#the storm chapter tm

[amywritesthings]

silver underground. | chapter 23

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 4.6k Summary: the night of day 163 - also known as the final confession

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - angst, mentions of death, sensuality, levi is sad(tm) but we are finally giving him what he needs! Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

As soon as Captain Levi hauls himself upright on the saddle of his horse, he’s gone.

Like a bat out of hell, his horse takes off towards the direction of the old Survey Corps headquarters.

Dust and dirt from the hasty exit licks at the tip of your boots.

The rest of the Levi squad had only finished settling on their own horses, with you the last to remain on the forest floor.

“He seems eager to get back,” Petra states with a slow apprehension to her tone.

Oluo grunts in reply, and you know.

You can feel his eyes locked onto the back of your skull.

Asking—

What happened between the two of you? 

Why do you remember the outcome of the last mission? 

What aren’t you telling us?

The myriad of questions are not lost on you, because you ask them yourself.

After all, you were barely given a chance to explain.

To understand.

Even before the rest of Levi squad made it to the fall site, the tension between you and Levi was palpable.

The way Levi stared at you, held you, in the aftermath.

Trapped between the before times and what you’ve been reduced to before his very eyes —

“James, are you good?” Gunther asks, softer this time, but it's all white noise.

Figure out if you mean it.

If you really do remember — any of this.

Levi's voice is the only one registering in your mind.

If you think you know me, then say it with your whole damn chest and hold nothing back.

You do. You know him.

Captain Levi.

Child of the Underground.

Captain of the Special Operations Squad.

Though you know him as something else; something profound; something too devastating to lose.

The one who almost got away.

Before you can say a word, your body moves on autopilot: you shove your foot into a worn stirrup and jump up and onto your horse with the reins gripped in both hands.

Snapping them with newfound urgency, you leave the remaining members of your squad behind to bridge the gap between you and Levi.

Go.

Wind sweeps your emerald cloak like wings behind you as you ride, urging you horse faster, faster, faster—

And you inhale.

The more that you breathe, the more that you push yourself forward, your body feels less like a foreign entity. 

Your fingers flex without a detached delay. 

The leather against your palm feels right, like—

…like you’ve finally woken up on the right side of the bed again.

By the time you reach the headquarter courtyard, his midnight horse is already tied to a banister at the stable.

In a rushed dismount from your saddle, your shaking hands hurriedly tie the knot around the same banister and rush towards the open doors.

As you run inside your shoes switch from crunch to click, from dirt to concrete floor.

The sky, once swirling in uncertain grays, opens to a light rain. 

An incoming storm echoes through cavernous hallways, turning grayed stone to black.

Everywhere you look, he isn’t there — the foyer, the rest areas, the abandoned offices —

"C'mon, c'mon..."

As you turn the corner towards the kitchen, your eager ears pick up the leisure pace of two sets of boots.

You move faster, hoping to see that familiar head of raven hair.

To your surprise, you find Hange and Moblit at the very end of the corridor chatting after a meal. 

When they notice your arrival, Moblit gives a little half-smile of recognition while the Section Commander holds out their arms, eager to greet you.

“Hey, hey! She’s back from all the action!” Hange yelps with excitement. “Now tell me, how—”

“Where’s Levi?”

Your sharp question interrupts Hange’s cheerful greeting.

In this light, Hange appears so much clearer to you. Gone is the fuzzy confusion; their outline now just as sharp as their wit and wonder.

(Something like a found safe space, warm and comforting.)

“Levi?” they question. “Huh, I didn’t think he was back.”

So they don’t know yet.

He didn’t say anything.

But he's here, you know he made it back here—

Urgently, you step towards the two.

“I need to know where he is. It’s urgent.”

“Did something happen?” Moblit gently presses.

“I remember,” you state, as if that’ll explain anything. They blink in tandem. “I don’t know how, but it—”

Your hand rises to your mouth, covering it and giving yourself a moment to think.

Except the problem is that you need to say it — thinking, second guessing, slows this down.

Focus.

Your hand drops, and your voice says the first thing that comes to mind.

“Hange — you and I once drank Moblit so horrendously under the table that he was bedridden for two days.” 

Hange’s boot squeaks against the floor in an echo as they stop dead in their tracks. 

“And whenever we meet in the city, Moblit and I order dumplings from that one nice old woman just outside the hospital. I think — you get the most basic order and always make sure to bring something back for Hange.”

Moblit’s eyes shoot wide. “Whoa, that—”

You hold a hand out to placate Hange, who looks like they’re two seconds away from screeching with elation.

“I can’t explain to you know I know all of this, and I don’t have time to figure that out right now. It’s just sort of word-vomiting out of my damn mouth the longer I let myself talk — so I don’t want to stop talking, and I’ll figure out the details and the rest with the two of you later, but it—”

It could disappear at any minute.

You can’t breathe.

It’s so hard to breathe, but do your best to gulp an inhale anyway.

“Please, just… I need – to talk – to Levi.”

Before I forget again.

Before he thinks I’ve forgotten him all over again.

Both Hange and Moblit stare in a haze of surprise.

By the time you open your mouth to plead a third time, Hange holds up a hand. 

Their expression darkens with a seriousness they so rarely possess.

“If he’s not by Erwin’s office or with us, then chances are he’s in his bedroom."

His bedroom.

Relief floods your system.

“Right,” you exhale, jolted by adrenaline. “Thanks, Hange.”

With that, you speed off in the opposite direction.

Up the stairwell.

Down the hallway.

Be here, be here, be here.

Fist raised, you lunge forward towards the wooden door—

Yet the door opens freely, and you’re trapped staring into the eyes of Levi Ackerman.

He blinks away his surprise to that evergreen mask of indifference — resignation? 

There’s no edge to his shoulders. They’re sagged.

Lowering your fist, you’re met with silence. 

(You’ve come to hate silence more than anything.)

So you speak first.

“Can we please—”

“Yeah.”

No pleas heard. No begging to be done.

“Yeah, might as well.”

Levi simply agrees.

The hand gripping the edge pulls the door towards him, conceding with an invitation inside.

Terrified doesn’t even begin to cover it — you push your way through, only to pause when your mind begins to recognize just how familiar this room feels with the light dance of rain outside an open window. 

Everything is so neat. Clean.

(And in the back of your mind, a voice says it’s exactly how you left it.)

The door locks shut, and the rest of the world ceases to exist.

Levi casually walks past you, pulling a chair from his desk and flipping it to face his bed.

He sinks down onto it, knees spread apart while his arm rests casually over the back.

“Start, then.”

His voice is guarded, shortened, as his eyes watch you from under wet, black fringe.

You stare, twisting your fingers around and against each other to self-soothe your nerves.

Your nostrils expand as you muster the courage to speak.

Yet when you do, your voice is smaller.

(So much could go wrong in one single moment.)

“I’ll start, just…"

"Just what?"

"Don’t shut me out.”

His eyes narrow. “I told you I wouldn’t.”

“I know, but this is different,” you argue weakly, wetting your lips.

“Try me,” he flatly goads. “I told you from the beginning—”

“—that you weren’t going to hand us our memories, fuck, I know already,” you bite to chomp off the rest of his statement, tired of hearing him push further distance between you. “Let me talk this bullshit out at you, alright? Not with you — but at you. Because the more I talk, the more things come back — it’s like my fucking unconsciousness is working faster than the rest of my body.”

His jaw clenches, but he says nothing.

When a few moments have passed, you take several steps forward to meet him — but turn to sit on the edge of his bed.

(Like you know belong there.)

He stops moving entirely, brow knit as he watches you descend.

Start, then.

“Before everyone swooped in, I told you that I thought I knew who I was. But… the more time goes by, it isn't a maybe anymore."

Your eyes remain on your hands, noting the calluses and age-old lines of scars across your fingers and palms. 

"And the longer time goes on, the more I talk, it becomes so much clearer."

Remember.

“I never knew my birth mother,” you continue, “not really. As far I know, she died when I was small. A lot of the details are still fuzzy, but some other sick bastard took her place. I think it's so hazy because there’s not much to remember about her. Mother... cared only about winning money."

Lost in your own thoughts, you drop your chin to your chest and exhale.

"I might have had siblings. None of them actually looked like me. They were just... stuck, too. And so many of them died."

All nameless faces.

All battle fodder for the almighty coin.

“I knew that the only way to live was to fight, so I fought. Hard. Every damn day until I couldn't stand on my two feet sometimes. That’s how we met.”

When you lift your eyes to stare him, he doesn’t react.

His nostrils flare in a twitch, but Levi remains in control of himself.

“My mother pit us against each other for money,” you continue softly. “That’s why I kept seeing this small, skinny boy in my dreams at a pub. For weeks, over and over, it was you. I gave you food — I wanted a friend. And…” 

You trail off, chewing on your next words very carefully. 

“And you gave me that. A friend. A chance to join your gang and live a life that was mine.”

Absently, your hand raises from your lap to your neck.

In the hopes of quelling your budding anxiety, your fingertip runs along the delicate silver chain at your sternum.

An old habit that won’t die, even in a state of memory loss.

Yet you catch him, right as it happens:

Levi’s hardened eyes shamelessly drop from yours — to stare at your fingers.

Your fingertip dips and circles the gray gem, mindful of its smooth texture.

Moments pass.

His eyes do not lift.

A familiar warmth spreads through your chest.

“My necklace.”

Then his eyes raise, as if suddenly aware of where he’s staring. 

“You gave it to me, didn’t you?”

You see him in your mind’s eye: a younger version of Levi sitting there, embarrassed to be offering such a delicate, sentimental gift to another person.

His gangly, teenage self overlaps the exhausted, battle-worn Levi across from you in his chair.

Both fighting.

Both surviving.

You feel so small as you try to remember the finite detail. Hitting a wall the longer the silence stretches, you're unable to pinpoint the exact memory.

Your nose scrunches in frustration, searching for that train of thought like a life line. 

“It was for my fifteenth— No, maybe my seventeenth—”

“Eighteenth.”

His voice is barely a murmur. 

Levi’s eyes do not leave your face.

“It was your eighteenth birthday.”

He manages to capture the memory eluding you before it can float away and dissolve to the wind.

A smile loaded with relief passes your lips.

It’s only a small nudge in the right direction, but it’s all you need for the memory to blossom like a flower on the surface in Spring.

The image of yesteryear blooms— 

White, billowing sleeves rolled to his elbows.

A cinched vest kept his clothes from flying off his small frame.

“With a lot of alcohol.”

“Yeah.”

“And a lot of extra cleaning the next morning.”

He exhales, slow and drawn out. “Something like that.”

You inhale sharply through your nose, emotions overwhelming you.

“Ever since Hange gave the necklace back to me, I can’t help but touch it any time I feel stressed or panicked. It’s like all of those bad feelings, they… go away. Disappear like the way titans do.”

Worries, gone like ash.

A ghostlike sensation runs against your lips, forcing you to reach and run along their seam.

Even if it's far away, you see it: a tilted head; black fringe.

Even now, you feel it: his lips so close; eyes wandering; the loss of reason.

“And you… you kissed me that day.”

Your first.

Both of your firsts.

When you smile, you notice then: his knuckles against the back of the chair turn translucent white.

“Wrong,” the captain tightly states.

Wait.

You freeze, fear settling in your belly.

“What?” you question. “But... but you did.”

He’s gripping the wooden backing so hard it could snap.

“I didn’t,” he forces out. “...you kissed me.”

Oh.

Oh. 

He’s not shutting you out.

Elation sweeps over your mind like a soothing balm as memories of pawing hands and inexperienced desire enters the forefront—

Finally clear as day.

Do you regret it, his voice whispers in the abyss.

“I never regretted that,” you reassure him, like you can finally answer him with absolute honesty. “Though technically you leaned in, and I ran with it.”

He huffs in disbelief. "Yeah?"

You smile with certainty. "Yeah."

Kisses between you two were just the tip of the iceberg. You know that now. 

You’ve seen it, felt it, tasted it—

In this very bedroom.

After a pause, the captain’s voice comes out strained.

“Of all the damn memories, that’s the one that stands out?”

You can’t help but huff with exhausted amusement.

“It isn’t the only one," you reply. "There are a million fragments I’m still piecing together and not everything makes sense, but there are some things that are just so vivid to me now. like…”

“Like?”

“Like our friends.”

Emotion flickers across his expression as he sits up further.

It’s like he’s been waiting to hear the names of your deceased comrades on your lips.

“You remember—”

“Isabel,” you whisper. “And Furlan. Yeah, it’s… bits and pieces just like everything else, but we grew up with them. I remember how we'd all spend hours zipping around that damn stolen ODM gear like we owned the joint. Somehow four kids managed to make an entire home in the Underground. And I wasn’t — I couldn’t be there when they—”

Profound sadness hits you like a ton of bricks, clipping your words.

I couldn't be there when they died.

The picture isn't complete, but you remember the sinking feeling in your belly when he had told you. So much time had gone by — you can vaguely pick out Isabel's wild red hair and recall thinking maybe the sun looked just like that. Furlan's infectious, warm laugh echoes in the back of your mind.

And you nearly joined them as a memory.

(No wonder why Levi was so angry with you at the start of it all.)

The rain continues to tap against the stone walls outside as another stretch of silence befalls the room.

One of Levi’s hands reaches for his face and runs down the length of it, tugging the skin as he goes.

His eyes drop to the floor, his dampened fringe shielding them from view.

“Un-fucking-believable…”

Your brow furrows.

“What?”

“This.”

That same hand sweeps a frustrated gesture between the two of you.

“This shouldn’t be possible,” he grunts. “You hit your goddamn head almost a year ago and — and you nearly did the same fucking thing again today, and you’re telling me that’s all it took to suddenly wake you up?”

The harshness of his words cause you to rear your head back. 

Hange nearly ran to you with open arms when you told them you remembered.

You had thought perhaps Levi would do the same once you had proven your mind to him.

Yet he’s reluctant.

Angry.

“That isn’t what I’m saying,” you retort, narrowing your gaze. “I tried telling you months ago that my memories were fragmented, but you didn’t want to hear it. What, were you hoping I wouldn’t remember?”

Instantly his eyes are back on you. “I didn’t say that.”

“It sure feels like that, Levi,” you snip. “Was it because of our fight?”

The whites of his eyes explode.

“Our what?”

“Before we went on the last expedition,” you clarify under your breath. “When you tried sidelining me with counsel to Erwin. I asked you why you didn’t trust me to fight at your side, but it wasn’t that you didn’t trust me.”

What is the excuse you always, always, use?

It was such a vicious question in the heat of the moment.

Levi doesn’t hide his surprise this time.

Although he doesn’t answer your question, you can see it:

The same turmoil that pushed him to the brink of shouting, coming back to haunt him.

Because if I lose you this time, then that’s it!

The rattle of the storm increases in volume right outside his open window, billowing the sheer curtains from the wall.

You promised.

You promised him so many things that day.

Nothing will happen to me.

I’m not going anywhere.

“I won’t die on you, right?” you say to yourself, as if in a daze — trapped between the present and the past. “Because if I did, you’d drag my ass from Hell yourself.”

His face twists, contorts in pain, only for a second.

He catches himself at the precipice before he can truly react, swallowing it down—

And then it hits.

You understand what he isn't saying.

“You haven't stopped blaming yourself,” you realize out loud in a bewildered whisper. “Even after saving my ass a second time, you're still holding onto that guilt like it was a choice you had made instead of me.”

You stand abruptly from the bed and cross the room towards him.

Levi immediately jumps out of his chair like a cat that’s been dunked in water, terrified you’ll push him back under.

No matter how compelled you are to be near him, he repels. 

“It wasn't your fault,” you urge, softer this time. “Look at me. Levi — it wasn't your fault.”

His bluish-gray eyes narrow in defense. “Don’t start this—”

“When I fell—”

“No.”

“Levi,” you chastise. “You said we could talk.”

“I did,” he hotly retorts. “Not about that day.”

The air in the room shifts.

“Anything but that day,” he repeats, softer this time. “Please. I just —”

Struggling with what he wishes to say, his chin drops to his chest.

“...despite all my best efforts, despite whatever plans I put in place, I watched you fall in the same shitty forest not once, but twice, like it's a sick fucking dream I get to repeat over and over until I learn.”

All of your facial muscles smooth with sadness. “Except there wasn't anything to learn because you did nothing wrong. Levi, you caught me.”

“But not the first time,” he says simply. “Not when it mattered.”

The way he speaks about himself…

Humanity’s Strongest, reduced to one perceived failure, as if he could rewrite history and control your mistakes. 

Timidly you slide a boot forward, testing his resolve. 

Levi doesn’t move. His head remains bowed.

“You have spent months punishing yourself for something that I chose to do,” you urge under your breath in a damn-near plea. “What is it that Erwin tells us to do? Dedicate our hearts?"

"Don't use that shit against me, James," he warns.

Raising your hands in surrender, you shake your head wildly. "I'm not. Believe me, I'm not, but you need to understand it was my choice. I wanted to save the others. I wanted my life to matter."

You see his jaw clench like he's forcing himself to hold back what he wants to say.

You step another boot forward.

"Six months ago when I first saw you in that hospital wing in Trost, when you tried to rile me up, it was—”

“An error in judgment," he interrupts.

“Exactly what I needed,” you finish over him. 

His head lifts. 

You meet, eye to eye.

“I couldn’t understand why I was so transfixed by you,” you continue softly with the utmost sincerity, hoping he will hear you out. “You walked out of that room and all I wanted was to know you. To understand you, like you held this invisible key this entire time that could unlock whatever the hell it was that I was missing. But all you ever did was pull away from me, hide from me, trying to convince me you were some villain in my life—”

“James.” 

Abruptly Levi steps forward as if ready to walk straight through you—

—like you’re nothing but a ghost’s apparition.

Instead he is met with living, breathing warmth. 

Your eyes can’t leave when his breath tickles the skin of your face.

Levi stares back, entranced by the color of your eyes.

Infected, plagued, by the reality that stands before you both.

One false move, and it’ll be a repeat of the conversation in the tree tops that made him retreat.

“I have tried to keep you safe almost my entire life," Levi murmurs, and you can practically feel the vibrations of his voice rocking through your body.

“And you did.”

“I didn’t.”

“Levi, you—”

“I pushed you into danger—”

“Pushed?”

“—and I am sorry—”

Your hand shoots out, turning his cheek to look you dead in the eye. 

“Stop it.”

Levi freezes, looking so much more uncertain now that he did ten minutes ago.

“Stop," you repeat with exasperation. “You're not listening to me. I'm here. I'm right here.”

He swallows to coat his throat, motion thick. His neck bobs.

"I don't know how else to convince you it isn't a fluke," you continue, voice cracking. "You won't let yourself see me. You won't let yourself believe I'm not dead. Levi—"

And just when you think you’ve lost him—

He turns towards the warmth.

His cheek nuzzles your open palm, eyes wearily slipping shut, as if helpless to do so.

You’re holding the first face you remember and the last face you’ve seen —

The partner you left in the forest so long ago.

The man that wants more than he’ll ever allow himself to take.

Levi's confession is barely audible:

“...I don't want it to be too good to be true again."

The floorboard creaks as his foot shifts towards you, angling himself towards you. 

He inhales slowly through his nose, relishing in a private thought, before shaking his head. His hair nearly tickles your forehead.

When he doesn't open his eyes, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

If he won't see you—

Slowly, cautiously, you reach for his hand until yours curls over it.

At first his fingers flinch in your grasp, his blue-gray eyes snapping wide to watch.

Then eventually they relax, surrendering.

Higher and higher, you skim it past your ribcage and pull it up to your left breast. 

His arm tenses, eyes shooting wide. 

You remain relaxed. Focused.

“What is it you feel?” 

“I don’t under—” 

“Just… pause, for once in your life, and tell me what it is you feel.” 

You press his palm harder against your chest, your heart hammering beneath your skin. 

“Please.”

Albeit apprehensive, Levi doesn’t move away. 

His eyes dart to your lips, your sternum, until they lock onto your joined hands.

“You.”

Strained — he chokes on his response.

“I feel… you.”

As if pulled by gravity Levi steadily leans closer, brushing your nose with his.

His jaw clenches, the muscles taut in his mouth, before his palm flattens of his volition against your chest.

Your eyes flutter, relishing in his proximity.

You turn to him, seeking out his body heat.

For the first time in months, you feel it with such certainty.

Familiarity.

His free hand rises to your cheek, cupping the side of your face.

You suck in a sharp breath between parted lips, and he makes a small noise like he’s agonized over being apart from you.

“Every time that I’ve been given the choice, I always choose you,” you confess softly, a mere whisper. “I run right towards you even when I don’t know you. You are the only thing that has ever made sense to me in this world.”

There — you memorize the slide of his calloused palm, running gently along the height of your cheekbone.

Slow, as if mesmerized by your skin’s softness.

Shakily, you continue and choose the point of no return.

“Tell me you don't want me anymore, and I’ll stop running to you. If I have somehow misjudged you and what you might still feel—”

“Say it.”

Levi’s voice engulfs you — the heavy baritone, barely touching your lips.

His expression darkens like he wrestles with two separate trains of thought.

Conflict etched in his brow, he swallows once more and speaks with a tenderness you only remember in dreams.

“Say you remember me.”

After all this time, you've waited for the puzzle to connect.

The pieces that were once scattered now sew themselves together; anew.

He asks without asking.

You answer without uncertainty.

“I remember you.”

As if mesmerized by the curves of your body, Levi’s hand glides from your chest up your throat—

Until his fingers cradle the back of your head.

His other hand remains on the side of your face, holding you as though you could turn into water at any moment.

"Say it again."

You don't hesitate to obey his command.

"I remember you."

To make your point, you turn your chin into his hand — eyes locked — to press a gentle kiss to his palm.

He nearly hisses from the physical contact.

"Again."

Levi's breath slides into your mouth like a phantom kiss of his own.

(Touch starved after so many months apart.)

“I remember you, Levi Ackerman. I remember you, I remember you, I remember—”

You stop talking when he leans in, lips barely brushing yours. 

Your breath halts. 

His is ragged. Soft.

Then he speaks, as if to pray after a long night of war:

“Dirty trick."

That’s all it takes.

Levi reaches out whip-fast, using the palm against your skull to pull you into a searing, life-altering, mind-numbing kiss. 

You go pliant against him, melting like candle wax, willing to take anything he’ll give.

Lips press and pull, his breath hot on your tongue.

His hands search you as if he doesn't know where to touch first — your face, your neck, your shoulder — until he decides to loop his forearm at the small of your back to dip and lift you without ever breaking the kiss.

You jump until your knees bracket his hips, and he pulls you flush to his body.

Levi hastily kicks the chair out of his way to carry you directly to his bed.

And after all this time, you feel it — know it — remember it.

The absence dissipates.

The world finally starts to turn.

You have found your way home.

.

author's note:

...hehe. So how are we feeling, Levi Nation? Let me know in the comments!

Thank you for your patience as I took a little break this summer to write some modern!Levi with Press Four for More Options. To readers old and new, I am so grateful for your encouragement and support. (Every reblog gives this writer wings.)

[endervoide]

even more screenshots from the Beyblade Metal Manga I quite enjoyed, this time with my thoughts! Also, I should clarify that the translation I'm reading is so wonky and probably not correct, but I get a general idea of what's going on, and also it's so funny to me. it adds to the charm!

i am such a huge fan of these three being besties it it just so funny to me. I've only ever watched the anime, and I'm in love with this with random guy who is still wearing a bey necklace being friends with the Bladers Spirit[tm] and a small child haha.

also also I feel like the manga is really good for Kyogin fans (I myself am a multishipper, but I do love me some Kyogin. Just the way Gingka blushes? the shared special move? God they're so sweet I want nothing but the best for my boys!

Yu is so silly! I love him so much, truly he's like, "yeah I have the power of an evil god but we stay silly lmao" and I just, so far he has no real characterization, but maybe after Gingka beats Ryuga(Which I haven't read past yet, but still!!)

Omg what the hell?? god I wish he was this funny in the show. also, why can't dogs beyblade? Hokuto was perfectly able to beyblade earlier in the series (in fact, he uses a Libra bey!) but whatever. the suddenly serious dog face is gold.

Also, uh, Phoenix? that's what you want to look like? the fuck? I do really like The Pheonix disguise in the show, but oh well. Also, like, Kentas bey gets stepped on and shattered, then phoenix comes in and like, "Believe in your bey kid" and then Kenta gets Flame Sagittario? Okay and this is such a weird aspect of the manga so far, the constant Absolute Destruction of every bey and then the rebirth/evolution of the next MetalWheel/EnergyRing version? It's really wild to happen, in my mind. And like, Benkei gets a new bey off screen (off page?) so why does Kenta (And Ryo, ig) just believe in themselves really really hard and get super cool new Beys? the hell?

Like, huh? are you going to tell me Fireblaze is just as powerful/some sort of Foil to L-Drago? What about Pegasus? Pegasus is supposed to keep the Dragon bey sealed, ig, but Fireblaze is sealed alongside L-Drago?

also, Benkei in the manga is wild, because he shows up the furst few chapters, gets shaved, dissappears, comes back and is friends with kyoya (which makes more sense since Kyoya is a bit friendlier in this verse) and then he gets his shit absolutely rocked by fighting Ryuga, which of course doesn't happen in the Anime. When Tetsuya taunts Kyoya about Benkei's hospitalization (because the victims of Ryuga still get hospitalized, but not in a weird soulless coma) Kyoya is ready to use his fists. let Kyoya beat the shit outta a guy, as a treat!

absolute gem, I love him. Ryutaro isn't in the manga for that long, but him and his janky as hell translation is perfect to me!

I've never liked Tobias, but he and Sora fight Reiji and Ryuga, and Reiji just shreds storm Capricorn? also, he's not all slimy and freaky as shit in the manga like he is in the shoe. Also, Gingka just, destroys Poisen serpent in his battle against Reiji. Gingka launches his bey and then walks away. Icon.

[thecomfortgoth]

Masterlist

All original works on this blog are 18+

Please do not interact with any of my works/posts if you are under 18. I will block any minors/ageless blogs.

Nic, Scotland, 28 years old. Slightly obsessed with Stranger Things. I love music (listening to and making/playing, I play a few instruments and sing), nerdy shit, witchy shit, fashion, all types of animals (especially the floofy ones) photography and travelling. Never made a masterlist before, so I hope that this is okay and doesn't look too unprofessional lol

Mostly will be writing for Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Steddie and Billy Hargrove.

I do NOT consent to my work being transferred/shared elsewhere without my permission. Please ask me first if you want to use anything from my blog, even if it's for an idea.

Requests/asks are open!

❤️ - Smut ✨ - Fluff 🥺 - Angst

Eddie Munson

Oneshots

Kiss from a Rose ❤️✨- Eddie uses a rose vibrator on you and you try your hardest to be quiet so your roommates don't hear you.. but is Eddie really going to let that happen?

Always and Forever✨ - You've been having a really tough time lately. But your hopeless romantic, goofy boyfriend Eddie is about to make everything a whole lot better and take your mind off things.

Series

Coming soon!

Steve Harrington

Coming soon!

Billy Hargrove

Coming soon!

Steddie x Reader

Oneshots

Coming soon!

Series

Peeping Tom ❤️ - You're behind the school with your boyfriend Eddie making out, things get a little hot and heavy.. and then you see that someone is watching you..

Please read the CW at the start of each chapter.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 coming soon

Blurbs/drabbles/headcanons

Eye of The Storm (Steve Harrington X Reader) ✨🥺 - You have a panic attack and Steve is there to help you through it (requested)

Sleepy Steddie Bedtime blurb (Steddie X Reader) ❤️ - just a lil bit of sleepy sex with two of my favourite boyfriends

TOTM/Being sick headcanons (Eddie, Steve and Billy) ✨- how The Boys(tm) would react and how they’d each individually take care of you

[virgo-dream]

1st Dreamling Nation Fic Exchange: Victorian Soldiers Edition ✨

“A mini bang of fics all written by members of the Dreamling Nation discord server, revolving around the same prompt, in which we were all given the same two pictures and, outside of brainstorming plot ideas together, were left to our own devices to create a story.”

It is with great pleasure that I present this collection of fics, fruits of the first Dreamling Nation fic exchange!

When I made this discord server back in December, during a Christmas induced Big Sad(TM) moment, I could never have imagined the amazing community we were creating, and now, almost a month later, we’ve got more than just these fics to show for what this server has given us. I’m incredibly blessed that one moment of deep sadness led me to meet such great people, and that we can keep inspiring each other and celebrating creativity and this wonderful fandom space that The Sandman has given us.

This event was only made possible by @littledreamling’s gentle guidance and kindness. Thank you, my love! I hope this will be the first of many! 💖

Now, with no further ado, the fics:

⭐️ When I Wake Up, There Are Only Your Eyes to Greet Me, by @virgo-dream

Rating: Explicit / multi chapter / warning: graphic depictions of violence

Five times Sergeant Robert Gadling woke up to Captain Morpheus Apeiron. One time Morpheus woke up to Hob.

A very unlucky battalion finds itself in the command of one Captain Morpheus Apeiron. He doesn't seem particularly worried with their survival, but mostly with ending the war as soon as possible. Sergeant Robert Gadling seems to be the only thing keeping all these young and inexperienced soldiers alive. After one particularly heated fight between them, Hob ends up discovering there is much more to his Captain than meets the eye, but is he seeing Morpheus as he truly is, or through the prism of his own desire?

⭐�� Golden Heart, by @littledreamling

Rating: Teen and Up / multi chapter

The first time he had ever clapped eyes on Morpheus Endelas, son of Lord Chronos Endelas, Hob knew the man was no soldier. He had floated through the camp, his feet barely brushing against the dry leaves, his head held high and haughty. There had been a massive red jewel around his neck and a white-breasted raven perched on his shoulder, equally lordly, if a bird could ever be described as such. Hob had simply rolled his eyes. He didn’t know why Lordling Endelas was parading through their camp, but it was also above his pay grade. He was just a first lieutenant, practically still rolling around in the mud with the common soldiers. So he had shrugged and rolled his eyes some more, right up until someone helpfully informed him that Morpheus Endelas was their new Captain. And then he had started reconciling his relationship with God, because the Lordling was sure to get them all killed.

⭐️ Ananke, God of Compulsion, by @aquilathefighter

Rating: Teen and Up / multi chapter

Lieutenant Hob Gadling is planning on deserting before his deployment. He has everything planned from faking his death to getting to the US. However, a wrench is thrown into his plan when Captain Morpheus Endeleas asks him to be his assistant for the week leading up to the company’s deployment. Now under close watch by a man Hob thinks despises him, he cannot escape his duty. What will come from a week working closely with Cpt. Endeleas?

⭐️ Tirra Lirra, by The River, by @quillingwords

Rating: Explicit / multi chapter / warning: major character death

Little Hob Gadling meets a strange boy by a river, and their lives become intertwined over decades. A love story set against a backdrop of war. A tale about memories, dreams, and making choices.

⭐️ After The Storm, by @immacaria

Rating: Teen and Up / multi chapter

The war was over. They had won. It was finally over. But Hob knew that at the moment they stepped into London, Dream's family would descend upon them like vultures and try to seperate them. No problem, though, Hob fought four years in the war. The Endeles family would not take Dream away from him.

[rosemary-morgan]

Javier Escuella X F.Reader - It's never to late to repent (Part 7) 18+

(Pictures found on pinterest/google. Collage made by me 🌺)

Many thanks to @fangirl-ramblings 🖤 she has been beta reading for me 🌹

Chapter seven is online 🖤 You have been with me through so many chapters now, suffering along with the characters. Y'all are so great! Thank you for your support, that means so much to me. You have no idea 🖤

Tag list: @fangirl-ramblings @rose-of-black-blood @livingdeadgirly @coaxium-captain-rex @12timetraveler @butterballchannie @charlesjaviersimp @ashethesimp @planetahmane @snoowply @sylum @noodle-tm @karmashatty @nadnad09 @lill2350 @slightlyexpiredyogurt8 @natnuszsstuff @boniscute @books-arebetterthan-boys @pedropascalluvr69 @blackrosegarden6 @sie-werden-nie-vergessen @inlovewithjavierescuella @red-dead-flowers @ezzythereal1 @livvnob @rayeee10101 @mrsescuella22 @javiersgff @vnyxv1 @blue-buttercup

If anyone of you want to be tagged to not miss the newest chapter, please let me know 🙏 Thanks 🖤

👉Read Part 1 /Read Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

Summary: Where happiness is, the devil is not far away. And he sends his demons to torment those who have found happiness...

Warning: Trigger Warning! Rape! Read at your own risk! Huge angst alert!

Words: 1574 

Javier Escuella X F.Reader - It's never to late to repent (Part 7) 18+

It was very late at night and you were still lying wide awake in your bed. Outside it was storming and raining like crazy. It was always uncomfortable for you when thunderstorms were coming; you just felt uncomfortable. Every time it rumbled, you winced, and you could never understand how some people could see that as relaxation. Javier was such a person who could fall asleep very well during thunderstorms. 

Javier had been gone for a week now and of course, you missed him. But on the other hand, you were very proud of him, because he worked really hard to earn his money and to start a new life together you needed every cent. The dress you had made for Mrs. Hantoon had brought you good money and she had been so enthusiastic about your work that she had told her friends all about your skills and you could be sure to get more requests soon.

Since there was no point in tossing and turning in bed to find sleep, you get yourself up out of bed. You turn on the light by lighting an oil lamp, and put on your robe before leaving the bedroom. You felt the need to eat something small. Sometimes hunger came at night and you couldn't do anything to get rid of that feeling; or rather, you didn't want to do anything about it. What was wrong with satisfying your hunger? You still had some oatmeal cookies in the tin and you were looking forward to enjoying them with a cup of tea. You were a bit surprised when you saw a burning oil lamp on the dining table. Have you forgotten about it? This was not typical for you, but on the other hand you were alone in this house. 

However, you noticed a strange smell that you could not inhale at all and a strange feeling came over you immediately. 

You carefully placed the oil lamp in your hand on the table and carefully observed your surroundings. Something told you to leave this house immediately, but it was already too late.

You stopped, transfixed, when suddenly dark voices spoke to you and the shadows slowly formed into two men. Two strange men you had never seen before. Instantly you recoil and the only thought you have right now is the shotgun hanging on the wall that was within your reach. But you knew you had to be careful because these strangers were also armed and you would have a bullet between your eyes faster than you would reach your shotgun.

"What are you doing in my house?"

"We're just here for Mister Escuella."

"Javier? What business do you have with my man?"

They both laughed. They were the same men who had watched Javier and you from a safe distance some time ago. Cole was waiting outside for his men. Javier was not the priority right now; Angel Eyes wanted you, for  he knew that Javier would come to him once you were his prisoner. Still, he wouldn't make it quite so easy for Javier to find you...

"There is someone, including us, who has unfinished business with Javier. To find you here is a great pleasure for us."

"You better go now."

But the men were not intimidated by you, they were more amused at your attempt to force them out of the house.

"We don't take orders from women."

Henry, the big, robust man who looked like a bear, approached you and you could smell strong alcohol on his breath coming out of his mouth. You instantly felt sick.

"Sam, go to Cole. I'll be with you in a minute with this fine woman."

"What, you want her all to yourself?"

"Get the fuck out of here! I will fuck this whore's pretty pussy good! I've got priority! You can have her afterwards!"

"No!" you scream at the men in panic and horror. 

"Now go!"

Reluctantly, Sam left, unable to argue his case as he was last in the gang hierarchy and so he had no choice but to listen to Henry and reluctantly left the house.

You didn't care what would happen if you reached for your shotgun now, because you wouldn't let those bastards violate you! But Henry immediately reached for you, lifting you up as if you weighed nothing. He sets you down on the dining table and you instantly fight back as he pushes himself between your legs. He wastes no time in pushing your nightgown over your legs. Immediately you hit him and scratched his face, which made him very angry. Without warning he hit you in the face, pressing your entire body on the wooden table and you scream aloud. 

"Don't touch me! NO!"

You were scared and you panicked, because this man would rape you and there was nothing you could do about it.

"Hold still, little bitch!"

Another slap and the pain almost made you go numb.

"No... no..."

As he forcefully penetrated you, you screamed in pain and you couldn't believe what just was happening. This man was brutal and your whole body stiffened. He got what he wanted, yet you tried to escape him, but he kept pulling you back against him. 

"You dirty bastard! Stop it!"

You instantly remembered the oil lamp that was placed on the table, just a few centimeters away from you and you tried to reach for it, over and over again, but with each of his brutal thrusts you were pulled towards him again.

"Yes, you like that, don't you?! Does Javier fuck you that well?! Whore!"

You manage to grab the oil lamp and hit him right in the face with it, whereupon your tormentor cries out in pain, because you just burned half his face. The one moment where he lets go of you is enough for you to get your shotgun and you didn't hesitate, but you knew it wasn't loaded. Still, you managed to intimidate him with it. He remained standing on the spot as you threatened him with a look of rage.

"Get out of here, you bastard. Or I'll blow your brain to pieces!"

But everything was about to go wrong for you tonight because,  in the next moment, another man entered your home. It was Cole and immediately you aimed at him too, but he wasn't so easily to fool. 

"Miss." 

He took off his hat at the greeting and you could only shake your head as this behavior was absolutely inappropriate and ridiculous.

"Henry, what did you do to that lady?"

"What?! That fucking whore! Look at my face! I'll kill her!"

"You will do nothing of the sort. Calm down."

Cole was calm, relaxed. He was a man who was cold, who had no compassion for others. He always did a job cleanly and without detours.

"Miss, put the gun down before I'm forced to shoot you."

"GET OUT! YOU BASTARDS! OR I'LL KILL YOU BOTH!"

"We both know your shotgun isn't loaded."

Cole was very sure of himself. He pulled off his fine leather glove as he approached you and you knew you wouldn't get out of this desperate situation...

♦♦♦♦

"Javier, thank you for your help. You did a fantastic job!"

"Thank you, Mister Hazard."

"George. Just call me George."

The man's sympathetic smile was infectious and made Javier return it. He really couldn't have picked a better boss. 

It was just before sunset when the two men took another walk down to the lake.

"Ah, I could use a good beer right about now. How about you, Javier?"

"Yeah, sounds good!"

"Let's head on over to Billy's then."

Javier and George enjoyed the sunset for a moment longer. It was quiet and peaceful around them. 

"George?"

Javier gazed out into the lake, also looking at the sky, which was turning the most beautiful shades of red as the sun slowly set. Leaning against the wooden railing, he relaxed.

"Huh?"

"I still wanted to thank you."

George didn't know why or for what, so he looked at him a little confused at first.

"For what, Javier?"

"For clearing my head. But also for taking me in, giving me a chance to start a new life."

But George just smiled and grabbed his shoulder, squeezing it softly.

"Don't mention it, Javier."

Real life was just beginning for Javier and you, and he would do anything so you could have a happy life, too. And who knew if you wouldn't become parents again? The desire was deeply rooted in Javier, but that was a very sensitive subject for both of you...

It was still dark when Javier saddled his horse in the early morning hours and started his journey home. He wanted to be with you as soon as possible. With a smile on his lips, he thought of you and he couldn't wait to hold you in his arms. It occurred to him that he could get you another gift, because he had earned really well for his last job and he wanted to make you happy. Maybe a big bouquet of red roses? And something sweet to go with it? And another beautiful necklace? In Blackwater he would surely find what he was looking for in jewelry! Javier smiled a little, because he simply enjoyed making you happy. He would have some time to think of something nice. 

Javier didn't even suspect what terrible thing had happened...

[yeehawbvby]

Falling Away With You | Ch. 49

Sebastian x F!Reader and M. Rasmodius x F!Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: Time to use The Shrine(tm)

Author’s Note: n/a

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

Prev | Next (<- links to ao3 for a note!! If you want to skip that, click here <3)

Shane was right. I was about to cry. As soon as I stepped outside the tears started falling. I had planned to go grab some groceries from Pierre’s and visit Robin to ask a few questions about installing barns and whatnot, but instead I just went to Cindersap and wandered around until I could calm down enough to face anyone again. 

In the moment, assaulting a bootlicking Joja cog with some coffee and sass felt so freeing. Afterwards… I can’t help but think, why did I do that? I’ve never really snapped at anyone before, and the first time I do it’s a total stranger? Even if he is a dick, and even if maybe he did deserve it for whatever reason, I still can’t help but feel guilty.

Don’t even know if I’ll ever be able to face Morris again. I guess I won’t be visiting Sam there anymore.

As I pad through the crunchy fallen leaves, sniffling up a storm between sips of coffee due to the emotions and chilly air, I just try to focus on what’s ahead in an attempt to relax a bit. 

Like, Spirit’s Eve is gonna be a blast. I’ve got that going for me at least. I’ll have a chance to meet that shadow person Magnus is friends with too. I absentmindedly gain a little pep in my step as I remember that Seb’s and Magnus’ birthday are both in the coming months. I wonder if they’ll want to do anything special. 

I check my phone and see a wall of texts from Sam:

Sam > HEY. I snuck out for a bathroom break bc omg Sam > u were so real for that Sam > like holy crud. I’ve always wanted to give morris even a *little* bit of shit and u just did it ur first time meeting the guy

There are a few more messages, all exclaiming about how awesome he thinks I am. It’s just as endearing as it is embarrassing.

I quickly reply to lie and say it wasn’t a big deal and that it’s whatever and that I’m fine, not-lie to promise him we’ll hang out for real soon, and apologize for his lack of a coffee. I then decide to go to Magnus’ a bit early. Maybe he and Seb can distract my nerves, and if not I can at least fill them in on what happened.

I begin nearing Tony Remington Trash Bear. Haven’t seen this fella in ages. He notices me and sniffs in my direction while chewing today’s dish. Looks like a stuffed pumpkin… where does he get these things?

I wave at him, and wonder — now knowing he’s an elemental — if he can communicate with me. 

As far as I can tell, though, there’s not a single thought besides his next meal behind those eyes. Good for him, if true!

I slow down and try to speak to him, tentatively holding out my cup. “Uh… I don’t know if you understand me, but d-do you want some coffee?” He glimpses at the cup and I add, “I’ve had, like, half, and it’s cold now, but…” followed by a very meek shrug. 

Tony sniffs a little louder and turns away. 

“Oh. Sorry.” Guess he doesn’t like coffee.

I take a few more steps. He looks at me again. I stop again, and stare back for a moment before waving. 

He waves back oh my fucking god before turning back to his food.

Yoba, Spirits, whoever, what ever, please let this be a sign that today can turn up from here.

My pace becomes brisk as I try to make it to Magnus’ tower faster. I’ve gotta tell him and Seb that there’s a slim chance I actually can communicate with animals, even if they can’t communicate back in a way I can understand. 

I wonder if I can learn that. Like, animal-speaking potions or spells have to be a real thing, no?

And, like, with Cannoli, I assumed he could roughly get the gist of whatever I say because out bond. What if I’ve actually been talking to him in a way he can comprehend for months now?

…What if I can, like, translate frogs for Seb someday? 

Oh. 

Oh my fuck—

I feel giddy at the thought and do a little shimmy to work out my energy. I know if I start jogging in lieu that I’ll probably just trip on a fallen branch or acorn or something — the ground is too covered in leaves for me to see what’s beneath them, save for a few long weeds.

I make it to the tower quicker than I’d anticipated. Outside the door I stomp some mud off my boots, and while stepping in, I hear hushed speaking from the main room. I don’t say anything, not wanting to interrupt if something is important going on. Quietly so as to not disturb them, I remove my coat and shoes and pad through the doorway, sipping my sweet drink.

I stop in my tracks and nearly choke on the coffee at the view before me:

Magnus and Seb are facing each other, their bodies parallel to the side walls and nearest the far end of the cauldron. I can see some of Seb’s face and all of Magnus’. 

Seb got his ears pierced! The red studs — I guess they were safe to use, after all — are just barely visible from my view, resting above his gauges. Not sure about the other ear, but he has crossed industrials on this one as well now. 

Now, I can’t tell if his ears are pink from swelling or from blush, but it could be both, given how closely Magnus is observing him. Magnus’ hand is tilting Seb’s face up, and he’s heavily inspecting his piercings with a slight flush on his own cheeks, as well as rosy eyes. Only god knows if it’s because of the contact he’s engaging in, or because of how much cooler Seb looks with his new jewelry.

As Magnus tilts Seb the other way, I’m at first ready to assume that Seb did get a few piercings on his other ear too, until I see Magnus practically cupping the younger man’s face. His lips are slightly curled upward and moving but I can barely hear a word he’s saying. The only sound that registers in my ears is the smooth, bassy reverberation of his baritone voice. A breathy laugh comes from Seb in response. 

My heart stutters at the thought that they’re, like, gonna fucking kiss or something, until Magnus drop’s his hands, crossing them against his ribs. It’s only as Seb mimics the motion that I notice they’re both wearing black sweaters, both with their sleeves rolled to their elbows. 

A Sebastian cosplay convention.

SebbyCon… SebCon? SebastiCon???

No. Shut up.

I make my presence a little more known as I clear my throat and approach my partners, unable to contain the shit-eating grin plastered on my face. Magnus looks over and smiles wide at my presence, seemingly oblivious to how ~scandalous~ that interaction appeared. Seb turns to do the same, more focused on giving me his own silly, smug look.

Whoa. On the ear opposite from the one I had a slight view of, Seb has a triple helix now, as well as a fucking nose piercing, all alongside his red lobe piercing. I can’t hide how frickin’ stoked I am for these, god he pulls it all off so well!

Ignoring their hellos, I scurry closer, my eyes and smile wide as I place my cup on the counter nearby to take Seb’s face in my hands, basically doing the same thing Magnus just did. 

“Holy shit, dude!”

“You like ‘em?” he laughs.

I reposition Seb so he’s got no choice but to look directly at me. “I feel feral.”

“Oh my,” Magnus laughs while he observes us.

Still holding Seb’s face, I turn to look at and giggle with the elemental. 

Seb brings my attention back by placing a hand on mine and using the other to draw my face to his, dipping down for a quick smooch amidst his smiling. “You’re here early. I just showed up a few minutes ago.”

I nod, pressing my forehead to Seb’s chest and wrapping my arms around him. As he hugs back, I explain, “Rough day.”

Drawing nearer to place a hand against my spine, right above Seb’s hands, Magnus asks, “Did your plans to visit Samson fall through?”

I chuckle, muttering quietly about how formal and old he sounds, and give Seb an extra little squeeze before turning to hug Magnus. “No, I saw him,” I mutter as his arms envelop me. “I, uh,” I press my cheek to Magnus and to get a better view of Seb, “I poured coffee on his boss.”

“What?!” Magnus says, his voice sounding awfully incredulous, albeit amused. The shock is deserved, to be fair. Again. Never really done something like that.

Seb, as I had hoped and predicted, looks so goddamn proud of me. “Deliberately?” I nod. “Holy shit, you badass!”

“Y’know,” I observe, “people keep saying that, but I cried about it the second I stepped out of the store.”

Magnus’ hug tightens so I turn back to him, nuzzling my face into his torso as Seb asks, “Why’d you do it?”

“He was being a dick to Sam,” it’s hard to talk like this so I release myself, standing off to the side to form a little triangle between the three of us, “aaand he scolded me for having my own lil’ treat in the store with me.” I fidget my sleeves while nodding over to the coffee cup on the counter. “That was supposed to be for Sam, I was just holding it for him until Morris left, but…” I shrug.

“Arsehole...”

“Oh yeah,” Seb agrees with Magnus, “the dude sucks. I never really see Sam on the clock anymore just to avoid him.”

“We’ve gotta get him out of there,” I mutter, making my way back to the coffee. I chug the rest before tossing it in the bin nearby. 

In the meantime, Seb counters, “Dude’s stuck. He’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Bummer…”

“Mm,” Magnus simply hums. He barely knows who Sam is, this is probably uncomfy for him.

I meet the taller man’s eyes. “Shrine?”

“Of course.” 

Magnus and I start making our way across the room, but I stop when I notice that Seb isn’t following. I turn around and notice that he already has a book in hand. “You coming?”

“Nah,” he responds, seeming to search for a certain page in particular. “I’ll be fucking with some potions while you do that.”

“Boooo,” I pout. He tosses up a middle finger with a playful glare, and I throw the gesture right back. “If I don’t, like, die, I guess I’ll see you when I’m not a human anymore,” I add on.

“You better not die on me now.”

“No promises!” I announce as I make my way over to Magnus, who’s patiently waiting by the doorway.

His nose scrunches and brows furrow while he grins, as though he’s holding back a laugh, but I don’t mind the scrutiny; I’m too busy admiring the way his crow’s feet deepen, complementing the sparkle in his burgundy eyes.

Maybe it’s the spirits doing their thing again, but I can’t help but notice how happy and full of love I feel with Magnus and Seb around… how happy they seem with me, and even each other.  

Not to be a huge sap or anything, but life is so fucking beautiful, sometimes. 

“You won’t die, my heart,” he reassures me, breaking me from my train of thought.

As we make our way downstairs I ask half-jokingly, freeing myself from my stupor, “So I’ll just be horribly mangled if I don’t do things right?”

“Well…”

I look at Magnus. He’s chewing the inside of his cheek and avoiding my gaze.

Sighing, I nod. “Good to know.”

“You’re an incredible sorceress, dear. You’ll likely be just fine.”

“If I don’t fuck up, sure.” 

“It’ll be alright, I can almost guarantee it.” As we near the shrine, Magnus turns to me and walks backwards for a few steps, “Besides, just think of the results!” 

I experience a fucking war flashback as I remember him having a similar outlook on that potion he made me when we were in our early days of knowing each other. The one that had me keeled over in pain on the ground within seconds. 

“This feels familiar…” I mumble, hoping that the scene is projecting into his mind. Based on his lack of a response as he sifts through a tome, I’m assuming it didn’t work. 

When his attention is back on me, he nears my side, giving me a run-down as he magically highlights certain parts of the page he has open. I cozy myself into his side, nodding along while I try to keep up. Without halting, he wraps his corresponding arm around me, leaning into my touch.

He really is a wonderful teacher, but sometimes he goes so quickly. I get that it’s just the excitement fueling his speed though. More often than not he bears in mind that, although I fucking rock at this, apparently, it’s still kinda new to me.

After asking him to reiterate a few things — including what types of beings I can become with this thing, none of which include things with horns or tails, god damnit! — before I memorize the few lines of spell I’m to perform and step over to the center of the emblem on the floor.

Before I begin, I ask, “Wait, when you use this you like… hover, yeah?” Magnus nods. “Is it okay that I can’t do that? Do you think it’ll effect things?”

He chuckles and shakes his head, “You’ll be fine on your feet. Or your butt, or knees, or whatever you prefer, really.”

“Alright,” I sit on the ground, crossing my legs and resting my antsy hands against my thighs. “Here goes nothing.”

I don’t think I’ll ever feel comfortable reciting incantations in front of people, so I whisper it to myself, as I hear Magnus crossing the room — I assume to sit down and read or something, similarly to how I did during his transformation all that time ago — before patiently waiting for the process to take effect. 

Once I get the ball rolling, everything starts to feel weird. I feel tingly, mana exuding from every pore of my body. I keep my eyes shut so as to concentrate on the image of what I want to become more effectively, but can still see the faint illumination of an arcane light show through my closed lids. 

I’m not sure how much time passes like this. I wind up in sort of a trance-like state at some point; somewhere between being incredibly conscious of the weird sensations coursing through me, and oblivious to the fact that I even exist in my own body. It’s only whenever I stop feeling anything beyond the floor below my ass and my hands on my thighs that I realize the process must be done. 

I open my eyes slowly. They widen as I notice first the change in my clothes, then in skin color. It all looks eerily similar to what I’d racked my brain with, and I guess that’s the point, but it still startles me a bit.

I turn my palms up and around, admiring the dusty pink tint of my skin, and the way it almost shimmers with an otherworldly pearlescence under the dim glow of the basement’s lighting.

I take in the deep obsidian of my new pants — made of something soft and silky, with a high and cinched waist to counter the bagginess everywhere else — as I extend a leg outward, tracing the intricate details of the silver embroidery that climb the outer hems.

My top is also very loose, but tucked into the corset-like belt of my bottoms. It’s black; has a soft, sort of cottony in feel; and it’s void of any detail, aside from the wavy edges of its three-quarter sleeves. 

I reach my hands to my ears, which are now slightly longer and pointy, then slide my digits through my hair, which feels softer than ever. It’s thick, pin-straight, and long, reaching down to my lower back. I bring a section of it over my shoulder, observing the silvery gray it’s become.

My same earrings are in, at least from what I can feel. Similarly, my necklace from Welwick and ring from Magnus are safely on my person.

I didn’t expect the transformation to be this intense — I thought it would just change my colors around a bit, like how it did with Magnus. The clothes were wanted of course, but I didn’t think I could actually change them too. Was just feeling more hopeful about that than anything.

Damn.

I finally look up and to my left in search of Magnus. He’s sitting on the couch, one leg crossed over the other and a tome abandoned next to his lap while he awe-struckedly rakes his eyes up and down my new form, leaning up from his relaxed position.

I shoot him a big grin and his eyes widen a bit, the faint smile he had prior not leaving his face. 

“The fangs were a lovely touch,” he quietly compliments.

Fangs?! “I didn’t even know I did those.” My gaze shifts to nothing in particular while I snarl a bit, tapping my tongue to my teeth. They’re situated like vampire fangs, which is lucky, considering I’m not sure I’d be safe if they’d filled my mouth. These babies are sharp.

I bring my attention back to my partner as he stands, and I meet him halfway. Still the same height as before, which is good. Won’t draw suspicion from anyone who lives around here. 

“Is it normal for the shrine to take creative liberties like that sometimes?”

“Eh,” he shrugs. “This seems to happen more with a user who lacks experience — but if it chooses to trust you, it’ll never be an unwelcome transformation.”

I look back at the thing, shrug, and turn back.

“You’re incredible, (y/n),” Magnus grins, tilting my face up by the chin. “Did you mean to do this with your sclera as well?”

Oh hell yeah, it worked! 

I answer triumphantly, “Damn right, I did.” It makes him giggle. Makes me giggle in turn. “What color are they now?” Did it work how I wanted it to?

Looking more at my eyes than into them, he mutters, “They match your trousers quite nicely,” Fuck yes, “and your irises are lavender.” Not what I was going for, but I’ll take it! “I must say, it’s strange to see you this way, but you’re ethereal nonetheless.”

“Think it’s too much for when I go to the above-ground event?”

He tilts his head and chews the inside of his cheek while he studies me, before ultimately shaking his head. “It simply looks like you’ve a knack for makeup.”

I begin playing with and staring at my new hair again. “Thank god, this is fucking sick.” I look back up at Magnus, fingers still fiddling with my tresses. I purse my lips, swaying a little as I shyly start,  “Do I have to change back to—“

“Yes.”

“Fuck!”

He laughs, holding out a hand for me to take. “I assume you want to present your new form to Sebastian, yes?”

“Hell yeah, let’s go.”

I grab his hand and we make our way out of the room. Gazing at our inhuman skin tones locked together, I begin to feel a little self conscious. I’m probably overthinking, but I can’t stop the feeling from gnawing at me. 

“Uh…” I start, suddenly feeling kinda shy.

Magnus slows down a bit, seeming to sense my worries. That, or he read them already, but he hasn’t said anything so I can only assume he’s trying not to. 

“Do you… ever wish that I was an elemental too?” 

He slows us to a halt and I shift my vision to meet his own. The wizard looks as calm as ever, if not just a little more concerned than usual. “Of course not, my heart,” he turns to face me. “In fact, if you were one, the spirits may have never fated us together in the first place.”

That’s right, he did mention the whole soulmates thing being in favor of an elemental and human pairing. 

I nod, accepting the answer. I still feel a little weird knowing that maybe I’m more (or less, maybe?) attractive this way, but it’s not like I’m a whole new body shape or anything, so I try not to think much of it. There’s no point to it, this is only for special occasions, after all. 

“I love you,” he tacks on cheerily, as if to remind me.

Fucking dork.

“I love you too. Sorry.”

Magnus huffs out a laugh. “Why are you apologizing?!” 

“I dunno!” I join his chuckles, shaking my head. Never claimed that I’m not a dork too. “Just feels childish to ask you stuff like that, now that I’m thinking about it.”

“It’s only natural such an immense change in your appearance would cause some unease.”

“I guess…” 

He does have a point. It’s almost the same feeling as when you don’t wear as much makeup as usual, and someone comments on how sick and tired you look, regardless of your wellbeing; or when you gain or lose a noticeable amount of weight, and people make comments on how much “livelier” or “happier” or “better” you look, regardless of how good the change actually was for your health… 

Except I’m doing it to myself instead, like a dummy. 

And I haven’t even seen myself yet.

Magnus did nothing to indicate if he likes this change more or less than my original appearance. I’m sure Seb won’t either. He’ll probably just be excited to have a temporary elf girlfriend.

They both love me as I am.

I’ve gotta chill.

Ugh.

Okay. I’m good, I think. Enough spiraling.

I look up at Magnus, who’s patiently awaiting my next move. I wonder if he heard me get lost in my head for a moment there. If he did, he doesn’t say anything about it. I offer a soft smile which he reciprocates before giving my hand a squeeze. 

“Are you alright, my heart?”

“Yeah,” I nod, “let’s go.”

When Magnus and I arrive upstairs, we’re hit with a strong smell of marijuana. Seb rarely smokes here. Magnus banned cigarettes — dude hates the smell — but weed is fair game, so Seb brings it out sometimes if he’s extra stressed. Not often, but it does happen.

Must be going through it right now.

Rounding the corner, I see Seb leaning with his palms flat on the nearest countertop, with a tome opened in front of him. Around him are haphazardly placed vials and ingredients. A blunt is lazily hanging from his mouth, and the cauldron is draining behind him, as he mutters the words he reads under his breath with nearly closed lips. 

“You good?” 

Startled, Seb looks up. His eyes widen at my new appearance and the blunt falls from his mouth. He catches it before it can land anywhere though.

“Oof,” I add casually, “Nice save.”

“Nice, uh…” 

He pauses to stare for a moment, leaving the blunt hanging between two fingers like a cigarette. I gnaw my bottom lip and shift around on my feet. His intense scrutiny is flustering me.

“Hah.” Seb rubs his eyes with the digits of his free hand, then keeps them shut with his fingertips against his lids as he continues, “Can’t think of anything witty for a response.” 

His cheeks are obstructed by his large hand, but the tips of his ears are a little pink. I glimpse up at Magnus, who has a faint smile on his lips as he watches Seb’s struggle.

“I didn’t expect this, holy fuck,” the emo speaks up.

“Think it’s too much?” I shyly murmur, using my hair as a fidget again.

“God, no.” He looks up at Magnus. Then at me. Then at Magnus again, and back to me, before putting his attention back onto the book. Through a puff of smoke he mumbles, “I’ve never felt so lame in my life.”

Magnus is quick to try to halt Seb’s negative self-talk with a practical solution. “You’re more than welcome to give the shrine a whirl once you’re ready.”

“Yoba knows how long that’ll take.” Sebastian flicks the page below him. “Can’t even follow the directions laid out in front of me without messing something up.”

I nod towards Seb’s blunt, eyeing it as he puts it back between his lips. “Is that not helping as much as you wanted?” I wonder.

Seb sighs, shaking his head. “Nah, it’s helping plenty. I was ready to tear my fucking hair out before.”

“Is there anything I can assist with?” Magnus interjects.

Another head shake from Seb. “No, I wanna do this on my own.”

“At least allow me to speed this up for you,” the older wizard states more than he asks, heading to the cauldron. 

Seb turns back and nods. “Thanks, dude.” I catch how his eyes rake up and down Magnus’ body before he turns back to me and does the same. “God,” he whispers, his lashes fluttering as he subtly rolls his eyes back. Then, he rummages in the nearby cabinets for some more stuff. 

I snort. “Stressed ‘god,’ or…?” I trail off quietly.

Not sure how keen he is on Magnus knowing what gets him going, regardless of how sexually open we’ve been in conversation.

Seb tilts his head up and deadpans me. I waggle my eyebrows. He gets the gist. He nods.

“Both, then?” I confirm.

He sighs, producing a mortar and pestle. Then, he responds while he places some leaves into the thing and begins grinding ‘em down.

“Both, yeah.” 

[merlinbingo]

Aaaand another month trundles on by.

In July, 16 of you created 44 fantabulous fills. Three people chose not to have their fills listed here, and of the remaining 41 we have 39 fics, one artwork, and one podfic!

In terms of ships, we have all the usual contenders making an appearance. Merlin/Arthur comes top with 17 fills, while gen is a close second with 15. After that, we've got Merlin/Gwaine with four, and then one each for Merlin/Lancelot, Arthur/Gwen, Merlin/Arthur/Knights, and (our very first crossover ship!) Merlin/Percy Jackson!

As for the fills themselves, you'll find them below the cut, sorted by ship and then rating. Remember to check the warnings, avoid anything that might upset you, and leave a whole load of love for our wonderful creators!

No ships/gen

Why would I lie when I can tell you the truth? ~ Chapter 2: Merlin starts to doubt Arthur's memory ~ and he misses Lancelot by HadrianPeverellBlack Rating: General audiences Warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Major tags: Merlin is a Little Shit (Merlin), Prince Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Oblivious Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Crack Treated Seriously, Humor Summary: Merlin is amused by Arthur's bad humour. He shouldn't be, he knows, but he is. Well, it isn't his fault if Arthur is a blind ass

When an immortal knight confronts an immortal heroes' trainer: or Counseling for Parents of Rascals by HadrianPeverellBlack Rating: General audiences Warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Major tags: Immortal Leon (Merlin), Protective Leon (Merlin), POV Leon (Merlin), Awesome Leon (Merlin), BAMF Leon (Merlin) Summary: Leon calls out Chiron's mistakes

I see my reflection in your eyes by HadrianPeverellBlack Rating: General audiences Warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Major tags: Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Merlin (Merlin), POV Merlin (Merlin), Merlin Needs a Hug (Merlin), Percy Jackson Needs a Hug Summary: Merlin and Percy discuss about their lives.

It's movie night! by HadrianPeverellBlack Rating: General audiences Warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Major tags: Movie Night, Slice of Life, Some Humor, Jokes, Family Feels Summary: The new reborn souls, Percy, Merlin and Leon have a movie night!

The Seneschal of the King ~ Chapter 2: The king's choice by HadrianPeverellBlack Rating: General audiences Warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Major tags: Seneschal Merlin (Merlin), Smart Merlin (Merlin), Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Good Friend Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Good King Arthur Pendragon (Merlin) Summary: Merlin yells at Arthur and Arthur explains his choice

Storm House by cynthia1314 Rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Bookshop AU, forced proximity platonic edition TM, Enemies to Friends Summary: Arthur ran into Merlin's bookshop on a stormy day. Merlin realised Arthur wasn't just a posh git. Just the usual.

Living up their expectations by HadrianPeverellBlack Rating: General audiences Warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Major tags: Episode: s04e04 Aithusa (Merlin), Deleted Scenes, Merlin Needs a Hug (Merlin)Merlin, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Soft Arthur Pendragon (Merlin) Summary: Merlin and Arthur talk about thei desire and need to make their fathers proud

making friends (and maybe enemies) by eachpeachpearplum Rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply, minor threat of violence Major tags: Fluff, first meeting, friendships, insecurity, canon compliant Summary: Percival never intended to get involved. He was there for a drink, and that was it. (Or: Percival makes a friend)

bi arthur by kairennart Rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: digital art, digital painting Summary:

Boiling Point by VikingSong Rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Steampunk AU, enemies to friends, jailbreak, humor, banter Summary: Merlin’s posh cellmate cleared his throat. “What are you, uh, what are you in for?” “Oh, treason,” Merlin said glibly, turning back from examining the complicated cell lock to face him. “You?” The corners of the man’s mouth twisted up into a bitter half-smile. “Something like that.” Or: Forced Proximity Tropes - Platonic Edition(TM), featuring a steampunk jailbreak

Immortality shared ~ Chapter 1: A name, a burden, a curse by HadrianPeverellBlack Rating: Teen Warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Major tags: Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Immortal Merlin (Merlin), Depressed Merlin (Merlin) Summary: Merlin knew his immortality was a burden. And, somehow, something changes

Emrys and the three Queens ~ Chapter 1: The Sorcerer and The Queen by HadrianPeverellBlack Rating: Teen Warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Major tags: Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon Finds Out About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Morgana Knows about Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Merlin & Morgana Friendship (Merlin) Summary: Arthur overhear Merlin's conversation with Agravaine. Things change.

Arthur/Gwen

[Podfic] Queen of Swords by cynthia1314 Rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Married Gwen/Arthur, Fluff Summary: Arthur realizes his wife has been practicing and is instantly starstruck by this new common passion.

Merlin/Arthur/Knights

Do you like my accent? by HadrianPeverellBlack Rating: Teen Warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Major tags: Summary:

Elyan/Leon

I’ll never tell by Salamandair Rating: Mature Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Pining, not actually unrequited love, introspection, pre-slash, canon divergence Summary: Elyan is watching the new knight train, but he’s really only watching one person on the field.

Merlin/Lancelot

Maybe the next time by HadrianPeverellBlack Rating: General audiences Warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Major tags: Time Loop, Merlin is So Done (Merlin), Merlin is a Little Shit (Merlin), Supportive Lancelot (Merlin), Aliens Ship Lancelot/Merlin Summary: Merlin was really starting to hate that shirt. Usually, he only wore the red shirt on special occasions. Like the first day of a new season, or when it was someone dear's birthday, or when Gaius took him to do something for the first time. Now, after wearing the red shirt thirteen times in a row, he hated it.

Merlin/Percy Jackson

“Hey, it’s me. It’s just me.” by HadrianPeverellBlack Rating: General audiences Warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Major tags: Beach Holidays, Pining Merlin (Merlin), Oblivious Percy Jackson, Merlin Needs a Hug (Merlin), First Kiss Summary: Merlin and Percy spend some time alone

Merlin/Gwaine

wandered out in the world for years (the king and the knight remix) by eachpeachpearplum Rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Episode tag, deleted scene, remix, fluff and angst, established relationship Summary: Gwaine doesn't like Arthur. Respects him, sure. Admires his fighting prowess, yeah. Envies his freedom and pities his lack of it in equal parts. He'll follow him into battle and mostly follow orders as he does so, because chances are Arthur’s on the right side of a fight, and even if he isn't he's got Merlin to push him until he is. But he's more than capable of all that without actually liking the man. Or: Arthur and Gwaine search for Merlin during the deleted scene from A Servant of Two Masters.

Never alone again by HadrianPeverellBlack Rating: General audiences Warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Major tags: Summary: Gwaine realised that Merlin was hiding something. And in a panic, Merlin denied it and hid behind more lies. How could their relationship be based on lies?

No. I have magic. by HadrianPeverellBlack Rating: General audiences Warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Major tags: Summary: A magic reveal with a twist.

I like when you protect me by HadrianPeverellBlack Rating: Teen Warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Major tags: Omega Merlin, Alpha Gwaine, Protective Gwaine (Merlin), BAMF Merlin (Merlin) Summary: Well, Merlin had been warned. Indirectly, from the protective glances of the Knights. Directly, from Morgana and Gwen's comments. Now, he could only try to limit the damage.

Merlin/Arthur

Fatal Unions ~ Chapter 2: Arthur by HadrianPeverellBlack Rating: General audiences Warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Major tags: Mentioned previous characters deaths, Good Friend Leon (Merlin), Supportive Leon (Merlin), POV Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Worried Arthur Pendragon (Merlin) Summary: Arthur's pov of his marriage

This Song and Dance (The 'Balancing Act' Remix) by queerofthedagger Rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Circus AU, First Kiss, Developing Relationship, Grief/Mourning Summary: Between circus shows and late nights, Merlin and Arthur figure themselves out, one step at a time.

The Mawkish Crown Prince of Camelot by jcardonacardona Rating: Teen Warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Major tags: Summary: After an arduous battle against yet another creature of magic, being pampered, bathed, and massaged with tender care by your lover (and manservant/secret sorcerer), is the least the Crown Prince of Camelot deserves—says Arthur Pendragon, Crown Prince of Camelot.

My Heart Stumbles On Things I Don't Know by bebravedearheart Rating: Mature Warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Major tags: Gift Giving, Ygraine's Sigil, Angst, Hopeful Ending Summary: “Sometimes you do puzzle me,” the prince said with the hint of a smile in his voice. It was almost their usual teasing, and Merlin felt steadier though his stomach still flipped and his heart still beat too quickly. “We’ll defeat the dorocha. We will. Together.” Merlin made the pronouncement to steady Arthur too, truly believing it. He knew Arthur often did not believe in himself—despite having proven himself many times over, he still doubted his own abilities, and Merlin often decided he would not stand for it. Arthur gives Merlin his mother's sigil. Merlin understands what that means.

Into the Inward Places of Our Souls by thesongistheriver Rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: established relationship, fluff and smut, domestic fluff, top merlin, bottom arthur Summary: In the chaos of concert prep and play rehearsals, the boys lose track of the dates ... and then they make up for up.

No Magic Required by SauraUnderscore Rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Canon Compliant; Cursed Arthur; Magical Healing Sex; Bottom Arthur; Summary: Arthur Pendragon and his stupid hobby of touching cursed magical artefacts and getting himself bloody cursed in the process. Merlin’s not prophesied to help raise the Once and Future King, no. He’s doomed to fall in love with a prat of a prince too silly to fucking listen. That’s it. That’s the story. Oh, well; there’s also the magical healing sex, too.

Treat Me Warmly by tansyuduri Rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Hurt/Confort, magic reveal, snuggling for warmth, getting together, cannon au Summary: Arthur and Merlin have been pining for each other for a while now. Trapped in a remote hunting cabin by a storm, Merlin and Arthur's hidden feelings for each other are finally revealed. Now Merlin must push past his fear and reveal his magic to the man he loves. How will Arthur react? And what if the storm is more than it seems?

A Time to Fall in Love ("A Time to Mourn, and a Time to Dance" Remix) by TrebleMaker07 Rating: Explicit Warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Major tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drunk Arthur Pendragon, Masturbation, Hallucinations, Missing Scene Summary: After a night of drinking with Morgana, Arthur goes home to wind down.

Our Stars Still Shine Together: Chapter 17 by tansyuduri Rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: temporary character death, Merthur, Arthur bring Arthur, Immortality, The godess Summary: As the find the last badguy the unthinkable happens

Make It Flow (Everything In the Afterglow) by thesongistheriver Rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Getting to Know Each Other, Bookstore owner Merlin, Lawyer Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Baker Gwen Summary: Merlin had thought he'd escaped small-town life for good once he'd finally left for the big city. Then he inherits his great-uncle's bookstore. Still, it might be a good thing. Even if he has to move home, and put up with a posh, irritating city lawyer named Arthur Pendragon, for it.

Chivalry Fell On Its Sword by BeBraveDearHeart Rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: plot what plot/porn without plot, dildos, rimming Summary: Gwaine lounged in his chair. “Whose cock did you suck for a night off then?” “Nobody’s. That’s sort of the point. The prince’s laundry is horrendous and I keep walking in to him—” he made an unmistakable gesture to demonstrate. “You’re sure he’s not timing that on purpose?” Leon asked lightly, as if it was the most reasonable of assumptions. “That’s what I said this morning. He didn’t take that well.” “Oh dear.” “I said you’d give him a hand,” Merlin told Gwaine. “He didn’t like that either. Sorry mate.” “Prick,” Gwaine laughed. Leon smiled in agreement but, as ever, stepped in as the voice of reason. “You’d be tetchy too, if you wanted to be touched but couldn’t have it.” Prince Arthur must keep his virtue until his wedding night, though it leaves him frustrated and unsatisfied. Merlin, well-versed in the art of loopholes, offers him help.

The Claiming of Viscount Pendragon by ravenwilds Rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Victorian AU, PWP, Smut with feelings, bathing/washing Summary: In which Merlin decides to help himself to the Viscount's bath and they are both surprised by the consequences ... Well not that surprised, given their record to date ...

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

5, 17, 25, 29

For the ask game, please!

woooo! more asks! Thank you thank you! :D <3

5. What’s a fic idea you’ve had that you will never write?

Oooh probably a few of the ones listed in the previous ask about fic ideas that I have noodling around in my head.

Off the top, I'll probably not write "Grima Becomes King" even though it would be fun. Mostly because I know it would be the world's longest fic and the idea of writing it makes me feel tired.

17. What’s something you’ve learned about while doing research for a fic?

Oh man, many things. What comes to mind is how much I've learned about late antiquity/early medieval Scandinavia for all things Rohan & Grima related.

I think an interesting tid-bit was the gender disparity of infanticide. Not shocking, given how patriarchal Scandinavian society was at the time, but far, far more girls were killed than boys. Also skeletal remains show that in times of famine, boys were given more (and better) food than the girls.

(don't tell tumblr, they're very keen on thinking Viking (tm) society was a world of gender equality and other nonsense)

25. Have you ever upset yourself with your own writing?

I have! In different ways. For Grima stuff - the scenes where he's forced to eat his horse in My Land is Bare were just - I icked myself writing them. Degradation in general icks me and I always get in a weird headspace after writing it.

I have absolutely made myself cry writing bits of Thus Always. Particularly the death of Downey's father (that chapter has a banger of an ending line: So, in silence they look at one another, truly look at one another, for the first time in thirty years, and in silence Amos dies.) The eulogy appendix also gets me. Annnd this bit with Downey's mother:

Annette catches Downey at the door, squeezes his arm, says, ‘I never understood why you did what you did.’ ‘Why I left? Surely he told you the gory details.’ ‘No, no, I never understood why you chose to…to be like that. Did I do something wrong?’ Downey takes in her weeping eyes, her pain, her sorrow, the mad grief over things she has no words for, and he just shakes his head. Just shakes it and shakes it and shakes it.

the infamous "did I do something wrong and that is why you're a queer" conversation that many people have unfortunately had

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.)

Something from a follow-up fic to Swimming Through Fire world. Two years after the war, a year after Grima and Éomer came to some vague Arrangement, and Éomer's off to go get married. Lucky him.

They're on their way to Umbar as I have Eomer marrying outside Gondor for reasons of regional political cohesion. Safan, everyone's favourite main man from the ROTK installment of the Swimming Through Fire series, makes an appearance.

---

Of course, Safan could have other sources, Gríma reasons. About Éomer. About what he is like as a man. Safan is talented, clearly capable, and trusted—therefore, he is likely to have heard his fill about the future king of Éomarc.

Who is currently standing towards the front of the boat watching the horizon dip up, down, and again again again.

No storm, but the sea roils. Gríma was told it’s the wind, a beautiful day for the voyage, but choppy. Hold fast. Do you know how to swim?

He told the sailor: I can hold my breath for two minutes.

The sailor laughed: that’s a start, I suppose.

No, no, I can swim. I’d just rather not.

Then hold fast.

So, he’s holding fast. He’s watching the water. The surf kicked up, foam white as the froth of churning milk. He thinks he wants to be sick.

What did he have to break his fast? Sweet buns, fruit, cheese. They dine light in the morning in Khephanto, same as they do in Éomarc. A welcomed change from other parts of Gondor where it is blood sausages and eggs and liver and salted fish and fried mushrooms piled high with toast and hot milk and gods the memory makes him more nauseous than he thought possible.

He tries to lean over the railing, thinking it would make sense to be sick into the ocean, but the thought of being so suspended over water—only his head, his shoulders and chest, but still—it sends him skittering away.

Foolish, of course, he survived the river Isen when he fell in. He survived Limlight more than once as a boy. He’d be fine until they fish him out.

Provided they fished him out.

Gríma finds Éomer again—still at the helm. Golden haired in the golden sun looking at ease despite the tumult.

They’d fish him out, Gríma thinks bleakly. Surely. Éomer would make them. Surely.

He wouldn’t be left to drown. Horrorhorrorhorror—how the chest burns and everything’s upside down and and and and and and and and and and and and and and and————

A bucket.

Gríma looks up, realizes his hands are on his knees and he’s shaking. Safan stands before him, holding the bucket.

‘Didn’t realize you’d be so sour stomached,’ Safan says.

Gríma wrenches the bucket from his hand, turns around, and is promptly sick into it. Somewhere, someone laughs. He’s certain it’s at him. He would care if he didn’t feel like his stomach wanted to crawl up his throat.

‘Just lean over the side,’ Safan suggests, all fatherly.

‘Can’t.’

‘Alright.’

‘This is horrible.’

‘You’ll get used to it.’

‘Inhuman.’

Safan laughs.

‘Truly,’ Gríma insists. He hugs the bucket of his bile. ‘Horrible. I’m going home by land. I don’t care if it takes me three months.’

Safan pats him on the shoulder, tells him that he’ll get used to it. It’s only another two and a half days—two if the wind holds. Gríma pulls an ugly face: two days! He doesn’t have enough in him to throw up for two days of travel. Safan shakes his head, pats his shoulder again, insists that Gríma will be fine.

‘Horizon,’ Safan points, ‘keep your eye on that and your stomach should settle.’

‘It’ll settle when I’m dead.’

‘I love your optimism, I’m sure your future king does too.’

Gríma makes no response, save to turn away from Safan and sick into the bucket a second time.

/

Early afternoon, still the first day, they’ve yet to have the blessing of crossing the small hours into daybreak, they’re not even at dusk, yet, and Éomer finds Gríma who has found a rope pile to sit on, with his bucket, trying to stare at the horizon.

‘I don’t know how you’re not ill, my lord,’ Gríma whines.

Éomer makes no reply. His eyes are also trained on where sky meets sea—a beautiful greying line if Gríma was in the mind to admire.

‘Perhaps you are sick as well,’ Gríma suggests.

Éomer shakes his head.

‘Assuredly,’ Gríma insists.

Éomer smiles, taught it stops half-up his face.

‘Knew it,’ Gríma mutters.

Éomer strides to the railing, leans over, and vomits. Gríma laughs. His future king makes no response. Gríma needles: ‘Would you like a bucket? The bucket is wisdom itself.’

‘I’m fine,’ Éomer replies, as if nothing occurred. ‘I don’t see why you’re making such a fuss.’ Slipping into the northern dialect of the Wold Éomer continues, ‘You’re not being very sympathetic for someone also suffering.’

‘My lord, you should know better than to come and roost upon my stoop in search of sympathy. It died in the womb. I might have eaten it.’

‘Along with your heart?’

‘To be sure. That shriveled, little thing.’

But his future lord-king is smiling, if not outright laughing, and Gríma doesn’t know how to stand in this moment. It’s been two years since the war—almost exactly. They’re just entering April, a fine month to travel in. It’s been fifteen months and a week since that first post-war winter yule when things between them became…sticky. Gríma isn’t sure how to term it, he isn’t sure there is a word for it. He is sure Éomer wouldn’t know and so has never made an effort to ask.

And what is there to ask about? Aside from Gríma’s commitment to burning down the entirety of the world should Éomer ask it of him. A bit of a rub, a bit rum, that the lord should instead ask him to create rather than destroy. Which is just like Éomer, to be contrary to Gríma’s desires whilst being, at the same time, precisely what is desired.

He thinks he might be sick into the bucket again.

‘Éothain told me about the creatures you’re concerned we’ll become victim to,’ Éomer says.

‘His investigations did little to assuage me. That said, their appearance could put me out of my misery, which is a boon.’

‘I think you’re over-reacting.’

Gríma turns away from Éomer, thinks he’s going to be sick, but it passes. He turns back around. On Éomer’s face is writ feint amusement. Gríma he thinks he should be sick on Éomer’s boots to make a point.

Some shuffling of feet as Éomer leans against the side of the boat to again stare at distant horizon as instructed by Safan. Gríma supposes he could try it, but doesn’t think standing wise at this precise moment.

‘Have you heard anything further?’ Éomer asks with a fantastical attempt at disinterest.

Gríma feigns confusion: ‘Further, my lord?’

‘About this—about Lady Dihya,’ he slides through her name in a chaotic fashion, it’s half Éothéod and half an approach to Umbar pronunciations. Good gods, Gríma cannot wait for them to meet if only to hear them butcher each other’s names in such a full-frontal fashion. ‘You were seen speaking with Safan.’

‘Safan and I are acquaintances of old.’

‘Shouting at each other over a wall proceeding a siege hardly makes one an acquaintance of old.’

‘Hardly a siege,’ Gríma scoffs. ‘Lord Aragorn lightly threatened them with ghosts and they saw reason and left.’

‘And the draugr.’

Gríma tilts his head skyward. Éomer follows suit asking if that brother of Gríma’s is around. Which brother would Éomer son of Éomund be asking after? Gods Gríma, the only brother who could possibly be present—the bog-drowned inhuman one that’s a crow half the time. It tried to peck the eyes out of a Meduseld mouser the other day. Hasn’t Gríma taught it manners, yet?

‘Baldir was never keen on following orders,’ Gríma replies tartly. ‘It is hardly my fault he is enacting the behaviours of his kind, now that he is what he is. He’s not eating people or horses. Nor goats, cows, hounds, most cats, and other such important creatures. I cannot vouch for poultry or hares. And no, he’s not around. I told him to fuck off back home before we left.’

Éomer mouths: fuck off back home with some mild astonishment. Gríma gives a desultory look: what?

Éomer tries another question, ‘Did Safan tell you anything useful? Are there things I should avoid saying or doing?’

‘I am not here,’ Gríma holds up a hand, turns away and vomits into the bucket. It’s all bile, at this point. He tried drinking water with ginger in it, recommended by Éothain, but it came to naught. He wipes his mouth, pushes hair out of his face, turns back around to Éomer. ‘I am not here in an advisory capacity. As I told Safan, I don’t know why I’m here. I hardly expected it.’

‘My uncle,’ Éomer glances at the men around them—all Haradrim or Gondorian, the Éothéod are generally seasick and showing it. He continues in the Wold dialect: ‘My uncle took you aside before we left. Éothain and Gundahar both saw it occur. You spoke for a good space of time, what did he say?’

‘Oh, that. He was telling me to mind myself and not get into trouble. That the first whiff of anything suspicious he’ll know whose door to knock at. As if I haven’t learned my lesson! truly I wish people understood that. I make mistakes, the lords know, but I tend not to make the same ones twice.’

Éomer, to his credit, does not believe Gríma—at least about the not knowing what his role is. Gríma hopes he believes him about lessons learned. He had assumed Éomer did—few others, but at least Éomer. Hama would believe him, if he were alive. This thought does a strangeness to Gríma’s chest, an emotion he is learning to name regret. He rarely feels it, if ever, but with Hama yes, it rears its ugly head.  

Gríma sometimes wonders what the percentage is that Éomer believes. Is it fifty per cent of what Gríma says? Eighty? Twenty? Or entirely situational? Probably entirely situational. Probably Gríma doesn’t want to know.

‘Surely you’ve been briefed,’ Gríma says into a long stretched silence.

‘Of course I have.’

‘Then you have nothing to worry about.’

Éomer gives him such a statement with his expression and Gríma would laugh if it were appropriate. Instead of saying: horseshit and you know it, Éomer replies: ‘For the sake of relations between countries I want to make a good impression. My uncle said he trusted me to represent Éomarc.’

‘I should hope so, as future king yourself you’re the embodiment of our people and our land.’

Grating, grating, grating—Éomer paces this through. Gríma wants to say what he always thinks in these situations, that Éomer is the better option to Théodred. One represents Éomarc more wholly and entirely than the other. Théodred was nice. Théodred would have tried. He would have done what he thought was the best. Gríma knows better than to sneer those sentiments aloud to the cousin and inheritor who sometimes goes morose and burrows into himself when the former heir is mentioned. The man who Éomer idolized, to some degree, and who did not live long enough to shatter those illusions.

Well, well, that is Éomer, sitting in the sun comparing himself to dead heroes who cannot be faulted in anything because they are dead.

Another wave of nausea comes, Gríma waits to need the bucket, but it passes. How is it so warm? It’s April, it should be the perfect temperature at all times.

-

‘A rat with a bucket,’ cheerfully calls a voice.

Gríma puts on a flattering smile, ‘my lady, it gladdens my heart to know you are not similarly afflicted.’

‘Not a whit.’

‘Truly,’ Éomer asks. ‘I can’t believe that.’

‘Sorry, brother, but alas that is the case.’ Éowyn does not sound entirely sympathetic. She then glances between them and to her brother asks: ‘What conference have you with Wyrmtunga?’

‘Trying to get information out of him about what we can expect. He chatted with Lord Safan last night.’

‘My how we’ve resurrected ourselves,’ Éowyn sneers at Gríma who continues, with great effort, to appear cheerfully nonplussed but gods gods gods he wants to be sick again. He knows he must be green about the gills for how she laughs. ‘Uncle said you were to behave.’

‘I am, on my honour.’ Gríma adds, ‘on the life of Stigr.’

‘Not nothing,’ Éowyn owns. ‘How do you know lord Safan? He seems above your station and rank, now that you are nothing in particular.’

‘The war.’

‘They shouted pleasantries at each other over the walls of Pelargir,’ Éomer explains, ‘before Aragorn reminded everyone time was of the essence.’

‘Lord Aragorn was just as party to the pleasantries, my lord.’

Éowyn’s keen eyes, sharp as knives, slice from brother to Gríma and Gríma knows a dissection is occurring, there will be a result from it, but it will not be accurate. He knows where her assumptions will lead her, and he is right when she asks: ‘Did you know him through Saruman?’

‘No, my lady, I never met him save that day during the war. I had assumed he died, until he showed up as ambassador.’ He adds, half-afterthought and undertone, ‘not everything is a conspiracy.’

‘I hear she likes hunting,’ Éowyn tells her brother, ignoring Gríma’s reply. ‘Stalking and the like. Talk to her about that and you’ll be safe.’

‘What else did you hear?’

‘Books—histories about seafaring voyages and distant battles, also political machinations. But she is not adverse to the occasional bout of poetry. Recite her something pretty about nature, I heard. She’s partial to birds and fish, also long descriptions of sand dunes which are, apparently, beautiful.’

‘I see.’

‘I’m doubtful too,’ Éowyn agrees. ‘But having never seen one, we could be wrong. Her favourite colour is red and her favourite metal is copper.’

‘See,’ Éomer snaps at Gríma, ‘this is useful information I can do something with.’

Gríma levers himself upright, a dangerous decision for it sets his stomach on edge again, bidding a well-rehearsed and beautiful good-day to them he stalks across the ship towards the prow. He read a book about ships while in Minas Tirith and tried to memorize all their bits and pieces. This is a long, round nosed, shallow bottomed galley. Predominantly used for trade and moving passengers and animals. Gríma marks the three masts, the place for the oarsmen, though as they’re “with the wind” it's just sail work.

In the stern is the—he blanks on the term—but it’s a built-up structure where captain and important guests stay in relative comfort. Everyone else gets shoved below deck with the lice and livestock.

Castle! That’s what the structure is called. A castle.

Daft name.

Or maybe not, he doesn’t know anything about ocean-going vessels. They must be defended, especially merchant fleets, so perhaps castle is apt. Defending the keep, except it’s your boat.

Nearing the prow Gríma grips the railing and stares forward. Fresh sea air helps keep stomach in check. By the time the breeze gets to the back where he had hidden himself there was nothing much left to it. Knuckles whiten as his hands twist on the wood. Well waxed, there are no splinters, but he can feel its course nature against skin. A grounding experience. He sucks in a breath, holds, exhales.

Marvelous, he tells himself, it’s all marvelous. His still being alive and in one piece, mostly. Also this. Boats, oceans, skies, new lands, languages, the many and varied people present in the world. Oh, no, not distracting enough, he leans forward, is sick into the water as he gets hit with ocean spray.

Well, he thinks as he wipes salt water off, at least he knows his face is clean.

[wanderingcas]

new excerpt from my destiel lighthouse keepers fic:

When Castiel was a boy, he and his brother Gabriel got the crazed idea to face a storm.

They stood on the beach at their family’s seaside cabin, getting pelted by the wind and the rain, arms outstretched and laughing at the dark sky. For Gabriel, brave as he was even as a child, it was a true laugh, one that mocked the face of danger. For Castiel, who never felt quite brave enough, it was a weak echo of his brother’s; reedy and thin as the wind. 

They came back into the house, soaking wet, receiving both a verbal lashing from their father as he grabbed the scuff of their necks. Their mother wrapped a blanket around their shoulders as she told them quietly about the time their father turned his yacht into a surprise storm. The swells of sea, nearly ten feet tall, nearly capsized the boat. Nearly drowned him. 

“It’s not something to challenge,” she told them gravely. Even Gabriel, the fire’s shadows flickering across his face, had listened intently. “When the storm comes, you shutter the windows and stay inside.”

Castiel can’t help but think, twenty odd years later and strapped to a man he barely knows or trusts by a rope as the sea rises around them, that he should have heeded his mother’s words.

(writing the storm chapter (tm) of the lighthouse keepers fic)

[cxttlefishcxller]

𝔽𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕤

So I was lovingly tagged by @residentdormouse who is great and awesome and indulgent of my bullshit. So away the shit does bull, I suppose jfkdl;safd The rules are simple - find a sentence, or excerpt, that includes the words you're given and paste it in, and include a link to the finished story of you want. But honestly, guidelines at best - do what you want.

My words to find: White, Cold, Snow, Frost, Ice, Gloves, Hat, Cocoa (or Tea), Blanket, Snuggle/cuddle (or any variation of this) No pressure tags: @caktusjuice-draws, @jaiesondurantkross, @beyondthetemples-ooc, and a massive Open Tag to anyone who wants to! I love seeing things y'all write <3 Your words are (really I'm just going off of moodboard vibes with a couple wild cards thrown in): Paper, Sunset, Natural, Leather, Bookmark, Steel, Chill, Ember, Storm, Makeshift.

Bullshit below the cut!

Okay, so some of these will be from published works, but several will likely be from the as-of-yet chaotically-unwritten remake of Second Lead Serenade. So it's a lot of Stand Shenanigans (tm) but I'll try to drop some other shit in, too. Just to keep things interesting. XD

White: (godfuckingdammit I was making fun of you for having so many Flagg references and the first one I got is a fucking Flagg reference. This one's from a bonus chapter from Serenade that hasn't made its way into the narrative just yet.)

“I went down to Saint James Infirm’ry…saw my baby there,” The voice croons under its breath. The predators may be gone, but the fear remains, and Piper finds that she doesn’t dare raise her head to see who belongs to the boots that draw slowly near. Didn’t Mother Abigail say something about wolves? Dark eyes in the night that were too eager to snap up good souls lost on their way? She had thought about how wolves were sacred to Odin, that not all were hungry and savage beasts, but that truth seems farther away now. “She was stretched out on a long white table…” The voice goes on. “So cold, so sweet, so sweet, so fair.” The footsteps stop. The boots are only a foot or so away now, and the figure pauses before dropping to a squat. A warm glow lights the area around them as a hand comes into her field of vision, extended in invitation. “Hey there, Dani. Need a hand?” Dani. No one’s been alive to call her that in weeks…maybe even months. All of the family and friends that had known her by that name are long dead. Her hair spills into her face as she dares to look up at last. Attached to that hand is a lean man with coiffed, sandy hair and a smile as sharp as glass. His eyes are pale, creased by the kindness of his expression, but she can’t shake the feeling that maybe the wolf had been in front of her all along. Dazedly, she puts her hand in his, allowing him to help her slowly to her feet. His skin burns against hers, and she stumbles when he claps a free hand on her shoulder. 

Cold: (I wasn't gonna have Serenade be two for two, but honestly I couldn't resist the urge to shoehorn TedPipes into something. Teddy continues to be the Best Boi Ever, and poor Piper's just trying to drag herself out of her survivor's guilt jfkldsafd)

His worry comes off of him in waves. The last bits of her loathing have returned to their home in the hollow of her ribs, turning her stomach as it settles back into shame instead of rage. “I’m okay.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, energy all but spent. “I’m fine. It’s just…” She can’t find an explanation worth using. Trying to put this emotion to words feels like Sisyphus and his stone. Too much and not enough all at once. “...It’s just me.”  He studies her for a long moment, brow furrowing before he shifts to take his legs out from underneath him, sitting beside her on the ground instead. “...Wanna talk about it?” He asks. His radio hisses, someone’s voice reporting that a section is clear. He shifts, turning the device off with a telltale click.  “I…I don’t know.” She shakes her head, brushing a loose lock of hair out of her eyes. Her palm is scraped raw from her outburst, skin broken in a few places and stinging as dots of blood meet the cold air. “I don’t know where I’d even start.” “Take your time.” He moves again, settling in at her side and leaning back against the tree. “Whatever you need. I’m not goin’ anywhere.” 

Frost: (Ohhhh I had to DIG to find this one. I don't use this word enough, I guess. This is an ooooold WIP of an original D&D-adjacent fantasy piece I was writing about a witch and a rogue finding some royal baby in a rosebush and having to figure out who and where to take it home to. Shenanigans Ensue.)

With such a blue cast to their coal-colored skin, Dark-Elves flush a shade of purple. This purple tinges his cheeks as he coughs, sitting up again as he splutters, “That...that isn’t any of your concern. The important thing is that I was at her estate and she had a need for my services. And we’ll get a tidy sum of gold out of her, so what’s the harm?” “None at all...if you’re successful. If you’re not, you don’t live here. I’ll deny everything if her guard comes by to make you pay for ruining her land.” She decides with a hum, draining the last of her tea.  “How heartless, Ketta. After all I’ve done for you.” Despite his words, he laughs, reaching to fill her cup again. “After all I’ve done for you, you mean. I got along just fine before you got here. And when you leave again, I’ll be all the more peaceful for it.” The banter is easy, playful, though her words ring true. Irren is a wanderer, and Ketsiyah a loner. Their arrangement is comfortable, she knows, because it’s temporary. He came into Thornfall just as the last frost was thawing, with half a year spent in the attic space above her home. The arrangement was that he would be gone by the time the first freeze came through.  

Ice: (BirdBrains gets some representation! This is from Shine On You Crazy Diamond, the IT/The Stand crossover I've slowly been writing. Which.......I really ought to get back to. <.<;;;;)

“We all tried to find out what really happened--his friends and I, I mean. A bunch of kids looking for a fucking serial killer.” He chuckles wryly, only able to look at his and Crow’s joined hands. Their touch is the only thing anchoring him, he thinks. If he lets go, he might sink down into the pit again. Down in the dark, where It lived. “And I think we did find It eventually. But I can’t remember. I just remember how scared I was. And how badly we were hurt after. And I remember that we all made a promise that if we didn’t kill It like we thought…we’d have to come back. To finish the job.” Silence falls between them as he finishes, and now, with all of the confusing, tangled pieces he has out in the open, Harold feels that ice-cold surety that he has finally, finally managed to find the one thing to say that would be Too Much. The final straw on the back of a camel that’s been struggling for the four years of their relationship. The one thing that even Crow’s infinite adaptability and determination couldn’t overcome. He can’t look at them, picking at his lower lip with his teeth.  “...It.” They say at last, putting the same weight on the word that he had. Not just a pronoun--it’s almost a title. A name for something so evil and so terrible that his mind goes utterly blank every time he tries to remember. “So this…murderer. This serial killer. You talk about It like It’s not a person at all.”

Gloves: (I was wondering when Between Iron and Silver would come into this one, but apparently I don't use this word enough either jfdkls;afd To summarize, this is an Undertale fic that's the answer to "what if a human fell into the Ruins and stayed?" and then it just...ran away from me. It's also my first foray into second-person writing, which is way more fun than I thought it'd be.)

At the edge of consciousness, you feel more than hear something snap, that ozone scent filling your senses before the weight vanishes, leaving you coughing and rolling to your side to curl around your stomach. As oxygen helps your mind to clear, you turn a little to see your assailant hovering a few feet above you, flailing and growling as they are held in place by some glowing blue force. They turn to roar at your companions, demanding to be released. As you struggle to catch your breath, you turn a little more to see that Sans has an arm raised in their direction, hand and left eye swirling with that same blue glow. Papyrus has one glove pressed against his mouth, eyes wide, looking between the guard and his brother. “Undyne.” Sans speaks through gritted teeth, and you note that his non-glowing eye has gone pitch black. “Calm down. We’re not here about that--this is more important than Asgore’s manhunt. We’re here for help.” “What the hell could be more important than this?!” Undyne--as you know her to be--growls, struggling anew against the force that holds her still. “This is our freedom, the only ticket we have to survive; don’t you want to get out of here?!” “It’s about what happened to Alva.” His tone sharpens despite never raising his voice. “This human has seen it. We came here to get your help.” At the mention of “Alva”, Undyne freezes, fixing him with a hard stare that he unabashedly returns. After a moment that feels like a lifetime, she goes limp. “...Fine.” The conclusion sounds like a struggle. “Whatever. Just...put me down, Sans.”

Hat: (Ahhh the Fuckening. Serenade yet again, but a WIP chapter this time! I still haven't gotten around to the Fuckening itself, but I sure wanted to write down what happened after. If I ever write a fic chronologically, it'll be a cold day in hell.)

Teddy hasn’t moved since his first few hours in the clinic, laid in a bed in the main room under the rough hospital blankets and the unfinished crochet throw Piper had brought in for the chill of the night. The Free Zone’s newly-acquired electricity has been put to good use -- the steady rhythm of his heart monitor embedding itself into her thoughts as she tries to keep busy. Crow had been kind enough to bring some of their collective yarn stash and Piper’s bag of hooks, giving her a chance to try to work on the hats and scarves they were putting together for the town. Doing as much as she can to occupy her mind. Two days, she thinks. The longest two days of her fucking life. Those old habits she’d built when Tripps was at its height have come back in full-force now -- numbly doing the bare minimum requirements of survival, following a set track and routine with no deviation. Filing her mind with tasks and media to avoid any thoughts toward the future or the dark what-ifs outside of her blinders. Much like it had with Tripps, this method works…for the most part. When it doesn’t, it’s only in flashes -- the image of Teddy holding a bloodied hand to his stomach, the way he had clung to her as he collapsed, the shocked look on Nadine’s face as Piper had torn that gun out of her hands from twenty feet away-- No. No, no, no. Not that. Not now. Not ever. She shakes her head, pulling out a few stitches that her tension has made too tight. That didn’t happen. It can’t have happened. So she sweeps it aside, turns up the radio in her mind. Her next few stitches are much more even.

Cocoa/Tea: (Okay so it's more Serenade, but at least it's a Teddy chapter? Nostalgia and introspection abound during a chat with Mother A, while the plot continues to thicken.)

"It's a shitshow." Crow finishes matter-of-factly. "The whole world ended faster than any of us could blink, and no one's around to tell us how to pick up the pieces. And there are too many pieces around to pick up, anyway." Then, clearing their throat, they add a little more sheepishly, "...Sorry for swearing." The older woman only laughs, shaking her head. "Don't you worry about that--I'm old enough and wise enough to know when polite words simply don't suffice. You're absolutely correct. Now that we're done running around like chickens with our heads cut off, it's hard to tell what way is up." Teddy can’t remember the last time he’d had tea, he thinks, listening to the exchange. At least, not the kind that didn’t come in a big teal can that he could pick up for a dollar at 7-11. For an absurd moment as he picks up his cup for a sip, he’s reminded of afternoons spent with his sisters and their dollar-store tea set made from pink plastic and poorly-painted flowers. It’s an effort to keep from sticking his pinkie finger out, mind replaying their indignant cries of it being “the right way”. The nostalgia makes his chest ache. The drink itself is nothing to write home about, as far as his coffee-saturated palate is concerned. A little weak, a little earthy. Probably needing sugar. He reaches for the carafe.  “But you must have some thoughts about how things ended up the way they did. Mr. Bateman thinks it’s human folly. Ray says it’s divine providence. You know how I feel about the divine, but the Lord’s messages to me are more concerned about ‘how’ than ‘why’. What do you all think about it? Why here? Why us?”

Blanket: (ughhhh this one was tough! It isn't that I haven't used this word a lot, but it's never in places that are like. Interesting to share. Except for that post-fuckening excerpt I've already referenced. So back to Iron and Silver I go! Our nameless protag has a mission and they're gonna see it through, no matter how worried their adopted mother gets.)

Not wanting to wake your hosts, you pull the blanket from the next hook on the door, slipping out into the chill night. The lights still bathe the town in warm, inviting light, the snow muffling signs of life to near-silence as you draw the blanket around your shoulders. Steeling yourself for the scolding of the century, you flip the phone open, letting out a deep breath and watching it fog the air before you. “...Hello?” “Where are you?” Toriel’s voice is a comfort despite the frightened sharpness to her voice. “Are you all right? Has anyone found you? Describe where you are--I’ll find you as soon as I’m able.” The questions are fast, going past your attempts to interrupt until you find a breath’s space to break in. “Mom. Momma, I’m fine. I promise. I’m safe, don’t worry.” A beat of silence follows. “My dearest child, what do you think you are doing?” Her voice sounds so small, so vulnerable that you feel a lump forming in your throat. “This world is so cold. So unforgiving. If Asgore finds you, if one of his soldiers catches wind of a human, not even I can protect you. It’s still very early; you should be able to return before anything should happen.” “And what, wait for someone else to figure out what’s going on?” The sharpness you hear from your tone shocks you, shaking your head as you try to force your voice into something more gentle. “I mean...that last cave-in was right in front of our door. And that poor Migosp...Momma, it’s getting closer. It’s getting worse. I can’t let it keep going. And it’s happening out here, too--someone I met has seen it--” “You met someone?” She breaks in, that fear never leaving her voice. “Who? How far did you get?”

Cuddle/Snuggle: (I have only just now realized I have never used either of these words. Like. Ever. I guess I've been focusing WAY too much on the pining and not enough on the actual smoochies, so here, have a cute TedPipes-flavored thing from the unfinished next-chapter of Shine On. The Derry kids come home, and realize that they'd forgotten a little too much in their time away.)

She turns, fixed by the familiarity of the stranger standing behind her. He’s almost a head taller than her, with dark curly hair and a warm smile that crinkles the edges of pale blue eyes. “You make for a terrible door.” he goes on, gesturing to her with one hand as the other slips into the pocket of his jacket.  “Teddy?” The name brings a younger face to her mind, bright and freckled and just a little bucktoothed. In a flash she remembers laying in the floor of her bedroom listening to her sister’s old record player, sitting in a dark movie theater waiting for the previews of some new movie to end, and swinging off of a rope into the water at the quarry…never more than an arm’s length away from the one kid who insisted that no one should spend summer break alone. He’s older now, but still has that mischievous light in his eyes. “Hey, Piper. Been a while.” “Holy shit,” Her tension is forgotten completely as she meets him in a hug that smells of cigarette smoke and cologne. The pure warmth she feels is unmistakable, beaming as she pulls back just enough to look up at him. “God, look at you.” She breathes, realizing that time has done him incredibly well. Those freckles are still there, but time has given them some softness, as well as a softness around his eyes and mouth. He’s really grown into himself, features and posture much stronger than she remembers. Oh no, she thinks. Puberty hit Weizak like a Mack truck. “Look at you.” He returns with a self-conscious laugh, arms still looped around her back. Her heart is still racing, she finds, trying and failing to find words to say that encompass the strength of emotions running through her. 

[tacticalhimbo]

WIP (WEDNES)DAY!

and i actually have stuff for it! kinda! many thanks to @sstewyhosseini who tagged me 💕

idk who all's workin on stuff rn, so i'll throw some random tags out! @vendettapandav , @detectivelokis , @cybilbennettgf (i just noticed the name change KDJDKDJ) , @kourumi , and anyone else who's a creative/sitting on a wip!

i've begun the plotting process for my latest fic(tm), so here's the official summary and prologue's notes 😌

SYNOPSIS: Hope County, Montana, has been overrun by an extremist religious sect known as the Project at Eden’s Gate. Their leader, Joseph Seed, has effectively cut off the county’s communication with the outside world, and the sudden quiet after the storm has raised the eyes of the federal government. U.S. Marshal Cameron Burke is assigned to accompany a skeleton crew of deputies from the local sheriff’s department to his compound, and serve the warrant necessary to put Joseph behind bars. Accompanying him is Senior Deputy Earl Whitehorse, Deputy Staci Pratt, Deputy Joey Hudson, and Junior Deputy Marion Scott Mitchell.

However, things are quick to go wrong, and the group is separated. All are captured and imprisoned by the cult’s heralds, except for Marion, who now finds himself in the crosshairs of the cult. It is up to him, and those he has befriended within the community, to rise up and put a stop to the cult’s doomsday plot. Will he be able to take down the heralds, or will the chains of their power drag him down beneath the waves?

TITLE INSPIRATION: I wanted to pull from Biblical passages because of the thematic elements, and the fact Eden's Gate as a sect. is very similar to the Seventh Day Adventists (at least in my analysis of them)...

Of course, I had to phone a friend... But I melded our ideas together.

The initial iteration was The Angel's Chain, referencing Revelations 20:1 -> And I saw an angel come down from heaven, having the key of the bottomless pit and a great chain in his hand.

But then I dug deeper, and read the entire chapter. And I liked the overarching theme of angels and false prophets... so... That's how the title ended up growing in size ^^; It can be short-handed though (e.g., Revelations 20 OR Angels and False Prophets).

I mayyy change my mind about making the title so long but that's what we're running aith for now.

And, as promised, the treat of the prologue's notes (please forgive that this section is in all caps, it helps my eyes when I'm writing on my document):

DETAIL THE DAY OF THE RAID. MARION IS IN THE COMMUNITY. HE VISITS ELLIE AND THOMAS, WHO HAVE MOVED INTO THE COUNTY JUST A FEW MONTHS PRIOR TO THIS CLIMAX. HE TELLS ELLIE THAT HE’S GOING TO THE COMPOUND LATER THAT EVENING, EVEN THOUGH HE KNOWS HE SHOULDN’T. THEY CAN’T TRUST ANYBODY. THEY HAVE A BIT OF A MOMENT, BUT THEIR FEELINGS ARE BURIED. THEY’RE CLOSE FRIENDS, NOTHING MORE. EXCEPT IT FEELS LIKE THAT. THOMAS SEES THEM GET SAD AND ASKS WHAT’S GOING ON, TO WHICH MARION EXPLAINS THAT HE’S GOING TO BE DOING A REALLY BIG JOB AND THAT HE MIGHT NOT SEE THEM AGAIN FOR A LITTLE WHILE. THOMAS IS SAD. THEY HUG IT OUT; ELLIE JOINS. HE BIDS THEM GOODBYE. CUT TO THE CHOPPER. HE’S THINKING OF THEM. BURKE NOTICES HE LOOKS OUT OF THE GAME. HE WAVES IT OFF AND SAYS IT’S NOTHING, JUST NERVES. INTRO SEQUENCE. CRASH.

SEPARATION. SURVIVAL INSTINCT KICKING IN. THE COUNTY HAS GONE TO SHIT AND MARION IS BARELY ALIVE ON THE SHORE. A MAN (DUTCH) GRABS HIM AND DRAGS HIM OFF. END.

We're on the angst train already!

[kyogre-blue]

Ei chapter 2 complete as well.

I actually started getting quite into it, to the point that I got really mad when we got to the last third or so. Once I'm invested, my annoyance at the writing also grows, haha.

Anyway, my opinion is not too different than when I played the first time, though I cared more about the first two thirds this time because I do kind of feel warmer toward Ei now. Ah, Miyuki Sawashiro...

But also, I stand by my opinion that Ei has the one and only fully presented character arc in all of Genshin (through the end of Sumeru, but I doubt Fontaine actually managed this either). We see where she starts, we learn why she believes as she does, we do a cool but meaningful thing to change her mind, we see her come to understand and change her perspective, then she shows the changes in her point of view and even does a cool thing to prove her new resolve. All the steps are there, properly displayed. Low bar, and yet.

Anyway, the first two thirds, up until the second fight with the Shogun, were at least fine, maybe even verging on good. (Yes, the act 1+2 issue still exists, but that's just something we have to ignore.) The issues really start in the last third.

There's a lot of comparatively small things, for example with the nature of the Shogun and how they address it (and also how long they take to address it, we did not need that many textboxes of Ei and the puppet patting each other on the back about how cool they both are), plus stuff like Makoto's ghost appearing at the end (Ei already resolved herself, she doesn't need this?? and it's just the Rukkhadevata thing again?? do you guys only have this many ideas to work with...). But the biggest issue that I just cannot get over and which really ruins the entire quest for me is the goddamn Lore.

Genshin in general tends to be Really Bad at integrating their long term Lore(tm) into the ongoing storylines. That's why all the stuff with the visions is so forced in Inazuma and in the Chasm. They needed to shove it in as 4shadowing for lore stuff we haven't reached yet, but they're not capable of doing it smoothly. You get the same issue with the Sakura.

There is no reason, at all, for the Sakura to have been in-universe retconned into existence. You could do the entire quest and all of Inazuma with the premise that the Sakura grew immediately when Ei returned from Khaenri'ah 500 years ago and not god knows when in the past, and NOTHING would change. Just say it sprouted from her sister's consciousness out of the wish to help her and protect Inazuma from beyond the grave, right there and then. That's fine! It's enough!

But you see, they need to namedrop Ishtaroth.

So we get this convoluted mess with the whole "time is uncertain" and the retconning. Which, incidentally, they don't seem to understand why that kind of story aspect would be used... Ei returned to the exact same nation she left behind, seemingly with NO difference whether or not the Sakura existed for those millennia. Scaramouche erased himself, Rukkha erased herself, and yet there are NO changes in the world state except some names in historical records. So why do it?? And it's not like we are there for those historical events and seeing the changes to them in the past either?? So this is all just pointless. Everyone's existence is pointless, since whether or not they're there makes no difference at all... what the heck is this...

Anyway, the last third combines the issue of the dragged out Shogun confrontation, the magic tree retcon nonsense, and Makoto's pointless "all according to keikaku" cameo, making is extremely weak and ruining the impact of the otherwise fairly good earlier sections.

But at least we're finally rid of the storm and Sakoku. Inazuma is almost done...

[magic-is-something-we-create]

WIP Playlist Tag II

THANK YOU REN @vacantgodling FOR GIVING ME AN EXCUSE TO DO THIS TAG AGAIN i owe u my life <3

Rules: list at least 4 songs from your current WIP playlist or a writing playlist you’ve been using lately, and the lyrics that speak to you the most! Then tag 4 people (or as many songs as you listed).

This time the playlist is for Goddess-Touched specifically because the playlist for that is just. Perfectly befitting the vibes. And once again, they're all instrumental!!

DRUMS OF GANJA-TAI by Kevin Penkin - this one is the informal theme for Andy's arc this book!! For whatever reason, it just sparks the brain for her whole "reverse-engineering airships" deal, and it also has just the right rhythm to coax hyperfocus <3

Ion Storm by Audiomachine - THIS ONE IS THE GOBLIN ARC. FULL STOP. i can See one of the big moments in Nimbus' story just by listening to this song. tbh i see it listening to anything from this album. it's a really good sci-fi vibe

Pathway by Kevin Penkin - this is Tieling's song. Just. It's Tieling's. If TMS ever gets a screen adaptation or some other excuse to have a soundtrack, I want Kevin Penkin to do it.

Evalia by Audiomachine, Paul Dinletir, and Úyanga Bold - I wrote the first chapter of GT to this song + Dusk of War on loop. The vibes were PERFECT.

And finally, it would be remiss of me to talk about a Millennium Saga playlist without mentioning Ember's honorary theme, Knights Templar by Adriel Fair. <3

I once again listed 6 songs, so this time I'll tag: @vacantgodling (i saw u say u have multiple playlists too 👀) @indecentpause, @writerfae, @dogmomwrites, @ceph-the-ghost-writer, and @dragon-swords-prophecies!!

As always, absolutely 0 pressure, and this doubles as an open tag if you'd like to play!!

[roosterbox]

Fic Rec Friday 4/28/23

Title: Next Big Thing

Rating: Mature

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandom: Inception (2010)

Relationship: Arthur/Eames (Inception)

Characters: Arthur (Inception), Eames (Inception)

Additional Tags: HGTV

Summary: Eames is certain that they will excel at being celebrity judges.

Arthur is not so sure.

But then, that's usually how their relationship goes.

———

This rec. Hooboy, this rec. I had to re-read this fic to insure that, yes, it really is still just as good as it was in 2015. I was absolutely correct.

First, don’t be intimidated by the length. It’s 231 chapters, but every single one of them moves so quick, you’ll have it halfway done before you realize. Easy breezy beautiful Covergirl.

Second, the best single thing about NBT might be the Original Characters. There are a lot of them - befitting a fic about a reality competition show! - and every single one is interesting. Even the ones who are jerks (*coughcoughAlec*). I dare you to read this and not fall at least a tiny bit in love with Sunny or Gon or Julia or Misty Rainbow. Speaking of Ms. Rainbow, there is a scene in this story that, when I first read it eight years ago, affected me so much, I had to put my phone down and pace around my room for like five minutes. So good that I remembered it word for word. You’ll be happy to know that The Scene is still incredible, even now. The unquestionable high point of the story for me, though everything around it is also amazing.

Another aspect I appreciate (and did back then too!) is how the Drama(tm) is never about risking Arthur and Eames’ relationship. Never once did I fear that there would be a big fight or a breakup or something. Which is very soothing to know - that while all this nonsense swirls around them, our boys are always together and in love. That constant is like the calm eye of the reality TV storm.

Overall, this one comes very very highly recommended. I know I say that a lot, but seriously, if you call yourself a fan of inception fics and haven’t read this one? Please do!

———

Next Week: Time for some Hannigram again! This one is one of my favorite one-shot AUs. Built around a simple premise: what if Will’s dad (and, naturally, Will too) lived/worked at the Lecter household in Lithuania? What if Will and Hannibal grew up together? Definitely intriguing.

See you next time!