#on the docket

[storiesofsvu]

Since people have been asking:

What’s in the Queue:

Friday the 27th: Joe Velasco 5 times smut/fluff

Monday the 29th: Addison Montgomery smut

Friday July 4th: Aaron Hotchner Smut

Sunday July 6th: pt 2 Lavender Haze

Down Bad’s next chapter will either be after that or somewhere in there.

I want to get more stuff done & queued but i am spending my summer working on other shit so we’ll see how that all ends up panning out✌🏻🫶🏻

[clare-with-no-i]

extended preview

They’re standing on a corner in Diagon Alley, a few feet and thirteen years between them. James leans on the blunt edge of the pub they’ve just exited, his shirt half-untucked from woolen trousers, dangling a spliff between his fingers. Lily takes him in slowly, like a third-quarter moon or a Rorschach test: parsing the shadows, drawing lines across him in her head. Looking for the craters and the diagnosis.

“Had enough of trivia, then?” he asks her, the first thing he’s said since he followed her outside. She wasn’t aware that anyone had noticed her departure from the crowd. Maybe she’s overestimated her surreptitiousness.

“We were winning by a mile. I thought I could be spared.”

He nods at this, smiling wryly. “They’re bound to start barring us from the door if we keep cleaning the place out.”

Lily chuckles mildly, tilting her head to look through a stained-glass window at the warped, golden image of the people inside. It’s the first time they’ve all been out together, his mates and hers and the stragglers in between. Marlene had called it ‘a proper celebration.’ It feels more like a school reunion.

“What,” she says, “you plan on making this a regular event?”

He lets this hang for a while, bringing the spliff — hand-rolled by himself at the pub table, which had been a surprise, because she didn’t know he had habits that were so self-flagellatory, let alone so practiced — to his mouth and inhaling. There’s a torch above him and a little to the right, a little closer to her. Everything around them feels like a storybook.  

Lily waits.

Finally, James exhales through his nose and then his mouth, cutting his jaw forward to send a plateau of smoke toward the night sky. Lily watches it disappear and then turns, facing the alley, like she’s more interested in the ghost of his breath than the physical reality of him in front of her. Maybe she is, actually. She’s been clutching at his past for so long, she wouldn’t know what to do with something solid in her grip.

“I think you know I’m no good at making plans,” he says, and then adds, “or following them, for that matter.”

“That’s why you were so shit at Potions, you know. Never able to follow a recipe.”

She can hear him take another drag. “Is that why?”

“Mm-hm.”

“I thought…er. I thought—I was just too focused on other things.”

The stumbling in his speech makes her pause and cast a look over at him. James doesn’t talk like that. He’s never talked like that. He talks like a prince or a poet, like a fabled hero. Knights have no use for contrition, or hesitation.

Is it better to speak, she thinks, or to die?

“Of course,” she says, after a while. It feels like she’s the one who’s been smoking. Leave it to James Potter to give her a secondhand high. “Star athlete, you were. The rest of us mortals had time to spare on ickle things like lessons. You were always off playing sport.”

This, of course, is the crux of it all.

James received an offer to be first-string chaser for the Barcelona Basilisks in January of their seventh year, and it was everything he’d ever wanted wrapped up in a pretty Castilian bow. She remembers the day vividly, the way his face lit up in the Great Hall when the envelope sailed into his lap. The entire Gryffindor table cheered like they’d all gotten offers, too. Refusal was out of the question.

So, from then on, the question became an imperative, a direct order: time to make a clean break.

[writingintheshadowsforever]

On The Docket

Hey everyone I have to be the work a little earlier than usual so no posts today but I have quite a few imagines going up tomorrow

2 Shuri x Reader

2 Okoye x Reader

2 Queen Ramonda x Reader

1 Namor x Reader

Steal Your Heart Part 7 Yelena x Reader

I might save a few for Monday considering I work all day Monday

[hb-writes]

The June Docket

QUEUED for Sundays:

White Collar Angst: Neal & Alice — (6/5, already posted)

Twilight Angst: Edward & Mia — (6/12)

True Blood Angst: Godric & Elizabeth — (6/19)

Fifty Shades Angst: Christian & Emmeline — (6/26)

MAYBES (extras) for this month: 

Little Lady Blinder: Chapter 30

Alphabetical Outcast Part IV: Sylvie & Daphne

Peaky Blinders: Jack x Reader/ OC - I really need to rewatch S6 before this one becomes an actual possibility.

✍️ The WIP List ✍️

[rough-and-whump]

Ooo, can you do Forced to Watch for BTHB? Characters are your choice?

Ohhh, Bleu, yes please!

I have a fic I've had floating in my head forever about this.

Once more, i'mma outline my ideas and put this on my writing docket:

Feat. The Agency's Tibenoch and Shae

Tibs and Shae are on a portal-and-veil training run. They get captured by the Inquest (yes, this is reverting straight to GW2 stuff because it's an idea that's been in my head forever).

Tibs is targeted, but they take Shae because they know she's his apprentice.

Tibs is tied down, forced to watch Shae be tortured (and she holds her own for a while, she's a trooper, but the Inquest is cruel) as he's peppered with questions about vital interactions.

Shae nearly dies, and Tibs breaks down and feeds some information to their whumpers (gotta figure out how to make it something "vital" enough that they'll buy it, but not enough to seriously endanger the Agency's operations).

Satisfied, they shove bags over both agents' heads and drive them out into the wilderness before dumping them.

Tibs, relatively uninjured, returns to base.

This is gonna be fun.

It also leads to a bunch of awesome follow up fics where Tibs deals with

Guilt and self-loathing about how he was unhurt and Shae almost died

Fear that Shae won't like him or trust him

Punishment from the Commander for leaking information (though she has a bit of a caretaker moment where she thanks and commends him for saving Shae)

Punishment from Lylen for the same and for endangering Shae

Punishment from the Doc for endangering Shae, but also a moment of understanding because she knows what he had to do.

Comfort from Shae

Comfort from Marek, but Marek still whumps Tibs a bit because he was so afraid for the sprout. But when Tibs breaks down about his own fears and his own guilt, Marek switches to caretaker mode.

And from the Sprout:

Her fear and recovery

Her pride at lasting so long, and the reactions her various caretakers have to that

Her confusion about why Tibs feels bad. She knows he did what he had to, he still saved her, and she thought he'd be proud of her for lasting so long. But also some blame and anger - did she not sign up for this? She knows she's young and cute, but she signed up to fight.

Her fury with Lylen, the Commander and the Doc for whumping Tibs despite all he's been through.

Her own self-loathing and excessive training to "never be caught again".

Her nightmares and unexpected flashbacks or mild PTSD from the kidnapping.

Dear lord it's turned into a series...

Anything else you'd like to see? I'll try to incorporate specific things if you let me know what you like. :3

[thisgarbagepicker]

reylo au week // day 4 // mythological/fantasy/fairy tale

.s e l k i e s. 

[Part Two of a ficlet and moodboard posted for Reylo Week 2018, here.]

Two nights pass, and each night Rey dreams. The dreams have changed. Now she dips between the waves as sea foam tickles her nose, crushes tide-smoothed pebbles between her toes and enjoys the chill of night air on her skin when she surfaces. She feels him with her in all of it, invisible but constant as a shadow.

The third night is cloudless, and she doesn't dream, because she doesn't sleep. Instead she throws on a sweater and a jacket, her thick socks and tall boots. She waits for the moon to reach its zenith and leaves her cottage behind as she makes for the beach. After nearly twenty minutes, she begins to think he isn't there. Perhaps their last encounter was only another dream and she is being an idiot. The possibility is disappointing.

But something shifts in the inky shallows, and she sees his dark hair and the pale oblong of his face poking out above the water. Just like last time, Rey perceives what he's thinking: He knew she would be waiting, and wasn't sure until this moment that he wanted to be found. He begins to wade out, and again she defers inexplicably to modesty and heads back toward the cottage.

Once inside, she leaves the door open. It's a risk, but dammit, she’s done questioning this. It isn’t long until she hears heavy steps on the gravel outside. He waits within the doorway, dressed much the same as last time, his eyebrows rising slightly, mouth just parted. She notices how full and pink his lips are.

And then she notices his feet and frowns. “You really don't have any shoes?”

“I left them on the beach. I didn’t think I would need them indoors.” He looks skeptical. “You're surprised?”

“No,” she admits. “You never had any in the dreams.”

He nods and mulls this over, his understanding uncanny as he is while he stands there at the threshold. Water drips from his hair and stipples the wooden floor. “Are you inviting me in?”

She chuckles. It sounds like the sort of thing a vampire would ask, but Rey knows enough to be certain he isn't that. When she dreams of him his skin is warm and his heart is beating, he tastes of salt and smells of brine and smoke. So yes, she’s had some time to think about what he isn’t, and what he may be.

“Yes. But you try anything"—she brandishes the heavy wooden oar she's been holding since she returned—“I am fully capable of defending myself. And I will.”

She’s spry and strong, and a quick clock over the head would down even a man his size. She keeps a pistol beneath a loose flagstone near the hearth too, but there's no need to be rash.

“I believe it.” His mouth curves in a faint smile and he shuts the door behind him. “And I’m not going to try anything.”

He has a seat on the couch as she shoulders her oar and heads to the kitchen to make tea. When she emerges a few minutes later, oarless and with two chipped, steaming cups, she finds him stretched out with his eyes half closed, basking in the heat of the fire. She waits for him to sit up before handing him one of the cups and joining him, though she sits at the other end.

She sips her tea, still scalding the way she likes it, then looks at him with interest. He’s gazing around the room, taking in her meager possessions. “Do you have a name?”

The question startles him, but he blinks a few times and recovers. “Yes. Do you?”

Why did she expect a straightforward answer? But he’s already in her home, drinking her tea, enjoying her fire, and she’s already threatened him with bodily harm. An exchange of names is downright benign. “Rey.”

“Ben.” It’s not what she expected—aggressively ordinary and somewhat comforting for it. “So tell me, Rey. Because my observations from when we last met still stand. What sort of woman invites a strange man into her isolated home late at night?”

She remembers his thinly veiled intrigue then, and how he seemed to identify her as something both other and known. “The sort of woman who thinks she knows what you are.”

“And what might that be?” He still hasn’t tried his tea, but he sniffs it now and makes a face before braving a taste. She can see that he regrets it.

“You’re selkie.” Rey watches his reaction, but all she sees is the tiniest twitch of his eyebrow. Not a denial, then. “The geography’s right. And your habits are . . . obvious.”

She omits her attraction to him, and her curiosity about where he keeps his true skin. And none of what she knows explains why she sees him nearly every time she sleeps. It warrants investigation.

“You’re very sure.” The firewood pops, and when he looks at her the orange light throws deep shadows on his face. “What about you, then? What are you?”

“I’m a mythologist.”

An itinerant existence in the fringes—following lore, seeking legends, quantifying them—but she likes it. Yet it’s a tiny field regarded with suspicion by both outsiders and the subjects of her study. It's difficult to talk to people about. And she’s never experienced anything quite like what she has since she came to this island.

“Ah.”

That’s all he has to say about it; it has settled something for him. They pass the next hour chatting, and it’s nice to hear another voice than her own. When silences settle, they are of the comfortable kind that don’t demand to be filled. Rey begins to wonder if she isn’t the only one who has been dreaming of the other. It’s the only way she can think to explain this near instant kinship she feels with him. Does Ben dream of her, or at all?

The lateness of the hour catches up with her. Her cup is empty; his is mostly full, the tea inside it long gone cold. The fire is low, and she has no plans to rebuild it. She rises without ceremony to take their cups but pauses halfway to the kitchen.

“Is it true that—”

She changes her mind mid-question. Perhaps this sense a familiarity she feels is one-sided, a symptom of loneliness.

“Is what true?”

Or perhaps he feels it too. “That your people take human lovers when they come to land?”

“You’re the expert, aren’t you, mythologist?” His response met with a frown, he shrugs. “Some do.”

“Hm.” She retreats into the kitchen to leave the cups at the side of the sink. When she returns to the living room, he’s standing beside the hearth, extinguishing what remains of the embers. “I’m going to bed. Will you stay with me tonight, Ben?”

Even in the near dark, she can make out the way he inclines his head, and she thinks he must be looking to the front door. “Yes.”

The cottage gets cold most nights, but she thinks for once it won’t be a problem. Rey extends a hand and waits for him to take it, then leads him down the short hall to her bedroom.

[weeesi]

coming soon

- remaining chapters of Hello You

- femlock prompt fic

- femlock...smut fic

- angsty s4 fix-it/missing scene fic

[storiesofsvu]

I’ve been thinking about this for at least the past month if not longer & I’m pretty sure i’m going to stop writing multi part series.

It feels like very little is getting traction anymore, one shots still do pretty well & y’all obviously love the smutty shit but i’m just not getting the spark I used to when it comes to the longer things.

Any ideas I currently have/come up with that are super tied into canon or wouldn’t make sense without being part of said show, i’ll still be writing & posting. The ones that can stand on their own i’ll still end up working on but wont be posting.

So…. Yeah lol.