#sofw writes

[wintershades]

Been going through some stuff, but I'm getting back to a place where I can write outside of work again... So! Look out for:

a one-shot set just after Echoes of the Solstice (post-proposal Fjorester convo, anyone?)

a new chapter of A Novel Guide

<3

[wintershades]

A new chapter of A Novel Guide to Courtship and Counterfeiting goes up tomorrow, so here's a little snippet for WIP Wednesday. :)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In a scene that evoked imagery from chapter twenty-two of My Princely Pirate Lover, Fjord had arrived at Jester's door clad only in his nightshirt and breeches. His lips were upturned in a rakish smile, and his eyes were half-shuttered, lending a sensual quality to his gaze.

However.

Upon a second look, Jester noticed that he was barefoot, and his hair was sticking up in a half-dozen different directions. Also, the pose he’d struck against the doorframe seemed less like flirtation and more like an effort to stay upright.

“Hey. Hi.” Fjord paused, and then he added: “Hello.”

Jester blinked. She looked to Beau, who gave a shrug, and on down to Veth.

“He’s absolutely plastered,” she said in exasperation. “I got him halfway into bed, and then he decided he had something important to tell you.”

“Something important? About—?"

“Fuck if I know! You’re lucky he’s wearing trousers right now.”

“Just need two minutes,” Fjord said—as he held up four fingers. Grumbling to herself, Veth rose to her tiptoes and shoved him into the room.

“Take an hour,” she said, and she closed the door.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

[wintershades]

For WIP Wednesday, I offer an excerpt from an upcoming chapter of A Novel Guide to Courtship and Counterfeiting, which finds Revelry prince Fjord and Myriad princess Jester on a visit to Darktow.

When Jester is left feeling unwelcome due to her Myriad ties, Fjord honors his agreement to “make love to her in public.” (Well, uh . . . figuratively speaking.)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Everywhere we go,” Jester said, “people keep staring at me.”

“They’re just curious,” Fjord insisted, but the tiefling scoffed under her breath.

“That’s not the reason. You know that.”

Fjord watched her step back from the shop window, her attention turning to her own image in the glass. He’d feared that this would happen—that she’d finally come to Darktow, and she’d meet with the same cold reception he’d suffered as a child.

For once, he wasn’t the outcast or the stranger.

But what had he done to help her?

Since their arrival, he hadn’t so much as held Jester’s hand. He’d been so distracted, and being home again, he’d assumed the reserved manner that was expected of him. Maybe Jester thought he’d withdrawn from her on purpose.

As he dwelt on it, Fjord noticed something.

“Your bootlace has come untied,” he remarked, prompting Jester to look down at her feet. Then he said: “Here. Let me.”

With a touch on her shoulder, Fjord guided the tiefling to face him. He dropped to one knee among the stones and mud, and he gave her boot a playfully stern look, as if to admonish it for failing her. In response, Jester extended her leg toward him and pointed her toe in a manner most delicate and ladylike.

Then she hiked her skirt up a few inches, just above the top of her boots.

Fjord arched an eyebrow, watching Jester shimmy her shoulders and rustle her petticoat in the manner of a Port Damali chorus line dancer. He waited. And finally, when she least expected it, he caught her leg and guided her foot to rest on his thigh. He saw her tail swing out as a counterbalance; he heard her make a little sound of surprise.

“You need to watch your step around here,” he chided her. “People talk about the dangers of Darktow, but it isn’t the cutpurses you have to worry about. It's the shitty street maintenance.”

“It's that bad?” Jester said wonderingly, playing along. Fjord gave a grave nod.

“Oh, yes. The real horror is a twisted ankle”—and he let his hand glide down from her calf to her foot—“or a bruised shin”—and he strummed his fingers up the crosshatch of her bootlace—“or a scuffed knee. And what sort of princess has scuffed knees?”

“Not this one."

“I can see that."

Smiling slightly, Fjord began to fix the slipped laces back onto their hooks and tighten them up. With the care he applied to the task, one would think that he was lacing her corset instead—or at least, that he was quite accustomed to doing so.

“You'll have to mind the cliffs, as well,” he continued as he went along. “I don’t want to find a blue puddle at the bottom of any of them. Understood?”

“R-Right.”

Hearing that stutter, Fjord glanced up, and he caught Jester staring at him with her skirts held still in her hands. He could guess what she was thinking. From which of her romantic novels had he drawn inspiration? . . . From what hero had he learned these subtly intimate gestures? . . . .

Plot twist, motherfucker: He was making this shit up all on his own.

And now for the coup de grâce.

With a few brisk movements, Fjord tied off Jester’s bootlace in a bow. Then, he took her leg in his hands once more—and he bent forward—and he pressed his lips to her bare knee.

It was brief. It was light. It was nothing that anyone would have deemed unsuitable for the public view, if not for the way Fjord gazed up at Jester afterward. Because this was a look that said: Here is a woman who has brought a Revelry prince to kneel—and not for the first time.

A beat passed.

And another.

Then, very gently, Fjord guided Jester’s foot back to the earth. When he stood, he saw that her face was flushed dark, bringing her blue-sky complexion a shade nearer to dusk.

He leaned in close.

“If they want to stare,” he said, “let’s give them some real entertainment.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

[wintershades]

In an upcoming chapter of A Novel Guide to Courtship and Counterfeiting, Jester and Fjord bravely tackle one of the more risqué tropes on their checklist. Things get serious . . . but this being Fjorester, things also get silly.

Here’s an excerpt!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Fjord was first assigned Everywhere But the Lips, he gathered that the trope entailed acts of intimacy. There was no figurative language involved, nor any room for interpretation; it was all right there in the name. Still, Jester insisted upon setting the scene for him, so that he might embrace his “motivation.”

Imagine, if you will:

“We are lovers, and we’ve just been reunited after many months apart. All that time, longing for one another. All that time, only seeing one another in our dreams, where we—”

“I think I get the picture,” Fjord cut in, and Jester wrinkled her nose at him.

“Shh! I’m not done yet. Anyway—”

“—We’re finally together again. Alone in my bedroom, wearing nothing but—our pajamas. And as you take me to bed, all you want is to rediscover me . . . inch by inch.”

With that, Jester closed her eyes and sighed dreamily. Fjord waited a few seconds to see if she’d continue, and then he gave a nod.

“Right. Got it,” he said. “Now—do you have a sleep mask?”

Jester’s eyes snapped open. “You want to blindfold me?” she said with glee. “Fjord! What have you been reading while I was away?”

“I just thought—it would be more interesting for you if—” Fjord stopped, sitting back from her slightly. “Forget it. We don’t have to—”

—but Jester was already scrambling across her bed to her nightstand. “No, no! I have one. Hold on!”

The tiefling was so excited that Fjord had to catch her tail and pin it to the mattress, lest she whip him with it by accident. He began to wonder if he’d made a mistake. But as he watched her rummage through the drawer, he noticed a familiar porcelain unicorn on her nightstand—and despite his nerves, he smiled to himself.

Finally, Jester put on her sleep mask and adjusted it just so. Then she turned around, and Fjord had to choke back a laugh. 

“What the fuck?” he wheezed. “Why does it have googly eyes?”

The tiefling tipped her head to one side, making the eyes wobble. “What’s wrong? Won’t this work?”

“No, it won’t! I can’t look at that and—”

“Ravish me, sailor!” Jester said, pressing her hand to her forehead and feigning a swoon. Fjord watched the googly eyes make a full revolution before they settled into place, one of them slightly off-kilter.

“Please,” he said, “please never say that again.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

[wintershades]

Here's another snippet from A Novel Guide to Courtship and Counterfeiting for WIP Wednesday! As Fjord lies awake, dwelling on a nightmare, he's reminded that he no longer has to bear his worries alone.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Fjord released a heavy breath—and not a moment later, he felt Jester’s tail wriggle under his hand. He was surprised to find her awake and watching him: her bottom lip jutting out, and her brow furrowed, and her eyes soft and shining.

“What’s that look?” he said suspiciously.

“Fjord. Were you holding my tail while I sleep?”

“Well—I found it on my chest, so—”

“But you’re just lying there. Holding it. That’s so sweet.”

The half-orc squinted at her. Then, very slowly, he began to draw her tail upward, pretending like he was going to bite a chunk from it. Jester let out a soft squeal of protest, grabbing his wrist and shaking it so he couldn't make good on his threat.

More than anything, he wanted her to keep smiling. Better yet, he wanted to throw the blankets over them both—pull her in—and catch her pretty laughter on his own lips.

“I had a dream just now,” Fjord admitted instead. Jester’s giggling stopped, and her eyes grew wide.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

[wintershades]

Jester mood board for Seen Through the Deadlight  (AO3)

[wintershades]

Fjord mood board for Seen Through the Deadlight (AO3)

[wintershades]

A Novel Guide resumes this week, as Fjord and Jester have made their move from fake dating to a fake engagement. (Entirely by accident, of course. They have terrible luck.)

But before Jester makes a trip home to Zadash, there’s something she needs: a token of an authentic pirate betrothal. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“You do a lot of reading,” Fjord said. “Have you ever learned any marriage customs of the Revelry?”

Jester rocked on her heels, giving the question some thought. “Well,” she began, “in My Princely Pirate Lover, the bride-to-be has to bathe naked in the sea foam for good luck, and— . . . no? That’s not a real thing?”

Fjord was shaking his head fervently.

“Shoot. I guess I don’t know anything about it, then.”

“I thought not. But I bet your father does, and he’ll be very suspicious if you go back to Zadash with only a ring.”

Jester lifted her left hand, where the garnet stone glistened on her finger. “Only a ring!” she repeated. “What else am I supposed to have?”