy and enjoyable to read.

and on that note:

3: including an excerpt is always an option

an optional option. but if you're stuck, it's a free card to play.

readers want to know that your writing style matches what they like to read. showing off your style can help you stand out to an interested reader.

try and find a few lines which are representative of the premise, representative of your style, and sufficiently intriguing. an excerpt is a try before you buy. you just wrote a whole fic. you want people to read the whole fic and enjoy your work. so show them what you have to offer.

what is an example, postmaker

look im not more qualified to give this advice than anyone else, but here's what i do if it helps. i typically pick out a short excerpt and include a short pitch underneath it. that way the reader knows what i sound like and what the fic is about.

here is a baldur's gate 3 fic summary

shadowheart says, “kill l–” “not lae’zel, darling, it’s too obvious. in fact, both of you are banned from killing each other.” astarion thinks for a moment. “in the game, at least.” -- the gang plays fuck, marry, kill.

this fic has a basic premise and hinges on dialogue, so i picked some sample dialogue to demonstrate what my grasp on the character dynamics looks like and then added one line to explain what the fic is about.

here is a death note fic summary (death note spoilers) (i guess)

The night Ryuzaki dies, L appears in Light's bed. -- (every night when light goes to sleep, his dreams place him in a romantic relationship with his newly-dead rival. it makes him sick.)

this fic has a more abstract premise, so i picked a short excerpt to demonstrate what the tone of the fic is (a bit mysterious). then i added two lines: just enough information to explain what the catalyst of the fic is, but no more than that, so that the reader will be intrigued.

here is a persona 5 fic summary

Ren grins. “You want me to date Goro?” “Pretend-date Goro,” Ann corrects. “And make his crush jealous.” “This is not going to work,” Goro says. “Sure, I’ll do it,” says Ren, still grinning. He does his own rendition of Ann’s eyelash bat. “Go out with me, Goro-kun?” “I’m older than you, so show me a little respect,” Goro says crossly. “Our relationship is off to a bad start, Ren-kun.” -- (or: what not to do when you're fake-dating your real crush.)

this fic is based on a premise everyone knows well (fake-dating trope), so i picked dialogue that samples the tone of the fic and of the key relationship so that readers can decide if i write the dynamic in a way they personally vibe with. then i added a line to tell them what the trope is, so that fake-dating trope enjoyers know that's what it is.

anyway. hope that helps

[satosuguwifee]

Under His Dominion — Sukuna Ryomen x F!reader

wc: 2487

Contents: Modern!au

Credits for the beautiful fanart: innaillus

Tokyo, Japan

Y/n was returning from yet another tiring day at work, her head pounding thanks to the shouting she received from her boss who didn't seem to recognize any of her efforts in any project or solutions she presented that could improve the company.

“I don't think this life is for me,” her voice is calm and thoughtful, but clearly carrying a weary tone with it. “Unfortunately I can't quit this job, after all, how would I pay my bills?”

A snort escapes her lips as her hand clutches the umbrella over her figure, as her boss's request to work overtime has caused her to miss the bus she uses to get to and from work. Soon, an echoing gunshot could be heard, and a chill ran through her stomach as the sound seemed very close.

'Just what I need…'

The woman thought as she walked faster along the wet sidewalk, which seemed to increase her panic, until she managed to turn around just in time in an alleyway when a flash was seen in the distance and the sound made her recognize that it had been another gunshot. You hid behind a dumpster, closing your umbrella and reducing any noise you made as the sound of gunfire and car tires dragging on the street grew louder.

Prayers came from her trembling lips, pleas not to be found came out shakily until the noises became more distant and disappeared into the city beyond.

Y/n waited a few minutes to be sure before emerging from her hiding place, relief etched on her face for mere seconds before her eyes caught sight of a tall figure at the end of the alley, staring at her menacingly and silently. In the dim light of the streetlamp, she could see wounds on his strong, tattooed arms where his blood dripped and fell to the wet ground.

“A brat like you shouldn't be in such a dangerous place.” he says, his voice hoarse and deep as he watches her with his one eye, blood-red glaring at her figure.

“Well, I didn't want to be…, but today the stars aren't in my favor. And apparently not in yours either.” She said, still watching him guardedly, but feeling an urge to help this stranger. Maybe she was crazy for good… “Let me help you.”

“You'd better not come any closer,” he says, still in a threatening pose as he glares at her. “I'm not the kind of guy you'd want to get close to.”

“I insist, I'd feel bad if by any chance your body was shown on the TV news.” she says stubbornly, taking steps towards him before crouching down in front of him and rummaging through her handbag for some gauze or bandages that she always carries in emergencies.

Y/n soon found a piece of gauze, using it to clean the wounds on his left arm and taking the opportunity to notice the tribal tattoo present, wondering if there was any meaning behind it or if he had just done it because he thought it was pretty. Her hands quickly wrapped a new piece of gauze around his bicep and then covered it with the adhesive plaster, smiling at her work.

Then she lifted up his shirt, her eyes widening as she saw the wound which, from the shape, she could deduce had been caused by a gunshot. Her mind connected the facts, perhaps he had been hit by a stray bullet in the midst of the previous battle between gangs that always took place there.

“Unfortunately, there's not much I can do about this one,” Y/n says, but at least she puts another piece of gauze over it so that the rainwater stops falling on the wound and reduces the chances of contamination. “You'd better get to the hospital before it gets any worse.”

Unbeknownst to her, the eye of the man she is caring for is on her figure, silently studying her. He thought about how naïve or even idiotic this creature seemed to be standing there, without even having a clue who he was. Do you do that with all the strangers you meet? He seemed puzzled by this.

He smoothed his own pink hair with his free hand, pushing back the strands that had stuck to his wet face while he had a small smirk on his lips. The man certainly hadn't expected such an encounter, but there was no way he was going to complain about being treated by this mysterious woman.

After that day, Y/n never even saw a trace of the pink-haired, ruby-eyed man, preferring to believe that he arrived safely at his house, the next morning even watching the newspaper to make sure he had a chance of being alive.

'At least I did my bit to try and help him.'

She thought as she grabbed herself a coffee, taking a sip of the hot, bitter liquid that would give her strength for the rest of the day she would have to face. Soon she was running around the company, carrying documents and more documents that needed her boss's signatures or to accompany him to his meetings as his secretary.

And it was in one of these meetings that Y/n got the biggest surprise of her monotonous day: the same guy she had helped a few days ago was there, sitting in the 'big boss' chair and looking at both her and her boss.

“I didn't expect you to show up here, Mr. Sukuna.” her boss says in surprise, then clears his throat and looks nervous for some reason. Well, he is very intimidating, both because he's tall, muscular and because he's wearing an eye patch to cover one of his eyes, which I'm sure he no longer has, given the large scar.

“I've just come back from my trip, you don't need to take over my position now that I'm no longer away.” His eyes move towards the secretary, analyzing her meticulously before a small smile forms at the corner of his lips. “You weren't here when I was away.”

“I've been working here for a few months, my name is Y/n L/n.” Well, obviously they hadn't even bumped into each other in that huge company, if they had, she would have recognized him immediately the night before.

Sukuna nodded at her, with the same smile and without looking away from her before turning his gaze to her boss and signaling him to leave, which was immediately obeyed.

“So you're one of my company's employees? I must say that's quite a pleasant surprise, Miss L/n.” He then leaned back in his leather chair, drumming his fingers against the wood of the table. “Since you're the one who accompanied my replacement, could you update me on the new data collected from the partner companies, hm?”

Y/n feels his cheeks flush at the menacing sweetness in her voice, but he quickly remembers that he's in his work environment and nods before walking over to him with the tablet held in his arms.

“With pleasure, Mr. Sukuna.”

At the end of her shift, Y/n was packing up her briefcase to finally go home while chatting with some of her coworkers when they all stopped talking when the 'big boss' stepped out of the elevator, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants and his gaze scanning the surroundings as if he were inspecting the place.

Then he stopped as soon as he saw her, walking towards her as if he were some kind of God before stopping in front of her, making it painfully obvious the huge difference in size between the two of them.

“Miss L/n, I'd like you to come with me for a moment.”

Soon all eyes were on both of them, and at that moment she could feel her whole body sweating with nervousness. Had she given him some wrong information? Had her superior made up lies about her to ruin her reputation? These were the questions running through her head as she followed him into the elevator, feeling the tension in that tiny cubicle and gently adjusting the collar of her white dress shirt.

Then, finally, they reached the building's parking lot, and she stopped in her tracks when he also stopped in front of a luxury car, pulling a cigar out of the inside pocket of his suit before lighting it and staring at her in tortured silence.

“What can I do for you, sir?” Y/n asked robotically, holding the strap of his briefcase in front of her stomach, resembling the pose of a stewardess and drawing a deep laugh from the older man.

“There's no need for such formality when it's just the two of us.” He pauses to take another drag and then blows out the smoke. “I want to thank you for yesterday, so please come to dinner with me.”

It was more of a demand than a request, and the woman swallowed as she hesitated for a few seconds whether or not to accept. Then she nods as she sees his intense gaze, which makes him nod in the direction of the car, making his message clear. Y/n then goes to the back of the car and waits for her boss's boss to get in. She just hopes it's not such a fancy place.

She definitely had to bite her tongue thoughtfully, because my God, the place they were in reeked of money! Okay, she's exaggerating a bit, but she'd never set foot in there with her retirement money! She even felt sorry for eating the food on her plate, it was all so luxurious.

“You can eat as much as you like, Miss L/n.” He demands, taking a sip of the wine in his glass and she quickly nods before cutting off a small portion to eat.

“W-wow, this is delicious.” She says impressed, quickly wiping her mouth with her napkin before placing it on the table as if she was afraid it would break. Well, she was practically all tense, as if any touch of hers could break everything from there. “But nothing beats the hot dog on the corner, that's for sure.” She whispered to herself before eating another piece, looking up at the 'big boss' who was watching her.

“Really? Well, why don't you show it to me sometime, hm?”

“Oh, I don't know if street food would appeal to your refined palate.”

“I'm always open to new options, Miss Y/n.” Sukuna cut her off with a smile before taking another sip of the red liquid as if putting an end to the discussion.

They then sat in a pleasant silence, with Y/n enjoying the food of royalty and Sukuna watching her in silence, discreetly admiring her small features, such as her inviting pink hair, eyes and lips, making him smile and take another sip of the drink in his hand.

After a pleasant hour, Sukuna guided his guest through the chic hall with his hand on her waist, feeling the soft, natural curve of her body against his slightly rough palm. He soon went to the reception desk and, instead of paying the bill, just showed his ID to the woman who quickly stiffened when she read the name on the document.

“Thank you for your visit Sir, have a good night.”

Y/n was confused by this, but didn't even have time to digest the information when she felt his hand firmly squeeze her waist as he led her into the parking lot, making her shiver.

And as quick as a wink, they were on the streets of Tokyo after she gave him her address. After all, she wouldn't deny him a ride because it was already very late and dangerous for her to catch a bus… She also had a love of life! Her eyes were fixed on the view, staring dreamily at the buildings and imagining herself in them, sipping a glass of champagne, wearing a black silk robe and being hugged by a hot husband behind her, which made her giggle to herself without realizing it.

However, she was snapped out of her fantasies when she felt a brush against her knee and realized it was Sukuna's hand as he shifted gears when he stopped at a red light.

“I run that restaurant.” he says, turning to her and seeing her confused look. ”I don't owe you any satisfaction, but you seemed intrigued at that moment by the waitress.”

'She was so easy to read?'

Y/n nods and clears her throat while trying to ignore the slight warmth his hand caused against her skin without even touching it. It was something electrifying, something inexplicable. But she didn't even have time to think about it because he soon put his hand back on the wheel when the traffic light turned green.

“Thank you for dinner and the ride, sir.” The woman thanked him as soon as he stopped the car in front of her house, smiling at him and then unbuckling herself. “See you tomorrow at work.”

As she was about to open the door, she shivered as she felt his hand on her shoulder, holding her for a moment. Just as she turned her face over her shoulder towards him, his thumb brushed gently against the apple of her cheek, holding it in place.

“I didn't do it for you to thank me, brat.”

He purrs softly, bringing his face a little closer to hers and gently brushing the tip of his nose against the other cheek, feeling something in himself with the faint sweet smell of her, how it was soft and suited her. Sukuna let out another low, deep laugh as he felt her body stiffen at his touch, at his power over her.

“Mr. Sukuna, I don't want to mix things up.” Suddenly she pulled away just as he was about to kiss those plump lips he'd been staring at all through dinner. “You're my superior, please. I'm sorry if you took this dinner as an opportunity, but it wasn't. Excuse me, please.”

Y/n then turned and opened the door, allowing Sukuna to smell her hair one last time before she practically ran out of her apartment. He stared unblinkingly at the route she had just taken, snorting softly and feeling his cock already semi-hard from the fantasies he had had about them in his car.

However, seeing that she wasn't a woman who opened her legs to just anyone, not even him, made him respect her a little before he made his way to his mansion, and he couldn't get her out of his mind.

Continue?

[rosaeh]

writer!jason x actress!reader

kind of la la land au

words = ~ 1.800

Being Bruce Wayne's son, Jason should not have any trouble publishing his book. Hypothetically. But Jason wants his book to be published because it's his, not because it's Bruce Wayne's son's.

But he is really starting to consider this idea when his manuscript is denied for the fourth time. He does not understand what he is doing wrong. He truly thought his first manuscript was good. Flawless even. He graduated from the literature course of Gotham University with honours, meaning he knows to write. He does.

So why on Earth is he sitting with his head in his hands, the refusal email displayed on his laptop's screen ?

Being Gotham's daughter certainly did not help you in improving your acting skills. Or it seems to be what the people at the audition thought, at least. Working at a dinner since you were 17 in order to pay for your acting class, you know what making sacrifice means, what being hard-working means. And you certainly know your acting skills are good. Excellent even. You do your best to be in character, learning about them, taking notes, acting as if it were you.

Which is why you do not understand why the phone has not rung yet, as you are waiting for the call that could start your career.

He needs to change his mind. And even if he does not want to, he will -he also has to- go to this gala Bruce is hosting. Being with his siblings might soothe him. Being in an event that pisses him off even more than those stupid publishers, will definitely make him forget about it, even if it's just for a night.

So he finds himself standing awkwardly near a table on which rest a feast, a champagne glass in hand. He looks into the void, reminiscing about his book. Being at this gala did not actually help, because for once -once- no one is trying to bother him tonight, and his siblings are all caught up with someone. God, for once, he wished someone will talk his ear off about anything.

Crying in your bed tonight because of the rejection you feel within your bones, was not an option. You had promised your friend Esme you would work with her tonight as a waitress because she was afraid to go on her own among the socialite. You did not have the heart to tell her no one would pay mind to either of you, being only little people at their feet. So you had agreed.

Now here you are, pacing through this room, a plate full of champagne on your flat hand, hoping -praying- you won't drop it. A man even tried to put a tip in the pocket on your heart as if you were some kind of stripper for him to look at.

He needs another drink. If now one was going to make him forget about the book, then he will do it himself.

Barely even looking, he reached for a glass a waitress is offering. Rude. He looks up quickly to thank the person, knowing how shitty working amount socialite was. Hell, even just being around them was a pain.

As he was about to speak up, he looked at the woman and found himself scanning her face, feeling like he had seen her before. He still worded his gratefulness, "Thank you." he breathed out as he tried to figure where he has seen her before.

You were about to turn around and keep on pacing when the man's voice stops you.

"I feel like I've seen you before." he said, gaze fixed on you.

And you felt your cheeks getting hot and surely red as well. -Not only because this man is undeniably handsome, and you feel like a bug under is scrutinising green eyes.- But really because you know what he meant. You had been scared anyone would bring this up tonight, but the knowledge that no one would actually talk to you won out on the fear.

And here he is.

"Must've been someone else, surely." a polite smile is on your face, trying to play the perfect waitress. After all, playing pretend is what you do for a living, or at least try to.

His brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed, and your smile felt more awkward than anything now. It is as if he could see right through you, which made you feel even worse about your acting skills. You really should not have come tonight.

But, obviously, he had to figure it out.

"I saw your face on a poster, in the metro. The ads for-"

Jason decided to cut himself off because now she really looked mortified that he was talking to her, and he did not even notice since he was so focused on figuring out who she was.

The woman's cheeks were crimson, and now he felt bad.

"I'm sorry, I- Shouldn't have brought that up, you- Please, keep on going with...serving." Great. Now he felt even worse because he was so awkward as if he had never talked to another human being before that, and he was sure he made her feel worse by extension as well.

He dared meet her eyes again, and he was struck. -Not only because she is gorgeous, and that he was so set on trying to find her face in his memory to notice.- But really because she seemed less creeped out now. As if seeing him makes a fool of himself appeased her. Also because the woman's focus was now on him, and as if she were reading his mind, she said :

"There's no problem, really. It's okay." She offered a soft smile, that appeased him too.

"I didn't want to make you uncomfortable." He apologised again.

"You didn't, it's alright, I promise. And… I am, indeed, the girl from the whitening toothpaste." She sighted, as if the mention of the ads itself was a curse upon her.

You had no choice but to accept this ad, really. Because when you don't get any audition nor roles, and that you need to eat, you take anything. And honestly, at first, it did not bother you. It was just a simple ad, a picture of you holding the toothpaste in your hands with a bright smile. Easy. But they had to whiten your teeth.

And you can tell he remembered, because his lips were pressed in a thin line as if he was holding himself from grinning, God, maybe even laughing.

You knew you would not be able to take it if a man so handsome -and a socialite at that- laughed at you. You would just have to bury yourself 6 feet under.

"I'm not-" he cracks a chuckle, "I'm not laughing at you."

But you knew for sure this was a lie and knew you should feel ashamed, perhaps, but you do not. Because you felt like he was actually telling the truth, and was not laughing at you.

"What are you laughing for, then?

"My brother bought it, and his teeth were so white we could see 'em in the dark." He fully laughed now at the memory, and you were in awe at how gracious he made laughing seems.

You cannot help but crack a grin at his words.

"Thank God, I didn't actually have to use it."

He saw her smile before. A few times, when he would walk in the metro, the posters plastered on the dirty walls. But for some reason, seeing it for real was, actually, breathtaking. Like, breathtaking. Jason even stopped laughing at Dick's expense, to admire her smile. He hoped it did not come off as staring because he wanted to keep doing it.

"Are you telling me this was a misleading ad? Your teeth were not that white?" He smirked now, feeling weirdly more comfortable.

She scoffed, mouth agape, pretending to be offended. "I would never participate in that kind of masquerade."

He was amused. Actually amused, and the thought of his manuscript, of everything he had to change about it for the fourth time. But of course, fate was not on Jason's side -or so he thought- and a man approached the both of them. He said her name, and Jason kept repeating it in his mind, as if to carve it there.

"You can't speak to the guests, you have to work."

Her eyes widen, and she was red again, apologising throughfully to the man -whom she called Max- and turned her heels, not even daring to spare Jason a last glance.

And of course now that she was gone, someone came to talk to him. He should not have prayed for that before, he should have known it would come at him and bite him back.

There is a feeling of soreness in your arm for holding stuff all night long, but it was finally over. Max kinda scolded you for speaking with the socialite, but acted as if he felt bad for it and acted friendly again. You wondered if he was flirting with you. You were almost certain he was, but it was so badly handled that the doubt lingered.

It did not linger much longer, though, when he proposed to drive you home. And Esme was nowhere to be found. No excuse for you to avoid it, no matter how hard you tried to. You insisted on taking the cab, and he reminded you of how dangerous Gotham was. As if you didn't grow up in Crime Alley. You know how dangerous it is. But you are still testing your odds.

"It's really not necessary, Max. I'll be fine."

Max opened his mouth to argue with you furthermore, when you saw your light in the dark, your way out of this situation. The guest you talked to, and from afar you can now see how good his suit looked on him.

Not taking any chance to let this timing go to waste, you quickly cut off Max.

"Actually, someone's already driving me home." And with that you called him out, until his green eyes -that you were so grateful to see- were on you. "I'm here !"

He furrowed his brow in the exact same way he did when you two talked, and you cannot help but think it is cute. The man seemed to examine you, and when his eyes landed on Max, he finally understood what the look on your face meant. He nodded is head, telling you to come, and you obliged, thanking whatever deities were watching over you.

She quickly walked over to him, as if she was eager to come to him. As if. She was eager to get away from the other guy. Still, Jason felt a twitch in his stomach at the smile she wore on her face.

"My hero." She breathed out when she stopped right in front of him.

His gaze rested on her face for a moment longer, before he blurted out. "Jason."

She furrowed her brows as he suddenly speaked up, but the smile remained on her face. "Jason?"

God, his name on her lips.

"-Yes, I'm no hero. Just Jason."

considering writing this as a series tbh but i'll see i guess

[searchingforserendipity25]

conclave au. bellini wins the election. can you imagine.

brilliant but neurotic. his progressive ideals keep floundering and flinching and turning into compromise after compromise in the face of opposition.

bending and bending and breaking constantly under the weight of the late pope's shadow and expectations and the growing awareness that the dead man he revered didn't, actually, really expect him to succeed. the private meltdowns before public appearances are epic.

rumors of unsuitability abound, instability, among all the other whispers (corruption, vice, slurs, more offensive slurs). growing paranoia accordingly, to say the least.

secretary lawrence is on crisis-management duty 24/7. secretary of state cardinal lawrence keeps on having the worst time of his life, increased in urgency, minus any chance of retiring. he can't leave aldo alone with the vipers of the curia. he can't give him his unstinting true like he did before his hesitation in revealing tremblay's crimes.

difficult to revere a friend of many decades whose weaknesses you know so well. impossible not to support a friend of many decades who is trying his best and drowning. the only choice is to ruin this fine homoerotic friendship with hierarchical shifts in power and (more) acts of self-sabotage and isolation.

sister agnes is being maneuvered as the face of #femalempowerment in bellini's increasingly more desperate attempts to produce a new improved vatican, with very little actual agency and interest in her views, and hating every bit of it.

tedesco and bellini's weirdly charged enmity continues to be a metaphor for reactionary vs liberal politics and hypocritical self-identification inside the inertia of the establishment. everyone keeps having intense arguments inside dark confessionals.

the confessional is really only a bad metaphor for the closet, but no one, unfortunately, does anything as normal as have sex about it.

meanwhile cardinal benítez would love to be getting arrested in kabul, but bellini does not want to cause a diplomatic accident and has him in a gently kind of constrained captivity, very like the old pope's turtles.

also like them, in his suicidal and reckless attempts to escape. spiritual guidance is a good duty and friendship is a joy, but he has to face the fact that no amount of helping the sisters in the kitchen and tender handholding while praying w an increasingly more exhausted and disillusioned thomas lawrence will make his imposed uselessness anything other than a great trial.

and also increasingly triggering. which happens, after an extended period of time in repose after years in the midst of humanitarian crisis.

no one is having a good time. even the turtles look judgemental these days.

and to make it all worse, bellini's papal name is probably something really pretentious and well-meaning, like leo xiv. after leo xiii, 'the pope of the workers', also of italian descent but not nationality, also leaning towards democracy, also another legacy to tie himself to like an iron band. jesus christ. leo xiv. this guy is doomed.

[firinnie]

After God Games Athenas!

Basically, we have Athena after the events of Epic as a god and as a human from my exile!au (I have a fic about it "Lightning comes in pairs" on ao3). I thought the difference was interesting, so maybe something more about her?

Athena as a god has scars that glow slightly in the dark and one of her eyes is golden (like Zeus'). Apollo healed her completely and for now all that's left after God Games is cosmetic. Sometimes if she overexerts herself, she feels the limits of her body, but it doesn't bother her long. She started wearing long sleeves and a longer robe, but doesn't put a helmet on her face anymore.

She improved her relationships with many gods after became more open. She still leans towards a new philosophy about fighting with the heart and trains Telemachus now. He braids her hair, which she wears happily. Apart from that, the rest of her hair is loose, which was never the case before.

Hephaestus wanted to give her new armor but she didn't want it, so this is the same one, reassembled and cleaned.

Athena from the exile!au is transformed into a human right after being struck by lightning and is alive thanks to Apollo who partially healed her. Scars still hurt and vision in her eyes (especially the right one) is worse and she tires more easily. She is much shorter and has two scars from her wings on back. Her eyes are human and ironically they are olive in color, her hair has become more orange in a very natural tone. It is short because it had to be cut - was burnt by the lightning.

She is still very intelligent but has a human mind. She analyzes everything and events related to the trauma cause her fear and panic, she is more impulsive in behavior.

Her pendants are important - the gold one is from Hera and the orange-blue one is from Telemachus, he gave it to her while she was still recovering from being sent to Ithaca. She currently lives in a palace with the rest of her family.

She always covers her body with a palla to which for Ody gave her a brooch with an owl.

[dramaticallytotal]

"I'm Just An Assistant"

Another au where Noah was always an assistant instead of a competitor!

He had sent in his application as a dare from his sister Nisha, but his sister Neelima thought it was a job application and wanted to help him fill it out since the things he put as his skills weren't....work material. She thought Noah was just being nervous about filling out the resume since the last job he got was by total accident because he at six decided it was a good idea to hack a site he thought needed improvement. So Neelima put all the skills he had that she thought would be good for a job.

Turns out it wasn't a resume. It was an application for a reality TV show. Haha...Oops.

Well Noah wasn't mad, he tried and that was a lot more than he usually did so he counted it as a win until he got Chris McLean, former movie star and current reality TV host show up at his house. He had to take the "meeting" in his room because his grandma was, unfortunately, a fan of Chris's movies. Apparently, they were some of the first things she watched when they immigrated, and she was learning English. Once they were settled in his room (which he thankfully cleaned that day since his mom looked ready to smack him with the broom earlier that morning when she came in to tell him something and she almost tripped on one of his piles of books) Noah glared at the man and his...bodyguard?? The man was huge, but he was also wearing an apron and a chef hat, which kind of threw off the bodyguard guess.

"Well? I got the rejection letter, and I doubt you're the type of person to come do it in person as well without having a reason."

"Ooooo, snarky! Hear that Chef? The kids got snark."

"Are you surprised? I hardly hid who I was in the auditioned tape."

"Too true, dude. While we rejected you as a contestant, the resume-like portion of your application caught our attention. Or well, I guess I should say, my attention." Chris said in a tone that Noah guessed was supposed to garner gratefulness from him.

But something stuck out to him.

"Resume-like?"

"Yeah! I always carry copies of things. Here!"

Noah looked down to his application, and sure enough, part of it was filled out like a resume, and he immediately recognized Neelima's handwriting. He tried to explain that to Chris, but the dude was a stubborn ass! It took a lot of arguing, and Chris sweetening the pot for Noah to say yes to becoming Chris's personal assistant. Apparently, he recognized that Noah was way more qualified than an intern, so at least he was getting paid.

In the end, he got to stay in the fancy cabin with Chris and Chef, so he wasn't complaining (he may have complained a bit until he saw where the campers were staying). For the most part, he didn't interact with the campers except the rare occasions Chris needed him to get something for him before the cameras started rolling and he was in front of them. He stayed there at the campsite until things at Playa Des Losers started going to shit because the interns there apparently couldn't do their job, and some campers started fighting.

Chris got so frustrated he sent Noah to take care of things. Noah thought maybe it was a test of sorts, so he unfortunately had to put in effort. He was used to being in charge and delegating tasks, thanks to being his class president, and set about to do the same at the resort. Miraculously, the interns listened to him, and things started running smoothly. As for the campers, he decided they were in need of his wonderful self. Either to talk some sense into them or snark them for their choices.

He ends up making friends with the Eva girl, which is a surprise as he doesn't really have many friends. Then Izzy, which was a big surprise. Then the finale came, and he got to meet Owen, and somehow, they were fast friends.

Season two kicked off fast, and it was the season he unfortunately was seen by the viewers because Chris needed help with a challenge, and no intern was available, so it fell on him to pick up the slack. Apparently, the viewers liked him???? He doesn't know how, but Chris made him appear in front of the camera a lot more as a result.

Then season 3 was in full swing, thanks to the Dirtbags bait, which may or may not have been his idea. He had to appear on camera a lot more since he was somehow a fan favorite character. It was dumb but hey, he was getting paid. He at least got to interact with the contestants this season, which he was happy about, given he couldn't do it until people were eliminated season one and two. And he wasn't allowed to interact during the competition. This season, though, he got to as long as he didn't offer help or join an alliance. The perks of being a fan favorite, he guessed.

Heather and Duncan still tried to intimidate him for information, which he thought was stupid. Like, have they never met him??? Of course, it didn't work, and of course, he knew they wouldn't give up. He was happy he could talk more openly with Owen, Izzy, and Eva. He did talk to more people, but they were the ones he found himself talking with the most, which meant he was around the new competitor Alejandro a lot.

He knew what he was about. He sometimes had to watch the confessions as punishment for pranking Chris with Chef. So he knew how Alejandro worked. So why was the guy flirting with him???

Did he really think his moves would work on him and he would help him in the competition???

Pathetic.

Except the guy is really smart, and they have very interesting discussions and debates.

Sad.

Except the guy is ridiculously attractive and maybe sort of Noah's type.

Desperate.

Except the guy makes time to search out Noah every day and have chats with him. Whether it be something small like what Noah is reading to swearing to him that any flirting he sees is for the game.

Silly.

Except...Noah may be falling for him.

_______

Au, where Noah was always an assistant and Alejandro falls for said assistant like immediately. He sees the other competitors are familiar with him and decided to ask Courtney about him since Courtney is one of the only people on this plane who can hold a normal conversation.

"Sorry to disturb you, Courtney, but I was simply curious as to who that is beside Chris?"

"Hm? Oh, him. That's Noah, Chris's babysitter - oops, I mean personal assistant. Don't bother trying to get answers or hints from him. He's a snarky ass." (Courtney holds a grudge from past seasons. From Island because Noah threatened to sue her! Her! For "destruction of property." In Action because he was definitely playing up the demands she made after she came back. It painted a target on her back).

Alejandro with heart eyes already: "Oh."

[fall0utmind]

(un)lucky 13 - medical leak au

Hi guys, new chapter is here !!!!

ao3 here

some imagination is needed here - gotta pretend Aragon and Misano are swapped in the calendar. Also, the Mig podcast came out in like June!!

Thanks for all your support guys xx

Meanwhile, in Madrid, Alex is on the verge of tearing his hair out. He can take so much of his brother’s sulking when the solution is so obvious. It’s driving him insane. It would be much easier if Valentino and Marc could figure out the art of communication. Alex has always looked up to his brother but he is seriously lacking in the love department. Or maybe he’s just an idiot around Valentino – the jury is still out on that one.

Marc had flown home on Monday in a foul mood which hasn’t improved over the past few days. Much to Alex’s chagrin, he has been quiet all week- sullen, trapped inside his head, and moping around the house. To be fair to his brother, Alex does somewhat understand. Occasionally, he forgets that Marc had been through more hell than just Valentino and their fucked-up relationship this weekend. Alex was there in the aftermath of their ruin and it was categorically the worst part of his life. This week, they have both been studiously avoiding the news, determined to ignore how it has all been uprooted.

Their parents rang yesterday, questioning in panicked voices if everything was okay, and threatening to come over with home-cooked meals. Alex is surprised that they lasted so long, he thought his mum would be threatening murder almost immediately. Of course, they had texted across the weekend, offering words of support but not interfering; it appears that even they have now reached their breaking point. Alex spent the best part of an hour trying to explain everything to them, pointedly ignoring all of the bits about Valentino’s interactions (he doesn’t want his mum to actually end up in jail). In the end, they agreed that a week alone to decompress would be good for Marc (they pointedly didn’t tell him this - he wouldn’t like it).

At the end of the day, Alex can tell that Marc is still somewhat worried about the potential fallout of this weekend. He has been trying to put on a brave face, pretending it doesn’t bother him, but Alex knows better. On Tuesday, Marc spends all day in meetings with his management team and sponsors, trying to decipher the next steps. He looks much more relaxed when he emerges from their office later that evening. According to Marc, the sponsors were shocked but reacted optimistically, meaning that they weren’t considering dropping him. Instead, they released a handful of supportive messages online, so now any respectable media channel will have to put a more positive spin on Marc’s history or face backlash.

Despite this good news, Marc is still withdrawn over dinner, pushing his food around his plate and deep in thought. It confirms to Alex that this isn’t a ‘the whole world knows’ freak out and definitely has to do with Valentino. He has a sneaking suspicion that there is something Marc isn’t telling him, something happened on Sunday or Monday which has spun his brother into a tizzy. But no matter how hard he tries to get it out of Marc, he remains tight-lipped, refusing to admit anything is wrong. He mumbles an excuse about being stressed for an interview and hastily retreats to his bedroom.

The following morning, Marc wanders into the kitchen with a crease in his brow. Alex is already sitting at the bar, a mug and a half-empty plate in front of him. There are still eggs in the pan and bread in the toaster. Marc pours himself an espresso and makes his breakfast, thanking Alex for his courtesy.

“All the journalists involved have lost their jobs” Marc mutters, unprompted in the silence.

Alex raises a curious eyebrow, “That’s great! Why do you look so upset?” he enquires

“People online are saying it was Vale, apparently he’s been threatening everyone who had anything to do with it,” Marc grumbles.

Alex politely chooses not to berate his brother for looking online again, they both agreed not to do that until it calmed down. Instead, he focuses on the remark and has to stifle a laugh. Marc frowns at him.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just very Valentino, isn’t it?” Alex giggles.

Marc quirks an eyebrow, scowling at his brother’s clear amusement.

“Well, you know, not actually talking to you, just going and firing everyone, ruining their lives. It really is going big or going home while ignoring the actual issue for him.” Alex explains, chuckling at Marc’s confusion.

Obviously Marc hasn’t worked out how fond Vale is of him yet. It is clear to Alex that Marc does not trust the older man, and he isn’t surprised in the slightest. Valentino had all but destroyed Marc’s life and revelled in it. It must be incredibly confusing to face the truth that the man you love has done his all to ruin you for a decade, only to change his mind out of the blue. . Alex kind of hates him for it, but he’s willing to compromise for Marc. In his defence, Valentino is now trying desperately hard to get Marc back (albeit in an odd way), but it doesn’t change the fact that Alex will be dishing out the shovel talk the second he gets the chance; there is no way he’s letting Vale hurt his brother again.

Valentino has got to be the craziest man Alex has ever met; he supposes that is why they work so well as a couple – him and Marc. The whole dramatic song and dance they are doing rather than just talking- it is very them. He just hopes they work it out soon.

But by Friday Alex has enough, 5 days of being sad is entirely too long. They have another race weekend soon and he doesn’t want Marc to still be like this – sad and withdrawn. It is not conducive to healing, let alone riding. Since their workout this morning, Marc has locked himself in his bedroom, and Alex knows he won’t come out until he goes for a run later, at 4 pm like clockwork. Alex is seriously considering just calling Valentino to sort his shit out, so when he gets a text from Franky, he almost cries in relief.

................

How are you doing? How’s Marc?

Marc hasn’t left his room in 3 hours – I’m beginning to worry.

He sounds like Vale; he can’t decide what he wants to do – it’s driving Luca insane.

Never met two more incapable adults.

Lol.

I don’t think I will ever understand. He was not very good when Pecco came. The house was a mess and all. He’s a bit better now but is fretting a lot (about everyone). It would be sweet but cazzo it’s so annoying.

I can’t imagine that. Don’t remember a time when Vale didn’t hate us.

Yh sorry about that. I'm not sure any of us have been too kind.

It's fine, past is the past. Not too chuffed with Rossi though.

I think I have a plan, actually about Marc and Valentino.

They spend the rest of the day plotting.

*

Marc is moping, he doesn’t like to admit it, but he is definitely moping. He has spent the week alternating between being in bed, crying, and training until he is sweating and his muscles protest. He knows that Alex thinks there’s an easy solution to this – either talk to Vale and somehow sort out a decade of resentment and pain, or forget about him, screw someone else and move on. Regrettably for Marc, it isn’t that simple.  He’s scared of letting Valentino in, but he wants so badly. He wants a relationship, not just a couple of nights but the softness and romance he knows would make him happy. Unfortunately, life is not a fairy tale, and Marc isn’t sure he will ever get his happy ending.

During the worst moments, he spends hours on end stuck alone with his thoughts. He should never have kissed Valentino on Monday – he doesn’t know what he was thinking. He had thought he read something in Vale’s face, a desire for him.

But then he woke up to reality.

Valentino and him were something different, almost alien in the way they fluttered between friends, lovers, and enemies. When he was younger and naive, he thought Valentino was the one for him. But then everything had come crashing down in quite a spectacular fashion. This weekend, for the first time in a decade, they had spoken words that weren’t venomous disputes, cruelty on podcasts or carefully painted indifference.

For a split second, it was heaven, their lips meeting felt like the most painful redemption. Marc had fallen into it head first, as he always does with Valentino; it was only when they had separated to gasp for air that Marc came to his senses. Vale wanted more, he always wanted more, and Marc so desperately wanted to let himself be pulled in, but it all crumbled around him; the realisation that they wanted different things punching him in the gut. Marc wanted, no, wants, love - not just a quick fuck. Although Vale claims to love him, Marc isn’t so sure. There is no trust in their relationship because what was once there is in shattered pieces on the ground, smashed during their decade-long feud. He isn’t sure they will ever manage to gather them all and rearrange them into a semblance of a soft, functioning, loving relationship.

Maybe they were never meant to have it, destined to be rivals and only have the distant echoes of love. Every time he reaches out for the whisps of tenderness they slip through his fingers.

Marc can’t do it again - put himself into the firing line and let Valentino shoot. In the motorhome, he tried to be the adult, to claw himself away, set some distance so they could communicate, but like always they imploded. It turned into another vicious argument and it had all gone terribly wrong. The first spark had lit the fuse many years ago and set the ticking in motion.

The countdown rules Marc’s life.

In the aftermath, Marc took one look at the devastation that was their relationship, aching with the harsh reality of their admissions, and he fled like a coward. He abandoned their sinking ship once more, unwilling to drown for the man who had already done this once before. Fate was a cruel thing, pulling them together, only for every interaction to be a direct collision – inescapable and destructive, like two cars meeting head-on. A tiny part of him wishes that he had never met Vale, he hates it. There is a deep ache within him, a cavernous hollow which cannot be filled. No matter how many people he fucks, how much he begs, how much he tries to plug it with something, anything. There is a Valentino-sized hole in his heart, his bones, his soul.

It is incurable. It is inevitable, terminal.

When Marc isn’t stewing over the way it went with Valentino – he throws himself into work. He asks Carlos for extra workouts and ignores the frowns he receives from both him and Alex. He swims, cycles, runs, and lifts weights until he can barely move after, and then he does it all again the next day. He calls his team, spending hours locked in the office in meeting after meeting with sponsors and managers. Marc is desperately trying to find out if he can turn the weekend into a positive. He’s suddenly realised that he doesn’t want to hide from this anymore nor pretend it never happened. He refuses to brush it under the rug. Although Marc hates vulnerability, feeling like people are stripping him bare and reading his darkest thoughts, it is easier, somehow, to address the past when it is so far away. He knows he is only human (sometimes he wishes he was not). People knowing his past is less of a concern, he is no longer that vulnerable, and they cannot use it against him. It makes it bearable.

As it turns out, there is little to do when your life has been turned upside down and you are trying to avoid the world. Marc spends a lot of time re-watching old races or training, determined to do well this weekend. To prove that this hasn’t beaten him down. He pointedly avoids Alex, knowing what his brother thinks. Although he had been trying to avoid social media, Marc sees the news online- it is inevitable really. Valentino has been spinning his web again, pulling strings taut until he gets what he wants. It appears that currently, that is revenge. According to the internet, everyone hinted to be involved with the whole scandal has been suddenly fired and struck off, and Valentino isn’t being subtle that it is his hand striking the blows. Marc feels inexplicably angry about it. How dare Vale suddenly pretend to care now when he was nowhere back then? There is also the simmering of embarrassment underlying the anger. Marc does not need some knight in shining armour – he is fine on his own. A childish voice tells him to call every agency and have their jobs reinstated. He doesn’t. It will not diminish his irritation that Valentino thinks he cannot handle this. As it turns out, Alex does not share his rage. Marc does not understand his brother’s rambling explanation and settles to be confused. He ignores the amused smirk Alex is wearing, lest he does something stupid like kick him.

To give his brother some credit, it was Alex’s idea to turn his mental health experience into an educational tool, reminding people that they are not alone. Make what could be a huge weakness into a strength. Throwing people off immediately makes it impossible for them to stab him in the back. When he brings it up to his manager, it is met with unrivalled positivity and before he knows it, they are in contact with mental health charities and vocal experts. An interview is set up with a journalist he likes, someone trustworthy. It's booked last minute so it can air right before Aragon. It is hoped that being outspoken about mental health will not only smooth over any concerns but also gain him some support. It has the added bonus that anyone who feels like being an asshole will gain sufficient backlash. Marc feels honoured to be involved with something so significant but would be lying if he said that he wasn’t terrified about it. Nevertheless, if there’s one thing he’s learnt in life, it’s that the scariest things come with the biggest rewards. The most nail-biting corners, when he can feel the bike start to slip, are the ones where he claws back a win. The biggest leaps of faith can become the most successful.

A day before he’s due to head into Madrid for the interview, whilst he’s knee-deep in packing (trying to decide which outfit would be best), his phone bleeps. His notifications have been blowing up since last weekend, mainly from the number of posts he has been tagged in on social media. He has deleted a bunch of apps and turned off alerts on all the others, determined not to sink into narratives other people are writing about him. Apart from that, friends and family have been checking in across the week. He is slightly embarrassed to admit that half of them go unanswered, only his immediate family and the people at Misano got a response.

He half-heartedly checks his phone, assuming it’s his mum offering to come again, or maybe a friend. Marc isn’t expecting it to be Pecco; he drops his phone in shock. His life has become categorically odd in the past few weeks, especially after this weekend. The academy boys are talking to him now – not that he ever had many issues with Luca or Franky. But Bez and Pecco have always been wary of Marc, particularly since Pecco had been there when it all fell to pieces the first time. Since Ducati had expressed interest, the younger man had been more pleasant and had somehow managed to secure his number from someone; he still doesn’t know who (there are not too many people in the paddock with his number). When the news was released over the summer break, Pecco was one of the first to congratulate him.

His phone beeps again.

Hi Marc, hope you’re ok. You might find this interesting.

The second message contains a link to something on YouTube. He spares a quick thought for just how strange this is before curiosity gets the better of him and he clicks the link.

A YouTube video loads. At first, Marc is confused, then shock paralyses him and he is unable to prevent the video from playing. Eventually, ten seconds in, he pauses it and settles in disbelief. He can’t believe Pecco would do this, send him that God-awful video again, the one with Mig where Vale is just sending punch after punch in Marc’s direction. He flicks his eyes to the stats, surprised that there are so few views, he thought the video had been popular.

He double-checks the link, definitely to the correct video. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches the upload date. Today. But that’s not right, this came out a while ago. He notices then, he thinks they were wearing something different from the clips he had seen last time. It hits him in a rush, sucking the air out of his lungs. It looks like he’s not the only one who’s been busy. Valentino appears to have done a second podcast with Mig. Marc’s heart hammers, feeling slightly sick at the thought of what the older man might say about him this time.

To Marc’s surprise, he isn’t mentioned at all in the first 20 minutes, Valentino talking instead about the academy and next year’s prospects. He has to admit that it is rather sweet, how much Vale cares about his boys and his excitement about the youngest ones he is coaching, still in the lower leagues. It reminds him of Vale’s humanity, and how much he attends to the things he is passionate about. There is a soft smile growing on Marc’s face.

When the conversation turns to Pecco, it naturally flows into Ducati and their prospects next year. That means that Marc is the obvious next topic. He feels frozen when Mig asks, his mind overwhelmed by thoughts of what he might say, what insults he could procure. It is not exactly like Marc has been kind to Valentino recently, pushing him away at every attempt. Maybe Valentino has realised that Marc isn’t worth it, and this is his revenge. Marc can’t breathe. When Valentino opens his mouth, he squeezes his eyes shut. But then, Valentino begins wax poetry about Marc, praising his impressive comeback and determination. Marc is so shocked that he doesn’t even register the way Mig smiles, looking pleased.

He blinks.

Another text comes through, the notification covering the top of the screen. He doesn’t know this number but it has an Italian call code. His heart thumps. He scans the message, once, twice, three times, his hands shaking. The words blur in front of his eyes and his pulse is thundering.

“Sorry, I didn't have a chance to forewarn you.” The message reads. It can only be from one person. Marc thinks his jaw has hit the floor. It has to be a joke, surely? He doesn’t know where he stands with Valentino now, especially with the older man suddenly switching up his entire judgement of Marc. To go from hatred to love in a weekend feels so incredibly unrealistic that Marc is finding himself second-guessing everything. And now this. He no longer knows what to think, or what to trust. His heart and his brain are at war and within himself he feels a deep sense of conflict. He wants to believe that Valentino loves him, to fulfil his heart's wishes, but his brain is holding him back. Marc doesn’t reply, letting the screen turn black as he stares. The message sits unopened as he turns off his phone.

[darethshirl]

AU: What if instead of Lucanis, Spite was put into Illario?

The demon Illario expects to be stuck with, once his trap snaps around his own neck and he realizes the true nature of his imprisonment, is Fear.

It's what would make sense. Has not fear been his constant companion, after all, once you peel away all the other distracting emotions? Fear of failure—Caterina's disappointed eyes, glittering black and distant in her hooded gaze; fear of pain—the shock of a blade cutting too close to the skin, the swooping drop of horror in his belly at the idea of torture; fear of death—not like this, not yet, give me another chance, please—

And now a brand new category of it, one he'd never imagined would ever have cause to touch him: fear of magic.

The lightning tears through his muscles and tendons like soft tissue, punches the abused and shocked organ of his heart until it stutters in his chest. It burns his skin, his follicles, the yielding jelly of his eyeballs. Illario screams through a pain so unimaginable it encompasses his whole world, blanks out each thought. He screams because he has no other choice. He screams, and the mages outside his cell watch with black, distant eyes.

"Hmm," one of them says, when the lighting is cut off and Illario drops to the floor like a sack of overripe meat. Her mouth purses as she marks one singular line on the vellum of her notebook. "Not much improvement."

"It's because he has no magic," her companion says, his voice high and reedy. "Why are we even bothering pursuing this avenue? It's a waste of a specimen—not to mention jail cell space."

The first one shrugs, her slick Tevinter coat whispering. "Broadening the standard deviation? Besides, it was orders from above."

"Zara," Illario croaks, down in the dirt. His jaw aches down to his molars. "Take me to Zara."

It's as if he hasn't spoken. The mages scribble at their notes, check over their instruments, their glinting, golden timepieces. "Shall we change the resonance?"

"The texture, I think."

"Hmm. Very well." The woman casts her gaze over Illario, as indifferent as if she's perusing copper trinkets in a rundown foot market. "Make a note."

They walk away, their footsteps crisp against the marble floor. Illario experiences a moment delayed bewilderment—where is the upcoming thunder strike?—before a shriller note of alarm punctures through his mind-fog—are they leaving him behind?

"Hey," he says, struggling to his knees. The prison bars are icy against his palms. "Hey! This has all been a mistake! Let me talk to Zara!" Illario's voice scraps past his throat, his shouts ricocheting against the stone-hewn cell walls, reverberating inside his skull. "Listen to me, you shitstained, donkey-assed sons of a puta! Listen to me!"

Silence. Illario breaths puff out in the cool air, too-quick, frantic. His eyes bug out. His stomach cramps. This can't be happening, it can't—there must be a solution somewhere, a rat-hole he can slip through—

But it's all pointless. Illario trembles, and lets his panic crest.

[larluce]

Rules: you will be given a word. Then you share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that starts with each letter of your word!

I was given the word TIME by @tansyuduri . Thank you SO much for the tag! ❤️

The first one is a fragment of the next chapter of my fic From the Grave to the Craddle

The second one, a fragment of the next chapter of my fic Protecting the Dragonlord's Son

The third one, a very future scene that will happen on my Merlin as Arthur's familiar/Arthur's shapeshifter falcon AU

And the fourth one, a scene from Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU that will appear once is fic (Yes I'm working on that too) , which I'm co-writing with @evadne01 and @rubinaitoart by the way!

- T -

The wooden dummy falls to the ground, the sound of the impact muffled by the grass. Arthur gasps, sweat running down his forehead and nose. He's exhausted, he had to defeat ten 'bandits' today, but the adrenaline is still strong in his veins, so he doesn't abandon his defensive stance. He's sure this is the last one, but there was always the possibility that he had miscounted or that his master had added more hidden dummies to take him by surprise.

“Boo!” a voice shouts behind him and Arthur turns quickly, almost dropping the handle of his sword, startled. Those electrifying blue eyes he knows so well look at him mischievously accompanied by a big smile worthy of someone very pleased with himself.

“By the gods, Merlin!” exclaims Arthur. “One of these days I'm going to stab you by accident if you keep doing that.”

“With a wooden sword?” Merlin looks at him with a raised eyebrow. Arthur looks at his sword.

“It's more dangerous than it looks,” the blond defends his trusty weapon, stubborn and proud as only a fourteen-year-old can be.

Besides, I'll soon have a real one, Arthur thinks with excitement, Emrys promised me.

“Your reflexes have improved, Arthur, good job,” as if he had summoned him with his thoughts, his mentor emerges from the shadows. He has a slight smile on his face, just a hint of a smile, and yet it is the widest smile he has seen in years. “Merlin, what did I tell you about butting in on your partner's training?” the old man scolds his other pupil.

“Oh, but he was done!” Merlin retorts, but when he sees that his master does not take his disapproving look away, he sighs. “I'm sorry, I won't do it again.” Emrys just shakes his head.

“Help Arthur out of his armor and we’ll start your training,” the old man turns around and, with a movement of his hand, makes the wooden and straw dolls scattered on the floor stand up, as if they had a life of their own, and follow him in a row behind him, marching.

“You see that?!” exclaims the twelve-year-old warlock, between impressed and irritated, pointing in the direction his mentor went with the fake bandits. “He didn’t even use a spell or anything. He just…” he imitates the movement with his hand in an exaggerated manner. “That!”

“You can also move things without casting any spells, Merlin,” says Arthur as if it were no big deal, while trying to undo the straps of the armguard. “Ow!” he complains when his friend removes the shoulder pad with his arm in the wrong position.

“Don't move,” Merlin warns. “Moving objects is one thing, Arthur, animating them is another. Even with spells it’s hard to achieve-Stop moving!”

- I -

“I’m fine now. Really.”

Arthur stares at his servant’s face for a few seconds to make sure he’s not lying. Merlin knows this, so he holds his gaze, even though he feels self-conscious at the intensity in the prince’s eyes. He understands that after so many lies Arthur doesn’t believe him right away and that they have to rebuild the trust between them.

Merlin understands that, but… Is it necessary that Arthur looks at him straight in the eyes like that?

“Very well,” the prince finally agrees. “Since we have that settled. We need to talk about the dragon.”

“Oh…” Merlin gets nervous again. “Can’t we start with something else?”

The young warlock doesn’t feel comfortable talking about the dragon right now. Not when the worst mistakes he’s made are related to it.

“No, Merlin,” Arthur says in a tone that almost sounds apologetic. “We have to start with this. My father is going to question you about the dragon.”

“What?!” Merlin screams in panic. What does he mean Uther is going to interrogate him again? He barely survived the first interrogation!

Noticing his distress, Arthur quickly grabs his arm with one hand. Merlin is puzzled for a moment. Does he think he's going to run away?

“It's just a routine investigation,” the prince reassures him, and the hand on his arm begins to gently caress him with his thumb. “You were the last to interact with the dragon and the dragonlord, so he wants to know if you have any information that could help stop them.”

Merlin looks away and blushes helplessly. It's absurd, it's not like it was the first time Arthur grabbed his arm or held him this close, but it was always rough and in a camaraderie-like manner. This… this feels more intimate somehow. It's…

As his anxious hands begin to play with the sheet he remembers that he's sitting on Arthur's bed. Right, Arthur has sat him on his bed! Since when does he do that?

“Merlin?” the prince snaps his fingers, bringing his servant out of his thoughts.

- M -

Much to his dismay, Carleon realises how doomed his nephew actually is.

It was no secret that the King of Camelot was a falcon lover, especially merlins. They were the national bird par excellence and their hunting was forbidden throughout Camelot kingdom. He's been informed its King has 6 pet merlins, 1 that turned out to be a magical creature and 5 common merlins that he has entrusted to his most trusted knights and they are better trained than any domesticated bird ever seen in all Albion. Everyone knows that Arthur Pendragon loves those merlins with his life.

And his nephew, his nephew had...

Arthur: (barely contained rage) He shot him with an arrow that went through his wing and chest. (His voice breaks a bit) He was just two years old.

Carleon: I'm sure my nephew didn't mean to... I mean, I don't think he knew it was one of your merlins. He's still not aware of all the new customs of your kingdom. Where we come from, bird hunting is very common-

Arthur: In other words, he didn't even want to kill my merlin in an act of defense or attack, but just for the fun of it.

Carleon: You have to understand. He's young, immature.

Arthur: We're the same age. Are you implying that I'm not mature enough to be king?

Carleon: ...

Arthur: Of course you are. That's why you keep sending raiders to my borders. That's why you haven't wanted to sign a peace treaty or negotiate with me in my nearly two years of reign. You think me incompetent, an easy target, and what word did you use? Immature.

Carleon: Well, you risking your kingdom to go to war with another just because your bird pet was shot doesn't exactly help my image of you.

Arthur: (pauses dangerously, and says in a low voice) "just because your bird pet was shot." (Repeats, raising his voice, furious) Just because your bird pet was shot!

Carleon: We have several falcons in Gwynedd too, I'm sure we can come to an agreement-

Arthur: Blizzard.

Carleon: ... Pardon?

Arthur: My merlin, the one your nephew injured, is called Blizzard. I took care of him since he was an egg, I saw him hatch, I fed him myself, I saw him grow, molt his feathers, he was the first of my merlins to learn to fly. My merlins were one of the few joys and comforts I had after my father passed away and my home was almost burned to the ground, King Carleon. My merlins are not my pets, they are my children and you are offering to replace him?

Carleon: (shocked) No... I mean...

Arthur: Well, I'll give you the same solution. You replace your nephew.

Carleon: (furious and offended) You little brat-

Arthur: Be careful with your words, I think you forget that I still have your prince's life in my hands.

Carleon: (sighs to calm down) If you kill him there will be war. Be reasonable.

Arthur: I tried to be reasonable with you several times in the past and you rejected each opportunity. Don't call me unreasonable now. Your prince committed a crime in my kingdom. If it had been anyone else, the sentence would have been the same. I'm just enforcing the law, it's not my fault that the prince wasn't aware of the laws of the lands he was trying to steal from me. Besides, weren't you looking for the perfect excuse to go to war with me? Well, here it is. Aren't you happy?

Carleon: (threatening) If you execute him, I'll have no mercy when these lands are mine.

Arthur: I admire your optimism, as if Camelot's army wasn't as strong and large as yours. But guess what? Even if you left a river of blood in your wake, nothing, absolutely nothing, will bring you back your beloved nephew.

Carleon: ....

Arthur: (laughs humorlessly, his eyes glazed over) It hurts, doesn't it? You won't see your nephew again and I won't see my Blizzard again. Nothing will bring him back to me.

Carleon: (sighs) Alright, I underestimated you and I was greedy and for that I ask for your forgiveness. I'm willing to negotiate now.

Arthur: I don't want to negotiate. I want justice.

- E -

Everyone eyes are on the sapling now. Horrible realization in their eyes. Gwen gasps and covers her mouth, her eyes watering. Leon pales so much it's almost funny. Percival, who seems dead inside, hardly responsive, opens his eyes wide as the only reaction to the news. Gaius… Gaius already suspected, of course, but it doesn't make him look less devasted.

Gwen: Why? Why would they…?

Arthur: They wanted to punish him. Something about him doing more wrongs than rights with his power, I don't know. (Thinks) And honestly I don't care. Who are they to decide? What right do they have?

Gaius: Rather Merlin wronged them. They’ve meddled in Camelot’s affairs twice before. Lady Sofia and Lord Aulfric. Princess Elena. Merlin stopped them every time.

Arthur: (Thinking) Nobody thought to tell me any of this until now? (Bitterly) So it was personal?

Gaius: I… wouldn't be able to tell.

Arthur: (about to lash out) You knew that and you thought going for them for help was the best idea?!

Gaius: I…

Gwen: (scolds) Arthur! (rests her hand against his arm, and both Leon and Percival bow their heads a little.) I know you're hurt. We are all hurting. But don’t You dare blame Gaius for this. Don't You dare!

Arthur: (composes himself) You’re right. My apologies, Gaius. You are not at fault, lets focus in what we can do to get him back to normal.

....

That would be all.

The word I choose is LATE.

I tag: @evadne01 , @rubinaitoart , @theroundbartable , @ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral .

[cobra-wives]

Hi, first of all, I love your blog, especially your art.

I wanted to write as I saw you reblog a gifset of Sam and Robby and put "if we got miyagi-do robby I maintain that we needed cobra sam." I totally agree! and it's something I would like to see in fic or art (I would try to write something if I could figure out the right plotting). sam is the only one who hasn't changed dojos - up until S6, tory was a cobra before switching sides; demetri seems to be miyagi-do only, but he attempted to join cobra kai first - and when she learnt eagle fang style from Johnny, it worked really well for her. I just want to put her in that scenario (cobra kai).

when I saw someone else liked the idea of cobra sam, I wanted to share my thoughts.

"well look who isn't their daddy's daughter."

"...you aren't so bad yourself, sensei lawrence."

a cobra! sam au, where she trains under sensei lawrence - some thoughts and ideas below the cut!

johnny lawrence is living in the dumps. he's got a wimpy little kid as a neighbor, a shitty old car, and an even shittier stepfather who he's kinda glad is cutting him off. samantha larusso is going into her sophomore year of high school and she's already dreading it. dreading the time she has to spend with her new "friends," missing aisha, and feeling the pressure of being her father's little larusso. surely they're not so different.

the car crash happens. in this version of the story, sam is closer to herself - it's the middle of the night, and she doesn't wanna be in the car with two other screaming teenage girls. there's some kind of energy in the old, dimly lit parking lot, pushing her to get out - or maybe it's moon kicking her out of the car to deal with the drunk old white man - but she's suddenly on the curb and staring up at this old guy with a scruffy beard, who looks... some flavor of miserable.

"i've got... money. my dad-"

"i've heard the story a billion times, kid. lived it too." he looks in the direction of yasmine's car, how it left skid marks on the asphalt and stunk up the air between them. "fuck's up with your friends?"

sam bristles. "they're not-" my friends, sam wants to say, but the words are too heavy for her to push out. johnny looks at his dented car and groans - "me and these fucking cars this week. first it's that damn ad, then it's that fuckass billboard-"

"i know what you're talking about," sam sighs. she sets her bag onto the pavement next to where he's sitting on a parking stub, sitting beside him but clutching her keys in slight caution. "my dad is... an embarrassment."

johnny's eyes widen. "shit, kid - what's your name?"

"samantha. but since we're gonna be here for a while, you can call me sam. sam la-"

"russo."

he tosses the bag of alcohol behind him, cleaning himself up with a grin aligning his face and a pathetic sniffle. here's the part where they clean themselves up, where they fear the mention of her father's last name and look at her like she's a rich encino princess.

"johnny. johnny lawrence," he says. "your dad kicked me in the face 33 years ago."

who knows how it goes from here. sam gets to hear the story from a different view, from johnny's side. johnny sees a version of himself from 33 years ago - raised a rich brat, with dismissive parents who thought oh sure, phases came and went. first it was friendship bracelets, then it was scrunchies and makeup and then it was boyfriends and oh, then it was off to college! he knows what it feels like to not want to be your father.

it's a horrible decision. it's the worst decision he'll ever make in his life - well, maybe, going to the beach on that fateful night might contend for number one - but the thought of it sparks some kind of rich flame in his muscles. this sam girl is every ounce of her father's worst traits - hot headed, entitled, and so ready to fight.

she'd make the perfect cobra.

"i scratch your back, you scratch mine," johnny proposes. "what says we forget everything that happened here, and you come to my dojo and train with me? i bet your daddy would go nuts if he saw you in a cobra kai gi."

"you're crazy," sam chuckles, but her grip loosens on her keys. "i have one rule."

"sure you do. you larussos and your rules." johnny raises his eyebrow, amenable.

"you call me sam, and only sam. no miss larusso, no little larusso, all that shit. and in your dojo, that's my name. got it?"

johnny grins. shakes her hand. "you got it. sam."

who knows where the story goes from here. we get to see a darker version of sam, caught between two versions of herself. the impulsive, violent, and hot headed part of herself that johnny feeds - the side that ends up hurting the people she loves, the side that makes her feel powerful, but wrong. the passive, fearful little girl her father wants her to be. the part that lets demetri's arm get broken, that watches all her friends get hurt and the part that loses to that nichols girl. (that nichols girl, oh she's tough. but she's not the best. she can't be the best, because she's the best and if she isn't, she's nothing to nobody and that's even worse than being a pawn.)

and no matter where she goes, she's only a pawn in a man's game; whether that man be johnny, kreese, hell, even her own father. it's a tough time for a girl to find herself in a man's world. how she does it is only up to her - and that can be the scariest decision ever.

[noodles-and-tea]

For the twins in time AU, I genuinely wonder what kind of people the young twins grow up into because of Stan’s/Ford’s influence. Especially if it takes years for the portal to get fixed.

(Sorry if it seems like I already sent this question, I don’t know if it got sent the first time I asked)

I haven’t fully fleshed out how Ford grows up in the past but I do have thoughts on Stan presently

[otaku553]

Fire (Part 2)

<- (PREV) (NEXT) ->

(Spade Pirate Sabo AU Masterpost)

And that is!! 18 of 18 pages!! It's this long because I didn't want to break up their fight. I hope you enjoy :)

I had to rewrite their fight like,,, 3 times lmao. I'm not very good at writing fights because I'm Incredibly Passive Aggressive and Very Non Confrontational. Thankfully my partner helped me out a bit with making the escalation feel natural, so hopefully their grievances and motivations read well. In the end, both of them are starving probably-emotionally-stunted teenage boys in a high-stress situation, and Tage is being faced constantly with one of the biggest sources of his trauma that he doesn't even remember-- of course he's going to lash out.

Fun thing I learned this time around, if I struggle with planning a chapter, it can kind of help to write it out in prose like I would a fanfic, and then translate it to comic form. This is how I eventually ended up with 18 pages of comic,,, because I can't really estimate how much I'll need to draw when I'm writing in prose. In turn, this did help a lot with adding more natural behaviors between dialogue, like Tage tapping his finger to fidget while crossing his arm, or all of their pointing and gesturing while they're arguing.

[toxooz]

Ollie dress Remastered but make it sluttier bc the old version was getting itchyyyyy ft. Kari getting her 👀s in 🍹

[hinamie]

truth is, I used to dream about boys like you

jjk atla!au with @philosophiums