#i should probably write about it in my wip

[you-remind-me-of-the-babe]

It’s high time I’ve done another rec post, so here I am, coming in hot with six WIPs you should be reading right now.

Before I get into the fics themselves, a word about reading WIPs. Look, I know it’s tempting to wait until a fic is complete. Not to mention the fact that there is an absolutely staggering amount of amazing fics out there. I’m a slow reader myself, and my TBR list, even after reading fics for nearly three years, is so damn long. I could easily sit back and only read older completed fics and probably never finish them all.

But. I love a good WIP fic almost like nothing else. Yes, binging a completed fic in one sitting can leave you flying high. But following a fic as it’s being written, interacting with said fic and cheering that writer on, gives me so much gratification. Getting that email notification for a new chapter, and feeling so eager to read the new update, is an absolute joy. I highly recommend.

Lastly, this is not an exhaustive list of current Carry On WIPs, but merely a small sampling. And if anyone has any good WIP recs for me, I’d love to hear them!

Only Creatures, WIP, currently 52k, rated E by @emeryhall

In this canon divergent story, Simon breaks up with Baz at the end of WS, leading Baz to become a recluse and a poet, growing a beard and hiding out in Scotland. When he finds out Simon is a camboy for a website called Only Creatures, they tentatively start wanking chatting again. Come for Baz’s Unabomber style, stay for the second chances and explorations of intimacy.

Everything Emery writes is amazing, and this fic is no exception. It’s a little absurd, incredibly witty and heartfelt, with a cast of OCs that quietly shine. This story has cracked my heart open and is slowly putting it back together. You won’t regret reading this one.

Hiding Out in the Open, WIP, currently 48k, rated M by @cutestkilla

Another canon divergence story, this time where Simon and Baz never got together after their truce in 8th year. After the SSR debacle, they meet again and this time start connecting over a shared interest in a psychology podcast.

This fic does an excellent job of having these boys dig into their trauma and issues via the podcast topics, letting them heal and connect, while also letting the reader marvel at the heavy Snowbaz vibes of every podcast episode. It’s so smart, I’m telling you.

I Knew A Boy, I Knew A Man, WIP, currently 83k, rated T by @shrekgogurt

This football AU has Baz and Simon ending up on the same premiere league team, years after playing together at school. The author gives us flashbacks in every chapter of their frought relationship as teens, before progressing the story in the present.

I can’t believe I haven’t done an official rec post for this fic yet. Mary writes the sports bits of this story so vividly, and the flashback bookends of each chapter so perfectly tie into the current narrative, you’ll marvel at the complex way it moves the story forward. Seriously, one of my all time faves.

Basil Pitch’s Diary, WIP, currently 32k, rated T by @bookish-bogwitch

Watford-era Baz starts a diary on January 1st, determined to record his progress on various resolutions, namely, getting over Simon Snow.

This fic has the incredible humor of Bridget Jones’s Diary and will introduce you to your favorite version of acerbic, self-depricating teenage Baz. He will own your soul. There is no other outcome of reading this fic.

The Eternal Life of Baz Pitch, WIP, currently 25k, rated M by @monbons

This story watches a three hundred year old Baz, cursed after desperately trying to find a way to be loved on his own terms, wandering aimlessly in present times until he finds a certain blue eyed barista who has an unusual reaction to meeting him.

This AU is based on The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue, but you don’t have to have read the book to become immersed in this achingly sad but thoroughly sweet story of hope and second chances.

Episode 6: Apres la Pluie, le Beau Temps, WIP, currently 10k, rated M by @artsyunderstudy

Another installment in the Star Trek series for the lovely @raenestee, this series is the epitome of following a good WIP story. Several authors have contributed to this sci-fi beast, and the progression of the story through several different writers’ hands is an absolute delight to watch. (And, as one of the authors, to participate in.)

If you aren’t yet reading it, this is a great time to join. We’re right in the middle of the story, leaving the four couples in Ashton’s very capable hands as she expertly guides them through various communication breakdowns. If you know nothing of Star Trek, don’t let that stop you from joining a thoroughly entertaining epic of a story.

[encrucijada]

rereading all the words i've written for fantasybane and holy shit i'm the writer ever

[daffi-990]

Tease Tidbit Tuesday

Tagged by @wikiangela mwah! ❤️

The chapter I’m on in Rival Firefighters 🚒 is kicking my ass. Words aren’t coming and if they are they’re coming sloooooow. Like maybe 300 words a day slow. It’s annoying and frustrating because I really want to get a good chunk of this fic written. Feel like I haven’t written a lot for it in ages! Like if I can finish off this chapter I’ll be happy 🙂

So here’s today’s 300ish words (I did manage to write a little bit more after this so yay!)

On his last day at the 118, Bobby calls Eddie into his office at the end of shift. Buck shoots him a quizzical look, Eddie shrugging and shaking his head. He has no idea why Bobby wants to see him. Maybe thank him for his time here? But that seems like something he could’ve done in front of everyone, why ask to speak to him privately?

“Ohhhh someone’s in trouble” Chim sing songs looking far too pleased with himself.

Hen snickers beside him. “Better get to the principal’s office, you don’t want to be late.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at them as he leaves the locker room, pausing in the doorway to address Buck, who is still giving him a confused puppy look.

“I’ll meet you back at mine? You’ve still got your key, yeah?”

Buck blinks away the confusion, eyes brightening at the reminder that he’ll still be seeing Eddie even though they aren’t working together anymore. “Y-yeah, still got my key.”

Eddie had gotten a key made and had given it to Buck two days ago after discovering Buck was worried they wouldn’t be in each other’s lives anymore once Eddie finished up his time at the 118. Buck had taken the key and looked at it like it was the greatest treasure in the world, closing his fingers around it tightly before pulling Eddie into a hug that Eddie swears he can still feel the warmth of, deep in the marrow of his bones.

“Alright, I’ll see you soon.”

Eddie makes his way to Bobby’s office, anxiety beginning to bubble in his stomach causing his chest to feel too tight. He rubs at his sternum as he walks, trying to dislodge the tightness, but he knows it’s pointless. He gets to the door and takes a deep breath to get his shit under control before knocking.

“Come in!”

No pressure tagging: @jamespearce9-1-1 @watchyourbuck @hippolotamus @spotsandsocks @fortheloveofbuddie @thewolvesof1998 @callmenewbie @exhuastedpigeon @athenagranted @spagheddiediaz @lover-of-mine @malewifediaz @steadfastsaturnsrings @wildlife4life @mellaithwen @monsterrae1 @nmcggg @eddiebabygirldiaz @rainbow-nerdss @theotherbuckley @try-set-me-on-fire @sibylsleaves @shitouttabuck @the-likesofus @rewritetheending @princessfbi @giddyupbuck @disasterbuckdiaz @jesuisici33 @devirnis @jeeyuns @fiona-fififi @hoodie-buck @homerforsure @honestlydarkprincess @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @captain-hen @vampbuckley @elvensorceress @bekkachaos

[stergeon]

25 rejected edeleth fluff ideas

here are some edeleth stories i thought a lot about but did not write. if anybody wants to actually write one of these, be my guest (and also pleeeeease send me a link, i'm desperate for content about Them Girls™)

byleth takes edelgard on a fishing trip and she has an absolutely abysmal time

edelgard makes a valiant attempt to corral byleth's atrocious fashion sense ahead of a formal event

byleth teaches edelgard swear words

edelgard tries some of those weird herbs rhea used to give students to relax; byleth is more than happy to babysit

byleth does edelgard's taxes. she's wearing her goofy professor glasses. it does something weird for edelgard

edelgard takes byleth on a date to the opera and byleth cries the whole time

byleth reads a work of fiction for the first time ever. it's a horror story. she did not like it. edelgard reads her something nicer.

edelgard gets byleth to pose for a portrait and shows it to her

byleth has to give a speech at a big event and is a nervous wreck. edelgard has been waiting all her life for this coaching opportunity

edelgard tries to teach byleth how to draw (she is very bad at it)

byleth cannot for the life of her figure out which fork is used for what purpose at this fancy dinner. edelgard covers for her

edelgard goes all out to celebrate byleth's birthday on the day byleth thought was (read: randomly chose as) her birthday, not her actual birthday; byleth doesn't have the heart to tell her

byleth brings edelgard various souvenirs from her travels around the country. edelgard tries not to be so soft over it, even though they're… not all hits

edelgard attempts to make dinner and botches it beyond salvation. they get takeout.

byleth will not shut up about this cute house she saw when she was out on a mission and how nice it would be for them to "have something like it one day." edelgard arranges to buy the place

edelgard sees byleth in a dress uniform and cannot stop swooning

byleth is being relentlessly pursued by a suitor who won't take a hint and edelgard challenges the idiot to a duel

edelgard decides she will learn to swim. it goes poorly, to say the least, but she manages in the end. as it turns out, getting to see byleth in a swimsuit is a good motivator

byleth gets caught kissing edelgard by hubert. the resulting conversation is unpleasant for everyone. ferdinand, meanwhile, is overjoyed

edelgard is having a terrible, horrible, no-good very bad day. she chews byleth out over nothing and immediately feels awful about it. byleth forces her to take the rest of the day off to chill

byleth is going away for a month-long mission. both girls are inconsolable. they write each other letters literally every day.

edelgard really puts somebody on blast in a council meeting. byleth gets stars in her eyes

byleth concocts a very, very elaborate story about some kind of summit in faerghus; she and edelgard leave enbarr for two weeks to attend. surprise: there's no summit, it's a spa retreat

edelgard arranges a "normal date" where they go out in town in disguise and do very boring things like run errands, look at furniture, buy socks, etc.

doropetra-edeleth double date

[noxemma]

Kiss and Make Up

Sam (grumpily barging into the bunker kitchen): That’s it! I can’t take it anymore!

Sam (physically picking Cas up off the seat where he’s been sulking and pushing him toward the hallway): Go apologize so you both stop moping around.

Cas (tired and sad, resisting slightly): Sam, I’ve tried. He won’t talk to me.

Sam (deadly serious as he starts dragging Cas to Dean’s door): Cas, it’s been FIVE DAYS. Five days of Dean binging Dr. Sexy 24/7. Five days of you both living in dirty pajamas, not showering, not doing dishes, tension so thick I might need to invest in SCUBA gear.

Cas: Sam, I’ve already apolo-

Sam (ready to tear out his hair): APOLOGIZE AGAIN! Apologize better. I don’t care how you do it, but please, please just kiss and make up already!

Sam opens the door and shoves Cas in. Dean sits on his bed, wrapped in a blanket, his eyes glued to the TV despite Cas’ sudden appearance.

Dean (gruffly): I know Sam put you up to this. He thinks everything will magically get better if you apologize.

Cas (slightly agonized): Dean, I really am sorr-

Dean (angrily): I don’t want to hear another word, Cas. Just, just get out!

Cas stands for a moment, at a loss and in pain at Dean’s harsh words. Then his brow lifts as he recalls Sam’s words.

Cas (whispering mostly to himself): Sam’s right. I’ve been doing this all wrong.

Dean finally turns on the bed to face Cas, evidently paying more attention to the angel than he let on. He is a little shocked to find that Cas has moved to be right next to him, leaving barely any space between them.

Dean (looking up, confused and concerned at the determined look on Cas’ face): Cas, wha-

Cas cuts him off by bending down, firmly cupping his face and drawing him in for a scorching kiss. Dean’s hands land tentatively on Cas’ hips as if he isn’t sure whether he wants to push Cas away or draw him closer. Cas finally pulls back and studies Dean, who looks stunned.

Cas (slightly breathless and oddly shy after the intensity of the kiss): Did it work? Can we make up now?

Dean (blinking and absently running his fingers across his kiss swollen lips): Whoa, um. Wait “make up?”

Cas (nervously rambling): Sam implied that my previous apologies were insufficient and that I should “kiss and make up” with you. I was under the impression that the saying was figurative but after you refused to hear my apology once again, I thought that perhaps it was meant to be literal and that’s why my previous apologies were poorly received.

As Cas speaks Dean realizes just how distressing his anger and avoidance have been to the angel.

Dean (stricken):  Dammit, Cas. I forgive you. Of course, I forgive you. I was just angry. You didn’t need to- I didn’t mean to make you feel like- *sigh* I’ve been an ass. I’m sorry it took you doing something as drastic as kissing me to realize exactly how much of an ass I’ve been.

The room is silent except for Dr. Sexy still playing in the background. Cas doesn’t meet Dean’s eyes, still convinced he’s in the wrong despite Dean’s reassuring words.

Dean (teasing at first but falling flat): Also, while it would be funny to see Sam get a taste of his own medicine, you probably shouldn’t go around apologizing with kisses. Someone might get the wrong idea.

Cas (horrified gaze meeting Dean’s): I would never kiss Sam, or anyone else.

Dean: Oh …

Dean begins to blush as he slowly comes to the realization that Cas has basically just admitted that he only wants to kiss Dean.

Cas: Was it bad?

Dean (confused): Was what bad?

Cas (whispering so softly Dean nearly misses it):  The kiss?

Dean (licking his lip and staring intensely at Cas): Oh, well. I was kinda surprised by it so I couldn’t really say. But, uh, but if you … if you wanted to do it again I could, um, give you some pointers.

Cas (misunderstanding Dean’s words): That’s … you don’t have to do that, Dean. In fact, it was rather selfish of me to ask. I don’t want you to feel obligat-

Dean (grabbing the bottom of Cas’ shirt and pulling him back toward him): Cas, shut up and kiss me already.

Cas obliges, settling onto Dean’s lap to kiss him deeply for several minutes. When they break apart they don’t go far, resting their foreheads against each other, breathless and panting,

Cas (half teasing and half serious): How was that? Better?

Dean (pulling Cas impossibly closer on his lap): Pretty freaking awesome … I mean, you should probably keep practicing.

Cas laughs a little as Dean presses a kiss to his forehead.

Cas (teasingly): I think I could get rather fond of this whole “kiss and make up” idea, although it’s a shame we’d have to fight in order to make up. Dean (flirtatiously): Well then, we should probably just start dating already and make the whole thing easier, boyfriends fight all the time. Cas (shocked, like he didn’t really expect Dean to suggest dating): You think we should start dating? You want to be my … boyfriend?

Dean (fidgeting a bit under Cas and not making eye contact): Um, yeah? If you want me to, but we don’t have to label it or anything if you don’t want. I’m happy being whatever you want me to be. Cas (beaming with happiness and tilting Dean’s head to catch his eye): Boyfriends sounds wonderful. And, as your new boyfriend, I suggest we both shower.

Dean (gasping dramatically): Are you suggesting I stink?

Cas (somehow both sensually and stoically): I’m not denying it, just suggesting that, since my kisses still need practice, I may be able to perform other actions to make up with you. In the shower. Together.

Dean (squirming as Cas punctuates his sentence with a kiss on his neck): Oh. Oh! That’s a great idea, Cas.

They exit Dean’s room, hand in hand, and head down the hallway.

Sam (gloating as he witnesses the hand holding): Finally! Maybe I’ll actually get some peace around here now that they’ve stopped fighting and admitted their feelings.

Muffled moans, gasps, and grunts begin to filter through the thin bathroom door. Sam (horrified and muttering to himself as he puts in earplugs): It’s better than fighting, it’s better than fighting.

[kvetchinglyneurotic]

every time i write a single-pov fic i'm like. but wait. what if i wrote an alternate pov version

[mirrortouchedsea]

wip wednesday

Loosely based on @sausagepastry 's lighthouse keeper/merman au

Once the boat was beached on the rocks, Niki scrambled out and pulled it closer so that it wouldn’t get washed away. Kohaku should have been keeping an eye on him and would be down to help in a moment, but Niki was still baffled by the uh, tail, and now that he wasn’t distracted by the rocking of the boat, the fact that there were gills and fins on the merman in front of him. 

“Hey! Wake up!” He tried shouting and shaking the merman. It had grabbed onto the boat out in the water and looked like it was breathing as much as Niki could tell. How something that may or may not have both gills and air breathing lungs would be able to show he was breathing, Niki wasn’t entirely sure, nor was he sure he wanted to know that answer. 

“Niki-han, did you find anythi--oh what is…” Kohaku came to a stop next to Niki, looking at the merman. “Please tell me I’m seein’ things.” 

“I don’t think so, Kohaku-chan. He won’t wake up but I don’t want to leave him in the storm either.” Niki shook the merman’s shoulder again, gently slapping its face to no avail. He pressed a finger to its neck to search for a pulse but he didn’t even know if that would yield any results. There was a faint throbbing though, something like a heartbeat. Could they stay out of water? If only the damn thing were awake and could answer their questions. 

Another lightning strike jolted them back to reality. “Kohaku-chan, start running the bath and get the stove heated. I’ll try and get him in the house.” Kohaku nodded and ran back inside, while Niki contemplated the best way to get the merman back. There was a wheelbarrow somewhere that would probably work well enough to get him up to the door but trying to wheel it up the steps even when it was empty was a challenge. His stomach growled and Niki decided to just grab it and maybe he would just dump it through the door and he and Kohaku could carry it to the bathroom. Yeah, that would work well enough. 

[jessicas-pi]

I love being inside my safe bubble of fandom friends, but it's always jarring to encounter a fandom person NOT from my corner of the fandom and see their hate-rant about a ship that my fandom pals are cool with (even if some of them don't ship it.) like wow i had no idea anyone could loathe a healthy well-written romance with that amount of uninhibited wrath. who hurt you, i'm just curious

anyway shoutout to my mutuals, you guys are so sweet and supportive, you're the best :)

[whumpy-wyrms]

can someone just like spam me with tllr things you want me to draw. can be anything i just neeeed motivationnn

[tracle0]

The patient was lying on the operating table when the door slid open. 

They didn’t have to be there - the room had more in it than it did a week ago, a comfortable enough chair, a plush little love seat to relax in, a desk to work at. Their wrists weren’t strapped down anymore, nothing new pumping into their veins. They were free to roam around the room and let the oncoming process take place. And yet still, they chose to lay on the table and stare at the ceiling blankly. 

At least they glanced over when she entered, attention caught by the sound of her footsteps, not the door opening and closing. They had stopped trying to escape months ago. Thank fucking god for that. 

“Unscheduled,” they told her. They had become more monosyllabic as the weeks had gone on. Sometimes, it was a struggle to know what they were trying to say. 

This time is easy enough. “I don’t follow the schedule that strictly,” she said briskly. “I can visit whenever I want.”

Their eyebrows rose at the first comment, noting the blatant lie, but they let it pass, eyes drifting back to the ceiling again. Even their arms were spread out, wrists resting exactly where the leather straps would usually be. “Why?” 

“I work here, sweetie. I thought you knew that by now.” It would be a concern if not. Some of the others had deteriorating memories at this point in the process, and she was so sick of failed tests. 

A head shake. “Why here?” The second word seems to strain them. “Why me?”

Ah. At least their mind was still somewhat present. Brushing down the front of her off-white lab coat, she gave herself a moment to think. The facility had tried to keep each patient isolated, although a lot of them had figured out there were others on account of the screams. This patient was amongst them, having asked her a few months ago how many others there were. Fifty, she had told them, and they had nodded, taken her word as the truth and shut their eyes to listen, trance-like, to the screams down the hall. 

The number was much, much lower than fifty now, having dropped lower still a few minutes ago. She was on the brink of failure, bankruptcy, months of agony and wasted resources for nothing. Maybe she was somewhat desperate to keep the final few functioning, progressing. Alive. More willing to spend time around them and their misery, pity, refusal to acknowledge the common good she was working towards. 

She couldn’t tell them that, though. With how frail they looked, they may well die on the spot at the news, half from shock, half to spite her. “Figured you could use some company,” she said instead. “How are you feeling?“

They gave her a blank look, the kind that perfectly said, how the bloody hell do you think I’m doing? Then returned their attention to the ceiling. Silence lingered. The overhead lights hummed. Someone hurried past their room. “Tired,” they eventually murmured. “I’m tired.”

“That’s to be expected. You’ve been through a lot.” She gave them her best smile, her politicians smile, and smoothed a clump of brown hair off their forehead. It was something she had done to a lot of foreheads when hands had been strapped down, resistance impossible. Why was she doing it now? Because they were on the table, laid out as if expecting the chemicals to start flowing, the screams to start ripping their throat?

She withdrew before either of them could comprehend it, and their eyes watched her carefully for a uncharacteristically long ten seconds, before their attention drifted again. Their skin felt feverish, dry. It was not a good sign. Keep them lucid, keep them alert. “Is there anything I can get you?”

What may have once been a smile drifted across their face. “Out.”

It was a joke for both of them at this point, so she laughed, and their almost-smile nearly became a full smile, before the effort became too much to maintain. “I’ll ask the boss,” she promised, a joke for her to privately enjoy. “Anything else?”

“News,” they said vaguely.

“On what?”

“Kit.”

Always the same. Maybe that was why she liked them more than most. Their interactions were predictable, repetitive. If they did die, she might not even notice, repeating her half of the script to their unresponsive corpse. “Not much,” she said sombrely, as if she’d checked. “Rumour has it he’s got a new orange now.”

Their eyes shut, brows drawing together, mouth pressed thin. This wasn’t part of their routine. It took her a moment to recognise grief. What was the problem? What had she said? Why was news of another orange so significant? 

Right. Of course. They had been an orange once, his orange, trusted sidekick and adoring supporter. This tidbit of nothing went a lot deeper than she expected, and she hesitated, unsure if she should keep digging. On one hand, she thought they had given up on their brother weeks ago, when their patience had run out, when they had accepted he wasn’t going to save them, when their magic and use to him had been stripped from their veins. It was annoying that there had still been a part of them clinging to hope, expecting something from Kit. 

On the other hand, she could plainly see that part of them wither and die with this news. She gave them a moment, hands clasped behind her back, then continued. “He’s declared you dead,” she said, her voice soft, delicate. “Says he held you in his arms as you bled out.”

“Course,” they said. She was glad to hear bitterness in their voice, hoarse as it was. 

“Rumour has it he’s one of the most powerful on the streets now,” she added, watching their face carefully. This was a lot more than she had planned to tell them, much more truthful than her reports usually were, but it was having some kind of effect, a reaction. Better than most other discussions she had with patients, weepy and aching affairs that left her heavy and frustrated. “He keeps targeting other turfs. He’s gained a lot of ground, I hear.”

It was easy to see how they interpreted the news by how their eyes screwed tighter, brows knitting closer together, going from grief to agitation. Petty in-fighting, domination of the city - it was a slap in the face for someone who had been waiting for rescue. Now they knew their master plan, the thing they had bet their life on, had half worked. Kit was stuffed with potential, a frighteningly powerful mage. He just hadn’t bothered coming back for them. 

She expected tears, pleading, defeat. Their words were delightfully measured when they asked, “Orange?”

“Someone from out of town,” she reported. Jaque was the exact town, but they didn’t need to know that. They didn’t need to know a lot of things. “Goes by Clem. Most people say they’re just a source of the colour, that Kit does most of the controlling.”

They hummed an acknowledgement, opened their eyes again, stared at the ceiling. “Lots,” they eventually said.

Although it was as dull as usual, it sounded sarcastic to her ears, like they were mocking her. Nothing infuriated her more than being mocked. She hoped the flush across her cheeks wasn’t obvious. “I don’t know lots about them, no. They’re new to the scene. I have other things to do than gather news on your brother, you know.”

Eyes glanced across her face. “No,” they said. “News.”

“No news,” she echoed. 

“Lots,” they insisted. “You.”

“You’re not making any sense, my darling.”  

They almost snarled, nose wrinkled, a spark of anger in their eyes. Slowly, carefully, visually, they gathered energy, going pale with the effort, eventually managing to croak, “You have lots of news today.” 

A full sentence was impressive at this stage. Hell, single words were impressive - a significant portion of participants had gone entirely mute a week ago. Maybe she was right to put more energy into her remaining patients. “A special treat.”

Another hum. They didn’t seem to care. Their eyes were still open, brown still fixed on the ceiling, but they had started to lose focus, drift from active attention to a freakish half-sleep. Clearly the full sentence had drained them of what little energy they were using to stay awake. She almost felt guilty for it. 

More than the guilt was the alarm. The half-sleep that too many participants had adopted was too similar to the stiff clutches of death. Too often, she had held a hand, tried to coax someone into fighting a little longer, felt the exact second their fingers went limp and the odds of her failure went up. A few times, during her scheduled rounds, she had noticed still bodies curled up somewhere, glazed over and perfectly static, and struggled to tell if they were sleeping or dead. More and more often, it was the latter. 

This participant was just like any other. Nothing special, beyond the circumstances around how they had arrived. She still didn’t want to watch them die. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

Glazed eyes flicked to focus on her. This was not part of their script either. At this point, she’d wish them well, promise to be back later, and leave them be. Still, they considered the question. “Chair,” they finally said. 

“You want to go to the chair?” At the tiny nod, she sucked at her teeth, considered the distance. “I’ll get some guards to -“

“No.”

“No? How do you expect to get to the chair?“

“Walk.”

She laughed at that. She couldn’t help herself. “Love, you’re not going to be able to walk to the chair. It’s five meters away. Be sensible, now.”

“Walk,” they insisted. “I can.”

“You think I’ll let you try? Have you killed, too?”

A pause. Consideration. Then, quietly, “Too?”

Shit. Their eyes were fixed on her, watching her reaction, reading the truth in the millisecond of hesitation. Where had that unfocused glaze gone? She licked her lips with the very tip of her tongue, careful to only gloss over her lipstick, arranged an excuse. “Only a few. It’s to be expected, this isn’t -“

“How many?”

It would have been so easy to lie. Maybe they were sharper than the average participant, but she still controlled the flow of information they received. She could make them believe anything if she put proper work into it, including the mortality rate of this trial. 

Looking down at them, positioned as if ready to receive further torture, attention fixed on her and hungry for a tidbit of truth, she couldn’t find it in herself to deceive them. “There’s five left,” she said quietly. “Including you.”

They breathed out at that, an audible exhale. “Start?”

“We started with ninety.” 

“Fifty?” She shrugged in way of explanation, and they nodded, as if they expected it, understood it. So practical, so uniform. God, she did like them. “Me?”

Another hesitation. They noticed it. “We’re doing everything we can to keep you alive,” she eventually said, words careful and picked over. “All of you. So, with luck, you should have nothing to worry about.”

“Luck,” they sneered. She could understand their bitterness, given their situation. She also admired their bitterness. So many of the others simply became empty, exhausted. Their anger was a breath of fresh air sometimes. 

Other times, it expressed itself in stubborn tendencies. “Chair.”

“I’m not going to let you kill yourself,” she said tiredly. 

“Chair.”

“It’s not just your life you’d be wasting. I’m sure you’re used to that, but I can’t afford to allow -“

They barked a laugh, surprisingly loud.“Bitch,” they spat, with great amusement. “I want…”

The rest of their sentence trailed off as they panted for breath, exhausted, determined. She glared venom down at them. They glared venom right back, triumphant and proud. Did she even like them? It seemed to change day-by-day, word-by-word. “Go on, then,” she said, sickly sweet. “Walk to your crummy chair. See how that goes for you.” 

To their credit, they hesitated. Maybe they’d buckle, realise she was right, do as she said. It wasn’t too late to forgive them, find the guards, get them to their chair like they wanted. If they apologised, perhaps. Grovelled, definitely. The relationship between them was entirely up to them to decide. 

They decided, and strained to move, and she sighed inwardly and settled in to watch them die. The effort of sitting up would be enough to knock them out. Actually walking to the chair would absolutely kill them. If they were lucky, maybe their corpse would land on the plump cushion. The detached part of her that she listened to quite frequently these days was interested in how long it would take for them to give up. 

Because they were laying on their back, the process was agonisingly slow. Lacking the immediate strength to simply pull themselves upright, they instead opted to use their arms to hoist up, inch by inch, leaning heavily on their elbows as they gasped for breath. Teeth gritted, limbs shaking, strain intense. She wondered if they’d burn the body today, or leave it for dissection. She wondered if she should send the remains to Kit. 

She wondered how in any possible hell her patient had managed to actually get themselves upright.

Conscious and panting, they didn’t have the energy to act smug. They barely had the energy to stay sitting, skin bone white and fingers holding so tightly to the edge of the table that she could see the outline of every single one of their knuckles. As she watched, their head tilted down, chin almost touching their chest, as if the weight of holding it up was too much… before it jerked, jolting up too far, having to settle in place. A visual demonstration of their bodies demands verses their willpower. 

It was fascinating to watch. “Well, aren’t you just full of surprises?”

Their eyes latched onto her. Glassy, unfocused, dull. Their chest was heaving with the effort of breathing. Even single words would be near impossible now. 

“You’re not going to make it to the chair,” she said, lecture-like. “I’m impressed you got this far, but you need to recognise your limits. You won’t be useful to me if you can’t.” 

Something flickered in their eyes, a spark of life in an otherwise empty void. Their jaw tightened. 

“I can have you carried to the chair still,” she offered, hands spread in front of her. “You only need to ask. I’ll even take a nod. Just let me know.” 

Their head had dipped, exhaustion getting the best of them. She tried not to be disappointed. 

“Let’s get you settled down again,” she said gently, moving closer. “Come on, now. You’re tired. Let’s just -“

They lurched suddenly, tipping forwards, and her words cut off as she darted forwards to catch them. At first, she assumed they had reached their limit, passed out. If they hit the floor, the hard tiles would easily shatter their fragile skull. God knows she couldn’t lose someone with the energy to sit up, the fight to resist her better judgement. 

It was only when she was holding them up that she realised they were still awake. The lurch hadn’t been the body’s success - they had pushed themselves forwards, the intent to stand, to walk, spurring them onwards. 

They seemed surprised to find her in front of them. Most of their weight pressed on her shoulders. They may have been frail, thinned down by the agonies they had endured, but she wasn’t very big herself, and she nearly crumpled under the burden. “Fucking hell,” she snarled. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Or just trying to piss me off?”

A hand rose, slow and gradual. There was no way they were still lucid after all this. She’d be lucky if they woke again after she finally settled them down. Given how feverish their skin felt, it was only a matter of time before this test failed too. Really, she’d wasted too much time in here. 

“Maybe your brother was right to leave you,” she spat at them, as they focused their energy on raising their hand up, up, up. “Knew what sort of a fucking problem you are. Be glad I don’t have you put down, you useless piece of…”

Her words trailed off as their hand finally stopped, gently caressing her face. With careful deliberation, they traced a finger down her temple, down her cheek, down her jaw, letting their thumb rest against her chin, and tilting that up. Given how they had fallen, how they had been caught, the two of them were very close, nearly pressed together; their chest against her shoulders, her eyes level with their chin. Her eyes raised up to meet theirs. 

They pressed their lips to hers. Slow and gentle, although not by choice, they kissed her, and she stood there, holding them upright. In the shock of the moment, she let the cold, mechanical part of her head take over, figure this out. 

More than anything, it was wondering how she could use this. With five participants left, she had the room to be more personal with each of them, and if this was how they wanted to go about it, well. A quiet romance could be nice, and could keep them obedient, loyal. On the increasingly unlikely chance they survived this, maybe she could keep them around for a bit, if they chained their own heart for her. Until she got bored of them. Until they had ran out of use. 

The kiss ended, and they drew back shyly; a school child pecking their crushes cheek for the first time. With as much desperation as they could muster, they searched her gaze, looking for permission or allowance or reciprocation. Apparently not finding it, they started to sag against the table, swallowed, parted their dry lips. “Sorry,” they whispered. 

For a millisecond, she considered her options. Leave them to this obvious mistake and add the burden of embarrassment to their situation. Allow what had happened to be a one-off, let them both move past this and forget it had happened. Or reciprocate - give them a reason to fight on, to survive, a reason to stay at her side even after the matter. 

They were speaking, for fucks sake. Standing on their own feet after forcing themselves upright and speaking in full sentences. If anyone was going to survive this, it was going to be Elan fucking Soot. 

She threaded her fingers through their hair, pulled them closer and pressed her lips to theirs. Much faster. Much more forceful. By the time she was satisfied, they were breathing hard, and her lipstick was pressed over their mouth. 

Without her saying anything, they went to wipe it off, dazed. Not the blank-eyed dazed expression she was so used to. Something bright, alive. Something that shouldn’t be in this facility. 

A red stain transferred to the back of their hand, and they wrinkled their nose at it, an unimpressed grunt making its way up their throat. “Bright,” they said, irked. “Ugh.”

“If you don’t like it, you don’t have to kiss me,” she said, halfway between flirting and icy. 

They smiled, let their arm swing to their side, tilted back, much more weight against their bed. “Thank you.”

“You owe me, lovie.” She let a finger trace along their jawline, let the mechanical voice consider it. There were definitely worse faces to kiss. This could end up being incredibly beneficial to her. 

A softer part of her, the part that had made her heart flutter and her face flush, pointed out it could also be beneficial for them. That maybe they had their own mechanical voice, weighing up their options and choosing the best route. That maybe, just maybe, she should be a little bit careful. 

Then, they swayed on their feet, let out a long sigh, and nodded. “Guards,” they suggested, a voice like a leafs skeleton. “Now.”

She complied, calling loudly and apparently a little frantically - the guards rushed in with their hands on their batons, ready for trouble, finding instead their employer with a participant collapsed on her shoulder. To their credit, they wasted very little time in sorting the situation out, easing her patient back onto the surgery table, limp limbs arranged as kindly as possible, and ushering her out of the room. 

If the guards noticed her lipstick on their lips, neither of them mentioned it.

[miabrown007]

a minute of silence to my skills to estimate how long a project is ever going to take

[kaladinkholins]

hi, it's me. the fic writer that uses culturally-specific idioms in a very different cultural time setting and keeps confusing words like reign and rein. this is my story.

[lenievi]

me: feeling a little meh about the current wip and its dialogue

someone leaves comments on all my Kirk/La'an fics

me: 🥰🥰🥰 (someone will like the current wip too; it is fine)

[aceghosts]

Last Line Game

Tagged by: @purplehairsecretlair, @harmonyowl, @derelictheretic, @direwombat, @marivenah, @natesofrellis, @socially-awkward-skeleton, and @spookyvalentine.

Here's the last line I've written:

Wesker smirks as he pulls away, guiding them towards the helicopter. “That’s my Hunter.”

So, I'm supposed to tag as many people as there are words. Sending tags to @sstewyhosseini, @thomrainer, @hoesephseed, @bluemojave, @allthearchetypes, @whateverthefuckyouwantiguess, @chocobothis, @commander-krios, @poeti-kat, @beautiful-delirium, @confidentandgood, @clicheantagonist, @roofgeese, @nonfunctioning-queer, and uh anyone else who wants to do this. (Also, this is all in good fun, so no pressure to do this.)

[zeawesomebirdie]

So guess who officially sorted out like 95% of part 2 of the Old West!AU