#KB’s fic

[theleft0ver]

Hello lovely people, I’ve been working on a little cleagan project for a while and I wanted to share the first chapter, hope y’all enjoy!!! ^•^

It’s also on ao3:

•Longing for my sweetheart•

John was dying, he was shot and now he’s dying on his horse who’s independently prowls up a path on a mountain he’s not familiar with. He’s slumped over his mare’s neck mumbling to himself in and out of consciousness.

You see it was supposed to be an easy job, get the information from his trusty inside man (Rosie) at the stagecoach station, stake out the carriage with the rich folks in it, ambush the carriage take everything they got and ride into the sunset, see easy!

Maybe that’s why everything went haywire. He’d done this so many times without complications that he threw every caution in the wind. But sooner than later he realized his mistake in a form of a personal guard at the driver’s box.

He stopped the carriage without a hiccup that’s the easiest part anyways. He pulled his bandanna up his nose and his hat real low. He rode out from the trees to the dirt road, pistol in his right, double barrel shotgun in the left hand firing them once-twice raising hell.

Oh the screams, the frightened shrieks were music to his ears. They meant the passengers will give anything for their lives.

But his happiness was short lived as a bullet pierced through the air and flew past his ear. The armed guard started to fire at him like hell, earning the money the rich bastards were paying him and after today John was sure he got a fat bonus too!

He quickly got off his horse and dodged behind a boulder frowning in surprise, listening where the guard might be and the gunslinging began.

****

The driver was dead, John shot him dead in the left eye. He tried to intervene but he was just in the way and got in the field of bullets. John killed too many people to count. That’s just the way he lives. He never claimed to be a good man alright? But that doesn’t mean he enjoys killing, there was a time when he did, a long-long time ago. He left those days in the back of his mind, now he only kills when he has to, but most of his robberies claim lives, someone always ends up dead.

He’s an outlaw goddamnit, that’s what he’s good at. What he likes and what he has to do to survive are two different things.

He doesn’t have too much time to dwell on moral issues though he’s still being shot at. John thought, finally his luck is turning and he’ll win this duel as well when he started to hear shouting and hoof beating the ground in the distance.

Lawman.

Even in a location so remote someone somehow alerted the sheriff. John only had a moment to process the news before bullets started to fly around him. The situation is dire he knows that, he whistles for his horse who comes crashing out of the woods and he makes a break for it.

He’s running like the wind when he feels it. Cold metal piercing his skin needling a way through muscles and tendons in his right shoulder. The second one comes from ahead hitting him on the left side of his abdomen, but it doesn’t feel like it went all the way through, although it’s not like John can feel much with the adrenaline running through his veins.

He can’t spare too much attention to his wounds as he still has to get away if he wants to stay alive. He runs to his horse grabs the horn of his saddle, hoist himself up with the stirrup and gallops away as fast and as far as he can.

He’d never been shot, John was always clever with his moves, always had Fortuna on his side. It’s not like how he imagined, it’s not immediate red-hot pain flaming his body ablaze flooding into his mind making room saying ‘I’m here and you’ll be suffering’. It’s creeping up on him, slowly making his way into his consciousness like sand in an hourglass.

For a good ten minutes as he tries to lose the lawman glued to his heels he can only feel a dull ache. Another ten minutes pass on and he successfully shakes off the blood thirsty man and slows his horse down to a trot. And as his heartbeat stabilizes the pain starts to increase, so much so that he had to halt his horse to catch his breath.

He took a moment to get himself under wraps and inspected the wounds.

His shoulder was relatively in a good shape as much as a gunshot wound can be. But his abdomen was another tale. He unbuttoned his vest then lifted his shirt and ripped his long-johns apart, he gagged at the sight.

Already bruised in angry shades of purple and blue, blood flowing everywhere from such a tiny hole. John tried to apply pressure on it but the pain was too great, he got lightheaded and threw up that small amount of food he had in his stomach. He had to get help fast or he’s a goner.

He tried to remember if there was a town nearby but the blood loss was making him dazed and confused. Soon after that he passed out and woke up in the woods on his horse’s back then passed out again.

And that’s how he ended up in the middle of the mountain he was not familiar with in and out of consciousness.

****

John was slowly coming to himself as he feels his horse piking up speed. He tilts his head up to see a little homestead built with logs nested between tall trees and evergreens, a sight he would sure marvel if he were in a better shape. John tries to stay awake until his horse makes the distance to the porch of the home but his brain is too foggy.

He hears a gasp coming from afar and legs hitting the ground in a rapid pattern. John wants to sit up to see who his savior might be but he’s too weak and slips off his saddle onto the ground. He gets startled awake again by someone dropping to their knees next to him and brushing the hair out of his face. Cold fingers turn his head toward the sun and he opens his eyes.

The person in front of John is a woman, a woman whose face is so blurry. Blurry because John can’t keep his eyes open. But as he forces himself to focus he becomes aware that the person is in fact not a woman but a young man with such soft edges and features that he has to be unreal.

John is so delirious from the blood loss that he thinks he’s seeing one of God’s angels. Although he doesn’t understand why would he go to heaven after all the things he has done. He wants to, no scratch that ,he needs to touch this angel of death with the soft looking golden hair and smooth sun tanned skin. He knows if he could just only caress the pad of his finger down this angel’s face he could take away all of his sins and he can die in peace.

He reaches out to hold his personal angel’s cheek, but before he can touch him everything goes back to black.

[kenobster]

Higher Ground ||| "Our Strongest Link" ||| Scott Barringer

I was on lots of teams, and, just like you, I messed up and I got thrown off — but I still remember how good it feels to be part of something. I still remember that, Scott. It's a good feeling, even when you lose.

I made these GIFs for @sendpseuds. She's writing an Obikin football fic, so I thought it'd be fun to give her some GIFs of Hayden Christensen who plays a football player in another show. Hope you like them, friend!

Bonus:

[ventiventigrande]

yeah that's pretty high up there

[anonymouszephyrus]

Okay.. here me out. Klance fic, right? YEAH BUT MAKE THAT LIKE MAIN SCRIPT WRITER X LEAD ACTOR WITH WITH KEITH WRITING A CONFESSION IN THE SCRIPT BUT ITS ACTUALLY THE WORDS HE WANTS TO TELL LANCE BUT HE CANT SO HE JUST PUTS IT IN AND ITS LIKE THE PRETTIEST CONFESSION EVER??? AND ITS LANCE NEEDING TO SAY THOSE WORDS TO THE OTHER LEAD AND HE SLOWLY STARTS TO UNDERSTAND WHILE HE READS THE SCRIPT (he ain't dumb. He smart boi) BECAUSE THERES LIKE STUFF IN THE CONFESSION THAT ONLY HE AND KEITH KNOW LIKE THEIR WHOLE RIVAL-FRIENDS SITUATION BEING REFERENCE WITH LIKE: “Annoying as you were, I was drawn to you. Like a sailor to a siren, like a moth to the flame” HEHEHEH FIRE-WATER YOU KNOW??? No one steal this please, IM MAKING IT. I just need to know if y'all would.. you know, consider it as a possible oneshot or series idea? :D (Is this an excuse to give Keith my writer-poet-bookworm headcanon? YOU CANT TELL ME THE BITCH ISN'T INTO DRAMATIC SHIT LIKE THE SONG OF ACHILLES AND SHAKESPEARE- JUST 'CAUSE HE'S EMO DOESN'T MEAN HE CAN'T ENJOY LITERATURE! He had so much time in that cabin, you can't tell me he wasn't curious about books)

[scoops404]

Here’s my POV

[kookaburra1701]

WIP Wednesday - A Line-storm Song

tagged by @elfinismsarts @thana-topsy 💚 @viss-and-pinegar @thequeenofthewinter

I am tagging @gilgamish @greyborn2 @dirty-bosmer @skyrim-forever @totally-not-deacon @mareenavee @paraparadigm @polypolymorph

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: Explicit Category: M/M Genre: Old👏Men👏Yaoi👏 Pairing: Pavo Attius/Gat gro-Shargakh

Summary: Pavo and Gat weather a spring storm in the Reach.

My brain has revolted against only working on Aristeia during NaNoWriMo and I compromised by working on this one-shot which takes place in the same 'verse. I needed to let these two Married Forever guys fuck. And oh boy are they. Excerpt below is not explicit.

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

“Rain’s coming,” Gat said, leaning against the smelter as Pavo stepped out of the shadows of Kolskeggr mine. Pavo blinked a little in the late afternoon sun. The golden rays were illuminating white pillars of clouds in the east, only the deep purple shadows beneath them hinting at the possibility of inclement weather.

“I suppose I’ll do the evening chores early then,” Pavo said, moving to stand next to Gat. “Get Juniper settled before the tempest.”

Gat slipped his arm around Pavo’s waist, and Pavo leaned into his comforting bulk. Even after twenty years, his touch never failed to send a thrill down Pavo’s spine.

“I’ll finish up here, get everything secured against the wind,” Gat said against Pavo’s ear, his large tusks tracing the corner of Pavo’s jaw.

“Gat, I’m disgusting, at least wait until I’ve rinsed off!” Pavo yelped as Gat turned and took hold of him with both hands, pulling him close.

“Mmmm, if a little mine dust was a problem—” Gat buried his face in Pavo’s neck while Pavo laughed and tried to push him away. “—I don’t think my people would be nearly as numerous as they are.” He gave Pavo’s neck a final nip before releasing him.

“You’re insatiable,” grumbled Pavo. When he turned to head down the path to their cottage, Gat’s laughter followed him.

The chickens allowed him to drive them into their coop with the bribe of some kitchen scraps, but Juniper, their mule, brayed her protest when he came to collect her from her picket, despite the bucket of oats and corn he rattled at her.

“I know it’s early old girl. But you’ll be glad of the roof and walls tonight, mark my words. Don’t go kicking them down if the thunder gets loud, now.”

As he puttered around the small barn, Pavo heard the front door to the cottage open and shut several times. As he was filling the water trough, Gat appeared in the doorway, wearing a clean shirt with water droplets clinging to the fuzz of his shaved head.

“I left a towel and some clean clothes by the river for you,” Gat said.

“Oh? I thought the dirt was an Orc aphrodisiac,” Pavo said archly. “I’m getting mixed messages here.”

“Smelling like ore is one thing, smelling like Juniper is another.”

“Don’t listen to him Juniper, you smell wonderful.”

Gat laughed, and turned to leave. “I’ll get supper started. Don’t take too long—hey!” He whirled and Juniper brayed and tossed her head at his shout. Pavo just grinned back at him, trying to look entirely innocent and like someone who would never dream of pinching an Orc’s arse.

Shaking his finger at Pavo, and walking backwards until he was well out of range, Gat retreated back to the cottage.

[kb1301]

This forced him to confront the attractive man, who looked down on him patiently. He put on his usual smile, maybe with a little more poise. I’m going to like ya. “Hey there mate, welcome to Suds! Whit can Soap here get’cha?” He made himself sound charming and open to yet another mysterious man. Unlike the Ghost guy from earlier, where he made himself look like an idiot to (at least that’s what he's implying to himself), he could strike up a conversation with this new guy and use his standard set of charm, the Scottish kind. “Just three beers,” Deep and gruff… Just like that Ghost, fucking hell.

Suds becomes a bar late in the evening and old friendly faces appear… as well as someone seemingly new.

It's here! I apologize for the long wait! Writer's block and distractions and the busy life of a person that plays games had caught me and stopped me from getting into this sooner!

But it is here now!

I'll make a few more chapters for this before taking a break from this and I move on to my other one! This AU is beloved to me and I don't want to miss it at all.

[theinfinitedivides]

yk you've f*cked sh*t up when the regular gifmakers for this drama are so depressed they're not even making content for the beach kiss

[firesteel-eden]

Look, I was inspire okay?

The queen in the North would be the only love — romantic or not, Bran did not care — that Jon Snow never betrayed (…) I am hers and she’s mine. “Protect her, look over her, for me” — sneak peek of next chapter of KBFKBSII

I love weaving Jonsa into Firesteel, and I love bleeding that kind of love into the passion Aemond and Sansa share.

As always, song and the plot you recognise are of their own owners, only my plot is mine.

Sending all my love ~G.

[bitterkarmaa]

The next main story installation, featuring our favorite bloodthirsty gremlins!

[backslashdelta]

I haven't properly read fic in sooooo long but today I sat down and read nearly 120k words and I'm not even done this story yet but fuck I've missed reading

[kenobster]

Bribe me sempai

[link to original post for context]

bahahahhaha, be BRIBED:

The attacks after point rain swept Obi-Wan’s face, armor, robes in fine grains of Geonosian sand—sand that could come right off with a few good wipes, always leaving the cloth dirtier than the man.  In a desert, water is a luxury. Obi-Wan ensured that every active soldier on Geonosis received enough water for hydration as well as a nightly spongebath, and he and Cody were no exceptions. But it was always their eyes on the requisition requests, their eyes on the remaining supplies, their eyes on the casualty reports whenever the medics ran out of clean gauze and resorted to soil-stained cloth. For he and Cody, hydration and sponge baths were luxuries, too. They made a contest out of it—in using the fewest drops from their canteens to dampen the least dusty sections of their sleeves. Afterward, they sat together and took turns nursing the mud out of each other’s sweat-damp hair.  When the war is over, Cody once said, I think I’ll find the sandiest rock out there. Buy a couple of sandwraps and a good healthy dewback. Set up camp somewhere out there. In love with the weather that much, are you? Beats getting drenched in rain. Because that was Kamino—a desert of saltwater dunes as blue as the sweltering sky that Obi-Wan stands under now.  Tatooine sand isn’t like the sand of Geonosis. Sponge baths leave only crusty caked-up rings around the ankles, wrists, and neck. Hosing things down clogs up equipment with thick layers of mud. Even the atmosphere—heavy and dry—peels flakes of skin from hardened, calloused knuckles.  The sandiest rock in the galaxy, here, beneath his feet, and Obi-Wan wishes there’d been an ending to the war, purely so that his Commander could have seen it.

Thank you for the vote and the fun time!! XD

Note: I'll be doing the corresponding Obikin drabbles and the drabbles for other ships after the poll concludes.

[deiaiko]

The story of a little boy named Twenty-fifth Night.

Inspired by The Little Prince / Le Petit Prince

Written by @deiaiko Illustrated by @cheer-soli-art Betaed by @jusalilweird

There was a little boy who lived all his life in a dark and cold cave. He built a tower made of rocks, so tall in hopes of reaching the ceiling where light trickled down from between the cracks. It wasn't an easy task, for the sharp edges of the rocks easily made their marks on his unprotected skin. But for him, who had no one but himself and accepted pain as part of his life, it was nothing but a little itch.

A girl showed up from the other side, bathed in blinding light that the boy had never hoped to ever see in his life. Her hair was a lovely shade of gold and her face was littered with stars.

"I shall call you The Twenty-fifth Bam," The girl said, "for I have found you on this night."

"Night of the twenty-fifth," the little boy repeated. At that moment, he finally understood what it meant to be lonely, for he was no longer alone.

-----

The little boy came to enjoy her company, and for once, he felt content.

His day started when the girl came, and ended when the girl left, for he had nothing else to distinguish between day and night.

He learned what longing meant. He would be bursting with excitement the longer he waited, and he would feel sadder the longer he spent time with her.

-----

"I shall go and climb the tower myself," said the girl, countless nights later. "This place is not big enough for me. It doesn't have what I want."

It bewildered the little boy, for he was already content with only her presence. "What is it that you want?"

"At the top of the tower, just me and a massive sky with stars that twinkles as far as the eye can see." The girl said dreamily, and the little boy knew she had gone to a place where he couldn't reach.

"What's so good about it?"

"Because stars are supposed to be beautiful, no? That's reason enough."

"How can you say they're beautiful if you have never seen one?"

"Because I believe so."

The little boy didn't understand.

"Can't I come with you?" Because what would his cave become without the sun coming to chase away the darkness?

"No, Bam. The tower is too dangerous for you."

If it's dangerous for me, then wouldn't it be the same for you? The little boy wanted to say. But instead he asked, "Will you be happier then?" With a silent plea that she would say no.

"I will."

-----

The tower was a place the little boy could never have imagined. It was colorful yet blinding, vast yet crowded, and the fresh air smelled like doom.

The little boy had never felt so small. It was so overwhelming that he couldn't really register what he had done, until a firm hand took his and they ran.

The owner of that firm hand was just a boy like himself. Unlike the little boy however, he had hair the color of the vast sky, his steps were surer, and his eyes were sharper.

The blue haired boy extended his hand and smiled with all teeth, "Shake my hand, and we shall climb the tower together."

"Why me? I am weak. I will be of no use." The little boy shrunk away.

"It's no matter." The blue haired boy's eyes softened. "Your company is enough."

The little boy smiled and shakily took his hand.

-----

The little boy stood by the balcony, looking at the twinkling night sky above. Soon the last test would be held.

"Those lights up there, do you see them?" The little boy pointed at the light above to his blue haired companion.

"I do."

"I think they're lonely. So far above, out of reach and apart from each other." The little boy sighed wistfully. "Will you leave me too?"

"Why should I?" His companion tilted his head, finding the question very absurd.

"Because of the beautiful stars."

"Stars are nothing to me but a myth."

This time it was the little boy who tilted his head. "But aren't they beautiful?"

"I wouldn't know until I saw one."

That was something that the little boy could finally agree with.

"Then what does beautiful mean?" The little boy asked, curious.

"You." His companion said easily.  "I have seen a lot of pretty jewels, but none of them shine as pretty as your eyes. I have heard plenty of songs and played different instruments, but none of them brought as much joy as your laugh."

The little boy blushed at the compliment. "Then I shall laugh more often, so that the stars will envy me."

-----

The little boy ended up being the one to leave, not by his own volition.  He lost his companions, so what reason was there to laugh? What reason for him to be beautiful if there was no one to acknowledge it?

-----

After years of anguish and loneliness, the little boy finally got his companions back. But something was still lost. Something had changed. Yet the boy didn't know what that was. So as per usual, when his feelings were tangled and nothing seemed to make sense, he went to the balcony to seek the answers in the vast sky.

His blue haired companion noticed and decided to join him in silence. It was exactly like what they did all those years ago, yet it didn't feel the same.

"I love looking at the sky. Bright blue at day and deep blue at night, it's beautiful." The little boy said, when he noticed his companion's not so subtle glances. "It is beautiful because it always reminds me of you."

His companion blushed. "Is that so?"

The little boy smiled wistfully. "When I missed you, I would look at the sky."

"How often?"

"Every chance I got."

There was an unreadable expression on his companion's face. "All this time, I thought you were gone for good."

The little boy bowed his head, not knowing what to say.

"So even if you're standing next to me right now, it somehow feels as if you're still out of my reach." His companion confessed, and it broke the little boy's heart.

"Then, hold me! See that I'm right here, still within reach." The little boy looked at his companion, pleading and desperate. "And when you do, make me stay."

His companion cupped the little boy's cheeks that were streaked with tears. "I see. You're no longer the light that was hung up above."

"I am not." The little boy smiled. "I am The Twenty-fifth Night, and the lights are my friends."

[anonymocha]

How about this: Balloon Party fic with her taking care of Vertin first and then bkornblume

If you want I can make another KaalaaPocket fic of your choosing of the theme 👍

RYUUSEI STOP ENABLING ME THIS IS LIKE A LILYA FOLLOWUP ATTACK AFTER A NASTY CRITICAL SINGLE TARGET HIT /LH /POS

[mareenavee]

If Anyone Can Do This, It’s You

For the prompt: Riverwood Thank you to @kookaburra1701 for your amazing Calder in your fic universe!!! I NEEDED to write a pining Good Bean Nord after all you've shared! Hadvar was the perfect candidate. Thank you to @changelingsandothernonsense also for ALL the word sprints and for helping me keep my spirits up in the middle of a hurricane of chaos. This is for you guys <3

This is an AU where we answer the question: What if Nyenna and Hadvar traveled together to Whiterun, and then went on to Solitude to join the War effort?

Main Fic Universe is Dragonborn & Far-Star Marked and its prequel series is The Heart of the World. Caught up on The World on Our Shoulders and want to read more AU situations? Check out the series If Only Time Changed Its Mind or Take My Hand, Erase the Past Forever.

Without further ado:

If Anyone Can Do This, It’s You

Riverwood was peaceful, despite the raging chaos of Helgen burning in the distance, and the giant black dragon that had flown off over the mountains only hours ago. It was ridiculous, come to think of it, that things could still be so idyllic. That the river still flowed with water and not blood and fire seemed like some kind of illusion. Or miracle.

Hadvar held Nyenna’s hands in his own. He’d closed her fingers around a pouch of gold that his aunt and uncle had given him for her. She was meant to go to Whiterun, to tell the Jarl about the dragon—but he was having misgivings about sending her off alone. There was something different about her that he couldn’t quite place. The way she’d fought that bear in the cave, it was as if she’d become someone else entirely. It was like all fear melted from her as she aimed that borrowed bow. He knew Bosmeri folk were generally trained to be archers, but she’d said otherwise. That she’d been sheltered and could still do that was incredible.

“Nyenna,” Hadvar started, unsure exactly what he wanted to say. What would all this accomplish, asking her to stay with him? Would she take it the wrong way? They’d just survived a brush with death, after all. But it wasn’t exactly like that…was it? He cleared his throat. “What if we go to Solitude instead?”

She looked up at him, orange eyes almost startled. “Didn’t you say I should go to Whiterun?”

“Ah yes, but…you could join the Legion. Maybe do some real good once you’ve gotten in some training, what with the War going on.” It wasn’t exactly what he meant to say. It was more that he didn’t want her to go. She had a strange pull to her. He hated reading, normally, but being around her reminded him of the kind of book that draws you right into the story so much so that you forget reality for a moment.

“I am no soldier,” she said, pushing a stray silver curl back behind her ear. “That, and who is going to get word to Jarl Balgruuf if not me?”

“We can go together, then take a carriage to Solitude. Hopefully General Tullius made it out of Helgen just fine. If not, there’s contingencies, and I’ll need to be debriefed before I get sent on my next mission. And you can enlist, then begin your training.” Hadvar let go of her hands and folded his arms over his chest. The coins in the pouch he’d given her clinked together, the only noise in the silence as she thought about her answer.

“Do you really think I can make a difference like that? That I am…good enough to be a soldier?” Nyenna asked. Her voice was so soft. She still looked baffled.

“Of course you are!” Hadvar said, perhaps too quickly. He felt his face flush and closed his eyes for the barest second. He heard Nyenna chuckle which only made him even more embarrassed. He let out a sigh. “I mean, yes. You’ve already got skill. All you need is training.”

Nyenna nodded and tucked the bag of coins in her bag. “Alright. The worst that can happen is they turn me away, right?”  -> Read the rest on AO3.

[kookaburra1701]

WIP Wednesday - Aristeia

I was tagged by @oblivions-dawn, ty friend!

I am tagging @dirty-bosmer, @saltymaplesyrup, @thana-topsy, @gilgamish @skyrim-forever @viss-and-pinegar

Just a short snippet from chapter 3 of Aristeia. I finished the rough draft this weekend and am editing it now, so look for it soon!

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: T (blood and violence) Category: gen Genre(s): Adventure, Homer retelling Main characters: Borgakh the Steel Heart, the orcs of Mor Khazgur

_______________________________

“Indeed. Canute, give him whatever chits you use for the hold taxes for the value of two goats.” The man in green looked at the armored woman and back to Olur. “Ah, you see Captain, the strongholds don’t exactly pay taxes.” “They what?” “We…don’t really collect them. From the strongholds, I mean. And they don’t normally come to the cities, they just take care of their own business. I could give him one of the chits but it wouldn’t be worth anything to them.” “You’re telling me the ki— jarls of Skyrim do not collect the Emperor’s taxes?” “Not on strongholds, Captain.” “Wish I could run out to the mountains and live like a wild beast with a score of wives and not have the taxman come calling,” murmured one of the soldiers behind Borgakh. Olur’s hand tightened again, pinching her under her cowl where her neck met her shoulder.