#seeing as i have written three excerpts already

[artbyblastweave]

How do you think Worm (+ Ward) would change if Wildbow wrote it in the present day? Both in the sense of him having more writing experience and of him xeconstructing a different superhero landscape. (Also, him having even more planning/drafting time.)

Well, one answer is, "I don't think it would have been written-" Worm really got released in an incredible sweet spot where superhero stuff was ascendant in the mainstream but not yet culturally dominant, and written in reaction to a bunch of specific stylistic dysfunctions of early-2000s big-two comics that aren't necessarily gone but have certainly shifted their manifestations a bit. I don't think Worm would have taken off the way it did if he was trying to write it today, when we're like three layers deep into comic book movie ascendancy, backlash and re-ascendency.

But to engage in slightly better faith, my suspicion is that if written today the book would be, in every sense of the word, more online.

Movement-building by The Very Online is already of visible interest to Wildbow from, like, Twig onward (probably a consequence of the ways in which he, himself is Very Online). You see this to an extent in Ward as written, which in the Capricorn flashbacks in particular had interesting worldbuilding ideas about superheroic social media marketing that Worm didn't go into in the same way because it wasn't as big then. (This, incidentally, was one of several beats, in both the story and in the extraneous materials, where Wildbow backdated elements of the 2020s internet zeitgeist into a setting where the world ended in 2013, which is a very funny way to end up with an alternate history.) This would dovetail with the genre in the sense that whenever I stick my head back into what's going on with Big Two comics these days, I perceive the space to have gotten way, way more online in quite a few ways. Comics that feel written for people on twitter, by people on twitter, with an eye for incorporating whatever the hot-button activist issue is that week and the kind of panels and dialogue that blow up when cropped and reposted without context. Ecoterrorist Thor, inherently-thematically-confused ACAB street-levelers, Miles Morales trashing a landlord's car. You know what I'm gesturing at with this one if you follow Why-I-love-comics or any of the other excerpt aggregators.

This is more of a value-neutral judgement than I'm making it sound- When Al Ewing does this kind of thing, it's usually great, when Tom Taylor does it...I have less charitable thoughts on when Tom Taylor does it. But either way I often feel that there's a building tension between a need for these things to be socially conscious, progressive, left-leaning and so forth, and the inherent limits of how much a mass-market status-quo-bound serial publication can commit to being any of those things-the mealy-mouthedness of framing superheroes as change agents in a setting where nothing ever changes.

Given the extensive write-ups of activism-issue aligned capes in the Weaverdice docs, and given the direction his writing took with Pale and Claw in particular, I find it hard to imagine that Worm as written in 2025 wouldn't want to poke at those tensions. Very-online young-gun superheroes firebombing Walmarts and sticking their dicks in police actions, except there's no editorial reset button and that actually goes somewhere politically. Probably somewhere bad.

[hannie-dul-set]

six quick and easy hacks to 🆙 the quality of your fanfiction!

as promised, here it is! i’m not here to tell you how to plot out your story, or how to write your characters’ personalities. the tips i’m sharing are more on formatting and structure, secret (not really) cheat codes to instantaneously make your already written work even better! 

my qualifications? being a tumblr hag for over five years (my even more embarrassing pre k-pop writeblr included!) so i’ve unlocked quite a bit of secrets and discovered some eurekas throughout my time here HAHAHAH. anyway, let’s start!

#1 VARIETY IN PARAGRAPH LENGTHS, SENTENCE LENGTHS, AND SENTENCE STARTERS.

nothing turns me off more than seeing paragraph blocks after paragraph blocks when looking for some new fics to read, especially when you’re reading from a cramped up device such as your phone.

when i write a lengthy paragraph, i try to follow it up with a one-liner, or a mid-sized one. but it’s something i consciously keep track of— when i noticed that, “oh, this gdoc is getting a little too wordy, a little too chunky,” i make sure that my next paragraph is significantly shorter than the current one because it keeps the entire page interesting. one to two sentences of lines of paragraphs after another and another doesn’t look pretty. chunks of paragraphs after paragraphs is boring.

make your pages visually dynamic by ensuring variety.

like this, for example.

→ fic: home for the bitchless.

seeing a large chunk of text and a singular line immediately after also sort of forces your reader to stick around and read an otherwise intimidating lengthy paragraph because— oh! what could have possibly led to that singular like of dialogue or thought! #subtlemanipulation you get me? 😔🤙

this rule of mine applies to sentences and phrases within the paragraph as well!

→ fic: love vomit.

and as a bonus, you can use paragraph breaks and cuts to your advantage! manipulating the way a sentence or paragraph ends in a certain way makes your works more rhythmic! and, when you play it around the right way, abrupt cuts and breaks also add the right mood and drama to your work!

→ drabble: the boy who cried wolf.

part three of tip number one (one…we’re still at number one…) is on sentence and paragraph starters. i keep it as a rule of thumb that if i start a paragraph with “you,” or with someones name, i don’t use it again in the next one to avoid monotony. it’s a very miniscule thing really, and i doubt that people notice this HAHAHA but this is something i religiously swear by because repetitions like this are visually boring.

→ wip: sunwater.

of course, this can’t be avoided all the time, and repeating the sentence starter “You” or any other pronoun, word, or phrase can be intentionally utilized to strongly drive a point. just don’t overdo it!

→ drabble: patience, patience.

→ blurb: monsters don’t hide under the bed.

→ fic: the psychology of strawberries.

there are other good and strategic uses for repetitions as well! we’ll get to that later.

lastly, variety in sentence and paragraph starters doesn’t simply mean changing up the first word. things can still get really boring even if you use “you” or a character’s name interchangeably if your sentence structure remains the same.

this, for example, is monotonous.

the structure (and length) of all three sentences are the same. A does this. B does this. A does this. and even if you switch things up but still use the same sentence structure, it still falls flat. case in point, below, a structure i often see in a lot of fics i stumble across.

those are flat. those are boring. they don’t…you know…make you feel something, even when you follow the rule of not using the same starter twice. let me try improving it by adding more variety in the sentences (+ adding a tip that i’ll be discussing right after!)

the word “He” here is used twice to create a rhythm and draw emphasis, but the rest of the excerpt maintains a sense of variety to make the narrative more interesting and compelling to read.

*

#2 PICK A POV AND STICK WITH IT.

before i start a scene, a drabble, or blurb, the first question i ask myself is, “whose point of view do i want it to be in?”

one, it’s a lot neater, more organized, than omniscient point of views in my opinion (unless you’re like a super fucking skilled writer of course HAHAHHA). two, it allows for a bit of mystery, suspense, and engagement because you don’t have access to what other people are thinking about, and three— in line with the first tip— when you know whose brain you’re in when writing, it allows for more dynamic narrations, gives you an excuse to be messy because our internal thoughts are messy as well, and makes the writing a hell of a lot easier when you’re focused on monologuing one person alone!

when writing shorter fics, drabbles, or blurbs, i swear by this rule, no excuses HAHAHAH but when writing longer fics, sometimes i switch around the point of views per scene, just to make a more well rounded story.

sometimes, the point of view doesn’t even have to be any of the main character’s! writing from an external POV is also really fun and adds another layer of interest. see example below, a Jeonghan breakup fic written exclusively from the perspective of the outsiders. very fun idea! 

breakup scene written in Seungcheol’s POV.

another squabble written in Seungkwan’s POV.

→ wip: the breakup soup.

*

#3 REPETITIONS AND THEMES = COHESIVENESS.

this section contains tricks on how to wrap up your fics into one cohesive little present with a pretty ribbon on top! 

first is the use of repetition. use a cool funky line at the beginning of your story, and reuse/rehash/revise it at the end for a neat finish, especially when you have trouble figuring out a way to end your story (lifesaving hack! trust me!) 

i use this mostly in my shorter works—

→ drabble: you’re my bucket list.

→ blurb: louder.

—but it works just as well with longer fics, especially when the repetition is all throughout, and not just at the start and finish.

→ fic: mogi.

sometimes, it doesn’t even have to be a repeated phrase or line! it can be a little gimmick and it’d still work to make your fic cohesive! for example, in the fic below, i use the giving of strawberry candy/strawberry kisses to tie all the different scenes together because this was initially a set of separate drabble ideas wrapped into one long fic.

→ fic: the psychology of strawberries.

and for this one (another ricky fic….yes…..) i use the whole cat metaphor to do the same. 

→ drabble: yours to keep.

the next tip to make your work cohesive is to grab a singular theme, object, whatever, and take advantage of it for your narration HAHAHAHHA this can be better explained by looking at the examples below.

theme: citrus.

→ drabble: citrus in the morning.

theme: storm.

→ blurb: blizzard.

the above examples are my shorter works, but it can work for longer fics as well! just check out this 36k word monster HAHAHAHHA.

theme: seasons.

→ fic: love vomit.

these are very simple ways to make your fic more put together! even if it’s just a simply blurb about a confession, adding a theme to aid the imagery bumps your fic quality to a +++++

*

#4 THROW AWAY THE Y/N’S!

now this one is quite honestly just a personal nitpick HAHAHHAHA but seeing the word Y/N when i’m reading something really pulls me out of my immersion. (and i only stopped using Y/N’s in my fics at the start of my 2023 comeback….so if you see my older works still using it…hahahha please don’t prosecute me).

anyway, you can do this either by embedding it in the narration—

→ fic: star studded baggage.

—or by using nicknames and titles instead!

→ wip: the breakup soup.

→ fic: can’t handle this.

*

#5 GET INTO THE (UN)NECESSARY SPECIFICS.

instead of just saying “Your professor called you,” grab a random last name and say “Prof Yoon asked to see you in his office.” instead of saying you went to the cafe, the mall, the store, grab an actual place or make one up because no one in the world says “they’re going to the cafe to grab a frappe,” (unless the store’s name is actually The Cafe). people say they’re going to Dunkin Donuts or Coffeebreak or wherever.

sure it’s not plot relevant, sure it’s not integral, but little things like this make your narrative and dialogue a lot more realistic and less awkward. it makes it seem like your characters are actually living inside a world of their own.

*

#6 GRAMMAR AND FORMATTING.

these are given HAHA but when i talk about grammar, i mean making sure that the commas and periods are consistently inside the quotation marks when writing dialogue. i mean minimizing the use of italics because overusing it can ruin the reading experience of a good piece (i was guilty of this too!) and i mean making sure that the use of tenses are consistent all throughout (unless if it’s a creative and plot choice), because all these things really matter if you want your fic, drabble, or blurb to be of overall high quality.

and that’s basically it! hope these tips help somehow...hope i’m not revealing my secrets for naught and someone can actually put them to good use HHAHAHHA what’s most important obviously is that you’re having fun with what you’re writing…etc. etc. insert inspirational you can do it speech here.

anyway, happy new year! and happy reading and writing<33

[cheeseplants]

Chapter one: The Apple Doesn't Fall Far

I'm so excited to share my new WIP. It's already pre-written at 58k!

Tags: Sad Wet Cat Crowley, Flirting over planning permits, Parish Councils, Bickerflickering forever

---

Down-and-out Crowley moves to the sticks to save his late aunt's cottage from demolition, but when he finds out that Councillor Aziraphale Fell isn't quite so keen on the demolition he is supposed to be in charge of - the two of them scheme to save the cottage as they uncover that sometimes the key to the future lies in preserving the past.

However, when feelings bubble up, can their relationship survive if on the surface they have to pretend to be working against each other?

--- Excerpt

“Your aunt left you something in her Will.”

“Left me something? Money?” Crowley’s eyes lingered on the bills before he downed the expresso, and set about making another. 

“Something like that. There is a bit of a problem.”

And all he thought was of course, there always was. 

That was his life. He could see the Book of his Life: Anthony J. Crowley, gold-embossed and tied with a red ribbon. Inside, every page, the word: "but..."

He could have his flat in London, but he couldn’t afford it. He could find his dream job, but he’d get fired. He could fall in love—or at least think he had—but... A sharp pain shot through his chest, nausea rising before he pushed it back down.

"But" had been seared onto him since the day he was born.

Crowley stared at the strips of daylight peeking through the window, and the jeans crumpled on the floor. He had planned another carefully curated day of misery: reality TV, wine, sleep, repeat. This routine dulled the pain that sat in his chest like a fire that would never be extinguished.

Inside, the four walls held him close and safe, keeping the blaze at bay. But even he knew his ability to keep the flat was dwindling, what with the extortionate bills and sky-high rent in one of London’s most expensive neighbourhoods. It had seemed such a good idea to buy here when he was at the top of his game. He hadn’t anticipated the fall.

Yesterday he’d sloped back to the cornershop under the judgemental eyes of the shopkeeper who must have noticed the uptick in Shiraz sales over the past few weeks. Crowley bought two bottles, and a tub of ice-cream.

Two bottles of wine, he decided, seemed like the kind of thing someone with a partner or a friend might buy. Three is too much, and one is suspicious. One screams: 'I am home alone and filling my days with alcohol and sleeping'. Two gave the air of someone who might be sharing their life with someone; not that he wanted to do that again. 

Those bottles were riding around in his stomach this morning like a waltzer he wished he could get off.

Crowley pushed the receiver back up to his ear. “Wot something? Wot problem?” His head was too foggy for this today.

“I suggest you come in, Mr. Crowley.”

Read chap one here.

Thanks to the amazing @happynachohologram & @kneelbeforeyourdogbabylon for their incredible beta!

@goodomensafterdark

[onceuponapuffin]

I've spent the week...processing. I was in the middle of writing Newt and Adam when The News broke, and I had to take a break. And I've spent a while thinking carefully about if I should say anything, and what I would say if I did.

The thing that made up my mind was seeing how many people are angry and hurting right now. I love this community, and I want to give my heart to all of you in the best way I can, which I think, is actually something I've already written.

So here, for you, is an excerpt from Part 9. My letter of love and compassion to you all. Please do your best to be kind to each other and yourselves.

************************

You pound your way to the nearest bar, where everyone had agreed to meet. The three of them are standing around, talking over glasses of wine. Your hands are in fists, your nails digging into your palms as you approach. They acknowledge you as you enter their field of vision, but you say nothing. Instead, you beeline for Aziraphale, put your arms around him, and hang on for dear life. Sometimes you just need to hug an angel.

There’s a pause where Anathema says something about your aura, and then Aziraphale hugs you back.

Dear Reader, I’m not sure if it ever happened in your life, but for this Puffin there came a time when it was made very clear that wanting to be held or wanting to lean on another person in public was unacceptable (and, in fact, embarrassing) once you reached a certain age. And yet, we as humans are social creatures. The need to be held is a very normal response, especially after something particularly upsetting happens (like having the sanctity of washroom privacy violated, for example). Perhaps you’re not the kind of person who, out of nowhere, feels the desire to be held, but perhaps you know someone who is. And so, I would like to impress upon you the incredible difference it makes, the immeasurable relief it brings, to know that you have someone with you who will hold you back without question or comment. Just hold you, and wait.

Aziraphale makes it clear he intends to do just that.

“Take your time, dear,” he says gently. And so you do.

[bluejayblueskies]

the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the ambition of the world | phynoma

[ID: Two pictures of two hand-bound books, the first of which shows their front covers and the second of which shows their spines and part of their front covers at an angle. The leftmost book is bound in yellow bookcloth and has a hand-embroidered smiling mouth with bloody teeth on the bottom portion of the front and back cover. The title, "the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the ambition of the world" is in the top right corner in black as well as the words "volume one" in maroon. The rightmost book is bound in red bookcloth and has a hand-embroidered ribcage on the lefthand side of the front cover and the righthand side of the back cover. The title, "the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the ambition of the world" is in the top right corner in black as well as the words "volume two" in white. Both volumes have stitching across the spine that joins the embroidery on the front and back covers so that the design stretches across the spine. /End ID]

It's finally time to share the books I made for the 2023 Rusty Quill Big Bang, hosted by @pilesofnonsense! This year, I was paired with the wonderful @phynoma, who wrote a post-circus AU entitled the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the ambition of the world where Jon is marked by an entity known as the Consuming that feeds off hunger and desire and focuses, in Jon's case, around sexual hunger and desire. It's a truly spectacular fic with excellent worldbuilding, spot-on characterization, and a wide variety of sexual encounters of all flavors, and I highly recommend it!

As this fic is written in transcript format, I wanted to go with an open-spine binding style that would have the advantage of both lying extremely flat when opened and giving the fic a more screenplay-like appearance. Also as a consequence of the transcript format, the final page count ended up being large enough that I split the fic into two volumes, the first of which covers season three and the second of which covers seasons four and five.

[ID: Two pictures of the same hand-bound books, the first of which shows volume one and the second of which shows volume two. Both books are fully open to display their front and back covers touching. We can see that the embroidered design, half of which is on the front cover and half of which is on the back, forms a complete picture when the book is fully open. /End ID]

Each volume has hand-embroidered front and back covers, with titles done in black, white, and maroon gel pen. The covers were designed so that when the book is fully open, the front and back cover designs come together to form one single cohesive image. Additionally, when the book is closed, the spine stitching was done so that the design stretches across the spine, thus making the full design complete whether the book is fully open or fully closed. I'm really proud of how these covers turned out, and even though the embroidery took much longer than I anticipated it taking, it's definitely something I would do again!

More description and pictures of the interior of the books are below the cut:

I went with a visually simple yet technically complex design for the typeset of this fic. Microsoft Word's styles were very much my friend, as well as its advanced find-and-replace feature, to automate a lot of the formatting for this fic. The most complex bits were the group chat excerpts and making sure all the profile pictures were positioned correctly, as well as the email chain excerpts in volume one. The text messages were done separately in an HTML workspace and then included via screenshots, and because I had an HTML/CSS text message code already sitting around from a previous project, those were relatively simple to format!

[ID: Eight pictures of the interior of the hand-bound books from previous photos. The first picture shows the title page of volume one, which has the title and author name in black and "volume one" in red, as well as a picture of a ginko tree. The second picture shows the title page of volume two, which has the title and author name in black and "volume two" in red, as well as a picture of a cherry blossom tree. The third picture shows the colophon and table of contents for volume two, highlighting the binder logos--a bluejay and a bookpress--and the faux-label table of contents title. The fourth picture shows the chapter header page for the chapter "voyeurism" in volume one, featuring brackets around the notes, content warnings, and pairings for the chapter as well as a quote from the confessions of augustine, which is separated from the warnings with an open eye graphic. The fifth picture shows the beginning of the chapter "hunger in the garden" in volume two, displaying the transcript formatting of the text as well as the faux-label chapter name on the top left. The sixth picture shows text messages in volume two, which are formatted the same as text messages on an iOS system with blue and gray bubbles and a name header that says "Jonathan Sims." The seventh picture shows some chapter text as well as a faux-office memo, done in a sans serif font, written from Elias Bouchard to the Archives team. The eighth picture shows on the left page faux emails, done in an iOS style with profile pictures for each email, and on the right page a faux-group message with profile pictures for each member and a header that labels the groupchat as the Snarkivists. /End ID]

The fonts used for this typeset were chosen based on those used for the unofficial Magnus Archives transcripts--DejaVu Sans Mono for the chapter intro pages and Libre Baskerville for the body text. I'm not 100% sure that those are the actual fonts used for the unofficial transcripts, but based on the reverse font search I did, those seem to be a close match for it.

This was a big project for me, and I'm so happy to finally see it to completion! Once again, a big thanks to Phynoma for being such a wonderful partner to work with--I'm excited to send you these books so you can see them in person 💜

[darthgabius]

Event: Magical Menagerie Gift Exchange 2024

Main ship: Sirius Black x Severus Snape

Side ships: Bellatrix x Lily | James x Narcissa

Rating: T+

Word count: 8,995 (complete)

Tags: Fantasy AU, Magic Systems, Fluff, Romcom, Rivals to Lovers, Magical Items

Gift to: @fiendishfyre

Summary: Every year eager apprentices and their renowned masters gather at the Hogsmeade Yuletide Fair in order to showcase their advancements to the people of the land. So, it should come to no one’s surprise—really—that one Sirius Black would find this to be the perfect opportunity to test out his latest creation. Nor should anyone be shocked—at all—that Severus Snape ends up having a terrible day.

Notes: This was my first time ever writing for this ship and I hope I’ve done them justice, both Severus and Sirius are amongst my favorites so I have a ton of love for them ❤️💚 to get into their mood/dynamic I completely immersed myself in the stunning starprince artwork from incredibly talented artist @intotheswollenriver (I swear this artist is the backbone of this ship) 😮‍💨🪭

READ IT FOR FREE ON AO3

Excerpt below

Because Severus’ life is anything but uncomplicated, it doesn’t take longer than seven minutes once they set foot in Hogsmeade for their group to cross paths with the miscreant apprentices of Dumbledore.

A stupid grin breaks on James Potter’s face as he notices their group—more specifically, Lily.

Sirius Black, as always, is smirking in that infuriating way of his. Long black hair, that rivals Bellatrix’s, tied up in a ponytail.

Much to Severus’ chagrin, he stands three inches taller than him. With impeccable robes and boots, as one would expect of any member of House Black.

His smirk grows as he notices Severus staring.

“There’s a painter next to our booth, we can commission him a portrait of me if you want, Snivelus.” Red, it’s red all over his vision. “But I gotta tell you, I’m a bit of a jealous type, dunno how I feel about sharing a spot above your bed next to your Riddle love-notes.”

If Severus is not careful, he’ll break his project with how hard he’s squeezing the ceramic shaker in his hands.

“Stop being mean, Sirius.” It’s Bellatrix who answers, and the shift in the other Black is immediate, his smirk transforming into a more genuine smile. “Also, Severus doesn’t have any love-notes written about our master hanging above his bedding, that’s just ridiculous.”

Black laughs and raises his hands in defeat.

Before the cousins can say anymore, Potter opens his big mouth.

“Hey Lily! Looking lovely as always, I love that, what’s that? Er—snake and flower embroidery on your robes.” Daft as he is, he doesn’t seem to notice how the temperature seems to drop even lower than what it already is.

“Thank you, James.” Lily’s smile is friendly, but polite. “I made it myself.” And the boy obviously misses how the same exact pattern—a snake wrapped around a lily flower—is also embroidered to Bellatrix’s black robes.

“That’s so amazing, you’re amazing—” Potter laughs. “What are you up to anyway? Would you like to—”

A few things happen simultaneously.

Black sighs like someone who’s about to witness something he doesn’t want to and Bellatrix steps in front of Lily, blocking Potter’s view. A smile that doesn’t even pretend to be anything but predatory widens in her striking face.

“Oh, hello James, it’s lovely to see you.” And she continues speaking over his confused ‘Hey… Bellatrix,’ “Did you hear the news? Apparently Lucius wants to court my sister, and as a matter of fact I think he just told us he was taking her on a walk, isn’t that right, Lilian?” Bellatrix doesn’t look back at Lily, whose green eyes widen for just a second before she slowly nods.

“Yes, Bella, to the rose garden with the mistletoe canopy.” The color drains from James Potter’s face.

“What,” he says dumbly.

“Oh yes, and you know how Cissy is, ever so the dutiful daughter,” Severus mentally scoffs, if there’s something Narcissa isn’t, it’s dutiful. But of all the Black children, she’s the only one who’s got Bellatrix fooled.

Narcissa plays her part perfectly, but at the end of the day she does whatever she wants.

“She would never say no to Lucius… you know there’s been talk about their marriage since they were babies,” she continues. “Just the other day Nicola was telling my mother how she couldn’t wait for more blonde haired Malfoy children to run around the Manor.”

Women are devious creatures, thinks Severus as he watches James Potter, with all color drained from him, sprint away from their group.

Lucius is secretive, but it’s hard to keep a big secret in Master Riddle’s workshop. They all know Malfoy’s been meeting with Evan’s cousin, Pandora, since the summer solstice.

And Severus knows Narcissa enjoys giving Potter a hard time. She told him once, “He’s young, he needs to get his impatience out of his system before I give him a third of my attention—Potter gets bored, only boys get bored,” with a small smirk.

Women.

“Sirius.” The eldest Black says in a warning tone.

“Bellatrix.” He responds nonchalantly.

“I told you that you should be more discerning of your company.”

“James is a great guy, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

And before her temper starts acting up, Black pulls his cousin into a hug and kisses her cheek sweetly. The elder girl nearly disappears as she’s engulfed by his brutish form.

She’s soon laughing and chastising him, but with no bite.

There’s a total of five people who can handle Bellatrix without her being aware of it: Master Riddle, her grandfather, Sirius, Narcissa and Lily.

Severus sometimes wonders what would happen if she were to ever become aware of it.

“So, where’s Reggie?” Asks Black as he herds his cousin to a slow-paced walk. His long arm hung over her shoulder. To anyone walking, they could pass off as twins.

It’s the small weight of Lily’s hand on his forearm that stops him from silently slipping away from the nightmare-ish company.

“Let’s go, Sev?” Lily’s green eyes are kind, her freckles less pronounced with the colder season.

[CONTINUE READING ON AO3]

Note: this scene is not the beginning of the oneshot!

[hooked-on-elvis]

Insatiable young Elvis 🚫🍟

Elvis was still dating Dixie at that time and they often "double dated" with Scotty and Bobbie. One of the places they went was a drive-in on Park Avenue where they could sit outside and eat watermelon. "Elvis and Scotty would start spitting seeds to see who could spit them furthest," says Bobbie. After shows, they often went out together to eat. Usually Bobbie was the only one who had any money. Her 9-to-5 at Sears wasn't glamorous, but it did pay on a regular basis. "When they played at the Eagle's Nest, they didn't get paid until they went to the union," she says. "Elvis never had any money. We'd go out to eat and we had to buy his burger and milshake. One night he wanted another milshake. He asked Scotty if he could have one. Scotty said he would have to ask me. I was the only one who got paid." Once Elvis had cleaned his plate, he hand a tendency to munch off the plates of those around him. It was Evelyn Black [Bill Black's wife] who discovered, quite by accident, the secret to protecting her meal from Elvis' wandering fingers. "We stopped once to get a sandwich and some french fries, and I put ketchup on my potatoes - you know so I could dip them," says Evelyn. "Elvis would get a potato off my place, and I noticed he always got one that didn't have ketchup on it. From then on, I learned to put ketchup on my fries or else Elvis would eat them all."

Excerpt: "That's Alright, Elvis: The Untold Story of Elvis' First Guitarist and Manager, Scotty Moore" by Scotty as told to James Dickerson (1997). Chapter 4 - July 1954: Three Days That Shook the World.

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

Note: Friends, I have two lengthy articles I've written myself on all the things about Elvis' eating habits that I could find so far. I haven't published them yet because I'm a somewhat recent Elvis fan and I know that's much more to find out there in books yet but let me know if you're interested in reading those pieces of information I already have.

Anyway, this ketchup thing made me laugh. Those facts are dated from circa 1954.

[burntheedges-updates]

Preview: Over Again

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

This is my updates-only blog! Follow me at @burntheedges

summary: you fell in love with Joel Miller in Austin, Texas, in 2001, but you thought you lost him in 2003 when the world turned upside down. now it's 2024, and you find the surprise of your life waiting for you in Jackson, Wyoming.

or, 5 times you and Joel fell deeper in love, on both sides of the apocalypse

a/n: this is an excerpt from a longer fic that is almost finished! check back soon (or follow) for the full fic. I haven't written anything in like 15 years, and Joel Miller dragged me back in. sharing this as part of the Pedro Pascal cinematic universe discord server event! join us!

warnings: 18+, minors DNI in this excerpt - banter, a little bit of pining, but mostly fluff. reader is 26, Joel is 33 (at this time - picture him just like he looks in that gif ^^). for the full fic - a teensy bit of angst (plus the angst of thinking the other person is dead for 20 years (apocalypse)), cursing, wall sex, will add the full list once I have it... I’m trying to have a reader with as little description as possible (in this excerpt they’re a person with hair) but please let me know if you see anything I should change.

wordcount: 2300 (for this preview)

Main post & chapter list | chapter 1 | ao3

Austin, TX, Spring 2001

On Sunday, you changed your outfit 5 times before telling yourself to get a grip and putting back on the first thing you had pulled out of your closet, 45 minutes before. Joel had seen literally all of these clothes before, he’d lived next door to you for 6 months. Get it together. You looked at yourself in the mirror, messed with your hair one last time, and then forced yourself to leave the bathroom and head downstairs. 

In the kitchen, you glanced at the clock – 5:54pm – and picked up the cookies you baked that morning, heading next door to the Millers’. 

You knocked on the door, and after a few moments with no response you knocked again. Odd. You put your ear to the door and heard music, and Sarah laughing. You tried the door and realized it was unlocked. 

As you crossed the threshold you called out, “Millers? Anyone home?” Inside you could more clearly hear the music coming from the backyard, so you left the cookies in the kitchen and headed towards the back door.

You found the backdoor open, and you could hear Sarah laugh again as you moved closer. “Dad come on, you stepped on my toes!”

“Sarah Miller, I raised you not to tell lies.” Joel sounded out of breath, but he was laughing as he said it.

“Well, that’s definitely a lie if I ever heard one.” Tommy jumped out of the way as Joel steered Sarah right into him in retaliation. You leaned in the doorway, smiling as you watched Joel lead Sarah around the yard to Rie y Llora. They hadn’t noticed you yet. 

“Celia Cruz, huh?”

All three Millers turned at your question, all three smiling at you. It was a little overwhelming, as always, to have the attention of all three at once. Sarah elbowed her dad lightly and laughed, saying, “She’s Abuela's favorite.” Joel rolled his eyes. “It’s good music to learn to,” he muttered, clearly not for the first time. 

“It looks to me like Sarah already knows what she’s doing.” You smiled at the look he shot your way.

“Ha! See, dad?”

“Sure, baby girl. Why don’t you go take Uncle Tommy for a spin, since you know what you’re doing.” With that, Joel spun Sarah towards Tommy, who caught her easily and started leading her around the yard. You laughed, and then looked back towards Joel. He was watching you with that half smile that always gave you goosebumps. 

“Do you know how to dance, darlin’?”

“In a club? Sure. Like that? No way.” 

He grinned at your answer. “Want to learn?” He held his hand out, guiding you towards him once you placed your hand in his. 

“I’ve never danced like this before. I’ll probably stomp all over your feet.” Joel placed your right hand on his shoulder, and took your left hand in his right.

“You let me worry about where our feet go. I’ll show you the basics and then you just follow me.” And over the next 15 minutes, that’s exactly what he did. 

Soon you found yourself slowly moving around the yard to Lambada, definitely slower than the music called for. At some point Tommy and Sarah went inside to work on finishing dinner, but you barely noticed. You were focusing on keeping up with Joel. 

Just as you started to feel a little bit confident, a slow song that you didn’t know started to play. Joel slowed the two of you as well, starting to sway in place instead of moving around so much. He pulled you a little closer with his left hand around your waist.

Catching your breath, and taking your focus off of your feet, you asked, “what brought this on? I don’t think I’ve ever come over to find y’all mid-dance-lesson before.”

“Sarah’s got that school dance coming up and she’s a bit nervous.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I tried to tell her I only know how to do this and a few of those line dances they do in the clubs Tommy goes to. Not whatever dancing they’ll be doing — probably closer to your club dancing.” He winked at you, and you held on a little tighter to his shoulder. “But then she reminded me that her cousin’s party is coming up, anyway, and they will definitely be dancing just like this. So, we were practicing.”

“Cousin?” You asked, confused. Tommy didn’t have kids, and you were pretty sure there were no other Miller siblings.

“Ah, technically it’s my cousin’s kid, on my mom’s side. Easier to just say cousin.” He shrugged. You nodded. 

“Well, you did a good job teaching me. Bet that’ll be a fun party.”

You realized at that point that you had slowly swayed in the direction of the trees along the back of the yard. You were under the shade of one of the trees, partially out of view from the house. You'd moved closer together as the dance slowed and you found yourself with your right hand on his neck, fingertips almost touching his hairline. Your eyes darted from his arms, holding you securely, to his shoulders, flexing under his shirt, up to his face. 

You looked up to find Joel was looking right back at you. “See something you like, darlin’?” He smirked. You felt a rush of warmth towards your face, but you weren’t really embarrassed. You felt like your whole body was tingling, like you were heading towards something you’d been hoping for for months. Like you were racing forward and up ahead there was a cliff you might fall off of, but you’d fall together. Like the fall was the point, the destination. Your breath caught in your throat. “Maybe I do, neighbor.” He grinned in response, tugging you just a bit closer. Any closer and you’d feel him pressed against you everywhere. 

“I know I do.”

“What?” You’d lost track of the conversation. His proximity was going to your head. 

“See something I like.” As he responded, he let go of your hand and brought his right hand up to cup your face. You saw him glance from your eyes to your mouth and in response, you pressed closer, winding your right hand into his hair. Joel leaned in, and you barely felt the touch of his lips to yours, when the back door opened and Tommy shouted, “dinner’s ready, love birds! Get in here!”

Joel groaned as he stepped away from you, resting his hands on your shoulders. “I guess we should head inside.” As he said it, he lifted one hand to trace his fingertips along your cheekbone before running his hand lightly over your hair. “Stick around after dinner? I’d like another dance.” You smile as he reaches down to take your hand and lead you toward the house, walking backwards and keeping his eyes trained on yours. 

“Smooth moves, Miller. Save some for later.”

He’s still smiling, but suddenly you feel the intent in his gaze, more focused than even a moment ago. “Oh darlin’, don’t worry. For you, I got plenty more.”

—-

Dinner with the Millers was always fun, and this occasion was no different. Tommy and Sarah teased Joel mercilessly, and he got them right back, though he was always a little softer with Sarah. 

You talked and joked over dinner, noting Joel had made one of your favorites - pepper chicken - and he winked at you when you thanked him for it. After dinner Sarah rushed upstairs to talk to a friend on the phone as Tommy headed out the door (“to do some real dancing, y'all should come out sometime”). You were left with Joel in the kitchen, clearing the table together and starting in on the dishes. 

“You don’t have to help with that, I can get it.” You bumped your hip against his as he slid in next to you at the sink.

“It’s no bother, Joel. Let me help.” He smiled at you, softly, and nodded, picking up the towel to dry the dishes. 

You worked quietly together, sometimes recalling a joke from dinner, but you were mostly just enjoying the quiet moment. As soon as you handed him the last dish he set it aside, still wet, to take your hand and lead you back outside. He switched the music back on, low, as you passed the boombox.

As he stepped into the yard, Joel turned and pulled you back into his arms, into the slow dance stance you had only just left before dinner. But this time he pulled you close from the start, tucking you up against him and smoothing his hand across your lower back. “Well hello there, darlin’. Fancy meeting you here.”

You smiled, and rolled your eyes a little. “Hey, cowboy.” You let your fingertips play with his hair along his neck. You noticed a light shiver in his shoulders as you did. “Joel, are you ticklish?” 

“No, and you better not let on to Sarah that you wondered anything of the sort.” He glared at you playfully as he said it, spinning you a little into a new spot in the yard. You laugh, winded, even though you'd barely moved. 

“Hmm, seems like information that would be worth quite a bit to some people around here.” You brushed your fingers lightly across his hairline again, and he squirmed again in response. 

He hid a smile, pulling you in so he could whisper directly into your left ear. “But darlin’, if you keep my secret, I’ll make it worth your while.” It was your turn to shiver. “Oh? How so?” You’d never heard your own voice so breathless. 

He chuckled, and raised his left hand from your hip to your jaw, tilting your head to the right as he tucked his face into the left side of your neck. He ran his lips lightly from your shoulder to your jaw, sending prickles down your spine as you inhaled sharply. He kissed you, lightly, right at the hinge of your jaw, and then on your cheek, and then his mouth met yours, softly, barely there and then with gentle pressure. He pulled away after only a moment, and you met his eyes in a daze. His gaze was dark, and you felt like you were moving through molasses. Everything was slow, and soft, and heady. You felt like you were floating and Joel’s hands on you – your cheek, your left hand – were the only things keeping you tethered.

Joel murmured your name. “Let me take you out.”

“When?” Your reply fell from your lips so quickly it made him smile, and you smiled back, unashamed. 

“Friday? Sarah’s got a sleepover.” He smoothed his thumb over your cheekbone. “We can go dancing, show off these moves.” You laughed. 

“Joel, I’ve barely got 1, maybe 2 moves. You sure we don’t need another dance lesson before we take this show on the road?”

He huffed a laugh, and spun you a little. “Just follow along with me, darlin’, I won’t let you stumble.”

You bit your lip, and nodded. “Friday.”

“Friday,” he agreed, pulling you in again. As his lips met yours again, you wondered how you were going to wait 5 days for this. Joel pulled himself away with a small groan, resting his forehead against yours. “We should stop before we get too carried away, with Sarah home.” You nodded. 

You danced a bit more, finishing out the last couple of tracks on the CD. Joel kept his forehead against yours at first, and then tucked your head into his chest, resting his cheek on top of your head, slowly swaying as the last song trailed off into quiet.

You didn’t want to let go quite yet, and it seemed Joel didn’t either, as neither of you moved. You could feel your happiness at finally taking the leap together glowing in your chest – from dancing around each other to an actual dance, the months of flirting had finally gotten you somewhere. But you couldn’t help but wonder.

“Joel? Why now?” You asked it softly, face still tucked into his chest. He hummed lowly in response before pulling back to meet your eyes. He regarded you silently for a moment before seeming to come to a decision. 

“I think we both felt it, from that first day. You were — you are — the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I knew I wanted you, but I wanted something real. I haven’t dated anyone in a long, long time. I wanted to take it slow, and get to know you first. But darlin’, I realized the other day, when you were here with Sarah, that maybe there’s a line between taking it slow and just being afraid, and I was flirting with it. And I’d rather be flirting with you.” He grinned as you rolled your eyes a little bit at his joke. “I’ve been afraid, for a long time, of letting someone in when it’s not just me I have to worry about. But Sarah loves you.”

“And I love her, Joel. That girl is special.” He smiled, and nodded. “I know you do. And she’s been teasing me about asking you out for months.”

“Oh yeah? Well you should know better than to ignore her advice, Joel.” 

He sighed, long-suffering, and nodded. “I know it.”

Joel started to head towards the house, right hand reaching for your left. You felt a little shaky, like you really had been floating for the last half hour. As you approached the front door, he squeezed your hand and pulled you into another hug. “I’ll see you Friday, darlin’.”

“You sure will, cowboy.” He smiled and pulled you in for another kiss. 

“Now get, before we get any bad ideas.” You laughed, and headed out the door he opened for you. “Night, darlin’.”

“See you Friday, Joel.”

—

a/n: follow for the whole fic! coming soon :)

[iwriteasfotini]

Regulus ‘I am out of everyone’s league’ Black

In which Evan tries to tell Regulus everyone has a crush on him and Regulus doesn’t care or believe him (hmmm... wonder why that might be?). Subtextual Rosekiller in that Regulus is trying to help Evan and Barty become a thing.

Regulus POV, Regulus is in year three, as is Barty. Evan is in year five. 

…

As he rode the train back to Hogwarts, he and Evan talked about the speech they had heard the Dark Lord give. They had a compartment to themselves, the train being significantly emptier than it was at the beginning and end of the year. Then Regulus came clean with Evan regarding everything he was undertaking in the month of January. 

“I don’t want you to think I am being flakey or half-arsing things, but -”

Evan held up his hand, “I trust you. As long as you turn up for the Ravenclaw match and play your arse off, we are good.”

“And if you want me to hang out with you and Barty, it’s going to have to wait.”

Evan nodded, “I understand. Let me see what I feel comfortable with on my own. Maybe I won’t need you.” Evan gave him a playful nudge. 

“Rosier, you are a catch, own it. You really don’t need a wingman.”

Laughing heartily now, Evan said, “if Regulus ‘I am out of everyone’s league’ Black thinks I am a catch, it has to be a good sign.”

Regulus scoffed, “what! I do not think I am out of everyone else’s league. I just haven’t found anyone I feel that way about yet.”

“Hence, you are way, way out of our league mate.”

“Ok, but in fairness, this ‘league’ has three people in it I am aware of, one of them being myself.”

“You can deny it until your last breath Regulus, you are fucking fit. Your brother owns it. You should too.”

“My demeanor is more subtle.”

“Obviously, but you want some sway in the house, turn up the sex appeal. Even the straight kids will be drooling over you. I bet they secretly already are.”

Regulus’ eyebrows shot up into his long fringe. 

“Don’t look so surprised, you’ve had me and Barty both crushing on you, and we made out with each other in the meantime.”

“What! Barty doesn’t, he hasn’t had a crush on me. He hated me.”

“I thought we went over this already,” sighed Evan. “And don’t worry, neither of us are going to make a move again, at least I won’t. And Barty knows you are untouchable, pureblood royalty. Just another reason he never queued you in on his mess of feelings in the past.”

“No wonder he’s so surly all the time.” 

“That and about fifty other reasons. I’m glad you encouraged me to get to know him. We don’t really understand each other until we see things from another’s point of view. But back to you, Regulus, I’m not kidding. Bring the goods and you will have everyone eating out of your hand.”

“Evan, I’m not… That’s not…”

“Hmmmm, I wasn’t under the impression you had a confidence problem.”

“I don’t! I mean,” Regulus ran his hands over his face in exasperation. “Merlin Evan, I’m not great at this stuff.”

“Well, I won’t pretend to be an expert, but if you ever want some advice, my door is always open.”

Regulus rolled his eyes and turned towards the window where the snowy countryside was speeding past. 

…

This excerpt was taken from The Heir and The Spare, which is part of the Our Love is Written in the Stars series which will FINALLY begin posting on Oct 31!

[imagineitdearies]

Two things~ A comment and question!

I was out on a first date with someone yesterday and we were fangirling over bg3 and our love for Astarion. She's a big fan of drow, and knows all the Drizzt books. So I suggested Perfect Slaughter to her. Gave her the rundown and she seemed to be onboard. Hopefully a new fan for you~

But also, I'm super curious about Circle of Sixths and if there's been any updates~ No rush at all! From the plot basis on your profile, it looks definitely intriguing!

Just looking forward to more writing! Love the PS drabbles and learning about the boys after everything. They're too sweet~

Hey ramenhokage 🥰

First off, my goodness, you're out spreading the good (bad) word of Perfect Slaughter, and on a first date no less?? This has to be one of the coolest, most niche compliments a fanfic author can get 🤣🩵 Thank you, I hope she enjoys!

And on top of that, another thank you for asking about Circle of Sixths!! It's super exciting (and encouraging!) to me that some readers from Perfect Slaughter want to hear about my original fiction. This project definitely is moving slower than fanfic, simply for the fact I can't go to a wiki for lore, I have to make the wiki to some extent lolol. Also last month was a whirlwind with a vacation, big things happening at work, and starting a new relationship. But I have made progress!!

Right now my goal is to finish 10 out of the 15ish chapters I have planned for Part I: Mellifluous, hopefully by the end of the month, before I send the first three chapters to a few beta readers. Currently I have 8 chapters fully written, so I'm getting close to that milestone! I've shared a bit on my author discord already (join if you haven't, lots of fun discussions!!), but here's another rough, unedited excerpt for you all:

At the moment, I'm thinking I might go the route of posting on Patreon--subscribers would get early access to each chapter (amongst other things), but it'd be free to followers a week later too! And then once Part I is fully out, offering it as an ebook and possibly print-on-demand, if I can get enough income to pay for a cover/formatting help. We'll see, honestly. If people have opinions or advice on this, I'm willing to listen at the least!!

Thanks again, hope you're keeping well friend 🩵

[dcficrecs]

I'm A Good Pretender - Chapter 2: I Got Lots Of Problems

By shipNslash on AO3

My last post was an excerpt from the first chapter of this fic. I've finished it now and I like most of it, but there's something in Chapter 2 that I just have to talk about. This whole fic is a Robin origin story. It has seven chapters, so it drawfs in comparison to the 'Firework' fic by paganpunk2 on fanfiction.net (I posted about that too, maybe my favorite fanfic ever). Still, I really like it. It's written with excerpts from days. It starts with day zero, where Dick's parents are killed and Bruce comforts him. Day one is him meeting Alfred at the orphanage, and it goes all the way to day 262, where Commissioner Gordon meets Robin.

Anyway, in this particular excerpt, Dick is scheming to sneak out of Wayne Manor and kill Tony Zucco himself, and has to guilt trip Bruce in order to be alone long enough to escape even though he feels bad about it. He likes Bruce, but he isn't quite a father figure to him, yet. Dick has inherited Bruce's old bedroom, something very sentimental to Bruce. The excerpt starts with Bruce giving a tour of his old room. Bruce also gave Dick a note, saying to ring the service bell when he wakes up. He does, and it calls Bruce to his room. Dick keeps the note in his pocket. Also, a slight trigger warning for mentions of sexual abuse against a child.

So Bruce awkwardly shows Dick around the cavernous bedroom. The dresser is full of generic clothes in his size and Bruce promises they can get his stuff from their trailer later today and go shopping soon for anything he's missing. He shows him how to work the computer at the desk and the TV on the wall, and even points towards the staff lift at the end of the hallway that will take him directly to the kitchen. The bathroom is in the bedroom and almost as huge, with a sink and toilet and a big shower/bathtub combo already filled with a bunch of different soaps.

"I wasn't sure what you'd need," Bruce mumbles when Dick comments on the variety. "We have different hair types."

That's…surprisingly thoughtful, Dick thinks, and Bruce's folded note feels like it's burning a hole in his pocket.

He ignores the guilt and smiles. "Thanks, Bruce. I appreciate it."

"I want you to be comfortable here," Bruce whispers back, even quieter than normal.

Dick pushes the guilt down, down, down. Now is as good a time as any and Bruce is already uncomfortable. Now if Dick can just get him to leave…

(Never talk about sex, Mama always says, grown ups hate when kids even mention sex.)

"What about rules?" Dick asks, pitching his voice a little higher and widening his already big eyes just a little bit bigger. "One of the older boys at the detention center said rich people only foster kids to warm their beds. I don't know what that means, but I'll try, if you teach me."

And bingo.

Bruce's pale skin goes practically gray and he flinches back until he's outside of the bathroom. "That- No, I- You won't ever-"

"Did I say something wrong?" Dick asks, adding in a small sniffle and not letting up on the eye contact. (He's already learned that Bruce Wayne hates eye contact.)

The man is still backpedaling, now well to the hallway. "No! No. I'll… see you at breakfast." When he steps out of the room, his shoulders sag. "Kitchen. Eight." And then he's gone, latching the door shut behind him.

Dick sighs and flops against the bed. That was almost too easy. He feels… kinda bad.

Still. Eight o’clock. That's just over three hours, according to the clock on the wall.

"Alright," he mumbles to himself and carefully rocks to his feet. "Like Mama says, make a list."

So, he does.

Stretch my poor, atrophying muscles

Shower off the scent of the detention center

Find out where Haly's went

Sneak out

Catch and murder Tony Zucco

Run away to (re)join the circus 

There, that doesn't seem hard now that he's made a list- Mama's always right.

Something about "I don't know what that means, but I'll try if you teach me," is literally so well written. Obviously, gross, but Dick using something that makes Bruce obviously uncomfortable to his advantage against Bruce is so Dick coded. Dick absolutely knew what it meant and purposefully used it to horrify Bruce. Guilt tripping Bruce Wayne is so easy, as long as you're Dick Grayson. He's a little gremlin and I love it. Also, the list he makes is adorable, literally went from zero to a hundred real quick.

[bella-rose29]

A Belle Christmas Treat ~ 1

since it's the run up to christmas now (and I'm back homeeee) I figured I would do some little snippets of things like this hehe

Not Your Lover (Nikolai Lantsov x reader) finished aaaaaages ago (I just looked and it was over a year wtf) but what people might not know is that I had originally planned to do 9 chapters not 8, but I unfortunately lost motivation.

I've been planning on posting this bit of chapter 9 that I wrote since the moment the series finished, but I've only just got the mental capacity to do it 😅

this hasn't been added to, and I haven't really edited either, so to everyone who read NYL (or to those who haven't read it and want to now): enjoy!

Not Your Lover - Chapter 9 excerpt

Word count: 764 words

Warnings: THIS IS NOT A COMPLETE CHAPTER!!! also if you haven't read the rest don't worry, there's not much in this that spoils the series!

Not Your Lover series masterlist

(not my gif and I'm sorry but I cannot remember who's it is 😭)

With only three days left before the deadline, Y/n was surprised at the speed of their progress on the mansion.

Her mother had apparently moved out, packing up a few of her things into a suitcase after having a conversation with Y/n's father and being told that he wanted a divorce.

Y/n had then moved back that same day, feeling safe enough in her own home again, and had enjoyed sleeping in her own bed. Nik was still at the hotel, despite Gregor offering up his spare room to him. She had a sneaking suspicion that Nik wasn't sleeping much at all, because when she had come to work on the rooms that morning most of the jobs she had written on her list of things to do were already ticked off.

Nik had shrugged her off when she asked him, but she saw the small smile that he hid and felt her heart skip a beat at his dedication to a project that wasn't even his.

They had spent the evening before having dinner together in Nik's hotel room, and she had spent much of that time finding out whatever she could about his real life. He had hesitated when it came to the civil war, and then again when he talked about the war with Fjerda, but she had reassured him gently, telling him he didn't need to share anything that he didn't want to, and he had said what he could.

The demon had been a shock, to say the least.

Nik had let it out, wincing at the slight strain against his muscles as a dark shadow creeped from out of his shoulder blades, taking form a few seconds later as some sort of... creature. Y/n supposed the only way to really describe it was a demon, since no other name came to mind, and at first she was afraid of its growl and sharp teeth. But then she had offered out a shaky hand and it had looked up at her properly, head tilting and pupils widening, then immediately nuzzling up to her once it had realised that she was not a threat. Y/n had laughed, letting it curl up in her lap and stroking over its spine, and Nik had watched on with a fond smile on his face.

"So this is how you've been getting so much work done at night," she mused, not even bothering to make it a question when she knew the answer.

"It's pretty much the only time I can let him out," Nik replied. "Otherwise he bangs around in my head being a nuisance." The demon let out an affronted growl at that, and Nik stuck his tongue out in response. "Don't look at me like that, you know that it's true."

"Why can't you let him out any other time?"

"People would see and talk, and I would really rather they didn't know the truth. Like I said the other day, it reduces the number of people after my head. Besides, he has a tendency to rummage around in bins and frankly it's just embarrassing to be seen around him when he does."

Y/n snorted, picturing the scene in her mind. "You talk about him like he's your child, did you know that?"

"What?" Nik looked surprised, his eyes wide and his jaw slack. "My child?"

"Yeah. I don't know, there's a weird sort of pride when you talk about him." She hadn't expected that to make Nik blush, but the sight was adorable, and if she hadn't had a demon sat in her lap she would have reached forward to plant a kiss on Nik's cheek.

~~~

That night had been wonderful, and while Y/n slept in her room at home after Nik had walked her back, he had gone on to the mansion, demon scurrying after him in the shadows.

Now there was only a small amount to do, although 'small' meant getting furniture for the rooms that didn't have any, fixing the lights in most of the rooms, replacing certain parts of fixtures that were already in place, following up on the various decorations that had yet to arrive, and more.

Her father was helping more often, normally when Y/n's siblings were at school and she needed to work in the bakery, and Gregor was allowing Nik time off work to do the same. Gregor himself was offering to do the lights after he closed the shop for the day, and Y/n had said yes before he'd even finished speaking.

[callmearcturus]

1, 2, 7 and/or 8, 13

1. Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

2 and 8 and 13

Already answered.

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

/laughs. Jake's POV chapter in KTOWL. I'll grab some excerpts. MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR ACT THREE OF KTOWL.

Ah, Striders. He was becoming uncommonly fond of them. And how could he not? In Abraxas, every vice and temptation flowed like water from a well, and Jake rarely considered any of them. All the designer drugs their apothecaries cooked up, and Jake stuck to good old dextroamphetamine and calmag.

But now that he'd gotten one Strider and glimpsed the other two? Jake wanted in a way he rarely wanted anything. His hands curled when he thought about the Umbral Executor. Oh, he carried a torch for him. Or, a knife, really. The very same Dirk had flung into Jake's shoulder was always on Jake's person, always in a tidy little sheath Jake had put together for it. He'd wear it over his heart if it wouldn't break the line of his shirts.

Not that the lovely accountant was forgotten. Truly, the manner in which he assumed he was forgotten was enough to keep him vivid in Jake's mind. Sorrow hung around him and clung to Jake in his wake, like a bruise he couldn't stop touching, like a sticky remnant that clung to his fingers no matter how much he washed. Sweet and sad, and Jake wanted to drive a knife through Caliborn's skull for the chance to see him smile.

Jake's POV chapter was all about showing off what an absolutely unhinged motherfucker he is, the specificity of him. And the specificity of Jake Abraxas English is so goddamn important for a lot of reasons, but mainly to make him feel as inhuman as possible. He's the head of a drug empire and sticks to his prescriptions. He got stabbed by Dirk and keeps the knife in a handmade sheaf as a sign of devotion. He thinks killing Caliborn would make Dave smile.

Jake hated losing, and picked his battles accordingly. That one, he kept folded up in his pocket, waiting for such a time when he might win. If only she'd realize his winning was to everyone's benefit.

But that was a matter for another night. For now, Jake mixed some of the botanical gin she always had on hand, cucumber, mint, and a splash of St Germain.

A little of this, a little of that, all captured in glass. Jake never drank, but there wasn't much difference between neon and cocktails. There wasn't much difference between neon and anything.

Jake never loses not just because he's a formidable foe and powerful presence Under the Table, but because he selects his fights like he's counting cards against the universe.

And "There wasn't much difference between neon and anything." Not only does Jake have a batshit way of looking at the world, but he applies the same ruleset to everything, from mixology to gunfights to corporate warfare.

"Isn't that rule one? Never put yourself in a position to lose." She came into view with proximity, melting out of the shadows. Her cane tapped very quietly against the dubiously-colored carpet.

"That is what I say, isn't it," Jake murmured, picking up the ball and starting it up again.

Again, specificity with how Jake phrases everything is-- I put TREMENDOUS effort into every word in every sentence. I wanted to foster this idea that Jake was Crafted. He was created by his grandmother to be this exact monster. So he mentions how he manipulates circumstances to always win earlier, then the same thing is said by the woman who created him, trying to imbue this... discomfort to his making.

Once, Rose had snippily asked if Jake had been grown in a vat for just this purpose, his purpose. He had smiled but had not laughed.

(CACKLES)

It was a special kind of fool who cheated his way into Jake's territory and then didn't even have the decency to have arms ready when Jake stepped into the trap.

The knife Dirk had gifted him just a few miles away in an alleyway in this very city seemed a fitting end for this absolute idiot. Drawing it silently, Jake quick-stepped across the plush (silent) rug that ran from the door to the desk.

There was no hesitation; if the troll looked up, he was done for. Jake kicked the back of the fellow's leg hard, buckling it. The troll let out one of those panicked trills, his hand slapping against the desk.

The muscle in that arm corded as he prepared to shove himself back up. Jake grabbed a fistful of hair— his horns were too short to be of any use here— and yanked him back.

The posture pole pressed firmly against Jake's thigh as he shoved the knife against the troll's throat. "Clementine, what a surprise! Have you done something to your hair? New cologne?"

Up to this point, the audience has mostly experienced Jake through Dirk's eyes, and there's always been an unspoken understanding that Jake would not kill Dirk. So when an intruder shows up and annoys Jake, I wanted his response to feel smart and certain and natural to him. I wanted the audience to understand that Jake is fucking dangerous.

"How much do you love him? Because some things you won't get back."

Jake watched Karkat realize his meaning, dark and bitter chocolate melting across Jake's tongue as comprehension dawned on Karkat's face.

Jake is a freak. He tells a guy he likes, who he's taken an immediate shine to, tells the guy "I'm gonna cut off your arm" and Karkat's dawning understanding does for Jake what any Abraxas designer drug does for the masses. He's a monster, and I love him.

[yunessa]

Owlcatober 25: 'Smooth'

Spoiler free Kenabres excerpts of Ramien and Yunessa.

“I was starting to wonder if you were all part of my imagination Ramien. If you had kept your hood up I wouldn’t have been able to find you.” The Aasimar priest sat in the forges, his metallic hair gleaming in the warm light of the smithy. In his hands was a cup of coffee still steaming. 

Ramien gave Yunessa a smile. “You should see when I tried to dye it a year ago. It was a disaster.” He started to rise. 

“Stay seated Ramien. You look tired.” The smithy was small- one the inn used to rent out to adventurers- but was well kept. The glowing embers in the forge kept the space comfortably warm. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I’ve been doing whatever I can. Comforting people, healing them…” He smiled sadly. “... but unfortunately Desna has not allowed me the power to return the dead. With the demon attack repelled and your victories in the city, it seems to have calmed it a little.”

“And how are you doing yourself?” Yunessa asked. Ramien’s sad smile faded with the look he gave Yunessa, one of wry humour.

“You know me already. As for myself- I’m here and doing what I can to help. There have been a few problems- cultists sneaking in, an attempted murder in the Inn’s basement- but nothing Commander Tirabade hasn’t handled.” He took a drink from his cup. “She’s handled it so well I only heard of it after the fact.” 

Ramien’s eyes were as unusual as Daeran’s. But his eyes looked like jewels. The purple shined and gleamed in a way that only jewels only caught the light, the colour rich.  Daeran’s were pale, like the greenish-topaz stones in the ring he gave Yunessa as payment. If violets could be jewels…

“You’re staring.” Ramien wagged a finger at Yunessa. There was amusement written on his face.

Yunessa felt their face heat up, but not from the forge. They coughed. “Sorry, I was studying you-”

“Staring intently at my eyes while you studied?” Ramien asked, his smile sly. “How studious.”

“Alright Daeran.” Yunessa rubbed at their jaw as Ramien chuckled. “But to answer you right- I haven’t met many aasimar. You and Daeran are one of the only three I’ve seen and talked to so I was studying you.”

“Am I that handsome?” He asked coyly and Yunessa pretended to stare at him more intently.

“Wellll…” Yunessa drawled out. “I guess, since you caught me staring I have to say yes.”

“And if I hadn’t?” His eyes gleamed with humour.

“I’d have to say it was close but.” Yunessa made a show of running their hands through their hair and giving Ramien a wink. “You’re not me, so you’ll have to take second place.”

Ramian chuckled, a rich sound that seemed to brighten the forge. “My parents were both elves, I might end up coming out ahead of you.” His smile remained when Yunessa pretended to gasp but continued: “If you haven’t met many of us before then it’s natural you’d stare. We don’t share similar characteristics but we all stand out in our own ways.” Ramien took a long drink from his cup before setting it aside. “Speaking of standing out, how has Daeran been? I was surprised to see him with you.”

“He’s been fine. He’s upset Lann a few times with his words but they seem to be fine- at least the last time we came back they were amicable.” Yunessa answered honestly and Ramien blinked at them. “He has a sharp tongue. But honestly,I haven’t found it bothering me. His knowledge of the city and current events has been very helpful.” -

Yunessa just felt nauseated and tired. Standing in the outdoor air of the courtyard helped as a cold breeze caressed their face. The Eagle Watch and Crusaders were making their final preparations and Yunessa was gathering their thoughts.

“Are you going to the Grey Garrison?” Ramien’s voice came from their right.  The aasimar priest moved to stand next to Yunessa. “It’s a ridiculous question to ask now that I realise it.” 

“It’s allright Ramien.” Yunessa bit back a yawn as a bum of sunlight broke through the clouds. “I am going with them. My companions should be joining soon- I came here early to see the fall weather before we grouped up.”

“I saw you talking to Klaem. Is he going with you as well?” Ramien’s gold hair shined in the daylight.

“He wants to cast a ritual before we start when all of my companions are with me. He says he can manage a haste spell that will last hours instead of minutes.” Multicoloured autumn leaves fell down, dancing when the wind blew. “Irabeth already discussed the plans and right now I think she’s checking the defences. If we don’t come back this place will need to hold on its own until the army arrives.”

“I actually came to offer my help as well.” Ramien smiled. “If I may?”

“What kind of help?” Ramien’s smile turned cryptic at Yunessa’s question, gesturing for them to turn around. 

“Turn around and I’ll fix your hair for you.” His smile remained as Yunessa turned around, moving closer. 

“I didn’t sleep well, I forgot.” Yunessa admitted.

“You know,” Ramien murmured, lowering his voice. “Desna is an unpredictable goddess.” Yunessa almost started when Ramien’s hands touched their hair. “Who knows how she will come to the aide of her faithful children?” His hands were warm as he pulled back Yunessa’s hair. “I had a dream where she sang the demons a little lullaby and they fell into a deep sleep just like innocent babes.”

“Did she?”  Ramien tying their hair for them brought back fragments of a memory. A woman with blond hair over an Inn's kitchen sink. Wet hair. Brush in her hand. Clothes befitting a mage's apprentice. She was angry her braid was crooked when I  braided her hair. Told me to go ahead to- where?  Vague blurry faces, a feeling of sorrow strong enough that it made Yunessa grimace before they shoved the memory away.

“Yes. I’m going to use one of my hairsticks Yunessa, this string won’t hold in a fight.” Reamien reached for the bag at his belt, searching through it.

“Hair like yours and you’d pin it up? You’re doing the rest of us a disservice Ramien.” Ramien’s chuckle seemed to make the space around them brighter. “If my hair looked like gold I’d show it off often.” 

“Your hair reminds me of clouds.” He finished the bun he’d made with the hairstick and string . “But far softer.” Turning their head back Yunessa wasn’t certain if Ramien was joking with them but something in his gaze made them pause.

“You’re-”

“You should go find your companions.” He urged Yunessa on. “I will be here when you return to tend to your wounds- and prepare for the celebration when the Worldstone is saved.” He was smiling warmly at Yunessa as they left, his hands clasped in front of him witha smile on his face.

[lavenderpanic]

NEW FIC

Okay I've been messing around with this idea for like months and i only have like 3k words written and I wanted to test the waters to see if this is something you guys are interested in reading.

Brief synopsis: Bucky, a 23 year old college dropout, lives with his fianc�� Brock Rumlow by the small New England college Brock is a professor at. Between his OCD and his anxiety and the gender dysphoria his fiancé assures him is all in his head, he struggles to find purpose and happiness. That is, until his fiancé's graduate student, Steve Rogers, moves into town and disrupts everything Bucky thought he knew.

Excerpt below cut, TW: OCD, DV, intentional midgendering/deadnaming, SH behaviors, coercion

Bucky peeks his head into the living room. There are only three men besides his fiancé, but the conversation is already too loud. Brock always says Bucky is just especially sensitive, that he has a naturally nervous predisposition, that’s why he’s best suited to staying home most of the time. He’s right, Bucky is sensitive, to noises and lights and crowds. Brock is so kind to not force him to go out. When he was a kid, his parents always thought he was faking it for attention, so they’d make him go to church and school and the grocery store even when he was overwhelmed. Brock never makes him leave if he doesn’t want to. And sometimes, even if he does want to, Brock knows it’s better for him to stay inside.

“Jamie, why don’t you bring out the drinks?” Brock calls.

Bucky’s back stiffens and he takes a slow breath. The men probably won’t even want to talk to him, they rarely do, beyond simple pleasantries. He just needs to smile and look nice. He grabs the silver tray of gin and tonics and walks into the living room with a timid little smile. He recognizes two of the men, other professors from the university, Rollins and Sitwell, he actually took a course with Rollins before he dropped out, but he doesn’t recognize the third. He looks barely older than Bucky himself, with his sandy hair and round, blue eyes, like perfectly ripe blueberries.

He doesn’t dress like the other men, either. During their classes, sure, they may dress nicely, in suits or button-ups with pressed slacks, but when they get together outside of that, they nearly always wear jeans, maybe a nice shirt or a sweater if they care enough that night. But the younger man, the blond, he’s dressed up like a vaguely homosexual humanities major from a nineties movie about a college in New England. Sweater vest, pants in a cinnamon-y kind of brown, a cream-white shirt rolled up to his elbows.

Brock pecks Bucky’s cheek as he places the tray down on the coffee table, next to the platters of carefully-selected crackers and nuts and cheeses that Bucky has spent the last two years learning how to curate. Brock’s real particular about shit like that. “Thanks, babe,” Brock says gently.

“Dinner should be ready soon,” Bucky whispers, sidling up close to him and glancing at the other men. “Like… half an hour more, I think? The potatoes just need a bit longer.”

“Of course, babydoll,” Brock murmurs, then kisses Bucky’s cheek again. “Go on, you don’t have to stay in here.”

Bucky smiles thankfully and disappears back into the kitchen. It’s a gorgeous kitchen, Brock wanted to gut it and rebuild it all marble and sleek, but Bucky begged him to keep it the way it is. It has beautiful hand painted tiles and dark-stained wooden cabinets and the most perfectly-worn brass fixtures. Brock finally agreed to keep it the way he bought it, if only because Bucky’s the one who spends so much time in the kitchen.

The kitchen smells glorious, the whole apartment does, really. Like thyme and garlic and the orange-cranberry cake he baked this afternoon. The potatoes in the oven are a soft golden-brown, encrusted with herbs, and the steak is resting on the counter. He did a good job. Brock will be happy with him. He didn’t mess up like last time.

He decides to start on the icing for the cake, a simple powdered sugar icing, perhaps with a squeeze or two of orange juice. He plucks the leftover orange from the ceramic fruit bowl and places it down on the counter before going to the cupboard and reaching for the paper bag of icing sugar. He has to stand on his tiptoes and lean against the counter and he’s still barely tall enough to brush his fingers against the bottom of the bag. He gets a loose grip on it when–

“Oh, hey, do you need help with that?”

Bucky whirls around in surprise, sending the bag tumbling to the ground. Nearly half of it flies out in a sugary cloud, painting the antique tiles an ashy grey. On the other side of the cloud stands the blond, the young man who Bucky still hasn’t been introduced to.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” he says with wide eyes.

“No, no, my fault,” Bucky whispers. Brock is going to be so mad with him for making such a bad mess. He’ll need to really mop it, maybe twice or even three times, fine sugar is almost impossible to clean properly. “Sorry.”

“No, nonsense, do you have a broom or something, I could–”

Bucky shakes his head quickly and gestures for Steve to return to the men before he finds his voice. “‘S not your fault, I can clean it. Do you… you need something?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, Rumlow just said there would be seltzer or soda or something in here. I’m not much of a drinker,” he laughs apologetically.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Bucky nods. He opens the fridge to reveal shelves upon shelves of perfectly organized food, labeled tupperwares, straight lines of soda cans. “Any flavor you prefer?” Bucky asks quietly.

“Yeah, lemon would be great, thanks.” Bucky hands him a silvery can with a little lemon slice embossed into its front, careful not to slip into the mess of sugar. “Oh, I’m Steve, by the way. I’m a PhD candidate, I just moved here. I’m, um, TA-ing for one of Rumlow’s courses, and I’m teaching one myself.”

“Ooh, that sounds interesting,” Bucky hums. He struggles to think of an intelligent-sounding thing to say next. “What are you, like… getting your PhD in?”

Steve starts to say something, he nearly launches into what must be a very rehearsed recitation of his field of study, but Brock appears in the doorway next to him a moment later, places a hand on his far shoulder like they’re pals. Brock’s easy smile falls from his face when he sees the pile of sugar in the very center of the kitchen. Bucky instinctively takes a step back at the displeasure written into every line of his face. “What’s taking so long?” Brock chuckles, but there isn’t any humor in it.

“I’m really sorry, man,” Steve chuckles, ducking his head in faux-embarrassment. “I knocked over the sugar when I went to open the fridge, stupid mistake.”

Brock’s posture softens a bit, his shoulders drop and he stops glaring at Bucky quite so menacingly. “Yeah, she can clean it up, don’t worry about it.”

Bucky shoots Steve a little thankful grin as the two men walk out of the kitchen. He manages to salvage the sugar that didn’t fall out of the bag and does his best to brush as much of the mess on the floor into a trash bag as he can. He’ll clean the rest tonight, once everyone leaves and he can really scrub at the tile.

He doesn’t get the chance to make the icing before he has to plate up dinner, but that’s fine, the men usually like to drink and talk a bit in between dinner and dessert, so he should have plenty of time to ice the cake in between. He sets five plates full of potatoes and steak and grilled asparagus on the table and calls in for the men. He sits at Brock’s side. He doesn’t have steak, he doesn’t really like to eat meat, it feels weird against his teeth, but he does love potatoes and asparagus. He manages to finish off his plate, which earns him a small nod of approval from his fiancé.

“So, Jamie, what do you do?” Steve asks, once there’s a lull in conversation.

Bucky takes a shaky breath and glances to Brock before answering. “I really just take care of the home, I don’t… work or anything.”

The focus is quickly drawn away from him, and he doesn’t mind. He really doesn’t have anything interesting to add to any conversation. Not unless the topic is baked goods or bookshelves or something. He isn’t good at small talk, but it’s okay, because people don’t usually want to talk to him anyway.

He clears the table while the men chat in the living room. He notices Steve glancing at him through the doorway that connects the living room to the dining room, which makes him a bit uneasy, but people who meet him through Brock usually are a bit surprised to realize he’s so young. There’s only a seventeen year gap, but Bucky knows he’s still quite young. Most people don’t expect a forty-year-old professor to have a twenty-three-year-old fiancée at home. Bucky doesn’t mind. Brock doesn’t, so why should he?

He makes the icing once the table is re-set with clean dessert dishes, a simple icing, vanilla and powdered sugar and milk and a bit of orange juice. He drizzles it neatly onto the bundt cake and places it on the table proudly and waits in the kitchen until the men decide they’re hungry again. Steve sits next to Bucky this time. Brock on one side, Steve on the other.

“Shit, this is good,” Steve curses under his breath. The other men are too busy talking about something Bucky doesn’t understand to compliment him, but he doesn’t mind, he doesn’t need to be thanked for doing what’s expected of him. “Is this from, like, scratch?”

“Yeah,” Bucky whispers, grinning a bit. “It’s a recipe I developed. I have a lot of time. I made a lot of lemon blueberry cake this summer and I thought I could adapt it for autumn.”

“Are you gonna eat some? Seriously, this is like… better than bakery quality.”

“Oh, I’m not hungry,” Bucky lies. He’s on a diet. Not a strict one, but he absolutely couldn’t fit a whole slice of cake into his daily calorie allotment. Maybe if he doesn’t eat breakfast or lunch tomorrow, he could have a leftover slice after dinner.

He busies himself in the kitchen, packing up leftovers and wiping down the counters, while the men say their goodbyes. As expected, moments after the door shuts, Brock appears in the kitchen. “You need to clean the floor,” He says, as if that hasn’t been the only thing on Bucky’s mind all evening.

“I will,” Bucky promises earnestly. “Did I do good tonight?”

“Well, darling,” Brock corrects with a little chuckle. “Yes, you did very well. Such a lovely hostess,” he teases, which makes Bucky’s cheeks go a bit pink, he never does like when Brock makes such a point of calling him a woman, but he knows he meant it as a compliment so he doesn’t protest.

“Thank you,” Bucky grins.

“Come to the bedroom once this is all cleaned up, alright?”

“Alright,” Bucky parrots nervously. He’ll have to hurry up his cleaning, Brock gets mad when he thinks Bucky is procrastinating sex. Bucky doesn’t want to be punished tonight. Having to see so many people already exhausted him, and he narrowly escaped a punishment for dropping the sugar all over the kitchen floor.

But still, he presses a polite smile onto his face and nods and Brock leaves him alone to clean. After two passes with a mop, there are only a few sticky streaks left behind. He’ll really scrub it clean tomorrow, but Brock probably won’t notice in the interim.

Bucky reluctantly shuffles up the stairs to the bedroom. Brock is laying down on the bed, laptop balanced on his thighs. Bucky resists the urge to remind him not to wear outside clothes on the fresh comforter, just barely, Brock gets annoyed when he gets all obsessive about that kind of stuff. Bucky perches delicately on the end of the bed and waits for Brock to finish whatever he’s typing up. He rushes Brock, sometimes, because he’s selfish with Brock’s time. He’s trying to get better, though.

Finally, Brock closes his computer and places it on the side table. He looks at Bucky for several tense breaths. Bucky fidgets anxiously. Is something wrong? Is he doing something wrong? He glances down unsurely at what he’s wearing. “I noticed you were doing it again,” Brock finally states.

“Doing what?” Bucky whispers.

“Scratching your arms.”

“I haven’t been,” Bucky defends quickly. His hands immediately go to circle his forearms, he crosses them over his chest protectively.

“I saw you doing it tonight,” Brock says slowly. “Take off your sweater, Jamie. And roll up those sleeves, too.”

Bucky pulls his knit sweater over his head, then bunches up the long sleeves of his dress to his elbows so his forearms are visible. All along his arms, blanketed by a sheer layer of iridescent scars, soft violet bruises blossom alongside irritated-looking scratches, some newer than others. He looks away, embarrassed. He truly didn’t notice he was doing it, it’s been a habit for so long that he rarely registers it. Brock coos with mock-sympathy and sits up a bit, gesturing for Bucky to scoot closer. He does.

“Baby, you need to stop doing that, look how ugly they are. You’re just making it harder for the scars to heal.”

“‘M sorry,” Bucky mumbles. Brock takes him by the wrists, turns his mottled arms this way and that. After a few moments of inspection, Brock drops his arms again and reaches his hands for his belt. “No, please, I’m sorry,” Bucky whispers desperately, shrinking away from his fiancé as discreetly as he can manage.

“Hands out.”

Bucky lifts his hands up, facing the palms toward Brock. They’re trembling, but he knows better than to refuse. Brock carefully folds his belt in half and strikes Bucky’s palms, ten times, in close succession. Bucky flinches, but he never takes his hands away. Brock is right to discipline him. He’s right, he needs to break this habit. It is ugly. He’s ugly. Brock deserves better than that. “Thank you,” he says quickly, as Brock tosses the belt to the side and leans back against the headboard.

“I’m just trying to help you, darling, you know that.”

“I do,” Bucky nods, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. Brock always keeps the house so freezing. Bucky usually doesn’t mind, but he always feels so shaky when Brock makes him get undressed. His fingertips turn all blue.

Brock undoes his pants, spreads his legs to either side of Bucky so he can crawl forward and situate himself on his stomach. He takes Brock’s dick out of his pants and strokes at it a couple times, but it’s already erect. He takes it into his mouth and sucks gently at the head, he wants to prolong this part to hopefully avoid having Brock fuck into the back of his throat for too long. He hates that. One time he got sick, and Brock got so mad, even though Bucky kind of felt, deep down, like it was Brock’s fault. Since then, every time Brock starts gripping onto his hair and thrusting down his throat, he feels panic tugging at his lungs and nausea pooling low in his stomach.

Thankfully, he leaves Bucky in control for most of the blowjob, he lets him wrap his hands around the length left out of his mouth and stroke at it, which keeps him mollified, even if Bucky should try a bit harder to deepthroat him. Before he can come, he lifts Bucky off of his dick. Bucky blinks and sniffles unsurely as oxygen floods into his lungs. He didn’t–

Bucky flinches as a string of come lands over his eye. Another one, in his hair. He breathes shakily and retches shallowly and waits for Brock to be done. Thankfully, Brock isn’t very chatty after sex. He just throws a few tissues at him and starts scrolling through his phone, dick still hanging out of his undone fly. Bucky used to crave intimacy and conversation afterwards but nowadays he’s just so excited to run off to the shower and have a few minutes to himself.

He starts running the shower in the conjoined bathroom before he even starts undressing. He usually likes to let the mirror steam up so he doesn’t have to look at himself more than necessary. It’s not that the dresses and lipstick and frilly blouses don’t make him dysphoric, and he can still see the contours of his body, his chest, his waist, even through the thin layer of steam collected on the mirror, but it makes his evenings just a bit easier.

Sometimes he dares to use Brock’s body wash, the one that smells like, according to the bottle, a volcano, which makes Bucky giggle a bit. Brock rarely notices when he does, and Bucky can usually pass it off rather easily, oh, we’re almost out of mine, if he mentions it. But tonight he doesn’t. Tonight, he scrubs himself down with his apricot-sweet gel and lathers his hair until it’s sleek and shiny with coconut shampoo and conditioner. Sometimes, he tries to buy nice girly things, scents that make him happy, in some lame attempt to convince himself that he can be happy as a woman. That he can embrace it, embrace the delicate femininity Brock so desperately wants him to embody. So far, he hasn’t had much luck.

[polysjmweek]

Creator showcase# 3: @thesistersarcheron!

Also know as miss_belivet on AO3.

We are featuring her multichapter Nessriel fic titled "viciousness & intelligence", part 1 of her "swords & shadow" series. This fic follows Nesta, Cassian, and Azriel as they realize Nesta and Cassian's lesser fae mating bond may follow different, more complex, rules than the typical high fae mating bond. Here's an excerpt from the fic description:

"After the ball in the Hewn City, Nesta and Cassian swore to each other that there would be no one else. Ever. They didn't account for Azriel."

This fic is beautifully written and explores the practical, emotional, and sexual aspects of a relationship between three canon characters. The dynamics intricately woven, and the story is an excellent new take on fated mates. Keep a weather eye on the horizon for new chapters!

We asked her a few questions so we could all get to know her better: 

Q: What’s your favorite CNM group to write about? 

A: My favorite poly ship is Nessriel, maybe for obvious reasons. Cassian and Azriel already have such a solid bond as brothers-in-arms when Nesta comes in to shake things up for Cassian. And then, the quiet, gentle friendship and respect that grew between Nesta and Azriel in ACOSF and HOFAS? That absolutely clinched it for me.

Q: What CNM group would you want to explore further? 

A:  Lately, I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about Feysandriel. Rhys is a giver (he does, after all, try to test the waters with Feyre about how she might feel about bringing Cassian and Azriel into their relationship), and Feyre is a lover through and through. I imagine it can be quite compelling for them to see something in Azriel—maybe the darkness all three of them share, maybe the longing for romantic connection or the desire to be seen—that they want to explore. The mating bond seems settled between Feysand, but with the tension currently simmering between Rhys and Azriel, it could just be so interesting to tease out whatever dynamic might emerge as they add a third partner.

Q: What’s your favorite trope? 

A: My favorite trope is pretty basic, but I love dramatic “that’s my wife!” or “that’s my mate!” reveals. Secret relationships and forbidden love rarely fall flat for me. It’s one reason I’ll rarely complain that SJM always has her couples elope.

Thank you so much to thesistersarcheron/miss_belivet for taking the time to speak with us. Your works are wonderful, and we are so excited to see what you write next!

Poly+ ACOTAR week is only TWO weeks away now! We can't wait to share new creations with you all!