#need to post snippets of this to release it from my brain

[turian]

garrus's position as what is essentially a police officer puts him in the line of fire of various tired copaganda tropes. worthy of note is the "cowboy cop" trope, which can be summarized as a renegade police officer who breaks the rules in favor of vengeance, justice, or righteousness. the "cowboy cop" is usually framed as being in the right; this trope largely belongs to antiheroes. "cowboy cop" is considered by tvtropes to apply to both garrus vakarian and renegade shepard. garrus, though noted as being more "polite and soft-spoken" than those the trope generally applies to, is a character who defies authority and values his own sense of justice above the law. he voices his preference for killing criminals rather than letting them slip away. his personal quest in me2 is heavily related to this - he seeks to hunt down and kill a man who he perceives (whether or not he is correct is not relevant; all that's relevant is that garrus believes wholeheartedly in this conviction and this method of justice) was responsible for horrific human rights abuses. as a paragon or renegade shepard, you can either aid garrus in this or stay his hand and insist that you seek another more measured form of justice.

garrus has, by this point in the narrative, essentially become a vigilante. he is a dog with a bone when it comes to his view of justice, and he is not capable of letting an investigation go because beureaucracy - or hierarchy - dictates he must. this is why he quits c-sec, so that he can chase justice along shepard's side. after shepard and him are separated, garrus, rather than resuming a c-sec career, decides to go clean up crime on omega. he is granted the nickname archangel. these exploits nearly get him killed - it is only shepard's intervention (which occurs just in the nick of time) which save him from near-certain death. even with shepard's help, he does not leave omega unscathed - he has, by the end of his recruitment mission, taken a rocket to the face, and for the rest of the game series, carries those scars.

garrus's story would not be terribly out of place in gotham, though its politics differ from batman's. the "cowboy cop" trope doesn't technically apply to bruce wayne. bruce wayne's vigilantism, gothic or not, is shown to be directly in community with police. batman serves the empire in which he lurks. batman may take issue with some corruption in that system, but he naively believes in good cops. batman is elevated by one thing only - his refusal to kill. that said, he is happy to hand victims of his justice to institutions that will kill.

garrus vakarian has oft been called the batman of his universe, but should instead be likened to jason todd, aka red hood. red hood is fuelled by anger at a system that failed him, and seeks to work outside of that system. however, even in working outside of that system, jason carries the system's view of justice with him when he dispenses his own violent form of vigilante justice. red hood fights the same people that batman fights - the only difference, really, is that jason fights with bullets rather than batarangs.

garrus's motivations are alleged to be a desire to stand against and work independently of corruption. and to be clear, taking a stance against corrupt police is good. violence against corruption is good. violence against police is good. however, based on garrus's aims and actions, it seems clear that garrus is not against policing, nor is he necessarily against corruption in all its forms. garrus is instead against being controlled. garrus would like to step outside of the system, but unwittingly brings the system with him when he makes that move. quoting from tvtropes:

Paragon Shepard's influence can inspire [garrus] to rejoin C-Sec with a new appreciation for playing by the rules, in addition to reapplying for Spectre candidacy (which happens either route you take). Renegade Shepard's influence, conversely, will encourage his tendencies to the extent that he envies Shepard's lack of problems with red tape.

garrus's frustration may be with c-sec and corruption within c-sec in part, but garrus is distinguished from corrupt officers only through his disdain for anything he perceives as leashing him. it's made clear by his respect for renegade shepard and the ability of a pro-police paragon shepard to sway him back c-sec's way that garrus is more than fine with the police. his disdain for them is in no way radical. it should also be noted that garrus leaves c-sec to serve the alliance military, who are enforcing laws in their own right. garrus simply moves to doing the same things he's always done in proverbial international waters.

characters like garrus and bruce wayne (and, for that matter, jason todd) act with authority based on their own convictions. because they operate within stories and are intended as sympathetic characters, their convictions go largely unquestioned by the narrative. batman is right because he's batman. red hood is right because he's red hood, except when batman is right instead. shepard is right because they're shepard. garrus is right because he's garrus, except when shepard is right instead. the question mass effect really poses in garrus's arm of the story is as follows: should garrus dispense violence for the system within the system, or should he dispense violence for the system while pretending he exists outside of it?

[whatsnewalycat]

what do you need?

Pairing: BratTamer!Joel Miller x Brat!F!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Word Count: 3.7k+

Warnings: no show spoilers, established relationship, non-canon compliant, post-outbreak, smut, swearing, brat “taming”, D/s dynamic, dirty talk, degradation kink, praise kink, pain kink, impact play, collar wearing, maybe might have taken a snippet of dialogue from how the world works by bo burnh@m for horny reasons, unprotected piv sex, crying, shower, overstimulation, choking, spitting in mouth, fluff

A/N: I feel like this story is going to be presented as evidence when I'm rejected from the pearly gates post-mortem. Happy birthday to Joel Miller, sorry your birthday was a huge bummer that one time. Big big smoochies to @frannyzooey for helping me with several things and just generally being awesome.

[ my masterlist ] [ taglist ] [ AO3 ]

You’re having one of those days. 

You know. 

The kind of day where everything you come into contact with barbs into your flesh and tugs at your nerves. 

Noises out on the street too loud, cupboards too empty, coffee too weak, counters too cluttered, shower too cold, clothing too tight—fuck, even your skin feels too fucking tight. 

Overstimulated. 

Exhausted. 

Restless. 

You’ve given pieces of yourself out hand over foot, and now you’re at a deficit and the world around you is still hungry, even though you’ve been picked to bare bones. Everything is too much and too little all at the same time. 

The toddler that lives in the apartment above yours is throwing a temper tantrum. The kid’s defiant screeching rubs against your brain like fiberglass until all four walls of your living room feel like they’re closing in around you, squeezing you out like a tube of toothpaste, suffocating you. 

And you’re thinking: If I don’t release some of this pressure I might go all fucking Hindenburg and explode. 

The apartment door swings open, and Joel walks in, his broad shoulders all slumped like he’s carrying the goddamn weight of the word. He glances over at you as he slides the chain lock closed, “Hey, darlin’.”

You look up from your place on the couch, where you’re hunched over crossed legs, elbows digging into your thighs. All sharp angles and tense muscles. Without responding, you return your attention to the glass of moonshine dangling from your grip. Swirl it around a little. Take a big swallow and try not to wince as it burns down to your belly. 

Joel stands there for a beat, watching you, waiting for your manners to kick in. When they don’t, he huffs and stomps into the kitchen. Cupboard doors slam and glass clinks as he searches for a clean cup, then pours himself a drink. 

And, christ, he’s so fucking loud. 

Every noise he makes is an exclamation mark. A shard of glass pressing into your eardrum. A sliver wedging further and further under your fingernail. 

He walks over, eyes glued to you, each heavy footfall a stubborn grain of sand that won’t leave that space between your toes no matter how much you wiggle them. 

By the time his weight shifts the couch cushions and sets you off balance, tilting in his direction, you know what you need. 

You need to get under his skin like he’s under yours. To push him until his edges are hardened and sharp to the touch. You need him to pry open the emergency hatch and empty your mind. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Your nostrils flare. You bring the cup to your lips and take another big, burning swig of bootleg liquor, then say, “Nothing.” 

“Nothin’,” he repeats, his voice low and disbelieving, “Now, why don’t I believe that?” 

You sit up and glare at him, meeting his dark eyes, all shadowed by his drooping brow as he tilts his blank stare at you. 

Excitement flickers inside you. You tilt your head right back and drop your voice, mocking him, “Reckon it’s ‘cuz I got a fucken attitude.” 

His jaw tightens, mouth flattening into a straight line as he narrows his eyes at you, “You gonna talk about what’s got your panties all in a twist, or just be a nuisance about it?” 

You bat your eyelashes at him and shrug. 

“I see,” he searches your face, turning his wrist in slow circles, moonshine sloshing around in his cup, “You know, if you need me to do somethin’ for you, or… to you, all you have to do is ask. You don’ need to do this whole thing.”

“What thing?” you blink. Play dumb. 

His eyes roll a little as he brings the glass to his lips and tips it back. Taking its contents all in one swallow, he slams the glass down on the end table with a thunk. Shaking his head, he looks at you, “Are you fuckin’ done?” 

You smirk at him, dragging your eyes up and down his body. He’s studying you with this stern stare, teeth clenched, the muscles in his jaw twitching like little warning signals: PROCEED WITH CAUTION. 

A warm fluttering starts at your center. Setting your glass down, you crawl onto his lap. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t do anything but watch your face as you drag your fingernail along the tightened line of his jaw. 

Threading your brows together, you coo, “You’re just so cute when you’re angry.” 

“That’s enough,” he grabs your hand and squeezes it hard enough to make you gasp with delight, then says, “Open your mouth.” 

“Make me.” 

It happens so fast. 

One hand on your forehead, the other gripping your jaw, yanking your mouth open. 

“Stick your fuckin’ tongue out.” 

You do. 

You hear it first. The squelch of him gathering moisture. He spits onto your tongue, his saliva moonshine flavored and melting into yours. He does it again, then groans as he rubs it into your tastebuds, the rough pad of his thumb scraping against the tender muscle. 

“So, what, you had a shitty day, now you’re actin’ out? Tryin’ to get me all worked up so I punish you?” 

The words are all hoarse and heated against your cheek. His cock twitches beneath you and you grind into him, tongue still stretched out. 

He spits on it again. 

“Is this what you wanted, you little shit? Hmm?” he tugs on your chin, “Do you like it when I spit in your fuckin’ mouth?” 

“I like it,” you tell him, nodding, placing your palm on his chest. 

His throat rumbles like he’s pleased. He loosens his grip, then brushes his thumb against your bottom lip, glancing down at your mouth, “Do you want more?” 

“Yes—yes, please.”

“Much better,” he purrs, “Open.” 

You open your mouth wide and stick out your tongue. Another hot wad of spit plops down on it, moonshine flavored, Joel flavored, and you moan.

He cups your cheek and murmurs, “See? You can be a good girl. Can’t you?” 

Sparks sizzle up your back bone. You nod and bat your eyelashes at him, closing your mouth and swallowing his spit, sliding your hand through the soft patches of gray in his beard. 

His throat rumbles. Dark gaze flicks from your eyes to your lips, ”Now, tell me, darlin’, what do you need?” 

The question trickles down the middle of you and twists into a stubborn knot. Your heart flutters when your lips part, but courage dies in your chest. 

You shake your head and mutter, mostly to yourself, “It’s stupid.”

His brow furrows just slightly. 

Heat blooms in your chest and on your face. Nervous energy makes your throat bob and your tongue go numb, and you shake your head, “Sorry.” 

He fully frowns now, searching your face, “Sorry? What for?”

You shake your head again, dropping your gaze, and clamp your mouth shut. 

Joel releases a big sigh, curling your body into his, and kisses your forehead. He murmurs against your skin, “Do you trust me?” 

“With my life.” 

He lets you sit in the wake of your own answer. The weight of his expectant silence wriggles under your skin and makes you squirm. You cast your gaze downward and shrug, “I don’t know.” 

He’s quiet.

When you glance back up at him, his expression has softened into one that makes your heart ache. It’s almost doleful, the way he looks at you. 

“I don’t know how to explain it, I feel,” you intertwine your fingers with his, “Empty here,” you pull the clasped hands to your chest, “But full… in-in my head. Everything feels like too much—I don’t know, Joel.”

The tears that prick your eyes take you by surprise. Usually you keep these pesky blue feelings to yourself, so as not to burden him. You should be used to this world by now. Your skin should be thicker. 

You feel weak. 

Pathetic. 

Shame rips through you. More tears erupt from deep within your chest and stream down your cheeks, burning the whole way. A rush of adrenaline pumps through your body. It tinges your blood cold and makes you panic. 

You let go of his hand and bring your knees to your chest, burying your face between them, blubbering, “I’m sorry.” 

“Hey, don’t,” he sighs, not quite sure what to do with this, and slides his warm palm up and down the curve of your back, “It’s—it’s ok.” 

All you can do is shake your head. It’s not ok. He doesn’t want someone like this. A crying, sputtering mess. Someone who gets upset because, what, noises seem too loud? 

“Look at me, babygirl.”

You can’t help the whimper that bubbles up your throat. He only uses the term of endearment during rare, tender moments. When he needs you to know, really know, that above the games and the rules and the agreements behind the locked door of this apartment… he cares for you.

You sniffle and wipe your tears on the stiff denim of your work pants, then peak up at him. 

He searches your face, and says, “Let me take care of you.” 

Your eyebrows thread together and your lips part. He just keeps staring at you like that, so earnest, his eyes fertile earth you could take root in. 

“Ok,” you whisper. 

“Go take a shower. You can be a good girl and do that for me, can’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

You stay there for a moment, eyes locked on his, and ask, “Can I have a kiss?” 

He hums, dropping his gaze to your lips, “How do we ask?” 

Heat coils around you. He studies your movements as you unfold yourself and sit up straight, then climb on top of him, knees framing his hips, “Can I have a kiss… please?” 

His hands land on your waist, “Course you can.” 

You slide your palms up his chest, his neck, to cradle his jaw, then lean in to capture his lips in yours. The kiss is molasses and moonshine. Syrupy and rich. Intoxicating. It warms your insides and leaves you wanting more. 

When he pulls back, he smooths his touch around your backside and gives your ass a firm smack, “Go on now.” 

You try on his Texas accent and tease, “Go on, git,” and start giggling when he blinks at you, then add, “Ok ok I’m going!” 

“You’re lucky you’re cute, y’know that?” he calls after you as you scamper into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. 

You pull back the shower curtain, flip on the hot water, and strip off your clothes. The weak stream splatters hot against your skin when you step inside. For a minute, you just stand there with your eyes closed, relishing the warmth. 

The bathroom door opens, then closes. 

You wash your hair as Joel strips off his clothing into a pile on top of yours. His shadow on the shower curtain grows, then disappears as he pulls it back and steps inside. Your eyes close as you tip your head back into the water stream and massage the conditioner from your hair. 

He plants his palm at the small of your back and brings himself closer. A soapy washcloth meets your bellybutton and moves in circular motions, working up a lather. When he hits a weak spot, and a tickle shoots up your body, you giggle and grab his wrist. 

“You don’t like it?” 

Feeling through your wet hair for any remaining gobs of conditioner, you open your eyes to meet his, grinning, “I do, I’m just ticklish.”

His lips curve into a smirk and he shakes his head as he returns his attention to the task at hand, scrubbing the day’s grime off your body. The hot water works with his meticulous attention to dull the serrated edges under your skin. 

“Turn.” 

You do, taking a backwards step towards him. Your nerves tingle with want, the snarled tips of them all stretching in his direction, untangling to beckon him closer. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and starts on your back. Your shoulders relax under his praise. Under the firm pressure of the washcloth scouring your skin. He draws circles down your spine, around your hip, between your legs, leaving a trail of suds for you to rinse off. 

When he’s finished sudsing and you’re finished rinsing, he says, “Go wait for me in the bedroom,” so you swap places with him and squeeze the excess water from your body and hair. You step out onto the bath mat and wrap a towel around yourself, then tiptoe into the bedroom. 

Across the patchwork quilt, Joel laid out your collar. You dry yourself off and fasten the leather strap around your neck, then wait for him in the middle of the bed with your legs crossed. 

When Joel enters the room, it seems to shrink around him. Every inch of him is gleaming and dewy, his hairline all steely gray and combed back into damp, dark waves. He appraises you while tucking a ratty towel around his waist. You feel your shoulders pull back. Your spine uncurls, pointing straight at the ceiling. 

His eyes flick around the room as he walks to the side of the bed and hooks a finger in the little loop of your collar, tugging you to your knees. You crawl to him, following his firm guidance until you’re eye-to-eye and just an inch or so apart. 

Under the squeaky-clean soap scent lies something so unmistakably Joel. Woodsy and masculine, it cattle-prods your heart. 

“What am I gonna do with you?”

Heat sparks from deep within you and blooms in your guts, your cheeks. You feel yourself arching towards him, leaning closer, trying to taste his breath. 

Some smart-aleck answer parts your lips, but he preemptively interrupts you. 

“Rhetorical question.” 

An amused smile twitches the corners of his mouth. 

His mouth. 

You stare at it, fingertips buzzing with energy, yearning to feel the soft curve of his plush lips.  

“Look at me.”

Your eyes flick to his, smoldering but critical. A wide, calloused palm lands on your waist and slides around to your backside, cupping the heft of your asscheek. You swallow hard. This thick, pulsing ache starts between your legs and makes you whimper. An attestation to your pliancy. 

His throat rumbles and he pulls a sharp breath through his teeth. Joel likes the noise, because he knows what it means. It means you’re putty in his hands. Giving yourself over to him, letting him take control. He digs his fingers into the tender flesh of your ass and smirks when you gasp.

“That’s what you need, hmm?”

You nod, eyebrows drawing together, batting your lashes at him. 

He doesn’t let up. Quite the opposite, actually, he grips you harder, rumbling out, “Jus’ need someone to take care of you? Fuck the angry out of you?”

Again, you nod. 

He tugs on your collar, “Use your words.”

The grasp is bruising and constant and fucking delicious. Dropping your gaze, you  breathe, “Yes si—”

“Look at me.” 

Your cunt clenches around nothing as you comply, meeting his lust-blown eyes. 

“Yes sir.” 

“That’s better.”

Joel releases your ass cheek and tugs at your collar. 

When his lips meet yours with a firm, ravenous kiss, urgency overcomes you. You clamber closer, hooking your hands behind his neck, dragging your nails through his damp curls. Each time the kiss renews, it gains traction, intensity, evident in his nips and groans, and his harsh, wandering touch. Grabbing your ass, your tits, your thighs. Pinching your nipples so hard you gasp and nod. 

He buries his fist in your hair and pulls back, panting, “Turn around ‘n’ bend over.” 

You do, reluctantly parting from his lips to spin 180° and raise your ass in the air, pressing your ear to the mattress. 

“Close your eyes,” he knocks your knees further apart, and when you comply, letting your eyelids flutter closed, he murmurs, “That’s it. Now you’re gonna sit there and take what I give you, hmm?” 

The rough pads of his fingers trail electric up your seam, ghosting along the hungry, aching nerves. You gasp and nod, “Yes sir.” 

His throat rumbles, and his fingertips start to work your throbbing clit in hard-pressed circles. He’s heavy-handed in the way he touches you. It’s not delicate, or teasing, or gentle—it’s fucking perfect. Heat bubbles up your middle and spreads across your skin, pulling a whimper from your throat. 

Joel’s free hand slides up your spine, his palm pressing firm and slow across every vertebrae, coaxing you to stretch your backbone, arching your hips towards him. 

“There we go, that’s my good girl—”

You moan at the rush of pleasure his praise gives you. Your heart starts to thud, heavy and thick in your chest, and his hand between your legs starts to work you faster, jolting your center. 

“Fuck, Joel—”

Another gravelly sound surfaces from his chest. He slaps your ass, hard and firm, and you gasp at the sharp sting. He does it again. The smack rings in your ears and the divine pain it’s coupled with resonates deep in your bones. He does it again and again and again, all the while rubbing your clit in vigorous, tight circles, growling out, “All fuckin’ wound up, acting out, this is what you needed, hmm?”

“Yes yes yes yes—”

The feeling at your center grows and spreads, building building building—then it swallows you whole. Your body convulses with pleasure so acute and overwhelming, you try to pull away from him, to close his hand between your thighs, but he grabs your hip and kneels on your calf, keeping you spread open. 

“Don’t you run away from this,” he barks as you let out a choked sob, “You take this fucking like a good girl, you hear me?”

“It’s—fuck, it’s it’s—”

You want to tell him it’s too much, but the tide of pleasure draws you back with violent force and washes over you again. The noise that comes out of you is guttural, barely human, this half-howl, half-cry. It’s excruciating and overwhelming and so fucking good. 

Joel chuckles, “That’s it, let it go, darlin’.”

You do. A sensation overtakes you, that’s warm and secure. The weight strapped to your shoulders, that skin-too-tight, noises-too-loud sort of feeling melts away and you nod, “Yes, sir.”

He withdraws his hand from between your legs and grabs your waist, bringing your bodies closer. The head of his cock nudges against your entrance and he plunges forward. 

“Fuuuuuuuck,” you gasp as his thick, throbbing length slides into your well-lubricated cunt. 

He splits you open cell-by-cell, his own needy moan mingling with yours, and tells you, “God, your pussy—fuck, that’s good—”

There’s no warm-up period. No sweet, slow strokes, or whispered words of comfort, or gentle anything. Immediately, he’s fucking you hard and fast. You push back against his harsh thrusts, each impact devastating and intoxicating and heady with a feral energy that fills your body with static. 

Joel closes a fist in your hair and yanks, tilting your head to the ceiling, and you let out a long, sick moan that makes him groan with delight. His arm slips around you and pulls your back to his chest. Your head falls back on his shoulder, mouth gaping open to babble out, “So fucking good, fuck fuck fuck—I fucking love it, Joel, holy fuck—”

His big hand wraps around your throat and squeezes, restricting your airflow, and you let out wheezing, gasping breathes as he grunts in your ear, “Yeah you fucking do. Pussy jus’ needs a good pounding, that it? My little slut just needs to get fucked, hmm?”

You whimper and nod, as much as his grip will allow. His fingers crush your pulse, leaving you light-headed. The scraps of breath you manage to take in carry the sharp, tangy scent of sex. You revel in the feeling of him filling you over and over, each roll of his hips collects electric at your core, gaining traction and energy. 

When you look up at him and meet the corner of his dark, lust-blown eyes, he releases his grip on your throat and pulls you into a heated kiss. Both of you start to take in short, frantic breaths, passing soft moans back and forth. That gooey static in your middle grows and grows. Your limbs start to quiver and you cry, “Oh my fucking god, Joel—you’re gonna make me come—”

“That’s it, babygirl, let it go.”

You do. 

You let it consume you, a bright, blissful warmth that pulses through every inch of your body. Joel moans as your cunt clenches down around him, then pulls out in time to shoot his load onto the bedspread. 

For a moment, the only things in existence are the two of you. His ragged breath in your ear, your heaving chests and empty minds. 

He departs your body and stretches out on the bed with a groan. You only feel his absence for a second before he hooks his finger into your collar’s loop to pull you closer, “C’mere.”

An obedient creature, for the time being at least, you follow the suggestion and curl up at his side. You smooth your palm up his heated chest, all dewy with sweat, and admire his broad frame. His distinguished features. While surveying the map of scars and wrinkles and grays on his rugged exterior, your gaze meets his, and you find a remarkable softness there. 

He seems to study you with the same sort of reverence as you do him. 

“You’re beautiful, y’know that?” 

It makes you smile, which, in turn, makes him smile. A gorgeous and rare spectacle. The expression carves out a dimple in his cheek and crinkles the corners of his eyes.

You scoot closer and kiss him, your lips soft, gentle. He kisses you back in a similar manner, slow and sweet, twisting your brain in a big, beautiful kaleidoscope of emotions. 

The intimidation you felt when you met him, still hot-to-the-touch after all these years, tumbling around with tiny glimmering glass bits of desire and apprehension and pride and excitement and awe and dread and security. 

And love. 

Of course love, even though neither of you dare look at it directly. Only suckers allow such a thing to exist in this world. But it’s there, nonetheless. Weaving its way through each fragmented shard, pulling it all together. 

[inexplicifics]

Hiya! I was wondering if you’d been having any luck making the Cats Among Wolves bunnies cooperate lately? If not, that’s cool. Plot bunnies are not the most cooperative creatures, but I figured I’d ask. I was also curious about what the writing process usually looks like for you if you were willing to explain it a bit. Do you tend to jump around between projects just following the inspiration, or do you write out at least a whole scene or chapter before letting yourself move around? How many times do you usually send a fic to Rose for betaing before you feel ready to release it? I always find different people’s processes so interesting.

So Cats Among Wolves is mostly not cooperating at the moment - I am weirdly low on Brain and the bunnies are not doing long-form very well just now. But here's a snippet from the Cedric & Axel fic:

Fuck, this is good, Cedric opines, sipping greedily at the soup Gaetan is holding for him. “The old Wolf knows his way around a kitchen,” Gaetan agrees, nodding. “I think I gained most of a stone the first winter I spent here.” “You needed it,” Eskel puts in. “All you Cats are too damn scrawny.” “Wolves are just absurdly big,” Gaetan sniffs. “And what are Vipers, then?” Eskel - teases. And Gaetan is grinning. Axel has never seen Gaetan so relaxed around an alpha before. Not even Cedric. But there’s not even a hint of tension in his littlest brother. He’s utterly unafraid. “Vipers are mostly perfectly normal sizes, Letho’s just special,” Gaetan says cheerfully. Letho smirks.

As to my writing process - oh gods, it's like a pogo stick. I often have eight or ten docs open, and I create a new WIP at least three times a week. (I am very easy to plotbunny. And I am surrounded by enablers.) I write until I get stuck and then I go to something else. Sometimes, if something really grabs me, I can get a whole longfic out in a week; sometimes I have to come back to it again and again until it clicks. My personal feeling is that as long as words are ending up in a row, it's all good.

I don't outline. Outlines kill fic for me. Once I've written down what's going to happen, why bother writing it again? Even for something like MBtT, I had the very loosest possible sketch of the plot and the desired relationships. I also can't estimate how long a fic is going to be to save my life. I thought MBtT was going to be 50K. I have to very deliberately keep from putting plot into things like prompt fills and flash fics, because once I've added plot, that fic isn't getting done in less than 10K.

I usually send the fic to Rose when it's completely done, and then do a pass through it once she's left comments, fixing all the plot holes she finds. Then she checks my work and I put it in the posting queue.

One thing I have found that helps me is that I color-code my docs. Blue is in progress, purple is ready for beta, and green is ready to be posted. It makes it easier for me to track things visually.

The other thing that really helps is cheer-readers. Because I try to only post finished fics, sometimes I'll start wondering if what I'm writing is really any good. Rose and Twist and Ray have all been wonderful at Encouraging me enthusiastically to keep going, and suggesting directions when I get stuck. Cheer-readers are great and I encourage writers to find them if they can.

Hope that was interesting!

[k-s-morgan]

Those Gentle Slopes: Snippet

Thought to share a final snippet before the posting of the chapter! Have some protective Sebastian and unhinged Ciel)) Also, I have to say that when I'll be writing this chapter from Sebastian's POV, it will be probably creepier than anything that happened so far. He broke my plans and started getting a lot more physical than I expected, having a couple of unplanned realizations. Huh. I love the mystery writing.

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“Sebastian,” he barked. His commanding tone must have reached some part of Sebastian’s brain because he turned his head slightly, but he still didn’t let go, and this was infuriating as much as it was flattering.

Looked like not sensing his soul didn’t make Sebastian any less willing to protect him. He still got angry on Ciel’s behalf — angry enough to ignore his orders and common sense.

Good. But unacceptable. If speaking didn’t work…

Ciel stepped out from behind Sebastian and wrapped his hand around his wrist. Shivers of strange, heady heat blossomed all over his body when he sank into the inviting unnatural energy Sebastian was radiating, feeling it sing under his touch. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep his head cool, but fortunately, Randall’s gurgling sounds helped a little.

And it seemed like he’d already succeeded in something — Sebastian was staring at him now, the deadly redness of his stare quickly softening to a more human shade. Holding his gaze, Ciel tapped against his wrist in rapid succession, recreating the secret language they had devised a long time ago.

Stop. This is an order. You’re still mine, you have to obey me.

He wasn’t certain it would work any better than his verbal commands did, but something about his new approach must have finally gotten through. Sebastian released his grip and let Randall crash to the floor like a sack of sand. He seemed far more interested in Ciel now — one of his hands wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, and another one touched his chin, tilting his head back to reveal his neck.

The futility of this evaluation was blatantly apparent. Randall hadn’t managed to touch him, so whatever damage Sebastian was checking him for couldn’t be there. It was absolutely ridiculous, but for some reason, Ciel didn’t protest. He stood there patiently, allowing Sebastian to examine him to his satisfaction.

Finally, Sebastian hummed in contentment and let him go. Almost. His fingers slid down to Ciel’s wrist and stayed there, holding it firmly but unobtrusively. His attention returned to Randall’s panting form, and this time, Ciel caught the moment when the darkness flared in his eyes.

“Let me make one thing clear,” Sebastian uttered. A smile touched his lips, but it was as far from what a smile was supposed to be that even Ciel found it disturbing. “If you attempt to inflict any kind of damage on my Master again, the next time your family sees you, you will be chopped into more pieces than your daughter will be able to count. Perhaps I will feed your liquefied remains to her. Would you like that?”                

The desire for something Ciel couldn’t identify took over his rational thoughts again. He almost swayed on his feet, his skin burning, his lips parting in a pleased sigh. More waves of joy crashed into him when Sebastian placed his shoe on Randall’s ankle and pressed against it carefully. His movements seemed feather-light, but the bone cracked anyway, followed by Randall’s pained shout.

“It’s not broken,” Sebastian noted disdainfully. “Consider it your warning. You will leave this house and you will not bring anything that happened here up with anyone. Because I know where you live, and I know how to slip into places unnoticed.” The sharp grin he gave Randall was downright frightening, but Ciel felt like he could drown in it. He shook his head, hoping it would be enough to sober him up. His body was behaving in an increasingly odd way, and it was getting tedious to make sense of its incomprehensive needs and demands.

Wheezing but trying to keep all the sounds locked in his mouth, Randall stood up. He nearly fell down, a pained grimace twisting his red face. What was even more fascinating was the wetness of frustrated tears shining in his eyes. The sight was completely unprecedented, and Ciel stared at it greedily, committing every inch of it to memory.

“You may not believe it right now,” Randall said, his voice hoarse, “but there will be a reckoning. One day, the both of you monsters will die, and I’ll become the last thing you see.”

[jumpywhumpywriter]

do you have any tricks for getting your brain to listen to you and Actually Write

YES! There are several useful tricks I use to get motivated or jumpstart my brain into writing mode (because brains have a mind of their own sometimes and are incredibly stubborn). It doesn't work 100% of the time but here's all the stuff I try that can increase chances of successful writing by a large amount:

1. Listening to music scientifically stimulates the parts of the brain that control imagination and creativity, which can really help get you going. For me, I like to find songs that represent certain characters or particular moods based on what scenes I'm writing. This has helped me a TON in writing. Example: if I'm writing a sad death scene, I like to listen to sad/melancholy music to help bring me the emotions that I can then transfer to the characters I'm writing, or giving me the right "mindset" for certain scenes. Action scenes would be something like adventurous or rock music. (If you'd like, I have an awesome list of perfect music for different moods I could share that you can try out and see if it helps -- songs that are like "saying goodbye to someone" themed, etc.)

This has literally saves me so many times, and is my #1 go-to method above all others.

2. Try writing something different or unrelated to your main story, just to keep your mind sharp and active until the inspiration comes. It could be a random funny/fluff scene including your characters, OR it could be completely unrelated -- you'll see this in a lot of my writing I've posted on Tumblr Almost 100% of the stories I've posted here are ones I made completely unrelated to the fantasy trilogy I'm writing (located in Masterlist #2). Because I have learned about myself that my best work comes from when I'm "in the mood" for it. If I try to force myself to have a certain amount of chapters I write each day for my main story, I tend to burn out and the quality of my writing declines very obviously. So I write what seems fun in the moment, just to keep my imagination active until the creativity comes and I can switch back to my fantasy trilogy. Try not to limit yourself with the "I have to write every single day", it's perfectly fine to take breaks and write other short stories and snippets, or even take a break from writing altogether.

3. Okay, this one is going to sound kind of weird and quirky, but PROTEIN. For some odd reason, I think better when I have plenty of protein in my system. So eating foods high in protein (or even just using protein powder for a quick boost) an hour before you plan to sit down and write can actually make a noticeable difference in your mental energy. It's so weird, but it surprisingly works for me, so I just thought I'd throw it out there as another option.

4. Getting fresh air. Literally a lifesaver. You can take your phone/whatever electronic you write on outdoors, find a nice shady place to sit down and write away. This helps in particular with writing scenes where characters are outdoors as well, because you can use your own senses to observe your surroundings and weaving it into writing (like "the air was crisp with the scent of fresh-cut grass" or something like that.) It's also scientifically proven to boost mood, and can help your mind wander until it stumbles upon inspiration.

5. EXERCISE! it releases a bunch of dopamine into your system that makes you feel happy and has many mood-boosting effects, great for creating a solid foundation to let inspiration flow in!

I hope all this helps! (And if it doesn't, or you need advice on a particular area of writing, feel free to ask for more!)

[holmesxwatson]

The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes dir: Billy Wilder, 1970

I only watched The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes for the first time a few days ago but it lights my brain up in that special way that I know I’ll revisit it a lot. Don’t get me wrong, it’s far from perfect, for one thing Colin Blakely’s Watson is a little too shouty for me, but it’s very worthwhile to check out despite its shortcomings, which I think mostly come from the fact that so much was cut from the intended script.

I absolutely love Robert Stephens as Holmes. His face is so good, he has a way of looking at Watson when he doesn’t know he’s being observed that is very soft. I thought I was hallucinating the beginning of this movie with Holmes telling the ballet dancer he’s gay and in a relationship with Watson. I thought it was going to be played for a joke, and it was a bit, but it didn’t just end there. Holmes and Watson have a conversation about the repercussions in a lengthy scene that turns very serious by the end. I can’t believe this was 1970 and no one has since tried to build on this specific dynamic in a more meaningful way. Someone needs to remake this into a mini-series exactly how Billy Wilder intended it to be, here’s hoping public domain can make it so.

[above: script page from the cut story The Curious Case of the Upside Down Room, where Watson creates a fake case to make Holmes feel better]

Also, the backstory of the making of this film is so out of control: Robert Stephens’s nervous breakdown and suicide attempt during the production, the amount of years Billy Wilder was trying to write it and get it made, the interference of ACD’s son, the Loch Ness monster prop that the crew lost in actual Loch Ness, the immense scope of the episodic story they were going for, the way it got cut down from its original 3 hour 45 minute runtime and how that cut footage was lost forever! (this is crazy! everyone go check your attics and storage lockers right now).

In one of the interviews I found, Robert Stephens says “if something is boring — if it’s three minutes long it’s too long, but if it’s interesting it’s never long enough…you don’t want it to end.” Big same Toby Stephens’ dad, big SAME. I didn’t want it to end. I read the uncut script and I am just floored at what we missed out on. Thankfully some footage and audio remain of some of the cut scenes (but still! check your basements too).

Just fully let it settle into your brain that they filmed all of these stories in the script, and then cut most of it away. Like that is mind-blowing to me, it existed at one point as it was fully intended to be. If this was made now during home entertainment times, they would have no problem releasing an almost four-hour movie, but at the very least there would be a big director’s cut dvd release and we would be enjoying all the small Holmes x Watson moments we deserve.

Anyway, in pretty short order I found a bunch of interesting links to stuff, details below. I also consulted my very well-thumbed Conversations with Wilder book by Cameron Crowe, but there wasn’t that much more information in there. I have Robert Stephens’ memoir Knight Errant and the TPLOSH blu-ray on order so I’ll add to this post if I find any more good resources. Let me know if I’m missing anything, and enjoy!

Full movie on YouTube (x) <-update: this link went private, but it's also streaming for free on Tubi and Freevee, and available to rent on YouTube, Google Play, and Apple TV

Original roadshow draft of script on Internet Archive (x)

Missing footage: Prologue [sound only plus stills] (x), The Curious Case of the Upside Down Room [sound only plus stills] (x), The Dreadful Business of the Naked Honeymooners [footage and soundtrack only, no sound dialogue] (x), alternate ending [sound only] (x)

Making of documentary that includes behind-the-scenes snippets of some of the cut scenes [this doc is in German, but you can turn on the auto-translate to English in the YouTube settings] (x)

Interview with Ernst Walter, film editor of TPLOSH (x)

Interview with Christopher Lee “Mr. Holmes, Mr. Wilder” 2003 (x)

My YouTube playlist with all of the above links in one place plus an excellent fan vid by Just Bee that I added to the list because it’s just so good (x)

Missing Movies: A Case for Sherlock Holmes from 1994 BBC Radio 2 on Soundcloud [includes interview with Robert Stephens and folks involved in the production] (x)

Articles about the lost Loch Ness monster prop (x) (x)

The soundtrack by Miklós Rózsa (x)

[vera-king-hrfl]

I'm not really sure how to introduce this one. It's a continuation of the Zevlor story that's quickly becoming a novel. But I'm posting it for you guys because it's kind of a snippet. It's after we find our man in the illithid colony, and he finds out what happened while he was enthralled. A brief warning. There is some angst, emotional pain, a little self-harm, and major feelings here. No smut in this one. It's also a pretty long scene. I did cry while writing it. I'm not sorry.

Tav is based on my current, who is a noble high elf silver dragon disciple. Highfalutin, I know, but that's what was in my head.

You approach Gale with a bit of trepidation. You're not sure if he'll agree, or even if your idea will work, but you have to try. Zevlor needs his people on his side. Or, at least, for them to understand what actually happened in those dark lands, when he was taken by the Absolute. But you couldn't be the one to do it.

As you move to stand near the wizard, sitting cross-legged on a mat and reading some dusty book you'd found in the house of healing, he looks up and smiles. "Greetings, Tav." Seeing the expression on your face, he rises with a look of concern. "My, you seem agitated. How can I help?"

You bite your lip and take a breath, then speak, your voice tight and apologetic. "I need a favor. If it's not... if you can manage it." 

He nods, taking your hand and pressing it. He can be so sweet sometimes. "If it is in my power, I shall do my utmost. What do you need?" 

You nod and squeeze his hand, grateful for his friendly devotion. "How are you with... mental domination?" 

His eyes widen a little, but he smiles. "I can cast the spell. Depending on the intended victim, I suppose I could maintain it almost indefinitely, as long as there are no other distractions. The power and duration really depend upon my concentration and the target's resistance. But so can you. Why? Who are we dominating today?"

You worry your lower lip with your teeth again and shake your head before continuing. "It cannot be me. They all know... look, Gale. We both know how powerful the elder brain is... with an unprepared mind, it would be almost impossible to resist its influence. Is that right?"

He nods slowly. "Yes, of course, but... oh, I see." He catches on quickly, you reflect, as he works out for himself what you want. "Let me see if I can guess your thought process. I assume this is in reference to your Hellrider and how his people have been treating him since... all that. You want to show them that what happened was not his fault, and you think a little demonstration of that kind of power would be a good way to do that. You can not perform this feat yourself because of your known association with him, so you want me to make a tiefling stand on one foot or something to demonstrate how easy it is to lose oneself in the face of strong magic." He ruminates for a moment, looking thoughtful, then shrugs and smiles. "I don't see that it could hurt to try. Courtesy dictates that I must warn the person I am to control, but even then, I should be able to hold them to my will for some time. May I involve another of our group?"

You nod. "If you think it will help. I can't really keep secrets from any of you anyway. Who are you planning to bring?"

He squeezes your hand and nods decisively before releasing you. "I had a thought to take Karlach with me. She's a tiefling, and she well knows how it is to be compelled to do things she doesn't want. I will go immediately. I saw a group of refugees in the inn recently. I imagine they haven't gone anywhere. I shall do my best to make them understand. Who is the intended target?" 

You watch Gale as he nearly bounces on his toes, seeming eager, as always, to demonstrate his skill. "Whoever is the strongest. But... well, don't hurt anyone or humiliate them too much. Just... never mind, you know what to do. It is in your capable hands."

Gale grins and bows. "My lady, I live to serve. Rest a while. You've been burning the candle at both ends lately, and you're a bit overwrought. Stay near. I'll come find you when I'm finished."

You watch him as he heads off to find Karlach and the other tieflings. You are overwrought, nervous, your concern over Zevlor and the refugees, the remaining Chosen, and the Elder Brain mingling and draining your mental faculties. You wander back to your own tent, sitting on a cushion just outside the flap and trying to meditate for a little while to clear your head. 

After what seems like ages, but is probably closer to half an hour, you sense Gale and Karlach returning, open your eyes, and struggle to your feet, trying to read their expressions. As they draw near, you can see that they are both smiling. Gale with an expression of satisfaction and Karlach a cheeky grin, bouncing a little as she approaches. She looks around when she arrives, before speaking at half her normal volume. "It worked! You're a genius, Tav. Cal volunteered. He hopped on one foot and everything! Gale was even going to make him slap Lia, but I stopped him, so he grabbed Dammon with the spell too and made them dance together! There was nothing they could do about it." She slaps Gale on the back, and the wizard wheezes, but looks pleased nonetheless. 

"Yes indeed," he continues with a smug expression. "Rolan has the strongest mind, but I do not think he would have taken my meddling with it lightly. So I thought maybe, if I dominated two of them at once, when they were prepared for it... and I made it quite clear that my powers do not nearly match those of the brain. I think it's had the desired effect. I believe Tilses went to look for him. She has been on his side the whole time anyway, and the others seem prepared both to apologize and forgive."

You blow out a breath and sag with relief. It was a long shot, and could have gone quite badly, especially with Rolan being so protective of his siblings... But hearing that your plan had worked was a welcome bright spot in an otherwise trying day. You pull them both into a hug, Gale grunting with wounded dignity and with the pressure of the grinning tiefling’s muscles crushing you both, thank them profusely, and then head off to look for Zevlor. Maybe this news would help with the deep depression he'd been struggling with since you rescued him.

The soft call of the scale you'd planted on him leads you toward Rethwin Town. As you approach the mason's guild, you see that Cerys, as well as Tilses, are standing near the doors, heads together in a fervent whispered discussion. You are opening your mouth to greet them when you're startled by a crash from inside, and the crunch and rattle of splintered wood. Cerys notices you first, and waits for you to arrive with a concerned expression. They're both looking at you nervously as another burst of noise echoes from beyond the half open doors, causing them both to flinch as you hurry over. 

Noting your concern, Tilses raises her hands, palms facing you. "He's not in any trouble. At least, not from fiends or undead. His only enemy is... well, himself." 

Your eyes widen. "Zevlor is making those noises?"

She nods, voice low, "yeah, the Commander is in a state at the moment. We came looking for him and heard the crashes... we thought he was being attacked. But... He's alone in there. At first he was shouting about being weak and unworthy, but then... well, he just started tearing the place apart."

You turn to go into the building, but Cerys catches your arm. "You might not want to go in there, Tav. He's unhinged. I've never seen him in this mood before. He might be... dangerous." 

You smile reassuringly and pat her hand. "He won't hurt me." Though, with the sounds coming from beyond the doors, you're not quite so sure as you pretend. "Go back to the inn. Please. If... if anything goes wrong... I can defend myself, but I don't want you in the crossfire. Just in case."

They exchange a long look, but then nod. "Very well," Tilses says quietly. "If anyone can help him, it's you. We know him, but he may be embarrassed... I know he thinks very highly of you." She grips your arm, a plea in her eyes, and then she and the other woman move off, looking over their shoulders once or twice. You wait until they are out of sight, and then take a deep breath and turn toward the doors. 

It is dim and dusty in the building, golden motes drifting through the newly revealed sunbeams that are filtering through holes in the battered roof. There is a flurry of movement in the back room, and you pass through the second set of doors just as Zevlor seizes a thick, rotten log from a cradle by the ruined fireplace and rips it in half with his bare hands. He casts the pieces aside and paces the width of the room, his hands shoved into his hair. There is blood on his face and hands, spattered on his dully gleaming armor, and a wreck of shattered crates and tools is scattered about. Your heart aches for him, but you hold your tongue for a moment as you sidle through the door and stand next to it, leaning your back against the wall. 

He doesn't notice you at first, so great is his distress, and in the relative quiet, you can hear him whimpering to himself, his voice hovering on the raw edge of sanity. "I tried. I'm so sorry. I wasn't strong enough. They're dead. They hate me. They're right to hate me. It's all my fault. If I had only been stronger..." He grabs another crate and sends it hurtling into the stone wall, where it explodes in a shower of splinters and small nails. You turn your head, but don't move, feeling a few shards pepper the side of your face. He turns back to pace in the other direction, stumbling and nearly falling over as he finally catches sight of you. He freezes and his eyes go wide, orange rings in deep black, shining in the gloom. His mouth wags for a moment, but then firms as he turns his face away. 

His words are a low, pained growl when he finally speaks. "You shouldn't be here." His hands flex, and you see that some of his claws are broken, his fingertips bloody. "I couldn't bear it if I... I  killed them. Leave, before I..."

You stand away from the wall, approaching him slowly, staying well out of his reach, but preparing a shield just in case. "We both know that's not true," you say quietly, your own hands wringing at your robes. "You weren't in control of..." 

He cuts you off with a roar, swinging his fist until it meets a supporting beam with a loud crack of splintered wood. The edifice sways, and dust and bits of ancient birds nests filter down from above. He's not a big man, but in this extremis he's terrifyingly strong, and you hope he doesn't manage to bring the whole roof down on your heads. "But I am responsible! I led them, it was me that... I..." He winces, looking at his hand in confusion, and you see the flash of white bone peeking through his scraped, ruby skin. Dark blood drips onto the floor from his torn flesh, drops scattering among the dust and ashes. "I wasn't good enough for them. I'm not strong enough, couldn't resist her. They're dead because of me. You don't want to associate... I've failed everyone. You deserve someone who..."

He stands there trembling for a moment before looking up and quickly striding toward you, raising his wounded hand to shove you back against the wall, your head hitting the stone so hard you see brief stars drift across your vision. He's on you in an instant, mouth crushing yours, bloody fingers pulling at your clothes. You feel all of his rage and shame and desperation as he kisses you frantically, his teeth cutting into your lips. You let him tear at you, neither returning his violent kiss nor trying to push him away. You're slightly dazed when he suddenly gasps and rips himself away from you. He pants, eyes blazing... "Gods I... I'm... you see? Im no good to anyone. I could have..." He reaches out as if to touch the drop of blood oozing from your bruised lips, a horrified expression on his face, but the lowers his eyes and drops to his knees before you. He covers his face with his hands and keens. "You don't want to be near me. Nobody wants to be near me. I see their faces when... you should leave me. I could never... never be good enough for... I'm not the man you..." he stops, shaking silently in the dust, ragged breaths filtering through his hands. 

You stand still for a moment, stunned, but then slowly let yourself sink to the floor, sliding your back down the wall until you’re sitting before him. You keep your tone gentle, "I am perfectly capable of judging for myself what kind of man you are. Here." You reach out and, ever so gently, ease his hands from his face, being careful not to put pressure on the broken one. He resists at first, but then relents. You inspect his bloody hand, lamenting to yourself that you cannot heal him, but you let coolness flow from your fingers, hoping to soothe him and ease the pain into numbness. "Hold still," you say as you release his fingers and reach beneath the hem of your robe to tear a strip from your linen under tunic. He flinches at the ripping sound, but keeps his hand stretched out before him, breathing harshly. You carefully wrap the linen around his hand, sinking a deeper cold into his inflamed flesh as you delicately press on the exposed little bone, easing it back into place and pinching the skin together before wrapping his palm firmly and tucking the end of the makeshift bandage under itself. You cradle the wounded appendage and reach out with your other hand, cupping his cheek lightly. His eyes are wide, sparkling with unshed tears, his mouth working in shock, lip trembling. You lean forward a little to hold his eyes, keeping your voice soft, soothing, "you do not have to carry the world on your shoulders, my love. Let me take some of the weight. Come here."

A silent tear tracks down his ravaged cheek, but he allows you to draw him toward you, laying his bandaged hand on your lap and shifting him so he's sitting before you before pressing his face into your shoulder, lifting your chin to avoid his horns. He curls his tail around himself and hesitantly wraps his good arm around your back, and you hold the armored tiefling close as his lean frame hitches and trembes with silent, heart-wrenching sobs.

The fading beams have crawled a long way up the wall before a low voice nudges you out of your doze. "My. Aren't you two a mess." Zevlor is cradled in your arms, having fallen into a deep sleep after crying himself out. Shadowheart crouches next to you, her expression unusually soft, and looks you over. You know you must look shocking, with your lips bruised and cut, and little streaks of dried blood on your face, your eyes puffy from weeping with heartache over Zevlor's pain. She reaches out and brushes a lock of hair out of your eyes, dropping her voice to a quiet whisper. "We saw the other two return, but it took a while to get it out of them. We waited as long as we dared, and then I came because, well, I'm the most subtle." She smiles. "Good thing too. You look like you both could use a little attention." You nod and shift slightly, letting her see Zevlor's hand, wrapped in the bloody bandage on your lap. He tenses a little, tightening his grip on you and murmuring into your robe, but doesn't wake, such is his exhaustion. Shadowheart reaches out, very lightly touching her fingers to his, and whispers the spell. His breath hitches and he shudders as the tingling power filters through him, but then sighs, seeming to feel the relief even in his sleep. She heals you next, the sensation making your skin prickle with gooseflesh, but you feel the small cuts close and the bruises fade.

"Thank you," you mouth silently, and she nods, leaning back on her heels. 

"We will leave you alone as long as you wish. We just wanted to know you were safe." Her expression becomes thoughtful. "You love him." Her own nod follows yours, and she reaches out to brush one knuckle down your cheek before standing. "I'm happy for you. Truly. I will tell the others you are both alright. Take as long as you need. You deserve to be happy." Her smile is almost sweet as she turns away and silently exits the room. 

The last light is fading when Zevlor stirs against you. Slowly he turns, easing himself around in your grasp until his eyes, just a flicker of fire in the darkness now, gaze up at you. His voice is a husky whisper, "did you mean it? What you said, before. You called me... or, maybe I was dreaming." He closes his eyes for a moment and sighs, a soft, happy sound. "If so, it was a wonderful dream."

You look down at him with a soft smile and bend your head to place a light kiss on his full lips. "I did. And you are. Ai armiel telere maenen hir, Zevlor, and I can only hope you feel the same." He sits up, keeping his arm about you and chuckling softly, looking at you with undisguised adoration. 

"I don't know what that means, but I think I can guess. I can see it now, in your eyes." He cups your cheek with a gentle hand. "Are you certain this is what you want? Me? Because, I know... my heart is yours for as long as I draw breath. I love you. So very much." You nod yes, and he slowly leans toward you, taking a deep trembling breath before pressing his lips softly to yours. 

Zevlor kisses you chastely for a little while, his lips and hands full of tenderness, before placing a kiss on your forehead, and then resting his own against yours. "Very well, my lady. Together, then." His words are a feather brush against your lips. "But you need me at my best if we are to prevail in this... I will seek the Oathbreaker Knight."

[childotkw]

Hi! I'm a fan of your Lucemond content and I'm finally brave enough to ask about your "Dichotomy of Loyalty" AU (that is if you're okay with answering). What exactly happens during Lucerys's abduction / forced familial reunion? Your post says that the house is ransacked, Laenor is gone, and there's a black car outside. What goes on during Lucerys's last minutes of freedom before he is brought back into the family?

Does he attempt to call the police and find a hiding place? Does Aemond pop out like Michael Myers if he's inside the house or does he force his way in? If Laenor has a weapon someplace (despite wanting a normal life, the man has to be aware that he's a fugitive in the mafia underworld now and needs to have a just-in-case weapon handy), does Lucerys try to reach it? Or does Lucerys arm himself with a knife and a near reenactment of what happened years before take place between him and Aemond?

I'm sorry to force this on you, but this time placement in your AU is probably the most suspenseful and action-packed scene. Would it be alright if I ask more questions I have on this AU or do you want your focus on your other writings? Thank you so much for sharing your creations!

Hello, darling! Thank you for your message 💕

Lucerys was actually meant to be at their home when it got raided. They’d been watching and following him for weeks before they made their move, learning his habits and schedules and confirming that he was actually their Lucerys.

Normally, Lucerys would have finished work early on Fridays, but something came up and he had to stay back - which wasn’t uncommon but it hadn’t happened since the Targaryen’s had begun their reconnaissance. So they raided the house, expecting both, but it was only Laenor there at the time. They took him and threw him in the second car, then settled in to wait.

Lucerys came home, and when he found the house wrecked he immediately tried to phone Laenor, and then the police. Before the call went through, he was grabbed from behind - but Lucerys, despite being small and looking soft, did know some self-defence. His elbow slammed into the guy’s face, and the second he was released he bolted.

Unfortunately though, Lucerys couldn’t outrun the men sent to retrieve him. He was subdued, knocked out, and whisked away.

Aemond was, in an impressive show of restraint on his part, not actually part of the retrieval team. Everyone, including him, knew that if he had been there, there was the chance that he’d be too emotional and things might go wrong. Instead, he was waiting at the main house for the men to return.

When they did rock up with an unconscious Lucerys something loosened inside Aemond, because they had suspected that Lucerys had no memories of them or their family, but not everything about his nephew was lost. There was still that savagery in his blood, the savagery that sang out to Aemond, evident in the bruise forming on one guard’s cheekbone, the deep scratches on another’s arms, and the scuffed clothes and cut eyebrow of the other.

And feel free to ask me whatever you like! I don’t always write snippets, but who knows - something you ask may kick my brain into gear!

[umbracirrus]

WIP Wednesday-!! 💛

I'm not sure why, but it felt incredibly hard to pinpoint something to post as a WIP this week! Maybe it's because my brain has been focussed on getting the smut which I posted of my idiots Elyse and Balgruuf finished... But anyway. Back to The Perfect Storm. Back to a time before they're happily married, or even together in the first place ;-; This snippet features a lil bit of main quest deja vu :3

Tagged by @hircines-hunter and @skyrim-forever! Tagging @thequeenofthewinter and anyone who wants to share a WIP!!

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“M-My Jarl! Dragonborn-!” Elyse and Balgruuf were cut off from their conversation by a guard running over to them. Elyse recognised her straight away, it was Fjora – she looked out of breath and frantic.

“Take a breath,” Elyse stated, approaching her and taking hold of her shoulders as she clutched at her chest. “Has something happened?”

“A... A dragon. It came down the mountain and started attacking the road between here and the east. N-Near the Ritual standing stone...” Fjora’s free hand was shaking as she reached up to grasp hold of one of Elyse’s wrists. “I- I was told by the lad I was on patrol with to- to report to you moments before he- before he was-!”

Both Elyse and Balgruuf exchanged a concerned look as Fjora continued to breathe heavily, before slowly releasing her grasp.

“Thank you for letting us know. Go inform Commander Caius of what happened to your partner, then get some rest.”

“A... Aye, Jarl.”

Fjora looked between the pair as she pursed her lips together, before turning on her heel and quickly making her way out of the room. When the door fell shut, Balgruuf noticed that Elyse was slowly clenching and unclenching her fists. He made his way over to her, and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Are you going?”

She was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “I have to. I am the Dragonborn after all...” She inhaled sharply. “This reminds me of that first dragon. When it attacked the watchtower... I’ve got that same anxiety that I felt back then.”

“Elyse...”

“It has been so long since a dragon has emerged to stir trouble. I’ve been keeping on my feet by training with Lydia and teaching Frothar, but a dragon...” She then folded her arms over and frowned. “But unlike then, I actually have some tricks up my sleeve... Like dragonrend.” In spite of her level tone of voice, her body was just noticeably shaking. “Divines... Can I even do it? I don’t know-“

“Elyse... You can do it. I believe in you. We all believe in you,” he whispered, taking hold of the sides of her face gently. “Take Lydia with you, if you feel that you need the support. By the Nine... I would even go with you to help, if not for my responsibilities keeping me tied to the palace.”

She was silent as she looked up at him, before she weakly smiled. “Thank you...”

[canonicallyobserving911]

Several Sentences Sunday

Fanonwriter2023 on AO3

Where CANON and FANON collide!

This is an EPIC LOVE STORY!

Season 7 FANON Speculation: Buddie Multi-Chapter Fanfic - Hiatus Reading: “I’m still in love with you but... I needed to learn how to love myself too!”

Chapter 20 was made available on AO3 yesterday.

Chapter 21 will be posted soon.

Currently 20 chapters completed: 757.3K Words; Rated: Mature

One chapter will be posted at a time.

____________

I'm excited to finish writing Chapter 21 because there are only 7 days left until Buck and Eddie get married.

For anyone who hasn't read Chapter 20, here's a brief overview: Eddie completed his Paramedic Certification Course and he started planning a surprise for their wedding evening, night and the morning after. Buck asked his bio dad if they could meet in-person while they're in London. Eddie and Buck had an important early morning conversation about the way they'll make decisions for their family. They went to the Italian Consulate in Los Angeles with their two witnesses and now they have all the legalized documents they'll need to get married in Rome. Also, they tied up a lot of loose ends by verifying their 'To Do' Lists along with reviewing all of their documents.

Buck and Eddie will tie the knot before Christmas 2023 but they are NOT getting married in the U.S. and they won't have a wedding ceremony until May 2024. They've revealed their relationship, their engagement and the fact that they're going to Europe to their found family during the 118's Thanksgiving dinner (Chapter 17), to Eddie's parents, his sisters, his abuela and Tia Pepa (Chapter 18) and Buck told the Buckley parents he's getting married and that he has a son (Chapter 19). Only three people know they're getting married in 7 days and they are Chris, Carla and Malone. They told Carla and Malone (Chapter 19) because they asked them to be their witnesses at the Italian Consulate and they told Chris (Chapter 20) that evening after they got the "Atto Notorio" (Declaration) signed but no one else knows.

Now that Buck and Eddie have their signed Declaration and everything else is in place, will they be able to leave Los Angeles Friday afternoon headed to Rome, Italy without anyone else finding out they're getting married in Chapter 21?

___________

Here's a snippet from Chapter 21 of Protective Eddie taking care of his fiancé Buck.

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Buck’s staring straight ahead, he’s holding his breath and he hasn’t inhaled or exhaled in more than 20 seconds.  In his mind, he knows he’s supposed to be breathing automatically but he can’t and he’s not sure how to make his mind and body do what they’re supposed to do without him thinking about it.

Since Eddie hasn’t taken his eyes off him, he can tell he might be entering a state of shock.  He knows how long he’s been staring off into the distance along with the number of seconds that have passed since he stopped breathing because he’s been counting.  Once he reached 12 seconds, he started to worry because he knows if Buck doesn’t start breathing soon, he’ll decrease oxygen to his brain which could lead to him fainting or having a seizure.  It usually takes a minute or two for someone not breathing to faint but he’s not going to let that happen.

They’re still holding hands and he’s still counting but when he reaches 20 seconds, he releases Buck’s hand, moves off the couch, gets on his knees right in front of him so he’s in his direct line of sight.  He lifts his hands, cups both of Buck’s cheeks and searches his eyes to see if he can get him to look at him.

He doesn’t want to startle him, so he gently rubs his thumbs across both of his cheeks and says, "My love, I need you to breathe!"

Within a millisecond, Buck’s eyes meet his but he still hasn’t inhaled or exhaled yet, so Eddie gently asks, "Babe, I need you to inhale and exhale with me.  Can you do that?"

What happened to cause Buck to enter a slight state of shock and stop breathing? 👀

___________

This is an EPIC LOVE STORY!

Fic Summary: Months after Buck and Eddie were hit by the same lightning strike; they’re still struggling with the aftermath of it.  But before they make their love confessions, they’ll spend time getting to know themselves as individuals first. Eddie learns to enjoy the simple things in life as he participates in activities on his own and with new friends while Buck learns the rest of the 31-year-old deep dark family secret about his conception and birth. Their journey to forever is still a work in progress but once they finally admit they’re in love with each other, everything that follows their love confessions will be cataclysmic.

__________

Chapter Summaries

Chapter 1 - Eddie makes a new friend while Buck receives devastating news regarding the sperm donation he made for Connor and Kameron.

Chapter 2 - Buck does a lot of research to learn more about the abnormalities found in his red blood cells and Eddie starts a new therapy journey that’s all about him and not the traumas he’s experienced.

Chapter 3 - After more than a month, Buck and Eddie finally spend time together outside of work but it doesn’t end well and they part with a lot of uncertainty regarding their places in each other’s lives.

Chapter 4 - Eddie has a few realizations about his life which causes him to consider moving back to El Paso, TX while Buck continues to be reminded of his past which causes him to take an impromptu road trip across America.

Chapter 5 - Both Buck and Eddie have difficult conversations with their parents and Buck finally learns the truth behind the reason why his mother despised him while Eddie finally tells his mother about the way she tries to control him.

Chapter 6 - More than two weeks after Buck pushed Eddie away after suggesting they needed a break; Eddie decides to try again. Eddie’s there for Buck when he’s at his worst just like Buck was there for him when he was at his worst and he won’t let Buck give up.

Chapter 7 - After Buck’s mental breakdown, Eddie has his back the same way Buck had his when he had his own breakdown more than a year ago.  They share several vulnerable and emotionally intimate moments with one another and they begin to realize their small, sweet and caring gestures matter just as much if not more than any grand gesture ever could because these are the foundations of a long-lasting love relationship.

Chapter 8 - Buck, Eddie and Chris all have their own therapists and during their sessions, they reflect on their pasts while they’re in the present so they can prepare for their future together as a family.

Chapter 9 - Buck and Eddie are there for each other when Buck has to testify as a witness during the trial.  But by the end of it, they’ll both realize their individual and shared traumas are going to keep resurfacing until they talk about them, deal with the fact that they’re in love with one another and face the fact that they can’t live without each other.

Chapter 10 - As Buck and Eddie finally begin to confront their past traumas, they realize how much they need each other to fill in the gaps of their memories.  Additionally, the universe screams at them for what appears to be the one hundredth time so Buck can realize he doesn’t have to ‘find it’ because he already ‘made it’ and Eddie’s reminded tomorrow isn’t promised and he doesn’t have to die alone if he doesn’t want to.

Chapter 11 - A “virga” or dry thunderstorm is in the forecast but once the rain starts, the thunderstorm happening outside won’t be able to match the storm brewing inside between Buck and Eddie.  It’s the universe’s final scream and when the tumultuous winds begin to blow, they’ll have one last chance to hold onto everything they’ve built over the last six years or they’ll lose it all forever.

Chapter 12 - Buck and Eddie have always shared a deep physical attraction and an emotional intimacy that’s unmatched but now that they’re in a relationship, they’re learning how to navigate the romantic intimacy they’ve been waiting for six years to explore. The love they have for each other is a once in a lifetime, soulmate, love of their lives type of love that transcends space and time.

Chapter 13 - While navigating the newness of their romantic relationship, Buck and Eddie take advantage of every moment they spend together. As their individual lives, people from their pasts, time constraints and the possibility of losing each other again make attempts to interrupt and interfere with their journey to forever, they love, care for, support and hold onto each other even tighter to withstand it all.

Chapter 14 - Buck and Eddie can see the lights at the end of the tunnels regarding the results of Buck’s Cancer Screening along with everything else they’re dealing with. But are the lights they see exits to the tunnels or are they headlights on different runaway trains that are speeding towards them in an effort to interrupt their forever?

Chapter 15 - Buck and Eddie have known they were exactly who the other one wanted in a partner since they met six years ago when they agreed to have each other’s backs. They’re in a romantic relationship, they’re both preparing to ask the other one to spend forever with them and by the end of the seventh week into their relationship, together they will plan their most important and greatest adventure for their future.

Chapter 16 - As Buck and Eddie begin to prepare for their marriage ceremony that will take place in Rome, Italy in December 2023, they start planning their first international adventure as a romantic couple. Even though Chris is still the only person they’ve told about their relationship, several people who know them have already witnessed the love they share and as the days continue, others will witness it too.

Chapter 17 - As Buck and Eddie get closer to departing Los Angeles for their international adventure, a moment in time will remind them; life is fragile, tomorrow isn’t promised and every second of everyday should be cherished because everything can change in an instant. The result of that realization will cause them to hold onto each other even more.

Chapter 18 - As Buck, Eddie and Chris prepare for family gatherings before and during the Thanksgiving holiday, the “Santa Ana Winds” start to blow and all sorts of expected and unexpected familial drama ensues.

Chapter 19 - As Buck and Eddie get closer to their wedding day, the universe begins to align everything so that some of their parent and children's relationships are strengthened while others come to an abrupt end.

Chapter 20 - With only 14 days remaining until Buck, Eddie and Chris depart Los Angeles, CA traveling to Rome, Italy, for their first family adventure, an early morning conversation about “tying up loose ends” helps Buck and Eddie realize there are still several things left unfinished on their ‘To Do’ lists. The question is will there be enough time to complete all of them?

Chapter 21 - Will be posted soon.

__________

Read chapters 1-20 are available on AO3.

Continue reading on AO3

Chapter 21 will be posted soon.

[alwaysamage]

How Much is Too Much?

I am doing something very self indulgent and making 5 pathfinder 2e characters, and plan to run them through the Strength of Thousands campaign and write it up instead of like playing it at a table. Possibly even posting it or snippets of it to Ao3 for the fun of it.

Reasoning behind doing this is in part cause it’s a campaign I’ve desperately wanted to play since it was first released, and only got through about 1 out of its 6 books before the group fell apart. The other part is just self indulgent self insert with other characters based on characters from other media I’ve always liked/resonated with.

Now this campaign is a bit unique in that since everyone is a student at a magical university, it gives a bunch of free things towards character creation. The first being a free archetype in wizard or Druid, aka free 10 feats to do watered down Wizard or Druid. It also gives a number of skill/general feats and trainings thematic to your branches of the university. You pretty much need a whole extra page for your character sheet for these bonuses. On top of this I am also doing the dual class optional rule, cause I just always love playing characters with that. So right now I have 5 characters that have 2 full classes, 1 half class, and a bunch of extra skill based trainings and feats. And I’m giving them each a relic that will grow with them. At this point my brain is pulling out the Bilbo meme of “why not? why shouldn’t I?” and telling me to use the variant rule of ancestral paragon too, which would double the ancestry feats they would get.

So my question is, how much is too much? Or should I just go full camp and give them everything.

If it helps, while I haven’t settled in this idea yet, I’ve been debating deviating from the SoT campaign with this after book one or two and possibly having each of them chase personal goals (end enslavement of their people, make a country change their genocidal policies, bridge gaps between androids and humanoids, etc) with the possibility of running into the star stone and becoming gods after all that. So maybe they should have more?

[afloralrib]

So, guys. I know we’re all wondering what’s going to happen in CoT, and that we’re wary about what CC might have done with Thomastair for good reasons. But, I’m actually hopeful?

You’re right, it’s foolish. And yet, I can’t help thinking that all the Thomastair snippets we’ve been given lead to the two of them sorting things out by CoT’s first half.

Of course, I don’t think all will be fine by then; rather, that Thomas and Alastair will have talked it out, and moved on to dealing with the Merry Thieves.

Why do I think that? Well, my brain’s been mulling over the snippets since they got out, which means you now have to hear my interpretation of them.

A warning: I won’t be posting spoilers about CoT’s leaked chapters, but there’ll be clear references for those who read them.

CoT was always starting in conflict considering how CoI ended, and that became even more evident when Thomas’s note - because it’s his note, let’s be honest - was released.

With its tone, the note mirrors Alastair’s to Thomas before the Townsend Musicale, back when the roles were reversed. It expresses care and longing; the need to be with the person you love.

Now Thomas’s in that position, and all the while having to figure out what’s happening between Alastair and Charles.

He’s with Kit when Alastair visits Charles, and he’s distracted by the ruckus upstairs. The scene is clearly from early CoT, as shown by the lack of communication between him and Alastair.

How do we go from them not communicating to sorting things out, though?

There must be at least one meeting - most likely accidental - in between the encounter at the Fairchilds’ and Thomas and Alastair’s eventual reconciliation. The snippets say so:

This means that Thomas and Alastair meet exactly one day after Alastair visits Charles. It’s really too short of a time for them to have sorted things out, and Thomas clearly doesn’t know anything about Alastair and Charles yet.

After that, it’s all left open to interpretation, but Thomas and Alastair meet again - this time in a carriage - not much later. And maybe, it even happens because Alastair gets Thomas’s note.

Regardless of the reasons, the carriage meeting will presumably represent the turning point in Thomas and Alastair’s relationship.

They meet, share a blanket, talk. They, believe it or not, discuss Charles. And while bringing him up will likely be related to something he did, it’ll also help Thomas and Alastair sort things out.

They’ll be forced to face their feelings, and between that and their newfound proximity, they’ll kiss. It’s only natural, and there’s an art which confirms it.

There are good chances, then, that the carriage meeting will bring major changes to Thomas and Alastair’s relationship.

While making them kiss doesn’t necessarily have to mean anything, it shows that Alastair is faltering; that he’s rethinking his position.

Having talked to him, there won’t be much left for Thomas to do outside of clearing the air with the Merry Thieves - with Matthew.

The only other Thomastair snippets CC gave us either see Thomas and Alastair being happy - the mistletoe, hopeful Alastair - or them effectively dealing with Matthew.

And to be frank, getting him to support their relationship will probably be Thomas and Alastair’s greatest challenge in CoT’s second half.

They’ll be talking about it when Matthew asks Thomas if he loves Alastair, and he’ll accept it throughout the course of the book.

Maybe not immediately, but eventually:

It’ll take a moment of great emotional or physical distress, but Matthew will come around.

[baradesign]

✏️, 🖊, 🌝, 🍰?

✏️ Do you write every day? HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHAHA.... no :V I've been trying to write at least for 1 hr each day, but that hasn't been hapening ;w; 🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP. Beware!

“Home! I need to get home and help look for Sidon!”

“I know that, Link, but you can’t just go and search for him!” The blond chuffed at such a ridiculous statement. Of course he could just go and search for him. He could already be doing that if Pipit would just let him! He turned away from the brunet, as if to prove a point, and managed to take only a couple of steps before he felt Pipit’s hands hold him in place once again. “Link you can’t!”

“I can and I will!”

“No, you can’t! We’re on duty, Link. You’ll be a deserter! A traitor!”

“I don’t care!” Link felt the hands on his arm release him in an instant and, just as he thought the brunet had finally understood his urgency to leave, a sharp, burning pain coming from his scalp morphed his angry roar into a pitiful yelp. The hand grasping at the base of his ponytail pulled his head backwards with such strength that he could only throw his head back and follow its movement until his gravity center shifted and he found himself falling backwards against the wooden floor.

“Well, I do, and you should, too!” Pipit shouted from above. His enraged face put an immediate end to whatever stream of colourful language was about to come out from the blond’s mouth. Link was not used to seeing Pipit with such an expression, and by the looks of it, he was about to learn not to summon it again any time soon. “ A deserter, Link! Do you even understand what that means?! Is your fish-brain big enough to comprehend the meaning of it?! You’ll get court-martialed and probably imprisoned, since there is nobody here who can say you were being forced to leave your post! And even if I were to speak for you, what am I gonna say?! ‘Please, Your Highness, have mercy on this idiot. He suffered from a stroke.’?! You’d still get banished from Hyrule, at the very least! And where are you gonna go after that? You can’t go back into Zora’s Domain, so what’s your plan? Run away for the rest of your life, hoping to not be captured while trying to survive by eating nuts and berries like a squirrel? Go live up the volcano with the Gorons? Dress in fucking drag and get lost in the desert?!”

“I-I just-”

“No! You can’t possibly think you can ask me to just sit down and watch you do this. You. Just. Can’t!” Pipit stomped his boots against the dock, so close to the blond’s head, Link found himself flinching every time the sole made contact with the creaking wood. Blue eyes braved taking a look while the brunet struggled to catch his breath after the sudden outburst. He saw Pipit bit his lip and press a thumb and an index against his eyes, the fingers pulling on his sin as he dragged his whole hand against the side of his face. A deep groan left him, his usually energetic voice sounded as if he had aged ten years in the last ten minutes. “You can’t ask me to let you do this to yourself. You can’t…I hate nuts…I look awful in drag…” 🌝 Who is one character you haven’t yet written for that you would like to? To ot duplicate my answer, this tim I'll saaaaaaaaaaaaaaay... Gildan. I know he's an oc, but... I need to write him as an actual talking character. I NEED IT! 🍰 Name one of your fave comfort fics (doesn’t have to be your all time fave). These Tasks Three by @only-by-the-stars ! It gives me happy feels!

[venillopewrites]

August 2, 2023

I feel like an estranged aunt every time I return to this blog with news, but not a rich wine aunt but one of those aunt's who disappears into the woods for a few months and comes back with a pet skunk and a handful of berries.

WHAT'S DONE 🪐

➠ 3% of chapter 1 pt. 1 has been written! I know it doesn't sound like much but I'm vibing. With how I've outlined this chapter, 3% is a drop in the ocean. What was I thinking. Poor host, I love writing their existential crisis tho.

➠ The prologue is DONE! Or done enough to go through another round of testing and editing, and now I just have to check that all variables do what they're supposed to. Might even add more, knowing me and my wayward writing hands.

➠ The character profiles are coming! I'm just trying to reach my backup files because they got lost in the freak accident called 'Ven deleting stuff willy nilly and being a dumb'. Let's hope they're out there somewhere 🥹.

TO DO 🪐

➠ Still need to write chapter one, part one to completion. After that I can start thinking of demo release. Just saying that makes me shake in my boots!

➠ Check wtf I was thinking for ch1, pt2, because I have completely forgotten. Had to take a break and it just made my brain blank out 😶‍🌫️

➠ Post some character snippets! I have some very fluffy writings sitting in my notepad on the phone, drunk Ven really doesn't socialize but writes instead.

➠ Reintegrate to Tumblr. Be more active! I've missed so much during the impromptu break, breaks my heart 😞

While I've been gone from the online world, the game has been in the works. Things are going smoothly on that front! While I know the Tumblr for this game isn't popping off, I appreciate all of you who have had patience with me thus far 🧡 Good things are coming, I promise.

(There might also be a side project in the works, but that's still under wraps shhhh)

[griefabyss69]

07 hot mug please

Hot mug is something I started back before I even published my first fic on AO3 - it was originally a vent fic about being too broke to eat and turned into a "Steve is taking care of Eddie post-Vecna" fic with a fun little twist. My writing wasn't nearly as coherent back then and so while I have 8K in this fic, I need to rewrite it from the ground up to make it into something I can continue writing and finished. I haven't visited this fic in MONTHS, the last time I even touched it was in September and that was to rename it to my current organizational system. I love it, even if it needs some work <3 A big snippet of it, a fully coherent scene and everything: (contains: canon level injuries, painkillers, hospital mentions, rated like T for that stuff)

The first mug of coffee he has after getting ripped apart by the horrible (cool ass) bats in the horrible (sick) alternate dimension is at Steve Harrington's house.

Freshly released from a rushed hospital stay in an underground bunker, forced into Steve's guest room by circumstance and because Steve had been roped into being his nurse of all fucking things, he sat in Steve's kitchen. The stool at the island counter was completely unsupportive and so he mostly just slouched onto his elbows, trying to keep the pressure off of his injuries, but apparently if he popped a stitch or two then Steve could just fix it right up.

The bunker hospital was so much worse than Steve's house – as creepy as it is at night, like he's in the world's most boring art gallery after closing – but at least they had trained medical professionals there.

Hunched over the hot mug clutched in his hands, groggy in a way he never really feels, both the pain and the painkillers making him slow and still, he brings his face down into the steam. He took it black, just like he does at home (wherever the fuck that is now), but he's not sure if he even wants to drink it. He's had this feeling since he first woke up that anything he eats or drinks will just leak out of his sides, even though the doctors told him that the damage to his organs hadn't been so bad. He was all fixed, everything working just fine apparently, but he still checks his bandages after meals for signs of anything weird.

Inhaling the steam with a slow, deep breath makes him feel even sleepier, and his head starts to nod forward, making him jolt when the world tilts a bit.

"Don't fall asleep in that, you'll drown."

Steve sounds wide awake, full of life, almost chipper. Like a sitcom mom making eggs for her family. Eddie's mind supplies the laugh track.

"I'll grow gills," he mumbles, forcing himself to sit up straighter. He can't tell if he's blushing through the general haze he's in, but Steve's barely looking at him, spreading some jam on toast.

He watches Steve's hands as his own clench around the mug even tighter. The burn of it on his skin almost satisfies whatever the back of his mind is doing, the itching and gnawing in his muscles. The heat doesn't compare to the feeling of ambient warmth that he feels when Steve gets close, helping him change his bandages or look over all of his demonic body modifications, but he always takes what he gets.

"Eat this, I'll make you some real food in a while," Steve says, a plate with the toast on it in his hands, then on the counter in front of him. Steve and his hands go back to where he's making more toast, watching Eddie while he waits for it to pop up. "I just need to get groceries, it's been a while."

Eddie doesn't say anything, his sides throbbing even as his brain seems to get fuzzier. He woke up with the alarm that he had set to take more painkillers, and so he took more painkillers, but so far they're just killing his ability to think. He knows he wants to drink his coffee and eat the toast that Steve (lovingly, for sure) made for him, but all he does is watch Steve's hands. He doesn't know how to unstick himself to use his own.

His eyelids blink slowly and he feels like the air is swimming around him.

"Eddie?" Steve's good at staying calm, or sounding like he is anyway, even as he rushes over to get his hands on Eddie's shoulders, that beautiful warmth almost pressed up against his back. He's radiant with it, and despite the hot coffee, Eddie feels pretty cold.

Another slow blink, this time it feels like it takes forever and all of his energy to open his eyes again.

When he does, the world is tilting a lot more, with Steve's arms around him, supporting him as he carefully lays him out on the floor. Hands gentle on him, Eddie tries to keep watching them, checking his bandages for blood. One of the hands goes up to his periphery and brushes some of his hair aside to check his pulse. The other comes to hover over his mouth and for a second Eddie thinks Steve is going to cover it, like he wants to shut him up.

But he doesn't, Eddie doesn't really get what he's doing, but he seems satisfied after a minute and now Steve has his hands back to himself, fingers drumming nervously.

"Can you speak?"

Eddie can. He knows how, is super great at it. His mastery of words and ability to manipulate the world around him with his presentation of them is one of his greatest skills. He opens his mouth to inform Steve of this, figuring out how to make things move through the haze, ready to pretend he's offended to get Steve to stop looking so serious, but all that comes out is a reedy groan.

"Right. I'm taking you to the hospital. I'll be back in ten seconds, stay awake."

Steve disappears for, Eddie counts, seven missisisisipii's. He forgets how to spell it, but remembers how it sounds. He's got the cord from the kitchen's phone stretched over to where he crouches beside him, listening to the line ring.

Eddie knows he should’ve still been in the hospital, there's been a gut feeling from the moment they told him he was being discharged, but he doesn't want to go back. He'll never admit it to anyone but the place is scary, an eerie place like how in a horror movie a haunted house looks normal until the brand new family is all moved in. At least the Upside Down was honest about it.

[outpost51]

The 51 Post

This week sucked a whole lot actually (I started this draft on Tuesday, and I haven't touched it until 5pm Sunday) but I read a lot of pretty good shit so I think it balances.

Contents:

Things You Might Have Missed

This Week's Jams

WIP Breakdowns

From the Skwad

Around the 'Blr

Things You Might Have Missed

get on my taglists for WIP updates, 51 post, tag games, and ask events!

BRHP: Chapter 15 posted; Talus is having a Bad Time.

I stabbed Adrien real good

BRHP: Chapter 16 posted; baby's first fight pit, and a family secret is revealed.

Not new, but I dug up Adrift and The Sky, The Stars, and Me so enjoy the spooky space shorts.

See more entries for SSSC 006 below, mine is here: i'll take everything.

Growing Pains: the 6th entry into the Lighthouse in the Fog shorts; our new Keeper is definitely adjusting so well to her new life.

I'm starting to release chapters of Unlikely Adventures on tumblr now!

This Week's Jams

stargazing || power-haus, solarays [spotify/youtube]

up down || boy epic [spotify/youtube]

gasoline || chymes [spotify/youtube]

dangerous || new medicine [spotify/youtube]

she went that way || missy [spotify/youtube]

illuminated || hurts [spotify/youtube]

WIP Breakdowns

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

HI YOU GET TO MEET KADMOS IN CHAPTER 17 AND [SPOILERS] IN CHAPTER 18 I'M REALLY EXCITED

Unlikely Adventures of Bitchface and Go F*ck Yourself

zadimus needs to stop it. that is all

Blinding Neon, Shades of Grey

you know what's fun to write? drug/dream sequences. you know what's even more fun? writing one for a detective in a flashy nightclub with murder on her mind

Stellar Parallax

saren is about to go do a Very Kill and jaen is So Excited About It. also wrex. but mostly violence

Lighthouse in the Fog

7th short will be coming out some time tonight, @thetrashbagswasteland picked some yummy prompt words

In the Works

y'all 🥺💕 thank you i needed a bunch of open-ended prompts to get the brain noodles out so i can hopefully not burn out on the main wips. i've still got the same backlog otherwise lmao

From the Skwad

IMPORTANT @fenrir-kin fell prey to the hellsite shenaniganuke, and is currently @vikingfenharel until it (hopefully) gets sorted.

Surprise Challenge 006 wrapped up with (mine's above): Just Take My Hand by @sparatus, Expanding the Vocabulary by @teamdilf, and The Storm Between Us by @thetrashbagswasteland

@equusgirl is going bananas with Sapphic Summer: i know with me, you'll get a little bit addicted, One Night, and will my hands ever be clean?

@sparatus also dropped chapter 1 & chapter 2 of Make Less the Depth of Grief and were it not for the laws of this land, i would have strangled him (affectionate) but also this tasty oneshot of Nautilea being so hot

@teamdilf HOW. New chapter of Alice's Adventures in Andromeda, another chapter of The In-Laws and the Grandparents, and another chapter in A Man of Many Talents. I'm calling witchcraft

@asher-orion-writes gave us this lovely oneshot set in Cardinal Sins and I'm??? yes

@princess-prawn dropped a new chapter of Next of Kin YESSS

@regalbois is writing his mlm war stories again and i'm vibrating please go read The Earth Abides

@commander-krios wrote more Dash/Leo (thank u for my life) and New Beginnings (thank u for TWO life wow)

Around the 'Blr

Art Claims are still going on for WIP Big Bang!!

@writernopal dropped character profiles for Magdalene and Sartor so this is your hint to get on the taglist for AASOAF 3

@tabswrites posted chapter 3 of Silver Sentinels and gave me life thank you, more please

@vacantgodling wrote this short for Lukewarm Rejection and we have no choice but to stan Trisha

@liv-is blessed writeblr with this snippet from Demigods i am eating it up

@void-botanist gave us this short for Another Ocean's Moon with LORE hidden in the tags hello

have you SEEN The Poster by @artdecosupernova-writing omg

@elshells dropped chapter 12 of Agent Ace YES congrats on the timeline choreography, bud!

wake up babes new Nameless Song short just dropped from @blind-the-winds

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Outpost Updates Taglist: @tabswrites @writernopal @freedominique @asher-orion-writes @liv-is @starknstarwars @captain-kraken

Ask to +/- in the tags, replies, DMs, or HERE!