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🧑‍🎨 James Lewis

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Kingpin has standards

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Very curious about Laurence/Tharkay: FIGHT

Laurence/Tharkay: fight! is my angst answer to the joke that if Tharkay had been at that ball where Laurence and the Russian guy got into a fight he wouldn't have let Laurence do the duel, which is to say, what if Tharkay was at the party, and it changed nothing? What if Laurence's refusal to let go of his English, genteel notions of honor drove them apart? (Don't worry, there's a happy ending). I've been thinking about it for months and months but only have about 800 words written in bits and pieces. Here, have some snippets:

“I must,” Laurence replied woodenly. “I cannot very well allow my insult to go unanswered; the man will not apologize, and so I must allow him to make answer.” “You would grant him power over your mission; power to sever the ties to your allies in China and see you go to your grave before your time.” Laurence went to leave, but Tharkay caught him by the arm, holding him in place. He had the sudden, pressing sense that he must not allow Laurence to leave; the awakening of that particular instinct, the instant cataloguing of a hundred small details, which allowed him to excel in his field and keep him alive besides. Something was not right here.

and

“And what of Temeraire? What will he do, when you have died by your intolerable pride?” Tharkay asked. And what of me, he meant. Laurence removed Tharkay’s hand from his arm stiffly. He was already looking past Tharkay, his gaze fixed upon something in the distance. “Temeraire will do his duty. As will I.”

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Yes ma’am.

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My previously mentioned WIP. Featuring Jane’s short stays.

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baby iskierka is a menace.... how bad could she be, really? she's built like a pool noodle

hehe i drew these because i missed the kids at the daycare i used to work at hence she is not in noodle format. granby loves her dearly hes just tired (as i was)..... she is not a menace really just a kid trying to have fun. and idk why i never posted these

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Extremely curious about Performance Review! Do I know anything about it already?

Maybe?! @fuckman360kickflip also asked about this, because I'm pretty sure she senses smut like a shark smells blood in the water (affectionate). Its a early HMD era Granby/Little praise kink PWP. I'm throwing a T-rated intro snippet below the cut

Augustine Little, he is distantly aware, doesn't give a shit. 

Granby stares at the ceiling, seething at the injustice of it. 

It is bloody criminal, that William Fucking Laurence, formerly of His Majesty's Fucking Navy, can ruin even these last few golden hours of summer evening. Granby is lounging in bed, still mostly clothed, next to the most tempting man who had ever deigned to let Granby into his bed, and all Granby can do is lay about and run his mouth off. If William Laurence ruins this as well, Granby will cheerfully cut straps.

"And God forbid he should show a little appreciation. 'Very good, Mr. Granby. That will be all, Mr. Granby.' Perhaps next time I shall let Dunne dump a week's worth of ammunition in the loch, for all the notice he takes of me stopping it." 

He takes another breath, ready to continue his tirade, when instead Little levers himself up on an elbow to look over him. Granby falls silent, abruptly aware that he has no idea how long he's been raving. Little's mouth is quirked into a moue of displeasure. Of course he is bored; any sensible fellow would be. Granby feels a twist of guilt. 

 “I am damned sorry, Augustine, it is only–” he waves a hand, inarticulate with exasperation. “I would–”

“Poor John,” Augustine tuts in sympathy, cutting him off. Granby shoots him a sharp glance, incredulous, and Little moves quickly, rolling atop him and catching up Granby's hand that still hangs forgotten in the air  Little’s thumb presses firmly into the bones of Granby's wrist. He leans over Granby and runs his other hand down the side of Granby's face. “Does no one show you enough appreciation?” he coos. 

"Spare me your patronizing, please and thank you." Granby says tartly, but Little doesn't let go, only shifts closer, and certain traitorous parts of Granby abruptly begin to take notice of the compact body pressing against him and the firm grip on his wrist. Little's own arousal is a hard line against Granby’s hip. 

“Hush, and take care of this for me?” Little says huskily in his ear and Granby feels the fight go out of him in a rush.

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People have written a lot of touchy-feely pieces on this subject but I thought I’d get right to the heart of the matter

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Silver Fox.

Became obsessed with this little snippet from @verdet-cadet ‘s fic.

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Every night a beautiful spectre named You've Got Kudos appears and haunts me with the knowledge I should be writing fanfic

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Oh man!! I instantly zero-ed on the "Soulmark" one, and I would love to know more if that's okay !!👀<3

I keep wrestling with a way to execute the premise eloquently so it keeps getting back burnered, but essentially: soulmark AU where your Soulmark is a little map of the spot where you fall in love---but Tharkay and Laurence's are mismatched because of the amnesia. They spend the arc of Books 3 through 8 drawn to each other, but convinced they're not the RIGHT person for the other person.

Here's a little snip:

The pain woke him. 

Tharkay bolted up, scrabbling at the loose sleeve of his nightshirt, his mind full of the cautionary tales of scorpions and hairy spiders the size of a man’s palm. The shabby roadside inn just outside Verona had been a welcome respite after a long day’s travel. Now he cursed the splurge, certain he'd woken to a bed full of crawling things, and yanked the sleeve up his arm.

His forearm burned as though he'd set it a bed of nettles. He clapped a hand to it with a hiss. No scuttling thing fell from his bedsheets though, and after a moment he woke enough to comprehend the significance of the faint wheals beginning to raise on the smooth brown skin of his arm. 

A soulmark. 

Tharkay fell back against the pillows, the edge of a smile at his mouth. Nineteen was late for one, to be sure, and he had long ago banished any sort of romantic fantasy of waking with a mark. 

Now that he knew the pain was not some venom, he found it far easier to bear, though he still grimaced and put his palm over it to sooth away the smarting. It took some time, and he was beginning to doze again, despite the discomfort and the anticipation, when at last the stinging began to ease. 

He peeled back his hand tentatively, like a gambler lifting the edge of his cards. It could easily be some unidentifiable spot: some snaking river or mountain range utterly foreign to him. He had some few coins left in his purse, and a few more pieces of family silver plate that he had been fencing judiciously when the price was right. His budget might stretch to a cartographer, if he could make his need for one known in his limping Italian. 

The mark sat just below the tender skin in the hollow of his elbow, a rapidly darkening outline the size of his palm, the crinkled outline discenerable even in the dim half light from the moon. Tharkay traced his finger over it, feeling his heart thud in his chest. He had seen this shape before in the appendixes and colored plates of his schoolbooks and at once recognized the narrow strip of water that separated two continents, the two halves of his life. 

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The way my eyes immediately were drawn to "Silver Fox"

It started as just a "it would be fun to give post canon Tharkay those little silver temple streaks" and morphed into "What if Tharkay is actually a little older than Laurence, old enough to have been a contemporary of one of his older brothers at school, and this all comes to light at an extremely awkward dinner."

Here's a little bit with the actual Silver Fox part:

Tharkay ran his hand speculatively through his close cropped locks. Preoccupied with matters of his estate, he had only half heard the barber's words as he had sat down in the chair. By the time the first long strands had fallen it had been too late to divert course. He had had his hair shorn short before, of course, through indifferent barbers or local custom or one memorable and detestable encounter with lice. Never before, however, had he had reason to anticipate the opinion of another. 

"Oh!" Laurence looked rather relieved to be excused from the discussion, which as far as Tharkay could tell had devolved into mathematical squabble about the potential incomes of various tariffs. Perscitia and Temeraire spared him hardly more than a glance before turning back to their sand table, but Laurence climbed down from Temeraire's forelegs at once to inspect him, putting his hands to his shoulders to turn him this way and that. 

"I think you look quite handsome, but what's this?" With his hair cut away the streaks of silver at his temples shone bright and distinct. "You are rather young for these," Laurence reached out to brush his fingertips fondly along the shorn locks. 

"Look closely," Tharkay bade dryly. He leaned closer to Laurence and tilted his head to be examined. "I think you will find they bear the names of twenty feral dragons and one William Laurence." 

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Dealing with my fear of rejection by never asking for anything, and my fear of being a burden by never doing anything that involves other people. Foolproof.

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Tagged by: @crownomancer

Rules: In a new post, list the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs

Another year, another opportunity to reveal my unhinged WIP system

Notes III (Murder mystery)

Notes VII (Little)

Notes VIII (Silver Fox)

Notes IX (Foibles 2)

Notes XI (Fangs)

Notes XIII (Lily)

Notes XV (Performance Review)

Notes XVIII (FWB)

Notes XXVII (Soulmark)

Notes XXXVII (TB)

Has anyone tagged @andro-beaurepaire also @fuckman360kickflip

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Might we see your tharkey outfits WIP please? 💛

I’m up to chapter 7 of his majesty’s dragon now, loving it!

for sure! Been thinking about these for some time now. They're mostly what I think Tharkay would wear depending on temperature, somewhat influenced by his mother's people. Honestly can’t wait for you to get further into the story, i’m excited you’ve started reading again!

@andro-beaurepaire you wanted to see these, too, so i’m tagging you here :)

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STOP making the dreamworks face youre embarassing me

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