#if you saw one of these bits posted as a wip wednesday a while ago no you didn't.

[yergink]

So while I don't see myself ever finishing this fic at this point, I still want to put some of it out there.

Here's some slightly disconnected scraps of my sci-fi fusion ofmd au (mostly inspired by Lethal Company) all consolidated in one place, in case there was interest.

Corporate billed their scavenging positions as an opportunity to enjoy peace and quiet out in the lost frontier of space. Ed couldn’t help but fucking laugh any time he saw one of those pamphlets, because that description couldn’t be farther from reality. 

---

“Q17, eh? You don't see these models in circulation much anymore, what a beauty. You must take good care of her.”

Ed crossed his arms. “Yeah. I make do.”

The man’s grin twitched. “Oh, sorry!” He held out a black-gloved hand. “Stede Bonnet.”

Oddly fucking chipper for a flight inspector. Ed took his hand in a firm, but curt, shake. “Ed Teach.”

---

“I used to fly, but only recreationally.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. There’s no real piloting required on our end, it’s all automated. You just plug in routes, and the ship takes you there.“

Stede frowned. “Well, that sort of takes all the fun out of it.”

Ed blinked at the bluntness of his statement. “Yeah. Yeah, it does," he agreed.

---

“I can’t figure it out,” Ed said into the dark. 

The ship’s whiny fucking air filtration system kept whirring, refusing to allow any silence to follow his words. 

He could hear Stede shuffling in the bunk above him. “Figure what out?” he asked, after a moment. 

They were separated only by a slightly sagging metal panel and one ridiculously thin mattress. Ed’s nose was practically pressed to the underside of the upper bunk. 

It felt like too little distance, in honesty, but somehow, it made him feel less guilty to pry when they were like this. While he didn’t have to meet Stede’s eyes.

“What it is you’re running from,” Ed answered. 

He heard more rustling, and suddenly Stede’s head popped into view, over the side of the opening. He’d moved abruptly enough for Ed to startle, which he did, clanging into his sleep cubby’s metal back wall with a barely repressed, “Fuck—”

“What makes you think I’m running from something?” Stede asked. 

In the dark, he couldn’t really make out what sort of expression Stede wore, and even then, Ed couldn’t hold his gaze. He watched the blinking light on the terminal monitor mounted to the opposite wall instead. “Dunno if you knew, but no one takes this sort of job when their life’s going well, mate. Every scrapper I’ve known’s been running from something.”

Stede hummed. “Every scrapper?”

“What I said.”

“Does that include you?”

Ed paused. The silhouette of Stede’s head cocked to one side. 

There hadn’t been any snark, or malice in his asking, Ed realized. Just genuine curiosity. 

When Ed didn’t answer right away, Stede continued softly, “The scavenger contracts last five years, but you’ve got logs dating back a lot longer.”

---

The factory was a goddamn maze of looping service corridors. Tentatively, and after some discussion, they decided to split up to cover more ground.

Ed was sitting on the ground unscrewing the door off a storage locker, one hand on the radio to guide Stede through the process of taking apart a winch crane he'd excitedly discovered, when the line went dead.

It wouldn’t be enough to cover it, to describe the feeling like being dunked in ice. Static buzzed suddenly from the speaker where there was once life and voice, and Ed may as well have been jettisoned into fucking space.

The task at hand evaporated. He was on his feet in an instant—flashlight, tools, all abandoned on the soot-stained ground.

“Stede,” he said into the transmitter.

No answer. Just more static.

Ed’s heart started fucking racing. The stupid alarm on his visor flashed an irritated red about it.

He'd started running before he realized it. Like that old shitty jukebox on the ship skipping a record forward, he was sprinting without having made the decision to be, absolutely fucking gunning it back up the metal grate stairs and over the creaking catwalk and into the tunnels where he’d seen Stede off.

The plastic ridges of the walkie groaned in protest from how hard Ed was squeezing it. He pressed the button to speak, managed to bite out between exerted breaths, “Stede, pick up the fucking radio, this isn’t a game.”

He meant for it to be angry, but in the end he just sounded scared.

---

“Ed! Hi!” He sounded…delighted. At ease. Like nothing was wrong, like Ed’s blood pressure wasn’t actively soaring on his account. “Sorry we got cut off. One of these pipes burst and I suppose the steam was thick enough to scatter the signal. It’s sorted now!”

“Sorted,” Ed echoed. “Steam pipe. Right.”

He could hear it, listening past his own pulse roaring like gunfire in his ears. The faintest hiss of steam as it flowed through the rusted pipes secured along the tunnel walls.

“Look,” Ed said. “You—stay where you are, alright? I’m gonna come find you. Stay there.”

When the walkie beeped again, there was a half-second of hesitation before Stede said, “Okay, yes, I hear you. Alright.”

Another beep, and a moment of air, like Stede had something more to say. Ed waited.

The line closed again, wordlessly.

So, fine. Safe to say Ed gave a shit. And really, that put it lightly.

[kookaburra1701]

WIP Wednesday - The Wives of Shor I: Moth to Flame

Tagged by @tallmatcha and @thana-topsy tyty my friends❤️

Honestly if it wasn't for WIP posts I would have lost momentum a long time ago, but these just keep it building! Tagging @gilgamish Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: E Category: M/M Pairing: Kaidan/Lucien Flavius Genre(s): Romance (bodice-rippers my beloveds), bildungsroman Other main characters: Inigo the Brave, she/her Breton LDB

Summary: A scene from near the beginning of the fic, Kaidan and Inigo are out fulfilling a bounty. Lucien Flavius is by Joseph Russell, Kaidan is by Liv Templeton, and Inigo the Brave is by SmartBlueCat.

23 Last Seed, 4E 401 A bead of sweat slipped out of Kaidan's hairline and slowly traced its way down the side of his face, along his jaw, to finally drip off his chin.

Midsummer might have been a memory, but the oppressive heat was inescapable on the tundra with little cover. Even having forgone his heavy plate cuirass for just a padded gambeson Kaidan was struggling not to pant from the temperature alone.

Just above the crest of the rise in the foothills behind Honningbrew Meadery, the golden back of the sabrecat was visible in the tall grass. He could hear the tearing of flesh and the scrape of tooth and tongue on bone over the steady drone of insects as it consumed its meal. Beside him, he heard rather than saw Inigo move into a kneeling position as he raised his bow. Even in the midday sun the carved ebony barely gleamed, seeming to suck in all light that hit it. Kaidan readied his own bow and nocked an arrow.

The twang-zip of Inigo's bowstring broke the hush of the clearing as he loosed his arrow, followed immediately by the wet thump of it finding the beast's rib cage and the enraged roar as the saber cat reared up from it's meal and rounded.

Godsdamnit, thought Kaidan as he drew his bowstring taught and fired, the arrow going wide. Inigo's arrow had been deflected by one of the animal's ribs; mortal but not nearly deep enough to kill immediately. Kaidan was on his feet as the saber cat roared again, and charged.

Years of long practice had his sword in his hands before the beast had covered half the distance between them. Blood and pink foam poured out of the wound on its side but it was not slowed, only maddened. Kaidan dodged one swipe of a massive paw and as the sabre cat overcorrected, trying to keep him in its sight he struck: the deadly curved blade of his nodachi pierced the animal's neck.

For a moment it almost seemed as if the cat would rise again, its hind legs and feet contracting and spine curling as it thrashed. Kaidan jumped back to avoid its death-throes, and in a moment it was all over.

"Well done, my friend," Inigo said cheerfully as he came up the hill, still with a second arrow readied. "We make a great team, do we not?"

Kaidan laughed and finally wiped the sweat away from his face. "Kind of you to say that; my arrow certainly didn't help things." He turned to look at the crimson smear in the grass where the saber cat had been feeding. "I'll have to get in some more target practice at the Companions' range while we're in the city." He pulled his sword free from the sabre cat's body, and pulled a rag out his belt to wipe it off before re-sheathing it.

"When you are in our line of work, there is no such things as too much practice," Inigo agreed. "However, we cannot all be the best archer in Tamriel." Inigo was grinning, looking extremely pleased with himself.

Kaidan grunted in acknowledgement and continued up the hill. The grass was slick with blood, and a metallic smell hung heavy in the air.

Most of a goat was strewn around the clearing; it certainly appeared to match the description Nazeem had provided. As Kaidan stepped forward, looking for a bit of the carcass that was large and recognizable enough to turn in as proof they had killed the right animal, his foot stepped on something that made a jingling sound in the grass.

He bent to pull the grass away and saw a leather collar and bell. That will do it, he thought. As he lifted it from the ground, Kaidan froze.

Heavy breathing was barely audible from the foliage at the edge of the clearing, a scant few yards away. As he looked up, Kaidan's blood ran cold.

Two green eyes above long, gleaming fangs stared back at him from the shadow of the thicket. The breathing became a low growl as the sabre cat locked eyes with him and crouched in readiness to spring.

That thing had a mate!

"Inigo!" Kaidan yelled, moving backwards as fast as he could while simultaneously trying to draw his sword - the hilt was still slick with gore he was just getting a grip on it when the sabre cat broke cover. For a horrible moment the sabre cat seemed impossibly big and dark as its leap carried it high into the air, its shadow falling over Kaidan as he struggled to raise his sword in a desperate bid to stave off it's attack.

Twang-zip!

Unlike the other sabre cat, this one simply went limp in the air as Inigo's arrow pierced its eye, snuffing out its life in an instant.

Kaidan managed to dodge out of the way of the falling corpse, but it was hardly a graceful move. He ended up sliding on his backside a few feed down the hill at the end of it.

"Are you alright, my friend?" Inigo panted as he ran the rest of the way up the hill. "I thought she had you for a moment there!"

"So did I," Kaidan drew his hand though his hair, brushing the damp strands that had plastered themselves to his face away in annoyance. He accepted Inigo's offered hand as he pulled himself to his feet. "Good thing I'm working with the best archer in Tamriel. That was an impressive bit of shooting."

Inigo preened. "Thank you. I wish I could say it was intentional. I was aiming for her heart."

Kaidan laughed, the familiar slightly euphoric feeling that always settled over him after a close call increasing his mirth. "Maybe we'll leave out that bit when we tell the story in the Huntsman tonight, eh?"

"Maybe we will, maybe we will," Inigo said, laughter in his voice. "I think we will also leave out you nearly sliding all the way back down to the valley floor on your bottom."

[piecesofeden11]

WIP - Wednesday

Life has been a bit much lately, so I'm lagging severely on all fronts but I'm trying! <3 This is a snippet from my not quite finished last story for Obianidala-Week, which I plan on still posting! Please enjoy and apologies for being very quiet at the moment!

Cast out from the library, but with plenty of time still to kill until The Evening, Anakin wandered the Temple like a gleeful spectre, creeping out Younglings and Masters alike with the ever present grin he could not seem to wipe off his face.

Tonight was going to be the best night of his life so far, of that he was sure. It had been a long time in the making and when he had first come to terms with the fact, that he felt the same love and desire for his former Master as he did for his gorgeous, beautiful, perfect wife, he had nearly spiraled out of control in panic, certain that he was about to lose everything.

For months, he had carried the burden of wanting, needing Obi-Wan in a way he could barely comprehend, while almost caving under the weight of the guilt he felt towards Padmé. He had shut himself away from both of them, hoping against all odds that the feelings would simply dissipate.

They did not. In fact, they only got stronger, desire fanning into a sense of lust that nearly burned him alive.

Then, on a lovely, balmy summer night, after he had just returned from a month-long deployment and was yearning for nothing more than his wife's arms (and his Master's, too), Padmé had simply asked. Or rather, stated.

"You are in love with Obi-Wan."

Anakin shivered, as he remembered that moment, the sheer terror he had felt, every muscle tensing up with anticipation for the inevitable fallout.

Padmé had simply smiled at him, carded a hand through his hair and said the unthinkable.

"Then you should tell him so."

Anakin remembered that moment just as well. He had gaped at her like a Fingerlip Garpon, forgotten how to breathe for several seconds even. Even when she had proceeded to reassure him that she saw no great issue in him loving two people equally and informing him that such arrangements were not uncommon on Naboo, he had thought he was dreaming, or worse, dying.

Padmé's approval, encouragement even, had been one thing. Actually going through with it and confessing his feelings to Obi-Wan had been quite another. It had taken him two more month and a near-death experience to finally blurt out the words and, in a moment of absolute panic, go so far as to simply kiss his Master.

Anakin remembered that moment just as well, the seconds ticking by as he danced on a knife's edge of elation and fear, while Obi-Wan's perfect, warm, soft lips remained still under his own.

For a moment, he had been absolutely certain that he had ruined everything, after all, when suddenly, he had been pulled forward by the hips, a large, calloused hand encircling his neck, as Obi-Wan had proceed to kiss him senseless.

They had had a long, thorough conversation about a lot of things after that, about feelings and arrangements and expectations and boundaries and it had left Anakin reeling a bit with the sheer enormity of it all.

The most terrifying moment, however, had been when Anakin had confessed about his marriage, to which Obi-Wan had only raised one perfect eyebrow and said, in the dryest tone imaginable: "You don't say."

Since then, Anakin's life had been pretty much perfect. He was still married to the most amazing woman in the galaxy, while also getting to be with his incredible Master and for a while he had been content with dividing his time between his two lovers.

Then, a week ago, Padmé had planted an idea in his head, dangling the possibility of a new arrangement in front of him, that would involve all three of them. Obi-Wan had, to Anakin's great surprise and relief, agreed quite readily.

They had decided on having dinner at Padmé's apartement first and then see where the evening would lead them. Anakin certainly hoped it would lead them to a large, comfortable bed and as little clothing as possible.

Oh, he was SO ready for the evening to arrive.

[conceptalbummultiverse]

WIP Wednesday 7

Since my last WIP Wednesday post, I managed to finish another chapter of SF: ALS and get started on another (half of which I had already written a while ago, so I just need to stitch what I wrote before and what I'm currently writing together), which means Part 4 is coming closer to being finished... Only two full chapters left to write, and then it's editing time. At most, it'll probably see the light of day in March. Anyway...

Since we start to drift into spoiler territory the further I go along, these snippets are probably going to end up being very short in the future. Also, as with last time, this is NOT edited.

       Pink heard the party at Jojo’s before he saw it. Even nestled within the limousine’s smooth interior, he could feel a throbbing bassline shaking its frame, and hear the shrieks and cries and shouts that only a mass of very, very drunk people could make. As soon as the limo had parked around the back of the house, Pink opened the door, only for several partygoers to descend upon him, all topless and wide-eyed and clutching half-empty glasses. “Hey, man!” One of the women grabbed at Pink’s arm, and Pink drew back. “Come on out!” As soon as they realized that there were only three people in the limo, they scattered, but Pink remained frozen where he was, his heart rate beginning to increase. All of a sudden, he didn’t want to do this. But he knew that he had to.

       “I’ll come with you,” Steven announced, already unbuckling his safety belt.

       Pink shook his head. “No.” Entering the party with a bodyguard would just attract the kind of attention that Pink didn’t want. Besides, he had to talk to Ziggy alone.

       He slid out of the limo and slammed the door behind him. Behind a ragged chain-link fence, he could see a pool glistening under a pair of flood lights. Plenty of people were in the pool, horsing around and tossing a beach ball, but the majority of the partygoers were milling around at its edges, shaking their bodies to the music blaring from a large pair of speakers. Already Pink was beginning to wish that he had earplugs to match his face mask. It only took a few minutes of scanning the crowd to notice that Ziggy wasn’t outside. If he had been, the partygoers would have surely cleared a special spot for him, not to mention that his looks stood out too much for him to blend in. That meant Pink would have to go inside. Well, he’d never expected this task to be easy.

       As soon as Pink entered the house through the back door, he found himself staring at a man who’d dived face-first into a punch bowl. A few other men stood pumping their fists around him, chanting and hooting up a storm. Determined not to let anything distract him, Pink slipped past the group and continued into the main room. There, he saw another bunch of people with spoons and straws in hand huddled in the center of the room around a glass coffee table. Piled atop the coffee table was a mountain of cocaine, more than Pink had ever seen in one place in his life. Sitting on the ratty armchairs, tattered sofa, and threadbare rug were multiple couples enjoying each other’s company, their hands and lips roaming across each other’s bodies.

       The light in the main room was dim, so it took Pink a bit longer to track down anyone who might be Ziggy, but eventually he determined that Ziggy wasn’t present in this room, either. Great. That only left the bathrooms and the bedrooms for him to search, neither of which he had any particular desire to enter. At least the house was only one story, so the search probably wouldn’t take him very long.

[maskedemerald]

Hello! Prospective new mutual. Found your post and was intrigued by the idea of "potentially weird writing experiments."

Care to share a little more on what you mean? :eyesemoji: One of the things I've been experimenting with is the strengths of prose/writing specifically as a medium -- what it can do well, how to play with the form.

(I'll also try to toss an ask or two your way for WorldBuilding Wednesday, I saw you mention interest--)

Hi!

While I've not shared any yet (been a bit focused on my editing deadline right now) I really want to share some of the writing experiments I've been doing. Sometimes they are not that weird with me just playing with different genres to my comfort zone or playing with a different perspectives (I was once taught in school that stories should never be in first person because that's boring... boy were they wrong. Read Darren Shan and now I use first person a lot.) really want to mess around with some 2nd person just to see what kind of thing I can create with it.

However when they do fall into the more weird category its things like playing with the formatting to tell the story from 4 perspectives at once (like on the same page and not switching between chapters) or mixing genres and tropes that are not normally paired. Or writing from a POV of a character with limited agency to act in scenes because of secrets or limitations. There are other ones if I were to delve through my WIPs. Some of these I did a while ago and am curious to go back to them and share bits. Maybe some new things too because my brain is always going "what if I do it this way?" about things (I really want to play with a time travel idea with different time lines over laying each other in the narrative.) I'll probably start sharing things like this in October or if things go well next week once the editing is done!

I subscribe very much to the idea of learning the rules of writing and then seeing where I can break or bend them to make something interesting.

[taelonsamada]

Fragment Friday

I’m honestly enjoying all these postmarking days, won’t lie lol WIP Wednesday, Snippet Sunday, Fragment Friday… it helps me resist the urge to just post the entire thing, since these ARE supposed to be published novels eventually lol

Anywho, since I’m enjoying their banter, have more Rowan & Felix snark

Tagging @ejunkiet @dominimoonbeam @thatlesbeanjew & @solclaw in fragment friday cause you’re all driving me nuts wanting more of your WIPs! ❤️

~~~

“You know, you didn’t have to go out and find a patient as an excuse to come back.” Rowan huffed, shutting and locking the door while Felix guided Tobias to the couch Argent had designated for healing.

“I am well aware. I had plans on bringing some fresh pie with me to make up for my last visit.” Felix assured, steadying Tobias by the shoulders as he eased him back against the couch.

“…key lime?”

“Naturally.”

“Made by Gabrielle?”

“Who else?”

“You’re forgiven.” Rowan relented, standing beside the couch as she watched Argent crouch down in front of the man slumped back onto it. “So who’s this?”

“My new client.” Felix replied with a smile, to which Rowan stared at him in disbelief.

“The one you got assigned a couple days ago? You lasted two days before you got him hurt? How are you such a highly recommended bodyguard with a track record like that??”

“Hey now!” He huffed as he planted his hands on his hips, ignoring the blood that was staining them and soaking into his pants. “I only started officially working as his bodyguard today, and this was how I found him when I went to meet him.”

Rowan frowned at that before looking at the man that she was now fairly certain was unconscious as Argent looked him over as well as she could without touching him. Looking back at Felix with a lifted eyebrow, her frown deepened as Felix just shrugged. “He got jumped in an alley.”

“Definitely sounds like he needs a bodyguard…”

“I mean, most seers do.” He pointed out, and couldn’t help grinning as Rowan’s eyes widened.

“Wait, this guy is an oracle? How did he get jumped in the first place, shouldn’t he have seen it coming?”

“…..ugh… so tired of hearing that…”

All three of them looked over at the blonde man as he finally raised his head from where it had been flopped back against the couch, Argent immediately leaning in towards him.

“Hi… You’re alright, I promise. I’m Felix’s friend, and he’s brought you here for a healing.” She assured, Felix recognizing that calm, steady voice healers took on when the injury was severe and they needed the patient to stay still. “You’ve been stabbed twice, and both are pretty deep. I need to put my hands on you to close it. Are you okay with me touching you?”

When all she got was an irritated grumble, she frowned, leaning closer and starting to speak before pausing and looking back at Felix.

“Tobias.” He spoke up, his playful amusement dying a bit as he saw the man violently flinch at the sound of his name. It got him to look up at the wolf, however, a suspicious glare cast at him. “She’s gotta touch you to heal you.”

Those hazel eyes, squinting in pain, shifted over to Argent before he huffed and leaned back against the couch again. “Sure.” He muttered tiredly. “Go on and delay the inevitable a bit longer.”

[wild-houseplant]

WIP Wednesday (Thursday)

I am a day late to submitting this but thank you @heniareth for the tag (and @scribbledquillz tagged me once a while ago but I had nooothing ToT I’m sorry!) But now I have something I’m working on in the background as I try to get this longfic going.

behold, an excerpt of a letter from Rhodri to Zevran during Awakening! This little bit was inspired by a post I saw ages ago about Zevran’s Warden getting really grumpy when someone made a comment about him being an elf and they thought the Warden wouldn’t hear.

Tagging you back @heniareth + @scribbledquillz and @m-m-m-myysurana in good time for Wednesday next week! 😂

---------------------------------

The letter is dated 2nd Cassus (Haring), 9:30 Dragon, on a rectangular piece of bleached, neatly-trimmed paper bearing a letterhead with the Grey Warden crest stamped in the middle. The handwriting is sharp and austere, and somewhat untidy.

Dulcis,

I got your letter a moment ago. I hope you’re as safe now as you were when you wrote this some two weeks earlier. You’ll tell me, yes, if you think of something I can do to keep you comfortable and secure? Anything at all. 

The woman you spoke of in your letter is the one who insulted you when we arrived in Amaranthine. As per my orders, everyone was evacuated from the property and the servants were given the option to work here instead. All but two accepted, and they were humans. 

When the woman asked me where she would live now, I suggested she build her new house in Gwaren, beside the memorial for Loghain, since the two share an obvious affinity for racist sentiments. This has led to some blowback.

[coffeestainsandcashmere]

Let No Man Steal Your Thyme - Chapter Eight (sfw)

I hope those few of you who follow this blog even remember this story!! It's being posted on here as a WIP, so technically you're all my beta readers :). Sorry it's taking so long to work through, but I'm really busy with other writing work, plus actual work, and some life stuff, but it's not abandoned!

In this chapter, which is a bit of a filler chapter, Hermione gets a pleasant surprise visit at the Kneazel and Quill, and she learns what Draco is doing with himself all day at the Manor, and why he has the hands of a potion master. Meanwhile Draco is quietly freaking out about what Scorpius will think of his kindling relationship with one third of the legendary Golden Trio...

As always, looking forward to hearing your reactions and thoughts!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six (nsfw), Part Seven (nsfw)

___

The bell above the door of the Kneazel and Quill jangled, and Hermione looked up to see a very familiar figure wearing practical, Muggle clothes, and a tired but genuine smile.

“Harry!” she shrieked in delight, rising and scuttling around the desk. “When did you get back? I thought you were on assignment in Sweden til —”

He raised his eyebrows. “Wednesday? It’s Wednesday today, Hermione.”

“So it is,” she laughed, and pulled him into a hug. “Cup of tea? You look wiped out.”

“I’m only staying if you’ve got custard creams…”

She snorted. “I must have known I’d need them — I stopped at the Tesco Express on my way in this morning.”

“Maybe Professor Trelawney was wrong about you and ‘the sight’ after all?” Harry grinned and she shook her head, curls bouncing everywhere for want of a hair-tie.

Seated in the cramped back room of her second hand bookshop, Harry looked at her and cocked his head slightly to the side.

“What?” she asked, dunking a biscuit into her tea.

Quietly, Harry said, “There’s something different about you.”

“No there isn’t,” she retorted, scoffing her custard cream down and reaching for another. “I’m the same washed up old hag I’ve always been. Now, tell me about Gothenburg! I’ve wanted to go back ever since we went there for that conference — must be, ooh, what, twelve years ago now? Gods, how time flies.”

“Ok, first of all, you’re nothing like a ‘washed up old hag’, so don’t you dare talk about yourself like that, and secondly, Gothenburg was amazing.”

She smiled, and let him tell her what he could about his assignment.

“Bet Ginny’s glad to have you back,” she said.

Harry’s face shifted into what Hermione called her favourite ‘Harry being soppy for his wife’ expression, and he flushed. “Yeah, probably. Apparently Lily’s been flying around the garden at Grimmauld and it’s giving Ginny kneazles. Lily’s been pretending to be the next seeker for the Harpies or something…” Raking his hand through his messy hair, he sighed. “Who’d have ever thought I’d be sitting in your bookshop, talking about my daughter learning to fly, eh?”

She smiled, but Harry’s expression cracked a little.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Hermione scowled fondly and reached across to take his hand in hers. “Harry… we’ve been over this a thousand times.”

“I know. I just…” he drew in a long inhale and then said, “So are you going to tell me what’s changed in your life since I’ve been away? You’re practically glowing. Did you meet someone?”

Hermione bit her lip and drew back, cheeks heating damnably.

“You did? Who is it? Do I know them?”

“Yes,” she said carefully. “You do. But if I tell you who it is, I need you to…” she puffed out her cheeks and finished off in a rush, “I need you to promise not to freak out first of all, and then promise you won’t tell a soul. Not even Ginny just yet, ok? It’s really important.”

Harry looked wary and worried at that.

Taking one more breath for courage, she said quietly, “It’s Draco Malfoy.”

For a moment, Harry fell utterly still, his green eyes wide and disbelieving. He looked like he was expecting Fred and George to pop out of the bookshelves with party streamers and tell him he’d been pranked, but when he saw her anxious expression, his shoulders dropped a fraction and he whispered, “You’re bloody serious.”

“Yes.”

“How?” he blurted. “I mean… the man’s a hermit by all accounts. How did you even meet him, let alone… you know…” he grimaced and she bit back a snicker. It looked like he’d swallowed a toad whole.

A tiny smile crept onto her lips and she relaxed just a little. “It was back on the first of September,” she said. “I went with Ginny to wave James and Albus off, and —”

“— of course, Scorpius started this year too.”

“Exactly. Draco was there to see him off. Ginny was amazed that he’d left the Manor, but he’s… Gods, Harry, he loves that boy so much.” She paused, recalling Draco's stricken expression as the train had pulled away from the platform, and of his fears about losing Scorpius because of their relationship.

Harry watched her with a quiet intensity for a moment and then asked, “So… Uh… how’d it happen?”

She laughed. “I invited him for a drink at the Leaky, fully expecting him to refuse. I think he surprised himself when he accepted. We had lunch together and honestly…? It was really nice. He’s changed, Harry.”

“I know.”

That surprised her, and she sat up a bit and frowned.

Chuckling softly, Harry ran a hand around the two-day stubble on his jaw. “You remember the attack on the Manor?”

“Little Scorpius yowled in my arms for hours while you questioned his father, Harry. I couldn’t forget that.”

Harry acquiesced with a sideways nod of his head. “Well, he wasn’t the same Malfoy from school in that interview room, Hermione. I don’t know what I was expecting, but when I could get him to focus on something that wasn’t the whereabouts of his son, he was articulate and helpful… Still arrogant and snappy, but…” Harry shook his head. “He’s definitely different.”

Hermione bit her lip to try and stop herself from crying, which failed, and when Harry looked up, his face fell.

“Hermione? What’s wrong?” He set his mug down and rose from his battered old armchair, crossing in two strides to kneel beside hers.

“I was so afraid you wouldn’t understand,” she whispered, shaking and overwhelmed.

All the tension left Harry and he hugged her.

It was awkward because of the furniture, but Harry had always given the best hugs no matter the situation. “You deserve to be happy, Hermione. And you’ve always known your mind. If Malfoy can keep up with you, and keep you happy, then…” he shrugged without letting go, “I’ll support you. If he hurts you though, I will use every curse I’ve ever learned as an Auror on him.”

“Thanks, Harry. You promise you won’t tell anyone yet?”

He nodded.

And then someone cleared their throat from the doorway into the main shop, and Hermione jumped. Harry sprang back, hand going instinctively for his wand, but he stopped when he saw who was standing there.

“Theo!” Hermione exclaimed, smearing the last of her tears off her cheeks. “What are you doing here? I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Too busy sobbing onto dear Potter’s shoulder,” he said without barb. “Everything alright?”

She nodded. “Just getting emotional about something as usual. What’s up?”

“Just came to see if you wanted to grab lunch, but I can see that England’s favourite Auror has returned. How was your trip, Potter?”

“Good,” he said, suddenly every bit the awkward boy he’d been at Hogwarts. “I just finished debriefing and thought I’d stop by for a custard cream and a chat with Hermione before I head home. I’m on leave for a week now.”

“Nice,” Theo smiled. “Any plans?”

Harry shrugged. “A few casual rounds of quidditch with Ron and the others,” he said. “Time with Ginny and Lily. Might pop up to Hogsmeade and see if I can visit James and Albus at the weekend.”

Conversation stalled, and Harry rocked back on his heels before putting his mug down and turning to Hermione.

“Look, I’d better get going,” he said. “But… Come over for dinner this week, alright?”

She nodded. “I’d love that. Tomorrow any good?”

“I’ll check with Ginny, but I can’t see why not. I’ll owl you.” He paused and then grinned. “C’mere,” he said, and pulled her into another enormous hug. With a hand briefly on the back of her head, he murmured, “I won’t tell a soul.”

“Thank you,” she said, squeezing him so hard he wheezed.

“See you, Nott,” Harry said with a polite nod as he left.

Once the bell had fallen silent again, Theo turned to her and crossed his arms loosely over his chest. “Everything alright?” he asked again now that they were alone.

“Yeah,” she said and rolled her eyes. “I told him about Draco and bound him to secrecy. I was so relieved when he took it so well that I just burst into tears.”

Theo laughed at that and finally seemed to relax. “I’m honoured to have known before Potter, then,” he said. “And what, pray, are those?” he added when his eyes landed on the custard creams.

“Muggle biscuits,” she said, picking up the plate and holding it out to him. “They’re delicious.”

Theo looked as if she’d offered him a plate of slugs and held up his hand. “Thanks… I’ll, uh, pass.”

“You’re such a snob, Theodore Nott,” she laughed, bustling off to tidy the mugs and plate away. “What did you want, anyway?”

“Lunch,” he said.

“It’s three in the afternoon,” she countered.

“Mmm. I had a deposition that went on forever. I’m starving.”

“Theo, I do actually have a business to run,” she said. “Isn’t today Dan’s day off? Can’t he go instead?”

“He’s already reserved us a table and is probably halfway through his steak and rioja by now,” Theo groused. “I’ll bring you a doggy bag if we have any leftovers,” he added affectionately.

“Thanks?”

Pausing on the threshold to the back room, Theo fixed her with one of his rare, intense and sincere looks. “I’m glad things worked out with you and Draco. Potter was right; you both deserve to be happy.”

She swallowed thickly, feeling tears prickle at her eyes again. “You won’t tell anyone? He wants to tell Scorpius himself. He doesn’t want it coming from someone else first.”

Theo dragged his thumb across his heart in a cross and nodded. “Drinks on Friday? Draco said he might come.”

“I’ll be there anyway,” she promised, and Theo left with a friendly wink that only he could get away with.

She and Draco continued to see each other, mostly using the seclusion of his London apartment, though they did sometimes go back to hers. There they watched the 1946 Great Expectations. To Hermione’s surprise, however, Draco informed her that it wasn’t his first time seeing a muggle film. That, naturally, led down a whole rabbit hole of questions, ending with the discovery that Draco had built Scorpius a warded playroom inside Malfoy Manor that was shielded from the effects of magic and thus allowed Muggle technology to function perfectly.

“But… you need electricity!” she’d blurted.

Laughing and looking far too smug with himself, Draco said, “Indeed.”

“But… wizarding households don’t have electricity!”

“Granger, you’re glorious when you’re baffled. I must make more efforts to confound that brilliant mind of yours more often.”

“Tell me!” she’d shrilled, pinching him in the ribs as they sat on the sofa together with the end credits rolling away in the background. When he’d just sat back with his mouth quirked into an infuriating smirk, she had straddled him and raked her fingers through the slightly shorter hair just above his hears on either side of his head, scrunching the silver-white waves until he’d groaned and bucked upwards slightly into her. “Tell me, Draco Malfoy, or no more kisses.”

“You drive a hard bargain, my beautiful, brilliant witch,” he purred, slightly breathless as she continued to hold him in her grasp, head tilted back a little, throat exposed. His hands landed reverently on her hips and he closed his eyes, clearly enjoying the contact.

Naturally, Hermione kissed him on the lips and he smiled. “Perpetual shock charm,” he said when she drew back. “I made a generator.”

“That’s… That’s so simple it’s genius. But surely you had to look up —?”

“I’m fairly certain I could get a job as a muggle ‘electrician’ now,” he snickered, chasing after more kisses. “But I choose not to.”

“What do you do with yourself all day?” she asked. “Running Malfoy Manor and the estate can’t take up all your time, surely?”

He went a little tense beneath her at that and then chuckled, embarrassed. “I… I’m on the board of a number of charities,” he said, “And I’m currently conducting research into a number areas in the field of Potions. I did a postal course to get my NEWTs in Potions, and shortly after that, attained my masters.”

“Huh,” she said, sitting back a bit. She reached down and brought his hands up in front of her. Pressing a kiss to each of his scar-flecked knuckles, she murmured, “That explains a lot. You’ve got the hands of a potion-master, Draco.”

“Too many spills and accidents,” he snorted. “And not enough dragon hide gloves.”

“What are you researching?”

“A number of projects,” he said evasively.

“Come on,” she laughed, dropping his hands again and beginning to nuzzle at his jawline and neck. He was utterly weak to that, she’d discovered to her absolute delight, and she was not above using it to her advantage. Beneath her, he shivered and went limp, turning his head with a sigh of pleasure as she raked her teeth over his pulse and then kissed him.

“I’m working on… ah… on a recipe that… oh gods, Granger…”

“Go on,” she crooned.

“A recipe to make the wolfsbane potion commercially viable,” he panted.

At that, she did pause, but only for a moment. Next thing Draco knew, Hermione had flung her arms around his neck and was squeezing the life out of him like a boa constrictor.

“Granger?”

She just shook her head, thinking of what Remus Lupin would say if he knew what Draco was working on now on behalf of his kind. “Why?” she eventually croaked without removing her face from the crook of Draco’s neck.

His hands skated gently up and down her back, the heat simmering back down to something calmer; something fond and affectionate. “Because,” he fairly growled, “Fenrir Greyback tormented my mother when he lived with us at the Manor, and I had no idea that werewolves could be functioning members of society with the right help until I met Remus Lupin. It was just another area where if I’d only known more at the time, it would have made so much difference to my perception of things.”

He sighed and kissed the side of her head.

“I can make a difference now. I’ve got a state of the art potions lab in one of the dungeons at the Manor, and Severus left his entire collection of books and notes to me in his will. He must have known I always wanted to be a potions master, even when I didn’t think I’d live beyond the end of that awful year…”

That was probably the longest continuous speech from Draco she’d heard since they’d started seeing each other, and the emotion in his voice, lingering beneath the surface like a hidden current, moved her deeply.

“You’re a wonderful man, Draco,” she whispered as she kissed his temple. “I wish the world could see you for who you are now…”

“You see me,” he said very quietly. “That’s enough.”

___

To be continued! Don’t forget to let me know what you think, and help a relative newbie (at least to contributing anyway) to the fandom out by reblogging!

writing masterlist | Ao3

[shredsandpatches]

wip wednesday (fog on the Essex marches, fog on the Kentish heights edition)

Moving backward a little bit here to get into the aftermath of the Battle of Radcot Bridge. Richard has just spent a harrowing couple of hours believing that Robert de Vere has drowned while crossing the Thames, but he has just made his way back to Windsor to see Richard one last time before fleeing the country. And he’s brought exposition! 

Which is mostly what this passage is, but I got a little bit choked up writing the very last part of it so I thought I’d post it for WIP Wednesday. It also hit me that this is going to be Robert’s last scene in the book (although he will probably write some letters and/or appear in a dream sequence or two because talking to dead people is absolutely a thing throughout) and that made me sad even though I have lots of earlier stuff still to write where he’s around. 

--

“They couldn’t see anything, because of the fog,” Robert says. “We were surrounded—I don’t know how much has got back to you. We were outnumbered. Warwick’s men were behind us, and Gloucester was ahead of us, and we had a skirmish with Arundel’s men at Burford. They killed Molyneux—I don’t know if you’ve heard yet. My men had surrendered already when Thomas Mortimer stabbed him in the head.”

“Christ,” Richard says, shaking his head, unsure whether he’s cursing or praying, while Anne crosses herself.

“Arundel told my men that unless they wished to stand with the traitors who had corrupted the king and realm, they should lay down their weapons and go home. A lot of them did.” He snorts. “Can’t say I blame them, I suppose. They saw which way the wind was blowing. Though I don’t understand how anyone can listen to Arundel without wanting to bash his sanctimonious face in.” He looks at Richard and lifts an eyebrow, and despite themselves, Richard and Anne both giggle. “I knew getting across the river was our only hope,” he continues. “We rode on to the crossing at Radcot Bridge, and then we found that Bolingbroke had beaten us there. His men had been tearing up the bridge so that it was impassable. And that’s when the Duke of Gloucester showed up.”

Anne, who has been listening with wide eyes, asks, “How did you get away?”

“I didn’t have enough men left to fight my way through, even against Bolingbroke, let alone Gloucester and his men. I told the men I had left that it was me they were after—that if they surrendered and went home, no harm would come to them. I don’t know if I was right or not. But I went right into the river. It was so cold it burned my skin—” He presses his hand to his eyes for a moment, rubs his face. “I should have fought for you, Richard—I should have died for you.” His voice is thick, and for the first time Richard has ever seen, in all the years he’s known him—all the years he’s loved him—his eyes shine with tears. “I’m your knight, Diccon. I was supposed to be your knight. I told you years ago, I was a king’s man through and through. But they were closing in on me, and I wanted to live.”

[monstersandmaw]

Male orc (Vilugh) x male reader (sfw) - Part Two

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This should have gone up on here yesterday, and has been available on my $5 Patreon tier for a week as the fourth ‘early release’ story on Patreon in July (every Wednesday).

You may recall the first chapter that I posted as an unedited WIP (Tumblr link) a while ago and had lots of encouraging comments about and some interest in seeing more from Vilugh and the prince. So, here it is! Sorry it's a bit late - things have just been nuts here lately. I wanted this to be the final chapter, but... plot happened. So... there'll be more in the future!

Content: continuing on from last time where our scholarly prince with the unfathomably dickish king for a father was told he was going to spend six months with the orcs, we see Vilugh again, meet his sister, and finally, get to the encampment. (tw: brief mention of past death of reader’s older brother, and constantly being compared to him by the aforementioned dickish king...)

Wordcount: exactly 4000. *nice*

Part One

To say that I was furious with my father for only deigning to inform me of my new situation for the next six months would have been an understatement. I knew I wasn’t the ruler-son that he’d envisaged taking over from him, but I had thought that my rather impressive record for strategy and tactics spoke for itself, not to mention that I was responsible for almost single-handedly planning and instigating massive economic reforms that not only refilled the monarchy’s gradually-dwindling coffers but promoted trade and gave our floundering, stagnating economy a huge boot up the backside. And yet, still, I was not enough. I was not my brother.

Fuming, I strode along the corridors from the great hall up to my chambers and nearly flattened a poor serving girl as she left one of the rooms along the way. “I’m sorry,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Highness,” she chirped, dipping into a curtsy and scurrying away before I could explain myself.

My reputation had gone from ‘scholar prince’ to ‘Royal Monk’ by the time I was twenty five, but I was also known for being moody and sullen, with a perpetual scowl on my lean - I thought gaunt - face. No wonder I’d frightened her. As I stared in the speckled mirror in my bedroom, I saw a face and body that would hardly impress the orcs to whom I was about to be packed off like a spare bit of cargo for six months. Why? What what did my father have to gain from sending me to a group of people who, until my teenage years, had been our enemies? They weren’t exactly our best friends now either.

The orcs right across the continent had begun to think about trade with us since Khraxh and her warband had first agreed to peace talks, and while the mountain orcs were still ferociously opposed to any kind of truce or trade talks with the soft, plains- and forest-dwelling humans, Khraxh had clearly seen the advantages that at least a ‘polite understanding’ would have with us. We had the monopoly on iron ore with our goblin-run mines to the east, and due to our superior charcoal burning techniques, we were able to forge steel like almost no one else, save perhaps the goblins themselves.

Goblins, like humans, had a long and turbulent history with orcs. Historically, encounters between the two peoples mostly ended in absolute annihilation of entire goblin communities by the larger and stronger orcs - hence their very slight preference for dealing with humans. It really was only a slight preference, however. Goblins were wary and untrusting of most folks, but it was understandable. They were a skittish, intolerant folk, quick to be offended and even quicker to give it.

Staring into that age-freckled mirror, I saw my lacklustre, pale skin, with no distinguishing features, save perhaps for my mother’s dark eyes and a slightly hooked nose. Where Dannan had been the golden boy of our family - qujite literally with his curly blond hair - I was the proverbial and, of late, the literal, dark horse. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark expression…

Needless to say, I got little sleep that night, which added to the dark shadows beneath those dark eyes. I turned it over and over as I lay amid the fine silk sheets. In the end, I came to the rather unsettling conclusion that my father hoped I wouldn’t survive my time with the orcs so that he could install someone like my cousin Balgrun on the throne after his demise. Not that anyone imagined that a king as tenacious and bitter as my father would ever give up his hold on life; he was simply too stubborn to die, I was sure of it. True, I was useful, but I was not a leader. I honestly crumbled to a trembling, stammering, sweating mess if I had to address the public myself, and I considered more than three people to be an abhorrent crowd. He’d raised me to be the shadow to my brother’s light, and I fulfilled that role too well to be trained to shine in public now.

Gritting my teeth the next morning, I stood on the sweeping steps of the royal castle, awaiting the arrival of the orcs.

The squeal of a war boar from the far side of the castle’s curtain wall announced their presence before the trumpets and shouts did. I drew a deep breath and kept my skinny hands folded behind my back. No need to let them see me shaking. The king emerged from the doors behind me and fixed me with his usual, emotionless glower. “Don’t embarrass me, son,” he muttered under his breath. “They do us great honour by taking you to the heart of their lands for so long a time.”

I raised my eyebrow. My mother had been able to do that, according to Rigmore. The castle steward and she had apparently been good friends, and when I had learned to do it, he had laughed and said I was the picture of my mother. Naturally, I did it around my father whenever I could just to rile him up. “Tell me, father,” I said with carefully controlled coolness in my voice. “What exactly do you hope to achieve out of my royal stay with — what was it you called them yesterday? — oh yes… ‘those beasts’.”

His lip curled and his eye twitched. “You will do well not to repeat that, boy,” he snarled.

I laughed and shook my head. “Out of the two of us, I seem to be the only one who values my hide, father. Fear not though, I have no intention of pissing off my captors.”

“Captors? Guardians, more like. The honour of hosting the son of the most powerful king on this continent will not be lost on them,” he said fervently, grey eyes drifting to the portcullis and main entrance to the bailey behind me.

“Surely you had some mission in mind for me then?”

“Win them over with that naive charm of yours,” he said dismissively, still not looking at me. “You could have charmed your way into the beds of half the nobility of this kingdom, despite your… physique… Fuck them if you have to,” he said in a hiss in my ear, “But I want them in an advantageous trade deal by the end of next spring. Butter them up, win their trust, and we’ll have the brutes in our pockets.”

“And if I don’t manage that?” I asked.

His eyes flashed. “Then you really aren’t of any use to me at all, are you?”

It wasn’t a wholly unexpected answer. The man was always the king before he was my father, but still, I barked out a loud and undignified laugh just as the orcs entered amid a clatter of cloven trotters and squealing war beasts, feeling empty and hollow. “Goddess be merciful,” I cursed. “You just want me out of the way while you wine and dine Balgrun in my absence. Oh yes,” I chuckled back at him over my shoulder, practically skipping down the stairs and strangely looking forward to my six month ‘holiday’ from the backstabbing and conniving of the castle. “I asked around; I know you’re asking my dear little cousin to stay. Perhaps you can show him the ropes in six months, and perhaps the orcs will decide I’m more useful as a toothpick than a diplomat, and you’ll have a reason to go to war with them again, wipe them off the plains, and then nothing will stand in your way between the coast and the mountains.”

And with that, I left him sputtering on the steps, his face a rather nasty puce colour. I’d figured out his alternative plan, and if he thought for a moment I was going to let him have it, he was a dotard.

“Greetings,” I said, addressing Vilugh in the common Trade Tongue. “Regrettably I have not had the chance to learn your language yet, otherwise I would have greeted you in your own tongue.”

The orc swung down from his boar and dropped the reins to the flagstone floor, ground-tying the beast the same way I might have ground-tied my mare. Starling was, to my relief, already saddled and ready for me, standing with her bridle in the hands of a groom and stamping her hoof in anticipation of an outing.

Vilugh was every bit as colossal and imposing as I remembered him from the last time I’d seen him, if not more so. I knew he had to be ten years or so older than me, and if he was thirty five, he was still in his absolute prime. His green-skinned chest was largely bare, save for the leather strap that reached diagonally from one hip to the opposite shoulder, holding up the leather hunting skirt that hugged his hips and hid very little from the imagination. He didn’t have the defined abs of the veiner fighters I’d seen who liked to show off their lean, oiled bodies for the attention of the crowd, but his middle was packed with solid fat and muscle that spoke of the strength of two or three oxen. His thighs could have crushed one of our warhorses to a bloody slurry if he’d fancied trying, and his hands were as big as the buckler shields favoured by fancy duellers in the city. Small for a shield, but very big for a hand.

His eyes were still that unnerving black that I recalled from my youth, and they were every bit as perceptive as I remembered too. He raked his gaze up my slim form, no doubt also cataloguing my physical features and sartorial preferences. That day I had chosen simple buckskin leggings, suitable for long distance riding, and a loose, linen shirt. My hair was tied back in a practical style at the nape of my neck, and across the front of my saddle, I had instructed my servant to tie a leather hunter’s jerkin for when evening drew in and it inevitably got much colder. In my saddlebags I had had simple, comfortable clothing packed, with none of the fripperies and fineries with which a prince might be expected to travel. Orcs were a pragmatic and practical people, and having a whiny prince demanding to stop for wine and grapes halfway there would win me no favours with them.

“We can teach you to speak orcish if you want,” Vilugh said in a voice like a rock slide.

I couldn't help but grin at the chance to learn something else, and nodded. “Thank you. I’d like that. I can’t promise to be any good, but I’ll try.”

To my surprise, Vilugh laughed. “From what I hear, you’re a quick learner, prince. You’ll catch on quick enough I reckon.”

Relief washed through me. The warrior was polite and had a sense of humour. As much as my father’s court frustrated me, I knew where to tread there, and how far I could push and poke before I risked too much. With the orcs, I had no idea yet what might provoke them or amuse them. I also had no idea how they felt about this arrangement, or how my presence among them would be received.

“If you’d like to rest or feed your mounts, and seek the same for yourself, then please make yourselves comfortable, otherwise I’m ready to leave whenever you are.” I left it up to him to decide, and after a quick look at my father, still standing on the castle steps like a lone lion on a rock while hyenas prowled below, Vilugh shot me a look of a different calibre.

“These boar can ride all day without stopping for food or water; three days without rest,” he said in a measured voice, walking at my side and casting my entire body into shadow with his immense height and breadth.

He was testing me, and I didn’t fall for it. “And yet the ride from your mother’s bastion is four days from here,” I replied with the same even tone.

Vilugh’s eyes glittered with amusement. “The piss you people drink for ale should be enough for now.”

It was easy enough for me to take a chance on his sense of humour with my father’s bowmen lining the walls and the honour guard ranged up the stairs nearby. “For you or for the boars?” I quipped, turning away and inviting him to follow me.

Again, the massive - and honestly quite intimidating - orc let out a long, loud belly-laugh of amusement. “Hay will do for the boars just now, though they prefer meat when they can get it.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” I muttered.

The boars were seen to, and I led Vilugh and the two other orcs who had accompanied him up to meet my father. Neither Vilugh nor his fellow warriors bowed or bent the knee to my father I was pleased to note, and it got my father’s hackles up like a like a bristling tomcat. I almost could have kissed the enormous warrior just for putting my father on the back foot already, but honestly, what did he expect? Did he think the orcs would prostrate themselves before him? They’d hardly done that last time, so I couldn’t imagine he’d be so conceited as to think they’d do it this time.

“Your majesty,” Vilugh said.

“Welcome,” my father said, his tone more tightly-clipped than the box hedge in the castle’s knot garden. “Will you be staying for some refreshments before you return to your people with my son?”

“Just long enough to give the boars a breather,” Vilugh said with easy diplomacy.

The other warriors he’d brought with him were the older, one-armed orc I’d skittered away from as a child, and a female I didn’t recognise but who had the most incredible, blue eyes I’d ever seen. Vilugh must have caught me admiring her in the great hall because he leaned in close and growled without real sting, “Stare too long at my sister and she’ll most likely cut out your eyes, princeling.”

“I was just admiring hers,” I yipped quickly, regretting the rather boyish note to my usually hoarse tenor. “Blue eyes are not so common in these parts, that’s all. I meant no offence by it.”

Seated beside him at the table, she leaned close to her brother and barked something in orcish at him. He looked briefly back at me, and then responded in the same. They conversed for a moment and I sat there with my spine dead-straight and my jaw clenched. When Vilugh turned back to me, he grinned. “Rhana says that if the pretty human princeling wants to stare at her, he can, but he’ll have to answer to her wife when we get back.”

“Far be it from me to come between an orc and her wife,” I chuckled anxiously.

When Vilugh translated, they both laughed and Rhana reached behind her brother and cuffed me on the shoulder hard enough that I was almost sent reeling off my seat and onto the floor, which got another laugh out of them and drew a glare of daggers from my unnerved father. Good. Let him be baffled that I was already getting along with these warriors like soldiers in the barracks. He’d clearly not expected me to have any idea how to behave around them, but while I didn’t spend my spare time in our own guards’ barracks, I observed the way everyone in the castle interacted with each other. It was what I’d been trained to do, after all: notice things and remember them.

All in all, the orcs didn't linger long, and we were on our way within an hour.

The pace of the first few hours of the ride alternated between a brisk walk and trotting, though my mare jogged excitedly for the first hour of that until I finally convinced her that we were in it for the long haul. The grooms kept her fit and well-schooled since I couldn’t step away from the castle regularly enough to do it myself, but by the end of the day, even my indomitable Starling was beginning to flag. I patted her neck and murmured that we’d probably break camp soon, and, sure enough, we did.

Once a small fire was lit, with the dry twigs of plains brush-scrub, and carefully warded in a low pit to stop it spreading across the arid plain, I drew out my rations from my saddlebag and Vilugh shot me a look of mild surprise.

“What?” I asked, nervous that I’d committed some inadvertent transgression by digging in before they’d started eating.

After a moment, the orc heaved himself down onto the ground beside me, long, black plait thwacking against his back at the motion. Then he said almost conspiratorially, “You’re not what I was expecting.”

Unwrapping the bread and hard cheese from their waxed linen wrappings, I frowned. “Just what were you expecting, might I ask?”

He shrugged a massive shoulder and drew out a similarly wrapped parcel - much larger - with dried meat and a hard looking biscuit that I thought would probably crack my own teeth before it broke. “Honestly… going off the last time I saw you, and from what your father said of you in talks with my mother… I thought you’d be a fragile little bird. You’re not.” He looked at me, dark eyes glittering in the fire like polished onyx and added, “You are skinny as a bird, but you’re not weak.”

“How would you know?” I scoffed. “I could be too weak to draw my sword. It could just be strapped to my waist for show…” In fact, it was now unbuckled and lying behind me with my saddle and bags, while Starling was hobbled nearby and looking rather disdainfully at the slim grazing afforded by the scrubland where we’d paused. Finest high-summer hay, it was not.

“You move like a dancer,” he said, and I immediately choked on a breadcrumb.

He had to slap me on the back and offered me a skin of water. I washed the offending clog down and gawped at him. “What would you know about human dancers?” I asked without thinking.

“I’ve travelled to the cities on the coast,” he said. “They dance in the marketplaces on festival days.”

“Oh,” I said. And then my cheeks flushed. “I’m not… You know… those dancers are… uh… paid to do more than dance… shall we say.”

It took Vilugh a moment to catch on, but he seemed embarrassed at his mistake. “I meant no insult by it,” he said. “They’re very beautiful.”

“That they are,” I admitted. My father had tried to entice three of them into bed with me after one evening spent in the company of one of his duchesses, but when I’d shown more interest in her library than her twittering prostitutes, he’d given up. Apparently the finest courtesans in the land weren’t going to make me proper man in his eyes, so it wasn’t worth trying.

Vilugh must have seen my memories swirling across my face, because he didn’t bring it up again, and we ate in a rather awkward silence after that. The orcs drew lots for the watch, and Vilugh drew the first and insisted that as their guest, I should not be expected to deprive myself of sleep. Plus, apparently, the next day’s riding would be harder and he didn’t want me falling out of my saddle when I dozed off. Also orcs’ eyes were more like cats’ eyes in the dark, I discovered, when I looked up and saw Rhana’s glinting at me from across the fire and nearly had a heart attack. She laughed and wished me pleasant dreams.

Taking their well-meaning jibes in my stride, I nodded and bedded down in my humble bedroll. It was the type that hunters used, made of breathable buckskin and lined with fleece to keep off the chill of the plains, and although I’d only spent one or two nights in it in my life, I slept better that night than I had in years, not waking until Vilugh's surprisingly gentle touch at my shoulder stirred me not long after dawn.

Over the course of the next few days, Starling developed a comical rivalry with Rhana’s boar, the two taking every opportunity to bite or scuffle with each other, though it never seemed to get truly vicious enough for either of us to worry about, so we let it play out to our amusement. Perhaps because of that and perhaps because I just simply liked them for their gruff honesty, by the time the wooden palisade walls of the orcish war-band’s permanent stronghold drew into view on a wind-blown hilltop, I felt relatively comfortable with the three orcs who had been sent to fetch me.

The older one with one arm was called Rhakak, and was apparently Vilugh’s cousin. He was taciturn and unflinching, watchful and grim, but not aggressive towards me. I still gave him a wide berth though.

But if I’d thought Rhakak was intimidating, it was nothing to Vilugh's mother.

I remembered her from her visit to the castle, but nothing could quite have prepared me for the sheer presence the matriarch had amongst her own people. She was standing waiting for us as we rode up to the walls of the stronghold, and even though Vilugh had told me that Khraxh wouldn’t hold me to the same etiquette as she would a visiting orc, I still nearly shat my pants in fear when I got off Starling’s back and found her surveying me with a distinctly unimpressed look on her weathered, beautiful face.

She really was beautiful. Her body was honed and muscular, but her movements were sleek and efficient, and in much the way a war galley cuts through the water and bristles with power, so she moved with the dormant power of a life-long warrior. Her long, thick hair had turned grey in the intervening decade since I’d seen her, and she’d lost half a tusk too, but the way the gathered orcs arranged themselves around her reminded me of a wolf and her pack. She commanded absolute obedience in them, and unyielding loyalty. In that moment, I did feel afraid, and suddenly very much not up to the seemingly impossible task I had been set.

With a rather endearing patience, Vilugh had taught me the phrase to speak in orcish upon meeting her, and once I could finally get my tongue around the complex vocal gymnastics of the orcish language, he said I would not be flayed alive for completely embarrassing my tutor.

Thus, upon our first meeting, I nearly sprained my jaw, but I gained perhaps a modicum of respect from the veteran war chief. As the three orcs sent to the castle to fetch me had now bowed, neither did I, but I did incline my head as I spoke. There was no need to act like a prideful brat after all.

If my father was expecting me to make enemies of these people and inadvertently lure them into killing me and sparking a war, then I was bloody well going to do the opposite. I wasn’t a warrior, but I had my mind, and I was damned if I was going to fuck things up and go down in history as the skinny little prince who kicked off the orc-human conflict all over again.

Humble but not meek, studious but not annoyingly curious, polite but not obsequious, opinionated but not obnoxious… I began to feel my way through the stronghold’s hierarchy, and miraculously survived my first week there without insulting anyone.

One week down, twenty three more to go…

___

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__

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[j10kkuno]

Okay, stop getting distracted Bre. Make the WIP Wednesday post(Proceeds to get distracted but in my defense, this stream was crazy)

Now that Yuno's in prison and making slushies and finding lockpicks I can focus on this post. So this is just something I've been working on. Idk when but at some point I started shipping Garry and Yuno and I'm a sucker for those forbidden romances and they're both interesting because neither are like super hard on their side, they're friendly to people on both sides so that's interesting to play around with and while I think Yuno has more of an emotional attachment to his side, it's interesting to think about the blurring of all those lines and who they are away from those lines and sides they chose that won't let them be together freely.

But yeah, right now I'm kinda just exploring those dynamic in different scenarios. Also a good way to explore the written world. Like figuring out driving distances(For example, Rooster's Rest to Sandy Shores is like 5 minutes in game but 45 minutes in this written world just because the map just seems larger...). This one is just exploring their first kissing/getting alone time together for the first time/etc. The moment where six months of tension snaps, kinda.

This is in the middle of the story. The lead up is this is about a year after Yuno moves to Los Santos, maybe like 6 months after this week in streams. But Idk if tonight's stream happens in verse. Yuno was robbing houses with Ash and 4T and Garry was chasing them and somehow, they ended up in the parking lot of the Sandy Shores motel(Not abandoned). They went back and forth until Yuno kissed Garry.

Garry pushed him away, then whispered that cameras are everywhere and they can't be spotted kissing because if anyone saw them together, they'd be fucked and they make plans to meet back there in a couple days, Garry would text a room number and time for Yuno to sneak in. And that's where this picks up. Awkward pick up spot but I like this part. It's rare I'm comfortable writing banter but I loved this.

Wednesday went so slowly. He was alone in his apartment when a text came in at 5:58.

From: Gare Bear

237, 10pm, knock four times

A surge of excitement hit him. Four hours. He’d have to leave work at around 9:15, and he sent the manager on duty a quick text saying he’d have to leave early to help Ray with a business meeting(Typically code for crime, and Ray did have a business meeting later today, just a meeting with some members or associates of the Chang Gang so it wasn’t eyebrow raising) so it was all cool). Leyla was on shift that night, and laughed at how he just wanted time to speed up. Finally, the clock hit 9:10 and he went to clock out and change and then he was free.

He parked near the stairs up to the second level and he took them upstairs and found room 237. He knocked four times in a pattern he had come up with while bored at work, one, then the last three in quick succession. The door opened a moment later, Garry chuckling.

“Nice pattern,” He said and Yuno laughed as he slipped in. He didn’t bother looking at the room, it was the same shitty motel room he had stayed in a few times before after heists. The real view was the man in front him in a blue t-shirt and black jeans, looking refreshingly normal and Yuno felt a surge of want.

“I was bored at work tonight so I was trying out four knock patterns to surprise a certain someone,” He said, walking into the room further.

“That doesn’t sound like you were being a very good employee if you were bored and distracted at your job,” Garry said and crossed over to stand in front of Yuno and reached up to touch his helmet.

“They’re lucky I showed up even. I was fired four times for not showing up before I impressed Lang enough to secure a permanent position,” Yuno said. Garry laughed.

“That���s... Not at all a surprise. How did you do that?” He asked.

“I... Shouldn’t say,” Yuno said, but he wanted to. Wanted to impress Garry the same way he impressed everyone else, but he wanted it to impress him in a different way. “I love your shirt. The blue looks so good on you, brings out your eyes.”

“Can you tell through your helmet though? Maybe you should take it off,” Garry said and Yuno smiled.

“Most people want me to put it on as soon as I take it off,” He said.

“I didn’t insist on that Sunday night,” Garry reminded.

“I guess not, just...” Yuno trailed off.

“I didn’t want to. You know I didn’t,” Garry said, dropping his humor, “It killed me to push you away. I fully planned on kissing you the second I got the door closed behind you.”

“Why didn’t you?” Yuno said.

“Because you were being funny and cute and that’s why I’m endlessly fond of you,” Garry said and Yuno gave in and took off his helmet, giggling.

“Endlessly fond,” He said in between giggles, going to put it on top of the dresser below the TV.

“Second drawer on the left is my off duty gun and badge. Just so you can check. I promise that’s the only weapon I have on me. No wires, no bugs, my phone is turned off, you can check it in the drawer. It’s just us,” Garry said and the mood turned serious. Yuno opened the drawer, saw the gun, badge, phone, and a wallet. He checked the phone, it was off. He wouldn’t have even thought of the room possibly being bugged.

For all either of them knew, Yuno realized staring at his face in the black screen, this was all some drawn out seduction mission to draw secrets out of the other.

But it wasn’t, he knew. His feelings were real, and against all rationality, his gut trusted Garry. This was real. He slipped his gun out of the back of his waistband, put it in the second drawer on the right. Lockpick. He hesitated and then decided to be safe and send Wolfe a ping, with a message, if you don’t hear from me within 18 hours. Do NOT tell anyone about this otherwise. Then, he turned his phone off.

“Anything else illegal?” Garry teased gently.

“I emptied out most of the illegal stuff before work as I had plans,” Yuno said. He walked back over to Garry, closer than he had been before. It felt closer than he had ever been, with Garry in just a t-shirt and Yuno without his helmet, their guards down, able to flirt and banter without worrying about anyone else seeing.

“That’s right. You were distracted at work. Why? Did you have a hot date in a motel bed waiting for you?” Garry asked, smirking.

“I apparently did. The hottest date I’ve ever had before,” Yuno said, “And when I showed up, he was hotter than ever before.”

“Mmhm, you are quite the lucky man, Yuno Sykk. But not even the luckiest in the room, I do believe,” Garry said and drew closer, leaned down a bit. Yuno rolled his eyes.

“Flirt,” He said, but the breathlessness gave away the effect of having Garry so close.

“Not for that. Been wanting this for so long,” Garry said softly.

“Garry,” Yuno breathed, unable to think of any more banter, any more jokes, why they hadn’t done this so long ago. All of it faded away except for the bare bones of their feelings.

“I know,” Garry said and then, then they were kissing. Really, truly kissing. Yuno thought of his life pre-Los Santos as his old life. He had dated girls to please his parents, and dated guys while away at college, feeling like he was failing at both. This felt nothing like any of that.

[aewriting]

WIP Wednesday

I’ve been posting some excerpts from a fic idea that hit me earlier this week (a Lost Decade AU), and I figured I’d post it all in one place for WIP Wednesday, with some additional content.  Enjoy!

Warning for Jesse Manes, alcohol use, homophobia, strong language, threatening behavior, violent thoughts.

***

“Another round, Roberto!”

Roberto eyes him warily. “I dunno, man. Maria said - “

“Maria loves me,” Michael says, waggling an eyebrow and leaning over the bar. He sees Roberto swallow nervously. “We go way back. Class of ‘08, Roswell High,” he says, and slams the rest of his shot.

“I’ll handle this, Roberto,” he hears, and there’s DeLuca suddenly, looking... well, hot as fuck, honestly, but also pissed as hell.

She snatches Michael’s empty glass off the bar. “The fuck are you doing, Guerin?” She wrinkles her nose at him. “You’re so past shitfaced right now, even for you. And you can’t afford it. You were already in the hole - “

“Would have remembered that,” he says suggestively, just to be an ass about it.

“Oh my god,” Maria mutters. “That’s it. You’re done.”

“Sorry, that was stupid.”

“Nope, you’re done,” she repeats. “You’re done tonight.” She shoves his hat toward him, across the bar. “And don’t come back till you can pay. In full.”

“How much does he owe you, Maria?”

Michael’s eyes narrow, because Maria’s just frozen. She’d looked angry, before, fiery. The anger’s still there, but now it’s... cold. Contained.

Jaw tight, she glances at Michael, then at the man behind him. “Including tonight? $90, give or take.”

Michael’s eyes widen as two crisp fifty dollar bills are placed on the bar, quickly followed by a third.

“That’s to cover his tab. And your troubles. With whatever’s left, I’ll take two glasses of your best whiskey. For me and the young man, here.”

Michael can see Maria’s need for cash warring with her evident dislike of this man. He sees the moment she decides, quickly palming the money, holding the bills tight in her clenched fist.

“Coming up,” she says tightly, casting a quick little glance toward Michael before she goes that looks almost... concerned?

No matter. Michael heaves a sigh. Some old guy wants to buy him a drink, the least he can do is lay on some charm. “I’m awfully grateful - “ he starts as he slowly turns around.

Freezes.

Because it’s Jesse Manes behind him, looking at him with those cold eyes.

“Hello, Michael.”

Michael hates the panic that starts rising in him. He grabs his hat, begins to stand.

Feels Jesse grip his hand, the left one. “Sit. Down.”

He could snap every finger, right now. It would be nearly effortless. If they were alone, he might do it... might do worse. But Maria’s watching them, out of the corner of her eye. This is so public.

And there’s Alex.

Alex who... Michael takes a moment to calculate in his fuzzy head. Alex who is probably back on base by now. Maybe. Preparing to fucking deploy. Alex who is still uncomfortably intertwined with his monster of a father, and while Michael doesn’t mind causing trouble for himself - hell, that was his whole purpose in coming to the Pony tonight and getting brain meltingly drunk - he’ll be damned if he causes trouble for Alex.

So he sits down.

“Good boy,” Jesse says with a smug little grin, like Michael’s a goddamn dog.

“Here,” Maria says curtly, placing two glasses of whiskey on the bar in front of them, frowning as she stares at Jesse’s strong hand covering Michael’s wrecked one.

Jesse gives her a little nod as Michael tugs his hand away, flexing it unconsciously. Jesse picks up a glass, takes a small sip. Stares at Michael. “Drink up.” Michael just looks at him, so tense. Jesse shrugs a little. “Didn’t take you as one to turn down free liquor.”

He’s managed to avoid Jesse Manes for over seven years. He, he’s seen him a few times - walking around town, at the Crashdown, one memorable morning at the Sheriff’s station while Michael was still in the drunk tank. But there was no avoiding now. Michael picks up the whiskey, drinks a little. The burn is worse than usual, despite the improved quality.

Jesse narrows his eyes at him. “We need to talk, Michael.”

Michael keeps his mouth shut. Frowns.

Jesse leans in a bit, and Michael tries hard not to instinctively back away. “You’ve been messing around with something that belongs to me,” he says, voice low and cold.

And at that, Michael can’t contain himself. “He doesn’t belong to you,” he says harshly, probably too loud for this particular setting.

Jesse raises an eyebrow. “Well at least you’re not denying it.”

“Nothing to fucking deny.”

Jesse’s mouth twists a bit. “No. Suppose you don’t think so, the way you rub everyone else’s face in your own filth.”

How dare he. Michael... Michael could hurt this man. Wants to hurt this man. Thinks of the ways he’s hurt Alex. Thinks of the way Alex makes Michael hide their interactions, be so careful.

Jesse takes a small little sip of his drink, shakes his head. “Thought I was very clear. Years ago,” he says, looking pointedly at Michael’s hand. “This thing between the two of you needs to stop.”

Michael swallows down his own fury, his own intense bitterness and hurt. It feels... bizarre to be having this conversation with Jesse Manes, of all people, when he’s never talked about it with anyone else. Not even Alex, really.

“There... there’s no thing,” Michael says, hating how wounded he sounds. Because there isn’t. Not... not that there ever was, not really, but Michael had at least had hope before, at times. After this last time, though, the things he and Alex had said...

Jesse scoffs, shakes his head. “I followed you. To the motel.” Michael can feel his stomach drop. “Heard the two of you. Like... like animals,” Jesse says, tone dripping with revulsion. He looks right at Michael then. “Saw some of the marks you left him with, that he tried to hide.”

Michael’s willing his breath to remain even, willing himself not to shatter every glass in this damn bar. “What did you do to him?” he asks, voice low and dangerous.

“Not a damn thing,” Jesse says. “Drove him back to base so he can ship off to Iraq and continue to serve his country like the decorated airman he is.”

Michael scoffs, rolls his eyes.

Jesse glares at him. “Do you know what he’s risking? Every time he’s with you?” He shakes his head. “Has he told you?”

Michael’s looking at him blankly.

“That’s what I thought,” Jesse says tightly. Leans back in seat a bit. “I kept up with you over the years. So I know about the drunk and disorderlies, the petty theft, the lewd behavior and indecency charges.” He narrows his eyes. “Alex know how often you’re down here, drinking cheap liquor you can’t afford, leaving with anyone that’ll have you?”

Michael can feel his face flushing, the sting of tears just below the surface. He looks down, sniffs, plasters on a shit eating grin. “You have been keeping a close watch. Could make a guy wonder,” Michael says, cocking an eyebrow.

He sees the tick of Jesse’s jaw. “Wanted to see who my son was risking his entire career for.” Jesse looks him up and down, seems disgusted. “And it doesn’t reflect well on you. Or him.”

Michael shakes his head a little, looks away. He... he’s used to being told he’s a piece of shit. Lives down to it. But this, Jesse bringing Alex into it...

“You’ve done a lot of the work for me. Thought my son had finally gotten his head on straight and realized that there was no future with his hometown...” Jesse’s eyes narrow as he gestures at Michael. “Whatever you are to him.” He takes a little sip of whiskey, eyes Michael. “Thought it was done, actually, till the motel.”

Michael swallows. “There’s nothing there, okay?” Michael says, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably. “Alex... Alex is smart. Knows there’s nothing for him here.”

A waste. That’s what Alex had said, what he’d called him, this last time. A waste.

Jesse studies him. “Then maybe it’s time you and I got on the same page,” he says, taking out a large envelope, fat to the point of bulging. Opens it up. Shows Michael the neatly folded cash. “This is the easy way to do this, Michael. There’s a hard way, too. What do you say?”

Michael’s just blinking. Once. Twice. Looking at the money. There’s... so much there. More than he could make for months at the ranch. “I... I don’t...”

Jesse rolls his eyes, shuts the wallet. “There’s ten grand in there. Take it and leave. Don’t contact my son again. You do and... and I make things worse for you, okay? You know I could do it,” he says, looking deliberately down at Michael’s hand.

And Michael’s angry now. “What the fuck man?” he exclaims, eyes flashing. “You... you think you can just come in here, flashing cash, and buy me off?”

Jesse scoffs a bit. “You’re asking? Seriously? Yes,” he says meanly. “You are a drunken day-laborer that lives in a trailer. You’ve got a record. Holes in your shirt and shit on your boots. So yes, I think I can give you ten thousand dollars and give you a new start somewhere of your choice. Somewhere without my son.”

[raptorbox]

wip wednesday: (old) kuroko no basket edition!

since the dub has us watching the anime for a second time, i’ve gotten into a knb mood! so i decided to dig through my evernote and post some bits and pieces of old wips from...ah, 6 years ago is the earliest one. welp. 

here we go! it’s.......mostly akashi/kuroko. i might have an otp. maybe.

akashi/kuroko, coffee shop au

nothing’s actually written for this one, just a cast list and where everyone goes. it’s a pretty long series of lists sooo i won’t actually post it, but here’s where GoM+Kagami are!

Kagami transferred to be a shift manager at Seirin coffee shop

Kuroko is hourly at coffee shop, also pre-school teacher

Murasakibara pastry chef at restaurant owned by Yosen manager

Akashi is a grad student for business, also shogi champ

Kise is a part-time model, taking pilot lessons, and part-time retail worker

Midorima is in med school, works part-time at ???

Aomine line cook/chef at a different restaurant (Touou)

Momoi general manager of said restaurant

if i revisited this i might change some stuff around, but this is pretty fun!

midorima & ???, a...fast food au? maybe?

"I'm off in a few minutes"

Midorima is still turning all the bills in the cash drawer

okay that’s a super short one but i do like the idea of midorima taking time like i used to just...turning all the bills to face the same direction

akashi/kuroko, coffee shop/bookstore au

"I'm off in a few minutes," Kuroko says, looking Akashi in the eye while he continues to wipe down the counter, "if you can wait."

Akashi smiles and turns his coffee cup in his hand, giving Kuroko a glimpse of his own handwriting on the side of it. It just says "Akashi-kun", and Kuroko knows he wrote that a solid 15 minutes ago.

"Are you?" Akashi muses. Kuroko nods and Akashi straightens up from leaning against the counter, taking his coffee and lingering gaze with him. "I'm not in any rush."

Kuroko thanks every higher power that the coffee shop outlet didn't see too many of the bookstore's customers today. He doesn't usually want busy days as it is, but the moment Akashi comes in the more he finds himself wishing for nothing to do.

so the past two wips were filling the same prompt i guess? w/e, i actually started this one. different coffee shop from the seirin coffee shop at the top.

TYL GoM meet-up, feat transgirl reo but not in this excerpt

"I'm sorry." Akashi says and the table goes quiet, half from shock over hearing Akashi say that at all, and the rest as if they'd been punched.

They don't know how to respond. Kise's jaw is dropped,  Murasakibara fidgets, and Midorima is getting his hand squeezed by Takao. Aomine stretches loudly, suddenly, and everyone jumps.

"S'not your fault," Aomine grumbles while not making eye contact with Akashi, "don't apologize."

Akashi's frown is set in deep. "I should have been able to handle the situation much better than I did. I take responsibility."

(More arguing maybe)

Kagami is still chewing his food when he talks. "Weren't all of you in fuckin middle school? Like...what, 13 or 14?"

Everyone turns on him with different reactions; while Murasakibara looks horrified at the disrespect, Takao is trying his damn hardest to keep his burst of laughter muffled. Kuroko jabs Kagami's side and Kagami groans.

"Oh my god," he growls, "seriously, you guys were kids, who the fuck expects a kid to handle all you assholes?" He gripes while gesturing to the rainbow of said assholes, his own boyfriend included.

i get what i was going for but i’d write this differently from how i did 6 years ago. this is like a little overdramatic i guess??? but man i’m just here for some adults dealing with group childhood trauma but this time in a more lighthearted way

akashi/kuroko, about their first date!

Akashi looks as put-together and expensive as kuroko knew he would. He has layers and nice shoes, hands in his pockets and a pleasant, observant expression as he scans the crowds. Kuroko's early and he wonders how long Akashi has been here.

He doesn't bother waving, it wouldn't necessarily make him more visible. He's expecting to be able to walk up to him, invisible and silent, but he's quickly in Akashi's area of sight and he's seen. Kuroko stumbles from being suddenly so visible under a gaze that seems to see all of him at once.

Akashi smiles. "Kuroko, you're early."

Kuroko steps into Akashi's space, settles comfortably beside him facing the crowd. "You're one to talk."

"Hmm, well I can't argue that." Akashi glides through his words. "Shall we go?"

Kuroko is watching faces and gestures. "We're early, aren't we?"

Akashi's eyes flick over all the people,  smirking a little. "Everyone here is in a rush."

Kuroko nods. The trains are going to be packed and he would usually tackle that challenge. He bumps shoulders with Akashi, who nudges him in return.

i actually wrote more of this than i remembered? i have a few other sections started. they make out against a chain link fence after playing some one-on-one to end their date.

akashi/kagami, just some notes

Alex leaves nail clippers

"Your home is so spacious it's hard to believe anyone could lose something here..."

Sits that boy the fuck down

"You can think about dinner while I do this. Maybe you'll even think of something new."

Comments on how he'll call him taiga someday but later

He still has to readjust to tetsuya despite kuroko's insistence on it

Clip clip file file

Humming

It's a concerto I'm practicing

Kagami makes a massive dinner, mutters about how he didn't think if anything new to add or do

Too distracted and stuff

Gets a head scritch

this was basically a fic about akashi grooming kagami’s nails bc i’m just. a big fan of that stuff. i think there’s some hint hint at akashi/kuroko/kagami but maybe not, who knows with me tbh. this would be fun to revisit

akashi/kagami(/kuroko), harry potter au

“Please be more careful.”

Kagami grunts as he shifts his body. “I can’t promise you that.”

Akashi pets Kagami’s hair and brings his hand back around to his cheek. “Try.” he says with a slight smile. It’s dark out but he can see the flush in Kagami’s cheeks and the light in his eyes.

---

They return to the equipment room to undress themselves from their quidditch gear, Akashi leading Kagami by his hand, still in quiet disbelief that this might just work out.

Akashi looks up and is the first one to see Kuroko standing there in his robes, broom in hand, smiling at them.

kuroko came to practice with them, heard the yelling and ran to see what was up, saw the post-fall bit and just kinda hung out and watched bc boyfriends yeh.

“Jeez, now I’ll never hear the end of how much time I spend with Slytherins,” Kagami groans, “and the seeker and captain of the team, at that.”

now we’re getting into the old self-indulgent af shit back when harry potter wasn’t on my shit list.

akashi/kuroko(/kagami), that same harry potter au

(3rd years)

Akashi sits in his bed across the room from Kuroko’s. Their roommates are in their own beds, studying or writing letters in the quiet warmth of their dormitory. It’s lights-out, they should all be at least trying to sleep, but it’s been a long time since any of them have stuck to that.

Akashi doesn’t know if Kuroko used to go to bed on time. He doesn’t remember if he gets up early or is late for his classes. He never used to see him, but now he can’t stop looking at him. Kuroko fidgets under his gaze and Akashi smiles.

“Sorry, Kuroko,” he says, watching Kuroko startle and look around at their roommates, “is this uncomfortable?”

Kuroko’s expression rarely morphs outside of his usual default, but Akashi watches the small furrows of his brow and the deeper set of his unsure frown. He’s been unable to un-see Kuroko since that day earlier this year. He finds Kuroko fascinating and wonderful, a pinnacle of everything he wanted to complete his quidditch team who goes far and beyond his every expectation. He’s fixated on Kuroko, the Muggle-born Slytherin with a talent tailored to the qualities of a perfect Seeker.

Some of their dormmates have looked up at Akashi curiously, asking without words who he was talking to. Akashi waves them off and they shrug, more preoccupied with their own things at this time of night Akashi reaches out a hand to Kuroko, across the room, and Kuroko shoots it a confused stare.

Akashi chuckles. “Come here.”

no one can pry slytherin kuroko from me, that’s all i gotta say

aaaaaand that’s all i can show for my old af knb fics that i never finished! i don’t know if i’ll pick any of these back up, maybe one of the coffee shop ones if i do. as much as i loved and plotted out the harry potter au, harry potter is dead to me so i’ll just have to transplant that story into something else somehow if i really want to.

[dreadwulf]

not-a-WIP Wednesday

I was going to put this up on Work In Progress Wednesday but it’s not exactly a WIP so here it is today. This is essentially a one-shot scene from a modern AU Braime series that does not exist. 

I’m going to do something a little weird and post an excerpt from a modern AU series that I am not going to write. I was never going to do anything with this one, for several reasons - it’s modern AU which I don’t typically write, it’s first-person (AHH I KNOW, WHY???), it’s a pretty different take on Brienne that I don’t think people would like, I can’t do another series right now... it’s something I’ve been doing just for myself, and I’ve been having fun thinking it out. 

But I did get this scene written down and I like it, so here is a Tumblr-only bonus. 

You can probably put the scenario together from context, so I won’t say too much in set-up. The story would have been called Dogface, and this is well into it. J/B met under traumatic circumstances and have kept in touch afterwards via phone/internet, but rarely see each other in person. They definitely caught feelings but have kept it to themselves for reasons that will be clear.

So here it is.

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

I hug my raincoat around me. I’m getting his fancy chair wet, but I can’t bring myself to take it off. I’m unsettled enough right now without awkwardly wrestling with wet clothes. There’s no point trying to make myself comfortable anyway.

My hair drips rainwater down my face, and I stare at the carpet and try to stop shivering. The carpet is so thick I want to lie down and put my face in it. It reminds me of a 70’s shag carpet, except one that won the lottery and put on a silk robe. And white. Why is the room white? It doesn’t look like Jaime at all. I bet he never uses this room.

Only Lannisters can pay for rooms in New York City that they don’t use. 

In the next room (only Lannisters can pay for apartments in New York City that have so many rooms) Jaime says something about nobody’s sat in this stupid chair in all the time he’s lived here anyway and not to worry about messing it up. So I don’t, much. He shows up with a blanket that doesn’t go with this room at all, something quilted and old and fairly normal-looking, and wraps it around my shoulders.

I speak up suddenly. “They want to give me another surgery.”

He stops with his hands still on my arms. “On your face?”

I pull the blanket around me. “I saw this doctor - my father insisted - and he thinks he can fix my scars.”

“That’s good news! Isn’t it?” He comes around to sit on the uncomfortable-looking couch across from me. “Why don’t you think that’s good news?”

“They all say that.” I can feel his eyes on me and I shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny. “They all think they can fix me, surgeons. They have some new thing, cutting edge, state of the art, and they’re not like those other doctors. This one’s going to fix my face, he’s special, he’s the one.”

He just stares at me for a second, working on a question, and it’s clear this has never occurred to him to wonder about. “How many surgeries have you had?”

Straight to the point, Lannister. No tact whatsoever. Drives me crazy, but today I like that. It saves time.

“Eleven.”

I hear his sudden intake of breath - he wasn’t expecting that. I smile bitterly. This is all new to him - my parade of doctors and hospitals - and I forget that it’s a big number, eleven. I guess the usual answer is zero.

“Most of them were right after the attack, when I was nine and ten. At first it really did improve things. I was pretty hideous just afterwards, for a while there was just a big hole in my face, basically, and they did fix that. But some of them only made things worse. They’d put new skin in and it wouldn’t take, my jawbone got infected, the muscles didn’t work. Then it was one every couple of years, when the new guy said he could undo the damage the last guy did, and sometimes he did but it would cause some other problem. It worked better but looked worse, and I lost some nerve function. I can’t even feel my face on this part.” 

I put up my hand and stroke the creepy blank part that’s all scar tissue and no nerves, where it feels like nothing at all, just in front of my ear. I had this weird impulse for awhile to just scratch there and keep scratching until I felt something. Just dig a big hole in my face again. But I’d have to have another surgery after that, and by then I couldn’t stand it anymore.

I shudder, thinking of hospitals and bandages and taking food through a straw and pain, lots of pain. 

“I swore it all off when I turned 18. I said what’s done is done, and this is my face now. There was nothing more they could do anymore, anyway. Just little things. The damage is too great.”

“But this one thinks he can do something?”

“Yeah.”

God, I wish I still had a drink. I look longingly at the liquor cabinet that was probably stocked with all kinds of wonderful things months ago, but it would be empty now. I should have had another gin and tonic before I left the bar.

Lannister follows my eyes, and sighs. He stands up like a tent collapsing and walks over to the fancy rosewood box I was looking at so longingly. 

When he opens the little door it’s my turn for my eyes to bug out. It’s full. He has all kinds of bottles in that cabinet. Big, expensive-looking bottles, and at least one decanter full of amber liquid. 

“I thought you quit?” I ask it before I can really think about what I’m saying, and when I do I cringe. 

“I did.” He carefully selects a bottle. “This is all old stuff. I should probably have thrown it out, but if I didn’t have a drink on hand for Cersei or Tyrion or my father when they came to call it would have been something to explain, and I don’t need the trouble.” 

I start to think about that - he shouldn’t be anywhere near alcohol, it’s too much of a temptation. And he keeps it around anyway because he doesn’t want to explain to his family that he’s an alcoholic. 

He pours one full glass. Not a small glass either.

“I shouldn’t. Not in front of you.” 

“Just this once. It’s a special occasion. Don’t turn down your host, it would be rude.” Jaime brings me the glass, a crystal twisting thing that looks like a movie prop. He hands it over carefully, so it won’t spill.

Has he really quit? If he’s keeping this around, I doubt it. But he looks a lot healthier than he did before, and he hasn’t sounded drunk over the phone lately, not like that first night at least. I think I’d be able to tell. I think. 

I’d like to be able to tell him that they would understand, they would support him like a family should and congratulate him on being sober, not drink in front of him and not encourage him to get plastered like usual but the thing is, they probably wouldn’t. He doesn’t have that kind of family. He has the kind that would scoff and say he was being a big baby and then give him a bottle of expensive liquor for his birthday to prove some bizarre point. Something just like this bottle.

I don’t tell him anything. I take the glass from him instead. The first swallow burns all the way down and I tell myself I will persuade him to get rid of the liquor before I go.

He grins at me and settles back in his chair. “Enjoy it. That’s about a hundred dollars you just drank.”

“Good lord.” I take a few swallows quickly. If I’m going to drink in front of him I can at least make it quick. The glass comes back to rest in my hands and I feel the round, full taste of the alcohol in my throat. “It’s delicious.”

“I know.” His smile turns sorrowful. “Used to be my favorite.”

The liquor sends a warming cloud all through me, out to my fingertips. It numbs that painful throb of dread that I’ve been feeling ever since I came out of the doctor’s office today, the old part of me that was always so stupidly hopeful that one day everything would be different. The part I thought I had killed. 

A little bit of my self-consciousness recedes. The part of me that knows exactly what I look like and exactly how I don’t fit, how ridiculous I am, what a fool I’m making of myself. It gets a little quieter and I can breathe again. I can exist without hating that I exist. I lean back a little in the chair and I start to feel warm again.

It’s nice.

It’s nice, sitting here.

His green eyes catch the light briefly, and for a second he is so devastatingly, painfully handsome it’s like a blow to the chest. His hair curls down over his face in a ludicrously appealing way, glossy and golden, and it could be one of his magazine photos right here in front of me. But I’m the only one here to appreciate it. Kind of a waste, really.

“He really is world-famous, I guess.” I turn the glass in my hands and let the words roll out of my mouth without looking at them too closely. “The surgeon I saw today. He’s fixed cases worse than mine, from what I’ve read. He made it sound so easy. Maybe he really could do something for me.”

He lays his arm up over the top of the couch casually. Never in my life have I been as at-ease as Jaime is all of the time. I would wonder if he was even listening to me, except I know he is, he always is. He pays a lot more attention to things than he lets on. 

“So when’s the surgery?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” I drink the rest of the glass, too fast, let the alcohol burn down me like a kind of punishment. Then I set the glass on his perfect coffee table. “I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to go back to hospitals and doctors and people squinting at my face like it’s a clogged sink they have to unplug. It’s awful. It’s horrible and I hate every minute of it and I told myself I would never do it again.”

He shrugs at me. “Then don’t do it.”

That pisses me off. How he makes everything sound so easy. The next thing I know I’m practically lecturing him. 

“How can I not do it? What if he really could fix me? I could have a normal face. I could cut my hair. I could get my picture taken like a normal person. I could look in the mirror without wincing. I could talk to people without their eyes going to my left cheek.” I’m getting loud. I guess I’m a loud drunk. I’m usually not around anyone when I’m drinking so I didn’t know it. “If I didn’t have this face, I could go farther in my career. Do interviews, meet people instead of freelancing and working at home. I could go on dates. I could have friends.”

“You could have all of that now.” He leans forward, now strangely intense. “You don’t have to stay shut up in your cave all of the time. You can go out, you can meet people.”

“People who will stare at me and laugh at me and pity me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You couldn’t possibly understand. With your face? You get free drinks everywhere you go with that face. You’re the most ridiculously photogenic person on earth. I bet even your driver’s license photo is beautiful. You could not possibly imagine my life.” That liquor is hitting me really hard now. Did he finish bottles of this all on his own? How?

Now he’s the one getting irritated. He starts raking a hand through his hair like he does whenever he’s too agitated to sit still. “Do it, don’t do it, it’s up to you. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Maybe just listen for once. I don’t want your advice. I wasn’t even going to tell anyone about this.” I put my head in my hands. My hair’s still wet. My hands come away damp. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m arguing with you. I just… I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t have to do anything right now, do you?” Jaime tilts his head to one side, peering at me closely. “I’ve never seen you so worked up before, Brienne. And I’ve seen you with a gun to your head.”

I laugh a little. “I was too mad to be scared then.”

“What are you scared of now?”

I sniffle. Scared is not what I thought I was. But he’s probably right. “I don’t know. I think I… What if I did it and it doesn’t work? I get all my hopes up again and go through all the pain and the medicine and the time off work and the cost, god, I don’t even know how I would pay for it… and if I somehow got through all of that, and it didn’t work? Or it made my face worse? I don’t know what I’d do.”

That surprises me; I wasn’t planning to say any of that. I think a little more, because I think that’s not all, I think there’s something I’m even more afraid of.

“What if it does work and it doesn’t make anything better?”

I sit back again and let that sentence hang in the air all by itself. It plays in my head a few more times and I know now that I’ve said it, I won’t be able to stop thinking it. I’ll be staring at the ceiling thinking that now. Dammit.

Jaime looks confused though. “What do you mean?”

“I just... I’ve spent so many years thinking that if my face was better I would have this whole other life, that people would like me, my career would take off, I’d have a family of my own… just all of these things. What if I fixed my face and it still doesn’t happen? I’d still be… this.”

I hold out my arms, a little woozily, and I look at them. I look at my legs and how my knees jut up from the chair because it’s too low -- no, because I’m too big for it. I’m too big. I’m ridiculous. 

“I mean, look at me. Even without my face, people would still stare. I’m six foot five inches, you know. I wear a size eleven shoe. I have to special order my clothes. My shoulders are too broad, my jaw’s too big, I don’t have any curves like a woman should. I’m hardly a woman at all.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“But you did. Remember?”  

He makes a sour face and clenches his jaw. “Yeah. I was being an asshole.”

“You’re far from the only one to say something about it. Even from the back I get comments, whispers, before they see my face. If I wear a dress they laugh at me, because I look like a man in a dress - I do, I know it.” I cut off whatever he is going to say. “I get called ‘Sir’ everywhere I go, even in a skirt, and then they see I’m a woman and either it’s funny or disgusting or I don’t know what. And it’s just as bad if I wear men’s clothes. I get that same moment of realization where people wonder what exactly I am. What am I trying to do, disguise myself? Am I transitioning one way or another? Do I have gender identity issues? Am I ashamed of being a woman? Suddenly they’ve imagined some whole identity for me that I didn’t choose. I’m not trying to be gender non-conforming, I just have this body and I have to live in it. Maybe I don’t want to wear men’s clothes! Maybe I’d like to wear something delicate and pretty and they just don’t make that for a woman like me, and if I wore it people would laugh!

“People get angry. At me. Because of what I am. I’m an ugly, manish woman and people hate that. They hate it when I try to do feminine things and they hate it when I try to do masculine things and they’d rather I just go away. People don’t want me to exist. That’s why I hide away in my cave. It’s better that way. I’m happier and they’re happier.”

“So what if they fix my face. They can’t fix the rest of me. I’m never going to be right. And the worst thing is… I wouldn’t know what to do if they could. I don’t know how to be anything else. I don’t know how to talk to people and have normal relationships. I’m almost 30 years old and I’ve never had a serious relationship, I don’t have friends, I’ve never been out of this city and I probably never will. Taking the scars off my face will only prove it’s me, I’m the problem, and it’s not my face or my body or other people being assholes. It’s me.”

I have to stop talking now, because my throat is too tight. There’s a sob in there trying to get out and I refuse, I refuse to cry in front of him. So my throat is closing up and I can hardly breathe through it and I have to close my eyes tight and bend over and put my hands on either side of my face and hold myself very still. 

“Brienne.”

He’s very close now, he’s come up in front of me kneeling next to my stupid knobby knees and it makes it worse. I’m shaking from the effort of it, holding the tears in. My eyes are starting to leak and there’s nothing I can do about that but I can stop myself from bawling like a baby, damn it, I refuse.

“I like who you are. Brienne?” He puts a hand on my knee. “Who you are is wonderful. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

No. That couldn’t possibly be true.

It gets out. A sob tears out of me. It’s violently, embarrassingly loud and a gush of tears follow it. 

I fold myself over in half and put my arms over my face and around my knees so that I’m completely hidden, and I just cry and cry. 

It’s horrible. Fuck, I hate crying. 

Then the strangest thing happens. Jaime somehow… unfolds me until I fall forward against him. My face is pressed into his shoulder. He has both arms around me and he’s just kneeling there on the floor and somehow I don’t knock him over and he doesn’t struggle with me even though he’s smaller than me. He’s solid. He’s got me. And he just holds me and I cry and my whole body shakes with it.

Eventually it stops. I don’t run out of tears - they’re still in there, I can feel them, but I’m too worn out to cry anymore. I’m raw and exhausted and he’s still holding me against his shoulder. We stay that way for a long while.

He smells so good.

[shadowdianne]

Ok people. Time has come. Let’s be ominous and extra on main

So the order for me posting all my WIPS at once will probably be.... the order in where I finish doing all the editing. I’m currently in my last prompts. I’ll still answer the ones I recieve by the end of the week if there is anyone feeling like sending me some.

Aside from that ...

A few months ago I posted a really rambling text about me leaving the SQ fandom writer wise after the SuperNova was over. In the way it’s over once we all put the fics where they will, later on, be revealed. The full explanation of why I’m doing this is even more rambly than the one I gave and is full of nuances that I’ve talked about a little bit with a few of you.

However, I want to say something about it either way. Because words are the way I communicate the most with. And that’s something that I guess is obvious about myself in a myriad of different ways; not only with my fics.

As I’ve said a few times before, SwanQueen was not my first fandom. If I need to pin it to the moment when I actively began to search for fandom-related things, of how I first stumbled into fics and what that entailed…

Going really back in time my first fandom experience was with Sailor Moon and Card Captor Sakura. Yup, that. I was really into anime back in the day and, don’t ask me how, I stumbled into a website that no longer exists that had these pages upon pages on something people called “fics”.

It was around the same time I was building my own sexual identity so you can imagine the mess; I devoured those fics. Most of them were not even good. Most of them had some questionable themes thrown around. Most of them had language on them that I needed a few years until I realized that was hurtful. But some others taught me what “angst” meant, what “hurt/comfort” was, why “fluff” was about or why “smut” at my tender age of 12/13 was something I wasn’t entirely grasping.

Again, I devoured those fics, I searched for more, I found livejournal and ffnet. By the time I started fully diving into fanfiction livejournal was slightly abandoned so at the end I focused entirely on ffnet and from there… Pretty Cure (another anime) Strawberry Panic and the even more dubious Kannazuki no Miko followed. I found some amazing writers I still follow today and whose stuff I will forever adore on MaiHime/MaiOtome and, eventually, Kim Possible. I still didn’t write though. Probably because my English at the time wasn’t the best, my writing voice in Spanish was barely a murmur and while I had always been the “weird kid who likes to write poetry and if you ask her nicely she will write you a story on the spot” I had never truly considered… writing and posting on the internet.

Funny thing is that this kind of things are like that and those who are content creators will probably understand that: You NEED to create. So, eventually, slightly older, and full on the whole Twilight era, I wrote a very… cringey fic. And then another. And another. And another.

At first I didn’t know shit about editing. My actual first review told me I was horrible at writing, that I was a mess, that I should stop. But my second review told me: “Hey, if you do this and that on the editing process it will help you and this will be more readable.” And I followed that comment. I eventually became friends with that second reviewer but, as life tends to be, I lost contact with her years ago. I still hope she is doing ok though.

Eventually, I started working, if working is something that one can say about writing a chapter in 20 minutes and throw it every Wednesday while your mother is at work, not monitoring what you are doing and you have the internet for yourself back when the internet went through the phone, in a multichaptered story. It is in Spanish, it is awful, characterization is horrible… but it also made me meet the person that became a very important person. And still will be for that younger version of me. 

From twilight and the occasional writing on the HP fandom with the Hermione/Ginny pairing [Yeah, I wonder what younger me would think of my current main pairing on that fandom] I “graduated” to Glee. Lots and lots of Glee.

And then I stopped. Completely. Not a peep from me. Not a word, not a line. For over a year.

I was a fan and a shipper, however, of this little show called Once Upon a Time. I started watching in the pilot, in a very shoddy link a friend sent me over gmail. I fell in love with the characters but while I loved them I couldn’t… or wouldn’t really, put myself into writing. At the time my English was slightly better but my confidence levels were even lower than currently are. And the ones who have talked to me can safely say how horrible I am at taking compliments.

Yet, I had a very meaningful conversation, one I don’t know if she remembers still, in where I was told: Writing is you. If you want to write… like you did when we first met, why don’t you do it? I tried with a wip that is still there, buried beneath other stories now, that I never fully took off. And then I said fuck it and wrote several others, badly written, even worse characterized, but ones that helped me say… why not.

Disney World Family Business (in case there’s even someone here who read that mess) comes from there. Interview with the (Evil) Queen does too. Dancing Ring (who I’ve seen people roasting me over it and it’s fine because it was awful) was too. Texts on the cloud was there too, Coffee Black News… Eventually, I wrote a fic I’ve erased since then called The Holiday. Over 2k per chapter every day. I did it under a month.

It was… interesting. It was exhilarating. It was magical in many ways. And I had my favorite writers of course. Those who I followed religiously. Who I absolutely admired. And who I, to this day, still admire. And I even get to call them friends now which my younger self would probably be having a meltdown about now xD

I had opened my tumblr account way before that but I had never truly used it. I didn’t know how. Eventually, though, I dusted it off. I put some cringey theme there and I posted, after being sent a couple of random prompts here and there over ffnet pm’s the first “prompts anyone?” post I ever did.

It’s funny because now I’m a tease but the first time I asked for prompts I did it asking for words that I promised I’d make a smut ficlet out of them.

Words of Desire was born. Is, to this day, the one I feel cheekier about. Even if the writing is awful xd I even got my ffnet account in the line of “am I going to get deleted?” after I posted a story called “Lips”

Why I’m writing all of this you guys probably don’t care about? Because that post led to another. And another. And another.

Point is. I felt drunk on the sudden realization I could still tell stories. And so I kept doing it. At some point I opened my a03 account. Don’t remember exactly when in this story but I was crossposting some of my stuff at some point bother in ffnet and a03 so… who knows really. And then I kept asking for prompts. Or I got them asked. And so I did.

And I met other writers, and other content creators. And I loved it. I absolutely loved watching OUAT and then shit on the show and then create fix it fics at 3am on a Sunday. And I learnt about the narrative process outside class. How fanfiction truly is its own genre. I started developing my own ideas. I started looking at books, at people, at places around me with a critical eye I later on developed further to be able to specialize myself in literature. Because, at the end, that’s what I minored in.

I had roleplayed, I had written conjoined narratives. But fic writing at the scale SwanQueen was during the OUAT was still airing was something else. It still is in a way, but different now. And I think those who were around during the fucking show that basically did us a lot of bad in many ways was a different approach that currently is.

During those years not everything was good of course. I hit several walls, I didn’t have the ability to create the stories I wanted. It is not the reason why I’m leaving, I’ve spoken about the reasons -plural- with some of you. So I won’t bother you all more than I’m already doing.

 I still love these ladies. I still don’t know how I will open a doc and not write their names. Maybe I relapse from time to time, who knows. Yet, the constant feeling of not being enough, of not being good enough, has devoured pretty much all my creative juices.

I was talking a few months ago with a writer I absolutely adore and I can’t tell her this enough and we were talking about writer’s block. And she said something that is devastatingly true. “You don’t have a creative block now. You’ve had it for a long time now.”

And I didn’t even hesitate when I answered “Yes. I know.”

How do you have a block when you keep posting? Well. By choosing safer options, options you know you will do on autopilot, without emotion even if you know you should be feeling it. And while writing is part of who I am and a huge part of my own emotional stability the fact that I simply cried when I saw the numbers and the stats while being bombarded with anons that I deleted most of them the second I got them… well. It’s far too much I guess.

I love SwanQueen. And to those of you who I’ve created a friendship over the years with I’m not leaving tumblr and I’m not walking out on you. I’m remaining here. You guys are going to need to do more than this to get rid of me Xd

But I do need that. Otherwise I will keep picking safer options, options that I know will take me shorter and shorter time for me to write. And that’s not quality. And not what I want to write. Because while I love writing about them the pressure and the fear and the rejection and the many other little details have outweighed the good. 

Regina is a stubborn woman. No matter what fic you guys are reading or writing. I’m a little bit like her in that department Xd

I’ve finished my wips and I gave myself a few months after that first post so I could create closure and, you know, give you all the best I could do. I felt more relaxed at having a date set. I still feel dread at losing my ability to write now that, probably, the number of prompts will be smaller. But I hope I will still get news from you all. And don’t be mistaken. Me not writing doesn’t mean me not reading. I’ll be actually able to read more so expect lots and lots of fic recs on my side and comments on those fics. So hey, everyone wins.

To those anons, those gatekeepers.

I hope you all wake up one day and realize you are alone in the pit you’ve created for yourselves.

To fellow content creators: There’s always this game I play, on trying to find those headcanons that are truly yours, the ones that repeat themselves on every fic. It doesn’t necessarily need to be a headcanon per se. It can be a word, a special mannerism. I treasure those. I often link you to those in my mind when I’m thinking about you all. Thanks for creating. And thanks for being you.

To everyone really: It has been a few amazing years. Thank you all.

VIVA LA SWAN QUEEN

-Dianne out.

[evak-fic-rec-turtleanon]

Evak Fics - Childhood Friends

Childhood friends. Childhood friends who lost contact. Childhood friends with pining. WIPs. It's tricky to put em in categories because some of these overlap. Under a read more:

Art for Best half of my soul fic 

***** CHILDHOOD FRIENDS  *****

once i was 7 years old by bashfulisak (1k words) - isak and even are childhood friends, and as they grow up together, isak remembers his past. DELETED :(  

One Second by deathsmi (1.2k words) - Isak & Even have their first kiss. It’s still in a pool, but it’s different. They’ve been friends for years and Isak has been holding back for a long time. He can’t hold back anymore. 

Unexpectedly by colazitron (1.5k words) - Even and Isak are finally on a date and Isak's pretty sure he hasn't been breathing right all evening. 

In another life, my dear, by HeartbeatsAreMySymphony (2k words) - soulmates au with a twist. They fell into the same rhythm as before, though this time, it was more boisterous: passionate. It was a secret they kept to themselves, and a part of Isak reveled in that: to have a world that belonged to only Even and himself. And, maybe, he was selfish— taking Even for himself when they both belonged to others. 

i don't mind, we have such a good time, my best friend by hippopotamus (2k words) - “Isak, I need you to kiss me.” Isak would be lying if he said the words didn’t make his heart thump loudly in his chest for a moment. At least, they do before he remembers who it is that he’s talking to. 

ribs by bbyfruit (2k words) - “I meant it,” Even says. He feels Isak’s lashes blink against his own. “I love you.” Isak lets out a long breath through his nose and it feels like a blessing. “I love you,” he echoes. 

you and me, fade in by skamz (3.3k words) - spin the bottle -  DELETED 

you and me got a whole lot of history by everythingislove (straykid) (3.5k words) - "You're going to be my best friend, Even." Isak decides, showing off his baby teeth with a beaming grin. Even opens his mouth to protest, then shuts it. The words have so much finality to them, and frankly, he doesn't feel like getting in trouble for making him cry. So he nods. "Best friends for life." He agrees. 

ten & twelve by dimplesandcurls (4k words ) - 10-year-old Isak doesn't like 12-year-old Even being proud of his tallness (maybe he does, but Even and his ego didn't need to know that).

eleven & thirteen by dimplesandcurls (2.5k words) - Even has a fever, Isak plays doctor.

Til’ The Next Time by greitnok (2.6k words) - kinda childhood friends. time travel. Isak meets him for the first time when he was sitting in the backyard of his house, disorientated and angry with the world. ‘Could you possibly get me some clothes?’ a voice startled him out of his thoughts, he looked around to see a man popping his head out of the bushes. 

the red thread by thekardemomme (3.5k words) - The two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, regardless of place, time, or circumstances. This magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break. 

i can feel the weather in my bones by EvenbechNeiheim (3.7k words) - Isak and Even are childhood friends. There’s a boyfriend sweater and Isak is just desperate to wear it. (oh and it has nothing to do with sleeping with each other, they just don’t roll that way) 

it’s a you and me house by hippopotamus (4.9k words) - Even has a treehouse, and the only other person allowed up there is Isak. 

sixteen going on seventeen by sundaymournin (5.5k words) - “I don’t know why you always go after weird, older guys. You’re a baby.” “I’m sixteen. I’m not a baby.” Isak grumbled, letting Even drag him out of the party and onto the street. He always let Even drag him away, because that felt good too. Being wanted, being complimented, someone paying attention — that was great. But being cared for was always better. 

The Imaginative Friend Syndrome by wyoheartsmusic (5.6k words) - soulmates. telepathic bond. Five times Isak and Even communicate in their heads and one time they communicate in person  

Every Time You Close Your Eyes by MinilocIsland (5.7k words) - Three times Isak settles for less, and one time he doesn't. 

to be young and in love by aestheticzjm (6k words) - kinda childhood friends. a look into the lives of isak and even, from ages 13 to 17 & 15 to 19. 

Grow Up Along With Me by wordsarelifealways (6.4k words) - Even was almost two and a half when his neighbour came back with their baby boy. How was Even to know that Isak was going to change his life forever? 

i have everything i need. here. with you by Skamtrash (6.9k words)  - they’re dependent and clingy and very much meant to be. everyone realizes it but them 

True or False by iriswests (9.8k words) - Seven moments between Isak and Even (+1 with Sonja), ranging from the ages of four and six to the ages of seventeen and nineteen, respectively. 

Holy by i_once_wrote_a_dream (9.8k words) - It was a Wednesday when he first saw him. Isak thought he looked like one of his mama’s angels. 

you make my face red and my heart beat by empty_venom (10k words) - 4 Times Isak Asks Even About Hickeys (+1 Time They Get Their Shit Together) 

our souls aren't strangers by everythingislove (straykid) (10k words) - The six times Isak and Even can't get it together, and the one time they already are. 

I'm gonna show you how to do it by colazitron (12k words) - five things Even teaches Isak to do with his mouth, and one thing Isak teaches Even. 

caught up in a dream by bbyfruit (13k words) - a slight twist to chilhood friends. in which isak is less of a mess than usual (LIE), even is super cool and smooth (LIE), and mikael just wants everyone to be happy (TRUTH). 

One Call Away by GayaIsANerd (14k words) - 5 times Even calls Isak with an excuse and the one time he doesn't need one 

The Shape Of Us by Flatfootmonster (14k words) - “Mama?” “You look thoughtful. Is there a question you want to ask?” “Even,” “He’s different,” Isak said. “I don’t think he can see me.” And that was about as much as a conclusion as he could come to about any of the things he’d noticed that were out of place. 

Life is better with you by charlyflowers (16k words) - A oneshot of Isak and Even during several Christmas times together. 

And they were right in front of you the whole time by Ihavecoldhands (18k words) - “…Okay, not a boyfriend, and not a relative…” Eskild says slowly, still looking very confused. “So… Even’s a childhood friend then?” Isak wants to say no, no, they are not childhood friends. But most friends don’t sleep in the same bed six days a week, so he swallows his words and nods reluctantly. “Yeah. We’re childhood friends.” It’s almost true except for the friend part. 

in the morning you'll dance with all the headache by bluesterek (19k words) - “Why do you hate me? Is it still about that kiss in first grade?” “You kissed my crush in front of me, Even.” “Yeah well, sorry about that, but that was like a century ago. Besides, you don’t even like girls.” “Excuse me, what?” 

I'm Not A Baby by cuteandtwisted (33k words) - they are idiots. "This is Even, my bro. The part about him being my personal servant is kind of true though.” “Bro? Your bro?! What the fuck, Isak? We need to get rid of this whole hypermasculinity thing they teach you at Nissen.”

Best Half of My Soul by nessauepa (41k words) - 5/6 chapters posted. "And they never talked again about how Even gave Isak his very first kiss. They never talked about how that night Even also gave Isak his second and the third. About how at some point Isak didn’t even remember how many kisses they had had. They didn't talk about how they had kissed lazily lying on Even's bed with their legs intertwined. How they had kissed uncountable minutes straight, cupping each other faces." 

I May Be Younger, But I'll Look After You by alotofphandoms (90k words) - Isak’s mom met Even’s mom in high school, then they met Isak’s and Even’s dad’s in college. When Even was born, Isak soon followed, two years later. For as long as they can remember, they’ve been in each other’s lives. Hopefully, they'll stay in each other's lives. 

***** CHILDHOOD FRIENDS WHO MOVED AWAY OR LOST CONTACT OR DIDN'T KEEP IN TOUCH  *****

Mamma Mia by MermaidsandMermen (SophiaSoames) (5.3k words) - The workmates AU for day 5 of Skam Fic Week. And it had to be IKEA, and it had to be Evak, and it has to be ABBA. Of course. A tiny bit of Sweden in the middle of Oslo. 

i know that it's delicate by colazitron (9k words) - kinda childhood friends. With Marianne's situation being what it is, Isak goes to stay with old family friends, the Bech Næsheims. 

live happily with sugar on by colazitron (9k words) - kinda childhood friends. While Even tries to work up the courage to approach the cute boy on the tram, the cute boy approaches him. Berries are involved. 

the other side of paradise by peachbombs (35k words) - plus mutual pining. The first and only time Isak Valtersen says those three words, it’s to Even Bech Næsheim, a boy who broke his heart once and now, here Isak is, giving him every liberty to do it again. 

Stars Shine Bright Above Me by glbertblythes (40k words) - slow burn. touch starved. For once in his life, Isak Valtersen knew what it was like to have a best friend. Many, actually. But Even was special to him in a way he didn't quite understand. So many mixed feelings and emotions at once, but Isak being the young boy he was ignored them. When Even has to move a few days before they start middle school together, Isak is crushed and has not the slightest clue how he's going to make it without him by his side. 

Supernova by hannakin (45k words) - slow burn. To Even Isak is the brightest star in the universe. He is bright and smart and the happiest person Even knows, his smile brighter than the entire sun. They are best friends, just like their fathers used to be. Even is in love with Isak. Isak is in love with Even. They grow up and things change. Eventually they drift apart and when Even sees Isak again Isak is 17 and the smile Even used to love so much is long gone. 

Blanket Fort Gospel by Sabeley (58k words) - the angst, man. Isak Valtersen met the love of his life when he was eleven years old. It was a truth he had long tried to deny, but it was the truth nevertheless. 

making new clichés by strangetowns (132k words) - “You’d feel better knowing,” Even says. “What we are.” “Yeah,” Isak says. “Something like that.” “Then I’d say,” Even says, “we can be whatever you want us to be.” 

***** CHILDHOOD FRIENDS WITH PINING *****

Another Sleepless Night! by Mechisoy (1.3k words) - Isak's having another sleepless night. Isak looks up after a couple of minuets after Even's fingers stops drawing lazy patterns on his back. Even doesn't have to open his eyes to tell Isak was staring "Issy sleep for me" 

Nourishing Courage by colazitron (2k words) - Isak somehow finds himself part of the revue and Even helps him practice. 

now and forever (i will be your man) by thekardemomme  (2k words) - 3 times isak kisses even. +1 

the one with the prom video by thekardemomme (5.5k words) - Even has been in love with Isak since they were younger, but he never intended for Isak to find out this way. Friends inspired. 

To Burn With Desire by photographer_of_thoughts (6.1k words) - the AU in which Isak and Even are neighbours and Isak's father has a secret job that unintentionally helps Isak realize he's in love with his best friend. 

But She Isn't Me by sundaymournin  (9k words) - Even and Sonja were absolutely perfect together. They were both tall, thin, and stunningly beautiful. When they smiled, they brightened the entire room. The two of them were as different a could be, but they balanced each other out; Even was the dreamer, and Sonja was the realist. They’d been together since they were sixteen and everyone expected them to get married and live happily ever after. They shared absolutely everything; friends, meals, clothes and even a toothbrush from time to time. Well, almost everything. They didn’t share Isak.

written in the stars by ourlovelybones (17k words) - the one where even follows isak around on tour but isak doesn't want to deal with his feelings 

Walking In Circles by marileal (19k words) - they are idiots. "I don’t think I will ever be able to forget this day. The day I realized I have feelings for my childhood best friend. Why am I such cliché? Isak Valtersen, the gay kid who is in love with his straight friend." 

it's exciting running through the night by traumatic (21k words) - It's always been Isak and Even against the world. They grow up and they grow apart, but they always come back to each other. 

Come if you remember the way by Teatrolley (24k words) - The first time Isak meets Even he’s fourteen, and a moving van is pulling up on the street outside of his house. Four years later he’s standing in an airport with their friends and Even’s parents. Even is going abroad for six months. 

(I’ll give it to) Someone Special by nofeartina (30k words) - Isak Valtersen is certain of a few things: 1. He doesn’t really like Christmas. 2. He loves Even – as a friend. 3. He doesn’t want things to change between them. So that’s why he offers to play Even’s boyfriend on a visit to Even’s homophobic family. And then he realizes a few other things. 4. He’s surprised by how perfect a fake boyfriend Even is. 5. Okay. Maybe, Isak is starting to love Even as more than a friend. 

it's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right by mmxii (34k words) - Even suddenly stops and just looks at him for a few seconds. Then he says it. “You’re my best friend, you know. Always have been, always will be.” 

I Have Held You in My Heart by photographer_of_thoughts (47k words) - Friends-With-Benefits University AU in which Even makes rules and Isak follows them. They sleep together sometimes - a lot of times - and Isak knows how in love he is. But then Even gets a girlfriend, and everything changes. 

Don't Let Me Go by unfancyandy (86k words) - Isak and Even have known each other for as long as Isak can remember, but it isn't long enough. Maybe if things had been different, then they would have felt they'd had enough time. Based on Never Let Me Go. 

Next to you, is where I call home by LostInAdmiration (101k words) - “Why don’t you start track too? You’d be a good sprinter, I’m sure you’d do great,” suggested Isak.  Isak wasn’t entirely sure why he asked - he mostly liked being alone and he barely knew Even - but there was just something about Even that had drawn Isak to him. Inspired by Jongens. 

Tidal Waves by desp3ration (325k words) - An alternate universe where Isak and Even have known each other since they were three and five, and Jonas is the new kid. Isak and Even are the best of friends, and act much closer than the other guys who are friends at their age. Over the years, they've secretly fallen in love with each other and are terrified of telling the other how they feel. Could their friendship survive coupledom or will it change their entire lives? 

******* WIP  *******

Floor You Can't Fall Below by Lizzygrant38 (3k words) - Last update April 2019. Isak was fourteen when his father took off, fourteen when his mother Marianne reached her breaking point and became a frantic sobbing mess, her mental health reaching boiling point and fourteen when social services finally came and picked him up.

no place i'd rather be by hippopotamus (7k words) - last update April 2018. lilo and stitch au. 

familiar by hippopotamus (13k words) - last update Sept 2019. isak is the grumpy wizard with a pet dragon and even is the prince that needs his assistance 

Prince and the Pauper by sockhead (20k words) - last update June 2018. The one where Even is the prince of Norway and Isak is the servant boy who has stolen Even's heart. And his sanity. 

You will always be, my baby Isak by stevensmayles (23k words) - last update Nov 2017. Isak feels like he can conquer anything with his bestfriend by his side. Even has always been there for him. But what if he wasn’t? What if he disappeared in Isaks life the moment he needed him the most. 

and so many miles to go by Balthamos (33k words) - last update March 2019. Isak sometimes got this feeling, like butterflies, when something was about to change, going to impact his life. He felt it just before his grandmother passed away, and then again when things started changing at home, his mother getting upset more frequently, his father working longer hours. The feeling he got as he stared across the room at the other boy was similar, but not quite the same, instead of worry there was hope, and… excitement? Something was about to change but for the better this time. 

the truth about my disguise by mikaeloboukhal (57k words) - 3/4 chapters posted. Since the day Isak was seven and stepped into Even's room, they had always been best friends. Isak doesn't think that'll ever change. 

Nobody Loves Me Like You by cuteandtwisted (185k words) - mutual pining. the angst. they are absolute idiots. extremely slow burn. 13/15 chapters posted. Isak and Even are childhood friends who enjoy ruining each other's chances with exactly everyone else, rewatching the same movies, taking care of each other, and pretending they're not in love.