#wild horses fic

[delta-pavonis]

Fic Update: wild horses Chapter 5

Dreamling (human AU - motorcycles & bikers) || Rated E || in progress

Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bikers, motorcycles, motorcycle sex, leather, leather jacket, leather pants, gay bar, gay biker bar, secret identity, a little bit of queer history, Laramie Wyoming, crush at first sight, banter, developing relationship, light Dom/sub, fantasizing, kissing, Hob and Jo are BFFs, unhinged Dream, hand jobs, cum eating, implied/referenced sexual assault, Dream has trauma from being imprisoned by you-know-who, celibacy, orgasm control, phone sex, nocturnal emissions, masturbation, begging, dirty talk, mention of forced prostitution, implied murder

When he picks up the phone Hob’s voice comes through, heavy and sleep-rough, before he can even say ‘hello.’ “I dreamt of you.”  Dream is awake and hard in an instant. 

Read on AO3

[novella-b]

“Thank you for doing all this,” Remus whispered close to his ear.

A chill ran down Sirius and his eyes fluttered shut, only for a moment. “For doing what?”

“This. Throwing the party.”

“You don’t hate it?”

“Hate it?” Remus scoffed as if the mere thought left a bad taste in his mouth. “No, Sirius, I love it.”

That was a relief. For a second there, he wasn’t sure. “Did you really think I wasn’t going to do anything for your special day?”

“I guess I should’ve expected this, huh?”

Sirius ran a hand down his chest, placing it over his heart. “You deserve to be celebrated, Remus.”

Chapter 10 is hereeeeee!! get it while it’s hot!

[buffaluff]

🏜️ your fingerprints smeared on my heart 🏜️

🌵🌌(lead me back to you)🌌🌵

finished prompt fill for @911Actions gotcha for gaza for buckalvarez, they asked for something based off of THE cowboy reincarnation fic by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.

while the event is over, the need for donations and action doesn’t stop! so please continue to help families in need 💖🍉

[tenderhooked]

no sentence sunday because i think. i THINK. i’m gonna post the first chapter of camcorder today :D

[thecrimsonvalley-creates]

~ Blunt beat of a heart ~ *claws my way out from under my rock* Can I interest you all in some Burakovsky? Here it is!

[bohemian-rhapsody-in-blue]

Beboptober 2024 Day 2: Crash

Thanks to @bebopcrew for the prompt list! This one takes place about ten years before the events of the series, and slightly before Spike joined the Syndicate—I used this timeline from The Cowboy Bebop Attic, which places Spike’s Syndicate years at about 2061-62 to 2068. This fic turned out WAY longer than I planned, and I stayed up WAY later to write it than I'd hoped, so apologies if some of it makes no sense at all, but I had fun with it!

Okay, so technically speaking, Spike didn’t have a real spaceship’s license yet. And technically speaking, this wasn’t even his ship. One could even say he’d stolen it. But did it really count when it was from the garage of one of those crazy Martian billionaires who probably had fifty identical, sleek and newly-purchased ships in their garage? They wouldn’t notice this one was missing at all.

Spike had engaged in petty thievery before, sure, but this was different. This was the big leagues. A ship of his very own—now that he’d wiped the tracking and identification as best he could with his shoddy, hodgepodge tech skills—opened up whole new worlds to him, literally. After seventeen years of being stuck on Mars, hopping ineffectually from city to city whenever he could hitch a ride, he’d crossed a Hyperspace Gate for the very first time and, after some annoying waiting, was by a whole new planet in a matter of minutes.

Once he arrived, it was an adventure in itself to try and navigate the overlarge ship past all the debris and space junk that circled Earth, almost like an old video game. And then he could see it, the pockmarked blue marble floating in space. A whole new planet. Although he was alone, he couldn’t help but give a low whistle at the sight. He wasn’t given to poetry, but he had to admit a sight like this would be breathtaking to anyone.

And the flying itself! Okay, so technically he’d never been in a ship’s cockpit before, but it wasn’t too hard to figure out the controls. He’d driven a car, and the mechanics of this weren’t too different. But flying? It was light-years away from driving.

He loved everything about it: the way the stars raced past him in the cockpit window, the whooshing sensation of freefall in his stomach as he dipped and glided and spun just for the hell of it, the way the ship responded beautifully to his every little touch to propel him faster and faster into the darkness as he whooped in delight. The way no one could find him or catch him way out here. It was freedom, so much more than he’d thought he’d had before on the streets, so much more than he’d even thought possible. It awakened dormant parts of him he didn’t even know existed.

It was bliss.

That is, until he pushed too hard and too fast—or maybe the dumb ship’s controls responded too well—and found he’d somehow fucked up. The ship was rapidly losing power and altitude, careening down towards Earth.

Shit, shit, shit! Spike wrenched at the controls and pushed frantically at all the buttons he could reach, pretty much at random, trying desperately to silence the beeping warnings that flashed all around him in the cockpit. And maybe it slowed down his entry speed a little. But it didn’t stop the warning signs from flashing faster and faster and more urgently, and for Earth’s surface to grow larger and larger below him. And eventually all Spike could do was curl up in the cushy pilot’s seat and brace for impact as best he could.

The ship crash-landed at what had to be a horrific angle, leaving a trail of cratered dirt and debris up until its final resting point. Rocks and detritus rained down, marring the ship’s perfect surface and adding another strain to the deafening noise. Airbags deployed all around Spike, burning against his skin. For the first few minutes, Spike wasn’t entirely certain he’d survived.

Figures. My first-ever real taste of freedom, and I almost die not even twenty-four hours in.

Well, if he really was dead, at least they couldn’t catch him for stealing that ship.

~~~~~

Of course, after a while Spike had to realize that he was, in fact, alive, and unfurl himself from the ruined cockpit to clean up his mess.

The trip had been pretty impulsive, and he didn’t know what, exactly, he’d been expecting to find on Earth, but he had expected to return to his home planet eventually. He knew that owning a spaceship of his own could open up a lot more opportunities to get money and power and a bit of food in his stomach. It could even make him look more attractive to some of the bigger crime syndicates on Mars, even if he still had to start out as a grub doing all the grunt work. At least they’d consider him.

But for that, his spaceship had to be working. And as he surveyed the ship, having extricated himself from the wreckage and now looking up at it with arms akimbo, he figured that his hodgepodge tech skills wouldn’t be of much help here at all.

At least it wasn’t on fire. Maybe a better mechanic could somehow revive it, even if they had to replace all its parts one by one, like that old Earth story about the wooden boat. It would be better than no ship at all, especially if it made him harder to catch by the guy he’d stolen the ship from.

He should be as destroyed as the ship, he thought. He really shouldn’t have survived that crash. Maybe he had a lucky star up there, somewhere, watching out for him.

Somehow, he doubted that.

There was only one thing he could do. He hated feeling dependent like this, and if it didn’t work pretty soon, he may as well pack up and set out on his own—find some decent food and shelter, try his luck on Earth, maybe eventually find a way back home, such as that home was. But for now, he let out a defeated sigh, leaned against the ship’s ruins, and held up one thumb.

He saw rockets taking off in the distance; he heard the distant purr of cars’ engines. There had to be someone willing to pick him up eventually and take him to a place where his ship could maybe get fixed. If his lucky star was still watching out for him. If it even existed at all.

~~~~~

“This isn’t getting fixed today, kid.”

“Whaddya mean?” Spike scowled at the mechanic—Doohan, according to his assistant who’d driven Spike here—an old, cantankerous-looking guy with goggles perched on top of his wild gray hair. Every part of his clothing was either singed or actively smoking. He’d thought a guy like this could bring his ship back to life right away, as if by magic.

Doohan was still peering around the ship with an appraising eye, examining the mangled remains of its dashboard, the hunks of metal that used to be its hull. “I can keep it here and modify it. Or, if it turns out to be truly useless, save it for scrap. But if you were planning to be out of here in an hour and race home on this pretty little number, that’s not happening.”

“But—but the person who drove me here, your assistant—Jimmy or something—he said you were the best mechanic this side of the planet. He said you could work miracles.”

The man snorted and turned away. “Flattery like that is exactly why he won’t last around here.”

Even though the news was a disappointment, Spike honestly kind of appreciated that Doohan wasn’t bullshitting him. And obviously, the guy knew ships. As Spike gazed around the hangar, he saw several ships of all sorts—some that must have been historical artifacts from the early days of hyperspace gates, some brand-new ones like the one Spike had just crashed—in varying states of repair. One, a half-finished model with a slender red body and a long nose, particularly caught his attention. Surprisingly, some sort of looked like what he had originally expected: old relics, nursed back to health. He wondered how many of those could actually fly. He wondered what it would feel like. Already, his hands itched for the controls of a spaceship again, any spaceship.

“It’s been through quite a crash,” Doohan said, squinting up at Spike from the other side of the ship. “Where’d you get a ship like this? Only to junk it up right away?”

Spike had long since learned that the best response to questions like this was to stay silent, so that’s what he did.

“Rather not say? Okay. What’d you do to crash it?”

Simple as possible. “I went too fast.”

Doohan grunted. “Seen that before. Teenage boys who think they know everything. They always think they’re invincible.”

Something about that smarted. It hit Spike in the chest, white-hot on his already-frayed nerves.

Doohan turned back to the wreckage. “They always eventually get cut down to size.”

Spike felt his hands involuntarily balling into fists.

“You think I’m some privileged little rich boy?” he said, and it came out as an unexpected growl. “I sure as hell know I’m not invincible. I’m from Mars, I just got here. I’ve got no family. I’ve been cut down to size plenty of times in my life.” His voice was getting louder, more insistent. “I need a ship, any ship. I can work off whatever debt I owe to you. But don’t go thinking I did this just for the hell of it!” His last words were a yell, echoing in the silence.

Doohan just grunted again, not looking up. Silence fell once again for a while as he fiddled with the inside of the ship, tinkering with his tools. Spike’s breaths came out shuddery, but slowing.

“I think something was fucked up with the accelerator,” Spike said, quieter this time. “It was my first time piloting a ship and I went through a Gate no problem, I could do loop-de-loops and shit, and I guess I went a little overboard. But I barely touched that pedal thing and next thing I knew I was crashing here. I think I could do better with another craft.” He looked up at Doohan, choosing his next words with caution. “Or if I could find out how this one worked. How ships work. And how to fly them for real.”

Doohan inspected a panel of metal sheetwork on the side of the ship, his face inscrutable.

“That was you,” he finally said. “Doing the loop-de-loops in the sky. That was you.”

“Uh, yeah.” Damn. Spike hadn’t been as surreptitious with that stolen craft as he thought.

“And you say that was your first time ever piloting a ship?”

“Yeah,” Spike said again.

Doohan made eye contact with Spike for the first time. “How’d you feel when you were up there?”

“Uhhh…good? Happy?” Dammit, Spike wasn’t good with talking about feelings or whatever, and Doohan looked thoroughly unimpressed with his attempts. He didn’t even really know why Doohan was asking about it, but he could tell there had been something different, something distinctive, about that feeling. He racked his brain for the right word to describe how it had felt, soaring through the stars.

“Free,” he finally said. “I felt free.” He cupped his hands as if around the controls in a ship’s cockpit, and he felt his eyes narrowing in determination. “I wanna feel that way again.”

Doohan nodded slowly, then put his hand on what used to be the hull of the ship. “New ships like this, they tend to be trigger-happy. They advertise responsiveness, they say they’re user-friendly, and then they go way too far with it.” Spike nodded. Reminded him of some people he knew back on Mars. “You’ve got some natural talent,” Doohan continued. “But if you want to learn how to fly a ship right, you have to know how it works. You either work for the machine, or it works for you.”

Spike nodded again, at first slowly, but then with more determination. He could do that. In fact, the thought excited him. Something to fill his days that wasn’t petty crime and rooting around for his next meal. Something that actually felt purposeful. Like he was born for it.

Doohan looked over the ships in the hangar, appearing contemplative. “Been working on fixing up that old MONO racer for a while now,” he finally said, gesturing to the red ship that had caught Spike’s attention earlier. “Now, get me a 3/8 gauge from the toolbox in my office.” He turned to the assistant, who’d been leaning against the car he’d driven Spike in and watching the conversation with interest. “Jimmy, you’re fired.”

“Aw, man,” the assistant said, staring down at his sneakers. “Mom’s gonna kill me.”

~~~~~

Spike had worked for Doohan for a few months now, learning the ins and outs of amateur spaceship repair, not to mention how to actually pilot different types of crafts so they wouldn’t crash. Over the course of weeks, they’d watched ships transform from beaten-up hunks of junk, or broken-down relics that belonged to a museum, to actually usable, sometimes even restored to their former glory. It was a hell of a hobby, but no one could say Doohan wasn’t passionate about it. He worked from sunup to long past sundown, through mealtimes and rock showers and explosions that signed off his eyebrows. And, Spike had to admit, it was gratifying seeing their progress every day and week, bit by bit.

Spike had memorized every tool Doohan owned, where to get or borrow the ones he didn’t, and which ones just flat-out didn’t exist. He was used to getting barked at by his boss, sent on so many impossible tasks and wild-goose chases that he could no longer count them, sometimes having sharp implements thrown at him. (He’d learned to only piss Doohan off when he was holding something soft like a newspaper.) But he’d managed to avoid getting unceremoniously fired, like poor Jimmy. Or quitting, like a lot of assistants in Doohan’s past apparently had.

It wasn’t like Spike wasn’t used to rebukes or harshness. In fact, he kind of appreciated that Doohan didn’t baby him. And he thought maybe Doohan respected that he didn’t crumple under the pressure—although that may just have been wishful thinking on his part.

Still, after a few months of practice, even Doohan couldn’t find fault with the way he flew. (Or at least not very much fault.) The controls felt natural in Spike’s hands, like an extension of himself. He could effortlessly swoop and dive through the sky, at least in Earth’s atmosphere, as easily as moving his own body. And no matter how often he set off from the hangar with a whoosh, or how often he practiced all the proper measurements and calculations to land the way Doohan had showed him, it still felt just as freeing as it did the first time. It gave him a strange, bright sense that maybe he could do more when he got back to Mars. Maybe he could have an actual future.

But it still caught him completely off-guard when Doohan took a satisfied look at the newly-refurbished MONO racer—the Swordfish II, he’d called it (Spike decided not to ask what had happened to the Swordfish I)—and declared, “It’s yours now.”

“M-mine?” Spike babbled, like some sort of idiot.

Doohan nodded quite sensibly, as if this were the only logical option and any idiot would understand that. “You’ve done enough work on it to have earned it fair and square. You know it inside and out. And besides, it’s sturdy enough that it should survive a crash or two.” And for the first time, he flashed a smile at Spike, a knowing gleam in his eye.

Spike smiled back. The ship really was beautiful, lithe and maneuverable but still tough. Not some delicate thing that would crash and burn at the slightest provocation. It had been through some shit, just like he had. And it had come out alive. Maybe it was an old model, but it was his.

The words Thank you felt awkward on his tongue, tripping it up. But he hoped his face would show his gratitude.

Doohan patted the ship’s hull in satisfaction. And okay, technically speaking, Spike knew it wasn’t meant for him, not really—but it felt almost like a pat on the back.

“Why don’t you take it for a spin?”

[quillinhand]

PLEASE TELL ME ABOUT UR NOBLEFLOWER FIC BTW

HIIII

okay so it's non linear right? and basically there are two plot threads. one is their school days-- starts when marauders are in their first year, so it ain't synced up with them. anyways, alice falls hard, they love, and the war fucks them up. no. two is them years after, alice the auror, narcissa the picture perfect pureblood. each have a kid-- alice has a somewhat amicable divorce, narcissa has been recently widowed. narcissa suspects that lucius has been murdered and asks for protection detail. alice is assigned to the case and the fic goes from there. one part nobleflower, one part magical worldbuilding + politics, and one part murder mystery. I'm working on it on and off; it's growing pretty big and i don't wanna post before i have a good amount of the story written.

tysm for asking i get so giddy when i get asks about my writing and stuff lolllll.

[gayforink]

WIP Wednesday: November 20th, 2024

Here are all my three sentences for my Harry Potter WIPS. This was so fun!

watching wild horses: nobleflower

Tagging all the people who requested this one: @claudette13, @whimsicalmeerkat, @nightwings-neighbour, @enigma-the-mysterious, @eriquin, @aparticularbandit :)

It is the Minister; Cornelius Fudge in all his bumbling glory. When she’d joined the force, Fudge had been a Junior Minister down in Magical Accidents, a foolish man who’d sweet talked his way to Minister. He was no less foolish now, but there was a certain arrogance to his actions now that made her certain to steer clear of him.

Not that she had any choice now. She bows, clenching her teeth and hoping that these fools couldn’t recognize it. “I apologize, Minister,” she says and the words taste like ash in her mouth. “I hadn’t known that I was needed,”

“It’s no problem,” Fudge says hurriedly, pulling the door to Scrimgeour’s office. “No problem at all,”

Rufus follows behind, walking past her to press his palm flat against his table. “Auror Fortescue,”

She nods her acknowledgement.

Rufus looks harried, his graying hair curling about his face. “There’s been a death in one of the pureblood houses,” he begins. 

A murder, then. Alice shakes her head. “I apologize, but I’m afraid I’m of no use with murders. You’ll see that has been a part of my files for quite a while now–”

“You’re not in charge of investigations,” Rufus snaps, and then sighs, rubbing his neck. Fudge watches them with an inscrutable look on his face. “You’re needed for protection detail, Fortescue,”

“Protection for a dead man, sir?”

Rufus glares. “Protection for his family,” 

Alice hums. “Who am I to work with?”

At this, the frustration on Rufus’s face reveals itself in full force. He grimaces. “No one. The, er, family has requested you. You alone.”

Alice stares, disbelieving. “And we take orders from families now, sir?” She asks curtly. She can feel Fudge’s slimy eyes watching her as he leaned against the shelves of Rufus’s office. 

“Not families– you see–” The Minister answers, only to be cut off by Scrimgeour. “The Malfoys. It’s Lucius that died. His widow wants you.”

Note: indeed she does :) I ended up writing a bit more lol.

3. as it was and ever shall be(unearth without a name): lily x narcissa

Tagging @asha10100101010 :)

“Thank you,” she murmurs. Sirius shakes his head, a quick and jerky motion. 

“Oh come on Lily,” Sirius says, stepping closer. His tired eyes are earnest and soft. “It’s the least I could do,”

This was super fun!

[set-phasers-to-whump]

a place to rest

prompt: sleep deprivation, isolation chamber, forced to stay awake, "leave the lights on"

whumpee: river cartwright

fandom: slough house/slow horses

heya welcome back to me hurting river :) this fic is based on a line from one of the books and idr if it's in the show as well but basically that river and spider went thru training together and were each other's only connection in there. yeah. i'm obsessed w that dynamic and wanted to play w it lol. hope you like!! (title from hungry heart by bruce springsteen)

He has been sitting on the floor of this room, which could perhaps generously be termed a cupboard, for god knows how long. Long enough to have gotten tired, for them to have given him two meals—if that slop could be called a meal, anyway. 

He’d tried to fall asleep, earlier. He’d known, of course, that they wouldn’t let him. Doesn’t take a genius to work that one out. But he’d given it a go, anyway, and been rewarded for his efforts with a loud banging on the door and an increase in the brightness of the already unpleasantly bright bulb hanging above him. 

His head hurts. He’s hungry. Two slices of hard bread and a bowl of lukewarm soup that is mostly water is hardly enough to keep you satiated, even when it’s been given to you twice. 

By the time they bring him the third meal—more of the same—his eyes are threatening to stay closed every time he blinks. But the light keeps getting brighter, it seems like, every time he’s on the verge of nodding off, and now loud music—not even anything good, just discordant drums and brass—is being piped through some unseen speaker at random intervals. 

He wants to go home. 

And he knows—he knows this is all just pretend. Except it’s not. Sure, he’s in no actual danger. If he gets really hurt, there’s a medical team. The people holding him here are helping him. Turning him into an effective agent. 

But the torture itself is very much real. 

By the time the fourth meal comes around, he isn’t quite sure what reality is anymore. The world is sort of fuzzy around the edges and he keeps hearing voices, people speaking to him, but he can’t understand what they’re saying and he’s too exhausted to ask them to speak up. 

He shuffles forward to take the tray that’s been pushed through the slot in the door (which locks immediately after the food is given to him, so he can’t even catch a glimpse of the outside world). His hands are shaking so much that he can’t eat the soup, not that he’ll be missing out on much. 

Sometime in the hazy period between the fourth meal and when the fifth would presumably be served, a miracle happens. 

The door opens. 

There’s a man standing there, in military uniform. Not British military. Not anything easily identifiable as belonging to another country, either. He gestures for River to get up. 

He’s not sure if he can. 

River eventually manages to use the wall to leverage himself to his feet. His vision swims. The other man reaches forwards and grabs him by the shoulders, drags him out into the hall, and then pushes him. 

“Go.”

It takes a long time for the word to make its way into River’s consciousness. By the time he realizes he’s free, the other man is long gone. 

He almost collapses to the floor right then and there. The lights are dimmer and there’s no loud noise, just the quiet buzz of activity elsewhere. 

But he’d better not. Maybe it’s not permitted to sleep here. Maybe they’ll punish him. Make him stay in that closet longer. 

Motivated half by the fear that someone is going to come along and drag him back into that hell, half by the absolutely overwhelming desire to lie down and pass out, River wanders through a maze of hallways, navigating on memories made murky by lack of sleep. At some point the realization occurs to him, dimly, that he’s shaking. 

Somehow he makes it outside of the terrible building where he’d been kept, then across a sprawling but decrepit lawn and to the barracks. 

The room he’s been sleeping in is fairly empty. There’s him, Spider, and four other guys, spaced out across eight bunk beds. He and Spider have claimed the bed closest to the door, and as River comes through that door, he’s hit with a wave of regret in regards to his choice of sleeping spot.

He’d taken the top bunk, some childhood desire drawing him there, but there’s no way in hell he’s making it up that ladder. Just seeing the beds has made his legs go weak, and he’s unsure of his ability to take another step.

Spider is sitting on his own bed, and River tries very hard to focus on him. He’s sort of curled into himself near his pillow, and there’s a black eye and a red, angry scrape down his cheek which hadn’t been there before. 

Spider looks up at him. His eyes widen slightly, and then he wordlessly gestures to the rest of the bed, a silent invitation. 

River lacks the energy to do anything but accept, collapsing down onto Spider’s mattress. Spider doesn’t do anything, just watches silently, so River simply curls himself up on the lower half of the bed, not so much as taking his shoes off first.

He’s asleep in seconds. 

--

He dreams discordantly but sleeps rather soundly. When he wakes up, still tired, it takes him a few moments to work out where he is. 

He’s in Spider’s bed. He vaguely recalls Spider having been here, when he’d arrived, exhausted and shaking and feeling like death. 

Spider is not here now. And River is tucked beneath the blankets—multiple, even though they’re only allowed one each. His head is on Spider’s pillow and his shoes are gone although he’s pretty sure he hadn’t had the strength to remove them before. 

A dim thought about all of this floats across River’s mind, hazy and uncertain and vaguely tender, but he’s too tired and disoriented to properly follow it.

He falls back asleep instead.

thanks for reading! i hope you liked it <3

[allylikethecat]

Hiiii Remember when I said I wasn't going to write anymore of the ATKH universe and then wrote that olympic blurb but then said I REALLY wasn't going to do anything like that again? Well I guess I really lied because I just wrote another little ATKH oneshot. This takes place sometime between the end of ATKH and the Olympics. Fictional!Matty and Fictional!George are not back together yet, but they are very friendly again and moving in that direction. Shout out to all of the kids and teenagers that were part of the wild post Thanksgiving pony carnage at the barn this morning - y'all inspired me. (Thankfully Pop was absolutely perfect and we had one of our best lessons in a while!)

ATKH Post Thanksgiving Blurb

George winced, and forced himself to smile for the parents watching from the viewing deck. He was teaching a lesson in the front ring, while Matty rode and Jamie taught in the back. He could hear Jamie yelling, and the scuffling of hooves as a horse clearly scrambled. He turned his attention back to Adeline and her pony, wincing again when he heard Jamie shouting for Matty to get on. He hoped that Adeline’s parents weren’t listening too closely to what Jamie was shouting. 

I swear to god Dora, either stop throwing your body, or I will ... I guess I’ll just DIE!

George closed his eyes and turned away from the viewing deck, letting his smile drop. He wasn’t sure if being in the back ring with everyone would be better or worse for his blood pressure. Probably worse— he was sure that Jamie would be shouting for him to get on horses as well. 

It was the day after Thanksgiving, and all of the horses were fresh. Normally, they wouldn’t try to jump school them after a day off, especially as the weather turned cooler and everyone started feeling frisky, but with them scheduled to leave for Thermal on Sunday, they didn’t have a choice. 

“Good job Adeline!” George called, working to keep his tone upbeat and positive. Usually, Polly worked with the pony kids these days, but with her out of town for the holidays, George and Matty were splitting her usual load. Matty had worked with the kids all morning, and now it was George’s turn. Billie and Phoebe had been extremely pleasant in the back ring this morning, George wasn’t entirely sure how things had devolved so quickly. Ross had gone back with a lunge line nearly an hour ago and had yet to return. 

He took a deep breath. Just a few more hours he thought grimly, they just needed to make it a few more hours. 

“Okay Addy,” called George to be heard across the ring and over whatever carnage was happening in the other ring, “I want you to pick up the left lead canter and I want you to get all the way into the corner like we talked about, and get super, super square to the pink jump, then, you’re going to be super straight on the backside then when you get to the rail you’re going to turn right, a big corner, and canter the jump with the flowers then halt  straight alright?” 

Adeline nodded and George said a silent prayer to a god he didn’t believe in as she picked up the canter. 

Please be straight so we can be done, George thought almost hysterically, he had forgotten how trying the younger kids could be to teach. 

“Nice job!” said he called as Adaline jumped the first jump. She might not have been perfectly straight and center, but it was the best he had seen from her all afternoon. “Don’t change your canter, just stay nice and steady through the turn!” 

Of course, George had barely gotten the words out and Adeline spurred Frostie. The pony bucked and next thing George knew he had a sobbing seven year old sitting in the dirt and a small pony, that there was absolutely no way he would be able to get on to school, running around the arena in celebration of his newfound freedom. 

He just sighed, thinking of the beer he had stashed in Matty’s fridge that morning. He was looking forward to having one more than what was probably considered healthy. 

*

“We survived,” said Matty, throwing himself down onto the small couch in his barn apartment. George had let himself in earlier, and he wasn’t hiding regardless of what Waughy might have teased him about when he had been caught sneaking in. 

“Barely,” George said, reaching over the small coffee table to hand Matty that glass of wine he had proactively poured him. 

“Adaline got bucked off Frostie,” George said after a moment as Matty accepted the wine glass and took a large swallow, some of the tension now leaving his body. He hadn’t even bothered to take his boots off, still wearing them and his spurs, his legs splayed out in front of him. He had lost the baseball cap he had started the day in hours ago, leaving his curls hanging sweaty and damp around his face. George was pretty sure he had seen it hanging in a tree in the front ring. 

Matty winced. “Dora fell off Keke and I thought that Jamie was going to have an aneurysm, then I got on Whisper, because she was fucking wild and Bonnie was doing fuck all about it, and then Bonnie got back on so I could ride Diego, but then Jamie fucking got on her because Bonnie was still doing fuck all and he wanted to make a point.” 

George winced, Jamie hardly rode anymore, between the rod in his back and his knee, and if he was getting on Whisper of all horses, he must have been pissed off enough to be really looking to make a point. 

“Billie was really good this morning though?” George said, the words coming out like more of a question. 

Matty nodded, taking another large gulp of his wine. “Yeah, that’s what Jamie said, that she and Ava are the only two he didn’t want to murder today.” 

“Well, the good news is we get to do it all again tomorrow?” George said and Matty groaned. 

“I’m lunging all of them in the dark tomorrow morning, I can’t do this again,” Matty whined, “I rode fourteen horses today, fourteen horses, I’m not even going to be able to walk tomorrow.” 

George grimaced, the nine he had ridden that day very much paling in comparison. 

“I’ll come help you,” George promised, anything to avoid another repeat of today.

Matty smiled, his real one, the one that lit up his face and reached his eyes and George’s stomach flipped. He had been seeing that smile of Matty’s directed his way more and more frequently these days, and he absolutely loved it. 

[w1ld-wr1t3r]

Ask me about my AUs!

I have quite a few AUs, all in various states of completion. I thought, what better way to force myself to work on them than by making a list and opening them up for questions?

You can ask pretty much anything about the characters, plot, lore, or anything else, though if something would reveal a major spoiler or twist that I don't want prematurely revealed, I will politely decline your question for the time being. If I don't actually have an answer yet, maybe your question will be what helps me fill in that blank! I may also be more motivated to work on a particular AU if more people are interested in it, so if there's one you really want to see me work on, please ask a question about it!

This list will be updated whenever I get a new AU idea that I seriously think I will get around to writing. If an AU has already been started and posted, it'll be linked to the AO3 series. If an AU is "complete," I will probably leave it in this list just in case you guys are still curious about the extended lore, or if I ever get the urge to add to it again.

Some of these ideas are a lot more fleshed out than others. Some might not be much more than vague ideas at the moment. Ones at the bottom of the list are more likely to be less fleshed-out. So if I haven't gotten to one you'd like to see yet, it's probably because it needs more time to bake.

Here's all of my current AUs:

The Adventures of Peanut the Paddock Pup (multi-fic series, Norrix)

Belle (2021 anime)/Alan Walker AU (multi-fic series (maybe))

Star Wars/F1 AU (multi-fic series, Norrix, Loscar, maybe Lestappen, maybe Bearnelli)

Equestrian AU (F1 and DJs, Norrix, other ships (still debating), multi-fic series; just a general AU w/ loosely connected stories)

Spider-Verse/F1 AU (multi-fic series, Norrix, maybe Loscar, maybe Galex, maybe others)

Isola (2018 comic)/F1 AU (multi-fic series, Norrix, Loscar)

Dune/F1 AU (single fic, Lestappen and Carlando)

Alpha (2018 movie)/F1 AU (single fic, Charles and Leo, Lestappen, background Norrix)

Transformers/F1 AU (specifically inspired by Transformers One (2024 movie); single fic (?), Norrix, Lestappen)

The Creator (2023 movie)/F1 AU (single fic, Carlando, platonic Norrix)

Wild Horse F1 AU (Oscar/Lily, background Norrix; basically almost everyone is a wild horse; inspired by media including The Silver Brumby, Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron, and My Friend Flicka. Still debating if they'll be Mustangs in the American West or Brumbies in the Australian Outback, or if I'll leave it ambiguous)

[novella-b]

Sirius raised a brow. He wasn’t settling for that bullshit answer. “Tell me!” he encouraged him, getting up from his seat now. “Do you get laid or something? Is that what’s happening here?”

“What? No,” James said in a panic. “No, I didn’t. W-why would you think that?”

Sirius looked at Remus, who was snickering into his tea. Ladies, Gentlemen, and Others, the worst liar award goes to…. “James.” He placed a hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “You know you can tell me anything. There’s no judgement here.”

James nodded slowly but would not meet Sirius’ eyes.

“Soooo,” Sirius said in a sing-sing voice. “Who was it?”

James played with the hem of his shirt, twisting and untwisting it around his finger. “Uh,” he dropped down to a whisper. “Lily.”

JILY HARD LAUNCH??

CHAPTER SEVEN IS UPPPPPP

[shitpostingkats]

It is deeply important that every fic I set in the dark world I acknowledge the (canon) fact that the most reliable way to get around is on the back of these bad boys

[aeide-thea]

[ephemeral-winter]

yuletide 2024

author reveals are finally out and what a wonderful yuletide it was!

i was lucky enough to receive THREE yuletide gifts - with @thespacebetweenworlds giving me the gorgeous ache of of unbroken oaths (moiraine/siuan post 2x07, M, 1255 words) AND the incredible heat of when we're naked (moiraine/siuan/lanfear post 2x07, E, 1369 words ). and then missy very kindly surprised me with this darling double drabble for a room with a view, rip maggie smith: a woman of the world (charlotte/eleanor if you squint, G, 226 words). thank you both!!!!

meanwhile i wrote we still stand in the sun (moiraine/siuan just after siuan is raised to the seat, E, 8996 words) for bubulcitate! i have lowkey been working on a version of this for almost two years so i was glad that their prompt gave me the push i needed to get it into this final form. hope everyone enjoys <3

[miadearden]

BOTW fic: physiological differences and overeager older siblings

Linktober 2024 Day 10: “Species/Race”

Mipha thought of Sidon; of how desperate she would be to ease his pain if he were the one standing injured before her. Her power surged forth easily at the thought, and the skin began to stitch together under her hands. Link watched her actions closely, his eyes growing even wider, if that were possible, as he watched the magic at work. When the last evidence of the gash had faded, his gaze darted around, and he leaned his head closer to whisper:

“Are you a fairy?”

Mipha and Link’s first meeting.

This one kinda came down to the wire so it’s not as polished as I usually like my fics to be when I post them but oh well.

An easy lighthearted one for this prompt! Just don’t think too hard about how old Sidon was when Mipha died (: