#for a wip of mine its not terrible

[dalbitpotion]

i wish i knew what this wip was about because it doesn’t sound half bad. but this was the only thing in the untitled document and i don’t even remember what it’s supposed to be. was it a mark and emma “relationship/friendship” focus fic? emma thinking she had a crush on mark and thus jules thinking emma had a crush on mark so it’s complicated? who knows! 

[kiss-me-cill-me]

Gravity Wins

Pairing: Robert Capa x Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Summary: The walls around here are too thin, and Capa can't seem to mind his own business.

Warnings: Smut, changes to several minor aspects of canon, alcohol/drinking (not related to the smut), mentions of vibrators, sexual frustration, masturbation (f), slight voyeurism, teasing, biting, quiet sex, and my obvious fixation on Capa's arms

A/N: In the words of Jayne Cobb... I'll be in my bunk. This was the winner of my "Bad Summary WIPs" poll. I had originally intended for "Gravity Wins" to be a working title that I would change later, but uh, it did win, so I'm keeping it lol. Happy Capa Month! 🥰

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

Life aboard Icarus II had its charms. The views were unlike anything else; the oxygen garden was truly breathtaking; and the ship itself was pleasantly quaint, in a close-knit kind of way. Most of the time, at least. Sometimes, that same pleasant quaintness had a habit of dissolving into claustrophobia; the tight quarters and lack of privacy suddenly surrounding you on all sides. 

That’s why it was important to find small moments of joy where you could, to pass the time. And that’s why you were currently in the canteen, with Cassie and Corazon squeezed in on either side of you, passing around a bottle of contraband vodka. 

It was cheap stuff; strawberry flavored. Not necessarily what you would have picked to drink, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and Cassie - god love her - had always had terrible taste in booze. Still, it got the job done. And getting to spend a night gossiping and getting a little tipsy every once in a while was just enough to break up the daily routine and keep the three of you from going mad.

Only three months into the mission, and your one bottle was already two-thirds empty. It was going to be a long flight.

“Y’know what I miss?” Cassie sighed, shoulders loose as she passed the bottle over to you. “Pizza.”

You took a swig - the cheap, artificial taste of fruit mixing terribly with the burn of alcohol - and passed the bottle on. Corazon slouched forward on the table.

“Don’t talk about food, Cassie. Please,” she whined. 

It wasn’t as if you were starving, but the bare-bones, monotonous rotation of meals you all ate while onboard the ship left a lot to be desired. You could feel your mouth watering just at the thought of something besides the same old efficient, nutritionally-dense meals you’d been eating for weeks now.

“I miss ice cream,” you jumped in.

Corazon groaned and took a sip of the vodka, rubbing her head.

“Enough already,” she begged.

“Fine then, Cora - what do you miss?” asked Cassie, reaching across your little circle to take the bottle back. She tipped it against her lips, taking a quick sip.

“My vibrator,” answered the biologist.

You and Cassie burst into laughter; high-pitched giggles bouncing off the walls of the cramped space. 

“I’m serious,” laughed Cora, nudging your shoulder.

“Oh, I believe you - I miss mine, too,” Cassie admitted. 

You hummed in agreement. It was a long journey, and until you’d stepped foot on the ship, you really hadn’t anticipated all the small comforts of home you would miss. If getting off could be considered a comfort.

“Here’s the real question though,” said Cassie, pointing the bottle at each of you in turn. “Would you fuck any of the guys?”

“On the ship?” you asked.

“You see any other guys around?” Cassie laughed. 

You joined her, feeling the hot flush of alcohol rise on your cheeks.

“What about Mace?” Cora offered.

“Too angry.” Cassie scrunched her nose.

“Sure, he’s hot-headed - but with guys, sometimes that means he’s a good fuck.”

Another round of laughter echoed after Corazon’s remark.

“Harvey?” you suggested, narrowing your eyes. Watching to see if either of the other women’s faces betrayed a genuine reaction.

“Kind of stuck-up,” Cora commented.

The group agreed, and lapsed into silence. The bottle made another round, and you felt yourself starting to tip past the point of a slight buzz.

“How ‘bout Capa?” Cassie asked.

“Maybe if he wasn’t such a dick,” Cora scoffed.

You snorted, then scrambled to control your expression.

“I think he’s kinda hot,” Cassie ventured.

A chorus of oooohs made their way around the table; Cassie waving them off.

“But I wouldn’t sleep with him,” she insisted. “Seems like the kind of guy to make himself come and then roll over.”

Corazon laughed sharply and then turned to face you.

“What about you, huh?” she asked, voice lowering. “Would you let Capa teach you all about physics and where he can stick ‘em?”

Before you had a chance to tease Cora about being so buzzed that she couldn’t even come up with a half-sensical sex joke about physics, the party was broken up by the arrival of a fourth person. Speak of the devil himself.

Capa glanced over at the three of you as he walked in, pausing to quietly open a cupboard and pull something out. Cora ignored him. Cassie took a swig of the vodka. And you quickly averted your eyes, looking down at your lap as your face burned.

“What are you all giggling about?” Capa droned.

“Nothing,” Cora snapped, a little harsher than was necessary.

Capa’s eyes narrowed, landing on the vodka. There was a moment of rigid silence.

“You know there’d be trouble if the captain found out about that,” he commented.

It wasn’t exactly a threat, but it wasn’t exactly a harmless observation either. Cassie stood up and slouched over to him, pressing the bottle against his chest. You were watching out of the corner of your eye, still too embarrassed to meet anyone’s gaze.

“But you wouldn’t tell on us - right, Capa?” Cassie asked sweetly. 

She was a little too drunk for her own good, and you felt a quick bolt of tension in your stomach. Capa gave each of you a questioning look, impossible to tell what he was thinking as he backed off and walked out the way he’d come in.

“Just keep it down in here,” he muttered.

Once he was out of earshot, Cassie sat down, and the three of you shared a shy laugh of relief. Corazon instantly broke the tension.

“See? What’d I say? He’s a dick.”

The next morning, you woke up groggier than you should have. After Capa’s interruption, the vodka bottle was quickly put away, hidden in Cassie’s bunk for another night. You hadn’t really had too much to drink, but the minor shame of getting caught mixed with the shitty vodka was enough to make you feel thrown off.

You shuffled out of bed, slipping into a pair of sandals after pulling on your pants. You shrugged into a shirt and ran a tired hand over your face.

On your way to the bathroom, Harvey stopped you. You only had the energy to listen to about half of what he was saying, still feeling grumpy and with a sour taste in your mouth. He was talking to you about some report; asking why it hadn’t been submitted in triplicate. You clenched your jaw, really not having the patience to deal with him right now.

You promised Harvey you’d re-file your report, and walked away before he could rope you into any more conversation. Cora’s assessment of him was accurate, you thought. Stuck-up.

As you walked, your thoughts wandered back to how the night had ended. Or, more accurately, to what had happened just before you’d been interrupted by the very topic of your conversation. Capa. You had been about to open your mouth to answer Cora’s question about him… or, not answer. You had actually been planning to make a joke and shift the attention away from yourself, specifically so that you wouldn’t have to give a straight yes or no. Because, of course, you didn’t want either of the other girls to know-

“Hey, wait up!” 

A voice behind you caused you to jump. You turned to see Cassie, already catching up behind you, oddly chipper considering that she’d been the one drinking more of the vodka than anybody last night.

“Hey, Cas.”

She fell into step beside you, easily keeping up with your sluggish pace. You tried to straighten up and match her energy, but it was hard to when all you wanted to do was crawl back in bed.

“Harvey just stopped me in the hallway,” Cassie told you. “Said something about getting you to file a report? I just wanted to warn you; he seemed pissed.”

Great - now Harvey was sending your friends after you.

“Yeah, we already talked about it,” you muttered. 

“You okay?” Cassie asked. “You look miserable.”

You felt miserable. And not just because of last night. For the past few weeks, you’d felt off. Moody. Unfocused. You'd been trying to push through it, but you felt yourself losing ground, and you were frustrated. 

It was partly to be expected - at least according to Searle, the ship’s de facto therapist, who you had talked to about your problems a few days ago. Space travel was taxing on the body, and sometimes doubly so on the mind. You felt cooped up, and getting mildly drunk with Cassie and Corazon only provided a temporary distraction.

“Cabin fever?” Cassie guessed.

“Something like that,” you agreed.

Cassie sighed. “Cora was right. We all really need to get laid.”

“Cassie!” 

You hissed her name, spinning around to check that no one was behind you eavesdropping. The last thing you needed was a repeat of last night.

“Relax - I’m not saying I’ll fuck you, so don’t get all excited,” Cassie joked. “But she is right. It gets to you, after a while.”

It certainly did, and you could attest to that fact. Last night it had seemed almost funny; giggling with your friends over missing your vibrators. But the truth was, three long months into your journey, you were already starting to go stir crazy from a life of near-celibacy.

“Maybe you just need to blow off some steam.” Cassie prodded, not letting up.

“Cas, no offense, but can we not discuss my sex life until I've been awake for at least twenty minutes?”

“What sex life?” Cassie laughed, a little too loudly, and you hurried to shush her again. “I'll shut up,” she promised, continuing on, “but all I'm saying is you look like you could use it.”

With one more conspiratorial giggle, she left, walking ahead of you down the bright hallway. You groaned inwardly, knowing she was right but also that there was nothing you could do about it. 

You went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on your face.

The day seemed to drag on worse than it ever had. You tried to remind yourself to be grateful; that you were lucky enough to have been selected as a member of the small crew in the first place, and that your mission was important to the fate of mankind. But it all felt so trivial when you couldn't focus on anything other than the building feeling of dissatisfaction that ached between your legs.

Talking about Capa last night really hadn't helped things. He was all you could think about as you tried in vain to get your work done. Twice, you caught yourself making mistakes in your calculations as your mind started to drift elsewhere.

What gave him the right to walk around in those tank tops, showing off his perfect arms and chiseled shoulders - that's what you wanted to know. And why did he even have such sexy arms to begin with? He was a physicist, for god's sake. He sat in his lab all day doing nothing that should have given him such infuriatingly noticeable forearm definition. 

Capa had a habit of putting his hands on his hips or in his pockets while he talked, and of running his fingers over his lips when he was thinking. Somehow, everything he did seemed to make a couple of thin veins poke just below his skin, as if to tease you into thinking what he'd look like holding you up against a wall. These were all little things you had noticed - found it impossible not to, actually - and they drove you crazy. Being cooped up was one thing, but being cooped up with Robert Capa was a whole other problem.

Cora was right, though. He was unapproachable at best and actively self-isolating at worst. Capa was the pariah of the crew, and whether or not he intended to be, acting that way made him come across as kind of rude. But to you, that only added to the appeal. The idea of getting with a guy who was so aloof made your fantasies run wild.

That night, you decided to take matters into your own hands. You slipped into your small room, dimmed the lights to thirty percent power, and shrugged out of your shirt and pants. 

This was nothing you hadn't done before; it wasn't exactly groundbreaking stuff to masturbate when you were horny. For weeks now, though, it hadn’t really been enough to scratch the itch that seemed to grab hold of you whenever you were around Capa. But it dulled the ache, and for now that was the best you could hope for.

Your bed was more of a bunk, recessed partially into the wall. You laid down on the springy mattress and sighed as your fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear. You were still in your panties and bra, feeling self conscious about stripping all the way down even though you were alone in your room. 

It felt like everybody was living right on top of each other, although luckily your dorm was at the very end of a row, so you only had a neighbor on one side. Unfortunately, that one neighbor just so happened to be Capa. 

Knowing that he was so physically close only added to your frustration as your fingers swept over your clit. But still, it wasn’t like you had a choice about Capa being in the room next to you, and you certainly didn't have anywhere else to do this. Your fingers trailed lower, over your core, and you gasped.

You were already wet. Of course you were; after doing nothing but daydreaming about Capa for practically the entire day, how could you not be? You pictured his face from last night; how he had briefly looked at each one of you as you’d sat around the table with your two friends. The rush that it sent through your veins was electric. Your cheeks felt hot as you imagined him, his eyes holding slight disappointment while he looked at you. 

You weren't sure why that turned you on, but it did. You wanted him to look at you with that soft little frown; his blue eyes piercing through you as if they could see every dirty fantasy that played out behind your own eyelids. 

You sped up, using your fingers to collect some of the wetness that eagerly pooled between your legs, and then bringing them back up to rub at your clit. Slow circles at first, and then desperate with more pressure. Your mattress squeaked, and you hissed, bringing the hand that wasn't touching yourself down to grab at the cotton sheets.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, careful to stay as quiet as you could.

The only sound in the room aside from your moans was the wet noise that greeted you as you stuck two fingers into yourself, not bothering to warm up with just one. You needed this. You needed more, but this was the best you were getting. You curled your fingers, arching your back and daring to let a whisper of his name cross your lips.

A few seconds later, you were stopped by a knock at your door.

You barely had time to pull your fingers out, scrambling to sit up and cover yourself with a blanket as your door slid open. There were no locks, which usually wasn't a problem, except of course at times like this when it really reminded you that you had absolutely no privacy.

You were expecting Cassie - she had a habit of barging in, instead of waiting for you to answer her knock. But instead, you were greeted again by the very face you had been picturing only seconds ago.

“Capa?” 

Your voice felt strangely small in the cramped space. Capa stepped through the door, letting it hiss closed behind him. His face was expressionless, except for the barest hint of that pout that drove you so crazy.

He didn’t answer right away, but took a step closer and leaned up against the wall that separated his room from yours. Then, his lips curled into a smile.

“You really don’t realize how thin these walls are, do you?”

The implication of his words crept up on you, until finally your face was frozen in a look of sheer horror. 

“How much did you hear?” you asked, voice just barely above a whisper.

“Enough.” Capa shifted his weight, pushing himself off of the wall to stand up. “Enough to figure out the answer to that question Corazon asked you last night.”

“You heard that, too?” you groaned.

Capa walked over and sat down on the edge of your bed. Not touching you yet or getting too close, but hovering just out of reach in a way that made your skin tingle and your heart do flips. You had no clue if he was torturing you or inviting you to make the next move.

“D’you always think about me when you touch yourself?” Capa asked, bringing the volume of his voice down to match yours.

He sounded so sexy like that. He must have known what he was doing to you; his eyes were practically glowing with mirth and his lips were still curled into that smile. You shifted uncomfortably.

“I’d… rather not answer that,” you choked out.

Capa’s eyes darkened. No answer was as much of an affirmation as admitting it.

“You should have just asked for my help,” Capa teased. “You obviously need something. And it’s not like I’m twiddling my thumbs over there. Cumming into my own hand got old weeks ago.”

Your whole face burned hot with embarrassment at what he was admitting. And yet, at the same time, you shivered. The blanket you’d haphazardly thrown over yourself only covered your waist, and your bare shoulders were suddenly prickled with goosebumps. 

Finally, Capa reached out and put a warm hand on your shoulder, then dragged it down the side of your arm, taking your bra strap with it.

“Want me to touch you?” he asked.

His voice was low, and you could feel yourself getting pulled down with it. You knew that it would be stupid to do this; sleeping with Capa could only open a Pandora’s box. If it was good, you wouldn’t be able to get off on your own fingers for the rest of your time on the ship. If it was bad, you still had years to spend cramped up together. Your room right next to his in the already-tight quarters. It wasn’t as if you’d be able to avoid him after an awkward hook-up.

Suddenly, though, you realized that you were thinking way too much.

“Yes,” you whispered. 

Capa’s hand trailed farther down your arm; grabbed your wrist. You bit your cheek, wary of making any more noises after his earlier comment. All the crew’s quarters were laid out close together; if you were too loud, the whole ship would hear.

“Tell me what you want me to do to you,” Capa hummed, bringing you close as he leaned in, his lips practically brushing against yours. That seemed like a good enough place to start as any.

“K-kiss me - please,” you whimpered.

Capa’s lips found yours, and the rush that surged through you was almost overwhelming. It had been months since you’d kissed anyone, and the press of his slightly chapped lips against yours was doing more to you than it should have. 

Your mouth opened, and his tongue instantly pushed in. He was moving slow, but with a hunger that sent your mind racing with thoughts of what he could do to you if you asked. You felt Capa’s breath against your face; heard the low moan that vibrated through both of you as it came from the depths of his chest.

“What else?” Capa urged, pulling away. “We both know that’s not all you want.”

You could hardly think straight, much less put together a sentence. Instead, you guided his hand to your chest, and felt as his fingers squeezed. As he did, he leaned back in for another kiss.

You had put Capa’s hand over your bra, but he quickly slipped it under the fabric to rake over your bare skin. His fingers pressed into you, kneading at delicate flesh. You moaned, opening your mouth against his kiss again, and he bit hungrily at your lips.

“So soft,” he murmured, flicking a thumb over your nipple. “But that’s not where you really want me to touch…”

His voice was airy, even as he gripped at you with an intensity that almost hurt. He lowered his rough hand from your breast, and pushed past the blanket still draped over your legs. Teasing at the hem of your panties for only a second, he deepened the kiss as his fingers pushed lower and lower. Finally, he reached the wetness that was still pooling between your legs.

“You’re fucking soaked,” he groaned. You felt your cheeks heat up again. “You really want it that badly?”

“Fuck, Capa,” you whined.

“Want me to touch you like this?” he teased, voice still husky as he pressed one finger into you.

He had barely pushed in the pad of his fingertip, and you were already sinking into the mattress, unable to hold yourself up. Capa added a second finger, then repositioned himself, squeezing into the too-small bed with you to hover over your frame as his fingers roamed deeper. 

“Yes - just like that,” you begged. “Don't stop.”

Capa curled his fingers inside you, and you opened your mouth in a silent gasp. Your eyes had squeezed shut, and when you opened them again, you saw him looking pleased with himself, gazing down at you as you lost your mind over his touch.

“Bet you've thought about me doing this,” he whispered. “Isn't that right?”

“Yes-” Your voice hitched. “Yes- ah- thought about- cumming on your fingers.”

Capa smirked and brought his lips to your ear.

“You're not gonna cum on my fingers.”

He pulled them out of you, and you groaned at the loss. You felt his stubble scrape your cheek as he got up off of you, and you watched, half in a trance, as he took off his boxers. You hadn't even noticed until now, but he was just in his underwear and a t-shirt. He pulled the shirt off, too, and then went about removing the last of your clothes. 

You suddenly had the urge to cover yourself; like you now had too much on display even though Capa had already been watching your face twist in pleasure while he was knuckle-deep in you. You brought your arms up to cover your chest, but Capa gently brushed them away.

“Don't be shy; it's nothing I haven't already imagined,” he winked.

Again, the implications had you almost slack-jawed. You had no idea if it was true or if he was just teasing you, but you really didn't care.

“Let me show you what I've thought about,” Capa went on.

He took your hand and brought it to his hard cock, wrapping your fingers around it. He sighed a little as you touched him, softly, and the sound sent another shiver down your spine.

“C’mon - wanna feel you,” Capa said, his eyes half-hooded. “Use your hand. Squeeze me.”

Your heart fluttered as you followed his instructions; tightening your grip on his shaft until he was groaning above you. You gave him a few tentative pumps.

“So good,” Capa groaned.

The dull ache had returned between your legs; you were still missing the touch of his fingers. Even though you were happy to touch him as well, you needed the friction. You started to squirm, rubbing your legs together.

“Impatient,” Capa laughed. “Don't worry - m’not gonna tease you too much longer.”

His mouth dipped to your neck, pressing a kiss along your collarbone. Your hand flexed, and Capa groaned deeply again. The sound was enough to send you reeling; you thought you might come from his voice alone if he didn't hurry up.

“Stop teasing,” you begged. Breathless, and fully aware of just how desperate you sounded.

“I guess we've both waited long enough, huh?” Capa chuckled.

Your hand relaxed, and Capa’s came up to guide himself, hovering right at the space where you wanted him, but not pushing in just yet.

“Be quiet now,” Capa reminded you, and he kissed you as he started to press in. “Wouldn’t want anybody to hear you.”

You would have cried out, not caring who heard you or how loud you were, had Capa's lips not been pressed roughly against yours, swallowing your muffled moan as he bottomed out. He pulled back to watch you, panting like a dog beneath him, and smirked again.

“Fuck, this is so much better than my hand,” he said, breathing a little heavy himself. “M’not gonna last long.”

The idea sent your head spinning all over again, and your legs squeezed his hips a little tighter. The thought of Capa, coming too quick as he buried himself inside you, turned you on so much that you moaned out loud, and Capa quickly slapped a hand over your mouth. His palm was rougher than you'd imagined it.

“Told you to be quiet,” he warned.

When he started to move, you were grateful for the hand covering your lips, because without it you certainly would have woken the whole crew. As it was, Capa had to press his palm a little harder to muffle the moans that escaped. You were shameless; couldn't think about anything but the way his cock was stretching you out and spearing into you. It was more than enough to make you forget where you were.

“Not that I don't normally love hearing you get off,” Capa whispered, “but if you keep doing that, we're gonna get caught.”

Had he heard you the other times you'd touched yourself? You thought of him, silently palming his cock in the next room over, listening to your soft moans and breathy sighs as you tried - and failed - to stay quiet. 

Capa, unlike you, still had control of his voice; never letting it rise above a whisper. You wished you could hear him - how you were really making him feel. You bet he would make the prettiest noises if he'd let himself.

“Gonna be good?” Capa asked as he sped up.

You nodded, and he removed his hand. Instantly, the way his cock hit a spot deep inside of you made you hiss with pleasure, teeth clenched as you fought to stay quiet. 

“Fuck, Capa - driving me crazy,” you breathed.

“I know,” he agreed. “Feels good, doesn't it?”

“Mm-hmm…”

“If you can stay quiet, then you can cum on my cock.”

The way it felt like he was giving you permission sent another wave of heat through your whole body. You wanted to come for him. The feeling that had been steadily building now felt like it was nearly about to flow out of you; you could so easily let yourself fall over into oblivion.

“Can’t stay quiet,” you whined. “God, you feel so- ah!”

You gasped as Capa’s cock twitched inside of you, his hips continuing to swirl against yours. He was almost there, too; you could feel it. And the realization only pushed you closer.

“Shit,” Capa swore.

He was clearly at odds with himself, over whether to cover your mouth again so that the two of you wouldn’t get caught, or give in and let you scream for him. His hips faltered, and you moaned again. He was running out of time to make a decision.

“Bite down on my shoulder,” he said, finally. “Fuck - I’m gonna come.”

He didn’t have to tell you twice. You had thought very often about what it would be like to sink your teeth into his skin. Seeing even an inch of it peeking out from behind the collar of his shirt or on display in one of those fucking tank tops was enough to drive you crazy. You bit down, just in time as you finally let yourself give in to the building pressure.

As you bit him, Capa swore again, and scrambled to pull out of you, as best he could with your bodies still pressed together. He was coming, white ropes painting your stomach as you came down from your own high. 

You wished you had gotten to squeeze him more. The idea of him emptying into you as you milked his cock was almost too good to imagine. As your senses returned, you realized that Capa was speaking to you.

“So… Did you enjoy me teaching you about physics?” He was panting, but there was still light in his voice as he teased you, echoing Cora’s words from last night.

“Stooop,” you protested.

“If you didn’t, we don’t have to do this again,” Capa teased.

“Noo,” you mewled, voice still weak from your orgasm. “Can’t go back to fucking my fingers now…”

“Yeah,” Capa agreed, bringing his lips down for another rough kiss. “Me neither.”

The next night, Cassie proposed taking out the vodka again, and the three of you met in the canteen, as usual. Prepared for another late night of gossiping.

“You seem brighter today,” Cassie noticed, facing you.

“Yeah,” you replied. “I’m feeling a little better.”

You left it at that. You weren’t sure how long you and Capa could keep your new arrangement a secret, but you also weren’t rushing to tell the girls. The bottle of vodka made its first round, and the three of you started to speculate about which member of your small crew was most likely using up all the hot water. You’d all been taking freezing cold showers for weeks.

Only a few minutes passed before Capa came sauntering into the room again. Just like last time, he glanced at your group before reaching up to get something out of a cabinet.

“You three never learn, do you?” he commented.

You felt your cheeks start to heat up again. His eyes focused on you, briefly, and then moved on to something else. Cassie puffed up, straightening in her seat as she faced him.

“Go away, Capa,” she huffed. “This is a private conversation.”

Capa came over to lean on the table, glaring down at your small group.

“Oh yeah, I’m so interested in your riveting conversations about how I get off and roll over.”

Cassie’s face turned red. Corazon glared at him. And you felt your soul fully exit your body.

“You were eavesdropping on us?” Cassie shrieked.

“No - you just weren’t being quiet,” Capa corrected.

“The walls here are too damn thin,” Cora muttered.

Capa had a small smile as he straightened up and walked off, pausing just before he exited the room. He turned around, staring blankly at Cassie as he spoke.

“I’m not upset or anything,” he said. “And besides, your friend over there knows it’s not true, so…”

He left, taking with him all the air in the room. Cassie and Cora stared at each other, eyes wide in disbelief, and then pointed their gaze at you.

“You fucked Capa?!” Cassie shouted.

“Cassie, hush,” Cora snapped. She leaned in. “But seriously, we need all the details. Spill.”

You buried your face in your hands, trying in vain to hide your embarrassment. Your two friends badgered you relentlessly, begging for the whole story behind how it happened.

Somewhere else in the ship, Capa smirked.

[ashtonlc3]

Severitus/Sevitus Fic Rec

Thought I’d share my own personal fic list that I’ve complied over time featuring Snape and Harry developing some kind of father-son relationship, all the way through either bio-dad, adoption, guardian or mentorship. All of these fics are COMPLETE because after OME leaving me on the world’s biggest cliff hanger and losing the fic for many months because I’m an idiot, I have serious WIP trust issues. They’re also usually really long because I love angsty, slow-burn fics.

I started taking in-depth notes while I read through fics a while ago so that I would NEVER lose a favourite fic again (the title of one of my favs is in Latin, so I never remember what it’s called). And also because I have a terrible memory so remembering what happened in each fic is quite difficult for me. Assuming I know how to count there should be over 16 fics listed here.

I’ve also rated each fic out of 10 and added a couple of notes for each fic (I didn’t add any with a rating of 5 or lower cause these are meant to be recommendations not a reading log). I’ve put them in order of how much I liked them, 10 and 9s being my equivalent to an Outstanding, 8 and 7 an Exceeds Expectations and a 6 an Acceptable.

TW: As is usually the case with Severitus, ALL of these fics have some degree of child abuse in them, courtesy of the Dursleys, with various degrees of intensity.

O Mine Enemy By Kirby Lane 10/10

You’ve probably already read this one because it is legendary in the Severitus genre and a staple for any fic list. In the event that you haven’t, you SHOULD read it ASAP. Starts summer of sixth year. 

TW addiction/substance abuse

Victus per Reproba Monumentum By firefly5151 9/10

For a long time I didn’t read anything that had Sev as Harry’s bio dad, it felt implausible, OOC and just was not as good as the guardian/mentor trope. That is until I read this fic, and now the bio-dad trope is my favourite. This fic is the Snape of Severitus, there are a LOT of flaws but I love it anyway. The plot is a bit questionable, it has manipulativeDumbledore (which I don’t like in fics) and Ron and Hermione pretty much forget Harry exists. BUT the emotional journey is amazing, and really angsty. Starts during summer of 6th year.

The Subterfuge By Murai-Sakura 9/10

This fic is on the newer side having been written in 2020. My first time reading this fic I had a few mixed feelings about it which made me reluctant to read it again despite really liking it. Reading it again for the second time I can’t understand what past Ash’s problem was because it was magnificent. Granted I remember it being darker than it actually is (it may have been due to me reading The Hunger Games in-between, who knows). I’m rambling, in short I think I liked this one a little more than A Year Like None Other. The plot is unique enough that the story doesn’t feel like your reading a rehash of every Severitus fic ever while still hitting the emotional points necessary for a satisfying fic. It’s definitely more mentor than father figure and is set during fifth year so watch out for Umbridge.

TW suicide attempt and graphic child abuse 

A Year Like None Other By aspeninthesunlight 9/10

Another classic whose reputation speaks for its-self, written before HBP came out and is also insanely long. I’ve actually never read the sequals either because one was enough for me and it’s in Draco’s pov. It also has the added bonus of brother bonding between Draco and Harry. Set during 6th year. 

TW self harm and graphic torture

Perception is Everything By Kendra James 8/10

This was one of the first few Severitus fics I ever read so it has a very special place in my heart despite the plot being a very standard Severitus setup. Set Christmas 6th year, Snape finds out about the Dursleys abuse when Harry gets sick over Christmas break.

You've forgotten who I am By CastlePheonix 8/10

I’ve only read this one once so I’m taking past Ash’s word for it. Set during 5th year, a what if Snape actually hit Harry with the jar after the Pensieve incident. Harry gets temporary amnesia and spends some time in Spinner’s End with Snape. 

TW addiction/substance abuse

Whelp & Whelp II - The Wrath of Snape By jharad17 7/10

The standard run down; the Dursleys are dicks, Sev finds out. This is pre-Hogwarts (7 years old) so you know Harry is going to be adorable and clingly. Vernon has Harry tied up in the yard like a dog.

Namesake Necklace By WiCeBa 7/10

This fic is a little more recent I think. Set summer before the start of 5th year, Harry and Dudley are de-aged. This ones quite the adventure and Sirius is still alive so you know there’s gonna be a fight over Harry.

What I Must Ask You To Do By VeraRose19 7/10

Set at the end of GOF and continues into 7th year. This story is not just a Severitus but also an exploration of the blossoming friendship between Severus and Sirius as they co-parent Harry together. The story is far fluffier than it is angsty and relies quite heavily on canon for plot whilst also taking out the adventure and death toll. It’s more a fluffy, canon, best case scenario than an angsty, slow-burn fic.

Emerald eyes By JadeSullivan 7/10

I cannot remember this one at all so once again I’m taking past Ash’s word for it. This is set during 2nd year and does feature corporal punishment.

Prisoners By Whitetail 7/10

Harry is de-aged to 4 and Sev has partial paralysis. So they stay at a little cottage by the sea. Hermione features quite heavily in this one, both her and Harry end up with Sev gaining guardianship of them.

To Recollect the Future By oliversnape  7/10

When Harry is hit with the killing curse in DH Harry and Sev are sent back to first yeah. Harry and Sev pretty much spend the whole fic Horcrux hunting, its a fun bonding experience.

In plain sight & Close to the Chest By waitingondaisies 7/10

This is always a fun one. Set during 6th year, Sev found out as a spy so Albus turns him into a 16 year old Gryffindor and gives him an embarrassing name. Seriously Albus, Alfonse “Eli” Hopkirk, really? 

Time Left Today By gzdacz 7/10

Sev and Harry are on the run after Quirrell is killed by an 11 year old. The road trip is quite fun although I don’t really like the ending too much though.

The Trouble with Polyjuice By LilyEvansDouble 6/10

2nd year. Features Snape as Harry’s biological father after the Polyjuice incident.

Summer of Bonding By Magica Draconia 6/10

This one is set after PS as the Dursley never pick Harry up from Kings Cross so Harry stays with Snape. Snape collects horse figurines in this one and is very heavily featured in this story. So its a bit too niche for my liking but otherwise still a good read.

And that’s all I got. I’ll probably come back to this list (yeah cause I forgot to put in tags) and add more fics as I read them. (When I add new fics I’ll reblog this post with a change log so you don't need to read through the list again to figure out what’s been changed.) My TBR is usually just as long so ... to forever be continued.

[daffi-990]

WIP Wednesday ✍️

Tagged by @ladydorian05 . Thank you lovely 🥰. And everyone please make sure to check out what they shared!

I finally got around to writing something to do with the poker date from The Lightning Amnesia Fic. I don’t know if I’ll keep it .. I mean I probably will unless something else comes to me because I’m struggling with it 🙃.

So here it is, in all its unedited glory …

It had been a great night, Buck a warm presence beside him, their knees pressed together under the table. The drinks had been flowing and so had the laugher, everyone enjoying themselves and having a good time. Eddie had been off his poker game, too caught up in watching Buck wipe the table with his math skills, eyes bright and smile mischievous.

By the end of the night he felt tipsy, not on the whisky he’d had, but on Buck. Having him close all night, the scent of his cologne surrounding him, it was intoxicating. He wanted to put his head into the crook of Buck’s neck and breath him in, taste him with his teeth and tongue.

They’d collected their winnings and left, Buck being told he was welcome back only once his math powers wore off.

“So how did you become a part of a secret first responders poker club?” Buck asks as they pull to a stop at a red light.

Eddie drums his fingers on the steering wheel, keeping his eyes fixed on the lights.

“After the shooting, Mehta touched base with me to see how my recovery was going. He invited me to one of their games one night, and I’ve been going ever since. We try to meet up at least once a month.” The light changes and Eddie guides the car through the intersection before he continues, “Most of the first responders who come and play have been seriously injured in the line of duty, or come pretty close to it. I’m honestly surprised you weren’t invited after the ladder truck” He spares a glance over to Buck who tilts his head, lips pressed together in thought.

“Maybe they were going to but then the whole lawsuit happened”

Eddie nods in agreement. “Maybe”

They don’t talk for the rest of the drive, though Buck does sing along to a few songs on the radio. He’s loud and terribly off key, but Eddie doesn’t care, Buck is alive and here beside him and that’s all that matters right now.

No pressure tagging: @callmenewbie @callaplums @devirnis @disasterbuckdiaz @exhuastedpigeon @eddiebabygirldiaz @eddiediaztho @fortheloveofbuddie @forthewolves @giddyupbuck @hippolotamus @honestlydarkprincess @jesuisici33 @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @messyhairdiaz @princessfbi @rainbow-nerdss @spotsandsocks @thewolvesof1998 @try-set-me-on-fire @wikiangela @wildlife4life and anyone else wanting to share ☺️

[iamamythologicalcreature]

Six Sentence Sunday! The sequel!

So... Yes. I am still working on this little (I hope it's little) "What if Baz succeeded in stealing Simon's voice in 5th year?" fanfic of mine. Because. Um. I like the potential for angst? So much angst. Also other feelings. But for the purposes of today's little snippet: ANGST.

Since I missed last week (and might miss next week if I can't manage to write something new between now and then), you get 12 lines instead of 6! Also because the snippet wouldn't have worked so well cut in half.

You already know the premise of my fic, so this shouldn't come as too much of a shock: Baz did a bad thing, and he remembers it too well.

He didn’t start our would-be confrontation with any of his usual questions or accusations. He started with my name. "Baz—" That single utterance morphed into the most terrible sound I’d ever heard. Would ever hear. Snow choked on it, because it wouldn’t stop. It twisted and writhed in the air after clawing its way out of him. It became an unrecognizable, fading wail. Only I knew. I never stopped hearing my name. My name on Snow’s lips took forever to die. And as awful as that slow death had been, the silence that followed was a thousand times worse.

(Yeah. Canon divergence begins here. I did say I'm here for maximum angst XD)

Side note: Looking for brainstorming/writing buddies so I don't overwhelm the ones I already have. Ahem. If this story idea intrigues you and you'd like to let me babble at you a lot (I am happy to accept return babble if you also have a WIP), let me know. It's the only way I get anything done, apparently.

Bonus picture of my pile of notecards, mostly to prove I'm doing something, under the cut, along with tags!

(I am posting this at 7-ish am, then going to bed, so if you've posted already all you lovelies in other time zones, consider this a friendly wave hello! Will read stuff tonight!)

@nightimedreamersworld @cutestkilla @hushed-chorus @alleycat0306 @artsyunderstudy @aristocratic-otter @prettygoododds @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @supercutedinosaurs @martsonmars @fatalfangirl @thewholelemon @raenestee @ileadacharmedlife @ivelovedhimthroughworse @ic3-que3n @facewithoutheart @rimeswithpurple @erzbethluna @ebbpettier @ionlydrinkhotwater @whogaveyoupermission @theearlgreymage @philaet0s @scone-lover @youarenevertooold @whatevertheweather @brilla-brilla-estrellita

(Want tags? Don't want tags? LMK!)

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

⥇ rags / 30 / MDNI 18+ / ao3 / ask box (anon on)

[ 01/03/2024 ]: Went ahead and posted a Gone Fishin' sign on the door because I've been non-stop wringing my hands over not writing the last few months. Just got burned out between working retail hell season and some home-life stress, and decided, eh, fuck it, might as well take the pressure off myself to start off the year. Love y'all! <33

Follows and somtimes replies from @vide0-nasties!

Tags: My Work / Fic Recommendations / Inspiration (Quotes & Art) / WIP Previews / Housekeeping / Answered Asks

⥇ masterlist under the cut

⥇ recently posted

hot in sarajevo ii

x f!operator!reader - NSFW! pwp

After a successful assassination, König is in a foul mood after being forced into the role of spotter. He takes his pound of flesh in the form of frustrated sex. After an intoxicating string of kills behind your anti-material rifle, like hell are you going down without baring your teeth and snapping. Part II: sweet to the sour, with a surprise ending.

⥇ all works

call of duty: modern warfare

⥇ captain price

for the sake of having you near [ part: i / ii / iii ]

x f!veteran!reader - divorce au

Twenty years you had known John, and for seventeen of them you were married. After a career-ruining injury in the field, you were forced out of the service, and the marriage did not survive your survival. But: when John goes on leave, he always finds his way home to you.

⥇ könig

hot in sarajevo [ part i / ii ]

x f!operator!reader - NSFW! pwp

After a successful assassination, König is in a foul mood after being forced into the role of spotter. He takes his pound of flesh in the form of frustrated sex. After an intoxicating string of kills behind your anti-material rifle, like hell are you going down without baring your teeth and snapping.

to leave the blood stay in the veins [ part i, ii ]

monster!könig x f!cursed!reader - NSFW! monsterfucker au

There is a beast in the woods, and it leaves so little meat on the bone that not even carrion birds find value in the corpses it leaves behind. Your boyfriend thinks it’s funny. König, under his ever-present hood, laughs, sharp in the tooth. “Anyone dumb enough to head into the trees is dumb enough to die,” he teases, but there is an arrogance and a contempt swimming deep in his bloodshot blue eyes.

⥇ nikto

your bones singing into mine [ part i / ii / iii / iv ]

x gn!bioweapons engineer!reader - slice of life

You were once a brilliant thing, a creator of terrible and powerful miracles of modern science that could bring the world to its knees. A Russian crime syndicate that swept you up tucked you away in a small, dark place to keep you safe while they moved, leaving you to die a slow death in a forgotten hole. Nikto arrives at this barren corner looking for information and resources, and he finds exactly that in you. He decides that he will keep you, put you back to rights.

[jumpscaregoose]

how I make my manga patches: a shitty tutorial

figured I'd make a post explaining my technique for making the patches I put on my hororen jacket and other projects. because they're cool and more people should do them

here's how I turned this panel into this patch for my hao pants I'm working on:

you will need:

fabric to paint on (I'd recommend a white fabric without a lot of texture. I'm pretty sure the one I use is some kind of polycotton blend?)

basic sewing supplies (needle, pins, thread)

a laptop/tablet you can lie flat on your desk OR a lightbox + printer

pencil (the softer and darker the better, I use 6b)

thin paintbrush

acrylic paint

fabric medium (optional)

thick gloves (if you're tracing off a touchscreen you WILL need these)

pinking shears (optional)

scissors

decide the scale of your patch. for this project I made a digital mockup and then measured how big I wanted it to be on my project. I settled on 3 inches wide

download the image you plan to trace and either zoom in to the right size or scale and print it (I don't own a lightbox myself but using it should provide a similar effect to my method.

lay out your screen or lightbox flat on your workspace and put your fabric over the image (I'd also recommend ironing your fabric before this if you can). If your fabric is thin enough you should be able to see the lines through it.

this is where you want to put on your gloves if you're tracing off a touchscreen. without gloves, your hands can sometimes cause the screen to move or zoom in while you're tracing.

now you just need to trace the image onto the fabric with your pencil. this is the absolute WORST PART and to minimize suckage I recommend

checking you're aligned with your previous marks before you make a new one

tensing your fabric along the grain or crossgrain with your hand as you draw, so it doesn't shift (don't fuck with the bias that'll cause problems)

taking your tracing OFF the screen to add the finer details (tracing directly is most important for the big shapes and faces)

using a soft, dark pencil to avoid damaging your screen (you can also add a sheet of transparent plastic between the fabric and the screen, but I've found this makes the fabric slip more)

shading in the flat black areas so you don't forget them later

here's my penciling after finishing on the screen and fully finished

4. now it's time to paint over the pencil

I use a cheap, probably terrible acrylic paint and mix it with a textile/fabric medium. This makes the paint flow better and raises its longevity on the fabric. It's not necessary to use, especially if you don't plan to wash your finished project (acrylic paint is plastic once it dries, it shouldn't chip off too easily).

then you just. paint over the pencil. take you time and steady your hand on the desk. if you're worried about smudges work top-bottom and left-right/right-left depending on your dominant hand.

here's mine fully painted. once the paint is dry, I heat seal it with an iron (and a pressing cloth, so if it sticks I don't have hao fused to my iron forever)

5. cut out the patch. I like to use pinking shears to reduce future fraying, but if you don't have those you can either manually cut notches or fuck it we ball a straight edge.

then you just pin and sew it to your project. boom done

now you can make as many as you want and add them to everything!

I've used this technique for:

aaaaallllllllllllll the patches on my hororen jacket (took FOREVER don't try to hand sew through SUEDE kids)

tie-on pockets (EVERYONE MAKE THESE THEY'RE SO HANDY)

a cell phone pocket on my cozmez ita bag

painting my favourite manga pages directly onto a skirt (wip because that fabric is a nightmare)

you don't need to just stick to manga panels either, anything works as long as it has clean, defined lines (but manga/comic panels are definitely easiest). if you look at some of the patches on my jacket you can see I've used coloured screenshots and official art and just traced over them in black. would recommend colour correcting images like that to make the lines easier to see, though

I love this technique because I love dressing up for cons but I don't enjoy making cosplays themselves. so I just make an insane jacket wear it to a con and then wear it in regular ass life. shoutout to the three people who recognized my jacket at fanexpo toronto last august. highlight of my life.

[thelordofgifs]

2. a character whose POV you’re currently exploring

19. the most interesting topic you’ve researched for a fic

(fic writer asks)

2. I have a lot of WIPs, with a decent number of POV characters between them! But probably the most interesting of those is Curufin’s POV in my AU where he survives the Second Kinslaying. I’d written Curufin before, in the fairest stars, and he’s always such a deliciously terrible mix of anger and bitterness and grief.

19. I went a little overboard researching Ilimbë. As well as a fun late-night delve into the history of copper mining (weird but true: Wikipedia saves its most fascinating articles for 1am), I decided it was absolutely essential I read some feminist scholarship on the Pygmalion myth, found this article, realised I couldn’t access it since I was not a student at the time, and TEXTED THE SMALL SIBLING to say “hey please send me this pdf using your university jstor subscription”. I do not really know why I’m like this. Interesting article, though.

[devilbrakers]

WIP Thursday!

was tagged by @lucien-lachance and @moonmothers to post a wip of mine and i finally have something to share jfkdslfjkdl. dmitri reawakens wip. kind of a warning for descriptions of someone dying but nothing terribly graphic, i don't think.

tagging: @numbaoneflaya @time-is-a-lake @shadowshearts @nuclearstorms @celticwoman @morvaris @mrs-theirin @druidgroves @saratrantoul @cwahsont @katsigian @swanfey and anyone else who'd like to join!

It’s cold – impossibly cold. The chamber is dark, the only thing he can make out is the crumbling brick only a couple feet from his face. The platform is harsh under his bare skin, grittier and rougher than he remembers. He shifts slightly, expecting the typical discomfort one has when moving their joints for the first time in a while but it doesn’t come. His movements are fluid and quick, much quicker than he’s used to. He almost flings himself off the platform when he rolls over. He catches himself, a hand flying out on its own volition and his palm cracks the brick of the altar he lays on. He swallows thickly, staring at the sight for a moment before he looks up. Better not to dwell on that, he thinks.

It’s too quiet for his liking. Nina should already be yelling at him, degrading him for ruining her ritual and denying her the ‘power of a god’, as she called it just hours ago. He should be dead, really, granted freedom away from this wretched place. He wanted to die but it seems the creators will not be granting that kindness today. He sits up, brushing his hands off on his pants and watching as the dust scatters. He looks up again, searching the nearby area for any sign of his sister but finds nothing besides a trail of blood smeared up the stairs and towards the path leading to their estate. Well, that can’t be anything pleasant. He slides off the altar, unbothered by the jagged pebbles digging into his bare feet as he slowly walks towards the blood. The scent of iron fills his nostrils more and more the closer he gets to it and a sense of dread settles itself deep within his chest. Surely, it’s not Nina’s blood? It seems unlikely in his mind and yet they were the only two people here so there aren’t many other logical options.

A quiet squelching sound comes as he steps in the liquid, cold and sticky underneath his feet. He shudders and side-steps away from it, walking up the stairs and following the path to the estate. The smell is overwhelming now and he has to resist the urge to gag as he plugs his nose. But he can taste it when he breathes through his mouth. He takes in a shaky breath and decides to hold it for now. His shoulders relax somewhat at the relief it provides. He continues on the path until he reaches the end, stopping under next to the sign that holds their family name.

The sight before him should bother him more than it does, it really should. And yet…

There she lays on her side while she reaches for the stairs leading up to the front door of their home. Blood pools next to her, coming out of every crevice in her head. She’s stopped moving but somehow, Dmitri can hear the quiet, shallow breathing that struggles to come out of her mouth. If she hears him approach, she either doesn’t care or no longer has the strength to move her head. He crouches down beside her, looking down at her face as blood drips out of her mouth. She glances at him and tries to say something but all that comes out is a shaky breath along with a soft rattling sound. He almost laughs at her, he wants to laugh at her but he can’t bring himself to. He says nothing as he stares at her, his expression blank. She was always pale but she’s nearly translucent now. If she were more lucid, she’d surely be throwing a fit over the blood on her skin and all over her clothing. She almost looks… guilty as her dual-colored eyes stare up at him or perhaps he’s simply deluding himself. It’s just distress from not being able to meet her goal, confusion as to why it’s her dying on the cold ground and not him. But he has little time to dwell on it because only a moment later, those eyes go blank as she lets out a final breath. Her body goes slack and he’s left by himself in the dark.

[divinekangaroo]

WIP: a honeymoon fic teaser for @deliciousnutcomputer for such patience :)

tommy x lizzie; drinking/inebriation, friction, very unreliable (drunk) narrator XD

(it might not seem it but this one will have the most terribly sweet ending i can possibly imagine)

Day 1:

5:00 PM: Arrive at Victoria Embankment in London to board the Orient Express. 6:00 PM: Departure from London towards Dover. Enjoy dinner in the dining car. Socialise in the lounge and bar cars.  Live music and conversation. Admire the passing countryside and towns as the train continues its journey. During the evening, compartments will be prepared for sleeping with the seating converted into luxury beds.

*

‘There’s fingerprints.’

Lizzie looked up from her plate. Quail at perfect moistness, green peppercorn. Some kind of broccoli sliced into the thinnest of curls, transparent as if green glass, or a museum’s pressed dissection of a small tree. Never particularly been intrigued by the idea of matching wine to meal, one of those things the upper classes pretended was real but wasn’t just to create another barrier, Lizzie learned otherwise: something about the way the white wine, selected for her meal especially, that made everything taste so much better. Hadn’t been the first sip, but layered, as if taste was something that could build over time, acquired, and she was in the thick of complementary layered bliss on her tongue right now. 

The green-eyed sommelier explained it to her with a masculine grace and an attention she’d felt warmly gratified by, as he’d seemed to recognise instantly Tommy wouldn’t pay attention, and instead poured his French-accented charm onto her instead. She’d listened, rapt, and drank everything he gave her.

As if giving a toast, Tommy raised his tumbler to the burnished chandeliers that gave the dining car such atmosphere, frowning.

‘See?  Fingerprints.’

‘Are they your fingerprints?’

‘Course they’re not mine. Look, there’s specks of dirt in this glass.’

‘Tommy.’

Now he was sniffing the contents. ‘Is this scotch? Taste it for me. They’ve given me scotch. In someone else’s fucking unwashed glass.’

‘Can you please get your glass out of my face—’

‘Where’s this bar car? I’m not taking this.’

How was she supposed to know if he didn’t? ‘Given there’s only two directions you could possibly go, I’m sure you’ll find it.’

Tommy gave her an unreadable look, untucked his chair, and stalked out the back end of the dining car, holding the glass out as if it was some dripping bloody organ. Then he hit his shoulder on the doorframe as he passed and paused to glare at it.  

Lizzie looked at her plate to avoid seeing if he'd start a fight with mostly inanimate architecture. She ate another careful mouthful of quail with a slice of broccoli folded onto the gold fork by way of the gold knife. There were still three forks and three knives on the table next to her plate, and three spoons in different sizes arranged at the top of the gold-rimmed plate. She assumed one set had been for the prawn thing in the glasses Tommy waved away before the waiters could approach their table, which she forgave because a disgust for shellfish couldn’t be argued with; another for the soup course he’d looked at and sent back without checking with her, which she didn’t forgive when she’d not even the chance to see what it was. But she wasn’t sure about the final cutlery set because it wasn’t meant for dessert, was it?  

She'd lost her taste for sweet things, anyway. Now she would never know.

Five minutes later, Tommy crossed through again to exit to the front of the car, still holding the offending glass, giving her a passing frown.

Lizzie looked at his plate, steak with the slightest blush of pink at the centre; she could tell because he’d sliced it thin as the broccoli, precisely, end to end, complaining it wasn’t cooked through, didn’t they know uncooked meat gave people worms or worse, he’d had better from a gutted squirrel at a fucking street stall grilled over charcoal on a stick. He’d pushed all the potatoes off the plate in the process of his slicing, exactly like Charlie at his petulant worst, staining the tablecloth.  

Having drained her glass of impeccably selected white wine staring at his plate, Lizzie waved the waiter over to fill her up again. The couple at the table next to her looked at her, not exactly aghast, but politely puzzled. Possibly you weren’t supposed to click repeatedly at a waiter like that in first class. Possibly you weren’t supposed to even call them. Maybe it was all done through some strange set of social signals no one was allowed to explain, because you had to be born into it. 

No one seemed to stare at Tommy like that no matter what he did, though, so men must have a free pass. Either that or he’d found a better book of etiquette than she ever had and not deigned to share.

‘You might as well leave the bottle. Are you allowed to do that?’

‘Of course, madam.’

‘Ta. Thank you, I mean. Thank you.’

‘At your service, madam.’ From the cow-eyes, he looked like he wanted to kiss the back of her hand. Surely that wasn’t reasonable? Lizzie looked away, slightly disturbed, and the couple at the table across offered her near-identical conciliatory smiles, sweetly, which made her realise they weren’t a couple but rather brother and sister, and that was perhaps an invitation to participate in some of that much lauded social conversation listed on their itinerary.

In the corner of the car, on a small elevated triangular stage, a trio of young violinists set up quietly. Two women with hair piled high in identical crowns-of-braids and one man, dark skinned.  At some unseen cue, they all began to play, ethereal and compelling. Lizzie thought distantly of Charlie’s practice, wondered if he’d keep his attention on it long enough to become this good.  Violins were amazing instruments. Having mostly filled her days and a good few nights of marriage so far with various entertainments now available to her, including orchestral performances, Lizzie had decided violins might be her favourite. Not just because of Charlie, but because even his faltering practice made the instrument sound almost human in some way, even if with him it was more crying than singing. Now, in the hands of masters, the instruments pulled her into another place where baby new potatoes weren’t rocking gently on the tablecloth with the motion of the train.

Frisson, that’s what it was. Lifting her from the mundanity of having endured without comment the now hours-long litany of Mr Thomas Shelby’s complaints of raw steak and dirty glasses and the station queues and the traffic on the way in and how could she forget her fucking passport all while pretending he hadn’t forgotten his and the stupid imperfect and fundamentally flawed itinerary the latest useless office lackey put together for this whole affair, the crammed luggage and the lack of information on the weather that would be awaiting them so they couldn’t even pack clothes properly as if he'd ever wear anything other than a bloody three-piece in public and the time this would take away from important business and she’d better be happy and why France, Lizzie, why fucking France, when he’d been the one who picked it—

Nothing was left in the bottle. Lizzie realised it was late enough the car was nearly empty, offending plate and potatoes cleared, and she was almost liquid in her chair, suddenly conscious of how she must look. Eyes half-lidded, face soft, listening and looking, free hand curled at her chest as if wounded, and a total degradation of posture.

The young violinist caught Lizzie’s eye and winked at her, inclined his head so briefly towards the rear end of the car. A lifted eyebrow, in enquiry and offering. He put an extra little effort into his bow arm, the tilt of his chin, and held her eye in a particularly meaningful way.

‘Do you want to fuck me,’ Lizzie asked the empty chair opposite her, jarring and vicious and in her poshest attempt at the King’s English.

The chair didn’t answer.

Then she went to find the bar car or her bed, whatever showed up first in the grand linear journey that was navigating a train where apparently everyone except for her husband actually did, in fact, want to fuck her, blaming her sway and the nearly-rolled ankle along the way on the motion of the carriage.

[theskeletonprior]

Time for a fresh new introduction! I have exactly one banner which I repeatedly alter to suit my needs, so please enjoy it. I've really stepped into this modern era. I have many names, but here, you can call me Harrowben.

30's. They/them and he/hymn. Biracial. Nonbinary transgender. Polyamorous. Skeleton. BA English Language and Literature. Probably not but possibly two-time Academy Award Winner Guillermo del Toro. (I wrote a text post that got remarkably out of hand one time.)

I’m a bookseller day-to-day. I’m also (slowly) learning to bind books. Sometimes, I even try to write them. Occasionally, when the mood takes me, I also write fanfiction. I like to make digital layouts for books, and of course I love to read! Books are my whole life. I'm a trained editor, and like most everyone these days, I am for hire. Check out my OC x Canon Emporium, but honestly, feel free to inquire if you're looking for some fiction. Words are what I do. Catch me ramblings about original work and characters, skeletons (of course!), bookbinding, and book arts, spooky nonsense, nature being its beautiful terrible self, monsters and the people who love them, that sort of thing. I do reblog fandom things from time to time, chiefly when the aesthetic vibes well with mine, or when the brainrot becomes too severe to contain.

If you need anything tagged, feel free to reach out, anon or otherwise. It’s important to me that my blog is as safe and comfy as it can be.

BIGOTED SHIT. I CAN'T STRESS ENOUGH HOW MUCH YOU SHOULD FUCK OFF IF YOU'RE A FASCIST PIECE OF SHIT. This was initially a placeholder so I would remember what I wanted to make so abundantly clear, but I stand by it. TERFs and Nazi Punks fuck off. There's no place for you with me. Better yourself.

The Bishop of Black

Honestly, my pride and joy. The Bishop of Black is an ongoing and deeply queer high-fantasy light novel that I'm writing together with my husband @rosieartsie who does all of the incredible art.

In a nation torn by a war that has been waged for centuries, tensions run high as the Kingdoms of Black and White seem to be on the verge of a lasting peace after generations of strife and bloodshed. Femi, a medic in the Kingdom of Black, is swept up into the dangerous politics of the court after a horrible tragedy returns them to the brink of war.

Check out our reading guide, if you like.

RAVENOT

My most developed WIP. A dark fantasy novel about a skeleton knight who ventures into places where the living can never go, to safeguard the balance between life and death. You can read the first chapter for free here!

AO3 | Ko-fi | Patreon (coming... when it gets here)

[amandacanwrite]

WIP Excerpt — Meeting an Incubus

Hello! I thought I would share a bit of my WIP called Foxes and Follies. Its about a young woman who unknowingly steals from a member of the Unseelie Court and is taken there to do the bidding of an intimidating dark fae called the Duskeeper.

This scene is when the protagonist meets one of his lackeys and… well it’s not the best first impression on either side.

CW|| some light sexual themes. Nothing too explicit. Also a bit of forced proximity in which the protagonist is uncomfortable. Again, nothing too bad just proceed with that information in mind.

“W-what...what are you?” I blurted.

He turned his attention to his book, flipping to the next page, his nails filed to deadly points that mirrored his nails and horns. “You’re terrible with introductions.”

I pursed my lips, feeling a flare of irritation. “You’re a man with green hair and horns, I have more immediate concerns.”

“Nothing is more important than good manners, Little Fox,” he said.

The way he said that term of endearment, the unique lilt and rhythm of it, made me think of The Magpie.

Have you forgotten how to introduce yourself? Shall I demonstrate how?

“You first,” I said.

“Excuse me?” he asked, his brow furrowing. My demand had clearly been an affront. Good.

“I’m your guest. It is only polite for the host to start with introductions, is it not?” I said. “After all, I’m under the care of your hospitality.”

“Hospitality that has been more than sufficient,” he retorted as he shifted in his seat, dropping his foot from where it was hooked on his knee and leaning forward to rest his elbow there instead. “Without the help of my whisps, you’d still have a festering wound on your leg and a fever burning through your body.”

So, they were will’o’the’whisps.

“I’m very appreciative of that,” I said. “But I’m not in the habit of just following the instructions of strange men I’ve never met.”

His amused expression faded and he caught the corner of his own lip with one of his pointed teeth. He closed his book with a loud snap and tossed it onto the cushion. He stood to his full, impressive height and strode on long, pinstripe-clad legs over to me.

I expected him to stop at the edge of the bed, but he didn’t. Instead he climbed onto it with me, giving me no recourse but to yelp and scramble backward until I collided with the headboard. His whisps flitted away with hushed tittering as the stranger continued his pursuit.

He bracketed me in against the bed with those long legs. His hands smoothed up the silky bed linens as he poised his body over mine like a comfortable lover; like he had me under his body plenty of times before. Like he was comfortable with it.

I looked pointedly away as his shirt billowed around his suspenders, revealing the statuesque planes of his chest and abdomen beneath. I shut my eyes, feeling my face warm. He didn’t let up, unbothered by my discomfort.

He grasped my chin between his thumb and forefinger, the point of his nail pressing against the swell of my lower lip. He jerked my head back toward him.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

I kept my eyes stubbornly shut for a few moments longer.

He grasped my whole jaw with his large hand. “Now.”

I bit the inside of my lip painfully before blinking my eyes open. When I did, I found him staring down at me. His lashes rested low, yet his gaze was almost oppressive, trapping me within it.

I swallowed tightly as I realized the off-putting nature of that gaze. There glowed an opalescent reflection in his pupils, like the kind you’d see looking into the eyes of an alley cat late at night during a smoke break.

I swallowed once more and forced myself to say, “I’m not telling you.”

“Oh?” he asked, his voice a velvety purr that curled warm up the length of my spine. “I could always make you.”

My heart raced in my chest. My eyes danced around his face. “Y-you could try,” I challenged.

I hated the stammer in my voice. I hated that even I could hear the front I was putting on for him. His lips parted to reveal a beautiful blade of a smile. I couldn’t tell if it was one of amusement or if some darker urge inspired the expression.

“Focus,” he commanded, those glinting eyes seizing mine. “Keep those lovely eyes focused on mine, my sweet little pest. Be a good girl for me.”

I stilled, my body going slack against my own wishes. I struggled to grasp onto my agency, but it slipped through my fingers like fine, satin ribbon. I lost myself in those opal pools, flitting my focus between each of them. I couldn’t decide which of them more beautiful. I lost myself in that thought, trying and failing to determine which of his eyes I should drown in.

“My, my. It turns out you can be a very good girl,” he said, the sound of his satisfaction so pretty as it tickled through my psyche. He released his grasp on my jaw and positioned his hand more gently, cupping the curve of my face.

I leaned into his hand, needing the tenderness; needing him. I felt something pluck at my lips. Like pulling thread through the eye of a needle, the corners of my mouth curved up. I felt ease, I felt contentment. But something about it was wrong.

His nail dragged my lower lip just slightly and I felt my eyelids droop. There was something this man had done to make me angry; to make me frightened… but I couldn’t recall what it was.

“That’s it,” he said. “You’re so much prettier when you obey, aren’t you my sweet Little Fox?”

“Mhmn,” I felt myself say.

“So, why don’t you give me that name of yours like a good girl?” he said.

“My name...” I sighed. “My name?”

“That’s right. It would be so easy,” he said. “All you have to do is tell me what to call you, sweet girl.”

There was a low tightening in my belly; the hum and heat of arousal. My eyes fluttered shut as the sensation flooded me.

Memories flickered like flower petals. These were not the ones I’d fought so hard to remember only a few moments before. These were memories that my body had recorded. The feverish feeling of my breasts being touched for the first time. The feeling of Eian’s callused hands on the sensitive skin of my thigh. The feeling of lips, slick and sweet against the side of my neck. The boy at the docks who had me pressed against the wall before he thought to ask if he could.

My name.

My name.

My...

I opened my eyes, rage consuming me like fire. I didn’t know what he’d done to conjure those visceral, private thoughts, but whatever it was, it was none of his business. I was too close to rear up enough force to headbutt him. But I’d lived a long time on The Strid.

I pulled back my feet from between his legs and used all the strength I could conjure in my legs, placing my feet on his gut and sending him backward.

That said, he didn’t go far.

He tumbled clumsily back, his brows quirking high, those opalescent pupils constricting. He looked almost affronted, like I’d taken a piece of fine china and shattered it while he watched.

“You. First,” I insisted.

It was silent for a long time. The only sound in the room the hushed sound of the sheer curtains hissing in the breeze beside the bed. He seemed to take me in newly, looking at me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. It felt uncomfortable to be looked at like that—like he was trying to peel the outer layers off and peer at the clockwork inside of me.

“What are you?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. Barley audible. “I’ve never...a human has never--”

I set my jaw again, glaring at him. He rolled his eyes, sitting and crossing his legs, leaning back on his hands, but not moving any further away. He seemed to have accepted his failure at…at whatever he’d been doing to me.

“My name is Leif,” he said finally. “I’m an incubus.”

[specialagentartemis]

🌹wipppppp

From the WIP doc entitled "Murderbot and Thiago Anthropology Fic":

--

I had a decision to make, and I hate those.

I could delete this SecUnit’s memory of this conversation.  I hated to do it, I didn’t want to do it, but if it let the mine supervisors know that I was a rogue SecUnit, they might order all the SecUnits on duty here to kill me really messily, which would be bad.  Even if they didn’t do that, they would definitely arrest Thiago for breaking the provisions of his research visa and lying to CobriReyna by bringing an undeclared SecUnit onto their property.  And even if being a citizen of Preservation counted for something and I wasn’t killed really messily, then I would have to go through the whole ordeal of rescuing Thiago and getting him off the planet before CobriReyna did anything terrible to him and/or demanded some unreasonable concession from Preservation.  I had already done that before with a human I actually liked and it was not fun then and would be even less fun now. 

But even if I deleted this SecUnit’s memories of this, it would be a lot harder to delete every instance it had picked up on of me slipping up.  It might draw the same conclusion again, especially if it had all this plus holes in its memory.  And it might not be so polite as to check in with me to make sure I was a dangerous rogue before reporting me.

The safest thing for me to do would be to kill it right now.

It wouldn’t even be hard.  I wouldn’t have to expose my arm gunports or give myself away or anything.  I had control of its input channels as well as its output ones.  I could spoof a contradictory or impossible order from an administrator, and when it couldn’t comply, let its governor module do the rest.

Humans give SecUnits impossible or contradictory orders all the time and then get surprised when the SecUnit drops dead.  No one would blink an eye at this happening, some low-level or less-liked supervisor would get scapegoated for the bad order when it couldn’t be pinpointed to a specific person, Thiago and I would get to keep doing our research work, and there would be one fewer SecUnit who would be trying to kill me messily when everything eventually blew up in our faces.

I wanted to do this even less.

The open feed channel hummed with fear and resignation.  I could do whatever I wanted to this unit and it couldn’t stop me and we both knew it.

I felt like a human.

It felt awful.

When I feel awful I tend to do stupid things.  When I feel anything I tend to do stupid things.  It’s a flaw of mine that nearly gets me killed a lot.

I’m going to offer you something, I said.  You have to listen carefully because I don’t want to fuck this up and I don’t want you to fuck this up for me.

[gliyerabaa]

🖍️

🖍Post Any sentence from your wip

... already did this, but I'll do it again and dig up a line from an older WIP.

This is from one entitled 'Blood Upon the Snow' and it was a rough idea of some really angsty, messy hurt/comfort, exploring an alternate reality where Glinda went with Elphaba, serving as a medic for the Resistance, specializing in healing magic.

really cool idea that I just haven't fully developed yet. cause everyone and their mother has done a 'elphaba stumbles into glinda's life bleeding and broken' fic and idk how to set mine apart. yes I know the 'holy shit, two cakes!' analogy but I still want my cake to be somewhat distinct, y'know?

again, more than just 1 sentence because I refuse to be bound by rules.

The sun is setting, the wintery world becoming blue in the haze of twilight. Glinda lights a candle in every window of their shelter. It’s dangerous, she knows. The candles are a beacon for friend and foe alike– But it’s also the only way Elphaba will be able to find her, so it’s surely worth the risk. She’s never been particularly religious. But with each candle she lights, she says a prayer. She needs Elphie home safe. That’s the whole reason she joined this stupid conflict in the first place– to be by Elphaba’s side. What good was she as a medic if she had no one to heal? What good was she as a person if she had no one to love? The wind howls outside, a terrible reminder of just how dangerous the blizzard is.  Glinda thinks she sees a figure outside. There’s no way of telling if it’s her beloved Elphaba or a wandering stranger or– Lurline forbid– one of those horrible Gale Force officers. She readies her dagger, to be sure. The door bursts open, slamming against the wall with the force of the wind. The figure in the doorway is unmistakably Elphaba, and Glinda sheathes her blade. “Elphaba, thank the stars you’re alive! Oh, I was worried sick!” Glinda wants nothing more than to pull Elphaba close, to hold her tightly, make sure she’s warm, keep her safe. But she can’t. She notices the Fox slumped against Elphie, trembling. Its arms and legs are frostbitten and blood stained. “Are you alright?”

[wrathfulrook]

WIP Wednesday Friday

Tagged by @direwombat @socially-awkward-skeleton and @trench-rot. Thank you!

I’m tagging @adelaidedrubman @inquisitors-grave @strangefable @deputyash and anyone else who’d like to share! I love seeing everyone’s WIPs!

A bit more from Patience’s canon:

“Fractured rib,” Dr. What’s-His-Face said at her gasp of pain, while he gently palpated her sides. He’d introduced himself to her, but she didn’t care to commit his name to memory.

Scribbling something down on a legal pad, he addressed Jacob. “Normally I wouldn’t suggest bed rest for a fractured rib. But, with the other wounds and contusions, I think she spend two or three days in bed, minimum, maybe up to a week.”

Jacob nodded pensively, showing a level of interest Patience found surprising. “Does she need to wear a compression wrap?”

“No.” She doctor shook his head. “It could do more harm than good by restricting her breathing. She should ice her rib every few hours for the next couple days, as well as any of the more painful bruises. The wound should be cleaned, and its bandage should be changed daily,” he said, gesturing to the stab wound on her thigh. “Watch for any signs of infection, including fever. Practice standard care for the new tattoo.”

Jacob nodded along with every new instruction. “Should the pain become unmanageable or interfere with her sleep, give her one of these pills. Just don’t overdo it. They can be addicting.”

The doctor ripped the note from the pad and passed it to Jacob, along with a small bottle of pills. Aside from when he’d first introduced himself, he had ignored Patience the entire time she’d been in the infirmary. She’d never felt more like a pet at a veterinarian, and she’d actually been treated by a veterinarian before. She wasn’t sure if he just had a terrible bedside manner or if it was just because Jacob was there.

Folding the note and tucking it into his pocket, the Herald turned to Patience and asked, “Can you walk or do I need to carry you?”

She scoffed indignantly, despite the fact that walking was actually incredibly difficult and painful. She’d rather fall flat on her ass than let Jacob Seed carry her around. She only hoped that wherever she was to be kept was close by.

As she hobbled down the hall, she let Jacob help hold her upright, only because she had no other option. He slowed as they, finally, approached an isolated door down a long hall. Jacob let her fall onto the bed just inside as they spilled through the door. She worked to situate herself as painlessly as possible on the extra-long twin bed while Jacob closed the double-doors to the balcony, locking them with a key he deposited into his pocket.

“Can’t have you running off on me.”

Patience rolled her eyes and gestured up and down her bruised and broken body. “I don’t think I could.”

“Yeah, well you don’t have a good sense of self-preservation.”

“Good enough to know I should leave.”

He snorted out a laugh, but otherwise ignored her words. Pointing things out in the small space he told her, “Bathroom is through that door there, but there’s no tub. So, no showering until you’re off bedrest. Record player’s on the dresser and albums are in that cabinet over there. I’ll get some clothes brought up for you. I’ll have someone come up to bring you meals, refill your water, and clean your wounds. Try not to get up too often.”

Patience was surprised. “You’re actually letting me go on bed rest?”

“I take care of what’s mine.”

A wave of revulsion flowed through her at that, and she made no move to hide it. “I am not yours.”

“Well, if you’re not mine, you’re John’s. And I’d take care of what’s his, too.” He smiled cruelly.

“John is the one who did this to me,” she said stonily.

“Well, Johnny’s always played a little too rough with his toys. Something you might want to take into consideration.”

She continued to glare at him, but stayed silent.

[hirukochan]

Hi!! I love your writing so much I was just wondering what do you plan to do in the future? I’d love to live in your brain for like one minute because the ideas you have and the way you write is so amazing and unique.

Hi!! <3 

My brain is a very crowded, forgetful and cramped place, zero out of five stars would not recommend lol.

I have a few ideas for the future!

Of course A Servant of Death. I have four parts in total planned for that series and there is a vampire arc coming up in part three I am so excited for! It’s a huge project and I try not to stress myself out to prevent burn out. The first part ended up being longer than the HP book it was based on 😅. So that - even though it’s updating slower rn (I might have gotten a tad too excited and published too many WIPs right after one another 😅) it’s my baby, my love, my passion project. It’s not getting abandoned, it’ll just need some time to grow 🥰.

I am being strict with myself to finish my WIPs before I publish anything longer than a oneshot. Your tears is nearing its end though I am beginning to fear it’ll be longer than I anticipated because I’ve had a few more ideas (cramped and crowded brain and terrible planning skills + a lack of self control 😬). A most unexpected turn of events won’t be too long (she said optimistic for the fourth time now???) and with Carrying Atlas I honestly have no idea. I could spend forever developing their relationship and ignore the plot I have planned. I’m avoiding sitting down and fleshing it out for now in favour of writing smut!

As for oneshots:

I have a second part for Ministry Documents planned!

A Snape/Reader/Voldemort oneshot, the reader is either an Auror they trap and ‘punish’ together or a new recruit that has to prove her loyalty, haven’t decided yet, might write both. 

I have a half finished Snape/Reader/Crouch jr professor-student oneshot lying around where the reader has been sleeping with both her professors but neither knew about the other and they punish her together.

I am writing on a Snarriet oneshot, Snape is a demon Harrie summons but something goes wrong.

I have a few more ideas for Snarriet, including one Muggle AU where James and Lily are alive and Snape is Uncle Sev 🤭 (no blood relation!!) Questionable but it’s intriguing me.

Then I would love to rewrite an old fic of mine. It’s a Snape/OC story that’s very dear to me. It has its own magical society within the wizarding world. It follows Snape and Theodora O’Brian who has to attend Hogwarts against her wishes. She experiences racism, discrimination, classims, cultural genocide and the literal murder of her relatives because they arn’t ‘real’ witches and wizards.

It takes place during the first and the second war. They both join Voldemort after school, both get sucked into this cult and soon realise it’s not what they were promised it would be. Voldemort takes advantage of them, he seduces them and they have to navigate their life together, their complicated feelings for Voldemort, Dumbledore’s questionable morals and many more challenges. So it’s teen!Snape and adult!Snape. And there is an irish wolfhound named Duchess!

I have a Severitus fic with fem!Harry planned! Snape has to care for baby Harrie after the war. Voldemort is dead once and for all, no Horcruxes. It’ll be a bit of a character study I think, exploring Snape’s trauma and his struggles with reentering the ‘normal’ society after a horrible time among Death Eaters, his struggles as a parent, his wish to do better for her than his parents did for him. I think Snape reconciling with one of his parents during his journey as adoptive dad would be nice too. 

Another old story I’d like to rewrite is about Snape suddenly having to take a far more active role in raising his baby sister. It takes place before Harry comes to Hogwarts. She is sixteen (or fifteen??? I can’t remember lol) and a whirlwind of chaos, anger and some underlying issue she isn’t talking about. She went to Ilvermorny because Eileen moved to the US with her when she was a baby, leaving Snape alone with their father. After their mother dies Snape lets her stay at Ilvermorny. She gets expelled and Snape brings her to Hogwarts to finish her education. They bump heads all the time. It’s a lot of chaos 🤣 but also a fiercely protective older brother!Snape 🥰

I have probably more ideas that I forgot about and are now rotting in some notebook I’ll rediscover in a few weeks 🤣

But these are those stories I have lined up to write once I have cleared some things off my plate ☺️💚