#currently untitled

[endlessnightmaress]

last sentence tag game

Rules: post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic/ original/ anything) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence.

Tagged by the very lovely @thiamsxbitch

He still hasn't managed to convince the werewolf to fuck him without it, but that doesn't mean that he's stopped trying.

@wolfboy88 @fruchtfliege @genetic-hellhound @thiamsalpha @honestlydarkprincess @ashyjingles @okay-but-could-we-not @6lytherinn @hemlocksandfoxgloves

[shall0w-waters]

🐾

James's plopped himself down on the sofa next to Sirius who was hunched over his notebook writing furiously.

"Whatcha writin'?"

"Hopefully a ballad," Sirius responded, grabbing Peter and Remus's attention. Peter jogged over when Sirius handed the notebook to James, peering over his shoulder so he could read too. Sirius tapped his nails against his jeans as he waited for them to finish. Sharing unfinished lyrics always felt uniquely vulnerable.

He could tell Remus was staring at him from across the room, but he refused to look up and meet that hazel gaze.

They had started off on such unsteady ground and Sirius knew it was his fault. Gilderoy leaving and spreading all of those lies had eaten at him in a way that the rest of the band couldn't quite understand. He was already a naturally defensive person, holding everything close to his chest while pretending to wear his heart on his sleeve. So it wasn't a shock that he'd made a horrible first impression. Nor that he had either too much pride or not enough courage to remedy it.

James got up and handed the notebook off to Remus, "Shaping up to be quite the love song Pads. Did I possess you at some point and forget?" James laughed but the words felt hollow as they bounced off of Sirius. James had always been the type to be overly generous with his love and affection.

"Yeah, it's quite soppy, but in a good way!" Peter added, "The bit about the moonlight is probably the most romantic thing you've written yet."

"You're not hiding a relationship from us are you?" James joked with an easy grin on his face, nudging Sirius with a quick jab of his elbow as he sat back down next to him. God if only he knew.

Sirius tried to laugh along but he couldn't, the smile plastered on his face fake in a way that James would've caught if he were looking a little closer.

"It's heartbreaking is what it is," Remus mumbled from his stool. Despite his low volume, all attention had been diverted to him where his head was still tucked downwards, staring at the words in front of him while he worried his bottom lip between his teeth.

"What are you talking about? Did you flip to a different page?" James asked.

Remus looked up at the three of them, his eyes a bit glassier than they'd been before, releasing his lip from his teeth. His eyebrows were furrowed together as he brought his hand up to absentmindedly rub at the scar on his jaw.

"It's about being in love with someone but not being able to express it. It screams a queer or otherwise forbidden relationship to me." The words sunk into Sirius skin where James's had bounced right off.

The confusion must have been clear on James and Peter's faces because Remus continued. "Take the line, moments under the moonlight where your heart beats next to mine, I ache for you in the sunshine. Taken very simply the first part could be a euphemism for sleeping together, obviously." His tone was almost comical in the way he brazenly implied that Sirius writing was in some way cliché.

"But when taken with the second part the contrast of the light and the dark leads you to the idea that the speaker can't or isn't allowed to love this person anywhere other than under the cover of night. Or hell, even our devotion lives in every shadow. This love is haunting the speaker, following them around but just out of reach. You can't shine a light on a shadow, it'll just disappear. It's a soul deep love, you aren't wrong. That just makes it all the more depressing that it has to be hidden."

Remus was picking up the broken scraps of a mirror and forcing Sirius to look at himself in them. The jagged edges cutting right through Sirius's carefully crafted mask and reflecting the exhaustion and hurt lying just beneath the surface. Years of lyrics laced with double, sometimes triple meanings were being flayed out for everyone to see. Sirius had always yearned to be seen and yet flinched from the insinuation that he'd put himself out there to be examined in such a way.

"Toss the bouquet beneath the stone, that's where it belongs, like you in my arms, the imagery is supposed to be flowers beneath a gravestone, yeah? But you've specifically used tossing and bouquet because it also calls to mind a wedding. That idea of a wedding, of a public declaration of their love is dead, buried."

This time both James and Peter turned to Sirius, searching for some kind of confirmation. All he could do was offer a small curt nod as he caught his breath.

"It's like how Bronze isn't really about a summer road trip, it's about a fantasy version of a childhood the speaker didn't get to experience, right?" Remus continued. And he was right, so succinctly right in a way no one had called Sirius out on before.

Spluttering sounded from the other end of the couch as the boys argued against Remus until the words scraped their way out of Sirius. "Yeah, uh, I haven't..." he cleared his throat, "I like writing songs that can be interpreted differently by the listener, but... I um... the stories I want to tell don't always... I prefer writing and playing songs you could dance to."

Betrayal flashed across James's face and Sirius felt his heart clench. He didn't mean to keep anything from his best friend, his brother, he just... His music was so deeply personal. It's why Gil's lies had cut him so deeply, why he couldn't just move on from the incident likes James and Peter could.

"So you hide it behind a quick tempo and major chords," Remus said while nodding, "to keep most listeners at the surface." He took in a deep breath like he was debating whether or not to say what he said next. "Bronze needed a fiddle, and this," he gestured with the notebook, "this one needs an organ, not just standard keys. Wedding march for those on the surface and funeral dirge for those diving deeper." Despite the hesitation, Remus looked steady. Confident in a way that he hadn't been before. Like he knew for a fact he was right and didn't quite care if anyone in the room agreed or not.

"I don't have any instrumentation for it yet. Those aren't even the final lyrics," Sirius argued.

"Sure, and when you do, add an organ," Remus said with finality.

"Wait," Peter interrupted, "can we go back to Remus's fucking literary analysis. You've got an English degree or somethin'?"

That finally seemed to bring back Remus's self consciousness, as a blush fought it's way across his cheeks. "Ah, um no. Masters degree in music therapy actually." A careful smile exposing a crooked canine and a lack of eye contact made it clear to Sirius that Remus hadn't been planning on sharing this fact with them so soon, if ever. Sirius closed notebook was being gripped tightly in his left hand.

"No offense man but what the fuck were you doing auditioning for bands with a degree like that?" James chimed in and Sirius wanted badly to smack him across the back of his head. The smile dropped as Remus's face shuttered back to his normal joking detachment.

"Clinic wasn't the right fit for me." Remus shrugged it off but Sirius could see the deflection behind the half truth. Their eyes locked for a second. The moment was fleeting, but in it Sirius knew he wasn't the only one hoping nobody would risk a deeper look.

🌙

After they wrapped for the day and James and Peter made their way out to the control room, Sirius approached Remus, his hands tucked in the front pocket of his hoodie. Remus regretted ever opening his mouth. He should've let it go. Left it to Sirius to correct the boys or keep his secret meanings to himself.

"I'm so sorry I-"

"No one's confront-"

Remus looked away and gestured for Sirius to continue.

"No one has ever dissected my lyrics that closely before. Not even the music journalists we have to do press with. It was a bit terrifying if not wildly impressive."

That was something Remus could believe. The band's image didn't invite you to dig any further. He was sure that there was a tumblr blog or two out there who'd figured it out but had been shut down by the whole 'sometimes the curtains are just blue' crowd.

"Look... I'm sorry I brought it up. I should've realized it was personal." Remus rubbed his sweaty palms on his joggers.

Sirius shrugged in response, "I knew the risks when we recorded our first song for public consumption."

That released some of the tension Remus had been holding in his chest. Sirius wasn't angry at him.

"So, fiddle huh?"

Wow, it'd be great if the world could've just swallowed him up right about then. "God, I promised myself I wasn't going to bring that up. Please ignore me." He tried hiding in his hands but Sirius's small laugh pulled him out of his cover.

"No, no! Please tell me how a song that spent three weeks in the top 100 could've been better." Sirius sounded mirthful, with a small grin pulling at his light pink lips.

"Well, uh," Remus rubbed the back of his neck before pulling his cell phone from his pocket, "My thesis was on how instrumentation interacts with lyrics to evoke different emotions. Fiddle is commonly used for a sense of folk tale-esque fantasy but could also fit with your descriptions of summer festivals. I have," he gestured to his phone, "if you wanted to hear."

Sirius looked at him with an unreadable expression on his face before breaking out into a grin and pulling up a stool to sit next to Remus while nodding enthusiastically. This close Remus could smell the tobacco and whiskey notes of Sirius's cologne.

He connected his phone to the studio's bluetooth speakers and pulled up the remix he'd made of Bronze. "Are you sure?"

"Just play it, Remus," Sirius responded.

Remus hit play, and for three and a half minutes he sat inches away from Sirius Black, seeping himself in the fog of false memories that he'd always pictured when this song played. His own fiddle playing was layered between the punchy bassline and the call and response of Sirius and James's guitars. In his opinion it helped round out the sound, filling the emptiness he'd felt in the original version. If anything it both helped disguise the hollowness that had made Remus read the lyrics on their own in the first place and reinforced the illusory meaning he'd found on his reanalysis.

As the last notes faded away Sirius jumped up and ran to the door. Remus was briefly confused before he heard Sirius calling for James and Peter, "-'ve gotta listen to this lads."

Sirius made his way back to the stool he'd pulled up, this time with the boys in tow. He gestured at Remus's phone, "Play it again."

[lady-morrigen]

Heads Up, Seven Up

Rules: post the last seven lines you wrote then tag seven people

Thank you for the tag @queen--kenobi 💋

He called her name, the sound like shards of glass ripping from his throat. It was no use. He felt as if he were yelling through a bubble, the sound muted and distorted from the damage the battle had caused his ear drums. Not seeing her, even as the dust settled, he knew - she wasn’t coming back. She was trapped in the Fade.

The ground was wet with blood, soaking through the thick fabric of his trousers as he fell to his knees in defeat. He whispered her name again, though not the same name she used with the rest of the party. No, her real name, Artemia. A name, spoken only in the quiet moments stolen while the team was at rest. The name that flashed through his mind any time his eyes were closed, or when his fingers grazed hers in the Necropolis gardens, that dripped from his tongue like honey when their kisses became too passionate for mixed company.

(this may be more than 7 lines and may have been written ages ago, but i like it)

np tags: @foxinthegodswood @selfproclaimedunicorn @noeverse @ewanmitchellcrumbs

@withahappyrefrain @deathbecomesnerds

[ladysomething]

could we get a lestappen snippet please

this is worded so vaguely that I'm using the opportunity to hard launch a fic that I've been crazily writing for three days and that I'll be posting in the next 24-48 hours.

my apologies in advance to people not in the server, because this is going to seem insane.

Max is lying on his stomach on his lounge, face pressed into the cushions, trying to tempt Sassy over with treats, when there’s a fierce banging on the door. 

The noise scares off Sassy, and makes Max jump in fright, rising up onto his knees to look over the back of the lounge towards his door, wondering who it could possibly be at the door. 

There’s another knock, even louder than the last, and then his phone starts to ring. 

Max looks down to his coffee table, see’s Charles’ face, and swipes it off the table. 

“Hey,” Max greets, lifting himself off the lounge to start to walk towards the door. “What’s up? There’s someone at my door, so I can’t talk—” 

“Yes, I’m at your door,” Charles says, a little breathlessly. “Open it. I need to talk to you.” 

Max blinks at the back of his closed door, then opens it up, dropping his hand to end the call as Charles storms inside. 

“Thank God you’re home,” Charles says, sounding completely relieved. “I need to talk to you.” 

“You mentioned,” Max says, closing his door and following Charles slowly. “What’s wrong?” 

“Do you know what fanfiction is?” 

Max blinks. “Yeah?” 

“Oh, good,” Charles says, even more relieved. “Do you know people write about celebrities?” 

Max rolls his eyes. “I’ve been briefed by PR, yeah.” 

Charles flops down on the lounge, Sassy and Jimmy long gone, and props his feet up on the coffee table. Max rolls his eyes again, then sits down next to him. He and Charles are friends, closer now that they’ve ever been before, but he’s never really witnessed Charles having a PR-related meltdown before. They’re not that close. 

Oh, well. A first time for everything, he supposes. 

“Great!” Charles says cheerily, then unlocks his phone and shoves it in Max’s face. “Do you also know that we’re ranked second on Archive of Our Own?” 

Max can’t say he actually knows what Archive of Our Own is at all, let alone what we’re or ranked second means. 

He takes Charles’ phone from his hand carefully, holding it a little further away from his face so the screen isn’t blurry, and then see’s a little grey menu tab with a variety of drivers listed in pairing. 

What Charles said starts to make sense, because he can clearly see Max Verstappen/Daniel Riccardio (3897) ranked right above Max Verstappen/Charles Leclerc (3453). 

“Okay?” Max says, perplexed. “And?” 

Charles stares at him like he’s crazy, which is pretty much how Max feels right now. 

“And? Max, we’re second. We’re losers.” 

“Actually, I’m first and second. I’m a winner, twice.” 

“Max, this is serious!” Charles snaps, then snatches his phone back. “I can’t be a loser. I can’t.” 

Max has genuinely no idea why that’s his problem, or why Charles is trying to make it his problem. He really doesn’t think they’re close enough friends to try and help Charles through this—he’s not sure he knows Charles well enough to be well-equipped enough for it. 

“A loser at what?” Max asks, trying to be patient. Maybe if he realises the problem, he can help Charles by calling Pierre or something. 

“At fanfiction!” 

Max sighs deeply. “So you want us to be number one on this website? Why?” 

“Because—I—can—not—lose,” Charles says slowly, carefully, staring deeply in Max’s eyes while he does it. “You don’t want to lose either, do you, Max?” 

“Right, but I am first.” 

“With Daniel.” 

“Charles, I really—” 

“You barely even talk to him anymore!” Charles presses, resting his hands against the cushion between them to lean closer. Max leans backwards, a little terrified of the crazy look in his eye. “And what if he loses his seat? Then you’ll be number one, but with someone who’s not even a driver. That’s loser behaviour, Max.” 

“Oh my god,” Max murmurs, eyes wide. “You’re crazy.”

[author-nikki-harlow]

Do you do Steddie and reader in a three way poly? I finding it hard to find any and would love to find a slow burn but smutty fics featuring my two favourite bisexuals from Hawkins 🥰

ok, so hear me out. i might have a multipart slow(ish)burn in the works. I am not patient enough for a super slow burn. So... you know don't take slowburn too much to heart. like they aren't gonna be hitting it in the first part. I know that much LOL.

Anyway a preview:

I have been hit by inspiration!!!! I am currently working on the editing and refining so this may change a bit before its finalized but here we go!! we are going to get some steddie x reader!!

[madeofbees]

the most recent pages in my hannibal tab group:

two fics i have memorized ( wine of life and strangers with history (which inspired my current wip), both by @sourweather )

a recipe from better homes & gardens for roast duck with blackberry-orange sauce ( wip research )

google images search for hannibal lecter bedroom ( wip research )

the lyrics to tear in my heart by twenty one pilots because i mean ( sometimes you gotta bleed to know, oh, oh / that you’re alive and have a soul, oh, oh / but it takes someone to come around / to show you how / she’s the tear in my heart / i’m alive / she’s the tear in my heart / i’m on fire / she’s the tear in my heart / take me higher / than i’ve ever been / my heart is my armor / she’s the tear in my heart / she’s a carver / she’s a butcher with a smile / cut me farther / than i’ve ever been )

[peacenik0]

Coming soon: my first ever all things fic!

For me, the idea of writing a post all things fic was super intimidating! There are so many great ones out there, and I was worried that I couldn’t live up to the hype. But I decided to finally bite the bullet and start writing. Not sure when it’ll drop, but stay tuned. 

@alienqueequeg​ @admiralty-xfd​

[daniwritessometimes]

Soooo.... I, um, started a new story.....

Or, I should say, I restarted an old story. Just a little taste:

    The waistcoat held her breasts down a little. She chewed her lip as she examined the look in the mirror.

     “It’s as good as it will ever be,” she murmured to herself.

    She took the black coat out of the wardrobe and slipped it on. The sleeves were too long. She rolled them up. And then she stepped in front of the mirror again. She turned this way and that. Something was missing…

    “Oh! Right!” She went back to her room and removed the packet of stockings from the bottom of her trunk.

    She went back into Jason’s room and used the mirror to help arrange the stockings down the front of the riding breeches. She adjusted them a few times before it looked right.

    “Perfect.” Phillipa swallowed, cleared her throat, and said in a lower voice, “Nice to meet you, I’m Phillip Osborne.” She shook her head and then gave a slight bow and tried again. “Phillip Osborne. How do you do?” She shook her head again. “Phillip. My name is Phillip.”

    No matter how she tried, it was too forced. She tried to muster up Jason and went again.

    “My name is Phillip. I’m a man.” Her voice cracked. She groaned and attempted Anthony’s jovial tone. “Hello there. My name is Phillip. What’s yours?”

    That worked!

    “I love books! My wife is the best wife. I have five very red-headed children whom I adore. My sister Zoe is always underfoot, but I love her for it.” She laughed.

    Phillipa moved to the chair beside the fireplace. It was a little cool in the room and she considered lighting it or calling for someone to light it. Instead, she curled up and pulled a blanket over her lap.

    She played with the fibers. She’d made it for him. It had taken her the better part of the year, but it was finally finished. She lifted it up to her nose and breathed in his scent. It was spicy with a slight note of roses. He used it often enough on the cooler evenings for it to rub off.

    With the blanket still pressed to her nose, Phillipa rested her head on the back of the chair.

****

    Phillipa was shaken awake. She blinked bleary-eyed at Jason.

    “Hello, my darling.” Jason grinned. “Sleeping in my chair?”

    She started to get up and then remembered how she was dressed. “Damn.”

    “You don’t have to get up,” he said. “I can have our tea brought up here.”

    She chewed her lip a moment and then moved the blanket off her shoulders to reveal her state of dress.

    Jason looked at her from head to toe. “Why are you in my clothes?”

    “Because, I…..” Phillipa could come up with nothing clever. “I’ll change and put everything back where I found it.”