#to be clear: this is a 'when the mood strikes' thing not a /wip/ wip

[syoddeye]

strict machine anthology | price x reader fka the artificial intelligence au

dark. specific content warnings/tags included in the posts. all vibes, no brakes.

#strict machine

first meeting

lights out

do not fuck the robot

silent treatment

let him be of service

eviction

prototyping

uninhabitable

anything for you

malicious entity

transmissions

uncanny valley

meat cute

minor emergency

glorified coffeemaker

[v3nusxsky]

Ohh 12 and 26 with our queen Larissa 🥵

Behind closed doors 18+

*authors note~ so many wips haunting me and a new obsession with Agatha and rio plus school is murdering my brain. We interrupt Mars writting university assignments to bring the original queen that inspired me to start writing back to your screens. Hold tight for the Christmas event coming soon*

Trigger Warnings~ praise kink, choking (r), breeding kink, mommy kink, overstimulation, shifted cock, dom Larissa, sub r, begging, possessive Larissa, sorta marking (r),

Prompt~ see ask-^^*

Combined with this from the lovely @dingdongthetail

So reader is a omega who everyone assumes is an alpha because she is fiery and outspoken (thinking more masc presenting), Larissa is an alpha everyone assumes is a beta because she's kind and handles everything with her trademark grace, they have a secret relationship, they know about each other obvs, so when they get alone alpha Larissa comes out and subby omega reader just melts and does whatever her mate tells her. Breeding, mommy, pet names, praise, choking. Thoughts?

Perception is a funny thing. Subjective. And that was something you had learned very early on in life. Working in Nevermore as an empath is always interesting, you get your fair share of teen angst, puppy love, stress, frustration and your personal favourite curiosity. Feeling the students around you often gives you a great insight into how your lesson will go. Perhaps that’s why your classes are known to be the better behaved ones, you tailor your lessons to their moods. Despite your desire to be an open and honest person, all of Nevermore believe you to be a confident, outspoken at times and charming alpha. All expect one. Your masculine leaning appearance only adds fuel to their preconceived idea of you. People’s opinions of you never really bothered you, learning it’s best to allow them to think what they want. As long as you’re true to yourself then that’s all that matters to you. Your status is not something you deem to be important public knowledge.

As the principal of Nevermore, it was unsurprising that people naturally assumed Larissa Weems was nothing but a beta. Her calm fair nature combined with the uniqueness of her striking appearance only supported the idea. Truthfully, being a private woman, this never bothered Larissa Weems, she quite liked the idea of the public version of her and the real her, hidden behind closed doors. People often say it’s exhausting, pretending to be someone you are not. Larissa would have to disagree with that statement.

Dating Larissa Weems was nothing short of heavenly. Sure her being your boss could be seen as problematic but for both of you it was no issue. The connection you shared with the shifter was like no other you’d ever had the pleasure to experience. She was the first one to ask you rather than guess based on her perception. You were the first one who showed true and unconditional love. You knew first hand how others opinions could affect others so it was only natural you would want to ensure Larissa felt nothing but warmth and love.

The first time your suppressants ran out was only a month into your relationship. Exam season in Nevermore was always stressful but it didn’t help that your pharmacy had no refill for your prescription. It didn’t particularly bother you that people would find out the truth, you were more scared for her reaction. Of course she immediately noticed the change in your scent. Naturally she didn’t want to say anything and potentially cause upset but soon enough it became physically impossible to hide. Your heat hit hard and if you’d been able to concentrate on anything other than the slick between your plush thighs you would’ve noticed that poor Larissa was sent spiralling hard and fast into an unexpected rut.

Desire. Need. Lust. All you felt in the moment. It made thinking with a clear mind difficult for you both. However, just like you suspected, the newfound knowledge changed nothing. Well. That’s a lie. But you like to argue it changed for the better for you both. A safe haven where you could both be what you were made to be. Larissa loving taking the caring dominant role over you, protecting you from any possible threat. You adore being hers, pleasing her, cooking for her. Anything that woman needs your there and ready to do whatever it takes. Not to say she’s not the same for you, you love how her frame towers over your body as she holds you to her chest. The feeling of safety and comfort was all you ever desired. A true Alpha to your omega. True bond. Bound together by fate. Yet nothing changed around Nevermore. The days flowed as they usually did but behind closed doors, it was all different.

Wednesday had well and truly pushed every one of Larissa’s buttons. The principal being left pacing her office as she waits for you to join her for the evening. It amazes you how well Wednesday can rile your lover up. Although it shouldn’t be surprising because her not he is the same. Most assume you become overwhelmed with jealousy and that’s why you don’t like Mortica Addams. If only they knew what a riled up Larissa Weems meant behind closed doors. No. You hate the emotional scars morticia left in her wake. Long deep jagged cuts all over Larissa’s fragile heart.

“Rissa?” You muttered quietly, drawing the woman from her frustrated thoughts. When did you come in? Immediately, your scent washed over her tight frame, muscles began to loosen subconsciously. A direct response. You however could only whimper as her emotional state crashed into your small frame. “What can I do my love?” Within a few strides she was towering over you, a smirk plastered on her ruby lips as she growled, “I wanna make you feel so good you forget your own name. I need to fuck you darling.”

You couldn’t even draw a breath before she was slamming your body back against her heavy mahogany door. Helpless. “Mommy needs her good girl” she practically purred as she nipped and licked over the column of your throat, your pulse thumping under her warm muscle. Really it’s unfair, how can you do anything but surrender to her pure dominance. Tiny moans escaping you as your brain grappled to form a response. To consent to what would soothe you both. “Please” you gasped, hands pawing at her dress that was snug to her hips. How could she not give you everything when you flash those needy doe eyes her way and use such pretty manners?

Her toned thigh made contact with your pulsing clit with a practiced ease, her hands being the only thing keeping you upright as you worked yourself pathetically quickly to an orgasm. The scent of your alpha mixed with the pleasure she was happily providing you created the open road to bliss. Larissa prides herself on just how little she can do before you’re hurtling off the edge. How she could quite literally command you to fuck your pretty pussy for her, putting on a show as all she does is watch. The first orgasm never takes too long for her pull from you. You can’t help but whine when she moves her now slick coated thigh from your heat. “Hush my love, you know mommy will take care your needy cunt. I’d never leave my pretty girl all needy would I?”

Somewhere in the blissful haze the pair of you moved to your bedroom next door and the clothing was stripped from you both, her goddess like figure on full display for your eager eyes to devour. “Mommy” you whimpered, every letter dripped with need. “I haven’t ruined my pretty girls brain already have I? Mommy wants more sweet girl you understand that don’t you?” Her condescending tone added an edge you didn’t know you needed, instinctively your legs fell open, exposing your puffy red soaked slit. “Hmm pretty girl, that was too easy, perhaps you need to be reminded who’s in control here. Can’t have MY girl spreading her legs for anybody now can I?”

Larissa couldn’t help but drive straight in, to get a taste of you like a starving woman. You simply taste delicious. Like nothing she’d ever tasted before. Your arousal coating her tongue was one of her favourite things in the world. The rich taste, the way she could flick your bundle of nerves with the tip of her tongue and you’d respond with such a pretty mewl of pleasure, your core flooding with more for her to feast on. Your hand immediately found its home in her silver strands of hair, gripping and tugging on them as your hips bucked toward her sinful mouth. God the way her nose would bump into your clit as she plunged her tongue into your soaked little hole as her both of you moaning like wild animals. A perfectly timed dance, as old as fate itself.

Larissa prides herself on being an attentive alpha. You are on your third climax of the night before she even realises she’s now painfully hard. Her appendage standing tall and proud. Ready for action. The tip angry, red and leaking. The sight of you gasping for air as you come back down to earth, pupils blown wide with a messy pussy drive her wild. Yet she’s not done yet. You breasts need to be marked. Every inch. Hers. That’s what you are and she’ll mark you as many times as it takes for every one to know. Her slender fingers toying with your perky nipples as she remarks her claim on your neck. It’s enough stimulation alongside the physical sensation being bestowed on your breasts that sends you hurling over the edge again. Tears brimming in your eyes at the pure force of the orgasm rippling through your body. Chest heaving as the shifter leans back to take you in. “Pretty baby, such a messy girl for mommy. I know my girl needs more. Beg for it darling. Tell mommy what you want.” It takes a few attempts before you manage to breathlessly stumble out “I - I want y-you to come I-inside me this time. Please. I want to make you feel good”

Trying to sit up on shaky limbs is a trial and a half, but nothing would stop you from pleasing her. Your lover treats you so well, it’s only fair to repay her. “Please” you pleaded peering up at her through your eyelashes. A simple plea but simply too cute to resist. “Go ahead sweetheart, show mommy how much you want her cock in that sweet little pussy of yours.” Instinctively you bent to take the member between your plump lips, cheeks hollowing around her as you swirled your tongue around the leaking tip. A little pleased moan left you to vibrate along her shaft. “Oh good girl. That’s my girl. Such a good cock sucker for mommy”she praised. Yet it was short lived. Larissa would say she has good stamina, but you’d got her so desperate she could burst from just your mouth. And you both wanted her to be inside of your warmth when she burst. “Off” was all she offered before tugging you off by her grip in your hair, “my sweet girls such a good girl for my dick, but I want to be inside your sweet cunt when I burst. Fuck my babies into you until you’re begging mommy to stop. You want my knot right darling? My cock buried snuggly into your cervix as I fill you to the brim?”

If you thought she was all talk, that thought died as she sunk her cock in. Slowly. Inch by inch. She wanted you to feel every stretch, every vein, every twitch. “Look at how well you take me pretty girl” she moaned taking in the sight she was pleading you to look at. Her hand settled around your throat, lightly pressing you into the mattress and drawing to her full height. “Pretty thing with my hand like a necklace” her murmured thought was cut off by a loud pitch moan filling the room. Any final restraint broke like a damn. Primal needs filling the older woman as she drew out to just the tip before slamming back into you. Blissfully unaware of the world outside the door is what you were. Her hand wrapped round your throat, her constant pounding of your tight little hole, the sinful grunts coming from her as she kept her almost animalistic pace. Striving to hit the spot that makes your eyes roll back into your head as you coat her thick cock with your slick. Incoherent whimpers babbling out of your mouth among the slight choking sounds she was pulling from you only aid in green lighting Larissa to climax.

“Mommy” you whined, haphazardly reaching to paw at her bare chest, “so full. So good.” The praise giving her the drive to pound you just a little harder causing you both to tumble over the edge together. Long spurts of white hot sticky seed raced to your womb as you milked Larissa for all she had, inner walls gripping her knot so tight that she couldn’t help but spill more into your awaiting core. “Fuck darling” she panted as her arms gave out, her head finding its way to where her mark on you lay. It would be a while before Larissa could even considering pulling out of you. Even then she knew you’d beg to be like this for a little longer. To stay full and connected. And who would she be to deny her precious omega of anything? There would come a time she would slip from your now gaping hole and shush your cries of displeasure before setting to work on caring for you. Cleaning you up with a warm rag, bath filled with lavender salts running as she grabs you a drink before lifting you effortlessly in her arms to the tub. Soaking together in the post orgasmic bliss before drying off and drifting off to slumber wrapped in her strong arms.

Word count~ 2202

[gaytommykinard]

You wanna talk fic? OKAY.

1. How many wips do you have currently?

2. Which one are you finding the hardest to finish? Why do you think that is?

3. What does it usually look like when inspiration strikes for you?

4. Do you curate playlists for each fic or is your process different?

5. Do you go balls to the wall and write as you go or are you more organised?

I'm just curious, it's interesting to know what it looks like for different authors and I wanna learn about you so. There you go! Have a nice day :D

OKAY!

like, 7? but i'm 90% done with the saltommy fic so if i exclude that, it'll be 6. although im so tempted to write more tommy threesome fic so.. might go back to 7 soon. hah. cant help myself.

the saltommy fic. i have chronic 'cant finish things' disorder plus i lowkey dont wanna let go 🥺 i get attached to my characters when writing long fic, because its a specific version of them. and endings are hard. and this one specifically because its not going to be a happy ending (it is canon compliant after all, and tommy meets buck some years later, so... it's bucktommy endgame in this universe) but im a weak bitch so i might write a little oneshot companion piece taking place when buck and tommy are together and run into sal. as a treat.

uhh.. usually i start a new tumblr text post or google doc and start writing down the words before i lose them. and it just happens at the most random times. i have no control over it whatsoever. rip.

not usually! i made a saltommy playlist to listen to as i write to keep me in the saltommy mood (because i tend to check tumblr and its like, 90% bucktommy, and then i get distracted) i tend to make character or ship playlists according to canon.

probably balls to the wall? i never plan before i start writing. i just write down ideas or scenes as they come to me. and then might rearrange the order or think a bit more about how to make the story flow better, with a clear beginning, middle, and end, even when there's not much *plot* happening, more character or relationship study. for more plot-heavy fics i'll have a vague outline at least in my head. i know other writers are more organised. im usually just winging it.

im gonna tag some writer friends if they want to answer about themselves but no pressure

/ @wikiangela @evanbi-ckley @buckera

/ @aringofsalt @theweewooshow @bucksboobs

/ @jewishbuckley @repressedqueen @evnnkinard

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Well, you don't just feel like I enjoy your writing for your style and not only the character, that is very much what is actually going on. I never asked to be put on any tag list bc I have notifs turned on for everything you post anyway and therefore am informed that new writing from you has dropped without need for a tag. You are actually the only tumblr writer I do this with. Because sure yea I will occasionally go into the tags of specific xcharacters when the mood strikes me, which is how I found your blog in the first place, but I rarely click through into the authors' blog, let alone read their fics for characters I'm unfamiliar with. Your style of writing, your imagination for scenes, your ability to capture emotion, your consistent ability to steer clear of tropes that make me cringe and the more generalised personal touch you bring to your writing have all enchanted me and are the reason why I keep reading all your work, even if I've never heard of the character before and in some cases have never even heard of the fandom altogether before, + even if the reader character is the sub and therefore I have 0 interest in identifying with them lol. Maybe I wasn't clear enough about this before but yea your style is very much the thing for me here. (well okay possibly I also one more motivating factor to keep notifs turned on from you which is I kinda hope you might one day do something with the prompt or the character match-up request I sent you, but dw I'm in no rush and uninclined to leave either way) - 🌒

uh, excuse me- how did this get lost? when was this submitted? im? hello? i am so sorry that i haven't gotten to this before- i genuinely did not know this ask existed.

the fact that there are at least one of you out there (theres at least one more, ive seen it in their tags when they reblog) who read everything i post bc they have notifs on is insane (in a good way). enjoying my writing enough to read everything is so,,, its such a warm fuzzy feeling in my chest. its how you know people really actually enjoy your writing for the simple credit of your writing and not just because you write for a character they like-

im also very glad to hear that im able to steer clear of cringe for you. im not sure how thats possible but i sure am glad i can hahaha. i think i just avoid what makes me cringe for the most part.

im also sorry i havent gotten to your requests yet. theyre buried in my inbox somewhere. atm ive been very burnt out and stressed with work so ive not had any motivation really to touch my blog. i will attempt to find them and start on at least one thing for you this weekend. im working on it though! i have a couple wips too, so, eyes peeled!

but yes, thank you so so so so so much for this ask <3 you've really made my day and i am so grateful to have you as one of my beloved readers <3 <3 <3

[rriavian]

Spy Au Snippet - WIP Wednesday

They have no idea who they’ve actually caught.

The Corinthian does.

He’s there when they bring Dream in.

The Corinthian is high enough in Burgess organisation to be allowed to be in the know. He has the sort of reputation that means his assistance is sought out, bartered for, his ‘boss’ actually wanting to impress him rather than the other way around. It’s more than a little ironic that Burgess’s greatest success is very clearly an accident. The Corinthian is far too much of a professional to let his shock show, does nothing as amateurish as stumble or gape, but just because he can hide his surprise doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it. This is so outlandish that it has to be a trick, a hallucination, only one thing more shocking than the fact that they’ve captured him at all.

Dream is bare faced. 

No mask today?

There’s more to say, always is with Dream, but it’s what the Corinthian notices first because it’s the most striking. It doesn’t feel right; Dream never goes out without his mask, his helmet, has never once gone on a mission without it covering his face.

Yet today he’s come so underdressed.

Dream is wearing nothing of his usual—recognisable, a part of his mind whispers, identifiable—attire. The Corinthian frowns, peers closer, finds those extra pieces of the puzzle because Dream’s altered his features just a bit, softened them somehow. He can’t find the sharpness he knows should be there. The eyes aren’t right either; no silver glimmer, no hint of whatever weird implants he’s got, no light that so often becomes the last thing you ever see.

Nothing of the black sclera that appears when Dream’s really in a mood.

The Corinthian can recognise them for what they are because he’s got something similar. An accident early in his career—acid, very nasty, he doesn’t recommend—would have robbed him of his sight entirely if not for Dream. The result is minimal scarring, the skin slightly raised if you look close, the eyes themselves a glassy, milky white. The Corinthian usually has them hidden behind his sunglasses, the opaque shades more than a fashion statement, avoiding the inconvenient questions he has no inclination to answer. As far as appearances go he finds it a token affront to his vanity, has no problems at all in getting almost anyone he wants into bed, the singular exception being Dream himself.

He's long since give up telling himself the sting of that is merely wounded pride.

Still, the Corinthian’s vision is better than before—though he must admit bright colours don’t quite pop like they used too—crisp and clear. It’s advanced tech, a secret, something that to his knowledge Dream has only ever shared with him.

The eyes are precious. 

Sometimes the Corinthian wonders why Dream let him leave with them. 

[charlesjosephwrites]

Find The Word Tag

Thanks for the tag @j-1173!

My words are Wonder, Age, Cover, Mind, and Nothing

These excerpts are all from my supervillain wip!

Some of these are kind of still in the word-vomity first draft stage so hopefully they're legible to more people than just me lmao

Wonder

“We don’t have to fight,” Ms. Psychic said. “If you just leave, we can pretend that nothing happened here.” I couldn’t help but let out a little laugh at that. Ms. Psychic clearly hadn’t learned anything from the last two times she’d stuck her nose in my business for no good reason. “Yeah, that ain’t happening, toots,” I said. “We’re not going down without a fight, but first…” I cleared my throat, and I reached into the inside of my suit jacket for my note cards. By some miracle, I’d actually gotten my ass in gear enough to write out what I wanted to say to Ms. Psychic, but staring down at my awful chicken-scratch handwriting made me wonder whether it was worth all of the effort.

Age

Right inside the door was a little store room stocked full of the latest issues of the Tribune (did people still read actual newspapers?) alongside a variety of tourist-y bullshit and some Metrovale Tribune merchandise that no one under the age of forty-five would be caught dead wearing. “Good afternoon! How can I—” The person working the front of the store cut themself off mid-sentence, which was fine with me because I wasn’t sure I would have been able to put up with that overly-peppy customer service voice for too long. Still, I didn’t appreciate the way they stared at me all-slack jawed. “Hello!” I mirrored their peppy customer service voice with a little wave, but I dropped the smile as quickly as it appeared on my face. I slipped a knife into my hand with the flick of my wrist, and I popped to the other side of the desk to wave it around in their face for dramatic effect. “Where might I find the assholes who wrote all the shit about me?”

Cover

The kid turned to me. I couldn’t see much of his face with his helmet and the little black domino mask covering his eyes, but I caught a faint glimpse of the confused frown. He stared up at me for a few moments of stunned silence before he seemingly got a hold of himself. He jumped to his feet, placing his hands on his hips to strike a little pose. “I’m here to—” The kid’s voice cut out with a little squeak. He cleared his throat, and when he spoke up again, his voice came out a little deeper. “I’m here to stop you!”

Mind

“Also!” I waved my arms wildly through the air just to make sure that I was getting everyone’s attention. “One of you fucks better find a way to get Ms. Psychic here.” Our audience only responded with a confused murmur. “I don’t know how she finds out about these things,” I said. “But I’m not going anywhere until I get a chance to give that bitch a piece of my mind, so like…” My voice caught in my throat, and I clapped my hands together a few times as I searched for the right words to express what I wanted to say next. “I don’t fucking know. Just make a post online or something. Just don’t call the cops. I’m not in the mood to deal with any of those asshats today. Or any other day, really, but—” “Magician,” Edgar cut me off with an exasperated sigh. “Are you going to help me with this cash or what?”

Nothing

My mouth gaped open in shock as I looked over Ms. Psychic's new outfit. I looked her up and down, trying to find a place to rest my gaze that didn’t make me want to rip my own eyeballs out with an ice cream scoop, but it was all terrible. Her tights were a shade of yellow so bright that I felt like I was staring directly into the surface of the sun. Her dress was mostly a light shade of blue, but for some godforsaken reason, her left sleeve was covered in stripes of yellow and black that made it look like her arm was turning into a fucking bumblebee. The bright pink cape billowing out in the non-existent wind behind her did absolutely nothing to tie her color scheme together. And, as if none of that was bad enough, the off-center fanny pack strapped around her waist was the absolute worse shade of baby shit green that had ever assaulted my eyeballs. “What the fuck?” I questioned. “You look like a printer just threw up on you.”

I'll tag @andiwriteunderthemoon, @writinglyra, @helvelloides, @ghost-town-story, @did-i-do-this-write, and anyone else who sees this and wants to jump in! As always, no pressure though!

Your words are use, waste, fade, thank, and shake.

[spacebeyonce]

another wip wednesday from me. hello.

another bit from chapter two of I WANNA TRUST YOU. this time it’s riku and kairi. this has been turning out more canon compliant than I expected, and I’m not mad at it, ha! I think this is gonna turn out fine. hopefully I’ll have the full chapter out this weekend, but it’ll depend on my mood and energy.

more below the cut, of course.

Consciousness returns to Kairi in slow drips.

The first thing she notices is that she’s warm. That she’s lying on something soft. The familiar scent of detergent rises to meet her and that tells Kairi she’s – at home? She’s home, and she’s curled up in her bed, and –

And behind her there’s a rustle of movement. A soft, quiet sigh.

That’s what Kairi registers next – the warm line of heat from a body tucked against hers, arms wrapped around her waist. Familiar arms. Working to pry her eyes open, Kairi’s muddled brain tries to recall how she got here. Slivers of violet peek out, and Kairi can muzzily see that the room – her room – was pitch black. It must have been late. But how did she get here? She remembers being on the play islands, and….and –

I have to go.

Her eyes snap open.

Everything comes back to her then, in striking, painful detail. The battle. Sora coming to find her. The way he – he just –

Kairi’s breath hitches in her chest. At her back, the warmth moves.

“…Kairi?”

Riku’s voice brushes over the shell of her ear. Soft, cautious. “Are you – are you up?”

Kairi’s lips part silently, but – her voice sticks in her throat. She can’t speak. Doesn’t even know what to say. Eventually, Riku sighs quietly, settling back down. His mouth presses against the curve of her shoulder. “I –”

He breathes in shakily. “You’re probably still sleeping. Kairi…I don’t – I don’t know what happened. He was right there. And then he wasn’t, do – do you know?”

Kairi stays silent, because of course she doesn’t know. How could she? She didn’t know that Sora would – she thought they were done. That they had made it, and they could go home. Not that Sora – he –

“I’m going to find him, Kairi.”

It takes everything in her not to stiffen up as ice floods her veins. Riku squeezes her waist. “I promise.” He swears. “I’ll – I’ll look everywhere. I’ll find him and bring him home.”

Kairi’s heart sinks into her stomach. She fights to keep the relaxed, even breathing of sleep. She didn’t know what she expected. She had thought – she had hoped –

Well. It doesn’t matter in the end what she hoped for. Because the answer is here, lying plainly between them in the dark.

You’d kinda just be in my way.

Kairi bites at the inside of her cheek. Bites and bites at the tender flesh until pain sparks behind her eyelids, bright and sharp.

The battle at the Keyblade Graveyard must have been a test, then – one she failed. Why else would Riku be doing this to her? Making plans and not involving her at all?

Riku murmurs oaths and promises into her skin, and Kairi swallows the hurt, pushes it down, down, down, until it’s a cold stone, sitting in her belly. So much has changed – or at least she thought it has. Kairi hoped things would be different. So why is this the same?

I can’t help?

You’d kind of just be in my way.

Laughing disbelief, excluded like her help isn’t even an option worth considering – shouldn’t this be over now? Shouldn’t she be allowed to search for him, too?

The hurt spikes in Kairi’s chest, stealing her breath. She bites at the inside of her cheek – bites and bites until the urge to cry has passed, until she can breathe again.

Eventually she falls asleep.

When she wakes, Riku is gone.

Kairi isn’t surprised – why should she be, she thinks bitterly, when the message was said loud and clear?

I’m going to find him – I’ll find him and bring him home.

I, I, I – not we, never we. No. No, Kairi was just meant to sit here and be good, was meant to just be content with being left behind to wait.

Kairi didn’t want to wait anymore – she refused to continue waiting. Not when there could be something she could do – anything. Pushing herself up onto her elbows, Kairi wracks her brain, trying to think. Biting her lip, she snatches up her gummiphone from her nightstand.

If Riku was going to go and search the worlds without her, then – fine. Fine. She can at least start searching somewhere else.

“Yes?”

“Ienzo? It’s…it’s Kairi. If it’s possible, could you – can someone – I need to come to Radiant Garden.”

[phoxphyre]

In honor of the gorgeous Snowbaz Pride & Prejudice art from @laeve-leve--and because it’s looking like it’s still going to be a while before I finish and start actually posting this thing--I’m going to do something a bit different for WIP Wednesday and post an entire scene. 

I’ve posted bits and pieces of this before, but here’s my version of the 2005 P&P rain proposal scene.  

Tagging @super-duper-twelve (for encouraging me to keep writing in the middle of a crazy month), @captain-aralias, @flammable-grimm-pitch, @otherworldsivelivedin, @nightimedreamersworld, @palimpsessed, @wetheformidables, @ninemagicks​, @aristocratic-otter​, @sharkmartini​ and anyone else who wants to share! 

~~~~~~

Once in the park Simon summoned the Sword of Mages and swung it viciously, slicing the heads off of flowers and cutting new pathways into the spring grass. His mother would reproach him for using it for something so trivial—but after all, she was not here.

When the skies at last poured open Simon bent his head back and stood staring up into the clouds.  

“Perfect,” he said.

He was soaked to the skin within moments. He strode onwards; something about the weather matched his mood.

“Her family,” Simon said viciously.

It was impossible that Mr. Pitch could have meant anyone other than Shepard and Penny. He was hardly surprised that Mr. Pitch had opposed the match, but he had believed Miss Wellbelove the chief architect of their separation. To learn that Mr. Pitch was the cause, that his vanity and pride were the cause of all that Penny had suffered—that she continued to suffer—

Simon decapitated a hapless daisy. Mr. Pitch had ruined the hope of happiness for the best person Simon knew—the person who had saved him when he had lost everything.

“‘There were very strong objections against the lady,’” Simon bit out. What were the objections? That she had one uncle who was a country attorney, and another who was in trade?

Mr. Pitch could not possibly have objected to Penny herself. She was perhaps somewhat irregular in her way—but also sharp as a blade, a talented magician, on her way to becoming a brilliant magickal scholar. She was exactly the type of person Mr. Pitch should respect. Nor was there anything to object to in their mother.

His father and siblings, on the other hand…but no, that could not possibly be the reason. It was all vanity; Mr. Pitch must object to their lack of connections, their want of wealth. And perhaps Simon’s own bastardy.

Simon swung at a stump; the sword stuck in the wood, and he had to use two hands to pull it out. Even the cold felt good: the act of driving his body to escape the tyranny of his mind.

Simon broke free of the trees and found himself on a long lawn. To his left it sloped down to a picturesque pond, all surrounded by willows weeping into the gray water; to his right it climbed to a ridiculous Grecian folly, the kind of thing that rich people planted on their lands when they grew tired of hedge mazes. The rain pounded down, stronger here without the trees to shield him. He broke into a run, less to escape the rain than to feel the blood pumping through his body.

The folly was little more than four columns reaching to the sky with a marble floor and a rounded wall on one side; it was roofless, and once within the columns Simon tipped his head up again, drinking in the rain. He felt hot with rage, as if his anger might overflow his body and run down the hill like the rain.  

Then, without warning, there was the tap of riding boots against marble—and suddenly Mr. Pitch was there.

For a moment they stared at each other. He was as wet as Simon, his hair plastered to his skull. Water ran from the ends of his hair and tracked down his cheekbones like tears.

“Simon,” Mr. Pitch said. Through his anger Simon saw that his eyes were the color of the pond. The storm washed everything about him grey-green; he might have been the statue of an angel carved from the same rock as the columns.

“I—” he said. And then he took two steps forward, pressing Simon back into the stone of the wall, and crushed Simon’s lips against his.

For a moment Simon was frozen, too surprised to resist. He felt the cold stone against his hips, the cold rain running between their two faces. Against his will his hand came up and wound itself into the hair at the back of Mr. Pitch’s neck. Somehow he had already known how it would feel, soft as down under the pads of his fingers. His mouth opened; Mr. Pitch’s lips were gentle on his, even as his body pushed Simon’s into the stone. Simon could feel him down the whole length of his body, warm where he blocked Simon from the rain.

Then Simon’s hands came up; he placed both palms against Mr. Pitch’s shoulders and pushed him away, hard. Mr Pitch stumbled back a few paces; he raised his hand to touch his lips.

“What. The hell,” Simon spat.  

“Simon,” Mr. Pitch said. “I have struggled in vain. It will not do.” He took a step forward. “I came to Hampshire to see you—” He shook his head, the wet ends of his hair whipping past his face. “I had to see you.”

Simon could only stare at him.  

“I’ve fought against my family’s expectations, my better judgement, the lowness of your birth—my rank and circumstance…” His voice hitched. “All of it. I know any connection between us must be reprehensible. But I must put those considerations aside and ask you: please, end my agony.”

Simon had never seen that expression on his face, had never imagined that face capable of making such an expression: open and yearning, as if all of his walls had fallen and the gates thrown open.

“I love you,” said Mr. Pitch. “Most ardently.”

Simon made a noise, halfway between horror and mad laughter. “You love me?”

Mr. Pitch extended his hand, pale in the darkness of the storm. Rain ran down the curves of his fingers and pooled in his palm. “Believe me, I wish I did not. It is ridiculous—unthinkable. But I do.”

Simon stared at the hand and did not take it. “It is ridiculous to love me?” he said slowly.

“Yes,” said Mr. Pitch. He sounded relieved that Simon had understood so quickly. “But here we are. So I must beg you to accept my hand.”

“You have a strange way of begging,” said Simon.

“What?”

“I am sorry if your—passion has been difficult for you,” Simon said. “But no. No.”  

He watched Mr. Pitch’s face close as he spoke, the gates swinging shut and the walls fortified.  

“So you are refusing me?” Mr. Pitch said coldly. He withdrew his hand, wiped it on his coat, and placed it in his pocket.  

“Yes.” Simon could not help the bite in his voice. “But as you have so little esteem for me, I hope you will recover quickly.”

“Might I inquire why I am thus rejected?”  

“I am surprised you need to inquire, after telling me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character.”

“I did not mean—”

“You should thank you me for saving you from such a terrible fate,” said Simon. “In any case, did you think I would marry the man who has ruined the happiness of my dearest friend? My sister?”

Mr. Pitch paled further. The rain fell between them like a veil.

“Can you deny it?” Simon demanded. He stepped forward, thrusting his chest forward, forcing Mr. Pitch back a step.

“I have no wish to deny it,” said Mr. Pitch. Simon searched his face for regret and found none: only pride and bitterness. “I did everything in my power to separate Shepard from your sister, and I rejoice in my success. I have been kinder to him than myself.”

“Why?” Simon demanded. He put his hands against Mr. Pitch’s shoulders again and shoved, pushing him back. “How could you do it?”

“I believed she was indifferent to him.”

“She danced with him! She laughed with him!”

“She argued with him! Continually!”  

“For Penny, that is love!” Simon snarled. “She was supposed to show her true feelings? You will not even show your true feelings when you find your mother’s journals!”

Mr. Pitch stumbled back another step, away from Simon’s hands. “And I suppose you despise me for what I am as well?”

“No! I would never—”

“After all, why would you tie yourself to a dark creature?” Mr. Pitch said bitterly. “Even when it would save yourself and your family.”

“Yes, it is always about money, with people like you. I suppose you think Penny was hungry for Shepard’s fortune?”

“I would never do her the dishonour. Although it was made clear that an advantageous marriage—”

“Did Penny give that impression?”

“No! But there was your family—”

“My family. What was it—our want of connection? My bastardy?”

“It was the lack of propriety shown by your father, your younger siblings—even your mother on occasion.” He looked away. “Forgive me.”  

“Oh? Is that all? And what about Mr. Lamb?”

“Lamb?” Mr. Pitch said blankly.  

“What excuse can you give for what you did to him?”

“You certainly take an eager interest in that gentleman’s concerns.” The earlier openness had been entirely wiped away; Mr. Pitch’s face showed only anger now.

“How could I help it, once I knew of his misfortunes?”

“Oh, yes, his misfortunes,” Mr. Pitch said savagely.

“You were the one who reduced him to poverty, and yet you mock and ridicule him.”

“So this is your opinion of me!” cried Mr. Pitch. He paced from one side of the folly to the other, his steps quick and angry. “This is the estimation in which you hold me! Thank you for explaining it so fully.”

Suddenly he was before Simon again, having moved too quickly for Simon’s eyes to follow. It was so inhuman a motion that Simon could not help himself; he shrank away, as one shies from a snake. Mr. Pitch’s eyes narrowed.

He thrust his face into Simon’s, almost spitting now. “But you might have overlooked all of this, if I had not injured your pride—if I had lied and flattered you.” He raised a hand, and Simon thought for a moment that he would strike him. Simon put his hand over his hip, wondering if he could summon his blade quickly enough to prevent Mr. Pitch from killing him.

But Mr. Pitch was already dropping his hand, turning away. “I refuse,” he said. “I will not lie to you. I abhor disguise of every sort.”

Simon grabbed his arm, preventing him from moving away. The skin was cold beneath his fingers and slippery from the rain. “You have been lying from the moment you met me,” he said. He yanked at Mr. Pitch’s arm, wrenching it in its socket. “All you are is disguise! And there is nothing you could have said to make me consider your offer.”

“Simon—”

“My name is Mr. Snow,” Simon spat.

Mr. Pitch tried to wrench his arm from Simon’s grasp, but Simon held on doggedly. “I’ve known it from the first moment met,” he said. “You are the last person in the world I could ever marry.”

Mr. Pitch’s arm was still in Simon’s grip, so instead he leaned in, his face a breath away from Simon’s. “Are you quite finished?” he said coldly.  

This close, Simon could see the rings of colour in Mr. Pitch’s eyes, all the hues of the sea. He could feel Mr. Pitch’s breath on his face. He loosened his grip, and Mr. Pitch’s arm slid from his fingers.

“You have said quite enough, sir,” Mr. Pitch said. “I perfectly comprehend your feelings.” He turned to go; his boots made a dull plashing in the puddles gathering on the stone floor.

“I have now only to be ashamed—” his breath hitched, and Simon watched his shoulders rise and fall. “Of what my own have been.”

He looked back over his shoulder, his voice full of venom.

“Forgive me, sir, for taking up so much of your time.”

He strode from the folly. A moment later Simon heard the sound of hooves, pounding away.  

[nightingaletrash]

why work on wips when I can feed my new hyperfixation instead? :)

AO3

---

It was like someone was raking a nail against the inside of her skull, and the more she tried to ignore it, the more insistent it became. A hollow shriek that verberated against her brain, and a throbbing pain blossomed behind her eyes.

Lorna turned onto her side for what had to be the hundredth time now and screwed her eyes shut, willing herself to fall asleep. Just for a moment. But no such luck was had, and the irritating raking at the inside of her skull continued.

Finally sick of lying in bed with no resolution to the god-awful noise, she sat up and pushed away the bedsheets. She dragged her feet over the side of the bed and held her hands to her face, fingers pressing into the inner-corners of her eyes as a sigh dragged itself from her lungs. The pressure didn’t relieve the deep-seated exhaustion behind her eyes, but it helped… somehow. Like causing a brief reset of her senses.

Behind her, her sleeping companion whined and pawed at her hip as he stretched out to settle at her side. His wet nose pressed under the hem of her night shirt and he snorted inquisitively.

“I’m fine, Lexel,” Lorna giggled, scratching behind his ears; his tail thumped happily against the mattress in response, but he kept his big brown eyes fixed on his mistress nonetheless. 

She heaved another sigh - something that was becoming all too common place as of late with the threat of the Crawler looming over her - and felt around for her slippers. It didn’t take long, as they’d been placed at her bedside by the servants who were seemingly determined to ensure that everything was perfect for their new Queen, though she doubted that it was loyalty or their work ethic that drove them.

The apprehension that lingered in the castle was beginning to thin as life resumed its course, but Logan’s tyranny had left a mark here. The day that Logan had Elliot executed was the day that everyone in the castle realised that they were expendable; if the King was willing to have a noble killed, no one was safe, maybe not even the Princess. Her running away with Walter and Jasper in tow had not helped things, and that was before she had returned with an army at her back.

It would be a long time before the wounds truly healed and the staff trusted their Queen, if they ever did. She’d been Queen for little over a month. There was still plenty of time for her to become her brother and no doubt there were bets being made over how long it would take.

But that wasn’t something she could afford to be worrying about right now, she reminded herself as she slipped a gown over her pyjamas and beckoned Lexel to follow as she left her chambers.

The cool night air nipped at her skin, and there was a promise of winter in its teeth. Even so it was preferable to the stuffy confines of her chambers. 

She would have thought that she’d enjoy being able to sleep in her own bed again, surrounded by all the comforts of home, but now it didn’t feel like it fit anymore. She’d gotten used to sleeping above barrooms full of drunken singing and the rustle of a tent over her head. The castle was too quiet. Too static. Her time with the rebellion had seen her outgrow her childhood home, and now she was chained to it.

Her hands ran over the cold stone of the balustrade and she gazed out over the garden below. Logan’s statue was still in place on the plinth in the centre of the courtyard, despite numerous questions over when she planned to have it removed. The answer… well, she wasn’t sure of it just yet. It kept getting pushed further into the back of her mind where it would gather dust until there was nothing else to preoccupy her. By not deciding, she could still decide how she felt about her brother. 

What Logan had done, she still struggled to forgive. As angry as it had made her, as righteous as the rebellion had been in overthrowing him, in light of what they knew now, it was easier to empathise with her brother and the enormity of the task he had faced.

Lorna and Walter’s encounter with the Crawler had been brief, but it had made an impression all the same. The suffocating darkness, the rasping voice crying out in mockery of her fears, Walter - fierce, unyielding Walter who never flinched away from his duty - screaming as his nightmares came to life; whenever sleep did find her, it always brought her back to Shadelight. To the Darkness. And she imagined it was no different for her brother or her mentor.

No one who brushed with such horror emerged the same person. She hadn’t, Logan hadn’t, and Walter hadn’t either, no matter how much they all tried to pretend otherwise.

Her fingers curled and her nails dug into her palms. Why hadn’t Theresa warned her as she had warned Logan? Why did she and Walter have to stumble blindly into that creature’s lair to learn the truth? Why did she have to stagger across the sands alone, tormented by the wailing cries of the friend she had abandoned and the dead whispers of the Darkness?

Before her bitterness towards the Blind Seer had a chance to take hold of her mood, however, she was drawn back to reality by Lexel, who was barking from the top of the stairs.

“Is something the matter boy?” she asked, moving away from the balustrade to follow.

He just barked again and bounded down the steps with his fluffy white tail held high. Once he was sure that Lorna was following, he took off at a swift trot into the gardens themselves, barely pausing to make sure that she was keeping up.

Lorna shivered with cold but followed regardless. Anything to distract her from own dark thoughts.

The gardens were usually a bustling hub of activity, where visiting nobles milled about and exchanged the latest gossip, or the gardeners pruned the rose bushes, tended the flower beds, and generally kept the space immaculate. Guards would stand at attention, eyes sharp for trouble, but always amenable to a quick greeting from their Princess. It was a place of community within the castle, and it was odd to see it so empty. 

That being said, the quiet wasn’t unwelcome. The trickle of fountain water, the whistle of the wind and the crunch of gravel under her feet kept it from a stifling silence that allowed the raking nails in her head to grow overwhelming, but it wasn’t so loud that it hurt.

Lexel disappeared into the hedgerows, the tip of his tail whipping around the corner just as Lorna caught up. He led her towards the overlook, where the garden fell away to a lower rung and Bowerstone Industrial was visible in the distance.

A year ago it was where she had met Elliot on that fateful day. The day that had changed everything. He’d been waiting for her with news of the rumours regarding the fate of a factory worker and asked her to speak with her brother about it. He’d really thought that Lorna could get through to Logan… And she had believed the same. 

Funny how innocent they had been back then. Funny how quickly it had all changed.

But tonight it wasn’t Elliot standing at the balustrade, staring out over the city below. It was Logan.

It was funny really. He didn’t look nearly so intimidating as he had when he was King. Maybe it was the way he was slumped against the balustrade, staring blankly out at the city. Or maybe it was the fact his hair was tousled and he was wearing his pyjamas instead of his usual regalia. 

All things considered, it was probably both. He cut a much less striking figure now than he’d done in years. But then maybe that was just how he looked since coming back from Aurora, and it was only now out here, in the dark of the deserted garden, was she getting to see it.

Lexel bounded over to Logan’s side and barked in greeting. Logan startled and, in a moment of raw instinct, leapt away from the dog and reached for the sword he usually carried at his hip but was presently absent. Then he blinked as he processed what he was looking at.

“Ah, Lexel. Shouldn’t you be with Lorna?”

Lexel just barked again and bumped his head against Logan’s knee insistently until he acquiesced and reached down to pat the collie, his long fingers digging into the ruff of fur around Lexel’s neck.

Lexel sat, then edged closer to Logan, his tail thumping the ground in joy as he revelled in the attention. It had been a long time since the former King had bothered to give him any attention beyond a brief brushing off or to send him back to his mistress, and he was taking full advantage of the rare display of affection.

Lorna lingered at the periphery, unwilling to intrude right away. Only when Logan glance up at her did she move forward.

“You should be asleep,” he said, straightening up even as Lexel whined in protest. “A queen needs her rest.”

“So do her advisors,” she shot back.

He jerked his head and turned away, resuming his vigil from the balustrade. But there was no clear dismissal as he might have previously offered, so she decided to join him. 

For a while there was silence, and not the companionable kind that felt comfortable and unintrusive. Instead it was awkward, festering in the air with a growing awareness of each other’s presence.

It was rare for them to be in the same room before she’d left, and now their conversations often revolved around policy, budgeting, and strategy. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like a brother rather than a guardian, or an advisor. Or an enemy.

“You didn’t even listen to Reaver’s proposal in court today,” Logan pointed out. “He barely got to speak before you decided to agree to Samuel’s request.”

Her jaw clenched at the mention of Reaver; she found the man to be completely repugnant, and if it weren’t for the looming threat of the Darkness and the lack of anyone more suited to head up Bowerstone Industrial, she’d have had him arrested by now. He was an unpleasant necessity within the court… for now.

But as sleepless as she was, she was too tired to defend her decision to steamroll over Reaver.

“Can we just… not talk about work? For once?” she sighed. “I made my decision, it’s done. Now we move on.”

Logan paused for a moment, then nodded.

“Of course. Though your assistant, Hobson? He was telling anyone who’d listen how you’d so generously donated to the royal treasury to cover the costs of reopening the Academy. If you were wondering what people are saying.”

She had been, and rarely did her mind come up with anything good to say. A little confirmation of the opposite ought to have been a relief, but she’d learned quickly to not put too much stock in Hobson’s flattery or his criticism. He was, as he’d said so himself, a toady, so he’d say whatever kept him in her good graces all while remaining fixated on the state of the treasury.

For a while they lapsed back into silence as they stared out over the city. In just under a year, it would be a warzone. And unless they could build the army they needed before then, it would become a graveyard. Ravaged and lifeless with only the remnants clinging to life on the fringes, trying to hold out against a foe they knew almost nothing about.

The task seemed insurmountable. The money she had raised to aid the rebellion had found use in keeping the coffers full, but would it be enough? How many could she save, realistically? How many would they lose? Would there be a kingdom left to salvage when it was all over?

She wasn’t the only one consumed by such thoughts. 

At her side, Logan had gone stiff, and his blank stare was fixed on one spot. His hands were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had gone white, and after a moment passed, Lorna realised that he wasn’t breathing.

“Logan?”

He didn’t respond and when she placed a hand on his shoulder, she could feel him trembling in spite of himself. His face had gone white and whatever facade of self-control he had managed to maintain had finally began to crumble.

“Logan. You need to breathe,” Lorna said with a gentle firmness, squeezing his shoulder. “It’s not here yet. We’ve got time to prepare. Breathe in.”

It took him a moment to do as she instructed, and it clearly took a lot more effort than he would ever admit to.

“In. Then hold it. And out slowly.”

Her hand slipped into his, and he unconsciously gripped it as a drowning man might grip the hand of his saviour as he was pulled from the depths. Lorna squeezed back and continued to repeat the simple instructions.

Bit by bit, Logan began to uncoil. The tension trickled from his frame and the trembling in his grip finally began to subside as the colour returned to his face. He blinked hard a few times as if to clear his eyes of the stray tears that had gathered there, then flinched slightly when Lorna reached up to thumb them away before melting into the contact.

A low breath shook itself from his lungs.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have-”

“It’s okay.”

When she had faced the Darkness, she had had Walter and Lexel at her side throughout the ordeal and they had come out the other side alive. Logan had gone to Aurora with his men and returned alone as the sole survivor of the Darkness, only to be burdened with the knowledge that it would follow him back to Albion. She might begrudge her brother for many things, but this wasn’t one of them. She didn’t want to imagine how she’d be dealing with all of this if she had been in his shoes.

Still… it was so strange to find herself standing opposite him like this when so much had changed. From brother and sister to King and Rebel Princess to Queen and Advisor… When was the last time they had just been siblings?

She was drawn from her thoughts when Logan addressed her again.

“Strange how well you remember that exercise,” he murmured. “Do you remember where you learned it?”

She paused then shook her head.

“It was after Mother died. You were inconsolable for months. Every time you wanted her and realised that she wasn’t there anymore, you had a panic attack,”  he explained soberly. “I remember asking everyone I could think of if they knew anything if there was anything I could do to help. A friend of mine had the answer, funnily enough. Lady Shaw. She said that breathing is key to keeping a level head.”

“Smart woman, Lady Shaw,” Lorna said with a small smile.

“She was.”

A ghost of a melancholic smile touched his lips before he straightened up. His hand slipped from Lorna’s and all too quickly he began to reclaim that facade of calm control.

“It’s late, and we have much to do tomorrow,” he said evenly. “You should get back to bed-”

“Logan, wait.”

He froze, and Lorna swallowed hard.

“I just…” 

She floundered, unsure of what it was she actually wanted to say. That she wanted him to be her brother again? That he didn’t need to carry his burden alone anymore? That no matter what, they were in this together? That she needed him?

Ultimately words were insufficient. Too clumsy, too formal, too limited. So instead she wrapped her arms around him, buried her face into the crook of his neck and held on tight. 

Logan was all angles and lean muscle, wound tight like a spring at first, before he surrendered to whatever base desires he had long deprived himself of and gripped Lorna tightly to his chest, firm and solid and warm. Once he had been a place of safety; a place to flee when the world was dark or overwhelming and she needed someone to turn to.

Maybe he could be again. And maybe now, she could be the same for him.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Do you have a little trick to put yourself to write? I haven't been able to write for months and it saddens me 😢

Honestly, I have no idea. I haven't really been able to write for about a month. I only just started again recently because I got inspired for a fandom nobody follows me for and a character who is a really hard sell for most people.

I guess the main thing is start writing when the inspiration strikes. It doesn't matter if it's not the thing you want to focus on, grab onto it while you can and maybe that will pull you out of the slump.

Failing that, I often find I can't write because I'm not really taking care of myself. Either I'm not getting enough sleep, or I'm not eating properly or I'm just stressed out about life for whatever reason. Writing isn't just something you can do on the spot. It takes time for your mind to clear enough to see what you want to write and hear the character's voices again. So, make sure you're okay first and foremost.

The next thing all depends on you. I've looked up sentence prompts just to get me started or listen to music I know gets me in a certain mood or even just opened up an old WIP and forced myself to type out a hundred words. A hundred words it's that much, about a third of a page, but it usually at least gets the ball rolling. Try to do that at least, and if it doesn't go further than that, you've got a hundred words down on paper and you can try again tomorrow.

I hope that helps.

[maybe-your-left]

Cowboy Blues: Rhinestone Cowboy

Here is a link to my Masterlist with all the WIP I have! 

Clyde wasted no time making you cum after you screamed at the top of your lungs when Mellie hung up. Rolling off of him onto the floor you blew into the bathroom. Showering away the tears, and other bodily fluids that stained your body. You heard the bed creak and footsteps leading to the bathroom. 

“Y’okay sunshine?” Clyde spoke from behind the shower doors. 

You couldn’t respond. You were so upset with yourself, you just needed to wash away the sins and go face Mellie with a somewhat clear conscience. The door cracked slightly and Clyde peered inside, concern coloring his face. 

“Do y’ want me t’ wait outside?” 

“No, I just, I don’t,” you hiccuped between breaths, “Just get in dammit.” 

He quickly slipped in and positioned himself behind you and tried to get under the water to clean his face and hand from your juices. 

“I just feel shitty, not about what we did, just that I forgot about her…” 

“I know, I forgot too, y’ don’ have t’ be so harsh on yerself.” 

“Ughhhh,” you let out and laid your head against Clydes’ broad chest. “I’m not mad at you, I just wish Mellie wasn’t mad at me.” 

“She’ll get over it, don’ worry.” He kissed the top of your head and wrapped his arms around you, his hand tracing up and down your spine. You looked up at him and placed a kiss on his beard. 

“Thank you,” you sighed, “Now let’s wash off and get going.”

-----

The ride to Duck Tape was quick, Clyde told you to follow him to the salon since you had never been before. You decided to drive in silence, wrecking your brain trying to figure out how to casually talk about your phone conversation. Had she really heard Clyde? Was she just messing with you? Clyde was sure Mellie would get over it, in fact, he said she was rooting for the two of you and was one of the masterminds behind getting you to the bar. So it was kind of her fault you ended up together. No like she forced you to ride his beautiful face but come on there was room to share the blame. 

The both of you pulled into the salon and you shut off your car and made it out as slowly as possible. You were dragging your feet to the front door, even though Clyde was far enough in front to hold the door open you semi wished he had gone inside by himself. 

Mellie was sitting in a salon chair, arms crossed, legs crossed, tapping her heel away on the tile. She stared at the two of you with unforgiving eyes, it felt like she was staring into your soul. 

“Hey Mellie, we made it…” you stuttered. 

“I take it y’all had a nice morning?” her eyes narrowed at the both of you. 

Gulping you looked at Clyde who was trying his hardest not to make eye contact with his sister. You were on your own. 

“I’m really so-“

Mellie burst out in laughter. 

“You two look so damn guilty!” She started holding her sides and tried to calm herself down but burst into another fit of giggles when Clyde turned around and walked outside. 

“I can’t even believe you answered your phone!” she motioned out to Clyde, “while doing THAT, with Clyde!” 

“Mellie I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting-“ you tried to explain yourself but found her laughter infectious. You started laughing and Mellie ran over to you and took you in a hug. 

“Now I know you’re sorry, just don’t make me go through that again, please.” 

“I won't, I promise!” 

You felt so relieved. You thought she was mad at you, but really she was so tickled by how stupid you were and clearly how horny you were to just answer the phone during a moment like that. She explained that her husband had always tried to do shit like that when she was on the phone but she never let him get away with it. You seemed to have changed her mind though. 

After a few minutes chatting about your evening, leaving out spicy bits for Clyde's benefit, you went outside to wrangle in Clyde. 

“You can come in now, she's not mad at us,” walking over to him sitting on the hood of his car. 

“I know she ain’t,” he sighed “it’s embarrassin’ though, I don’ want her thinkin’ of me like that.” 

“Don’t beat yourself up, now let’s get our hair cut and just move on with our day, okay?” 

Clyde grumbled as you pulled him up by his hands. Following you back inside Mellie did Clyde's hair first, seeming to try and get him to relax. You tried to strike up a conversation with Mellie since he was in no mood. 

“So Mellie, who is your husband?” you couldn’t remember if she had told you last night or not so it seemed like a good starting point.

“Oh his name's Joe Bang, we’ve been together for a couple years.” 

“How’d you two meet?” 

Mellie paused and shared a weird look with Clyde before answering. 

“Um I met him in 2017, he and Clyde were in prison-“ 

“Mellie,” Clyde growled at her. 

Prison? Clyde was in prison? This was news… 

“Wait what? Clyde, you were in prison?” you stared at him dumbfounded. How long was he in prison, why would Mellie marry a convict that Clyde met? Why did this never come up!? 

“Anyway, I started seein’ Joe after he got out and we got married about a year ago.”

“Oh okay… well, that’s nice,” you were trying to play off the bombshell that she dropped. 

Clyde's hair was finished in silence, as the two of you switched seats he hovered over you. 

“Sunshine, I gotta head home n’ take care of the horses n’ Leroy. I’ll be at the bar if y’ what t’ stop by.” 

“Okay, I’ll see you later?” offering him a smile in hopes he would tell you about the ‘prison’ thing at some point. Leaning down he kissed your forehead before walking out. 

—— 

Clyde did not want to leave yet. He was so worried about Mellie and (Y/N) being alone together. There were so many things they could talk about in his absence. He wasn’t sure how the salon trip was going to go but he did not expect it turning out like that. He wasn’t expecting Mellie to start laughing at them when they came in, nor was he expecting her to bring up his time at Monroe.

He wasn’t ready to tell (Y/N) bout that yet, he was scared she would run away. He didn’t want her thinkin’ he was a criminal, he wasn’, he just didn’ drive ‘legally’ and he may have robbed a speedway. 

No big deal right? 

Right? 

It wasn’ long before Clyde made it home. He was greeted by Leroy at the front door who was so happy to see him. He had Earl come by and give him his medicine last night, and he was sure he hadn’t fed him enough. 

“Come on in Leroy, let’s get y’ some late breakfast.” 

Clyde was a good pet owner. He didn’ feed Leroy any artificial shit that clogged their arteries. He was a firm believer in givin’ dogs natural foods. So he was spoiled. Spoiled rotten, every mornin’ Clyde would make Leroy some bacon n eggs and they’d sit together before seein’ the horses. It wasn’ that Clyde meant to overfeed him, he just would beg him if he didn’ share his food and he couldn’ stand his puppy eyes. 

Clyde took the same care with feeding out to the horses, making sure that they were well fed with the best oats and hay that money could buy. Since he took them to shows he wanted to make sure their coats were shiny and they were healthy weights all year round. 

The silence around the barn calmed him, he had had a rough go of things as of late. Ever since meetin’ (Y/N), his usual routines were plagued with emptiness. He had felt it the day he met her and couldn’ shake the feelin’ that he was missin’ out on her company. 

She had such a warmth to her, genuine and caring. Albeit clumsy and a lil stubborn but she seemed to like him which in theory should’ve been enough. But no. 

It wasn’ enough. 

Every time Clyde was around (Y/N) he felt like he couldn’ get enough. He needed to show her how he felt, but now he was worried that she would be scared away from him. 

Makin’ his way back to the house he heard a beep from the answering machine. A message? Must’ve just missed the call… 

“Hey Clyde, it’s (Y/N). I just got done with my hair and was hopin’ we could talk and stuff. Call me back?” 

Shit. 

Clyde quickly grabbed the phone and began dialin’ (Y/N)’s number. He was prepared for the worst, she would want him to leave her alone after this mornin’. Clearly Mellie had told her about his sentencin’ and now she thinks he’s a know good criminal. He held his breath until the phone picked up. 

“Hello, this is (Y/N).”

“Hi, it’s Clyde,” he cleared his throat, “M’ sorry I missed yer call.”

“Oh, Hi Clyde!” 

“What did y’ want t’ talk about?”

A pause. 

“Well I just,” (Y/N) let out a long breath, this was it, “I just wanted to talk about us…I just don’t feel comfortable continuing-”

Clyde took a deep breath, “Ya I know darlin’, M sorry fer puttin’ y’ in those situations. I’ll let y’ be-”

“Clyde, will you let me finish?”

“O’course, sorry.” 

“I don’t feel comfortable continuing without us being…” another pause, “exclusive?”

Clyde dropped the phone. He was so sure she was goin’ to call and tell him to take a hike but now? Now she was tellin’ HIM, that she wanted to be exclusive! He scrambled and picked the phone up and (Y/N) didn’ seem to notice he was absent since she was still prattlin’ on ‘bout their situation. 

“Would y’ like t’ do horseback ridin’ Saturday?” he interrupted her word vomit. 

“Uh, well yes, but that doesn’t answer my earlier-”

“M’ not gonna ask y’ on the phone t’ be my girl, so jus’ be ready fer Saturday.” 

“Okay, I’ll see you Saturday, bye Clyde.”

“Bye Sunshine.”

-----

You hung up the phone after Clyde said goodbye and nearly screamed into your pillow. You couldn’t believe Clyde was taking you horseback riding, it had been years since you rode one. Not since your days back in Montana for vet school. You didn’t even own riding clothes. You would have to go shopping, maybe Mellie would go with you and get you all set up before Saturday. 

It was a whole week away so you had time to prep, you were so relieved that Clyde had asked you out. It wasn’t a traditional date but Clyde wasn’t really a traditional guy you were finding out. Mellie had told you all about him after he left the salon. 

About how back in high school he was on the rodeo team and rode broncos at the fairs, Jimmy their oldest brother apparently was the football star so Clyde had tried to make himself someone different. Mellie also told you about him going overseas to Iraq. You didn’t want to pry Clyde about his arm but you had noticed his tattoo while the two of you were intimate and obviously had to ask someone. Apparently Clyde was a Green Beret in the Army for two tours before he was discharged due to the bomb blowing his lower forearm off. You couldn’t believe that he still was so independent. That type of injury had to have been so traumatic, but it was clear he took comfort in the animals and people he surrounded himself in. 

Walking over to your closet you ripped through half your clothes to try and find an appropriate outfit for riding. What was Clyde planning? Were you just doing a day ride, or were you doing an overnight camping trip? You should’ve asked more questions. Whipping through dozens of drawers of clothes you found nothing. Nothing that screamed ‘please make me your girlfriend’ with subtle tones of ‘fuck me in the bushes’. 

You wasted about ten minutes before caving and calling Mellie, telling her all about Clydes ‘plan’ to take you riding after you pushed about your relationship. Mellie squealed when she heard that Clyde was taking you on a ride and insisted on just the place to go shopping tomorrow for your outfit. 

——

Monday morning had come quickly and you were eager to get done so you could meet Mellie at the salon. You had no clue what to buy but you had been browsing online at boots and already had a few in mind. 

You also were meant to stop and grab some intimate wear in case things got spicy with Clyde while on the ride. 

Patients were coming in left and right, you barely had time to breathe between rooms. Between the vaccines and frantic pet owners coming in because their animals were overheating in the West Virginian heat, you couldn’t catch a break. 

Finally, 2 o’clock rolled by and you could check your phone and eat your lunch before closing in an hour. Plopping down in your office you started inhaling food and scrolled through your notifications. Texts and phone calls from patients were all over along with Snapchat’s from your old college friends, but one text caught your eye. 

It was an unknown number. 

Hi Sunshine, can I ask you a question? 

Must be Clyde, he’s the only one that calls you that. 

Of course, what’s up? 

Setting your phone down to gather your stuff to head to Mellies, it buzzed again. 

Are you allergic to anything? 

What? What could he possibly be asking about your allergies for? 

TAGLIST: @finn-ray-nal-beads​ @morby​ @clumsycopy​ @desiraypark​ @kirah36​ @onlykyloscenes

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

2020 SU Fic Sampler - WIP Showcase

So in my continued attempts at distraction, I trawled through my SU fanfic folders, looked at the ol’ endless WIP pile. Figured I’d do a little roundup of some that are in something resembling a decent state. Maybe even see where interest lies and all that, get some attention and validation, you know, all that good stuff one craves. Of course, there’s loads more than this, and I might one day post some things I wrote but never quite managed to finish up, or that got super jossed in ways I couldn’t get myself to work around.

Now, in no particular order, here’s 8 draft snippets totaling almost 6000 words - not very polished, obviously, some quite rough around the edges, some long, some short, some that work better without context than others. But here they are anyway, with an utterly predictable array of focal characters. Any missing segments or my asides/notes in the text are [written like this], because I usually write very non-linearly. Hope you all like mood whiplash! 

P.S. I live for comments.

Like Talking To A Wall, aka Bismuth making friends with the wall, statue, and floor Gems. Early precursors to radicalisation and “I would have liberated everyone”, perhaps. Started as one of my first reactions to the Diamond Days episodes.

“Hey, thanks for listening.”

“Anytime. You’re lucky I’m so supportive,” Mica piped up from up on her arch.

Bismuth laughed. Bittersweet. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am.”

Then, with a surprisingly gentle hand pressed to the carvings she’d been so careful about, she added a soft: “I’ll miss you.”

“Chin up! It’s gonna be a lovely off-planet adventure for you,” Granite rumbled from just above her head. “A brand new colony! Think of the sights!”

“You can tell us all about it when we see you again.”

Bismuth leaned back, pressing her whole back against the wall, reluctant to leave, even if a snooty shift supervisor was bound to come around and chase her off soon. “Yeah, I’ll make sure to do that.”

They all knew very well that, as always, when the building was done, it was goodbye. The chances of there being a need for repairs or remodelling - and the exact same bismuths being brought in to do them - were incredibly slim.

But pretending was nice, sometimes.

-

Hey, Steven, think I could get a moment before we leave? I won’t be long.

-

They were right where she’d left them, and the years had done very little to change them. A bit of a patina there, some dust, the tiniest bit of wear on sharper corners.

“Bismuth?” Several familiar voices cried out to her in shocked recognition.

She knew she must look a sight - battle-ready and battle-worn, but armour still gleaming, and with a bearing of one who had been through much and was always ready for more. She felt her back had never been so proud and straight, her shoulders so resolutely set.

“I think,” Bismuth grinned, “you’re gonna start seeing changes around these parts.”

---

One for that favourite Pearletariat/Pearl Solidarity fic sub-genre of mine: Clever Pearls Cleverly Getting Around Badly Worded Orders. A bit of an origin for an as-of-yet unnamed pearl OC, because I sure don’t have enough of those!

In the untold thousands of years of Homeworld and Gemkind, and the hundreds of thousands of commands given to hundreds of thousands of pearls, nobody ever thought to Order a pearl not to think. That would imply a they mattered at all, and who would ever put stock in a pearl’s thoughts? Most Gems weren’t sure pearls could think, anyway. I mean, if they could, all that standing around would be intolerable, wouldn’t it? And imagine not being able to say no to anything, even crushing your own gem - shards, at least I’m not a pearl!

They were, occasionally, when dealing with an owner’s important, private, confidential business, Ordered to forget, or, a bit less esoterically, Ordered never to tell.

And [OWNER] has always been all too eager with the Orders. As if she went to bizarre lengths in her thinking that pearl couldn’t - or wouldn’t? - do anything upon merely being told, let alone by herself. Every little thing, from sweeping up the shards of a broken decorative plate to taking down the minutes of an important meeting [OWNER] was presiding over - (im)pressed upon pearl with the crushing weight of an Order.

But she could still think.

Even when Ordered to wait by the door, freezing her limbs and anchoring her legs to the ground with all the force of a starship mooring mechanism. Even when Ordered into silence for days and planetary rotations on end because [OWNER] had wanted to read an important document without being disturbed and it simply didn’t occur to her to lift it when she was done.

In the wake of the Rebellion and the Renegade Pearl, it only gets worse, and soon enough pearl can barely remember the last time a single movement she made was voluntary.

---

SU Future-era Bismuth and Steven convo I scribbled down in between some of these recent eps - after Growing Pains in particular I think - because Bismuth is the absolute pep talk queen.

“You already said you were sorry for trying to kill me in the Forge, and really, it’s okay, it was all a misunderstanding. Besides, it’s more than a lot of people have done!”

Bismuth blinked at the pinkish sheen around Steven’s cheeks, around the downturned brows - strange trick of the light, that. “Steven, come on. Just listen to me for a minute.”

“Okay,” Steven sighed, and leaned against the railing Bismuth had fixed just that morning.

“Point is, for me, the war had never ended. It wasn’t only yesterday, it was today. It was over for everyone, it seemed, except for me. And getting over that, getting used to that, really seeing that as the truth, not living every day buzzed up with that anticipation of the next battle, just waiting for Homeworld to come down hard on us with whatever new horror they’d come up with… that took a while. And it took help.”

[sudden apparent non-sequitur but It’s An Allegory, Steven.]

“When you make a sword, you can’t make it rigid and unyielding. You can’t just temper it into toughness and hardness and make it unbreakable. It needs to have some give in order to be durable, it needs to be able to bend so as not to shatter on impact. And sure, maybe the first parry or strike wouldn’t be the one to do it, but the tenth, the hundreth, the thousandth? Any time you might just find yourself holding on to a hilt with the jagged remnants of everything, and shards scattered on the ground. And if you’re very lucky, that’ll happen during friendly sparring, not in the heat of battle.”

Steven shrugged without response, and seemed to be shrugging off all the words as well. Back to the direct approach it was, then.

“Now you, Steven,” that at least got a bit more attention, “Sure, you can brawl with the best of ‘em, and you put that gem to damn good use. You’ve got great technique drilled in, too - I’d expect nothing less from one of Pearl’s students. But that’s not how you won, in the end, is it? You never won because you were tough, or strong. You have a diamond in you but you’re not hard at all. Well, except on yourself.”

“In the end all of this was possible because you were soft. Just malleable and pliable enough when it was needed. And that takes guts.”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” Bismuth put a hand on his shoulder, and even with all the very human growing he’d done, he still seemed to almost disappear in it. “You put yourself out there for others… maybe it’s about time you let them help you.”

---

The next chapter of the His Dark Materials/Daemons AU which I am sooooo painfully late with it’s not even funny anymore. Already posted some excerpts [here] and [here].

“She’s been... away on business, but we’ve sent a zeppelin for her and she’s well on her way back. Hopefully.”

“You have a zeppelin?” Rose was rapidly failing in all her efforts to keep her voice down. 

“Of a sort. We, er, we... stole it.”

“Stole-!”

“Yes, well, stole might be a strong word,” Pearl tapped a finger against her chin. “You see, there was a small decommissioned postal craft left below the southern mail station aërodock that nobody would ever miss, all I had to do was fix it up a bit and-”

Rose blinked. “You fixed a decommissioned zeppelin.”

Pearl waved a hand almost casually. “I had some help, but yes. Svalbard, understandably, is hard to reach with other means of transport, and Bismuth needed to be able to go back and forth.”

“You,” Rose began, awed, “are utterly wasted on bringing me my slippers, I’ll tell you that.”

“Well then, maybe,” Pearl blushed, but there was nothing hesitant about her smirk and the strikingly proud tilt of her head, “maybe you could take them off with a bit more care than kicking them halfway across the room and sending them off under the cabinets and- and then I wouldn’t need to do that at all. And I could fix all the zeppelins in the world.”

-

[more from the super secret backroom rebellion meeting]

“They’re with the Consistorial Court of Discipline, no doubt. Always on the lookout for,” Bismuth grimaced, “heretics. A lot falls under that. A lot of good excuses to snatch someone off the street and do who knows what to them. And they’ve been funneling people there, people vanished by the CCD. Not lacking in test subjects lately.”

“How did you get this? Where?” It was Sapphire, this time. Ruby seemed overwhelmed, and sat clutching her hand desperately as the tiny frog and hare both whispered something to her.

“We traced the funding for all this. It was difficult and deliberately obfuscated, but we managed. A facility like this, an entire operation, cost a pretty amount, you’d assume - and you’d be right. It had to come from somewhere. And whoever was paying for it was likely to want to know what was being done with their investment.”

“So we followed the trail. And it turned out I was… ideally positioned to… to, erm, procure what evidence there was to be found. Because, well...” Pearl trailed off, and lifted one of the stolen report sheets for all to see.

It was as clear as day, the family crest right above the astronomical amount being granted. Four diamonds, neatly arranged.

Neshu’s ears were flat against his mane, and Rose found herself wishing the ground would simply open up and swallow both her and him and the chair that she sat on and he’d tried to duck under.

Bismuth spoke up, grim, every drop of earlier exuberance gone from her. “When the Diamonds look out from the windows of their mansion, they don’t see people. They see tools, toys, and weapons. Nothing else.” She sounded more tired than angry. “It’s just what they’ve always been doing, but writ large.”

---

And then, of course, the Longass PearlRose Fixit because I hate the gag order but at the same time want it gone… slowly and organically. Alternating Rose and Pearl POVs spanning throughout the rebellion era, all sorts of flashbacks and Imagining Things included. At one point they end up attempting to essentially jailbreak Pearl, because Pearl is, as we all know, absolutely the most hardcore. Also thank you SU Movie for confirming all the awful Alexa-flavour fanon/headcanons and giving me an excuse to dive into a bunch of Gems-as-AI tropey stuff, on top of everything. [another previously posted fragment here]

“I don’t want to. I never want to do that to you again.” She stops, takes a breath, reconsiders. “And I know it’s a lot to ask of you, the trust I just… trampled over. So I want to make sure that it’s not just that, you trusting me not to make the same mistake again, with no reassurance anywhere. I—I want to not be able to. Nobody should be able to do that to you.”

“Nobody should be able to do that to anyone,” Pearl corrects readily.

“You’re right,” Rose smiles, only a bit wry, “as always. My brilliant, brilliant Pearl. What would I do without you?”

“Never get back to the point you were trying to make, I imagine,” Pearl quips with something resembling sauciness, and Rose feels at least some of the weight starting to lift off her.

“Right,” Rose agrees, chastised, and tries to focus. “I just… I’m not sure how, or what I need to do at all. It’s not like there’s much precedent – ownerless pearls are unheard of. Even when their owners get shattered, it’s only ever temporary, and, with such high demand, very brief.”

Pearl nods in agreement, and hums. “Luckily, we’ve seen plenty of unheard of and unspeakable things here.”

[echoes of Scabbard convo]

“I want to know, I want to be certain, that you’re here because you want to be.” 

“So do I.” Pearl responds quietly, letting their fingers entwine.

  [Giving an order not to follow orders doesn’t work, failsafes exist. Then they try a sort of ownership transfer thing, and try to make the new owner Pearl. It doesn’t register, “invalid transfer target”, even when Pearl tries to hack it - some odd gem tool that scans and pokes at her gem - she gets all bummed out because she can’t even reprogram a very basic and modifiable handheld tool/device to recognise a pearl as an actual gem and person. What chance does she have against hearts and minds and an entire ingrained culture of an entire sprawling empire?

“You changed my mind,” says Rose all softly and earnestly.

Have I really? Pearl asks herself but doesn’t let it escape out loud. Still. Step by small step, she admits to herself. Incremental, slow, but persistent work. She can do that. Even as down on herself as she is, she can do that.]

“The… the override.” Pearl breathes out suddenly.

“What?”

“The administrative override - you, or, well... Pink Diamond should be able to trigger it, even without a Rejuvenator. We shouldn’t…” Pearl looks strangely scared now, swallowing small gulps before pushing onwards, hands trembling and fingers knotting together, “w-we shouldn’t need a full reset, really, but. But we can try modifying the owner identification...”

Having to… turn into Pink again (turn back into yourself, you mean, a small voice whispers, who are you trying to fool) doesn’t sit well with her, of course, but. Get a hold of yourself, Pearl certainly has it so much worse in this scenario.

[more here about how they both need to kind of “revert” a bit to try this and it sucks, because no! unpleasant poking of holes in the elaborate fantasy! For the greater good, but still.]

And oh, Pearl looks just about ready to either cry with some strange terror Rose has never seen her display, or dissipate her form on the spot - the small dam of coldly throwing around terms like administrative override activation and owner identification variable providing just enough distance for her to carry on.

“It shouldn’t be too risky if we’re… if you’re careful.”

[Pearl trusts her with everything, her literal entire self - with this thing that is such a blatant violation of her being and her person, that she now wants to turn against itself, using one of the most humiliatingly clearly objectifying aspects of her status as an instrument of her liberation. It is all A Lot.]

Rose remembers, also, with a sting, the way she grumbled and sulked over the gaping pit of guilt in her stomach and refused to even look at the glowing, floating shell Blue was so insistently pushing her towards. She wanted her Pearl back, not whatever White and the others had decided to foist upon her now. Not a pale replacement, nothing they deemed suitable.

-

“Please state preferred customisation options.”

“Come on, Pink,” Blue urges, softly but mercilessly as ever, large hands enveloping Pink almost whole from where they’re planted on her shoulders, “White had her specially made, just for you! And we helped as well - only the best for our Pink. Now it’s up to you to put your finishing touches, as is proper-”

“What for? You’ll just take her away when you feel like it anyway,” she grumbles into her arms, curling up on the floor and resolutely refusing to look even as the glow spreads from the corner of her eye, insistent.

Just as insistent as the awfully familiar little voice. “Please state preferred customisation options.”

“I. Don’t. Care!” But now with a newly noticeable, if strained restraint - not, like her usual, punctuated with a slam of her fist on the floor tiles, perfectly shiny and pink. No, she couldn’t- do something like that again-

“Default setting selected. Please stand by.”

Yellow scoffs and moves to leave. “Come on, Blue. No point to us wasting our time being here if she’s just going to throw one of her tantrums.”

But Blue refuses to leave it at that, and makes sure to cut with parting words, before slinking through the large pink doorway. “I am very disappointed in you, Pink. To act like that, and with White personally making sure you got such a lovely gift even after everything...”

“Waste of good nacre, if you ask me,” Yellow muses from somewhere up above. “At least try not to break this one.” 

The glow intensifies with a hum, and Pink screws her eyes shut and pretends not to see or hear anything. 

By the time she opens them again, the others are gone.

But then there is another presence at her side, hovering just behind, as is proper court protocol. The shuffling of tiny, soft slippers on the polished stone - weren’t pearls supposed to be endlessly, effortlessly quiet?

“Leave me alone,” she preempts quietly. The shuffling moves away.

-

“Please identify yourself.”

Calmly, now, calmly but firmly, just like we planned it. Don’t mess this up now. She’s counting on you. She trusts you. “Pearl.”

“Please state preferred customisation options.”

They’ve discussed this too, of course - extensive (over)preparation and planning down to minutiae is Pearl’s go-to at the best of times, and something she clutches at for comfort at the worst of times. And she’s always, to a sometimes comical extent, despised that ridiculous dress. To a wonderful extent, too, all things considered.

“Revert to last implemented appearance.”

“Settings selected. Please stand by.”

[Of course this doesn’t work because all it does is change the $username$ variable, not the actual identity of the person imprinted: it’s still Rose/Pink, she’s just nicknamed “Pearl” now, but she can still give orders and everything.]

[evolves into Pearl literally hacking herself… the most hardcore of modders]

---

Pearl Playing the Field aka “why not hyper-analyze that one brief shot of the notes and phone numbers in Pearl’s gem and write 9 meet-cutes”. Pearl goes out to “find herself”. Whatever that is supposed to mean. Supposed to be set pre-ASPR, but also extends past it. Ended up with some Bispearl in it too because I am predictable and can absolutely not help myself.

“Your hair is wonderful!” She feels like she almost has to shout to be heard over the din of the bar’s ill-chosen soundtrack, and she doesn’t appreciate it. Definitely not one of her favourite places she’s decided to visit recently. And the ventilation is atrocious.

But still, she’s come all this way, so she may as well make the best of it. And while the preoccupation with hairstyles during first meetings seems like a bit of an odd running theme (can it really be termed a running theme, though, if it’s happened all of two times?), it’s certainly worked in the past (recent, very recent, and hardly bursting with relevant instances, Pearl!). Oh, and this particular one is just too fascinating. Approaching a work of art, Pearl would dare say. Especially, well. Especially when paired with the lovely eyes and striking jawline and strong neck it seems to deliberately be drawing attention to.

Pearl leans on the bar, in the bit of space the woman happily makes for her, and tries to look confident and well-informed, but not smug, no, never smug. “I know... about the, uh, goop, of course. I know how one accomplishes this.”

The woman gives a bemused smile. “Thanks! Not too shabby yourself.” She leans in closer. “I'm actually in school for it.”

“School?” Pearl casts desperately back to what she's heard from Steven and Greg's often hasty instruction. That was for educating human children, wasn't it? She'd put one together for Steven that one time, with desks and a blackboard… and Connie attended one regularly...

“Yeah, kind of a late game career change.” Pearl nods along as she realises - or, rather, remembers - she is absolutely terrible at gauging human ages. “But I thought... after almost 30 years in accounting and not going anywhere I wanted to be going... it’s not like we have all the time in the world, right? So I figured, why not? Go for something I'm actually invested in and that I've always wanted to do, y'know?”

“Oh. Oh yes, yes I do.” And for once, she really does. Well, not the time-related bit, perhaps, but the very particular delight of getting to pursue one’s genuine interests after a long while of being denied? Absolutely. “I’ve done something of the sort myself, actually. Go for it! As they, uh, say.”

The dramatic gesture of almost punching the air with a closed triumphant/defiant fist might have been a tad over the top, but it wins her a smile that doesn’t seem unkind. The woman winks and tips her glass at Pearl, then finishes her drink - something sweet-smelling and almost as colourful as her hair.

“I had a classmate do this one for me, and I did hers after.” Pearl is nodding along again, leaning in to hear better as the woman’s voice dips lower. “I kind of like to experiment, push the limits, go wild with it. Hey. You interested? Promise I won’t go too wild on you.”

Pearl's mind goes blank there for a moment. The woman is… very close, and there are unignorable implications unrelated to hair styling so obvious here even she is picking up on them without issue, and the music hasn’t gotten any quieter. Interested in what, exactly, she wants to ask, but she came here for wild new experiences and exciting novelty, didn’t she, so instead comes out with a rather strangled-sounding: “Eughhhhh...uhhh.... Ye...s?”

The woman’s expression goes serious. “Hey, come on, we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

---

Forge Showdown AU - aka in a twist of fate Bismuth poofs Rose during their confrontation and revelations happen that change the course of… well, pretty much everything - one of a bunch of AUs where the PD reveal happens earlier and under different circumstances (I had an idea of doing a 5+1 of those at one point).

The glow of the lava coloured the quickly dissipating smoke more orange-red than pale pink, and Bismuth stared numbly at where their revered leader, Rose Quartz herself, had been standing mere moments ago. She’d lashed out, true, but she hadn’t really been expecting the clumsy blow - more of a warning, or underlining a point in their continued argument-turned-fight - to land. In all their many sparring sessions, Rose had never succumbed to something like that, would have never so much as let it brush against her. But she’d been- frozen, distracted… by what? 

There, scraping softly against the ground as it rolled with leftover momentum...

That was not a rose quartz gem.

Bismuth raked her mind feverishly, thought back through the last few, oddly blurred seconds.

“We’re not using this, Bismuth! It’d make us just as bad as them!”

“No! You’re the one who’s as bad as them- look at you, lording over all of us, thinking it’s your right to command me, order me around, like you’re, what, my diamond?”

It… it had to be some kind of imposter, or spy. Right? Some kind of… awful Homeworld plan, trying to tear the Rebellion apart from the inside. Where was Rose, then? The real one? Captured? Being interrogated somewhere, her whereabouts kept strictly secret to minimise the chance of rescue? Shattered? Impossible, they’d never hear the end of the victorious crowing.

When could it have happened? The last few battles and meetings had been nothing out of the ordinary, and Bismuth couldn’t think of anything odd or off about Rose recently at all. Not a single hint or sign that anything was amiss. Not a single misstep. Homeworld would have trained and conditioned its agents well, but Rose- Rose was singular, and utterly one-of-a-kind, and how could they possibly capture all of it so perfectly-

Bismuth startled out of her thoughts as the beginnings of light seemed to gather in the core of the gem, and all but threw herself onto it, encasing it in a bubble.

Rose was rather special, wasn’t she? And not just in what she said or what she did or how she behaved or what she led and encouraged them to do, but… 

Her endless array of wondrous powers. Her sheer strength, overpowering ruby fusions and quartz battalions alike almost single-handedly. The healing which Bismuth herself had been on the receiving, lifesaving end of countless times. The way she called upon the organic creatures of the planet to fight for her, fighting in their name. And then, her regular absences. The way she seemed to know exactly what the Homeworld troops were up to - that wasn’t just some kind of tactical brilliance.

She dared to look at the gem again. Its hue was changed some by the bubble, but that was still in no way a rose quartz gem. No, it was an altogether different shape, but a terrifyingly familiar one.

But it made no sense!

Bismuth ran a slightly trembling hand down her face.

Pearl. Of course, Pearl would have to know, if anyone. About… whatever this was.

But if this, if she was… her, then Pearl-

Bismuth’s insides twisted in horrible ways as the implications began to flitter through her mind, each one worse than the one before it. There was the old call-and-response ringing in her ears, making her feel disoriented and sick with what had to be the beginnings of anger, could grow into a great fury, leaving her unnecessary breaths ragged: Who do you belong to? Nobody!

But-

Not Pearl, then. At least, not at first. Garnet. Garnet would know, and Garnet could See. They’d get to the bottom of this.

---

A metric ton of rebellion era ficlets, vignettes from my eeeEEeeEEeeEEE Bismuth collection mostly, which I’ve been accumulating since 2016 and have only posted some - Pearl, Rose, Garnet, Bismuth centric, occasionally with my takes on namedropped characters, some of which would now need an update to match actual canon.

Snowflake was there, held in Garnet’s arms. The familiar pattern of white speckles on black skin, the tight silver coils of hair sticking out every which way.

“We got her back. She wanted to see you.”

“Me? And you just listened to her? Are you out of your mind? How can I help? Have you taken her to Rose? If her gem- if she-”

“I’m right here!” Snowflake struggled out of Garnet’s hold, and stood up - wobbly, barely upright, but determined, on those legs that ran circles around Homeworld, and ran interference and messages faster than any Wailing Stone, in a pinch. “And I’m fine!”

“You don’t look fine, Snowy- listen, please just-”

Snowflake walked up to her, not stumbling a single time, and, gritting her teeth, looked right at her. The hairline fractures in her gem were visible from here, and Bismuth couldn’t help a wince. “Snowflake, come on-”

“I didn’t tell them anything.”

Bismuth wanted to clutch her to her chest and scream a thousand things at her, but You don’t have to prove anything to me and I’m proud of you and I’m going to make them pay for ever laying a finger on you all waged a war in her throat.

In the end she just settled on holding her close, very gently, until Garnet left, unheard, and came back with Rose, tears already in abundance.

[Later:] “I never properly thanked you, Garnet. For bringing Snowflake back.”

Garnet shrugged. “It was a group effort.”

-

A familiar voice sounded at the entrance to the Forge. “Now come along, it’s just here. Bismuth? Do you have a moment?”

“You know I always have time for you, Pearl,” she called back, putting her current project away. “What did you nee- oh.”

Bismuth blinked.

“Uh... wow,” was the only thing she could manage as pearl after pearl filed into her Forge, soon taking up most of the space around the anvil in impressively neat rows. “New recruits? A whole bunch of you, too.”

“Yes, well,” Pearl made her way to the front of the group, carefully avoiding brushing against the others on her way. She was fidgeting again, long fingers tangling and untangling rapidly, and that was one sure sign of mounting distress. “Garnet and I had planned out an attack on one of Blue Diamond’s supply lines. There was supposed to be a shipment of weapons coming in today, but it turns out it was… pearls.” 

There was something rather off about Pearl’s tone, too. Bismuth made a note to ask later, and do her best to catch her alone.

“Well, all the better for us. Nice to have you all on board.” Her jovial tone was only slightly forced - the pearls all looked like they clearly needed something resembling friendliness, but their skittishness was palpable. She turned towards a pale green pearl right at the front of the group. “Now, what do I call you?”

There was nothing but mild confusion, vague fear, and general quiet shuffling. “No ideas yet? Don’t worry about it! There’s plenty of time to decide and find something that fits.”

[she does indeed manage to talk to Pearl alone, later]

“What’s the real problem, Pearl? You can’t fool me. I can tell something’s wrong.” 

The rather flimsy front finally crumbled at that.

“I just… we- we took out the citrines they’d sent with the shuttle, and Garnet boosted me up so I could force the hatch open and I did, but then...” Pearl let out a distressed little half-sigh half-sob, one hand gesturing weakly. “They were all looking at me so wide-eyed and...”

She took a moment to at least attempt to collect herself.

“I don’t mind having them here, it’s not that at all. It’s just that… we were standing there, with all these newly-made pearls and… obviously I couldn’t just leave them there, in the middle of nowhere! And after what we did, whoever found them, they’d just have them shattered. Because of me. They were compromised. You’ve heard what they do now, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard. They’re the monsters, Pearl, and it’s not on you. It’s not you doing that to pearls, it’s them.”

“But it is on me! It quite literally is because of me, because of what I did, and continue to do. I made myself visible and played at being important and look what it got us,” Pearl was near tears, a frustrated blue colouring her face, “a handful of runaways and the rest being treated worse than ever.” 

The tears were out in full force after that, and Bismuth put an arm around Pearl’s shaking shoulders. “Hey, hey, none of that.”

“We ended up taking them with us, but it feels like… it feels like I forced them to come here. Is it really any better than what Homeworld does? All I did was say you’re going to be rebels instead of you’re going to serve and they never got a say in anything.”

“Have you asked them?”

“They don’t know what-”

“Hey. Just ask them, okay? Ask them what they want. We can help them either way. Of course I’d love them to stay. But it’s not up to me, and if they want to go to wherever it was they were supposed to go- we can do that, too.”

-

[Rose discovers her healing tears in a dramatic fashion - they come up with the idea to make the fountain - and thanks to Save the Light we have a pretty good idea of who lovingly made all those statues]

She gently wiped away some of the chiselling dust with the flat of her thumb, just like a tear. A magnificent, healing, life-giving tear.

This was familiar work. But with none of the endless chafing, none of the hated reminders of her former station - Bismuth couldn’t find anything in herself but reverence. And… inspiration. She was a Gem, stars knew she didn’t need rest, breaks, anything of the sort, but still - this pace wasn’t something she’d felt driven to in a long, long while. All day under the burning summer sun, and every night under the light of her own gem. All alone, as the sanctuary took form under her hands.

To get the curls just right, tiny detail by tiny detail, somehow communicate the softness of those cheeks in stone… it took drawing upon the very depths of her well of skill, because how else could she ever hope to capture the likeness of someone as extraordinary as Rose Quartz?

With small, careful movements, she formed the roundness of the lips that could spit fiery words of rebellion, inspire like no other, scowl fiercely in the heat of battle, smile contagiously, bellow out an outrageous fireside guffaw, murmur comforts so softly, kiss…

And then she did it again, and again, and again.

[in the end, Rose is presented with a veritable shrine to herself]

“Rose? Is something wrong? You… don’t like it?”

“No, no, Bismuth, it’s… it’s incredible.” The smile Rose turned on her was as beautiful as anything, but it wasn’t hard to notice it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

[hime1993]

Fanfic Asks

1. If you’re an author, how many WIPs do you currently have? (Be honest!): Four...okay, 6, but four for Greys 2. What’s next on your ‘to-read’ list? (Fan fiction or otherwise): I don’t have a to-read list, just whatever strikes my interests 3. Do you prefer canonverse or AUs?: Canon-divergent AUs 4. What fandom’s/ship’s fan fiction do you read the most?: Ummmmm probably Greys/Meddison right now, but sometimes I go into Supergirl/Supercat. It depends on my mood 5. What’s a crackship you love?: Hook/Hood on OUAT or Mark/Derek on Greys (to be clear, I don’t think Mark/Derek is bad and I hardcore ship Slexie) 6. What’s the last thing you read that made you laugh?: Moments in Life by misswritingobsessed  7. What’s the last thing you read that made you cry?: Ummm, I don’t know. I generally don’t read sad fics 8. Bed sharing or roommates AU?: Bed sharing 9. Fake dating or arranged marriage?: Fake dating 10. Mutual pining or enemies to friends to lovers?: Both, starting off as enemies to friends, throw in some mutual pining, to lovers 11. Kid fic or childhood friends?: Childhood friends 12. Friends with benefits or secret dating?: Secret Dating 13. Exes or established relationship?: Established relationship 14. (For authors) Post a line of dialogue from one of your WIPs without context.:  “Did you ever think we’d be this happy?” 15. Post the last line you wrote without context.: “I’ll page you when it’s over.” 16. Describe your WIP that currently has the highest word count.: S9 AU, Jealous!Derek, Meddison endgame 17. Describe a fic that is still in the ‘ideas’ stage.: Swan Queen/Meddison, no magic AU, past Regina/Addison, Swan Queen/Meddison endgame 18. Do you have a fic reading/writing routine?: I generally start a fic, look up information I need on the wikis, read other fics, lose my train of thought, complain to my best friend, and then I write more 19. What’s your favorite character headcanon?: Meredith followed Addison out of the bar in 4x13 and confesses her feelings for her 20. Do you have a favorite fanfic or author? If so, tag them/post a link and share the love!: @lordoflezzies @thecolouryellowandacupoftea @bobbiejelly

[ghoultramp]

the phoenix & the raven [one]

▷       original fiction

↳ content: fantasy, mutual pining, romance, action/adventure, angst

↳ words: 1.2k

⇢ summary: after 10 years of separation, two ex-saviours of the world finally cross paths once again but another big secret could get them both killed.

dark, a once respectable expert swordsman, now a disgraced sellsword manipulated by the capital's government.

rae, a skilled fighter who hung up her sword to tend to her public house, finds herself entangled in his mess.

regrets of confessions of love may never truly have been exchanged, but it was almost an unwritten rule that they were meant to be.

time changes people, and not always for the better.

▷       [ I ] - [ II ] - [ III ] - [ IV ] - [ V ] - [wip]

The backroom muffled the chaos and laughter that carried through from the bar. She was in no mood for it this afternoon. After many long years, she wished her battled-wounded body would acclimate. It was her livelihood.

What else do you do after saving the world? she mused. Her heart felt heavy when she thought of the people she had been so close to, only now...

A knock on the door jarred Rae from her reveries. She turned around to be greeted by her hired barkeep, a giant of a man with a great big beard that was greying, with almost no hair left on his head.

"Come along, miss Rae," he told her, gripping her arm in his large hand, "you're missing all the fun, they're sharing stories again!"

"They had better not tear this place up again, I won't have you holding me back next time," she scolded him. "I love their stories but, goddesses Cedric, I still have to make a profit!" She hung her head, a groaning laugh escaping her lips; if she didn't laugh, she would only cry.

"There's a lad with a lute today, ma'am," he added, as though to justify their antics, leading Rae behind the bar.

"And who's bright idea was this?" she asked, looking out across the bar. The large room was occupied by off-duty knights, the odd mercenary, and the Hunter's Guild, all rather quite intoxicated.

Cedric pointed across the bar to a scruffy looking man, a grizzled beard cast a shadow against his strong jaw and his mussed-up dark hair fell past his shoulders. A battered-looking sword leaned against the wall behind him. Rae cocked an eyebrow at him, her svelte elven ears twitched in anticipation.

"Sing of these deeds, bard," his rough voice called, "I promise you this is one for the ages."

He raised his tumbler, almost empty now, a charming grin painted across his face. He looked over at Cedric and Rae behind the bar and called for another drink.

Rae pushed in front of Cedric and began to pour a drink for this so-called hero. Cedric had known her long enough that, even though she was half his size in both weight and height, he dared not cross her.

"Just a moment!" she called across to the dark stranger in a beautiful sing-song cadence. She turned to Cedric and winked, "No, I think this will be one for the ages, Cedric."

The shadowed man watched her intently as she carried his drink across the tavern. Her short brunette hair was tucked behind her delicate, pointed ears and it swung around her shoulders; her hips swayed back and forth with each step, almost deliberately enticing him. A tender smile graced her rose lips as she set down the fresh tumbler in front of him.

"Pray tell, what deeds are these, good sir?" she asked him, laying the act on thick. She looked back and forth between the arrogant man and the younger boy, his lute held across his body with his fingers ready to strum.

"Well," he began and he lifted the golden liquor to his lips, his eyes never left her, "I saved the world, you know." The young boy sat across the table looked incredulously at him, eyes as wide as saucers. Rae tried not to smirk.

"That's right, miss," he continued. The young boy began plucking at his strings. "Now take note, bard." The older man cleared his throat before continuing this time. Rae bit her tongue at his arrogance. "A great evil once plagued this land and I - the great warrior, Dark - saved my companions from Ralock."

"Ralock, you say?" Rae asked, leaning into him, "and all by yourself?" she feigned a school-girl gasp. She found his over-the-top delivery of the story to be almost charming.

"While he held them captive, I unleashed my great power and saved them and all that you see before you from total annihilation," the bravado was almost vibrating off him as he stretched his arms wide as though he was including the very tavern that she owned.

"A sweet, fair maiden and my best friend both stood no chance against him and his army of demons as we battled to the death."

He pulled the sword onto the table, taking another long swig of his drink; finishing it this time. His rough hands stroked the scabbard, the leather clearly old and worn.

"While my friends cowered in fear, it was up to me to slay the beast king, and this is the sword that dealt the finishing blow," he recounted and then looked at the bard once more. "Her name is Cecilia, take note, lad." His eyes met Rae's as he continued his tale, "I cut through hoards to slay him and strike through his black heart, freeing my friends and the world from his corruption."

He watched her face, waiting for the love and adoration to swell within her. She instead straightened herself upright and placed a hand on her hip.

"That's not quite how I recall it, Dark," she corrected him and watched as several  emotions flashed across his face. First, she noted confusion but soon came the recognition and realization.

"Oh sh--"

Before he could even finish expletive a hard, swift hand came down on the back of his head, his face thumping into the tabletop.

"You are such a liar!" She screamed at him, stealing away his sword and throwing it to the side with ease. "That wasn't even the sword you carried back then, either!"

With his face still planted firmly on the table, his eyes were the only thing that moved to look up at her. He dared not move for fear of another slap, even if he did deserve it. The poor boy with the lute had scurried off and hidden behind the bar with Cedric while the burly men of the Hunter's Guild bellowed their laughter.

"I didn't recognize you," he mumbled, feeling her cerulean eyes glowering at him, "not entirely my fault."

"Where the hell have you been?" she asked, ignoring him. "Don't you dare tell me you've been spouting this nonsense all these years."

"...no?" he hesitated, he knew another hard hit was about to come reigning down on him. Instead, she placed a hand on his shoulder and knelt down to him.

"You're lucky I've mellowed out after all these years," she told him. Dark's eyes darted over to Cedric whose deep chuckle carried across the room. He gulped hard as she walked around to sit opposite him.

He lifted his head while cradling the cheek, a red welt beginning to form where it had made contact with the hard oak. He hadn't remembered her ever hitting him with such force and he winced as he moved his neck to inspect her. He now saw her properly for the first time and he felt his heart ache.

"I'll have to remember that changing my hair is all I have to do to get a guy to forget me," she chuckled, and that hurt him.

"No, I mean..." He stumbled over his words. "You grew up, Rae, you're not that little girl anymore."

"And yet you're still a pain in the arse, Dark."

[desdemonafictional]

Escape Routes

A WIP sequel to "Suzerainity” in which Megatron, amidst the darkest part of the war, chooses the worst possible response to being ghosted by his bf

Zeph asked for this a full ass year ago and it is just NOT cooperating but I do have this much done

---

After the announcement, Starscream removed himself from bridge duty, cut his coms, and made his way down into the bowels of the ship where only the foolhardy bordering on suicidal would dare follow him.

In the past Megatron hadn’t been above making the oblique threat while he held Rung sleeping in his arms. The three of them dirty and spent, Megatron’s fingers moving tender over the fine components of Rung’s little neck, and Megatron’s merciless hint of a smile as he said, “I can take him away from you at any time. Never forget that.”

One more piece of leverage. One more turn of the screw. But that was supposed to be a hostage negotiation--the promise a few years at separate posts until Starscream was sufficiently softened up, appropriately apologetic, willing to come bend his stubborn knee at the foot of the throne again. It wasn’t supposed to be this. 

Worst, that it didn’t have anything to do with Starscream, now that it had happened. He’d been on his best behavior for nearly a vorn now. He’d been sycophantic, almost, purring close and telling Megatron anything he wanted to hear, waiting for the inevitable 

When Rung had first disappeared, Starscream had gone to Megatron and let himself be fragged into the conference table, wings crumpling the maps in stacks beneath him, teeth digging into his lip as he tried to be triumphant. See what you missed Rung? I don’t need you. I’m just fine here, without you, and it’ll be you who’s sorry once you come crawling back.

It was good. He meant, it was fine. He could take a little rough handling. With the way Megatron had torn Rung’s room apart, ripping up the bolted furniture like so much shredded hard copy, Starscream knew he could be rougher. So it was. Fine.

And then when Rung came back, Starscream could flaunt how he’d been so busy, really, he hadn’t even had time to miss Rung. Oh, did you go somewhere? I didn’t notice.

It wouldn’t be long. Sure, he’d been talking about leaving since the night Starscream met him, but that was just what he thought he wanted. He’d cool his heels for a while, somewhere, maybe on a little resort planet somewhere on the other side of the galaxy, and run his little engine hot for a while, get some space. But sooner or later he’d realize that everything he’d worked for was back on the Nemesis, and then he’d come back home.

Nobody really left the Decepticons. You couldn’t. There was nowhere for you to go.

And then….. The announcement.

The first thing that gave Starscream pause was the sight of Tarn stomping through the hallways of the nemesis, like a dust devil ripping lightning and ruin over the Rust Sea. Starscream, himself, had been in a black mood, licking his wounds in the laboratory and soldering together a double barreled monstrosity that would take even Megatron’s helm off given half the chance.  

He’d been awake for three shift cycles, but he couldn’t defrag like this. His quarters would only be a cell block for him. And Rung’s room--just the sight of all the models shattered on the floor, the berth gathering dust--

Megatron had removed the door from the laboratory after the last time Starscream made something that turned out to be a weapon meant for someone decidedly not Megatron. Arming nascent coups and would be traitors was apparently an infraction that required the loss of privacy privileges. So Starscream just flooded the corridor with enough slag-melting exhaust to make any nosey glitches steer clear.

Tarn had passed in front of his lab, which was somewhat remarkable in itself. His heavy footsteps pounded against the floor; his shoulders were hunched, his battle systems were whining with the telltale effort of trying to offline. In the split second that Starscream looked up, pushing his hazard goggles up his helm, Tarn has looked through the doorway and fixed him with a gaze so malevolent, so molten, that it could have melted the components of a genericon. Then he’d lurched forward, and disappeared out of view, the fragging crankshaft.

Despite his best efforts, Starscream’s processor wouldn’t turn off. The squeals of metal grinding metal couldn’t even deafen out the running loops--no amount of scorched fingers of singed vents could break the grip of clawing, furious dread in his sublevels. He’d stood there, measuring lengths of coil, and all the while his blasted processor had begun to say, why is Tarn throwing such a glitch fit?

And he had fed copper wire into duct after duct, as his processor said to him, Tarn just got to rip the spark out of the only mech in the galaxy he hates more than me. Why does he look like Megatron just refused to spit in his mouth?

Despite himself, Starscream bared his fangs at the work table. “Not tonight sweetie,” he giggled, “I’m tired.”

He reached for the soldering iron. 

Tarn’s had a hate-on for Rung since before Megatron even brought the DJD together. Spark, strike, seal. 

It’s barely been days since Megatron announced the termination. Spark, strike, seal. 

Tarn would have come in his panels at the mere thought of finally getting his hands on Megatron’s pet moderate. Spark, strike, seal. 

You saw Tarn before the announcement too, didn’t you? Wasn’t he just as unpleasant then as he was just now? 

The second barrel slotted into the completed gun with a firm sharp click. But Starscream wasn’t even looking at the gun. He was looking at the doorway, and past that, into a cold and merciless universe, a dark and pitiless galaxy.

“He’s not dead,” Starscream said, and knew that it was true.

[amandaoftherosemire]

Lightning Strikes -- Part Fifteen

Fandom: Marvel Avengers AU

Pairing: Thor Odinson X Reader (Series)

Characters: Loki Odinson

Author: @amandarosemire

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4,102

Format: Series WIP

Warning: Angst, language, more Loki.

Summary: You try to get a straight answer out of Loki about what is happening to you. Loki doesn’t totally lie his ass off, for once.

A/N: Loki strikes again and derails my plans for this story. The human tendency for dual-mindedness is an amazing thing. Knowing that I’m in control of all of this does not in any way lessen the feeling that Loki is an active participant in the writing process with his own agenda. He’s such a pain in my ass. The point is that I was planning to move on from Loki, and back to Thor (finally) but Loki’s not having it, apparently. Ugh. Prima donna.

<Lightning Strikes -- Part Fourteen here

 Caustic

When you awoke a couple hours later, you found yourself laying along Loki's side, your head pillowed on the once again pale skin of his chest. With one arm, he cradled you easily against his still cold body, but in his other hand he held a book. Propped up against the mound of pillows at the head of his bed, he looked so serene in this moment, you found yourself reluctant to disturb him.

Loki was feeling serene, content in a way he couldn't ever remember feeling before. Such things weren't generally in his nature, but the sensation of your body resting against his in sleep was both sweet and satisfying. Regardless of your exhaustion, he knew you would never allow yourself this vulnerability unless you trusted him, at least, to not harm you. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

He'd been more honest with you today than he had been with anyone in a long time. When you'd lost your temper the moment you'd laid eyes on him, it had taken everything he had to keep silent and still. He'd felt oddly obligated, however, to let you vent your anger; he couldn't deny you had a right to far more than merely a few slaps. Keeping that in the forefront of his mind had made it easier to bear the brunt of your hatred.

What made it most difficult was that he'd wanted you the moment he'd opened the door to see you, all of you, standing on the other side. With the real, whole you looking out at him, all he could imagine was placing his lips on yours, breathing your breath. Holding himself back from snatching you up into his arms, stopping himself from using the cold to seduce you into moaning mindlessness, had been excruciating. Loki was not used to denying himself what he wanted. Only the way he felt about you, the twinge of remorse he felt at the things he had done to you, restrained him.

He had been utterly sincere when he'd expressed both empathy and remorse for your heartbreak. He had no interest seeing you hurt, had genuinely not cared how you amused yourself with your boyfriends. Even should you choose to extend that amusement out for the length of their lifetimes, the prospect didn't give him pause. Loki had plans for the two of you that would take decades to come to fruition. He had plenty of time. 

He felt the change in your body signaling the end of your nap and his reprieve. He wondered how you'd surprise him now.

"Oh. Boo." You murmured it, the dismay ripe in your voice, when his gaze flicked from his book to you, emerald green caressing your face. "The Pretty Lying Bastard is back."

"What does that mean, my love?" He couldn't stop himself from smiling at the acerbic tone to your voice. He’d always liked you best when you were strong and sarcastic.

The smile fell from his lips when you pushed yourself to a sitting position, bringing yourself closer to eye level with him. You turned to fix him with a bleary-eyed, yet still suspicious glare. "I like Loki better blue and honest," you replied, your voice rough from sleep, but utterly serious in tone.

"The two are not related." As often happened, Loki's mood flipped, and his voice turned dark and cold. You ignored it, merely lifting a brow in response, unafraid of his moods or whims. You had seen the bottom of the well of grief. Loki had no more power to harm you mentally or emotionally and he was entirely too concerned with your well-being to be willing to harm you physically. You wondered if you were building an immunity to his poison.

Even if you were, it didn’t change all of the other things tearing at your heart. You sighed, still heartsick at the loss of your boys, certain you still would be in those thousand years. You knew now why you'd been so certain you couldn't resist Loki. Not because you lacked the willpower, or the inclination, but the incentive.

Part of you had known you couldn't keep them, had acknowledged it even as you'd ignored that the potion had destroyed that chance; you'd wanted that life badly enough to lie to yourself. You couldn't blame Loki when you'd known better from the beginning but had ignored what you didn’t want to see.

"I never thought for a moment that they were." Your lips curved slightly, and your tone remained mild, though the melancholy was an undercurrent to every word. You were calm and cool once more. Whether that was the cold, the purge of emotion, the nap, or a combination of all three you weren't sure and didn't care. All that mattered was that you were back in control.

"Get off your high horse,” you sneered as you rolled your eyes and snagged one of the fifteen or so blankets tossed across the bed. Reclining against the pillows next to him, you went on airily, "The only two times I've seen your blue form was when I was about to die. It's not my fault that makes you feel guilty enough to stop lying for five damn minutes." As you spoke, you covered up and got comfortable, intending to get as much information as possible out of Loki while he still had that guilt nipping at his memory.

"What is this?" You tilted your head when Loki tossed his book aside as he turned to his side to face you, propping his head on one hand. The nonchalant way you reacted to his true form made him tremble deep inside. He ignored the feeling, telling himself he’d think about it later. He’d much rather focus on the casual demeanor you’d adopted now.

"This is not humor," as he spoke his eyes searched your face, seeking to understand what mood you’d come to, "nor is it hate." His hand came up, fingers whispering across your cheek as his lips curved slightly. "I hope it isn't surrender."

Your hand came up to swat his away. "Shut up." When his grin flashed, your eyes narrowed. "This is a détente, a temporary truce while I recuperate." Now that you weren't exhausted, you were having a harder time ignoring the cold beckoning from Loki's body.

The sensation of his fingers on your skin had pleasure immediately singing in your mind; you'd had to knock his hand away, too easily swayed by the cold. You could still feel it emanating from his body, even through the space between you, and the temptation to coil and curve around him was painful. "I am so angry at you, Loki." Your voice was hot and harsh with banked rage, but you didn't know if you spoke to inform him or remind yourself.

"As well you should be," Loki replied, his eyes glittering. The urge to touch you was nigh overwhelming, but you'd made your preference clear. "I have been callous with you, thoughtlessly cruel.” That glitter softened with what looked like real remorse. “I am sorry, my love. I… miscalculated.”

"And that is the reason for the détente." You sneered, thinking his choice of words was telling. That it sounded like a 'sorry you got offended' kind of apology made it easy to brush aside. "You are, at least, saying that you're sorry. Even if you don't mean it, it’s a pleasant lie.”

Loki's eyes flashed in what looked a lot like hurt and insult, and you felt guilty for being cruel. The next moment, you were swamped by a wave of resentment at the very idea that you should feel guilty for anything when it came to Loki.

The mood swings were swiftly making you tired all over again. You sighed, certain you wouldn’t get a straight answer but needing to try. “Why, Loki? Why did you do this to me? I could have been happy with my boyfriends,” you used his snotty intonation on the word, “for a normal, human lifetime and never looked back.”

“Oh, please,” he rolled his eyes and flopped onto his back, impatient with the very idea. “I’m making you a goddess and you’re complaining about lost nights in front of the television with the soldiers.”

“Well, we do TV night a little different,” you purred smugly, testing his statement regarding jealousy even as your heart ached.

The arched brow he shot your way as he put his arms behind his head told you he knew to what you were referring. You, Steve, and Bucky hadn’t yet made it through a movie without someone’s wandering hands diverting everyone’s attention. You wondered which evening he’d peeked on; their couch had been the site of any number of deliciously debauched scenes, the fulfillment of your fantasy regarding Steve in your mouth while Bucky fucked you from behind, for instance.

“Yes," he said, amused, "I have inadvertently checked on you while you were occupied with your boyfriends." His face spread in a mischievous, appreciative grin. "You are… enthusiastic, and highly entertaining.”

“Pervert.”

Loki frowned, not at the insult, but at the mild tones and almost affectionate smile with which you softened it. You'd decided to try a more conciliatory attitude, for the moment at least, in the hopes that you could charm him into giving you more information on your current predicament.

Rather than approach your confusing mood directly, Loki opted to go along with it. “If you were in my shoes," he retorted, turning back to his side to face you, one arm under his head, one arm coming down to drape over his waist, a smile starting to play around his lips, "and you happened upon a scene such as that, tell me you would have turned and left immediately.” The mocking doubt in his tone made it clear what answer he expected.

Your lips twitched as you deliberately drug your eyes from the fascinating play of muscle in his arms and chest as he moved, turning to your side to blink at Loki, your expression innocent as a summer sky. “Of course I would.” Your voice could not have been more surprised, as though you were shocked at the very idea that you would violate someone's privacy, even for a moment.

Loki’s eyes narrowed. When you'd turned your face to his, the sweetness of having you, the whole you, in his bed rocketed through him so that he couldn't look away. You were gazing into him with such intensity, he couldn't help but wonder what you saw when you looked at him.

“Liar.”

His voice held such a wealth of offense in that one quiet word, you couldn’t help but burst out laughing. He was right; you probably wouldn’t have stopped watching right away, either, no matter how your conscience complained.

The sight of you dissolving into laughter made his heart flutter in his chest. He'd missed you more than he liked to admit. He wasn't entirely certain he hadn't ended the spell simply because he couldn't stand being without you another moment.

“Besides, it was more entertaining than watching Thor mope around about you, again, still." He dismissively waved the hand not under his head, but you could swear you caught a touch of censure in his gaze and wondered at it. "Are you ever going to put him out of my misery and end it, once and for all? Or are you going to keep him on a lead for the foreseeable future?"

"I'm not keeping hi--" You cut yourself off, knowing he was trying to draw you into an argument, but unwilling to oblige when you saw no reason for it, especially when you didn’t have the high ground. "That’s bait." You said it firmly, determined to not get sidetracked. You had far more important things to discuss with Loki and your relationship with his brother was not one of them, if for no other reason than it was none of his business. "Go back to the part where you’re ‘making me a goddess.’ The fuck does that mean?"

Loki was amused, but mostly with himself. He'd considered you formidable when you still somewhat trusted him. Now that he'd lost that tenuous faith, you were that much more difficult to distract. Nothing less than a measure of the truth would satisfy you in this mood. He shrugged inwardly; it wasn't as though you hadn't more than earned it.

"On Jotunheim," he sighed, reluctantly, "they have their own goddesses." You felt as though every atom of your body was focused on Loki. You could hear the ring of truth in his voice and wondered if you'd finally reached something real. You could see in his eyes the shine of genuine emotion, and you'd swear it looked like pain. "The tears of a goddess of ice, of grief, from a land of perpetual winter, are the foundation of the potion I gave you."

He continued to lay, lazily indolent, even as you lifted to a sitting position, though he rolled to his back to keep facing you. You stared at him, propped against overstuffed pillows, amongst the lush green silk and golden velvet indulgence of his bed, looking as relaxed as any pampered prince, but you could see the tension in the fine tremor almost hidden in the flutter of his eyelashes. He smiled in an attempt to mask the nerves he felt at the look on your face, irritation flaring your nostrils.

"Loki." You closed your eyes in sheer frustration. Even when Loki seemed to be telling the truth, he had to be overdramatic about it. "Will you, please," the word held an ocean of repressed aggravated rage, "stop dicking around for five fucking minutes and tell me what’s fucking happening to me?"

Loki could tell by the increase in your Fucks Per Minute that you were at the edge of your patience. His eyes unfocused as he remembered a world scoured by ice, where he'd found his own loss and betrayal. He lifted his hand to trace the line of your jaw in regret for how he'd treated you. "'A drop, and an hour is a day. My Lady's tears slow the fastest fluttering heart.'" When your jaw locked and your eyes widened in the first red flag that you were five seconds away from losing your temper again, Loki spoke quickly to head off your rage. He was concerned that another bout of either fury or tears would break you entirely.

"The truth, my love, is that I’m not entirely sure." He held up his hands in surrender, trying to keep you calm as he explained. "If I had been the first and only person to touch you after you took the potion, things would have been very different. Instead…" He shrugged and put those hands behind his head, trailing off rather than mention, yet again, your habit for unpredictability.

You ignored him, your frustration forgotten as your mind clicked into gear, making logical leaps and connecting dots of information. "Thor," you murmured as you thought of the night you took the potion, the memory of Thor's glowing eyes and the feeling of electricity dancing over the surface of your skin, your heart racing in response. Your eyes lifted and narrowed on Loki's face, still on guard against a lie. "The lightning."

Loki loved watching your mind work, adored seeing how easily you grasped what he didn't say, though the quickness of your brain caused him no end of trouble. It was abundantly clear how little you trusted him, though he could hardly blame you for it. Still, he missed the days when you’d both enjoyed the playfully adversarial tone of your friendship, hated that you now found his presence painful.

He could also see clearly how difficult he would find it to convince you of any of that. Thanks to that agile mind, the excuses and rationalizations he could offer for why he acted both for you, but also, admittedly, in his own self-interest, would fail to persuade, no matter how silver-tongued he was purported to be. He reminded himself that he had a very long time to worm his way back into your good graces, however, starting with a little honesty.

"You are becoming a goddess," he explained, adoring the expression of reluctant fascination moving over your face, "mostly of ice, but you may need more than cold to become everything you could be." He loved how you listened to everything he both said and didn't say and wondered when you'd come back to the part about a 'goddess of grief', worried about when you'd connect that to some of the other things he'd done.

Loki's mouth spread in a charmingly wicked grin when you shot him a suspicious look, unsure he was saying what you thought when it seemed like exactly the kind of thing he would lie about, but rather to hide the information, not reveal it. He seemed to be suggesting that you seek out Thor's lightning the way you sought his own cold. You didn't get a chance to think further about it, however, because he was suddenly surging upward to take your shoulders in his icy hands.

"My turn," he growled, emerald green piercing as his gaze searched your face. "Why didn’t you have the oaf break the spell?" He spoke quickly, while you grappled with the other things he'd confessed, in the hopes that he could catch you off guard.

You blinked at him, surprised by the question, though you'd wondered if he'd suspected you'd been planning on going to Thor as a last resort. You decided to give him the very thing he hoarded like gold, the unvarnished truth, despite how vulnerable it made you feel. "I didn’t want to have to escape. I wanted you to let me go."

Loki's hands tightened around your shoulders, an angry scowl darkening his features as he pulled your face closer to his. "Why?"

The harsh tone to his voice, hurt barely masked by confusion, softened your fury with him by an iota. It was enough that you continued to give him the truth, despite knowing it would only encourage him. You sighed, irritated with yourself for being too easily swayed where your heart was engaged. "Because I wanted to be able to forgive you someday."

The grip Loki had around your upper arms loosened in surprise. As soon as he was no longer holding you upright, you let yourself fall back onto the bed. You lay against the mound of pillows, throwing your arm over your eyes to hide, whether from Loki or yourself you weren't sure anymore.

You lay there, in silence, tired, heartbroken, and frustrated with the both of you. You didn't know who was irritating you more at the moment, Loki for being Loki or yourself for being entirely too susceptible to him. Between the love you couldn't kill and the cold you couldn't resist, you couldn't make yourself get out of the damn bed and leave already. Hell, at this point, you weren't certain whether the cold or the man held more allure for you. Either way, you couldn't find it in yourself to walk away.

The cold alone was nearly irresistible, especially after such a long time between treatments. You wondered if the potion had given you an addiction to the arctic sensations that ran over your skin every time he touched you. If so, you were afraid you were a full-blown junkie, and Loki was, unfortunately, your dealer.

Also like a drug, something about the cold made you feel better, even from a distance. You studiously ignored the voice in your mind that suggested it would feel better if you got closer.

You made yourself stay in place, refused to allow yourself to turn to Loki for comfort, to let him touch you. You knew better, knew that taking comfort from him was dangerous territory, the first step to allowing yourself to trust him. Trusting Loki, even a little, was the fastest way to ruin. You knew all of that, but the seemingly genuine remorse, seemingly genuine pain, was lowering your defenses.

That Loki seemed genuine in general made you wonder if you'd finally gotten something resembling truth for once. Attempting to distract yourself from the ache around your heart at the thought, you tried to catalogue what Loki had told you versus what you believed to be the truth beneath it.

According to Loki, and your gut that he was being honest in this one case, you needed the cold to stay alive. And, as heartbroken as you were, grieving the end of your love affair with Steve and Bucky, you wanted to stay alive.

You'd also learned that Loki's potion had not gone according to his original plan, thanks to your drunken shenanigans, though he was being annoyingly vague as to how. You couldn't be even a little sad to hear it, no matter how it complicated things. You much preferred it, and him, when he wasn’t entirely in command of a situation.

Your occasional penchant for contrariness had also given you unexpected leverage against Loki in this battle of wits and wills. He'd tried to sideline his brother at the beginning of the game, but you'd found a way put him back in, intentionally or not. If you knew Thor at all, and you did, he'd be delighted to be the stick you used to beat Loki over the head. The part that puzzled you was why Loki had admitted to it.

Almost everything Loki had said and done over the course of this strange afternoon puzzled you, actually. Though you had often suspected him of half-truths during the course of your confrontations, you didn't get the impression that he had straight-up lied at any point. You knew him to be a dangerously accomplished liar, however, so you couldn't be sure that he hadn't simply succeeded in deceiving you.

Whatever he might believe, he had not succeeded in deceiving you regarding the importance of his admission that the potion had farther reaching effects than simply extending your life. You had no doubt now that he had far more ambitious plans for you than he was willing to admit. He had no need to make a goddess of one he only wanted as a pet.

Loki's sigh of sadness broke your concentration, but you didn't move your arm from where it hid your eyes from his frustratingly impenetrable gaze. You reminded yourself that you had plenty of time now, both for self-reflection and for discovering and foiling Loki's plots and schemes.

Right now, it all sounded exhausting.

"I have a confession," Loki said, softly. He paused, unsure, until you uncovered your face and looked at him, your expression serious, but calm. "I have to admit that I lied earlier.” The sheepish grin that touched his mouth would have amused you once.

“You?" You gasped slightly, laying your hand over your heart, the sarcasm thick. "Lied? Say it ain’t so.”

He continued to smile, though the corners were touched with the same sadness that you'd heard in his sigh. You realized, as your heart hurt a little in response, that it didn't seem to matter how angry you were with him, you still didn't like to see him in pain.

Loki laid down next to you on his back, the ache in his throat making it too difficult to look at you any longer. The sight of you amongst the pillows and blankets of his bed where he'd had you over and over again, yet still as untouchable to him as ever, cut him to the quick. He didn't know how to tell you, or if he even should, that he'd do it differently, perhaps be more honest with you, if he had it to do over again.

He pushed that thought aside. He didn't believe in looking behind him, long ago accepting that there was no going back, only forward, damn the consequences.

“I am a little jealous of your boyfriends." You thought he was using his mockingly bored tone at first and considered hitting him for bringing up Steve and Bucky again. You turned your head, a sneer forming on your face until you saw he was studiously not looking at you, keeping his gaze on the ceiling above him. "I only touched the shell." Your eyes narrowed at the wistful sound to his voice. "They get all of you. I cannot help but wonder what that’s like.”

“Take your other form and I’ll show you.”

Lightning Strikes -- Part Sixteen here> (Coming soon!!)

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