#non-fic shepard

[dwarrowdams]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤️

Thank you for the tag!

Measurements - Mass Effect; Shakarian AU in which Shepard is a designer commissioned to create outfits for a C-Sec gala and Garrus is one of the employees she's designing for.

Ignite - Mass Effect, pre-Shakarian, my version of Shepard and Garrus's first major conversation aboard the Normandy. My first ever Mass Effect fic, and while I've grown quite a bit as a writer since writing it, I'm still fond of it.

Suggestion - Mass Effect canon-ish, pre-Shakarian, featuring Liv propositioning Garrus post-ME1. I'm not someone who's precious about making tweaks to canon, but I'm happy with how I pulled this one off, and with how it changes the dynamics between Liv and Garrus in ME2 (because now it's not just that your friend is back from the dead, it's that your friend you had plans to fuck is back from the dead and you're not sure if she's still interested in the sex part).

looking at you like a star from the place the world forgot - Mass Effect, pre-Shakarian; Garrus fantasizes about Shepard while on Omega. Written for the Solo Satisfaction 2024 challenge.

the sweetest submission (drinking you in) - Dragon Age: Origins; Zevran/M!Cousland. Pure smut, featuring some praise kink, begging, and light D/s dynamics. Definitely the horniest of my Dragon Age fics for now.

[maintitle]

Today I woke up and saw one second of discourse on Ao3's lack of wlw content and have decided to entirely take it onto myself to write all day and make it your problem.

[1eona]

Weeping Heart

There's a "weeping heart." That's a martini with drell-skin venom.

or, in which jane thinks that drink would be a good idea for some reason. (you can read my whole explanation on twitter if you want)

[thatinvisibleauthor]

[frockism]

imagine the damn UNO games the gang would have today. chaotic all over. tears shed, screams in anger all around, just absolute drama. the +2 and +4 wars would be just non-stop. this all gets worse when the Shepards play. Holy shit, so much damn chaos.

lol. Might make this a fic.

[purplelupins]

Lamb

|Midnight Mass |

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

Father Paul Hill/John Pruitt x fem!reader

Word count: 11k

Summery: An entire life of being a good girl was a difficult cross to carry...especially in a tiny town with 127 residents on a good day. You kept the town fed and spirits as high as you could, but when a new face steps off the afternoon Breeze, things around you start to change; you don't even know you're in the eye of the storm.

Warnings: nsfw, reader is religious, religious symbolism, ideology, explanations and general conversations of religion, age gap (like this man is 80 technically and he watched reader grow up, and can remember reader as a little girl so if that’s creepy to you then go no further), stalking, manipulation, murder (hello have you seen the show?), drinking of blood, hunting of a person, grief, description of animal death, reader is described as blushing, character death, non consensual help showering, guilt and god maybe more but I think that’s it…this is not really a fix it fic

Notes: There’s a little Easter egg in this chapter for any Hamish fans…let’s see if anyone clocks it.

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Crickets were the first to make a sound.

For days, that speck of an island was silent. Birds either flew away or hid in their nests. They didn’t chirp, or caw.

Bees slowly began to appear again too after a week.

Flowers began to open.

Months passed and finally things looked almost as they used to.

Buildings repaired, town cleaned up.

Only now the island looked abandoned during the day.

You had never liked summer. Too hot and humid. You still didn’t like it.

John was used to hearing the Crockett Island community wander the island every night.

He was used to the occasional sound of your screams, too.

It wasn’t often, but sometimes your fortified house lacked, and you were forced to run into the night and hide until sunrise.

John pursed his lips bitterly the first time he had stopped them from finding you on the abandoned spit on the west side.

They claimed they just wanted to help.

Wanted you to be at peace and be a part of the community again.

Those words stung like poison; hearing his own justification used back at him.

He’d seen you run past him on one of his walks, not even knowing he was there as he stood amongst the skinny trees. Eyes like little pinpoints in the darkness.

A predators eyes.

A wolf’s eyes.

When he had only wanted to be a Shepard.

Though of course that had been the issue. He would have had to have wanted to be a fellow sheep for him to see just how wrong his actions were.

Now there he was, just one of the wolves watching their token sheep run for her life.

You were so resilient. Determined to stay alive. Hope incarnate. But you were not delicate or wispy like most imagined hope to be; a foolish thing. Your hope was bruised and battered and exhausted from having to get back up again after surviving another night.

You still prayed.

He heard you at night when he would walk past your house and listen close to one of your boarded windows. It was mostly to check that you were alright.

It was a little because he found your heartbeat soothing.

But hearing you pray was what helped him continue. That you hadn’t lost your faith. He didn’t care who you prayed to…just that you had faith.

And that faith had you.

You tasted copper as you ran.

It had been months since they had last managed to get inside your house, and you had begun to get comfortable with the couple knocks at night and the pleading to come out. But over the last week, the knocks had turned to pounding, and tonight the pounding turned to splintered wood and you bolting across Crockett as fast as your exhausted body would carry you.

The best shot at safely was the thick woods on either end of the island. You used to keep a boat in the Uppards for emergencies, but they had found it and taken it one night.

Now you had become stellar at losing them, but tonight something felt different. You had noticed clear medical baggies of blood in trash cans just a few weeks following…following that night. You assumed they used Sarah’s medical connections to have shipments of blood brought to the island at night.

You wondered who Bev had to bully to have that done. Not like it was hard.

But you wondered now if perhaps the latest shipment wasn’t received, and now the islanders were…antsy.

Not that the reasoning mattered to you greatly as you passed by one of the abandoned buildings. What mattered was that they were closer to you than usual, and you hadn’t slept properly in weeks. That, and your terror that they winged bast might still be prowling around looking for a new body to drain.

You pushed yourself to go faster but you couldn’t put distance between you and them. That feeling of fear began to creep back into your tissue. It was only natural; it didn’t matter how at peace you were with death. A lamb being hunted was a lamb being hunted.

And wolves never stopped being terrifying.

John sat, book in hand inside the rectory.

Collarless.

He heard your heartbeat from a half mile away, and it was fast. Too fast.

He stood, and walked to his door and opened it to step out onto his porch. You didn’t usually come this way, but as fate would have it - or your great misfortune- you did. John could hear feet following you- a few sets by the sound of it.

John walked out into the middle of the cemetery.

He waited.

Sure enough, a few minutes later you came up the hill; your adrenaline being the only thing that kept you going.

John called your name.

It was the first time since Easter that you had heard his voice. It made you take such a quick breath that you stumbled a little. It felt like you had been sprayed with ice water.

He looked down the road where the small militia was chasing you, then back to the rectory- door wide open. You stood there for a moment, and you wanted to keep running. But those footsteps were close and you figured it would be easier to fight off one instead of several.

You could feel your rage start to rear its head over the fear, but you knew it would only get you killed.

You ran towards him, and he began leading you inside. The warm glow of the rectory enveloped you, and John shut and locked the door as soon as you stepped onto the floorboards. He closed the curtains and turned off most lights aside from a reading lamp, and began taking you to the far end of the house. As you approached you stopped short and shook your head.

“What are you doing?” You whispered, eying him wearily.

He knelt down and lifted a part of the carpet in his room and lifted a small door.

You stared at him hard.

And he stared back. “It was built for me decades ago for storms.” He said simply, and calmly.

You were apprehensive. Even more now than just being in his presence.

Uneasy.

Terrified.

Cold.

“Please…they won’t find you.” He whispered a little harsher- you couldn’t hear them but those footsteps were getting closer now. Just cresting the hill.

You might have resented the monster before you more than anything, but you did need help. And you didn’t have a plethora of options. You walked over to him and sat down on the edge of the opening- feet hitting the steep stairs. “I don’t trust you.” You said, staring down into the dark room. You could see a lamp there.

“I know.” He nodded.

You blinked, and didn’t look at him as you began to lower yourself. John grasped your arm to help you, but you wrenched it from his grip, “Don’t touch me.” You snapped.

He immediately dropped his hands, and had to almost sit on them to keep himself from reaching out to you to help.

As you hit the ground, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a small fishers knife to show him.

“If you don’t let me out, or try anything I’m killing myself and braving Hell, Father.” You shot at him.

Again, Father Pruitt only nodded in understanding, “The lamp is fully changed. There’s a blanket on the shelf.” He said, then looked suddenly back towards the front of the house.

You flicked the light on, and when you stared back up at the preist, he quietly shut the door.

You watched it for a moment, then slowly took in the space. A very small room that looked more like a bomb shelter. There was a small bed and a shelf with some canned food. And indeed there was a thick blanket there. You sighed, and went to settle in only to jump a little when you heard voices. You stayed still and tried to listen as close as you could…but then it went quiet, and you only heard one pair of soft footsteps.

John opened the door to see a handful of fairly new parishioners standing there on his stoop.

“Evening Father…she ran past here a few minutes ago did you hear anything?” One of them asked.

She.

You didn’t even have a name to them anymore.

John sucked on his teeth, “I’m afraid not. She’s quick.”

Another one nodded, “G’night Father.” They mumbled and began walking away- eyes scanning the trees and brush.

He watched them for a moment, then walked back inside and locked the door again. He might have gone out that night for a walk or to visit someone in the community. While he didn’t fully count himself as a priest anymore, he was still the guide to many of his flock. They were even more lost now than ever.

After that first night, many turned to the church for help. His heart ached that still his parish turned towards God for help; that he hadn’t driven them away from their faith entirely.

Many resented him.

He didn’t hold any blame towards them.

But still, when he held Mass, many came. Many still confessed to him. Many still asked for his aid.

But John Pruitt was less of a person now, and more of a symbol.

A tool.

He kept to himself- accepting his passive segregation.

Unwanted, but needed.

With no need for food, John felt a sudden panic when he hadn’t given you anything fresh. He strode back to the little door and gently opened it; the lamp was still on, but even in the low light he could clearly see you sitting against one of the walls breathing deep, heart rate slow.

You hadn’t used the blanket, he noticed. John knew you were strong willed, but he didn’t know how stubborn you were. Perhaps a trait you hadn’t discovered until he ripped your life apart.

John carefully lowered himself down into the little cellar, and crouched down in front of you. He gingerly eased his arms under your knees, and pulled you to his chest, then hoisted you up and carried you back to the main level.

John didn’t care if the others heard your heartbeat. He didn’t care if they came to his door. He knew they wouldn’t dare try to get you while he was there. He had been turned for longer than them, and was much stronger, and much faster. For the ones who were present when Sturge had shot Sarah, they knew he wasn’t incapable of beating a man bloody.

He laid you down on his bed, and slipped your boots off carefully; he caught the knife that fell from your left one, and rolled it over in his hand.

He had pushed you to violence. Self-defence, but violence all the same. He tarnished that ray of sunlight he had seen that first day he returned.

John smiled bitterly. He supposed it was only fitting that you were sunlight and he would die if he touched it.

You were so limp as you slept- your exhaustion taking over and forcing your body to rest. John brought the blanket over you, and left you there to sleep.

The bed laid unused most days.

It wasn’t as if he truly slept anymore.

The first thing you were aware of was the great sense of comfort that enveloped you.

The second was how that feeling horrified you.

You knew you had slept in an uncomfortable position, so why was there a pillow under your head and a blanket over you.

The third was how well rested you were.

You instinctively reached for the knife you kept in your boot, but then that came to your forth realisation: you weren’t wearing your boots.

You bolted up, and took in your surroundings. You were back in the rectory. You felt fear start to creep back into your flesh as you realised just how deeply you had slept. Your hand instinctively reached for your neck and shoulders so ensure you didn’t have any marks. You checked your arms and then you saw the flicker of metal out of the corner of your eye- your knife sat comfortably beside you on the bedside table. You snatched it up, and slipped your feet down onto the floor as quietly as you could-

“I made you some coffee if you’d like it.”

John called to you; he had heard your heart rate spike as you awoke. In an effort to not spook you too much, he waited to speak from his place in the living room until you were fully up.

You crept to the door, and tentatively pushed it open, knife clutched tight as you surveyed the room.

The curtains were all drawn, and two lamps were on. If it weren’t for the man who lived there it might have been a very inviting home. But you saw the man in question sat at his desk, writing.

John paused, and looked up from his paper to you.

“How are you?” He asked, genuinely wanting to know. It was a loaded question- he knew- but he truly wished to know any ounce of your mental state that you would provide him with.

You looked around once more- ensuring you were alone.

“Don’t worry, they all think you’re in the Uppards.” He said, turning a little towards you.

You stood there. And stared at him. You didn’t even know what to say to him.

“A shipment was late.” You finally said.

His brows perked up, “Yes.” He nodded, “Yes there…there was an issue. Has been pushed back but it’ll be here by tonight, not to worry.”

You nodded.

John sucked in a breath and exhaled, “I’m sorry-“

“You’re not ashamed of what you did, Father?” You cut him off, voice breaking more than you would have liked. Finally meeting his eyes properly for the first time in months.

Father Pruitt placed his pen down and leaned onto his knees, staring up at you, “I believe I…I do feel shame yes. For my actions, but even the good intentions that I attempted were misconstrued, I never meant-“

“But it happened,” You shot back - eyes starting to sting, “You were selfish. You just…assumed everyone would want what you wanted.”

He nodded solemnly and stood slowly, and suddenly you were a little more afraid. You didn’t know what he was fully capable of anymore, and you did not want to find out. As if he could sense your apprehension, John backed away and leaned against the kitchen counter.

“You’re welcome to stay if you have questions-“ he started, trying to give you an open space.

“Questions? I don’t have any questions, Father,” you did. But you wouldn’t admit that yet, “I am alone, and I will live alone and I will die alone. I don’t need to know much more if it won’t change that.” Your voice shook.

He nodded and looked down- brows pinching together as he began to feel the weight of your burden, “I’m so-“

“Please don’t.” You said, tears forming in your eyes.

John raised his gaze to look at you, and he pursed his lips that you once thought were so pretty. A moment passed as both of your gazes were trained on one another.

John watched your beautiful eyes well up the longer you looked at him, and he clenched his fists to stay put lest he try to comfort you. He had only just gotten you to open up the tiniest bit to trust him for a few hours that night, he didn’t want to take one step forward and three back. So he didn’t try to defend himself. He didn’t try to make you stay or understand.

He hoped there would be a time when he could, but he knew that it wasn’t time yet.

You took a shaky breath, and turned to the door, and left.

Once upon a time you might have looked back and maybe would have waved goodbye. Might have said that you'd see him tomorrow.

Might have wanted to stay longer.

Might have flushed in his company.

But you didn't look behind you. Not anymore.

If you had, you likely would have caught sight of the preacher in the window where one of the curtains was pulled back a sliver; you might have seen how he let the sunlight fall over his face; how he let the sun burn him as he watched you.

John listened to your heartbeat fade as you walked further away and out of his sight. His chest ached just as his skin did. And that ache churned and curdled down into his stomach and out into his fingertips. He felt that thing that he had once been so thankful for not feeling- guilt. It felt like so long ago that he had sat across from Riley and told him about how God had moved through him and how remorse had never come after Joe...Now he felt sick when he dwelled on his delusion. So selfish he had been. So utterly desperate.

Sometimes he could still hear that record you had played for him...how you had reminded him of his youth. Your vibrance had overthrown him, and drawn him in. That memory alone made him feel younger than the blood he drank.

The warm summer air immediately made you feel sticky. Humidity filled your lungs as you took a few settling breaths. Then as you reached the bottom of the hill, you finally allowed the tears in your eyes to fall. You sobbed quietly as you walked past the general store. It was an unwritten rule that they kept out of there- that was your space during the day. Most of the time they abided by the understanding.

Sometimes someone got hungry and waited to see if they could sneak a bite of you.

You had to laugh a little though- it was always a dead giveaway if it wasn’t safe to enter the store. All you had to look at were the windows.

Covered: not safe.

Uncovered: safe.

They kept the store stocked enough for you. Sometimes you felt ill at the thought of them just doing it to keep you alive. You bet they thought it was a mercy. You wondered if they fought over it; end the food supply to make you starve and beg them to turn you vs. keep you alive because you didnt deserve their fate.

You went to the shop everyday knowing that one day you wouldn’t have food stocked. Shelves and fridges empty.

Waiting for the day that they finally broke and had enough of keeping you alive.

You passed by more houses...Scarboroughs and the Flynns, and you didnt dare look up at the buildings. You never did anymore. It hurt too much.

The families you knew well used to leave you things…food they made out of boredom…flowers…Annie used to write you the odd letter. Then after a while they stopped.

Back in the later spring sometimes someone would be stupid and run out of their house to try and grab you...The smell of burnt flesh was still engrained in your nose.

No one tried anymore.

You wondered who was still there. You wondered if Ali was still there... you wondered how he was. You wondered how Leeza was and if her family was okay. You wondered if Bev was pulling the strings.

You missed that routine you used to treasure. You missed seeing your friends and neighbours. You missed talking.

It was like some sick joke that the first person you had spoken to in close to 6 months was the very man who had done this to you.

When you finally reached your house, you felt your heart sink even lower as you took inventory of the damage. The broken doorframe and smashed windows were going to be an issue.

You sighed and walked to the small shed at the back of your house to retrieve tools you had accumulated and set about fixing your home. Hours passed as you tried and tired again and again to make sure everything was fixed and strong. But the longer you worked, the lower the sun settled, and the less time you had to ensure you would be safe. But as twilight began to set in, you sighed; you were done. The inside of your house was almost pitch black with all the windows boarded up over the broken glass. You stretched and locked your doors, then began up the stairs to wash yourself after the previous night. But then as you walked past the spare room, you stopped breathing.

You had missed a smashed window.

The wind blew against your face as if it was taunting you of your mistake.

Your gut tightened as you began weighing your options.

You didn’t have many.

And the most feasible one made your eyes glaze over as you contemplated every life choice you had ever made.

With one look out that window, you knew you didn’t have time to think of anything else. So against your better judgement, you grabbed a large bag from your room and began shoving anything you might need, showered and bolted out your door within ten minutes with your hair still wet.

You weaved through the island's foliage and kept off the main road lest anyone be watching from their windows. The last thing you wanted was for anyone to know where you were going. As you crept through the trees past the marsh, you crouched down and stared up at the rectory in the distance. There was a warm light coming from the building like a beacon; your gut clenched at the memory of Easter... how you had thought the exact same thing for St. Patricks.

The sun was just a sliver of light now on the horizon, and you knew you had to decide quickly if you were going through with this or finding a tree to hide in tonight. You closed your eyes, and took a deep breath.

I’m here to help

Those words of his…they still rang in your ears from that first day. He was sick. Selfish. Egotistical and manipulative and…

You sniffled.

You had really thought he was a kind man. You had let him in and he had made a home of your soul. Healed you and guided you and aided you, but all for himself.

You pursed your lips. You hated that you needed his help. But you did.

With another deep breath, you began stalking up the grass, and hurried a little more when you heard voices down the road. You hadn’t even noticed it was properly night time and worry spiked in you as you stepped up to the door and went to kno-

“Come in.”

You jumped at the sound of his low, soft voice calling out to you from inside. You slowly opened the door, and took a tentative step inside.

John Pruitt was stirring a cup of tea by the kitchen counter, and looked up at you- a weak smile on his face.

“Twice in one day, to what do I owe the pleasure, young lady?”

You clenched your jaw at his honeyed words. So gentle and honest-sounding.

“They destroyed my house. I didn’t have time to repair it completely. Didn’t feel like being dinner.” You murmured, then looked at the cup he seemed to have forgotten he was holding.

John followed your gaze, and nodded, “I heard you come up through the trees 10 minutes ago…I hope you don’t mind, but I made it for you just in case.” He extended the cup out to you, and you eyed it wearily.

You didn’t see him make it. Anything could be in it.

John knew that look. The same one you had given him when he ushered you inside the previous night. He retracted the offering and placed it on the counter.

“I apologize for their brutality …many of them don’t know better. I will speak with them tonight at Mass. They won’t harm you again.” He assured you like he used to when you thought his last name was Hill. “It’ll be fixed by tomorrow.”

Your gaze snapped up to his, “Mass?” You asked.

He nodded in realisation that you likely weren’t around when service happened, “I- it’s…well…it wasn’t my idea…it’s- everyone is so lost and they need something to hold onto…I cannot undo what I did. And I know they will never give me forgiveness, but many of them are still very close to God and some have become closer in their…confusion…and I’m just…I try to keep them on the right path. The path I should have been on..stayed on. Your path.” He pushed his hands towards you as he spoke so sincerely.

You pursed your lips as you listened. You wanted so badly to believe him…but the last time you did it had been the worst decision of your life.

The silence stretched between you. You didn’t want to ask for his help, but it was too late to not ask-

“You are welcome to stay here again.” He added, trying to get you to engage. Like he needed you to speak to him.

You nodded, “My warning still applies.” You reminded him of how he’d better play nice or you’ll be dead before he can do anything.

John sighed and nodded. His brows pinched and his eyes drooped, “Of course- I- Mass is in a couple hours…but I can stay-“

“I’d rather you weren’t here, Father.” You said quietly, looking down as guilt started to creep into your gut. He was so wonderful at making himself seem small. Non-threatening. You forced yourself to remember how easily he had restrained you in the church; how his hands had held you without making a mark yet you couldn’t pull away…

“I understand.” He muttered, then something seemed to catch his attention outside as he almost jerked up from the counter and looked towards the front window. You twitched at his reaction, and already knew there was someone nearby before he said it.

“Come on, let’s get you settled.” He said almost to himself as he began back towards the small door in the floor.

You followed behind him, and gripped your bag’s strap a little tighter as he crouched and opened the hatch. He shifted away a little to make room for you to get by, but you saw how tightly he clenched his fists. Whether it was to keep himself from reaching out to help you or to grab you, you didn’t know.

As you descended, you noticed that it was far cleaner down there, and had an extra lamp.

“Knock twice if you need anything.” He said softly. Earnest.

“I won’t.” You stopped looking up at him as that guilt started to return.

“I’m sure you won’t. But everyone needs something sometimes.” He finished, and offered you a tight little smile.

You stared up at him, and neither of you moved.

“Goodnight, little one.” He murmured.

The endearment made your stomach flip upside down and your throat constricted; you ached from how much you missed...well...everything. You missed being called "Hun" by the fishermen and being hugged by Annie and walking Leeza to church and sitting among the pews and enjoying your morning walks and you missed your life.

Before you could say anything, he closed the door, and you heard him lay the carpet over top. There were no footsteps though- not for a few minutes. You listened close, and felt your eyes unfocus when you heard him muttering a prayer over you.

You almost shouted up to him to stop it.

That you didnt need his protection.

But your mouth went dry when you realized that you did.

Why else were you letting him hide you?

Several minutes later, you heard his long strides move throughout the rectory, then the door shut, and you were left in silence.

Mass.

Sadness flooded you in mourning of your beloved routine, but jealously quickly took its place when you realized you were the only one being deprived of your time of worship. The jealousy startled you. Anger was understandable, but jealousy was new.

You closed your eyes, and focused on why you were there. Safety.

The feeling slowly left you, and as you calmed, you turned on the lamp. It was cold, and with no extra warmth, you shuffled onto the cot and grabbed the thick blanket that sat folded there. As you settled in, cocooning yourself in it, and laid your head on the pillow, you felt your eyes start to droop. You found yourself breathing in the smell of the blanket, not even noticing that it was the smell of the man keeping you hidden that you were inhaling. It comforted you…like smelling your mother or father. Somehow familiar.

It was early when you awoke the following morning, not that you could have told that by your surroundings. Your sleep could have been five minutes for all you knew. You laid there for a few moments, listening. The last thing you wanted was for it still be night and for Pruitt to have a visitor. You paled at the thought of Bev being there. But when a few minutes turned into several, then you were certain there indeed was no additional company.

It was silent.

You gingerly raised yourself up out of the bed, and made your way up the ladder- bag in tow over your shoulder. You didn't even make it up to the top to knock before you heard shuffling and footsteps above you. The door was pulled open, and you stood stock-still for a moment as fear clutched your heart for a moment. The light from the lamp below you caught his eyes and made them glow in the darkness of the bedroom. Indeed it was dim in the space around him which only seemed to accentuate his dark features and made him appear as more of a creature than a cursed man. You swallowed.

“Good morning, young lady.” He greeted you with a hand outstretched.

You clenched your jaw, but took his offered hand tentatively, and he pulled you up with far more strength than he should have had. You got your footing, and noted the light illuminating the drawn curtains- it was bright enough for you to leave.

You didn’t say anything, and chose instead to dig your nails into the palm of your hand.

“They put in new windows and fixed your door…I’m so sorry that happened…I spoke with them and they will do better.” He murmured gently, as if he didn’t want to scare you away.

You nodded; mouth clammed shut. There once had been a time where you would have bared your heart to him, and poured your soul into his hands, but now you found yourself unable to find much more than a few words to utter to him.

“Did you manage alright? I know- I know it’s a bit cold down there…” His voice was a low rumble as you adjusted your bag.

“Just fine.” You whispered, looking away from him. You couldn’t stand that he cared.

“I can-“

“I’m fine, Father.” You snapped. He looked like you had slapped him; to his credit he also looked like he understood it. “Thank you.” You added when the pain in your chest twisted unbearably.

He nodded, seeing your unease.

"Goodbye." You whispered as you gathered yourself and headed to the door.

He so deeply wanted to tell you to stay and let him explain everything, but he supposed if he needed to force you to say, then his apology would be hollow and selfish.

Days passed quietly again. A few knocks on your door was the most disturbance you got. Things had calmed considerably.

He must have been right…that shipment did come.

Something itched in the back of your mind as you sat in your fortified house one night. It had been over a week since you had last been hiding in the rectory, but something he had said stewed inside you.

He still held Mass.

You wondered if that had been something agreed upon by everyone…they must have felt so lost…

It had been close to midnight when Father Pruitt had left for Mass that night…and it was just past midnight now.

You wondered if…if you could just climb up one of the trees and listen. If he still preached with the same vigour as he used to you were certain you could hear a little. It was silly and dangerous- you knew that- but it had been so long with just yourself and your thoughts…you craved just a little bit of something else.

You slowly walked downstairs to your front door and listened. It was silent outside.

You very slowly undid your several locks, and gingerly pried it open when you still heard nothing.

Indeed, there was not a single person in your field of sight- not that there were many who ever came down your way that far down the island. You opened the door a little more, and stepped out into the night air. It was refreshing when you weren’t running for your life.

You shut the door just as carefully as you had opened it, and quickly knelt down to check that you had your knife in your boot before starting to walk as softly as you could towards the bushland. The tall grass that had been bleached by the summer sun rose up around you the further you walked and helped to hide you while you trekked across the island and through the marsh and into the skinny trees that slowly grew thicker until you were on the same hill that you used to walk up everyday.

You could see the back of the church, and the bright light that shone through the windows. You had been right- you could hear them sing. It would have been so easy for you to just go back home, but you moved without thinking, and began towards one of the older trees behind St. Patrick’s and jumped up to the lowest branch, and began to climb.

As you grasped each branch, climbing higher and higher, you began to sing along; your throat was tight as tears threatened to fall, and you let them.

John felt a little tick in the back of his head that made him twitch slightly as he began down the aisle. Something off. Something he wasn’t used to during church. The people around him sang their hymn, and as he listened closely, he recognised a sound that he hadn’t heard in so long.

Your singing. Broken by your cries.

John’s sinuses stung as tears rose that wouldn’t fall, and he nearly stopped service right then to go and find you, but he was stuck.

You sat above the church, and leaned your head against the trunk of the tree as you listened to the preacher. You could have sworn he was louder than he used to be… though he wasn’t so much about revival, as he was about reconciliation and guidance. His words no longer made you uneasy. You didn’t want to admit it, but it did indeed sound as if he just wanted to help. Finding the light in the dark.

Mass finished, and you watched the islanders leave slowly…and saw the tall figure you knew wellstand at the front to bid everyone a blessed night. It was so strange to see it all from your viewpoint then- truly a stranger looking in. You perked up when you started to recognise some faces and felt your throat grow tight all over again. Your eyes burned from the tears that wouldn’t stop.

The church grew empty, and John waited until he couldn’t hear footsteps before finally turning back inside to shed his chasuble. His thoughts preoccupied him as he moved quickly and placed the fabric onto the table in the vestibule and walked out the back door. He hoped he wasn’t too late…that you hadn’t left yet. Then as he stepped into the chilled night air, he knew you were still in your perch.

That sweet smell of your skin…the gentle thump of your heartbeat.

John slowly followed the sound, and stared up at the trees until he spotted you. He stood down at the bottom amongst the roots, and cast one last look behind him then back up at you and extended his hand for you.

You stared down at him, and while he was the last person you wanted to help you down from that tree…he was also somehow the exact person you wanted, too. His sermon had made your hardened shell break a little, and you gradually climbed down to him. You sat on that last branch, and tentatively took his outstretched hand; he closed his fingers around yours and you jumped.

Your feet hit the ground with a soft thud, and you quickly looked around out of habit.

John still held your hand in his, and he gazed down at you so softly that you thought he might weep. Instead, he slowly brought his free hand up to your cheek and wiped away the remains of your tears.

“God loves you…” he whispered earnestly.

You felt your nose sting, and your lips pulled into a small, bitter smile as a tear fell and caught the corner of your mouth, “Just not enough to save me.”

The man before you pursed his lips at that, and looked down at your hand in his. He didn’t show it, but you felt a single drop of water on your thumb.

So he could cry.

And he did.

His eyes were red from holding them back once he did finally look back up at you.

Neither of you said another word before you took your hand from his grasp and left him. You took off into the brush and kept low, and didn’t look back even as you felt that prickle on the back of your neck like you used to after Mass.

September brought with it a crisp wind.

Colder weather meant you prayed harder that no shipments were delayed or you would have to hide out in the cold if they got inside your home. The autumn that you once loved was now a marker for your extreme isolation. You knew snow would eventually come, and winter storms that would knock out the power.

There was one night when you were delirious with loneliness that you actually walked into the main town. You walked along the beach. You knew most islanders would be at Mass, so you strode to the marina and sat on the shoreline. You stayed there for hours, and found yourself not caring when you heard voices of people passing by on the road. It wasn’t until you heard a couple familiar old voices that you looked up at the doc. Leeza and Warren were standing at the edge of the platform looking out over the water.

It was Leeza who stopped talking first. She stalled, and looked down sharply and you stared up at her. She looked as if she saw a ghost, and you didn’t blame her.

You were practically like a unicorn on Crockett.

You watched her elbow Warren when he asked her what was wrong, and he looked down at you with the same expression. You waved slowly, and offered them a small smile.

They looked behind them, then back at you and waved back.

They didn’t come down to see you. And they didn’t tell anyone where you were.

You stayed and watched the slow approach of the Belle that they now used for shipments. It tore through the waves of the Atlantic, and you watched as it docked. You wondered how easy it would be for you to sneak aboard, but you knew that was next to impossible. You didn’t know who sailed it, you didn’t know who intercepted the shipment…for all you knew you would be offering yourself up on a platter for Bev to serve to the community.

The sky began to brighten, and you still remained where you were as the boat sailed away.

You almost started waving your arms and screaming for them to come back.

Almost.

The sun was still down when you stood up and brushed off your pants. You sighed and turned to start back to your house for a needed cup of coffee, but when you looked up to the main road, you went still.

His dark eyes bore into you. Father Pruitt stood on the edge of the road staring down at you. You wondered how long he had been standing there. You hadn’t heard him.

He had that same pained expression on his face that he seemed to have every time he saw you. Like you were even more of a reminder of his sins than the turned islanders.

You stared back, and shivered when a wind picked up. You could feel the sun start to rise behind you, and you wondered if he was going to stay there looking at you until he burned.

It seemed like he wasn’t quite ready to face his wrongdoings as he slowly turned and began to walk away. You stood there alone as the day came and embraced you.

And once again, the island was silent.

Another day alive.

Another day alone.

November was cold. So cold.

During the day you could sometimes see sheets of ice floating on the top of the shore. Frost on the trees. Complete silence.

You had been trying for weeks now to map out the arrival and departure of the Belle and who sailed it, how long it stayed, if there were any moments when it was left unattended. Anything.

You could feel yourself start to lose yourself. You looked at old recipes you used to love making, and considered trying them out…but your shoulders would sag when you remembered you had no one to feed and a shortage of ingredients. You listened to every vinyl in your house and had started several books. Your internet connection was horrible as it always was but you tried to learn something new when you could. You were jamming your brain full of information so you could ignore the hole in your heart that grew everyday.

You knew you couldn’t stay like this forever, but if you were honest you didn’t know what else to do.

You were afraid.

John pulled his long coat a little closer around his collar as he began his trek back up to the rectory. He waved at a family as they passed him, and he found that he now received small smiles from people instead of grimaces. That change alone had him humming a little as he ascended the hill, but before he even started, he stopped short.

Those sensitive ears of his prickled as he picked up the sound of a rapid heartbeat.

He listened carefully to see if it was just an animal in the trees, but it was much too strong. He began to follow it, but after only a few strides, a sense of dread filled him.

It had to be you.

And you hadn’t come this way in months.

With your heart beating that fast, you were either terrified or exhausted. Or both. Neither was a wonderful option. John hurried his steps and walked up the pathway to the rectory when he slowed again just shy of the steps.

John had to steady himself.

The stench of blood confronted him like a wall, and he felt that repressed hunger inside him rise, but the last bit of goodness in him beat it down like a heathen. It was then that his sharp ears picked up the sound of several pairs of feet walking on gravel…perhaps 50 meters away. They were coming that way, fast.

John stepped up to the door, and noticed then that the door was ajar. He never locked it- it wasn’t like he needed to. But it wasn’t the open door that made him even more compelled to move quickly, it was the drop of blood there on his doorstep.

You were actively bleeding.

John pushed the door open, and scanned the dark home. It was so still inside. If it weren’t for his heightened senses, he could have missed what was wrong. The Monsignor, however, did know very well that there was something or someone in his room. The man slowly made his way back to the dark room, and his eyes lowered to the floor at the edge of his carpet.

Little bloody fingerprints were imprinted on the floor and smudged onto the fabric.

John knelt down and gingerly gripped the edge of the hidden door, and pulled. If it weren’t for his stellar sight in the dark, John wouldn’t have seen a single thing in that cellar. But as he stared down, he remained calm and refrained from making any sudden movements.

You were there against the furthest wall, curled in on yourself, eyes just barely visible in the sliver of dim light from up above; blood soaked your visible clothes and you trembled terribly.

“Don’t you dare come any closer!” You cried in a strained voice.

You were in pain.

“What happened?” He asked gently, crouching a little more to get a closer look at your shaking form.

“You lied that’s what happened!” Your voice was strong despite the tremble from fear and pain.

“How did I lie?” He asked. The Father tried to keep his voice as level as he could without begging you to tell him who did this. However, he took a very slow, very cautious step down onto the stair and that was not the right move.

“I said-…I said don’t come closer!” Your edge was lost as fear began to take over.

He held his hands up and knelt there on the first step, “You’re clearly hurt, I just want to help-“

“That’s what you said before! And the time before that! But if you had meant what you said about telling everyone to leave me alone then I wouldn’t be here!” You were almost crying- throat growing tight and heart beating faster as anxiety set in.

Father Pruitt felt his fingers itch with want to carry you up to his home and care for you, but he couldn’t risk scaring you before expressing his submission. Disbelief settled in as he looked over your tattered and bloodied clothes.

“They did this…” he said aloud to himself as he came to terms with the carnage, “I told them very clearly that you weren’t to be bothered I promise you-“ he started.

“Even i-if you’re not lying they didn’t listen…” You curled in tighter on yourself. Your weakening voice strung at Johns heart.

John swallowed and made to take another step down to you as he tried to quell his rage.

“Hey- shh…okay. I’m- listen to me sweetheart I’m-“ John paused then. He could hear those same footsteps he had heard before now just outside the rectory and he had a sneaking suspicion that he had what they were seeking, “I’ll be right back.” He whispered and lowered the door again.

John slowly straightened himself up and stood to his full height; he began walking to his door, but as he grew further from you, his calm walk turned into a determained stride that was in no way welcoming and anything but docile.

He wrenched the door open and without missing a beat he stepped out in front of the small group of islanders who were now half stumbling back from him.

Johns nostrils flared and his eyes lacked any semblance of the gentle man he was. His eyes glinted in the light from their lanterns, and his shoulders hunched slightly like he was ready to attack. In that moment, John was thankful that you couldn’t see him in such a state- he was certain he would never lay eyes on you again if you did.

“Did I not say that that young woman was off limits?” He bellowed, teeth bared as he snapped, taking another step forward off the porch.

There was a small gathering there, but not a single person had been prepared for the Father to burst in such a way. The attack on you had seemed like such an insignificant thing for them- like they were trying to catch a stray cat.

“Hey now! I-we- well you know how- I- it was-“ the man at the front floundered.

“I gave you all specific boundaries to abide by. I might as well have said nothing because now I have the last creature on this island that deserves Gods grace, and she is halfway to meeting her maker.” John paused and looked down at the stomach of the man then back up at his face. There was a large bullet hole there just above his bellybutton that had a ring of blood surrounding it, “Did she do this?” He asked, still seething, cold and direct. His tone quieted as he spoke now.

The man nodded, “Y-yeah she blew me right off-“

“Good.” John nodded and shifted back up to his full height, “You know what this is good because now you all know the consequences of disobeying your limitations. Daylight is one of your limits, and this girl is now too. Get that through your heads or god help me I’ll hand her the gun next time myself.” He didn’t wait for a rebuttal before he was slamming the door and locking it.

John barely broke stride as he turned and marched right back to the door in the floor and opened it back up to peer down at you. You were still there, and still cowering in the corner.

“I’m so sorry…They’re gone…I- please let me help you…I can keep you safe here but you’ll bleed to death if you don’t let me help you.” He pleaded with you.

John watched you for a few very long moments. When you didn’t respond, he felt a jolt of dread spear his chest and he was suddenly flooded with the memories of his sister on her deathbed; how he hadn’t been able to do anything about it. It only intensified when memories of Sarah’s limp body flashed in his mind.

He had lost his sister.

He had lost his love.

He had lost his daughter.

Now his eyes blazed as he decided he was going to help you whether you let him or not.

You were not going to die.

Johns eyes prickled as he pushed those memories away and leapt down the remaining steps to you and gathered you into his arms. You weren’t completely limp, but you weren’t doing well. You must have gone into shock from the attack, coupled with the freezing cold night and your lack of proper clothing.

As he pulled you up with him and gently laid you on his bed, he finally saw why you had come to him.

On your shoulder was a very deep bite. Whoever had done that to you had not wanted to let go- looked as if the perpetrator had almost taken a chunk of flesh right out of you. John felt that anger in him start to seep into his veins as he thought of someone maiming you so brutally- he nearly considered finding that man who had done this to you and-

No.

No he was better than that. That man would meet his fate when it was the right time.

John sucked in a breath despite not needing to, and went to his small bathroom. He searched frantically for a small medial kit he remembered he had there, and almost tore it open to find what he needed. He took a moment to gather himself as well. Certainly he was well stocked with blood, and he wasn’t hungry, but there was always something about fresh blood that made that beast inside him claw at its bars.

But this was you.

And he would be strong for you.

When he returned to you, your face was buried in the blanket there, hugging it to yourself. John pursed his lips, and ripped open the disinfectant wipe and gauze. He wetted the material in the sink, and began dabbing at your wound.

“Holy Spirit, please come like a dove…Shield and protect now the one that I love. Cover her wounds with Your grace feathered wings…Shield them from sorrow, breathe hope songs within…”

John’s voice began to shake as your wound came clean; as he prayed for you, all he could think of were how many times he was unable to stop Gods plan of taking those he loved. How he was perhaps still foolishly trying to stand in His way.

“Tend with Your goodness the pain that she bears. Heal now her sickness with miracle care. Carry her high far above till she sees...”

He pulled your night dress down over your shoulder to clean the rest of the dried blood. He swallowed as his mouth began to ache. His teeth itched at the sight of such fresh blood- flesh already broken…so easy…

But he pushed it away.

“Your rainbow of promise, real hope lies ahead. I love her so dearly, so help me to be. All that you, would give out through me.”

John gazed down at your sleeping form and felt his chest tighten. His last little piece of hope. His ray of sunshine that burned him to touch but he couldn’t let go. Even with your skin clean, your clothes were still sodden with blood and sweat. He knew that if you stayed in them you could risk getting ill, and worsening your recovery. He sobered at the thought.

John looked up that the cross on his wall, and closed his eyes for a moment. “Oh God, in beautiful ways, you created and redeemed mankind. Give us steadfast minds to resist the allurements of sin so that we may attain the joys of eternal life. Hear us, Oh Lord. Amen.” He muttered quietly, and slowly as he focused on the words, he found that his thirst ebbed away slowly and the ache in his mouth dissipated.

After a moment, John carefully unfurled you from your position and pried your hands away from the blanket. Then as tactfully and quickly as he could, he gripped the edge of your dress and pulled it up. He kept his eyes glued to the fabric in his hand, then once it came away, he stared only at the wound you had; to keep your warm, he pulled one of the blankets you had bled on up over your body. John wiped and dabbed as gently as he could, chastising himself when he would accidentally watch one of the droplets of bloody water run astray and trail down your collarbone over your clavicle. Your skin was coming clean, but there was still the grime and sweat on you.

John hung his head- his forehead touching your arm.

“God help me…” he murmured. If you got a fever because he didn’t clean your wound and body fully then he would fret and stress even more than he already was. It would torture him just as it would torture you.

After contemplation, John made the decision to hold you under a gentle shower steam- just something to wash you a little better. If he had dwelled on the idea a little longer he might have talked himself out of it and spiralled for a while, so instead he chose to act quickly. He strode into the little washroom and turned the tap. Waiting until the stall was filled with steam that would warm you up.

John stared down at you for a long minute- wondering if there was some other way to do this. When he didn’t come up with anything, John trained his eyes on a point on the wall to keep from accidentally seeing your bare skin, and gathered you into his arms as gently as he could, and carried you into the shower. As soon as he stepped in, the water began to drench his clothes. The warmth permeated the small space and cocooned both of you as the water soothed your filthy body. John was mindful to not constantly hold you under the direct spray; he slowly let your legs down to hang limp and he dangled your arms around his shoulders as he swayed with you under the spray like a doll. With his height, your feet didn’t even touch the ground as he held you, and it seemed to make things easier as he could manipulate you enough to rinse off most areas of your skin without needing to jostle you too much and cause more bleeding or wake you up.

The longer he stood there with you, he began to realise that there was something so tranquil to stand there with you in his arms. Relaxing and hypnotic - the warmth of the steam invading his senses. The intimacy of having someone’s body against his. John found himself humming, and his thumb drew small circles on your back. It was selfish to say he enjoyed it. Sinful too. But he did. He could feel your soft breath on his neck, and your heart beat against his soaked chest.

He felt young again.

Human again.

John basked in the rejuvenation.

After several minutes, he carefully stepped out with you, and cradled you to his chest as he grabbed his towel from the back of the door. He sat with you on the lid of the toilet and did his best to wrap you in the towel while barely looking at you. He praised God for the halted bleeding, and while he was still dripping he walked back into his room with you.

John positioned you on the bed, and rubbed the towel against your damp skin until he was satisfied. He then pulled any hair away from your shoulder and placed a large bandage over your wound. He paid attention so as to not irritate any small cuts from the bite. It would scar, but you weren’t going to turn.

Then as he pulled away, John could feel his soaked clothes cling to him, and he stood quickly to not get the bed any wetter. He needed to change you, but if he was going to keep you dry he needed to deal with himself first. He grabbed whatever he had folded on the edge of his bed and went back to the washroom to change. As he removed his shirt, he paused when it clicked that now he had to dress you while you were completely bare. He swallowed thickly, and quickly settled into the mindset that you were his patient, and he was giving you care. Nothing else.

If he was honest he wished the earth would swallow him up.

What time was sunrise?

Maybe he could go for a walk and just disappear forever in the wind. The thought was fleeting but so tempting at that moment when he straightened and quickly changed. Even the dry clothes didn’t fully dissipate the sweat breaking out on the back of his neck.

The Monsignor returned to your side quickly albeit timidly now. He eyed you wearily as he gathered some clothes for you, and had to muster up some courage to continue. He stood there just feet from you, and watched you breathe for a moment.

You looked so calm.

Serene.

Beautiful.

But he couldn’t stand there forever. And he knew it would be so much worse if you woke up in the current state you were in versus dressed.

He bowed his head and crossed himself as he muttered a prayer, then inched over to you and gingerly sat beside you. Father Pruitt slipped an arm under your back and rolled your torso into his lap. He focused on the top of your head as he fiddled with the shirt he was now getting over it, and cursed to himself when he had to look for your hands to bring them through the shirt. His ears would have flushed pink if he had been human. He told himself it wasn’t his fault for catching sight of your nipple. It was his fault for noticing that it had become pert in the cold.

John finished with your top as fast as he could, then he guided you back further onto the bed and rested your head on his pillow before glancing down where the towel was draped over your legs. He gripped the sleep pants in his hand like a vice and he gulped down the saliva that pooled on his tongue. The good Father’s hand shook as he took the towel away and instantly looked down at your feet where he started to hook the pants onto you, slowly sliding them up. Up, up, up until he had to finish the last of it a little roughly as he looked away.

The intimacy of it all had his head dizzy. It had been such a strained relationship with you for months now that having you in a state like this made him feel like a perverted old man taking advantage of your state. Of course he knew he wasn’t and that he was just taking care of you, but the guilt remained.

John looked down to inspect his work, and sighed with great thanks that the stressful task was over.

You were washed and dressed and you weren’t bleeding out as badly.

The Monsignor carefully placed a small towel under your head for your damp hair, and brought the thick blanket up over your body; he retrieved an extra one for good measure and laid it over you too. He petted your head for a moment- smoothed his thumb over your forehead to draw an invisible cross there, and read a prayer for your health and forgiveness. He was well aware that he was undeserving, but they prayers came out of habit, and soothed his anxiety of what he had done.

John then pressed a kiss to your temple and left you there to sleep. Your gentle breaths filled the room, and the Father sighed. No doubt you would be spitting fire at him tomorrow, but for now he could admire how innocent and peaceful you looked.

He cast one last look at you as he shut the door, and his mouth twitched into a small smile.

Sunshine.

Hours passed. John watched the sun rise and began writing, then read, then he checked on you, then prayed. Then began the cycle over again. If your shortness of breath and rapid heartbeat was any indicator when he had found you, you must have ran very quickly across the island…that coupled with your blood loss must have exhausted your body. You needed rest.

He had stood guard outside the rectory until twilight began- hand clenching and unclenching. Digging his rosary into his palm. The scales were out of balance, and he hadn’t wanted to rectify that so badly until now. Wanted to find the man likely still healing from the bullet hole in his stomach and make him feel the same fear you felt.

John briefly wondered where you had gotten a shotgun from. A pistol wouldn’t do that damage. Though he supposed it wasn’t entirely foreign that you had one.

He heard you stir and move from inside, and abandoned his post to return to your side; wetting a new cloth to lay on your head.

Now, he was sat on the small couch, and waited. He filed away several passages from the Holy book in his hand- ones that he may enlighten you with should you need it. There he remained until he heard your heart rate pick up again, and the blankets start to rustle. John slowly placed the Bible in his lap, and stared at the pages as he waited. It took a while until you slipped from the bed and your bare feet hit the cold floor. He really should have put some slippers there for you.

He heard you scramble for a moment, most likely grabbing something to throw at him or something to defend yourself with. He understood both. The last thing you likely remembered was laying in his dark cellar as you bled. Now you were in his bed and changed.

Johns suspicions were proven correct when he felt a pair of scissors fly at his head and nick his ear.

He didn’t blame you for a second.

“Good morning.” John murmured calmly as his flesh stitched back together.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

@littleredwritingcat @zaunite-leo @f4er1e-g1rl @purplemotif @vampyre-kin @hamishlinklaters @spacechupss @pansexualpamandabear @ebiemidnightlibrarian @erialuna @nilla-bear @vintageglassheart02 @ethanhoewke @dancingisdangerouss @cherrysugarx @daisychainsinknots @thesoundresoundsecho

[skeedelvee]

Ayy! I'm finally trying one of these! Thank you everyone that's tagged me in theirs in the past, I always like getting the notifications so I can check out all of your wonderful WIPs! <3

Doing a few WIPs since I've got a bunch going and I've gotten interest in a few.

First up is Second Moon! This is a sequel to my fic First Moon in which Simon is experiencing his first time transforming into a were-dragon. These fics are inspired by @frjsti 's amazing artwork! The sequel is about his 2nd time transforming and how Simon and Baz handle it differently now they know what they're in for and they've had time to prep for and crave certain fantasies for the next full moon. Here's a snippet of them discussing Baz wanting to bottom this time around:

He’s got his academic face on, as if we were talking about the merits of some new magical theory and not him taking my foot long dragon cock up his arse. “Still, there's a lot of risk involved in this. Even if I don’t destroy your arse, there’s still my claws and my fire breath to worry about. It’s a bit dangerous, innit?” “I thought you were the one to always face danger head on.” “I am, but this really isn’t about me.” “Isn’t it? Listen. If you really don’t want to do this, I won’t press for it, but it’s what I want and I’m not afraid of what might happen. I trust you.” I mull it over for a moment before he adds: “And if you do manage to kill me, please make sure my headstone reads ‘Here lies Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. He died doing what he loved: getting railed by Simon Snow’s monster cock.” I snort. “Your father would have my head if I even suggested that.” “Then I’ll have to have it written up in an official will,” he says with a smile. “What will it be then, Snow? Do you want this?” There’s no point lying about it. “Yes. I want it. I want you. You have to promise me though, that you won’t let me hurt you. Don’t muscle through it for my sake. Say your safe word as soon as things turn bad.” “I promise, Simon.”

@stitchy-queerista wanted to hear more about A Good High, so I'll do that one as well!

A Good High is a one shot non-magic college roommate AU where Shepard leaves a pot brownie for Simon on what he thinks is his desk, but is actually Baz's desk. Baz thinks it's a normal brownie from Simon, eats it and gets really high by accident. Simon gets back to the dorm, finds Baz in his current state and has to turn Baz's bad high into a good one. Here's a snippet:

“Have you seen Ratatouille?” I ask as I set up my laptop at the foot of the bed. Baz is hugging his knees to his chest, but he’s lost that panicked look in his eyes. They look sleepy instead, droopy and dark like they are first thing in the morning (it’s very distracting). “I have four younger siblings, of course I’ve seen Ratatouille.” “Right, of course. Well, it always helps me relax, so it might help you,” I say as I make a fluffy pile of pillows to collapse against. “Just try to focus on the movie for a bit and let it melt your anxieties away.” The movie plays and I sit back, kick my feet up, I get immersed in Remi’s story as a start to feel the gummy kick in. I’m so relaxed that I almost forget about how Baz was feeling, but as soon as I do remember, I can’t seem to think of anything else. I watch him out of the corner of my eye. He’s watching the film and his breathing seems relaxed, but there’s something about his face that still looks raw, something about his posture that still seems on edge. I wish I could magically make this better for him. If he were anyone else I’d probably know what to do to cheer him up, but we’ve only just (kind of, sort of) started to get along. I don’t know if I’ve ever truly seen him relaxed before now that I think of it, he even looks tense while he sleeps. Maybe I should just ask him about what would help. “Psst, Baz, can I get you anything? Tea? Or a snack?” “No, I’m fine.” “A blanket?” “No.” He curls in on himself more and I mentally start kicking myself. Fuck, I’m making it worse. I wrack my brains for an idea to make this better, ignoring the little voice in my head telling me to leave well enough alone. Maybe if I got him to laugh that might get him out of this funk. “How about a cuddle then?” It was supposed to be a joke, but I can’t manage to laugh at it. My heart is beating out of my chest as the words leave my mouth. It’s a silly notion, the two of us cuddling, and I know it's something he’d never go for. And part of me is still hoping he’ll think it’s funny and he’ll break into a smile as he laughs it off, but the other part of me is desperate for him to say yes.

And @roomwithanopenfire wanted to hear about my untitled Gareth/Rhys fic, so I'll do that one too

This one is fairly new actually. It's kind of inspired by an outfit of mine actually. A lot of people who have met me IRL will probably have seen me in this, but I like to call it my Gareth as a slutty queer woman cosplay; a black crop top, black short shorts, and a brown belt with a white jaguar enamel belt buckle. I was wearing it recently and thinking about Gareth and thinking about a fem Gareth (I call her Gi in this) wielding the magic thrusting belt buckle, and then I started to write this. It's a getting together story about Gareth and Rhys with mutual pining. It starts with the two of them in their room, unpacking and settling into the space for their 8th year. Gi has her skirt tucked into her underpants and it's a whole thing for Rhys. Here's a snippet:

I can feel myself blush down to my toes. Thankfully, Gi discovers the state of her skirt and is distracted from seeing the full state of my complexion. “Has it been tucked in this whole time?” “Pretty much,” I wince. She snorts and then giggles as she unbuttons the thing and kicks it underneath her bed. I try to keep my eyes above her waist. “I hope my grandma saw. It’s what she deserves for insisting I ‘dress like a lady’ in her presence.” She’s stepping into her school trousers now, she has to do a little wiggle jump to get them over her thick thighs (it’s poetry in the making). “She has seen how you cast spells, right? Surely trousers should be the least of her worries.” “I wear the buckle as a bracelet when the old bat’s visiting. Mum says she has ‘a poor constitution’ and I’ll ‘send her to an early grave’ if I try thrusting spells around her.” Gi does a poor imitation of her mother’s voice, playing up the theatrics for my entertainment. I watch her as she lovingly threads her belt through each of the loops on her trousers, it’s like watching a superhero put on their suit for the very first time. She does a turn in front of the mirror, smiles at her reflection, and then shoots finger guns at herself. I can’t help but smile too. I’m so in love with her, it hurts.

And here’s my belt buckle that inspired this:

I think most of you have already posted yours for the day, but I'll tag: @bookish-bogwitch @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @aristocratic-otter @roomwithanopenfire @stitchy-queerista @artsyunderstudy @noblecorgi @monbons @rimeswithpurple @ileadacharmedlife @facewithoutheart

[sliceoflifeshepard]

Ash Shepard's Writeblr Reintroduction

Hi guys, its been about 2 and a half years since I've really worked on any of my wips, so I thought since I'm getting back into writing, to do a writeblr introduction again.

My inbox is always open, I have a Ko-fi here if you wanna support me

I'm 27. Im British, I live in the UK and i'm a Non-binary autistic person. You can call me either Hal, or Ash Shepard

I'm a die hard Mass Effect fan and I ship FemShep and Garrus a.k.a Shakarian

I write for adults, with adult themes and I write Mass Effect fanfiction as well as Original Works.

I write a variety of things - screenplays, short stories, drabbles/fics, novels, the whole lot basically.

For my original works, I mainly seem to write about Angels, Demons, Gods and Reapers with the ocassional human caught in the mix. I've been writing supernatural paranormal and romance stuff for 4 years, since November 2020 so you can actually thank Destiel and the US Election for that (a.k.a you should have been on tumblr on november 4th/november 5th of 2020)

I have hundreds of characters and my wips im working on, fluctuates, but heres a list of my current main wips:

Terraclaw - about a kingdom falling apart during a war and a desperate bid to restore order that only plunges the world into further darkness and uncertainy

Wildlands - about a bunch of people, including an autistic professor named Layton who travels around space to different planets in search of friends, family and treasure

Not You - Jericho loses his wife to a jealous boss who kills her and Jericho tries to go back in time to save her and then travels to an alternate universe to see her again and its just a journey of coming to terms with loss and getting justice.

Raising Hell - The Grim Reaper's son is being targeted by Angels and Gods that want him dead and the whole world is falling apart, so he and his friends have to save the world and put things right

Speechless - Elves vs Humans and the right to speak up in the face of justice and not being supressed because humans think they're superior. Its about finding family and standing up for whats right.

Heaven's Fallen - Genderbent AU of Raising Hell with their own adventures

With God As My Witness - about a man named Lou Hart who is being gaslighted by the government to think that the supernatural don't exist, but everyone he knows and loves is involved with them and the world is starting to go to shit

[dreamauri]

‧˚⊹ 𝗱𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗶 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 ଓ :: 𝗠𝗩𝟭 ‧₊˚⤾

— you are reading: part three !!

╭╯ pairing . . . max verstappen x fem! driver! reader ) ┊ summary . . . a day for max and leila ) ┊ genre . . . angst/fluff ) ╰╮ warning . . . bleeding, passing out, mentions of cpr

( fic masterlist | general masterlist ) ( requests ) ( taglist )

Max found himself petting the sleeping pup gently as he watched Leila sit on his lap and read through a dictionary, helping her pronounce the occasional words.

He had found out that his means of communication of her was through German, one that she'd find muse in making fun of him in while they waited for their flight. "Um . . . Thirsty?" She said confused.

"You're thirsty?" Max looked down into the book, confirming the word. "Let's get you something."

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

MEDIA DAY THURSDAY JULY 21 2023 — Hungaroring, Hungary

Max had come to learn a lot more about Leila during the flight. Including, the fact that she could not sleep before washing her face, can not sleep with socks nor shoes on, and can absolutely not sleep alone.

He found himself laying back in the business class chair, watching some movie on the presented screen while patting the child that was laying on him.

He's come to like her very much, reminding him of Victoria, his sister, and the relationship he shared with her.

Arriving at Hungary was easy, the two were quick to get settled into the hotel before going down for breakfast. "She eating cereal." Max talked with you over the phone, updating you on his new responsibility.

"If you could get her to eat some protein that would be great. Eggs or chicken, anything." "I have bacon." "Avoid pork." You winced at the idea.

"Omlete?" "Yeah, that's good." Cutting up ⅔ of his dish into bite pieces, he gestured for her to ear. "How's he doing?" "He's OK. Still sleeping. But recovering." Max nodded even though he knew you couldn't see him.

"Leila, eggs?" "Ya3." [ew] She pushed the plate away putting her tongue out in disgust. "Hot chocolate?" "Eh?" She looked up at him confused looking at where the dutchman was pointing, the drinks station. "She likes mango. Try that instead. Alright."

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Ba7lam M3ak, besafina." [i dream with you, about a boat] The girl sang quietly as she held onto Max's hair as he carried her on his shoulders through the paddock. Sadly enough, the tween was wearing a red ferrari cap that contrasted with Max's navy blue shirt and orange lion cap. "Wen ba7ar tani." [where we go sailing again]

"Aussieee." Mkayla cooed once she spotted the australian shepard, leaning down and showring the pup with affection. "Thank you, Max. I'll take it from here." She gestured, ready to take the child off the driver. Leila clung to Max's leg once he put her down, hiding from the middle aged woman. "allez, ma chérie. Max a des choses à faire." [come on, sweet heart. Max has things to do]

Leila shook her head. "je veux rester avec Maxie." [I want to stay with max.] "She can stay with me." Max nodded with a soft smile, gently placing his head atop Leila's head to comfort her. "C'est charles." The tween whispered watching the ferrari driver pass by.

"Lets go say hi." He picked her up from under her armpits, setting her on his waist. "Thanks, Mkayla. C'ya, Aussie." With a quick farewell, Dutch boy quickly caught up to the Monégasque. "Non non non, tu vas m'embarrasser." [no no no, you're going to embarrass me] "I don't speak French." He reminded her, even though he could probably put together what she said.

"Charles, Mate." "Max!" The drivers greeted each other, sharing a quick, hand shake. "What's this?" Charles was obviously curious, its not everyday you get to see max carrying a child wearing Ferrari merch. "Babysitting. This is Leila. She's a big fan." He introduced, holding the girl towards Charles like she weighed nothing.

"Well Hello." "Salut." Her voice was small as Max set her down. "Ah, tu parles français?" he kneeled down to her height, a small smile covering his face. "Oui, J'habite en France." "Très beau." He winked at her, taking the hat of her head and signing it. "I'll see you around, Leila." He ruffled her hair, putting the cap back on. "She doesn't speak english." Max told him. "You might want to stick to the french." ". . . How have you been communicating?" "We haven't."

". . . Did you kidnap her?" "What?! Why would you even think that? Look, if I put my hand out she'll take it— Leila seriously? You're dumping me now?" The girl took Charles' hand smiling happily. "I thought she doesn't understand what you were saying. I think I'll keep her." The Ferrari reminded, picking the girl up to his chest. "She doesn't." Max folded his arms as the girl giggled, sticking her tongue out at Max. "You owe me a football match." He booped her nose.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

FREE PRACTICE Friday July 21 2023 — Hungaroring, Hungary

"Goan!" [goal] She whisper shouted, as she kicked the ball ( she somehow got her hands on ) between Max's legs. He could only smile as he watched her kick the ball around the garage as everyone packed up for the night.

"Bist du bereit, zurückzugehen?" [are you ready to go back] "Dein Akzent ist sehr schlecht." [Your accent is very bad] She teased making Max once more give up on using the language for being made fun of by an eight year old.

"Yallah." [come on] He held out his hand. It was the only word he knew, disappointingly for you. After spending a week in an arab house hold, he was able to pick a few words, including: la2 [no], inshalla [in gods willing/never gonna happen], and khalas [enough]. He already knew Habibi [darling/sweetheart], but that wasn't making anything any better.

"Leila, seventeen is going to kill me." He picked her off the floor starting to make his way out of the garage. "attends- uhhh . . l'anniversaire de nunu c'est demain, on doit lui faire quelque chose." [wait uhh, nunu's birthday is tomorrow. we have to make her something.] "Anniversaire, birthday? Who's birthday?" "l'anniversaire de dix-sept, seventeen." "You want to buy her something?" "Make."

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Fuck mijn nek." [fuck my neck] Max groaned, flexing his musche as he opened his eyes after they adjusted to the sunlight. He was sleeping on the ground which had become a mess of paper, glitter, and beads. The only thing was missing was the girl that had passed and left him do all the work.

"Lei— Oh shit. Leila?" He quickly stood up, sobering up from his sleep to start starting for the tween. "Lei—" "Shh." You came out of the bathroom, covering his mouth. His eyebrows furrowed in surprised as you put a finger over your mouth, which held your toothbrush. "She's sleeping." Your mouth was muffled as you pointed at the girl sleeping in bed in her pyjamas.

Max sighed in relief, moving to the night mare that has been haunting hm for the past two days, adjusting the blanket over her. "She likes me more than you." Max whispered, putting his hands on his hips proudly. You could only glare at him as you continued to brush your teeth.

"Cousin thief." You mumbled going back to the bathroom, spitting out the toothpaste. "Hey I— I got something for you." Max came back with a neatly wrapped up box. "Happy birthday." You looked between the gift and him, a small smile creeping its way onto your face.

"You don't have to—" "—I'll keep it then—" "—mine." You took it out of his hands, gently starting to unwrap it. "It's a bottle." "It's water bottle." He chuckled clarifying, smiling with a shrug. "You broke yours so and I know you loved the last one. So, I thought I'd get you a new one." "Oh that is sweet. Thank you, thirty three." Your turned around, starting to fill it up with water.

"Thirty three?" "Yeah, since you keep calling me by my number." "That's because I don't know your name." "You kon't know your teammate's name?" You gasped, faking heart break. "I didn't— Hey! Don't know!" You laughed, wiggling your eyebrows as you exited the bathroom. "Senta." You answered.

Max peaked his head out the door, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion, his toothbrush hanging from his mouth. "Is that your name?" "It's my middle name." ". . . Isn't that German?" He asked confused. "Pick a country. First France, and then one from the middle east, now Germany? What's next?" "Netherlands." You joked making him glare.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

QUALIFYING Friday July 21 2023 — Hungaroring, Hungary

"There he is! Lighting up the whole paddock!" You cheered as Daniel rolled passed on the scooter in the Alpha Tauri fireproofs. "Seventeeeeeeeeeeeen~" He pointed at you with the laugh that made your heart warm. "Danieeeeeeel RIIIIIcardOOOOOOOOO." You sang as you swung Leila's hand.

"Up you go." "ba3raf atla3 lewa7di." [i can get up on my own] She huffed folding her arms as you set her on the couch in the hospitality. "ana 3arfa, bas enti betegbari besor3a awy." [I know, but you're growing up so fast.] You kissed her cheek gently. "lazem aro7 delwa2ti. wa3d mesh hatemshi men hena?" [i have to go now. promise you wont leave] "wa3d." [promise]

Q1 :: you easily made it into q1, sitting in the top ten comfortably knowing you wouldn't be knocked out. rolling back in the pits, you waited in the garage with the warm tires which you'll stick with till the end of Q2.

"Who's out?" "Sargent, Magnusson, Hamilton, Tsunoda, Albon." "Hamilton? Huh." You raised your eyebrows in surprise. "He forgot he's in a Mercedes?" You joked as the team started pushing you out for Q2. "Danny is in, whoo!" You cheered to yourself as you waiting for the go.

"Who's P1 right now?" "Zho." "What? You're joking. Good for him." "Not for you though." "Eh, easy peasy lemon squeezy."

Q2 :: "We are P3. P3." "Who's ahead?" "Norris and Kraus." "Which Kraus?" "Killian." "Alright, you think I have enough time to give it one more?" "Negative. Negative. We are ok where we are. You will have a chance in Q3."

A sigh came from your mouth as you rolled back in your garage to get a change of tires.

Q3 :: "P1! P1! Great job Seventeen." "Yaaaaay." You cheered quietly giggling as you let the other cars pass by on their hot laps. "And Max?" "Max is P3. P4, P4." "Oh? Who's up?" "Kraus is P1." ". . . Which one?" "Meike." "Really?" Your voice darkened. "I'll give it to him."

"Starting grid tomorrow is Meike, you, Killian, Norris, Verstappen, Zho—" "Wait you're joking. Max P5? Are you sure? Is he ok?" "Affirmative." "Dang it. I'm sandwiched by two brothers now, I swear if they drag me into their family drama I'm going to **** **** ****** ******** **** ******." Safe to say you traumatized Jj. "A—alright. Just don't fined."

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Happy birthday to you." You heard the team and Lando sing down the pitlane. Happy birthday dear Meike, happy birthday to you." Laughs errupted throughout as Leila watched quietly. "Yala halan balan. Heya Abu El fasad. Haykoun 3iedmilad El Leila as3ad El a3yad. Fal yaha Abu elfasad." [an egyption (?) continuation of the birthday song] You hummed quietly.

"Betghanilo leh?" [Why are you singing for him] Leila asked taking her back pack off. The garages were mostly empty now, you had dismissed a Mechanic, taking up his sweeping chores instead of him.

You shrugged in answer to the question. It just felt right. "Toz fih." [A vulgar/extremely rude way of saying who cares] "3andi 7ega liki." [I have something for you] Getting up in a random chair and dumping her bag on the table. "Max!" She called. "Found a cupcake from the Aston Martin hospitality!" Max raised the cupcake as he entered the garage, proudly placing it in the table top.

"What is this." You laughed looking at both of them as Max held up a lighter. "Sanna 7elwa ya gameel." "Oh no." You sighed hiding your face as they begun singing. Leila had apparently force-taught Max the arabic version of the happy birthday song, and his accent was horrible, with the occasional mistake. "Sanne 7elwa ya gameel. Sanna 7elwa ya, nunu/senta. Sanna 7elwa ya gameell~."

Leila did a little zarghroota ( failing miserably ) as you laughed blowing out the little flame. "How old are you now?" Max asked leaning on the table, with a look of mischief on his face.

"The big two three." You joked folding your arms, leaning on the table as well. "Hah, I'm older." "Older than dinosaurs." You mocked, a genuine smile on your face as Leila pulled you away from Max, handing you a pop out card.

"Aw look, is that me?" "Da enti, Dija, baba, teta, gedo, ana, we da Max lewa7do." [that's you, dija, dad, grandma, grandpa, me and that's Max in the corner] you could only laughed as she pointed at the drawing Max.

"He looks just like you." You teased as Leila pulled out 2 handfuls of accessories. "I technically made these since, Leila slept and abandoned me." You laughed as she put the bracelets and necklaces on. "I love them. Shukra, ya 2amar." [Thank you, beautiful] You kissed Leila's cheek, offering a hug to Max next.

"Thanks Max, you made my day."

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

RACE DAY Friday July 22 2023 — Hungaroring, Hungary

"Killian." Walking down the pitlane, the older of the Kraus Brothers looking to his side seeing his dad, gently holding his shoulder. "Give us a minute." Leon dismissed the mechanic, pulling his son aside.

"Deal with that Seventeen girl. She losses this round. We won't have to worry about her nor her ego again. Make sure your brother wins." "I- . . . Alright." He couldn't even protest because the man walked away, walking to the pole winner car.

"Killian? Killy willy?" "Huh?" Everything alright, mate?" "Yeah . . . Everything is-" He got in to his car with a deep sigh. "Everything is. Peachy."

"It's lights out and away we go at the Hungarian Grand Prix."

Lap 1 :: "Meike gets away well, so does Seventeen, so does Killian. It's masked driver sandwiched between two Krauses." "I can already tell this will not end well for Seventeen."

"There is contact on turn one, and the two Alpine drivers are out! Zho drops a few positions and Riccardo spins out."

Lap 6 :: "Verstappen overtakes Norris on turn 3 and he is now in P4,  one position away from the Kraus vs Seventeen battle. Max is charging forward to aid his teammate."

Lap 38 :: Killian felt his heart beating in his mouth, you were going to over take his brother any moment now, and gain P1. He couldn't let you lead. He couldn't over take you either, the plan that he had scripted had failed. And he had no other choice.

"Sorry." He whispered to himself.

"OH! AND- KILLIAN DRIVES INTO THE REAR OF SEVENTEEN!" "Massive crash there catching Norris, Hamilton, Leclerc and Sainz!" "Verstappen was able to get away safely. And that is a red flag."

"Oh fuck! Y/N? Is she okay?" Max's voice popped up on the big speakers as he begun to slow down. "She has not responded yet." "I need to-" "Max stay in the car. Stay in the car. The marshals will take care of it. Red flag. Red flag."

As soon as Killian managed to get out of the car, he heard crying. Like a seven year old balling her eyes out.

Back in the garages, Max was quick to leap put of his car, running through to your garage. "She's up. She's—" "What is she doing?!" He yelled, gripping his hair, watching you on the screen. You were lifting up the side of Lando's flipped car so he could crawl out.

"YOU'RE BLEEDING!" He shouted at you even though you couldn't hear him. Lando was the quick to run to the medics once he got out. "GET TO THE FUCKING MARSHALS!"

You could feel your head spinning as you let car drop the few inches you lifted. You couldn't hear anything, and you your limbs were numb. Your ears were pulsing as you took a step forward to the Marshals, only for you to find yourself weaken.

"And she's on the ground— she fell!" "Where are the marshalls?! She's bleeding! WHERE ARE THE MARSHALLS?!"

Max could hear the commentators, his ears ringing as he watched someone come to your aid. The world was blurring before him as he watched them commence CPR.

Sobs. Snapping out of his trance, Max found a lost Leila at the entrance of the garage, crying her eyes out. Not even waiting a second he was quick to lift her into his arms, bouncing her gently as he tried to calm her down.

Mkayla was quick to come for support, whispering reassuring words to the tween in her second language. "C'est bien. C'est bien, Leila. Y/N est bien." [It's ok. It's ok, Leila. Y/N is ok]

Max himself didn't even know if she was going to be okay. He's seen crashes like that, and they never ended well. Especially after seeing the fate as the previous holder of the number Seventeen had met.

Final Lap :: "and Max Verstappen takes the win. Breaking the record of the most consecutive wins with 12 races in a row."

"This is for, Seventeen." He sighed as he crossed the line. "This was her win." "Thank you, Max." The Dutch heard Christian over the radio, a deep shaky sigh coming from the driver.

Hopping out of the car, Max was quick to go to where his team waited for him, patting his back gently as he pulled the reaching Eight year-old into his arms. Pulling her over the fence ( not giving a single shit about getting fined) , he kept her in his arms as he walked to the cool down room.

Sitting in between the two Krauses, he braided the girl's hair gently, occasionally wipping the silent tears that streamed down her eyes. When it came to the podium, Max had failed convince Leila to wait for him, ending up with her joining him, hugging his leg on the top pedestal as they played the National anthems.

He felt anger, raged. Watching Meike celebrate made Max want to punch him in the face. But he held back, holding up his trophy slightly for his team, before walking out hand on hand with Leila.

17: oh no im bleeding to death

lando: *not injured, is fine*

17: i want to play prince charming

( taglist ↳ @lorarri - @benedikwonn - @mycenterfold - @iamahallucinanionnn - @lizzieolseniskinda - @chelseyyouraverageluigi - @michellekstyles - @ironmaiden1313 - @azxulaa - @mistrose23 - @lazybot - @hockeyboysarehot - @iloveyou3000morgan - @livster

[monbons]

Six Sentence Sunday

Thanks for the tag @talentpiper11! I forgot it was Sunday because...well...summer. Your tidbits were lovely!

I have been keeping busy today by trying to find an organizational system for all my sewing supplies. My previous organizational system was literally just a massive Joann's plastic bag filled with fabric scraps, thread, pipecleaners, etc that I kept in my basement closet (can you see in the lower right corner?).

Now that it seems I am going to be engaging in more frequent sewing projects, I wanted something more aesthetically pleasing and functional. So...I brought by teacher desk home, put it in my bedroom, and am in the process of organizing both sewing and writing things.

It's very much a work in progress, but I'm excited about it!

In fic news, hopefully you are all caught up on the TWO chapters of The Eternal Life of Baz Pitch I posted on Friday. We are now in the home stretch! This Friday is the second to last chapter (15 is a short epilogue and will be posted with 14 because I am not interested in the hate mail I would receive if I left you with 14’s ending!!!).

Given that we are now in “climax of the story” territory, you can only have six (mostly) non-consecutive sentences. Find them below the cut:

“A lifetime is so short, Simon,” Baz whispers.

It seems only fitting that Simon Snow’s birthday is also the summer solstice, the only day each year when the sun chases off darkness and keeps it at bay for what seems like a lifetime.

He refuses to look at the dark, to let him see the pain in his soul at the image he’s painted. 

“I’d like to contaminate you with my spit!” Shepard calls out yet again, before a loud smack and a yelp echo throughout the apartment.

“You have lived hundreds of years and yet you remain as naive as the day I met you.”

Hellos and high-fives! @thewholelemon, @raenestee, @cutestkilla, @bookish-bogwitch, @roomwithanopenfire

@hushed-chorus, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @youarenevertooold, @skeedelvee, @larkral

@rimeswithpurple, @blackberrysummerblog, @brilla-brilla-estrellita, @drowninginships, @valeffelees

@emeryhall, @artsyunderstudy, @facewithoutheart, @aristocratic-otter, @shrekgogurt

@beastmonstertitan, @iamamythologicalcreature, @run-for-chamo-miles, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @arthurkko

@supercutedinosaurs, @rbkzz, @theearlgreymage, @fiend-for-culture, @ic3-que3n

[painterofhorizons]

poh's Akuze masterpost

Since Akuze is my fav Mass Effect playground since 2020, it's time for a masterpost.

Published Fic (x)

20 times Akuze almost gets Shepard (AO3, tumblr): After Akuze, Shepard fights to gain back agency. // 8k, pre-ME1, PTSD, recovery, Captain Anderson

Ghosts from the Past, pt. 01 (AO3, tumblr): Fifteen months after surviving the thresher maw massacre on Akuze, Shepard is confronted with ghosts from her past, when a relative of one of her dead former comrades takes a position on the same vessel that she’s assigned to. // 2k, pre-ME1, Engineer Adams

Ghosts from the Past, pt. 02 (AO3): With both of them hurting a relative’s death, Adams tries to mend burning bridges. // 3.5k, pre-ME1, Engineer Adams

Area secure, Commander (AO3): Tali’s first encounter with a thresher maw doesn’t exactly go ideal, but little does she know. // 1.5k, ME1, PTSD, Tali, Garrus

Currently Working On

The Good, Bad, And The Ugly (work in progress): An episode long fic for the post-Akuze recovery, losely following the 20 Times timeline, but adjusting things and diving deeper into the struggles, people and places important during the long way back. It takes fire to forge a N7 soldier. // ~18 chapters, pre-ME1, PTSD, recovery, Captain Anderson, James vega, Jeff Joker Moreau

WIPs

Arcturus Station, 2179

Two Aces In Disguise

Of all things Akuze has taken from her, the ability to communicate is the most excruciating one.

at some point post-Akuze in the rehab facility, Shepard meets a young James Vega

reliving Akuze

“How’s Giles doing?”

white noise

birthday

Tabatha Adams

tbc

Art

post Akuze promotion portrait

meta human portraits Reda Shepard&James Vega

illustration for the post-Akuze rehab long fic

Akuze Giving Me A Headache (random musings)

x x x x

Things I've Said (asks)

x x x

Random Bits And Pieces

Mass Effect Writing Masterpost incl. non-Akuze writings

Last updated: 2024-08-13

[hellonearthtoday]

3, 5, 7, 14

Thank you 😌I needed a break from this damn drawing

3. Who is your favorite character outside the main 7?

This is kind of harddd man 😭 born to say Cherry forced to say Curly. Cherry's a character that we actually saw more of, but I have this idea of Curly in my head that's so perfect to me...he's like half my oc...I'm superrr attached to Cherry but I do have to be real w myself cuz whenever I see Curly's name mentioned in any fic or any post it's like a wild lion sighting i get sooo hype

5. What are your favorite ships?

this is NOT hard. My favorite ship is purly I'm an evil purly shipper. I don't typically do shipping because I'm that aroace who is romance repulsed not just for myself but in the media I consume too, but idk something about their dynamic I've half made up in my head abt them...I guess I just really like the dynamic of 2 bros who are friends who might also fall in love We dont know

MARBIT. I really like couples who just giggle together. Couples who justtt rock w eachotherrr something about them....Also they got that forbidden love thing going on and idk the power of laughter could save them. But other than that I'm a platonic power ranger

7. What are your fave non-romantic relationships? (This can be close friends, familial, enemies or even just acquaintances)

This thang is about to get so long. I love non romantic relationships sooo bad I'm romance's biggest hater.

TBH can i say purly here too....they got a friends to lovers thing going on I'll shut up abt them for once this time though.

Johnny and Pony are really the best friends ever, and my idea of them might be fandom crutched more than what's shown in canon, but It don't matter anyway that book came out a bajillion years ago.

Johnny and Dally. I know the jally nation is huge and unstoppable and I can kindaaa see where you're coming from even w how I am...but in my head they aren't brotherly or romantic they're a secret third thing. No labels no nothing. They have something that none of us can touch and it's not romantic to me but they're tgt in every universe

Dally and Ponyboy idk they're funny to me. Like 2 cats put into a fighting ring and one is evil and one just want to sleep and go home idk

CHERRY AND PONYBOY I START CHEWING ON THE WALLS WHEN I SEE THEM PIT AGAINST EACHOTHER IN FICS OR WHEN CHERRY IS BARELY THERE goddd i msis them so much there's something so special to me about an opposite sex friendship that prevails even though it's not seen as a normal thing people do at the time.

14. Tell us five of your headcanons you basically see as canon

POC shepards. It's just kind of real man. I like seeing all the different versions the fandom comes up with but they're a black latino family to me <3

Johnny and Curly hating each other so bad. I think it's the funniest thing ever. Especially if they just don't like eadchother solely off of vibes ...or Curly doesn;t like Johnny bcz Johnny doesn't like him and he's like wtf 😕

It's never said outright but Johnny has anxiety disorder to me.

Ponyboy has low empathy and he just does things out of the kindness of his heart and not bcz "treat people how u want to be treated" bcz whatever LOL! he's autistic to me whatt who said that

PB talks really casually but also somehow rlly awkwardly, and u think he's just chill like that but he's just autistic. He could hate your ass but he talks like some unsocialized forest nymph so you dont know bcz he sounds so docile

[laelior]

Periapsis Chapter 3: Dandelion Fluff

Mass Effect Kaidan Alenko/Beth Shepard Rating: E (eventual smut) Chapter 3/6 Periapsis: The point at which two objects in a binary system orbit nearest to each other. a.k.a., the Shenko shore leave fic that's been plaguing me non-stop lately. Ao3 link

It probably shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Kaidan that Shepard was the type to enjoy risky hobbies. After all, she routinely charged ahead in battle with little more than a shotgun and a biotic barrier between herself and the enemy. She drove with reckless disregard for concepts like gravity or basic safety. It was only natural that she would gravitate toward the kinds of activities even the most fervent adrenaline junkies flinch.

But here he was, heart in his throat as he watched her scale a sheer granite wall with absolutely nothing between her and the rocky, unforgiving ground below. It was a mystery to him how she had even found her way up as high as she had. There seemed to be zero visible handholds or footholds, but she’d ascended the cliff with unnerving ease.

“You sure you don't want to join me, Alenko?” she called down from her perch ten meters off the ground, pausing in her ascent to look down at him. “The view up here is pretty spectacular.”

Read More

[anghraine]

fanny-price-defense-squad replied to this post:

@anghraine who was it???

Oh!! I was so foggy when I posted the "which Austen character mainly contributed to my dissertation" poll that I actually completely forgot it existed. The people actually did vote, if barely, for the right choice—Mary Crawford!

(Darcy was right behind her in the poll but barely mentioned in the dissertation, while Henry Crawford—who only got 1.5% of the vote—also figured pretty significantly.)

Now I'm looking at other results of my own polls over the last year, as well:

The "Why is Elrohir's name in Gondorian rather than Elvish Sindarin" poll result: a strong vote for "actually it's Númenórean Sindarin" (the assumption I've always made myself, but it was interesting to think about other possibilities, since Tolkien never explained it).

The "Pick a fave from my Tolkien faves from each major text" poll result: Faramir narrowly beat out Gandalf with everyone else far behind (the closest was Lúthien).

The "pick a fave from my faves from five fandoms" poll result: Faramir again, closely beating out Luke Skywalker and Fitzwilliam Darcy (Moiraine and Gwen Thackeray never had a chance).

The "best dead guy from my dissertation" poll result: Jonathan Swift just squeaked past Olaudah Equiano!

The two women's wrongs polls: the first poll result was Clytemnestra, the second Azula.

The "what's your headcanon for the unexplained reasons the Stewards were not in the line of succession despite being descendants of Anárion" poll: by a huge margin, actually, the people chose "they were formally removed from the succession in exchange for the powers of the Stewardship."

The "pick your favorite video game/series" poll result: a very unsurprising and easy win for the Mass Effect trilogy (with BG3 the only thing even remotely near).

The "why do those of you who also like fics about ostensibly cis male characters in canon being genderbent to women" poll result: it's interesting to imagine how the character and plot would be affected, slightly beating out the option for "I neither like nor dislike the fics as a genre, I just like the good ones."

The "vote between my top Spotify Wrapped songs" poll results: "Landslide" by Fleetwood Mac slightly beat out Florence + The Machine's "King" and Queen's "Who Wants to Live Forever" (both exactly tied in close second place).

The "what is the best non-canon FemShep pairing" poll result: Shepard/Jack won pretty handily!

The "which of my ~controversial headcanons do you like best" poll result: Elizabeth and Darcy have separate bedrooms and this is good for their marriage.

The "which non-canon Darcy ship is best" poll result: Darcy/Anne Elliot, which mildly surprised me (I like it but am not sure they'd get around to talking to each other), beating out the world conquest pairing of Darcy/Emma.

The "which of my selected Queen songs is the most purely beautiful in your opinion" poll result: "Under Pressure" (with David Bowie), narrowly beating out "The Show Must Go On."

The "what would be the most awesome class/subclass for my Seldarine drow in BG3" poll result: Paladin of Vengeance! (I actually did make her and am just getting back into playing BG3 again after dissertation hell derailed her avenging of injustices.)

The "who played your favorite Marguerite St. Just" poll result: Jane Seymour, easily.

[queermentaldisaster]

I feel like in the shifter!au the shifters would have traits that carried over in a way that would just seem like an odd quirk to civilians and non shifters. Like Gaz stomping his leg because he did that with his hooves, or (picture this please) Ghost doing that biiiig exaggerated yawn then mlem that cats do, but since he doesn't have fangs he just looks ridiculous.

Also, if you have König still undecided, may I suggest a draft horse?

Also Shepard is 100% a vulture lmao

Okay...first off. You are absolutely right about the shifters having traits that carry over. However, these traits don't really show up if you consistently suppress your shifts. So at first, Ghost doesn't really show traits of being a shifter. He's so used to suppressing his shifts that shifting barely even crosses his mind anymore, let alone his more primal instincts. So he looks and acts completely human, but he's not.

Second. THE BIG YAWN AND MLEM THING!? Ghost 100% does that a lot when he starts shifting more and more again.

Third. I may actually not do König. I have some ideas for if I do, but as he's not part of 141 or the main campaign, he won't show up unless I decide to do a side fic.

Fourth. I was originally gonna have Shepherd be a bear shifter, but I saw vulture and realized how much it fits. So...thank you.

[swaps55]

When did Sam and Kaidan start to form as an item for you - had you played the trilogy through a few times?

Oooh, this is a fun question. You ask AMAZING questions. <3

I've been playing Mass Effect since 2007, so I'd done most of the romances well before I ever really put pen to paper. My original OTP was actually Shepard/Liara, in large part because 1. I love Liara, 2. I played primarily dudeshep, and 3. I spent years replaying ME1/2 on console before ME3 came out, so Kaidan wasn't available to me as a romance.

Sam himself is an evolution of my 'original' Liaramance Shepard (who never got a first name) from Exordium, my ME1 long fic. They share a lot in common, including an abhorrent taste in coffee, but more significantly, they both met Kaidan Alenko in a shitty Arcturus bar at ass o'clock in the morning a few months after Torfan, and bonded over pancakes.

(The mshenko subtext is actually all over Exordium, probably in part because I am very demisexual and didn't know it at the time, and Kaidan and E!Shep were extremely close.)

When I started writing mshenko it was not with any particular Shepard in mind; I stuck to one-shots and kept it fairly generic. But if you were to go back and read my non-Opus mshenko stories, you'd see glimmers of Sam, a proto-Sam if you will, peeking through most of them. I frequently wrote a vanguard who fidgeted with the gravity well and couldn't sit still.

I started brainstorming what became Opus in 2019, not long after I'd resigned myself to the thought that I'd run out of Mass Effect stories to tell. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I could go on for days about all the pieces and influences that ultimately shaped Sam, but the bones of what became Sam and Kaidan already existed with Exordium way back in 2013: a ruthless Shepard who had a long history with Kaidan before they ever set foot on the Normandy, who relied on Kaidan to keep his moral compass pointed in the right direction.