#wip: about knives and spoons

[napollya-inspiration]

Welcome back to another WIP Wednesday. Even though I have been working more on Lovestruck, I've decided to share some more rowing with y'all. I'm still deep in the enemies phase so...

(rule: post a snippet from your current wip to share with everyone, tag others to participate)

“Maybe you should stick to the exercise we are all trying to accomplish together,” Napoleon hisses. “Instead of pretending you are any better than us who have all medaled in this boat before.” Illya snorts. “You are 3V boat for a reason. It is obvious. Victor loses rhythm at low rates. You rush your recovery and then let shoulder drop which makes your blade sky. Logan muscles his stroke and drops his hands at the catch. The boat has been set for maybe a total of two strokes throughout this entire practice. None of you would survive a row in a single.” Napoleon tilts his head, eyes cold. “Then why are you here, huh? You transferred halfway through your major but not to any school with a great program. No, you came to Laurelhurst. A school that doesn’t even have a sculling program. You would have had your pick after the World Championships and you know it. Instead, you decided to stay in Russia. Until now.”  Illya feels the blood in his veins start to boil. He knows exactly where this is headed. Napoleon cannot know. No one had made an official statement. “I don’t know what you did but you fell from grace all the way here. It’s not for lack of trying by the way. I found one of your old teammates online. Hey, Peril, is it true your mother took money for-” Illya doesn’t know how it happens. One moment he’s in his seat; the next, he has Napoleon hanging off the side of the boat, his nose and Illya’s knuckles bloody. “Hey! HEy!” Illya is distantly aware of the shouting around him, but all he can see is Napoleon’s smug grin and his bust lips forming the words, “you’re out.”

No pressure tag going out to @cha-melodius @heytheredeann @justabigoldnerd @bighandsforabigheart @pippinoftheshire

[stabbyfoxandrew]

If I could make more than one request I would love some more Mafia Restaurant 🥺 (otherwise feel free to postpone it to next week) Thank u 🤍

WIP Wednesday (9/13) | Mafia Restaurant AU

It takes Kevin about six minutes to get the salads the way he wants them, but finally he allows Neil to take the tray. As he starts towards the door, Jean grabs the back of his collar and Neil nearly chokes.

 “What the fuck was that for?" He hisses, spinning around and ready to bite the bastard. Jean curses in French then slams down a few forks and spoons onto the tray.

 “You are the most pathetic excuse for a waiter I’ve ever seen. You didn’t even get the cutlery.”

“Pardon me, monsieur. I’m not used to wining and dining,” Neil snaps. “Killing and maiming, I’m good at. This… Not so much.”

“Well, here’s another hint before you go…” Jean says, tugging Neil backwards again. He twists him around and reaches for the front of Neil’s pants, which has him confused. And a bit worried, considering the amount of knives in the room. Then Jean’s hand comes back with his mother’s pistol. “... leave the fucking artillery in the kitchen where it belongs.”

“Oh. I can’t believe you just said that sentence,” Kevin whines in the corner. Jean places Mary’s gun on the counter and shoves Neil toward the door before he can say anymore.

<- previous | first | next->

[divinekangaroo]

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

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

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

Day 1:

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

*

‘There’s fingerprints.’

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

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

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

‘See?  Fingerprints.’

‘Are they your fingerprints?’

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

‘Tommy.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Of course, madam.’

‘Ta. Thank you, I mean. Thank you.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

The chair didn’t answer.

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

[thepeculiarbird]

"Not A Villain Song" Tag Game

Thanks to @mysticstarlightduck for tagging me in this game, I love the idea!

Tagging before I forget : @kaylinalexanderbooks @raiden-makoto @sarandipitywrites @jaelink @aalinaaaaaa @lyutenw @buffythevampirelover @nettleandthorne @finxi-writes @arwenschepers @corruptedbread @whimsical-blood-fairy @unrepentantcheeseaddict @kidukami @ryns-ramblings @rowenas-my-fave-child + open !

Rules: Pick a song for the antagonist/ villain of your WIP, but the twist is that it can't be obvious that it is a song for the villain. As in: if someone listened to the song and didn't know it was about the villain, they couldn't guess!

There is indeed a villain in the story but you know nothing about her for now but I'll introduce her, maybe, in a different post if people are interested.

This was actually really hard to find a song that still fits her (I made the playlist a while ago) but also sounds cool.

"My Love is Sick" by Madds Buckley :

My love is sick It leaks and bleeds All over me onto my nicest shirt

Vines without roots Like knives in my body And I am their puppet Twisting ‘til I hurt

My love is sick I’m running a fever so high I peel my skin to breathe

Birds without cages Find perch on my ribs and I Stitch myself back up to keep them in

You’re an infection I am keeping No matter the sepsis You are staying I’d rather the wound Than have you removed Enough rotting for two Killing me, keeping me high

My love is sick It’s messy and wrong But I pray for a bit of contagion

Hands without fingers Like spoons at the source Coat evenly Oh, won’t you touch me?

You’re an infection I am keeping No matter the sepsis You are staying I’d rather the wound Than have you removed Enough rotting for two Killing me, keeping me high

You’re the cure You’re the curse You make it better You make it worse You’re my killer And my Christ (But I’m the one twisting the knife)

You’re an infection I am keeping No matter the sepsis You are staying I’d rather the wound Than have you removed Enough rotting for two Killing me, keeping me-

You’re an infection I am keeping No matter the sepsis You are staying I’d rather the wound Than have you removed Enough rotting for two Killing me, keeping me high

My love is sick It’s taken me whole I’m simply a host to a haunting

Ghosts without corpses Still linger in flesh Holding on to a love they keep wanting

But also other songs in the playlist that fits the character :

"Mum" by Luke Hemmings

"Child Of Ashes", "Ambrosia Wine" and "The Red Means I Love You" by Madds Buckley

"Control" by Halsey

"Funeral" by Neoni

"Blue Hair" by TV Girl

"You're Not Welcome" by Naethan Apollo

"Our Word" by 36 Questions

Thanks for reading :)

[oonajaeadira]

State of the WIP Address

I’m not only low on spoons, but on knives and forks as well. I’m on chopsticks, but those are slowly dwindling too.

And I’m not even through my first week of rehearsal.

It’s mainly because I’m in double-duty mode at the moment and it’s a lot. And the SO just opened a show tonight, so we’re both dragging like whoa.

I’m just gonna take my time this month. I have actually been doing a lot of dreaming and outlining on a bunch of different pieces, but when it comes to write any, I’m just tired. I won’t make myself do more than I can. But my focus may wander a lot this month....If I get anything posted, it will probably be something I wasn’t expecting....

Completed this week:

nothing and it’s a bummer

Working on it:

Alpha!Javi G 

Started planning a Joel series (will most likely write one in the future but not ready now)

Thinking about expanding on Light Only Shows You Where The Shadows Are because I want to write more quiet and soft horror

I am still thinking about that Tarot Oberyn series….

Pats is always on the table…

[flowercrown-bard]

Ooh, can I ask about sea may rise/sky may fall? 💚

Thank you! It's the little mermaid au that i abandoned years ago and that i'm finally writing for again :D Here's a snippet (for context: Jaskier, the siren, burned his hands while holding Geralt's silver sword and now that hes human again, he doesn't have a voice anymore, so he can neither play the lute nor sing):

That’s when the strange clattering started. It was a strangely rhythmic sound and it came from where Geralt was sitting. 

Jaskier turned fully towards him, a questioning look on his face that only grew more intense when he saw what Geralt was doing. He was holding two spoons in one hand and with a look of utter concentration, he shook them to create a rhythm. Jaskier shifted closer, making his clothes rustle. Geralt’s head snapped up and he lost the rhythm, dropping one of the spoons.

“Uh,” he said intelligently, “I figured you don’t like the quiet and I’m not good at coming up with things to talk about, so…” He trailed off, fiddling with the spoon left in his hand. 

Jaskier scooted closer, so he didn’t have to endure the feeling of knives slicing into his feet, until he was close enough to almost press against Geralt’s side.

“I would have offered to try to learn the lute for you so you can compose again but I think we both know how that would go.” Geralt snorted, when Jaskier pulled a face, shoving him good-naturedly. 

“I thought this would be easier,” he continued, hitting the sole spoon against a tree stump, eliciting a dull sound. “Lambert came to the keep a couple of years ago and started banging spoons on anything he could find to annoy the rest of us.” His lips twitched at the memory. “When Vesemir revoked his right to enter the kitchen so he couldn’t drum on the pots and pans anymore, he started playing the spoons with nothing else.”

Jaskier cocked his head to the side grinning. 

“Yeah,” Geralt agreed. “Getting released from kitchen duty was probably exactly what the idiot had wanted. You would like him.” 

Geralt stopped the drumming, holding the spoon in a lose grip. “I thought if he could do it, it couldn’t be that hard, but it’s not working. I have no idea how he did that.”

He lowered his head, his hair falling into his face, obscuring his expression. Jaskier picked up the spoon he had dropped and gently nudged Geralt to get his attention. When Geralt looked back up, Jaskier took his hands, showing him how to hold the two spoons so they would clack together.

Ask me about my wips

[wolves-in-the-world]

plucking this from the thing I'm writing-

Maybe they should take up embroidery, since they're not getting to stab anything else around here.

-because I'm suddenly imagining it as a Quinn mood. resident bastard gets reprimanded one too many times for stabbing people on the job and decides to passive-aggressively take up cross-stitch about it. every time any of the team looks over he's working through a pattern with a serene expression; somehow, it's even more unnerving than watching him sharpen his knives.

[lowslore]

Grey Blinds and Sunflowers: Draft 3 Beta Call

Hey folks! I'm proud to announce that I am putting Grey Blinds and Sunflowers out for its third round of beta reading!

Basics

Word count: 85k (estimated) | WIP Introduction | Playlist | Genre(s): crime fic, dystopian, new adult, sci fi, fantasy

Trigger warnings: homophobia/transphobia, minor ableism hints, systemic violence/injustice/antagonism to one group of people, unjust imprisonment, violence (guns, fist fights, bomb mentions, knives), brainwashing/hypnotism, depiction of sensory overload, slightly creepy Eldritch entities, terrorism mentions, scarring, mild excess of alcohol mention, mild sexual themes (all consensual), references to death, funerals and grief (none explicitly depicted)

Expectations

The document will go out on the 7th of August. The deadline for reading would be the 31st of October.

If you have the spoons to comment as you read, I'd love that so much! But there will be a feedback form afterwards

I need to know if this is good enough to send to query. I'm hoping that the last two rounds caught my major structural issues, but the number of sideplots may still be a problem. I'm looking for people willing to pick me up on grammar, sentence structure, and the nitty gritty of how I'm writing, as well as people to check over the overall plot!

If you feel like volunteering and want something to read over the latter part of summer, apply here!

Applications open until the 20th of August

Taglist: @thelaughingstag, @naps-tries-writing​

Even if you can’t read, PLEASE boost !!!!

But Low, I don't want to click on the WIP intro! Gimme a summary here! (Of course, check below the cut)

Grey Blinds and Sunflowers is about a group of detectives, initially set on a missing persons case, who gradually begin to uncover deeper and deeper corruption in the society they live in.

In the face of this, they are trying their best to keep the team together. But Liesl is a Dustie, someone who can see in colour in a world in which people only see in greyscale unless they're looking at a screen, and has to keep this a secret from Darren and from the rest of the world for fear of becoming a missing person herself.

Things become even more complicated when their agency is dissolved and they have to go into hiding; Faith wants to go and be the team's person on the inside, and Liesl is desperate to protect her sister; Darren might be applying to join the very group they're fighting against; and Joe and Liesl's previously-thought-to-be-deceased childhood best friend turns up working for her father, who she used to hate. Throw in a creature that seems to turn people into Dusties, some strange Eldritch dreams, a lot of angst about their situation, and a bounty on their heads, and tensions quickly begin to rise!

In the end, the question is this: will they choose to see the beauty in the sunflowers, or continue to look at the world through grey blinds? And whatever decision they make, will you join them?

[the-loveliest-lotus]

Current WIP Long-Fanfiction List

I suppose I should make a post for all of my big work-in-progress fanfictions rather than just my Metalocalypse one. List with plot descriptions and pairings below the cut. Works are for The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Phantasm, and Metalocalypse.

All of them are OC x Character pairings, and are all rated Explicit. Links are all to AO3 where there is more info about what is found in the story in the tags/chapter descriptions. I write smut with something of a plot, y’all. We don’t have horny jail on this island, we embrace the horny.

Texas Chainsaw Massacre: When You're Not Fed Love on a Silver Spoon, You Learn to Lick it Off Knives

Begins in late June of 1973: Nubbins hitches a ride home with some girls who are on ecstasy. One of them takes a liking to him, offers him some, and they quickly discover that they share some interesting kinks. They form a connection based initially on sex, but as they spend more time together they realize that they have more in common (spoiler, it's not cannibalism) and they start dating.

Or, Nubbins gets laid and then gets a nurturing connection that grounds him enough that he ~mostly~ gets his shit together, and Bobby doesn’t go completely insane because his twin survives.

Pairings (so far): Nubbins x OC ; Chop Top x (different) OC

BE MINDFUL THAT THIS ONE CONTAINS ~EXPLICIT~ VIOLENT GORE SCENES.

Phantasm: The Butterfly Effect

What if on the day of Jody's funeral, the Tall Man meets the reincarnation of his beloved from his life? What if because of this, the Tall Man doesn't uproot Jody's body immediately, and Mike doesn't fixate on the Tall Man? What if this leads to an entirely different future, wherein the Tall Man finds some ~eventual~ balance?

-OR-

A modern AU porn with a plot wherein the Tall Man finds his reincarnated love, and she's an absolute unconventional masochistic oddity in the best of ways. Despite some initial desire to repress his feelings, she manages to reacquaint him with some of his humanity. The story also draws on aspects of Ancient Greek mythology. (Think non-monogamy and various details from the Hades/Persephone myth as well as others interwoven, but Persephone is sexually empowered.) This summary is simplistic at best, but y'all get the idea.

Polyamorous Pairings: The Tall Man x OC ; Lady in Lavender x OC ; Reggie Bannister x OC

Metalocalypse: The Wicker Man

One day as the members of Dethklok were sitting around and surfing the TV channels, Pickles sees his long lost best friend from Wisconsin, Lucy Desmond, in a mug shot. The boys watch the news as she dances while her house burns, following the murder of her abusive husband. With a strong desire to help her get her life back, Pickles approaches Charles and asks for him to help his friend out. None of them could ever expect how well she's about to fit into their lives.

Another OC-focused reverse-harem Polyklok story (she will end up with all of them at least once), but heavy on the Knubbler/OC and Pickles/OC. There will be ~very eventual~ Magnus/OC. Canon divergent alternate universe while also trying to remain canon. This one is gonna be long, strap in for the ride.

This one has a Table of Contents that is updated chapter to chapter due to the sheer amount of pairings that there will eventually be.

[napollya-inspiration]

@heytheredeann tagged anyone who wrote over the holidays to post their latest line, and I did write a little when I came back from Boys in the Boat in a half-asleep state of delirium.

This is from 'about knives and spoons', obviously:

This is the second time Kuryakin has pushed him into the water at the dock.

Feel free to hop onto the tag if you have something you wanna share.

[besanii]

fic updates???

Work has been super draining lately, hence the lack of regular fic updates. Sorry peeps :(

I’m doing some writing tonight (some low commitment stuff for another WIP), and hope to write some more SM plot stuff by the weekend though, so lemme know which ones you guys would like to see (and in what order):

The Knives

WWX having an episode (WWX arc, 🔪🔪🔪🔪)

WWX revealing the torture he went through during the war (WWX arc, 🔪 🔪🔪, follow up to #48)

LWJ confronts WC about WWX (WY arc, 🔪🔪🔪, possibly 🔪🔪🔪🔪, follow up to #46)

Someone requested  🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪 for SM, but I don’t know?!?!?! How angsty can we go if we’re not exploring the war from WWX’s perspective?? The only place it would fit would probably be during the war, so I threw the third option in there just in case anyone was interested.

More Plot Than Knives (Spoons? Chopsticks?)

Wedding! (WWX arc, follow up to #55 and #45)

The return of an old friend (WWX arc, follow up to #60)

LQR and WWX call a truce (WWX arc, possible follow up to #20, #21, 22, and #24)

Feel free to drop me an ask if there’s anything in particular you’d like to see filled, and I’ll put it in the pipeline for the future. If I have a list of ficlets to write all ready and ordered for me in a to-do list, it’s easier than thinking about what parts to update just before writing XD

Hoping to perhaps wrap this up by the time we get to #100 (so exactly forty ficlets)...maybe. Hopefully. We’ll SEE.

[eveningcatcher]

Main six + courtiers in Hell's Kitchen AU with MC as Gordon Ramsey

Hi, sorry for being absent for so long. Besides the school starting, there have been some things going on in my private life that didn't really motivate me to write. I can't post new chapters every week like usual, but I'll try to post as frequently as I can. Sorry for not doing any of the requests. I had this chapter as a wip for a while, so I decided to finish it. Hope you enjoy it!

-------

Previously on Hell’s Kitchen:

Chef MC tasted the contestants’ signature dishes and, needless to say, they were not pleased.

“How can you serve me this garbage!?!” MC shouted, “I wouldn’t feed a stray dog with this crap!”

Both teams had problems in the kitchen

“You moron, what are you doing?” Nadia asked, frowning like a madman, “Where is the chicken?”

And one team had a little throwback because of one of the cooks

“Volta, what in the world are you doing?” MC shouted, not believing their eyes, “That food is for the customers!”

But now all of that is set aside as the new day and new opportunities arise. Will the chefs be able to rise to the top and win the luxurious restaurant in Vesuvia, or will they crumble at the pressure?

“I want to go back home,” Portia sobbed as she hugged her knees, “I miss my grandma.”

  “Wake up sleepyhea-” one of the MC’s sous-chefs, Scout, stopped midsentence as she stared at Valerius’ bed.

He woke up as he rubbed his eyes, feeling like his head is a lot lighter. As soon as he put his head on the sheets he felt something strange. He lowered his head, only to be greeted by the sight of his braid cut off, right next to him.

“My deep apologies for the inconvenience,” Valdemar said as they put a pair of scissors down, walking out of the room to change, “I just can’t have some of your hair in the food we prepare, so I had to make some sacrifice,” they grinned from ear to ear as they stared at Valerius’ pale face, “Oh, don’t you worry, It’ll grow back before you know it.”

 ****

 “Good morning everyone!” MC said as they watched all of the chefs come into the room, “Oh, Valerius, nice hairstyle!” they chuckled as they stared at him who still hasn’t recovered from the trauma, “Who did your hairstyle? I must say I’m quite impressed.”

“Valdemar, they, I, I was sleeping and, and, that plebian-” he was interrupted midsentence by Valdemar.

“No need to thank me, for my dearest colleague it’s free of charge,” they smiled, enjoying Valerius’ reaction.

“Anyway,” MC said, as they walked up to one table, “Today I will be seeing how good your pallets are and,” their gaze flew over Valerius, Vulgora, Nadia, Lucio and Portia, “Judging by how many smokers are here, my expectations are low,” they turned their head to Julian, “Sit this round out.”

Julian nodded as he walked to the back.

“Valerius, Nadia, come here,” they took blindfolders and headphones, putting them on the two of them, “Can you hear me?” MC shouted at the two of them, “Good, now,” they took a plate of foods from Scout, “Let’s begin, shall we?” they raised one spoon, putting it into Nadia’s mouth, “Boiled potato.”

“Is this pepper?” Nadia asked after she swallowed the potato.

MC raised one of Nadia’s headphones, saying: “Boiled potato.”

They walked over to Valerius, who wasn’t lucky enough to guess either. Surprisingly enough, Nadia, as well as Valerius, both guessed all of the exotic foods right, with Nadia bringing 2 and Valerius bringing one point to their team.

Next, it was Vlastomil’s and Asra’s turn. Vlastomil guessed all of the vegetables and fruits, while Asra only recognized a date as well as ham, however, Vlastomil got a heart attack as soon as he realized he ate meat.

“But I’m vegan!” he shouted.

“Still, you’re not cooking for vegans!” MC explained, “You just have to know what you’re cooking, I don’t give a fuck what you eat.”

Overall Asra got 2 and Vlastomil got 3 points.

Now it was Valdemar’s and Lucio’s turn. MC hesitantly put the food in Valdemar’s mouth, trying their best to avoid those sharp teeth.

“Brocolli. Pear. Tangerine. Lamb’s brain,” Valdemar simply stated after they’ve tasted all of the food.

“Wow,” MC said, “Impressive.”

Lucio, on the other hand, wasn’t as good.

“Um, broccoli, this, this is an… apple. Oh, I know what this is, it’s orange! This, this tastes like bacon!”

“Not even close,” MC said as they took off his headphones, “Go back in your line. Portia, Vulgora, come here.”

Portia, just like Valdemar, guessed all of the food right, Vulgora half as much.

“Now it all comes down to this,” MC said as they put on headphones.

Volta guessed 2 right, but Muriel guessed all of them!

“The six of you have just barely won!” MC said, “Change your clothes, I’m taking all six of you somewhere special. As for the five of you,” MC gestured at the brooms, “I want this place crystal clear!”

“Yes, chef!”

  While the winners prepared themselves to finally go outside, the losing team went straight on to cleaning the hell’s kitchen.

“Wonder where we’ll go?” Portia said as she walked with Nadia outside.

“Honestly, any place is better than here,” she commented as she lit her cigarette, offering Portia one.

She happily took it and, once Nadia lit it for her, continued, “He told us to put on swimsuits, maybe a beach?”

“I sure hope it is!” Lucio said as he walked up to the two of them, to which Nadia only rolled her eyes.

 “I can’t believe I was put in the same team as my ex-husband!” Nadia frowned at the camera, clearly pissed.

****

  “Is everyone ready?” MC asked as they watched the other three walk out of the hell’s kitchen.

“Yes, chef!” the six of them said in unison.

“Very well then, let’s get going,” MC said as they gestured to a luxurious limousine.

****

“Finally!” Lucio puffed his chest as he stared at the camera, “A car worthy of me!”

****

 “Can you guess where we’re going?” MC asked the six of them.

“To the beach?” Portia and Nadia guessed.

“No, but you’re close,” MC said as they stared at others.

“A pool?” Muriel asked.

“Nadia and Portia were closer.”

“To the yacht?” Julian asked.

MC smiled and, with a small nod said: “You’ve guessed it!

****

“Oh my gosh, this will be just like my childhood!” Portia happily exclaimed, “The wind blowing through my hair, the smell of saltwater in the air…” she rambled on and on, “Ohh, I can’t wait!”

****

 “Can you imagine what the five of them are doing right now?” Mc asked as they sipped on champagne.

“Oh, I definitely wouldn’t want to be in their shoes,” Julian added as he finished his glass.

  “Alright, now that that’s out of the way,” Valdemar said as they put the brooms in their place, “We need to make a strategy on how to win.”

“We would have won, had someone not guessed only 2 foods right,” Valerius said, eyeing Volta not so discreetly.

“Who are you to talk?” Vulgora said, getting annoyed, “You only guessed one right! You did the worst out of all of us!” it seemed that it was enough to shut Valerius up, but Vulgora continued, “And you! How did you not recognize ham of all things?”

“Because I’m vegan!” Vlastomil shouted, clearly offended.

“This can’t do,” Valdemar said with a frown, “Let’s get one thing straight,” they started talking right after the four of them shut up, “We don’t like each other,” to that all of them nodded, “But the only way we can stay in this competition is to make sure that those six are the ones who always lose.”

“Makes sense,” Vulgora said.

“So you propose that we get rid of 6 of them first?” Valerius asked.

“Exactly, then we can deal with each other later,” Valdemar nodded and, after a short pause, added, “Oh, also, I have no wish to win this competition.”

“WHAT?” the other four asked, not believing what they heard.

“You see, I have absolutely no knowledge about cooking, at all, as a matter of fact, I’m a surgeon.”

“Why did you get here then?” Vlastomil asked, confused.

“Because I made a bet with my colleague, that ginger guy in the opposite team. If I were to get further in this competition than him, he’d have to buy me three rare specimens for my research, but if he were to win I’d have to get him 30 jars filled with leeches,” they finished their sentence, rolling their eyes.

“So, what you’re saying is that you wouldn’t mind if we were to vote you off as soon as that idiot is out?”

“I’d be more than grateful,” Valdemar said with a grin.

“Seems good enough!” Volta said as she nibbled on one of the cookies. “Wait,” she asked as she ate the whole cookie in one bite, “Why were you accepted in the Hell’s kitchen?”

“Same reason why ex-husband and wife were put in the same team,” they simply shrugged, “For the drama.”

“Oh, how much I wish they were to lose,” Valerius said in front of the camera, still thinking about his braid.

 “We’re opening hell’s kitchen!” MC said as everybody got to their places in the kitchen, “Don’t disappoint me again! Also, we’re one waiter short and since you are the losing team,” MC took a glance at five of them, “Valerius, you’ll be a replacement.”

Valerius only nodded as he left the kitchen.

“Vlastomil, you’ll be at the meat section,” Valdemar simply stated as they sharpened some of the knives.

“But I-” he wanted to protest, but Vulgora interrupted them.

“Stop complaining and go!”

 “Alright, let’s begin,” Asra said as they read the first order, “Let’s just put the same effort as yesterday.”

“This will be a breeze,” Asra grinned at the camera, “The opposite team is two cooks short! There is just no way we can lose,” as soon as Asra said that a smile disappeared on their face, “Unless…”

“OH FUCK!” Lucio shouted, not taking their eyes off the burning pan, “Um… I may have made an oopsie…”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!?” Nadia shouted, mortified, “Someone, stop the fire!” she demanded.

Everyone gasped in shock, with Asra walking as far away from the fire as they could while Portia pulled Julian towards her before his clothes could have caught on fire as well. Muriel irked his head, trembling at the sight of fire slowly spreading to the other cookware. The fear didn’t stop him though, as he quickly found the fire extinguisher, stopping the fire.

“Oh, thank you,” Nadia said, hugging Muriel tightly, “You’ve saved us!”

“Why do I smell fire?” MC asked as they walked over to the kitchen, “Nadia, explain!”

“Lucio started a fire.”

“Oh my God,” MC said as they buried their head in both of their hands, “Did anyone get hurt?” they asked calmly, not bothering to move.

Nadia quickly took a glance at Lucio and Muriel. She knew very well that Lucio would complain like a little child had he gotten a single bruise. Muriel didn’t seem hurt either, in fact, he turned away, going back to his station as if nothing happened.

“No, sir, everyone is fine,” Nadia stated.

“Nadia, go back to the station, as for you Lucio,” MC raised their head, staring at Lucio as if they were about to murder him on the spot, “I want the oven spotless and you as far away from it as POSSIBLE!!!”

“Yes, yes, sir,” Lucio visibly shook as he got to work.

 “Come on, this is our chance!” Vulgora shouted as they cut some meat, handing it over to Vlastomil, “DON’T,” they said before Vlastomil could even start complaining.

“Is the shrimp pasta done?” Scout asked.

“We’re on it!” Volta said as Valdemar gave her a prepared sauce. She carefully poured it over the pasta, fighting the urge not to stuff her face with the food like yesterday. As soon as they were done, she carefully carried it over to Scout, who nodded in approval.

 Soon enough Valerius walked over, picking up the plate, taking a glance at both kitchens. Sure, his team was very slow, with only a couple of dishes out, but the other team was somehow far worse. He smirked as he walked over to the table.

“Your order,” he said as he put the plate down, “I hope you enjoy it,” he said with a smile plastered on his face as he walked over to the other table.

“Good evening,” he said as he eyed the customers, “How can I help you?”

“Oh, hi there~” a woman greeted him happily as she played with the blue fabric of the dress, “So, I’d like…” she stared at the menu for a moment, then pointed out at one dish, “This. As for the drink…” she thought for a moment, “I’d like some champagne!”

“Champagne along with that food?” Valerius asked, disappointed, as well as one of the men sitting with the girl.

“Seriously Star,” an older man shrugged, “Everyone knows that red wine would go much better with it.”

“Oh, then I’ll take the red wine,” she said, a bit embarrassed that she had to be corrected by her colleague.

“Agreed,” Valerius said as he wrote down her order, “What would you like, sir?”

“I’d like some pasta, no meat,” he added, “I’m a vegetarian.”

Valerius wrote the order down and, just before he could hand the order over to the opposite team, one of the customers called for him. He turned around, hiding his annoyance, “Is something the matter, sir?” he asked.

“Look at this crap!” the woman gestured at her plate, “It looks disgusting!”

Although he’d gladly agree with the woman, just because that would put the opposite team in a terrible position, Valerius knew there was nothing wrong with the dish. “My apologies, but I don’t seem to understand. What are you complaining about?”

“It’s too hot for me to eat it! And look at the colours!”

Valerius took another glance at the plate and after a moment continued talking with less patience, “What do you want me to do? To blow your food? Just wait for it to cool down like all of the civilized people for God’s sake. Stop wasting my time,” he said as he went back into the kitchen, handing Scout all of the orders.

“Hey, I’m not done!” she shouted as she walked over to chef MC, “Sir, you need to put your waiters in their place!” she shouted at MC, “I have never been disrespected like this in my entire life!”

“What a coincidence, I can say the same,” Valerius commented, unbothered, as he took the plates, walking away from her, adding, “Apologies for not cooling your food down.”

“See?” she pointed at Valerius, “I demand-”

“Miss, I’m working here,” MC said with a deep frown on their face, “Nobody has the time to listen to your stupid complaints,” they added as they wrote something down on the paper, “Please return when you have a reasonable complaint, if not, go to the psychiatrist and solve your issues. Don’t lash out your anger on my staff.”

“How bold of you to complain about my anger!” she wanted to continue, but as soon as she saw MC’s cold face, stopped, going back to her seat.

“Look at that idiot,” Vulgora laughed as they chopped some meat, taking a glance at Volta who was devouring the returned food, “Hey, what are you doing?!? Get back to your station!!!”

“Oh come on,” MC frowned as they watched Volta go back, “Speed it up, speed it up! Stop wasting time on the leftovers!”

Volta nodded, her mouth still full of food.

“My grandma would cook faster than all of you!” they shouted, taking a glance at how the other kitchen was doing, and oh boy, they had what to see.

The other kitchen was a mess. Portia accidentally spilt the boiling water on poor Lucio’s arm and it seemed that Asra and Muriel enjoyed the sight while Nadia and Julian pretended to not hear Lucio’s screams.

“Are you alright?” Portia asked, worried, “I’m so sorry!” she said as she grabbed his hand, only to find out that Lucio was pretending.

“Got ya!” he shouted like a little kid as he showed her his metal arm, “As for you,” he turned to the other three, but before he could make any remark, he noticed MC looking at them, their face turning redder and redder every moment.

“What in the world is going on?!?” they shouted, losing all of their patience. Within a moment the restaurant was closed and all of the chefs shivered in front of MC.

  “You were terrible, disgusting!” they shouted and paused, trying to calm themselves down, “You,” they turned to Volta, “I believe we’ve talked about not eating food during the job.”

“Yes, but Volta couldn’t help herself,” she quickly explained, “Volta is sorry-” she would have continued, but MC raised their hand, signalling for her to stop.

“Your team was so terribly slow-”

“But we were two cooks short! Of course, we’d be slow!” Vulgora protested.

“I know that,” MC stated calmly, “You were also most complimented, especially the meat dishes. Who was in the meat section anyway?” they asked as all of them pointed at Vlastomil. At the sight of him, MC couldn’t help but forget all of the rage they felt. After a good minute of laughter, they continued, “Seriously, you made the dishes?” they wiped off the tears in their eyes, “Good job. Keep it up,” they said as they left Vlastomil to dwell in his existential crisis.

“I…” Vlastomil said, not bothering to stare at the camera, “I’ve been a vegetarian my whole life! I’ve never had any meat in my house…” he paused for a moment, still trying to process MC’s compliment, “So why did people enjoy my food?”

 “As for you,” they turned to the other team, “Yesterday you were, you were amazing, how did it all change in one night? I believe it’s obvious who is the losing team. Muriel, you were the best of the worst, choose two candidates for the elimination,” with that, MC left the two teams on their own.

“Bye bye Lucio!” Vulgora grinned.

“What do you mean?! I’m not getting eliminated.”

After that sentence, everyone stared at him, thinking the same thing – could Lucio really be this dumb?

“What if, what if I get eliminated,” Portia started to get worried, “I mean, I could’ve seriously harmed someone,” she continued with her blabbering, “Oh, what will I do?” she started crying.

“Oh come on, don’t be like that,” Julian reassured her, “Everything will be fine.”

“No, it won’t!” Portia said, “I could have seriously hurt someone, do you think MC will let that slide?” she stared at Julian, her eyes becoming glossier.

“Look, you made no damage whatsoever,” Julian explained calmly as he tried to soothe his sister down, “That idiot could’ve burned the whole restaurant down.”

“Hey, don’t bring me into this!” Lucio shouted, “You did nothing the whole time! You were slow, unorganized and most of your dishes were returned!”

Julian ignored his comments, turning to Muriel, “Please don’t choose Portia,” he begged, “Choose me!”

Lucio turned to Muriel as well, “Don’t even think about choosing me!”

Muriel didn’t say a thing, instead, he just sighed, leaving the room.

“He… he won’t vote for me, right?” Lucio asked, feeling nervous.

~~~

“So, Muriel,” MC said as all of the chefs aligned, “Who do you choose and why?”

“I choose Lucio and Portia,” he felt shame as Portia’s name came out of his mouth, but there is no turning back now, “Lucio could’ve nearly burned the kitchen down had I not stepped in,” he simply explained, “As for Portia, she could’ve harmed someone with that boiling water,” he quickly added, trying to make Portia sound as good as possible, “Also, Lucio’s fake screams were completely immature. Such serious injuries shouldn’t be joked about.”

“Wait, please,” Julian walked out of the line, “I should be eliminated!” as soon as he said that, a smirk appeared on one certain doctor’s face, “I didn’t do anything when the fire started, I ignored Lucio’s cries and many people complained about my food! I, I’m not even a chef! I’m a doctor. There is no reason to keep me in the competition!”

MC stared at him, thinking about everything he said, “Very well then, if you’re so eager, join these two,” they gestured at Lucio and Portia.

“The person that will be eliminated from this competition is…” MC finally continued talking after a long pause, “Julian. Take your things and leave Hell’s kitchen.”

Despite the loss, Julian smiled brightly at MC. “Thank you for not choosing Pasha!”

“It, it’s happening!” Valdemar said happily as he stared at the camera, “Oh, what is this… feeling?” they stared at their hands, “Is it joy? Yes, it, it must be it, I have never felt so good. Oh, this is a dream come true, trust me, there is no better feeling than finally proving an idiot wrong. I just cannot wait to come back to my ordination, I should better start writing down the list of specimen I want!” they squealed like a high school girl, making the cameraman quite uncomfortable.

“Well, it sucks that I’ve lost the bet with Valdemar,” Julian admitted, “But at least my sister can keep going. I genuinely hope she can win and achieve her dream!” he said as he walked out of the Hell’s kitchen.

[elveny]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged last weekend already by ... so many people for several things. I think it was @midnightprelude @kunstpause @tryvyalsynnes @oftachancer and @serial-chillr. THANK YOU and sorry that I didn’t answer, I didn’t really have the spoons. But that doesn’t mean I was idle :D Have a little something from my current WIP.

Tagging you all back and also @irlaimsaaralath @kauriart @curiousthimble @pikapeppa @schoute @cornfedcryptid @captainderyn @faerieavalon @fandomn00blr​ @honekitteh @nusaran and all who want to share something ♥

From a chapter still far off, but for The Mind Lies, Not The Heart:

It was after midnight in mid-Cloudreach already when Adriene made her way home from the Hanged Man. Merrill and Varric had been there, and while she had enjoyed their evening together, she hadn’t been able to sneak off to nap in a corner. The darkness was near absolute as she stumbled exhausted through the streets, definitely too dark for her taste. She would have to light a lamp to sit next to her bed in an effort to get her through the night.

It took her longer than normal to open the door, but since she hadn’t found much rest these last days, that wasn’t surprising. It always made her more clumsy. But tomorrow — or today, depending on the point-of-view — she luckily didn’t have any appointments lined up, so maybe she could just nap through the day, making most of the light. And then sneak into Anders’ clinic after dark to sleep there, so she could be her usual perky self the day after.

She was so tired that her eyes were already half-closed as she stumbled up the stairs, cursing quietly as she bumped against a vase standing in a corner, nearly toppling it. Shit. She really didn’t want to demolish the house.

“Adriene?”

It took her a horribly long second to react, then a spike of adrenaline rushed through her, and she swirled around, reaching for her knives. Too late she remembered that she had left her weapons belt and her coat downstairs at the door. Her mind took another too-long second to catch up with what she saw. That was no intruder, that was…

“Fenris?” She blinked in confusion, her eyes widening when she saw that he was out of his armor. “What… what are you doing here?”

He tilted his head, the surprise on his face turning to a frown. “I was just about to ask you the same thing,” he said.

She shook her head, still failing to grasp why Fenris of all people would be in her home. Why anyone would be in her home. “Why, I was on my way to bed,” she stammered somewhat sheepishly, gesturing towards her room. “What about you?”

Fenris raised both his eyebrows. “Adriene, you’re in my house.”

[152glasslippers]

Fanfic Authors Tag Game

Tagged by the queen of baby fic herself, @agentmmayy 😘

AO3 name: 152glasslippers

Fandoms: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Stranger Things, Daredevil, The Punisher, Game of Thrones

Number of fics: 23

1. Fic you spent the most time on:

i went looking for knives and i was looking for you (braime, post-canon fix-it)

10k took me three months; I am learning to embrace the fact that I’m a slow ass writer

2. Fic you spent the least time on:

in my darkness, i remember (quakerider; post-s4/s5 AU)

my first ever fic; I got the idea for it, sat down, and wrote it, all in one go—which like, NEVER happens

3. Longest fic:

let me love you and then colour me in (kastle; soulmate!color AU)

10871 words

4. Shortest fic:

in my darkness, i remember

1011 words

5. Most hits:

i went looking for knives and I was looking for you

6. Most kudos:

^^

7. Most comment threads:

^^

8. Fave fic you wrote:

you can see my heart burning in the distance (kastle; established relationship; smut; love confessions)

I feel like this fic is exactly what I wanted it to be: poetic, sexy, intimate, vulnerable, romantic; also my first time writing smut—I am beyond proud of past-me for having the guts to post it

9. Fic you want to rewrite/expand on:

i’m ready if it happens with you (quakerider; established relationship; road trip AU)

as it stands, it feels finished to me—I love the ending—but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a dozen more ideas for what happened on their road trip

10. Share a bit of your WIP or share a story idea you’re planning:

I have about, I don’t know, five thousand WIPs, but the one I’m working on right now is a braime post-8x03 bed sharing fic (because apparently, even a year later, I’m still not over it, and because I am nothing if not a bed sharing Slut); title TBA

He shifted, picking up his spoon, and she looked him over more closely, now that his attention wasn’t on her. He wasn’t wearing his golden hand, the length of his sleeve covering the end of his wrist, but she caught a glimpse of something white underneath. A fresh bandage.

She reached for him without thinking, wrapping her fingers around his wrist above the bandage.

“I thought you said you weren’t hurt.”

Jaime stilled.

“It’s nothing. Blisters from wearing the hand so long.”

Brienne frowned. She had bruises where her armor had dug into her skin, protecting her. This wasn’t the same.

“It was too painful to wear again,” he continued, his voice small.

She lifted her eyes to his face, but he wasn’t looking at her. She let go of his arm, remembering herself. She could be hurting him; it wasn’t her place.

“You shouldn’t. Not until it’s healed.”

He met her eyes again, and she couldn’t understand the look she found there. Like gratitude, but she hadn’t said or done anything to warrant his thanks.

Tagging: @argyledpenguin @fortysevenswrites @talisablackfyre @lovemymurderboifrank @glycerineclown @tyrondys

[lookslikechill]

DW Valentine’s Special

I felt driven to write a little something for Valentine’s Day featuring Alistair Sheep and Miles Crawford, one of the Main couples, or arguably The Main Couple, in my novel-beast wip Daydream Walking.  I’m super happy with how it came out, to the point where I have to include it in my first draft, so I hope you enjoy it too!  Here is a playlist for them, and the writing is below the cut since it is rather long.

Come On Closer by Jem

You sit back now Just relax now I'll take care of you

Marlene On The Wall by Suzanne Vega

Observe the blood, the rose tattoo Of the fingerprints on me from you

Like Real People Do by Hozier

I had a thought, dear However scary

HOLD ME TIGHT OR DON’T by Fall Out Boy

The distance between us It sharpens me like a knife

Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! by Cher

In my flat all alone How I hate to spend the evening on my own

Say Amen (Saturday Night) by Panic! At The Disco

Swear to God, I ain't ever gonna repent Mama, can I get another amen?

Shiver by Maroon 5

And I shiver when I hear your name I think about you, but it's not the same

Storm Song by Phildel

I'll send a storm to capture your heart and bring you home.

My Moon My Man by Feist

Take it slow Take it easy on me Shed some light Shed some light on things

The Lightning Strike (What If This Storm Ends) by Snow Patrol

I want pinned down I want unsettled Rattle cage after cage Until my blood boils

NFWMB by Hozier

If I was born as a black thorn tree I'd wanna be felt by you, held by you Feel the power of your hand on me

Bonus Couple Song:  Your Man by Josh Parker Bonus Alistair Song: Little Pistol by Mother Mother Bonus Miles Song: Baby, You’re A Haunted House by Gerard Way

Content Warnings: Mentions of murder and death, some swearing.  Also the presence of a weapon. There is no smut here!!  But there is (hopefully) sexual tension, romance, and a good lot of kissing and touching.  

Alistair was in the small, well-lit break room at the tail end of a long day, with a lit cigarette in his right hand and a cup of joe in his left.  The shape of the room was long and narrow.  One long wall hosted a number of square windows through which the harsh, bright afternoon sunlight shone, while the other was taken up by a kitchen stove and one long counter with cabinets below.  On the stove sat a steaming percolator, on the counter beside the stove sat a wide, heavy ashtray, leaned against the counter next to the ashtray stood Alistair.  

He was tapping ashes off into the ashtray when Miles ambled his way in.  He had a way of moving that captured Alistair’s attention instantly; steady and confident, back straight, shoulders relaxed, pace consistent, like a well-trained hounddog at the height of his career.  Miles settled in front of the stove and into pouring himself some coffee.  “You should come home with me tonight,” he muttered, and jostled Alistair out of his thoughts.  He took a drag off his cigarette as anxiety crawled up his spine.

They had never existed together, intimately, outside of Alistair’s apartment, except for the smallest of hints or touches that could not possibly be seen or heard by another human being.  His apartment was safety, he knew every corner like he knew his own body, he knew the exits, he knew where he kept the knives, and he knew where every single dangerous creak, squeak, or groan existed in the furniture and in the floorboards and in the walls. “No,” he said on an exhale.

“Please,” Miles said without looking at him.  The clacking of the spoon against Miles’ cup as he stirred filled the room.  Was he being that loud on purpose?  Alistair couldn’t help sneaking a look toward the door, wide open to the rest of the department.

“Why?”

“You’ll like it.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Trust me.”  Alistair worked his lips around the end of the cigarette, damp yet firm, and took another drag.  “I’ll pick you up.”

“No.”

“Fine, you can follow me.  Civilian cars, civilian clothes.”

Alistair hesitated.  Miles slurped coffee out of his mug.  A phone rung somewhere in the building and a car started outside.  Trust me.  He heaved a sigh and put out his cigarette.  “Okay.”  He dropped his voice further and looked Miles in the face for the first time since he’d entered the room.  “Thirty minutes after we’re off duty.  I’ll be parked on Gerard Street.”

Before Miles, with his curls and his staring, seeing eyes, could respond, Sinclair walked his stupid ass into the room, and declared: “Hey, guys!  What’s happening?”

“Murder!” Alistair just barely didn’t yell. “Just talking about murder!”

“Happens all the time,” Miles confirmed grimly as he refilled his cup.  “It’s really very unfortunate.”

Quickly becoming somber, Sinclair nodded.  “It’s true.  It’s very unfortunate.  Anyway, let me in on that coffee action, Crawford.”

At 6:30pm, Alistair was sitting in his Ford on Gerard Street, in regular, soot-gray trousers and jacket.  He’d managed to bathe, mostly to get rid of hat hair, and he hadn’t had a cigarette since dropping into his apartment.  He idly chewed on the inside of his cheek and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he scanned the street for Miles Crawford’s cream Hudson.

He stopped tapping and sat up a little straighter when he saw the Hudson turn off of Golding Street onto Gerard.  His car rumbled and chugged around him as Miles drove right past him without making eye contact or at all acknowledging his existence.  When he could see Miles approaching the end of the street in his mirror, he pulled out and around to follow.

His anxiety lessened as he followed Miles through and around city blocks and out into the outer expanses of Port Cassandra.  Soon the ocean and the city alike were obscured by trees both tall and numerous with thick underbrush groveling at their feet.  Not only did Alistair feel calmer, now he was able to feel a spot of anticipation, a spark of excitement about where Miles was leading him.  He had never been to Miles’ home, and he had never heard him speak of it either.

Eventually Miles pulled off the main road onto one both rougher and narrower, and Alistair followed.  The road wound through the trees, and in places the branches reached out and scraped against the sides and roof of his car.  He flinched only because of the noise, not because of the damage.  His car was not one that was in mint condition, nor was it very new.

The trees broke slightly, and through them he could see slivers of ocean, flashes of beach, and, finally, a stout log cabin, all sharp angles and natural grains and colors, yet clearly weathered.  The cream Hudson, light and shiny against the backdrop of the forest, the greenery, and the cabin, pulled up close to what was clearly the cabin’s rear before stopping.  Alistair pulled up alongside and cut the engine.

He got out of his car with some effort.  The slamming of their car doors seemed loud and intrusive out here.  He came around to greet Miles between their two vehicles.  “This is where you live?”  There was a touch of awe to his tone that he did not intentionally put there.  

“Yeah,” Miles said.  He was holding a rather large paper bag in one arm.  He was wearing brown trousers with a blue, casual button-up tucked in.  “My father left it to me when he died.”

“Oh.”  He was a bit shaken by this.  Miles had never spoken of his father before.  “I didn’t know your father was dead.  I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.  He wasn’t a good man.”

That made it the opposite of fine!  Alistair gingerly, slowly stepped close to Miles and set a hand on his shoulder.  Before he could say anything, though, Miles kissed him on the mouth.  He gasped and stepped back, quickly taking stock of their surroundings and seeing . . . no one.  

He turned back to see Miles wearing a shit-eating grin.  “Let’s not talk about that right now.  Come home with me, Alistair.”  

A shiver ran up his spine and he found himself smiling back at him.  “Okay.”

It turned out the bag Miles was carrying contained wine, crackers, cheese, and apples.  Alistair hadn’t thought to bring anything aside from himself and the condoms that lived in the pocket of the jacket he was wearing, so he sliced the cheese and apples and displayed them on a plate with the crackers while Miles filled two glasses with wine.  Of course, filling glasses with wine didn’t take much time, so after that he stood back and watched Alistair work.  And drank wine.  

Alistair still wasn’t used to being watched in a good way.  He was always so worried about being seen and found out.  “What are you looking at?”  He asked as he set the dirtied knife and cutting board into the sink in the cabin’s kitchen.  The inside of the cabin was small but clean and cozy.  In the living room there was a wide, short couch with a matching coffee table.  

“You,” Miles said as Alistair walked past and set the plate of crackers, cheese, and fruit next to the open bottle of wine and his own waiting glass.  “The look on your face, determined. The way you do things.  It’s very . . . “  His voice was breathy, low and loose.  “Effective.”

Alistair picked up his glass in one hand and stood up straight, looking Miles in the face.  Dark eyes, relaxed and calm, stared back at him.  “Yeah?”

Miles pushed off the wall he was laying his weight against and came around the coffee table.  He laid a hand against Alistair’s chest and pushed gently.  “Yeah.  Sit down, relax.”

Alistair obeyed.  Miles wiggled himself into the space between him and the arm of the couch, and threw his arm over Alistair’s shoulders.  “Drink,” he said into Alistair’s ear, his hot breath ghosting over the side of his face and the smell of wine hitting his nose.

He made physical effort to relax as he took a long sip of red wine.  He leaned into Miles and relaxed into the couch.  “I feel you have done all the work here,” he admitted, eyes on the wine wobbling in his glass.

“Not all of it,” Miles said, so close to him.  “Just most of it.  But don’t worry about it, I chose to do the work.  I just wanted to get you out here, I thought you would like it.”

He sighed, trying to expel the shreds of tension that fought so valiantly to cling to the inside of his chest.   He took another sip of wine and turned his face to Miles’.  “I do like it.”  He leaned more heavily into Miles, practically laying all the weight he could on him, and looked him in the eye before downing the entire glass of wine.  He set the glass gently on the table, beside the bottle, with a small ‘clink’.  “I just need you to fuckin’ kiss me before I have to go smoke a cigarette.”

Miles cradled his face with one hand and kissed him.  It was a gentle, soft, close-lipped kiss.  It was the sort of kiss Alistair remembered giving and receiving for the first time as a teenager.  Then, it was an experiment.  Now, it was a taunt.  

Alistair turned his head, opened his mouth, and Miles pulled back.

“Wait,” Miles said.

“What?”

“I love you.”

For a long moment, he was thrown speechless.  He probably looked like a deer in the headlights, or like an idiot, or maybe both.  He wasn’t expecting it- although, if he were to think about it, it wasn’t surprising from Miles.  And it wasn’t like he had never thought about how he felt about Miles, sex aside.  There was a lot to their interactions now that could not be discounted as just . . . buddies helping each other out.

Like the wine and the cheese on the table, and the way Alistair had made sure he didn’t have disgusting cigarette mouth before he got here, and how Miles had practically negotiated him out here because he thought he would like it.  Thought he would like it- no, Miles thought he could relax here.  And he was right.

He leaned forward and pressed one more chaste kiss to Miles’ lips, and then another to his cheek.  “I love you too,” he whispered against his skin, and shivered, but he wasn’t cold.

He felt Miles exhale, heavy and fast, like he was relieved, and then he was laughing a bit under his breath and his arms were tight around Alistair and he was kissing up his neck and nibbling his beard.

“Oh, my God,” Alistair managed, and he wasn’t unhappy.  He was smiling again.  He looked out at the darkening sky through the cabin windows, and he saw the trees, and he heard the night distantly.  He could not deny that this felt nice.

“I thought you’d freak out,” Miles admitted with his face pressed into Alistair’s shoulder.  There was humor in his voice, though it was a legitimate concern.  

“Yeah, well, I didn’t,” he muttered.

Miles lifted his head and kissed him, and this time his mouth was open.  He tasted like wine.  His tongue was clever and his teeth were careful.  Alistair’s mouth was his for the taking.

Alistair surged out of his grasp, but only to throw himself into his lap.  He tossed his bad leg over Miles and shoved his right foot against the floor to push himself into position.  They only ceased kissing for the moment it took him to reposition.

He ran his hands up Miles’ neck and into his short, curly hair, cradling the back of his neck.  He felt Miles’ hands on his waist, massaging their way down through his clothes.  He bit gently at his lower lip, and Miles gasped.

“Alistair!”  He exclaimed, and pulled his gun out of its holster at his hip.  “Really?”

[writeawayjake]

WIP Ch. 4.5!!! (I realized if you want someone to redeem a former hero you have to actually show them not being heroic at first so I slipped a chapter in between chapters)

     As they continued trudging down the road Jared’s head began to sink, sleep was trying to take him after the days strain. Sleep didn’t come lately without drink - it was the only way to avoid dreaming. Fighting to keep his eyes open he kept snapping his head back up, but the monotony of the road was beginning to lull him.

     Until there was a sudden stop that is. His forehead bumped Skye’s back as the horse dug in it’s hooves. The jolt forward woke him up somewhat and it brought into focus the sounds up ahead of them - sounds of a struggle. Leaning to one side he tried to see what all the commotion was about. Squinting in the low light he could see several men harassing someone, a merchant no doubt, judging by their cart and fine clothes. The merchant’s cart had lost a wheel and some highwaymen had no doubt smelled an easy payday.

     The Dark Lord’s absence had not reset the world. Men’s hearts were still weak, their bellies still empty, and their knives were still sharp. The power vacuum and the depleted legions had lead to unchecked brigands and highwaymen.

     “This isn’t our problem…” He said, in a cold dead tone. You couldn’t help anyway, you’re not a hero. The voice assured him.

     “Of course it’s our problem, how could you say that?” She asked incredulously.

     “Someone else will come along.” He replied meekly.

     “You should be ashamed of yourself…” Skye said, stepping out of the saddle, their mother’s ire in her eyes. The shame paralyzed him in the saddle as she strode purposefully toward the fracas. Even in the dull light he could see her hand move to the handle of the axe on her belt. Clenching his jaw and swallowing the lump in his throat he let out a frustrated,

     “Damn it,” under his breath. As she made her way closer and closer he flung himself out of the saddle and made his way after her. He’d waited too long however and she made it to the scuffle long before him. Stopping a few yards short of the group, she let out a stern and sharp,

     “Enough!” The entire world seemed to stop in place at the sound of her command. The brigands turned their heads, the traveler cocked an eyebrow, Jared got several very vivid flashbacks of being disciplined with a wooden spoon, as for what the horse thought? No one can say…

     Why did she have to get involved, the voice groaned.

     “Fuuuuck off.” One of the brigands said dismissively - still holding a knife to the merchant’s throat. Jared’s instincts began kicking in, he began evaluating each if member of the group, taking stock of his enemies, weighing his odds and then finding ways to balance them.

     Their leader, while not a particularly large man, at least not compared to the Behemoth, was still taller and broader than Jared. But a close look at his stance, as well as his grip on his knife betrayed him for the amateur he was. He wouldn't take a great deal of effort to see off should the need arise. Ineptitude, however, is a big factor in why cowards travel in packs. You don't need to be a great fighter when you have four other people in your side.

     None of the band stood out as particularly threatening. All were fairly well built, not sickly peasants - men who ate well at the expense of others. Giving them a good thrashing might lift his mood, but for the wrong reasons. That fact shamed him. He knew the helping the merchant was the right thing to do but justifying the effort wasn't easy.   

     Why should he help this man who wasn't willing to help himself. Why should he stick his neck out anymore, he’d done enough hadn't he?

     Soon however he realized it didn't  matter what he thought, Skye was even more stubborn than he was, she wouldn't back down. She matters more, he thought. Knowing that this wouldn’t end well no matter what he did, Jared finally took a deep breath and walked up next to his sister planting his feet in the ground - ready to receive yet another beating.

     As he stood there the light from the merchant's lantern painted her face a fiery orange to match the determined glare in here eyes. He put on a similar face, trying to communicate to them that they’d be better off just running away. But today just wanted to test him for some reason.

     The leader, clearly fed up with their meddling, turned his attention away from the merchant’s throat and began making his way towards them. Swishing his knife around like a wand he snarled,

     “You two really need to mind your own business before I get upset.” Skye didn't bat an eye yet he could see her hand grip the axe just a but tighter. Instinctively Jared’s hand moved for the sword but again it faltered just shy of the hilt. His hand simply hung their trembling. Please. Don't make me draw… He found himself thinking that desperate thought a lot lately.

     “Ha! Look at you! Doesn't matter how fancy your sword is boy. Cowards is cowards…”

     Boy? The voice asked incredulously. The man took another step towards Jared, knife still swishing this way and that, a crooked grin stretching across his face. Jared backed his hand away from the sword and clenched his fist, preparing to plant it in the man's nose, when suddenly, like a flash of lightning a hand darted forward striking the brigand in the throat. A split second later Jared watched as Skye planted her boot in the mans groin, dropping him to his knees. Before he could grasp what was happening she was behind the brigand twisting his arm in what must have been an excruciating direction before breaking it outright and relieving him of the knife.

     Jared stood there, just as dumbfounded as the brigands friends. He knew Skye was a brave woman and that she knew how to protect herself but he'd still never seen his big sister hurt anyone before. At least not in person. He'd hear a rumor here or there, when they were children, that she’d beaten some other girl for one reason or another but he had never been around to see it. And whenever he asked she’d always deny it.

     Knowing now that the odds were in there favor his mood lightened somewhat but he was still alert and at the ready. While the leader lay on the ground screaming in pain his friends started weighing their options and odds.

     Either this one was feeling strong or was especially stupid because he made his way toward the two of them just as his friend had done. Only with much more purpose and hate in his stride.

     “Boy! You best get that little bi-” The brigands threat was cut short by Jared’s hand around his throat. Steely fingers dug into his Adams apple. This was no longer about saving the merchant. Now it was about hurting them.

     “Keep talking,” Jared Snarled, “Keep fucking talking,” Jared growled through his teeth. He could feel the anger swelling, the hate rising.

     “Jared!” Skye barked, just as she had done at the tavern to snap him out of this exact same bloodlust.

     No! Kill the worm!!! You’re defending her honor! The voice screeched in his head. Trying to justify his actions as if they were for her safety and not his own gratification. As hard as he tried to heed her warning he still found his fingers tightening, threatening to rip the brigand’s throat out. Until he let out a weak,

     “...please…” Staring into the poor jackass’s eyes, Jared saw nothing but fear. Not hatred, or violence, or… evil. Just fear. It took him a moment to remember what that felt like, so long had he either yearned for death or been sure the man in front of him wouldn’t be up to the task.

     Jared’s grip loosened, his eyes softened. After a moment he let the man go entirely. The brigand spluttered falling to the ground, holding his throat - small bruises already forming where Jared’s fingers had dug in. Backpedaling on the ground until finally finding his footing the brigand fell into the arms of his stunned friends, never once taking his eyes off of Jared. Jared simply motioned with his chin for them to run. And run they did, disappearing into the forest.

     The merchant, now free of his attackers ran to his young saviors, falling over himself in his clumsy haste.

     “Thank you! Thank you young warrior!” The plump merchant sang.  “I am eternally grateful! If you ever need anything! Wine, clothes, jewelry, anything! Come to town and ask for Whick!”

     “Just fix your cart and be on your way Whick. Get somewhere safe before dark…” Jared replied dryly.

     “Maybe hire some muscle. The roads aren’t safe these days.” Skye added.

     “Yes! Yes I will thank you! Thank you.” And with that, Jared and Skye walked back to the horse in silence. The merchant frantically began working on his cart. Without another word they went their separate ways, the two young travelers looking for somewhere to bed down for the night and the merchant to tell of them to whoever would listen.