#and the next chapter of thoma fic sitting in my drafts

[tellerluna-stories]

WELP NOW I HAVE MAID-SAMA! CHILDE BRAINROT THANKS TO YING

[satashiiwrites]

Night writing

I’m sitting here sipping on wine, listening to the Civil Wars being so darn angsty and writing Outlaw/Cartel.  This week has been way too long and  Miguel is not having a good time guys (he keeps being snarly). 

Title: The Outlaw and the Cartel Boss, unknown chapter possibly XVII

Fandom: Mayans MC

Pairing: Ezekiel “EZ” Reyes/Miguel Galindo, former Miguel Galindo/Emily Galindo née Thomas, eventual Angel Reyes/Johnny “Coco” Cruz, Angel Reyes/Adelita, some implied Kevin Jimenez&Miguel Galindo&EZ Reyes possibly

Other tags/warnings: Sentinel/guide AU.  There is absolutely no knowledge of source material needed past about the second or third episode of season one as we’re AU from there. First draft. Bond interference. Angst. KJ will not be dying in this fic! 

It happened without warning.

One moment he was sitting in the interrogation room he’d been left in and the next it felt like he was being torn apart at the seams. 

EZ? 

Where…

His sentinel…. He was gone. 

EZ was just gone.

His shields shattered as his mind cast out in search of his sentinel, the tether between their souls that kept him anchored had disappeared. 

He needed it back!

Everything was disorganized and hurt.  He could feel everyone in the building. 

Every. Single. Person.

It was too much but the worst of it was he couldn’t feel EZ so his range kept expanding further and further seeking the familiar touch of his Sentinel’s mind.

He’d known EZ had been moved to another building.  Had known his Sentinel had been taken somewhere else—probably to be processed—but he couldn’t even focus on a specific direction. Miguel just kept reaching further and further, extending his search. 

EZEZEZEZEZEZEZEZ Where are you mi vida? My Ezekiel….

He missed the other sentinel’s entrance he was too out of it to notice in his search for EZ.

The touch of the other sentinel’s hands pressing against his temples was like being doused in ice cold water as he was yanked back to the interrogation room, a nasty headache blooming behind his ears. “Galindo” Was the harsh shout followed by a softer whisper of his name, the instructions coming raggedly as if the sentinel had been screaming and ruined his vocal cords. “Miguel—you need to focus on me!”

It was EZ’s beta—Agent something or other. The sentinel who had taken their cub and who Miguel had been praying was protecting Cris while he couldn’t.  EZ had trusted this sentinel—Miguel had been able to feel it when EZ had claimed the beta as theirs. 

Why was their beta trying to anchor him?

A whimper was all the noise he could make. He needed to find EZ—didn’t their beta know that?  

“Miguel you need to anchor yourself. They… they gave EZ a suppressant. He’s not dead.”

A suppressant?  Why?  Why would they do that?  

Despair rolled thorough him mixed with desperation for his sentinel.  Where was EZ?

“Use me.  I know I’m not him but you’re going to bring the entire town down if you don’t.”

[softzhongli]

summary: a closer look at the most exclusive group chat in all teyvat. we have two oblivious idiots in love, two horny bastards afraid of their feelings, a grumpy cat and his sunshine boyfriend and one very single and tired girl... among many many others warnings: swearing, probably some angst info: crack fic, multi-chaptered, social media au, not much difference they just have phones lmao pairings: childe x kaeya // xiao x venti // zhongli x diluc + lumine and other characters requests: open posted: 20/02/2022 a/n: oh how fun was it to write this chapter two times bc it didn’t save the first time 🤡🤡🤡 hope it’s still good, i think the first draft was better and a little longer but my memory’s not that great lmao and yes i absolutely had to squeeze some flirting zhongluc bc i’m that much of a simp for them aha aha  anyway if you wanna talk or sth hmu here on tumblr or discord (itskxnga#8629) or in genshin (eu // uid: 736495790)

PREV II MASTERLIST II NEXT

CHAT: R.I.P. KAEYA ☠️ ⮡  members: lumine / diluc / xiao / venti / childe / kaeya / zhongli / thoma 

lumine: i don’t feel like creating another group chat

lumine: so...

lumine: sorry @childe @kaeya 

lumine: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

lumine removed childe from the group.

lumine removed kaeya from the group.

lumine changed group name to “operation: #chaeya”.

venti: lool

thoma: i’m so confused

lumine: now!

lumine: @everyone get your asses here! we have stuff to do

diluc: remove me too

lumine: ha-ha, no.

lumine: @venti get xiao here

lumine: @zhongli where you at?

venti: no need, he’s right next to me

lumine: good enough, i guess

venti: @diluc where’s zhongli?

diluc: don’t know

venti: don’t know? or don’t want to tell us?

diluc: isn’t this the same thing?

venti: rude T^T

zhongli: i’m sorry, you have my full attention now

lumine: great

thoma: so what’s going on?

thoma: guess it has something to do with kaeya and childe?

lumine: pretty AND smart

lumine: who knew

thoma: 😘

diluc: @lumine why did you have to remove them? not that i’m complaining

venti: let me sum it up for you

lumine: a lot has happened

venti: so, i assume you remember lumine’s “birthday party”, we were all drunk and apparently childe and kaeya were both drunk enough to not remember that they confessed to each other

thoma: isn’t that a good thing?

lumine: he’s not done

venti: but! childe remembers only the part where HE confessed to kaeya and kaeya remembers only the part where HE confessed to childe. neither of them remembers that the other feels the same way and both of them are too scared to talk about it.

thoma: damn, that sucks

zhongli: that is indeed unfortunate

diluc: and what exactly do you expect from us?

lumine: well idk about you but @venti and I can’t just sit around and do nothing

thoma: idk how i can help from inazuma tho 😭

diluc: so what do you want to do?

lumine: well from what we know, childe’s gonna be in liyue tomorrow, right?

zhongli: you are correct

lumine: and this time kaeya’s not going with him, obviously

venti: and since childe really values your opinion @zhongli we were hoping you could talk to him

lumine: and we’d deal with kaeya here

zhongli: you flatter me with the faith you have in me

diluc: sigh

diluc: i get that you mean well 

diluc: but it won’t work, at least not on kaeya

diluc: he’s to stubborn

lumine: any other ideas?

diluc: not something you wanna hear but i think it’s best to leave them be

zhongli: i have to agree

venti: color me shocked lmao

zhongli: they’re quite similar, kaeya and childe

zhongli: and if backed into a corner like that i believe they’d just get their defences up

zhongli: it might do more harm than good in the end

zhongli: maybe it would be best to not get too involved

lumine: but they’re so stuuupid 😭

zhongli: haha, perhaps, yes, but they’ll figure it out on their own

venti: i hate it when they’re right

lumine: same

lumine: ugh, you really are meant for each other

diluc: lumine.

zhongli: that’s quite the compliment, thank you

diluc: it is?

venti: diluc blushing mode: activated

lumine: lmaoo

thoma: 😂

zhongli: @diluc of course it is. i’m very flattered that they think i’m a good match for someone as wonderful as you, diluc

venti: diluc.exe has stopped working

lumine: 😂

thoma: 😂

diluc: oh

lumine: omg dads are flirting! this is so precious T^T

diluc: i

diluc: um

diluc: me too

diluc: i mean, i’m flattered too

venti: i’d pay big money to see diluc’s face rn 

thoma: they’re not even paying attention to us anymore, incredible

lumine: welcome to my world, buddy

lumine: you’ll never feel more single than when you’re here with chaeya, zhongluc and/or xiaoven

venti: yup

lumine: anyway

lumine: i guess there’s no point in keeping chaeya away anymore

lumine changed group name to “🤡 clown town 🤡”.

thoma: 😂

lumine added childe to the group.

lumine added kaeya tot the group.

venti: welcome back our main clowns

lumine: 🤡

thoma: 🤡

venti: 🤡

[the-writers-bookshelf]

Hoi, and happy Fab Friday!

(This got long...)

I did a lot of work on the character arcs this week. I have those of two major characters almost entirely plotted out now (I made a thirty slide presentation on one of them to visualize it to myself). I haven't done much actual scene-writing, but I have started the second draft of the first part in my story. I have a much better view of the character now, so I now have a new way of opening his part of the story that highlights his character and even foreshadows his arc, instead of just focusing on the physical plot.

First, this character's POV opened straight into the action, as he watches an important interrogation scene. The overall chapter didn't tell much about him at all, but now I've studied so much about Character Arcs and story structure I've just transformed that scene. It still has the interrogation aspect, but now it focuses much more on the POV character's emotional state rather than just he fact that the interrogated soldiers isn't saying anything of importance (an important one, because in the last chapter I was trying really hard to reach at least the bottom line of my word count ranger, but it just wasn't interesting.)

The most important change I made was when the story begin. It's a canon divergence fic, so it starts off at a specific point in the movie in the first chapter (which is from Thomas's POV). Originally, this chapter took place a week after Thomas's, but now just about 24 hours. That way, Minho's grief is much more acute. Same for the rest of the cast.

The first version starts out with an interrogation that leads them nowhere, and just drags on 3000 words until Minho hints to himself that he has been hurt. This one, starts with the hurt:

“He’s gone, Minho.” Gally’s hands pull him away before they reach for Frypan as well. “We need to run.”

Bergs roar overhead, ready to trap them right back into the hell he came from.

*

Where was he? Where did he run, where did he hide? He didn’t, of course he didn’t. Idiot, he had to go to WCKD. Why?

“Harriet, tell him to leave. Get the boat ready and go. They’ve got Thomas. We’ll call you when we got him.” Vince turned to the group. “If you want to go to the Safe Haven, I’ll drop you off, no judgment.”

No one ever even considered it.

“Thomas it is.”

*

Dead. Knife in his chest, eyes pitch black all around, not even a last breath left in him, dead.

He dragged him back into the Glade. He fought his way out with him.

Dead.

It wouldn’t feel real.

*

Minho shot awake reaching for a weapon he didn’t have. He gasped for air after a scream he couldn’t stop, still reeling from the images of the night before.

Dead. Alive, dead, alive, dead. He couldn’t tell which one was real and which one wasn’t.

“Hey, you’re okay.” Frypan dropped to his knees and reached out for him, but Minho had his eyes fixed on the person behind him.

“Y-you’re dead.” Not again. Anything but that, not again. It’s not real, he told himself as if that would wake him up. As if it would make it stop. He pushed Frypan away and closed his eyes. Maybe that would work. Just sit tight and wait. Ignore it until it’s over. He would be fine that way.

“He’s not, remember?” Frypan put his hands on Minho’s shoulders. “We found him outside the City. You just had a nightmare.” He squeezed Minho’s shoulders with a gentleness Minho didn’t have a big enough imagination for to make up.

Breath slowing, Minho fell into his embrace, still waiting for the moment something would tear it away. He did. He let go and softly pushed Frypan away from him. “I’m fine.”

Take a breath and move on. That’s the only way you’ll survive this place.

That last sentence is at the center of the lie Minho overcomes throughout the story. He refuses to let himself feel and be hurt by what has been done to him, telling himself he just has to let it go and fight the next fight.

A bit of a spoiler, but toward the end of the story, Minho has changed a lot, and says this to another character when they're in a similar situation to that other sentence that first version originated in:

Breathe out and stay close to someone. That’s the only way you’ll survive this place.

You've gotten so much done!! That's fantastic! I'm just blown away at how much progress you continue to make on this fic and you don't even seem to be slowing down, I need some of that creative juice XD

[lizardkingeliot]

Fic Writer Questions

tagged by: @lazybakerart thank you! 💖

How many works do you have on AO3?

147 (jfc)

What’s your total AO3 wordcount?

789,230 (i did the math recently and over 400k of this is Queliot fic from the past two and a half years lmaooo)

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

According to my expanded fandom list on ao3 these are the numbers:

Hannibal (TV) (64)

The Magicians (TV) (33)

Supernatural (18)

Queer as Folk (US) (14)

The Exorcist (TV) (13)

The Magicians - Lev Grossman (2)

Vikings (TV) (2)

Historical RPF (1)

Hannibal (TV) RPF (1)

The Walking Dead (TV) (1)

Mænd & høns | Men & Chicken (2015) (1)

Basic Instinct (Movies) (1)

15th Century CE RPF (1)

Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris (1)

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I am going to choose from my Magicians fic only here since it’s what I’m most proud of:

wellspring

time cast a spell on you (but you won't forget me)

as it was

and this is the map of my heart

life fades (but you remain)

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Yes absolutely. Comments are very important to me and I want everyone who takes the time to leave one to know how much I appreciate them. 💖

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

prooooobably throw your shadow over me. there is zero resolution since it’s a missing scene set in late season 3 and, well..... lol. it’s seriously miserable.

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve ever written?

Just the one Hannigram AU I think???? I have never been super into crossovers tbh.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

lol yes, but it’s been a while???? although i did get one comment on a fic last year that wasn’t technically hate but it put such a bad taste in my mouth it might as well have been. it’s never a good idea to tell someone you don’t like the way they write a character, regardless of your intent. it is okay to simply hit the back button and move on with your day. :)

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

So much. Maybe too much???? Whatever. I really love writing deeply meaningful and descriptive sex that feels like an entire ~experience for my readers.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don’t think so??????

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yep. :)

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! @lazybakerart and I collaborated on a Hannibal fic years ago and we had so much fun.

What’s your all time favorite ship?

Queliot now and forever. I have never in all my life had my heart completely fucking consumed like this. I’ve written close to a half million words about these bitches since 4x05 aired and I think I’m physically incapable of stopping at this point.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

That season one AU I started writing when season 4 ended that’s an entire 70k mess sitting in a doc I haven’t touched since 2019. There were some really cool ideas in it (including an alternate mosaic timeline that was like a probability spell sorta?????) and I mayyyyy one day incorporate some of it into another fic, but as a whole I simply do not think it’s worth the effort it would take to make it good enough to post.

What are your writing strengths?

I think I write sex and romance well??? Also: conversations, similes, and sensory language.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Last night I had to describe the suspenders Quentin was trying on. I will probably have to spend an entire day editing that paragraph alone. I can go on for pages and pages about this deeply meaningful and emotional shit and then freeze up when I have to get a character dressed or make them move from one room to the next... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

This is a deeply ironic question for me to answer at the moment because I generally do not do this BUT there’s a moment in the new chapter of a litany of dreams that I’m working on where Eliot says... something. In another language. During a very specific scene. And it just sort of happened???? It’s a term of endearment (that I googled about ten different ways just to make sure I wasn’t fucking it up lmao) and I’m still 50/50 on whether it will make it into the final draft of the chapter but right now every time I think about my heart mayyyybe starts to beat a little faster. Eliot Waugh is a goddamn sap, y’all.

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

For this one I will direct you all to this recent tweet of mine lmao...

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

My time cast a spell on you series without a doubt. I am SO PROUD of the work I’ve put into the 200k written for this ‘verse so far. It’s the biggest challenge keeping everything tonally consistent, but so deeply rewarding every time I finish a chapter and read it over and feel like I’ve accomplished just that. I’ve learned so much about my process and who I want to be as a writer from this ‘verse. And I’m so excited about all the messy and emotionally complex stuff I have planned for the remainder of part two. And allllll the other fics I have planned for this ‘verse in the future. 💖

tagging @thelucindac @nellie-elizabeth @akisazame @allegria23 @biblionerd07 @defilerwyrm @imaginedmelody @rubickk7 and anyone else who wants to talk about their fic. 💖

[im-the-punk-who]

please tell us about doubting thomas! 💜

AHHH MY LOVE. My wip that started out as a 9k fic and is now just shy of 70k. My child.

The biggest reason I haven’t been updating is that I’ve been trying to actually finish writing it and get down everything i wanted to include in it. I’ve got most of it written and 5-6 chapters through the first draft but i’m still doing a lot of the research that I need to add into the later chapters. But! The fic will feature a bunch of OCs and historical figures that I throw in because I can, particularly some of the Yamacraw and Ayuba - the man who convinced Oglethorpe to renounce slavery. Madi and Ruth will also be making appearances because I want them to and I said so. :) Also trans Miranda because again, I said so and it’s my fix it and I’ll fix what I want to.

This is a convo from the chapter I’m currently editing between Thomas and one of the Yamacraw whom I love with my whole heart

It is the last day he has been granted to stay with the Yamacraw, and Thomas finds himself sitting at the edge of the field where the Yamacraw are working. He watches as they pick berries and harvest various plants. 

A group of girls wades through the savannah’s grass and trees, their baskets starting to overflow as they talk joyfully in a language he cannot yet fully understand. 

“What are you thinking about, Thomas?” 

The voice takes his attention from the scene, and he finds the old woman who has been treating Edgar standing behind him. He has been so engrossed he hadn’t heard her come up. 

“Nothing much.” His mind has been buzzing for days but now, for the last however long he has been sitting here, it has been silent. Watching the natives working. Resting, perhaps - or mulling. Thinking over everything it has seen.

“Whatever that nothing much is, it is very loud,” the woman says, smiling knowingly at him. Onawa is her name, he remembers now. He has spent a good deal of time with her, as Edgar’s injury has worsened and now slowly started to get better, and he finds that he likes her sardonic wit. She is very different than Thomas himself, able to convey meaning with a glance rather than words, and much of their conversations happen in silence. He likes her company. 

She sits next to him and they begin one such conversation, both staring at the harvesters. Silent and still, but her presence changes his thoughts. 

It is a few long moments before Onawa breaks the silence again. 

“You are a much bigger thinker than Edgar and even, I think, than Mr. Oglethorpe.”

“How so?” 

Onawa nods. “You see in everything, a change. Possibility. Genuine interest in how to make things work together.”

“And if those things ought to be kept separate?” 

“Nothing is separate. Not now, not in the past. Certainly not in the future.” 

“But certainly some things cannot coexist together.” He knows that the kind of land England wants to build here will not suffer even friendly natives like the Yamacraw. “The English will not let this stay as it is.”

“You have your doubts about what Tomochichi and Mr. Oglethorpe want to achieve.” 

“I think....I have seen what happens when a person tries to change how England thinks.” 

“What would you have us do instead? Fight? Like our brothers and sisters in the other Creek Nations? Fight, and make ourselves enemies of something we have no hope of defeating?” 

Thomas flushes, and shakes his head, even though her question had held no anger.

“No. I’m not sure what the answer is. Just that assimilating into what England wants its conquests to be will only help those who ...can.”

“Not men like you.”

He starts, and turns to stare at her. “What do you mean?” 

“I’m not sure, but there is a reason you were sent to Mr. Oglethorpe’s, isnt there? And from the way you reacted just now, I do not think it had to do with a prison sentence.” 

Thomas laughs and considers that. “Played my hand, have I?” Onawa smiles back.

“You are not very difficult to read,” she says simply, and leaves it at that. In the silence that follows, Thomas ponders both conundrums. The personal, and the larger one. 

“You’re right - I am not someone England would ever welcome back. But then, that is why I am at Oglethorpe’s in the first place. I tried to change too much too fast, and I thought I could handle the blowback. I was wrong, because I did not understand what England truly was. How strongly she holds the convictions she does.”

[nientedal]

Hi! I know this is indeed a silly question but do you have any specific techniques for dealing with writers block or maintaining motivation through a long period of time? I personally have a hard time holding on to motivation and just wanted to know if you know anything that helps with that?

not a silly question at all!!! my tried and true methods for banishing writers block are: 

find music that fits the emotion of the scene you’re struggling with, and write while listening to it. lisa gerrard, thomas bergersen, & christopher tin are good for this. and movie soundtracks.

the problem may be that the scene you just wrote isn’t right for the story. yes, even if you planned it this way. yes, even if you’re proud of it. you accidentally wrote a square peg for a round hole; that happens sometimes! cut & paste it into a blank doc and write the characters doing something different. it might be the whole scene or it might just be the last 4 sentences. just go in a slightly different direction & see if that helps.

you might be bored. work on a different project for a while. (this is super valuable because it lets you build other projects for very low stakes, which i’ll discuss further in the next section.)

read a book you haven’t read in a while or watch a movie you loved as a kid. or absorb new stuff! too much output and not enough input means your creativity reservoirs are dry & you have to re-fuel.

if all else fails, find a friend or fellow fan and rubberduck at them. infodump about your fic. either they’ll have suggestions, or you’ll realize what’s wrong as you’re talking.

motivation-wise...unfortunately half of the answer in my case is “ADHD hyperfixation, baby.” I don’t really have any solid answers for this...the vast majority of what i’m publishing these days are fics i started drafting ages ago and have been quietly adding to when i hit writer’s block on my “main” project (see #3, above). procrastination is a great motivator! use it! so is “oh my god i am sick of looking at this and i want to just share it with people, already,” which tends to happen when you’ve sat on a fic for like eight f!cking years XD  but yeah, point is, a lot of my recent fics are thing i never thought would ever be published. 

but on that note, another thing i’ve been finding works pretty well to help keep momentum is not to start posting multi-chapter fics until you’ve got a bunch of chapters spaced out and already partly filled. i can’t outline without losing interest, but what i CAN do is write 60 pages of raw, procrastination-fueled nonsense and then go “okay, now where are the chapter breaks and what am i building around, here?” and use the dopamine high that comes with posting chapters to keep myself going until it’s done. Pros of this method: it reduces the odds of writing yourself into a wall (see #2, above) and having to slog through a block that won’t budge. Cons of this method: it requires a lot of time spent writing with no input at all, which may not work for you.

ultimately, i think the most important thing is: give yourself permission to take whatever time you need. nothing kills motivation like guilt. i got hella depressed and didn’t even look at cold fusion for two years, didn’t look at swansong for...a little under half that. it is okay to let your projects sit for months or years until you’re ready to work on them again. they’ll be there when you come back! just don’t feel bad in the meantime, or you won’t WANT to go back. 

tl;dr: big projects take time to complete, so let yourself take time to complete them and don’t be afraid to work on other stuff. the motivation will probably come back around eventually!

[primitivejunketer]

I Want To Tell You- A George Harrison FanFiction

Chapter 1- Her

Fic Summary: George and Rosemarie have been next door neighbors their entire lives. As they grow older, feelings grow stronger. Will they fall in love or fall apart? angst/fluff/slow burn

Chapter Summary: Introduction chapter of our main character, Rosemarie Winthrop.

Word Count: 799

Rating: T

Note from the author: Hello everyone! This is a reupload because I decided to recast Rosemarie and I didn’t like my previous set up of the fic. I have about five chapters preprepared and hope to upload more asap! 

---

June 16, 1943

Wails filled the air. She squeezed her husbands hand tightly. 

"Push, Mrs. Winthrop, the baby's almost here!" The midwife held Amelia's legs, preparing herself for any changes in pace. 

Amelia screamed and cried. "Darling you're doing amazing," Her husband, Thomas, pushed her hair away from her sweaty face. She flashed a wavered smile at him before crying once more. 

Amelia gasped suddenly and the room went quiet. 

"What's going on?! Is she okay?!" Thomas began to panic, looking to the midwife for answers. 

Suddenly small cried filled the air, Thomas and Amelia sighed and smiled at one another in relief. 

The midwife held the baby in her arms, "everything is fine, you are the mummy and daddy of a gorgeous baby girl." She handed the baby to Thomas. 

He stared at the baby in awe. He breathed heavily and smiled at Amelia. "She's perfect," he whispered. 

Thomas handed the baby to Amelia. She smiled and tears welled in her eyes. "Hello, darling." 

The baby cooed at Amelia as she kissed her on the forehead. 

"Have you chosen a name yet, ma'am?" The midwife asked Amelia. 

She smiled at Thomas, "Yes, we have, Rosemarie Evelyn Winthrop." She ran her fingers along the perimeter of her baby's face, smiling at her. 

"It's beautiful," Thomas whispered and smiled again, letting out a soft giggle. 

-

Months had gone by and Thomas and Amelia couldn't be happier. Their baby girl was growing healthier and stronger every day. 

But, little did this tiny family know, a dark shadow was slowly creeping it's way into their lives. 

Rosemarie was born on the edge of the Second World War. Along with every other young male in the country, her father, Thomas, had to sign up for the draft. 

As Thomas was going through his physical to man the troops, the doctor discovered a tumor in his chest the size of a cherry. 

That day, the doctor bid Thomas "good luck" and "God be with you". 

The tumor was cancerous, and growing. Thomas never told Amelia. 

About a month later is when the two discovered that they were expecting. 

Thomas was both elated and terrified.

-

April 19, 1944

Today, he sits with his wife and child in their quaint Brighton home. 

The house was small, newly rebuilt after the rummages of the war. It was located a story above a post office, meaning it was never quiet during the day and the traffic around the building never seemed to stop. 

Rosemarie was barely ten months old when Thomas had an interesting revelation. 

"Darling," he exclaimed, gaining his wife's attention, "we're moving."

Amelia quickly looked up from her knitting needles to her husband, holding her daughter, "I beg your pardon?" 

"We 'ought to move house." Thomas declared. 

Amelia started at him, wide eyed. "Whatever for?" She trailed off, still awaiting the point of Thomas's declaration. 

He set baby Rosie down in her bassinet before speaking to Amelia, "Darling," a seriousness was added to his tone as he knelt in front of her, "I'm dying." 

Amelia's face sharpened, "Thomas, if this is another one of your pranks, it isn't funny." 

He sat down on the sofa beside her and intertwined his fingers with hers. 

"Thomas, stop." Amelia stood from her spot, jerking her hand away. Warm tears began to run down her rosy cheeks. 

Her husband looked up at her hopelessly. 

"What's Happened?" Amelia sobbed, and her hands quickly flew to cover her mouth. 

"I've cancer, love." Thomas winced at the phrase and seeing his wife's cries grow worse. 

She still kept a hand over her mouth as she lowered herself to the floor. She fell to her elbows and Thomas rushed to her side. 

He held her in his arms as she cried. It lasted about an hour before she was calm enough to muster up some words. 

"What are we going to do?" Her voice hitched in her throat as she held back more tears. 

"There's a doctor in Liverpool." Thomas whispered into Amelia's hair. 

"We'll move," she cried, "we'll move right now. We don't have much. We can pack tonight and get a train tomorrow. We can stay in a hotel until we find a flat. We have to move right now." The tears on her face began to dry the more she got worked up. 

"It'll be alright," Thomas held his wife tightly and sighed into her hair. 

The baby cooed from her bassinet and babbled gibberish. The poor thing had no idea what was to come. 

Amelia stood from the floor and dusted herself off. She sniffled once more before patting her face dry with her handkerchief. 

"I love you." She sniffled while bringing Thomas into a warm embrace. 

"We're going to make this better," Thomas said and he rubbed her back.

---

Chapter 2//Chapter 3

[phoenixrisesoncemore]

I was tagged by @wangxianbunnydoodles (oh my, this is long and you might regret it; also I don’t follow instructions well 😉). I tend not to be very good at these things (sorry to anyone else who has tagged me in these kinds of things before—this is a rare event happening mostly because I wanna talk about Tolkien books and ships) but here goes:

Top 3 Ships

I don’t actively ship characters that often. I’m not sure why that is. I do enjoy reading fic with pairings either canon or not, but I don’t often go “all in” on ships in most narratives I consume. There are notable exceptions (more than three but these are the three most recent—I have no idea how to identify my top ships):

WangXian (CQL). This is surely obvious from the current state of my blog, right? I blame The Untamed and its impossibly tender, only-subtextual-by-a-hair’s-breadth romance. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a show express ultimate devotion, deep affection, true appreciation, complete understanding (eventually), and the sheer *necessity of the other* between two people quite like this one has. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever seen two characters and desperately wanted them together and happy as much as I have these two, so bravo to the cast and crew for generating such second-hand devotion in me.

Silvergifting (Tolkien). This is all @thearrogantemu’s fault. I’d read some Silvergifting before I read These Gifts That You Have Given Me, mostly out of curiosity (some good stuff, too!), but I had never read any Tolkien fic that convinced me it was *true* (on many, many levels, though the ship level is the one pertinent to this post). In any canon-like universe this ship hurts, but in the Gifts universe it hurts the most; it hurts like Hell. It hurts in the way only razor-sharp, sorry-the-universe-works-this-way, oh-are-those-my-entrails-on-the-floor-I-didn’t-even-feel-the-knife tragedy can hurt. And it’s so convincing that it’s just...a fact now. Tolkien just forgot to tell us. So now I ship Silvergifting, but most deeply, specifically THAT Silvergifting. (Meanwhile, 14 year old me continues to look at *significantly* older me like I’m insane.)

ZeLink (Legend of Zelda). Deep down I’m still 12 years old and no amount of fine lines and wrinkles is going to change that. When is Breath of the Wild 2 coming out?

Last Song

I listen to soundtracks and bombastic and dramatic orchestral pieces much more often than I listen to what people mean when they say “songs,” and a significant chunk of the “songs” I listen to are from musicals/operas.

Earlier today it was Hanz Zimmer’s soundtrack to Dark Phoenix (don’t start me up on the continuing disappointment that Phoenix adaptations continue to be to me—you don’t want to hear it; even I don’t want to hear it).

Before that it was Barbra Streisand’s The Broadway Album. (I prefer her outer space cover of “Somewhere” to the actual thing. Fight me.)

Before that it was Carmina Burana (One of my favorite things ever was when we went to a live performance of Carmina Burana and a boy who couldn’t have been more than 7 years old sat in the aisle in front of us and head-banged enthusiastically through “O Fortuna.” It was so metal. You go, kid. You get it.).

Before that it was a splattering of Billy Joel hits with emphasis on “2000 Years”, “River of Dreams”, “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant”, “The Stranger”, and “Only the Good Die Young” (thanks to that outstanding WangXian interpretation!).

Of course the soundtracks to The Untamed/CQL have been on repeat for weeks around here, particularly every single iteration of “WuJi” and the flute-heavy instrumental pieces (man, those are good!).

Not long ago I had Sarah Brightman’s covers of “Figlio Perduto” from La Luna and “Glosoli” and “One Day Like This” from Dreamchaser burning through my iPhone battery (yes, I like popera).

Enya, and especially Shepherd Moons and The Track Which Shall Not Be Named has been on repeat a lot.

Last Movie

I don’t sit down to watch movies that often any more. It just takes too much stillness and undivided attention and more resistance to multi-tasking than I have. The actual last movie that I watched (in a “have it on on another screen while I work” kind of way) was Raiders of the Lost Ark, which, of course, I’ve seen umpteen times and which followed a similar rewatch of the Back to the Future trilogy. The last movie I watched completely without distraction was Book Smart; I don’t watch comedies very often, but I really enjoyed it in an “OMG, I can totally relate to this” kind of way (except for the class president thing—that would have required that I interact with other people my own age and also not be homeschooled). Before that I think it was the Tolkien biopic. Man, I still haven’t written anything about that.

Currently Reading (in order of when I started them)

Oh dear.

The Familiar: part 1, Mark Z Danielewski. *sigh* For as much as I think Danielewski is brilliant and House of Leaves is one of my favorite books ever, I’ve just not been able to get into much of his other work. It’s universally a time and energy investment to penetrate and puzzle through, and I just don’t have as much of that as I used to. House of Leaves makes that investment worth it from early on and is absolutely a page-turner once you settle in, but other than The Fifty Year Sword I’ve just not been able to get into the rest of his work. The Familiar: part 1 is supposed to be the first in a 26 part series which is currently halted at part 4, I think. Without a guarantee of all parts ever being published, I don’t think I’m ready to invest more time into part 1 and may end up abandoning it, unfortunately.

History of The Hobbit, Douglas Anderson. Anderson did what Christopher didn’t and gave The Hobbit the HoMe treatment (if a bit less literal and opaque in format). It’s fascinating (I mean, there’s the Beren and Luthien name drop you were not expecting right there in the first draft), but reading essentially the same passages with only small changes over and over can be a slog, so reading it has been an ongoing project for over a year now.

Splintered Light: Logos and Language in Tolkien’s World, Verlyn Fleiger. This is Fleiger’s look at Tolkien’s Middle-earth in light of his association with Owen Barfield. Particularly, she is examining Tolkien’s work in conjunction with Barfield’s Poetic Diction and his thoughts on language and meaning. I have not read Poetic Diction, but I probably will now since it apparently addresses language formation as related to the origin of human consciousness which is SO up my alley.

New Seeds of Contemplation, Thomas Merton. My late sister-in-law had a masters in theology from Notre Dame and became a huge Merton fan. Meanwhile, my best friend actually spent a weekend retreat at The Abbey of Gethsemani. Between hearing about him from the two of them, I developed an interest in Merton. I happened to read “Moral Theology of the Devil” a couple of years ago. It was one of the most illuminating theological things I have read and deeply inspired my own Tolkien fic-writing (let’s just say the progress there is otherwise slow). This book is a collection of pieces which happens to contain that piece, and I’ve been skipping around through it for a while now.

The Lord of the Rings reread (Tolkien, obviously). I hate this, but I am so deep in so many critical Tolkien books that I’ve not had the chance to really sit down and relax into my reread for months and months and will likely just end up starting over. Plus I want to read it concurrently with the next entry in this list and the next entry is taking longer to get through because of its format. That entry being:

The Lord of the the Rings: A Reader’s Companion, Hammond and Scull. This is a treasure trove of data and insights for those really wanting to dig critically-historically into The Lord of the Rings on a chapter-by-chapter, passage-by-passage basis. The only issue with it is that jumping back and forth between the two (as you have to: this is a reference book) tends to kill the mood of The Lord of the Rings when read as it’s meant to be read: for enjoyment!

The Power of Limits: Proportional Harmonies in Nature, Art, and Architecture, Gyorgy Doczi. This has been an ongoing read here and there since Christmas, especially as I work on two personal projects.

The Gospel in a Pluralist Society, Lesslie Newbigin. To be honest I don’t think I am going to finish this one. I like a few of the things he says, things I think are truthful and which need to be confronted in American Christian culture in particular, but it’s just too much Calvin for my taste, too many assumptions I do not share being the heretic that I am, and I spend too much time anger-notating about theology to read it with grace.

In Full Measure I Return to You, thearrogantemu. This is a reread of the (relatively) happy AU fic for my most favoritest Tolkien fic (Gifts), but I’ve put my reread on hold while I finish one of the two projects, after which I am diving in and screw the rest of this list for the time being.

Food Craving

Sushi. My kingdom for some good sushi. I’ve only had sushi once since we got back from NY and while it was the best sushi I have had locally IT WAS NOT OMAKASE AT SUSHI NOZ. It also didn’t require a personal loan to pay for, but *shrug* I’m spoiled now and will forever crave what I can no longer have.

People I’d Like To Get To Know Better

I hate tagging people in these things because I’m awkward and shy and do them so rarely myself that it feels hypocritical for me to ask it of others. That being said: if you’re a follower of my blog and you want to do this, please do! And please tag me! I’d love to get to know more about you 😊.

[wallstagram]

wip progress update

hey guys!!

so every once in awhile, i’ll be doing a quick WIP update! i know that as an author, i love seeing how other authors are doing, esp when there’s a bit of a struggle involved. i just wanna be here for any other authors, to show that the writing process isn’t always cut and dry. this might be a wash, but if anything it will be a great encouragement to myself! if you are interested in supporting me and my writing process, feel free to read below the cut! (side note, I did take about a month break from writing, between finals and some health issues with my grandma!

1. HL Summer Exchange Fic 

Word Count: Currently 11.6 k, will probably finish around 17k.

Timeline: I actually started writing this fic on March 13, and I imagine it will be completely finished by this time next week.

Thoughts: I am so excited for this fic! It has been a process for sure - a constant state of writing scenes and deleting them, trying to find what did the characters and the plot justice. Honestly, this fic would have gone absolutely nowhere without my amazing friend + beta nicole (@ireallysawanangel) and her sweet cheerleading and wonderful suggestions! There were many moments where I thought about giving up or scrapping what I had to move to an alternate prompt. But, working through this story has helped me grow as a writer.

2. Single by Choice (for HL Mpreg Fest)

Word Count: 1.1 k, will probably finish around 20 - 30 k.

Timeline: Started on April 29, haven’t added to it since! The due date is September 4, 2019.

Thoughts: I am in love with the prompt I have received for this fest, and am excited to just tackle it once I finish up HL Summer Exchange. I have the basic ideas of the fic outlined, and I have written part of the intro, but that’s all. Still trying to decide if it’ll be chaptered, a single piece, or a main piece with an epilogue. Many thoughts and decisions ahead, but right now I’m just so excited and ready to dive into this fluffy, sweet, fic!

3. if the stars weren’t aligned for us

Word Count: 6 k, expecting it to be ~ 30k.

Timeline: yikes. I started this one on February 11! But I have no timeline, as it is not for an exchange, and is more of a passion project!

Thoughts: I absolutely love this fic! I don’t want to reveal too much, but it is a baker!Harry and broadwaystar!louis (as peter pan duh!) au that absolutely no one asked for but I needed. My thought process was, if the stars didn’t line up the way they did for one direction, how would h+l still find each other? hence, the title. i can’t wait to share bits of this with you all!

4. rest it on my fingertips (cause i know you’re persuasive)

Word Count: 54 k posted, 57 k written, literally i have NO idea how much it’ll end at lmfao

Timeline: pretty sure this will be my forever wip, sadly. I started it on December 26, 2018, and my last edit on it was March 28 (the day after I posted the most recent chapter).

Thoughts: A little-known fact about this fic, is that when I started it, it was only supposed to be three chapters and around 15k. However, these characters have minds of their own! Jeeeeeesus. Thomas just still has a story to tell, and Louis needs to learn how to navigate life with Harry involved again. It’s just such a massive undertaking. I’m honestly overwhelmed by it right now, so it’s been on the back burner. 

5. open me up like the textbooks on your desk

Word Count: 5 k, will probably finish around 20 k.

Timeline: I started this on January 28, and it was last edited on March 12 (whoops!). It’s not for a fest, so I have no solid timeline (are you sensing a theme here?? lol)

Thoughts: This is a story I want to just sit down and write, but I never seem to have time, between work, school, and all my other WIPs! Without revealing too much, it centers around a sexy love affair between post-grad student Harry, whose studying Sexology, and clinical psychologist Louis, who is doing research on pansexuality. Sexy and fun, and I can’t wait to write the rest!

6. (i’ll make this feel like) home

Word Count: 2 k posted, 4 k in my drafts, no idea when it’ll end.

Timeline: this is the real forever WIP. I started it on February 4, 2018, and last edited on February 28, 2018

Thoughts: This story isn’t written yet, because it’s heavy aand I am so scared I’m gonna fuck it up. It mirrors the political climate of 2018, with themes of deportation and activism. it’s ABO, and i’m in love with it, but I don’t want to do a topic this important a disservice.

7. Queer Eye (for HL TV Show Fic Fest)

Word Count: -

Timeline: due November 2019

Thoughts: I am currently working on my outline for this fic, and I am SO EXCITED to combine queer eye + one direction. more details to come!!

Looking ahead: I also have tentative ideas for an X Factor fic, and a Bed&Breakfast fic! Maybe they’ll be outlined or started next time I do a WIP update!

If you read this far, thank you for supporting me and my writing! Also, shoutout to anyone who has even remotely supported me with this process, including @ireallysawanangel, @sisqueer, @tommosgun, @runaway-train-works, @amarixx, and my sweet friend tumblrless kenzie! Here’s to hoping I finish some of these soon! Haha

[northern-borealis]

From Love, Peace

Title: Chapter 1: The Early Beginning

Series: From Love, Peace

Fandom: Thomas Sanders (Sanders Sides)

Characters: Remy (fan character), Amelia Bience (original character), Logan Sanders, Thomas Sanders, Joan, Talyn, mention of Valerie and Terrence, Roman Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Patton Sanders, Deceit in later chapters

Word Count: 1,001 (no I'm not joking)

Warnings: Death Insinuation/Mention; yelling; one curse word; let me know if I missed anything else please!

A/N: Hey guys! This is my first multi-chapter fic, so I’m really excited to be posting it. Thank you to @book-of-charlie for voting on the title of the series! I am super excited to be posting this, I have been drafting and editing this for about a month, and I am super thankful to my older sister, Mera, for Beta’ing this for me (Since I draft on paper, and everything. She’s also the only person that can read my handwriting). So, here we go, guys! Chapter 1!

~~~~~~~~~

“Amelia, stay here with Logan!”

“Mother!” Amelia Bience tried to protest, holding her baby cousin.

Amelia’s mother and aunt paused in their rushing around, and her mother made her way to kneel in front of her daughter.

“Amelia, please. We might not come back, and I need you to keep yourself and Logan safe.”

“If we can, we’ll send Remington here to keep an eye on you, okay? Your uncle Remy?” Her Aunt Pranks tried to reassure Amelia, as she looked at the door.

Amelia just nodded slowly, tears starting to leak down her face. Her mother and aunt shared a look, but didn’t think to say anything else before leaving the small building in the woods that the Bience family shared.

Amelia watched the door shut as she sat down in the chair in the corner, and looked down at Logan in her arms. “Lucky, sleeping through the whole war.” She mumbled, watching the door again.

~~~~~~~

“Keep my son in his room! I want a guard in and outside of it, keeping guard!” The King bellowed.

Patton Hartlen bowed to the king, and motioned for another guard to come with him, electing to not say anything to the king.

“Our only job is to keep the prince safe. Stay outside the room.” Patton ordered the other guard, slipping inside the prince’s room.

The young prince’s nursemaid looked up as the door slammed shut behind Patton. Her eyes darted to the three year old prince. “How bad is it?” She whispered.

“Thirteen warlocks and twelve witches have been killed by execution in the last hour, and fourteen of both slaughtered in the streets as they tried to run. Four squads of knights have begun to scour the woods, looking for any strays.”

The old woman shook her head. “You know, there was a time before the magic-folk were hunted. When the warlocks and witches and royals and common-folk lived in harmony.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Patton spoke harshly. “As far as I have ever seen, the magic-folk live and breath deception and deals with devils. I’ve known that since I was a child.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Come on Virgil, let’s play a game.” The boy’s father begged, ignoring the shouts, fires, and screams that continued without end in sight that came from outside their home.

“What game, Papa?” Virgil asked, sitting on the floor across from his father.

“Remember the one I showed you a couple days ago?”

“With the X’s and O’s?”

Virgil’s father nodded. “Exactly.” He pulled some of the ash from the long-dead fire, and flattened it in front of the pair. “You go first.”

The game went on for some time, Virgil giggling occasionally as he knew his father let him win.

Eventually, a pair of people opened the door, and rushed inside, slamming it shut behind them. “Thomas, are you both alright?” The more colourful of the pair asked.

“We’re fine at the moment, Talyn. You and Joan?”

“We were going to try and get to some friends in the forest, but with all the knights all around, we couldn’t risk getting caught.” Joan said, sadly.

“Papa, is something wrong?” Thomas picked his five-year old son up, and wrapped him in a hug.

“Yeah. A lot of things are right now, Virgil.” Thomas sighed as Joan and Talyn sat next to the father and son, the ashes that the game had been played in long since forgotten.

“You remember how Valerie and Terrence’s parents disappeared earlier?”

Virgil nodded. “Is that going to happen to you three?”

Thomas looked at his friends, who were wide-eyed, and frankly a little shocked that a five year old had thought to ask that.

“Maybe, storm-cloud. Maybe. But not if we can help it.” The two warlocks nodded. “But if it does, promise me one thing, I know it’s a lot to ask.” Virgil nodded again. “If that happens to us, run. Keep running, and don’t stay in one place for too long.”

“I don’t want to leave home.”

“Then don’t leave the village. Just keep moving. Don’t let anyone see you, don’t let anyone catch you, alright?”

Virgil nodded, and rubbed his eyes of tears. “Papa, I’m scared.”

Thomas held his son’s head close to his chest, and locked eyes with his friends. “I know Verge. I know.”

~~~~~~~~

Rushing through the forest was not exactly the witch’s idea of fun, especially when there were about a hundred royal knights on his tail.

It had really been a surprise to see Missy and Pranks rushing out of the forest, especially without Amy or Logan. When the twin sisters explained the situation to him, of course Remington would go to the cabin and stay with the kids.

So here he was, running through the forest, trying to find a house that had been enchanted to not be found. Both girls had done that, which didn’t make it any easier.

“Damn blood magic.” Remington muttered, pausing behind a tree for a couple seconds.

Not too much longer after that, Remington was able to take a breath of relief when he saw the small, magic-built house.

Remington opened the door to the cabin, and nearly collapsed in relief when he saw Amelia sitting in the corner, still holding Logan.

She jumped up when she saw the man, and ran over to him. “Uncle Remy!”

“Come here, girl. I got you.” Remy reassure, gathering the thirteen-year-old in his arms. “I’m gonna stay with you and Logan, alright? I don’t-” Remy broke off, and rubbed his face. “I don’t know what happened to your mom and auntie after they told me to come here.”

Amelia sniffled a couple of times, and rubbed away fresh tears from her own eyes. “I’m afraid, Uncle Remy.”

Remy sighed. “I know hon. And it’s okay to be afraid, I’d be worried about you if you weren’t.”

He looked towards the door. “A lot is happening right now, but I promise you, it’s gonna get better some day.”

[ediblenapkin-moved]

That’s The Thing About Dreams- Chapter 1

A/N: holy fucking shit why. Why am i doing this nobody asked for this

What the fuck

uuuuuuuUUUUUUGGGGHHHHHH i’m actually doing this

I’m almost 90% sure this idea already exists somewhere, but I can’t find it. If anyone knows who the fuck first made it then please tell me so i can direct people there. If not then holy shit i had an original idea????? (hahahahahahaha yeah no.)

Anyways, I don’t quite have any good names for this fucking fic so prepare for utter and complete BS no matter what I settle on. I mean, the entirety of this fucking AU is just summed up with the words What If Joey Got Drafted (i’ve officially called it the Animator Reversal Au but that sounds dumb) (someone with creativity: help) (the title is shit. sorry.)

And finally, i have no fucking skill in writing certain things. You know, like a proper intro and all that jazz. So i apologize ahead of time. I’ll probably go back later and edit this. maybe. whenever i can open my eyes for a minute.

Here is the ff.net link.

Enjoy.

lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

“Joey? You doing alright?” Henry leaned into his friend’s office, but froze.

The man was sitting at his desk, staring at the wall. A letter laid loftily on top of all the varied sketches and designs that were scattered across the overused workspace. An inkwell had been tipped over, the ink dripping lightly into a puddle. As Henry spoke, he turned and stood, shoving all the paper further up on the desk.

“Ah! Henry! Yes, yes, I’m doing fine. I was just taking a break, as a matter of fact. Care to join me?”

Henry frowned. Something was off, but he couldn’t quite tell what. “Yeah…”

“Great! Come on.”

Joey walked off, but Henry stayed in the doorway, staring at the desk. Soon he found himself pulling down one fold of the letter, and scanning it. He knew it would probably be fine- Joey read most of the letters he got.

As he read, though, his face went pale. He folded the letter, slipped it back on top of the other paper, and walked to the break room.

This probably wasn’t going to end well.

****************

Within twenty minutes, Joey was slumped in a chair in the break room, and already the contents of the letter were out and already spread through at least three floors of the studio.

“You? You are getting drafted.”

Joey sighed. “Yes, I’m pretty sure that’s what it said.”

Henry shifted in his seat. As soon as he’d made it down to the break room, he’d pulled Joey aside and asked him about the letter. Of course, in an animation studio with this many people and only one break room every three floors, there were at least two people taking their breaks no matter when you checked. And it just so happened that Sammy was taking his break in the ground floor break room.

Currently, the music director was leaning against the wall, eyes shut. “So now what?”

“Yeah, now what?” Wally, sitting in a chair propped by the doorway, looked up. “How’s this supposed to work out? It’s already crazy enough with you here- if you leave, I don’t think we’re gonna be able to keep this place in one piece.”

A chorus of agreements filled the room from the various staff who had already made their way upstairs. Susie had been one of the first, and instantly she began firing off questions one after the other- but as more and more people arrived, it’d just gotten louder and louder- until finally Sammy got everyone’s attention and forced most of them to go back to work. Quite a few remained, though, and they were finally using up the chairs that had been haphazardly placed in the break room.

Something that Joey didn’t really enjoy, but….

“So, how many days?”

“Four. Four days.” He put his head in his hands. “And just when I had the perfect idea…”

“What, you were gonna give me a raise?” Several people chuckled, and Joey raised his head just enough to glare at Sammy for a moment.

“Seriously, though, what are we going to do? Are we going to take a hiatus…?”

Silence. Then, Joey shook his head. “No, no stopping now. We’ve gotten this far- even if I’m not going to be here, things shouldn’t stop here.” He stood. “Alright, here’s the plan- Henry is officially in charge.” The animator blinked as Joey pointed at him. “But, Sammy- you’re in charge of making sure Henry doesn’t screw up anything major. You know what, Franks- you’re also in charge of Henry.”

“Hell, just put everyone else in charge of Henry and call it a day,” Thomas muttered.

Henry groaned from his seat. “You don’t trust me to run this place, yet you call me the co-owner.”

“Don’t worry. I knew you didn’t want to really do anything business wise, so I’m pushing it on them.”

“And you’re the one who spent an outrageous amount of money on a whole toy factory, but I’m the untrustworthy one…”

“Hey, that toy factory’s got a nice profit.”

“And I don’t?”

*******************

Three more days saw Joey Drew on his knees, tracing ink onto the floor slowly and carefully with one hand, the other set against an open book.

Finally, he finished, and stood, picking the book up.

A fully drawn pentagram laid on the floor, still gleaming and fresh. It was surrounded by lit candles and a ton of uncapped, full inkwells.

Joey took a deep breath, bringing the book closer. He only had a little bit of time left. If this worked, it could keep the studio afloat while he was gone. It would last long enough for him to come back. Because he would come back. (He had to think he would because if he thought he might then that left room for doubt and that meant he believed, at least a little, that he could very much die out there and bleed out in a foreign place with nobody recognizable in sight and all his dreams stuck in his head where nobody can reach them-)

Joey would return.

He reopened the book, flipping to the correct page. The page he’d handwritten, having used well over thirty different books as a reference. The entire book was basically one giant reference for the varied things he wanted to do.Some pages filled with pentagrams, some with character sketches, some with rants and ramblings about anything he could think of.

Due to one of the thoughts he’d had when writing, it had the thought provoking title of The Illusion of Living sketched on with a bit of white pencil. Not that it would ever be published, of course.

Joey paused for a moment- allowing the doubt to seep in. It’s not going to work. It’s going to go wrong. Something doesn’t feel right.

Then. he shook his head. No, this would go right. It had to.

He took another breath and began chanting. As he spoke, he noticed the lines on the circle beginning to darken- and then the ink moved. He stuttered, nearly botching a word, but managed to catch himself and continue.

The ink pulled itself from the inkwells, gathering in a point in the middle of the circle. It began to rise, forming a shaky pillar that nearly reached Joey’s shoulders. As Joey spoke the final words, it sunk back down slightly- and began to form a definitive shape.

Joey finished the chant- and the ink paused.

Then it collapsed.

Joey cried out, looking at the page- then put the book down and kneeled next to the circle.

The ink broke the confines of the circle, but remained inanimate. It didn’t move any further, simply remained a pile of ink on the floor.

For a while, Joey waited. Maybe he’d said one of the words wrong. Maybe there wasn’t enough ink. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

But soon enough, a clock chimed- and he checked his watch. His shoulders sagged.

His time was up. This was his last day in the studio- his last chance. But it hadn’t worked.

He shut the book, and set it back on the desk. Blew out the candles. Then, silently, he walked out, not turning back, leaving the ink puddle on the floor.

He shut the door just as the ink rippled.

lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

A/N: So for some reason, whenever I think of an actual image of Joey now, all I can see is Cave Johnson. The younger one. The one that thinks he’s got all his shit together and he can test on Olympiads and astronauts!!! Yeah that one. That’s what I imagine Joey looks like. So when I write Joey, I can’t help but imagine this guy that looks a lot like Cave Johnson. If, ya know, Cave failed to raise enough money for Science™ and had to settle for cartoon business instead. And decided to dabble with magic because he couldn’t afford Science™. Because you know what, fuck Science™. what did it ever do for him.

So there’s that.

Anyways there’s probably a million and one errors with this but i cannot care enough to fix anything at this point so

On a side note, i sometimes regret putting certain songs in my playlist.not because i don’t like them, but because i really do not need that mood when writing this story. Like, i love the sound, but i do not need this mood. This is supposed to be a SERIOUS scene, not really silly. Stop making me crack dumb jokes with little taste.

Something serious. I’m pretty sure Henry knew the toy factory existed- where else could the plushies have come from- but never got to see it or anything. Just found out that it was there and was like joey why

So, there’s chapter 1. Who knows when chapter 2 will arrive????.... I sure don’t hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha sorry

[queerwalrus]

So a while back I asked people which of two (then supposedly) short fics they would like to see first. My brain got sidetracked by Bastard Hamilton and then Thanksgiving break so they got temporarily sidelined, but now I’m back to working on the one people seemed to like the most - the modern AU where Billy is the Jets QB (which is now shaping up to be long as hell). I’ve got a snippet more of that here!

“Go bother them.” Gates instructs. “And don’t let Thomas give you too much red wine – you’ve got an early practice tomorrow.”

“Yes, Dad.” teases Billy, and then he swings himself out of the car just in time to loop an arm around Abigail’s waist.

“Billy!’ she says, delighted, and flings her arms around his neck to hug him. He carries her halfway up the stairs while she shrieks and the wine she’s brought Thomas bounces against Billy’s back. Thomas’ voice through the intercom speakers is crackly and so cheerful Billy will happily guarantee there’s a glass of wine waiting for him when he gets upstairs.

There is. Thomas hugs him with a glass in both hands before he passes one to him, and kisses Abigail on both cheeks before he gives her the other. He looks like he’s about to do a GQ shoot and the gigantic loft apartment looks like it belongs in an interior design magazine. Billy so badly wants to be Thomas Hamilton when he retires.

“There he is!” says Flint, emerging from his study. Madi is trailing behind him with three print journals in her hands.

“Hey, Billy.” she says, distractedly, pouring over a marked page in one of them. “Please tell me you’re writing a refutation to this, James.”

“Of course I am.” says Flint. “It’s fucking bullshit is what it is. He’s fucking Gal-Pal-ing matelotage - I’m going to tear him a new one.”

Thomas, beaming, passes him a scotch.

“Want to co-author it?” Flint asks Madi, glass raised in a half-toast. His sweater has elbow patches. Billy can’t decide if he hates that he loves it or he loves that he hates it.

“I’ll leave this one to you.” Madi says, grinning.

“Well, the next article I marked you need to refute – sit down, have a look, what do you want to drink?”

Abigail crosses the room and sits on the arm of the wingback Madi has settled into to read over her shoulder, sipping at the wine Thomas has given her while she does.

“How’s that chapter looking?” Flint asks Billy, propping his hip on the huge recycled wood dining table.

“I’ve got a draft for you to look at.” Billy says, pulling the print copy out of his satchel.

“A full week early!” says Flint, delighted. “This is why you’re my favorite.”

Abigail flips him off with a finger that shimmers thanks to her gold-glitter nail polish.  Billy grins again.

“What’s for dinner, Thomas?”

“John’s bringing Thai.” says Thomas. “From that place we like near your place.”

“Oh – it’s going to be one of those nights.” says Billy. “I have an early practice, I probably shouldn’t be drinking.”

“Too much.” says Thomas. “You probably shouldn’t be drinking too much.”

“What happened at the office today?” Billy asks, taking a sip from his glass. It’s good wine. Billy’s always had a weak spot for good wine.

 “Debates happened.” says Thomas, fake-cheerful. “Fuck the entire Republican establishment. I hate all of them.”

Billy is very happy to drink to that, and he ends up calling Ben to tell him that the pick up address for the next morning is going to be Flint and Thomas’ place. He steals Thomas’ sweatpants and Harvard Law hoodie and refills the thermos at six in the morning while Thomas and Flint’s cats make pitiful noises at him and Thomas yawns over the last six months of the city budget.

“Bye, Thomas.” says Billy, leaning down to give him a one-armed hug.

“I’m going to fix the subway.” says Thomas, only half-awake.

“Of course you are.” says Billy, and then plays keep-away to ensure none of the four cats escape into the hallway.

***

Practise is less gruelling than it usually is after a night and Thomas and Flint’s, in part because Madi and Abigail absconded with the wine before Thomas got too far into his debate recap, an exodus prompted by Madi’s wife Miranda summoning her home. Billy had snapchatted Abigail a fifteen second video from the car in the morning to demand answers and it hadn’t been opened by the time he walked into the locker room. The door to the rest of the training complex slams open the second he arrives, and his coach appears with his hands on his hips.

“Bones!”

“What did you do, Billy?” asks Muldoon. “They’ve been muttering all morning.”

“I told Sportscenter I have a boyfriend.” says Billy, tossing his bag into his locker and putting his thermos down.

There’s a moment of stillness in which the entire room falls silent.

“Do you, you know, have a boyfriend?” asks Logan.

“Yes I fucking do.” says Billy.

“What about Abigail? Weren’t you dating her?” asks Dufresne, the backup QB.

“Abigail and I get coffee so we can complain about our occasionally crazy and always eccentric PhD supervisor.” says Billy. “Also going by the fact she -” he glances over at his phone “- just broke our snapchat streak I think she’s managed to land herself a pair of girlfriends.”

There’s another temporary silence while Billy’s teammates seem to process this.

“What does eccentric look like on a University professor?” asks Muldoon, with some trepidation.

“It’s Flint, what do you think it looks like?” asks Billy.

“Hold up, James ‘I can drink the entire Jets O-Line under the table’ Flint is your thesis advisor?”

“On international talk like a pirate day he came up with an entire backstory for what would drive him to piracy in the eighteenth century and spoke like he was that character.”

“What did drive him to piracy?”

“He’s gay.” says Billy.

“And? What does that have to do with his pirate backstory?”

“You got hung for being gay back then. Also Pirate Backstory Flint’s beloved Thomas had been imprisoned in a place he couldn’t be rescued from and Flint had turned to piracy as a means of revenge. It was all very melodramatic. Silver got a cameo as his one-legged cook, if I recall. I was the bosun. I’m pretty sure he and Thomas had kinky roleplay sex afterwards.”

“Your life is bizarre.” says Logan, and Billy checks him with his shoulder on his way over to his coach.

[avalindin]

It was a bounty hunter, I swear...

Tom Hiddelston fic

Chapter 7: Mother knows... best

______

Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6

_______

She wanted to say that she could feel nothing. She hated herself for the position she was in. So much time had passed and she knew the time for the alternative had come and gone. Even if she did have time, Kali wasn’t sure if it would have gone through with it. Really, she would have given anything for a joint or a shot of whatever Demi had stockpiled. Her mind raced to many things, not seeing that her cleaning cart ran into the nearest wall.

“Shit,” she cursed under her breath.

Bottles rattled near the edge with soapy water slipping from her bucket. Kali shrugged off her worry and grabbed a dry mop head. She winced at the smell of the mop water on the floor but she was learning to control that and her new moods better. She willed herself to calm and kept her mind focused on two things. Having to tell people soon about her keeping the baby and who the father was. Only a few people knew and they knew how to keep a secret but she would have to deal with being the one to tell her mother. It’s not like it was anyone else’s damn business.

She wiped her sweaty cheek and sat in the nearest changing room for a break. She was too proud to go back to the printing studio and ask for her job back and the she needed a job with some benefits. A wave of emotion almost choked her as she held her stomach. She wanted to say that she tried. Kali was through the first trimester and things were only going to be rougher from the moment she forgot to see if Tom was protected.

She stopped herself, needing to be rid of her self-pity as she sat up straight and pulled her hair into a bun. Her hands pulled at the underarmor to pull it back in place. Kali looked into the nearest mirror and wiped her face.

“You stop this right now. You need to do this. Don’t be her.”

Kali finished off her Fiji and turned her cleaning cart for the last hallway of Oncology. Demi was able to get her a job with the night shift of a nearby hospital. The pay was enough and she had no one to talk to. She preferred it that way. She looked to the clock and counted the minutes when she would be home and revise the speech her mother would have to hear.

So far, nothing was coming to mind that didn’t make her want to burst out in tears.

-

Kali rolled her eyes and moaned into the lumpy pillow beneath her back. There were way too many footsteps in the apartment for a Saturday morning and she hated how they trampled down the hall to her room. Demi hurled her door as the years’ worth of Mardi Gras beads swung from their hooks to the floor.

“Kal! Code Darth! Hide!”

“Fuck off.”

Kali pulled her sheets over her head. She tried to carry on sleeping until a familiar voice filled her doorway.

“Is that my baby girl?!”

“No, it’s not. The person that took her place needs to sleep. I work again.”

“No, you don’t. You took the weekend off remember? I have the holiday weekend off and I got someone watching Nana.”

She groaned as she forced herself to not shift to her stomach. There had to be a right time to tell her privately. The weight of her bed shifted on its springs as the familiar wave of warmth and love she’d known for many years.

“Well, hello there!”

The sheets peeled back as Kali only had enough energy to give the aged smiled above her a half grin.

Peggy could only smile as the little girl buried her face into the social worker’s pants.

“I’m sorry. Does she not speak English?”

She turned her head out for a moment stuck out her tongue and buried it again.

“It’s shock. She hasn’t talked since I met her a few weeks ago. We don’t think she’s talked since she was found.”

“There’s my not born!”

“Hi, Mag. What brings you here?”

Her voice and emotion was flat but Peggy made sure her daughter’s forehead was covered in her kisses. Kali allowed it, swiping away at the bright red lipstick smudges.

“My Kali is back and she doesn’t call?!”

“I’m still adjusting, mom. I’m nocturnal now.”

“I know. I let Demi use it as a Christmas gift.”

Kali lifted herself despite her hair in a mess.

“You told her?”

“You were the one that was supposed to call her.”

“I hate you, fucking Muppet reject.”

“What happened in London? What about Thomas?”

“He was seeing someone else, mom, so just drop it.”

“Well that’s a thespian for you. Get dressed and call Nina. We’re having a girl’s day, the four of us.”

“Nina went back to Dallas and Demi’s dating a girl. He doesn’t count.”

“Bitch!”

“Demetrius!”

“Shit. Sorry, Peg.”

“Fine. Then you and me. We’ll visit Paga’s before the holiday. Come on. You can sleep in the car.”

Peggy pushed herself from the bed and swatted at her son’s shoulder. Her wrinkled hand curled around his arm and he stopped out of fear of his mother.

“What is really going on,” she asked under her breath.

“It’s not my place to tell.”

“So, do you know?”

“There is a lot she won’t tell me. She’s like a freaking mood ring.”

Peg smiled. He didn’t know but she would have a better look once her daughter got on her feet.

“Okay. I wish you’d stay gay, that way you’d never leave me.”

“I’m still your little boy.”

“Whatever hetero, go procreate.”

“Love you too, Mommy.”

Kali dressed herself in her bathing suit and loose clothes. She was glad that her body wasn’t showing and that she was able to get her one piece out of storage weeks before. She played to her mother’s humor and sat in the passenger’s seat as she tried not to start a conversation that would lead her into an emotion downword spiral. Any word and her shit would hit the fan.

“My goodness. I don’t support Melanoma but you look pale as death. Did you not go out while you where in London?”

“No, mama. I was too busy fucking Tom.”

“Well, I should let you know that Tinder works wonders.”

“That where you met Troy?”

“Yeah and his wife. Very open. Wait a few years if you want to try that...”

“I don’t want to try anything, Mama. I’m in no mental state to be trying anything right now.”

“Well I said that about anal and we know how that turned out.”

“MAMA! I don’t need to hear that!”

“There we go. I knew another emotion was in there.”

The hours passed and Austin was slowly starting to come back to her. Her horn rimmed sunglasses stayed in place as she stripped to her suit and shorts with the sun radiating down on her flesh.

“And turn!”

Kali smiled and turned around with her mother, linking arms with her as they traveled backwards down the sidewalk. Peg tried not her embarrass Kali as they looked in her direction. It was strange for her to be single after a year of being with... someone else.

She didn’t want to think of him but the more she resisted, the more it began to hit her.

Peg stayed at the door as she waved to the social worker. She followed the patter of feet to the kitchen. The boys were still at school and knew they would be getting a new four year old sibling, much to the disappointment of it now being a brother but Peggy had always wanted a girl. She moved around her kitchen and emptied the contents on the counter. She turned on her oven and gave it a kick to get it working properly.

She looked back to the counter of food and the top of her daughter’s head poking up over the edge. Her ehart warmth as the curious sight of her dark eyes staring at her.

“Would you like to sit on the stool?”

She shook her head and began her journey up the tall stool with no success.

“Gyros!”

Her mother hurled her to a greek food truck. There was no time to react as Tom disappeared from her mind and vomit spilled from her mouth. The crowd of peopkle at the front of the food truck screamed and took pictures of her as Peg tried to move her away. Her face turned red as she tried to regain herself.

“Shit, Honey, take some water.”

The water touched her lips and helped bring up more of the emptiness in her stomach. Her mother rubbed her back in circles. With a few coughs and a clean mouth, Kali straightened herself and wiped her mouth. Peg grabbed her arm and sat her on the park’s bench furthest from the scene.

“This night shift if messing with me. I’m sorry.”

“So, what isn’t going to make you sick?”

“I don’t know. I’ll admit I haven’t been taking the best care of myself.”

“What about the baby?”

Kali was frozen as she met her mother’s eyes.

“Don’t bullshit me, sweetie. I knew the minute I pulled that blanket away.”

“It... I’m already too far along.”

Peg looked as Kali held her tears back.

“Do you know what you want?”

“No. I wanted him. I thought...”

“Whatever you want, baby, I’ll support. Just know that you came to us and we will always be your family.”

“May I help you?”

She waited until the child acknowedged her to help her up.

“I’m making leftovers for tonight but he said you hadn’t eaten. Are you hungry?”

Peggy covered her laughter, seeing the little girl with her small teeth already deep into a cold piece of fried chicken. Little by little, she inched closer to her, slow to touch and marvel at her.

“He said your name was Maggie. So is mine.”

Maggie looked up in confusion as it made her laugh more.

Her arm drafted to Kali’s shoulder to pull her close. Kali broke down in tears into her mother’s shawl. Peg sighed and ignored anyone walking by.

“We need to get food into you. I know someone that can sqeeze you in for an ultrasound and then we’ll get our feet done.”

“Sounds good.”

Her fingers ran through the curls that fell from her daughter’s ponytail.

“Does he know?”

“Even when I was there, he chose to be with someone else. He had his chance. He doesn’t get to know.”

“That’s my girl. Reminds me of my second husband. This will be a fresh start for my baby and yours.”

“Thanks, mom.”

“Everyone calls me Peggy. You can too if you want.”

“You won’t get mad if I don’t call you mommy?”

Her voice almost brought her tears as she took a seat next to her.

“No! I would never do that. I may be your new mom but I can never replace your her.”

“Okay...”

“Peggy.”

“Peg. Egg.”

“That’s right! You are wonderful.”

She kissed her forehead and made the small child smile.

“You don’t have to be Maggie if you don’t want to either.”

“Really?”

“For now, I’ll call you whatever you think your name really is.”

“C-Carmen Sandiego!”

“Oh my goodness! That is an extraordinary name indeed, Carmen.”

She saw her crumb filled cheeks spread into a smile as Peggy pushed more food in her direction.

Peggy pulled Kali to her sandals and led her away to towards the heart of Austin.

“Before I forget, your email got hacked so I made you a new one.”

“Thanks, I never liked email.”

“You may not like it now but you’ll get through it.”

“I was already through it. Now I just need to clean off the shit. I think I’ll go back to Clix.”

Peg squeezed her hand with excitement.

“I knew you were always strong, my girl.”

“I was taught well.”

They linked arms and walked on into the hot summer afternoon.

-

Kali sat in her mother’s clawfoot bathtub and swirled her fingertips in the bubbles. Her hand drifted down to her stomach and held her healthy baby.

11 weeks.

Her ears were cotton when the Doctor explained everything to her. There were fingers and toes and the shape of her baby moving on the screen. Peg squeezed her hand, joyous at the picture. Kali’s eyes were glued, smiling to the screen and she knew she was going to be alright. She rested her head on the side of the tub and listened to her mother outside the door.

“You good, Sweetie?”

“Yeah!”

“I put some clothes out for you. Are you sure you want to spend the night?”

“Yeah, I’m tired.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, hun. I love you.”

“I love you too, mama.”

Peggy kissed the door and walked away to her den. She locked the door behind her and forced herself to sit down at her desk. She knew her daughter’s internal clock by heart and knew she would have half an hour, more from her fatigue so that she was left alone. It broke her heart to think of her daughter as a single mother but she would be loved and so would the baby.

Peggy’s fingers flew across her keyboard and sneered at the attachment on one of Kali’s emails. A little white lie on both of their parts. Peggy was aging but she kenw a thing or two about technology. She looked to a five month photo obviously frmo Valentine’s Day of her daughter and the man she left her life behind for with his arms wrapped snuggly around her. She clicked to the next photo to see his face clearly. She opened a new email link and typed what she needed. No one was going to make a fool of her fucking daughter.

Peggy pressed send and waited as she reached for her full second glass of wine.

A musical chime made him turn as an old but familiar email address got his attention. Tom excused himself from the group of his friends that planted themselves on the shoreline. His thumb pressed the screen of his email account and only saw a phone number.

“I don’t know this number.”

Under the number was a single sentence.

We need to talk.

He sparked his own curiousity as he dailed the number and let the line ring. He got wrong numbers all the time.

“Hello?”

There was some silence with a small cough.

“Who’s there?”

“Let’s just say I could be your worse nightmare young man.”

“Who is this?”

“Do you make it a habit of impregnating young women, then hopping off to the next one? They aren’t gallery pieces for you to horde.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Just like you did with Kali?”

The blistering evening heat couldn’t have comforted him as his skin chilled.

“Who is this? W-Where is Kali? I di...”

There were too many words that just wouldn’t stop.

“Did you intentionally mean to knock her up or were you saving that for the other one because she doesn’t look like she has the right birthing hips. ”

“She’s pregnant?”

“And you will never see that child or her for that matter. Don’t try to play anything like she was sleeping around. My little girl is better than that, believe me, I’m the family whore. She is far too good for you and honestly I should have expected something like this from another celebrity but you all must be the same. If I find out that you come into contact with my daughter, believe when I say that I will contact TMZ and any willing evening entertainment news show with these lovely V-Day pictures with my daughter’s face blurred out for the whole world to see how much of a pig you are.”

“Is she at least all right?”

“I’m sorry, bastard, it almost sounded like you gave a shit for a second. She is hanging on by a thread. You drained my daughter of all possible way to love anyone else. Kali is one more bad day from becoming God-fucking-zilla. I wasn’t able to push her out but I made sure she became the person she wanted to be and any chance of her returning is fucked because of you, Thomas William Hiddleston, so thank you for shattering my beautiful child’s world, you fucking prick!”

Peggy ended her call and slammed her phone down enough to hear the glass break. She finished off her glass and powered off her computer. She sat alone for several minutes until she jumped at the knock on her door.

“Mama?”

“Oh, Sweetie. Give me a minute.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m going to sleep. I wanted to say I love you.”

“I love you too, Angel. Good night.”

Peggy held her breath until she heard the guest room door shut for the night. She gasped and sobbed as quietly as she could.

Tom wasn’t able to breathe as he left the bonefire behind him and turned for a random direction. He absentmindedly shoved his phone into her pocket and started off to the darkness of the beach ahead of him to... run. His sandals thumped between his heels and the wet sand.

Thump, thump.

He thought back to the many times he pushed Kali to any surface of his home without wearing a condom. It had been thrilling and irresponsible...

Thump, thump.

He always woke up before her so that he could watch her sleep, mixing with her hair and his bedsheets. He never wanted to leave the bed as long as she was there with him

Thump, thump.

He felt her hand let go as she walked away from him. His eyes always stayed on the strange, beautiful glow of her face.

Thump, thump, thump.

He pushed himself hard to force the tears back.

“She’s pregnant?”

“And you will never see that child...”

He broke into a sprint fast enough to make his tears stream behind him as he fleed deeper into the night. Tom stumbled in the wet sand and fell almost face first into a patch of weeds. He tumbled and stayed on his side. His body curled up and he felt his heart ready to explode from his chest.

His head filled with Kali and the child he was never going to see because he wasn’t able man up and love her like she deserved. He sobbed and gasped, needing the air in his lungs to stop stinging but the pain in his chest needed Kali so that his surroundings would stop closing in on him. He wanted her. He needed to be with her again.

Peggy wiped her eyes and let her memories of Kali roam her mind.

She looked in on her daughter sleeping under the bed again. Peggy didn’t know what to do but be there when she needed it. She laid on her stomach next to the bed and reached for the small hand that stuck out under the bed.

She opened her little eyes and smiled.

“Sorry...”

She clutched at Donovan’s stuffed Yoda. Her sons were more than welcome to have a little sister to geek out with.

“Why? You actually went to sleep like the boys did.”

“They smell.”

“I know, Carmen.”

“No,” she smiled sleepily, “Kali.”

“Kali?”

“The Destroyer. Donovan stays I need a strong name so kids won’t pick on me.”

“Well that was nice of him.”

“I like it here...”

“I was hoping you would, Kali.”

“Kali...”

She pushed the guest room door open and come see the sight of Kali. She was propped up on the wall with one of many baby books she’d bought earlier in the day, all smudged in yellow highlighter. Peggy moved quietly around the bed to fix Kali so that she rested correctly on her bed and not a Barnes and Nobles fort.

Peggy sat at her side and brushed back her clean hair.

“Everything will be alright, baby. I promise you.”

She turned off the side table lamp and rested on the bed next to Kali, wishing that though some things were fine but that some things were different for her sweet little girl.

“I love you, Kali.”

“I love you too, Mama.”

Peg waited tearfully until she, her strong Kali was fast asleep to pull her out and placed her on her soft mattress. Her little hand let go of Yoda to clutch at her cardigan and she was more than happy to stay by her side forever.

 Tagged: @808-anon @antyc67 @atinyfangirl @cerys1212 @clairelovexo @damageditem @echantedbytwh @eve1978 @hallotom @itsjustelen @inkededucatednnerdy @jennphoenix @justahopeless-dreamer @lokilockedcougar @lovehiddles4everme @marvelousmissfit @mazda098 @missdibley @mrshiddelston @mypreciousmind1 @nicole-stewart-loves-cookies @osb1anon @ourladybinxthings @peskipixi @prplprincez @quoting-shakespeare-to-ducks @ririsutty @roamingbadger @sarabeth72 @servent-alearika @sevanya @shamvictoria11 @siyoteodiara @starrynight35 @startingtoenjoylife @the-lady-mischief @tinaferraldo @tomkurbikston @vdcster @wolfsmom1

[awedbyhersplendor-blog]

I finished it!!! Alex, I finished it!!!! Your bottom Flint fic!! Well, the first chapter anyway... 

So, people, under the cut, there’s the first chapter of a little something I wrote for @glowinthedarkfindel because last month was the one year anniversary of when we met. Like, really, I’ m a little ashamed of it, it’s not really good, but well, it’s a gift and I tried. It’s definitively not good enough for AO3 so it will stay here. I’m just telling you this in case you’re tempted to click on the ‘read more’: don’t. It’s just... unnecessary context and filth at the end of it. That’s like all there is. So just move on. 

(I still hope you’ll like it a little Alex! Happy one year anniversary =))

The World In My Eyes:

The first mention of it is brought by Miranda. She tells James about this nice girl she met online and how they’re going to try some ‘new stuff’ which involves handcuffs, a strap-on, several other toys, and new lingerie. James is very… suspicious to say the least, especially when Miranda shows him the pictures of the girl who just looks like a schoolgirl in a sweater. Miranda assures him that this is fine and goes to her rendezvous one Friday night. She calls him one hour after she left to tell him everything is fine. The next day, she comes back glowing and tells him he should do the same. James rolls his eyes and goes for his morning run.

The next mention is just as strange as the first: he is ‘celebrating’ the closure of a deal with the Hornigold Industries. Benjamin Hornigold insisted they celebrate in a strip club which is something quite beyond James but Gates convinces him to comply. He even has the balls to tell him to <em>enjoy it</em>.

So James goes to the club, suffers Hornigold, Dufresne, loud music, crowds, and people thinking he is straight. In the end, he even tips a girl so she comes sit in his lap which is the only way to keep anyone from speaking with him. After he tells the girl he isn’t really interested and just needs a diversion, they have a most wonderful conversation about Hirsh, Gadamer, and hermeneutics. When Gates asks him if he’s ready to go, he nods and tips the girl again. The girl smiles and tells him he’ll never guess the relaxing virtues of getting whipped. This is such a cryptic message, but then again, she is on the Hirsh side of hermeneutics, so he doesn’t ask.

The memory lingers for several days. He finds himself thinking about it when he’s driving, when he’s waiting for his coffee, when he’s taking a guilty smoke break. He wonders how that would feel like, to let someone else take the reins for once. He doesn’t even let other people cook his food (except for Miranda of course) how could he let someone else being in control of him, of his body, of his pleasure?

He had, of course, played a little with Thomas because, what haven’t they tried anyway?? He had tied Thomas’ wrists together and put a blindfold on him while he had straddled his hips once. Thomas had enjoyed it so much he had tried to do the same to James, but they had gotten lost in the middle of it, and James had wanted to hold Thomas, to see him, and he had been unbound. James, however, had not wanted to find a new partner for a very, very long time after his death. He still wasn’t sure about wanting one now. And diving directly into whips and being bound? It felt downright absurd.

Then comes a bad day. Most days are bad days since Thomas is gone, but some days are extra shitty. This morning, he had caught a glimpse of a tall blonde man and, for half a second, he had thought this was Thomas. It had felt like missing a step in the dark. His heart had missed a beat before he could realize that this was, in fact, not Thomas. It had felt like losing him all over. He had been snappy all day and Gates had to make an intervention and send him home at 5. James was never home at 5.

Miranda had made him a cup of tea before going back to working on her computer, on the couch. James had sat next to her, soothed by the noise of her fingers on the keyboard. He witnessed her check her emails and a tchat room several times after 6, and he knew she was probably waiting for a message from the sweater schoolgirl. He felt… jealous… no, not jealous, but… envious… He wondered if he could feel the doubt and the excitement of messaging someone on a regular basis (for non-work related matters of course)

“How is it going with the girl?” James asked. Miranda had never told him her name. Anonymity seemed crucial.

Miranda smiled: “She’s good, James. What do you really want to ask?” That woman had always been too perceptive. James shrugged and remained silent for a minute or two, nursing his tea cup.

“How does it work, this… website?” He eventually asked. Miranda smiled at her computer screen but he knew the smile was meant for him.

“I really need to send this article tonight, so why don’t you go make dinner and I’ll explain while we eat, alright?”

James nodded and pulled himself out of the couch’s embrace to make some coconut cream rice with sauté taro. They needed to go back to that market: they were running out.

An hour later, Miranda was showing him how to select profiles, how to start messaging other people, and why anonymity was so crucial. James knew he was sold as soon as he saw that, despite the website’s… garish… design, everyone here seemed pretty serious (and made very little and minor spelling mistakes) and not everyone seemed young which made James feel less like a creep.

He still decided to sleep on it and went to his bedroom to read when he heard Miranda pick up her phone and greet the caller with a glowing smile and a ‘hey, my little rose’.

***

The next day, he found himself wondering about what he could write in his profile at the strangest times. He almost started an email with “44 year-old man, in search for..” before he realized Eleanor Guthrie might not appreciate it.

He started writing some drafts of it in his phone before realizing how tense he was every time he reached for it afterwards for work purposes. It seemed that everyone could now see how depraved he felt as if it were written on his forehead. Which of course it wasn’t. He checked.

So all in all, the day was spent like any other day: coffee, commute, work, work, coffee, meeting, coffee, work, work, work, eating a salad at his desk while working, work, work, black tea, the afternoon meetings, more black tea, and more work.

Gates left at 8, and Miranda called him at 9 to tell him that he better start heading home.

James listened to Depeche Mode while he was driving, trying not to think about how ridiculous his latest draft sounded.

***

“I can’t believe I just did that.” James confessed, looking blankly at his computer screen.

“Congratulations! We just finished writing your profile! I can’t believe it took us this long.” Miranda answered next to him, rubbing her hands over her tired face.

“Well, someone kept changing what I wanted to write…”

“You sounded like a psychopath, James. No one on their right mind writes: ’44 year-old man. Likes Leonard Cohen and Depeche Mode. Dislikes chain coffee shops. I’m fine with meeting you in anywhere, and I can make sure you get home safe.’ I mean, really, they probably felt safer before you wrote that?”

“Well, it’s true, I do want to make sure they get home safe, especially if we meet in the evening!” James tried to defend himself. Miranda looked at him silently. “Alright, it did sound creepy. Thanks for getting my back for this one.” He conceded.

“I’m glad you feel that way. Now can we please talk about your ‘Looking for’ section? Because this is the vaguest thing ever. I mean, anyone between the age 30 and 40, non-smoker… You didn’t even specify what gender you were more attracted to. I’m afraid people are not going to be encouraged by this.” Miranda added.

“I don’t even know what I’m looking for, to be honest, Miranda. This entire thing is very… blurry. Impulsive. Not a good idea at all. Let’s just…” James began to read for the computer but Miranda quickly pushed it out of his reach, towards her, protecting it closely.

“There’s no way you’re erasing all this work!” She nearly shouted at him, almost comically offended. “Dear, we haven’t even uploaded your profile picture yet.”

“Oh god, the profile picture.” James exhaled, closing his eyes. “Can’t the pictures from the last camping trip do?”

“Oh, you mean, the pictures where you turned your back on me every time I tried to take a nice picture of you?”

“I’m not the most photogenic of people.” James tried.

“Well it’s not a question of being photogenic or not, but of having a great person behind the camera, which you have.”

“I can’t take picture tonight, it’s late and I look like a mess.”

“Tomorrow morning, before you get to work, I’m going to assault you with pictures so we’ll have at least one good one for your profile. Now get yourself to bed, loverboy.”

“I’m not sure you’re supposed to say ‘loverboy’ to a man in his forties, dear.” James replied, rolling his eyes.

“Of course I can. I hang out with the kids, I’m hype now. I even know some memes.” Miranda answered with a laugh.

“Good night, Miranda. Don’t stay up too late.”

***

The next day, James woke up and headed directly to the shower. He looked at his face in the mirror and sighed. He was too old for this. Too old to even be thinking about this. Who on earth might be interested in any pictures that could be taken of him, or any awkwardly-worded profile, or…

Well, he had to admit he had envied Miranda quite a bit when he had seen her talk to that schoolgirl, but maybe this whole dating site was not meant for him. He shook his head at his own foolish expectations and stepped in the shower.

He had forgotten how serious Miranda was about her promises until he stepped out of the bathroom while buttoning his shirt up. He was assaulted by the repetitive noise of the shutter as Miranda kept taking pictures, even when he protested: “Christ, Miranda! You can’t..! I wasn’t ready!”

“That’s the point, dear,” she replied, “we can’t have you all tense and awkward as you’re posing. Better capture you in your natural habitat.” She explained.

“Why do we even live together?” He mumbled grumpily, without any edge to it.

He even made her coffee the way she liked, even though she didn’t deserve it. He did his best not to listen to the ‘click click click’ of the camera as he set the breakfast table.

When he left for work, Miranda was staring at the pictures she took while distractedly putting her shoes on: “I’ll send you the best pictures so you can decide which one you’ll upload.” She promised as James got to the front door.

“Thanks,” James said, “for everything.” He then closed the door and braced himself for his commute.

***

He had been in his midday council with Gates (it was more of a ‘bitching about the incompetents you work with over a salad while Gates is preventing him from firing everyone’ meeting than a council but still) when he had received the pictures Miranda had selected for him. Two of them were ruled out immediately since they featured him buttoning his shirt up and that looked way too cliché, never mind how he would answer how those pictures were taken in a platonic way, should anyone ask. One of them showed him on his computer, and gosh, did he always look that angry when he was checking his emails? The one where he was pouring milk in his cereals was almost immediately ruled off, because seriously? Talk about inappropriate domesticity and innuendos.

In the end, only one remained: it was a three quarters picture of him making coffee. He had rolled his shirt sleeves up and looked at his mug intently as he poured dark as midnight on a moonless night coffee in it. He looked less angry than in the other pictures. More relaxed. People could still see his features, and they had a nice view on his shoulders, which, he thought, might please them.

He waited until Gates had finished talking to shrug and promise he was not going to fire the IT guy even though he hummed along annoying dubstep songs loudly during work hours (who even hums along dubstep?) to tell Miranda he was going to upload the ‘coffee picture’ as his new profile pic.

She answered with a smiley. The =) smiley. He hated that one.

***

James uploaded the picture during lunch and forced himself not to check any messages afterwards. He’ll look at them at home, once he was finished with his work, if such thing was actually possible.

He tried really hard, but that report was sucking the life out of him and he just had to check. It was almost six and that was seriously a lot of messages. James did his best to angle his phone in a way where there could be no reflection in the window behind him. He didn’t need anyone to know he was on a BDSM… dating… website… thing…

He was used to receiving tons of emails and messages so he quickly skimmed through them. A lot of them were from young men (some of them <em>very</em> young, and he was not attracted by the school uniform, unlike some) asking him to do very filthy things to them. James knew he was in for it as he signed up, but he found himself indifferent to all those suggestions. He sighed to himself: what worked for Miranda might not work for him after all.

He thought about the girl in the strip-club and how she said ‘getting whipped’ not ‘whipping someone’.

One message gets his attention. It’s from another young man, slightly older than the others, thankfully, telling him: “Interesting how you ticked the ‘dom’ box instead of the ‘sub’ one. Might want to change that one before anyone gets any ideas ;)“

James hates that smiley too. And that username. ‘stompstomp’ really? How ridiculous is that?

Slightly less ridiculous than ‘l00kin-4-d4ddy’, granted, but still…

Now, James knows he should leave it for tonight, answer it (or not) with a cool head, in the comfort of his home, with Miranda’s counsel, not at work, in front of an unfinished task. So there’s really no explanation for how he found himself looking at the guy’s profile.

He’s quite good-looking. Long dark hair. Impressive blue eyes. He even has a guitar in one of the pictures. The kind of guy who makes girls blush and feel faint. James refuses to admit he might blush and feel faint should he ever encounter those arms and those abs in real life.

The guy had ticked the ‘dom’ box too. Why is he even talking to him? What’s his business telling people if they should be doms or subs? Why would he be even interested in him? He looks like he receives a lot of messages.

He writes: “Does telling people they’re wrong about their own profile usually work for you?” sends it before he can over-think about it, and shoves his phone in one of his drawers.

***

At 8, Gates walked past his office, looking very tired, his shoulders rounded and steps quite slow. James felt like Gates looked. He called out for him, asked him to wait for him so they can walk to their cars together. He checked any last minute email he may have received, but none of them was truly urgent, so he switched off his computer for the night, closed the curtains and walked out, almost forgetting his phone.

Almost.

James tried his best to cheer Gates up, but it felt so foreign he was sure Gates noticed. But Gates was a good person, maybe the only good person in this office, so he made an effort to look more cheerful.

When they reached his car, James blurted out a “Thank you.” which surprised Gates so much his eyebrows shot up to where his hairline might have been a long time ago. Gates looked at the phone clutched in James’ hand, seemed to find something hilarious in that, and pat James on the shoulder before getting in his car.

James tried not to be puzzled. He sat in his car in the mostly-empty parking lot and gave in the temptation of checking his phone again.

He didn’t bother checking any other messages than those sent by the infuriating ‘stompstomp’ (which is, even more infuriatingly, the only message he has answered so far) It said: “I actually don’t know: you’re the first one who looked good enough to correct. Let me know how I’m doing ;)”

That smiley again.

James tried not to be flattered by the compliment. He didn’t answer either and tucked his phone in his pocket before starting his car.

Today’s playlist was mostly Stravinski because why not?

***

Miranda was checking her own phone more than she usually does as she cooked but James didn’t remark on it. She’ll talk to him when she felt like it. He spilled the beans about the mysterious ‘stompstomp’ instead, showing her the messages, in an attempt to lift her spirits up. She laughed but will not offer any advice about how to answer.

She told him: “He obviously enjoys your grump, so be yourself.” If that had been a text, she would have used the same ;) smiley.

He wondered if that was why he was so curious about ‘stompstomp’.

Later, in his bed, he found himself wondering about it still. He was only wearing boxers, eyelids heavy and mind fuzzy with sleep, but he found his bed cold. Every time he reached out to the other end of his bed and found no one, he felt like he has missed another step in the dark and felt that short burst of panic-realisation because oh, right… Thomas is gone…

So he texted ‘stompstomp’: “What makes you say that I’m not a dom?”

He sent immediately after: “Also please, give me another name I can use when referring to you, this is becoming a torture.”

James barely had the time to set his phone on the nightstand when he got an answer: “You come out very forceful about the dom thing, but you have no idea about what kind of sub you want. I think you know exactly what kind of dom you’re looking for and that’s what you’re trying to embody instead. You’ve never been a sub, have you?”

“Also, you can call me John. The username is just a nickname I give myself because of the noise my prosthetic leg makes.”

***

James didn’t know why he didn’t ask Miranda what she thought about the whole dom/sub thing. He was just having his own existential crisis in front of his coffee mug while she talked about the editing she had to do before going to that wonderful tea salon with the schoolgirl.

It felt like John (whom he calls by his first name now, like they’re some kind of friends, which they’re really not) had successfully gotten under his skin and had decided that he wouldn’t leave. He was here when he asked his secretary to get him the Teach files a little too abruptly, asking him: “So is that what you’re truly looking for and feel like you have to embody yourself?” He was here when he was eating his sushi in peace with Gates, making him wonder where John was right now, what kind of job he had, what he usually ate for lunch, if he was seeing anyone else…

It had to stop, James told himself as he corrected another typo later in the afternoon.

Just one look so he can get it out of his head.

He didn’t know what he was expecting since he still hadn’t answered John’s texts, but he still felt disappointed when he saw that John had been online seventeen minutes ago and hadn’t messaged him.

It actually bothered him that John might think he was not answering because he was bothered by the prosthetic leg.

“No, I’ve never been a sub. Nor have I been a dom either, for that matter. Have you?”

“I have. Both. I do prefer being a dom. If you’re looking for a polite way of telling me you don’t want to speak to me because of the prosthetic leg, don’t bother. Just tell me.”

James hated that he had noticed the absence of the infuriating ;) smiley. “I’m not, actually. I’ve been thinking about what you said. You’re not the first person hinting at it.”

“Oh, interesting. Have people tried to get you to bend the knee for them? :)”

“They told me it could be relaxing. I have no idea what could be relaxing about being a sub, but then again, I haven’t truly done my research.”

“You definitively should if you want to go further with anyone. Have you taken a sub yet? I bet you received a lot of offers…”

James ignored the remark about the offers. He might have received new messages since last night alone, but he didn’t really care about what they said. He didn’t want to confess that.

“Do you have any reading recs about that?” He asked instead.

John almost took twenty minutes to answer him. James did a lot of productive things during those twenty minutes. He certainly did not re-order his pen drawer and put his paper clips in a straight line in growing order, his eyes constantly drifting to his phone’s screen.

John’s answer had several links. Some of them were articles. Some of them are posts from specialized forums. Some of them are books.

“Thanks for all that. I’ll read them tonight.” He messaged back.

“No worries. Enjoy your bedtime reading ;)” John answered almost right away. “Also: your profile pic is like, the most beautiful thing ever, like drooling material, but it doesn’t give justice to how sweet you actually are.”

James did not blush. He. absolutely. did. not. blush.

***

“Hey, you haven’t asked any questions in a while, are you still reading stuff?” John sent one evening, when James was in bed, reading about bondage.  

He hadn’t asked John any questions in the last two days, that was true. For them, two days without questions was a big deal now. Indeed, for the last two weeks, James had spent his free time reading everything John had sent him. He knew he was somewhat lacking in that particular field of knowledge, but he never thought he was <em>this</em> lacking. The things he learnt.

He had actually asked Miranda why she had signed him up on that website without any kind of knowledge, but she had just smiled at him, that bad-news-you-are-going-to-come-while-sobbing smile and said: “My, my, I never thought you would actually get into this.”

He still hadn’t said anything about him considering the submissive part of the equation.

He knew there is no shame in it, but he just… it felt… very personal. He wouldn’t tell her that he wanted to submit to someone’s expert touch like he wouldn’t tell her that he touched himself every night now.

Sometimes he wondered if she knew it anyway.

The more he read about what to expect, the more he had that thrill to try it. Because it would feel so foreign. Because it would feel so welcome. Sometimes he would read something about how good it felt to just kneel for hours, or how cleansed you might feel afterwards and James would experience this revelation like a surprising truth you might stumble across at the turn of a corridor and then realize that you expected it.

James didn’t know how he felt about it. He didn’t even know if he wanted to try it.

John had asked him how he felt about trying it one day, when James had brought up spanking, how humiliating it would feel for him and how he couldn’t get it out of his head. How curious it was to want such things. James had replied he didn’t know if he actually wanted to do more than just read about it.

John had been surprisingly understanding about it. Gentle and understanding. He always answered his questions right to the point and sometimes shared some of his experience with it, but never in a way that would suggest he was trying to convince him to do it with him. He was just answering his questions as best he could. That was nice of him.

Not that he didn’t tease now and then. Especially about gags.

They did talk about other subjects, sometimes. John liked to comment on customers coming to the restaurant on a disastrous first date, or on customers complaining about getting exactly what they ordered. He had a quick wit. He also gave James some cooking tips sometimes, which was nice. John always listened to James complain about his job, about how much he wanted to strangle that one person who mixed up the files and about how no one understood how black coffee actually meant black coffee, not ‘put a little sugar pack next to the cup’.

James didn’t mind when John joked about it and called him a grump. He knew he should mind, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

So back to the day Silver asked him why he hadn’t asked any question in a while, James found himself oddly… embarrassed by it.

“Sorry, I’ve been busy reading. What about you?” He answers.

“No worries about that. I was just wondering if I had finally bored you.”

“I should ask the same. I’m pretty sure you’re not here to teach submission classes.”

“You’re right, I wasn’t here to teach people, but boy, do I enjoy it ;)”

“Do you always finish your sentences with ;)?”

“Only the ones I send you ;)”

James rolled his eyes and settled more comfortably in the bed. He was hit by the realization that he was feeling more relaxed now than he had been for the last two days he hadn’t talked to John.

“Isn’t it a little late? Don’t you have the late shift tomorrow?”James asked.

“Define late shift when working in a restaurant. But you’re right, it is quite late. I just wanted to know.”

“Know what?”

“I don’t know… If you were bored of me. If you had found someone else.”

“I would have told you if I had.”

“I can’t believe you exist. Like how can someone be so grumpy and so sweet simultaneously? I bet you don’t even know you’re being incredibly sweet right now.”

“Do you want to go investigate this mystery, Mulder?” James replied right off the bat, because he thought it was funny.

James realized, right after the message has been sent that he essentially asked if John wanted to meet him.

John took a very, very long time to answer. James tried not to slap himself mentally for that. He had wanted to meet John, sure, but he felt like he should prepare for it first, ask where John liked to hang out, if he had met other people from the website… Not ask him late at night after a two-days silence.

What a mess, James thought, the thought reverberating in his head, refusing to leave him alone, even as he tried to focus on what he was reading before, waiting, dreading, John’s answer.

He wouldn’t begrudge John if he chose not to answer and maybe, never contacted him again.

He should probably tell him it was a joke and he fully understood if John didn’t want to meet… But John was clearly typing… Had been typing for the last five minutes, at least.

It wasn’t making James nervous at all. He didn’t want it to make him nervous.

James had given up, getting ready to go have an uneasy night, when John finally answered:

“Right off the bat, I want to say yes, but I know I’m tired and a little lonely, so I think I should take some time to answer.” And almost right after: “If that was even a serious offer and if I didn’t misread your message entirely, which would be quite embarrassing, aha”

James smiled at his phone, feeling the absurdity of the situation: “You haven’t. Take the time you need. And go to sleep, it’s late.”

“Cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure ;)” John answered and James knew it was one of those ‘memes’ everyone kept talking about. James shook his head and put his phone on the night stand. He didn’t sleep as badly as he thought he would.

***

After the first day of silence since that X-Files joke that got out of control, James started loosing hope. He still felt it linger when he checked for new messages, when he heard his secretary talk about how cinnamon rolls were not that pure with Billy who probably had no idea about what it was all about either, when he followed one of John’s cooking tip, but he knew it was gone. He knew John was going to send him a message saying that, while he liked talking to him, he didn’t want to meet. He didn’t want to try anything with someone who had so little experience. With him in general.

John probably got thousands and thousands of messages every day. Who wouldn’t want to let him do whatever he liked to them?

James wondered if he should answer another message. He had received quite a lot of them (or at least it feels quite a lot on the little red notification bubble) but he didn’t really want to read them, or get invested with someone else just yet.

So he tried to give up waiting after two other days. He tried not to think about how John was probably working on his shift right now. How today was that day in the week when he indulged in a cappuccino in that special coffee shop he found. He couldn’t believe he knew so much about John and yet, nothing at all. He wished he could stop imagining how John closed his eyes because that coffee was so damn good, how he waited for his train home to arrive, how he might put his hair in a messy bun because it kept falling in his eyes…

Miranda asked him how the search is going. James shrugged and said he has other things to do anyway. Miranda baked him that chili dark chocolate tart he liked so much the next day.

A week after, Flint was trying really really hard not to check his phone on a hourly basis. He was starting to look up that yoga class Miranda told him he should attend. He had watched his comfort movie last night, curled in the sofa with a blanket, while Miranda was out with the schoolgirl, trying not to hate himself for allowing someone online to have such impact by merely being silent.

He hates that he had thought things would get bet…

Was that a new message?

It was.

It was from John.

James wondered if he should wait before he opened it. But what would that accomplish exactly?

He opened it.

“Hey, sorry for the long wait. I really want to meet you. Can we go out for drinks if you’re free this week-end?”

***

James checked his phone for the nth time. Yes, this was the place, it had the name John gave him on it, and google maps was adamant that this was the place.

He was five minutes early and he didn’t know how to feel about it. He didn’t know how to feel about anything to be honest.

He just walked in. It was a very quiet place. Someone was playing guitar on a small stage. Some people were chatting a little further back. No one looked like John.

James went to the bar and asked for a beer to start slow while waiting for John. The woman who served him took a long look at him and scoffed to herself. James has no idea what he had done.

John texted him right on time (suspiciously right on time) to tell him he was here. James barely had time to look up his phone when someone sat on the stool right next to him.

“Hey.”

James didn’t even need to turn to him to know it’s John. He could practically hear the ;) smiley in his voice.

His voice was deeper than he expected, however. He smelt good, like cream and coconut, if that made any sense.

John was casually perched on his seat, letting James stare at him while he was staring at James in return.

James understood now. Why people would just follow orders, even humiliating ones, just because they were uttered by someone they trusted. By someone they wanted to please.

James wanted very much to please John. He couldn’t really pinpoint it. Was it the most astounding blue eyes? Was it the carefully groomed beard? Was it in how strong his shoulders looked? Or maybe the way he just… was next to him. Like he was taking him in, watching him, taking notes, a quiet possession that James felt no remorse in letting happen.

There was something quite incredible, a bright, burning feeling inside somewhere between his chest and his stomach, awakened by Silver’s sharp blue eyes. It made him crave his hands.

“Christ, who takes your pictures?” John said next to him with a very appreciative smile which made James glad he had listened to Miranda about wearing that henley shirt.

Before James could reply anything (which, no doubt, would have been incredibly incriminating) the woman who had served him his beer interrupted with a: “Get a room you two already!”

“Can’t,” John replied. He knew her. “Have to buy him a drink first. Can I get a beer? The same he’s having?”

“I don’t know,” She answered, “Can you?”

John stuck his tongue at her and she shook her head. She did bring him his beer though.

“So you know this place.” James said when they were all set.

“I do. Used to work here when I arrived in town, before I got a job at the restaurant.”

James loved how he elided his first person pronouns. It made everything sound so casual he couldn’t help but relax.

John couldn’t seem to stop looking at him. That too felt nice.

***

After their first drink, they moved to a booth. More people were coming in and it was difficult to hear each other talk. John got the second round and they settled a little away from the crowd.

Some parts of the conversation were a little awkward, of course. They both avoided the subjects how they met. John did tell him, in passing, that he has read up on first-time subs experiences, but it was more in a “I read this last night, what did you do?” way.

Everything about John sounded and looked casual, except for the way he looked at James. It was consuming, really. John was taking all of him in. The way he moved, the way he said his ‘m’ and his ‘h’, the way he drank. James watched him back and sometimes they lost track of their conversation because James had been distracted by John’s throat while he drank and John had been staring at James being distracted.

When they realized they had both tracked off, James would lift an eyebrow at them and John would just laugh a little, looking down on his drink with a smirk.

“Look, uhm…” John started after they had drifted off for the third time. “I didn’t expect you to have so much effect on me. I swear I’m usually much more articulate. I’m sure you’ve had better conversations…”

“I know you can be more articulate: we’ve talked nearly everyday for over a month. And I drift off too.” James answered.

“So, you feel it too, right? I mean, I’m not the only one in this?” John stared at him and James almost feels like he can’t lie to him. He finds himself not even wanting too.

“It depends what you refer too by “this”.” He teases.

John smiled and shook his head a little before reclining on the back of the booth. He followed James’ eyes to his throat. Damn but that shirt was tight and opened far down. He smiled when he caught him.

“It feels like I need to keep my hands off you if I don’t want things to escalate far too quickly. That’s the only reason why I’m still on that side of the booth.”

“What makes you think I’d let you?” James asked with a toothy grin.

“I don’t know, the fact you’re leaning into me at every movement I make. Or maybe the fact you’re watching my hands like you want me to put them somewhere. You know, I didn’t expect my predictions about you to be quite so accurate.”

“What predictions?”

“About you being a sub. But you were standing so… tall and straight and impassible. Like  you’re just expecting everyone to bend to your every whim… And yet when I came up and sat next to you, you just… relaxed. Like you found someone you can hand the reigns to and you were happy to do just that. It’s gradual, though. You just… let go by degrees. It was so subtle I was doubting myself, which doesn’t happen often for your information, until we moved to the booth. Do you realize how you just… darted to action when I suggested it?” John chuckled, almost to himself, his eyes fixed on James’ mouth.

He sipped his beer before pressing the cold glass against his throat. He looked so relaxed James could barely believe they were in public. It felt like they were the last people sitting around the campfire, or on a roof, too distracted by each other to remember that the night can end.

“It feels like we move so well together,” John continued. “Like you’ve been expecting someone to play the role you’ve been playing and… here I am.” John smirked.

It should be infuriating, really. Like the smileys he used. James found himself intrigued instead.

“Let’s imagine you’re truly the one I’ve been expecting all along, what made you interested in me?” James asked and he knew he should slow down on that drink, but he didn’t. He was at that nice, tipsy, everything is floating moment that made everything else far away, like stars. Everything but John looking at him.

“Gods, you don’t know… No, I think you know… You’re so goddamn beautiful. All of you. I liked you when we talked. I imagined that, even if that picture wasn’t faithful, at least, you would be fascinating enough to have a drink with. But you’re goddamn beautiful. Your freckles, your eyes… You know they’ve changed colour at least three times since we’ve been here? Your thighs as well. They’re the reason I’m still sitting over there. They look too touchable.”

James couldn’t do anything but laugh a little at that. He was trying not to blush. Maybe the alcohol and the general temperature of the room would explain it. He was drawn by John’s voice. He wanted to hear it against his ear. He wanted to feel John’s lips against his skin. He wanted John’s hands on his thighs. Everything John suggested, he wanted. He wondered how John’s skin tasted, how his hair felt. He wanted to touch him too. He felt want low in his stomach, like a comfortable heat blooming, moving outward, tightening his skin, making his breath deeper. He wanted to let it pull him down, drown him, but he didn’t want to surrender to it just yet, not when Silver was still over there, arching an eyebrow at him in question.

“I’m sorry, have I said something funny?” He asked.

“We’re dirty talking to each other in public.” James answered.

“Do you object to the action or to the setting?”

“You know which.”

“So would you agree to… meet me somewhere else?”

James knew he shouldn’t make decisions when he could barely remember which door was the exit, but he had to confess that he had made this decision as soon as John had smiled at him.

“I would.” He nodded.

John looked at his beer like the cat who got the cream. There was an hint of something else there too. Something warmer than just play. When he looked up, John looked like he was trying to contain a victorious smile and couldn’t quite succeed.

***

They ended up leaving soon after. They didn’t say anything, but they knew that, if they lingered, they were going to make a drunken mistake and go too far too quickly.

As they stood up, John had looked a little uncertain on his feet. James was too, to be honest, but he still reached out in case John had more trouble than him. But John regained his balance quickly and James dropped his hand before he could even touch him.

The woman at the bar looked at James like she could pierce a hole in his skull and peer into his most intimate thoughts. She exchanged a mysterious nod with John and it felt like he had been officially approved by a monarch.

James walked John to his bus station. He was going to take another bus, a little further down the road, but he wanted to make sure John was on his way home safe.

He laughed a little, because it was what Miranda told him not to mention in his profile. John looked at him with a curious smile: “What?” He asked.

“Nothing, I… I was just thinking about dating sites. More like, I can’t believe, of all the things that a dating site could have brought me, it brought you.”

“I don’t think you’re aware you’re being very sweet right now.” John answered, shaking his head.

They were standing at the bus stop. The next bus should come in a little over five minutes. They were facing each other now, wrapped in their respective jackets, assaulted by the cold, contrasting so very deeply with the warmth of the bar they had just left.

James was so unsure he felt like he was back when he first met… No. Not that. He couldn’t think about that. He needed to focus on John instead. He let the thrumming desire right under his skin guide him, one step closer to John.  John had to lift his eyes a little to look at him.

“So…” James started. “Here we are.”

“Here we are.” John answered. James felt his breath on his chin. This street was almost empty, a little away from the crowded bars, and it felt like they were all alone in the world.

James thought about how, in five minutes, he was going to be alone. John will take that bus home and leave and he was going to be so cold. James took another step before his courage failed him. His hands found John’s hair almost by instinct (but mostly probably because he’s been staring at it long enough to know how to weave his hands into it) and he lowered his head…

“No.” John cut him.

James stopped before he could even think about it. It’s like a reflex. John said no so, whatever it is, it stops. James had always respected his partner’s wishes, like any decent human being, but it never felt that… cutting… definitive… It almost felt like he had told himself ‘no’.

It was quite unbelievable and James marveled at it. It felt… exhilarating.

“Our first kiss will not be us standing in the cold at the end of our first date while we wait for the bus.” John added. He had a hand on James’ chest and didn’t move it. “I want better than that for us.”

“Of course. I’m sorry.” James nodded.

“Don’t be. If you hadn’t tried it, I wouldn’t have known for sure that I didn’t want to kiss you anyway, circumstances be damned.” John laughed and it sounded like a deep rumble that drew James in. “God, but you’re beautiful. I can’t wait to have you all to myself… Would you want that?”

James looked at him in disbelief. If he wanted that? Could he want anything else? “I would.”

Was that relief on John’s face? Truly?

“Good… Good… So, I’ll message you for the details, alright?”

John’s bus was coming and James signaled the driver.  John smiled at the 21st century equivalent of opening doors. He had to pry his hand from James’ chest, finger by finger. But it was so warm and inviting. He stepped into the bus and watched James watch him as the bus took off.

He looked gorgeous when he was running his hand down his beard, looking serious and pensive.

***

James closed the front door behind him with a sigh.

Well, that had been nice, but he felt loneliness creeping up to him, climbing up his back to its favourite spot, on his shoulders, tendrils tight around his throat.

He dropped the keys next to a curious vase of camelias he was sure hadn’t been here when he had left… Moans from Miranda’s room downstairs clued him in. He chuckled and went upstairs.

Everything felt sublimated after John’s touch. Goosebumps spread out all over his skin as he dragged his henley shirt up and tossed it in the hamper. He sighed again, just so he could hear it and imagine how John would sigh in concert. He passed a hand in his hair and rolled his shoulders, wondering how John would love them, how John’s lips might feel on his skin. He then removed his trousers and walked to his bed. A text surprised him, as he slid beneath the sheets.

“Made it home safely. How about you?”

“I’m about to turn in for the night, actually.”

“Mm, me too. Now that I’m home, I regret not taking that kiss, tho. You looked very kissable.”

“You know you made the right decision. It’s better we wait.”

“About that: would next week-end be okay?”

“Of course.” James hesitated. Should he ask where? He hadn’t talked about it with Miranda, and he knew that John had a roommate (even if that roommate actually had a boyfriend, James didn’t feel like they would like to be the ear-witnesses of an initiation to a dom/sub relationship)

“I’ll talk to Billy to ask him where he’ll be this week-end. We can always go down and dirty and take a motel room ;)”

“I’d rather ask Miranda to leave us the house than go to a motel room like a cheating husband.”

“C’mon James, where’s your sense of adventure?”

“You’ll discover it when I’m bent over your knee.” James replied automatically, because that was how he talked with John. This back and forth. John’s funny taunts and James’ deadpan answers.

It took John almost a minute to answer and James rubbed his hand over his face. He was tired, true, but that didn’t excuse how stupid that had been.

“Okay, I’m going to sleep now, before I get too turned on to actually sleep. Good night ;)”

James smiled at his phone and typed, shaking his head: “Sleep tight” He hesitated again, letting his hands hover a little, before typing the last two signs and pushing his phone on the nightstand.

James sighed again and closed his eyes, knowing very well how he didn’t feel tired a bit.

He let his mind wander back to John again. He wondered what would have happened, had John slid over to his side of the booth at the bar. How he would have touched his thigh under the table and whispered things in his ear. He would have started with fingertips, drawing little figures on the outside of his thigh, teasing him, making his way, slowly, slowly, to the seams at his inner thigh.

He would have told him: “You’re so good, James. Letting me touch you like that. You’re so good to me.”

James dropped one hand under the covers to trace the random patterns on his own thigh, closing his eyes. He could imagine John’s voice, deep and perfect, washing over him as his breath tickled his neck.

“Do you like that, James? The way I touch you in public? Where anyone could see…”

James’ hand drifted up slowly, his heart beating faster with anticipation, but not surrendering to the need to touch himself just yet. John would take his time too. He would be a tease. Biting his own lower lip with a mischievous smile when James turned his head slightly with an impatient frown.

John’s hand would slide towards his knee again, to punish him for his impatience: “Now, James, this is not how I want to train you. What kind of dom would let their sub be impatient and bossy?”

James would try hard not to protest. He would know John is right. More than that, he craved for John’s teaching. He wanted John to show him what he wanted from him, what he expected. He wanted to please him so eagerly he felt like he should be ashamed of himself.

“Sorry,” he would mumble, doing his best to sit still now.

In his bed, James felt his shoulders relax at the very thought of just… letting John show him the way. He remembered how John’s hand felt on his chest when he had stopped him. He bit his lower lip.

Now his hand slid up his thigh and he got lost in his scenario again.

John would reward his efforts with an approving hum and his hand would drift up towards the tent in his trousers. James could feel his breathing deepen and excitement rise in him. John would then grab him, making him bite his lower lip. John would let out of small groan right next to his ear as he squeezed him a little before relaxing his grip. Flint felt arousal as a mess of nerves crackling in his chest, sending heat pooling in his belly.

James cupped himself, alone in his bed. Not as satisfying as John’s hand would be, but still… He imagined John touching him like he owned him. Because James had granted him permission to touch him like he was his. The jolt of arousal made him bite his lip harder, trying not to moan aloud. He was already hard but James didn’t reach for his cock inside his boxers yet. He imagined John would tease him longer.

John would use one hand to cup his cock through his trousers and the other hand would come at the back of his head to play with the hair he kept in a little ponytail so he wouldn’t be bothered with it. He often wanted to just cut it all and be done with it, but Miranda would usually hide all the scissors and his razor so he wouldn’t dare touch his hair. Now, he guessed he was grateful. John’s fingers started as a caress at the nape of his neck, making James sigh a little at the sensation.

“That’s it, James, relax for me. Let me handle this. Let me handle you.”

John started opening James’ trousers and immediately, James looked up to see if anyone had seen, if they knew…

But there was no one. There was just them in this booth and nothing beyond. There was the faint noise of other people far, far away, but they sounded more like background music than actual people. Feeling him tense, John had stopped what he had been doing, looking at him, patiently waiting until James relaxed back in the booth. He then slipped his hand in James’ boxers and took him in hand.

James moaned at that, trying hard not to buck into John’s light grip. He felt so hot and he needed John to pull him out and to tighten his grip on him… But he did his best to stay still, feeling his heartbeat go up with the effort. As a reward, he could feel John’s warm breath against his ear again, whispering: “You’re doing good, you’re doing very good. Now, remember, you sit still and let me do the work or I stop, alright?”

James nodded, feeling John’s hand pulling his hair a little as he did. The little sparks of pain it gave made him shiver a little.

“No, I need to hear you say it. Say it’s alright.” John insisted.

“It’s alright. Please, John.” James answered, not daring speak louder than a whisper either.

“Good. That’s good.” John answered and James could feel his smile against his skin. Then John started mouthing at his jaw, biting a little at the skin, letting his beard catch on his. The added sensation had him groan a little. He could already feel his mind cloud over with arousal, rational thought replaced with the need to feel more of John. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t touch his gorgeous hair or trace his lower lip with his thumb, or guide his hand on him.

John pulled him out of his trousers gently and breathed a little laugh against the spot right under his ear. James tensed again but John shook his head a little: “No, don’t. God, James, you look so pretty.” There was something like… awe in his voice, which immediately reassured James. John started stroking him slowly, looking down to watch him. James was completely hard and he balled his hands into fists at his sides in order not to reach for John’s wrist. He longed to hold his forearm, not to guide him, but to feel the movements, to hold on to something.

In his bed, James felt himself leaking already. He groaned and finally allowed himself to lower his boxers, arching back to slide them down to his knees. He was burning hot in his own hand and he wanted to finish himself off, he craved the release, but he knew John wouldn’t let him finish so easily, so he kept his strokes light and slow.

John started biting lightly on his neck, not enough to let any marks, but it definitively sent pleasure flooding through him, right to his cock, urging him to seek more friction, more, more, more, and yet he forced himself to be still. Like John had ordered.

“You’re being very good for me, James. As a reward, you can hold on to my thigh.  You won’t touch anything else, just my thigh, alright?”

James nodded and had to take several deep breaths before he could relax his hand and lay it on John’s thigh. John’s skin was burning hot under his jeans. James moaned. He already wanted to touch more. He wanted to caress John’s thigh, and move upward until he found his cock. He bit his lip again and closed his eyes to ward off the craving.

John’s hand on him moved faster, stopping at the tip to gather the precome here and slick the way. James moaned again through his clenched teeth. He was surprised at how good it felt. How the effort of keeping himself still didn’t took his mind off the pleasure but was part of it, sublimated it.

James knew he wouldn’t be long now. The slick sound of his hand on himself was so obscene it made his blood thrum and his mind soar. He tried to keep silent, but he could hear needy sounds escaping him.

He imagined the same sounds back on the booth, along with John’s own heavy breathing and low groans. James could feel himself leaking all over John’s hand and tried to swallow his moans.

“You’re so pretty, James.” John continued speaking, “I love the way you blush, I love how your cock looks in my hand. I can’t wait to see your ass. I’m sure it would look so nice with my handprints on it, don’t you think? Answer me, James. Do you want my handprints on your ass?”

John didn’t stop stroking him, faster, and faster, and James couldn’t find his voice. He nodded and forced out a “Please”, his hand tightening on John’s thigh.

“Of course you’d love that. You love to be good for me. I love how good you are for me James. Just a little more and I’ll let you come.”

Then John suddenly stopped, his hand completely still at the base of James’ cock. James didn’t have time to choke back a sob. He felt bereft and a little lost. He knew he couldn’t move but he wanted, he wanted. He took several deep breaths to settle himself and anchor his hips in place instead of seeking the friction he wanted.

In his bed, James stopped, just like John would have done and waited, just to see how long he could hold. It felt good, in a cruel way. He tried to relax and enjoy the sensation of being ready, impatient, right at the edge, and yet not racing towards it. He could feel beads of sweat gathering on his forehead. Barely a minute after, he was moving again and he could feel it, mounting in him. He was so close now.

John’s hand in his hair tugged and James forgot everything about being silent. Arousal flashed though him and he groaned. He was whispering: “Please, please, John, please, I’m almost there” and John was licking his neck and it felt too much and he needed so very badly to come.

“Alright. You’ve been so good, I can’t dey you this any longer.” John conceded and his hand started moving again.

Now John was tightening his grip on his cock, moving faster and faster, driving James right to his climax and James could do nothing else but to hang on and follow him there, whispering his thanks over and over again.

James came in his own hand, toes curling, back almost arching off the bed with a groan louder than he had intended. It felt so intense and so good and oh, how he wished he had had the time to touch John’s cock in his fantasy. How he wished he had had the time to bend over for him and let John mark him. James let the images wash over him as he came and promised to speak to John about them, about what he wanted.

James had to lay for several minutes in his bed for his heart rate and his breathing to come back to normal. He had touched himself several times since he had started talking to John, but it had never felt so intense. He chuckled to himself, wondering how it would feel when John actually touched him. He wasn’t sure he was ready for that oncoming storm.