#ficwip word thing

[jamiesfootball]

For the word ask game: again, play, blue, stop

Thank you for these! Let's pretend it's still Wednesday!

All from Oh God You're Gonna Get It (You Have Not Been Given Love). Spoilers across the board.

In the order I found them:

Blue

He couldn't remember the last time he needed to be quiet in his own house -- probably when Phoe was a toddler -- but with his knee, there wasn't an option of going down the stairs without stomping. He tried. Something between burning need and frantic adrenaline drummed against his heart as each thud of his heel set his nerves on edge. He grit his teeth, holding back the swear words for now.

Finally, the flat expanse of floor beneath his feet, and Roy was in motion, flying out the back door and onto his patio so fast he nearly tripped on one of Phoebe's dragons. The pink silly one, with blue swirls. It matched the unicorn--

In the quiet morning air, his own breathing sounded desperately loud. Play

He was partway through unzipping his duffel when a door flung open.

Sara burst from her room, running fast on the balls of her feet. She launched herself at her brother like she always did -- with a delighted squeal -- except this time when she made impact, Roy had to take a step back to brace them both.

Christ, she'd gotten tall. Guess it was true about girls getting their growth spurts faster. He'd never been sure if that was true for everyone or it was just the bloodthirsty demons that played for the girls' team.

Stop

"I used to try texting him sometimes. Nothing major, just stupid shit, when i thought it wouldn’t bother him. Stopped though, ‘cause it just seemed like it was sort of one-sided. He'd let me blow up his phone about whatever I wanted, but he never really said anything back, you know?”

Again (with bonus 2nd find)

“That’s not the same,” his mother answered in a tone that made him feel all of fourteen again, across the country -- the world -- and being chastised through a tinny speaker. “Roy, be realistic for once. Really, it’s nice of you to help Sarah out every now and again, but she deserves to have a partner. A real partner. And frankly, you’re not doing her or Phoebe any favors, letting them rely on you like this. Your sister needs to put herself back out there and find herself a-“

“Stop.”

#oh boy where even to start tagging #ficwip word thing #roy kent #roy kent's sister #phoebe kent #jamie tartt #fic: oh god you're gonna get it (you have not been given love) #thank you for always being so nice to me and sending me stuff #it's honestly so motivating #wippets

[inkedroplets]

ficwip 'alive'

I feel so bad that this is the first one I've done after reading all the wonderful snippets from @sideguitars

A Rich Girl with Issues

The burring and steady beep of machines was all Lena needed to hear to know she was in a hospital room. The sound was so unmistakable, so recognizable that it bordered on affectation. She was alive. The comfort that realization brought was shockingly fleeting. Southisde, she thought as her memories began to return. Did she succeed? Maybe the better question was whether or not she had been allowed to succeed? She had been stuck playing a rigged game, after all. If it had all been for nothing… Not nothing, a voice reminded her. If nothing else, she had saved Kara. She tried to smile and managed a feeble tightening in her dry lips. She was marginally more successful in opening her eyes. They fluttered open ever so slightly out of sync with one another and found their synchronicity after a few weak blinks. Each time, the room came into sharper focus. Not that there was much to see once the room no longer looked as if she were peering at it through a window smeared with vaseline. The walls were painted a shade of blue that was likely chosen because it was purported to be soothing for anyone unlucky enough to have to stay here. A curtain was drawn over a large window letting in an oblong slat of moonlight that splashed over a small table in the corner crammed full with flowers, cards and mylar balloons which were beginning to lose some of their joie de vivre, sagging listlessly above the table. It made Lena wonder how long she had been asleep.

MCU Crossover

“You clearly know your way around a lab.” It was the third time that Tony had made a stab at conversation in the past hour and with each attempt it was harder for Lena to find a way to rebuff him without possibly ruffling his feathers.  "No more than most," Lena said, hoping he would take her clipped response as modesty rather than the brush off that it was.  "I knew Coulson wasn't sending his best," he joked. “Of course, I didn’t even know he was alive until very recently…” "That would be Jemma," Lena replied, squinting a little as she double-checked her calculations, her eyes starting to itch from the strain. "Afraid you're stuck with me."  "You don't like me very much, do you?" He asked after a brief silence where the only sounds in the lab were that of keys being pressed and the hum of the arc reactor that Lena was tinkering with.  Lena let out a sigh that she didn't try very hard to hide. "When people ask that question they usually already know the answer,” she said, not bothering to look up from her work. “I don’t even know you.”

A Hero

There was a parade of people (some familiar, some not) that spoke on Lena's behalf. One of them read a poem, while others reminisced about all the times that Lena had helped save the world. Stories of her bravery and her determination that Kara supposed were meant to celebrate her life, to honor her. But no stories of Lena off duty. Not one of how competitive she could get playing board games, or how bright her smile could truly be, nothing like the canned smiles she sometimes gave  in interviews but one that could light up a room, could warm one's heart with its brilliance. Not one word about how funny she was or how wonderful it was to simply be near her. 

They don't know her at all…

The anger she felt at that realization was frightening in its enormity. The only thing keeping it from consuming her was the grief that had already eaten away at her like a cancer, already feeling like it had devoured everything good inside her. 

It was Kal striding to the front of the room, head bowed and shoulders sagging that stoked the flames of her anger, listening to him speak about Lena, speaking in such vague terms one might think he was trying to pay his respects to a stranger. And that's what she was to him. It was what she was to everyone here. None of them had truly known her when she was alive. Everyone except her. Because of her. She was the reason that Lena had not just re-erected the walls around her heart that Kara had torn down but to make them stronger still. To keep them closed so tightly that no one had ever been allowed in… 

You don't know her, Kara thought, fighting the urge to seize Kal by the shoulders and to shake him. To seize him by the shoulders and scream it in his face. To turn to all the people gathered and yell at them. Anything to rid herself of even an ounce of the pain in her chest that felt so much like a mortal wound. 

#I really need to start trying to tag things so I can find them later #too many wips #must finish some of them #snippets

[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

For the @ficwip Word Game Wednesday - outside.

Jamie sat on the floor shoved in the space between the toilet and the tub. His knees were pulled up to his chest and his hands were in his hair. The bruise on his cheek was barely visible, but one look at the sink told Roy why. Makeup. Different colors. Sticks and liquids. Things Roy had seen with Keeley but never paid attention to.

Had Jamie brought this all with him? Had Jamie known he was seeing his father and realised James might leave his mark on his son’s skin in a way he would need to hide? Had Jamie spent his whole life covering himself up in one way or another so no one saw the bruise, the cut, the ugly imperfections on both the inside and the outside?

#fic: there is no other land #roy kent #jamie tartt #cw abuse #fic wip #word game wednesday #wip wednesday

[pellaaearien]

Hob's fine spending Valentine's Day alone, really he is. Why would Dream care about a silly human holiday?

Valentine's Day, Established Relationship, Lack of Communication, they're idiots your honour, Idiots in Love, Unrepentant Shmoop, Too Much Together, written for the @ficwip​ challenge

To be with Dream is… well, there aren’t words. He knows, he’s looked. Fittingly, most of the time his life feels more like a dream than reality, and he’s only just started to grow accustomed to the fact that for all intents and purposes, the two are now one and the same. Somehow, he’s allowed to give Dream all the regard and adoration that had built up over six hundred years, only to find it matched in fervour the way only an infinite being can. In light of that, marking paltry human customs like Valentine’s Day seems trite.

Only one date matters to them, June 7, which they now celebrate every year, not every hundred. They’d done so ever since Dream showed back up at the New Inn, and now that it is also the day that they’d finally confessed their feelings to each other the year before, it has only grown more significant.

So, he’s not expecting Dream today, and that’s fine. Dream comes and goes as he pleases, and Hob would never curtail him. Not when his friend had spent a hundred years locked in a cage. He knows he can find Dream in the Dreaming if he really needs to, if Dream doesn’t find him first, but it’s not necessary. He’ll see Dream sooner rather than later, and it’s Dream’s presence that makes things special, not some arbitrary date on a calendar.

[Read on Ao3]

#hey sweetheart #the sandman netflix #dreamling #dream x hob #dreamling fic #dream of the endless #hob gadling

[edgeofn1ght]

Anakin Skywalker is a very talented baker who co-owns a very popular bakery with his mom. Customers and croissants come and go each day, and Anakin bakes and bakes and never pays much attention -- this is his mother's dream. Until one day a very handsome man stops at their store front to gaze at their display, and Anakin is never the same.

I signed up for the @ficwip 5k in an effort to challenge myself to write less than 5,000 words! So here is another entry into my bakery au, from Anakin's POV. It's not necessary to read the Dough or Doughnut, There Is No Rye first, but I wanted to include the link anyway. 😊🍞

—

getting together • obikin • 4.5k words • read on ao3 instead

In the wee hours of the morning, as Anakin mixed, proved, rolled, and laminated, he told himself over and over again, ‘This is worth it. This is worth it. I’m doing a good thing. For my home, for Ahsoka, for my mom .’  But as he pushed the sticky dough back and forth across the cool metal table at 4am, he couldn’t help but ask himself WHY. 

His mother, Shmi, told him time and time again he shouldn’t listen to his brain between the hours of 9pm and 5am (Ahsoka told him he should never listen to it), but that was easier said than done.  But when the answer to 'why' always came back to his mom, he thought it was worth listening to. 

Shmi was a gifted and adventurous baker, and had been baking as long as he could remember. She talked often of opening her own bakery but never knew how to make it happen. And after all she had been through in her life, Anakin wanted to make that happen for her. So when he got older, he looked into it. 

They opened Ryes & Shine two years previous and as time went on, the small bakery increased in popularity, thanks to their dedication, hard work, and Shmi’s amazing bakes. The baguettes, bagels, focaccia, and loaves of different breads they baked fresh almost every morning were nearly gone by the afternoon. And if not then, then almost certainly the next morning.  Eventually it became too much work for just the two of them, so they hired Ahsoka Tano, a young university student who went to school nearby, and who very excitedly told them she had been baking for fun since she was 4. Her excitement and joy was so contagious, Shmi hired her on the spot, even without any professional experience. So she became Anakin’s apprentice. 

And today she was late.

Anakin and Shmi could fill the display window alone, they’d done it many times, but with dough needing to go in the oven, come out of the oven, cooled, wrapped, and everything else, they were spread a bit thin when she wasn’t around.  Fifteen more minutes went by and she finally appeared in a rush, flying into the shop, tearing off all her winter layers and apologizing profusely the entire time. Mostly to Shmi. Because she knew Shmi would forgive her anything. Anakin? Well, the jury was still out. 

But she got to work quickly, helping them finish all the morning tasks before they opened.  As she stood at the window rearranging the displays, she suddenly shouted. 

“THERE HE IS!” 

“Shit!” Anakin yelled as he dropped the basket of freshly-wrapped mini packets of sweet buns. He looked on in horror as the shiny cellophane scattered every which way behind the counter. He scowled at his young apprentice. “Ahsoka!”

She grimaced then giggled as she placed the last loaves of French bread in the basket in the window. 

“He probably heard you,” Anakin said exasperatedly as the sweet buns were forgotten and he made his way towards the window. “You’re so loud .” 

The man with the gold-red beard stood to the right of the window, bent slightly at the waist, very intently staring at their display. His lips moved almost imperceptibly as he read the display cards all handwritten by Ahsoka each morning. Anakin wondered to himself if this would be the day he came inside. 

“You’re staring , Skyguy,” Ahsoka said with a grin as she elbowed him and walked away from the window. 

“Why are all the buns on the floor??” Anakin and Ahsoka jerkily turned towards Shmi, who stood at the far end of the counter with her hands on her hips. 

Anakin sighed as he knelt to quickly pick them all up. His mother didn’t need to know he was shirking his duties to pine after some random guy he didn’t know who happened to walk by their shop every morning for the past two weeks. NOT that Anakin noticed such things… (he told himself unconvincingly). But he DID notice the man never came inside. 

And that would have to change. 

🍞🥐🥖🍞🥐🥖🍞🥐🥖

And change it did. 

That morning they were busy, like most mornings, but today it felt different. More demanding, more harried, and sometimes frantic. Thankfully Shmi and Ahsoka had been more than willing to man the front counter while Anakin busily cranked out loaf after loaf, mixing, proving, baking, proving again, as well as creating the cold butter layers for tomorrow’s flaky croissants and pastries. It was hard work, but that they were constantly busy made it worth it. 

The buzzer on the large oven rang signaling the end of the bake for the latest batch of baguettes. He’d lost count long ago at how many of the medium-sized loaves he churned out in a day, but as long as he made them, people would buy them. They were one of the most popular items, gone almost as soon as he made it to the floor with the tray.  Anakin took out the three trays and placed them on the large kitchen island to cool as he busied himself checking on other dough. It had been a while since he’d looked in a mirror – or had a bathroom break, if he was honest – but he was sure he was covered in flour like always. And even though it was cold outside, back in the kitchen, he could work up a sweat like no place else. 

After letting the bread cool, Anakin piled three trays worth of baguettes on top of one tray then headed out to restock.  A quick glance at the lobby showed a crowded space and a long line, but his mom and Ahsoka were doing their best to move people through. They’d been so busy all morning, he hoped they had at least already made their daily sales total.  Anakin squeezed past the two women with the tray and made his way to the display. He smiled to himself as he put the loaves out into the basket in the window, listening to Ahsoka as she deftly, efficiently, and kindly took care of all their customers. 

He loved the sound of the busy bakery – there was a comfort in it. 

Rising above the din today was a gently lilting accent coming from the other side of the counter. It wasn’t too often that he heard an English accent in their store, but it was a soothing tenor, and it would be nice if he could focus on just the sound of that particular man’s voice.  But Ahsoka… 

“Anakin! A baguette!”

He startled out of his reverie and grabbed a paper sleeve and slipped one of the fresh loaves in. He didn’t know why she felt she had to yell at him. If she'd just ask nicely … He laid the baguette on the counter with a grunt and pursed his lips, turning away from Ahsoka and her customer so he could finish his task. He tried to tune her out as she ran her mouth, but it wasn’t so easy as she could be quite loud. However, he secretly admired her ability to become friends with everyone (even if he couldn’t understand how she did it). His method had always been just to let the people pay and go. 

“He’s 24 years old, an amazing baker…” he suddenly heard Ahsoka say, then she trailed off again when the customers got slightly louder. He angled his body to hear her better because surely she wasn’t… 

Because HE was 24 years old. And a baker.  But amazing ?? That would be a new adjective for Ahsoka. 

“My name is Ahsoka and I'm pretty much his best friend,” she continued to chatter as she finished the transaction. “Like, anything you want to know about him, I could tell you. Even things you don’t think of! Like how he’s single and really loves–” 

“Snips!” Anakin turned then walked over to stand next to his very chatty and oversharing coworker, ready to give her a tongue lashing when he finally looked up. The man from outside. The man with the beautiful beard. He suddenly heard nothing but white noise. 

He tried hard to school his features and must have been doing well because the man seemed rather timid. But then the man smiled. 

Oh no. 

It was just a small thing as the man looked down at his purchased items on the counter, so small Anakin almost missed it. 

Oh no. He was so much more handsome than he had been outside just looking in the window. But h e had FINALLY come inside the shop.  And Anakin had frozen up. 

He spared a single glance for the man – it was all he could do since he was stunned into silence – and headed back to the kitchen.  Be cool, don’t run, don’t RUN. 

 🍞🥐🥖🍞🥐🥖🍞🥐🥖

Anakin took a few moments to collect his thoughts, then berated himself for completely missing his chance. As if he really had a chance. He knew nothing at all about the man, and he’d only been inside ONCE. He’d probably never come in again now that Ahsoka had probably talked his ear off and most likely said something cheeky about Anakin.  He dropped his head against the wall and closed his eyes. 

“You BLEW it!” Ahsoka fussed as she burst through the kitchen door. Anakin immediately went into an attack stance in his surprise, which the young girl mirrored then laughed. “It’s just me, Skyguy… my goodness, you’re jumpy.” 

“Yeah! Well!” He pushed himself off the wall and headed back towards the oven where another timer went off. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that! I could have had a knife or something.” 

Ahsoka laughed again. “Anyway, I know you’re avoiding the topic now. I was trying to HELP you! He’s never going to come back in here because you threw his baguette at him!” 

Anakin scoffed as he removed the last batch of baguettes from the oven. “I did not throw anything!” That would be the last thing he would say on it, then, if he ignored her, eventually she’d go away.  Except Ahsoka rarely behaved like a normal person would. 

“He seems really nice! He’s got a great accent. I noticed him watching you. I know he’ll be back for more, I just know it.”  

There was no way she could know that. He probably really had blown it. He uncovered a bowl of dough that had doubled in size in the proving. He punched it down with much joy. 

“And I gave him your schedule and your number!”

“You what!?” Anakin stopped and looked up. “I should fire you!”

The infuriating child giggled again as she left Anakin with his thoughts and dough in the kitchen.

🍞🥐🥖🍞🥐🥖🍞🥐🥖

A week and a half went by before Anakin wanted to crawl into a hole again. 

Abnormally busy Saturday mornings called for bakers to find new and clever ways to keep their stock going, so Anakin wasn’t always afforded the opportunity to ‘camp out’ in the kitchen and ‘hide away from the customers’ (Ahsoka’s words).  In the first morning rush, they’d managed to clean off the counter space between the cash register and the window, so Anakin used the long stretch of cool marble to make a batch of fresh rolls and loaves. The counter was a mess of white flour and small lumps of dough as Anakin rolled and stretched and pulled the dough.  Though he was rather on display working here like this, he actually found he didn’t mind it too much – the work and steady stream of customers kept him in an oddly good mood for once. 

He looked up to check the line once more and there he was. Baguette Guy, which Ahsoka had “affectionately” named the man after his first purchase in their shop. Several days went by before he even learned the man’s actual name – Obi-Wan . 

He had apparently come in once when Anakin was quite busy, and no one even thought to come and interrupt. He might have yelled about it initially at the time, but another glimpse of the man would have made all things right. The worst part was that Obi-Wan had apparently even met his mother on that visit. Anakin wanted to crawl into a hole thinking about the conversations they probably had. Embarrassing ones.

But now Obi-Wan was here again, and Anakin was sweaty and most likely covered in flour. Perfect .  

“Baguette guy!” Ahsoka called as Obi-Wan stepped to the counter and chuckled – it was such a lovely sound to Anakin’s ears. 

“I guess that’s my name now, is it?” 

“Those are the rules,” Ahsoka smiled. “You are what you eat. Hey, how’d you like that focaccia?”  Anakin could give her one thing – she was a friendly and knowledgeable salesperson. She could probably have the rest of today’s focaccia sold to this one man today. 

Obi-Wan finally replied, “It was amazing, actually.”

“That’s Skyguy’s own recipe!” 

Maybe if he focused on the dough, they would all go away.

“Skyguy?” Obi-Wan waited for an explanation, but before he could say anything else, Ahsoka chimed in again. 

“Skyguy is Skywalker over here,” she said as she hooked a thumb in his direction. 

“Skywalker…”

Anakin had to look up again. He supposed he already wasted enough time NOT looking at the beautiful man. 

“That’s me,” he said, resigned to his fate. Suddenly Obi-Wan’s eyebrows did a thing – a frowny, furrow-y thing. 

“Did you know you’ve got…” Obi-Wan gestured at his own face. “A bit of flour just there?” 

ShitshitshitSHIT. Anakin’s gloved hand flew to his face and rubbed at his jaw. 

“No, other side… there, no…” Obi-Wan attempted to direct as Anakin clearly was not following. It seemed that no matter what part of his face he touched, it was not right. Or else, he just had that much flour on his face.  If he could crawl into a hole, or just disappear behind the counter, that’d be great. But Ahsoka – the traitor – seemed to be having a grand time at his expense. 

He huffed, “Ahsoka, help a bestie out here?” How dare she act like she was doing him a favor when she left him hanging in such a way!

Then it got worse. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he watched Ahsoka lick her thumb then reach out and rub it along his jaw in the one spot he clearly had missed.

“Ew, Snips!” He reeled back. “Don’t put your spit on me!” 

Next, Ahsoka smirked and he just knew that was going to hate whatever was going to come out of her mouth next. 

“I bet you wouldn’t say that to Obi-Wan.” He could feel his cheeks heating and he knew it wasn’t from the warmth of the shop.  She turned back to Obi-Wan – the incredibly handsome customer that Anakin had been pining after for weeks – and put back on her best customer service voice and smile. “Anyway, what can I get for you?” 

Obi-Wan seemed stunned, and who could blame him after that little display? “Oh, right, yes, the reason for my visit… still have any brioche?” If Anakin could get what he wanted quickly, then he could get him out of here quickly and berate Ahsoka quicker. 

“You’re in luck!” He said before Ahsoka could say one more thing. He walked to the window and grabbed the last one. “Last loaf.” 

“Wonderful,” Obi-Wan smiled and Anakin wanted to melt. He had to hold himself together. 

“You better use some of this to make French toast,” Ahsoka added. “I’m telling you, best stuff you’ll ever have in your life. Unless you somehow manage to screw it up.” 

Luckily Obi-Wan chuckled instead of stomping out of the shop. He'd be well within his rights after she just insulted him . “Well, I certainly hope not, but that’s good to hear because that was my intention. Going home to make it right now.”

Ahsoka smiled and clapped her hands, completely oblivious to the daggers Anakin was shooting out of his eyes. "Excellent."

She finished the transaction and Anakin got back to the bread. That's why he was here – bread. Not the thought of brioche French toast for breakfast in a handsome man's apartment, made by the aforementioned handsome man on a lazy weekend morning.  Just when he thought he was in the clear, in the safety of his own daydreams, she spoke again. 

"You know, Anakin lives upstairs over the shop."

"Snips!" He glared at her. Obi-Wan meanwhile was clearly trying to suppress laughter. Anakin could not be more embarrassed. 

"What!? You do!" She cried in defense.

"Yeah but you don't have to tell… strangers where I live!" He gestured at Baguette Guy on the other side of the counter. "No offense."

Obi-Wan shook his head, "None taken, I assure you."

"This isn't a stranger! It's Obi-Wan, Baguette Guy!" She cried again. That sinkhole under the city could swallow him up any day now. He'd be surprised if Obi-Wan ever came back now after Ahsoka's lack of decorum.  "Anyway, that'll be 3.75," she said then leaned over the counter to whisper something Anakin couldn't hear. He knew it was nothing but trouble.

"Uh, well, thanks," Obi-Wan said as he paid and left. 

Anakin forlornly watched him walk out of the shop, sure he'd never return now. He turned to his evil apprentice, "You're gonna pay for that."

Ahsoka's eyes widened for just a second before a smug grin spread across her face. "You can't kill me in front of all these witnesses."

"Next!" She shouted and turned away.

🍞🥐🥖🍞🥐🥖🍞🥐🥖

“You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?” Ahsoka asked as she flattened her buttery square of dough. 

Anakin looked up to find her watching him with that same self-satisfied smile she had been wearing for weeks. He regretted long ago ever expressing any interest in the stranger who passed by their shop every day.  But the thing was… if Obi-Wan actually did dare to ever come back into their shop, Anakin would have to finally say something to the man. 

“Thinking about whom ?” He replied and continued to roll out the dough. 

“ ThInKiNg AbOuT wHoM? ” She mocked with a laugh. “You know exactly WHOM.

“Why don’t you concern yourself with–” Anakin stopped mid-sentence when the kitchen door swung open and in walked his mother… and Obi-Wan. 

“Good morning,” he said with a smile and a small wave. 

“Hello,” Anakin said, maybe almost too quickly, and turned back to his task. He was here. He actually came back. 

“You get to see us in action!” Ahsoka smiled.

“He asked what laminating was, so I brought him here to see,” Shmi said as she headed back out front. “It doesn’t hurt to show him!”

Anakin’s brain was pinging back and forth, trying desperately to think of something to say. Maybe if he just continued laminating he would either magically come up with something. Or it was more likely that Obi-Wan would actually get bored and leave. (He hoped he wouldn’t.)

“So you see, Anakin put a large slab of butter in there then folded the dough over it then rolled it again,” Ahsoka explained and Anakin worked. “You do this numerous times, turning the dough and folding it and chilling it, and you’re incorporating the butter each time and that’s what gives the croissants their many buttery layers!”

Anakin was almost proud – she actually had been listening to him.

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said with a nod. “I never knew that’s how they did that. I never looked it up.”

“You were meant to find us so we could tell you,” Ahsoka said as she folded the edges of her own dough.

Anakin didn’t believe much in soulmates or people being ‘meant’ to find each other, but he supposed there was always time to change one’s mind. 

“Did you like the brioche?” Score one point for remembering to speak.

“Oh yes, it made a wonderful French toast, just like you said, Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan smiled.

“I’m always right,” she replied. “Just like how I’m right about you and Anakin–”

“Snips!” Anakin shouted. “I hear mom calling for you.”

Ahsoka furrowed her brow. “I didn’t…” She paused and her expression changed immediately back to smugness. “Oh yes, I see.”

Anakin narrowed his eyes, “You see nothing, now, don’t keep her waiting.” Maybe with Ahsoka out of the way, breathing down his neck and waiting for Anakin to make any move at all… maybe he could find room to actually breathe. 

“Whatever you say, Skyguy! I’ll leave you and Obi-Wan alone,” she said very pointedly as she practically skipped out of the kitchen. 

They were finally, truly alone. 

“Don’t mind–” 

“Would you like–”

They both started their next sentence at the same time then laughed at the gaffe.

“Apologies, you first,” Obi-Wan said as he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. Perhaps he was as nervous as Anakin felt? 

He put down his rolling pin and leaned against the table. “No, actually, you first. What were you going to ask?” 

“Oh,” Obi-Wan chuckled weakly. “It’s not important.” 

Anakin arched an eyebrow. “I’m sure that’s not true. What were you going to ask?” 

Something soft fluttered in Anakin’s chest as he watched Obi-Wan flex and crack his knuckles – a sure sign of nerves. His cheeks were also slightly flushed. It was probably just the heat of the kitchen, but Anakin preferred to believe otherwise.

“Well…” Obi-Wan stammered. “I was just… well, I was just wondering if you’d–”

“Yes!” Anakin said quickly, interrupting Obi-Wan. He didn’t need him to finish. He was taking his own leap now. 

Obi-Wan laughed. “You don’t even know what I wanted to ask!” 

Anakin walked around the table towards where Obi-Wan stood. He wiped his floury, buttery hands down his apron. He wasn’t as big a mess as usual, but it was more than he’d like when he was actually alone with Obi-Wan for the first time.  He imagined this moment going so much differently from this.  He stopped a few feet away then leaned against the table then folded his arms across his chest. It was now or never.

“Then if I am so mistaken, ask what you wanted to ask.” He didn’t know where this nerve came from.

“Would you like to go out to dinner sometime?” Obi-Wan asked with a gentle smile. Force, he was a handsome man , and Anakin was a goner. 

Anakin grinned. “Like I said… yes.” 

Obi-Wan barely had time to smile himself before Ahsoka and Shmi burst into the kitchen. 

“Finally!!” Ahsoka sighed and rolled her eyes. Shmi stood behind the girl smiling.

Anakin threw up his hands in a huff. “Can’t I have one moment alone!?”

“You can have a whole night alone,” Ahsoka said as she waggled her eyebrows. “With Obi-Wan!”  The poor man sputtered then tried to pass it off as clearing his throat. At least his mother laughed. 

“Well, then,” Obi-Wan said as he began to put his scarf back on, trying to recover from Ahsoka's cheekiness. “Can I come pick you up at say, 7pm? I know where you live.” Maybe Ahsoka actually did a good thing telling Obi-Wan where he lived. Even if he had still been a stranger at the time.

In another fit of boldness, Anakin reached out and helped rearrange Obi-Wan’s scarf. “Yes, you can,” he smiled as he smoothed down the knitted wool. But he froze when Obi-Wan reached up and touched his chin, most likely wiping away some rogue flour. Anakin didn’t even care anymore. His teeth could be full of spinach at this point, and he wouldn’t care. 

“Did you two already forget we were in here?” Ahsoka huffed. 

“Why are you still in here? Aren’t there customers or something?” Anakin waved his hands dismissively. She was like an annoying fly buzzing around at this point.  Shmi was even chuckling as she pulled Ahsoka out of the kitchen, finally leaving him and Obi-Wan alone again. 

“So…” Obi-Wan started with a small grin. “How long?” 

“How long?” Anakin was slightly confused.

“How long have you been sitting on ‘yes’?” he asked. 

“Since the first time I saw you.” At Anakin’s response, Obi-Wan’s eyebrows shot up. Clearly he had not been expecting that answer.

“When I came in for the baguette?” 

“No, the first time I saw you,” Anakin replied as he took a step closer.  He reached out and grabbed the lapels of Obi-Wan’s coat, rubbing his fingers along the heavy wool. “I guess you were on your way to work, but you stopped – only for a minute. You stood there and just stared at the window, like you were enchanted by whatever you saw.”

Obi-Wan thought for a moment then spoke again. “Anakin, that was the very first day I came by this shop. That’s been weeks!” 

Anakin looked up with a grin then shrugged. “You didn’t stop. Then suddenly you did.”

“Oh, Anakin…” 

What Anakin wouldn’t give to hear his name from that mouth for the rest of his life. 

“Anyway, I’d very much like to kiss you now.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened slightly. “Before our first date?” 

“Before our first date,” Anakin replied, tugging on Obi-Wan’s coat and pulling him closer. Their lips met in a tender kiss, and Anakin resisted the urge to moan as he felt Obi-Wan’s arms slip around his waist. He could most certainly get used to this. 

When they finally broke apart, Anakin laughed at the state of Obi-Wan’s torso. “Oops…” His coat was covered in a fine dusting of flour from when he had pulled Anakin close. 

“I can’t really walk into work like this. They’ll be able to guess immediately why I’m late.”

“Don’t go in at all,” Anakin brushed down the front of Obi-Wan’s coat. Mostly to get the flour off, but maybe also to feel the solid body underneath. “Stay here and let us teach you how to make some bread.” For as long as we both shall live.  

“I guess that sounds… loafly to me,” Obi-Wan said with a wink.

Anakin groaned as he dropped his head back, “Don’t make me rethink this date already.” He was trying to play it cool, but he couldn’t believe the pun. Maybe Obi-Wan was a bigger dork than he anticipated. 

Obi-Wan removed his coat and scarf again. “I thought you’d like that.”

Anakin walked across the room and found another apron, then brought it back and slipped it over Obi-Wan’s head and around his neck. The man’s cheeks were tinged pink, much to Anakin’s delight. 

“Ok, fine, I loved it…” He smiled as he tied the string around Obi-Wan’s waist.

Obi-Wan’s smile was lovely and infectious. Anakin couldn’t stop smiling at how this day was going nothing like he expected… and it was oh-so-much better. 

“Ok, well, get those cute buns over here and let’s make loaf,” Anakin groaned inwardly at his own terrible puns, but Obi-Wan seemed to love them. And that was all that mattered. 

He was half in love with the man already. 

#my writing #obikin #ficwip 5k 2023 #modern au #bakery au #obi wan x anakin #loaf is all you knead

[space-writes]

Summary:

Sorrow cares for an injured Vren, and lets slip an infernii pet-name for him.

Read on AO3 here / @ficwip

Someone was singing to him. The voice drifted in and out, bright lines of a tune dancing through the black. Not in Mohaadi but with a similar lilting cadence, the snap of syllables like wood popping in the fire. Infernal.

Sorrow.

Vren blinked awake with a groan. His entire body ached, and his ankle throbbed painfully—there was something wrapped tight around it, holding it immobile. Firelight flickered over the craggy wall of an unfamiliar cave, cold rock dug into his hips, and his head lay in Sorrow’s lap. He started up, made it halfway before a firm hand on his chest stopped him.

“Lie still. The enchantment needs time to work.”

“Enchantment?”

“The one healing your broken ankle.”

It came back in a rush: undead on their heels, rotten muscle hauling the desiccated things after them at an unnatural pace. Racing up a narrow incline, the mountains of the Wilds huge and dark around them—Sorrow in the lead, infernii eyesight better in the dark, Vren stumbling and cursing and catching his foot on something unseen. Falling. Hard impact, a starburst of pain and then black.

“Lie still,” Sorrow insisted, pushing at him. He hurt too much to argue. He lay back down, and Sorrow quietly resumed his song. It looped over on itself, an endless, twining rhyme that lulled Vren’s senses. Sorrow’s fingers stroked through his hair, almost absently—how he managed it without getting his rings or his claws caught in the thick, dark tangles was a mystery.

Vren shifted slightly, and his ankle flared in protest. He winced; enchantment or not, broken was broken.

“What’re you singing?” he asked, wanting a distraction.

“Oh, a bit of my language you don’t know, clever ghost?” Sorrow chuckled at his sour expression. “You’d call it a lullaby, I think. The song for when children are restless.”

“I’m not a child.”

“No, but you are injured, tzeji, and that makes you restless. Hush and let the magic do as it needs.”

“Tzeji?”

Sorrow’s hand stilled. The hard point of his tail tapped against the rocky floor, staccato and rhythmless. “I don’t know your word for it,” he said eventually. He was staring rather deliberately at the cave entrance, as if entranced by the dark beyond. Vren huffed.

“I hate it when you play stupid.”

“That’s all I do, is it not?”

“Then I’m going to assume it’s an insult, and an infernii custom to insult their children.”

Sorrow glared at him. “You are a wretched little man. It’s not an insult, it…” He sighed, returning his gaze to the cavemouth. The firelight glittered off the golden caps on his broken horns, burnishing the jagged edges. “It’s for one you care about. The closest you have is ‘sweetheart’, though that misses the nuance. As your human tongues often do.”

An ache took up in Vren’s heart, as if he’d bruised that in his tumble down the mountainside too. He found himself taking Sorrow’s hand.

“Then explain it to me, il’rahsin.”

A soft laugh. “Your turn to throw insults now?”

“Only the same way you insulted me.” The fingers in his tightened. “Tell me.”

And Sorrow did.

Valloroth taglist: @cherrybombfangirlwrites @memento-morri-writes @foxboyclit @lawful-evil-novelist @at-thezenith @morganwriteblr @fayeiswriting @serenanymph @sam-glade (ask to be +/-)

#hey sweetheart #original fiction #original characters #snippets #my fic #writeblr #m/m #fantasy writing #valloroth blogging #c: sorrow #c: vren #sadghost #BOYS! my beloved BOYS! #im normal about petnames i promise (<- lying intensely) #my writing

[nativestarwrites]

The word is Song for ficwip's Word Game Wednesday. I was sure I didn't have this in a wip, but turns out I have it in two and I couldn't decide which one to share so... decided not to pick. 😂

First one is from When Darkness Falls:

“Jamie…” Keeley flicks a switch on the radio and turns to face him fully. “When you were gone, Roy took it-” “I know!” Jamie snaps at her, “Do you really think I don’t know? I’m not stupid, the amount of time me and him spent together? He’s my best mate for fuck’s sake, you think I don’t look at him and know that he fucking grieved me?” “We all grieved you.” She reminds him quietly. “This-- you coming back, it never felt possible.” “But Roy never gave up.” He sing-songs back to her, too angry to hear good things about Roy right now.

And the second from the Post-Series Ted Lasso wip:

“Fuck. You.” Jamie repeats and slams the door as he storms out, hard enough to rattle the door frame, and it’s both satisfying and not enough. His hand is curled into a fist, his nails biting into the skin of his palm and it takes more than a few deep breaths while he tries to find his way out of this maze of a building before he can relax them. He’s still a mess of emotions when he finally steps out into the bright sunshine outside. It's a lot like walking out into another world, inside he’d felt closed in, it was too quiet, a forced stillness with the light muted by the windows and curtains. Now he could hear the bird song and traffic, feel the heat of the sun and the wind on his skin. But he can still hear his dad’s voice.

#word game wednesday #Ted Lasso #Jamie Tartt #When Darkness Falls

[ghoste-catte]

hey!! good evening, if you are still doing the whole fanfic thing would you please (pretty please) do a fanfic where lee crosses paths with shikamaru and/or kiba doing the walk of shame to konoha??

I don't even know how old this prompt is but ... hey, anon! Here you go!

Still catching up posting works from earlier this month, this was done for the @ficwip 1000 words challenge for the month of September!

Title: Walk of the Shameless

Rating: T

Fandom: Naruto

Warnings: None

Relationships: Gaara/Rock Lee, Shikamaru Nara/Temari

Characters: Rock Lee, Shikamaru Nara

Additional Tags: Humor, Walk of Shame

Summary:

While definitely-not-sneaking back to Konoha after a night of passion, Lee encounters some unexpected faces.

Read ‘Walk of the Shameless’ here on Ao3!

#answered #Anonymous #gaalee #leegaa #gaara #rock lee #naruto #my fics

[flower-seeks-the-moon]

Tender

My entry for the Hey Sweetheart, 2024 challenge on @ficwip. Also posted on AO3.

Your hands, your hands,

Fall upon mine as waves upon the sands.

O, soft as moonlight on the evening rose,

That but to moonlight will its sweet unclose,

Your hands, your hands,

Fall upon mine, and my hands open as

That evening primrose opens when the hot hours pass.

—  John Frederick Freedman, Hands

For all that he teases her about how well he knows her, Wisteria wonders if he has any inkling of just how much everything comes into sharper focus for her when he enters any room.

He’s not the only observant one, between the two of them.

“Darling.” His thumb rubs circles on the back of her hand, a gesture as familiar as breathing after the countless times he’s done so. “You’ve been deep in thought for a while. Care to spare your lover a moment to share what’s on your mind?”

She looks at him, drawn from her absent staring at the expanse of the park he’s taken her to.

In the splendor of autumn, deep within the golden boughs and quaint streets of his hometown, she can see how well the season suits him. Despite his initial unease at returning to Golden Grove, Baxter seems to be holding up pretty well, an unspoken weight lifting off his shoulders as he takes in the - in his own words - largely unchanged streets and the woods that surround them. His eyes are soft as ever when they glance over at her, a familiar deep brown that keeps her grounded.

Her mind wanders down odd paths and tends to float away from the present, like the pale clouds that her own eyes are reminiscent of. Her friends have always teased her that one day she might float too far out of reach for any of them - in fact, she has almost done so, the year that she silenced herself for fear of being a burden on Terry, Miranda, and Cove.

And yet, Wisteria realizes, that same wandering cloud always has a place to come home to. It’s the deep earth and ancient heartwood that her heart sings for, as a small bird coming home to roost on the tall branches of an old oak tree.

“You,” she replies, fingers entwining tighter with his. “I’m thinking about you.”

I think a worryingly large amount about you. Of your hands, of your eyes, of the way your smile feels more tangible instead of dreamlike when you look at me. I wonder why you’re so fascinated with me, when you’re much more interesting.

But Terry told me that it’s normal to think that much about people that you love.

She has noted long before how easily some of her statements can make him flush, for all that she didn’t mean to do it. Wisteria watches with no small amount of interest at the red that creeps over his cheeks. It’s a mystery to her how he seems so surprised at times when she’s always been direct about her affections.

One day, she hopes that Baxter Ward will no longer be so startled at the notion of how he’s wanted.

To his credit, he recovers in record time. With a crooked grin on his face, he tugs her closer. She scoots across the park bench, heart skipping a beat (or several) when his fingers hold her chin in place to tilt it up.

“Only good things on your mind, I hope?”

She crinkles her nose up at him but doesn’t deny it, making him chuckle under his breath. “Just thinking about how your hands sometimes tell me more than your words, you smooth operator.”

He stills against her as she blinks up at him. “Oh? And pray tell, what do they tell you?”

And you call my stare intense?

One of the things she appreciates about him is how long he’ll wait, for her to articulate her thoughts. Back in the summer of their youth, she’d been an impulsive teenager, but her words have become more spare as the years have passed. The confidence with which she says her ‘blunt’ statements is now reserved only for the closest of friends and family.

It’s one of the things that comes with adulthood, she supposes. Rarer smiles, rarer words; she doesn’t want to be too much, cramming herself into something more easily digestible. But Baxter doesn’t want it easy , he wants her.

She has to remind herself of that, sometimes; if she doesn’t, Baxter will make sure she doesn’t forget.

Guess we’ll have to keep reminding each other.

A few beats pass between them. Yet despite the force of his gaze, she never feels threatened. And so she speaks. “When you’re nervous, your hands do this.”

Wisteria copies the gesture with his thumb, keeping her attention solely on his face. The way his breath wavers as the pad of her thumb circles on his skin makes her swallow.

“Indeed?”

She nods, looking down at their joined hands, the way his long, tapered digits seem to dwarf hers. “It comforts you. I’m… glad.”

That she could be a comfort to him in times like this.

It’s not dissimilar to the way she clutches the straps of her messenger bags, and plays with them, whenever something makes her antsy. He’s been holding her hand almost the entire time they returned to Golden Grove. On the flight - business class, because this is Baxter she’s talking about — more and more of his subtle gestures that scream I need comfort started up.

This is a trip they’ve been planning for weeks. It took her moving back closer to her childhood home for him to admit, over dinner, how he wonders from time to time about his old friends.

And so, come a time when their schedules could both afford a small vacation, Baxter Ward takes her to see his town.

A homecoming, after all the years that he’s spent running from the people he’s left hanging. After he reunited with her earlier last year, Wisteria’s a witness to the careful —  always so careful, and a little afraid, but he’s trying and I’m so proud — overtures he’s made towards her friends and family. The people in Sunset Bird, who he left confused and maybe a little saddened, after the summer he left.

I was the saddest, she thinks to herself, once the fury that turned my vision red had cleared. But you were all alone, while I had-

Baxter drags a hand through his fringe, pulling her back from memory lane. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth at the gesture. “And when you’re unsure of what to say, you do that.” She laughs under her breath at the narrowing of his eyes. “Or the way you run your fingers along the edges of your clothes, or tug at your collar.”

“You do know everything, don’t you?” His voice is far too light for the simmering heat in his stare. She knows what this entails.

It makes her heart pound, but as he told her before, more than once: Wisteria’s always been attracted to a roguish man. And she brings out that side of Baxter, easy as dancing is to him.

“I watch you, a lot.” She mutters, distraction coming in the form of his arm now encircling her waist. His hand is warm, even through the layers of her clothing, dressed as she is for the season. “Does that bother you?”

“Oh, Ria.” Laughing low in his throat, Baxter’s free hand tugs at the length of her braid. If she doesn’t watch out, she knows that he’ll undo it, fond as he is of the ink-black strands. “Surely, you know me better than that. We’re rather in the same position. I watch you a lot, too.”

It’s rather unfair, she thinks, how quick he is to rob her of her breath with just one look. When she eyes him, wordless, he pulls her onto his lap. Public park be damned, it seems. He meant to show her the place where he used to ride a bike, carefree as a child, with his younger friends and the ballet dancer who first caught his heart. She’s always been curious about Qiu Lin, and the way Baxter spoke of their love for their neighbor.

That’s always the thing with Baxter Ward, isn’t it?

He has a way of spinning the simplest of childhood memories into something out of a romance novel, even if he’s only the observer and not the participant.

This is the furthest thing from her mind now that he has her astride his long legs.

“When you’re this quiet,” he breathes, smile all wicked and face bright. “And uncertain of what to say next, you’ll avoid my eyes and pinch your brow - like so.” She does exactly that, making him laugh. As his chest rumbles, she grabs his shoulders, digging her fingers into the fine fabric of his turtleneck.

His lips crush against hers, and she sighs into his mouth. By the time they part for air, she's holding on to the front of his clothes like it's a lifeline and she, a drowning woman.

As always, he’s happy to let her be as rough as she ends up being with his clothes. The indulgent smirk on his face makes her want to act up.

Wisteria glowers at the dark material when she realizes how it covers his throat. “Right.”

Only to stop short when he speaks, voice low in her ear. “And you’ll stare at the birthmark on my neck like it holds all the answers to your questions. Hmm?” He cups the back of her head as she ducks, the fabric of his sweater a shield between her burning face and the rest of the world. She sits still against him; the rest of the world fades around them, until all that she can sense is the hammering of his pulse, the spice of his floral fragrance, and the comforting warmth he gives off.

So fucking distracting.

And she nods against him, not trusting the right words to come to her.

Baxter hums in satisfaction; she can imagine his face as he tilts his head. Pretending at his effortless nonchalance, even as his heart jackhammers much like hers.

“Thought so.”

This incorrigible man. He’s lucky he’s so damn cute.

He doesn’t let up. As his hands wander down her sides to rest on her hips, she feels his lips move against her skin.

Once she looks up, he pounces.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, well aware of how flushed the tips of her ears are. “Have I told you how much comfort you bring me, when I long to run from the things that frighten me so? You have quite the power over me, impossible little siren.” He leans in, letting his teeth catch her bottom lip, making her breath stutter. And then there’s that undeniable smirk she feels as he sighs. “It once vexed me, but I must confess: I am utterly besotted with the way you distract me.”

With how hard her fingers dig into his clothes, she’s almost worried she’d tear them up. And yet she suspects she won’t be entirely apologetic about it.

“… Good,” she exhales against him, their breaths mingling. A bracing warmth against the chill of autumn. Wisteria supposes she’ll never have to worry about being cold, when he’s a living furnace. “I guess you knew, huh.”

“You are worried for me, I am aware.” He presses a kiss, light as a butterfly, on the tip of her nose. “You’re very sweet, you know?”

She cocks her head, then demurs. “You’re sweeter.”

It doesn’t even bear much thinking, the words just tumble out. She adds, “But yeah. You were holding on to me quite a lot on the flight.” And even now, his hands never quite leave her, always resting on her back. If his arm isn’t already around her waist, or her fingers entwined with his. Baxter is a very tactile person, she’s long realized, even when they were younger. “You look like you’re feeling better now, though.”

“Hm, I wonder why.” He shares a dry look with her. “But I am doing rather well now, I must admit. This place feels smaller now.” The latter words are almost too low for her to hear. “To think that I once circled these same paths with a bicycle, with them…”

Leaning back, she takes in the view once again. It’s an alien view, for she’s never really left the seaside even when she moved out of her mother’s home and found her own place. As a few stray leaves blow across the pavement, she admires their colors. They’re all pretty shades that she’s more familiar identifying with a sunset across the horizon, shining over a boundless expanse of rippling water.

The dark-haired man below her, his eyes like molten honey, further completes the picturesque place. 

“This is a nice place to play in.”

She tries to imagine it: young Baxter, cheeks fuller and small face bright as he puts foot to pedal, zipping past this bench. His friends’ laughter, high-pitched and childish. Would he laugh openly, to join in with the other children? Wisteria stifles a chuckle, and decides that he’s closer to smirking his amusement.

“What are you smiling about, I wonder?” He tugs her back against him, not that she ever left his lap. When her eyes flicker back to his face, he raises a brow.

Returning his look, she lifts her shoulder in one careless shrug. Might as well explain her thoughts to Mister Curious. “Just trying to imagine a kid — you on a bike, racing your buddies. I bet it was all black and white, and your helmet all fancy.”

Baxter snorts, briefly covering his mouth. “You’re correct in that assumption. I was no racer, however. Such exploits were more the territory of Autumn and Renee.” Hmm, she supposes not, remembering his words about how proper he was expected to be. As he looks down at her, his cheek dimples as he grins. “Much like you are no surfer, despite your proximity to the Holdens.”

“You and Cove are never going to let me forget how I fell off that surfboard, aren’t you?”

Well. It was only last summer, so it’d be pretty hard to forget. What she didn’t anticipate was how the two men would join forces to poke fun at her. Traitors.

He has the audacity to chortle. “No,” he sing-songs the answer, though he wraps his arms tightly around her waist. “I was a tad worried, however, before I remembered that you know how to swim much better than I do. Had I been there with you, perhaps I would have caught you, much the same way I came to your rescue across that log on our hike.”

“Oh no,” she intones, mock-serious. “Whatever shall I do, without you? Freshwater and saltwater, I’ve got so many choices to take a deep dive in, here.”

His answer is a full-bodied laugh. Throwing his head back, he leans against the back of the bench and jostles her on his legs. He’s quick to steady her, though his laughter doesn’t subside. A few of the most adorable snorts she's ever heard intersperse between his giggles.

Wisteria once again wonders if she’s this good at comedy, or if Baxter is just easy to please.

And then she promptly decides she doesn’t care; it’s wonderful; to hear him so unrestrained is a gift. She cups his face in her palms, leaning in enraptured, soaking up his joy. Unfiltered, his laughter is something she ought to bottle up and save for a rainy day. It's hot peppermint tea with just the right spoonful of honey, drunk before a roaring fireplace, shared with the one who holds her heart in his hands.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” she scoffs, lowering her lashes and pretending to think. “Remember that time you clung to me when the tiniest crab ran over your foot? I think you need me more than I need you.”

Baxter just bares his teeth at her, unrepentant and warm and all hers. He reaches up and engulfs her hands in his. “That’s all true, Wisteria. I implore you, do continue to be my valiant protector against the horrors which lurk in the sea.”

“Nah, you can just borrow Cove for that.”

“I doubt Derek would appreciate me taking away his boyfriend when I already have you here.”

A third voice rings out, interrupting her would-be retort.

“Looking really comfortable there, Baxter Ward.”

Neither of them is the type to jump apart, even caught like this. She simply turns enough to watch the stranger - to her, at least - sidling up the path. Her brows rise, appreciative, at the tousled deep red hair and freckled, elfin face. Now this is one pretty lady.

She arches a brow at her partner, the urge to tease returning full-force. “Say, Baxter. How did you have a crush on Autumn, when your other friend’s this pretty?”

The pretty lady blinks, owlish, at her; her cheeks turn pink even as she smiles politely. “You’re not what I expected. Wisteria, was it? I think we’ll get along pretty well.”

She feels a deep sigh against her. Baxter’s chest heaves, dramatic as ever, as he grasps the front of his shirt with his palm. “I did not come here to reunite with my friends, only for my partner to be stolen away from me.”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” she scoffs, even as she hears his friend snicker. So much for dignified first impressions, they're already a pair of clowns in front of his childhood friends. “I was only questioning your taste as a thirteen-year-old.”

“Ah, but you slander yourself. You were my next crush, as a fourteen-year-old.”

Goddamn it. He has a point there.

“Autumn would be interested to hear more about that, once they get here.” Renee inserts herself into the conversation, pinning her childhood bestfriend with her stare. “They’ll be here pretty soon, with their girlfriend and Tamarack.”

“That’s wonderful.” He coughs, tilting his head to meet Renee Murray’s eyes. And she can see it: the uncertainty tensing his features, in the split-second before it passes and the distant smile that hurts her comes to the fore. "I see that life has treated you quite well."

She sucks in a breath and pokes his cheek hard, making him drop the act.

It’ll take a while for him to get past his initial, instinctive reaction to pull away . Not when there’s still guilt weighing down on his shoulders for the friends he abandoned; as she hears it, he was… unavailable at a time when they needed him most.

‘I was caught up in my own self-loathing, but the way I utterly forgot about their struggles was unforgivable in my eyes.'

Baxter makes an aborted motion to hold on to her, when she scrambles off his lap. She silences his worry with a quelling look, holding her hand out to him once she’s straightened up. The fragility of his smile has never been clearer, except for these moments, and she swears to protect it in any way possible.

For all that he’s afraid of facing his friends, he’s fearless when it comes to showing his affection for her. There is no hesitation when he places his hand —  and his trust —  in hers, squeezing her tight before he stands.

Feeling Renee Murray’s attention on her, she turns and observes her. She sees a firmness on this woman’s face as she approaches her old childhood friend, only to turn to Wisteria. And then, it softens when their gazes meet, and her lips curve up in response. There’s no resentment in those eyes, she can tell that much. 

A good sign, perhaps. These are the people who saw Baxter in his childhood, who were there for him as much as he allowed them to be, back when he was a ‘stuck-up’ boy.

Wisteria very much wants him to reclaim a piece of his boyhood, stolen from him by the years of dismissing his place within this town.

His fingers tighten around hers, once more, the pad of his thumb running across her skin. A wordless thanks.

“Renee,” her love, faltering yet so brave, begins to take the first step back towards his friends. “It’s been quite some time since I last saw you.” He takes a fortifying breath, and continues. “Thank you for accepting my email.”

A sudden wind rustles the fallen leaves at their feet, nipping at their noses and cheeks and heralding the coming of changes that are a long time coming. She takes a look upwards, lifting her free hand to capture a golden leaf out of the air. As the two friends reunite, Wisteria presses her lips to this little incarnation of fall.

Please let him be alright.

She opens her palm and lets the breeze take it away, carrying all her wishes for the years ahead. Healing, for the man beside her; more kisses shared underneath this same sky, throughout all the seasons. Spring, summer, autumn, and winter. Him, surrounded by all their loved ones and flourishing like a tree soaking up a gentle rain.

The worst has come to pass, and here they are now. Though all things may end at some point, there are countless little ways to begin anew.

From here, there’s nowhere to go but up.

#hey sweetheart #ficwip #our life: beginnings & always #olba #baxter ward #fanfiction #happy valentines! #luna's fics #baxter ward x mc

[eliotqueliot]

Happy Valentine's Day, Queliot!

Chapter 3 of you want it darker? || dark king eliot is now live! As a Queliot gift for Valentine's Day!

This chapter does still focus on Eliot's grief, and Quentin's still technically dead (but not really/permanently?). But, as dark and angsty as this story can be, there's a strong emphasis on the Queliot love story. It feels essential to me. Hopefully you’ll agree! Big 🍑❤️ to all of you today (Happy Valentine’s Day, no matter when you read this!) (Yes, today this fic finally earns its E-rating!)

A big thank you to my collaborator @juliawickers❤️who in addition to all the support and inspiration, and creating the original concept, graphic, and fanmix❤️has made an edit for Ch. 2 and now a queliot au: you want it darker? || dark king eliot pin board with Ch. 3❤️

Summary for Chapter 3 specifically:

Eliot sees glimpses of Quentin everywhere. Hears his voice. Feels his phantom touch.

He knows it's really Q. And that no one will believe him. Telling Margo or Julia will only make them worry more.

Meanwhile, attempts to bring Quentin back continue to fail. Will a visit with an old friend help turn things around?

================

Thank you @queliotbingo! ❤️ This WIP as a whole will be marking my Resurrection/Reincarnation, Time Travel, Underworld squares

Thank you @ficwip for Hey, Sweetheart 2024! In addition to meeting the "sweetheart" challenge (several times!), Chapter 3 fits today's themes of 🗺️ Forest and 💕 mutual pining.

you want it darker? || dark king eliot (34561 words) by victoriaandalbert, EliotQueliot Chapters: 3/12 Fandom: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh, Margo Hanson & Eliot Waugh, Margo Hanson/Julia Wicker, Eliot Waugh & Julia Wicker, Quentin Coldwater & Julia Wicker, Quentin Coldwater & Margo Hanson, Quentin Coldwater & Theodore "Ted" Rupert Coldwater-Waugh & Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater & Theodore "Ted" Coldwater Characters: Eliot Waugh, Margo Hanson, Julia Wicker, Quentin Coldwater, Alice Quinn (The Magicians), Josh Hoberman, Fen (The Magicians), Rupert Chatwin | Dark King Sebastian, Jane Chatwin, 23rd Timeline William "Penny" Adiyodi, 40th Timeline William "Penny"Adiyodi, William "Penny" Adiyodi, Henry Fogg, 24th Timeline Alice Quinn (The Magicians), Kady Orloff-Diaz, Todd (The Magicians), Ted Coldwater, Hades (The Magicians), Theodore "Ted" Rupert Coldwater-Waugh, The Great Cock of the Darkling Wood, The Great Cock (The Magicians) Additional Tags: Grief/Mourning, Canonical Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Violence, Blood and Violence, Soulmates, queliot, endgame queliot, Underworld, Resurrection, Dark Fantasy, Margo Hanson is a Good Friend, Julia Wicker is a Good Friend, Quentin Coldwater Lives, Depression, References to Depression, References to Shadeless Julia Wicker, Shadeless Eliot Waugh, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, Castle Whitespire, Mountain of Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fillory (The Magicians), Goddess Julia Wicker, Crying, Fix-It, Alternate Universe, Suicidal Thoughts, Afterlife, Ghosts, Souls, True Love, royal husbands, Magic, Fairies, High King Eliot Waugh, High king Margo Hanson, King Quentin Coldwater, Queen Julia Wicker, Suicide Attempt, Lucid Dreaming Series: Part 2 of You Want It Darker? Series Summary:

Eliot finds among Jane Chatwin’s things perhaps a way to bring back Quentin—but it comes at an enormous personal cost: during the ritual, Eliot is stripped of his Shade completely. Violently ripping the reigning Dark King from the throne, Eliot assumes the mantle of Dark High King—a truly malevolent force who will do anything to get Quentin back. Even if it means he becomes somebody the man he loves won’t recognize when Eliot rescues Quentin from the Underworld. By any means necessary.

—summary from you want it darker? || dark king eliot [graphic + fanmix] by victoriaandalbert

#queliot fanfic #hey sweetheart #queliot bingo #eliot waugh #quentin coldwater #my fic #otp: proof of concept

[throttlegainwell]

Sort of combining WIP Wednesday with that ficwip word game Wednesday thing (which is "missing" this week), so here's one from Dear Whoever You Are:

When my mom told us about you, Jonathan looked like he was going to puke. Then he looked empty. He’s mostly been high ever since, so I don’t really know how he feels about you. But, then, he was high before Mom told him, and he might have been at least a little high when she told him, too. I promise you’d like him. He’s a good person. You want someone like him in your corner. But I guess you can’t have him. I can’t really either at the moment, so maybe we’re in the same boat there, except that I know what it’s supposed to feel like so I know what I’m missing, and you’re probably all alone.

#i don't know why like 75% of my jonathan-related posting this past week has been drug-related #it's a fluke i promise it'll taper off #(i'm interested in the drug thing i just don't think it's a massive deal) #(will does though) #drugs tw #dear whoever you are wip #writing tag

[jamiesfootball]

If you decide on other words then here are some other word options: carry, work, bottle, message 🧡🧡

Thank you, friend. You have saved me from the struggle of making decisions with a headache

Carry (8 times)

Any second now, his soul was going to shiver up and scream, flee his body rather than put up with the excruciating sensation of being held. Until then it stayed stubbornly put. The leeching warmth and pressure grounded him, and the pillows and bedsheets did the rest as the aches and tensions he'd been carrying around slowly faded into the mattress.

Work (100+ times)

“Wait a minute! Come back! Please!“ the waiter popped back to their table with an equally frantic look on their face. The expression turned to confusion as Keeley made grabby fingers at the cheque. “Sorry, I just needed to grab this.” Receipt in hand, she turned back to Roy and explained, “It's for Barbara. Since I technically talked about work, it’s a work meal.”

Bottle (a confusing 42 times)

He could see the anger, could feel the heat of it pressing behind his eyes and between his ears and could taste it between his teeth, but it was like seeing it through the glass of a bottle. It came clear-headed and focused in a way that had only ever come naturally to him on the pitch, and he was so grateful for that he could scream. He was going to by Sharon Fieldstone all the flowers in the fucking world.

Message (only 10???)

When Roy checked his phone, he had four messages from Isaac: Is Jamie with you He won’t answer his phone I’m at his place but he ain’t answering and his car’s in the drive Coach?

#ficwip #word game wednesday alternative #fic: oh god you're gonna get it (you have not been given love) #writing progress #the progress is that i made small edits as i found things : )

[pompoenwolkjes]

2, 5, and 11 for the fanfic new year asks! <3

Hi! Thank you for the ask!

2. Will you participate in any fandom exchanges or fic challenges, etc?

I’m currently participating in two things on twt; jeongsung fest and jeongchan bingo. It’s a fun way for me to get some writing practice in though I will probably be whining again once the deadline rolls around haha. As for here on Tumblr: I’m going to try to keep up with @ficwips Wednesday word of the week game so I work on my wips more haha (except I never post it on Wednesday hdhdhd). 

5. Which WIP is first on your list to complete this year? Will you post a snippet?

Not counting the fest and bingo ones, my first on the list is the witch au! I’m really looking forward to writing more of it, I love the dynamics in this one. 

Technically the jeongsung fest is first on the list BUT I’m sharing a witch au snippet cause I really want to work more on that one and choosing snippets motivates me to expand my scenes hahah it's a LONG ONE SORRY

Minho’s eyes are drawn to something on the wall, just visible over Jeongin’s shoulder. A black spot, almost like a scorch burn. Wear and tear around the house is nothing new, susceptible to Jeongin’s moods as it is. And they know, Minho perhaps more than anyone else, that Jeongin has had a collection of hurt and anger over the years which is reflected throughout the house. Everyone still freezes when a new spot appears but they learned to live with it. Never ignoring the different marks but they now acknowledge that this is a thing that will keep happening. Chan and Seungmin watch the development of new ones like a hawk to navigate when Jeongin’s spiraling and they need to step in. It’s handy having a tattletale od sorts that informs them when Jeongin is not doing as well as he lets on.  But Minho’s never seen one like this, it looks like it’s going to crumble if he touches it, giving way for the outside. It looks like it hurts and all he wants to do is take Jeongin in his arms and tell him it’ll be alright. Except he doesn’t know this time. And Minho doesn’t lie. Never to Jeongin. No matter how much it feels like having his heart ripped out. In a house otherwise  filled with comfort and soothing tones and gentle touches, Jeongin counts on Minho’s sharp tongue and honesty, relies on it and Minho would rather die five times over than betray that, to dishonour him in some way.

11. Would you like to try any new fanfic genres or tropes this year?

I’m working on a jeongchan kitsune-ish au for the bingo and I’m excited to try that out! I’ve never written anything similar to shapeshifting but I think it would be fun and interesting to explore that as well as the mannerisms and ways of communication in animal form. Come to think of it I actually did have a txt shapeshifter/magical au hmmm I should really go through my wips again hahah but yeah! I’d really like to explore it more alongside fantasy and mythical creatures in general!!! (looks at the dragon au)

I’d also like to grow in writing intimate scenes without it being overly explicit. Or as you called it: Implying Sexy Shit Without Writing It, hahahha

Thank you for the ask!!! I was very excited about doing my first ever ask hehe <3

#ask #nettlestingsoup #skz fic #I had three different snippets in mind to share #now I’m convincing my brain I should work on those two as well regardless that I didn’t share them

[kiwiana-writes]

Word Game Wednesday

@ficwip ✨️

Thanks for the tag @dinnfameron my love! This word appears in two separate docs and they're both courtesy of Nora, which I love:

The roommates/OnlyFans AU:

“Okay, clearly I’m missing some pertinent info here.” Nora stares at him over mimosas two days later. “You told me there was a problem, and I’m failing to hear one.”

The Anastasia AU:

“Age progression AI.” Alex nods as though this means anything to him. “Someone’s built one that they’re claiming will, quote, ‘change the game’ when it comes to missing person’s cases, but they don’t give a single fuck about the privacy concerns or the data usage implications, so I’m trying to pull it apart and prove it’s janky. Can’t rely on capitalism to do the moral thing, but I sure can trust corporations to recognise a bad investment.”

TAGGING: @anchoredarchangel @anincompletelist @dumbpeachjuice @firenati0n @getmehighonmagic @happiness-of-the-pursuit @heybuddy-drabbles @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @inexplicablymine @littlemisskittentoes @orchidscript @sherryvalli @ships-to-sail @sparklepocalypse and, as always, anyone who wants to play!

#word game wednesday #kiwiana-writes #wip: hold up rewind knock me off of my feet #wip: years of dreams just can't be wrong

[bi-bats]

Jason’s first thought — around the incredibly loud siren noise in his brain — is that Tim is too tall. He thinks it in the weird way that a person sometimes thinks a single rational thought in the middle of losing their mind, but still. Jason is certain that he’s an inch or two taller than he should be.

Taller-Tim frowns at the device in his hand, his eyes pinching in the corners. He shakes the thing once, twice, then taps it against his palm a few times, like maybe there’s something stuck in it.

“Damn it,” he mumbles, placing a hand on his hip.

“Tim?” Jason asks, his voice cracking right down the middle as the name slides out with the air that was stuck in his chest.

Tim’s head snaps up to look at him, and his face does something complicated. Not the kind of complicated that Jason is used to. Or, was used to. Before. Back when Tim was around to do things like look at Jason. Back when Tim was alive—

Nope. He hasn’t let himself think that for four months and he isn’t about to start now.

Especially not when Tim is looking at him.

(Look I know that the @ficwip word game wednesday thing is supposed to be one line but I’m physically incapable of sharing one line out of context. Something something my loss is your gain)

#word game wednesday #writing snippet #jaytim #bibatwrites #word was Shake #I’m ALSO SO EXCITED FOR THIS PIECE #THIS WAS ONE OF MY FIRST JTW PIECES AND IT’S DEFINITELY GOING TO BE A LONG FIC THAT I ONLY POST CHAPTER ONE OF FOR JTW #DON’T WORRY I’LL FINISH KNOW YOURSELF I SWEAR #BUT I HAVE TO DO THIS FIC SO BADLY #ALSO YEAH I REALLY FR WAS LIKE #I’M WRITING A FIC ABOUT MULTIPLE DIMENSIONS AND THAT’S OBVIOUSLY NOT COMPLICATED ENOUGH #HOW ABOUT I ALSO WRITE A FIC ABOUT TIME TRAVEL??? #AND THEN I HAD A REVERSE ROBINS IDEA THE OTHER NIGHT!!! #I HAVE TOO MANY IDEAS HELP

[thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai]

Writing update

Earlier this month, I announced that I want to post more about writing and the overall progress of my works. However, over Europeans and some work-related things, I kinda neglected this. Shame on me.

First things first: Since I started this task about three weeks ago, I have edited about 33% of all scenes in my YOI post-canon story Did My Heart Love 'Til Now. I was able to declutter the text, cut dialogues or rearranged the different parts of a scene, but also added stuff where I found it necessary for characterisation or setting, which results in about 1-2k more words so far. But no need to panic, as the entire story is about 330k words, this effect is marginal. Also, this is pretty normal editing behaviour for me lol.

Picking the scenes randomly from a spreadsheet allows me to look at each one from a distance as I don't get drawn into the story. As a consequence, I decided that I want to cause Yuuri even more distress at the 2016 Four Continents and thus raise the stakes for the finale of this story [Worlds]. That was by far the most complex and extensive part to edit so far as it included recalculating of the scores of three characters, including fair and unfair scoring for each of them based on the ISU base values and rules for the 2015-2016 season. I had so much fun doing this and it was super enlightening to see for myself how things like GOE, underrotations, edge calls, and downgraded jumps can affect the scores of a skater. (I knew before as I sometimes check the protocols when the scores don't make sense, but it's different if you calculate them yourself.) I might write a post about how exactly I calculate figure skating scores for my stories.

Over the next two days, I will prepare the chapters of Can You Hear My Heartbeat and Thousand Spotlights I will post in February, and then continue with the revision. I hope to be done by mid March as starting then, I will have significantly less spare time for a few months, and because I need a beta-reading for Did My Heart Love 'Til Now that ideally should be finished before I will post the last chapter of CYHMH in case I must make any bigger changes.

Right now, I'm planning to write the story about young Vitya after that before I'll pick up my work on In Love and War.

Edit: For now, I will continue posting Thousand Spotlights. After the last chapter, I received several very kind and uplifting comments that showed me that this story is far more appreciated than I thought and that there's an audience for it after all. Thank you for this <3

Edit 2: If you're interested in reading excerpts: I often post snippets of my current wips for the ficwip game on Wednesdays (hashtags: #ficwip, #word game wednesday).

#writing update #fanfiction #yoi #my yoi fanfic #ADTLTBAverse #did my heart love til now #can you hear my heartbeat #in love and war #thousand spotlights #katsuki yuuri #viktor nikiforov #yoi fanfic #yuri on ice