#Livewrite

[padfootastic]

Forever mine

(james/sirius; loose soulmate au; ruthless, protective sirius!!)

The first time Sirius meets his soulmate is when he’s dying in his arms. 

The thought ‘I’ll end whoever touched you’ hit him with such dizzying force, he had to brace himself against the ground for a minute. 

Sirius hadn’t ever been particularly aggressive, had tried hard to stay away from the murderhurtviolence running through his blood, but in that moment—in that moment, he imagined he was feeling what every single Black had for centuries before him and would continue to do so after.

It was supposed to be a simple errand--a beer run for Regulus who refused to get off his couch until he became one with the upholstery. It wasn't supposed to be like this, him kneeling on the ground, soaked in blood and rain, praying to a god he hadn't believed in three minutes ago

The man--and who would've thought of that huh?-- was tall. Not as tall as him, but certainly far, far larger. Ropes of muscle travelled the length of his well tanned arm; thick, toned thighs lying still on the pavement. For one, obnoxious second, Sirius wondered about the possibility of being picked up and twirled around before shutting that train of thought down real quick. 

How utterly delusional, and he wasn't even the one bleeding out.

He was dressed in athletic wear--perhaps out for an evening jog?--and the fabric was molded to every crevice of his body, thanks to the rain. Before he'd passed out, Sirius had the opportunity, the honor, of seeing huge, brown eyes staring up at him with desperate pleading shining through them.

And that thought, that memory, was what got his blood boiling all over again. 

How dare his soulmate lie here, bleeding, on the edge of death if the holes in his chest were anything to go by, and desperate and alone? If Sirius hadn’t been out for fucking alcohol, if Reg hadnt been a depressed, heartbroken parasite in his house, if that asshole Evan hadn't cheated on his baby brother--if, if, if. 

His soulmate could've...would've been alone, dying, dead.

Sirius slowly unclenched his trembling fingers, letting go of the deathly cold fingers sticky with blood. His other hand was still wrapped around the man's--his soulmate's--back, helping him lean back against Sirius' chest. A sort of quiet, dangerous thrum filled his body, taking away all the restlessness from before. He didn't know what was about to happen next, how the man would pull through, how he would pull through. But he knew this: whoever did this would rue the day they were born. 

 He made two phone calls. 

First, The ambulance--a man is dying, come as quick as possible, I dont know how long he has left. 

 Next, his father. 

 'Father.'

'Son.'

'I need you to find someone for me.'

And that was it. Sirius might've had his differences with his family, might've run away from them in multiple fits of pique, might've even been threatened to high heaven and back but at the end of the day he was still a Black and Blacks looked out for each other. Rule number one. As long as he had blood running through his veins--and perhaps even after that--there was nothing on Earth that could keep them away from each other. 

John Doe. 

That's what it said on the patient chart. John fucking Doe.

All those blood tests, all the evaluations, and what use was it for if they couldn't even conduct one measly identification? 

Sirius resisted the urge to growl out loud; he wanted to throw something, wanted to scream the place down until something happened, but he barely controlled himself.

No. That wasn't the way to go about this. 

Dammit, this soulmate business was quite annoying. He hadn't felt this many emotions in such a short span of time, with such intensity, for quite some time. Perhaps never. That's what made him so deadly as a businessman. Sirius had never once needed to raise his voice, or his hand, to get something done. 

Which is what made his sudden penchant for violence so...jarring. He didn't know how to control it, couldn't keep the bloodlust from seeping into his thoughts. He had half a mind to check his reflection in a mirror--surely his eyes, usually a dark grey, would've turned red by now at the force of his impulses? 

He shook his head at the ridiculous thought, wondering when he'd lost his mind.

(He knew when. It was the moment he heard the bang-bang-bang, the thump of someone falling onto the pavement. It was when he looked down and felt his own flesh ache in response to the holes left in his soulmate's body. It was the outpouring of years of emotions he hadn't even known he'd repressed) 

"Mr...Black?" A hesitant voice brought him back from his memories, making him internally grateful for the distraction. He stood up to face the doctor looking at him with a weird look on his face. Sirius could see why--here he was, dressed in a half undone suit, blood soaking his satin shirt, probably dotted all across the rest of his body, and of course, the dirt stains on his knees. Not to mention, the rain had created an even bigger mess of him. The stares he was getting were quite understandable, really. 

"That's me, yes." 

"Er--the man you came with--are you quite sure you have no idea who he is?" 

This time, Sirius didn't resist the rumbling of his voice as he ground out, "Like I told your receptionist, then a nurse, and finally the constable after that, I found him, just like this, on the pavement. Don’t make me repeat it again for the sake of your incompetence. Now, what is the status of his condition?" 

The doctor cleared his throat, pulling at the knot on his tie. "Well, then, uh. Mr. Black, I'm afraid I can't disclose that information--patient confidentiality, I'm sure you understand." He let out a little laugh at that, as if this was all a big fucking joke, and turned away. 

Like Sirius would let him leave. 

In two quick strides, he'd reached the doctor's side, deftly pulling him into a corridor off the side, pushing him against the wall as soon as they were out of sight. 

"Listen here, Doc," he sneered, pushing him back with his forearm against his chest, "That man in there? He's my soulmate." The doctor paled at the word, igniting dark satisfaction in him. Somewhere inside, deep down, Sirius knew he couldn't have known, but in that moment, it didn't matter. "So you can take your 'patient confidentiality' and shove it up your arse, got it?"

The man nodded so hard it was a wonder his head didn’t fall off to the ground. 

“Un-Unconscious, sir. He’s been bleeding out for too long,” the doctor stuttered out finally, “We can’t guarantee any—”

Sirius pushed harder, cutting him off midway. “Finish that sentence and I’ll cut off your tongue and stuff it down your throat.” The clack of the man’s teeth shutting close filled him with more satisfaction than it probably should have. The silence, however, was too much of a relief for him to think about that just yet. 

No guarantee, he says. He’ll show him ‘no guarantee’. 

Sirius took a deep breath and stepped back, straightening his shirt as he did. He waited for the doctor to compose himself before lifting one hand to smoothen the wrinkles on his coat, ignoring the flinch. Clearing his throat, he said, “Doc. I hope you know who I am?” 

No response except a wrinkled brow. 

“Sirius Black, heir and CEO of Cassiopeia Industries,” he clarified and sure enough, the man went paler than what should’ve been humanly possible. Sirius’ smile was thin, dangerous. “Yes, I see you’ve heard of us. Good, I’m glad. It’ll make this much smoother then.” 

He leaned in closer, close enough he could smell the sweat beading along the man’s neck, the sourness of his breath, could see the dilated pupils. “So you know what I can, and will, do to you if you can’t ‘guarantee’ my soulmate’s life, yes?” 

He didn’t have to say much else then, not after the doctor’s vigorous nods and assurances. 

There were other things to do, after all.

He was sitting on the uncomfortable plastic bench, leg tapping an annoying rhythm on the linoleum, when a pair of sleek, polished shoes entered his vision. Sirius released the breath he’d been holding in since the minute this evening started. 

Father was here.

“Sirius.” 

“Father,” he replied, standing up for their customary handshake. Not too firm, never too loose. Know your place in the world and be secure in that knowledge. Lessons he’d had drilled into his head since before he could speak. 

(He wondered what his soulmate’s handshake would be like?) 

“I’ve got the information you asked for, though I can’t wonder why you would need to get in touch with what seems like, on the surface, a common street thug,” Father said with his usual upturned lip. His eyebrows were slightly raised, which was about as much emotion as he allowed himself to show in public. 

Sirius’ eyes were fixed on a point slightly to the left of his head, on the cream-coloured wall with years of misuse plastered across it in dark spots. “I was out for…an errand today—”

“That brother of yours still drinking his swill, I take it,” came the expected comment. He paid it no mind. 

“And just outside the shop, this man…he was—shot. Four times. Seemed personal.” Sirius’ voice was cold, clinical, recounting with perfect clarity and none of the panic that seemed to be seeping into every inch of him. 

“And you thought today was a nice day to become a good samaritan?” His father’s disdain for a good samaritan was clear in the tone of his voice. Sirius almost smiled at the familiarity of it. There had been many family dinners where he’d suffered through his fathers disgust for ‘a bunch of nosy do-gooders with neither a penny nor any dignity to their name, poking their limbs in where it’s not needed.’ 

“Not exactly, no,” Sirius stalled, knowing he wouldn’t be able to do so much longer. Already, he could see the impatience lining Orion Black’s countenance, the foot slowly tapping on the floor, expecting, no—demanding an answer. “It was my…soulmate. I could feel it. He’s in there right now—“ he tilted his head towards the OR “—and they don’t have ‘any guarantees’ supposedly,”

At any other time, Sirius would’ve been ashamed, no, horrified at the way his voice cracked at the end, wouldn’t have been able to look his father in the eye for a week afterwards but just like his patience had disappeared in the course of his evening, so had his shame, it seems. 

But he couldn’t muster it this time. Not even when his father’s lip curled farther up at the vulgar display of emotion. He didn’t say anything, though, probably dredging up the last of his humanity to do so—merely put a hand into his coat and pulled out a plain black envelope. 

“Do clean up, Sirius, this sort of behaviour is most unbecoming of you.” With one last parting shot, he left the envelope in Sirius’ hands and left, just as imperiously as he’d entered.

Sirius smoothed one hand over the soft planes of the mystery man’s cheeks, touch featherlight and ready to withdraw at a moment’s notice if needed. 

He looked…peaceful, completely at odds with the prognosis clutched in Sirius’ other hand, like his heart wasn’t on the verge of giving up at any time. It was a cruel illusion, a painful distortion of reality, and yet, Sirius wanted it for as long as he could have it. 

“How I’ve looked for you, darling,” he whispered, thumb running repetitive circles over the man’s cheek. “And now that I’ve found you…” 

“Are we doomed to forever live like this?” 

Perhaps if this was a movie, that would be the cue for his soulmate to wake up, to dramatically open his eyes and proclaim his love for Sirius; they’d take each other in their arms and never let go, savor the kind of pleasure that only the other half of your soul can give you. 

But this wasn’t a movie, and Sirius was no hero.

He left soon after that, unable to look, helpless to do anything but. 

It was in the car that he opened the envelope for the first time. It contained two things: a slip of paper with a name and address on it, and a photograph, black and white and grainy, like it was taken with a cheap instant camera. 

He traced one finger over the smiling face, comparing it to the unnatural stillness of the man he’d just left behind, and clenched his jaw. Throwing the photo across the seat, he put the car in reverse and peeled out of the parking lot. 

Tom Riddle didn’t know what was waiting for him. 

“Who are you?” The harsh words were accompanied by a gun aimed straight at his head. Sirius couldn’t be less bothered, however. From the way the man’s eyes were dilated, unable to focus on one point, to his shaking hands that couldn’t even grasp the revolver properly, to the disarray of his jet black hair and clothes—it was safe to deduce that he was more of a danger to himself than anyone else. That coffee table off to the side, for example, looked particularly menacing if he knocked himself over it, which judging by the sway in his frame, he seemed quite likely to. 

“You don’t need to know that, Mr. Riddle,” he replied in a calm, soothing voice. He looked down, adjusting his cufflinks as he spoke. “I’m here for one thing and you’re going to give it to me.” 

“I don’t swing that way, honey,” Riddle slurred, making Sirius grimace in response. The man wasn’t…unfortunate looking but even if he hadn’t found his soulmate—and loved him on the spot—Riddle was not his type. His tastes tended to run a bit more discerning than drunkards in old, run-down motels who couldn’t even hold a firearm properly. 

(Could James hold a gun, he thinks absently. He could teach him, if he wanted, would love to see the way his muscles move as he pressed down on the trigger—) 

“And I’m sure mankind is glad for that,” he said dryly.

“You—” Riddle spluttered, stumbling forward, narrowly escaping the corner of the table (sadly). Sirius looked on in disgust, wondering how vermin like this could’ve even gotten near his wonderful, beautiful soulmate, close enough to not just hurt him but do so badly enough that he’s lying on his deathbed, waiting for divine intervention to save him. 

“This man.” Sirius held up his phone, where a photo of the mystery man lying on the hospital bed, thankfully cleaned of all blood and grime, is looking out at them. “Who is he?” 

“No clue, buddy,” Riddle tried to shrug but Sirius wasn’t having any of it. His patience was already at an all time low and now this clown’s shenanigans weren’t helping. 

“So help me, God, if you don’t tell me right now who he is and why you shot him four fucking times—“ Sirius threatened, finally getting up from his not-so-comfortable perch on the windowsill. Riddle only shrugged again, taking a step back. 

That’s it. 

Sirius moved forward, quick enough to probably seem like a blur to Riddle’s drink-addled mind. In a single manoeuver, he had the man turned around and pushed against the wall, face smushed into the peeling paint. His hands were held in a bruising grip in one of Sirius’ and he gun was safely out of reach from where it had clattered on the floor. Judging by the lightness of it, it had never even been a threat. 

“I’m running out of patience, honey,” he crooned. “I’m afraid I’m gonna have to get creative now.” 

Saying that, he stepped back a little, just enough that he could pull Riddle’s index finger back, back, back until a loud crack and a sob filled the air. 

Neither the cracks nor the sobs stopped for the rest of the night.

"More blood, Sirius?" 

Sirius didn't respond, only continued dabbing at the stained blood on his shirt--his second of the day. 

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, boy!" His father's voice echoed sharply in the empty room. He hated being ignored; that's why Sirius did it, after all. 

"Thanks for the help, Father, I really appreciate it," he said instead. Once he was satisfied that as many of the stains as possible had been removed, he moved onto his hands, lip curling at the dried flakes stuck under his nails. This was always the worst part about these things. 

"And what of all this...soulmate business, then?" 

"What about it?" Sirius looked up, then, meeting his father's eyes through the mirror, grey clashing against grey. 

"Well, what're you going to do?" His father was neutral as ever, but Sirius knew him well enough to see the glint of curiosity in his calculating gaze. 

"What anyone else does with their soulmate, I believe." The resounding sigh at his glib answer made him snicker into his fist. Sirius might be old and powerful enough to make the world tremble at his feet but there was a unique joy in upsetting his father's composure that never lost its charm. 

"Sirius." 

"Father." It was his turn to sigh this time as he finally turned around, taking out his handkerchief as he did. "Here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to go in there, pray to a God neither you nor I believe in but hopefully he does, and sit by his bedside for as long as it takes. Everything else can wait." 

"The business?" 

"We have a board for a reason, incompetent as they might be on a  good day," he fired back. 

"Your brother withering away in your flat?" 

"Nothing new there," Sirius scoffed. "Reg'll be right as rain in a few days. Then he'll be back on his usual cycle of finding another terrible partner, getting cheated on, and coming right back to nest on my lumpy couch."

"That thing really is terribly lumpy," Father muttered under his breath before straightening up with a firm nod. "Very well, then. I wish you the best of luck. Bring your young man around for lunch when he wakes up. I'm sure your Mother would like to examine him." 

Sirius couldn't articulate, in that moment, how much it meant to him that his father said 'when' instead of 'if’ he wakes up. That was something he hadn't even considered so far, afraid he'd break at the slightest possibility that he could lose his soulmate just as he'd found him, didn't even want to put the thought out into the universe and here was his father, perhaps the most self-assured, confident man he knew, saying it casual-as-you-please. 

 He was still reeling from the comment when his father took his leave, getting the last word in as he did, per usual. "And try and get your brother with you, yes? Kreacher would be delighted to see his 'Young Master'."

 It took three days for something to give.  

Every single day, Sirius could be found either sitting in the uncomfortable chair beside his mate's bed, holding his hand, stroking his hair, rubbing his thumb against his hand. There was a...tenderness in him now, one he'd never thought himself capable of. He both loathed and admired it; loathed, because the one person who should be receiving it was unable to, admired because it was a wondrous feeling, this lightness in his chest, the innate urge to give, without expecting anything in return. 

Sirius had been a career businessman, and casual criminal, since he came out of the womb. This was an entirely novel experience for him and he couldn't even enjoy it, for fuck's sake. 

"Wake up, goddammit.” he burst out on the third day of no activity, of hearing the shallow, almost nonexistent breaths of his mystery man amplified by the machines hooked up to him. “I need you, you bastard.”

So focused was he on those wires and the beeping machines and the sterile fucking room that he almost missed it. He wouldn't ever have forgiven himself if he had. 

"Prefer...darling...I think," a voice croaked. The most beautiful, wonderful sound in the world. 

"What--" Sirius whispered in wonder, staring unblinkingly at the wide brown eyes looking back at him, exhausted and drooping and red-rimmed but open. Alive. 

"You called me...darling..." The man repeated, less confident this time, a crease forming between his brows. "Or did I--?"

Sirius lurched forward, grabbing his face desperately with both of his, ready to do anything to get the frown off his face. "No, no, I did--that is, I called you that--darling--that was me. I did it." 

He couldn't even be horrified at the uncharacteristic stuttering, unable to care about anything except the shy smile blooming on his soulmate's face, the warmth of it chasing away all the demons that had taken up residence in Sirius' head since that day.

"Oh," the man exhaled, biting his lip. Sirius leaned further in, entranced by the action.  

"I'm--I'm James." 

James. 

Finally. A name. The most perfect name. 

"James," Sirius breathed out, as if all the air had been punched out of his chest, leaving room only for jamesjamesjameshisoulmatejames. "I'm so happy to finally meet you." 

"I can...tell," he replied, still a bit shy, unsure. Sirius wanted to wrap him in bubble wrap forever and hide him away from the world. He also wanted to entirely devour him at the same time. It was a confusing set of impulses. "I could hear...everything...when I was...y'kno." He made an adorable gesture with his fingers, index finger circling in the air to signify his little...hibernation period. Sirius hoped he could refer to it so casually one day, though he doubted it. 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." James nodded. "Though--I didn't…get your...name?" 

It was Sirius' turn to bite his lip now, not half as cute or sexy, he was sure, only conflicted. Would his soulmate be scared away? Would he even know who Sirius was? Did he want him to? "Sirius, uh--Sirius Black." 

There was a beat of silence, fraught with tension (or perhaps Sirius was just projecting?) before James' broke out in a wide smile, completely eclipsing the brilliance of the previous one. He extended one shaky hand towards Sirius from under the covers. 

"Hello, Sirius Black, it's very, very nice to finally meet you too." 

As if in a daze, completely unable to believe this was happening to him, Sirius placed his hand in James', feeling tiny pinpricks of electricity racing up his arm and down his body in a flash of delicious warmth. He could see, judging by the tremble in James' frame, that he felt the same. 

Their hands clasped (not too firm, never too loose) and Sirius knew everything would be just fine.

[sagesilentfire]

i have discovered a romance story i like to write

[wordswithcorrin]

I'm hitting 25k tonight internet void lets see if I can do it before dinner

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

ABRACADABRA CHAPTER SIX DONE

A few starts and stops and stutters.

But now it is done.

Shaved a bit off the wordcount, went from 1,604 to 1,313. BUT THAT'S OKAY because I feel like it went a bit better. A bit smoother. Made the sword character a bit more creepy than sympathetic, which I like a lot. Also felt like it had a bit more solid of a reason for it's existence and dropped a bit better into the worldbuilding for Elkien.

Also left a few more breadcrumbs that gave me ideas for how this rewrite can go. So that's always fun.

ANYWAY!

SNippet!

“So you’re not a connection to another consciousness…and you are ‘alive’ in a sense.” I mulled over my next question. My last one, in this first little game of ours. Better make it a good one. Oh. “Can you tell or show me the first moment of your awareness?” Arai stared at me, the smile almost frozen in place. And suddenly, despite the wanting of knowledge gnawing at my brain, something else chewed at my stomach. Fear. “Um. Can I take that last one back?” Arai slowly turned its head one way, and then the other. A disjointed version of ‘no’. Cold pricked at my spine, but Arai merely spread out its hands. There was a flash of magic and the sword’s light went out. As did every single other light in the room.

And Rod proceeded to get creeped out for the rest of the scene.

[detectiveaku]

I think I’ve figured out a writing thing in regards to humor. Cause I’ve always struggled with having characters/narration have funny bits that are A: actually funny and B: don’t immediately ruin the pace and story. And I think it comes from insecurity and a misunderstanding of what the function of humor is in writing. I’ve always used humor to break up the monotony of a scene which. Is just not right, a boring scene can’t be fixed by dialogue undercutting it. And a serious scene will not be made more entertaining by marvel-style quips. Humor can’t be set up in a beat for the principal purpose of being funny, instead it should be funny, while highlighting a character’s perspective or state of mind or pointing out quirks of the setting etc. The story shouldn’t pause in order to be funny.

[addrianastarflower]

Livewriting Dadmight Angst

https://www.twitch.tv/addrianastarflower

[asteriuszenith]

Guess who has 10k words for an original work and the main couple has not even met yet.

[sisterclaire]

Hi all! We have to pause the comic this week while our fabulous artist, Yamino, prepares for and undergoes an unplanned but necessary surgical procedure. We know this is short notice and we didn't intend to break so soon after our parents visited, so in hopes of making it up to you, Ash will be doing live-writes on Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday and will take requests for them! She may add more as time permits.

We love you. Ash can't wait to write for you soon! Love, Ash and Yamino

You can make your livedraw requests for Ash here:

[yamino]

A new illustration is up on Sister Claire! 💻

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[lightning-of-farosh]

Mermaid Legend

I think this was a livewrite at some point but i never edited it and i never posted it. have some mer-legend!

Sand billowed out in small, rolling clouds, kicked up by a flat, pink fin. Fish darted out of the way, fleeing beneath the shadow of wide stingray wings and into the deep corners of a reef. Nothing followed them; the merman happy enough to weave between a shiver of frowning sharks.

He bopped one on the top of the head and darted off into deeper, bluer waters.

 Desert stretched out before Legend; flat and full of sand, of wilderness, of everything and nothing all at once. He dragged his fingers along the ocean floor, winding back and forth with no set direction only to turn and watch as the murkiness he created settled grumpily behind him.

Spring had given way to summer, the waters warmed by currents from the south. Storms were replaced by bright blue skies and heavy sunlight that drew gold patterns along the sand. Legend admired the way they played across the stripes along his tail.

A sea turtle passed below him. No place to go, no place to be.

Dropping his hand, Legend traced the pattern along its shell with a finger and watched it head deeper into the blue. Sounds echoed from further out; whales and dolphins and beasts that had more teeth than he did. He debated heading over to see what the fuss was about but turned, instead, into a roll and kicked off in a random direction.

Darkness passed over him and Legend curled, watching the triangular shadow for a second. It flittered from left to right then back again and he darted after it, chasing across the sea floor with a boyish grin on his lips. One kick got him close enough that he could pounce, burying his fingers into the sand—

An octopus flashed bright red and scurried in the other direction.

Legend blew a few bubbles after it in apology and turned on his back, watching the shadow dart back and forth above him. Metal settled against his chest and he reached up absently, running his fingers along the edge of a ring before tangling his fingers in the leather necklace it was hanging from.

A bird passed over head. Another followed. He followed them with lazy flicks of his tailfin and spread out his arms to glide. The heaviness of the warm waters settled in his skin, chasing away the coolness that had been there for so long. Blonde hair drifted around his face, swirling like a pleasant storm. Pink was returning to it after all those years of dying it black and blonde.

He had missed it.

Somewhat.

Fish scattered around him and Legend flared out his fins, using the drag to slow him to a stop. There were shadows above, shadows below. A school broke and formed around him, twisting as one and parting as many.

Legend swam below it, settling with his back in the sand to watch feathers break the surface of the water as beaks snatched what they could. It would have been easier for the birds with a pod of dolphins circling like a pack of shepherds because the fish would have nowhere to go.

As it was, the school simply parted and most of the birds shot back into the sky empty bellied.

Wondering—briefly—which group he should play with, Legend brushed his tail back and forth through the sand. It rose around him, drifting like a storm cloud across his bright scales, and there was a distant rumble of thunder.

He twisted, eyeing the sunlight that drifted through the surface, at the shadows of birds and fish and half formed clouds that dotted the bottom of the sea. Ignoring the dance of predator and prey behind him, Legend kicked away from the sand and broke the surface. His hair stuck to his face and ears, clinging to his skin and he wiped it out of the way with a scowl.

There was a pod of clouds in the distance. Grey. Dark. Heavy. They were singular in the sky; a patch of darkness on a blue canvas.

A seagull squawked above him. Legend glanced up at it and frowned.

“Yeah, yeah,” He told it and rolled his eyes. His fin caught the water and he kicked forward, diving back under the surface and shooting off towards the out-of-place storm. A few smaller fish got caught in his wake and were brushed to the side, little fins rushing to dart out of his way.

Legend didn’t notice, arching over the remains of a small fishing boat, around a small forest of kelp, and twisting between two of the larger boulders.

One scraped along his dorsal but he ignored it, watching the sky darken the closer he got to the storm. The water grew shallower; crab claws replacing small schools of fish and old nets threatened to snatch him from where they had been caught along rocks and branches of white streaked coral.

Heavy waves picked up the sand and he swam up, surfacing a second time to look up at the side of a towering cliff.

A wave crashed against the back of his head and Legend cursed when he was forced back under.

Stupid, he thought, waiting for another to pass before rising again. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the different light and he kicked to steady himself, arms stretched out for balance. Crested white caps pushed against him, trying to nudge him closer to sharpened rocks but he kicked against the force, fighting to keep place.

Light flashed in the darkness. Thunder rumbled above his head.

Beyond the small patch of the storm, there was nothing but clear blue skies.

Magic.

He dropped back down and swam back, closer to the edge of the clouds and kicked hard against the bottom to shoot up. Half his torso breeched the waves.

A flash of silver steel, of brown, of green.

Lightning crashed from the heavens, echoing a howl of rage.

Legend dropped back into the water before the earth shattering boom could rattle his bones.

Definitely magic. His fingers dug into sand and he watched for any more angry flashing light—but it only flickered, fading away and leaving the clouds behind. Legend pushed off the sea floor, rising slowly, and peeked his eyes above the waves to look up at the sky. His heart was hammering in his chest, old memories of storms rising like a tsunami in his chest—

Red caught his eye and he twisted, baring his teeth in a half formed snarl.

Fire fell, spitting and sparking, into the waves. It existed for a moment in the water despite its nature and then faded, swallowed up by the unforgiving ocean. Small bits of rock tumbled down the cliffside, knocked astray by a heel.

Legend turned his gaze up to the young man backed up against the ledge.

His blade was a hungry blaze, arching to block the swing from a mace, the thrust of a sword, the arch of an axe. Creatures with the faces of pigs and canines and lizards snarled at him, climbing over each other to get closer.

Legend cursed himself for leaving his sword behind as he reached for the ring against his chest.

Well, it wouldn’t matter. A rock could bash in a monster skull if it was thrown hard enough.

He tugged on the leather necklace, prepared to pull it over his head when hands grabbed a green tunic, pulling the teenager away from the edge of the cliff.

That’s nice of them, Legend thought. They normally try to push me off it.

The teen wrenched out of their grip, green fabric tearing as he stepped back—

His weight teetered backwards, shield flung out as if for balance. Gravity wrapped hungry, desperate fingers around the heavy metal and tugged the kid off the cliff and into the waters below.

“Shit!” Legend cried, diving under the water and racing forward. Not the rocks, he begged, having to take it slow because of the sand kicked up from the storm. Not the rocks, not the rocks, not the—*

His fingers found cloth. Found skin. He wrapped his arms around a chest and kicked back, heading up and away, diagonal from any possible danger. Nails dug into his shoulders and something batted uselessly against Legend’s chest as he kicked and kicked and kicked.

They surfaced with a gasp and he looked down at messy brown hair, at wide, half-coloured eyes—

A palm shoved against his face.

Legend sputtered and a fist knocked against his chin, his collar, his shoulder. “Wait, wait!” He almost dropped back beneath the surface. “Shit, kid! Stop it—!”

“Let go of me!” Toes caught on his scales and pushed.

“Fine! Hylia,” Legend snarled. “Have it your way,” He said, shoving the kid away.

The brown haired teen stayed above the water for a second, arms and legs flailing uselessly.

And then he dropped like a stone.

“Shit!” Legend scrambled down after him. He grabbed the back of the tunic that time, wrenching the teen back to the surface.

He was coughing, gagging on salt water.

Serves him right.

“What the hell, kid!”

“Geddoff me!”

“No!” Legend shook him like a misbehaving shark. “You can’t swim, you idiot!”

A hand missed his ear by inches. “Screw you! I’m not going back with you—”

Wait, Legend blinked. What?

“—pig faced, ugly ass, red loving shit stain of a—”

“First of all,” Legend cut him off, “rude. Look at me. I’m none of those things.”

The kid splashed water at his face.

Little shit.

Legend shook him again for good measure.  “Second of all, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Narrowed eyes stared at him, searched his face, caught on the point of his ears and the line of his jaw.

And then they looked down.

“You have a tail.”

Goddess, Legend rolled his eyes. “And you have legs. Let’s move on.”

“Why do you have a tail?”

“Because my mommy had one and my daddy had one and one day they decided to make babies—”

There was a splash behind them. Both turned and watched one of the lizards slipping through the waves like a serpent.

“Fuck,” Legend bared his teeth and watched the silver beast get closer. Its eyes flashed yellow in the lightening shadows as electricity sparked across the horn on its head. “Give me your sword.”

The teen muttered something.

“What?”

Brown eyes flashed. “I said ‘I dropped it’!”

“Dropped it? Where?”

“Where do you think, genius?”

Legend cursed.

The lizard was getting closer. Above them, the storm clouds were clearing.

“Don’t hit me again,” Legend told the teen, turning around and pulling him closer. “And hang on.”

Timid fingers brushed against his shoulder then gained more confidence as they brushed against the leather of his necklace and the scales along his collar. Arms locked around his neck and Legend could feel the pounding of the kid’s heart against his back.

“Deep breath,” he said and waited for the sharp sound of an inhale before dropping. Using the extra weight to spin around, Legend kick off towards the side of the cliff.

The shadow of the lizard passed overhead. Sharp, white claws were too slow and Legend’s tail slipped easily past its grasp.

His burst of speed put enough distance between them and the monster for a moment and Legend used his hands to feel for stone and kelp and sand.

Bubbles blew past his hair.

Hang on, kid, he thought, patting frantically against the sand. Hang on, hang on—

The grip around his neck loosened.

Legend’s fingers hit metal. He snatched the hilt of the silver blade, dug out the shield beside it, and tucked both against his chest as he shot towards the surface. 

There was a frantic, desperate gasp against his ear and the teen shuddered against his back, shaking and coughing wetly against his shoulder.

“You okay, kid?” Legend adjusted his grip on the sword and watched as a crocodile shaped head lifted out of the water.

The monster opened its mouth bearing its curved, pointed teeth.

Legend bared his right back.

Coughing continued against his back, but the hand against his chest curled and offered a weak thumbs up.

Good lad, Legend thought, pressing the shield against his chest with one hand and hoisting the sword with the other. “Take another deep breath for me, then.”

There was a grumble against his skin. It was probably something rude.

Despite himself, Legend smiled. The kid had fight in him. That was good.

Lungs expanded and he heard the rush of an inhale. Legend dropped back below the surface and pushed himself as fast as he could, rushing forward in a roar of bubbling water. The sword was held out in front of him like a spear as sand rose in his wake, launched up with the force of his kicking. The lizard creature scrambled out of his way with a screech and Legend laughed, spinning he took the boy on his back further and further into the open ocean.

[sister-claire-critical]

eughghgh, clairie is officially go. I'm also not amused about how the phrasing is all "since leaving the abbey" to try and hide their familial relationship. Besides, like--wasn't Claire aroace at one point? clairie doesn't feel/look like a queerplatonic relationship or anything. Cat's asexuality is basically nonexistent at this point as well, so any rep is JKR "he was gay all along" nonsense to check off the aroace box without any actual effort. DX

Now, I will not for a moment pretend like there is good aro rep in the comic. There's no aro rep at all. The authors did confirm at one point that "a major character" was aro and/or aroace, and I've been waiting for that reveal too, but now that nearly every single character has been paired up or at least implied to have crushes, pretty much the only candidate left is Yolanda, which... sucks, frankly.

But I do want to point out a couple things.

Claire has been gay/lesbian for as long as I can remember. They've had this piece up on their shop for years. They implied her being ace (not aro) in a livewrite, which is probably-but-not-officially canon, and that's it.

Secondly, I don't understand what you mean by Cat's asexuality being "nonexistent". Because they haven't discussed it in a while? They haven't discussed how Oscar is trans in a while, but she doesn't stop being trans. If you mean because Catharine has had sex, well, asexual people don't stop being asexual if they have sex.

I just wanted to put out a gentle reminder that not everything needs to be criticized. Yeah, I know, it's the name of the blog, but I think it's important to reflect on what we're criticizing and why. Blind hate isn't productive or healthy.

Anyway, I do agree aro representation leaves a gaping hole in a narrative that showcases all other major queer identities and relationships. And yes, the Clairie situation is well known to be shady.

—Mod Marie 🌸

[sagesilentfire]

It occurs to me that I gave Cíaxoch the exact same backstory I headcanon canon Toffee as having. Huh.

[gintrinsic-writing]

Hello Gin! For you: 14, 35, and 53!

Hi!

14: what's your worst writing habit? Deeefinitely not being able to move past certain sentences or turns-of-phrase. I'm sure you recall the couple of times I tried to livewrite; I can easily spend ten minutes on a hundred words or less, and still be frustrated by them. 35. tell us about a character who's very different than you who you love a whole lot. lol I'm trying to think of someone you'd know so this is a fun answer...... hmm... omg hahahaha okay so ROCHE from the FFVII Remake. Dude he was WILD and I fucking loved him. The motorcycle, the mullet, the flamboyance, the innuendos, the leather... I'm nothing like him (except maybe bad-pun-innuendos) but I cherished his character. 53. when writing, do you have an outline? and do you stick to it? Depends entirely on the length of story! The short stories I post here are almost always spontaneous, written all at once (and sometimes when I'm feeling....... silly), and never start with outlines. Longer fics that I publish on A03 tend to get outlines, and the oneshots mostly stay true but DoR has been all over the place. And admittedly my outlines are sometimes just random thoughts typed out before I start, or points I want to include.

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

Abracadabra Snippet - Rod has problems with his veggies

Ha! Okay, that's 697 words in Abracadabra, and I got to a good breaking point so I'm gonna call it done for now.

Did I pretty much just write a scene where they're essentially just eating and talking? Yes. Yes I did. Did it have minor exposition but I spent a majority of the narrative describing Rod doing battle with a piece of cucumber that refused to get eaten? Yes. Yes I did.

Do I have any shame about it?

No. No I don't 😂

Anyway; proof snippet and all that jazz.

“Shouldn’t have brought her here,” Kashi growled, prowling among the cabinets and pantry. “Too exposed.” “Too exposed!?” I said with a frown, poking at a green bit that seemed determined not to be caught. “More exposed than being on the run in enemy territory?” Aha. It succumbed to a clever ploy of chasing it to the side of the can, my skewer coming after it triumphantly before it bailed over the jagged edge. She grunted, pouncing on something near the back of the cabinets, voice drifting out from the dark of the unknown space. “At least on land I could maneuver, asshole. Up here I’m stuck like a—“ she grunted, the sound quickly followed by a loud banging of metal and several things crashing to the ground as Kashi swore, “eprse siene’soine!!” She struggled a little more and I let her, not wanting to be on the receiving end of a similar explosion of words, instead choosing to concentrate on my own worries. I hovered the skewer over the bit of cucumber that had run, eyeing it as it rested in a pool of juices on the table. Mocking me.

A lot of this scene is Rod getting bested by a bit of canned cucumber. I'm fairly proud of it.

If you want to learn more about Abracadabra you can read the WIP Intro here, ask questions, follow me for updates, and all the good things!

[a-sentimental-man]

hellooo everyone, if i hypothetically made a discord server for my fanfics and original works, would anyone join (it would mostly be a place to chill out and hang, get writing criticisms, livewrite, sprint together, and also for me to talk about my fics with people)

my ao3 is here

[addrianastarflower]

Livewriting Dadmight right now on twitch!