#anyway this is not the first Black Sails fic I started but it's the first one I've finished

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — One

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none for this chapter, just Tom being grumpy and hating the world

— WORDCOUNT: 3k

— A/N: This is a fic that was commissioned by @localravenclaw as a gift for @esolean 💕 It's going to be a bit of a rollercoaster, with angst and fluff and smut galore. I plan to post twice a week, Mondays and Fridays. I had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you will have fun reading it, my dears! 💚

I

Tom was twenty-five. It had been seven years since he graduated from Hogwarts, and just as many since he started working at Borgin and Burkes. Now, he found himself in a sweltering place with the world passing him by. Trapped, for his sins, in a moving metal coffin. If this was hell, it looked like rolling hills, houses nestled in the fog, narrow rows of poplars and puffs of grazing sheep, all set to the tune of clinking chains and carriage shuffles. He hated this assignment.

After taking the train from London to Dover, he caught the ferry that sailed to Calais, and from there took a series of coaches and trains meant to take him on to Italy. To Rome. They had just stopped in Lyon to pick up more passengers, and now they were on their way again.

He had fought with Burke regarding the logistics of the whole thing. Why couldn’t he just use Floo like a normal wizard? But the miserable old stoat said he’d sooner trust muggle transportation than Tom’s pronunciation of Italian or French — and besides, was Floo even networked all the way down there? It didn’t matter anymore.

Tom was convinced it was all done to save costs, and perhaps for Burke to not have to call in any favours. So off he went with one measly suitcase and two billfolds of franks and lira — all of which were merely enchanted oak leaves. They would inevitably transfigure back to their original form in a couple of weeks or so, but by then Tom should be long gone. Who said money didn’t grow on trees?

He tried to distract himself from all this misery by checking his notes again. His little book cracked open, snapping at the spine, and its insides were revealed to him like a cadaver cut through with a black spidery scrawl. It was a list of books and authors, with observations added vertically on the side to save space.

“The Secrets of Wisdom, N. Tamisso 1650 — high priority, any edition. The Lost Word, B. Trevisan 1661 — low priority, optional. Delomelanicon (or The Invocation of Darkness), A. Torchia 1666 — first edition, mandatory.” The latter word was underlined three times. His notes continued with the instructions Burke had given. “Check the rare book dealers, antiquaries, private collectors if necessary. If you can not find it, find out who can. If they will not sell it, take it anyway.”

Tom’s lip curled. Whatever joy there was in being away from the squalor of Knockturn Alley was soiled by what he had to do in Rome. It wasn’t the books he minded, and in fact, he quite admired Burke’s taste in this matter. But to be flung so far away from home on such short notice, and for such a length of time, was pitiful to him. The heir of Slytherin turned errand boy…

“Excuse-moi, est-ce que — Oh, bonjour.”

Tom turned his frown toward the sliding doors of the compartment, between which stood a young man in his twenties. Lanky brown locks fell into his eyes veiling the crinkles of a smile.

“Yes?” sighed Tom.

“I was wondering if this was free,” said the boy. And without waiting for an answer, he dragged his luggage inside — three suitcases, all leather with copper fittings looking ready to burst — and closed the doors behind him.

“I suppose it is,” mumbled Tom. He subtly closed his notebook and tucked it back into the messenger bag at his feet while he kept track of the stranger from the corner of his eyes.

The fine quality of the newcomer’s clothes was somewhat disguised by how carelessly they hung around him. His white and starched shirt was loosened at the top, revealing a hint of tanned skin sprinkled with sparse curls. A golden pin kept a red and blue striped tie affixed to it, and around his pinky finger was a silver ring thickly laid with marcasites and crowned with a malachite stone. His lips were full and purple-stained from wine. His eyes were a bright blue. Judging by his pressed trousers and clean leather shoes, he was a gentleman who had arrived at the station by car — or, at least, he was the spoilt brat of one.

“Clement,” the boy grinned, extending his hand.

“Tom,” he replied, giving him a firm, brief shake.

“I’m on my way to Rome!” Clement sighed, plopping down onto the seat opposite him. Almost immediately, he cracked open a cigarette case and started fishing for a lighter in his trouser pocket. His luggage lay strewn all around the floor, suitcases filled with junk, no doubt. “You?”

“The same,” Tom said and instantly regretted sharing anything at all. With people like these — the overly friendly types — it was best to not encourage conversation.

“Oh, magnificent. Vacation?”

“Work.”

“How sad,” tutted Clement as he popped a cigarette between his lips. He offered one to Tom as well.

“Don’t smoke.”

“Ah.”

He closed the case with a loud click and set it on the table between them. With a smooth, almost theatrical motion, he lit up his pocket lighter — silver, older than him, probably an heirloom, engraved with an elaborate floral motif featuring a fleur-de-lis — and let the flame dance on the tip of his cigarette until he was satisfied.

“Don’t talk much, either,” the boy chuckled. He kept his eyes on Tom as he took a drag, then started puffing away without a care. He attempted to blow rings of smoke but failed. “What do you use your mouth for, then?”

“Cursing, mostly.”

Clement laughed. “The same!”

Tom doubted it.

The compartment soon filled with smoke, and the narrow window open at the top only made it dance around inside. The muggy summer fumes were driving Tom to madness already, and he could only hope the train moved fast enough to clear the air. But as they went further into the rural parts of France, the scent of sheep took over. Maybe it’s not too late to try to Apparate directly at the station, he thought.

“So, what do you do?” asked the French boy, vowels gliding altogether in one breath between his lips. His arm extended elegantly to tap the ash into a cheap tray by the window.

It took Tom a moment to look at him and answer. “I’m in, er, publishing.”

“Truly?” he said, excited enough to lean over the table. “That’s magnificent. I intend to be published too.”

“Oh? What do you write?”

“Poesies.”

“Poetry? Ah, not my area, I’m afraid.”

“But you must know some people…”

Tom wanted to tell him that if he were any good he’d have found a publisher already, but intuition told him to temper himself.

“I might,” he said, “but I’m afraid I’m full up at the moment.”

The boy puffed away nervously as he tapped the round gemstone of his ring against the window, and kept his eyes on him. Tom turned to watch the view rolling past them, seeing without seeing. The sensation of being watched was as familiar as it was discomforting. It crawled down his thin cheeks, his narrow neck, and from there sank into his clothes like sweat. He gazed briefly at the tapping ring from the corner of his eyes in irritation, before focusing away again. For a few moments, he thought he’d successfully ended their conversation.

“Well, I’m in show business,” Clement said instead, grinning brilliantly. There was a gap between his first incisors that made him look boyish and pure. “Theatre.”

“Your parents must be very happy.”

“No,” he laughed. “Miserable. But,” he shrugged, “it is not their decision.”

Tom hummed and said nothing else.

“Your parents are happy with your job, no? You go on important business trips to France, to Rome, and… erm. Well, it is a good job, for sure. Makes them proud, yes?”

Whatever sunshine beamed through the window was chilled and clouded by the glare in Tom’s dark eyes. Why did this bothersome Frenchman have to talk to him? He wasn’t going to keep doing it the whole way to Rome, surely…

“I wouldn’t know,” he finally said. “They’re dead.”

“Oh… Oh, I am so sorry...”

“I’m not,” he mumbled. He didn’t think Clement had heard him, but he wouldn’t care even if he did.

The boy pulled the ashtray closer and put out his cigarette, then leaned his head against the glass. Fidgeting, he held the silver case in his hands and clicked it open and closed, open and closed… He did that for quite a while.

Tom could feel him staring. Could even sense to some extent the messy thoughts inside that head: curiosity, intrigue, and joy.

What could be joyful about that moment?

Well, if Tom was being honest, this wasn’t the first time he’d had such an effect on people. Memories of Burke’s clients came back to him accompanied by the customary shiver down his spine. Clement had the same flippant merriment about him that all the others did, those careless old witches and wizards. That unguarded look of innocence surrounded by the fog of greed. An airy absence of thought and feeling. Must’ve been the side effect of all that money.

Tom had once envied such people. Had even flattered himself with the knowledge that he, however distantly, was one of them. What greater destiny than to be born to glorious old blood? What greater tragedy than to be fallen from it…? He could even remember, with much clarity and shame, how he’d spent several months during his third year obsessing over the Gaunts and Riddles, chasing up on genealogies, and smattering the back pages of his diary with heraldic designs.

But the more he understood the upper classes — their uselessness, their inborn idiocy, their paradoxical sense of superiority which stood impervious to anything reality threw at them — the more he grew to hate them.

“I am sorry if I offended…” said Clement rather softly. “Sometimes, I talk too much.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t notice.”

“No, but I do, I do…”

Tom had overshot his subtleties, apparently.

“So you are not happy with your job? Forgive me for asking…”

“No, it’s quite alright.”

“A pity, you know…”

“Why?”

“To not like it.”

“Oh, it’s not too much trouble most of the time. Why? Do you like your job?”

“But of course!” he said, blue eyes twinkling.

Tom cast a scathing look his way. How strange… He couldn’t imagine enjoying any form of employment — other than the coveted post of DADA professor at Hogwarts.

“Why are you in Rome, then?” Tom asked.

“On vacation. I am, erm, meeting a friend,” he whispered with a grin.

“A girlfriend?” asked Tom with a smirk.

Clement shook his head and giggled. “A boy friend.”

Tom’s brows nearly reached his hairline. He’d never heard of such things being bandied about quite that openly before, at least not in England. Clement seemed not to care. Must’ve been a habit of his, as he seemed to not care about much at all other than enjoying life.

“You have a fun vacation ahead of you, then.”

“More than you know,” he winked.

Tom curled his nose at that and sat back, away from the whole conversation. But Clement leaned closer, arms braced over the table lazily, eyes flashing excitedly.

“We will rob this old fool, and run with his money.”

That captured Tom’s attention again. The boy was waiting eagerly for his reaction, and not a thought ran through his head that Tom might’ve been untrustworthy. Of course, far be it from him to ruin someone else’s fun, but the scenario Clement proposed was too absurd to be believed.

So what else could Tom do but laugh? The sound of it filled the cabin, and so out of use were those muscles that his cheeks began to ache. The sight of it seemed to delight young Clement. He leaned back and gave another one of his brilliant smiles.

“You can join us, if you like,” he offered smoothly.

“Sorry,” said Tom, his cheeks still flushed. “My schedule is full.”

“Oh, pity, pity… You would like my friend, I think. His name is Donatien. He is more serious, like you.”

“Is that so,” said Tom distractedly.

“By the way, what is your hotel?”

II

They entered Rome on a train that ran six hours late, and wobbled on its tracks, and stank of mouldy cheese and wine rust.

Clement talked most of the way there, and seemed to be satisfied with Tom mostly reacting with brief hums and tilted smiles. They even exchanged gifts. The French boy was enchanted by what was, in Tom’s estimation, a fairly average switchblade. He’d only taken it out to peel an orange. It was something he’d bought in London right before his seventh year, and although it was quite plain, it did have some delicate embellishments on its ivory handle of two writhing snakes. That seemed to appeal to Clement, who offered his own blade in exchange — a Swiss army knife that also had a screwdriver and bottle opener tucked in its red body. Considering it a more efficient deal, Tom shrugged and accepted the trade.

Faint details came up now and then about his plans with this Donatien, but most of it was lost in smoke and loud metallic rattles. As much as Tom hated flying on brooms, even he could agree it would’ve been preferable to this…

But at least he didn’t have to fear any Ministry or Aurors in these parts. Not any that were familiar with him, anyway. The Italians had their own Ministry of Magic, of course, but it was all the way down in Mirto, Sicily, and foreigners were a low priority for them. There were so many people from all over the world in Italy those days that it wasn’t worth keeping track of them all, or at least so Burke had told him.

The train slowed and pulled into the station, and pulled, and pulled… It groaned as if in pain. Clement took the jolt of inertia as it all came to a stop with cheerful clapping, and promptly got up to collect his bags.

“So, we are agreed?”

“Absolutely not agreed. Besides, I doubt my lodgings would be to your taste.”

“Ah Tom, you do not know my taste!”

“Very well, but best keep your complaints to a minimum once we get there.”

They struggled to get everything off the train with four suitcases between them. Tom was travelling light with just the one, about which Clement made some snide comment that he soon forgot, but he helped him anyway. His own belongings consisted of plain muggle clothes and some books that Burke wished him to barter with, if it came to that. Between the lines, and between Burke’s sparse and slimy brows, Tom understood he was expected to use his charms to get a bargain price — as per usual — but he did not intend to let some fat old antiquary put his grimy hands on him. Not this time. Besides, conversing with Clement had stained his dignity enough.

Being away on the continent had one advantage, at least: he was no longer under the vulturous watch of his employer.

Tom stepped out onto the platform, muscles sore from days of sitting down, and looked ahead as if he knew where he was going. People were chatting all around him, filling the cool hall with murmurs all the way up to its dome — some in German, some in French, others in variously accented English. Tom wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve and picked up his suitcase to follow Clement, who was hunting for a trolley to load his luggage onto.

As soon as they stepped out onto the street, the heat of Rome in August hit Tom in the face like an oven door and he, frail and pallid thing, was not prepared for it. He squinted in displeasure, to Clement’s great amusement.

“This way, Tom!” he said as he popped on a pair of sunglasses. “I see a taxi!”

Tom had spent most of the journey brushing up on his Italian with the help of a conversation guide he picked up at the Gare du Nord. His extensive knowledge of Latin came in pretty handy. But now that he saw Clement handle things, perhaps he needn’t have bothered. His companion could easily direct the driver to the dingy old hotel Tom was staying at, the Gallienus on Via Domenichino, and chatted a bit more besides.

“Vacation in Rome often, then?” he asked.

“I just know some phrases,” Clement smiled. “You don’t need much with these people.”

The driver pretended not to understand the slight.

“Where do you want to have lunch, then?” Clement asked.

“Lunch? I’m certainly not in the mood, not now.”

“Oh come ooon…”

“You can eat on your own.”

“We can leave our stuff and take the taxi to this place I know on Via della Mercede. They make the best seafood, the best!”

It had not been until now, with this journey to somewhere far away, that Tom realised how limited his world had been at Hogwarts. He’d once felt equal parts ashamed and at a strange advantage next to the other Slytherins, his peers, all purebloods, for knowing both the magical and muggle worlds. Now, exiled for this assignment among strangers, it seemed to Tom as if he were starting life all over again. He looked out the window and everything was new, everything was strange. The buildings, the street, the people, even the clothes were different. The city, like London, was massive, but the streets were broader, blazing white. Some disappeared into little alleyways that slithered like dark serpents. Tom could easily see himself getting lost in such a place.

It was… humbling. He didn’t like it.

[wowbright]

Fic: Paper Boats

Fandom/pairing: Glee, Kurt/Blaine

Event: December Klaine Fanworks Challenge 2023 (sail)

Words: ~ 1350 words                                        

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: After Kurt returns to the United States, Blaine has trouble adjusting to a new companionship.

Notes: This is part of my Mormon!Klaine universe. It takes place after Out of Eden, which I am still in the process of posting to AO3. It’s among the likely possibilities for their future. Warning for situational depression, but the story ends on a hopeful note. Elder Nixon is Warbler Trent.

* * *

It had started as a beautiful, sunny day at the park, but now enough clouds had rolled in that the sun was blocked and the whole place had a gray, overcast vibe, which was not helping Blaine's mood at all. Just as bad, the floods of people walking through the park had slowed down to a trickle, which meant Blaine couldn't distract himself by striking up a new conversation with a stranger every few minutes.

He sat on a stone ledge a few meters away from the water fountain. There were a couple of kids walking around it, taking turns dragging a toy boat along the edge of the artificial pool by a bright yellow string. Well, he thought, that was one good thing. When the sky grew dark like this, colors grew more saturated. The chalk drawings he and Elder Nixon had made this morning with shades that looked almost pastel in direct sunlight were now full of deep, rich color. He stared at their depiction of the pre-mortal world lit by a rainbow sun. It was almost as bright and beautiful as an actual sunset. Blaine wished he was there now. In the pre-mortal world, he had never had to be apart from Kurt.

This mortal world sucked.

“Did you ever have one of those things?” Elder Nixon asked. He stood next to Blaine, nodding at the kids with their tugboat.

“No,” sighed Blaine. “There wasn't much water in Mesa accept for the reflecting pool at the temple, and I wasn't allowed to play in there of course.”

“We had a game we liked to play in the inflatable pool when we stayed at our summer cabin in Minnesota. Have you ever heard of Viking funeral?”

“I've heard of Vikings having funerals. Didn’t the rich ones get buried in their boats?”

“Maybe? This game may or may not have had its origins in actual Viking traditions. Basically, we’d make paper boats— Hey. Want to make some paper boats? We’ve got plenty of paper.” Without waiting for an answer, Elder Nixon sat down on the ledge next to Blaine and set the flyers he’d been holding in his hand between them. “There's more here than we can possibly give out. You learned to make paper boats, right? Even if they didn't let you float them in the reflecting pool?”

“Yeah,” Blaine said sullenly. “Not sure I remember how, though.”

"Well, I do. Here—" Elder Nixon demonstrated the first fold, and refused to proceed until Blaine copied him, and so on with the next and next, until each of them had a little paper boat with a stout triangular mast in the center. Blaine felt the memory reawakening in his muscles, so he made another one and then another one, each more crisply executed than the last.

“Now we to set them to sail,” Elder Nixon announced.

“Is that how you play Viking funeral?” Blaine asked, following Elder Nixon to the edge of the fountain. The kids were no longer there, having abandoned their toy boat in favor of dragging their grown up to follow a duck with them to the top of a grassy knoll.

“Not exactly. I don't have all the supplies for Viking funeral, and anyway, I'm pretty sure we could get in trouble for playing it here.”

“Oh?” Blaine’s interest was genuinely piqued. It was a feeling that had grown unfamiliar in the preceding weeks. He had managed to feign interest plenty, of course, and a few times he had almost managed to convince himself that he was genuinely engaged in talking to someone or learning something new. But then the black cloud would creep back in, and his brain would get foggy, and everything felt fake and unreal and pointless again.

“You put a birthday candle in the top of each boat and light it,” Elder Nixon said, recreating the motions on one of his paper boats before launching it on the water.

“Oh.” An image of dozens of paper boats floating at night on the same fountain, each topped with a single candle, popped into Blaine’s head. “But that sounds beautiful. Like Japanese water lanterns.” He set two of his own boats on the water.

“It was,” Elder Nixon said. “Except that's not the part we got excited for. Because when the candles burn down, all that's left to burn is the paper. So that was the fun part for us, seeing our entire fleet go up in flames. We would launch our boats toward each other’s to speed the process along. Oh, the beautiful destruction!” Elder Nixon chuckled at the memory.

And, for some reason, Blaine felt himself chuckling, too. He could imagine miniature Elder Nixon and his chubby-cheeked siblings, all looking like little blonde cherubs from the front of an old Victorian greeting card, standing around a poofy plastic pool and cheering on the firy demise of their entire fleet. Maybe it was the incongruity of it. Elder Nixon was so kind and sweet. It was hard to imagine him setting things ablaze for kicks.

“Hey,” Elder Nixon said with a fond smile, “you're laughing.”

“I guess I am,” Blaine said, and stopped.

“Oh no. I ruined the moment.”

“No, you didn't.”

“Yes, I did.”

"No, you really didn't,” Blaine said. There was something inside him that kept tugging him back to a baseline of gloominess, no matter what the people around him did. "None of this is your fault. I mean, I know I have a reputation as a ray of sunshine, but I can't shine all the time. Everything's just been so hard lately.”

“Since I became your companion,” Elder Nixon said.

“Not because you're my companion," Blaine said. “You help make it better than it would be otherwise. You’re patient and kind and you don't judge me. And I want to be more cheerful. I really do. And I thought I would be. But …” Blaine couldn't keep it a secret anymore. It was making everything worse—made him feel like he was sneaking around and had something to hide, and those things felt too close to shame to be any good for Blaine's mental health. He hadn't wanted to put this burden on Elder Nixon—but then again, why was Blaine thinking of it as a burden? Elder Nixon could do what he wanted with it. He could let it bring them closer together as friends, or he could report Blaine to the mission president. It was up to him. It was out of Blaine’s hands. “I just—” Blaine felt tears pushing against his eyes. That was probably a good thing. He hadn’t let himself cry in front of another person since Kurt left. “I miss Elder Hummel a lot.”

Elder Nixon put a hand on Blaine shoulder and gave it a solid pat. “I know. It's tough when a companion you really click with leaves.”

Blaine shook his head. “It's not just that, though. I miss him because I'm in love with him.” And then, because if he was in for a penny, he was in for a pound, he added with urgency, “I'm gay and I fell in love with my companion, and he loves me back, and half the time I just feel really stupid for staying here and not following him to Ohio. And if you need to tell the mission president, you can; I mean, I'd rather it be my own decision, but beggars can't be choosers—and anyway, I don't want to be a burden to you, and I feel like I have been, the whole time we've been working together.”

“You're not a burden, Elder Anderson,” Elder Nixon said, and he hugged Blaine, which was not a thing missionaries usually did in public, but they weren't supposed to have emotional outbursts in public either and, besides, the kids and their grown up were nowhere to be seen right now. “You're my friend. And I'm so glad you told me, because now I can be a better friend to you.”

[micamicster]

Micaaaaaa I am in need of a good TV show. IWTV left me craving for some good writing, please help 💙 I know some of your all-time favourites are Black Sails and The Wire, I gave them a try, but I'm afraid they're a bit too bleak for me :(( Any good recs?

Bestie this is a great question and im honestly a terrible person to direct it to because the truth is I really don't watch a ton of tv! But I'm gonna do my best!

Beneath the cut find a list of shows I think are particularly well written, divided into vague and confusing categories based on how similar to iwtv they might seem?

<3 <3 <3

(Totally get Black Sails and the Wire feeling too heavy. The wire in particular is imo the single most upsetting thing thats ever been put on television so I completely get not being up for it. But if anyone else is looking for shows I think are really well written those would be good places to start! Black Sails would be my first rec for iwtv fans tbh)

Dramas with syfy/fantasy elements:

Russian Doll: for literally anyone other than you (who's already watched it!) this would be my number one rec. One of the best (and specifically best written) shows of all time, has those spec fic surrealist elements, combines comedy and drama, just love it.

Andor: I know, I was surprised too. But despite being a star wars tv show it actually has writers that do a? good? job? And Diego Luna is spectacular. (If black sails was too grim this might also feel that way given our knowledge of the main character's fate, but it might be worth checking out anyway)

I forgot what i was going to put here

Not sf:

Reservation Dogs: Taika Watiti can be hit or miss for me, but this show is the best of his particular combination of humor and pathos. Also he's just really good at writing kids? (I would be remiss if I didn't point out that he has been (rightfully!) criticized for the antiblackness of couple of minor characters who appropriate black culture pretty egregiously, iirc they don't feature after season 1? But it is a flaw to be aware of). Why didn't I put this with the sitcoms? My mind is mysterious even to me

Bad Sisters: great 1 season irish show about a group of sisters trying to murder their sister's abusive husband. Again a really strong writing combo of humor and genuine emotion!

The Get Down: still not over this cancellation it hurt me in ways I can't even begin to explain... anyway a great show about the birth of rap in 70s nyc with beautifully thought out costumes, music, writing, visual style <3

The Americans: two russian spys undercover as an american suburban couple in the 80s is actually a vehicle for a probing exploration of marriage and intimacy. Also pretty grim (the cold war. yeah.) so idk if it would be for you.

The Knick: nobody ever watches this when I rec it because it's too gorey but I don't care! I love it! Period drama about a public hospital in early 1900s new york.

Sitcoms!: (sorry I know you've watched half of these just wanted to include them in case anyone else looked at this list!)

Derry Girls: this show is just hit after hit. Best written show about teens in the world!

We Are Lady Parts: See this entire blog. Genuinely one of the best shows ever made

American Vandal: Ok technically this is more of a mockumentary than a sitcom but i wasn't sure where else to put it. Season one in particular is some of the best tv show writing I've ever watched it is perfect in every way!

MASH: 70s sitcom about a US military field hospital during the Korean War. At its best it's hysterically funny, absurdist, and bitingly furiously anti-war. (At its worst it's racist, sexist, and boring. It was the 70s) This show was a cultural phenomenon, but it has literally over 200 episodes so I would recommend just googling for a best-of list and watching a handful to see if it works for you.

Atlanta: Donald Glover's surrealist sitcom about trying to manage his cousin's rap career in Atlanta. That's such a bad explanation of what this show is about i'm sorry but I'm not sure how to do better.

Shows I've watched between 1 episode and 1 season of, thought to myself "wow! this show is amazing!" but can't in good conscience recommend because I never really watched enough of them to qualify as an expert:

The Sopranos: everyone says it's the best tv show of all time and i watched season one, said wow they're right! and still haven't managed to get back to it! The pilot itself is so fucking funny like... mobster goes to therapy for his anxiety had to have been the pitch of all time

Station eleven: LOVED the book, heard really good things about the tv show, thought the pilot was amazing, got busy and couldn't finish it.

Babylon Berlin: this has the darkly romantic, opulent qualities of iwtv so it might be for you! Unfortunately I've seen less than half of it so I can't promise it doesn't go off the rails.

Breaking Bad: people are right! it's good! It's also (at least in season one, the only season I've watched so far) like someone made a slapstick comedy about a man cooking meth. In a good way!

You might want to just watch a couple gothic romances to scratch that iwtv itch! Check out an adaptation of Jane Eyre or Wuthering Heights!

WOW this is too hard. Just watch supernatural i guess

[kinnporsche]

and i’m back with another kinn & porsche rec list because i just can’t stop apparently! like the others, this list is ordered according to length (from longest to shortest), and each fic is by a different author (to help spread the love)! all fics that are not yet complete have been marked with (wip). also, it’s been over a year since this show grabbed me by the balls and it honestly doesn’t seem like it’s letting go any time soon! so, to all of the fic writers out there, i basically owe you my firstborn for continuing to sate my unending thirst for kp content. anyway, make sure to read the tags, and show the authors some love, because they deserve it! [part 5/?]

— bad bet by luckydragon – explicit / 190.7k words

The buyers who are coming to the auction today are from all over the world, according to the loud, pompous host. The host tells Porsche that he should be grateful for this opportunity.

They put jewelry on him. They cover a bruise with makeup. They tell him where to go and where to stand, and then he waits. He doesn’t resist, doesn’t fight it. He never fights unless he’s told to.

(Or: Kinn and Porsche first encounter each other at a very exclusive, very high-end auction. They end up having to flee the scene.)

— a stacked deck by patterpea – explicit / 99.8k words (wip)

After being shot in the head, Porsche found himself waking up a week before his and Kinn’s showdown in the back alley. With more information on the family he would choose to protect and the man he fell in love with, things may be easier this time around.

(Knowing his luck, probably not.)

— i gave a second chance to cupid by haeseolar – explicit / 61.2k words

Kinn doesn’t think much of it when his class is one minute late, but as the clock ticks over to ten past the hour, he starts getting suspicious. It’s normal for classes to overrun every so often. Hell, he’s even done it before—however, they’re never usually this late in arriving. He pushes his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose as they’ve gradually slid down while he was staring at the worksheets on his desk.

He sighs, glancing nervously at the clock on the wall. Two minutes, he promises himself, and then he’ll go figure out where the hell his class has disappeared off to.

— the less i know the better by mslunita – explicit / 45.1k words

“Well, then. Kinn.” Porsche’s voice saying his name sounds simultaneously like a threat and the promise of a good, good time. It doesn’t help that the bartender is leaning in towards his ear, his breath tickling the edge. “I don’t want you dead.”

“No?”

“No,” Porsche repeats back to him. He unexpectedly drops a kiss just below the ear he’s been whispering in, causing Kinn to shiver.

“I just want you naked.”

(Or: A bored Kinn joins Tinder in hopes of getting his rocks off with a different kind of guy. A very flirty and very bratty Porsche challenges him in just the right way.)

— smoke and raindrops ‘series by nuwildcat – explicit / 41.7k words

Taking a break in the back of Hum Bar shouldn’t have been what brought a vampire into Porsche’s life, but he’s always had shit luck. This vampire in particular is sticking around, and not just for the cocktails.

— beneath black sails by ahdriking – explicit / 31.8k words

Long ago, Porsche’s mother had left in search of a dream, never to return. Following in her footsteps, Porsche sets sail for the West Indies, nothing but a map in his pocket and hope in his heart to make a better life for himself and his brother.

And then his ship is attacked by pirates.

— heir apparent by achray – mature / 22.4k words (wip)

“Consequently, I have decided to make you my heir,” Korn says.

— what stays and what fades away by kurtstiel – explicit / 17.6k words

“You can show me how sorry you are.” Kinn puts the glass down on a nearby table. “Get on the bed.”

Porsche hesitates. He didn’t think this was the direction that Kinn would go in and it confuses him, coming now as it does with Kinn looking at him expectantly, no sign of the sorrow that’s haunted him for a week, like he’s finally come to a decision.

“Get on the bed,” Kinn repeats, arms crossed. “Take off your clothes.”

(Or: Porsche broke Kinn’s trust on the night he left to meet Vegas. Kinn comes up with a way for Porsche to earn that trust again.)

— mutatis mutandis by zipperbiter – explicit / 10.9k words

“Let me tell you something, Kinn.” Porsche murmured, sounding almost haughtily well-composed, reaching up with his opposite hand. He dragged his thumb across Kinn’s lower lip, pulling it down softly, observing the arousal in his expression as his boyfriend receptively opened his mouth a little further. “With me, you don’t take the power in the bedroom. I give it to you.”

(Or: During lunch, Tankhun poses a question. Between Kinn and Porsche, who’s the dominant one in the bedroom? To spare their privacy, Porsche gives a vague response, implying that it’s more complicated than it just being one of them. Kinn makes the mistake of snickering, and Porsche realizes it’s time to humble him.)

— love and violence by thewayside – explicit / 9.4k words

Love and violence have always been bedfellows for Kinn. Down to how his first proper relationship ended in a pool of blood. Porsche’s beauty might have drawn him in, but he knows in his gut that he met someone in kind that first night, blood coursing through their veins as the fight ended and Porsche led him onto a bike to a road he barely knew.

— more by rebellconquerer – explicit / 6.8k words

Porsche looks up at him, still holding Kim in the headlock through his continued struggles, and grins, split lip no longer bleeding but swollen, his sinful mouth red and flushed but teeth no longer framed with blood. His entire expression drips with an arrogance that makes Porsche seem wild, sparking like a live wire left on the ground, the electricity charging the air around him. It sets Kinn alight. He wants to push nearer to that thrumming energy until he can feel the static running along his teeth, threatening a shock that would have him moaning in pleasure-pain.

(Or: Kim and Porsche decide to work off their Chay-inspired anxiety by sparring publicly. Kinn has done nothing to deserve this.)

— you’re the heat that i know by fortunehasgivenup – explicit / 5.6k words

Kinn hasn’t slept in the same bed as Porsche in three days, and an apologetic phone call from Porsche an hour earlier had informed him that wouldn’t be changing tonight unless he took matters into his own hands.

So he does just that, going to the minor family’s house, only to find Porsche taking care of some business. Kinn decides that perhaps tonight he’d like things to go a different way.

— an indentation in the shape of you by butterflylungs – explicit / 3.1k words

Kinn can’t stop staring at the mark under his hand, the proof that he’s had Porsche. His stomach is burning with a strange fire, an all-encompassing heat, like a star burning up. He presses on the bruise, and Porsche jumps. When Kinn looks up he sees the same fire roaring to life in Porsche’s eyes; his pupils are blown wide-open, his pretty lips parted.

Kinn smiles slowly, pressing down more purposefully. Porsche’s chest rises and falls hard and fast as his breathing speeds up. He likes this. “I could’ve been marking you up the whole time,” Kinn muses.

(Or: Kinn finds out Porsche bruises easily, and he takes the chance to leave his mark on him.)

— i can’t stop and look the other way by mirrorofprinces – explicit / 3.1k words

“I thought you weren’t coming,” Porsche confesses, panting.

Kinn scrapes his teeth against Porsche’s pulse point. “One of these days, I won’t. You know that.”

Porsche shuts his eyes, heart pounding in his chest. “Yeah. I’ve heard that before.”

— sweet by theninjacat – explicit / 1.6k words

There’s a bead of sweat dripping down Kinn’s temple. That’s all Porsche can focus on as he sinks down onto Kinn.

[hgejfmw-hgejhsf]

Six Sentence Sunday!

Y'all! The amount of tags I've had pinging my phone throughout the day today as I tippity typed along on my New Year's Eve AU is astounding. I don't deserve all of you lovely humans wanting to read my words, but I'm grateful for it.

To @kiwiana-writes, @firenati0n, @ninzied, @sparklepocalypse, @notspecialbabe, @affectionatelyrs, @suseagull04, @ships-to-sail, @anincompletelist, and @happiness-of-the-pursuit, envision me pressing my hand to my heart with the biggest expression of love on my face. I adore y'all, and I'm loving everything you've already posted.

With that being said, would it be all right if I gave you all TWO sections of (sort of) six sentences from my first multichapter fic, starting posting this Wednesday, AND the New Year's Eve AU aka the first AU ever that wandered into my brain and took up residence? I sure hope so because y'all are gonna get these twelve-ish sentences anyway haha.

The official White House Christmas ornament arrives each year by way of an envelope they both know is from Zahra despite the fact that she’s never once signed her name to it. On more than one occasion, Alex has caught her smiling at each of the ornaments while visiting during the Christmas season. When she spots him watching, he’s typically met with the nearest throw pillow to the face, which he knows is her way of expressing her unconditional love for him, so he always ensures there’s a throw pillow on the edge of the couch closest to the tree when she comes for just such occasions. Bea has sent along some of Henry’s childhood ornaments, similar to Alex’s, and they combine Henry’s box of polo-playing figurines and a commemorative Oxford ornament with the lacrosse ornament from the tree at the White House and Alex’s commemorative Georgetown ornament. It’s Nora who managed to track down a special edition Rio Olympics ornament somewhere on the black market, or probably eBay. It had appeared in their mailbox one day with a note that said, “So you’ll never forget where it all started.” And when they Facetimed her, both crying and grateful, she’d waved them off and added, “I just hope it reminds you of all the times you could have been hooking up over the years” with a knowing wink.

AND

And his eyes…God, his eyes. Cast in the glow of passing strobes in a variety of colors, they seem to transform.  A green light passes, and they’re aqua, like a tropical sea in a land with no name somewhere just beyond the boundary of paradise. When he’s bathed in a yellow as bright as the early morning sun, his eyes flash emerald beneath. Bright red, the color of warning, of hazard, of stop please turn back and forget about the dangers that lay ahead, turns purple, diluting its energy into something less treacherous and far more regal, as if the gold in his mask and his carefully curated armor would be far better served as a glittering crown atop his already golden head. But it’s the white light slashing across his face to accent the original blue, as deep and fathomless as the ocean itself, that steals Alex’s breath. Like he could dive in and never surface, and he’d be perfectly happy drowning in the depths of Henry.

I still have a few hours, so I'm gonna toss some tags out for: @whimsymanaged, @inexplicablymine, @rockyroadkylers, @indestructibleheart, @littlemisskittentoes, @heybuddy-drabbles, @statueinthestonetoo, @vanillahigh00, and @ssmtskw

As always, consider this tag WIDE OPEN for all of you lovelies out there to share your work! Please please always tag me so I can read and yeet your work out into my little curated corner of the world!

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Character Ages in Animorphs Fic

In response to a few questions on my Eleutherophobia fic series, I wanted to spell out the logic of the character ages I’m using.

Jake is 13 when the war starts, 16 when it ends.  This one’s canon: in #53 he says “I was just thirteen when I started. I’m sixteen now.”

Tom is 16 when the war starts, 19 when it ends.  This is an educated guess.  In MM4, which is set at the same time as #1, “Tom” borrows his mom’s car and drives it across town, apparently legally.  So presumably he’s at least 16 when the war starts.  But Jake also says “Tom was going to live out the rest of his years till his eighteenth birthday locked in his room” if their parents found out he’s got a “handgun” (dracon beam).  So at least 16, but not much older, if there are “years” before he’s 18.

Rachel is 14 when the war starts, 17 when it ends.  This one’s pure speculation, but.  The reason I headcanon Rachel as a few months older than Jake is how she sees him early on in the war.  In #2 especially she seems to look at him like a little brother: “Jake is like me, being a little crazy... It bothered me that he was a faster diver than I was.” Later, when she tries to protect him by getting him to leave, she says “Sorry Jake, this time I’m the boss” and tries to dump him off, confirming with a fake plea and “If he had lied to me, he would answer now” — and then she’s shocked that he did lie and didn’t answer her.  Unlike the others, who start the war looking up to Jake for various reasons, Rachel dismisses him as a potential leader at first, and only gradually comes to respect him enough to follow his lead.  As somebody who grew up friends with many of my first cousins, I can relate to the struggle to see the ones younger than me as adults, even the ones that are within months of my age.  Throw in Rachel’s relative level of maturity, grasping almost immediately that “They’ll probably [kill] me but at least they’ll never find out about the rest of you” (#2) in contrast with Jake’s view (according to Marco) that the war is “some video game” (#1), and I just think it fits the characters.

Eva is 36 when the war starts, 39 when it ends.  More speculative still!  However, I like the idea of Eva coming from a relatively traditional gender role: we know she’s Catholic (Visser) and immigrated at a young age (#20).  We also know she’s “incredibly beautiful” (#15) with “shampoo-commercial black hair” (#30) and she had a somewhat troubled marriage to a genius astrophysicist (#15) where she did almost all of the housework and childcare (#5).  She’s also physically fit enough to climb mountains and sail sailboats unassisted.  So I headcanon Eva being younger than Peter, married by 20 and with a kid by 23, and having a pretty traditional marriage — Peter with the only income, Eva a full-time parent — before Edriss shows up.

Anyway, Jake’s literally the only character with a canonical age, and K.A. Applegate has said that there were no attempts to plot a coherent timeline for the series, so I don’t think that any of these are the One True Way to interpret Animorphs.  They’re just my preferred interpretations.

[goblins-riddles-or-frocks]

More for the commentary:

It only makes her cry harder. The soft rustle of the heavy silks falling into place is mortifying.

The Darkling sighs, reaching inside his kefta and retrieves a silk handkerchief, of course even this is black. He dabs at her tear streaked face.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

He strokes her hair. “My informants in Ketterdam report never actually spotting him at University. Do you suppose he has a mistress?”

“I…don’t think so.”

“You haven’t accepted, have you?”

She shakes her head.

“Of course not. Well with any luck he’ll be besotted enough to come back. Write to him, string together whatever romantic nonsense you can think of. That you miss him, that you’re eagerly awaiting his return to court, and that you’ll have your answer for him when he does. That will give him something to look forward to.”

“I don’t know if I can even send him anything.”

“His mother writes to him. His replies are slow, but credibly his own. I suspect there is a go-between but wherever he goes traipsing off to, he’s still able to receive correspondence.”

She nods, not sure she wants to know how he’s so certain of these things.

“When you are invited to the Tsaritsa’s parlor for tea, you must attend. Don’t beg off with a headache, or that you’re behind on studies. Go. Endear yourself to her, tell her about your little sailing trip, and ask her opinion for wedding preparations. Start picking colors and the style of lace.”

“I will,” she says hoarsely.

The Darkling sighs. “Go sleep off your woes. We have a long journey ahead of us. You need rest.” He kisses her temple. It’s a struggle not to curl into him, to cling for comfort, and that’s always what hurts her most, far more than his cutting words. She thinks, no matter what else she feels, she might hate him a little for it.

DVD Commentary Meme

Oh man. So this is the fun drama fic but it’s also really not. The main relationship throughline is so miserable.

It only makes her cry harder. The soft rustle of the heavy silks falling into place is mortifying. 

I will be very real with you, I first wrote this scene to be set after they’ve already gotten to the Little Palace, so this was supposed to be a door shutting. And I think like that sound can have like a sense of finality.

I ultimately thought the encampment was a more fun setting and I switched out that beat for the tent flap but shfhff it doesn’t have that same vibe.

Anyway he did humiliate her on purpose here! He’s of the opinion— and has cultivated that perspective in her— that any sign of emotion or vulnerability is inexcusable weakness. So it’s a pretty loaded choice that he would invite someone in to see her sobbing openly (unsaid: like a child, how immature, and melodramatic etc) because he reprimanded her. And that’s not a faceless guard or servant she’s never going to speak to at length. That’s David! She’s going to have to look him in the eye later!

The Darkling sighs, reaching inside his kefta and retrieves a silk handkerchief, of course even this is black. He dabs at her tear streaked face. 

So. So this is abusive lol. This dynamic is meant to be read as abusive. And while he’s never lashed out at her quite like this before she does note later that there’s a pattern to him berating her or icing her out (hurting her on purpose basically) and then either comforting her or at least trying to win her over again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

😞

He strokes her hair. “My informants in Ketterdam report never actually spotting him at University. Do you suppose he has a mistress?”

There is literally no way in hell he’d guess what Nikolai’s actually up to

“I…don’t think so.”

Alina’s like “I’m not sure he’d have the time 😭”

“You haven’t accepted, have you?”

Said with familiarity and exasperation. I think a key difference between this fic and canon is that there is genuine familiarity? In the books he like never at all wraps his head around who Alina is as a person, but at this point he’s had more time/she’s just grown to be more like him so she’s less confounding to him.

She shakes her head. 

This is an interesting point of continued defiance for her imo bc it’s like both out of her wanting to convey somehow that her relationship with Aleksander means something to her? She is emotions driven, he thinks all emotions must be crushed lmao. So even though it’s… ostensibly about him/in his favor almost… she’s still like going against him by being like “Hey my feelings matter.” It’s also like the single bit of agency she has in the larger situation of the engagement that like everyone else have arranged and decided for her.

“Of course not. Well with any luck he’ll be besotted enough to come back. Write to him, string together whatever romantic nonsense you can think of. That you miss him, that you’re eagerly awaiting his return to court, and that you’ll have your answer for him when he does. That will give him something to look forward to.” 

Of course he has to take a moment to point out that she was stubborn and didn’t do what he wanted— even though at the moment it does play into his strategy lmao

“I don’t know if I can even send him anything.”

This is more her being reluctant. Her dynamic with Nikolai has been refreshingly genuine and she doesn’t want to fabricate like flowery declarations of love that he would either see through, or worse! Take seriously.

“His mother writes to him. His replies are slow, but credibly his own. I suspect there is a go-between but wherever he goes traipsing off to, he’s still able to receive correspondence.”

Credibly his own because… he’s been surveilling his correspondence… for how long?

She nods, not sure she wants to know how he’s so certain of these things. 

There’s a couple times in this fic where Alina considers something about him and is like “You know what? I don’t want to know!”

“When you are invited to the Tsaritsa’s parlor for tea, you must attend. Don’t beg off with a headache, or that you’re behind on studies. Go. Endear yourself to her, tell her about your little sailing trip, and ask her opinion for wedding preparations. Start picking colors and the style of lace.” 

The hopefully evident implication is that she also hates court niceties and has been ignoring them as much as possible. That this is a recurring invitation (among many) she has avoided with some minor drama.

She’s kind of mimicking Aleksander’s behavior tbh but he gets away with it in a way that she doesn’t. Both because he’s like… running an entire army, but also it is just more acceptable for him to hate formal events as a man. Alina is kind of kept at court as a novelty, and there’s a gendered element to the expectation that she’s going to be like a source of fun parlor tricks. And her refusing to play along is itself part of why she’s rather out of favor atm.

“I will,” she says hoarsely. 

She’s just happy to have something specific to do so he can stop being angry at her 😞

The Darkling sighs. “Go sleep off your woes. We have a long journey ahead of us. You need rest.” He kisses her temple.

I think at this point he is internally cooling down a bit. And is like. oh… that was… perhaps… too much. I think there is some chagrin and even genuine concern here. But we don’t talk about feelings in this house. And also there is the high handed angle of like oh go sleep it off we’re just going to pretend this didn’t happen.

It’s a struggle not to curl into him, to cling for comfort, and that’s always what hurts her most, far more than his cutting words. She thinks, no matter what else she feels, she might hate him a little for it. 

😞😞😞😞

He’s really the only source of comfort she has? At all? There’s no other place she’s getting any sort of support from at this point. She’s fully isolated and emotionally dependent on him and she knows and resents that. She’s kind of been made into his satellite.

[jaynovz]

copying my reply verbatim to do the thing Properly:

hello public use silver 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

I decided to answer the first one and just tag the others who asked heheh 😂 @hms-tardimpala @etoilesombre

So a very long time ago, in 2021, I was sort of batting ideas around with various folks about ship's whore of the Walrus John Silver instead of ship's cook. As in, to make up for stealing the page he would be thrown into the fuck tent because he can't cook anyway and he can't sail so what good is he ahem, except for certain things? And historically sailors were all very gay about getting needs met while at sea ESPECIALLY using pretty little boys like John Silver bc uh. Look at him?

Around that same time then I read a hazing fic by @asterofthevoid which was particularly inspiring and I wrote a lot of notes down in my concept doc but then went on to other projects for a while.

And so anyway I was starting to think about it again recently and about how no one even made any crass remarks about fucking him and that's not very historically accurate, is it? Like even if they didn't actually go through with it, sailors are pretty vulgar and need to blow off steam by making ribald jokes which is a thing they do all the time in other representations of this period and they would ABSOLUTELY make mention of how pretty Silver was it's frankly NOTICEABLY ODD how Black Sails avoids it.

Anyway all that to say I started drafting a Silver messes up with the pig during careening ep somewhat alt canon where they don't immediately go after the Andromache and the crew are Done with his shit and want a piece of his ass to soothe their tempers. And so instead of having it forced he sets it up all snakey scheming but still very dub con.

All of this is of course a setup to make Flint very possessive and have weird feelings about it and then a funneled into a borderline fetish hurt/comfort with its own FASCINATING powerplay/power imbalance sort of scenario after the actual public use Silver part comes in with the entire Walrus crew.

Some prelim dialogue notes for your viewing pleasure --

(Silver gathering the crew in the galley, addressing them very 2.2 style, dramatic, flourish-y, sultry, showman) "I humbly apologize for joining under false pretenses. And I wish to make it up to you. All of you. By offering myself as a gift as apology for leaving you unsatisfied in your suppers. But I will improve and in the meantime I guarantee full satisfaction for every man in this ahem, particular endeavor." -- (Flint reaction during the act, hissing at Gates) "You have to stop this, it cannot be allowed to continue." (Gates eyeing Silver and the crew publicly fucking him, all cheering etc, with calculating expression, then makes a face, shrug) "Nah, the lad is right, Captain. It would have happened one way or another. Pretty little thing like that on this ship? He's a good lad, good that he knows it. Look at him, it's like he was made to take it." "If I were a few years younger I'd give him a go myself." (ironic chuckle, completely unfazed by this) "It'll keep the crew happy, even more so that he's doing it willingly. Unless you're keeping him all to yourself, might as well let it play out." (Flint turns to Billy with wordless rage/frustration but he agrees) (Billy distasteful expression but resigned) "Hate to admit it Captain, but they've been restless since the disastrous careening. It'll stay another mutiny attempt."

Anyway!! this will probably get written in a fugue state one weekend (because I'm finding it very hard to write things during the week when I'm working.) But I have basically the whole thing outlined so it'll just burst out of me like a flood of... Well. 👀

Thanks all three of you for asking!!

[patchworkgargoyle]

oc fic: date night

Another slightly older ficlet for @strangerthingsocweek! There's a few that haven't seen the internet outside of a discord server and I'm excited for others to read them. C:

Pairing: OMC x transmasc Gareth x transmasc OMC || Rating: M just in case || Words: 1,774 || Tags/CWs: vague mentions of non-sexual nudity, so much fluff, song lyrics in fic OCs Featured Tig: OMC, @steves-strapcollection Dominik: transmasc OMC, mine Set in the future of Ger's fics "here i have found some peace of mind" and the latest (!!!) "down on your two knees (to save your soul)" Song List Planet Caravan - Black Sabbath Stand By Me - Weezer Guardian - Æther Realm

It’s late when Tig finally gets home, so he opens and closes the door softly. He has no idea if Gareth and Dom are still awake, but if they aren’t, he doesn’t want to wake them. Gareth wouldn’t even twitch normally, but Dom’s a light sleeper. So Tig slips out of his shoes, nudges them into their spot by the door, and walks quietly in his socked feet towards the bedroom.

The bedside lamp is on, comforting yellow light spilling into the hallway through the cracked door. As he gets closer he can hear faint music—tinny, from a phone speaker—and singing. Gareth, singing. Tig knows the smile that stretches his lips is stupidly fond; he doesn’t sing much, not on his own. Really, Gareth mostly just does it for fun, so hearing him sing, he assumes, to Dom, makes Tig happy in a way that bubbles and bursts in his chest. It’s too bad that the song sounds like it’s wrapping up, Tig loves hearing him sing, loves knowing it means he feels happy, comfortable. Safe. Gareth trails off with it, and Dom hums softly.

“I can see why you like it,” Tig hears Dom say, surprisingly sincere. His walls are down, the armour’s gone, and any lingering worries Tig had about their date night disappear with a small, relieved sigh.

“Yeah?” Gareth asks.

“Mhm, fucking great drum line. And the singer’s in your range, so that’s a bonus.”

Gareth snorts. “Dunno if that’s a bonus–”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dom says kindly, “do you really think I’d lie to you if you weren’t a good singer?” Gareth’s bark of laughter makes Tig’s grin widen. “Fuckin’ thought so. Christ.”

“You’re shit at this complimenting people thing.”

“That’s it, I’m leaving–”

There’s some shuffling, but from Dom’s tone Tig knows he’s joking. He leans against the wall and listens to Gareth's protests, laughter in his voice, and does his best to keep from laughing too.

“Oh my god, you drama queen, get back here.” 

Dom scoffs in offence, complains some more. Gareth teases back, and there’s more shuffling, but it sounds like Gareth’s wrangled Dom back into the bed again with very little effort. Once they’ve settled in again, Gareth says, “Your song next, anyway.”

“Fine,” Dom sighs, his annoyance completely fake. There’s silence before a familiar song starts to play, and Dom starts to sing.

“We sail through endless skies

Stars shine like eyes

The black night sighs”

Tig closes his eyes and listens. He’s heard Dom sing this before, and it clicks that they must be showing each other some of their favourite songs. Singing them to each other.

This is what Tig imagined, back when he first met Gareth and wanted to introduce him to Dom so badly. Well, not this exactly. This is so fucking sweet he can feel cavities forming. But the teasing, the bitchy jokes, the laughter. He knew they’d fit well and it feels pretty damn good to keep being proved right.

There’s a break in the lyrics and Gareth chuckles a little. “Are you really playing air bass right now?”

“Yes, fuck off–” Dom cuts himself off to start singing again and Gareth laughs at him for it. Tig bites his lip hard so he doesn’t make a sound. When the song ends, though, Dom asks, “Any others you got?”

“Uh. Maybe. Just don’t, like, judge me for it.”

Dom gasps. “Me? Judge someone?”

A smack of skin on skin, and Dom gives a muted, miffed ow, my tit while Gareth says flatly, “I mean it.”

“I won’t judge you.” Dom says it lightly, but with a seriousness that makes Tig ache a little.

After a moment, Gareth says, “Okay,” still seeming a little unsure, but then the music starts and Tig straightens up. Gareth’s sung this to Tig before and now he knows why he’s a little nervous.

“When the night has come

And the land is dark

And the moon is the only light we'll see

No I won't be afraid, oh, I won't be afraid

Just as long as you stand, stand by me

So darlin', darlin'...”

Gareth still sings, even though he’s nervous, his voice a little unsteady as the cover plays. But as soon as the chorus starts, Dom begins to harmonise with him. It throws Gareth off and he fumbles the lyrics a little, but Dom urges him on with an encouraging keep going and they sing together as the music swells, Gareth getting more confident as the song goes on.

He can’t bear it. It’s so fucking tender. They’re singing a love song to each other. Tig uses every bit of his restraint to keep from running in there and smothering them with affection because he refuses to break the moment. But then he hears them start to kiss between the lyrics and Tig cannot be expected to hold out any longer, he figures.

When Tig joins in for the last lines, his deep voice complimenting the other men’s in a way that feels so satisfying, so right, he hears them both laugh as the song fades out and he finally peers around the door with a grin.

They’re lying under the covers, shirtless and propped up by pillows against the headboard. Gareth is tucked under Dom’s arm, curled into his side. Their hair is a little messy, and they both look relaxed, so Tig does a knowing eyebrow wiggle that Dom copies and makes Gareth roll his eyes.

“Well aren’t you two just the cutest darn things,” Tig says, hamming up his accent. Both men flip him off simultaneously with deeply unimpressed faces and Tig laughs so hard he has to hold himself up on the doorframe to keep from falling over. Dom and Gareth can’t seem to help laughing too.

Fuck, he loves them both so fucking much that he feels like the luckiest bastard alive.

When he can finally breathe again without breaking out into giggles, Tig walks into the room, avoiding the clothes scattered on the floor. “Looks like your date went well,” he says with an encouraging smile. Dom nods just as Gareth wobbles his hand from side to side with a bored look, which gets him a glare and a pinch in the side.

“Don’t fucking,” Dom mockingly wobbles his hand, “when you said like ten fucking minutes ago you had a great time.”

Gareth’s cackling as he says, “You’re so touchy, jesus christ. Fine, yes, I had a great time. Nine out of ten date, would date again.”

“Nine out of ten?” Dom’s outright incredulous and Gareth looks like the cat that ate the canary. Tig’s so contentedly happy he wants to shake something. Instead, he decides he needs to be in bed with them right fucking now, so he strips all the way down while they bicker and climbs under the blanket—pleased to find them both naked still—to wrap himself around Gareth. Tig sneaks an arm under him and tucks it around his waist, pressing a kiss to Gareth’s hair while his other hand finds a home on Dom’s hip, pulling them both closer.

“Don’t wind him up too much, love, or he’ll explode,” Tig warns with a smirk at Dom, who turns his harmless glare onto Tig. He can feel Gareth giggling against his chest and can’t help but squeeze the both of them.

“You have a good time with Charlie and Eric?” Gareth asks.

“Yup. Fucked around and played some games. Roger stopped by too.”

“Sounds nice,” Gareth says, then tilts his chin up for a kiss. Tig kisses back with a pleased hum.

Dom’s free hand rests on Tig’s, his thumb brushing over his knuckles. “How long were you spying on us for?”

“Just before Planet Caravan. I knew you two were sweet, but singing your favourite songs to each other? That’s the cutest shit I’ve seen in a long time.” Both men grumble half-hearted protests and Tig grins into Gareth’s frizzed-out hair. Being able to smell Dom’s cologne in Gareth’s hair makes heat stir low in his gut, but he pushes it down. For now.

“Since you’re mocking us, we should get to hear one of yours,” Dom demands. Gareth nods, enthusiastic, and Tig really can’t resist either of them so he folds like wet tissue paper and grabs Gareth’s phone to unlock it.

He has a song in mind already, though the thought of sharing it does make his heart beat a little faster. But if Gareth can be vulnerable, so can he. So Tig searches up the song, the first few yearning piano notes ringing out before Tig starts singing, low and quiet.

“When the road is long

And the night has come

I will stay with you

We will see this through…”

Tig’s voice shakes a little at the first pre-chorus, emotions crowding his throat as he sings the harshes clean instead, and he feels Dom squeeze his hand while Gareth leans further into Tig’s chest and kisses his collarbone. It buoys him up through the rest of the song, and when the piano fades out his gaze is drawn straight to Dom.

Dom’s face is a potent mix of heartbreak and so much love that Tig can only sheepishly shrug at. Scoffing, Dom sits up, keeping his arm around Gareth as he reaches over to cup Tig’s cheek. Tig lets himself be pulled closer, sighs into the kiss as their lips meet in a way that’s both familiar and still a little new. When they part, Dom’s giving him this fond look that also somehow conveys how ridiculous he thinks Tig is, which he returns with a goofy grin.

“You’re both such fucking saps.”

That shocks a laugh out of Tig. He and Dom turn to Gareth, who’s doing a poor job of hiding his own fondness. Dom looms over Gareth, gets into his space, and says, “You started it.” He starts to sing Stand By Me again, but Gareth slaps a hand over Dom’s mouth. That, Tig knows, is never a good idea.

Gareth yelps and wrenches his hand away, clutching it to his chest and he stares, affronted, at Dom, who’s smirking down at him. “You fucking bit me!”

“Not for the first time tonight, darling.”

A blush paints Gareth’s cheeks pink, and Tig easily gives into the urge to lean down and pepper his face with kisses. Gareth complains, but it’s just a front. The way he squirms between Tig and Dom says he’s more than happy where he is.

And Tig, gazing adoringly at the two men in his arms, his heart so full it could burst? He is too.

[rookfeatherrambles]

A little snippet. A taste. A morsel of my new AU/Fic

HI TUMBLR I HAVE SOMETHING TO SHARE! I give you my first real contribution to the Storm Singer AU/FIC! I've got a plan to write a bunch of things I want to see and then weave them together into a fic to put on AO3 so right now, all I have is disjointed snippets, but I've decided to show you the entirety of this scene I'm just calling 'At Dawn - Jmart' in my docs because I suck at naming things! I hope you enjoy! Also: If you want to follow this project as it develops, I'm going to tag all things related to it with #The Storm Singer AU! Also, Martin is He/They and Jon is He/It! Bear with me as I learn how to write and place different pronouns! ANYWAY, HERE YOU GO! EDIT: FINALLY EDITED IT SO THE PRONOUNS AREN'T SWITCHING BACK AND FORTH SO MUCH. FOR THIS, MARTIN IS A THEY, JON IS A HE!

AT DAWN --- The sky was still strewn with stars when Martin quietly packed their bag and crept out of the house they shared with their father. The streets were sparsely lit with lamps, many of them having guttered out in the early morning gloom. Martin found themself invigorated as they walked down the winding streets towards the bay, its waters reflecting the light of the moon overhead.

Their heart was thumping but they felt light and sure of themselves as they walked along the boardwalk towards the beach. Twice, they found his gaze drawn upwards towards the heavens and all the mysteries that resided there, out of reach, in the sky.

Stars so old they'd watched the rise and fall of empires, dynasties, and families. Martin's grandfather, and their father before them, sailing under the same stars, and across the same sea. There was something so breathtakingly awesome about that.

But if they stood there gazing skyward and wondering about the universe and their place in it, they'd be there for hours. Martin dropped their bag onto the soft sand and went to retrieve their rowboat from where it was hidden beneath the pier.

The tide was eager, and so was Martin. They gathered their things back up and climbed in, and began their journey out into the dark waters.

For a while, there was no sound but the quiet splash of their oars as they rowed themself into the night. The wind blew lightly, and the temperature was just shy of chill, but Martin didn't mind.

Once the city of (Name pending lmao) was reduced to glittering fireflies on the shore, Martin stopped rowing.

Their little boat bobbed up and down gently on the waves and they were consumed with the feeling of being so very small. The sky undimmed in the hours before dawn, was an expanse they would absolutely lose themself in if they had the option.

But they'd travelled out to the bay in secrecy for a purpose. And after taking a steadying breath, Martin started to speak.

The words were nothing special, at least they'd say so. Their aptitude for poetry always felt middling at best, but right now, it wasn’t the prose they were focusing on, but how they spoke it, how their voice ebbed and flowed like the tide, tone and nuance rising and falling like the water that surrounded them.

Martin was waiting for something, and they didn't have to wait long.

From below the waves came a strange glow, ethereal, almost beautiful. It rose gracefully, brightening the water like an aquatic, silver comet, tail and all. They dared to dip their fingers into the light and it dimmed the sea to blackness once more before a long-fingered hand slipped into theirs from below. Martin's heart gave a dizzy lurch and he gasped as Jon's head surfaced from beneath, long dark hair liquid in the night. His eyes were luminescent green and reflected the moonlight as he stared up at the human he'd been hoping to see.

"Hi," Martin breathed.

Jon smiled, and let go of their hand to haul himself up the last few inches and chastely kiss Martin's lips, careful not to upset the boat. The contact was expected, and yet Martin’s body trembled with nerves and thrilled at the sensation.

"I-I didn't know if you'd come," Martin said in a rush as soon as the siren had drawn back. Jon let out an amused sound in the back of his throat. "Likewise. I assumed... you'd had enough adventure for one lifetime."

Thankful the night hid their blush, Martin coughed a little. "Yes, well... sharks."

Jon's arms crossed over the edge of the boat, rocking it a little as he sighed and rested his chin against them. "I wouldn't have let them harm you. All denizens of the sea answer to the storm singer. They were just curious about you. You are a curious thing to us, Martin, can you blame them?"

Martin giggled nervously and the sound was pitched high in a way that made Jon smile indulgently. "Next time-" he began but Martin let out another gasp. "Next time? You want a next time for me swimming with sharks, Jon?"

Jon rolled his green eyes skyward and then continued as if Martin hadn't interrupted. "Next time, I'll introduce you to a less inquisitive species."

"Oh, I'm sure that will make all the difference. They're sharks!"

Reaching out, Jon poked Martin. "And you're a human and I'm a mer, I'm so glad you've learned the differences between creatures," he deadpanned.

"Jon."

"Martin~"

Martin threw their hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright, you win. I guess I'll have to swim with sharks the next time I'm out here. Are you coming up?"

Onto the boat, was what they meant and Jon's face crinkled up under the moonlight in a way that made his markings dance as he laughed silently. "If you had a bigger ship, perhaps. As it stands, if I put any more weight onto your flimsy hollow log, it's going to turn into kindling and you are going to drown. Again.”

There was definitely truth to his words, Martin could spy Jon's long tail coiling and drifting in the water. It was powerful and hypnotic to watch it undulate. The silver patterns all over it were dim tonight, but they knew that was because Jon was relaxed. It made them feel good that Jon could let his guard down around them.

"Well, come up a little bit," they cajoled. "Please?"

The siren arched an eyebrow. "Another kiss?" 

Martin hmm'ed gently. "For a fish, you're really good at it."

"For a fish??"

Jon's aghast and affronted tone had Martin giggling again. "Ah-! Ahaha.. you know what I mean! Fish- fish person? You know I didn't- Whoa!!"

The rowboat rocked so suddenly, Martin unbalanced, but Jon's hands had them, cupping both their cheeks as he pressed his lips hard to theirs. Oh.

Martin's heart did a funny little flip flop and they were pretty sure they made the most embarrassing noise against Jon’s mouth. Still, Jon kissed them like he was hungry, all lips and tongue and a little teeth, though Martin never bled, a testament to how gentle Jon was being with them. When they were dizzy again, that was the moment the siren released them, steadying Martin and the boat as he slipped back down into the water next to it.

"Oh." Martin said, intelligently, trying to herd their thoughts back to coherency. "Th-That was..."

Jon licked his lips. "Enough compensation for me not being draped in your arms at this moment?" There was a satisfied purr in his voice.

"Y-Yes," Martin said, nodding. "Definitely."

On the horizon, a band of brighter sky quietly made itself known, gently pink, not red. Jon turned his head to glance towards it. "Dawn," he said, voice soft. Martin hated the resigned tone of it. "Stay with me?" they asked, no, begged, reaching out to take Jon's hand and hold it. "Until the sunrise?"

There was conflict in the beautiful siren’s eyes as he looked between the imminent break of day and back to Martin's hopeful expression. But then, Jon sighed, squeezing the human's hand. "Of course."

Martin smiled and they both turned to watch the sky get brighter, the stars slowly fading out, a beautiful blue colour overtaking the darkness, followed by pure light. Martin squinted their eyes painfully as the sun rose in all its dazzling glory, spilling liquid gold across the world, but one look at Jon stole their breath away and made them forget how much their eyes were watering.

Jon’s deep brown skin glittered, not with water droplets, but minute flecks of scales catching the sun and reflecting it back. His eyes and the pale strands in his dark brown hair shone fiercely too, and in that moment, Martin understood how humans of yore had worshipped beings like Jon as gods for eons. He was indescribably beautiful, and Martin's inelegant, poetic ramblings could never capture the emotion in their chest when they looked at the man they loved. And then the moment was over, and Jon turned his head back to Martin, eyes a little sad. "I have to go now. You understand, don't you?"

Martin did. Jon was hunted, for his crimes against the people of the city and the crime of simply being what he was. As much as they didn't want to let that hand slip from their grasp, they knew they had to.

"I'll come back," Martin promised as Jon pulled away, fingertips lingering on their palm. "And you can show me as many sharks as you'd like."

Jon paused, eyes glittering with something that Martin didn't want to yet classify as love. It wasn't their right. Nor did they think they were worthy of it, not when they were keeping so many dangerous secrets from him.

"Is that a promise?"

Martin grinned, their own blue-green eyes shining. "On my honour, I will pet all the sharks. I promise."

The skin around Jon’s eyes crinkled when he smiled, and not for the first time, Martin wished they were a visual artist instead of a wordsmith, they would have loved to capture that expression, those eyes in that face, and preserve it for eternity.

"Goodbye," Martin whispered, and then Jon disappeared beneath the water with barely a ripple and was gone.

A gull cried far above him and Martin let out a shuddering breath, blinking away sudden wetness in their eyes. After a silent moment of composure in the warm sunlight, they picked up their oars and began rowing for home.

[manabombs]

omg @queer-crusader vampirates being mentioned by someone other than me 🥲 i’d been considering making a post about this for a while but wasn’t sure how many people were even paying attention…

State of the Vampirates Address

I initially started with the idea of Charles Vane returning from the dead as a vampire & turning Jack into a vampire*, and found the concept way more compelling than my usual vampire nonsense, so it spiraled out from there.

*Jack obviously wants to turn Anne into a vampire also but she's like "I can't be your vampire bride Jack" so they have to negotiate their relationship around all that

I ended up going in the direction of Buffy Crossover because I thought of D'Hoffryn offering Flint the opportunity to become a vengeance demon (like Anya, but specializing in vengeance against the British Empire. It has kept him very busy for the past 300 years.) Then I had the notion of him eventually meeting Buffy, which is a plotline I spent a lot of time trying to develop and not a lot of time actually writing.

I struggled more with what I wanted to do with Silver; there were a couple different possibilities I considered but I never fully committed to anything. I think there are some compelling parallels between him & Faith though.

Before I get deeper into explaining wtf was going on with my Black Sails/BtVS crossover, I should probably explain why it's indefinitely shelved: When I decided to make a big fanfic out of this concept, I knew that I was envisioning something overambitious that I would probably never finish writing, but it always existed in relation to my Original Novel concept that I've been Trying To Write for ages, but had fallen into a rut with. Buffy had been one of my major inspirations way back when I originally conceived of these characters as a teenager, but over the years I had reworked the project over and over again, getting further & further away from that. Working on this crossover project allowed me to figure out a lot about what aspects of these shows compel me so much in the first place.

I started working on this in late 2019-early 2020…. so at a certain point I was given motivation to simply throw myself full force into this project, even if it ultimately just resulted in me churning out about 65k of self-indulgent super niche fic that was only intended to be Act 1 out of ??. The more I worked on it, the longer the project seemed, the more I wanted to completely rework everything that I had already written… which was way more work than I want to put into fanfic, sorry.

Anyway, at some point I began to feel Inspired to work on my original fiction, which was kind of was I was hoping for the whole time. I've been making great progress on that, and at some point I just went and made the chapters of crossover fic that I had published on AO3 set to private, since I'm not satisfied with them and have no idea if I will ever work on that again…. I've taken plot elements that were really Working for me and reworked them for my own fiction purposes… I've considered working on some one-shots in the future though.

More rambling about details from the shelved Black Sails/Buffy project:

There was a point in the development process where I decided that I needed way more female characters, and since this crossover was already incredibly niche, I decided to make it even MORE alienating by making it a crossover with the show Harlots also. It fit nicely into the timeline, since it takes place shortly after Angel got turned into a vampire & caused all sorts of problems in the British Isles, so I decided that a couple of my favorite characters from Harlots got turned into vampires in the aftermath of that.

Max Blacksails started dabbling in magic using books that Jack & Charles had stolen. My original concept for Anne was also related to her gravitating towards witchcraft-- I liked the image of her telekinetically controlling knives like Willow does at various points in BtVS, developing these abilities after her hands were injured. But I've become increasingly drawn towards the idea of werewolf Anne… at first I wasn't sure how she would even end up getting turned into a werewolf, but tbh it's kind of funny to me to think that she would just fuck off on her own one day and somehow contract lycanthropy, and not bother to explain to anyone how it happened.

I had vague outlines of a Max/Anne/Willow situation, in which Willow has drawn too much attention to herself as a witch after performing the spell to empower a bunch of new Slayers.

Eleanor got reincarnated and is the head of the reformed Watcher's Council. I initially did this because I hate the trope of "vampire's long lost love interest got reincarnated", so I had some notion of subverting it… this ultimately resulted in me coming to the conclusion that Eleanor should have a threesome with Charles & Jack. I have said this about like half the characters in Black Sails, so I really should have expected it.

There was also some self-indulgent Spike/Xander stuff going on. I just think the idea of them interacting with Jack is funny okay. I don't have to explain myself. If you want to know thebn you should have been there.

[lichfucker]

to cross running water is a very intriguing title i would like to know more <3

g-d okay so tcrw is my behemoth black sails canon retelling where everything is the same except flint is a vampire

thomas was also a vampire but miranda is human. she's flint's only food source because he has a whole Thing about not drinking from his crew (partially because he doesn't want anyone to KNOW that he's a vampire, and partially because drinking someone's blood releases this sort of aphrodisiac venom that makes it feel Really Really Good to the human so that they're more willing to let you drink their blood again and flint is. closeted. lmao. he's in the gay closet AND the vampire closet)

I plan to alternate back and forth between miranda's pov and flint's pov until miranda dies, and from there I'm not sure if I should introduce silver's pov as well or just ride it out to the end in flint's pov

this was the first black sails fic I started writing but it's such a huge undertaking. I started hagfic to avoid working on it lmao

g-d okay I spent way too long trying to decide on an excerpt to share so just. here you go:

“—with his teeth!”

“The fucking accountant?”

“Sounds like a load of shit if you ask me.”

“Good thing nobody asked you, then.”

“We’re really talking about Dufresne? That whiny little bitch with a face like a fat tit?”

“Don’t say that too loud or it’ll be your throat he’s chomping out next.”

“Boys—Mr. Dufresne is our brother, and he fought valiantly today, by any means necessary, protecting your lives and the lives of everyone else on this crew. So if I’m gonna hear you speaking about him, it’ll be with the respect he’s earned. Am I understood?”

“Sorry, Billy.”

“Yeah, all right, sorry.”

“I heard he drank up the blood, the madman. That’s the real nuts, ain’t it?”

“Maybe he’s a proper pirate after all.”

Flint doesn’t even realize he’d stopped walking until he meets his boatswain’s eyes emerging from the mess. He tries his best to look as though he hadn’t been eavesdropping, but some stray concern must remain fixed in his brow, because Billy offers him an appeasing nod and a simple, “The men love a good story; you know how it is,” before he continues on his way.

The question of the story’s truth withers on Flint’s tongue. Likely it’s exaggerated, but to what degree Flint cannot say. It doesn’t matter, really: it’s true if they believe it. How they feel about it, though, that’s the real measure. Flint doesn’t linger long enough to hear if the awe will give way to disgust, can’t much stomach the thought of standing stupidly by the door to hear his men condemn or commend their crewmate sinking his teeth into another man’s throat, tearing it out, lapping up the blood. The scorn and the approval sicken him alike.

Flint returns to his cabin, hoping perhaps to bolt the door and sit staring at his maps until the ink runs and none of it makes sense anymore, until nothing can penetrate the pulsing red haze that fills the space between his brain and his skull. He’s aware, vaguely, that his stomach feels wretchedly empty, but to swallow down a mouthful of blood—even the rich, sweet gift from Miranda—seems an insurmountable task.

But none of that bears fruit anyway, because when he opens the door, it’s to find Mr. Dufresne poring over the books for what Flint is sure must be the dozenth time since the battle concluded. The sound nearly startles the poor boy out of his skin; Mr. Dufresne whips his head up to meet Flint’s eyes as though each footstep were cannon fire. Between the haunted expression and the spare flake of dried blood on his chin, Flint is relieved of all doubt about what exactly Mr. Dufresne endured today.

“My apologies, Captain,” Dufresne says, “I was just finishing up—”

“It’s no matter, Mr. Dufresne.” Flint takes his seat opposite Dufresne, offers him a compassionate smile. “I understand why one might bury himself in work to avoid facing the rabid throng of his crewmates; even their support may be overwhelming.”

Dufresne appears flummoxed—bashful, even. He looks so young.

“From what I’ve heard, the men are impressed,” Flint says. He pauses for effect before he adds, “As am I.”

[birdylion]

📓

(Put a book emoji in my inbox and I'll talk about the plot of a fanfiction I haven't written yet)

I think we're sharing Black Sails and Rivers of London as a fandom. As I don't have anything lined up for Black Sails, I'll talk about Rivers of London.

I have a crossover WIP with The Old Guard in which Peter becomes immortal. It started out as "who would win in a fight, Nightingale or The Old Guard?"

Spoiler - that fight is not going to happen in the fic. In the story, Peter doesn't survive the final confrontation with Chorley in Lies Sleeping. He falls to his death from the bell tower of St. Paul's, and wakes up in the morgue of the UCH.

I wanted Nile and Peter to meet, and I thought it plausible that Nile would be the one to extract him from the morgue. And this is why there won't be a fight between TOG and Nightingale. For that to happen, TOG would need to abduct Peter. Imagine the angst: Right after he was abducted once, he disappears for a second time. Beverley and Nightingale both come to the rescue like some kind of vengeance angels. But apart from being repetitive, I also think it's not likely to happen if Nile is the one to talk to him first. Because Nile knows how it feels like to be taken out of your usual life like this, and she would want to spare Peter the experience. And Peter's superpower is "talking to people and making friends", so he would definitely talk to her before she even tried to abduct him for real.

Peter would talk to her about the demimonde, about being the apprentice of an immortal wizard and the boyfriend of an immortal river, and a fight is just not in the cards. He would take her to the Folly, and with them the rest of The Old Guard, and there would be a new agreement.

Sure, there's the angsty potential for Peter to worry why he as a policeman became immortal through a mechanism that's just for soldiers dying on the battlefield, but I'd argue that's because of the vestigia of the metaphysical battlefield on which he was (and fought!) with Chorley and Old Bev. So by the end of the story, it wouldn't be too hard for him to come to terms with it, because it's not like he chose this battlefield, and he didn't compromise his ideals how the police should work. So he should be okay pretty quickly.

So I have to shift the focus of the story to the Old Guard, especially Nile. She's just had her entire life uprooted. She died and came back, fought a battle that wasn't exactly hers (but which she chose to make hers in order to help others), experienced the treason of one of her new family, supposedly the only people she will ever be able to be close to. She regularly experiences the drowning of another, and now just learned that her new mentor is dying and no, she can't go back to her family either, ever. This young woman who just went through all of that in a very short time (because I'd place the plot of TOG at the same time as Lies Sleeping) now meets someone who:

knows about immortality

knows different types of immortality

tells her about a whole world / subculture where being Different can be a good thing

can get her resources to deal with all the trauma, and that of the other Old Guard --> I'm thinking about Oberon here, who'd gladly take them under his wing

can show her a world in which just because she knows how to fight, it's not the only thing she can do

just shows her (and the other Old Guard) that they aren't as alone as they thought

I'd imagine that Andy, Nicky and Joe all know about magic, but never bothered to really get into the demimonde of the place in which they were staying, and hang out with neither wizards nor genii locorum, never stayed long enough to let themselves notice it more than in passing.

Anyway, my idea of "what if TOG and Nightingale fought" firmly evolved into "what if TOG got more support and perhaps art therapy?"

The story is written up to the point when Nile learns that Peter is a police officer. I have to switch POVs now because while I think I managed to write Peter's voice as it should be, it's incredibly hard for me to do so, I'm not a naturally humoristic or sarcastic writer. So 1. Nile's POV will fit better with where the story's going and 2. it will be indefinitely easier for me to write. Once I get back to it again.

[brynnmclean]

I was tagged in a first-lines-of-fic meme by @eisoj5​!  I’m pretty sure I’ve done this before (can’t remember my tag), but it’s been a long time!

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway!

Tagging: @ladytharen, @rain-sleet-snow, @dwarveslikeshinythings, @niennawept, @allatariel, @incognitajones, @aadmelioraa, @moriondors, @heymacareyna, and @moonatoms!  And like Josie did once, I’m saying it’s totally cool if you post the first lines of chapters instead of separate fics.  Also no pressure, obviously! <3

My first lines under the cut!  I’m partial to #9 for some Current Project reasons.

1. late night arrival - May 2019, Rogue One, 1k, complete

Their transport arrives late back on base, late enough that Jyn isn’t surprised there’s no one waiting to meet her in the hangar. Melshi nudges her when he catches her looking around out of habit and tells her Cassian probably got told to stop hovering around like a grim-faced shadow, which earns him a solid punch in the arm. She pulls it, but Melshi makes a show of wincing and shoving her away with a huff of laughter.

2. guilt goes away if you let it -  January 2020, Rogue One Black Sails AU, 500+, the start of a Ficlet Collection because I don’t write long fics but I do have ideas that take up residence in my brain

The letters feel hot beneath his coat, even through his shirt, the inner pocket fabric, and the protective leather keeping Galen’s words safe from the water.

3. it was inevitable - January 2020, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, 200+ ficlet in a collection so technically complete

Finn wakes up after Starkiller and knows what he has to do.

4. before the fords - May 2020, Rogue One LotR Grey Company AU, 400+ ficlet in a collection… who knows if I’ll write a full separate AU fic, but I do love the idea!

The night was dark and cold, the full moon shrouded by clouds, but the Company rode together and rode hard as they had through the many leagues from the Angle onward to… wherever they were now, Jyn thought, exhaustion weighing her down in her saddle.  They had thought Halbarad would have called for a rest a ways back, but Chirrut had urged Baze to bring the two of them up beside their Chieftain’s Second so that he could pass on news up ahead.

5. first flush of hope to carry the grey away - May 2020, Rogue One, 1k, complete

It goes bad fast, the way it sometimes does in a city ready to blow, a match flicked on a trail of fuel and sparking the firefight.  Cassian dodges the first punch aimed for his face, but takes a hit from a glass someone throws at his back, and chaos descends where there could have been something else—not clean, nothing is clean in this grimy cantina full of shadows and sharp teeth and knives—that’s a knife in that informant’s hand, the blade catching the light as it arches toward Cassian and slices into his side.

6. far from a hearth-fire - November 2020, Brothers of the Wild North Sea which is a slash romance novel that I devoured, saw there was no fic for, and then decided I needed to fix that!!! 2k, complete

The dream came to him again, the one of the warrior in the storm. Fenrir stumbled out of the angry Sea, his arms reaching for the man beside him, dragging him onto the shore. Rán’s fury howled in waves crashing onto rocks, but Fenrir knew in the drumbeat of his heart that the man clutching him back, shuddering with cold and yet warm with life—that man was his to steal from her, his to hold.

7. the far away shore - November 2020, Brothers of the Wild North Sea, 2k, complete

“So,” Tekla said, setting a heavy tankard of ale down next to Fenrir and then thunking down onto the dock beside him. “Who is he?”

8. I took a break from writing fic through basically all of 2021, but that was because a ton of my creative energy was going to my Akallabêth TTRPG Campaign.  Anyway, I’m going to cheat a little and do a quote from the first scene of Session #7 (out of 35 and counting!) from May 2021 which was when I think things really began to click in for my players.  I have all these titles and headers for my notes / recaps and this section was called “Sails & Sea-Monsters”.  The whole session overall was called “The Whale & the Corsair”.  I write little bits of prose to set up a scene, so here are the first two sentences:

Morning arrives with the rolling of fog along the Sea, a hazy cloud blanketing the ship.  It’s gloomy and oppressive, heavy veils shifting through the sails, the wind lifting the canvas but failing to bring more than a vague glow of sunlight.

9. fell in love with the fire long ago - last updated December 2022, Silmarillion / Rings of Power Uncorrupted Mairon AU, 11k (!), my current project and WIP that I am calling a ficlet collection so that I don’t scare myself out of writing a long fic

Mairon goes when the storms subside, when Ulmo sends word to the other Valar that he and Uinen have brought Ossë back. He doesn’t tell Aulë why he leaves the Forge early, but some measuring glow in the Smith’s golden eyes tells Mairon he knows Mairon's mind. He sees the dark corners of his heart.

10. grant a name to a buried flame - February 2023, Silmarillion / Rings of Power Uncorrupted Mairon AU, 3k, complete

“Well, I can’t fault your taste,” Mablung says, swiping the flask of wine from Celeborn’s hands and taking a healthy pull. Celeborn scowls half because he’d been saving that, damn it, and half because he knows Mablung doesn’t mean his taste in wine.

[keepoffthetardis]

it's time to play tag games again! today we're putting the "on repeat" playlist on spotify on shuffle and listing the first ten songs that come up. i was tagged by @quensty and i am tagging @prongs1997 @corazonlicantropo @bandedbulbussnarfblat @enterprisery and @holodeckprotocols as well as anyone else who would like to talk about the music they've been listening to lately!

Wilson (Expensive Mistakes) - Fall Out Boy: This is the only song I actually like off MANIA. "I-I was - I was - I was gonna say something that would solve all our problems, but then I got drunk and I forgot what I was talking about" is an incredible note to start on and it only gets better from there. Fall Out Boy is my favorite band and I am out of my mind excited to see them in Chicago.

What Is Dead May Never Die - Ramin Djawadi: I'm actually surprised it was this one and not The Throne Is Mine. One thing about me is that I like listening to classical music while I read, and I was rereading A Song of Ice and Fire recently. Thus: the soundtrack for Game of Thrones. Also, Ramin Djawadi is a fantastic composer. Loved what he did with Westworld and Person of Interest.

I Am Hers, She Is Mine - Ramin Djawadi: We're back on the Game of Thrones soundtrack. Now I'm worried this list is gonna be all GoT. Anyway: I love sad and/or emotional strings. Probably my favorite section of the orchestra.

Daylight - David Kushner: I was listening to this much more recently than the others. "Oh I love it and I hate it at the same time / You and I drink the poison from the same vine" gets me every time. I love daylight imagery, as evidenced by my obsession with the way it gets used in Black Sails.

Warrior of Light - Ramin Djawadi: I'M BACK IN THE FUCKING BUILDING AGAIN. I'm gonna have to start skipping these if I want to have any discussion of my music taste at all. Anyway, when I was rereading A Song of Ice and Fire this time I started paying a lot more attention to Stannis and the whole arc with what I'll call "Team Dragonstone" (so, him, Selyse and the other Florents, Davos, Melisandre, etc.) and I thought it was a really interesting look at what could have otherwise been a very boring character but because we see him exclusively through other people's eyes, he becomes layered. To me anyway.

End Titles - Irwin Koshner: This one is the end of The Sound of Music! Which is something I have loved for years, but I recently started revisiting it because of Ted Lasso (and a fic that I'll never finish) who said that.

My Favorite Things - Julie Andrews: See above. Also I had a HUGE crush on her about a year before I figured out that I was bisexual which was a really interesting time in my life. I still do, but I used to too. Top 5 compliments I've ever gotten in my life was about ten or twelve years ago when a family friend told me I sounded like her.

Anna - The Menzingers: My sister just introduced me to this song about a month ago! It's so fun and sweet. Listening to it reminds of reading The Name of the Wind (because she and I did that together as well, right after she showed me this song) and driving around our hometown looking for books and a Mother's Day gift for our mom. "This place ain't the same without you Anna" INDEED

Climb Every Mountain - Peggy Wood: I think we'd all like a dream that will need all the love we can give every day of our life for as long as we live. Enough said.

Kyoto (Copycat Killer Version) - Phoebe Bridgers: This was another one that my sister introduced me to. This song has everything: sad emotional strings. Deep connection to younger sibling. "I wanted to see the world through your eyes and then it happened / Then I changed my mind". You would not believe the number of Succession edits I've seen with this song in the last couple of weeks.

That was fun! I should do it again when I'm fixating on something that isn't a TV show soundtrack. And speaking of, the finally tally of of GoT season 2 skips was: 1. This is what I get for falling asleep to it so much.

[wicked-jade]

Tagged by @crimsonblackrose, thanks for the tag!! 💖

3 ships: I guess they probably shouldn’t all be from the same fandom, huh? Because if so, it would just be my usual cycle of Lawrusso, Dutch/Johnny, and Johnny/Lyle. 😂 Those are the ones that live in my head rent free.

But if I have to pick ships from other fandoms...guess I’ll go with Stranger Things and Steddie, and IWTV and Loustat. 

1st ever ship: Look, I’m old. I honestly don’t remember. Xena/Gabrielle was one of the first to come to mind. And again, Louis/Lestat. Everything really does come back around, I guess.

Last song: NFWMB, by Hozier.

Currently reading: Mostly just fic. I have a stack of unread books, but I just can’t summon the energy to start on any of them.

Last movie: Finally got around to watching Glass Onion over the weekend, which I really enjoyed. I need to rewatch it soon. And on New Year’s Eve, I rewatched Chicago. It’d been a few years since my last watch, so that was fun. Screaming along to “Cell Block Tango” is always therapeutic, lmao.

Currently consuming: Coffee. Trying to get my brain to function enough to write, but so far it’s not working.

Currently watching: Nothing really. I’ve got a Spurs-Knicks game on in the background, but I’m not actually paying attention. It’s close, but I know the Spurs will choke by the end of it, anyway. As for series, I haven’t started anything new recently. I keep thinking I’ll watch Wednesday, or maybe go back and finally watch Black Sails, but I haven’t found the motivation yet.

Currently craving: A freeze from Dutch Bros. Yeah, I’ve got coffee, but I want coffee I didn’t have to make myself. 😂

Tagging: I think pretty much everyone has done this already, but if you haven’t, consider yourself tagged! 💖