#Manuscript before coming to destroy it

[contact-guy]

lol THIS ENDED UP BEING SO LONG but it's such a cute story opening that I had to draw Watson roasting Holmes's messiness for the newspaper and Holmes skillfully maneuvering his way out of having to do chores. It's all canon, even the indoor sharpshooting, except for the bit about the cold bath.

canon text under the cut:

An anomaly which often struck me in the character of my friend Sherlock Holmes was that, although in his methods of thought he was the neatest and most methodical of mankind, and although also he affected a certain quiet primness of dress, he was none the less in his personal habits one of the most untidy men that ever drove a fellow-lodger to distraction. Not that I am in the least conventional in that respect myself. The rough-and-tumble work in Afghanistan, coming on the top of a natural Bohemianism of disposition, has made me rather more lax than befits a medical man. But with me there is a limit, and when I find a man who keeps his cigars in the coal-scuttle, his tobacco in the toe end of a Persian slipper, and his unanswered correspondence transfixed by a jack-knife into the very centre of his wooden mantelpiece, then I begin to give myself virtuous airs. I have always held, too, that pistol practice should be distinctly an open-air pastime; and when Holmes, in one of his queer humors, would sit in an arm-chair with his hair-trigger and a hundred Boxer cartridges, and proceed to adorn the opposite wall with a patriotic V. R. done in bullet-pocks, I felt strongly that neither the atmosphere nor the appearance of our room was improved by it.

Our chambers were always full of chemicals and of criminal relics which had a way of wandering into unlikely positions, and of turning up in the butter-dish or in even less desirable places. But his papers were my great crux. He had a horror of destroying documents, especially those which were connected with his past cases, and yet it was only once in every year or two that he would muster energy to docket and arrange them; for, as I have mentioned somewhere in these incoherent memoirs, the outbursts of passionate energy when he performed the remarkable feats with which his name is associated were followed by reactions of lethargy during which he would lie about with his violin and his books, hardly moving save from the sofa to the table. Thus month after month his papers accumulated, until every corner of the room was stacked with bundles of manuscript which were on no account to be burned, and which could not be put away save by their owner. One winter’s night, as we sat together by the fire, I ventured to suggest to him that, as he had finished pasting extracts into his common-place book, he might employ the next two hours in making our room a little more habitable. He could not deny the justice of my request, so with a rather rueful face he went off to his bedroom, from which he returned presently pulling a large tin box behind him. This he placed in the middle of the floor and, squatting down upon a stool in front of it, he threw back the lid. I could see that it was already a third full of bundles of paper tied up with red tape into separate packages.

“There are cases enough here, Watson,” said he, looking at me with mischievous eyes. “I think that if you knew all that I had in this box you would ask me to pull some out instead of putting others in.”

“These are the records of your early work, then?” I asked. “I have often wished that I had notes of those cases.”

“Yes, my boy, these were all done prematurely before my biographer had come to glorify me.” He lifted bundle after bundle in a tender, caressing sort of way. “They are not all successes, Watson,” said he. “But there are some pretty little problems among them. Here’s the record of the Tarleton murders, and the case of Vamberry, the wine merchant, and the adventure of the old Russian woman, and the singular affair of the aluminium crutch, as well as a full account of Ricoletti of the club-foot, and his abominable wife. And here—ah, now, this really is something a little recherchè.”

He dived his arm down to the bottom of the chest, and brought up a small wooden box with a sliding lid, such as children’s toys are kept in. From within he produced a crumpled piece of paper, and old-fashioned brass key, a peg of wood with a ball of string attached to it, and three rusty old disks of metal.

“Well, my boy, what do you make of this lot?” he asked, smiling at my expression.

“It is a curious collection.”

“Very curious, and the story that hangs round it will strike you as being more curious still.”

“These relics have a history then?”

“So much so that they are history.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Sherlock Holmes picked them up one by one, and laid them along the edge of the table. Then he reseated himself in his chair and looked them over with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

“These,” said he, “are all that I have left to remind me of the adventure of the Musgrave Ritual.”

I had heard him mention the case more than once, though I had never been able to gather the details. “I should be so glad,” said I, “if you would give me an account of it.”

“And leave the litter as it is?” he cried, mischievously. “Your tidiness won’t bear much strain after all, Watson. But I should be glad that you should add this case to your annals, for there are points in it which make it quite unique in the criminal records of this or, I believe, of any other country. A collection of my trifling achievements would certainly be incomplete which contained no account of this very singular business.

-The Memories of Sherlock Holmes: The Musgrave Ritual

[hayatheauthor]

How To Set The Scene Without Info Dumping

Accidentally writing a manuscript full of info dumping is every writer’s worst nightmare. Info dumping can distract your readers from the heart of your story and destroy their immersion. Unsure how to accurately describe your story’s setting without info dumping? Here are some tips to get you started. 

Tip One: Pace Yourself 

It’s important to have the right pace when you describe your story’s setting. This helps ensure you give your readers an accurate mental image of your setting and characters without boring them with too many details. 

One easy way to accomplish this is by dividing your information based on the scene. 

For example, if you’re writing a scene where a new character walks into the room and find yourself info dumping their appearance, try dividing bits and pieces of their description. Start with a simple description of their general characteristics, maybe their clothes are a certain colour or their face looks worn and tired. 

Only move on to describe more details once your scene progresses. Your protagonist could maybe notice how their green eyes glint in the sunlight when they take a seat on the chair beside the window. Or they could unbutton a very expensive coat when they take a seat, with the clothing indicating their status. 

This technique can also be employed for layouts and room descriptions. Maybe your protagonist walks into a very expensive ballroom with large bay windows but only notices the breathtaking view on the other side of the glass when they take a break from their dancing. 

Tip Two: Only Mention What’s Relevant

If writers always only wrote about what was relevant to their story’s plotline, info dumping wouldn’t be a thing. It’s easy to get excited when you’re writing your WIP. After all, there are so many different things you want to show your readers to make them understand the complexities of your tale. But writers can often find themselves info dumping because of this. 

Here’s something you probably didn’t want to hear: your readers don’t need to know everything about your book. 

It’s an annoying truth, but something you need to come to terms with when writing. 

As mentioned in my previous blogs posts, it’s important to know how much of your worldbuilding should be shown in your book and when to mention which parts of your worldbuilding. 

For example, saying a new character had a tortured look in their deep grey eyes that reminded your protagonist of the rumours of their childhood might be intriguing, but it’s important to consider whether or not that little piece of information is relevant to the current scene. 

If a piece of description or information isn’t relevant to what’s going on in your current chapter then consider cutting it out to eliminate any info dumping. This is especially important during fast-paced scenes such as fights or emotional revelations. 

Tip Three: Set A (Word) Limit

If you’re really struggling with info dumping then try setting a limit to restrict how much you write. Go back to any parts of your WIP that you think have a bit of info dumping and check how many words or paragraphs that part has, then set a goal for how many words/paragraphs you want it to be. Paste that particular text into a different document and start snipping away at unnecessary information or wordy areas until you reach your desired word or paragraph count. 

You can also do this for scenes that are overly descriptive. Following the previous examples, if you have a scene where your protagonist walks into a new room or a new character makes an appearance then try cutting out bits of the initial description and relocating them to a later part of your scene in order to meet your desired word limit. 

Tip Four: Get Poetic 

Do you know when people don’t mind long descriptions? When they are poetic and paint a vivid image in their head. These types of descriptions can help immerse your reader before you move into the heart of your scene. 

It doesn’t have to be long or overly dramatic, but a good piece of description can help you set your scene without accidentally info dumping. 

However, this tip should be used sparsely throughout your book in order to ensure you don’t constantly break your reader’s immersion. It’s important to ensure your poetic descriptions actually tie into the heart of your chapter. For example, don’t go describing a character’s hair poetically if that character only showed up to tell your protagonist something. 

I hope this blog on how to set the scene without info dumping will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.  

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and marketing tools for authors every Monday and Thursday. 

Want to learn more about me and my writing journey? Visit my social media pages under the handle @hayatheauthor where I post content about my WIP The Traitor’s Throne and life as a teenage author.

Copyright © 2022 Haya Sameer, you are not allowed to repost, translate, recreate or redistribute my blog posts or content without prior permission 

[comfymoth]

well now i'm curious about your non-rings-of-power tolkien opinions, whichever subset of them you would find most fun to talk about

OMG okay well i’m just going to use this as an excuse to talk about the paper i wrote last year then!! there was actually this big exhibition of tolkien’s manuscripts in my city in the fall, so i had to write an essay on, like, two big themes in his work and it was the most fun i’ve ever had in a history class. Love when i get to write essays about shit i’m obsessed with anyways.

so like. the lord of the rings is all about going home, right? that’s all the characters want, sam and frodo especially talk about it A Lot, and i think it’s pretty obvious where that comes from, from tolkien’s experience as a soldier. but i also think, in a way, it’s kind of about returning to your childhood. or to your home when it was ideal. it’s just all about innocence, you know? tolkien grew up in the countryside, but it didn’t stay the countryside for long, birmingham kept expanding and eventually all that farmland was replaced by factories. and he witnessed the role that industrialization played in wwi, the first war to take advantage of mass-production, and he saw first hand how fucking brutal that was.

so the orcs, his stand-ins for literal demons, created by morgoth the embodiment of all evil, what’s one of the first things he notes about them in the silmarillion? that they’re inventors. they build machines to hurt people. they have literal factories, and by the time of lotr, the uruk hai themselves are practically being churned out of factories, it’s All about industrialization and mass production. mordor is named after birmingham. and the orcs destroy the countryside, they attack the ents, that’s part of what makes them such fundamental baddies to tolkien. because nature and innocence go hand in hand for him, and they just stomp it all out.

meanwhile the hobbits are essentially a distillation of the country life tolkien grew up around. they live quiet, pastoral lives, and they live in pretty much blissful ignorance of the larger world around them. everything is sort of simple and happy and nostalgic. like the way you would remember your childhood. like the way tolkien remembered his before the first world war. so every time frodo and sam talk about the shire and going back, and wether or not there will even be a shire to go back to, it’s not just about being able to physically go home. it’s about being able to go back to a different time, when they were safe and un-traumatized. and in the end, frodo kind of can’t. he physically can’t live there because he can’t mentally go back.

i got to see the original hand-written page of the scene when the hobbits return home, and there are tear stains on it. the ink is smudged in multiple spots. because it just means so, so much to be able to go home

[etoilesombre]

Hey, do you guys want to hear a story? Let me tell you about the romance between Lancelot and Guinevere, as recounted in Sir Thomas Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur.

So, I thought I knew the basics. I grew up reading modern versions of Arthurian legend that focused on other aspects, but had a general knowledge of the Arthur-Guinever-Lancelot love triangle. It didn't show up too much, but I assumed it was subtext in some other versions. What I picked up was that it was sort of pure, almost an ot3, and not the cause of a lot of problems. 

My friends. In this version it is NOT SUBTEXT, it DEFINITELY CAUSED PROBLEMS, and it is WILD. It is a true will-they-won't-they drama fest soap opera romance, and I need to share. So please, come on this journey with me.

[I’m looking at you, Black Sails fandom people. I need you to know that Flint canonically would have read this. He would almost certainly have also grown up hearing these stories. I’m not saying he’s Lancelot coded, but I am saying it's interesting that he would have been aware that was something it was possible to be.]

A couple notes, before we dive in. I am very much just summarizing what happened in the book. The thing is, the book is a million pages long and also in Middle English, and this is just one of many plots, which I think is why it's not more widely known. I will show some excerpts so you can get a feel for the text, but you don’t need to read them to understand the story. I'm referring to a version that is as close to the manuscript as I can find, though with spelling regularized. For real fun, see what the original looked like. Malory purports to be translating part of the French Vulgate cycle, which likely is where the character of Lancelot originates, but in fact he is doing much more than translating, and compiles other stories as well. Point being, when he says “so the French book sayeth” etc, that is the “book” to which he is referring. Because of my lack of knowledge about the language and cultural context, this lecture series from Mythgard Academy was absolutely invaluable to my understanding. I cannot recommend it highly enough. Inevitably, some of the opinions of the prof are reflected here. I do not have it in me to compare the scholarship of various medievalists right now, I just want to tell you about this DRAMA. 

Let’s start with a prophecy. When Arthur decides he wishes to marry Guinevere, Merlin advises him to take someone else, because if he takes her, she will betray him with Lancelot and it will destroy his kingdom. All of this is foretold, not only to us, but to Arthur himself. Of course he takes her anyway, and all is doomed from the start.

As we begin the main arc of this story (several books after the prophecy), Lancelot is widely acknowledged to be the best and most renowned knight of Arthur’s court. He is plainly and hopelessly in love with Guinevere, and she loves him in return. Arthur doesn’t have a problem with this - who wouldn’t love Guinevere? This sort of love is socially acceptable, so long as they do not sleep together, which would be treason. Arthur in fact seems to support their love, because it means that Lancelot will be Guinevere’s champion should she need one. This is a role Arthur himself legally cannot fill because he is the king, and so would have to be the judge. Lancelot is indeed a good champion for her, and fights for her when she is wrongly accused of murder. 

Lancelot is deeply chivalrous, in a way that seems sincere. This is a great place for a first excerpt, a conversation with a Random Damsel Lancelot has been helping:

‘Now, damosel,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘will ye any more service of me?’ ‘Nay, sir,’ she said, ‘at this time, but almighty Jesu preserve you wheresoever ye ride or go, for the most courteous knight thou art and meekest unto all ladies and gentlewomen that now liveth. But one thing, sir knight, me thinks ye lack, ye that are a knight wifeless, that ye will not love some maiden or gentlewoman. For I could never hear say that ever ye loved any of no manner of degree, and that is great pity. But it is noised that ye love Queen Guenivere, and that she hath ordained by enchantment that ye shall never love no other but her, nor no other damosel nor lady shall rejoice you; wherefore there be many in this land of high estate and low that make great sorrow.’ ‘Fair damosel,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘I may not warn* people to speak of me what it pleaseth them; but for to be a wedded man, I think it not; for then I must couch with her, and leave arms and tournaments, battles and adventures. And as for to say to take my pleasance with paramours, that will I refuse, in principal for dread of God. For knights that be adventurous should not be adulterers nor lecherous, for then they be not happy nor fortunate unto the wars; for either they shall be overcome with a simpler knight than they be themselves, or else they shall slay by unhap and their cursedness better men than they be themselves. And so who that useth paramours shall be unhappy, and all thing unhappy that is about them.’ 

So after doing his Knightly Deeds for this damsel, Lancelot asks if she needs anything else. She says no, but you are lacking one thing, which is the love of a woman. It is rumored that is because Guinevere has through sorcery made you love only her, and that causes all of the women great sorrow. In reply Lancelot makes this speech about how he cannot have a wife or paramour and be a good knight, but everyone thinks it is at least in part because his love is reserved for Guinevere.

Now, throughout the book his chastity DOES notably cause all of the women great sorrow. Everyone wants to sleep with Lancelot. Literally he is kidnapped by the four most beautiful queens other than Guinevere, and they say he has to choose one of them as a lover (not even a wife, a lover) or else die. He says he would rather die, though in the end he escapes. This is just an example, truly it is a recurring problem for him. He is, at one point, tricked into sleeping with a woman with whom he conceives his son Galahad (as was prophesied, it's a long story and the romance is only part of it. It is worth mentioning that something similar happens to Arthur, which is how Mordred is sired.) When Guinevere learns that Lancelot has been with someone else, she is angry and banishes him from the court. They still love each other and eventually reconcile. 

So, Lancelot goes on the quest for the holy grail. But he fails, specifically because while he is outwardly dedicated to God, in his private heart he is still dedicated to Guinevere. And so he makes a vow to renounce his love for her, acknowledging that it is beyond measure (beyond what is right, even if they have not technically done anything wrong.) However when he returns to Camelot, he cannot keep this vow, as we see. 

Then, as the book saith, Sir Lancelot began to resort unto Queen Guenivere again, and forgot the promise and the perfection that he made in the quest. For, as the book saith, had not Sir Lancelot been in his privy thoughts and in his mind so set inwardly to the Queen as he was in seeming outward to God, there had no knight passed him in the quest of the Sangrail, but ever his thoughts were privily on the Queen. And so they loved together more hotter than they did beforehand, and had many such privy draughts together that many in the court spoke of it, and in especial Sir Agravain, Sir Gawain’s brother, for he was ever open-mouthed. So it befell that Sir Lancelot had many resorts of ladies and damosels that daily resorted unto him to be their champion: in all such matters of right Sir Lancelot applied him daily to do for the pleasure of Our Lord Jesu Christ. And ever as much as he might he withdrew him from the company of Queen Guenivere for to eschew the slander and noise, wherefore the Queen waxed wroth with Sir Lancelot.

He and Guinevere start spending a lot of time alone together, and so there are rumors circulating about them in court. In order to put a stop to the rumors, Lancelot starts paying other women attention and doing more good knightly deeds for them. Guinevere is terribly jealous, but he tells her it's for their own good, and also tells her about the vow he made, and his concern that their love is beyond what is appropriate. She is devastated, and weeping banishes him from the court (again). 

Lancelot then rides in a tournament, disguised. (Why? Because this is simply a thing knights do.) To make it an effective disguise he takes the token of a woman, the sleeve of the fair maid of Astolat to wear on his helm. When she discovers that he was only using it for the disguise, and he does not indeed love her, she is so heartbroken that she says if he will not marry her or be her lover, she will die. He refuses, on the grounds that love must not be constrained and should arise from the heart, and offers her a thousand pounds a year instead if she marries anyone else. Properly insulted by this, she does indeed die. She has her body sent in a boat to Camelot, with a letter in her hand, saying that she died of her love for him, that he would not return. 

Seeing this, Guinevere reconciles with Lancelot, presumably reassured by the fact that he would let this very beautiful much younger woman die of her love rather than being with her. She insists that from now on he will not fight in disguise, and will openly bear her token. 

Then Queen Guenivere sent for Sir Lancelot, and said thus: ‘I warn you that ye ride no more in no jousts nor tournaments but that your kinsmen may know you; and at these jousts that shall be ye shall have of me a sleeve of gold. And I pray you for my sake to force* yourself there, that men may speak you worship. But I charge you as ye will have my love, that ye warn your kinsmen that ye will bear that day the sleeve of gold upon your helmet.’ ‘Madam,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘it shall be done.’ And either made great joy of other.

It is important to keep in mind that, to this point, there is no textual evidence that they were sleeping together, and a great deal of evidence that it was important to Lancelot that they not cross that line. There is much less evidence that this is important to Guinevere.

So then one fateful day in May, Guinevere goes picnicing with an entourage of knights. They are captured by someone else who is in love with Guinevere, and taken back to his castle, but she manages to send a message to Lancelot. At the castle, she insists that her knights sleep in her bedchamber on the grounds that they were wounded in the battle when she was captured and need tending, but truly she wants them there to keep her captor from raping her. 

Lancelot arrives to rescue her, and the person who kidnapped her agrees to give her back in the morning. She tells Lancelot to visit her room in the night. He climbs up to her window, which is barred. They have a heartfelt reunion and she says she wishes he could come in to her. He acquiesces and breaks the bars to get into her room, cutting his hand to the bone to do so. Despite the profusely bleeding wound and the ten other men sleeping in the room, they at last do sleep together, in this passionate blood covered consummation. He sneaks back out and replaces the bars.

In the morning, the man who kidnapped Guinevere comes in and sees blood all over the bed. He accuses her of being unfaithful to the king, saying she lay with one of the knights who had been sleeping in her room. She denies it, but it is very clear that she did sleep with someone who was bleeding. 

Lancelot says he will fight to defend her from this accusation, which is right and proper because he is her champion. In this story people take trial by combat and oaths before God very seriously, especially Lancelot. He really does try. So he swears an oath that he will prove with his life that Guinevere did not sleep with one of the wounded knights who lay in her room. This of course is TRUE, but only on a technicality. Lancelot, having slept with her himself the night before, is also the one who defends her honor after. I love this story so much. 

Instead of fighting him, the kidnapper takes Lancelot captive. In captivity he encounters ANOTHER damsel who insists that sleep with her in order for her to help him. He refuses, still faithful in his heart to Guinevere. Eventually she settles for him holding and kissing her, which is not across the line of appropriateness apparently, giving us some idea of where that line is drawn. Anyway, Lancelot gets out, fights for Guinevere and wins. There are indications that he feels like he barely dodged a devine bullet. 

Guinevere and Lancelot return to Camelot. Finally the rumors about them are true, the deed has been done, but of course nothing appears particularly different as there were already rumors about them. Two knights, Mordred and Agravaine, who have been intriguing against Arthur already, go and tell Arthur that Guinevere is being untrue to him. Here is his response: 

‘If it be so,’ said the King, ‘wit you well, he is none other; but I would be loath to begin such a thing but I might have proofs of it. For Sir Lancelot is a hardy knight, and all ye know that he is the best knight among us all; and but if he be taken with the deed he will fight with him that bringeth up the noise, and I know no knight that is able to match him. Therefore, and it be sooth as ye say, I would that he were taken with the deed.’ For as the French book saith, the King was full loath that such a noise should be upon Sir Lancelot and his queen. For the King had a deeming of it; but he would not hear thereof, for Sir Lancelot had done so much for him and for the Queen so many times that, wit you well, the King loved him passingly well.

Arthur says he will not hear of this without proof, because if Lancelot is accused and allowed to fight he would beat anyone. And, it is said that Arthur had some idea of the affair, but would not credit it because Lancelot had done so much for him and Guinevere, and he loved Lancelot greatly. 

So, one night when the king is away hunting, the two accusers contrive to catch them in the act, with a group of twelve armed knights. They do find Lancelot in Guinevere’s chamber, but the text is notably, pointedly vague about whether they are actually in bed. In any case, Lancelot asks for a trial. The knights say no, they have caught him and so may kill him. He is Lancelot, so he kills all of them instead, save one (Mordred) whom he leaves wounded. Lancelot flees, intending to return to rescue Guinevere and take her to his own castle to protect her from Arthur’s wrath. He maintains her innocence, and still intends that they will all reconcile.

Guinevere is to be burned at the stake (normal in this situation). Lancelot rescues her from the burning at the last moment, killing a number of knights of the round table. Arthur seems to blame the accusers more than Guinevere and Lancelot (for good reason; keep in mind that the romance is a subplot, there is a great deal of political intrigue going on.) Now a war will begin, whether anyone wants it or not, because of the people Lancelot killed. Lancelot takes Guinevere to his own castle. Battle lines are drawn, and Lancelot and Arthur confront each other in the fighting:

And ever was King Arthur about Sir Lancelot to have slain him, and ever Sir Lancelot suffered him and would not strike again. So Sir Bors encountered with King Arthur; and Sir Bors smote him, and so he alit and drew his sword and said to Sir Lancelot, ‘Sir, shall I make an end of this war?’—for he meant to have slain him. ‘Not so hardy,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘upon pain of thy head, that thou touch him no more! For I will never see that most noble king that made me knight neither slain nor shamed.’ And therewith Sir Lancelot alit off his horse and took up the King and horsed him again, and said thus: ‘My lord the king, for God’s love, stint this strife, for ye get here no worship and I would do my utterance. But always I forbear you, and ye nor none of yours forbear not me. And therefore, my lord, I pray you remember what I have done in many places, and now am I evil rewarded.’ So when King Arthur was on horseback he looked on Sir Lancelot; then the tears burst out of his eyes, thinking of the great courtesy that was in Sir Lancelot more than in any other man. And therewith the King rode his way and might no longer behold him, saying to himself, ‘Alas, alas, that yet this war began!’

So Arthur tries to slay Lancelot, but Lancelot, the better fighter, refuses to slay him and indeed when Arthur is unhorsed Lancelot forbids that he be slain, and gives him his own horse. Arthur weeps for the honor that is in Lancelot, and laments that the war began. 

The pope intervenes and tries to negotiate an end. Lancelot confirms that he is willing to return Guinevere to Arthur, and says he has always been willing to do this and will still defend her honor, but that he does not feel he can do so because Arthur has listened to liars and been misled, and he had more reason to take her away than the accusation of adultery - he does not trust she can be safe in that court, with things as they are. 

Eventually they do make a deal, with some assurances, and he surrenders Guinevere to the king. He kisses her openly, says that he will leave, but should she be in danger or ever again accused of being untrue, he will fight for her as he always has. He departs the court forever, to much great sorrow, and returns to his own lands. 

The war continues - eventually Mordred seizes the throne, Arthur kills him in battle but is mortally wounded himself and passes to Avalon. Following the king’s death, although her love would no longer be adulterous, Guinevere retires to a convent rather than reuniting with Lancelot. He seeks her out, and this is her reaction: 

Sir Lancelot was brought before her; then the Queen said to all those ladies, ‘Through this same man and me hath all this war been wrought, and the death of the most noblest knights of the world; for through our love that we have loved together is my most noble lord slain. Therefore, Sir Lancelot, wit thou well I am set in such a plight to get my soul health; and yet I trust through God’s grace and through His Passion of His wounds wide, that after my death I may have a sight of the blessed face of Christ Jesu, and at Doomsday to sit on His right side;* for as sinful as ever I was, now are saints in heaven. And therefore, Sir Lancelot, I require thee and beseech thee heartily, for all the love that ever was betwixt us, that thou never see me no more in the visage. And I command thee, on God’s behalf, that thou forsake my company; and to thy kingdom look thou turn again, and keep well thy realm from war and wrack. For as well as I have loved thee heretofore, my heart will not serve now to see thee, for through thee and me is the flower of kings and knights destroyed. And therefore go thou to thy realm, and there take ye a wife and live with her with joy and bliss. And I pray thee heartily to pray for me to the everlasting Lord that I may amend my misliving.’ ‘Now, my sweet madam,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘would ye that I should turn again unto my country, and there to wed a lady? Nay, madam, wit you well, that shall I never do, for I shall never be so false unto you of that I have promised. But the self* destiny that ye have taken you to, I will take me to, for the pleasure of Jesu; and ever for you I cast me specially to pray.

Rather than rejoicing in Lancelot’s presence, Guinevere laments that their love brought about the downfall of the Arthurian court, and the deaths of the knights of the round table and King Arthur. She calls upon Lancelot, by all the love that was ever between them to leave her presence, telling him to marry someone else if he wishes and see her no more. Lancelot replies that he wants no one else, and that he will respect her wishes, but will also renounce the world and join a religious order. He asks Guinevere for a final parting kiss, which she denies him. 

When Guinevere lies dying of illness, Lancelot sets out to go to her, having had a vision. She knows of his coming, and prays to die before she sees him, because she cannot bear it. She dies a half hour before he arrives, leaving instruction that he is to tend to her body, and then lay it to rest beside that of her lord King Arthur. Lancelot does this with great sorrow, and after ceases to eat or drink, and within weeks is dead himself. 

And there you have it, the love affair that doomed Camelot.

HUGE DISCLAIMER: Any and all mistakes or misinterpretations are my own. This is what I gathered, but I am not a medievalist. I am barely an interested layperson. I’m just a random fic writer who got obsessed with research for a story, and had to share this tragic mess. 

[anamizuiro]

When They Are Self Aware [IkeVamp Edition]

(After reading many tumblr posts about sagau and sahsrau, I pondered...)

Warnings: Long, somewhat ooc (some of these are based of my own impression towards them after looking through posts related to them), 4th-wall destroyed, grammars

What happens when the suitors of Ikemen Vampire become self aware that they are game characters?

That question can lead to two possible answers: it's either chaos or wonder.

For now, it's wonder.

Think about it. They are characters based off of existing historical figures from different eras, right? Obviously, this kind of "technology" will baffle them slightly. Because this kind of thing wasn't even really a thing in their prime. The Protagonist serves as your eyes to see everyone. The residents also take notice of this. You can't really share your message across through MC's mouth. But your words did come across through the wind.

Jean may be wary about this, pondering "is this some sort of witchcraft? Or have God decided to come and punish me by filling my mind with madness and uncertainty?". Because, there's someone out there?? Outside this world observing him?? Some being he didn't know?? And they care for him too (judging from how he sometimes heard your quiet sobbing and desperate pleas, telling him to be aware that despite everything, there are people who care for him) ???? But why? He wondered, why? He don't know who or what is this being that is watching him. Certainly, it wasn't God.

But soon, everyone followed. Jean is no longer the only one who become aware of the presence of this being. One by one, the residents of the mansion followed suit.

×××

Sometimes, whenever Vincent paint sunflowers, everything feels much brighter. He felt some sort of giddiness whenever he draw beautiful scenes. He felt like someone is watching him painting. But this feeling... it didn't frighten him. Rather, he was content. It almost felt like he's a child drawing something while a relative or a parent watching with fond eyes. Sometimes, he swore he heard "I wonder what kind of painting he's making" or "I'm sure his painting is beautiful like the real deal. Too bad they don't show a picture of his paintings".

It's nice that whoever or whatever says this compliments his painting. But real deal? Does this mean someone has painted what he painted before? If so, who? Vincent cannot help but wanting to meet whoever this person is and told them that he wanted to give them credit for the original (poor guy doesn't even know the person you're talking about is the real life counter part of himself).

×××

Theo often hears soothing whispers in his dreams. Though he sometimes had a nightmare about how his brother died in his arms, these days they are followed by someone (or something) comforting him. Telling him that he's already good enough of a brother. And Vincent will still and always love him. But of course he prefer not to tell anyone about this, including Vincent. He didn't think it was necessary.

But, Theo often felt the same presence around Vincent. Whenever he accompanied him to buy art supplies or helping him with the next exhibition, he felt someone or something watching both of them with benevolence. Like a guardian angel, perhaps. Pair of eyes looking at them with fondness whenever they are together in any occasion. Perhaps there is indeed someone out there that care for them both.

×××

Let's face it, Arthur may or may not put up some theories on the wall of his room at first.

He began to note down these weird feeling of being watched. He will be intrigued. No matter where he looked at, this presence were nowhere near him. Or at least, not physically. But how come their presence lingers despite having no physical appearance? Did they use some sort of invisibility cloak? Or maybe this being is like a fairy, like the ones he believes in?

He may or may not use this as an inspiration for his next story

Though whenever he writes his next manuscript, the presence comes off even stronger. A pair of eyes ogling on him. Arthur felt like he was back in those days where he's working on his assignment as a student while being supervised by one of his professors. But it's different. There's a bit of pity in these invisible pair of eyes. But why did this being pity him for writing? What part of him is pitiable?

×××

Comte knew.

Nobody need to tell him about it. He already sensed this presence–your presence–that watches him and the residents. He have seen many unusual things, especially for someone who have lived for centuries.

Those nights he spent by looking at the sky, his golden lances glances specifically at the moon. Thinking that perhaps the celestial object in the sky could serve as your other pair of eyes aside from the woman who came through the door that was supposed to serve as your "vessel".

He longed for this presence. He longed for you. He felt all of your emotions whenever and wherever he is. Sometimes he felt happiness, bashfulness and sorrow. Like Arthur, he wondered what part of him that you pity. But he's content nonetheless. After all, he knows that there is someone out there who think of him.

×××

Isaac will be curious.

He never stops being curious, despite being awkward and socially shy. He's a scientist, a physician. Scientists ought to be curious of their surroundings.

While your (invisible) presence slightly scares him at first, he wondered where you are. If you're not here, then how are you watching him? From where are you watching him? Could it be that there's another world out there beyond his reach? Beyond the boundaries of this world he currently settles in? Was the theory of the existence of parallel universe gain its fame from now on?

He'll never know unless he finally got to meet you. Science has no boundaries, right?

×××

When Sebastian realized this for the first time, he is... unsure how to feel. Considering that he came from the year where advanced technology is still in research and work in progress overall. Could this be the so called simulated world? Like the ones in those fictional stories? But that's too advanced! No way a human can replicate this kind of experience on such a device! Even if they did, what kind of device is it?

Sometimes he heard your adoring whispers of how he is such a big history geek. It kind of caught him off guard. Getting praised by the residents is more than enough to give him a heart attack but when you did it? He might as well lay down on a sofa for a while to process this newfound sense of content.

×××

Like Comte, Vlad is also aware of this.

To think that there is a world out there, and you living on it. Vlad would definitely be content whenever you log in to the game. To the point he will frequently appear in your check-in screen. Saying things of how he is so happy to see you and your presence always made his day.

He also felt your eyes looking at him whenever he goes on to his usual routine. And you wouldn't believe how giddy it made him feel. He felt like a kid again.

Vlad will also look at the moon whenever he think of you. Once again, like Comte, he believed that the moon in the world he lives in serves as your other pair of eyes to see what's going on in this world. If you were out there watching him, the world you lived in must be a peaceful one. Since he sometimes heard your soft giggles in his dream.

This time, he will find a way to see you. Maybe he could borrow Comte's door for a while.

Or maybe he can... find a way to tinker with the game's mechanics to communicate with you.

×××

Napoleon doesn't really think much about the existence of other worlds. Until now.

He once said that he didn't really care of what people think of him. Or how the books described him. He's just a man right in front of you. In front of your screen, that is. Because that's what he told you. But when he came to realized that the world he's living in is a game, a dimension among the binaries simply with a purpose to satisfy those who seek the thrill and adventures of romance, he is shocked.

What do you mean that there are other people out there who played his route? The only presence he felt was yours. He didn't feel anyone else. Is this some sort of fate? Another destiny given to him?

Sometimes, Napoleon heard your whispers in the wind. One time, when he was teaching the children, he heard your faint whisper of praise. Telling him that he's a good teacher. It made him blanked out for a moment until a child have to tug his hand to get him back on track. Despite contemplating whether to tell Isaac about this or not, he did it anyways. And surprisingly, Isaac told him that sometimes he experiences the same thing.

The former Emperor may look calm on the outside. Meanwhile, he began to bury his face on the pillow as he recalled that day.

×××

When Dazai blanked out in the rain, he swore he heard an echo of you calling his name. His eyes blinked as more raindrops falling to his skin. Soaking every inch of his clothing wet. His eyes looked around, wondering where your voice came from before looking back to the cloudy sky once again.

When the sound of rain masked any other noises in his surroundings, your voice went through to him. Your voice sound so sad. He thought, Why do you sound so sad? Who are you feeling sad for?

Yet he yearned for your voice. He sometimes wished it will be raining the next day. Or the next month. All because he felt like your voice is much clearer when it's raining. Sometimes he sits so close to the window when it's raining, eyes looking into the distance, and face looking solemn.

×××

The thought of lovers limited by otherworldly boundaries is such an interesting concept for Shakespeare. It's like Romeo and Juliet but... much better? And with a bit of magic?? No one is dying except that they are now pining for eternity without resolution??

Better be prepared of extra letters you will receive. Sometimes it came from your in-game mailbox. You might want to read it, because it's mostly collection of poem dedicated for you, his so-called otherworldly muse. So many metaphors and shakespearean terms, you might need an expert to help you translate them. Unless you have an experience in arts of theatrics.

Shakespeare will not hesitate to write this down as his new play. About a man who fell in love with a woman who lives far away. And the only thing that could keep them connected was the whispers in the wind. As for how the tale will end, he might need to think about it later. He knew that many of his fans will be a little surprised in this sudden turn of his style. But, hey, he's eager to see you beyond the screen as you watch him directing his play.

×××

Giddy is an understatement. Charles is truly ecstatic. It doesn't matter if he's just a game character. There's someone out there who care for him and loves him? Well, mark him down as happy. He's ready to smother all of his love for you. All he needs to do left is to find a way to get the message across.

What should he send you? An extra diamond? extra drop rate for his card gacha? A bonus secret letter that only you can access? And where should he send his presents? The mailbox? Or just outright on the check-in screen? Charles have so many options yet so indecisive. Because he wants do all of it.

Charles would do anything for you. ANYTHING. He will go through the seven seas and seven land even if it meant that he could finally see you. He's ready to break the game as long as he can talk to you. He's quite lonely, you know?

×××

Faust chuckled in amusement. The scientist have become the observed guinea pig, huh? What an interesting turn of events.

He wondered if you enjoyed watching him. Now that you see him through the eyes of the female protagonist that became your eyes. He wondered if he looked deeper into her eyes, he will saw you. Right there, beyond the screen. Perhaps giggling or just smiling. Or just having neutral expression.

×××

Overall, once they have realized that they are just game characters and they can "see" you, expect for sudden extra diamonds sitting in your mailbox or their greeting become much much livelier than usual.

[xtransmasc-reader-scenariosx]

Nicotine Kisses

Paring: Ukai Keishin/ Trans Male reader Warnings: Smoking, mentions of marijuana use Summary: You always watch the store while Keishin is coaching, you always greet him with a kiss and a fresh cigarette when he gets back. Tonight, the team joins him to pick out their promised after practice snacks.

Back when Keishin had taken the coaching gig it was meant to be temporary. He was going to coach the local volleyball club, the Crows, as he'd taken to calling them, for couple of weeks through the end of training camp. You had a feeling though, despite the promises of "it's only a couple weeks," Keishin gave that this would become a permanent thing. He was too much like his father to stay away from the court for long. Despite this, you still agreed to watch the store in the evenings while he was away. As the weeks rolled on it became a familiar routine. During the day you worked on your manuscript, and in the evenings you manned the store for the few hours that Karasuno ran practice. Around nine pm Keishin would come back, you'd share a kiss, a cigarette, or something stronger if the day called for it, and then close up the store together amicably chatting about your day. Or rather, listening to Keishin talk about the flock of Crows he had acquired. The team came into the store often enough, that you were familiar with them as a group. Though you wouldn't be able to assign the names you heard to the faces without a proper introduction, and you didn't see that happening any time soon.

"I may bring the kids by after practice today, they've been working hard this week and I want to show them i appreciate their effort." He sounds so serious but you can't help the small smile that curls at your lips. Despite his best efforts, he's gotten attached, and you find it cute. "Is this your way of asking me to set aside eleven pork buns and a curry bun before the soccer club destroys the hot foods stand again?" You're mostly asking to make sure you're writing it down correctly, not so much because you needed the clarification. "If you don't mind." He replies and kisses your temple before stepping out of the store. You rolled your eyes in the empty store but you were still smiling as you put the buns in a basket and tucked it up under the front counter. It was better to have them set aside now than risk forgetting. Especially since the soccer club and whatever students may have stayed late to study would likely be your only customers until Keishin called practice to a close.

Come nine o'clock you were running mostly on auto pilot. You smiled gently when you spotted Keishin walking through the door, taking a moment to note that it was odd of him to come through the front, but you still met him at the counter with a kiss and a lit cigarette. Only to be interrupted by a cat call and a cry of "Get it coach!" Keishin took it in stride, only chuckling against your lips before pulling away, taking the cigarette with him. "Tanaka, Nishnoya, extra laps tomorrow." He remarked without looking over his shoulder, and you noticed to of the boys flinch, "Y/N did you set aside what I asked for earlier?" "Of course." You pull the basket from beneath the counter, "All still freshly warm." The group of teens in the store lets out a collective cheer and descends on the basket. Snacks in hand, they thank Keishin, and some of them even you after a moment of thought, then make their way into the night. "I didn't expect you to kiss me in front of the kids" Keishin half laughs handing the cigarette of to you. "i, uh, might have forgotten you were bringing them by." You reply exhaling the smoke with your words, "I thought you were bringing Takeda in for a drink." "He wants to wait until after the tournament. Something about having something to celebrate." He says as he switches the door sign to closed, "So tonight it's just us."

[em-dash-press]

Best Tools to Track Your NaNoWriMo Progress

The NaNoWriMo site allows anyone who signs up for a free account to set their word count through their dashboard. There are plenty of other resources to help you too, but if that’s not your style, these are other tools to track your NaNoWriMo progress. See if you like any before November begins to tackle your manuscript even faster.

Note: None of these are paid promotions or affiliate links. They’re just recommendations based on what I and other writers have found helpful in the past!

1. FocusWriter

Writers often start exploring the world of creative writing tools by downloading FocusWriter. The free program hides everything on your screen except your document and shows a custom background instead, like the wooden background below.

Use the settings to customize each writing experience and keep track of your daily NaNoWriMo word count goals. It even spell checks for you, which speeds up your editing process.

2. NovProg

NovProg is a free writing resource that’s best for people who don’t want any hassle on their screens. If you’re into graphs, this might be the tool you love. The program makes graphs of your daily word count progress so you have more visual encouragement during your NaNoWriMo experience.

3. Scrivener

Scrivener is a popular software within the creative writing community. You can use the free trial to see if it’s your thing before Scrivener requires a $51 purchase for Mac users or $60 for PC users.

It’s expensive, but popular for a reason. The program has file organization options for planners and writers who don’t outline their work. Save character outlines, track your word count, save photos, and store links to inspirational Scrivener corkboards.

The software also lets writers research from within Scrivener. You won’t need to open a Google tab (and potentially whatever internet distractions await you) to double-check information or even transcribe an interview.

4. MyWriteClub

Name and update your word count goals automatically by writing alongside MyWriteClub. The simple progress bar even updates with encouragement from friends who use MyWriteClub. Their notes will pop up under your word count as you work on your NaNoWriMo projects together. It takes away the loneliness that can sometimes come with writing stories by yourself.

If you don’t have any in-person friends doing NaNoWriMo, there are global writing sprints available for MyWriteClub users. The 15-minute focus sessions connect writers as they work on their word count goal for the day. It might be the encouragement you need to stay on track, especially if you get bored writing by yourself.

5. Fighter’s Block

Merge your love of video games and creative writing with Fighter’s Block. After setting your word count goal within the website, you’ll become a character fighting a monster. The monster wants to destroy your words, but your word count progress keeps it at bay.

6. Write or Die

This is another infamous tool in the creative writing world. It’s what you might want to try when you need extreme help with knocking out your daily word count.

Input your word count goal and start writing. If you slow down or miss your goal, the program deletes random chunks of your work. You’ll get a few warnings, but the deletion often happens sooner than writers expect. It’s better to use this program when you know what you need to write, but need a push to stay with your manuscript until you’re done for the day.

Change the settings outlined in yellow below to match what you need from your writing experience. There’s also a setting to get encouragement instead of your work deleted, if you’d prefer that. Click the Ready button and your screen updates—you’ll have a blank space to work in the middle.

You can purchase this program for $10 for both Mac and PC, but the free version works for many writers who just want to do short writing sprints.

7. Coffitivity

Writing with background noises is one of my favorite things to do when I need to focus. It helps me stay away from anxious thoughts or external distractions. If you don’t want to use YouTube or another music app while you write, Coffitivity is here to help.

This program has a library of background noises that recreate ambient environments, like coffee shops. The low chattering and clinking of dishes could help you stay focused or defeat any writing anxiety associated with looming NaNoWriMo deadlines.

8. Pacemaker Planner

Remember how I mentioned that breaking your goals down makes NaNoWriMo easier? That might seem impossible if you’re not usually making lists and goals for yourself outside your writing routine.

Pacemaker Planner removes the guesswork. If you give it your overall word count, your final deadline (November 30), and how much time you estimate you’ll have for your writing each day, it’ll calculate your daily word count for you.

The graphing option also adds more flexibility to your goals. Let’s say you’ll be more free in the middle of November than the beginning or end. Select the Mountain Hike strategy. The program recalculates your daily goals according to your preferred writing strategy so you’ll get higher word counts when you’re actually free to write.

The free version is great for NaNoWriMo purposes, but there’s also a Premium version you can get to plan your full yearly calendar and daily schedule, if you enjoy the program.

-----

You don’t have to cross your fingers and hope to conquer NaNoWriMo this year. Try these tools while they’re still time to explore your options. Whether you want to plan the whole month or turn your word count into a game, you’ll have more success after seeing which tools are at your disposal.

[insert-witty-user-name-here]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @loki-is-my-kink-awakening (two weeks ago but), thank you 💖 Currently in a writing slump so don’t have any active WIPs to share (beyond a vague list of bulleted ideas).

But thought I’d use the opportunity to share a scene I cut from one of my fics last year. The scene didn’t fit with the story but, hey, I find it silly and cute so I wanted to share it.

No pressure tags to @dewdropreader @lgwilt @blackbirdofasgard @mirilyawrites @dreamycloud @queen-of-meows @mimisempai @rins-love-wins and @loki-is-my-kink-awakening (right back at you!)

Mobius and Loki have wrapped a mission with Tony Stark and Pepper Potts…

Mobius took a sip of wine and looked at the dark blue ocean below him. The view was gorgeous. Maybe he should get that infinity pool for their vacation home Loki was always going on about. The god would definitely be demanding a remodel after seeing Tony Stark’s home now anyway. 

“That was a clever trick you pulled today,” Pepper said, coming to stand beside him. “How did you know to bait Slattery with an unfinished Shakespeare manuscript?” 

“Oh, I know you probably can’t tell from my youthful glow, but I’m a lot older than I look,” Mobius chuckled. “I’ve run into a few Trevor Slatterys in my time. They’re surprisingly opportunistic. Figured besting Shakespeare would be too hard for him to resist.”  

“Hm, I see Loki’s not the only clever trickster around. You make a good pair. I imagine he keeps you busy.” 

“You have no idea.”

“Tony thinks you make a good pair too. Although, he thinks it's because you’re opposites.” 

“You don’t?” Mobius asked, turning to face Pepper. 

Pepper shook her head. “No. I think you make a good pair because you’re more similar than you appear. You give him hope that things can be different, see the good in him he doesn’t see himself. And, I suspect, he does the same for you.” 

A contemplative silence filled the air between them. Mobius looked towards the horizon. The stars were only just beginning to appear in the purple twilight sky. A billion worlds in this timeline, safe because of their actions today.  

“Well then,” Pepper continued, “shall we see how our boys are doing? I’m a little nervous leaving them alone so long.” 

“Loki won’t hurt anyone.” 

“Oh, it wasn’t him I was worried about.” 

The pair made their way downstairs to Tony’s workstation where, sure enough, they found the two embroiled in a heated argument. 

“No, stop. Don’t touch that!” Tony swatted Loki’s hands away from some odd-looking contraption on the table before them. 

“I’m not going to break anything,” Loki huffed. 

“Says the guy who destroyed half of New York City.” 

“I’ve already apologized. Twice! Now, will you just-” 

“Ack! I said no touching!” 

Loki rolled his eyes and stepped away. He raised his hands in mock surrender before he flicked his wrist. In a flash of green magic, a piece connecting two parts of the invention fell and was replaced with a glowing piece of metal from across the room. The machine buzzed to life. 

“There,” Loki sighed, “see. It works.” 

Tony gazed wide-eyed at his invention with a cock of his head. “Now that. Hm.” He looked down at his tablet. “I hadn’t…. These readings… How did you do that?”  

“You Midgardians have such a narrow view of science,” Loki grumbled. “I simply harnessed the power within the system you built and re-routed it through a more malleable conductor. Without the restraints, the energy can flow more freely, giving life to itself, creating an indefinite loop.” 

“Huh. That… that works.” 

“Obviously or I wouldn’t have done it. Where I come from, magic and science are one and the same, and I happen to be an excellent mage.”  

Tony glanced back at his tablet once more before he returned his gaze to Loki. His eyes glistened with barely restrained excitement. “Okay smartass, how would you fix this?” 

Tony steered Loki to the back of the room where a suit labeled Mk 22 took a few unsteady steps and collapsed in a heap of metal. Loki tilted his head in eager curiosity and began to work. Magic swirled around him while he murmured explanations to Tony who seemed to hang on every word. It wasn’t long before the two were lost in their own world, debating and testing theories far beyond anyone else's understanding. 

“You’re right,” Pepper chuckled beside Mobius, “they are cute together.”  

“Huh, what was that Pep?” Tony asked. 

“What are you two talking about?” Loki interjected. 

“Oh, did I show you their wedding photo?” Mobius asked, fishing his TemPad out of his pocket. “Adorable.” 

He pulled up the photos he’d saved from Timeline 465281 and passed the TemPad to Pepper. 

“Mobius, whose wedding photo?” Loki repeated while he and Tony approached hesitantly. 

“Aw, Tony! You’re so happy, look!” Pepper shoved the TemPad, equipped with the wedding photo of Loki Odinson and Tony Stark, into the Avenger’s face. Tony’s complexion grew worrying pale while Loki’s face took on a distinctly green hue. 

“I’m sorry,” Tony began in a choked voice, “but in what universe-” 

“Universe 465281 apparently,” Pepper supplied, scrolling through more photos. “You two get your puppy to be ring bearer?? How cute is that?” 

“Might I inquire the location of the nearest restroom?” Loki asked. “I suddenly feel the urge to vomit.” 

“Nope, not in my restroom you’re not," Tony said. "Actually, I think it’s time for you to go. You’ve overstayed your welcome.” 

“For once we are in agreement.” With a poof of magic Loki was dressed back in his standard TVA suit. He straightened his tie. “Tony, I say this with the deepest sincerity, please try to keep out of trouble. I'd really rather not be called in to save you again."

“Right back at you, Bambi,” Tony quipped. 

“Ugh, I’ve already told you,” Loki seethed, barely restrained magic sparking at his fingertips, “I don’t like that-”

“Okay, let’s go.” Mobius steered Loki towards an already open timedoor. “Pepper, Tony, a pleasure. We’ll keep an eye on your timeline for a few days. Who knows, maybe one day we’ll cross paths again."

“Yeah, no. If I have any luck at all, see you never. Buh-bye now,” Tony finished. 

Mobius and Loki stepped back to the TVA. Mobius turned laughing, ready to apologize for keeping the information about Timeline 465281 a secret, but found himself suddenly wrapped in a tight hug from the god. 

“Oof, hey there Lokes. I know I get jealous sometimes but, trust me, I’m not concerned at all about you running off with-” 

“Are you okay?” Loki interrupted quietly. He pulled back with an examining gaze. “What do you need from me? I know today was difficult for you.” 

Mobius’ heart softened at the compassion on Loki’s face and he pulled Loki in for another hug. His headache had long since subsided but his brain was still foggy and he felt more exhausted than he had in months. 

 “I’ll be alright. Thank you Loki. Thank you for seeing what I have a hard time seeing myself.” 

Loki tightened his arms around Mobius and laid a kiss to his brow. “I’m just glad I was there to help you today. You are there so often for me, please don’t shut me out anymore. I want to be here for you. We all want to be here for you; you’re not alone anymore.”   

“I know.” 

The TemPad in Mobius’ pocket gave an obnoxiously loud trill. He’d never heard that sound before. Mobius flinched and pulled it out of his pocket, what was going on now? He let out a soft chuckle of surprise when he saw the message that flashed across the screen. 

728 hours worked. Caseload for Agent MMM5313 frozen. Mandatory vacation required. 

“Well,” Loki smirked, looking over his shoulder, “I see B-15 is putting her Deputy Director privileges to good use. You’re not going to try and argue with her on this, are you?” 

“No,” Mobius laughed. “I’m not. She’s right. I could definitely use a vacation.” 

“Well then Director,” Loki hummed. “Where shall we go?” 

“You know… I was thinking you might be right about a remodel to our vacation home. What do you say we give Stark a run for his money and see who can make the best Malibu beach house?” 

[macgyvertape]

I didn’t think of the implications till this most recent reread; that there were two things needed to open the crypt of “Nephreth the Untouched”, the Astrarium Mysterios that Trazyn stole and the unique data files Orikan stole to decrypt the puzzle. Indeed the trap was set up that way:

“Opening the tomb required two, the Deceiver said. It did not step forward, but rose and glided, the lengthening hooks of its toenails scraping the blackstone floor. One cunning enough to decipher Vishani’s riddles, and one with the doggedness not to heed her pathetic distress signal.”

It had me thinking, if Vishani went through the trouble to include at least six different fake solutions to her manuscripts, as well as give out altered copies of the manuscripts that do not work to solve the puzzle, and kill herself as part of the effort to keep the crypt sealed; then I think it's a reasonable guess that the solar flare that killed the dynasty was deliberate:

“A solar flare from the local star triggered a failure cascade to its stasis system” … “Orikan took pleasure in imagining the solar flare ionising the neural matrices of the sleeping dynasty, shock waves scrambling their tomb world’s magnetic field and rendering all systems inert. Mass neural death, in the span of a few minutes.”

In her view, better the dynasty die than they all wake up and want to open that crypt and unleash what was in there, and maybe she can destroy any keys to the tomb as well.

I also hadn’t thought before about how funny this alternate chain of events would be, where Orikan foresees the Orks opening the crypt.

“‘Mock me, but I have seen it. Repeatedly for the last few decades. Not everything I calculate comes to pass, Trazyn, but each time this vision intrudes it becomes stronger. The Waaagh! is coming, it will destroy and befoul the greatest cultural relic of our kind, and both of us will be killed”

A 4 or 5 shard C’tan that can easily take on an Ori Waaagh! Before getting a head start on the rest of its galactic plans.

[gigawatt-smile]

Here's the Foreword from the Lockwood & Co Netflix Tie-in Edition. It's basically just The Screaming Staircase but this was also here from Mr Shroud Himself (under the cut):

'A girl and a boy knock at the door of a house in south-west London. It is a fairly modern house and they are wearing modern clothes, but they each have a rapier at their belt, and kitbags full of salt bombs and iron chains. They have come on professional business. They are there to destroy a ghost.

And that, when I sat down and wrote the first three pages of what became The Screaming Staircase, was pretty much all I knew. Who was this pair? Why were there no adults accompanying them? What was the horror that waited for them beyond the door? I didn't have a clue (most of my books start like this, with a single, improvised, scene). What I did know was that I wanted to write a ghost story, that children were going to be my heroes and that, when they came face to face with something nasty, I wanted it to be a fair fight.

The trouble with ghosts, traditionally, is that they hold all the cards. They are nebulous, ectoplasmic and difficult to destroy. They exert great powers of terror over the living. In most ghost stories they also hang out in remote and eerie locations, preying on solitary individuals - people whose greed, curiosity or plain bad luck makes them vulnerable to supernatural attention. In the classic tales of M. R. James, for instance, the victim is usually a bookish gentleman who has been poking his nose into old manuscripts or artefacts that don't concern him. Is it going to be an equal contest when the malevolent spirit shows up? No. You'd put your money on the phantom every time.

I love these traditions, and I certainly intended my ghosts to be scary - that was why I was writing the story in the first place. But I also wanted to shake things up a bit and give my characters a chance.

And so I decided to tweak the rules.

For starters, we'd have an epidemic of hauntings in Britain. Ghosts aren't just to be found lurking far off in creepy man- sions. They're everywhere, threatening death to anyone they touch, and adults can't see or hear them before it's too late. Only certain young people - like my two protagonists, Lucy Carlyle and Anthony Lockwood - have the psychic talents to deal with them. This is vital, but it's not enough to keep them alive.

So I gave them some proper equipment too. The spectral plague has spurred an industrial revolution in ghost-hunting techniques, and each agent goes into the night armed with decent weapons: salt bombs, silver nets, magnesium flares and rapiers of cold, sharp iron. That evens the score a little.

Next, and most importantly, I gave my heroes each other. From the moment I began this first scene, I knew that the relationship between Lucy and Lockwood (along with their friend George Cubbins) was going to be the beating heart of the story. I could hear the energy in their voices - I sensed their personalities, their rapport, their shared jokes. As I wrote my way into the book, I learned more about Lucy's courage, faithfulness and determination. Lockwood's self-conscious charisma was there from the start, as was his air of mystery (he would keep his deeper secrets a while longer). But their skills were complementary. Far from being isolated, they would pool their resources, and so make Lockwood & Co. a match for any Phantasm or Raw-bones that floated across their path.

Finally, I gave them 35 Portland Row: Lockwood's rambling townhouse in Marylebone. It's their home and headquarters. It's where they train, it's where they sleep; it's where they can sit around eating cakes at midnight without a Wraith creeping up to give them ghost-touch. In other words, it's a place of sanctuary - the vital counterpoint to all the haunted buildings they encounter, and in some ways almost a character in its own right.

One of the many triumphs of the Netflix series is its flawless recreation of Number 35, complete with its rapier racks, rows of masks and dusty tables piled with unpaid bills. It was an extraordinary feeling to visit the house on set in Ealing Studios, to walk up the steps, cross the iron line and step straight into Lockwood's hall.

For sheer impact, though, this was nothing compared to that breathless moment when I saw Ruby Stokes, Cameron Chapman and Ali Haji-Heshmati acting together for the first time. All at once, Lockwood, Lucy and George were standing there before me, living, breathing, showing precisely the right rackety camaraderie and charm. Seeing them gave me the same electric charge as when I wrote that initial scene, all those years before.

And, sure enough, this was a fabulous new beginning. together. Since then, I've watched a stunning TV series come Presided over by Joe Cornish and the brilliant production team at Complete Fiction, Lockwood & Co. conjures Lucy and Lockwood's world in all its horror, and its light. It's certainly got plenty of terrifying ghosts in it. But it's also got a lot of friendship, humour, love and loyalty - and these things more than match the darkness. It's why I was drawn to these heroes in the first place - and why I think you'll be happy to walk with them into the shadows too, no matter what is waiting for you there.'

Jonathan Shroud, June 2022

[aphroditelovesu]

It's really fascinating to see just how deeply seeded the legend of Alexander the Great was and is culturally and mythologically. There are depictions of him from across different cultures and genres (ie Persian, Mongolian, Indian, Medieval manuscripts, renaissance painting etc). I've come across legends and depictions of him diving in a primitive submarine, being carried across the sky by griffins, jousting, and even finding the garden of Eden! When you think about it, its basically fan-fiction about him, so you're kind of carrying on the tradition with "The Lost Queen" 👀...

On that note, you know how Reader sees her name in the history book right before she goes back in time? I imagine Reader would become a sort of legend in her own right, by the oh so beloved wife and Queen of Alexander the Great, but also because no one can pin down her origins, creating an air of mystery and romance. Was this "Lost Queen" a princess from one of the many cities he conquered? A nymph? An angel? A peasant girl Alexander fell in love with on the spot? The jury's still out.

I'd also imagine that historians and artist would gloss over or forget the more... problematic aspects of the relationship and lean heavily into the "deeply in love with and devoted to" bit. The 'great romance' between Alexander and Reader will be depicted in the art of numerous cultures and become an especially popular motif in the renaissance. A love story for the ages! Come the 21st century, there will be numerous documentaries produced and youtube videos made trying to figure out the origins of this 'Lost Queen'. Some may even jokingly-but-not-jokingly suggest that maybe she was a time traveller!

Of course, when and if Reader, I imagine it will be a while before she can wrap her head around the fact of being a historical icon. This girl will have gone through a lot of shit.

Sorry if this was long. I'm just really intrigued by the whole thing 😁!

-- O-

👀👀👀

There are many legends about Alexander the Great, some even mentioned in the Bible, however subtly.

I just thought about that! Y/n will be like a legend, the owner of the stone, the Queen who disappeared and was so loved by the great conqueror. Of unknown and even mythological origin for some, little is known about it. The only official information was about how much Alexander loved her, loved her so much that he almost destroyed the city of Babylon - well, I can't say more, but here's something for you to think about.

I can see that there are statues of her throughout the conquered world, made by order of Alexander to leave her love eternal, her beauty eternal. These statues are the only clues as to what she looked like, although the features are not entirely true.

There is no doubt that their "romance" will be embellished and used as the basis for various forms of art. Nobody knew about the toxic part, the obsession and the terrors, but about how much Alexander loved his Queen and how much she must love him.

Imagine when Y/n goes back to his time and discovers all this? About how his suffering was written down in history as something so beautiful and romantic. The poor girl has been through so much shit and still has to deal with being billed as Alexander's "Beloved Queen"... And the historians and scholars trying to figure out how and why it disappeared...

I loved reading your thoughts on it and feel free to send more if you want! ❤️❤️

~ Lady L

[une-sanz-pluis]

The Marriage of Henry of Lancaster and Mary de Bohun (1380/1)

From: Chronicles of England, France and Spain and the Surrounding Countries, by Sir John Froissart, Translated from the French Editions with Variations and Additions from Many Celebrated MSS, by Thomas Johnes, Esq; London: William Smith, 1848. *

Humphry, earl of Hereford and Northampton, and constable of England, was one of the greatest lords and landholders in that country; for it was said, and I, the author of this book, heard it when I resided in England, that his revenue was valued at fifty thousand nobles a-year. From this earl of Hereford there remained only two daughters as his heiresses; Blanche the eldest, and Isabella** her sister. The eldest was married to Thomas of Woodstock, earl of Buckingham. The youngest was unmarried, and the earl of Buckingham would willing have had her remain so, for then he would have enjoyed the whole of the earl of Hereford’s fortune. Upon his marriage with Eleanor, he went to reside at his handsome castle of Pleshy, in the county of Essex, thirty miles from London, which he possessed in right of his wife. He took on himself the tutelage of his sister-in-law, and had her instructed in doctrine; for it was his intention she should be professed a nun of the order of St. Clare***, which had a very rich and large convent in England. In this manner was she educated during the time the earl remained in England, before his expedition into France. She was also constantly attended by nuns from this convent, who tutored her in matters of religion, continually blaming the married state. The young lady seemed to incline to their doctrine, and thought not of marriage.

Duke John of Lancaster, being a prudent and wise man, foresaw the advantage of marrying his only son Henry, by his first wife Blanche, to the lady Mary: he was heir to all the possessions of the house of Lancaster in England, which were very considerable. The duke had for some time considered he could not choose a more desirable wife for his son than the lady who was intended for a nun, as her estates were very large, and her birth suitable to any rank; but he did not take any steps in the matter until his brother of Buckingham had set out on his expedition to France. When he had crossed the sea, the duke of Lancaster had the young lady conducted to Arundel castle; for the aunt of the two ladies was the sister of Richard, earl of Arundel, one of the most powerful barons of England.**** This lady Arundel, out of complaisance to the duke of Lancaster, and for the advancement of the young lady, went to Pleshy, where she remained with the countess of Buckingham and her sister for fifteen days. On her departure from Pleshy, she managed so well that she carried with her the lady Mary to Arundel, when the marriage was instantly consummated between her and Henry of Lancaster. During their union of twelve years, he had by her four handsome sons, Henry, Thomas, John and Humphrey, and two daughters, Blanche and Philippa. The earl of Buckingham, as I said, had not any inclination to laugh when he heard these tidings; for it would not be necessary to divide an inheritance which the considered wholly as his own, excepting the constableship which was continued to him. When he learnt that his brothers had all been concerned in this matter, he became melancholy, and never after loved the duke of Lancaster as he had hitherto done.^

Notes:

* Johnes notes that this is from "only one of [his] mss. [manuscripts] and not in any printed copy". Chris Given-Wilson (Henry IV, Yale University Press, 2016): "This story comes from a variant manuscript of Froissart's chronicles used by Johnes, but subsequently destroyed by fire."

** Johnes: "Froissart mistakes: their names were Eleanor and Mary." Presumably, Johnes then corrects their names for the rest of the narrative?

*** Jennifer C. Ward (translator and editor), Women of the English Nobility and Gentry: 1066-1500 (Manchester Medieval Sources, Manchester University Press, 1995): "This is probably a reference to the convent of the Minoresses outside Aldgate in London where Isabella, daughter of Thomas and Eleanor, later became a nun."

**** Ward: "Joan de Bohun, Mary’s mother, was the sister of Richard FitzAlan, earl of Arundel." Given-Wilson argues the role Froissart assigns to Mary's aunt was actually played by Joan.

^ The veracity of Froissart's account has tended to be questioned, with some historians generally concluding there was probably some truth, mostly revolving around the falling out between John of Gaunt and Thomas of Woodstock over the marriage. The secretive nature of it is almost certainly untrue, given Gaunt had received a royal grant for Mary's marriage. Given-Wilson:

Froissart claimed that ‘the marriage was instantly consummated’, but this was precipitate. He also got several other details of the story wrong, such as calling the two sisters Blanche and Isabel and saying that it was their ‘aunt’ who carried Mary away from Pleshey, but the essentials of his story are corroborated by other sources and undoubtedly correct. Countess Joan was complicit in the plot, presumably hoping to give her daughter a life outside the convent. She probably commissioned a pair of illuminated psalters for the marriage.

The psalters were probably made by the de Bohun-sponsored workshop at Pleshey, one of Woodstock's principle residences. It's possible, presumably, that Joan commissioned them after the wedding but if they were commissioned before/finished by the time of the wedding, it's hard to imagine that Woodstock's household were entirely unaware that a move was being made to marry Mary to Henry.

[quohotos]

So about the Serpents in the Prophecy of Bane...

I'm almost certain this is an allusion to Jules Verne's seminal piece of speculative fiction about going underground Journey to the Center of the Earth. Exerpt from the Wikipedia page:

The story begins in May 1863, at the home of Professor Otto Lidenbrock in Hamburg, Germany. While leafing through an original runic manuscript of an Icelandic saga, Lidenbrock and his nephew Axel find a coded note written in runic script along with the name of a 16th-century Icelandic alchemist, Arne Saknussemm. When translated into English, the note reads:

Go down into the crater of Snaefells Jökull, which Scartaris's shadow caresses just before the calends of July, O daring traveler, and you'll make it to the center of the earth. I've done so. Arne Saknussemm

Lidenbrock departs for Iceland immediately, taking the reluctant Axel with him. After a swift trip via Kiel and Copenhagen, they arrive in Reykjavík. There they hire as their guide Icelander Hans Bjelke, a Danish-speaking eiderduck hunter, then travel overland to the base of Snæfellsjökull.

In late June they reach the volcano and set off into the bowels of the earth, encountering many dangers and strange phenomena. After taking a wrong turn, they run short of water and Axel nearly perishes, but Hans saves them all by tapping into a subterranean river, which shoots out a stream of water that Lidenbrock and Axel name the "Hansbach" in the guide's honor.Édouard Riou's illustration of an ichthyosaurus (which is actually more like a mosasaurus) battling a plesiosaurus.

Following the course of the Hansbach, the explorers descend many miles and reach an underground world, with an ocean and a vast ceiling with clouds, as well as a permanent Aurora giving light. The travelers build a raft out of semipetrified wood and set sail. While at sea, they encounter prehistoric fish such as Pterichthyodes (here called "Pterichthys") Dipterus (referred to as "Dipterides") and giant marine reptiles from the Age of the Dinosaurs, namely an Ichthyosaurus and a Plesiosaurus. A lightning storm threatens to destroy the raft and its passengers, but instead throws them onto the site of an enormous fossil graveyard, including bones from the Pterodactylus, Megatherium, Deinotherium, Glyptodon, a mastodon and the preserved body of a prehistoric man.

So that's our culprit. That basically fits the description of the Serpents. Thought that was just a cool detail and reference.

The underground jungle is an element that you could potentially say is also an allusion to Verne, though I think the version in the underland chronicles is significantly different since the depiction in Journey to the center of the earth has light from above whereas all the plants in the underland are basically carnivores and/or feed off of volcanic heat.

It's also possible that this allusion is not deliberate, as much like War of the Worlds, Journey to the Center of the Earth has basically been subsumed into pop culture cannon and referenced so many times that a lot of it's unique elements have just become tropes. Dinotopia also used dinosaurs in a cave surviving the asteroid, Minecraft, Terraria, Spelunky, Noita, and basically any other video game that involves digging will at some point put a Verne styled underground jungle in there.

One YA series that leans really hard into the Journey to the Center of the Earth inspirations is the Tunnels series. I actually read them in 6th grade to attempt to scratch my TUC itch. Let me tell you, they're not as good and don't even come close. Whereas TUC has some tasteful allusions, Tunnels goes all in. The underground people are more evil (if that's possible) and are intent on wiping out all life on the surface. Worst of all, it's set in England!!! There's cool world building, but no giant talking bats so I have no choice but to award it zero stars. It was supposed to be turned into a movie in 2009 and all the books got stickers for that... said movie appears to have never materialized.

Idk, something I thought about while listening to today's @returntoregalia episode

Okay bonus details about how I made this connection: As a kid, wishbone would come on once a week at like 4 pm or something, I didn't get to see it often, but I vividly remember one of the episodes. For anyone who doesn't know, wishbone was PBS show that followed a dog and his human family as they go through some struggle that wishbone (the dog) finds allegorical to a piece of classic, public domain literature. The episodes are split in half with the parts in the present, and the reenactments within the dog's imagination of the classic piece of literature. In one of the few episodes I caught was about Jules Verne's Journey to the Center of the Earth. I do not recall how this novel was relevant to the characters lives, all I know is that it's way to long to fit into half of a 20 minute episode, so they had to really rush through a lot of parts. In one shot the characters are in this jungle and they run away from a Plesiosaurus puppet.

[world-of-fire-and-flight]

Every publishing milestone, my team sends a little postcard like this one, and honestly if it wasn't for these notes, I wouldn't take the time to actual realize and celebrate these accomplishments along my publishing journey. Some of my favorites include when the postcard I got when my manuscript moved from developmental editing to copyediting because that's when things start to get a little real for me. Another is when we move onto formatting and I have this moment when I kinda of just "blank screen" and realize....that tangled mess that's been floating around in my head for months that I've just spent many more months untangling thanks to the help and guidance of my amazing and wonderful editors is actually going to be made into a book🤯🎉

Anyway, in case you haven't heard yet: IT'S EMBERS OF ETERNITY'S RELEASE DAY!

(Details about Embers of Eternity's release below the cut)

Grab the FREE e-book of Embers of Eternity at bit.ly/heirs02 (international link) and start reading today!

Plus, Fire & Flight is only $0.99/£0.99 in the US and UK until 7/22!

If you like books with...

Magic

Adventure

Mystery

High-stakes danger

An evil sorceress

Original myths & legends

Hidden history coming to light

SLOW burns

and a life-changing decision

...check out Embers of Eternity at bit.ly/heirs02 or shop physical copies at books2read.com/eoe

Full book blurb:

The spirits of the Shadow Forest are waking up.

Hidden in the centuries-old legends of the forest is the history forgotten by the country of Tenebris. But for seventeen-year-old Nyla, the 600-year-old history has become her present. Struggling to break the curse binding her to the Woodlane Manor, she and her companions must race against time to find and defeat Dinora, the evil sorceress of legend, before she can destroy their homeland. With the help of Xander and Shamira, Nyla searches for a way to break the curse that won’t require a hefty sacrifice.

But even as their small victories swell their hope, the real battle is only just beginning. With the trio forced to confront their pasts, they must overcome their present trials and prepare to face the impending future. But what if Dinora raises her army before Nyla and Xander can gather the forces necessary to defeat her? Will they lose everything they had only just begun to dream of?

Return to Tenebris in Embers of Eternity, the stunning sequel to Brianna R. Shaffery’s epic young adult fantasy series, the Heirs of Tenebris.

[peachymilkandcream]

Break Me Slowly|Part 30 (Finale)|Yandere Levi x Evelyn

(A/N: We've made it to the end of the series. Thank you so much to everyone who's supported this it means so much to me. It's probably going to be a short chapter but you'll see why at the end. This was once just a silly little idea rattling around in my head but now it's been fully written out and hopefully you guys enjoyed it. I'm still taking requests for oneshots, questions, and headcanons though, so please please feel free to request more. For example, maybe some oneshots of after the series ends with his older kids? I don't know the choice is up to you. I hope you loved these two as much as I do. (Also if you know the artist of this please dm me with their name and socials and I'll edit it to put in credit!) Thank you so much for reading <3)

WARNINGS: noncon, dubcon, manipulation, domestic abuse, yandere themes, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, stockholm syndrome, violence, mind breaking, misogyny, etc.

============================================

Hange's arrival was the last piece to the the puzzle of Levi's perfect life. He was better off now than he had ever been with countless allies and supporters backing him up once more, reinstating his untouchable reputation that had kept him safe from all suspicions thus far. His wife had come around to his advances and gave him the son he had always wanted. Truly he was king of the world.

==============================================

"King of the world." Evelyn repeated softly to herself, slowly moving her eyes from the manuscript in her lap to the fire's glow.

She had written down everything that had happened to her over the past few years, in the spare moments when Levi was gone. Her intent back then was to write everything down to portray just what kind of a character he was, that he wasn't this great hero that women swooned over. He was a monster through and through that shouldn't be celebrated. Levi is just a handsome face and a reputation used to hide his heinous actions since no one would touch him.

Her plan had been to expose him once she wrote everything down, when the behavior started, who it effected, and most importantly what it had come to.

Life had gotten in the way, a tragedy of events leading up to their current state of the world, so finishing what had happened was put on delay. She didn't have the time she once had now that her son was becoming a toddler and her stomach was already swelling with another child, this time they both hoped for a daughter.

The world was on her side, Evelyn could have exposed Levi before Erwin gained a position in the new world government and before Hange returned so that Levi had no supporters. If she played her cards right Levi could have been in a prison cell for the rest of his life or executed. As the surviving spouse all of his money and assets would have gone to her, her excuse of needing him for the sake of Furlan would have been out the window. Even now if she pulled away support the same outcome of Levi's fate would happen even with Erwin and Hange's support, she could be rid of him with enough money to live for the rest of her life.

So why didn't she?

That was the question that still burned in her mind. The one that had planted itself in her head from the moment she left him to the mercy of Eren and Zeke. The first time she questioned her hatred of him. Back then it had been a shock but now it was a part of her everyday life.

What had she become? What had she allowed herself to do? Willingly becoming the plaything of a horrible man and she was just giving him what she wanted? He was getting his happy ending. Because she had let him.

"But the records of your crimes, he has you trapped, remember?" Spoke her mind.

"No, he doesn't." Her voice replied. "All Levi said was as long as it exists we're stuck together, but if it's destroyed I'm free, but he's free to come after me."

For the first time in a long time a sense of rebellion burned bright in her heart. That flame had been kicked down over and over, trampled until she thought it had gone out.

But here it was, burning bright in her chest.

What was she after all? Evelyn had asked that question to Levi before and been met with the answer that she existed for him and him alone. But before all of this that's not what she was. She was a Scout, a soldier, a person. Not a possession.

After all this time it dawned on her that this silly tell all book of hers would do nothing. People would still applaud him as a hero, or even say that his possession of her was hot. That they wished to have a man so obsessed with them. How lucky was she?

There was nothing lucky about this. Nothing lucky about being a slave to the whims of a madman.

Eren had wanted freedom for all Eldia, she wasn't free. She was just like her ancestor Ymir, the one who's soul burned bright in her. A prisoner of a man who had more power than she. Levi was her King Fritz, and she his Ymir. She would never be free under him. Furlan would become a prisoner of him.

"What of the child? How can you take the child and leave? All those failed attempts, how would this be different?"

It would be, back then no one would come and save her. She waited for someone to help her out of this, but nobody came.

She had to save herself.

The fire burned hot as she fed it those papers, come and find her if he dared.

Evelyn Ackerman would be free.

============================================

Levi returned home to a quiet house, this second pregnancy was hitting his wife hard, and she required more rest. And with the state of training up a toddler from hell a nap didn't sound too bad for him either. Perhaps he would join her.

The door opened but his wife was not their, neither was she in the bathroom.

"Odd." He voiced.

For some reason the house felt slightly colder and empty. A bead of sweat trickled down his neck as he got a bad feeling about this.

Each room he found empty made him more frantic, shouting her name over and over. Combing the woods, the towns, everything. She had done this before, so why couldn't he find her?

Then it hit him like a bucket of water dumped on him.

"Allies." He pondered. "Who helped her... Someone helped...And hardly any staff to watch her- I gave her too much- too much!"

He kicked a chair over in the sitting room, watching it topple over. Anything he could get his hands on her broke, the last time he'd been this out of control was when Evelyn tried to kill him.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" He seethed. "You're a damn fool Levi! How could you be so fucking blind- she's just the same as she's always been. Plotting, scheming little bitch!"

The room was thrown into absolute chaos as he let out his fury, not only was his only true happiness gone but she took his child with him.

"She can't get away with this. Who does she think she is? Thinking she can run from me and take my son with her? I'll show her, that little whore will pay!"

With his temper spent he broke down into a sob, running his hands through his hair as the anger and fear of losing her forever sunk in. He had done everything, everything for her. Making sure to go t o the best physicians in the country so that he could walk as well as he could again. Even going so far as to get metal replacements for his fingers. Just to be able to remain as much the same as he always had. And this is how she repaid him? Oh she didn't want to see his face when he found her.

A scrap of slightly burnt paper brushed against his foot, making him look down.

Picking it up, the words he caught before it faded into burnt edges told him it was the file of his crimes, the only thing that had kept them both tied to the island.

So she had burned it? Interesting.

It was a challenge, a dare. Levi had warned her that burning the file meant he had the freedom to come after her, and she'd done it regardless. Evelyn was challenging him to come after her, the thought brought a smirk to his face.

"Ready or not wife, here I come."

(A/N: I know I know! It's a very unsatisfying ending! Which is why I'm going to announce a little mini series coming out after this chapter posts which will be Levi's hunt for Evelyn and his child. It will be a very short series (maybe 10 chapters at the most) but I went into this thinking this would be the end of the end, but it just felt like it needed something that wasn't another few chapters but something all on its own. There will be a bit more of Evelyn and Levi to come!)

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

A thousand lives

Sonder stood facing the monster, gripping his musket with white hands. The stench of gunpowder hung in the air, whipped about by bloodshed and fear.

The motley crew of the men of Periashire lay scattered about him, blood leaching out of their still-warm corpses. His friends, comrades, brothers-in-arms, reduced to empty sacks of flesh.

And still the monster stood, towering over him, threatening to destroy all he held dear. His wife and daughter, along with the rest of the village, were huddled in the church, praying to any god that would hear them. But he knew that no god would intervene. There was only him left, standing against it.

It had claws of steel, curving, wicked things that tore people like paper. Its teeth were long as swords and twice as sharp, and its tail was a whip of agony. Blood splattered its thick hide, and bullets riddled its flesh, yet it did not fall.

Sonder braced himself, breathing in the chilly spring air. It smelled of pollen and nectar, young love and hope, the laughter of children as they tasted life for the first time. He had lived in Periashire, been born in it, had fallen in love within its thin walls. And now he would die defending it.

The beast reared up, intent on crushing him. He screamed, a noise of terror and rage that reverberated about his chest, ringing deep within his soul. It was a battle cry, a sound drowned out by the blood roaring in his ears and the rattle of the musket as it emptied its barrel into the monster's exposed chest.

Sonder had just enough time to curse before it descended upon him in a rush of claws and teeth. That was the end of Sonder Woods, father and woodcutter, feeder of the ducks and lover of long walks in the forest. 

He felt his chest cave under the weight of massive paws, stared into those glowing eyes, and felt a moment expand into an infinity. He saw his wife, brushing her golden hair by the lake, tossing crumbs into the flaming, sunset-lit waters. He saw his daughter, screaming herself bloody as she came into the world. He saw his life play out before his eyes.

And it was all gone in an instant, he realised. Every surge of passion, every fit of pique, was nothing but a grain of sand, quickly washed away by the waters. His world was so small, a mere thousand people to the millions that lived in his country, and the billions that lay beyond. What wonders stood past his sloping hills, his sparse groves with their acorns and oaks? What had he missed, staying cloistered within his tiny town? Why had he not gone out to the world beyond, taken the train and seen the castles and the towers, the deserts and the swamps? 

And he could see himself, a young man wandering the streets of some distant city. He had come with nothing and taken work as a serving boy, wandered city to city in search of adventure. He had fallen in love with a seamstress, and married her young. She was nothing like his wife, who had been bright and quick to laugh. No, the seamstress was a gloomy person, who loved the melancholy violin and clad herself like a dark goddess. And he had loved her all the same, and loved their sons and their tiny apartment in the outskirts of the city, loved the roast fowl she made and the songs she sang. Yet he wondered, what had he missed, uneducated and illiterate? What would it have been like, had he not squandered his youth working a dead end job? What if he had put his head first and his heart second?

So Sonder became a scholar, bent over a stack of books, eyes narrowed in concentration as he illuminated a manuscript. He had no time for romance, for his love lay in the cursive of old books, in the careful anatomical drawings of ducks and his endless indagation into their mating habits. And here he was, the old and beloved headmaster of the university, revered by all. And there was peace in that, but he wished he had not been bound to academia. What if he had taken a middle path, not consigned himself to a fate of nights in the library? What if he had explored beyond the hallowed halls of his institute and dared to be more?

Then he was a knight, a heralded warrior in service to the King. He was fawned upon by the populace, beloved for his kindness. He had a small estate, with a beautiful lake. He fought monsters and mounted their heads upon his walls, to regale his visitors when they entered. He grew old with his wife and though they had no children, they coddled the lake's ducks. But why had he not done more? He was living in a tiny estate, as a minor noble. He was celebrated, sure, and adored by the peasants, but he was merely a pawn in the eyes of the king, and he resented that.

Hence he had taken up arms against the King, spinning a tale of injustice, of gold for the poor and bread on everyone's tables. He had led a revolution, overthrowing the order of the country. There was blood, and turmoil, and for a moment he had feared defeat, but the revolution prevailed. The people had placed him on the throne, and he had given freely to them, distributing land as evenly as he could. It was a hard and thankless job, for the bread was never enough, and other countries reared their ugly heads upon smelling weakness. He had been beheaded by an angry mob for a sin so small as feeding a duck a piece of bread that they claimed belonged to the people. Though he would go down in history as King Sonder the Kind, the country that he sacrificed everything for had reviled him. It embittered his heart, and he found himself wishing that he had not been so openhearted. 

Thus, the compassionate king became a conqueror, a bloody handed tyrant who had turned upon those who put him on the throne and wrought a crown of the blood of his enemies. His frustrations were artillery, his resentment a scythe, and he brought his rage down upon all within his reach. His empire sprawled across the oceans, and the world bowed before him. Every meal was the finest smoked meat, every drink the sweetest nectar. But yet: Why was he not satisfied? Why did he still yearn for more? 

No, he thought, he did not want more. He scorned the stifling embrace of academia, the heavy mantle of duty, the sour taste of war. He decided that he would never leave his village in the first place, never wander the world, never reach for more than he had been given. Ignorance was bliss, Sonder the Conqueror decided, and his tiny, long-forgotten hometown was blissfully ignorant. 

And so he shed his wanderings, his books and his sword, his crown and his castle, and became a woodsman. He cleaved trees instead of men, fed ducks instead of peasants. He brought branches home to whittle toys for his children. He took long walks along the waterside with his wife, watching the ducks bob up and down peacefully. He leaned closer to her and smelled the myrtle on her hair, felt the flour on her hands against the rough axe-calluses of his. And when a monster appeared, he picked up his musket without a second thought and went to defend the tiny world he loved so dearly.

Sonder the woodsman watched his life play out in front of him. Every decision he could have made, every path he could have took, every life he could have lived flashed before him, one by one. They offered riches, creature comforts, lovers other than the one he had. But this life, at the end of it all, was the one he had chosen. It was small and dull and worthless in the grand scheme of things, but he had never wanted greatness. No, he had wanted peace and contentment above all. 

And he knew the King would send troops to stop the monster, and he knew his wife and he had saved enough for their children, and he knew the church had thick enough walls to stop the monster, now that he had distracted it. 

And so Sonder went peacefully into the night.