#no beta'ing

[maxcuntstappen]

for a prompt,

max as the f1 world champion. charles is the heir to the monaco throne. [lorenzo is king currently]

max and charles love each other. max wins the monaco gp for charles. monaco goes crazy.

"Max," Charles tries to sound stern, he really does. But he doesn't think it comes across too well with how he cannot stop giggling.

It's not his fault really.

It's his boyfriend's.

His boyfriend who has him pressed against a wall of his motorhome, relentlessly kissing at Charles' cheeks.

"Maxxxx," Charles tries again, "You need to go."

A 'uh-huh' is the only indicator of Max having even heard him.

Max redirects his attack of pecks to Charles' neck and it makes Charles squirm.

"Max, that tickles!" he exclaims, trying to wiggle his way out from under his boyfriend's grasp.

Max chuckles, finally moving his mouth away from Charles' body, to look him in the eye, "I know," he grins.

It makes Charles' heart jump, how happy Max looks, how pretty.

Time seems to stop as Charles cradles Max's face in his palm, relishing in how Max turns his face to nuzzle into it.

Blue eyes twinkling, lips perpetually pulled upward, cheeks pink and puffed up. Max is a beauty.

Charles opens his mouth to tell him so when a firm knock interrupts him.

"Prince Charles," one of his guards calls out, "Nous devons partir maintenant. Prince Lorenzo et Prince Arthur attendent."

Charles sighs, wishing he could stay with Max longer.

Max seems to be wishing for the same, if his drawn out groan is anything to go by.

Yet, Max doesn't move away. He only snuggles into Charles harder, head buried into the crook of Charles' neck.

Charles laughs, running his fingers through Max's hair, "Come on, mon amour. Time to go."

Max huffs, "No."

Charles rolls his eyes, fondness seeping through his pores, and gently tugs at Max's hair.

Max pulls his head away with an exaggerated moan, "Ouch," frown lines covering his pretty face.

Charles pecks Max's nose and all of them disappear in a second.

"I'll see you after, okay?" Charles says, squeezing the nape of Max's neck.

"Yeah," Max says, a small smile on his lips, "Yeah, okay."

Max steps back and Charles walks to the door.

"Wait!" Max exclaims, making Charles jump.

He turns around.

"What about my good luck kiss?" Max asks, the corner of his mouth twitching as he pouts, clearly trying to suppress the smile trying to break through.

"You don't need a good luck kiss, mon amour. You're Max Verstappen," Charles reminds him.

Even after all this time, ever after multiple world championships, countless podiums and several records broken, Max still lights up when Charles compliments him.

He hopes he never stops.

"Charles, but what if you don't kiss me and the race goes badly? Do you really want that on your conscience?"

Charles scoffs, "Okay but what if I do kiss you and then the race doesn't go well? Will it be my fault then?"

"Of course not, schatje. Then it'll mean that your kiss protected me from anything worse happening," Max replies, like it's the most obvious information in the world.

Charles' heart throbs with adoration. He takes a quick two steps and grabs Max's face in his hand, pressing a firm, soft kiss to Max's lips.

When Charles pulls away, Max looks dazed.

Charles gets it. He feels it, the overwhelming rush he gets when he cannot believe this is his life.

"Good luck, mon amour," Charles smiles, dropping his hands, and walking backwards to the door, "See you on the podium, okay?"

Max simply nods, seeming to still be too lost for words.

That's okay. Charles knows what he would've said anyways.

--

"And the winner of the 2024 Monaco Grand Prix... Max Verstappen!"

The roaring in Charles' ears nearly blocks out the raucous applause of the Red Bull team. But Charles hears them still, faintly. Acknowledges them, thanks them for loving Max and appreciating him and taking care of him.

His cheeks ache because of how hard he is smiling.

And yet, when Max steps up on the top step, quickly turning around to catch Charles' eye, his grin somehow widens.

Charles winks at him, his hands not pausing their applause, and Max laughs, softly shaking his head, before facing the crowd.

Charles' eyes are glued to Max's back as the Dutch and Austrian anthems play. It's a beautiful back, all broad, strong shoulders, tapering down into a small waist.

The only thing that could make Max look any better is if he was wearing red, Charles thinks to himself.

Well, all in due time.

Soon, he's being indicated to step up to award the second place trophy.

Charles looks straight ahead as he walks to the platform, not risking turning into an ooey-gooey mess for a glance of Max's face.

Lando stands tall and proud on the podium, his face split into a grin.

Charles hands Lando his trophy and Lando holds out a hand for Charles to shake.

It makes Charles roll his eyes. There's no need to pretend that Charles doesn't see Lando every other weekend, that he hasn't seen Lando sloshed out of his mind and passed out on the floor of Max's jet, that he doesn't send Lando memes constantly and bitches about it if he doesn't give an adequate reply.

Charles grasps his hand and pulls Lando into a hug.

Lando yelps, and gosh, Charles so hopes that there is some camera somewhere that has recorded the noise.

"Good job, mate," Charles says, arms tight around Lando.

"Thanks, mate," Lando replies, and Charles can hear the smile in his voice.

Charles beelines back to his original spot, next to his brother, standing behind the podium finishers.

As Lorenzo awards Max with his trophy, Charles has to suppress the urge to shout and scream and hoot.

All he can do is clap a bit more aggressively than he did for the others.

It doesn't miss his notice how Arthur does the same.

It's soon after that Charles and his brothers, along with the other dignitaries, are being hurried off of the stage in an attempt to keep them safe from the champagne flying in the air.

Charles has just stepped into the protection of the wings when he's being pushed back out to the stage again.

"Va!" Arthur urges, literally shooing Charles away with his hand.

"Ne fais rien de trop stupide!" Lorenzo warns, but he's grinning wide too.

God, Charles loves his family.

It's Lando that spots him first.

The very next second, Charles is drenched head to toe.

But it's worth it to have Max's giggle in his ear as he hugs him tight tight tight.

His race suit under Charles' hands feels sticky and cold and like home.

"Mon Dieu, Max, tu es incroyable. So incredible. I love you. I'm proud of you," Charles rambles, trying to make the most of the couple of moments he'll get to speak to Max before he's swallowed up by his team and media duties.

Max pulls away, smiling at him, all crinkle eyed, "Thank you for your good luck kiss, schatje," he gives him a quick soft peck before gently pressing the trophy into his arms, "This one is for you," and then Charles is swallowed up in Max's embrace again, the roars of the crowd ringing in his ear, nowhere as loud as the beat of his own heart.

[ethosiab]

we've been here before, 5 or 6 times

Etho and Tango hang out. A new game is soon to begin, so they talk.

They find it’s not exactly a matter of if they’ll join, but how soon.

beta read by @silliest-sideblog and partially inspired by these fics by @oh-snapperss

(read on ao3)

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

When they receive the message, Etho and Tango are hanging out in their corner of the shopping district, in the bowels of Ravager Rush. Sheets of paper are scattered about everywhere at Etho’s feet where he’s sat sifting through them.

They could have chosen a better spot to be doing this, but hey! If Etho gets an epiphany about one of the numerous bugs he’s been dealing with since deciding to rework the scoring system, the game is right there. It wouldn’t be the first time one of them has abandoned the other on one of their so-called ‘dates’ to fix a redstone issue.

(Pearl likes to call it that- a date. Even though neither of them are really interested in that sort of thing, and they spend the whole time barely saying a few words to each other, content to work on their own projects as long as the other is nearby. They don’t really mind it though, so maybe Pearl’s onto something when she says it.)

Etho flips through a stack of pages, each scribbled with notes, ideas, and small diagrams that he’s jotted down quickly in between doing other tasks around Frogger and his base. Generally, he’s able to keep his notes more organised than this, but between fixing all the bugs as they came up after the game’s opening, and redesigning the scoring system after the other hermit’s competitive insanity, he hasn’t had much time to sit down and simply sort through them.

Tango, meanwhile, sits a couple metres away from him, lying on his stomach. He’s propped himself up on his elbows and is currently staring very intently at a document open on his communicator with a sour look on his face.

“I can’t believe I missed some of these. What sorta redstoner am I?” Tango says, lifting a hand to flick through the list. “I mean, surely if I’d been less lazy when I got into this I wouldn’t have half of these bugs.”

Etho looks up from the papers. “If it makes you feel better, I spent hours trying to figure out why the game wasn’t turning on last night,” He says, “It turned out a silverfish had burrowed into a stone block and broke the redstone on top of it when it came out.” That was a new one. The kind of bug you only get when you’re placing redstone while half asleep. Bdubs had been around, and even then phantoms can’t get to him underground, so there hadn’t been much reason for Etho to actually sleep. Unfortunately, he doesn’t function well when tired, and acknowledgement of that fact has not magically fixed his sleep schedule.

Tango makes a variety of exasperated and unbelieving noises at the confession. “Wh- Yeah that does make me feel better!” He pushes himself up from the floor, and leans back onto his knees. “What are you doing building on natural stone for, man! That’s disgusting!”

“Look, I was−”

Tango interrupts him. “Gah! Can’t believe we gave Joel all that flack about not using smooth stone or wool, when you Mr Hopper Clock himself, can’t even be bothered to-”

He stops when the holographic display of the bug list he had open in front of him fizzles out, and the touchscreen of his comm stares up brightly at him in its place.  In the same moment, Etho’s own comm materializes at his hip.

The devices chime with an incessant and annoying note, designed to grab the players’ attention—and keep it—until they do what it wants.Etho hasn’t heard that sound in almost a year. He silently wishes that year had lasted longer.

He doesn’t need to unlatch it from his belt and open it to know what it says. He does so anyway.

<████> Join the Game?

He can’t read the IGN of the player who sent it. They gave up trying to figure that out a few games back.

Etho swallows back a lump in his throat. “It really couldn’t give us a rest for a little longer, could it?” He says, chuckling a little. It wasn’t funny.

Tango gives a frustrated huff from where he’s stood up. He half looks prepared to chuck his communicator along with its stupid join prompt into the nearest wall.

“I’m going outside,” he says, “Getting some fresh air.” His tail flicks side to side with obvious pent up anxiety. The fire in his hair has come to life, and Etho would fear for his low hanging redstone if he didn’t know for a fact that Tango’s flames are practically harmless, not like a real blaze’s fire.

Etho has grown to understand Tango’s large emotive reactions to things like these. He can’t see his own hair, but given the growing ball of static he feels in his chest from the prospect of a new game, he can imagine the clouds are more unruly than normal.

He keeps a hand on the stack of papers he was sorting through, worried the cold breeze would scatter them, and ruin the last half hour of work he’s done. It often followed him, the breeze, especially when he was feeling like this. It’s almost starting to become normal.

“Don’t leave without me,” Etho says, looking up at his friend. The words surprised even him.  He doesn’t know why he thinks the possibility would ruin him.

Tango’s smile is small, but it’s there. “Never.”

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

They sit at the edge of Tango’s factory base, legs hanging off the ledge and looking out on the horizon—on the rest of the server. There’s redstone under Etho’s nails, from his work last night. He should really clean it out before he burns himself by accidentally activating it. Doc’s always pestered him about wearing gloves, especially ever since he lost his eye. He does agree, he’d like to never experience pain like that again. Redstone reacting with his blood, infecting an already corrupted wound. Etho’s not a smart guy when it comes to this sort of thing, though. He likes his fingerless gloves. He likes the itch of redstone dust under his fingernails. He finds it grounding.

Tango’s head rests on his shoulder, a similar grounding force. His tail is partially wrapped around Etho, swishing side to side and knocking into Etho’s shoe every now and then. Etho’s not even sure Tango knows he’s doing it.

“Are you going to join?” Tango asks.

Etho huffs a bit in response. Is he? Every game so far has only served to drive him further to the edge. He’s almost reached a tipping point many times. And yet, every time his comm chimes with that unignorable message, he can’t help but consider it. He’s played in death games before, holds the scars of those days gone by, but he’s older now. He should be more level headed about joining a hardcore server designed specifically to drive him to murder and kill his friends. Is he a bad person for considering this?

“I mean, I haven’t missed one yet.”

Tango pauses. “Didn’t they have another one?” He questions, half speaking into the fluff on the hood of Etho’s vest. “Earlier this season? A lot of the guys disappeared on April fools. Something about an ‘out of body experience’. I know you weren’t there for that.”

That makes Etho freeze a little. Of course, Cleo won that one. He missed the join notification because he specifically put his comm as far from himself as possible so he could avoid distractions while sorting through the junk all over his single player world. Did he really forget something like that? “Hm. Yeah you’re right. Had a lot of stuff at home to clean up, I guess. Cleo did mention it though. Said it was fun.”

“Heh, I don’t know if the others all really agreed with her,” Tango chuckles. “Apparently Joel couldn’t stop throwing up for at least a day or two after. Really fucked with his code, that one.”

Etho could relate. He got sick towards the end of the last game and was almost relieved when Scar drew his sword through his stomach for the 3rd time. The rough respawn meant he was stuck curled up in his bed in his Decked Out 2 cubby until Tango found him. He did get up, after a regen potion or two. No death game would stop him from running the dungeon, after all.

(Tango wasn’t happy with him for that. He wanted to force Etho to be on bedrest for a bit. He was convinced in the end though, probably recognizing how late in the season they were, and how disrupting it would be for Etho to miss out on the final phases.)

Etho doesn’t voice his thoughts though. “Maybe this one will be similar. Fun, I mean.”

He doesn’t really believe himself when he says it. Cleo’s game was short, probably didn’t last long enough for anything to really hurt. Something tells him he won’t be as lucky this time.

Tango apparently doesn’t believe him either. He scoffs. “Yeah, right. And I’ll win! We’re saying things that won’t happen now, is that what we’re doing?”

Etho leans back. He puts his comm to the side for now, but doesn’t power it off or tuck it back into his inventory. Tango shuffles to the side slightly, lifting his head to give him space.

Etho turns to look at him. He shifts the subject slightly. “You gonna team up with me?” He asks, once again saying the first thing to come to mind. What the hell is Tango doing to him? “We could uh- really show them what 37th and 39th place could do.”

He adds the second part, almost as an afterthought. A joke, just to keep it- It can’t get too real. 

Tango does him the service of ignoring the crack in his voice, and lightly whacks him. “HEY! 34th place actually!”, he exclaims, “I’ll have you know I’ve moved up in the world since I had you lot draggin’ me down.”

Which does hurt a little, Etho admits to himself. But it’s a joke, he knows, so he ignores the ache in his heart. He just chuckles.

Tango lets his hand drop, actually considering the question now. He’s still smiling, but it’s faltering and he can’t quite seem to look Etho in the eye. The horizon looks mighty fine, about now. They can see a lot of the server from here. Tango’s unfurnished and frankly abandoned steampunk cottage, Gem’s research facility and mountain skull, Skizzle’s pyramid, Pearl’s beautiful orchard. The fact that they’re both so close to abandoning it all for weeks, on purpose, for something that’s only ever hurt them—it sits wrong with him.

Tango continues, “But uh, yeah. I’m not giving those sorts of promises man. We can’t- I can’t control what happens in there. You know that.”

Tango’s voice is quiet as he says the last bit. He looks troubled. Upset at the words he’s saying, maybe. Etho knows they can control what happens in the games, to a degree. They’re not compelled to do wrong by some outside force. He supposes that’s what makes it so scary. It’s easier to think of their betrayal and implosion as inevitable, than to face the prospect of having the choice but choosing wrong every time.

So Etho doesn’t verbalise his disagreement. He nods. “Mhm. I know.”

The message on his comm still sits there, glaring at him harshly in the low light.

Join the Game?

[devilander]

I'm a new to your blog, so maybe you have already written something for this... Soooo angsty Homelander ask. How about a classic fuck or die situation?

Hello, thank you for sending this!

It's hard to imagine Homelander in such a situation; anybody that wants him killed wouldn't waste their time torturing him, but...

If they (the ones who orchestrated it) had leverage, with his s/o's life on the line, then it'd be quite possible—and interesting. It could be a demand for him to fuck his s/o publicly, degrading them as he fucks them...

Or! And more likely, it's Butcher's work and he wants to watch. He wants to savor the advantage he has on Homelander; he would know Homelander's s/o would be fearful, ashamed, humiliated... And perhaps it's more than just Butcher, maybe he convinced, or, likelier, threatened all members of The Boys to watch. Adding to both their pain.

And they, oh how insecure they are. Scared that Homelander wouldn't allow himself to be manipulated by Butcher, that he would rather let them die instead of breaking and bending.

Yet, he does—he loves them, just hadn't said it in words yet. He was preparing for it; how it'd be in such a romantic place, flower petals on the floor, sunset, beautiful enough to stun them, but in his view, nothing compared to the kaleidoscope of love and loving he's ready to give it to you.

The disappointment running through his veins is nothing to compared to the sight of you. The look in your eyes, filled with fear, tears sliding down in their lovely cheeks, lips, meant to be kissed and worshiped, trembling.

He grabs your face—and instantly they know. They'll look at him only. Homelander pulls out his cock, pluging in with care, giving them time to adjust; different from the way they usually fuck, hot and searing, desperate for each other. He'd be gentler, far more gentle than he's even been. It's slow, it's loving. Sweet nothing being whispered in your ear.

"I love you," he says, over and over and over. They say it back, oh so easily they say it back.

When he feels close to coming, he whispers. "I love you more than anyone I've ever loved. For you, everything, anything."

And, as soon as he could, Homelander would pay it back a thousandfold.

[secretlypeerless-cucumber]

Chapter IV

First

Shen Jiu has to consciously stop his hand from playing with the reins. Eyes ahead, back as straight as a bamboo pole and biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from outright dumping the clone on the street.

Why. The. Fuck. Is he watching Shen Jiu so intensely? Is he already regretting coming with Shen Jiu? Bad luck then. They are going to Cang Qiong and Shen Jiu is testing to see if they are related, whether the copy likes it or not. He was the one to follow Shen Jiu, so the fault is completely on the other.

Such a fool; offering him the missing piece of his identity. As if Shen Jiu would let him leave after that.

"You said we didn't have names " A simple opening, an offering to talk. If Shen Jiu has to carry any and all conversations he is honestly abandoning this guy anyway. "I suppose you have one by now."

"Ah." Some shuffling of clothes behind him and the other is even closer now although, blessedly, does not touch Shen Jiu at any point. Just leaning over the wooden boxes separating them. "Mo-Jie named me Yuan when I was little, after I was bought. She was the one in charge of the new slaves and taught us how to do chores." A sigh. "I told her how mother used to call you her little warrior and she said 'If he was her warrior you should be her shield.'"

Little warrior? Shen Jiu wouldn't ever have thought someone could think of him as a warrior. A coward, if one asks Liu-shidi or Qi-shimei. A snake, if one asks literally any of the others head disciples. Trash, if Yue Qi ever deigns to answer anything. But a warrior?

"Xiǎo zhànshì?"

"Mmh. Mother used to say that Gege came to the world kicking so hard that he bruised the midwife at birth. A single little foot-shaped bruise." Shen Yuan laughs again. A sweet ringing bell. He is always laughing, Shen Jiu has found, always smiling now that they have left the auction. Maybe he is just an airhead. "And Gege would never let go of my hand in case I ran to make trouble, always so determined to keep Mother and this Didi safe... Always ready to kick that man when he was mean to us."

Hm. So his fighting was a natural thing, who would've thought.

"Gege has his own name now, right? Will he tell Didi? I don't mind just calling you Gege but I want to know." And here comes the feeling of inadequacy.

How nice of Shen Yuan to have been given a name with meaning. Something conected to his mother even when she couldn't give him one herself. How fortunate of Shen Yuan to have been sold to a nice house were other servants treated him so well.

Unlike this unlucky rotten brother that was given to the Qiu and treated worse that a pig. A living doll for the little mistress and a wiping boy for the young master. A toy for the household to play with. Furniture that doesn't protest the mistreatment and doesn't fight back. An unwilling treat for them.

How dare someone who stole his face have such a nice life, so cozy and comfortable. No wonder he gets to be so stupid as to follow a guy that could very well just resemble him by chance or a brother that could do anything to him.

"This one is Shen Jiu, Head disciple of Qing Jing Peak on Cang Qiong Mountain Sect." Maybe Shen Yuan had a happy life but Shen Jiu clawed his way to the top. He freed himself and brought himself to the place he has today. Fought, deceived and cheated his way to the second ranked peak of the most important and powerful sect in the world by his own hard work.

What of it if his cultivation is not as great as it should be? He repaired it by himself with no help whatsoever. Shen Jiu would like to see someone as privileged as Liu Qingge do that without dying in the process. What of it if he fights dirty or is plagued by recurring qi deviations? He did what he had to and would do it all over again if he were to start over.

"Really?!" The yelling takes him by surprise. Shen Jiu turns around just in time to see Shen Yuan almost fall from the cart from the jump he did after hearing that. There are those big and radiant eyes again, looking at Shen Jiu like no one else had ever seen him. Like he truly is worthy of awe. It makes him supremely uncomfortable. "Gege is so awesome! Isn't Cang Qiong the biggest sect? And Gege is head disciple!"

"Is not-"

"Gege must be so powerful and knowledgeable! No wonder he disarmed the guard and cultivator so quickly. They must've been so much older than Gege and he still won!" Shen Jiu turns back to facing the front, now determined to ignore the other. At least until his face cools down a little.

This is so stupid. Shen Jiu has never had this much trouble keeping his composure! Not even Liu-shidi can make him want to drown himself in the river like this. At best he makes Shen Jiu want to stab him a little, just a bit.

A murmur. "Oh, if only I could be more like Gege. Maybe if I had any talent, Shifu would have taught me like a true disciple..."

Prev - Next

Beta by: @sillygoofyqueer

[misqnon]

Bathed in the Spark Light of a 'Con

“That would be the second most terrifying symbol in the universe.” Ratchet huffed, glancing at the giant red plague mark crossed over the doors of Delphi.

“What’s the first?” Pipes asked.

“Give Drift your spark casing and he’ll show you.”

-

Ratchet tells Drift an old war story about a Decepticon he’d met after a battle, in which they’d both ended up injured and alone. What he doesn’t realize is that Drift may be more familiar with the story than he’d originally thought.

--

a 12k enemies to lovers type fic featuring a healthy dose of dratchet and ratchlock. flashbacks, hurt/comfort, drift character study, mistaken identity, and lots of Faction Talk

read on ao3 here

[holeybubushka]

Chapters: 2/11 Fandom: Bridgerton (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Francesca Bridgerton/Michaela Stirling, Benedict Bridgerton/Sophie Baek, Eloise Bridgerton & Francesca Bridgerton, Eloise Bridgerton & Michaela Stirling, Benedict Bridgerton & Eloise Bridgerton, Sophie Baek & Michaela Stirling Characters: Francesca Bridgerton, Michaela Stirling, Eloise Bridgerton, Janet Stirling, Benedict Bridgerton, Sophie Baek Additional Tags: Friends to Lovers, canon-verse, John is dead, Mutual Pining, repressed homosexuality, Michaela is trying her best folks, Sophie Baek is more observant than you, Eloise Bridgerton is less observant than you, Benedict Bridgerton is an excellent big brother, POV Alternating Summary:

Almost three years after the death of her husband, Francesca is officially out of her mourning period and ready for the next phase of her life.

However, despite the urging of her mother, she is in no hurry to return to Mayfair. Instead, she wishes to remain in Scotland with her dear friend Michaela, the newly minted Countess of Kilmartin, and run the estate together, as John would have wished.

But she cannot fathom why, on occasions, she is drawn to Michaela for reasons she cannot quite name. Why sometimes there is a strange intensity between them, a tension that she doesn’t share with anyone else.

or; Falling in love with your best friend, even if you don't quite know it yet. Chapter two is up! Apologies for the wait, the end of 2024 was very busy!

[farfetchdquest]

trying my hand at writing a fic yippee

[cactusringed]

PERHAPS. once i have a minimum of 5 chapters . i shall release this fic . with an update schedule. and i will not abandon it. i do not want to abandon it. and i will not abandon it if it is out in the world. surely

[fandomtrumpshate]

FTH 2023 fan labor offerings

Hello, Fandom Trumps Hate creators and prospective bidders! We are very excited for this year's auction! While we're busy building bidding sheets and forms and generating offer posts, we took some time out to put together an overview of our fan labor offers. Here are some quick numbers to give you an idea of what kind of fan labor offerings will be available this year:

Betaing - 52

Culture Picking - 27

Sensitivity Reading - 20

Specialist Expertise - 22

Translation - 8

We will be posting some more details about each category, so stay tuned. Who knows, maybe you will find a perfect beta or translator to help you with your own fannish endeavors through FTH this year!

Have you used a beta before? Or sought out specialist info? Have you benefited from a previous fan labor auction? If so, we would love to hear from you! Feel free to reblog with comments about your stories so that those who are new to fan labor can get an idea of what it's like to work with a fan laborer. We'd love to hear from fan laborers as well - everyone is welcome!

[fernskullyy]

hello, please enjoy my mediocre musings about my beloved Rowan Mahariel. she is my baby angel and i hope you love her too,,, i don't have a title for the overarching work yet, nor do i have a title for the first book which this chapter begins.

-----

Chapter One

A small deer, dappled in afternoon sunlight, stops in the forest to graze in a meadow of mossy grass and wildflowers. She nibbles at the blades and blooms on the forest floor. Her ears twitched, ever aware of the soundscape of the forest around her, yet the one sound she needed to hear evaded her. Watching just beyond the awareness of the doe another forest dweller watched, silent.

Carefully taking an arrow out of her quiver, Rowan watched her target. She had been tracking what she thought to be a larger catch for most of the morning. Looking at the deer, Rowan considered the life of the creature before her, what her days may have been spent doing. Pondering the depth of the deer's character, Rowan drew back her bow and whispered  a prayer, “I know the ways of the hunter; Andruil may you be with me.”

A crashing far in the bushes diverted her attention, startling both her and the doe, unusually loud and panicked sounding.  Swiftly and silently moving through the underbrush and thick forest with ease, her bow already prepared in her hand, she burst out into a clearing to find Tamlen, bow drawn and pointed at three oafish looking male humans.

“You’re just in time. I found these… humans lurking in the bushes. Bandits, no doubt.” 

Rowan re-knocked her arrow, once trained on the deer, and drew it, choosing a new target in the middle of the three men. The elder hunters always taught the young to never speak to humans without an arrow drawn; it gives you the upper hand.

One of the men piped up, drawing her ear, “We aren’t bandits, I swear! Please don’t hurt us!”

“You shemlen are pathetic,” Tamlen spat at them, moving closer, “it’s hard to believe you ever drove us from our homelands.”

A second man squeaked out, “We’ve done nothing to you Dalish! We didn’t even know this forest was yours.”

‘Imagine,’ Rowan thought, ‘to say you own the forest. The very life of the world itself? Humans… always so disrespectful of her.’

“This forest isn’t ours, fool!” Tamlen growled, echoing her thoughts, “You’ve stumbled too close to our camp. You shemlen are like vermin- we can’t trust you not to make mischief.” Tamlen tightened the draw of his bow, “What do you say lethallin? What should we do with them?”

Rowan steadied her own bow grip and quickly eyed them up and down. She saw their obvious fear at a Dalish bow in their faces. They shifted on their feet, deciding whether to stay still or run for help. “Let's find out what they’re doing here,” she nodded at Tamlen, not taking her eyes off the men in front of her. She would never let them know but they frightened her, she heard stories from her clan of what men like these could do to them given the chance, and it wasn’t pretty.

He shifted impatiently, “What does it matter?! Hunting or banditry, we’ll need to move camp if we let them live.” Just as he readied his bow

One of the men shouted out.

“L-Look we didn’t come here to be trouble! We just found a cave-”

“Yes! A cave,” the other man interjected, “with ruins like I’ve never seen! We thought there might be, uh…”

“Treasure?” Tamlen cut him off. Rowan could hear the disdain for these three in his voice, it’s far too common for humans to push into Dalish territory looking for valuables to steal. “So you’re more akin to thieves than actual bandits.”

“We know this forest,” Rowan snarled at him, “there are caves but no ruins. You lie.” She drew her own bowstring, ready to release her arrow squarely in the centre of his forehead. ‘How could this human find something within our territory we, nor the other hunters, have never seen. Surely the others would have informed the keeper if they had found something, right? And most certainly the keeper would have advised the Clan, or at least the other scouts and hunters…’

“I-I have proof! Here…” the man shouted, and handed them a small stone, “we found this just inside the entrance.” Tamlen took the stone, nodding for Rowan to keep her bow drawn. He closely examined it for a moment before he snapped his head back up to her.

“This stone has carvings…” he looked closer at the stone and its markings, “Is this elvish? Written Elvish?” He exclaimed at them, tearing his shocked eyes away from Rowan and her concern.

“Wait, Tamlen,” Rowan interjected, “how do you know that’s Elvish? I can’t even read that.” She had thought it looked like it may be some form of ancient Elvish but couldn’t be sure as she’d never seen anything like it.

Tamlen continued examining the stone trying desperately to make out what it said, tilting his head toward her, not looking up from the smooth stone, “I’ve seen something similar on the keeper’s scrolls…” 

The man who handed him the stone spoke, “There’s more in the ruins! We didn’t get very far in, though…”

Rowan eyed them suspiciously before asking “Is this all you found?” She steps closer to them, bow still drawn tight, her arms straining to hold the bowstring tight for so long the discomfort refusing to leave the forefront of her mind, “Why didn’t you look for more?”

The men take a frightened step back. One good thing about being Dalish is that humans tend to have a healthy fear of you when they aren’t expecting you to be there, even if you’re as small as she is compared to them. “There was a demon! It was huge with big, black eyes! Thank the Maker we were able to out-run it!”

The Maker, ‘Pah,’  she thought, ‘the Maker is nothing more than the human’s pitiful attempt at comprehending our Gods.’

Tamlen’s question interrupts her thoughts, “A demon?” he sighs, rolling his eyes, “Where is this cave?”

“Just off the west, I think,” the redheaded man who gave them the stone says, “there was a cave in the rock face, and a huge hole just inside.” All three of them step back, hoping that they had satisfied the curiosity of their elven inquisitors.

“Well,” Tamlen asked, putting the stone in his pocket to draw his bow into a relaxed ready, “do you trust them? Shall we let them go?” He looks to Rowan, unsure of exactly what he wants to do. He usually chooses the harsher of options presented when it comes to humans, he has very little respect for them. Rowan is a softer influence on him, and he can’t help but trust her decision making. Especially in times like these.

“You’ve frightened them enough Tamlen, let them go. They won’t bother us.”

He lowers his bow from the aim at the men, “Run along then, shems… and don’t come back until we Dalish have moved on.” A warning Rowan knew he would gladly follow up on.

“Of course!” The men shout, “Thank you!” one of them yells behind them as they scramble to run away. 

Rowan watches them run over the trail crest down to whatever human settlement must be awaiting them outside the forest. She has a little more trust in humans than Tamlen; but you can never be too careful. His apprehension of them has saved their ass just as many times as her mercy. Humans are unpredictable and desperate when it comes to their actions against elves, whether Dalish or flat-ears. Once she hears they are far enough away she and Tamlen both sheath their bows and arrows.

He steps out into the clearing stretching his arms and says “Well, shall we see if there’s any truth to their story?” Swinging his arms around to get the stiffness out he reminds her to do the same. “These carvings make me curious.”

Fiddling with her bracers Rowan mutters, “Well shouldn't we inform the keeper?” She looks up from the buckle on her forearm she was needlessly adjusting, “You know she hates it when we go out on our own farther than she wants us to…”

Tamlen sighs, standing back up from stretching his legs to touch the soft mossy, forest floor, “She might be interested in these carvings, but let’s see if there’s anything more before we get excited,” he turns his back to her looking out into the forest looking but not searching, “besides, we’re already out here.” He turns his head over his shoulder at her, “Now they said it was to the west.”

```

Rowan follows behind Tamlen as he finds trails through the forest, most of them left by the creatures that inhabit it; a good few actual hunting trails aid them on their search for whatever cave it was the humans had told them. Passing by a pool of still water reflecting the ferns growing at the edges on its surface it reminded her of the times her mother would find her wandering to the lake near their camp when she was young. Dalish have always had a respectful reverence of the forest and her beauty, but the clan noticed Rowan as a child wandering more than the average babe. 

As she grew she became close with Tamlen and would drag him away from their duties to explore the forest. Gazing at his back, meeting his eye when he would check over his shoulder that she hadn’t wandered off, her mind drifted to the many times they would slink away to catch frogs and hope to offer their hands to dragonflies by that same lake.

They were making decent time on their search, passing by well tracked clearings and dense, wild bush. Though they didn’t know exactly where they were going there were a few places to check first. 

“Hey, what about the cave system by the old, old hunting grounds?” Rowan suggested, lightly pushing a moss covered branch out of the way of her face. She knew the clan hadn’t been back to the darker areas of the wood for a number of years. “Maybe something’s shifted and opened up a new passageway we wouldn’t have been able to get to before?”

“That’s not a bad idea but I don’t remember there being any tremors or anything over the last year's cycle… We can check, sure but don’t be too disappointed when it’s a dead end.” 

“Okay fine you future seer,” she teased “but let's add it to our list last. It’s the farthest away and I’d much prefer to find these ruins before it gets pitch black out, the clan would be worried sick.”

Travelling through the wild wood is something the two of them trained to do since they were small, all Dalish learn to navigate the wood from the time they can sturdily walk on their own. Living a nomadic life, moving with the seasons frequently, means even as children you must know your way around unfamiliar territory. You are taught the way of the forest by all older than you in your clan, Rowan learned lots from Tamlen as they were inseparable as children. Tamlen, one year her senior, always tried to have the edge on her in their training, but she made sure he had to work for it.

Steadily working down their list of places to check, they cross over lands well travelled and untracked alike. A hunting clearing, empty, a long abandoned wolf den, nothing. The longer they search the more elusive this cave seems to become. Going to nearly every place they can think of keeps leading them to what they already know will be there.

The sun shines a little weaker as they continue deeper into the forest, Rowan can see Tamlen fiddling with the stone in his hand, almost compulsively, as he sought understanding of the text written on it. Rowan let her thoughts wander as they continued over fallen logs and through the bushes, barely making a sound. 

She thought back to the two of them as young apprentices, eager to learn anything and everything about the history and ways of their people. Tamlen was slower to learn than Rowan but he never got quite as frustrated with obstacles as she did. She was always the one to hastily get up in a huff because she wasn’t understanding the material fast enough; Tamlen on the other hand would quietly brood over the teachings until he finally got it. She admired that about him, his dedication and drive to better himself, always.

Tamlen suddenly comes to a halt, sticking his arm out to catch her chest before she breaks their cover in the bushes. She is so lost in thought she doesn’t hear the quiet. 

A snap of a twig. Their ears perk up and both snap their heads to look down the path they have nearly broken out onto, awaiting them ahead are five wild wolves.

Tamlen whispers, unmoving, to her, “Rowan draw your bow. Aim for the one at the back,” she completes his thought before he said it, “it will draw their attention behind them.” He silently unsheathes his blades from their holsters on his back, setting himself in position to jump.

Rowan follows his lead, taking her bow off her back and knocking an arrow, the resistance of the drawstring a familiar strain. Aiming the arrow slowly toward the furthest wolf in the pack she loosed the arrow straight into its chest.

The wolf howls in pain causing the others of its pack to whip around to their companion in confusion. Tamlen bursts from the bush where he was crouching just moments before. He closes the gap between himself and the first wolf with ease, cutting it down with a swift slice. The wolves, hearing another cry of pain from their pack, spinning around more confused.

Rowan lets loose another arrow as she steps out from her cover of bushes, planting her feet firmly to set herself for the next shot. She draws again and sends the arrow at the last wolf left alive.

“Hey! You knew I was going for that one next!” Splutters Tamlen, seeing his next target laying dead already.

“I can’t let you have all the glory now can I?” 

As was Dalish tradition they made a prayer to both Andruil and Falon’Din, thanking them for the resources the wolves gave them and asking their way to the beyond be guided. They make quick work skinning their pelts, and laying them to rest off the trail in a space they could give back to the forest. Rowan gives her thanks to one of them as she takes a tooth from its skull, a token of strength, placing it into her pocket.

“May Falon’Din guide your way, my friends.” Rowan looks at Tamlen for a moment as he speaks, though they were taught to fear the Dread Wolf, Tamlen had always respected the wild wolves. He never thought less of them despite their likeness being associated with Fen’Harel. When they were children Rowan was terrified of wolves, but Tamlen’s love for them helped soften her view. She now had an appreciation for them, and they made her think of her friend.

Tamlen stands up from his kneel beside the wolves’ resting place, gathering his gear from the log they had set their weapons down on. The Dalish never butchered their catch with more than a small hunting knife, out of respect for the animals they took from. Setting his blades once again into their place he waves her up, “Let’s get heading back on the trail, we can’t be out past nightfall with those humans stumbling so close.” 

Pressing on through the bends in trails made by the creatures of the forest the sun slowly dips in the sky. As they pushed deeper into the woods, not only did the sky darken but the forest around them seemed to be losing its colour. The ferns, once a bright green with soft yellow spores beneath the fronds, appeared to have turned greyish and cold looking. Rowan became unnerved, she had never seen the forest like this before, it had always been so bright and full of life. 

“Lethallin I don’t like the look of this, please tell me I’m not alone in seeing the forest this muted before…” Tamlen quietly sank to one knee and examined the forest floor more carefully for a moment.

“No,” he replied with a similar note of concern in his voice, “I’ve never seen it like this either. We have to be close now, there’s no way this is a coincidence.”

They carefully pressed the path they had been following into this darkening forest, it just kept getting more and more dull the further they went down. Finally a ways down the trail they both saw a small clearing with what looked like a pile of rocks. Tamlen nodded over his shoulder at her and they hopped out into the clearing, greeted by a towering wall of stones. They looked at each other silently, both with an uneasy shadow in their eyes, staring at this cold stone opening, they simultaneously felt a little pool of dread settle in the depths of their stomachs.

Rowan looks at the evening sunlight dappling the stones that formed the edge of the cave mouth, a carpet of hanging moss floating in the breeze. She knew this area but not this entrance; how did a new cave mouth appear out of nowhere? She turns to Tamlen, approaching curiously behind her.

“Well this must be it,” he steps past her examining the stones as she had, “I don’t recall seeing this before, do you?”

She tilts her head, the slowly building sense of dread quickening its pace up her spine. “No, and that worries me. Tamlen… we should be wary of this place.”

“Always the careful one, vhenan. Fine,” pushing past her, focused only on the dark entrance ahead of them, “but I’m not running back until I know there’s something worth making a fuss over.” ‘Vhenan.’ Not often used by Tamlen but it truly never lost its heart. Rowan felt the same warm glow as the first time he gifted her the title. “Come on, let's at least see what’s in there.” Nodding for her to follow, takes a slightly shaky breath, “How dangerous could it be…” he ducks his head, and pushes through the hanging moss.

Inside the mouth is dark and dusty, what little light enters through behind them lighting up the dust that hangs thick in the air. Carefully placing their steps they make their way towards the end of the cave. The further in they venture the more the stones change until suddenly they are carved blocks.

“Are these… ruins? How long have these been buried here right under the clan’s nose?”

“Who knows,” he eagerly stuck his head into the broken hole in the wall and took a quick look around, “come on, let’s at least see what’s in here. How dangerous could it be?” Ducking her head below the hanging moss growing on the mouth of the hole in the stone to enter the depths Rowan sighed, ‘He will be the death of me, I swear.’

[materassassino]

Last Line Tag Game

Double-tagged (it sounds dirty :/) by @non-un-topo and @insertmeaningfulusername, which is fine by me, lol.

Since I literally just finished it, have the last snippet I wrote for Vento di Tramontana, which was written because I thought one particular section would be funny. See if you can spot it.

Nevertheless, they cannot stay in one place for long. People begin to notice these men who refuse to turn grey, or an accident happens, or their nature of their love for each other is discovered. They can never put down roots, at least not too deep. Yusuf flourishes in Catania, in ways Nicoló adores, artistry and poetry and philosophy. They stop in Giarre for a handful of years, right in the shadow of Mongibello, Jabal al-Nar, which Nicoló is fascinated with. It erupts, and he stupidly burns his own feet off getting too close to the river of lava snaking its way towards the sea. They wander after that to Messina, where far more suspicious looks are levelled at Yusuf than either of them like, and there they cannot stay. But from Messina they can also see the mainland. “Do you want to go there?” Yusuf asks, all the worldly possessions they cannot do without in packs on their backs. “There is nothing for us there, beloved,” Nicolò replies, turning north and west.

No, it's not a single line. I don't care.

I tag randomly from my repertoire @dangerouscommiesubversive, @veradragonjedi, @emmalostinwonderland, @raedear and @ctrldao3

[werepuppy-steve]

it's not wednesday, but it is a holiday, so that means yall get another spicy snippet 😈

as always, smut under the cut, and tagging everyone who has shown interest in this

@spectrum-spectre @sidekick-hero @theheadlessphilosopher @steves-strapcollection @stobinesque @patchworkgargoyle

“Taking me so fucking good, baby, pussy’s gripping me so tight, like she doesn’t want me to leave.” He grip’s Steve’s ass cheek in one hand and spreads him open so he can watch it fill his baby’s cunt over and over. “That’s because she loves my cock, doesn’t she, babygirl? Wants him stretching her open all the time?”

more snippets for this wip

[ctimenefic]

ahahaha the clocks have gone back so I get delicious fresh @motorsport-halloween fics an HOUR earlier than expected yessss

[lordsardine]

.

[boltlightning]

Tell us about deadfall bolt. You know you want to.

AYE AYE 🫡

deadfall is the next installment of the potc + dragons fic, and tbh it's very much still in the planning/conceptualizing phase. i decided long ago that only dragon riders will be the pov characters, which means that beckett is getting some time in the sun, which is very fun imo.

i don't want to give too much away, but here is a little piece of what i'm tossing around for the intro right now:

“Forgive me, Lord Beckett,” Swann objects, “but if this is a domestic matter, should it not concern a more senior officer like Captain Roland? And Mrs. Harding is present specifically so my delicate countenance can be protected. They both of them have weathered worse, I assure you.” Yes, Beckett had heard Miss Swann was stubborn, and her elevation to the station of captain had not tempered that most dependable inclination. In this moment he cannot imagine she has been described as delicate by anyone. Beckett opens his portfolio and shuffles through the documents within. “Then they will not object to my dispensation of justice, though I regret the circumstance.” 

ask me about my wips!

[marv3l-drag0ns]

fighting for my LIFE against my 30 open tags (its giving me agitas)